Fairy tales do come true.

She seemed to have it all: a fabulous career as a supermodel, a dad who dotes on her and a home in Paris. And now Cassie’s rediscovered the Manning half brother and sister she barely remembered since she was split up from them as a toddler. But none of that excuses her bad behavior on a photo shoot that hit all the tabloids and sent her running from the media. With the help of family friend Grady Nelson, she’s able to lie low in his secluded cabin so she can be part of the New Year’s wedding of her long-lost sister. Cassie’s just beginning to believe she might really have it all—including the heart of this independent bachelor—when she accidentally sets fire to Grady’s house... Then all bets are off.

“Hold the elevator!”

“Grady...” Cassie stumbled.

“Come on!” he encouraged her, running. “If we get there first, I can tell the waiter Ben’s paying. He has a tab here.”

The man held the door from closing as Grady ran in, drawing Cassie in with him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she struggled to catch her breath. The man let the door go and the elevator began to rise.

Grady was completely unprepared for what happened next. Cassie’s hands caught his in a biting grip, her fingernails drawing blood as she let out a high-pitched, ear-splitting scream. She began to shake him and point to the door.

“Cassie—”

“No!”

The other man’s eyes widened as they reached the third floor and the doors parted.

Cassie gasped and ran out into a hallway that spilled into the restaurant, only feet from the hostess’s podium. She stopped and drew in air, her arms wrapped around herself, her cheeks red.

She looked mortified and somehow isolated. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then added grimly, “Remember that issue from my childhood I mentioned that I still deal with?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s claustrophobia.”

“Yeah,” he said. An inch of skin was scraped off his left hand. “I guessed that.”

Dear Reader,

I was a pudgy little kid, and all these years later, nothing much has changed. I’ve tried every diet out there with various levels of temporary success. Having a sedentary job doesn’t help, nor does the propensity to sit and read a book when everyone else is playing tennis.

The real boon of that sedentary job, though, is that I can create and spend time with a heroine who has a perfect body. I know a great body doesn’t make a better person, but I’ve always wanted one anyway. I make no apologies.

When Cassidy Chapman formed in my mind, the third child in my Manning Family Reunion series, she was beautiful and looked perfect, but I didn’t know what she did for a living. Then I thought about the perfect job for a woman with a perfect body and I let out all the stops. She’s a supermodel with a great life, but she has a past she knows little about since she and her siblings were separated as children.

As New Year’s Wedding opens, the paparazzi are on her trail after an embarrassing episode on a photo shoot, and she’s running to escape them with Grady Nelson—Ben’s police department partner from To Love and Protect.

In Beggar’s Bay she finds family, answers to questions that have plagued her for a long time and love. But Grady has his own issues, so finding solutions that will allow them to build a life together isn’t easy. But is it ever?

While it’s true that her model’s body didn’t simplify her life, she looked wonderful while she struggled. I loved that.

Thank you for buying my book!

New Year’s Wedding

Muriel Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MURIEL JENSEN lives with her husband, Ron, in a simple old Victorian looking down on the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon. They share the space with a wild West Highland white terrier mix and two eccentric tabbies. They have three children, nine grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. Their neighborhood is charmed, populated with the kindest people who are also the best cooks. Life is so good.

MILLS & BOON

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To the Seattle Mariners and the Seattle Seahawks to whom my husband is devoted. Their games gave me uninterrupted time to write. They’re also quite a gorgeous group, so my “heroes” folder is full of their photos.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

THE COLD, CRISP night had begun so well. Despite the last-minute schedule change just days before Christmas, the crew had rallied for the flight from Paris to Ireland. They would make this photo shoot work. The only hitch had been Maggie, the makeup artist, who had already left on her Christmas holiday. But a replacement had been found and everyone approached the Heart and Soul perfume shoot with the enthusiasm required for success.

The palatial country home where they were being allowed to set up lights and cameras had a pillared portico outlined with Christmas lights and a tall, decorated oak by the front steps.

Cassie Chapman was cold. Her filmy red, off-the-shoulder gown was intended to contribute to the glamour of the scene, but someone stood just yards away with a warm coat to wrap around her during breaks.

She was excited and edgy. Work always revved her body and her brain, but that wasn’t all. That morning, she’d learned that the brother and sister she hadn’t seen since she was two years old had found her and invited her to join them in Texas for the holidays. Though feeling like a lit firecracker inside, she tried to focus on the work at hand, knowing the entire crew was as anxious to finish the night’s work as she was.

The shoot began to go bad when the woman who had replaced Maggie kept running in between shots to reset the combs that held Cassie’s thick hair back. Her movements were quick and understandably nervous. She was very young and it was the first time she’d worked with this crew. She jabbed blush on Cassie’s cheekbones with a finger that felt like an auger, and fussed with eyelashes she’d applied earlier and that now drooped slightly on the outside edge.

Cassie had stood quietly while the woman tried to fix it, apparently not achieving the look she wanted. The stars and the lights began to spin a little, her breath coming as though having to fight its way out. Oh, no. Those symptoms usually preceded an event. She told herself firmly, “Not. Now.”

But rough, anxious hands were all over her face, pushing and smoothing, reattaching a comb and scraping her scalp.

Cassie remained still. She had a reputation as a consummate professional whether she was in water, on a camel or in a tree. Discomfort meant nothing as long as they got just the right shot.

Panic began, anyway. It was mild at first because she tried to work the behavior strategy. Breathe deeply, think about wide, open spaces and put yourself there.

Her favorite place was Paloma Beach on the Riviera. She struggled to remember the feel of the warm breeze on her face and the sun on her limbs, to hear the surf and the laughter of other bathers.

She was anxious, though, about meeting her siblings. She could miss her flight, and travel was crazy at this time of year. And the strategy required focus and not distraction to work well.

She finally said politely, “Please stop. I need a minute to...”

But the woman went on as though Cassie hadn’t spoken, determined to fix the troublesome eyelashes.

Mild panic quickly became the serious stuff of nightmares. After twenty-five years and several therapists, she still didn’t know if she’d been born this way or if something she couldn’t recall had caused it. Once the panic took her over, its origin didn’t matter. Dealing with it was all she could do.

Now she couldn’t breathe, felt the darkness coming as though someone lowered a heavy, prickly blanket over her, saw the lights go crazy as the spin quickened and she began to gasp for air. The need to jump out of her skin and run was overwhelming.

It acted like a memory that wouldn’t quite form. She had a sense of something holding her tightly in place, squeezing the breath out of her. In contradiction to the imprisoning hold, she felt something silky against her face. It was always the same. Loud, angry voices, cries of pain and anguish, then a harsh, ugly noise and a moment’s silence. She struggled to put a time and place to what was less a memory than an imprint on her brain without words or pictures. As always, nothing came.

When the makeup artist smoothed the eyelashes again and accidentally stuck her finger in Cassie’s eye, Cassie came back to the moment suddenly, screaming. She grabbed the startled woman’s wrist and held it away from her.

“Stop!” Cassie shouted at her. “I asked you to stop!” She was horrified to hear herself. She never shouted. “Are you deaf?” she demanded.

The cruel question was spoken in exasperation rather than anger but she noted that the woman’s eyes were on her lips. When they rose to meet her gaze, they looked mortified, stricken.

Several members of the crew closed in to try to help, but that was the last thing Cassie’s claustrophobia needed. Though she felt as though a breath was trapped in her lungs, she managed to free a high-pitched scream. She dropped the woman’s wrist, pushed away the coat someone tried to wrap around her, picked up the skirts of her dress and ran away. The scream seemed to fill the night and follow her.

CHAPTER ONE

CASSIDY CHAPMAN HELD Grady Nelson’s hand in a death grip as they raced across the tarmac toward her father’s private jet. Footsteps pounded after them.

“Cassie!” a rough male voice shouted from behind them. The rest of what he said was drowned out by the sound of the growling jet, ready for takeoff. The smell of diesel and grass filled the warm, southeast Texas air, making the Christmas carols coming from the terminal some distance away seem out of place.

“Almost there!” Grady encouraged her as they continued to run.

“Thank goodness,” Cassie gasped. “I feel like my feet are wearing through the soles of my shoes.”

“If you weren’t such a celebrity, you wouldn’t have to keep dodging the press.”

They ground to a stop at the steps leading into her father’s plane. The copilot waiting for them directed a passing security guard to stop the pursuing photographer.

“Drew,” she said as she ran past the copilot and up the steps, her small tote bag weighing a ton after that run. “Thanks for being so prompt. But I thought Dad was sending the helicopter.”

“It’s our job to be prompt, Miss Chapman,” he called after her. “Like the Boy Scouts, only we fly. And I was closer than the ’copter.”

The small Gulfstream G450 was luxurious yet comfortingly familiar with its white-and-gold tapestry-covered armchairs around a low table. Several Picasso prints decorated the bulkhead. She’d accompanied her father on business on this plane many times. Flying with him had been part of her therapy. There’d been a point when she’d thought she’d licked all those old problems, but recent events had shaken that belief.

Grady stopped just inside and looked around in apparent astonishment. She hustled him forward so Drew could pull up the steps and close the door. She stowed her bag and took Grady’s from him.

“Ah...” he said, frowning as his eyes went from the Tiffany lamp on the table to the art prints. “I guess we won’t have to worry about legroom.”

“Nice, isn’t it? It’s really hard to fly commercial airlines when you’ve gotten used to this.” She pointed him to the two traditional passenger seats facing forward and put his bag in an overhead bin. “We have to sit here for takeoff,” she said, taking the aisle seat. “Do you mind sitting by the window?” She nudged Grady toward the window seat as she asked the question.

“Happy to.” He sat and buckled his belt, peering out the window, and then looked around, his expression still one of disbelief. She didn’t blame him. He was probably wondering how a trip to spend Christmas with his friend in Texas had turned into a mad chase with her to the central Oregon coastal town where he lived and worked and was a friend of her family’s.

“Are you beginning to regret helping me escape?” she asked, buckling her own belt, the small Chloe suede cross-body bag she still wore across her chest.

“No.” He turned to smile at her. “But I do admit to feeling a long way out of my element. I seldom have reason to fly, much less in a private plane. My life is so much...smaller than this. And I like that.”

Was that a message? she wondered. I rescued you this time, but don’t get used to it. This isn’t going to be one of those cop-rescues-model-in-distress stories with a romance-movie ending.

If so, that was fine with her. She had too much to repair in her life, and that required her complete attention. Like the panic she always felt when flying. And the fact that she may have just killed her career with a major meltdown in the middle of a shoot in Ireland. Both were related to an issue she couldn’t explain, except to wonder if it was left over from her nebulous childhood. She’d done a good job of keeping that to herself, so, to the world at large, she just looked like a white-knuckle flier and to the crew in Ireland, a spoiled brat.

Added to that, she’d been reunited with her siblings after most of a lifetime spent apart, only to have to escape their Texas reunion when the paparazzi appeared.

She’d dreamed of getting her brother and sister back for most of her life. She barely remembered Jack; just an impression of gentleness and a comforting voice.

But she and Corie had corresponded for a while when she was twelve. Then Corie had run away and they’d had little contact since. Until they’d met in Texas.

As though that wasn’t enough to keep a woman up at night, at age twenty-five, she suddenly had this undefined longing nothing seemed to satisfy. It wasn’t related to men because her life was filled with them, and though she enjoyed their friendships, she felt no desire to spend the rest of her life with one. She did not need one more complication. She needed...something.

She patted Grady’s hand where it rested on his knee, just to be able to touch something strong and solid. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as we get to Beggar’s Bay. Your car’s at the Salem airport, right?”

“No. I drove my mother and my aunts to Reno before I flew to Texas. I flew from there to meet Ben and Corie, expecting to fly back to Reno. And then you came along.”

“Oh. Then I’ll rent a car. But how are you getting the Jeep back?”

“Ben will drive me down to pick it up. It’s not that long a drive from Beggar’s Bay.”

“Good.”

Drew’s voice came over the speaker. “Ready? We’re off to the great Northwest, where we’ll be greeted by—big surprise—wind and rain! Temperature is 42 degrees.”

Cassie braced herself for takeoff. Wind and rain. She could deal with them, of course, but she was a hardcore Riviera rat at heart, not for its elegance and famous visitors, but because she loved blue skies and sunshine dancing on the azure Mediterranean. She closed her eyes, unconsciously tightening her grip on Grady’s hand. The weather was the least of her concerns right now.

* * *

GRADY TURNED AS her fingernails dug into his knuckles, saw that her porcelain profile was set as though she was in pain, and concluded that she didn’t like to fly. Seemed odd, since she must have to do it often. But fear was tough to conquer. He turned his hand to hold hers.

He had to tell himself again that this was really happening to him; he wasn’t dreaming. And while it was true that he didn’t regret a moment of the last few hours, he was seriously out of his comfort zone. As long as she looked desperate and lost, he was carried on the tide of rescue. The cop that lived inside him, that most days defined his very being, would move heaven and earth to get her to safety. Not that the pursuing paparazzi had threatened her with physical harm, but escaping them seemed very important to her, so he would do his utmost to help her.

Otherwise, this kind of opulence made him uncomfortable. He’d never traveled among people who appeared on the covers of magazines, or who could move airplanes around as her father had done. In fact, Grady came from a social circle that believed rich people didn’t live real lives and were, therefore, not real themselves.

He hadn’t learned much about her on just two days’ acquaintance, except that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had long, loosely waving hair like a stream of moonlight, perfect ocean-blue eyes framed by long lashes, and a small feminine nose and chin. Her skin was flawless, a creamy shade of alabaster.

He squeezed her fingers. “You all right?”

Her reply was breathless. “Yeah.”

Obviously not true. He tried to distract her with conversation. “Ever been to Oregon before?”

“I was born there, actually.”

* * *

SHE HAD TO think about something other than her need to scream.

Looking into his eyes did provide a distraction. The irises were blue, a shade paler than hers, with rims around them that looked as though they’d been made with a felt-tipped pen. There was a comforting quiet in them that belied the sharp-witted, quick-thinking way he operated. She guessed that was critical for a cop.

She observed his face with professional interest. He was handsome. Not the kind of handsome she saw every day in the men she modeled with or the actors or other celebrities she’d dated. He was stunningly real, his burnished gold hair without product to thwart its tendency to fall on his forehead. It had no artfully applied highlights and was no thousand-dollar cut. It was simply thick and a little too long all over.

He was focused on her, waiting for her to go on. For a moment she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. Even her encroaching panic had receded a little. Right. Oregon.

“Ah...my sister, Corie, was born there, too. My brother, Jack, was born in California and was just a toddler when our mother moved to Oregon.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Grady had a strong, straight nose, a nice mouth that smiled a lot, and a square jaw with just the suggestion of a cleft. He smiled at her now. “It’s great that you’re all finally together again. Jack’s wanted to find you and Corie so badly.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m still not sure why we left your family behind in Texas when the press descended. I thought celebrities loved publicity.”

She wondered whether or not to tell him about what had happened at the shoot in Ireland but then decided against it. She’d have to explain her backstory and he really didn’t have to know all that.

And everyone was coming home tomorrow to quickly put a wedding together for Corie and Ben, and she wouldn’t cast a pall on that for anything. Besides, she wouldn’t be in Oregon long enough that she even had to explain what had prompted this escape.

So she lied a little. “Publicity, yes. Paparazzi, not so much. I’m so tired of their constant presence. It’s interesting to me that you can get a restraining order against a man who is always in your face or hiding in your bushes, but put a camera in his hand and it’s suddenly a freedom-of-speech matter. When I saw that press caravan pull up in front of Teresa’s...” She hesitated, unable to describe how surprised and horrified she’d been when the press had appeared at the foster home where her sister had spent her teen years and where’d they’d all gathered to spend Christmas. Word must have gotten out about the scene she’d made in Ireland. Though Grady hadn’t known about that, he had seemed to understand her need to get away.

She felt a sudden burst of gratitude for this man who’d come with her without question. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”

He stopped her with a shake of his head. “No need. Ben’s been my partner on the force for five years. He’s like a brother to me. Since his family adopted your brother, Jack, and Ben is about to marry your sister on New Year’s Day, I think it makes you and me family—sort of.”

She had to agree. “True, but a thank-you is in order, anyway, because we were all having such a nice Christmas holiday.”

“We were. I’d expected to have a grim Christmas until Ben invited me to Texas.”

She smiled empathetically. “Yes, I heard about your girlfriend. You know, I really can’t believe she left you. Why did she?”

“I guess I just wasn’t the right man for her, after all.” He shrugged. “She didn’t want to talk marriage with me, yet she ran off to marry someone else after knowing him three weeks.”

“Well, then, who needs her? You tell me what you’re looking for in a woman and I will fix you up. I have friends all over the world. You want an heiress? An adventuress? An activist?”

He laughed at her business-like approach to matchmaking. “Thanks, but I’m off women for the moment. Tell me more about you. Ben said you were in Ireland when your father called to tell you your siblings were looking for you.”

She didn’t want to talk about Ireland.

“We were shooting a perfume ad.”

“Corie said you’ve been on every notable designer’s runway and you’re the face of six or seven major ad campaigns. And all that time she’d admired you, she didn’t realize you were her sister.”

“She hadn’t seen me since I was two, except for a photo when I was about twelve. Besides, I go by Chapman, my father’s name, and I had dental surgery to cover a gap between my front teeth when I began to model. You knew our mother had three children from three different men?”

“Ben told me a little about your situation. Must have been hard on everyone.”

“Well, Corie and I were sent to our fathers when our mother went to prison. Jack’s father had died in a plane crash and Ben Palmer was his best friend, so he was adopted by Ben’s parents.”

“That’s a nice note in a sad story.” He shifted in his seat with a sudden smile. “It seems to be turning out well, after all. Back to you. Are you spoiled and demanding? Like, only red M&M’s when you do interviews and only classical music on the sound system when you’re modeling?”

“Of course.” She replied with a straight face. “Except yellow M&M’s rather than red, country-western rather than classical, and only dark-haired men in the shot with me.”

“Because the contrast shows off your golden goddess looks?”

Golden goddess. Was that a compliment, she wondered, or an accusation? She couldn’t tell. “No. Playing the diva is never in the interest of the work. It’s just my personal preference in men.”

“Of course. I presume you have character and spirit standards, as well? Because, you know, hair color doesn’t really tell you anything.”

She ran a smiling look over his old-gold hair and blue eyes. “You come closest to those.”

* * *

UH, OH. He realized it would be wise to withdraw even as he leaned toward her. She wasn’t at all what he’d expected of a fawned-over celebrity. And the moment she’d turned to him for help, he’d run away with her. It was unsettling to know she’d had such an effect on him. He was as fun-loving as the next bachelor, but he wasn’t a thrill-seeker as a rule, or particularly reckless. He’d had a sick father; had to quit school. Life had been hard, but that had made him a practical man. “Well, no man worth his salt—even one with the wrong hair color—can resist a beautiful woman in distress.”

She stared at him an extra minute then pointed at the window to the heavy clouds around them. “I understand it rains all the time in Oregon.”

“Not all the time,” he corrected. “Just October to April, but climate change has made every year less predictable than the one before. Of course, I have only five years of Beggar’s Bay weather history to go by. I’m a transplant from Idaho, and we lived in Europe until I was in high school. My parents taught at American schools there—mostly in Italy and Spain. We went to Paris once, though I don’t remember much about it. But I’ve never been to New York, except at the airport. I’m happy in Beggar’s Bay.”

“I have seen many of the world’s most beautiful places—big cities, natural wonders, postcard views—and they’re a feast for the soul. But the heart needs something else.”

He kept his surprise to himself. The heart? Of course, supermodels had heart. He’d seen her in Texas with her rediscovered family and the children at the foster home in Querida. But this observation seemed to be about something else; something very personal.

“Your heart’s searching for something?”

“Isn’t everyone’s?”

She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, away from him. Hmm. Interesting woman. Impulsive and trusting, but holding a few secrets?

Well. Not his problem. After the wedding, she’d probably go back to Paris or New York or wherever the next shoot was and it would be as though their paths had never crossed. Just as well.

It was dusk when the pilot’s voice came over the speaker to tell them they were beginning to descend and asking that they fasten their seat belts. She’d been fidgety and restless most of the flight and had just dozed off a few moments before. He reached out to fasten her belt rather than wake her. The small movement woke her. She looked into his eyes and said sleepily, “I didn’t dream this. You are here.” Her grateful look pinned and melted him.

“I am,” he said easily, as though he ran off with supermodels every day.

* * *

DARKNESS HAD FALLEN when they began the drive home in a rented gray pickup he’d thought would handle the road better than the luxury car she’d suggested. It was raining hard, water from the winding, poorly lit road splashing around them.

Cassie imagined tomorrow morning’s articles.

Popular 25-year-old supermodel Cassiopeia, AKA Cassidy Jane Chapman, was killed on Highway 101 on the central Oregon coast when the car in which she was a passenger swerved off the wet road and into a tree. Before the scene in Ireland that might have ended her career, she was the face of Eterna Beauty, Belle Face Pharmaceuticals, Heart and Soul Perfume, as well as many other products. Clothing designer Josephine Bergerac of the award-winning Empress line of eveningwear wept as she told CNN, “There will never be another body like Cassie’s for my clothes. I am done.”

All right, so maybe Josie wouldn’t give up her work if Cassie died, but her friends and family would miss her. Her father would be devastated.

Grady slammed on the brakes as something large with four legs ran across the road just feet in front of them. Water flew around them as he skidded, and they finally came to a stop in the other lane. His bright lights illuminated a break in the trees through which the animal had disappeared. Cassie got a quick impression of a large brown body and a white rump.

“You okay?” he asked, catching her shoulder until she turned toward him. He looked her over.

“Yes.” Her voice was breathless, her heart hammering.

He expelled a breath then checked his rearview mirror as she watched the road for oncoming traffic. They seemed to be alone. Then a smaller version of whatever had raced past them loped across the road and into that break in the trees. This time she saw the first buds of antlers on a beautiful young head.

“I didn’t realize deer were so big,” she said as he turned back into their lane.

“Those were elk,” he replied. “Roosevelt Elk. When a doe goes by, there’s often a young one behind her. The Oregon Coast is full of them.”

“Do you see them in Beggar’s Bay?”

“I do. I live in an A-frame in the woods. They’re a little shy, but they like to eat the salmonberries on the other side of my backyard.”

She, on the other hand, didn’t live anywhere. At least, not tonight. Her hasty departure from Texas had left several details about the next few days unresolved. “When we get to Beggar’s Bay, can you just drop me at a motel, please? I’ll buy you dinner as a thank-you if there’s a restaurant nearby.” She made a face when she heard her own words. “Not that dinner could repay you for helping me.”

He shook his head, dismissing that idea as he turned onto a long, straight stretch of road. “We don’t have a motel. We have a couple of B and Bs, but they’re probably full because of the holidays.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “What about the next town?”

“It’s another ten miles. Why don’t you just stay with me? I have a spare bedroom and a bath. You’ll have privacy until the wedding. You know you’re safe with me because your brother would kill me if I let anything happen to you.” He was quiet for a moment and then he asked, “What are you going to do? I mean, ultimately. You can’t hide from the press forever, and you must have jobs lined up.”

“Workwise, I have a couple of months off, but I promised to do a charity show in early January,” she said. “Maybe I’ll travel around a little after. I’ve worked hard so I could pull together some weeks to relax. Turns out my timing was perfect. Meanwhile, the whole family’s flying home tonight on the red-eye, so it’s possible I can bunk with one of them.” She nodded gratefully. “But I’d appreciate staying at your place tonight if you’re sure it’s all right.”

“I’m sure. Just relax. We’ll be home in half an hour.”

Relaxing didn’t seem to be an option. Used to sitting in the back of a limo or a taxi, she was a little unnerved by the bumpy ride. The in-your-face view from the passenger seat was filled with tall trees and deep darkness, except for the path of his headlights and an occasional light suggesting a house some distance off the highway.

Grady drove with calm competence despite the near accident, and she kept quiet, appreciating his need to concentrate.

The headlights finally picked out a sign that read Welcome to Beggar’s Bay. Population 8,912.

The edge of town was heavily forested, but lights and signs of habitation began to thicken. Finally they drove through three blocks of a brightly lit downtown. He turned up a road and pointed past her to a construction site where a three-story building was going up. “That’s the assisted-living facility your brother Jack’s wife, Sarah, is heading up. I’m just another mile this way.”

Lights became spotty again and trees crowded the road.

He eventually turned up a side road for a short distance, then into the driveway of a tall, brightly lit A-frame house. It was trimmed in Christmas lights. She smiled in surprise. “When you said an A-frame, I imagined something simpler. The lights are beautiful.”

Grady’s home had a rustic façade with a central fieldstone chimney and high, wide, wedge-shaped windows on either side. Stilts supported a wraparound deck and, to the left of the house, terraced bricks held large pots with green plants.

“I got it for a steal when I moved here. It had been vacant for a year and a half, and the owner was anxious to get out from under two mortgages. I didn’t get a tree up before I went to Texas.”

He groaned as he pulled in beside a red-and-white Mini Cooper. “My mother’s here.” He turned off the car and gave Cassie a rueful smile. “I was hoping she’d still be in Reno. She’ll want to know all about you.”

Cassie smiled. “That’s okay. I have nothing to hide.” Mostly. She unbuckled her belt with a philosophical shrug. “While my father is kind and caring, he’s made poor choices in women in the past. I imagine that’s how I was born. It’ll be nice to meet a real mother.”

“Yeah.” His tone was doubtful. “You’re such an innocent, Cassie,” he teased, then frowned at the simple dress she wore. “I don’t suppose you have rain gear in your luggage?”

“I don’t. I was expecting to stay in sunny Texas. But I’ll be fine. It’s not that far to the front door, is it?” She peered through the windshield. “Where is the front door?”

“Halfway back on the left side. Just run for the shelter of the deck overhang. Here.” He yanked off the white cotton sweater he wore and held it over her head. She put her arms into the sleeves and he pulled it down. “It isn’t too much protection, but better than nothing.”

She was surrounded by the scent of male and something dry and spicy with a suggestion of pine. The cotton was warm from his body. “Thank you,” she said. He let himself out of the truck.

The rain was torrential—and cold. It struck her face and bare legs when she hesitated to get her bearings. Grady caught her hand and pulled her with him as he ran for the shelter of the overhang. She blinked against raindrops and followed, slowing as he did halfway up the walkway at the side of the house. A door flew open.

Cassie caught a glimpse of a woman in the doorway who was probably in her late fifties. She was wearing a beige turtleneck sweater and dark blue pants. She held the door open as Grady passed her in a rain-soaked T-shirt.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, pulling Cassie inside.

“Hi, Mrs. Nelson.” Cassie smiled into the woman’s suspicious expression as she tripped in after Grady.

Grady’s mother had permed gray hair without much style, brown eyes and a slightly pointy nose and chin. Her skin was beautiful and only lightly lined around her eyes.

“Hello,” she replied, frowning at the large sweater she must know to be her son’s. Then her eyes went to Cassie’s face—and stopped—and widened. She finally said in a stricken whisper, “Oh! My! God!”

They were in a sort of foyer. Cassie looked worriedly at Grady.

“You’re not, are you?” his mother asked Cassie. She stepped a little closer, staring at her, closed her eyes and then opened them again.

Cassie wasn’t as used to this kind of reaction as someone might think. In most situations, she was surrounded by other celebrities, famous—or notorious. She refused to shrink away.

“You are!” Grady’s mother answered her own question.

Grady kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mom, this is Cassidy Chapman. Her sister, Corie, is marrying Ben on New Year’s Day, so she’s come to the wedding. Cassie, this is my mother, Diane Nelson.” Then he took Cassie’s arm and led her through a doorway into a bright kitchen decorated in blue and white.

Grady’s mother followed. “Thank God you made coffee, Mom,” Grady said as he went to the coffeepot on the counter. Cassie turned to face his mother, guessing by her grim expression that something bad was coming. She braced herself.

“You’ve recovered quickly from your nervous breakdown,” Diane said. As Cassie stared at her in disbelief, she added, “The screaming scene you made at that Irish mansion was on SAN—Stars at Night—just a few hours ago. Somebody took a cell phone video.”

CHAPTER TWO

“MOM!” GRADY CAME back to Cassie as she struggled to find a sense of equilibrium.

Come on, she told herself. You do it for the camera all the time. What’s happened to you personally is hidden behind whatever the camera needs from you. And you had to know this was coming. Just not so soon.

“I...I had a bad moment there,” she said, simplifying an explanation. “It’s a long story.”

“The reporter speculated that you were upset because Fabiana Capri got the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and you didn’t. She thought maybe it was just a temper tantrum.”

Cassie was speechless.

“I’m a celebrity news junkie,” Diane said a little smugly. “SAN had the whole story.”

Sure. Entertainment news paid a lot of money for the inside skinny about celebrities. There’d been enough technical people and assistants at the shoot that one of them was bound to find the money appealing.

Unused to being so disliked so quickly, Cassie fought for composure. She met Diane’s condemning brown eyes calmly. “They may have had the story, but it wasn’t accurate. I guess that comes from speculating instead of getting the facts.”

“What are the facts?”

Grady came to stand between them and handed Cassie the cup of coffee. He frowned at his mother. “Cassie is a guest here for a few days, and I’d appreciate it if you would be polite. You know, like you taught me to be?” He added that last with emphasis.

“It’s all right,” Cassie insisted, transferring the cup to her left hand and offering her right to Diane. The woman did look like a grassroots sort of mother, the kind who would see that you ate from the food pyramid, got your eight hours of sleep and were polite to your elders. And would kill any predators that came near you. Cassie had dreamed her entire life of having such a mother.

“If she saw me acting like a crazy woman on television, she probably fears for your safety.” She sent Grady a wry grin then smiled at his mother, who looked a little surprised but still suspicious. “I assure you I’m a very sane, ordinary woman who’s been working too hard for too long. I snapped.” Everything inside her shuddered as she remembered that moment, but she struggled to look like the normal woman she insisted she was. “I had just learned my brother and sister, whom I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler, were in Texas, and I sort of lost it while trying to finish the shoot before I could join them.”

His mother shook her head. “Shouldn’t you have gone to be with them instead of agreeing to work?”

“I agreed to work just hours before my father called me with the news. That shoot was expensive, and all those people were away from their families during the holidays to get it done. It would have been selfish of me to leave them all there and ask them to come back again later. To incur all that expense a second time.”

Diane granted her that with a reluctant “True.”

“So I was anxious to get it done quickly while still doing a good job, but the designer had insisted on false eyelashes and the makeup artist was having trouble with them and I was tired and antsy and sort of lost it.”

“Sort of?”

Cassie ignored that and went on. She was glad she’d missed Stars at Night’s report on her behavior. “We were having a wonderful time in Texas until the press descended. I had to get away or ruin the holiday for everyone. Grady helped me get away out the back, drove to the airport and...” She spread her arms as she looked around her at the comfortable kitchen. “Here we are. You have a lovely son.”

From behind her, Grady questioned, “Lovely?”

His mother studied her as though she were a lab rat. She answered grudgingly, “He is a nice boy.”

“Boy?” Grady again.

* * *

CASSIE HAD HAD a nervous breakdown? That surprised Grady. Or maybe that information was just wrong, considering it was Hollywood gossip. Except for the occasional moody withdrawal, Cassie seemed very together. Though she had appeared a little tense on the plane.

Grady frowned at his mother, though he understood her bad manners. She loved him. She wanted what was best for him. She just had trouble understanding what that was or that it was up to him and not her.

“We’ve had a long day, Mom. Thanks for coming to welcome me home.” He wanted to add, “You can go now,” but was hoping she’d take the hint.

Instead she pointed toward the living room. “Your aunts and I had a lucky streak in Reno, so I bought you a little something to thank you for driving us down. It was delivered this afternoon.”

“You did? What’s that?”

“An armoire for your television.”

Cassie spotted it through the open door into the living room and took off to investigate, probably anxious to escape the tension in the kitchen. He didn’t blame her. He tried to follow her but his mother caught his arm.

“What are you thinking?” she demanded.

He struggled for patience. “About what?”

“About that girl!”

“She’s not a girl. She’s a woman. A very nice woman.”

“A nice crazy woman. And what do you think she’s doing with you?”

He growled. “I explained all that. She’s here for Ben’s wedding to her sister.”

“Oh, Grady.” His mother put a hand to her head as though it throbbed. “She’s using you to escape reality. Apparently she freaked out because she can’t deal with her life.” She lowered her hand and rolled her eyes. “Has to be hard, right? Millions of dollars in income, on the cover of magazines, dating super jocks and movie stars, and when she doesn’t get what she wants—like the cover of Sports Illustrated—she has a tantrum. Do you really need that? I mean, given what happened with your last—?”

“Mom,” he interrupted firmly. “Her sister is Ben’s fiancée. Jack’s been trying so hard to put his family back together since he came home from Afghanistan. Now they’re all going to be together for the wedding on New Year’s Day and Cassie is staying with me until she goes back to work. It’s going to be a happy family time for all of them, and no one is going to spoil it. Got it?”

“Sort of. What I don’t get is what a supermodel is going to find to do in Beggar’s Bay. With you.”

He tipped his head back in exasperation. “I wish you’d stop saying that as though I have no right to be in the same world as her.”

She blinked, maternal concern alight in her eyes. “I meant that she doesn’t have the right to be in the same world as you.”

He was still annoyed with her but put his arm around her. That was mother-love. A supermodel who made millions and was known the world over wasn’t good enough for Diane Nelson’s son. “I’m a trained police officer, Mom. If she decides to run off with my savings or try to kill me in my sleep, I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t be smart. You know how you are.”

“I’m not sure I do. How am I?”

She opened her mouth to answer then fluttered her hands, seemingly at a loss for the right words. “I don’t know. You’re always everybody’s problem-solver.” Then she followed the direction Cassie had taken to the armoire. He took a cup of coffee and fell in behind her, stopping beside Cassie, who stood several feet back, admiring the gift.

He made every effort to mask what he felt. It was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. It was seven feet high, with doors two-thirds of the way up and two drawers at the bottom. It was painted to look rustic in a flat, medium blue, and was covered in colorful, primitive-style floral designs. It looked like a gaudy weed among his simple furnishings.

His mother asked from the other side of Cassie, “Do you like it?”

He poured coffee down his throat. “It’s wonderful, Mom.” He was grateful she and his aunts hadn’t tried to disconnect his television to put it inside the cabinet. When he’d moved into this place, they’d connected his set while he was helping move in the sofa and, for reasons no one could understand, he got Korean television.

Cassie took a step forward and ran her fingertips over one of the painted flowers. “This is milk paint, isn’t it?” she asked his mother.

“It is. And these are lion-mounted ring pulls, right out of the early nineteenth century. A little much for this piece, but some folk artist might have saved it off a more elegant dresser. I have a small but interesting folk art collection.”

“I love it. It has so much enthusiasm.”

“How long are you staying in Beggar’s Bay?” his mother asked with no attempt to fake politeness despite that civil exchange. She wanted to know when Cassie was leaving.

Cassie seemed to get that but smiled, anyway. “My brother and sister are flying in overnight, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to stay with one of them until I go home.”

His mother seemed appeased. “Good. Well, I should go. I left a casserole in the refrigerator for you for tomorrow’s dinner.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Grady walked her around the front to her car.

“I like the armoire,” he said to his mother’s back.

She turned and gave him a knowing look. “You didn’t like it until you saw that she liked it. And how do we know she didn’t say that just to get in good with us?”

Rain fell in sheets beyond the protection of the overhead deck, and the night air was perfumed and cold. “Mom, that’s paranoid and completely unfair. I’m sure her bank account is fifty times larger than mine. What reason would she have to ingratiate herself with you to get to me?”

In a sudden loosening of her severity, his mother patted his cheek. “Because you’re such a sweetheart and, according to ET, she hasn’t had a lot of luck with men. That meltdown suggests she’s troubled about her life, and you are like a stockade wall.”

A stockade wall. Tall timbers lashed together to form a barrier, their tops hacked to a point to prevent a breach. He wasn’t sure that was flattering.

She gave him a quick, strong hug. “That’s how it felt to me when you came home from school to help me with Dad. Like we were safe behind you.” She pushed him back. “Now, go inside. I won’t bother you again unless you need me. Or want to invite me to dinner, or come over to put up the pergola for me like you’ve been promising.”

“I painted it, didn’t I?”

“Last July. And you did such a lovely job that it should be in my garden and not my garage.” She smiled sweetly then hurried to her car. She took a few minutes to get settled inside, then started to back up.

Grady watched her turn around, keeping a careful eye on his basketball stand; he’d replaced it twice already thanks to her lack of skill in Reverse. He waved her off and ran back inside.

Cassie sat at his breakfast bar, her veil of hair shining under the overhead light, soft, weary blue eyes looking up at him as he walked into the kitchen. She appeared fragile suddenly, not at all the athlete who’d raced across the airport tarmac with him, who’d put up with the chilling rain and his unwelcoming mother.

“You look about to fall asleep,” he said, helping her off the stool. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room then I’ll get your bag.”

“I can get my things,” she said, stifling a yawn. “In my job, sometimes it’s expedient to be waited on. But, here, I can fend for myself.”

“You can do that tomorrow. Tonight you need some sleep.” He pointed her into the foyer and up the stairs.

“You get your hardheadedness from your mother, don’t you?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry if my being here upset your homecoming. She seemed very disappointed that you weren’t alone. She really doesn’t like me.”

They stepped up onto the fir-wood floor of the bedroom. “She thinks you’re toying with me for selfish purposes. I kind of like the notion, so I didn’t try too hard to set her straight.”

“Grady.”

“Okay, I did try. You’re right, though. She is a hardheaded woman, but that’s helped her a lot in her life. And she’s a great person, when she’s not acting like a mother bear.”

“You’re lucky to have someone care that much about you.” She turned her attention to the room. It was a big space with lodge-style furnishings that looked like they hadn’t been disturbed since they’d been placed. “It’s beautiful up here. Thank you. I’ll try not to get too comfortable.”

He went to the small bath in the corner and reached in to flip on the light. “You might want to get comfortable. I’ve been thinking about Jack’s and Corie’s situations and, much as I’m sure either one would love to have you, Jack and Sarah are in the process of packing to move to a house nearer the assisted-living facility, and Ben’s got a great condo, but it has only two bedrooms, and he’s bringing home two kids—a boy and a girl. So you’d probably end up on the sofa.”

* * *

THAT WAS TRUE. She’d had no choice in Querida but to escape the press or let them intrude upon her reunion with her family. But she made a mental note to remember that even in moments of great distress, she had to plan ahead a little. Every step she’d taken so far would have been off a cliff if it hadn’t been for Grady.

She had to smile. “Your mother would hate that.”

“True, but she’d adjust. Look around, figure out if there’s anything you need that isn’t here, and I’ll go get your bag.”

“Thank you. Grady?” She felt she had to say something about the meltdown. He had to be wondering. “The scene I made that ended up on television and probably all over the internet...”

“Is nobody’s business but yours.”

“I’m not like that—temperamental and hysterical and...”

He grinned. “I don’t know. Yellow M&M’s, only dark, handsome men...”

She gave him credit for the continued calm that so defined him, and that he could joke despite what his mother had revealed about her. “I just didn’t want you to think you ran off with a lunatic.”

“Nothing to worry about. I took off with you because I wanted to. That part’s on me. I’ll get your bag.”

As she heard his footsteps going down the stairs, she tried to shed her worries and focus on the quiet comfort his home offered.

The large room was decidedly masculine. A king-size bed with big pillows and a brown suede bedspread and a simple iron headboard stood against the wall. Rustic wooden bedside tables held brass lamps that looked like lanterns. She went to the triple mirror on the wardrobe door. Inside the closet were four levels of shelving about four feet wide. The other ten feet of closet had nothing in it but a hanging rod with three empty hangers.

She closed the doors then went into the smallish bathroom. It was white with a pedestal sink and a tall cabinet made of planks. It held several white and brown towels, paper products and other supplies.

A walk-in shower with a sliding door looked serviceable. On the wall next to it, clear of furniture, was a two-dimensional, three-foot-wide carving of a pirate ship, sails billowing, Jolly Roger flying. She laughed lightly at that, thinking it seemed out of character with the rest of the house and what she knew of the man who owned it.

“Ben gave that to me.”

She turned at the sound of Grady’s voice.

He stood in the doorway. “On my last birthday. He thought my life needed more adventure.”

If they were in New York, she thought, finding herself completely distracted by him, she could get him modeling jobs. He was the perfect height, had a nice face with interesting planes and angles, and an easy look in his eyes. She could picture the camera’s tight shot of his face. For a Drakkar Noir ad, or one that featured a pair of Ray-Bans slipped down his nose.

She drew herself back to the moment. This wasn’t New York. This was Beggar’s Bay, Oregon, and she had to stop thinking about work.

He stepped aside to let her pass. “Doesn’t the life of a police officer provide you with enough adventure?”

“It has its moments, but as Jack is always teasing Ben and me, mostly it’s about animal control and fairgrounds parking.”

As she went to the bed where he’d placed her bag, she noticed for the first time the waist-high carved railing that ran across the room, affording her a view of the great room below with its vaulted ceiling and the magnificent windows that looked onto the dark night.

She looked over the railing. “I had my back to this when we came up the stairs and I didn’t even notice it.”

He showed her that the fold-out shutters expanded from either side of the railing and met in the middle. “You can close these for privacy.”

“Great.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“I don’t think so. But, if I do, I can probably pick it up tomorrow.”

“All right. I can take you wherever you need to go. I’m off two more days, then Ben and I are giving two weeks’ notice.”

“Jack told me. You and Ben are going into business together. Private investigation, isn’t it?”

“Right.”

“That ought to give you more adventure than you need.”

“It should.” He backed toward the door. “Sleep well. Just shout over the railing if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks, Grady. I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t come with me. Somehow all the little details of running off escaped me.”

“Happy to help. See you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

Finding her toiletries bag, she took a quick shower, slipped on a midnight blue, silk nightgown, a gift from a lingerie designer after a shoot that had earned her a very large order from Neiman Marcus, left the bedside light on, and climbed into bed.

Snuggling into a soft pillow, Cassie thought about what she would need in the way of clothing to survive the next week in this rainy world. But she fell asleep before a plan could take shape.

CHAPTER THREE

GRADY SMELLED COFFEE and something sweet. He wondered what was cooking. And who.

He sat up in bed, expecting to see the simple beige wall from the B and B in Querida with its poor print of cowboys around a campfire. Instead he saw the lush conifers outside his window in Beggar’s Bay, a pewter-gray sky and local geese flying at a low altitude in a ragged vee toward the bay.

He was home. He felt a weird sense of loss at the realization. Not that he didn’t love his home, but he’d had a really great time in Querida. He’d spent a couple of weeks there, helping Ben put up a play set for the kids, getting to know Corie, Jack’s sister, and helping Ben solve a few mysteries Corie was involved in.

When Ben and Jack’s parents arrived in Querida to spend Christmas, it truly became family time. Then he had answered a knock on the door when everyone else was busy, and a supermodel had begun to introduce herself—then fainted dead away in his arms. Two days later she’d pleaded with him to run away with her. He had a rental vehicle and she didn’t, and her need to get away had seemed desperate.

A supermodel. Cassidy Chapman was asleep upstairs in his loft. Or, based on that wonderful smell, maybe she wasn’t. He got to his feet, pulled on his jeans, yanked a Seahawks sweatshirt out of a pile of things still on the chair from his unpacking and went barefoot down the hall to the kitchen.

He needed a moment to pull himself together. Cassie was working at the stove in a dark blue silky thing that skimmed her bare feet. Over it, she had pulled the sweater he’d lent her last night to get from the car to the house. She held a spatula, but her head was turned toward a television at the end of the counter.

He finally opened his mouth to shout a good morning over the sound of the TV and then closed it again when he realized she was watching the infamous video of her meltdown. It had apparently made the morning news.

On the screen was a sharp image of everyone involved in the shoot gathered on the grounds of a palatial country home with a pillared portico. They all pressed around Cassie, who stood in the middle in a fluttering red dress. Someone adjusted her hair while someone else seemed to be fitting something over her eyes as yet another person leaned in to make an adjustment to the neckline of the dress.

Without warning, a scream was heard, the tableau erupted, the circle around Cassie freezing in place—except for that dedicated makeup artist with her hands at Cassie’s eyes. Cassie screamed again and grabbed the young woman by both wrists.

The woman’s arms hung in Cassie’s grip with what looked like a spider in one hand and a tiny bottle in the other, her mouth an O of astonishment.

“Stop!” Cassie’s voice was high and shrill. “I asked you to stop! Are you deaf?”

For an instant both women stared at each other, then Cassie dropped the woman’s wrists, picked up the long skirts of her dress and ran.

The video over, a female reporter appeared on-screen accompanied by a cohost and a beautiful dark-haired woman Grady thought looked vaguely familiar. They sat at a table in the studio.

“I’m sure you all recognize Fabiana Capri,” the reporter said, “the spokeswoman for the new Tesla smart car, and Cassidy Chapman’s good friend. What do you make of that behavior, Fabiana?”

The model, dressed in yellow, shrugged an elegant shoulder. “I’m not sure what happened,” she replied with a look of concern. “Cassie disappeared right after that and no one’s seen her or talked to her since. It could be that it had been a very long day for her. She works very hard, gives every job her all, in sometimes very uncomfortable circumstances. When we did the Sports Illustrated shoot, the temperature was 57 degrees and the water was freezing. I got to pose on a rock, but Cassie stood in cold water up to her knees for an hour before the photographer felt he’d gotten it right.”

“Stars at Night,” the reporter said, “thought she might have been upset because she’d wanted the SI cover and you got it.”

The model laughed. “I doubt that seriously. Last year she had the cover and I didn’t. But we’re all adults. We’re in competition for the big jobs, but you win some and you lose some. It’s the same in every business, even fashion.” She leaned forward, expression earnest. “What you should be talking about is the trust Cassie set up for poor women needing clothes and transportation so they can look for work.”

The reporter ignored that. “But you’ve never imploded during a shoot.”

“Sure, I have. I was just lucky enough that none of the crew sold me out to the press.”

“Maybe when you grab the young woman doing your makeup and yell at her for not hearing you when she really is deaf, your adoring fans should know that about you.”

Fabiana waited a beat, obviously straining for patience, then said, “In Cassie’s defense, the woman was a last-minute replacement because it was the holidays and the makeup artist who knows about...who Cassie’s used to working with, had already left to be with family in Alaska. Cassie didn’t know the woman was deaf. How many times have we all said that when people don’t respond to us the way we think they should?”

Again the reporter let that go. “You said Cassie disappeared. Do you have any idea where she went?”

Fabiana knew something; Grady could see it in her eyes. “I don’t, but I’m sure she’ll turn up in February to do the fund-raiser for Designers United Against Hunger.”

Apparently a reporter’s instinct was as strong as a cop’s. “You hesitated there. You do have a clue where she is.”

Fabiana smiled and shook her head. It was the smile she used in the Tesla commercial, capable of selling anything to anyone. “No. It’s Cassie’s life. She’ll come back to it when she’s ready.”

The reporter thanked her and announced a station break. Cassie aimed the remote at the television and clicked it off. She groaned as she turned back to the stove.

“Good morning,” Grady said. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much. Tomorrow some politician will say something stupid and they’ll forget all about you.”

“Hi, Grady.” She glanced at him with a half smile and flipped a pancake. “I couldn’t find an apron to protect your sweater. Do you have anything?”

Worried about her bare feet on the cold floor, he went to the thermostat first and turned up the gas heat. Then he opened the bottom drawer in the stove that held a barbecue apron his mother had given him that he’d never used. He handed it to her. She slipped her head through the neck hole and tied the strings behind her. Born to Barbecue was printed in rough red lettering above a caricature of a man in front of a barbecue, his chef’s hat on fire.

She looked down at herself and snickered. “Now here’s a look for the catwalk. Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”

Two places were set at the breakfast bar. She’d found two placemats he never used along with dark blue cloth napkins stored in the same drawer.

She poured coffee and brought him a cup. “This might be a little girlie for you. It’s Colombian coffee with dulce de leche flavor. I have a pound in my bag whenever I travel.”

He took a sip. “Definitely girlie, but good.” It was wonderful to have coffee ready when he got up. Even girlie coffee. Since she clearly didn’t want to talk about the news, he observed, “You’re making pancakes?”

“Crepes,” she corrected. “Fewer calories. I found frozen blueberries in the freezer, cooked them down with sugar and made a compote for topping. Is that all right?”

He leaned his forearms on the bar and looked into her bright eyes. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She looked remarkably fresh, if sad.

“No,” he replied with a straight face. “I want the same old, dry fruity flakes and past-the-pull-date milk I always have in the morning.”

“No!” She pulled a plate out of the oven. “Tell me you don’t really eat fruity flakes.”

“I would, but it would be a lie. I’m sure they have nothing of nutritional value in them, but then, the bad guys don’t really care how trim I am, and I have a maple bar midmorning to keep up my strength.”

If she thought that was a bad idea, she kept it to herself and brought him a plate of crepes and a steaming pitcher of compote. Butter was already on the bar. The aroma made him salivate.

“You can cook, too,” he said in wonder, pouring blueberries on the crepes and passing the pitcher to her as she sat beside him with her own plate.

“I grew up without a mother,” she said. “My father was gone a lot and nannies aren’t always good cooks. I loved my cooking class in high school, and I watch food shows. It’s amazing what you can pick up.”

“Are models allowed to eat this stuff?”

“There are antioxidants in the blueberries.” She elbowed him. “I’m on a break. After the wedding, I’ll go back to fasting.”

“Sorry. You hear stories, you know, about how you guys eat only lettuce and lemon juice and work out six hours a day.”

“Exaggerated.”

“We’ll go to the market and get whatever kind of food you want.”

“Actually, I have to go clothes shopping. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but I have nothing for underwater living.” She pointed to the kitchen window beaded with rain, the trees beyond it swaying in the wind.

He turned to her. “Winter in Oregon. Some people adjust to the wet and some people don’t.” He cut a bite of crepe with the side of his fork. “It’ll probably be harder for you...”

She frowned at him over the rim of her cup. “Why? Because you think I’m used to bigger and better things, and take pleasure in abusing all the ‘little people’ in my life? That isn’t true.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I’m the first to admit I live a very good life, but no one escapes problems.”

“That’s for sure.”

“You’re wondering what kind of problems a model could possibly have.”

Now she was acting a little like a diva. Or maybe she was just upset by her appearance on the news. Who wouldn’t be in her position?

He smiled. “Well, all that mind reading you’re doing has to be a problem, for one thing. Can you read everybody’s or just mine?”

Her eyes ignited. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Just a little. Anyone who presumes to know what someone else is thinking is fair game.”

Sipping at her coffee, she met his eyes, but the easy camaraderie they’d shared since they’d escaped Querida together wavered.

“I’m sure one of the problems,” he said, trying to defuse her anger, “is that everything in your life, however private or personal, can be recorded, replayed and streamed for all the world to see. That’s pretty awful.”

She relaxed a little, heaving a sigh before she said, “It doesn’t matter that the interpretation of what happened is incorrect, entertainment and internet reporters put the most salacious or embarrassing spin on their news. I’ve avoided much of it, but they seem happy to have a juicy tidbit now.” She shook her head at him.

“Were you upset about the Sports Illustrated cover? I mean, there has to be more prestige in being on the cover than just inside it, right?”

“My behavior had nothing to do with the Sports Illustrated cover!” she shouted at him. She stopped a moment, drew a breath and went on in a measured tone. “I’m sorry. I...I don’t know if you know that just before I went to Ireland, my father was stuck in Bangkok during a coup and we had no idea if he was all right or not. The pictures on the news were scary. He’d gone there to work on the computers for the government. On special jobs, he always goes himself. That’s what built his reputation as one of the best IT men in Europe. I was terrified.”

“Yes. That had to be awful for both of you.”

“Well, I’d just learned the day before that he was all right. And the following day he called to tell me that my siblings, who I’ve been separated from most of my lifetime, were in Texas and wanted me to join them.”

“Yes.”

“I had to finish the shoot before I left, but the makeup artist was making me crazy.” She tipped her head from side to side self-deprecatingly. “Clearly, I wasn’t looking my best, the wind was blowing my hair, and she was determined to make these false eyelashes fit and stuck her finger in my eye. She wouldn’t stop.”

He looked empathetic.

She put a hand out in front of herself about three feet away. “Here in the US, the three feet surrounding you are considered your personal space. You feel challenged and a little touchy when people invade it.”

Unsure where she was going with this, he nodded to assure her of his attention.

She continued. “Okay. So, try to think of yourself as a model. Hair and makeup people are always right in your face—” she fluttered her fingers an inch from her cheeks “—touching you, pushing you here and there so they can work on you. I know it isn’t their fault because you’re sort of their canvas. So you’re like a thing, not a person, to them in that moment. Designers fitting you into their clothes don’t even see you as a person, you’re just a place to hang their clothes and they’re always turning you, pushing you, ignoring you and seeing only the clothes. I’ve been modeling since I was sixteen, so most days I accept it’s just part of the process.

“But, when I’m tired, worried, frightened, they’re like some buggy invasion and I feel like I’m going to go insane...” She sighed and pushed her plate away. “Or say something awful. Like, ‘Are you deaf?’” She put her head in her hands and groaned. “Of course, I didn’t really know she was deaf. I ran away so I wouldn’t go over the edge before I got to meet my family.”

She dropped her hands and looked at him with a wince. “It’s all part of a bigger problem I’ve had most of my life, and modeling just exaggerates it.” Without clarifying, she continued. “I did go back and apologize to everyone involved, particularly the makeup artist. I wrote a note to her and then tried to explain face-to-face. She seemed to understand. I bought the crew’s dinner that night before I took off for Texas. It would be nice if SAN would report that.”

“You have the comfort of knowing you have a good friend in Fabiana. She did her best to make that reporter understand.”

She nodded. “I do. She’s as wonderful a person as she is beautiful.” She slipped off the stool. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“I’ve got a raincoat you can borrow.”

“Thank you.” She started away then turned back to add, “I’ll take care of the dishes when we get back.”

He pointed to the dishwasher. “It’s all under control.”

* * *

WHEN CASSIE AND Grady met at the front door twenty minutes later, she wore a pair of dark blue pants with a gray cardigan pulled over a cotton shirt. It was wrapped tightly around her. She wore boots and carried a small folded umbrella.

He tried not to laugh. “Mostly, we don’t use umbrellas around here because the wind’s usually blowing and you end up with a mouthful of metal ribs.” He held out his serviceable green, hip-length, hooded jacket.

She looked at it doubtfully but allowed him to help her into it. He pulled up the hood. With a jolt, he noticed how gorgeous she was even lost in the dung-colored fabric.

Her height provided him with a different perspective on the feminine face. At six-two, he was used to looking down on the top of a woman’s head, on the curve of her eyelashes, the shape of her nose. With Cassidy close to six feet tall, he looked into fathomless eyes that looked right back into his and somehow seemed to see more deeply than he was comfortable with. He watched the subtle movement of her beautifully shaped lips, covered in pale and glossy pink. Those lips now inverted in a frown.

She gasped her disapproval and pinched the leather on the arm of the ancient bomber jacket he wore. “Let’s swap,” she said, the tension between them from breakfast seemingly put aside. “I can wear your jacket, and you can wear this.”

“Not a chance, Blondie,” he replied with a grin. “This jacket has been with me through college, nature hikes, pickup football...”

She held out her arms. “And this has been with you through putting out the garbage and covering tomato plants against the cold. It has absolutely no style.”

“Do you want to be warm and dry, or do you want style?”

“Life should allow you both.”

He turned her around and opened the door. “I’m sorry, but today it doesn’t. Let’s go.”

* * *

GRADY WAS AMUSED, even charmed, by watching Cassie shop. The Beggar’s Bay Boutique had to be far less interesting than the places she usually patronized, but she really seemed to be enjoying herself.

The clerk, a twentysomething whose badge read Molly, ran to the dressing room to take garments Cassie handed out and then brought her more pants, dresses, sweaters. She scoured the racks with avid intensity while Cassie shouted suggestions from behind the curtain. “The jeans are still too short!” Cassie called.

“That’s the longest I’ve got in women’s! What about the smallest, longest pair from the men’s department?”

There was a moment’s hesitation then, “Sure.”

Cassie emerged twenty minutes later with dark jeans from the men’s department that were sparely designed but seemed to fit well. She’d pulled a bright yellow sweater over them and dropped everything else on the counter. She stood still while the clerk cut tags off her outfit.

“Why didn’t you buy a jacket?” Grady asked. “Or slippers?”

“The jackets are all too short for me. So, it’s back to the tomato plant cover. And my feet are too big for the size range here.” She pulled on the green raincoat, looking bright and happy. That made him feel better. She grinned. “Good thing I brought my boots along.”

“You going to wear those to the wedding?”

“No, I’m going to have something sent to me One-Day Air.”

Of course. Whatever her problems were, getting whatever she needed wasn’t one of them.

The clerk took Cassie’s card and swiped it. Then as she studied the card, her fingers began to tremble. She looked up at Cassie in astonishment. “I thought it was you,” she breathed.

Cassie smiled as he imagined royalty would smile. “Thanks for not outing me. It was fun to shop in peace.”

“No wonder you seem to know what you want. And can pull it together out of odds and ends and look fabulous.”

Molly packed everything into two shopping bags, and Grady took them.

“Thanks, Molly,” Cassie said, leading the way to the door. “You were so much help. You’re an excellent sales associate.”

The young woman beamed.

* * *

CASSIE OPENED THE door for Grady, who walked out ahead of her.

His phone rang. “Do you mind getting that?” He raised his left elbow so she could reach into his hip pocket to retrieve it.

She ignored the warmth of his body through the pocket and took out the black iPhone. Ben’s face lit up the screen.

“It’s Ben,” she told Grady.

He moved toward the truck. “Ah, they must be home. Answer it. My keys are in the right side pocket. Want to get the door?”

She answered the phone as she dug for keys.

“Grady’s phone. This is Cassie.” She was distracted again by how warm he was. For someone who was perpetually cold when the weather dipped below 70 degrees, she felt the absurd desire to crawl inside that cozy pocket.

“Cassie!” As she aimed the key remote to unlock the car, she heard Ben’s voice as he apparently handed off the phone and said, “Corie, it’s your sister.”

“Hi, Cassie. You escaped the press?” She loved the sound of the word. Sister. She had a sister. She was a sister. Cassie opened the truck’s passenger door and watched Grady put her bags on the seat. She wondered for a minute if she was going to have to ride in the truck bed.

“We did,” she told Corie. She swallowed and asked, “Did you see me on the news?”

“Yes. How cool that you’ve started a trust for women needing clothing and transportation to job interviews. I can contribute clothes.”

Cassie couldn’t help the little glow that started in her heart. Sisterly support. “I meant the scene—”

There was a smile in Corie’s voice. “I know what you mean. I’ve made a few scenes myself, so it’s hard for me to criticize anybody else’s. Don’t worry about it. Nobody cares.”

Except for the millions of people who probably now saw her as a bratty diva and an abuser of the deaf. “You’re not embarrassed?”

Corie laughed. “No, we’re not embarrassed.” Cassie heard Ben’s laugh. “Listen, we’re all meeting for lunch at someplace called...uh...”

“The Bay Bistro,” Ben shouted into the phone. “Grady knows it. Can you be there in ten minutes?”

Cassie went to Grady, who was now placing her packages in the jump seat. “Can we be at the Bay Bistro in ten minutes?”

He straightened and tried to smooth his hair, mussed by the tight quarters in the back of the truck cab. “Sure.”

“Sure,” Cassie relayed, helping bring order to Grady’s hair with her free hand. It was thick and coarse. She resisted the impulse to run her fingers through it one more time.

His gaze collided with hers, seeming to ask her to. She dropped her hand and had to look away to concentrate on what Ben was saying.

“Great. Tell him he’s paying,” Ben said. “See you then.”

She smiled at Grady. “He says you’re paying.”

“Tell him he still owes me for the night I went into the river after a DUI and he watched me.”

She tried to but Corie had reclaimed the phone. “Cassie?”

“Yes.”

“We all think it’s fun to be related to someone the press is making a big deal over. So don’t worry.”

“But it’s a bad big deal.”

“This family will turn it into something good. It’s what we do. See you in ten.”

“Right.” Well, right on the “seeing her in ten” part. Turning this press nightmare into something good was going to require a miracle.

* * *

GRADY DROVE THE three blocks to the edge of downtown, then turned down a side street to the old mill that had been converted into shops and a restaurant. The Bay Bistro was on the third floor. Cassie, he noticed, looked worried.

“Forget the news,” he advised gently. “They’re your family. They don’t care.”

She turned to him with open disbelief. “That’s what Corie said, but of course they care. How can they not? When I met them in Texas, I kept everything to myself, hoping it would just go away. I didn’t know then that someone had recorded it.”

“Again, I’m sure it’s not a big deal to them.”

“Jack has to be disappointed. He worked so hard to get us all together again, and his little sister turns out to be a monster diva who yelled at a deaf woman! And the whole world knows about it!”

“Big fuss over nothing.”

She huffed a breath. “Grady, I’m the piece of the family that’s been missing and I...”

He heard something in her voice somehow deeper than the words she was saying. He turned to her as he pulled into a spot right in front of the mill and shut off the engine.

“What if I’m a disappointment? What if they’ve been waiting all this time to get me back, they’re impressed to learn than I’m a model, then find out...I have all these...issues?”

“You have nothing to fear here, Cassie. The Mannings and the Palmers are the best people you’ll ever meet. Everybody’s got their issues, so they’re all tolerant of everyone else’s. Jack came back from Afghanistan with nightmares. Corie’s life was sometimes so awful that she became a thief. Just relax. All they care about is that the three of you are together again. Come on.”

He went around to her side to help her out, then caught her hand and hurried her so she wouldn’t have time to relive the cell phone video that had taken up permanent residence in her head.

He escorted her before him into the old mill’s elegant downstairs with shops off of a central atrium, then caught her hand again and ran for the elevators, doors closing as they hurried. If he could get her upstairs before the family arrived and distract her with the spectacular view and a glass of wine, she might get over her nervousness.

He was vaguely aware of her pulling against him as he shouted to the lone man inside to hold the elevator. But he thought she was just having trouble keeping up in her boots.

“Grady...” she said.

“Come on!” he encouraged, walking quickly. “If we get there first, I can tell the waiter that Ben intends to pay. He has a tab here.” He warmed to that thought above all else. “He’ll hate that. Ha!”

The man held the door from closing as Grady hurried into the car, drawing Cassie in beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she struggled to catch her breath. The door closed and the car began to rise.

He patted Cassie’s back as she gulped in air. He was happy with the day, glad to have the opportunity to help her relax before her family got there. He was anxious to see his friends, anticipating all of them around the table, talking and laughing while sharing the bistro’s outrageously delicious food.

So, he was completely unprepared for what happened next. Cassie caught his hand in a biting grip, her fingernails drawing blood as she let out a high-pitched, ear-splitting scream.

She began to shake him and point to the door. “No! No! No!”

“Cassie—”

“No!”

All right. No. No, what? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out she wanted out of the elevator. The man who’d held the door for them did so again, his eyes a little wider this time as they reached the third floor and the doors parted.

Cassie gasped and ran out into a hallway that spilled right into the restaurant, only a few feet from the hostess’s stand. She stopped and noisily drew in air, her arms wrapped around herself, her cheeks crimson.

She looked mortified and somehow isolated. Her hands shook. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then added grimly, “Remember that issue left over from my childhood I mentioned that I still deal with?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s claustrophobia.”

“Yeah,” he said. An inch of skin was scraped off his left hand. “I guessed that.”

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