Easing up on tiptoe, Abbie kissed him softly.

It was remorse for something she couldn’t fix, but also a plea to forgive and move on.

“I don’t want your pity,” Jace said.

“It wasn’t pity.”

He searched her eyes. “Then why?”

“Because you’re a good man, and I wanted to kiss you,” she whispered.

He didn’t nod. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even tighten his arms around her. He merely lowered his head, gently kissed her back and Abbie felt a chunk of her heart tear away.

They stood there for a time when it ended, feeling the March air cool their lips and ruffle their hair, last night’s memories curling in their bellies and imaginations. Then Jace’s gaze dropped to her mouth again.

Somewhere far away a voice whispered that this was another mistake Abbie would regret. But it drifted off like morning fog the second his lips found hers again.

Dear Reader,

My husband, Mike, and I love to visit the places where I set my books—and since I’m a big chicken when it comes to flying, we travel by car. Silly phobias aside, it really is the best way to experience the sights, sounds and textures that make locales interesting and exciting.

We’ve visited Arizona’s prehistoric cliff dwellings, the Montana Rockies, the Maine coast and more, and each place is beautiful in its own way. But for us, there’s no place like the rich, wooded Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania—especially in early spring, when the creeks are thawing, the air is indescribably fresh and the trees are just beginning to green. This is our pretty part of the world—and the setting for Just a Whisper Away. I hope you’ll like it, too.

Peace, love and happy reading,

Lauren

Just a Whisper Away
Lauren Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAUREN NICHOLS

started writing by accident, so it seems fitting that the word accidental appears in her first three titles for Silhouette. Once eager to illustrate children’s books, she tried to get her foot in that door, only to learn that most publishing houses used their own artists. Then one publisher offered to look at her sketches if she also wrote the tale. During the penning of that story, Lauren fell head over heels in love with writing fiction.

In addition to her novels, Lauren’s romance and mystery short stories have appeared in several leading magazines. She counts her family and friends as her greatest treasures, and strongly believes in the Beatles’ philosophy—“All You Need Is Love.” When this Pennsylvania author isn’t writing or trying unsuccessfully to give up French vanilla cappuccino, she’s traveling or hanging out with her very best friend/husband, Mike.

Lauren loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her at www.laurennichols.com.

For Bob, Kevin and Ernie, brothers extraordinaire.

And for the wonderful women who love them, Deb, Shelley and Kathy.

And always for Mike.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to Tom Shields for the tour of his lumberyard and sawmill during the preparation of this book, and to Carmella Manno who took me through the kiln drying process and was always there to answer my goofy questions. I owe you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

A powerful jolt of recognition hit Jace Rogan as he crossed the country club’s crowded dining room. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eagerness to leave the faux, day-early Mardi Gras celebration forgotten. For an instant he simply stood there, feeling his nerves vibrate and adrenaline pulse through him. Then the night, the music and the costumed crowd all faded to a blur as he watched a good-looking couple join the other partiers on the dance floor.

It couldn’t be her… Yet when his gaze fell to the smooth, graceful slope of the woman’s bare back in her plunging gown, he knew it was.

Jace drew a cautious breath. He’d touched that back…kissed the sweet, sexy small of it…held those hips in his hands and slid his fingers through that long auburn hair.

The memory lasted only a second before a bitter one took its place. Jace jerked his gaze from the side-slit in Abbie Winslow’s dress to scan the lavishly decorated room.

It didn’t take long to spot an old enemy.

Wearing a powdered wig and the fancy brocades of an English lord, Abbie’s perpetually controlling father stood beside his table, beaming as the new surgeon in town kept his daughter smiling and engaged.

Morgan Winslow’s venomous tirade thundered in Jace’s mind, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, but he blocked it out. The words didn’t hurt anymore because he’d used Morgan’s humiliating rant to succeed beyond the banker’s wildest expectations—beyond the town’s expectations.

And suddenly he wanted Abbie to know that, too.

Cutting through the crowd, he tapped Abbie’s partner on the shoulder, all the while enjoying an unobstructed view of the shimmering, halter-style gown that clung like liquid silver to her body. Small diamond earrings winked at her lobes when she jerked her head up in surprise.

“Mind, Doc?” Jace asked with a smile when the surgeon turned around. “We’re old friends.”

“Not at all,” he returned amiably, then grinned at Abbie. “Okay with you?”

Jace met her wide brown eyes and startled features. “How about it, Abbie? Care to dance for old times’ sake?”

For a second, she didn’t seem capable of uttering a word, and Jace found some pleasure in that. Then she murmured, “Of course,” and turned to the doctor. “I’ll see you back at the table, Paul.”

“I’ll be there. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

Then Jace opened his arms and Abbie stepped into them for the first time in fourteen years. The first time since her father had caught them locked intimately together in the gazebo behind the Winslow’s country home. Unexpectedly, some of his bitterness faded as her uneasy gaze searched his, and he silently—reluctantly—admitted that it felt good to hold her again.

“Hello, Jace,” she said quietly. “It’s nice to see you again. You look wonderful.”

The dress code for this shindig was always costume or black-tie, and for the first time tonight he was glad he’d worn a tux—the lesser of the two evils. It made a statement that he’d come far since that night in the gazebo.

“So do you,” he returned as she pinned her gaze to his shoulder, and they began to move. “California living seems to agree with you.”

He stole a glance over her head at the crowd. Morgan Winslow’s face had turned to stone, and, sophomoric as it was, Jace’s pleasure doubled.

He spoke close to Abbie’s temple, inhaled the light floral scent of her perfume. “I see you’re not into costumes, either.”

“Not the one my dad chose for me,” she said. But there was a vulnerable look in her chocolate-brown eyes, and Jace knew she was wondering why they were dancing after fourteen years of silence. Her voice softened. “I found this dress in a trunk in the attic. It was my mom’s.”

Jace heard the loving, the missing in her reply and the kid in him empathized with that, but he didn’t comment. Because a dozen feet behind Abbie, his fun-loving baby brother was grinning up a storm and dancing his partner their way. He’d told everyone at the Rogan Logging & Lumber table that he was cutting out early to get some work done—which surprised no one. Now Ty was on his way to see who’d convinced him otherwise.

Jace spun Abbie off in another direction. The last thing he wanted now was small talk from someone wearing a plumed hat and a Cyrano nose. “So, how’s the legal eagle business?”

“You know what I do?”

“Hard not to. Your dad brags you up every time you win a case.” They’d talked a lot back when they’d cared about each other. Fourteen years ago, Abbie the Crusader had wanted to practice law more than anything in life—much more than she’d wanted a roughneck logger with a past people still loved to talk about. “Not that I get the news firsthand,” he added, managing to keep an edge out of his voice. “I do my banking elsewhere.”

Abbie held back a sigh, but kept her thoughts to herself. Anything she said would bring up that wonderful-then-terrible night in the gazebo, and she already had more anxiety in her life than she could handle. That included the dewy warmth radiating between them and the sudden return of libido as Jace’s leg insinuated itself between hers and they moved to the slow, moody rhythm of “The Way We Were.”

How appropriate. Lifting her gaze, she took in Jace’s strong jaw and handsome features. He was more powerfully built now, more attractive in a sexy, rugged…maybe even cynical way. His feathery black hair was long by California attorney standards, but it was neatly trimmed, and his compelling storm-gray eyes held a look of confidence that he’d never had at twenty-two.

The gentle pressure of his hand on her bare back made her tremble as he guided her away from another couple…and suddenly, feelings and regrets she’d thought she’d put aside returned with heart-tugging poignancy. Swallowing, she searched for conversation, but everything she came up with felt awkward. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d like this sort of thing.”

“People change,” he replied, a shrug in his voice. “I guess you’re home for a visit?”

“Yes, I got in yesterday afternoon.”

His smile held a trace of sarcasm. “And already you’re partying at the country club. How long are you staying this time?”

How long? Abbie suppressed a shudder as sniper fire echoed in her mind again. Hopefully, until the Los Angeles Police Department uncovered enough evidence to keep the young man she’d defended last month behind bars. The one who’d sent her the musical greeting card.

The one who wanted her dead.

Forcing Danny Long’s genial choir-boy features from her mind, she answered, “I’m not sure. At least until my dad gets back from his honeymoon. They’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“Morgan’s remarrying?”

“Yes, this Friday night.”

“I hadn’t heard. Then again, it’s not as if we move in the same circles.”

No, she supposed not.

It had been nearly seventeen years since her mother’s death from meningitis, and though Abbie had adored her mother, she was glad her dad had found Miriam to share his life. At sixty—and with Abbie living and working in Los Angeles—her father wouldn’t be alone.

“Actually,” she said, acutely aware of Jace’s leg between hers again, “I tried to back out, but Dad insisted that Paul— Dr. Bryant—needed a dinner date.”

“And how like you to oblige him.”

Abbie jerked her gaze up to his, hearing what he hadn’t said. Sweet little Abbie, always doing her daddy’s bidding. And finally she knew what this dance was all about.

“All right,” she returned quietly. “Let’s get this over with. Does your asking me to dance mean that the cold war is over, or that it’s just regaining stre—”

With a loud crack, something exploded behind them, and Abbie lunged forward, her arms circling his neck in a stranglehold.

“Abbie?” Shocked by her reaction and more concerned than he wanted to be, Jace stilled, then slowly tightened his arms around her. “Hey,” he said softly as laughter and apologies erupted behind them. “You’re okay. That was nothing. One of the waiters just lost a bottle of champagne from his tray.”

It took more than a moment for his words to sink in. Then, flushing deeply, she seemed to regain her composure and put some distance between them again. “Well,” she murmured, “that was embarrassing. I’m sorry. I was just a little startled.”

Jace searched her dark eyes as they began to move to the music again. “That’s not true. You’re shaking. And if that was startled, I’d hate to see terrified. What are they doing to you in L.A.?”

“Nothing,” she replied brightly. “I told you, I was just surprised.” The band finished to a smattering of applause, and Abbie put her hands together, too—a little too energetically, Jace thought.

Smiling again, she backed away. “I should get back to my table and let you get on with your evening. Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, still disturbed by the fear he’d seen in her eyes and damning himself for caring. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.”

“I will. And it really was nice to see you again.”

He should’ve let her walk away. That would’ve been the smart thing to do—the intelligent thing to do. Then Jace caught sight of Morgan’s black eyes and beet-red face, and the past came roaring back. Tossing good sense out the door, he called her name, caught her fingertips…and drew her back to him.

Then his mouth was covering hers, and a tingle he hadn’t counted on was sweeping through his system. Jace jerked away. For a second their gazes locked, and that old breathless current flowed between them. The same snap and sizzle they’d fought from the moment they’d met so long ago. Then he pulled himself together, forced a smile and started away. “See you around,” he called. “Give my regards to your dad.”

He’d barely stepped into the crisp March air when he heard the country club’s door bang open again.

“What was that all about?” she shouted, swiftly closing the distance between them as he strode to his SUV.

He glanced behind him. A thin coating of old snow crunched beneath her strappy open-toed high heels as she crossed the parking lot.

“Was it payback? Restitution for something that happened fourteen years ago? My God, Jace, when are you going to get past that?”

Ignoring her, he pulled his keys from his pocket and pointed the remote at his black Explorer. The taillights flashed as the doors unlocked.

“Because if ticking off my dad was what that kiss was about,” she continued when he faced her, “it was one of the most asinine displays of childishness I’ve ever witnessed!”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed calmly, opening his door. “But I must say it felt good. Now, you’d better get back inside before you freeze.”

“I intend to. But you need to know something before you leave.” She held his gaze in the amber spill of the light poles. “If you wanted to poke my father with a stick, dancing with me would’ve done the trick. You didn’t have to kiss me. And that makes me wonder why you felt the need to do it.”

Sending her a dry look, Jace climbed into his SUV. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have if the only thing he’d done to me was run me off the night I stole his little girl’s virginity.”

Some of the anger drained from her face. “What did he do?”

Jace fired the engine, lowered his window and shut the door.

“Tell me,” she insisted, her breath clouding before her. “You can’t drop something like that in my lap, then leave.”

Shaking his head, he dropped the SUV into gear. “You’ll have to ask him. Then ask him if it made a damn bit of difference.”

Minutes later, she was pulling her father away from his plumed and ruffled fiancée and doing just what Jace had suggested. She didn’t let go of him until they’d reached a vacant back table littered with coffee cups, confetti and sparkling Mardi Gras beads. “What did you do to Jace?”

Morgan Winslow stared down at his daughter, tension still glinting in his dark eyes. At nearly six feet, with a thickening jaw and midsection, he appeared to be in no mood to be cross-examined by his only child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m still angry with you for running after that presumptuous wood hick. He may have cleaned up on the outside, but underneath that rented tuxedo he’s still trailer trash.”

“Dad, stop it. What did you do to him? And don’t say nothing, because I know better. He’s still angry, and that anger’s directed at you, not me—though God knows I deserve it.”

“It was nothing. He came to me for a business loan, and for the sake of the stockholders, I had to act responsibly. He simply resents the fact that I turned him down.”

“No. There’s more to it than that. How did you turn him down? What did you say to him?”

For a moment she doubted that he’d reply. Then he said in a righteous tone, “I told him that my bank didn’t loan money to people who couldn’t pay it back—that his background made him a bad credit risk, and that he wouldn’t get the money from any other bank in town, either.”

Abbie’s jaw sagged. “And you made sure of that?”

He didn’t answer, but Abbie knew it was so. Then she took into account Jace’s bearing, his clothing, the new SUV he drove and the high price tag on this annual charity event…and she knew he’d done well with his life. “He got the loan anyway, didn’t he?” she said. “Somewhere out of town? And his credit was flawless, wasn’t it?”

Morgan’s gaze hardened. “I don’t know a thing about the man or his business.”

Abbie released a tattered breath. “Dear God, no wonder he’s angry. You’re still making him pay for that night in the gazebo.”

“I prefer not to think about that night, if you don’t mind. Now, let’s return to our table. Dr. Bryant, Miriam and the others will be wondering what’s keeping us.”

Abbie shook her head. “You go ahead. Suddenly I don’t feel much like partying. I’m going back to the house.”

“Now? It’s not even ten o’clock. And how do you propose to do that? This isn’t Los Angeles. You won’t find a cab here.”

She knew that. Laurel Ridge, Pennsylvania, wasn’t large enough to support a taxi service. “I’ll walk.”

Anger flashed through her father’s eyes again. They both knew she couldn’t walk the three miles to the Winslow home in the dark, especially dressed the way she was.

Taking the keys to his Lexus from his pocket, he spoke impatiently. “I’ll tell the others that you’re not feeling well, and ride back with Miriam.”

Abbie accepted the keys. Everyone would know that was a lie, but at this point, she didn’t care. Suddenly her mind was reeling with questions, and they all concerned Jace. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dad.”

Twenty minutes later, Abbie had reset the security system, pulled on a robe and was curled in the deep-violet chair beside the white nightstand in her bedroom. Eagerly, she pulled the phone book from the drawer. Her mother had decorated the room when she was in high school, and it was still lovely. Over the years, her dad had suggested that they remodel, but Abbie had steadfastly refused. She loved the white walls and violet-sprinkled pattern on the fussy voile curtains, bedspread and pillow shams. Loved the plush, deep-violet rugs on the hardwood floor. Not because she still gravitated toward the frilly. She loved it because her mother had worked so hard to make it pretty for her, and sometimes she still missed her mom terribly.

Abbie flipped quickly through the phone book’s pages to the Rs, and seconds later, found a listing for Rogan Logging & Lumber. The location was the same as the company Jace had worked for right out of high school. The place they’d met her senior year. She’d needed information on the lumber industry for a term paper, and the company’s owner, Jim Freemont, had assigned Jace the job of answering her questions and showing her around.

The chemistry between them had been swift, nerve-thrumming and irresistible. To his credit—and Abbie’s frustration—while she was in high school, Jace had never let it go beyond a few hungry kisses. He was older and blue-collar, he’d told her. She was Morgan Winslow’s college-bound princess.

Swallowing, Abbie turned to the yellow pages and read his ad.

Wholesale Timber and Kiln-dried Lumber. We Deliver Locally.

Below that, in smaller print, it read:

Owned and Operated by Ty & J.C. Rogan.

A warm run of satisfaction moved through her. He’d bought out his boss. And he’d done it despite her father’s best efforts to stop him.

Abbie slipped the book back into the drawer, her mind turning back to that warm August night before she’d returned to college to start her sophomore year. How far Jace had come since then. How far they’d both come.

She’d tried not to think about that night after she’d gone back to school. It had hurt and shamed her too much to dwell on what she’d done.

She’d never regretted making love with him; that part had been wonderful, because after the quick flash of pain, she’d been awash with such feelings of tenderness and completion, she’d wanted to stay in his arms forever. But it wasn’t to be.

The room blurred as tears filled her eyes and suddenly Abbie saw her father step through the patio door to see why the pool lights were on. “Abbie? Abbie! Are you out here?”

Oh, yes…she’d been there. Forty short yards away in the gazebo, she’d pressed a horrified finger to Jace’s lips and prayed that, without an answer, her dad would go back inside and they’d have a chance to dress. Then her father started up the knoll toward them, and she’d had to beg him not to come any closer.

Her dad’s disillusionment when they finally appeared turned to rage when he saw she’d been with Jillie Rae Rogan’s bastard son. Especially since weeks before, he’d seen them talking at the fair and warned Abbie to stay away from him. When you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.

“You knew I’d be home by eleven,” Abbie heard her father thunder again, speaking as if Jace wasn’t there. “You wanted me to see this! Dammit, Abbie, you deliberately dragged that kid back here to rub my nose in it!”

The betrayal in Jace’s eyes nearly destroyed her. “Jace, he’s wrong!” she’d cried. “I swear it!”

“Am I?” her father raved on. “You’ve been rebellious all summer. Well, fine. From now on you make your own choices and to hell with what I think. But if you ever see him again, you’ll never get another dime from me for your education. You want to go back to college? You want to go to law school? It’s your choice. Just remember that his mother was a whore and he’ll never be anything better!” Then, swiping a dismissing hand in the air, he’d stalked back to the house. A moment later, Jace was gone, too.

Abbie lolled her head back in the violet chair, tears running from the corners of her eyes, feeling as spent tonight as she’d felt fourteen years ago. He’d never let her explain. Not then, not when she’d phoned him and not when she’d tried to see him at work. Now, when she considered her father’s financial blackballing, it was easy to see why he’d acted the way he had tonight.

Abbie touched her lips. She could still feel the tender pressure of his mouth…still feel the rise in her stomach, still feel the strength of his arms after that champagne bottle smashed. He’d been her friend, her lover. And she’d hurt him terribly.

Her cell phone rang. Slowly, Abbie left the chair to remove it from the charger on her dresser. After wiping her eyes and clearing her throat, she checked the caller ID window. And for the second time that night, fear rippled through her. Unfolding the phone, she spoke quickly.

“Stuart, what’s happened?” She’d already spoken to him today, and a second call—especially this late—was unusual.

The elderly senior partner of her law firm replied in a kind, soothing voice. “First, calm down. What I have to say is nothing for you to be concerned about.”

But it had been important enough for him to contact her well after ten o’clock, and that made her question his statement. Abbie drew a breath, then swallowed. “Okay, I’m calm. Tell me.”

“They had to release him, Abbie. They couldn’t hold him any longer. Detectives Powell and Rush searched his apartment from top to bottom and found nothing to link him to the shooting or the greeting card you received.”

Abbie’s heart raced. She’d been dreading this, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t expected it. “I guess that means they didn’t find Maryanne Richards’s gold cross and chain, either.”

“No.”

“Is he still under surveillance?” Since the trial had ended, Powell and Rush, the officers who’d originally arrested him, had blatantly dogged Danny Long’s steps, hoping he’d do something to justify locking him up again. They’d yanked him in for lineups on every peeping, rape and homicide case in the past four weeks. And Danny had smiled sweetly through all of it.

“Yes, he’s still being watched. I understand that at the moment, he’s tucked away in his apartment.” A hint of discomfort entered his tone. “Unfortunately, Mr. Long’s new attorney has threatened the city with a harassment suit if Powell and Rush don’t back off, so your friends in the department will be watching him from a distance now.”

When she didn’t reply, Stuart seemed to read her mind. “Abbie, you’re safe where you are, and getting him off the street has become a priority with many officers who respect what you—” he halted abruptly, then finished cautiously “—what you might have done.”

Abbie sighed, guilt joining her anxiety. Stuart knew she’d done it, but he’d never asked because he also knew she wouldn’t lie to him. To admit her sin, and have him do nothing would put him in a grave position with the bar. “Please thank them for me,” she murmured.

“I already have—for both of us. I want that sick animal behind bars as badly as you do.”

Abbie doubted that. Stuart was the dearest, most supportive man she’d ever known. But he wasn’t being stalked by a disturbed twenty-three-year-old in a red baseball cap who’d raped and murdered, and he hadn’t been the target of sniper fire. She had—two nights ago, outside her apartment, on the same day she’d received the pretty musical greeting card with the cheery—and chilling—sentiment. Can’t wait to see you again.

They weren’t the exact words her client had used as he left the courtroom a free man, but they were close enough to stop her heart. Danny’s blond hair, glassy blue gaze and saccharine smile coalesced in Abbie’s mind, and gooseflesh prickled over every square inch of her.

Stuart’s voice gentled. “Have you heard from Collin?”

She nearly laughed. “Stuart, he didn’t have time for me when we were married. Why would he contact me now?”

“Simple courtesy?” he returned, obviously annoyed. “He lives and works here in the city, so he’s aware you’ve had trouble.”

“Believe me,” she said truthfully, “I’m not losing sleep over Collin’s lack of courtesy.” Tires crunched in the circular driveway below. Moving to her bedroom window, Abbie peered down and saw headlights approach. “Stuart, I need to say good-night now. My dad and his fiancée just came home, and I’d rather not be discussing this when they come inside.”

“You haven’t told them?”

“I haven’t told anyone—especially them. I didn’t see any reason to put a damper on their wedding or their honeymoon cruise, especially since they aren’t at risk. My dad can be impossible, but he loves me in his own way. If he knew there’d been an attempt on my life, he’d cancel the cruise and sit on me until the danger had passed—even though he and Miriam have been looking forward to this for months.”

Stuart’s tone held a hint of reproach. “As a father and grandfather myself, I don’t believe he should be kept in the dark. But, of course, that’s your prerogative. Now…try to enjoy this time with your family, stay there where you’re safe and trust that we’ll handle things on this end.”

“I’ll try. Good night. And thank you for being such a good friend.”

“You’re very welcome, my girl,” he murmured, then hung up.

Abbie closed her phone and returned it to the charger, a shiver racking her as her mind overflowed with thoughts of courtrooms and juries and friendships and bullets… And then, finally, Jace. She’d thought often about how a meeting between them would go if they ever spoke again. But in her imagination, she’d always made sure it went well. Tonight…tonight had hurt.

There was nothing she could do about the situation in L.A. but wait and hope. But maybe she could do something about this fourteen-year-old mess.

Really? a small voice inquired. Or do you just want to see him again? You’re still thinking about that kiss.

“Shut up,” she muttered. She had enough to deal with right now without hoping for more than an uneasy truce. And it would be uneasy. He wasn’t the type to forgive and forget fourteen years of resentment at the drop of an apology.

There was a light knock at her door, followed by her father’s low voice. Though it was gruff, she heard a faint softening in it. “Abbie? Miriam’s putting a pot of decaf on. If you like, you can join us downstairs for coffee and dessert.”

They’d just had dessert at the country club, but earlier, Miriam had mentioned buying petits fours so they’d have something to nibble after the gala.

Abbie crossed the oak floor and opened the door. After more courtroom confrontations than she could count, she did her best to avoid them in her personal life, and tonight was no exception. Besides, this was the closest her father was ever going to come to an apology.

He was still in costume but, wigless now, his thinning salt-and-pepper hair stuck to his scalp.

“Coffee, huh?” she said.

“Yes, some damn thing called chocolate-raspberry truffle. If you’re game, she’s grinding the beans now.”

Abbie worked up a smile she didn’t feel, determined to salvage at least part of the night. Determined to put Danny Long out of her mind. “Of course, I’m game. I live in the nutcase capital of the world. Just give me a minute to jump into sweats, and I’ll be down.”

Grinning, Danny clicked on the light beside his unmade sleeper sofa and turned up the volume on his thirteen-inch TV—just in case the cops sitting at the end of the street felt like ignoring the order to keep their distance. Then he slipped his black hoodie over his T-shirt, pulled the hood over his hair and slung the strap of his crammed duffel bag across his chest.

He crossed to the rear window in his second floor efficiency apartment.

It was dark now, but the moon was high. Luckily, the only people in his neighborhood who went out after eleven o’clock were the druggies and the hookers who worked the streets. Raising the window, Danny eased himself through the opening, stepped onto the sloping back porch roof, then pulled the window shut. Usually, he left it open a crack, but tonight he wouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t be coming back.

Backing off the roof, he reached into the rainspout for the plastic sandwich bag he’d taped there, stuffed it in his pocket…and dropped soundlessly to the grass below.

Then he headed for the shack where heroine addict Eddie Parker lived with his girlfriend Leticia. Last year, he’d caught Eddie shoplifting cold medicine for resale at Danny’s ex-workplace but hadn’t turned him in. Two-time loser Eddie had been so grateful he hadn’t gone to jail, he’d promised Danny the moon. He’d phoned Eddie earlier from one of the three track phones he’d bought at a discount electronics place and, big surprise, Eddie needed money again. Which worked out great for both of them because Danny needed Eddie’s crappy yellow ninety-four Olds Cutlass.

He also needed a favor and knew Eddie wouldn’t refuse.

When he got there forty minutes later, Eddie was in a bad way, chewing gum hard and talking fast as Danny clued him in behind Eddie’s whitewashed block bungalow.

Eddie swiped at the perspiration over his lip, light from inside the house illuminating his small, fidgety build. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that,” Eddie said. “When do you want me to go by your place?”

“Tomorrow—after dark. Use the side stairs. Walk around in front of the windows, turn on the TV. Then, around midnight, shut off the lights like you’re going to sleep. The unmarked cop car I told you about will be sitting at the end of the street. Don’t leave until it does—and don’t let anybody see you up close.”

Reaching into his duffel, Danny handed over one of his track phones, his red San Francisco 49ers ball cap and a box of hair bleach that would turn Eddie into a blonde. “Keep the phone with you,” he ordered. “I’ll call you the next time I need your help. Every time you do me a favor, I’ll send you one hundred dollars. But don’t go wearing the hat and showing yourself around unless I tell you to. And don’t say you did what I asked if you didn’t, because I’ll know.”

Nodding, licking his lips, Eddie took the five one hundred dollar bills Danny separated from the wad in his jeans pocket, then turned over the keys to the Olds.

“It’s all gassed up, Danny.”

“Good. One more thing. Don’t tell Leticia about this.” Then Danny remembered to smile—be charming and caring. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself while I’m gone, buddy.”

Two hours later, heading east on I-15, the breathless tickle in his belly became too much, and Danny pulled to the side of the road, stripped off his sweatshirt and took a roll of clear utility tape from his pack. Then he reached in his pocket for the sandwich bag. His pulse quickened as two shiny gold crosses and chains slid out and curled into his palm.

Suddenly, tears welled in his eyes, and he eased his head back against the seat. Maryanne had seemed so pure, so sweet, so perfect for him. But, like his mother and Prudence, she’d betrayed him, singing like an angel in church…then giving it up to any guy who bought her a burger and fries when the last note left her lying lips.

He stopped crying immediately and raised his chin. He’d loved her—loved her blindly, just like he’d loved Prudence—but she’d lied, and she’d gotten what she deserved. Clicking on the dome light, Danny slipped Prudence’s chain and cross around his neck and felt that excitement in his blood again. Then he reexamined the broken chain he’d torn from Maryanne’s throat. He’d fix it later, but for now…

Lifting his white T-shirt, he ripped off a section of tape, then pressed the necklace above his left nipple and sealed it to his skin. A tingle moved through him.

Yesterday, he’d found out that his lying, betraying bitch of an ex-lawyer had left town and it could be weeks until she came back. The whiner in the next cell had made a big stink when somebody else from Braddock and McMillain showed up to take his case. The whiner wanted her and only her.

Danny pulled his sweatshirt back on, then dropped the Cutlass into gear and eased out on the road again. Too bad for the whiner.

He had a few things to do first—plans to make and information to gather. But when he was through with Abbie Winslow, there wouldn’t be enough of her left over for an autopsy.

Chapter 2

At eight o’clock the next morning, skinny little Ida Fannin swept through Jace’s always open door as he was searching his desk for a file he’d misplaced. Her cheeks were cherub rosy and specks of glitter from last night’s festivities still sparkled in her curly gray hair.

“Good morning,” she sang out happily, then placed a mug of coffee beside the one already sitting on his desk. “How are you this crisp, lovely day?”

Jace stared curiously, wondering what had put the extra spring in her step this morning. Whatever it was, he needed some. He was exhausted. He’d been awake half the night thinking about things he shouldn’t give a damn about. Eventually, he’d given up on sleep and come into the office, just in time to help pull Farr Canada’s seventy-two thousand board feet of red oak out of the number three kiln and slide the next load in.

“Morning, Ida. I’m okay. Did you enjoy yourself last night?” At nearly seventy, his office manager still wore makeup, and today, pale blue eye shadow and pink lipstick picked up the colors in her polyester pantsuit.

“Oh, my, yes,” she exclaimed. “The decorations were so bright and pretty, and the music was delightful. I’m eager to see what the food bank’s take will be.”

“Same here. There’s a chance we could know by tonight’s meeting.” For the past five years—since he and Ty had bought the business—they’d reserved a company table for the annual charity ball. Jace usually passed on the event, but this year, it had benefited the food bank, and he was on the board. A lot of years had passed since his childhood in Jillie Rae’s trailer, but he still remembered what it was to go hungry.

Ida continued to grin expectantly, almost as though she were waiting for an announcement. Just before she launched into another spate of happy chirping, Jace realized what it was, and cringed inside.

“I couldn’t help noticing that your night took a better turn as you were leaving. Before that, I expected you to bolt every time someone opened a door.”

Hoping to change the subject, he rolled his chair away to check a drawer in the filing cabinet behind him. “Ida, have you seen—?”

“The Farr Canada paperwork? Yes, it’s right here in your Out tray.” By the time he’d shut the drawer and turned around, it was on his desk blotter. “They’ll be picking up their load on Tuesday.”

Smiling, he wondered again why he even bothered to double-check these things. “Anything else going on that I should know about?”

“Nope.”

But she still refused to move a happy little muscle, and he finally decided to just get the interrogation over with. “Okay, what?”

“I didn’t realize you knew Morgan Winslow’s daughter!”

Paging through the work order and documentation on drying time, he grumbled, “I don’t.”

“I see,” she bubbled gleefully. “Then you just stumbled into her last night and landed on her lips.” Ignoring the bland look he sent her, she added, “You know, I heard she married a California attorney a few years ago, but that must over now, because—”

He sighed. “Ida, I really need to look these over.”

“—because she’s waiting to see you.”

Jace jerked his head up. “What?”

“Abbie Winslow. She’s waiting in the reception area. Such a pretty thing. The coffee I brought in is for her.”

Adrenaline prickled over every bone, muscle and hair follicle Jace owned as the image of Abbie in that backless gown filled his mind, and the unexpectedly visceral sensation of kissing her again hit him like a sledgehammer.

Slowly, he unrolled the sleeves of his pale blue oxford cloth shirt, buttoned his cuffs and stood to grab his olive corduroy jacket from the back of his chair. There was no point in telling Ida that she should’ve told him sooner; she was the glue that held the place together, and did things in her own sweet time. Some days he and Ty felt like they worked for her. “Send her back, Ida.”

She gave him another of her tickled-pink looks as he walked around his desk to stand beside the door. “I’ll just do that.”

The polished pine hall beyond the door wasn’t long, but when Abbie appeared a moment later, Jace still had time for a good look. Topped by a long, snow-white knitted scarf, her knee-length black-and-gray herringbone coat hung open, and beneath it she wore black wool slacks and a pearl-gray turtleneck. Parted in the middle, her long auburn hair curved around her forehead and high cheekbones, then fell sleek and shiny on either side of her upturned collar. She looked expensive. And very beautiful.

“Hi,” she said quietly, and Jace decided she’d come bearing white doves and an olive branch.

“Hello, Abbie.” When she’d stepped inside, he closed that always open door.

“The place looks good, Jace. Bigger, more organized. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. We’re doing all right.” Even when he’d worked here as a logger, the company had been a viable business. Now, with all the improvements and newly erected kilns, Rogan was quickly becoming one of the most respected logging and lumber companies in Northwest Pennsylvania. And, thank God, profits were good. Between Ty’s talent for finding new customers, and a cherry-, oak-and maple-hungry public, they’d never had a problem meeting their mortgage payments.

But he’d bet their new skidder she wasn’t here to check out the place.

“What’s on your mind?” Her dark eyes looked a little tired, and considering the night he’d spent, Jace felt a run of satisfaction.

“You know why I’m here. That business last night was awkward.”

“If you want an apology because I used you to get to your father, you’re not going to get one. I figure we’re even now. You used me, I used you; quid pro quo.” He returned to his desk, then nodded toward the chair and the white mug on her side of it. “Have a seat if you want. The coffee’s yours. Ida brought it in.”

“Thank you, but I won’t be here long enough to drink it. I came to apologize for a very stupid thing I did well over a decade ago. I tried to explain then, but you wouldn’t hear me out.”

“Abbie, it’s been way too long to get into all of this again.”

Her soft tone nearly got to him. Nearly. “Has it? It didn’t seem that way last night. It’s time we put this thing behind us.”

Jace felt his nerves knot. He thought he had put it behind him. Then he’d seen her father’s smugly approving smile as she’d danced with an acceptable suitor, and his old outcast status had risen up and grabbed him where he lived.

“Whatever. I don’t feel the need to go into it, but if you have something to say, the floor’s yours.”

Frustration lined her face for a second, then she let it go and moistened her lips. “You know what a control freak my dad’s been since my mother died.”

He nodded, thinking that was putting it mildly.

“I needed some space from that. I know raising a daughter alone had to have been an enormous responsibility. But I was just so tired of being told what to think, what to say and who I could and couldn’t see that I had to make it clear to him that I was an adult now—and I was going to live my life in my own way.”

“So you decided to bed me in your gazebo and wait for your dad to come home.”

“No! Maybe I did coax you back to the house so he’d find us together. But not consciously, and not in the scheming, conniving way you think. I cared about you, Jace. I wouldn’t have slept with you just to spite my father. In fact, once we started making lo—” She halted before she finished the word. “Well,” she said, dropping her voice, “my father was the furthest thing from my mind.” She glanced down at the black leather gloves she held, then met his eyes again. “And, if you’ll recall, I only suggested that we take a swim.”

Yes, that’s what she’d said that night. She’d said there were spare swim trunks in the cabana—that he didn’t even have to go home to get his. Then she’d given him the tour of the picnic grotto and gazebo behind the Winslow’s fancy estate, and they’d never made it to the pool.

His intercom buzzed. Holding her gaze, Jace depressed the button. “Yes, Ida?”

“I wouldn’t have disturbed the two of you for the world, honey, but there’s a lawyer on the phone.”

“Our attorney?”

“No, one of those personal injury lawyers. It’s about the accident.”

Jace swore softly. “Get his number and tell him I’ll call him back.”

Abbie watched him break the connection, then briefly massage the tension over his eyes. “Trouble?”

“Maybe. One of our men was hurt yesterday, and it looks like he’ll be laid up for a few months. The thing is, we’re friends. It’s not like him to latch on to an ambulance chaser.”

Abbie let the reference slide. By now, she was used to snide remarks and lawyer jokes. “If you’re covering his medical expenses, and the equipment he was using wasn’t faulty, you probably don’t have much to worry ab—” She stopped herself. “Sorry, occupational hazard. You have your own attorney. It’s not my place to comment.”

“That’s right,” he said glibly, “it isn’t. God knows I wouldn’t want you to do anything unethical.” But despite his words, the implication was that she had. Fourteen years ago. And to her chagrin, it hurt.

Abbie drew a breath and let it out silently. All right, she’d tried. Now it was time to go. He still believed she’d orchestrated that awful night, but with all the turmoil in her life now, she had to take her own advice and let it go, no matter how much she wanted to resolve this. She just didn’t have the energy to fight wars on two emotional fronts.

Clearing her throat, she buttoned her coat and pulled on her gloves. “Know what?” she murmured. “I should have my head examined for coming here. Lately, everything I do with the greater good in mind backfires badly. Goodbye, Jace.”

Jace watched her open the door and walk to the front of the building. Then the illogical urge to follow her pushed him out of his chair. He still didn’t believe her story, but he could’ve treated her better.

Ida buzzed him again as he rounded his desk. He jabbed the intercom button.

“It’s that lawyer again, Jace. He wants the name of the company’s attorney. He said he doesn’t have time to sit on his hands waiting.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back in ten minutes,” he returned impatiently. “If he gets nasty, hang up on him, and if he phones again, don’t pick up. Check the caller ID before you answer.” Then he strode out to the reception area, and stood at one of their new plate-glass windows.

Outside, two six-foot-high, carved-wood grizzlies flanked the door. The wind gusted around them, picking up clouds of snow and nearly obscuring the mammoth steel buildings housing the kilns and sawmill. Then taillights flashed red in the grainy mist and Jace knew he’d missed her.

Swearing under his breath, he retraced his steps, picking up curious looks from their staff forester and a couple of guys from the mill.

“Ida,” he said, approaching her desk, “get our new friend on the phone for me, please. Then track down Ty. If he’s not at his place, he’s probably with the girl from last night.”

“Ginger.”

“Yeah, her,” he said, annoyed with Ty’s cavalier lifestyle and wondering why his equipment hadn’t fallen off yet. “I know this is his late day, but tell him I need him now. Playtime’s over.”

You’re just ticked off because it’s been six months since you got laid.

Probably, he decided, entering the rear office and dropping into his chair. But that wasn’t the reason for the clutching in his gut this morning. Then his gaze settled on that mug full of coffee, Abbie’s big doe eyes and full mouth came to mind…and he had to admit that maybe it was. He’d been a total ass, but she and her father had damn near eviscerated him that night and the pain had lasted a very long time.

Ida buzzed him. “Mr. Cleaver’s on the line.”

Cleaver. How appropriate. “Thanks,” he said, then picked up the phone and tried to be civil. “Mr. Cleaver. What can we do for you?”

An hour later, with Ty overseeing things, Jace tore out of the lot and headed for their lawyer’s office. They needed to nip this thing in the bud. He doubted Cleaver could make a suit stick because there was no way Jace could see that the company had been negligent. But the price Cleaver had named for an out-of-court settlement was robbery, and he had to know for sure. Damn lawyers.

More to the point, damn lawyer, because he couldn’t get Abbie out of his mind. Worse, every time he thought of her—disturbing as it was to admit—memories rose, his blood heated and he felt that old gut-gnawing pull again.

That night, still disturbed over her morning meeting with Jace, Abbie locked her dad’s SUV and strode quickly across the windy lot to the fire hall. After hearing Miriam mention that help was needed with the town’s annual Friends Without Families Easter dinner, Abbie had decided to attend tonight’s meeting and offer her services. She’d be back in L.A. before Easter, but she’d worked the event when she was in high school and looked forward to doing whatever she could while she was here.

She tucked her chin deep into her collar. Situated near the river on the town’s outskirts, it was a low, sprawling red-brick building, recently erected after a long fund-raising drive. According to Miriam, it was paying for itself nicely with rentals from weddings and other community events. Coming inside, Abbie wiped her boots on the mat, got her bearings in the reduced lighting, then headed for the room at the end of the corridor and the low hum of voices.

The cell phone in her shoulder bag rang. Taking it from the side flap, she frowned at the Number Unavailable message in the ID window, flipped it open and said hello.

A chillingly familiar voice stroked her ear, and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

“I just came from your place, counselor, but you weren’t home.” Danny Long’s laughter raised gooseflesh the entire length of her. “Where are you?”

Abbie dropped the phone and it clattered and skittered over the tile floor. Quickly retrieving it, she stabbed the End button to break the connection, then stabbed it again to shut it off permanently.

For a moment she couldn’t do anything but shake. Then, spotting a haven of sorts a few yards away, she hurried into the ladies’ room, locked the door and wilted against it.

She should have changed her cell number! Why hadn’t she thought of that? She rarely gave the number to clients, but Danny had been—no, had seemed—so fragile and ruined over Maryanne’s death, she’d made an exception in his case. In doing that, she’d given him a pipeline directly to her.

But not for long.

Trembling, she turned her cell back on, then speed-dialed Stuart, knowing he’d still be at the office.

“I just heard from him,” she said when he answered. “He called my cell phone. Stuart, he said he was at my apartment today. Is that possible? Could he—” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Could he have done something in there?” She lived in a secure building, but Danny was a manipulative charmer, and he was capable of fooling people. He’d certainly fooled her.

“Anything’s possible,” the elderly attorney returned, his agitation evident. “But I suspect he was lying. Did he threaten you in any way?”

“No.” And that meant there was no crime. Stalking was a difficult charge to prove. She’d given Danny her number willingly, which gave him the right to use it, and there was no law against a former client calling to say hello.

Stuart spoke again. “I’ll have security check your apartment and get back to you. In the meantime, you need to change your cell phone number.”

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

“Good.” He paused then, his voice lowering in grandfatherly concern. “Abbie, are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes,” she repeated through a breath. “I’m fine. At least, I will be in a minute.” Then again, how fine could she be when she was hiding out in a restroom? “But now that I’m thinking more clearly, I feel like a fool for bothering you with this. I’ll call building security myself.”

“As you wish,” he said gently. “But it would’ve been no trouble. I want to help in any way I can.”

“I know,” she murmured, “and that means more to me than I can say.” She inhaled deeply. “Stuart, I need to make that call now.”

“Call me back.”

“I will.”

Minutes later, after she’d learned that Danny had lied about going to her apartment, they’d spoken again. Stuart had made a phone call, too, bringing the detectives up to speed, though they’d said there was little they could do. Then Stuart had pressed her again to put the whole thing out of her mind and do something that would make her smile.

Smiling was a stretch, she decided. Especially when seven pairs of eyes turned from the table when she entered the meeting room—but only six of them were welcoming.

She nearly walked back out.

Ida Fannin rocketed out of her seat and rushed to greet her. “Abbie, what a lovely surprise! How nice of you to join us! Give me your coat, then help yourself to the coffee and donuts. Sorry, but they’re all glazed. I don’t like making food decisions when I’m in a hurry.”

Feeling a bit glazed herself, Abbie slipped off her coat and Ida wrestled it from her hands. Could this night get any worse? “Ida, I’m afraid I’m late. Maybe I should—”

“Go? Goodness, no. We’re just trying to decide who’s going to handle publicity for the event. Everyone,” she called out, crossing to the coatrack, “this lovely young woman is Morgan Winslow’s daughter, Abbie. A few of you might remember her. She lives and works in Los Angeles now, but she’s come home for her daddy’s wedding.”

Then she made the introductions, and before Abbie could draw more than a half dozen breaths, Ida had her in a seat across from Jace.

Her frazzled nerves frayed a little more. Few men could look darkly dangerous, sexy and utterly delicious all at the same time. But as Abbie took in his thick, collar-skimming black hair, compelling gaze and the grim curve of his mouth, she had to admit that Jace pulled it off without breaking a sweat. Then again, in her mind, he always had. Tonight he wore an open-throated black polo shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and drew her gaze to the muscular arms that had held her last night.

“Hello, again,” he said politely, then pushed to his feet. He scanned her jeans and hip-length burgundy sweater. “How did you hear about us?”

“My dad’s fiancée. Miriam knows I like to be busy, and she thought volunteering would give me something to do while I was in town.”

His mouth twisted with irony, and his dark brows lifted. “Imagine that.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Imagine.”

His gaze shifted to Ida, who was pulling her pen and tablet close again. The next words that passed his lips made Abbie wish she’d stayed in the ladies’ room.

“Ida, Abbie and I can handle the publicity. She’ll only be here for a short time, and that’s a job that can be completed early.” He faced her again, but continued to speak to Ida. “Having her on board could be a nice bonus for us. She’s connected. She might be able to convince a few of her country-club friends to make big, tax-deductible donations.”

Abbie felt herself pale as all eyes slid her way. “I—I’m not sure I’m the best person for the job. I’ve been away for years, and I’m afraid I don’t have many contacts in town anymore.”

Grinning in delight, Ida reached over to pat her hand. “Then won’t it be lovely to get reacquainted, dear? And if you have questions or problems, Jace will be there to help.”

An hour later, feeling shell-shocked and uneasy, Abbie said good night to everyone and hurried through the grainy, swirling snow toward her dad’s car. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why Jace would suggest they work together when they needed their own public relations guru just to keep them from sniping at each other. Had he done it because they needed the money he assumed she could get for them? Or was the reason more personal than that?

Clouds scudded overhead, nearly concealing a handful of stars and the white quarter-moon. As Abbie hunched deeper into her upturned collar and knitted scarf, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. After feeling his eyes on her for the past hour, there was no doubt that those footsteps belonged to Jace. Reaching the SUV, she turned to see what he wanted.

“You don’t have to work with me,” he said soberly, his breath clouding as he approached. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but you obviously have reservations. I’ll find someone local who wants to help.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to help.”

“Neither did I.”

“I think you did, and you’re wrong. I have no problem helping with the dinner. You’re the reason I have reservations.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated. Was his memory that bad? Abbie stared at him for several seconds, then sighed. “Never mind. I have to go.”

Pulling up on the door lever, she tried unsuccessfully to open it—tried again, but it still wouldn’t budge. “Wonderful,” she breathed.

“It’s unlocked, right?” he said from behind her.

Irritated that he’d even ask, she kept tugging. “Yes, it’s unlocked. It’s frozen shut.”

“Then stop trying to force it before you break the handle. Let me try.”

“No, I’ll do it.” She was quite sure she could open a door on her own.

“Fine,” he replied, “but if you’re going to snap a handle, snap a rear one. It’ll be less frustrating to deal with while you’re waiting to get it fixed.”

Shoulders slumping, picturing her dad using one of the other doors to get into his car, she backed away and motioned for Jace to have at it.

In a moment, he’d pounded a fist around the back door to loosen it and opened it easily. Then he crawled inside and shoved the front door open.

“Okay, you’re set,” he concluded, backing out and waiting for her to slide behind the wheel. “But you’d better put a can of deicer in your purse if you’re planning to be here a while.”

Nodding, she started the car, then met his gray eyes. To her chagrin, that man-woman thing zipped between them, totally unexpected on the heels of her annoyance. “Thank you—for this, and for keeping me on my feet last night when that champagne bottle hit the floor.”

“You’re welcome,” he returned after a startled second. “Be careful going home.”

Abbie nodded. He’d felt that current of awareness, too, but he seemed determined to ignore it, so she would, too.

He was nearly to his own vehicle when she called his name. “Jace, wait.”

He walked back, turning up the collar on his brown leather bomber jacket and thrusting his hands into his pockets. Then, somehow, memories of their one unforgettable night together rose in her mind, and Abbie saw him smiling and shirtless, her naive fingers stroking his chest hair.

Her stomach floated. “What do you want to do about the publicity thing? Would you rather partner with someone you’ll find it easier to work with?”

“That depends,” he replied, managing a small smile. “Are you planning to be difficult?”

Bristling, she lifted her chin. “No. Are you?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Where do we go from here? Easter isn’t that far off.”

Even in the faint moonlight, she saw a challenge rise in his eyes. “I’ll phone you at your dad’s place and we’ll set up something.” He paused. “Then again, it might be better if I called your cell. No stress. On anyone.”

“If you want to know something, ask.”

“All right. Are you planning to tell your dad we’ll be seeing each other again?”

“I’m not a child anymore, Jace. Of course I’m going to tell him, and how he handles it is up to him. Now I have a question. Why did you suggest that we work together? Because of the money you think I can get for the food bank? Or did you just want to take another virtual poke at my father?”

“What do you think?”

She didn’t know—or maybe she didn’t want to know. “My dad’s number is in the book,” she replied, already tired of sparring with him. “If I’m not there, leave a message. As for my cell…” Danny’s voice came back to her and she felt another pinch of anxiety. “That number will be changing. I’ll give you the new one in a day or so.”

Then she closed her door, backed out of her parking space and left, a shivery truth once more making itself known. Whether they were fencing with each other, merely breathing the same air…or kissing on a dance floor…the attraction between them was still strong.

Last night at the country club their lips had barely touched, yet something about that kiss had been so tantalizing and provocative, Abbie had felt the power of it in a hundred different places.

An airy thrill moved through her, and she didn’t try to discourage it. It had been so long since a man had affected her this way it felt good to know that she was still able to respond. Toward the end of her marriage, she’d begun to worry.

Reaching the downtown area, she passed a short block of businesses, the mini mall, then the movie theater where she and Jace had once snuggled in the dark munching popcorn…and each other. Her nipples hardened.

And suddenly she wondered if her relationship with Collin would’ve worked if they’d had even a quarter of the chemistry that she and Jace still generated.

Chapter 3

The phone rang Wednesday evening as Abbie lit the tapers on the formal dining room table and called into the family room for her father and Miriam. She’d spent the morning changing her cell phone number and shopping, and the afternoon in the kitchen preparing dinner for the three of them. Now the house was filled with the tangy aromas of baked ham with raisin sauce, yams, chunky homemade applesauce and green beans with slivered almonds. Chocolate mousse was chilling in the refrigerator.

Grumbling that the caller had better not be a telemarketer, her dad veered into the hall, choosing the alternate route to the kitchen phone while Miriam joined Abbie in the Winslows’ dining room.

Miriam Abbot was a tall, attractive widow in her late fifties with fashionably short salt-and-pepper brown hair, brown eyes and a winning smile. Two years ago, she’d moved to Laurel Ridge and opened a travel agency in the building across the street from Morgan Winslow’s bank, and they’d quickly found enough common ground to form a friendship. Today she wore chocolate-brown wool slacks, topped by an off-white cashmere sweater, gold chains and a silky patterned scarf. Small gold hoops glinted at her earlobes.

“Everything looks and smells wonderful,” she said graciously. Her admiring gaze took in the steaming bowls and platters…the fresh flowers and the formal place settings…the gold-edged tea roses on white bone china. “You’ve gone to so much trouble. I just wish you would’ve let me help you.”

“Believe me,” Abbie replied, “I enjoyed being busy.” It had been a relief to concentrate on something other than her troubles in L.A. Though security had assured her that nothing had been disturbed in her apartment, hearing Danny’s voice last night had started an uneasy feeling in Abbie that wouldn’t go away. Meeting Miriam’s eyes, she continued. “Besides, I wanted to do something special for the two of you.”

“Well, thank you,” she returned. “You know, your dad loves having you home. Especially tonight, when you’ve made his favorite meal.”

Scowling, Morgan reentered the spacious dining room and said gruffly, “And I’d prefer to eat that meal while it’s hot.” Crossing one of the long Persian rugs on the gleaming hardwood, he handed the cordless handset to Abbie. “It’s for you,” he said brusquely. “Guess who?”

Feeling a rush of nerves, she accepted it and stepped away from the table. She didn’t have to guess. The red blotches on her father’s cheeks told her that the next voice she heard would be Jace’s low baritone.

“You two go ahead and start,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.” Then she stepped into the pretty oak kitchen and raised the receiver to her ear. In the background, scattered laughter and conversation mingled with bouncy country music. “Hello?”

“Sorry for interrupting your dinner,” he said, and Abbie knew instantly that he was either put off by something her father had said, or he hadn’t wanted to make the call in the first place. “I won’t keep you long.”

“No problem, we hadn’t started yet.”

“Good. I just called to ask when you’re free to discuss the publicity for the Friends dinner. As you said, Easter isn’t far away.”

Abbie drew a breath, startled by the jittery feeling in her chest. She visited jails on a regular basis, faced criminals in interrogation rooms and held her own against the legal sharks on the other side of the courtroom. Yet maintaining her poise around Jace was becoming a real problem. “I’m free anytime, so we can schedule around your day.”

“Days won’t work. I’m at the business or checking logging sites until after five. But if you’d like to have dinner somewhere or come to my place, I can arrange to be free tomorrow, Saturday after our noon closing or any night next week.”

Abbie moved deeper into the kitchen to lean against the butcher-block work island. Conversation had ceased in the dining room, and she could picture her dad doing a slow burn as he tried to eavesdrop. Not that his opinions swayed her anymore. She loved and respected her father, but she was no longer that eager-to-please, motherless teenager. “Which would you prefer?”

“Doesn’t matter. It would be more convenient if you came to the house. Then I wouldn’t have to drag a folder full of last year’s fliers and lists with me—and you wouldn’t have to squeeze a notebook in between your coffee cup and water glass.” He paused. “But maybe you’d feel more comfortable meeting me somewhere else.”

Abbie silently counted to ten. “You really enjoy baiting me, don’t you?” The truth was, she wouldn’t feel comfortable anywhere with his doubting gray gaze boring into her, but she’d signed on to help and she had no intention of bailing out.

“I’m not baiting you. I’m just trying to arrive at a meeting place, a date and a time.”

“All right,” she replied evenly. “I’ll see you at your place tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. How do I get there?”

Her father’s stern voice came from the dining room. “Abbie, we’d like to say the blessing soon.” But she didn’t answer.

“I’m in the book. It’s a log house outside of town on Maxwell Road. You’ll know it when you see it. There’ll be sap buckets hanging on the maple trees.”

He was gathering sap? For maple syrup? Despite the fact that his work revolved around trees and timber, she wouldn’t have thought he’d be interested in that sort of thing. Or maybe the interest wasn’t his, she thought. Maybe he was gathering it for someone else. Someone female.

An illogical pinch of jealousy bit her and, annoyed, Abbie shook it off. He was entitled to a life. Giving him her virginity fourteen years ago didn’t give her any special hold on him—not that she wanted one. He was too stiff and unyielding. Too…something.

“I’ll find it,” she replied, still curious about the music and noise in the background, still wondering where he was calling from. “I’ll see you at seven.”

When she walked into the dining room a moment later, her father’s cheeks were still red, and Miriam was wearing a wary and confused look. Abbie took her seat, her father said the blessing and she began filling her plate.

Her dad extended the platter of sliced ham. “What did he want?”

Abbie took a slice, then drizzled a bit of raisin sauce over it. “I’m helping with the Friends Without Families Easter dinner.”

“What does that have to do with him?”

“Jace is on the board of the local food bank, and they’re organizing the event.”

Abbie caught the sharp surprise in Miriam’s eyes. She’d wondered if Miriam had been playing matchmaker when she suggested getting involved in the project, because she’d asked about that kiss. But apparently, her stepmother-to-be had been as clueless about Jace’s involvement as Abbie had.

Smiling, but speaking firmly, Abbie glanced at her father again. “We’re working on publicity together. I’m seeing him tomorrow night.”

His eyes went dead and he sent her a long, steady look that was easy to interpret. You’re thirty-three years old, and I can’t tell you what to do anymore. But this does not please me.

Forty minutes later, when her dad had returned to the family room off the formal living room to read the evening paper, and she and Miriam were straightening the kitchen, Miriam sent Abbie a skeptical look. “Want to tell me what’s going on between you and your dad?”

Abbie met her eyes for a moment, then returned the salt and pepper shakers to the cupboard beside the built-in microwave. She wiped a damp dishcloth over the pale blue countertops. “He didn’t tell you about Jace and me?”

“When I asked about the kiss at the Mardi Gras party, he muttered something about ancient history. But from his mood tonight—and that phone call—I’m thinking that it’s not so ancient.” She smiled. “I don’t mean to pry—truly. Your business is your business. I’d just rather not spend my honeymoon with a grumpy bear without knowing why he’s grumpy.”

Abbie rinsed the cloth then draped it over the divider in the stainless double sink. Her dad hadn’t gotten bullheaded and left the table after Jace’s call, and he’d complimented Abbie on the meal. But conversation had been strained despite Miriam’s best efforts to shake her father out of his funk. “It’s a long story,” she murmured.

Miriam smiled. “They’re my favorite kind. I don’t have anything to do for a while, and we both know that in a matter of seconds, your dad will be reading the newspaper through his eyelids.”

Abbie glanced toward the doorway leading to the dining room and the living and family rooms beyond. She wasn’t ashamed of what had happened with Jace all those years ago. And she didn’t mind telling Miriam about it because she was easy to talk to and they’d already begun to form a relationship based on mutual admiration and respect. But now that the tension in the house was ebbing, she didn’t want to be discussing that night in the gazebo if her father came in. This was his home, he’d be getting married in two days and he didn’t need to get all worked up again.

Miriam seemed to read her mind. “Know what? I was about to suggest we have another cup of tea, but I don’t think either of us is all that thirsty.”

Abbie waited through her pause.

“When your dad picked me up after work, he said he’d had a horrific day. I’m going to tell him that you’re driving me home. Unless you’d rather not?”

Abbie knew she meant, unless you’d rather not tell me the story. But at this point, she wanted to talk about it. “I’d like to drive you home. Unless Dad’s not dozing and he’d prefer to do it.”

Miriam grinned. “Oh, he’s dozing, all right.”

Thirty minutes later, Abbie drove west on Maxwell Road beneath an onyx sky and a sparkling canopy of stars. She’d dropped Miriam off in town, and they’d talked the whole way. Though Miriam had given Abbie a few things to think about, she’d consider those things later. Right now she was searching for a log home surrounded by trees dressed in sap buckets. She’d told herself that since he wasn’t at home—and she was out and about, anyway—it wouldn’t hurt to make a dry run past his house so she could find it easily tomorrow.

But, though a sliver of moonlight reflected off a new dusting of snow, it was hard to see into the wooded landscape where leafless trees were interspersed with towering hemlocks and pines.

Two miles outside of town on the left side of the bumpy, unpaved road, she spotted the first sap bucket just inside the tree line. In a moment, several others glinted in the car’s headlights and a rural mailbox appeared.

Rolling to a stop beside his driveway, Abbie lowered her window and peered down the sloping lane. The faint odor of exhaust mingled with the fresh scents of pine and winter, and a faint breeze carried it inside.

Situated in a carved-out section of the woods, his log home stood, its peaked, glass-walled frontage and wide wraparound porch impressive in the glow of roof-and pole-mounted spotlights. Inside, a lamp burned dimly beyond the open drapes, and behind the house and to the right, several outbuildings melted into the trees.

Gripped by curiosity, Abbie continued to stare. They’d gotten a dusting of snow around four o’clock, and Jace’s long, plowed driveway was smooth and white, devoid of tire tracks. Obviously, he hadn’t returned yet. And now that she’d located his home…she had to turn around somewhere, didn’t she?

Shushing the tiny voice that said she was just being nosy, she made a sharp left turn and drove down to the property.

She’d barely reached the wide plowed area around the garage when headlights appeared at the top of the drive and adrenaline jolted through her.

Dammit, dammit, dammit! Couldn’t he have waited five more minutes to come home?

Quickly, Abbie pulled up to the garage door, backed around, straightened her dad’s SUV and shoved it into Park. Then she waited, because there was nothing else she could do.

In a moment, he’d pulled in beside her, their vehicles pointing east and west, driver’s-side windows parallel to each other’s. Jace lowered his window.

Feeling like the intruder she was, Abbie met his gaze across three feet of cool air.

“You’re twenty-two hours early,” he said.

“I know. I had to take my dad’s fiancée home, and as long as I was out, I thought I’d try to locate your house. I was just turning around.”

His brow lined. “Your dad’s fiancée lives on this road?”

Abbie understood his confusion. She’d only seen three houses on the way, and they were all at the far end of Maxwell. Except for the dilapidated barn she’d passed a quarter mile down the road, Jace’s home was the only building on this stretch of road. “No, she lives in town, but it was a pretty night, and I was at loose ends.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m still on Pacific time. Everyone else’s night is winding down, but it feels like mine’s just beginning.” She paused as the realization that there wasn’t another car, home or person in sight made her feel weightless—made her nerve endings dance. Again, she wondered why she’d never felt this way with Collin.

“Your home’s lovely,” she said when he didn’t move to fill the silence. “Living out this far, I’m surprised that you don’t have a gate or a chain across the drive.”

“Why?” he asked, faintly amused. “To keep nosy people from invading my space? Gates and chains only make thieves think there’s something worth stealing inside.”

“Is there?”

“I don’t know. What do you consider valuable?”

Life without fear, Abbie thought instantly, recalling why she was a continent away from her life and her friends. “I think the things we consider valuable change from day to day.”

“I think you’re right.” Then he smiled a little and nodded toward the house. “Would you like to come inside? It’s a little warmer and more comfortable if we’re going to have a philosophical conversation.”

Abbie shook her head. “Thanks, but I can’t. I told Dad I’d be right back. He’ll start thinking I buried his car in a snowdrift if I’m late.”

The mention of her father made Jace’s smile fade, and suddenly Abbie needed to tell him that she knew about her dad’s financial blackballing. “I asked him what he’d done to you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The night of the gala, you said there was more between the two of you than the gazebo incident.”

“It wasn’t an incident, Abbie, we had sex.”

“All right, we had sex. I just want you to know that I asked, and he admitted that he’d turned down your application for a loan—and the rest of it.” She felt a sharp twinge. He hadn’t deserved any of the humiliation her father had dished out. “I’m so sorry for that, Jace. But I really don’t understand why you’d go to him for money. You had to know how he’d react.”

“His bank was advertising low interest on business loans, and I assumed he was a businessman first and a father second. I also assumed I wouldn’t be requesting a loan from the bank president, but from a loan officer.”

Abbie filled in the rest. As soon as her father saw the name on the loan application, he’d called Jace in and put him in his place. Again.

“I’m glad he didn’t derail your plans. The changes I saw when I came by the other day were amazing.”

“We’re growing. With the kilns we put in two years ago, we employ thirty-five people now. I oversee the lumber end of it and Ty handles the logging. He’s turned into a savvy businessman.”

“I suspect Ty’s big brother knows what he’s doing, too,” she returned quietly. “I’m happy for both of you.”

“Thanks. We’re happy for us, too.”

Another uneasy silence stretched between them then, and Abbie dropped her father’s Ford Expedition into gear. When conversation deteriorated into stock replies, it was time to go. But, hopefully, addressing a bit of the past tonight would make tomorrow night easier on both of them.

She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard, then back at him. “See you in twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes.”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes, she thought, following her tracks back up to the road. That was something lovers might say to each other, lovers eager to relive warm, liquid kisses and shivery touches in the dark. Lovers who knew how to smile at each other and never ran out of things to say.

Abbie pressed down harder on the gas pedal as an old longing welled up inside of her, surprising her with its poignancy. Obviously, some lovers were better at those things than others.

Jace unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house, then shrugged out of his leather jacket, kicked off his boots and wandered into his home office. The light on his answering machine was flashing. The first message was from Ty, saying that he was headed to a local watering hole for a beer and a burger and he’d be at Candy’s Bar if Jace wanted to join him. The second was from their foster mom and dad who were wintering in Florida.

Betty Parrish’s musical laughter spilled from his machine. “Hi, Jacey.”

Jace smiled. He’d been Jacey to her ever since he and Ty had gone to live with Betty and Carl after Jillie Rae cut out.

“I just called to give you a weather update,” she went on. “It’s seventy-four and sunny.” She laughed again. “You know, you and Ty could be enjoying some warmer temps, too, if you’d scoot down here for a few days. Now, the campground’s having a luau next Friday night and I need a head count. Call me back if you can make it, but do it before eight o’clock.” Another laugh. “It’s dollar movie night. We’re seeing an old Doris Day film. Love you! Bye.”

Still smiling, he ambled into the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. His coupon-clipping foster mom loved a good bargain. Always had. One of the first lessons she’d taught him was, don’t squander your money or your talents. At the time, he didn’t have any money and he doubted he had talent, so the words hadn’t sunk in until at least a decade later.

Jace stared at his reflection in the dark window, his vision blurring as the film strip in his mind rolled back ten years, then twenty…then twenty-four. Images appeared. And suddenly he was twelve years old again and watching nervously for his mother to come back, his hands cupped on another dark window.

Jillie Rae had dropped them off early that morning, saying she was going job hunting and she’d see them around lunchtime. But it was nearly ten o’clock when the phone at old Mrs. Conrad’s place finally rang. Scrambling from the glass, he and Ty had stood in the living room of her neat-as-a-pin trailer like proper soldiers, waiting for word that Jillie was on her way.

Mrs. Conrad’s shocked voice cut like a laser through Jace’s consciousness. “What do you mean, you’re not coming back? I can’t take care of these kids! I have a heart condition!” Then she’d become angry. “Jillie Rae, you get back here right now. Just clean up your act and catch the next bus home. You brought these children into the world, and they’re your responsibility. You need to do right by them!”

Then Ty had started to cry, and Jace had held him and told him it would be okay. Jillie’d come for them. But after Ty finally fell asleep, curled against him on Mrs. Conrad’s studio couch, Jace had cried, too, because he was afraid he’d lied. No matter what kind of mother she’d been, no matter that she sometimes passed herself off as their older sister and she wanted them to call her Jillie Rae, she was all they’d had and they’d loved her.

The next day, they’d met a woman from Children’s Services and a few hours after that, they’d moved into the Parrish’s home on Calendar Street. Betty and Carl had opened their arms to them, and in the process, saved their lives.

They’d never seen Jillie again.

The hum of an engine broke his thoughts. Feeling a quick shot of adrenaline, Jace strode to the front door and looked out. But it wasn’t Abbie’s SUV. It was Ty’s dark gray Silverado. Moments later, his brother was stamping snow from his feet and coming inside.

“Hey,” he called.

“Hey, yourself,” Jace answered stepping back. “Thought you were hanging out at Candy’s tonight. I was there for a few minutes around six, but I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, I know. I got tied up.”

Jace raised a dubious brow. “A little early in the evening for that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

Blue eyes twinkling, Ty slipped off his gray vest and tossed it through the archway to land on Jace’s brown leather sofa. “It’s never too early. Unfortunately, this kind of tie-up wasn’t that much fun.”

“Oh? Where were you?”

“The hospital. I wanted to talk to Arnie.”

The mood in the room sobered. “Think that was wise?” Jace asked.

“You phoned him,” Ty pointed out.

“A phone call’s not a visit. We’re supposed to steer clear of Arnie. The bloodsucking lawyers are doing the talking.”

“I know, but we’ve known Arnie for a long time, and I wanted to hear what he had to say.” Ty inclined his head toward the kitchen. “Got any coffee made?”

Hoping Ty’s visit hadn’t done more harm than good, Jace started walking. “No, but it’ll only take a minute to make some.”

“Good. Because we need to talk, and I think better with a mug in my hand.”

Minutes later they were standing across from each other at the kitchen bar, ignoring the leather stools, and listening to the spit and splash of coffee brewing on the adjacent countertop.

After height, similar facial structure and the requisite jeans and boots, people had to look hard to see that they were related. Ty’s hair was as thick as Jace’s, but it was medium brown, not black, and his eyes were the deep blue women loved. But then, women loved everything about his little brother, and Ty felt the same about them. Short, tall, blond, brunette, he enjoyed them all. But he’d never had a serious relationship in his life.

Then again, neither had he, Jace admitted. Not one that had been totally reciprocated. In that way, he and Ty were like their mother. All flings, no strings.

“I don’t think this lawsuit is Arnie’s idea,” Ty began. “I think it’s his wife’s. Callie’s a nice woman, but they’ve got four kids and I think she’s worried that Arnie’ll never work again.”

Jace nodded gravely. He and Ty understood the need for security more than most people did. Financial and emotional. “She could be right.” The tree that put Arnie in the hospital had done enough damage to his leg that it would be a minor miracle if he was able to walk again without a cane.

“I’ve been giving that some thought, though,” Jace continued. “If he can’t log anymore, we’ll find something else for him.”

“Not the sawmill. Callie’d never go for that, even with all the safeguards.” Leaving the bar, Ty went to the refrigerator to rummage around. When he returned, he was balancing assorted packages of deli cold cuts, cheese and spicy mustard on his arm. “Want a sandwich?”

“No, you go ahead.” He wasn’t hungry anymore. Now, he just wanted this thing with Arnie Flagg settled in a way that benefited all of them, and he wanted Abbie Winslow to get the hell out of his mind. He could still see her staring through that open window, her hair lifting in the wind and her dark eyes serious.

Ty pulled a loaf of sliced rye from the bread drawer. “By the way, I passed a dark-colored Ford Expedition about a half mile up the road. Looked like our favorite banker’s ride.”

Jace shot a glance at him, wondering if Ty was fishing. “It was.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m not.”

Eyes brimming with interest, Ty pulled a plate from the cupboard. “So, what did Morgan want? Another opportunity to toss around a few insults? A pint of your blood?” He grinned suddenly. “Or did he just drop by to tell you to keep your nasty Rogan lips off his daughter?”

“None of the above,” Jace returned dryly. “It wasn’t him. It was her.”

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