Книга - What Happens Between Friends

What Happens Between Friends
Beth Andrews


Friends… with benefits?For Sadie Nixon, life is one big adventure with something new around the corner. And anytime she needs a break, she can always rely on James Montesano - the best guy she knows. This time when she arrives in Shady Grove, however, something is different. There’s a little extra between her and James that has them crossing the line of friendship into one steamy, no-holds-barred night.After, no matter how hard she tries, Sadie can’t erase the memories of James that way. He’s so hot, so tempting… But his life is here and hers isn’t. She needs his friendship but she doesn’t do commitment.So where does that leave them? Suddenly what happens between friends is more complicated than ever!







Friends…with benefits?

For Sadie Nixon, life is one big adventure with something new around the corner. And anytime she needs a break, she can always rely on James Montesano—the best guy she knows. This time when she arrives in Shady Grove, however, something is different. There’s a little extra between her and James that has them crossing the line of friendship into one steamy, no-holds-barred night.

Afterward, no matter how hard she tries, Sadie can’t erase the memories of James that way. He’s so hot, so tempting.… But his life is here and hers isn’t. She needs his friendship, but she doesn’t do commitment. So where does that leave them? Suddenly what happens between friends is more complicated than ever!


“You can’t hide it from me, Jamie.”

Sadie’s voice was low and husky. Intimate. Too close for his comfort and peace of mind. His willpower. “I know you too well. And I know something’s bothering you.”

“What if I want to try something else, be somewhere else?”

“You? You’re steady. Reliable. Dependable. Like…like…”

“A lapdog?” he asked quietly.

“More like the sun,” she said as if on a burst of inspiration. “Always up in the east, down in the west, burning bright no matter how many clouds are hiding it from view.”

“Poetic,” he said, his fingers twitching with the need to touch her, really touch her the way a man touched a woman.

Why couldn’t he have one thing, go after one thing he’d wanted, craved for as long as he could remember?

“And yet, as steady, reliable and dependable as I am, maybe I still want a change.” And he finally touched her, just his finger trailing down the softness of her cheek. “Maybe it’s time I made a change.”


Dear Reader,

First times and last times. Life is filled with them, and this year my family will have its share. First time driving for my younger daughter, first time living away from home for my older daughter when she attends college this fall. Last summer my son will spend at home before graduating college and finding his own path.

Yes, our lives are filled with beginnings and endings. Some, like a child’s first step and last day of high school, are expected, but what happens when an opportunity arises that pushes us in a new direction, one we’re not sure we want to go?

That’s what happens when James Montesano and Sadie Nixon—best friends since they were ten years old—go from being just friends to so much more. Their new relationship is exciting and ripe with potential, filled with caring, respect and passion.

It’s also terrifying. Change often is. James and Sadie realize that if they don’t work as a couple, their entire friendship will likely be lost forever. It’s a huge risk and while going from friends to lovers is relatively easy, going from friends to in love takes courage, compromise and a whole lot of faith. But then, happy ever after rarely comes easily!

I had so much fun returning to Shady Grove for this story. I loved revisiting some of my favorite characters from Talk of the Town, book one of the In Shady Grove series, but it was also great to meet some new characters who inhabit the town. Be on the lookout for Eddie’s book later this year!

Please visit my website, www.BethAndrews.net (http://www.BethAndrews.net), or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net. I’d love to hear from you.

Happy reading!

Beth Andrews


What Happens Between Friends

Beth Andrews






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


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews set her latest series, In Shady Grove, in a fictional town based on her own small hometown in northwestern Pennsylvania. A few of her favorite friends-to-lovers characters are Harry and Sally (When Harry Met Sally), Monica and Chandler (Friends) and Keith and Watts (Some Kind of Wonderful). Beth firmly believes love conquers all and Elvis is a great name for a dog. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.BethAndrews.net (http://www.BethAndrews.net).


For Andy


Contents

Chapter One (#uc6f95ba0-262b-55ec-a45c-4205eb4003df)

Chapter Two (#u63e14329-3264-5029-b0f5-248d8c4f5f58)

Chapter Three (#ub76d6caf-0f4f-5715-b455-f80db26c47e5)

Chapter Four (#u861a6787-28be-5973-9718-a4e4e5193bb6)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

NO, NO, NO.

Lightning flashed, a dazzling display that crackled the air with energy, made the hair on Sadie Nixon’s arms stand up. Ten seconds later, thunder boomed, vibrating through her moving Jeep.

She leaned forward to look through the windshield at the rapidly darkening sky. Clouds rolled, merged together. A strong gust of wind buffeted the Jeep, had her fighting to keep it on the road. She pressed down on the gas, strangled the steering wheel. Please, don’t do this to her. Not this time.

She passed the road leading to Knapp’s Creek. Glanced out the driver’s-side window. She wasn’t going to make it. She could turn around, she thought frantically. She was barely in Shady Grove, had just passed the city limits. She’d head west, maybe spend the night in Pittsburgh then come back tomorrow.

It was a good plan—and for someone who preferred to let life happen to her instead of bending it to suit each situation, that was saying something.

Yep, it was a solid plan. And it probably would have worked...if she hadn’t run into Jessica Gardner at Miranda’s Market. Jessica wasn’t a gossip, but what were the chances she wouldn’t tell anyone she’d seen Sadie a full day before she’d returned to her hometown?

Probably somewhere between zero and in Sadie’s dreams.

She didn’t have a choice. She had to keep going. Maybe, if luck was with her, the wind at her back and all that jazz, she would make it to her destination before it rained. Or, better yet, the clouds could pass right over Shady Grove, just...keep going. Wait to unleash their fury on some other unsuspecting town.

Yes, that was it, think positively. She’d use the power of her mind and her good intentions to keep the storm at bay.

She could have sworn she heard the Fates laugh in delight—seconds before the sky opened and a torrential rain came down so hard, so fast, the drops bounced off the hood, sounded like rocks hitting the roof.

Stupid Fates.

Scowling, she continued down Case Boulevard, her fingers tapping the steering wheel to the beat of Mumford and Sons’ “I Will Wait.” The dark seemed to swallow the beams of her headlights before they could do more than reflect the next twenty feet or so. Her windshield wipers put up a valiant, yet pretty much useless battle against the downpour as she sped along the familiar road.

It was coincidence, of course. One of those freakishly weird anomalies that had a thunderstorm appearing as she happened to return to town for the first time in three years.

Just as it was coincidence, and only coincidence, that had some natural disaster occurring every time she returned home.

Every. Single. Time.

Rainstorms. Floods. Hail. A tornado. And that memorable freak spring blizzard when she’d driven in from Dallas back when she’d been twenty-two.

Maybe the Fates could hit the town with hordes of locusts or an earthquake next time. Just to mix it up a bit. All these rainstorms were getting predictable.

And she hated being called Cyclone Sadie.

Oh, and of her grandmother genuflecting every time Sadie came to visit.

Jeez, an ancient tree limb happens to fall onto her gram’s beloved Cadillac at the exact same moment Sadie knocks on the front door for an impromptu visit and suddenly Sadie’s the spawn of Satan.

Bringing evil omens.

Which was ridiculous. There were no such things as omens—evil or otherwise. Sure, a person could follow the signs, but Sadie preferred to trust in her own instincts. So when those instincts had told her to get the heck out of Dodge—or in her case, New Orleans—she’d packed up her worldly belongings and skedaddled.

Not slowing, she turned the defrost up to high and leaned forward, squinting to make out the white center line dissecting the road. If only she could remember to check the weather forecast before any actual skedaddling took place, she’d be golden.

As for her current streak of bad luck... Well, it had to end sometime. Her fortunes would turn around soon. They always did. Highs and lows and all that. Such was life.

It was like being on an endless roller-coaster ride. The slow, jerky ascents, quick, stomach-tumbling drops and body-shaking twists and turns made getting out of bed each day worthwhile. Interesting. Exciting.

She wouldn’t want it any other way.

The flat, straight, in-the-middle times were so calm. So...boring.

She might be at rock bottom, but she’d had fun on the way down. And now, there was nowhere else to go but up.

Telling herself she felt better about the whole crappy situation that was her current life, Sadie reached for the coffee she’d picked up at Miranda’s Market. She took her eyes off the road for a split second—barely a fraction of a split second, really—but when she glanced up, the cup to her mouth, a huge dog stood in the middle of the street.

Her heart leaped to her throat. Time seemed to slow as she stomped on the brakes and yanked the wheel hard to the left. The Jeep fishtailed, the force causing the back end to shake violently before hitting a patch of water and skidding off the road. The vehicle spun once...twice...before the rear driver side slammed into what felt like a brick wall, jerking Sadie hard to the side. Her seat belt cut into her shoulder. Her head snapped sideways, hitting the side window with a sharp thud.

Her vision blurred, then went black....

She couldn’t have been out more than a minute because when she came to, the same Rihanna song that had started when she’d been spin, spin, spinning, was still playing on the radio.

Sadie peeled her eyelids open, breathed deeply then winced at the pain on the side of her head. Gently probing the area with her fingertips, she brushed against a rising bump. Ouch.

She glared upward—at the approximate spot where she was sure the Fates were gloating down at her.

She slowly stretched then squirmed, flexed her toes in her sandals, curled and straightened her fingers. Other than the bump on her head and what was sure to be a lovely mark on her chest from the seat belt, nothing was broken.

The song had reached her favorite part, but at the moment, the notes jarred her teeth, ran over her already ragged nerves. She shut the radio off, her hands and breathing both unsteady. Leaning to the left, she stared out the driver’s-side window. She could see now that she hadn’t hit a brick wall, but a four-foot-wide brick pillar, one of two holding the large, cheery sign towering over her.

She couldn’t make it out clearly, not with the rain and her windows fogging up and all, but she already knew it showed a deliriously happy family of four enjoying a picnic alongside the river. In the background, boats dotted the water, the sky was clear, the sun shining brightly. An ornate steel bridge led to the town of Shady Grove.

On a red plaid blanket spread over the grassy bank, the mother—a testament to the eighties with her acid-washed shorts and big hair—read to her cherubic daughter. Off to the side, father and son tossed a baseball. And across that incredibly blue sky, written as if the words had been spun out of fluffy white clouds, was a simple salutation.

Welcome to Shady Grove—where everyone feels at home!

It was the same sign that had greeted her over twenty years ago when she and her mother had moved here. Her first glimpse of what life was going to be like in this small, western-Pennsylvanian town nestled amidst the rolling hills. Traditional. Idyllic.

Sheltered. Tedious.

A far cry from how they’d lived when Sadie’s father had been alive, when each day brought with it a new adventure—be it a trip to the zoo or a spontaneous move to another state. Life with Victor Nixon had been unpredictable, unstructured and always, always exciting.

She missed him. After all these years, she still missed him so much.

Sighing, she shut her eyes and willed the headache pressing against her temples to subside. What the heck had sent that dog out on a night like this anyway?

Her eyes flew open. Crap. The dog.

Unbuckling her seat belt with one hand, she turned off the Jeep with the other, then grabbed the small flashlight from the glove box. She bolted out into the rain. Her feet slid out from under her and she went down on her knees.

Double crap.

She glanced at the heavens—and almost drowned from the deluge. She lowered her head, but rain still stung her face, plastered her hair to her cheeks, the back of her neck.

Didn’t whoever was in charge upstairs have any idea how hard it was to get mud out of cotton? You’d think they could cut her some slack, at least until she found the dog.

A bolt of lightning lit the sky. But it didn’t strike her dead.

She’d take that as a sign she could safely continue on her way.

Staying in the beams of her headlights, she carefully made her way to the side of the road. No dog. Of course not. That would be way too easy.

Thunder rumbled, echoed across the valley.

She rolled her eyes and turned on the flashlight. Yeah, yeah. She got it. She was a puny mortal, helpless against the whims of fate and the wants of a higher authority. Whoop-de-freaking-do.

As if she wanted to be an all-powerful entity. Please. There was way too much responsibility involved.

When she screwed up—as she was wont to do—she only had herself to worry about.

At the other side of the road, Sadie peered into the woods but couldn’t make out much, other than trees, trees and more trees. She tucked the flashlight between her arm and side and clapped her hands. “Here, doggie.”

From the corner of her eyes, she caught movement to her right. She stilled. There it was again. A flash of white, the glint of two eyes.

“Hi.” She smiled and stepped forward, kept the light aimed at the ground. The dog startled and slunk off into the shadows. “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s it,” she continued when the dog approached again. She extended her free hand. “Come on, gorgeous. I don’t bite. Unless you bite me first, then all bets are off.”

The dog cocked his—or her—large head, considered Sadie’s hand for a moment then delicately sniffed her fingers. She took the opportunity to check under the hood—so to speak.

Boy.

“You’re a handsome fella, aren’t you?”

He inclined his head as if to agree.

Then again, most males who were good-looking knew it, so why should a dog be any different? He was mostly black with a white chest and face, and a black left ear and patch around his right eye. Definitely a mixed breed, but she could see some boxer in his square face, the shape of his pointy ears.

Sadie rubbed his head gently. He didn’t wear a collar. “I bet your name is Patches or Spot or something equally uninspired and unoriginal. But a true king like you deserves something much more majestic, don’t you think?” She cupped his face in her hands. “And, as there’s only one king worthy of being christened after, I hereby name you Elvis.”

He licked her wrist.

“I hope that means you like your new name and aren’t trying a taste test before chomping on my arm. I’m rather fond of it. My arm. And your new name, actually.” She straightened. “My mom always said I didn’t know enough to get out of the rain and I’d really like to prove her wrong—for once. What say we head into town? How do you feel about birthday cake?”

Elvis looked her up and down, then obviously finding her lacking, sat.

“Yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Your Majesty, you don’t look so hot right now, either. And you stink.”

The dog turned his face away, his black-and-pink nose lifted in the air.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive. Just speaking the truth here. Look, my Jeep has a brand-new dent—which means I’m going to hear, yet again, how careless, reckless and hopeless I am—all because of you. But you don’t see me holding a grudge, do you? You have two choices here—you can come with me, get something to eat, get cleaned up and spend the rest of the night warm and dry. Or you can stay here, wet and miserable and, yes, smelly. What’s it going to be?”

Elvis looked at her, then the woods, the road and then her again.

“Really? This is something you have to think about?” Her hair was dripping and she was soaked through to her underwear—which was sticking to her skin. She blinked water from her eyes. “You know what? Maybe I should rescind my offer. After all, it looks as if you’re doing just dandy without any help from me.”

Elvis got to his feet slowly and, it seemed to Sadie, with a great deal of resignation, and crossed to her. Nudged her thigh with his head.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I thought.”

He followed her to the Jeep. She opened the passenger-side door and he hopped onto the seat, lifting and lowering his legs—all the better to spread muddy paw prints over the light gray fabric.

“You missed a spot,” Sadie told him, but he ignored her sardonic tone and sat, looking very much the regal ruler ready to be driven to his castle.

She shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. “I bet you’re starving,” she said as she started the engine. “After birthday cake, we’ll order a pizza. Double pepperoni.”

Shivering, she buckled up and blasted the heat. Thanks to the Jeep’s four-wheel drive, they were on the road a minute later, heading toward Shady Grove—and all the memories, conflicted familial relationships and emotional baggage that went along with going home.

* * *

“WELL?” JAMES MONTESANO’S mother asked as she measured grounds into the coffeemaker.

Through the open window over the sink, the scents of rain and wood smoke drifted into the kitchen. When the rain started twenty minutes ago, the birthday guests had abandoned the fire ring set on the lower tier of the three-level deck to settle inside, either in the living room, where James’s grandfather played the fiddle, or in the game room in the basement, from where bursts of raucous laughter—along with the occasional good-natured curse—floated upstairs.

No matter what the occasion, the time of year or the weather, his mom threw one hell of a party.

“Well what?” He eyed the leftover sheet cake. They’d done the whole singing thing—though he’d gotten out of the candle tradition by letting his seven-year-old nephew, Max, blow them out. James had already had two scoops of ice cream plus two servings of the German chocolate cake with coconut pecan frosting.

Aw, what the hell? If a man couldn’t have extra cake on his birthday, what was the point of getting another year older?

Stretching onto her toes, Rose reached over the sink and turned the handle, closing the window. “What do you think of Anne?”

James cut a large square of cake and set it on one of his mother’s fancy dessert plates. He licked frosting from the side of his thumb. “Who?”

“Anne.” His mother snapped the lid of the coffeemaker shut and turned it on. “Anne Forbes. The pretty brunette in the dark blue dress?” He shook his head and she sighed heavily. “The new painter?”

Right. Kloss Painting and Wallpaper’s newest hire. Brunette. Blue dress. Early thirties. “She seems capable. Has some good ideas for the kitchen and dining room at Bradford House.”

Montesano Construction was nearing completion of their renovations of the one-hundred-year-old Victorian. Still, there was quite a bit to do before they moved on to the next job, and if James wanted to keep them on schedule—and James always, always wanted to keep his father’s company on schedule—he needed to check on the delivery of that claw-foot tub.

He pulled out his phone and opened the calendar function.

“Ahem.”

“I’m not calling anyone,” he said, not bothering to so much as glance over at her. He didn’t have to. He’d been on the receiving end of his mother’s do-not-mess-with-me look often enough that he could feel it—he didn’t need to see it. Moms. Nothing diminished their kick-ass powers. Not even celebrations of their child’s birth. “I’m just making a note.”

His entire family ragged him endlessly about how often he was on his phone. How the hell did they think so many things got done if he didn’t have his notes and reminders and schedules to keep the company on track?

He put the phone in his pocket, picked his cake up again only to freeze—the fork raised halfway to his mouth—to find Rose staring at him as if his brain had leaked from his ears and oozed onto the custom-built butcher block topping the center island.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you spent a good twenty minutes in conversation with Anne and the only thing you can say is that she’s—” Rose’s mouth twisted “—capable.”

He ate the bite of cake. Silently urged the coffee to hurry up and brew. “What’s wrong with capable? You want us to work with inept subcontractors?”

She grabbed cream from the stainless-steel fridge, slammed the door shut. An attractive woman despite the extra pounds in her hips and thighs, her face was a softer, rounder version of the beautiful girl she’d once been. Her chin-length hair was still dark, her face showing only faint signs of age. “I want you to notice when there’s an attractive, intelligent, interesting, single woman right in front of you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You said you invited her because she’s new in town.”

“She is.”

“And because Kloss’s recently hired her.”

“They did.”

“And because you wanted us to get to know her, since we’ll be working with her so closely at Bradford House.”

Rose added her delicate china sugar bowl—the one James and his brothers had bought for Mother’s Day a good twenty years ago to replace the one they’d broken during an impromptu, and ill-advised, indoor game of soccer—to a large serving tray. “I’m well aware of what I said.”

“You forgot to mention you were setting me up with her,” he said in a thoughtful, patient and completely reasonable tone. He was nothing if not a thoughtful, patient and reasonable man, damn it.

He stabbed another bite of cake.

“No one has set you up. All I did was invite Anne to the party for all the reasons I mentioned and you so helpfully repeated. If you two hit it off, great. If not...” She shrugged, though the look she shot him clearly said if he didn’t hit it off with Anne, he was an idiot. “No harm done, then.”

“You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer to think of it as multitasking. I help someone new to town feel welcome, introduce her to a few friends and possibly help you find your future wife.”

He set his empty plate aside. “Sneaky and scary.”

“Relax. No one’s forcing you to the altar. I’m just showing you an option.”

Thunder boomed and his sweet-natured dog, Zoe, a German shepherd/husky mix, whined and nudged the side of his leg. He patted her head, but kept his gaze on his mother. “Anyone ever tell you you’d make a hell of a used-car salesperson?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She set cups and saucers on the tray. “Why don’t you open a couple more bottles of wine and take them around to the guests? Make sure one is merlot.”

He went to the other side of the square island and searched through the well-stocked, built-in wine rack. Pulled out a bottle of merlot along with one of pinot blanc. “Don’t tell me, Anne prefers merlot.”

Beaming, Rose patted his cheek. “You always were a bright child.”

Bright enough to know arguing with his mother would do him no good. The best way to handle this was to grin and bear it.

He opened the bottle of white, set it aside to breathe. He didn’t have anything against Anne, or pretty brunettes in general. But he could, and often did, get his own dates. He didn’t need his mommy setting him up.

“Dad wants to know if the coffee’s ready,” James’s younger brother, Eddie, said as he came through the kitchen door.

“The regular is about done,” Rose said, “but the decaf is going to take a few minutes.”

Eddie grabbed a cup from the tray and reached for the pot. “He won’t know the difference.”

Rose slapped the back of his hand. “If you give him regular, he won’t sleep. And when your father doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep. Mostly because he keeps me awake until the wee hours of the morning with all his tossing and turning. You’ll give him decaf or I’m sending him home with you and Max tonight.”

“No need for threats. I’ll give him decaf.” He turned to James. “Meg Simpson’s looking for you. Said she wants to discuss us doing an addition at their cottage on the lake next year.”

“She’ll have to wait,” he said mildly, lifting the merlot bottle. “I’m getting my future wife a drink.”

Eddie raised his dark eyebrows. Shorter than both James and their youngest brother, Leo, but broader through the shoulders, he had their father’s muscular build and their mother’s hazel eyes. “Future wife?”

Nodding, James pulled the cork from the merlot. “It’s all thanks to Mom. She got me a girl for my birthday.”

Rose shook her head. “Now, James. Really. A girl?”

“Sorry. Woman.”

Eddie helped himself to a strawberry from the fruit-and-cheese tray Rose was putting together. “She got me a watch for my last birthday.”

“Maybe she’ll get you your very own woman for Christmas,” James said.

Eddie gave one of his reticent shrugs. “A man can hope.”

“Meg Simpson wants to talk to you,” Leo told James as he came in carrying dirty dessert dishes.

“Yeah. I got that memo.”

Leo put the plates in the sink. “A customer wants to talk to you about doing a new job and you’re not racing out there with your handy schedule and charts and whatnot?” He studied each of them, his dark eyes narrowed. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Mom got him a girl for his birthday,” Eddie said.

“Yeah?” Leo grinned, slow and wicked. “Which one?”

“Kloss’s new painter,” James said. “Tall brunette in a blue dress in the living room.”

Leo and Eddie exchanged a glance then both walked out only to return less than thirty seconds later. “She’s hot,” Leo said. “Excellent legs, nice ra—”

Rose slapped him upside the head.

“Shoes,” he amended quickly, holding his hand over the spot she’d slapped. He stepped out of range. “Really nice shoes. Good choice, Mom.”

“Thank you,” she said, pouring the regular coffee into an insulated carafe. “I’m glad one of my sons appreciates my efforts.”

“Guilt?” James asked. “That’s beneath you.”

Leo smiled, the same smile that had made fools of hundreds of women. Females. Always falling for a pretty face. “If he doesn’t want her, can I have her?”

“Absolutely not.” Rose turned to James. “My goodness, the way you’re acting, you’d think I bought you a Russian mail-order bride and had you legally wed without your knowledge. All I did was invite a lovely, interesting, nice woman to your party. Is that so wrong?” she cried with the dramatic flair he’d come to know and love.

Eddie pursed his lips and, as usual, wisely kept quiet. Leo rolled his eyes.

James showed his appreciation with quiet applause that had Zoe lifting her head, her tail wagging. “That was true Oscar material. Bravo.”

Leo snorted. “I’ve seen her do better. It was lacking something. It needed more...action. Drama. Maybe next time,” he told Rose, “thump your fist over your heart. Gnash your teeth. Rip at your hair. Don’t hold back.”

Rose gave him one of her patented disdainful sniffs. “Everyone’s a critic.”

“Hey, you know my motto—go big or go home.”

“I wish you’d go home,” James said with feeling. He turned to his mom. “And I wish you wouldn’t set me up, especially without asking first. Especially on my birthday,” he added.

Guilt may have been beneath his mom, but he wasn’t above using it himself.

Sometimes a man had to fight fire with fire.

Rose rounded her eyes. “It’s your birthday? Today? Why, that must’ve completely slipped my mind, which is strange as I’m usually good with dates and things. Oh...wait...” Frowning, she pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Is today the twenty-first? Because I’m getting this vague memory of being in labor on this date years ago for...let me see...”

“Twenty-nine and a half hours,” James, Eddie and Leo said in unison.

Rose’s hazel eyes gleamed, but her expression remained as serious as a heart attack. “Yes, that’s right. It’s all coming back to me now. Then again, it’s hard to forget twenty-nine—”

“And a half,” the brothers added.

“Twenty-nine and a half hours of excruciating pain. And that’s not even including pushing you—and your rather large head—out.”

Wincing, feeling more than a little sick to his stomach, James rubbed the back of his regular-size head. And conceded defeat. “I appreciate it. I think. Next year, I’m throwing you a party.”

“The flowers you send every year are more than enough, thanks.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Can’t you give Anne a chance? Just talk to her. Get to know her a bit. That’s all I’m asking.”

He sighed. He knew his mom wanted him settled. Married.

Hell, he wanted that, too. Wanted a family of his own, a wife in his bed, a couple of kids running around his house. He’d always figured it hadn’t happened yet because it wasn’t meant to, but that it would. Someday.

Since he had no control over when, exactly, that day would arrive, he didn’t bother worrying about it. It was useless, and a waste of energy, to fight the ebb and flow of life. Better to focus on keeping your head above water and just ride the waves out.

But maybe, this one time, he could try paddling and get where he was going faster.

Even if his mother was doing the steering.

“I’ll talk to her some more,” he said. What could it hurt? “But I’m not making any promises.”

“No promises. Got it.”

She hugged him. Looking over her head, James glanced at Leo who mouthed, “Sucker.”

James flipped him off.

“Leo,” Rose said as she broke the hug. “Please make another pot of coffee while Eddie and I take these trays out.”

“If you keep feeding people,” Eddie grumbled, “they’ll never leave.”

Rose handed him the coffee tray. “Your unsociable side is showing again.”

“Does he have any other side?” Leo asked.

“God, I hope so.” At the door, she looked back at James. “Don’t forget the wine.”

She swept out of the room, as regal as a queen, as formidable as a Navy SEAL.

“Yeah,” Leo said, rinsing the coffeepot. “And don’t forget the engagement ring.”

James stepped forward, ready to dunk his brother’s fat head under the running water, when his phone buzzed. He took it out, checked the caller ID. And, grinning, answered.

“Well, what do you know?” he said, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the counter. “It’s trouble come to call.”

Sadie Nixon laughed, the light, tinkling sound warm and as clear as if she was standing next to him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones who’ve earned it.”

“What’s life without a little trouble?”

“Peaceful.”

“I think the word you’re searching for is boring.”

“With you around? Never.”

“Flatterer. Now stop trying to charm me, I’m on a mission here. Guess where I’m at?”

“Jail?” he asked, earning him a curious glance from Leo.

“After that New Year’s Eve incident in D.C. you made me promise never to ask you to bail me out again, remember?”

“Hard to forget.” He’d left his date—a very friendly blonde—and driven the four and a half hours from Shady Grove, Pennsylvania, to D.C. in a blinding snowstorm. It had been worth it. Being with Sadie was always worth it. “Not jail, then.”

“You’ll never guess—”

“Then why did you ask me to?”

“—so I’ll just tell you....” He was surprised she didn’t tap out a drumroll during her drawn-out dramatic pause. “I’m in Shady Grove.”

“No kidding? You at your parents’ place?” Dr. and Mrs. Ellison had left the party less than an hour ago and they hadn’t said anything about Sadie coming home.

Then again, most of Sadie’s trips to Shady Grove were unexpected. She was like a summer storm—you never knew when she would strike or how long she would stick around. And when she took off on her next great adventure, it was as if you’d been swept up in a tornado, your head dizzy and aching, your thoughts and feelings twirling.

“No, I had a stop I wanted to make first. Say, when did your mom have that stone retaining wall put in out front?”

“Two years ago. Eddie, Leo and I did it for Mother’s—” He straightened. “Don’t move.”

He shut off the phone, stuffed it into his pocket and walked through the house toward the front door. If he happened to glance in the living room, just to see if Leo’s assessment of Anne’s legs was correct—it was—no one could fault him.

And while he had every intention of keeping his word to his mom, he kept walking. But he didn’t want Anne Forbes. No matter that his mother had deemed her future-wife material. What he wanted, what he’d always wanted, was outside right now waiting for him.

He wanted Sadie Nixon.


CHAPTER TWO

THE RAIN HAD stopped, and beyond the Montesanos’ two-story brick home, a crescent moon glowed brightly against the dark sky. In the driveway, parked behind a long line of cars—when Rose Montesano threw a party, she didn’t mess around—Sadie clicked off her phone.

“He’s coming,” she told Elvis, stroking his head, and his eyes squinted in pleasure. “I can’t wait for you to meet James. He’s the best.” The best friend a girl could ever have and the second greatest guy she’d ever known.

The number-one position was reserved for her father, the late, great Victor Nixon. Bigger than life and handsome as sin, he’d done more, seen more and had gotten more out of his thirty years than most people did who lived three times that long. Most importantly, he’d lived life on his own terms, thumbing his nose at his family’s wealth and rigid standards to forge his own path at the tender age of sixteen, following his dreams wherever they took him.

He’d taught her that each day was an adventure waiting to be experienced.

She rubbed a hand over the ache in her chest, just above her heart. God, but she missed her daddy. She still missed him so, so much.

The front door opened and James stepped onto the wide porch and jogged down the stairs.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised Elvis before climbing out of the car.

Holding the top of the door with one hand, she waited while James approached in all his six-foot, darkly handsome glory, his stride purposeful. She knew the moment he spotted her. She never tired of the way his face lit when he saw her, of how, out of all the people she knew and loved, he was the only one who never got frustrated with her lack of planning, her decisions. Never lost his patience with her or tried to change her.

With a whoop of joy, she launched herself at him. His arms came around her, strong and steady. Comfortable. No matter what the circumstances, no matter how she messed up or how fast she was falling, James always caught her before she hit rock bottom.

She could always, always count on James to catch her.

Laughing, Sadie squeezed him tight. Yeah, Shady Grove was where she’d spent the majority of her formative years, the town where she’d first completed an entire school year without the disruption of another move. It was where her mother had grown up, where her mother, stepfather and sister all lived. But it was just a place, just another town.

This, she thought, clinging to her best friend, was home.

“You’re soaked.” Settling his hands on her hips, he pulled back and frowned at the mud on her pants, the wet spot on his light blue dress shirt. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Oh, James.” She simpered, batting his chest. “You sure do know how to sweet-talk a girl. I’m shocked, shocked I say, that you’re still single.”

“And I’m shocked, shocked I say,” he said in a seriously decent imitation of her, “that you manage to get through each day without causing yourself—or others—bodily harm.”

She lifted her hand to the side of her head. “Who says I didn’t cause any bodily harm?”

He brushed her hand aside and lightly probed the area above her ears, his touch incredibly gentle. The tips of his fingers trailed across the sensitive goose egg. She bit her lip to keep from hissing out a sharp breath.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I had a little accident—”

“How bad?”

“Not bad,” she told him quickly, knowing how he worried about...well...everything. “I was on Case Boulevard and skidded off the road and hit the pillar holding the Welcome to Shady Grove sign.”

The front door opened, and a couple she didn’t recognize descended the porch steps, lifted their hands in farewell to James before getting into their car.

James walked to the driver’s side of the Jeep. He crouched to study where the pillar and vehicle had, briefly, become one.

“You,” he said, straightening, “are a menace. And a threat to brick pillars everywhere.”

She grinned. How could she not when it was such a James thing to say, his words spoken with so much resignation and fondness? “None stand a chance while I’m behind the wheel.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I bumped my head. It’s nothing.” And no way would she tell him she’d momentarily blacked out. He’d insist she go to the E.R. when all she wanted was a hot shower, something to eat and a few hours in his company.

Being with James was always so easy. So relaxed. No matter how long they’d been apart, when they got together again it was as if they’d seen each other the day before. He didn’t lay guilt trips on her if she didn’t call or text him for months on end. He may not understand the choices she made, and he often teased her about her mistakes, but he never judged her. Better yet, he was always the first one to congratulate her on her triumphs.

He believed in her and accepted her for who she was, no questions asked. He loved her without reservations or expectations.

Some days she thought he was the only person who did.

Tears stung the back of her eyes. To hide them from James’s intense gaze, she stretched onto her toes and hugged him again. He stiffened, his fingers digging painfully into her hips as if to push her away.

As if to set her aside.

A crazy thought. James would never do that to her. He’d never be done with her. The mere idea of it was absurd. Irrational.

Inconceivable.

Still, panic tightened her chest, made it impossible to breathe. She squeezed him harder. He sighed heavily, his breath ruffling the damp hair at her temple, the exhalation seeming to shudder through him. He slowly shifted closer, slid his hands around to settle at the small of her back, his warmth seeping through her wet clothes.

A pebble of unnamed emotion lodged itself in her throat and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and simply held on. She inhaled deeply, and his spicy cologne and the underlying scent of sawdust only made the urge to bawl stronger.

God, she must have hit her head harder than she’d thought. Sure, her life was in the crapper right now, but it was temporary. A rough spot, one she’d eventually get over. “This, too, shall pass” and all of that. Good times and bad times, successes and failures...they all came and went.

And eventually she’d get back to looking at the bright side—but right now the glare was giving her one hell of a headache.

“Hey,” James said, his soft, gruff voice causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat and prayed she didn’t sound as needy and unsteady as she felt. “I’m just...I’m really happy to see you.”

She leaned back and studied him. His handsome face was as familiar to her as her own: soulful eyes the color of rich chocolate, heavy eyebrows and shaggy dark hair that had the tendency to curl at the ears and nape. His Roman nose bent slightly right, thanks to his taking an elbow to the face when he went up for a rebound during a basketball game their sophomore year.

Yes, he was the same. Same mouth with the full bottom lip. Same square jaw. But there was one difference....

“What’s this?” she asked, tapping his chin. She had the strangest, strongest urge to leave her fingertips there, to trail them across his dark whiskers, to rub the thick, triangular patch just below his lower lip.

She dropped her hand back to his shoulder.

He stroked his thumb and forefinger across his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. “Chicks dig it.”

“No doubt.”

Then again, females of all ages dug the Montesano men. James may not have Leo’s panty-melting looks or Eddie’s sexy intensity, but he was handsome, kind and when you were with him, he listened—really listened—instead of patting your head or giving you unwanted advice. A woman could trust him—with her thoughts, her secrets and her heart. He was sweet. Safe.

A good catch, her mother had deemed him way back when he’d been fifteen.

She’d been right. Irene Ellison was always right. It was her third most-annoying trait.

“You’ve never had facial hair before,” Sadie said, musing aloud. “I mean, other than that scraggly thing you tried to pass off as a mustache when you turned eighteen.”

He smiled, one of his easy, warm grins. The whiskers may be new, somehow making him seem harder, edgier than he truly was, but inside, where it mattered, he hadn’t changed.

And thank God for that.

“It might have been a little...patchy.”

“Patchy? It looked like you’d taped a molting caterpillar to your upper lip.”

He shrugged, the movement causing his chest to rise and fall against her inner arms. Tingles of heat pricked her chilled skin.

She stepped back. “I sure missed you, pal o’ mine.”

“I missed you, too. Though I’d miss you more if you didn’t bring mayhem with you every time you came back to town.”

“You know what they say. One person’s mayhem is another’s good time.”

“No one says that.”

“They should. Think I could get it trademarked? I’d make a killing with needlepoint samplers.”

“I thought you were going to make a killing selling organic beauty products.”

Heat crawled up her neck. Thank goodness it was too dark for him to see her blush. “Surprisingly, there wasn’t as big a market for them as I’d hoped.”

And, if she was honest with herself—something she tried very hard to avoid—her products weren’t good enough to be competitive in an already very competitive market. It’d been a whim, one of many she’d followed through on.

“That is surprising,” James said mildly. Bless him, he never bad-mouthed her ideas or told her they wouldn’t work. “So, what brings you to town?”

“I didn’t want to miss your birthday.”

“You’ve missed plenty in the past fifteen years.”

“But I couldn’t miss this year. Such a special milestone.”

“Yes. Turning thirty-four is very significant for most people.” He crossed his arms, the movement pulling his shirt open at the neck, showing a sprinkling of dark chest hair, the strong line of his throat. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“Because you’re standing in front of me, wet, muddy and bedraggled—”

“Ooh...breaking out the big-boy words. I’m so proud.”

“—which I’m going to guess means you’re flat broke, unemployed or without prospects. Or all of the above. No offense,” he added.

“None taken.”

How could she when he’d pretty much summed up her situation? And quite succinctly, too.

At least he wouldn’t hold any of those items against her.

“Actually,” she continued, “I prefer to think of it as financially challenged, between jobs and open to life’s many possibilities.”

“To each their own.” He stepped closer, gave her one of his searching looks, as if he could see inside her head. Too bad she didn’t let anyone, not even her best buddy, get that close to her. “What can I do to help?”

Those damn tears were back. Here she was, slinking into Shady Grove with her tail and her failure tucked firmly between her legs. But with James, there were no recriminations or smirky looks—oh, man, she really hated those smirky, I-expected-so-much-more-from-you looks.

Her mother was an ace at them.

He didn’t list all the many, and varied, ways Sadie had gone wrong in her life—conveniently forgetting the times she’d been successful. Didn’t insist she’d be happy and fulfilled only if she stopped chasing foolish dreams and married some dentist or lawyer, birthed two-point-five kids and spent the rest of her days locked in a three-thousand-square-foot Cape Cod house, complete with inground pool, gourmet kitchen and white picket fence. He didn’t expect her to stay in Shady Grove.

Didn’t expect her to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Irene had given up her freedom for security. She’d traded in spontaneity and excitement for schedules and monotony, had tossed aside her independence for a life of entitlement, one she hadn’t even earned. She’d settled.

Sadie never would. She had too much of her father in her. Would rather die than to be...ordinary.

And James knew it. He knew her, better than anyone.

She squeezed his forearm. “Thanks, but right now, all I want to do is get into some dry clothes, have a huge piece of your birthday cake and then drown my sorrows with a bottle of wine.”

“I think we can manage that.”

“I’ll get my bag.” As she passed the passenger side, Elvis, previously lying across both front seats—the better to spread his muddy paw prints around—sat up, his ears perked. Sadie let him out and he raced to the front of the Jeep, his body vibrating. He barked three times, sounding like some vicious beast ready to tear a man’s arm off and use it as a chew toy, then sniffed the ground, lifted his leg and peed on her front tire.

James blinked. “There was a dog in your car.”

“Sherlock Holmes has nothing on your deductive powers.”

“You got a dog?” he asked, sounding as shocked as if she’d hog-tied good old Sherlock and painted his toenails bright pink.

The strap of her bag slung over her shoulder, she shut the rear passenger-side door. “Sort of.”

“Is that like when you sort of had a job as Bill Gates’s personal assistant?”

“I told you, Bill and I had a real moment at that restaurant. We clicked.” She linked her hands together to show her and Bill’s connection. “He probably misplaced my number, that’s all.”

James’s snort made her think he didn’t believe her.

“I never pictured you with a pet, especially one that big.”

“He’s not technically mine. I found him.”

“What do you mean, you found him?”

“I’m not sure how to make that statement clearer. He was in the middle of the road, I swerved to avoid hitting him, hit that stupid sign then went back and found him on the side of the road.”

“You went back to rescue a stray dog? By yourself?” James asked, incredulous. Worried. Well, it was one of the things he did best. “What if he was rabid?”

She and Elvis exchanged an amused look—okay, so it was definitely amused on her end. As if he’d understood every word they’d said, Elvis hung his head and slunk over to James, where he sat and lifted his paw quite adorably.

“Yes,” she said, her tone all sorts of wry, “clearly he’s the next Cujo.”

But James didn’t hear her, he was too busy shaking Elvis’s paw with one hand, petting him with the other as he murmured to the dog about what a good boy he was, how smart.

“Aww...there’s nothing quite as heartwarming as a boy and his dog,” Sadie said.

“No.”

She blinked innocently at him. No one did innocent like she did—even if she had to say so herself. “What?”

“I’m not taking him off your hands. I already have a dog.” He straightened. “Unlike this one, she’s never pissed on anyone’s tire and she doesn’t stink. And don’t try to tell me you got him for me for my birthday.”

Shoot. That had been her next tactic.

See? That was the problem with someone knowing you so well. No sense of surprise. “So you won’t take him in, raise him as one of your own,” she said.

“That about sums it up.”

“But you will help me find out if someone is searching for him?”

He kept silent, as if he was thinking that one over. Silly man. Didn’t he realize she knew him just as well as he knew her?

Which was how she knew he was going to agree even before he nodded.

Grinning, she linked her arm with his, hugged it close to her side. “I knew I could count on you.” Always. Forever. “Come on. Let’s go see about that cake.”

* * *

JAMES GLANCED AT his phone. By his calculations, Sadie had been back in his life for approximately twenty minutes and he’d already agreed to help her with her latest problem. Which meant he’d be taking on the responsibility of finding the damn dog’s owners. Twenty minutes. Must be some sort of record. Leo was right. He was a sucker.

He never could refuse Sadie anything.

It was his cross to bear, his greatest weakness.

She was his greatest weakness.

He stopped just inside the doorway to his parents’ room, flipped on the four recessed lights in the vaulted ceiling, casting the room in a soft glow. The walls, a deep olive green, were offset by low-pile beige carpet and white trim. Filmy, tan curtains with splashes of darker brown hung open, leaving a clear view of the crescent moon trying to break through the clouds, the hills a dark shadow in the distance.

Sadie pressed against his back. “You sure your mom doesn’t mind me hopping in the shower?” she asked, her breath washing over the sensitive skin at the side of his neck.

He made the mistake of glancing at her. Damn it, she wasn’t beautiful, not classically so, anyway—her chin was too narrow, her cheeks too wide, her nose on the thin side. But if you put all the elements together—her mouth with its sharp cupid’s bow, her milky-white complexion and ice-blue eyes—she was more than lovely. More than just another pretty blonde.

She was stunning. Effervescent and sparkling, like the finest champagne.

And like champagne, if you weren’t careful, you could get drunk on her.

His hands fisted. Need for her was like an itch between his shoulder blades. One he couldn’t reach, couldn’t rid himself of no matter how hard he tried.

Story of his goddamn life.

He forced his fingers open and stepped forward. “It’s fine.”

Hesitating at the door, looking unsure and vulnerable—neither of which suited her—she rolled her eyes. “It didn’t seem fine.”

True. His mother had been less than welcoming and gracious—both of which were unlike her. “She’s probably just tired. Plus she’s stressed about her classes starting next week.”

“Classes?”

He crossed to the antique, marble-topped table his mom used as a nightstand and turned on the lamp. Better, but the room still seemed too cozy. Too intimate.

He blamed the king-size bed.

“Mom’s going to attend Seton Hill part-time.”

The Catholic university was one of a dozen or so colleges located in Pittsburgh, a forty-minute drive from Shady Grove.

Sadie finally stepped into the room. “Yeah? That’s great. You must be really proud of her.”

He was. Of course he was. If his mom wanted to get a college degree, to pursue a career in social work, then he was all for it. But it would mean changes. Adjustments. Not to their family life as much as to Montesano Construction. From the time Frank had started the company, Rose had managed the office. She planned on continuing in that capacity while she earned her degree part-time, but eventually, she’d leave to follow her newly formed dream.

It just proved you were never too old to change course.

Though James was too firmly entrenched—in his life, his father’s business, his place in his family—to even think about changing his.

Why would he? he thought, flipping on the light on the tall dresser, then the one on the round table in the seating area. He was right where he was meant to be, working a job he was good at and enjoyed, surrounded by family and friends he loved.

He was content.

And how many people could truly say that?

“Shower’s this way,” he said, walking into the large bathroom, Sadie following.

“Oh, dear, sweet Lord,” Sadie breathed. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide as she took in the room. Dark woodwork, free-standing sinks on Italian marble, a separate area for the toilet, large whirlpool tub and walk-in shower. Not to mention the heated tiles beneath their feet and a closet the size of most bedrooms.

James grinned. It was one hell of a room, one of Montesano’s best. They’d redone his parents’ master suite five or so years ago, completely gutting what had been a utilitarian bathroom and turning it into what his mother deemed her oasis.

Women and bathrooms. He may not completely understand why they went so crazy over them, but he could appreciate their enthusiasm over a well-designed room.

He leaned against the vanity as Sadie opened the door leading to the closet and peeked in at his parents’ clothes. She’d slipped off her sandals downstairs, had mud splattered across her bare, narrow feet and up her calves. Her bright orange top—one of those wide-necked ones with flowing sleeves that reminded him of something a gypsy would wear—was wrinkled, her yellow pants ruined.

She was a mess. A walking disaster.

She’d grown her hair out from the short bob it’d been three years ago. It reached past her shoulders, the wheat-colored strands streaked with thin stripes of pale blond. But even with it frizzing to twice its normal size, and mascara smudged under her eyes, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

For the past twenty years, he’d been wishing like hell that she wasn’t.

Sadie pressed her nose against the glass-encased, walk-in shower.

“Did you just whimper?” he asked.

“It has three showerheads,” she said, turning her head to the side, her arms wide as if giving the shower a hug. “Three. It deserves a good whimper. Maybe even a moan or two. And this...” She stepped to the side, sat on the edge of the tub. “It’s huge. Big enough for a small family. Or a large dog.”

“Not going to happen.”

“What’s not?”

“You giving that dog a bath in my mother’s tub.”

After drying him off, they’d left Elvis in the garage with blankets and a bowl of water and a plate of roast beef Rose had given them.

“What is this world coming to?” Sadie asked, setting her bag on the floor. She bent to dig through it, her long hair falling forward, her top gaping, giving him a glimpse of her lacy, white bra, the curve of her breast. “It’s so a person can’t even think about something without getting shot down.”

Straightening, James jerked his gaze up. “Trust me,” he muttered. “Some thoughts are better nipped in the bud before they can fully form. Besides, you can give the dog a bath when we get to my place.” He pretended great interest in rearranging the hand towel on the pewter ring next to the sink. “You have any idea how long you’ll be in town?”

She set a pile of clothes at the end of the counter. “I’m not sure. A couple of weeks? Maybe a month. But no longer than that,” she added firmly.

A chill swept through him. A month?

Aw, hell.

As they’d gotten Elvis set up in the garage, Sadie had asked if she could bunk with James. She often stayed at his place, preferring it over going home to her parents’ house—she and her mother got along better if they weren’t in constant contact with each other. But usually, Sadie’s trips home were a few days, a week at the most. Now he was stuck with her for only God knew how long.

Stuck with having her underfoot. With her warm smiles and nonstop chatter and the way she hummed all the freaking time. With her floral scent following him from room to room, with her barefoot in his kitchen, using every clean dish he had just to make scrambled eggs and toast, her lithe body in nothing but a tank top and shorts.

He’d be insane in two days. Three, tops.

Something major must have happened to have her staying in Shady Grove for so long. He’d suspected that out in the driveway when she’d clung to him. Sadie wasn’t the clinging type. She didn’t let mistakes or failures slow her down, let alone get her down.

He wanted to ask again what was going on with her, but he’d wait. He had a party to get back to and she was wet and probably cold, though she hadn’t complained. There would be plenty of time for her to tell him what was wrong. Why she’d come back.

If she meant what she’d said about staying for a month, there would be plenty of time for him, too. Time for him to get used to having her around again. And to prepare himself for when she left.

He stepped to the door, held on to the handle. “I’ll let you get cleaned up. Towels are in there,” he said, nodding toward the narrow linen closet to his left. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She stopped him with a hand to his forearm, her long fingers cold, her short nails painted a sparkly dark blue. “Thanks, James. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, her voice soft and unsteady, her gaze sincere. “You’re a good guy and a really good friend.”

Unable to speak, he nodded, forcing his lips into the semblance of a grin. It wasn’t until he’d slipped into the bedroom and shut the bathroom door behind him that he let his mouth flatten. He tipped his head back and exhaled heavily.

A good friend. That was all he’d ever been to her. All he ever would be.

It was his own damn fault he wanted so much more.


CHAPTER THREE

CHARLOTTE ELLISON HAD a life plan.

She’d thought this through in its entirety, had weighed the pros and cons, dissected each aspect, considered all the consequences and any and every possible outcome. This wasn’t some flighty whim of fancy or a childish fantasy. This was real. Important. Possibly the most important thing she’d ever done.

She applied soft brown eyeliner in the small bathroom off the Montesanos’ kitchen, capped the liner and tossed it into her small makeup bag. Leaning over the sink, she swiped on mascara. She was nothing if not pragmatic. Realistic. Centered and grounded. From the time she was sixteen she’d known exactly what she’d wanted out of life. She’d written it down, then had broken those goals into smaller, manageable steps—just like all the gurus preached. Over the years she’d changed or adjusted those steps accordingly.

She’d already achieved so much. Valedictorian of her high school class? Check. Admitted to the University of Pittsburgh’s school of nursing, graduate at the top of that class and gain employment at Shady Grove Memorial? Check, check and check. Buy her dream home by the time she was twenty-five? She had her eye on an adorable 1920s cottage that had an awesome kitchen, a view of the river and plenty of potential for the extra bedrooms and playroom she’d need once she had her three kids.

A boy and two girls—God willing—all twenty to twenty-four months apart, the first coming along sometime between Char’s thirtieth and thirty-second birthday.

She slicked on a pale peach gloss, rubbed her lips together. Straightened to study her reflection. Sighed. There wasn’t much she could do about the sprinkling of freckles on her nose and across her upper cheeks, the ones that went with hair that was as bright red as her father’s.

The ones that had doomed her to a life of being cute and adorable when all she’d ever wanted was to be sexy and beautiful.

And her hair—dear, sweet Lord, her hair—could have used some serious time with a heavy-duty conditioner, blow dryer and flat iron. That was what she got for coming here straight from work. After a ten-hour shift and that summer storm, the smooth waves it’d taken her an hour to achieve that morning were now back to their original form. Wild, springy, frizzy curls.

She would pull the whole mess into a ponytail except, call her crazy, she didn’t think passing for a sixteen-year-old would help her cause.

At least the rest was acceptable.

Her favorite dark jeans made her legs seem endless, and the emerald-green top she’d splurged on last summer, but had never worn until now, brought out her eyes and clung in all the right places, making it seem as if she actually had a curve here and there. Not an easy feat.

Twisting, she rose onto her toes and checked out her butt. Pursed her lips. Not bad. Not bad at all. Possibly even better than top-notch.

Resolutely turning away from the mirror, she dropped her lipstick into her purse before opening the door and stepping into the short hallway. Voices, laughter and music drifted to her from the living and dining rooms. She turned right, away from the party and majority of people, her back straight, head held high, steps determined.

She was on a mission here. Because while she fully realized some things were out of her control, there was still plenty she could do to make her dreams come true. And if she wanted to be married by the time she turned twenty-seven—after a year of dating and a two-year engagement, thereby enabling her plenty of time to plan the perfect wedding—she needed to get a move on.

And let the man of her dreams know she was interested, available and, most important, ready to be in a serious, long-term relationship.

The first thing Char had done when she’d arrived was to seek out Rose Montesano—best to get on her future mother-in-law’s good side right from the start. When Char had heard that her prey was in the kitchen with his brother, she’d quickly excused herself to freshen up.

She was as ready as she’d ever be. Had psyched herself up about this ever since she’d received the party invitation two weeks ago. In mere minutes, what was destined to be a lifelong love affair would have its beginning.

Her steps slowed. She pressed a hand against her roiling stomach. There was no need to be nervous. No need at all. All she had to do was walk into the kitchen. Make idle chitchat. It wasn’t as if she’d never spoken to the man before. They’d had plenty of conversations, had known each other for, well, her entire life, practically.

Char rubbed her fingertips against her palms. Inhaled a deep, calming breath, blew it—and all the tension and worry she held—out.

Sending up a prayer she would be successful, she stepped up to the doorway.

James and Leo Montesano were the only two inside. Could she really be blamed if she stood there, just out of sight, and took in the sight of two tall, dark, handsome men? If her heart sighed at knowing one would, soon enough, be hers?

They both had on jeans, but while James was dressed for the party in a blue button-down shirt, Leo had on a black V-neck T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame. James leaned against the counter near the stove, his arms straight, his fingers curled around the curved edge. At the sink, Leo—tall, broad-shouldered and handsome as sin with his floppy dark hair and sexy grin—was up to his elbows in soapy water. James said something and smiled as Leo laughed, the sound deep, masculine and enticing as all get-out.

Warmth bloomed in her chest. Glancing up, she mouthed thank you for her prayer about to be answered.

“Need any help?” she asked, making sure her voice was light and bright.

Both men glanced over. And being pinned with those dark eyes made her mouth go dry.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Leo said, rinsing a large tray under the running water at the sink. “How do you feel about washing dishes?”

Char smiled widely—the better to show the dimple in her left cheek to its full potential. “I’ve got nothing against it.”

Leo gave a masculine whoop, quickly dried his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband and crossed to her in a few long strides. Before she realized what was happening, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her as if she weighed no more than a five-year-old and spun her around. Laughing, she gripped his shoulders, the muscles bunching and flexing under her hands.

“You’re an angel,” he said in his husky voice. “The answer to my prayers. A—”

“Guest,” James finished. He scowled. “Quit twirling her around like a rag doll and stop trying to weasel your way out of your chore.”

Leo stopped and set her back on her feet, but her head still spun. “I don’t mind,” she said breathlessly.

Leo slung his arm around her shoulders, pressing her against his side. “Yeah, she doesn’t mind.”

“She might not, but Mom will,” James said.

Leo winked at Char as his pager beeped. “Unlike birthday boy here, I’m not afraid of my mother.”

“Better come over here,” James told her, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm and tugging her to his side as Leo read the pager’s screen. “It’s only a matter of time before lightning fries his lying ass.”

“Three-car accident on Jefferson Street,” Leo said, grabbing a set of car keys from the windowsill. “Who’s on tonight?”

Char worked in the E.R. and saw Leo, a firefighter and EMT, often. Most firefighters had their favorite and least-favorite doctors. At the bottom of Leo’s list, she knew, was Dr. Nathan Hamilton.

Hamilton, an obnoxious, sexist creep, was at the bottom of most people’s list, including hers.

“Wertz was there when I left,” she said, “but Goldberg is taking the night shift.”

Nodding, he slapped James on the back. “Gotta run. Happy birthday, bro.” He sent her another devastating grin. Her knees went just a little weak. Hey, she was human after all. “See you around, gorgeous.”

“When did you get here?” James asked as Leo went out the back door.

She crossed to the sink. “A few minutes ago.”

A few minutes. Twenty minutes. What was the difference? Had he been waiting for her? Looking for her? Could she get that lucky?

“None of that.” This time he encircled her wrist and led her to the island. “You are not doing the dishes. Don’t let Leo sweet-talk you into...anything. Ever.” He squeezed her hand, his touch leaving tingles of sensation against her skin. “Now, let’s get you a drink. Wine?”

Since speech was impossible, she nodded. When he turned his back to pour a glass of deep red wine, she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the area where he’d touched her, could have sworn she still felt the heat of his fingers.

“Leo’s a flirt,” she finally managed to say, “and he doesn’t discriminate based on looks, age or marital status. All the women in the E.R. are half in love with him.”

He raised his eyebrows. “All?”

Was he jealous? She could only hope. “Maybe not all,” she said huskily, sending him a look from under her lashes.

“Good.” He handed her the wine, didn’t seem to notice her sexy tone or seductive look. She would have to work on them. “You’re way too good for my brother. Don’t ever forget that.”

She wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl. Wanted to swear to James—as in, cross her heart and hope to die—that she had absolutely zero interest in becoming the next woman to warm Leo’s bed. “I won’t.”

It was an easy enough promise to make. Sure, Leo had that whole charming, playboy thing going on, and he resembled a Roman god with his sharply chiseled face and dark eyes. But he wasn’t the kind of man a woman could count on. Wasn’t the type of man Char wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She wanted a husband who was smart and responsible and successful. A man who would be there for her and their kids, who would be committed to his own career and supportive of hers, and active in the community they both loved.

James Montesano was going to make the perfect husband.

“I hear you’re looking to buy a place of your own,” he said.

She sipped her wine, hid a grimace. Yuck. She couldn’t stand the stuff. No matter what kind she tried, it always tasted like cough syrup. But if James drank wine, then she’d drink it.

And wish it was a beer instead.

“I’ve had enough of renting. It’s time I had something that’s mine, you know? A home, not just an apartment where I happen to sleep. And with Jenn getting married next spring, it seems like the right time.”

“Your roommate’s getting married? Isn’t she a little young?”

“She’s my age, so not so young.”

“Your age is plenty young,” he said, as if he was ancient.

Char pretended to take another drink. She’d wondered if the age difference would bother him. While she couldn’t say it thrilled her to have him think she was a little young, at least she now knew where she stood. And knowing was half the battle.

“You sound like Daddy.” As she’d hoped, he frowned at being compared to a middle-aged man. Good. Maybe that would help him realize he was still in the prime of his life. And having a wife ten years younger would only help keep him young.

“He wants me to move back home,” she continued, “which is so not going to happen.” Holding her glass with two hands, she let out a very put-upon-sounding sigh. “I just wish it wasn’t so hard finding a decent house. The last two I looked at in my price range were horrendous. I swear, I thought they were going to fall down around my ears. Luckily, I found one I think will work, but I have no idea if it’s worth the asking price or how much I’ll have to put into it. The real-estate agent said it needed a new roof, but what if there are other problems, ones that aren’t as easy to spot? The building inspector said he couldn’t get to it for at least a month and there’s no sense asking my dad.” She gave an exaggerated eye roll. “He’s no help whatsoever.”

“Tell you what,” James said, glancing at the doorway as if looking for someone, “why don’t I check the house out for you?”

Triumph flashed, hot and heady, inside her. That was easy.

The heavens really were on her side.

Still, she injected the right amount of hesitation in her voice when she said, “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that....”

“I’m offering.”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind...I’ll take you up on it. This Friday work for you? Say, six?”

She held her breath while he took out his phone, checked his schedule. “Friday it is.”

“Great.” Taking her courage in hand, she stepped closer, touched his forearm. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, patting her fingers.

Their gazes met, and though she hadn’t planned on their first kiss taking place so soon in their relationship, she couldn’t pass up this perfect, breathless moment. All she had to do was let him know he could take the initiative. But how? Maybe if she slid her hand up to his bicep, rose onto her toes, he’d lean down and—

“Lottie!”

Startled, feeling as if she’d been caught molesting the poor man, Char whirled around. Blinked. “Sadie? Sadie!” she repeated and, with a laugh, ran to envelop her sister in a hug, keeping to herself how much Sadie had sounded like their mother. “What are you doing here?”

Sadie rocked them both from side to side then leaned back and held Charlotte by her upper arms. “It’s so good to see you. Oh, my God, you’re so grown up!”

Char glanced at James as her face warmed. Curse her fair complexion. At least the blush would camouflage her freckles. “I’ve been a grown-up for six years now.”

“Yes, but now you look like an adult instead of a college coed. And this is the first time I’ve seen you live and in person since you flew down to visit me in Memphis. That was what...two years ago?”

“Two and a half.” Though they did text almost daily and video chat once every few weeks. “Come home more than once every few years and my turning into an adult won’t be such a shock.”

Sadie waved that away. “I’m here now.”

Yes, but for how long? She wouldn’t ask. Lord knew Sadie didn’t share Char’s love of plans, schedules and goals. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“Naturally.” All of her carefree older sister’s decisions were spur-of-the-moment. “Did you know?” Char asked James.

He shook his head. “Not until an hour ago when she showed up in the driveway covered head-to-toe in mud with a dog in her front seat.”

Char laughed. “Oh, I have got to hear this story.”

She hugged Sadie again. Her sister was home and Char had taken those first, all-important steps in her plans to get James Montesano to fall in love with her.

Best. Night. Ever.

* * *

THE NIGHT WOULDN’T end.

Not that it was a bad party, Sadie thought as she let cold dishwater out of the kitchen sink. She just wasn’t in the mood for the whole celebration thing and the act that went with it. She’d played her part, though. No sense disappointing anyone or, God forbid, have them asking her questions about what was wrong, what was going on with her. So she’d made the rounds, flitted from group to group, bringing laughter and making a good time even better.

She was, after all, the life of any party.

Just like her father.

She wondered if it had ever worn him out.

“Sadie,” Rose said as she came into the kitchen, her tone less than friendly. She set down the almost empty fruit-and-cheese platter on the island. “You don’t have to do that.”

Sadie wiped out the sink then turned the water on hot. “It’s no problem.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rose said, smiling tightly. “Go back to the party. Enjoy yourself.”

If Sadie didn’t know better, she’d think Rose was trying to get rid of her. “Really. It’s okay. I want to help.”

“I insist.”

And to go along with her insistence, Rose snatched the bottle of dish soap from Sadie’s hand.

Sadie raised her eyebrows. She could go back, she supposed, as Rose nudged her aside and squirted soap under the water. The party was winding down, but there were still quite a few guests milling about.

That was the problem. She didn’t want to entertain people. Didn’t want to be friendly. Didn’t want to try to charm everyone, entertain them all with more stories of her adventures. She wanted to stay here, right here. She wanted to hide.

And that was the ultimate sin for someone who was always, always the belle of any ball.

“I realize you don’t need any help, but do you...?” She cleared her throat. Tried again, this time adding a pleasant grin so Rose wouldn’t see her true intentions. “Would you mind if I stayed in here anyway?”

Rose stared at her as if she’d asked if she could strip naked and roll around in the leftover cake.

Not that that was a bad idea. It was really, really good cake.

“You want to stay in the kitchen,” Rose said, studying her much the same way James often did. Trying to look into people’s souls must be a family trait. “You do realize there’s a party going on outside of this room?”

“I guess I’m just tired.” Yeah, tired of explaining how her latest idea had tanked and that she had big plans once she was back on her feet again. Of pretending her life was going exactly how she wanted. Of feeling as if every person she’d spoken with had more going for them than she did—careers and spouses, kids and contentment.

She snorted softly. As if she’d want any of those things. Okay, maybe the career wouldn’t be too bad, but only if it was one that let her come and go as she pleased. One that didn’t tie her to a desk in some closed-off office in a town where the most exciting thing to happen was when the local high school football team made the state playoffs.

One where she had the freedom to be herself, to live life on her own terms instead of blindly following the expectations of others. Where she could breathe.

One that wasn’t Shady Grove.

“I could dry,” Sadie offered when Rose remained silent.

Not looking too thrilled with that prospect, she nonetheless handed Sadie a clean towel.

The window above the sink was open, bringing in a crisp breeze. Shutting her eyes, Sadie inhaled deeply and held it, held in the scents of wet grass and fresh, clean air. “I love how it smells after a summer rain. Like everything’s been wiped clean.”

Like anything was possible.

Rose made a noncommittal sound.

“I can’t believe how big Max has gotten,” Sadie said of Eddie’s son as she accepted a dish from Rose. “What is he now? Five?”

“Seven.”

“It seems like just yesterday he was a baby.”

“Yes, well, you’ve been gone a few years now. Things tend to change. Children grow. People get older.”

“I’m getting older, too,” Sadie sang, but her “Landslide” reference fell to the ground with a resounding splat. “Sorry. I can never resist a chance to do my Stevie Nicks impersonation.” Nothing. Not even the faintest hint of a smile, no glimmer of humor lit Rose’s hazel eyes. “Uh...James, he, uh...” Sadie set the plate on the counter, took the next clean one. “Mentioned you’re going back to school.”

“Yes.”

“That’s so great. Really great. What are you taking up?”

Rose sighed, as if dealing with Sadie was more than one person could handle. “Human services.”

“Wow, that’s—”

“Great,” Rose interrupted, rinsing another dish. “So you’ve said.”

Okay. James was right. His mom really was stressed.

And grumpy, too.

Zoe padded into the room, crossed to Sadie and nudged her legs. Sadie slung the towel over her shoulder and kneeled to take the dog’s face in her hands. “Hey, there, beautiful. Did you have fun playing with your new boyfriend?”

Almost immediately after James had first introduced Zoe to Elvis, the two dogs had fallen in love with each other.

“I’m glad you two are getting along so well,” Sadie continued. “And I promise, while we’re at your house, I won’t let him eat out of your food bowl or sleep in your bed.”

Rose inhaled sharply. “Are you...are you staying with James?”

“It’s so much easier,” Sadie said, washing her hands. “I hate to impose on my mom and Will—they’re used to being empty nesters.” Not that her mother and stepfather would complain about having Sadie there. They would probably love it. But it reminded her too much of when she’d been young, of how her life had taken a sudden turn after her father’s death. Of how close she’d come to losing herself.

Like her mother had lost herself.

Sadie took a hold of the serving bowl Rose held out. “Plus, with Will’s allergies, there’s no way I could bring Elvis there. And there’s barely room for Lottie and her roommate in that cramped apartment, so I asked James to put me up for a little while.”

Rose looked as if she’d sucked a lemon then chased it with a shot of drain cleaner. And she still hadn’t let go of the bowl. “How long is a little while?”

Sadie frowned, considered yanking on the damn thing, but resisted. Barely. “A few weeks or so.”

Rose shut her eyes. “Lovely,” she murmured.

“Is that a problem?”

“Why would it be?” As if realizing she was in a subtle tug-of-war, Rose let go of the bowl. “Like you said, it’s only a few weeks. And then you’ll be off again.”

At least that thought seemed to cheer her up.

Sadie hummed “Landslide”—now that it was stuck in her head, resistance was futile—and stared blindly out the window. Luckily, the storm had dissipated almost as quickly as it had formed. After the last of the rain, the clouds had shifted, blowing away to find some other poor town to soak. Best of all, only three people had called her Cyclone Sadie.

One of them being her sister, so that didn’t even really count.

Frank and Rose’s house sat back from the road on top of a small knoll. Frank’s father, Leo—or Big Leo as he was known to family and friends—occupied the small cottage on the corner of the property. James’s only sister, Maddie, lived with her daughter across the street. Even Eddie lived on the street, though a block away, while Leo had an apartment two streets over.

Only James had separated himself from his family, choosing to build his house on the outskirts of town.

As if conjuring him out of thin air, Sadie heard the familiar deep tone of his laugh moments before he stepped into the soft glow of the lanterns spread across each tier of the deck. Smiling—she’d always loved the sound of his laugh—she opened her mouth, ready to call out to him only to have the sound die in her throat when she realized the reason he was so jolly. He was with someone. A woman. An attractive woman in a deep blue wrap dress that showcased her curvaceous body and killer legs. A dress that made Sadie feel decidedly underdressed in her floor-length, multicolored skirt and black tank top.

They stopped next to an SUV, one of the few vehicles that had circumvented the traffic jam in the driveway by parking in the yard near the back corner of the house. James said something that had the brunette smiling and swatting his arm, her hand lingering there longer than necessary.

“Eddie’s heading home,” Frank said as he came into the kitchen. In khakis and a green polo, he was still as trim and fit as when Sadie had first met him as a child, the only signs of age a few lines around his brown eyes and a liberal sprinkling of gray in his short dark hair. “He’s going to drop Dad off on his way.”

“Are Maddie and Bree still here?” Rose asked.

“They’re saying good-night to Gerry and Carl. It was nice of you to invite them.”

“They are almost family.”

“Almost.” He came up behind his wife and kissed the side of her neck. “You outdid yourself, Rosie. As usual.”

She tipped her head to the side so that it pressed against his. “Thank you. I think James enjoyed himself.”

“He seems to be enjoying himself now,” Sadie murmured, wondering at the bite to her tone, the tightness in her chest.

Rose and Frank both followed her gaze out the window. The brunette had her head close to James’s, said something as he typed on his phone.

Putting her number into his contact list.

Sadie cleared her throat. “I don’t recognize her. Is she a friend of Maddie’s?”

“That’s Anne Forbes. She works for a local painting contractor,” Frank said, picking up a clean towel and drying the next dish. Raising his bushy eyebrows, he nudged Rose with his elbow. “You must be pretty pleased with yourself.”

“You know I hate to brag,” Rose said. “But since you mention it, yes. Yes, I am.” She glanced at Sadie. “Very pleased.”

“Is this one of those family secrets?” Sadie asked, forcing her tone to lighten, her lips to curve.

“No secret. Rose here decided to take matters into her own hands and find our eldest a wife.”

Sadie’s scalp prickled. Her hands tightened on the towel, twisting the fabric until her fingers went numb. “A wife?”

“No one’s booked St. Theresa’s for a wedding mass yet,” Rose said drily. “I just thought he might be interested in meeting a lovely, intelligent woman.”

“As opposed to the ugly, stupid women he’s usually interested in meeting?” Frank asked.

“Well, he did go out with Melissa Alden,” Sadie said, glad her voice had returned to normal. “She was cute enough, but dumb as a rock. Then again, James was fourteen and, I believe, hypnotized by the sight of Melissa in her cheerleading outfit.”

“Many men have had their better sense stolen by short skirts.” Frank winked at Sadie. “How do you think Rose managed to nab me?”

“I’d take exception to that,” Rose said, “except it’s true. And it worked.”

Frank leaned down, whispered something in Rose’s ear that had her laughing.

Wanting to give them privacy, Sadie crossed to a different window, looked out as James opened the door to the SUV. Anne climbed into the driver’s seat, her dark, straight hair swinging above her shoulders. She really was lovely. Sadie had seen her earlier in the living room when she’d been chatting with Maddie and Big Leo. Sadie had envied the other woman’s red, open-toed shoes, the way her side-swept bangs fell perfectly.

Sadie lifted her hand to her own hair, tucked an errant curl back into the messy bun at the top of her head.

James shut the SUV’s door and Anne turned on the ignition. A moment later, she backed up then pulled forward. James watched as she drove alongside the driveway.

So, James had met someone. Sadie rolled her eyes. Obviously he’d met Anne, but they’d exchanged numbers. Had maybe even made plans to meet for drinks. Or dinner.

A date.

Good for him. Maybe it would work out and he and Anne would fall in love, get married, have a couple of little Montesanos, kids who had James’s easy grin, his love of schedules and his anal tendencies. There was no one more suited for marriage and family life than James. He deserved to get everything he wanted. Deserved to be happy.

Hadn’t Sadie always known he’d find someone? It might not be Anne, but eventually he’d meet a woman he could love and spend the rest of his life with. And when he found that woman, it would mean the end of Sadie’s relationship with James.

Oh, sure, they would always be friends, but things would change between them. How could they not? No longer would she be able to stay at his house when she returned to town. She’d have to stop calling him whenever she wanted, night or day, just because she wanted to hear the sound of his voice. Because she’d missed him.

No longer would she be first in his life. That spot would belong to his wife, his family, the way it was supposed to.

He wouldn’t need her at all. He’d have what he’d always wanted.

And she’d be left alone.


CHAPTER FOUR

JAMES SANK ONTO a lounge chair on the deck, opened his bottle of water and took a long drink. He wanted to get home. Though tomorrow—he checked his phone’s clock—though today was Sunday, he still had to work. He needed to finish that estimate for the Websters’ addition, catch up on some billing and put in a few hours working on the design for Mrs. Kline’s kitchen.

The door opened and Maddie, the youngest Montesano sibling and only girl, sauntered onto the deck, followed by her eleven-year-old daughter, Bree. Zoe, lying at James’s feet, rose and walked over to Bree.

“I thought you left ten minutes ago,” Maddie said to him.

“I’m waiting for Sadie.” It seemed as if he’d spent his entire life waiting for Sadie. “She wanted to double-check if Mom needed any more help cleaning up.”

He wanted to follow her back to his place in case there was more damage to the Jeep than they initially thought.

“God help her.” Maddie glanced through the door’s window, her white summer dress like a beacon in the dim light. “We’re heading out before Mom can give us something more to do.”

“We waited until Nonna went into the living room and then snuck out,” Bree whispered excitedly, her hand on Zoe’s head. “Poppa kept watch.”

James pulled her down beside him and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re taking your lives in your hands doing that.”

“Desperate times, my friend,” Maddie said. “You know how she gets after a party.”

“Crazy,” Bree said solemnly.

He squeezed her. “That’s my girl.”

“When I told her I’d come back in the morning to run the vacuum, I thought her head was going to explode. And that I would have to clean that up, too.” Maddie shook her head. “I think this school thing really has her freaked out.”

“She’ll work through it.”

“I know. But it’s tough when she’s the one we can always trust to be practical and responsible. Well, other than you, that is.”

“You make practicality and responsibility sound like negative traits.”

“Did I?” she asked sweetly. “So sorry.”

She wasn’t. She was rarely sorry, even when she knew damn well she was to blame. And there wasn’t much sweet about her, either. Growing up with three older brothers had made her tough as nails. Her stubbornness, competiveness and bordering-on-obsessive need to prove she was equal to the men in her family in every way was due to the prickly, pugnacious personality she’d been born with.

Was it any wonder they all adored her?

Maddie tugged Bree to her feet. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get out of here before Nonna realizes we’ve escaped.” When James stood as well, Maddie hugged him. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

She stepped back and Bree moved into his arms. “Happy birthday, Uncle James.”

He held her close. She was a shorter, rounder version of her mother with her tanned skin, dark hair and heavy eyebrows. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, surprised to realize she now reached the middle of his chest.

When the hell did that happen? How did it happen?

It seemed like just yesterday she’d had pigtails and a wide, empty space in her smile where her two front teeth used to be. Those teeth had long ago come in, and she’d traded in the pigtails for a supershort pixie cut that accentuated the fullness of her face. But that would change soon, too. She’d get taller. Thin out. Grow up.

But she still smelled like a little girl, like clean sweat and baby powder. She still hugged him fiercely as if she never wanted to let go.

Love for her swamped him and he hoped she never did let go.

“Hey,” he said, leaning away so he could look down into her pretty face. “How about on Tuesday we go to that new bakery that opened up downtown?”

She stepped back, sent her mom a worried look. “Tuesday?”

“That’s the first day of school, right?” He pulled out his phone. He could have sworn he’d made a note that school started on the twenty-fourth.

“Yes,” she said slowly, sidling closer to Maddie, “that’s the first day, but—”

“Or we can stick with Rix’s Diner if that’s what you’d prefer. What?” he asked when he realized they were both staring at him, Bree rubbing her eyebrow, a sure sign she was upset or nervous.

Standing behind her daughter, Maddie placed both hands on Bree’s shoulders. “Actually, Neil is coming into town Monday night so he can be here for Bree’s first day of seventh grade.”

Neil Pettit, NHL star and original Hometown Boy Done Good, was also Bree’s father.

“Okay,” he said. “What does that—”

“He wants to take her out,” Maddie said softly. “He wants to take us both out. You know, start a new tradition.”

A new tradition.

Ever since Bree was a precocious, chubby three-year-old preschooler, James had taken her out to breakfast on the first day of school. Every year. It was their tradition, one he’d thought meant as much to her as it did to him.

“We could do something else, Uncle James,” Bree blurted. “The two of us. Like, start a new tradition.”

She looked so worried, he couldn’t even get angry she was throwing him a bone. Besides, she was just a kid. A sweet, quiet kid who’d had his heart from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her as a squalling, red-faced infant. Her entire life he’d done his best to be there for her, to fill the void Neil had left when he’d walked out on Maddie twelve years ago.

James had given her time and attention and, in the rare instances she needed it, discipline. For eleven years he’d been the biggest male influence in her life. Had been more of a father to her than her real dad.

Until two months ago when Neil had returned to Shady Grove and decided to be a part of his daughter’s life full-time—or as close to it as possible when Neil played for the Seattle Knights and spent half his time on the other side of the country. Though he still had over two years left before his contract with the Knights was up, he’d made his desire to be traded to an East Coast team sooner rather than later clear. It was only a matter of time, and getting the right offer from another team, before the Knights let him go. But even though Neil wasn’t with Bree on a day-to-day basis, the results were the same. He was Bree’s number-one guy now.

Leaving James to be demoted to favorite uncle.

Change happened. James accepted it, rolled with it.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Sure,” he said, trying to smile. To reassure her. “We can do something different. You pick.”

“Do I have to decide right now?”

She loved to weigh her options, to take her time and think things through before making any decision, whether it was what kind of ice cream to order or what she thought of the latest book she read. She sure as hell hadn’t gotten that from her mother.

“No hurry,” he said. “You just let me know whenever you’re ready.”

“Why don’t you wait for me in the truck?” Maddie asked, giving Bree a gentle nudge toward the steps. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Good night,” Bree told him.

“’Night.”

As soon as Bree was out of earshot, Maddie turned to him. “James, I—”

“It’s fine, Maddie. I’m glad Bree is spending more time with her father.”

He almost meant it, too.

Sure, he wanted what was best for his niece, and Neil was showing that he could step up and be the kind of attentive, loving father Bree needed. But it changed things.

It changed how much time Bree spent with James, how involved he was in her life.

Not that he could complain about it or even let it get him angry or upset. A good guy, wasn’t that what Sadie had labeled him? She wasn’t the only one. Usually, he took it as a compliment; he liked being the kind of man people could turn to, someone they could trust. But there were times when doing the right thing was annoying as hell.

The good not only died young, but they also didn’t get so much as a day off from other people’s expectations. Not even on their freaking birthday.

“Thanks,” Maddie whispered. “Really. I know not everyone agrees with me and Neil getting back together, so your support means a lot to me.”

“I’ve always got your back,” he told her. “No matter what.”

It was what big brothers did. Even if he wasn’t sure support was the right word for how he felt about her reuniting with her high school boyfriend, the man who’d gotten her pregnant at sixteen and left to pursue a professional hockey career.

But, unlike Leo—who’d never liked Neil—James was keeping his opinions to himself. He would sit back and let events unfold, as he always did. And if things went bad, he would be there to pick up the pieces.

“I appreciate that,” Maddie said, giving him another hug.

He sat in the chair, Zoe by his side as they watched Maddie drive down the long, winding driveway and across the street to her own house.

The door opened, but he didn’t turn, didn’t need to see who was there. He easily recognized the sound of her step, the light, citrusy scent of her perfume.

“I hope you’re not still pouting,” Sadie said, sitting at the end of his chair.

“I don’t pout.”

“No? Well, your bottom lip said otherwise.” She took the water from him, sipped. Laid her hand on his knee. “It’s only a game, James.”

Swinging his legs around so they sat side by side, so her hand fell away from his leg, he grabbed his water. “I realize that.”

Though having her wipe the pool table with him was humiliating.

But he hadn’t pouted, damn it.

“It really shouldn’t bother you so much to lose to me. You know no one beats me at eight ball.”

“That’s why no one else will play you,” he reminded her. Not once they learned she’d spent a couple of months in Vegas making her living as a pool shark.

She sighed, as if the entire world was against poor, little ol’ her. “I know. It’s not fun. I’m just glad I can always count on you.”

That went without saying.

Sadie braced her weight on her arms behind her and tipped her face up. Eyes shut, she inhaled deeply, her full breasts rising and falling under her silky tank top.

His throat dried. His fingers twitched with the need to stroke the long line of her throat, to flick over the pulse beating at the base of her neck. Even when she was still, there was an energy about her, like an electrical current, one pulsating with life.

It called to him, had always called to him, pulling him in, daring him to touch, to feel that zing coursing through his blood, just once.

Tearing his gaze from her, he held his water between his knees, stared at the floor. But he could feel her next to him, the brush of her leg against his outer thigh, the shifting of the seat when she stretched, arching her back. Could hear her soft breathing, the low, melodic tune she hummed softly.

He’d sought her out tonight. He hadn’t wanted to, but it seemed no matter where he was, what he was doing, who he was talking to, he couldn’t stop from seeking out the sound of her laugh, the sight of her light brown hair. She was like a butterfly in her bright, colorful clothes, in how she fluttered from a conversation with his grandfather about how to make a foolproof marinara sauce to entertaining a group with tales about tending bar in the French Quarter to coaxing his seven-year-old nephew to dance.

She captivated him. He wondered if he would ever get free.

“You ready to go?” he asked, his voice gruff.

She sat up. “Sure.”

They walked down the driveway and rounded the front of the house.

“It’s good to be home,” Sadie said as they crossed toward the garage, her tone soft. Hesitant. “But the best part about being home is being with you. I just...I wanted you to know that,” she said quietly.

She sped up, leaving him to gape at her as she went into the garage for the stray dog.

He wasn’t sure what that had been about, wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It’s good to be home.

He’d never heard her admit that before. Never would have believed that she could actually mean it. But even it was true, it was only temporary. Everything with her was temporary. Her jobs, her relationships, her goals and dreams—they changed based on her whims, on where she was living and who her friends were at any given moment. She may be glad to be in Shady Grove, but she wouldn’t stay.

Her leaving was the only reliable thing about her.

* * *

SADIE PADDED INTO James’s kitchen, Elvis at her heels, the wood floor cool under her bare feet. She flipped on the pendent lights over the center island and crossed to the refrigerator.

Good Lord, even the inside of his fridge was immaculate and so organized it could be in an appliance commercial, with a place for everything and everything in its damned place. Well, she thought, helping herself to a Golden Delicious apple, at least she didn’t have to worry about catching some deadly disease by eating his food.

Unlike when she spent the night with Doug, her last boyfriend.

She was glad to be rid of him and all those penicillin samples he grew in his refrigerator.

She just wished she’d been the one to end things.

Washing the apple, she looked out the window at James’s side yard. When she’d first seen his house, she’d been surprised. Not by the workmanship; she’d expect nothing less than the best from him and Montesano Construction. No, what had shocked her was that instead of a traditional, two-story house with an attached garage—and the same boring floor plan as half the houses in town—he’d gone with a log home design.

Guess even lifelong friends could surprise each other every now and again.

And, yes, he’d explained how his house combined contemporary design with waterfront, coastal and cottage elements and blah, blah, blah. Biting into the apple, she leaned against the counter. All she knew was that it was gorgeous, with vaulted ceilings, dozens of tall, narrow windows and a stone fireplace. A house that reflected well James’s love for rich woods, deep colors and simple furnishings.

The first floor consisted of a master suite, a small bathroom and laundry room and a country-style kitchen that opened into a huge great room. Upstairs, a loft overlooked the great room with a bedroom on each side, along with another bathroom. In the kitchen, he’d chosen wide, rough-hewn pine beams for the ceiling, narrower boards for the floor. Whitewashed, glass-front cupboards and slate-gray counters.

He had a good eye, she thought as she opened an upper cabinet and took out a jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers. At least architecturally. When it came to interior design, he still had a lot to learn.

It was like you were in a plywood box—wood, wood and more wood.

If this was her place, she’d switch things up. Add some color and visual interest with a tile design on the center island, fill the cupboards with thick, white ceramic dishware. She munched on a cracker, her eyes narrowed as she studied the room. A throw rug under the high-back wooden stools and a window treatment for softness, both with hints of burgundy...maybe even yellow for warmth.

Yeah, she thought, eating another cracker, that’s what she’d do. She’d turn this boring, bland house into a warm and welcoming home.

The cracker tasted like sawdust. Her scalp prickled with unease. With a sense of foreboding.

The sense that she was missing something by not having a place like that for herself.

Which was ridiculous. She didn’t want a home. Not a permanent one, anyway. Roots were well and good for her mom and sister—they didn’t mind being stuck in the same town, surrounded by the same people, doing the same things over and over again. Day after day. Year after year.

You might be able to have both roots and wings, but you couldn’t fly, couldn’t have true freedom with your feet planted in the ground.

That’s what she had, she assured herself, digging a spoon out of the utensil drawer before taking her food into the great room. Freedom. Choices. The ability to take off for new adventures or opportunities whenever the mood struck her.

The ease of leaving behind a crappy apartment, friends who were barely more than acquaintances and men she’d never really loved anyway when things went belly-up.

“Things always go belly-up,” she whispered to Elvis as she settled onto the couch.

With a sigh that was made up of more oh-woe-is-me than any self-respecting, independent woman should experience, she curled her legs under her.

The moon shone through the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows and cast dappled shadows across the braided rug in the middle of the room. Like the kitchen, this room, too, was a study in browns—plush leather couch and two armchairs the color of chocolate, russet-and-tan oval braided rug, oak coffee and end tables.

The man really needed some color in his life.

Built-in shelves filled with books and framed photos lined both sides of the fireplace and a large, flat-screen TV hung on the opposite wall. When they had gotten to his house after the party, James had helped her give Elvis a bath before calling it a night. Though she was exhausted, Sadie had tossed and turned for hours on the comfy double bed in the guest room upstairs.

“What are you doing up?”

She squeaked and almost dropped her spoon. Sticking it into the peanut butter, she glared at James. “You about gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me in that ninja way of yours.”

“Please tell me I’m sleepwalking,” he said from his bedroom’s doorway, his deep voice gravelly, Zoe at his side, “and you’re not really eating my peanut butter straight from the jar.”

“I’m not really eating your peanut butter from the jar,” she said around the spoon in her mouth. “You’re sleepwalking. It’s all just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.”

James crossed to the floor lamp and turned it on—the better to illuminate his adorable scowl. He was so cute, trying to be all stern and angry with her.

Thank God that would never happen. He was too sweet, too even-tempered and well, too dang nice to lose his cool, much less get mad at her.

He towered over her. “If you let that dog lick the spoon then put it back in there I’m tossing you both out.”

He seemed...bigger somehow. Broader. His faded Pittsburgh Pirates T-shirt clung to his shoulders, his sweatpants hung low on his flat stomach. He should have looked harmless, funny with his dark hair sticking up on one side, his eyes heavy with sleep.

Her breath shouldn’t be stuck in her throat just from looking at him. She shouldn’t want to smooth his hair, keep her hand there to run her fingers through the strands.

She swallowed hard. “Do people really eat after their pets?” She used the spoon to scoop out more peanut butter. Ate it, though she wasn’t sure she could get it past the tightness in her throat. “That doesn’t seem very hygienic.”

“You’re like a teenage boy,” he grumbled.

She choked back a surprised laugh. “Not sure that’s an accurate assessment, but seeing as how it’s so late, I won’t hold it against you. What are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep?”

He grunted.

“Do you happen to have a pocket translator I could borrow?” she asked. “I don’t speak caveman.”

“I heard footsteps.”

Instantly contrite, she sat up straight. “I’m sorry. Elvis and I thought we were being very stealthlike.”

“You probably were, but Zoe hears every sound. She woke me, I heard you moving around and here I am. What’s your excuse?”

She wished she knew. For weeks...months...she’d been restless. On edge.

Unhappy.

No, she corrected quickly, not unhappy. More like...dissatisfied. Unsure of what she should do next, where she should go. Sometimes she was even unsure of who she was anymore. Who she wanted to be.

“Elvis and I just wanted a snack.”

“How can you be hungry? My mom had enough food at the party for two hundred people.”

“I didn’t get a chance to eat much.”

“That’s because you didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath, let alone eat.”

“I’m sociable and people want to chat with me. It’s a burden. Hey,” she said, remembering her earlier promise to the dog, “want to order a pizza?”

“Where are you going to find a pizza parlor open at two forty-five in the morning?”

Good question. Panoli’s, her favorite pizza place in Shady Grove, was probably long closed. “We could drive into Pitts—”

“Sadie.” His voice was soft, his gaze patient. “What’s wrong?”

His kindness undid her. “I screwed up,” she admitted, injecting a lightness she didn’t feel into her tone. “Nothing new there.”

Nothing new except that this time—for the first time—screwing up, failing so spectacularly, bothered her. It had been weeks, and she still hadn’t been able to shake off the sense of malaise, of disappointment in herself.

She shook her head. Tried to smile. “Hey, I have something for you,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She hurried up the stairs and into the room on the left, dug through her suitcase until she found the brightly wrapped package. When she returned downstairs, he was on the couch, his legs straight, his head resting against the back.

“Happy birthday,” she said, holding the present out.

Looking from her to the gift and back again, he sat up.

But he didn’t take it.

For some stupid reason, nerves settled in her stomach. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s technically late—though I’d like to point out only by a few hours.”

Finally, he took the present. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I did. It’s your birthday. Besides, I’m hoping this’ll make up for not getting you anything the past few years.”

He stared at the package in his hands. “I don’t expect anything from you, Sadie.”

He didn’t. Never had. She appreciated it. Counted on it. “I know, but I saw this and I had to get it for you.”

James was so thoughtful, always sending her flowers or her favorite chocolates on her birthday while the most she usually did was give him a call. It wasn’t as if she didn’t think about him—she did. Often.

“Besides,” she continued, “this isn’t the first gift I’ve given you. Two years ago I sent you that subscription to National Geographic.”

“It was four years ago. And you sent it a month late.”

“I did?”

Not seeming upset about it, he nodded and unwrapped the present. His smile bloomed, slow and warm. “This is great.”

Relieved, she sat next to him. “You like it?”

“Are you kidding?” He opened the first-edition copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, his long fingers smoothing the aged pages. “I love it.” Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”

She had to force herself not to lean into him for longer than necessary, but he felt so good, so solid and warm and strong. Steady. She may not want steadiness in her life too often, but it might be a nice change of pace now and again.

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she eased away and swung her legs up so she sat cross-legged. “I’m glad you like it.”

Silence surrounded them, the quiet hush of night, the only sound their breathing, the dogs’ nails clicking as they walked across the floor. It was peaceful. She’d never craved peace before, had always preferred the exhilaration of the next adventure, the surprise of jumping off that cliff, seeing how far she could fly before having her wings clipped.

But this, being with James in his overly drab house, was nice.

It was also dangerous. Sitting so close to him, wearing nothing more than a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. He shifted, his knee brushing her bare thigh. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His gaze flicked to her chest before jerking up to her face again.

Her breasts grew heavy. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Dangerous. Exciting.

Two of her very favorite things.

Afraid he’d go to bed, that he’d leave her, she blurted, “So, what’s been going on with you? How’s work?”

“You know me,” he said, setting the book on the coffee table. “Same old, same old.”

“That’s good. I mean, that is how you like things. No surprises. No...bumps in the road.”

“That what happened in New Orleans? You hit one of those bumps?”

He knew her well. Too well.

She almost didn’t answer. She was feeling too vulnerable now. But this was James. He’d never take advantage of her weak state. And she was still strong enough not to give too much of herself away.

“Actually, things were going great in New Orleans. Really, really great.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t say I hit a bump. More like the bottom dropped out. I wasn’t able to make enough tending bar and Doug—”

“Who’s Doug?”

“My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”

“What happened to Tim?”

“We split up a year ago.” He’d dumped her for not being adventurous enough in bed to agree to bring in a second woman. As if she’d subject another woman to Tim’s clumsy hands and short...stamina. “Doug worked on an oil rig, but that was only until he got his big break.”

“Don’t tell me,” James said blandly. “Doug is a musician.”

“Artist.” Though he’d had that whole rock-star vibe to him. Long hair, scruffy facial hair, a penchant for wearing ripped jeans and his battered leather jacket. And then there was his Harley. Man, don’t get her started on that—talk about sex on a stick. Doug was perfect for her.

Until he’d found another muse.

Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

“Anyway, Doug and I split a few months ago, and since the whole organic beauty products weren’t working out, I decided to come home.”

Had wanted to come home. To be home.

“That’s it?” he asked, studying her in that way she hated, as if seeing through all her bullshit, right to her soul. A girl had to have some secrets, didn’t she? “There aren’t any warrants out for your arrest? No ex-boyfriends you owe money to?”

“Of course not,” she said primly. “You know I don’t borrow money.”

It was a line, one of few that she refused to cross. Fail or succeed, she did it on her own.

He linked his hands together behind his head, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge and flex. “What are your plans?”





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