“Jamie, have dinner with me at the resort.”

Zack sounded tired. “We can discuss everything without disruption. I’m really not a morning person—I can be much more charming at night.”

“We don’t have anything to discuss and I have no interest in your ‘charm.’“ Jamie didn’t want to accept the invitation, but not doing so would likely only delay the inevitable. Zack wouldn’t give up until she made it clear it was pointless to pursue the land.

“Indulge me. At worst, it will cost you an evening, and you’ll get a gourmet meal out of it.” It seemed Zack intended to stand there as long as it took to convince her.

“Okay,” she agreed, and was amused by the surprise on his face.

“Excellent. Does Thursday work for you? I can pick you up at seven.”

There was no way she’d let herself be dependent upon him for transportation. “No, I’ll meet you there. This isn’t a date—it’s business.”

“Right. See you then.” And with a small nod, he got into his car.

Before he turned onto the paved road, she saw him halt and stare back at her, no doubt evaluating how he’d handled the encounter and what else he’d have to do. Well, too bad. She might not have his experience in the business arena, but she held the trump card; she owned the land, and no one could force her to sell.

That Summer

at the Shore

Callie Endicott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As a kid, CALLIE ENDICOTT had her nose stuck in a novel so much it frequently got her into trouble. She majored in English in college to support her addiction to stories, but it wasn’t enough. Out of desperation she turned to writing, and now when she isn’t walking on a beach or taking a mountain forest trail, she usually has her nose stuck to a computer screen. That is, when she isn’t feeding her cat, scooping the litter box … and listening to Myna purr. The guy in her life doesn’t appreciate the distractions, but that’s another story.

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For Mom and Dad.

Contents

Prologue

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

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

ZACK DENNING BREATHED in the tangy scent of seaside vegetation as the bulldozer bit deep into the soil. For seventeen years he had worked for this moment.

Mar Vista. My own resort.

He’d saved, invested, made the right contacts, learned along the way, calculated for everything imaginable...and now he was finally breaking ground.

“It’s a big day,” said Phillip Atchison, his architect, during a lull in the noise from the heavy machinery.

“Yes.” Zack nodded, holding his triumph at bay. This was just the beginning, with the greatest risks and challenges still ahead. Nevertheless, he could see it all in his head, the way he’d been seeing it since he was a kid and everyone thought it was a pipe dream.

Phillip understood his ideas and had been excited by the opportunity to design classic architecture that recalled an era of gracious stability. Equally important, they’d incorporated luxury amenities, state-of-the-art electronics and a killer resource center. A guest could run an international company from Mar Vista...or forget the outside world existed.

Leaving the bulldozer, they walked toward the trailer, which would serve as Zack’s home and office while the construction phase progressed. Later he would have an apartment over the administrative offices.

“It’s too bad your family couldn’t be here for the groundbreaking,” Phillip commented.

“My folks were going to come, but something...came up.”

Zack’s mood chilled. He didn’t want to explain his brother’s damaged body and the months of surgeries and therapy yet to come. Brad had gone through hell since being hit by a roadside bomb in Iraq. Their parents were in Bethesda, Maryland, where he was being treated at National Naval Medical Center. The doctors kept saying they had to be patient, but it wasn’t easy.

“Maybe they can come for the grand opening. And you’ve taken lots of photos that you can send them,” Phillip said, dropping his arms. “They’re on the internet, aren’t they? Or do they resist using computers and email like my folks?”

It took a second for Zack’s brain to refocus. “No, they love email,” he answered, patting his digital camera. He’d already sent dozens of pictures to his parents and brother, hoping it would raise their spirits. His jaw hardened. The resort had to be a success—the family needed something to go well.

They climbed onto the landing in front of the trailer and studied the terrain leading down to the Pacific Ocean. Weather reports indicated relatively dry conditions for the next several months—ideal for contouring the acreage for the golf course and completing the major structures. They were disturbing as few of the natural features as they could, which helped their timeline. Mar Vista would nestle into the land as though it were always meant to be there.

The golf-course design also employed existing features, while still creating eighteen holes that each had its own unique challenge. Zack didn’t care much for playing golf himself, but he’d paid close attention to what the enthusiasts of the game had to say about a good course.

“It would be nice if there wasn’t a public road on the north end,” Phillip said.

Zack kicked a clod of dirt from his shoe. “True, but I’ve examined similar issues at other resorts. It doesn’t seem to be a problem if the atmosphere is right, and the situation here is better than most because the road only leads to the public beach.”

“What about the section north of the road? I noticed the old for-sale-by-owner sign is still there. That strip of land is too narrow for the main resort, but the view is spectacular and your guests would love exclusive access to the water.”

Zack suppressed a laugh. Phillip “noticed” that for-sale sign whenever he came to Warrington. “Actually, my real-estate agent is contacting the owner with an offer.”

“Wonderful.”

Zack saw the wheels turning in his architect’s eyes. “Don’t get busy with blueprints,” he warned. “Even if the seller accepts, I can’t afford to develop for at least two years.” If it wasn’t for a recent investment in his portfolio panning out better than expected, he wouldn’t have been able to consider buying the property in the first place.

“What if the owner decides not to sell and builds something that clashes with Mar Vista?” asked Phillip.

Zack grimaced. “My landscape architect and I have a contingency plan. We’re leaving green space with trees where we can plant one of those tall evergreen hedges as a buffer if necessary. It isn’t a great solution, but it would help.”

Phillip whistled. “That’s expensive, particularly if you put in mature bushes.”

“Less expensive than losing the right atmosphere.”

“Can’t argue with that. Well, best of luck. I’ll be back regularly to meet with the contractor and monitor the progress.”

They shook hands, and Zack watched the architect drive away. The roar of the bulldozer drowned out the roar and crash of the ocean, but it was sweet music. In due time Mar Vista would be open for business. He already had stacks of prospective reservations from people who knew him through his years of management at other resorts.

His cell phone rang and he checked the caller ID. It was his real-estate agent.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Zack, it’s Janet Trent,” she said. “I met with George Jenkins, and he’s willing to sell. I floated the lower figure by him so we’d have leeway for bargaining, but he accepted without countering.”

“That’s terrific,” Zack exclaimed.

“George wants the deal to close fast. As I told you, he’s a nutty old coot. Not stupid, though. I tried to convince him to list the property with me several years ago, only he didn’t want to pay the commissions. Now to speed things up he said he won’t ask for a reduction of the agent’s commission for representing the buyer. So, are you sure you want to go ahead?”

Zack rubbed the back of his neck. Spending the majority of his financial reserve was a huge risk. “Will he sell to someone else if I don’t?”

“There’s no telling. The resort is going to raise property values. George hasn’t been well and obviously wants to sell, so he could decide to cash in with another developer.”

Zack winced. A motel or subdivision might be tolerable, but what if it was worse? Images of a cheap trailer park filled his imagination, complete with neon signs and rusty, single-wide trailers crowded too close together. It wasn’t impossible, and something like that could destroy the five-star rating he hoped to earn. He couldn’t risk it happening, even if buying the land left him with little financial cushion.

“Let’s do it,” he told Janet. “Get the documents to me as soon as possible. It’s interesting that he didn’t quibble over the lower offer.”

“Yes. As we discussed, I started at fifty thousand under your top number. I expected to dicker with him for a while, but he just wrote out the parcel numbers and signed the papers.”

An extra fifty thousand in his pocket wasn’t much when it came to a project as big as Mar Vista, but every bit helped.

Zack ended the conversation and switched off the phone with a satisfied smile.

Nothing stood in his way now.

CHAPTER ONE

ZACK CROSSED THE golf course in a loping stride. Now that the resort was open for business, he was too busy for the lengthy runs he liked, so he fit in exercise whenever he could.

The rising sun shot gold rays across the landscape. It was a favorable time of day to take promotional pictures, and he made a mental note to mention it to the photographer. A webcam on the website might also be worthwhile—a long-view camera that showcased the elegant sweep to the Pacific Ocean.

“Hey, boss,” Rick Lopez, the senior groundskeeper, said as Zack got to the seventeenth hole and surveyed the yellow blotches of dying turf, glaring against the surrounding green.

“Have you figured out the issue?”

“Too much fertilizer and it burned the grass. We’ll lay fresh sod immediately. We’re lucky this happened toward the end of the course or the early players would catch us working.”

Zack scanned the nearby scenery. “Are you positive this is the only site?”

“Yep. All clear.”

“Find the idiot responsible and send me a memo.”

Rick bent and pulled at the grass, examining a few blades. “Two of my guys were out here Monday night. The equipment could have malfunctioned. It’s hard to see in the dark and the burns aren’t critical. In most cases I’d let the grass come back on its own. But I’ll follow up.”

Zack nodded and sprinted to his SUV. He knew there wouldn’t be an idiot report. Rick hired his own crew and was loyal to them. He also came as a package—his wife, Trudy, was a top-notch office manager. Zack had lured the duo from a prestigious golf course on the East Coast. It wasn’t easy persuading Rick to make the move, but a hike in salary and the chance to build his reputation at a new California resort had finally won him over. As for Trudy, she was happy as long as she could work in the same location as her husband.

Sliding behind the wheel of his Mercedes SUV, Zack seized the radio microphone.

“Base,” he snapped.

“Good morning, boss,” Trudy answered.

“Has anyone teed off yet?”

“Several went a quarter of an hour ago.”

Zack tensed, despite the situation being under control. “Rick says he’ll resod before they get that far.”

“I can delay them with my Lady Godiva impression,” she offered.

“We don’t have a horse available,” Zack told her, trying to choke down his annoyance. Trudy’s lighthearted approach usually made him smile; lately it was wearing on his nerves. Didn’t anyone else understand how critical it was that the resort run perfectly? It wasn’t just his money on the line—his parents had invested their retirement savings in Mar Vista.

“I’ll take the riding mower. My alabaster skin will look fabulous in the rising sun.”

For a moment Zack wondered what people would think if they overheard this conversation. “Uh...your husband might object.”

“Yeah, he’s a real killjoy. He insists on full safety gear when you roll that shiny machinery out for a spin. I keep telling him that he shouldn’t fuss—I’ve driven everything from an 18-wheeler to a baby carriage.”

Baby carriage...?

Jeez.

Were babies on her mind? The Lopezes didn’t have any kids and had never mentioned starting a family in the years he’d been acquainted with them.

Zack’s stomach churned as he recalled a box of saltines lying on Trudy’s desk. She’d been sick a couple of days the past week...improving by noon. He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was best not to dwell on potential complications—it only drove him crazier.

“Did the early birds go together, or are they in separate groups?” he asked.

“They’re together, and they decided to walk instead of using your fancy golf carts. That gives us longer to fix things. Anyhow, Rick says it’s mostly cosmetic and doesn’t affect play.”

“Appearances matter. We’re aiming at a five-star rating,” Zack retorted.

The microphone amplified Trudy’s breath as she sighed. “That’s why Rick is taking care of it at the crack of dawn.”

“Okay. What’s the status on the linen?”

There was a brief pause. “No need to worry about that, either. I’ll make certain the delivery guy stays while each piece is checked and double-checked. The head of housekeeping is also on the warpath, and you know how she gets.”

“Tell me when the delivery arrives. I want to be there.”

“Sure, boss,” Trudy said after another pause.

Zack started the ignition and turned onto the road, pleased with how well the new SUV handled. He didn’t require such an expensive vehicle for his daily inspections, but a Mercedes signaled luxury and success to the clientele. Attention to detail was his trademark.

As a high school senior he’d deliberately begun working through each position in the leisure industry. Initially he’d gotten a job as a bellboy, then one in laundry, followed by housekeeping, groundskeeper’s assistant, a turn at the reception desk and various other jobs, including a summer as activity director on a cruise ship. It had helped pay expenses as he earned his MBA and complemented his education with practical experience. Many managers or owners took the fast track to the executive’s suite, spending a token stint in the different departments, but he’d wanted to learn the business at every level.

Yawning, Zack sucked down a gulp of coffee. Morning wasn’t his favorite part of the day. He liked sleeping in, preferably next to an attractive female companion. That hadn’t happened in a long time; too much was riding on the project to let anything distract him.

With his digital camera, he clicked photos at various sites around the resort. They were for his personal records; professional tripod jockeys were handling his advertising needs. But he routinely compared his snapshots to the project blueprints and his original vision. So far so good.

All at once he slammed on the brakes and stared.

What is that?

Dumbfounded, he gaped at a row of colorful sandwich boards toward the end of the public road.

Local Produce—Opening May 19

Some Organic!

First Come, First Served

Strawberries

Raspberries

Loganberries

Leaf Lettuce

Greens

And More....

An arrow pointed down the small unpaved track on the undeveloped portion of his acreage. Sitting smack-dab in the middle of one of the finest ocean views on the California coastline was a bright blue trailer adorned with more signs, each wilder than the last.

His foot hit the accelerator.

* * *

JAMIE CONROE HELD the trailer awning with her right hand, pushed the brace with her other hand and nudged the pole with her toe. She’d been struggling to get it up for ages. Why her grandfather had invented such an ungainly system she’d never know. When she’d tested it in the barn last October, she had promised herself to devise a better plan. Now she was getting ready to open the fruit-and-vegetable stand, and thanks to her procrastination, she was performing an acrobatic act.

In the back of her mind she registered the sound of tires on gravel. It was probably a farmer. Whoever it was, they’d have to wait. If she could just get that darned brace in the spot it needed to be...

A harsh voice broke her concentration.

“What the devil are you doing?”

She jumped, the canopy slipped and the pole whacked her left temple.

“Ouch!” she yelped as the heavy canvas dropped and shoved her against the trailer’s painted aluminum siding. Slouching, she considered remaining in temporary defeat, but it wasn’t very comfortable. The corner of a box was digging into her hip, while the awning’s fabric was sandy and had a musty odor after three years in storage.

Jamie wriggled her head free and glared at the man. “Could you have found a slightly more awkward moment to shout at me? Perhaps when I was blindfolded and walking a tightrope?”

To give him credit, he lifted a handful of canvas, poles and ropes so she could hop out of the mess.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“Which question was that?”

He gestured incredulously. “I should think it’s obvious. What are you doing here?”

Jamie gazed dolefully at the tangled lines and poles. Rats. She’d have to begin all over again. “I thought you were being rhetorical. This isn’t rocket science. It’s a sun canopy.”

“No. I mean the whole thing. This...this trailer and those signs.”

Massaging the knot forming on her forehead, Jamie studied the stranger. She knew him from newspaper articles—Zack Denning. The Warrington Gazette regularly printed editorials on the “genius” entrepreneur who’d built the luxury resort next door. His picture was hard to miss, though she hadn’t paid much attention to the world since arriving in Warrington this past September.

She’d spent the winter in seclusion, making the excuse that she was busy with her silver jewelry casting, but mostly she was sorting out her new life. Now that she’d emerged from solitary, she was focused on reopening the seasonal produce stand. Local growers were delighted; Granddad’s business had been a profitable outlet for them.

“Well?” Denning demanded.

She had no idea what the trouble was, but would enjoy giving him a verbal runaround for his belligerence.

“It’s a fruit-and-vegetable stand. Farmers bring their harvest. We sell it. Selling is when you exchange one product for another commodity, usually money,” she explained as if he were a child in need of instruction.

“You can’t put anything here,” he said, barely containing a growl.

“Sorry. Free trade is an old tradition, commonly called ‘commerce,’ or occasionally ‘capitalism.’ Look it up. Communists don’t approve, but Americans are fond of the practice.”

“I’ve no objections to what you do, as long as it’s not on ground belonging to me.”

“Poor fellow,” she commiserated. “I always heard men were supposed to be spatially adapted—you know, with the roaming ability for tracking game. Maybe you missed getting that gene. My section is the acre including the beach that’s immediately north of the public road. You own the rest, except the state beach and the tract with my house on it.” She traced a simplistic map in the dirt to illustrate.

“No. The water forms my property line, making it a private beach for the acreage between the main road and the salt flats. I realize you have a house lying north of my section with access two miles east, off the main road. But you aren’t entitled to cross my land to get there, and it definitely doesn’t mean you can drag that horrible trailer onto my resort. This site may not be developed, but it’s still Mar Vista.”

She raised her chin. Zack Denning didn’t need to sneer as if Granddad’s 1950s travel trailer broke the law. Admittedly, the brilliant aqua was startling. An enterprising junk man with a load of overstocked paint had peddled it to her grandfather over a decade ago. The neighbors had joshed Granddad until they got used to calling the trailer that “Little Blue Fruit Stand.”

“As I explained, this particular acre isn’t yours, Mr. Denning. It’s mine, and the attorney gave me the documents to prove it. Granddad may have been color-blind and a little odd from living alone, but he was sharp as a tack and didn’t sign a scrap of paper unless he was sure of the facts.”

“I own this land,” Denning said. “Understand? It’s mine. You can’t fast-talk your way around it.”

Jamie waved a finger at him. “Repetition does nothing for you legally.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He stomped to his Mercedes, groping for something in his pockets. After a moment he slapped his thigh in apparent frustration, as if he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Then he reached into the SUV, pulled out a radio or walkie-talkie and spoke into it. From the little she could hear, it sounded as if he was talking to someone named Trudy.

Interesting. The newspaper had endorsed him, and they were normally conservative when it came to newcomers. Presumably they’d never had the pleasure of seeing him acting like a jerk. Of course, anyone could have a bad day; her ex-husband specialized in them, especially the arrogant-asshole kind of day.

Granted, Zack Denning was good-looking with his dark brown hair and eyes. If he ever smiled, he’d devastate feminine hearts right and left.

She shrugged. It made no difference that he was a hunk. Life had gotten simpler since she decided to forgo romance. No more hassles about dating. No more hopes dashed. And best of all, no more worries about how to dress. She wore whatever she fancied without wondering if a guy would find her appealing. It was incredibly freeing. Her friends marveled at her willingness to do without sex, but it had been so lousy in her marriage, it didn’t seem much of a loss.

Right now her only concern was getting the awning in place. She knew it could be done. Granddad had managed it, even when his arthritis acted up. Adjusting the poles and ropes, Jamie tugged the canvas, pushing, poking and nudging until the stupid structure fell into the correct position. A sea breeze rippled the edges and she hurriedly tied the lines to their stakes.

Pleased, she inspected her accomplishment. This used to be her grandfather’s favorite season; he loved the company of his customers after a winter in isolation. He’d passed his summers sitting in a worn wooden chair, talking to tourists and townspeople, filling dozens of journals with their stories...some of them scandalous. They made a fascinating social history of the area.

As a kid she’d spent Augusts in Warrington. While Granddad chatted with customers, she played in the sand or devoured library books. And when he let her, she sold produce. But now that the Little Blue Fruit Stand was hers, she didn’t know if she wanted to work there daily, or hire someone to run it for half the week.

Humming, she began scrubbing the trailer floor with a bleach solution. The small interior space was for personal use and she wanted it clean.

“I need you to deal with this, Deputy.” She heard a voice through the open door.

It was Zack Denning.

He must have summoned the authorities to enforce his opinion. Fine. The overbearing jerk would learn what immovable meant after dancing that tango with her. She scrambled to her feet and stepped out to see a blond man in a khaki uniform standing next to the darker and leaner Zack Denning.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Uh—yes.” The officer shifted nervously. “Trespassing is against the law. You have to...um...leave if you don’t want to be arrested.”

“Hmm,” she said. “That’s a serious threat, and I won’t resist if you take me in. However, false arrest is also serious, particularly since you haven’t questioned my side of the story. Sadly, it could be a career-ender if the people of Warrington hear you helped a rich outsider bully a resident who’s legally on her own property.”

The young man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with ridiculous speed.

“Not that I want that to happen to you, Officer,” Jamie assured him. “But even if folks appreciate the income Mr. Denning brings to the community, they won’t like him using the sheriff’s office to throw his weight around.”

She turned and assessed Zack Denning.

“You know, Mr. Denning,” she said, “you ought to be law-abiding and neighborly in these rural parts. For example, I could have charged you with trespassing and disturbing my peace, but I chose to let bygones be bygones.”

A second official vehicle drove in and parked near the trailer. “Good God,” the driver exclaimed as he slid from the front seat. “It’s Jamie Conroe—or didn’t you get married?”

“Married, divorced and back to Conroe,” she said. “So you’re finally on the right side of the law, Curt. How did you get elected sheriff after painting Badger’s Suck, Warrington Wolverine’s Rule on the city water tower following your senior homecoming game?”

Curt chuckled. “Easy—I convinced everyone that reformed troublemakers spot trouble quicker than anyone else.” He hauled her into a hug. “This is great. You’re here and the Little Blue Fruit Stand is opening again. Mom will be thrilled. She’s big on organic lately. When did you come back to Warrington?”

“Last September.”

“No kidding? What happened to getting in touch with old friends?”

“I needed to regroup...after losing Granddad.”

Sympathy crossed Curt’s face. “It must have been rough with the two of you being so close. All the same, it’s terrific to see you. What’s going on here?”

Jamie tried not to laugh as she glanced at Zack Denning. The deputy was edging away from the entrepreneur as if he had symptoms of the plague. Nevertheless, the “genius” seemed up for the challenge.

“Sheriff,” he said, “I’m Zack Denning, owner of the Mar Vista Resort.”

“Should we all genuflect when you say that?” Jamie mocked.

He scowled as Curt choked and vigorously rubbed his hand over his mouth before responding. “Curt Saldano, Mr. Denning. I must have missed meeting you at the monthly chamber-of-commerce gatherings. I’m usually asked to attend, along with the Warrington Police chief.”

“Did he go to any of those meetings?” Jamie asked in an aside to Curt, and he gave her a single, negative shake of the head.

Hasn’t joined, he mouthed.

“This woman is intruding on private property,” Denning said, scowling at Jamie. “You don’t have to arrest her as long as she removes those signs and gets that contraption out of here. Immediately. I run a high-end resort and this eyesore is unacceptable.”

Curt pondered it silently and then lifted an eyebrow at Jamie. “What have you got to say, kiddo?”

“This is Granddad’s place.” She folded her arms over her stomach. “And has been for sixty years. He gave it to me in his will.”

“And that wily fox would have nailed it tight with titanium,” Curt affirmed with a grin.

Zack Denning’s features smoothed into the bland mask Jamie had endured at too many official lunches with her ex-husband. Tim loved to spar with people and knew exactly how to conceal his emotions...and the truth. The thought had barely formed before she mentally spanked herself. It wasn’t fair to compare anyone to Tim, and it didn’t encourage her resolve to leave the past behind.

“Sheriff,” said Denning, “I recognize what’s happened. Ms. Conroe trespassed in ignorance. I presume her grandfather was George Jenkins. Apparently, she isn’t aware that he sold this property to me a year and a half ago.”

“’Fraid not,” Jamie countered. “He sold some other pieces. Trust me, he would never sell this parcel.”

“Fortunately, I have the deed in my safe,” Denning said coolly. “I’ll give you four hours to move your belongings. That’s all.”

“Wow. Your staff must tremble when you look at them with that calm, intimidating stare.” Jamie stretched lazily. “Luckily, I don’t work for you and I’m on my own turf, so I’m not quaking in my boots. And by the way, you’re not the only one with a deed.”

“You’re trespassing,” he said furiously. “You have to—ˮ

“We can’t initiate action without proof of who holds the title, Mr. Denning,” Curt interjected. “At present it’s a civil disagreement over boundary lines. Not a criminal matter.”

Denning’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Ms. Conroe, my lawyer will be contacting you.” He climbed into his gleaming-black SUV and sent gravel flying as he made a sharp U-turn.

Curt frowned. “Yikes, Jamie. That’s one angry man. Ring me if he causes trouble.”

“I’ll be fine,” she asserted, her jaw stiffening. Curt had once acted as a big-brother defender during her childhood trips to California. But she’d acquired a few life lessons since then—you had to stand up to bullies, if only for your own self-respect.

* * *

ZACK WENT DIRECTLY toward the office instead of finishing his morning rounds, keeping his speed low to avoid drawing attention. Mar Vista was doing even better than he had hoped and he wouldn’t let anything blow it. Jamie Conroe was a blip on his problem radar. He’d teach that smart-mouthed brunette the definitions of land purchase and title. The sheriff might be swayed by a pretty face, but the state police could be brought in if necessary.

“Boss, have you got your ears on?” Trudy asked over the radio, and Zack grabbed the microphone.

“Here, Trudy.”

“You okay? Did you take care of the intruder? I hope they didn’t have a weapon.”

“No weapon,” he answered, “but her trailer might be lethal.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.” Zack checked his watch. “Call my lawyer. I want a video conference when I get back.”

“She might not be in this early, or she could be with another client.”

“Try. Warn her that she may need to fly here today or tomorrow.”

Trudy whistled. “What’s in the frying pan this time?”

“A property-line dispute. It’s got to be dealt with ASAP.”

“Gotcha.”

Putting the microphone on its hook, Zack saw a familiar couple ready to tee off. The Langianos waved. He drew to a stop and forced a pleasant smile.

“Roger, Suzy, how are you doing?” he asked.

“Mmm, wonderful,” the woman said. “But I’ve been eating so much that I told Roger we had to walk it off rather than take a golf cart. Restaurants like your Sunfish Grotto ought to be against the law.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Zack replied; years of practice as a manager had taught him to show amiable hospitality to his guests, and nothing else. When people were on vacation they expected a world where difficulties just disappeared.

“We appreciate your chef’s candor about his ingredients,” Roger added. “With Suzy’s allergies, it makes things easier.”

“I’ll share your comments with the kitchen. Chef Gordon has a daughter with food sensitivities, so he understands.”

The investment in a top chef was paying off. None of the other chefs Zack had interviewed were willing to provide a list of ingredients for their special recipes. These days a lot of folks were concerned about their food. It fit the modern trend toward health awareness, so Zack had kept searching for someone who shared his vision. Oh, Lord.

Yesterday Gordon had mentioned that a produce stand was opening nearby. He wasn’t happy with their current supplier and hoped for a new source. It had to be Jamie Conroe’s trailer, and Zack could imagine how appalled his patrons might be if they discovered their fruits and vegetables were coming from that hideous place. Maybe he was overreacting, but you couldn’t predict what would alienate clients.

The Langianos continued to the course and Zack drove to the administrative parking lot. He got out, moving casually until he was beyond the view of guests. The management area was more austere than the rest of the facility; the luxurious ambience was saved for their clientele.

“Trudy,” he barked, “did you reach Kim?”

“Yep. She’s waiting for you.”

Zack tapped his fingers as Trudy put the call through to his office. The computer screen opened to Kim Wheeler. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, though at the moment he was interested only in her keen legal mind.

“There’s a woman, Jamie Conroe, squatting above the beach with a decrepit trailer. And the color it’s painted is downright offensive,” he said without preamble. “She’s planning to sell fruits and vegetables there and is claiming she inherited the land from her grandfather. Something has to be done. Now. Mar Vista golfers, and anyone going to the beach, might see it. Other guests going horseback riding and—”

“Good morning to you as well, Zack,” Kim interrupted. He reluctantly nodded a greeting. Kim rarely let him get away with anything. In college they’d lived together for several months until she had told him they weren’t suited for each other. Although they were no longer lovers, they’d stayed friends, and when she had gone into corporate law, he’d put her on retainer as his attorney.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “but this is important. This woman claims to own the first acre adjacent to the state beach on the northwest section. It’s where the public road ends at the water and a dirt road takes off at a right angle in the middle.”

Kim pulled up something on a second computer. “I see it on the map, a rectangular chunk along the waterfront. That’s some of the real estate you rushed to buy without checking with me, isn’t it?”

Ouch.

She’d ragged him unmercifully for failing to consult her on the transaction. There just hadn’t been enough time—old George Jenkins had insisted on closing the sale as fast as possible. Zack had also been distracted by his brother’s hospitalization and the construction commencing on the resort, but he wouldn’t make excuses.

“Yes,” he said shortly. “It’s one of the last parcels I bought.”

“I doubt we can resolve this today. Chances are we’ll need an official survey to settle the matter.”

“Can you get a court order to get her out in the meanwhile? I guarantee she’ll ignore any no-trespassing signs I post, and they wouldn’t look good to my guests anyhow. Oh, and get this—the county sheriff is a pal of Ms. Conroe’s. I probably can’t expect support from him or his deputies.”

Kim shook her head. “I don’t think a judge can issue an injunction unless there’s substantive evidence that it’s not her property.”

“Damn.”

“I’ll keep you updated on our progress. Just don’t purchase any more real estate without talking to me first.”

The screen went blank before Zack could devise a suitable retort. He sank back in his chair and gazed into space. Jamie Conroe’s fruit stand might not be so bad if it was charming or offbeat instead of just tacky. He could hide the more obvious signs of her presence with a tall hedge, but planting fully grown shrubbery was a costly remedy for a temporary condition.

And it shouldn’t be necessary. That was the galling part.

To think he’d congratulated himself on securing that particular piece of land, protecting his resort from this sort of thing.

Now?

He’d simply have to take care of it. Ms. Conroe would soon be investigating a different site for that shabby little trailer.

CHAPTER TWO

JAMIE OPENED BLEARY EYES, awakened by the persistent noise from her BlackBerry cell phone.

No one, repeat, no one had the right to call before eight in the morning, particularly when she’d spent most of the night doing her silver casting. Not that anyone else knew she was short on sleep. She focused on the caller ID to see if it was her ex-husband. Tim had begun phoning her last winter, though she’d changed her cell number twice to avoid him. It was jarring to know his voice was a single button away, so she’d stopped listening to messages and never answered unless she recognized the caller.

She switched the BlackBerry off without answering and dropped a pillow on top of the landline extension. Rolling onto her side, she fell asleep.

A heavy pounding on the front door woke her an hour later. Didn’t anybody respect a woman’s right to sleep in? Apparently not, since the pounding continued. She dragged herself out of bed and donned a clean bathrobe.

Swell. It was Zack Denning and a blonde woman in a business suit.

“Coming,” she yelled over the racket, waiting until it stopped before turning the knob.

The woman was finely coiffed and sculpted, a sharp contrast to Jamie’s faded pink terry wrap and messy morning hair. It probably accounted for why Denning was staring at her. Tough. She was done with trying to impress men with clothing and makeup.

She smiled sweetly. “Can I help you? The vegetable stand isn’t operating yet, but I can put you on a reservation list for strawberries. How many flats can you use?”

Denning’s lips thinned and she could have sworn she saw a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Ms. Conroe?” the woman queried.

“That’s me, aside from the part I left in my bedroom.”

“Please excuse us for waking you, but I’ve been calling for several days. I also tried your mobile number after my assistant got it from your business license. You never answered so I left a message, but maybe you weren’t able to get back to me.”

“If that’s a nice way of asking whether I bother answering the telephone, the reply is usually no, unless I know who’s on the other end. Basically, that means no blocked numbers. And I don’t listen to messages.”

The woman blinked. “Oh. I was working from home and should have considered that.”

Jamie tightened the belt on her robe. “Not everyone has my bias about it—and you still haven’t explained who you are.”

“I’m Kim Wheeler, Zack Denning’s lawyer.”

“You mean a macho tycoon actually hired a woman as his attorney? But I bet he was the one hammering dents into my door. Those manicured hands of yours never did anything so rude.” To Jamie’s satisfaction, Denning’s jaw clenched.

“Ms. Conroe,” he said, “you’ve delayed resolving this too long already and name-calling is hardly appropriate under the circumstances.”

“I didn’t call you a name, but I’d like to know when you think it’s appropriate to throw one around.”

“That’s...”

The lawyer’s elbow hit him in the ribs, cutting his words short. Interesting. It was a safe wager that Kim Wheeler and Zack Denning knew each other quite well.... They were the classic image of a power couple.

“Please ignore him, Ms. Conroe,” the woman said. “Mr. Denning is impatient concerning this matter since his resort is nearby. I agreed to bring him if he...”

“Kept his trap shut?” Jamie cheerfully completed the sentence.

“I told him to let me handle things.”

“Good luck.”

The corner of the attorney’s mouth twitched. “May we come in and discuss the problem regarding your property lines?”

“It isn’t my problem. It’s his. Or do you think my grandfather’s will could have been probated for a piece of property he didn’t own? This is a waste of effort.”

“Can we try?”

Jamie scrunched her bare toes and shivered. “You’ll have to wait a few minutes. I don’t argue real estate while wearing a bathrobe.”

“Wait?” Denning exploded. “So that you can duck out the rear while we’re standing here?”

The woman’s elbow slammed his ribs again and Jamie laughed. “I like you, Ms. Wheeler. And because of that, I’ll invite you—and only you—into my living room. After I get dressed we can talk without testosterone getting in the way.”

Denning started to say something, and Kim shook a furious finger in front of his nose. “Zip it,” she ordered.

Laughing some more, Jamie gathered her bathrobe close and unhooked the screen door, then secured it again once the lawyer was in the foyer. “There’s a porch swing you can use,” she offered to the glowering man outside. “Fair warning, though, the cushions may be coated with cat fur. I’ll give Ms. Wheeler a ride when she’s ready if you want to head back to your resort.”

Or I’m ready to kick her out, Jamie added silently. No, most likely that wouldn’t be necessary. She guessed that Kim Wheeler, Attorney-at-Law, would be on her best behavior.

Jamie shut the door and motioned toward the main room. “Go on in.”

“Is the furniture furry there, too?” Kim inquired with a friendly tilt of her head.

“It isn’t as bad. I regularly vacuum the house, but admitted defeat on the porch. Marlin’s fur is overwhelming in the middle of his spring shed.”

“Holy Toledo.” Kim gazed at the massive black cat lying in a patch of sunlight on the hardwood floor. Marlin stretched, lazily flexing his claws. “Is he a special breed?”

Jamie gave Marlin an affectionate stroke with the arch of her foot. “Officially, he’s a house cat. Unofficially, I heard that a panther ran away from a wildlife park and spread his genes before being caught, except that might be a tall tale. I’m not sure if there are bobcats in this region. Supposedly they can interbreed with domestic felines, so that’s another possibility.”

“Maybe he’s a mutant.”

“Could be.”

Leaving Kim to get acquainted with Granddad’s aging companion, Jamie shuffled to the bedroom and stared in the mirror, wondering what she could wear. Should she retrieve the remaining clothing from her previous life, a time when her ex-husband had expected her to wear outfits as fine as Kim Wheeler’s? She’d sold the majority through a consignment shop, but she had some left in a box at the back of the closet. The right apparel made an undeniable impact—look how she felt with Ms. Wheeler sitting on her couch, garbed in a high-priced suit.

Pulling out the box, Jamie suppressed a wave of nausea. The green evening gown on top was strapless and too taste-specific for the consignment shop. She’d worn it once, the night they went to the company Christmas dinner, the year prior to the divorce. Tim had admired how chic and sexy she appeared until they got to the banquet hall and he saw the CEO’s wife dressed in a similar color. She couldn’t have known what the woman would wear, but he’d told her if she’d had a speck of sense she would have chosen black, same as the other wives. His cold fury had made her shrivel inside.

Suddenly Jamie crammed everything into the carton and booted it across the floor. She refused to be intimidated. An expensive suit collected cat fur the same as her jeans, but jeans didn’t need dry-cleaning.

* * *

ZACK LEANED AGAINST the solid porch pillar after seeing the volume of cat fur on the cushions.

He’d supposed Jamie Conroe would be living in a ramshackle beach shack, not a large and well-maintained home from the early-twentieth-century Arts and Crafts era. It was an architectural style he liked, though he’d emulated an earlier period for Mar Vista. And it wasn’t just the Conroe house that was so striking. The north side had an incredible view across the tidal flats to the ocean, and the front boasted a restful forest scene.

A signal came over the SUV’s radio and Zack hurried to his vehicle.

“Boss, are your ears on?”

He lifted the microphone. “I’m here.”

“Your mother didn’t know whether you’d replaced your cell phone yet. She wanted to remind you that Brad is arriving. His flight lands at 11:20.”

Crap. The resort had an airstrip for private planes and chartered flights, but Brad was coming into a commercial airport, eighty miles from Warrington. Zack ground his teeth in frustration. How had he forgotten? He was the one who’d suggested Brad come to California after the doctors and therapists advised a change of scenery might be beneficial.

Zack checked his watch. “Thanks, Trudy. I’m leaving immediately. Can you send a car to the Conroe place for Ms. Wheeler?”

“I’ll call the garage.”

He signed off and dialed Kim on his cell phone.

“She’s getting dressed,” Kim said crisply. “And I’m making friends with a mutant cat. Practice patience for once.”

“Mutant? Forget it. I have to go. Brad is flying in, and I’m picking him up.”

“Great! Do you have a vacancy at the resort? I’d love a chance to visit with Brad.”

“We’ll take care of you, Kim. Listen, don’t let that Conroe woman try to wiggle out of the situation. Be firm.”

“I’m curious, Zack. When did you receive your law degree? I missed the graduation ceremony.” The light humor in Kim’s tone didn’t conceal the underlying warning. Don’t interfere. She seemed to think he’d done enough damage.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “It’s just that she has a habit of talking in circles.”

“Sounds smart. She should be a lawyer.”

“I’m counting on you being smarter.”

“That’s what you’re paying me for. And wait till you get the bill for this trip—I’m adding twenty percent for the extra trouble you’ve caused. Tell Brad hello and that I’m looking forward to seeing him.” The phone disconnected.

Zack started the SUV. It was galling. He’d been required to cool his heels on a porch as if he were a delivery boy. Now he had to go before anything was settled.

He hit the accelerator until he was going the speed limit...and a little above.

* * *

KIM WHEELER RUBBED the cat’s big ears and listened to the purr rumbling from his chest.

“Marlin, huh?” she said.

“Marrooow.”

“Fur flying or not, you are magnificent,” Kim whispered.

She cocked her head, her thoughts drifting. So, Brad Denning was visiting his brother. The last time she’d seen Brad, he was en route to Iraq—the perfect spit-and-polish marine. He could have walked off a military recruiting poster. She’d met him at the airport during a five-hour layover. They’d discussed his upcoming tour of duty over dinner and she’d hidden her concern for his safety.

“Don’t forget I’m trained for this,” he’d told her—apparently, he’d seen her concern after all.

She’d hugged him and watched as he disappeared down the concourse. Brad had been in her life almost as long as Zack, and the idea of something happening to him was unbearable.

That was, what...three years ago?

And something had happened, but now he was home and slowly recovering.

Kim glanced around the room. It glowed with sunlight, satiny wood floors and cream-colored paint. Lovely paintings hung on the walls, and beautiful pottery and glassware sat in strategic spots.

A thud echoed in the house. Kim didn’t worry that another exit was being used for a secret departure—Zack wasn’t rational when it came to Jamie Conroe or Mar Vista. Kim understood his reasons, but he wasn’t helping. It would be simpler to investigate the matter without him. Inheritance was a potentially emotional subject, though Jamie had been calm when she’d made that excellent point about her grandfather’s will going through probate.

Acting as Zack’s attorney was challenging. Before she’d agreed to represent him, they’d had an in-depth discussion, which involved assurances that their past relationship wouldn’t be an issue. It had worked so far, and he probably followed her advice slightly more often than he would for someone he didn’t know as well.

Marlin shoved his nose into her palm.

“By the way,” she announced to the feline, “I’m a lawyer. Any objections to that?”

The cat shut his eyes sleepily and purred. A very un-lawyerly giggle escaped her throat. She’d met at least two people who’d taught their dogs to growl when they even heard the words lawyer or attorney.

* * *

JAMIE FOUND KIM WHEELER seated on the large, comfortable sofa. Marlin, never a slouch in demanding attention, was draped over her lap, purring like a diesel motor.

“You must be covered with fur,” Jamie said. “I’ll put him out back.”

“Don’t be silly. I think cats are great.”

“I doubt the hothead on the porch feels the same.”

Kim snickered. “That’s his problem. But it doesn’t matter anymore because he’s driving to the airport. His brother is arriving from Maryland.”

“And the jerk would have had a fit if you’d gone along.” Jamie sat on the arm of the couch and swung her legs. She was glad she’d kept Zack Denning and his bad vibes out of her home—it made maintaining peace and tranquillity easier.

“He wants to clear things up as soon as possible,” Kim said diplomatically.

“Yes, I figured that out when he asked the deputy sheriff to throw me off my own property.”

Kim frowned. “I apologize about that.”

“I’m not holding it against him. Don’t have to—it’s my land.”

“You seem quite certain.”

Jamie swallowed a yawn. She would have preferred having this debate after a decent night’s sleep. “I have a deed and it’s in my grandfather’s will—the one he revised when he sold his other parcels. The real estate he left me is the section with the house and barn, plus the acre on the beach.”

Kim removed a folder from her briefcase. “Over eighteen months ago, Zack purchased several tracts north of the road. He understood they included everything to the water’s edge. You’re welcome to see the sales agreement.”

“There’s no need. Granddad wanted to leave my brother some cash, so he sold some of the land he owned, but not my two sections. He was a romantic—that’s why he gave them to me.” Jamie smiled. She’d loved her grandfather’s idealistic streak. “My brother doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, which is strange. That trait commonly passes through the males in our family.”

“So you’re the sentimental sibling?”

“I don’t cry at sad movies, but I’ll keep the land, and David wouldn’t.”

“May I see the deed?”

Jamie went into her office and opened the document file Granddad’s lawyer had given her. She flipped through the contents and found both deeds. She made duplicates on her scanner-printer and took them to the living room.

Kim Wheeler studied the deed to the waterfront property. “I have to compare this to Zack’s paperwork,” she said finally. “And we may require an official survey.”

Jamie shrugged. “Fine, but I’m not budging, and the Little Blue Fruit Stand is opening on Wednesday to get the business going smoothly by the Memorial Day holiday. Granddad’s records indicate it’s a busy weekend.”

Kim tucked the copies into her briefcase. “If you don’t mind me asking, why run your business on that land? It’s on a dirt road, at the dead end of a public access. There must be more profitable locations.”

“It makes a profit, which I can use, but the stand isn’t solely about selling produce. Granddad could have gone closer to the highway, but he didn’t because he wanted to spend his days by the beach. His customers liked going there, too. It can happen that way in small towns. And he got tourist traffic, too.”

“I see.”

Jamie yawned again. “Sorry. I was awake till four.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I was working—got caught up in a new design and didn’t notice how late it was. I make jewelry and market it in local tourist and gift shops.”

“You’ll have to show me your jewelry sometime,” Kim said politely. “But I should go now and let you go back to bed.”

“Don’t you need a ride?” Jamie asked.

“If I know Zack, he’s likely arranged for a car to collect me.”

“And forgot to tell you, right?”

“He’s concentrating on other things.”

Jamie tried not to sound bitter as she said, “Sure, there’s always an excuse for people acting badly.”

* * *

ZACK DROVE INTO the airport and parked. He raced inside the terminal and read the arrivals and departures boards—he wasn’t late after all; Brad’s flight had just landed.

At the security checkpoint, Zack watched the passengers greeting friends and family, or searching for the baggage-claim area. It took a minute to recognize the thin form limping in his direction. Somehow his mental picture of Brad as a healthy, muscular marine hadn’t changed, even though he’d visited his brother in the hospital. Brad still had the military haircut and neat appearance, yet the man beneath the clothing seemed shadowed and broken.

Hell, he had been broken.

But he was getting better; the therapists said so. He’d simply hit a plateau and would benefit from a fresh environment.

“Good to see you, bro.” As they clasped hands Zack tried not to reveal anything except a hearty welcome.

“I know. I look like crap.” Brad grinned wryly, obviously seeing through Zack’s effort. “I wish you hadn’t needed to drive so far to get me, but the doctor recommended I travel on a larger plane.”

“I was happy to come. Got your luggage checked?”

“A small duffel.”

“Not that small, I hope,” said Zack, and then realized he sounded overly jovial. His father had warned him to act natural—only, what was natural? Certainly not having your brother nearly blown apart by a roadside bomb. “Aren’t you staying for a while?”

Brad’s face was hard to read. “I don’t require much and I can buy more. There must be stores in town.”

“And a shop at the resort.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to something less grandiose. I’m sure the shop caters to your high-toned guests, not ordinary jarheads.”

“Hey, those high-toned guests pay the bills,” Zack reminded him jokingly. “But it is mostly golf gear and leisure stuff, so it may not suit you. Feel free to borrow from my closet if you can’t find what you want.”

They stopped for the duffel bag. Zack carried it easily and slowed his steps to Brad’s pace.

Brad whistled when he saw the Mercedes. “Pricey vehicle.”

“We have to provide an atmosphere of luxury. It’s part of the aura that keeps visitors returning. They come to be pampered.”

“You’re the expert.”

Settling into the passenger seat, Brad eyed him. “You seem okay. But what’s going on? Mom hasn’t gotten any emails from you for a week and she says that’s odd.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Zack said calmly, and realized he should send a note so it didn’t appear as if anything was wrong; his folks didn’t need to lose any more sleep. “A woman is squatting on my land next door. She has a deplorable trailer and thinks she’s going to use it to sell fruits and vegetables. Kim is here, attending to the situation.”

“What about the police?”

“Ms. Conroe claims she owns the property, and the sheriff insists it’s a civil matter. She has this way of verbally twisting things. Kim actually seems to enjoy her,” he ended in disgust.

“What’s she like?” Brad asked.

“Long brunette hair, stubborn chin...smart mouth.”

“Hmm. She’s made quite an impression on you. I’ll have to meet her.”

“It won’t be on my beachfront land if you do.”

Brad chuckled, at the same time sending him an odd look. Zack wasn’t sure how to react, so he remained silent as his brother tilted his seat back and went to sleep.

Quite an impression.

True. Jamie Conroe had done that, dragging her ugly trailer to the site and putting up those signs. He’d remembered that she was pretty, but still had thought of her as a rugged farmer type in overalls. This morning the sun had gleamed on shining, sleep-rumpled hair, and her worn pink bathrobe had sagged, revealing soft skin that sloped into very sweet curves. Not that he’d seen much. Nor was he interested.

Ten minutes passed and Brad stirred restlessly. “Sorry for flaking out.”

“Go ahead. Sleep.”

“I’m a master of cat naps. We had to grab them whenever we could in Iraq and be alert at an instant’s notice.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Brad shifted and massaged his left leg. “I appreciate the offer. Mom and Dad try, but I can see it bugs the hell out of them.”

“What about post-traumatic stress. Is that a problem?” Zack probed. The frank question was a risk, yet he and Brad had always been honest with each other, and Dad had said to be himself.

“Some. I’ve spoken with the counselors, and they think I’m handling it.”

“I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

“I know,” Brad agreed. “Right now I’d rather focus on something different. Tell me more about this woman who’s got you so bothered. Is she attractive?”

Jamie Conroe wasn’t on Zack’s list of favorite topics, but he couldn’t refuse after offering his brother his choice of subjects.

“If I’m being honest, she’s very...attractive,” he said, picturing the woman he’d seen earlier. “Mid to late twenties. A delicate complexion, particularly for someone who works outside. And she’s got gorgeous blue eyes.” It was strange that he recalled so many details.

“You mentioned she had a smart mouth. What kinds of things does she say?”

As Zack reluctantly described some of the conversations he’d had with his neighbor, Brad smiled, finally laughing so hard that he started coughing.

“My God, bro.” Brad caught his breath in his damaged chest. “This woman really has your number.”

“I guess she knows what buttons to push. Maybe she’s a con artist.”

“Kim will deal with it. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“She’s high profile now, really in demand.”

“But how is she personally?”

“Terrific,” Zack said. “Stunning as ever. And you know Kim—she’s unflappable. The perfect attorney.”

Brad scratched his ankle. “Is she spending the night?”

“Trudy assigned her a guest room. I’d invite her to stay with us, but she draws a distinct professional line. I’m her client. She’s my lawyer.”

“That’s Kim’s style.”

“She’s looking forward to seeing you.”

Brad didn’t respond. He stared at the passing scenery and Zack wondered what he was thinking. Did it upset him to be with people who’d known him before he was injured? Zack almost asked, then saw Brad was asleep again.

As the SUV approached the resort’s entrance, Brad roused himself.

“Are we here?”

“This is it,” Zack said, hearing the pride that crept into his voice. He slowed to prolong the moment; none of the family had visited until today.

He’d spent a hefty sum on the stone entry to establish a defined border between the outside world and the place he’d created. The words Mar Vista were fastened to the stone arch in bold bronze letters. The coastal air was already putting a subtle patina on the metal.

“Mar Vista?” Brad questioned.

“It means ‘Sea View,’” he explained. “We’re in California, so it seemed fitting to have a Spanish name—something catchy and easy to remember.”

“I thought your name would go on the thing.”

“The corporation is Denning Enterprises, but a resort should have a gracious title.”

The road curved through a grove of evergreen trees and then opened to the buildings nestled on the gentle slope. Care had been taken during construction to preserve as many of the trees as possible, and the buildings were reminiscent of the great lodges built in the Edwardian era. To the north occupants had a view of the coastline; to the west was the golf course and the brilliant blue ocean.

“Lord, Zack,” Brad said, staring at the vista. “You’ve done a damn fine job.”

“I’m glad you like it. Every penny I have is riding on this, and money from the folks, too. I’m going to make it a success.”

“That’s what you’d say when we were kids and the teacher declared something couldn’t be done.”

“And I never failed to pull it off.” Zack parked in his private space and gestured. “My apartment is above the offices. You can rest or do whatever you want. There’s a garden with reclining chaises, or a pool if that appeals— Oh, and a hot tub and sauna. In the meantime, I should go to—”

“Work?” Brad finished.

“I can free up some hours later this afternoon.”

“Don’t change your routine. I’m sick of people tiptoeing around me and making special arrangements. Mom and Dad haven’t had a normal life since I came home.”

Yeah, Brad would hate that. Zack was the bullheaded son, determined to win no matter what, while his brother was the easygoing one. Few things had surprised Zack more than when Brad entered the Marine Corps. Yet he’d done well, rising in the ranks and becoming highly respected by the soldiers under his command.

He showed Brad the apartment, urged him to order from room service or one of the Mar Vista restaurants and trotted downstairs.

It was time to locate Kim and find out how soon Jamie Conroe and the Little Blue Fruit Stand would be gone.

CHAPTER THREE

THE SURVEYORS ARRIVED with their gear the following Thursday morning. Jamie had a steady stream of customers the first hour, and soon the surveyors drifted over. They bought three baskets of strawberries and ate them on the spot.

During a quiet pause in business, Jamie settled in her Adirondack chair and took in the familiar scents and sounds. Her grandfather’s heavy wood chair had dated to the 1950s. Instead of dragging it from the house, she’d found two made from recycled plastic. It would be too weird to use his, anyhow. Even as a kid she’d never sat in his chair—it belonged to Granddad and nobody else.

The day was unusually warm. This part of the coast didn’t get much hot weather; it was moderate most of the year.

Mmm.

Jamie yawned.

Ocean waves crashed on the shore and the sea shimmered brilliant blue with streaks of greenish-aqua. It was no wonder that Granddad had loved this place; it was peaceful and wholesome. The sunshine was blissfully soothing, and she could always sketch a pendant or bracelet design if inspiration came to her.

Crunching gravel nudged her eyelids open. The approaching vehicle was a black van with Mar Vista in gold lettering on the door and Denning Enterprises in smaller print below. The logo was striking—a lone cypress and soaring seabird.

Jamie stretched, ready to rev up her brain for another verbal bout, but neither of the men who climbed from the van was Zack Denning. The driver seemed genial and innocuous, and his passenger was thin and pale, with a narrow scar above his left eye. He walked with a limp and hugged his arm to his rib cage as if it hurt. She recognized the cautious posture too well.

“Hello,” the driver called. “I’m Gordon Chen. Your sign says you carry certified organic fruits and vegetables.”

“Yup. More and more people are eating pesticide-free.”

“That’s great. I’m looking for someone to supply the restaurants at Mar Vista. Dealing directly with growers is time-consuming, so I was hoping we could come to an agreement that would benefit both of us.”

Jamie shifted in her chair, clinging to her tranquillity. “Let me guess. You’ll be able to buy all of my produce, so there won’t be any reason for me to keep the stand going.”

Gordon frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t want you to quit your business. Quite the contrary.”

“In that case, you’d better get oxygen for your boss. He’ll be gasping for air when he hears the news.”

The second man laughed and Jamie was struck by the difference it made in his appearance.

“Morning,” he said. “My name is Brad Denning. I hitched a ride to come and meet you.”

She extended her left hand to shake so he wouldn’t have to move his injured side.

“I’m missing something here, but it isn’t important. Are you interested?” Gordon asked. “I’m choosy about what goes into my kitchen and want someone equally careful to coordinate my produce.” He must be the chef, which accounted for his air of confidence.

“I’m interested,” she assured him. “And I can work with the organic farmers to get you a wider variety than what I stock. The biggest problem is that I don’t have a large enough truck, and there’s no point in getting one for a single customer.”

Gordon shrugged. He seemed unusually easygoing for a high-priced chef. “I can send a guy to get my orders. It’s still an improvement over having a dozen sources delivering throughout the day.”

“The other problem is that for now the stand is only open for the summer and I may not want to do it year-round,” Jamie explained. “At present I’m a one-person operation.”

“Let’s have a trial period and see where we go from there,” Gordon suggested.

They discussed the arrangements, and he took her email address so he could send his orders electronically. As they were leaving, Brad Denning gave Jamie a friendly smile. He was nothing like his obnoxious brother.

“It was good meeting you, Jamie.”

“Likewise,” she said, yet she couldn’t help sniggering once she was alone.

She was now a Mar Vista supplier.

How much oxygen was Zack Denning going to need?

* * *

BRAD WINCED AS the van bounced entering the public road. His fist went instinctively to his aching thigh, but he dragged it away. They’d told him the pain would ease; his shattered bones would strengthen and wasted muscle rebuild. In the meanwhile he was treating it as survival training...one step, one minute at a time.

“Nice lady,” Gordon commented. “What was that stuff about her closing?”

Brad hesitated. He didn’t think Zack would relish the staff gossiping about his disagreement with Jamie Conroe. His brother had changed; in some ways he was nearly a stranger.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brad said as Gordon parked close to the kitchen. “Ms. Conroe seems to have a unique sense of humor.”

“Yes. It should be entertaining getting to know her.” Gordon hung the keys on the central message board and returned to his kitchen. He was a nice guy and hadn’t minded Brad dropping by one afternoon to scrounge a snack. Gordon had prepared the sandwich himself—a masterpiece of roast beef, cheese, sautéed mushrooms and spicy peppers piled on fresh-made sourdough bread. Brad had eaten it with Gordon clucking over him like a brood hen.

Since then the chef had pressed a number of dishes on him that he claimed were experiments, but were obviously intended to tease the appetite of a recuperating patient.

Clearly, if Gordon hadn’t become a chef, he would have been a mother.

Brad set out to walk the perimeter of the resort, willing his body to cooperate. At the hospital they’d dictated the amount of exercise he should get, but he’d outmaneuvered them by covertly visiting the rehab center in the middle of the night and using the equipment on his own.

Lord.

It was tough accepting that his old life might be over...a life in which he’d served his country. People didn’t always understand. It wasn’t the battles or adrenaline he missed; it was doing something for folks he’d never even met.

“Hi there,” Rick Lopez called as Brad passed his open office window. “I saw you on the course. Are you taking up golf?”

“There’s no chance in hell. Knocking a ball around a manicured lawn isn’t my style.”

Rick chuckled. “I beg your pardon.... Manicuring those greens is hard labor. But you’re right—it isn’t for everyone. Between you and me, I don’t believe our fearless boss loves the sport, either. Zack is so grim practicing his swing. I swear he only plays so he can converse with the guests and join with a group in unavoidable circumstances.”

Naturally.

Everything Zack did nowadays was to support his dream. The resort was a marvel, but it wasn’t an atmosphere where Brad felt comfortable.

Nonetheless, Mar Vista and its ritzy counterparts were Zack’s world.

And Kim Wheeler’s.

Kim.... Brad rubbed his jaw. He’d enjoyed seeing her, however briefly. She was more polished and beautiful than ever, wearing discreet evidence of her professional achievements. He imagined those diamond studs on her ears would cost three or four months of a soldier’s pay.

* * *

ON TUESDAY AFTER the Memorial Day weekend, Zack read the surveyor’s report in disbelief. It plainly indicated that the real estate he’d purchased didn’t include the section where Jamie Conroe had her fruit stand. He owned the beach north of it, not the entire waterfront.

“Hey, Zack. Snap out of it,” Kim commanded over the video-teleconference connection.

“How did this happen?”

“There were a number of parcels involved, Zack. You were preoccupied with construction and made the deal in a hurry.”

“In other words, I should have had your office check it.”

Her lips curved in humor. “Actually, few buyers have a lawyer review a real-estate transaction until closing, although large companies usually bring in an attorney from the beginning. I didn’t check your other purchases and they were successful.”

That was six years ago, when the land had cost less and he’d bought it on speculation. Had success with his first batch of acquisitions led him to a hasty decision with the second?

“What are my options?” Zack asked.

“You might have a chance in court if you think the seller was deliberately misleading.”

“I don’t know if Jenkins did anything wrong, and I doubt we could prove dishonest intent if he did. It would be a nasty fight. People liked the old guy, odd as he was.”

Kim nodded. “And they’ll be protective of his granddaughter. You’re a smart businessman, Zack. Negative relations with the local community is extremely costly in the long run. My suggestion is to work it out with Ms. Conroe. She isn’t a bad sort.”

Zack pictured Jamie’s stubborn face. “She doesn’t like me.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Don’t rub it in. I’ll have the real-estate agent contact her with an offer.”

Kim tapped her pencil on the desk thoughtfully, and a corner of his mind appreciated the technology for doing video teleconferences. It wasn’t face-to-face communication, but closer to it than the phone. This way he could read her body language and get a feel for what she was thinking.

“I have a suspicion Ms. Conroe won’t sell,” Kim said. “There’s a sentimental attachment. Other solutions are possible, though. For example, she makes jewelry. How about featuring her pieces in the gift shop? In return, she may relocate the stand.”

He stared at the computer monitor, appalled. “For Pete’s sake, I can’t put cheap bits of beadwork on sale here. We carry top-end items like art glass and original sculptures.”

“Look for an accommodation.” Kim sounded exasperated. “Talk to her. She might compromise if she realizes the potential impact on your operations.”

Zack glanced at the map on which the property lines had been clearly drawn. “You’ve got higher hopes for her goodwill than I do.”

“If nothing else, you have your contingency plan to build around her and border it with a tall hedge or stone wall. Your guests would still have a private beach since you aren’t required to provide access between her two sections. She has to use the public road the same as everyone.”

Zack groaned. He’d gotten used to the idea of having all that lovely, undeveloped land to himself. It was so much less complicated.

“Make nice,” Kim ordered. “You do it with difficult patrons. Swallow your pride and pretend she’s a VIP client staying in your King Louis suite.”

“I don’t have a King Louis suite. What’s your schedule over the next couple days? Unless you ticked her off, I’m sure she’ll listen to you more than me.”

“We got along fine.” Kim scanned her iPhone, and then shook her head. “I can’t get away for a while. Anyhow, you should be the one to take care of this. Like it or not, she’s your neighbor and you’ve got to mend fences. Begin with an apology for trying to get her arrested. It wasn’t your finest moment.”

He groaned again.

“I have to go, Zack. I’ve got a meeting with the mayor in twenty minutes.”

“The mayor? Show-off.”

She laughed as he disconnected.

Zack was convinced Kim was getting malicious amusement from the situation. He grasped his coffee and sucked down half the cup, wishing it had a dash of whiskey. Aside from his emergency fund, he’d sunk every penny into Mar Vista, along with the assets his parents had insisted on investing. If the resort didn’t turn a profit and his loan defaulted, could he at least salvage their money?

Hell. There was no reason to assume the worst; he’d deal with it. And in the meantime, he would ensure everything continued to run properly.

He hit the intercom button on his desk. “Trudy?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Do you have those purchase orders and invoices ready for me to review?”

“I forwarded them to your computer.”

“Thanks.”

He clicked on the files, making notes and adding his approval as needed. Trudy had rejected a requisition for room deodorizers and sent a memo to housekeeping that guest rooms were to be so clean that fragrance wasn’t necessary. Excellent. Trudy knew his position on the issue. Apparently, the housekeeping supervisor was pleased with the replacement linens. The prior lot must have been defective, though they’d come from a leading company for luxury hotel linens.

Zack started on the invoices, only to grit his teeth when he saw the third one. Of course. Jamie Conroe must have chortled when she topped her paperwork with Little Blue Fruit Stand Enterprises.

Resigned, Zack added his authorization for payment. Maybe the Mar Vista restaurants would furnish enough income that she’d abandon her trailer. It had to be easier to manage supplies for one customer than to spend a full day vending vegetables to dozens of different people.

The lunch hour passed before he was finished. He got out his keys and squared his shoulders. No more procrastinating; he had to tackle his chief headache.

On the way, he drank the cup of stale coffee sitting in the SUV. Caffeine might help him cope with the woman.

The blue trailer wasn’t quite as vivid as his memory had made it, or else the shock value had diminished.

Jamie was half reclining in a green chair, legs extended in long, languid lines. She seemed to be asleep. Her dark hair fluttered in the breeze and her creamy complexion was highlighted by the eyelashes resting on her cheeks. Today she wore jeans and a T-shirt that revealed the curves he’d glimpsed at her house.

No cosmetics.

No jewelry or accessories.

No special attempt to look attractive or appealing.

Yet something in the scene tugged at Zack’s gut. It didn’t make sense. Jamie was the opposite of the women who inhabited his world. True, he’d been living like a monk, too buried in work for socializing, but still....

“Are you going to buy strawberries, or keep examining me for weak points?” she said suddenly, startling him.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“The sound of tires on gravel is a decent alarm system.” Jamie raised her eyebrows. “If you’re here to complain some more, go ahead and give it your best shot.”

“I...I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have called the sheriff. And you were correct—this is your land. The surveyors’ report came this morning.”

“Wow. That must have hurt.” She rose from the low-slung chair in a graceful twist.

Zack grimaced. She couldn’t know how much it hurt, or how hard it was to follow Kim’s advice to be nice. “As I said, I’m very sorry. I was under the impression your grandfather sold me everything, including this beachfront acre.”

Her blue eyes grew stormy. “Are you saying he cheated you?”

“I’m only...” Zack stopped. It was galling; even if George Jenkins had cheated, it meant he was the chump. Zack couldn’t afford that kind of reputation in corporate circles. “No, not at all, but I would like to acquire this section. Name a price.”

“It isn’t for sale.”

“Are you planning to build?” he asked.

“Heavens, no. Granddad would haunt me.”

That was reassuring. All he had to worry about was a summer fruit stand—except summer was his busiest season. In the next few months the resort was solidly booked with reservations from high-profile guests, as well as old friends and clientele who knew him as a manager in other locations. Most were coming because of their acquaintance with him, and they’d keep coming if Mar Vista met or exceeded their expectations. And while it was possible that Jamie’s hideous trailer wouldn’t sabotage the resort, it wouldn’t be good for it, either.

“I’ll pay you a fair amount,” he said. “Extremely fair.”

“It isn’t a question of price.” Her gaze was clear and seemed free of guile. Yet it made no sense that she didn’t care how much she could get. A woman who eked out a living peddling fruits and vegetables had to be short on money.

“If you aren’t going to develop the site, why not take the cash?”

“To be sure no one else builds on it. It isn’t you personally. No one gets this land. It’s Conroe soil and it stays in the family.”

The scent of strawberries wafted into Zack’s consciousness. His stomach grumbled, a reminder that he’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. Jamie grinned at the noise and held a bowl of fruit in his direction. “Have some. My treat.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s a free sample of what your restaurant is serving for dessert tonight,” she said. “You do know that we’re in business together, don’t you?”

“I saw the invoice.”

Her lips twitched. “Did you fire your chef for crossing enemy lines?”

“No. Gordon is in charge of his kitchen. I’m lucky to have him.”

Jamie jiggled her bowl to tempt him, and the glistening red berries made his mouth water. It was also a reminder that if he’d eaten something instead of gulping numerous cups of coffee, he might be doing a better job of handling this situation.

“So, top chefs do rule their territory,” she mused.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Zack thought of Gordon’s contract. It gave him broader authority than anyone else employed at Mar Vista, even Rick Lopez. The competition was fierce for a chef with Gordon Chen’s standing. Zack probably couldn’t have gotten him if he and his wife hadn’t wanted to raise their children in a rural setting like Warrington, California.

“Poor Mr. Denning. There’s a fiefdom in his kingdom that he can’t command.” Jamie ate a berry with unabashed pleasure, then licked a bead of ruby juice from her finger.

Zack hung on to his resolve and concentrated.

“Come on,” she urged. “Declare defeat and eat a few.”

“I don’t need anything.” His voice came out stiffer than he’d intended. “I want to discuss...”

His words were interrupted by the crunch of truck wheels on gravel. The pickup parked and the passengers ambled across to look at the spinach. Another car pulled in behind them.

“Excuse me,” Jamie said. “You comprehend the importance of customers, don’t you? People who buy what you want to sell. Catch my drift?”

Yeah, he got it. She refused to part with her land. But surely there was something he could offer...perhaps pay for renovations to make her produce stand more acceptable, though moving her was his top choice. His guests would still see the signs as they approached the resort, but he could have new ones painted that were rustic and charming, rather than garish.

“Loganberries?” queried one of the newcomers as she lifted a basket and sniffed. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“They’re yummy,” Jamie told her. “Kind of a cross between a raspberry and a boysenberry. Delicious in jam, pies, whatever.”

“We’re staying at the state park,” the woman said, wrinkling her nose. “No camper. Roughing it, or I’d bake a pie.”

Jamie smiled, a wide, unaffected smile that transformed her ordinarily pretty face into something truly striking. “That reminds me of the summer my mom made jam using a camp stove. She swore she’d never do it again. Tell you what—if you have a covered pot, you can make berries and dumplings.”

“Really?” the woman said, plainly intrigued. “We have sugar and I brought biscuit mix for pancakes.”

“That’s all you need. Cook it the same as you’d cook chicken and dumplings, only sweetened, and drop the dough into the simmering berries.”

“Yum. I’m going to try that.” She selected three pints, and told her husband they should come again before their vacation was over.

Zack had planned to wait for Jamie’s customers to leave so they could finish their discussion, but he couldn’t be sure of getting her full attention with the constant disruptions. It was amazing that people drove this far from town and the main highway to buy fruits and vegetables. The view was a plus, of course, and her produce was first-rate.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Ms. Conroe,” he murmured. “I’ll contact you when it’s more convenient.”

“Whatever.”

Just then a young woman squealed and hugged her. “Jamie Conroe. I heard you were here.”

“Kristie, you look fantastic. How are you?”

“Great. You know what? I married Greg Norton, the way I predicted. He finally noticed me the last year of college. And I made him pay for taking so long.... He chased me for weeks before I’d go out with him. I loved it.”

The two women chatted as Zack strode to his car. He definitely had to find a strategic location for their next encounter—on his turf, rather than hers. He’d learned long ago that the person who controlled the environment had the advantage in a negotiation.

* * *

JAMIE DREW A breath of relief after Zack’s departure. The customers were arriving fast and furious—it was strange how they came in waves.

Although Granddad’s stand had always been popular, the volume of shoppers had amazed her until she’d realized the locals knew about the land dispute. Some were showing their support; others were curious. On top of that, she got plenty of tourist traffic. It was a bonus week. She sold out every afternoon except for bits and pieces.

It was a demanding schedule. She had to meet growers before five in the morning, assemble the load for Gordon and count boxes as they were packed into the Denning Enterprises truck at five-thirty. Despite his pickiness, Gordon wasn’t difficult to deal with, and jabbing Zack Denning was a perk. She just wasn’t sure the extra profit was worth it.

Zack’s apology had come as a surprise, and Jamie suspected his lawyer was responsible. Not that he’d genuinely sounded sorry; it was more like he thought Granddad had swindled him. If there was one thing she knew for certain, her grandfather had played fair. She had no idea how the mix-up had occurred, but she wouldn’t let anyone malign one of the best men she’d ever known.

Swallowing, Jamie tried to recapture the peace she’d felt earlier. Why let Zack Denning spoil things?

Yet deep down, Jamie knew part of her trouble stemmed from guilt—she hadn’t been here when Granddad was putting his affairs in order. She should have come, but her marital problems had kept her away. She’d been trying to hold things together, and was embarrassed to be with her family and admit what was happening. It was Tim’s attempts to keep her from visiting Granddad during his final illness that had tipped the scale. She’d stood up to him and walked out.

Perhaps it was okay that she couldn’t easily relax after a confrontation—she didn’t want to forget how to defend herself.

Footsteps broke the quiet and she saw Brad Denning.

“Gordon tells me the strawberries are tasty,” he called. His limp was more pronounced than the day they’d met, and the creases on his forehead were deeply drawn...from pain, she guessed. He must have pushed himself to get this far.

She grabbed the dish of fruit samples and offered it to him. “I hope you aren’t as pigheaded as your brother. He wouldn’t even eat a small one, though his stomach was growling louder than an angry grizzly bear.”

Brad chose a juicy berry and popped it in his mouth. “I can be pigheaded, but not over food. I don’t know any jarheads dumb enough to turn down a tasty meal.”

“Jarheads?” Jamie asked.

Pride flared in his eyes. “It’s a nickname for a marine.”

“Oh, I remember now. Have a seat.”

Sinking into the other chair, he sighed. “This is the farthest I’ve gone in a long time. But it’s great to get outside for exercise instead of on a therapist’s treadmill. I...uh, I’ve had to do some rehab recently.”

“I’ll give you a lift back if you don’t mind waiting. It’s on my route to the bank.”

“My ego says no. My common sense says thanks.”

Jamie had the feeling that Brad would prefer accepting a ride from her, rather than his brother.

“This is the perfect spot to take a break. Have more berries.”

Brad took the bowl and ate several strawberries, then gestured at her empty displays. “Don’t you keep stock for late customers?”

“Nope, unless I have a reservation for something. That’s why I’m still here. An old friend of Granddad’s is coming for the four flats I’ve got stored in the trailer. Otherwise, as I put on my sign, first come, first served. I order the amount I think I can sell and usually get to close early.”

“You sound experienced.”

“As a kid I spent every August with Granddad, so my policies and attitudes come from him. He also had thorough records on the daily turnover.”

“That must make it easier.”

He seemed drowsy and his left hand scratched his shoulder before settling onto his lap.

Jamie’s sensation of peace returned. She liked Brad Denning. It was bizarre that he was the brother of such an arrogant jerk, but siblings could be very different. Her own brother didn’t look like her, and they certainly didn’t have much in common.

As Brad slept, her brain chewed on designs for her next jewelry project. She’d taken a silver-casting class in college for fun. Tim used to be snide regarding her efforts, so it was an ironic triumph that selling the expensive clothes he’d insisted she wear during their marriage provided the money she’d needed for tools and supplies. Hopefully, marketing her jewelry would be a real supplement to her fruit-stand earnings.

Jamie stiffened, despite the comforting warmth of the sun. Tim had been nauseatingly smug in court, claiming she wouldn’t be able to live without him. Fat chance, just like the split lip he’d given her when she told him she was leaving for good. She restrained a giggle as she recalled the contempt in the expression of the judge, who’d privately congratulated her on getting rid of a pompous jackass.

Her last customer, Mrs. Kruger, came and Jamie loaded the four flats she’d bought into her car.

“Thank you, Jamie.” The elderly woman gave her a check in payment. “The jam tastes different made with berries from the Little Blue Fruit Stand. I suppose that sounds silly.”

“It isn’t silly. Granddad used to say this place had a blessing on it.”

“I believe it.” Mrs. Kruger glanced at Brad. He was awake and blinking sleepily at the ocean. “Are you all right, dear? I understood you’ve had trouble with your neighbor.”

“No worries—we’ve straightened it out,” Jamie said. “It was a miscommunication over the property lines.”

“I’m so glad. And you’ve gotten divorced? What a shame.”

“Some marriages aren’t meant to be.”

“Gabe and me, we’ve had fifty-two happy years.” Mrs. Kruger’s attention kept moving in Brad’s direction. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Kruger. Right now I’m focusing on my business,” Jamie answered patiently. The motherly types who remembered her from childhood were interested in her romantic plans, though some of the younger wives were also inquisitive, but for entirely different reasons. Jamie had already learned a sour truth—a youthful divorcée was considered dangerous by some women, although her genuine friends weren’t worried.

Mrs. Kruger’s curiosity was transparent as she squinted at Brad Denning. “Is he a friend?”

“He’s from the resort. He just stopped to sample the berries.” Jamie didn’t want to say that Brad had needed to rest.

Disappointment clouded the kindly woman’s features. “What a shame. Your grandfather prized a good gab. Gabe would come to get the berries for me, and they’d sit for hours talking baseball. Speaking of which, I should go and get that jam started.”

Waving cheerily, Mrs. Kruger drove away and Jamie walked to the trailer. Brad was eating strawberries and his brow was less tense.

“We can go now, unless you’d rather hang out here,” Jamie told him.

“You don’t lock up?”

“There’s no point. It’s easy to break in and then I’d have to repair the latch.”

Brad asked to be dropped at the resort entrance, saying it was only a short distance to his brother’s apartment. Jamie didn’t push; the man had the right to decide things for himself.

Later as she snuggled onto her smooth cotton pillowcase with Marlin purring against her on the bed, Jamie’s mind wandered through the day’s events. It was annoying that she kept thinking about Zack Denning. She’d appreciate it if he would stay on his property and leave her alone, but it was a reasonable bet that she’d have another encounter with his lordship in the near future.

The man hadn’t given up. He was probably in a tactical retreat while he devised a new plot to get Granddad’s land.

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