 
# Wishful Romance Volume 1

## Books 1-3

## Kait Nolan
**To Get Me To You**

Written and published by Kait Nolan

Copyright 2014 Kait Nolan

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**Know Me Well**

Written and published by Kait Nolan

Copyright 2015 Kait Nolan

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**Be Careful, It's My Heart**

Written and published by Kait Nolan

Copyright 2013 Kait Nolan

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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following is a work of fiction. All people, places, and events are purely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

# Contents

A Letter to Readers

I. To Get Me To You

Dedication

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

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

II. Know Me Well

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

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

III. Be Careful, It's My Heart

Casting Call

Auditions

9 Weeks 'Til Show

8 Weeks 'Til Show

7 Weeks 'Til Show

6 Weeks 'Til Show

5 Weeks 'Til Show

4 Weeks 'Til Show

3 Weeks 'Til Show

2 Weeks 'Til Show

1 Week 'Til Show

Opening Night

Newsletter Exclusive Offer

Just For This Moment

Make You Feel My Love

Other Books By Kait Nolan

About Kait

# A Letter to Readers

Dear Reader,

This book is set in the Deep South. As such, it contains a great deal of colorful, colloquial, and occasionally grammatically incorrect language. This is a deliberate choice on my part as an author to most accurately represent the region where I have lived my entire life. This book also contains swearing and pre-marital sex between the lead couple, as those things are part of the realistic lives of characters of this generation, and of many of my readers.

If any of these things are not your cup of tea, please consider that you may not be the right audience for this book. There are scores of other books out there that are written with you in mind. In fact, I've got a list of some of my favorite authors who write on the sweeter side on my website at <https://kaitnolan.com/on-the-sweeter-side/>

If you choose to stick with me, I hope you enjoy!

Happy reading!

Kait
Part I

# To Get Me To You

## Wishful Romance, Book 1
_To The Pie Society,_

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_For your unflagging cheerleading, support, and stream of small town Southern gossip. You are an inspiration._

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_With love,_

* * *

_Kait_

# Chapter 1

THERE WAS NO ESCAPING now.

As the steady click of sensible heels on asphalt grew ever closer, Campbell Crawford shut his eyes and repressed a curse. Where the hell had she come from?

To give himself another few moments to arrange his face into something resembling polite civility, Cam ducked back into his truck.

"Mr. Crawford, I need a word." Agnes Crockett used the same stern tone she used to call his name when she'd taught trigonometry back in high school.

Resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders, Cam tucked a cardboard tube of landscaping blueprints under his arm and turned to face her. "Yes, Mrs. Crockett. What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Crockett peered up at him from beneath her umbrella, a bright floral affair completely at odds with her no-nonsense demeanor. "I have a matter that needs to be brought up at the next City Council meeting. It's about that stoplight at Market and Spring Street."

_Not again._ If he had a nickel for every time somebody griped about that stoplight, he could buy a round of drinks for everybody waiting inside the Mudcat Tavern.

"The city needs to fix the sensor. Cross traffic from Market Street gets stuck entirely too long, when nobody's even coming the other direction. Why, I sat there for a full _five minutes_ today without a soul passing by on Spring Street, and I was late to Bitsy Elliott's daughter's baby shower. When is that sensor going to get fixed?"

Cam privately thought that, given the state of the city coffers, it would be more likely the stoplight would be entirely decommissioned and they'd go back to the four-way stop, but that wasn't something he was about to share with this particular constituent. "I certainly understand your concern, Mrs. Crockett. Now we talked about this the last time—"

"You said I had to fill out this form." She dug around in her purse and came up with a sheet of paper that she thrust at him. "I want that traffic light fixed."

Cam took the paper. She'd filled in the blanks by hand, her slanted scrawl covering most of the page. He bit back a sigh and refrained from mentioning that it was a web form she was supposed to submit online. "Ah, yes, ma'am. I'll see that it's put on the agenda for our next City Council meeting."

"See that you do. I've been put off for the _last time,_ young man."

Aware that his shoulders had hunched up by his ears, Cam forced them down. "Yes, ma'am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go meet a client." He tapped the blueprint tube and softened the diplomatic brushoff with a smile. "You have a good evenin', now."

He called the escape good when he made it to the door of the Mudcat without pursuit or an order to detention.

Somebody had Garth Brooks playing on the jukebox. The hot fiddle licks of "Callin' Baton Rouge" were punctuated by the crack of billiard balls from the far side of the bar. Christmas lights still twinkled around the perimeter, as they probably would until Valentine's Day or Easter. Cam felt some of the stress of the day leech out as he crossed to the high-top table in the corner, where his cousin, Miranda, was already taking a pull on a Sam Adams.

"You're late." She set down the bottle. "Had a real pisser of a day at the clinic, so I started without you. Two days after Christmas and there's already an outbreak of flu. And _not_ the strain they were predicting when they formulated the flu shot this year. You have a client meeting?"

Cam laid the blueprint tube in another chair. "No, this was just cover. Got ambushed by Mrs. Crockett in the parking lot."

"The stoplight again?"

He cocked thumb and forefinger at her. "Got it in one. I'm late because I was working on mixing potting soil today, and I figured you'd appreciate me showering and changing first so as not to smell like manure."

Miranda leaned over and gave an exaggerated sniff as he shrugged out of his wet coat. "Much obliged then, cuz." She settled back in her chair. "Did you hear about Travis Hugget?"

"What about him?"

"Remember he's been dating that girl from college—Gwen something or other—long distance for more than a year, since she took that job in New York? Apparently, right before Christmas, he went up there to her fancy Wall Street office and proposed, right as the entire company was coming out of a staff meeting."

_Poor bastard._ He had plenty of reason to know that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"Not only did Gwen say yes, she quit her job right then and there, and they eloped."

Cam swiped Miranda's beer and tipped it back to wash the sour taste of envy from his mouth as he revised his opinion. _Lucky bastard._ "Good for them."

Aware of his cousin's _I shouldn't have said that_ expression and sensing an imminent and entirely unnecessary apology, Cam wiped the scowl from his face. Christ, when was his family going to stop pussy footing around it?

Miranda's phone rang and she glanced at the screen. "It's Norah. I need to take this. Go get yourself a beer and bring me another since you polished mine off. And put in an order of cheese sticks while you're up there. I'm starving."

"Your wish." He saluted and headed for the bar, sending a silent thank you to Miranda's old college roommate for the distraction.

Adele Daly, the opinionated owner of the Mudcat, worked the taps as she chatted with Abe Costello about Ole Miss's chance at making it to the Final Four.

"I'm tellin' you, if they can just take out Emory, they've got a shot," Abe insisted.

Adele slid a glass of IPA down the bar into a waiting hand. "My money's on State. They've been burning up the courts this season."

Easing between two stools, Cam propped himself on an elbow and nodded a hello to Abe. "Adele, would you be so kind as to get me a Killian's and put in an order for cheese sticks and another Sam Adams for Miranda?"

"You want a bottle or tap? Keg's fresh."

"Tap then. And better add some chili cheese fries to that order. Miranda doesn't strike me as being in a sharing mood tonight."

"You got it, sugar pie."

Cam lounged back against the bar and took note of the glass of scotch Abe was nursing. "Are we celebrating or commiserating?"

"Little bit of both. I got an offer on my land."

"That acreage over by Hope Springs?"

"Yep."

Cam straightened in surprise. Abe was a local man, born and raised in Wishful. That land parcel had been in his family for generations. "You're selling?"

"Thinkin' 'bout it. It's a damned good offer. Well above market value." He sipped the scotch and grimaced, more a testament to the situation than the drink.

"Who?"

"Nobody local."

Cam had figured that. Nobody local had that kind of money to throw around. In the wake of the plant closing, a lot of people didn't have any money at all. Heirloom Home Furnishings had been the primary employer in town. When they'd opted to move their operations to Mexico eight months ago, it had gutted the town's economy. That was just the latest blow in a long line of economic downturns over the last few decades. Their population was shrinking as more and more good people were forced to go elsewhere to support their families.

"But you can't sell. That land's part of your family history. Part of Wishful's history."

"History don't pay the bills, son."

It was an unfortunately familiar story. Loss of workforce and population also meant loss of business. Abe's farm supply company took a hit when Cam bought the nursery five years ago. Cam had a wider variety and better stock, and with local propagation, he was able to offer better prices than the other man. But nursery and garden stock wasn't Abe's bread and butter. If the farm supply was suffering, this was the first Cam had heard about it.

Adele set Cam's beer on the bar. "It's too bad the city can't make an offer on that parcel. Be nice to make a formal park out there by the springs. Like that plan you drew up. It'd be a great addition to the town."

Cam's mind started to spin. "Who's brokering the sale?"

"Sally Forester on my side. Other folks got an attorney from out of town."

"Hold off on making any final decisions, Abe. If anybody's gonna buy that property, the city ought to have first crack at it."

Abe grunted in acknowledgment, but it was a hollow victory. Buying more land was only one of many things the city couldn't afford to do. The truth was, the town he loved was dying, and Cam didn't know how much longer they could limp along as they were. What they needed was a miracle, and despite the holiday season, those were in pretty short supply.

"And how is my sister from another mister?" Miranda's voice rolled out of the car speakers, a welcome breath of the South that made Norah Burke ache with homesickness.

"Tired. It's a long drive back from New York."

"Why on earth didn't you fly?"

"Because nobody's invented a teleporter yet. Flying would take just as long, and I'd be one of a hundred other irritable sardines, who want to be home already. At least on the road it's quiet."

"You totally live in the wrong city for quiet. Are you home yet?"

"Got a couple more hours. But I'm about to break it up a bit and make a stop in your honor."

"Off I-90? Oh my God, are you in Morton? You're going to Have Your Cake, aren't you?"

Norah laughed at the mix of accusation and longing in her friend's tone. "Guilty."

The stretch of road immediately off the interstate had mushroomed in the past three years with the usual contingent of fast food restaurants, gas stations, and a couple of chain hotels. Pleased at the evidence of growth, Norah bypassed them all, following the signs for downtown and sending up a silent prayer that Have Your Cake would be open until six.

"Best road trip discovery _ever._ I love their caramel cake. The perfect marriage of salty and sweet, with four layers of lovely, moist cake...What made you decide to stop?"

"I was missing you." It was the truth, even if it didn't touch on all the whys. "How is everybody?"

As she navigated through town, Norah listened to her friend's account of this year's holiday hijinks. It was almost like listening to the summary of a Hallmark Channel movie, for all she could relate to Miranda's sprawling family, with aunts, uncles, and cousins galore. They were as close to normal as Norah ever got.

"—oh, and the boys had a poker tournament to decide who got the last slice of Grammy's chocolate pie."

Amusement and envy warred. Grammy's chocolate pie was a thing of legend. "Who won?"

"Reed, who was totally the dark horse in that race. Everybody assumed Mitch would win because he always does. He said to tell you hello, by the way."

"Tell him hi back and ask him when he's coming to Chicago again for another architectural convention."

"I still can't believe you went on a date with my brother."

"It wasn't a date. It was a pity tour of the city, since you didn't warn him you wouldn't actually be able to leave the hospital to see him."

"That's why they call it residency. And anyway that's not the way _he_ tells that story."

"Then Mitch is a liar liar pants on fire."

"Why don't you come down here and tell him that yourself? You keep promising to visit."

"I know, I know," Norah groaned. "It's been way too long. But work's been _crazy_. I had a hard enough time getting off to go to New York for the holiday. I can't possibly ask off again so soon. Maybe closer to summer."

"Summer? You _do_ remember what Mississippi is like in the summer?"

"Honey, given the winter we've been having, I'd relish the chance to wear some short shorts and a tank top instead of a winter coat that makes me look like the Michelin Man."

"I'll remind you of that when you come and do your impression of the Wicked Witch of the West. How did Christmas go on your end? Was Rockefeller Center fabulous? I'm getting my vicarious white Christmas fix through you."

"It was gorgeous. The Plaza was amazing, and midnight mass at Saint Thomas was simply beautiful. Christmas in Manhattan is definitely a unique experience." And she'd have traded it all for one zany family dinner with the Campbells.

"Did your dad manage to refrain from harping on you about going back to law school?"

"Actually, he's dating somebody. Some high-powered exec who looks like Hollywood's idea of Wall Street. They went to Saint Bart's, so it was just me and Mom. _She_ got called in to emergency surgery, so I spent my holiday blessedly harp-free."

Miranda didn't buy her breezy, no-big-deal tone for a moment. "Wait, so you were _alone_ for Christmas?"

Sensing the edge of a blistering rant, Norah felt compelled to head Miranda off. "Not all of it. Between surgeries, Mom and I had a blast shopping for Operation Santa Claus, and she got out of surgery in time for a late Christmas dinner."

"That's awful."

Norah bit back a sigh as she turned onto Main Street. Miranda's outrage on her behalf was well-intentioned, even if it solved exactly nothing. "Well, it was certainly better than if Dad had tried to include Lillian. We're a weirdly civilized modern family, but I don't think we're _that_ civilized. Besides, it gave me some quiet time to catch up on this radical thing called reading for pleasure."

"You should've come here. You know you're always welcome."

Norah knew they'd fold her into the flock. It was part of the Campbells' charm. But there were a hundred reasons keeping her from following through on the invite Miranda made every year. "And I appreciate the offer. Now I'm going to let you go because I'm pretty sure I drove past Have Your Cake while I was running my mouth."

"Buy two pieces and have one in my name."

"And will those calories vicariously travel to _your_ hips?" Norah circled the block for another pass.

"They will in spirit."

"Give your family my best."

"Love you."

"Love you back. Talk soon."

Norah didn't have to hunt for parking. But for a handful of cars, downtown Morton was deserted. She got out and climbed over the mounds of dirty snow to the sidewalk and took a good look around. No sign of Have Your Cake. Thinking she parked on the wrong block, she began to walk.

_Maybe they're still on shortened holiday hours._ Not what she'd have recommended to business owners in the wake of the holiday. They should've been taking advantage of post-Christmas shoppers with gift certificates and Christmas money.

A shop window across the street had _Going Out of Business_ painted across the glass. The sign above the awning indicated it had been a florist. Even with the poor economy and reduced discretionary income, a florist should have been able to make it through the Christmas season. In another window on her side, she saw a For Rent sign. A lone, headless mannequin stood inside, one arm lifted like it was waving goodbye. One empty retail space she could dismiss, but two? That didn't fit with her expectations.

Three years ago, she'd been brought in as the voice of the marketing team that convinced the town of Morton that Hugo's ValuCenter would be a partner to the community, a harbinger of new economic growth. She'd seen their multi-phase plan for sustainable community development, had been the one to sell city leaders on the concept. So why was everything closed?

The next couple of spaces were occupied by a law office and an accountant. But the space after that had a discreet For Sale sign and the name of a local real estate company. Cold fingers walked down her spine as Norah looked into every window on the entire three block stretch.

Based on the community development plan, downtown Morton should've been a bustling retail corridor, full of local vendors and craftspeople. Exactly what it had been, at the heart, when she and Miranda had discovered the place years ago, but bigger. And yet more than seventy percent of the retail space sat empty. It was such a far cry from the bustling, quirky town she remembered, she half wondered if she'd come to the wrong place.

"What the hell happened here?"

One business still had active clientele at this hour. Crossing the street, Norah stepped inside the Five O'Clock Shadow. The bar was dim and quiet. A few people looked up when she came in, then went back to their drinks. Their low murmurs of conversation barely competed with the classic rock playing over the speakers. She noted a handful of suits and some business casual attire, suggesting that this was probably a hang out for the office workers and city government employees who worked further down the street.

Loosening her scarf, Norah crossed to the bar, where a mustached man was drying glasses.

"What can I getcha?"

She slid onto a stool. "Directions, I hope. I'm from out of town, and it's been a few years since I came through here. I was hoping you could tell me where Have Your Cake moved to."

"Didn't move. Closed along with just about everything else down here."

She'd been afraid of that. "What happened?"

"Same as happened lots of other places. We got a Hugo's ValuCenter."

Norah swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I'd heard that they were in to being partners with the community."

The bartender snorted. "They're like any other politicians. Telling people exactly what they want to hear to get in, then going back on their word. Within six months of opening for business, they added an in-house florist, a bakery, a butcher, on top of all the other products they already carried. They undercut local prices, all in the name of _value._ " The word rolled off his tongue like something foul. "Local businesses couldn't compete. Those of us still standing are the ones who aren't in direct competition. Everybody else _...poof."_

Numb, Norah thanked the bartender for his time and headed back to her car. Her stomach roiled.

Hugo's had done exactly what she'd promised the town they wouldn't do. She'd _seen_ the proposal, _seen_ the plans to integrate, not overtake the community. Was there a statute of limitations clause she'd missed? Had they performed some kind of bait and switch with the final contracts? Had her partner failed to do proper due diligence on the company? She had, in effect, lied to the townspeople. Used all her skill in persuasion to talk them into something that had decimated the character of the town.

_How did this happen? Where did I screw up?_

She didn't know. But as soon as she got to the office in the morning, she was going to find out.

# Chapter 2

STANDING SHOULDER TO SHOULDER with her intern, Norah surveyed the mountains of folders spread across the conference table.

Cecily took a bracing breath. "This calls for ordering in. Do we want Chinese, Indian, or Greek?"

"None of the above. You are going home like the good little, not-excessively-overworked intern you're supposed to be."

"But I can help."

_Aw, she's like your mini-me,_ Norah's conscience cooed. _The earnest, good-hearted workaholic. Encourage that so y'all can have no life together._

"It's not about can, it's about should. And you _should_ have a life after work. Now go ahead and scoot or you're going to miss your TaeBo class."

"You did not just tell me to scoot. You've been talking to your Mississippi friend again."

Norah just arched a brow.

"Fine, fine. But I'll be here bright and early tomorrow. I've got some concepts kicking around in my head for the Rembrandt job."

"I look forward to hearing them. To. Mor. Row."

"Yes, boss."

As Cecily walked out, Norah's personal assistant walked in.

"Don't even start with me, Christoff."

"Not even back a day and you're covered up. We aren't _that_ behind from the holiday."

As he moved toward her desk, Norah automatically closed the files she'd pulled herself earlier in the day. No reason to alert anyone else to her inquiries until she decided what to do about them.

"I'm just trying to get ahead a bit so I can take New Year's off."

He collapsed gracefully into one of the visitor's chairs and crossed his Ferragamo boots. "Honey, we both know you're going to bring your fabulous dress and get ready here, before you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and GQ show up fashionably late for whatever It Party is the place to be."

"Just because it's what we did last year..."

Christoff shut her up with a Look. He tapped the side of his nose. "I am wise to your ways, milady. You shouldn't be hitting the ground running this hard until after the first of the year."

Norah sighed. "I have my reasons. Now go ahead and get out of here. I mean it. Out of the office."

He crossed his arms. "I don't like abandoning you while you're drowning."

"I am not drowning. Go home and watch your DVR backlog of Project Runway. All this will still be here tomorrow."

"Only if you _promise_ you're not going to work half the night. I'm calling up here in an hour to make sure you've left."

"Fair enough. I promise."

He made an _I'm watching you_ gesture with his fingers. "I'll know if you just don't pick up."

He probably would. Norah had long since stopped wondering how Christoff knew the things he knew. She plastered on an indulgent smile and made shooing motions until he walked out of her office.

As soon as the door shut, Norah wilted, letting go of the _Everything's Okay_ facade she'd been using all day. Everything was most definitely _not_ okay. Rising, she crossed to the window of her office, staring out at the twinkling lights of the Chicago skyline. She'd worked her ass off for Helios Creative to earn that view, done good work. Exceptional work. She was tenacious and she was thorough. The harder the sell, the more determined she became, rallying to the challenge like a heavyweight going into a title fight. Her honeyed eloquence had produced the highest success rate of anyone in the firm, save her boss, and she'd rocketed through the ranks to Vice President of Sales, getting dubbed The Closer. Together, she and Pierce Vargas were an absolute marketing dream team. Everybody said so.

But what was the price? How many lives had she destroyed in her pursuit of success?

The door behind her opened, but she didn't turn.

"Finally took the lock off, huh? I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me."

"I had a lot of work to do." She watched Pierce cross the room in the reflection, dispassionately noting the artfully mussed hair, the tailored suit trousers that still held a crease even at this late hour. He always looked like he'd stepped out of the pages of a magazine ad. So did she. It was part and parcel of the job. Perfect. Polished. Professional. As he slid his arms around her waist, they looked every bit the power couple.

Pierce dipped his head to press a kiss to her neck. "Welcome home, babe."

Norah stiffened and stepped away, wishing viciously for a tumbler of scotch she could drain before hurling the glass at his head.

Not a stupid man, Pierce stayed put, angling his head to study her. "Something wrong?"

"How long have we been partners?"

"In bed or out?" He flashed a glib smile. "Did I miss an anniversary or something?" When she didn't soften, he sobered. "We've been working together for a little over three years. Why?"

"I stopped in Morton on my trip back yesterday."

"Where?"

"Morton, Indiana. Hugo's ValuCenter hired us to convince the town to let them build there. Y'all brought me in to do the pitch on behalf of the clients."

"Okay. That was one of the first jobs we partnered on. So?"

"So the infrastructure of local businesses has been gutted. The downtown is all but dead because they completely violated their promise of non-competition in multiple areas. The promise _I_ made the townspeople in good faith when I did the pitch."

Pierce's expression softened and he crossed to her. "Is that what's got you upset? Sure it sucks for them, but you didn't do anything wrong. It's business, and if the town didn't get a non-compete clause ironclad in the legal stuff, that's on them. It happens. It still has nothing to do with you. You did your job. We both did."

She spun away when he tried to pull her into his arms. "That's the problem."

"I don't follow."

Trembling with rage, Norah reached for the file on her desk, tossing it toward him. The contents spilled across the surface, onto the floor. Headlines jumped out in glaring black and white, damning Hugo's business practices, outing their impact on other small towns in other parts of the country. A stack of bad publicity that proved the company had never meant a word of the promises she'd made on their behalf. Publicity she hadn't seen when they brought her in at the last minute to do the pitch on behalf of Hugo's.

"You knew. You were the one who did due diligence on this job. You knew before I ever made the presentation, and you didn't tell me."

Pierce eased a hip back on the credenza and crossed his arms. "You're right. I didn't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't do the job if you were aware of the company's...shall we say, checkered past."

"Of _course_ I wouldn't have done it. It's an ethics violation, Pierce! We—or, at least, you—were aware that this company could seriously damage that community, and you said _nothing._ "

He shrugged. "It was a huge account, and the firm couldn't afford to lose it over your moral compass. So I gave you an edited version of the company's plans. It worked. The client was happy. And you were well on your way to this corner office. End of story."

"You _manipulated me_."

"Norah, you're really blowing this out of proportion—"

"Am I? Am I really? How often did you do this? How many times have you fed me a _revised_ version of the truth and sent me in to _lie to people_?" She knew her voice was rising and struggled to find some control.

"Hey now, what is going on in here?" Philip Vargas, founder and CEO of Helios stepped through the door. "I can hear you from down the hall."

Norah turned to face her boss. "Philip, I am sorry to inform you that your son has committed a serious ethics violation. At least once, perhaps more, in the name of profit. And he dragged me in as an unwitting accomplice."

Philip gave an exaggerated sigh. "This is why we didn't tell you. You're our best closer. We couldn't have your over-developed conscience getting in the way."

She gaped at him. " _We_? You knew?"

"Of course, I knew. I know everything that goes on in my company. I know what assets I have and how best to use them."

_Use_. The word rang in her head. She was an asset. Never before had that word made her feel cheap.

Philip continued, "You happen to have an element of southern charm to go along with that keen mind. Clients eat it up. You do your job and you do it damned well. We just keep you informed about what you need to know to get the job done without you having hysterics over things like truth, justice, and the American way." The derision in his tone felt like acid.

With a dawning horror, Norah realized that neither Philip, nor Pierce, nor the company she'd devoted her life to for the last six years were who she thought they were. She was the only one in the room with an ounce of integrity. She squared her shoulders. "I won't be party to that kind of manipulation again."

Philip shrugged in a gesture so redolent of Pierce only minutes before, Norah felt her head spin. "Fine. You're fired."

Norah's mouth dropped open.

"For every award you've won in this company's name, there are dozens of hungry young neophytes dying for your job. You're replaceable. And if you bother spreading this little story, you can be sure I'll blackball you. You won't ever work in this business again. Think about that while you're standing in line for unemployment."

She looked to Pierce, but he said nothing, looking disgusted by her behavior. A year and a half wasted on a man who couldn't be bothered to defend her. "We're through."

"Oh, I think that's been made abundantly clear."

Philip stepped out and called for the security guard. "Please escort Miss Burke from the building and take her keys once she's gathered her things. C'mon, son. I'll buy you a drink."

Norah was still staring at the door minutes after they walked out. Daryl, the security guard, stood awkwardly beside her desk as she piled her personal effects into a box. Riding on temper and righteous outrage as he escorted her to the elevator like some kind of criminal, Norah was grateful no one was left working late to bear witness to her humiliation.

Daryl didn't quite meet her eyes as the elevator doors opened at the parking garage. "I'm sorry about this ma'am, but it's company policy."

"Not your fault."

Fury carried her through traffic. Indignation had her deliberately taking the stairs up to her fourth floor apartment so she could burn off some of the excess energy. Not until she locked the door to her apartment and dumped the box on the kitchen table did anything else filter past that initial reaction of shock and outrage.

Shaking, Norah sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands.

"What have I done?"

Cam really should've been working on year-end reports. It would save him time come tax season. Unfortunately, he much preferred mucking around in the dirt to the spreadsheets that tracked the income and expenses of his business. But since it was the dead of winter, that mostly meant mucking around in virtual dirt, except when he was in his greenhouses. Cam clicked his mouse and dragged to adjust the fence line on the park he wanted to build on Abe's land out at Hope Springs. He'd been fiddling with this design for the better part of four years, mostly for fun, but with a thread of pipe dream in the back of his mind. It had begun as a distraction for his mom while she was in chemo, and he'd made idiotic deals with God that if she made it through, he'd find a way to make it a reality.

Sandra had not only survived, she'd gotten re-elected mayor—a post she'd left for only a six-month hiatus during the worst of her treatments. Cam had taken that as a sign from the Universe that it was time to move forward with the park. His first year as a Councilman had quickly put an end to that idea. But he couldn't seem to let it go in the wake of Abe's announcement.

A murmur of voices preceded the unceremonious opening of his office door by his nursery manager, Violet. "See there, told you he wasn't really workin'."

Cam rose as his mother stepped inside.

"Hey baby. Sorry to interrupt."

He managed, just barely, to stop himself from asking if everything was okay. She was tired of the worry, tired of the solicitude, and just wanted life to get back to normal. "You're not interrupting a thing." He slid his arms carefully around her, thinking she still felt too fragile in his embrace.

"I'll just leave you two to it. Cam, I'm flipping the sign."

He let his mother go. "See you tomorrow, Vi."

Sandra peered, unabashed, at his monitor. "The park at the springs? What's got you looking at this again?"

"Did you know Abe's looking at selling his land out there?"

His mother eased into the chair on the other side of the desk. "No, I hadn't heard that."

Cam told her what he'd heard at the Mudcat the other night. "Any idea who the potential buyer might be?"

"Not a one. Do you think he's serious?"

"Seems like. I told him to hold off on making any final decisions."

Sandra looked at the screen then back at him. "You want the city to buy it."

"That's not news." Before she could say it, he said it himself. "I know the city can't afford it. But he can't sell that land, Mom. It can't change. It's too important to the history of the town. The springs are its heart."

Sandra gave him a look of affectionate forbearance. "The heart of this town is its people."

"And we're losing them left and right." How many families had picked up and left in the last six months? "Everything's changing and I don't know how to stop it."

She rose and came around the desk to frame his face in her hands. "Oh my baby, you've never dealt well with change. That's probably my fault. I did everything I could to keep things the same for you after your dad left."

"You aren't to blame for anything that happened after that." God knew she'd done the best she could, and that was a damned sight better than plenty of people had with two parents.

"Be that as it may, the fact is that life is change. You either adapt and survive or you stagnate and die. I know you love Wishful exactly as it is, and you want to preserve it. That's admirable and is part of what endears you to many of your constituents. But if we're going to make it in today's world, we may have to do some things for our town that we won't necessarily like. We need jobs to keep the people. Without them, we have no town."

Something in her tone put him on edge. "Is there something you're not telling me? Some new development?"

Sandra lifted her hands for peace. "I don't know anything yet. Vick's making noises about having some potentially interesting news by the next City Council meeting."

Cam scowled. City Planner Victor Burgess was as close as he had to a nemesis. Cam felt like he spent more than half his time and energy as a City Councilman trying to block whatever cock-eyed scheme Burgess came up with, in order to keep Wishful from turning into yet another soulless, cookie cutter suburbia. "God forbid the man actually spend some time thinking about what's truly _good_ for this community."

"Now son, that's not fair. Vick does think he's doing what's best for Wishful. It just happens you two don't see eye to eye on what that actually is."

"And we never will."

"Campbell, our town is in trouble. Whatever it is he's got up his sleeve, I want you to give it a fair chance. Promise to at least hear him out."

Cam managed not to grind his teeth. "Yes, ma'am."

He understood that Wishful needed help. It needed jobs and an influx of serious cash into the economy. But he couldn't help hoping that there was some other way than courting the big industries that would come in and change the entire tone of the town.

"That's enough about that. No reason to borrow trouble before we absolutely have to. Are you about done here?"

"I ought to be working on year end reports but, as Violet pointed out, I'm not. You wanna go grab some dinner? We can be completely decadent and hit up Tosca. Ask for extra cheese on everything and tiramisu for dessert." Cam laid a hand over hers. "You deserve to splurge. You're still not back to fighting weight."

Sandra turned her palm up and squeezed his fingers. "It's been eighteen months, baby. I'm fine."

Eighteen months, two weeks, three days since the chemotherapy was pronounced a success. Cam wondered if he'd ever stop counting the days. Probably not, if only to give thanks for each additional one.

"Anyway, I can't. I'm going over to help Molly put together a welcome home party for Liam." She tugged her hand away and picked up her purse.

"Welcome home?"

"He's leaving the service and coming home to Wishful."

The eldest of four, Liam Montgomery and his two brothers had been in the Marines almost as long as Cam could remember. "Wow. I know she's thrilled. Anything I can do to help?" _Please say no_. All he really wanted at this point was to get on home. But if they needed anything, he'd suck it up and deal.

"Not right now, but I'll let you know. The party's at Speakeasy day after tomorrow."

Translation: _Your presence is expected._

Cam held in a sigh. Yet another social engagement he couldn't dodge. At this rate he was earning some serious cave time. He rose to escort her out to her car. "I'll be sure to make some time to stop by and welcome him home."

Sandra rose to her toes to kiss his cheek. "Go home and enjoy your quiet, darlin'. I know you're always worn out by all the social of the holidays, and Miranda's going to expect you at her New Year's Eve party."

He groaned. "Why do I need to be there? The world is going to be there."

She patted his cheek. "Because you are _not_ spending another year at home _alone_ with your dog. You need to be out with other young people having a good time. And you will go because she's family and it will make her happy."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sometimes family obligations were a real bitch.

# Chapter 3

AT THE SOUND OF the crash, Norah jolted upright, hands clenching on the steering wheel as a scream clogged in her throat. But her car was still idling at the light, all in one piece. In park.

When had she done that?

Another tap came on the window. A tap. Not the crash in her dream. "Are you all right?"

Norah turned toward the muffled voice, her brain refusing to engage. A woman hunched outside the passenger side window, concern written across her face.

A car honked behind her, and Norah realized the light was finally green. Before she could shift back into drive, the big truck whipped around her to make the left on to Spring Street, proving that Chicago didn't have the market cornered on impatient drivers.

The woman still stood at the window. Norah rolled it down. "I'm..." What? Not fine. She'd just fallen asleep at the wheel at a stoplight. Thank God this was Wishful instead of somewhere with more traffic. "I must've dozed off."

The woman flashed a pair of dimples. "Well, it is a notoriously long light. Still, why don't you pull over up here and park? Come in and have some coffee." She gestured at the sign for Sweet Magnolias Bakery.

Getting off the road seemed like an excellent plan. "Yeah, okay."

Careful to actually watch for other vehicles, Norah made the turn and parked along the curb. The woman stood holding the door of the bakery open. She wore a red apron printed with a cartoon cat and the slogan _Sass. I haz it._ scrawled beneath.

"Thank you." Norah stepped inside. Scents of sweets and spice and chocolate wrapped around her like the welcoming arms of a favorite grandmother and her mouth immediately began to water.

"Have a seat." The woman gestured to the cluster of brightly painted, mismatched tables and chairs. "I saw you nod off in your car and thought I'd better check on you before you rolled into oncoming traffic."

"Thanks for that. The light was taking forever, and I must've slipped the car into park while I was waiting."

"Thank God for small mercies." She moved behind the stretch of glass cases to pour two cups of coffee. "The sensor's been broken since they put in the light. You were only out for a couple of minutes."

"Long enough to prove I need to get off the road." Norah accepted a steaming mug. "Thank you."

The proprietress slid into the chair across the table. "Long drive?"

"Set out from Chicago at five this morning after...not a lot of sleep." She'd decided it was time to get the hell out of town and finally make that visit to Miranda. Coming to Wishful was the only action she'd taken since her confrontation with Pierce and Philip that she _hadn't_ questioned a thousand times over. Including the fact that when she left this morning, she'd mass blocked every area code in Chicago from her phone. For the next week, she was completely checking out.

"Oh you poor thing." The woman laid her hand over Norah's in a quick gesture of comfort. "Do you have much further to go?"

"Not too far." _Thank God._

"Where are you headed?"

"Here."

The baker angled her head, clearly thinking. "Chicago...you're Miranda's friend, Norah."

Norah was too tired and too amused at how things worked in small towns to be surprised. "Guilty."

"I'm Carolanne Wheeler. Nice to meet you."

Norah hummed an acknowledgment and sipped her drink. "You're a lifesaver with this coffee." She drank more and tried to get her sluggish brain in gear. "It's been a few years since I've been down to visit. Not since Miranda finished residency and came home to open her practice, but I don't remember you being here then."

"I wasn't. Only been open a couple of years."

"Are you from Wishful?"

Carolanne shook her head. "Atlanta originally. I had something of a personal crisis epiphany a few years ago and decided I needed a radical change. So I up and quit my job and moved here to open this place. With a stopover for pastry school."

Short of leaving the country, Norah couldn't imagine a more radical change. "And was that what you needed?"

"Best decision I ever made." She grinned. "It's still a bit touch-and-go on the financial side, but that's the nature of opening a business anywhere. I love Wishful."

"I always have, too. I started coming here with Miranda when we were roommates back in college. It's a really special town."

"You know, Miranda was just in yesterday—she has a cupcake habit—and didn't say anything about you coming."

"She doesn't know. It was a spur of the moment trip. I needed some girl time, so I thought I'd surprise her. Speaking of which, I figure I could soften the imposition with sugar."

"I've got just the thing." Carolanne rose and circled around to pull a tray from the display case. "These are a devil's food cake with a peanut butter ganache and a peanut butter cup hidden in the center. I call them billionaires. Sweet and rich, with just a hint of salty. Perfectly sinful and exactly what a good man should be."

Norah decided she officially loved Carolanne. "I'll take one with a broody gaze and washboard abs."

Carolanne's laughter pealed and something in Norah loosened for the first time in days.

"Oh, you meant the cupcakes."

"Try one."

Norah bit in and groaned as pure decadence exploded in her mouth. "I'll take half a dozen."

As Carolanne rang up the sale, Norah finished her coffee and cupcake. "Thanks for the caffeine and chat. I think I'm awake enough to make it without passing out at the wheel again.

She handed over the box with a smile. "Welcome to Wishful, Norah. I hope you'll stay a while."

Fatigue still dragged at Norah as she stepped outside and back to her car. She drove past the large green that stretched the entire length of Main Street, scanning the shop windows from afar. The buildings themselves looked worn and aged. Comfortable with themselves. Much of the signage was faded, and definitely many of the awnings could use replacing. A few businesses had planters in front of their display windows. Empty this time of year. Everything would perk up, come spring. Local business owners would distract from the ancient brick and peeling paint with fresh plantings and clean, sparkling windows to display their wares. But for now, downtown looked frayed at the edges, as worn down and tired as Norah felt. But everything was still here. Not until the relief bled through her did she realize she'd expected Wishful to be as decimated as Morton.

The last few days had brought so much change. She needed something familiar. She needed Miranda, needed the rest of the crazy Campbell clan.

Norah didn't know what she'd tell them. She wasn't ready to admit she'd been fired. Burkes were raised not to make mistakes and ignorance didn't mitigate the enormity of the one she'd made.

Would it be better not to have found out? To go on with her high powered-life none the wiser?

_No._

She recalled the look of derision on Philip's face, the disgust on Pierce's. No matter what happened from here on out, she was better off without them, better off knowing what kind of men they really were.

The receptionist was on the phone when Norah stepped into Miranda's clinic. The waiting room, like the parking lot outside, was almost empty. An older gentleman in a shearling coat sat reading a magazine. He looked up as she shut the door and gave her a wrinkled smile. Norah nodded and smiled back. He didn't appear to be sick, or agitated by the wait, so she assumed he was waiting on a patient in the back. Good. Maybe that meant Miranda was nearly through for the day.

A door beside the reception desk opened and a nurse in turquoise scrubs walked out. "I'm so sorry. We're just about to close, so this really isn't a good time for you to meet with Doctor—" The nurse cut herself off, eyes widening in surprise. "Norah! Oh my gosh, I thought you were a drug rep."

Norah grinned. "Hey Piper. Long time no see."

"Well I'll say. Damn, girl, how long's it been? Six years?"

"Seven." Norah shifted the cupcake box to give the other woman a one-armed hug. "Not since before you finished nursing school. You look fabulous."

Piper waved a hand. "I look like I've been dealing with a mad rush of flu patients. Don't worry. We've all been practically bathing in disinfectant. Miranda didn't tell me you were coming."

"She didn't know. I had an...unexpected opportunity to get away come up, and I took it."

"Well hallelujah for that. Miranda's going to be beside herself. Hang on a sec." Piper turned to the man in the corner and raised her voice to that register everyone used with the hard of hearing. "Mr. Tolleson, your wife is just about finished. We had to take some blood, so you be sure and take her to get something to eat straight after this. I hear it's meatloaf day at Dinner Belles. I know how Winnie likes her meatloaf."

Mr. Tolleson gave her a thumbs up.

Piper turned back to Norah and dropped her voice. "She has to come in for regular blood work. We help her make sure she gets a dinner date out of it."

Norah grinned. "I expect you could use some sustenance after such a long day." She lifted the cupcake box and opened the top.

"You are a saint. No, a goddess. Statues shall be erected in your honor." Piper grabbed a cupcake and wasted no time in taking a bite. Her head lolled back and she moaned theatrically.

The receptionist, a fortyish woman with a spray of freckles and vivid green eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses, hung up the phone with a clatter. "I swear, if I have to talk to that woman _one more time_ this week..." She let the threat trail off.

Norah offered the box. "Cupcake?"

The woman lifted her fingers in the sign of the cross. "Get thee away, Satan!"

Piper took another bite of cupcake. "Shelby's on the Atkins diet."

"And after the week we've had already, my will power is at an all-time low. But thanks for the offer, sweetie."

"You should totally have waited to start until after New Year's. Who starts a diet the day after Christmas?" The groan of pleasure as Piper finished off the cupcake punctuated the lunacy of such a thing.

"The woman who ate half a chocolate chess pie out of stress due to the presence of her in-laws, that's who." Shelby shuddered. "How my husband came from those two, I will _never know._ "

The door to the exam rooms opened and Miranda edged out, her arm around an older lady. "Now you be sure to run right on over to the pharmacy and pick this up. I called it in already, so Riley ought to have it ready by the time you get there. You start it tonight at bedtime. And let me know if you have any side effects."

As the woman shuffled toward her waiting husband, Miranda shoved a hand through her thick blonde hair and turned, clearly checking for more patients. "Please tell me that's the—" Her eyes widened. "Norah!"

"Surprise." Norah grinned.

Miranda's white coat flared like a cape as she leapt across the room and wrapped Norah in a fierce hug. Norah held tight, burying her face against her friend's shoulder and breathing in the familiar scents of alcohol, starch, and new plastic. Something hot and tight lodged in her throat, and she had to fight to keep the smile in place. "God, I've missed you."

"It's _so_ good to see you!"

"Sorry for just dropping in like this." Norah pulled back. "I hope your guest room is available."

"For you? Always. What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't get away again until summer."

It was on the tip of her tongue to let it all spill out. The fate of Morton. The firing. All the ugliness that had made her pack up and run. But shame and embarrassment locked her throat.

Something must've shown on her face because Miranda frowned and took her by the shoulders again. "Norah? What's wrong? Is it your parents?"

Norah shook her head. "I got dumped." _By my life._

The immediate outpouring of sympathy and suggestions about what her ex could do with his manhood had her throat clogging yet again, even as Piper shoved a cupcake into her hand.

"Give us a chance to change clothes, and we'll go out tonight and drink to the shriveling of his dick. Liam Montgomery's welcome home party's going on over at Speakeasy right now anyway."

Norah let out a bark of laughter. "Oh God, as much fun as that sounds, I'm absolutely wiped. I've been up since four and drove straight through."

"Then we'll stay in and have Chinese and Ben and Jerry's before you crash."

"And tomorrow night you can flirt with the best male specimens Wishful has to offer," Piper added.

"Beg pardon?"

"I'm throwing a big New Year's Eve bash. Everybody who's anybody in our age bracket will be there."

"It'll be good for you." Piper looped an arm through hers. "An excuse to dress up, look fabulous, and party with people who have way better taste and sense than your ex. Throw off all this sad stuff."

Norah held back a grimace. Much as she enjoyed people, that kind of socializing was the last thing she was in the mood for. It was so incompatible with licking one's wounds. But she was the one who'd popped in unannounced. She couldn't expect everyone to change their plans to suit her. She mustered a sassy smile. "Well, I did pack this amazing dress."

"...and we'll be taking applications for the future mother of my grandbabies right over here."

Cam laughed along with everyone else as big bad Staff Sergeant Liam Montgomery blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. "Mom!"

Molly pulled Liam down for a noisy kiss. "Kidding! Mostly. Please, everybody, enjoy the party!"

She and Liam stepped down from the tiny stage that usually hosted local musicians and karaoke. A big _Welcome Home!_ banner stretched above their heads. Tables had been set up along one exposed brick wall, and they were lined with an assortment of Speakeasy's signature pizzas. Cam noticed Liam skirted these, giving a wide berth to everyone of the female persuasion.

The scents of spicy tomatoes, pepperoni, and yeasty crust set Cam's stomach to rumbling, reminding him he hadn't actually gotten around to lunch today, while he was pushing through those year-end reports at the nursery. But social duties had to be satisfied before his appetite. He cornered Liam as the other man lifted a beer from a passing tray.

"Welcome home, Staff Sergeant." Cam offered a hand.

"Good to be back." Liam shot a glance back at his mother. "I think."

"You had to know settling back here was gonna open you wide up for that. You're the oldest."

"Jesus. Is your Mama giving you grief about settling down?"

His family went well out of their way to avoid the topic of him and marriage, a state of affairs Cam was generally completely okay with. "Nope. That honor goes to Mitch."

"Then I expect he'll be happy to commiserate, now that I'm back."

"Gotta admit, I'm surprised. I always figured you for a lifer."

Liam's expression darkened for a fleeting instant and was gone. "Well, I did too, but things change."

"I was really sorry about your dad." A little over a year before, Liam's father, John, had dropped dead of an aneurysm while under the hood of his beloved 1969 Mustang.

"With Wynne off to New Orleans and both Jack and Cruz still in for a while, when this contract was up it just made the most sense to step off the train. Somebody needs to be home to look after Mom."

Cam smiled into his beer. "Don't let her hear you say that." The pint-sized Molly Montgomery had kept three sons, a daughter, and a husband in line, all while working a full-time job and regularly volunteering on various committees around town. She was a force to be reckoned with. But Cam understood the sentiment. After his mother's cancer diagnosis, he'd dropped out of grad school and come home to take care of her.

When Liam didn't respond, Cam followed his gaze across the room to a buxom brunette currently embracing Liam's sister, Wynne.

"Who is _that?_ "

"Who? Riley?"

" _That's_ Riley Gower?" Liam's eyes all but bugged out of his skull as she turned where he could see her face.

Cam elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "Pick your jaw up off the floor, man, before your mama sees you. Yeah, that's Riley Gower. I don't guess you've had occasion to see her since she grew up."

"She's my baby sister's best friend. I haven't seen her since I enlisted. She was a freshman in high school, I guess."

Which explained the shock. Since then, Riley had gone from awkward and a little bit heavy to 1940s bombshell.

"She bought out the pharmacy when your mom decided to semi-retire earlier this year," said Cam, though he was pretty sure, given the look on the other man's face, that wasn't the information he was looking for. "She's single."

Liam shook himself and turned his focus back to Cam. "What?"

"Riley. She's not seeing anybody."

"Wouldn't matter if she was. I was just...surprised, is all."

_Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, buddy._ But Cam gave the man a break and changed the subject. "So, what's the plan now that you're back?"

"I'm not sure what to do with myself just yet. It'll take time to get used to being without my unit, without orders, but, I have to say, I'm looking forward to being my own man."

"I'll certainly keep my ears open. If I hear of anybody looking to hire, I'll let you know."

"Appreciate it."

"Oh, you helping anybody find a job. That's rich, Crawford."

Cam turned toward the voice dripping with sarcasm and barely repressed venom.

Roy McKennon stepped up, a long-neck bottle hanging loose between two fingers. "The Councilman here has made it a _priority_ to block any and all incoming industry to town. So don't be thinkin' he's got your best interests at heart."

Sometimes Cam really hated civil service. "Now Roy, that's not entirely accurate. There were reasons for—"

"Reasons?" Roy pivoted to face him. The slur in his voice made it evident he'd had more than a couple of beers. "What _reasons_ do you have for stopping Ford from building that manufacturing plant here? What _reasons_ do you have for denying hard-working people the possibility of a _job?_ " Roy's voice was rising, and Cam was aware of others starting to look their way.

Cam knew he needed to diffuse the situation. "That's not what I was doing."

"I got three kids and a wife to support, boy. Since the plant closed, we've got no insurance. Had to go on goddamned assistance like a bunch of reprobates. April made me let her sign up for WIC and Medicaid just so the kids are covered. My youngest has chronic asthma." Roy punctuated each point with a jab to Cam's sternum.

Though his own temper stirred, Cam kept his voice level. "It's a tough place to be in, but there's no shame in asking for help when you need it."

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Roy's face reddened. "You've got no right! No goddamned right to do _anything_ to stop job opportunities from coming to this town." He lunged for Cam, the bottle crashing to the floor as he swung one meaty fist.

Liam snagged Roy's arm, twisting it behind his back until the other man howled. "You need to settle on down now, Mr. McKennon. This isn't the place."

Speakeasy fell silent, all eyes turned on them.

Roy subsided in Liam's grip, his burst of liquid courage evidently spent. April McKennon, a worn-looking woman in her early forties, crossed the room, her face set in lines of abject mortification.

"We're going home." Her tone brooked no argument. "I'm very sorry for this. Liam, we welcome you back to Wishful and thank you for your service to our country."

"Yes ma'am." He released her husband. "Thank you."

"Get to the car, Roy."

Roy looked as if he might argue, but his wife just pointed with the well-honed authority of a mother of three, and he headed for the door.

April turned back toward Cam. "I'm sorry. Roy's a proud man, and this...financial downturn has been really hard on him. He needs somebody to blame, and he's settled on you."

"I understand." Cam thought of the conversation with his mother about how they might have to do things they didn't necessarily like in order to save Wishful. "I swear to you, Mrs. McKennon, I'm trying my hardest to do what's best for this town."

"I'm sure you think you are." Without another word, she turned and followed her husband to the door, her head held high, her shoulders stiff.

Cam ached for her, knowing that the embarrassment over the scene her husband caused upset her as much as his unemployment.

Conversation gradually rose again in the wake of their departure. Cam rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as he turned back to Liam. "Well. Sorry 'bout that. I'm not exactly the most popular around here these days."

"Did you really block a Ford plant?"

Tucker McGee stepped up and handed Cam a beer. "Reckon you could use this. Cam was _not_ , in fact, a one man army against Ford. He simply brought up all the relevant environmental impacts such a plant would have on the area, and the bulk of the City Council backed him up and decided it wasn't the right answer. Plus, I heard they got more favorable terms from some other state offering tax incentives and such that we couldn't."

"Not that the general public seems to be aware of that. I was the most vocal opponent, so I'm the scapegoat for why we didn't get it. Times are really tough for a lot of folks." Aware that more people had queued up to talk to Liam, Cam gave in to his own keen desire to escape. "Anyway, I meant what I said. If I can do anything to help you find something, I will."

"Thanks again."

Tucker followed Cam over to the buffet. "It's not your fault, you know."

"I know that." But it was hard not to feel some responsibility as April's parting words echoed through his head. _I'm sure you think you are._ Was he wrong? His duty was to the townspeople, to his constituents, not just to further his own agenda of preserving the town exactly as he wanted it. He was starting to lose hope that there was any way to satisfy them and assuage his conscience.

Clad in yoga pants and an ancient Ole Miss sweatshirt that was a dozen washings away from losing its collar, Norah sat curled on one end of Miranda's sofa, a pint of General Tso's chicken in her hands as the credits began to roll on _Serendipity._ They'd talked most of the way through the movie, catching up on things that hadn't come up in their twice weekly phone conversations. __ More relaxed than she'd been in ages, Norah let her head fall back to the cushions. "Chinese food and chick flicks. You do know how to take care of me."

"I am a medical professional." Miranda polished off the last of her sweet and sour chicken.

"I miss this. I miss _you._ Chicago hasn't been the same since you moved home."

"Feeling a bit like the last southerner standing?"

"Like a zoo exhibit at times." Norah grimaced.

"I know you love your job, and you've invested a lot in Helios, but there's nothing that says you can't move back below the Mason Dixon line, you know. Especially since you're not tied to Pierce anymore."

_Even less reason than you know_. Now was the time to tell her the full truth, come clean about being fired. But she just...couldn't. Not yet. Because Miranda, God love her, was a steamroller, and she'd push as much as Norah's parents, albeit out of love rather than her own agenda. Norah just couldn't deal with that yet. Not until she'd reconciled it in her own mind, figured out what she was going to do next. The admission of failure would be easier to face with a plan. Right?

Not that she had any prior experience with failure. Burkes didn't fail. Period.

"Did that asshat break your heart, honey?"

Norah considered the question rather than offering the flip response that sprang to her lips. Had Pierce broken her heart? In the few days since she'd confronted him, she'd felt no grief over the loss of their relationship, only for the damage to her career.

"Less my heart and more my pride."

"Sometimes that hurts worse. And I'm going to make a confession here. I'm glad y'all broke up. He always felt like a very pretty accessory to that whole high-powered lifestyle rather than real relationship material."

Norah's mouth dropped open.

"I'm sorry, I know you must've seen something in him or you wouldn't have dated him in the first place but...you're worth so much more than that."

The laugh bubbled up, expanding in her chest until it burst out in a hoot. "Oh my God, Pierce would just _die._ A pretty accessory." Norah bent over in helpless giggles. "God, he really was." He was, she was shamed to realize, merely an extension of her career. And wasn't that a sad testament to the state of her life? The thought sobered her up. "But seriously, I'll take this as the sign it is."

"Of what?"

"That I'm not made for the kind of deep, long-term relationships that lead to marriage and family."

"That's horse shit."

The invective made Norah want to hug her all over again. God it was good to be back in the South.

"Is it? I'm ambitious and talented. The child of two equally ambitious, talented people who tried to make it work and failed spectacularly. Burkes excel professionally and absolutely tank in relationships."

"That doesn't mean you'll fail. Just means you haven't found the right guy."

"I can't imagine the right guy. The guy who can deal with my ambition and not expect me to put it away to do the whole wife and baby thing. I'd go crazy inside a year."

"I'm sorry, did it turn back to 1954 and I missed it? Live in the now, girl. Anyway, I think you're selling yourself short."

Norah jerked a shoulder. "And what about you? You've been doing the perpetually single dance since med school. If you made it past the third date, that was a long-term relationship."

"I'm careful," Miranda corrected. "Especially since I came home. Wishful is a pretty damned tiny dating pool, and it's not getting any bigger. Not usually anyway. I fully expect Liam to have half a dozen proposals before summer."

There was something in her friend's too off-hand manner. "That annoys you."

"What?"

"That all these women are going to be interested in this Liam guy. Who is he?"

Miranda waved a dismissive hand. "The Campbells and the Montgomerys have always been kind of intertwined. There are four of them and five of us in similar age ranges. Liam's the oldest. A good friend of Mitch's. He went straight into the Marines from high school. He just finished his third term and decided to move home to be closer to his mom. She's widowed."

"You like the hot ex-soldier," Norah proclaimed, happy to shift the conversation away from the dismal state of _her_ love life.

"How do you know he's hot?"

"Goes without saying. He risked his life for our country."

"He was hot before that."

"I knew it! You like him!"

"I _did_ like him. I had a ludicrous crush on him in high school, of the variety you can only have for your older brother's best friend. Of course, he never actually saw me as anything other than Randa Panda because my rat bastard of a brother told him I still had the bear I carried around as a toddler."

Norah winced in sympathy. "Have you seen him since high school?"

"Once at a Christmas party a few years back, when he was home on furlough. Where I was still Randa Panda. I freaking _hate_ that nickname."

"So I gather you didn't have plans to show up at his welcome home party tonight in some knockout dress to make him realize you grew up?"

"Of course not." Miranda dimpled. "I invited him to _my_ party tomorrow night, where I'll be wearing some knockout dress to make him realize I grew up. Not that I expect it to work, but it seems worth the effort to set the record straight."

"Even though you totally still have Pammy the Panda?"

"In the name of our decade of friendship, you will take that to your grave."

Norah nodded soberly. "Naturally."

"On that note, I have something for you." Miranda unfolded her long legs from the sofa and wandered into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with two slices of pie and a tiara.

"You got me a breakup pie?"

"Of course I did. You know the rule. 'When they don't stay, it's queen for a day.' So technically your queenship lasts through the party tomorrow." Miranda set the pie down and tucked the tiara in Norah's hair.

"Don't need to be queen. Just need my best gal pal."

"I'm always here. How long can you stay?"

There it was. Another opportunity to spill her guts. Norah tried to gather her courage as she dug into the French silk pie, but when she opened her mouth, a lie slipped out. "It's up in the air. I took a leave of absence. I need some time to figure things out." The last part, at least, was true.

_You are an unmitigated coward._

"Good. You work too hard. Stay as long as you like. You know you've always got a place with me."

And that was why she'd come. Because wherever life took her, Miranda was always home.

Norah worked up a smile. "It's good to be back."

# Chapter 4

CAM WAS LATE TO the party and well aware he was gonna hear about it. He'd considered not coming at all, but he wouldn't put it past his cousins to come haul him bodily out of his house, and he preferred to show up under his own steam. Hush leapt down from the truck and Cam shut the door, trudging up the car-lined street toward Miranda's place. His dog ran ahead, darting from bush to tree to car tire to sniff. He was probably gonna hear about having brought her, too, but she'd been stuck in the house all day while he helped his mom prepare for _her_ party, and Cam figured it was a good escape mechanism. Win-win.

He didn't bother knocking, just opened the front door and stepped inside. Music pumped through the lower floor, underscored by the din of conversation. People spilled into the rooms on either side of the entryway, surrounding the buffet in the dining room, trailing into the kitchen. Libation. That's what he needed before facing the firing squad.

"This is taking fashionably late to a new extreme, don't you think?" Tyler Edison looked amused from her post just inside the dining room.

"Yeah, well, my date took forever to get ready. All that primping."

"If I'd known fur was an option, I'd have brought her a playmate. Speaking of, you might want to nab her before she bowls over the impromptu guest of honor."

Cam spun just as Hush bolted into the den, making a beeline for a brunette in a little black dress. He leapt forward, but before he could get out a command, the woman was turning and crouching in her high, high heels, arms open to receive a hundred pounds of enthusiastic canine. They collided with joyful sounds on both sides. Hush trembled with excitement, tail wagging ninety to nothing, imperiling the knees of everyone around them as the woman rubbed her down. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing? Who's a good girl? Who's a cute puppy?" She threw back her head in a laugh as his dog began bathing her face in kisses, her dark hair cascading in waves down her shoulders, her mouth curved in a smile that sucker punched Cam straight in the gut. His brain stuttered to a halt.

_Wow._

"I don't think anybody would call her a puppy." Miranda turned a disapproving glare in his direction. "Cam, why in God's name did you bring your dog?"

"She's not two yet. Still a puppy." He crossed to them and grabbed Hush by the collar. "And still learning her manners, I'm afraid. Sit, Hush."

After a moment of indecision, Hush plopped her butt to the floor, tail still thumping a steady tattoo.

The woman looked up at him, peat-dark eyes ripe with amusement. "Aren't you confusing her with multiple commands?"

She looked vaguely familiar, though Cam knew he'd never met her. No way would he have forgotten that smile. "No. Her name is Hush. It started out Sadie, but she talked so often the first few months and got told to hush, that's what she started coming to, so it stuck." He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet, sorry when her slim fingers released his.

"Oh Norah, your dress!"

That explained the familiarity. He'd seen pictures of Miranda's old college roommate. Cam looked down, noted the white dog hair clinging to the fabric and winced. "Sorry. I've got a lint roller in my truck. I can go get it, if you like."

"Oh smooth, Crawford," Piper crooned with a laugh. "Great first impression."

Norah waved a dismissive hand. "It's just fur. A perfectly reasonable price to pay for puppy kisses from this sweet baby." She scratched Hush under the chin, sent her back leg kicking. "You're just a big teddy bear, aren't you, girl?"

Delighted, Hush began to speak in her half howl, half singing voice as she slumped in a happy, boneless heap against Norah's legs.

Norah braced herself for the extra weight and laughed again. "I stand corrected. A Wookie in a dog suit."

"Half Alaskan malamute, half Great Pyrenees."

"And all fur." Miranda scowled. "Cam, she's shedding on _everything_."

"She's not hurting a thing. Are you, baby?" As if to illustrate the point, Norah slipped out of her shoes and dropped back to the floor, neatly tucking her legs so Hush could sprawl across her lap.

Miranda threw up her hands. "Fine. You two dog people have fun. I'm going to see if I need to put out more sausage balls."

"I'll come with." Piper followed her toward the dining room.

"Cam, if she gets into my buffet, it's your head."

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted his cousin and watched her stalk toward the refreshments, where Liam was chatting with Tucker. Time to test his good fortune. "Is this floor taken?"

"Have a seat."

He took up a position at the other end of his dog. "She's pissed at me."

"She'll get over it. We'll have to clean up the house again after the party anyway."

"I suspect I may have just drafted myself for that job."

"Well, you got points with _me_ for bringing your dog to a people party."

"Despite the mess to your dress?"

"Dresses can be cleaned. I don't get to spend nearly enough time with dogs." When Hush shifted in her lap, pawing her hand closer to the broad expanse of chest, Norah obliged, wringing a contented sigh from his pooch.

"Don't have one yourself?"

"I live in an apartment and work long hours. It wouldn't be fair to have a dog under those circumstances. I could have a cat but...why?"

"True enough. Did you have dogs growing up?"

"The only place we lived that would've been good for a dog was Hattiesburg, and we left there when I was eleven and my folks divorced. After that it was a string of big cities. Houston, Cincinnati, Philadelphia. A year in Boston before I left for school. My mom is a gifted pediatric surgeon, who's always worked insane hours. My dad is a civil rights attorney who does the same, so a dog wasn't really an option in either household."

"That's just tragic."

"Little bit. But hard to argue when they're both out there fighting for the greater good."

There was something in her tone that made him wonder what else they'd done or, more likely, hadn't done that she brushed off as being okay because they were doing good elsewhere.

"You never got one yourself?"

"I thought about it in college, but I knew I'd likely wind up back in the city for grad school. I promised myself if I ended up somewhere suitable after, then I'd get one. But I wound up staying in Chicago and—surprise, surprise—working as much as either of my parents." She shrugged and focused hard on sussing out the rest of Hush's favorite spots. "Sometimes I'll stop by the dog park down from my apartment and just sit a while and watch them play. It's relaxing." A faint wash of color stained her cheeks as she glanced up at him, before turning back to the dog.

Christ, she was breaking his heart. Cam couldn't imagine life without a dog. "Well, considering my dog appears to be completely besotted with you, seems like this trip should be a good opportunity for you to get your fill."

"You don't mind loaning her out?"

"She might come with her owner, when he can get free."

Norah angled her head to study him, the lift of her brows indicating she'd caught his subtle flirtation. "How is it we've never met before this? In all the years I've known Miranda, all the times I've come home with her, I've met your entire family, including your mom. But never you."

Cam leaned back against the wall, trailing his hand over Hush's flank as he considered the question. "Well, when y'all were in school at Ole Miss, I was over at Auburn. It's a much longer drive, so I didn't come home as often." A fact he now had cause to regret.

"You never visited Miranda in Chicago, while she was doing residency."

"Hate the city." He didn't bother repressing the automatic shudder. "And you haven't been back down here since she moved home. I'd have heard about it if you had. I've heard a great deal about you over the years. According to family reputation, you're damn near perfect."

Something flickered across her face at that, but her features smoothed quickly out into a self-deprecating smile. "Certifiable, type A overachiever, absolutely. But not perfect."

"Lies!"

They both looked up as Mitch ambled over.

"Don't listen to her, Cam. She's just being modest." He shifted his attention to Norah. "You've been hiding."

"Not hiding. You've been circulating. I'm pretty sure I saw you making eyes at the woman who runs the hardware store."

"Tyler? Nah. We're just friends. Besides, you know I only have eyes for urbane brunettes." Mitch held out both hands. "Come here and give me a hug."

Norah dislodged the dog and let Mitch draw her to her feet, where he promptly bent her back into a dip. "Hello gorgeous. I hear that a breakup pie was purchased last night and that you are, at long last, on the market again. Finally coming back to Mississippi to date me properly?"

Cam felt an immediate and irrational desire to call dibs.

When Mitch made to kiss her, Norah stopped his mouth with a finger. "Just because you're free with your kisses did not make it a date."

"It was totally a date." Mitch flashed an unrepentant grin.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire, Mitch Campbell."

Mitch laid a hand over his heart. "Darlin', you can light my pants on fire any time."

She slapped him hard on the ass. "That's as far as you're getting with me."

"More's the pity. Who was the idiot? That shark in Armani I met that time?"

A woman like her had been with a man like that?

"Pierce. Yes, that would be the idiot in question."

"Never did like him."

"You only met him once."

"He was too slick. And he had this look like he was calculating how he could use everything you said to his advantage."

"Well that's an astute observation. He did—does—exactly that. I never thought anything about it because that's something we both do for a living."

"With you it's personal, though. You're good because you can read people, figure out what they want, what they need, what they'll respond to. Because you legitimately give a damn about them getting the best outcome. Pierce seemed a lot more self-serving."

Because he was watching her, Cam saw the flash of surprise and relief before Norah leaned over and wrapped her arms around Mitch in a tight hug. "Thank you. I really needed to hear that."

Mitch ran a hand over her hair. "Hey, I've got your back. Do I need to make a trip up to kick his ass?"

She favored him with an indulgent smile. "As gratifying as that might be, having you brought up on assault charges in my honor isn't quite the resolution I had in mind."

"I guess that'd be kinda weird since y'all work together."

Cam caught the faint tightening around her mouth before she flashed another smile. If he hadn't seen the real thing when she'd fawned on Hush, he wouldn't have known the difference.

_Something tender there._

"Lesson learned."

Mitch made a show of cracking his knuckles. "The offer to kick his ass still stands."

"You're sweet. Now go use your powers to woo some other unsuspecting female. I am wise to your ways."

"You wound me, madam."

"Pretty sure that ego of yours will survive." But Norah grinned as she said it.

Mitch grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips. "Glad you made it down, finally."

She shook her head as he walked away. "Shameless."

Cam got to his feet. "He likes you."

"He likes everyone." Amusement still colored her tone. "I enjoy his company, enjoy flirting with him because he's exceptionally good at it, but it's never been a date."

Not for Mitch's lack of trying, Cam knew. His cousin was an incorrigible flirt who loved and appreciated women of all varieties. "Well now you're even more intriguing. Few women say no to Mitch."

Norah smiled. "Then he needs some practice. Besides, I don't have the energy to keep up with him."

"Really? According to family stories, you're the poster child for extrovert."

"I like people, and I'm good with them, which comes in handy in my line of work. But I spend so much time 'on' for my job, I need to be able to turn it off and decompress the rest of the time. Mitch never turns off. The one time he visited for longer than two days, I wanted to sleep for a week."

Cam took a closer look, noting the subtle strain and the tension in her posture now that she wasn't distracted by petting Hush. "You needed to recharge when you came here."

She looked up at him, lifting a brow.

"One introvert recognizes the signs of another. You weren't expecting a big party."

"No, but I dropped in completely unannounced, and it's hard to consider a night of good company a hardship." Her hand dropped back to Hush, scratching absently behind her ears.

The feeling of unexpected kinship surprised him. "I'll drink to that."

"That might be a little difficult, as neither of us presently has a drink."

"An oversight easily rectified. What can I get you?"

"I'd love a cider. Thanks." At the sight of something across the room, she loosed a quiet sigh and braced herself.

Tucker was headed their way. "Listen, why don't you take Hush out back, get some air and a few minutes of quiet. I'll run interference and meet you out there."

Gratitude flashed in her eyes. "That's the best offer I've had all night."

"Go make your escape." _Time for an interception._

Norah stepped into the relative quiet of the night, Hush close on her heels. There were too many people in the house, too many familiar faces she'd met over the years, and they all had expectations about who she was, how she should behave. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her exploits and successes, or entertain them with tales of the fast-paced, jet-setter life they imagined she led. She felt like a fraud. Keeping up the mask, subtly steering the conversation away from herself was taking all her energy. At least midnight wasn't that far off. Surely the party wouldn't last too much past that.

Hush peeled away to make a sniffing exploration of the fence perimeter. Norah walked out into the yard and looked up at the stars. Millions of tiny pinpricks winking against a sea of velvety black. She thought she could pick out the Big Dipper and maybe Orion's Belt. _I should've paid more attention when I took all those out-of-towners to the planetarium._

Cam stepped up beside her. "Bet you don't get skies like these in Chicago."

Norah accepted the bottle he held out. "No, definitely not. I'm surprised nobody's spilled out. It's a gorgeous night."

"It's below freezing."

"Pssh. There's six inches of fresh snow on the ground and sub-zero wind chills in Chicago right now. This is balmy."

"Balmy or not, you're going to freeze in that dress."

As if to illustrate his point, a frigid wind stirred the trees, painting gooseflesh along her exposed skin. The warmth of Cam's coat settled around her shoulders, draping almost all the way to her hemline. It smelled of him, of green, growing things that reminded her of the long, lazy summer days of childhood. Appealing. Like the man himself and his ridiculously charming dog.

"Thanks, but won't you get cold now?" She looked over in time to see the flash of his smile and wished her eyes had adjusted enough to catch the wink of dimples she'd seen inside. She had a serious weakness for dimples.

"First, I have sleeves. Second, manly men don't get cold." He took a long pull on his beer. "But I can go back in if you'd rather be alone."

She studied his shadowed face. "You'd really be okay with that, wouldn't you? With rescuing me and being sent back inside."

"You needed a chance to breathe. I don't expect some kind of reward for recognizing that."

How incredibly refreshing. "That kind of intuition is rare and highly under-appreciated. You're the only person in there who recognized that I was about ready to crawl out of my skin."

"I get the need for quiet. I don't much like people horning in on mine, but that's the nature of the holidays, especially in my family."

"Well you have my thanks. And my company if you want it."

"In that case, c'mon." Cam grabbed her free hand and led her around the side of the house. A porch swing dangled from the limb of a massive oak tree. "We'll be more out of the wind here."

He sat, tugging her down beside him. One arm draped along the back of the swing. The move was such a classic, Norah's lips twitched into a smile. But he didn't shift to curve his arm around her shoulders or pull her closer. Instead, he leaned his head back and looked back up at the night sky. In the summer, when the tree leafed out, this would be a quiet, shady spot. For now, there was still a good view of the stars through the bare branches. The music inside was a low murmur through the glass.

Norah took the opportunity to study him from the corner of her eye. He was leaner than Mitch, though just as tall, with the blond hair characteristic of most of the Campbell clan. His was a good face, she decided. Not classically handsome like Pierce, but caught somewhere between boyish and rugged. It was a _real_ face, and just now it was relaxed in lines of utter contentment.

"I envy you." She didn't realize she'd said it aloud until he looked over at her.

"Why?"

_Your family. Your comfort in your life. Your direction._ But she could say none of those things. "Your ability to relax. I'm terrible at it."

"You're still on city speed. I expect it takes practice. Lean on back."

She tried to force herself to relax, but was too aware of the weight of his arm on the swing behind her and the heat of his leg pressed companionably against hers on the tiny seat. If she really relaxed, she'd be snuggling into him.

"There's nothing you have to do, nothing demanding your attention. No reason why you can't stop a while."

Norah couldn't stop the bitter laugh. "You have no idea how true that is."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"Not a good one."

"That why you can't relax?"

"Yeah."

Cam toed the swing into motion and momentum did what she couldn't, tipping her back into the crook of his arm. She was so damned tired, and it felt so nice to lean against him, she let herself have the illusory comfort of contact. Simple and undemanding. God, when was the last time anyone just let her _be?_

"I'm a good listener." The quiet statement got to her.

"I haven't even told Miranda why I'm really here." She didn't mean to say it. But the dark and the closeness seemed to invite confidences as much as he did.

"Not just a visit, then."

"I'm running away." Oh, it galled her to admit it.

Cam stopped their rocking, tension snapping into his body. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Did the ex hurt you?"

"No. No, not the way you mean. I'm not coming from an abusive relationship or something. Despite its longevity, I'm not entirely sure it even merits the term relationship."

He relaxed again and Norah felt the stroke of his hand down the length of her hair, the touch of hands that knew how to handle delicate things. Not that she'd ever thought of herself as delicate. She remembered that he ran a nursery and spent his days with plants. That explained the scents on his coat.

Cam said nothing as her brain continued to spin, just kept stroking her hair. Why should that small thing be so soothing? She found the words spilling out in a whisper. "I got fired."

He didn't flinch, didn't pause, just shifted his hand beneath her hair to rub at the tension in her nape. "Why?"

"I found out my firm had engaged in ethics violations. Had involved me in ethics violations by withholding certain information."

"Your firm or your ex?"

Oh, he was astute. "Both. I confronted them about it and said I wouldn't be party to any more of that sort of practice. Evidently, I overestimated my importance to the firm."

"Is there some professional organization you can report them to? Some group that can sanction them or yank their license or whatever?"

"We don't have any kind of body like that. The American Marketing Association and the Public Relations Society of America have codes of ethics, but membership isn't mandatory. There's not really anybody who can do a damned thing. There's no ethics police."

"Well that sucks. Either way it sounds like you're better off out of there. They weren't your caliber of people."

"Knowing I have the moral high ground is cold comfort when it comes to trying to get another job without references. I've been with this firm since graduate school."

"References or not, I'm sure your work speaks for itself. Not to mention your academic credentials. Twice valedictorian, top of your class at Northwestern. Taylor medalist at Ole Miss."

Norah sat up to look at him. "How do you know all that?"

"Miranda talks a lot. She's really proud of you. Come back here." Cam pulled her back where she'd been tucked up against him. "Is that why you haven't told her? Are you worried she'll think of you differently?"

"No. I know she loves me no matter what, which is why I came. But I know her. She'll try to steamroll me to make a big change, and right now I just...I guess I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

"I'm hearing a lot more upset about the job than the guy."

He was fishing and Norah knew it. She found she didn't actually mind. "The job mattered. Pierce didn't. Or rather, he was an extension of the job. Work has always defined my life, defined me. I don't know who I am without it."

"You're more than your job, Norah. From my point of view, you're a woman who takes her commitments and responsibilities very seriously. Clearly your parents did a great job instilling in you a hard work ethic, but they missed out on some of the essentials."

Norah bristled and started to sit up, but he held her in place.

"Don't get your dander up. I'm not insulting your folks. But they clearly didn't teach you that the other side of hard work is play. That sometimes you just need to be still. That it's okay to just _be._ They didn't teach you the value of sitting on a swing in the dark or dancing under the stars. All that's important too."

She tried to imagine her parents doing any of those things and couldn't see it. Her father was always working on some brief and, when she wasn't at the hospital, her mother was always keeping up-to-date with the medical literature, even over Saturday morning coffee. And Norah had followed right along in their footsteps within the confines of her own field. She understood work. Work had always been a constant. It made sense in a world that otherwise often didn't seem to follow any rules.

"Did I piss you off?"

"No, I was just trying to remember the last time I truly just chilled. Went to a movie without trying to analyze the advertising campaign or to a party without automatically building mental dossiers on all the attendees. And I...can't."

"Seems like maybe you need a remedial course in just plain living."

Christ, that was sad. "Are you volunteering as teacher?"

"Why not? I'm here, you're here, and they're playing one of my favorites." Cam brought the swing to a stop and rose, setting both their drinks at the base of the tree. He held out a hand. "Dance with me."

Norah laid her hand in his, letting the coat fall to the swing as she stood and stepped into him. She didn't notice the cold, not when the warmth of his hand curved at her waist and he began circling her to the quiet rhythm. She angled her head, straining to identify the music because it seemed safer to focus on that than on how it felt to be pressed almost against him. "Moon River. Old school."

"Other kids got _Goodnight Moon._ I got this."

The idea of it delighted her. "Please tell me you had one of those Fisher Price record players in your room."

"For a little while, but it didn't survive my cousins very long. No, I had this little tape deck thing. Mom filled up both sides of a tape with the song, and every night she'd put me to bed and press play. I'd fall asleep serenaded by Sinatra."

"That sounds lovely." Smiling, she tipped her head back to look at the sky again. "This is lovely."

"So are you."

Her eyes had adjusted enough to see his face in the faint cast of light from the house, and what she saw there made her pulse leap. _Foolish_ , she thought. Theirs was a temporary intimacy, a product of shared secrets and darkness. But for all that it was fleeting, it was so incredibly tempting to give into the desire to touch and be touched. To feel, for a little while, as if she wasn't alone.

One corner of Cam's mouth lifted, drawing her gaze. God, he had beautiful lips. As the instrumental solo began, he slid one hand around her back, shifting from a dance to an embrace. Her hand flexed on his shoulder, with nerves or to get a better grip on him, she didn't know. But he didn't kiss her, instead nudging her head to his shoulder and resting a cheek on her hair. After a brief flare of disappointment, she relaxed against him and lost herself to the music and the solid, steady feel of him against her. By the time the song ended, Norah found herself soothed, as much by the man as the dance.

Reluctant to step away, she lifted her head. "I feel better. Thanks for listening. And for the dance."

"Anytime." Cam brushed the hair back from her face with another of those feather-soft touches.

Inside, somebody shouted. The music cut off and the countdown began.

Cam didn't drop his hand. With each second that ticked by, Norah's heart kicked harder.

"...six...five..."

He stroked his thumb along the curve of her cheek, and she couldn't stop herself from leaning into the touch.

"...three...two...one!"

"Happy New Year," she whispered.

He bent his head so she felt the warmth of his breath. "Happy New Year."

They held, trembling, at that delicious edge of temptation as noisemakers and whoops sounded from inside. She didn't know who moved first, only that his hand tangled in her hair and the mouth pressed to hers was no gossamer brush of lips. Heat sparked between them, rushing along her skin, heady and welcome.

_God, yes._

She rose up, twining her arms around his neck to draw him closer and held on for the ride. He changed the angle, drew them both deeper into the kiss. The taste of him punched into her and lit up nerve endings she hadn't known existed. It was so wholly unexpected and _glorious_ to be lost in a tangle of sensations and needs.

"Hush! Get out of my flower bed!"

Norah broke off, reflexively turning her head toward Miranda's shout. Cam made a growl of protest.

"Um..." It was all she could manage with her brain cells obliterated. She was deliciously dizzy, still gripping his shoulders for balance.

He pressed his brow to hers, his breath gratifyingly unsteady. "How long are you staying?"

"Longer now, I think."

"Good." Reluctance in every gesture, he eased back and released her. "I've gotta go rescue my dog."

Still swaying, Norah watched him walk back around the side of the house to accept Miranda's wrath. She lifted a hand to her still tingling lips and let out a trembling exhale.

_Oh boy_.

# Chapter 5

"YOU'RE WOOL GATHERING."

NORAH looked up at the accusation, noting the mix of amusement and concern in her companion's eyes. He flashed an easy smile in response to her sheepish expression, and it was a lovely smile. But it wasn't the one she wanted to see.

"Sorry, Mitch. I'm afraid I'm not the best company."

"He's not worth it."

"Who?" She hoped she didn't look guilty.

"The shark. He didn't deserve you."

"I wasn't thinking about Pierce." She'd been thinking of Cam and wondering why he hadn't been at the New Year's Day bowl game marathon at his aunt and uncle's house.

"Have you got some other reason for frowning, sugar?" He leaned back in the booth, arms spread out along the back in a relaxed posture that invited confidences. Norah had reason to know it was, quite often, his default position, part of what made him so appealing. She also knew she could move around to his side of the booth and burrow in for one of his bear hugs, and he'd listen and make outraged noises in all the right places because he cared. She'd always loved that about him. But when she broke her silence, it needed to be with Miranda first.

"You mean other than the fact that I will soon have to return to the land of crappy tea?" She sipped at the perfectly mixed, syrupy beverage in her glass.

"Ah, work then. You know you're not supposed to think about work when you're on vacation."

"And when have you ever known me not to think about work?"

"You're the poster child for workaholic."

"It ain't good for a body to do nothin' but work." Mama Pearl, the heart, soul, and very opinionated mouth of Dinner Belles, leaned over to refill the half-empty glass of sweet tea.

"I've been hearing that a lot lately." Norah thought again of Cam. _You're more than your job,_ he'd said. _Then what the hell am I?_

"Maybe it's the good Lord sendin' you a message to slow down, child. Time you be payin' attention. It shouldn't take you three years to come back down to visit family." The broad, dark face was set in lines of censure.

Norah loved that Wishful was a place where they understood that family was more than blood. "Yes ma'am, you're absolutely right. Thank you for the pie, by the way. It was fabulous."

"Maybe you'll pick better next time."

"I could hardly pick worse."

"Need to skip out on all them Yankee boys and come find yourself a good Southern man."

Mitch stretched his arms wide across the back of the booth. "I keep telling her I'm available. She keeps breaking my heart."

He was handsome, funny, loyal. They had history. But he just didn't make her heart race. Unlike his quieter cousin. "I'm pretty sure your heart is made of silly putty and easily mended. You fall in love as often as some men change socks."

"What can I say? Women are fascinating creatures and there are so many flavors to try."

Mama Pearl wagged one stubby finger in his face. "One of these days, Mitch Campbell, you gonna find yourself one that ruins you for all others, and we all gonna enjoy the show."

Norah laughed as Mama Pearl ambled away to another table. "Oh, I would love to be around to see the woman who manages _that._ "

"You could be. What's _really_ holding you in Chicago?"

_Less than you can imagine_. But that was on the list of things she really didn't want to think about just now. "And what would a high-powered marketing executive do down here?"

"I'm sure you could charm everybody into something. I never met anybody who could say no to you."

"Oh they exist. They're just really rare. But seriously, I could work up full marketing campaigns for every business in town in a year—not that most of them would even see the need for my kind of skills—then what? I have an urban skill set."

"There are urban centers below the Mason-Dixon line. You'd at least be close enough to visit more easily and more often. And we could steal you for Christmas. Miranda told me what happened this year."

Norah shrugged. "It's the Burke way. We are our own brand of dysfunction."

"Which is why we made you an honorary Campbell years ago."

"Don't think I don't appreciate that. Your family means more to me than you can possibly know. But what would my mother do? Dad's finally moving on. She's married to her work. I'm not leaving her alone for the holidays."

"You know perfectly well we'd welcome her with open arms. It'd be good for her."

Norah tried to imagine her very serious mother in the middle of the usual chaos that defined the Campbells and couldn't. She and Miranda could carry on a conversation over mutual medical geekage, but what would she say to everyone else? She had no life outside work. Then again, when Norah was in Chicago, neither did she.

Because that, too, trod too close to subjects she wasn't ready to think about, Norah switched topics. "You ever think about leaving?"

"Not really."

"That surprises me. You love the city. The energy, the people."

"I do. But I like home, too. I've got a good thing going here. Not a lot of inducement to leave. But for the right job—or the right woman—I might."

"You'd change your whole life for a woman?"

"Sure. You can always find another job. Love is a much rarer phenomenon. You find it, you best hang on to it."

She hummed a non-committal note.

"Sorry, sugar. That's probably still a bit sensitive, yet."

"Not sensitive at all. I wasn't in love with Pierce. Not if the mark of love is being willing to change everything for him. If that's what love is, I've never been in love before. I can't fathom being willing to change my entire career for a guy."

"There's a first time for everything."

For other people, maybe. But that wasn't the kind of stock she came from. Burkes existed for career alone. That's just the way it was.

Cam managed to time things so that he was climbing out of his truck about the time Norah stepped out of Dinner Belles with Mitch. Hush leapt out of the truck and made a beeline for her, all wags and Wookie greetings. When she started to jump, Norah held up a hand and gave a command. His enthusiastic pooch actually sat, tail sweeping the sidewalk as she waited for pets and praise. Wonders never ceased.

Cam's own heart began to gallop as Norah looked up from his dog and shot a wide smile in his direction. Jesus, he hadn't been this nervous-excited since he'd asked Laura Hollingsworth to junior prom.

_Get a grip_. Advice that might've been good to take before he'd executed acts of Bond-worthy subterfuge with his family in order to find out Norah's schedule so he could casually run into her in town. He hadn't been able to wait nine hours before wanting to see her again, but he'd managed to hold off on just showing up at Miranda's the day after the party. They'd want girlfriend time, and his cousin was not, on any level, a morning person. Besides, he didn't need to come off as some over-eager schoolboy. Or worse, a pushy, obsessed lunatic. But surely two days was within the realm of reasonable.

"Is this a conspiracy?" She divided the smile between him and Mitch. "The rest of the Campbell clan working to make sure I'm not bored on my vacation while Miranda's at work?"

"Hey, you know I hate to eat alone."

"I had to come into town for some errands." A half lie. Cam had made up errands so he had to come into town.

"Then perhaps you'd let me steal your dog for a few hours." Hush, leaning against Norah's legs and looking up in adoration, was clearly on board with that plan.

"That could probably be arranged."

"I gotta get back to work. You have time to drop Norah off at Miranda's on your way back to the nursery?"

"Sure."

"Then unless you object, I'll leave you in my cousin's capable hands."

_Yes, please._ Cam shoved those hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, working to keep his face neutral.

"I can think of worse company."

Mitch gave Norah a squeeze. "I'll see you later, then."

They stayed silent, both watching as he walked away. When he was out of earshot, Norah tipped her head toward him. "Are you particularly busy at work or can I steal you along with Hush?"

"Are you tryin' to talk me into playin' hooky, Miss Burke?"

"I absolutely am. Somebody told me recently I needed to play more." Though her face was sober, her eyes shone with amusement. "Seemed like good advice."

"Far be it for me to refuse a lady." He gestured toward the town green. "Shall we walk?"

They fell into step, Hush prancing a few paces ahead. Cam itched to take her hand, just for the chance to touch her. But this was downtown Wishful. That'd be as good as taking out a billboard declaring his intentions. He didn't even know what they were yet. He only knew that she was the first woman to truly spark his interest in years and that kiss had been...epic. Today was about finding out if they were on the same page with that interest and, if he was lucky, getting his mouth on her again.

She started to pull ahead of him, legs moving with a brisk efficiency.

"You in a hurry?"

She jerked almost to a stop, then into motion again with her eyes on his feet. "You can take the girl out of the city. But seriously, your legs are a foot longer than mine. You don't walk, you mosey."

"Moseying is good when you want to enjoy somebody's company."

The noise she made might've been a laugh. "I'm out of practice with that, too, I guess."

Cam couldn't help himself. He rubbed a hand down her back. "That wasn't meant as a criticism."

She shifted ever so slightly into his touch. "I suppose I stay wound pretty tight."

"Don't apologize. You've got reason to be." As they walked, he noted the fine lines of strain still around her eyes and guessed she still hadn't come clean to Miranda about her job. But he said nothing, placing a hand at the small of her back to steer her toward the fountain. "That's what hooky is for, anyway. Finding your way to unwind."

"Would you believe I have never played hooky in my life?"

He glanced at her, this type-A, perfectionist overachiever, with a strong moral compass and staunch belief in The Rules, and smiled. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me about you. But rumor has it you're a quick study for anything you set your mind to."

"I do have that reputation. So what are the rules of playing hooky?"

"Rule 1: Never feel guilty for playing hooky."

"Well, I'm not the one legitimately playing hooky today."

"And I feel not a qualm about it, so we're good on that front. It's one of the best parts of being your own boss. Rule 2: Choose your company wisely. You want a partner in crime, not someone who will bail on you if things get dicey."

She laughed. "And what constitutes dicey for grown ups who don't have the threat of detention or parents?"

"Woman, there is no statute of limitations on parental disapproval when you live in the same town. Especially not a small town where everybody knows everybody else. Do you have any idea how _hard_ it was getting away with _anything_ when we were teenagers?"

"Somehow, I imagine you and Mitch still managed just fine."

"Well, necessity _is_ the mother of invention. It was more often me and Tucker McGee and our friend Brody—he's not here anymore—sometimes Miranda, though she was more goody two shoes. Mitch was three years ahead of us in school."

"I can't wrap my brain around what that's like. Growing up in one place, having friends for that long. I bounced around so much after my parents' divorce that I didn't make connections with people. Not really. Not until Miranda. And if she didn't hang on as tightly as she does, I don't know if I'd have kept up with her as well as I have. You're really lucky to have that." There was no mistaking the expression of longing on her face.

Cam didn't know what to say. He'd never given a thought to having that foundation to fall back on. It simply was. Friends. Family. Community. You fought with them and fought for them because that's what you did for what you loved. It hurt him to think she'd never known that, and he wondered what she fought for in their stead, wondered, too, why he was aching for a woman he barely knew.

"We don't mind sharing."

That made her smile. "I know. Which is why I've shamelessly adopted your entire family."

"Does that make us cousins in a complicated, Southern sort of way? Because this is Mississippi and we definitely don't need any more fodder for jokes around here."

"You mean, like, the fact that there's still a law on the books that says three women in a room together, barefoot, makes an orgy?"

"What?"

"That was a favorite of ours to laugh about at our sorority house in college."

"So you're saying all the fantasies we guys have about sorority houses are true? Pillow fights and sexy pajamas and all?"

Norah waggled her eyebrows at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Cam sank down on the edge of the fountain that dated back to just after the Civil War. He patted the ledge. "Sit."

He liked the neat way she tucked her legs, even in jeans. She always managed to look put together and elegant, which made him wonder what she'd looked like all mussed up.

"Have you made your wish yet?" He swiveled toward the water so their knees bumped. She didn't move away.

"My wish?"

"Sure." Cam dipped his fingers into the few inches of frigid rainwater in the basin. Coins glimmered below the surface. "The fountain itself might not have run for years, but people still make wishes. Don't tell me after all the years you've been coming here, you've never made a wish."

"Never have. I'm much more a _If you want something to happen you have to make it happen_ kind of girl."

"There's a lot to be said for self sufficiency and drive. But sometimes you need a little help."

"Does it work?"

"Mmm, hard to say. When I was sixteen, I wished for a really hot car. Sure enough, I got a hot one all right. The AC never did work in that thing."

She laughed. "If that's not clear illustration that you should be careful what you wish for, I don't know what is."

"Other folks have had better luck. Uncle Pete came here before he proposed to Aunt Liz and wished she'd say yes. Obviously that worked out."

Her smile was just a little dreamy. "They're great together." She trailed her fingers through the water. "Has the city ever tried to fix it so it'll run again?"

"'Bout the time I was in middle school, they did a whole big thing trying to replace the copper pipes out to the springs. They figured it had collapsed somewhere in the last hundred and fifty years or so. But the lines were completely intact. They never did figure out what the problem is."

"Wait, the fountain is supposed to be fed from Hope Springs?"

"Yep."

"That's rather poetic, somehow. And sad. Like the fountain dried up as hope in Wishful did."

"You think Wishful doesn't have hope?"

She looked around what they could see of Main Street, and Cam wondered what she saw. "I think it's suffered a lot of economic downturns over time, like lots of small towns."

"You're not wrong. We've lost a lot of our industry and about a third of our population over the last thirty years."

"That weighs on you."

Cam arched a brow.

"You aren't the only one who's observant. This is your town. You want to save it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. It's why I ran for City Council. Well, partly. It started as a means to keep an eye on my mother when she went back to work. Gave me a reason to stop by during the day to check on her without looking like I was checking on her."

"Did she buy it?"

"Of course not. But turns out I actually like the job. Most of the time. Sometimes it's really frustrating to be in a position to effect change but not actually be able to change a damn thing."

"Sounds like you have something to wish for yourself."

"So I do." Cam fished a couple of quarters out of his pocket and placed one in Norah's hand, letting his fingers linger over her palm. "I will if you will."

"Okay." Her fingers curled around his briefly before sliding away to wrap around the coin.

When she closed her eyes—probably considering her wording carefully after the warning of his first car—he almost threw caution to the wind and leaned in to kiss her.

Cam pondered his own wish as he watched her, thinking of fate and chemistry and what might've happened if they'd crossed paths back in college. He couldn't alter the past, but he had a lot more confidence in his ability to impact the future—at least on one point. So when she opened her eyes and said, "On three," it was the town he thought of.

_I wish for a miracle to save Wishful._

"One. Two. Three."

They tossed their coins, watched them hit the water with a soft _plunk._

The fountain belched.

Norah jolted and Cam stared as a spurt of water bubbled up from the mouth of the fountain and trickled down the stone. Nothing else. Just that one, short blast of water.

"Does it usually do that?"

"Never has for me before." _Strange. Damned strange._ "Must be air in the pipes." He rose. "C'mon. It's cold. Let's go get some coffee."

_Could I drag Cam into the pantry without anyone noticing?_

Norah glanced at the door to the kitchen, wondering what excuse she could concoct to get them both away from the game table. From the other side of the Monopoly board, Cam's mouth quirked, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had veered. He probably did. The man had an uncanny ability to read her.

"Community Chest." Mitch picked up one of the cards. "Get out of jail free card. Sweet! I'll just hang on to this. Your turn, sister dear." He passed the dice to Miranda and game play continued around the table.

In all the years she'd been coming home with Miranda, Norah had always appreciated the big, messy Campbell family. After being shuttled from one single-parent household to the other for more than half her life, being surrounded by all of them was like being plunked down in the midst of _Cheaper By The Dozen,_ in the best possible way. She'd never had cause to regret that there were quite so many of them. Until Cam.

By mutual agreement, they'd kept their involvement quiet. The secret was both exhausting and exhilarating. On the surface, Cam was easy with her around his family, adopting a more muted form of the flirtation and teasing she got from Mitch and Reed. But there was nothing muted about the look in his eyes when they met hers and nothing simple about the spark she felt from the brush of his fingers as he handed over the dice. Flustered, Norah struggled not to jerk her hand back.

_Secret Relationship 101: Pretend all is normal._

Norah rolled the dice, took her turn.

In the past week, Cam had introduced her to quite a few other life lessons she'd bypassed as a teenager, training her on how to sneak around all his myriad relatives in order to meet him. She hadn't quite resorted to climbing out her bedroom window and shimmying down the sycamore tree, but a time or two, it had been a near thing. The friend finder app they'd both installed on their phones helped arrange some "accidental" meetings, but it seemed every time they turned around, one or more of the Campbells was popping up to keep her from being bored during her stay. At this point, she'd relish the chance to be bored.

Play circled back around to Mitch. He rolled the dice and tapped his race car all the way to Park Place.

Glad of the distraction, Norah held out her hand. "Welcome to the Grand Royale Hotel at Park Place. I hope you'll enjoy your stay. That'll be $1500, please."

Mitch eyed the cash in his hand, before flashing a glib smile. "Maybe we can come to some kind of mutually satisfying arrangement?"

"This isn't that sort of establishment, sir."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Your foot is saying otherwise."

Norah arched her own brow. "I'm sitting on my feet."

"Then who's trying to play footsie?" Mitch leaned back to check the tangle of legs beneath the table.

Norah caught the momentary flash of alarm across Cam's face and nearly erupted into giggles. To cover for them both, she put on a mock stern face. "Your stalling tactics aren't going to work. Pay up, bucko."

Grumbling, Mitch made the necessary arrangements with the bank—aka Uncle Pete—and handed over the cash. "Heartless real estate mogul."

"Aw, it's not personal, sweetie, it's business."

Miranda rolled the dice. "I did warn you, she's brutal at Monopoly."

"Oh, who are you kidding? I'm ruthless at all games. I make no denials or apologies."

"And we love you anyway." Miranda moved her thimble. "Speaking of business, how much longer can you stay away from yours?"

Norah managed not to look at Cam—barely. He was still the only one she'd told about being fired. And despite the fact that they'd spent every night on the phone, talking till the wee hours about everything under the sun, they'd carefully steered clear of discussing when she was leaving. _If we ignore it, the white elephant doesn't actually exist._

Except now Miranda had put it right out there. Because if Norah was really here on a true vacation from her former job, she'd absolutely have to be getting back. _Damn it._

"I feel like I just got here."

"Well, it is the first vacation longer than a holiday weekend you've taken since I moved back home."

"Seems a shame to head on back to the city when you only just now slowed down," Cam remarked.

Norah glanced at him but saw no censure. He was leaving this news for her, as she'd asked.

"Do you have the extra leave time to take?" Aunt Liz asked.

"I've got more leave time than I know what to do with." It wasn't a complete lie. She'd had almost two months built up when she got axed. Four, if she counted major medical.

Aunt Liz clapped her hands together. "Then stay a while longer. We haven't gotten to see you nearly enough this visit."

The actual decision was easy. Chicago felt worlds away, and she was in no shape to be making major life decisions at the moment. As Cam had said, she'd only just slowed down. Plus, she wanted—needed—time to explore this unexpected spark with him.

"There are any number of hungry young neophytes dying to step into my shoes. I expect they'll find a way to do without me." Because her face felt suddenly brittle, Norah flashed her best sales smile and changed the subject. "If I asked super sweetly, could I talk anybody else into a fire and hot chocolate?"

"Yes!" Mitch shot a fist into the air. "A hot chocolate break will give me a chance to plot my comeback."

Miranda patted him on the arm. "You hang on to that delusion, big brother. I'll help with the beverages."

"I could use a chance to stretch my legs." Norah unfolded from her chair. "I'll get the firewood."

Cam pushed back from the table. "I'll help you. Uncle Pete, make sure Mitch doesn't mess with the bank."

Norah slipped out the door before Mitch finished protesting. The woodpile was at the far side of the yard, flanking the garden shed, well away from the cedar shingles of the house. She'd already made it halfway across the lawn by the time Cam caught up.

"Hold it. Put this on."

Turning, she saw he'd stopped to grab her coat. "It's not that cold to me. Thicker blood, remember?"

"Humor me." He held it so she could slip her arms inside.

Relenting, she did as he asked, then immediately crossed her arms because she did feel cold. But she knew it had nothing to do with the temperature.

"What's wrong?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "How did you know?"

"I know your real smile. That wasn't it." Cam squeezed her shoulders. "You okay?"

"I keep thinking I am, and then something brings it all back up again.

"It's gonna keep happening until you tell them."

Norah hunched her shoulders. "I know. Doesn't make it any easier."

"I don't think this kind of thing is ever easy. It's a Band-aid yank sort of situation."

They circled around the wood pile to the back side of the shed.

"I guess...there's a part of me that feels like if I keep it to myself, if I don't actually say it out loud, then it can still go away. That they'll figure out they've shot themselves in the foot and call begging me to come back."

"Do you want them to ask you back?"

"God, yes." Catching sight of his carefully blank expression, she laid both hands on his arms. "Only so I can tell them to stick it where the sun don't shine. I couldn't go back to that. Not knowing what I know now."

Cam relaxed and pulled her close. "You'll figure the rest out, Wonder Woman. I have faith."

Norah burrowed in, wrapping her arms around him beneath his open coat. "I'm glad one of us does."

He stroked a hand down her hair. "I get that you don't want to spread this around and why you're not keen on announcing it to the whole family, but I really think you'll feel better if you at least talk to Miranda."

"I feel better when I'm with you." She tipped her head back to look at him. "You're solid. Steady."

His lips twisted in an expression that couldn't be termed a smile. "Yep, that's me. Solid, steady, boring Cam. Everybody says so."

"Then everybody's wrong. You're not boring. Not at all. You're just...subtle," she decided. "I guess next to Mitch or Reed or Tucker, people probably tend to overlook that." She slid her hands up to brace on his shoulders, rising to her toes until she was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. "Solid and steady really works for me."

Now he did smile. "Happy to oblige." Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over hers, testing. They both listened.

"We have maybe two minutes before somebody starts wondering where we are," he murmured.

"Then we'd better make the most of them."

Cam's eyes darkened, his lips curving into a hungry smile that had Norah's toes curling. He backed her against the shed and boxed her in with his arms. She loved it, loved that instant leap of her heart, the catch of her breath as he took her mouth. Wanting to feel the heat of him, she slid her fingers into the open collar of his shirt to rest against his skin. His pulse thundered, and she loved that, too. How could such a quiet, steady man be so...potent?

His head snapped up, and Norah made some soft, incoherent sound of protest before she heard what he'd heard. Footsteps across the dead grass.

Releasing her, he eased open the door to the shed and stepped inside. "Pull out your phone. Flashlight."

She didn't stop to ask him why, just did as he asked, raising the poor light above her head to partially illuminate the gloom within. Cam was shifting through the contents of the shed when Miranda came around and blocked the light.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Looking for the wood sling," Cam replied, not a trace of breathlessness in his voice.

"It was by the back door." Miranda held it up.

"My mistake." Cam stepped out of the shed, apparently back under control. "Norah, you wanna grab some kindling off that end?"

Norah followed him out and started gathering the smaller bits, as asked, hoping her flush would be attributed to the cold.

# Chapter 6

TUCKER MCGEE WAS A hard-core flirt. The man practically oozed charm, so the fact that he was currently oozing said charm all over Norah had Cam grinding his teeth and repressing the urge to plant a fist in his friend's face. He wasn't concerned Tucker was actually getting somewhere with her, but that was _his_ woman, and he hadn't even gotten a chance to greet her before Tucker had swooped in to escort her from the car to the refreshment tables. Not that Cam could give her the greeting he wanted with Miranda trailing right behind, looking irritable.

"—and here, the _pièce de résistance_ , s'mores fixin's. And over here we have the roasting rods." Tucker pulled a slim handled rod from a cluster in a tube and handed it to her, hilt first.

Norah inspected it. The metal was bent back on itself and wrapped to make a sturdy handle. "Swanky. I thought you were supposed to use coat hangers."

"That's for amateurs. We take the art of bonfire to the next level. Do you need a refresher on the proper roasting technique?"

"I'm not that citified."

Tucker held up both hands in a gesture of peace. "Just checking. I didn't know."

"There's something else you don't know about me."

"And what's that?"

She sank into a fencing stance. "I am not left handed." Tossing the rod to her right hand, she lunged forward.

Hooting with laughter, Tucker stumbled back, grabbing another rod on the fly and bringing it up to parry. Having spent half his life on the stage in one community theater production or another, Tucker was given to theatrics. He let them fly with flashy swordsmanship and more quotes from _The Princess Bride_ as the pair of them circled around the refreshment tables.

Cam watched as Norah steadily drove him back, her movements tight and controlled compared to Tucker's dramatics. "She actually knows how to fence, doesn't she."

"Yep. Three years of fencing club in college."

Cam chuckled, waiting for Norah to hand Tucker his ass.

"Be careful, cousin."

Cam pretended not to hear the warning in Miranda's voice. "Mmm?"

She looked up at him. "Look, I'm not blind. I see how you are around Norah. You aren't obvious, like Mitch, but you watch her when she walks into a room. You're into her."

He should've known Miranda would notice _something_. She knew him better than almost anyone. "Well, yeah. Last time I checked, I do have a pulse."

"It's not a good idea."

Right, because he'd proved he couldn't make good choices in the relationship department on his own and needed to submit the candidates for review. Cam chained down the surge of temper and kept his voice even. "Are you warning me off for her sake or for mine?"

"Both. I don't think she's in a good place right now. I know something's going on with her that she hasn't told me, and I'm worried about her. But quite apart from that, you know exactly why I think she's a bad idea for you."

Cam scowled. "It's not the same."

"Don't get pissy. I just don't want to see either of you get hurt." She shot a glance back at Norah, who handily disarmed Tucker. "You've both been hurt enough."

"Thanks for the warning, but I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

"Surrender, McGee! You're bested!" Norah shouted in triumph.

Tucker dropped to his knees, the tip of her impromptu sword at his throat. "I yield, milady. Do with me what you will. Only tell me you'll come back and do the fight choreography for our summer production of _The Pirates of Penzance_."

She mimed cutting an _N_ in the air, then bowed to enthusiastic applause. "Acquire me marshmallows, and I might consider it."

"As you wish." Tucker scrambled up as Norah turned to join Cam and Miranda by the fire, her cheeks flushed from cold and exertion.

"You seem quite cheerful," Cam observed.

"Winning agrees with me."

"Your marshmallows, milady." Tucker presented them with a flourish.

"Thanks." She threaded one on the rod and held it into the fire.

Tucker made a sound of protest. "I thought you remembered how to do this."

Ignoring him, Norah lifted the marshmallow free of the blaze, watching it burn for a minute before she blew out the flame and tipped the rod toward Miranda. "Perfectly charred, exactly as you like it. A peace offering because I know you didn't want to come out tonight."

Miranda plucked off the marshmallow, tossing it from hand to hand to cool before chomping in. "Your tribute is appreciated. Make me another, and I might even forget I've already stopped feeling my ass." She rotated so her backside faced the bonfire.

"It's not that cold." Norah stuck the second marshmallow into the flames.

"You haven't been below the Mason-Dixon long enough to lose your tolerance yet. One summer down here and you'll be back to freezing at forty degrees, like the rest of us."

Faint strains of music limited Norah's retort to, "Wimp," as she dug out her phone. One look at the display had her smile fading. "Excuse me." She passed the roasting rod to Miranda and strode toward the line of cars parked at the edge of the pasture.

Cam gave her five minutes' lead time before he headed in the same direction on the pretense of grabbing a blanket from the truck for his cousin. He found Norah leaning against the wheel-well of his truck, hidden from view by a Suburban. Her hands were empty.

"Who was that?"

She grimaced. "My dad."

"Did you tell him?"

"No. Because I'm a coward. He just wanted to check in since he's finally back from Saint Bart's."

Cam leaned beside her. "Have you told anybody else?"

"Just you." She flashed a humorless smile. "Somehow, you've become my official secret keeper. I don't know if that's because you're circumspect or because you're one of the secrets."

"The sneaking around we've done the last two weeks isn't what's putting those shadows under your eyes." He skimmed a thumb down her cheek. "Honey, you're not built for keeping secrets. Hanging on to this is eating you up inside."

"I can't come clean about it until I've figured everything out."

"Have you actually been working on that?"

She dropped her gaze. "I've been trying to figure you out."

He tipped her face back up. "I'm a simple guy."

She frowned. "You want people to think you are. You've got this easy, good ole boy, Zen gardener thing going on. But really you're hanging out behind the scenes taking care of everybody around you, all quiet-like, so most of them don't even realize it. Me included. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Nobody takes care of me, Cam."

He braced himself, scrambling to think of some response that would make her see that it had nothing to do with him thinking she wasn't capable of taking care of herself.

She laid a hand over his heart. "Most people assume I don't need anything or anyone. I've got years of experience proving exactly that. It means a lot to me that you see that I'm not invincible, that you'd do what you can to lighten the load in such a way that it's supportive rather than overbearing. But until I figure out some direction, I'm kind of stuck in the stewing portion of the process."

Because her fingers felt like ice, he took them between his hands and began to rub. "Has it occurred to you that coming clean might help you figure it out? That holding on to this secret is keeping you from moving forward? You're so focused on the dread, you can't look beyond it to what's next."

"I don't _know_ what's next." Frustration sharpened her tone.

"Maybe you don't. And that's okay. But I'm gonna make some observations. You're happy here. You're among friends and family. I haven't seen you look anything but stressed out and unhappy whenever Chicago comes up. That ought to tell you something."

"I haven't been happy in Chicago for a long time."

Cam could tell the admission was grudging. "Well, there you go. Seems like a pretty big sign from the Universe. If your life isn't making you happy, you change it. Period."

Norah stared at him as if he'd just started speaking ancient Greek. "I can't just change everything without a lot of careful thought."

"That's fine, if that's what you need to do. You take your time, consider all the angles. Just be sure to factor this into the equation." He pressed her back against the truck and lowered his mouth to hers.

She rose to meet him, hungry, heated, her hands sliding up his chest and into his hair. God, he loved how responsive she was, loved knowing that beneath that calm, collected exterior, she was a fever.

_Still waters..._

With considerable effort, Cam eased back, waiting a moment for his breath to even out. "You matter, Norah. I didn't expect it, wasn't looking for it. But there it is."

"This was supposed to be a vacation for me. Downtime and a chance to think. You were supposed to be a distraction. I didn't expect...more."

Neither had he. And thank God for defied expectations. "Life would be pretty boring if we always got what we expected."

"Cam! I'm freezing my butt off. Did you get lost?" Miranda's shout came from somewhere down the line of vehicles.

They untangled themselves in a hurry, and Cam pulled open the door to grab the blanket from the backseat. "Go do your analysis, Wonder Woman. I'll still be here when you're through."

"Get in here and give me a hug." Lisbet Campbell opened the front door to Grammy Campbell's house and pulled Norah in for a good, hard squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"You just saw me last week." Norah hung on, nonetheless, basking in the feeling of momness in her embrace.

"Yes, but we don't know how much longer you get to stay, so every time I see you is like a fresh visit," Aunt Liz said.

Since Norah had no answer to that question, she searched for a new topic. "Grammy painted."

"Oh my goodness, yes." The woman herself came bustling in from the kitchen, a vintage half apron tied around her slim hips. "Hello, sugar."

Grammy was the only member of the Campbell clan shorter than Norah's 5'4". Norah could only presume that Grammy's statuesque children were rocking some of her late husband's genes. He'd passed before Norah had a chance to meet him. Grammy's hug was like being embraced by a stick of summer-scented dynamite. How she managed to smell like honeysuckle in the dead of winter, Norah had no idea.

"She has us rearranging something every other weekend." But Uncle Pete softened the gripe with a smile. Tall and broad, like Mitch, Uncle Pete's blond hair had silvered completely since Miranda had first brought Norah home. "Come on over here, honey."

Norah moved from one to the other, giving in to the urge to press her cheek to the aged flannel of his shirt. He smelled faintly of sawdust and motor oil.

She eased back. "You've been out on your motorcycle."

Aunt Liz grinned. "We had a date for lunch. Rode up to Little Mountain for a picnic."

"Wanna go for another ride?"

Grammy intervened. "Not until after dinner. It won't be long. I just need to make the gravy."

Norah sniffed, drooled a little. "Is that country fried steak?"

"And mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits, and the last of the purple hull peas from the freezer."

All of her favorites. Norah mimed a kowtow. "I'm not worthy."

"Of course you are. It's not every day I get to cook for my other granddaughter. Come on back to the kitchen."

The kitchen was a wide, spacious room with windows that overlooked what Norah knew was a long slope of yard. Not that she could see any of it now in the winter dark. Cherry cabinets stretched all the way to the top of the ten-foot ceiling and dark granite countertops gleamed. Mitch hunched over one, gingerly lifting a cloth napkin in a basket.

"Mitch, get your hands out of that bread basket!"

He jerked his hand back as if she'd slapped it. "But Grammy..."

"You can wait fifteen minutes without starving to death." Grammy picked up a spoon and waved him away.

From the kitchen table Aunt Anita, Reed and Ava's mom, waved hello. Several shoeboxes and photo albums were spread out across the surface.

"What're you working on?" Norah slipped off her coat and peeked.

"Torture," Reed said, a bouquet of silverware in his hand. "She's organizing family photo albums, meaning she's accruing blackmail material."

"I'm doing no such thing." Anita shooed him into the dining room to finish setting the table.

With a roll of his eyes, Miranda's dark-haired cousin disappeared into the other room. Norah slid into a chair and reached for the nearest album. "May I?"

"Knock yourself out, hon."

The first page was full of pictures from their childhood. A gap-toothed Miranda, maybe five or six, sat beside another grinning, tow-headed boy. "Is that Mitch? No, he'd have been much bigger than you at that age. Cam?"

Miranda came to lean over her shoulder. "Yeah, back then, people often mistook us for twins. We're only three months apart."

"I can see why. He looks so much like his mom."

Miranda flipped the page and pointed to another shot, this one of Sandra and Cam, identical smiles beaming at the camera. "Check her out."

"She looks so _young."_

"Younger than us."

And already a mom of a six- or seven-year old. Norah couldn't fathom that. In the next photo, he wore a baseball uniform and mugged for the camera beside another man.

"Who's this?"

"Cam's dad. May he rot in hell."

Norah lifted a brow. "Is he dead?"

"Officially, no. As far as our family is concerned, he might as well be."

Studying the photo, Norah thought she could see something of Cam's build in his father, but nothing more. Everything else was pure Campbell. "What happened?"

Grammy picked up the thread. "He and Sandra were high school sweethearts. Got married straight after graduation. It wasn't an...easy marriage."

"It was a mistake," Uncle Pete said with an uncharacteristic scowl.

"It wasn't a mistake because it led to Cam," Grammy corrected.

"She should have dumped his ass right after Cam was born," Uncle Jimmy put in.

"Well now, that may be. But that's not how it happened. Waylan was the kind of guy who's never satisfied with what he's got. Always wanting something more, admiring the greener grass and all that. He took keeping up with the Joneses to a whole new level. When Cam was eleven, Waylan left in pursuit of his grand ambitions, abandoning them on the verge of bankruptcy. Just got up one morning, told Sandy he was leaving. No discussion, no argument. And he left. Without even telling Cam goodbye. The divorce papers arrived a few days later."

Norah straightened in outrage. "Who _does_ that?"

"The weak. They were well rid of him." Anita tugged the album over and passed Norah a different one. "Better memories in here."

The next album started with Reed's high school graduation. He grinned, arms around both his parents in what appeared to be a high school gym. His cap was cocked rakishly atop a shaggy mop of hair and his chin sported a faint scruff of goatee. The camera flash glinted off the lenses of some truly awful black-framed glasses.

The man in question wandered back in from the dining room, clean-shaven and wearing a pair of horn-rims that accentuated his hazel eyes. The hair that had looked merely unkempt back then now edged toward attractively rumpled.

"I had no idea you were a hipster before it was cool," Norah teased.

Reed came to peer over her shoulder and groaned. "See, told you. Blackmail material." At her peals of laughter, he said, "Yeah, you keep on laughing. You're in all this somewhere."

"I am?" Norah immediately began to wonder which of her and Miranda's antics they'd managed to capture on film.

Reed flipped a few pages, bringing up a shot of Norah doubled over with hilarity, hair hanging in wet ropes down her shoulders as multiple water balloons exploded around her. "See, wet t-shirt contest."

"That's a _swimsuit_ under that t-shirt."

"Didn't you end up nailing Mitch with the water hose?" Miranda slipped into the chair beside her.

Mitch bent to look over her shoulder. "You totally did."

"Hey, you boys unearthed contraband SuperSoakers. It was only fair."

"We got our revenge." Mitch flipped to the next page with a picture of him dangling her upside down from the knees after he'd wrested the hose away.

Miranda chuckled. "You're _so_ lucky that wasn't me. I'd have pantsed you from that position."

"I had no desire to be that up close and personal with your brother's—" She could hardly say _junk_ in front of Grammy. "—well. I was laughing too hard to retaliate by that point anyway."

They kept turning pages, filling in Norah's gaps in family knowledge with stories and jokes. Cam appeared again in the later album pages. He looked more like Mitch back then, easier and more carefree. That had to be before his mother's cancer.

"Ugh, somebody get a Sharpie," Miranda said. "I need to draw some devil horns."

"On who?"

" _Her._ " Miranda thumped a finger against the face of a red-head Norah didn't recognize.

Norah studied the picture. The girl was tall. A younger Cam, maybe twenty or so, stood with his arm around her shoulders, easily able to look into her laughing face. She was gorgeous, with perfect creamy skin and blue eyes that seemed to wink at the camera. And he was in love with her.

The punch of jealousy was quick and vicious, despite the fact that this was obviously years ago.

"Who is she?"

"Melody." Miranda sneered the name. "Cam's college girlfriend."

"I'm getting a very powerful sense of gut-hating here. Why?"

Aunt Anita picked up the thread. "Oh, he dated that piece of work all through college. She was bright, beautiful, and always had an eye on bigger, better things."

"In a grass is always greener, cheated on him kind of way?"

"Not that we know of," Aunt Liz said. "But ruthlessly ambitious. Top of her class. She couldn't wait to get out of the South."

"She was a nice enough girl," Uncle Pete added. "Polite whenever she came to visit."

Aunt Liz snorted. "Polite. Sure. She had all you men practically drooling."

"Gross." Miranda grimaced.

"He was planning to propose," Reed said. "But the weekend he came home to buy the ring was when the news broke about Aunt Sandy's cancer. It was bad. Really, really bad. Cam quit school and came home to take care of her."

"And this Melody had a problem with that?" Norah couldn't fathom the kind of person who would.

"No, not as such," Miranda said. "The issue came when it was time for her to go to grad school. Melody got into law school at Ole Miss and George Mason. But she'd applied before the cancer, and Aunt Sandy was in bad shape, to the point the doctors didn't think she was going to make it. You remember how bad it was. Cam was devastated. Any decent human being would've stayed close to support him."

The outcome was painfully obvious. "She picked George Mason."

"It was the better, more prestigious program. She believed if she turned them down, she'd never get another shot at it, and her career was too important to put on hold."

"So she dumped him?"

"Not then," Anita said. "They did the long distance thing for a while. Couple years, if I remember. He didn't see much of her. She didn't come down here much, and he wasn't willing to go far from Sandy. At least not until she'd stabilized. Even then, we had to practically kick him out of the house to make him go up to Virginia to surprise her."

"He drove up and came back in just over twenty-four hours," Aunt Liz said. "Never did tell us what happened, just that they'd decided to go their separate ways, that they wanted different things. Cam's not the sort to bad-mouth anybody."

Grammy harumphed. "You ask me, they could've figured that out without all that driving. _I_ think she'd moved right on without him and didn't have the decency to say so on account of she couldn't figure out how to break it to him given what was going on with Sandy. Figure our boy walked in on something."

"I wouldn't put it past her." Miranda flung a hand toward the album. "I mean, seriously. What kind of woman puts her own ambitions ahead of what's supposed to be the most important relationship in her life?"

_A woman who wants more out of life than being a wife and mother, trapped in a small town that doesn't support her career choices_. But she kept the comment to herself. She didn't condone the way Melody had handled the situation, but she understood the choice the girl had faced in a way that no one else here could. She understood because she'd watched her mother live with the wrong one for far too long and then dealt with the fallout when Margaret finally made the tough call that her career and the lives she could save were more important than family.

"At least she figured it out before he married her. Before there was a child to be impacted by the inevitable divorce."

Miranda leaned in to give Norah a hug. "You shouldn't have had to pay for your parents' selfishness."

"It's better than if they'd stayed together. All those years before the divorce was like watching my mother slowly die. Better that they be true to who they really are, what they really want."

_Which leaves me, where exactly?_ Norah wondered. _Who am I and what do I want?_

A month ago she could've answered that question without hesitation. But now? Here she was without the job she'd worked her ass off to earn, unexpectedly involved with a man who'd so rapidly worked his way under her skin, she couldn't imagine going back to a life without him in it. But neither could she imagine what life _with_ him in it would look like. And she was lying to her best friend and the rest of his family about their involvement because, quite clearly, they wouldn't approve.

When exactly had she become someone who knowingly hid the truth? _So much for that moral compass._

Reed jolted her back to the conversation. "Either way, she did a number on him. As far as we know, he hasn't had more than a couple of dates with anybody since his mom went into remission."

_Yeah, about that..._

"So Mitch is dating enough for them both?" she asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

"Hey! I resemble that remark."

Aunt Liz put in her two cents. "Cam needs to find a nice local girl. That boy was made for marriage, family, and babies. He needs somebody that can actually appreciate the deep sunk roots he has here instead of being all bound up in career."

_In other words, someone who isn't me,_ Norah thought. And that was the clincher of all of it. She recognized and respected Cam's roots, found his connection to family and the community unaccountably appealing. But she wasn't local— _couldn't_ be local and keep the career she'd poured herself into. And even if, by some miracle, she could sort _that_ mess out, she wasn't made for a traditional role of wife and mother any more than her mother had been.

Grammy pivoted with a casserole dish in her hands. "Everybody take a bowl into the dining room. Dinner is served!"

Norah stood and took the bread basket on autopilot, but she found she'd lost her appetite.

# Chapter 7

VICK BURGESS WAS SMILING when Cam walked into the City Council meeting Monday evening. His teeth flashed white in his too-tan-for-winter face, making Cam think of politicians and used car salesmen. Anything that made Vick smile was likely to be bad. He was speaking to another man dressed in a too-expensive suit that screamed city slicker. What was an outsider doing in their City Council meeting?

Across the room, Sandra caught Cam's eye. She fixed him with a _Be nice_ Look that just solidified the dread curling through his gut. But Cam held his tongue and took his place at the conference table next to Edgar Falk.

Vick clasped his hands. "Since everybody's here, perhaps we can get started? Avery, are you ready?"

Avery Cahill, Sandra's personal assistant and the official City Recorder, took her position at his mother's right hand, fingers poised over a tidy little laptop. "I am."

"Okay then, let's get this show on the road." Sandra rapped her gavel. "As Mayor, I now call this closed meeting of the City Council to order."

Ed lifted a hand, spotted with age, and waited for acknowledgment. "Motion to approve the minutes from the December 12th meeting."

Cam seconded.

"All in favor of approving the minutes from our previous meeting?" Everyone present lifted a hand. "Minutes approved."

Grace Handeford spoke next. "Motion to approve the docket of claims for tonight's meeting."

"What's on it?" asked Hank van Buren. "I didn't get a copy of the memo."

"It's probably in your spam folder. I keep telling you to check it," Grace chided. "Just the charge for replacing the street lights with more cost-efficient halogen bulbs."

"Is that a sweeping change or something to be implemented as the bulbs go out?" Connie Lockwood's French manicured nails tapped against her pen as she scribbled notes.

Grace slipped her reading glasses on and peered at the memo. "This is for the supply of bulbs. It doesn't address when the change would be made."

They debated the merits of both options before finally approving the claim.

"Are there any amendments to the agenda?" Sandra asked.

Cam thought about Mrs. Crockett and the stoplight, but he was too worried about the newcomer to bring it up. When no changes were raised, she turned her attention to Vick. "Very well. I shall turn the floor over to City Planner Victor Burgess."

Vick beamed. Cam thought about how much he wanted to plant a fist in the other man's face.

"Thank you, madam Mayor. I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce Bill Sutto." The suit lifted a hand and offered an ingratiating smile. "Bill is a representative from GrandGoods."

Connie sat up straighter. "The bulk buyer's club?"

Vick's car salesman grinned widened. "The very same."

"I love that place. I go every time I head down to Jackson to visit my sister."

"Well, you may not have to drive that far in the future. They're looking to expand their market share in Mississippi, and Wishful is a potential site."

_Hello red flag number one._ Cam crossed his arms. "What sense does that make? We don't have the population base to support a store of that size. They only build in cities or big interstate hubs. We're neither."

Sutto answered that charge. "You raise a good point. And it's true that up to this point, we have focused on sites that meet those criteria. But Wishful is centralized. So much of Mississippi's population is considered rural by population standards. Right now, we have a GrandGoods down on the coast in Biloxi, one in Jackson, and one in Southaven. That leaves the north central portion of the state unserved. Wishful occupies a central location that could draw citizens from Oxford, the Golden Triangle area, and all the rural counties between. That's a few hundred thousand people right there, within an hour and a half radius, with no shopping alternative that would provide the same benefits."

"Why would you choose to build here rather than in, say, Tupelo?" Grace asked. "That would hit almost all the same areas."

"That's a great question, Grace." Sutto beamed as if she were a prize pupil. "Tupelo already has a Sam's Club. GrandGoods is more interested in expanding into an area with no existing competition. We want to pilot test a store on a slightly smaller scale in a rural location. And we want Wishful."

"Just imagine what that kind of business would draw to town," Grace said.

A sense of deep unease unfurled inside Cam at the thought. GrandGoods would bring customers, sure, but it would also bring urban bloat. More chains, more franchises, more depersonalization.

Vick picked up the thread again. "Not only work for the labor hired to build the store and the jobs created for the people to work in it. But it would pull in people from all over to shop here. That would provide a really nice chunk of additional revenue that we could use."

_At what cost?_ Cam exchanged a Look with his mother. Very little was as cut and dry as they were making it out to be. "I have serious reservations about how a business like that would impact the community. Yeah, it'd mean short term jobs for those involved with construction, provided GrandGoods did actually hire local labor. And probably longer term jobs for those needed to run the store. But what impact will it have on competing local businesses? What percentage of the people who come in from surrounding areas will actually stop in at other businesses here? And what about the increased burden on the infrastructure? All that extra traffic that isn't part of our tax base and isn't going to be paying for upkeep of roads."

All solicitousness, Sutto nodded. "Those are completely valid concerns. First off, let me assure you that GrandGoods fully intends to recruit local labor for construction of the store, should our proposal be accepted. As to the impact on competing local businesses, we don't foresee that being an issue. GrandGoods is a particular type of store and shouldn't infringe on the smaller, niche businesses already established. We have no intention of damaging the character of your town but, rather, believe that we can enhance it."

Cam doubted that.

"I've got a presentation of our full proposal prepared that will, I hope, answer more of your questions. If you'd direct your attention up here, please."

Somebody dimmed the lights for Sutto's PowerPoint presentation. Cam sat through it, listening to the spin and the promises and the buzzwords with half an ear as he observed the reactions of the other Councilmen. By the end, they were all nodding, smiling, some of them actually _excited._ Not a damned one of them seemed concerned that a formal proposal presented to the city was only subject to the rules already contained in the zoning code. As far as Cam knew, that meant just a weak site plan review stood between Wishful and this store should the proposal be accepted.

Sandra steepled her fingers. "You make compelling arguments."

Beneath the table, Cam's hands fisted. Sutto had neatly skirted the issue of strain on infrastructure and overplayed the limited benefit Wishful would receive from sales tax. Had anyone noticed but him?

"Certainly, I think he's made enough valid points that we should enter into more formal discussion of the proposal," Ed agreed.

"Of course, we want to allow you ample time to make an informed, educated decision, as well as an opportunity to discuss any issues you may have with our proposal."

Vick began gathering up his papers. "I'll get all of you a copy of the full proposal tomorrow morning."

Cam swallowed down his rage. "I can promise you, we'll have plenty of questions."

A date was set for the next City Council meeting, which Bill Sutto would return for. That gave Cam fourteen days to figure out how the hell he was going to derail this.

"There's one thing you haven't mentioned yet. Where exactly do you propose building this store?"

"Oh we're already in negotiations for a parcel of land on the outskirts of town."

Cam tensed, already knowing the answer before Vick clarified, "Abe Costello's land out near Hope Springs. It's fitting, don't you think, that the business that can bring hope back to this town be situated right there."

It was a minor miracle Cam managed to stay in his seat. "I'd hope that you would consider other sites with less historical significance."

Vick waved that away as if it meant nothing. "The site isn't the most important. We'll find a place for it. The point is that even you can't stop all progress, Crawford. We have ambitions for our town."

Ambition was exactly what Cam was afraid of. In his experience, ambition destroyed everything it touched, and he wasn't about to stand by and allow it to change the heart of his town.

"Over my dead body." The all but shouted pronouncement was punctuated by Cam slamming the front door.

The entire Campbell clan went silent, waiting to find out what was going on. He stalked into the room, hands balled to fists, face set. Norah could see the worry beneath the simmering temper and struggled not to cross over to try and soothe.

"Campbell Alexander Crawford, you go right back out that door and prove you know how to enter it in a civilized manner," Grammy snapped.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but Cam did an about face and followed his grandmother's order.

Aunt Liz rose. "What on earth?"

"I take it the City Council meeting didn't go well?" Miranda asked dryly.

"That depends on who you ask." Sandra sank into a chair.

The front door opened and shut again, softer this time. Cam prowled back into the living room. "I apologize, Grammy."

His grandmother sniffed. "Do you want cobbler before or after you tell us what you're tantruming about?"

"Respectfully, I don't want any cobbler."

"Oh, man," Mitch said, "it must be bad."

"I'm evidently the only one to think so," Cam growled.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Reed suggested.

"At tonight's City Council meeting, we received a formal proposal from GrandGoods."

Norah's hand fisted on the arm of the sofa. "The megastore?"

He nodded. "They want to use Wishful as a pilot site for a new, smaller store designed to expand their market share into more rural locales. I have a number of problems with it, not the least of which is that they've already made an offer on the property where they want to build—the acreage owned by Abe Costello that wraps around two sides of Hope Springs. They want to put a goddamned parking lot almost to the edge of the springs."

Norah expected Grammy to call him out on his language, but she said nothing.

"We can block that," his mother said. "If not the direct purchase of the property, then the zoning restrictions on what and how they could build on it."

"We need to do a hell of a lot more than that to update the zoning code. Have you even _looked_ at the minimal site review process out there? I have. And we don't have time to change that before the Council meets again in two weeks to talk about this. You saw everybody in that room. I was the only one thinking in terms other than 'Ooo, shopping.'"

"Campbell." Sandra's tone was a warning.

"I don't want our history paved over by some soulless corporate giant."

"We don't know that it would be that bad. Their presentation—"

Cam interrupted. "The guy gave an impressive presentation. Slick. Too slick."

"What exactly was their pitch?" Uncle Pete asked.

"They don't want to damage the identity of the town," Sandra began.

"Of course, they'll lead with that." Norah's chest went tight. Unable to keep still, she shoved to her feet, tucking her hands beneath her arms. "They want to get your guard down. I bet they said that they're on the side of the people. That their philosophy is to embrace the identity of the community and that the store and the town will be equal partners. They'll offer choice and convenience to the masses. Jobs and an influx of capital to the local economy. They probably rounded things out with a nice speech about how there's value in the future and that progress lives on. How'm I doing?"

Cam stared at her with disbelief. "What? Were you hiding under the table in the Council chambers? How do you know all that?"

Norah closed her eyes and felt the blood drain out of her cheeks. "Because it's what _I_ said. On behalf of one of their biggest competitors, in another small town, just like this one." She began to pace the room, her steps short and jerky. There wasn't enough space for what she was feeling amid all these people. "I told them all of that and more. I convinced them everything would be great. That Hugo's would be an asset and partner to the community. And within three years, seventy percent of the businesses downtown had been wiped out and the town was so swollen from urban sprawl, it was barely recognizable." She looked at Miranda. "Have Your Cake was gone."

"Morton."

"I didn't know." Not that saying so made it any better. "Not until my drive back from New York. I tried to stop in and downtown was a ghost town. So I asked one of the locals what happened. Hugo's came in and violated pretty much every selling point I'd used to get them into the community. As soon as I saw what happened, I went straight to the office and dug into the old files. And it was all there. Helios was working as an extension of Hugo's marketing and sales team, as a third party. My partner did the due diligence—that was his job as Market Research Director—and he didn't bother to share the facts and the bad publicity the company had gotten elsewhere because he didn't want my inconvenient moral compass to get in the way of closing the deal. I wasn't on the development team. They just brought me in at the end to do the pitch to Morton for Hugo's because closing the deal is my specialty, and I have a gift for bringing creative campaigns to life. I was just the face, the voice, the charm. What did I need with the truth? Apparently that's been standard operating procedure the last few years—or so he said when I confronted him about it. And our boss knew and encouraged it, because I was just an asset to be used, and they figured that was the best way to handle me. I have absolutely no idea how many other lives I've managed to ruin in the name of profit. I didn't get a chance to find out before they fired me."

"Oh honey." Miranda was off the sofa in an instant, pulling Norah into a hard hug. "That's why you've been able to stay so long?"

Norah ducked her head. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

She felt her lips twist into a sardonic smile. "Because Burkes don't fail and we sure as hell don't get fired." She hissed out a breath and stepped away, waving an impatient hand. "But that isn't my point. The only reason I'm bringing any of this up is that GrandGoods is going to have someone like me on their side. They're going to make it sound like a dream come true and have an answer to downplay or eliminate all of your concerns. They're going to offer jobs and discounts and services, and the public is going to eat it up because the economy is in the toilet, and they want someone big to come in and save them."

"I saw some of that just in the other Council members. I've got two weeks to change their minds."

Norah fixed her gaze on him. "If you want to play David to their Goliath, you're going to need a helluva lot more than a rock. It doesn't matter how well you think you know people here. GrandGoods is going to make this come down to economic survival, and by the time they're through, people will believe that they're some kind of savior. At least until they get here and the blindfold comes off. By then it'll be too late. You _can't_ let that happen here, Cam."

"I don't intend to."

"Excuse me for interjecting," Uncle Jimmy said, "but exactly how do you intend to stop it? In two weeks, no less. The public's going to want this, once word gets out. Like Norah said, that's just the economic climate we're in."

"It's going to take a miracle," Anita said.

Something lightened in Cam's face, a dawning realization. "No, it's going to take somebody to counteract whatever silver-tongued devil they send. I can't think of anybody better than the woman who once sold solar panels to an oil man." He shifted his gaze back to Norah. "You said I need something bigger than a rock. You're the next best thing to having an inside man. You've proved you know how they think, how they'll approach this. And I know you know how to counter all that. So stay. Stay and make this fight less David versus Goliath and more Sparta versus the Persian army. You're pissed off, and you have every right to be for how your firm used you. So take all that anger and use it. Redirect it to a new target and fight for us. We'll hire you freelance."

She thought back to the day they'd gone to the fountain, to the wish she'd made.

_I wish for my time here to show me the right path, what my purpose really is._

Was it really so simple? So perfectly aligned with circumstance?

The whole idea of it smacked far too much of fate, which wasn't a concept Norah was comfortable with. She believed in making her own fate, her own destiny. And yet, how could she say no to a chance to put her skills to use and stop the ruination of the town she loved, to atone, in part, for the damage she'd inadvertently done elsewhere.

Then there was Cam. If she agreed to do this, she had to end things. Anything else would be leading him on. She _couldn't_ stay forever, and remaining involved for however long this campaign might take would just make that ultimate parting worse for both of them in the end. Knowing what she knew now about his history... They'd slid too far, too fast already, getting so emotionally tangled, she hadn't been able to think beyond the now to the practicalities of the future.

Resolute, Norah squared her shoulders. "I'll fight for you, but I'll do it pro bono."

Cam frowned. "That hardly seems fair to you. You're doing a job; you should get paid for it."

She shook her head. "I've got a lot of work to do to balance out the bad karma for what I did in Morton."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Of course it's my fault. They only reason they were there at all was because I convinced those people it was a good idea. You can pretty it up all you want, but I _lied_ to them. _I_ did that."

"You were manipulated."

"That's no excuse. I should have double checked his work, should've followed up, done my own digging... _something._ " Cam opened his mouth to say something else, but Norah held up a hand. "We can argue about my culpability until we're blue in the face, but I won't budge on this. I was exceptionally well paid for what I did, and I worked too damned much to spend much of it. I don't need the money right now. I need the fight. Let me do this my way."

"Okay. Your way, then." Cam offered his hand.

Norah took it, curling her fingers around his in a firm shake. "Cry 'havoc' and let slip the dogs of war. Clear your schedule, Leonidas. We've got a lot of work to do."

He smiled, the tension visibly draining out of him. "Let's give 'em hell."

Grammy stepped toward the kitchen. "Save your hell raisin' for after cobbler. No war was ever won on an empty stomach."

"If there's one thing I've learned," Cam said, "it's to always respect my elders."

# Chapter 8

"YOU LIVE...IN A barn." Norah made the statement slowly, as if that might make it a dream.

"Above one, actually." Cam climbed out of the truck and reached for the bags in the backseat.

"Um...why?"

"It happens the house that was here burned to the ground a few years back. The owners didn't have the means or desire to rebuild. So I bought it and all the land that went with it. The barn loft was easy enough to convert into an apartment. Mitch and a few other friends helped me do it the summer I bought the place. I keep meaning to start on a house, but it...just hasn't been a priority. Come on in and let's see how far I've offended your city girl sensibilities."

Norah climbed out of his truck and stalked around the front. "Just because I've lived in cities more than half my life doesn't change the fact that I'm Mississippi born and bred."

He chuckled at the irritated twitch to her hips and led her up the stairs to the converted loft. Hush met them at the door, wagging in ecstasy at her visitor. While she and Norah greeted each other as if it'd been years rather than a few hours since they'd played together, Cam brushed past them and deposited the bags on the coffee table.

"Can I get you anything? There's a pitcher of tea in the fridge. Or beer if you want."

Norah extricated herself from the dog and finally stepped inside, her heels clicking across the hardwood floors he'd sanded and stained himself. "Coffee, if you've got it."

"Comin' right up."

Hush bounced across the room and laid claim to her end of the sofa. As he set up the coffee to brew, Cam watched Norah taking in his space and wondered what she saw. Would she notice the reclaimed wood they'd fashioned into window seats and cabinetry along the length of both long walls? Or the solid butcher block counters polished to a gleam? Would she appreciate the small touches of the antique and the rustic? Or would she only see the lack of sleek and modern?

Norah turned a slow circle. "It's...wonderful. Cozy."

Something in him eased at that. She really wasn't the city girl he teased her of being. Not completely. "It's unique anyway. I like my privacy."

By the time French roast dripped through the filter, Norah had commandeered the coffee table. Her assortment of new notepads was laid out by size, and she was in the process of organizing the pens by color.

"You had multiple colored highlighters and sticky notes when you studied in college, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. There were flashcards, too. I made everybody play Trivial Pursuit to study."

Amused and happy to have her in his space, alone, he flopped down beside her on the sofa and tugged her into his lap. He cut off her squeal of surprise with a kiss.

"Mmm, I've been waiting for that for days." Nibbling his way down her throat, he said, "Been waiting to get you here all to myself for longer."

"Stop." Norah's voice was a trifle breathless as she slapped a hand to his chest and shoved back. "We need to talk."

"Talk." The universal warning signal for relationships everywhere. Where was she going with this?

"I—oh for heaven's sake, I can't do this in your lap." She extricated herself and took a breath. "Look, what we're trying to do here is huge. It's going to take a lot of work, and I need to be at the top of my game. I can't do that if you're scrambling my brains every other minute with your mouth."

Cam fought the grin for all of two seconds.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself, Campbell." Her narrow-eyed glare was entirely ruined by the twitch of her own lips

"Hard not to be when you're exactly where I want you. Almost." He managed not to glance at the door to the bedroom as he curled his hand around hers and stroked a thumb over her wrist. Her pulse jumped and that pleased him as well.

"This—you and me—it's complicated."

"Doesn't have to be." He didn't want it to be. He wanted things to be simple.

"It's complicated." Those expressive eyes were full of so much doubt and uncertainty. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life."

"So? You don't have to have a plan for everything all the time."

"I do. Do you know the last time I didn't know exactly where my life was going and how I was going to get there? Fifth grade, when my parents divorced and had to sort out custody, which was really trying to work out whose career trying to save the world was inconvenienced the least by having to deal with me. I don't just bounce along without a plan. Ever. Because I have to _know_ I have somewhere to land."

Cam bled for her. He knew what it was to be abandoned by a parent because of career. But at least he'd had his mom. He'd always been able to count on her. On the rest of his family. He wanted to tug Norah back into his arms, but he didn't think she'd let him. Not just now.

"Miranda and her family— _your_ family and this town have been that for me. So I intend to win this war. I won't watch what happened to Morton happen here. I can't."

She carried so much guilt. He wanted to ease that burden for her but didn't know what he could say that she would believe. So he just brushed the hair back from her face and said in all seriousness, "We won't."

Norah shifted back, as if his touch pained her.

Cam felt the first hints of true unease slither through him. "What's wrong?"

"It can't work, Cam."

His heart began to thud. "What can't?"

Her eyes, those lovely, dark eyes, were full of apology. "Us."

The hand he still held was trembling, and she looked on the verge of tears. But he couldn't shove down the temper and disbelief, "I think the last two weeks are pretty damned good evidence to the contrary."

"This isn't about compatibility or attraction. But there's no future here. There never was. I was always leaving, at some point. I have a life, a career to salvage. You just made me forget that for a while. Staying to run this campaign is a delay of the inevitable. We're not fling kind of people, and I think it's wiser to stop things before they go any further."

"I pretty much blew wisdom all to hell the moment I decided to kiss you."

"We got in over our heads. I'm just trying to do the right thing here. I don't want to hurt you, but my life isn't here. Not beyond the temporary."

More than half the reason he'd asked her to stay was to give her a legitimate reason not to go back, to continue to explore what was growing between them. And she was all set to walk away.

_Same song, different verse_.

"If you truly think the life you left behind is worth more than what you've found here, then you've just failed Life Lessons 101. Miserably."

She flinched and pulled her hand free. "We've established that's the one area Burkes regularly fail at. Please don't be angry. We have to be able to work together on this campaign."

Of course. The campaign. No matter what was going on between them, he needed her to help save his town. She'd agreed to stay, however long it took. So he'd use that and find a way to convince her that there were more important things in life than career and prove that she had a place here, if only she was willing to take it.

So Cam stopped arguing. "Fine."

Norah blinked at him. "Fine?"

"That's not unreasonable logic." Cam went to pour coffee because he needed to put some physical distance between them. "I don't like it, don't agree with it. But there are bigger things at stake here than us. We don't have a lot of time to put this together. Just two weeks until the next City Council meeting. What's next?"

Her shift into work mode was almost like seeing a set change for a play. She squared her shoulders, shutting her emotions away, and reached for one of the legal pads. Cam wished he could do the same as easily.

"Who has final say on this decision? Is this going to be a vote of the City Council or will it go out for a public ballot?"

"As the law currently stands, it's a City Council vote."

"So our goal is to persuade the decision makers to say no." She scribbled that at the top. "There are two avenues to do that, and we'll follow through on them both. On your side, you'll be fighting this from within the system of city government. You know, or can find out, all the steps in the whole process of going from proposal to approval where there's an opportunity to stop them in their tracks."

"There aren't nearly enough of those steps for my taste."

"Nevertheless, we're working with what we've got. You'll be focusing on how the store would harm the community and the economy—and first thing tomorrow you should request an economic impact study from an independent contractor. Morton didn't do that and should have."

Cam stole one of the smaller pads and began to make his own list. "What about you?"

"My efforts will be geared toward showing how many members of the community support a 'no' vote."

"Considering how many people we hypothesize will want a 'yes,' how do you plan to do that?"

"By educating the public—and myself—on the hidden costs of big box stores and creating a campaign to get the word out about that. But to do that I need data. About forty percent of persuasion is knowing your audience. I want to do a focus group with the local Chamber of Commerce."

_And a challenge straight out of the gate._ "That's gonna be a bit tough. The Chamber of Commerce is more or less defunct."

"How defunct?"

"Well, I can't really remember the last time they met. They never formally disbanded, but they haven't actually _done_ anything in a good five, maybe seven years. Not since I bought the nursery, and I'm technically a member."

"Well then, now's the time to revive it. Local businesses are going to be the biggest potential allies in this fight, as they're the ones who have the most to lose."

He couldn't fault her logic. "I'll make some calls, put something together."

"Good. Let me know when and where. If we can get a venue with a marker or chalkboard, that would be really helpful, but in a pinch I can pick up a flip chart and easel." She began listing things out in a smaller notebook.

"Should be able to set something up at the community center. I'm pretty sure they've got markerboards floating around there somewhere. I'll go by and book the space tomorrow."

"Good. Do you think they'd be willing to show up out of concern and civic duty or should we offer incentives?"

He offered her a steaming mug. "Incentives?"

"Feeding people is always a popular way to get butts in chairs."

"I expect we can get people to show up either way."

"Then we'll save that for when we have a head count to see if it's within the budget. What _is_ the budget?"

"Budget?" When he'd concocted this plan, he hadn't thought that far ahead.

"My skills aren't the only expense of a marketing campaign."

_Maybe it's a good thing she decided to do this pro bono._ "I'd have to do some figuring."

"This isn't a big city, so the big ticket items like TV spots are unnecessary and wouldn't be hitting our target audience anyway. We'll focus on guerrilla marketing and low budget, grassroots tactics." She made more notes, this time on one of the larger pads.

"Guerrilla marketing? Do I need to pick up some greasepaint and a ghillie suit?"

"Guerrilla marketing focuses on tactics outside the traditional realm—thinking outside the box instead of focusing on mass marketing through traditional media. Ideally we'd have a much longer period of time to build something, but since we don't, it's vital that we define our target audience, figure out who the best local influencers are—that's where I hope to loop in the local business owners—and get them to help spread the word. This is a small town. Everybody knows everybody else, and gossip is the currency of the day. Our goal is to get that working to our advantage to get a Shop Local campaign off the ground."

He blinked at her, trying to process everything she'd said. "Wow. That's...I don't know. A bit more elaborate than I was expecting."

"That's not even a full basic prospectus. What exactly did you think you were asking me to do?"

He'd been trying to give her a reason to stay that she could justify without getting into the murky issue of their relationship. The relationship she'd just broken off. "I didn't look much beyond the fact that you were an ally. After the City Council meeting tonight, those were in pretty short supply."

Cam saw her reach toward him, as if to lay her hand over his, then stop. "Well, I am that. I love Wishful. I always have. If I can do something to preserve it, I absolutely will. But we have to have a plan for that. I'll do some research, see if there happens to be some kind of smoking gun of bad press on GrandGoods, but chances are there won't be. We need to be prepared to give the town an alternative."

"An alternative?"

"Part of why GrandGoods is going to be so appealing is because it's something different from the status quo. If they have no other options, people will make the shitty choice just because it's there."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Burgess—the City Planner—has always had this tendency to over-emphasize industrial recruiting. I understand that. It's the loss of industry that got us into this financial state to start with, but in all of his efforts to woo companies into coming here, he pays almost no attention to improving the quality of life in the community. Prosperous small town economies are built on the foundation of strong communities. We've lost so much in the last decade, and part of that is community spirit. But we only have two weeks. I have no idea what we could do in that span to remind people of that, let alone give them a true economic alternative. We have virtually no resources, little support. And as much as I believe you are Wonder Woman, I don't know if even you can pull this off."

"Have a little faith, Cam, and people might surprise you."

"I'll do my best." But he was afraid faith, like allies, was in very short supply.

The streets of downtown Wishful were all but empty, shrouded in winter quiet. In another hour or so, the get to school and work hustle would begin, and businesses would open for another day. For now, it was just Cam and the silence of the green, exactly as he liked it. Even in the winter, it felt like a postcard of his own little slice of paradise. He'd fight tooth and nail to keep it that way.

Wanting to stretch his legs, he parked across the green and walked the couple of blocks to his destination. With the nursery being somewhat out from town, he made it a point to drive in and patronize other local businesses at least once most days. He considered it good for the local economy and part of his job as a City Councilman to be visible and social—connected to his constituents. As he was bound for City Hall, he set his sights on The Daily Grind and a caffeinated form of olive branch to hopefully smooth his way.

As soon as he stepped through the door, Cassie Callister called out, "Just the man I wanted to see! Do a girl a favor and give me the scoop on this proposed store before Mama Pearl hears."

Being one of the two major gossip hubs of town, Cassie and the staff of The Grind were in a constant competition with Mama Pearl at Dinner Belles to be the first to know anything worth knowing. Given the general consensus that Mama Pearl was somehow psychic—Violet swore to it on a stack of Bibles—Cam was pretty sure she was in a perpetual lead.

"Do I even want to know who got the gossip train moving on this?"

Cassie grinned. "You know I never reveal my sources."

"Hook me up with a straight Americano, a white chocolate mocha, and whatever Avery's go to is this month, and I'll consider it."

"I'm on it. All to go?"

"Yep."

While she bustled behind the counter, Cam scoped out the handful of other patrons. A few familiar faces, but nobody that sent up red flags that he should keep his mouth shut, so as Cassie handed over his coffee, he said, "We've had a formal proposal by GrandGoods for store development."

Cassie made a face. "Homogenized, big bulk, over processed, sweat shop supporting robots."

"Then you'll want to be at the Chamber of Commerce meeting later this week to get in on the ground floor of things."

"Ooo, are we staging a protest? A picket line? A sit in?"

He chuckled, thinking Cassie was born in the wrong decade. "I think the expert helping out has some other ideas."

"Well count me in. When and where, my friend?"

"Not sure just yet. Soon. I've still gotta book the community center, but I'll let you know as soon as I do."

"I'll be there with bells on."

As it was early yet, Cam made his way down Main Street without the usual stop and greet that would've tripled his time. The guard's station at the front desk of City Hall was empty. Old Jerry Noble wouldn't be on duty until the hall officially opened at eight. Cam bypassed the metal detector and headed up the stairs to his mother's office on the second floor.

Avery looked up as he came in. "She's been here since seven."

"Thought she might be." He held out the double shot espresso.

"Bless you." She dropped her voice as she took the proffered coffee. "She's in a mood."

"Afraid I'm not gonna be helping that."

"I figured as much."

"Ah well, forewarned is forearmed."

"For what it's worth, we're both on your side."

"Thanks for that." He rapped on the door, lifting a brow at the curt invitation before he stepped inside.

His mother looked up from the desk. "Don't you start on me, Campbell. I'm already having a lousy morning."

Cam revised his strategy. "Who's starting something? I'm just here bearing legal stimulants and checking in before I head out to the nursery for the day." He passed her the caffeine and sugar bomb he knew she loved but would never order for herself. "What's wrong?"

"Chief Curry just submitted his resignation, pending the hire of a replacement."

"He what?" Robert Curry had been Chief of Police in Wishful since...forever. Which, now that Cam thought about it, might be the why.

"He wants to retire, damn him. Like we need more change right now. I told him we'd take it under advisement, but we have to do a nationwide search and that takes time."

"He doesn't think anyone in the department is up to the task?"

"There's one person who will probably apply, but a nationwide search is the only way to do things fairly and be certain we have the best candidate. Either way, it has to wait until this GrandGoods thing is settled. Now go ahead and spit out whatever it is you came here to say about it."

Cam kept his face impassive.

"Don't take that innocent face with me, young man. It didn't work when you were five and it won't work now. I'm sure you and Norah came up with something to make my life difficult during your powwow last night."

No, the difficulty Norah presented the night before had nothing to do with his mother.

"We are not out to make your life difficult, Mom."

"You're going to put me in a position to play referee between you and Vick Burgess, even though I technically agree with you, because I have to be the mayor, not your mother, if I want the decision to be accepted by the public. That makes my life difficult."

Too restless to sit, Cam stood and began moving around her office. "If Norah's plan works, the public is going to be on our side and this isn't going to come down to a brawl—metaphoric or otherwise—between me and Vick."

Sandra gave a wary look. "And what exactly is her plan?"

"Garner public support for a 'no' vote by educating them on the true impact of big box stores."

"And you think people will listen to her as an outsider?"

He picked up the photo of the old Hoka Theater in Oxford and put it back again. "She's less outsider than this representative from GrandGoods. A lot of people know her through Miranda, since she's been coming here so many years. You've met her. What do you think?"

"I look at her and I see her father."

Whatever he'd expected her to say, that wasn't it. "You know her dad?"

"By reputation. Her father was a fraternity brother of your dad's."

Cam jolted at that. Having lived his entire life in Mississippi, he knew the whole state was one big small town, and there were seldom more than a couple of degrees of separation between people. But a connection between Norah's dad and his own? That was...unexpected.

"What was he like?"

"Joseph Burke was a shooting star. I've known very few people as brilliant, driven, or unyieldingly competitive. He was the guy everybody knew on campus, partly because he was student body president, and partly because that's just who he was. He spoke and people listened. He's a gifted orator. Once he left Ole Miss, he went on to Harvard Law."

Exactly the kind of man his father would envy.

"Norah's very like him in a lot of ways."

Cam couldn't argue with that description, and yet he saw so much more in her than that. And judging by the tilt of his mother's head, as if she hadn't quite finished her thought, she saw something else too.

"I sense a 'but' in there."

"But, I don't think he'd do what she's doing."

"Which part? Working pro bono?"

"Working on this at all. Everything Joseph did was to get the hell out of Mississippi. He was never satisfied being a big fish in a small pond. He wanted to be a big fish in an ocean. The kind of man who wanted to save the world—and get credit for it."

Perhaps Norah's dad had more in common with Cam's after all.

"From what she's said about him, he's been exceptionally successful at that. But Norah's not like that."

"No, I don't think she is. I don't think she'd have stayed friends with Miranda, kept coming back here all these years if she was."

"She has no financial stake in the decision, so less reason to be biased. I think that's in our favor."

"She seemed pretty biased to me."

"No more than I am. She got a really raw deal. And nothing anybody can say will convince her that she didn't personally have a hand in destroying that other town."

"Shouldering all that responsibility." Sandra shook her head. "Reminds me of someone else I know." She lifted a meaningful brow at him.

Cam shrugged. "Apple. Tree." He pointed a finger at his chest, then at her.

"True enough. Now what is it you really want this morning?" Her manner relaxed, and Cam knew the brief diversionary conversation had been the right move.

"I think we should commission an independent economic impact study. Bring in an expert who doesn't have a horse in this race to look at the local economy and actually project what GrandGoods will do to it, good or bad. It will help us all make a more informed decision."

"That seems completely logical. Why bring this directly to me?"

"Because I figure it stands a better chance of happening if it comes from you. You can strong arm Vick where I can't if he kicks up a fuss."

"I hate how much of this job is making other people play nice."

"You had plenty of practice corralling me and the cousins over the years."

She fixed him with a gimlet eye. "I could ground all of you."

Cam grinned.

"I'll set up a meeting." She dialed Vick's extension, obviously surprised when he answered after the second ring. Cam checked his watch. Not yet eight. Vick was getting a bright and early start after his apparent success at last night's Council meeting. Sandra asked him to come up for a quick chat.

"Should I vamoose?"

"No need for that."

Vick was all smiles when he strode in a few minutes later. He opened his mouth, ostensibly to spew some effusive pleasantries, but Sandra cut him off, back to the curt irritation she'd displayed when Cam had arrived.

"I'll be brief. Before things go any further on the GrandGoods proposal, I want an economic impact study conducted. Paid for by the city, conducted by an independent agent with no ties to GrandGoods. This project is significantly different from any of the proposals we've entertained before, and I want to make absolutely certain we proceed with as much information as possible."

"I think that's a very sensible suggestion, Sandra. I'd be happy to get right on that this morning and compile a list of possible contractors."

His ready agreement threw Cam. Where was the antagonism? The arguments against slowing the process?

"That would be great. I've got a full plate sorting through other things today."

With another of those used car salesman grins, Vick walked right back out.

"There. That was relatively painless, for once."

Painless and Vick didn't go together. "I don't trust him. He never agrees to anything that easily."

"I take it as a sign he's trying to play nice. I suggest you do the same. Now skedaddle on to work yourself. I've got work to do."

# Chapter 9

"—THE COUNCIL HAS AGREED to a delay of the vote until receipt of the economic impact study, so we've got a bit of a reprieve until the report comes back." Cam's announcement to the twenty or so members of the Chamber of Commerce scattered on the bleachers of the community center was met with grim focus.

Norah could work with that. What she wasn't sure she could continue to do was work with Cam. He hadn't pushed, hadn't guilted, hadn't even alluded to their brief relationship. But compartmentalizing what she felt for him was taking more than half the energy she needed to be devoting to the campaign. She could usually lose herself in the work, but seeing him day in, day out was slowly driving her mad.

Realizing he was done introducing her, Norah took his place up front, already refining her pitch, shifting from training to instinct. "Usually how this works is I'd go with all the glitz and glam, lay out my credentials and awards to establish myself as the resident expert before launching into my pitch. But this isn't a boardroom and y'all don't care about that. Most of you don't know me. Those who do probably know little more than my connection to the Campbell family. So here's what you need to know in a nutshell: I may not be from here, but I love this town, and I don't want to see it desecrated by GrandGoods or any other corporate giant seeking to come in and carve out a place without consideration of the community at large. I have the skill set, the time, the passion, and the commitment to see that that doesn't happen."

She paused a few beats, noting body language as some, like Tyler and the sweet-faced brunette who ran the pharmacy, leaned forward, engaged. Mama Pearl folded both arms across her ample bosom, her strangely ageless face set in lines of skepticism. Norah had faced tougher crowds.

"But I can't fight this war alone. And make no mistake—this _is_ a war. GrandGoods and all they represent are a threat to the culture and way of life here. Your City Planner would have you believe otherwise."

She turned and rotated the markerboard Cam had dragged in for her before the meeting so they could see the list she'd made. "Mr. Burgess would have you believe that GrandGoods will create jobs. Obviously, with Wishful's economy being in its current state, that would be a great thing. If it were true. In fact, studies by independent economists prove that big box stores eliminate more retail jobs than they create. And the jobs they _do_ create tend to be part time, low wages, with no benefits." She drew a line through the first myth and moved on to the second. "He says GrandGoods will boost local tax revenue. That's a big catch-22. Whatever tax benefits GrandGoods may provide will be negated by the cost of providing public services like roads, additional miles of utilities, more of a drain on fire and police time. Not to mention that cities that approve big box development often experience a decline in property and sales tax revenue from existing local businesses. That would be all of you." She crossed another line off.

"He'll tell you that GrandGoods will grow the economy, when, in fact, chains like them actually shrink the volume of activity in the local economy. As local business owners, you hire more local workers, purchase more goods and services from other local businesses, and contribute more to local charities than a big box counterpart would." Another strike out. "GrandGoods is supposed to bring competition and choice for the consumer. But what competition will remain when they edge you out of business? A town this size cannot reasonably absorb a store of that scale without considerable revenue losses to existing businesses. And there's absolutely no guarantee of quality or customer service." She axed that one from the list and drew a circle around the remaining myth she intended to bust.

"Perhaps most important, they're going to tell you that GrandGoods and other big box stores like it are the only option for saving your flagging economy. Mr. Burgess is focused on big industry, big box stores, big solutions to an understandably big and intimidating problem. And a lot of people think like he does. But the fact is, there _are_ other solutions. Solutions that will protect and enhance your businesses and create a climate that will appeal to entrepreneurs seeking viable locations for small business investment."

A hand shot up from the back row. Sandy hair with purple streaks. The owner of The Daily Grind.

"Yes Cassie?"

"That all sounds great, but it also sounds like a really long-term kind of project. Even with a few weeks' reprieve from a decision about GrandGoods, how can we possibly make enough of a difference to stop it?"

"You're right." Norah nodded. "You're absolutely right. It _is_ a long-term kind of project. And I tell you that because I want to give y'all a hint of the bigger picture. But our goal—I think we're all agreed on this—is to stop GrandGoods. In order to do that, we need to sway the decision makers to _say_ no. That means the rest of the City Council."

"And how are we gonna do that?" Mama Pearl demanded.

Norah let her smile spread wide. "You're going to do what you do best. Share your wisdom with anybody and everybody who comes in your door."

There was a ripple of laughter at that. One corner of Mama Pearl's generous mouth quirked up. Her approximation of a grudging smile.

"All of you are here because you're business owners. As such, you have contact on a daily basis with the citizens of Wishful. I'd wager most of you know the majority of your clientele by face, if not full names with family histories attached. You're influencers in this community. What I need you to do is spread the word. Get people talking about this situation and be frank about your problems with the proposal. Most of all, it will be your job to utilize whatever gossip trees you have in place to make sure that everybody knows that we're forming a citizens coalition, and we want them to join."

Pharmacy girl lifted a timid hand.

Norah pointed to give her the floor. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Riley Gower. What exactly will we be doing with a citizens coalition?"

"I'm glad you asked. Apart from pulling together as many like-minded people as we can, the coalition will have two primary goals. The first will be to continue to spread the word and educate the public about this issue. Our country is notoriously inactive when it comes to taking action on a political front. Most people don't take the time to educate themselves about the issues and prefer their news delivered in a soundbyte. We need to work to change that here. The second goal of the coalition will be to establish an effective Shop Local campaign. We want you to retain the customer base you have and remind everyone else why local is better, in an effort to get them to spend more of their dollars here rather than taking business elsewhere to places like Lawley or Jackson or online."

Her audience peppered her with questions for the next half hour. Norah answered them, expanding and elaborating as she could, making note of anything she didn't know so she could research further before the coalition meeting. When they wound down, Norah spread her hands. "Well, troops. I hope I've given you a good information base to work from on this and sufficient reason to act. Can I count on y'all to be my front line recruiters?"

"Aye aye, General!" Cassie Callister called.

Not everyone was quite as enthusiastic, but the prevailing consensus was a yes.

Cam stepped forward. "We've got information packets on the table by the door if you'd like to do more research yourself before talking to others."

For the duration of her talk, he'd hung back, generally out of her sight. She'd been relieved at that, knowing that her gaze would've strayed too often to him. But it also meant she hadn't been able to watch _his_ reactions to her presentation. It was foolish to be nervous about that. She'd accomplished what she set out to do tonight. But it still felt important that he be happy with her work. He was, after all, sort of her client.

Everybody filed out except Tyler, who stood talking with Cam.

"Nicely done, Wonder Woman. I'm not surprised, but I'm suitably impressed."

"It's a start," Norah acknowledged.

"Well, I for one am looking forward to seeing your plan of attack. And to seeing how well you can herd cats, because that's totally what that coalition meeting will be." Tyler seemed faintly amused at the thought.

They wouldn't be the first cats she'd herded. "One challenge at a time."

"What's next?" Tyler asked.

"Individual recruitment of other business owners for the coalition." Norah turned to Cam. "Do you have that list for me? We can split them down the middle to get done faster."

"I do, but I think it's best if we go together. A lot of people still don't know you. They all know me, so I can get you in the door, smooth the way."

"Can you afford to take that much time away from the nursery? It'll probably take a few days to hit up everybody."

"Violet runs a tight ship and this is a priority."

Three full days working side-by-side. Oh goodie. "Okay then. We should start tomorrow."

Cam's stomach gave an audible gurgle. "You wanna go debrief over food? Figure out the schedule"

Norah felt almost weak with relief. "Can't. Tyler and I are meeting Miranda and Piper for dinner at Speakeasy."

"Beer, pizza, and gossip. Pretty sure there will be discussion about who Liam Montgomery is stepping out with."

"He's only been back a few weeks. How do you know he's stepping out with anybody?" Cam asked.

"I don't, but it's hella fun to torture Miranda." Tyler grinned.

"Does she actually still have a thing for him?"

"She says she doesn't. I'm pretty sure she'd just like the chance to be seen as something other than Randa Panda. If that dress she wore New Year's Eve didn't do the trick, I'm not sure anything will."

"I can't believe she didn't murder Mitch for that one," Tyler said.

"Miranda is a big believer in the idea that revenge is a dish best served cold." Cam looked back to Norah. "Anyway, you want to do breakfast in the morning? We can go over the recruitment plan for the rest of the week before you take Hush for your play date."

"Works for me. You make coffee. I'll bring food."

"If you want something other than Frosted Flakes, that's probably best."

"Frosted Flakes? What are you, ten?"

"Hey, they're grrrrreat! Besides, what's the point of being a grown up if you can't eat all the stuff your mom wouldn't let you have when you were a kid?"

"I can think of a few other better reasons to be a grown up," Norah said.

Cam shot her a look so full of heat, she almost took a step back.

_Jesus, that's so not what I meant_. But, of course, now the thought was in her head. She needed to get out of here before she broke into a sweat. "We should probably get going, Tyler. We're going to be late."

"Y'all go ahead. I'll lock up here. I'll see you in the morning, Wonder Woman. Say seven-thirty? Violet's got a thing, so I need to be at the nursery to open by nine. Then we can hit the streets around noon."

"Sure. Tomorrow."

The cold night air was a relief. Tyler had left her truck at the hardware store, so she hitched a ride with Norah to the pizzeria.

Tyler tugged her seatbelt into place. "So, how long has that been going on?"

Norah tightened her hands on the wheel, hoping she misunderstood. "How long has what been going on?"

"You and Cam."

Norah kept her eyes on the road. "There is no me and Cam."

"If there's not, then there should be. The pair of you are throwing off enough sexual tension to power the county for a month."

God, she felt it. Focusing on not reacting, Norah kept her voice even. "That would be very complicated considering my life isn't actually here beyond the temporary."

"Maybe, but it'd sure be a helluva lot of fun."

"I didn't come down here looking for fun." She hadn't come down here looking for a relationship of any kind.

"Maybe not, but it's worth grabbing while you can. You never know when you'll lose it." Her tone didn't change, but there was some subtle thread of pain underlying Tyler's words that distracted Norah from her own problems.

"I'm thinking there's a story behind that wisdom."

"One for another time. Tonight is for girls only."

As she followed Tyler into the pizzeria, Norah wondered if she was right. Was it worth grabbing onto while she could, even knowing the whole thing had an expiration date? Was the pleasure worth the ultimate pain?

If she'd had only herself to consider, maybe she could believe that. But she couldn't, _wouldn't_ knowingly put Cam in a position that would build false hope for a future they couldn't have. He'd been through enough.

"And that's another one ticked off." Norah made a triumphant and dramatic check on the legal pad in her lap.

Cam turned his eyes away from that lap and the slim black skirt that'd had "Barracuda" running through his head since she'd slid into his truck that morning. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

"You knew exactly how that would go before we even walked in there, didn't you?" He cranked the engine. "Down to the fact that Abe wasn't going to listen to a word I said."

"Yep."

"And you let me walk in there and try to talk to him anyway." Figuring old school Abe wouldn't respond well to Norah's city slicker suit and fancy shoes, Cam had thought it best to take the lead.

"I did."

"Was that to prove a point?"

Norah smiled, and it was almost a real one. "A little. But it also set up a little good cop/bad cop. You went in there expecting him to see you as an enemy, and he did. I was a sweet little gal in need of rescuing by a big, strong, experienced man. I was no threat."

"No threat, my ass. That was a friggin' work of art how you herded him around to volunteering like it was all his idea. You got him to do exactly what you wanted."

"Yes. Yes, I did." Her lips curved in an expression of smug satisfaction that shot his internal temperature up a good ten degrees.

Cam shifted in his seat. "Objectively, I knew you were good, but I don't think I really grasped what that meant. I honestly did _not_ expect you to pull that off."

"Abe Costello is hardly the first good ol' boy I've ever had to deal with. The South doesn't have the market cornered on old school male chauvinists. I made it out of there without getting my ass pinched, so I call that a win on multiple fronts."

And that just made him think about palming her ass. _Business. Stick to business._ "Who's next?"

She consulted the ever-present list. "Brister Construction."

"That'll be Burt Brister. Another of those good ol' boys."

Norah crossed her legs in that slim black skirt, drawing his eye. "Then I'll charm him just as easily."

Cam found that the mantle of optimism didn't rest so comfortably on his own shoulders. In his experience, nothing worth having came easy, so he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But despite their personal differences, he did trust Norah, and she _had_ just successfully talked Abe Costello into coming to the coalition meeting to hear her out, so for her sake, he was trying to rein in his natural skepticism.

The huge doors of the garage that housed all the heavy equipment were closed and only one aging work truck with the Brister insignia was parked in the gravel lot when they pulled up.

"Think they're out on a job?" Norah asked.

"Not likely this time of year. Personal vehicles would be parked around back."

Not even a receptionist sat at the front desk when they stepped inside.

"Maybe we should come back later."

Cam moved further inside. "Somebody's here if the door's unlocked. Hello?"

The clatter of plastic wheels sounded from the back and someone stepped out of an office. Burt Brister had always reminded Cam of General Custer, with the long, sandy mustache framing his mouth, a mouth that was very definitely unsmiling as he stepped forward. "Can I help you?"

"Campbell Crawford, sir. I believe you know my mother, the mayor."

Burt angled his head in acknowledgment and took Cam's offered hand.

"And this is Norah Burke. We were hoping you had a few minutes to talk to us."

"Got more free minutes than I'd like just now. Come on back." He shifted some files out of the two chairs in front of his battered metal desk and gestured for them to sit. His own chair creaked as he sat and looked the two of them over. "Y'all lookin' to build a house?"

Norah, who'd opened her mouth to start whatever spiel she'd been planning, looked startled. "Sorry?"

Cam thought about what they must look like, a young couple ready to take the next step in life and wanting new digs to go with it. Since that was exactly the direction he'd been headed in when she broke things off, the question put a strain on his already volatile mood. "Ah, no sir. We're here on another matter entirely. Are you aware that the city has been approached with a proposal by GrandGoods?"

"I heard rumblings about something. Didn't know the particulars."

Norah picked up the thread. "Provided they pass the approval process, they intend to build a 150,000 square foot store in Wishful."

Burt straightened a little in his chair, his eyes sharpening. "Go on."

She laid it out for him, explaining the proposal and the problems such a project would present for the town. "As a local business owner, I'm sure you can appreciate the importance of preserving the character of Wishful and preventing the uncontrolled urban sprawl that would inevitably follow should GrandGoods be allowed to go ahead with their project. That's why we'd like to invite you to come to the citizens' coalition meeting next week, to be a part of the community's voice in letting the local policy-makers know that this isn't the direction Wishful should go."

"No."

Cam caught the momentary stunned expression on Norah's face before she recovered enough to reply. "I can understand how that might be your instinctive response, but surely it would be better to reserve your final decision until after you've attended the meeting, heard what others have to say."

"Young lady, I'm not going to join your coalition. I will, in fact, be first in line to submit a bid for the GrandGoods contract. I support the growth of commercial real estate such a store would bring to town."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned about the negative impact—"

Burt broke in. "Let me tell you about negative impact. I built this business from the ground up. Over the last twenty-five years, I've expanded my operations, my crew. And with the tanking economy, do you know how many good people I've had to let go? Twelve. Not because they did shoddy work or anything wrong but simply because we don't have the level of work we need to pay them. I've had to cut back the hours on dozens more."

Cam felt his gut clench, thinking again of Roy McKennon's desperation and wounded pride over the loss of his ability to provide for his family. Here was more of the same.

"I want to hire those men back. I want to protect the jobs of the ones I still have. I have to look out for my employees, for their families. They depend on me for their livelihood, so from my perspective, supporting GrandGoods is the _only_ decision."

It made sense. Here was that rock and a hard place his mother had warned him about. More people who'd be lost if they couldn't find work. More of the soul of his town destroyed by a bad economy.

"Do you have any idea the kind of security a job like that would give them? You'll forgive me if I think that's a helluva lot more important than some kind of misplaced nostalgia for how this town used to be."

When Norah looked as if she might try some other tack, Cam sat forward. "We absolutely appreciate your position, Burt. Thanks for hearing us out. We'll let you get back to your day."

Cam recognized the mutinous expression in Norah's eyes as he said their goodbyes and herded her toward the door, but she kept her mouth shut until they were shut inside his truck again.

"What the hell was that?"

"A tactical retreat. You weren't going to change his mind."

"You don't know that. You didn't even let me try to counter his position."

"No. Because we shouldn't try to counter his position, Norah. Absolutely nothing we can say or do is going to provide the kind of work opportunities he needs to be able to offer his employees. He's right. From his standpoint, GrandGoods and everything that comes with it is exactly what his business needs."

Norah exhaled long and slow. "Okay, fair point. He's not the right target audience for this message. We aren't going to convince everybody, and that's okay."

"Is it? Is it really okay to the twenty percent of our population who are unemployed? What we're doing isn't helping them. Do we even have the right to be pushing to stop this?"

She laid a hand on his arm. "No decision is going to make everyone happy."

He looked down at her fingers, slim and delicate. "Yeah, you specialize in those, don't you."

When she pulled her hand away, he bit back a curse. He knew this wasn't easy on her either, could see the strain she was under. But, of course, she didn't actually respond to his jab. The matter was already settled in her mind.

"You have to look at the bigger picture, at the long-term impacts, to determine what's best for the majority."

Were they still talking about the town?

"Seems like looking out for the majority still means the minority gets shit on."

"Campbell, you can't save everybody. Not all at once. Just because what we're trying to do isn't the right thing for some people doesn't mean that we're wrong or that we should stop. The alternative means that the minority gets bigger. You're maybe too close to this. That minority is personal for you, people you know, people you care about. And I know it hurts you that you can't fix it for them because that's how you're built. It's one of the things I admire about you. But I think, in this case, it's making this whole situation harder on you than it might otherwise be."

He could see her point, but that did nothing to assuage the guilt that had dogged him since his encounter with April and Roy McKennon.

"Maybe I should do the rest on my own."

He wanted to let her. To just walk away from the torture of having her right there and yet completely out of reach. But she'd been right about one thing. This was about more than them. If she was going to go, then he had to at least save the town she was leaving behind.

"No. I said I'd help with this part. And you're right, we can't please everybody. It's just...hard coming up against completely reasonable opposition."

"I know." She shoved the legal pad into her briefcase. "Let's take a break and get some lunch before we pick back up with the rest of the list. I bet Mama Pearl has a pie that's a cure-all for personal guilt crises."

Because he knew an olive branch when he heard one, Cam forced a smile. "That's the best idea you've had all day."

# Chapter 10

NORAH EYED THE VIBRATING phone like a pit viper as it danced across Miranda's coffee table. Her father. For the sixth time in the last hour. No voicemails.

He knew.

_Stop being a coward_ , she ordered herself. _Get it over with._

The phone felt heavy in her sweaty hand. "Dad."

"What the hell is this about you being _fired?_ "

She winced and pulled the phone away from her ear as he continued.

"What the hell is going on, Norah? Where have you been?"

Her head began to throb. "If you'll stop yelling for five minutes, I'll tell you." Norah slid off the sofa to pace and rub at her temples. She gave her father a bare bones account of the events that led to her termination. With every step, every word, her shoulders tightened.

"No, sir, I'm not legally liable for anything. Neither I nor Helios broke any official laws."

"Do you have copies of all the legal paperwork between Hugo's and the city?"

Because, of course, her word on the stand wasn't good enough. She was supposed to produce evidence. "Why would I? We didn't have that kind of role in the project. We didn't make any decisions, sign any documents short of the standard contracts we sign with all clients, outlining our scope of work." She wrapped one arm tight around her middle and did an about face, heading toward the dining room. "Mine was a moral objection to the actions of the firm, not an actual legal issue."

"Do you know what this could do to your career?"

_I should hang up._ But years of conditioned behavior had her staying on the line, continuing to defend her decisions in the hope that one day she'd argue well enough that he'd see her side—maybe even offer approval. But today wasn't going to be that day. She made another circuit, living room to dining room and back before stopping to drop her head back against the nearest wall as she listened to what he imagined was counsel but came across more like orders.

God, she wanted Cam. Wanted his support, his level head, his touch. But that wasn't an option. So she steeled her spine as she'd done for the last twenty years. "With all due respect, Dad, I'll handle it. I know this was never the career you or Mom would've picked for me, but that's not the point. It's what I chose."

"It was a poor decision."

_And you never get tired of reminding me of that._ "Yes, you both made it quite clear that you didn't agree with that decision. That doesn't make what I do have less value."

"I'm really disappointed in you, Norah. You have so much potential and you continue to waste it, wasting all the advantages your mother and I worked to give you. I really expected better of you."

She blanched, staying silent as she absorbed that blow. When she answered, her voice was small and oh so tired. "You're entitled to your opinion, Dad, just like I'm entitled to mine. Whatever I do next will still be what I choose. I'm not going to suddenly turn around and go back to law or medical school because it's what _you_ want. Now, you've been informed. Go ahead and call Mom and share your mutual disappointment in me. I've got work to do."

Without giving him a chance to respond, Norah hung up. Then she turned her phone completely off and crossed to lay it on the coffee table with meticulous care, before she could give in to the impulse to hurl it against the wall.

_Damn him. Damn him and all his expectations and guilt trips and goddamned cross examinations. It's my life._

And it was a mess. She'd stubbornly put off dealing with it in the name of saving Wishful. But if she was to have any kind of career to go back to when the campaign was done, she had to get off her ass and start taking steps to straighten things out.

Even the idea of it left her feeling hollow and exhausted. But that was pretty par for the course these days.

The sound of the doorbell had her groaning. Company was the last thing she wanted. But it might be about the campaign. So many balls were up in the air, she really couldn't afford to leave her phone off for long.

Schooling her features into an expression of polite welcome, Norah opened the door.

Piper bounced inside. "This is a kidnapping!"

Norah stared at the very short skirt and pink straw cowboy hat her friend was sporting. "I'm sorry, what?"

"We failed to adhere to our sacred duty upon your arrival and must now rectify that oversight."

"Which sacred duty is that?"

"The part where we go out dancing and drink to the shriveling of your ex's dick." This was stated in a tone of _duh._

"She's bloodthirsty, our Piper," Tyler said from the doorway.

It was a sentiment Norah could get behind, even if the object of her ire was a little different. "While I appreciate the thought, I've got a lot of work to do."

The coalition meeting had gone well. She'd successfully sold them on a Shop Local campaign and laid the foundation for a grassroots movement. But even with the help of the new coalition chairwoman, Molly Montgomery—who evidently had a membership or officer position in every civic group in town—it meant her workload had quadrupled.

"All work and no play makes Norah a dull girl," Piper sang.

"All work and no play makes Norah a successful girl." She returned to her position on the sofa.

"There is more to life than work."

An ache bloomed in Norah's chest as she thought of Cam and his life lessons. There'd been no more of them since she broke things off. Not a surprise. And not that there'd been time. They'd both been working their asses off to get this campaign off the ground.

"You might as well give in," Tyler added. "She doesn't take no for an answer."

Norah looked down at her yoga pants and sweatshirt. "I'm hardly dressed for going out. And Miranda will be home from her ER rotation in an hour."

"She's meeting us there when she gets off." Piper stepped over the piles of folders and tugged Norah up. "Come on."

Norah had no intention of going. She had census data to dig through and city tax records to analyze. Not to mention the website mock-up she wanted to finish before the next coalition meeting. But forty-five minutes later, she was being hustled through the door of the Mudcat Tavern, fully made up and wearing borrowed cowboy boots, as Piper had declared her knee-high English riding boots "too citified for this kind of dancing" and insisted that they did not meet Bitch Boot status. Norah was pretty sure some kind of magic had been involved.

The pretty, older bartender flashed a welcoming smile. "What'll it be ladies?"

Piper slapped the bar. "Adele, we're here for the Three Furies. Norah here has been wronged by an idiot man."

_More than one_.

"Is there any other kind?" Adele asked.

Norah exercised more caution than Piper. "And what exactly does the Three Furies entail?"

"It's a tradition of long standing, dating back to just after college when He Who Is Not Worth Naming walked out of my life," Tyler explained. "First shot is tequila because you're drinking to forget a worm. Second shot is whiskey, in honor of the fire in your belly. Third shot is Jaeger, which will kick all asses. And after each, you get a shot at Bob the Bastard."

"Bob the Bastard?"

Adele lifted a sad burlap...thing from behind the counter. It had a crude face embroidered on and four rough limbs flung out akimbo. A fifth...protuberance was painted in red between the legs.

"Is that...a voodoo doll?"

"Sort of. We mount him on the dartboard and take shots at his nuts. It's terribly cathartic. I think this is actually Bob the Sixth. The Three Furies is a popular ritual." Tyler patted Bob on the head.

"It's one that has stood us in good stead, and as you are now officially a part of the Sisterhood, it is your duty to participate," Piper said.

Norah wondered what sisterhood that was, exactly. "Oh, well I don't do shots. I'm more a sedate glass of wine or the occasional glass of Scotch kind of girl. And, really, I'm over it. Not even on the rebound." Why should she waste time thinking about Pierce when she was already half crazy for a better man she wouldn't let herself have?

Piper gave her a baleful glance. "Are you seriously not going to cooperate?"

The idea of throwing darts at Pierce's junk in effigy _was_ pretty appealing. All this mess had started with him. "Well, if it's _that_ important to you."

"Damn straight."

Adele set out a salted shot glass and poured the tequila while Tyler affixed Bob to one of the dart boards on the wall. A cheer went up around the bar.

"Okay Norah, you have to name him," Tyler called.

"Pierce Vargas."

"Here hangs the bastard Pierce Vargas, Asshole of the First Degree," Tyler intoned. "Administering his sentence is Norah Burke, the Supremely Wronged Party. Norah, you may begin when ready."

_When in Rome._ Norah took the shot, wincing at the burn as she bit the lime. God, tequila was nasty. Piper offered up the first dart and she took her position behind the line. After clearing the pucker from her face, Norah zeroed in on the doll less than eight feet away.

"Feel free to list his crimes."

"For being a lying douchenozzle."

Bringing Pierce's smug, supercilious face to mind, she let the dart fly. It embedded in one of the arms. The crowd cheered.

"Not bad." Piper nodded in approval. "Extra points for using 'douchenozzle' correctly in a sentence. That counts as first blood. Bet you can do better, though. Adele, bring on the Jack!"

"Shouldn't I eat something first?" Norah tried to remember if she'd had lunch.

"We'll order after you're done. Don't want to lose your momentum."

_If only my Chicago colleagues could see me now._ She accepted the second glass. All those pretentious, self-absorbed professionals would consider this behavior completely unseemly. The idea made her grin as she took the second shot. The whiskey went down easier, smoothing some of the edges she hadn't realized she'd been carrying around. Maybe they were on to something with this whole thing.

The dart Piper handed her felt warm in her palm.

"For not appreciating that I was the best thing to ever happen to you."

You were supposed to exhale when throwing, right? Or maybe that was just archery. She couldn't remember, but it seemed like a good idea, so when Norah stepped up to the line, she took a series of deep breaths as she aimed. On a last gust, she released with a snap. It hit a mere half inch below the desired target, to the collective groans of the audience.

"That's okay, honey. You've still got one more to go," Piper said.

Norah returned to the bar for the Jaeger.

"Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" Turning, she saw Tucker crossing the bar, Cam, Mitch, and Liam Montgomery right behind.

Cam. Of _course,_ he was here. Because it wasn't enough that she should see him every day in a work capacity, and almost as often through all her Campbell family interactions. She really needed the Universe to mock her further by throwing him in her path some more with a _Nana nana boo boo, look what you gave up_ for good measure.

God, he looked good. He also looked just a little bit pissed off. She wondered if Tucker and company had dragged him out of his cave like she'd been dragged out of hers.

"Who's the poor bastard being skewered?" Tucker inquired.

By way of answer, Norah lifted the shot of Jaeger in a toast before tossing it back with a prayer that it would strengthen her resolve. Her cheeks felt flushed as she slapped the glass down on the bar and returned to position for her final shot.

"For my career, you unscrupulous, exploitive son of a bitch." Norah flung the dart, wishing it was something more substantial, like a knife, as it zoomed forward and buried itself in the doll's painted scrotum.

The crowd—the females anyway—burst into cheers and applause. Norah took an exaggerated bow and regretted it as the room took a bit of a dip along with it. Food. Food was an immediate priority. And water. Like, a gallon of it. She managed to straighten without lurching.

Mitch swaggered over. "Is this an All-Men-Suck hen party, or can we join you?"

"Better check Norah for sharp, pointy objects," Cam said. "Clearly she's dangerous with them."

Norah assumed a superior air. "He deserved it."

Piper was grinning like a loon, her arm already looped through Liam's, so evidently this was to be a mixed party. _Hooray, a new challenge to resist Cam, this time with diminished capacity._ Norah knew after the lengths they'd gone to getting her here, neither woman was going to just let her go on home, so she didn't voice the protest.

They commandeered a booth in the corner and put in orders for appetizers. Even as the others broke into a babble of joking conversation, Norah could feel Cam's eyes on her.

"Are you okay?" He had to lean in close to be heard over the music, and Norah shivered at the feel of his breath on her ear.

"Not even close." She tossed back a glass of water as if it were another shot.

"What happened?"

"Talked to my dad."

Cam winced. "As bad as you expected?"

"Worse." She wished he'd rub her nape, banish some of the tension. But he didn't touch her. Because they didn't do that anymore. She wasn't his to take care of.

"I'm sorry."

Norah jerked her shoulders. "Over now." Flashing a smile that was probably more of a snarl, she asked, "And how was your day?"

"Could've been better. The economic impact report will be in tomorrow. The Council is convening tomorrow afternoon to go over it and vote."

The shots turned to acid in her stomach. "So soon? I thought we weren't expecting it for another month?"

"So did I. Apparently when they said they'd fast-track it, they really meant it."

Had she done enough? She'd expected to have another month to shift public opinion, get the other Council members on their side. There had barely been time to get the Shop Local campaign off the ground, let alone finish with all the public education components of her plan. At this point, all their hopes were pinned on the results of that study.

"I'm sure it'll be fine." She knew the power of optimism. "All our research suggests that the economic impact would be overwhelmingly negative. Any firm worth its salt is going to find the same."

"I hope you're right. Either way, tomorrow is D-Day."

It was a sobering thought. Another sign from the Universe that her time here was winding up. Her mind automatically shifted to the action plan for the coalition, wondering how she should alter the timeline to see that the Shop Local campaign was truly sustainable on its own. Because an end to the anti-GrandGoods campaign meant an end to her time in Wishful. And an end to her time with Cam. She told herself it would be easier away from him, back in the real world, where everyone had expectations and the standard operating procedure was looking out for number one.

And when had she become a woman who looked for easy?

"You two look entirely too serious. I know just the way to turn that frown upside down." Tucker grabbed her hand. "Come on, sugar."

"No, no, no, nono. I don't—oh Jesus." Abruptly, she found herself spun in some complicated sequence as an Alan Jackson song rocked out from the juke box.

Tyler waved after them. "Don't worry. Tucker makes everybody look good!"

Despite his lousy mood, Cam couldn't help but be amused as Tucker dragged a very panicked Norah out on the dance floor. Piper wasn't far behind, Liam in tow.

Mitch turned and offered a hand to Tyler, "May I have this dance, fair lady? We could put them to shame or die trying."

"Not even for you, dear heart."

He mimed brushing away tears. "In that case, beer. Pitcher?"

"Get a couple," Cam said. "Pretty sure Liam's gonna need a lot to recover from Piper's enthusiasm."

"Soldier boy's got game," Tyler observed as Mitch headed for the bar.

"Not yo' mama's Texas two step, right there. That's, like, the Magic Mike version."

She slanted him a Look.

"What? I saw the previews."

Cam's gaze was drawn inexorably back to Norah, who looked beyond uncomfortable on the dance floor. Tucker might as well have been trying to swing dance with a fence post for all the natural grace and rhythm she displayed. It was so absolutely counter to the way she usually conducted herself, he almost wanted to laugh.

"You know, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself. There really _is_ something Norah's not good at. Do you suppose it's the alcohol?"

"No, bless her heart. She hasn't got an ounce of rhythm and isn't following his lead at all," Tyler said. "Of course, he's tryin' to showboat and going way above a basic skill level."

Cam thought back to New Year's. She hadn't had any trouble following _his_ lead.

"Okay, so I have no idea what excuse y'all are using to keep yourselves from following through on the sparks you throw off every time you get within ten feet of each other, but I'm pretty sure we've taken out her half of them with those shots. So what are you going to do about it, Crawford?"

Cam cut a glance toward Tyler. "Do about it?"

"Why _else_ do you think I got Tucker to drag you out tonight? Don't even try to tell me you don't have a thing for her. I've known you too many years for that to fly. You've never looked at any woman like that."

Uncomfortable, Cam wondered if any of his family had made the same observation.

"She looks at you the same way when she thinks nobody's looking. Whatever her objections are, they have nothing to do with lack of interest. Don't tell me you're going to waste this opportunity to work on her when her shields are down."

"You are a sneaky bitch."

"You love me," she said, smug.

"Yes, yes, I do." He'd wanted an opportunity to prove to Norah that there were more important things in life than career. Judging by the nut shot she'd taken at Bob the Bastard, she absolutely wasn't in a frame of mind to let go of that perspective. "I don't know how much good it'll do, though."

"Never know until you try. You could start by going to rescue her. I don't think I've ever seen a woman look terrified of dancing with Tucker before. That's a really impressive use of multiple left feet."

Seeing his very nosy cousin returning with pitchers and glasses, Cam saluted Tyler and made his escape. The choice at the jukebox was easy. He made his selection and wove his way through the crowd just in time to keep Norah from crashing into another couple, as Tucker's attempted spin completely got away from him.

"This is an intervention. You're turning this poor woman into a weapon. Go get a beer."

"I tried...to tell you...I can't dance. Seriously."

Tucker held up his hands in surrender. She started to follow him back to the table, but Cam caught her neatly around the waist and spun her into his arms as the music he'd chosen began to play. "My turn."

She angled her head, listening to the music. "The Dance? Really?"

"Seemed appropriate."

"Is this meant to be romantic or a guilt trip?"

"Neither. It's nostalgic. Some things really are simple. Come here." As he had New Year's Eve, Cam nudged her head toward his shoulder.

She didn't fight him. Her body curved toward his as if just as starved for contact as he was. How had it only been a month since he'd held her? It felt like years. As they circled the floor, the tension he'd noted when he'd walked in bled away, leaving her warm and pliant in his arms. He didn't think of the town, didn't think of the campaign, or the fact that after tomorrow she could be leaving. He thought only of how right she felt pressed against him and that he'd do almost anything to keep her there.

When Norah lifted her head, her face was flushed, her eyes over-bright. Cam didn't want to move, didn't want to let her go, but the music swung into something upbeat. Around them, patrons formed into lines and launched into a grapevine.

"Let's step outside for some air." There were things he wanted—needed—to give voice to, and the middle of a crowded dance floor wasn't the place.

She nodded once and let him guide her with a hand at the small of her back toward the back door. By grace of the frigid temperatures, the porch designated for outdoor dining and smoking was empty. Norah went straight to the railing and leaned against it, lifting her face to the sky. Cam resisted the urge to move in behind her, boxing her in, and instead leaned beside her, his arm brushing hers.

"I miss simple." She sighed and tipped her head against his arm. "I miss you."

He hadn't expected the admission and credited lowered inhibitions due to the Three Furies. "You don't have to. I've been right here the whole time. And for all your talk, you haven't gone anywhere, not yet."

"But I will. Not tomorrow. Probably not next week. I don't _know_ when I'm leaving. But I have to start taking control of my life again. If that conversation with my father did anything, it lit a fire under me to finally start facing the long job search. I can't keep putting it off."

Nothing had changed. After all these weeks, all her involvement in the community, she still didn't think she belonged here. He was losing her, back to the life she'd come here to escape. Because he was perilously close to begging, Cam kept his mouth shut, fisting both hands around the railing until the wrought iron began to creak.

She mistook the reason for his silence. "I promise you, I won't go until Wishful is safe. And I don't make promises I can't keep."

He believed her. And cursed himself for wishing more danger on his town, just so she'd stay.

If he said nothing now, if he let her walk away, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

Cam turned her to face him. "Isn't it worth grabbing whatever happiness we can, while we can?" He could feel the pull between them, always the pull.

She leaned toward him, yearning written clearly on her face. But mixed with it was equal parts sadness and resignation. "It isn't about happiness."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because there are bigger things at stake."

"I get that you've got this mission, this purpose. I support that. Hell, I asked you to take it on. But that doesn't mean you can't take something for yourself. Even Wonder Woman had Steve Trevor."

"You're no Steve Trevor."

Before Cam could process the insult of that, she was reaching up, cupping his jaw. "Steve Trevor didn't recognize what was right in front of him. You actually _see_ me."

What he saw was a brilliant, beautiful woman with an inexplicably fast hold on his heart and a mule-headed resistance to taking it. He turned his face into her touch, needing the connection.

Her thumb traced the arch of his cheek. "Do you know how rare that is?"

Cam covered her hand with his. "Do you know how rare _this_ is? Don't you think it's worth hanging on to?"

"Campbell." She swayed toward him. "I..."

He might've said any number of things to try to persuade her, or he might've just given in and kissed her, as he'd wanted to do pretty much since the moment he'd stopped. But Fate, cruel bitch that she was, had other plans in the form of his meddling cousin, who came barreling out the door like an overgrown golden retriever.

Mitch drew up short, his mouth dropping open as he took in their embrace in a glance. "I...uh...just came to say the food's ready. And Miranda's here."

"Great. I'm starved." Norah tapped Cam's cheek gently. "Thanks for the dance, Leonidas." She stepped away from him with the grace that completely eluded her on the dance floor and made her way to the door with the careful deliberation of the inebriated.

"You got it okay there, sugar?"

She gave Mitch a thumbs up and the door swung shut behind her.

Cam started to follow, to make sure she got through the dancing throng safely—thumbs up be damned—, but Mitch slapped a palm against his chest. "Hold it. What was that?"

"That was none of your business." He tried to push past, but for all his general good humor, Mitch was bigger, broader, and when he didn't want to be moved, he couldn't be without considerably more force than Cam was prepared to use.

"You've got a thing for Norah."

"Congratulations, you have eyes in your head."

"Eyes enough to see that was not a casual flirtation."

"You got a problem with that, cuz?" Cam knew Mitch found Norah attractive, but he'd assumed the flirtation was the same knee-jerk reaction his cousin had to most women. He wasn't worried about competition—Norah had made it perfectly clear where she stood—but Mitch didn't know that.

"No." And there was nothing of Mitch's usual playfulness in his tone. "Are you okay?"

"Am I—what?"

"Norah's a sweetheart, but a shoot down is a shoot down, and I know you haven't really been interested in anybody in a long time."

He thought she wasn't interested. Cam almost laughed. Lack of interest he could deal with. If this whole thing was legitimately one-sided, he'd just accept and move on. No harm, no foul. But she was balking out of...what? Some principled bullshit that if it couldn't last, it wasn't worth pursuing at all? Did she think they could just turn it off like a switch?

Well, if she had, it wasn't working. For either of them.

"Cam?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

And there it was. That Look. That careful, piteous look his entire family had been using since Melody walked away years before. Because they all thought she'd broken something in him and had adopted a standard operating procedure of treating him with kid gloves when it came to women and relationships. It drove Cam batshit crazy.

As Mitch stared him down, a sick suspicion trickled through Cam's gut. Had his family infected Norah with that absurdity? It was exactly why Miranda thought they were a bad idea. Had she warned Norah away after he'd blown off her caution at the bonfire? Was that at the root of Norah's reluctance to be with him? Because she thought he was broken, too?

"I said, I'm fine, Mitch. I don't need some touchy feely intervention here."

This time, when Cam stepped forward, Mitch gave way and let him inside.

Norah hadn't made it back to the table. She was, instead, in a line with Piper, Liam, Tucker, and Tyler executing the electric slide with more enthusiasm than skill. At least she didn't seem in danger of injuring anybody dancing solo.

From the sidelines, Miranda was staring. "How much has she had to drink?"

"The Three Furies. Piper's idea, apparently." He studied his cousin, wondering if she'd stabbed him in the back in the name of protection.

"What?"

_Not the time._ "C'mon, there's food." He gestured toward their booth, then turned and signaled Tucker out on the floor.

Cam and Miranda slid in on opposite sides of the long table, squeezing to make room for everyone else as they came out of the dancing throng in a pack. As she went to make the single step into the booth, Norah missed and toppled. Cam lunged over, barely catching her before her head cracked against the table. She thumped into his chest, hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Whoa there. I've gotcha."

She looked up from her perch, and her eyes were huge. "Sorry. It's the boots," she said, very seriously. "Piper wouldn't let me wear mine."

"Pretty sure it's not just the boots. I think you're officially cut off." He righted her so she could crawl into the booth beside him.

"No." Norah jabbed a finger into his chest for emphasis. The gesture seemed to distract her a bit, as she flattened her hand over his heart and frowned. "I cut myself off. That's totally the problem. Being cut off sucks."

"Yes, yes it does."

She lifted her eyes to his again, resolute and clearly very, very drunk. "I _told_ you. Is the responsible thing to do."

"So you did." Whatever composure she'd managed to cobble together out on the patio was eradicated. Apparently the full force of the shots had hit her somewhere out on the dance floor.

"Tell you a secret." She leaned in, bracing herself on Cam's shoulder as she tried to tuck one foot beneath her on the seat. "I really hate being the responsible one all the time. But I'm really, really good at it. Can't let anybody else pay for my mistakes. No, sir." She hiccupped.

"I'm pretty sure you'll be paying for this one in the morning."

"Jesus, Piper, did you really have her do the Three Furies on an empty stomach?" Miranda demanded. "She _never_ has more than one drink. _Ever._ "

"What? She's totally fine."

"No, really, I am." Norah, finally seated, balanced with one hand on Cam's thigh—Jesus—as she leaned in to grab a French fry. "Piper was right. I tooootally needed to take a break."

"I'm pretty sure you need to be mainlining some water," Miranda said. "Or you'll be flirting with the fourth Fury in the form of a massive hangover in the morning."

"Yes, Mom."

Norah applied herself to the task with the same single-minded focus she applied to everything. She dutifully ate and drank everything pushed on her, staying quiet as conversation flowed around her and the others got up, now and then, to dance some more. Cam assumed her silence had more to do with the topics of conversation—local gossip about people she didn't know—until he felt a weight heavy against his arm.

"And that would be the other reason she never has more than one," Miranda said. "She falls asleep. She almost never stops, so when something does finally knock her on her ass, she stays down."

_Because no one takes care of her_. When she'd cut things off, he'd stopped trying. He regretted it now, seeing the hollows in her cheeks. Had she been sleeping? Eating enough? "She's been working herself into the ground."

"It's what she does. You give her a war and she'll fight it, with or without an army. She has more heart and generosity than anyone I know, but it takes a toll on her." Miranda sighed. "I need to be getting home. I've got an early day tomorrow. It'll take an act of God to wake her up."

"Let her sleep. I'll help you get her home." Cam reached around and lifted Norah into his arms. She snuggled into him, one arm curling around his neck, the other resting against his chest as she nuzzled into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It was a childlike motion, trusting and vulnerable. Norah wasn't a woman who accepted or showed vulnerability, and Cam felt something in him stutter. He needed to take care of this woman. Needed to keep her safe, to make her smile. He just plain needed her. And whether she wanted to or not, she needed him, too.

Miranda slid out of the booth.

Resisting the urge to stroke Norah's hair back or press a kiss to her head, he slid out himself and hoisted Norah up. "Come on, Wonder Woman. Time for you to sleep it off."

# Chapter 11

"WE OFFICIALLY SWEPT THE entire letters to the editor section for the last three days." Grammy checked a list. "That brings our total to...sixteen."

Norah fought to keep her voice level and professional. "Excellent. Are your letter writers prepared to expand the scope? We really want to get the word out regionally. Hit up the papers in Lawley, Oxford, Starkville, all the areas that would be impacted by this change."

"I'll get them started tonight."

She paused to guzzle the fresh glass of water Aunt Liz had set out for her. Now if only she had an aspirin the size of Alabama. No one had said a word about the fact that she looked like death—she was good with makeup—but Aunt Liz's silent solicitude made her wonder if last night's antics had already spread around town, or at least through the family.

The front door opened. "Honey, I'm _hoooome!_ "

Norah held in a groan—something she'd become a champ at since she left the house this morning with one of the worst hangovers of her life—as Mitch strolled, whistling, into the living room. He was one of the last people she wanted to see right now. Along with everyone else who'd been at the Mudcat for her encounter with the Three Furies last night. She was never going drinking with Piper, ever again.

"Well, hey there, sugar. I didn't expect you to be up at all today, let alone among the land of the living."

"I feel like death warmed over, but I'm not going to shirk my duty because of one supremely bad decision." She didn't know for sure what she'd done to embarrass herself beyond that horrific dance with Tucker, but she had dim memories of admitting to Cam that she missed him and then crawling into his lap to sleep. She was really hoping that part was a dream. And then there was the matter of how the hell she'd gotten home. Miranda hadn't said and Norah hadn't asked.

She consulted her notepad. "Next order of business: The coalition's order of pamphlets and fliers at Poor Richard's is ready. It needs to be picked up and distributed."

Mitch flopped down on the sofa and stretched out his long, long legs. "I should be able to get to that between site visits."

"I've got the list of who needs to get what," Aunt Liz said. "If you can bring everything by this evening, I can work on getting that sorted."

"Great. The media campaign is going well. I'm scheduled for an interview at the radio station at the end of the week. That, in conjunction with the spot WCBI did with Molly last week about the coalition, is a really great start. We're getting the word out and, in a lot of cases, are the first side of this many people are hearing. Now we just have to keep it up so we stay at the forefront of people's minds. I'm still waiting to hear back from WTVA."

The front door opened again, and Norah felt her heart leap, knowing it was Cam. A strange mix of emotions swirled through her. Hope that their hard work had paid off, that Wishful was safe. Terror, too, that all this might be over, that her alleged reason for being here was finished, and she would have to make the hard decision about what came next without the benefit of external factors dictating her actions. That she'd have to walk away from him for real.

Cam's face was rigid when he walked into the room.

Norah was on her feet, across the room to him before she could stop herself. "What?"

"Read it." He thrust a wad of papers at her.

The economic impact report.

Frowning as he moved off to pace with frenetic irritation, she began to read. Her stomach sank as she hit the second page, but she kept reading, searching for the qualifying argument, the refutation that would've signified balanced investigation. It never came.

"This can't be right. This contradicts almost everything I've read in the literature.

"The Council voted. I was the lone dissenting voice. GrandGoods' proposal was approved, and they're moving forward with the hearing for a special use permit. No one but me is going to vote against it after this."

Norah's mind went immediately to damage control. "That's a public hearing?"

Cam's nod was tight. "Public hearing, but still ultimately a Council vote."

"Then we ramp up our efforts to educate the public, get them out to attend the hearing. You need to put in a formal request to the firm who did the evaluation to have them present for the hearing so they can answer questions. We're going to get a rebuttal by then. We need a second opinion. Someone _not_ hired by Vick."

"How? It was a minor miracle this got pushed through in a month. Where the hell do you think you're going to get a second opinion in a week or two?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll find someone. Have a little—"

"Faith?" The word was bitter, brittle with lack of belief. "Because that's gotten us so far up to now."

Norah felt the sting of his frustrated dejection. She could see it in the set of his chin, the defeated look in his eyes. God, how could he give up so easily? Was the rest of the town so easily cowed, so devoid of hope? If they were, she was fighting a losing battle, and the enemy wasn't GrandGoods.

Norah put the thought out of her mind. She had one war to fight right now, one stubborn man to convince. She crossed the room toward him. "What would you have done if I hadn't been here when the GrandGoods proposal came in? If I hadn't been here to tell you expressly what it could mean?"

"I'd have fought it, regardless."

"How? Would you have mobilized the citizenry? Even thought to get an economic impact study? Would you have had the grounds to delay things this far?"

A muscle in his jaw jumped. "I don't know."

Norah nodded. "You're out of your depth. You knew that when you asked me to stay. Now I know this is frustrating. It's not what we'd hoped for. But this is just a battle, Cam. It's not the war."

"They're not going to listen. They don't _want_ to listen. How can you possibly combat that?"

All the Campbells had similar streaks of mulish stubbornness. After years of living with Miranda, Norah was well-versed in the various shades of that expression, so she knew she wasn't making a dent. She shifted tactics. "What were you doing when you were fifteen?"

"What?"

"When you were fifteen. What were you doing? School? Sports? Dating? Getting your learner's permit to drive?"

"Yeah, all that, I guess. Why?"

"When I was fifteen, I was in Cincinnati with my mom. Public school. New kid...again. And I still managed to get elected class president. While in office, I used my position to orchestrate the clean up and rehab of half a dozen inner-city playgrounds and started an urban gardening initiative that's still in operation. Sixteen was Philadelphia. Dad that year. Catholic school. I was a youth activist for the ACLU. Seventeen, I was in Boston with Mom again. Private school. I interned with Amnesty International. Oh, followed by a summer internship at the Smithsonian while Dad was in D.C. arguing with Congress. So while you got to live your life and be a normal teenager who did normal teenager things, I was being shaped and trained to be an extension of my parents' successes. That is what my parents expected of me. Because that's what Burkes are supposed to do. We save the world. Except not me.

"No, I eschewed Harvard, avoided law school, ran from med school. I built a goddamned good career in a field that has absolutely nothing to do with the humanitarian background my parents gave me. A fact which my father, in particular, takes great pains to remind me is a waste of my potential and the advantages they worked to give me. When he's not busy cross-examining me about my decisions. That's what he said to me when I finally talked to him yesterday. That he was _disappointed_ in me. That he expected _better_ of me. After all but demanding the legal documents related to the sordid affair of Morton to prove I didn't actually know anything underhanded was taking place."

Miranda made an inarticulate sound of rage—the same emotion Norah could see echoed in Cam's face.

"Your father's an asshole." She appreciated the growl in his voice that said exactly what he'd like to do to her dad.

"He's an idealist with a very explicitly defined vision that doesn't take anyone else's wants into account. And he happens to know exactly which ribs to shove the knife between to try to manipulate me into doing what he wants. The fact is, he's right. After everything that happened in Morton, _I_ expect better of me. I _was_ given every advantage, every possible form of training to do great things, to take on any challenge and come out the victor. I may disagree with my parents on the nature of what those great things are, but through circumstance or fate or the alignment of the goddamn stars, I was brought here, right now, for this." _For you._ The certainty of the thought gave her pause, but she didn't voice it. "I have exactly the skillset and the indefatigable ego needed for the job. I may not be saving the world by my parents' standards, but by damn I'm going to save yours. So you have five more minutes to waste on this useless pity party before I expect you to get your ass back to work. Do I make myself clear?"

From somewhere behind her, Mitch said, "And though she be but wee, she is mighty."

Norah felt her lips twitch, but didn't look away from Cam.

"Are you always this fearless?"

Fearless. What a joke. But Norah supposed it probably did look like that from the outside. Because she acted rather than standing paralyzed in the face of challenge.

"Courage isn't the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important. Wishful is more important." And so was Cam, though Norah didn't give voice to that thought either.

"What about your job search?"

"I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. If that means further damage to my career, then at least I'll be able to sleep at night." She turned away because she couldn't bear the hopeless expression on his face. "Mitch, can you move those site visits this afternoon?"

"I can and will. What are your orders, my general?"

"You're coming with me." She pulled out her phone and dialed before the plan had fully solidified in her brain.

"Edison Hardware."

"Tyler, it's Norah. Have you got somebody who can man the store for a few hours?"

"I can call in Dad. What's up?"

"I need your design skills."

Norah could hear the other woman's interest pique. "For what?"

_A miracle_. _"_ Tell you when I get there. Mitch and I will be in to pick you up in half an hour."

She called Molly next, arranged for the coalition chair to meet them downtown. Then and only then did she turn to Cam. He hadn't moved from where she'd interrupted his pacing. She couldn't read his shuttered expression, couldn't tell if she'd crossed a line or pissed him off.

"Five minutes are up. Are you coming?"

"There's something else I need to do first." Without another glance her way, he stalked from the room.

Speechless, she stared after him. He'd walked away. She didn't know what she'd wanted, exactly. For him to leap enthusiastically back into the cause. To say, "I trust you. I'm sorry I doubted. What next?" To say he believed in her and her ability to pull this off. To show _any_ kind of willingness to keep fighting. Because, Lord knew, she could use some of that support right now.

But maybe he didn't believe.

And that meant she'd failed where it mattered most.

Aunt Liz wrapped an arm around Norah's shoulders. "He'll come around."

Norah wasn't at all sure that he would. But that was a disappointment that would have to wait until she'd finished her own fight.

Hush's berserker mode let Cam know that Norah had finally come in search of him, despite the drizzling rain. He continued to sip at his beer, simply calling out, "It's open!" when she knocked.

The fruits of the afternoon's labor sat in a neat stack on the counter, highlighted and cross referenced with the same level of precision he expected from Norah herself. He wasn't leaving anything open to misinterpretation. Giving this to her at all was a calculated risk. But it was one he had to take or he wouldn't be able to live with himself. She had a right to know.

Though she lit up in response to the dog, Norah had lost her smile by the time she made it through the gauntlet of Hush's enthusiastic greeting and crossed the room. "You never made it downtown." Her tone was cool.

"Sorry. I had some Council business to take care of."

One delicate brow arched.

"The firm that did the impact study will be attending the hearing when it's scheduled." No reason for her to think he was bailing now.

"Good. Were they difficult to track down?" Translation: _Where were you the rest of the afternoon?_

"No. I was also working on lining up a second evaluation. Avery's boyfriend, Dillon, is working on his MBA up at Ole Miss. He's checking to see if any of his professors could do it, or know of someone who can. There's also the possibility of getting one or more of them to the hearing to rebut based on the literature, even if we don't manage to get a full second evaluation. We should hear something in a day or two."

Her poker face melted into a smile of approval. "Excellent."

Cam hesitated. "There's something else. I was following up on some leads."

She sat at the counter. "On what?"

"I think it's better if you read that for yourself." He handed the sheaf of papers to her. "I highlighted the relevant passages."

Her long, graceful fingers flexed at the edges of the paper as she read the letterhead: _City of Morton, Indiana._ The blood drained out of her cheeks, only to creep back up from her neck in a flush of shame. Not the reaction he'd expected, and not at all his intention.

"Where did you get this?" Her words came out in a thin, almost whisper. She didn't look up, didn't turn past the cover letter.

"I made some calls. Skip to the highlighted stuff."

She didn't skip ahead. She read through every line, and Cam struggled not to rush her.

Neon yellow highlighter screamed from the page. Norah's flush faded as she read it. Her hands fumbled, flipping to the next page and the next, reading the evidence he'd gathered. It all painted a pretty damning picture. Of Philip Vargas.

Fumbling gave way to stillness as she read the final page. She drew a shuddering breath and laid the paperwork on the counter with the same careful deliberation she might use handling a bomb. A sure sign she was trying to control some strong emotion. Cam expected relief or shock, or maybe even anger. But when Norah lifted her head, the mask of professionalism was shattered by...pain.

Thinking perhaps she'd misunderstood, Cam leapt to reassure. "It wasn't you. That proves it."

She just shook her head. "Only you. Only you would think to do this."

Something was horribly wrong. He'd made some egregious miscalculation. This wasn't how she was supposed to react.

"Norah—"

"You make this so goddamned _hard,_ " she whispered, fisting both hands and pressing them to her eyes.

_What?_

Stunned, Cam could only watch as Norah shoved back from the counter, movements no longer controlled or precise. Her hands trembled as she grabbed up the paperwork. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but there was also an underlying heat he didn't understand

"Do with it?"

"Other men give flowers or jewelry. And you hand me absolution. _No one_ else would think to chase this down. No one else would even know how."

"What you said about your dad wanting evidence gave me the idea. It's all a matter of public record. I just had one of their city councilmen copy it all for me."

"Of course you did." She threw her hands toward the ceiling in a gesture of...what? Exasperation? "I am trying so, so hard to do the right thing here. I can resist your charm. I can resist your dimples. I can resist the chemistry between us, though I've lost sleep over it. But this—" She shook the papers now crushed in her hand. "—how am I supposed to defend against this?"

Cam's brain was starting to catch up to hers. Maybe. "I didn't do it because I expected something from you. You made your position clear. I did it because I can't stand to see you beating yourself up over something that I knew couldn't be your fault. You have a right to know the truth."

"I know. I know, and that makes it almost worse somehow. Because that's who you are. This honorable, thoughtful, amazing man. Still taking care of me, even though I pushed you away." She sounded furious about that as she whirled away to pace. "I thought it would be easier if I stayed away from you. As if that was going to stop everything in its tracks. But it hasn't. God, it hasn't." One hand rubbed absently at her chest, as if to ease an ache. "I see you every day and I try to pretend that you fit the same niche as Mitch or Reed. But you don't. And, damn it, my resolve is only so strong."

Relief and hope struggled for dominance in his chest. "Well, thank God for that. I've been waiting for you to come to your senses for a month. I don't understand why you thought we should fight this in the first place."

"I told you—"

"Yes, you _told_ me. _You_ decided that breaking things off was the right thing. But the right thing for who, Norah?"

"You!"

"Why?"

"Because you deserve so much more than a relationship with an expiration date."

"Why are you so certain there's gonna be one?"

"Didn't you listen to _anything_ I said to you a month ago?"

"I listened to a whole lot of bullshit about how you were always going to leave. But you didn't say whatever you were really thinking. Something flipped that switch for you. Was it Miranda? Did she warn you off? Say we were a bad idea?"

She shook her head. "She didn't have to. I know we're a bad idea."

"Why? Make your case, Norah. Make me understand why you won't give this a chance."

He watched her try to pull together the professionalism she so often wore like armor, hated that she felt a need for it.

"I'm a bad bet. I can't be what you need, what you really want."

"What is it you think that is?"

"You're meant for marriage and family. Children. A traditional life."

The image of a little girl with his eyes and her dark curls, crowned with a big pink bow, came fast and clear in his mind.

"That's not me, Cam."

Her words of denial did nothing to stop the picture that had taken root and begun to bloom. He could see it so easily, almost as easily as he could see a truth about her that she didn't even see herself. "I've never met anyone who wants marriage and family and roots more than you. You want all the things you didn't have growing up or you wouldn't find my crazy family so appealing." Unable to stop himself, he reached out, slid a hand around her nape and tilted her face up toward his. "You _fit here_. Can't you see that?"

"It's an illusion. I'm career and ambition. Things I can't pursue here, not really."

"You're more than that."

"Am I? Or is it that you can't believe I could be like Melody?"

Whatever argument he'd thought she'd pull out, it wasn't that. "Leaving aside the fact that I've never actually told you about my ex and that my family is apparently a bunch of incurable gossips, that's absolute bullshit."

"Really? Bright. Top of my class. Ruthlessly ambitious. Always with an eye on bigger, better things. That all applies to me as much as it did to her."

"On the surface, maybe it does. But it's all in the execution, in what those traits drove her to do. Melody would never have put her career on hold to save this town. You're _nothing_ like her."

The stubborn jut to Norah's chin said she wasn't buying it. How could he convince her that this comparison was complete lunacy?

"If you'd been with me when I dropped out of grad school because my mother had cancer, would you have gone off to Northwestern anyway?"

"Of course not. I'd have deferred enrollment and been right there with you, while I had my mother pulling every contact she had to get your mom in to see the best cancer specialists in the country, instead of just stopping with a few phone calls."

Cam's brain ground to a halt as her words sank in. He thought back to those panicked weeks after the diagnosis, the talk of waiting lists and more exams, and all the roadblocks that stood between them and the aggressive treatment his mother needed. And then they'd seemed to disappear. "That's how she got into MD Anderson so fast, isn't it? You made that call."

Norah shrugged. "Sure. What's the point in being related to one of the top surgeons in the country if you can't actually use those connections when it matters? It was important to your family, and your family's important to me. It was the right thing to do."

His heart was thudding so fast and hard as the ramifications unfolded in his mind. That one small action on her part might've been the thing that kept his mother from dying. Cam framed her face with careful hands and lowered his forehead to hers. "Jesus. You did what you could to help, and you hadn't even met me yet. That's who you are. Melody walked away when I needed her most. You're _nothing_ like her."

Norah lifted her hands, curled them around his forearms. "I'm enough like her to be bad for you."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, that isn't your call. It should be _my_ choice. And I choose you."

A strange mix of pleasure and pain flickered across her face. Had anyone ever put her first? Not her parents. Certainly not her asshole ex.

"I'll always choose you. Because you're worth the risk."

She was wavering, his name a plea on her lips.

"What are you so afraid of, Norah?"

"You," she whispered. "You call me fearless, but I'm not. Not when it comes to this. I'm terrified of how you make me feel. Because you tempt me. You make me want things I've never wanted before, make me see how my mother got seduced into believing that marriage and family was what _she_ wanted. I don't want to be like her, don't want to chase this beautiful thing and then wake up one day and realize I'm suffocating and have to get out. I have that potential in me, and I can't— _won't_ risk hurting you like that. You've had enough important people walk away from you."

"The fact that you're even worried about this proves just how different from them you are. You're not like Melody. You're not like my father or your mother. You're not doomed to making any of the same mistakes or choices."

"But—"

"But nothing. Am I afraid there's a chance this won't pan out? Sure. That's a possibility in any relationship. But you said yourself, courage isn't the absence of fear. It's the judgment that something else is more important. This is more important. _You're_ more important, and I choose to take the risk. Take it with me."

Cam watched the last of her resolve crumble. And at long last, she melted into him, sliding her hands up his shoulders and lifting her mouth toward his.

For the first time tears tasted sweet.

# Chapter 12

NORAH WAS RUNNING LATE. Her meeting in Oxford had taken longer than expected, but the end results were well worth it. Come Saturday, they just might pull off her lunatic scheme.

The downside was she had to head straight to Grammy's for family dinner, where Cam was supposed to have broken the news about their involvement. Terror at the family's possible reactions dimmed the effervescent thrill of finally giving in and letting herself want, letting herself have. If this relationship blew up in their faces, they'd keep Cam. He was blood. But where would that leave her? Cut off from the family she was closer to than her own?

Maybe it would be fine, as he expected. He was so blithely unconcerned about what they thought. But just in case, she'd been mentally rehearsing her defense. Not that the Campbells would ever put her on the witness stand like her father, but a lifetime of training was hard to break.

"Now or never," she muttered, stepping inside.

The babble of voices and laughter led her back to the living room. Norah didn't let herself linger in the hall trying to gauge the mood. She could already hear some heated debate going on about the last Mississippi State basketball game. Whatever they thought about her and Cam, it wasn't the current topic of conversation.

"Sorry I'm late."

"Welcome back. How was Oxford?" Miranda had to raise her voice to be heard over her uncle.

"I don't even want to talk about the traffic. They've completely changed how you go through part of campus. I wound up somewhere by the football stadium trying to get out. But I got Ajax for lunch, so win."

"Squash dressing and jalapeno cornbread make up for a multitude of sins."

Okay, so nobody was looking at her weird. That was positive.

Cam rose from where he'd been slouched in a chair beside the door. He cupped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to his. Her body gave one, quick jolt before she melted against him. Mindful of their audience, she didn't give in to the urge to dive deeper, but her hands were fisted in his shirt as he eased back. He was grinning, and Norah found herself grinning foolishly in response.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi back."

"How did your mystery meeting go?"

"Really well, I..." Norah trailed off, realizing the room had fallen dead silent. She could feel the weight of eyes, sense the shock along her skin, though she didn't look away from Cam. "You didn't tell them."

"I've always been a much bigger fan of showing than telling." He was still grinning, entirely unrepentant.

Though exasperation warred with nerves, she kept her voice light. "Here's a lesson from the professional: When your audience looks like you just dropped an atomic bomb, you need to work on your delivery."

He dragged his gaze from her to take in the reactions she hadn't gotten up the courage to face. The grin faded, chased away by confusion and the first sparks of anger. Norah felt his tension ratchet up to match hers.

As bad as she'd feared then.

With a bracing breath, Norah squared her shoulders and stepped back to face the music with all the gravity and enthusiasm of meeting a firing squad. When she would've stood alone, Cam laced his fingers through hers and stepped up beside her. A unified front. She squeezed his hand, grateful for the support.

Grammy's eyebrows were lost somewhere under her fluffy silver bangs. Miranda remained completely unreadable. Everyone else's eyes were round as dinner plates. Only Aunt Liz looked positively ecstatic, her lips curved, her hands clasped as if she'd clapped them in delight. Sandra apparently wasn't here yet.

"Seriously?" Mitch gaped. "You and Cam?"

"Me and Cam." Despite the awkward situation, saying it still gave her a little thrill.

"Did not call that one," Reed said.

"Well they have been spending a lot of time together with the coalition," Aunt Liz pointed out.

"Yeah but—" Anita trailed off. "Are you sure this is wise?"

"Wise?" Cam's voice dropped to one step above a growl.

Before he popped off to tell his aunt exactly where she could shove her opinions on the wisdom of their relationship, Norah pivoted into him, laying a hand on his chest. "Don't. They love you. They've got a right to their concerns."

The temper in his eyes didn't cool. "I'm not just gonna stand here and—"

"Campbell, stop." She framed his face. "You've already slain my dragon. They're not insulting me. They're not attacking me. And I guarantee they don't have a single objection I didn't already throw at you. You won me over. Let me win them. I came prepared for this. You're not used to being cross-examined and forced to defend your decisions. I am."

"You don't have to defend anything." Miranda looked horrified at the very idea.

Norah shifted to face her. "You're right, I don't. I don't owe y'all an explanation or promises or justification. But I'll give them anyway because I love and respect this family and the place you've given me in it over the years. So please, just listen."

She paused to pull her thoughts together, steadied when Cam slid an arm around her waist.

"I know I'm not what you want for him." Several of them started to speak, but Norah just held up a hand. "I'm not. You'd like to see him with some local girl with roots dug as deep as his. Somebody content with a traditional role of wife and mother, who doesn't have the kind of aspirations that would ever pull her—or him—away from here. And I don't blame you for that. Everybody who ever mattered put their ambitions before him. You want assurances that I'll never do that, and I can't give them.

"I _am_ ambitious and competitive and very, very good at what I do. I was raised to be that way by two brilliant, broken people who wouldn't recognize a functional, healthy relationship if it knocked them over the head. The only thing they ever taught me about relationships is that they're secondary. That personal wants take a backseat to the greater good. And you know what? I'm done." It felt good to say it, to _mean_ it. "I'm done being selfless. I'm done being rational and logical and thinking fifteen steps ahead of everybody else. I'm done living my life based on someone else's expectations.

"The fact is, Cam's the best man I know." Norah looked up, met his eyes, because the rest of this was as much for him as his family. "He matters. More than anyone ever has, or I wouldn't still be here. I don't have the first clue how this is going to work in the long term, but I'm sure as hell not going to apologize for not being willing to walk away from the chance to find out."

"Nor should you have to."

Norah closed her eyes and wished the sudden burst of mortification had enough gravitational force to suck her into the ground. Of course. Of _course_ Sandra was standing right behind them. Why that was somehow worse than baring her soul to the rest of the Campbell clan, Norah didn't quite know, but as Sandra came into the room, circling past them, Norah's ears burned, and the pulse that had calmed by taking control of the situation began to thump erratically. She forced herself to stand straight and meet the other woman's gaze instead of tucking into Cam to hide. He stood close, pressed against her back. A solid support but not an unnecessary shield.

"Allow me to apologize for the rest of the family for making you feel uncomfortable and like you needed to defend yourself. It was wholly unnecessary. You aren't careless with people, Norah. I certainly don't think you'll be careless with Cam, particularly as you know exactly what it feels like to be second to someone else's ambitions."

Norah opened her mouth, closed it again. That wasn't an insight she'd expected from someone in this family, and she didn't know what to say, so she inclined her head in acknowledgment of the point.

"I think it's high time _both_ of you were a little selfish, and I, for one, am glad you've stopped dancing around each other."

"Wait, you knew?" Cam sounded so affronted.

Sandra shot him an amused look. "Of course, I knew. I'm your mother."

"How?"

"The same way I knew you, Tucker, and Brody rolled Aggie Crockett's yard after she gave you a B on your midterm in trig. I just know."

Norah felt Cam's jolt of surprise and almost laughed, thinking of his complaint about how hard it was to get away with anything growing up.

Sandra turned to Norah and took her free hand. "It's a smart thing for a mother to learn to care for the woman her son chooses. It's a real gift to legitimately like and respect her. I've had occasion to know the difference. So, not that you need it, but consider this my blessing."

Absolutely flummoxed and moved by the show of support, Norah could only stammer. "I—thank you."

Releasing Norah, Sandra cheerfully turned to the rest of the family. "Mom, the pot roast smells amazing. Please tell me there are mashed potatoes."

"Only a boatload."

"Excellent. I'm starving."

Dinner was a strangely normal affair, which left Norah feeling completely off balance.

"So, who are you kids taking to the Valentine's dance?" Sandra asked.

Norah laughed, assuming she was teasing to keep the tone light.

Then Reed spoke up. "Lynnette Rainey."

"Isn't she one of the members of your book club?" Miranda passed the platter of roast beef.

"She is. Which means I won't get bored."

Mitch dumped a healthy lake of gravy on his mashed potatoes and pot roast. "Cuz, if you need a book club assignment to keep you from getting bored on a date, you clearly need to revisit the definition of date."

"It's a PG function, son," Uncle Pete said.

Baffled, Norah looked around the table. "Did I step into a Twilight Zone episode set back in high school?"

"Wishful has an annual Valentine's dance," Aunt Liz explained. "Here, have a roll."

Norah took one and passed the bread basket to Cam on her right. "Really?"

"Since we don't have a lot of the things people in big cities do for the occasion, we make our own fun," Sandra said. "Old school style. It's a nice change from the winter doldrums."

"I'm afraid most of my knowledge of school dances comes from John Hughes movies."

"You never went to a high school dance?" Cam looked appalled.

"I'm sorry, have we had _any_ conversation that would lead you to believe that I did anything normal in high school?"

"Not even prom?"

"It may shock you to know that high school boys found me intimidating. Apparently the fact that I didn't feel the need to hide my brain was a turn off."

"Bless your heart. We need to rectify some of these holes in your life experience." Cam lifted her hand and adopted a hopeful expression. "So will you and your devastatingly attractive brain be my valentine?"

Charmed, she repressed a grin and pretended to consider. "And what exactly would that entail?"

"Drinking probably spiked punch—"

"Definitely spiked. Tucker's coming," Mitch said.

"—and dancing under crepe paper banners and construction paper hearts in the community center gym. It'll be completely cheesetastic, nostalgic, and—"

"Perfect." Norah kissed his cheek. "Though we'll all be up early on Saturday for work."

"Ah yes, your mysterious plan. And when are you going to let us in on the rest of it?"

"On Saturday. Everybody knows what they need to know. The rest is a surprise." And she was still working out some of the details.

"So not even a clue as to what you were doing in Oxford today?"

"Not a one."

"Cam hates surprises," Sandra said. "I used to have to hide his Christmas presents at friends' houses because he'd get into the closet and peek under the wrapping paper. As if I wasn't going to be able to tell he'd untaped the end."

"I was eight!"

"I caught you doing that at thirteen."

"Well it was an important year. I had to know if I was getting the new Nintendo."

"And did you?" Norah asked.

"Eventually. After I caught him snooping, I decided he'd have to wait until his birthday for that one," Sandra said.

"I thought she'd returned it. And after I'd saved my allowance to buy two games so that I could play on Christmas Day."

"You never peeked again, did you?"

"No ma'am. I learned my lesson. Still hate surprises, though. Unless they're related to dessert." Cam looked hopefully at Grammy.

"There might be pecan pie and ice cream. But clean up, first."

"The boys have dish duty," Miranda declared. "I'm stealing Norah."

Nothing in her tone suggested she was angry, but Norah felt the anxiety creep back up her spine. Of everyone, Miranda's was the reaction she was most worried about. As they pushed back from the table, Cam skimmed a hand down her shoulder. No matter what, he'd be waiting for her on the other side. Bolstered, she followed Miranda out to the sun porch.

They sat on the glider swing, toeing it into motion in tandem. When the strain of silence became too much, Norah said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I'm guessing you don't mean tonight. How long has this thing with you and Cam been going on?"

"That's a little complicated to answer."

"Before this GrandGoods campaign?"

Better to bring out the truth now than never. "Pretty much since the moment we met."

"New Year's?"

Norah nodded.

"Really? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Initially, because I was blind-sided. I certainly didn't come down here looking for a relationship. Everybody knew I was fresh off a break up with Pierce, and I didn't want anyone to think I was using Cam for some kind of rebound."

Miranda was quiet for a moment. "I wasn't so much worried about that, but I wouldn't have pegged you as being in a good place for a relationship. Which I told Cam flat out."

Norah's heart gave a sick lurch. "You warned him off me?"

"Not because I think you're bad for him or vice versa but just...I saw how he looked at you, and I could see a lot of potential for hurt on both sides."

Norah absorbed that as the glider continued to rock. "Well, you aren't wrong. Things got really serious, really fast, and I didn't know what to do about it. I was still trying to work out what to do about my career, and, frankly, I didn't think the family would approve of the idea of me with Cam. So when he asked me to stay for this war against GrandGoods, I broke things off."

"You ended things because of me. Because of everything we said that night about Melody. You thought we'd compare you to her."

"On the surface, it isn't an inappropriate comparison."

"God, Norah, I'm sorry. I'd never in a million years think you'd do to him what she did. You're nothing like her."

"That's what Cam said. But even without that, I thought stopping things before they went any further was best for both of us. It's an impossible relationship. He's small town and I'm big city. I know perfectly well he's part of the fabric of this place. I'd never dream of asking him to leave it. And Wishful doesn't exactly have need of a high-powered marketing executive under normal circumstances. I'd never be cruel about it, but my leaving at some point seemed pretty inevitable, and I didn't want to hurt him."

"So what changed?"

"Nothing. And everything." Norah sighed and laughed a little. "Breaking things off didn't make me any less crazy about him. With all the time we've spent together, I didn't do anything but make us both miserable by holding us apart. And then yesterday...Do you know what he did?"

"Does this have something to do with that whole dragon slaying thing you mentioned?"

"He got in touch with the City Council of Morton and got copies of all the paperwork related to their consideration and approval of Hugo's, and he dug through all of it until he found proof that it wasn't me who convinced them to change the terms. It was my boss. He not only found hard-core exculpatory evidence—Miranda, he had the whole thing highlighted and sticky tabbed as thoroughly as I would."

Miranda's lips twitched. "It's a wise man who recognizes the key to your heart lies in color-coded organization."

"How can I not fall for a man like that?"

"I'd say you'd be pretty hard pressed. Are you in love with him?"

She'd vowed she'd be honest. "If I wasn't already, I'm pretty sure I took a swan dive off that cliff without a parachute last night. It's completely insane. Every single objection I raised is still valid, every problem still an issue. But I know if I don't go after this with everything I've got, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Love isn't supposed to be sane and logical. You'll figure the rest of it out. Problems without solutions are your specialty, remember?"

"Yeah. I may need you to keep reminding me of that when I start to freak out."

"I can do that." She leaned forward and tugged Norah into a hard hug. "For the record, I think you two will be great together. Melody wasn't right for him, not because she was ambitious but because she was a bitch."

Norah laughed. "Good to know."

"Now come on. If we want to score any pie, we'd better get back in there."

# Chapter 13

"YOU BROUGHT ME A corsage." This was said in a tone of _awww_ , accompanied by a look of stunned pleasure on Norah's face that completely eradicated the feeling of idiocy Cam had felt on buying it.

"Well, it's part of that whole dance experience. It seemed the thing to do. I wasn't sure what you'd be wearing, so I figured wrist made more sense than something you pinned on. You look amazing, by the way." He had a soft spot for that little black dress from New Year's, now sans Hush hair and paired with some short jacket that stopped at the base of her shoulders.

"Put it on." Beaming, she held out her wrist and waited while he fastened on the simple red rose corsage.

"It's a bit trite, but Trudy up in the floral section of McSweeney's Market doesn't have a whole lot to work with. We don't have a proper florist anymore."

"It's perfect." Her eyes, deep and dark and serious, searched his for a long moment before she rose to brush her lips over his, a feat much more easily managed in the heels she wore. "God, you're sweet. Thank you."

He was feeling something in response to that kiss but sweet wasn't it.

"Just let me go grab my coat." She sprinted up the stairs at a speed that should've been impossible in the ridiculous and very sexy shoes.

Miranda picked up her purse. "You know, I feel like part of me should be gagging at the cuteness here, but the pair of you are just too adorable."

"Is that approval, cuz?"

"That was exceptionally thoughtful."

Cam shrugged. "It's just a flower."

"Admittedly it doesn't top digging up evidence clearing her of blame for what happened in Morton, but still, thoughtful. It's normal. She hasn't had a lot of that in her life.

"Too many people look at her and see what she can do, not who she is. And she's spent a long damned time buying into it. I aim to change that, give her a little balance."

Miranda studied him with open curiosity. "You get her. Most people don't. They like her, are impressed by her, but they don't understand her."

_They don't love her._ He cast a glance back up the stairs. "I've been waiting for her all my life."

Miranda gave an uncharacteristically watery, "Oh, Cam" as she reached up to cup his face.

He gave her a squeeze. "Jesus, don't cry. You'll mess up your makeup."

"I'm allowed to get emotional over the fact that my favorite cousin is in love with my best friend."

"Yeah well, pull yourself together. I'm not ready to tell her yet. She's wigged out enough about how fast this is moving."

"Fair enough. A word of advice, though, as somebody who's known her a lot longer than you. If she balks or tries to run, go after her. Hang on. No one else ever has."

Norah's footsteps from upstairs put a stop to any reply he might've made. She descended the stairs at a considerably more sedate pace, a coat draped over one arm and a bulging messenger bag slung over her shoulder. "Sorry. I had to throw some things together."

Cam eyed the bag with suspicion. "If that's more of your folders and legal pads, we're going to have to have a serious talk."

She stopped in front of him with a slow, sexy smile. "Talking wasn't what I had in mind."

His mouth went dry.

Miranda did an abrupt about face. "I'll take my own car."

"Don't wait up," Norah murmured. As the door shut behind his cousin, she said, "When I make up my mind about something, I'm all in." When he said nothing, the smiled dimmed a fraction. "Is this okay? It seemed more practical than getting up an hour earlier than the crack of dawn to come back over here for clothes before our work day tomorrow."

He gripped her hips, already imagining the feel of bare skin. "God bless your practical soul."

She blocked his mouth with two fingers. "Oh no. If you get that mouth on me, we won't make it to the dance."

"I fail to see the problem with this plan."

"You promised me crepe paper streamers and construction paper hearts. I expect you to deliver."

Cam sucked in a long breath and worked on chaining down his roaring libido. "So I did."

"Besides—" She scraped one nail lightly down the column of his throat to trace his collarbone. "—there's something to be said for anticipation."

"Yeah, it just might kill me." He opened the front door. "Get in the truck, woman, before I go all caveman and throw you over my shoulder."

"Promises promises."

With a considerable show of self restraint, Cam drove to the community center rather than back to his place. He had himself under control—mostly—and was calculating how long it would take to give her the classic high school dance experience before he moved her along to their private after party, when the sound of raised voices spilled out along with music from the open door.

"What on earth?" Norah asked.

Cam quickened his pace. The last thing they needed was some kind of fight breaking out.

"Now Jim, nobody wants any ugliness." Mamie Landen, who sported a lemon yellow hairdo tall enough to commune with God on its own, had both hands fisted on her generous hips.

Jim Vernon, one of Vick's cronies, stood before the ticket table, red-faced and sputtering, while his wife looked on with pinched lips. "It ain't right."

"What's the trouble here?" Cam asked.

"They've gone and doubled the cover in the name of a 'fund raiser.'" Jim actually used air quotes.

Cam looked to Mamie for explanation.

"The dance committee decided to use this as an opportunity for an additional fundraiser for the coalition. Half the proceeds go toward the cost of the party, the other half to the downtown revitalization project." She turned a glare on Jim. "It's a good cause."

It was also the first Cam was hearing of it. A quick glance at Norah said she'd been unaware of the plan as well. He slipped out his wallet and offered Mamie a smile. "Two please."

"That'll be forty dollars."

Cam slid out two twenties and passed them over. "A small price to pay for a good cause and a night out with my best girl. There's nothin' like dancing cheek to cheek with your sweetheart, with the lights down low and good music playin', don't you think, Jim?"

Plainly Jim didn't agree, but his wife Irene turned that pinched expression on him, arms crossed.

"We oughta be able to choose whether or not to donate."

"That wouldn't make for a very effective fundraiser. Nobody's making you pay anything. You're welcome to turn right back around and leave. But if you expect to see your favorite fried chicken any time in the next decade, you'll quit being a cheapskate and bring your wife in to enjoy the party."

Evidently realizing the wisdom of this advice, Jim stopped arguing and pulled out his wallet.

"We appreciate your community spirit. Y'all have a good time." Crisis averted, Cam took Norah's hand and tugged her toward the gym.

"I wonder how many people have had that reaction?"

They stepped inside to find a packed dance floor and at least a hundred people crowded around the tables. "Not that many."

The promised crepe paper streamers and construction paper hearts dripped from the ceiling, but the dance committee had classed the place up a bit this year with the addition of little tea light candles and mason jars of flowers on each of the covered tables. Adele's second in command, Joe Fowler, manned a cash bar adjacent to the punch station. A DJ was set up at one end of the gym. On the dance floor, a trio of older women were shaking their collective groove thing, gyrating with their hands in the air as Sir Mix-a-lot's "Baby Got Back" rocked out over the PA. As he watched, one of them began to twerk.

"Oh God," Cam grimaced. "I could've gone my whole life and not seen that."

"She's got better rhythm than I do."

"Shut your mouth. That's my seventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Jennings. She usually doesn't get that...enthusiastic until after several glasses of wine."

"You've had occasion to see that before?"

"She cuts loose at every non-Baptist wedding reception where there's alcohol." Spying a pack of old ladies headed their way, he wrapped an arm around Norah's waist and said, "Brace yourself. You were worried about the family. You didn't give a single thought to our debut to the rest of the town."

She laughed. "What?"

"It's the Casserole Patrol." He pasted a smile in place to greet them.

Without preamble, Miss Betty Monroe asked, "Did you try my Jello mold?"

"I'm afraid we haven't had the opportunity. We just got here." He began introductions, but Miss Maudie Bell Ramsey rolled right on over him.

"Well, of course, we know who Norah is. Glad to see you've got the good sense to snatch her up."

"Been wonderin' who was going to take you off the market after all this time," Delia Watson said. "S'pose it makes sense. If you were gonna pick a local, you'd have done it by now. Who are your people, honey?"

Before he could come up with a means of rescuing Norah from the question, she launched in, explaining that while her mother was a Royce from Charlotte, NC, her father hailed from Bay St. Louis. "His family went way back in the area, so I actually have very old Mississippi roots."

"Do you still have kin there?"

"My grandparents passed when I was little. I don't think there are any relatives still there now. At least not more than distant cousins I've never met."

"Burke." Miss Maudie Bell tapped her chin in thought. "That wouldn't happen to be Benjamin Burke, would it?"

"Anderson. Benjamin was his first cousin on his daddy's side, I think."

There followed a complicated discussion about how Miss Maudie Bell's family was connected to Norah's.

Cam stroked a thumb over the pulse in her wrist and felt it jump, though she didn't falter in saying her grandmother had been a Fitzpatrick before her marriage.

"So I reckon that makes us third or fourth cousins, twice removed," Miss Maudie Bell concluded in triumph. "See there, bet you didn't know you had family here."

"No, I certainly didn't! Not beyond the Campbells, whom I'm not _actually_ related to."

Miss Betty beamed at the pair of them. "Oh, I expect that won't stay the case too long."

Miss Delia nudged Miss Maudie Bell conspiratorially. "These two will make beautiful babies, don't you think?"

Norah froze, mouth half open, cheeks flushing pink.

Cam was searching for a polite way to redirect the conversation when his mother's personal assistant neatly inserted herself into the conversation, laying a hand on Cam's arm. "I'm sorry, ladies, I need to steal the Councilman and Norah. City business."

Cam could've kissed her. He offered a rueful smile to the Casserole Patrol. "Duty calls. Excuse us."

Avery led them through the crowd to where Dillon had a table staked out. She made quick introductions and sat, accepting the glass of punch he offered. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

"I'm pretty sure they just married us off and gave us 2.5 kids."

"Five more minutes and the kids would be named and their college funds started." Cam turned to Avery, "You're getting a raise. I don't know where we're finding the money, but I owe you."

"Feel free to bring that up at the next City Council meeting. But anyway, it wasn't a lie. We have news."

Cam and Norah slid into chairs. Beneath the tablecloth, Norah laid a hand on his thigh and started to drag it higher. Tensing, he pinned her hand in place with his own and struggled to focus.

"One of my professors looked over the economic impact study," Dillon said. "It's not wrong—if this was the 1980s. Their conclusions are founded in old theories, old data. She doesn't have time to get through a full study herself before the meeting, but she'll absolutely be here to help rebut and tear them apart in the court of public opinion."

"Excellent." Norah's eyes brightened with challenge.

Cam could already see the gears in her brain starting to turn, sorting out the best means of presenting the rebuttal. Before she could get immersed in more discussion, he shoved back from the table and tugged her up. "Nope. No more work tonight. No more thinking. I brought you here to dance, and by damn, we're going to dance."

"See y'all in the morning," she called as he dragged her toward the middle of the gym.

Of course it wasn't that easy. They made it all of fifteen feet before she got stopped by Babette Wofford of Brides and Belles.

"We have a little problem about tomorrow."

Norah gave him a look of apology. "Five minutes."

"Five minutes."

As soon as she stepped away, Tully Kauffman snagged him wanting to talk about why the trash pick up schedule should be changed. He listened with half an ear, watching as Norah crossed the room, getting stopped another four times by various other people before she made it over to Molly Montgomery and a cluster of other coalition members. She listened intently, offered some response.

"—if you switched Cedar Hills to Tuesday-Friday and put Garrett Park on Monday-Thursday..."

Five minutes turned into fifteen, then edged into twenty before Norah managed to separate herself from the group. Cam had long since stopped paying attention to Tully's treatise about the trash schedule. When Norah finally stepped away and looked at him, Cam felt the punch of it from across the room. She angled her head just slightly toward the far end of the gym where one set of the expandable bleachers was deployed.

Cam grabbed Tucker as he passed. "Tuck, didn't you need to talk to Tully about that thing?"

He didn't wait for assent before breaking away to head toward the bleachers. Norah did the same, holding his gaze as she skirted the periphery. Another half dozen people tried to stop him for one reason or another, but rudeness be damned, he kept going, never losing eye contact as they inched ever closer to their destination.

"Crawford!" Quentin Irby stepped right into his path. "I've been wanting to set up an appointment with you to talk about a new landscaping project for my wife for our thirtieth anniversary."

Mitch appeared out of nowhere, swinging an arm around Quentin's shoulders. "Now if you really want to impress Janine, you'll let me have a go at putting that sunroom off the back of the house. You know she's been wanting one for years now."

"Oh yeah?"

Cam blessed his cousin as he shook loose and made it the last twenty feet to the dark corner where Norah waited.

She pulled him underneath the bleachers. Her hands fisted in his shirt, as she dragged his mouth to hers in a long devouring kiss that had every drop of blood draining from his head. "What's the quickest way out of here?"

"I thought you wanted to dance." He tugged her head gently back so he could taste the line of her throat.

"God." She shuddered. "Changed my mind. Too many damned people here. We'll never even make it to the dance floor without being unforgivably rude."

"Then allow me to introduce you to the time-honored tradition of sneaking out past the chaperones."

Norah already had Cam's sport coat off and his shirt untucked by the time they stumbled their way inside his loft. He spun her, using her body to shut the door, then pressing her up against it, cursing when he couldn't dislodge the bolero jacket.

"Give me just a second," she gasped, breathless as he ran his hands up her hips, around to cup her ass.

The floor abruptly shifted beneath them. Norah hung on, shielded from the sudden earthquake by Cam's body.

"Down. _Down,_ damn it!"

Not an earthquake. Hush.

Norah reeled a little as Cam let her go and reached for the dog, who'd jumped up against his back in greeting.

"Get the damned jacket off. I'll take care of her." He yanked open the door again and dragged a whining Hush down the stairs. "C'mon girl, there's bacon downstairs. You want some bacon?"

Norah shucked the jacket and considered stripping off the rest to speed things along. Her pulse hummed in delicious anticipation. She'd wanted him since that first night, wanted to lose herself in the heat they made together. With the feelings she'd developed since—she was all but drunk with desire.

In less than two minutes, Cam bounded back through the door, shutting and locking it. Hush howled from the barn below, sounding for all the world as if she'd been put in prison.

"I feel bad for her. She sounds so pitiful."

"We'll make it up to her," Cam assured her as he crossed the room to the stereo. "I'll fix her chicken and peanut butter. But I don't have any intention of being interrupted before morning."

"Thank God for that. I've had enough interruptions for the night."

Something slow and jazzy spilled out from the speakers to block out the sound of the dog.

"There won't be any more, so let's slow things down a bit."

She shook her head, reaching for him again and making quick work of the buttons of his shirt. "Fast now to take the edge off. Slow later." Parting the fabric, she gripped one side in each fist and pulled him to her so she could nip lightly at the tendon in his throat.

"But I like the edge." Nudging one strap of her dress down her shoulder, he followed the trail with his mouth.

Her body tightened, her breath skipping in response. "The edge makes me crazy."

"I'm gonna make you crazier." Cam backed her across the loft, toward the bedroom, sliding down the other strap. "See, I've had considerable time to think about what I wanted to do when I got you here like this."

"Oh yeah?" She shoved the shirt from his shoulders. He was beautifully made, the lean lines of his muscles sculpted from hard physical labor rather than a gym. She wanted to map him with her hands, learn his contours with her mouth.

"One thing I've noticed about you is that you never stop thinking. The wheels in that sexy brain of yours are always turning. So I've got one goal." He dragged down the zipper of her dress, until the only thing holding it up was the press of his body to hers.

"Which is?"

"To make them stop."

"That's a pretty big goal. Nobody's ever managed it."

"I think you'll find I'm up to the task." Proof of that fact pressed into her belly.

"You're up to something."

His smile spread, slow and wicked as he eased away from her to finish shedding the shirt.

Norah crossed one arm over her breast to hold the dress in place and offered a smile of her own as she backed away into one of the silvered squares of moonlight spilling through the intermittent skylights. From the shadows, she could feel Cam watching as she let the dress peel away, sliding down her body, until she stepped gingerly out of it.

"Sweet Mary, mother of God," he breathed.

"I did a little shopping when I was in Oxford."

His fingers reverently traced the line of the garters that held up the sheer, thigh high stockings. "If I'd known you were wearing this, we'd never have made it to the dance."

"If I'd known everybody and their brother was going to treat tonight as another day at the office, I'd have said we could just skip it." And yet something about the interruptions had felt good. Because it meant she was a part of something. That people trusted her enough to come to her for help.

"It's part of being in the public eye. They'll be back at it tomorrow. But not tonight. The rest of tonight is for us."

He pulled her in, his broad palms skimming up the bare skin of her back as he took her mouth in a slow drugging kiss that blurred the details of the rest of the evening. He drew the straps of her bra down and away, baring her breasts. They felt full and heavy, cupped in his calloused palms. She pressed into his touch, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, inviting the same as she struggled to take control.

But he wouldn't be rushed.

He stroked, tasted, and explored until her breath hitched and her legs trembled. Dizzy, she realized he'd lured her, one sexy step at a time into the bedroom. A wide shaft of moonlight haloed the bed. She wanted him there, wanted to watch the slick play of muscle as he moved inside her and they lost themselves to oblivion.

But Cam apparently had other ideas. He knelt before her, bringing her hands to his shoulders for balance as he slipped off first one shoe, then the other, until she stood, swaying a little in her stockinged feet. With more of that infinite patience, he detached one garter and began to roll the stocking down, following the trail with his lips.

"Christ, Cam, glaciers are faster than this."

He ran a hand up her bared leg and slid a finger beneath the edge of her panties, stroking through the drenched heat. "But glaciers aren't this hot."

Norah's legs jerked, and she swore at him as he chuckled, returning to the other stocking. She was going to incinerate before he ever finished. Every inch of her skin felt tight and hot as he finally slipped off the panties and garter belt.

He nudged her legs further apart, gripping just below her ass. "I've dreamed of having you like this, at my mercy."

The heat of his breath against her sex caused another slow pull in her belly. "I'm not seeing a lot of mercy."

"I haven't even gotten started yet." He pressed his mouth between her thighs.

The orgasm whipped through her like lightning. Gasping for breath, muscles quaking, Cam's hold was the only thing keeping her upright. She rode the knife edge between pleasure and pain, her vision blurring as he sucked and licked and drove her ruthlessly, relentlessly up again.

At the cusp of that next, brutal peak, he stopped. Norah whimpered as he eased her back from the edge, rising from his crouch to lay her, at last, on the bed. A rustle of clothes, the rip of foil, and the mattress dipped beneath his weight as he came back to her, skin against glorious skin. Opening her arms, she got her wish, watching his face in the silvered light as he slid smoothly inside her. Home.

They held there, joined and trembling, and she stared into eyes gone dark with passion.

_I love you._

It was too soon to say the words, but she lay one hand over his heart and threaded the other through the hair at his nape.

He began to move, a slow retreat and thrust that seated him deeper with every stroke. Her body arched, straining for more of that exquisite friction. She murmured his name, drawing him down to take his mouth. Sensation built upon sensation as he picked up speed, at last losing that infinite patience as he drove them up that final crest toward release. His breath went ragged, his body tensing. Wrapping her legs tight around his waist, she held him deep as he lost himself, and moments later flew joyfully over the edge behind him.

He weighed a ton. Her face pressed into his throat, breathing in the healthy scent of sweat and sex and Cam, Norah decided she was entirely okay with that. Her body felt loose and used and relaxed for—possibly the first time in her life. With a little purr, she stretched beneath him, running one foot up the back of his thigh.

"Well, you are nothing if not a man of your word."

"Mmm?"

"Apparently mine wasn't the only brain you obliterated."

"You aren't supposed to be able to form coherent sentences yet."

She nuzzled his ear. "I'm an overachiever."

"I'm starting to learn that about you. Give me a year or so, I'll catch up."

"You know, for once, I'm not on city speed. I don't want to go anywhere or do anything but stay right here with you." _For maybe the rest of my life._

The realization had her heart kicking back into high gear. She wanted a life with him, wanted a future with him. And tonight had given her a glimpse of what that might look like. It wasn't the kind of clear-cut plan she liked, more a glimmer of possibility. But she hugged that glimmer close to her heart as she held him close to her body. A secret wish.

It was terrifying and exhilarating. And when her practical side tried to point out the problems, Norah reminded herself that if it could happen anywhere, it could happen here. Wishful was, after all, a town where wishes came true.

# Chapter 14

"...OH, AND WE FINALLY found a venue for that fund-raiser dinner," Molly said. "Tom Thatcher's going to host it at The Spring House. It is, unfortunately, a much smaller location, so we're limited to about half the head count, but we're working on ways to maximize that."

"Then I need to finish drafting the press release for the regional newspapers." Norah checked her watch for the fifteenth time before scanning the crowd assembled on the town green. Eighty-three locals had shown in response to the call. The bulk were members of the coalition or related to someone who was. Several had tool belts slung around their hips. All were dressed for a day of hard, messy labor. While they were waiting for her instructions, most circulated through the line of the coffee station generously provided by Cassie Callister. Some of them for the second time.

It wasn't enough people to execute her plan. Not by a long shot. Molly followed her gaze but said nothing about the turnout. This was Norah's show, and the coalition chair was standing back, letting her run it.

Had her Hail Mary failed? Had the promise she'd elicited earlier in the week meant nothing? The timing hadn't been awesome, what with today being the morning after Valentine's Day, but she'd thought surely _some_ of them would show.

Cam joined them where they stood across from City Hall. "The natives are getting restless."

She checked her watch again. Nearly half an hour past time to start.

Cam reached up, began to knead at her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her mind taking a quick detour to how those hands had felt, slow and languid in the hour before dawn. The morning air wasn't frigid enough to cool the blush that heated her cheeks.

"I think this is all we're gonna get, Wonder Woman. We'd best prioritize the work that needs doing and see what we can manage with this group."

Tearing her brain back to the issue at hand she said, "Just wait a little bit longer." Even she heard the trace of stubborn desperation in her voice.

"Honey, if you wait any longer, you're gonna start losing your workforce." He nodded to where a contingent had broken off and headed toward Sweet Magnolias. "We need to go ahead and get started with what we've got."

Disappointment weighed heavy as she nodded. "Who's got the bullhorn?"

Norah retrieved it from Liam. Stepping onto the ledge of the fountain, she put on her best cheerleader face as she called out, "Good morning! First off, I want to thank all of y'all for giving up your Saturday to work. We've got tons to do and a somewhat smaller group than expected, so it's important that we prioritize our projects." Since she'd been so closed-mouthed about her full plan, no one knew exactly how short they truly were on man power except for her co-conspirators, Mitch and Tyler. "The goal of this work weekend is to give downtown Wishful a makeover. We want to clean up and spiff up the area with much-needed curb appeal. In the long-term, we have plans to address each individual business on Main Street, but for today, we're going to focus on the public spaces, those that will impact everybody."

She gaged the level of interest and enthusiasm, scanning faces as she spoke. "We're going to divide you into teams based on skill sets. Those with any sort of construction experience will be working with Mitch Campbell on things like external repairs and awning replacement. Another group will be pressure washing the sidewalks and building exteriors. Others will be on trash pick up. Others on painting, once the buildings dry from their washing. The gardeners among you will be working with Cam Crawford to get trees planted and new planter boxes installed and filled. On the front end, this is all about window dressing, making downtown appealing so people will want to stop in and stay a while. We want to get people _in the door_. And if, at the end of the day, we've still got time, we'll revisit some of those individual businesses and see what we're able to accomplish."

"And how exactly are you going to prioritize those?" called a voice from the back. "Are you the person who will make the decision which businesses are important enough to move to the front of the line?"

Norah peered through the crowd, trying to find the speaker as several folks started nodding. She struggled to maintain a friendly face as she recognized Vick Burgess. Of course he'd show up trying to sow seeds of dissension when they were already low on workers.

"All the businesses will be addressed eventually. What gets dealt with today will depend upon how much time and man power is available once the main public spaces are complete."

"But how will that be decided?"

She bit down on her temper as she noted more than a few people murmuring in agreement. They didn't need his brand of bullshit today. She'd pulled these people together and they couldn't afford to lose a single one. "Given our current turnout, the likelihood that we will make it past the public spaces today is highly unlikely. Speculation on what's to be done next is a moot point until such a time as we know we have the opportunity to do additional work. Those business owners who are in the greatest hurry are free to come speak to me after work assignments have been passed out. We'll see what we can work out."

"Why don't you just admit you've bitten off more than you can chew with this project of yours? It's pretty cruel to get everybody's hopes up and then renege on your promises."

She was going to kill him. Surely nobody would blame her if he turned up floating in Hope Springs. Except it seemed a shame to taint the springs.

"Listen—" Before she could actually give voice to the insult all but choking to get out, someone laid on their car horn. Norah turned to see an aging Grand Cherokee turning onto Main Street. Behind it came a procession of other unfamiliar vehicles. As the Jeep pulled to the curb, a blonde head rose up out of the sun roof, and Norah began to smile.

"Sorry we're late!" the girl called. "Last night's formal ran a little later than expected and we had to make a stop to roust out the boys. We didn't figure you'd mind if we brought some friends."

"The more the merrier," Norah shouted, leaping down from her post and crossing to the newcomer. Cam followed, close on her heels.

"Where should we park?"

"Tucker!" Norah called.

He bounded over, taking in the line of idling cars. "Yes'm?"

"Will you direct our volunteers over to Church Street? I've already cleared it with First Baptist and First Methodist to use their parking lots."

The girl dropped back through the sun roof and opened the back passenger door, offering her seat to Tucker. "Hop on in."

The Jeep pulled away from the curb and led the caravan around the green and off again. Behind her, the townsfolk stared as vehicle after vehicle rolled past.

"Who are all these people?" Cam stared in no little bit of awe.

Norah grinned up at him. "The cavalry." She turned to introduce him to the bouncy blonde in a pink hoodie with Ole Miss stitched across the front and an anchor embroidered on one side. "Cam, I'd like you to meet Chelsea Patterson, junior marketing major at Ole Miss and current chair of public relations for Delta Gamma."

Cam shook her hand and offered a confused smile. "I still don't understand."

"I was the DG PR chair back when I was at Ole Miss. Part of that job has to do with organizing philanthropic activities. At their heart, sororities are service organizations and members are expected to put in a certain number of service hours each semester. I went up to Oxford on Tuesday to meet with my old chapter to offer up this service opportunity."

"We weren't about to turn down a request for help from one of our most distinguished alumnae," Chelsea said.

"So who exactly were these extras you recruited?"

"Oh, well Lacey—she's our chapter president," Chelsea added for Cam's benefit, "—is dating the president of Sigma Chi, so she talked him into offering up his chapter for slave labor today."

"Strong backs are more than welcome."

Chelsea flashed a satisfied smile. "Aaaaand I called up our sister chapter at MSU to set up a little friendly competition. They should be here, right about...now." She pointed to the opposite side of the green where a second string of vehicles led by a Toyota flying maroon and white window flags was coming to a stop at the opposite curb.

Norah swung an arm around the girl's shoulders and sent up a prayer of thanks. "Chelsea, you're a woman after my own heart."

It took another half hour for everybody to park. They far outstripped the space available on Church Street. By the time everybody had walked back to the green, cars were lining the entire downtown area, including all the cross streets, and the crowd had swelled to nearly twice the force she'd originally expected.

Norah took up her bullhorn again. "Before we get started today, I'd like to offer up a warm Wishful welcome to the Delta Gammas from Ole Miss!" The girls cheered. "The Sigma Chis from Ole Miss!" The guys hooted and shouted. "And the Delta Gammas from Mississippi State!" The girls hollered and clapped. "I'd like to thank you all so much for coming. For those of you who don't know, my name is Norah Burke, and I'm your de facto general for the day. Now that the remainder of our army has arrived, here's our revised plan."

Norah took great pleasure in the sour expression on Vick's face as she laid out the full scope of her vision. She took even more in the infectious enthusiasm of her cavalry as it spread to the locals.

"Before you leave today, each of you should stop by and see Richard Patton to give your name and T-shirt size. Richard wave for everybody." The wiry, balding owner of the print shop lifted a hand. "You'll be getting a free commemorative shirt for your efforts! And now I'm going to turn you over to Molly Montgomery, who will divide you into groups." Norah stepped down and handed off the bullhorn.

Cam fell into step with her as she circled around the crowd. "Not to be a buzz kill, but who's going to pay for all those shirts?"

"I intend to sweet talk all the local businesses who are getting makeovers today into donating toward the effort. Their logos will go on the shirt. That's two hundred and fifty walking advertisements out there, to go along with the free labor. That's what you call a good investment. We're going to pull this off in spades. Vick can just stick that in his pipe and smoke it."

It got worse before it got better. Old awnings came down, old paint was knocked off with the dirt when many of the buildings were washed, and more than one downtown business was in total chaos, filled with bodies shifting displays, cleaning, rearranging stock. Cam hoped like hell none of their volunteers decided to employ the five-finger discount.

Norah caught him staring in horror at all the furniture being hauled out of Lickety Split and turned him firmly away. "It's all getting repainted."

Similar forms of disorder appeared to be going on inside every business. "The chaos, it burns." He shuddered

"I know, I know. The disorganization offends your sensibilities. There is a plan for each and every one. I swear. Tyler, Mitch, and I worked it out before we ever started."

"If you say so." He didn't bother to hide the skepticism.

She gave him a smacking kiss. "Go play in the dirt and leave the organizing to us. And maybe use the opportunity to charm some of your compatriots on the Council." She nodded to where Grace Handeford and Hank van Buren were listening closely as Violet instructed them on the proper means of planting a multi-season hanging basket. "I had Molly put them on your team, just in case."

"Sneaky sneaky. I like that about you."

With a saucy wink, she left him, calling out for Dillon, who had a pair of chairs from the ice cream parlor tucked under either arm.

Cam crossed over to join his official crew for the day.

He had twenty people to manage, most of whom were regulars at the nursery. Four of them were on the Black List and not allowed to touch any plants they hadn't already paid for—per Violet's orders. Since the object of this project was downtown beautification, Cam wasn't going to argue with her. It wouldn't do for everything those folks planted to wither up and die in two days, as their track records suggested. He put them to work mounting the special brackets they'd ordered on the light posts running the length of Main Street. Violet had the hanging basket and planter folks well in hand, so the remaining few were designated tree planters. Which would've been fine if the damned tree spade on the Bobcat hadn't blown a valve. With that one, single problem, a couple hours of work turned into an impossible task.

"Son of a bitch." Cam slapped a hand against the Bobcat.

"Having a bit of bad luck there, Crawford?"

Cam turned and tensed as he caught sight of Roy McKennon. He looked rough, but sober in Carhartts and a flannel shirt. Had he been here from the start? Cam couldn't remember. He hadn't seen Roy since Liam's welcome home party, and he didn't imagine that the other man had changed his opinion on what Cam was trying to do regarding GrandGoods. Was he angry enough to try to sabotage the equipment?

"Little equipment malfunction, as it happens." Cam kept his tone neutral.

Roy looked from the Bobcat to the nursery truck, where more than a dozen trees waited to be planted. "You ain't gonna get that done with whatcha got."

That was the plain truth, and Cam couldn't argue it. He'd have to go track down Norah, see if she wanted them to try to put in what they could the old-fashioned way or hold off until he could get the tree spade repaired. "It's always somethin'.

"Reckon you could use some strong backs."

"Sorry?"

"I happen to know some." The older man turned and whistled.

Across the green, nearly a dozen men broke away from a cluster of pick-up trucks and headed their way.

Catching Cam's wary look, Roy said, "We came to work, same as everybody else. Be obliged if you'd let us help."

Too stunned to reply, Cam could only stare for a moment.

"I may not agree with you on all your politics, but it's a good thing y'all are doin' here. Been a long time since Wishful had something good."

"Hopefully this is the start of a new trend." Cam offered a hand. "I'd appreciate the help."

When Roy's friends joined them, Cam divided them into teams of three and assigned them spots to dig, giving instructions on width and depth of the holes they'd need for the root balls of the Bradford pears they were putting in. He wiped out Tyler's supply of shovels to cover the extra labor, but it was well worth it seeing the teamwork and camaraderie among men who hadn't had reason to smile in a good long while.

More than an hour passed before he made it back to Hank and Grace, who were discussing the congestion of vehicles from all the out of town volunteers.

"I'm pretty sure I saw Aggie Crockett circle the block four times without finding a space," Hank said.

It was exactly the opening he needed. "That's just a fraction of the kind of impact GrandGoods would have," Cam said. "The typical warehouse club of the size they propose has average of five _thousand_ vehicle trips _per_ weekday, depending on the size of the store. And weekends are bigger."

"That's...a lot," Grace admitted.

"That's more than double our entire population of drivers. We've got to think about expenses for the city, like road maintenance and police force that would be required to compensate for an increase of that magnitude."

"It would be a significant burden on our existing tax base." Hank looked reflective. "Certainly, supplemental funding from the state hasn't been forthcoming. I don't see that getting any better in the future. Not under the current administration anyway."

"So, if they built, we'd get the excess traffic from people who don't live here, don't contribute to the roads they're wearing out. And on top of that, all the land in the general vicinity of the store would decrease in property value because of traffic and noise and the kind of chain-oriented urban bloat that tends to go along _with_ these big box stores. And that's not even touching on the impacts on the environment."

"You raise some good points, Cam. But what's the alternative?" Grace asked.

"If we focus on revitalizing downtown, really supporting local retail and creating a climate that will appeal to entrepreneurs looking for good locations to invest in small business, it's a benefit to the entire community. People don't have to drive as far to conduct their day to day business. That means fewer vehicle miles logged, lower accident rates, lower vehicle emissions. And it encourages more of a walking culture, which improves the health of the local populace _and_ strengthens community ties because people are out and about and interacting instead of trapped behind the wheel."

"I certainly like the _idea_ of that."

"The fact is, we don't _need_ what GrandGoods is offering. We don't need someone from outside to come in and save us. Not at that kind of expense. We can take care of our own if we're just willing to work together to find a solution that will truly benefit the community."

"That's not going to be a popular position," Hank said.

"It's not our job to be popular." Cam had resigned himself to that a long time ago. "It's our job to work in the best interests of Wishful. And that means looking at long-term impact. Look, I don't want to belabor the point. Just promise me you'll consider that when you cast your vote about GrandGoods and their proposal."

"Fair enough." Grace packed the soil around the roots of some ivy. Dusting her hands off, she straightened, looking at something back toward the green. "Is that Abe Costello?"

"That's sure as heck his championship smoker."

Cam turned to look. "What on earth?" As he watched, Abe backed the enormous trailer onto the green. "I'd best go see what this is about. Can you two finish up these planters and get them in place?"

"Go ahead, son. We can handle a bunch of pansies," Hank said.

The truck was parked and the driver out of the cab by the time Cam made it over.

"Uh, Abe. Whatcha doing with Black Beauty here?"

The old man merely grunted and lowered the trailer foot. "Got a bunch of volunteers. They gotta eat. Least we can do to feed 'em for their trouble. McSweeney's is donating fixins, the Rotary Club is donating burgers and hot dogs for lunch, the Kiwanis Club is demolishing the butcher section for supper, and the Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian women's groups are in some kind of competition to donate sides."

Cam blinked at him, his brain not quite catching up to what he'd heard. "You're planning to feed the volunteers?"

"That's what I said. Don't just stand there, boy. Help me get this wood out of the truck."

Cam leapt into action.

Smoke was curling toward the sky by the time he got back to the landscaping. As the afternoon progressed and the scents of grilling meat filled downtown, more tables and tents popped up on the green. Clay Turner hauled out the PA system from the community center and added a party feel to the proceedings, playing DJ while the work progressed at a furious pace.

It shouldn't have come together so fast. Not given the state downtown was in that morning. But by the time the news van pulled up late that afternoon, every business downtown had at least one fresh coat of paint, windows sparkled, displays had been updated, and the concrete planters had been set in intervals along Main Street, a pop of color that tied in with the new hanging baskets mounted on all the light poles. Teams were working on getting up new awnings as the reporter climbed out.

Norah appeared from somewhere, managing to look polished and put together in her jeans and camp shirt, despite the paint liberally streaking her legs. She shook hands with the reporter and launched into an animated explanation of what was going on, gesturing to various businesses along Main Street.

His mother stepped up to join him.

"Hey." Cam pulled her in for a one-armed hug. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I've been recovering the booths at Dinner Belles. They're a bit harder than the dining room chairs I did last year, but they came together."

"It seems everything's coming together. In more ways than one."

She looked around in satisfaction. "This is amazing. I haven't seen this kind of community spirit and unity in years. It's all because of you and Norah."

"We make a good team." Cam turned his gaze back to where she stood with the reporter. "But none of this would've happened without her. She single-handedly brought in a freaking army. Just by asking."

"Sometimes that's all it takes, for someone to have the courage to ask. She's not afraid to do that. She doesn't expect everyone to jump at the snap of her fingers, and she's not...entitled like her father, but she's not afraid to ask because she knows her mind and she knows her worth. I hope you know it, too."

"I've been counting my blessings since the day she walked into my life."

"Good." Leaning up to press her cheek to his, she said, "In case nobody else has said it, thanks for taking the hard stance on this GrandGoods thing, baby. It's what needed to be done."

"For the first time, I'm starting to believe that with Norah's help, it just might be enough."

# Chapter 15

"VALENTINE'S DAY MAY BE over, but love is still in the air here in the tiny town of Wishful. Residents and volunteers gathered today to give downtown some much needed TLC. I'm here with Norah Burke, public relations chairwoman of the citizens coalition behind the project. Can you tell us a little about what's going on here?"

Norah leaned forward from the sofa, her hand clamped around Cam's as she and the rest of the Campbells watched the interview on the ten o'clock news. The station played the whole thing, unedited, as she succinctly explained the origins of the coalition, the threat to their small town way of life, and their hope of reminding the people of what's really important. She came off as charming, erudite, and welcoming, finishing up with an invite to everyone in the viewing area to come by and see what they'd been missing. The camera cut from her to a sequence of shots showing updates in progress or finished, before panning back to the green and the cookout, where the reporter remarked about the outpouring of support from the community for the volunteers. That observation was backed up by a half dozen one liners of gratitude from said volunteers, capped off by Chelsea Patterson, who said "From the moment we arrived, they made us feel like we were home."

"There you have it. The restoration of this little slice of Southern Americana, where visitors will find friendly faces and a touch of home. And, if they're lucky, a little romance in the process." This last was accompanied by a zoom in on Cam, who'd surprised Norah with a deep dip and an enthusiastic kiss to celebrate the success of the day. She hadn't realized they'd still been filming. "I'm Deanna Fossett, WTVA News. Back to you, Cathy."

Norah leapt off the couch executed a victory boogie around the den. "Yes. Yes! You cannot _buy_ coverage like that."

"The camera loves you," Cam remarked.

She waved that off. "You're biased. But tying Wishful to the idea that it feels like home. Genius. People _love_ that. God bless, Chelsea. I would absolutely hire that girl if I could."

"Why don't you?" Aunt Liz asked.

"Well, aside from the fact that she hasn't graduated yet and isn't actually looking for a job, I'm not being paid myself, so I would have nothing to pay _her_ , even if she did want to come work for me."

"You don't right _now,_ but you could. Did you ever consider opening your own firm?"

"That would require a lot of capital, a lot of risk for not very good odds of success. Under the best of circumstances the majority of small businesses fail within two years. These aren't the best of circumstances. A town of five thousand doesn't have a lot of need for what I do."

"I think the last couple of months have proven that to the contrary." Cam snagged her hand and tugged her into his lap.

Exhausted, she tumbled into it, snuggling in and sliding an arm around his shoulders so she could finger the fine hair at his nape. She could go to sleep right here...

Norah realized in the expectant pause that she was supposed to respond and worked to keep her brain online for just a little longer. "I've done good work for the coalition, but that's not a paying job, nor is it going to turn into one, unfortunately. The city can't afford to hire me, even if they _were_ inclined to create a new position. I've seen your books. The budget's an absolute mess, and I don't know who's doing the accounting, but I think they're dyslexic because there are a lot of discrepancies in the numbers I saw."

"Wait, what?" Cam stopped stroking her back.

"In those city records I analyzed for the last decade, the numbers are all kinds of wonky. I'm sure it's not as bad as it seemed. I'm not an accountant, after all, and I didn't dig all that deep. But really, y'all should look into proper accounting software to keep up with stuff. All those paper ledgers leave so much room for error."

"I'll have a word with the comptroller," Sandra said. "That's something that I admit I let slide without enough oversight during my treatment."

"But back to the question at hand," Aunt Liz insisted.

Norah felt a prickle of annoyance. They meant well, all of them. But this wasn't a topic of conversation she really wanted to deal with right now. It was ruining her lovely high from the day's success. Wanting to stay and being _able_ to stay were two entirely different things, and she lived in the real world. "I am a marketing executive. And Wishful _doesn't_ have much need of that." God knew, she didn't have the energy to contemplate a total career change, even if she wanted one.

"How big a geographic area does metro Chicago cover?" Mitch asked.

"I don't have a clue. Why?"

Mitch googled it from his phone. "Nearly 5500 square kilometers. That's something like 3400 square miles."

"Okay." If there was a point, she was missing it.

"It's got a relative population density of about nine and a half million people," Reed added.

"And if I were half awake, I could probably give you an arm-long list of entertaining factoids about it. I still don't see where you're going with this."

"My point is that's a lot of physical territory, and it includes a lot of communities. And I know for a fact your firm did work outside the city."

"So?" Still baffled, Norah wondered what she was missing with her sleep-deprived brain.

Cam slid a hand beneath the fall of her hair to rub at the knots left by the hours of painting and hauling. "I think the point he's making is that just because Wishful is only five thousand people, there are a lot more towns in the area. It isn't the sort of population density of Chicago, but—well, to use the same argument GrandGoods is using to base a store here, you've got a few hundred thousand people in an hour and a half radius. A whole lot of them are business owners. If you opened your own firm here as a home base, there's nothing stopping you from reaching out to them."

"Or from reaching out further than that online," Miranda added. "You're good with web work. I'm sure there are all sorts of potential clients you wouldn't necessarily need to meet with in person. For stuff like that, it wouldn't matter where you were based. And there's no rule that says you can't travel to meet somebody if you needed to. You did that with Helios all the time."

Feeling hemmed in, Norah struggled to find patience and a rational argument that they'd accept. It wasn't that she didn't have the capital to start her own firm. But money wasn't the only consideration. She had the will-power and the know-how but absolutely no reputation to speak of outside world she'd walked away from. There was no way to do what she'd done before. There wouldn't be the epic corporate accounts, the fast-paced, high-powered _everything_ without the glowing recommendation of Philip Vargas.

But had she missed _any_ of that since she came to Wishful? Had she once given thought to her corner office or the intra-office politics that had been so much a part of the game that kind of career demanded? She certainly didn't miss Chicago itself. For all that most of her life had been spent in big cities, she appreciated the slower pace of small towns. And she appreciated the people, the personal, the messy community ties she'd found in Wishful. All the things her colleagues would've been scrambling to escape, she actually _liked_. She loved that people here knew her name and gave a damn about her personal life—even if that was mostly as a source of good-natured gossip—because they wouldn't ask if they didn't care, if they didn't feel that in some small way, she was one of theirs.

Norah had wanted that all her life.

But the question of whether she'd be happy in Wishful wasn't actually at issue. No, the question was whether she could be successful in Wishful. They'd made strides, begun to implement changes that would, over time, help keep the town afloat. But afloat was a long way from financially viable as a business location. It wasn't that she was looking to replicate her six-figure salary. The cost of living in Mississippi was the lowest in the country. But she had serious doubts about whether there was sufficient business, even in that hour and a half radius, to make a marketing firm, even one with a payroll of just her, sustainable. They needed to make the _town_ sustainable first.

_Don't you want a piece of that? Don't you want to save this place every bit as much as Cam? Who better to spearhead that movement than you?_

So maybe it _wasn't_ such a crazy idea. It would be hard work. Harder even than she'd put in on this anti-GrandGoods campaign. But if she could pull it off...

"I couldn't even begin to think about something that risky without conducting a market analysis, assessing what competition there is in the area, what the best means of reaching people here would be. Then there'd be the issue of the legalities of starting my own company—"

"That's easy enough," Uncle Pete said. "Got all the information on that right here." He tapped a manila envelope on the end table.

Before she could even ask why he had all that pulled together, Mitch jumped in. "You'd need office space. I've been giving some thought to that, actually." Pulling out his digital tablet, he opened some files and handed it over.

The image on the screen was dark, dusty, and loaded with boxes.

"What am I looking at?"

"Is that the old train depot?" Cam asked.

"Yep. It hasn't been used for anything but storage for...man, I don't know. Twenty years. But—" Mitch leaned over and swiped to the next image. "—it has potential."

The concept was fabulous. It retained the historic character of the exposed brick, the struts and beams. But he'd opened the walls, replaced some of the windows to let in the light. There were offices, three of them, divided by glass walls, so as not to block the light, and a small conference room, in addition to a comfortable waiting area for greeting clients. Another swipe revealed the interior of the largest office. Of all of them, Mitch was the only one who'd seen that corner office she'd left behind. He knew how she liked to work and had taken that into account, adding a massive corkboard wall on one side and a giant freestanding glass board on the other for brainstorming. The third wall opened up into a huge picture window overlooking the town green.

Her stomach tied itself in knots of slippery, professional lust. She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, Mitch."

"Sorry?"

"I'm not going to change my mind and marry you just because you designed my dream office. It was a valiant effort, though."

Mitch laughed. "Hard to compete when I know it was never really a contest."

"We put together a list of potential clients." Anita handed over yet another manila envelope.

Frowning Norah took it, sliding out a thick stack of what turned out to be signed letters of intention.

"It's more or less everyone you've worked with since you got here," Grammy said. "Plus a few others."

Norah said nothing, eyes moving from one Campbell to the next.

Mitch had sobered. "We felt bad about how we reacted, and we really wanted to show you that we're behind you a hundred percent."

Cam bristled. "So you decided to make the decision for her and back her into a corner?"

Of course, he would understand her hesitation. Her parents had been doing the same thing for years, trying to force her hand, albeit with far less consideration of her own wants and preferences. Cam himself had gone out of his way to avoid talking about the future, to keep her from feeling pressured.

"I'm sure that wasn't their intention."

Aunt Liz looked stricken. "No! We just wanted to be supportive. To try to make it an easier decision."

"Oh, no we absolutely colluded to railroad you," Miranda said. "Because we love you and that's what we do in this family. You love us, so you'll forgive us for essentially beating you over the head with this after you've put in a full day's work on three hours of sleep."

Norah felt her cheeks heat. She didn't dare look at Cam to see if he was blushing or otherwise looked incriminating. Miranda knew she'd slept at his place. Norah didn't know if the rest of the family did and wasn't quite ready to look them in the eye to find out. So she kept her eyes on her friend. "The fact that you pull no punches is one of the things I love most about you."

"You've been too busy busting your ass trying to outflank GrandGoods to give much consideration to a real job. I know you. It never occurred to you to create one for yourself."

"You're right. It didn't. I've deliberately kept myself too busy to think about it because, I guess I was afraid if I did, I wouldn't be able to think of a viable way I could stay." She looked down at the stack of letters and smiled. "So thank you for opening my eyes to the possibility."

Picking up Mitch's tablet, she opened up the concept sketches again. "Who owns this property?"

"The city," Sandra said. "As Mitch said, it's not been used for anything but storage in ages. I don't think there'd be any fuss over selling."

Norah looked to Cam. "Can you get the keys?"

He angled his head, a faint curve to the corners of his mouth that was just enough to make his dimples wink. "That can be arranged."

The old train depot was, as advertised, a glorified storage unit. File cabinets and boxes of who knew what from decades of running a town were stacked cheek by jowl around an assortment of discarded office furniture all through the space. But what Norah saw as she looked through it a few days later was the vision Mitch had planted in her head.

"It was really smart of Mitch to do this."

"Do what?" Cam asked.

"Make me lust over what this space could be. It was smart of all of them to give me the pitch for what my own firm here could be like."

He scowled. "They shouldn't have pressured you."

"It means a lot to me that you don't. That you're giving me time to figure things out. I know it has to be hard on you to stay in the here and now without talking about the future. You're just as much a planner as I am."

"I don't have to talk about it to believe in it. I'm a patient guy. I know you'll get there in your own time."

This was where he put his faith, his hope, and it humbled her.

"Maybe a little less time, thanks to your very nosy family." She leaned back against a desk. "I want to stay, Cam."

It wasn't the declaration she wanted to make. Or, at least, not the only one. But it was enough to make his eyes light.

"I've been afraid to admit to myself how badly I want that because I couldn't see how I could make it work. They gave me an option I hadn't considered. I don't know if it's actually what I'll end up doing, but they showed me a way I could maybe legitimately have my cake and eat it too. That makes up for the pushy."

"The idea of opening your own firm really hadn't occurred to you?"

"It really hadn't. I mean, maybe down the road in another decade or so, when I had more experience, more awards, a more solid reputation to base a firm around. But those things don't matter so much here. And I've discovered through my work with the coalition that I really like running stuff."

"You're good at it. And I believe we've discussed the benefits of being your own boss."

Norah could think of a lot more inventive ways to play hooky now than what they'd managed so far. The sparkle in Cam's eye said he could, too. Because that glint was dangerous, she turned her mind to the details of the firm she hadn't yet decided to open. "I'd need to come up with a name. And a logo. And a business plan. That should actually come first." Her fingers began to clench, and she automatically started looking around for pen and paper.

Cam reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and produced a small notepad. At her start of surprise, he said, "I started carrying it weeks ago after watching you write all the way up to your elbow when you couldn't find paper." He dug back in the pocket and came up with a pen. "Here. Purple for brainstorming."

Her chest went tight, her throat thick.

"It is purple, right? I thought the blue was for action items."

"It is."

He looked vaguely uncertain. "What is this look?"

"This is me going completely gooey. Like homemade marshmallow fluff gooey."

"My family handed you half a business concept and a pen makes you gooey?"

"The fact that you know my color coding system, what it's for, and that you have—" She tugged open the pocket to check. "—all the major colors in your pocket just in case I need them makes me gooey."

"You have them organized in at least four places at my apartment. It isn't hard to grab a handful and go."

Norah leaned in to brush her mouth over his. "It's observant and thoughtful. You're always doing stuff like this, all these little signs that show you're paying attention. That you see me. You just...undo me."

He stepped close, crowding her back against a desk until he'd caged her between it and his body. "I like seeing you undone. It's those business suits."

"What?" She couldn't breathe with him this close. Not when she could feel the heat of him and her hands itched to tug at his shirt until she found skin.

"You're always so neat and tidy. Put together. It makes me want to muss you up. Even more now that I know how gorgeous you are when you come apart from my hands. My mouth."

The gravel in his voice, the memories he evoked, had her going hot and wet.

"Cam."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"We're done with business for the day. And I've got my mind on pleasure." Cam dipped his head to kiss a trail along the column of her throat. She dropped her pen.

_God._ "I can see that." He found a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear that made her shudder and fist a hand in his shirt. "Cam."

"Mmm?" He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her sweater, skimming along her spine in a stroke that made her arch like a cat.

"You're distracting me."

She felt his lips curve against her throat. "That's the idea."

Those _hands._ How was she supposed to think with them on her?

There were really good, rational reasons hanging out at the periphery of her mind about why this wasn't a good idea. She came close to grasping at them, then he slid his hands around her ribcage, up to cradle her breasts. His thumbs brushed the stiffened peaks through her bra and a bolt of heat shot straight to her center. Norah dragged his head down and took his mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. The taste of him punched into her and fried what remained of her synapses, leaving her desperate and wanting.

As he gripped her hips and lifted her onto the desk, she was already tugging his shirt free. Stepping between the V of her thighs, Cam dragged her forward until they were pressed, center to center, separated only by a few inconvenient layers.

The slap of the door had them both freezing.

"Well, this is awkward."

Tucker. Norah didn't have to see his face to know he was grinning.

Cam slid his hands free of her sweater and tugged it down. He eased back, just a bit for decency—as if it wasn't too late for that—but continued to block her with his body.

"Christ, McGee, could you possibly have worse timing?"

"I'm pretty sure five minutes later would've been worse."

"Oh God, I'm just going to die now." Norah buried her face in Cam's chest and willed them both to sink through the floor.

Cam swore.

"Come on man, you didn't put a sock on the door or anything."

"You're going to turn around and leave, right now, without another word, or you're going to end up with my fist in your face."

"No can do, buddy boy. I've been dispatched by Violet to drag you in by your hair if necessary. She's been trying to get you for an hour. She said there's some problem with the Keaney job for tomorrow."

"Damn it. Fine. I'll take care of it."

"Oh no, I'm supposed to make sure your ass actually gets to the nursery. I have been threatened with having my pie privileges revoked at Dinner Belles. You know she could talk her mama into it. I'm not willing to risk it. Happy to give you time to compose yourself, though. I'll just be outside."

The door thumped shut behind them.

Cam dropped his forehead to hers. "That's not how I saw that going."

"I officially cannot show my face in town, ever again. I should sneak out under cover of darkness, while I still can."

"It was just Tucker. He'll give me shit about it, but it's nothing to worry about. And it's not like people don't know we're involved."

"Knowing we're involved and knowing we almost...on a desk, _in a public building_ are totally different things _._ "

"Only semi-public. It's not usually open."

"So not the point. This is not the place for a quickie."

He cupped her cheek, rubbed a thumb across her lips. "A quickie wasn't what I had in mind."

Norah closed her eyes, absorbing the touch. "Then it's a good thing we got interrupted."

"I can be done with this in forty-five minutes. An hour, tops."

And if she was lucky, she wouldn't spontaneously combust in the meantime. "Meet you at your place."

Norah waited until she was sure Cam and Tucker would be gone, until she was sure she could walk without the friction of her slacks making her blush. Then she locked the door to the depot and crossed the green toward her car, parked at the opposite end, near the fountain. The evening air was cool, and she was grateful for the dark. Nobody who saw her in the glow of the street lamps would notice anything amiss. Probably. The few souls she saw were headed for Dinner Belles or Speakeasy, or slipping into the Mudcat for a beer. All save one, who stood very still beside the fountain. Something in his posture was unbearably sad.

She almost didn't stop. In Chicago, she'd have gone straight for her car without giving the guy more than a passing glance. But this wasn't Chicago, so she slowed, stepping quietly up beside him. Dressed in jeans and a black pea coat, Norah pegged him to be in his late forties, a bit younger and a lot fitter than her father. And he looked...lost. Not like he needed directions somewhere local, but direction for his life.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Always was," the stranger agreed. "Though it still ran the last time I was here."

"Been away a while?"

"Almost thirty years."

"Long time. Was this home?"

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off the fountain. "I loved a girl from here once."

And clearly, he'd lost her somehow. Still caught up in the heady promise of a future with Cam, the thought made her ache for whatever put that look of heartbreak on this man's face.

"Is she what brought you back?" Norah asked gently.

"The memory of her." He finally shifted his attention to Norah, expression sharpening with recognition. "And you, actually. I was in Jackson on business and saw you on the news last night. Norah Burke, right?"

She suppressed her instinctive whoop at the fact that they'd made it outside the regional news. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"Gerald Peyton." He offered his hand.

She took it, appreciating the quick, businesslike shake before he released her.

"So indulge my curiosity," she said, knowing she'd already asked him a more personal question than this, "what about the interview made you come back to Wishful?"

Gerald lifted a brow.

"I'm in marketing, so I'm always working on refining my campaigns, seeing what works, what doesn't."

"And you're marketing the town?"

"Something like that," she said, and waited.

"The reminder of my personal connection was part of it. I was nostalgic. But it was the fountain. This place always reminds me that hope springs eternal."

The familiar phrase circled around in her head. "I expect everybody could use a little reminder of that from time to time," she said. "It's certainly why I came."

"Yeah? Where'd you blow in from?"

"The Windy City, as it happens. I came for family and got caught up in the cause."

"And a relationship, apparently," he noted with amusement. "Or was that dip staged?"

"Nope, not staged. Just a very unexpected side effect of a wish."

His look was more one of curiosity than contempt. "You believe in that stuff?"

"I didn't when I got here, but I think I'm changing my mind."

They both looked back at the fountain.

"Are you going to make one?" she asked.

"That didn't turn out so well for me last time."

"Cam told me you have to be really careful what you wish for. It can rebound badly."

"Cam? Mr. Dip?"

Norah smiled. "Campbell Crawford. He's one of the City Councilmen."

"Crawford?" Gerald went still.

"His mom Sandra is mayor. Did you know her?"

Something flickered across his face and was gone. "No. No, I didn't know her. Just recognized the name."

"It might've been somebody from Cam's dad's side that you knew. I'm afraid I don't know anything about the Crawford side. His dad left years ago, and I don't think there are any relatives still here from that branch." She laughed at herself. "Sorry. They're rubbing off on me. Can't seem to have a conversation without talking about who's related to who anymore."

"It's the way of the south. Listen, it was nice to meet you. Good luck with your campaign. It's not often in life you get a second chance at something, and this town really deserves one."

He turned to walk away.

"Mr. Peyton?" Gerald glanced over his shoulder. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"So do I."

# Chapter 16

CAM DUG THE BLADE of his sharp shooter shovel into the earth and blessed the groundhog for having given the middle finger to winter. The rising, early spring temperatures had landscaping clients coming out of the woodwork, which meant he could finally get his hands dirty with something other than political bullshit. The weeping cherry trees that hadn't arrived in yesterday's shipment were easily traded out for Japanese magnolias, so, with the exception of Dewey May, who hadn't shown, he and his crew were going full-tilt on the demolition of Moriah Keaney's dated, overgrown front flowerbeds.

An hour and a half into the job, Cam was getting worried. Dewey hadn't called in. He was the soul of responsibility. He'd fallen on hard times, another victim of the plant closing. Cam plugged him into the crew as often as possible for part-time work, just to help him keep his family afloat. That hadn't been often during the slow winter.

Cam paused in his work to try the house phone again. No answer. He tried Dewey's cell, wondering if he'd misdialed the first time, but the recorded message told him the number was no longer in service. "Hey, anybody know if Dewey got a new cell number?"

Steve Vessey paused to mop his brow with a faded bandana. "I think he had to let his cell service go. They had to keep the land line because of the kids, you know?"

None of the rest of the crew knew where he was.

Prying up the overgrown boxwood hedge, Cam decided that if he'd heard nothing in another hour, he'd take a break and get Violet to call over to check with Dewey's wife Pauline at the salon where she worked.

Even as Cam dragged the boxwood to the trailer to haul off, Dewey's ancient, mud brown Chevy rumbled up and parked behind the line of vehicles.

He leapt out and made a beeline for Cam. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm late." A moon-faced man with a body like a fireplug, Dewey picked up the other side of the hedge and helped Cam heave it into the trailer. "I'll understand if you had to replace me for this job."

"We're fine. Is everything all right with you, though? Nothing's amiss with the kids or Pauline?"

"Oh no. Didn't mean to worry you. I was up at the job fair. It took a lot longer than I expected."

"What job fair?"

"Up at the community center. That new store GrandGoods is up there taking applications."

An event like that would've required special permission. It should've gone through cursory City Council review, and yet this was the first Cam was hearing of it.

Something must've shown in his expression because Dewey flushed. "I know you're against them coming, Cam. But Pauline really wanted me to put in an application."

"Certainly, she did. You have a duty to apply for anything you can to support your family. I understand that." But he sure as hell needed to find out what was going on.

Giving instructions to Dewey about what needed to be done before lunch, Cam rinsed off his hands and headed into town.

There was a line. It snaked out of the community center doors and wrapped down the sidewalk, all the way around the quarter mile walking track next door. A banner was tied up on the side of the building with the GrandGoods logo, proclaiming NOW HIRING. Cam parked down by Poor Richard's Print Shop and walked the three blocks back. He didn't miss the assorted grumbles from the masses as he strode past them all and went inside.

Tables were set up in the gymnasium. Bill Sutto was there, along with four other people wearing GrandGoods polo shirts, each talking to prospective employees. And, of course, in the thick of it all stood Vick Burgess.

"What's going on here? Who authorized this?"

"Why, the City Council did," Vick said with an avuncular smile. "You didn't get the memo?"

"I most certainly did not." Cam was willing to bet the bastard hadn't even sent him the email.

"It passed the others with a quick review. Nobody saw any reason not to get the ball rolling since GrandGoods was approved. The people need the boost of some good news."

"Nothing is definite yet. They still have to obtain the special use permit before they even complete the purchase of the land. What's it going to do to community morale to get hopes up for a job, only to have the company defeated?"

Vick looked around at all the people. "Are you really so naive you think it won't pass?"

Cam skimmed the crowd, noting as many familiar faces as strangers. This would pull in people all over the county and beyond. They'd get ten times the number of applicants they needed for a store the size they proposed. Under those circumstances, GrandGoods could afford to be choosy and pay low. The supply of potential workers was sufficient that no one would risk complaining because any job was better than none.

"When are you going to realize that you're out-gunned on this, Crawford? You and your coalition are on a little island all your own, where it apparently rains glitter and everybody shits rainbows. This is reality. This is the future. You'd better get used to it."

"I will fight you and this until my last breath."

"What do you think you can do in two days?"

Cam had no answer for that. Knowing there was nothing he could do to stop the job fair from proceeding, he turned to leave. "This isn't over."

"It was over before you started," Vick called after him.

Cam stalked out, noting with disgust and disappointment a few members of the coalition standing in line. Dave Lautner and Jordan Linley deliberately shifted away as Cam walked by, as if to pretend they didn't see him, but the flush of red creeping up their necks belied the innocent gesture.

Cam didn't stop. In his present mood, he sure as hell wasn't in the right frame of mind to play even-tempered representative. He couldn't blame them for hedging their bets. Not really. But Christ, couldn't they wait until the fat lady had sung and the war was over? Having the community see them playing both sides didn't look good for their cause.

Slamming the door to his truck, he cranked up and called Norah.

"Hey Leonidas, you snuck out early this morning."

Despite his agitation, Cam felt his heart lighten at the sound of her voice. "Sorry about that. I had a landscaping job to finish prepping for. I figured you needed the sleep, and you looked all cozy in my bed."

"Imagine my surprise when I went to sleep with you and woke up with Hush."

"She's a bed hog."

"She also snores." Norah laughed. "Are you free for lunch or are you working through?"

"Working through. Listen, we've got a problem." He told her about the job fair and his encounter with Vick. "It's not good."

"You had to know that they'd counter with something. They've been too quiet while we put together this Shop Local movement."

"I assumed that was because they were cocky."

"Well, you're not wrong about that. But the fact is, they wouldn't have to put themselves out there like this if we weren't making a dent in public opinion. It's a waste of their man hours to take applications for a store that isn't built yet when they could've just as easily waited."

"Please tell me you expected this and that you've got some genius plan up your sleeve."

"As it happens, I just might. Finish up your workday, and I'll be ready to tell you all about it when you get home."

Cam said goodbye and disconnected, musing that whatever happened, he could get used to the idea of going home to her.

Norah was drowning in paper and wishing for the swanked out office Mitch had designed her, or at the very least, the series of boards where she could organize and spread out. The open concept of Cam's loft left almost no blank walls for her to co-opt. Cabinetry, shelving, or windows covered almost all of it. So she'd resorted to ludicrous numbers of tabs open in the browser on her laptop and piles on every horizontal surface, except for the sofa, where Hush had been snoring since they came in from an afternoon walk.

A giddy excitement bubbled in Norah's blood, mixed with a low-grade anxiety. This wasn't the killing blow Cam wanted to deliver to GrandGoods and their plans. But like the idea of opening her own firm, this was an option for Wishful she was certain no one had considered before. And it was the only alternative she could think of that would not only maintain the integrity of the town but capitalize on the very things that made it unique.

She just had to convince them it was the right choice.

A truck door slammed below. Hush scrambled up and off the sofa, tail sweeping across the coffee table and upsetting several of Norah's piles in the process. Groaning, Norah sank to the floor to retrieve her research. She'd just managed to gather up the mess when Cam came through the door. Hush gave a delighted bark and began to dance in front of him, wagging her entire butt before starting to bounce back toward Norah.

"For the love of all that is holy, keep her over there until I can get this sorted. That tail might as well be a wrecking ball."

"Wow. Is there actually any paper left in Wachoxee County?"

"Be thankful I restrained myself from taping it all over your walls. It was a near thing."

"You've been busy." He herded the dog toward the treat bucket in the kitchen, peering at some of the stacks on the counter. "You're looking at unemployment rates for the last three decades? Isn't that kind of excessive?"

"Not when you're mapping economic trends and trying to forecast the impact of future actions. It'll be relevant at the debate and something Dr. Brosnan will be bringing up. She's hoping to have her preliminary findings for the second economic impact study by then."

"Here's hoping."

Norah set her stack of papers down and crossed over to him.

"Don't touch me. I'm filthy."

He smelled of earth and man and good, hard work, something her soft-handed ex had never done. Ignoring his edict, Norah rose to her toes to brush her lips over his, careful to keep from pressing up against him, as he really was covered in dirt. "Welcome home."

"Give me five minutes to shower, and I'll show you how much I appreciate you being here to say that." His hazel eyes glinted with promise.

"Five minutes, then come out here ready to listen. I have a lot to tell you. Maybe there'll be time after that for you to show your...appreciation."

With a flash of dimples he disappeared into the bathroom.

By the time he came back in clean jeans and a t-shirt, his hair damp and skin pink from scrubbing, Norah had reconstructed her piles. He poured himself a glass of tea and came to join her on the sofa, evicting Hush.

"Okay, I'm ready to hear your genius solution, Wonder Woman. Lay it out for me."

Norah almost hated the look of expectant faith on his face. "Wishful is on the verge of bankruptcy. That's nothing you didn't already know. It's symptomatic of a larger economic trend that has been progressing for the last three decades."

The faint trace of humor in his expression faded. "All true, but that's rather overstepping the bounds of the problem we're facing."

"No, it's really not. GrandGoods is only a small part of the full problem. Even if they came, they wouldn't be the answer. They're simply not big enough, and they're going to have further detrimental effect on other businesses in the local economy. Plus, whatever short-term gains they may bring wouldn't be immediate. It would take time to build the store, to stock it and get it open. They alone won't be enough to reverse the larger economic trend."

"All of which we'll bring up at the debate. But how does that fix the problem in the short term?"

"Unfortunately, there is no short-term fix. You can't produce jobs out of thin air, certainly not in this kind of compressed time frame."

Cam set the empty tea glass aside. "So what are you saying? That it's hopeless? That we don't stand a chance of stopping this?"

"I'm saying we have to think bigger than a Band-aid for this situation. If Wishful is going to be saved from economic ruin, you have to realize you're playing a long-haul game."

"If you wanted to depress me, you're doing a damned good job of it."

Norah curled her hands around his and squeezed. "I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't have a plan."

He eased somewhat at that. "I'm listening."

"Do you know why I come here? Why I've always loved coming here?"

"Miranda. Because we're your second family."

She tipped her head to acknowledge the point. "That's part of it. But I love this town for a whole different set of reasons, reasons I'm not sure you can fully appreciate having never lived in the city. Compared to all the other places I've lived since my parents divorced, Mississippi is a whole other world, a whole different way of life. A more...personal way of life.

"I loved Wishful from the first time I came home with Miranda. I love that people smile and nod and speak here. I love that Mama Pearl will dish up a dose of sass to complete strangers, and will remember their order, even when she hasn't seen them in six months. I love that everybody knows everybody, and that you can't get away with shit because somebody will tell your mama. I love that people still have moral values here, that they're generous and open. I love that I haven't been here in three years, but so many people still know who I am and have been keeping up with me through Miranda. I love the town itself because it's adorable and charming, but it's the _people_ here who really matter, who make Wishful special."

Cam smiled. "My mom has said much the same."

"The culture and way of life here is, as the reporter said, this wonderful little slice of Southern Americana that simply doesn't exist in urban areas. And _that_ is what we need to capitalize on."

"I don't understand. How would we do that?"

"By promoting rural tourism."

He stared at her with abject horror. "You want to turn my town into a tourist attraction?"

"I'm not talking about a theme park, Cam. I'm talking about taking advantage of what makes this town special and bringing in others who would appreciate that personal touch. Rural tourism is a booming trend across the country, and it's a means of revitalizing and diversifying a lot of formerly agrarian and rural communities that have suffered economic downturns, exactly like Wishful has."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Think about what you show people who come here from out of town. You take them to the fountain, tell them the story, and get them to make a wish. You take them out to Hope Springs. You take them to Dinner Belles or The Spring House. You show them all the things that make you proud of Wishful. And people respond to that."

"I still don't see how that translates into tourism."

"You can't appreciate this because you've always had it. You've always lived here, except for when you were away at college. The fact is, a whopping eighty percent of Americans live in urban areas. They're caught up in the go go go go go, and they want somewhere they can go for a change of pace, for a reminder that there are still places in this country that remember what's important. People _want_ to slow down—whether they realize it or not. Jesus, look at me."

"If you call what you've been doing the last couple of months slowing down, then we need to have a talk."

Norah laughed. "Okay, so maybe I'm a poor example. But think about it. Think about how I couldn't turn off or relax. Even as busy as I've been since we started the coalition, I'm less stressed, less _everything_ since I came here. Largely because of you, yes, but also because I finally shifted gears. And it's been amazing to reconnect with that. I want to give that to other people. And I want Wishful to reap benefits."

"You really think people would come?"

"I know they would. This is the answer, Cam. This is how Wishful can take care of itself instead of relying on outside industry. And it's something that can grow and adapt as the town itself does. It's a viable alternative with far more long-term benefits than anything Vick Burgess has up his sleeve."

"Okay." Cam nodded. "Okay, let's do it."

His ready agreement threw her. "Really? You like the idea?"

"I love it. It completely gets at the heart of what I want for Wishful. Sustainable community improvement that strengthens and enhances what's already here rather than changing everything." He lifted her hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Someone's been paying attention."

"I wouldn't be good at what I do, if I didn't."

"I'm counting on those rock star capabilities."

Norah grinned, thrilled to be needed, to have his faith in her abilities. "Fantastic. I've got calls in to several people who run the rural tourism campaigns in their towns. I really want to pick their brains about what they've done that was successful. I've got a ton more research to do on it before I can pull together a proper prospectus."

"You've got two days."

She gaped at him. " _Two days?_ Are you kidding me?"

"The public debate and the City Council vote is in two days. You've been saying we need an alternative. We've got to let people know about it."

And suddenly that faith felt like the weight of a world rather than motivation. "Cam, I'm good, but I can't possibly have a full work-up to show the public done in two days. I don't know enough about it."

"Then don't do the full work-up. Boil it down to the essentials. I can arrange for you to meet with the Council in private before the debate so you can present to them. They've got to have something else to sway them to vote down this special use permit."

"The permit is specifically about giving them permission for commercial activity on that particular piece of land, right?"

"Yeah. If the permit gets voted down, then GrandGoods has to find another location. It's not a full win. It'd just buy us some time. Unless they decide it's more trouble than it's worth, and they choose to pull out."

"Okay. Okay, so let's approach this not from the perspective of stopping GrandGoods in its entirety. Let's approach this from the angle of stopping them from building on that land. Hope Springs is one of the biggest existing assets Wishful has. It will only stay that way, stay a viable resource, if there's not a big ass store plunked down on its banks. Okay, I can work with that." She reached for a legal pad.

Cam handed over a purple pen. "Get to it, Wonder Woman."

"I require fuel in the form of Chinese," she told him. "It's going to be a really long night."

"Anything you want."

"Bulletin boards."

He laughed. "Seriously?"

"As many as you can beg, borrow, or steal."

"Your wish, milady."

# Chapter 17

"I NEED A FAVOR."

Cassie shoved up her sleeves and braced herself, all but vibrating with the desire for a mission. "Name it, friend."

Cam leaned across the counter at The Daily Grind and dropped his voice. "We're having an unofficial meeting before the debate tonight. I need you to see that nobody comes upstairs except myself, Norah, and the City Council."

"So you need me to run interference in case a certain pretentious city official happens to show up?"

"Him or anyone else."

Curiosity lit her eyes. "Are we having a covert op planning session?"

Cam laughed. "Nothing so exciting as that. I just wanted a chance to talk to them off book about some stuff before we get to the debate, that's all."

Cassie pouted. "I think we should plot a mission to slash the tires on that new Lexus he's running around in, acting like he owns the town. Prick."

"Vick got a new car?"

"Yep. Top of the line SUV with heated seats and all those bells and whistles, like the automatic stop and back up camera and whatever. He was totally bragging on it to Neil Faber at the latest Rotary Club meeting."

Cam wondered how the hell Vick was affording something like that on the City Planner's salary. Then again, qualifying for the loan and truly being able to afford it were two different things. Vick was absolutely the kind of guy who'd choose appearances over practicality.

"You aren't a member of the Rotary Club. How'd you know about that?"

"Please. I never reveal my sources."

"Fair enough. I appreciate that I can count on your discretion, Cass."

The door opened and Norah came in, laptop bag slung over her shoulder and two of the bulletin boards that had taken over his loft tucked under both arms. Cam hurried over to relieve her of the boards.

"You ready?"

"As I'm going to be." But she didn't have the easy confidence he'd come to associate with her presentations.

Cam knew he'd set an impossible task for her. Part of why she was good was because she was thorough, and less than forty-eight hours was hardly adequate for an in-depth study of the topic. He was relying on her panache and natural persuasion to carry the day.

"You'll be great."

His assurance didn't seem to make much of a dent in the doubts swirling in her eyes.

They'd set up the boards and laid out the folders of informative material at each seat by the time the other Council members arrived. By then, Norah had her game face on, calm and confident.

When she nodded she was ready, Cam launched in. "I realize you're all taking time out of your busy schedules to be here. I thank you for that.

"You wanna tell us why we're having this meeting now instead of as part of tonight's debate?" Connie demanded.

"There are things relevant to the debate that aren't on the agenda tonight, and I wanted an opportunity to present them without interference."

"Meaning you don't want Vick to know about them," Hank said.

"It's no secret there's no love lost between me and Vick, but this isn't about that. Wishful has a problem. A big one. We all know it. We've all watched it get bigger and bigger over the last few years at every one of our budgetary meetings. Money simply isn't coming into town, into the city coffers at a rate sufficient to support the existing infrastructure, public services, or city salaries. We've all taken pay cuts or cut back hours. The public library is down to a single full-time employee, a couple of part-timers, and a small group of volunteers. The police force is operating on a shoe string, and God help us if we have any kind of fire that the volunteer departments can't handle."

"That's exactly why we want GrandGoods," Connie said. "The sales tax alone from that kind of store would be a Godsend."

"The quarter percent we get above what goes to the state is not going to be enough to support the additional wear and tear on the public infrastructure. And that's all a matter for tonight's debate. The point I'm making here is that GrandGoods is no savior. They'll bring as many problems as they might potentially solve, and they certainly aren't going to fix the long term economic decline we've been trapped in."

"This is all the same song, different verse, Cam," Grace said. "Why are we here now? And why is Norah here? She isn't part of the City Council. No offense, honey."

"I'm here to give you an alternative. GrandGoods is appealing because it's an option. And up to this point, it's been the only option for y'all to consider. But that's no longer the case."

"Is this more about the Shop Local movement?" Connie asked.

"Despite the fact that the Shop Local campaign is still in relatively early stages, there has already been a twenty-five percent increase in local revenues over the last month. With the recent media exposure, we anticipate that trend will continue—as long as we work to maintain the momentum. What I have in mind is bigger, broader, and will have more impact on the overall economic health of Wishful."

Ed Falk leaned back in his chair and sipped at his coffee. "We're listening."

Cam watched his fellow Council members as she explained the entire concept behind rural tourism. Connie continued to be closed off, face set in annoyed lines during most of the presentation. Grace and Hank both appeared intrigued. And Ed...well who could ever tell what he thought unless he said something?

"You think people would want to come here for fun?" Hank asked.

"I know they will. Wishful and other small towns like it really touch something nostalgic for people who live in the city. Life here is so much more connected in a very real way—person to person, and also person to nature. People would come here to remember how life used to be, how it ought to be. To gain perspective and unplug from the relentless rat race of American society and plug _in_ to the important things in life."

"How would we even go about starting something like that?" Grace asked. "Wouldn't it cost a lot of money?"

"Not necessarily. You start with the resources Wishful already has. The cultural identity. The history. The fountain and the lore that goes with it. And, most especially, Hope Springs. Think about all the stuff you show to out-of-towners when they come to visit. The things that you're proud of or that really bring home to outsiders, this is what Wishful is."

She paused and opened the folder in front of her, gesturing the rest of them to do the same. "From there, it's a matter of marketing, like anything else. You start by focusing on day trips. As you can see here, those fall into two categories: long ones, from up to two hundred miles away, and short ones, within about a fifty mile radius. It's the latter that makes the most sense to promote.

"Wishful is exactly halfway between Oxford and Starkville. There are multiple submarkets in both those locations, but just to name a few, you have the potential to tap into the enormous number of people who roll into town for basketball, baseball, and football season at Ole Miss and MSU, who want to attend the game but don't want to be caught up in the crazy by actually staying in town. We're also close enough that both universities could use us as a selling point when recruiting new faculty and students, just like Ole Miss does with Taylor.

"Past day trips, you focus on pass-through visits, both for the day and overnight. Overnights could be weekends or full on vacations. We're less well positioned for that, at the moment, since there's only the B and B and the Mockingbird Motel at the edge of town, with maximum occupancy at both being less than a hundred people, but provided the campaign is successful, and sustainable growth recorded, we could position ourselves as the ideal site for new businesses in the hospitality industry."

Cam jumped in. "There are a lot of options, a lot of directions that could be taken. But the point is that rural tourism is a sustainable option that focuses on what's already here and doesn't run the risk of putting the majority of jobs in the hands of a company that could pull up stakes and leave. That's happened too many times before, and we won't survive it again."

"It's an intriguing concept, to be sure," Ed admitted.

"Sounds like a long-term kind of project," Hank said.

"It absolutely is," Norah agreed. "And it's something that can be adapted to fit whatever budget or staff you have to work with. From a purely pennies perspective, simply setting up a properly designed website, geared to drive interest toward the existing resources you have would be an excellent start."

"Of course, all that depends on those resources remaining available," Cam said. "That means voting down the special use permit for the land by Hope Springs and either sending GrandGoods packing or forcing them to pick a new location."

"In the event we voted down the permit," Grace said, "in order to effectively use Hope Springs as a tourist draw, we'd have to come to some kind of agreement with Abe Costello. Those aren't public lands out there and the city can't afford to buy the property."

"The specifics of how all that would work can come later. The fundamental issue at stake right now is that this permit is voted down so that it _can_ be discussed later. Can I count on you?"

"You know we aren't going to commit one way or the other without hearing the debate," Grace chided.

"Well, I'm happy to take this under advisement," Hank said. "And I'd really like to see additional development of the concept so that we can revisit it in the future."

Ed and Grace conceded the same. Connie said nothing.

Out of additional selling points, Cam adjourned the meeting. "See y'all at the debate tonight."

They filed out, leaving Cam no more confident of their support than when they'd arrived. "I wish I felt better about that."

Norah rubbed a hand down his back. "We did what we could do in the time we had. It's not the only weapon in our arsenal. Elissa Brosnan is supposed to get here at five with Dillon. Will you be able to join us for dinner to go over strategy before the debate?"

"I'll be there. Do you know if she finished the economic impact study?"

"Not completely. But her preliminary results are enough to call into serious question the methods used by the other firm."

"Well, let's just pray it's enough to make the rest of them waffle."

The courthouse was packed. People were wedged into the wooden benches in the public seating on the main level and up in the gallery. More stood two and three deep around the edges. The coalition was a notable presence, but there were an equal number of faces Norah didn't recognize. Almost all of them were either zoned out or confused.

At the front of the courtroom, Dr. Elissa Brosnan, professor of economics from the University of Mississippi, was engaged in active debate with Arnold Chiles, the representative from the firm who'd produced the original economic impact study. From a purely academic standpoint, Dr. Brosnan was winning. But the entire discussion was taking place at a level of technicality that the vast majority of those present couldn't possibly follow. That wasn't exactly confidence inspiring.

"Are you understanding this?" Miranda whispered.

"Most of it, but I've been up to my eyeballs in this stuff for weeks now."

The Council members were tired. Norah could see it in their postures, read it in their faces. This discussion was closing in on an hour long, and that after almost an hour spent rehashing the issue of infrastructure upgrade that would be required. An upgrade that GrandGoods vowed to foot the bill for. Damn it.

They were being far too conciliatory. All smiles, all agreement. Bill Sutto and Vick Burgess were all up in each others' pockets. They even seemed buddy-buddy with Arnold Chiles, which made Norah wonder if there was a connection between them that made Chiles less than an unbiased party. If they could prove it, would it be enough to call into question the results of the study? Or would it just be considered the delay tactic it was intended to be?

"Thank you, Dr. Brosnan, for that...in-depth opinion. You've given us plenty to consider." As the professor took her seat, Sandra continued, "Are there additional concerns anyone wishes to raise?"

Norah knew Cam had been hanging on to the traffic flow issue, but before he could speak, Bill Sutto asked for the floor.

"Thank you, Madam Mayor. I know that there is a great deal of concern about how GrandGoods would impact Wishful. You are a small town with considerable charm, and you don't want to lose that. We absolutely respect and appreciate your position. While it's true that our store would bring in several thousand more vehicles locally per day, there are means of mitigating the impact of that traffic burden so that the character of Wishful remains intact. We took the liberty of having a traffic engineer conduct a study of the existing traffic flow and make recommendations for the best means of minimizing the intrusion into the community." Sutto moved out from behind his table and began to pass out packets to the City Council members.

Shit. By bringing up the issue first, Sutto reinforced the idea that they had the community's best interests at heart.

"We can't trust anything they've paid for," Norah hissed. "They'll have professionals in their pocket to make sure they come across as lily white and innocent."

"Surely the Council won't just swallow it whole," Tyler murmured.

Cam was on it. "Motion to adjourn to allow sufficient time for the Council to review the report."

"Why?" Connie Lockwood demanded. "So you can waste more tax payer dollars trying to find someone to give the opinion you want?"

The audience burst into a flurry of exclamations that had Sandra pounding her gavel for order. Though Norah could see the temper on Cam's face, he held it together, not snapping back at Connie.

"What is her problem?" Miranda muttered.

"She's voting with her wallet," Tyler said.

Dr. Brosnan lifted her hand. "To be clear, I'm here on my own. I'm not being paid."

"There has been a motion to adjourn for the City Council to review the traffic engineer's report," Sandra said.

No one seconded the motion.

"We all know how we're going to vote," Hank said. "Unless there's some other evidence we need to consider—legitimate evidence, not stalling tactics—motion to proceed to vote."

"Second," Connie said, impatient to be done with the proceedings.

Sandra waited, eyes scanning the crowd for any further objections. A muscle in her jaw jumped, the same way Cam's did when he was frustrated. Norah wracked her brain, trying to think of something else to say, something else to bring up. But the coalition's efforts were exhausted. She met Cam's eyes across the room as his mother reluctantly said, "Motion to vote on the special use permit for the proposed parcel of land is approved."

This was it. The moment they'd been working toward for weeks, pulling out all the stops to sway public opinion and that of the rest of the Council. Norah reached out and grabbed Miranda's and Tyler's hands.

On the front row of the audience, Molly Montgomery stood. "Motion for roll call vote."

"Seconded," Cam said.

"Motion for roll call vote approved."

They would know, without question, who stood where. Norah held her breath as Sandra started.

"Proceeding with roll call vote on the issue of a special use permit allowing commercial construction of a retail space on the proposed parcel of land. Councilman van Buren."

"Aye."

Damn it. She'd thought maybe they'd been able to turn Hank.

"Councilman Falk."

Edgar was the dark horse. Cam said he was never sure which way the older man would vote. His voice rang out clear and confident. "Nay."

_One to one._

"Councilwoman Lockwood."

"Aye."

No surprise there.

"Councilman Crawford."

"Nay." Cam's voice came out a couple steps above a growl as all eyes turned to Grace.

"Councilwoman Handeford."

Grace paused as if still deliberating.

_Oh please. Oh please. Oh please. Do the right thing._ Norah stared hard at the older woman, willing her to give the answer they needed. She cranked down on her friends' hands.

Grace's gaze skimmed the crowd, one final assessment of sentiment before dropping her eyes and giving a quiet, "Aye."

Norah's heart sank.

Sandra's gavel hovered, as if giving the other woman a chance to recant. When she said nothing, Sandra lifted her gavel, reluctance slowing the motion. She rapped once. "The special use permit for the proposed parcel of land is approved by a margin of three to two."

_No._

Norah lost whatever was said next because of the roaring in her ears. Or maybe that was the roar of the crowd. Down front, she could see Vick Burgess and Bill Sutto congratulating each other. Both men turned to Arnold Chiles, glad handing him for his role in their victory.

GrandGoods had won.

# Chapter 18

"HERE, LOOKS LIKE Y'ALL could use this." Tucker handed Cam and Norah glasses of scotch.

Cam tossed his back, wishing the burn of alcohol could mitigate the crushing disappointment of their defeat. Beside him, Norah rolled the tumbler between her hands, the ice cube making a soft _clink_ against the glass. She'd said nothing since the City Council meeting adjourned and they'd reconvened at Tucker's downtown apartment. This late, nothing was open, and they'd all felt the need to debrief. Except no one seemed inclined to break the silence.

Breaking the silence meant saying the words. Admitting the truth of their failure out loud would make it real. All that work, all that planning, and Goliath had won after all. Since they left the courthouse, Cam had been second-guessing every decision they'd made, wondering what they'd done or hadn't done that might've tipped the balance. Had it been a mistake to keep the rural tourism aspect quiet? Would it have been better to present it, as undeveloped a plan as it was, in the public forum? Or would the townsfolk have seen it for what it was—grasping at straws?

Would it have been better to not fight at all? To have never had the possibility an alternative in the first place? He was used to disappointment, used to things turning out poorly. He knew how to endure that. But this, the fall from a place of hope, was so much longer, so much harder than accepting that the situation was crappy and was likely to remain so.

Cam looked at Norah, at the shuttered expression in her dark eyes as she stared at nothing, unnaturally quiet and still. The fight had, in a very real way, brought him her. No matter what happened to Wishful, he could never regret the war that had given her reason to stay. So he would bear up under the disappointment and soldier on, grateful to have her by his side.

Miranda sank down on the other end of the sofa and slid an arm around Norah's shoulders. "Honey, are you okay?"

Eyes still unfocused, she shook her head once. Miranda squeezed in support. Cam laid his hand on Norah's thigh, but she didn't take it, only continued to turn the glass in her hands.

"I thought for sure you had Grace," said Mitch, at last.

"Did you see how she looked everywhere in the room except at Vick?" Tyler asked. "Didn't that seem weird to you?"

"Like he got to her in a conspiracy theory sort of way?" Tucker leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "That sounds like something Cassie would say."

"I'm more surprised by Hank," Cam said. "I felt sure the issue of the wear and tear on infrastructure would sway him to our side. Roads are a big thing with him."

"I just didn't expect it to end like this," Miranda said.

Norah raised her glass and drained it before setting it down on the coffee table with a _crack_. "This isn't over."

"There's nothing left we can do. Legally, there's no other means of stopping construction."

She exploded up from the sofa, stalking to the end of the room before whirling back. Her eyes weren't unfocused now. They flashed with the heat of temper. "There has to be something. Until they break ground—hell, until they open the goddamned doors, there has to be _something_."

The thread of desperation in her voice had Cam crossing to her, running both hands down her arms in an attempt to soothe. "Honey, it's done."

"No. No, it isn't done. _I'm_ not done. The land deal hasn't closed yet. There's still time for something to change."

A dangerous and fruitless line of speculation. "Do you honestly think you'll change Abe's mind? You've been trying to do that for weeks."

"So we find someone else to buy the land. Recruit investors."

"Investors from where? No one here has that kind of money or inclination or they'd have done it already."

"Then we go outside of town."

"And what exactly would they be investing in? Part ownership of land we don't want anyone to develop? Who do you think is crazy enough to do that? And who do you think has that kind of money to put into something that won't turn a profit?"

"I don't _know_ , damn it. But I'm not going to just accept this. I can't."

"Norah—"

"Burkes don't fail, Cam. _I_ don't fail. And I'm sure as hell not going to start now."

"You didn't fail."

"I made you a promise."

"And you kept it. You haven't let me down, Wonder Woman. The rest of the Council did."

"It was my job to convince them."

"It was both our jobs. I didn't pull it off either. But you can't take responsibility for the behavior of other people. We did everything we could do in the time we had available."

"And it wasn't enough." She closed her eyes, her face twisting in pain as she whispered again, "It wasn't enough."

"Hey, look at me." Cam cupped her face, tipped it to his and waited until she opened the eyes swimming with unshed tears. "What happened in Morton—which wasn't your fault, as we already established—isn't happening here. You expressly designed the coalition to support Wishful for the long haul, not just for this one fight. We can still develop your rural tourism campaign. You said yourself it's long-term and adaptable to circumstances and budget. We'll need that now, more than ever, to mitigate the impact GrandGoods will have. And that's going to make the difference in our survival. _You_ gave us that option. _You_ did that. Maybe it's not everything we'd hoped, but that's not failure."

Norah said nothing for a long moment. Shoulders slumping, she rasped out, "I'm tired. I'm so damned tired." Cam expected her to lean in, rest her head on his shoulder, but she pulled away instead, scooping both hands through her hair.

"You've been running yourself ragged for weeks," Miranda said.

"You know me." Norah flashed a humorless smile. "Full tilt or nothing."

"You'll feel better with a good night's sleep." Cam wanted to bundle her up himself, hold her until she finally relaxed.

"A good week's sleep," Mitch added. "It's time to let yourself crash, sugar."

After another long hesitation, Norah nodded. "Let's go home." It was Miranda she looked at. Miranda she leaned on as she gave a numb and generalized farewell before walking out Tucker's door.

Cam felt a chasm yawning open between them.

Tyler slid an arm around his waist and rubbed his back. "Don't take it personally. She's asleep on her feet and upset. Miranda will take care of her."

Of course she would. That was never a question. But it didn't change the fact that Cam wanted to be the one Norah turned to, who took care of her and eased the hurts.

"It's been a shitty night all around."

"That it has." Mitch crossed over and pulled Cam into a thumping hug. "I'm really sorry how things turned out, cuz."

"If there's anything we can do," Tucker said, "for you or for Norah, just let us know."

Cam sighed. "It's the end of the road for now. And late. Really flipping late. I should get home myself, let Hush out, and get my ass to bed." And hope he actually slept with a hundred pounds of canine draped over his feet instead of warm woman curled against his chest.

Maybe by the time they both surfaced tomorrow, he'd have some idea of the right thing to say.

"You're completely insane." Tucker leaned back in the leather chair behind the wide wooden desk that dominated his law office. "You know that, right?"

"I'm determined," Norah corrected. "And I'm thinking outside the box. Can you do it or not?"

"Yeah, I can do it. The bureaucratic red tape is minimal in a situation like this. The whole thing can be a done deal in ten days, as long as the title is clear. But are you sure?"

"Positive. This is important, Tucker."

"Does Cam know about this plan?"

"No, and I'll tell him when the time is right and not before. I'll remind you of attorney-client privilege and the fact that I will sue your ass if you break it."

Tucker held up both hands in surrender. "I'm not gonna break my ethical code."

"How fast can you have the paperwork drawn up?"

"Should be ready late this afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Put a rush on it. I don't want to take any chances on this going awry." Norah checked her watch. "I need to get going. I've got another appointment."

"I'll call you when it's ready."

As had become her habit when running errands downtown, Norah left her car and walked from Tucker's office. Despite her bravado to Tucker, it was a relief to turn her brain from the true insanity she had just instigated to the meeting that had more than piqued her curiosity.

In the wake of the Council's decision on the special use permit, Norah had posted an update on the coalition website and sent out a newsletter. She hadn't asked for money, hadn't pursued the idea of investors. But she'd made it clear that they were open to further suggestions. Twenty-four hours later, she'd received a phone call from Gerald Peyton, the man who'd inadvertently inspired her rural tourism campaign. He wanted to discuss a business proposition.

Gerald rose from the lip of the fountain as she approached, and there was nothing of the lost about him today. Unlike their first chance encounter, this time Gerald was dressed in a sharply-tailored business suit, a sedate Hermes tie breaking the line of his crisp Oxford shirt, and a Burberry coat draped neatly over one arm.

Once, she'd have been dressed just as smartly, but after two months in Wishful, she'd dialed back to a more comfortable cashmere sweater and jeans. She felt hideously under-dressed. Despite her casual attire, it was easy to slip back into the skin of the consummate professional. She offered her hand. "Mr. Peyton, I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not at all. I've been enjoying the chance to slow down and people watch. Would you like to get a cup of coffee?"

Norah angled her head in amusement. "That depends. Do you care if whatever we discuss gets passed around town along with the lunch special? Because both Dinner Belles and The Daily Grind are the town gossip hubs."

"Fair point." His lips curved. "I don't mind, but you might prefer to have some time to think things over before you become additional fodder for dinnertime conversations."

_Curiouser and curiouser._ "Then perhaps a walk instead?"

Gerald made an _after you_ gesture and fell into step beside her.

"I didn't come here looking for you the last time. You were just a reminder that got me looking back at the past. But meeting you, seeing what you'd done here, got me curious. So I looked you up. Or, as my PA would say, I Google-stalked you."

Just months before, she'd known exactly what there was to find. Her credentials and her reputation had been finely-crafted with great deliberation. But most of that had been through Helios. She hadn't had the courage to see what was left since they fired her.

"The coalition website, that's your work?"

"With the exception of some of the content that came from other members, yes. The design and set up are mine."

"It's been up less than two months, but it's already well-ranked with steady traffic flow."

Norah shrugged. "It's my business to know how to launch things quickly and well." Not that it had mattered in the end.

"But web work isn't your real forte, is it?"

Where was he going with this? "I enjoy it, but no, that's not what I'm known for."

"Skyhawk Industries. New Zinta International. Terraquest. Infinitim Technologies. All fledgling or failing companies until you took the reins of their marketing campaigns."

"You _did_ do your homework." Impressed, she enjoyed the tingle of pleasure at the professional approbation. No one here knew the true specifics of what she'd done for Helios. "While I was the senior marketing executive on those accounts, it isn't fair to take all the credit when I didn't do the work alone. I had a team of talented people."

"You haven't had that here."

She frowned. "I wouldn't say that. What I've been doing here is very different from the sort of work I usually do. The people I've worked with have different skill sets and strengths. That's taken some adaptation."

"The coalition wouldn't have had the results it's had without your leadership."

"My leadership would've meant nothing without the buy-in of the locals. What exactly are you getting at, Mr. Peyton?"

"I wanted to make it clear that I know what you're coming from. I recognize your professional acumen, and I respect the hell out of your capability. And for all those reasons, I want to offer you a job."

Norah stopped walking. "What?"

"Let me back up a bit. I'm the CEO of Peyton Consolidated." He paused, clearly waiting for some reaction. "I can see by the look on your face you aren't familiar with the company. I won't be offended by that. It's part of why I need you."

"What sort of company is it?"

"Historically, we were in the business of business." Gerald gave a wry smile. "My daughter likened it to Richard Gere in _Pretty Woman_ before Vivian worked her magic."

"A chop shop. And now?"

"Now we build."

"Build what exactly?"

"A little bit of everything. Hotels. Conference centers. And the last few years, we've branched into urban renewal and revitalization."

"And you want...what exactly? A campaign for an upcoming project? A new concept for the overarching company?"

"I want you to come run my marketing department."

Norah could only blink at him.

"There's currently a staff of thirty, with the option to expand as the need arises."

Run an entire marketing department for what had to be a multi-million dollar corporation. Was she dreaming?

"I realize this is coming completely out of left field and you'd need some time to consider it. To research my company. But I think we'd be a great fit for your talents."

"Mr. Peyton—"

"Gerald, please."

"Gerald, why me? You're standing here giving me this amazing offer without even conducting a formal interview."

"I find that actions speak louder than words. Yours are commendable. You're driven, intelligent, creative, and you have the kind of moral compass I don't often see in the business world."

"Are you aware that I was...dismissed from my last position for that moral compass?" Might as well put that out there.

"That wasn't how Philip Vargas put it when I called to check up on you."

_Oh God, what did he say?_ Norah was afraid to ask. "And yet, regardless of whatever he said, you're here. Why?"

"The picture he tried to paint wasn't consistent with my own impressions of you, with your actions down here, or with the opinions of any of those other corporations. It's obvious to me that a great deal of the success Helios has enjoyed over the last five years is a direct result of your work, and Vargas is only realizing that in the wake of your absence. He tried to pretend otherwise when attempting to woo me to hire Helios, but I recognize a cretin when I see one. I made it clear I was interested in you, not in Helios."

Norah resisted the urge to do a celebratory fist pump at that. "I imagine Philip didn't take that well."

"Not so much. It will probably relieve you to know that we do little business in Chicago. Our main offices are based in Denver, with satellites in New York, Atlanta, and London."

"London?"

"I do a fair bit of business in Europe." He began walking again. "Now, I'm not sure what your salary was at your prior position, but I'm certain we could come to an agreement." He named a ballpark starting salary that had her eyebrows winging up. "I realize there are things you would want to tie up here, so start date is flexible, based on your schedule, and we'd cover relocation expenses."

Relocation.

And just like that, the surreality of the conversation faded and the happy little dream bubble that had been building around her popped.

"Thank you. Not only for the job offer but for your obvious faith in me and my capabilities. Not many people would look past what Philip said. I'm beyond flattered." What else could she be when someone offered her dream job on a platter?

His blue eyes sharpened. "But?"

"But, I'm committed to staying here, to building something on the foundation I started." And somewhere, her father was doing the live person's version of spinning in his grave.

"With the town or with the guy?"

"I fell in love with them both." Norah looked around at the bright new face of downtown Wishful. "I have a vision for what this place could be."

Looking intrigued rather than insulted that she'd turned down his generous offer, Gerald angled his head. "Tell me."

She had no idea of his background, but he couldn't run an international company without spending sufficient time in cities that he'd experienced everything she hoped to counter. So she outlined it for him, honing in on all her personal reasons for believing that rural tourism could be a success here. As she spoke, Norah could see that, unlike Cam and the rest of the City Council, Gerald immediately understood her concept.

"There's a real market for that. It's a brilliant way to revitalize this town, if you can pull it off."

"And there's the kicker. The rest of them aren't sold on the idea. Yet. But I'm not done researching and working up a full plan either. Conceptually, the project is still in its infancy."

"It'll be a lot of work."

"I'm not afraid of hard work. And I find that what I've done here is considerably more rewarding than anything I did for Helios."

"So you're going to stay. Really give up the city life?"

She thought of Cam and the family here, so ready to fight for her. "I'm not leaving anything worth keeping."

Gerald's smile was sad. "I hope that works out better for you than it did for me."

Norah wondered if he was talking about the girl he'd loved and lost but didn't think she had a right to ask.

They'd stopped in front of a sleek, black BMW. "This is me."

"Thank you for coming down and for the offer."

Gerald pulled a business card from his coat pocket and handed it over. "The offer stands, should your circumstances change."

He clearly had more faith in her business capabilities than in the love side of this equation.

Pocketing the card, she bid Gerald farewell. As he drove away, Norah waited for the panic, the second guessing of her impulsive decision. But she felt only a rock-steady certainty that this was where she belonged.

Grinning to herself, she headed for her car. She'd go find Cam and apologize for being distant the last couple of days. Maybe they could go out to Tosca for dinner to celebrate. Because she was going to stay. Really and truly. Better yet, maybe they could get take out from Tosca and celebrate at home.

Her phone rang. She was still smiling when she dug it out and answered.

"Oh thank God. I've been trying to reach you for two weeks."

Her brain took a few moments to shift gears. "Cecily?"

"I was going to email, but I realized I didn't have your personal email, and your company email was already blitzed from the system, and—"

Instinctively wanting to soothe the panic, Norah interrupted her former intern. "Cecily, slow down. Take a breath."

"I've been calling, but you haven't answered. I couldn't even get voicemail!"

Norah realized she'd never unblocked the Chicago area codes. Too late she wondered if Philip had taken any of his frustrations out on her staff. "You've got me now. What's going on?"

"I've been trying to tell you so you could do damage control."

A sick feeling began to brew in the pit of her stomach. "Damage control for what?"

"For Philip. He blackballed you."

The loft was empty when Cam got home. Hush raced inside, making a beeline for the back, then coming back looking confused when she didn't find Norah hiding in the bathroom.

"I know, girl. I miss her, too."

Since the Council decision, Norah had withdrawn into a funk. Cam was working hard not to take the distance personally. Miranda assured him she was just licking her wounds. He was willing to bet Norah had spent at least twenty-four hours afterward wracking her brain for something else to do, some last stand. Given the email she'd sent out to the coalition, she hadn't found it. And that had just led to more silence. The little voice that nudged at him, wondering if she had regrets, if she was going to run, had been silenced by a lot of hard, sweaty labor.

It hurt him that she was so hard on herself. How the hell did anybody make it this far through life without having failed at something? Without being able to accept that sometimes your best wasn't good enough, and it wasn't the end of the world? And it wasn't just a matter of perception on Norah's part. Her track record was irrefutable. She'd more than earned the nickname he'd initially given her in jest.

No amount of logic on his part was going to make her believe she hadn't failed. So Cam figured some redirection was in order. He wanted to focus on the positive to come out of this whole mess—Norah was here. She was staying. And he wanted to take a step forward with their relationship now that every waking second wasn't full of GrandGoods. At least it shouldn't be.

But what step?

For all that he thought they were on the same page, Cam didn't want to scare her off by pushing too far, too fast. It was hard, so hard, to hang on to his patience since she'd finally admitted she wanted to stay and he began to let himself think of their future. After so many years of waiting for her, he was eager to get started.

She already had a key to his place. That had just been expedience. She'd needed workspace and it was easier to trade off Hush duty. Cam loved having her in his space, loved seeing her dainty girl shoes lined up neatly next to his work boots, loved, too, the myriad of little reminders that she was in his life—like her pens and the favorite wine he kept stocked just for her.

Would asking her to move in scare her off? Would she recognize what he was really saying?

_Norah, I love you._

She had to know. It was in every look, every action, every touch. But he hadn't given her the words. Maybe he should just start with that, see where they took him.

As if conjured by his thoughts, she popped up on the caller ID.

"Hey Wonder Woman. I was just thinking about you. Ready to come out of your cave?"

In the beat of hesitation before she answered, Cam felt the tension reach out and grab him by the throat.

"Hey." Her voice was hoarse. As if she'd been talking for hours. Or crying.

"What's wrong?"

"I got a call today from my intern—former intern—at Helios."

No. Oh no. Surely, _surely_ they hadn't called to win her back.

"It seems that despite my complete and total absence from Chicago and the entire professional marketing scene, despite the fact that I said nothing about the ethics violations Pierce engaged in to anyone outside your family and mine, Philip decided to hedge his bets and started a smear campaign against me. Two weeks ago. Which I knew nothing about because I completely unplugged from my professional life and have been hiding out in Mississippi. Two weeks, Cam, for all these vicious rumors to circulate without rebuttal or challenge."

Shit. He didn't know what to say. "How bad?"

"Bad. As in my entire professional reputation hangs in the balance bad. As in, I'm going to sue his ass for libel and slander and whatever else my attorney can come up with bad."

"Jesus." Cam scrubbed a hand over his face. Like she hadn't had enough to cope with. "Look, come over, or I'll come over there and we'll talk through this. Figure out what to do next."

There was another beat of silence.

"I'm already halfway back to Chicago."

Which meant she'd been gone for more than half the day and she'd only just now called him. Cam absorbed that. Her professional life was falling apart, and she hadn't looped him in on this until now. She'd gotten in her car and fucking _left town_ without a word to him that she was going.

What else wasn't she saying?

He held on to his temper. "Why didn't you tell me? I'd have gone with you."

"I didn't even think to tell you. I was just so _angry_ , I had to act."

They were supposed to be in a relationship and she didn't think to tell him about this huge thing that happened in her life. Didn't come to him for comfort. Didn't come to him for anything.

The silence between them stretched, grew gawky and strange.

"I've been on the phone with my attorney and various other people, trying to find out the extent of the damage."

And this is where he fell in her priority list. Dead last. Or damned close to it.

"When will you be back?" Because they sure as shit needed to talk about this, and he wasn't going to do it from five states away.

"I don't know. I'm not sure how long it will take to straighten all this out. But I have to see this through. My professional reputation is all I have left."

She had him, but clearly she didn't count that on her list.

"I should know more after I meet with my attorney tomorrow. I'll call you after."

"Yeah, okay. Drive safe."

He hung up and sat in silence, the phone all but crushed in his hand. A neat stack of her legal pads and multi-colored Post-it notes were arranged on the coffee table in front of him. The throw she'd adopted because he kept it frigid during the winter lay abandoned in the armchair, as if she'd just gotten up to pour a cup of coffee. Signs of her were everywhere. And yet after that three-minute conversation, his house felt empty.

Hush, sensing his mood, laid her head on his knee and whined. Cam curled his fingers in her ruff and bent to press his brow to hers.

"Looks like we're on our own for a while, girl."

Hush whined again.

Cam sat up. "You know what? Screw this."

She followed him as he stalked back to his room and began to pack a bag. "We're going for a drive."

# Chapter 19

"WELCOME TO STARBUCKS. WHAT can I get you?"

Norah looked at the barista who'd served her coffee almost every day of her last two years at Helios and waited a few moments for recognition to click. She tried a smile, "I guess it's been a while, hasn't it, Amos?"

Other than a faint twitch of his pierced eyebrow, his expression didn't change. He didn't remember her. Didn't even make an effort to fake it.

She thought of Cassie and the Daily Grind and felt a wave of brutal homesickness for Wishful wash over her. That made her think of Cam and wonder how long he was going to stay mad at her for bolting.

Amos cleared his throat.

"Sorry. I'll have a venti Veranda blend." Still rattled from the meeting with her attorney, she added a cheese danish. She took both to a table for two and sat, back to the door. Probably she wouldn't run into anyone from Helios while she was here, except for the one person she was expecting, but she didn't exactly want to advertise her presence.

Her professional life was rapidly descending into the fifth level of hell. Marcus was filing the suit today, but he'd cautioned that she shouldn't get her hopes up. Evidence was going to be hard to come by, as Norah had absolutely had access to all the project materials, and proving she hadn't done what Philip accused her of was going to be very difficult. She needed to work out a plan for damage control, but she wasn't sure how much could actually be done after two whole weeks of no response. Several of her professional contacts outside the firm wouldn't even return her calls. And that left her with very grave concerns about her future employability.

In need of a distraction, and wondering exactly what it was she'd turned down flat, she pulled out her laptop and began a search on Peyton Consolidated. Ten minutes into the search, she'd forgotten her pastry. Half an hour more, the last inch of her coffee had gone cold.

Gerald Peyton had built himself a juggernaut of a company. Its estimated value was over a billion dollars and growing. Company stock was a steady performer, even in the sluggish and unpredictable market. PC was the name behind a very solid and respected segment of the hospitality industry. But it was the past five years she was most interested in. He'd told her they'd made a name for themselves in urban renewal. She didn't find much directly through the company itself, but she found plenty of press around the country, all of it positive. Peyton was the real deal, and his company was, by all appearances, a force for good. That had the kernel of an idea starting to tremble in her brain.

"Sorry I'm late."

Norah looked up from her computer screen to see Cecily sliding into the chair on the opposite side of the table. She mustered up a smile. "Hey. Thanks for coming."

Unwinding a chunky heather gray scarf, Cecily shook back her dark hair. "It took me a little longer than expected to slip away. Pierce is overloaded since you left. The guy they brought in to replace you is an idiot, and between the two of them, I'm not sure they can find their own asses without a map and a flashlight. So they've been relying on me a lot."

"They haven't been taking advantage of you, have they? Not making your life more difficult because I'm gone?"

"Apart from more work, no."

Well, that was one tiny relief. "What about Christoff?" Her irascible PA would likely as not pop off and get himself in trouble on her behalf.

"Pretty sure he's plotting someone's doom. I know for sure there's a voodoo doll in his desk, but he's hanging on. Mouthing off to anybody who has the nerve to bad-mouth you."

Norah grimaced. "Have there been many?"

"Among those who actually worked with you? No. The lower echelons full of the jealous...some. A lot of them don't want to believe you got where you did by sheer hard work and brilliance."

"There was always a segment that assumed I slept my way to the top. A rumor not improved by the fact that I actually dated Pierce. But whatever. I'm not concerned about that. What's the office climate like?"

"Tense. I don't think they realized how much you did until you weren't there to do it. So they've been scrambling to reassign accounts. Several of yours walked when they found out you were no longer there."

That was gratifying. She hoped Helios ultimately lost all the clients she'd helped reel in.

"Well, it isn't going to get any less tense. My attorney is filing a suit for defamation of character today. I'm not sure how quickly Philip will get served, so brace yourself."

"What can I do to help?"

"You've already done plenty just letting me know all this was going on and getting us copies of the emails that went out. I don't want you risking your job on my account."

Cecily scowled. "They're assholes and they're wrong. I know you didn't do what they're claiming."

"I appreciate the faith."

"What on earth have you been _doing_ the last few months?"

"I've been in Mississippi. I don't think you ever got to meet Miranda, but you certainly heard me talk about her."

"No I never met her, but I remember her hunky brother."

That wrangled a grin from Norah's lips. "Mitch would be delighted to hear it."

"So you've been visiting all this time?"

"Yes and no. I only planned to be there for a week. But I ended up getting involved in local affairs. Miranda's cousin, Cam, is on the City Council in Wishful, and I helped him start a local coalition against the big box store that wants to build in town. So I've actually been working my ass off with that."

Cecily studied her with a quirk to her lips. "And having something of a local affair while you're at it?"

Norah's cheeks heated. "Am I wearing a sign?"

"You have The Look."

"What look is that?"

"The sort of stupefied, punch drunk, oh my God I met The One and I'm happy look."

"You got all that despite the fact that I'm flipping out over this lawsuit?"

"Yep." Cecily grinned. "Looks good on you. So is it this Cam guy? Miranda's cousin?"

"Yeah." Despite the rocky spot they'd hit, Norah's conviction in that remained unshaken.

"And is Cam as hunky as Mitch?"

"He is."

"Do they have any _other_ cousins who are single? Lord knows I haven't been having any luck in this city."

"As a matter of fact, there's one more unattached cousin who's only a couple years older than you. He owns a bookstore and has horn-rimmed reading glasses."

Cecily sighed. "Young, financially solvent. And I do have a soft spot for horn-rims. Maybe I should get myself down to Mississippi."

"I promise you an introduction if you come."

"I'll hold you to it." She nodded to the laptop. "So this anti-big box store campaign. Is that what you're working on?"

"Not exactly. Things on that front haven't turned out all that well." She filled Cecily in on the coalition and the latest blow to the cause. "But all that work ended up having an unexpected consequence."

"What kind of consequence?"

"A job offer." Needing to confide in someone, she settled in and told Cecily about Peyton Consolidated.

"Peyton Consolidated? Seriously? That has to be it."

"That has to be what?"

"Philip's had the new guy and half the firm working on a campaign to woo the CEO. He's made at least three tries that I know of, and the guy keeps saying no. If Philip knows the guy is turning him down in hopes of hiring you, I bet that's why he's going to the mat to ruin you."

"Whether I take the job or not, Gerald isn't going to hire Helios. He told me so outright. But if this is all about loss of business for the firm, then Philip isn't going to just back off. He's not going to stop until my reputation is completely destroyed."

The black sedan cut in front of Cam close enough it should've shaved the front bumper off his truck. Cam slammed on his brakes, laid on the horn, and swore. And, of course, he missed getting through the light. Hush howled her disapproval from the back seat. She'd been a trooper through the all-night drive. Of course, she'd been able to sleep. He'd been fueling himself with truck stop coffee and sugar, and an all too brief three-hour nap at a rest stop somewhere in southern Illinois because the highway was starting to blur and he didn't figure Norah would appreciate him knocking on her door at three in the morning. By now, both he and his dog wanted out of the truck.

He'd expected to show up at Norah's apartment with coffee and breakfast and get to the bottom of things. But she'd already been gone by seven-thirty, and he'd been forced to turn on the friend finder app to track her phone. By the time he made it into the business district almost two hours later, she was on the move again, this time to the north side of the city.

Why in God's name anybody would ever want to live in a place like this, he couldn't fathom. You couldn't get from one side to the other in anything resembling a reasonable span of time, as evidenced by the fact that he'd been chasing Norah all over the damned city and just missing her. There was no rush hour. It was just rush rush rush, all the time, bumper to bumper cars, shoulder to shoulder people. Between the excessive caffeine and sugar, the lack of sleep, and all the freaking people, Cam felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin.

He could've just called Norah and asked her to stay put, but he wanted to see her face when he showed up in her city. Plus, he didn't want to interrupt whatever she had going on in case one or more of these stops were meetings with her attorney. She'd worked so incredibly hard for her reputation. Having it maligned like this...she had to be losing her mind. So yeah, on the drive he'd come to terms with the fact that she hadn't been acting rationally when she left. Mostly.

By now he was exhausted. He just wanted to find her and hold her until everything was okay again. Followed by a nice, solid eighteen hours of sleep. Too late, he wondered if her apartment building allowed dogs.

Miracle of miracles, Norah's dot was still stationary by the time Cam made it back across town to the business district. She hadn't moved by the time he found parking. Not knowing quite where he was headed, he left Hush in the truck and left it running. Anybody considering a carjacking would be deterred by the hundred pounds of wolf-like teeth and claws.

"I'll make this quick as I can, girl. Then I swear, we'll find you a dog park so you can get some exercise."

Hush replied in her sing-song talk, as if wishing him luck. He ruffled her ears and set out at a brisk walk, his shoulders hunched. His flannel-lined Carhartt coat wasn't enough to protect against the ice-edged wind coming off Lake Michigan. He wished desperately for gloves. If this was what Norah was used to, no wonder she'd mocked what they called cold back home.

The dot turned out to be Starbucks. Cam was so chilled by the time he reached it, he was actually glad to see even chain coffee. The place was packed when he stepped inside. A double line snaked back from the counter, past the door where he stood, so he edged aside to get out of the way and began to scan the room for Norah. Voices chattered around him, clipped and rapid, almost like typewriter speech. What the hell was their hurry?

His own urgency seemed to hit slow-mo and melt away as he finally caught sight of Norah just past the station with the cream and sugar. Her back was to him, but he knew that fall of hair, that slope of shoulder. The sight of her neat stack of notepads and a row of colored pens had him smiling despite the bone-deep weariness. She sat with another woman, slightly younger. The intern?

Cam made his way over, hampered by the line of people waiting to doctor their coffee. Too tired to be pushy, he just waited, edging closer as he could, until he could hear her talking. God, it was good to hear her voice.

"I'm nothing but impressed with what Peyton Consolidated has accomplished. It's an incredible opportunity."

"I'll say. Particularly in light of the lawsuit. People have long memories for scandal. That'd be less likely to touch you out in Denver. So to have the chance at a position like that with a billion dollar corporation... Are you going to take it?"

"It's essentially my dream job on a platter. I'd be a fool not to."

Cam felt her words like a physical blow. Every drop of pleasure at seeing her after his long trip, evaporated. The blood in his ears began to roar, drowning out whatever Norah's companion replied.

_It's my dream job on a platter. I'd be a fool not to take it._

Everything they'd been through. Everything she'd told him. Everything she'd promised. And in the end, she was choosing the job over him. Like her mother. Like Melody. Like his father.

_She tried to warn you,_ he thought. _Everybody tried to warn you that this wouldn't work. But you just couldn't leave it alone. Because you're some kind of goddamned masochist._

Sick and a little dizzy, he turned and walked back into the cold, heading back to his truck and his dog and the life that was, it seemed, too small for everyone who'd ever mattered to him.

There was nothing to say after all.

The lights of Denver glittered against a sky fading from fire to night above the line of mountains beyond the city. Norah saw none of it as she stood at her hotel room window and listened as her call to Cam rang through to voicemail. Again.

He'd been dodging her calls for three days. She'd gotten one terse email.

_Been working a lot, catching up on all the stuff I let slide while we were working the GrandGoods campaign. Plus it's warming up, so the season's starting. Everybody's thinking about perking up their yards now that we're mostly past the threat of frost. Keeping busy and holding down the fort._

No endearments. No questions about how the lawsuit was going. Not even a _When are you coming home?_ Which was probably just as well, since she had no idea how to answer.

Norah didn't know what to do with the distance that yawned between them, so much more than the physical miles. Hurt and confused, she desperately wanted to talk to him, to have his support through the nightmare of this case. Was he still angry about how she'd left? She couldn't undo that and she'd apologized, so what did he want from her? Because that was a conversation best left for in person, she didn't try to broach the subject. Instead she just said, "It's me. I really miss you. Please call me."

Dropping the phone into her clutch, she did her best to clear her mind and settle her nerves for this dinner with Gerald Peyton. What she'd come out here to do absolutely adhered to her family's mantra of "Go big or go home." It was a risk, a big one. She might be blowing up her last bridge to traditional gainful employment in her field of choice. But Wishful was counting on her, so she had to try.

He was waiting in the lobby when she came down. His shirt, open at the collar, and the sport coat and khakis, hit somewhere between the casual first impression and boardroom dominator who'd offered her the running of his marketing department. He was a man at ease with himself and his surroundings.

"Miss Burke. It's good to see you again."

Norah shook his offered hand. "And you."

Gerald gestured _after you_. "Shall we?"

She followed him out to a late model Land Rover. They chatted about inconsequential things, and Norah tried to pay some attention to the city as they wove through its streets. He pointed out features of interest, shared little bits of local history. She found herself relaxing by the time they made it to the restaurant.

Gerald waited until they'd ordered entrees and received their drinks before leaning forward, both elbows on the table, and steepling his fingers. "I have to confess, I was very surprised to get your call. But very pleased to have you here. Have you changed your mind about my offer?"

A fleeting thought of Cam and whatever lay so very wrong between them passed like a shadow through her mind, but she shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I actually have other business to discuss with you."

He smiled, a kind of secretive chess player's smile, and picked up his wine. "I make it a policy never to discuss business until dessert."

Inclining her head in acquiescence, Norah settled in to play the game of calculated Get To Know You.

"So, if I remember from our last conversation, you have a daughter?"

"Mmm. Tess. She's twenty-four and an absolute ball-buster. You remind me of her a bit."

"I'm sure my parents would be perfectly horrified to hear me described that way. They worked so hard to make sure I was polite and politically correct. I, on the other hand, take that as a compliment."

Gerald's lips curved as he sipped his Cabernet. "Joe always did worry too much about that crap."

That set Norah back in her chair. "You know my father?" Did she owe this miraculous job opportunity to her dad pulling strings?

"Knew. We were at Ole Miss together. But he was a senior when I was a freshman, so we weren't exactly buddy-buddy. I remember him more from some of the campus organizations we were both in. I doubt he remembers me."

"So you did undergrad at Ole Miss."

"A couple years. I transferred out to University of Washington and finished there."

"That's a big jump."

"I needed a change."

"Because of her? The girl you loved from Wishful?" The words were out before she could think better of it. She held up a hand in apology. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business. Forget I asked."

Gerald shot her an assessing look. "It's a fair question since I mentioned her to you in the first place. Yes, I transferred because of her."

"What happened? If you don't mind my asking."

He swirled the wine in his glass. "I haven't talked about this in years."

Norah noted he said talked, not thought.

"I'm from Memphis originally. Went down to Ole Miss, and sophomore year I met a girl, as you do. Except the girl was already married to her high school sweetheart."

"That must've been hard."

"I chalked it up to bad luck or crap timing that we should be great friends and that's all. But I was happy to have that instead of nothing, so I kept spending time with her. Nothing happened. We were just friends. At least I assumed that's all that was on her side."

"But it wasn't."

"It wasn't. Her husband had joined a fraternity, gotten really into that scene, which wasn't any more compatible with marriage back then than it is now. She was growing up and he was...acting like a typical unmarried freshman pledge. One night, he got hideously drunk at a party and wouldn't give her the keys. So she called me to come get her.

"It was really late, and we didn't think it would look right if I dropped her off back at their apartment. So we just...drove around for hours, talking. We'd always been able to talk to each other, but this was different. More personal. Hopes, dreams, confessions kind of stuff. She admitted she was unhappy in her marriage. And she...said she wished she'd waited for me."

Norah noted the ripple under the calm surface. "That's a lot to put on a friend."

The arrival of their food interrupted the story, and she found herself wishing the waiter away so Gerald would continue.

Once they were alone again, she leaned forward. "So what happened?"

"I don't think she meant to say it. We were in that kind of dazed, drunk place you get when you've been up all night. But she said it, and she was just looking at me with these big hazel eyes, and I just—well, I'm not a saint. I kissed her. And she kissed me back."

Gerald fell into the thick silence of memory. His Adam's apple bobbed, his hands tightening on his fork. Eventually, he shook himself. "Anyway, long story short, she decided to leave him. Divorce wasn't quite as common back then, but it wasn't unheard of. And she was going to do it. For me. We waited until summer so she'd be able to file the paperwork and get out, have a few months for the dust to settle. I wanted to meet her at the fountain, but she didn't know how long it might take, and since Wishful's a small town, she didn't want anybody to put two and two together. So we were supposed to meet at the Hoka. It was kind of our place."

"What on earth is the Hoka?"

"It was a movie theater in Oxford. Artsy, indie stuff. Used to be an old cotton warehouse. It's gone now, but it was downtown, kind of in The Gin's parking lot. Neither of us were really into indie movies, so it gave us somewhere to go to talk. Their cafe used to have the best cheesecake." He smiled a little at the memory.

"So you waited."

"I did. I waited for hours, past closing time, but she didn't come. I got worried that her husband had stopped her. He'd never been violent before, but... I drove to Wishful. Went by her house. And I saw them in the front window. She looked nervous, so serious. I thought, for sure, she was telling him then, that she'd just been delayed somehow. And I was ready to run in and get her out, be her getaway driver. But he didn't look angry. He looked...shocked. And then happy. And then he was kissing her, holding her, and they were laughing." Gerald's voice trailed off. His mouth tightened as his attention focused on his steak. "She made her choice, and it wasn't me. I couldn't stay at Ole Miss after that."

Norah's heart hurt for him. To love someone so out of reach and think you had a shot, only to have it taken away. "I don't blame you. Do you know what happened to her?"

He shook his head. "I moved on. Met my wife, built a life."

"Got divorced?"

Gerald glanced at her in surprise.

"No wedding ring."

He flexed his left hand and looked at it for a moment, before turning his attention back to her. "About ten years now."

"She stuck with you, that first love."

"First loves are like that." Shoving away his half-eaten steak, he said, "How about you tell me what else that busy brain of yours has come up with since we last talked?"

Realizing the subject of the personal was closed, she complied. "I have an investment opportunity for you. Something that will, I think, fit with your desire to build something that lasts, leave your mark in ways that are more personal than how you initially grew your company."

"I'm listening."

They talked business for more than an hour, with Norah giving him a far more detailed description of her plan to promote rural tourism in Wishful than the sketch she'd given him in their last conversation, breaking things down into logical phases. He asked good questions, made some suggestions that had her revising some of those phases in accordance with potential areas of investment by Peyton Consolidated. Unlike the hurried presentation she'd given the City Council, this was shaping up to be a legitimate enterprise.

"So you've piggy backed on the concepts we used for the urban renewal we've done and adapted it for a rural market. That's a smart tactic for sliding the concept by me."

"You wouldn't have offered me a job if I wasn't smart."

He flashed a smile that had her, for a moment, seeing the young man he used to be. "True enough. You've snagged my interest, Norah. I love the idea. In fact, I've got some contacts in another little town a couple hours away. Balenmore. We have a ski lodge near there, and it happens they've done a lot on the rural tourism front. I think they'd be good people to talk to. Can you stay a few more days? Make the trip up?"

"Of course." Rather than the victory boogie she wanted to make, Norah took a big bite of her chocolate mousse.

"I'll make the arrangements."

She finished her dessert while he typed out a message on his phone, presumably to his assistant. When the man decided to move on something, he didn't waste time.

"I should be able to let you know the details by morning in time for you to check out here."

"Perfect. Will you tell me something?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Does this woman you loved have something to do with why you're considering my plan?"

"I'm considering your plan because I think it's a good investment. And because you're damned good at persuasion, which is why I want you to run my marketing department. I haven't given up hope of wooing you." The smile he shot her was calculated to be disarming.

She didn't miss his sidestep. "I'm good, but you didn't get to be CEO of a billion dollar corporation by being easily led. There are other investments, other places you could do this that would bring you more profit."

"Your point?"

"You wanted to make things better for her back then. I think you still want to make things better for her, in case she's still there."

He said nothing for a long moment. "You have a romantic's heart, Miss Burke. I hope life lets you keep it."

# Chapter 20

"UH, CAM?"

CAM STABBED his shovel into the pile of mulch and flung it into the newly planted bed before turning to Steve. "Yeah?"

"It's five-thirty."

Cam looked reflexively at the horizon, registering the bleed of colors and the fading light. His crew should've knocked off half an hour ago.

"You want us to start clearing up?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I wasn't watching the time. Y'all go ahead and take the gear back to the nursery, check in with Violet. I just wanna finish up mulching this bed."

"You want us to help?" Dewey offered. "You'd finish quicker."

That was exactly what he _didn't_ want. "No. I've got this. Y'all have families and dinner to get on home to. I'll see you tomorrow."

His crew exchanged looks but did as they were told. Fifteen minutes later, Cam was alone with the mulch and the lowering sun.

As a rule, Cam oversaw the initial phase of execution for any of his landscape designs before turning over the final wrap up to his more than capable crew. His duties at the nursery made that a general necessity. But since he got back from Chicago, he'd thrown himself into the physical labor, leaving the running of the nursery to Violet so he could work himself to the bone in an effort not to think. Not that it was helping to distract from the epic hole in his life.

He hadn't talked to Norah in four days. He'd spent twenty-eight years of his life without her, and after less than a week away from her, he felt like he was missing a limb. A sensation made all the more unendurable by what he'd overheard.

She was hurt. That much was obvious in her increasingly shorter messages. And he hated it, hated hearing that pained thread in her voice. But even as he knew it made him a coward, Cam couldn't bring himself to take her calls. He couldn't bear to give her a chance to break things off over the phone. If he did, she might not come back at all. Having to come back to Wishful and talk to him in person might change her mind. It had to change her mind. And yet how could he and his small town compete with the career she'd devoted everything to?

While she'd been here, it had been easy to see how it could work. After a bumpy start, she'd taken to small town life like a duck to water. The people loved her, and she'd made connections all over town in her work with the coalition. But was it real or had he just been seeing what he wanted to see? She thrived on the challenge. Now that the challenge was over—and unsuccessful—would Wishful still hold appeal? Would he?

He spread the last of the mulch in near darkness and headed back to the nursery. If he finished the paperwork associated with this job tonight, Violet might not ream him in the morning. Then maybe he'd pick up burgers from Dinner Belles on the drive home as a treat for Hush since she'd been cooped up all day.

Silence lay thick and heavy in the main building of the nursery, interrupted only by the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights. Cam realized he'd been braced for an ambush by Violet or one of his meddling family members. He knew one was coming at some point. It was their modus operandi. They'd poke and prod and harass him until they got to the bottom of his piss poor mood instead of leaving him alone to stew and think. Since he'd rather cut out his tongue than talk about what was happening with Norah, he'd done everything in his power to avoid all of them. As no one had hunted him down, he could only conclude that Norah hadn't been talking to any of them either.

After stowing the last of his equipment and washing at least some of the dirt off in the bathroom sink, Cam holed up in his office to update the inventory and log his hours and those of his crew. Seeing the stack of messages on his desk, he accepted he was going to have to actually come in during business hours tomorrow to deal with the bulk of them. He was calculating how much he could accomplish while Violet took her lunch break, when someone knocked on the outside door.

His gut tightened. It was long past closing time. Anybody out here at this hour was coming expressly to talk to him and it wasn't likely to be about business. For a fleeting moment, he considered just staying where he was, letting whoever it was knock until they got bored and gave up. But given his truck was parked out front, they'd know he was doing just that, so it wasn't like that'd do anything but delay whatever confrontation was brewing.

What if it was Norah?

His heart gave a leap that was somewhere between elation and dread. Her last message hadn't said she was on her way back. But she'd said she missed him. She hadn't told him she was leaving in the first place, so maybe she'd adopted the same policy for the return trip. And for that moment, it didn't matter what was going on, didn't matter about the job or where they stood, because he just needed to hold her.

Cam was halfway across the retail space before he realized it wasn't Norah. His steps slowed as he saw his mother through the window.

_Crap._ Looked like he was getting ambushed after all.

But when he unlocked the door and pulled it open, he saw she wasn't alone. Edgar Falk was with her.

"Hey baby." Sandra stepped into the store without invitation. Cam automatically bent to accept her kiss on his cheek. "Do you have some time to talk?"

Company was the last thing Cam wanted, but if Ed was here, it probably had something to do with city business. "About?"

"GrandGoods."

That just made him think about Norah and his mood, already black, darkened further. "What is there to talk about? The special use permit already passed."

"Could be we've still got an option." Ed rocked back on his heels and crossed his wiry arms.

Cam found that highly unlikely. "How's that?"

"Well, I'd forgotten about this. It's been forty years since it came up last."

Ed was the closest thing they had to institutional memory in city government. He'd been a representative off and on for the last fifty years. He unfolded his arms and passed over some rolled up papers. "There's a law on the books that'll let us initiate a ballot referendum on any law passed that the public disagrees with. Makes it a public vote, so you get a true democratic answer to the issue."

Cam unrolled the papers, which turned out to be Xerox copies of city statutes. He read through the pertinent section. "We can overturn the special use permit?"

"If we can get enough signatures on a petition. It has to be a majority of registered voters," Sandra said.

"And it's gotta be turned in within thirty days of the original decision," Ed added.

Which meant they were already seven days down.

"How many signatures are we talking?"

"There are about three thousand people registered to vote here. Unfortunately, unless they submitted the paperwork or unless we get notice from some other jurisdiction, that doesn't eliminate anybody who's moved and doesn't live here anymore," said Sandra. "Updating the records hasn't been a priority since we've had to cut city staff the last five years. We need fifty one percent of that number to initiate a referendum ballot."

"Can people not currently registered to vote register and sign the petition?"

"Yes, though that'll make the overall total of registered voters bigger and raise the number of signatures we'd need as well," Ed said.

Cam needed something, anything to distract him, so he jumped at the chance. "Then I reckon we've got a lot of work to do. Why don't you get up with Molly, get the coalition going on all this?"

"Will you call Norah, see what she suggests on getting the word out?" Sandra asked.

Cam hesitated. If he called her, told her this, she'd probably come back. She'd set aside whatever her personal stuff was for the good of the town, and he might have a chance to win her back, convince her to stay. But there was still the issue of her reputation to fix. She was where she was in part because she'd ignored things up there to deal with stuff down here. If she'd known about the smear campaign from the start, in time to counter, she might not have been so susceptible to the job offer.

He didn't have the right to be selfish and potentially open her to more problems.

"No. She's got her own stuff she needs to take care of in Chicago right now. I don't want to distract her from that. Let's see what we can do with what we've got before I involve her." And maybe when she came back, they'd have some good news to share. News that would make her realize she hadn't failed, that she still had a place in this community and with him.

After hashing out a few more details, Ed headed out, leaving Cam alone with his mother. He made a valiant effort to shoo her along, but she wouldn't be shooed. Sandra Crawford had something to say apparently. Damn it.

"You've been hiding."

"Just working." He shrugged. "There's lots to catch up on that I let slide the last several weeks."

She cupped his cheek and tilted his face down to study it.

Cam endured her scrutiny for a few moments before jerking his head back. "I'm filthy, Mom."

"You miss her."

"Do you expect an award for noticing the obvious?" He got The Eyebrow. "Yeah, I miss her."

"When's she coming home?"

_Maybe never?_ "I don't know. Her ex-boss was supposed to get served a couple days ago." She hadn't left another message saying how that went.

"It's hard when people we care about have to deal with stuff without us. Hard on you in particular."

"Why's that?"

"Because you want to fix things for everybody. Like you dug up the evidence to prove Norah wasn't at fault in Morton."

"Yeah, well, I can't fix this. There wouldn't even be anything to fix if I hadn't talked her into staying in the first place." That was the other thought that had been swimming around beneath his misery.

"You don't know that. Besides, as tough as this is for her, I don't think Norah would trade you to avoid it."

_Don't be so sure about that,_ Cam thought. Some of the doubt must've flickered across his face.

"She wouldn't. I don't know what has or hasn't been said between you, but she loves you. Anybody with eyes can see it when she looks at you."

"For someone like her, love isn't always enough."

His mother frowned. "I don't think that's fair to either of you."

"Maybe not. But it's been a possibility from the beginning. I'm just trying to be a realist."

"How about focusing less on realism and more on having some faith."

It was such a Norah thing to say, Cam felt a stab beneath his breastbone. Because he couldn't take any more of this, he said what he knew she wanted to hear. "I'm sure you're right. I'm just out of sorts."

"You'll feel better once she's home. Meanwhile, why don't you put off that paperwork until tomorrow and head on home. You can call her up on FaceView."

"FaceTime, Mom."

Sandra waved a hand. "Whatever. Call her."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cam walked her out, locking the door behind her and waiting until she'd driven away before pulling out his phone. His thumb hovered over contacts before moving to open the friend finder app. Her name was at the top of the list. He selected it, watching the screen flip to a U.S. map. But instead of zooming in to Chicago, the view shifted west.

To Denver.

"Welcome back." Tucker didn't come around his desk to hug her as she expected.

Norah shrugged it off as a product of him being in lawyer mode. "Thanks."

She'd never been so glad to see Wishful. Between the lawsuit and the trip out to Colorado, then the second round powwow with the attorney handling her case against Helios, she'd been away for nearly two weeks. It felt like a year.

"Have you seen Cam yet?"

Norah shook her head. She'd wanted to go straight to him and assure herself that things were all right between them, but there was business to tend to. "I came here to sign the paperwork first." Something in Tucker's expression set her on edge. "Is he okay? We haven't really talked since I left." _Or at all._ When he hadn't returned any of her calls in the first week, she'd stopped trying. And she'd avoided the rest of the family as well.

"He hasn't exactly dealt well with your absence."

_Yeah. Got that._

Looking back, riding her wave of fury halfway back to Chicago without seeing him first hadn't been the best way to handle things. But he knew what her professional reputation meant to her. She could hardly open her own firm with that in tatters. Now, more than ever, she needed to be able to rely on a job and income.

"Then let's get this done so I can go find him."

"You should also know that there's been a development with the whole GrandGoods thing."

"What kind of development? Is there some kind of problem with this?" Dear God, if this fell through after everything she'd done...

"No, nothing to do with this. Cam will fill you in. But we've got a chance at a Hail Mary."

A Hail Mary in conjunction with what she already had planned? Maybe things were finally turning around. "I like the sound of that." She picked up a pen. "Now, where do I sign?"

The paperwork was minimal, given the nature of the transaction. As she left Tucker's office twenty minutes later, Norah almost felt like clicking her heels together. Now that the deal was finalized, she was excited to find Cam and tell him what she'd done, what she planned. God knew she needed some good to balance out all the bad of Chicago.

This time of day, she figured he'd be at the nursery, so she drove out to the edge of town, mentally rehearsing what she might say.

_Listen, I know I handled things badly, but I missed you, and I love you, and oh, by the way, I liquidated every asset I had to buy the land you love to keep the Big Bad Box Store from ruining it._

Surely he'd get over whatever his issue was after that.

Violet looked up from arranging a display of potted daffodils as Norah strode in. "Praise Jesus, you're finally back. Nobody's had any peace. He's been in a Mood since you left. I had to banish him to the propagation house to keep him away from customers."

"That bad, huh?" Norah winced. "Hopefully I'll be able to improve his mood. Which one is the propagation house?"

Following Violet's directions, Norah made her way around the back side of the nursery to the farthest of three green houses, outside the public space. The thump of bass greeted her even before she tugged open the door and stepped into the damp heat. She stood just inside, feeling her hair frizz and her skin prickle as the driving drumbeat seemed to reach out and resync her heart. Cam was working at the far end of the space, the gentle motions of his hands as he transplanted tiny seedlings into larger pots a strange counterpoint to the angry music. Five Fingered Death Punch. "Bad Company."

It felt like an omen or a wall. So she didn't run to him and slide her arms around him from behind as she wanted.

Hush saw her first, leaping up from where she'd been contentedly chewing on a rawhide to barrel down the aisle. At least one of them was happy to see her. Norah crouched and braced for the impact of Hush's greeting, burying her nose in the big dog's soft fur. By the time she came up from the hug, Cam was looking her way. Looking, but not moving.

Okay, this was a damn sight worse than weird. Norah felt the pleasure at her homecoming leeching away, replaced by wariness.

His expression was shuttered as she approached. Other than using a remote to turn down the music, he didn't move, didn't even put down the pot in his hands, as if he needed a physical barrier to keep her from touching him.

"You're back." Could he sound any less enthused?

"Yeah."

Cue awkward silence. Norah could no more spew her news into that than she could fly. She drank him in, taking in the t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, the well-worn jeans with stress points faded almost white, and the dirt smudge on his cheek she wanted to reach out and brush away. She was hungry to touch him, to taste him. To tear down whatever this wall was between them. She curled her hands to fists instead.

_I'm happy to be home. I missed you._ She ached to say it. But not when he stood here like a stranger.

So she defaulted to business. "What's going on with GrandGoods? Tucker said there's been a development?"

He lifted a brow, the biggest shift in his expression since she'd arrived. "You've already seen Tucker?"

"He's taking care of some business for me. I needed to sign some time-sensitive paperwork."

Cam grunted at that.

"So the development?"

He sighed and finally set the pot aside, immediately crossing his arms, as if she hadn't already gotten the message of _hands off._

"Ed Falk came to see me a week ago. He's old as dirt and is the closest thing we've got to a walking law book for city government in this town. There's a statute on the books that says if we can gather signatures from a majority of registered voters within a month of the passage of a law, the issue becomes a popular vote and can be overturned."

A week. They'd had this development a whole week ago, and he hadn't even emailed her about it. Norah absorbed the sting of that and tried to focus on the news itself. She did the math. "So you've got a little over two weeks left to gather petition signatures?"

He nodded. "Molly's been coordinating teams, getting the coalition out on the streets."

"That's great."

"If we can get enough signatures for a ballot referendum, we're not only seeking to overturn the special use permit but also to implement a store size cap. There is absolutely no reason for any business in a town this size to be bigger than 40,000 square feet. That's less than a third of the size of the store GrandGoods proposes. We think they'd pull out rather than scale down. And a store cap would protect the town from future incursions."

"That's brilliant! What recourse does GrandGoods have while the petition is going around? Is it something they can try to stop?"

"While the issue is up for vote, no action can be taken. GrandGoods can try to influence voters against the idea of a size cap but they can't move forward even with the purchase of the land until this is settled."

Did GrandGoods even know that the land was off the table entirely? Probably not since she'd literally just finalized the purchase. This was as good an opening as any for her to tell Cam about it, at least.

Norah took a breath. "I have something to tell you."

The tension in the space between them ratcheted palpably higher. "I already know."

"You...what?" Tucker had sworn to keep his mouth shut. Had Abe said something? If Cam knew, why did he seem so pissed?

"I know about Denver and Peyton Consolidated and the job."

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say, and it took her a moment to recover. She hadn't told anyone here about that. Not even Miranda. Unless someone had overheard Gerald's offer. "How did you—"

"I came to Chicago."

He wasn't making any sense. "What? When?"

"Right after you left."

"I don't understand. I never even saw you."

"No, you didn't. I overheard you talking to your friend."

What friend? Who had she seen other than her attorney? Cecily. Of course. And they had talked about the job when they'd met for coffee.

"And you were just...what? Lurking? Why the hell didn't you come to me?"

"Like you came to me before you left?"

She flinched. "Look, I already explained that—"

"Yep, you did. I was under the impression when I left that we still had something to talk about, but you already made up your mind. Without me. Again. So I came home."

Norah's brain scrambled, trying to remember the conversation, what exactly he'd overheard, to understand what it was he thought was going on here.

Cam flashed a bitter smile. "The thing is, I don't blame you. Not really."

That stopped her. "You don't _blame_ me?" What was he accusing her of?

"You tried to warn me from the very beginning. It's my fault for pursuing this, for believing you'd be able to change. For thinking I could make you happy."

He thought she'd taken the job. He believed she'd made the decision to walk away from him without even giving him the courtesy of talking about it. That she was capable of being that selfish after everything they'd been through. The insult of that robbed her of words.

But Cam had no trouble jumping into the silence. "So I don't need whatever pretty speech you've prepared to justify all this."

He didn't even want to grant her an opportunity to explain. He was so goddamned certain he knew what was going on. So positive he knew what she would say and do. And none of those views of her were positive.

"Well, if you know everything, then I suppose there's nothing left for me to say." _Except that you're an idiot._

"Doesn't look like it."

Hush, standing between them, whined and butted her head beneath Norah's palm. Automatically, she threaded her fingers through the dog's fur, using her as an anchor as the world listed hard to one side, the man she loved turning into a stranger before her.

"I won't say anything to the family about this. I don't want to do anything to damage your relationship with them. You can handle that however you want."

Was he patting himself on the back for that? Thinking that meant he was still putting her first, even though he clearly thought she was callous and horrible?

"Listen, I know you'll need to be packing up and going soon, but I hope you can stay long enough to help set up something to get the word out about this referendum. The coalition can use your expertise. It's the last shot we've got, and I know that this, at least, is important to you."

The implication that he wasn't important hung in the air between them.

She could fix this. Could clear it up with a few minutes of explanations. But did she really want to be with a man whose opinion of her could so easily turn? She needed time to think, to get past the insult and the hurt before she decided what to do next.

"Of course, I'll help. I'll get in touch with Molly and see what she needs me to do."

"Thanks."

He picked up another pot, and Norah realized she was dismissed. Bleeding from more wounds than she could count, she turned and walked out, without another word.

# Chapter 21

THE INITIAL BURST OF temper had already bled away, leaving only a grief so deep Norah thought she'd drown. She didn't dare go find Miranda or Aunt Liz to say she was back. She was too stunned, too raw from Cam's accusations to face anyone from the family. Their well-intentioned concern or advice would break her. She wanted a pint of Ben and Jerry's and a dark room in which to wallow, but that meant stopping at McSweeney's Market and guaranteed running into _someone_ she knew. Not knowing what else to do, she simply drove.

He hadn't fought for her. In the face of his misconceptions, he hadn't questioned, hadn't confronted, hadn't argued. He'd accepted as fact. And he'd let her go. Just like that.

She'd given up her whole world for him.

She found herself at Cam's place before she realized. So ironic that she instinctively came here for solace when he was the one who'd just broken her reality. On autopilot, she climbed the stairs and let herself inside. God, the place smelled like him. Standing in the center of the loft, she waited to feel Cam's rejection echoed through his space, but the apartment was much as she'd left it. He hadn't moved her piles of research. The throw she favored was still draped over the chair. She'd half expected to find her things in a box.

He'd be home in a few hours. A part of her wanted to wait for him, confront him with the truth and set the record straight. But what if this was just an excuse? What if, in her absence, he'd realized he'd been caught up in the rush and he didn't really want her? Certainly, grabbing on to this idea that she was the one at fault would be easier than admitting to his family that he'd changed his mind.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't face another round of rejection from him after everything else she'd been through.

Hands shaking, Norah gathered her stuff. If she was wrong—and oh dear God, she prayed she was wrong—maybe this would be the wake up call he needed. If she wasn't... Then at least she wouldn't have to come back here to face him.

The bag barely fit in the back seat amid the pile of other stuff she'd packed to bring down here. What she'd intended to be the first phase of moving to Wishful for good. Something else she couldn't think about right now.

She needed distraction. Work was the panacea for all ills. Work was her savior. So she called Molly.

"I didn't know you were back!"

"Only just. I wanted to see if you were free to catch me up on what the coalition has done about the petition."

"Certainly, but I thought you'd be with Cam."

_So did I._ "I've seen him. We agreed that this takes priority."

"Okay then, come on over. I just put a pound cake in the oven."

The two-story ranch was a little worn around the edges. The landscaping needed some upkeep and the siding could use a fresh coat of paint. But everywhere around the house, Norah saw signs of family and permanence. A row of rocking chairs with names painted across the top. Hand-made wind chimes hanging from the eaves. A tree house in the branches of a big sycamore.

Molly opened the door with a broad smile. "Come in, come in. Welcome back."

"Thanks." Norah followed her inside, only dimly aware of the other woman's friendly chatter as she noted the long hallway full of family pictures. Birthdays. Christmases. Sports teams. Dance recitals. Family vacations. The Montgomerys had been here a long time, raised four children, and the place felt full of love and comfort. The kind of home she'd been too afraid to admit dreaming of.

"—told Babette that we really had to work on—" Molly swung around as they entered the living room and stopped. "Norah, honey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." Why did her voice sound so choked?

"Sweetheart, you're crying."

Mortified, Norah lifted a hand to swipe at her cheeks. "Damn it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" A hiccupping sob rolled up her throat. Shaking, she clapped a hand over her mouth, struggling to find some semblance of control. But that only made her quake harder. Damn Cam. Damn him for robbing her of this, too.

Molly took her free hand and tugged her down on the sectional. Without batting an eye, she wrapped both arms around Norah. "Go on and let it out, baby. You'll feel better for it."

Too exhausted to keep fighting, she pressed her face to Molly's shoulder and wept. The older woman said nothing, just stroked her back and rocked, while all the stress and strain and heartache poured out, leaving her exhausted and hollow. Even when the tears stopped, Norah stayed put for a few minutes and let herself be soothed.

Then reality intruded again and the embarrassment returned. She'd just completely lost it with this woman who barely knew her outside a professional context. What was the correct response here?

She lifted her head. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Molly said it matter-of-factly, as if people fell apart on her all the time. There was no censure, no pity in her eyes, just a kindness and understanding that left Norah feeling out of balance in an entirely different way.

She scrubbed both hands over her face in a vain effort to erase the damage. "I am...not a crier. My family doesn't encourage that kind of loss of control."

"Sometimes you just need a good purge." Molly handed over a box of tissues. "How long's it been?"

The last time she hadn't been able to choke it down or channel it somewhere else? Well that would be when Cam obliterated her defenses by clearing her name. Before that... "High school, maybe."

"Then I'd say you were long overdue." She patted Norah's hand. "The powder room is just off the hall there. Go wash your face, then come into the kitchen. I'll fix you a cup of tea and we'll have cake. It should be coming out of the oven soon."

Well, if Molly wasn't going to be embarrassed about this, neither would she. Head aching, Norah obediently followed her orders. She deliberately avoided looking in the mirror above the pedestal sink, not wanting to see the damage her crying jag had wrought. On top of all the strain she'd been under the last couple of weeks, she knew it wasn't pretty. The cool water felt wonderful against her puffy cheeks as she rinsed off whatever remained of her makeup. Despite the headache, she felt steadier than when she'd arrived.

Molly didn't turn as Norah came into the kitchen and sat at the island. As she bustled around the room, putting on the kettle and pulling out mugs, Molly said, "You are absolutely not obligated to tell me what that was about. But if you want an ear, you've got mine."

"Thank you." Norah tried to remember the last time her own mother had taken the time to listen and comfort. "Normally, I'd talk to Miranda."

"Hard to do that when she's related to the problem."

Norah started to speak, then closed her mouth.

Molly looked faintly amused. "You've been away for two weeks and you're here instead of there. I'm assuming Cam is at least a contributing factor." She set a cup of tea and a couple of aspirin on the counter.

"You could say that." Norah wrapped her hands around the mug, absorbed the warmth. "It's been a really lousy couple of weeks."

"First rough patch with the two of you?"

Norah scowled. "It's not just that, but yeah. He's being an idiot."

Molly smiled. "Oh, men are good at that. I should know. I raised three. And they're usually convinced they're right." As the buzzer went off, she turned to take her cake out of the oven.

"He's definitely not."

"Did you tell him that?"

Norah sipped the tea, while Molly puttered with the bundt pan and cake rack. "Didn't get a chance." He'd been too busy acting like they'd already had the fight and it was done and this was how things were going to be. And that was so very strange.

After everything he'd gone through to get past her defenses so she'd give their relationship a legitimate try, every gesture, big and small, that proved he cared, why on God's green earth would he come all the way to Chicago and not confront her over what he'd heard?

"There's very little more annoying than being deprived of a good fight."

"Seriously?"

"Sure. I mean, you wouldn't want to fight all the time—that's not healthy—but sometimes it's the same as having a good cry. You need to clear the air, get out whatever's festering."

Had she ever heard her parents fight? Norah didn't think so. They'd always had a completely civil relationship.

"In my family, fighting falls under the same heading as crying: Things Burkes do not do. Arguments are very calm, rational affairs. And, you know what? You're right. They aren't satisfying at all."

"Nobody ever had great make up sex after a civil debate."

Norah's eyes popped wide and she burst out laughing. "That's probably true."

"I've got nearly forty years of marriage to back me up." Molly slid plates of cake in front of each of them and sat. "If somebody's not worth fighting with from time to time, the relationship probably isn't worth fighting for."

"Which is why you have nearly forty years of marriage and my parents crashed and burned after twelve."

"Relationships are all about balance. Wants. Needs. Family. Career. Everybody has a struggle figuring out what their tipping point is. We were lucky that we stumbled on ours early on. Juggling four kids and a full-time job wouldn't have been possible without that."

"Four kids _and_ a full-time job?" Norah goggled at her. "My parents couldn't seem to even manage just me and their careers. They could independently save the world, or they could do the family thing. Not both."

"Well, it helped that the career was already established and that we bypassed the baby stage. We adopted all four. But I guess the real clincher is having a true partner. My John was a real trooper. He passed a little over a year ago."

"I'm so sorry." Norah laid a hand over Molly's and squeezed.

"Thank you, honey. I miss him every day. But we found each other early—childhood sweethearts—so I consider myself blessed."

Norah sighed. "I want to be you when I grow up."

Molly's cheeks pinked. "Coming from a bright, capable young woman like yourself, I take that as a huge compliment."

"I can't think of any better role model."

Norah almost toppled off her bar stool as Liam seemed to materialize from thin air and crossed over to the cake.

"He has a sixth sense for baked goods."

As he cut himself a huge slab, Norah wondered if she'd managed to wash away all traces of the tears. Maybe he'd politely ignore the fact that she'd been crying.

No such luck. Turning around with his plate, Liam kicked back against the counter and studied her. "Whatever he did, if he needs an attitude adjustment, I'm happy to give one."

Norah offered a wry smile. "I'm sure Mitch would help."

"Oh, Mitch is a good one in a fight, but for this you want Randa Panda. She fights dirty."

"You know she absolutely loathes that you call her that, right?"

Liam grinned. "Yeah. That's part of the fun."

Norah straightened her shoulders. "If anybody's giving Cam an ass kicking, it'll be me."

He laughed. "I knew I liked you." Walking over, he kissed his mother on the cheek. "Great cake, Mom." Then he and his cake were gone with the same soundless grace with which he'd appeared.

"A man of few words."

"Not always. But when there's cake involved, he's very focused." Molly picked up her own tea. "So, is Cam worth the fight?"

Norah didn't even have to think about it. "More than anybody I've ever known."

Molly gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Do you want to go kick his ass now or do you still want to go over the coalition stuff?"

"Coalition stuff. He's still at work and what I have to say to him is going to take a while."

She nibbled cake and listened to Molly outline the efforts they'd made so far. Approximately three hundred fifty signatures in the first week wasn't bad, but it was nowhere near the rate they needed to get the referendum.

"We need something to give to people who sign."

"Like a thank you gift?"

"No." She retrieved her bag from the living room and sketched out a quick design. "I'm thinking stickers. YES printed in big block letters and beneath it 'I signed'. That makes signatories walking advertisements. It's vague enough to prompt people to ask 'signed what?' And we should have a second set ready to go for the referendum itself with YES: I voted."

"Oh, that's fabulous. We can have them at every signing station. Every business downtown has a stack of pages for the petition."

"That's a good start but we need more. Bigger. We need a street team. People who are actively out informing people and soliciting signatures. And we'd want them easily identifiable in a way that gets the message across very quickly and visually, so that as word spreads, people can find a petition to sign very easily. I was thinking red baseball caps with YES printed across the front. They're attention getting and very clearly say YES, I support a size cap."

"Richard can have those made up within a few days. I've got a good dozen people I can task with organizing a street team."

Norah scribbled more notes. "Cam said it had to be a majority of registered voters. Can people who aren't registered yet go do that and sign?"

"They can. And for anybody who wants to sign that isn't registered, we've pointed them down to City Hall."

"No you need to eliminate as many barriers as possible. If it's allowed, have stacks of voter registration forms at each petition location so that it saves them from having to go get one. Even better if our business owners can just collect those and drop them off and save people a trip all together."

"I'll check with Sandra to find out the rules on that."

Norah paused in the midst of her notes. "Look, I know you two are close—"

"Don't worry. I won't say anything. Nobody needs to know."

"Thanks. For everything. I really didn't come over here with the intention of falling apart on you."

"Do you feel better?"

"Yeah."

"Then it was exactly what you needed." Molly moved to the sink with her plate. "You're an incredibly strong woman, but I get the sense that you think that means you can't ever lean on anybody else. That needing somebody else to shoulder some of the load somehow makes you weak."

"We Burkes are a self-sufficient lot."

"Self-sufficiency and strength aren't always the same thing. Sometimes the strong thing is admitting you're not and knowing that is absolutely okay."

Norah sighed. "Then I'll have to work on that."

Molly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "That's the beautiful thing about life, sweetie. We're all constant works in progress."

She'd taken all her stuff.

By the time Cam got home from one of the crappiest workdays on record, he found that Norah had been by. Hush made a thorough inspection of the apartment and whined when she found no evidence of her favorite person. Everything was gone, down to her last pen—her shoes, her toothbrush, all her office supplies. The key he'd given her lay on the kitchen island without a note. The only things left were the copies of the city financial records she'd gone over for her rural tourism presentation, stacked neatly on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. She'd probably just overlooked them when cleaning herself out of his life.

He'd hoped beyond hope that he'd been wrong, that she'd have some kind of explanation for Chicago and Denver that would make all his imaginings some kind of bad dream. But she hadn't said a word to contradict him. And now this.

They really were finished.

How the hell was he going to get through the next couple of weeks? If she even stayed that long. Who knew when she was due to report to her new job in Denver?

How would he survive after that? Wishful wasn't the haven it had been when he and Melody split up. She'd never really been a part of his life here. But there was nowhere in his town that he didn't associate with Norah now. She'd become a part of the town's fabric. Now he'd only see the jagged tear she left behind.

And wasn't that a bunch of melodramatic bullshit?

Retrieving the remaining half of a six pack from the fridge, Cam sank down on the sofa and pulled out the city financials. Hush scrambled onto her end of the couch and plopped down, staring at him with soulful eyes that seemed to say, _What did you do?_ Ignoring his dog and the guilt that look engendered, he opened the binder. The sight of all the color-coded sticky tabs and post-it notes made his throat squeeze tight. This was the only thing she'd touched that she'd left behind.

Christ, he was in bad shape.

The records were arranged in chronological reverse order, beginning with the numbers for the last quarter. He flipped through, fingers tracing the notes she'd made in the margins. Until he reached a point a year before where she'd scribbled _Pattern?_ with a number below. He set his beer aside and paid closer attention.

It took him about twenty minutes to figure out what she'd noted, and by then he hauled out his calculator. An hour and a half later, he'd plowed through the rest of the records and had pages of notes of his own. If these numbers meant what he thought they meant...

He called his mother. "Where are you?"

"At Liz and Pete's. What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"I need to talk to you. Stay put. I'm coming over."

Loading up the books and his dog, he drove over to his aunt and uncle's house. The moment he pulled to the curb he had cause to regret not asking his mother to come to him. From the look of things, the entire family was here. A quick, instinctive survey of vehicles showed him Norah's car wasn't among them. Not that it meant anything. She could just as easily have ridden with one of the others.

He wasn't ready to see her again.

But it was too late to change his plan. Grammy was waving from the window. Bracing himself, Cam climbed out of the truck and headed inside. Everyone was gathered in the living room. No Norah. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"What the hell is this? A summit meeting?"

"We were trying to figure out if it needed to be an intervention," Grammy said.

_Shit._

"Is Norah with you?" Aunt Liz asked.

The extra beat it took him to find his voice was the kiss of death. "No."

"Then we were right," Reed said. "You are having problems."

"And that's any of your business why?"

"No one knows where she is. She's not answering her phone. And the last person we know saw her was Violet, who said she left the nursery this afternoon looking like you'd punched her in the stomach." Mitch looked like he wanted to return the favor.

That was certainly a switch from what he'd seen. "She was perfectly calm when she left me." No fight, just straight-up rationality, moving on to business as usual. With a short detour to clean herself out of his life with cold, clean efficiency.

"What did you fight about?" Grammy asked.

Cam struggled for patience. He hadn't come here expecting an ambush. His mistake. "We didn't fight." He'd made sure of that, hadn't he? Cutting her off at the first sign of conflict because he couldn't deal with the confrontation and just wanted it over. But maybe she'd been more upset than he thought.

Absolutely nobody looked like they believed him.

"Look, did you try talking to Molly? Norah was going to check in with her on the petition. She's probably holed up somewhere working on a new campaign." Which he could verify with a few swipes of his phone, but God knew that damned app had given him more grief than it was worth. He didn't want to check it again to find her halfway to...anywhere that wasn't here.

Aunt Liz moved off to grab the phone, presumably to follow that lead.

"You can all take potshots at me later. I need to talk to Mom about city business. In private."

They relocated to Uncle Pete's study. Cam shut and locked the door behind them, which caused his mother to arch a brow.

"Not one word about her, Mom."

Sandra Campbell Crawford knew when to choose her battles. Cam fully expected she'd pick this one when he least expected it.

"You said this was something to do with city business." She nodded at the books under his arm. "What are those?"

"The copies I made of the city financial records. Norah was analyzing them for one of her projects. And she noted something unusual."

"What kind of unusual?"

Cam laid out what first Norah and then he had discovered. "It was subtly done, but you see here? The digits are transposed. It starts with small amounts. And if it was just that, maybe we could chalk it up to human error or dyslexia or something. But over the next year and a half, they get bigger and bigger. If I did the math right, we're talking about a difference of near to a hundred thousand dollars of city funds."

"Dear God." Sandra scooped a hand through her hair. "How far back does it go?"

Cam chose his words carefully. "Best I can tell, it started when you were out on medical leave. When Vick took over extra duties because Leigh Billingsly had to go on bed rest. Since she only came back half time after the baby was born, she probably just picked up where the books left off and didn't go back to check the work that was done in her absence."

"Cam, this is a huge accusation."

"I know it. And maybe I'm wrong. But what if I'm not? Vick's been living large when almost everybody's hours and salaries have been cut to the bone. He's just bought an SUV that's almost as much as his annual salary. Where's he getting that money?"

Sandra sat back and sighed. "I just can't believe he'd be embezzling from the city."

"Then how else do you explain these numbers? The system is obscenely antiquated. We've talked about it for years, but we haven't ever done anything about it because there was always some other financial priority. We've got to look into this."

"And we will, but quietly. Both because I'm not willing to make accusations without more definitive evidence and because if it's true, I don't want to spook him into covering his tracks."

Sandra crossed to pick up the cordless phone on the desk. "Robert, it's Sandra. No, no, I'm fine. Listen, are you busy? There's something I need to discuss with you. No, it's probably best if Cam and I come to you. We want to keep this on the down low. I need you to open an investigation into Vick Burgess."

# Chapter 22

NORAH LEFT MOLLY'S PRIMED to knock Cam down a few pegs and _make_ him listen, whether he wanted to or not. So the fact that he wasn't home put a real crimp in her plans. Since she'd rashly left her key after packing her stuff, there was no waiting inside. Damn it.

So she sat in her car. Courtesy of the fact that half her stuff was in the back, she had plenty of clothes to layer for warmth. The temper helped. Her phone kept blowing up with calls and texts from the Campbell clan. She hadn't listened to the voicemails and hadn't answered the texts. Given that the theme of most had been _Are you okay?_ Norah figured that despite Molly's promise of secrecy, someone else had blabbed something. Maybe Liam had spoken to Mitch. She wasn't talking to any of them until she'd talked to Cam himself and had the chance to pry his head out of his ass.

The bravado and the fury wore down considerably over the next two and a half hours. When her watch ticked over to nine and he still wasn't home, she questioned whether he was coming at all. For all she knew, he could be drowning his idiocy in drink up at the Mudcat. When she confronted him, she wanted him sober.

Giving up for the night, she cranked the engine. On the second leg of her K-turn, headlights swept over her car. Cam's truck. Nerves tangled in her belly at the sight of it. Had he been home before now? Seen her initial reaction? She parked her car again and got out, waiting as he did the same.

"Did you forget something?" Flat, expressionless tone. Oh yeah, he'd been home and he was pissed.

_He's worth the fight_.

"Yes."

Hush ran circles around her, and Norah paused to love on the dog.

"We can work out some kind of visitation for Hush while you're here," Cam said grudgingly.

How civilized of him. She didn't wait for an invitation, just climbed the stairs. After a brief hesitation, Cam followed, unlocking the door. With a sarcastic wave, he gestured her inside. Norah stalked into the loft. Behind her, he shut the door and stood, limned in the lamplight, glowering.

"I came to tell you that this whole non-confrontational, learned helplessness bullshit is not going to work for me."

"Excuse me?"

"I know you've had bad experiences with important people in the past just up and leaving you without you having a say, but you don't come all the way after me in Chicago just to skulk away without a word."

"What do you expect me to do?"

She stepped into his space, close enough to feel the heat of him. "Fight. With me. For me." She laid a hand over his heart and found it pounding. "Because this is worth it. We're worth it."

"So...what? Some grand gesture from me is supposed to outweigh your dream job?" He spun away from her to pace. "How long would that last? How long until you start blaming me for what you gave up?"

She'd planted this idea in his head. When he'd ridden roughshod over her reasons for not being with him. And she'd believed it then. But that wasn't who she was anymore. "That's exactly what I was thinking after I saw you this afternoon. That I gave up my entire world for you."

Back to her, Cam's head drooped, his broad shoulders slumped.

"I've had a really good reminder the last two weeks, of exactly what that world is like. And you know what? My world sucked." He straightened, turning as she continued. "Seventy-hour work weeks. Colleagues who are convinced I got to the top on my knees or on my back rather than through my intellectual capabilities. Professional connections who are more than willing to believe the lies Philip has spread about me. A city where people I saw every single day of the last two years don't even know who I am."

He frowned, confused. Score one for her for throwing him off balance.

"I got headhunted by Peyton Consolidated before I ever left for Chicago. Before I knew Philip had started a personal vendetta against me. Gerald Peyton offered me everything I ever wanted professionally. And I turned him down cold."

"What?"

"I told him what I'd been on my way to tell you. That I'm committed to staying here in Wishful, to building something on the foundation I started."

He looked like she'd just told him the sky was green. "But the lawsuit—"

"The lawsuit didn't change anything. It's true he left the door open in case I changed my mind. That's what I was talking to Cecily about when you overheard us."

"You said you'd be a fool not to take the job. Under the circumstances, even I agree with you."

With a bracing breath, she took the leap. "Then I'm a fool because I'm not going anywhere." The bloom of terrified hope on his face had her stepping closer, cupping his cheek. "You said you'd always choose me because I was worth the risk. Did you think I wouldn't do the same?"

He reached for her, hands curving around her hips even as he said, "But...you went to Denver."

"How do you even _know_ that? You didn't take a single one of my calls." She hung on lest he decide to break the tenuous connection between them.

"I tracked your phone."

"Seriously? You've based your entire freak out on a snippet of eavesdropped conversation and the GPS location of my phone?"

Cam winced. "Yeah?"

Norah shoved back her irritation. "Peyton Consolidated is a big mover and shaker in urban redevelopment circles. I went to Denver to convince the CEO that rural tourism would be an excellent means of diversifying his investments and that he should start in Wishful."

"Wait a minute. You turned this guy's fantastic job offer down and then went to ask him to invest in something else?"

She nodded.

"Did he bite?"

Norah couldn't help but be a little bit smug. "He loved the idea so much, we both went up to Balenmore, Colorado to meet with their tourism coordinator to get an inside look at how they made rural tourism work for them and generate ideas on how we could do the same here."

"So...this whole time you've been gone, you've still been working on a plan to save Wishful?"

"Between meetings with my attorney, yeah."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me any of this before?"

"I couldn't tell you before I got back because you weren't talking to me. And when I came to tell you today you didn't want to hear my pretty speech, remember?"

He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I was afraid if I talked to you, it'd give you the chance to break things off. Then when you didn't contradict me and I came home and found all your stuff gone, I was sure of it."

"You pissed me off. It really hurt me that you could believe I'd walk away from you so easily."

"It hurt me to think it. I was angry and exhausted when I came after you. And then to hear that...it was like Melody all over again, and I guess it just triggered me."

"Wait, what?" She thought back to what the family had told her. "Aunt Liz said you went up to surprise her and came back in just over twenty-four hours, broken up."

"Yeah. We'd made arrangements to meet on campus. I got there early, in time to hear her talking with a friend, saying she knew she was never going to pry me out of my hick town and she had to find some way to tell me she was never coming back to it. That it was a conversation long overdue but she wasn't a monster who could do that while my mother was on her death bed."

"Okay, leaving aside the fact that you have a serious problem with eavesdropping, Miranda was right. She _was_ a bitch."

Cam didn't disagree. "I turned right back around and headed home. Called her from the road to say Mom was having a relapse and that I didn't think it was going to work out between us."

"You let her off the hook."

"Should've done it two years earlier. I knew when she headed off to George Mason that it wouldn't work. I just couldn't deal with the confrontation then."

"So this afternoon you were trying to let me off the hook and avoid that confrontation?"

"Something like that. If I wasn't what you wanted, I wasn't going to beg and I didn't want to stand in the way of what you did."

It was, in a way, noble and self sacrificing. And completely misguided.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I love you, and I don't want to be the one to put you in a cage."

"Cam." She cupped his cheek and waited for her throat to unlock. "What we have between us isn't a cage. I'm sorry I went off half-cocked without talking to you. I was panicked and angry, and I didn't think about bringing you into it because you weren't a part of that life. That wasn't meant as a reflection of how I feel about you or us. I could've cleared that up while I was gone, but I didn't want the first time I told you to be in a voicemail. The fact is, I'm stupidly, deliriously, completely in love with you. And I can prove it."

"You already proved it. You're here." He brushed her lips with one of those gossamer, tender kisses that made her feel cherished.

She still had to tell him about the land, but as he pulled her closer, she decided it could wait. "Does this mean we're done fighting?"

"God, I hope so."

"Good, because I'm really ready to make up." Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she leapt, wrapping her legs around his waist and fusing her mouth to his.

Cam took about a nanosecond to get on board with that plan. With a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl, he hitched her higher. In a dozen strides, he was kicking the bedroom door shut. They fell to the bed, gasping, grasping, rolling, desperate to get to skin.

Norah tugged off his shirt and then her own. Cam helped when it got caught around her shoulders. She took her mouth on a sprinting journey down his torso as she made quick work of his belt and jeans and found only him beneath.

"Behind on laundry," he muttered, dragging her back to return the favor. Both brows winged up as he found her bare as well. "What's your excuse?"

"Optimism. I was banking on fabulous make up sex."

"You make optimism look really good."

They dove at each other, gorging themselves on touch and taste in frantic, greedy bites, as if the speed and heat could eradicate the distance of the past weeks. Fevered, she scissored her legs around his and rolled until she straddled him. Capturing his hands, she curled her fingers through his, pressed them back against the bed and lowered herself, glorying as he filled her in one long stroke. She held at the edge for a long, humming beat, body gripping him, the last of the space between them gone.

_At last._ She was home.

Cam freed his hands, pulling her down to take her mouth in a kiss that left her branded. She began to move, driving him with a blistering pace that sent them both careening toward the peak. His tongue danced with hers, echoing the rhythm she set. She took him deeper with every rocking thrust, her muscles coiling, his breath straining as skin slid against slick skin, until she shattered, dragging him into the free fall with her.

Boneless and quivering, Norah lay draped over Cam, her face pressed into his throat. Her heart—or maybe it was his—she couldn't tell—continued to gallop as little aftershocks trembled through them both.

Cam's hand slid limply down her thigh. "That was..."

"Cathartic."

"I was going to say mind blowing."

"That too." She folded her hands across his chest and propped her chin so she could see him. "I missed you. Not just this—although definitely this—but everything else. You're the first person I think about in the morning, the one I dream about at night. You're the one I want by my side, Cam. A partner in the truest sense of the word. I don't ever want you to have reason to doubt that again."

He stroked a knuckle across her cheek, a feather light touch that soothed, even as it aroused. "I'm not perfect. I've got issues, and I'll do stupid things. But I learn from my mistakes. I won't doubt you again."

She kissed him, softly, sweetly and then grinned.

"What're you smiling about?"

"I'm still wearing my socks."

"How is that possible?"

"They weren't all that important in the get naked portion of the program."

He rolled her beneath him. "I take that as a personal challenge." He pressed his hips forward to prove it.

"Then I suppose you're honor bound to rectify the oversight."

Cam shut the door to his truck and, for the first time in his life, stared at his grandmother's house with trepidation. "I can't believe you called a family summit this early in the day."

"It's the most expedient means of putting everybody at ease and catching them up on my situation. You weren't the only one I didn't talk to while I was away." Norah linked her hand through his and dragged him up the walk. "Come on, I'm desperate for more coffee."

So was he, but Cam would've preferred having that coffee at home. Or better yet, skipping the coffee all together and spending the day in bed, sleeping and making love as they'd done most of the night. But Norah had rousted him at 6:30, with little more than a shower and one measly travel mug of coffee to prepare him to face the entire family—all of whom had wanted to string him up the day before.

In accordance with custom, everybody was in the kitchen. And they all promptly stopped talking the moment he and Norah walked in. The weight of their stares hit him like a slap. Yep, they were still very much on Norah's side, even without knowing the details.

Miranda, clearly at least two cups shy of functional, pinned them both with a furious glare. "You barely talk to me for two weeks, send _one_ text to say you're back in town, then you freaking _disappear_ for the rest of the day, without answering anybody's call or text. I took a double shift and spent half the night at the ER waiting for you to show up in an ambulance. And now you haul my ass out of bed after only an hour without an IV drip of coffee?"

Without batting an eye, Norah strode up to the lion and hugged her tight. "I'm sorry I worried you. I'm sorry I worried all of you. But I had to talk to Cam first."

Miranda took her by the shoulders and gave her a hard once over. "Are you pregnant?"

Cam choked on the last of the coffee in his travel mug.

Norah's face went slack with shock. "Oh my God. No. _No._ " __ She spread her hands in the universal sign for _no good_. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because you're the most hyper-rational person I know and you've been behaving decidedly _irrationally._ Why else would you call us all together like this?"

"You are kinda glowing," Reed added.

Norah's face went beet red. "I have completely lost control of this situation."

"Well that was your first mistake," Grammy said. "Assuming you were in control to begin with."

"Need I remind you that you're the one who thought facing the Inquisition at this hour was a good idea," Cam pointed out.

"It wouldn't be a bad thing," Aunt Liz offered.

Cam and Norah both stared at her.

"Well it wouldn't! Neither of mine are in any hurry to make me a grandmother."

"Neither are we," Cam said.

Norah poured them both cups of coffee. "I'd rather marry him first, thanks."

"How's Saturday?"

The ripple of surprise swept through the room. Nobody knew which of them to look at. Cam kept his gaze fixed on Norah. She rolled her eyes at him, vexed. "Even if you were serious, you're busy Saturday."

_Oh, I am serious_. But he let it pass because this wasn't the time or place for asking her. Instead he dimpled at her. "That wasn't a no."

She just arched a brow.

"Okay, I'll play. What am I doing on Saturday?"

She handed him coffee. "Formalizing your design for a park at Hope Springs and meeting with the new owner."

Cam felt the balance of power in the room shift. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Even if the referendum fails, GrandGoods can't touch Hope Springs. It's permanently out of their reach and will be donated to the city."

"How?"

"Because I bought it." And she just sipped her coffee, calm as could be, as if she hadn't just rocked his world.

"You did what?" Mitch asked.

"I bought the entire parcel of land out from under GrandGoods with cash. Tucker handled the closing. It's why I saw him first when I got back yesterday. I had to sign the paperwork. And before you get angry with him for not telling you, I had him sworn to secrecy because it was supposed to be a surprise. And he's acting as my attorney, so that trumps whatever unspoken bro pact thing you think you have with him."

Cam's brain was still stuck at the beginning. "You bought Hope Springs."

"All 254.5 acres."

"But that had to cost—" Uncle Pete began.

"Yeah, a lot." Norah winced a bit at that. "I liquidated every asset I had. It's why I flipped out when I found out what Philip had done. Given I'm two steps away from being broke, my reputation and employability are kind of an issue."

"Jesus," Cam said. "Why would you do that? Risk that? Have you lost your mind?"

"Nope. Just my heart."

Cam took her coffee away, set it aside with his own. "Norah."

She sighed and linked her fingers with his. "I've never owned anything. Nothing that actually mattered, nothing that meant any kind of roots or permanence. I believe in what we're trying to accomplish here, and I'm not afraid to put my money where my mouth is. I promised I'd save your world, Campbell, and this was my best shot."

He slid his hand up to cup her nape and pressed his brow to hers. "You humble me."

"You should've heard the original speech I had planned." She tipped her mouth up to kiss him briefly, before slipping away to reclaim her coffee and address the rest of the family. "And this concludes the warm and fuzzy good news portion of this morning's meeting. Please collect your caffeine and breakfast pastry of choice and make your way to the kitchen table. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

Cam watched the mask slide into place, the smooth, calm exterior over the spine of steel. "It's like watching a Transformer when you do that. Why are you armoring up?"

"Because it's how I survived the last two weeks."

That ominous remark left him with a whole helluva lot of foreboding about whatever was coming next. What had he left her to handle alone?

He sat to her left, Miranda to her right, and the rest of them spread out around the big farmhouse table with considerably less commentary than was usual at a Campbell gathering.

She picked up a croissant. "I want to apologize for how I left, without talking to anybody."

"Emergency protocols apply," Miranda said. "We get that."

"It was still rude. I'm not...good with family. Not your kind of family, where check-ins don't require some kind of performance benchmark. And I'm not good with disasters. Or, to be accurate, I'm fantastic with other people's disasters. I don't have a lot experience with any of my own. So when this one hit, I didn't necessarily handle it the best way possible." This last she addressed to Cam, eyes full of the apology she'd already made.

He rubbed at her shoulders. "I didn't win any awards for how I handled it either. Water under the bridge."

"I'd thought that once I got up there, I'd be in a position to spin some damage control. My old intern got me copies of all the outgoing emails from Philip, so I knew some of what was out there. It's...ugly." Something flickered over her face, before the mask reasserted itself. "Apart from the allegations of professional misconduct, there were a number of more...personal accusations. Between the emails and the affidavits from some of my former coworkers, it was evidence enough for my attorney to file a lawsuit for defamation."

"I'm sensing a gigantic 'but' in everything you're not saying," Mitch said.

She glanced up at him before returning to shredding the croissant in her hands, "But that's about all I can do. I can't stop what Philip started. I can't undo the damage. Even if I win—and that's an enormous _if_ according to my attorney, because it's a whole lot of _he said, she said_ —there's no putting the genie back in the bottle. My professional reputation is completely trashed. Most of my contacts wouldn't return my calls, and those who did don't want to earn Philip's ire by taking my side. He has a helluva lot more social capital to burn than I do and no compunction about using it to knock me to rock bottom as payback for all the existing clients they lost when he fired me and the new ones who won't go near the firm since I left."

Alone. She'd been dealing with all of this completely alone because he'd been too full of his own imagined hurts to be what she needed. Guilt coated Cam's throat, all but choking him.

If not for him and his cause, his town, she wouldn't even be in this mess. "This is my fault."

Her eyes flashed hot. "Don't be absurd."

"If I hadn't—"

She cut him off. "No. Don't you dare. I stayed of my own free will. I chose you, and I have no regrets."

How could she not have regrets? "But you lost everything you worked for."

"And gained everything that matters. My pride will heal, and I'll figure out some means of earning a living—preferably sooner rather than later because my attorney isn't cheap—but I'm not giving you up. Period. End of story."

"Have you told your parents yet?" Uncle Pete asked.

Norah shifted her attention to him and Aunt Liz. "I just told the only ones who matter. Hell will freeze over before I give my father that kind of weapon."

Knowing what Joseph Burke had said to her regarding what she'd unknowingly been involved with in Morton, Cam could only imagine how he'd twist this to try and bend her. For all the good he focused on doing in the world, how could he not see the damage he did to his own daughter with his expectations?

"What about Peyton?" Cam asked.

"Peyton?" Sandra asked.

Norah ignored that. "What about him?"

"Is the job offer still on the table after all this?"

"We haven't talked about it since I approached him as an investor."

"An investor for what?" Uncle Jimmy asked.

"Ask," Cam said, "and if it is, then take the job."

The burst of temper was immediate. "If you think I'm just going to walk away from—"

"I'll go with you."

It was Norah's turn to stare. "You hate the city."

"I love you more." And God, if he could do nothing else for her, he could do this.

"This is all very romantic and sweet, but anybody want to clue us in on what the hell you're talking about?" asked Miranda.

Cam jumped in before Norah could minimize it. "She has a job offer from a billion dollar corporation in Denver to come run their marketing department, and she turned it down for me."

"Whoa," Mitch said.

"And I don't intend to reverse that decision. Do you think I don't know what leaving here would mean for you? I'm not dragging you to the other side of the country away from your family."

"Norah, be sensible."

"I am being sensible. You're being impulsive. I appreciate the motivation behind it, but that's not the answer. We've established the economic climate here is crap. The turn around the last couple of months is a start, but only a start. It's no state in which to sell a business. And at that point, you have no control over what a new owner of the nursery would do. There's no guarantee that they'd go to the effort to hire on people like Dewey May to keep him and his family afloat. No guarantee someone wouldn't just come in and turn the nursery into something else entirely. No guarantee that whoever took over for you as City Councilman wouldn't work to overturn everything we've done here. And every bit of that would eat at you, worse than it already does. That powerlessness of not knowing, or worse, knowing and not being able to do a damned thing about it from more than a thousand miles away, would make you miserable. You need to be here. So do I. I'll find another way. It's what I do, remember?"

Frustration simmered at a low boil. Her logic, as always, was undeniable. But there had to be some way he could help fix this. She'd done so much for him, given up so much, and what had he done for her? Chased down some lousy public records?

"How can I make this better for you? I need to do _something._ "

"Help me finish what we started. We're getting this referendum and we're going to bury GrandGoods. And then we're going to turn this town around. And when all of it is over, and no more disasters are hanging around on the horizon, I'm going to fall apart in an absolutely spectacular fashion and count on you to pick up the pieces." She said it in the same calm, matter-of-fact tone she tended to use when reciting business statistics or weather reports.

He wouldn't have been surprised to see it penciled in on her calendar. _Have breakdown. 8 AM to 5 PM. Schedule massage for tomorrow._

"In the meantime, I need to work like I need to breathe, so you'll take me back to get my car and let me take over the loft with a quantity of bulletin boards and office supplies that will make it look like Office Depot dropped a tactical nuke on the place."

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Okay."

"What can we do to help?" His mother, as calm and focused as Norah herself.

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. How long would it take you to set up a town meeting?"

# Chapter 23

_P LEASE LET THIS BE nearly over._ Cam sent up the prayer as he pulled open the door to Edison Hardware and stepped inside to continue the petition tally. It was almost time for lunch, and he'd already been by half of the businesses on his list. Aunt Liz and Uncle Pete were doing the others. Avery had been keeping a running tally as they went, and they were close. So close. If the total tipped over their threshold, they'd be spending the next several hours validating that each one was a registered voter. If they didn't get the numbers today, they were out of time.

Tyler stood at the counter, her ponytail pulled through the back of the fire engine red YES cap that matched his. She looked up as he came in and one corner of her mouth curved up. "Hey Councilman, Mr. Cleese here wants to know if signing the petition will decrease his chances of getting called up for jury duty, seeing as it's kind of a civil service."

"Well now, that's something to consider. But I reckon you'd have to take that up with Judge Carpenter." Might as well foist the responsibility for that decision off on somebody else.

Mr. Cleese rubbed the tip of his bulbous nose. "Y'all should check on that. It'd be a real incentive for folks."

"We'll take that under advisement. In the meantime, how about you join the ranks of other fine citizens of Wishful and add your name to the petition?"

After some further hemming and hawing and additional suggestions that were completely out of Cam's power as a city representative, Cleese finally signed the petition.

"Thanks for your support, Mr. Cleese. Here's your sticker." Tyler reached out and plastered the _YES: I signed_ badge on the old man's shirt pocket. "You be sure to tell your friends up at Bingo Night."

Cam peeked over to check the petition numbers and texted the total to Avery.

"I thought about adding a suggestion box," Tyler said as the door swung shut.

"Been getting a lot of quid pro quo kinda ideas, have we?"

"A fair number. None actually actionable, I don't think." She leaned back against the counter and crossed her legs. "How are the numbers looking?"

"Overall good. We picked up eleven at No Sweat. Fifteen more at Brides and Belles. Only six at Sanderson's. But it's slowing down to dribs and drabs. Everybody's reporting the same kind of thing. They keep running into people who've already been hit up. I'm not sure how to get beyond that crowd without going door to door."

Tyler pursed her lips. "I heard you spent a fair chunk of time talking to Rosanna Sanderson this morning."

Cam sent her a flat stare. "And who exactly is keeping tabs on how long I'm spending in local businesses?"

"You know perfectly well Cassie can see the door to Sanderson's from The Grind."

"So? She was on my list, same as you and Cassie and more than a dozen other businesses."

"Half an hour just seems like a long time to spend checking on six signatures _in a jewelry store_."

"Any angler knows you've gotta put out better bait if you wanna catch bigger fish."

Tyler grinned at him. "Does that mean there's a bigger fish to catch?"

"If there was, do you think I'd be dumb enough to confirm it? I'm well aware of the state of gossip in this town. Cassie's looking for something to scoop Mama Pearl on, and I am not gonna be it."

"I'm not hearing denials."

"You're not hearing squat." Cam shoved open the door. "I'll keep you posted about the signature total. As soon as Avery notifies us we've got enough, I'll be back by to pick up the pages for signature verification."

"I'll be here. And Cam?"

He paused, looking back at his lifelong friend.

"I'm glad she's back."

"So am I."

Cam made quick stops at Lickety Split and Inglenook before finally working around to Dinner Belles, where Norah had turned a corner booth into an impromptu command center. Against one wall was a markerboard showing the running tally of signatures. Norah herself hunched over a map of the city that showed the individual Council wards, with two others in street team gear. She, too, wore a YES cap, and with the braid in her hair, she looked about eighteen. At least until she started giving out orders like a five-star general.

"Mamie, you hit up the senior center. They're all of a generation where voting actually meant something, so they're probably registered. They just aren't necessarily super mobile and coming into town."

Mamie saluted. "That's a fabulous idea. Autumn, you should come with me." She turned back to Norah. "Autumn's the head librarian. She volunteers at the center once a week. The seniors just love her."

"Do it. We need every asset we've got."

The pair of them headed for the door, flashing cheerful smiles at Cam on their way out.

Cam joined Norah at her booth. "Where's your walkie talkie?"

"Don't tempt me. I'll make you hunt some down for me. You know Cassie would be all over that."

Thinking about what else Cassie was all over, Cam shot a quick glance at Mama Pearl. Yep. She was giving him a Look.

Jesus.

As if he'd be stupid enough to buy the ring here where anybody and their brother could see and talk about it. Rosanna had just wanted to tell him about her daughter Rory's decision to pursue landscape architecture in college and ask about graduate school suggestions. But that didn't make for good gossip.

"Are those the updated totals?" He nodded to the board behind her.

"Yeah, Avery already copied me on the numbers you sent. We're two hundred signatures in the hole. I'd like to get at least another hundred for padding, just in case we had a fair chunk of non-registered voters signing."

He gave her the same update he'd given Tyler. "Every business in the coalition has about maxed out its customer base. We're running short of places to corner people. Without some kind of captive audience, I'm afraid the only thing we've got left is going door to door."

Norah's eyes narrowed with speculation. "Captive audience..."

"I wasn't actually suggesting we hold people hostage."

"We don't have to. Circumstance already does." With quick, efficient moves, she folded the map and shoved it into her bag, along with the rest of her stuff, before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. "Come on."

"What about your board?"

"Mama Pearl will keep it updated." She pushed out onto the sidewalk and hit the ground at what he thought of as city speed. Woman on a mission.

"Where are we going?"

"Sweet Magnolias."

"Do I get to eat when we get there? Because I think my stomach is trying to devour itself."

"You can scarf while we work. How long do you have before you have to head back to the nursery?"

"Until about three."

"We need more people." She whipped out her phone and made a series of calls, requesting backup at Sweet Magnolias.

Cam shook his head, holding in a chuckle. _Backup._ God, he loved this woman. Knowing she'd tell him what was up her sleeve when she was good and ready, he just kept walking.

The bakery smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, with a side of sweet cream butter. Or maybe that was icing. Cam started drooling the moment he walked inside.

On the other side of the counter, Carolanne wore her YES cap backward as she piped pink icing on a cake. "Be with you in a jiff," she called, not looking up.

Norah peered into the display cases, the wheels clearly turning. Cam wasn't sure if she was picking out lunch or plotting world domination. These days, it could kinda go either way. There'd been no further updates on the lawsuit, and she'd effectively compartmentalized so that all her focus was on the petition drive.

Carolanne finished the rim of tiny pink roses around the edge of the cake and finally looked up. "Well, hey y'all. Are you here to check my petition sheets? I'm afraid I don't have too many new signatures."

"I had something else in mind," Norah told her. "We need to make up sample trays of everything you've got on sale today."

"We do? Why?"

"We're turning a negative into a positive. Y'all can't fix the stoplight, so we're taking advantage of our semi-captive audience to hand out pastry samples from Sweet Magnolias, along with information about the petition. So that's advertising for you, getting the word out for us, and linking the whole thing to positive reinforcement with sugar."

"It certainly _sounds_ good." Carolanne put the bag of icing aside. "I'll pull together some trays."

"Are you picky about having people in your space or can I come help?"

"Come on back and wash your hands."

There wasn't room behind the counter for a third person, so Cam stood to the side and felt like a useless dolt as the two women spun and cut and made up trays in what seemed like two minutes flat.

"There. Those look amazing." Norah bit into a piece of scone and moaned. "If this takes off, you should consider baking cute little sample size stuff and doing it on a regular basis."

"I wish I'd thought of it before."

Cam snatched a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into his mouth, pausing for a moment of reverence as the sweet tart flavor melted on his tongue. "So exactly how are we going to do this?"

"Watch and learn, Leonidas." Norah hefted a tray, plastered on a beauty queen smile that would do Barbie proud, and pushed out the door.

Cam followed, clipboard in hand, as she approached a woman in a minivan at the head of the line waiting at the stoplight. After a moment's hesitation, the woman rolled down her window.

"Hi! Can I offer you a sample from Sweet Magnolias Bakery? We've got blueberry muffins and orange cranberry scones this afternoon."

"Sure, thanks." The woman plucked a piece of scone from the tray.

As she bit into it, Norah went in for the kill. "We're also looking for signatures on our petition. Are you aware that GrandGoods intends to build a store out by Hope Springs?"

Mouth full, the woman nodded.

"We feel that's too important an issue not to be a full popular vote. We're collecting signatures to overturn the City Council decision and make it a public referendum. Are you registered to vote in Wishful?" At the next nod, Norah smiled broadly and offered the clipboard. "Can we count on your support?"

After another brief hesitation, the woman shrugged and took the petition.

Norah took the clipboard back. "Thanks so much! And won't you try the blueberry muffins too? They're delicious."

Norah bid her a good day and moved on to the next vehicle. Cam watched her repeat the routine twice more before the light changed—Christ, he hadn't truly realized it was this bad—getting signatures from one and stepping back onto the sidewalk as they drove on their merry way.

"Two out of three isn't bad."

"The third one isn't registered to vote in this county." Seeing their reinforcements arriving, she handed him a tray and shoved the petition clipboard into his chest. "You have dimples, sugar. Go use 'em for the cause."

Cam went to work, while Norah trained their backup on the spiel. They fell into a rhythm, going out in pairs, seldom coming in with fewer than two signatures, sometimes more. Between turns, Cam managed to nab a ham and cheese croissant and some coffee. Not exactly the lunch of champions, but it would tide him over. As the lunch hour ended and bled into early afternoon, traffic slowed. Grabbing a freshly refilled tray of margarita cupcakes and strawberry danish, Cam stepped out for his next round.

Only one car had pulled up to the light, an aging Civic with a driver that might as well have sported a T-shirt screaming _Not from around here._ Mid-twenties, with square rim, Hipster glasses, he had city written all over him. Not a registered voter in Wachoxee County. But this wasn't just about the petition, so he stepped up anyway and smiled.

"Afternoon. Can I offer you a sample from Sweet Magnolias Bakery? We've got cupcakes and danish."

"Oooo, gimme. I'm _starving_." A dark-haired girl leaned over from the passenger seat and reached for a cupcake.

Cam froze as recognition set in. "You're Cecily."

She looked up, surprised. "I am...and I know I would remember if I'd met you."

"No, we've never met. I'm—" _The guy who followed your former boss to Chicago and stood around like some kind of creepy stalker listening to your conversation._ Yeah, no. Not the way to introduce himself.

Now Cecily's eyes were narrowed in speculation. "You're a Campbell. You resemble Mitch." She snapped her fingers. "You're Norah's Campbell!"

That sounded a lot better.

"I am. Cam Crawford."

"And I'm Christoff Bergen," the driver said. "Does somebody want to tell me what's going on?"

"I'm guessing you're here looking for Norah. If you'll pull off and park around the corner there, she's just inside the bakery."

Cecily took a bite of cupcake. "I'd say that's kismet."

Norah turned and nearly dropped the tray full of pastries in her hands, as she watched her former personal assistant walk through the door, trailed by Cecily. "What are you doing here?"

"Now is that any way to greet your loyal minions?" Christoff asked.

"I'm in shock." She hastily set down the tray and opened her arms to pull him in for a hard hug. "It's so good to see you."

"Back atcha, gorgeous." He pulled back and looked her over with a critical eye. "It seems being back below the Mason-Dixon agrees with you. Or maybe it's this tall drink of water over here." His gaze shifted to Cam.

Laughing, Norah made introductions.

"Well, you weren't kidding," Cecily said.

"I'm telling you, they've got good genes in the Campbell family."

Cam shot her a look. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not." Norah grinned. Shifting her attention back to her friends, she asked, "Now seriously, what _are_ you doing here?"

"We come bearing gifts." Christoff's Slavic blue eyes sparkled.

"Uh oh. I know that look. What did you do?"

"Nothing that didn't need doing. If we can find somewhere a little less public to make our reveal?" he suggested, looking around at handful of patrons, who'd decided to stop for a pastry after being lured in by samples.

"I am suddenly very, very afraid."

"You've got nothing to worry about." Christoff slung an arm around her shoulders.

"Upstairs at The Grind?" Cam offered. "Daniel's on duty. He'll keep anybody out for you."

"Us." Norah grabbed his hand. "You're coming with. I have a feeling I may need moral support for this."

Leaving the other recruits in charge of samples and petition duty, the group of them hiked down the street to The Daily Grind.

"Hail our conquering heroes!" Daniel called as they walked inside.

"Don't count your chickens yet, Danny boy," Cam told him. "We've still got the vote to come."

"I have faith. What'll it be?"

"Y'all go ahead and order. I'll see if it's clear." Cam sprinted up the stairs.

Norah requested their usuals, while Cecily and Christoff hemmed and hawed over what to try. Judging by the look of speculation on Christoff's face, he was thinking he'd take his caramel macchiato with a side of Daniel. When the latter suggested the strawberry hand pie, the calorie conscious Christoff didn't blink before adding one to his order. Armed with pastries and caffeine, they trooped up to the empty second floor.

"Just tell me one thing before we get started. Are you two in trouble? Is my lawsuit against Helios causing you problems?"

"We are _not_ in trouble," Cecily assured her.

"But it _is_ causing you problems. Damn it. I didn't want any of the blowback to hit y'all."

"Patience, grasshopper." Christoff clapped his hands together. "So, we all agree that Philip and Pierce are douchecanoes, yes? Yes. They've gone to great lengths to smear your name, making claims about your behavior that Cecily and I _know_ you didn't actually do. And anybody with a brain at Helios knows you didn't either. Even the people who are claiming to know are just lazy and jealous of your success."

"This is all old ground. It's part of why the lawsuit is stalling out. There's no way to prove one way or the other."

"Yeah, about that," Cecily hedged.

"Oh God..."

"Christoff and I concocted a plan." She pulled out a laptop and turned it on.

"You know Adam in IT?" Christoff asked.

"The one with the dimples and great abs."

"Stupendously fabulous abs. Well, I sweet talked him into setting up the webcams in Pierce's office where we could record remotely, whenever we wanted."

Feeling vaguely queasy, she asked, "You were spying on Pierce?"

"Not exactly," Cecily said. "So Pierce...kind of has a history of making passes at me."

Norah barely trusted herself to speak. "He what?"

"Not, like, serious passes. Not while you were together. Just...vaguely suggestive flirting. He didn't make any _real_ passes until after y'all were split."

"The question of Pierce's fidelity is fairly far down the totem pole of sleaze. But if he sexually harassed you, I'll castrate him myself."

Cecily held up a hand. "Not necessary." With a few more keystrokes she opened a file. "You remember how I told you I have a background in theater?"

"Yeah..." Where was she going with this?

"Well, keep that in mind." She turned the computer around and hit play.

The screen was abruptly filled with Pierce, seated at his desk, staring at something on the dual monitors. Paperwork was spread out before him. Projections for some campaign or other. His hair was messy instead of artfully rumpled, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. The sleek silk tie was loose, his collar unbuttoned. He looked, for the first time Norah could remember, frazzled. That pleased her far more than it should have.

The timestamp in the corner showed it was well after closing when the knock came on his door.

"It's open."

"I have those reports you asked for, Mr. Vargas."

Pierce swiveled away from the monitors to face Cecily, schooling his face into the confident smile that had won more than one account. "Thanks Cecily. You're a lifesaver."

As the door shut, the view shifted to that from the other monitor. Cecily hesitated as she handed over the files, studying him. "You're working too hard."

"Nature of the beast. It's always rough transitioning new members to the team."

"Shouldn't Matthew be transitioned by now?" She perched on the corner of his desk, and his eyes followed the rise of her hemline.

"Well, one would hope. I'm afraid Norah spoiled us."

Cecily laid a hand over his. "It must be doubly hard on you, losing your partner and your girlfriend. You were such a good team."

For just a second, something like remorse flickered over his face. "Yeah, we were."

"You've been so busy picking up the slack, I'm sure you haven't had any chance to even think about yourself and your life outside the company." She edged around the desk, into his space.

Pierce watched her, his eyes sharpening. "Not so much."

"Must be lonely."

"I do find I could do with some company."

She reached out and fingered his tie. "You'd probably work much more efficiently with some stress relief."

And Pierce, damn him, laid a hand on the length of thigh bared by her too short skirt. "Undoubtedly. But I thought you weren't interested."

"I was never not interested. But you weren't available before. And then I thought you needed some time on your own. A girl's gotta be sensible, even with a catch as...impressive as you. Besides, I wasn't even sure I was your type." She jerked a shoulder in lazy shrug that caused the neckline of her blouse to gape.

Pierce's eyes immediately went to the hint of lace beneath and his hand began to knead at her thigh. "Brunette and brilliant? You're absolutely my type."

"I also had to figure out if you were my type."

"And what type is that?"

With a half smile, she grabbed the tie and began to work it lose on every word. "Sexy, handsome, powerful." Tugging him forward until his mouth almost met hers. "A hint of bad boy." She pulled the tie loose and tossed it behind her, nudging him back in his chair.

"Bad boy, huh?"

"Mmm yeah. I've got that fantasy. Lots of girls do." Cecily ran one foot up the inside of his thigh to stroke him through his pants. Pierce jerked, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair.

Smiling and in complete control, Cecily moved forward to straddle him. "The bad ones really turn me on. Especially the really smart bad ones. And I have a feeling that you're one of the exceptionally clever bad boys." She leaned into him and whispered something in his ear that had his hands tightening on her ass, pressing her closer.

"Tell me how bad you really are, Pierce. I can make it really good for you."

"I'm amazing at taking companies with bad press and making the public love them."

Cecily made a moue of disappointment. "I already _know_ that. Tell me something I don't know. Tell me a _secret._ "

He started talking, mentioning different accounts and clients he'd worked with, who he'd snowed, how. Cecily proceeded to gradually undress him, touching, stroking, arousing with each secret he revealed.

Norah felt sick.

"I was always jealous Norah got to do those things with you. It's so freaking hot."

"Norah didn't have the stones for it. She was such a Pollyanna, thinking she could be a success in this business being nice. That naive goodness has its place and it totally worked for certain clients, but she never stepped a toe out of line. Not like you. Jesus, Cecily, the things we could do together." He kissed his way down her throat and the camera caught her eye roll.

"But what about all those allegations of professional misconduct your dad made?"

Down to his boxers, Pierce lifted her onto the desk, stepped between her thighs and began to pull off her blouse. "Insurance. Revenge. Whatever you wanna call it. He's pissed that the firm lost a whale of a potential client to her."

"Really? Who?"

"That big real estate development corporation he's had Matthew working on. Peyton Consolidated. Out of Denver."

_Oh God,_ Norah thought. _Cecily was right._

Pierce kissed a trail down Cecily's collarbone, down toward her lace-covered breasts. "Don't know why the CEO was so hell bent on having Norah. Between that and the other accounts that walked after she left, he had to take drastic measures to protect our remaining client base. What better way to cover our asses than pin it all on her? No way to prove it one way or the other, and we've got the strength of the company behind us. What does she have?"

A door burst open. "The word you're looking for there is loyalty," Christoff said from off camera. "Show's over."

Braced above Cecily, Pierce froze.

"Thanks so much for your cooperation," she said with an innocent smile, and drove her knee into Pierce's groin.

He collapsed to the floor with a series of wheezing curses as she stepped away and began calmly buttoning her shirt. "You bitch. I'll have your job for this. Both of you." Pierce continued to spew threats and invective as he clutched his crotch and tried to get to his feet.

"Oh no." Christoff moved into the line of sight and put an arm around Cecily. "If you or your father lay a hand on either of us, physical or otherwise, the video of that confession is set to go live on every video hosting site, SEO optimized for maximum impact. Pretty sure you don't want any of those clients getting wind of your shenanigans. Now, you're going to issue a retraction countering every single email or phone call your father sent, denying Norah's involvement and clearing her good name, _and_ you will convince your father to settle the lawsuit with a generous severance package for the shit you put her through. You have forty-eight hours."

Pierce stared at him, murder in his eye. "Norah would never condone blackmail."

Christoff's grin was just a little feral. "Of course she wouldn't. But thanks to you and your father, she's not here to stop us, now is she? Believe me, honey, nobody has a finer-tuned sense of revenge than a gay man. You'll find our resignations on my desk outside. C'mon Cecily."

The video stopped.

"And sadly, I will not win the Tony Award I so richly deserve for that performance."

"Maggie the Cat ain't got nothing on you," Christoff assured her.

For a few moments, Norah couldn't speak. "Well, I see that your TaeBo classes paid off." She loosed a shuddering breath trying to shake off the skeevy sensation along her skin. "That was... I can't believe...Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Norah started around the table to check Cecily over, as if it had just happened.

"I'm _fine._ He didn't do a thing to me that four scalding showers didn't cure. He didn't lay a hand on me that you didn't see."

"We saw enough," Norah said.

"The point is, so did he. He did what we asked. Here are copies of the retractions." Christoff handed over a file.

Norah just set it on the table without looking.

"I'm pretty sure what you did was highly illegal," Cam observed.

"Our ass is covered. They won't risk the reputation of the whole firm over this. They'll settle out of court."

Cecily took Norah's hands. "Say something."

"What you did was reckless, dangerous, unethical...and if it had gone another way, you could've faced criminal charges. You shouldn't have risked that for me. Not to mention that you both lost your jobs over it."

"Correction, we both _quit_ our jobs over it," Christoff said. "We figure you were our supervisor and will give us amazing recs when we need them. And that aside, we couldn't just stand by and let them keep trying to ruin you. You're worth so much more than that."

Norah felt her eyes prick with tears. "Y'all, I just can't even..."

"You should call your attorney," Cam said.

"I'm afraid to. If any of this comes out, I should probably maintain plausible deniability."

Christoff checked his watch. "Well we're closing in on forty-two hours now, so you ought to be hearing from your attorney soon anyway."

As if conjured by his words, a phone began to ring. She looked to Christoff. "You're performing voodoo, aren't you? Making deals with sketchy deities. Crossroads demons?"

Christoff only grinned.

But it was Cam's phone. "Avery, what's the update?" He listened for a minute, then nodded. "We're on it."

"Problem?" Norah asked.

"Nope." He broke into a wide grin. "We did it. Forty-eight signatures over our threshold. It's time to validate."

# Chapter 24

SPEAKEASY SHOULD'VE BEEN CLOSING. After nine on a weeknight, downtown Wishful should've been deserted.

It wasn't.

Cars lined the streets and lights blazed, cheerful beacons in the dark as Norah climbed out of Cam's truck. Exhaustion would set in soon, but for the moment, hunger and anticipation were keeping her going. Cam, Avery, and Sandra joined her and strode toward the pizzeria, where the vast majority of the coalition was waiting for the final ruling on the petition. Judge Carpenter had been kind enough to make it after business hours.

Tucker shoved open the door as soon as they approached. "Well?"

"Let us get in the door," Cam said.

By tacit agreement, the others hung back, letting Norah inside first at the head of their little group. She wasn't about to complain about the spotlight. At their appearance, Tyler let out a two-finger whistle that silenced the crowd and drew every eye to the front. Expression sober, Norah scanned each face, absolutely playing the room, drawing out the tension until she could've heard a pin drop. These were her troops, the people who'd made this happen, so it was pure pleasure to drop the mask and shoot up a fist of triumph. "We got it!"

Cheers nearly blew off the roof.

"The vote is officially set for a week from today!"

A stampede of well-wishers crowded around, shaking hands, slapping backs, giving hugs. Norah's heart swelled at the praise and compliments. In the wake of the nasty from Chicago, she needed that.

As they made their way through the impromptu receiving line, she saw Cam make a face as he got a gander at his own brand of nasty in the form of a smirking Vick Burgess. This was the last place Norah expected to see Cam's nemesis, and she braced herself for some kind of ugliness.

"Coming over to the Good Side or did you just have a hankering for pepperoni pizza tonight?" Cam asked.

"Oh, I'm just enjoying the party. It's the last one y'all will have. This is a delay tactic, like everything else you've pulled. The popular vote will come down exactly the way the City Council decision did. And all this time and effort will have been wasted when GrandGoods moves forward exactly as planned."

Norah joined them, curling her hand through Cam's. "There's something y'all evidently didn't factor into that assumption, Mr. Burgess."

"And what is that?"

"That the land GrandGoods planned to buy, the parcel tied to the special use permit, is no longer for sale."

"If Mr. Costello is holding out for more money, I'm sure GrandGoods is open to negotiation"

Norah offered her most patronizing smile. "Mr. Costello is no longer the owner. I am. And I can assure you, I'm _not_ open to negotiation."

Watching that blow hit home was almost as satisfying as seeing Judge Carpenter sign off on the referendum.

"This is our town, Vick," Cam told him.

No longer smirking, Vick shrugged. "It's no matter. The size cap won't pass. People here want more options and GrandGoods is going to give that to them." Without another word, he shouldered his way through the crowd.

"I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he breaks that news to Bill Sutto." Their in-house marketing guru couldn't fix this.

"You and me both."

Molly appeared and slipped an arm through Norah's. "Well, it is a delightful thing to see him lose his swagger. Now, tell me what you have planned to kick his ass from here into next century."

Norah opened her mouth to expound on exactly that, but Cam interrupted. "Nope. Not tonight. If you get her started, she'll go past midnight. War council can wait until tomorrow. Tonight is for much deserved celebration. And pizza."

"There should always be pizza." Her stomach growled, underscoring the point. "Go grab a slice. I want to go talk to Christoff and Cecily."

Cam brushed a kiss across her brow and wove toward the buffet.

"I'm glad you worked it out," Molly said.

"So am I. He's totally worth the fight."

"You suit each other down to the ground. You need someone who can appreciate and support your strengths without being intimidated or feeling the need to compete. And he needs someone to push him."

"We balance each other."

"Partners." Molly patted her on the shoulder and disappeared in the crowd.

Norah's friends were perched at a high-top table observing the proceedings with a mixture of amusement and fascination. "Feel like you're on an alien planet yet?"

"I think it's marvelous," Cecily said. " _Everybody_ here knows who you are. How cool is that?"

"I'm pretty sure I dropped into an episode of _Hart of Dixie_ and Dr. Zoe Hart is going to be sashaying through the door any minute now," said Christoff.

"That's Alabama, sugar."

"Sugar! We all know I'm anything but sweet."

"That is entirely a matter of perspective. What y'all did for me was pretty damned sweet."

"It was pretty damned something, but I don't think sweet is it," Cecily said. "Either way, we felt it was necessary, even if it meant doing a little wrong to right a bigger wrong."

Norah was trying not to think about the potential fallout of their actions, so she changed the subject. "So what's next for the two of you? Are you planning to stay in Chicago?"

"I haven't decided yet. Chicago was fun, but I think I could do with a change of scenery," Christoff said.

"I'm definitely _not_ staying in Chicago after graduation in May. But I'm not sure what's next either."

"Don't you still need internship hours?"

"I do." All innocence, Cecily turned to Norah. "I was hoping you could help me out with that. Pretty please?" Hands in prayer position, she batted her clear green eyes.

"You know I'll help however I can. But I'm not coming back to Chicago except to pack up all my stuff and finish moving here."

"I could help you here. Surely there's something with this whole coalition thing I could do."

"I would adore having your help. But we can't afford to pay you. I'm not getting paid on this either."

"So? Not everybody has paid internships to begin with. I had enough overtime with Helios since you left that I can cover my expenses for a while, and it wouldn't be a big deal to sublet my half of the apartment. Cost of living here is bound to be a fraction of what it is in the city. What do you say? I could stay here and finish out the semester working for you."

To have part of her team back was an absolute dream. "We'd have to clear it with your advisor at school, make sure they're okay with the change, but yeah. I'd absolutely love to have you."

"Awesome! Christoff, you should come, too."

"Darling, can you really imagine me _here_ for any length of time? I mean, it's charming, but..."

She nudged his shoulder. "It'd give you a chance to get to know the cute barista we saw earlier today."

He angled his head in consideration. "Well, I could at least stick around until this vote is over. Seems like you need all the help you can get."

"That we can," Norah said. "I've got a presentation about my rural tourism campaign for Wishful that would really benefit from y'all's input."

They lost themselves in the familiar and comfortable rhythm of shoptalk as she outlined her main concepts. It felt amazing to have the give and take, other brains that knew how hers worked and sparked new ideas in an instant.

"So are we agreed for now?" Norah asked. "The Dream Team back together again for this one last project?"

"I'm in." Cecily stuck her hand out over the table.

"Oh, what the hell." Christoff added his hand to the mix.

Norah covered them both with her own hand and squeezed. "I'm so glad the two of you are here."

Her phone vibrated. Wondering who was calling so late when everyone she knew was here, she slipped it out. And promptly lost all sense of pleasure when she saw her attorney's name on the display. Instinctively she looked for Cam. He was across the room in deep conversation with Tucker and Tyler. The phone buzzed again. She'd find him after.

"Excuse me, I need to take this." Norah answered, "Hang on just a sec," and hurried outside, away from all the noise. "Sorry about that, Marcus."

"I'm interrupting."

"No, you're not. Really. What's up? It's awfully late for you to be calling." _Please God, don't let them be in trouble._

"It is, and I'm sorry about that. But there's been a...development."

"A development?"

"One I think you definitely need to hear about."

_Oh no._ She wrapped her free hand around the back of a bench, clenched it until her knuckles turned white.

"I heard from Helios' attorney. It seems they've had a change of heart from their original position."

"Oh?" She hoped she didn't squeak.

"They're offering a settlement. A severance package of six months' salary, plus all your legal fees."

"That's better than nothing, but six months' salary isn't going to help me if no one will hire me because of the damage to my reputation," she said.

"That's where it gets interesting. I have, in my hands, documented retractions and a glowing letter of recommendation for you, signed by Philip Vargas himself."

"That's...I don't even know what to say. Is it legit?"

The door opened behind her. She knew without turning that it was Cam.

"It's a hell of an offer. You could take it to trial and hold out for more money in damages, but I'm not sure you'd get anywhere, and it might destroy whatever temporary insanity possessed him to make this offer."

Cam moved in behind her, grasping the bench on either side. She leaned into him but didn't release her hold.

"Yeah, no, I agree. Let's take it."

"Okay. I'll make it happen, get the settlement paperwork in the mail ASAP."

"I'll look for it in the next few days. Thanks Marcus." She hung up, shifting to slide the phone into her pocket.

"You're shaking."

"Shock, I think." The long, slow exhale didn't help. "It's over."

When she said nothing else, Cam turned her to face him. He was braced for the worst, prepared to be her rock.

"And?"

"Helios is going to settle. Six months' salary and attorney's fees, plus documented retractions of all allegations. Marcus said I could hold out for more in damages, but..."

"That's not what this is about for you."

"No. It's so much more than I'd hoped for." Her throat tightened as all the stress and strain of the past weeks came to a head. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking harder as she dropped her head to his chest.

Cam gathered her in, stroking her back in that way he had of soothing. But it wasn't tears that spilled out between her fingers, it was laughter.

She lifted her head and reached to frame his face. "Oh my God. Cam! Their lunatic plan worked! I'm getting my reputation back!"

Fueled by boundless relief and joy, she cut off whatever congratulatory remark he started to make, with an enthusiastic kiss. Dropping back to her feet, she beamed. "I don't know what to do with myself. If I wasn't so damned tired, I'd turn cartwheels."

"Well," Cam said, a trifle breathless, "as it happens we're at a party, so I say we celebrate."

After attempting one last head count of the people lining the bleachers in the community center, Cam went in search of the lady of the hour. He found her in a huddle with Cecily and Christoff—her default position the last several days. After the last few months, he'd thought he'd known what Norah was like when she brought her A game. Having her team back showed him exactly how wrong he was. The three of them had a kind of synergy that was a pleasure to watch. They'd turned the Chamber of Commerce press conference about the referendum into an event that drew media—print, TV, and radio—from all over the state, even a few from neighboring Alabama, Louisiana, and Tennessee. Their David vs. Goliath fight was making regional headlines. In the few days since, the coalition had been contacted by other small Southern towns interested in learning from Wishful's example.

"—not coming tonight, but whenever he makes it down for the initial business meetings with the city, I want to introduce you both," Norah said. "Gerald wants me and my skills, and you're an extension of that in the best possible way. I think Peyton Consolidated could be a good fit for you."

"I certainly won't turn down the connection," Christoff said. "I could learn to ski."

"Has Peyton figured out that if he gives you an inch, you'll take a mile?" Cam asked.

"He hasn't complained yet." Norah moved toward the gymnasium doors with her team at her back. "What's the crowd like?"

"It's standing room only in there. Lotta people came out."

"Good. We'll need them all." Turning to Christoff and Cecily, she put out a hand. "All in." They layered their hands over hers. She looked at Cam, expectant, so he added his to the pile. "Let's lock and load, people." They broke formation, and she stepped into the roar of voices without a backward glance.

The mob inside felt like loosely-controlled chaos to Cam. Too many bodies in one enclosed space, all of them talking. He was pretty sure this might be one of the circles of hell. As he tried to sort out the best means of calling their attention, Norah slid two fingers between her lips and let out a piercing whistle that left his ears ringing. Apparently Tyler had been giving lessons. The crowd silenced, all attention shifting to her.

"That's better."

With a friendly smile, Norah stepped up onto the low stage erected at one side of the room. After a brief glance at the podium, she kept in front of it, at ease and confident in a way Cam envied. He hated public speaking. No matter how often he did it, having to address more than half a dozen people made his skin crawl. She held no notes, no clicker to advance her slides, nothing to keep her hands occupied. Christoff was manning the laptop and projector, a feat he managed with alacrity, since the two could evidently share a mind meld at will.

"Thank y'all for coming out tonight. As you all know, tomorrow is the public referendum wherein the citizens of Wishful have the opportunity to cast their vote for or against a statute that would institute a size cap on businesses operating within its boundaries. I urge you all to uphold your civic duty and hit up the polls." She paused, scanning faces. "But that's not what we're here to talk about tonight."

The PowerPoint presentation popped up on the screen behind Norah, but she didn't give it a glance. "There's been a slow erosion of the tax base, of profit margins, of straight up population in Wishful for the last twenty or thirty years. What we're here to talk about is how it got that way and what we can do to stop it."

Quick and efficient, she spouted relevant statistics, citing the change in population and work force through various stages of the town's economic downturn as the furniture manufacturing industry, and all the peripheral manufacturing that went with it, moved elsewhere. The malaise that seemed to settle over the assembly was palpable. Cam knew her tactics, trusted they'd work, but he wasn't any more immune to the spell she was weaving than anyone else.

"Efforts have been made to recruit other industries that could piggyback on the existing infrastructure and workforce remaining from the manufacturing base. But Wishful is having to compete with larger micropolitans, like Lawley. And even if such an industry set up shop, they could leave. Exactly like Heirloom. And then where would Wishful be? Exactly where it is now. Maybe worse." She paused to take a sip of water and let that sink in.

"More recently there's been the issue of GrandGoods. A big box store that's made a lot of empty promises about the benefits it could bring to this community. Now it's true, if they came, there would likely be some possible short-term benefits. They agreed to contract for local labor to build the store, to use local suppliers for materials where possible. They've even agreed to pay for the necessary infrastructure upgrades to accommodate the exponential increase in traffic and utilities. But that's a slippery slope. Once a place like GrandGoods gains a foothold, then come other chains. Big businesses that don't know us, don't care about us, and don't add value to the quality of life in this town. With that comes the same kind of sprawl, traffic congestion, environmental degradation, loss of community, and the economic and social segregation that's seen nationwide. And that's touted by many as progress." Her eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with a disdain that had the crowd shifting.

"But I'm here to present to you a different vision of progress. One that plays to Wishful's strengths. The solution lies not in bringing in outsiders to save the town but in leveraging the resources the town already has."

The first glimmer of positive had the crowd's focus sharpening. Bodies leaned forward, attentive.

_Reel them in, sweetheart._

"So we're a little caught in the past. We can play to that. Focus on the glory of bygone days and ramp up the nostalgia. Wishful is a little slice of Southern Americana. A place where people can come and remember what life used to be like. A place that's about community and, most of all, about family." Cam saw her search out Miranda's parents and nod. "It's something that people in this country so desperately long for in a society that's over-connected and simultaneously as isolated as it's ever been. Wishful is a place that can remind people of what's really important in life. It can give the most vital resource and commodity of all: hope. Because Wishful is the town where hope springs eternal. Literally. And we can capitalize on that with a fully developed rural tourism campaign."

Listening to her outline the concept, the assets already in place, and how they might be utilized, Cam recognized the disservice he'd done when he'd pushed her into a quick and dirty presentation for the Council. This was so much more full-bodied and emotionally-charged. All around the room, he could see and sense the tide turning, exactly as she'd said it would.

"Rural tourism has positive benefits for the economy. Most of the revenue generated from outside visitors would stay within the local economy—unlike GrandGoods, whose profits would be returned to the parent company and spent on foreign suppliers. Beyond the gains from direct sales of goods and services to visitors, tourism creates new jobs within the community, which helps prevent population drift and maintains the tax base. Income derived from tourism can help maintain and improve local infrastructure and services, which in turn, improves the quality of life for the community at large. Rural tourism also promotes environmental conservation and protection. GrandGoods came here planning to buy Abe Costello's land and build their store right on the shores of Hope Springs, one of Wishful's greatest assets. Well, that's not going to happen. I believe so much in what we're trying to accomplish here that I bought it myself. The property will be donated to the city with express instructions that it be preserved and cultivated into a public park that will benefit locals and tourists alike. Landscape architect Campbell Crawford is here to present the design."

Norah stepped back, arms open to welcome him onto the stage. With a bracing breath, Cam joined her. Feeling the weight of so many eyes, he wished desperately for something to do with his hands. He took up a position behind the podium and gripped the edges to keep from shoving them in his pockets.

"Those of you who know me know I've wanted to put a park out at Hope Springs for years. I've toyed with the design off and on, but I never truly thought I'd get the opportunity to make it a reality."

He shared a long look with Norah that had his nerves smoothing out. She'd done this as much for him as for the town. She'd given him this dream and inspired bigger ones.

"Tonight, I'd like to give the rest of you a glimpse into that reality."

Behind him, the screen flashed to the first of his slides, and the crowd burst out with audible ooos and ahhs. Through some serious graphic design mojo, Cecily had turned his concept renderings into art that the audience could almost step right into. And that was why someone, someday, was going to pay her the big bucks.

Cam lost himself in the presentation after that, taking his audience on a virtual tour of the park that would both enhance and respect the environmental integrity of his favorite place on earth. By the time he handed the reins back to Norah, he held the assembly in almost as much awe as she did.

"Thanks Cam. That'll be beautiful." She waited for him to step down before she continued. "Now I know this may seem pretty out there to some of you, but the fact is that successful small-town development has mostly shifted away from traditional strategies and is now being driven by smaller, local efforts, with a very inward focus. Those towns that have managed to reinvent themselves aren't focused on luring huge corporations that could pick up and leave exactly as Comfort Coil and Heirloom Home Furnishings did. While funding may be national, regional, or state level, the knowledge base and the action is very much local. Small towns are the heart of the South. While other parts of the country are trying to recover a sense of pedestrian scale and small town life, Wishful is right here with all these qualities intact—just waiting for revitalization. The success of such a revitalization will be as a result of historic preservation, sustainable new development and planning. There has, up to this point, been a significant lack of technical planning skills and resources in city government. That's not meant as a criticism of the system, but a statement of fact. The world has changed and Wishful hasn't had the economic resources or support needed to change with it.

"That changes today. I stand before you as an authorized representative of Peyton Consolidated. Through their non-profit arm, Peyton Consolidated has been at the helm of numerous urban renewal projects around the country." Behind her, the slides flashed by as she listed each, showing the dismal befores and the astonishing afters. "With Wishful, Peyton Consolidated wants to expand its mission to include the revitalization of small town America. The Mayor's Office has been provided with a Memorandum of Understanding from Peyton Consolidated, outlining, in very clear terms, the funding and resources the company is prepared to leverage in support of this venture. In addition, Wishful has been presented with a mentorship agreement with Balenmore, Colorado, a small-town that's made rural tourism a rousing success. They're eager to partner with us in order to help us realize our own rebirth."

Norah spread her hands, the picture of transparency. "There are no strings here. No hidden agendas. Just the support and resources Wishful needs to bring itself back to life. So think about what you want Wishful to be. Another cookie-cutter, homogenized town, with no cultural identity. Or a beacon of hope in a world where that's an increasingly rare commodity. The future and the decision are in your hands. Please remember that as you head to the polls tomorrow. Thank you."

Thunderous applause followed her off the stage and trailed them out the door into the hall.

"You nailed that."

Norah slipped her hand in his. " _We_ nailed that."

"You ever think about going into politics? You'd be great at it. Eloquent. Magnetic. Persuasive."

She shuddered. "No thank you. I'll leave that to you and your mom."

"I'm pretty sure all of them would follow you into war." He tugged her to a stop and pulled her up against him. "I know I'd follow you anywhere."

"Well they don't have to go to battle, just to the polls. Let's hope they turn out in droves and vote the way we want."

# Chapter 25

"IT'S A REALLY IMPORTANT vote today. We've got volunteer-driven Pollmobiles running in every voting precinct in town until the polls close tonight at nine, so we're expecting unprecedented turnout."

Cam did his best to keep his eyes on the reporter interviewing him rather than letting them stray to the enemy camp set up at the other end of the green, but it was a tough thing. The bright orange tents emblazoned with the GrandGoods logo screamed _look at us!_ So did the steady stream of people circulating through them.

"Tell us what the store size cap would mean for Wishful."

He explained the proposed statute as simply and briefly as he could, thinking Norah would've done it with more flare. But the reporter had wanted someone from city government and his mother was MIA at the moment.

When he finished, the reporter turned to her cameraman. "Nearly every business in town is displaying posters in support of the size cap, and as you can see from the sea of red YES caps behind me, the proposed law has a lot of supporters. We'll be back this evening with an update on this important referendum. WTVA News. Deanna Fossett reporting."

Cam didn't get to drop his public face once the camera stopped rolling. They needed the press on their side, so he added a layer of charm to go with the serious. "We appreciate y'all coming out to cover this. Can we offer you some coffee? It's fresh from The Daily Grind."

"Love some," Deanna said.

He directed them into the command center tent the Chamber of Commerce had set up at the fountain end of the green. Inside, Norah was running things with her usual efficiency. Behind her, a markerboard held a running tally of total number of voters going through each polling station. It was being updated on the hour. A few hundred so far, but it was early yet. The real rush would be during the lunch hour and after five.

"How did the interview go?"

"Fine. You'd have been better."

Norah waved that off. "They'll probably do an update for the noon news, the five o'clock slot, and preliminary results for the ten. We'll see if we can't slot your mom in for at least one of those. Maybe Molly for another."

"What are we going to do about GrandGoods?"

"I've sent spies to find out exactly what they're up to."

"Spies? I'm afraid to ask."

"Who do you think volunteered for that task?"

"Cassie. She's not what you call subtle."

"Neither is Mamie, who went with her. But this isn't full scale espionage. It's just two members of the public cruising through some public event they've got going on."

Those same two members came into the command center at a hustle, not a pace Cam generally associated with Mamie. Cassie was practically bouncing, and Mamie's bouffant trembled with her agitation.

While the older woman caught her breath, Cassie saluted. "Agents Callister and Landon reporting."

"I've really got to get you walkie talkies." Norah laughed. "Report in."

"They're giving away free stuff."

"Like koozies, pens, hats?"

"And t-shirts, yeah. But they're also giving away store memberships and discounts that can be used at any existing store."

Norah frowned. "Are they asking for anything in return?"

"Just that people hit up the polls, same as us. They're not even asking for proof in advance."

"Did they indicate there's some limit to the number of memberships? Like the first fifty people or whatever?"

"No limit," Mamie said. "They said they want to support the community and are willing to give out free memberships to back that up. The only thing they're having people do is show they have a Wishful address. I got a membership myself. Don't have a clue what I'll do with it when they don't come, but I didn't figure it'd hurt anything."

"They're also giving out free pastries," Cassie added. "Store bought, of course."

"Oh, hell no." Carolanne joined the conversation from where she'd been helping coordinate Pollmobile service. "We can do better than that. Give me a team, and I'll bring my entire inventory out for the cause."

"Do it." Norah called in half a dozen volunteers and dispatched them to Sweet Magnolias.

Once they'd gone, Cam did the math. "At, what, fifty bucks a membership, with a potential for up to maybe a couple thousand people. That's a hundred grand loss right there. Plus whatever they've put into their branded merchandise."

"A hundred thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket for a company like that. They'd make exponentially more than that if they secured a place in the region. Plus, if they _don't_ end up coming, they haven't truly lost that much because many of those people won't ever go to one of the other GrandGoods stores before the annual membership expires. It's a smart tactic."

The whole thing had Cam worried.

As usual, Norah read him like a book. She moved in, slipping her arms around his waist. "It will be all right. You just—"

"Have to have a little faith. I know. I've got all the faith in the world in you."

"Then it's time you put your faith in them." She nodded toward the masses.

That feat would've been considerably easier to accomplish had his nemesis not chosen that moment to stroll into the tent. Vick flashed his too white teeth like a shark. "Well good morning to you Councilman, Miss Burke."

"Burgess," Cam said.

"We're having a fine turnout to the polls and an exceptional response to our promotion. Why, everybody's jumping at the chance for a free year's membership to GrandGoods. We've given away six hundred memberships already today."

A number almost equal to the last hour's tally at the polls. It didn't mean anything. Logically, Cam knew that. There'd be people who'd take the deal and vote for the size cap anyway. There would likely even be people who'd take the membership and not vote at all. But some would feel that psychological contract and vote in favor of the store. The question was how many would be wooed.

"It's still early. There are nearly three thousand more people who can vote in this town. And I promise you, the majority won't care about GrandGoods' empty promises."

Vick shook his head in pity. "When are you going to get it through your head, Crawford? GrandGoods is going to be good for this town."

"They've certainly been good to you, haven't they, Vick?" Sandra stepped into the tent, trailed by a handful of other people. Leigh Billingsly, the City Comptroller, looked pissed. Jay Quimby, the resident tech guru, looked smug. Officer Judd Hamilton looked deceptively at ease, but beneath the calm exterior, Cam recognized the same coiled readiness for action he'd displayed on the defensive line of the Wishful Stars football team back in high school. Not until the appearance of Chief Curry, bringing up the rear, did Vick's confident expression falter.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, innocence with a layer of affront.

"Well, you know how we've been doing system upgrades at City Hall the last couple of weeks?" Sandra asked. "Jay, here, found some...concerning emails on your computer."

"Email is private."

"In fact, it's not. Everything you do on your work computer is technically the business of the city since your business is to help _run_ the city. So imagine our surprise when Jay brought to our attention a string of emails between you and Bill Sutto, making it clear that you've been taking kickbacks from GrandGoods."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Vick began to tug at his collar.

Cam was dimly aware that everyone in the tent had fallen silent, watching the show.

"Turns out, that was plenty of evidence for Judge Carpenter to let us subpoena your bank records," Chief Curry said. "You've been a bad, bad boy, Vick. Our forensic accountant is still going through it to determine the total amount, but at first pass, it looks like, in addition to getting all cozy with GrandGoods, you've embezzled over a hundred thousand dollars from the city."

"This is ludicrous!"

"What's ludicrous is the fact that you are sworn to work in the best interests of this town and its people, and instead you've been abusing your position to line your own pockets." Sandra's voice crackled with temper.

"Victor Burgess, you're under arrest." Chief Curry nodded to Judd, who grabbed Vick's arm, twisting it with a little more force than necessary as he cuffed the older man.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..." Chief Curry finished reading Vick his rights, then he and Judd marched him out of the command center.

That was when Cam realized the camera was rolling and WTVA News had caught the whole thing.

"This is Deanna Fossett, live with a WTVA News exclusive. In a shocking turn of events here in the tiny town of Wishful, where a David versus Goliath battle is being waged over store size caps at the polls today, City Planner Victor Burgess, local champion of GrandGoods and the big box store movement, has just been arrested. Burgess stands accused of taking kickbacks from GrandGoods and embezzling more than a hundred thousand dollars from the city. Mayor Crawford, what do you have to say?"

Deanna tipped her microphone to Sandra, who blinked at the camera. Cam recognized the look on her face as she choked down the more profane remarks that weren't appropriate for addressing the public.

"We are deeply disappointed in the actions of the City Planner. His greed has impacted this city in ways we're only beginning to understand. He has been removed from his position, effective immediately."

"Does this impact the vote today?"

Cam stepped in to take that one. "The vote will continue. The legislation on the ballot today is not specific to GrandGoods, but will impact all future commercial development in the area. We still encourage everyone to make it to the polls today. And we hope that they'll all look at this situation and recognize the cost of doing business with big box stores before they cast their vote for the future of our town."

"There you have it, folks. The vote continues. This reporter will certainly be interested to see how this battle shakes out in the end." She made a slashing motion, and the camera stopped rolling "Well, nobody can say y'all are dull!"

Norah slipped her hand into his. "Nice save. I couldn't have said it better myself."

"I've been paying attention."

"If we could've tailor made a blow to GrandGoods and their position, I'm not sure we could've done better than this."

"That was all you. We wouldn't have known to look if you hadn't noted those discrepancies in the city financial records."

Sandra laid a hand on her shoulder. "Wishful owes you a debt. For so many things."

Norah smiled. "Just doing what I can to help. Speaking of—" She turned to the still silent crowd gathered in the command center. "Okay people, that was news. I know some of you were snapping pictures and taking video. Pull out your phones and share it! Facebook. Twitter. Text. Somebody get over to Dinner Belles and get Mama Pearl on it. And find Cassie and get things moving over at The Grind. I want every gossip tree in this town singing!"

The polls were closed. The command center had been broken down and packed up. GrandGoods and their tents were gone. In the wake of allegations about offering kickbacks, Bill Sutto hadn't been available for comment to the press, which had swarmed downtown after footage of Vick's arrest had aired. The remaining GrandGoods employees had looked shell shocked, with nothing more to say than "No comment." Norah and Molly had jumped into the void, talking and talking to get the coalition's message out. And if Norah had used every skill and resource she had to make certain that the news of GrandGoods' less than above board tactics was spread far and wide, she felt not a shred of remorse.

But it was Vick's arrest that remained the hot topic of conversation among the locals. According to the gossip mill, his wife Rebecca was filing for divorce. Judge Carpenter had set bail. Some folks thought it was unnecessarily high, but his wife was one of Rebecca's best friends. Given that Vick's assets were frozen, pending the findings of the forensic accountant, he was still cooling his heels in a cell. Rumor had it there was collusion to make sure he stayed there until all his stuff could be packed up and his ass kicked out of the house. Small town justice at its finest.

Everybody but the die-hards had gone home after the exceptionally long day. Three months of almost non-stop action came down to the results of this night. Those remaining had camped out at the Mudcat Tavern to wait for the referendum results.

Norah hated waiting. Too keyed up to sit, she'd been pacing for the last forty-five minutes. The City Council had gone into an emergency closed session to discuss the ramifications of Vick's actions, so she hadn't seen Cam in hours. It felt wrong that he shouldn't be by her side for the announcement of the results, when they'd been in this together from the beginning.

Miranda stepped into her path, a long neck bottle held out.

"I don't want a drink."

"It's either this or I'm finding a tranquilizer dart. You're wearing a hole in the floor."

Norah took the beer.

"It's going to be fine. Even if the store cap didn't pass, the City Council isn't going to do further business with GrandGoods after what they pulled."

Norah shook her head. "If the store cap didn't pass, GrandGoods will disavow all knowledge of the kickbacks and put it all on Sutto, claiming he acted on his own. He'll get fired as collateral damage, and they'll send some Honest Abe type with a list of concessions a mile long. We need this legislation."

"Disavow all knowledge?" Miranda snorted. "Are you an expert in corporate espionage now?"

"No, but if I ran their PR division, it's what I'd advise."

"If I were in their shoes, I'd cut my loses and get the hell out." Tipping back her beer, she studied Norah. "Speaking of running PR divisions. What was that whole deal at your presentation last night about being an authorized representative of Peyton Consolidated? I thought you weren't going to work for him."

"I'm not going to run his marketing department. But he needs someone local to liaise with the city, so he hired me on a freelance basis. Between that and the settlement from the lawsuit, I should be in okay shape until I sort out exactly what I'm really going to do for a living."

"Well you know I'm entirely in favor of keeping you as a roommate, if that's what you want. But you might have other plans on that front. It hasn't escaped my notice that you've been spending most nights at Cam's place."

In the wake of Chicago, they'd been reluctant to spend much time apart. "We haven't talked about what comes next."

Mitch swung an arm around Norah's shoulders. "Pretty sure the next steps are marriage and baby carriage. Isn't that how the rhyme goes?"

Norah laughed, figuring it was a sign of how far she'd come that neither idea sent her into a blind panic. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I was pretty sure he was going to with that crack he made at Grammy's," Miranda said. "'How's Saturday?' my ass. What would he have done if you'd said yes? You're probably the only woman in America who could legitimately plan a wedding in four days."

She'd have done it, too, if she'd thought he was serious. And wasn't that a surprise? But much as he loved his family, an offhand, casual question in front of all of them wasn't his style. If she'd felt just a little pang of regret, she chalked it up to impatience. They were totally fine where they were.

"Who's planning a wedding?" Cecily demanded.

Christoff made a show of picking up and staring at Norah's naked left hand.

Norah freed her hand. "Nobody's planning a wedding."

"Yet," sang Tyler as she strode by.

"You're all completely incorrigible. Regardless of the likelihood of those events—"

"Guaranteed," Miranda and Mitch chorused.

"—in the pretty immediate future, I need to go back to Chicago to finish closing out my apartment and get the rest of my stuff down here. It's a fact that there isn't room for all my stuff at his place. Or yours, for that matter. A lot of it is probably going into storage either way."

"Dibs on that tufted sofa with the scroll legs, if you're getting rid of it," Christoff announced.

"It would be a nightmare with dog hair, so it's all yours."

"Maybe you and Cam need to be thinking about y'all's place. You know I'd design you anything you want. And Lord knows, between the acreage he owns and your land out at Hope Springs, there's no end of pretty places to build a house."

"I hadn't thought about keeping any of it. You know, it's sad, but I've been so damned busy since I got back, I haven't even seen all of it yet."

"Well I reckon you ought to do that before you go donating every last square inch to the city. You could keep a fair chunk for yourself and still give over plenty for the park."

She wanted that, she realized—to walk her land with Cam and Hush and choose a piece to keep. It seemed like a good way to begin putting down those roots she so desperately wanted. Maybe they could manage a picnic over the weekend.

"The news is starting!"

Norah pivoted toward the nearest screen. Hissing admonishments swept the bar until the crowd quieted down. Adele turned up the TVs, all tuned to the same news station. They had to sit through reports of a string of robberies in Columbus, a warehouse fire in Tupelo, and a nasty four car pile-up in Lawley before the view finally shifted to Deanna Fossett outside City Hall.

As she recounted events from earlier in the day, Norah began to bounce on her feet. "C'mon, c'mon."

"The City Council is still in session and is not available for further comment. Elsewhere in City Hall, results are being tabulated for today's referendum ballot about retail store size caps here in Wishful. Poll workers report the biggest voter turnout in city history, with a whopping eighty-five percent of registered voters coming out to weigh in on the issue. We're still waiting to hear preliminary results."

"What is taking so damned long?"

"Paper ballots, sugar," Mitch murmured.

"It is not that hard to count to three thousand in an hour."

"Maybe it's really close and they wanted to double check," Cecily suggested.

Norah hoped to hell it wasn't that close.

"Oh, wait a second. Someone is coming out." Deanna hurried up the steps of City Hall to meet Sandra, and Norah could see the flurry of other reporters doing the same. "Mayor Crawford, what can you tell us about the referendum results?"

Norah reached for Mitch and Miranda's hands and found herself pulled backward against a long, hard body.

"You made it."

"Shh," Cam said.

"—were a lot of ballots to go through. Our team is busy recounting to verify the exact totals, but there is absolutely no question of the results. By an absolute landslide, the statute capping commercial spaces at 40,000 square feet has passed."

The whole place burst into cheers and applause. Several members of the coalition enthusiastically trumpeted with their noisemakers. Behind the bar, Adele and Joe popped the corks on bottles of champagne. And amid all the chaos, Norah held very still, soaking in the sounds of success, her smile spread so wide, she thought her face might crack.

Cam bent to her ear. "You did it, Wonder Woman."

She pivoted in his arms. " _We_ did it. With a whole lot of help."

Tucker bounced over, throwing his arms around both their shoulders. In a TV announcer's voice he said, "You two have just saved our town from the Big Bad Box Store! What're you gonna do now?"

Norah and Cam exchanged a look and a smile and answered together. "Sleep!"

# Chapter 26

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY weren't willing to put this off until tomorrow," Norah said. "We've been back in town, what? An hour and a half?"

"I don't set the schedule. I just show up when they tell me," Cam said, as they strode across the town green for a City Council meeting.

"I still don't understand why they wanted me there."

"Don't look at me. I've been in Chicago with you. It's not one of our regularly scheduled meetings. Nobody even sent me an agenda. Maybe they want you to liaise in your official capacity."

Norah scowled. "I could liaise a lot better if I were unpacked and settled. And if I'd _slept_ since December."

"Yeah the last three weeks haven't so much maintained our original impression of Wishful being a sleepy little town. On the plus side, nobody looking at you would know you'd been driving for the last seven hours."

Fifteen minutes locked in his bathroom and she'd erased the fatigue from her face and done something with her hair that made her look neat as a pin and ready for the boardroom. It was a fascinating form of female magic.

She brought a self-conscious hand to the twist at the base of her head. "Thank God my suits were in a box at the back of the truck."

"You shouldn't have worn a suit."

"Without knowing exactly what they want me for, a suit is a safer option. It's always better to be over-dressed than under-dressed. Besides, it was this or jeans, and I'm not going before the rest of the City Council in jeans. Especially not at what is evidently a public session."

"Yeah, but I won't be able to pay attention to a thing for imagining getting you out of it."

She slid him a look that was part exasperation, part heat. "Behave."

"Where's the fun in that?" He tugged open the door to the courthouse.

The halls were empty other than the security guard, George Buckley, one of Violet's brothers. An easy smile split his dark face. "Welcome back."

"Thanks, George. How's it looking in there?" Cam asked.

He and Norah walked through the metal detector, collecting their stuff on the other side.

"Pretty good crowd for a mid-afternoon session."

"Hopefully it'll be a quick one. It's been a long day." Cam escorted Norah to the main door of the courtroom. "This is where I leave you. I've gotta go in the other door."

"Where should I sit?"

"Somewhere down front." Cam kissed her quickly, resisting the urge to linger. "I'll see you on the other side."

Norah stepped through the door. Cam smiled to himself.

"She suspect anything?" George asked.

"Not a thing." She wasn't gonna know what hit her.

Cam hurried down the hall to join the rest of the City Council and his mother at the front of the courtroom. It wasn't as full as it had been for the vote on the special use permit, but still the floor level benches were pretty packed. Norah had found a spot on the second row beside Miranda and Piper. As Cam slid into his seat beside Ed, his mother rapped her gavel and brought the session to order.

"Thank y'all for joining us this afternoon. We'll jump straight on in. The forensic accountant has finished her investigation. The former City Planner did, indeed, embezzle $124,000 from city accounts over a period of several years. He has failed this city and is currently awaiting trial."

That spawned considerable murmured comment from the peanut gallery, but they quieted as Sandra continued. "The City Council has conducted its own investigation into how this egregious crime remained undiscovered for so long. Without getting into the long details, it boils down to antiquated record keeping and a perfect confluence of circumstances, such that those responsible for oversight were lax in their duties. I take responsibility myself for not being more diligent upon my return to office after my cancer treatment. That being said, a number of changes are being made moving forward to prevent something like this from ever happening again, not the least of which is a brand new electronic accounting system designed by Jay Quimby."

Sandra went on a bit longer about the rest of the changes and reiterated a policy of transparency to prevent mismanagement of city funds. "Further details are available for those who are interested. However, none of this is why we called this special session of the City Council."

As his mother surveyed her audience, Cam thought she'd been taking lessons from Norah on how to play the crowd.

"Four months ago, our town was struggling financially. Yes, at the civic level, some of that was because of the criminal actions of the City Planner. But even without that added burden, Wishful has been in a long-term economic decline for the last two decades. It seemed that the only way out of that was the recruitment of and dependency on some larger industry, like the ones the town was built around. When no opportunities of that nature became available, we were susceptible to the lure of promises made by GrandGoods, a big box store that would've changed our way of life."

She paused and shot a look in his direction. "Councilman Crawford was the lone voice of dissent. He made the unpopular choice, the hard choice, to do whatever he could to protect that which we hold dear. And in doing so, he brought in the assistance of a young woman with more grit, determination, and hope than any single person I've ever met."

Cam watched, fascinated and amused, as Norah actually sank lower in her seat, as if to shrink from all the eyes turned in her direction.

"She almost single-handedly revived the Chamber of Commerce. She was the primary force behind the founding of the citizen's coalition. At her request, we had a literal army of volunteers help makeover Main Street. As a result of her tireless efforts, we've seen a display of community spirit unrivaled in the last twenty-five years. Her Shop Local campaign has brought a forty percent increase in local revenues since its inception, and that number only seems to be going up. She is the brain behind the YES Cap campaign and one of the reasons this referendum saw record numbers at the polls. And, as if all that weren't enough for an entire team of people, when all seemed lost and everyone else gave up, she kept the faith and gave us the answer for how Wishful can save itself, complete with linkage to the resources to enable us to do exactly that. Norah Burke, can you please join us down front?"

Cheeks faintly flushed, Norah rose from her seat and edged into the aisle, looking a trifle embarrassed as she made her way through the gate from the visitors' gallery to stand in front of the Council.

"Norah, you have given of your expertise, your time, and your personal resources, all in the name of supporting this town you've decided to make your own. We owe you a debt that can never be properly paid because you cannot put a price on the gift of hope. But we came together today to honor you and your endless contributions to Wishful."

Sandra stepped down from the bench and brought her the engraved plaque, while the room erupted with applause. Cam's heart fairly burst with pride as Norah accepted it and then his mother's embrace. Sandra gestured to give Norah the floor.

With a helpless look at the audience, Norah lifted a hand to her cheek. "For probably the first time since any of you have known me, I don't know what to say."

A faint ripple of laughter swept through the assembly.

"Thank you. I'm so honored. But really this doesn't belong to just me. I might've had the ideas, but I couldn't have executed any of them without help from all of you. The success isn't mine, it's Wishful's."

"Well, we're glad to hear you say that," Hank said.

Norah turned back to face the Council.

"See, there's the matter of the vacancy in the City Planner's office," Grace said.

"And we can't think of anyone better suited to the job than you," Ed said.

Norah blinked. "You're...offering me a job?"

"Normally we'd do a formal interview, get references, the whole shebang," Sandra said. "But in this case, your actions over the last four months more than answer all our questions. You're smart, dedicated. You're above reproach. And you consistently put Wishful first. That's exactly what we want in a City Planner. We realize we've put you on the spot, so you don't have to give an answer right now. Take some time to think about it."

She turned her gaze on him, and Cam knew her answer even before she spoke it. "I don't have to think about it. Yes. There's nothing else I'd rather do."

"You totally knew they were going to do that." Norah poked an accusatory finger in Cam's arm.

He grinned, unrepentant, and draped an arm around her shoulders. "I totally did."

"Well, I'm glad I wore the suit since I was up there in front of _all those people_."

"You could've gone up there in shorts and a t-shirt and it wouldn't have diminished your accomplishments or how much we all appreciate them."

"Yeah, but the suit looks better in pictures."

"Can't argue with that."

"It was your idea to make me the new City Planner, wasn't it?"

"I might've put the bug in their ear when we were discussing qualifications for the position. But I couldn't have gotten you hired all on my own. The decision was unanimous. No contest. No discussion. You were made for this job."

"I think maybe I was."

"C'mon, I want to show you something." Cam steered her across the green, toward the fountain. "I've been instructed to inform you that the honors don't end with just a plaque."

"They don't?"

"Nope. You're getting a burger named after you at Dinner Belles. And Cassie is creating a drink in your honor for permanent inclusion on the menu at The Grind. The General Burke."

Norah gave a happy sigh. "You know, I have no idea what cockles are, but that just warms my heart all the way down to them."

"Pretty sure that makes you an official local. There's no getting rid of us now. We've got our hooks in you too deep."

"You had your hooks in me from day one. You and your silly dog."

"It was a masterful plan, if I do say so myself."

He pulled her to a stop beside the fountain, keeping her tucked close against his side. "What do you see?"

She looked but couldn't tell what it was he wanted her to home in on. "Did they clean it?" As far as she could tell, it still had the same patina of age it always had.

"Look closer."

Her gaze skimmed the edges, the base, the pool of water with its glinting treasure beneath. "I still don't know what you want me to see."

"Okay I'll chalk it up to the fact that you're wiped out. Here's a different question. What do you _hear?_ "

Norah listened closely. A faint breeze rustled the leaves of the massive oaks shading the green. Voices from people walking down Spring Street and Main carried back on the wind. And underneath it all, the soft burble of...water.

"It's running!" She could see it now, the faint trickle of water. Not a lot, but something where there'd been nothing for years.

"It is. I noticed it before we left for Chicago last week."

"Did they finally figure out what was wrong with it?"

Cam tugged the plaque from her hand and set it aside, pulling her to sit beside him on the fountain ledge. "Nobody's touched it."

"But it's running again. Why would it just spontaneously start up?"

"I have a theory." He said it in a tone that clearly expected skepticism.

"Lay it on me."

"Well, actually it was sort of your theory. Do you remember the day we made our wishes?"

"Sure. Hard to forget when I got my wish."

That distracted him. "What was it?"

"For my time here to show me what my path was, what I was meant to do. I'd say I pretty much got my answer today."

"I got the wish I made that day, too."

"Yeah? What was yours?"

"I wished for a miracle to save Wishful. We got you."

Norah's heart squeezed. "Cam. You are the sweetest thing." She leaned in, brushed her lips over his.

"Don't know that it's sweet if it's just plain truth."

"Flatterer." She settled back. "So what was your theory? Or my theory. Whatever."

"You said that the fountain dried up as hope in Wishful did. Over the last four months, you gave that back to us. You saved us in more ways than one. Me most especially." He leaned over and trailed his hand through the water, scooping a coin up from the bottom.

"What are you doing? You can't do that. That's somebody's wish."

"Sure I can. It's mine." He turned his hand over to show her. But it wasn't a coin in his palm. It was a ring. Diamond, flanked by sapphires and filigree. Gorgeous and sparkling in the late April sun.

Norah's throat closed up.

"I could've asked you that day at my grandmother's, but it was always meant to be here. Source of hope. Font of wishes." He took her limp hand in his and smiled. "I love you. I want to spend the next fifty or sixty years showing you how much while we build a life and a family together and keep right on saving this town, side by side. Say you'll grant me my wish and be my wife."

She swallowed hard. He was so steady, so perfect. So hers. It was worth every hour of work, every moment of frustration and doubt, every turn in her life, because all of it had brought her here, to him.

When she couldn't make a sound, she just nodded. Cam's fingers were warm and sure as he slipped the ring on her finger, then raised it to his lips.

Norah still didn't make a peep. She was positive if she opened her mouth, she was going to burst into happy tears.

"Wow, speechless twice in one day? That's got to be a new record."

That surprised a laugh out of her. "Don't get used to it."

He cupped her face and drew her close. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"I love you so much, Campbell."

When he kissed her, she tasted his smile, and it was sweet, as life was sweet.

"Let's go home before anybody sees us." He pulled her to her feet.

"What?" She laughed.

"Once this hits the wind, it'll take us five hours to cut loose, and I've got a mind to celebrate."

"I can't argue with that."

As they headed for his truck, Norah looked around at the town she'd adopted as her own and reflected that life would never be dull in the place where wishes came true.
Part II

# Know Me Well

## Wishful Romance, Book 3
_For Erica,_

_Because you said there weren't enough pharmacists as sheroes._

_P.S. You licked it, so that makes it yours._

_Love,_

_K_

# Chapter 1

RILEY GOWER HADN'T PLANNED on spending her anniversary surrounded by boxes of stock and empty shelves. From a business standpoint, the empty shelves were a good thing. It meant people were actually buying the products she carried, in addition to the medications kept behind the counter. In the year since she'd bought out her boss's share in Wishful Discount Drugs, that had often meant the difference between keeping the lights on and having to rob Peter to pay Paul. She was in the black—barely—and that merited celebration, albeit more of a chips and queso and margaritas at Los Pantalones variety than champagne and caviar.

Instead of celebrating, she was camped out filling shelves, well after the late summer sun had faded, because Ruby Fellowes, her cashier/stocker/order-taker/general-Jill-of-all-trades, who'd worked at the pharmacy since God was a boy, had taken off all week to help prepare for her niece's wedding. At her current rate, Riley would be lucky to eke out a half-assed celebration with the emergency bar of Toblerone in the vegetable drawer of her refrigerator before she fell into bed and passed out from sheer exhaustion.

"Happy businiversary to me," she muttered.

The butt busting was worth it, even if owning her own business felt a little more like prison than freedom at the moment. It meant she'd succeeded on her own terms, without a handout or a hand up from some man. Her success and its consequent stresses were hers and hers alone, and she couldn't put a price on the value of that.

As her phone rang out with the tones of "Crazy Train", all pleasure in her accomplishment bled away. She could ignore it, let the call go to voice mail. It might be nothing.

But long experience had her instincts tightening with dread. She knew it wasn't nothing. Bracing herself, Riley answered. "Hi Mom."

"Hey, baby." Sharilyn sounded tired, with that forced edge of cheer that made Riley's stomach curdle.

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Why should anything be wrong? Can't I call my only child to say hello?" She was talking too fast, too breezy, so Riley said nothing, just waited. At length, Sharilyn hiccuped and burst into tears. "Hal left me."

Riley repressed a curse and tried to find some sympathy. "I'm sorry, Mom."

Sharilyn launched into a diatribe about everything that had gone wrong on the multi-month cross-country RV trip she'd taken with her most recent beau. By the time her mother finally wound down and got the tears under control, a tension headache had sunk claws deep into Riley's scalp.

"I really am sorry." And some part of her was. Because her mother had truly believed Hal, like all his predecessors, was The One, and she'd given herself whole-heartedly to the relationship.

"It will be all right."

The note of determination creeping into Sharilyn's voice made Riley wonder whether she already had some other guy in mind to save her this time. Or was it to be Riley herself in the role of knight to her mother's damsel in distress? Riley's own armor was pretty damned battered after all these years.

"I need a favor, sweetie."

Wary, she asked, "What?"

"I'm out here all on my own and Hal didn't leave me with _anything._ "

_Don't say it_ , Riley thought. _Don't you dare say it._

"I need you to loan me some money."

_She said it._

Riley pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was she even calling it a loan? It wasn't like she'd paid back any of the _other_ loans Riley had made her over the years, when the boyfriend or husband _du jour_ turned out to be a shit and not interested in dealing long-term with the damsel in distress routine her mom had perfected. Christ, Riley had taken over the bill management in junior high school, started paying the mortgage her freshman year of college.

"Just enough to get me home," Sharilyn continued.

"Mom, did you forget you sold the house?"

"Of course I didn't. But Wishful is still home."

How could it still be home when she had nowhere to live here anymore?

"I thought I could stay with you for a while."

_Oh God_. Riley could actually feel the blood vessels behind her eyes threatening to burst.

"There's no room at my place, Mom. I don't even have a guest room."

"I could sleep on the couch. It'd just be for a little while. Until I get back on my feet."

Until she found another sugar daddy with a savior complex. A thump sounded from above, pulling her attention.

"Riley?"

"Hang on a sec." Straining, Riley listened harder, expecting scratching or other signs that squirrels or raccoons had taken up residence in the empty second floor of the building. But what she heard were clear footsteps. Person-sized footsteps.

"Mom, I need to go."

"But what about—"

"I'll wire you money for a bus ticket home." Never mind that it was her last $300. She couldn't leave her mother stranded in Timbuktu. "Text me where you are." Riley hung up before Sharilyn could say anything else. Striding across to the light switch, she flipped it off so she could see the street outside. The empty street.

Surely anyone with legitimate business up there would be parked out front. And what legitimate business could there be? The upstairs had been vacant forever.

She dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency?" Riley blessed the interconnected nature of small towns as she recognized the voice of the dispatcher.

"Janette, it's Riley Gower. I'm at the pharmacy after hours and there's an intruder upstairs."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. I've been stocking."

"Are the doors locked?"

"Yes."

"Okay you stay put. I'm sending somebody as soon as I can, but it might take a little bit. There's a pretty big domestic disturbance going on across town."

Assured someone was coming, Riley hung up and called Molly Montgomery. Her old boss still owned the building, so whatever was going on up there affected her. From behind the counter, she listened to the phone ring and watched the front windows, waiting to see one of the police cruisers along Pitts Street or a shadowy figure coming out of the alley. Nobody picked up. Riley opted not to leave a message until there was something more definitive to report. No reason to worry her unless something was really wrong.

In the silence, the ticking of the wall clock sounded almost as loud as the intermittent footsteps over her head. The intruder wasn't making any efforts to be quiet. There were no sounds of stuff being moved. Of course, there might not be any stuff to be moved.

Five minutes dragged into ten that seemed more like weeks. Still no police.

Riley was tired and edgy, and all she really wanted was to head home. But she couldn't just go with somebody up there. Somebody who was evidently in no particular hurry to leave.

Oh, for heaven's sake. This was Wishful, not the big city. Anybody looking for drugs would try to rob the pharmacy directly. It was probably kids, looking for...who knew what. Maybe some kind of love nest or a place to smoke. They'd be more scared of her than she was of them.

Riley swiped the counting spatula from behind the counter. It didn't have an edge and might have had more in common with a pie server than a knife, but in the dark, it sure as hell looked like a blade and it was better than nothing. Taking a deep breath, she stepped outside and circled around to the side of the building. Slipping cautiously through the access door, she noted that no light shone in the stairwell, but a faint glow spilled out from the partially open door at the top.

Hardly daring to breathe, Riley climbed the stairs, thanking God that the treads were concrete, instead of wood or metal that could creak. At the landing she hesitated, peering inside.

In all the years she'd worked for Molly, she'd never been up here. Hadn't ever had reason to. Like many of the buildings downtown, the second floor of the pharmacy was an apartment. Or at least it had been at some point in the distant past. In the narrow entryway, wallpaper peeled off in strips. She couldn't see past the wall to the room beyond. Everything was silent now. No footsteps. No sound of teenagers necking.

Was there another exit? Had whoever broken in managed to get out before she came upstairs?

Ignoring the voice in the back of her mind telling her to turn back around and wait for Wishful PD, Riley clutched her counting spatula tight and eased inside.

No one was in what passed for the living room, which boasted two of the four street-facing windows. A hall branched off at the rear of the room. The only light shone out from a single open door on the wall opposite the windows. Moving as quietly as possible, Riley sneaked over to the door and looked into the room.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Riley shrieked. The spatula fell to the floor as she reached across her body to grip his wrist, acting on long ago training as she tugged her assailant forward, jamming her elbow back into his ribcage, as she ducked and pivoted to twist his arm behind his back. Except that he countered, moving with her, doing something to shift the balance, until it was her arm twisting, her body crumpling.

Terror whitewashed her mind. She lashed out, no finesse, no technique, striking whatever she could reach. Her assailant let out an _ooph_ and wrapped her in a bear hug, pinning her arms. She couldn't suck in enough breath to scream again.

"Hey, hey! It's okay! Riley, stop. It's okay. It's me! It's Liam."

Liam Montgomery. Her one time savior.

Because he meant safety, she let out a sob of relief.

His arms loosened, shifting her to face him, and she couldn't fight because her legs had turned to noodles and every atom in her body wanted to turn into him and hang on.

"It's okay. I've gotcha."

Except he didn't. He hadn't. Not for twelve years.

She stood on her own now.

Straightening, Riley pushed at the wall of his chest. "Let me go."

"Just take a minute to catch your breath."

How the hell was she supposed to catch her breath when he was _right there_ , in all of his big, badass Marine glory? Her heart renewed its frenetic thumping for entirely different, wholly unwelcome reasons. She shoved at him again before she could do something _really_ stupid _,_ like fist her hands in his shirt and drag his mouth to hers to put all this adrenaline to better use.

"Let me go, Liam."

Liam could still feel Riley shaking. His instincts shouted to soothe and protect, and he was becoming very aware that the woman in his arms was a long damn way from the girl he remembered. He'd known that, objectively. But seeing with his eyes was a helluva lot different from feeling with his body. Now he knew just how well those exquisite curves of hers fit against all the hard lines of him. And damn him, he liked it.

She shoved again. Liam wasn't sure her legs would hold her yet, but because he wasn't positive she wouldn't try to slug him again, he released her.

She stumbled, throwing up a hand in the universal _stop_ gesture, even as he stepped forward, reaching out to steady her. Because, of course, she'd rather struggle than take help from him. And he'd earned that.

Liam curled his hands into fists to keep from touching her.

Riley let out a shaky breath and straightened. Whatever momentary softening had been brought on by fear was gone. "Jesus Christ, you about gave me a heart attack. What are you _doing_ here?"

_Clearly continuing to fuck things up with you._

He eyed her still clenched hands and tapped the tape clipped to his belt. __ "Measuring."

"For _what?_ "

"Mom's decided she wants to rent out the apartment. She wanted me to look into doing some renovations up here."

"She didn't tell me."

Liam found himself wanting to smooth away the furrow between her dark brows. Instead, he backed up a few paces to give them both some space and kicked back against the kitchen counter. "She only just decided at dinner. I ran out of projects at home, and I think she wants me out from underfoot. I'm making a floor plan."

"At ten-thirty on a weeknight?" Riley demanded.

"It's as good a time as any."

"In the _dark?_ "

"Most of the light bulbs are burned out. What are you still doing here? The pharmacy closed hours ago."

"I'm _working._ Or I was, until you scared the bejeezus out of me."

"Doing what?"

"Stocking."

"What happened to Ruby?"

"Are you living under a rock? She's out helping with Vivian Buckley's wedding."

Liam dimly remembered his friend Reuben Blanchard, who owned the local boxing gym, was standing up as best man in that wedding. He knelt to pick up the counting spatula Riley had dropped. "And you were planning on doing what with this?"

She scooped a hand through her dark brown hair and didn't quite meet his eyes. "Intimidating the intruder."

Liam lifted a brow. She scowled back at him, an expression he'd come to expect whenever he got within ten feet of her—which wasn't often. It was a far cry from how she'd looked at him in high school.

"Good to know you still remember some of the self defense I taught you. That probably would've worked on somebody without combat training." She could do with a refresher course, but now was absolutely not the time to bring that up.

Something flickered in her eyes before she held out her hand for the spatula. "Thankfully, I haven't had cause to use it until tonight."

"Glad to hear it." He'd worried about that after he'd enlisted. Not that she'd have believed it, and not that she'd given him opportunity to say so in the last twelve years.

"I'll go ahead and warn you, the police are on their way."

"Sensible to have called them. Why didn't you wait for them?"

"Good question." This came from the open doorway.

Of course the responding officer would be Judd. Because the best friend who'd had Liam's back since fifth grade was going to walk into this situation and know something was up. _Shit._

Judd stepped inside, thumbs hooked in his utility belt. He nodded a greeting to Liam before pegging Riley with a gimlet stare. "I know Janette told you to stay put."

"I thought it was just kids," she protested.

"Was that before or after you called 911?"

Her shoulders stiffened. "If he had been a burglar, he could've trashed the place and been gone before you ever got here."

"And you could've been hurt or worse," Liam pointed out. "You know better."

Her blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm not a child anymore, Liam, and you are not my keeper. Judd, I'm sorry to have wasted your time. As it's not actually an emergency, I'm going home. It's been an exceptionally long day. If there's nothing further?"

"Just a warning. Next time you have to call on the police, wait for us to do our jobs instead of charging in blind. You might not be so lucky as to have one of the good guys on the other side of the door."

Riley shot a glance at Liam that clearly questioned whether he fit into that category. "Understood. Thanks for coming. Goodnight." She strode by him with an aloof grace worthy of any silver screen diva and slammed the door behind her.

Judd raised a brow.

Liam shook his head. "Sweet. She used to be sweet."

"She still is—to everybody else. What's up with that? I thought you were supposed to be charming with the ladies."

"Obviously not that one." It was exactly his luck that the closest he'd managed to get to Riley Gower since he came home was by nearly scaring her to death. It made repaying his debt damned hard.

Judd radioed the all clear to dispatch. "What was that about you teaching her self defense?"

That was a secret he'd told no one, and Liam didn't plan to start now. Not even with one of his oldest friends.

"There was a time once when she needed it." A time when she'd needed a helluva lot more than that. "It was a long time ago."

Judd waited with that expectant cop stare he was as likely to use on the job as over the poker table, but Liam didn't volunteer anything else.

"I know something about putting your ass on the line for somebody who can't defend themselves. It's hard to let go of the sense of responsibility you feel for that person."

Because that hit uncomfortably close to the truth, Liam shrugged. "As she said, I'm not her keeper."

"You lookin' to be?"

"No." There were a whole lot of reasons Liam wasn't fit to be anybody's keeper. But he couldn't deny that Riley fell under the heading of unfinished business. Business that had consumed far too many of his waking—and sleeping—thoughts since he'd walked back into her world. This apartment renovation right over her head might be just the opportunity he needed to get some much needed resolution.

"Uh huh." One corner of Judd's mouth quirked. "I've got eyes to see you noticing she's not a kid and ears to hear around town that you haven't said yes to any of the assorted offers of female companionship that have come your way the last six months."

Liam wondered how long it would take him to be replaced as one of the hottest topics of local gossip. "I would have to be dead not to notice she grew up to have a rocking body, and why does my rejection of female companionship have to have anything to do with that?"

"Because you're not dead, as you pointed out."

"Man, you were at my welcome home party. My mother fully expects me to find some woman, settle down, and start giving her grandchildren. She gets a whiff of interest in anybody, she'll start pushing china patterns or some shit. This town is too small and too damned nosy—as you've just illustrated—to be anything but very careful in choosing my companionship. I haven't even settled on a permanent _job_ yet. I'm sure as hell not in any position to start looking for a permanent woman. And even if I was, Riley Gower is not for me."

So why the hell couldn't he get her off his mind?

"Admittedly, she's not one of the candidates in the pool Omar's running up at Dinner Belles, but that's just because nobody's thought of it."

"And they can just keep on not thinking of it. Everybody is doomed to disappointment if they expect me to provide fodder for the gossip mill. I am not that interesting."

Judd laughed. "You keep telling yourself that, buddy boy." His radio crackled to life. He answered the dispatcher and turned for the door. "Duty calls. See you in the ring Wednesday morning?"

"I'll be there." Liam bumped his fist, watched him go.

Free of interruptions, he finished up measurements for the floor plan, made notes about which were the load bearing walls, and locked up. He circled around front, but the pharmacy was dark other than the security lights. Looked like Riley actually had gone home.

Liam didn't like the thought of her alone in the pharmacy this late at night. Defenseless. Or mostly. This was Wishful and the crime rate was low compared to the rest of the country. But she was still guardian of all kinds of controlled substances. What if somebody decided they wouldn't take no for an answer? She'd had enough experience with that kind of victimization. The memory of that had him clenching his fists.

It had been twelve years since he'd walked away from his self-appointed duty as her protector. She'd shown absolutely no indication she wanted him to resume that role, but Liam couldn't shrug off that sense of responsibility so easily. Knowing Riley wouldn't thank him for his concern, Liam made a mental note to check with his mom to make sure she'd upgraded the alarm system before she sold the business. If she had, well, it wouldn't hurt to make sure the system was still up to spec. And if she hadn't, he'd take care of it.

# Chapter 2

THE NUMBERS BLURRED AS Riley stared at the spreadsheet on her screen.

_Should've done this last night,_ she thought with a jaw-cracking yawn.

That had been the plan, but everything about last night had been derailed by six feet two inches' worth of unwelcome testosterone. She'd been more rattled by contact with Liam than she had been by the near heart attack. There'd been no way she could settle down to work on quarterly taxes after that. Unfortunately, running on four hours' or less of sleep wasn't helping her get those taxes done either. Not even a trip on the Good Ship Caffeine was doing much to clear her bleary eyes.

The jangle of the shop bell drew her from the office. At the sight of Liam standing behind his mother in the open doorway, she almost ducked back inside.

_You aren't a coward._

So Riley stood her ground, her hand gripping the travel mug of coffee like a lifeline. When Liam went on upstairs without coming inside, her knees went weak with relief. She sagged onto the stool behind the counter, pathetically grateful not to have to face him yet. Her nerves felt raw, and she needed more time to rebuild the walls he'd shaken so badly last night.

"Sorry I'm late." Molly shut the door and crossed to the counter.

Riley eyed the tell-tale green-and-ivory striped box in her hands. "If those are pastries from Sweet Magnolias, then all is forgiven."

"Blueberry streusel muffins."

Riley actually whimpered. She was supposed to be off sugar, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Retrieving a plastic knife from the back, she carefully cut one of the enormous muffins in half. It was all about moderation, right? Besides, her love of Carolanne Wheeler's muffins should overshadow her current discomfiture.

Molly accepted the other half. "Wynne called this morning, so I was late getting out the door."

For the first time since they'd graduated college, Riley was glad her best friend wasn't living in Wishful. Until Molly's youngest had moved off to New Orleans, she and Riley had been in each other's pockets since kindergarten. Most of the time, Riley used work to distract herself from the missing limb sensation of not having Wynne constantly around—there was always plenty of it to keep her busy. But just now, she was relieved. Wynne would absolutely cop to the fact that something was going on between her and Liam.

There couldn't be anything going on when it came to Liam. That had been decided long ago. Riley would just have to find a way to get over this—Thing. And it wasn't even a Thing. Her focusing on it was just prolonging the natural conclusion of...whatever it was. The insane attraction that had fairly knocked her on her ass at his welcome home party last December would fade in time. Exposure therapy.

A noise from upstairs had her gaze snapping to the ceiling.

"Liam. I should've called you last night to tell you I was having him do some renovations to the apartment upstairs."

He'd told her then.

"It might've saved me the heart attack I almost had when I thought he was a burglar."

Molly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I'm sorry. He said he gave you quite a scare. What were you doing up here so late?"

"Some stocking. Since Ruby's out for the wedding, we're a little behind. It wasn't a big deal." She wouldn't let it be a big deal. Because it wasn't a Thing. "What motivated you to want to renovate?"

"It's been just sitting there doing nothing and Liam needed a project. The only time he doesn't seem to be restless these days is when he's building something. Plus, income from rent up there would help offset the cost of the building mortgage, and I can give you a break on the lease."

Riley had to fight the instinctive rejection of her kindness.

Molly laid a hand on her arm. "Don't fight me on this, Riley. You've been killing yourself to make this business work, and you could use a break from at least some of the responsibility. You have a habit of taking on more than the average person."

Having known her since she was five, Molly was in very good position to know exactly how much Riley had taken on over the years. That Molly could and did look out for her as she did one of her own children humbled Riley, so instead of rejecting the offer out of hand, she said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Molly hesitated. "Have you heard from her?"

Riley didn't have to ask who "her" was. "Last night. She's in California."

The jingling of the bell again cut off that tangent of conversation Riley put on her best customer face and turned to greet Vivian Buckley, who was trailed by Ruby Fellowes. "And how are you this fine day, Viv?"

"Trying not to turn into Bridezilla, but I swear, my family is about to run me crazy."

"You's already there, baby," Ruby said.

Vivian shot her aunt a dark look. "Don't even."

Riley repressed a smile. "The wedding's next weekend, right?"

"It is. Mama's about beside herself with the details. Because, _of course,_ Mama Pearl Buckley can't be satisfied with being the Goddess of Pie in this town. She can't _dare_ let somebody _else_ bake the wedding cake. Never mind that Carolanne's are amazing and we have a hundred and seventy five thousand other things to do between now and the wedding. Violet's on a tear because she's convinced Mama's trying to matchmake her for the reception—and who are we kidding? It's Mama, so of course she is. Omar and George are being Switzerland. And Ray and Carmen and their families don't get in until middle of next week." Vivian reached over the counter to take Riley by the wrists, a faintly crazed look in her eyes. "I'm desperate. Ruby tells me you've got a Chill The Heck Out kit for brides. Tucker says I'm not allowed to come back to the office or set foot in a courtroom until I get it, and I'm due in front of Judge Carpenter at three."

Riley said a silent prayer of thanks that she was an only child. "Deep breaths. I've got exactly what you need." She gathered up the essential oils for the Stress Away kit. "So where's Darius during all this? Can't he take some of the heat?"

"Gettin' ready to leave for New Orleans for his bachelor party. I mean, at least he's doing it this weekend instead of right before the wedding, so he'll be recovered, but, Lord have mercy, I need all this to be over and _soon._ "

"Breathe, baby girl," Ruby ordered.

"T minus a week and change to your honeymoon in Jamaica," Molly reminded her.

Riley took Vivian's hands and rubbed a few drops of the stress away oil on the undersides of her wrists, making slow circles over her pulse points. "Just focus on the finish line of those sandy beaches and lazy ocean waves. A whole week away from work, away from family, just you and your new hubby and an all-inclusive resort package."

Vivian closed her eyes and exhaled long and slow, some of the tension draining out of her shoulders. "I can do that. Vacation. Glorious vacation."

Riley continued to rub Vivian's wrists and let the fantasy of a vacation seep into her own mind, imagined wiggling her toes in the sand and feeling salty breezes against her skin. Wouldn't that be lovely? Not that she had anyone to share it with, but at this point a vacation of any kind would be amazing.

"I feel better."

"Toldya." Ruby crossed her arms in satisfaction.

"What is this stuff?" Vivian picked up the bottle.

"It's a blend of lavender, vanilla, cedarwood, lime, and a couple of other essential oils designed to reduce your stress. Here, dab a bit more behind your ears and on the back of your neck. Like perfume."

"Smells wonderful."

"It does," Riley agreed. Deciding she could use some too, she added a few drops to the diffuser on the counter. "No side effects, no crash, no overdosing. Just use as you need."

"I'll take it! What do I owe you?"

Riley folded Vivian's hand around the bottle. "Not a thing. Consider it an early wedding present."

"Are you sure? Because this stuff is surely worth its weight in gold."

Delighted to share her passion for essential oils, Riley smiled. "Positive. Consider it a gateway oil. Come see me when you get back and I can introduce you to all the other zillions of things you can do with them."

"Deal."

"Come on, baby girl. We got an appointment with that florist in Lawley." Ruby began herding her niece out the door.

"Good luck, Viv," Riley called.

"See you after the wedding, Ruby," Molly added.

Ruby waved and shut the door behind them.

Riley picked her coffee back up, watching the two women disappear from view. "That. That right there is why some people should just elope."

"Is that what you'd do?" Molly asked.

Shrugging, Riley took her stool again. "Would depend on the guy, I guess. It's what my parents did. But as I've already married the business, it's a moot point. Anyway, I think the oils will help her if she'll use them."

"I'd say that's been a great sideline you've added."

"If somebody likes one, they usually come back for more."

The bell rang again as their pharmacy tech, Jessie Applewhite, strolled in. "I come bearing mail."

"Early for that," Riley noted.

"I ran into Otis as I was crossing the green. He passed it off."

"I'll trade you for a muffin." She nudged the box toward Jessie.

Jessie handed over the bills—because what else would they ever get here at the business?—and pounced on the baked goods. As more customers came in, Riley passed that duty off to Molly and retreated into the office to see what the damage was.

She did the math, feeling anxiety creep up as she compared the total of the bills and the balance of the business account. Payroll was due next week. She checked the due dates on the bills and started figuring how well she could manage her personal accounts to take a pay cut so everyone else could get paid in-full and on-time.

Molly stuck her head into the office. "Everything good?"

Riley offered a sunny smile as she shoved the bills into a drawer and closed the balance sheet on the computer. "Everything's just fine."

Liam's fist connected with Judd's chin. The impact sang all the way up his arm. He checked his instinct to immediately press the advantage, hesitating long enough for his friend to stumble back toward the ropes and shake off the blow. A friendly sparring match wasn't the battlefield he'd lived on for more than a decade. This was all about exercise. And a little bit of payback for his torture about Riley.

From outside the ring, Reuben Blanchard shouted, "Keep your hands _up_ , Hamilton! Montgomery's a sneaky son of a bitch. You've gotta protect your head."

Judd had barely reset his stance and lifted his gloved hands when Liam lunged forward, driving him back. Judd bounced off the ropes and ducked under Liam's jab, but not before catching a second body shot to the ribs.

"Break!" Reuben shouted.

Liam tugged off a glove and spit out his mouth guard. "What is up with you, man? Your head is not in the ring."

Judd slid down to a stool in the corner. "Lot on my mind. They finally opened the search for the new Chief of Police."

"Yeah?" Liam tugged off his other glove. "Bet Chief Curry's happy about that. Didn't he announce he was ready to retire back in January?"

"Yep. I'm gonna throw my hat in."

Reuben climbed through the ropes and handed both of them bottles of water. "You got much competition?"

"Locally, no. But they're opening it up to a nationwide search. I don't know how much of a shot I've got. They'll probably go with somebody older, more experienced. But pulling somebody in from outside...no guarantee they'll stay for the long haul. So that's in my favor. We'll see."

Liam envied him. It might be a long shot, but at least Judd had a vision for his future, for what he wanted to do with his life. That was more than Liam himself had managed since he left the Marines.

"Good for you, man. I'll be rooting for you."

Judd offered his fist. "Hey, if I get it, that'll leave a hole open in the department. You could always trade your desert camo for blue. You'd make a helluva cop."

Reuben snorted. "SWAT maybe. Not local PD."

Liam bumped the offered fist. "He's right. I'd be bored out of my mind. Rematch soon?"

"You know it. And next time you won't get in so many lucky shots."

"Lucky my ass."

Judd grinned. "See y'all at poker night."

"We look forward to taking your money," Reuben assured him.

As Judd disappeared into the locker room, Liam climbed out of the ring. He considered putting in some time on the speed bag to get his heart rate up.

"I'll go a few rounds if you want," Reuben offered. "Or listen. Either way, somethin's gnawing at you."

"Not sure either would actually help."

"You sleepin'?"

"Mostly." He hadn't been afflicted by the night terrors and flashbacks that plagued many of his comrades. "Can't shake the habit of rising at zero dark thirty."

"That's not what has you in here every morning. Or not all of it."

Liam stuffed his gloves into his gym bag. "How long did it take you to settle in to civilian life when you got out?"

"Didn't settle until I started up this place." A former Navy SEAL, Reuben had returned to Wishful five years earlier and opened the boxing gym. "But I knew exactly what I wanted when I got out. Your situation's a little different."

"Yeah."

Liam had enlisted in the Marines the summer after graduating high school and never looked back. If not for his father's unexpected death, he would've been a lifer. But as the eldest, with both his brothers deployed and his baby sister moved off to New Orleans, Liam couldn't see leaving his mother alone. So he'd come home.

Never mind the fact that Molly Montgomery could've given any Brigadier General a run for his money.

He'd been going slowly crazy ever since.

"You ran out of projects at your mama's, didn't you?" A knowing smile creased Reuben's dark face.

"Cleaned out the garage, the attic, repainted the house, replaced the gutters, and wiped out her _entire_ honey-do list going back to everything Dad had been meanin' to get around to for the last five years."

"Damn, son. We gotta find you a proper job."

"Been lookin' since I got back, but I haven't found anything that would be more than just killin' time. I just can't figure out what I want to _do._ Meanwhile, Mom's decided she wants to rent out that apartment above the pharmacy, so I'm digging in to start demolition on that this week." He checked his watch. "I probably ought to get on myself. If I can get some of the noisy work done before start of business, Mom and Riley would probably appreciate it."

The sun had just cleared the horizon when Liam caught sight of a familiar POS Honda parked on the shoulder, with an even more familiar set of full-figured curves peeking out from beneath the lifted hood. He pulled his Dad's pristine '69 Mustang onto the opposite side and stepped out, appreciating the view.

Her voice floated back to him from where she leaned over the engine. "Now Jo, I know you're tired, girl, but this is not okay. I need you to pull yourself together."

"Who you talkin' to, Riley?"

She jolted, banging her head on the hood. "Son of a monkey!"

Liam wisely swallowed down his amusement as she swung around, eyes shooting daggers.

"Where do you get off sneaking up on people?" She didn't wait for an answer. "What are you even doing here?"

"On my way home from the gym. As nice a scenic stretch as this is, I didn't figure you'd be on the side of the road having a heart-to-heart with your car at this hour just for the hell of it."

"How would you know? I might. Jo and I have had a long and meaningful friendship."

Given his dad had been working on her car since she got it at sixteen, Liam knew this to be true. The bigger shock was that the thing still ran at all.

He ducked under the hood himself to take a look, aware of Riley edging back. "Did you check your gas gauge?"

"I didn't run out of gas. It's not my battery or my spark plug wires. Your daddy taught me that much."

He ignored the affronted tone. "Doesn't ever hurt to start with the basics. What was she doing?"

Riley said nothing.

Glancing over his shoulder, Liam found her glaring at him, arms crossed, every inch shouting _irritated female._ The fact that he found it attractive rather than off-putting either made him a perverse bastard or was evidence of the incredibly long dry spell he hadn't broken since he came home.

"I didn't ask for you to come rescue me."

No, Riley Gower didn't ask for help. Ever. Even when she needed it.

"Would you be this ornery at an offer of help from anybody, or is it me in particular you object to?"

She dropped her arms, face momentarily stricken. "I don't object to you."

He didn't know what made him push rather than leaving it alone. "Really? Because your default attitude toward me since I got home has been dialed pretty much consistently to pissed off."

Riley closed her eyes, and he had the distinct impression she was praying for patience. "I'm sorry. It's not you. I've hardly even seen you since you got back. And when I have, it hasn't been under the best of circumstances. It's been...a stressful year."

Liam wondered what that meant but decided not to press the issue.

Riley continued to babble. "And I was on my way into work to prepare the monthly reports because they're late, and my accountant needs them so she can prepare the quarterly taxes on the pharmacy. Taxes. At 6:30 in the morning. And there's no coffee." She finished in a tone that suggested this was acceptable grounds for homicide, let alone a little bitchiness.

"You gave up coffee?"

"God no. I'd sooner give up sex."

_So if I brought you coffee, there's a chance..._ Liam mentally slapped himself. _Bad idea, buddy boy._ _She isn't for you._

Why was he even thinking of her like this at all? For twenty years, she'd just been his little sister's best friend. Sweet, tender-hearted Riley. A kid he had the urge to protect.

Except that was the thing, wasn't it? Once that urge to protect had become necessity, it had changed things between them, added a dynamic they'd never discussed. Liam didn't know how or even if he should bring it up now.

Either way, she definitely wasn't a kid anymore. And his feelings toward her were decidedly _not_ brotherly since he'd come home and found that she'd matured into a 1940s pin-up model. That combination of inherent sweetness and guileless, oblivious sex appeal had fueled more than one fantasy and had him turning down offers for companionship any other man would've taken without hesitation. Damned if he understood why, since he knew he couldn't act on this insanity. She had no business showing up in his dreams like some silver screen sex goddess.

Liam realized he was staring and that Riley's cheeks were flushed, her expression pinched with embarrassment.

"Christ. I don't have a functional brain without coffee. No filter. Please, just go on about your day. I can take care of this."

He turned back to the engine. "In the military, not asking for help when you need it is a good way to get yourself killed."

"I'm not in the military. And this is hardly a life or death situation."

"Given the age and shape of your car, I don't know that your assessment is accurate. Go crank it."

"Really, I've got this."

Liam straightened, deliberately using his full six feet, two inches to loom over her. "Get in the car and crank it, Riley."

For three long seconds, she stood toe-to-toe with him, chin lifted toward his in challenge. The stubborn cast of her lips had him wanting to back her against the car for a good long taste. Before he could give in to that lunacy, she broke eye contact and scurried around to the driver's side.

_Get a grip, Montgomery._

The Honda's engine coughed and sputtered, something in the internal workings giving an ominous grind before it wheezed back to silence.

"Okay, stop," he called.

Riley hopped back out as he closed the hood. "What is it?"

"Nothing I can fix on the side of the road. Get your stuff. I'm taking you in to work."

"But—"

"And then I'm coming back with the truck and trailer to haul this home for a closer look." Though Liam was positive she wasn't going to like whatever he found.

"But I don't—"

"Riley, don't argue. You can't fix this. You said yourself, you have things to do. I'm giving you a ride."

Liam's brain took a sharp left turn into fantasy territory that had him handling a whole different set of curves than the ones he preferred to hug in the Mustang. His body stirred. Since his basketball shorts would do nothing to hide his reaction, he didn't wait for Riley's acquiescence, just strode toward his car.

Safely blocked by the driver's side door, Liam called back to her, "You comin'?"

With an exasperated look to the heavens, she grabbed her purse and a second bag out of the passenger seat, then stalked around to the front seat of the Mustang. "You're bossy."

He made a U-turn back toward town. "You're welcome."

# Chapter 3

AT THE TAP ON the front door of the pharmacy, Riley happily abandoned the spreadsheets currently fueling a tension headache. On the other side of the glass, Autumn Buchanan lifted an extra-large General Burke from The Daily Grind and made _hurry up_ motions. Riley unlocked the door and tugged it open, grabbing the coffee in one hand and her friend in the other, yanking both inside.

"Whoa. Take my arm off, why don't you," Autumn said with a laugh

Riley took a long swallow, feeling instantly steadier with her favorite stimulant in hand. "I love you. Thank you for bringing me coffee."

"It was no trouble. Since they cut my hours at the library to the bone, I'm not due in until noon."

"They cut your hours _again?_ What are you going to do for income? And Jesus, let me pay you back for the coffee."

Autumn waved that off. "I've got savings. Things aren't dire yet. I'm doing some freelance editing of dissertations for grad students at Ole Miss and MSU. That's making up the difference for now. And keep your money. This is complete bribery for gossip. How is it that the very sexy Liam Montgomery brought you to work this morning?"

_Because the Universe hates me._

"Jo broke down on my drive in. He just showed up and started ordering me around, telling me what was going to happen. 'Get in the car, Riley.' 'I'll pick up your car later, Riley.' 'Stop being so damned stubborn, Riley.'"

"Did he actually say that?"

Riley scowled. "He might as well have."

Autumn sipped at her own coffee and pursed her lips. "Might I point out that most women would have absolutely _no_ problem with the likes of him ordering them around? Preferably in bed?"

_Well hell._ She'd only just managed to turn that thought off. At Autumn's remark, the whole fantasy started up again in high definition, on repeat.

"Liam Montgomery is not interested in me. Never has been, never will be." Not sure she could control her face, she headed back to the spreadsheets and ledgers.

"Is that why you're so irritated with him?"

"I'm irritated because my stupid car ended my quite successful streak of avoiding him."

"It's a small town, Riley, and you still work part-time with his mom. It was bound to happen sometime."

"Later would've been better than sooner." Though never would've been preferable.

"You ever going to tell me _why_ it is you're so hell bent on avoiding him?"

"Not today." And maybe not ever. Her reasons for staying far, far away from Liam Montgomery were no one's business but hers. That embarrassment did not need to be spread any further than Liam himself.

And who needed old embarrassments? She'd already started adding new ones after less than two minutes in his presence this morning, with all that babble about coffee and sex.

_Stupid._

"So he's going to fix your car?" Autumn prompted.

"Apparently. I tried to tell him I could call a tow, but he just rolled right on over me. Forget what I want. Liam knows best."

Never mind that Liam probably did know more about cars and engines than the mechanic who'd taken over care of Jo after Uncle John died.

"Well, I think it's awfully nice of him."

It _was_ nice. The overgrown Boy Scout. More than nice, it was exactly what his father would've done, and probably either of his brothers. But none of _them_ made her nervous. __ Grown adult Liam wouldn't be as oblivious to that fact as teenage Liam had been. Being around him made her feel fifteen again—gawky and awkward with a terrifying desire to depend on him. She'd been able to do that once, but going back there would be a mistake of epic proportions. That she even thought about it just pissed her off. Riley knew she'd been ungrateful and rude in her haste to get away from him. But she'd deal with the necessary apology later.

"I don't want him to be nice," she groused. "I don't want him to be anything but out of my hair."

Which was a complete and total lie. She wanted Liam any way she could get him. God, this had been so much easier when all she felt was the impassioned hero worship of her early teens. Adding sexual awareness to the mix was killing her.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

Unwilling to rise to the bait, Riley closed the ledgers and carted them back to the safe. Clearly, she wasn't going to finish these reports before start of business.

Naturally, Autumn followed. "You like him," she drawled.

"You are an incurable romantic and want to see love everywhere." Ledgers stowed, Riley went into the storeroom to grab the next box of stock.

"That doesn't make me wrong. Remember, I'm the librarian. I know your reading preferences. He pretty much fits your hero type to a T." She gave Riley a knowing smirk.

Riley pointed a finger at her. "You know perfectly well that's confidential. You're supposed to be like a priest." She marched past Autumn to the appropriate aisle. Nobody else need know about her penchant for steamy romances with Marine heroes.

"Why don't you just ask him out? You're both available."

Riley attacked the seal on the box with more force than necessary and managed to slice open several packages of Band-aids. She set the box cutter aside before she created reason to use them. "Look, it's complicated. We have a history."

"Oooooooh. Dish, girlfriend."

"Not that kind of history. The _known each other forever, and he's never going to see me as anything but another little sister_ kind." Or maybe it wasn't that he saw her as a little sister but as a victim. "You, of all people, should know how that can get in the way."

Autumn's long and complicated history with Judd Hamilton had certainly seemed to do more to ensure that they stay permanently in the friend zone rather than catapulting into connubial bliss, despite everyone's expectations to the contrary.

"Then maybe it's time you _made_ him see you as something else," Autumn declared. "You are a confident, sexy woman." She waved her hands in an hourglass motion. "A real woman's woman. Men love that."

Riley fisted both hands on her hips. "And how, pray tell, do you suggest I show him that? Dance on a table in my corset?"

"Well, that would do it. But no, I had something a bit less revealing in mind. Drool Night."

"What, pray tell, is Drool Night?"

"It's a relic from my college days. An excuse to dress up in all your finery and go out on the town. It's a ritual all about female empowerment and favorite dresses. And if it also serves to show the guys exactly what they're missing, so much the better."

Riley could see the appeal. There was no confidence booster like a favorite dress. "Unless you're planning to kidnap him to make sure he's wherever we decide to _go_ on Drool Night, I fail to see how this is a viable plan."

Autumn waved that away. "Details. There's also the time-honored tradition of just planting a big one on him. With tongue. Because if you lick it, that makes it yours. Be hard to look at a woman as a sister after that."

In that case, Liam had a lot of inches she wanted to lick. _So. Not. Happening._ She shook her head to clear the image. "No, then he'd just think I was a crazy person."

The bell on the door jangled.

Riley turned to say good morning to Jessie, but the words died as she saw Liam striding her way.

_Why didn't I lock the door?_

He'd changed out of the workout gear that had so wonderfully displayed his muscles in the early morning light. Not that the cargo shorts and plain black T-shirt did anything to hide his impressive physique.

"Morning, Autumn."

"Liam." Autumn nodded a hello in his direction. "I'm just gonna leave you two." She waggled her eyebrows at Riley and skedaddled out the door before Riley could come up with a reason why she shouldn't be left alone with him.

_Damn it._

And then it was just the two of them.

Before she could do anything stupid, like reach out to run her hands over his pecs, Riley blurted, "Please tell me you have good news." He opened his mouth, but she kept right on talking. "That is not your good news face."

_Shut up, Riley._

"I'm afraid you should probably be planning funeral arrangements."

Riley closed her eyes against that blow. She'd known it was coming. Jo's cantankerous heart had broken when Uncle John died. But God, she'd thought she had a little time to recoup her savings after the latest string of disasters had completely wiped it out. And that was _before_ she'd brought her bank balance too low to buy a cup of coffee in order to rescue her mother. Again.

"I can't afford a new car, Liam. Isn't there anything you can do? Something you can cobble together? Duct tape? Prayers?" It killed her to ask, but desperate times.

When he said nothing, she opened her eyes. He had his _wrestling with a problem_ face on. It hadn't changed since he'd taken AP chemistry in high school. She would know. They'd had the same study hall that year, and she'd spent countless hours watching him instead of doing her homework.

"I could probably manage something. But whatever I do is going to be borrowed time and it's really throwing good money after bad. You're gonna have to start making some kind of arrangements for a new one in the not distant future."

"Any time you can buy me is appreciated." And maybe she'd have pulled off some kind of miracle to bring in extra income to pay for it by then.

Knowing she needed to keep her hands busy, Riley picked up the carton of Band-aids and went to put it away again. Never mind that she hadn't actually put any on the shelf. She added it back to the pile and turned. Liam had followed her into the storeroom, and the already over-crowded space suddenly shrank.

Riley took an instinctive step back and stumbled. Her feet snagged, sending her flailing. Before she could crash into the piled up junk, Liam's hands closed around her hips, yanking her flush against him. All her soft parts were pressed up close and personal against all his hard parts and, oh dear God, she couldn't breathe.

"Careful."

The rumble of his low voice vibrated that magnificent chest, which she felt because hers was plastered up against him. Her nipples went instantly, painfully hard. She couldn't speak or move, so she just stood there, staring like a complete moron, waiting for him to let her go. Except he didn't. His hands tightened on her hips, as if getting a better grip. Instinctively, hers tightened on his arms and, yep, they were every bit as hard and cut as they looked.

Through sheer force of will, Riley managed not to drool.

_If you lick it, that makes it yours._

Before she could stop herself, she licked the seam of her lips. Liam's eyes tracked the motion, and his mouth curved in a little half-smile that spawned a whole host of other wicked thoughts. Her cheeks burned and the synapses responsible for coherent thought exploded from sexual overload.

"You're on my foot."

"What?" Riley managed.

Apparently tired of waiting for her to move, Liam picked her up bodily and shifted her over into the free space. He held on just long enough for her to lock her knees before turning away to survey the storeroom. Another minute of that and the fire in her face would've spread to her hair. This was why she'd avoided him!

"I see you haven't had any better luck with clearing this space out than Mom did."

Riley blessed him for not commenting on the awkward moment and desperately seized the change in topic. "I haven't been able to get to it. Our hands are plenty full with the day-to-day running of things."

At some point in the old building's past, this room had been part of the one that now housed the pharmacy. Some previous owner had blocked the whole thing off for storage. When the five and dime went belly up, the remaining stock that hadn't been sold off had been piled in here, and Riley wasn't certain the space had been cleared since. Like Molly before her, she kept meaning to get to it, but as a priority, it fell way down at the bottom of the list.

"I'll do it."

"You'll do what?"

"Clear it out. All this crap is a fire hazard. I've been telling Mom that for years."

"You don't have to do that." _Please God, don't let him do that._ "You're already dealing with my car. And the renovation upstairs."

"And I'll deal with this after."

Her brain scrambled to find some way to say no, to shove him out the door. "But I can't afford to—"

Liam turned back, one brow lifted. "I know you're not about to insult me by suggesting I expect to get paid for doing a favor for a friend."

They were hardly friends. One friend did not come near to spontaneously combusting in the presence of another friend.

"Let me help you Riley."

He could've ordered her. That would've been more his style, Mr. Alpha Marine I Know What's Best, So Fall In Line as he'd done that morning. But he was giving her a choice—or at least the illusion of one—proving that as long as it had been, he still knew her, too.

That was a real pisser.

Riley took a bracing breath and made herself meet his gaze. "Thank you. I appreciate it. All of it. I know I probably don't seem like it. I'm really bad at accepting help from people."

The lightning quick smile lit his gray eyes like sunbeams, and Riley had to lock her knees again, grateful he didn't unleash it often. The damned thing was deadly.

"I know. Why do you think I'm being so bossy?"

"You're the oldest. You were always bossy."

"Just sharing the benefits of my maturity."

Riley snorted at that, and pushed out of the storeroom. "Take all that maturity and go sweet talk my engine. I've got work to do."

"See you around, Riley Marie."

She watched him go, waiting until he'd walked out of sight before sinking down onto a stool. Like it or not, he was going to be in her space, so she'd better find a way to live with it.

_I am in serious trouble._

Quite apart from the fact that Riley's engine was toast and he'd just promised her he'd figure something out, he'd violated his strict look-don't-touch policy—again—to keep her from landing on her fairly spectacular ass. As if that wasn't bad enough, she'd stared up at him with those big, blue, drown-in-me eyes and licked her lips, like maybe she wondered how he tasted. It had taken every ounce of his self control to set her away from him rather than dipping his head to kiss her and exploring the rest of those sweet curves with his hands.

"Maybe I should dunk my head in the fountain," he muttered.

"Well, you could, but a coin is the more traditional offering for a wish."

Liam jerked his attention away from the issue of Riley to find Autumn perched on the edge of the post-Civil War fountain that was the focal point of the town green.

"I wasn't making one."

"Oh come on," Autumn teased. "It's all the rage

"Right now, the only thing I need is a miracle to tell me how I'm going to fix Riley's car."

"What's wrong with it?"

"The damned thing needs to be buried. But she can't afford a new one, so I'm trying to perform a Dr. Frankenstein miracle and resuscitate it." And he knew exactly what it had cost Riley to ask him.

Autumn rose from her perch and looped her arm casually through his as they continued across the green. "Can you?"

"My dad could and did on a regular basis before he died. It's the least I can do to try." He owed Riley, more than she could possibly know.

"And if you can't?"

The last thing he wanted to do was face that look of heartbroken disappointment on Riley's face.

"Can't isn't really an option. I'd rather just buy her a newer used car that I know is road-worthy, but she'd never accept that."

Autumn lifted a brow at that. "You'd buy her a car?"

"I'd do the same thing for my sister."

"Do you take this active a role in ensuring Wynne's well being?"

Liam brushed that off. "Lack of opportunity. Wynne would be the first one to applaud my trying to help. The two of them have been joined at the hip since they were five."

"Not so much the last couple of years."

That gave him pause. He hadn't seen his baby sister since his welcome home party in December, but he'd assumed she was better at keeping up with Riley than she was with the rest of the family. "Are they on the outs?"

"Not deliberately, but with Wynne being all caught up in her life down in the Big Easy, she doesn't come home often and Riley's tied to the business."

Liam wondered if she felt as abandoned by his sister as she had by him. "So who has Riley's back?"

"I do. And your mom does. But she misses Wynne."

"For a long time it was like they were two bodies who shared one brain. They were always so tight."

Autumn nodded. "And was Wynne the reason you looked out for Riley back in school?"

Liam paused mid-step. "I didn't think I was obvious about it."

"You weren't. But I notice that kind of thing."

She would.

"Riley hasn't had the easiest life. There haven't been too many people she could really count on, and she's always been considered a part of my family." Which was the absolute truth, even if he hadn't thought of her as a sister in years.

"So now you're home, you're just falling back into that old pattern, huh?"

Autumn was an incurable romantic. Always had been. She was clearly fishing to find out more about his interest in Riley. Liam knew better than to bite.

"I'm just helping out a friend. That's it." His protest did nothing to wipe the look of speculation off Autumn's face. Time to redirect. "I didn't know you and Riley were all buddy buddy."

"We weren't growing up. Since she's younger, we didn't run in the same circles any more than you did. But when she came back to Wishful after college, she moved into the other half of the duplex I live in, so we've gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few years. I like her."

So did he, despite the fact that she was more apt to bite than smile at him these days.

As they reached the Mustang, Liam patted Autumn's arm and disentangled himself. "I gotta be gettin' on. Have to figure out how I'm going to perform an automotive miracle."

"Liam?"

"Yeah?"

"It's a kind thing you're doing for Riley. The latest in a long line of kind things you've done for all sorts of people since you came home. But remember it's also important to take something for yourself."

"Do as you say, not as you do?" He gave her a pointed look.

She looked suddenly weary. "What I want isn't an option. What you do is."

"You can't know that. _I_ don't know what I want." He tried to forcibly shut out the image of Riley that popped into his mind.

Her lips curved. "You're a smart man. You'll figure it out."

Shaking his head, he waved goodbye and slipped into his car, his mind full of the impossible.

He had no right to act on this attraction, no right to complicate Riley's life when his own was such a damned mess. Even if the attraction was returned—and it appeared that it was—he had nothing to offer her. He had nothing to offer anyone, for that matter. Until he figured out what the hell to do with his life, he didn't have any right to look at a woman like Riley.

No. Fantasies aside, Riley Gower was off-limits. And the sooner his brain got the memo, the better.

A greasy nausea gripped Liam's gut as he stared up at the faded lettering of the sign. _Montgomery and Sons Auto Repair._

He'd avoided this, like a goddamned coward. His brothers, his mother, and sister had been the ones to deal with the accounts, tidy up business affairs in the wake of John Montgomery's death. Liam hadn't managed to set foot inside since it happened. He couldn't shake the sense of guilt that if he'd lived up to the legacy of the sign, if he'd been that kind of son, he'd have been there the day his father keeled over under the hood of his beloved '69 Mustang. The same Mustang Liam now drove.

But Liam had taken his own path, joined the Corps. His brothers had followed suit. And no one had been there that fateful Thursday afternoon. The others were able to cling to the fact that it had been quick. Painless, according to the doctors. He'd gone while doing something he loved. But Liam could only see a life ended far too soon. That was a reality he lived with in war. Not something he was ready for on the home front.

The garage was locked up tight, as it had been since the weeks following his father's death. Quiet. His mother hadn't sold the place. It was there, waiting, in case any of the Montgomery sons wanted to pick up their father's mantle and carry on the family business. He could do it. He had all the skills, the love of engines and puzzles. And he certainly had need of a legitimate vocation now that Uncle Sam wasn't calling the shots.

But to come here, every day? To be faced with all those reminders that his father wouldn't be swinging through the door or hollering for a tool ever again? Coward or no, it was more than he could bear.

Under other circumstances, he wouldn't be here now. But he'd promised Riley. Though her car was at the house, he needed the service records his dad kept here, along with the supplier contacts. Maybe he'd luck out and some of the parts would be in the remaining inventory.

Stale, musty air assailed his senses as he stepped into the office. The pin-up calendar hanging above the counter was still turned to October. Out of long-ingrained habit, Liam kissed his pointer and middle fingers and pressed them to the image of Jane Russell, his dad's particular favorite, before moving to switch on the window unit air conditioner. Liam had always been more a Lana Turner, Loretta Young kind of guy, but he'd take the whole platoon of curvy, old school divas over today's starved, waifish offerings. To his mind, a woman was ultimately the grounded center of a man, and as such, ought to be substantial.

His hands flexed at the memory of Riley's hips. Glorious, solid curves.

"Focus."

Tugging open the ancient file cabinet drawers, he began to flip through. Why the hell hadn't his father believed in alphabetizing? Or computers? He'd worked halfway through the second drawer by the time the door opened. Braced to say, "We're closed," he trailed off at the sight of his mother.

"What are you doing here?"

"Saw the car. Wanted to check on you."

"I'm trying to find Riley's service records." She hadn't asked, but Liam felt compelled to explain what had finally gotten him through the door.

"They're in the family files." Molly reached past him and opened another drawer.

Given the direction his thoughts had been running, he sure as hell needed a good reminder of where Riley had always fit in his life. She was family. It wouldn't do for him to forget that.

"Is she having trouble?"

"Broke down on the way in to work this morning. I towed it to the house, but she needs a resurrectionist, not a mechanic."

"You're thinking you'll find the name of one in the file?"

"Wanted to check the dates when Dad last replaced some stuff."

"Over the years, I think he probably replaced at least half of that car."

"Yeah, well, the other half needs to go now. Pretty sure the engine is shot."

"But you're still going to try to fix it?"

"Riley gave me the face." Riley Gower, the woman who never asked for anything, had looked up at him with those deep blue eyes and he'd caved.

Molly laughed. "What face?"

"The face that, I'm sure, had her daddy wrapped around her pinky finger as long as he was alive. Damned thing's lethal. Like the people version of that cat in _Shrek._ And here I am promising to bring her car back from the beyond. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

"I expect you were thinking she never asks for help, so when she does you'll do just about anything to deliver. We all would."

"Yeah, there's that. So anyway, here I am. I guess I was hoping for some sort of miracle. Be nice if Dad were here to tell me what to do."

In a gesture that was purely Molly, she squeezed his nape and stroked the length of his spine, automatically soothing the same way she'd done since he was a punk troublemaker come to live under her roof. "He's here. Just not quite as vocal as you'd like him to be."

"If he were here, he'd have some kind of sneaky ass plan to deal with this."

"Why do you need a sneaky ass plan?"

"Because in truth she needs a new car, period. And since she bought the business from you, she's taken on all she can handle."

His mother frowned. "I worried she bit off more than she could chew buying me out completely. But she wanted so much to prove that she could do it on her own. For the most part, she's done that. Made some expansions in product lines, modernized a few processes."

"Do you ever regret selling?"

"I don't regret relinquishing control. I steered that ship for a long time. But sometimes I'm bored with retirement. It's part of why I've been so active with the coalition. It gives me something to do, keeps me active in the community. You understand that need to keep busy or you wouldn't be taking on projects everywhere."

Liam grimaced. "Busy isn't necessarily productive."

Molly stroked a hand over his hair. "You know if you want the garage, it's yours, no questions asked. Your brothers wouldn't take issue with it."

He looked around the office, where he'd spent countless hours growing up, doing homework, answering phones, helping out. So many memories soaked these walls, but he couldn't get past the bitter to the sweet. "It wasn't for me at eighteen. It's not for me now. I know dad was disappointed—"

"You know no such thing," she snapped. "Your father was proud of you. He never once took issue with the fact that you chose a different path. Neither did I. I'm not upset you don't want the business, baby. I just wanted to put it out there as an option. I'll support whatever you choose now, just like I supported you joining the Corps."

"Thanks Mom." Liam slid his arms around her, thinking that for all she was half his size, she still gave the best bear hugs.

"I'll let you get back to it. I've got a meeting with Norah to go over some final details about the playground renovation at Waldrop Park."

Alone again, he took a breath and opened the file. As his dad had been working on Riley's car since she got it in high school, the stack of paperwork was thick. Every oil change, every tire rotation, every new part or repair was recorded in John's neat block print. He'd rebuilt the transmission six months before he died, so that, at least, was probably okay. The list of repairs and replacements made to the engine were extensive, increasing in frequency over the last couple of years. At the last service, he'd made note of problems he expected to be facing before the year was out, and Liam thought Riley had been lucky that they hadn't popped up until today. In the margin he'd written, _Rebuild or replace?_

That was the question, wasn't it?

As he flipped to the next page, a loose Post-it note fluttered to the floor. Retrieving it, Liam read the brief notation he knew referred to a location in the parts racks on the far side of the garage. There was no indication what was stored there. It might've been from a repair already completed. But he had to check it out.

The fluorescent lights flickered and caught, illuminating the wide, cavernous space. Industrial shelving lined the walls, most of them still filled with an assortment of parts his father always kept on hand for regular jobs. Years of oil and engine cleaner scented the close, hot air. He checked the shelves, looking for the relevant section. The crate had been shoved aside at some point, so somebody could retrieve something else. It was tucked in a corner, half beneath a tarp. Liam muscled it around and found the manifest from one of the parts auctions his dad sometimes attended. Sliding it out, he read the contents and began to laugh.

"Sneaky, sneaky, Dad." Still laughing, he went to get a crowbar to uncrate Riley's new engine.

# Chapter 4

"WELL, IT'S HAPPENED!" RUBY made this pronouncement in tones of _The end is nigh_ , as she marched up to the counter.

Riley looked up from the computer. "What's happened? And what are you even doing here? It's your day off."

"Walgreens is opening a store out on the highway."

"What are you talking about?"

"I just had it from Pearl." Ruby's sister, Pearl Buckley—Mama Pearl to everyone else in town—ran the local diner, Dinner Belles, and was the undisputed queen of gossip in Wishful.

Jessie paused in the midst of inputting the prescriptions that'd been called in. "How on earth did we not know this?"

Riley wondered the same.

"I don't got a clue, but what are we gonna do about it?" Ruby demanded, shifting her attention back to Riley.

"What do you mean do about it?" It wasn't like they could engage in some kind of corporate espionage or something. "We're going to carry on with business as usual. It'll take them time to build and stock a store. We're fine."

"They're not building. They bought up the old WingStop building. Won't take much to convert that. Pearl says they're supposed to be open in a month."

Jessie's eyes widened. "A month? That's not much time to prepare."

"Y'all, nothing's going to change," Riley assured them. "This has been the only pharmacy in town for half a century. Almost everybody comes here. That's not going to change just because Walgreens opens up on the other side of town. People aren't going to be so easily seduced."

She hoped like hell that was true.

"I think we oughta call in Norah," Ruby said.

Earlier that year, Norah Burke had waged and won a war against a warehouse store that had threatened their small town way of life. She'd mobilized the citizenry to form a citizen's coalition and made huge strides in the revitalization of downtown Wishful—and that had all been _before_ she'd been hired as the new City Planner. She was a woman who made things happen. But even she couldn't put a genie back in its bottle.

"Norah has bigger things to do than be bothered about something that can't be changed," Riley said. "If Walgreens is already in the process of retrofitting the building, they're coming. Even she's not going to be able to stop that. Our customers are loyal. We're going to be fine."

A steady stream of patrons put an end to the discussion and seemed to prove Riley's point. They were exceptionally busy for a Saturday, with everybody trying to get in before the pharmacy closed at noon. As the lunch hour drew near, Riley cut Jessie loose to go work on the latest city beautification project, so she was alone as the last customer of the day wandered in.

"Tara! How good to see you."

Tara Honeycutt crossed to the counter with an unconscious grace that Riley envied. "I come bearing a special delivery of legal stimulants from Cassie. Just got off my shift at The Grind."

Pleased, surprised, Riley accepted the coffee and took a deep inhale. "God, I have such a weakness for these. Thanks. Those are really fabulous earrings, by the way."

Tara lifted a hand to the funky chandelier earrings made up of long, fanciful twists of wire. "Thanks. They're just something I've been playing around with in my spare time."

"You _made_ those?" Riley leaned in for a closer look. "Those are amazing. You could absolutely sell something like that."

"I did for a while on Etsy before they screwed the marketplace by removing the handmade requirement. These days it's too hard to get found there, and I don't have all that much time in the first place, juggling both jobs and the kids."

"Where are they today?"

"Vacation Bible School this week. Not that Austin is any happier about that than he has been about anything he's done this summer." She rolled her hazel eyes. "I am not, as he likes to point out, his parent."

"Raising your siblings has to be hard on you."

Tara shrugged. "It's better than the alternative. They need someone in their life who's stable and responsible. Anyway, I needed to pick up some more syringes for Ginny before I teach my one o'clock class at the gym."

"Which is it today?"

"Pilates. Then yoga at two-thirty. You should come."

Riley snorted with laughter. "I am not bendy, nor am I graceful."

"You can't _get_ bendy without trying," Tara pointed out. "There's a beginner class Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven. Great way to unwind from the day."

"I'll think about it. Now. Syringes." Riley retrieved them. "How's Ginny doing on that new dosage? Are you having any trouble?"

"Her blood sugar's pretty stable, but we're fighting the athlete's foot again."

"Bless her. There's an oil for that. Several, actually. But probably your best option is Melaleuca."

"Mela what now?"

"Melaleuca. Tea tree oil. It's likely to work when the over-the-counter stuff doesn't. Want to give it a try?" Seeing her brief hesitation, Riley added, "It's really affordable. A little bit goes a very long way, so a bottle is likely to last you up to a year."

"Okay. How do we use it?"

Warming to her subject, Riley all but bounced. Essential oils were a personal passion. She retrieved the oil and scribbled down instructions on application to send home with Tara. As she launched into an explanation of carrier oils, the bell over the door jangled. Even though she didn't look, even though she was very focused on her customer and her pet subject, Riley knew Liam had just walked in. The store suddenly felt ten degrees warmer, the air thicker and harder to breathe.

Done with the instructions, Riley held them out, keeping her gaze fixed on Tara. "You should also use it to make a shower spray to use between showers. It'll help kill the bacteria that keeps reinfecting her feet."

As Tara took the offered paper, Riley caught sight of Liam standing patiently off to the side. God, he looked good. She hadn't seen him in days, and it was a struggle to keep her attention on the sale. Pathetic. Up until January, she'd hardly seen him in twelve _years_.

She finished ringing Tara up. "Let me know how it works out for you."

"I will. Thanks." She waved on her way out the door.

Riley wished she had some lavender oil in the diffuser at the register. She needed something to take her heart rate down a notch as Liam ambled over, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. His sandy hair, grown out some from the military buzz, was rumpled, making him look younger, if no less a badass. The rumpled, boyish thing worked on him. Hell, everything worked on him. She couldn't read his face to gauge whether the news about Jo was good or bad.

Riley shoved her own hands into the pockets of her lab coat. "Well? Out with it. What's the final prognosis on my baby? I assume that's why you're here."

"It is."

He crossed his arms, which made his impressive biceps flex, straining the sleeves of his polo shirt in a way that had Riley's mouth watering. "Frankly, your baby is a stubborn bitch."

Riley winced, her attention dragged back to the matter at hand. "Your dad used to say she was a special snowflake."

"She's a special something. I just spent the last week tearing her almost completely apart and putting her back together. Rebuilt the engine, put in all new seals and fluids from front to back, a new battery, new spark plugs."

She reached out and grabbed hold of the edge of the counter, praying he hadn't done all that only to have the car stay dead. "And?"

He pulled her keys from his front pocket. "She's had the tires rotated, the front end aligned, and a bath. You'll need new tires by winter, but I doubt she's run this good for you since you got out of college."

"Oh, thank God." But her relief dimmed almost immediately as her mind tried to tally up the cost of everything he'd done. "What's the damage?"

He pulled out his wallet and fished a folded paper from inside. "Just the cost of parts and fluids."

She couldn't read most of the items scrawled on the receipt he handed her from Wishful Auto Parts, but the total at the bottom had her looking back at him in suspicion. "You did not just do all that to my car for $293.74."

"New fluids and seals cover a multitude of sins," Liam said easily, his gray eyes level on hers.

Jesus, the man had a helluva poker face.

"Cost of parts aside, your _time_ is worth something."

He shrugged that off. "Consider it the cost of my therapy. Wrenching is good thinking time, and I had a problem to work out."

"Did you figure it out?"

"Think so."

"Well, that's great, but I still can't let you just do all that work for free." Not that she could really afford to pay him more than the bill he'd handed her. But it was the principle of the thing.

His brows angled down. "I don't expect my friends to pay me for a favor."

He kept saying that. Friends. But they'd never been friends. Not like that. Not even after he'd slipped into the role of her own personal hero. She'd only ever been in his orbit at all because of Wynne. Now they were both grown, Wynne was gone, and what he'd done for her had become the stuff of Things Best Left In The Past. Which made them...well, nothing at all.

"Besides," he continued, "being in the garage all week was the closest I've felt to Dad since I got back. I needed that."

He hadn't even been able to go into the garage in the months after Uncle John's death. And he'd gone there for her? Riley's heart softened. Anything else she could've argued about but not that. Of all of them, Liam had taken his father's death the hardest. During the final eleven months of his last tour, Riley and Molly had both been worried sick that the unresolved grief would dull his edge and land him in harm's way.

"How did it go?" she asked softly.

He gave a nostalgic half smile that was still a little pained around the edges. "I kept expecting him to come in to help, start bossing me about what he'd do different."

Riley ached to step out from behind the counter and slip her arms around him. But after what close contact with him had done to her last time, she didn't dare give in to the impulse. "I miss him, too." Uncle John had been on her incredibly short list of men who could be counted on.

Liam flipped her keys around his pointer finger and didn't quite look at her. "This is the first time I've been able to really talk about him without wanting to hit somebody or blow something up."

Riley did move around the counter then to lay a light hand on his arm. All that smooth, hard muscle was bunched with tension. "Healing takes time, Liam. Your daddy was a good man, and there are a whole lot of great memories of him. You're really lucky to have them."

He did look at her then, covering her hand with his. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Do you remember your dad?"

Those big, strong fingers were warm and gave her a comfort she hadn't even realized she wanted. "Some. I was only five when he died. Some of what I think I remember is probably more my mom telling me stories over and over. Showing me pictures. And some I know are really my memories." She smiled. "I have a lot more of your dad. All good. Eventually, you'll get to where that's what comes to mind when you think of him, instead of the hurt."

He studied her, as if she were a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. "You're an intuitive woman, Riley."

She had no idea how much of it was intuition and how much was the fact that she'd been a student of this particular man for years. For all that they'd never _really_ been friends, she knew him. Better than he probably realized.

She stepped away before things got weird. "He was so proud of your service. And he'd have been proud of you for taking the hard road and getting out of it in the name of family."

Liam huffed. "Oh sure. His eldest son, the combat engineer, still unemployed six months after telling Uncle Sam to take a hike."

"I gather that's not the problem you were working out on Jo's guts."

"Thinking about that one would've more likely resulted in Jo's guts being obliterated. My specialty is demolition and urban breaching. Not a lot of use for that around here."

The trilling of her phone put an end to whatever opportunity she had to reply to that—not that she knew what to say.

"I know it's not your strong suit, but try to have some patience. You'll figure it out. Meanwhile, thanks for fixing my car." She held her hand out for the keys as "Crazy Train" continued to jangle from her pocket.

As he laid them in her palm, his fingers brushed her wrist and a bolt of heat shot up her arm. Riley managed not to tense, but a shiver worked its way from her tail bone up her spine.

Liam frowned faintly before dropping his hand "I'm gonna go look around the storeroom and sort out the best plan of attack."

She pocketed the keys and left her hand there to hide her trembling fingers. "A few pounds of C4 might be quicker than actually cleaning out. And, hey, you'd know how to repair the resulting damage."

"Ha ha," he said flatly, but the corner of his mouth quirked.

She tugged out the phone. "I've gotta take this." He wandered over to the storeroom as she answered. "Mom?"

"Hi, honey."

She headed into the office for a little more privacy. "Where are you? I thought you'd be back by now."

"I'm still in Fresno."'

"What?" It'd been almost a week.

"Well, I got back in touch with Hal."

"So you're back together?" Riley guessed.

"No, no. But I got my things. Put them all in the mail to ship home."

"Okay, so when can I expect you?"

Her pause had Riley's gut tightening. "Well, that's the thing. Between the shipping costs and the motel and food...I don't have anything left of what you sent me."

"Are you kidding me?" But Riley knew she wasn't.

Sharilyn got immediately defensive. "I couldn't just abandon my things. That's everything I have."

Except for the stuff still in storage in Wishful. Riley was footing the bill for that, too. But there was no sense in bringing that up now.

"I just need a few hundred more for that bus ticket."

After she paid Liam back, Riley's personal account would have all of $32 in it. Her savings had flat-lined months before, and the business account was doing a constant tango between profitable and nail-biting. She wasn't about to jeopardize her ability to make payroll. Her employees didn't deserve to be shorted. She could buy the ticket herself on her almost maxed out credit card—and, in fact, that was what she should've done in the first place—but she wouldn't put it past her mother to cash in the ticket and do something else to squander the money.

She was tired. So incredibly tired of this whole scenario.

"I'm done, Mom."

"What?" Riley could practically hear her reaching to clutch the pearls perpetually at her throat.

"I'm done. I'm tapping out. I have paid and paid and paid for your mistakes and bad judgment, and I just can't do it anymore. I don't have it to give. Every penny I have has been sunk into the pharmacy."

"You're...you're just going to leave me out here?" Sharilyn's voice shot high with incredulity and not a little bit of fear.

"I'm telling you I don't have any money I can loan you. You'll have to pick up some kind of temporary work. Earn enough for a bus ticket home."

"But I don't have any skills!"

Right. Because professional damsel in distress was not exactly the most stellar career move.

"You can wash dishes. Wait tables. It's time you learned how to take care of yourself." Because God knows no one else had ever made her.

"But Riley—"

"I have to go, Mom. Good luck."

She hung up before the tears could start.

Liam found Riley in the office, her head pressed to the desk, her shoulders slumped.

"Everything okay?"

She jolted upright as if he'd shocked her. "Fine." But he could see the strain around her eyes and hear the slight catch in her voice that said otherwise.

He might've thought that had something to do with him, except he'd heard enough to know it was her mother on the phone. They hadn't had an easy relationship back when she was younger. Liam doubted that had changed. He considered asking about it, bullying her until she spilled whatever was on her mind. But she hadn't pressed his tender spot about his dad, and he didn't think she'd welcome the intrusion.

Riley got to her feet. "Did you sort out whatever you needed to on the storeroom?" She held herself stiff, clearly waiting for him to get the hell out of her way.

He didn't need to know the why to help. "Yep. Come here." Without waiting for her acquiescence, Liam tugged her into his arms.

She shoved at his chest, trying to step back. "What are you doing?" Was that a faint trace of panic in her tone?

"You're upset about something. Figured you could use a hug."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

It didn't seem worth pointing out that he'd always been able to read her better than that. "Riley, you don't have to talk about it. You don't even have to acknowledge it. But for once in your life, lean for two damn minutes. I promise I won't tell."

With an annoyed sort of growl, she gave a half-hearted shove before finally giving up, dropping her head against his chest and sliding her arms around his waist. He stroked a hand up and down her back. Degree by slow degree, she relaxed. Liam tried his damnedest not to think about how good she felt against him or to notice the pretty floral scent to her hair.

"I forgot what good hugs you give," she murmured.

She'd been very much still a girl the last time he'd hugged her. She wasn't a girl now.

"What're friends for?"

She gave him an odd look as she stepped away. "I don't know what the hell we were, but it was never anything so simple as friends."

That was undoubtedly true.

He probably should've let it go, but this was as honest as they'd been with each other in twelve years. "I'd like to be."

It was the truth, if not the whole truth, and it was all he dared hope for after how they'd left things when he'd enlisted.

Riley inclined her head. "Well, you're certainly holding up your end of the deal."

Not exactly a yes, but he'd take it.

She shrugged out of her lab coat and hung it on a hook behind the door. "Can I give you a ride somewhere? I assume you drove Jo here to deliver her."

"I'm on the demolition crew for the city playground." Which had been slated to start at noon, so he was officially late.

The playground at Waldrop Park was Norah's latest cause. On seeing the patchwork of rust and warped wood that constituted the play space, she'd orchestrated a picket fence fundraiser. Seemed like more than half the town had bought a picket to raise the money for replacement of the equipment that hadn't been touched since Liam himself had been in elementary school. Once the new playground was built, the pickets would each be inscribed with the name of the donor, and a new fence built around the park. It was pretty ingenious, really.

"Jessie left for that about an hour ago."

Liam eyed the shorts and t-shirt that had been hiding beneath her coat. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Come to the work day with me. Bunch of folks are gonna be there. I think it'd be good for you." It would give her a chance to work off some of that frustration still simmering below the surface.

Riley frowned.

"You have something else to do this afternoon?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then come break stuff with me, Riley Marie." He tweaked her pony-tail, much as he'd done when they were kids.

"You're _such_ a guy." But the corners of her luscious mouth twitched.

"What? Breaking stuff is fun."

"You think I don't remember you had exactly the same expression when you, Jack, and Cruz thought it would be a good idea to blow up pumpkins with M80s?"

A lot of the best times with his brothers had involved blowing things up. "Blowing stuff up can be fun, too." Liam took her arm and started steering her toward the door. "I volunteered to rig the explosives, but Norah vetoed that plan."

"Well, it's not exactly safe to be exploding things in the middle of town."

"Not if you know what you're doing. Which I do. Mitch thinks she's running a secret op to get sweaty, shirtless pics of the available bachelors in Wishful for a fund-raising calendar."

Riley snorted. "You know she wouldn't make a secret of it. She'd give some kind of compelling presentation about the marketing benefits and everybody would jump to do her bidding."

"This is probably true," he conceded. "So how about it? You coming with or are you gonna wuss out?"

She shot him a narrowed-eyed glare. "Watch it, Boy Scout, or I'll _suggest_ that calendar to Norah."

He held up his hands in surrender. He'd had enough trouble after his mother's announcement at his welcome home party about taking applications for the mother of her future grandchildren. She'd been joking. He was pretty sure.

As he shoehorned himself into Riley's car, his phone buzzed with a text.

_Speak of the devil._

Mom: **Just heard from Jessie. Walgreens is opening out on the highway.**

Well, that explained part of Riley's mood.

He texted back, **I'll mention it to Norah at the demolition.**

They both knew Riley would never say anything herself.

When they got to Waldrop Park and climbed out of the car, Norah called, "You're late!"

"Doesn't count." He and Riley crossed to join everyone. "I brought more helping hands."

"We haven't gotten started yet anyway," Norah said. "Figured we'd wait on you, given demolition is your area of expertise."

"That'd be a lot more relevant if you'd let me make things go boom," Liam told her. "Mitch is more than capable of telling people how to tear a structure down."

Mitch Campbell, a local architect and one of Liam's oldest friends, lifted his hand. "Dude, I build stuff. I don't destroy."

"I suggested we kill some time by using it for target practice with those old potato canons we built senior year," Judd said.

"Best physics project _ever_ ," Liam pronounced. "Pretty sure that's when Cruz knew he wanted to be a sniper. I found mine in the shed when I cleaned it out a couple months ago."

"You boys gonna keep running your mouths or are you planning on doing some work?" Riley asked. "I was promised I could break stuff."

"You heard the lady." Liam made quick work assigning people to various posts, making a rapid plan of attack before grabbing a hardhat. He plunked it down on Riley's head and handed her a pair of safety goggles and some leather gloves.

Riley eyed them for a moment before slipping both on.

"I can't believe this thing is _finally_ coming down." Mitch looked fondly at the wreck of a playground, a sledge hammer balanced on his shoulder.

"Remember when we used to play Star Wars out here?" Liam crossed to a broken swing and slapped at it. "Looks like our Millennium Falcon is busted."

"Ooo, maybe I should tweak the design," Mitch said.

"Oh no you don't," Norah interrupted. "The castle and turret design was finalized and all the materials were bought based on those specs."

"Spoil-sport," Mitch grumbled. "Your fiancée is no fun," he told his cousin.

Cam Crawford laughed and looped an arm around Norah's waist, drawing her in for a smacking kiss. "You know my girl is gonna keep us on budget. That's a good thing."

Liam watched them, amused and a little envious at their obvious joy in each other. His parents had loved like that, and he only hoped to someday be half as lucky.

"Fine, fine. No Millennium Falcon."

"Let's get this show on the road," Mitch's sister, Miranda, said. "I've got an ER shift later, and I want time to shower and take a nap."

"Your wish, Randa Panda."

Miranda gave him a withering look that had him grinning in return. She'd crushed on him as a teenager. Unlike Riley, Miranda had always felt like a sister to him, so nothing ever came of it. But, God, it was still fun to poke at her.

"Okay, she who just found out Walgreens is opening out on the highway gets the first swing."

Riley's gaze flashed to his, but she didn't ask how he knew.

"Man, seriously?" Norah asked.

"Look out," Cam said. "She's got that war-mongering look in her eye again. GrandGoods left her with a taste for blood."

Riley jerked her chin toward Autumn. "Save your war-mongering for a campaign to save the library and the job of the head librarians. The pharmacy is fine."

Liam was reasonably sure she'd say that up to and possibly including the place burning down. "War council can wait." He led her toward a section of semi-rotten tunnel. Built in the days before the widespread use of plastic components, the thing was entirely wood, missing a few slats along the roof and sides.

"Stand back." When she did as he asked, Liam demonstrated the correct hold and swing. "Think you can manage that?"

Riley held out a gloved hand for the sledgehammer. After making certain she had the proper grip, Liam moved well out of the way himself and watched her heft the thing. Her first swing had her turning a complete circle, missing the target completely.

Mitch laughed and started toward her. "You need a _real_ man to show you how it's done."

Liam held up a hand. "No, give her a minute."

Eyes narrowed, Riley readjusted her grip and swung. This time the blow landed true, slamming into the side and caving in two slats at the first blow, a testament to exactly how bad a shape the playground was in. Eyes narrowed, she swung again, and then again, finding her rhythm and steadily destroying the entire length of the tunnel within her reach.

"Hooo-eee," Mitch remarked. "Remind me never to get on her bad side."

"Let's get our piece of this." With a war whoop, Judd threw himself into the cause.

"Oo rah," Liam said, and dove into the fray.

Soon, there was a cacophony of thuds and crashes as they all set to demolition. The steady flex and stretch of muscle felt good, even in the heat of the sun. Before his tour in Iraq, Liam had thought Mississippi was hot. A hundred and twenty degrees in the shade had changed his perspective.

"We're gonna need a chainsaw for the bridge ties," Judd observed. "These bolts are long since rusted in place."

"There's one in my truck," Mitch called.

"I'll get it." Liam set his own sledgehammer aside, glancing over to check on Riley as she went after the walls of the crow's nest.

Judd followed his gaze. "She's gonna be super sore tomorrow."

"Yeah, but her head will be clearer."

Judd trailed him over to Mitch's truck. "Maybe you should offer to massage out the kinks. Since this was your idea and all."

Liam gave him a flat stare and checked the fuel level in the chainsaw.

"Fixing her car had to have gotten you back into her good graces."

"That's not why I did it." Though it probably hadn't hurt that particular cause.

Judd grinned. "Sure it wasn't."

Liam flipped him off. "Grab those bolt cutters. We'll need them for the chains holding the suspension bridge."

Hard, noisy work kept him occupied for another hour. By the time the pieces of the bridge had been relegated to the dumpster hauled on site, he was ready to pour the entire cooler of water over his head. He guzzled a couple of glasses before switching over to the sweet tea Mama Pearl had sent over from Dinner Belles. They'd made good progress. In another hour, all the detritus would be cleared and they'd be done for the day.

Grabbing another glass of tea, Liam took it over to Riley, who was breathing hard and glaring in triumph at a splintered support post.

"Okay, I admit it. You were absolutely right. Totally cathartic."

"Sometimes you just need to beat the shit out of something. Feel better?"

She took the tea and drank deep, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Some."

"It's not just Walgreens, is it?" he asked quietly.

Not even surprise in her big blue eyes this time. Just resignation. "Sometimes your perceptiveness is a real pain in the ass."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I really don't."

Liam tried to ignore the sting of that. He'd been out of her life a long time. He couldn't expect easy entry back into it. "Fair enough."

Riley drained the tea. "I'd like to take you to dinner."

That stopped him. "What?"

"As a thank you," she explained. "My car. Demolition therapy. It's the least I can do."

His traitorous brain supplied a quick montage of other things she could do that had absolutely nothing to do with dinner.

_Not on the menu,_ he reminded himself and immediately began to mentally tear apart a Beretta M9 as a distraction. "Sounds good."

"Tonight work for you?"

"Sure."

"We'll go to Magnolia Heights."

"All the way in Lawley?"

"I know how much you love their prime rib." She dropped her voice low. "You said you want to be friends. If you're serious about that, there are things we should probably talk about, and I'd just as soon not do it where anybody in town can hear."

Clearly she was done dancing around the issue. Good.

"Pick you up at 6:30."

# Chapter 5

SAFELY ENSCONCED BACK IN Jo, it was all Riley could do not to hyperventilate. What the hell had she done? In _what world_ was it actually a good idea to face this head on? To invite him to dinner to talk about the past _on purpose?_

The heat had fried her brain. That was it. She was under the influence of dehydration and the sight of all his muscles in action. Between that and feeling gooey toward him over all the nice things he'd done, she'd suffered a massive lapse in judgment.

There was no way out of it. You didn't cancel a thank you dinner. Postponement wouldn't help anything. If she never went through with it, she'd look bitchy and ungrateful. Which meant her only possible option to potentially avoid this conversation was distraction.

She thought of what Autumn had said about Drool Night and picked up the phone. "I need your help."

Autumn was waiting when Riley got back to the duplex.

"I've lost my mind."

"You've found your gumption," Autumn corrected. "Way to go for asking him out."

"It's just a thank you dinner for fixing my car. It's not a date."

"You did not call me over here to help you prepare for a non-date. You wanted help in making Liam see you as something other than a little sister or a friend, and I'm going to deliver. Get your ass in the shower, while I peruse your closet."

Grumbling, Riley did as she was told.

As the heated spray beat on her tired muscles—she was going to feel the effects of wielding that sledgehammer for at least a week—Riley reflected on all the many ways this dinner could blow up in her face. He could think she was throwing herself at him and not catch her—coming up with all new reasons for them to feel awkward around each other. He could relegate her permanently to the friend zone. He could admit he'd really only ever seen her as another sister. He could not be distracted by whatever Autumn came up with to make him drool and want to actually _talk_ about the letter. Or she could cave and bring it up only to find out that he'd never even gotten the thing and didn't have any idea what she was talking about. Worst of all, he could believe she was like her mother, trying to woo him in order to find some kind of protector or caretaker.

_As if._

She'd rather give up chocolate for life than ever follow in those footsteps.

Wrapped in her robe, Riley stepped back into her bedroom and nearly tripped over her cat as Valium twined around her legs. She picked him up for a cuddle. "This is a terrible idea I don't have any idea what to say to him. I'm going to trip all over my tongue."

"It's an opportunity," Autumn corrected. "And you're not going to trip over your tongue because he's going to be too busy tripping over his."

She emerged from the closet with a little black dress. Knee-length, with fluttering cap sleeves, the princess seams and sweetheart V-neck played up every asset Riley had, clinging to her curves like a second skin. She'd never had excuse to wear it.

"This dress is sex on a stick. We'll do up some Veronica Lake hair, smoky eyes, siren red lips, and Sergeant Montgomery won't know what hit him."

Riley rocked the dress. She knew she did. She'd bought it because it made her feel feminine and sexy. Confident. God knew she could use some confidence when it came to Liam. And yet...

"I don't know." Maybe she should just go casual—or at least as casual as one ever went to Magnolia Heights.

"You are not required to know, you're just required to wear the outfit."

Riley took a long look at the dress. It really would be a shame to let it go to waste. "Tell me how to do the hair."

"Go ahead and dry it. I require tools and product. Back in a jiff."

The pile of supplies she returned with was mildly alarming.

"Did you go to beauty school when I wasn't looking?"

"No, but my mom was a beautician. I know a thing or three." Autumn gestured to the edge of the bed. "Sit here."

"Not in the bathroom?"

"Oh no, no mirrors. You don't get to see until I'm done with you."

Riley looked askance in her direction.

"Come on. Would I steer you wrong?" Autumn demanded.

"You are a serial matchmaker. I know this about you. You might not deliberately steer me wrong, but you want to see love everywhere, whether it exists or not."

"It exists, and my role in life is to help nudge it along. Besides, tonight is not about love. It's about inspiring lust. Now sit."

Riley sat, back to the dresser mirror, and felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin.

"Stop fidgeting."

"Sorry. I'm just..."

"Nervous. I get it. Do all these doubts have to do with that complicated history you won't talk about?"

"Yeah."

"Well sugar, you're going to have to either get some resolution there or let it go entirely. Otherwise, you're gonna be stuck in this weird-ass limbo. Given he's back for good, I'd say that's a pretty uncomfortable place to be." She did something with the curling iron. "You might feel better if you talked about it."

God, maybe she would. Autumn would tell her if she was being an idiot, maybe save her some embarrassment tonight.

Riley took a bracing breath. "You didn't know me when we were younger, but you know I've always been up in the middle of the Montgomerys. Wynne and I were thick as thieves from first grade on. Her brothers were my brothers and her folks were another set of parents—a much appreciated, much needed second set, since Mom and I were on our own."

"Your dad was military, right?"

"Air Force. He was killed in action when I was five. My mom didn't take it well. They had a really traditional marriage, with traditional gender roles. Despite the fact that he was deployed a fair bit, he still managed to take care of everything. So, when he died, she not only had to cope with the devastation of losing the love of her life, but she was suddenly responsible for all this stuff that she'd never had to worry about before. She tried. She really did, for a long time." Riley had to acknowledge that. "But she just...couldn't deal. She started looking for a replacement for Daddy. Somebody who could fill his role and take care of her. Of us."

"That doesn't seem so surprising."

"No. And it might've been fine under other circumstances. But she...wasn't as discriminating as she should've been. She had this complete fairy tale with my dad. He swept her off her feet and made it so she never had to deal with any harsh realities. And she was naive enough to believe that most men were as good as he was. So from the time I was about seven, there was this parade of men through our lives as she tried to find the stability she was missing. Some stuck longer than others. But it wasn't until I was thirteen that one of them got serious and asked her to marry him."

To buy a moment and gather her thoughts, she dipped her hand into a jar of moisturizer and began to smooth it over her skin. "I didn't like Cliff from the beginning. He didn't say or do anything wrong. I just had a...vibe. Mom thought I was just being difficult and that I wasn't going to like anybody who wasn't Daddy. I'll admit there was some truth to that. But this was something else. Not that it mattered. She said yes, and he moved in."

Autumn stayed silent, curling a hand around Riley's shoulder.

"He didn't do anything overt. Nothing I could point to and say. 'This. This is not okay.' He just made me uneasy. He...watched me." Even thinking about it now made her skin crawl. Riley waved to her body. "This developed early. I was already catching harassment from the boys at school, and because there wasn't anything specific, when I mentioned it to my mother, she convinced me that I was overly sensitive and imagining things."

Autumn winced.

"Anyway, Molly and John ended up throwing an engagement barbeque for Mom and Cliff. Mom was so damned happy." It hurt to remember that.

"I don't know what Liam saw. It's odd, I guess, that I never asked him. But before we left that night, he cornered me and told me to leave my bedroom window unlocked, that he was coming by later. It was such a strange thing and he was so deadly serious, even at that age, that it didn't occur to me to ask why or to do any different. So when he came later, I let him in. He told me he was sleeping under my bed, and even though he didn't ask any questions or offer any explanations, I _knew_ that he knew. That he'd somehow sensed the creeper vibe."

" _Under_ your bed?"

"It was on risers and he wasn't as burly then. In case he was wrong, he didn't want me getting in trouble."

"So he stayed. What happened?"

"Nothing. I thought that would be the end of it. But Liam wasn't willing to let it go that easily. Bless him, he slept under my bed for a _week_ , sneaking out every morning before breakfast. The first night was...weird. I mean, my best friend's big brother was sleeping _under_ my bed. After that, though, we talked. Late into the night. Stupid, inconsequential stuff at first. I think he was trying to put me at ease. I don't know that we'd ever had any real conversations before that." And those talks had given her a whole different view of Liam.

"The weekend after the party was some anniversary or celebration or other. Cliff brought home a bottle of wine to drink with dinner. My mom's never had a head for alcohol, but he just kept refilling her glass, until she'd had about three-quarters of the bottle. She passed out. And he came after me."

Autumn had gone pale. "Oh Riley."

Riley shook her head. "He never got to put a hand on me. Liam was on him the moment he unbuckled his belt." She closed her eyes, remembering the thud of fists on flesh as Liam beat Cliff with a terrifying precision and efficiency. "Liam made sure that he left. Packed his stuff and got him out of the house before my mother ever woke up. And he made it clear that if Cliff came back, came anywhere within a hundred feet of me, he wouldn't stop with a beating."

"Jesus. What did your mother say?"

"Nothing. She never knew. As far as she's aware, he decided he couldn't handle an insta-family and bailed on her."

"Riley! How could y'all not tell her? What if she brought someone else into the house?"

"Because she didn't believe me when I tried to talk to her about it before."

"You had Liam as witness."

"I had Liam as a vigilante who beat her fiancé to within an inch of his life. I was terrified he'd get into trouble over it. So we didn't tell anybody. Ever."

"Didn't you worry it could happen again?"

"Of course. I was scared to death of every guy my mom went out with for a long time after that. But Liam looked out for me, taught me self defense, until he was sure I could take down a guy twice my size. He made me feel...safe. He was the first guy I could depend on since my dad. Which, actually, isn't accurate. I could absolutely depend on his dad, too."

"But it wasn't the same." Yeah Autumn would get that, given her relationship with Judd and his family.

"No. It wasn't the same. And then he enlisted. Without telling me. I found out from Wynne. And I couldn't even say a word about how I felt about it because she didn't know he and I were...whatever the hell we were."

"You must've been devastated."

Riley shook her head, though she had been. "I was furious. Looking back, I didn't have a right to be. Not really." She'd thought a _lot_ about that over the years. "We weren't friends like you and Judd. We weren't...anything, really. And just because he saved me from a would-be rapist once, didn't make me his lifetime responsibility."

"I'm sure none of that made you feel any less abandoned."

"True enough," she admitted. "But I wasn't mad because of that, so much as terrified that he'd be killed like my daddy. I was so _angry_ that he deliberately put himself in harm's way, I wrote him this letter and shoved it into his bag before he left for boot camp."

"What did it say?"

Riley shook her head. Some details were better kept to herself. "A lot of things I had no right to say. A lot of things I'm ashamed of and embarrassed about."

"So you've been avoiding him all this time because of a letter you wrote him when you were fifteen and upset?"

"In a nutshell? Yes."

Autumn paused, an eyeliner pencil in her hand. "And here I thought it was because you have the hots for him."

Riley barked out a laugh. "That complication didn't get added to the equation until he came home for good."

"Well, we're going to dial up the complication on his side tonight." She leaned in, stroking the pencil along Riley's eyelid.

"Are you sure about this? I feel like a painted lady."

Autumn continued shading Riley's eyes. "Something you may not know about Liam—he has a deep love of old movies. So this vintage look you're rocking is totally going to work for him. You are exactly his type."

"I don't want to manipulate him."

"Playing up your God-given assets isn't manipulation. Never forget, with a positive attitude and a great pair of ta-tas, you can do anything. And you, darling, have a fabulous rack."

Riley snorted.

"There." Autumn laid down the eyeliner and surveyed her handiwork. "One of my better efforts, if I do say so myself."

Riley started to get up

"No. No, you have to see the entire package. C'mon, get dressed. I raided your underwear drawer and pulled out some sexy lingerie to go with the dress."

"Why? I'm not sleeping with him."

"Well, of course not. Although there'd be nothing wrong with it if you did. But sexy lingerie is a confidence booster. You'll know you're wearing it, and it'll impact how you carry yourself. Plus, he's going to wonder what's under that dress, and it makes it all the better if it really is something awesome. And in the event you change your mind and go for the hot monkey sex, you're set."

The idea of Liam peeling her out of the dress to find thigh highs and a garter belt almost had her hitting the shower again for a cold one, but the clock was ticking and she didn't have time. Not to mention Autumn would murder her for ruining all her hard work.

Only when she was dressed and zipped and had stepped into the sky high heels did Autumn let her near the mirror on the back of the closet door.

"Holy crap." Riley stared at the reflection and barely recognized herself. "You're like my own personal fairy godmother. I owe you."

Autumn grinned. "You can pay me in details, when you get back."

The doorbell rang. Riley rode out the quick clutch in her belly. She let out a long, slow breath. "Pray for me."

"Oh, I will."

Riley gave her a quick hug before picking up her purse.

"Promise me something," Autumn said, suddenly serious.

"What?"

"Don't waste this opportunity. If you do, you'll always wonder." Without giving Riley a chance to actually answer, Autumn shoved her toward the stairs. "I'll lock up after you're gone. No reason for him to know I was involved."

"Thank you! Oh, could you feed Valium?"

"Of course. And Riley?"

She paused at the bottom of the stairs. "What?"

"Condoms in your purse, just in case!"

_Oh God._

Bracing herself, she went to answer the door. One way or another, tonight was bound to change things. For better or worse.

_The M16/M4 Carbine rifle is a 5.56mm, magazine-fed, gas-operated, air-cooled, shoulder-fired weapon that can be fired either in automatic three-round bursts or semiautomatic single shots..._

Liam continued his mental recitation of the characteristics and components of Marine weaponry. It was the only thing keeping him from embarrassing them both with his reaction to Riley's appearance. But he couldn't stop himself from giving her another appreciative once over as she passed by him into the air-conditioned restaurant.

Her toenails were scarlet, peeking out through the toes of strappy black shoes with sky high heels. His gaze skimmed up shapely legs to the hem of her little black dress. But it wasn't just any little black dress. It was the empress of little black dresses, elegant and form-fitting. And, oh God, what a form. A perfect hourglass, crowned with the most magnificent breasts, framed by a plunging neckline. But it was her face that had glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth since she walked out. Her full lips matched her toes, and her eyes looked almost electric with the smoky shadow and impossibly long lashes. If she'd stepped directly out of one of his erotic dreams, she couldn't have looked more perfect

But in the ensuing forty-five minutes, while he'd been busy reminding himself of every single reason why he shouldn't just blow dinner and find the nearest hotel to show her exactly what kind of fantasies that dress inspired, the confidence and vivacity she'd greeted him with had evaporated, leaving her obviously ill-at-ease. He was pretty sure it had something to do with a text she'd gotten on the drive. At least, he hoped it was the text and not him and his less-than-brotherly reaction. Surely she didn't think of him as a brother if she'd worn _that._

Her hands were clamped around her purse as if she expected it to get snatched. If she'd been any other woman, he'd have put an arm around her, flirted until she relaxed. But Riley wasn't any other woman, and Liam wasn't sure exactly what tonight was about. The last thing he wanted to do was misread the situation and screw things up.

Inconsequential small talk got them through being seated and placing their drink orders.

As the waiter scurried away, Liam sat back and sent her a smile that he hoped came off as friendly rather than _I am the Big Bad Wolf, and I want to eat you up._ "You look really amazing, by the way."

Her cheeks pinked. "Thanks. I spend most of my time in a lab coat or yoga pants, so it seemed a shame not to take advantage of the ambiance to wear something more fun." She went back to hiding behind the menu.

Liam didn't think she meant the kind of fun he'd been imagining.

Once they'd placed their orders, he picked up his beer and opted for a full-frontal assault of the elephant in the room. "I owe you an apology."

Distress flickered across that beautiful face. She shook her head. "You don't owe me anything, Liam."

When she began to pluck at a tiny, loose thread in the tablecloth, he covered her hand with his. He said nothing, waiting until she lifted her gaze to his. "I abandoned you, and I'm sorry."

At the faint jerk of her fingers, Liam tightened his hold. In twelve years, neither of them had ever spoken of the letter she'd left in his bag the day he left for boot camp. But he was tired of having the past lingering like some noxious smoke between them

Riley ducked her head and winced. "I'm ashamed of the things I said."

"You weren't wrong. I didn't think about you when I made the decision to enlist."

"And you shouldn't have. One noble act didn't make me your responsibility for life, and it wasn't fair of me to say anything to you that implied that I was. It wasn't fair of me to try and make you feel guilty just because I was afraid. I'm the one who should apologize."

Liam frowned. "You said you hadn't had cause to pull out that self defense since then."

"I haven't. I wasn't afraid for me. I was afraid for you. I was furious that you'd chosen a path that was going to put you in constant danger and terrified that you'd be killed in action like my father. I barely remember him, but I remember life was good and stable when he was alive. I didn't have a lot of stability after that. Not until you, anyway. I knew I could count on you, and that was an exceptionally rare thing in my world."

Had he realized that at eighteen? His motivations for protecting her had nothing to do with providing stability. She'd been so self-contained, so together. It never occurred to him that she'd looked to him for more than physical protection. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to believe she needed more than that because it made his decision to walk away easier.

"All the more reason I should've at least talked to you about it before I enlisted."

"Why did you enlist? I've never asked. Why the Marines?" She sat back and he regretted the loss of her touch.

"I wanted to be selfish."

Riley blinked. "I don't think anyone would ever think that joining the military is a selfish act, so you'll have to explain that one."

He'd never talked about this. "Did Wynne ever tell you how Jack and I came to the family?"

"Other than the fact that all four of you are adopted and that you and Jack are actual blood brothers, no."

"I was eight when we came to Molly and John. Jack was six. They were our tenth foster home. We'd been in the system for three years by then, and it was a damned miracle we hadn't been split up. I was what they euphemistically referred to as a 'difficult child,' which really meant that I was a smart ass little punk with no respect for authority." Liam jerked a shoulder. "None of the so-called authority figures we were exposed to deserved any respect, as far as I could see. I learned quick that nobody was going to watch out for us but us. So I had one mission: Protect my brother—no matter what."

"From what?"

"Anything. Everything. Bullies. Negligence. Abusers. Child predators."

"That's how you knew about Cliff," she said softly.

"Yeah. That's how I knew. We didn't have a pretty life before we got to John and Molly. But I was the big brother, so it was my job to take care of him."

Riley sipped at her wine. "That didn't change once you became a Montgomery."

"No. We were some of the lucky ones. Our parents are amazing. But I could never just turn that part of me off. So the mission expanded to cover Wynne and Cruz. Then you."

"I imagine that was a heavy responsibility."

"That's just it. It wasn't. Life here was good. It wasn't like I had the same level of danger to look out for here as I did when Jack and I were in the system on our own. But I'd been in this constant state of threat assessment since I was five. Having that...awareness of the world and not doing anything with it was driving me slowly nuts. I didn't talk about it. Mom would've worried that she'd done something wrong, and it wasn't anything to do with her or Dad. It's just how I was built."

He took a long swallow of his beer, surprised to find his throat dry. "Everybody thought I'd work for Dad at the garage. I liked the work, and I was good at it. But the idea of staying here, locked into that life, felt like watching a cage door close. My whole life, up to that point, felt like it had been lived for somebody else. And I just—"

"Needed out?" There was no censure in her eyes, and he realized she got it.

"Yeah. Everybody I cared about was safe, so for the first time in my life, I was free to make a decision just for me. Everything that made me not quite fit in this world made me a born fighter. So, I enlisted and traded responsibility for one family for the responsibility of another, one where that mission-oriented focus is an asset and there's always somebody else to look out for."

"You miss it."

"Yes and no." He grimaced. "I'm not at all sure I'm cut out to be a civilian."

"Is it the structure you miss? The people?"

Most folks would've asked if he missed the action. But, as usual, Riley had a way of jumping past the obvious.

"Some of both. In some ways, life in the military is a lot more black and white than the everyday. There are always orders, hierarchy. And very clear lines that you don't cross."

His gaze was drawn to the thumb she stroked along the stem of her wineglass, and he wondered how it would feel along his skin.

_Focus, Montgomery._

"Are the lines so blurry in civilian life?"

He thought of how much he wanted to touch her, how much he wanted her to be something other than his sister's best friend, and took a pull on his beer. "On some things, yes. Part of it's just that they gave me a place. I knew where I fit there." He sure as hell didn't know who he was if not a Marine.

"And you haven't quite figured out where you fit now that you're back. There's not a specific place outlined and waiting."

Liam lifted his beer. "Got it in one."

"So build your own place."

"You say that like it's easy."

"Easy isn't the right word for it. I've worked my ass off to build mine. But it's so worth it. To figure out that thing that you want and build your world around it."

He was having a hard time thinking about what he wanted beyond getting her out of that dress. What kind of underpinnings went with an outfit like that? Lace? Silk?

"Do you think you'd be happier if you went back?"

Liam jerked his attention back to the conversation and hoped like hell he hadn't been staring at her breasts. "If you'd asked me that a few months ago, I'd have said yes. Now, I don't know. When I enlisted, I was proud of what I was doing, felt sure that I was meant to serve my country. But this last year...I don't know what the hell I was fighting for that was so important, it was worth abandoning my family."

The arrival of their food interrupted the baring of his soul, and Liam was grateful, hoping to turn the conversation. But once their server had departed again, Riley reached out for his hand, expression fierce.

"You didn't abandon your family, Liam. If you'd never left, if you'd stayed and followed in Uncle John's footsteps at the garage, if you'd been there that day, you couldn't have done anything to change what happened. You know that, don't you?"

Of course, she'd know that'd been kicking around in his head. Objectively, he knew she was right. According to the doctors, the aneurysm had killed his father all but instantly. But it didn't mitigate the guilt. He'd walked away from the place he'd been given and his father was dead.

Liam turned his hand up, curled his fingers around hers. "Knowing that in my head and knowing it in my heart are two very different things. Either way, I've had enough of war. That being the case..."

He reached into his shirt and pulled out the engraved Celtic shield knot medallion.

Riley inhaled an unsteady breath. "I wasn't sure if you ever found it."

"You said your dad always wore it. Except the one time he didn't."

"It was the only thing I had left of him," she said softly. "Mom got rid of almost everything else over the years."

And she'd given it to him to keep him safe. "I've never taken it off." He did so now, slipping the cord over his head and folding the medallion into her hand. "I figure, it's time you have this back."

She rubbed her thumb over the surface of the knot before lifting her eyes back to his. "It's probably nothing but superstition, but thank you for wearing it."

He credited that superstition for saving his life on more than one occasion when he should've died, so he figured he owed her. "I got home safe, so I'd say it did its job. Thank you for caring enough to send it."

"You mattered. Still do, even if I haven't exactly shown it since you came back."

Simple words that he wanted to mean more than she probably did.

"You were angry with me. I get it."

"I shouldn't have been. It's hard for me to think about back then. The fact is, I should thank you for leaving."

It was the last thing he expected her to say. "Why?"

She pulled her hands free and slipped the medallion over her head, wrapping her fist around it against her breastbone. She closed her eyes and something in her face relaxed, some subtle tension he hadn't even realized she carried until it was gone.

"Because I'm stronger now than if you'd stayed."

He frowned, lifting his gaze back to her face. "How so?"

"I learned to rely on myself. No parachute, no fall back, no net. My mother has spent twenty years looking for that. It was all she knew from her parents, from my dad. She never moved beyond that. I did. And I'm so much better off because I learned how to stand completely on my own."

She sat back, obviously relieved. "So consider tonight both a thank you and an apology. And if it's all the same to you, I'd like to forget about the rest. Clean slate."

Clean slate. No reminders of their complicated past.

Translation: I don't need you anymore.

And why should she? She'd built a life for herself with no help from anyone. Liam admired the hell out of that indomitable spirit, understood the need to prove oneself. The last thing she needed was any kind of hindrance to her goal of establishing independence, and the last thing he wanted was to somehow drag her back to something she was trying to get away from. He owed her that, if nothing else.

So though it pained him to do so, Liam tapped his glass to hers and forced a smile. "Clean slate."

Riley didn't know what she'd expected from asking for a clean slate. To feel better, somehow. More at ease with the situation and with him. Maybe even for both of them to pretend they'd never met and were on an actual first date.

But she didn't feel better. After finally finding out what drove Liam into the Marines in the first place, she felt like even more of a bitch than she already had. Add to that the nerves that kept jumping every time he laid his hand over hers, and it was a wonder she managed to get out coherent sentences.

He wasn't looking at her like a victim, and she was grateful. But he wasn't looking at her like a date either. That hadn't _really_ been the point of tonight. The whole distract him with sex appeal plan had flown out the window when he brought up the past straight out of the gate. But sitting there across from him, sharing a lovely meal and good conversation—once they'd left their complicated history in the past—she'd wanted more than the friendship he'd asked for.

He'd returned the medallion. As the dark miles rolled by, Riley wrapped her fist around it again. She didn't care that it looked ridiculous with her dress. He'd brought back a piece of her father that she'd lost and grieved for years ago. And now, it was a piece of Liam, too. Despite everything, he'd worn it all these years. That had to mean something. Didn't it?

She glanced at him, skimming her gaze over the strong line of his jaw, down his arms to those very capable hands on the wheel.

Did she have a right to push for more? To complicate things when both of them were aiming for something simple? And did she really, truly _want_ to push for more than friendship after what he'd told her? He'd said he was done with war, but could he really be happy in Wishful, in a life without a mission? If she pursued this and he walked away again...

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Riley sat up a little straighter and realized they were pulling into her driveway. "Nothing that can't be moved around. What did you have in mind?"

"Can you meet me at Blanchard's Gym?"

She blinked at him. "At the gym?"

"I'd like to do some refresher training with you on your self defense."

"What?"

Liam looked over, but there was no flirtatious smile to suggest he was thinking about anything other than actual training. "You did pretty well, considering you haven't practiced in years, but I'd feel better if you brushed up on things." At her hesitation, he added, "It's closed on Sundays, so you don't have to worry about the other guys. I've got a key."

"I suppose so." What else was she going to say? She didn't want to insult his kindness again just because it wasn't the sort of sweaty, up-close and personal time she'd had in mind.

"Great. Two o'clock work for you? Plenty of time for coffee that way." He flashed a teasing grin.

"You sure? I'm meaner without coffee. I'd probably fight better."

Liam laughed. "I'll test your mean after I'm sure you've got your techniques down."

Riley followed when he got out of the car. As this clearly hadn't turned into a date, there was no reason to wait for him to circle around to open her door. Still, he walked her up the front steps of the duplex, waiting as she slid the key into the lock.

"Thanks for dinner."

"Thanks for fixing my car."

_Dressed for a date. Felt like a date. Still not a date. What the hell do we do now?_

Riley hesitated, her hand on the knob. "I'm glad we talked." No matter how things turned out, at least they'd cleared the air and she wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life avoiding him.

"Me too. I missed you, Riley Marie." He leaned in, and Riley's heart began to thud. Then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders in an awkward, brotherly sort of hug.

She slid an arm around his waist and squeezed. "I'm glad you made it home safe."

Liam stepped back. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow." When she realized he was going to stand there until she got inside, she opened the door, offering a little wave before shutting it again. On a long sigh, she leaned against the other side, listening to the sound of his car pulling away.

She didn't believe in playing Cinderella, so why the hell should she be so disappointed that the prince didn't respond to a makeover?

At the knock, Riley jolted. Had he changed his mind? With her head full of visions of Liam coming back and ravishing her mouth without a word, she yanked open the door.

The sight of Autumn's expectant gaze deflated her fantasy as quick as a pin prick.

"Hey."

"I come bearing chocolate in lieu of the sex you're not having." Autumn pushed past her into the entryway and squealed. "You're wearing Liam's necklace!"

Of course, she'd zero in on that. __ "It's not what you think. It was my dad's good luck charm. I put it in Liam's bag when he left for boot camp. He was returning it to me."

"And he's worn it faithfully, all these years," Autumn said softly. She had that look in her eye that meant she was extrapolating a lot more out of the action than it merited.

"Don't you dare go off on some romanticized tangent about a knight wearing his lady's token in battle or some crap. It wasn't like that."

She handed over the chocolate. "Clearly you need this."

Riley scrubbed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry. Operation Sex On A Stick was a miserable failure. He was a complete, uninterested gentleman." She'd thought, maybe, the outfit had gotten his attention when he picked her up. But other than telling her she looked nice, he'd steered completely clear of flirtation.

Autumn pouted. "That's not how this story is supposed to go."

Irritated, Riley bent to unbuckle the shoes that were killing her feet. "There's no supposed to about it. Life isn't one of your fairy tales or romance novels. I stopped looking for a prince a long time ago." And why the hell should that have changed? "For all that I love them, those stories are dangerous things. They set up completely unrealistic expectations."

"Well that's all kinds of cynical and just plain sad."

Riley stalked into the living room, tossing her shoes by the coffee table and flopping onto the sofa. Valium emerged from beneath it to crawl into her lap. At least someone loved her. "It's realistic. Fairy tales aren't real. They don't last." She'd do well to remember that instead of letting her brain run amok with romantic fantasies fueled by sexual starvation and a high school crush that should've died long ago.

"Them's fightin' words, baby girl. But you've had a disappointing evening, so I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that." Autumn folded herself into the opposite corner of the couch. "Did y'all talk about...stuff?"

"Yeah, we cleared the air."

"That's it, then. You killed the mood with all the serious stuff. Which needed to be said so that y'all can move past it."

"There wasn't a mood to be killed. He's not harboring some secret desire to strip me down and drizzle me in honey." _More's the pity._

"Not a bad thing. Honey's delicious, but hella sticky. You don't want to mess with getting that out of your sheets."

"Doesn't matter, as he's not going to be anywhere near my sheets." Riley dropped her head back. "We're friends. That's all we'll ever be."

"So that's it? You're just going to leave it at that?"

"I'm not going to throw myself at him. He said he wants to be friends, so I'll honor that." It was the smart thing. The sensible thing.

"Even though you're totally undressing him with your eyes every time he walks into a room?"

Riley draped an arm over her eyes. "I'll get over it." _Somehow._ In the long silence, she could feel Autumn's eyes on her. "Feel free to offer up suggestions as to how I can speed that along."

"You and Liam sizzle when you get within ten feet of each other."

"Not useful, Autumn. I'm pretty sure you're delusional." The only one of them spontaneously combusting was her.

"Okay, okay, I know. Not helping. But maybe this will. Be right back." Autumn came back a few minutes later with a stack of books. "If you're serious about not going after him, then all you've got left is sublimation into more socially acceptable means."

"Which are?"

Autumn set the books on the table. "Smexy romance novels with Marine heroes."

Riley picked up the top one, Tawna Fenske's _Marine For Hire_. "It's sticky tabbed."

"I marked the really good parts."

Riley eyed the bristling pages.

"There are a lot of good parts," Autumn said. "Anyway, since you're determined to walk the safe path, it's all I've got for you."

Riley shot her a sympathetic look. "I guess you're pretty familiar with that."

Autumn bit into the bar of Godiva. "Girl, I'm so deep in that rut, I can hardly see out."

"Well, at least you'll have company. Where should I start?"

# Chapter 6

**G OT A JOB. :) :) :)**

RILEY stared at her mother's text from last night. She still hadn't answered. What was the right response? Was it true? Or was Sharilyn just telling Riley what she wanted to hear? And if it was true, what kind of job was it? What on earth sort of work could she have found in less than twenty-four hours? Was it horrible? Did she want Riley to ask just so she could play martyr and show what new lows she'd sunk to in order to garner sympathies and force Riley to roll right on past the new boundary she'd set and rescue her again? Okay, maybe that was over-thinking. If it was horrible, she probably wouldn't have added the smiley faces. But Riley couldn't make herself call to get the details. She was too afraid of what she might hear. Her faith in her own resolve was running thin. But she had to say something.

**Proud of you. Take care.**

As Liam came out of the locker room and dumped a bag by the mats, Riley hit send and reached for the medallion around her neck. She brought it to her lips and said a little prayer. _Daddy, look out for her. I'm trying to do the right thing._

"Problem?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know." Thinking about it was giving her a headache.

Liam straddled the bench beside her, looking all big and tough as he leaned toward her. "Talk to me."

Riley shook her head. "I don't want to dump on you."

"It's not dumping if I asked."

She needed to talk to someone about it. Wynne would've been her first choice. But Wynne wasn't here, and much as she tried to stay in touch, calling sporadically when she surfaced between clients, her life was in New Orleans now. Autumn would listen, but it wasn't the same as telling someone who'd been around almost from the beginning, who'd seen what she went through. Liam had been there. She'd agreed they could be friends. Friends talked. Maybe it would get easier with practice.

Riley pivoted, swinging one leg over the bench to mirror his position. "That phone call I got yesterday, when you dropped off Jo, was my mom. She's in California, where her latest ex dumped her off with nothing."

"Do we need to go get her?"

This was his immediate response. No questions. No details needed. Just an unequivocal offer of help. Was it any wonder she'd wanted so much to depend on him growing up? Looking at him now, Riley realized exactly how easy it would be to slide back into that expectation. That solid dependability was beyond seductive. She wanted to frame his face in her hands and brush her lips over his, just for making the offer.

To keep from giving into the urge, Riley curled her fingers around the edge of the bench between them. "No. I already sent her money for a bus ticket last week. Which she blew instead of coming home like she was supposed to. Yesterday she called asking for more money." She took a breath. "I cut her off. Told her to find some kind of short-term work to earn enough for a bus ticket home. I just _left_ her out there, Liam. Entirely on her own."

"Good for you." His easy conviction surprised her.

"Really?"

"Your relationship with your mama has always been wonky. She never _really_ had to take responsibility for anything because you did it for her. This will push her to do that."'

"But what if—" A dozen disaster scenarios rolled through her mind, each worse than the last.

"Has she texted or called to say she's in trouble?"

"No. She says she's found a job."

"Well, then she's doing exactly what you told her to do. What's the problem?"

Riley knit her fingers together and twisted. "As you said, I've always taken care of her. What if she can't make it on her own? If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. Weird as our relationship is, she's all I've got left."

Liam folded her hands between his to stop their wringing. "You're doing the right thing, Riley. And unlike some people we know, your mama has no problem asking for help if she gets in over her head."

She narrowed her eyes. "Ha. Ha."

He grinned and chucked her lightly under the chin before sliding off the bench. "C'mon. You'll feel better once you work some of that tension out of your system."

"Yeah, about that. I'm pretty sure even my _hair_ hurts from that sledgehammer. It took me nearly an hour of yoga this morning just to unkink my back."

"All the more reason to get moving before you knot back up again."

She followed him over to the mats, pulling her arm in a cross body stretch that left her hovering at that threshold between pleasure and pain, until the muscle finally released. She shifted to the other arm, then bent at the waist to touch the floor, stretching out her back and hamstrings.

Liam made some sound behind her.

Spreading her legs slightly, she peered at him between her knees. "Did you say something?"

"No. Just muttering to myself."

Was he redder than he had been a minute ago? Had he been checking out her ass?

Straightening, Riley moved to the center of the mat. "Instruct me, oh Obi-wan."

He was all business as he came to join her. "Okay, to start, let's review the release you tried on me."

His hand clapped down on her shoulder from behind. Riley grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward and ducking.

"Stop."

She paused, his arm slung around her neck. The hand attached to the wrist she still held dangled dangerously close to her breast.

"Do you know what you're doing wrong?"

"Um."

"Start again. Slower, this time."

Once again, she stepped back as she grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward, until that broad chest bumped into her back. And once again, she forgot what she was doing.

"Trade places," he ordered.

So Riley grabbed him by the shoulder.

He hunched down a bit, so as not to leave her dangling. "You've got this first bit right." His grip around her wrist was firm, but not bruising as he tugged her forward. "What you're forgetting is to step back with this foot—" He shifted his lead leg behind her. "—grab this hand between both of yours and _then_ duck and twist, bringing your opponent's arm up." He followed through, and Riley found herself bent forward, her arm at an awkward angle behind her back. "And at that point, you grab the collar and drag backward, to the ground. Or you can take out a knee, whatever works. From here, you have complete control over your opponent's body." With careful motions, he proved his point "Got it?"

Riley flushed. _Stop thinking about his control over your body._ "Yep."

He made her go through it several times slowly, correcting small motions, until he was satisfied she had the technique down from both sides. Then he let her do it at speed. He ended up on his knees, a fact which left Riley feeling more than a little satisfied.

"Good job. Now let's try a double shoulder grab."

It came back quickly as Liam put her through the paces. He was a patient, thorough teacher. They progressed through basic releases, into some simple throws. He'd picked up some new tricks in the years since they'd last done this, and Riley enjoyed proving she was a quick study. Was there anything more satisfying than successfully tossing a Marine on his ass?

"Okay, so let's say all that fails. Somebody gets you on the ground in a compromising position."

At his direction, Riley laid back flat on the mat. He pinioned her arms above her head, pinning the rest of her with his weight against her hips. And oh, yeah, there was definitely something that would be more satisfying than tossing him on his ass.

_Focus._

But his pupils had blown wide and his breath quickened against her chest as he stared down at her. It became rapidly apparent that she wasn't the only one having a hard time concentrating. Her core muscles tightened, everything in her wanting to grind her hips against the erection now pressing between her thighs.

"Compromising position?" she prompted.

"Right. What are you going to do?" His voice was rough and low.

Struggling to think past the haze of lust, Riley considered her options. There was no getting her hands back from here. She had only one real alternative that she could see. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she squeezed him tighter against her center. Liam dropped his head and let out a strangled moan, and she took advantage of his distraction, shifting her hips and rolling until their position was reversed.

Now what? Was there an actual protocol for when your sparring partner was sporting a hard on? It probably wasn't licking his throat and begging him to strip you down to get to know every sweaty inch better.

Liam yanked, and what leverage she had was lost. She collapsed on his chest with a whoosh. He rolled and then he was on top again, his breath hot against her throat.

_Oh please, yes._

"Mistake number one. Never let somebody get this far."

Riley blinked up at his shoulder. Okay, so he was sticking to instructor mode. They were not going to acknowledge what was going on in his pants.

"But if they do," he continued, "you're going to shrimp out of it."

"I'm going to what now?"

He rolled off her, onto his own back, and Riley kept her eyes firmly on his chest as he demonstrated the technique. By the time they'd gone through the escape again, from every point at which she could stop an attacker, all the way to where they'd started, he'd managed to get himself under control. But he didn't quite meet her eyes as he suggested they call it a day. It was a strange and fascinating thing to see Liam Montgomery embarrassed about something, and it left Riley wondering if Autumn wasn't on to something after all. Was this about her? Or would he be just as turned on doing this kind of training with any woman?

"Thanks for the refresher." She gulped down water.

"No problem. You remembered the original stuff pretty well, and picked up the new quickly."

"I could probably use some more practice. Some of those techniques I'm not going to remember in an hour. I'd feel better with some more drills." _Neutral face. Neutral face. Neutral face._

"Sure. We can do that."

"Great." They'd keep getting hot and sweaty together, and she'd put the theory to the test.

Liam was finished with demolition on the apartment. Which was really too damned bad because he wasn't anywhere near done working off his sexual frustration.

He slapped the next two-by-four across the saw horses and measured, marking the cut, and lining up the blade of the miter saw.

This whole _just friends_ thing with Riley was going to kill him. Liam couldn't decide whether to be insulted or envious that she found it so easy. He sure as hell didn't. Thanks to their weekly training sessions, he knew exactly what all those curves felt like—heaven. Keeping his hands off her these last two weeks—off the mats anyway—as he plowed ahead on the apartment renovations had proved a helluva lot more difficult than he'd expected. That probably would've been made easier if he actually stayed _out_ of the pharmacy, but despite his best intentions, he kept finding reasons to pop in and see her. Attraction aside, he genuinely _liked_ Riley. Always had. And it was a pleasure to be at a point where their age gap no longer mattered.

Or it would be if he could get other kinds of pleasure out of his mind.

Liam carried the wood over to the new wall he was building and tested the fit. No dice. He was going to have to rip it for the tie-in to be neat. After a few more measurements, he took the stud over to the table saw, lined things up for the cut and turned on the saw.

Why the hell had she worn that dress?

All he'd been able to think about since their dinner was peeling her out of it and finding out what other surprises lay underneath. Which was so obviously not in the cards. He needed the image wiped from his brain. Instead, he found himself wondering if she was hiding something sexy under that lab coat she worked in every day.

The saw whined and snarled, and the two-by-four jerked beneath Liam's hand. The next thing he knew, he was seeing stars. The saw cut off.

"Son of a bitch!"

What the hell had happened? He picked up the two-by-four—now on the ground—and saw the knot on the bottom side. The knot he should've noticed before he ever tried to rip the damned thing. Goddamn it. He needed his head on the job, not on the woman he couldn't have.

Blood was dripping onto the floor from his thumb. Despite the mess, it didn't look to be too bad. Because it was the only thing handy, he grabbed a sweat rag and wrapped it around his hand. There was no mirror to check the damage to his head—he hadn't put a new one up in the bathroom yet. He could still see out of both eyes, so that was probably fine, too, but he wasn't going to get any more work done until he dealt with this. Irritated, he headed downstairs and into the pharmacy.

Riley was on the phone when he walked in. At the sight of him, her jaw dropped open. _What the hell did you do?_ she mouthed. Into the phone she said, "Sure thing. Yeah, thanks. I have to go."

She hung up and pointed at him. "You, sit. I'll deal with you in a minute.

Ignoring her order, Liam strode toward the first aid aisle, while she dealt with the irritated woman at the counter. Riley spoke to her in a quiet voice, then the shredder whined.

The customer shrieked. "That was _mine!_ "

Abandoning his search for Band-aids, Liam headed toward the front, ready to intervene if necessary. He didn't catch Riley's reply.

"What am I supposed to _do_ without my prescription?"

"Sorry, Ms. Tomlinson. That's a matter for you to take up with Dr. Campbell. You're welcome to try the new Walgreens, when it opens."

"You can be sure that I will." On a huff, the woman turned and stalked out.

Before the door had fully shut, Riley hurried around the counter. "What did you _do?_ "

Embarrassed, Liam scowled at her. "Stop looking at me like I've whacked off a finger. I just need some gauze and tape."

"What you need is to sit down and let me look at it. Damn it, you're bleeding all over my floor." Riley herded him back behind the counter and into the office. "Sit."

Heaving a long suffering sigh, Liam sat on the desk. "The saw blade caught a knot on the bottom side of the wood. Yanked it right out of my hands." _Because I was thinking about getting you naked instead of focusing on what I was doing._

With a moue of disapproval, she unwrapped his impromptu field dressing and examined the wounds "And apparently took a chunk of your thumb and several layers of skin with it. Not to mention gave yourself a nasty goose egg on your head."

Said goose egg was throbbing in time with his thumb.

Riley shut the office door and retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet behind it. They were, he realized, alone.

"Where is everybody?"

"Ruby had a dentist appointment, and Jessie went to pick up lunch."

Quick and efficient, she wadded up the bloody rag beneath his hand to catch drips and doused the thumb with peroxide. He took a moment to be thankful she hadn't chosen the rubbing alcohol.

"Does that kind of thing happen often?" he asked.

"What kind of thing?"

"People doctor shopping, trying to get more pain meds or whatever?"

"Mmm, a fair bit. Since they clamped down on Sudafed, people shifted from meth to prescription pain meds. Mississippi has one of the worst abuse rates in the nation."

"How did you know?"

"We've got an electronic database. Any time somebody comes in with a prescription for controlled substances, we run a check to find out when and where they last got them. If it's too close together, we call the prescribing doc and verify. In this particular case, the doctor requested the prescription be shredded." After the thumb stopped bubbling, she dabbed it clean with some sterile cotton and examined the wound, which still bled sluggishly.

"You shouldn't be alone here."

"I rarely am. But I'm completely fine, Liam. I know how to handle that kind of thing."

He could too easily imagine how such a situation could go south in a hurry, and he didn't like the idea of her facing it by herself one bit. "I don't like it."

Her mouth quirked, but she didn't look away from what she was doing. "You don't have to like it. It's part of the job. Your mom's dealt with it for years and never had any trouble. Neither have I. And there's a panic button if anything goes sideways. _And_ you've already made sure I've been getting a refresher on self defense."

Liam frowned. "I guess I never thought much about Mom having to deal with stuff like that. She never talked about it."

"Because it's never been a problem. We're fine. I don't think you have any wood splinters in here. You could probably do with a stitch or two."

He'd already been over the security and it was solid, so he let the subject drop. "I'm not going to lose the entire afternoon of work just to get a couple of measly stitches." This renovation was the first time he felt like he'd accomplished something since he came home. "Just slap a Band-aid or three on and be done with it."

She rolled her eyes. "You are such a man."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was more commentary on your pig-headedness." But she bandaged the thumb as requested.

After taping off the gauze bandage on his thumb, Riley turned over his hand to examine the abraded knuckles. The sense of déjà vu swamped him as she paused, fingers curling gently to hold his. She'd done this before, that long ago night. Cleaned and bandaged his bruised and bloody knuckles. Her hands had trembled then. They'd both trembled then, in the wake of what he'd done to protect her.

Riley traced a finger along the unabraded skin, and he knew she was remembering, too. Liam brought his free hand up to trap her hand between his and gently squeezed. Lifting her gaze to his, she offered a fleeting smile before resuming her ministrations with cool efficiency.

"There." She released him.

"Thanks."

"Now, let's take a look at your head." Moving in close, she probed around the knot with light fingers.

Liam hissed, though it was more from the feel of her body brushing his than from the pressure of her touch.

"Sorry. It's definitely going to bruise." She stepped back. "But you didn't break the skin, so that's something."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Unless there's some other injury you're hiding. I know you're not about to sit here with an ice pack, even though you should."

He pointed to his temple. "Mom would've kissed it."

Riley's lips quirked. "The big bad Marine needs that kind of special attention?"

Liam gave her his best puppy dog face.

"Fine." She laughed and cupped his face in both hands, tipping it down so she could reach.

Her lips pressed his wounded temple, soft and smooth, and Liam closed his eyes with a sigh. Something inside him settled, even as his heart stumbled and sped up. He wanted to wrap his arms around her. Wanted to bury his face against her throat and lose himself in the scent and taste of her skin. He just plain wanted. But he curled his hands around the edge of the desk instead, accepting the small thing she offered without pushing for more than she wanted to give.

When her lips brushed his, Liam froze. Had he been hit harder than he realized? Was he hallucinating now? But the pressure came again, her hand sliding around to cup his nape as she settled her mouth more firmly over his.

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit."

Riley shot away from him as if she'd been electrocuted.

"Mom. You're back."

# Chapter 7

_H E DIDN'T KISS ME back._

Mortification burned through Riley so hot and fast, she wondered the floor didn't collapse beneath her feet. Except, of course, it didn't. Because that would mean the Universe was giving her some kind of an escape from this God-awful situation. She hadn't earned enough good karma in this lifetime for that.

Her mother stood in the open doorway, expression bright with curiosity as her gaze flickered between Riley and Liam. Riley didn't meet her eyes, and she sure as hell didn't look at Liam.

He slid off the desk. "Mrs. Gower. Welcome home."

"I think I should be saying that to you." Sharilyn stepped forward to give him a quick hug. "I'm sorry I missed your party back in December. I know your mama's so glad to have you home."

"Yes, ma'am. I've been steady working my way through her backlogged honey-do list. Speaking of, I should get back to it."

In her periphery, Riley saw him lift his bandaged hand in her direction.

"Thanks for fixing me up."

She kept her eyes on the door frame and wrapped both arms around her middle. "Sure."

He hesitated for a moment, and Riley could feel him looking at her, but she simply couldn't bear to look back and see the awkward or the embarrassment or the _what the hell were you thinking, you crazy woman?_ After a couple of eternal beats, he nodded a polite goodbye to her mother, who stepped out of his way, and beat a hasty retreat. Riley watched him go, the big bad Marine she'd taken a chance on, who'd let her fall flat on her face. Because she'd listened to Autumn's optimism and misread him.

Her lip wanted to tremble. Aware of her mother's attention, Riley bit the inside to keep it still.

"I never thought I'd see the day you'd go for a military man."

Riley closed her eyes and counted to ten, waiting for the muscles in her back to loosen. They didn't. "I'm not going for a military man, Mom."

"Then what was that?"

"That was—" _A mistake. An aberration._ "—nothing."

"Uh huh." Sharilyn crossed her arms, her lips twitching in amusement.

"How did you get here, Mom?" Riley asked, determined to change the subject. "I expected you to call me to come pick you up from the bus station in Lawley."

"I didn't take the bus."

Riley frowned. "Then how did you get home?"

"I hitched a ride with a trucker."

"You did _what?_ " Riley's voice shot high with disbelief as she imagined all the worst iterations of that scenario, most of which ended with Sharilyn dead in a ditch and Riley left alone.

"I was working third shift at an all-night diner to earn my bus fare. Which was taking a while, since I had to pay for living expenses meanwhile."

Riley ignored that subtle jab. "And, what? You decided you were tired of waiting, so you _hitchhiked?_ "

"I got to talking to one of my customers and noticed _her_ southern accent. Turned out she's from Alabama and was headed home to Dothan. She offered me a ride, and I took it."

The clutch in Riley's chest loosened somewhat. "Oh my God, Mom, she could've been an axe murderer."

Sharilyn waved a dismissive hand. "Don't be silly. Billy Jean is a twice-divorced grandmother of two. We had plenty to talk about across country."

_I'm sure you did._

As the shop bell jangled, Riley pushed out of the office, struggling to put on her friendly customer face. She thanked God it was only Jessie with their take out from Dinner Belles. She wasn't ready to face anyone else until she'd had some privacy to process her shame.

"Mrs. G! Didn't know you were back."

"Only just. Hello, sugar." Sharilyn walked back around the counter to give Riley's tech a hug.

Jessie set their food on the counter. "How was the Great American Road Trip?"

Her mother's smile faltered only briefly before coming back full wattage. "Got to see all kinds of amazing sights and go to places I'd only ever heard of. It was an experience. But I'm glad to be home. The long-term open road is not for me."

"What about Hal?" Jessie asked.

"We parted ways, and he drove off into the sunset." She said it like he was a lone-wolf cowboy riding off at the end of a movie, instead of an asshole who'd abandoned her thousands of miles from home

Riley studied the dreamy expression. Was it a facade or had she really convinced herself it'd been tragically romantic? How could she be okay with what had happened?

Sharilyn hopped on the counter to perch. "So tell me, any funny pharmacy stories lately?"

"Oh, well yesterday Riley compounded muscle relaxer for a squirrel."

"Get out. Really?"

"Jessie, we really aren't supposed to talk about this."

"What? It's not like HIPPA covers rodents. Poor thing has puncture wounds in her leg. The squirrel—whose name is Roxy—also needed some Valium because her bladder was so distended that she couldn't teetee. When her owner showed up to pick up the meds, he said he'd spent over $240 on her at the vet. The bill here was over $50. He said they'd bottle fed her from a baby and that his son would be really upset if they lost her."

"Well, if she was a pet, I guess I understand that. How old was the son?"

"Thirty-one."

Riley's mom, who had no poker face to speak of, stared in disbelief. "Now, I've heard everything."

"Oh no." Jessie pointed with the straw she was unwrapping. "There's more. She starts physical therapy next week. And they're still planning on releasing her into the wild when she gets better."

"My Lord. What did y'all say?"

"Good luck with that," Riley replied. "Listen, the stuff you shipped is at my place. It'll be a little while before I can shake loose to drive you to the house. Molly's at a citizen's coalition meeting until three and won't be able to relieve me until then."

Sharilyn crossed her legs. "Oh, don't you worry about that, honey. I've got orientation for my new job."

Riley managed not to do a complete double take. "Your new what now?"

"Matthew McSweeney hired me as a checker at the market. He told me to come on in when I got back to town to learn the system."

Riley stared at her. When had she even talked to Matthew McSweeney? "You only just got back. How did you already land a job?"

"You probably don't remember, but Matthew was an old friend of your daddy's. They were in the service together. He always said if I ever needed anything, I just had to call. So I did, and he happened to have a position open."

_Dear God, don't let her have set her sights on Matthew._ "Does he know you don't have any retail experience?"

"That's the entire point of the orientation. I officially start day after tomorrow."

"Well that's—" _Surprising. Astounding. Got disaster written all over it._ "—great, Mom. It'll be good for you to be working with the public. I know how much you love people."

"I'm looking forward to it," Sharilyn said breezily. "It'll take me a little while to save up enough for my own place, but as soon as I do, I'll be out of your hair. I'm not going to be a burden to you."

Riley didn't believe that for a minute. As soon as she found another sugar daddy, she'd fall right back into old patterns. Riley forced her lips to curve and prayed it didn't look like a grimace. "I wish you the best of luck." Sharilyn was sure as hell going to need it. Riley just hoped she didn't lose her own mind in the meantime.

Riley was avoiding him.

Nearly a week had passed since that unexpected kiss, and Liam still hadn't had a chance to talk to her about it. Her mom was staying at her place, and in light of that, Riley had thrown herself into work like it was the only thing tethering her to sanity. Given her relationship with her mother, maybe it was.

The pharmacy had been covered up, which pleased Liam, since Walgreens was due to open in a week. But it meant they hadn't had a moment alone. Riley had made absolutely sure of that. Every time he came into the pharmacy, she was on the phone, holed up in the office, or tied up with a customer. Which was part and parcel of running a business. But she wouldn't even look at him.

She had the wrong idea.

Looking back, perhaps pretending nothing had happened just because her mom had shown up was not the best course of action. But she'd seemed so embarrassed. What else was he supposed to say under those circumstances? Excuse me, Mrs. Gower, I need to shut the door in your face so I can finish kissing your daughter brainless. Yeah, no.

Liam could've called or sent flowers or some kind of note, but this was a conversation that needed to be had in person—without starting the kind of courting behavior that would get the entire town buzzing before they'd even sorted out what was what.

But setting Riley straight required some privacy. Since she wasn't cooperating, he was going to create the opportunity. He'd thought about inviting her up to see the progress on the apartment upstairs, but she wouldn't leave the pharmacy unless his mom was there to relieve her. With her current streak of luck, the Board of Pharmacy would drop by for an impromptu inspection and dock her for not having a licensed pharmacist on premises for fifteen minutes. She didn't need that. So it was on to plan B.

Liam reached the pharmacy as Babette Wofford was stepping out.

"Oh Liam! Just the man I was looking for."

He worked up a smile for the pint-sized spitfire, who owned the local bridal shop. "Afternoon, Mrs. Wofford."

She beamed at him. "Your mama showed me the renovation you're doing on the apartment above the pharmacy. It's just gorgeous."

That was a stretch. "I've only just got the new walls in and the built-ins started. There's a ways to go yet." He waited, wondering where this was going.

"I've got apartment space above my shop as well, and I want to hire you to renovate it. Norah's gearing up for a push to really sell downtown living, and having the space all duded up would allow me to bump up the rent a bit."

Surprise struck him momentarily speechless. Why would she want to hire _him_ as a contractor when there were others in town more qualified? "Well, I certainly appreciate you thinking of me, Mrs. Wofford. It's one thing for me to do that kind of work for my mother, but I'm not licensed or bonded. That kind of liability is dangerous for you."

Babette fisted both hands on her hips. "Nonsense. I saw that apartment. Your work is quality. I'm not at all worried that anything would go wrong."

Some people were way too trusting. If she had that kind of attitude toward renovations, she was in prime position to be taken advantage of.

As he geared up for a polite way to tell her exactly that, she interrupted, "Tell me you'll come by and at least look at the place to give me an estimate."

He could do that much, at least. And his quote would give her a yardstick to judge other offers for fairness. "All right I'll have a look."

Babette clapped her hands together with glee. "Excellent."

They made arrangements for a time and chatted briefly about Babette's grandchildren—her eldest granddaughter Delilah was doing something big with fashion in Paris—before Liam finally managed to break loose to slip inside without attracting Riley's attention.

She moved behind the counter, hands quick and competent as they sorted and filled and dropped the pill bottle into a white paper bag and folded the top neatly over. "Here you go, Mr. Tolleson. You don't owe a thing. It's all on your insurance now that you've met your deductible." She passed him the bag and leaned forward conspiratorially. "And I snuck in a handful of those butterscotch disks Winnie likes."

Howard Tolleson's wrinkles swallowed up his faded blue eyes as he shot a mostly toothless grin at Riley. She grinned back, and Liam reflected how well-suited she was to this job. She had a way of radiating genuine compassion with even the most agitated or irritating customers, and he thought that had as much to do with people's healing as the medications she dispensed. It was so different from his mother's no-nonsense pragmatism, yet no less effective. People loved and trusted her.

Howard lifted a plastic shopping bag onto the counter. "Winnie sent you this as a thank you for keeping up with us."

"Oh now, she didn't have to do that," Riley said. "I'm happy to help. You two are some of my favorite customers."

"Still. She wanted you to have it."

Riley slipped some kind of fabric out of the bag and her cheerful expression shifted to stunned delight. "Oh. Oh, this is exquisite!" She slipped off her lab coat and slipped on the fabric, which turned out to be some kind of cardigan deal that hit below her hips. "This must've taken her ages to knit."

"She enjoys it. And enjoys you. So. You enjoy that sweater."

"Thank you! You tell Winnie I love it!"

Riley waved as Mr. Tolleson shuffled toward the door, cheerfully swinging his rubber-tipped cane like an umbrella. As soon as he hit the sidewalk, she turned to Jessie and Ruby. "Oh my God, can you believe this? Look at the craftsmanship."

Jessie fingered the sleeve. "I totally want one. Winnie Tolleson's knitting is a thing of legend."

"She spends a lot of time in doctor's offices," Ruby added. "Knitting is something she can still do without too much trouble. Takes a lot of joy in it."

"Do you know, Howard and Winnie have been married for fifty-eight years?" Riley asked.

"Really?" Jessie asked. "I can't even wrap my brain around that. That's amazing."

Liam absorbed the brief stab of pain at the thought that, if not for his father's aneurysm, his parents would've been just like them. "We should all be so lucky."

Riley didn't squeak, but she did jolt at the sound of his voice, one hand pressing to her heart. "I swear to God, you need a bell around your neck."

"Didn't mean to startle you. Got a minute?"

As he expected, she immediately opened her mouth. "I really need to—"

"I just wanted to talk to you about the storage room. Work out a plan for when would be the least disruptive time for me to move everything out and where you want me to put your stock in the meantime. It'll only take a few minutes."

"Go ahead, Riley, baby. We've got things covered." Ruby gave him a wink.

Liam worked to keep his own expression neutral. No reason to give the sister of the biggest gossip in town additional fodder for the mill.

"I guess I can spare a couple of minutes."

She preceded him into the stock room, wrapping the sweater tight around herself despite the fact that the AC wasn't pumping that hard. He wondered if he could shut the door without making anybody suspicious and figured the answer was no. In her current state, Riley was liable to bolt. So he followed her inside.

She jumped straight to business. "I hate to make you do any work on a weekend, but Saturday afternoon or Sundays are the best time since we're closed."

He had no trouble reading between the lines. _And if we're closed, I won't be here and have to see you because I'll see to it your mom is the one to supervise._

"The playground assembly is coming up this Saturday and next. We're cementing in posts this weekend, doing the full assembly the weekend after."

"Oh right, I forgot about that."

"You coming? Seems like you ought to have a hand in the finished product since you helped tear down the old one."

"I'll have to talk to your mom to see if she can cover the pharmacy."

"I'm sure she'd be happy to, if you asked."

Cue awkward silence. Because she looked completely miserable, Liam walked on by her, weaving his way through boxes of new stock back to the piles of other crap that had been accumulating for years.

He moved a drop cloth to peer beneath. "I think there are display shelves under all this mess."

"Your mom said before this building was the pharmacy, it was a five and dime. They had need of more space than we do."

"You ever think of tearing down that wall they put up and expanding back into this section?"

"I don't have enough stock to justify it. Not to mention the expense."

"If money were no object?"

"It's definitely an object."

"Humor me."

She shrugged and plucked at the lapel of the sweater. "I'd thought about turning it into a space for local craftspeople to sell their wares. There are a lot of people who make and sell things who don't have large enough business to justify a storefront but could easily lease booth space. There's not really a place for them to do that right now."

"Hmm," he murmured. "Be easy enough to build you a proper stockroom in the back, with industrial shelves and organization. Then this front part could be more retail space. Wouldn't take much to set up other shelving or counters as need be." Despite the mounds of stuff, he could see how it could be converted. "It's a good idea."

"It's a moot point." She'd followed him past the stacks, seeming to relax a fraction as he got her talking about other things.

"How are things going with your mama?"

Well, there went the relaxation. Her shoulders cranked up a good inch with tension and she winced. "I haven't killed her yet, which is a minor miracle."

"There's not really room at your place for somebody else, is there?"

"No. And she doesn't understand the importance of not talking until the coffee pot is empty." She looked up at him with those deep blue _I need you_ eyes. Which was purely projection on his part because she didn't need him. "Silence before caffeination is _sacred._ "

Liam chuckled. "Your self-restraint against committing bodily harm is commendable."

"Damn straight. No jury of my peers would convict me for that."

"You've been working too hard." He itched to reach out and rub her shoulders.

"That's what you do when you own a business."

"It's also what you do when you're trying to avoid people."

She flashed a humorless smile. "It's a better alternative to matricide."

"I wasn't talking about your mother."

Her back stiffened. "Listen, Liam—"

"I don't want—"

She held up a hand to stop him. "No really, listen."

Liam fell silent. His impatience faded as he heard what she'd heard.

"Is that water?" she asked.

Moving quickly, he searched the room, finding the start of a puddle at the base of one wall. Following the trail of wet upward, he saw the spreading water stain on the ceiling.

"Shit!"

He bolted into the pharmacy just in time to see the ceiling burst. Water poured out of the hole, soaking displays, slicking the floors. He dimly heard Jessie's "Oh my God!" and Riley's sound of alarm as he raced for the door. Taking the stairs three at a time, he tore into the apartment. The sound of water was louder here. He found the source readily enough in the hall closet. Water spewed from around the drainage valve of the ancient water heater, pooling in the base of the closet and draining through the floors.

"Oh, Jesus." Riley had followed him upstairs.

He shot past her, scrambling to turn off the main water valve.

"Why isn't it stopping?" she asked, an edge of hysteria to her voice.

"That only keeps the tank from refilling." There wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop the entire eighty gallons from pouring out into the pharmacy below. "Come on."

Running back downstairs, he sloshed through the water to start muscling displays out of the direct stream. Riley and Jessie threw themselves into the cause, as did a couple of other patrons who happened in during the chaos. As soon as the displays were moved, he began snapping out orders.

"Jessie, is any of the medication in the back in danger of getting wet?"

"No, it's high enough off the floor."

"Good. Make sure it stays that way. Then call ServPro. The insurance information should be in the office. Ruby, call my mother and let her know what's going on. She can bring towels, sheets, whatever she can find to soak things up."

Liam put in a call to Mitch.

"What's up, buddy?"

"Flood at the pharmacy. I need every shop vac and box fan you can get your hands on."

"On it."

Within half an hour, the pharmacy was full of people springing to action to try and minimize the damage. By the time the water slowed to a drip, the floor was inches deep and water was flowing out the front door. The entire over-the-counter painkiller and allergy/sinus section was a lost cause. So was a huge chunk of the first aid supplies. Product boxes swollen with water floated by.

Riley wasn't crying, but she was obviously close. Her face was dead white, and she was shaking. Somewhere along the way she'd gotten rid of the sweater. Liam hoped it hadn't been damaged.

He took her by the shoulders. "Look at me." When she didn't move, he tipped her face toward his himself. "I'm going to fix this."

"I don't—"

"Riley, don't argue with me. This is my fault. The damn thing was ancient and has been on the list of things to replace. I didn't get to it fast enough. I'll fix it. I swear." He could offer her that, at least.

It was a mark of her level of upset that she didn't argue, merely gave a reluctant nod. She took a hiccuping breath and pressed her forehead to his chest. But before he could wrap his arms around her, pull her in, she straightened and turned away, mechanically going through the motions of trying to salvage what she could of her business.

Cursing himself and the situation, Liam wondered if he had any more likelihood of salvaging his chances with her.

# Chapter 8

RILEY'S SHOES WERE SOPPING. They'd rubbed blisters on her heels and the instep of one foot. The hems of her pants had mostly dried, but in the heavy, humid air inside the pharmacy, everything felt damp and sticky. Exhausted, heartsick, she methodically counted the boxes of ruined over-the-counter allergy meds and marked the tally down on the inventory sheet before she added them to a bag for proper disposal.

It seemed like half the town had sprung into action at Liam's call for help. But it wasn't enough. Everything was falling apart.

Above her, the ceiling gaped open, the occasional drip of water hitting her shoulders and head like spittle from some kind of hellmouth. The variable-width wood floors, original to the century-old building, were warped and buckled. Though water no longer stood in puddles, it had wicked up the drywall, which was more like wetwall now, the top layer bubbling and peeling in places. Chunks had been removed to allow the air to circulate, so that the fans and dehumidifiers could do their job, which would take days. The insulation that dangled reminded Riley of nothing so much as the guts of her business, spilling out of a mortal wound.

It was an apt comparison. How much revenue had been lost today? How much would be lost tomorrow, while they were closed so that more clean up could proceed and the remaining displays rearranged for some kind of functional layout? How much stock had she lost that insurance wouldn't cover because of the deductible?

Thinking about the numbers had a migraine pricking behind her eyes, which didn't at all help the tears she'd been fighting all day. At least she'd be alone soon if they spilled over.

"The claims adjuster on the building insurance will be here tomorrow," Molly announced, coming out of the office. "We should have a check to cover the damages pretty quickly."

Liam emerged from the storeroom, his clothes a patchwork of wet and drywall dust from where he'd been ripping open walls. "That's something, though I can't get started on repairs until things dry out."

"You can get started figuring out how much you'll need of materials and make arrangements to get them here. That way you'll have a plan and be ready to hit the ground running as soon as they clear out all these fans." Molly wrapped an arm around Riley's shoulders. "We're going to get this taken care of."

"I know." God she missed having Molly take an active hand in the business. Sliding an arm around her waist, Riley leaned in for a hug. "My priority tomorrow is to get things arranged into whatever temporary state we're going to have to live in so that the business can still open. Revenues aside, people need their medications. I already started a box of products from the front to donate to the women's shelter. There's a fair bit of stuff that had damaged packaging, but the contents are still usable. It might as well go to somewhere it can still be used instead of in the trash. I'd like to take that over tomorrow, too."

"That's a good idea. Meanwhile, I'm pulling mom rank on both of you. Jessie and Ruby actually listened when I sent _them_ home an hour ago. Let's all get out of here and go _home._ Get some sleep. We're all exhausted, and there's nothing more we can do here tonight."

Riley had absolutely no desire to go home. With her mom in residence, it was no longer her sanctuary. She just couldn't handle Sharilyn's well-meaning concern on top of her own worries. But Molly was right. She couldn't stay here.

"I'll walk you to your car," Liam said.

Was this another attempt to talk to her alone? If it was, Riley wasn't interested. She couldn't take anything else tonight.

"That's really not necessary."

"It's late, Riley."

"And last time I checked, the only person skulking around and scaring me to death lately was you."

Molly gave her another quick squeeze. "Humor your other mother. You're parked at the other end of the block, it's dark, and I raised him to be a gentleman."

How was she supposed to argue with that? "Yes, ma'am."

The three of them walked out together, locking the door against the engine roar of a dozen fans. Riley could feel the faint vibration against the glass. She was pretty sure she'd hear the drone in her sleep. If she managed to sleep.

Molly opened her car door. "See you in the morning, honey. I'll bring pastries from Sweet Magnolias for breakfast."

"Then I'll bring coffee." Lifting her hand in a wave, Riley watched Molly drive off.

Resigned to having an escort, she started walking.

Liam stayed quiet. Grateful for the reprieve, she listened to the echo of their footsteps as it mixed with the symphony of night insects and the sound of a car on a nearby street. After the tumult of the day, the summer silence soaked into her bones, unknotting something in her gut.

At her car, Riley turned toward Liam to see him reaching out for her. "Don't."

He stopped, one hand outstretched, hurt flickering over his face before he shut down to stoic mode again.

"I'll fix it, Riley. I'm going to make this right."

He thought she blamed him for all of this.

She tried to soften the rejection with an apologetic smile. "I know you will. You're not at fault here. It's just that, if you hug me right now, I'm going to start crying, and I really don't have time for that." Never mind the fact that curling up in his arms and bawling sounded pretty amazing.

For a moment, she thought he'd ignore her wishes and pull her into his arms as he had weeks before. A part of her wished he would so she could let go of the burden she carried, just for a little while. But he didn't move.

"I'm sorry."

Riley had the sense that he was apologizing for more than the soggy disaster that was her business, but she absolutely couldn't deal with that right now. She didn't want his apology for not being on the same page as she was. She just wanted him to pretend it hadn't happened. Someday, she'd get past the lingering mortification over the kiss he hadn't returned. But that day was somewhere far off in the future.

Still, she hated seeing him miserable too, so she made an effort to be the friend he wanted. "You've already helped so much. I can't imagine how much worse things would've been if you hadn't taken charge in the chaos."

His level-headed dependability had taken some of the pressure off so that she could actually do what needed doing on the business side as quickly as possible. The prescription drugs were protected, insurance had been notified, and as much stock as possible had been salvaged. Things were bad, but because of him, they weren't a complete loss. She needed to remember that.

"The fact is, I'm really glad you were here." Riley realized she meant it. And she wasn't at all sure how she felt about that.

Liam shifted toward her. "You want to get a drink? I figure we can both use one after today."

What she wanted was a long soak and a week to sleep. But those weren't in the cards either. She shook her head. "As you said, it's late. And there's lots to do tomorrow. I should head home. Thank you for helping today."

"I wish I could've done more."

Riley couldn't stop herself from laying a hand on his arm. "You kept a level head. And that helped me keep mine. The rest can be fixed, and I know I can rely on you to do it. So stop beating yourself up for not being omniscient and knowing what was going to happen."

His lips twitched in a humorless smile. "Didn't you know? As the oldest, I'm supposed to be all-seeing, all-knowing."

"You've got that confused. That's your mother's job. Now go home and go to bed, Boy Scout. We've got a busy week ahead of us."

"That we do. Get some sleep, Riley Marie."

As she drove away, Riley thought maybe now she actually would.

Liam measured the stretch of wall a third time, making a notation on a small notepad before moving over to the miter saw to cut the next piece of moulding. He just wanted to finish up the bedroom before he called it a day and headed out to Judd's place for poker night. The guys would provide a much needed distraction.

In the week since the flood, he'd replaced the water heater, ripped out damaged flooring and walls in the closet that housed it, and generally eradicated evidence that anything had even gone wrong. The apartment was coming along nicely. The pharmacy below...not so much. He'd ripped out drywall down there, pulled down large chunks of the ceiling and wet insulation to help speed the drying process, but the shop was still filled with fans and dehumidifiers. He could hear the drone of them from up here.

Business was open, and, though it wasn't as usual, it was keeping Riley and his mother plenty busy. They'd managed to set up a narrower floor plan with the displays they had, funneling foot traffic away from the worst of the buckled flooring so that customers could get to the counter without injuring themselves. There'd been plenty of people coming through rubber necking the mess, but Liam knew not all of them were actually buying stuff. And the new Walgreens had opened. If he hadn't seen the ancient, rusted water heater himself, he'd have had Wishful PD looking into the coincidental timing of the flood in relation to their grand opening. As it was, Riley was winding tighter by the day.

Liam didn't know how to help her. He'd done everything he could to help things dry faster, and he already had supplies on order down at Edison Hardware so he could dive in with the crew he'd assembled as soon as they were given the all clear. She trusted him to do all that, but she wouldn't lean on him for anything else. And she sure as hell wasn't giving him the opportunity for a conversation of a more personal nature. At this point, he didn't know whether she was avoiding him out of embarrassment or if she'd changed her mind and wished she hadn't kissed him at all.

The compressor roared to life as he positioned the trim along the edge of one of the newly hung double-paned windows and lifted the nail gun. _Kshunk. Kshunk. Kshunk._ He ran a hand down the fluted moulding, feeling a sense of satisfaction that he'd managed to find some double-paned windows that maintained the character of the building, without the inefficiencies of the originals.

As the compressor kicked off, he heard footsteps and a female voice calling out, "Liam?"

"Back here."

A moment later, Norah Burke stuck her head into the room. "You've been busy."

"Making progress anyway. What brings you by? If Mom's not downstairs, I don't know where she's gone off to."

"I'm here to talk to you, actually."

"About?"

"How 'bout you give me the fifty-cent tour, and I'll tell you about it?"

"It's more like the nickel tour. You've already been through most of it just to get back here."

"Yeah, but I didn't get commentary on what you've done."

Shrugging, Liam took her through, explaining what had been ripped out, what had been replaced. He answered her questions about the bits of restoration he'd managed in keeping with the history of the century old building, modernizations he'd made without sacrificing the original character of the space, and described the rest of his plans.

"About the only decision I have to make now is whether the cabinet boxes in the kitchen are worth salvaging or if I want to build from scratch."

Norah's deep brown eyes lit with interest. "You can do that?"

"Sure."

"Babette Wofford tells me you're going to be doing some work for her, too."

"She seems to have made up her mind about that, and I haven't even seen her space yet."

"She likes your work. She's the one who sent me over here."

"You ready to tell me what for?"

"I have a Plan."

Liam laughed. "You always have a plan with a capital P. What's this one?"

"We've made some good strides with the Shop Local campaign and the downtown facelift from back in the spring, as well as working on getting the new website off the ground to promote rural tourism here. Part of that deals with the history of Wishful. We're lucky that such a significant chunk of downtown remains from the turn of the last century. Most small towns in Mississippi don't have that. I want to do what we can to preserve what's left and to restore the things that can be restored. I'm working on a proposal to put before both the Chamber of Commerce and the City Council regarding covenants about the kind of architecture that can be used downtown for future projects, so that the whole thing can retain the charm it's got, while we work on refreshing everything else. I'd like to be able to recommend you for the job."

Surprise struck him momentarily silent. Him do long-term historic restoration? When his gut didn't immediately discount the idea, Liam crossed his arms and studied her. "Why me?"

"You appreciate history. That's obvious in how you've dealt with this place. I think you'll see and agree with my vision. Plus, I like your work ethic and results. You're more concerned with doing something right than with doing it the fastest, cheapest way."

"No sense in doing something if you aren't going to take the time to do it right."

"Exactly. The project would be long-term and could be a really good fit for your skillset."

"You know I'm not a licensed contractor, right?"

"A formality easily dealt with if you want. You don't have to make a decision right yet. I know you need to finish the work here and at the pharmacy. Just think about it." She headed for the door. "I'll get out of your hair so you can finish up. You'll be late for poker night. I have it on good authority that Mitch is ripe for the fleecing."

Liam grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

He finished trimming out the last of the windows before washing up at the kitchen sink and changing into the clean t-shirt and shorts in his gym bag, packed for the workout he hadn't gotten around to that morning. He was already late by the time he slipped into his truck. Running a fresh bead of caulk around all four windows had taken a bit longer than he'd expected. He could've put it off until tomorrow, but that part of the job didn't feel finished without it.

Judd lived about ten miles out from town, in a fixer upper on the banks of Hope Springs. The cedarwood board and batten siding was silvered with age, and the exterior was a testament to a style of architecture that held no characteristics worth preserving, but Liam couldn't find fault with the location. The sun was sinking low, gilding the little pier with its Adirondack chairs as he pulled up behind Mitch's truck. He could absolutely understand the appeal of living out here.

The card table was set up on the screened in porch, ceiling fans stirring the humid air, scented with good tobacco—which explained why they were outside.

"Cigar night?" Liam let the screen door slap shut behind him.

Judd's enormous mutt, Boudreaux, some kind of bloodhound mix, lifted his head and thumped his massive tail.

"I got definitively put on the short list for the position as Chief. Seemed worth celebratin'," Judd told him around the stogie clamped between his teeth.

Liam bent to scratch Boudreaux between the ears. "Congrats."

Mitch kicked back in his chair, the green plastic visor denoting him dealer for the night. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Got as far as I can with the demolition in the pharmacy until things dry out. Should go quicker now that I've opened up the walls. I got a bit delayed by your future cousin-in-law."

"What's Norah trying to wrangle you into?"

"Tell you about it in a bit. Is there food?"

"We got bucket o'cluck and beer in the kitchen," Judd told him. "Might even be some cole slaw and mashed potatoes left, if Reuben didn't wipe them out."

Reuben snorted. "I got access to _good_ cole slaw from my mama. You think I'm gonna waste my time with take out?"

Liam grabbed a beer from the fridge, nabbed the last of the fried chicken and potatoes, and took his place at the table.

"Want me to deal you in?" Mitch asked.

"Next hand. What do you know about Norah's Grand Plan for the historic restoration of downtown?"

Mitch dealt the flop. "Like all Norah's schemes, it's big. She and her intern Cecily have been working on grants to help fund various and sundry projects. I've helped with that some, giving them estimates of labor and materials and the kind of scope they'll be looking at once they actually get into things."

The others tossed in their chips.

"She wants to pitch me as the man for the job."

Mitch arched his brows as he dealt the next card. "Yeah? I hadn't thought of that, but it's actually pretty brilliant."

"You think?"

Judd examined the turn, burned two cards, and took two more into his hand before seeing the bet. "Seems like a good fit. Even when we were kids you were always more into fixing the old instead of buying new."

He'd learned that from his father.

Mitch burned a card of his own. "You've got the skillset. You like the work. And you've got the added bonus of war hero giving back to his community, which will push some of the more resistant over to her side."

"I'm hardly a hero."

"Pretty sure the Marines in your unit would disagree." Reuben met the bet and waited as Mitch turned over the river.

Judd swore and folded. "You think it's the kind of work you want to do?"

Liam had been mulling that since Norah left him. "I spent a lot of years destroying things in the military. The idea of bringing something back is pretty damned appealing."

"Plus, running a crew would maybe give you some of that sense of working with a team again." Reuben laid down his cards. "Queen high flush. You're used to leading men and organizing things. You'd be good at it."

Mitch grinned. "Full house, buddy boy."

"Shit. Next hand, Campbell."

"Keep dreaming. I'm hot tonight." Mitch gathered up his chips. "Anyway, if I know Norah, she's also thinking that since you'd be just starting out, you might cut everybody a break on pricing, while you build your reputation as a contractor. Nothing undercut, mind you, but she'll capitalize on your sense of fairness."

"I'd expect nothing less from her." Liam had worked with Norah enough back in the spring that he'd learned she knew how to work people to get the best results.

"So you gonna do it?" Judd asked.

It was an option. A good one, with long-term viability and the kind of parameters that would allow him to build a business as he saw fit rather than fitting into somebody else's box. And that would put him in a position to start thinking about other areas of his life. Like what he was going to do about Riley.

"Thinking about it. She's not lookin' for an answer until I'm done with repairs on the pharmacy." He finished off his chicken and washed it down with some Shinerbock. "Meanwhile, my more immediate priority is lightening y'all's wallets. Deal me in."

# Chapter 9

"I'M AFRAID I'M GOING to have to call your line of credit due, Mrs. Lazore." Riley braced herself for the inevitable blow up from the third grade teacher, who'd made her elementary school life hell.

"Young lady, I have had this line of credit with the pharmacy for fifteen years. I've never been late with a payment, never had a single complaint from Molly Montgomery. What is the meaning of this?"

"Yes ma'am, I understand. But as you might have heard, the pharmacy flooded a couple of weeks ago. Repairs are going to be costly, so I'm sure you understand why I'm doing this."

"That's what insurance is for," the woman insisted.

And thank God for it. As Molly owned the building, her property insurance was dealing with the physical damage from the flood. But Riley still had the headache of trying to get her stock covered on her business policy, which wasn't going well. And even if they agreed to pay the claim, there was still the deductible, which was considerable. Plus the bi-monthly drug invoice was due next week, including the non-returnable chemo drugs she'd ordered for Karen Albert, who'd died Wednesday from the ovarian cancer she'd been fighting for a year. Her supplier didn't care about the grief of losing a long-time customer. They just wanted their $6,000 on time.

"Mrs. Lazore, I apologize if you're upset about this, but I'm running a business. Lines of credit are a courtesy, not a requirement, and at this time, that courtesy is not available. Consider this notice. I'll be expecting your payment by the first of next week."

Riley hung up the phone on the older woman's sputtering complaints. Probably not the most professional response, but she just couldn't take it anymore. In the wake of realizing she probably wouldn't be able to make payroll, she'd made more than two dozen similar calls in the last week. Nobody had taken the news well. And almost all of them had made the same inference—what had she done in the year she'd owned the pharmacy to screw up everything Molly had built?

When her cell phone rang, she didn't even lift her head from the desk as she picked up.

"It's time for your weekend sanity check."

Autumn's voice came over the line and left Riley with such a yearning for a hug, she almost cried. No shock. She'd been fighting tears for a week and a half, as everything she'd worked for threatened to implode. As Autumn was away at a rare conference, she hadn't been around to update.

"We're sorry, that cuckoo has flown the coop. Please try again in another lifetime."

"That bad, huh?"

"Walgreens opened last week. With half my stock ruined, people had no choice but to go there."

"They'll come back, Riley."

"What if they don't?" This was her fear. They were a national chain. By dint of sheer volume, they could offer greater discounts than she could. With the economy being so strained, she wouldn't even blame people for trying to save a buck. She of all people understood the need for that.

"Molly will help."

Riley knew she would, in a heartbeat. But Riley couldn't ask. She couldn't bear to admit how much she was struggling. Molly had sold her the business in good faith because she believed Riley could handle the responsibility of running it. Riley couldn't tell her she was in over her head. There was simply no other option than to find some kind of miracle to fix this.

"Molly has her hands full dealing with the insurance company."

Autumn was silent for so long, Riley knew she was biting her tongue.

"How are things going with your mom?"

Because that was a better topic? Riley sighed. "It's going...okay, I guess. She's stuck with the job at McSweeney's for a little over three weeks."

"You sound awfully skeptical about that."

"I just...I hope she's not taking advantage of Matthew McSweeney."

"Why should she be taking advantage of him?

"He's an old Air Force buddy of my dad's, and he made the egregious mistake of telling her at some point that if she ever needed anything, she should just let him know."

"Most people don't make that kind of offer if they don't mean it, Ri. Besides, asking for a job isn't the same as expecting some kind of handout."

"I know. It just worries me. She's barely been out of her last relationship a month. I don't think she should be moving on to somebody else."

"Do you think there's something else going on?"

"She likes him. And why shouldn't she? He's a super nice guy. But she has a history of continuing to ask for things—especially from nice guys. And since she's got that damsel in distress thing going on, they're usually all too happy to give them to her."

Autumn was quiet for a long moment "Which part of this bothers you more? That she doesn't have a problem asking or that she has no problem accepting?"

"What?"

"I love you, but you're terminally allergic to asking anybody for anything, and I know how much you despise anything you perceive as charity. Not everyone is like you, sweetie, and that doesn't make them bad people."

"I don't think she's a bad person. I just think she should take some more personal responsibility instead of always expecting someone else to bail her out and take care of everything."

"And it sounds like she's finally doing that. She came home, got a job right off. Has she asked you for anything since then? Other than to stay with you?"

Riley frowned. "Well, no, actually. Besides the fact that she just can't seem to _not_ talk to me in the mornings, she's mostly been staying out of my way since the flood. I guess she realizes I'm about two inches from snapping."

"Then maybe give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she really is turning over a new leaf. All that aside, you'll feel better once the repairs are finished. Liam will make it right," Autumn assured her

"He's certainly trying. He's already replaced the water heater upstairs, and ripped open the walls and ceiling, but it's still not dry enough to fix yet without danger of mold." The chaos was getting to her. She could hear the drone of fans and dehumidifiers outside the office door.

"He feels really bad about what happened."

Riley sat up. "You've talked to him?" Had he told Autumn about the kiss? Of course not. If Autumn knew about that, she'd have been on Riley's doorstep as soon as he hung up the phone demanding to know why Riley hadn't spilled the beans herself.

"Yeah. He's kicking himself pretty hard."

"It wasn't his fault. He keeps saying it is, but it's not like he's psychic. He couldn't have known the water heater would blow up."

"Yeah, but since when does Liam ever admit he isn't all knowing, all seeing, and in control all the time?"

That would be the last time the Devil wore ice skates. So, never. They had that in common.

"Point taken. It's going to be a big job, when he gets to it, and I'll probably have to close for a little while." Riley couldn't think about that. "The wood floors are ruined and have to come up. The bottom of the sheetrock has to be replaced. And the ceiling. There's damage in the store room too, though, obviously, that's lower priority. It's...a mess."

And that didn't seem to phase him in the least. As her world had imploded, Liam had risen to the challenge and taken control. Which was exactly what he did, what he needed. A mission. Since things had gone all to hell for her, he seemed to have found a rhythm. Which was great for him. She just wished it hadn't happened at her expense. Remembering what he'd said about not being sure if he was cut out for civilian life, she wondered if having a crisis to deal with would make him miss the Marines all the more or if he felt more settled.

Regardless, once he got started, he was going to be all up in her space. As if she needed more opportunity to feel awkward. In the wake of the flood, he hadn't tried to talk to her about the kiss again, which was just as well. She didn't need the added mortification of him trying to gently explain why he wasn't interested. He hadn't kissed her back. That was all the explanation she needed. Message received, loud and clear.

"I know it's awful, and I know you're stressed. But you will get through this."

"I know. I know. This, too, shall pass. I just hope it passes before it bankrupts me."

Jessie stuck her head into the office, bringing with her the perpetual wind tunnel the pharmacy had turned into. "Molly's here."

"Hey, I need to go. Molly's here. I'm due to go work on the playground assembly at Waldrop Park."

"Oh good. You need to do something away from work and home. Get your mind off stuff."

"I don't have a lot of choice in the matter. Liam railroaded me." And since he was taking on all of the repair work, it wasn't in her to deny him much.

"Good for him. Back porch margaritas soon," Autumn promised.

"You're on."

The man himself was standing at the counter.

"Are you here to escort me to make sure I actually make it to the job site?"

"It's the only way I can be sure you won't go disappear somewhere to brood."

"I'm not brooding."

Liam's brows jacked up.

"I'm not. I'm dealing with obnoxious things, like insurance and bills and taxes and all the crap nobody tells us about when we're kids in an all-fired hurry to grow-up. That's not brooding."

"Then what is it?"

"Adulting."

Molly laughed and put an arm around her. "I believe that should officially be a word. Now why don't you let me take over the adulting for the day and go with Liam to work on the playground. And when it's finished, do something really radical and play on it."

Riley's instinct was to list all the things she should be doing instead, but the fact was, she'd made all the calls, filled out all the reports, done inventory. There was absolutely nothing else she could do now but wait. If she didn't do _something_ to keep busy, she would fall into a brood. Her mood was bleak enough without going there.

But that didn't mean she wanted to be trapped in Liam's truck even for the short drive to the park.

"I can drive myself."

Jessie piped up, "Actually, no you can't. Your mom came to borrow the car. She said you'd said it was okay, so I gave her the key while you were on the phone earlier."

She'd said no such thing.

_I will not lose my shit. I will not lose my shit._ Riley mentally counted to ten and reminded herself she didn't look good in orange.

"Then I guess I am riding with you. Let me get my purse."

"Just a little bit higher."

In tandem with Judd, Liam shifted the slide on his shoulder.

"That's it," Mitch said. "Hold what you've got, while I bolt this bad boy in."

The work day was drawing to a close and the new Waldrop Park playground was almost assembled. Across the way, Liam could see Riley laughing with Miranda as they threaded the blocks of the tic tac toe game onto pipes. Her cheeks were flushed with heat and maybe a little sunburn. It was the first time he'd seen her smile since the flood, and the sight of it hit him straight in the gut.

"You want me to dump the water cooler over your head?" Judd asked.

"What?"

"You keep looking over there like that and the new playground's gonna catch on fire."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Judd chuckled and stepped out from beneath the finished slide.

Jesus, he had to get himself under control. What he really needed was a chance to corner Riley to _talk_ to her. Although Liam was starting to wonder if that was the best approach. His last attempt to do that had been a disaster, and she was so stressed out and defensive these days, he wasn't entirely sure she'd listen.

"That's it. It's officially done," Norah announced.

Tools were set aside, and they all crowded around to look over the finished product.

Mitch had outdone himself with the design. In place of the old, boring playground, they'd built a veritable wooden Camelot, with turrets and bridges, climbing walls, slides, monkey bars, and two banks of swings. It almost made Liam wish he was a kid again.

"Well, the equipment is done, anyway," Cam said. "It'll take me another weekend to get all the landscaping done."

"And Tyler's still got to finish with the pickets for the fence," Mitch added.

"I'm on duty to help put that together when it's ready," Liam said.

"Oh shush," Norah scolded. "I'm enjoying the moment of having something _finished._ "

"Somebody's got to test it out," Liam remarked, eying the swings.

"What do you mean? It's safe. Mitch went over all the specs."

"As in make sure it will hold up to a proper swing long jump competition."

Norah cocked her head. "A what?"

"You know, that thing we did when we were kids, where you swing as high as you possibly can and then jump out. Surely kids still do this." Liam couldn't imagine sedately using the swings only as intended. Where was the fun in that?

"I get someone at the clinic at least once or twice a year with a broken limb from that," Miranda confirmed. "As adults, you're all supposed to know better."

"Psh. Knowing better is over-rated." Liam pegged Riley with a look. "Weren't you, like, reigning long jump champion in fourth grade?"

Brows up, she nodded. "I was. And how did you, from your vaunted position in the far off seventh grade, know that?"

"Because Wynne was always mad you beat her. She couldn't figure out how you won since she was taller and should've had the longer reach."

"Reach isn't everything. It's all in the technique."

"You up for a little friendly competition?"

Riley narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Liam upped the stakes. "Loser buys pizza."

"You're on, Boy Scout."

Of course, that led to bets being taken. Being a Marine, he was the clear favorite, but that didn't seem to put Riley off one whit.

Liam slid into a swing, feeling the sides dig into his hips. "Hope you like pineapple."

Riley sat down beside him, shoving back until she was straight-legged. "Pineapple doesn't belong on a pizza. Not that it matters because you're buying me chicken and bacon."

"Cocky."

"Confident," she corrected. "On three. One. Two. Three!" She jumped back and swung forward.

Liam followed suit but was, as it turned out, at something of a disadvantage with his much longer legs. Riley laughed as his feet dragged, kicking hers until she rose higher and higher. Then he got the rhythm and figured out how to tuck his feet on the back swing and began to catch up. Liam swung higher, his stomach doing that altitude lurch as he neared the zenith of the arc. Beside him, he could see Riley preparing to jump, shifting her grip on the chains so her arms were free.

"Geronimo!" she shouted.

Riley went first, her sneakers leaving deep furrows in the rubber mulch as she skidded to a stop, arms pinwheeling. Liam readied for his own jump, eyes on Riley and the finish line. The moment he left the swing, he knew he'd miscalculated something. His body over-rotated, and he tried to twist in the air, to tuck and roll. His landing was an awkward, sideways crash of limbs. The impact radiated through his hip, his elbow, jarring loose a completely un-manly _Ooph._

"Liam!" Riley dropped to her knees beside him. "Don't move. Are you hurt?" Her hands were racing over him faster than he could answer, and as he rather enjoyed the process, he wasn't in any hurry to stop her.

"Nothin's broken." Except possibly his pride. And maybe his ass

Miranda rolled her eyes at him. "Your head's too thick for any serious damage."

"Dude, I really hope you're more coordinated in the field," Mitch ribbed.

He didn't have the distraction of Riley in the middle of war.

Apparently satisfied he was in one piece, the distraction herself sat back on her heels. "You jumped too high."

"Huh?"

"You missed the optimal exit point of the arc. Instead of using your momentum to fling you forward, you wasted the energy by going up. That's how I always beat Wynne."

"The champion remains supreme," Mitch said. "Pay up, y'all."

Riley helped Liam into a sitting position. "You owe me pizza."

"It's not like pizza is a hardship under any circumstances."

"Okay, I can't take it anymore," Norah declared. "When are you two going to publicly announce that you're dating?"

Riley's mouth dropped open. "Don't be ridiculous. We're not dating."

"We're not," Liam confirmed, hating the embarrassed flush that crawled up her neck.

Riley threw her arm out in a "See?" sort of gesture, as if that reinforced her point.

"But we should be." Liam was acutely aware of the awkward silence that descended in the wake of that declaration.

Riley laughed, not quite meeting his eyes as she got to her feet. "Clearly you hit your head harder than we thought."

Norah pouted. "Well damn. I guess I lost that bet."

"Can't win 'em all, sugar," Cam told her.

Everybody suddenly got busy with the cleanup of the job site. Riley was already striding away from him. Liam followed her around the back side of the tower, where she was gathering up tools.

She started to duck around him, still not looking him in the eye, but he grabbed her arm. "Hold it."

"I need to—"

"You need to stop running away from me and listen." Liam kept his voice low.

"To what?" she hissed back. "To you trying to humor me? Make me feel less like an idiot? That's nice of you, Liam, but it's not necessary." Her tone indicated it wasn't even possible, and that just pissed him off.

He caged her in against the wall of the tower. "I have been trying to tell you for weeks, but every time I get close we have some kind of disaster or you bolt like a damned rabbit. So let's clarify something before there's another flood, fire, or parental invasion. You are not in this alone."

And then his hands were in her hair, his mouth on hers in a blistering, possessive kiss that poured out every ounce of the dark, desperate wanting that had haunted him for months.

Riley didn't move.

Heart pounding, Liam eased back. Her pupils were blown wide with shock. He was already cursing his rashness but he had to ask. "What do you think?"

Those eyes narrowed and her hands fisted in his shirt. "Oo rah."

She yanked his mouth back to hers, fingers clutching at his shoulders, sliding around to his nape to pull him closer as she proceeded to kiss him like she meant it. Like she'd stumbled out of the desert and he was the oasis designed for the sole purpose of quenching her thirst. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him. She tasted rich and sinfully sweet. Every cell of his body screamed, _Oh, hell yes_ , and his brain supplied applause and cheers as accompaniment.

Wait, that wasn't his brain.

Their audience was hooting, hollering, and clapping with great enthusiasm.

"You go, Riley!"

She broke free, hiding her face against his chest. Liam turned his head to glare at the grinning onlookers, staying where he was as a wholly ineffectual shield.

"I _was_ right!" Norah gave a fist pump.

"I called it first," Judd said. "Pay up."

More money changed hands—didn't they have anything better to do than bet?—and friendly ribbing ensued.

"Sorry. I didn't plan on an audience. You okay?"

She lifted her head and smiled at him—really smiled for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. Something buoyant and huge expanded in his chest, and all Liam could think was that he'd do just about anything to lighten her load and make her happy enough to do it again on a more regular basis.

"I feel like sending a message out to every teenage girl everywhere who ever had a crush on her best friend's big brother—don't give up."

"You had a crush on me in high school?"

Riley laughed "Buy me that pizza you owe me, and I'll think about telling you about it."

Liam swung an arm around her. "Now that's a bet I'm happy to pay up."

# Chapter 10

"THIS WILL BE JUST lovely." Sharilyn shut the car door. "I haven't seen Molly in ages."

Riley hadn't seen her either since the news that she and Liam were a thing had swept through town like wildfire. Molly's response to that was to invite Riley and her mother over for a family dinner. Nothing Liam could say changed the fact that Riley felt like she'd been summoned, and she was more than a little nervous about it.

_Hey, I know you're as much a mother to me as my own, but I really want to do the horizontal boogie with your eldest son. That copacetic with you?_

Riley had no idea how she'd react to this. Sharilyn had been ecstatic and hadn't been able to stop talking about what a fine, upstanding serviceman Liam was. Which was patently true, but had left Riley so on edge, she thought she might've ground down a layer of teeth.

Clutching the casserole dish in a death grip, Riley headed for the front door. The front door for company, not the side door she'd been using all her life. Happy-faced cosmos and zinnias lined the walk, and the beds were neatly mulched. Liam's doing, she was sure, along with the freshly-painted siding and trim of the house, and the newly-built planter boxes lining the windows. Since her hands were full, Sharilyn rang the bell.

Moments later, Molly pulled open the door, beaming. "Welcome! Oh, what have you brought here?"

"Corn casserole," Riley managed.

Molly leaned in to buss Riley's cheek and tugged the dish out of her hands, leaving Riley wishing she had something else to hold on to. Her gaze flicked to Liam, standing barefoot in the hall behind his mother, looking completely at ease in a polo shirt and khaki shorts.

"Don't just stand there like a bump on a log, Staff Sergeant. Kiss your girl hello."

He bent to give Riley a chaste peck that bore no resemblance to their playground interlude but left her thinking all kinds of sweaty thoughts anyway. "Hi."

"Hi." _And the winner for best deer in the headlights impression goes to..._

Molly leveled a Look in Liam's direction.

He grinned. "Yes ma'am."

They hadn't been together long, but Riley recognized the expression in his eyes as he laced his hands behind her back and reeled her in.

"Liam!" Riley hissed. But he stopped her warning with another kiss that absolutely justified those sweaty thoughts.

She struggled to give him a stern glare when he pulled back but was sure she missed by a mile.

Entirely unrepentant, he said, "I come from a PDA kinda family. You know this."

And she'd always loved the easy affection between John and Molly. "Yeah but..." What could she say to that?

Molly nodded, satisfied. "I swear, you two move slower than molasses in winter. It took me six months to even get you near each other."

Liam shifted his attention to his mother. "It...what?

"Well you weren't doing anything about getting together on your own, so I had to do something to push you together." She looked so pleased, Riley half expected to see feathers peeking out from her mouth.

"So you blew up the water heater?" he asked.

"No! Of course not. But that apartment's been sitting empty for ages. I figured having you renovate it would put the two of you in the same general vicinity and nature might finally take its course."

"You were _trying_ to get us together?" Riley couldn't wrap her brain around the idea of that.

"Of course I was. I've been waiting years for you both to grow up enough to figure it out. It's about damned time, too. Honestly, I thought I was going to have to bring in reinforcements."

"Years?" Riley repeated. "But how did you..."

Molly tapped a finger to the medallion around Riley's neck. "Because you wouldn't have given this to him if he didn't matter, and he wouldn't have worn it all these years if you didn't." Smiling, she picked up the casserole dish and headed for the kitchen. "Sharilyn, tell me all about you."

Riley and Liam watched them go.

"You know, I used to think I was in control of my life," Riley said.

"She likes to leave people with that impression."

Somewhere in the middle of all her embarrassment, Riley felt a bit of a glow at the idea that not only had she earned Molly's approval to take over the business but also as a worthy match for her son. She respected Molly more than almost anyone else, so her approval meant a lot. But at the same time...what went along with that approval? Expectations of...what?

Riley shied away from that thought.

Liam combed both hands through her hair, massaging her scalp as he went. "Relax. It's just dinner. You've had dinner over here hundreds of times."

"I wasn't thinking about getting naked with you all those other times," she murmured. "Not most of them anyway."

Liam laughed. "Why, Miss Gower, have you been fantasizing about me?"

"It's the dimples."

Confusion flickered across his face. "I don't have dimples."

"Oh but you do. That summer you lifeguarded at the city pool? You had these board shorts that rode really low on your hips so the dimples at the top of your very fine ass showed. You wouldn't guess half the things I've thought about doing with you because of those dimples."

"Your fantasies and my fantasies should talk."

"Given that we're more or less back in high school with our living situations, talking is about as far as they're going to get."

"There's always the back seat of the Mustang. Classic for a reason."

"I'm not that desperate yet."

Liam bent to press a kiss just above her collar bone. "Bet I could change your mind." His voice was a dark velvet promise that proved they'd both be winners of that bet.

"Liam, come set the table!" Molly called.

He winced. "I'm too old for this."

"Remind me again why you haven't gotten your own place yet?"

"Seemed prudent to settle on a job and known level of income first."

Riley couldn't fault the sensibility of that. She patted his cheek. "C'mon, Boy Scout. We have to go be good children."

They headed into the kitchen.

"—surprised you didn't do a big cookout," Sharilyn was saying. "I have such fond memories of cookouts over here."

"Oh we still throw them from time to time, but Wynne couldn't make it home and I thought the kids might appreciate not being paraded in front of half the town."

Liam walked over to squeeze his mother's shoulders. "The _kids_ appreciate your self-restraint."

Molly tugged him down for a noisy kiss. "No matter how big you get, you'll always be my baby."

Riley relaxed as they finished setting out silverware, napkins, and serving dishes. It was hard to be anything but relaxed at this table, surrounded by the scents of fresh fried chicken, potato salad, and fried green tomatoes. Some of her best memories were here.

Beneath the table, Liam's knee nudged hers. How many times had that happened growing up, crammed around the table with him and the rest of his family? Always an accident then. It was very much on purpose now, a harmless, flirty gesture that kept distracting her from the conversation.

"How are things going at the market?" Molly asked.

"Really well. Matthew's happy, so I'm off the probationary period as a checker. That was a relief. I was worried about learning to run the register, but the computer actually makes it really easy."

"Technology is a beautiful thing," Molly agreed.

"When it works anyway. We had a young girl in the store today trying to buy her groceries and there was something wrong with her EBT card—wasn't anything to do with her, the system had been squirrelly all day—but the lines were pretty long and someone said something rude about 'some people' loud enough she could hear. Poor thing got so upset and embarrassed, she ran out of the store without any groceries."

Riley's heart ached for the girl. She well remembered the various sly comments and judgmental remarks heaped on her as a child when they'd been in dire straits.

"That's awful," Molly said. "Who was it?"

"I didn't know her. Really young. Nineteen or twenty maybe? Sandy hair. Dark eyes. Row of piercings going up one ear. I'll never understand why people need more than one set of holes."

Riley stilled. That was Tara Honeycutt. She had way more on her plate than anybody her age deserved. "Who was the jerk?"

"Gary Hopper."

"Clearly the apples don't fall far from the tree," she muttered.

"Amber Hopper was in your class, wasn't she?" Liam asked.

Riley's hand clenched around her fork. "Yes, yes she was. Her sister, Brandy, was two years ahead." And between the two of them, they'd made junior high a living hell.

Molly frowned. "Amber is the only fight Wynne ever got into. She never would admit what it was over."

"I remember that." Liam forked up another tomato from the platter. "Cruz pulled her off. Said he was sure Wynne was going to pull half the hair out of that girl's head."

"Wynne was my little Zen child," Molly said. "It would've taken a lot to rile her to that point."

Riley realized everyone was looking at her.

"You must've been there," Liam said. "You and Wynne were always joined at the hip."

She dropped her gaze and poked at her chicken. "Yeah, I was there."

The silence dragged out, until she felt a twitch between her shoulders.

"She was a bully, okay? A stupid, hateful, privileged little snot, who liked to take pot shots at me."

"Over what?" Sharilyn asked.

"Wasn't important."

"Wynne wouldn't have been so mad if it wasn't important," Sharilyn said.

Riley sighed. "Fine. On that particular occasion, she'd called us poor white trash one too many times for Wynne's taste." She'd also implied that Riley's mother was sleeping with the pastor to receive preferential treatment among the church's charity cases. But Riley wasn't about to admit that. "It was a long running thing. Amber and her sister bullied me from about fourth grade on, always making sly, catty comments designed for maximum humiliation." This many years later, she could still feel the burn of shame.

Sharilyn clutched at her pearls. "But...Mary Ellen Hopper was the one who organized the fund-raiser so we didn't lose the house."

Yeah, Riley had heard plenty about that, too. That had been the year she'd taken over all the money management and turned her babysitting into a profitable enough enterprise to keep the wolf from the door.

"The whole family is a bunch of self-important, sanctimonious assholes. The kind of 'Christians' who do very public good works to be _seen_ doing them, so that they get credit for it, not because they have a shred of actual decency or give a damn about helping others. Every single hand up they gave came with a price tag. And they never, ever missed an opportunity to remind me that they were better. The Hoppers and people like them are the primary reason you have to practically hold a gun to my head to get me to accept help. Because I _refuse_ to ever be made to feel like less or that I didn't earn what's mine, ever again."

The moment the words were out, Riley wished she could take them back. The relief of having finally admitted it wasn't worth the anguish on Sharilyn's face pale.

"I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me?"

_Because I was the one who did the protecting._ Riley shrugged. "You had enough to cope with." And she hadn't managed that particularly well. "There was nothing you could do about it. There's no law against people being hateful."

"You didn't tell me, either." There was hurt and no little bit of temper in Liam's eyes, though Riley knew the latter wasn't directed at her.

"Stand down, Marine. It was a long time ago. And nothing you could've protected me from."

"I could've done something."

"You did. You taught me to stand on my own two feet." She smiled in an attempt to break the tension. "Besides, there's karmic justice. She married a guy with the last name Butts. So now she's forevermore Amber Hopper Butts. If that's not the Universe kicking her ass, I don't know what is. Maybe that's small and petty of me, but I'll take my entertainment where I can get it."

She stabbed the last bite of fried chicken, determined to put an end to the discussion. "Did I hear a rumor about cobbler?"

"Liam! Riley!"

Liam tightened his arm around Riley's shoulders and kept his voice low. "Don't make eye contact. First rule of traversing enemy territory—keep moving and don't draw attention to yourself."

"Enemy territory?"

"Getting cornered by the Casserole Patrol this close to the start of the fireworks means we'd be guaranteed to miss the show."

Her arm snaked around his waist and she leaned into him. "My big bad Marine is afraid of three elderly ladies?"

"Three busy bodies, more like. If they manage to pin us down for a conversation, they'll have an engagement announcement in tomorrow's paper and names picked out for all three of our future kids. Rumor has it, they've already started knitting baby stuff for Cam and Norah, and they haven't even set a date for the wedding. No, thank you. They can interrogate us later. We're setting up at the perimeter."

"Lead on, Boy Scout." He was glad to see her eyes spark with amusement. She'd been sober and withdrawn since dinner.

He steered her through the crowds, studiously ignoring everyone he could, smiling and nodding at anyone he couldn't. But he didn't stop until they'd reached the outskirts of the throngs encamped on the banks of Hope Springs.

Across the water, the last vestiges of daylight bled to night, only a faint blush of orange left in the sky. There were still a good forty-five minutes until the fireworks started. People milled around them, chatting, snacking on the contents of coolers brought from earlier cookouts, wrangling kids. It wasn't how he'd planned to end the evening. His original intent had been to take her to one of his favorite haunts from high school, far on the other side of the springs, to encourage some private fireworks of their own. But in the wake of her admission about being bullied in school, she'd been too much in her own head. He could've distracted her with the physical, but that wouldn't get at the thing still gnawing at her. So he'd brought her here, where an audience would keep their libidos in check, and he could, hopefully, figure out what to do to banish this demon of hers.

He unfolded the blanket he'd brought from the car and spread it on the grass. Slipping out of his shoes, he sat, stretching a hand up to Riley. "Come here."

She toed off her sandals and stepped onto the blanket. Taking his hand, she sank gracefully down, smoothing her dress before crossing her feet primly at the ankles and settling back against his chest.

Liam wrapped his arms around her, everything inside him going quiet and content as he tucked his chin against her shoulder. "You smell...sort of lemony. What is that?"

"A blend of lemongrass and eucalyptus oils. Natural mosquito repellent."

Of course, there was an oil for that. It was Riley.

"Definitely more appealing than Deep Woods Off." Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss to her neck, pleased to feel her faint shiver. But she wasn't entirely focused on him. "What's going through that busy brain of yours?"

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that your mom has been shipping us since high school."

Not what he'd expected. "She's been what now?"

"Shipping. As in hoping two people will get together in a romantic relationship. Though usually the term is used in conjunction with fan fiction, books, and TV shows rather than real people. Like, I ship Oliver and Felicity on Arrow."

"That sounds like an Autumn-ism."

"Given her romantic leanings, it's a favorite word of hers."

"Huh." Liam turned that over in his head and decided he kind of liked the idea. "Does it bother you that Mom hoped we'd get together?"

"Not...bother, exactly. I'm kind of embarrassed, I guess."

"Why?"

"You have no idea how hard I worked not to moon over you back then. _You_ never noticed, and Wynne never said anything, so I thought I pulled it off."

"You mooned over me?" He smiled to himself, inordinately pleased by the idea.

"Having a crush on your best friend's big brother is a special rite of passage. And mine had a hefty dose of hero worship thrown in."

"I'm no hero."

"You were always my hero," she said softly. Abruptly she stiffened

He didn't have to ask why. "No, I never told her what happened. Whatever she saw between us, it was nothing to do with that." He rubbed light circles on the back of her hand until she eased again.

"Don't you find the whole thing a little...I don't know. Weird?"

"Not weird. I guess I'm surprised. And a part of me feels like I shouldn't be because she knows me—apparently better than I know myself, since she figured this out way before I did. She loves you like a daughter, and I guess I worried she wouldn't be okay with this. It wouldn't have stopped me if she did, but it's nice to have her approval." Of course, that came with a whole helluva lot of pressure not to screw it up.

"What about Wynne? I haven't heard from her, and, frankly, I'm just as nervous about her reaction as Molly's."

That was a whole other kettle of fish.

"Oh, she called and read me the riot act last weekend. Said she's glad I finally got my head out of my ass to notice you were awesome, and I'd better take care of you, or I'd be answering to her."

Riley opened her mouth, then closed it again, shaking her head. "Maybe I wasn't as good at hiding my crush back then as I thought. How did she even know about us?"

"Evidently quite a few pictures of us at the playground made their way to her on Facebook, and she saw the announcement that Ruby won the pool on who I'd pick."

She twisted around. "Ruby? Seriously?"

"Apparently _I_ wasn't so good at not mooning over _you._ "

"Could've fooled me. I spent most of the last month wanting to die of embarrassment every time I saw you."

"If your mama hadn't shown up, we'd have been doing this a helluva lot sooner." Liam rubbed his lips over hers, a lazy, teasing kiss.

"We're gonna wind up on Facebook again," she murmured.

"Don't care." He just kept right on with that slow taste, thinking she was the perfect dessert.

Until something thunked him against the side of the head.

Liam jerked back, already noting the breathless, "Sorry!" being called, as he looked around for what had whacked him. He picked up the frisbee and winged it back to the little girl still chanting, "Sorry!" as she jogged over.

"No problem!"

Riley had gone very still. He followed her gaze to a young woman waving a second apology for the little girl. She stood near water's edge, gesturing for an older boy to move out of range of the crowd. The empathy in Riley's expression clued him in.

"That's her, isn't it? The girl from the market that your mom was talking about."

Riley offered a friendly smile along with her wave. "Tara Honeycutt. She's barely twenty and has sole custody of her two younger half siblings. Brother and sister. Austin is about ten, I think Ginny's seven."

"How did she end up with them?"

"Their mom dropped them off with their dad—which is Tara's dad—and disappeared. Then Wayne got busted for burglary and sent to prison. Tara quit school and came home to take care of them rather than see them go into the foster system."

"That's a lot of responsibility to take on at that age."

"She's busting her ass, working two jobs to make sure they've got everything they need. So somebody like Hopper coming along and implying she's lazy or some kind of reprobate would probably be enough to send her over the edge. I so completely understand that."

She'd tensed up again, so he began to stroke and soothe. This was the opening he'd wanted. "It explains a lot about you."

"Oh, you mean the fact that I'm mule stubborn?" She shot him a self-deprecating smile.

"Well there's that—" He gave her a squeeze to take the sting out "—and how you got to be so strong. A lot of people would've buckled under those circumstances."

"My mother did. And I probably would have, if not for your family." She tipped her head to his shoulder. "Y'all were my collective rock. Always. Not everybody's so lucky."

"Are," he corrected.

"Sorry?"

"We are your collective rock. What's between you and me may have changed, but that hasn't. I hope you know that."

"I do. But I'm not in this for you to take care of me. I hope _you_ know that. That's my mother's M.O. Not mine. I don't expect that from a relationship."

He could've been offended. He could've argued that the entire point of relationships was taking care of each other. His parents had been a glowing example of that. But this wasn't about her not needing him. It was about her not being willing to need anyone. Chipping away at that wall would take time and finesse.

Liam brushed a kiss over her brow. "You're nothing like your mom. Doesn't change the fact that I'm here to support you. Whether you think you need it or not."

She relaxed into him. They lapsed into silence as the fireworks began. Throughout the show she spent more time watching Tara and her siblings than she did the festive explosives. Liam spent his time watching her. Something was percolating in that brain of hers. He waited, patiently, to see if she'd let him in on it.

When the last burst of color died away, Riley straightened. "What time is it?"

"Coming on close to ten."

"Will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Will you drive me to Lawley?"

"Sure. What for?"

"To pay it forward."

"Stay here, while I scout the perimeter."

"No way," Riley whispered. "This was my idea. I'm going with you." She wasn't about to admit she felt a little squeamish standing in the woods by herself in the pitch black dark of midnight. There could be...creatures and crawling things. Some things she was fine being a girly girl about.

She couldn't make out Liam's face in the shadows, but his long silence suggested he probably knew it.

"Fine. We'll come back for the cargo. Step where I step, and test each one before you put your full weight down."

Riley fell into careful step behind him.

Heeled sandals were absolutely _not_ the correct footwear for a covert operation. The flirty sundress was hardly appropriate either, but going by her apartment to change would've meant running into her mother. There was no explanation for why she needed to be dressed in black from head-to-toe that Riley cared to give. The whole point of this mission was secrecy.

A single light burned in the back of the little one-story house. Tara, probably, taking some rare time to herself or maybe figuring out how she was going to make ends meet for another month. Riley was well-familiar with that kind of late night.

They crossed the yard at what felt like a slow crawl, until Liam finally motioned her to press up against the side of the house. He eased through the weedy flowerbed. Riley followed until they both crouched beneath the edge of the lit window. Using hand signals that she could only presume meant raise up slowly, Liam turned to face the house. Like a pair of cartoon robbers, they moved in sync, unbending just enough that they could peer in.

Tara sat on a stool at some kind of work bench, an oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. A bright desk lamp illuminated the small tools, wire, and other detritus scattered across the surface. Her jewelry making station, Riley realized. The long artist's fingers twisted and fastened, picking up a tool here, a component there, then checking the overall composition beneath a large magnifying glass mounted with a spring clamp to the lamp. A satisfied smile spread across her face, and, for once, she actually looked her age. As they watched, she set aside whatever she was working on and turned out the desk lamp, before crossing to the bed in the corner.

Liam tapped Riley's arm and motioned back toward where they'd left the supplies. As they made their way back toward the woods, the last light went out.

"We wait ten minutes. Let her get good and settled, slide on into sleep. Then we make our move."

"You're good at all this stealth stuff," Riley whispered.

"Ought to be. Nice not to have to do it while worrying about IEDs or mortars."

Riley closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She'd been making a concerted effort _not_ to think about what he'd faced in the Middle East. After twelve years of worrying about it, that part of his life was finished. Thank God.

Liam's hand tangled with hers. "You okay?"

"I used to keep a map."

"Of what?"

"The world. Every time we got an update on you or your brothers, I'd note down where you were supposed to be. But given Jack is military intelligence and Cruz is a sniper, we usually didn't know where they were, so it was mostly you. I've got a record of your entire service. What we knew of it, anyway."

He tugged her against him. The cheek he pressed to hers was a little bit rough with stubble, but the way he held her was anything but. "I'm sorry I worried you. I don't know if it would've changed anything if I'd known, but I'd have at least made more of an effort to let you know I was okay."

Riley pressed her face into his shoulder, holding him tight. "I know it's been hard on you, but I'm so glad you're out."

"I thought about writing you."

"Really?"

"A hundred times. I kept that letter you wrote with me all the time. Read it and reread it until it fell apart and had to be taped back together."

The idea that the words she'd written him in anger had been a constant companion to him in battle made her vaguely ill. "Why? Why on earth would you want to reread a guilt trip?"

"That wasn't the part I reread. Not most of the time, anyway."

That only left one part.

"Do you remember?" he asked softly.

As if she could forget. "Take care of yourself, Liam Montgomery. You'd better come home safe to all the people who love you, or I'll never forgive you."

Liam stroked a hand through her hair, tipping her face up toward his. "I took comfort in the idea that you might be one of them. That's why I wore the medallion all these years. I didn't think you'd have given up a piece of your dad if you weren't."

She was. Of course she was. She always had been. And she'd never been able to handle it.

Riley closed her eyes. "God, I'm glad you didn't see me before you got out. I was hateful to you. I wouldn't have wanted you to take that back out into the field."

She could see his smile even in the dark. "Well, I admit I was disappointed you didn't fall into my arms at my welcome home party. But I consider myself damned lucky to have you here now."

"Me, too."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "C'mon Let's get this done."

It took two trips to get it all. They'd gone, perhaps, a little bit overboard with the three styrofoam coolers and dozen bags of other non-perishables. Once Liam had realized what she had in mind, he'd gotten into the whole thing. There was enough here to feed the family for a month. They arranged the lot of it neatly in front of the main door to the house.

"That's everything. You ready?" he asked.

"Wait." Riley laid a hand on his arm. "Do you think we should really wake them up?"

"If you just leave the coolers, there's not enough ice to guarantee no spoilage by morning. And you run the risk of stray dogs or raccoons getting into them or the rest of it. You wanted anonymity, this gives it to you."

"Okay, fine. You're right."

"You go on ahead. Once you're back to the treeline, I'll pull a ding dong ditch and make a run for it."

"Oh wait, I almost forgot." Riley pulled the note she'd scribbled out of her pocket. Prying up the cover of one of the coolers, she wedged the edge of the paper in and closed the top.

Liam arched a brow in question.

"In case she's too afraid to open them. People pull mean pranks on those less fortunate with far more regularity than anybody likes to think about."

"Fair enough. Go on."

Using the same tactics he'd shown her to cross in the first place, Riley headed for the trees. As soon as she was safely hidden behind an oak, Liam rang the bell and bolted, his long legs eating up the distance, as a light snapped on in Tara's room. He made it to the woods just as the front porch light came on. The door didn't open.

"We probably scared the crap out of the poor girl."

"Just wait," he said.

The door cracked open and the barrel of a shotgun peeked out.

"Good way to lose your gun," Liam remarked.

"Told you we scared her."

Evidently assured no one was there to molest her, Tara opened the door further and caught sight of the bounty piled on her porch. Riley saw her jaw drop and felt the rest of the ice that had lodged in her belly at dinner melt. Yes, _this_ was what she'd needed tonight. To do something kind for someone who needed it, no strings, no identity attached.

Tara stepped further out, looking around for her benefactor. Seeing no one, she took one quick swipe at her eyes and started hauling things in. They waited until she'd carried it all inside, before melting back through the woods the way they'd come.

Riley felt buoyant. By the time they emerged where they'd stashed the car, a laugh bubbled out. "That. Was. _Awesome!"_ All the covert ops stuff had her blood pumping in exhilaration.

"Feeling better?"

"So much." She threw her arms around him. "Thank you for helping me."

"It was a worthy cause all around."

Feeling the hard press of Liam's body against hers, her heart came up with an entirely better reason to thud in her chest. "Seems like you've earned a reward."

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, there is that backseat you mentioned earlier." She skimmed her hands down his back to grip his very firm backside.

"Have I mentioned I like the way you think?" He opened the car door. "After you."

Riley tipped the seat forward and climbed in.

Liam followed, shutting the door behind him. "Now, I believe I had a bet to win." He shifted to crawl toward her and bumped his head, then a knee. "Damn it. I wasn't this tall in high school."

She swallowed back a laugh at his look of consternation. "Ah, I'm not the first girl you've had back here."

"You're the first woman I've had back here."

"Nice save, Boy Scout."

"And, to be clear, I've never gotten past second base in this car."

"I can see why. There's not any room to maneuver."

"I could send your mom on an all-expenses-paid trip to...I don't know. Somewhere."

She stiffened, shoving at him. "No."

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. "I was just—"

"I mean it, Liam. I know you have this need to fix things, and I appreciate it. God knows, I don't know where I'd be right now without that. But this is not yours to fix. Leave it alone."

"Yes ma'am." He shifted around again. "The quilt is still in the trunk. We're alone in the woods. We could absolutely have more room."

"Oh no. You hear those cicadas and crickets? We are very definitely not alone in the woods. Not the kind of alone I would require for the kind of activities we both have in mind. There is nothing sexy about bugs or snakes or anything else that's out there."

"So I'm hearing that you're never going to want to go camping."

"I'm fine with camping. So long as there is a tent. And sleeping bags. And a gallon of mosquito repellent."

Liam sighed and pressed a kiss to her throat before finally just sitting on the bench seat. "Just as well. When I make love to you, I want it to be in a bed, where I can take my time about it."

Riley felt her body coil with need and longing. She wanted that. Oh God, how she wanted that with him. She slid into his lap to straddle him, her knees bracketing his hips. "You should know I fully support that plan at the earliest possible opportunity. In the meantime—" She shimmied against the evidence of his arousal. "—I expect we can at least manage second base to take the edge off."

She gripped the hem of her dress and lifted it up and off.

"God bless America."

# Chapter 11

RILEY WATCHED THE SERVPRO technicians roll the dehumidifiers and fans out the front door of the pharmacy. "Good riddance."

Ruby lifted her hands to God. "Amen. I ain't gonna know what to do with myself without all that noise rumblin' through here."

"Don't get rid of your earplugs yet," Liam told her. "I'll be making plenty of noise fixing the damage."

Ruby winced.

"I'll be doing as much as I can after hours to keep from disrupting business any more than I have to." He turned to Riley. "You need to be deciding on a new wall color. Once the new sheetrock is in, the whole room will need repainting."

"Oh, can we _please_ have something other than some shade of antique white?" Jessie begged.

"There are flooring decisions to be made, too. These original wood floors aren't salvageable. You and Mom need to decide ASAP if you want to go with more wood, laminate, tile, or what, so we can get it ordered over at the hardware store. If there are any changes you want to make to the place, now's the time to do it while we're about to have it all torn up anyway."

"Decisions, decisions." Riley was getting damned tired of making them. "I just want everything dealt with as quickly as humanly possible."

"It'll look worse before it gets better. But it _will_ get better. Promise." He chucked her softly under the chin.

"I trust you." And she did.

"Good." He pulled her in for a quick and entirely unsatisfying kiss. "I'm gonna run over to see Tyler and pick up flooring samples for y'all to think about. Maybe grab a paint fan too. Then I've got a few other things to see about, but after work, I'm taking you out to celebrate."

"What are we celebrating?" Liam was not the two week-i-versary type.

"The fact that repairs can finally proceed. And the rest is a surprise."

Riley lifted a brow. "A surprise, huh?"

"So suspicious." He grinned. "Just be ready to go by seven. And wear that little black dress. I have a particular fondness for that one."

She saluted him. "Yes, sir."

"You're so cute when you try to be official." Liam kissed her again, lingering this time in a way that had her way more curious about his surprise than she had been. "See you tonight."

He sauntered out the door, a spring in his step.

Jessie leaned against the counter and propped her chin on her fist. "You know, I hate the reason he's in here all the time right now, but I do love having the eye candy."

Riley smiled and resisted the urge to touch her lips. "He is pretty exceptional eye candy, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't kick that one outta my bed for eating potato chips."

"Ruby!" Riley laughed.

"What? I may have thirty years on him, but I'm not dead."

"You two were looking mighty cozy the Fourth of July fireworks," Jessie noted with an eyebrow waggle.

That wasn't anywhere near as cozy as they'd been _after_ the fireworks. Not content with second base, they'd ambitiously headed for third. And if they'd only had a bed...

"Earth to Riley."

She jerked her attention back to Jessie to find the other girl smirking in a way that let her know she'd mentally wandered off for a while.

"I'm just gonna assume by the dopey grin on your face that you two made your own finale."

An image of those broad hands on her bare skin had Riley's face burning hot.

Ruby's teeth flashed white. "Good for you, sugar. You need a little loosenin' up."

Riley glared at both of them. "Back to work, both of you. My love life is not up for discussion."

"You keep thinkin' that, honey." Ruby patted her arm.

The bell jangled and Tara Honeycutt walked in with her brother and sister. She went brows up as she took in the water damage and rearranged shelving.

"Wow. I'd heard you had a flood but this is..."

"Yeah. It's bad. But the good news is we're dry enough to finally start repairs, so hopefully all will be back to normal in fairly short order," Riley told her. Liam was a man of his word. If he said it would be so, it would be so.

Tara spoke a few soft words to her siblings. Judging from Austin's hunched shoulders and baleful expression, it was something along the lines of "Don't touch anything," but he took his sister over to the candy display.

"What can I do for you today?"

They both looked around as the door opened again and Autumn walked in. She waved at Riley and headed toward the haircare products.

"How's the tea tree oil working out for you?"

"Really well." Tara paused. "I've still got your instructions tacked to the fridge."

"It can sometimes be hard to remember ratios for stuff. I have to check my references all the time for different oil recipes."

"Your handwriting is really—"

"Messy? Yeah, I know. Mom says I should've been a doctor."

Tara's gaze was intense. "I was going to say distinctive."

Riley blinked, then realization dawned. _Oops._ She'd forgotten about the note she'd stuck in one of the coolers.

_No one should ever be made to feel less because of their circumstances or what they have to do to survive._

"Thank you." Tara's voice was soft but firm, and Riley didn't have to ask what she was referring to.

She laid a hand over the younger girl's. "You're welcome."

"I wanted to bring you something. Just a token."

"Oh, you don't have to..." Riley trailed off as she pulled the small white box out of her purse. Nestled inside were a pair of chandelier earrings, similar to the ones Riley had admired earlier in the summer.

"I did them in silver. It suits your skin tone better than the copper."

"They're wonderful." Riley slipped them on and immediately felt sassier. "Thank _you_."

Jessie wandered over. "Oh my God, those are _awesome._ Where can I get some?"

"Tara makes them."

"Well, I want to commission some," Jessie insisted.

"Really?"

When Tara left a little while later, the kids in tow, Riley waved them on their way, feeling like she'd added some positive karma to the world to balance out the negative.

Autumn stepped up. "You look like you're having a good day."

Riley tapped at her dangles. "I very much am."

"Well, it's about to get even better."

The door opened again.

"Hold that thought," Riley said.

Sharilyn breezed up to the counter. "Hey, baby."

"Hey, Mom. What can I do for you?" Riley couldn't stop the instinctive tensing.

"Not a thing. I'm on my lunch break. I just wanted to let you know I'd be away this weekend."

"Oh? With who?" _Please don't say Matthew McSweeney._

"You remember Linda Buckner?"

"It was her wedding where you met Daddy."

Sharilyn beamed. "It was. She's in Lawley now and invited me for a visit."

Riley relaxed. "That'll be fun. How are you getting there? Do you need to borrow the car?" If she needed anything, Liam could probably take her.

"Nope," Autumn said. "Judd's Nanna's birthday is this weekend. He has to work, so he and Mary Alice are going for the party tomorrow and coming back late. I'm staying the weekend at the farm, so I told your mom she could hitch a ride with me."

"I just wanted you to know I'd be gone until Sunday. You know, so you don't worry." This last was said with a pointed look that had Riley frowning.

_You're welcome_ , Autumn mouthed.

Translation: I'm making sure your mom will be gone all weekend, so she won't be around to barge in on you and your sexy new boyfriend.

_Oh God._

"That's...very considerate," Riley choked out, knowing her face was flaming ten shades of crimson.

"Are you all packed, Sharilyn?" Autumn asked.

"Just need to swing by the house and grab my bag."

"Why don't we do that, and then I can drop you back by work for the rest of your shift."

"Sounds great. I'm off at six." Sharilyn popped her over-sized sunglasses back on and headed for the door "Have a good weekend, baby!"

With a final wave and a wink, Autumn followed her out.

Looked like Riley wasn't the only one getting a surprise tonight.

"It really shouldn't be too bad." Liam could already see how the place could look with some TLC. "There's no need to knock out walls or alter the floor plan. Updated fixtures, refinished cabinetry and trim. It can all be done very reasonably."

Babette Wofford crossed her arms and nodded. "What kind of timeline are we looking at?"

"Well, I need to knock out the pharmacy first thing, and that's going to take some time. And then finish up the apartment above it. Maybe a month or six weeks before I could start. But the job itself...a week. Maybe two."

"That's fine," Babette said. "You just let me know."

"I'll work up that estimate and get it to you in the next few days. You can get some other quotes in the meantime to make an educated decision."

Babette waved her hand. "I don't need other bids. You were a good, honest boy and you're a good, honest man. I'll wait until you're available to do the job."

Mildly exasperated and more than a little amused, Liam said, "I appreciate that Mrs. Wofford. But if you change your mind in the meantime, no hard feelings."

They headed down the stairs.

"I'm just happy to finally be doing something with it. Meanwhile, I'll be looking for a new tenant for the studio apartment down on Sutton. My last one up and skipped out on his lease last month. Moved his stuff out and didn't tell a soul. We didn't realize anything was wrong until he was late with his rent."

Liam's interest piqued. "What's the rent?"

Babette named a figure. "After this latest fiasco, first and last month's rent will be required up front. And a security deposit. Are you interested? Not to talk you out of it, but it's a real crackerbox of a place. I can't imagine a man your size fitting comfortably there."

He thought of Riley's insistence that he stay out of things with her mother. But giving Sharilyn information about a place that would suit her needs hardly qualified as actual interference. "I'm not, but I know somebody else who might be. Do you have time to show it to me?"

It really _was_ a crackerbox, but it was clean and functional. More to the point, it was within walking distance of everything downtown, which made it affordable, even on an hourly wage, if she wasn't having to pay for a car. Sharilyn could probably swing it, and it would do her good to have a taste of the independence that her daughter prized above all else.

Because it was on his mind, he headed straight to McSweeney's Market. The after work, pre-weekend rush was starting. Since he didn't want to take up Sharilyn's time without even buying something, he swung through the floral department to grab one of the ready-made bouquets. By the time he'd picked between sunflowers, Gerbera daisies, and something hot pink and tropical looking, the crowds had thinned, and he caught Riley's mom alone at her register.

She gave him a broad smile when he approached. "Well, aren't those just the prettiest things? For Riley?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sunflowers are a good choice. They're a favorite. She'll just love those. It's the kind of little thing she'd never buy for herself but absolutely appreciates."

He was doubly glad he'd decided to stop. "I'd say she deserves a little spoiling."

"She absolutely does." Sharilyn rang him up. "Would you like to make a contribution to our Good Food for Good Neighbors program?"

"And what is that, exactly?"

"The program enables you to tack on a donation to your bill, either by automatically rounding up to the nearest dollar or by adding an amount of your choosing. The money then goes into a fund managed here at the store that can be distributed via gift cards for store credit so those in need can buy groceries. It's a way for people in our community to help those who need it without having to go out of their way or do anything complicated."

"And since the money is on gift cards, there's no stigma attached."

"Exactly," Sharilyn said.

"This was your idea." It wasn't a question.

A shadow of pain flit across her face. "If something like this had been around fifteen or twenty years ago, maybe Riley wouldn't have been harassed."

"This is a brilliant idea."

Sharilyn's cheeks pinked. "It's just experimental for now, but if it works out, Matthew's going to make it a permanent thing."

Matthew McSweeney strode over. "I can't imagine it not being a rousing success. So far the response has been really positive. People like the idea of their donations staying local."

"I certainly do. Put me down for twenty," Liam said.

"Cents?"

"Dollars."

"Oh, you are the sweetest thing."

Matthew beamed at her. "Innovators deserve reward. I think we need to discuss a raise. Why don't you close out your till and come see me in my office before you head out."

Wide-eyed, Sharilyn just nodded and watched him walk away.

"Congratulations," Liam told her.

"It's so unexpected."

"Why? You've been working hard, clearly doing a good job. And in light of that, there's something I wanted to mention to you."

"Oh?"

Liam told her about the apartment. "I wasn't sure if you were to a point you could be thinking about that, but it seemed pretty ideal, and since they lost their last tenant unexpectedly, they're eager to fill it."

Sharilyn gnawed on her lip. "I'll have to do some number crunching, see if I can swing it."

"You just let me know, and I'll go look over it with you." He didn't know why he said it other than she was the kind of woman who seemed like she'd be more comfortable making a decision with a man around to approve. And he could make sure she didn't get herself into trouble.

"I'll do that."

He picked up the flowers.

"And Liam? Thank you for wanting to take care of Riley."

His lips curved as he imagined Riley's reaction to such a statement. "I'm not sure she'd say the same."

"Probably not," Sharilyn acknowledged. "But whether she'll admit it or not, she wants someone to care. And you're headstrong enough to do it for her own good."

That was the absolute truth. He just hoped she ultimately thanked him for it.

# Chapter 12

IT WAS SEVEN FIFTEEN by the time Liam rolled up at Riley's place, face freshly-shaved and hair still damp from his shower. He grabbed the envelope from the seat and stuffed it into his back pocket, then scooped up the flowers. He'd planned to wait until dinner to tell her, but as it was too damned hot for a coat, he had nowhere to put the thing and didn't want to get distracted and leave it on the table at Tosca. If Riley was wearing The Dress, that was a distinct possibility.

She opened the door as he was climbing the steps. "Hey, Boy Scout." The sultry smile softened as she took in the bouquet he carried. "You brought me flowers."

"I did." He passed them over, and she buried her face in the blooms with a distinctly feminine purr.

She _was_ wearing The Dress. And those shoes that made her legs look long and luxurious. He got a good view of what those heels did for her backside as he followed her into the kitchen and waited while she put the flowers into water. Her makeup was a bit more subdued than the first time he'd seen her in this outfit and her hair was a bit less vintage, but she was no less a knockout. And this time he had the right to touch her. It was too damned bad they didn't have the privacy for that.

"You're stunning." He lifted her hand to his lips, shifting at the last moment to press a kiss to her palm.

"You're a charmer. I like it." A faint blush streaked across Riley's cheeks and down the column of her throat.

Liam wanted to follow that trail into the bodice of her dress to see if the rest of her flushed that gorgeous rosy color. "I aim to please." And he really had to stop thinking about pleasuring her. They were about to be out in public and her mom could get home any minute. "You ready?"

"About that, is there a time attached to this surprise of yours? Reservations or anything?"

"No. Why?"

She stepped away and headed back to the front door. "Because we're going to be late to dinner."

"We are?" Were they about to have some serious Talk?

"See, I have a surprise for you, too, and you're going to want to unwrap it here." Her expression was very serious, but Liam could see the sparkle in her eyes and he relaxed.

"I am?" He made a show of looking around for a box. "Where is it?"

"Right here." She locked the door and stepped into him, sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck. "My mother is out of town. For the _entire weekend._ We are finally, blessedly _alone._ "

In a second, Liam's plans for the evening shifted and his body stirred. "There is a God."

"There's an Autumn, and I can't even get annoyed at her interference. She's Mom's ride to Lawley, so there will be no interruptions."

"Remind me to send her flowers next week." He gripped her generous hips and pulled her closer to his growing arousal. "Is tomorrow Mom's Saturday to work?"

With a hum of pleasure, she rubbed against him. "It is."

"Better and better. How do you feel about an entire weekend of debauchery and delivery food?"

Delight lit her face. "I love that idea almost as much as I love the fact that you just used the word debauchery."

"Seems the appropriate term for what I have in mind." He skimmed his hands over her curves. "I've given it a lot of thought since December."

"Have you now?"

"Thorough, detailed thought."

"Then you'd better come to bed and show me." She rose to her toes and rubbed her lips over his—an invitation, a promise—before she took his hand and led him upstairs.

The bedroom was larger than he'd have expected, given the size of the other rooms in the duplex. It was a mishmash of furnishings, dominated by a queen-size bed and an assortment of wood pieces that matched only insofar as the distressed pale green paint. Mosquito netting was draped artfully around the head of the iron bed, which was already turned down, waiting. Liam sniffed, accustomed by now to the fact that she'd have some essential oil diffusing wherever she was. This one smelled sweet and exotic with an undertone of something woody.

"Ylang ylang and sandalwood," she explained.

"You're you, so I know they're not just for atmosphere. What do they do?"

"They're aphrodisiacs."

"You are all the aphrodisiac I need." He slipped his arms around her waist.

She sighed. "You're really good for my ego."

Despite the pounding in his blood, Liam dipped his head to take her mouth in a languid kiss. He'd dreamed of being with her for so long, he wanted to relish it.

"Liam," she said, against his lips.

"Mmm?"

"You should unwrap your present." She turned in his arms and presented her back.

With slow, deliberate hands, he slipped the zipper down. Through the narrow gap where he expected skin, he saw a row of laces. Intrigued, he spread the back of the dress and felt his mouth go dry. They were corset laces. Black satin ribbons running the length of her spine, from beneath her shoulder blades to her waist. The corset itself was cream-colored, with some kind of elegant black pattern woven in the fabric.

"This is the sexiest goddamned thing I've ever seen," he said, aware that his voice had gone to gravel.

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes heavy lidded and hot. "Don't stop there, Boy Scout. You gotta get the full effect."

Liam ran a knuckle down her bare shoulder. "I was never a rip the paper off my presents kind of guy. I like to savor." He dropped his head to the juncture of her shoulder and drew in her scent, something subtly floral and lemony. "Anticipate."

Riley made a small, sexy whimper and melted back against him, sliding her hand around his nape, skimming her nails down the back of his neck in a move that made him want to growl. Her eyes drifted shut as she tipped her head to the side, a surrender that had his willpower fraying. He closed his own eyes and dug deep, looking for patience. They had time and he wanted to take it.

Riley's skin came alive as Liam slid his work-roughened hands over her shoulders, pushing the dress down her arms, easing it past her hips to reveal the wisp of black satin that was her underwear.

He swore reverently and helped her step out of the dress. "Okay, I have to know. Were you wearing this when we went to Magnolia Heights?"

"I was."

He knelt and unfastened her shoes. "If I'd known..."

"If you'd known?"

"I spent half that night mentally reciting weapons components to keep from being a giant walking hard-on."

"Really?" Delighted, she turned to face him. "I spent the whole night thinking you weren't affected at all."

"If I'd known this was underneath, I don't think I could've stopped myself from trying to seduce you."

"I'd have probably let you."

"I'm glad I didn't know."

Riley pouted a little. "Why?"

"Because that would've just been lust." Liam cupped her face, stroking a thumb along her cheek. "This is more."

Her heart trembled at the look in his eyes. Their relationship was so new, she'd meant this to be simple, fun. But it wasn't new. Not really. And it wasn't simple. In truth, it had never been simple.

Before she could reply, he kissed her again. She could feel him working at the knot in her laces, feel the whisper of satin against her legs as he began slowly unlacing the corset. For a moment she thought to stop him, explain how to loosen the lacing to unlatch the front because it would take forever to relace the thing correctly. But he'd said he wanted to take his time, so instead she reached between them to tug his shirt free from his pants. By the time she'd bared his glorious shoulders, he'd only made it about a third of the way up the lacings.

"Okay, seriously, how the hell did you even get in this thing?"

Riley chuckled softly. "Normally it stays laced. Just loosened." She reached back, made a few tugs to ease the upper laces, then unlatched the steel busks.

Liam's eyes went all but black as she shrugged out of it, standing before him in nothing but the panties. "Let me just say, that's a glorious little piece of engineering. I'll remember it for next time."

It was a thrill to know there would be a next time.

"At the moment, I'm mostly concerned with this time." She tugged him toward the dresser, until he stood behind her at the mirror.

His hungry gaze met hers. "One of your fantasies?"

Dropping her hands to his, she drew them up her bare torso. "I want to see you touch me."

"Your wish," he murmured, getting with the program and cupping her breasts in his big, broad palms.

She loved the feel of his hands, bold and possessive. Loved, too, the sight of his darker skin against hers. His calloused thumbs brushed her peaked nipples, and Riley went wet. With a hum, she pressed back against him, glorying in the heat of his chest against her back and the evidence of his desire.

Liam stroked his hand over the soft curve of her belly, down to cover the scrap of satin between her thighs. She gasped at the touch, part shock, part pleasure. Her body flushed and she rocked into his hand, wanting, needing more.

"Have you ever watched yourself come, Riley?"

Speechless, she managed to shake her head once. If he kept talking to her in that voice and looking at her with that unwavering, laser-point focus, she was going to find out in a hurry.

Liam lifted her hands to loop around his neck. "Hold on to me."

She did as ordered, fingers gripping the taut muscles of his neck as he slid the satin aside and went to work. The sight and feel of him stroking, possessing her, had her knees melting, her body going pliant. And when she shattered, the only thing holding her up was the grip she had on him and the arm he banded around her waist.

"So goddamned beautiful." Liam spun her, taking her mouth, even as she still quaked from pleasure.

When her legs tried to give out, he lifted her up, resting her butt on the dresser as he took her nipple into his mouth. Feeling an answering tug much lower, Riley wrapped her legs around his waist, settling against the bulge behind his fly.

"Too. Many. Clothes."

He turned toward the bed, blindly lowering her, letting her go only long enough to strip out the rest of his clothes with a speed and efficiency she admired almost as much as his beautiful body. Then the mattress sank as he joined her, slowly crawling up her body, lips and hands igniting every inch.

Restless, aching, she reached for him. "Now, Liam."

He started to pull away from her.

"What—?"

"Condom," he muttered, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

Riley took a firmer grip. "Birth control."

He shifted up, settling himself in the cradle of her hips. "I'm clean. You sure?"

She wanted him, all of him, with no barriers, no more walls. "Yes. God yes!" Her answer shifted into a shout as he slid inside. "More."

"I like the sound of that."

He draped one of her legs over his shoulder and thrust forward until she could feel every hard, hot inch of him buried deep.

"Okay?"

"Perfect," she managed.

Dipping his head, he made love to her mouth as he withdrew and thrust in again, an achingly slow rhythm that kept her deliriously on the brink. She lost track of everything but the flex and play of muscle and the glorious friction of his body moving in hers.

Riley nipped his lip. "Harder."

"Hang on."

She curled her hands around the spindles of the headboard. He drove deeper, harder, pausing just a moment at the end of each stroke, so her body clung to his. She matched him beat for beat, feeling the wave begin deep in her core. He cried out as she crested, clenching around him, and they rocked into each other, chasing the last delicious streaks of pleasure.

Riley lay boneless beneath him, flushed and sated. Liam's face was pressed against her throat, his breathing hard.

"I'm crushing you."

As he started to move, she groaned in protest, sliding her leg from his shoulder to wrap around his waist to keep him buried inside her. "Not yet. I love the aftershocks."

Liam propped himself on his forearms and gave a slow swivel of his hips that had her body quivering.

"Mmm. You feel wonderful." Riley dragged her hands down the muscles of his back.

"You are a constant surprise to me."

She tucked a pillow beneath her head. "Why?"

"You've got this incredibly wholesome, girl-next-door vibe, so the fact that you know what you want from a lover and aren't afraid to ask for it is this amazing turn on."

"Well, it's not like people are psychic. If you don't ask, it's not likely to happen just by accident."

"True enough. I guess I just didn't expect you to be so comfortable with your sexuality." There was just a hint of worry in his eyes.

Riley traced patterns over his chest. "I think what almost happened to me colored your perceptions more than they did mine. At least for the long-term. If you hadn't been there, things probably would've turned out much different. But you were, so I never had to deal with that beyond the realm of what if. You made sure of it."

His arms tightened around her and he rolled so she straddled him. "I worried about you when I left."

Not so long ago, Riley wouldn't have believed him. But she understood him better now. Somewhere in the past few weeks, she'd let go of her anger and dropped the walls she'd built all those years before. So she let the thought of him worrying about her slide through her, warm and sweet, like sun-warmed honey.

She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. "It's nice to be at a place where we don't have to worry about each other anymore."

Liam brushed a kiss over her brow. "Nice, too, to be in your bed rather than under it."

"Good surprise?"

"Superior surprise. Mine's going to pale in comparison."

She folded her hands over his chest and rested her chin. "What is it?"

"Where are my pants?"

Riley grinned and wiggled. "I'm pretty sure I already got the surprise in your pants."

"And it's yours any time you want it. But no, that's not the surprise." He shimmied across the bed, one hand possessively on her butt, until he could stretch his arm to the floor to grab something.

She loved that he wanted to keep touching her and stay close.

A moment later he came back up with an envelope. "Open it."

Riley sat up and took it, wondering if he'd gotten tickets to something. But whatever was inside was several pieces of folded paper. The envelope wasn't sealed, so she slid the contents out and unfolded them.

_Mississippi State Board of Contractors_

Liam's name and contact information was filled out on the front page. She flipped through skimming the rest.

Riley frowned, not really making the connection. "You're applying for your contractor's license?"

He stroked her thighs. "I told you that night at dinner that I wasn't sure I was cut out for civilian life. That I didn't know my place anymore. You told me to build my own."

She went still, watching him.

"I've spent seven months trying to figure out how the hell I fit here, and it wasn't until you that I felt like I did. I hate that you've been slapped with all this pain in the ass need for repairs, but it's helped me figure things out. _You_ helped me figure things out. I _like_ building stuff. I like seeing measurable progress to the work I'm doing instead of a big ass pile of rubble and destruction."

Riley smiled at him. "That's perfect! You weren't made for life behind a desk. And I see why we're celebrating, but how exactly is this a surprise for me? Or did you already know about that fantasy I have about you and your tool belt?"

Liam's lips curved, but his expression remained serious. "I wanted to give this to you as proof that I'm serious and I'm committed. I didn't want you to worry that I'd leave again."

What began as a tremble shifted to a quake as her heart cracked wide open, all the adolescent hero worship, all the lust and affection gave way to a love that warmed her down to her toes. That he'd think of that... Her throat went tight, and for a moment, Riley was terrified she'd cry. She swallowed the lump and cradled his face. "Thank you." Then she kissed him, pouring out everything she wasn't yet ready to say.

His arms wrapped around her, his hand snaking into her hair as he answered with equal passion. He stirred inside her, and she murmured against his lips, "You promised me celebration, Boy Scout."

He took a firm grip on her butt as he thrust up "Let it never be said that I don't give my girl what she needs."

Liam woke Sunday morning with regret. Not that he'd been with Riley—if there was a better way to spend a weekend than making love to a beautiful woman, watching classic movies, and noshing on Chinese and pizza, he didn't know what it was—but because their alone time was almost over. Who knew when the next opportunity would present itself? Determined to make the most of what time they had left, he slipped out of bed and headed downstairs.

Riley was not a morning person. He'd known this about her in an abstract sense, but seeing the truth in action was a whole different thing. She was so adorably befuddled in the morning until she'd had her coffee. Granted, she'd gotten very little actual sleep, but Liam had a feeling that didn't matter much, so he went ahead and started the coffee. As the Columbian brew began to drip, her cat wandered into the kitchen and began to meow pitifully. Valium had finally deigned to show himself during their movie marathon yesterday. Or maybe it was just that they'd finally surfaced long enough to notice him.

While he searched out the cat food, Liam thought back to the problem of their lack of privacy. There were only two possible solutions he could see. Either he went ahead and got his own place or Riley's mom moved out. Getting himself a place would be simple enough; though, time was an issue until he finished renovations on the pharmacy. He didn't want to wait that long. He wanted her beside him when he went to sleep, in his arms when he woke. The truth was, he didn't want his own place. He wanted a place with Riley.

That realization slammed into him, leaving him stunned.

And he'd thought his _mom_ would push once he got serious about a woman?

Valium sank claws into Liam's leg, reminding him to actually put the kibble in the bowl. Shaking off the cat, Liam finished feeding him and poured coffee before heading back upstairs. Riley was still sleeping. Not wanting to disturb her, he sat on the chair in the corner to drink his coffee and think.

That night they'd had dinner at Magnolia Heights, she'd told him to build his own place. Liam wondered what she'd say if she realized he'd been building that place around her? He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that himself. It was way too damned soon to talk about moving in together. Which meant the easier solution was helping Sharilyn get her own place. That would alleviate Riley's burden of taking care of her financially and give them the option for privacy when they wanted it. Win-win, really.

Riley stirred, reaching across to his side of the bed. "Liam?"

"Morning beautiful."

She propped herself up on one elbow, expression faintly confused as if wondering why he was all the way across the room.

"I made some coffee." He nodded toward the travel mug on the bedside table.

Sleepy blue eyes blinked, shifting between him and the coffee. Something in her face softened. "Come here."

Liam crossed to the bed, bending close at the crook of her finger.

She brushed her lips over his. "I got to sleep in and a sexy man brought me coffee in bed. I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"That enough proof for you?"

"Mmm, I think I could go for some more convincing."

"What about your coffee?"

"The sexy man was smart enough to put it in a travel mug to keep it warm. Because he's a Boy Scout like that."

When she tugged, he tumbled back into bed.

As it turned out, the coffee was cold by the time they got to it.

They stumbled into the kitchen, stomachs growling. She was wearing his shirt from Friday night. Damn if he didn't like that.

"You gonna give me my shirt back?"

"Oh no, you have forfeited all rights to this shirt. I'm keeping it." She leaned back, propping her elbow on the peninsula and striking a provocative pose. "If you want it back, you'll have to peel me out of it again."

Liam grinned. "That can be arranged."

"There's just one thing you should know first."

"What's that?"

She straightened and turned her back to him, looking over one shoulder and arching a suggestive brow. "Pharmacists do it over the counter."

"Have I mentioned I like the way you think?" He trapped her against the cabinets and ran his hands up her legs to find nothing but her perfect, round ass. "Why Miss Gower, what do we have here?"

"Underwear is more like a suggestion than a rule during a weekend of debauchery."

Yeah, okay, maybe breakfast could wait.

He tugged the shirt back to bare one of her shoulders.

"I thought you were hungry."

"I'm starving." He bent his head to nibble.

Someone knocked on the kitchen door. Riley shrieked and dropped down behind the counter.

Laughing, Liam looked down at her crouched on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"It's _your mother._ "

His gaze shot to the door. His mom wiggled her fingers in a cheerful wave. "Oh my God."

"I'm not wearing _pants._ "

Liam's lips twitched. He must've made some sound because Riley looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't you _dare_ laugh at me."

"You have to admit, it's kinda funny." Though, thank God _he_ was wearing pants already.

"It isn't funny at all, and so help me, if you laugh, you will never be welcome in my bed again. Don't just stand there. _Do something._ "

"And what precisely am I supposed to do?"

"You're a Marine, for God's sake. Create a diversion." She began to crawl toward the hall

Liam looked toward the door, where his mother was patiently waiting. He held up a finger in the universal _just a minute_ signal, then scooped Riley up and sprinted for the hall as if a bomb was set to detonate behind them.

" _That_ was a diversion?"

He set her on the stairs. "You're out of sight, aren't you?"

She covered her face with both hands. "Jesus, I haven't even had coffee."

"Get dressed. I'll take care of it."

Liam detoured back through the living room to snag his t-shirt from the floor—it'd been abandoned there sometime yesterday after a screening of _From Here To Eternity_ inspired a little naked reenactment of the beach scene—and went to let his mother inside. He'd braced himself for a tongue lashing of epic proportions, so when she stepped inside, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and said, "Hey, baby," he didn't know what to think.

"Um, morning, Mom."

"It's after twelve."

Did that mean they were going to Hell for staying in bed all morning instead of getting out to church?

"So I guess you don't want coffee, then?"

"No, but you go ahead. I'm sure Riley will want some."

Molly crossed to the kitchen table and sat, as if she dropped by all the time. And what did he know? Maybe she did. Valium wandered in from the living room, twining around her legs and meowing pitifully until she picked him up to snuggle. Other than cooing to the cat, she didn't say a word.

Molly Montgomery was a master interrogator.

Not wanting to incriminate himself any further than being caught all but _in flagrante,_ and knowing she'd get to her point in her own time, Liam made more coffee, pulling the creamer and prepping a mug with sugar exactly how Riley liked it. When she walked in a few minutes later, her hair tidied into a neat pony tail and dressed all the way down to her shoes, he handed her the coffee.

His mother beamed.

Riley held the mug like a shield, every line of her body tense. He reached out automatically and began to knead at her neck muscles. She flinched, her expression freezing like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh relax, honey. It's just me," Molly said. "You're practically part of the family."

It was Liam's turn to freeze. _Please, dear God, don't let her start talking about weddings and babies._

"I'm sorry to just drop by like this, but I just couldn't wait. It's too good an opportunity."

"What is?" Riley asked.

"Norah snagged me after church to tell me about the latest project Peyton Consolidated has planned, and it's _big._ There's going to be a ton of construction going on downtown for the next several months, and that means lots of workers. You need to go for the treatment and vaccine contracts. Exclusivity on a project that size would be a real boon to the business."

"It would be. But don't you think it might be more sensible to wait until the repairs are finished, in case the man in charge wants to come visit the pharmacy to check it out? We're not exactly giving our best impression just now."

"This is true. But I wouldn't wait too long."

Liam dragged out a kitchen chair and sat. "When is the project announcement going public?"

"In a couple of weeks. The details of _what_ they're building are being kept under wraps, but the general announcement will still go out. Nobody's going to be giving Walgreens a heads up. You stand a good shot. From everything Norah's said, Gerald Peyton believes in local business. This kind of agreement would be right up his alley."

"I'll start putting together a pitch."

"And I'll dive into demolition tomorrow," Liam said. "Have y'all decided on flooring?"

They discussed details of the renovation for a few more minutes before Molly put Valium down and rose. "I apologize again for barging in. I just wanted to let you know ASAP so you can move on it."

"I appreciate it Really." Riley's smile was still a little stiff around the edges. "I'll, um, see you at work."

"Sure thing. And if you need to take some more personal time, please don't hesitate to let me know." She winked. "I really want grandchildren."

Liam covered his face. "Oh my God."

"Ta!"

The door shut behind her.

Riley's face was frozen in a mask of mortification. "I can't ever go back to work."

"I'm sorry. I should've expected that."

"It's not that she knows we have a physical relationship. It's that we know that she knows, and she knows that we know that she knows, so nobody can just politely look the other way and pretend this isn't the twenty-first century."

"Could be worse," Liam suggested. "The Casserole Patrol could be stopping by with a covered dish and an already started baby blanket. I heard Miss Maudie Bell totally did that after Cam and Norah got engaged a couple months ago."

"She wanted to give Norah her choice of the yarn color."

"How do you even know that?"

"Autumn. She volunteers at the senior center twice a week. Speaking of, she texted while I was upstairs. She's picking my mom up in an hour."

Liam rocked back on his heels. "So that's it, then."

"We've got maybe two hours?"

"Well, since _my_ mom effectively killed the mood, let's go hit the gym. I've got some weapons disarms I want to teach you."

Riley pouted.

"It's practical and you promised. Besides," Liam curved his hands around her hips, "up close and personal work like that can be...stimulating."

"You make a compelling argument. I'll go change."

# Chapter 13

RILEY STARED IN DISBELIEF at the empty storage unit. Well, empty but for the roach carcasses, spider webs, and other things best not to contemplate. Years of her family history had collected dust in there, and Liam and Judd had emptied all of it in half an hour.

Liam circled around the little U-haul to join her. "Did we miss something?"

"No. Y'all got everything."

"You seem to be not entirely happy about that," he observed.

"I'm fine. I just keep expecting to wake up and find out this was all a dream." Because she just couldn't quite wrap her mind around a reality in which her mom was about to be completely self-sufficient.

"No dream. A fact which I intend to prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt later tonight."

Judd stuck his head out from the cab of the U-haul. "Quit talkin' sexy to your woman, man. It's too damned hot to wait around for that."

Liam cheerfully flipped him off. "If we're good to roll, then Judd and I are gonna head on over to the apartment."

"I'll be right behind you. Autumn and I are going to sweep this thing out, then go close my account."

"I'd kiss you, but I'm disgusting."

"We're both disgusting." Riley ignored the sweat to take the kiss she wanted.

"We can get clean together later," he murmured.

With the image of a naked, sweaty Liam and a bar of soap in her brain, Riley watched them pull away. "Too hot, indeed."

"Come on, lover girl. This storage unit is a sauna. Let's get this done."

They set to work, falling into an easy rhythm.

"So has it been weird, having Molly know that you and Liam are _together_ together?"

"More for us than her, I think. She actually said if I needed to take some personal time, to just let her know because she wants grandchildren."

"Seriously?" Autumn laughed. "Man, I knew Molly dug the idea of you two together, but I had no idea she'd go _that_ far. Make sure she doesn't know where your condoms are kept."

"Why?"

"I heard somewhere about a woman who wanted grandchildren so badly, she took a needle with her when she had dinner at all of her children's homes and poked holes in all the condoms. She wound up with a whole brood."

"Oh, Jesus. Thank God for pharmaceutical birth control."

"Watch her. She could get around that, too. Who better to give you a placebo than a pharmacist who works in your pharmacy."

"She wouldn't."

"I don't know..." Autumn drawled.

"Hush your mouth. Don't even suggest that."

"You and Liam would make pretty babies."

For just a moment, Riley softened at the thought. A little boy with her dark hair and his big gray eyes and impish smile. "Of course we would, but not the point and all kinds of ahead of where we are. Whose side are you on?"

"Yours. Always yours, girl. So your mom seems super pumped."

"We're both pumped. It's just a little studio apartment, but it's within walking distance of everything downtown, so the fact that she doesn't have a car right now won't be a big deal. She's looking forward to having a proper bed to sleep on instead of the fold out sofa in my living room." And Riley was looking forward to the ability to have a cup of morning coffee in silence.

"Has she ever had a place all on her own?"

"Nope. She married Daddy before she graduated college, and after I left for school, I was still managing the finances. This will be her first ever truly solo mission." And that worried Riley as much as it relieved her.

Sharilyn had been trying so hard since she got back to Wishful. Riley desperately wanted her to succeed, not only for her own self-confidence but so that Riley herself would finally be free of that life-long burden. But what were the odds of that actually happening? Riley couldn't generate a proper level of enthusiasm because she was waiting for the other shoe to drop and wondering what she'd have to do to pick up the pieces.

"Stop waiting for her to fail, Riley."

Riley sighed. "I can't help it. Old habits die hard. But she's doing really well. For once, she's not doing this for some guy and there's no guy doing it for her. That's a huge step in the right direction."

"Have some faith, hon. She might surprise you."

"God, I hope so."

Riley took care of business in the mini storage office, and they headed downtown to the apartment. The U-haul was already half-empty. She picked up the nearest box. Might as well contribute to the cause. As she turned toward the apartment, she almost plowed into someone.

With a yelp, she bobbled the box.

"Whoa there. I've got it." Capable hands righted the load to reveal Matthew McSweeny, dressed for labor, sweat glistening at his silver-shot temples.

"Mr. McSweeney? I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." Which she hadn't, but what she really wanted to say was _What are you doing here?_

As if she'd asked the question anyway, he said, "No problem. I came to help. It's a full house up there."

"It's a tiny place. That doesn't take much." Because her arms were starting to burn and because she didn't have a clue what she thought about him being here, Riley went on into the apartment.

He hadn't exaggerated. Between Liam and Judd moving furniture at her mother's direction, Molly unpacking kitchen stuff, and Autumn stacking boxes near the bathroom, there wasn't a lot of room to move, let alone stack more boxes. Riley hadn't realized she was looking for someone else from the market until she didn't see anybody. Which meant Matthew McSweeney was here on his own, not as part of some Help-A-Coworker-Move gesture.

"We have an extra set of hands." Molly nodded as Matthew came in with more boxes.

"So I see."

"Shari, where do you want these?" he asked.

_Shari?_

"What are they labeled?"

"The ever so informative 'Miscellaneous.'"

Her mother waved a hand. "Oh, just find a corner. I can't remember what's in most of these boxes."

That was because Riley had been the one to pack the majority of them back when they'd sold the house.

"Randy always was the organized one," Matthew remarked.

"Of course he was. Until he set foot in a kitchen. Then don't you dare ask him the difference between a whisk and a colander."

"How did you and Randy meet?" Autumn asked.

Riley watched Sharilyn's face soften in that way it only ever did when she talked about her father.

"It was our own little fairy tale."

Autumn perched on a barstool and propped her chin on her hands. "Ooo, tell. I love fairy tales."

Sharilyn smiled over at Riley. "This used to be one of Riley's favorites."

Feeling a bit of a pang at the thought, Riley smiled back at her. "Still is."

"We met at a wedding. My college roommate got married on the beach down in Gulfport. Randy was already in the Air Force at that point, and he was on leave. Just wandered right on into the reception looking for a party."

Riley laughed a little, as she thought of her rakish, reckless father crashing a strange couple's wedding reception.

"I didn't even realize he wasn't a guest when he started talking to me. We talked and danced all night, saw the bride and groom off, and talked some more. And we were still talking and walking on the beach when the sun came up. He walked me back to my hotel and told me he had to be getting on back to base. Then he thanked me for an amazing night, and he kissed me. One of those knock-your-socks-off, toe-curling kisses."

"Best kind," Autumn agreed.

"Anyway, he told me to think of him and then left me standing there, completely senseless. It wasn't until I'd showered and fallen into bed that I realized we'd never even exchanged last names. Of course, he was long gone by then, and I had no way of tracking him down on base, so I went home the next day just heartbroken."

"Obviously that's not how the story ends."

"I thought it was. Didn't hear a thing from him for six months. Then one day he was just waiting for me outside my English lit class, leaning against a tree in his dress uniform. There is nothing so breathtaking as a man in military dress uniform."

Riley looked over at Liam. "True thing."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And what did he say?" Autumn asked.

"That he was sorry he was late. He'd gotten called overseas and it took him a mite longer to track me down than he'd originally planned. I told him as far as excuses went, that one was pretty good. And he asked if I'd thought of him. Well, of course, I _had._ All the time, even though my girlfriends told me I ought to forget about him. His buddies all had pictures of their sweethearts tucked into the cockpits of their planes, so they'd always be with them when they flew. He said he had a picture of me. Here." Sharilyn tapped her heart. "And he'd carried it with him wherever the road had taken him since we'd parted."

"Damn, that's romantic," Autumn sighed.

"Right? I certainly thought so. And when he held out his hand in that 'Do you trust me' kind of way and said, 'Are you up for an adventure?' I took it. Forty-eight hours later, I was Mrs. Randall Gower."

Autumn went brows up. "You eloped with a guy you'd known for like two days?"

Sharilyn shrugged. "When you know, you know."

"Randy knew. Talked about you the whole time we were deployed," Matthew said. "Kept saying how he was gonna track you down when we got back and marry you. We thought he was nuts. Then he came back with you in tow. Gotta say, we were pretty jealous of his good fortune."

Her mother grinned. "I remember he used to say if you wanted something good out of life, you had to stop waiting around for it to fall in your lap and go after it with everything you had."

Because she felt odd hearing her mom reminisce about her dad with someone else, Riley headed on outside.

Autumn followed her back out to the truck, grinning. "I think I smell a romance."

"You do not," Riley snapped.

"Oh, come on. Mr. McSweeney's not part of the beer and pizza brigade like the rest of us. Why else would he be here?"

"He's an old friend of my dad's. He just wants to help." But that excuse sounded weak even to her own ears.

God, it would be just like her to have wrapped him around her little finger. Sharilyn was good at doing that. Was Matthew bankrolling this apartment?

No. Riley had forced her mom to go through the finances and prove she could afford it before agreeing to help with the move. Sharilyn had a budget. This little place was within her means. And surely if there were something going on, they wouldn't have chosen this tiny studio apartment. Matthew wasn't married. He had a house of his own and plenty of room.

By her own admission, Sharilyn was turning over a new leaf. She was moving out on her own, not in with a guy. And she was so excited about this. The least Riley could do was have the same faith in her mother that Sharilyn had had in her all these years.

But as she watched her mom and Matthew laughing together, she couldn't help but wonder.

"The kitchen is officially _done,_ " Molly announced.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rule that the kitchen isn't done until it has food," Autumn said.

Liam's stomach chose that moment to let out a growl that rivaled a grizzly. "Case in point."

Sharilyn collapsed onto the sofa. "The market is closed. Best I can do is PB and J and tap water."

"You've got an in with the owner," Matthew teased. "I bet he'd open after hours for you."

From his position kneeling by the entertainment center, Liam watched Riley pointedly not react to the flirting as she began to break down the boxes they'd just emptied.

"I promised you all pizza. I'll call it in as soon as I get these hauled to the trash." Riley began to gather up the stack of boxes.

"Here, I'll help you with that," Liam said.

She angled her head in question but didn't argue. Between the two of them, they hauled the flattened boxes to the dumpster around the corner of the building. Liam waited while she'd called in the order for pizza, thankful that the brutal heat of the day had finally broken and a breeze kicked up enough to ease the humidity. She hung up and started back toward the apartment, "They said twenty-five minutes."

"Good, I'm starved. Hold up a sec." Liam snagged her hand, towed her to a stop before she rounded to the stairs.

"What?"

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay? I'm just tired. It's been hella hot today."

"I just thought you might be a little...sensitive," he decided, "about Matthew flirting with your mom."

Riley shrugged. "She's a single, unattached woman in her own place. Whether I think she should be chasing after another relationship is neither here nor there. As long as he's not bankrolling this apartment, and I know he's not, then there's no objection I can raise that would be valid."

"That's a real pretty speech. You keep saying it long enough, you might start to believe it."

She huffed out a breath. "I'm being stupid. I want her to be happy. She deserves to be happy. I just worry. We've been down this path in one form or another many, many times before, and in the end, it always comes down to me having to save her from herself."

Liam couldn't blame her for being braced for that. That kind of pattern was hard to break. "You want my take?"

Riley shot him a suspicious look, clearly not sure if she'd like what he had to say. "I suspect you're going to give it either way, so go ahead."

"I think your mama regrets all those years she's had to depend on you." She'd told him so herself. "You've been doing the adulting in your family since you were a little thing. That wasn't fair to you, and she knows it. She wants to make this work on her own."

"And Matthew?"

"Your mama is a fun, flirty woman. There's no crime in that. I don't know if they're more than friends or not, but he's a good guy. Steady. Responsible. A fixture of the community. He's not some fly-by-night cowboy type who'd use her and lose her. And I think he respects what she's trying to do."

Riley was silent for a few moments. "I think...I think it's good for her to have someone to talk to about my dad, someone who knew him well. With Matthew, the fact that she still misses him every day isn't going to be some secret she tries to hide. He was there. He knows. Whatever else happens with them, I think there's probably some healing in that. I don't know if she ever really dealt with those feelings before because she was, on some level, looking for a substitute all these years. So, I guess I'm glad she has his friendship, if nothing else."

Liam kissed her brow. "It'll get easier. Let's go finish helping her unpack."

Inside, the AC was finally starting to make a dent since the door had been shut for longer than five minutes at a time.

"What took y'all so long?" Judd asked.

"Were you canoodling in the alley?" Autumn teased.

"It's too damned hot for canoodling anywhere," Riley said. "If you leave now, our order at Speakeasy should be ready by the time you get there. And by the time you get back, I might've decided to pretend you never said that."

"Then I guess I'm on pick up duty." Autumn grabbed her purse. "I shall return with sustenance post haste."

"And beer!" Judd added.

"And beer," she acknowledged, and shut the door. She was back in a matter of minutes. "So my car's dead."

"Is there something in the gas around here?" Liam asked.

"No. I didn't get the door shut when I came up to start with the unpacking. It's been sitting there for hours."

"I told you you needed to get that battery replaced," Judd said. "I had to jump it twice last winter."

"I know, I know. I just haven't gotten around to it."

"We'll take care of it," Liam promised.

"Oh, I can help with that," Riley told her. "I actually have jumper cables in my trunk."

The last thing he needed was Riley snooping under her own hood. She didn't know cars, but even she would be able to tell something wasn't right. "You keep your hands off that engine," he ordered. "You can't be trusted not to put the positive on the negative and the negative on the positive. I spent too many hours fixing Jo to have you blow something up."

Riley stuck her tongue out at him.

"Just let us finish with this, and we'll be out to deal with it in a few minutes," Judd added.

Both women rolled their eyes.

"You forgot to do the King Kong beating of your chest and pronounce yourselves Tarzan to our Janes," Autumn said.

Judd shook his head. "I tell you, we get no respect."

"None at all," Liam agreed, and bent back to the task at hand.

A few minutes later Judd looked past him. "What do you want to bet they've gone to go take care of it themselves?"

"Huh?" Liam cranked his head around. But Autumn and Riley were out of sight. "Shit."

"Eh, let 'em. It's probably a statement about feminism or something."

"No, it's not that. I don't want Riley to—"

"Liam Montgomery!" Her shout carried from the sidewalk outside.

"—look at her engine," he finished.

Judd went brows up. "What did you do?"

"What had to be done." And now it was time to face the music.

Rising to his feet, he headed outside, where Riley had moved Jo nose to nose with Autumn's Altima. Jo's hood was up, and Riley stood beside her, hands on hips, glaring as Liam came out. She pointed to her engine. "I may not know a carburetor from an alternator, but I know what the whole thing looks like. That is not my engine."

"Of course it's your engine. It's in your car." Not that he really thought that would work.

"Don't play dumb with me. I helped your daddy rebuild my engine the first time. I know what a rebuilt one looks like. Even freshly done, it doesn't look that clean. What did you do?"

"What had to be done," he repeated. "Your engine was shot. I put in a new one."

"Well, I can see that. And what the hell was that bill for parts and fluids you gave me?"

"The rest of what I did to it."

"Liam, you can't just buy me an engine. That's not like a gift of chocolates or flowers. We weren't even together when you did this."

"I didn't buy you an engine."

She flailed a hand in its general direction again, color rising. "Then what the hell is that?"

Oh hell, he knew that look. There was only one thing that would disarm the fit of stubborn she was about to unleash.

"I didn't buy it. Dad did."

Riley blinked. "What?"

"The last time he worked on your car, he saw this coming. It's in the service records at the garage. He picked up a replacement engine at auction. It was just sitting in the warehouse collecting dust."

She softened. "Your daddy..." One hand rubbed over her heart, as if to soothe an ache.

Liam knew the feeling.

"Then I need to pay back the garage. Or your mother. Or somebody."

"No, you don't," Molly swung an arm around her shoulders. "He loved you like a daughter, and he wanted to take care of you or he wouldn't have bought it. The business accounts for the garage have long been settled. There's nothing for you to pay."

"But—"

"No 'buts,' Riley. Take this as a last gift from Dad." _Even if you won't take it from me._

She closed her eyes. "God, I wish he were here so I could hug him around the neck."

"You and me both, sugar," Molly said.

Riley gave her a squeeze, then stepped to Liam. "Since you were the one who were kind enough to do all the work, I'll hug you instead."

"Now that I can get behind."

Her grip was tight as she tucked her head against his chest. "Thank you."

It was a little thing that she'd let his late father do something to take care of her, however indirectly. But it was a step in the right direction. One of these days, maybe she'd actively let him do the same.

# Chapter 14

"TO TWO WEEKS OF an empty house." Riley raised her wine glass to Autumn's.

"It's hardly been empty. Liam's stayed over every night." She waggled her eyebrows and smirked.

Riley's cheeks heated. "Fine, to two weeks of a house free of parental units."

"I'll drink to that." Autumn tapped her glass and sipped. "Now, details, woman. I'm living vicariously through you, so hold nothing back."

Riley shot a look around Speakeasy, but nobody in the pizzeria was listening to their conversation over the currently heinous rendition of "The Boys Are Back In Town" screeching out of the karaoke speakers. "I'm not giving you the down and dirty on our love life."

Clapping her hands together, Autumn brightened with interest. "Ooo, so there's dirty? You naughty girl. Dish."

"Not. Happening."

"Oh, come on! You owe me for playing chauffeur to your mom. We are not going to talk about how long it's been for me. Take pity. I need a tale of a good pounding against the wall or the front door because you couldn't wait to make it to the bedroom." Autumn tipped back her glass and drank deep.

Riley lifted a brow. "Have a thing for wall sex, do we?"

"You have no idea. Smutty books and toys can only do so much. I have _needs._ " She tried to make a joke of it, but an innate sadness lurked behind the lust, and the sight of it broke Riley's heart. Autumn polished off her wine. "But we are not here to talk about me and my non-existent love life. We're talking about you and Mr. I'm Too Sexy For My Toolbelt."

Not knowing how to comfort her friend, Riley let the subject drop as their pizza arrived. In silence, they slid steaming slices of the New York-style pie onto their plates.

"We haven't had time to get around to my toolbelt fantasy. While I've been up to my eyeballs in presentation stuff, he's been working his very fine butt off on the repairs at the shop. He'll be starting on the floors tomorrow, so the end is actually nigh. Thank God."

"Hooray for that." Autumn bit into her pizza, chewed. "I guess you're waiting until all the repairs are done before he formally moves in."

Riley stopped with a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. "Moves in?"

"Yeah, you're right. There's not a lot of room at your place. It'd be better for y'all to find a place together, though I'll miss having you next door. Meanwhile, have you cleared out closet space for him yet?"

"Closet space?"

"Do you need to clean your ears out? You keep repeating me."

"Because you're totally fast forwarding our relationship. We haven't talked about living together. Nobody's moving. In or out."

"Why not? If he's staying over every night anyway, it seems more expedient than having him live out of a bag."

"We're just getting started, Autumn. Just dating."

"Baby, you and Liam aren't _just_ anything. That complicated history of yours means you bypassed all that. You may not have talked about it yet, but you've totally fallen into some level of domestic bliss, and I think it's adorable."

"We're not living together." They couldn't be. Not after so short a time.

"Are his toothbrush and razor on the bathroom counter?"

"Well, yeah. He used them this morning."

"Do you keep his favorite snacks and beer on hand?"

"Yes, but I also keep yours and you don't live with me. It's called being a good hostess."

"Point taken, but the emergency chocolate stash doesn't count. Does he have his own key?"

"Yeah, but so do you."

"I don't use it when you're not there unless you need me to do something or I need to raid said emergency chocolate stash. Did he clear it with you before heading off to poker night with the boys tonight?"

Riley frowned. "He didn't ask my permission. He doesn't need to. He just let me know because it was the polite thing to do."

"Because the expectation has become that he'll be spending the night with you."

She resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders. "We've just been spending all our free time together now that we've got some privacy."

Autumn gestured with a garlic knot. "Which is totally code for burning up the sheets."

"Oh for heaven's sake, we don't spend all our time in bed."

"I bet if he wasn't in it, you wouldn't be able to sleep as easily and you've already got sides."

Could she sleep without him? It had been so incredibly easy to get used to having him sprawled beside her or wrapped around her. Who knew her badass Marine would be such a snuggler?

"None of that means we're living together."

"Okay, have you, at any point, called him to get him to pick up something from the grocery on his way home?"

"No."

"Has he called to ask _you_ if he can pick up something on his way home?"

"Take out doesn't count."

"No, you're missing the point. Has he used the word 'home' in reference to your place?"

Riley opened her mouth to rebut, then remembered his parting words as he'd left for Mitch's. _I'll try not to be home too late._

"Ah _ha!_ I can see it on your face. He totally has."

Riley gave up pretending to eat the pizza. "Oh my God."

"From my perspective over here in the cheap seats, he looks happier than I've ever seen him. And so did you until you hit panic mode about sixty seconds ago. What's the matter?"

"I'm not panicking."

"Your face is taking on the same shade as the banana peppers, babe."

"It's just... It's too much too fast. Circumstances have escalated things between us and we've completely bypassed all the normal dating and get to know each other rituals."

"So? You already know each other. I fail to see the problem here."

"Relationships have a proper order for a _reason._ I don't want him to start feeling like I pushed him into something."

"You haven't pushed Liam into a damn thing. That man is stubborn as a mule. He doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do."

That was true enough, but what if he started feeling caged in? Trapped? Riley had seen that often enough in the men her mother dated, when things moved way too fast.

Autumn laid her hand over Riley's. "He wants to be with you. Don't start borrowing trouble where there is none."

"I just—I don't want to screw this up because we didn't think things through and rushed into something more serious than either of us was ready for."

"You're allowed to rush when you're in love, when it's right. You know that in your gut or you wouldn't be where you are with him."

"I didn't say I was in love with him." She'd kept that to herself.

Autumn arched one brow. "Please. This is me. I have eyes. You're both crazy about each other, and you make each other happy. And you were completely fine with that until I opened my big fat mouth. So I'm going to shut up now, you're going to go back to being happy and making googly eyes when his name is mentioned, and I'm going to sit over here and smile in appreciation that two of my favorite people got over themselves and found each other."

"That easy?"

"That easy," Autumn assured her.

"Why are you so invested in this?"

"Other than the fact that I want my friends happy?"

Riley nodded.

"You two give me hope. And that's a pretty rare commodity these days." As the karaoke announcer called out their names as next on deck, she reached for her refilled glass of wine. "Drink up. There's no way I'm doing 'Love Shack' sober."

"The prodigal returns!" Mitch crowed as he opened the front door.

"Prodigal my ass." Liam pushed past him and headed straight for the kitchen to add the six pack he'd brought to the fridge.

Mitch followed him into the massive cook's kitchen, full of gleaming stainless, granite, and high-end appliances that rarely saw use. "We haven't seen hide nor hair of you since the playground was finished."

"In case it's escaped your notice, I've been kinda busy."

"Oh, it's escaped nobody's notice, buddy boy." Judd smirked and handed him a cold Abita. "Not that anybody blames you for spending all your available time with the very fine Miss Gower."

"She's way prettier to look at than all y'all, that's for damned sure."

Mitch punched some buttons on the microwave before turning his attention back to Liam. "She's got you well and truly smitten. Never thought I'd see the day."

_Smitten?_ What the hell was that supposed to mean? Could a guy be smitten? It wasn't like he had little cartoon hearts and birdies circling his head all the time. "Why do I get the sense I should kick your ass on principle?"

Reuben strolled in. "Your pansy ass wouldn't get beaten if you'd get back to hauling it up to the gym and sparring again."

"And risk messing up this pretty face?" Mitch stroked a hand along his smooth-shaven jaw. "I think not. Is Darius coming now he's back from the honeymoon?"

"Not tonight. He and Vivian had a thing."

"Like a _Mama Pearl called a family summit_ kinda thing?" Judd asked.

"More like an _I'm married now and my hot wife bought new lingerie_ kind of thing," Reuben replied.

Mitch set the freshly nuked bowl of cheese dip on the table, along with a bag of tortilla chips. "See? That just proves my point. You're all dropping like flies. First Darius. Cam's next, if he and Norah can ever set a date."

Reuben took a beer. "If Mama Pearl has her way, I'll be right behind."

"With who?" Judd wanted to know.

"Viv's sister Violet. Mama Pearl made sure we were paired up all through the wedding. Vi was pretty pissed, but I can't say as I minded. She's a firecracker. I like that in a woman."

Liam tried to imagine the ex-Navy SEAL with Vivian Buckley's twin. Both were headstrong and stubborn. They'd either spontaneously combust or kill each other. Either way, it'd be fun to watch.

"Jesus. It's a sickness and it's spreading." Mitch shook his head. "I'm not sure whether it'll be Liam or Judd to succumb next."

"Succumb to what exactly?" Judd asked.

"Marriage fever," Mitch said in funereal tones.

Judd's face went slack with shock. "Marriage?"

"Yeah, you know, that thing you do with the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with," Reuben said.

"Mitch is right. It's a sickness, and I most definitely don't have it." Judd twitched his shoulders as if to shake off the marriage germs.

"You have been dating Mary Alice for going on two years," Liam pointed out.

"So? We're good as we are."

Liam couldn't resist pressing, just a bit. "So you ought to know by now whether you want to marry her."

"Oh, like it's that simple."

"Sure it is. You imagine your life in the future. Five years. Ten. Fifty. Is she in it?"

"Is Riley?" Judd shot back.

_Yes._ Liam could see the years unfolding, imagine the life, the family they'd make together. He waited but didn't feel a trace of the panic flashing in Judd's eyes. Just rock steady certainty. How about that? But admitting that fact just now would turn attention back to him

"We aren't talking about me and Riley."

"We weren't talking about me and Mary Alice either. Jesus, how the hell did we get off on this shit?"

"Hey now, save it for the ring," Reuben warned.

Mitch whistled. "Touchy. Touchy."

_Because he's with the wrong woman._ But some things you didn't say, even to your closest friends.

Judd scowled and tipped back his beer. "I'm not touchy. I just came to play poker."

"Don't get your panties in a wad, Hamilton. Come sit down and take your chips. I'm going to get the brats off the grill. Liam, you wanna grab that plate?"

Liam picked up the platter and followed Mitch outside to the one cooking appliance he _did_ use.

Mitch lifted the top off the Big Green Egg and nudged the fat, sizzling sausages with his tongs. "You're skating on thin ice in there."

"He's making a mistake."

"It's his mistake to make."

"Even if it hurts more than just him? You and I both know Mary Alice isn't the woman he's built his life around."

Mitch began loading brats on the plate. "Does Riley realize you're building your life around her? Do you?"

Liam kept his face impassive, just lifting a brow in mild interest. "Did you drag me out here to talk about my relationship? Are we gonna braid each other's hair, too? Because Riley and I are good."

His friend studied him. "Yeah, I think you are. You may take forever to make up your mind, but once you've decided, you move quick."

"What's quick?"

"Your poker face isn't that good, Montgomery. You're serious about Riley. Like, long-term, marriage and kids serious."

"That tends to be the ultimate point of relationships."

"Are you sure she wants the same thing out of a relationship as you?"

Liam narrowed his eyes. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"A rational one. Anybody with eyes can see the two of you have chemistry, but you're really different people. Riley's a single minded, intensely driven woman. She's been on her path for a really long time, and that path didn't include you."

"So? I'm not asking her to change it for me. I'm really fucking proud of what she's accomplished."

"I'm not saying you're not."

"Then what are you saying?" How the hell had this become about him?

"I'm saying you've been looking for something since you came home. And it seems like you think Riley is it. If she is, great. But be sure before you rush too far down that path."

_What the fuck?_ He and Riley were fine. "Are we done with this backyard episode of Dr. Phil?"

"Yep."

"Good. Because I'm in a mood to take all your money."

Mitch's grin spread slow. "You can try, brother. You can try."

# Chapter 15

"WELL, THIS IS A surprise." Cassie Callister greeted Riley from her post behind the counter at The Daily Grind. "Not your usual routine."

"I've been kicked out for demolition. We closed for the rest of today, all the way through noon on Monday. Molly's been enduring the noise so I can work on a presentation. I've been up to my eyeballs in that all afternoon, so I figured I'd come here for a bit of pick me up." It felt good to be out of a chair.

"We aim to deliver. What can I get you?"

"A large General Burke for me, a chai tea for Molly with extra cinnamon, and a cold brew with cream and sugar for Liam."

Cassie bustled to put together her order.

It felt patently weird to be not at the pharmacy on a workday. She'd eaten, breathed, and practically slept there since she bought the place last year, worrying, nurturing, and doing everything in her power to make the business thrive. Was this what single parenthood felt like? This was a rough patch, no question. Maybe the business was hitting its terrible twos early. But she'd get through it, somehow. And she'd start by landing Peyton Consolidated as a client.

Cassie slid the drinks into a cardboard caddy. "You look happy."

Riley blinked. "Do I normally look sad?"

"No, not at all. You've just been working so hard since you bought the pharmacy, you've been kind of perpetually on edge." Cassie leaned her hip against the counter. "I know what that's like. The first year after I bought this place, I swear my wares were the only thing keeping me going."

"You've certainly been keeping _me_ going."

"And we appreciate your continued patronage." Cassie grinned. "But anyway, I just mean you've got a glow. And I suspect a certain sexy Marine Staff Sergeant has something to do with that."

Riley chuckled. "He's certainly a big part of it. But life in general is pretty great. Liam and I are in a good place right now. My mom's in her _own_ place, finally. Things are getting back on track with the pharmacy. The only thing that would make it better would be Wynne coming home. Since she's firmly entrenched in New Orleans, I'll take what I've got and be grateful."

"Good. You deserve it. Which is the only reason I don't hate you on principle for taking one of Wishful's most eligible bachelors off the market." Cassie winked.

"Thanks for that." She laughed. Turning to head for the cream and sugar station, she almost mowed over Babette Wofford. "Whoops, sorry!"

"Not a problem, dearie. I just finished my weekly Skype session with Delilah and was in the mood for a pastry. How's your mama settling in?"

"Just fine. She's all unpacked. The apartment really is perfect for her."

"As soon as he saw it, Liam said it would be."

Riley cocked her head. "Liam?"

"When he heard my tenant had skipped, he wanted to see it."

Liam had been the one to find her mom's apartment?

"I'm just glad it all worked out," Mrs. Wofford continued.

"Oh, did you have a lot of interest in the place?"

"No, it never made it to being formally advertised. With the extra security deposit and the first and last months' rent required up front, I wasn't sure Sharilyn would be able to manage. But that big sweetheart of yours took care of it." She beamed.

Riley felt her jaw tighten and had to fight not to growl. "Did he now?"

"He didn't want to risk the place going to someone else since it was so ideal, so he fronted the money. I like having an older, more responsible tenant there anyway, so it was a win-win for everybody. I tell you, that man's a real keeper."

"He's something." And as soon as she got ahold of him, his ass was grass. That overbearing, meddling... Unless her mother was behind this, which was equally possible. She knew exactly how to play a natural caretaker like Liam.

Mrs. Wofford continued, oblivious to Riley's rising blood pressure. "Listen to me chattering on. You're obviously headed somewhere to deliver those coffees. Give your mama my best."

"I will." Ears ringing and half blind, Riley moved to doctor her coffee.

She'd told him. Explicitly forbade him from getting involved with this. And he'd gone behind her back.

"Well, if it isn't Riley Gower."

Riley closed her eyes. _Just fucking perfect._ It was beyond her capabilities to manage a polite smile, but she thought she managed not to grimace as she looked up to see Amber Hopper Butts.

"Amber."

"How are things?"

Riley didn't trust that cheerful smile for a moment. This woman was a shark. "Things are great. Couldn't be better." _Go away._

"No, I don't suppose they could. Taking the old dog's tricks and adding some of your own, I see."

Her hands curled to fists. "I beg your pardon?"

"You've got Liam Montgomery on the hook to pick up the tab for you _and_ your mother. That's a pretty trick. But then your mom always excelled at that, so I guess you had a good teacher."

Through a red haze, Riley was dimly aware of the coffee inches from her hands. She imagined grabbing a cup, hurling the scalding contents into Amber's face, listening to her scream. Another more rational part of her mind pointed out that Amber was the type to sue, and Riley really couldn't afford an attorney right now, even if a jury of her actual peers would never convict her.

Amber was still talking. "You may as well enjoy him while you can. He'll tire of you soon enough and walk away, just like all your mother's men. He's far too smart to stand for being used by a needy woman."

Riley opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried to reel the humiliation in, to remain impassive, but her face suffused with heat and her hands began to tremble. How could she be just as trapped, just as helpless now as she had been as a child?

Amber's lips curved in satisfaction. "Still tongue-tied? It's no wonder. There's no real defense for being a gold digger." Without another word, Amber strolled away, unhurried, as if she hadn't just shivved Riley between the ribs.

Even knowing Amber's perspective was skewed, Riley couldn't stop herself from seeing the situation through her murk-colored glasses. And she felt dirty. Did people really think it was like that? That she was using Liam for his generosity? That she was stringing him along on her behalf and her mother's? Shame and humiliation washed through her, kerosene to the flame of temper already licking up her spine.

She couldn't do anything about Amber, but she could sure as hell confront the most recent source of the problem.

Liam's back ached and his head throbbed after hours of ripping up flooring. Whoever had laid the original planks had never intended them to come up. Ever. An hour in, he'd been forced to call for reinforcements. Mitch had managed to round up a few guys, but Liam had let them go a couple hours ago to get on home to their families. He could finish up the last little bit. And then, God willing, he'd get a nice cold beer and something to fill the gnawing in his belly. Lunch was way too many hours past.

He wondered how Riley was getting on with her presentation and whether she was getting close to a stopping point herself.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she walked through the door. His heart gave a happy little bump.

"Well you're a sight for sore eyes." He started to lean in to kiss her, but she lifted the caddy of coffees she carried.

"I brought drinks. Cold brew?"

He plucked it out of the carrier. "Don't mind if I do. Thanks."

"Chai tea for you, Molly." She set the drinks on the counter, but didn't pick up her own.

Molly grabbed hers. "Mmm, with the cinnamon on top, just like I like it. You're a sweetheart."

Riley folded her arms and surveyed the progress, her face strangely blank, the way it got when she was trying not to look upset. "You've been very, very busy."

Liam wanted to smooth out those ripples he knew were underneath. "I know it's a mess right now, but once the new floors are in, you won't even be able to tell it happened."

"I've got a long memory. It'll take me a while to get past it."

His mother stroked a hand down Riley's back in the same gesture she used on him. "You okay, honey?"

"Just tired. Been working on the presentation all day." She sounded it. Maybe the work hadn't been going well for her.

"Get it finished?" Molly asked.

"Nearly. I'd like to go over it with you when I do."

"Sure."

Riley worked up a dim smile. "I'm sure you're tired of listening to all the noise. Why don't you head on home. I'll stay 'til Liam's finished."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Molly gathered up her purse. "Don't work too late, baby."

"I'm nearly done for the night."

"See you later then." She paused, grinned. "Or not. Whatever. Bye."

Liam shook his head and took a long swallow of his cold brew. It wasn't the beer he really wanted, but it was damned tasty. "You know, I appreciate that she's supportive of us as an us, but I would really love if she'd stop making suggestive remarks. It's totally weird."

When Riley didn't comment, his internal alarm started to sound. She was well and truly upset about something, and it wasn't the chaos in her pharmacy.

Liam ran a hand down her arm, gave a little tug, but she didn't turn into him and didn't soften. Not good signs.

"What's wrong, Riley Marie?"

"I ran into Babette Wofford at The Grind."

She paused, and he fought not to tense. It could be nothing.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Her blue eyes were glacial as they fixed on him.

_Shit._ He'd hoped she'd never find out. Or that he'd be better prepared when it came to asking forgiveness when he knew she'd expected him to ask for permission. Considering the temperature in her general vicinity had plummeted a good ten degrees, that wasn't happening.

"Your mom didn't have enough for the deposit and both the first and last months' rent on the apartment, so I helped out."

"I see." Her tone that indicated she was seeing a helluva lot more than he did. "Was it your idea or hers?"

"Mine. The apartment was perfect. She wanted out. You _needed_ her out for your own sanity. She needed a hand to do it, so I gave it. It's not a big deal, Riley." He shrugged, feeling the pinch of strained muscles as he did so.

"I would have thought that a man who's spent the last twelve years as a Marine would be more capable of following orders."

Was she fucking kidding? "Oh, give me a break."

"A break? A break. I'd like to break your head." Riley unfolded her arms and jabbed a finger into his chest, her voice rising. "I explicitly told you not to get involved in the situation with my mother. Verbatim, point blank. In words you could not _possibly_ misunderstand. And you did it anyway."

"Yeah, I crossed that line. Deliberately." Might as well own it.

"Worse, you did it behind my back. She's _my_ responsibility. Not yours."

Exasperated and trying desperately to cling to reason, Liam gripped her shoulders, gave them a gentle squeeze. "She doesn't have to be. You don't have to deal with all this alone anymore."

Riley jerked away. "I may have invited you into my bed, but that doesn't give you the right to run my life. You don't get to make decisions for me or my family."

Liam absorbed the slap of that. _Me. My family._ Because, for her, those had nothing to do with him. Almost his whole life, he'd considered her a part of his family. His to protect. To take care of. It'd been nothing to extend that mantle to cover her mother, to try to ease the burden he saw Riley struggling under.

Pain jabbed at his temple, chiseling away at his hold on a rising anger. "I'm not trying to run your life, I'm trying to _help_ you."

"I was just fine on my own before you walked back into my life. I'm not some needy princess with a rescue complex, and I'm not some gold digger in search of a sugar daddy."

There was fury in her eyes, but the faint tremble of her chin told him something else was going on here. That gave him a little more control. "That's not who you are. It's not who your mom is either. Where is this coming from?"

A muscle jerked in her jaw, but she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I don't need your help. Not with her. Not now, not ever. If that's not a line you can live with, then we're wasting our time here."

Mitch's words from the night before circled back through his brain. _Are you sure she wants the same thing out of a relationship as you?_

This was no line in the sand that could or would erode over time. She was building a goddamned wall and expecting him to stay outside it. That wasn't who he was, wasn't how he operated. And it wasn't what he expected from a relationship.

"This line of yours is more important to you than us?"

Her cheeks were drawn, but her eyes still sparked with temper. "I won't bend on this."

That was where he ranked in her priorities. After some idiotic need to be a goddamned martyr. Or something. His head was throbbing too fucking much to analyze it right now.

"You know what? Fine. I'm done. I'm tired from busting my ass to give you that help you apparently don't want. I'm headed home. I'll be back in the morning with a crew to lay the floors. Sorry to force more help on you, but you don't get a say in that since it's my mother's building. If you decide you're ready to be reasonable, you just let me know."

Because he needed to throw something, he picked up the pry bar he'd been using and hurled it with a satisfying clatter into the toolbox. Riley said nothing. She was still standing there, arms wrapped her middle, as he stalked out.

# Chapter 16

RILEY FLINCHED AT THE slamming of the door. She hadn't thought she could feel sicker than when Amber had taken her pound of flesh. She'd absolutely been wrong.

He'd walked away.

Not until she watched Liam's retreating back did she realize she hadn't expected he would.

Her eyes flew open, her heart jolting as the door opened again. But it wasn't Liam.

Autumn stepped in. "So I just saw Liam, and he looked...oh shit." She shut the door and immediately wrapped Riley in a hug. "What happened?"

Her throat felt tight. "We just had our first fight. Or maybe our last. I don't know."

Autumn looked around. "Okay, there's nowhere to sit in here. Let's go for a walk, okay?"

All the fight had bled out of her, so Riley followed without comment, shutting and locking the door behind them. Autumn linked her arm through Riley's, part comfort, part prevention, as if maybe she thought Riley would bolt. They walked up toward Market Street, past Sweet Magnolia's Bakery—sadly closed at this hour. She could really go for one of Carolanne's devil's food cupcakes with chocolate ganache—her ban on sugar be damned.

Autumn gave her until they hit the town green. "Okay, what did he do?"

Riley tipped her head over to the other woman's shoulder in a walking sort of hug. "You're a good friend."

"Why's that?"

"You automatically assume it's his fault."

"Well, even if it's your fault, somehow it's still his fault. So what did he do?"

Riley let the whole thing spill out, from the ultimatum she'd given him about her mother weeks before, to her encounter with Mrs. Wofford.

As she recounted the showdown with Amber Hopper Butts, Autumn scowled. "Leave it to her to turn something kind into something filthy."

"I gather you've had your own run-in with Amber?"

"Not Amber. Her sister. Same kind of thing. I'm white trash from the wrong side of the tracks. And of course, the only reason I have Judd's undying devotion is because I spread my legs for him on a regular basis. Everyone knows I'm his little piece on the side."

Riley felt a fresh bout of rage on her friend's behalf. "That bitch! Nobody thinks that."

"I don't give two shits what anyone thinks about me and Judd," Autumn said mildly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. You shouldn't let her phase you. Nobody believes what she said about you and Liam."

"Obviously somebody does."

"Okay, nobody with two brain cells and an opinion that matters worth a damn believes it. Truthfully, I feel sorry for her."

That was the absolute last thing Riley expected. "For _her?_ Why?"

"Must be sad to live your life thinking everything is about checks and balances. Not that I'm surprised. That's how her entire family has always worked. None of them could ever fathom why anybody would do anything for someone else without expecting something in return." She tugged Riley to sit down on the edge of the fountain. "Any _way_ , you were upset and all your buttons were pushed, so I presume you went to confront Liam?"

Riley finished the story. "He just left. And he had a right to." Now that her fury had begun to wane, she could see that. He deserved her gratitude, not her defensive bitchiness. "I'm not sure I could've handled it any worse. I sure as hell could've handled it better. As you said, he did a kind thing. A necessary thing, to his mind. I can see that. But however well-intentioned his motives were, he still blatantly disregarded my wishes. Jesus, he could've at least _asked_."

"What would you have done if he had?"

Riley sighed. "I'd have fought him tooth and nail."

"Which he undoubtedly knew. So he pulled his whole alpha male routine and did what he thought was best, which was completely counter to what you wanted, and he didn't apologize for it. Would you have still been pissed if you hadn't run into the thunder cunt?"

That surprised a laugh out of her. "The _what?_ "

Autumn shrugged. "Bitch isn't a strong enough word. So would you?"

"I probably would've been more rational about the whole thing, but yeah, I'd still be angry. He completely doesn't understand my position on this. There's no way he'd see that my stance is meant to protect his reputation as much as mine. God, the last thing I want is to hear anyone smear his good name."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Well...no."

"Why the hell not?"

Riley fisted a hand around the medallion and dropped her gaze. "Because I was embarrassed...and ashamed. And just enough of me wondered if someone who mattered believed any of the horrible things Amber said." And she hated it. Hated that she was still as much a victim to those feelings now as she had been years ago.

"Sweetie, don't you think he'd understand?"

He'd been trying. She knew he had a righteous temper when roused, and instead of fully losing it, he'd tried to be rational and get at what was really going on. He'd known this wasn't just about him paying for her mom's apartment. Beneath the pissed off and the hurt, Liam had still seen that there was something else. Because he knew her. And she'd shut him out.

_Damn it._

"I need to apologize."

"Good girl." Autumn gave her a squeeze. "You're too good together to let something like this split you up."

God, she hoped Liam still thought so. "He was really angry." She looked over her shoulder at the fountain's lazy trickle. "Maybe I should wish for some back up."

"Can't hurt."

"Got any change? My purse is back at the pharmacy."

Autumn dug out a nickel. "I feel it's worth mentioning that there is no correlation with the actual monetary value and the importance of the wish."

"Thanks."

Riley rubbed her thumb over the face and considered, for just a moment, making a wish to save her business. She'd spent the last year pouring her heart and soul into the place, and it wasn't out of the woods yet. There were things still to be done to get it back on track, but they were things that would be done either way once the repairs were complete. It was time she spent some heart on something else.

_I wish for a second chance with Liam. Please let him leave that door open._

She kissed the coin and tossed it. It seemed to hit with far more gravity than a mere nickel merited, causing a resounding sort of _thunk_ before sinking to the bottom, where it glinted faintly in the dying light.

"I guess we'll see."

Back at the pharmacy, Autumn gave her one last hug. "Now, no matter what happens, if you need to come knock on my door at any hour, you can. I'm available to listen to details of juicy make up sex, or to support a crying jag and bitch fest if he's an idiot. There's an emergency pint of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer with your name on it, either way."

"Thanks."

"He's not going to be an idiot."

_No, that role is pretty clearly being played by me._

"I'll see you later, okay?"

After waving Autumn off, Riley went to retrieve her purse.

Christ, she was tired. She'd been running on fumes for weeks, juggling all the responsibilities for work, spending every spare minute with Liam, and then trying to get this presentation put together for Peyton Consolidated. It was no wonder she was ultra susceptible to Amber's particular brand of nasty.

Liam was justifiably angry. She'd give him a little time to cool off, take some time herself to get past the hurt and irritation, then they'd straighten this out. She'd apologize for jumping his case and explain. But later. After she'd had time to think, to find the right words. Rushing in without a plan certainly hadn't gotten her anywhere, and she was hardly in the right frame of mind to clearly explain herself. Besides, shambles that it was, she wanted some quiet time alone in her pharmacy.

There was comfort in the routine of checking the machine, recording the call-in prescriptions, then going about the regimented process of measuring, counting out, compounding. She made notes about inventory, called a client or two, and retreated to the office to start working up an order for Monday. They were down to their last box of Epipens and one of the two inside was damaged. If anything came up with that before the next delivery, she'd have to send her customers over to Walgreens. There'd been too much of that these last few weeks. A lot of balls had been dropped in the wake of the flood.

As she continued to clear off the paperwork that had accumulated, Riley sent up a small prayer of thanks that the Board of Pharmacy hadn't been by for an inspection. She set the records to rights on that front, and went ahead and started on the quarterly estimates for her accountant. Might as well get ahead on something since she was here and had the time. One hour bled into two. By the time she reached the bottom of the pile, it was nearing ten and her back was making its protests known. Time to wrap this up and head home.

She opened the drawer to put her work away. An envelope slipped out, as she slipped the ledgers inside. Old mail. How long had that been in there? Slipping a finger beneath the flap, she opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. And felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

_Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Her insurance had lapsed. The renewal should've been sent in two weeks ago. How the hell could she have let this happen? The check covering her stock losses after the flood should've been enough to jog her damned memory. Jesus Christ, this had potential disaster written all over it. And, _of course_ , customer service wouldn't be open again until Monday morning.

"It'll be fine," she told herself. The pharmacy was closed until noon on Monday. She'd call first thing and get it taken care of. There was no reason to worry.

At the faint sound of the bell, she startled and reflexively checked the time. After ten now. She grabbed the last Epipen from the desk before she settled.

_Liam._

Of course, he'd come back to check on her. Nice to know he wasn't the type to let a good mad fester.

Deep breaths. He'd come to her. Even if it was to finish out their fight, he'd come. That meant he wasn't through with her.

She slipped the Epipen into her coat pocket. "I'm really glad you came—" Riley broke off as she swung out of the office to see two men in masks crossing the room.

They stopped, as shocked to see her as she was to see them.

One beat passed, then two, as Riley tried to fight through stunned disbelief. This was Wishful. Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen here. She started forward—to do what, she had no idea—but one of them pulled a gun.

"Hands where I can see them!"

His shout kickstarted the heart that had stopped and she jolted. Adrenaline dumped into her system. _Run. Run. RUN._ But there was nowhere to run, no escape with the counter and both robbers between her and the door. Moving slowly, she laid her shaking hands on the edge of the counter.

_Keep cool._ She slipped her thumb beneath the edge, pressed the panic button as the gunman crossed the room.

His partner backpedaled two steps. "Man, I didn't sign up for this. Nobody was supposed to be here!"

"Shut up and come on. She'll make this quicker."

"You've done nothing yet but pick a lock. You could walk away right now." Her voice trembled only a little.

"Oh no. We're here. We're not leaving without what we came for."

Did she know that voice? Hard to say. Hard to even hear over the thud of blood in her ears.

"Where's the safe?"

Riley couldn't drag her gaze from the gun.

When she didn't answer fast enough, the gunman took three quick strides and stuck it in her face. "Where is the safe?"

She flinched back, lifting her hands to shield her face. "In...in the office."

"Get moving." He gestured with the gun.

Riley didn't move, her eyes fixed on the weapon. Matte black. Some kind of revolver. In the back of her mind, she could hear Liam drilling her on what to do in exactly this situation. They'd spent hours practicing disarms for various weapons in various positions, but in the end he'd told her, _If somebody comes in with a gun, you give them what they want. Nothing they can steal is worth your life._

"Woman, I said _move!_ " He was behind the counter, shoving the gun into her face before she could blink.

Riley recoiled, stumbled, and crashed to the floor, her head cracking against the wall hard enough she saw white. The gunman swore, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip and hauling her to her feet. He shoved her into the office, calling for his accomplice.

"Unlock it."

She considered, just for a moment, opening the money safe, giving them the cash she had on hand. But no one robbed a pharmacy for cash. So she moved to the controlled substances safe. Her hand shook so badly, she entered the code wrong the first time.

"Hurry up!"

"Just give me a minute! You're making me nervous, and if I get this wrong again, the system will lock me out."

Forcing herself to slow her breathing, Riley started again. She hesitated, considering her options. How much time had passed since she hit the panic button? Probably not nearly as much as it felt like. Locking them out of the safe would likely get her shot. She finished the code, and the door unlatched.

"Out of the way." The gunman didn't wait for her to comply. He snaked an arm around her neck, jerking her back and pressing the gun to her head.

Riley yelped, reflexively grabbing at the arm around her throat and dropping her chin to keep him from cutting off her air. But he didn't seem inclined to choke her.

"Be still, woman!"

There was no standing completely still. She was shaking too badly. But she dropped her hands.

_Think. Think,_ she ordered herself.

His partner was staring, and even through the mask, Riley could tell he was horrified. "Man, don't hurt her."

"Shut up and fill the bag. Everything."

As the other guy emptied the safe of all the class 2 drugs, she could see the insurance bill laying on the desk. With the insurance lapsed, anything they got away with would be forfeit. Even if it was recovered, it would go into evidence. She'd be out the cost of all of it. All her hard work would be for nothing. There'd be no recovering from that loss.

She hadn't worked her ass off only to watch two idiot drug seekers piss it all away.

Anger made her a little bit steadier. Wiping sweating palms on her lab coat, she felt the bump in her pocket. The Epipen. Could she reach it? And what would he do if she did?

Moving slowly, she slipped a hand into the pocket, curling her hand around the injector. Slowly, she fumbled to remove the safety release. Her captor's grip was firm, but didn't obstruct her airway, and the gun seemed to be more about making a point than about really hurting her. Surely, if he was going to kill her, he'd have done it once the safe was open?

The other guy was more than half through dumping the contents into a duffel bag. "I don't even recognize half these drug names."

"So what? If it's in the safe, it's valuable."

The cap popped off. She didn't dare try anything while the gun was pressed to her head. Her assailant's body was long and wiry and acrid with sweat. He was nervous, too. She felt it in his posture. A shot of epinephrine to a system already flooded with adrenaline might just give him a heart attack. It might kill him. Riley waffled at that. She didn't want to kill anyone.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Liam. _If you get into a situation where your safety is threatened, remember, it's you or them. No holding back. No doubts._

Steadied by the thought of him, Riley fisted her hand around the pitiful weapon. If she made it through this, she owed him so much more than an apology.

"What about this stuff in vials?"

"I said everything."

"We're running out of room."

"We do not have time for you to be reading labels. Hurry the fuck up so we can get out of here."

He waved the gun for emphasis, and Riley moved, hooking one arm around his gun arm and yanking, even as she stabbed down and back with the Epipen. Her assailant roared. Riley stepped back, struck with her elbow, but she caught his ribs rather than his gut. Pain burst along her arm as they fought for control of the gun. He struck her hard across the cheek with his free hand. She felt herself start to fall, her hands still around the wrist of his gun hand, griping like a vise. Her momentum tipped them both. In horror, unable to make her fingers release, she watched his aim come down, down toward the floor, as if in slow motion. His hand clenched, his finger squeezed the trigger.

And the gun fired.

# Chapter 17

"OKAY, YOU'VE HAD A good three hours to sulk. Tell me what's wrong."

Liam scowled at his mother. "I'm not sulking."

"Brooding then." She sat down beside him on the porch swing. "Did you and Riley have a fight? I could tell something was off with her when I left."

"The only thing wrong is that she's the most stubborn woman on the goddamned planet."

Molly nodded. "A fight then. It was bound to happen sometime. You're both strong-willed people."

"Remind me why I thought that was an attractive trait in a woman?"

She laughed. "Because a pushover would be boring. What did you fight about?"

"She found out I helped her mom out with the up-front costs to lease the apartment and got pissed."

"Found out? As in, you didn't tell her you were going to do this?" Her tone said everything he needed to know about what she thought about that plan.

Liam hunched his shoulders. "No. She'd have said no, her mom would still be under her roof, and her stress level would be somewhere around the stratosphere. If she was gonna be mad either way, it seemed like they'd both be happier in their own places. Riley's been so much less stressed the last couple of weeks. At least until Mrs. Wofford spilled the beans. Now she's furious. I don't get it. What the hell is wrong with me taking care of her?"

"Oh, my sweet boy. Nothing is wrong with the desire. But Riley has taken care of herself and her mom for a long, long time."

"Shouldn't she be grateful for some help with that?"

"It's not that simple." Molly toed the swing into motion. "You already know Riley took a lot of flack from others about her mother's bad decisions and the help they needed because of it. That night they came for dinner, Riley didn't repeat any of the kinds of rumors that spread about Sharilyn out of respect for her mother, but she was on the receiving end of plenty."

Liam sighed. "Gold digger looking for a sugar daddy?"

"Among others. You've met her mother, so you know that's not really how she is, but people rarely care about the truth. Riley has always hated that Sharilyn looked to anyone else to fix things, hated that she didn't or couldn't deal with it herself. Sharilyn always expected to find that stability elsewhere. My point is, Riley's not going to naturally do that. She's been the anchor in that family since she was a child. She doesn't know _how_ to let anyone take care of her because no one ever really has. Your father and I have done our best, but you know we've been subtle about it. What you did wasn't subtle."

"Subtlety is overrated."

"No. Subtlety allowed your dad and I to give Riley help, while actually staying in a position to keep providing it. Your way backfired. This isn't something you're going to be able to blast through with a brick of C4."

"There's no room for these kinds of walls in a relationship."

"Long term, no." Molly paused. "Is that what you want? Long term?"

He hadn't come home looking for long term. A part of him never thought he'd get past the hypothetical of a lifetime commitment to a woman. But Riley had worked her way under his skin—her strength, her determination, and that icing of sweetness that came out when she felt safe and happy. He wanted to give that to her, wanted to make a life where safe and happy were the norm instead of fleeting bursts. He wanted to give her the life she deserved, one where she didn't have to fight and claw and struggle. And, damn it, he wanted her to let him.

"She's it for me, Mom."

His mother smiled. "I know."

Liam looked at her, then shook his head. "Of course, you did."

"I'm just glad you've figured it out for yourself." She leaned over, kissed his cheek. "Give her time, baby. And try to see it from her perspective."

"Am I wrong?"

"Well, to keep to your analogy, you see these walls of hers as something to breach. That's what you've spent the last twelve years doing, so I understand the impulse, but that's not how things work with emotional walls. They get built for a reason, to protect somebody. You don't just come in and rip away someone's shield because you think it's time for them to give it up. You're upset because you feel like that wall is standing between the two of you, but you have to remember, she didn't build it to keep you out. She built it to keep _everyone_ out. For you, it shouldn't be about breaking through the wall but about scaling it to get behind it with her, making her feel safe enough to dismantle it when she's ready. That's how long-term relationships work."

He loosed a long sigh. "And I went all bull in a china shop about it."

"Now you know better. I'm sure you'll get past it."

Liam sure as hell hoped so.

Inside, the phone rang.

"Awfully late for calls." Molly rose and went to answer it.

He checked his watch. Just a little after ten. Not _so_ late. It might be Wynne coming in after an evening event. Or Norah calling over some detail or other to do with coalition business. But he went inside anyway.

At the kitchen counter, his mother's face went ashen.

Liam crossed to her in two strides, slipping an arm around her. "Mom?" The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he waited interminable seconds to hear whether it was news about Jack or Cruz.

A voice on the other end continued to speak as she tipped the phone away. "The panic button."

He felt his world stop. Not his brothers. "Riley."

Liam tore out of the kitchen, taking the stairs three at a time, sprinting to his room to grab his keys and the Ruger in his nightstand. In less than a minute, he was squealing out of the driveway, demanding every ounce of speed from the 351 Cleveland engine. Being after ten, nobody was on the road, and he was grateful as he drifted around corners and blew through stop signs.

Three minutes.

_Please._ The word repeated in his head. A litany. A prayer.

He'd trained Riley for this. She'd said he was paranoid, pushing her through scenarios, making her practice how to handle them. But she'd humored him, done the work. Learned. She wouldn't do anything foolish. She'd be okay. She had to be. But a part of him wondered how well his teaching would translate into the moment. A real, live threat was a whole lot different from practice in a gym.

He couldn't think about what was happening. Didn't dare imagine it. He needed a cool head to do whatever needed doing, so he shifted into combat mode as he flew into downtown Wishful. The clock ticked over to five minutes as he hit Pitts Street and saw the lights of the pharmacy glowing in the distance.

_Please._

The pharmacy door opened. He screeched to a halt, bumping one wheel up on the sidewalk, as he caught sight of Riley stumbling out. His vision constricted to one pinpoint view of her. Nothing in his training, nothing in his experience had prepared him for the sight of the woman he loved, covered in blood.

Liam all but fell from the car, scrambling to catch her as she hit her knees on the sidewalk. He hit his own, holding her up, fighting the urge to crush her to him. "Riley, baby, where are you hit? How bad is it?" Bad. It had to be. God, her clothes were soaked, her hands covered.

Those hands fell to his chest. Her eyes were glassy with shock. "You came."

"Yeah." He swallowed, chanced touching her face. A bruise already bloomed on one cheek, but he couldn't see any wounds at her throat. "Where are you hurt? We need to stop the bleeding."

In the distance, sirens screamed.

"Not mine."

"What?"

"Not my blood. I'm okay. Maybe concussed."

Liam did crush her to him then. "Oh God, oh God, I thought I'd lost you. You shaved at least ten years off my life."

Riley wrapped her arms around him as the police arrived, spilling out of their cars. "You came." She was shaking. Or maybe he was. Liam didn't know.

"Christ Riley, how bad are you hurt?" Judd was already radioing for an ambulance before she could answer.

Riley eased away a bit, making a visible effort to pull herself back together. "Not bad. One of the robbers got shot. Bullet nicked the femoral artery. I've got a tourniquet on him, but he lost a lot of blood."

"How many were there?" Judd asked.

"Two. After his partner got shot, he took the bag of drugs and ran. I don't know which way. Um, white male. His shoulder came to the top of my neck, so, maybe 5'10" or so. Dark clothes. Ski mask."

Judd radioed dispatch.

Two assailants. At least one gun. A dozen scenarios unfolded in Liam's mind, none of them good. And yet Riley wasn't the one who got shot. "He shot his partner, not you?"

"My fault. I stabbed him with an Epipen in the process of trying to disarm him.

"You—" He felt another five years shaved off his life as he imagined how that went down.

"I got the gun. Just like you taught me. Well, almost. I went down in the process and the other guy got away."

"I'll be proud of you when my heart starts beating again."

"Oh, speaking of—Judd, the other guy won't make it far. You should be looking for somebody sweating profusely, having massive heart palpitations. If he hasn't had a straight up heart attack by now. He might show up at the ER, if he can get there."

The police sprang into action around them.

Riley straightened. "You should probably let me go. I'm disgusting."

Liam cupped her uninjured cheek. "Not a chance. I'm hanging on, and I'm taking care of you. And you can hate it as much as you want, but you're going to have to learn to get over it." Probably an ultimatum wasn't the best tactic with a traumatized woman, but his own heart hadn't slowed to anything resembling normal yet.

She let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Liam, I—"

"I need to do this, okay?"

Her lip wobbled but she held the tears back and nodded. "I'm sorry for the things I said."

Liam shook his head. "None of it matters. You're okay. That's all I care about. Everything else can wait."

As his mother's car, the ambulance, and more police cars arrived, he thought it might have to wait quite a while.

The door slammed and Riley flinched, hearing again the shot that had so very nearly hit her. The shot that could've ended everything.

Liam pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her brow. He'd stayed by her side, a rock, through the whole thing.

"We'll need you to stay on-site, while we finish collecting evidence." The agent from the Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics offered her an apologetic smile. "And I'm sure we'll have more questions."

_Of course you will._

"Fine." She might have to bust out the No Doze to make it, but she'd do what had to be done and fall apart later. She was good at that. But she wished, oh how she wished, she could do more than wash the blood from her hands. Her clothes were stiff with it and the faint smell of copper coated the back of her throat, making her gag. She just wanted to go home.

"Have you cleared the apartment upstairs?" Liam asked.

"It was still locked, and a sweep didn't turn anything up," Judd said. "So yeah, it's clear."

"Then you can be done with her for long enough to shower." Liam's tone brooked no argument.

The agent nodded.

Molly appeared from somewhere, a bag in her hand. "Towels, toiletries. Change of clothes for you both."

Riley stared at her. "When did you...?"

"Liam sent me."

A wet fist of tears squeezed in her chest.

Molly squeezed her arm. "Go on. Get cleaned up, sweetheart."

Liam took the bag and led her upstairs. "There's nowhere for you to lay down, but at least you can get clean."

Riley couldn't speak around the fist, so she just nodded and followed him into the bathroom. He emptied the bag, neatly laying out towels and clothes on the counter, putting soap, shampoo, and conditioner on the edge of the tub. Quick, efficient, he turned on the water, adjusted the temperature.

"Arms up." With minimal help from her, he stripped off her bloody clothes with equal efficiency. "In you go." He handed her into the tub, waiting until he was satisfied she had her legs before letting go of her hand. "I'll be right outside."

"Thanks."

He pulled the curtain to. She heard the quiet close of the door. He wouldn't go far. There was extraordinary comfort in that. In knowing that, when it mattered, he stuck, whether she was being difficult or not.

She stepped beneath the spray, wanting at once to shrink back and lose herself in the steady fall of water. Her body shook, cold down to the bone. Even knowing it was shock, she dialed the temperature almost to scalding. Water sluiced down her body, pooling pink at her feet before circling down the drain. That had so very nearly been her blood. And for what? The thief had gotten away. He'd be caught—the epinephrine should've messed him up enough. But the drugs were gone. With everything else—her business wouldn't be far behind. And then what?

She'd spent her life scrimping, saving, and clawing her way out of the debt incurred after her father's death. The thought of having to start over, of having to do that again, without a job, without prospects, had the fist in her chest clamping down to the point of pain, squeezing her heart, closing her throat. What pharmacy would hire a pharmacist who ran her own pharmacy into the ground? What was she going to do?

A sob wrenched free of her constricted throat. Bracing her hands against the wall, she fought to hold back the panic bubbling up in her chest as the brutally hot water beat down on her. Instead, another wounded animal sound spilled out.

The curtain was ripped back.

Before she could get a scream out, Liam was stepping into the shower, clothes and all, pulling her into his arms, tucking her against chest. "I've got you."

He was strong, capable, and in control. Everything she hadn't been since her world started spinning off its axis. He was her port in the storm, and she was tired, so goddamned tired, of rejecting that gift on the grounds of some stupid personal principle. She needed him. As the shower continued to pound on her back and steam rose around them, Riley pressed her face into his throat and let herself fall to pieces.

The water had gone to lukewarm by the time she quieted. Without letting her go, Liam reached past her to grab the soap. Throat raw, feeling weak as a newborn kitten, she stood as he gently scrubbed away the last signs of violence. It was an intimacy so different from being lovers. In bed, she felt they were on even ground—giving, taking. But this, this, for her, was a deeper trust.

Liam helped her out of the shower, wrapping her in one of the big fluffy towels. She drew the line at letting him dress her again, and took over the drying herself.

He stripped out of his own wet clothes, reaching for the other towel.

She squeezed the towel tight beneath her chin. "I'm sorry."

Irritation flashed in his eyes. "You don't have to apologize."

"No, I do. I over-reacted."

"We don't have to talk about this now."

"I need to get this out. I need to, at least, explain _why_ this is important to me."

"Okay. But I have an apology of my own. I'm sorry I went behind your back on the apartment for your mom. She and I made arrangements for her to pay me back, and to my mind that made it okay. It wasn't meant to subvert you, and it wasn't her manipulating me. I saw a chance to do something that would make life easier on you. Getting your own space back, seeing her out on her own lessened some of your stress. I couldn't _not_ do that when it was within my means. But I should've told you."

The dry clothes she slipped on were some of his. "I understand why you didn't. You knew I'd fight you about it."

"Yeah."

"I hurt you today, and I never wanted that. You've given me so much, and I've been so ungrateful."

"I'm not keeping a balance sheet, Riley."

"No, you wouldn't. That's not part of who you are." Autumn had seen that before she had.

She sat on the closed lid of the toilet and tried to find the words. "I don't know how to accept help with her. For so long, it's just been us, Mom and me. And our roles got reversed so long ago, I don't even remember what it was like to be the child instead of the one in control. It's like...when you carry an exceptionally heavy load, and it's something really important that you can't drop. And it's more than you can reasonably bear for a long period of time, but you don't have a choice, so you just dig in and hang on."

She curled her hands into tight fists in her lap, stared at them. "After a while, the muscles in your hands begin to cramp, until it's nothing but the cramp keeping you from dropping things. And then somebody comes along to help lift the burden, except your hands have been cramped so damned long around that rope, you can't actually let go and it _hurts_ as much to release as to hang on. And on top of that...you don't trust that whoever this person is will really hold up their end—because nobody else has, And why would they? It's not their job. What if they drop it? And worse, what if you let go and then you can't pick it up again?"

Riley raised her gaze to Liam's, searching for understanding. "That's what this is like for me. Holding the line, holding that load, keeping things together and trying not to drown—that's been my life for as long as I can remember. And I hate it as much as I'm proud that I've managed it. I resent the hell out of the fact that I had to do it, but I don't know how to stop, either. Because, for me, letting go, letting you or anyone else take some of that off me, is admitting I can't do it all. And that makes me weak."

"There's nothing weak about you."

"No, you never thought so. I couldn't ever understand that."

He knelt in front of her, taking her fists in his big, strong hands. "I've always seen your strength. That quiet endurance is something I recognize and respect the hell out of." With unhurried motions, he uncurled her clamped fingers, stroking the tension out before pressing a kiss to each palm. "But you aren't alone anymore, and you don't have to hold that line by yourself. I won't let you drop it. And I won't let you drown."

God, what did she do to deserve this man?

"I know. Deep down, I really do know that. I don't know how long it will take me to be easy with that." She took a breath, took the leap. "The fact is, loving you is the easy part. I've been in love with you most of my life. But I need you, and I don't know how to deal with that. I've never known how to deal with that."

Liam circled his thumbs on her palms. "Needing somebody isn't something you're supposed to have to deal with." He gave a half laugh. "It's not like having a root canal. Especially when the one you need needs you back."

He needed her? The idea of that was as ludicrous as it was appealing.

"I have a hard time imagining the big badass Marine needing anyone."

"Clearly we need to work on your imagination. I'm in love with you, Riley. Down-to-the-bone crazy about you. Maybe not for as long as you, but I'm there. We've got time to figure out the rest. I'd just ask one thing of you."

Riley swallowed against the burn in her throat. "What's that?"

"Don't shut me out. I want to be there for you. All the way, not just in whatever areas you feel comfortable."

"You're the only one who's ever gotten this far. I can't promise I won't fight about it. But swear I'll work on it."

"That's good enough for now."

# Chapter 18

AT THE SOUND OF the shot, Liam rocketed awake, the Ruger in his hand before his eyes had even fully opened. But no one stood in his room. Beside him, Riley still slept, whole and unharmed, other than the bruise that shadowed her cheek in the pale dawn light.

_Shouldn't have watched the surveillance video_.

The only reason Judd had showed him at all was because Riley had kicked ass. But Liam's brain had spent the night playing the footage on repeat, with every possible way the situation could've gone wrong. Easing back, he replaced the pistol on the nightstand and scrubbed a hand over his face, as if that would erase the images still bright in his mind.

Thunder rolled, no doubt the sound that woke him. Rain began to ping against the window and lash against the roof in gusts. He loved a good thunderstorm. He wished it were a normal day after a normal night, when he could sweet talk Riley into playing hooky and staying in bed, cocooned from the world.

But it wasn't a normal day, and it sure as hell hadn't been a normal night.

A full twenty-one hours had passed before they'd released her to come home. Despite the fact that the pharmacy was closed, pretty much all of Wishful had come by—a combination of concerned customers and general Lookie Lous, not to mention all the friends and family. Sharilyn had been near hysterical. Molly had intercepted her, calling Matthew McSweeney to take her home, once she'd been assured Riley was okay. Mitch and Reuben had helped maintain the perimeter, and Autumn had made sure they'd been fed and that someone had checked on the cat. Wynne was stuck in New Orleans for work, but she'd called almost once an hour to check in. Everybody had been waiting for Riley to drop.

But she'd held up through all the questioning, the waiting, the inventory. As soon as the police were through, Liam had brought her to his mother's house, wanting them both under one roof so he could keep an eye on them until the second thief was caught. Molly had given Riley something to help her sleep. She'd been so exhausted, she'd already been out by the time Liam got her upstairs and tucked into his bed.

With the gray from the rain, it was later than he'd realized. Careful not to disturb her, he pressed a kiss to Riley's brow and slipped from bed. She needed the sleep. He'd just go down, start coffee, text Judd to see if there was an update.

As soon as he hit the hall, he realized someone had already started coffee. The rich scent of French roast perfumed the air and drew him to the kitchen.

Molly looked up from where she whipped something at the counter. "How is she?"

He thought of Riley falling apart in the shower. A purge long overdue. "Still tender yet. The robbery was pretty much the icing on the shit cake she's been eating all summer."

His mom gave him a long look. "How are you?"

Liam considered playing it off and opted for the truth instead. "I'd rather go up against insurgents again than face another phone call like that."

She rubbed a hand down his arm. "There's not much harder on a man of action than not getting the chance to act."

"It was all over by the time I got there, and I couldn't do a goddamned thing."

"You did plenty. You taught her how to handle herself. The situation might've been a helluva lot worse than some stolen inventory if you hadn't."

"You're up next." He poured himself coffee. "And neither one of you is to be up there alone again. Ever." He'd have a hard enough time letting them go anywhere alone for a while. "I want to do a full evaluation of the security system. When will we be allowed back in to work on the place?"

"Not sure yet." She poured batter over thick sliced sourdough bread. "The Bureau of Narcotics is done with us for now. Riley and I got through the full inventory of controlled substances before we left. Hopefully, we'll be back in later today or tomorrow."

"I'll get on the phone later and start rounding up additional crew as soon as we know. This whole mess is throwing the renovation schedule off, and Riley needs things to get back to normal as soon as possible."

"Issuing orders already, Boy Scout?" Riley's voice was rough with sleep. She shuffled into the kitchen, eyes at half mast, one of his button-down shirts hanging almost to her knees, a pair of his sweatpants puddling around her feet.

"Hey. What are you doing up already?"

"What? Thirteen hours isn't enough sleep?" Yawning, she crossed to him, sliding an arm around his waist and reaching up to cup his face. "You had a nightmare."

All freaking night. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I'd been working on convincing myself to move for about an hour, but I kept losing the battle. Ambien is a great will-sucker. You'd already gotten up by the time I got my eyes to open. I wanted to check on you."

After everything she'd been through, she was checking on him? Who was caretaking who here? "That's my line. I'm fine."

"Fine is sleeping with a pistol under your pillow?"

No reason to mention the rest of the arsenal under the bed. "Until the one who escaped is caught, yes."

"It wasn't personal, Liam. He wasn't after me."

His eyes tracked over to the bruise on her cheek and he had to fight back the impotent rage that he hadn't been there to stop it. "He hurt you."

Her eyes narrowed. "And I gave as good as I got, exactly like you taught me."

"Sorry. It's going to take me a year or ten to forget the sight of a gun pressed to your head."

"You're not going to let me out of your sight without an armed escort, are you?"

"Not for a while, no." Liam waited for her to argue.

Instead, she heaved a sigh, brushed her lips over his. "Judd should never have showed you that surveillance footage."

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it." Molly was out of the kitchen in a flash.

"You know," Riley walked her fingers down the center of his chest, "if you're going to be on guard duty anyway, can you do it in your dress blues? Maybe pull an _Officer and a Gentleman_ and whisk me off to somewhere tropical, where they serve drinks with little paper umbrellas and have people standing by to fan us with giant palm fronds? Because that would really work for me."

Liam arched a brow and tried to keep his twitching lips serious. "You've given this some thought."

"When you don't have time to actually _take_ a vacation, you spend a lot of time dreaming about them. Plus, the last time I saw you in your dress blues was when I was still trying to be mad at you, so I didn't properly appreciate the view. And it's a really excellent view."

"Maybe if you're a really good girl—"

"Even if she's not, I think she's demonstrated she could kick your ass, so I'd do whatever she wants."

Liam shot Judd a Look. "Don't encourage her."

"Too soon," Judd decided.

Never would be too soon to joke about that.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" Molly lifted the half-full pot.

"Don't mind if I do." He hitched himself up on one of the barstools. "I just came by to give y'all the update. Most importantly, we found the son of a bitch."

Liam felt the tension drain from his shoulders. "Where?"

"Got picked up at the hospital in Lawley. He'd been admitted for a heart attack, just like Riley said. Thanks, Molly." He took the coffee, blew on it. "Also, the assailant who was shot made it out of surgery. He's gonna be fine thanks to Riley's quick action."

To keep his hands busy, Liam poured coffee for Riley, began to doctor it. "He better be thanking God she's got a humanitarian streak."

"I wasn't going to let him die. He didn't want to involve me from the get-go and kept insisting that they not hurt me."

"If that really mattered to him, he would've intervened to stop the robbery from going down as soon as they realized you were there."

"He wasn't the one with the gun and was clearly not the brains of the operation. Thanks, Boy Scout." Riley sipped at the coffee, made a low hum of appreciation.

"That might mitigate his sentence some, but it'll be up to the judge. Both are going to make full recoveries in time for prosecution."

"What about the drugs?" Molly asked.

"Shooter stashed them before he went to the hospital. There's a team of deputies searching now, but it shouldn't take long to unearth them."

"Good. That's good." Liam rubbed the back of his neck. "Does that mean y'all are done with the pharmacy?"

"We are. Gotta check with the Bureau of Narcotics, but I don't expect they'll be far behind. I'll confirm and let you know. Thanks for the coffee."

"I'm about to make French toast. You're welcome to join."

Judd rinsed his mug out and set it in the sink. "Thanks, but I'm about to head home and crash. I'm officially off-shift and I have a date with my pillow for at least the next eight straight."

"Thanks for coming by to give us the update, man." Liam bumped fists with Judd, then pulled him in for a thumping hug.

He shot Liam a knowing look. "Figured you'd rest easier knowing the threat is contained."

"He will." Riley gave her own hug. "So will I. Thanks, Judd."

After he'd left, Molly cranked up the heat under the griddle. "Well, I'd say this is excellent news. Things are moving apace. And crime scene or not, we've got the controlled substances inventory, and we can go ahead and get in touch with the insurance company, get the ball rolling there."

Riley froze with the mug halfway to her lips, all the blood draining out of her cheeks.

Liam automatically braced a hand at her back, ready to catch her. "What's wrong?"

"I forgot," she whispered. "How the hell did I forget?"

He eased the coffee out of her hands and set it on the counter, turning her to face him. "Forget what?"

"The insurance." She pressed her face into his throat and whimpered.

A flood, a theft, and a near hostage situation, and it was the insurance that was sending her over the edge? Liam stroked her back and met his mother's baffled gaze over the counter.

"I know it's a pain in the ass after the flood already, but it will be fine," Molly said.

"No, it won't." Liam felt Riley brace herself, and when she lifted her head, tears glimmered. "There is no insurance."

The admission was like lancing an infection. A quick, sharp pain, and then the words spilled out in a flood, with barely a pause for breath. "I screwed up and missed the renewal payment, and it's lapsed. I found the bill right before the robbery. I guess it got lost in all the shuffle and chaos from the flood and my mom coming back and...I know it's no excuse. It's a titanic screw up, especially when people are depending on me for their livelihood. Jessie and Ruby have been all worried since Walgreens opened, and I've been telling them everything will be fine, but it's not fine. I barely made payroll last month. And I kept thinking things would turn around, that I'd find a way to fix it, but it just got worse and worse, and then the flood, and then I couldn't tell you because you trusted me not to run the business you spent over thirty years building into the ground, and now I've destroyed everything." Riley sucked in a shuddering breath, and felt the hot burn of tears spilling over. "I'm so sorry, Molly."

On the opposite side of the counter, Molly looked heart-broken and horrified. And it felt every bit as horrible as Riley had known it would to have let her down.

"That's why you went for the gun. Because you were trying to keep them from getting away with the stock."

Shoulders hunched, Riley nodded once before dropping her eyes.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You risked your life because of some damned insurance?"

Riley's head snapped up and she glared at Liam. "I risked my life to save my business. That was thirty or forty grand they walked out with—and whether the police find it or not, it's evidence. I can't recover from that with all the other debt I took on trying to stay afloat, so yes, goddamn it, I took a risk."

"A risk that could've gotten you killed!" Breathing hard, he made a visible effort to reel himself in. In softer tones, he said, "Do you have any idea what that would do to me?"

"Yes. Yes, I know exactly, because I felt the weight of that possibility every single day you were deployed. And I spent twelve years being furious that you put yourself in harm's way. So if you need to be mad about this, be mad. I absolutely understand that. But maybe you could save it for later, when my professional life isn't falling apart, because I'm pretty much at my limit."

Liam let out a long, slow exhale. "Sorry. Not dealing too well. My issue. I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

When he reached for her, Riley didn't hesitate. She snuggled into him. "I'll train harder if it'll make you feel better."

"We'll talk about that later." He brushed the hair back from her face, used his thumbs to wipe away the tears. "Other problems to fix right now. I made you a promise the other night, and I intend to keep it. How bad is it?"

"Not sure it could be much worse. Strangely, it's not even the money I'm most upset about." She turned her head to look at Molly. "It's that I disappointed you."

"Okay just...wait a minute." Molly took a few deep breaths before coming around the counter and taking Riley by the shoulders. "Honey, you haven't disappointed me. And you haven't screwed anything up. I took care of the insurance bill weeks ago."

Riley blinked. "You—what?"

"You had a lot on your plate with the flood, and Liam was doing his level best to distract you, which I fully supported, so when I found the bill, I went ahead and paid it. I couldn't find the line of credit info, so I just paid it out of pocket. Business as usual. I didn't see any reason to bother you with it. But God, I wish I had."

"There are no lines of credit," Riley murmured. Her heart thrummed a desperate tattoo against her breast. "The policy hasn't lapsed?"

"No, it hasn't. What do you mean there are no lines of credit?"

"I'm not ruined." Riley's knees went to Jello, and she had to grab hold of the barstool. "Oh, thank God. Thank _you._ " She launched herself at Molly, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Thank you, thank you."

"I'm just glad you're okay." Molly framed her face with both hands. "I'd never forgive myself if something had happened to you. What do you mean there are no lines of credit, honey?"

Riley scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.

"I don't use them. After all the debt I clawed my way out of with my mom, I don't use it unless I absolutely have to. So I never opened any for the business."

Molly stared at her. "You've been running the pharmacy for _over a year_ without a revolving line of credit? And actually keeping it in the black?"

"Barely. But yeah. The thing is, I've been stubborn and proud and really, really foolish. Things are bad. I've been hanging on by a thread. And things would be so much worse, if y'all hadn't been looking out for me despite myself. I've joked in the past that you have to hold a gun to my head to get me to ask for help—not something I'll be kidding about in the future, by the way—but it seems like that's true. Because this is me doing what I should've done months ago." She took a bracing breath. "I'm asking for your help. Because I'm in way over my head, going under for the third time, and I don't know what to do."

Molly wrapped an arm around her in another hug. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."

Together.

She'd spent most of her life believing that together was something to avoid, that depending on someone else made her weak. And her way had almost lost her everything.

Definitely time for a change.

"That sounds amazing."

Molly made French toast, as she'd done for family breakfasts countless times before. Judd texted the all clear to let them back in the pharmacy. While his mother manned the griddle, Liam made calls to organize a work force to deal with the cleaning and last of the renovations. And Riley sat at the table, drinking her coffee, feeling more positive than she had in months. She didn't know how they were going to fix things, but she was so grateful not to be in it alone.

Molly heaped French toast onto Riley's plate. "I have something I've been wanting to talk to you about for a while now that will, I think, alleviate a lot of the strain you've been under."

Riley braced herself. If Molly was about to suggest buying the business entirely back, it wasn't like she was in a position to argue. Clearly, she hadn't been ready for the full responsibility of owning the pharmacy.

"I want to buy back part of the business. Come back as a full partner."

_Partners?_ Not something she'd considered. But surely if Molly was interested in doing something like that, it would've come up before Riley bought her out last year.

"I hate for you to have to break your retirement because of me."

"Don't you dare look at this as some reflection of you or some sign of failure. The fact is, I didn't really want to fully retire."

That was news to Riley. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you buying me out was what we'd agreed to when you came to work for me after college. You'd been working toward it for years, and when we came up with that plan, the idea was that I'd retire, and John and I would go take some of those trips we always talked about. When he died, you picked up all the slack, while I grieved. You'd made it yours, and you wanted so much to spread your wings, so it didn't seem fair to go back on my word. And I thought I'd go ahead and make the most of it. To a certain extent I have. I've loved the work I've done with Norah and the coalition, helping breathe life back into this town. But truthfully, I am so bored with retirement, I can't even tell you. You'd be doing me a favor for my sanity by letting me come back."

"Letting you? Please, Molly, it's still your business. And God, I would love to have you come back as a full partner. I'm beyond grateful that you're willing."

"Good. I'll talk to Vivian, get the paperwork drawn up."

"We should probably go over the books." A necessary but painful evil.

"That can wait a bit. Insurance and distributors first."

The sound of a car door slamming pulled their attention to the door.

"Looks like we've got more company." Liam waved in Norah when she appeared at the kitchen door.

As Norah stepped inside, dressed with her usual big city flair, Riley looked down at the clothes she'd robbed from Liam's closet. She hadn't expected to be seeing anyone but family until she had a chance to go by her own place to change.

"Sorry it's so early." Norah held up a covered dish. "Spicy cheese grits. I'd hoped to get here in time for your breakfast. Consider me the first wave of food. The Casserole Patrol is already active and cooking. I saw Miss Maudie Bell at church early, so I expect you'll have a flood after the late service."

"Nobody died or had a baby. Why has the Casserole Patrol been activated?" Riley wanted to know.

Norah set the dish on the counter and came to squeeze Riley's shoulder. "Because cooking is what we can do to show we care about you. You shouldn't have to cook a thing for at least two weeks."

Riley's throat went tight. "Thanks."

"Pour yourself a cup of coffee and join us," Molly invited.

At home, Norah hit up the coffee pot. "I'm actually here for another reason. Y'all are going for exclusivity contracts for Peyton Consolidated. Gerald is going to be here at the end of the week to check the progress on his latest baby, so you've got the perfect shot to hit him up. I've already penciled you into the schedule for Friday."

"Friday?" Riley's heart bucked. "But with all the...I couldn't possibly...I don't—"

Molly laid a hand over hers, stemming the babble. "Together, remember."

"You can and you will. Because you have me to help you tailor everything to hit all of Gerald's soft spots. I landed contracts with Peyton Consolidated for the entire town. This will be cake."

_Together._

Riley took a breath. "Okay, when do we start?"

# Chapter 19

NORAH CLAPPED HER HANDS together. "What a fabulous idea!" She whipped out one of her ever-present notebooks and began scribbling things down, with a backdrop of hammering, the whine of saws, the thunk of nail guns. "I will make this happen. How quickly do you think the space will be ready?"

Liam surveyed the six men rounded up for the job, based on recommendations from both Mitch and Tyler Edison at the hardware store. All were fairly seasoned and had been out of steady local work for some time, due to the economy. This job would be a good trial run. If any of them worked out, it'd be a great start to forming his own crew.

"Obviously, our focus is on getting the main pharmacy back to normal. But given the group we've got out there right now, I think that's going to happen within a week. The goal is to get all the flooring installed and vacuumed today. I'm planning on staining and sealing tomorrow. The longest part there will be waiting on the stain and sealant on the new floors to dry. Three days for that. Mitch and I already finalized the designs, so I can get the rest started while that's going on. So...maybe two weeks?"

"Good. Keep me posted on timeline. I'll handle my end. I want to talk to Riley about setting up an open house to show off the new space anyway, and that would be a great means of launching this as well."

"You really think you can pull it together that fast?"

Norah gave him a pitying look. "Please. Have you met me?"

Liam laughed. "Fair point. I want you to keep this under your hat, at least until we're finished. I want to surprise Riley."

Norah crossed her heart. "Discretion is my middle name." She checked her watch. "With that in mind, I'm going to get out of here. Your lady fair will probably be finishing her presentation soon, and I want to be back to talk to Gerald when it's through."

"How did she look?" Liam asked.

"Like a million bucks. Maybe a little bit nervous, but she'd already gotten off on a tangent about essential oils when she busted Gerald's headache in thirty seconds, so I think she's going to be fine. She nailed all the practice runs of the presentation. I'm betting a celebration will be in order later."

"Good. She needs a win in her column. It's been a rough summer for her."

"Not all bad." Norah stroked a hand down his arm. "She got you."

"True enough." But Liam wasn't sure Riley was as comfortable with that as he was.

"I'll be in touch. Bye, Molly!" She sent a sunny wave to his mother, who perched on a stool behind the counter.

As the door jangled, Molly pinned him with a Look. "You're up to something."

"I am." He was, in fact, up to several somethings. "Working on a surprise for Riley."

"Is this the kind of surprise that's going to make her angry? Because that didn't work out well for you before."

"No. It was her idea, actually. I'm just bringing it to fruition. And in keeping with that, I need to go."

"You're leaving in the middle of all this work?"

"Gotta pick up more supplies at the hardware store. I've had a few things on special order, and Tyler texted earlier to say they were in."

She smiled at him. "You like it. Building things."

"I like seeing the possibilities and maximizing potential. And yeah, it's good seeing solid results of the work. Having a real finished product that will last."

"It suits you. And, with that in mind, perhaps it's time to start talking about turning the garage into a proper wood shop for you. Unless you plan to get your own place sooner rather than later."

Liam thought about the other plans kicking around in his brain. "That depends."

"Well, I'm not trying to rush you out. You know I love having you home. But if your plans change, I completely understand."

She knew. She was standing there looking all innocent and casual, but she knew. Who knew how. Her Mom-dar put military intelligence to shame. Time for a tactical retreat.

"There's plenty of other stuff to worry about for now. You okay holding down the fort until I get back?"

"You go ahead. I've got this."

As the weather was gorgeous and unseasonably cool for this close to August, Liam rolled the windows down on his truck and took the long way, weaving through the shady streets of town. The parking lot at Waldrop Park was half full as he drove by. On impulse, he swung into the lot and got out to inspect the new fence. He'd been on deck to help assemble it, but with everything that had happened, he hadn't been able to make it to the work day.

Norah had wanted whitewashed pickets, but Mitch convinced her to go with a better quality stain and sealant. The final result wrapped the perimeter of the property. Liam walked the length of it, reading names of the individuals and businesses that had donated. Children's laughter split the air and drew his attention to the playground proper.

A trio of boys pounded across the new bridge.

"Get to higher ground! The dragon's almost on us!"

The one bringing up the rear dove off the side with a fairly impressive roll, coming up to face his imaginary foe with a sword branch in his hand.

Liam grinned, thinking of his brothers. They'd fought their fair share of dragons back in the day.

The banks of swings were full. Young mothers pushed toddlers and chatted. At the other end, a dark-haired little girl kicked her legs hard, her pink bow slipping down her curls as she rose higher. He remembered Riley at that age and Wynne, though neither of them would've been caught dead wearing a bow. They usually had scraped knees and grass stains on their clothes, so determined to keep up with the boys.

"Again!" At one of the lower slides, a little boy, maybe three years old, ran from the foot of the slide to the ladder. His dad lifted him up and set him at the top, where he slid into the arms of his waiting mother with a delighted giggle. Then he raced around to do it all over again. The parents looked at each other with a shared smile that shot a sharp pang of yearning through Liam's chest.

He wanted that. Wanted that foundation of family, that new beginning. For all the fumbling he'd done in his first months back, he was ready for the next chapter of his life. He'd been heading there the moment he got involved with Riley.

"You look like you're thinking deep thoughts."

Liam jolted, wondering how long Autumn had been standing there. "I suppose I am. What are you doing here?"

She held up a book. "Just got off work and thought I'd enjoy the pretty day by reading in the park. What's your excuse? I know you're doing floors at the pharmacy today."

"Detour on my way to the hardware store."

"Odd place to detour to for you. What's on your mind?"

"Do you think I'm impulsive?"

"No. You're one of the most decisive people I know. You don't make decisions without considering all the angles. That being said, you don't lollygag around once you've made up your mind. You're a man of action."

"I think that's the problem. I'm ready to act on something, and I'm not sure it's the smart thing to do."

"With the exception of a few select adventures back in high school, I can't ever recall you doing anything stupid."

Because he needed something to do with his hands, Liam gripped the top of the fence. "Well, it's less that what I want is stupid and more that I'm not sure how it would be received, at this point."

"Okay let's just drop the oblique speak. Riley loves you."

He huffed out a laugh. "I know. But even so, I'm not entirely sure we're on the same page."

"And you think what you want is rushing things."

"My gut says no. More practical people would say yes."

"Screw practicality."

Liam arched a brow at her vehemence.

"I mean it. Nobody's in this relationship but the two of you and nobody else's timeline applies. Love isn't supposed to be _practical._ You love her; she loves you. Period. End of story. And if you want to do something that's an expression of that, I say go for it."

Autumn Buchanan, always a champion of love.

"I'd need some help to pull it off."

"Lay it on me."

She was all but dancing by the time he finished explaining what he wanted to do. "Oh my God, Liam! That's just—"

Smiling, he waved his hands in a tone-it-down motion. "I'm glad you approve."

"I approve this so hard, I just can't even." She did some kind of celebratory booty shake, ending with a double fist pump.

"So you'll help?"

Autumn swatted his arm. "Of course, I'll help. I'll even offer a few suggestions for how you can take an already awesome concept and elevate it to stupendous."

"I'm open to suggestions." He pointed a finger at her. "But you tell no one. I don't want one whiff of this getting back to Riley."

She offered a smart salute and clicked her heels together. "You can count on me, sir!"

"Here's to Peyton Consolidated. May they be the first of many lucrative contracts. Well done, Riley." Molly tapped her glass to Riley's and grinned.

"Couldn't have done it without your help and Norah's. I don't know how she does it, getting up in front of people and talking all the time. Give me one-on-one any day." Riley sipped the champagne. _Now this is a celebration._

The white tablecloths and fine china of Tosca were a far cry from the emergency bar of Toblerone at the beginning of the summer. And, at last, she wasn't alone. Liam and Molly sat on either side of her, and Sharilyn and Matthew McSweeney rounded out the party. Riley wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, but she was feeling far too mellow and pleased about her success with Gerald Peyton to let it spoil the evening.

"I have a toast, too." Riley lifted her glass to Liam. "Here's to finished floors and my own personal Superman, who's busting his chops getting things back to normal."

"Hear, hear!"

Liam tapped his glass to hers and leaned in for a follow-up kiss.

"While we're in a celebrating mood, I've got something else to toast." Across the table, Matthew took Sharilyn's hand.

Riley tensed. _Oh God, not again._

Her mother glanced up at him, then across the table. Riley didn't miss the quick flash of hurt.

_Damn it._ She liked Matthew. She really did. But she wasn't ready for her mother to dive headlong into another too serious, too soon relationship.

Beneath the table, Liam curled his fingers around hers and squeezed.

"Back in the beginning of July, this sweet lady here came to me with the idea for the Good Food For Good Neighbors program, as a way the store could give back to the community and help those in need."

Riley blinked. She'd heard about the program, of course. But being wrapped up in her own troubles, she'd given no thought to it past the round up donations she'd made doing her grocery shopping since then. It'd been her mom's idea? She thought back to that family dinner and to Tara Honeycutt. Clearly, she hadn't been the only one to feel a need to take action.

"I'm pleased to report the program has been a raging success, and we've already been able to help fifty families."

Fifty families. So much good. Pride swelled in Riley's chest. "That's amazing, Mom. Truly."

"It was an inspired idea." Molly lifted her glass.

Sharilyn's cheeks pinked. "I just wanted to do something to give back. So many people helped me when I needed it. It's my turn to help now."

"Well, I'm glad you said that, Shari, because we're getting more and more applicants every day, and somebody has to go through and determine eligibility. I want to promote you to full-time head of the program, along with a commensurate raise in pay to go along with the responsibility."

Sharilyn gaped at him. "Are you serious?"

"I told you we had something else to celebrate. To your success." Matthew clinked her glass with his.

Riley raised her glass. "Congratulations. You've earned it."

As additional congratulations swept the table, she thought back to that quick flash of hurt and felt the sandpaper rasp of guilt along her conscience. Her mom didn't deserve that knee-jerk response of dread. She'd well and truly lived up to her promise and turned over a new leaf.

Riley continued to mull it over as their meal was served and conversation flowed around her. And she watched Matthew and Sharilyn, noting the casual way they swapped half their entrees for a surf and turf, seeing the attentive way he leaned toward her when she spoke, and a half dozen other tiny intimacies that said more than words ever could. Sharilyn herself smiled often, but it was a different smile than Riley was used to seeing when she was with a beau—and Matthew was most definitely a beau. She seemed...relaxed and confident. No trace of that sense of trying too hard, as if by will alone she could make him into what she wanted, what she needed. Because maybe Matthew McSweeney _was_ what she needed.

When Sharilyn excused herself to go to the ladies' room, Riley rose too. "I'll go with you."

The restroom, a fancy one with a little sitting room, was blessedly empty. She waited until her mom was washing her hands, meeting Sharilyn's soft brown eyes in the vanity mirror. "I owe you an apology."

"For what, baby?"

"For being so hard on you. For always expecting the worst and not really giving you a chance. You're not me, and I shouldn't expect you to behave like me. What you've done is wonderful. And I just wanted to say that I'm really, really proud of you. You've worked so hard since you came home, and it's finally paying off."

"I owe it to you."

"Me?"

Sharilyn dried her hands and turned to face her. "You finally made me stand on my own two feet. You've been doing that yourself since you were a little thing. Even before your daddy died. Always so independent. Randy used to say you were his little carbon copy, and in a lot of ways you are. He took care of me. After he was gone, you stepped into that role far too early. I shouldn't have let you do it. But I've never been as strong as you."

"Mom—"

"No, let me finish. I'm grateful you were strong, that you have that much of your father in you. It helped. It helped that you're so like him. Because as long as you took care of me, it was a little like having a piece of him back." She stroked Riley's hair back.

Riley swallowed past the tightness in her throat.

"I let that go on way too long. I'm under no delusions about where we'd have ended up without you. But I'm glad you finally broke the pattern and made me break it, too."

It hadn't been for her mother to break. Riley had played her father's role for far too long, trying to take over and do everything. Enabling and perpetuating the cycle they'd been stuck in. And that hadn't been what Sharilyn needed.

"I think, maybe, it's helped me stop looking for your daddy in other men. Randy was one of a kind. I was so, so lucky to have found him. But it feels _good_ to take care of myself. Good to contribute to something. So, thank you."

"Seems like Matthew's helped with that, too," Riley conceded.

"He has. That man has the patience of Job and a heart bigger than the ocean. He understands where I came from and seems to know exactly how to support me without taking over. Your daddy never had the patience for that, God love him."

_That_ was what Sharilyn had needed.

Liam instinctively understood that kind of support. He was strong enough to help, strong enough to stand back. And maybe it was exactly what Riley needed, too.

As if she knew where Riley's thoughts had turned, Sharilyn linked her arm through Riley's. "We Gower women seem to be doing pretty well for ourselves in the man department lately.

"You two seem good together."

"He's good for me. And I hope I'm good for him. But we're taking things slow." Sharilyn dimpled. "A novel concept for me."

"Slow is good."

"It can be. But there's nothing wrong with fast either. Not when it's right." She shot Riley a meaningful look.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mom. Liam and I are fine exactly as we are."

"If I were you, I'd grab on to that man with both hands and never let go."

"For once, Mom, I'm inclined to agree with you."

"He's got a very nice behind for grabbing."

"Mom!" Riley laughed.

"No harm in appreciating God's artwork, honey. Now come on I want to get some tiramisu."

# Chapter 20

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY I have to wear a blindfold." Riley started to reach up and remove it, but Liam stopped her.

"You have to wear a blindfold because it's a surprise."

"Nobody else is wearing a blindfold."

"It's not a surprise for _them._ Now come on." He took both her hands and led her through the doors into the newly renovated pharmacy.

Molly, Jessie, and Ruby followed them inside, trailed by Norah and Mitch, who'd joined the back of the group without Riley noticing. They'd all already seen it when the group convened late the night before to set all the displays and stock back up, so they kept silent as ordered. Riley had been kept out of the loop, under the impression that the floors needed a couple of days longer to cure than they really did.

Liam led her down the center aisle, to the front counter, then turned her to face the finished space. "Ready?"

"So ready."

Strangely nervous, he slid the bandanna off.

Other than a sharp intake of breath, Riley didn't make a sound. She scanned the completely stocked aisles, the reclaimed wood floors, the freshly painted walls with their new wainscoting, past the new shelving displaying her entire collection of antique pharmacy memorabilia, all the way up to the ceiling, which had not only been repaired, but had been covered in vintage tin. The whole place fit neatly in with Norah's historic restoration concept, the building having been dialed back as much as possible to the original early 20th century architecture from the Woolworth's it had once been.

"It's finished." Riley's voice was barely audible.

For a moment, Liam wondered if he and his mother had miscalculated, if Riley wanted to do that part herself. But she turned into his arms and buried her face against his chest, squeezing tight.

"It's beautiful." Her eyes were suspiciously glassy as she looked up.

Liam felt a trace of panic. "No crying." She'd done far too much of that this summer.

Riley laughed a little "They're happy tears." She rose to her toes and kissed him. "Thank you."

"Hey, I helped too," Mitch protested.

"Get your own woman, Campbell."

"I keep telling him he should do that," Norah said.

Mitch clapped a hand to his heart. "The good ones keep getting snapped up."

Riley kissed Mitch's cheek. "You will find someone when you're least expecting it. Autumn swears that's how this works."

Liam snorted. "Give her the least bit of encouragement and she'll start matchmaking you."

Riley arched a brow. "Oh, you mean unlike all the female members of _your_ family?"

He tucked an arm around her. "I'd have gotten here on my own eventually." Sensing his mother was about to speak, Liam pegged her with a look. "Not one word."

Molly pressed her lips together, but he could see the laughter in her eyes.

"Now come see the rest." He pulled Riley over to the wide, cased opening into what had been the storage room and turned on the light. The new displays lit—carousels, shelving, free-standing units that could be converted to shelves or hanging space, as needed. All were currently empty.

"You built my artisan marketplace!" She ran her hand along the smooth wood of a tall unit serving as a partial room divider. "Oh, it's wonderful! Where's my actual storeroom now?"

"Back here." Liam opened the double doors. "You've got stainless steel racks around the perimeter. It's a smaller space than you had before, but it's actually organized. With all the junk that was in here tossed, you don't actually need more than this. Which left plenty of room to maximize your consignment space out here."

"Do you think we can find enough people to use all this?" Riley asked.

"Already on it." Norah stepped forward. "I've put together a list of artisans who are interested in leasing booth space from you, along with a couple of example contracts for how the terms can be laid out. All you need do is pick your poison and call them, and you'll have the whole place full up by the open house. Oh, and the draft marketing plan is also in the folder."

Riley accepted the folder and stared at her. "You never just sit on things, do you?"

Norah grinned. "Now, where would be the fun in that?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Although, I should warn you, it's not entirely altruistic on my part. I've got this whole big Master Plan to highlight local artisans and bring more out-of-towners to Wishful for our rural tourism campaign. This is just a cog in that whole big machine."

Mitch wrapped an arm around Norah and covered her mouth. "Do _not_ let her get started on her Master Plan. We'll be here all night. She's secretly planning on taking over the world."

Norah tugged his hand away. "Shhh. It's not a secret if you _tell people._ "

"C'mon, General Burke." Mitch tugged her toward the door. "We're due at Grammy's for peach pie."

"I should be getting on, too," Jessie said. "There's a new episode of _Game of Thrones_ and a pint of Ben and Jerry's with my name on it."

Everyone made their excuses and headed for the door.

"See you at the open house!" Norah called. "Liam, I'll be in touch about the rest of my plans."

And then they were alone. Alone was good. They hadn't had much opportunity for that recently, and he hoped to sweet talk her into creative expression of her gratitude back at her place. But there were a few more things to show her here first.

Riley turned another circle. "I just can't get over how good it looks. All the little historic touches are wonderful! But how on earth did you get this done on the original budget?"

"Also part of Norah's Master Plan is the historic restoration of downtown. Mom's into that, too, so she upped the budget. That, combined with the insurance payout, made this more than possible. This was, essentially, my audition. Norah pitched me as the contractor for the job, and the City Council accepted."

"Liam, that's amazing!"

Her obvious pride in what he'd accomplished had something warm sliding through him.

"There are a few more things I want to show you. C'mon." He led her behind the counter. "I've added electronic locks to the doors. So if you're here at night by yourself and realize you've forgotten to lock the doors, you can do it from the computer here at the counter or back in the office, wherever you're working." He demonstrated and heard the _whine snick_ of the lock out front. "And you can unlock it from here, too. The security system has been updated, so it can be set not only to the typical away, but also to stay. If you're here by yourself after hours, you can set the alarm to stay, and it'll be armed, but the motion sensors inside will be off while you're working. If somebody messes with any of the doors or windows, the alarm will trigger and the call will go out automatically. That way if you can't get to the panic button for some reason, the alarm still sounds. And unlike the panic button, it's actually audible and _loud_ , so it would hopefully deter anyone from actually coming on inside."

"That's good. Although, I expect it'll be a long time before I actually stick around to use it." Her eyes flickered to the door of the office.

"Nothing wrong with that. But maybe this will help." He opened the door and tugged her inside.

Riley's mouth fell open. "Holy crap. You gutted it."

"Not completely, but close. You've got a built-in desk here and custom cabinetry throughout."

"Where did you move the safes?"

"I didn't. Just covered them up." Liam opened the cabinet doors masking both.

"It's beautiful. And had to be so much extra work on top of everything else you did."

Liam jerked a shoulder. He hadn't gotten more than nine hours of sleep over the past three days. Totally worth it. "I wanted to do whatever I could to keep it from reminding you of bad memories when you had to come in here."

She turned another slow circle. "I keep saying thank you but that doesn't seem like enough."

"Well, if you're looking for other ways to show your appreciation, I have a few ideas."

Her eyes took on a wicked gleam. "So do I." She shut the office door and turned to the computer terminal. A few mouse clicks and she'd relocked the front door of the pharmacy, setting the alarm as he'd showed her.

Liam arched a brow. "I'm thinking your ideas just got more interesting than mine."

"Well, it was a good notion to change what it looks like in here so that I don't have all the visual cues. But it seems like we should take it one step further and just replace those memories with new ones entirely." She stripped off her shirt and tossed it to the side, revealing a silky bra of midnight blue lace. "I'd much rather not want to walk in here because it gets me all hot and bothered thinking of you."

The shorts dropped next, and Liam's mouth went dry as he saw the matching panties.

"What do you say, Boy Scout?"

What kind of man would he be if he didn't answer such a call?

Sliding his hands around her generous hips, he bent his head. "I live to serve."

The pharmacy open house was in full swing. Displays were moved again, this time to make room for the band of pickers and fiddlers, who currently rocked out "The Battle of New Orleans" as patrons circulated. Tables of food and drink were set up near the front counter, heavily weighed down with fresh watermelon, pimento cheese sandwiches, sausage balls, pinwheels, and other classic Southern party food. Wearing a swingy, A-line sundress in a bold cherry print, Riley was enjoying every minute.

The place was hopping. Part of that was due strictly to word-of-mouth and part to the front page article run in this morning's newspaper. And part, her cynical side reminded her, was probably due to the free food. But the important thing was that people were here. Patrons she knew had moved over to Walgreens were back in her store. That didn't guarantee they'd be moving their business back, but it was a good start. And absolutely everyone loved the Artisan Market. Zach Warren was snapping photos to document the event, and Norah's intern, Cecily Dixon was chatting folks up, getting quotes for the town blog.

Ginny Honeycutt bounced up, a broad grin stretching across her cheeks. "Hi, Ms. Riley!"

"Hey there, sweetie. Where's your sister?"

Tara brought up the rear, balancing two paper plates. "We just wanted to thank you again for recommending that tea tree oil. It worked wonders."

The little girl beamed. "No more creepy feet!" And she bounced off again to join some friends.

Tara shook her head. "Someday we'll learn about appropriate things to say in public."

Riley laughed. "Honey, if you could hear some of the things people tell me in here. That was nothing. How's your booth doing?"

"Already half sold out of stock. I can't believe my jewelry's been so popular!"

Riley tapped at the earrings she wore and grinned. "I can."

"The market was a great idea."

"I'm just the idea woman. Liam's the one who made it happen."

"Well, thanks to you both. I'd best go keep track to make sure Austin doesn't eat you out of house and home."

As Tara headed off, the band transitioned into a waltz. Across the room, Howard Tolleson began to circle his wife, Winnie, his cane hooked on the crook of his arm, his wrinkled cheek pressed to the top of her cloud of snowy hair.

With a happy sigh, Autumn linked her arm through Riley's. "They are the cutest thing ever."

"True thing." The sight of them made her heart go gooey.

"I want that someday."

"Don't we all?" With a smile, Riley saw Matthew pull her mother into a dance, too.

"Well, these days, you're closer to it than I am. Where is your other half, anyway?"

"I don't know. Actually, now that I think about it, I haven't seen him in a while." Riley craned her neck, scanning the crowd for Liam. At his height, he was generally easy to spot, but she didn't see him anywhere. "I don't see Judd or Mitch either. Maybe somebody should go check upstairs to see if they snuck away for a six pack."

Autumn tugged at her elbow. "I don't think he snuck away for a six pack."

Riley followed her gaze to the front door, where Liam stood decked out in his dress blues. "Oh my."

Tall, straight, and gorgeously built, he commandeered the attention of everyone in the room as he made his way through, shaking hands, answering questions. And that smile...

Autumn tapped Riley's chin. "Pick your jaw up, honey, you're drooling."

"Well, my God, he's totally worth it." He looked even better than she remembered from the one time she'd actually seen him in dress blues.

"Can't argue that."

He finally reached them, grinning from ear to ear.

"To what do I owe the glorious eye candy?" Riley asked.

Liam removed his hat and sketched a bow. "You, my lady, made a request for sandy beaches and palm fans, complete with a heroic, movie-worthy exit. I'm here to deliver. So start saying your goodbyes. We've got a plane to catch in—" He checked his watch "—three hours, and we've got to get to Jackson."

Riley gaped at him. "You're serious?"

"As a heart attack. Seven full days of sun and tropical breezes."

Vacation lust hit her square in the chest, followed immediately by doubts. "But I can't go anywhere. We just got the pharmacy back open, and I'm not even packed."

"Mom's got the pharmacy, and sure you are. Autumn packed for you."

Riley turned to look at her friend.

"It's true. I did. I was all up in your closet, double-oh-seven style." Autumn mimed sneaking like a spy.

"When?"

"I have a key. It's not like it was _hard._ Liam's got the bag in his car."

"But how do I even know you got everything?"

"I have a list." Liam pulled a folded paper from a pocket.

Riley waved a hand. "Of course, you do."

"Boy Scout. Always prepared." He began to read down the list. "Bikini."

Autumn nodded. "Check."

"Shorts."

"For both beach and hiking, check."

Riley felt like she was watching a tennis match as her gaze bounced from one to the other during the exchange.

"Shirts."

"Check."

"Couple of dresses."

"Check."

"Underwear for a week."

Riley immediately sent Autumn a warning glare. She could just imagine what her friend had deemed the thing to pack on a tropical vacation with Liam. She wouldn't put it past her to see that Riley went commando the whole week. Or wore nothing but skimpy lingerie. With Autumn it could go either way.

Autumn didn't bother to hide her grin. "Check."

"Toiletries."

"Double check. I probably had a better list than you did for that."

"True thing. Passport."

"Check."

"You actually found my passport? _I_ didn't even remember where I put it."

"Took a while. I thought for sure you'd cop to the fact that your drawers had been rifled."

"Somebody made sure I didn't notice." It hadn't occurred to Riley that Liam had been trying to distract her on purpose.

He just winked at her, unrepentant, before turning back to the list.

"Shoes?"

"Tennies, two pair of sandals, and some really excellent heels. Check."

"Chargers for various devices."

"Check."

"Engagement ring."

Riley's head snapped toward Liam—

"No, that was for you to pack."

—then back to Autumn—

"Oh right."

—and back to Liam.

He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a box. "Check."

Riley couldn't breathe.

Liam started to slip the box back into his pocket, then shook his head. "On second thought, you should probably hang on to this, for a year or sixty. Gotta give the Tollesons a run for their money." He flipped it open, took out the diamond solitaire inside.

"Liam," she croaked.

"Not done yet. You're one of the strongest, most independent, most stubborn women I've ever had the privilege to know. I know you're not looking for somebody to come rescue you or expecting the fairy tale ending, and somewhere in there you stopped believing in those things. But I want to give them to you, on whatever terms you want. And if that means you want your own sword and horse, by damn, we'll make it happen. You told me months ago that I should build my own place, and you were absolutely right. But you can't build something without a good, solid foundation. You're mine. So—" He sank down to one knee "— how 'bout it, Riley Marie. Are you up for an adventure?"

Any minute now, her knees were going to buckle and she was just going to keel over in shock.

Autumn elbowed her. "Breathe."

Riley sucked in a breath. Her head was spinning like a top and her heart was about to pound right out of her chest. She reached out to frame his face. "The answer's been yes since I was fifteen."

Liam grinned. "And here I thought I was moving fast." He slid the ring on her finger and pulled her in for a long, slow kiss, while the room erupted in cheers and applause.

The band launched into a snappy rendition of "Here Comes The Bride" and the party _really_ got started as Riley and Liam were pulled away for a long string of hugs, kisses, and congratulations from everyone present. It made her delirious and dizzy, until her fiancé — _her fiancé!—_ pried her away from Babette Wofford, who already had ideas about the dress. "Okay, now seriously, we have a plane to catch."

"Just let me get my purse."

"Autumn will bring it."

"I can carry my own purse."

"This last part works better if you don't."

"What last part?" She burst into delighted laughter as he lifted her into his arms. " _An Officer and a Gentleman?_ "

"You did make a request."

Riley plucked the hat off his head and perched it on her own. "Think you can kiss me and walk out the door without running into it?"

"I'm a Marine. I can do anything."

And he proved it as he carried her across the threshold to start their own happily ever after.

Part III

# Be Careful, It's My Heart

## Wishful Romance, Book 2
_In memory of Daisy. You were a fighter and a joy and I miss you every day._

# Casting Call

"I REALLY APPRECIATE YOUR help with this, Tyler." Norah Burke passed over the caramel macchiato she'd brought as bribery. "It's so last minute, and I'm going to need all the hands I can get to pull it off."

"It's a whole month away," said Tyler, setting down the coffee and cutting open a box of new cabinet hardware. "We've got time."

"A month in city event planning language is, like, _tomorrow._ But it's so rare Halloween falls on a weekend, and I can't pass up the opportunity to do something."

Sipping the coffee and slipping the knobs and drawer pulls into bins, Tyler listened as her friend laid out the concept she'd developed for a new fall festival.

"It'll be an all-day event. A 5k run/walk in the morning to kick things off—I'll need to come up with some catchy name that will look good on T-shirts, and get sponsors." She made another note. "Then maybe a combination harvest and arts festival on the green. Something that'll bring out the local artisans and farmers. We'll get the businesses around the square to host trick or treating for the kids—which will make the parents happy since it'll be well lit and centralized."

"You should have a station set up for fall pictures," Tyler said. "Something with hay bales and pumpkins so the parents can plunk down their kiddos and get quick pictures. Zach Warren can set up a booth. You could call it Pumpkinpalooza."

"Oh, that's good!" Norah made more notes. "It'll appeal to everybody, even those super religious folks who have some conscientious objection to Halloween."

"I'll be getting in my stock of hay bales and pumpkins next week. I'll talk to Logan to make sure there's plenty fresh for that weekend." Tyler scribbled a reminder for herself as the bell above the door jangled and Lorna Van Buren walked in. "Afternoon, Mrs. Van Buren. Let me know if I can help you with anything."

The older woman waved and headed for the paint section.

"Now here's the part I'm really going to need help with," Norah said. "The old department store is empty. On the market, of course, but it's a huge space and nobody's biting yet. I got the owner to let us use the first floor to make a haunted house. We'll charge a cover to get in, and I'm planning to talk each of the main businesses in town into sponsoring a room, so to speak. Then we'll have the people vote for whichever room is scariest. They'll be responsible for their own costs and materials, but we'll still need to build something to divide up the space."

"The most economical way to do it would be to set up giant fabric partitions. It'd be pretty cheap to do it with PVC. You don't want to create anything permanent, unless you've got some future uses in mind."

"Good point. See, this is why I needed another brain to bounce ideas off of."

Mrs. Van Buren stepped up, several paint brushes in hand. "Oh, I love a good haunted house! Camilla Dixon at The Calico Cottage can order you the fabric. Something black, I'd think. And I bet the Quilting Queens would volunteer to sew them up."

"The Quilting Queens?" Norah asked.

"It's this big inter-church group of ladies who quilt. Nobody has room in their house to host that big a group, so they rotate through the fellowship halls of all the churches in town. They meet once a week and make quilts to donate to folks. You should talk to Nancy McAlpin. She's their current president."

"Come to think of it, they have a lot of PVC frames for their annual show. They might be willing to loan them out," Tyler said.

Norah grinned as she scribbled. "God, I love this town."

Lorna shifted her attention to Tyler. "I wanted to pick your brain. See I have this dresser I want to refinish. Hank already stripped it for me, and I've picked out the color stain I want, but I don't know what kind of brushes I need or what supplies I might be forgetting."

"Let me help you with that." Tyler rose and led her back to the paint supplies.

Ten minutes later she was ringing up Lorna's purchases.

The bell rang again as a brunette whirlwind bounced through the door, singing, "Dust off your dancing shoes, we have a mission."

Tyler barely spared her best friend a glance as she continued to bag up Lorna's varnish, stain, lint-free cloths, and new paint brushes. "Now remember, the natural bristle brushes are for oil-based paint only. These synthetic ones you bought can go for oil or water-based, but for the varnish you're going to use on that dresser, the natural bristles will give you a smoother finish."

The older woman grinned. "This is going to look so good! I'll be sure to take pictures."

"You do that. Be sure to tag us on Facebook!" Tyler called.

"I will!" Lorna waved and pushed her way out the front door of the shop with a jingle.

Piper hopped up on the counter and swung her legs. "Did you hear what I said?" she demanded.

With a bland stare, Tyler passed right by her and continued to stock the new selection of cabinet hardware. "I'm pretty sure you're the only one who remembers I ever _wore_ dancing shoes."

"Not the truth and so not the point," Piper insisted.

"And what _is_ the point? You know I don't dance anymore." _In public, anyway._

"You will for this. The Madrigal is in danger."

Tyler paused, a drawer pull in her hand as her heart twisted. The historic Madrigal Theater was an institution in downtown Wishful. It was a central feature of the best memories from her past. Though "past" was the operative term. "That's terrible! But what does it have to do with me?"

"They've agreed to let us make one last effort to raise the money to save it. To prove that it can be a sound investment. Nate is directing a production of _White Christmas_. And you're going to unearth your dancing shoes from whatever graveyard you left them in to audition for it with me."

"You used to dance?" asked Norah with interest.

"I haven't danced or sung since college."

Piper hopped down from the counter and pointed an accusatory finger. "You lie. You've sung and danced with me as recently as last month."

"What we do in the privacy of my living room under the influence of a pitcher of margaritas is between you and me and no one else. And wipe that considering smirk off your face, Norah."

"What smirk?"

"The one that says you're trying to figure out how you can use that in your next community development scheme." She shoved plastic wrapped hardware into the Plexiglas bins with more force than necessary.

"Oh, come on, Tyler," Piper said. "It's not like you've lost your chops. You'd be a shoe-in for Judy. And I would make the perfect Betty."

"Give me one good reason why I should come out of retirement," Tyler said.

"Let's just say, we're doing it for a pal in the Army."

Tyler fisted a hand on her hip and leveled a Look at Piper.

"What? It was appropriate," Piper said, unabashed. "We're doing it in the name of the good old days. Think of how many great memories we have of the Madrigal. Our first show. Our first lead roles. My first kiss, with Robert Hudson in _Meet Me In St. Louis._ Where you first fell in love with—" Piper cut herself off. "Okay, so maybe that one's not good to remind you about, but you can't hold his asshatishness against the Madrigal."

"Whose asshatishness?" Norah inquired.

"He who will not be named," Piper informed her, in a tone that suggested she'd be happy to name and tell Norah all at the first opportunity. As long as it was away from Tyler. Fine. It would save Tyler the trouble.

"I'm not holding anything against the Madrigal," she said. As soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew she'd have to put her dance shoes where her mouth was. She sighed. "When are auditions?"

"Tonight at six."

"Tonight! Piper, I've got to close. I've got nothing to wear here and no time to go home and get my shoes, not to mention I've got nothing prepared for an audition."

"So tell me where your shoes are and what you want, and I'll go by and pick everything up for you."

"I still don't have anything prepared."

"Oh _come on_. As if you can't sing every single number from the show in your sleep."

Given that the two of them had been having sing-a-long viewings of the movie for the last twenty years, this was not deniable.

"It's not the singing part that has me worried."

"Tyler," Piper drew out the plea to five syllables and folded her hands in prayer, complete with the puppy dog eyes that had, over the years, successfully convinced Tyler to go skydiving, be in a bachelorette auction for a hospital fundraiser, and add a set of very purple, very unfortunate highlights to her blonde hair.

Tyler scowled. "You don't fight fair."

"It's the _Madrigal,_ " Piper insisted.

"Fine. I'll be there, but I'll be a little late. We don't close until six."

"Fabulous! I'll meet you there with your shoes and your outfit. Where are they?"

Tyler sighed. "Top shelf of my closet, in the blue box."

Piper squealed in delight and wrapped Tyler in a rib-cracking hug. "I'll meet you there! Bye, Norah." Without another word, she whirled and bounced out the door.

Tyler stared after her, shaking her head.

"I need to get on too," Norah said. "I've got a meeting with Sandra in half an hour."

"Would that be a meeting with her as mayor or as your future mother-in-law for wedding planning?"

"Some of both. We've taken to planning at the office. When we do it at home, Cam starts looking like he wants to bolt. As if we actually expect him to have some opinion on napkins and invitation designs."

Tyler laughed. "As long as he's learned the valuable lesson of 'Yes dear,' he'll be fine."

Norah grinned. "Exactly."

"If you'll get me a number of how many businesses you expect to volunteer, I'll swing by the site later this week, take some measurements and figure out what you'll need to make the partitions if the Quilting Queens don't have frames you can use."

"I'll let you know as soon as I do. And don't forget, dress shopping this weekend!"

"I'll be there, if only to make sure you don't put me in robin's egg blue."

Norah waved and headed out.

Finished with the display, Tyler hauled the box to the dumpster out back. In the storeroom, she shot a wary look around before executing an experimental series of alsicones. _If only they could see me now,_ she thought. _Solid, dependable, Tyler Edison, pillar of the community. Only Piper could get me to do this again in public_.

It wasn't that she had stage fright. There was something glorious about being on stage, under the lights. Putting on someone else's life for a few hours a week during the run of a show. Singing music from bygone days and soaking in the adulation of the crowd. She used to live for it. She used to live for a lot of things. But the days since she felt like arbitrarily bursting into song and dance were long past, put away like childish things. Her life was a good one. And if she felt, from time to time, as if something was missing, it was fleeting.

Still, as the front bell jangled again, Tyler decided it couldn't hurt to take a walk down memory lane in the name of a good cause.

"We're on a schedule here, guys. Now, I'm not talking about cutting any kind of corners. Quality and safety come first, but I have it on good authority that, if we can pick up the pace and knock this out before Christmas, there's a bonus in it for all of you."

A pleased murmur ran through the crowd.

_There,_ thought Brody, _that got their attention._

Not that he hadn't _had_ their attention. But for the past two days, he'd been ignoring the curious looks, the low-voiced murmurs, the unasked questions lingering in the eyes of the locals who remembered him. He was eager to distract them. Those unasked questions weren't ones he wanted—or even knew _how_ —to answer.

"If you've got any questions or concerns," he continued, "or even better, suggestions for how to make this run smoother, I'm in this for the long haul until we're through."

Dismissing the crew back to their labors, Brody decided he could do with an early lunch. He'd missed breakfast, and the coffee he'd grabbed on the way to the job site had long since worn off. After work today, he really had to make time to go by the grocery and get actual food to stock the kitchen. His forty-eight hours in Wishful had been full of meetings and reports, familiarizing himself with the job, the crew, and all the variables that he needed to tweak to make sure this project was completed on time. It was a strange choice of location for one of Gerald Peyton's projects, but Brody wasn't in the habit of questioning his boss. Project management was what he did best, why Peyton sent him all over the country to pick up the reins on jobs that weren't meeting the company standard. The itinerant lifestyle suited his wanderlust, giving him a new skyline, new faces, new places every few months. It was downright irony that this time the job had brought him home.

And that just made him feel itchy. He'd made a great deal of effort to avoid Wishful, to cut all ties.

He told himself that the fact that he hadn't sold his parents' house wasn't a mark of any lingering attachment. After they'd died, it was easy to let the management company take care of things. The house was paid for, and the monthly income from rent had provided a tidy little boost to his bank account during those lean, first years. He hadn't needed that boost in quite some time, but he was a busy man, and there'd been no opportunity to deal with the house from long distance. He hadn't made an opportunity, he admitted. That the house had been empty for the last six months was convenient, really. He could save up some more money and, at the end of the job, he'd list it with a local Realtor, get the show on the road. The job would only last until the end of the year. Then he'd be off somewhere new for good this time.

He started to head for his truck, to drive out to the highway and the fast food chains that would get him in and out in a hurry, to avoid the million and one things sparking bittersweet memories of his old life here. Disliking the taste of cowardice, he shoved his keys in his pocket and cut across the town green to see what had changed in the last eight years.

The fountain in the center of the green had been dry as a bone when he'd left. Fed somehow or other from Hope Springs on the outskirts of town, the assumption was that the pipes had been damaged. They were near to a hundred and fifty years old, so that wasn't outside the realm of possibility. A trickle of water dribbled out of the stone nymph's flute, dripping steadily down into a shallow pool in the basin. It wasn't a flood, but it was something. Maybe they'd finally sussed out where the blockage was and started the repairs. Brody found himself oddly nostalgic as he took in the coins that winked beneath the water. Wishes. Hundreds of them cast into the water symbolizing hope itself. He'd thrown in his own the day he left town. Maybe the poor saps who'd bought into the legend since then had had better luck.

One hand jingled the change in his pocket. Tugging out a quarter, Brody rolled it along his knuckles, wondering if he should make a new wish.

_What would be the point?_ he thought. _It didn't do me any good the first time._

He slipped the quarter back into his pocket and strode off the other side of the green.

They'd upgraded Main Street. Brody approved of the stamped concrete now marching the three-block stretch of road in front of a newly refaced City Hall. Charm and function over the formerly crumbling brick that had been in residence when he'd left. Decorative wrought iron street lights provided elegant accents, boasting signs proclaiming Wishful to be _Where Hope Springs Eternal_. Interspersed between them were Bradford pear trees just getting tall enough to dapple the late morning sunlight on the sidewalk. Most of the businesses had been given face lifts. New awnings, shiny new signs, and fresh paint made each shop front stand out like an eager kid on the first day of school. Planters spilled over with bright-faced pansies and petunias. A few seasonally-minded souls had created autumnal displays with hay bales and scarecrows, despite the temperatures that hovered near eighty. September in Mississippi was, after all, still the tail end of summer. Whoever was heading up the community restoration project down here had great taste. The overall effect was charming.

Dinner Belles had a crisp coat of new white paint over the repointed bricks, but as soon as Brody stepped through the glass door to the jingle of a bell, he was back in the past. The black and white checkerboard tiles were worn, but they still shone with a mirrored gleam. The booths were green vinyl now instead of maroon, but they still marched along the outside walls in matching L's that flanked the front door. A smattering of Formica tables dotted the middle. A few of them were occupied—some old timers still camped out with their omnipresent cup of coffee, newspaper, and crossword, and a trio of middle-aged women with shopping bags tucked neatly around their feet. Everybody glanced up as he bypassed the central seating and headed straight for the wide counter in front of the kitchen, but none of them were familiar faces.

Though the lunch hour had barely started, the scents of grease and onions perfumed the air. The smell had Brody salivating as he slid onto a stool and grabbed a menu. The edges were worn and curling, exactly as they should be after generations of patrons' hands. He skimmed the list, idly wondering if the fried pickles would put him in a post lunch coma.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Brody looked up at the waitress who balanced a tray of dishes on her shoulder. She was looking at him with that expectant air that said she knew him. Scrambling to identify her, he said the only thing he could think of. "Hi."

"Let me just get these on out. I'll be right back to take your order and you can tell me everything you've been up to the last few years." She sashayed away to the shopping ladies.

Her hair was bleached an ashy blonde, with at least an inch of dark roots showing. Her face was angular, only a couple steps up from flat out gaunt, and Brody had the impression she'd been somehow winnowed down. Jeans hugged narrow, almost bony hips. A pack of cigarettes peeked out from her back pocket. Her long nails were painted a bright, bubble gum pink that nearly matched the V-necked shirt she wore.

And he didn't have the first clue who she was.

Maybe she had him confused for somebody else?

Tucking the now empty tray under her arm, she leaned against the counter beside him and laid a hand on his arm. "So tell me, Brody Jensen, where in the world have you been the last eight years?"

The gesture, the invasion of his personal space, solved the mystery.

"Well, Corinne, I've been working, like everybody else, I expect."

She laughed, as if he'd said something brilliantly witty. The scratchy, awkward bray put him in mind of a donkey with strep throat. That hadn't changed much. Neither had her shameless flirtation.

"Silly man, I want _details_." She drew the word out, as if inviting him to share a particularly juicy secret. Her gaze slid, none too subtly, to his left hand. At the lack of a ring, she eased in a little bit closer and his gut wound a little bit tighter with discomfort.

Brody reached to put the menu back, hoping to dislodge her hand. "It's nothing much interesting, I'm afraid." The hand didn't budge. Okay, yeah—lunch was definitely gonna be to go. "Listen, I'd love to stay and chat, but I really just popped in to grab a sandwich to go. Gotta get back to work. Think you could put it on back to the kitchen?"

"For you, cutie pie, anything. What'll it be?" Corinne whipped out a pen and order pad.

He refrained from sighing in relief as he got his arm back. Rather than the cheeseburger he really wanted, he wracked his brain for something that wouldn't have to be cooked. Sandwich. Cold. "How 'bout a turkey club with chips." His gaze skipped down the counter. A rack with the day's selection of pies took up one corner beside the old-fashioned cash register. Nobody, but nobody, did pie like Mama Pearl. "And a slice of coconut cream pie."

"Comin' right up."

As she circled around to the other side of the counter, Brody eased out a breath. He was nearly thirty. Her behavior should _not_ make him just as uncomfortable now as it had in high school. But fact was, Corinne didn't understand about boundaries or didn't respect them, anyway. She'd never been able to accept he just wasn't interested, and in the years through college, that he wasn't available. More often than not, she'd embarrassed them both with her outrageous attempts to get his attention.

As Corinne leaned comfortably on the counter in front of him, angled deliberately to give him a chance to ogle her cleavage, the kitchen door swung open and the Goddess of Pie herself ambled out. "You finish on up here and get on the road," said Mama Pearl. "You gots a long drive to get that youngin' of yours from his daddy."

Well that just wiped the flirtatious smile off Corinne's face. She straightened. "I've got another forty-five minutes left on my shift."

Mama Pearl's placid face didn't shift a bit at her display of conscientiousness. "Won't hurt you none to scoot out a little early. We'll clock you out at your regular time. Nasty storm's comin' in from across the river. You leave a little bit early so you can beat it back. Safer that way."

Corinne started to say something else, but Mama Pearl just rolled right over her. "You go on back, have some lunch before you go. You's too skinny." She pounded a hand on the pass-through. "Omar! You see this girl gets some meat on her."

Outflanked, Corinne stepped back and shot Brody a flirtatious smile. "Looks like I'm out. But you come on back now, you hear? We need to catch up good and proper."

Brody said nothing, just lifted his hand in a half wave as Corinne stepped through the kitchen door. Then he let out a sigh of relief.

_Bullet dodged._

Mama Pearl began to wipe the already clean counter in front of him with swift, efficient strokes that telegraphed her irritation. Her fathomless dark eyes pegged him on the stool, made him feel like a kid called to the principal's office. Brody fought the urge to hunch his shoulders.

"Took you long enough," she said at length.

"I'm sorry?"

"You got unfinished business here. 'Bout time you took care of it."

"Order up!" The short order cook slapped a bell and slid the takeout box through the window.

Mama Pearl took her time bagging it, fixing Brody's drink, ringing him up. The better to let him stew in the juices of her disapproval. It might have been stupid to be bothered by that, but he was. As she passed over the bag, Brody wondered how many other folks were going to offer up their opinion about his long absence.

With no particular destination in mind, he started walking again, figuring there'd be a sidewalk bench where he could scarf down his sandwich. He turned off Main Street, noting the swanky new facade and the attractive patio seating they'd added to The Daily Grind, and made his way down Broad Street, toward his old stomping grounds. The restoration project hadn't made it quite this far. The buildings were less well-kept, dingier with age and use. This was the street that came to him in dreams on the rare occasions he thought of home.

_Home._

It gave him pause to realize he still thought of Wishful as home, but he'd spent the first two decades and change of his life here, after all. Shoved by a gust of autumn wind, he found himself propelled in front of the Madrigal Theater. It was here Brody was struck by nostalgia for the old and familiar. How many hours, how many nights had he spent here in his youth? He ran his gaze over the building, drinking it in like the sight of a long ago love.

The theater was less majestic than he remembered, huddling now with sedate and faded grandeur. He could see the deep red carpet of the lobby through the front doors, worn in tracks where decades of audiences had trooped through to find their seats. The interior doors into the theater itself were closed and the windows were coated with a film of grime. Stepping back, he surveyed the exterior, noting the ticket window and the poster cases displaying shows of bygone days. _The Music Man. Carousel. South Pacific. Oklahoma!_ He'd played Curly in that. And it had been the show that changed everything.

He wondered how many of the old crowd were still here, still acting.

Well, if he were honest with himself, he really only wondered about one member of the old crowd, something he hadn't permitted himself to do in years. It was normal, natural that he'd wonder about her. All his memories of this place were inextricably bound up with Tyler. His perfect leading lady. The one who hadn't wanted to be his lady off stage in the end.

Brody shut down that avenue of thought in a hurry.

What had happened with Tyler was ancient history. He was a grown man. He'd moved on and made a damn good life for himself. And if that life wasn't quite what he'd imagined, well, he was grateful for the continual string of adventures and surprises he'd gotten instead.

Brody shifted his attention up to the marquee, wondering what play was in the works.

_Irving Berlin's White Christmas. Auditions Sept. 18, 6 PM._

His mother had loved that movie and all the other musicals of that era. It had been her influence, and that of Danny Kaye, Fred Astaire, and Gene Kelly that had gotten him interested in dancing. Brody hummed a few bars of "The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing" and did a quick step ball change, shuffle, and slide. It felt great. God, if his crew could see him now. Not that he'd ever been one to let a little friendly ribbing keep him from the stage. His itinerant lifestyle had done that for him for years. But he still felt the pull of the lights. The crowds. The music.

Brody did the math. Auditions tonight. Casting next week. The show would open in early December and run for two or three weeks. He'd be in town that long with the hotel job. He'd audition, he decided. See if he still had it in him to slip into somebody else's skin. And maybe, just maybe, it would make him feel comfortable in his own again.

# Auditions

TYLER SLIPPED THROUGH THE front doors of the Madrigal and into the relative hush of the lobby. Through the closed doors of the auditorium, she could hear a muted and incredibly off-key version of "Blue Skies". If the guy could dance, she knew Nate would keep him on, put him in the chorus. Men without two left feet were definitely rarer than singers.

She took her time crossing the plush red carpet, waiting for echoes of the heartache that had chased her out of here years before. But she felt only the fluttering excitement in her belly that always preceded an audition. Smiling, she opened the auditorium doors and slipped inside as Mr. "Blue Skies" __ was exiting stage left.

"Next!" shouted the director. A balding man, somewhere north of fifty, with dark, square-rimmed glasses and the physique of a man ten or fifteen years his junior, Nate Sheffield was set up in the middle section of seats, about five rows back from the stage. He'd been directing musical productions at the Madrigal for well over two decades. He was as much a fixture of the theater as the lights and backdrops.

For a moment Tyler just stood there, closing her eyes and remembering.

It even smelled the same. Like velvet and lemon oil.

Then a familiar voice spoke up from the stage. "I'm Tucker McGee, and I'll be auditioning for the role of Phil."

"What're you singing, Tucker?"

"'Happy Holidays'."

Tyler found herself beaming as someone started the music and Tucker launched into his number, blond hair gleaming beneath the lights like some kind of Hollywood prince. He still had it, she noted—the same happy feet that had helped him charm his way through the ranks of high school girls and made certain he was never without a date to dances. Yeah, she could play opposite him again.

Not wanting to interrupt, she quietly made her way to the front of the theater and headed for the door to back stage. It was like crossing into another world, entering this secret space behind the magic of the show. Climbing the steps with silent feet, she found Piper waiting for her, small duffel bag in hand. "I have us on the list for a double audition. 'Sisters.' We can do that routine in our sleep."

"Do they have fans?" Tyler asked, taking the bag.

"More or less. Stage right. Hurry up and change. We're only a few more slots down the list."

"Good. I need to get through pretty quickly. I've got to pick up Ollie at seven, before Dad's poker game."

Tyler hit the dressing rooms, slipping out of her work clothes and into the leotard and skirt Piper had packed for her. There was no telling where she'd dug that up. It still fit, though. She paused, a hair clip in hand, and studied herself in the bright lights of the mirror. For a moment she saw roses, smelled the scents of makeup and warm curling irons, as a much younger, more idealistic version of herself waited to go on stage for the performance she never dreamed would be her last.

She shrugged off the memory, twisting her hair up off her neck and clipping it into place. No one had made that her last performance but her. And it was time to get over it and get back on that horse. As someone else was finishing up an audition with the "Blessings" number, she slipped on her dance shoes and felt like she'd come home. Singing a series of scales, she began to stretch and limber up.

Piper stuck her head through the dressing room door. "We're on."

Tyler took the offered fan—a blue poster board concoction that had obviously been thrown together in a hurry with duct tape and no small amount imagination—and followed her friend out onto the familiar stage. The floorboards were worn, scuffed by years of feet, marred by residue from tape that indicated places from past performances. Without a backdrop, the stage opened all the way to the black back curtain. The space seemed cavernous. The lights were up, so she couldn't actually see more than the vaguest outline of Nate in his seat.

"Tyler Edison. Well, it's about damn time you came back. Good to see you."

She lifted her hand in a wave.

"I guess I don't have to ask which number you two are doing," he said. "Go on then."

Tyler raised the fan in front of her face and mirrored Piper's position, grinning at her as the music began to play. There was no set, no costumes, no props other than the fans in their hands, but she didn't need any of that to slip into the role of Judy Haynes. She fell into harmony with Piper as if it had been a day, not years, since they'd performed together at something other than karaoke. They played off each other, grinning, glaring, sparking with all the subtle and not so subtle cues that fed the audience and told the story.

God, she'd missed this! Her body felt electrified, alive, fueled by the music.

They finished the routine and danced off stage left to a smattering of applause from those still congregated to see the rest of auditions.

Piper held up a hand for a high five. "Nailed it."

Tyler slapped her hand, followed up with a hip bump. "We've still got it."

_She was still here._

Brody stared at the empty spot on the stage, where Tyler had just flounced off. He'd convinced himself that she'd be long gone, as he had. That there was nothing left for her here. It was how he'd been able to accept the hotel job without so much as blinking.

But there she was, exactly where she should be. It was a sucker punch to the gut. _God_. After all these years, she still left him breathless.

Someone slid into the seat next to him. "Well, if it isn't the ghost of performances past."

Mind reeling, Brody didn't immediately process the voice. He turned his head, stared at the face with the curiously blank expression. Then his brain kicked into gear. The face was older—weren't they all?—and a bit craggier than he remembered.

"Tucker." Brody wanted to smile, but he wasn't sure of his reception. Tyler hadn't been the only one he'd left behind.

"What're you doing here?" There was no accusation in Tucker's tone, just mild interest. It was as good as a shout. The quieter Tucker got, the more pissed he was. And Brody was forced to admit he had a right to be pissed.

"Thought I'd audition," he said, though he knew Tucker hadn't meant here in the theater. "I'm in town for a job for a few months. Thought it'd be good to get back on stage."

Slowly, Tucker nodded. "Your timing's pretty good. We need the big guns to save the Madrigal."

"Save it?"

"It's fallen on pretty hard times, what with the economy being like it is. Old Mr. Stanton died earlier this year and his kids dug into the books. Turns out the place is on the verge of foreclosure. This show is our last ditch effort to try and raise the money to get a reprieve. We could use some of the old magic to pack 'em in."

Spying Tyler leaning over to say something to Nate, Brody sank lower in his chair and called himself a coward. "I'm pretty sure the magic's dead."

"Is that why you left?" For all his moves, Tucker wouldn't dance around the truth.

"No. But it's why she stayed. And why I had to stay away."

Tucker arched an eyebrow. He glanced up front. "Does she know you're back?"

There was no sense in pretending he didn't know who Tucker was talking about. "Does it matter?" said Brody. "Ancient history. We both moved on." Of course she'd moved on. A woman like that wouldn't waste time and wait around. Somebody else would've coaxed her to the altar long before now.

"You with somebody?" Tucker asked pointedly.

"No." As if it mattered.

"Neither is she."

Brody tried to ignore how his heart began to pound at that news. "What are you saying, Tuck?"

"I'm not saying anything. Just stating some facts." Information delivered, Tucker sat back. "Should be a good show. With you here, all the old gang's come out of the woodwork."

"Think it'll be enough?"

"Don't know. But if anybody can pull this off, it's Norah."

"Norah?"

"Cam's fiancée."

"Campbell Crawford is getting married?" Brody tried to wrap his brain around that idea.

At this Tucker grinned. "Yep. Not a local girl, but you'd never know it. Landed here last year, stuck like glue. She's the one behind the rehab downtown. Heading up this whole campaign toward rural tourism. She's really jazzed everybody up for revitalizing the town."

Which meant she was probably somehow behind the hotel. It made a lot more sense now why his boss had chosen this site. He'd gotten on a kick with urban redevelopment the last few years. Perhaps he'd decided on more of a small town angle. It would suit Peyton's give-back attitude.

It was odd to think of Wishful as anything other than dying, as it slowly had been over the last several decades. Brody found he liked the idea of new growth, of projects aimed at restoring his hometown to its former glory days. Even if those glory days had burnt out years before he'd been born.

"Hey Twinkle Toes McGee, get up here for a reading!" Nate shouted.

"I'm up." Tucker started to rise.

"Tucker." Now Brody's lips did curve into a smile as he uncurled the hand clenching the armrest, offered it. "It's really good to see you, man."

After a moment's hesitation, his old friend took it, pulling him in for a back-thumping hug. "Welcome home, boy-o."

And just like that, things slid into place, his old best friend accepting his presence without further question. With him, at least, Brody's return wouldn't be complicated. That would ease his transition back into the community somewhat. As Tucker climbed out of his seat and headed for the stage where Tyler waited, a script in hand, Brody wished his other relationships could be repaired so easily. Then he cursed himself as an idiot.

She'd made her answer crystal clear eight years ago. At best, he was chasing after a memory of what used to be. Which made him nothing more than the romantic fool who'd thought she'd follow him to the ends of the earth. He'd learned better. He couldn't allow himself to be ruled by nostalgia for the next few months. No, he'd audition, help save the theater as his good deed. And finally get some closure so when he left at the end of the year, he could finally move on with his life.

# 9 Weeks 'Til Show

TYLER FELT A TWINGE of instinctive annoyance at the sight of Corinne Dawson stepping into the shop, then immediately chastised herself. This wasn't high school, or even college. They were grown women. The crap from years past didn't matter anymore. So she had a friendly smile pasted on as Corinne crossed to the counter, her little boy in tow.

"Hey there, Corinne." Tyler shifted the smile to her son. "Hi, Kurt."

Kurt pressed his face against his mother's leg, but Tyler could just see the edges of a shy smile.

Corinne glanced around the empty store. "Slow day?"

Tyler tried to tell herself that wasn't some kind of criticism or gloat. "We get a lull this time of day. Was there something I could help you with?"

"Well, I hope so. See, I've been on Pinterest."

Tyler laughed. "Famous last words. I think I have about a thousand projects pinned that I'll never get to." _See, easy. Friendly. Common ground. This isn't so bad._ "What in particular caught your eye?"

Kurt began to tug at Corinne's pants leg as she dug around in her purse. "Not right now, baby."

"I bet you like trucks," Tyler said.

Kurt looked up at her. Big brown eyes dominated his thin face. He nodded solemnly.

"I've got a few trucks over here if you'd like to play with them. If it's okay with your mom." She glanced at Corinne, who looked startled for a moment before giving a go ahead wave.

Tyler retrieved the old wooden toys from the office and set Kurt up on the rug by the consult area. Despite his earlier bashfulness, he dove into the trucks with gusto, making engine and crashing noises. She grinned, "He's totally adorable, Corinne."

"All his daddy's charm, none of his bad temper," Corinne agreed.

Not for the first time, Tyler wondered if Corinne's ex-husband had abused her. She felt a stirring of sympathy. No matter how hateful Corinne had been when she was younger, nobody deserved that.

"So there's this little hanging herb garden thing they made outta Mason jars," Corinne began. "I've got the board to mount them on, but I need these clamp things."

"Oh I've seen that one. Cool project. Great when you have limited space by a window." Tyler asked a few more questions and helped her pick out the necessary clamps, along with a small tin of chalkboard paint to make space for labels on each jar. Conscious that errands with a small child could often turn hellish in a second, Tyler was quick about ringing her up. "It's a little late in the year to start herbs from seeds, but I know for a fact Cecil Pryor has an enormous herb garden and loves sharing."

"I'll remember that." Corinne glanced at the door for the fifth or sixth time since she came in. "Listen, Tyler, there's something I think you ought to know."

"Oh?"

"I mean, maybe you already know, but in case you didn't, I didn't think it right you be taken unawares."

_Where's she going with this?_ Tyler waited, eyebrows raised.

"Brody came in to the cafe yesterday."

The words struck Tyler like a blow.

"You didn't know." Corinne twisted the strap of her purse. "I thought maybe he'd come back to see you."

She actually looked...distressed? Or maybe that was just Tyler filtering through her own upset.

"Nate's posted the cast list!" sang Piper as she bounced through the door with a jingle. "Tucker just called. How close are you to lunch?"

"I—"

"Tyler? Honey, what's wrong?" Piper skirted around the counter.

At the touch of her hand, Tyler felt her knees wobble. Determined, she locked them and firmed her mouth. "It's nothing important."

Piper turned, saw Corinne. Defensive temper leapt in her eyes. "What did you do?"

Tyler curled her hand around Piper's arm and squeezed in warning before she could pop off. "Thanks for coming in, Corinne. I hope your herb garden project turns out well."

With another look of what might have been sympathy, Corinne called to her son. "Come on, Kurt. Time to go."

Seeing the child, Piper held her tongue until the pair of them left. As soon as the door shut, she said, "What did that vindictive bitch say to you?"

"Wasn't her," Tyler managed. Too overwhelmed to get into Corinne's apparent change of heart, she simply folded, sinking to the floor behind the counter. It was good that the store was empty just now, good that no one but Piper was here to see her carefully constructed control crumble to dust. The ache bloomed in her chest, pressing, twisting until she could hardly breathe.

Piper knelt down, took her hands and waited.

_I will not cry. I will not. Damn it, I won't shed another tear over him._ Tyler dug deep, reaching for the stubborn pride that had gotten her through the first brutal years.

"Brody's back." If her voice shook on that pronouncement, at least she wasn't sobbing.

Piper plopped down on the floor and pulled her into a tight hug. "Have you seen him?"

"No." Because he hadn't come back for her.

"Then maybe she's lying."

"Why would she? Why now, unless he really is here? He's the reason she's always hated me."

"Then you'll deal. You've been dealing just fine the last eight years."

"Well, the last six anyway. I don't think either of us is under any illusions that I was fine at the beginning."

As the back door opened, Tyler brushed at her face, though there were no tears to erase. "That'll be Morgan. Let me just take a minute, then we'll go meet Tucker."

It helped to slide back into normal, to give Morgan details about what orders had come in, who needed to be notified. As Tyler slipped into the back to retrieve her purse, she imagined building a wall around herself again. Nothing about this could touch her. Which was an absolute lie. But once upon a time, she'd been a damned fine actress. She could play this role.

"It's going to be so nice to have you back on stage," said Piper, linking her arm through Tyler's.

"You're making the assumption I actually got cast."

"Oh, don't be silly. Of course you got cast. What's with the doom and gloom? Are you regretting auditioning?"

"No. Not really. It's just a little bit bittersweet."

Piper was wise enough not to mention Brody.

"I spent all those years not performing, and this might be the last show."

"Have faith, dear one! The Madrigal will prevail! We will pull this off. You'll see."

That was Piper. The eternal optimist.

They rounded the corner onto Broad Street and saw Tucker waiting for them up the next block in front of the theater. He was bouncing impatiently on his feet, back to the doors. As soon as he caught sight of them, he made big waving circles of his arms, urging them to hurry up. Though she really wanted to go slow, to prepare herself, Tyler gave in to Piper's urging and sped up her pace. Then they were there, in front of the doors. In her periphery, Tyler could see the printed page taped to the inside of the glass.

"Have you looked?" Piper demanded.

"I was a good boy," Tucker informed her.

"Okay then," she said, taking his hand and Tyler's. "Together. On three. One. Two. Three."

As one, they turned and marched to the door, crowding shoulder to shoulder to read the tiny print.

Bob Wallace would be played by Myles Stuart. Nobody Tyler knew.

There, second from the top, _Phil Davis-Tucker McGee._

Next line down, _Betty Haynes-Piper Parish._

And after that...

_Judy Haynes-Tyler Edison._

Tucker and Piper whooped. Tyler felt something in her unclench. She'd gotten the part. All those years off hadn't actually ruined her abilities. Relieved, excited, she scanned the rest of the cast list, noting familiar names from shows gone by, and a few new ones, too. And then she ran across a name that shouldn't have been there at all.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Her voice sounded hard and brittle to her own ears.

Piper and Tucker stopped dancing around behind her and came to peer back at the list. "What?" asked Piper.

"Phil's understudy," Tyler bit out.

As soon as Piper hissed a breath, Tyler knew she hadn't misread it.

_Phil Davis Understudy-Brody Jensen._

"This isn't funny," she said. "What the hell is Nate pulling?"

"It's not meant to be funny," said Tucker. "He showed up for auditions."

"How? I was there, Tucker. I didn't see him."

"You left early," he said, shrugging.

_Goddamn it, he's going to ruin this for me too._ It took everything in her not to rock back and lean against the doors for support.

"And you didn't think it wise to maybe mention it?" Tyler glared at him.

"I didn't want to upset you," said Tucker gently. And she hated it. Hated that he saw the need to be gentle about this. Hated that there _was_ a need to be gentle.

Piper put an arm around her. "Too late for that. Corinne came in the shop to drop the bomb that he was back. It would've been better coming from you."

"Shit."

Tyler closed her eyes and waited for the world to settle again. This wasn't okay. This was so far beyond not okay. How _dare_ he show up now, after all these years. How dare he audition for the show as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't disappeared without a word, without a trace, without a freaking _goodbye._

She steeled her spine. It didn't matter. _He_ didn't matter.

"It's fine," she said. "It's fine." If she said it enough, it would become true. "The theater is what matters here. The show. I'm not going to let a little bit of history ruin the Madrigal's chances." Now that she knew he was back, she wouldn't be surprised when she saw him again. She could play it cool, show that she'd moved on. Because, damn it, she _had_ moved on. And she was going to use the next three months to prove it, starting with maintaining their post-casting ritual.

Tyler squared her shoulders. "Let's go get those milkshakes."

Brody was not uncomfortable on stage. He'd made his debut as Oliver when he was eight and never looked back. He enjoyed the lights, the music, the applause. And never once had he balked because of stage fright.

But on the first night of rehearsals for _White Christmas_ , his stomach flopped around like a beached tuna. _Stupid,_ he told himself. _Foolish._ Yet none of the tension eased as he slipped in through the familiar lobby doors and made his way into the auditorium. The rest of the cast was congregating at the front, beside the orchestra pit. They were laughing, joking. A few folks were singing. And there was Tyler up on stage, already running through some choreography with Tucker.

Unlike the night of auditions, the auditorium was well lit, so when she came out of her spin facing the back, she saw him and went utterly motionless, the smile on her face fading. Tucker followed her gaze. Dimly, Brody was aware of him nodding a greeting, but he didn't return it. He was too busy trying to get his breath back. He felt the punch of her gaze all the way at the back of the room, his feet seeming to root to the spot as he stared back at her. She wasn't surprised to see him. She'd have read the cast list and known he was coming. Her usually expressive face was carefully blank, giving him no clues as to what she was thinking or feeling. And that was as alien and unfamiliar as his own nerves.

A loud pop of floorboards interrupted the silence as a couple dozen eyes kept shifting from her to him, waiting for someone to break the stalemate.

Nate did the honors, giving a ching-a-ring on the piano to get everyone's attention. "Gather around everybody. We have a project list and a schedule to go over before we get started."

Tyler's attention shifted to the director, and suddenly Brody could move again. So he did, making his way down the aisle and into the congregated actors and musicians. He shook some hands, whispered quiet thank yous to the various people who welcomed him back. But even as Nate spoke, discussing who was on set building, when the work days would be, when the external rehearsals for the orchestra were scheduled, and other miscellany associated with the start of a show, Brody found his attention pulled unerringly to Tyler.

She didn't look at him. By all evidence, she was focused on Nate, on the show. But he had a feeling that she was aware of him, that she knew his position in the crowd if for no other reason than to avoid looking at him. He took the opportunity to look his fill at her, cataloging the changes, the differences.

Her honey blonde hair was scraped back into a prim ballerina's bun, but slippery strands were already escaping to frame her face, to soften the long line of her neck. That hair would feel like silk. The memory of it sliding through his fingers made his hands clench. Her face was a little bit sharper now, more serious, but no less appealing. Where her face had sharpened, her body had softened. Not in an unhealthy way. She was still every bit as trim and fit as she'd been in college. But her hips were a little fuller, her curves more gently rounded, and well displayed by the form-fitting yoga pants and t-shirt she wore. Which wouldn't have been her intention. She'd want comfort and ease of motion.

"...choreographer will be here on Friday, so the name of the game this week is to learn all your music and start learning your lines. The schedule is in your script packets." Nate picked one up, waved it. "Now, if any of you are familiar with the actual stage production of _White Christmas The Musical_ , you will know that it bears little resemblance to the movie we all know and love. I chose this show based on nostalgia. _White Christmas_ is my favorite Christmas movie, and it's incredibly well-known. People hear we're putting on a production, _that's_ the story they expect to see. So I contacted the Irving Berlin estate and requested permission to make my own adaptation of the movie script. Given we are a town of less than five thousand, they don't have a lot of fear this will become a raging success, so they actually said yes. That said, it's a one shot deal. We get one three week run of the show, and that's that. Permanently retired after that. But at least we'll be adhering as faithfully as possible to the actual plot and script of the movie, with minor changes to facilitate our set limitations. So come and get 'em and let's get started."

_Well that'll make lines that much easier to learn_ , thought Brody. _White Christmas_ had been an annual tradition with his mother.

Brody got in line with the others, taking advantage of the general milling and conversation to wend his way forward, closer to Tyler. He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing. Testing himself, or maybe her.

"Hey, Tyler."

She stood very straight, very still, not budging when the line in front of her moved.

Brody circled around her, offered a smile.

Those clear gray eyes were icy, distant. "Brody." Her tone was flat—not accusatory, but not welcoming, either. In a woman he'd once believed embodied warmth and generosity, it felt like a slap. He wasn't sure what he should've expected, but it wasn't this.

"You look good," he said.

She made a noncommittal noise and edged forward, hand outstretched to take her script packet from Barbara Monahan, the pianist. Barbara offered him a raised eyebrow and mouthed _Good luck_ as he took his packet. He flashed her an appreciative look and followed Tyler.

"It's good to see you," he said, and it was, despite the awkwardness and the questions that hung between them. He'd missed her. He hadn't truly realized how much until seeing her again.

But she didn't say the same, and that was a puzzle. It'd been her decision to stay, after all.

There was a wound between them. Brody could feel it pulsing like a bruise. He wondered if they had it out now, as they hadn't eight years ago, would the wound bleed free and clean, purging them both of whatever pain they'd been carrying around? It hadn't been a messy breakup. Not because they hadn't loved. It had simply been that they wanted different things. Her silence had made that clear enough. And maybe that was worse than a messy breakup.

Tucker and Piper, heads together, shot him a sympathetic look. Brody wasn't sure if that meant they were on his side or were pitying his stupidity. Not that he was even sure what his side was. He wanted closure, he supposed. The resolution he hadn't gotten all those years before. And that meant Tyler was going to have to talk to him. Sooner or later.

# 8 Weeks 'Til Show

"I REALLY APPRECIATE YOU helping us out with materials." Nate slid the top sheet of plywood from the stack.

Tyler hefted the other end and helped him carry it into the workshop behind the theater. "Being the boss has a few benefits. Among them, the ability to apply my employee discount perhaps a bit more liberally than is appropriate." Business at the hardware store had been good this year with all the face lifts and upgrades folks were giving to their storefronts and homes. She could afford to take the hit of giving the show building materials almost at cost. It was for a good cause, after all.

Her eyes automatically flicked toward Brody as his laugh rolled out, rich and rollicking. He and Tucker danced around, mock boxing, egging each other on with insults delivered in every accent from Cockney to Russian as they headed back out for the next sheet. Irritation prickled. He'd slipped back in so damned easily with everyone—horsing around, joking, diving in as if it had been eight days instead of eight years since he'd seen them last. As if he hadn't abandoned _them_ too.

He'd continued to make friendly overtures to her, which good manners dictated she didn't continually rebuff.

_Yeah, right._

It was good manners, taking the high road, and not that some part of her was so pitifully happy to see him again, she didn't care what the circumstances were. If she kept telling herself that, it would be true. So far her fake it 'til you make it strategy had been an epic failure. Because Brody hadn't changed, not in any of the ways she'd expected. He was, for all intents and purposes, exactly as he'd been when she'd fallen in love with him years ago. And that made him damned hard to resist.

Not that he was making _romantic_ overtures. And not that it mattered if he had because he'd be leaving again as soon as the show and his job were finished. She'd heard that much through the grapevine.

It would only be two and a half months. She could be the bigger person and tolerate the confusion and longing of this semi-uncomfortable distance for that long. As the understudy, she wouldn't be kissing _him._ Thank God.

"Tucker!" Piper's scream echoed from the loading dock.

Tyler raced outside, Nate hot on her heels.

On the ground beside her truck, Tucker was curled in a ball, arms wrapped protectively around his leg, swearing a blue streak.

Piper was crouched beside him. "Let me see." Her voice was no-nonsense, the trained nurse replacing her usual playful attitude.

"It hurts. Christ, it hurts."

"What happened?" Nate demanded.

"We were just fooling around," Tucker groaned. "Doing spin kicks off the back of the truck."

"You _are_ aware you aren't twenty-one anymore?" Tyler ran a hand down his rigid back.

"Brody can still do it," he muttered.

Tyler fixed him with an accusatory stare. _This is all your fault_ , she thought.

He held his hands up in a _What could I do?_ gesture.

"It's broken," Piper announced. "I can feel the bump in the bone."

"It can't be broken. I have to dance." Tucker tried to stand, using Brody and Piper to lever himself up. But as soon as he tried putting weight on it, the leg buckled and he howled.

"Get him in my back seat," Piper said. "I'll take him to the emergency room."

"I don't wanna go to the ER."

"Then you shouldn't have broken your leg on a Saturday," she said practically.

Tucker looked miserably at Nate. "Sorry. I would never have tried it if I didn't think I could pull it off."

Nate scrubbed both hands over his red and gray beard as if he could wipe away the disappointment. "It's all right. You just get yourself taken care of. This is why we have understudies."

Understudies.

Tyler's blood went cold as she reluctantly lifted her eyes to Brody. Her new leading man.

_Crap._

They locked gazes for one long, humming beat. Then he was turning away, helping lever Tucker into Piper's car. Tyler reached up and rubbed at the sudden ache in her chest.

Things were about to get up close and personal in a big way. It was one thing to keep Brody on the periphery as just another cast member. It was quite another to be playing opposite him, running lines, working on choreography. Kissing.

"Let's get this truck unloaded," Nate called.

The rest of the cast members, who'd been hanging around the loading dock watching the drama unfold, sprang into motion again.

Tyler still didn't move. _I can't do this_ , she thought. _I can't go back here. Not even for the Madrigal._

Then Nate turned to her. "Thank God it happened early so we're not having to pull a substitution right before opening night."

_Now's the time to back out._ _Just bow out gracefully and let Charlotte step in. The understudies can take over._

Except then everyone would know she was a coward. Afraid to get back on stage with the man she'd once made magic with. Letting her personal issues get in the way of the mission at hand. Failing everyone.

Tyler stiffened her spine. She could do this. She _would_ do this.

In the wake of Piper's brake lights, Brody crossed to the loading dock. If he'd seemed smug or pleased somehow to be put in this position, Tyler would've felt compelled to kick him or, at the very least, give him a sound lashing with her tongue. But he looked contrite, worried over his friend.

"I've never seen him miss the landing before."

"A lot's changed in the last eight years," she said. "Tucker's not quite as spry as he used to be."

They both knew that wasn't what she was thinking.

"Truck's empty," Nate said. "Let's get to rehearsal."

Brody gestured toward the stairs, a sweeping, courteous motion. "After you, Miss Haynes."

Tyler swept past him, doing her best to categorize him only as Phil Davis, comedic half of Wallace and Davis. But no matter how many roles she'd seen him play, Tyler only ever saw Brody.

"Okay, let's see where you are, Brody," Nate called. "'The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing', from the top."

Tyler lifted a finger for them to wait and put her head together with Mitch Campbell over some plans for their inn backdrop. Brody knew the architect from way back. He was Cam's cousin, and a few years older than Brody, Tucker, and Cam. Mitch had volunteered to head up set construction for the show, which meant wrangling all the untrained help.

_More power to him_. He didn't envy the man that job. He did envy the easy smile Tyler shot Mitch before clapping him on the back and moving to take up her position on stage. She'd smiled at him like that once upon a time.

She didn't smile now as he crossed the stage. Her face was set in a carefully neutral expression. Fine. He could be every bit as professional as she could. Brody reached for her, curving one hand around her waist, the other taking her free hand. They fit. They'd always fit.

Somebody queued up the music. Tyler glanced down as if checking the position of their feet, which was ridiculous, since she knew exactly where her feet were in the pitch black dark. The faint trace of color high in her cheeks gave her away. So she wasn't as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. Brody could see the thrum of her pulse at the base of her throat, felt the answering echo of his own as she lifted her head again, focusing on his eyes.

She was stiff at first, resisting his lead. They stumbled a few times. He missed several steps. Then she did. And then the song was over, and she was frowning, knowing they botched the number.

"Okay, try it again, and this time, Tyler, remember you aren't doing an impression of a fence post. Loosen up," Nate ordered.

She took a moment, closed her eyes as if to center herself, then nodded. With a roll of her neck, she shook out all her limbs. Brody felt the difference in her posture as soon as she took position again. The music swelled, and they locked eyes. On cue, they began to move, and at last, at long last, he felt like he was home. Everyone and everything faded except the music and the woman in his arms.

He led, spun, dipped, and by the time she broke away into a quick shuffle tap, her eyes were sparking with fun and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. Brody found himself grinning, improvising in response, as he couldn't remember this section of choreography to save his soul. He watched her, starting to follow her lead, mimicking, mirroring as they came back together and whirled around the stage. And at last they ended, Tyler in a deep dip over his knee, her face flushed and smiling, her chest heaving.

"Excellent!" Nate clapped. "You're remembering how to move together."

Something hot and dark flashed in Tyler's eyes. Brody tugged her up, into his arms, and held her a moment too long, letting the awareness, the heat sink in. No, he hadn't forgotten what it was to move with her—on stage or in the dark. Neither had she.

Her breathing faltered and she tugged away like he'd shocked her. She looked flustered and wary, which she'd never been at any point in their courtship. It was kind of adorable. Brody was wise enough to repress a smile.

Eight years had done nothing to dim the chemistry between them. She clearly hadn't expected that and didn't know what to do with it, so the default response was retreat. But before her brain had kicked back in, she'd been smiling, having fun, just like they used to. He could work with that.

He took a moment, absorbing the fact that he _wanted_ to work with that. He wanted to pursue this, pursue her. Again. He'd think about the wisdom of that later, when he wasn't in close enough proximity that the scent of her fogged his brain.

As one half of the Haynes sisters was missing, Nate made adjustments to the rehearsal schedule, putting the focus on Brody and Tyler, while other cast members and volunteers provided an ongoing backdrop of power tools and paint fumes. Tyler kept fumbling over her lines, having to pull out the script.

"You and your stupid eidetic memory," she muttered, glaring at him.

"I can help you run lines outside rehearsals," Brody offered. "You always did better away from all the distractions."

"No." The word snapped out, sharper than she'd intended, judging by the flags of color that rose on her cheeks.

"Afraid to be alone with me, Tyler?" he teased.

"Of course not," she said. But she wouldn't meet his eyes.

The chorus of "Defying Gravity" __ from _Wicked_ rang out.

"Your ass is ringing," he said.

That earned him another glare as she whipped the phone out of her back pocket and glanced at the screen. "It's Piper." Pacing a few steps away she answered. "How is he?" The expression of desperate hope on her face fell almost immediately. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Tell him I'll bring by some soup or a casserole or something. And to behave himself!" She hung up and addressed Nate. "It's definitely broken. He's in a cast for the next eight weeks."

"Looks like you're stuck with me," said Brody. It annoyed him that he felt as if he should apologize for that. He had just as much right to be here as she did.

"You'll make it work," said Nate, and it was as much faith as a direct order, judging by the look he shot them. "Now get back to places. Let's take it from the top."

# 7 Weeks 'Til Show

"—JOLENE HELPS HIM USE that GPS app to track Mariah's phone, and she's down by the trail to the springs. So Larry goes out there, and what do you think she was doing out there in _broad day_ at _high noon_?"

Tyler's eyes were peeled appropriately wide with anticipation as she continued to bag up her customer's purchase. "What?"

"Charlie Kingston! In a _car!_ Can you imagine? Larry caught them _in flagrante_. I had it from Betsy Newman down at the police station that they nearly came to blows. Charlie's almost twice her age and _balding_. I just can't imagine what she thought she was doing."

Brody felt his lips twitch as he stepped up to the counter. "I expect she didn't realize discretion went the way of the dodo with the invention of smartphones."

"Why Brody Jensen, as I live and breathe. You come right over here and give me some sugar."

"Hi, Mrs. Landen," he said, leaning in to accept an exuberant squeeze from the woman who'd been his mother's partner in Bridge and Bitch for twenty years. He bussed her cheek. "You look wonderful. Great hair."

Mamie Landen beamed and patted the puffed up side ponytail of her improbably red hair. "Why thank you, darlin'. I'm embracing my inner Priscilla Presley today."

"Will that be cash or charge, Mrs. Landen?" Tyler asked.

Mamie dug in her voluminous handbag and produced a credit card. "So what brings you back to town? We haven't seen hide nor hair of you since your parents passed. God rest them. I know it must've been so hard for you to stay after the accident." She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. She was the only one who'd cut him any slack for that. God love her.

"Thank you," Brody squeezed back, not missing the carefully blank look on Tyler's face as she continued to ring up the sale.

"Have you been out to see them yet?"

That right there. That was why he'd gone, why he'd sat and talked to a damned rock. So people would know he'd paid his respects as they expected. "A couple weeks ago." He hadn't been able to make himself go back again. He hadn't seen the need; his parents weren't there.

"I hope you found the site well-tended. Tyler makes sure to take fresh flowers every time she goes."

Distress and embarrassment flickered over Tyler's face before settling into resignation.

"The dahlias," Brody murmured, thinking of the bright pink blooms he'd found neatly arranged by the headstone. "They were you?"

She jerked one shoulder, staring at the receipt printing out rather than meeting his eyes. "I take them flowers when I go see Mom."

Every other week since her mother died of breast cancer back in high school, she took flowers to the gravesite. She found comfort and closeness there as he had not at his own parents' graves. But the idea of her showing that same dedication and devotion to them all this time made Brody's throat tighten. "That's really kind of you."

"You weren't the only one who lost them," she said softly.

No, he wasn't. Maybe he hadn't remembered that so much at the time. Tyler had been his rock, taking care of the details and picking up the shattered pieces of him after the accident. She was still taking care, even after all these years. Because they'd mattered to her. Because she knew the value of remembering.

Mamie stepped cheerfully into the awkward silence. "So you're here on the super secret project downtown. What's all that about?"

Brody struggled to pull himself back, to play the game social niceties dictated. "I'm surprised someone as well informed as you doesn't already know."

Her famous dimples flashed. "Well you _know_ I was hoping for an inside scoop."

"No can do, Mrs. L. I am bound to secrecy." Brody softened the refusal with a smile he hoped came off as charming.

Undeterred, she turned back to Tyler and took the pen to sign her receipt. "Maybe you can weasel it out of him. Always could get this boy to do anything."

"Oh, he's better at keeping secrets than you might think. Thanks for stopping in today. And if you have any trouble with that pumpkin carving kit, you let me know. I also put in a handout with some websites that have patterns you can print off for free. It'd be a good project for y'all to do with the grandkids."

Brody recognized the redirect and noted Tyler's face fall out of the corner of his eye as Mamie stayed right where she was.

"I hear you two are headlining in _White Christmas_."

Brody nodded. "Alongside Piper Parish and Myles Stuart."

"It'll be so good to see the pair of you on stage again. Why, as soon as I heard, my Harold pulled out the DVD of that performance of _Oklahoma_ so I could watch it again. Pure magic." Mamie clasped her hand over her heart and heaved a romantic sigh. "I can't wait to hear you sing again."

"Well you don't have to wait until December. Come by Speakeasy tonight, and you'll get your chance."

"Beg pardon?" Tyler asked.

"They're having a karaoke fundraiser for the theater. Nate canceled rehearsal for the night so the whole cast and a bunch of other past community theater performers can be there. People can pay to have any of us sing anything they want."

"Oh, what a marvelous idea! I'll be sure to be there. And I'll spread the word!"

She would, and it would be more effective than taking out an ad in the local paper, a highway billboard, and a TV commercial combined. With a cheerful wave, Mamie took her bag and left the shop.

"Why didn't anybody tell me about this?" Tyler's voice was just a shade too cool for polite.

"I'm telling you now. It was a last minute thing. Tucker's idea. He's taking the whole transition to Assistant Director a mite serious. You wanna ream somebody, ream him."

"I'm not gonna ream the injured guy."

"Then I guess you're singing. Assuming anybody picks you."

Her flat stare said volumes.

"Okay, yeah, of course they'll pick you. And me. And probably the pair of us. We can get over our crap and do this for a good cause."

"We're doing it for a pal in the Army," she muttered.

"Exactly," he grinned, leaning companionably against the counter.

"Sweetie, where do you want me to put this invoice for the—"

At the sound of the new voice, Brody straightened as if somebody had rammed a cattle prod up his ass. If he'd thought Tyler's look was chilly, the expression on her father's face was positively glacial.

"Jensen."

"Mr. Edison. Sir. Hello."

They stared at each other. Well. Mr. Edison glared and Brody looked back. The alternative was to haul ass with his tail between his legs and his pride wouldn't allow that. But what the hell did you say to a man, when the last time you saw him, you asked permission to marry his daughter? The same daughter who didn't want to marry you and was standing across the counter?

"Hey Dad," Tyler said—a little too cheerfully, Brody thought. "I didn't know you were back. Where's Ollie?"

_Who's Ollie?_ he wondered.

Without shifting his gaze from Brody's, Sam Edison answered, "In the office having a snack. I'll take him home in a bit, but I wanted to drop off the progress report from the neurologist and a copy of the bill. Which is paid, by the way."

"Dad," Tyler chastised, "you don't need to do that."

"I'll do it if I want to, and you'll let me."

"Well, thank you." She moved out from the counter and pecked her father's cheek. Looking back, she asked, "Brody, did you need anything else?"

"No. Just delivering the message. So you'll be there?"

"I'll be there."

He lifted his hand in a wave, gave a curt nod to her father, and headed for the door as Tyler walked into the back office. As he pushed open the door, he saw her crouch down, saw the toys in the floor.

"Hey baby. Did you and Grandpa have a good day today?"

Brody nearly did a face plant as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Tyler had a kid?

"Are you sure you should be on your feet this much?" Tyler eyed Tucker as he crutched his way down Front Street toward Speakeasy Pizza.

"It's good practice on the crutches. Besides, another seven weeks and I'll be good as new. Doc said."

"Well, good. Then I only have to wait that long to kill you."

"Now why would you wanna go and do that?"

"Don't you dare play innocent, Tucker McGee. You knew exactly what you were doing when you set up this whole karaoke fundraiser."

"Bet your ass. The Madrigal's golden couple are both in town, both performing for the first time in years. I saw an opportunity, and I'm sure as hell exploiting it to raise bucks for the cause. Your names get butts in seats. That's the price of local fame, sugar, and I won't apologize for it. You've gotten over your shit with each other in rehearsal, you can do it for this."

Tyler scowled. That was true. Mostly. But a whole night of singing alongside Brody, where she knew with absolute certainty that some of the crowd would have them singing the love songs from the shows they were so known for, brought up feelings she didn't know how to deal with. Since she didn't have anywhere else to direct her ire, Tucker was a convenient target. "You waited 'til the last minute to have somebody tell me because you knew I wouldn't want to play. Sending Brody as your messenger really wasn't the smartest move you ever made."

Tucker paused on the sidewalk outside the pizzeria and sent her a smug smile. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Yes, damn you, I am. The one high point to all of this is that your Last Minute Man planning will keep it small scale." Tyler tugged open the door to Speakeasy and got blasted by a roar of sound.

"You were saying?" Tucker grinned and crutched through the door, past the hostess station, where Rachel Neely was taking the cover charge, and into the crowd.

_Dear God, it's standing room only_ , Tyler thought, dazed as she followed him inside. A cheer went up at the sight of her. She shook hands, uttered greetings, and accepted enthusiastic high fives and fist bumps to the tune of applause. _Where did they all come from?_

Tucker made it to the stage first. Somebody gave him a mic. Evidently he was to be emcee for this shindig. "Hey there, everybody! Who's ready for some music?"

More cheers and claps. The rest of the cast, and a handful of other folks she'd acted with in the past, took up the tables in a semi-circle immediately by the little stage.

Tucker gestured to a marker board mounted on an easel beside the stage. "So here's how this is gonna work. We've got our performers listed in tiers. The more you love 'em, the more it'll cost to have them sing for you. The bottom tier will cost you five bucks per song per person. The top is pricier. Twenty bucks per song, per person. You want a duet, you get to pick who sings it and pay for the pair. Group stuff, same deal. We encourage you to pool your funds and remember that this is for a good cause, so don't be shy! You can pick anything in the book over here. We'll start off with a freebie to kick off the night. This one's for everybody." Tucker waved them all to the stage.

It was positively highway robbery. But as the group of them squished together on the stage, people lined up, cash and checkbooks in hand. At least half a dozen folks stuffed money in Tucker's jar as they kicked things off with a rousing rendition of "Any Way You Want It."

Brody flopped into a chair beside Tyler as Piper—one of the top tier singers—got drafted for "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend." "He should be a snake oil salesman."

"Clearly," she agreed. "I can't believe people are paying money for this. And I can't believe how many people are _here._ "

"Might could've done with a change of venue. Ah, but the theater doesn't have pizza," he said, offering a smile to the waitress arriving with a tray.

"Large supreme, no mushrooms, due to the lady's allergy. You want another beer, Brody?"

He tipped his half-full bottle at the waitress. "Good on this, but maybe a couple pitchers of water with lemon. We're all gonna need them." The waitress left and Brody reached for a slice. "Dig in. No telling how long we'll be down before they call us again."

Tyler didn't move.

"What? Aren't you hungry?"

"You already ordered?"

"I knew you'd be getting off work later than most of the rest of us. Figured I'd have something pretty much ready when you got here so you could scarf between songs. Would you rather have something else?" He started to lift his hand to signal the waitress.

"No, no, this is fine. Thanks." He remembered her preference for pizza. He'd been _considerate._ _Points to him,_ she thought, grabbing a piece.

Tyler got called up right after Piper for her first solo of the night on "Maybe This Time" from _Cabaret._ Somebody figured out how to operate the lights on the tiny stage and spotlit her for it. That made it easier, more like a real performance. The crowd kept them steadily busy with numbers from _Grease_ , _Les Miserables,_ and a handful of tunes from the early seasons of _Glee,_ interspersed with Patsy Cline, Garth Brooks, and Carrie Underwood _._ She sang "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" with Mitch, who'd been reluctantly drafted to the chorus for the show when Nate discovered he could move his feet. She made Ethel Merman proud as she dueled with Brody on "Anything You Can Do." And it wasn't weird. That made it easier to bring her A game and give the people what they wanted—and they wanted a lot. Tucker was making an effort to rotate through the singers, giving her and Brody a short break between numbers because, as he'd predicted, despite the price, they were the most popular choices.

She guzzled a glass of the lemon water, had another slice of pizza as her toes tapped to Tucker's rendition of "L-O-V-E."

"So what's the deal with Ollie?" Brody asked.

Tyler glanced at him. "What's what deal with Ollie?"

"Your dad said something about a neurologist?"

"Oh, that. About four months ago he had a—well the medical term is long and hard to pronounce, but basically a spinal stroke. It led to unilateral paralysis in his left side, so he's having to go through physical therapy and learn how to walk again."

"Jesus. That's horrible." He laid a hand over hers. "I'm really sorry you've had to go through that. Both of you. It must be really tough." The sincere concern on his face gave her pause.

"It hasn't been easy, but we're managing. His prognosis is good. The neurologist thinks he'll make an almost full recovery. But it'll be PT for several more months."

Tucker ended his number and signaled that she was up again. Tyler finished inhaling her slice and tossed back more water to wash it down.

"How old is he?"

"Seven," she said absently, heading for the stage.

As the opening bars of "It's All Coming Back To Me Now" began to play, she looked out at the audience and arched a brow. "Really?" Somebody cheered from the back of the room. Tyler just shook her head and offered up a little wave as she launched into the song. _Okay, fine. They want 1990s melodrama, I'll give it to them._ She hammed it up, wringing every ounce of parodied emotion out of the piece. She glanced at Brody, expecting to see him grinning in approval. But instead, his face was white, and he looked like he'd been sucker punched. What was that about?

When she finished, he met her at the edge of the stage to take the mic. Under the cover of applause, he said, "This is for you."

He was acting weird. The music started, and he fixed his gaze on her as he began to sing "I'll Stand By You."

Brody was a born performer. He had charisma dripping out his pores. But absolutely nothing paralleled his performances when he put the truth of himself into the music. It was that sincerity that _everyone_ saw as he serenaded her from the stage. It was a song of promises. What business did he have singing this to her when he'd broken his so long ago?

Tyler felt her face flush and had to fight not to squirm in her seat.

The crowd went wild when he finished, a full-on standing ovation. Eyes still on her, he stepped off the stage, passing the mic off to Myles. Before the opening bars to the next song began, Tyler was out of her seat, jerking her head toward the fire exit and the alley.

As the door slapped shut behind him, Tyler turned on him. "Okay, what the hell was that? We've been singing together all night, and it wasn't weird. But you totally just made it weird."

Brody took her hands. "I mean it. Every word. I want to help."

Baffled, Tyler could only stare at him. "With what?"

"Ollie's medical bills for starters. Being a single parent is no joke, and even with your dad to help, it's got to be overwhelming. I'll do anything you need. Babysitting. Child support. I'd have been helping all this time, if only I'd known. Jesus, how could you not tell me, Tyler?"

He was so absolutely _earnest_. Tyler was pretty sure she'd been zapped to the _Twilight Zone._ Then what he'd said began to filter through her muddled brain, and she couldn't help it. She started to laugh.

"I hardly think this is a laughing matter." His stern expression only made her laugh harder at the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

"Brody, Ollie is my dog."

"Your...dog," he repeated. "But I heard you talking, at the shop earlier, saw the toys, and I thought..." He trailed off.

She made an effort to button down the giggles. "You thought he was my son. That he was _our_ son."

"I...yeah."

The expression on his face sobered her right on up. The idea of it was so staggering, a dream of a future with him that she'd put away years ago.

Did he actually look crestfallen at the news that they _didn't_ have a child together he didn't know about?

"Brody, honey, did you honestly think it was possible that I could've had a child, _your_ child, and somehow you wouldn't have known about it? That I would have kept such a thing from you, if it were true?"

He released her to scrub both hands over his face. "Okay, yeah, when you put it that way, it does sound ridiculous. But I just...from what you said it sounded like you were talking to a child. And then he was seven. And..."

"You leapt to some really impressive conclusions." And with those conclusions, he'd immediately sought to do what he'd perceived as the right thing. She'd have to think about that later. "Why didn't you just ask outright? If not me, then Tucker or Piper. They could've told you otherwise."

"I figured if they hadn't told me, it was for a reason. Same with you. I... I'm sorry for making things weird. God, you must think I'm an idiot."

Tyler had thought him many things since his return. But this made her think he was sweet and a hell of a lot more adult than he'd been at twenty-one. Because she found she liked that about him, and because he looked really damned embarrassed now, she decided to cut him some slack. "Doesn't have to be weird if we don't let it be. Come on, I'm sure there's a list another mile long of requests waiting for us."

The door to Speakeasy closed behind them, abruptly cutting off the sound of voices and laughter, momentarily locking them into a cocoon of silence in the cold night. After the last several hours, it was glorious.

He'd opened the floodgates with his performance to Tyler. As soon as they stepped back inside, they got slammed with romantic duet requests. Anything and everything from their past roles, to jazz, to Garth Brooks and Tricia Yearwood. Various other members of the cast trickled out as the night wore on, but the crowd didn't thin. Not until Tucker had declared them off the roster—a good thing, as they were rapidly losing their voices—did the requests finally slow down. Over the course of the night, they'd fallen back into their rhythm. As he stood beside her, belting the final bars of "Come What May" from _Moulin Rouge,_ he could almost let himself believe that they could find their way back to who they'd been together. God, he wanted to believe that.

Tyler paused and took a bracing breath, looking up at the clear sky.

"Where are you parked?" Brody asked.

"Back at the store."

Which was several blocks away. This was Wishful. She'd probably be fine that distance, but Brody had spent too much time in cities and was too much of a southern gentleman to let her walk it alone. "It's late. Let me walk you back to your truck." It was another small victory when she acquiesced without argument.

They fell into step, moving down the empty sidewalk in a silence that managed to be comfortable rather than awkward. That was a surprise, considering his earlier misconceptions about Ollie. Tyler had been amused and oddly understanding about the whole thing. He wondered if she was imagining, as he had been, that alternate reality where they made a family.

Shaking free of the image, he asked, "So you're working for your dad?"

Tyler shook her head. "He's retired. Not his idea, but he had a heart attack a few years back and doc said he had to slow down. I'm the boss these days. Since he _is_ retired, he's been keeping Ollie for me while I'm working."

Running the family business wasn't what he'd expected of her. "Do you like it?"

She hummed a non-committal note. "I like working for myself. The nation-wide obsession with HGTV and home improvement means business has been pretty good, which hasn't been the case for a lot of mom and pop stores, so we're grateful for that. An Edison has run the shop for five generations. I couldn't be the one to change that."

Family ties. They ran deep for her. It was something he both admired and hated. Admired because of who that made her. Hated because he knew now that had been part of why she'd stayed rather than coming to him. But he wouldn't bring that up.

She jumped into the silence. "What about you? You're not working directly as a contractor anymore. Moved up the ranks, I take it."

"I'm a project manager," he said. "The one who juggles the contractors, engineers, and architects to make sure they all play nice and the project gets done on time and within budget."

"I guess the same memory skills you use for learning your lines come in handy for keeping up with that kind of detail."

"Doesn't hurt," he agreed. "You want to see the job site? It's just up that way." He gestured to the next block.

Her eyes sparkled. "Inside tour? Heck yeah. Everybody's buzzing about what they're putting in. Those in the know have been all hush hush."

"Gerald—my boss—had everybody who knows the particulars sign a non-disclosure agreement."

"Why?"

"For buzz. Not knowing makes people curious. Crazy curious. They can't stand a mystery."

"This is Wishful. There'd be buzz no matter what. You know that."

"Sure, but isn't a surprise more fun?"

Tyler tipped her head in acknowledgment of the point and waited while he pulled out his keys.

"I'm really quite impressed that the rumor mill hasn't sussed it out by now," he said. "I wouldn't have thought non-disclosure agreements would keep people from at least telling their spouses, who'd tell their friends—in confidence of course—who'd tell their friends, and so on."

"Oh, there's a pool on what it really is. I'm thought to have an inside track since the bulk of the materials have been purchased through us."

Brody pressed a hand to the small of her back and nudged her into the darkened building. "And what do you think it is?"

"Well, he's dropped a small fortune on high end bathroom fixtures, so my money is on hotel. There are also rumors about a spa. And a conference center. And Sally Forester said she gave him a tour of some other downtown property last week."

Brody switched on the flashlight app on his phone, holding it high.

"No electricity yet?" she asked.

"There is, but I'm not really supposed to be bringing you in here, so I don't wanna draw attention. C'mon." He grabbed her hand, tugged her along. "Watch your step."

Tyler dug her phone out, added its light to the cause as they walked. "So which is it? Or are you going to keep me in the dark despite this tantalizing preview?"

Brody paused and held out his pinky. "Do you solemnly swear not to reveal that which I tell to you tonight?"

"You're invoking the pinky swear?"

"Damn straight."

Grinning, she linked her finger with his. "I do so swear. Now spill it."

"Well, there are elements of truth to all of it. Hotel, spa, _and_ conference facilities. Small ones anyway. He's wanting to provide some competition for the Alluvian." Located in Greenwood, right at the edge of the Mississippi Delta, the Alluvian was a high-end boutique hotel attached to a spa and the Viking Cooking School.

Tyler's eyes lit with interest. " _Really?_ That _is_ interesting. That kind of place will be a great draw for Wishful."

"Exactly. High end exec retreats. Bachelor and bachelorette parties. Romantic getaways," he said. "He's calling it the Babylon."

"Babylon, huh? Is that going to include hanging gardens?"

"Now you're getting the idea. On the roof. It'll be our own Wonder of the South when we're through. C'mon." He grabbed her hand again and pulled her through the ground floor of the space. "Dining room through there with a view opening up to the green and the fountain. Bar here. You can see they've already hung the pendant lights. Just waiting for the globes."

Tyler peeked under the protective contractor paper at the expanse of dark, glossy mahogany that made up the top of the bar. "Yeah, they've ordered some really fabulous swanky globes that, all together, amount to two months of mortgage payments. Should be in next week sometime."

"Front desk will be off to this side here. It's not been built yet, but you can see where it's roughed in." He tugged her up the wide expanse of the stairs. "Under all the paper, these are Cocobolo rosewood. Polished and gorgeous. And he's got a metalwork artist on tap designing the banisters out of wrought iron. Then up here we've got two floors of rooms, all named after Mississippi blues musicians."

"That's a nice touch. Let me guess, the swankiest of the swank is the B.B. King Suite?"

"You know it." Brody pulled her through the door, started gesturing. "A bed the size of an ocean liner will go there. A little sitting room there. Desk by the window. And through here is a tub you could swim laps in."

The tub itself had already been installed, as had the multi-head, glassed-in shower. It was this that Tyler made a beeline for, slipping through the glass door to turn a circle on the travertine tile. "God, I've had fantasies about this shower set up."

Brody was having one now, his brain more than happy to peel off all her clothes and turn on the water, until all that golden hair was plastered to her head and her curves were tantalizingly softened by billowing steam, such that he had to explore with his hands, his mouth...

She was looking at him, her eyes full of awareness in the dim light.

_I could kiss her,_ he thought. _Just step in and back her up against the tiles._

And then what? She wasn't just an itch to be scratched, no matter what kind of chemistry still flared between them. He was leaving in a matter of weeks.

He cleared his throat and shifted, squashing the fantasy that years hadn't passed and they weren't two different people now. "It's getting late. I should get you to your car."

Tyler said nothing on their way downstairs. The silence between them felt heavy with unsaid things. It stretched and grew as they made their way from the job site to the parking lot behind Edison Hardware and her truck. He waited quietly while she dug out the keys, opened the door and tossed in her purse.

"G'night then," he said.

"Good night," she said.

He started to turn away.

"Brody."

He shifted back to look at her, his heart beginning to thump.

But she said only, "Thanks for the tour," then slid into the truck and slammed the door between them.

# 6 Weeks 'Til Show

TYLER WAS NERVOUS.

SHE was never nervous.

But tonight... Tonight was the rehearsal of the cast party engagement scene. Tonight she'd kiss Brody. Kissing Tucker wouldn't have been a big deal. Like kissing her brother. Just exactly the kind of 1950s TV peck the role called for. She wouldn't _feel_ anything kissing Tucker.

But Brody... There was too much history, too much _chemistry_ between them. She'd seen it in his face that night at the hotel. Yet he hadn't acted on it. And part of her had been grateful for the fact that he hadn't pushed the issue and made her confront this.

Now, however, she'd have to confront it head on. With an audience. Awesome.

It would be fine. She would be fine. It was just a scene in a play. She was just a character. She popped a breath mint and stepped into the auditorium.

As if she were equipped with some kind of Brody-centric GPS system, her gaze zeroed in on him standing to the side of the orchestra pit, chatting with the strings section. Her heart leapt at the sight of him and her palms began to sweat.

_I am so, so screwed._

"Our Judy has arrived, so let's get to this," Nate called.

"Showtime," Tyler muttered.

She dropped her bag into one of the front row seats and headed up the steps to her place on stage for the cast party scene. It began easily enough. There were lines to remember, dance moves, and lyrics. And then Piper-Betty went off in a snit and Myles-Bob stared after her in flustered confusion. It was time.

Tyler delivered her line invoking the announcement of the phony engagement, thinking, _Is this_ really _absolutely necessary?_

Brody played his role, turning to their pianist and requesting his attention grabber. It was hard to remember that this was a part as he turned and called everyone's attention to them. Nerves skittered along Tyler's spine as all eyes turned to them. These were the same looks that had been following them for the last month since Brody walked back into Wishful and into her life. They all wanted to know how this was going to go down.

_I am a professional_ , she told herself for the millionth time.

He announced the engagement. They hugged. Tyler was actually glad of Brody's arm around her because she wasn't quite sure she could stand steadily just now. Her smile felt brittle as congratulations and hugs were given. Piper-Betty squeezed her hard between delivering her lines. Tyler appreciated the support and wished she could make a swift exit stage-anywhere. As she turned to Brody, Piper seemed a little fiercer and more serious than necessary as she played the protective big sister, then made her exit to help Emma with champagne.

Tyler didn't hear the next lines. Not until their General Waverly piped up, "Well don't just stand there. Aren't you going to kiss the bride?"

And then Brody looked at her. "Oh! Yes, sir."

He swept in, dropped a quick, chaste peck, exactly as he was supposed to. But he didn't pull off the goofy, cheerful smile as he looked down at her, eyes going dark.

"Yes, sir," he said again—only this time, it was more of a growl.

All the air was promptly sucked out of the room. Brody framed her face, blocking her view of the others and ensuring her focus was only on him. As if she could possibly think of anyone else. One thumb brushed along the arch of her cheekbone in a caress that made her knees liquefy. His mouth settled over hers, warm and sure and desperately, deliciously familiar. Tyler didn't give a damn about the part, the performance. It took everything she had to hold herself still and non-reactive, waiting for him to finish.

But Brody didn't finish. He used his mouth to strip away every layer of her defenses with a brutal gentleness that left her wrecked and aching. Everything and everyone faded away except for him. He devastated her. Sliding right back into the chasm he'd left in her heart like a key into a lock. On a helpless, needy sound, she surrendered, damning herself and him as she ran her hands up his chest, into his hair and held on, as if sheer force of will would change the truth and hold him here as it hadn't before.

Cheers and wolf whistles broke out. She could feel Brody's lips curve, tasted his half-laugh before he eased back, and wanted to weep. With every inch, reality intruded. All these years, all the effort to put him out of her mind, out of her heart—undone with one kiss. Defenseless, she stared at Brody, waiting for her system to level. But her heart continued to pound, her stomach twisting into slippery knots. Something hot and hard lodged behind her breastbone, and she couldn't quite breathe past it.

_What have I done?_

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered.

The tears spilled over, hot and fast. Mortified, Tyler shoved away from him, stumbling back. "I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"Tyler—"

She had vague impressions of shock, concern.

_Out, out. I have to get out._

Piper stepped toward her, but Tyler spun away, desperate to escape. "I can't do this," she repeated. And she ran.

_Shit!_

Brody's head spun, his world-class balance shaken. He'd gone well beyond what was called for by the part. Not on purpose, but at his first taste, he'd fallen into the kiss, into her. So he'd gone with it, pouring out everything he felt, everything he couldn't say, because he realized he would never get enough of this woman. Brody expected to see heat in her eyes—temper and lust in equal measure. And maybe, after how she'd kissed him back, something of the way she used to look at him. But she'd looked...utterly devastated. She'd _cried._ He was caught somewhere between shock and feeling like ten kinds of ass as she made a running exit stage left.

_What the hell just happened?_

The backstage door banged open as she hit the metal bar and kept going. The sound echoed through the cavernous space like a gunshot and jarred him into action. Brody made it to the door before it had relatched, slamming into the alley behind the theater. There was only one way she could go, so he took off at a sprint. He burst out on Front Street and veered to the right, knowing instinctively she'd head for the fountain on the green. She was already two blocks ahead.

God, he'd forgotten how fast she was.

"Tyler!"

She poured on the speed that had won countless track meets in high school, as if she was running from hell hounds instead of him. And that just added a layer of pissed off to the confusion and concern. Brody lengthened his stride, long legs eating up the distance between them. Tyler darted across Main Street and into the park. He raced after her, narrowly avoiding being clipped by an SUV that laid on the horn and swerved with a squeal of tires.

Tyler skidded to a halt and whirled at the sound. But the fear on her face vanished as he cornered her.

"Leave me alone."

"Not a chance. You've never walked out of a rehearsal in your life. What the hell happened back there?" he demanded.

Somewhere during her escape, she'd stopped crying and found a thread of temper. Color rode high in her cheeks and her eyes sparked as she glared at him. Thank God for it. He could deal with anger and relished the idea of a fight to clear the air.

"Why couldn't you just stay away? Why did you have to come back here and ruin everything?"

What kind of alternate reality had he landed in? "Why are you pissed at me, Tyler? It was your decision."

She gaped at him. "What was my decision? You _left,_ Brody."

"Yes, I left. And you didn't follow."

"How was I supposed to follow? You didn't say a word. Not where you were going, not why, not goodbye. God, I worried myself sick for months before _somebody_ caught wind that you hadn't died in a ditch somewhere. And I got it. I got that it hurt to stay here after your folks died. I got that you needed space to figure things out. But did you have to be so cruel about it? You could not possibly have made it more abundantly clear that Wishful wasn't enough for you. That _I_ wasn't enough for you."

It was his turn to gape. "I waited for you to come to me in Paris."

"Paris? What are you talking about?"

"I sent you a plane ticket. And instructions for you to meet me at the top of the Eiffel Tower." He'd waited there, in the whipping wind, ring burning a hole in his pocket all day and into the night, until they'd kicked him out because they were shutting down the elevator until the next day.

"When?"

"Right before I left town. I put it in the mail drop at the Grind and went to the airport. I thought you'd be right behind me."

Tyler stared.

"You never got it." It wasn't a question. Not with that shattered expression on her face. A pit opened in his stomach, full of dawning dread.

"Dave Lautner took out the mail drop when he plowed into the front of the coffee shop. It happened the day you left."

Brody thought of the handsome patio seating and changed entrance. The plane ticket tied to his future had been destroyed in a freak accident, and he'd been too goddamned pig-headed to follow up when she hadn't come. _Jesus H. Christ, I'm an idiot._ Brody closed his eyes.

"I thought when you didn't come," he said quietly, "it was your way of saying you didn't want to be with me. That I was too damaged for you after everything that had happened. I know how much you hate confrontations."

Tyler sputtered with incredulity. "Mail gets lost all the time. Why didn't you call or write... _something?_ "

"I...was hurt and angry and so, so completely stupid."

_Eight years. I wasted eight years and lost her over my damned fool pride._

Brody waited for recriminations. Because, yeah, this was entirely his fault. He'd cut ties and never looked back, never asked for an explanation, never pulled his head out of his ass to confront her. But there was something else in her face as she looked up at him.

A fragile hope.

"You wanted me to come with you?" she whispered.

He didn't touch her. He was too afraid she might break. But the answer came easily. "Always."

"All these years," she murmured, arms wrapping around her middle. "All these years, I wondered what I'd done to make you stop loving me."

The stark pain on her face made him bleed. He said her name, and he didn't know if it was apology or plea because the tears were slipping down her cheeks again. "I never stopped loving you. Ever."

She laid a hand over her heart and rubbed. "I don't know if that's wonderful or heart-breaking. Eight years, Brody. I've spent twice as long as we were together believing the absolute worst of you, doing everything in my power not to love you. How can I feel this much, when it's been eight years?" she demanded.

Hope lit inside him like a rocket. Because he couldn't stand it anymore, he reached for her, gratified when she hesitated only a moment before burrowing in and holding on.

_Don't let go,_ he thought. _Don't ever let go again._

They stood like that beside the fountain, until her tears stopped and the tension bled out of her shoulders. Lifting her wet face, Tyler studied him, frowning. "I don't know what to do with all the feelings you stir up in me."

Brody stroked the length of her back, soothing both of them. "You don't have to do anything with them right this second."

"We have to talk about this."

"And we will. Later." He brushed away her tears. "Right now, you need to pull yourself together, and we need to go back to rehearsal."

Her mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious."

"If you don't go back and face everyone now, it'll be that much worse at the next rehearsal. And there _will_ be a next rehearsal because you can't and won't let the Madrigal down."

She winced and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "You're right. You're right. I really _hate_ that."

"No one's going to hold it against you. No matter how much it looks like they welcomed me back, I'm still the outsider here. They're all on your side. And I'm pretty sure from the look she shot me when I left, Piper may be planning to string me up by the balls."

"That would be merciful compared to some of what we planned at the time."

"Yeesh." He made an exaggerated pained expression to try and tease a smile out of her as she stepped back. He only got one corner of her mouth to lift.

"Tyler, I am sorry I hurt you. That I hurt us."

She glanced up at him with unreadable eyes. "So am I."

_Ready or not_ , Tyler thought, tugging open the auditorium door. She'd stopped in the lobby restroom to wash her face, but that was just delaying the inevitable. Any hope she'd entertained that they'd shifted scenes to rehearse something else was dashed as all talking came to a screeching halt and all eyes turned to her. Tyler froze in the sticky silence, knowing she'd been the topic of their conversation. This wasn't at all like being the center of attention on stage for a show. This was her life.

Brody stepped up behind her, pressing a hand to the small of her back. Part comfort, part nudge. The touch made her pulse leap and her chest tighten.

_I never stopped loving you. Ever._

His words echoed through her mind, mending something long broken inside. How could she think, how could she act, with _that_ hanging unresolved between them?

"I'm right here with you," he murmured, and his breath tickled her ear, stirring something considerably lower.

_The sooner I face them, the sooner this rehearsal is over, and the sooner we can talk about this._ Though talking wasn't exactly her body's preferred first order of business at the moment. Tyler straightened her spine—and still she couldn't move.

Brody stepped beside her and held out a hand. She eyed it, knowing that taking it would be the best thing for the show, would put the rest of the cast at ease and prove that she and Brody could work together. But she couldn't help feeling he wasn't thinking about any of that. His gaze was steady on her, ignoring everyone else, and Tyler understood he wasn't asking about facing the cast or doing the show. Could she really bridge the gap of those eight years, give him another chance?

_Don't think about the past or the future. Just focus on the now._

She laid her hand in his. His fingers curled sure and solid around hers, and it felt...right.

They made their way down the aisle, up to the edge of the stage. Because she still wanted to mumble, Tyler lifted her chin and her voice until everyone could hear. "I apologize for the disruption. I'm ready to get back to rehearsal now."

"Well, everyone is allowed one diva moment per show." Nate gave her a long, measured look. "Except you, Myles."

Myles affected a crestfallen expression and everyone laughed. The tension level dropped perceptibly.

As they made their way back to their places onstage, Nate continued, "Just to be clear, it's _Betty_ who hurries off and _Bob_ who chases after her. And Brody, remember this is _White Christmas_ , not _Basic Instinct_."

"I'd pay money to see that," muttered a woman on the back row.

Tyler felt her face flame.

Brody's lips twitched. "My mistake."

Nate clapped his hands and turned back to the assembled cast. "Okay people, let's pick up where we left off. After the kiss."

They ran the scene. Mistakes were made, but none so major as to necessitate a second run. They had time yet for that, and Tyler knew Nate was cutting her a break. As soon as they wrapped for the night, Piper made a beeline for the front row seat where they'd left their bags.

"Are you all right?"

Sensing eyes on her, Tyler looked across the auditorium to where Tucker had cornered Brody. The punch of Brody's gaze made her pulse leap, but she wasn't entirely sure if it was fear or anticipation.

_I never stopped loving you. Ever._

"I don't know what I am."

"Do you want me to come over? There's emergency Ben and Jerry's in my freezer. It wouldn't take me ten minutes to swing by and pick it up."

Tyler shifted her attention fully to Piper and mustered a smile. "No, that's not necessary. Brody and I have a conversation to finish. It may take a while. You go on home."

"A conversation," she repeated. "About that kiss?"

"And what happened eight years ago. We need to clear the air if we're going to finish the show together, and neither of us wants to let the Madrigal down. I'll be fine."

Skepticism and worry warred on Piper's expressive face. She leaned in for a quick, fierce hug. "Whatever way it goes, if you need to, call me after. Or come over. I don't care what time it is."

Tyler knew she wouldn't do either, but she appreciated the offer.

Everybody filed out, including Nate.

Brody walked over, a keyring in hand. "I said we'd turn off lights and lock up. You good to talk?"

"Yeah. It's after ten. Dad and I have an arrangement that if I don't get Ollie by then, he stays overnight."

The last door fell shut with an echo. In the silence, she heard the softer click of the lobby door shutting behind her castmates, leaving her alone with the man who'd ripped her heart out, all because of his idiotic, stubborn pride. They'd fallen in love in this theater, on this stage. It seemed fitting that the next phase of...whatever they would become should begin here.

Tyler wandered back on stage and sat at the edge, legs dangling into the orchestra pit, while the old building popped and groaned like a grumpy old woman, settling around them for the night.

He smiled at her. "I imagined you here, over the years. Wondering what roles you played."

"None. This is the first show I've been in since you left."

That seemed to surprise him. "Why?" he asked.

"My heart had gone out of it. I couldn't fathom performing across from anyone else. It seemed best to hang up my dancing shoes and put them away with other childish things."

"We were hardly children," said Brody, settling beside her. He was close, but not touching her.

"No, but our romance was the stuff of fairy tales and dreams. And then you left and I woke up to the reality of a life without you."

"Tyler—"

"No, let me finish. When I saw your name on that cast list, I was furious. Absolutely livid that you had the gall to come back, to audition, now, when I'd spent _years_ making my way on my own. Because it didn't matter if it was eight years or eight days. The hurt was still fresh. Knowing the why behind your actions mitigates that some, but it just makes me sad and angry for a whole different set of reasons."

"You have every reason to feel that way. I screwed up." That he owned it helped, just a little.

"You did," she agreed. "After you left, a lot of people thought you blamed yourself for your parents' death. You were messed up and hurting. And they thought your leaving was some kind of admission of guilt. After a couple years, I stopped defending you because I couldn't make sense of what you'd done either, and I was tired of all the looks of pity."

"God, no wonder people gave me the cold shoulder."

"I'm not here to beat you up over it. I find that, faced with the truth of what really happened, it'd be like beating a dead horse. We've both been punished enough."

"What exactly are you saying?"

God, there was no way she could look at him. Instead, she looked at their hands, each curled around the worn wooden edge of the stage, separated by a couple of inches that were filled with years.

"I think you proved beyond a reasonable doubt that we still have chemistry. We always did, so that's not much of a surprise. But I need to know—or maybe I need clarification of what you meant by what you said earlier." Her chest felt tight, and Tyler found she couldn't quite take a full breath as she waited for his reply.

"All right. Fair enough. You've said your piece, now I'm gonna say mine. I know we've got chemistry. I knew it the moment I saw you again, and I'll admit that I shamelessly exploited that on stage tonight. I know all your buttons, and I pushed them with the intent to get a reaction, to make you remember how good we are together. Seeing as we both finally got the truth out of it, I can't say I mind the end result. But I know I stirred you up, and I'll understand if whatever you're feeling is...residual from what we were before. It doesn't feel residual for me, though. Not from the moment I saw you again."

A painful sort of hope lit inside her. But she'd been through far too much to leap at a whim. "The fact is, Brody, you don't know me anymore. I'm not the girl you left behind, and you're not the boy who walked away."

"Bullshit. You haven't changed that much."

Impatience simmered because she recognized that she was going to have to be the voice of reason here. "You don't _know_ that. You _don't_ ," she repeated when he started to speak. "Do I feel something for you? I'd be lying if I said I didn't. But I don't know if it's real or just remnants of what came before that never got resolved. I can't answer that question."

"Isn't it worth finding out?"

Tyler studied his face, memorizing the lines and curves, noting how he'd changed, how he was the same. Tipping forward she brushed her lips over his, just because she could, because she ached for the taste of him. She knew that the sensible thing was to let him go, take this truth and whatever peace it brokered between them, and shut the door on the past.

_I never stopped loving you. Ever._

Tyler fisted her hand in his shirt and let the whip of need lash through her. So long. So damned long. God, didn't they deserve _something_? For a moment, she wavered, beyond tempted to be reckless, to take the heat they brought each other and ride it to whatever glorious end they could.

But she'd been left in the ashes before.

Heart still thundering, she flattened her palm and eased back, resting her temple against his.

"That felt pretty damned current to me." The rasp of Brody's voice stroked over her like a caress.

Uncertain whether her voice would work, Tyler made a noncommittal hum.

"We have something between us, Tyler. We always did."

She couldn't deny that and didn't try. "Brody, I can't just...fall back into this." _Yes, I absolutely could_ , she thought, _with very little provocation._ She wanted this, wanted him, on whatever terms she could get. But she had to be sensible. She had to think about tomorrow.

"I get it. I respect that. But just..." He cupped her cheek and Tyler cursed herself, even as she leaned into the touch. "Think about it."

"Okay," she agreed.

Brody's gaze slid down to her mouth, his eyes going dark. Tyler felt her pulse jump again, started to sway toward him. He slid off the stage, down to the floor and turned to reach for her. Because she was still short of breath, Tyler let him help her down, let him hold her until she steadied.

"Okay," she said again.

"Let me walk you to your truck."

# 5 Weeks 'Til Show

ACROSS THE STAGE, GENERAL Waverly stood, menus in hand, while Bob, Phil, and the Haynes sisters dined and discussed how to help him. Just as Bob rose to go place the call to bring the show to Pine Tree, a long, low groan echoed through the theater.

"What the hell was that?" Piper asked, stepping fully out of character.

"Obviously it's the ghost of old Mr. Stanton himself opining about how that scene was running," Nate said, "which was terrible. Brody, if you could take your eyes off Tyler for five seconds and actually play your part, we'd all appreciate it."

Tyler looked over at him, startled, a pretty pink flush creeping across her cheeks. Brody could only grin at her. No sense in pretending remorse he didn't feel. But he saluted the director. "Yes, boss."

"Again, from the top."

Brody took his position, started the scene over. He did his best to stay in character, to look where he was supposed to look, say what he was supposed to say. But his mind was full of Tyler.

In the week since they'd broken their stalemate, he'd made excuses to see her. He took over the daily supply run for the hotel job just for the chance to make her smile at the start of the day. And it had been a simple matter to start taking his lunch breaks when she did, either eating take out at the store or over at Dinner Belles, where they shared a slice of Mama Pearl's pie. That they could share a meal and a joke, without that angry tension hovering between them was a minor miracle. Though there'd been no more of those blistering kisses, she was spending time with him, willingly, without trying to push him away. It was progress, and that should've been enough for him.

But it wasn't.

Time was galloping by, and each workday brought a reminder of the end of the job and the start of the next, which would take him away from Wishful, away from Tyler. He didn't bring it up, knowing that would hardly help his case. At least half of her caution was wrapped up in the brevity of their time together. But urgency nipped at his heels, urging him to push, to demand.

He'd promised he wouldn't. She wanted to take things slow and easy so she could figure things out, and Brody respected that. But what was there to figure out? They practically combusted when they got within three feet of each other. For all that she said he didn't know her anymore, he hadn't seen anything that made him love her any less.

_Patience is a virtue, Jensen_ , he reminded himself. Albeit not one he'd ever been blessed with, particularly when it came to one Tyler Edison.

A sense of relief and anticipation flooded through him at the opening bars to "Mandy." Keeping his promise not to push had meant keeping his hands to himself. But all bets were off when they danced. His eyes followed her as she made her way down the risers, dancing and flirting past all the guys on the cast. She was glorious. Lithe and charismatic in a way that had every set of eyes centered on her. At the bottom of the stairs, she linked arms with him and Myles for the easy tap portion of the number, which Myles pulled off with more aplomb than he'd managed on the previous run. And at last the cue came and Brody took Tyler's hand, spinning her into his arms for the complicated part of the routine.

Her eyes sparked and her smile spread. Brody lost himself—in the music, in her, in the unique intimacy they shared while dancing. She arched back over his knee, pointing one long leg high into the air in a manner that had him thinking all about other uses for her miraculous flexibility. She moved with him, responsive to every touch, every step, fully in sync. Heat and awareness flared between them. The pace of the music picked up and they danced their way through the pack, and up the risers for the finale of the song, where she ended, perched on his shoulder.

"Finally, something went right!" Nate cheered.

Tyler's hands curled around Brody's forearms, as he slid her down the length of his body. The pulse at her throat beat like a hummingbird's wings, and her chest rose and fell against his as she worked to catch her breath. Brody didn't release her when her feet hit the step, and she made no effort to move away, instead staring up at him with dark, hungry eyes.

"Well this is going to be the hottest Christmas to date," Myles whispered.

"Pretty sure that's the most provocative version of that song ever done," someone else added.

Abruptly conscious of their audience, Brody ran his hands from Tyler's shoulders to her waist, squeezing once before setting her away from him. The long groan came again. The theater offering up sympathy for his frustrated libido, no doubt.

"The next scene requires some set changes," Nate said. "Let's take care of that and pick up there tomorrow night."

The set change burned off a little of the energy humming in Brody's blood, giving him something else to focus on besides the remembered feel of Tyler's body flush against his. At least until he caught her looking at him from across the stage as Nate made his end-of-rehearsal announcements. As soon as rehearsal wrapped, he gathered his gear and met Tyler at the head of the aisle to walk out.

"Good rehearsal tonight," he said.

"For one of us anyway," she grinned. "Nate's gonna kill you if you don't focus."

"You could help me with that, you know. We could go get a drink or a late supper. Discuss the possibility of running lines."

Tyler slanted him a glance, one corner of that luscious mouth lifting in delighted amusement. "Right. I remember exactly what you used to call running lines."

Brody swung an arm around her shoulders and bent to whisper in her ear, "I've still got the old sofa of my parents where we used to do that. We could—"

The groan came again, bigger, louder this time, rising to a shriek above them. As the ceiling above began to cave, Brody shouted, "Move!" He swung around and dove backward, landing hard on Tyler as a huge portion of the mezzanine balcony collapsed behind them. Debris rained over them both. Brody curled his body over Tyler's, taking the brunt of the impact.

In the wake of the crash, the silence was deafening. Brody lifted his head, squinting through the dust to see people running toward them down the aisles. He rolled to the side, hauling himself into a kneeling position beside Tyler. Her face was white. "Are you all right?" he demanded. He didn't wait for her response, already running his hands over her limbs, checking for breaks and abrasions.

"I'm fine." She coughed. "You just knocked the wind out of me."

"Somebody go out the side door, check to make sure everybody made it into the lobby," Tucker ordered from somewhere behind them.

A quick search and head count assured them that no one had been caught in the collapse.

"Thank God," Tyler breathed. When she reached for him, Brody pulled her close. "You kept me from becoming a pancake."

"I guess all those noises weren't old Mr. Stanton after all," Piper said.

Nate laced his hands behind his head and stared at the central section of the balcony, now blocking the auditorium doors. "This is a disaster."

"The important thing is that no one was hurt," Barbara Monahan began.

"We can't have a show in a theater that's falling apart. There's barely money to put on the show. We don't have the kind of time _or_ money to get this fixed, and Stanton's kids aren't going to shell out for this," said Nate.

The air of defeat settled over them like lead.

"It's over," Nate declared.

Brody looked down at Tyler, all thoughts of lust and flirtation forgotten. Distress was etched across her features.

"The fat lady hasn't sung yet," he said. "The show will go on." But despite his conviction, as he stared at the rubble, he knew they were gonna need a miracle.

"I feel like there should be pizza for a summit meeting," Tucker pronounced.

"It's too early for pizza," Piper said.

"It's never too early for pizza."

"Either way, it's hard to have a summit meeting when not everybody is here yet," Piper pointed out.

"Brody hasn't quite shaken loose of work yet, and Norah should be getting out of her meeting with the mayor shortly." Tyler paced restlessly in front of the register. The store was blessedly empty at the moment but for her friends, who crowded around the table in the consult area. She'd have been hard pressed to offer up the requisite customer service.

"How are things going with Brody?" Piper asked.

Tyler wasn't fooled by the über casual tone of her voice. "They're...going." She'd promised Brody she'd think about what was between them. In truth, she'd thought of little else. Things had been so good the last week—familiar, comfortable in their common purpose. It would be easy, so very easy, to let herself fall back into love, back into a relationship with him. But a part of her was still waiting for him to leave, counting down the days to the end of the year when the hotel job was finished. It was the elephant in the room they continued to stubbornly avoid, all as part of their efforts to pretend they had time to ease back into things—just like Tyler had requested.

Unfortunately, that elephant was getting harder and harder for her to ignore.

Piper was prevented from prying further by the arrival of Brody himself. "Sorry I'm late. I had to juggle some stuff to get free, and then Gerald called wanting an update. Any news?"

"None yet. The engineers turned in their reports. Norah's in with the mayor." Tyler paced another lap.

"You're gonna wear a hole in that floor." Brody stepped into her path and rubbed his hands up and down the length of her arms.

"I can't settle," she said.

"It'll be okay. C'mon. Sit down."

Tyler didn't want to sit and certainly didn't think it would be okay. But she let him draw her to the table. Before her butt even hit the seat of a chair, the shop bell jangled as Norah strode in. Tyler shot to her feet. "Well?" she demanded.

"It's bad," Norah said. "Like, closed unless repairs can be made kind of bad. I'm afraid we're done, y'all."

The news was met with a chorus of groans and expletives as everyone began to talk over each other.

Tyler's shoulders slumped under the weight of disappointment. She hadn't realized how much the Madrigal meant to her until faced with the prospect of losing it. And now...now it was over. It felt like an ending of far more than the show. It was the end of an era. A closed chapter in Wishful's history and her own. She'd never again get the chance to perform on that stage.

Brody slipped an arm around her. Grief twisted through her, a knife in her chest. With the Madrigal gone, she'd never get the chance to perform with him again. Never fall in love through someone else's story. Leaning into his embrace, Tyler knew the heartache was as much about Brody as the theater. The demise of the place that had given them hope of starting over felt like an ominous sign for their future.

"Do you have the report from the structural engineer?" Brody asked.

Norah dug a folder out of her purse and offered it to him. With a quick squeeze, he let Tyler go and reached for it.

"I don't know what we could possibly do," Tucker said. "It's five weeks 'til the show. I hate to be a downer, but that's not much time for anything."

"We could try to find another venue," Piper suggested.

"Where?" Tyler asked. "None of the churches have space enough for a set of that size. Maybe the high school gym, but it's not a stage. I don't know how any of the set changes would work, and there's no structure for the backdrops or lighting."

"What about the community center?" Norah offered.

"Same deal as the school gym," Tyler said.

"The fact is, this whole campaign was to save the theater from financial ruin," Tucker pointed out. "If there are structural problems on top of everything else, that kind of money's so far above and beyond what we could pull off." He shook his head.

"I can fix it," Brody said.

Conversation ground to a halt. All attention shifted to him.

Tyler stared at him. "What?"

"I think this can be salvaged," he said, looking up from the report in his hands.

"Bro, we need way more than 'salvaged'," Tucker said.

But Tyler's heart was already thumping with a spurt of hope.

"No, listen," Brody insisted. "I know it looks bad, but the main building is structurally intact. It's the integrity of the balcony that's in question. If we clear out the debris, shore up the supports of the sections remaining so that they pass code, then we could still pull off the show."

"Yeah, us and what army?" Piper asked.

"In case you've forgotten, I am a licensed contractor."

"That's great, but you're one guy," Piper argued. "Even with volunteers, we don't have enough trained labor to pull off something like this."

Brody laid the folder on the table and crossed his arms. Tyler immediately recognized the stubborn jut to his chin. "I have an entire crew. We're way ahead on the downtown job, to the point that we're actually waiting on some deliveries before we can keep moving forward. I can pull them, put them over at the theater."

"There's still the matter of the money, boy-o," Tucker said. "We can't pay them."

"A bunch of them would volunteer, and we can pull in others from the community."

"I know several who would help," Tyler added, warming to the idea, her mind already spinning, filling with names.

"Even with labor, I doubt the three grand we made from karaoke night is going to cover even the materials for repairs of this magnitude."

"Hello," Tyler waved. "I own a building supply store. I'll donate what I can, and we can put the karaoke funds toward any specialized materials we need."

"And whatever that doesn't cover, I will," Brody said.

Everyone gaped at him.

"I...Brody, that's potentially no small chunk of change," Tyler breathed.

He jerked one shoulder in a shrug, his eyes fixed on hers. "I've done very well for myself. And it's worth every penny to me for the chance to preserve a piece of our history."

_Our history._ Not the town's. There could be no mistaking that with the look in his eyes. He meant to save the place where they'd fallen in love. This was important to him. _She_ was important to him.

Tyler felt her heart do a slow roll in her chest.

Swallowing against the words that clogged her throat, she reached up to cup his face. Stubble rasped against her fingers as she leaned in and laid her lips softly over his.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For trying."

His lips curved into a grin. "If I get that for trying, what do I get for pulling it off?"

Tyler laughed. "Do it and find out." She started to pull back, but he caught her around the waist.

"I think you'll find that I'm very serious and very committed to restoration."

Slowly, she nodded. "I think you are."

At the sound of a sigh, Tyler eased back. Norah clutched a hand over her heart, wearing the same sappy smile Tyler had reason to know she wore at the end of all good chick flicks. Tucker was smirking, and Piper watched them with an expression she couldn't read.

_I've really got to stop doing this stuff with an audience._

She cleared her throat. "So. We have a plan for labor and materials. We'll need to get in and do a more thorough evaluation of the specifics of what will be needed on both fronts. I'll start getting in touch with people to ask about volunteer labor."

"What about the permits?" Piper asked. "Aren't those required for this kind of work?"

"I can push those through," Norah said.

"This whole plan presupposes that the Stantons will even let us do this," Tucker said. "You can't exactly do construction on a building you don't own without permission."

Tyler bristled. "What is _wrong_ with you? When did you turn into a pessimist about this project?"

"About the time the balcony came crashing down. I'm not saying we shouldn't try. Just trying to point out the road-blocks before we get into things and waste time, money, and effort on something that can't be followed through."

Brody tugged Tyler closer, until her back pressed against his chest. "No, he's right to bring it up. We have to manage all the details if we're going to pull this off."

Norah grinned, in her element. "Have faith and leave them to me."

_It always looks worse before it looks better,_ Brody reminded himself. And it did look bad right now.

The debris had been fully cleared away. The remaining segments of the balcony were jacked up and rigged with temporary supports. The seats they were able to salvage had been detached and relocated for cleaning, along with several sections that had to be removed for equipment access. A hole gaped in the center, reminding him of a fighter down his two front teeth. Which wasn't a bad analogy, actually, as this whole thing felt like a sucker punch. Much like finding out how things had gone so horribly wrong with Tyler all those years ago.

"We'll fix you up, old girl," Brody murmured. "And maybe it'll be enough to change her mind." He didn't know how to fix things with Tyler, or how things would work out between them in the end. But making the repairs on the theater was solidly in his wheelhouse, so, for now, the focus had to be on the job. He couldn't let himself think beyond that.

The emergency exit opened on a shriek of hinges. Roy Simmons, one of the carpenters from the Babylon job, poked his head in. "Supply truck is here."

Shaking himself out of his musings, Brody waved in acknowledgment. _Time to get this show on the road._

He headed to the front of the building. The carpeted lobby was covered in drop cloths, and a handful of men were setting up work stations near the available electrical outlets. Outside, beyond the dumpster that had been hauled in for demolition, a large flatbed truck with the Edison Hardware logo emblazoned on the door, was parked at the curb. Tyler slid out of the driver's seat as he emerged. Her hair was drawn back into a pony tail, pulled through the back of a maroon MSU baseball cap. In work-worn jeans with frayed hems and a black track jacket to ward off the chill of early morning, she looked mouthwatering.

"You're amazingly bright-eyed considering the hour." Brody crossed to her.

She ducked back into the cab and came out with a pair of extra tall to-go cups. "I've already been by the Grind."

He took the one she offered him and sipped. His eyebrows shot up at the first, rich punch of sweetened coffee. "Jesus, no wonder you're awake. What is this, a triple-shot espresso?"

"They're calling it the Zombie Killer these days. Hey, it worked for finals week in college. It'll work for this. There are donuts in the truck for everybody. How many folks did we end up with today?"

"Ten signed up for this shift, besides me. Mitch is leading up the second crew that's coming on for the night shift. Not sure of the final count for them, but similar numbers." They'd have more when it came to reassembling the final touches, but for now, it was all skilled labor, divided into two crews on a schedule that would rival those on the set of any HGTV crash renovation.

"Then I'll make an even dozen," she said.

"You don't have to work?"

"Dad's covering the store the rest of this week so I can help out."

Brody rearranged details and work crews in his mind to accommodate the extra hands. They'd need every pair they could get. "Been a long time since we swung hammers together." It had been a long time since he'd picked up a hammer at all. He was too used to overseeing, managing jobs from the top down. This was his first opportunity to really run a crew in several years, and he found himself itching to get started.

"I'm still in practice." Tyler reached back into the truck and drew out a tool belt. She set the coffee down and snapped it on.

Brody took another swig of coffee to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "You look entirely too good in that thing." The whole picture was that much hotter knowing she was more than capable with all the tools attached to it.

Tyler just smiled. "Let's get this stuff unloaded. Where do you want it?"

By the time the materials were unloaded, the remainder of the crew had arrived. Gathering around the blueprints he'd drawn up and printed last night, the team listened as Brody laid out the plan of attack. It felt good to have his hands back in design, to figure out what could be salvaged and how the details could be tied back to the original concept. The end result wouldn't be seamless—not on the schedule they were running—but it would be functional and, more to the point, safe. That would buy them time to save the theater by their original plan. And then...well, they'd see what happened.

"Okay, so everybody's got their work assignments. Any questions?" A hand shot up in the back. "Yes, Paul?"

"You sure you still remember how to do this? I can't remember the last time you picked up anything heavier than a pencil." Paul's mouth twitched. They'd worked together on jobs from coast to coast over the last five years, with Paul preferring to keep his hands directly on the pulse of the projects, even as Brody climbed the management ladder.

Brody cupped his ear. "Methinks I hear a challenge."

"Calling it like I see it, Jensen."

"Before either of you hauls off to prove your manhood," Tyler interjected. "I feel compelled to point out that you aren't lumberjacks and you won't be chopping down trees."

Paul made a sound of mock disappointment. "And what will you be doing, little lady? Making sandwiches? I notice Brody didn't include you in the work assignments."

Brody braced himself, waiting for Tyler to pop off, as she'd been wont to do back in the day when those on a job insulted her abilities.

She cut her eyes toward him, and he caught the glint of amusement as her lips curved into a sweet smile. "I'll be making that router table and table saw sing sweet, sweet hymns to match the vintage, custom moulding."

Paul blinked. A few of the local men, who knew Tyler, chuckled.

Brody crossed his arms. "Tyler's fifth generation of a lumber family and the owner of our biggest supplier. There's nothing she can't do with wood." Someone choked on a laugh. If any of them thought of offering up some rejoinder to that vaguely suggestive statement, they wisely kept their mouths shut. "Now, if that's all, we've got a lot of work to do. Hop to it."

He helped Tyler haul in the rest of her tools from the truck before diving in to his own assignment. It was easy to lose himself in the symphony of power tools, the dance of teamwork. They demoed the remainder of the ceiling beneath the balcony to expose the joists and struts. Most were blessedly intact. Plans were adjusted slightly to accommodate additional replacement, then they began tying in new joists to the existing supports, framing out the rest of the balcony. It was heavy, brutal work, and Brody loved every minute of it. He'd forgotten exactly how much he loved the physicality of turning blueprints into reality with his own two hands.

He moved in and out of the lobby, over the course of the day. Each time he caught a glimpse of Tyler, she was bent over her machines, face fierce with concentration. The pile of moulding continued to grow at a steady pace. He didn't interrupt, not wanting to disrupt her progress, but the sight of her caused a pleasant little kick in his chest.

Paul ambled up and offered a bottle of water. "Bet you're gonna miss that on the next job.

Brody took the water and pretended not to understand him. "Miss what?"

Paul just arched an eyebrow and looked back toward Tyler. She shoved her safety goggles into her hair and stared critically at the match-up between two pieces of moulding. "Very easy on the eyes," he pronounced in his thick Brooklyn accent. "Damned talented, too. I'd even let her get her hands on my...tools."

"Watch it," Brody growled.

Paul just laughed. "What's the deal with you two? You a thing?"

Resigned that he couldn't avoid this conversation, Brody said, "We used to be."

As if sensing their eyes on her, Tyler turned. Catching his gaze, she smiled, really smiled, with the kind of unrestrained pleasure of their youth. The sight of it lit him up inside.

"Used to?" Paul muttered.

"It's complicated."

"Jensen, I get you're a detail man. You think of all the angles, all the ramifications, all the possible outcomes. That makes you damn good at the job. But if you're thinking about all that with her, then you're over-complicating shit."

"She's too important not to think about all that."

"Even more reason to keep it basic. You dig her. She digs you. Work with that."

Brody kept that in the back of his mind, through the rest of the work day. And when they wrapped, the full framework of new joists and struts installed, he headed to where Tyler was packing up her gear.

He picked up one of the pieces of moulding. "Looks good."

"It all needs proper sanding yet. I got the sanding blocks made, but it'll be tomorrow before I can finish that part." She tossed a tape measure into her tool box and rolled her shoulders.

"It's good work. A lot of work. And I say that means I owe you beer and a burger." _That's basic enough_ , he thought.

Just a few weeks ago, she'd have hesitated, looking for some excuse or wrestling with what it might mean. Instead, she cocked her head and studied him, another of those smiles curving her mouth. "You taking anybody else out for beer and a burger?"

"Nope. Figured it'd be just me and my girl." He waited to see what her reaction to the possessive would be.

Her smile widened. "Good. I'd hate to have any third wheels on our date."

_Progress,_ Brody decided, _is a beautiful thing._

# 4 Weeks 'Til Show

ZEKE HAMMEL WAS A thorough man. As the structural engineer charged with determining whether the theater was safe for public use, he needed to be. But Tyler fairly vibrated with impatience as he walked through to make his inspection. His very detailed, pain-staking inspection. She couldn't get a read on this guy. His weather-worn face made him look more like a stoic cowboy than an engineer. As he studied the new railing, Tyler half expected him to murmur, "Yup," and pop a plug of chewing tobacco into his mouth. She hung back a bit as Brody answered the questions, knowing she really had no place here but unable to stay away.

_We did good work,_ she thought. _Miracle work._

Brody had set out to make something that was merely functional, to get them through to the performance and beyond. But with the unexpected outpouring of help, they'd pulled off quite a bit above functional. It wasn't a full restoration—several rows of seats had been irreparably damaged—but they'd erased the destruction as wholly as they could. Brody had added additional columns into the design beneath the balcony, taking advantage of the missing seating to provide extra support to the structure. He was taking no chances on a repeat collapse.

Finished with the balcony, Zeke moved unhurriedly down the stairs to the lobby. Norah and her future mother-in-law, Mayor Sandra Crawford, followed. Brody paused to take Tyler's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze before they, too, headed downstairs.

The sun had still been up when they'd started. Tyler could see it was full dark beyond the lobby doors. The engineer was scribbling on a clipboard, flipping pages, checking things off. Norah and Sandra stood, arms linked. Tyler tightened her hold on Brody as Zeke signed something on one last page and looked up.

"Well?" Norah blurted.

In answer, Zeke handed over the clipboard.

She scanned the front page then let out a whoop, thrusting the clipboard into the air. "Pass!"

Relief gushed through Tyler, weakening her knees, even as she gave a bounce and a double fist pump, which had the effect of dragging Brody's arm up like a winning prize fighter. His hundred megawatt smile warmed her down to her toes.

"I'll have a more detailed report on your desk in a couple of days," Zeke continued, "but I figured given the time crunch you'd want approval as soon as possible."

"You figured right," Brody said.

Zeke crossed to him. "You do good work, Jensen. You ever decide to relocate back to Wishful, I'd like to work with you again."

Brody shook the offered hand. "Appreciate it."

With a brief word of farewell to the mayor and Norah, Zeke slipped out the doors, letting in a gust of cold evening air. As soon as he was out of sight, Brody let out a hoot and scooped Tyler up. "We did it!"

Tyler was laughing when his mouth took hers in a fervent, celebratory kiss. She felt the spark of it in her blood and kissed him enthusiastically in return, sliding her arms around his shoulders, her hands into his hair. By the time he set her on her feet again, she was breathless and dazzled.

"I pulled it off," he grinned. "Seemed only fitting to claim my reward."

"So you did," Tyler said. He'd pulled it off, preserved their history, and begun building something else while he was at it.

"If you're done locking lips for a bit," Norah said, eyes twinkling, "we need to get our butts to Speakeasy. Everyone is waiting to hear the news."

Brody saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

"Ride with me," Tyler said. "We'll get your truck later."

Once inside her truck, Brody collapsed into the passenger seat, head falling back against the rest. "God, what a crazy week. I can't remember when I slept less."

"Tired?"

"I should be, but no. I feel really buzzed. Hyped up on adrenaline."

"The crash will be brutal." She snaked out a hand, tangled her fingers with his across the console. It was a pleasure to give in to the desire to touch, to maintain physical contact.

"Yeah, but the party will be worth it." He lifted her hand to his lips, brushed them over her knuckles. "I really enjoyed working with you the last week. I've enjoyed pretty much everything about having you back in my life."

Tyler cut a glance at him in the flashing light of passing street lamps. He was relaxed as he watched her, his expression one of utter contentment. "We make a good team. Always did."

"Bookends," he murmured.

"Huh?"

"My mom used to call us bookends."

Tyler waited for the pang, but felt only a warm glow at the memory. "She'd be really proud of you, you know. You did a really good thing for the community this week, Brody."

"I did it for you." He said it simply, with no air of expectation. Just stating fact.

It was so...Brody. He'd always gravitated to grand gestures. Like mailing a plane ticket to Paris, for instance. He simply staggered her. He always had. As anxiety shifted to certainty inside her, Tyler decided it was time to make her own grand gesture.

She pulled out her phone, dialed Piper.

"Where are you?" she demanded. "Norah's here and we're all waiting!"

"We're going to be late," Tyler said. "Tell her not to wait."

"It something wrong?"

Tyler glanced over at Brody, who watched her intently. "No, everything is very definitely right." She ended the call, tossed the phone into the cup holder.

"Where are we going, Tyler?"

She reached for his hand again. "Home."

Tyler was already reaching for him as she kicked open the door to her house. Brody had time only to say her name before she'd fused her mouth to his, and the well-intentioned speech he'd rehearsed on the rest of the drive over, about making certain she was sure about this, bled out of his mind. She was a fever in his arms, all desperate demand as she nipped and goaded, tugging at his clothes. His blood fired as he jerked her to him, molding that lean, muscled body to his as he plundered her mouth. Where she led, Brody followed, circling through what was probably a living room as they shed clothes, hands greedy for skin. With every inch of newly exposed flesh, he wanted more.

They bumped into the sofa. Brody bowed her over the back of it, lips burning a trail from her jaw, down her throat to the valley between lace-cupped breasts. Tyler's hand fisted in his hair as her hips ground against his. "More," she demanded.

Brody pulled her up, spun her in an erotic dance toward the hall. The taste of her was a drug, exquisite, addictive. As his hands fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she dragged her mouth from his and set her teeth to the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Brody's control snapped. Pressing her back against the wall, he shoved down the lace and filled his hands with her breasts. Her low moan was a dark delight. Her hips moved in a restless, seeking rhythm against his as he took one budded nipple into his mouth and pleasured them both. He felt the tension coil through her, wanted to watch her ride that crest to the end. So he pressed a hand against her, firm and intimate, and watched her face as he slipped a finger into all that waiting heat. He kept watching, as he matched her instinctive rhythm and drove her relentlessly up. His name was a plea on her lips, as she shattered in his hands.

Brody hitched her up, wrapping those long legs around his waist. Her back to the wall, it would take only one thrust to sheath himself, to send them both spiraling into madness. But he wanted more from her than mindless pleasure. He wanted— _needed_ more for them both. So he dropped his head to her shoulder and breathed in her scent, until he thought he could find some of that missing control, some semblance of finesse.

Tyler's hand moved across his shoulder, into his hair. "Brody?"

Her expression, when he lifted his head, was a strange mix of guarded vulnerability. Already preparing herself for rejection. God, he hated that was in her mind, hated that there was reason for it. Seeing her anxiety dulled the vicious edge of need, gave him the control he needed.

"Not here," he rasped. "Which way is the bedroom?"

Her face relaxed. "Last door on the left."

Brody could feel the gallop of her heart as he carried her the rest of the way down the hall. He'd had her desperate. Now he wanted her steeped in pleasure. In the bedroom, he let her slide down his body, then framed her face, as he had on stage weeks ago. It was confusion now, instead of the dread and anticipation, as he stroked her cheek. "I never thought I'd be here with you again." He brushed his lips over hers. "I don't want to rush through it. I want to make love with you, Tyler."

Her breath caught. "Brody."

"Shh." He dipped his head to her mouth, tasted her sigh as she melted against him. Her surrender was a gift he'd never expected, and he cherished it. Hands skimmed in long strokes meant to soothe, until her pulse turned slow and thick. He kept his pace easy, unhurried, sinking into the kiss layer by layer, easing her into a dance, though there was no music save what beat in his blood. No matter the time they'd lost, he wouldn't rush this.

The flavor of her seeped into him. He savored it as he took her deeper, splaying a hand over the warm skin of her back. The subtle play of muscle beneath his palm was fluid as water, as she swayed with him, her body, as always, responsive to every move of his. Tracing a hand up her spine, Brody pressed his lips to her fluttering pulse and eased her back on the bed.

He filled his hands with her, relearning the shapes and textures that had haunted his dreams. The subtle flare of hip. The strong arms. The column of that lovely throat. Tyler murmured his name, fingers threading in his hair, nails scraping lightly down his back. Her breath hitched and released as he savored, urging her slowly higher with lips and hands. Everything he asked, she gave without reservation, until at long last she whispered, "Please, Brody. Please."

He slipped inside her. Tyler arched up to take him, her eyes glazed with pleasure. And here was the homecoming he hadn't expected, hadn't even known he'd been yearning for, hadn't dared to even think about for years. Brody waited for her eyes to clear, to fasten on his before he began to move. The fingers he laced with hers were an anchor as they climbed. His pulse, his breath quickened as they circled higher, narrowing his focus, until all he could see, all he could feel, was her. Tyler wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him deep as she climaxed around him. Breathing her name, he let go and followed.

They lay tangled, skin damp and flushed from exertion. As soon as he had the muscle control to manage it, Brody rolled to the side, to keep from crushing her. He reached over to grab an edge of the comforter and rolled back, pulling her close. She snuggled into him, pressing her cheek to his chest and tangling their legs again. And for the first time since he'd left eight years ago, Brody felt completely at peace.

"Do you actually want to go to the party?" Tyler asked. "I mean, you're probably missing a rousing rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' with multi-part harmony."

"I think we have adequately proved that I do not require multi-part harmony to be roused."

She muffled a snort of laugher against his chest.

"Besides, that would involve actually moving from this spot, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Then no." He tightened his arm as she settled back against him and enjoyed the comfortable silence.

"Brody?" Tyler's voice was muffled.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Mmm?"

"Will you stay?"

He opened his eyes and stared at the wash of moonlight on the wall. Was she asking about tonight or for good? Either way he knew he couldn't make himself let her go.

Stroking a hand down her back, he pressed another kiss to her temple. "Yeah, I'll stay."

# 3 Weeks 'Til Show

_T HE MAGIC IS BACK_, Brody thought. It showed, in every movement, every perfectly delivered line as he and Tyler immersed themselves into their characters. The spark of it was contagious, spreading among the cast like wildfire, until even those less than stellar members of the chorus were upping their game, putting their absolute best foot forward. In the week since they'd gotten access to the stage again, the cast had been working extra hard to make up for the lost rehearsal time, and it was paying off.

Brody knew he was grinning like an idiot as Tyler and Piper danced their way toward him and Myles from stage left in their WAC uniforms. His grinning had been fairly constant, not diminished in the least by the good-natured ribbing offered up by their friends and some of the other cast members. Their absence at the post-inspection celebration hadn't gone unnoticed. But how could he care, when Tyler was his again? He slipped his arms around her, absorbing her flirtatious smile and feeling fireworks booming in his blood. Pouring some of that energy into the performance, he danced and twirled his way through the rest of "I Wish I Was Back In The Army" with as much panache as he could muster until, arm-in-arm with Tyler and Piper, he tapped his way off stage right.

A single, enthusiastic clap sounded from the back of the auditorium. Not Nate. Stepping back out onstage, Brody shaded his eyes from the lights but couldn't make out the newcomer as he approached.

"Well done," the man called. "This is exactly the kind of performance that would've made my father proud."

"Daniel." Nate slid into the aisle and strode to meet him. "I didn't expect to see you here. Decided to finally come by and take a gander at our efforts?"

The two men shook hands in greeting. The murmur of their voices wasn't loud enough to carry clearly to the stage.

"Who is this guy?" Brody muttered.

"Daniel Stanton," Tyler whispered. "Old Mr. Stanton's son. He left Wishful back when we were in high school, I think. Lives up in Oxford now."

So this was the stiff Norah sweet talked into letting them repair the theater. Brody studied him, taking in the lanky build, the receding hairline, and weak chin. His expression was affable enough, but something about the other man set off Brody's bullshit detector. The reaction was borne out when Nate burst out, "You're kidding me!" in a tone that suggested outrage rather than elation.

Daniel gave a _what-can-I-do_ shrug and an apologetic smile Brody didn't buy for a minute.

Nate waved toward the stage with an expansive gesture that screamed sarcasm. "It's your news. You make the announcement."

Tyler slipped her hand into Brody's as Stanton headed for the stage. Brody could feel the tension thrumming through her, knew it was mirrored in the rest of their castmates, all of whom had spilled out from the wings to see what was going on.

"Y'all have put so much work into putting on this show," Daniel began. "I know my father would be incredibly touched by your efforts, most especially with the miracle you pulled off to repair the theater after the balcony collapsed. The end result is truly amazing."

"We're all waiting for the 'but', Mr. Stanton," Tyler said.

"But." He offered another of those apologetic smiles. "I'm afraid that _White Christmas_ will be a farewell show instead of a fundraiser. The bank has decided to foreclose."

A cacophony of exclamations greeted this pronouncement.

"Can't you ask for a continuance? An extension? Something?" Tucker demanded.

"Done and done. We've been operating on an extension for the last several months. The bank has been bought out by another bank, and the new management is disinclined to allow that extension to continue. It was all I could do to get them to allow the show to finish. Come end of December, the Madrigal is closing its doors. I'm sorry."

Conversation exploded as everyone tried to comment at once. Brody heard Tyler's sound of disgust and distress and pulled her in for a hard hug. Stanton slipped out in the midst of the ensuing chaos.

_Coward,_ Brody thought. _I'm surprised he had the guts deliver the news himself._

"People. People! Settle down," Nate called. He waited for silence. "This is certainly disappointing news. It appears we've run out of time and options."

"So now what?" Myles asked.

Nate squared his shoulders. "Rehearsals will continue as planned. The show will open in three weeks. And it's going to be the best damned performance any of us has ever given. If we're going out, then by damn, we're going out with a bang."

There were remarks of half-hearted agreement with that, a few apathetic cheers, but it was hard for anyone to muster much enthusiasm.

Rehearsal wrapped after that. Tyler said nothing as she gathered her gear and walked out to Brody's truck. She remained silent on the drive back to her house, her arms curled around her bag like a teddy bear. As soon as he stopped, she slid out of the truck and trudged up the steps. There she stopped, swearing as she went purse diving for keys.

"Here, let me." He stepped past her to use the key she'd given him over the weekend.

Inside she tucked her bag into one of the clever little cubbies beside the front door as he dumped his keys into a decorative bowl.

Arms no longer full of bag, Tyler crossed them over her middle. "It's really over." Her words felt like heavy stones in the silence. "All that work, and for what? To see our history sold off and destroyed?" The bleak expression on her face tore at him.

Brody reached for her. "Tyler..."

She came into his arms, but her expression was mutinous. "Don't you dare tell me you can fix it. This isn't a broken pipe or some bad wiring. It isn't a cave-in or a restoration project anymore. This can't be fixed by any means you or I possess."

She wasn't wrong, so he didn't argue. And yet his mind spun, searching for a way—any way—because he couldn't bear to see her brutal disappointment.

"It was all for nothing," she pronounced, voice thick with tears she wouldn't let fall.

"It wasn't for nothing." Brody gave her a little shake. "It gave us _us_ back. And that's worth more than anything else. The theater closing doesn't change that. It can't. We're more than our history, Tyler."

Her lips curved a little. "You've gotten smarter as you've gotten older."

"Just stating a fact." He curled his arms tighter around her as she burrowed in.

There was, he realized, so much more here for him than there had been, even at twenty-two. He wanted the time and the opportunity to explore it, to nurture it. Quite simply, he wanted the life he and Tyler always dreamed of. With the Babylon project quickly winding down, that was going to take an even bigger feat of mental acrobatics to sort than the financial problems of the Madrigal. Which meant that he had a lot more than punch-out work to discuss with Gerald, when he arrived later this week.

At the thought of his boss, Brody's mind sparked. The first niggle of an idea began to take shape.

Tyler tugged away. "I think I'm going to have a bath before bed."

"Sure."

As she started toward the back of the house, Brody began to turn over details, making mental lists of things to research, specifics that would have to be worked out.

"I wouldn't mind some company," she called.

"I never turn down such an invitation from a gorgeous woman." Brody headed back, deciding he wouldn't mention his idea to her. It was crazy. A long shot, at best. There was no reason to get her hopes up. But if he could come up with the right angle, the right pitch, there might be a way to save the theater.

"Can I get you anything else?" Tyler asked.

"Oh no, we're coming up on winter," Patty Spruill said. "The projects are slowing down at Casa Spruill. I just wanted to pick up the parts to fix that leaky shower faucet in the guest bath before all the kids come home for the holidays."

Tyler bagged up the O-ring cartridge replacement kit. "This will do it. And if you have any trouble, you give us a call. Or if you end up needing a plumber, I can recommend Ray Gentry or Leroy Dubois."

"Ha, that'll be the day," said Patty. "Sheldon Spruill does not call repairmen for things he can most certainly do himself. But thanks for the recs. If he breaks something, it'll be nice to have someone on reserve." Patty picked something up from in front of the register. "What's this?"

"Hm?" Tyler offered the bag and shifted to see what she had in her hand.

Patty held up a manila envelope. Frowning, Tyler took it and opened the clasp, shaking out the contents. A flight itinerary with confirmation numbers lay on top of the stack. She skimmed the details. Memphis to Dallas to Portland. Departure on January 3rd. Brody Jensen.

_What are you up to?_ she wondered, laying the papers aside. "Brody must've left it behind at lunch. I'll get it to him later."

Patty smiled. "It's good to see you two back together."

"It's good to _be_ back together," Tyler admitted.

"Well, we're all looking forward to your performance. I bought tickets for the whole family for opening night."

"Should be a good show. I think you'll enjoy it." Tyler tamped down the twinge that it would be the last opening night she'd ever have at the Madrigal.

Once Patty was out the door, she picked up the papers again and began to shuffle through them. She hadn't realized that she'd expected to see her name on an identical flight itinerary until she didn't find it. Instead, she found lists of addresses and contractors and a letter addressed to Brody on Peyton Consolidated letterhead. Tyler's eyes picked up isolated phrases.

_...exemplary work...wrap up of Babylon project...exciting new opportunity...head up project from the beginning...expect you in Portland..._

The papers fluttered down from Tyler's suddenly limp fingers. She barely heard the jingle of the bell over the roaring in her ears as two more customers entered the store.

_Brody's leaving._

"Can you help us?"

She blinked at the young couple and struggled to pull her focus back. "Of course."

Her heart was pounding, her chest cranking tight like a vice around her lungs. Somehow she managed to get through the next fifteen minutes, giving advice on paint finish and paint colors before mixing two gallons of eggshell in a shade called Sierra Mist. As soon as they were gone, Tyler grabbed her keys and did something she absolutely never did. She closed the store in the middle of the afternoon and walked out.

Brody would be at the hotel job site this time of day. Her body was trying to shake, but she wouldn't let it. Ruthless, she fought back her growing panic and the tears that wanted to fall as the full impact of what she'd read began to sink in. This wasn't the time to jump to conclusions. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for the fact that he hadn't told her. Just because his boss wanted him to go to Portland for this job didn't mean he was going. Did it?

_It gave us us back._ They hadn't actually talked about this being more than a temporary thing, but when he kept saying things like that, didn't it mean something?

A sick, roiling sensation settled in Tyler's gut as she shoved through the plastic tarps hanging over the front of the building. The front desk had been installed, she noted. Furniture had been delivered to the bar area, still wrapped in plastic and foam. The swanky globes hung, glittering, over the long, glossy bar, and looked every bit as gorgeous as she'd imagined. Everywhere around her were signs of the project drawing to a close. Brody had said Gerald intended to do a soft launch for New Year's.

"You can't be in here!" A harried man Tyler didn't recognize rushed down the stairs. The clipboard under his arm and the wire rim glasses told her this had to be Gerald Peyton's assistant.

"You must be Louis. I'm Tyler Edison. We've spoken on the phone." There. Her voice was calm and even, without a glimmer of the fact she was falling apart on the inside. Still an actress after all. She offered her hand.

The man relaxed, giving her hand a perfunctory shake. "What can I do for you, Ms. Edison? Is there a problem with any of our orders?"

"No, no. Everything's fine for the project. I'm looking for Brody Jensen."

"He's not here," Louis said. "He and Gerald are looking at some new commercial property down the street."

There was only one new commercial property down the street. The Madrigal. Tyler absorbed that blow, wondering that her legs didn't just give out on her.

"Do you want me to let him know you were looking for him when he gets back?"

"No, I think I'll just see if I can't catch up with him later."

Tyler wanted to run straight to the theater. But her feet felt like lead and her chest was clamping down even tighter, until she could hardly breathe. It couldn't be true. There had to be some other alternative to what she was imagining. She couldn't have gotten things with Brody so horribly wrong.

The Madrigal's lobby door was unlocked. Tyler slipped inside with no more than a whisper of footsteps on the worn red carpet. Hearing the murmur of voices in the auditorium, she edged to the door and tugged it open just wide enough to slip inside. The aisle lights were on dim and the stage was lit up as if for production. Brody and Gerald stood in front of the set for the Ed Harrison Show. The acoustics of the stage were such that she could hear their conversation all the way at the back where she stood in the shadows.

"—wanted to show the place to you without Sally, so we could actually talk about the possibilities without it getting all over town," Brody said.

"As always, I value your discretion. It's a unique and interesting space with lots of possibilities. The location is prime and would fit in perfectly with the rest of the conference facilities I want to put in up the block. Of course all the old stuff would need gutting and modernizing. The carpet and seats are worn out. We'd want to install a state-of-the-art projector system for presentations up here and update all this backstage space with all the nice behind-the-scenes amenities that help conferences run flawlessly. Unseen efficiency."

With every word, Tyler felt like vomiting.

"This was a marvelous idea," Gerald continued. "There simply wasn't the commercial space anywhere else in the downtown area, and with the zoning restrictions, we couldn't actually build anything to suit. This will enable us to expand the conference facilities to not only rival the Alluvian but outstrip them. And that means profits, my boy. You'll be long gone by that point, of course. As soon as things wind up here, I want you in Portland to deal with the retrofitting of the hotel I acquired last month. I sent you the specs already. The construction team is already in place, and their projections just aren't going to work for my schedule. I need your particular brand of management to get the ball rolling."

"Thanks, Gerald." Brody's voice sounded far away. "Your faith means a lot to me, and the hotel is an amazing opportunity—"

Tyler couldn't stay another minute. Fighting tears, she slipped silently back the way she'd come, walking away from the man who'd shattered all illusions that he'd be making a life with her.

The faint hum of the shower greeted Tyler as she stepped through the front door. She was grateful for the brief reprieve, for the chance to find her composure before facing Brody. Rehearsal had taken so much out of her with all that effort to try and appear normal when she was so raw. Piper hadn't bought it. Neither had her father. But she'd managed to put them both off, claiming exhaustion from juggling work and rehearsals. It wasn't a total lie.

Bringing Ollie to the bedroom as she usually did felt too much like fighting in front of the child, so instead, she settled him on his bed in the living room with a rawhide chew, before moving back to the bedroom to wait. The comparison was foolish and irrational. But she wasn't feeling particularly logical at the moment.

Brody emerged from the bathroom in a towel and a cloud of steam. "Hey, I can't find my stuff, have you seen—"

"It's here." Tyler picked up the duffel from the closet behind her and heaved it onto the bed.

He looked from the bag back to her.

Her heart pounded a vicious, relentless rhythm in her chest, until she felt like she would explode with the force of it. She needed cold, needed calm to get through this. Walking to the chair in the corner, she imagined a layer of ice coating her from head to toe, freezing out the hot burn of pain that had been lodged beneath her breastbone since she'd opened that envelope.

Brody remained standing in the bathroom doorway, dripping onto the carpet as he held the towel loosely around his hips. His expression hadn't settled into anything yet—still somewhere between _I don't understand what's going on_ and _everything is clearly not okay._

"You're dripping," Tyler said.

He moved to the bag, peered inside. "You packed."

"I did."

"Are we going somewhere?"

"No."

Saying nothing, Brody pulled out clothes. When he dropped the towel to put them on, she looked away, then glanced back under her lashes. She hated that she had to look. But this was the last time she was going to see him outside of rehearsal, and she needed to memorize the lean, muscular lines of his body.

He shrugged into a shirt. "Tell me."

Tyler had spent the afternoon working out this speech, struggling to find the best way to present this so as not to start a fight. She couldn't handle a fight. She was too close to breaking.

"I thought I could do this," she said quietly. "I thought I could pick back up where we left off. But we aren't twenty-one anymore. We're different people than we were when you left. Different people, who want different things, who are in two different places in their lives."

"What are you saying?"

"It's done. I'm done." The words came out with more of an edge than she intended, but it fit with the coolheaded calm she was trying to project.

Brody flinched, his eyes narrowing at the tone. "You want me to move out."

He'd barely moved in. But then, he hadn't _really_ moved in. He'd been living out of a bag, like the guest that neither of them acknowledged he was.

How nicely that fit with her new understanding of him.

"I think that would be best." God, it hurt her to say it, but rationally, what other choice was there? It didn't matter that him leaving was the worst possible thing, that it was exactly what she didn't want. She had to be the one to end this. It had to be on her terms. She couldn't just wait for him to destroy her again, not in front of the whole damned town, where she'd be the object of everyone's well-intended compassion. Again. Of the two of them, she was staying. She was the one who had to live with this.

"What if I don't?"

A spark of hope lit in her chest. _Then fight for us, Brody. Fight for me._ Tyler couldn't speak, too afraid that if she did, all she'd manage would be pleas for him to stay. She wouldn't beg. The scraps of her pride were the only thing she had left.

"I guess you've already made up your mind," he said.

It would be so goddamned easy to bend and give him an in, to let him convince her to allow this to play out a few more weeks. But she couldn't do that. Couldn't bear it.

"This was temporary," she began. "I knew that when I decided to get involved with you again." A lie. "My life is here, in Wishful. Yours is out there in the wide world. I tried to ignore that, tried to pretend that eight years of becoming different people didn't happen. But it did, and I'm not interested in pretending anymore. Playtime's over."

"You think I've been playing with you?" Now it was his voice with the edge.

_Tell me. Tell me you haven't. Tell me this is real. Tell me you aren't walking away._

The sound of the zipper closing made Tyler flinch. Brody picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder in a manner that suggested he'd rather be hurling it at the nearest wall. His eyes were narrowed, his lips compressed. "Good to know. I'll see you at rehearsal, Tyler."

She listened to his retreating footsteps, feeling her heart sink with each step. At the sound of the door closing, she shot to her feet and stumbled down the hall toward the front door. There, she stopped herself, wrapping both arms around her middle to ward off the shaking as she stared at the wood panels, willing it to open again. But, of course, it didn't. Every cell in her body strained toward the door, urging her to run after him, whether he thought her a fool or not. But she didn't move. And when she heard the engine of his truck turn over, heard the sound of him pulling out of the drive, she fell to her knees and wept.

# 2 Weeks 'Til Show

THE BABYLON JOB WAS all but done.

There were lists of final details to be tended to—always some kind of last minute, unexpected thing. But by and large, the construction was complete. The interior design crew was kitting out the rooms upstairs with the furniture that had been delivered earlier in the week. Cam, as landscape architect, was overseeing the planting of the hanging gardens on the roof. As Brody sat alone at the gleaming mahogany bar, he knew he should already be moving on. The portion of the job under his purview was done. Because of his commitment to the show, Gerald was leaving him to take care of the details that Louis normally handled. But even that should be handed off to the new manager in a few weeks. He'd done a hell of a job, beating even his best record for the company in terms of bringing in the project ahead of schedule.

None of it meant a damn thing.

Brody felt none of the usual pleasure in a job well done, no joy over the finished product. Because it all meant he was that much closer to being out the door and on to the next job. And for the first time in eight years, that was no longer enough.

Cracking open a bottle of bourbon from the newly stocked bar, Brody poured himself a glass and avoided looking at the envelope full of details on the Portland job that Louis had sent over that afternoon. Brody had lost the first one.

"You been holding out on us, boy-o!"

Brody looked over his shoulder to see Tucker clomping his way across the room, Cam on his heels.

"Neither of you is supposed to be here," Brody said.

"We are on a mission," Tucker announced. "And since it's all of benefit to you, you can pour us some of whatever it is you're drinking there."

Brody didn't relish company for his brood, but he knew his friends weren't going to leave him be until they'd said whatever they had to say. With a marked lack of enthusiasm, he circled around to the other side of the bar and grabbed a couple more glasses.

"Much obliged." Tucker accepted the glass, took a testing sip. "Mmm. Smooth."

Cam took his own glass and used it to point at Brody. "Now, it has become increasingly clear over the last week that you have a bug up your butt about something and, given that Tucker and I have actually _seen_ you on multiple occasions when you have heretofore been joined to the hip with the lovely Miss Edison, we conclude that all is not well in paradise."

He and Tucker exchanged a look. "What did you do?" they demanded in unison.

Brody glared at them. "Not a goddamned thing. And if you're both going to be assholes instead of friends, I'm not sharing."

Tucker moved his low ball out of Brody's reach. "Let's try this again. What happened?"

"Hell if I know. She came home from rehearsal last week and asked me to move out. Already had my bag packed."

"Did you have a fight? Because groveling is always advisable in that case," Cam said.

"She wasn't angry." If she'd been angry, he would've had something to fight against. But that calm, cool finality gave him no leverage. "She just said she couldn't do it anymore—that we'd both known it was temporary from the start, and she didn't see the point in pretending anymore." God that burned. When had he ever given the impression that his intentions were temporary?

"Is that what you were doing?" Tucker demanded. "Because I'm not too gimpy to kick your ass."

The slap of the glass as Brody slammed it down on the table echoed off the high ceiling. "I love her."

"Simmer down," Cam ordered. "It's a fair question. If Tyler said it, then clearly you did or did not do something to spark that thought. So what was it?"

"Why is this on me? It was her decision."

"Do you want help figuring out what went wrong or not?" Tucker asked.

"She's made up her mind," Brody said. That had been painfully obvious in the set expression on her face, in the fact that she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"And you're clearly totally okay with that," Cam said, "what with the Little Mary Sunshine attitude you've been sporting all week."

Brody gritted his teeth. "Of course I'm not."

"She said it was temporary, so she went into it expecting you to leave," Tucker said. "Did you?"

"I don't know. I didn't think beyond having her back in my life. Having her back was like a miracle. And by the time I realized I was going to have to figure out how to make it work, she's kicking me out."

"This might have something to do with it." Cam tapped the envelope he'd opened and pointed at the flight itinerary on top. "You're leaving for Portland in January. If she heard about that, could be she's just cutting things off now to make sure it ended on her terms."

"For fuck's sake, _I'm_ practically just hearing about it. Where would she have heard?" Brody stopped, cutting himself off. He _had_ lost the first packet of information. If she'd found it... He shook his head. "None of it was even finalized until after she kicked me out. And why wouldn't she _talk_ to me about it?"

"Because you have a history of leaving without a word," Tucker said. When Brody would've spouted off again, he held up a hand. "It doesn't matter the whys of what happened before. You weren't here to see what that did to her. We were. We were the ones who picked up the pieces. It was bad, Brody. Really damned bad. There's not a one of us who would blame her for not wanting to go through that again."

Jesus, would he ever be free of the guilt from that? "I'd never do that to her. Not deliberately."

"Did you tell her that?" Cam asked. "Did you tell her, at any point, explicitly, 'Look, Tyler, this temporary thing is not going to work for me. I have no idea how we're going to make it work, but I love you and I want more?'"

"Do actions count for _nothing?_ "

Tucker looked at Cam. "No," they said.

"Women need the words," Cam said. "Which means we have to man up and say them, no matter how obvious all of it seems to us."

"Sometimes we need the words too. She's never asked me to stay." Not once since that unguarded moment after they'd become lovers again.

"Then you're not only stupid, you're blind," Tucker pronounced. "Just because she hasn't spelled it out doesn't mean she doesn't want you to. She'd never have let you back into her life otherwise. Tyler's not the type to give an ultimatum. She _can't_ leave, can't change the responsibilities she has here, so the change has to be on you. She'd never outright ask you to give up things for her. She'd feel too much like she was guilting you into it."

What, exactly, did she think he'd be giving up? "How is saying what you want a guilt trip?"

Cam shrugged. "I don't know. Seems to me you both suck at saying what you want. I speak from personal experience when I say you should go grovel and work on that."

Brody thought of that carefully blank face, the hint of banked temper in her eyes. What was behind her mask? "I'm not sure she's in a place where she's interested in listening to anything."

"Then I guess you'll just have to do it in a way she can't ignore."

How could a house where she'd lived alone for the last five years feel so empty after having a guest for only a week?

_Because you never saw Brody as a guest._ Tyler clutched a pillow to her chest and stared up at the living room ceiling. _Because you built this place for him, for both of you, and part of you has just been waiting all these years for him to come home._

Well, that wasn't happening again. The pain of that was quick and deep and familiar. For the last week, fresh stabs had struck her everywhere she turned in the house. And that didn't even begin to cover the misery of rehearsal. There they danced, and Brody's touch was light and impersonal. That in itself felt like a slap. Dancing had always been an intimacy, a shared pleasure. And now...

_Well what the hell did you expect? You took him back, and you kicked him to the curb. Now you have to deal with the consequences._

Still, Tyler couldn't see getting involved with Brody again as a mistake. She'd wanted closure. In truth, she'd wanted a hell of a lot more than that. But closure was what she'd gotten. No more wondering why he never came back for her or if he ever would. After the play was over, he wouldn't be coming back to Wishful, back to her. It was done now, settled with the kind of finality their previous parting had lacked. The part of her that had spent all these years waiting could finally move on.

Whatever the hell that looked like.

Moving on was somewhere well on the other side of a pain she'd done her best to forget.

_Part of the process,_ she thought. _Been there, done that. Burned the t-shirt._

Ollie barked, thumping his tail.

"Potty?" she asked.

He barked again.

"At least you're simple." Tyler rolled off the sofa. "Food. Water. Potty. Cuddles. We've got all that covered, buddy boy." She pulled open the door, scooped Ollie up and headed outside.

"Gotcha."

Tyler closed her eyes at the triumphant tone in Piper's voice from where she'd been hiding out of sight on the other side of the grill. _I should've known that a text announcing I had a highly contagious stomach bug wouldn't keep her away._

"We've been worried about you." Norah unfolded from the chaise lounge.

_Crap._

Ignoring them both, she continued on into the yard, setting Ollie down so he could do his business.

"You know, I was pretty sure you were lying about being sick," Piper said. "But you look awful."

"Thanks. You've seen for yourself that I'm not well. Now you can go report back to whoever you're reporting back to and let me go back to bed." Where she'd been spending all of her time when she wasn't at the store or at rehearsal, trying to pretend that everything was fine when, in fact, she was exhausted and heartsick.

"Do you know me _at all?_ " Piper asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. Didn't anybody ever teach you to respect a brood?"

"We brought pizza, Ben and Jerry's, and chicken noodle soup," Norah announced before heading in through the back door and making for the kitchen.

That was it then. There'd be no ejecting them now. At least they'd come bearing food. Dinner the last two nights had been a bowl of dry Peanut Butter Crunch cereal, the last shred of Brody in the house.

Piper waited until she got Ollie settled on his living room bed to speak again. "I'm going to use my super duper powers of observation here and hazard a guess that Brody is no longer staying with you."

_Staying,_ Tyler thought with a pang. _Even she knew it was really temporary_.

"No."

Piper crossed to the stereo, turned it on. After two bars of The Cure rolled out of the speakers, she stabbed it off again. "Oh honey, it's worse than I thought. Lay it out. Tell us what he did in order that we may conceive of the appropriate punishment for him."

_God love Piper for immediately thinking it was all his fault._

"Nothing."

"You don't want to punish him? Norah, quick, bring the Ben and Jerry's. This is serious."

"He didn't do anything." That was the problem. "I asked him to move out."

"You—" Piper cut herself off. "I think I need the Ben and Jerry's too."

Norah came back with the ice cream and three spoons. "Why did you ask him to move out?"

"Because I needed him to go on my terms. I needed to keep something when he walked away, even if it was only my pride." Not that the shriveled husk of that was much comfort under the circumstances.

Piper immediately sank to the sofa and put an arm around Tyler's shoulders. "Why now?"

"Because I couldn't keep up the charade anymore. He's not staying. He was never staying."

"Okay, I know that was the case when he got here," Norah said, "but that really isn't the impression I've had since you got back together. What makes you so sure he hasn't changed his mind?"

"Because I found the flight itinerary and all the details of his next job. He's leaving for Portland come January, and he didn't tell me."

"Oh honey." Norah set down the ice cream and wrapped her arms around Tyler from the other side.

Sandwiched between her friends, Tyler felt tears begin to burn. Fighting them back, she choked out, "It gets worse. He's talked his boss into buying the Madrigal to turn into some kind of awful conference center. After everything we did to save it, all that talk about preserving our history, now he's leading the charge to destroy it."

"He what?" Piper demanded, a dangerous glint in her eye. "He told you he was doing that?"

Tyler shook her head. "I went to find him after I found the stuff about Portland. He was there, at the theater, going over the whole thing with Gerald Peyton. I heard all of it. They never knew I was there."

"Did you ask him about it? About any of it?" Norah asked.

"What was the point? I heard with my own ears, saw it written in black and white. And when I asked him to go, he just _went._ No fuss, no fight, no argument. Who _does_ that?"

Norah was wearing her very careful negotiation face. "Well, honey, what did you expect him to do?"

"If it really mattered, if _I_ really mattered, he would've stayed and at least hashed out what was wrong."

"Why didn't you tell him what was wrong?" Piper asked. At Tyler's glare, she held up a hand for peace. "He's a man, ergo he's dense. You can't expect him to be a mind reader. You jumped right on to the end of the fight without giving him a chance at participating and defending himself."

"Did you ever ask him to stay?" Norah asked.

She thought of the night they'd become lovers again, of the question that had slipped out in that unguarded moment. He'd thought she was asking him to stay for the night, not forever. And she hadn't felt the need to say it again, not when they had seemed to be so clearly on the same track. She never dreamed she'd been so wrong.

A niggle of doubt wormed its way into her mind. If she'd asked him—explicitly, outright asked him to stay—would it have made a difference?

"How can I do that?" she whispered.

"It's very simple." Piper put her hands on Tyler's face like the genie in _Aladdin._ "You say, 'Brody, I love you. I want you to stay.'"

Tyler shoved her hands away. "Right. And risk that he says no. Or worse, that he stays and grows to resent me because of it? I can't bear that."

"You don't know he'd do either of those things," Norah pointed out.

"I don't know that he won't. The only way I'll truly know is if he comes to me himself, of his own volition."

It struck her then. The truth of her situation. It _had_ all been a mistake. Because after all these years, she was still waiting for him. She didn't get closure. All she'd done was reopen an old wound she used to know how to live with.

# 1 Week 'Til Show

THIS WAS IT. THE last dress rehearsal they'd ever have in the Madrigal. As she stood in the dressing room, surrounded by the scatter of makeup, hair products, and all the other flotsam and jetsam of costuming, Tyler wanted to weep. It was simply too much to bear. Once this show was over, she'd have nothing left to hang on to. Brody would be gone, and the theater would be destroyed. And every day she passed it, she would have a flagrant reminder that he hadn't been the man she believed him to be.

"Hurry up!" Piper hissed from the door. "We're almost on!"

Tyler hurried through the rest of her costume change and took her position, real feather fan in hand. The smile she forced for the number felt like it would shatter her face, but her voice, her choreography was on point. At least now everyone would believe her lack of spark was due to the foreclosure rather than Brody. Except for Brody, at least.

He watched her, dark eyes far more serious than the role dictated. If it had still been temper in his gaze, he'd have been easier to ignore, but it was concern she saw as she traded lines and plotted matchmaking with him on stage. Tyler forced herself not to get lost or forget her lines. She thought she managed well enough, as Nate didn't stop the rehearsal for redirection. But Brody caught her in the wings between scenes.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"Fine." Tyler knew the smile she shot him was more of a wince.

Brody lowered his voice. "You forget, I actually know you."

"I used to think I knew you." She moved away from him for the next costume change.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"We don't have time for this, Brody. I have to get changed."

Brody cursed, and Tyler felt the sizzle of his temper as he let her walk away. It lit a fire under her own, while she slipped into the next dress. How could he not know, not understand what he'd done? She was still simmering when she met him on stage again, and they sparked off each other as they performed.

_Hardly the magic everyone expects_ , she thought as the curtain dropped for a set change.

"Cut!" Nate called.

Now they'd done it. They'd screwed things up with their personal crap badly enough that he'd stopped a dress rehearsal.

The curtain lifted again, and Tyler braced herself for a lecture. But Nate wasn't paying attention to them. Instead he was talking to someone in the aisle. Two someones. Squinting, she tried to make out who it was. Norah? What was she doing here?

"Raise the house lights, please," Nate shouted.

As the auditorium lights came up, Tyler felt her blood run cold as she recognized Brody's boss in his impeccable suit.

Norah and Gerald walked to the front of the auditorium, beside the orchestra pit. "Sorry for the interruption, y'all," Norah said, "but I knew you'd want to be the first to know. As you're aware, the Madrigal went into foreclosure with the bank a couple of weeks ago. The old girl isn't in the greatest of shape, and our various fund raising efforts weren't enough to keep the wolf from the door. But I am happy to report that the theater is off the market. The sales paperwork has been filed with the bank."

A low murmur of surprise swept through the cast.

Norah continued, "I'd like to introduce you to the new owner of the Madrigal Theater, Gerald Peyton. He wanted to come talk to all of you and tell you a bit about what he has planned."

Gerald stepped up, thanked Norah for her introduction.

Tyler's shoulders went rigid and she closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.

"I'm not from here," Gerald began, "but through my business dealings in the community, I've come to develop a true fondness for Wishful and its unique history. When I first heard of the availability of this property, my initial thought was to incorporate it into the same complex I'm developing up the street. But one of your own has worked very hard to convince me that there are other more...suitable alternatives that will maintain the integrity and history of the theater, while continuing the theme of urban redevelopment in downtown Wishful."

Tyler's head shot up and her heart began to pound.

"Brody, perhaps you'd like to tell them the rest," Gerald suggested. "It is your idea, after all."

Brody stepped forward to address the assembled cast, crew, and orchestra. "Y'all might've noticed I've looked half dead the last week during rehearsals. I apologize for that. I've been getting very little sleep, while I put together a proposal for Gerald about the Madrigal and her potential. For the record, I don't recommend anybody use AutoCAD while high on Mountain Dew." A chuckle swept through his audience.

"Gerald's new non-profit organization will be submitting a grant in the next month that's geared toward the first in a multiphase project to create a state-of-the-art performing arts center. First and foremost, we're going to restore the theater. She's going to get outfitted with the latest in lighting and sound technology, while receiving a makeover to the lobby and auditorium that will return it to its original splendor."

A whoop went up from the crowd. Tyler felt her knees go weak. Brody grinned and held up his hands for quiet. "That's only the first stage. Ultimately we want to expand to include a concert hall and an additional outdoor performance space beyond the central park lands, for outdoor concerts and theater productions. Those projects will depend upon the securing of additional grant funding and revenues generated by continued and expanded performances of the complex. If you're interested in seeing what the proposed venues look like, I've been working on the plans for the last couple of weeks. But the important take home here is that The Madrigal is safe."

_The Madrigal is safe._ The words echoed through Tyler's brain. Brody met her gaze across the stage, cocking his head in question at her no doubt stunned expression.

_Oh God. I had it all wrong._

Congratulations were tossed like confetti, and the generally dismal mood that had haunted rehearsals since they announced the foreclosure finally dissipated. Half the cast launched into a rousing rendition of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," while others burst into spontaneous jigs. Nate let it go on for a good five minutes, before calling everyone back to order and getting the dress rehearsal back on track.

Gerald came up to the edge of the stage and shook Brody's hand. "Good luck with the show. I'm afraid I won't be here during the run. I'm flying out tomorrow morning. But I'll see you on the third."

Tyler felt like the top had blown off her head. It was a minor miracle that she remembered her lines and choreography through the rest of the performance. The numbness started to wear off about the time they finished resetting the stage for opening night. She raced through changing back to street clothes. Piper strode in as she was hopping toward the dressing room door, pulling on her shoes.

"Tyler, did you—"

"I have to talk to Brody," she interrupted.

"I think he already left."

"Shit." Tyler pushed passed her, racing out to the parking lot.

He was tugging open the door of his truck when she burst outside.

"Brody!"

He tossed his bag into the front seat before turning to face her, bracing his arms on the open door and the frame of the cab.

Tyler slowed, trying to get a handle on her thoughts as she approached him. Now that he was staring at her, expectation on his face, she didn't know what she was going to say, only that she couldn't leave things as they had been.

"It's a really lovely thing you're doing for the theater," she began carefully. "Why didn't you tell me you were working on this?"

Brody shrugged. "It was a long shot. I didn't want to get your hopes up—or anybody else's—in case Gerald didn't go for it. I saw you when the announcement was made. You were surprised by the news. Why?"

She rocked back on her heels and dropped her gaze. "Because I heard you when you brought Gerald to see the theater. I was in the back of the auditorium. I heard his plans for the conference center and how he wanted to change everything. And I thought you'd encouraged him."

Anger and insult warred on his face as he stepped toward her. "Is _that_ what all this was about? You thought I was helping destroy the theater?"

Tyler refused to allow herself to bend beneath the shame. "Part of it," she admitted. "I misjudged you, and I—I wanted to apologize for that."

"Then you still mean what you said."

Tyler wavered.

_You don't have to hurt._ _Not yet._ The tiny, sly voice poked at her. _He didn't want this. He'd take you back if you just relented._

It was tempting—so tempting—the thought of having these last weeks with him and taking whatever time they had left. But how could she do that to herself? For all that she'd truly meant her attempt at living a _carpe diem_ life where Brody was concerned, she didn't truly believe it was worth the extra pain. What progress she'd made since she'd ended things was incredibly hard won. Sliding back into any kind of temporary arrangement with him would do far more harm than good.

No, better to stay the course and be strong. She just had to survive the next three weeks. Then she'd finally get that clean break and her chance to start over.

"Yes." She trembled as she said it.

Brody's face softened. Stepping into her space, he cupped her cheek, sliding his fingers into her hair. "I miss you."

She swallowed the knot of tears in her throat. "I miss you, too."

Tyler half expected him to press her back against the truck, to take her mouth in one of those scorching, claiming kisses. Part of her wished he would. But Brody held still, and she realized he was waiting for her to close the distance between them. The distance she'd put there.

_It would be a mistake._

Tyler stepped back. "Good luck in Portland, Brody. I wish you all the best."

The warmth of his fingers lingered against her skin as she walked away.

_Good luck in Portland._

She knew. She knew he was leaving for Portland, and she'd said nothing. No demands for answers, no indication she wanted him to stay. Except for the bald pain on her face as she wished him all the best.

Why was she doing this? How could she possibly have believed he'd willingly destroy the theater?

Brody started to go after her, to push for the fight she avoided, so they could get everything out into the open. But tomorrow was opening night, and she was having enough trouble keeping to her role as it was. Blowing things wide open would likely just leave more wounds between them, and there was no way they could pull an understudy substitution this late in the game. He didn't _want_ an understudy substitution. He wanted Tyler. So he curled his hands around the door frame and watched her walk away.

Shortly after leaving the theater, Brody found himself pulling into a space in front of Dinner Belles. This late the diner was empty but for a couple of open textbooks on one empty table. He didn't know what he was doing here except that he was too restless to go home and a slice of pie made thinking more palatable. He slid into a booth and flipped open his organizer. It was full of details on the Portland job, contacts, schedules, supply lists, projections and estimates. All the things that were part and parcel of his trade, the things that had dragged him up the ladder at Peyton Consolidated and landed him this opportunity. It was what he'd been working for all these years.

There was no thrill to his success of being appointed to manage the project from the get-go. He studied the various elevations of the new building design, and all he saw were details. Meaningless, empty details.

"What can I get you, Brody?"

He tensed as he looked up to find Corinne standing beside the table, a coffee pot in one hand. But there was no evidence of the flirtatious smile she usually aimed his way.

"Coffee," he said. "And a slice of whatever pie's left."

"There's a piece of lemon meringue with your name on it." She leaned in, efficiently flipped over the mug at his elbow and filled it without spilling a drop. And she did it all without stepping into his personal space. "I'll be right back with that pie."

Curious, Brody watched her as she crossed to the rack on the counter and plated up his slice. She looked different, somehow. He thought maybe she'd put on a few much-needed pounds since he'd first come back.

"You changed your hair," he said, as Corinne set the pie in front of him.

Self-conscious, she lifted a hand to her all dark locks, pulled back in a low pony tail. "Seemed like time for a change," she said.

It made her blue eyes stand out more and softened her face. "Looks nice," he said.

Her cheeks pinked at the compliment. Brody didn't think he'd ever once seen Corinne Dawson embarrassed.

"Thanks. Um, can I get you anything else?"

Without the automatic defensive barrier against her flirtation, Brody noted the dark circles under her eyes, the tired set to her shoulders. It was easier to see her as a person, as a single mom who'd got the short end of the stick in life rather than the girl he'd gone to high school with. He found himself saying, "Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me? I don't figure anybody else'll be coming in before closing."

Corinne glanced over at the open textbooks. "I should really—"

"Study?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Five minutes," he said. "The break will do you good."

After another moment of indecision, she retrieved her own coffee cup from the table and slid in across from him.

"What are you studying?" he asked.

"Nursing. I'm just taking a couple of classes this semester. Mama Pearl doesn't mind if I do homework when things are slow."

Brody smiled. "She takes good care of folks."

"She's been wonderful to me and Kurt. She's the one that encouraged me to go back to school. Lance never—" She cut herself off and took a quick sip of coffee.

"Lance is your ex?"

Corinne gave a short, jerky nod.

_Sensitive subject here,_ he thought. "Sounds like you're well rid of him."

"You have no idea," she muttered. Squaring her shoulders, she mustered a smile. "So, opening night is tomorrow. I'm surprised Tyler's not in here with you. Isn't that a post-dress rehearsal tradition or something?"

It was Brody's turn to hide his expression in his coffee cup. "We aren't...together."

"For God's sake, why not?" The utter shock in her voice had him looking up.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I screwed it up somehow. Again."

Corinne thunked her mug on the table. "Then you need to figure out how to fix it."

Brody lifted a brow. "That is...not the reaction I expected from you."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Flirting with you was a compulsion from the old days. I've got plenty on my own plate without adding a man into the equation. And anybody with eyes in their head can see that you and Tyler belong together. You always did."

He sifted through the vague sense of insult and surprise. "Then why did you always try so hard?"

Corinne's cheeks colored again, deeper this time. "Because she had what I wanted. It wasn't you so much as someone like you. No one has ever looked at me the way you look at her. Like the sun rises and sets in her eyes. You respect her and you understand her. The pair of you were always so perfectly matched, like...I don't know—"

"Bookends," Brody murmured.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I was jealous of that, and I didn't know how to find that for myself. I still don't, but I've got other priorities now. Like raising my son to be a better man than his father. The point is, if something is wrong between you and Tyler, you have to fix it. You can't let the gift of that kind of relationship go just because stuff got hard."

"I wasn't the one who let go," he said.

"Apparently you weren't the one who fought to hold on either," Corinne said. "I don't know what you two fought about, and it doesn't matter. She's in love with you. She always has been, always will be. And if you walk away from that, you're exactly the idiot I thought you were eight years ago." She slid out of the booth and pulled the ticket from her apron pocket. "It'll be $3.25 for the pie and coffee. The advice is free." She laid it on the table and strode back into the kitchen.

Brody sat in stunned silence for several long minutes. Laying a twenty-dollar bill beside his uneaten pie, he walked out. He opened his truck, tossed in the organizer, then shut the door again. His mind too full to drive, he began to walk the quiet streets of downtown Wishful. Corinne's remarks bounced around like a pinball, adding to the weight of what Cam and Tucker had said.

He knew now what was at the root of Tyler breaking things off. Despite his lingering insult over the fact that she could've believed he'd truly have allowed the theater to be destroyed, when they'd put so much into preserving it, he understood her self-protective actions. For all that what had happened eight years ago was a terrible mistake, she had years of pain believing it had been deliberate. That wasn't so easily overcome by logic, especially not if circumstances had led her to believe he was going to do it again.

The question was, how was he going to fix it? Cam had said she'd need the words. But which words, and how? Brody didn't want to offer her the uncertainty of not knowing how things could work. He felt like he owed her more than that. He needed to work out the details.

Stopping in front of the Babylon, he looked up at the classic Georgian facade. He was damned good at details.

A breeze gusted through the trees, snaking under his collar. Brody shivered. Damn, it had finally gotten cold. He really ought to get back to the truck. But instead of turning back, he found himself drawn into the dark of the green, toward the fountain that was the heart of Wishful. Moonlight gleamed off the faint ripples on the surface. He bent and trailed his fingers through the frigid water. Once upon a time, he'd tossed in his coin, made his wish, and been disappointed. But maybe he'd been doomed to disappointment because he'd had no faith. Hope and faith were inextricably intertwined. You couldn't really have one without the other. Getting Tyler back was going to take a massive leap of faith.

As he stood beside the water, Brody felt the first stirrings of a plan begin to take form. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter, rolling it habitually across his knuckles, holding his wish clear in his mind before tossing the coin in with a splash.

"Hope springs eternal," he muttered.

# Opening Night

TYLER STARED AT THE vase of bright yellow tulips on the dressing table. She didn't need to see the card to know they were from Brody. It was another of those show traditions.

"Aren't you going to read the card?" Piper asked.

She was almost afraid to open it. Her resolve was so weak at this point, she didn't know if she could hold up against him if he decided to press the issue. But the card only read, _Break a leg, beautiful_ in his familiar, blocky handwriting. "Just the usual," Tyler said.

"Did you talk to him last night?"

"Yes." And yet there'd been so much unsaid. But it didn't matter now. He'd made his choice, and she'd made hers. They had a show to perform.

Tyler could see the struggle on Piper's face, desperate to ask more. But she'd wait because now wasn't the time. _And thank God for it._

"Ten minutes to curtain!" The call swept through backstage like wildfire, sending them all into flurries of motion.

Tyler did her best to put Brody out of her mind, to finish her makeup and slip into the bathrobe that was her first costume for the night. She was in the wings when the opening overture began, watching as the curtain lifted on the Italian theater of World War II and Brody and Myles entertaining the troops. This was it. The last opening night show she'd ever have with Brody. A part of her ached even as she enjoyed his performance. Then it was time for her own, and she had no more opportunity to think.

As the show got rolling, Tyler managed to immerse herself in the role. She owed it to her castmates, to the Madrigal, to give it her all. But her all still wasn't feeling right. Not until Piper ad-libbed a slap to her butt with a feather fan and startled a laugh out of her. This was supposed to be _fun._ An outlet for joy. It was time to remember that it wasn't all about Brody. Loosening up, Tyler slid properly into the guise of Judy Haynes. She preened and flirted, shamelessly getting caught at playing the angle to get Wallace and Davis to come check out their sister act. So she was smiling when she rose from the table and accompanied Phil to the dance floor.

Tyler knew the moment Brody touched her for their first number that something had changed. For all that they couldn't seem to communicate in words, they'd always been able to speak through dance. The hand he curled around her waist was warm, firm, and proprietary, not the impersonal hold he'd been using recently. Part of her thrilled to the sensation and wanted to arch into his touch. It was instinct to flow into the rhythm of their movements and follow his lead. By the time her brain kicked in to question that instinct, the dance was over and they were transitioning to the next scene.

The pressure of continuing to go through the motions and remembering lines kept Tyler from dwelling on anything more personal for too long. So when they reached the engagement party kiss, she didn't feel the expected dread as Brody lowered his mouth to hers.

_I miss you._

She felt the echo of his words in the lingering warmth of his mouth against hers, in the brush of his fingers over her cheek before he turned away to continue the scene. It wasn't the deliberate erosion of defenses he'd pulled the first time, but his kiss stirred her nonetheless, slipping behind the pitiful walls she'd managed to erect around her heart. The punch of longing left her feeling breathless and conflicted again. Temper sparked as she made her exit. Was he _trying_ to make her crazy? He'd agreed to this, agreed it was over—if not in words than by his actions. What right did he have to act like nothing was wrong?

Nate caught them during the change of scene. "Great job staying in character, you two. You've been struggling a bit the last couple of weeks, but you're really back on point."

_In character,_ Tyler thought. _Of course. This isn't about messing with me, it's about the show. He's doing this for the show._

Brody wasn't trying to push her into anything; he'd just dropped his guard with her to play the part.

The truth of that made her bleed again—again and again, she kept finding new ways to hurt. But she put the hurt aside. If Brody could do this for the Madrigal, so could she. This show would be her final performance. Once he left Wishful, nothing would get her on stage again, so it was important she give it her all.

So Tyler let the walls drop for the last time, and the old magic ignited.

She danced. She sang. And she fell in love with Phil Davis, while they schemed to matchmake Bob and Betty and rescue a retired general from obscurity. Brody glowed, owning the stage. Every smile, every glance seemed to be for her alone, despite the full house. It was their best performance ever. She didn't need Nate's delighted soft shoe at the transition to the final act to tell her that. Every touch of Brody's hand set off a spark in her blood.

When the final song began to play and he grabbed her for a kiss behind the center stage Christmas tree, she wasn't Judy Haynes and he wasn't Phil Davis. The arms that came around her held on, the lips that met hers tasted of the same pent up longing and need that had been torturing her for weeks. God, _God,_ she'd missed him so much. She wanted to find a dark corner and drown in him. Myles' boot kicking Brody's leg was the only thing that kept them from missing their cue.

As "I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm" spun out and the curtain calls began, Tyler struggled to rein in her emotions. The row of castmates in front filed out of the way, and Brody took her hand, leading her in a complicated dance that had the crowd hooting and cheering with approval. She couldn't hold back the joy or the pain as he spun her away for her bow. The audience's applause washed over her, making her feel at once soothed and triumphant. She'd done it. Whatever else could be said, she'd given this performance her all.

Straightening, Tyler turned back to take Brody's hand.

And found him down on one knee.

Everything inside her came to a jarring halt, and she almost stumbled. All the blood drained from her face, yet her cheeks felt almost scalding as she covered them with her hands. Beyond the stage, the cheers of the audience quieted into whispers. A sense of anticipation filled the air.

Brody's thumb brushed over the edge of a small box. "I've carried this around with me for a long time. It's been to the top of the Eiffel Tower and all across the country. But it was always meant to be here. Because this place, this stage, is central to what we are to each other."

_This isn't happening,_ Tyler thought dully.

And yet the orchestra was changing its tune. Brody angled his head, a quizzical expression on his face until he recognized the music. Then he smiled.

It took a few more bars before Tyler's ears processed the melody. "All I Ask Of You."

"Oh, God," she whispered.

"I've known you most of my life," Brody continued. "You were the cute little blonde girl with pigtails, who spent her time building forts out of tree limbs during recess instead of playing kiss-chase like the other girls. The amazingly fast track star, who took the high school by storm. But it wasn't until I stood on this stage with you for _Oklahoma!_ callbacks and heard you sing that I really looked at you. You took my breath away. I fell in love with you when I played Curly. And I did it all over again, every single time we sang, every time we danced.

"When I screwed things up, it was this theater that brought you back into my life. This show that gave me the chance to earn you back and show you that I never stopped loving you. And I screwed it up again. But I'm taking a leap here and hoping this will show you, in no uncertain terms, that I love you. Because you are my perfect match, in every way. So I'm asking you, Tyler Anne Edison, in front of our friends and cast members and this entire audience, to marry me and be the leading lady of my life." He flipped open the box, and the diamond inside flashed in the stage lights.

Tyler pressed a hand to her mouth, blinking against the tears. He was offering her everything she wanted...and yet.

"What about Portland?" she said, helplessly.

"It's temporary. I'm coming back home to Wishful. To you. If you'll have me."

_I'm coming home._

No three words had ever sounded so wonderful. Tyler loosed a shuddering breath. "Thank _God._ "

Brody's lips twitched. "You have to say it," he said. "I want witnesses."

She laughed and pitched her voice so all could hear. "Yes, Brody Theodore Jensen, I will marry you."

"Then let's make it official." He pulled the ring out of the box and slid it on her finger. "I love you, Tyler."

Tyler framed his face in her hands. "I love you, Brody." Then she fisted a hand in his Santa jacket and jerked him to his feet, fusing her mouth to his while the crowd went wild.

Breathless, Brody staggered off the dance floor and accepted a fresh glass of champagne. The cast party turned engagement party at Speakeasy was in full swing, and he was pretty sure it was just as packed as karaoke night had been.

"Thank God tomorrow's performance isn't until seven."

"Amen," Tucker agreed, lifting his pilsner in a toast. "To friends, love, and gullibility."

Tyler lifted a brow. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"That I can finally take this off," Tucker said. He bent over and unfastened the Velcro holding on his walking cast. "Thank God. This thing is so hot and itchy. I can't imagine what it's like for people who really did break their leg." He stepped out of the boot and toed off his remaining shoe, doing a happy little bounce and tap routine in his sock feet.

"What the hell, man?" Brody demanded.

Tyler's jaw had dropped. "Your leg wasn't broken?"

"Just a small, internal, muscular hemorrhage, sir," Tucker said, saluting. "I faked the whole thing so Brody would get promoted from understudy to Phil."

"You did what?" Brody laughed.

"You sneaky bastard," Tyler. "I brought you poppyseed chicken!"

Tucker patted his stomach. "And it was damned good poppyseed chicken."

Brody shifted his attention to Piper. "But you said it was broken. You took him to the ER yourself."

"I was in collusion," she said simply. "We figured if anything would get you two to work out your differences, it would be playing opposite each other again."

"So you pulled a Phil and Judy on Phil and Judy," he concluded.

"Pretty much." Tucker grinned, smug. He tapped his glass to Piper's.

"And our work here is done," she said.

"Imagine if they used their combined powers for evil," Brody said.

"Terrifying." Tyler raised her own glass. "To friends who knew better than we did, and most of all, to the Madrigal."

"To the Madrigal!"

**Choose Your Next Romance!**

**Who do you want to see next in Wishful?**

Are you just _dying_ to see whether Autumn finally gets up the nerve to change things with Judd? _Make You Feel My Love,_ Book 1 in my light romantic suspense spin-off Wishing For A Hero series, is friends-to-lovers crack. Seriously, you're gonna love it. It's my favorite epilogue I've ever written. This series is the same Wishful you know and love, with a little bit more of an edge.

If you've got a nose for news, then you'll fall in love with newspaperman Myles Stewart, hero of Book 4, _Just For This Moment._ You may remember Myles from the cast of White Christmas in _Be Careful, It's My Heart_. If you suspected shenanigans between him and Piper during the show, well, you were right! Fans of marriage of convenience tales are gonna LOVE this zany pair.

Can't make up your mind? Keep turning the pages for previews of them both!

Want to grab the next boxed set? You can get _Wishful Romance Volume 2 (Books 4-6)_ here.
Did you suspect there was something going on with Piper and Myles? You were totally right! Piper had help pulling off her sneaky sneaky matchmaking scheme. Read all about it in _The Matchmaker Maneuver,_ a newsletter exclusive Wishful prequel. This story runs concurrent with the events of _Be Careful, It's My Heart._

* * *

# Just For This Moment

## Wishful Romance # 4

**A madcap modern marriage of convenience tale sure to leave fans begging for more**

* * *

Maybe there hasn't been actual blood, other than a few paper cuts, but Myles has put plenty of sweat into his independent, local newspaper, and he's even willing to admit to a few manly tears. Certainly, the paper has been his mistress since he moved to the small town of Wishful, Mississippi, and he doesn't feel it's hyperbolic in the least to say it owns a piece of his soul. He's building his dream, independent of the life laid out for him by his family, and that means everything. There's nothing he wouldn't do to ensure its success.

* * *

Piper fell hard for Myles when they co-stared in the production of _White Christmas_ that saved Wishful's historic Madrigal Theater. Not in love, she's careful to remind herself, but into very serious like, and certainly outrageous, chemistry-fueled attraction. But Piper knows that the bright lights of the stage can wreak havoc with perspective. She's been burnt by them before, when an on-stage passion fizzled into disappointment and heartache. That's why she put on the brakes with Myles, and she admits to herself that the fact that he played by her rules and waited only adds to his appeal.

* * *

When Myles tells her that a major investor is pulling out of the paper, leaving him with a huge loan to repay or lose his control over what he's built, Piper is devastated for him. But when he jokingly admits that the best option he's come up with is to marry a showgirl to gain access to a trust fund, well, that just sounds like a plan to Piper. After all, why not take this great guy on marriage test drive? He's worth having just for this moment, however long it lasts. But as their fake marriage turns alarmingly real, they'll have to decide if they're in it for the moment or forever.

**Chapter One**

"WELL? WHAT DO YOU think?" Myles Stewart sat across the table, trying to read the inscrutable face of his lunch companion.

Simone chased the bite of muffaletta with sweet tea and lifted her arm to get the attention of their waitress.

Corinne wandered over, more sass in the sway of her hips than she'd had when Myles moved to Wishful seven months before. He hadn't gotten the story on her yet. "Get you a refill on that tea, hon?"

"I'd like to speak to the cook."

"Something wrong with your sandwich?" Corinne asked.

"I'd just like to speak to the cook," Simone said evenly.

With a worried frown, the waitress headed back to the kitchen.

"What are you doing, Simone?"

She just lifted a sardonic brow and continued to sip her tea.

Myles glanced back to the kitchen where Mama Pearl Buckley, Goddess of Pie and Gossip and owner of Dinner Belles Diner, stepped through the door. Her brows drew down in thundercloud formation as she looked Simone's way.

_Oh, this is not good. Not good at all._

"Seriously, if something's wrong, they'll fix it. There's no need to call Omar out."

"Omar, huh?"

Omar Buckley, master of the kitchen and Mama Pearl's youngest son, pushed into the room, a grease spattered apron stretched across abs that were just as flat as they'd been when he'd played on scholarship as running back for Ole Miss eight years ago—before the knee injury that blew his football career. Myles had heard that sad tale over coffee several months back. Omar's face was a twin of his mother's, and he had the shoulders and arms to back up his displeasure.

_Shit_. The last thing Myles needed was Simone making enemies her first day on the job. Myles could see the headline now. _Out-of-Towner Earns Buckley Wrath—Banned From Diner for Life._

The lunch crowd went silent as Omar's shadow fell over the table. Everyone waited with baited breath to see how things would unfold.

"Somethin' I can do for you? Ma'am." This last he added after a pause.

Simone tipped her head back, blatantly scanning him from head to toe and back again, her lovely, mocha-colored face absolutely deadpan. "Omar, I presume?"

"Yeah."

"I just wanted to shake the hand of the man who made the best damned muffaletta I've had outside the French Quarter."

Myles released an audible breath.

The tension in Omar's face smoothed into a grin. "That a fact?"

"I lived there for close to ten years, so I'm in a position to know." She offered her hand. "Simone Grayson."

Omar took it, his bigger palm swallowing Simone's. "You visiting?"

"New in town. Glad to know I'll be able to satisfy at least some of my culinary cravings for N'Awlins."

Now that the threat was past, Omar made his own lazy survey of Simone, ending with an expression that said he'd be happy to satisfy any craving she had, culinary or otherwise. And Simone wasn't shutting him down. Wasn't that interesting?

As the silence stretched out between them, charging like a freaking Duracell, Myles fell back on old social training for proper introductions. "Simone's the new full-time reporter for _The Observer_."

"That right?"

"Omar does a bi-monthly food column for the paper. He rotates out with Tom Thatcher from The Spring House."

"I look forward to testing out some of your recipes."

"You do that. And if you have a hankering for somethin' in particular, you let me know. I might can do somethin' about it."

Simone smiled, and Myles was put in mind of a cat that'd cornered a particularly tasty form of prey. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

As Omar headed back to the kitchen, Simone dove into her muffaletta in earnest.

"You need a cold shower?" Myles asked. "Because I'm pretty sure you just cranked up the temperature in here a good fifteen degrees."

She shrugged. "Let's just say I'm more than a little glad I let you talk me away from _The Times-Picayune_."

"And I consider that one of my greatest coups. I told you you'd love it here."

His phone dinged, signaling a reminder. Myles slid it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. **Call Piper up for a date**.

Myles couldn't stop the grin from stretching ear to ear.

_Finally_.

He'd met Piper last September, during auditions for the Wishful Community Theater production of _White Christmas_. As Bob to her Betty, he'd held her, kissed her, spent hours with her on set and off. And he'd gone more than half crazy for her in the process. But the lovely and talented Piper Parish did not date her co-stars. Some B.S. about the false intimacy of the stage, which had seemed reasonable at the time he'd agreed to it. He'd been waiting three months. Months where they didn't get to hang out or talk more than the occasional text. Well, and the monthly karaoke night up at Speakeasy Pizzeria. The woman _loved_ her karaoke and damned if he hadn't gone and learned half the music from Broadway just for the chance to sing with her. But that was more a group thing, not a one-on-one hang out opportunity. So he'd kept waiting. Ninety long, lonely days for her self-imposed edict to pass. And now, time was up.

_Hot damn._

Maybe he could swing by the clinic where she worked to ask her in person before he headed back to the paper.

"You're looking awfully happy."

"Why wouldn't I be happy? I stole one of the most talented reporters I've ever had the pleasure of working with from one of the best papers in the country, I'm having a damned fine cheeseburger for lunch, and the paper is finally turning an actual profit."

"A good thing, too, as I'd like to actually get paid."

No sooner had Myles shoved the phone back into his pocket, then it beeped again, this time with an incoming text. He fished it out and read the message from his general Jill-of-All-Trades, Patty Hamilton, who he'd inherited when he bought _The Wishful Observer_.

Patty: **Your investor's attorney is here.**

Myles frowned.

"Something wrong?" Simone asked.

"Not sure." He texted Patty back. **Did we have a meeting scheduled?**

Patty: **No. He won't say what it's about.**

**He? Not the usual woman?**

Patty: **No. Never seen this one. According to his card, he's one of the partners from her firm in Atlanta.**

That was...odd and more than a little disconcerting. What could he want?

**Be there as soon as I finish up lunch.**

Looked like he wouldn't get the chance to swing by the clinic to see Piper after all.

Because he didn't want to wait, he thumbed a quick text to Piper. **Time's up, Buttercup. When can I see you?**

Like some love-struck teenager, he stared at the phone, hoping to see the little gray bubble with dancing ellipses that would indicate an immediate reply. But there was nothing. And hell, the clinic could be under a rush with God knew what. They were smack dab in the middle of prime-time sinus infection season. She wasn't about to be texting when she was supposed to be taking blood pressure or temperatures or giving somebody a shot.

Calling himself an idiot, he put the phone away and finished inhaling his lunch. Simone got the rest of hers to go—which came complete with Omar's number scrawled on the Styrofoam box—and they hot-footed it across the town green and down the street to the humble offices of _The Wishful Observer_.

Myles didn't let himself get uptight or worried. His investor probably just wanted another progress report or additional explanation of some of the expansions Myles wanted to make. The hot-shot lawyer out of Atlanta was probably just stopping by because he was on his way to somewhere else.

_Right, because Wishful is so on the beaten path?_

By the time he stepped through the doors, Myles was willing to concede he felt a little bit nervous about the drop-in meeting. Those infantile nerves turned into awkward tweenagers at the sight of Patty's face.

"What?" he asked her.

"He's in the conference room. Just sitting there like an extra in a _Terminator_ movie."

"Are we talking T-800 here or T-1000?"

"Tough call. I wasn't brave enough to try to kosh him over the head to see if he liquefied to fix himself."

Simone looked impressed. "You know _Terminator_?"

"Please. I have three sons. I don't know what he wants, Myles, but be careful in there."

Wanting to reassure her, he squeezed Patty's shoulder. "It'll be fine."

Stepping into the small conference room, Myles thought perhaps this guy should've auditioned as an extra for _The Matrix_. He looked like a better dressed Agent Smith, and Myles half expected to see an earwig partially covered by the perfectly cut brown hair.

"Mr. Stewart." When the words didn't come out with the same measured tone as Mr. Anderson, Myles was almost disappointed. This guy had a cultured, country club Southern drawl—the kind of accent Myles could imagine him practicing in front of a bathroom mirror, while quoting Atticus Finch.

"That would be me. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"I'm John Bondurant, from Bondurant, Meadows, and Leach. I'm here on behalf of your investor."

He didn't offer his hand to shake, so Myles dropped into a chair. "Of course. What can I do for you, Mr. Bondurant?"

"My client has reviewed the latest progress reports you forwarded on and is, quite frankly, disappointed in the profit and loss statements."

As unease slithered through him, Myles wished desperately they were in his office, where his desk was covered in toys he could pick up to occupy his hands. What he would give for a Slinky just now. "I realize the profit margin is a bit thin right now, but I've had less than a year to get the paper turned around. Some of the equipment needed updating, and I've had to expand my staff to accommodate the increased workload." If you could call moving from three employees to four and adding a high school intern a real staff expansion.

"Nevertheless, my client is concerned that your rather...ambitious plans are more optimistic than realistic."

"Change takes time. And businesses of any variety require solid investment before they really have an opportunity to grow." How many times had he heard that refrain growing up? Damn it, he knew business, and he knew newspapers. What he was doing here was working. Rome wasn't built in a friggin' day.

Mr. Bondurant pulled a folder from his shiny leather briefcase. "My function today is as messenger, Mr. Stewart. You needn't justify yourself to me."

Eying the folder like it would bite him, Myles slowly reached out and took it. There were only a few sheets inside. He pulled his reading glasses from his inside jacket pocket and read through the papers, feeling his cheeseburger congeal and harden with every word.

"This is insane. I can't possibly have the full payment on the loan by then. That's not even two months! This isn't what we agreed to."

"On the contrary, my client is exercising the right to pull out of the investment. In light of last quarter's returns, my client is well within rights according to the original agreement."

"Well, we need to revisit the damned agreement, then. This is ludicrous. I want to talk to your client. Directly."

"That's not possible. My client deals only with proxies. I'd be happy to take your counter offer back and present it, but I advise you, Mr. Stewart, to begin looking for other investors. The loan payment is due at the end of the forty-five days or you forfeit ownership of the paper."

"They'll make such beautiful babies, with her pretty face. Better hope for a boy first because those girls will be so pretty, they'll need a big brother to beat the boys off."

_Why did I let Mom and Leah talk me into this?_

Piper Parish sat in the middle of a long table at the Wishful Country Club, as black-and-white clad wait staff wove around the bridal party, removing the salad plates—spinach and strawberry salad with poppyseed dressing, of course—contemplating whether it might be more enjoyable to stab herself in the eye with her salad fork, as she listened to her Great Aunt Beatrice extol the virtues of the bride-to-be. Carrie Jo was a jobless, twenty-two-year-old, barely out of college, who had no actual aspiration in life beyond getting her MRS degree, which she'd be achieving on Saturday. She was also Piper's cousin, which was exactly how Piper had been roped into being part of the bridal party. Considering she had actually changed Carrie Jo's diapers, that was a little bit demoralizing.

As the main course appeared—nothing but chicken salad would do for a bridesmaids' luncheon—Piper wondered if she could get away with ordering a mimosa or three in the name of celebration. Given this was the Southern Baptist side of the family, she thought not.

_More's the pity._

"I heard Richard wants her to stay home so they can go ahead and start trying for a family."

_Yeah, that's because they already got started on that part._

Not that Carrie Jo had mentioned it. But as a nurse, Piper was well-attuned to the signs. That glow sure as hell wasn't wedding happies. She wasn't showing yet, and Piper was reasonably sure no one else in the family knew or suspected. Considering the holy hell that would break loose if they found out—at least before Saturday—Piper wasn't about to be the one to reveal that secret. Let Carrie Jo have her day with as little drama as possible.

"So, when are we going to be hearing wedding bells for you, Piper?" Aunt Bea asked. "You've already let Leah beat you on that one."

Piper sipped at her sweet tea and muttered. "Last time I checked, marriage wasn't NASCAR." Not that anybody in her family recognized that fact. Her baby sister had beat her in the race to the altar three years prior, at the ripe young age of twenty-four. And she'd delighted the entire family by immediately providing the first grandchild a year later. A boy, Preston, who, Piper was forced to admit, was cute as the dickens. Leah was winning points left and right.

The remark earned her an aggravated look from her mother. It was an expression Piper was intimately familiar with.

"What's that, dear?" her great aunt asked.

"Nothing. No wedding bells for me any time soon, Aunt Bea."

"Oh, that's a shame. But surely there's someone special?"

Because the idea that her life could revolve around something other a man certainly didn't compute.

Before Piper could think of a snark-free reply to that, her phone vibrated. It was purely verboten that she had it out of her purse at all, but if she was caught, she had the excuse of being on-call at the clinic. Not that she actually was today, but they didn't know that.

She slid the phone from beneath her napkin and swiped to unlock the screen.

Myles: **Time's up, Buttercup. When can I see you?**

Piper's cheeks warmed, and she had to fight back the grin tugging at her lips.

_Speaking of someone special._

The new-in-town and very sexy Myles Stewart had been her unexpected co-star in last fall's production of _White Christmas_. He'd been at auditions to write a story about the show and decided to audition himself just for the chance to meet her. She'd spent the last months of autumn fighting the zing between them, sticking to her self-imposed rule about not dating her romantic lead. He hadn't blinked when she'd issued a cool-down period so that whatever intimacy engendered by the show could fade. Instead, he'd spent the entire three months sending her outrageous texts and a daily notice of the countdown. She'd done her best not to respond too often, encourage him too much. But those texts had been the highlight of her days, keeping that zing alive and well and impatient. And then there was karaoke night. She lived for the chance to sing with him. They'd been carrying on the subtle flirtation through song all these months.

And now the wait was over.

_Thank God._

Her thumb hovered over the screen, prepared to tap out a reply— _Is now too soon?_

"Piper!" The sound of her mother's voice almost made Piper drop the phone. "Are you on your phone?"

"No ma'am. I was just checking in with the clinic." Reluctantly, she slid the phone back into her purse beneath her mother's disapproving eye. She'd be hearing about this later.

Just as well she hadn't answered yet. Between work and all the wedding events, she wouldn't actually be free until after Saturday. Maybe Saturday night if the reception didn't run too late.

"What were you saying about who you were dating?" Aunt Bea asked.

Of course she hadn't lost that line of questioning.

Piper considered saying something about Myles, but the last thing she wanted was any of her nosy relatives going to bother him at work to find out who his people were. Besides, they weren't dating. Yet.

"I haven't had a lot of time for dating lately. We just recently wrapped the production of _The Mousetrap_." She didn't usually go out for the non-musical roles, but she'd needed the distraction to keep from giving in to the temptation to blow her rule all to hell and jump straight into things with Myles—which, given the level of that zing, would likely have led straight to bed, thus breaking another personal rule. "Were you able to make it out to see the show? We got rave reviews."

"That's nice, honey, but you really should devote more time to finding yourself a husband. That biological clock is ticking and you don't have all that much time left."

"Right, because my ability to pop out babies is my only valuable attribute as a woman, and, at twenty-nine, I'm ancient and my uterus is populated by dust and cobwebs."

"Piper Elizabeth!" Her mother's middle name invocation brought all conversations at the table to a screeching halt. Nearly a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her.

At Twyla's look of censure, Piper ducked her head. "Sorry, Mama."

This was her longest standing and most challenging role to date. Pretending to give a damn about what the rest of her family thought she ought to be doing with her life. Because certainly what she actually wanted didn't matter to any of them. God forbid she be anything but the traditional, dutiful, meek Southern daughter.

Carrie Jo's mama jumped into the conversational breach. "Piper, I'm just going over some last-minute details with the caterer," Jolene waved her own cell phone and nobody got on to her. "I think your reply card got lost in the mail. Do you have a plus one for the reception?"

_This just keeps getting better and better._

She nearly said yes. For two long seconds, Piper considered asking Myles if he'd be her plus one. She doubted he'd say no and, God knew, his company would make the wedding less of a misery for her. But then her family would know about him. And he'd know about her family. Neither of those things seemed likely to lead to a desire for him to spend more time with her. Better to suck it up and admit the truth.

"No ma'am, I don't."

"Oh, that's a shame."

Piper called on all her acting chops to keep her smile fixed in place and set in polite rather than feral lines.

Carrie Joe's Aunt Rae spoke up. "I could set you up with Forest Langford. He's getting out again since his divorce."

"What about Quincy Blackmon?" Libby Newsom, the maid of honor, suggested.

Piper lifted a hand to stop the commentary and offers of pity dates. "No, really, it's all right. I avoided having a plus one on purpose."

They all stared at her as if she'd sprouted a second head.

"I just thought I could be of more help if I wasn't having to entertain a date. There's so much to manage, after all." A blatant lie, but it effectively turned the tide of pity.

"Well, isn't that just the sweetest thing?" Jolene declared. "Since you're...unencumbered, can I get you to—"

As Jolene took advantage of Piper's slip up to pile on additional wedding duties, all Piper could do was grin and bear it.

_Three more days. Three more days and this insanity is over._

* * *

Grab your copy of _Just For This Moment_ today!

# Make You Feel My Love

## Wishing For A Hero, Book #1

> **Will danger catapult these lifelong friends to lovers?**
> 
> * * *
> 
> Autumn Buchanan has loved Judd all her life. Best friends since they were children, he's been fulfilling her rescue fantasies for years. But years ago, her dreams of more ended in blood and a nightmare that nearly cost them both their lives. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Now she's ready to take the leap and profess all to the friend who's stood by her through thick and thin. But before she can make her confession, their nightmare returns and secrets are revealed that threaten the very fabric of their lifelong friendship.

**Chapter One**

* * *

_D ear God, if I'd wanted to break up elementary school fights, I would've become a teacher._

Headed into the second leg of a double shift, Officer Judd Hamilton tried his best to clamp down on the irritation. He had, after all, volunteered to organize FountainFest safety for the police department. And if that meant keeping Jim Vernon and Neil Faber from coming to blows over who got to kick off the 1-mile Fun Run, then that's what he'd do.

Beyond the two geezers, he caught a glimpse of his girlfriend, Mary Alice, smiling at him. Her group of third graders was obviously excited about the race but behaved themselves. Unlike these two. He really wished he could put the pair of them in time out.

Instead, he tried his best to channel the calm, reasonable tone he'd heard Mary Alice use on her class. "Look, gentleman, I respect the fact that you were both told you could fire the starter pistol. I know it's a big honor—" _for the three seconds it will take for everyone to forget you were ever there,_ "and neither of you wants to be disappointed, but let's have a little bit of perspective and festival goodwill, okay?"

"I'm not giving up my place!" Jim bounced like a banty rooster.

Neil's age-spotted hands curled to fists. "Why you old—"

Judd inserted himself bodily between them. "Y'all simmer down, or neither of you is doing anything." His over-tired mind raced, looking for a solution that didn't involve him plunking both of them in a cell for the duration of the festival. Somebody somewhere had to have some more blanks. "Look, if we can come up with a second starter pistol, you could both take the shot starting the race simultaneously. Equals. Is that acceptable?"

"I don't know..." Jim waffled.

Recognizing an opening when he saw one, Judd pushed. "Wouldn't it look good to the townspeople to see the presidents of the Kiwanis and Rotary Clubs joint officiating?"

Neil crossed his arms, rocking back on orthopedic-sneakered feet. "Well, I suppose that might be okay."

"As long as we both get to have our banners," Jim insisted.

"One on each side of the starting line," Judd promised.

"I can live with that," Neil allowed.

"Good. Great. Y'all do that. Banners in place on those barricades, and y'all get in position. The race should be starting in fifteen minutes."

_Lord have mercy._ Was all this extra crap _really_ worth enduring for the chance to be Chief of Police?

Of course it was. Because being Chief wasn't the end goal. It was just a means to an end.

He waited until the combatants scurried off to their respective civic groups, then radioed to find some blanks. Couldn't very well have civilians firing actual shots, when town was crawling with pedestrians for the first annual Wishful FountainFest. Looking at the throngs of people, Judd couldn't help but wish their city planner wasn't quite so good at her job. The department didn't have the manpower to adequately police this many people.

_Should've called in some of the off-duty deputies from the county._

But the departmental budget couldn't afford that either. Still, he'd seen at least two of the deputies in the crowd. Men he trusted, who could handle themselves. If anything went down, they'd lend a hand. Not that anything was _likely_ to happen, but Judd had plenty of personal experience that made him less complacent than most.

As soon as the starter pistol situation was taken care of, Judd walked over to Mary Alice. Her sunny hair was pulled through the back of a FountainFest ball cap, and she was dressed to run in a t-shirt and shorts that showed off her toned legs. The sight gave him a bit of a jolt. He was so used to her conservative, elementary school attire, he often forgot what was underneath. Which was a terrifying sign of exactly how much he'd been working these last few months.

_Need to rectify that._

"Kyle, pull your shorts up. Does anybody have to go to the bathroom before we get started?"

"Everything under control here?" Judd asked.

She looked up, blue eyes twinkling. "As in control as it ever is."

"At least they're better behaved than the race officials," he observed.

"You get whatever that was sorted?" Her gaze slipped past his shoulder. "Danielle, stop picking your nose."

"Barely. Race will be starting in just a bit." A jaw-splitting yawn interrupted the statement.

She gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "Hang in there. Once this double is over, you'll be off for four whole days."

"Thank God." The prospect of eight straight on a horizontal surface was more appealing than Venus herself.

With a quick glance at her charges, Mary Alice stepped into him, rising on her toes. Judd still had to lean down so she could whisper in his ear. "Maybe after you've slept, we could spend some quality time together. Do a little catching up."

He hummed a noncommittal noise, wondering why he couldn't drum up any enthusiasm about getting reacquainted with those legs of hers. It was the double shift. Had to be. A flash of red hair distracted him from the suggestion of what they could do with some of that quality time.

Autumn Buchanan, his oldest, dearest friend, cut through the crowd with Boudreaux, Judd's massive bloodhound-mastiff mix, trotting beside her on a leash. While he'd been on nights the last week, she'd been dogsitting. Livia Applewhite, the children's librarian and one of her closest girlfriends, trailed in her wake. Judd straightened, eyes zeroing in on the number pinned to Autumn's chest.

"Good morning, y'all!" She immediately launched into cheery greetings to the children she and Livia knew from the library, introducing them to Boudreaux. The dog sat, patiently enduring the kids' adoration, his big tail slowly sweeping the sidewalk.

"Are y'all looking forward to the race?" Livia asked.

As she drew the children into excited conversation, Autumn stepped forward, extending the to-go cup in her hand. "I come on a mission of mercy. A Zombie Killer from The Grind. Extra shot of caramel, just how you like it. Figured you'd be dragging about now. Plus, Boudreaux's missing his daddy."

Judd automatically took the cup in one hand, and gave his dog a head rub with the other, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of Autumn. "Thanks. What are you wearing?"

She glanced down at her shorts and fitted tank top, which displayed miles of lean, toned legs and arms that he forced himself to ignore. "I realize you're on a double, but if you're so tired you don't recognize running gear, I'm not sure you should be on duty."

"I'm talking about the race number."

She deliberately widened her green eyes at him. "It's called _participation_."

"You're not running." With a struggle, he managed to make it a question rather than an order.

"I am, actually. Livia, Riley, and I are doing it together."

Frustration whipped through him. "You aren't supposed to exert yourself. Dr. Webb said—"

"That exercise is _good_ for my heart."

"He meant yoga or swimming." Hadn't he? Nice non-competitive stuff that wouldn't get her heart rate or blood pressure up. Nothing that might aggravate her heart condition.

"It's a one mile _fun run,_ not a triathlon. Besides, Boudreaux is looking forward to some exercise. Aren't you, boy?" She scratched behind his ears, and Boudreaux pressed into her touch, eyes rolling back in bliss.

_Missing his daddy, my ass._

"Boudreaux's idea of exercise is walking from the sofa down to the end of my dock."

"Which should be proof enough that I won't be over exerting myself. Stop worrying, Grandpa."

That was like ordering him not to breathe. He couldn't just turn off twenty-five years of protective instincts. Not when he could still so clearly see her lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to half a dozen monitors and machines.

Someone's voice boomed over a bullhorn. "Everybody participating in the Fun Run please take your position behind the starting line. The race will begin in five minutes."

Livia craned her neck to look over the crowd. "We should go find Riley."

"Gotta go." Autumn was already turning away before he could think of any other rational arguments against her running in this race. "Drink the coffee, Judd. You'll feel better. Bye, Mary Alice!"

Beside him, Mary Alice lifted her hand in a wave. "She'll be fine."

Judd grunted a response and scanned the course to see what medical personnel were on duty, in case something went wrong. The First Aid tent was about thirty yards away, on one corner of the town green. They were more expecting scraped knees and sprains, but a defibrillator would be there. And he had his own EMT training to fall back on in an emergency.

None of it made him feel any better, but short of bodily stopping her from participating, it was the best he could do. Not that she'd had any incidents in years, and her last check-up with her cardiologist, three months before, had given her an all clear.

Judd blinked, realizing Mary Alice had been talking to him. "Sorry. What?"

A flicker of exasperation passed over her pretty face. "I asked if you'd be up in time tomorrow for us to go to your family's Sunday brunch?"

"Yeah, sure. Mom's been fussing she hasn't seen me." It'd be good to see his family. Plus, he needed to firm up plans to go shopping with Autumn for his brothers' birthday. No one was better at coming up with the best gag gifts for the twins than she was.

"No one outside the department has seen you since you went on nights a month ago."

"Part of the job." He shrugged. "Race is about to start. Y'all have fun and be careful."

He bent to give her an absent kiss and hit her cheek when she turned at the last moment.

Okay, so she was annoyed. He'd work on smoothing that over once this shift was done and he'd slept. He headed further up the street, judging the best spot to keep an eye out for Autumn. Just in case. The race course ran the length of the green, down Main Street, onto Franklin Street before looping back on Market Street to finish on the opposite side of the green. If she had issues, it would be on the tail end of the course. He positioned himself on the far corner of the green at Main and Spring Streets to watch the start.

At 6'3", Judd could see over most of the crowd, so when the starter pistols went off—in tandem, thank God—he kept an eagle eye on the surge of people flowing down Main Street. With her bright flash of hair, Autumn was easy to pick out. She, Riley, and Livia were in a tight cluster, with Boudreaux trotting ahead. None of them was going faster than a jog. He could tell Autumn was even talking and laughing as they went. The tightness in his chest eased a fraction.

Mitch Campbell, one of Judd's poker buddies, stepped up to the curb to watch the girls. "I don't think Boudreaux quite knows what to think about all these people."

"We both know he'd follow Autumn anywhere."

"Didn't know she was running."

"Neither did I," Judd grumbled. But at least she was being smart about it. No outright sprinting. And honestly, Autumn was never reckless with her health. She just seemed to worry about it a lot less than he did.

"Not sure you can call what they're doing running," Mitch observed as they disappeared from view.

Judd turned to make his way to the opposite corner, across from Sweet Magnolias Bakery, aware of Mitch falling into step beside him.

"Man, you look like warmed over death this morning."

"Thanks for that. Coffee hasn't kicked in." He drained it on the walk, feeling a rush of gratitude that Autumn had thought of it. With all his herding of people this morning, there hadn't been time to go by The Daily Grind himself.

"You gonna make it to poker night next week, now you're finally off nights?"

"That's the plan. But I've gotta work on digging myself out of the doghouse with Mary Alice. I've been working my ass off and neglecting her lately." Longer than lately, if he was honest with himself.

"Man, buy her something shiny. Never met a woman who couldn't be appeased with jewelry and flowers."

"Jewelry's never been my style."

"Even better," Mitch declared, thumping him on the back. "She won't expect it and it'll be a surprise."

"You sure?" Didn't gifts of jewelry come with certain expectations?

"Absolutely. Go by Sanderson's and ask Rosanna about the doghouse special. She's got a good selection of options."

Judd spared Mitch a glance. "You sound like you have a lot of experience with this."

"Well, I'm still friends with all my exes."

_There._

Autumn came into view, moving with the same unhurried jog she'd had at the start. Boudreaux trotted obediently beside her, periodically looking up at her in complete adoration. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, but not alarmingly so. She was okay, exactly as she'd said she'd be. The tension in his muscles drained out, and Judd could practically hear her in his head, _See there, Grandpa._

Turning back to Mitch, he picked up the thread of conversation. "But they're exes."

"Only because I got out before any of them got too serious. Talk to Rosanna. She won't steer you wrong."

What the hell? It couldn't hurt.

"We need a plan of attack."

Autumn looked with affectionate forbearance across the table at her best friend and thought of how many times in the past twenty-five years he'd said exactly that. "It's shopping for birthday presents, Judd, not a war."

"Same difference. There are _people_." His sharp blue eyes narrowed on the word.

She smiled into her coffee. "You're just grumpy because you haven't recovered from FountainFest and all those extra shifts you've been pulling."

"Hell yes. Ergo, I want to get through this whole process as quickly as possible." He inhaled a quarter of his tall stack of pancakes in about three bites, as if to prove the point.

"We _could_ have done this sooner if you weren't working all the time," she chided.

"Couldn't be helped. Chief Curry's been leaning on me pretty heavy lately."

"Which is exactly what you wanted."

Judd shrugged. "I figured the decision about the replacement Chief would've been made by now. Nobody thought this would drag on for over a year. Either way, this is the time we've got, and gag gifts must be procured. It's tradition."

Curmudgeon or not, Judd Hamilton was reliable as the rising sun. Since the pair of them were old enough to ride their bikes downtown, they'd established an annual tradition of finding the best possible gag gifts for his twin brothers. As she'd been an honorary Hamilton for more than a decade, she took great pleasure in punking Leo and Eli.

As they polished off their breakfast and Judd wrote out a list of stops like he was planning a tactical assault, Mama Pearl brought their check. Autumn started to reach for it, but Judd's hand shot out and snagged it.

"What are you doing?"

He was already digging out his wallet. "Buying breakfast."

Autumn bristled. "I can buy my own breakfast."

"You've been working on half-time hours since spring. I've been working overtime. I'm buying breakfast."

"Don't be an ass."

"I'm an ass for buying my oldest friend breakfast?" He fixed her with that cop stare that was meant to intimidate but instead heated things that had no business heating.

Autumn shifted in her seat, crossing her legs to get more comfortable and bumping his instead. A zing of awareness shot from her kneecap further north, and she repressed the urge to curse, focusing instead on keeping every nuance of her expression dialed to annoyed rather than attracted. God knew, she had plenty of practice.

Before she could come up with an answer that wasn't some shade of "I don't need you to take care of me"—which would just piss him off—Mama Pearl came back.

She gave a hmmph that conveyed a wealth of opinion over their stalemate before handing Autumn a thick envelope. "Omar sent this out. You won the pool on Tucker and Corinne."

Judd tossed down his napkin. "Of course you did. How many does this make?"

"Seventeen," Autumn said sweetly, plucking the check from his hand and pulling three fives from the envelope to pass back to Mama Pearl.

He stared at her. "Seriously?"

"What can I say? I'm lucky when it comes to betting on love." Which was an enormous crock of shit. She'd never been brave enough to gamble with him. Until today.

"She is the reigning champion," Mama Pearl confirmed, before ambling off to get her change.

"What's your secret?" Judd asked.

"Secret?"

"Why is it you're so good at picking who's going to end up with who and when?"

He absolutely wouldn't like the answer to that. Reminding Judd that she was adept at reading people's body language because she'd grown up in a household where understanding that meant the difference between surviving her father's crazy pseudo-religious delusions and getting the belt—or worse—would ruin the mood of the day. He'd gotten her out years ago. That was the important thing. Besides, it was a lot more fun using her skills for love instead of survival.

Now her brain was occupied with broaching a far more terrifying topic. How exactly _did_ you tell your best friend you're in love with him?

"Maybe it's all those romance novels. It's made me extra sensitive to spotting the signs. And anyway, betting on love sure as hell beats editing dissertations for foreign students in terms of supplementing my income."

His lips quirked in that rare devil-may-care grin that made her heart stutter. "You've actually made enough on this to supplement your income?"

It wasn't the only supplement to her income, but it was the only one he needed to know about. She made a show of fanning the remaining cash in the envelope. "I just got handed all my shopping money. For the twins and for a splurge."

"Then I guess we'd better go spend it."

Per tradition, stop number one was the fountain in the middle of the town green. Constructed just after the Civil War, the fountain had earned some local notoriety over the past century and a half. It was, after all, why the town was named Wishful. Usually Autumn tossed in her coin and made a less selfish wish—there were plenty of other people who could use a little bit of magic. But if she was really going through with this, she needed all the help she could get. She'd even saved a silver dollar specially for the occasion. The coin lay against her sweaty palm. She stared down at the smooth surface of the water, trying to slow her heart and think of the right way to phrase the wish.

"You okay, Firefly?"

The childhood nickname pulled her back to the past, to the first time they'd stood here and the wish she'd made then. The casual stroke down her back kept her in the now.

"You know, when we were twelve and you brought me here that first time, I didn't believe in wishes. Didn't see the point. But you gave me a quarter and told me to make a wish anyway. For anything I wanted. Do you know what I wished for?"

"What?"

She lifted her gaze to his face. "I wished for a new family. And you gave me yours. I can never repay you for that."

"We're not keeping a balance sheet, Autumn. It's not something you owe us for."

No. That had been a gift without price. And if she did this. If she changed things, his friendship wasn't the only thing she risked.

_Be brave. Be like the strong heroines you write about._

Eyes on his, she fisted the silver dollar and made her wish. _I wish for the courage and strength of heart to do what needs to be done, say what needs to be said._

She didn't look as she tossed the coin. Didn't even glance over at the solid _thunk_ in the water. She could only watch him. For twenty-five years, he'd been her strength, her shield, her confidant. And she was about to see if he'd be more.

"Judd, there's something I need to—"

"Autumn!"

The sound of her name had the words clogging like a logjam in her throat as she turned to see who had such craptastic timing.

"Mark?"

A history professor at Wachoxee County Community College, Mark Caulfield had been stopping in at the library once or twice a week for a couple of years. He was charming, erudite, and a little shy. Lanky, with a penchant for tweed—a less attractive Jude Law type. Livia had been making bets for months about when Mark would get up the nerve to ask Autumn out. He always seemed to stop just short of crossing the line from flirtation to action. Which was perfectly fine with Autumn. She enjoyed their flirtation, enjoyed the lack of pressure to actually commit to anything else. And here he was with flowers in his hand when she was about to confess her love to Judd.

_Crap on a cracker._

"Good morning, lovely lady." With a sheepish smile, he held a bouquet of bright yellow tulips out.

Autumn reached to take the flowers automatically, though a part of her instinctively recoiled. She couldn't stop the flinch as her hand curled around the stems. "What's this?"

"I saw these and they made me think of you. A little spot of sunshine. I went by the library to deliver them. Livia told me you were out shopping, so I took a chance that I could catch you."

Autumn made a mental note to murder her friend. She forced a smile and focused on the gesture rather than the flowers themselves. There was no possible way Mark could've known she loathed yellow tulips. They'd been her mother's favorite flower. "They're lovely."

She waited, watching splotches of color rise to Mark's cheeks as he shifted from foot to foot. _Please don't let today be the day he finally asks._

Mark finally seemed to register Judd's presence, which said a lot about the man's focus on her, as Judd had been looming behind her like a guard dog since the moment Mark had shown up.

"Hi. Mark Caulfield." He offered his hand.

Judd stepped forward to take it. "Judd Hamilton."

"And you're—"

"The best friend," Judd supplied. His gaze swept Mark from head to toe and clearly found him lacking. Not that anyone who wasn't well-versed in the microexpressions of Judd would notice.

"Ah," Mark said.

The silence spun out. One beat, then two.

Ordinarily, Autumn would've jumped into the breach, tried to put Mark more at ease with the scripted niceties used by all women in the South. But she wanted—needed—him to go away. So she said nothing, employing the same tactics she knew Judd used in interrogation, hoping Mark would be so acutely uncomfortable, he'd lose his nerve.

"Well, I—you're in the middle of something. I just wanted to give you the flowers. I'll let you get back to your shopping now."

"Thanks."

"I guess I'll see you when those interlibrary loans come in."

"I'll be sure to let you know," she promised.

Mark gave a little wave and shrugged his messenger bag higher on his shoulder, heading back across the green.

Autumn turned back toward Judd. She felt the weight of his gaze—those eyes that always saw too much and not enough.

"Do you want me to take them?" He knew. Of course, he knew what these would mean to her. It was just one of the many reasons she loved him.

"No. They're just...flowers. I can deal. Just...just tell me when he's gone so I can find somewhere to dispose of them."

Mark's interruption had seriously thrown Autumn off her game. Because the moment to speak had passed, she didn't resist when Judd took her arm. "C'mon. Let's walk."

"Let's swing by Brides and Belles. I'll give them to Babette. Someone might as well enjoy them."

"Sure. I've got something to pick up in that area anyway."

Dimly, Autumn wondered where, but was too rattled to ask. She'd find out soon enough.

She felt better once the flowers were out of her hands. Steadier. She joined Judd back out on the sidewalk. "Okay, List Master, where is our first stop? You said you had something to pick up over here."

"This way." He headed down the block. As she fell into step beside him, he said, "Hey what was it you were going to say earlier? Before we were interrupted. You seemed pretty serious."

"I was. I..." Autumn trailed off, staring blankly at the display window he'd stopped in front of. "What are we doing here?"

"Oh, I've just got to run in and pick up something for Mary Alice."

"Here?" They were standing outside Sanderson's Jewelers.

"Yeah, I've got something on order. Want to come in and see?"

Autumn's mind ground to a screeching halt, as everything she'd been about to say simply blanked. Judd Hamilton did not buy jewelry. At no point in their twenty-five years of friendship had he ever given something sparkly to one of his girlfriends. He'd never even gotten any cheesetastic jewelry for his mom on Mother's Day. And he had something on order for Mary Alice.

There was only one thing it could possibly be.

Something burst inside her, a white hot nova of shock sweeping through her body, reverberating through her chest. For long seconds, she waited for the pain to take her to her knees. But there was no physical pain. She wasn't dying this time, even though she was losing him now as surely as she'd nearly lost him years ago to a bullet meant for her. And for a moment she regretted that the surgeons had repaired her heart. Because that meant she had to live through this, watching him build a life with someone else, knowing she'd never even been in the running.

She drew on every shred of control she had to smile at him. Because she loved him and she wanted him to be happy.

"No. That's what I wanted to tell you. I'm going to have to bail on our tradition. I'm supposed to meet Mitzi to help finish up a grant for the library. With all the budget cuts, I really can't afford to tell her no, even though it's technically my day off. There's a deadline." The lie rolled off her tongue with surprising ease.

His expression clouded. "Well shit. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"She just emailed me this morning, and I thought we could at least do breakfast. But I need to get on. You go ahead and finish your shopping. I'll see you later, okay?"

Worry was written all over his face as he studied her.

_Please. Please let me go right now._

"Yeah, okay."

Because she felt the weight of his gaze on her, she didn't run, though every instinct urged her to flee. She kept her strides even and unhurried, though she was starting to shake. She kept her head held high, though she wanted to scream. She'd survived more than her fair share over the years. She'd find a way to survive this.

But as she passed the cursed fountain, she wondered how she'd survive it without him.

Grab your copy of _Make You Feel My Love _today!

# Other Books By Kait Nolan

**A complete and up-to-date list of all my books can be found at<https://kaitnolan.com>.**

**The Misfit Inn Series**

**Small Town Family Romance**

  * _When You Got A Good Thing _(Kennedy and Xander)
  * _Til There Was You_ (Misty and Denver)
  * _Those Sweet Words _(Pru and Flynn)
  * _Stay A Little Longer _(Athena and Logan)
  * _Bring It On Home _(Maggie and Porter)

**Rescue My Heart Series**

**Small Town Military Romance**

  * _Baby It's Cold Outside_ (Ivy and Harrison)
  * _What I Like About You_ (Laurel and Sebastian)

**Wishful Series**

**Small Town Southern Romance**

  * _Once Upon A Coffee _(Avery and Dillon)
  * _To Get Me To You _(Cam and Norah)
  * _Know Me Well _(Liam and Riley)
  * _Be Careful, It's My Heart _(Brody and Tyler)
  * _Just For This Moment_ (Myles and Piper)
  * _Wish I Might_ (Reed and Cecily)
  * _Turn My World Around_ (Tucker and Corinne)
  * _Dance Me A Dream _(Jace and Tara)
  * _See You Again _(Trey and Sandy)
  * _The Christmas Fountain _(Chad and Mary Alice)
  * _You Were Meant For Me _(Mitch and Tess)
  * _A Lot Like Christmas_ (Ryan and Hannah)
  * _Dancing Away With My Heart_ (Zach and Lexi)

**Wishing For a Hero Series (A Wishful Spinoff Series)**

**Small Town Romantic Suspense**

  * _Make You Feel My Love _(Judd and Autumn)
  * _Watch Over Me_ (Nash and Rowan)
  * _Can't Take My Eyes Off You_ (Ethan and Miranda)
  * _Burn For You _(Sean and Delaney)

**Meet Cute Romance**

**Small Town Short Romance**

  * _Once Upon A Snow Day_
  * _Once Upon A New Year's Eve_
  * _Once Upon An Heirloom_
  * _Once Upon A Coffee_
  * _Once Upon A Campfire_
  * _Once Upon A Rescue_

**Summer Camp**

**Contemporary Romance**

  * _Once Upon A Campfire_
  * _Second Chance Summer_

# About Kait

Kait is a Mississippi native, who often swears like a sailor, calls everyone sugar, honey, or darlin', and can wield a bless your heart like a saber or a Snuggie, depending on requirements.

You can find more information on this RITA ® Award-winning author and her books on her website <http://kaitnolan.com>. While you're there, sign up for her newsletter so you don't miss out on news about new releases: https://kaitnolan.com/newsletter/
