With Joy, Love and a Little Trepidation, Courtney, Sienna and Rachel Invite You to the Most Emotional Wedding of the Year… Their Mother’s

Courtney ~ The Misfit ~

As the awkward one, Courtney Watson may not be as together as her sisters, but she excels at one thing—keeping secrets, including her white-hot affair with a sexy music producer. Planning Mom’s wedding exposes her startling hidden life, changing her family’s view of her—and how she views herself—forever.

Sienna ~ The Free Spirit ~

When Sienna’s boyfriend proposes—in front of her mom and sisters, for crying out loud—he takes her by surprise. She already has two broken engagements under her belt. Should she say “I do” even if she’s not sure she does?

Rachel ~ The Cynic ~

Rachel thought love would last forever…right up until her divorce. As Mom’s wedding day draws near and her ex begs for a second chance, she’s forced to acknowledge some uncomfortable truths about why her marriage failed, and decide if she’ll let pride stand in the way of her own happily-ever-after.

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Daughters of the Bride

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kaycee. Thank you so much for everything. This one is for you.

* * *

Being the “mom” of an adorable, spoiled little dog, I know the joy that pets can bring to our lives. Animal welfare is a cause I have long supported. For me that means giving to Seattle Humane. At their 2015 Tuxes and Tails fund-raiser, I offered “Your pet in a romance novel” as a prize.

In this book you will meet two wonderful dogs—Sarge and Pearl. One of the things that makes writing special is interacting in different ways with people. Some I talk to for research. Some are readers who want to talk characters and story lines, and some are fabulous pet parents. I had a wonderful time learning about Sarge and Pearl. They are well loved and a little spoiled…as all pets should be. I enjoyed the opportunity to work them into my story and I hope you enjoy their charming antics.

My thanks to Sarge and Pearl, to their fabulous pet parents and to the wonderful people at Seattle Humane (SeattleHumane.org). Because every pet deserves a loving family.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Book Club Discussion Questions and Menu Suggestions

Discussion Questions

Menu Suggestions

ROASTED ACORN SQUASH BISQUE

HONEY-LIME SALMON

DRUNKEN RED-NOSED HONEYBEE CUPCAKES WITH BOURBON-HONEY CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

BOURBON-HONEY CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

MARZIPAN DRUNKEN RED-NOSED HONEYBEES

Copyright

1

ONE OF THE advantages of being freakishly tall was easy access to those upper kitchen cabinets. The disadvantages...well, those were probably summed up by the word freakishly.

Courtney Watson folded her too-long legs under her as she tried to get comfortable in a chair incredibly low to the ground. Adjusting the height wasn’t possible. She was filling in at the concierge desk only while Ramona hurried off for yet another bathroom break. Apparently, the baby had shifted and was now reclining right on her bladder. From what Courtney could tell, pregnancy was a whole lot of work with an impressive dash of discomfort. The last thing she was going to do was change anything about the chair where Ramona spent a good part of her day. Courtney could pretend to be a pretzel for five minutes.

Late on a Tuesday evening, the lobby of the Los Lobos Hotel was quiet. Only a few guests milled around. Most were already up in their rooms, which was where Courtney liked the guests to spend their time at night. She wasn’t a fan of those who roamed. They got into trouble.

The elevator doors opened and a small, well-dressed man stepped out. He glanced around the lobby before heading directly to her. Well, not to her, she would guess. The concierge desk at which she sat.

Her practiced smile faltered a bit when she recognized Milton Ford, the current president of the California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, aka COOOSM. Mr. Ford had arranged for the annual meeting to be held in town, and everyone was staying at the Los Lobos Hotel. Courtney knew that for sure—she’d taken the reservation herself. But the meetings, the meals and all the income that flowed from them were taking place at the Anderson House.

“Hello.” He looked at the nameplate on the desk. “Ah, Ramona. I’m Milton Ford.”

Courtney thought about correcting him on her name but figured there wasn’t much point. Despite his giving all that pretty catering money to one of their competitors, she would still do her job—or in this case, Ramona’s—to the best of her abilities.

“Yes, Mr. Ford. How may I help you this evening?” She smiled as she spoke, determined to be pleasant.

Even if Mr. Ford had decided to hold his stupid awards luncheon at the Anderson House instead of in the hotel’s very beautiful and spacious ballroom, Courtney would do her best to make sure his stay and the stays of his colleagues were perfect.

Her boss would tell her not to be bitter, so Courtney returned her smile to full wattage and promised herself that when she was done with Mr. Ford, she would head to the kitchen for a late-night snack of ice cream. It would be an excellent reward for good behavior.

“I have a problem,” he told her. “Not with the rooms. They’re excellent as always. It’s the, ah, other facility we’ve booked.”

“The Anderson House.” She did her best not to spit the words.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there are...bees.”

Now the problem wasn’t a lack of smiling but the issue of too much of it. Joyce, her boss, would want her to be professional, she reminded herself. Glee, while definitely called for, wasn’t polite. At least not to Mr. Ford’s face. Bees! How glorious.

“I hadn’t heard they were back,” she said sympathetically.

“They’ve had bees before?”

“Every few years. They usually stay outside of town, but when they come into the city limits, they like the Anderson House best.”

Mr. Ford dabbed his forehead with a very white handkerchief, then tucked it back into his pocket. “There are hundreds of them. Thousands. Entire hives sprang up, practically overnight. There are bees everywhere.”

“They’re not particularly dangerous,” Courtney offered. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybee is known to be calm and industrious. Oh, and they’re endangered. As a maker of organic soap, you must be aware of the issues we’re having keeping our honeybee numbers where they should be. Having them return to Los Lobos is always good news. It means the population is healthy.”

“Yes. Of course. But we can’t have our awards luncheon in the same house. With the bees. I was hoping you’d have room for us here.”

Here? As in the place I offered and you refused, telling me the Anderson House was so much better suited? But those thoughts were for her, not for a guest.

“Let me check,” she told him. “I think I might be able to make room.”

She braced herself to stand. Not physically, but mentally. Because the well-dressed Mr. Ford, for all his dapperness, was maybe five foot six. And Courtney wasn’t. And when she stood...well, she knew what would happen.

She untangled her long legs and rose. Mr. Ford’s gaze followed, then his mouth dropped open a second before he closed it. Courtney towered over Mr. Ford by a good six inches. Possibly more, but who was counting?

“My goodness,” he murmured as he followed her. “You’re very tall.”

There were a thousand responses, none of them polite and all inappropriate for the work setting. So she gritted her teeth, thought briefly of England, then murmured as unironically as she could, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

* * *

Courtney waited while her boss stirred two sugars into her coffee, then fed half a strip of bacon to each of her dogs. Pearl—a beautiful blonde standard poodle—waited patiently for her treat, while Sarge, aka Sargent Pepper—a bichon–miniature poodle mix—whined at the back of his throat.

The dining room at the Los Lobos Hotel was mostly empty at ten in the morning. The breakfast crowd was gone and the lunch folks had yet to arrive. Courtney got the paradox of enjoying the hotel best when guests were absent. Without the customers, there would be no hotel, no job and no paycheck. While a crazy wedding on top of every room booked had its own particular charm, she did enjoy the echoing silence of empty spaces.

Joyce Yates looked at Courtney and smiled. “I’m ready.”

“The new linen company is working out well. The towels are very clean and the sheets aren’t scratchy at all. Ramona thinks she’s going to last until right before she gives birth, but honestly it hurts just to look at her. That could just be me, though. She’s so tiny and the baby is so big. What on earth was God thinking? Last night I met with Mr. Ford of the California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing. Bees have invaded the Anderson House, and he wants to book everything here. I didn’t mock him, although he deserved it. So now we’re hosting all their events, along with meals. I talked him into crab salad.”

Courtney paused for breath. “I think that’s everything.”

Joyce sipped her coffee. “A full night.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Sure.”

At least six hours, Courtney thought, doing the math in her head. She’d stayed in the lobby area until Ramona’s shift had ended at ten, done a quick circuit of the hotel grounds until ten thirty, studied until one and then been up at six thirty to start it all again.

Okay, make that five hours.

“I’ll sleep in my forties,” she said.

“I doubt that.” Joyce’s voice was friendly enough, but her gaze was sharp. “You do too much.”

Not words most bosses bothered to utter, Courtney thought, but Joyce wasn’t like other bosses.

Joyce Yates had started working at the Los Lobos Hotel in 1958. She’d been seventeen and hired as a maid. Within two weeks, the owner of the hotel, a handsome, thirtysomething confirmed bachelor, had fallen head over heels for his new employee. They’d married three weeks later and lived blissfully together for five years, until he’d unexpectedly died of a heart attack.

Joyce, then all of twenty-two and with a toddler to raise, had taken over the hotel. Everyone was certain she would fail, but under her management the business had thrived. Decades later she still saw to every detail and knew the life story of everyone who worked for her. She was both boss and mentor for most of her staff and had always been a second mother to Courtney.

Joyce’s kindness was as legendary as her white hair and classic pantsuits. She was fair, determined and just eccentric enough to be interesting.

Courtney had known her all her life. When Courtney had been a baby, her father had also died unexpectedly. Maggie, Courtney’s mother, had been left with three daughters and a business. Joyce had morphed from client to friend in a matter of weeks. Probably because she’d once been a young widow with a child herself.

“How’s your marketing project coming along?” Joyce asked.

“Good. I got the notes back from my instructor, so I’m ready to move on to the final presentation.” Once she finished her marketing class, she was only two semesters away from graduation with her bachelor’s degree. Hallelujah.

Joyce refilled her coffee cup from the carafe left at the table. “Quinn’s arriving next week.”

Courtney grinned. “Really? Because you’ve only mentioned it every morning for the past two weeks. I wasn’t completely sure when he was getting here. You’re sure it’s next week? Because I couldn’t remember.”

“I’m old. I get to be excited about my grandson’s arrival if I want to.”

“Yes, you do. We’re all quivering.”

Joyce’s mouth twitched. “You have a little attitude this morning, young lady.”

“I know. It’s the Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees. I always get attitude when they take over the Anderson House. Gratitude attitude.”

“Quinn’s still single.”

Courtney didn’t know if she should laugh or snort. “That’s subtle. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Joyce, but let’s be honest. We both know I’d have a better shot at marrying Prince Harry than getting Quinn Yates to notice me.” She held up a hand. “Not that I’m interested in him. Yes, he’s gorgeous. But the man is way too sophisticated for the likes of me. I’m a small-town girl. Besides, I’m focused on college and my work. I have no free boy time.” She wanted her degree within the next year, then a great job and then men. Or a man. Definitely just one. The one. But that was for later.

“You’ll date when you’re forty?” Joyce asked humorously.

“I’m hoping it won’t take that long, but you get the idea.”

“I do. It’s too bad. Quinn needs to be married.”

“Then you should find him someone who isn’t me.”

Not that Quinn wasn’t impressive, but jeez. Her? Not happening.

She’d met him a handful of times when he’d come to visit his grandmother. The man was wildly successful. He was in the music business—a producer, maybe. She’d never paid attention. On his visits, he hung out with Joyce and her dogs, otherwise kept to himself, then left without making a fuss. Of course, the fuss happened without his doing a single thing other than show up.

The man was good-looking. No, that wasn’t right. Words like good-looking or handsome should be used on ordinary people with extraordinary looks. Quinn was on a whole other plane of existence. She’d seen happily married middle-aged women actually simper in his presence. And to her mind, simpering had gone out of style decades ago.

“You really think he’s moving to Los Lobos?” she asked, more than a little doubtful.

“That’s what he tells me. Until he finds a place of his own, I’ve reserved the groundskeeper’s bungalow for him.”

“Nice digs,” Courtney murmured. “He’ll never want to leave.”

Although to be honest, she couldn’t imagine the famous, Malibu-living music executive finding happiness in their sleepy little Central California town, but stranger things had happened.

“I’ll check his arrival date and make sure I’m assigned to clean it,” she told her boss.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate the gesture.”

“It’s not exactly a gesture. It’s kind of my job.”

While she was considered a jack-of-all-trades at the hotel, her actual title was maid. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and right now that was what mattered to her.

“It wouldn’t be if you’d—”

Courtney held up her hand. “I know. Accept a different job. Tell my family about my big secret. Marry Prince Harry. I’m sorry, Joyce. There are only so many hours in a day. I need to have priorities.”

“You’re picking the wrong ones. Prince Harry would love you.”

Courtney smiled. “You are sweet and I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, about the wedding.”

Courtney groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. Your mother is getting married in a few months. I know you’re taking care of the engagement party, but there’s also the wedding.”

“Uh-huh.”

Joyce raised her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

“No, ma’am.”

It wasn’t that Courtney minded her mother remarrying. Maggie had been a widow for literally decades. It was long past time for her mom to find a great guy and settle down. Nope, it wasn’t the marriage that was the problem—it was the wedding. Or rather the wedding planning.

“You’re trying to get me into trouble,” she murmured.

“Who, me?” Joyce’s attempt to look innocent failed miserably.

Courtney rose. “All right, you crafty lady. I will do my best with both the party and the wedding.”

“I knew you would.”

Courtney bent down and kissed Joyce’s cheek, then straightened, turned and ran smack into Kelly Carzo—waitress and, until this second, a friend.

Kelly, a pretty, green-eyed redhead, tried to keep hold of the tray of coffee mugs she’d been carrying, but the force was too great. Mugs went flying, hot liquid rained down, and in less than three seconds, Courtney, Joyce and Kelly were drenched, and the shattered remains of six mugs lay scattered on the floor.

The restaurant had been relatively quiet before. Now it went silent as everyone turned to stare. At least there were only a couple of other customers and a handful of staff. Not that word of her latest mishap wouldn’t spread.

Joyce stood and scooped Sarge out of harm’s way, then ordered Pearl to move back. “What is it your sister says in times like this?”

Courtney pulled her wet shirt away from her body and smiled apologetically at Kelly. “That I’m ‘pulling a Courtney.’ You okay?”

Kelly brushed at her black pants. “Never better, but you are so paying for my dry cleaning.”

“I swear. Right after I help you with this mess.”

“I’m going to get changed,” Joyce told them. “The prerogative of being the owner.”

“I’m really sorry,” Courtney called after her.

“I know, dear. It’s fine.”

No, Courtney thought as she went to get a broom and a mop. It wasn’t fine. But it sure was her life.

* * *

“I want to match my dress. Just one streak. Mo-om, what could it hurt?”

Rachel Halcomb pressed her fingers against her temple as she felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. The Saturday of Los Lobos High’s spring formal was always a crazy one for the salon where she worked. Teenage girls came in to be coiffed and teased into a variety of dance-appropriate styles. They traveled in packs, which she didn’t mind. But the high-pitched shrieks and giggles were starting to get to her.

Her client—Lily—desperately wanted a bright purple streak to go with her floor-length dress. Her hair was long, wavy and a beautiful shade of auburn. Rachel had clients who would fork out hundreds to get that exact color, while Lily had simply hit the hair lottery.

Lily’s mom bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Your father will have a fit.”

“It’s not his hair. And it’ll look great in the pictures. Come on, Mom. Aaron asked me. You know what that means. I have to look amazing. We’ve only been living here three months. I have to make a good impression. Please?”

Ah, the most amazing boy ever asked me out combined with the powerful I’m new in school argument. A one-two punch. Lily knew her stuff. Rachel had never been on the receiving end of that particular tactic but knew how persuasive kids could be. Her son was only eleven but already an expert at pushing her buttons. She doubted she’d had the same level of skill when she’d been his age.

Lily swung toward Rachel. “You can use the kind that washes out, right? So it’s temporary?”

“It will take a couple of shampoos, but yes, you can wash it out.”

“See!” Lily’s voice was triumphant.

“Well, you are going with Aaron,” her mother murmured.

Lily shrieked and hugged her mother. Rachel promised herself that as soon as she could escape to the break room, she would have not one but two ibuprofens. And the world’s biggest iced tea chaser. She smiled to herself. That was her—dreaming big.

Lily ran off to change into a smock. Her mother shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have given in. Sometimes it’s hard to tell her no.”

“Especially today.” Rachel nodded at the gaggle of teenage girls at every station. They stood in various stages of dress...or undress. Some had on jeans and T-shirts. Others were in robes or smocks. And still others modeled their gowns for the dance that night. “And she is going to the dance with Aaron.”

The other woman laughed. “When I was her age, his name was Rusty.” She sighed. “He was gorgeous. I wonder what happened to him.”

“In my class, he was Greg.”

The mom laughed. “Let me guess. The football captain?”

“Of course.”

“And now?”

“He’s with the Los Lobos Fire Department.”

“You kept in touch?”

“I married him.”

Before Lily’s mom could ask any more questions, Lily returned and threw herself into the chair. “I’m ready,” she said eagerly. “This is going to be so awesome.” She smiled at Rachel. “You’re going to do the smoky eye thing on me, right?”

“As requested. I have deep purple and violet-gray shadows just for you.”

Lily raised her hand for a high five. “You’re the best, Rachel. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Two hours later Lily had a dark violet streak in her hair, a sleek updo and enough smoky eye makeup to rival a Victoria’s Secret model. The fresh-faced teenager now looked like a twentysomething It Girl.

Lily’s mom snapped several pictures with her phone before pressing a handful of bills into Rachel’s hand. “She’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure. Lily, bring me pictures of you with Aaron next time I see you.”

“I will. I promise!”

Rachel waited until mother and daughter had left to count out the tip. It was generous, which always made her happy. She wanted her clients—and their mothers—to be pleased with her work. Now, if only one of those eccentric trillionaires would saunter in, love her work and tip her a few thousand, that would be fantastic. She could get ahead on her mortgage, not sweat her lack of an emergency fund. In the meantime, Josh needed a new glove for his baseball league, and her car was making a weird chirping noise that sounded more than a little expensive.

If she’d mentioned either of those things to Lily’s mom, she would guess the other woman would have told her to talk to Greg. That was what husbands were for.

There was only one flaw with that plan—she and Greg weren’t married anymore. The most amazing boy in school slash football captain slash homecoming king had indeed married her. A few weeks before their tenth anniversary he’d cheated and she’d divorced him. Now at thirty-three, she found herself living as one of the most pitied creatures ever—a divorced woman with a child about to hit puberty. And there wasn’t enough smoky eye or hair color to make that situation look the least bit pretty.

She finished cleaning up and retreated to the break room for a few minutes before her last client—a double appointment of sixteen-year-old twins who wanted their hair to be “the same but different” for the dance. Rachel reached for the bottle of ibuprofen she kept in her locker and shook out two pills.

As she swallowed them with a gulp of water, her cell phone beeped. She glanced at the screen.

Hey you. Toby’s up for keeping both boys Thursday night. Let’s you and me go do something fun. A girls’ night out. Say yes.

Rachel considered the invitation. The rational voice in her head said she should do as her friend requested and say yes. Break out of her rut. Put on something pretty and spend some time with Lena. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that.

The rest of her, however, pointed out that not only hadn’t she done laundry in days, but she was also behind on every other chore it took to keep her nonworking life running semi-smoothly. Plus, what was the point? They would go to a bar by the pier and then what? Lena was happily married. She wasn’t interested in meeting men. And although Rachel was single and should be out there flashing her smile, she honest to God didn’t have the energy. She was busy every second of every day. Her idea of a good time was to sleep late and have someone else make breakfast. But there wasn’t anyone else. Her son needed her, and she made sure she was always there. Taking care of business.

She’d been nine when her father had died suddenly. Nine and the oldest of three girls. She still remembered her mother crouched in front of her, her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Rachel. I need you to be Mommy’s best girl. I need you to help take care of Sienna and Courtney. Can you do that for me? Can you hold it all together?”

She’d been so scared. So unsure of what was going to happen next. What she’d wanted to say was that she was still a kid and, no, holding it together wasn’t an option. But she hadn’t. She’d done her best to be all things to everyone. Twenty-four years later, that hadn’t changed.

She glanced back at her phone.

Want to come over for a glass of wine and PB&J sandwiches instead?

I’ll come over for wine and cheese. And I’ll bring the cheese.

Perfect. What time should I drop off Josh?

Let’s say 7. Does that work?

Rachel sent the thumbs-up icon and set her phone back in her locker, then closed the door. Something to look forward to, she told herself. Plans on a Thursday night. Look at her—she was practically normal.

2

“MRS. TROWBRIDGE IS DEAD.”

Sienna Watson looked up from her desk. “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip. “What I meant is, how awful. Her family must be devastated.” She drew in a breath. “Are you sure?”

Seth, the thirtysomething managing director of The Helping Store, leaned against the door frame. “I have word directly from her lawyer. She passed two weeks ago and was buried this past Saturday.”

Sienna frowned. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? I would have gone to the funeral.”

“You’re taking your job too seriously. It’s not as if she would have known you were there.”

Sienna supposed that was true. What with Mrs. Trowbridge being dead and all. Still... Anita Trowbridge had been a faithful donor to The Helping Store for years—contributing goods for the thrift shop and money for various causes. Upon her death, the thrift shop was to inherit all her clothes and kitchen items, along with ten thousand dollars.

Unfortunately, nearly six months before, Sienna had received word of Mrs. Trowbridge’s passing. After the lawyer had given his okay, she’d sent a van and two guys to the house to collect their bequest...only to be confronted by Mrs. Trowbridge’s great-granddaughter. Erika Trowbridge had informed the men that her great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.”

“Something he shouldn’t have done. You know, it wouldn’t have happened if they’d hired a local lawyer. But no. They had to bring one up from Los Angeles.”

Sienna had apologized to Mrs. Trowbridge personally. The old lady—small and frail in her assisted-living bed—had laughed and told Sienna she understood. Great-granddaughter Erika had not. Of course, Erika was still bitter about the fact that Sienna had not only snagged the role of Sandy in their high school production of Grease but also—perhaps more important—won the heart of Jimmy Dawson in twelfth grade.

“She was a nice old lady,” she murmured, thinking she would have liked to have sent flowers. Instead, she would donate that amount to The Helping Store in Mrs. Trowbridge’s name. “I wonder if there’s anything left in her kitchen.”

“You think the granddaughter took things?”

“Great-granddaughter, and I wouldn’t put it past her. If she had her way, Erika would clean the place out. At least we’ll get the cash donation.”

“I’m meeting with the lawyer in the morning.”

Sienna was the donation coordinator for The Helping Store, one of a handful of paid staff. The large and bustling thrift store was manned by volunteers. All the proceeds from the store, along with any cash raised by donations, went to a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. Getting away from the abuser was half the battle. Over the years, The Helping Store had managed to buy several small duplexes on the edge of town. They were plain but clean and, most important to women on the run, far from their abusers.

Her boss nodded toward the front of the building. “Ready to tap-dance?”

Sienna smiled as she rose. “It’s not like that. I enjoy my work.”

“You put on a good show.” He held up a hand. “Believe me. I’m not complaining. You’re the best. My biggest fear is that some giant nonprofit in the big city will make you an offer you can’t refuse and I’ll be left Sienna-less. I can’t think of a sadder fate.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Oh, sure, every now and then she thought about what it would be like to live in LA or San Francisco, but those feelings passed. This small coastal town was all she knew. Her family was here.

“Isn’t David from somewhere back East?” Seth asked.

She pulled open her desk drawer and collected her handbag, then walked out into the hallway. “St. Louis. His whole family’s there.”

Seth groaned. “Tell me he’s not interested in moving back.”

There were a lot of implications in that sentence. That she and David were involved enough to be having that conversation. That one day they would be married and, should he want to return to his hometown, she would go with him.

She patted her boss’s arm. “Cart, meet horse. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We’ve only been dating a few months. Things aren’t that serious. He’s a nice guy and all, but...”

“No sparks.” Seth’s tone was sympathetic. “Bummer.”

“We can’t all have your one true great love.”

“You’re right. Gary is amazing. Okay, then, let’s get you to the Anderson House so you can dazzle the good people who make— Who are you talking to?”

“The California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, and they’re at the Los Lobos Hotel. The Anderson House has bees.”

Seth’s expression brightened. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees? I love those guys. Did you know their raw honey has thirty percent more antioxidants than any other raw honey in California?”

“I didn’t and I could have gone all day without that factoid.”

“You’re jealous because I’m smart.”

“No, you’re jealous because I’m pretty and our world is shallow so that counts more.”

Seth laughed. “Fine. Go be pretty with the soap people and bring us back some money.”

“Will do.”

Sienna drove to the hotel. She knew the way. Not only because her hometown was on the small side—but also because nearly every significant event was celebrated there.

The Los Lobos Hotel sat on a low bluff overlooking the Pacific. The main building was midcentury modern meets California Spanish, four stories high with blinding white walls and a red tile roof. The rear wing had been added in the 1980s, and luxury bungalows dotted the grounds.

Given the pleasant Central California weather, most large-scale events were held outside on the massive lawn in front of the pool. A grand pavilion stood on the lawn between the pool and the ocean, and a petite pavilion by the paddleboat pond.

Sienna parked the car and collected her material. As she walked toward the rear entrance of the hotel, she saw that the windows sparkled and the hedges were perfectly trimmed. Joyce did an excellent job managing the hotel, she thought. She was also a generous contributor to The Helping Store. And not just with money. More than once Sienna had called to find out if there was a spare room for a displaced family or a woman on the run. A year ago Joyce had offered a small room kept on reserve for their permanent use.

Helping women in need was something Joyce had been doing forever. Nearly twenty-four years before, when Sienna and her sisters had lost their father, and Maggie, their mother, had been widowed, the family had been thrown into chaos. A lack of life insurance, Maggie’s limited income and three little girls to support had left the young mother struggling. In a matter of months, she’d lost her house.

Joyce had taken them all in to live at the Los Lobos Hotel. Now Sienna smiled at the memory. She’d been only six at the time. Missing her father, of course, but also discovering the joy of reading. The day the Watson family had taken up residence in one of the hotel’s bungalows, Joyce had given Sienna a copy of Eloise. Sienna had immediately seen herself as the charming heroine from the book and had made herself at home in the hotel. While it wasn’t the same as living at The Plaza, it was close enough to help her through her grief.

Sienna remembered how she’d called for room service and told the person answering the phone to “charge it.” Most likely those bills had gone directly to Joyce rather than to Maggie. And when she’d begged her mother for a turtle, because Eloise had one, a guest had stepped in to buy her one.

While there was pain in some of the memories, she had to admit living at the hotel had been fun. At least for her. It was probably a different story for her mother.

She entered through the rear door and started down the hall toward the meeting rooms. At the far end, she saw a familiar figure wrestling with a vacuum. As she watched, Courtney tripped over the cord and nearly plowed face-first into the wall. A combination of love and frustration swelled up inside her. There was a reason the phrase was “pulling a Courtney.” Because if someone was going to stumble, fall, drop, break or slip, it was her baby sister.

“Hey, you,” Sienna called as she got closer.

Courtney turned and smiled.

Sienna did her best not to wince at Courtney’s uniform—not that the khaki pants and polo shirt were so horrible, but on her sister, they just looked wrong. While most people considered being tall an advantage, on Courtney the height was simply awkward. Like now—her pants were too short and, even though she was relatively thin, they bunched around her hips and thighs. The shirt looked two sizes too small and there was a stain on the front. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her long blond hair—about her best feature—was pulled back in a ponytail. She was, to put it honestly, a mess. Something she’d been for as long as Sienna could remember.

Courtney had had some kind of learning disability. Sienna had never been clear on the details, but it had made school difficult for her sister. Despite their mother’s attempts to interest Courtney in some kind of trade school, the youngest of the three seemed happy just being a maid. Baffling.

“You here to talk to Mr. Ford’s group?” Courtney asked as Sienna approached.

“Yes. I’m going to guilt those California Organization of Organic Soap manufacturers into coughing up some serious money.”

“I have no doubt. The A/V equipment is all set up. I tested it earlier.”

“Thanks.” Sienna patted her large tote bag. “I have my material right here.” She glanced toward the meeting room, then back at her sister. “How’s Mom’s engagement party coming? Do you need any help?”

“Everything is fine. The menu’s almost finalized. I’ve taken care of decorations and flowers. It will be lovely.”

Sienna hoped that was true. When Maggie and Neil had announced their engagement, the three sisters had wanted to throw Mom a big party. The hotel was the obvious venue, which was fine, but then Courtney had said she would handle the details. And where Courtney went, disaster was sure to follow.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Sienna told her. “I’m happy to help.” She would also stop and talk to Joyce on the way out. Just to make sure everything was handled.

Emotion flashed through Courtney’s blue eyes, but before Sienna could figure out what she was thinking, her sister smiled. “Sure. No problem. Thanks for the offer.” She stepped back, bumped into the wall, then righted herself. “You should, um, get going to your meeting.”

“You’re right. I’ll see you later.”

Courtney nodded. “Good luck.”

Sienna laughed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not going to need it.”

She waved and headed for the Stewart Salon. The meeting room was set up with glasses of wine and plenty of hot and cold appetizers. At one end was a large screen, a podium and a microphone. Sienna removed her laptop from her tote and turned it on. While it booted, she plugged it into the room’s A/V system. She started the video and was pleased to see the pictures on the screen and hear the music through the speakers.

“Perfection through planning,” she murmured as she set the video back to the beginning.

Ten minutes later the good members of COOOSM bustled into the salon and collected glasses of wine and appetizers. Sienna circulated through the room, chatting with as many people as she could. She knew the drill—introduce herself, ask lots of friendly questions and generally be both approachable and charming, so that by the time she made her pitch, she was already considered someone they knew and liked.

She made as much effort with the women as the men. While studies were divided on which gender gave more to charity, Sienna had always found that generosity came in unexpected ways, and she wasn’t about to lose an opportunity based on stereotypes. Every dollar she brought in was a dollar the organization could use to help.

Milton Ford, the president of COOOSM, approached her. The little man barely came up to her shoulder. So adorable. She smiled.

“I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Ford.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He shook his head. “This town does have its share of very tall women. There’s a young lady who works here at the hotel. Ramona, I believe.”

Sienna happened to know that Ramona was about five-two, but she didn’t correct him. No doubt Courtney had done something to confuse Mr. Ford, but this wasn’t the time to set him straight. Not with donations on the line.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the podium.

Sienna walked over to the microphone and turned it on, then she smiled at the crowd. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you so much for taking time out of your schedule to meet with me today.” She winked at a bearded older man wearing overalls. “Jack, did you ever decide on that second glass of wine? Because I think it will help you make the right decision.”

Everyone laughed. Jack toasted her. She smiled at him, then pushed the play button on her computer. Music flowed from the speakers. Carefully, slowly, she allowed her smile to fade. A picture of a large American flag appeared on the screen.

“Between 2001 and 2012, nearly sixty-five hundred American soldiers were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. During that same period of time—” the screen shifted to the face of a battered woman clutching two small children “—almost twelve thousand women were murdered by their husbands, boyfriends or a former partner. Even now, three women are murdered every single day by the man who claims to love them.”

She paused to let the information sink in. “Through the money we raise at The Helping Store, we provide a safe haven for women and their families in their time of need. They are referred to us from all over the state. When they arrive here, we offer everything from shelter to legal advice to medical care to relocation services. We take care of their bodies, their hearts, their spirits and their children. One woman in four will experience some kind of domestic violence in her life. We can’t stop that from happening across the globe, but we can keep our corner of the world safe. I hope you’ll join me in making that happen.”

She paused as the voice-over on the video started. She’d planted the seed. The material she’d brought should do the rest.

Two hours later the last of the guests left. Sienna carefully put away the pledge forms. Not only had the group been generous, they also wanted to challenge other chapters of their organization to match their donations.

“How’s the most beautiful girl in the world?”

The voice came from the doorway. Sienna hesitated just a second before turning. “Hi, David.”

“How did it go?” her boyfriend asked as he moved toward her. “Why am I asking? You impressed them. I know it.”

He pulled her close and kissed her. Sienna allowed his lips to linger for a second before stepping back.

“I’m working,” she said with a laugh.

“No one’s here.” He moved his hands to her butt and pulled her close again. “We could lock the door.”

If the words weren’t clear enough, the erection he rubbed against her belly got the message through. How romantic—going at it on a serving table while surrounded by dirty plates and half-full glasses of wine.

Sienna chided herself for not accepting the gesture in the spirit in which David meant it. Successful and smart. He loved his family, puppies, and as far as she could tell, he was an all-around nice guy.

“Remember you telling me about the time you took a girl home to meet your parents and realized you couldn’t do it in their house?” she asked, her voice teasing.

He chuckled. “I do. Humiliating.”

“Joyce, the owner of the hotel, is a little bit like my grandmother.”

“Ouch.” He drew back. “Grandma is even worse than Mom.” He nibbled on her neck. “Rain check.”

“Absolutely. Thanks.”

He released her and pushed up his glasses. “You heading back to the office?”

She’d kind of wanted to head home after her presentation. She could deliver the pledge forms to her boss in the morning. But if she said that, David would want to make plans. Wow. She would rather go back to work than spend the evening with her boyfriend? What was up with that?

She looked at him. He was about her height, with dark brown hair and dark eyes. A nice build. He wasn’t handsome, but she’d never cared much about that. Once a guy crossed the “not a troll” threshold, she was fine.

David Van Horn should have been the man of her dreams. Lord knew she’d been looking. He was the thirty-five-year-old senior vice president at the recently transplanted aerospace design firm in town. She was pushing thirty and had no idea why she hadn’t been able to find “the one.” Maybe there was something wrong with her.

Not a conversation she wanted to have with herself right now, she thought. Or ever.

“I don’t have to go back to work,” she told him.

“Great. Let’s have dinner here.”

“I’d love that.”

A statement stretching the truth more than a little, but who was going to know?

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