Once More, At Midnight

The best, the absolute wisest thing Lilah could do for herself would be to stay away.

She had a life – two lives – to put back in order. And standing so close to him now, thinking things she prayed her face would not reveal, Lilah felt a traitorous bloom of red creep up her neck.

“I’m planning a large party in September,” he said smoothly. “If you’re here in the fall, be sure to drop by and help us celebrate.”

Say something, a voice inside her urged. “What will you be celebrating?”

A satisfied smile crawled leisurely, easily across Gus’s handsome face. He looked every inch the contented man, every inch the success, proof that America was still the land of self-made men and second chances. “My marriage.”

In memory of Chauncie Bella, my sweet, sweet

dog. Thank you for fourteen love-filled years and

for showing me it is possible never to have an

unkind moment. Walks won’t be the same

without you, wonderful friend.

My thanks and love to the friends, old and new,

whose presence and care helped so much during

Chauncie’s illness – Lainee, Cathy, Denise and

Dan, Maggie, Rob and Jen, and the staffs of

Powell Blvd Veterinary Clinic, Housecalls

for Pets and Dove Lewis.

There are angels everywhere.

WENDY WARREN

lives with her husband and daughter in the beautiful Pacific Northwest of America. Their house was previously owned by a woman named Cinderella, who bequeathed them a garden full of flowers they try desperately (and occasionally successfully) not to kill, and a pink General Electric oven, circa 1958, that makes the kitchen look like an I Love Lucy repeat.

A two-time recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award, Wendy loves to read and write the kind of books that remind her of the old movies she grew up watching with her mum – stories about decent people looking for the love that can make an ordinary life heroic. When not writing, she likes to take long walks, hide out in bookshops with her friends and sneak tofu into her husband’s dinner. If you’d like a tofu recipe – and who wouldn’t – visit her at www.wendywarren-author.com.

Dear Reader,

Several years ago, my husband planned our first road trip. For a week we visited the graves of every outlaw who had died between Oregon and North Dakota. By the time we reached Deadwood, I threatened to fly home. I’m glad I didn’t, because in North Dakota we stayed in a tiny, delightful town surrounded by fields of wild mustard, acres of whispering barley and choke cherries that showed up in everything, including pies, preserves and sweets. The people were kind and idiosyncratic and wonderful. I began my book, Dakota Bride, on the drive home. In Once More, At Midnight I revisit the town of Kalamoose and the Owens sisters, Nettie, Sara and Lilah. It’s Lilah’s turn to fall in love. I hope you’ll have as much fun in Kalamoose as I do. By the way, if you ever drive from Oregon to North Dakota, skip the graves and see the Tetons!

Wendy Warren

WENDY WARREN

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

“It’s-too-hot-This-place-smells-I’m-hungry-I-have-to- pee-You-drive-too-slow.”

It’s incredible, Lilah Owens thought, fingers curling around the steering wheel of her old Pontiac. The kid can complain without punctuation.

She looked at her passenger, trying to be patient, because the eleven-year-old had been through a lot in the past several weeks.

Then again, so had Lilah. That, coupled with the fact that she was also hot, hungry and had to pee, tended to blunt her compassion. She took a deep breath, as deep as if she were about to belt a song, and answered back, “If-you’re-so-hot-suck-on-some-ice-We-just-drove-past-a-sheep-ranch-so-what-do-you-expect-You-ate-an-entire-bag-of-Funyuns-five-minutes-ago-You-can-pee-when-we-get-where-we’re-going-And-this-car-is-moving-as-fast-as-she-can-If-you-don’t-like-it-get-out-and-walk.”

She felt fairly pleased with herself until her passenger’s small fingers reached for the door handle and tugged. True to form, her stubborn Sunfire did not give in easily. Eventually, though, the rusty car relented and the door swung open. On the highway. At the Pontiac’stop speed of forty miles per hour.

“Are you crazy?!” Lilah lunged across Sabrina’s thankfully seat-belted body to grab for the door. She caught the handle on the first try, pulled with all her might and managed to shut them in tight again, locking the door for good measure. “Never do that again,” she said, glaring at Bree with fury and disbelief. “Do you want to get us killed?”

Bree shrugged with apparent lack of concern.

Lilah tried to breathe past the pounding of her heart and wondered, not for the first time, if they would actually survive this road trip. The tension had mounted with each mile they’d traveled from California to North Dakota.

Looking out the windshield, she dropped her usual cynicism and for a moment allowed herself to imagine there was a heaven somewhere behind the blindingly hot summer sun.

I know, I promised to act like a mother, Gracie…. Silently, Lilah spoke to the friend who had passed on a month earlier and, who, if there was a heaven, certainly deserved to be there. But I may kick Sabrina out of the car myself.

Grace McKuen had been a perfect friend. Perfect in every way, except in her estimation of Lilah’s ability to take care of a child. Four months ago, Grace had discovered that her body was rejecting her second kidney transplant. A month later she and her daughter, Sabrina, had moved in with Lilah. Two months after that, Gracie was gone, and Lilah Owens, singleton, had become, Lilah Owens, instant mother. Add hot water and stir. Now she knew what she’d merely guessed at before: motherhood was only slightly less daunting than skydiving without a parachute.

“I saw a sign that said ‘gas and food, two miles,” ’ Bree insisted, still using the tone of voice that made Lilah want to open the door and step out of the car herself. “That was probably a mile and ninety-nine one hundredths ago, so like it would kill you to think of someone else for five seconds?”

Lilah brought a smile—the sweetest one she could muster—to her face. Perhaps if she pretended she was Florence Henderson on The Brady Bunch she could respond without doing Bree harm. “I told you, Sabrina—” you little pisher “—I lived in this area for seventeen years. The only gas station on this road closed in 1989. So, you’ll have to wait until—”

“Oh, big wow, you lived here seventeen years,” Bree interrupted. “You’re way older since then. They could have built, like, a nuclear sub station by now.”

“So,” Lilah continued, “you may have misread the sign.”

“As i-i-i-f. If I misread the sign, what’s that?” She pointed, and Lilah followed the direction of the skinny arm, mostly so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

She squinted.

Ohmigod.

On their side of the quiet two-lane highway, no more than fifty yards ahead, was a large sign that read Union Gas and Minimart. A gas station and a minimart? Lilah gaped. On a highway that led to a string of towns so small and insignificant they hadn’t appeared on a map since Custer whupped Sitting Bull?

She shook her head. Well, crud. Now she would have to deal with a rude, angry, right preteen. “Okay. We’ll stop for a bathroom break,” she conceded, adding in a mutter, “I can’t believe someone put a minimart out here. Everything will go stale inside of a year.”

“Maybe they sell food to kids whose guardians aren’t trying to starve and torture them. I have to pee-ee!”

Gritting her teeth, Lilah pressed the accelerator. Even though her own bladder was crying for relief, she would have kept going if it were up to her. Her sister’s house was perhaps a half hour down the road, and Lilah wanted to get there soon.

Now.

Yesterday.

More than a potty break, she needed the comfort of sisterly arms, a commiserating smile and someone who knew her well enough to understand that unexpected motherhood had thrown her into a panic worthy of a Valium drip.

Turning into a station that boasted two bays of shiny new pumps, Lilah pulled alongside a handsome structure designed to resemble an old-fashioned general market. The minimart had a wood exterior and a window painted in block letters that read Free Ice Water and Restrooms Inside.

Parking, she attempted a tone of good cheer, as if stopping had been her idea all along. There had to be some way to get along with an angry eleven-year-old. “So, okay! Let’s check out that bathroom and then—”

Bree was out of the car and pushing open the store’s glass door before Lilah could unbuckle her seat belt. Sighing, she hauled her stiff body out of the car feeling still more defeated. Note to self: Save tone of good cheer for someone who gives a flip.

She grabbed her purse, shaking off the food wrappers Bree had thrown into the backseat despite the plastic bag Lilah had given her for garbage. Carrying what she could, she dumped the empty bags and drink containers into a trash can at the front of the store.

Lilah had spent the past decade in Los Angeles going on acting auditions and waiting tables while she hoped for the big break that still hadn’t come. In retrospect it was excellent preparation for motherhood; God knew she was used to rejection and feelings of inadequacy. Even so, those years in L.A. were a piece of cake compared to the past month with Bree.

Shoving her sunglasses atop blond hair that, sadly, had not seen a stylist in six months, Lilah followed her charge into the store then blinked in surprise at the attractive and well-stocked market.

A young woman she recognized immediately as Lakota Indian sat on a stool behind the counter. “Hi,” the girl greeted, white teeth gleaming in contrast to her dark skin and hair. “Do you need gas?”

“No, thanks,” Lilah declined, noting that Bree was already disappearing into the restroom at the rear of the store. Since that appeared to be the only women’s restroom, Lilah hovered by the cashier. Lord, she was tired.

“The cookies are fresh if you’re hungry, and we have iced lattes.”

Lilah looked at the girl, who pointed to a highly polished cappuccino machine. A drink menu sat on the counter. She didn’t want to be rude, but she felt her first genuine chuckle in weeks coming on. Iced lattes? In Kalamoose?

Born and raised just a few miles from here, Lilah considered her hometown to be a dead ringer for Mayberry, R.F.D., except that Mayberry was more hip. As far as she’d been able to tell on her infrequent visits home, the only thing that had changed in Kalamoose in the dozen and a half years since she’d made her escape were the heads of lettuce at Hertzog’s Grocery, and rumor had it that a few of those were still the originals.

Now someone had opened a gas station that served lattes? That someone was a little out of the loop.

Passing on the coffee drink, Lilah ventured, “Your sign mentioned ice water?”

Apparently unfazed that her only customers had stopped in to use the john and bum a free beverage, the clerk nodded pleasantly. “All the way in the back. Cups are next to the cooler. Help yourself.”

Lilah reached the water as Bree emerged from the restroom.

“Do they have hot dogs?” the girl asked before she’d truly acknowledged Lilah’s presence.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, then I want a Coke.”

“Negative, Commander. You’ve had so much sugar and caffeine on this trip you could have flown to North Dakota.” When Bree looked like she was about to protest—loudly—Lilah decided she’d had enough. Pointing, she said, “There’s a water cooler right there. Have all the ice water you can hold, but don’t start with me. My sister Nettie is a fabulous cook. You can drink and gorge yourself into a stupor after we arrive, but from now until then no more anything.”

“I’m gonna look at the magazines.” Shrugging as if the matter was no longer of any interest to her, Bree put her hands in the pockets of her low-slung jeans and slouched off.

Lilah sighed heavily and downed a cup of water, wishing it were a stiff tequila. She ducked briefly into the restroom and emerged to discover Bree in the candy aisle, about to shoplift a Carmello bar.

“Stop!” Hissing, Lilah grabbed the candy the girl had been about to tuck into the waistband of her jeans, beneath her T-shirt. “What do you think you’re doing? Now you’re a thief? What is the matter with you?”

Careful not to crush the candy bar in her tensed fist, Lilah closed her eyes and tried to collect herself. She’s only eleven. She just lost the only mother she’s ever known. She’s acting out. The only cool you can keep is your own.

“Bree.” Lilah began again by greatly modifying her tone. She looked directly into the rebellious hazel eyes. “Grace…your mother…was the most honest woman I’ve ever met. She wanted nothing but the best for you. How do you think she’d feel if she saw you trying to shoplift?”

Bree shrugged with classic impenetrable sedition. “Not as bad as she’d feel if she knew you wouldn’t buy it for me.”

The last of Lilah’s anger deflated like a popped balloon. With no job, she’d been trying to carefully budget their cash. Yesterday she had limited the between-meal treats to three a day. Today, at Bree’s insistence that she was going through a growth spurt and needed extra calories, Lilah had amended the limit to six. She didn’t know what was right anymore.

“Look, Bree…” Clutching the candy bar in a death grip, she took a stab at reason and compassion. “I know this is a really, really difficult time for you. I wasn’t much older than you are now when my mother died. It’s awful, and it’s probably not going to get a whole lot better right away. At least, it didn’t for me. But if you could just give me a chance here, I bet you and I…you know…I bet we could be friends.”

Bree rolled her eyes. Frustration rocketed up Lilah’s body. Maybe she ought to buy the candy. Maybe she ought to buy a lot of candy and eat most of it herself.

Suddenly she noticed a bulge in Bree’s pocket, a bulge that had not been there before. Disappointment sucked her heart to the pit of her stomach.

“Did you take anything besides the Carmello?”

Bree responded with a stone-faced stare.

Lilah raised both hands. “Cut me a break! One of my sisters is the sheriff of Kalamoose. She will freak if she hears you picked up a rock from the playground without asking, much less that you tried to pinch half the chocolate in town.” Bree remained impassive. “My sister, Sara, is very, very scary.”

Following a prolonged stare down, which resulted in absolutely nothing, Lilah held out her hand. “Give me whatever is in your pocket. Please.” Her request was met with crossed arms and a bite-me glare. Instantly, Lilah realized she had to win this battle or risk losing the war.

Trying not to attract the clerk’s notice, she moved quickly toward Bree, ending up in a brief wrestling match until she was able to pull a Baby Ruth, a packet of M&M’s and a box of Junior Mints from the girl’s baggy pants pocket. Torn between triumph and dismay, she was about to return the candy to its proper place when Bree took off.

Lilah followed, but Bree was faster, and the element of surprise was on her side. Lilah hadn’t made it past the chips before Bree was through the door. Throwing her entire body into the effort to catch up, Lilah ran smack into a barrier at the end of the aisle.

“Oof!” She grabbed him to steady herself.

Big, steel-vise hands gripped her shoulders as she rebounded off the chest of a man who stood a good six inches taller than her own five foot eight. Beautifully cut from exquisite material, the suit she clutched to keep herself upright was as out of place in a North Dakota minimart as the Hope diamond in a box of Cracker Jack. Catching a whiff of expensive cologne, Lilah looked up, a hasty apology ready on her lips.

It died the moment she saw his face.

No. Way.

Winter-gray eyes scanned her without betraying a flicker of the surprise he must have felt. Recognition, but not pleasure, lent a curve to his lips.

“Leaving so soon?”

The timbre of his voice had remained the same, though his diction emerged more crisply than she recalled.

Gus Hoffman.

It had been a dozen years since they’d stood face-to-face. Lilah had been only seventeen then, but Gus had no trouble placing her; it showed in his gaze, in the crystal sharpness that made his eyes look like quartz. And judging by his stone-cold expression, he remembered all the less-than-fond details of their farewell.

When Lilah remained frozen, Gus calmly released her shoulders and removed her hands from his jacket. Save for the sardonic quirk, his face was an implacable mask that made her feel cold despite the wicked heat. He’d always been good at that—shutting out anyone he didn’t trust.

Twelve years earlier she had wondered if she would ever see Gus Hoffman again and had decided, No. Not a chance in this lifetime. Gus had been forced out of Kalamoose against his will, but he had always hated it here. When he’d left, the bitterness had run so deep she’d been sure he would disappear for good.

Now, standing in front of him over a decade later, Lilah felt as if a herd of elephants was stampeding through her chest. She almost forgot why she’d been racing up the aisle until she realized Bree had run out to the car. She knew she had to follow and was about to say so when Gus informed her in a tone so supercilious she was sure he’d practiced it, “I don’t encourage running through the aisles of my store.”

A fresh shock wave rolled through her. “Your store?”

Gus’s only response was a raised golden-brown eyebrow. “I don’t encourage running,” he repeated calmly, “and I don’t tolerate stealing.”

It took a moment to realize he had just accused her of theft. It took another moment to remember that she had a squashed Carmello bar in her right fist.

Standing before a Gus Hoffman who looked like the cover of GQ magazine was odd enough; hearing him sound like a high school principal accusing her of misconduct was positively surreal. Years ago, he’d been the boy from the extreme wrong side of the tracks. His family had been the butt of unkind jokes and whispered accusations. His own attitude had done little to transform community opinion, and there’d been a time when only her family had given him a break. Yet here he was, suggesting she was a thief. She had never committed a crime; he could hardly say the same. Though she owed him an apology that was a dozen years old, she felt her temper rise.

“I don’t condone stealing, either,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I never have.” Her not-so-subtle emphasis on I was a conscious jab, and the thunderous lowering of his eyebrows told her he got the point.

When her gaze shifted to the glass door behind him, he turned and nodded to his cashier. “Get the girl.”

Apprehension made Lilah’s skin clammy. “No! We’re in a hurry.” Unimpressed, Gus gestured to his employee, who headed outside to get Bree. Lilah felt her chest squeeze. Not five minutes back in town and she was already courting calamity.

Calling on all her acting skills, Lilah effected the breezy mocking tone that used to come naturally. “What is this? An episode of NYPD Blue? ‘Get the girl,” ’ she mimicked. “Jeez, Gus, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. I know this situation looks a little funny, but you of all people ought to understand mistaken impressions. Bree was running to the car to get her money, because I said I wouldn’t buy any more sugar,” she fibbed. She raised her hands. “That’s it. No biggie.”

The glass door opened, and Bree entered, steered by Gus’s employee. The eleven-year-old looked belligerent but worried and frightened, too, when she made eye contact with Lilah, as if she feared her guardian had ratted her out.

Lilah felt the stirrings of real compassion, along with a rumble of nerves that made her queasy. Bree’s sandy blond hair was mussed from the car ride, her clothes were wrinkled and spotted with food stains and she looked plain miserable. Anyone taking note of her would be sure to have questions for Lilah, beginning with “What are you doing with a kid?”

The last thing Lilah wanted to do right now was answer questions about Bree. Or about what she’d done with her life the past twelve years. The second to last thing she wanted to do was let Gus Hoffman intimidate her in front of Bree.

With the single goal of getting back in her car and on the road uppermost in her mind, Lilah raised the broken, not to mention sweaty, candy bar in her hand. “You know, I think I will buy this. There are so many studies now about the benefits of chocolate, who am I to argue with scientific evidence?”

She looked over Gus’s shoulder, to where Sabrina was standing very still. “Never mind about raiding your piggy bank, honey. Auntie Lilah will buy the snacks.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched Gus’s expression subtly register the term auntie. Reaching toward a rack, she snagged a large bag of baked potato chips and forced herself to casually study the ingredients. “Hmm. Low in fat and full of potassium. We’ll take these, too.” She smiled. “Come on, Bree.”

The moment she stepped past Gus, she shot Bree a look that said, Do not screw with me now.

Willing at last to follow Lilah’s lead, the child nodded.

Commanding herself to stand tall, to walk as if she’d spent the past four days shopping in Neiman Marcus rather than riding in a sweltering car while she panicked about the complicated quagmire her life had become, Lilah headed to the cash register.

It had long been her habit to bolster her self-confidence by tending to every detail of her appearance. Now she was acutely aware that her makeup had melted in the heat, her khaki shorts and sleeveless white top were wrinkled from the long drive and she hadn’t had a manicure in months and months.

She recalled the first time she’d met Gus. Only ten, she’d already started dressing to mimic the current month’s cover of Seventeen magazine. Gus, on the other hand, had looked like he worked on a farm and hadn’t changed his clothes in a week. Streaked with dirt and smelling like sheep, he’d covered his dirty body with ripped pants and a T-shirt that was stained, too large and nearly worn through in spots.

How times had changed.

There were so many things she could have asked him: How’ve you been? How did the boy I knew turn into the man standing before me? Have you ever considered forgiving me?

She kept quiet, feeling his gaze spear her back as she placed the food on the counter then fished loose change from the bottom of her purse. She expected the clerk to resume her place, but instead Gus strode to the register, rang up the candy bar and chips and took the money she set down. He dropped her purchases and the receipt into a paper bag and handed them to her. He never took his eyes off her, and he never smiled. The stern angles of his face and sculpted jaw betrayed the Lakota half of his heritage. Clear gray eyes and hair the color of maple sugar, both bequeathed by his German ancestors, might have softened his looks, if not for the stark mistrust in his expression.