Книга - Celebration’s Bride

Celebration's Bride
Nancy Robards Thompson






She rubbed her palms on her pants, then fisted her hands so that her nails dug into her flesh. The sensation was a touchstone to help get her mind off the absurd possibility that there had been a double meaning in what Miles had said.

You know there was. It was as palpable as her rapid heartbeat.

It was the way he’d said it, and despite the little voice inside her head that warned that she was playing with fire, that now of all times was not the time to get distracted by physical attraction. Because she was already preoccupied with the possibility of moving back to St. Michel—and she’d told him her secret even before she’d told her best friends and co-workers …

Still, despite good sense and propriety, she heard herself saying to him, “You want to see more of me? Is that strictly professional … or personal?”

“Both,” he said.


Celebration’s Bride

Nancy Robards Thompson




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


Award-winning author NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON is a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments, and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming, “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since she hung up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.


This book is dedicated to Gail Chasan for all you do.




ACKNOWLEDGMENT:


Special thanks to Caroline Phipps for her continued help with all things army-related.


Contents

Prologue (#uaef62466-edb0-5edc-ad0f-11ba80036c03)

Chapter One (#u338fc2a2-513e-5e32-a761-50b2094e149f)

Chapter Two (#u0615f1c4-cd9b-5499-a95d-38418dbe1641)

Chapter Three (#u134c9554-66dc-5691-aca3-33bc7ada7287)

Chapter Four (#u41f0144c-0947-5ab5-a9ef-32421052df66)

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)


Prologue

“Did you tell anyone you were coming to St. Michel?” Maya LeBlanc asked.

As she watched Sydney James shake her head, she wondered how such a smart, capable, beautiful woman could be so clueless about everything that was good and right for herself.

“Nobody in Celebration, Texas, knows I’m here,” Sydney said. Her British accent sounded so crisp and proper. “I don’t want to say anything until I know whether or not I have the position. There is no sense in getting everyone up in arms if I’m not chosen for the job.”

Sydney shrugged.

Maya sensed hesitancy in the usually self-possessed woman.

“So this is not what you want, then?” Maya asked as she stirred the pot of drinking chocolate she was preparing for the two of them.

Sydney did a double take. Her narrowed gaze flitted from Maya’s face to the copper pot of chocolate, then back to Maya.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said. “Of course I would love a cup of chocolate, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Maya put her free hand on her hip and studied Sydney. “I’m talking about the job interview. You’ve made the process so clandestine. I don’t understand why you’re keeping it from everyone who cares about you. If moving back to St. Michel will truly make you happy, then it shouldn’t be such a secret.”

Maya watched Sydney’s body language intently as the woman studied her hands, shifting from one Ferragamo-­clad foot to the other. She swallowed hard before she cleared her throat.

“It’s time for me to leave Texas,” she said. “It’s time to move on. That’s all.”

Right. Maya’s friend sounded as excited as a woman who was marching to her death.

“Why couldn’t you tell A.J., Pepper and Caroline?” Maya asked. “Your friends would be happy for you. They wouldn’t hold you back if this were truly your path. Unless you don’t really want to leave?”

Sydney didn’t answer.

Maya averted her gaze to the bubbles in the chocolate and quickened the pace with which she stirred. She grabbed a pinch of cinnamon and dropped it into the pot. Its coppery, sienna color stood out against the dark, rich brown of the chocolate, forming a rough design that made Maya do a double take.

Interesting…

She watched the image shift as the liquid boiled. She never knew when or how the sign would present itself. Sometimes the message came on the wind, other times—like now—it registered itself randomly, as it seemed to be doing in the chocolate. There was no way to predict it. But when it turned up it was unmistakable.

Maya’s breath caught and her heartbeat quickened as she stole a glance at Sydney, whose sad eyes revealed more than Maya was sure Sydney wanted to tell.

Maya just needed to be sure this was indeed the sign. So she added a small pinch of cayenne pepper to the pot.

And there it was. As plain as if someone had handed her an engraved note.

Sydney was next. She was the intended.

The realization sent shivers of delight skittering through Maya. In addition to being a third-generation chocolatier, Maya was un marieur. A matchmaker. It was an avocation of sorts…. She would confess it really was her passion. Making and selling chocolate put food on her table, but bringing soul mates together fed her soul.

“Why is your heart set on leaving Texas?” Maya asked as she removed the pot from the flame.

“I get this way every so often,” Sydney said. “I must have a bit of gypsy in me because sometimes the urge to move on to somewhere new is consuming.”

Sydney sounded more sure of herself than she had before, but Maya still detected the false bravado hiding beneath the polished veneer. “It’s the same restlessness that drew me away from St. Michel to Texas.”

“And now you want to come back to St. Michel?” Maya raised a brow at her friend as she carefully poured the thick liquid from the shiny copper pot into two demitasse cups. “As I recall, there was a man involved when you moved last time. Is that the case now?”

“No. All I’ve done since I’ve been in Celebration is work. I haven’t had time for a man. That’s part of the reason I want to move on.”

Maya studied the jars of special herbal mixtures on the shelf above her head. She sensed that all-work-and-no-play Sydney just might need a little something to wake her up. Something to help her recognize that opportunity might not necessarily come calling in the form of a job offer from the Royal House of Founteneau.

Maya had a gut feeling the opportunity that the sign foretold would present itself in a much sexier manifestation. But Sydney needed to slow down, to light in one place long enough to give her future time to take root.

Maya didn’t make this stuff up. She was simply the messenger. And it was clear to this courier that she had a life-changing message to deliver.

She pushed the small cup across the marble counter to Sydney, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

“Mon amie,” Maya said, her cup poised midair just before her first sip. “What are you running from?”

Sydney sampled the drink. Maya glimpsed a thoughtful look in her friend’s green eyes a split second before she closed them to savor the treat. When Sydney opened her eyes, she said, “I’m not running from anything.”

She smiled and tilted her head ever so slightly to the right. If Maya didn’t know better, she might’ve been fooled by her friend’s resolute facade. She wasn’t about to let her get away with this charade.

“Then what are you running to?” Maya asked.

A little laugh escaped Sydney and her fingers fluttered to her lips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Maya took down a glass plate from a shelf behind the counter. “So you answer my question with a question?” She filled the plate with several truffles and chocolate-dipped Madeleines, specialties of the house. “If you’re not running from something, that must mean you are running to something.”

Sydney wrinkled her nose. “No, I’m not doing that, either.” She set her cup on the counter and crossed her arms over her middle. Maya recognized the defensive body language for what it was. However, if the young woman hadn’t wanted her help, then she wouldn’t have come into the shop so eager to share the details of the job prospect that she was taking such great pains to hide from those closest to her. Maya owed it to Sydney to give her the advice she sought. Even if her friend didn’t seem to like the answer or seem consciously aware that she was seeking counsel.

“Au contraire, mon amie. How will you ever meet your soul mate if you don’t stay in one place long enough to unpack?” Maya set the plate of sweets in front of Sydney. “I am afraid what I have to say isn’t what you want to hear. However, I implore you. It will be a grave mistake if you leave Celebration, Texas, now. Because your soul mate will arrive soon looking for you.”


Chapter One

It was going to be one of those days. Sydney James could already tell. Her return flight from St. Michel to Texas, after her whirlwind trip to interview for the job of press secretary to St. Michel’s royal family, had been delayed six hours. Three hours in the terminal and three hours stuck on the runway.

Much of that time had been the middle of the night in Texas, and a good portion had been spent in the air where she couldn’t use her cell phone, anyway. All she’d been able to do was leave a message that she was going to be late for work—several hours late.

She’d been vague about her plans for the weekend, opting not to tell anyone about the job interview until she had a better handle on whether she even wanted the position. And, of course, whether the job wanted her. For that reason, she’d never been happier to talk to a voice mailbox. Voice mailboxes didn’t hammer her with questions.

Thursday, when she’d left Texas, she’d driven herself to the airport and left her car in long-term parking so she wouldn’t have to bother anyone for a ride to and from Dallas/Fort Worth International. Once she was back on Texas soil, she’d rushed to her car to get back to the office. Now she sat parked in front of Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company. Before she went in, she needed to catch her breath and make herself presentable. Running on little sleep for the better part of the past twenty-four hours, she looked like hell. She studied her reflection in her compact mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes, which made her irises look a peculiar shade of olive rather than their usual medium green, and her face looked drawn and pale. She reapplied powder, blush and lipstick with the silent prayer that maybe, just maybe, she could make herself look halfway human.

Fat chance, she thought as she snapped the compact closed. The camera never lied.

Since it was already noon and she’d missed her call time by several hours, she hoped they’d greet her with the news that they needed time to regroup and wanted to reschedule the scenes she was in for tomorrow—or better yet, later in the week. Or best-case scenario, maybe they hadn’t missed her at all and had taped without her.

Yeah, right.

She knew that was a bad attitude. How many women would love to have her spot on Catering to Dallas, a reality TV show that chronicled the inner workings of Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company? She’d never been the center of attention on the show, and she preferred it that way. Content to carry out her duties as the catering company’s public relations director, staying in the background as her three friends and co-stars Pepper Merriweather-Macintyre, A.J. Sherwood-Antonelli-Harrison and Caroline Coopersmith-Montgomery vied for the spotlight.

Sydney slipped her cosmetics back into the inner pocket of her handbag and let herself out of the car.

“Here goes,” she murmured under her breath, willing there to be a fresh pot of coffee on the craft-services table.

She slipped inside the back door into the kitchen and glanced around. The white cabinets and gold-and-brown solarius granite looked fresh and clean. An array of vegetables befitting a farmers’ market was artfully arranged on the center island. The area was obviously ready for a shoot. However, everyone seemed to be on a break. At least they weren’t in the middle of taping. Although, if they had been, there would’ve been someone stationed outside the door to keep her from wandering into the shot.

“There you are.” Sydney jumped as Pepper seemed to appear behind her from out of nowhere. To be caught that unawares, Sydney must have been more exhausted than she realized.

She put a hand on her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” Pepper said, her Southern accent thicker than usual as she bit off the words. “But where on earth have you been? We’ve had quite a bit of excitement on the set this morning. Didn’t you get my messages? I’ve been trying to call you.”

Sydney hadn’t. Her phone was tucked inside her purse, still on airplane mode. She rifled through her handbag until she found her cellular, her fingers first finding her keys, a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer and the small bag of pretzels they’d given her on the plane before she located what she was looking for. She pulled it out and changed the setting. More than a dozen calls and texts blew up her phone.

As director of public relations, she was rarely out of touch. She gave the messages a cursory glance before dropping her phone back into her purse and returning the bag to her shoulder. Most of the messages were from Pepper. She would deal with the other texts and voice mails later. As she braced herself for Pepper’s inquisition, she wondered if subconsciously she’d forgotten to turn on her phone to avoid questions about her absence before it was absolutely unavoidable.

And that time was now. Better to head off the questions by volunteering information.

“I had to go out of town this weekend and my return flight was delayed.”

“You what?” Pepper asked. “Where’d you go? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Sydney waved off the question as if it were no big deal. “Long story. But tell me, what’s happening here?”

Just as Sydney hoped, Pepper lost the scent of her own inquiry and pounced on the decoy.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You won’t believe it.” Her voice was a hushed stage whisper. She looked around as if worried someone might overhear her. “Bill Hines had to take a personal leave of absence. We walked in this morning to find out that we have a brand-new director. At least for the time being.”

Pepper pointed with her nose toward the other side of the large kitchen. Sure enough, there stood a tall, dark haired, broad-shouldered man talking to the executive producer, Aiden Woods. Sydney couldn’t tell what he looked like because she could only see his profile. The men stood behind the set lights. The new guy’s features were somewhat cloaked in shadows.

“Don’t let his good looks fool you,” Pepper said. “The guy’s a slave driver of the worst kind.”

For some reason, maybe it was the lack of sleep, Pepper’s melodramatics struck Sydney as funny. A small hiccup-laugh escaped.

“Right. You laugh now, but just wait,” Pepper warned. “He was not too pleased with you this morning when you missed your call time.”

“What?” Sydney asked, suddenly sobered by the news that she might be in trouble. “I didn’t have a call time.” Yes she did. “Well, not an individual spotlight, anyway.”

Pepper put up her hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the carrier pigeon. I am just giving you fair warning.”

Now that the news had had a chance to sink in, Sydney found herself getting a tad irritated. This guy comes in unannounced and takes roll? No. They weren’t used to checking in, and as far as she was concerned, they weren’t going to start now. Who did he think he was, coming in and shaking up a system that worked just fine?

“Why didn’t he just shoot the scene without me?” Sydney asked.

“He did. Sort of. Ooh, come here. Let’s go find A.J. and Caroline. They’re hiding in your office.”

Sydney stole one more glance at the new director. “Is he really that bad?”

Pepper grimaced and grabbed Sydney by the hand, all but dragging her the long way through the building, via the front reception area, circumventing the new guy, Aiden and the rest of the crew.

“Who the hell is he, anyway? And who does he think he is, coming in here with an attitude?”

Pepper didn’t answer. Their friends weren’t in the office but had ventured out to the craft-services table, which was tucked into an out-of-the-way alcove in the back of the Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company shop.

“Look who I found.” Pepper was still using that absurd stage whisper.

A.J. and Caroline took it one step worse. They pantomimed a mixture of shock and relief. What? Were they no longer allowed to speak at a normal decibel? They whisked Sydney into the office and shut the door.

“Oh, my dear God,” said A.J., finally using normal volume. “Where have you been?”

A.J. raked her hands through her hair, looking panic-stricken. That was when Sydney realized something was very wrong. Pepper might be the resident drama queen, but A.J. was calm, cool and levelheaded. Usually, Sydney envied her composure. When A.J. flapped, there was reason to be concerned.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Please fill me in on what’s going on.”

A.J. explained how Aiden had said Bill Hines had a family emergency and had introduced Miles Mercer as the new interim director.

“Miles Mercer…?” Sydney repeated. “Where do I know that name from?”

“Come here.” Caroline motioned Sydney to come behind the desk. She typed something into the computer’s internet browser. A long list of hits came up for…Miles Mercer. When Sydney saw the thumbnail of the Past Midnight movie poster, the pieces began to fall into place.

That Miles Mercer.

She’d heard of him and his scary movie, Past Midnight, a low-budget horror flick. Everyone had heard of him. Not only was he a local boy who’d made good, but a few years ago, the movie had been a runaway box-office sensation, and was declared a cutting-edge approach to filmmaking.

What the heck was he doing here on the set of Catering to Dallas?

“Really?” She pointed toward the door. “That’s him?”

“Yes,” said A.J. “Apparently, he’s a good buddy of Aiden’s and flew in immediately after Bill asked for leave.”

“Do you know he’s only twenty-nine years old?” Pepper asked. Even though her expression was disapproving, her eyes were large and held that certain awed reverence reserved for only the most gorgeous men. “Bless his heart, but that’s too young to have been called a genius. Don’t you think?”

Sydney commandeered the mouse and clicked on the first Miles Mercer listing on the browser page—one of those “e-encyclopedia” sites that offered comprehensive morsels of info in easily digestible bites. She quickly read what it had to report about him.

Yes, he had apparently been heralded a genius among the Hollywood types for his innovative movie-making style. It also noted that he’d made Past Midnight when he was in college. He’d entered it in various contests and film festivals, and it morphed into an overnight box-office success.

Sydney hadn’t seen the movie or any of the films he’d made since. The “e-encyclopedia” pointed out that none of his later projects had scored the rave reviews or box-office success of Past Midnight. Sydney was unimpressed; even if Past Midnight was groundbreaking, horror was not her favorite genre. Who wanted to be scared out of her wits and uncomfortable being alone in her own home?

As she stared at the framed Audrey Hepburn poster on her office wall, she heard herself make a disapproving noise that she hadn’t meant to be audible.

“If he’s such a big shot, what in the world is he doing on the set of Catering to Dallas?” She looked up from the computer to see her friends staring at her, and for a moment she was afraid she had insulted them.

“I mean no offense. I’m part of this cast, too. It’s just that Celebration, Texas, isn’t Hollywood and as much as we’d like to think our show is a pop-culture phenomenon, it’s reality TV. It is what it is and it certainly isn’t cutting edge.”

The girls shrugged and murmured that she did have a point. They also suggested that the sooner Sydney introduced herself to Miles and faced whatever wrath he might have in store for her, the better. They were only supposed to have taken a fifteen-minute break, during which he was going to go over some notes with Aiden, and then they were supposed to get back to work.

Caroline sighed. “If we don’t get out there, he’s probably going to come looking for us. That’s just how he is. You’ll see.”

“Why do I feel as if I’m on my way to the principal’s office for a reprimand?” Sydney asked as they all filed out of the office and made their way back to the craft-services area, where they came to a halt when they realized that Miles was still on the other side of the kitchen, still deep in conversation with Aiden.

If she positioned herself just right in the craft-services nook, she could steal glances at the infamous Miles Mercer without him being the wiser. At this angle his face was turned toward her and was no longer cloaked in shadows as it had been when she first saw him.

The “e-encyclopedia” reconnaissance mission had painted an interesting picture of their new interim boss and the pictures had proven that he was a nice-enough-looking guy, but what the research hadn’t done was prepare Sydney for how drop-dead gorgeous Miles Mercer actually was in person. The photos hadn’t done him justice.

Unwittingly, Sydney found herself doing the math in her head: he was five years her junior. Her gaze took a leisurely walk down the length of him, taking advantage of this moment when she could drink him in and size him up before she would be subjected to his scrutiny.

He was tall, dark and broad-shouldered. His hair was thick and cut in one of those effortlessly hip styles—not really long, but too long to be considered short. It was slightly curly and stood up a little on top, as if he’d rolled out of bed and carelessly combed it with his fingers. He was clean-shaven, and wore jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt.

If her friends hadn’t warned her that he had such a disagreeable disposition, things might be looking sort of…delicious in the Celebrations, Inc., kitchen. “Mmm-mmm-mmm.” Pepper smacked her lips as she poured herself a mug of coffee. “With his temper, I’ll bet he’s hell on a Triscuit in bed.”

A.J. and Sydney laughed. Caroline nearly choked on the bite of bagel she was chewing. Once she’d recovered, she shot Pepper a pointed look.

“What?” Pepper drawled. “Come on. He’s a good-looking guy. Everything aside, you have to give him that. I may be married, but I can still look. And appreciate.”

Pepper had just come back to the show after a brief hiatus to deal with personal issues of her own. Last year had been a series of ups and downs for her and her family. On one hand, she’d met and married the love of her life, Rob Macintyre. But she’d also watched Texas Star Energy, the company her father had built into an empire, implode under a criminal investigation. Sadly, her father had ultimately suffered a heart attack and passed away before he could go to trial.

Pepper had confided that in her heart she would always believe her father was innocent. Sydney, A.J. and Caroline were all glad to have her back on the show and at Celebrations, Inc., where she had an opportunity for a fresh start. That was part of the reason that Sydney was so ambivalent about telling her friends she was thinking of leaving the show. She and Pepper shared a lot of the same duties. Where Sydney’s official title was public relations director, they all called Pepper the company’s “social connector” because of the incredible social “ins” she possessed that only a Texas debutante could bring to the table.

Before landing the show Catering to Dallas, they’d started Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company, which had been A.J.’s brainchild. During that time, Pepper had lived a cushy lifestyle. Money was the furthest thing from her mind. She came and went as she pleased, bringing in new clients and leaving the bulk of the PR and marketing work to Sydney. She didn’t draw a salary.

Sadly, last year, her financial situation had taken a turn for the worse as a result of the investigation involving her father’s company. Pepper had no part in the scandal, of course, but she had been left holding the bag. Sydney admired the way she’d managed to put her life back together. She’d married a man who had more money than the royal family of St. Michel, but she remained adamant about making her own money. If the crisis had taught her one thing, it was from that day forward, she would make her own way in the world, depending on no one. Not even her husband’s fortune.

She had insisted on distancing herself from Catering to Dallas, so not to taint the show with her family’s bad reputation. Now that everything had settled, Pepper was back. What better way for her to carve out her own place in this world than by taking over the reins of PR for the catering company and reality television show? Especially since the possibility of Sydney getting the St. Michel press secretary position was very strong.

Pepper’s life was in Texas. Sydney wanted to travel. Really, it was time for her to move on. She’d been in Celebration long enough. She had never been comfortable staying in one place too long.

As activity continued to swirl on and around the set in preparation for the next shoot, which, according to A.J., would feature all four of the women in the office and kitchen discussing menus for upcoming events, Sydney continued to study Miles…until, suddenly, as if he’d sensed someone looking at him, Miles glanced in Sydney’s direction. Their gazes locked.

He cocked a brow and smiled.

Sydney couldn’t decide if it was genuine or a so-glad-you-could-join-us look.

Okay. So here we go.

She steeled herself and smiled back at him, forcing warmth into her eyes and refusing to be the one to look away first—even when the voice in her head said, Heavens, he is gorgeous.

Holding her gaze, he said something to Aiden, who slanted her a quick glance. Both men started walking toward the craft-services area.

“Oh. Here he comes,” Caroline whispered.

“Good afternoon, Sydney,” said Aiden. “I’d like to introduce you to your new director. This is Miles Mercer. You’ll be working with him until Bill comes back. I’m guessing that by now you’ve heard that Bill is out?”

“Yes, Pepper brought me up to speed on everything.”

“Good,” said Aiden. “Miles, this is Sydney James.”

“Hello, Sydney,” Miles said. “It’s nice to meet you.” He offered his hand and she accepted it, giving a firm but feminine squeeze. Their gazes locked again—and if Sydney hadn’t known better, hadn’t been forewarned that he was mad as hell at her for being late—she might have imagined that something sensuous had just passed between them because for a split second, it seemed as if they were the only two in the room.

To break the awkward moment, words just started spilling out of Sydney’s mouth. “We’re so happy to have you with us, Miles. I would imagine they keep you pretty busy over on the West Coast. I was surprised when I learned that you were willing to take a break and come work with us—and on such short notice, too. How in the world did Aiden tempt you away from Hollywood to come to Celebration, Texas? It must be somewhat of a culture shock for you.”

Miles shook his head. “Actually, I grew up in Celebration, but it’s been ages since I’ve been back. It’s nice to have the opportunity to come home and visit my family.”

A-ha. That’s why. It made sense.

“We’re all from Celebration,” Pepper volunteered hesitantly. “Well, except for Sydney. She’s our British import, but we love her like a sister. I suppose we’ve never met before this because we were a few years ahead of you in school.”

His gaze was back on Sydney as if he hadn’t heard Pepper’s comment. “I thought I detected an accent. When did you come across the pond? Or do they still say that?”

He smiled and she noticed that he had the slightest gap between his two front teeth. Just enough of an imperfection on an otherwise-perfect face to make her sigh inwardly.

Then she realized he was actually waiting for her to answer. “Of course we still say across the pond. No worries.”

Well, no worries for him. She, on the other hand, was trying to play it cooler than she felt. She was such a bad actress. It was a good thing she simply had to be herself on the set. Even so, she needed to center herself as quickly as possible. To do that, she reminded herself that no matter how dark and interesting Miles was, technically he was her boss. At least for the interim. She needed to maintain a modicum of professionalism, especially since she’d already made a bad first impression by being late.

“Well, we’re behind schedule,” Miles said. “We should get back to work. Ladies, Debbie has the shooting updates. Why don’t you go take a look?”

He nodded at A.J., Pepper and Caroline. Sydney knew the unspoken message was for them to get lost for a moment. And they did just that.

“We’ll start in five,” he called over his shoulder.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he said, “We missed you this morning. Was there an emergency?”

At least he had the good grace not to reprimand her in front of the others. Actually, his tone was quite professional…nice, even. Not at all what she expected after the monstrous buildup her friends had given him. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person? A grouch until the caffeine was coursing through his veins? Whatever the explanation, Sydney was grateful for his civilized manner.

“I was out of town this weekend and my return flight was delayed. I apologize if I inconvenienced anyone.”

He nodded, letting the pregnant silence hang between them for a moment.

“I’m glad it was nothing serious. We’re all professionals and from here on out, I’m confident you will be on time and ready to work when you’re scheduled.”

She might have been tempted to challenge him, or at least defend herself because normally she was on time. However, there was something about the way his sexy gaze bore into her in silent expectation that gave her a strange sense of déjà vu.


Chapter Two

If Miles had had any trepidation about coming back to Texas, the risk was certainly worth the reward, he thought as he made a concerted effort to keep his eyes from wandering back to Sydney James.

She was sitting in a director-style chair, getting her hair and makeup touched up—last looks—before they began shooting.

He walked over to the coffeepot, helped himself to a cup and stood back. He wanted to get a feel for how the cast members interacted without the glare of the lights and the intimidation of the camera.

Now that he’d met Sydney, he got the same vibe from her in person that he’d gotten as he’d watched the dailies from recent shoots and footage from the first season. His instincts were right. She looked as fabulous in person as she had on screen.

Even though he was only here for a short time, he was considering spotlighting her a little more by working in an interesting story line that featured her, but he needed to figure out how to best do that before he announced this plan to the rest of the cast.

He needed to gather his thoughts before they resumed shooting. Aiden had asked him to be creative, to put his unique stamp on the episodes he shot. He had no idea what that meant for Bill Hines when he returned to Catering to Dallas after this personal leave. But hey, it wasn’t his place to ask. He had a job to do and he intended to do it well.

Now that the whole cast and crew was together, instead of shooting right away, it would serve everyone well to have a meeting and talk about possibilities for the show and the progress he wanted to make while he was there.

He probably hadn’t made the most favorable impression right out of the starting gate. But one of the problems he could see right off the bat was that the cast and crew sort of came and went as they pleased. That was hell on the budget. He was used to professionals adhering to a set schedule and giving their all to get the job done.

That wasn’t too much to ask, especially since Aiden had voiced concerns over the show’s future. If they couldn’t streamline the budget and get the ratings up, the show might not be renewed for another season. It was easier to come in like a hard-ass and lighten up than the other way around.

He’d had his reservations about filling in as interim director on a reality television show. But the timing had been right. Negotiations for his latest movie had fallen through. So the plea from Aiden had come at the perfect time. Plus, he also liked the irony that reality television seemed like a first cousin of the horror genre.

When Hollywood had crowned him the king of horror for Past Midnight’s success, no one had been more astounded than Miles. He’d never intended to make a horror film, and he’d certainly never dreamed of making a career out of scaring the hell out of people. Midnight had been his final college project. It had started as a documentary he’d wanted to make, debunking a legend that had haunted his family for five generations. In the end, the project had driven a wedge between him and his father—because his father claimed he’d sold out his family. That so-called sell-out film had morphed into a career that continued to haunt him.

This sojourn in Texas would give him some time to think over his next move while he was helping out a friend. Maybe he could even start the healing process with his father. Regardless, he was going to see his mother and five siblings while he was in Celebration. He could only hope for the best with his father.

Miles joined Aiden by the camera, which was set up in the kitchen. “When do you want to get started?” Aiden asked.

“Now?” Miles said. “But let’s start with a short meeting.”

Aiden nodded and clapped his hands. The buzz on set stilled and the twenty-odd-member cast and crew looked at him. “Boys and girls, let’s all gather ’round for a short production meeting before we get started with the next scenes.”

As soon as everyone had assembled, Aiden began again.

“We’re happy to have Miles Mercer with us while Bill is away on leave. While Bill is gone, the powers that be and I thought it might be a good idea to try some new approaches. As you know, Catering to Dallas’s first ratings aren’t where we’d hoped they’d be. Since it’s crucial that we have as little interruption to the shooting schedule as possible, Bill is completely on board with Miles’s new vision for the show.”

New vision? That might be a bit of a stretch at this point, Miles thought. He had some ideas, such as featuring Sydney, but he wouldn’t necessarily classify what he’d come up with so far as a vision. After he’d accepted the gig, he’d done some boning up on reality TV, since it wasn’t the type of program he usually watched. He’d studied some of the popular reality shows and reviewed the Catering to Dallas dailies and episodes that had already been produced. So he felt like he had a pretty good handle on the show, but he’d decided he needed to meet the cast before he could come up with a vision and determine the direction in which he’d lead them.

He had to hand it to the ladies. They all had class and style. But he also had to admit that he had a particular leaning toward the brunette with the stunning green eyes: Sydney James. In her role as the marketer and publicist for Celebrations, Inc., she was the most unassuming of the cast members. Yet, as he’d watched the footage that Aiden had sent him, she was the one who stood out. He was drawn to her, and always found himself wanting to see more of her on the screen.

“So without further ado, I will turn the floor over to Miles.”

There was a smattering of applause, which caught him by surprise and pulled him out of his thoughts. Before, though, the old adage about faking it until you make it flitted through his head. “Thank you. I hope you’ll still applaud once you hear my ideas.” He laughed, and everyone chuckled along with him.

That was a good start.

“First, I want to apologize if we got off on the wrong foot this morning,” he said. “I realize that I’m the new guy on the set, but I do like to run a pretty tight ship. All I ask is that you’re prompt and professional and we will all get along just fine.”

He didn’t want to single out Sydney. So he didn’t look at her. When they’d talked earlier, she’d been a good sport. Now, as he addressed the group, she wasn’t making his request for punctuality personal like so many Hollywood starlets he’d worked with might have done. He detested people who caused drama for drama’s sake. He got a completely different vibe from Sydney. It was refreshing.

“So what are we cooking up this afternoon?” he asked, changing the subject.

That time he did direct the question to Sydney, but A.J. answered.

“We have a wedding we’re prepping for next month. It’s a pretty big deal among Dallas society. The only daughter of cattle baron Rick Ronstead is getting married. Everything has to be first class all the way. So we have a lot of work to do to get ready for the event itself, in addition to shooting the footage for the show.”

“The television show has added an interesting dimension to our work,” Sydney chimed in. “Because even though we’re filming for television, we still have to keep our clients’ best interests at heart. Celebrations, Inc. is a catering company first. We’re television personalities second. We have to keep in mind that this event is Tasha Ronstead’s wedding and we must make sure that we do our part to make her day—and every event, for that matter—as special as it can be. We can’t sacrifice our clients for the sake of good TV.”

Miles found himself nodding and thinking that she was smart as well as beautiful, and judging by how protective she was of Celebrations, Inc.’s client base, she was obviously passionate about her work.

Who could argue with passion? Maybe he wouldn’t argue, but he could test her a bit.

“That makes sense, but the challenge we face is balancing the need to create interesting TV and remain true to your clients. Surely they realize what they’re signing up for when they agree to be part of the show?”

He held her gaze as he had when he’d glanced up and caught her looking at him across the room before they met. Only this time her eyes flashed in a way that kept his gaze from dropping down to her lips.

“Our clients do understand what they’re getting themselves into,” she said. “Believe me, the show has added an entirely new element to my job. Not only do Pepper and I have to publicize the company and book our events, but it’s our duty to make sure clients know precisely what they’re getting themselves into when they agree to be on the show. We could never ruin a special event all in the name of making a scene that would be interesting for television.”

“And have we filmed you in that capacity?” Miles asked. “In the client-relations arena?”

The question, which he’d delivered in all sincerity, seemed to take her by surprise. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well, no…. Not directly, I suppose,” she said as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to her before now. “I’m support staff, and I’m perfectly fine to remain in the background doing my job.”

He loved her accent, but he refrained from asking her what part of the U.K. she was from. That seemed too personal—

“Do you know about the cookbook idea Sydney came up with?” asked Pepper, pulling Miles out of his reverie. “It’s called Single Ladies. It’s all about single-serving recipes. That might be a fun reason to bring her into the spotlight.”

Sydney shot Pepper a scathing look and shook her head.

“Well, really, it’s a collaborative effort,” Sydney said. “A.J. and Caroline are reconfiguring the recipes and Pepper and I are writing them up and putting everything together in publishable form. It would be nice if we could feature the cookbook on the show, but it’s not simply about me.”

That wasn’t something that would spike the ratings, but it was fresh and different. An idea he could run with for a start. “How close are you to publication?”

“We have publisher interest,” Sydney offered. “But we’re still developing new recipes—even if they don’t make it into this edition. I foresee a Single Ladies empire.”

“Is that so?” Miles asked.

“Absolutely,” Sydney insisted. “A Single Ladies empire could only help the show. Don’t you agree? It will speak to a segment of the population we’re trying to attract as our audience.”

“Absolutely,” Miles said. “We could do something with that.”

“As long as you don’t solely attribute it to me,” she warned. “This is a four-way partnership.”

He nodded rather than pointing out that the current split of airtime wasn’t at all equitable with her mostly in the background. Now wasn’t the time to drive home that point. Not in front of everyone. He would use much more subtle means to accomplish that goal.

“But I do have an idea I’d like to share,” she said. “If you will permit me to do so?”

“Of course,” Miles answered. When she talked it gave him a valid excuse to stare at her unabashedly, at her wide-set green eyes and the way her full lips formed a perfect cupid’s bow.

“Perhaps it would be a good idea if Celebrations, Inc. and Catering to Dallas could do something where we give back to the community. That’s always a win-win situation. The community benefits and we get good press.”

“Did you have something special in mind?”

“Actually, I do.” Sydney looked at her friends. “The girls and I have already tossed around this idea. So Pepper, A.J., Caroline, feel free to jump in at any time.”

“You’re doing a great job,” said A.J. “Run with it.”

“We were talking about giving away wedding catering services to a bride and groom. Perhaps we could film the selection process—choose a handful of finalists and narrow it down to one lucky couple. Maybe we could even get the public involved by allowing them to vote on the winners.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Miles said. It was a slight departure from what they’d been doing, but it still remained true to the feel of the show. Plus, anytime there was a contest, it always drummed up new viewers. “Good ideas, everyone. I’d love to hear more about it now, but we’re already behind schedule. So we need to get back to work. But, Sydney, let’s you and I schedule some time to iron out the details. Sound good?”



Miles certainly hadn’t turned out to be the monster her friends had portrayed him to be earlier that day, Sydney thought as she drank the last sip of her wine.

Given that Catering to Dallas’s twenty-six member cast and crew had gathered at Murphy’s Pub to welcome Miles to the team, it was proof that no one harbored resentment or other issues from the morning.

Since Sydney hadn’t seen exactly what had transpired and liked him well enough to go out on a Monday night to toast his arrival on the show, the only conclusion she could come to was that this morning had probably just been a misunderstanding…possibly perpetuated by the not-so-minor detail that no one had known where to locate her in the midst of the director-change storm.

Looking back on it from this vantage point, it probably hadn’t been the wisest move to leave the country without telling anyone where she was going.

Oh, well, what was done was done. There was no need to fret over it now. And there was no need to tell anyone about the job interview just yet. Not unless she made it to the next level of the process.

Time would tell.

In the meantime, there was a welcome party going on and she fully intended to enjoy it. Especially when Miles came back from the bar with a fresh beer and a glass of white wine, which he placed in front of Sydney. He planted himself in the seat beside her and took a long draw of the beer. When they’d first arrived a couple of hours ago, he’d been sitting at the opposite end of the table with Aiden and some of the other crew members. She’d been talking to the girls. Every once in a while she would glance up and catch him looking at her. The first couple of times she’d looked away. Then she’d decided to join him in his game, cocking a brow, raising her glass to him. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought he was flirting with her.

And now he was bringing her wine.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded and touched his beer bottle to her glass.

“Good to see that this is still a pretty happening place for a Monday night,” he said, glancing around the bar. Sydney followed his gaze, trying to see Murphy’s through his eyes and then remembering he grew up in Celebration. It was probably more familiar to him than it was to her.

“Did you come here a lot before you moved away?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Well, not as much as I would’ve liked to since I was underage.”

Murphy’s was one of Celebration’s best-loved spots. It was a casual place where anyone could drop in for a drink or a respectable offering of pub food.

A long wooden bar, staffed by bartenders who had been there since the beginning of time and could mix any drink known to mankind, ran the length of one wall. People were dancing to songs from the sixties, seventies and eighties that drifted from the jukebox in the corner. A couple of pool tables occupied the left side of the room. They always seemed to be in use. Booths and tables filled in the rest of the room.

Sydney spied Aiden shooting pool with Caroline’s husband, Drew, who was the editor-in-chief of the Dallas Journal of Business and Development. For a split second, she wondered if she should go over and see if Aiden was pitching Drew a story about Miles’s arrival. Public relations and dealing with the media was her area of expertise, after all. However, she was off the clock and a little looser from the wine. Even though his arrival would make a good news story—Hometown Boy Who’s Done Well Comes Back to Work on Locally Filmed Show—Aiden could handle it…or it could wait until tomorrow.

She turned her eyes on Miles.

Maybe it was the combination of the wine and exhaustion, but she suddenly felt very relaxed sitting there. Miles had just sat down and she didn’t want to be rude getting up to talk to the press, especially when the press in question was her good friend’s husband. “Did you leave for college right after high school graduation?”

He shook his head. “I joined the army right after I left Celebration.”

“You were in the service?” Sydney asked. The ­e-encyclopedia hadn’t mentioned that.

He nodded as he took another long draw of his beer.

“How did you go from soldier to scary filmmaker?” The place was noisy and she leaned in a little closer to hear what he had to say.

“I’ve always loved film,” he said. “I even shot when I was on active duty, but then I was injured.”

She thought she’d noticed him walking with a subtle limp. “So, you’re a war hero?”

“That’s stretching it a bit,” he said. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t strike her as the type to fake modesty. “What do you mean?”

Everyone else had either gotten up to dance or shoot pool or was engrossed in conversation within their own huddles. The music was so loud, they were sort of in their own little world. It was nice…and intimate.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“I have all night.”

“Do you?” he asked.

That was a loaded question, and there was something in the inflection of his voice that she could’ve taken all sorts of different ways if she’d wanted to.

Instead, she smiled at him and said, “Relatively speaking.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “You tell me where you were this weekend and I’ll tell you about how I was injured.”

As the jukebox switched to a mournful country tune, a guy singing something about wasted days and nights, those who were dancing moved close together and swayed to the rhythm. “Why do my whereabouts on my free time matter?”

“I’m just curious,” he said. “But technically, you were MIA on my watch. Even if it was only a few hours.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in an unexpected touché, and the raw sexual energy that danced between them made her want to reach out and touch him.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I respect that.” His voice was low and husky and when she looked at him, she thought, bedroom eyes.

She had to look away, or risk getting caught in the magnetic net of this chemistry. Temptation plus wine equaled a whole slew of ways she could get in trouble. Not to mention, she hadn’t even told the girls about her trip to St. Michel.

“So you consider Texas home?” she answered.

Miles shrugged. “I was born and raised here. I haven’t been back in a long time.”

“Do you still have family here?”

“I do. Most of them live here. The Mercers are a big, rowdy brood.”

“Are you close?”

She watched him as he stared at his beer bottle, picking at the edges of the label. “My mom and I are close. She’s really the glue that holds the family together. And my siblings and I stay in touch as much as we can. I’ve got three brothers and two sisters and some of them are married with kids. Everyone is just so darn busy these days. You know? It’s hard for most people to get away—even if it’s just for a long weekend. Maybe they should take lessons from you since you seem to be so good about juggling a career and flying off to parts unknown.”

He had a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. For a moment, the way he was looking at her made her breath catch under her breastbone.

“Okay, it’s obvious you’re not going to let this go, are you?” she said. “So if you must know, I had a job interview. But please keep it between you and me. There’s no sense in getting everyone all excited about it if I don’t get the job.”

She had no idea why she was confiding in him. She’d simply drawn in a breath and the words had spilled out of her mouth before she could contain them, but she’d already spilled the beans. So now she had to live with it.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he said.

“You’re not going to tell? Or even blackmail me?”

“Blackmail’s a great idea,” he teased. “Yes, I’m glad you brought it up because I can definitely use it to my advantage.”

“You do realize there are laws that prevent that type of harassment?”

“Of course. I was thinking more along the lines of trying to find some way to entice you to stay.”

She was leaning in again. Or maybe he was the one who’d moved closer. But there was definitely something going on here. Even though every fiber of good sense in her being told her fooling around with the boss wasn’t a good idea, her libido was wanting no part of playing the good girl.


Chapter Three

Several cars were parked in the suburban cul-de-sac of Miles’s parents’ neighborhood. He stopped the car at the first break in the line of vehicles and parallel parked along the curb. He sat there looking at his childhood home for a moment before he killed the engine.

The last time Miles had come home, the visit had been a disaster.

He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, wondering if this was a mistake. Maybe he should’ve met them out somewhere, on neutral territory.

But no, he was doing this for his mom. For that reason, he reminded himself that this time things would be different. Even if he had to bite a hole in his tongue. Lightly, he closed his teeth around the tip of his tongue as if giving censure a practice drill.

His mom was the peacemaker of the family and deserved better than the scene that had unfolded between Miles and his father the last time Miles had come home for a visit. Five years ago.

He and his dad hadn’t spoken since. Even if Miles couldn’t go back and change what happened on that day, he could take the high road and move forward.

For his mother’s sake.

He unlatched his seat belt and let himself out of the car. The sturdy brick, two-story Colonial, which was surrounded by trees, sat atop a small hill and seemed to be looking down on him as he made his way up the paver-lined driveway. It wasn’t the most fashionable house, especially not compared to some of the homes in Hollywood he’d visited, but it was a family home, warm and inviting, well-kept with a lived-in patina. He had to hand it to his old man. The guy would make sure his yard was manicured if he had to crawl around on all fours to get it done.

Window boxes sported bright red geraniums. There were two white wicker rockers on the front porch that looked as if they’d recently received a fresh coat of paint. A closer look revealed that the seat cushions were fraying, but the paint made the chairs look nice and inviting, even if they weren’t brand new. That was his mom’s handiwork. So was the sunflower wreath on the front door. All these little touches made a person feel welcome and wanted.

If that didn’t sum up the difference in his folks: his dad tended to the practical matters like the lawn, weeding and edging, while his mom added the nice touches that made this middle-class house a home.

When he’d talked to his mom to tell her he’d be back in town, she’d assured him his father would be heartbroken if Miles stayed away.

“Mom, Dad and I haven’t spoken in five years. What makes you so sure he’s so eager to see me now?”

“You just leave everything to me, honey. I’ll deal with your father and he will welcome you as warmly as if nothing ever happened. Trust me.”

That was another thing about his mom: when she got her mind wrapped around something—especially if it had to do with her family—nothing stood in her way. She was a woman of her word. So when she said, “Trust me,” she left no alternative.

As he climbed the brick steps toward the red front door, a calico cat he didn’t recognize sprinted past him, making him do a stutter step so he didn’t step on it. The animal stopped under one of the rockers, eyeing him warily.

“Don’t believe a word he told you about me,” Miles murmured. “It takes two to box.”

Actually, his father had never laid a hand on him in anger. His words had always been his most powerful weapon. It was his military background that made him that way. Miles Mercer III was an army man through and through. He did everything by the book—well, his own interpretation of the book—and expected everyone to conform and follow suit.

Few were brazen enough to dispute him, because when you did, well…you paid the price. In Miles’s case the price was exorbitant: excommunication.

For a moment, he stood there watching the cat watch him, realizing he wasn’t sure if he should knock or walk in. This had been his home for the first eighteen years of his life. At twenty-nine, he’d still spent more time under this roof than anywhere else. But things were different now. As his father had so aptly pointed out the last time Miles had walked out this door—the last time they spoke—this was no longer his home.

He pulled back his hand and landed three sharp raps with his knuckles. In less than ten seconds the door swung open and his mother’s squeal of delight pierced the air.

She threw her arms around him.

“Miles, my baby boy. I cannot believe you are finally home.” She pulled away from him suddenly and held him at arm’s length. “I just want to look at you for a minute. I cannot believe you are finally here.”

Tears made her eyes sparkle.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, unable to suppress a smile. “It’s great to see you.”

She looped her arm through his and walked inside. “Everyone! Everyone! Come here! Miles is home.”

As if someone had opened up the flood gates, about twenty people crowded into the foyer, each of them talking at once and nudging each other out of the way to give Miles hugs, handshakes, high fives and slaps on the back.

His three brothers, Christopher, Grant and Ben, were there. His oldest sister, Patricia, her husband and their four kids were in the mix and over in the corner, he spied his baby sister, Lucy, hanging back from the rambunctious group, studying the display screen on her phone like kids these days tended to do.

She looked up and flashed him a shy smile and gave him a little wave. Miles gave her a salute and she laughed and rolled her eyes.

That’s when he saw it. She wasn’t such a little kid anymore. She had to be what—he quickly did the math in his head—she had to be fifteen years old by now. He’d sent her birthday presents every year, mostly cards with money tucked inside, but he was floored by how the years had stacked up and flown by.

He also noticed that his father was not among the greeting committee. For an instant a thought burned inside him that maybe the old man had skipped out on the occasion. Then Miles took a deep breath, swallowing the bile burning his throat and forced himself not to jump to conclusions. That’s when he realized his mom was cooking something that smelled delicious. He breathed in again, this time letting go of the simmering anger and enjoying the familiar sights and scents of home.

As if reading his mind, his mom asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he said. “Whatever you’re cooking smells like exactly what I’m hungry for.”

“Okay, everyone take a step back,” his mom ordered. “Give Miles some room to come inside the house.”

The family obeyed, except for a little girl who looked like a pre-teen, lingering in the foyer looking up at him expectantly.

“You’re not Zoe, are you?” he asked. She beamed up at him, nodding her head.

“Naah, you can’t be Zoe,” Miles teased. “Zoe was just a tiny little girl the last time I saw her. You’re a teenager.” A slight exaggeration, but something told him saying that would make her smile.

“I am Zoe and I’m ten,” she said. “Do you work in the movies?”

“I do.”

“Do you know Justin Bieber? Has he ever been in one of your movies?” Her hazel eyes shone as bright as the sun.

“I hate to disappoint you, but Justin Bieber has never been in one of my movies. I did see him once at an awards show in California.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O.

When she recovered, she asked, “If you ever put him in one of your movies, can I meet him?”

“You’ve got a deal,” Miles said. “If he’s ever in one of my movies, I will make sure your mom brings you out to California to meet him.”

“My mom’s your sister, right?” she asked as they made their way into the family room.

“That’s right,” he said.

“So you’re my uncle, right?”

“Yep, and that makes you my niece.”

“Cool!” she said and ran off to another part of the house, yelling to anyone who would listen that she was going to meet Justin Bieber someday soon.

As Miles made his way into the living area, he glanced in the open door of the office, which was located between the family room and kitchen. There he glimpsed his father at the desk concentrating hard over notes he was making on a yellow legal pad. Miles hesitated, wondering if he should go in and say hello, but mostly hoping his father would look up, see him standing there, and break this insidious wall of ice that had stood between them since they’d last exchanged words.

Before Miles could say anything, his brother Ben came up to him, clapping him on the back. “Hey, Mr. Hollywood, it’s about time you came home. Come over here, I want to introduce you to my fiancée.”

What? With one last glance at his father, who was still presumably caught up in his work, as if nothing were going on outside of the ordinary day-to-day grind, Miles followed his brother into the kitchen where a pretty blonde was talking to his mom and making a salad.

“You’re getting married?” he asked.

“We are,” Ben said. “Miles, this is Jeanie, my future wife.”

The blonde beamed as she wiped her hands on a dish towel, held up her left hand to show off the modest diamond on her ring finger, and then enfolded Miles in a hug.

“Congratulations,” Miles said, suddenly realizing that life in Celebration had indeed been speeding on without him. Not that he expected things to come to a screeching halt, but having been away for five years, the differences were more pronounced—children were growing up, his younger siblings were getting married and making lives of their own.

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“Two weeks ago,” said Jeanie.

“Have you set a date?” Miles asked.

“Not yet,” said Ben. “We wanted to talk to you to see when you thought you might be available. You’re going to be my best man, right?”

“O-of course,” Miles stammered. “You just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

One of the other nieces, Ivy, came and got Jeanie to turn one of the jump-rope handles in a tournament she and the other kids were having on the porch.

“Well, sweetie, I’m helping your grandma get dinner on the table,” she said.

“Oh, no, you go on and play with the kids. I’ll finish up here,” Deena said.

Jeanie thanked Deena and flashed Miles an apologetic smile. “I’m going to play with them, but we will talk more about the wedding later, okay?”

“Of course,” Miles said as his brother’s fiancée, allowed the little girl to lead her away. Fiancée. The reality that his little brother was engaged blew him away. He couldn’t quite get his mind wrapped around it.

“We just love Jeanie,” his mom said. “We would love it if you would settle down, too. No pressure, though.”

For some reason Sydney James’s face flashed through Miles’s mind—the way she looked last night in the dim light of Murphy’s as she sipped her wine and spilled her secret about the job interview with that accent that made him more than just a little hot and restless. He intended to keep her secret, but he also intended to entice her to stay. She was exactly what Catering to Dallas needed and somehow he would convince her that she needed them just as much.

“Are you staying for game night, Uncle Miles?” asked his sister’s oldest daughter, Sally. “We usually have game night on Saturday night, but it’s a special occasion since you’re here and Grandma said we could have game night tonight. Will you stay? Pleeease?”

“We’ll see,” Miles answered. “Sounds like fun.”

Saturday night family game night was another long-standing tradition in the Mercer household. Miles was glad to see it still prevailed. Back in the day, his friends used to come over and hang out. Sometimes they’d stay over. His mom prided herself on providing the kids with a place where they were all comfortable. His dad had been on active duty back then, on assignment wherever the army sent him. He petitioned for assignments at Fort Hood—or as close as possible—and sometimes he got them. But when his dad had been sent to places far away, his mother had been adamant about maintaining a normal life for her kids, giving them a permanent home base. Looking back, it seemed like their father was away more than he’d been home. Miles wondered how a marriage could’ve survived under those circumstances. Then again, his parents were built for the long haul. That’s just how his folks operated.

As various friends and relatives drifted in and out, hugging him, asking for the quick catch-up, Miles had a chance to take in his surroundings, marveling at how it all looked the same as when he was growing up, only now he saw it through a different lens.

The lower level of the house was an open floor plan with the kitchen, family room and a casual dining table contained in one area. The space that had once seemed so large looked a little smaller than he remembered it. The tile-covered countertops that he could vividly recall his mother being so excited about years ago looked a little worn and dingy now.

The same chalkboard from his childhood hung on the wall next to the refrigerator. The same linoleum that used to be a shade of off-white and was now leaning towards light gray, still covered the floor up to the point where the carpet in the family room began. It delineated the space where the kitchen ended and the family room started.

The same large, overstuffed sectional sofa sat atop the same Berber carpet that still looked brand new thanks to his mom’s TLC and obsessive vacuuming.

He watched her as she stirred pots on the stove and checked something in the oven—it looked like meat loaf—and worried over something else in the refrigerator.

“Hey, Ma,” he called. “Let me help you. What can I do?”

“Not a thing. You just talk to everyone and relax,” she said. “Lucy can help me here in the kitchen. Lucy, I’m talking to you. Lucy!”

The girl looked up from her place on the corner of the couch where she’d been texting and pulled one ear bud out of her ear.

“What?” she snapped.

Miles saw his mother give her a look and the girl immediately straightened up. Miles was all too familiar with that look. It was a silent warning. If she didn’t comply, the punishment would be worse than a court marshal. Deena Mercer’s husband might have retired a sergeant first class, but she was the long-standing general of the Mercer army. She commanded respect and her family gave it to her.

“I think you know that the correct response is yes, ma’am,” Deena said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy answered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” Miles could see the way the girl’s hands were fisted in her lap, but her tone of voice was much softer now.

“Please put that cell phone down and come here. I need you to set the table in the dining room and the one here in the family room, and then set the picnic table out on the back porch for the kids. We need twenty place settings in all, please.”

Lucy didn’t smile, but she nodded and set about her duties, tucking the phone into the pocket of her jeans rather than setting it down as her mother had told her to do. Miles sensed something was up. His little sister had an edge that went beyond typical teenage angst and moodiness.

When the girl was out of the room, he asked his mom, “Is Lucy okay?”

His mother’s face tightened and her mouth flattened into a grim line. She hefted the pot of boiling potatoes off the stove and dumped them into a large colander in the sink.

“It’s been an interesting year,” she said as she set the pot back on the stove and turned back to the sink to shake the remaining water out of the potatoes.

“Grab yourself a beer out of the fridge and I’ll tell you about it,” she said. “While you’re over there would you hand me the cream, please?”

Miles handed the quart-size container to her and then opened his beer.

His brothers were occupied by a game of Mario Kart with the nieces. His older sister, Patricia, was following her toddler around making sure she didn’t get into anything she wasn’t supposed to. The others were out in the backyard, or grouped in various sets talking about one thing or another like big families did.

Miles pushed back the question of when his father might grace them with his presence. He hadn’t materialized since Miles had seen him in the office, and after mulling over the expression his dad wore, he decided he’d be damned before he asked about him. Especially since he had these few moments alone with his mother, and he could tell she wanted to catch him up on what had been happening with Lucy.

“Thank you, hon,” she said as she took the carton from him and brushed a lock of graying hair off her forehead. “Your little sister has been a bit of a handful this past year. She’s had a hard time, but she’s settling down now.” Deena heaved a sigh and looked around, as if making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. Miles guessed she might’ve been looking for Lucy, who wasn’t within earshot. He could see her through the sliding glass doors, standing next to the picnic table she was supposed to be setting, on her phone texting.

Pushing the envelope.

“About six months ago, your little sister snuck out in the middle of the night and went joyriding with that Phillips boy. She had no business being out with him at a decent hour much less in the middle of the night. He’s seventeen years old.”

Deena gestured with the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the butter and cream she was heating up on the stove. “The boy’s parents woke up at about 2:30 in the morning, realized the car was missing and reported it stolen, before they realized their son had taken it. When the police found them, the boy was drunk. The police hauled both him and Lucy down to the station and made them call their parents, which was fine with your daddy and me because after that stunt, we’d reached our wits’ end with that little girl.”

Miles grimaced, thinking about what a nightmare that must have been for all involved. He’d pulled some pretty dumb stunts when he’d lived at home. Nothing as brazen as what Lucy had done—or at least he’d never been caught doing anything that stupid. Although his father would have an opinion or two when it came to the subject of Miles and stupidity. “So what happened?” Miles asked. “Was she okay?”

“Well, yes. She swore she hadn’t been drinking. The police made her take a Breathalyzer, so I knew she was telling the truth. And of course the parents didn’t press charges against their own son…although he did get into a heap of trouble over the underage drinking and driving. Lost his license, I think, and he’ll probably be on restriction until he’s thirty. I know we grounded Lucy for a very long time, even though the sheriff did a good job of scaring them both.”

His mom looked tired. Under the kitchen’s fluorescent lights he could see the creases etched into her face. There was a weariness about her that he’d never noticed before.

“After everything settled down and we had a chance to talk about it calmly, Lucy admitted she had been in way over her head with that boy that night. Apparently, he got a little handsy.” Deena shook her head. “I think it scared her. Like it scared me to death.” Deena was wringing her hands. “Just think of all the things that could’ve happened. I told her nice girls have no business out after midnight. That’s why she has a curfew. Nothing good happens past midnight.”

Miles winced at the irony of his mom’s words. He half expected her to chuckle and say, “Sorry for the pun. I loved your movie, honey. Even if it was a little too scary for my taste.”

Obviously, she hadn’t realized what she’d said because she shuddered and gave her head a quick shake as if clearing it of the what if cobwebs.

“How are things now?” Miles asked instead of agreeing that nothing good had happened since Past Midnight. “Lucy seemed to hop-to when you asked her to set the table.”

Deena’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Yeah, if you don’t count the preamble of sassiness. Well, she’s not allowed to date or wear makeup until she turns sixteen. Unless we make a special dispensation like we’re doing this weekend. She’s going to a dance—with an age-appropriate boy, who does not drive. His parents are taking them. And really, she’s been working hard at school and helping me around the house, basically keeping her nose clean and out of trouble. She’s invited her daddy to speak at career day next month. That made him so happy. He’s been working on his speech since the moment she asked him.” His mother sighed again. “She made a mistake. I really want to believe she learned from it. You know what we’ve always said. Only new mistakes.” Miles felt his father’s presence before he heard him enter the room. Because when he turned around, Miles Mercer III was standing in the threshold between the family room and the office where he’d been holed up since Miles had arrived. He was regarding his son with a look that fell somewhere between neutral nonchalance and general irritation.

That’s why Miles Mercer IV was shocked as hell when his father walked over, extended a hand and said, “It’s been a long time.”


Chapter Four

Deena Mercer had always maintained that Miles and his father were too much alike and that’s why they clashed in such an explosive way. However, Miles couldn’t stand the thought of being as stubborn and jaded as his old man. So, most of his life he had taken great pains to go the opposite direction.

That’s why they clashed. Because he wanted to be nothing like his father. Then again, “clashing” hinted that two people were close enough to careen off each other. Their problem resembled something closer to being drawn and quartered.

While last night’s dinner had started out amicably enough with the handshake, his father had seized every opportunity to land a passive-aggressive verbal punch in Miles’s direction.

For his mother’s sake, Miles didn’t take the bait. He ignored his dad’s caustic remarks about Hollywood’s fruits and nuts. When his father asked him when he was he going to settle down and get a real job, Miles had laughed it off. He’d also let it roll right off his back when his dad threw the barb about Miles’s last two movies being flops.

“Can’t win ’em all.” Miles had shrugged it off, refusing to be goaded into a verbal altercation. He also decided there was no way in hell that he would admit to his father that he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of making horror films for the rest of his life. He was restless and discontent and looking for his next project­—preferably something in another genre. That’s why he was happy to have this breather working on Catering to Dallas.





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