Danger: Heartbreak ahead!

Piper Brindle has spent her entire adult life trying to live down the stigma of her family’s checkered history. The one bright spot was Cy Franco, the talented California designer with the surfer-boy looks. She ended up only breaking his heart. Now an acting gig on the historic River King reunites her with the guy she pushed away. She knows she doesn’t deserve him, but how can she pretend she’s immune to Cy’s charms? As her past explodes into her present, Piper knows they can never have a future together. But with their irresistible chemistry drawing them even closer than before, how will she be able to walk away a second time?

“You’re asking me to do the impossible.”

Something in Cy’s tone thrilled Piper. She saw a spark in his eyes, a determined lift to his chin.

What would it be like to believe everything would work out right?

She meant to tie the balloons and tiptoe away, ignoring the tug that seemed to suggest she should help. Help the guy who would never forgive her for dumping him?

Her sandal caught on a chair leg and she stumbled, letting go of the balloons. They drifted lazily up to the ceiling.

Cy didn’t hesitate. He put his hands around her waist.

She felt the press of his cheek into her back, the strong arms spanning her middle as he raised her up toward the balloons. His embrace rocketed her back in time, and she was lost in memories of laughter and love and joy when she’d briefly believed in the impossible, too.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever wanted to sail away from your worries? Me, too. I guess that’s why it was so enticing to write about a historic paddle-wheel steamboat. Though the fictional River King doesn’t ply the waters anymore, she’s a reminder of an elegant time when people put aside their cares and paddled along the California waterways. In preparation to write this book, I had the pleasure of touring the Delta King, a beautiful old paddle wheel docked in Sacramento. I met the gracious Coyne family, who saw the loveliness in this regal vessel even when she was nearly wrecked and has painstakingly brought her back to life.

Isn’t that what romance is all about? Seeing the beauty in someone in spite of the scars? Cy and Piper certainly have some damage to overcome, but what better place to attempt it than an old boat docked outside the sleepy little town of Tumbledown!

Thank you for coming along with me on this journey. I hope you enjoyed the trip! I’m always happy to hear from my readers via my website, danamentink.com, or my Facebook and Twitter pages. There’s also a physical address on my website if you’d rather correspond by mail. Thank you again for taking the time to sail along with Cy and Piper.

Fondly,

Sailing in Style

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DANA MENTINK lives in California, where the weather is golden and the cheese is divine. Her family includes two teen girls (affectionately nicknamed Yogi and Boo Boo). Papa Bear retired from the fire department, and he met Dana while they were doing a dinner theater production of The Velveteen Rabbit. Ironically, their parts were husband and wife.

Dana is an American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year finalist for romantic suspense and a two-time Carol Award winner. Her suspense novel, Betrayal in the Badlands, earned an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. She enjoys writing for Harlequin’s Love Inspired line, Harlequin Heartwarming and Harvest House. Besides writing, she busies herself teaching third grade. Mostly, she loves to be home with Papa Bear, Yogi, Boo Boo, a dog with social anxiety problems, a chubby box turtle and a feisty parakeet.

To the Coyne family,

who brought life back to the Delta King.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE OLD RIVERBOAT rocked gently under Cy Franco’s feet, and he wished they were bare instead of pinched inside shoes so ridiculously shiny they dazzled the eye.

Weddings. He used to love them, everything from the gorgeous decor down to the vegetable crudités. Funny how flinging an engagement ring into the ocean could take away his enthusiasm for all things matrimonial.

Nevertheless, his sister Rosa’s wedding ceremony was complete, and he hadn’t dropped the rings or said anything too sappy for the toast. A great accomplishment since his duties encompassed being both best man to his new brother-in-law, Pike, and attendant to his sister, Rosa. The word unorthodox didn’t even begin to cover it, but it was done and they were hitched. The blissful couple would soon be off to honeymoon someplace tropical for a month. Mission accomplished, in spite of the last-minute change of venue. His sister deserved her happily-ever-after. Her face, so suffused with love and happiness as she whispered her “I do,” had been perfection, but still Cy couldn’t help but think the one thing that would have made it even better was his mother living to see it.

We don’t all get the happily-ever-after, Cy.

He turned on the stainless steel taps in his stateroom—he would have switched the fixtures out for brass if it was his show—and soaked a cloth to dampen his face, wetting his fingers and trying again in vain to smash down his wild head of blond curls. The mirror reflected the glittering cove through the porthole behind him, waves rippling across the water on their way to lap the rocky shore on the central California coast. His coast. What he wouldn’t give to hoist himself up on the railing, strip off the chafing monkey suit and dive in. His muscles tensed at the imagined pleasure of swimming hard and fast, mile after mile. Maybe he’d keep going until he slogged ashore in Tumbledown and squelched his way to the Pelican Inn, his place of business and current home since Aunt Bitsy sold her beloved hotel to his sister Rosa and her freshly minted husband, Pike.

Nope. There were a bazillion termites meeting their doom at the Pelican at the moment, the whole inn tented and off-limits, which was exactly why they’d needed to move Rosa’s wedding reception to the boat newly docked past the breakwater in Gold Cove. A whole wedding rerouted by a bunch of insects. The irony.

A flicker of movement in the mirror drew his attention from the running water. Something white, lacy, ethereal drifted past on the outer deck, momentarily obscuring his view of the cove. A pair of eyes, unforgettable. Unbelievable.

A ghost, his mind told him.

You’re an idiot, it added immediately.

You got your heart broken by a lady in white. Weddings, vows, rings. Stirs everything up.

Cy dropped the cloth in the water and scooped a palmful from the running tap, dashing his face with it to wash away the mirage. Get it together, man. He had a reception room full of people to tend to, including his father and his new mother-in-law, a woman to whom he ascribed saintly qualities. She had taken Cy and his sister in as teens after they were abandoned by their father, and she’d married that same man even though doctors claimed he was losing his sanity to Pick’s disease. Aunt Bitsy, though not his biological aunt, was a cut above the rest, and she wanted the wedding to go off without the slightest snag. This was not the time for hallucinations.

The swirl of white passed in front of the porthole again. Green eyes, the pale tint of newly unfurled leaves, his memory supplied, with the tiniest fleck of gold in the left. Truth be told, he was probably imagining the woman in the first place, the wisps of strawberry blond hair peeping out from under a wisp of white lace. The water splashed and gurgled, but he could not look away from that reflection of perfection.

One second more, two. He blinked and screwed up his eyes, closed and opened them, and yet she remained, reflected in the mirror. Then she smiled in the sad, elfin way that only Piper Brindle could, in the same manner she had on the day she destroyed them. Ruined him.

Hallucination.

Imagination.

A crystal tear brimmed from those green eyes and trickled down her face.

A crying hallucination? He whirled around, crashed through the door and careened through the narrow corridor on his way to catch up with the lady in white.

* * *

PIPER FLICKED THE veil back from her face, heart pounding, and swiped a hand across her cheeks. She jogged as fast as the stiff satin pumps would allow. She never should have peeked through the porthole, but she had to prove to herself that the impossible rumor was not true. Cy Franco could not actually be on the ship, yet the man who gaped at her in the mirror had certainly looked like the tousle-haired, half-crazy decorating savant whom she had broken up with three years before.

It couldn’t be Cy. All six-foot, wide-shouldered vegetarians probably looked alike wearing tuxedos. Last she’d heard, he was in Northern California, helping his sister run a design firm. And what, she asked herself as she jogged, was up with the tear that had slid down her face? Tears? Really, Piper? Cy probably hadn’t cried when she left. He was no doubt glad to be rid of her. She didn’t blame him. She stopped to listen for pursuit and heard the clatter of someone running in clunky dress shoes. The Cy lookalike. She raced faster, ducking into an empty conference room, and leaned against the door, breathing hard. Whoever it was, the last thing she needed was for a guest on the boat to lodge a complaint about the peeping Thomasina staring through his porthole.

Even if it was Cy, he had no business chasing her. Of course, the tiny voice that passed for her conscience reminded her she’d actually stolen the man’s Chevy. But he’d gotten it back, hadn’t he?

“For goodness’ sake, he doesn’t even drive,” she sniped to herself. Her pursuer paused outside, and she remained still. She longed to peek out, to confirm the crazy idea she’d latched onto that she once again shared deck space with Cy Franco.

No looking back, Piper. The shadow passed by and Piper let out a sigh, a very quiet one, before she slipped into the hallway and sped back to her cabin.

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, winded, and more convinced than ever that he needed some sort of mental health intervention, Cy settled back into his role as brotherly host, greeting the reception guests in the captain’s room. He steadfastly suppressed the image of the lady in white, the mirage he’d chased all around the boat deck without finding the barest trace of her. Wiping his brow, he plastered on a smile and did his best to mingle. The long rectangular space was dotted with round tables sporting bronze linens and flowery sprays composed of blooms he wouldn’t even begin to guess at. Flooring he knew. Flowers, not so much.

This flooring was all wrong, of course, as was most of the decor. The room was decorated in such a modern style, it had lost all the charm intrinsic to a historic wooden steam paddleboat. As co-owner of Dollars and Sense Design with his sister, it was his job and calling to notice such things. This boat had history—quaint, elusive, the charming memories of yesteryear when paddleboats churned along California waterways. This room might have been the reception room of any motel in America.

Aunt Bitsy took his arm, distracting him from his thoughts. Her white-blond hair was piled neatly atop her head. “I was worried about you, Cy, honey. Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m all right.” He bent to press a kiss to her cheek, which forestalled the brewing questions. Her warm gaze fixed on him in that amazing way that made everyone feel like she was their own flesh and blood, which was why virtually every townsperson from the mail carrier to the dentist called her Aunt Bitsy. “Are you and Pops enjoying the soiree?”

“Definitely.” She beamed.

“Marriage suits you. You’ve been hitched three months now and you’re still smiling. Where is your rascally other half?”

“He trotted off to fetch me a wrap. It’s freezing in here.” She blushed. “He takes good care of me.”

“Well, you are newlyweds.”

“Yes, we are, aren’t we? I have to pinch myself sometimes to remember that it’s true.” Bitsy’s smile wavered. “He’s been really clear lately.”

It was Cy’s turn to beam. “You see? Marriage is better than any drug the doctor can prescribe.” The doctors seemed to think there was nothing to be done but throw pills at the problem. Fine, he thought. Pops is going to be okay in spite of them. He and Bitsy would see to it.

Bitsy’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh. Dragon Lady, three o’clock,” she whispered. “Your turn. I’m going to get some sparkling water.”

Irene Hershey, the owner and general manager for the River King, the historic paddle wheel steamboat they were on, was bearing down on them like a falcon after a hapless fish. Bitsy had already wrestled with the woman over everything from the height of the flower thingies to the necessity of patching an unsightly crack in the wall behind the buffet table. Bitsy could charm the socks off any male on the planet, but her confrontations with women disintegrated quickly. Her last conversation with Irene had nearly come to blows.

He squared his shoulders. His turn to take a bullet.

“Mr. Franco,” Irene said, giving her unnaturally dark hair a flip. “You’ve enjoyed the arrangements here on the River King, I trust?” Though the sixtyish woman spoke in Cy’s general direction, her flint-gray eyes were riveted on another man sipping from a crystal goblet, a well-dressed guy who looked to be within spitting distance of Cy’s twenty-nine years. Too tanned. Too ironed.

“Everyone is practically gobbling up the salmon, and doesn’t the sparkling of the ocean add a dramatic flare out that bank of windows?” she practically bellowed.

Cy wasn’t sure how to respond. He settled for a nod. She squeezed his forearm. “The man, over there,” she hissed. “Do you see him?”

Cy checked him out again. “Who is he? I know he’s not with the bride’s family. A friend of Pike’s, maybe?”

“No, no. He’s not a wedding guest.”

Cy took in the stranger again. “If he’s crashing, I’ll show him to the door.” He didn’t think it would be much trouble. Cy had five inches on him, easy.

She dug her nails into his wrist. “You most certainly will not. Don’t you know who that is? It’s Carson Spooley. He’s tried to keep his presence here on the qt, but there are no secrets on my boat.”

Her eyes were wide with awe.

“You’re gonna have to help me out a little more than that. Is he a TV star or something? I don’t own a TV so...”

She was about to fire off a retort, an unfriendly one by the looks of it, when a waiter scuttled over and whispered in her ear. Her mouth went slack. “What? Which one?”

The waiter whispered again.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She hustled away with impressive speed for a person with such short legs.

Cy approached his beaming sister, resplendent in a simply cut white silk gown with rosettes at the waist. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Amazing wedding, Cy. Thank you for all you did. I know we all wanted it to be at the Pelican, but married is married no matter where you do it.”

He lifted her up and returned the squeeze before putting her down and shaking Pike’s hand. “You’re getting a real gem, you know, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my twin.”

“I do know that,” he said solemnly. “And I’m getting a reasonably tolerable brother-in-law in the bargain.”

Cy grinned. “Considering we were trying to pummel each other senseless not too long ago, I’d say that’s progress. Still, we’d better establish a neutral zone at the inn if we’re going to be running our businesses under the same roof.”

Pike raised an eyebrow in mock offense. “Sir, you underestimate me. I’m a lawyer, you know.”

“Exactly.” Cy jerked his head to the side. “You know that guy? His name’s Carson Spooley, but he’s undercover or something.”

Rosa looked closer. “That’s Carson Spooley? He’s shorter than I thought.”

Cy groaned. “Okay, I give. Who is Carson Spooley? Astronaut? Rock star? Pro golfer?”

Rosa laughed, her brown eyes twinkling. “You really don’t get out enough, Cy.”

“I guess I’m too busy on redecorating jobs with you.”

The reception room door was pushed open so hard it slammed into the wall. Irene beelined in, mouth in a tight smile that came nowhere near adding cheer to her face. Once again, she took hold of Cy’s arm. This time she hauled him out the door. “Right this way, Mr. Franco. There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Can’t it wait?” he asked. “We’re almost ready to cut the cake. It’s strawberry with a cream cheese filling.” And it had been a real pain to convince Irene to allow them to bring in the outside caterer they’d already spent a chunk of change on in the first place. He was going to enjoy every last morsel right down to the dessert.

“You don’t deserve cake. Now that I think about it, a dungeon with no refreshment at all might suit better, and I’m pretty sure we have a brig around here someplace.”

As Cy was dragged along, his father appeared in the corridor, clutching a pink shawl. “Hey, son. Party’s that way.”

“He’s got something to take care of,” Irene said grimly.

Cy should have been unhappy being escorted away from the wedding, but he couldn’t summon up too much angst about it. His father was clear-eyed and alert, to his great relief. It was the beginning of Rosa’s life with Pike and Manny’s second life with Bitsy, and aside from disastrous decor, it had been a smashing send-off for both couples. Whatever was upsetting Irene “The Dragon Lady” Hershey could be dealt with.

“Need me to help out with something?” Manny asked. “I’ll just give this to Bits and then I’ll find you.”

“Nah, we’re fine,” Cy called, though they were almost out of earshot thanks to Irene’s pace. “Just save me a piece of cake, one with lots of icing. And a rosette. I want a rosette, for sure.”

They pressed on.

“Oh, hey.” He peered down and realized the carpet running along the floor was soaked. “You’ve got a leak. That’s not my thing. I don’t know anything about plumbing, so if you wanted my two cents on this, you’re barking up the wrong pipe wrench.”

She didn’t answer until they reached the door of a familiar stateroom.

His stateroom.

Something tickled at his memory.

The lady in white. But before that, splashing water onto his face.

Dropping the washcloth into the sink.

One crystal tear on that perfect cheek.

His mad dash out the door.

And from far away, the sound of water running in the sink behind him.

Uh-oh.

After an examination of the bog-like conditions in his stateroom, he followed Irene to a conference room opposite the wedding reception. Rosa caught his eye through the window. He waved and gave her an “everything is perfect in the universe” smile.

He tried to ready a defense as he sat in the chair opposite Irene. After a moment, he gave up. “I got nothing. I’m a doofus and I left the faucet running. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you are a doofus. What kind of a grown-up leaves the tap on in his stateroom?”

“It’s like this,” he said. “I saw, I mean there was this reflection, a kind of a something that startled me, you see, and I ran out the door so fast I...” He broke off. “Let’s just go with doofus. I’ll pay for the damages.”

“You bet your sweet navel you will, but not in the way you think.”

He felt a tingle along his spine, the same kind of tingle he got when he encountered dry rot on a building project. “Come again?”

“Your stateroom carpet is ruined.”

“Er, yes.”

“Most likely the flooring underneath as well.”

“Okay...”

“And the hall carpet is completely saturated, so the six rooms along that length will have to remain unoccupied until it can be replaced.”

“I...”

“Let’s do a math lesson here. Couple thousand for the carpet and wood repair. Six rooms times two hundred dollars per night, times two weeks.”

Cy’s left temple began to throb as he calculated the cost of flooring alone.

“So we’re getting into the sixteen-thousand-dollar range. Maybe more. Very inconvenient, especially since we’ve got an unusually big group boarding at the end of the month.” She waved a hand. “You’ve racked up a nice bill of damages, Mr. Franco.”

“No problem. I can pay it.” If he sold his truck and depleted his savings account, it might be enough.

“The curtains are ruined, also. Did I mention that? They have to be custom-made, of course, as they’re an odd size.”

His other temple began to pulse.

“I think it’s safe to say that’s another couple hundred added on. I’m so glad we have that clause in the event contract that the contractee is responsible for any damages to the River King caused by event attendees. That’s smart, isn’t it?”

“Smart.” Cy wondered how much he could get for a kidney. He had a spare, after all. “Um, what happens if I can’t quite come up with the cash all at once?”

“I thought you might say that.” She gave him a smile that was scarier than Jack Nicholson’s in The Shining.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS NEARLY 11:00 p.m. when Cy Franco was finally able to take off his ridiculous shoes. He sat on a chair in the empty reception room considering the offer he could not refuse. The Godfather himself would have been impressed.

His brain tried to put things in order, but his body was afire with nervous energy. He finally dropped to the floor and started in on some push-ups to clear his mind. Somewhere around the tenth push-up, he spotted his sister’s feet, clad now in stylish mules.

“Talk to me,” she said.

Eleven. Twelve. “Just burning off some energy. Isn’t it time for you and Pike to go?”

“Talk to me,” she repeated.

“Nothing to say.” Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

Now one stylish mule was tapping impatiently. “You’re barefoot, doing push-ups and Irene is walking around like a cat on a quail farm. Spill it, or I get the jumper cables and torture it out of you.”

He stopped doing push-ups and rolled over onto his back, staring up at her. He’d never been able to hide things from Rosa. She had this weird twin sixth-sense thing going on, and truth be told, he was a terrible liar. He took a deep breath and let it all out. “In a nutshell, I flooded my stateroom and caused somewhere in the neighborhood of sixteen thousand dollars in damage and lost revenue. She’s within her rights to demand restitution. I didn’t read the contract carefully enough before I signed it. I was in a hurry.”

Rosa closed her eyes.

He went on. “Carson Spooley is a celebrity concierge. I had to look up exactly what that means, but basically he’s like a glorified personal assistant, checking out this tug as a possible wedding location for somebody named Dizz. I have no idea who Dizz is, but apparently he’s somebody famous and Irene is desperate for him to love this boat and book his wedding here.”

She opened her eyes in surprise. “Dizz is a talent scout. He hosts the reality show Acting Up. He discovers actors and makes them into stars. The winners of his show land themselves an agent and a role on a network TV show. He’s engaged to Tiffany, an actress he discovered in season two.”

Cy shook his head. “Dizz and Tiffany? Don’t any of these people have last names?”

“To the point, brother.”

“I’m to redesign and decorate the reception room and dining area in the space of three weeks on a sixteen-thousand-dollar budget. If it passes muster and Spooley convinces this Dizz person to book the wedding here, I’m off the hook.”

“Three weeks? That’s insane, even for twice the budget.”

He sighed. “Yeah. The only good news is that business has been terrible and she doesn’t have many overnight guests at the moment. They can use the smaller room for dining.”

“And if Dizz doesn’t book the boat for the wedding?”

“I owe her sixteen thousand dollars per the contract I signed. Don’t worry. It’s coming out of my pocket. I messed up and I’m not going to take Dollars and Sense funds to fix it.”

“That’s irrelevant because Dollars and Sense doesn’t have any funds anyway, not until we get a few jobs booked.” Rosa sank down cross-legged on the floor. “There’s got to be a way out of this. Do you want me to see if Pike can find a loophole?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, anyway.”

“But you’re in this mess because of me. I’d give you the money if I could, but...”

“You don’t have it.”

“No, and Pike sold off everything to buy Pelican Inn. The honeymoon is a gift from his uncle or we wouldn’t have been able to afford it.”

He sat up. “No worries. This old boat needs my magic touch anyway. The history this place is steeped in...you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Then why the worry crease on your forehead?”

“That’s a character line, not a worry crease.”

She looked at him, with those brown eyes so different from his blue ones. She favored their mother, the woman who had drunk herself into an early grave. He had their father’s coloring and easygoing mind-set. For the most part, anyway.

Rosa’s brown eyes continued to drill into him with sisterly affection. “Cy, why don’t you tell me why you left the water running?”

He sighed. It would do no good to lie. “I thought I saw Piper.”

Rosa put her palm on Cy’s cheek. “Oh, honey. I love you, but if you really did see Piper, then you know what you need to do.”

“Run?”

“In the opposite direction. As far and as fast as you can.”

He closed his eyes. “I have. I am. But she’s still there.”

He could still feel the rain from that night three years before, pattering down, drilling tiny holes in the sand on a perfect Southern California beach. Not to be daunted by a little thing like weather, he’d erected an enormous umbrella over the picnic blanket, sheltering the bouquet of purple peonies. Roses were for ordinary women, not a one-of-a-kind, breathtaking creature like Piper. The storm came, and with it, high tide.

Piper did not.

Soggy flowers. Sputtering candle. A single text. I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s over.

He understood the finality in the text, the truth she had been trying to communicate for weeks and he had steadfastly refused to hear. That night, mixed with the shush of the storm and the pounding of the waves, he’d finally heard. He’d handed over his heart to a woman who didn’t love him. Not enough, anyway.

He’d stayed until the tide had come to claim the sodden bouquet. He’d let the ocean have the ring, too, hurling it out across the sea until the band of gold lost itself in the moonlit sparkle of the waves.

Rosa’s expression was searching. “The hurt is still there. The love isn’t.” She paused. “Is it?”

He searched his heart. “No, it’s not.” His love for Piper had died a slow and painful death that night on the beach and during the insane week that followed. “I’m over it. When I thought I saw her...it surprised me. That’s all.”

“Okay.” She kissed his cheek and stood, checking her phone. “Pike’s texting me. I’ve got to go.”

“Is Baggy okay?”

She laughed. “Yes, Cy. The strange, dog-like creature to whom you refer is being picked up by Aunt Bitsy from the babysitter’s as we speak. I’m sure he’ll be fine staying with Bitsy and Dad at their place while you work on this project.”

“Are you sure? Baggy’ll be confused to be away from the Pelican. He’s sensitive. He’s got issues.” Well-deserved issues for a wildly unattractive canine abandoned in a paper bag before Cy’s timely rescue.

“Yes, I’m sure. When we get back he’s going to be eating steak and lobster every night.”

“Lobster is too rich. It will upset his stomach. And as for steak, I think Baggy might be turning into a vegetarian, like me.”

“I don’t think so.” She laughed as she headed for the door. “And I was kidding about the lobster. Besides, we’re all on a bread-and-water diet until our business is more established.” She paused. “Call me, you know, if anything comes up with Dad?”

“Nothing will come up. He’s better. Hasn’t lost his train of thought once.” Cy sat up. “He’s going to be okay.”

She frowned. “Did you read the article I sent you?”

“Didn’t have time, but the doctors don’t know everything. I’m going to teach him about flooring—something new. They say learning new things can nearly reverse situations like that.” He hopped to his feet and retrieved a napkin from the floor.

“No,” Rosa said quietly. “They don’t, Cy. You can’t wish this away.”

They’d lost their mother to alcoholism, and he’d lost Piper. He wasn’t about to lose Pops. “Well, the diagnosis might have been wrong.”

“Cy...”

He flashed her a smile. “Let’s not talk about it now. Pops is going to be fine. Go on your honeymoon and have the time of your life.”

Rosa looked as though she wanted to say more, so he planted a kiss on the top of her head and walked her to the door.

“All right.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Love you, brother, and I’m glad you’ve got your head on straight about Piper. I’m sure you just imagined seeing her, but in case she does turn up...”

“I know. Run.”

He did another dozen push-ups after she left, feeling the waves of confusion dissipate. Deep down, he was excited to be able to resurrect the stately history of the historic boat. He’d always known that the past made the present, in buildings and in people.

And what did Cy’s own past say about his present? He was resilient, losing his mother and abandoned by his father before he hit sixteen. He was perilously softhearted, he’d been told, having been adoptive parent to no fewer than six dogs, one turtle, an angsty chicken and three cats over the years. Most of all, he was buoyant. Imagining the ocean glittering with moonlight, he knew he could not just rise above this situation but ride the waves to a place better than the present one. Flexible, easygoing, happy-go-lucky.

All right, Cy. Full speed ahead.

With his mind at rest, he rolled onto his back on the reception room floor, and slept.

* * *

PIPER BRINDLE DIALED HER uncle’s number. It was late, but she knew he’d be up. “It’s me, Uncle Bo. We just finished rehearsal.”

“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once,’” he said into the phone.

“Julius Caesar, act two, scene one.”

“Scene two.”

She sighed. Since she’d announced at age seven her intention to be an actor, her uncle had made it his life’s mission to school her in every noteworthy play written since the invention of ink.

“Right, scene two. How’s everything there?” She pictured him sitting in front of his tiny television in the worn apartment they’d rented on the outskirts of Tumbledown. He hadn’t had much choice but to come along when she’d gotten the part in the play that would soon be showing every Friday night and twice on Saturdays. They’d had to sell their family home down south to cover her mother’s legal fees. And here they were nearer the prison where her mother was incarcerated.

“I’m watching Wheel of Fortune.”

“Don’t you have to be at work soon for the night shift?”

“Not tonight.”

Her uncle had a job shuttling people from the airport to their various beachside destinations, and he’d managed to hold it down for six weeks—a triumph. But something in his cheerful tone set off warning bells. “Is everything okay?”

“Stop fussing, Piper. You sound like an old mother sheep we had on the farm next to our hotel when I was a kid. Always bleating.”

Biting back irritation, she checked her watch. “We’re done rehearsing and the stage is cleaned up, but I’ve got one more thing to do tonight, and then I’ll come and sleep there since you’re not working.” And it was lonely, sleeping in her tiny room on the River King, truth be told. “I’m starving. Should I pick something up?” She calculated the contents of her wallet. Top Ramen it would have to be.

“I’m cooking.”

He was the most enthusiastic failure of a gourmet chef she’d ever known. “What are you fixing?”

“Daube de boeuf and coq au vin.”

She smiled. “Mac and cheese again?”

“You got it.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Piper,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “We should...talk.”

A clammy feeling settled in her stomach. “Why? What? Is it Mom?”

“Your mother is perfectly fine and getting along with the inmates. She would tell you to stop fussing, too.”

“So what is it, then?” Was he going to be arrested?

“I’m just running off at the mouth, is all. Thinking about the things you’re missing, working so hard.”

“It won’t be for long.” A little flame of excitement leapt up in her heart. “I have some news. I’ll tell you tonight.”

“We’ll trade news, then. I’ve got some, too.”

The excitement edged into fear. “Uncle Bo...”

“Would you look at the time?” He breathed noisily into the phone. “‘I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.’”

“Richard the Second,” she said automatically. “Don’t leave me wondering.”

But he already had, as the dial tone testified. Her uncle could never be induced to end a conversation normally like the rest of the civilized world. When he’d spoken his mind, he disconnected.

But not before she’d heard the worry in his voice, and Uncle Boris knew a thing or two about worry. Cheerful and charming as he was, he loved his sister deeply, and watching her lose her husband to infidelity and struggle to raise Piper had been unbearable. Too much for one man, one family. A bus driver with a history of bad investments, he’d started up a little business of his own to help his struggling sister and niece. It turned out he was a much better thief than bus driver.

Don’t worry, Uncle Bo. I’m going to take care of us. I promise.

Fighting back the prickles that would not stop surfacing on her skin, Piper slunk out into the night.

* * *

CY SAT UP, disoriented, in the darkened reception room. The sound of shuffling feet had woken him from his cat nap. The out-of-place horror of a digital clock showed eleven-thirty. A figure in white drifted down the hallway.

It was possible he was dreaming, but since he usually dreamed about surfing, he was inclined to think he wasn’t. He crept closer to the row of windows that looked out on the hallway. The figure had exited onto the deck, home to the massive paddle wheel now behind a clear plastic shield to protect passengers from spray. The paddle wheel was still, the place eerily quiet. Why the figure didn’t turn on a light was beyond him.

As if hearing his thoughts, the slender figure lit a lantern, the old-fashioned kind with a candle inside and a sturdy iron handle. He crept down the hallway, his bare feet silent on the wood floor. Emerging onto the Saloon Deck, he turned to the woman in white, his attention riveted. The lantern light shone on her pale face and delicate features, the eyes he knew were green, though he could not make out the color in the dim light. She wore a vintage wedding dress with lace around the neck and a delicate wisp of veil pinned to her long hair.

“Piper,” he breathed.

She couldn’t hear him, of course, and his own wildly beating heart was deafening. He remembered his sister’s advice. Run, Cy. Run. He edged backward as a man in black stepped out of the shadows. He looked vaguely familiar.

Piper whispered something, which he didn’t catch, more a sob than a statement.

“I won’t let you betray me or anyone else ever again.” The man grabbed Piper by the throat and began to choke her.

“You’re hurting me,” she gasped.

A fine red mist swam in front of Cy’s eyes. Every nerve, every muscle decided on a course of action in the space of a moment. He did not think; he merely reacted.

Cy tackled the guy, knocking him away from Piper. He struck out at Cy, who ducked and delivered a solid punch to the man’s nose.

The guy grunted, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. “I don’t know who you are,” he spat, “but you’re making a mistake.”

“Don’t touch her. Ever,” Cy growled between clenched teeth.

The man backed up to the railing. Cy’s rational mind noticed he was wearing a tuxedo, but his rage was still in charge. The man dealt a blow that glanced off the side of Cy’s face. Cy dove for him, and the momentum carried the stranger over the railing.

“No!” Piper yelled.

Too late. Though Cy tried to catch him, Tuxedo Man fell overboard and splashed into the cove below. Cy got a good look at his face as he toppled. It was Carson Spooley, the big-shot concierge guy. Certain details began to cement together. The tuxedo, a top hat lying on the deck, Piper in a wedding dress. Carson Spooley, the showbiz guy. Uh-oh.

“What did you do?” Piper shrilled.

“I didn’t...” he started.

Piper Brindle clambered up the rail, straddling the top bar. One second later, after an anguished look at Cy, she dove neatly into the ocean below.

CHAPTER THREE

“PIPER!” CY RUSHED to the railing. He knew she swam like a barracuda, but in that wedding getup, in these murky waters? Stripping off his jacket, he prepared to dive, but a uniformed young man caught him by the legs, dragging him down to the decking.

“Hey, man, it’s not worth it. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

“I’m not suicidal. Two people just went overboard,” he said, shaking the kid off and leaping to his feet.

They both peered over the side.

“Piper,” the man called. “You all right?”

Piper shouted back.

“Yeah,” the young man said. “She’s got him by the waist, and she’s swimming around to the other side so they can climb up to the gangplank.”

Relief chugged through Cy.

The young man turned a suspicious glare on him. “Did you have something to do with this, pal? We’ve got a brig, you know.”

There was indeed a makeshift brig on the boat, Cy had discovered. It was a remnant from the days when the navy had commandeered the River King to serve as barracks for soldiers during the Second World War. They’d been constructing the underwater net that covered the mouth of San Francisco Bay to thwart submarines.

“It was an accident.”

The fellow did not appear convinced until Piper returned to the deck with her erstwhile groom, his black hair curling into wet tendrils around his face.

“I’ll grab some towels,” the uniformed man said as he dashed off.

Spooley studied Cy, dripping water as he did so. Cy’s stomach sank to his shoes. An apology was in order, most likely.

“Uh, Mr. Spooley? I’m not sure what to say.”

Spooley’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the decorator?”

“Well...”

Piper stood next to him, glaring. “He was helping me.”

Cy closed his mouth and murmured, “Looked to me like he was hurting you.”

“That’s called acting.” She glared at Cy. “I’m wearing a wedding dress. Didn’t it occur to you for one split second that this might be a scene from a play?”

“My thinking powers were temporarily offline,” Cy said.

She grimaced and looked at Spooley. “I’m really sorry about this, Carson.”

Carson? Cy didn’t like the softness in her voice when she said his name.

Spooley laughed. “It’s okay. I’ll have a funny anecdote to share so I don’t sound so boring at parties.”

She smiled. Cy fumed.

The concierge raised a glistening eyebrow. “So, you know each other well?”

“A little. He’s...he was a friend.”

I was more than that. At least he’d thought so.

Piper put on a pitying face as she regarded him. “He suffers from a severe chemical imbalance that happens when he doesn’t get enough sugar.”

Cy huffed. “No, I don’t.”

She jabbed her elbow into Cy’s sternum. “I’ll take him someplace and make sure he has a Twinkie or two.”

Spooley considered. “All right. Why don’t we both get into something dry, and we’ll do the scene debrief in the salon in fifteen minutes? Unless you’re too tired? I know it’s late.”

“Not at all. That would be great,” she said, offering him a full kilowatt smile.

Cy watched Spooley go, wondering if this time he’d made a blunder of cosmic proportions. Should he beat a hasty retreat? But Piper stopped him, her slender hand resting on his rib cage, and for some reason, he felt immobilized by it.

Spooley called back. “Should I get the ship doctor or something? For the blood sugar issue?”

“No need,” Piper called, offering him a wave. “I’ll take care of him.”

She turned to Cy, eyes sparking with some strong emotion. “Don’t you move,” she said through the bright smile she’d finished aiming at Spooley.

Thinking he’d metaphorically dived into enough dark waters for one evening, Cy followed her instructions.

* * *

PIPER WAITED UNTIL Spooley was out of earshot. Yards of wet lace clung to her body, and she realized she’d lost her shoes somewhere in the river. She strove to remain calm and dignified. Instead, she cried, “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

Cy’s eyes widened, luminous in the darkness, the blue showing silver. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

“Oh, knock it off, Cy. Why are you here?”

“I thought he was hurting you.”

“No, not here here.” She pointed to the deck. “I mean here on the River King.”

“Working.”

She shook her head so hard droplets of water flew onto his face. “No, you did not just say you’re working on the River King. My ears are full of water.”

“I’m here for the next three weeks.”

She realized she was biting her lip when she tasted blood. “Please tell me you are not the addle-headed decorator who is going to redo the reception room after flooding his stateroom?”

He raised a hand. “Cy Franco, addle-headed decorator at your service.”

She groaned. “No, no, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes, and I wasn’t addle-headed until I saw you staring into my room.”

“I wasn’t staring. I happened to be walking by and I dropped my handkerchief.”

“Piper, no one in the twenty-first century uses that line. People don’t even own handkerchiefs anymore. They’ve gone the way of the rotary telephone.”

She paced, stopping and starting, toying with the beading on the bodice of her gown. “Never mind that. You have to go. You can’t do that job.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m working on the River King. You can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

She squeezed water out of her skirt to give herself time. “You’re a distraction. We—you and I—it was a mistake.” She threw up her hands. “You just can’t be near me.”

“Why—”

She stabbed a finger at him. “If you say ‘why not?’ once more, I’ll kick you.”

“Ironic to be called a mistake,” Cy said. “Especially by a thief.”

Blood rushed to her face. She shot a glance at the door to be sure no one had heard. She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm. When she tried to wrench away, he held fast.

“I see how this is all part of your acting career, but you shouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Let go of my arm, Cy.”

He looked down at his fingers, staring as if he’d never seen his own hand before. He let go. “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Please tell me you don’t work for that guy. I think you owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” But she did. She knew it and he knew it, so she aimed for calm. “I’ve got an acting gig doing the dinner show on this boat. It’s called Steamboat Races. We’re in our last few days of rehearsals before we open. I was lucky enough to catch Carson Spooley’s interest. He is vacationing on the boat, and he stopped in to see us work on a few scenes. He’s offered to help me.”

Cy raised an eyebrow. “Help you how, exactly?”

“None of your business, Cy. I need him. That’s enough.” She was disgusted by the throb of desperation in her own voice, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

He cocked his head, sending a blond curl bobbing across his forehead. “You used to be a woman who didn’t need anyone, who didn’t take orders from a soul.”

She stared at him. Cy, her heart cried out, I can’t even remember who I used to be. Instead she lifted her chin. “People change.”

“Not you.”

“Cruelty, Cy? That’s not like you.”

“You were a good teacher.”

A throb of pain cut into her. Had he changed because of what she’d done? It would be unforgivable if her betrayal had blasted the innocence from his soul. She ground her teeth. She’d done what she had to do to protect herself and Cy. “Fine. Go find your own Twinkie, Cy, and stay out of my way.”

“I’ll try to keep to my assigned area, but I’m always a little loosey-goosey with the rules.”

She leveled what she hoped was a look brimming with indignation, but it might have been ruined by the water dripping from her hair.

“All right, then. Keep to your side of the boat and everything will be fine.” She sailed by, leaving a trail of water in her wake.

“Which side is mine, by the way?”

She lifted her chin and gave him her back.

* * *

CY’S HEART THUNDERED as he watched Piper disappear into the hallway. It killed him to see her. Drove him crazy that she let him have the last word. No fiery retort? No stinging barb? He needed to find out what had happened to the Piper Brindle he’d known. Or thought he’d known. As he followed her, he bumped into the uniformed young man. He could now see the black braid twining down the man’s back and his slightly crooked bow tie, an earring sparkling in one lobe. He regarded Cy with amusement as he removed one earbud.

“Did you need a towel, too?”

Right now, he needed to catch up with Piper.

“No, thanks. I’m in a hurry.”

The young man arched an eyebrow. “Not gonna get through that way. Floor’s being mopped.”

Cy heaved out a breath. He felt like swearing except that every profanity he’d ever voiced brought back the taste of the green soap Aunt Bitsy had used to cleanse the sin from his tongue. He settled for a drawn out sigh.

The kid offered a hand. “Hollister Luis. I’m the purser.”

“Cy Franco. I wish some sort of secret passageway would turn up about now.”

Hollister’s eyes widened. “No passageways.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I could show you secret places in the River King that would blow your mind. You’re the decorator, right?”

He nodded.

“And you tossed Mr. Spooley into the river, didn’t you?” He grinned, showing a perfect smile except for the one smaller, crooked tooth next to the two big front ones. “I didn’t think a decorator would have the guts.”

“I’m not your everyday decorator, and actually, it was an accident.”

“Spectacular.”

Cy only wanted to escape, but Hollister’s frank smile made him try another tack. “So you know everyone on this boat? The employees, I mean?”

He nodded.

“You know Piper Brindle well?”

His smile faltered just a little. “She’s an actress. Been on board rehearsing for a couple of months now. She’s excellent. Spooley seems to think so, too.”

“Does she stay on board? I mean, does she have a room here?”

He smoothed his uniform coat, tugging it over his skinny chest. “That stuff’s private.”

Was he for real? Cy reached for his wallet. “How about if...”

Hollister held up his palm. “Uh-uh. She’s entitled to her privacy, and I don’t even know you.”

Hollister Luis stood with his chin in the air, somehow managing to look down his nose at a man who was taller by a foot and older by almost a decade. Cy didn’t know whether to laugh or punch the kid.

“Anyway, I gotta go. My shift’s over and I have some homework to do.”

“College?”

“Trying. Mostly online. Sometimes I doze off during the lectures.” He shrugged. “I always do things the hard way.”

Cy stepped aside to allow the purser to pass.

“Hollister?”

“Uh-huh?”

Cy shook his hand. “Thank you for protecting Piper’s privacy. You are a man of honor.”

“Glad you see it that way, Mr. Franco.”

There really was no chance of Cy catching up to her. Cy pictured a wet and angry Piper, robed in a ruined wedding dress and looking as though she’d be happy to send him to the bottom of the river. His sister’s advice rang in his ears again.

If you see Piper Brindle, run in the other direction.

Now, it seemed they would be sharing deck space, at least until his job was finished. Ignoring the lancing pain in his chest, Cy headed to the tiny room he’d been assigned.

How far could he possibly run on a boat, anyway?

CHAPTER FOUR

PIPER WALKED THE ten blocks from the dock to their apartment. She still felt cold from her dive into the ocean, but perhaps it was not only that. Cy was the same handsome, athletic, sensitive man she’d abandoned. Yet he wasn’t. Hurt had changed him. She had changed him.

She kept up a brisk pace, insisting to herself that she’d probably done Cy a favor. He needed to grow up and see the truth about life.

It was hard. It was unfair. It was no place for innocents.

Stomach knotted, she hurried the last stretch, resisting the urge to stop and take in the spangle of stars like she’d done so often with the only man she’d loved desperately in a time that seemed an eternity ago.

At the apartment complex, a sixty-something woman was sweeping the walk. The late hour did not seem to matter to Mrs. Rapapeet. Piper had never seen her without a broom in her hands. The twists in her elaborate coiffure gleamed in the moonlight.

“Hi, Mrs. Rapapeet.”

The woman tightened her grip on the broom, turned her back on Piper and retreated in angry sweeps down the walkway.

Odd. Piper let herself into their studio apartment. The smell of mac and cheese greeted her.

“Studio” seemed a grand label for one room, a run-down bathroom and a single burner stove, but for eight-hundred dollars a month, beggars could not be choosers. Uncle Bo had not been able to find a job that stuck, his prior gig as a hot dog vendor lasting only three weeks. She hoped the shuttle driver stint would serve a bit longer. They’d put up a curtain to create two minirooms, and it was enough since Piper stayed on the boat most of the time.

Uncle Boris was swathed in a “kiss the cook” apron. He wielded a spoon. “Just in time. The feast is served.”

The yellow glop could have been caviar and lobster and she wouldn’t have relished it any more as she grabbed a paper plate and sat. “Why is Mrs. Rapapeet angry?”

He joined her at the crooked table and tucked his napkin into his collar. “‘They do not love that do not show their love.’”

“Two Gentlemen of Verona,” she said automatically, “and Mrs. Rapapeet liked you when I left this morning, so what happened?”

“Women,” he shrugged. “Speaking of, I visited your mother. It’s meat loaf day—her favorite.”

Instead of wasting away in prison, Piper’s mother, SueBeth Brindle, had gained fifteen pounds. She maintained that she deserved the extra weight, but not the prison time. During Piper’s visits she would often lament that her downfall was not that she’d broken into the lawyer’s condo to steal his stamp collection, but that she’d panicked when she’d found him at home and smacked him with a fireplace poker. Purely out of instinct, and it left only a small bruise, but the California penal system did not concur. She was sentenced to two years in prison for first-degree burglary.

Piper patted her uncle’s hand. The guilt shimmered in his eyes as it always did after a prison visit with his sister.

“Only twelve months to go.”

He put down his fork and rubbed a plump hand over his face. “I blame myself.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She should.”

Uncle Boris had used the bits of conversational flotsam he’d acquired in his airport shuttle job the year before to glean that the man with the expensive stamp collection would be out of town. An easy job, or it would have been, if the guy hadn’t eaten a bad clam and gone home sick instead of catching his flight to Cincinnati. Boris had been home with a twisted ankle and unaware that his sister had assigned the job to herself. When SueBeth was arrested, Boris had been ready to take full responsibility for planning the heist, but SueBeth begged her brother to stay clear.

“Someone has to look out for Piper.”

And he had. Sort of.

Desperate to cheer him, Piper swallowed the last of the mac and cheese. “Spooley worked on a scene with me tonight. He really thinks I’m good, Uncle Bo. When he sees me in the show, he’ll have no doubts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you think he’ll make good on his promise to recommend you to Dizz?”

“If he sticks around long enough and convinces Dizz to come.”

“I watched Dizz’s show last night. He took the participants through these really weirdo acting exercises. Only six more episodes until we find out who he’s gonna pick as the winner.”

“And that lucky person lands an agent and a spot on a prime time show.” She sighed, biting her lip.

“Afraid Spooley will leave prematurely, before Steamboat Races opens?”

She sighed again. “Maybe. There’s been a sort of upheaval. Spooley dropped some hints that the decor was not up to snuff, so the boat manager has blackmailed someone to restyle the reception room into something star-worthy. If Spooley thinks it measures up, he’ll invite Dizz to come in a couple of weeks and see the show while he’s here. It’s my ticket to getting a spot on Acting Up.” She frowned.

“Complications?” Boris opened the cage for Peaches, his little yellow parakeet, and set him on his shoulder. The bird snuggled up against his chin.

“One.”

“Big one?”

About six feet. “Cy Franco is doing the renovations.”

“Ah.”

The syllable spoke volumes. Boris hadn’t met Cy, but Uncle Bo knew enough from what she had shared.

“If Cy can’t pull it off, Dizz won’t have a reason to come and see me. There goes the biggest chance of my career.”

He whistled to Peaches. “Buckle up, buttercup,” the little bird said in an exact imitation of her uncle’s voice.

Bo smiled. “There’s always another chance to score, Piper.”

“No more, Uncle Bo. We’re doing things the right way. We’re not that kind of family anymore, remember?” This was it. Her once-in-a-lifetime chance to seize the dream and remove herself from the loser list. And not only her. Someone had to keep the Brindle family on the straight and narrow. The more desperate the family became, the more her uncle’s mind fixed on plans to remedy their money problems the easiest way he knew how.

Stiffening her spine, she gathered up the paper plates, forming a concrete plan of her own. She’d work with Spooley, keep away from Cy and never, with a capital N, allow her uncle near any of them until she’d secured a spot with Dizz on his show—or died in the attempt. “So what happened with Mrs. Rapapeet?”

“I had to know.”

She groaned. “You broke in, didn’t you?”

“I just wanted a peek, to see what she kept in that locked garage. It was like Fort Knox.”

“Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? Mrs. Rapapeet is entitled to her privacy.”

“I didn’t touch a thing. I let myself in and looked. Unfortunately, she found me snooping, and tomorrow I have to leave.”

She felt like screaming. Uncle Boris, left to his own devices for much of his youth, was compulsively, obsessively nosy.

“So,” she snapped. “Was it worth it? Breaking into her garage and getting evicted? Did you uncover a hoard of gold coins or an illegal printing press or something?”

“Wigs.”

“Wigs?”

He nodded solemnly. “She’s got them labeled by season.”

She let her head sink onto the table. “Where are we going to find a place as cheap as this?” she asked, voice muffled by the Formica.

“Actually—” he said, giving her a wink “—wait ’til you hear this.”

Her pulse revved up a notch. “Please tell me you didn’t do something crazy.”

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Peaches sang out again.

* * *

A BRILLIANT SUNRISE eased away the worry in Cy’s belly as he finished his run along the beach. There was no greater balm for the soul than crisp ocean air. Piper was gone from his mind. Today, he would hit Julio’s bookstore. If anyone had a musty old tome about the glory days of the paddle wheel steamboat, it would be the eclectic Julio, who organized his books by authors’ first names and scrawled receipts on yellow note pads.

He threw open the door to the Pelican Inn, now termite-free, and soaked in the details once more. It was the same beloved inn where he and his sister had spent their high school years after the death of their mother. With a father gone AWOL, his foster aunt, Bitsy, had taken them in during those tumultuous years. He and Rosa had refurbished the old inn as part of a contest a month ago. They’d lost the contest, but the inn was spectacular, and Rosa had won herself a prize of a husband in Pike, his arrogant tendencies notwithstanding. The Pelican was now an elegant office building housing Pike’s struggling law practice, the Francos’ Dollars and Sense Design and rooms for them to live in on the top floor. Bitsy and Manny had found a nice little place of their own away from the inn.

It was a shame, in a way. The old, ramshackle structure, perched on a cliff overlooking a sparkling cove, was meant to draw visitors, not commerce. Truth was, Cy might have liked to try his hand at innkeeping for a while. He figured he had the people skills, but Bitsy was right: Running an inn was just too much work, especially since she and Manny were starting off a new married life and Dollars and Sense required Cy’s complete attention.

Despite the reno, there were plenty of things that needed fixing at the Pelican, Cy reminded himself. A ton of ways he would keep his father busy, engaged and on track mentally. Maybe they’d start refinishing the floors in the attic room as soon as the boat project was finished. New tasks were what the doctors would order if they weren’t a bunch of gloom-and-doomers.

A misshapen black creature scooted out from under the sitting room settee, paws scrabbling on the pine flooring.

Cy scooped him up. “Baggy, I’ve missed you.”

The lumpy dog aimed his one steady eye at Cy and slurped a tongue across his face. It was dog language for, “My world is now complete because you have returned.” Baggy basked in the delight of having his ears rubbed as Cy carried him toward the smell of breakfast.

Aunt Bitsy was cooking. Manny sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.

Cy planted a kiss on Bitsy’s cheek.

“Old bag of bones Baggy missed you,” Manny said to his son. “Wouldn’t eat and whined like a spoiled toddler.”

“He’s got attachment issues.” During a part-time moonlighting gig when he lived in Danville with Rosa, Cy had discovered the dog nearly starved, left in a paper bag on the shop’s back porch. “I’ll make him something special.”

“Don’t bother, sweetie.” Bitsy put a plate of scrambled eggs on the ground for Baggy. Baggy required soft foods since several of his teeth were missing.

She handed Cy two more plates of eggs, one without bacon to accommodate his vegetarianism and one with bacon for Manny, before she joined them.

Cy dug into his food. “You don’t have to come here and cook for me. You’re retired.”

“We had to return Baggy anyway, and it’s in the blood, I guess. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to walk away.” She tapped a finger on the side of her mug. “Once an innkeeper, always an innkeeper.”

He chugged some coffee. “So this paddle wheel riverboat has an amazing history. This thing has survived fires, two sinkings and conversion into a military barracks. I even read something about a starlet who disappeared from the River King. I mean, you couldn’t write stuff better than this.”

“Cy,” Bitsy interjected.

“And consider the fact that it was christened in 1927. Can you get over it?”

“That’s amazing, but, Cy...”

“The old boat is fixed up like a modern hotel. It’s a travesty. Ignoring all that incredible history.”

“Honey, can you focus for a minute? I need to tell you something.”

Cy shook away the pull of history. “Sorry. Rosa usually just gives me a smack on the back of the head. What’s up?”

There was a tap on the kitchen door. On the other side of the screen, a compact older man, neatly groomed, holding a birdcage, smiled at them from under the brim of his fedora. “Good morning.”

Baggy looked up from his eggs and swiped his tongue over his crooked mouth.

Cy smiled back. “Hey, there. Can we help you with something?”

“I was just letting you know I’m here.”

“Lovely,” Bitsy said. “Would you care for some breakfast?”

“No, thanks. My niece is here to help me unload.” He tipped his hat. To his knowledge, Cy had never seen a man actually tip his hat. Neither had he seen someone strolling the gardens with a parakeet. He hadn’t realized parakeets needed walking.

“Welcome to the Pelican,” Bitsy said. “Please let us know if there’s any way we can help you.”

The man tipped his hat once more and sidled away.

Cy shot a glance at Bitsy. “I am getting the sense that you’ve been trying to tell me something.”

Manny grinned. “Finally sank in, did it? Bitsy rented out the carriage house to Boris the birdcage man.”

Cy frowned. “I thought we were out of the innkeeping business.”

Bitsy waved a hand. “It’s just the carriage house, and he is welcome to cook for himself in the kitchen. That’s all. We’re not providing meals or linen service or anything.”

“But you and Pops aren’t here all the time, and I’m going to be busy with the River King. Who’s going to keep an eye on things?”

She waved a hand. “Boris doesn’t need keeping an eye on, and to be blunt, you all need the money.”

“We don’t...”

“Pike spent every penny on this inn, and his law practice is struggling. Dollars and Sense was just beginning to fledge when you, well...” She blushed.

He sighed. “Landed us in a mess with the flood damage I’ve caused.”

Bitsy patted his hand. “Eight hundred dollars a month will help until things straighten out, don’t you think?”

“Did you check out his credentials, at least?”

“He’s a shuttle driver. He gave us a ride home from the airport after our honeymoon last month, and I told him about the Pelican. He called me up yesterday and asked if we had a room to rent. How could I resist?”

Manny finished the last of his eggs. “Quit worrying, son. Guy isn’t an ax murderer or anything.”

Bitsy nodded. “Mr. Brindle is charming.”

Cy choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Brindle? That’s not Boris Brindle, is it?”

“Yes.” Bitsy frowned. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, I know of him. And you’re right, he’s not an ax murderer.” Cy pushed out his chair so violently that Baggy leapt for cover. “He’s a thief.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CY CHARGED OUT OF the kitchen, followed by an agitated Bitsy and Manny. Baggy managed to streak through before the door slammed shut.

Boris Brindle. The name rippled through Cy like an electric shock. What were the chances he’d run into Piper and her criminal uncle in the span of two days? He spied Boris as he stood surveying the lush garden and chicken coop, shaded by the twining clematis vines. Boris put the parakeet cage down on the carriage house porch step and breathed in a lungful of fresh air with the appearance of a completely satisfied man.

Cy was not swayed. He covered the distance in ten angry steps.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brindle, but my aunt was mistaken. We don’t have a room for you here.”

Boris did not lose his smile. “Oh? Did I misunderstand?”

Bisty shook her head. “No, you did not. Cy Franco, this is the rudest thing I’ve ever seen. What has gotten into you?”

“You don’t know this man, Aunt Bitsy.”

Boris cocked his head. “And I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, either, have we?”

Cy wasn’t about to say, “Three years ago I fell in love with your niece, and instead of accepting my marriage proposal she was driving a getaway car for you.”

“No, we’ve never met, but let’s just say I know about you, and you’re not welcome here.”

Boris reached for his parakeet cage. “No harm done. My mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bitsy snapped. “I offered him a room here, Cy.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. We aren’t an inn now, and you don’t—” He stopped short of saying the rest. You don’t own the Pelican anymore. She knew what he’d been about to say. He could see it in her expression. He felt like ripping out his own tongue.

Tears welled in her cornflower-blue eyes.

“Aw, Aunt Bitsy,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m a clod.”

“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.” She swallowed. “I’m not the owner, and I didn’t have the right to rent out a room without checking with you or Pike or Rosa. I’m sorry.”

Idiot, Cy. What a jerk to make your aunt feel worthless. “Of course you did. You’ll always be an important decision-maker here.” He drew her away from Boris. Manny followed.

“It’s just that Boris Brindle is a thief, a criminal,” he said, voice low.

Manny pursed his lips and gave Boris a once-over. “Doesn’t look like one. How do you know that?”

“Yes,” said a sharp voice as Piper appeared along the path, holding a full cardboard box with a pair of slippers peeking out of the top. “How do you know that?”

What parallel Brindle universe had he been sucked into? Cy checked again. Yes, he was standing in the gardens of the Pelican Inn. There should be no Brindles around for miles, yet here she was, her eyes blazing green fury at him. Forcing a breath in to calm himself, he faced her. “I know because after my stolen truck was recovered on a side street, an LA cop friend of mine told me about a certain set of fingerprints he lifted off the vehicle.”

Her face blanched, but she did not look away.

Bitsy took Manny’s hand and led him to a garden bench, allowing the fireworks to continue in semiprivate.

“If they found fingerprints, why didn’t they arrest me or Uncle Boris?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to press charges. I just wanted the whole thing to be over. My cop friend told me all about your uncle’s little habit of stealing things. Family trait, I assume, since I heard your mother...”

She raised a finger. “Don’t.”

The anger and pain in that one word slapped him like ice water. What was he doing, hurting his aunt and tearing open family wounds in public? Another quick breath and his reason returned. He would not be cruel. Not about that.

“Piper, it shouldn’t be hard to understand why I don’t want your uncle here. He’s a thief.”

“Not anymore.”

“So you say. He’s not welcome on this property.”

The sunlight caught the gold sparks in her hair. One long tendril had blown loose from her braid and flickered around her face in the breeze. He wanted to touch it.

“Believe me, if I had known he wanted to rent a room at your family home, I would have talked him out of it. I don’t want him around you, either.”

Cy stiffened. As if his family was the bad influence. “Afraid he might learn a few things about honesty and integrity?”

Bitsy stood and walked over. “I’m sorry. I tried to give you two privacy, but this garden is only ten feet wide, so I’ve heard every word.” She tipped her face up. “I know you’re trying to protect me, Cy, and I gather you and this lady have had a difficult past, but I will remind you that I was previously married to Leo, man who took things that didn’t belong to him. I loved him until his dying day, and so did you.”

“That was different, Aunt Bitsy.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But he’s...”

“I appreciate your kindness more than you know,” Piper said to Bitsy, “but we will leave now. We’re sorry for any trouble we’ve caused.”

She whirled on her heel and marched up the steps to Boris without a backward glance at Cy.

Bitsy folded her arms across her chest and gazed mournfully at Cy. “Oh, honey.”

Cy resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears like a child. “It’s for the best,” he offered up lamely.

She bit her lip, and he saw the deadly glimmer of tears again. Manny put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s their inn now, Bits. The young people. We’ve got to let them do things their way. Our time is past.”

Cy considered his aunt’s tears and the grip of his father’s once-strong arm, which now seemed spindly, and saw that he was stripping them of their dignity. In a moment, they were reduced to old, irrelevant, extraneous. Because of him. But surely the answer was not allowing a thief, Piper’s uncle, to live at the Pelican? Surely not that.

* * *

PIPER’S CHEEKS BURNED with shame as she rushed over to her uncle. Cy knew everything. He’d known for years. And worst of all, he’d kept Boris out of jail, which made him a sort of benefactor. It was too horrible. She blinked hard. She’d hoped he had chalked up her theft of his truck to temporary insanity. Now she knew she was nothing more than a common criminal in his eyes, her uncle’s getaway driver.

How could he think that? After all they’d shared. Six months together, months like no others.

She gripped the box so tightly it bit into her palms. You stole his truck and left him on the beach because you were ashamed. You’ve earned every bit of his distrust. Somehow she made it to the carriage house steps in spite of her trembling knees.

“We can’t stay, Uncle Bo.”

He sighed. “I got that. Shame, since we’ve started to put down roots already.” He gestured to the cage at his feet.

The ugliest dog she’d ever seen was crouched in a ball on the steps, staring through the birdcage bars at Peaches.

“Is this some sort of predator-prey thing?” she asked.

As if on cue, Baggy put his misshapen nose closer, and Peaches awarded him a sharp nip. Baggy drew back with a whine before settling into the same position, eyeing the bird with rapt attention.

Boris shrugged. “I think it’s more of a love thing.”

That figured. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going.”

“Where?”

“Wherever.”

“Not too many wherevers that only charge eight-hundred a month. I’m a little, er, low on funds at the moment.”

She wanted to shake him. “Uncle Bo,” she said fiercely. “They know our history, and they don’t want you—” She swallowed. “They don’t want us around.”

“‘A hungry dog believes in—’”

“‘—nothing but meat.’ Anton Chekhov. Hungry or not, you’ll have to find a new dog house. Period.”

He sighed and picked up the birdcage, then they started down the steps.

Cy was waiting at the bottom. His father and Bitsy were headed back into the house.

Cy’s expression was pained. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Brindle, I apologize for my rudeness. We’d like you to stay.”

Piper nearly dropped the cardboard box. “What?”

He shot her a look. “You heard me.”

“That’s very kind, Mr. Franco. I accept.”

Charity? Piper elbowed him. “No, he doesn’t. We’re leaving, remember?”

Cy held up a hand. “My aunt was right. I wasn’t being fair, especially considering some of our own family history.”

She frowned. “Your aunt said she was married to a thief?”

He grimaced at the word. “I’m not going to get into that now. Mr. Brindle is welcome to stay. Aunt Bitsy went into the house to start cooking for you two.”

Piper groaned. “No. Tell her no. Tell her we’re leaving.”

Cy heaved out a breath. “Sorry. You used the word more powerful than any other in the English language.”

“Hungry?” Piper queried.

“Starved,” Boris said, beaming at them as he trundled toward the kitchen.

“No, Uncle Bo,” she called.

He turned to say over his shoulder, “Put Peaches inside the carriage house, will you? I don’t think she should hang around a dog unchaperoned.”

If Piper was the fainting type, this might have been the time. Her pulse pounded, and there was a distinct ringing in her ears. Left alone with Cy, all she could do was pull her gaze away from his handsome, discomfited face and stare at the mole-like dog making goo-goo eyes at her uncle’s parakeet.

“What’s the matter with you, Baggy?” Cy asked.

“My uncle thinks he’s in love with Peaches.”

“Does she love him back?”

“She bit him a minute ago.”

She waited for Cy to say something hard and bitter.

Instead, he threw back his head and laughed.

It was the same rich laughter she heard in her memories, from the time when her heart was still whole. Despite her mortification, Piper found herself smiling.

CHAPTER SIX

CY WALKED INTO TOWN at such a rapid pace, he had to carry the short-legged Baggy along.

“Listen to me, Bags. This whole bird infatuation? It’s not going to work out. Examine the facts. She’s a bird. You’re a mammal. She won’t touch meatballs, and not to shock you, but birds lay eggs, buddy boy. Also, they don’t curl up on blankets. Were you aware that they molt? You’re from two different biological universes.”

Baggy licked Cy’s chin, and Cy imagined he saw an inner conviction dawning in those vague canine eyes. “So we’re straight on this? It hurts, I know, but some things can’t be overcome.”

Truth was, he was lying to Baggy. Deep down, he still wanted to believe the human spirit was strong enough to get through any difficulty. Not conquer it, necessarily. His father’s love of an incurable alcoholic was proof of that. You just loved on through the mess. He still believed it, fool that he was. Piper’s face swam up into his mind before he shoved it firmly back down.

Nester Lodge waved at him from the doorway of his Brew Unto Others coffee shop and bakery.

Cy stopped in and declined a cup of coffee, enjoying the aroma of Nester’s freshly baked blueberry scones. Several older women in matching yellow hats chatted noisily over their breakfasts. “Any news yet?”

“Nah,” Nester said. “Sharma’s two days overdue and she’s climbing the walls.” He lowered his voice. “She’s getting testy.”

Cy nodded sympathetically.

“The pregnancy books say aromatherapy is helpful, so we’ve found some lavender essential oils, and she carries a peppermint tea bag in her pocket to sniff. Peppermint is calming, you know.” Nester fingered his long beard, twirling it into an anxious point.

“Is that working?”

He shook his head. “Hasn’t kicked in yet. That’s why I come in early to the shop every day. Say, I hear you’ve got a renter.”

Cy goggled at the speed of the Tumbledown gossip mill. “Yeah? What do you know about him?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“What should I know about him?” Nester asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Nester raised an eyebrow.

“Right. I’ve got to go to Julio’s and the hardware store.”

“Cuz you’re gonna renovate the River King?”

Nester heard a lot for a guy who was hiding from his pregnant wife and running a hole-in-the-wall bakery. “Something like that. See you later, Nester.”

On his way out, he held the door for two more ladies sporting yellow straw hats. He figured it was some sort of convention.

His next stop was the bookstore, and Julio Mendez greeted him with his usual effusive welcome, extra chins wobbling.

“Hello, my friend. Welcome to the shop. It’s been a good long while since I’ve had the pleasure.”

Cy felt the minutes on his three-week deadline ticking by. “Julio, I’m in a rush and I need your help, seeing as you’re the president of the historical society.”

Julio straightened to his full five foot three and smoothed his bulging shirt front. “Copresident, to be precise. Mrs. Mendez is the president on paper.” He delivered the last bit in hushed tones. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I need to know everything there is to know about the River King.”

“The paddle wheel steamboat currently docked in our fair cove?”

“The same.”

Julio closed his eyes. “Maiden voyage in...?”

“1927.”

“Four decks, steel rudders, two boilers and a twenty-six-foot stern wheel?”

“Yes. Used for many different purposes over the years.”

“Indeed,” Julio said, speeding off down the aisle. Cy scrambled to catch up. “As soon as the River King came to dock in our waters three months ago, I began collecting volumes about the rich history of paddle wheel steamboats. Monarchs of the river, you see.”

“I figured you’d be up to speed.” Cy trotted along behind, accepting dusty books. Baggy followed his own trail through the labyrinth of shelves. Since the books were alphabetized by authors’ first names, Cy had no earthly idea where to help look on the shelves. Julio did not need help anyway, and Cy had a half dozen volumes in hand when the bell on the door chimed, then chimed a second and third time.

“Excuse me, won’t you?” Julio said. He returned to the cash register.

Cy figured he had enough to get started. Hefting the load to the front of the shop, he found a dozen or so yellow-hatted ladies milling around. One squatted down, her hand extended.

“I think it’s a dog,” she was saying.

Baggy was at his perky best, skinny tail whipping back and forth. He beamed his one steady eye at the crouching woman.

“Yep, he’s a dog,” Cy confirmed.

The lady gave Baggy a scratch behind the ears. “Knew it. Is he yours?”

“I think it’s more like I’m his. He was abandoned.”

Her brown eyes grew troubled, deep frown lines forming on her face. “Unforgivable. People can be animals.”

“Agreed. I’m Cy Franco, by the way.” He gave her a hand up, and they shook.

“Florence Jenkins, but everyone calls me Flo.” Her straw hat slipped, and she crammed it back over her waves of silver hair. “Nice to meet you and your unusual dog.”

Cy took in the ladies, who seemed to be mostly in the fifty-and-up crowd. “Are you all staying in Tumbledown?”

“As a matter of fact—” she started.

One of the taller women called out. “Girls, we’ve got to go. Bus for the pumpkin patch tour leaves in five minutes.”

Cy was impressed that Sid Crawford, who owned some hundred acres on the outskirts of Tumbledown, had managed to put together a tour that would interest the assembled ladies. Sid wasn’t exactly a people person, but perhaps his son had realized that harvesting tourist dollars took even less effort than growing pumpkins.

Flo waved goodbye, and the ladies departed in a yellow storm.

Julio wiped sweat from his brow. “Good to have tourists.”

And it was. Tumbledown was an easily overlooked spot south of Half Moon Bay. Even folks lured in by the newly docked River King probably headed straight for the bigger towns to spend their souvenir money. In a matter of months, the hordes would descend on the annual Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival, for which Sid would provide his best specimens. Tumbledown might see a few adventurous visitors, but not usually in such organized groups as the yellow-hatters seemed to be.

Julio drifted to the window. “What in tarnation will they do in Tumbledown to amuse themselves? We don’t even have a hotel here now that the Pelican’s not an inn anymore.”

Cy felt a pinch of discomfort. What could be entertaining enough for the ladies? His gaze drifted toward the ocean. Though he couldn’t see the pier where the River King was docked, he could imagine her there, reception room in disarray, flooded staterooms awaiting repair.

Surely Irene had not booked such a large group now, when he desperately needed every minute of uninterrupted time to meet his insane deadline? She would have said something while she was blackmailing him.

“Can you pack up these books for me, Julio, and take them over to the Pelican later today?”

“Of course. We pride ourselves on excellent customer service here. As a matter of fact—”

“Thanks, Julio,” he called, scooping up Baggy and rushing out the door.

* * *

PIPER MEANT TO lock herself in her minuscule stateroom, which doubled as a cleaning supply closet, but Irene Hershey intercepted her. She clutched two fistfuls of yellow helium balloons.

“These need to go in the reception room, pronto.”

Though she did odd jobs around the boat in exchange for her room, Piper had already put in her time helping Hollister clean the lobby. “I’m not on the clock yet.”

Irene’s eyes narrowed. “You are now. Kitty needs help in the kitchen, and Hollister is up to his ponytail in unfolded towels.”

Piper noted the web of wrinkles that Irene’s powder was not able to hide. Her mouth drooped with fatigue or possibly worry. Running a small business was a killer.

Irene thrust the balloons at Piper. “I can pay you minimum wage for the extra hours. Take it or leave it.”

Piper took it, and the balloons. Giving in stung her pride, but once again, she was not in a position to worry about that. She didn’t see the logic in decorating a room that Cy was about to tear apart, but she didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about him. Her primary concern had to be finding another place for her uncle to live. It was mortifying that Cy had allowed her uncle to stay, even though he clearly despised Boris. She would find something else. Any other residence besides Cy Franco’s beloved old inn. She’d have to earn enough extra money for a security deposit, at least.

In the reception room, someone had rolled out the long banquet table and several large rounds, which were now covered with straw-colored linens. They had definitely not been set up when she’d left the night before, after the Spooley overboard debacle.

Hope and disappointment lapped together in her stomach. If the room was being set up for a party, Cy clearly wasn’t remodeling it after all. Perhaps the plans had changed and he had declined the job. But who else could invent a room worthy of Dizz in three weeks? No one. Her chance at a big break would disappear.

And so would Cy.

She thrust the thoughts aside and tied one bunch of balloons around the nearest chair. Hollister entered, whistling, dropping precisely folded napkins on the banquet table.

“Has Irene expanded your job description, too, Hollister?”

He nodded. “I need more to do, anyway.”

“What’s going on?”

“Captain Hershey said she’d explain later.”

The door was flung open and Cy strode in, blue eyes wide. “What...?”

As he scanned the room, Piper was struck again that the man was quite simply luscious. Tall, blond curly hair, eyes of sapphire and a full mouth.

She realized he was staring at her, hands fisted on his hips. Cheeks burning, she held fast to the remaining balloons.

“Why are you putting up tables and balloons in here?” he demanded. “I’m going to start taking up flooring and installing crown molding. All this has got to go.”

“It’s not our idea,” Piper said. “We’re doing what we were told.”

Irene appeared, forehead shining with sweat.

“Hollister, can you help with check-in?” she panted. “There’s a line twenty ladies deep. I don’t know why people can’t come in small batches. Must they all arrive in droves?”

“Aye, aye, Captain Hershey.” Hollister snapped off a salute and trotted out.

“I wish I could convince that dolt not to call me captain. I can’t decide if he’s making fun of me or trying to be clever.”

Cy rounded on her. “What’s going on? I’m supposed to decorate in here. I see balloons and tables when I should be seeing drop cloths and putty knives.”

“The putty knives will have to wait until after an impromptu cookies-and-punch reception.” She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, man. Kitty can’t get cookies made by two o’clock. I’d better ask that weird scone guy in town...”

“Nester?” Piper supplied.

“Yeah. I’ll ask him if he’s got scones left. Five dozen ought to do it. Maybe six.”

Piper blinked. “But I thought we only had a few guests.”

“It’s the yellow hat ladies.” Irene spoke with reverence.

“I saw them earlier,” Piper said. “Are they a club or something?”

“A local chapter of a national group that calls themselves the River Belles. Their mission is to travel on every paddle wheel riverboat in the US.”

“But this boat doesn’t go anywhere. It stays in the harbor,” Piper pointed out.

“I’m aware,” Irene sniped. “But that doesn’t seem to matter to the ladies.”

Cy shifted impatiently. “We’re getting off topic. Putty knives, remember? I’m redecorating and I’ve got a tight deadline.”

“The head Belle, Miss Maude something or other, booked the River King for a week in November, only she wrote it down as October, so I’ve got thirty-five women in matching hats marching up the gangplanks as we speak.”

“Can’t you tell them they made a mistake?” Cy asked.

“That would be inconvenient for them,” Irene said. “And we would lose the booking. Piper, I’m going to need to talk to you about some sort of nightly entertainment.”

“I can’t just come up with something at the drop of a hat.”

“You’d better,” Irene said.

Entertainment? What could Piper offer in the way of entertainment? What did tourists like to do? “I’m an actress, not an event planner.”

“You can add the job title to your resume. Now get cracking.”

Piper’s stomach began to sink, but suddenly a perfect idea electrified her. “How about some vaudeville theater classes? Each day we’ll practice a little variety skit, and we can perform it at the dinner hour. Oh! And the ladies can be the opening act for our dress rehearsal on Tuesday night. They’ll experience performing on a real historic stage.”

“Fine, fine. Just don’t spend any money.” Irene turned to Cy. “The scones-and-punch thing is only for today. We’ll have to provide them breakfast in here each morning, and dinner at six sharp. The rest of the time, they’ll be out and about. We’ll curtain off an area so they don’t see the mess you’re making. As soon as the breakfast dishes are cleared, you can hack away until it’s time to set for dinner, and then you disappear.”

He blinked. “Are you crazy? I can’t renovate in here in between breakfast and dinner. Painting, sanding, hammering...”

Irene’s face grew stony. “We’ll bring in fans to air out the paint smell. Feel free to work all night, if you must. You can bunk with Hollister.”

“You don’t understand,” Cy said. “I can’t do the job under these conditions.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she growled, cheeks flaming red. “We haven’t had a large group since I bought this tub. Now we’ve got a celebrity concierge waiting to see how this room turns out and a gaggle of ladies hungry for scones, and I’m not turning away a chance to get the River King on her feet. You make it work or you give me the sixteen thousand dollars right now and I hire someone else.”

He glowered. “Fine. I’ll write you a check.”

Piper’s stomach plummeted.

“You do that.” Irene’s tone became threatening. “And I will tell everyone I meet that Dollars and Sense Design walked out on the job.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’ll post on Yelp.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not likely. I don’t have a sense of humor.”

Piper silently agreed. She held her breath.

“You’re asking me to do the impossible,” Cy said.

He spoke quietly, but something in his tone thrilled Piper. She saw a spark in his eyes, a determined uplift to his chin as he mulled it over. Doing the impossible. It appealed to him even though he could not currently see any light at the end.

What would it be like to believe everything would work out all right? That a person could prevail over any circumstance? The optimism tantalized her. It was silly, of course, a childish view that would only get him hurt.

Irene fixed Cy with a stare that could have blistered paint off the walls. “If it’s impossible, Mr. Franco, then you’d better get busy.”

After the door closed behind her, Cy stood still, staring at nothing.

Piper meant to tie the balloons and tiptoe away, ignoring the tug that seemed to suggest she should help. Help the guy who’d wanted to toss her uncle out? No way. She had things to do. Shows to organize.

Her sandal caught on a chair leg and she stumbled, letting go of the balloons. They drifted lazily up to the ceiling, well out of reach. She strained to catch them.

Cy didn’t hesitate. He put his hands around her waist and lifted.

She felt the press of his cheek into her back, the strong arms spanning her middle as he raised her up. Her heart began to jackhammer. His embrace rocketed her back in time, and she was lost in memories of laughter and love and joy, when she’d briefly believed in the impossible, too.

There was nothing to be done but snatch the ribbons as quickly as she could. She forced her shaking hands upward, gathering the fluttering strings in her cold fingers. He lowered her slowly to the ground.

She turned to face him, positive that her face was crimson.

He was close, so close. Something in his expression made her think the touch had upended emotions inside him, too.

He opened his mouth to speak, lips sweet and sensual.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the balloons at him and fleeing from the room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HOURS LATER, CY smiled and chatted with the ladies who swarmed the reception room. Though his mouth made conversation, his mind was somewhere else, alternately poring over the details of the room and stewing over his reaction to Piper.

What had he been thinking? In fact, he hadn’t been. Touching her was pure reflex, and he was startled that his body had reacted without consulting his heart. Piper was not a part of his life, nor would she ever be again.

Run, remember, Cy?

He forced his mind back to the impossible task that he had every intention of finishing. The old vessel was once a king. It was Cy’s job to restore that proud monarchy. The River King had experienced so much, from Prohibition to the Great Depression to World War II. Which era to capture? Which moment in time should this room reflect?

Hollister Luis appeared, splendid in a pressed purser’s uniform shirt and freshly creased pants. He pumped a fist in the air. “Scones-and-punch reception. Nailed it.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve managed to book most of the outings the ladies were anticipating, in spite of the last-minute date change.” He smiled. “I’ve told Tita all about the decorating work, and she’s stoked, too.”

“Is Tita your girlfriend?”

He laughed. “Nah, Bonnie’s my girlfriend. She’s in dental hygienist school. Tita’s my grandmother. She’ll be ninety in two months.”

“Has she seen the place?”

A shadow crossed his face. “She’s blind, but I’ve told her all about the River King. She remembers sailing on a paddleboat as a kid.” His smile dimmed. “She’s in a home now. I couldn’t take care of her, go to school and work, too. I tell her everything about working here. Only...” He looked down.

“Only what?”

“I...kinda make it better when I tell her about it. In my stories, the River King is a jewel. That’s lying, but I just want her to be happy.”

“She’s important to you. I get that.”

“She’s the reason I’m still alive. I was a screw-up when I was a kid—an addict—and after my folks kicked me out, she took me in. Spent her life and her savings helping me get clean.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you.”

“It’s hard to keep it all together, so I guess the stories I tell her about the River King make us both feel better. I mean, it’s cooler to work on a historic paddle wheel boat than a run-down, half-empty floating hotel. But the River King’s got such history. I’m going to write a book about her after I get my degree.” He sighed. “If I ever get it.”

He looked so sad. “Hollister, I’m going to make the King into a jewel again. You can bring your Tita to visit.”

The smile returned. “Man, that would be some magic trick.”

“This boat means a lot to both of you and plenty of other people.”

Hollister looked at Cy. “The King is like our dream, Tita’s and mine. Sometimes it was the only good thing I could tell her. Getting clean and staying clean isn’t pretty, you know? I had to fight it every single day, and I wasn’t a barrel of laughs, you know?”

Cy saw the shimmer of emotion in Hollister’s eyes, the shame. The young man straightened his cap.

“Anyway, I gotta add more ice to the punch. See you later, Mr. Franco.”

“Just call me Cy.”

He felt a tap on his arm.

“Left your dog at home?” Flo wore a yellow floaty top and matching pants that accentuated her plumpness.

“Yes, ma’am. Baggy’s not much of a sailor.”

“Ms. Hershey told me you’re redecorating the boat.”

“Just this room.” Conversation lulled as they took in the backdrop to the chattering women. “It’s got quite a history.”

“I know. I try to read up. I’m new to this group, just signed up at the last minute, but they seem pretty excited, especially about the ghost.”

Cy tried to keep the skepticism from his face. “They think there’s a ghost?”

“The ghost of the starlet Joann Knightley. The rumor was that she was doing some personal research because she was cast in John Ford’s movie Steamboat Round the Bend. The movie was filmed on the Sacramento River, though it was supposed to be the Mississippi in the movie.”

Cy was impressed. “You know your movie trivia, don’t you?”

Flo shrugged. “I’m a good researcher, and it was a juicy story. Joann boarded the River King in October 1933 and the passengers were all atwitter to have a movie star aboard.” Flo leaned closer. “She even recited a monologue for the passengers before she disappeared. It’s presumed she leapt overboard, and her body was never recovered. Over the years, passengers have said they’ve seen her walking the deck at midnight. It’s all bupkis, of course, but it makes for an interesting read.”

Cy thought the only disgruntled spirit stalking the River King was Irene Hershey herself. It would certainly give him the shivers to encounter her at midnight on deck. “Right. Well, I just stopped in to take some photos.”

“So,” Flo said, a pink cast to her full cheeks. “Are there any men on the boat?”

Cy squashed a smile. “Some of the employees would answer to that description.”

“I was thinking about guests, actually.”

“Ah, not sure. You’d have to ask Irene Hershey.”

“Don’t worry. If there’s a man aboard, I’ll sniff him out,” Flo continued with a little giggle, waving a paper flyer at him. “Oh, hey. There’s our acting teacher right there. The pretty one.”

Cy couldn’t help but glance at Piper. She was more than pretty as she floated among the ladies, distributing flyers. Her hair was loose, swinging in a strawberry-blond fringe around her shoulders. Did she know that the deep green of her shirt made her eyes shine like polished gems? Or that her denim jeans outlined her slender hips?

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