Always an outsider…

Armed with only her suitcases and secrets, Tess Spencer arrives at Bell River Ranch. She’ll work temporarily at their spa and never tell the Wright sisters her true connection to them. Meeting gorgeous carpenter Jude Calhoun challenges those plans, however. Strong and capable, Jude makes Tess want to share the burden of what she knows….

That confession may come sooner than she wants when her past intrudes at the ranch. But if she reveals the reasons she’s here, she will definitely be the outsider—unwelcomed and alone. And leaving Bell River could cost her the one man she wants….

He wasn’t going to do this

Jude could read the expression on Tess’s face. She wanted him. More than that, he wanted her. Wanted to see where comfort took them.

But no. He wasn’t even going to think about doing this.

It probably would have been much, much smarter to let Tess go on believing he was a married man, a picked peach with a helpless infant depending on him. Because they wouldn’t be lovers, tonight or ever.

He’d felt the years of deprivation in her body, more skin-and-bones than slender. He’d felt the terrible, lifelong isolation that left her shocked that anyone was willing to catch her when she fell.

And he felt the hunger, far deeper than a lack of food. A chronic lack of love that made intimacy frighten her so much she fought it even when she was unconscious.

But no. He had sworn off wounded birds. And this beautiful little sparrow was as broken as they came.

Dear Reader,

When I started writing The Sisters of Bell River Ranch series, I knew I wanted to include at least one sister who came to the family by an indirect route. I’ve known so many loving, loyal families who bring each other great comfort and happiness—but who weren’t “born” to one another the old fashioned way. I wanted, somehow, to honor those wonderful bonds.

The heroine of The Secrets of Bell River, Tess Spencer, is illegitimate—her very existence one of the biggest secrets of all. She’s a half sister to some, no blood relation at all to others, and yet she finds her way straight into their hearts.

In the end, sisterhood is not just blood, or even growing up in the same house. It’s about sharing tears and dumb jokes, and circling the wagons against common enemies. It’s about seeing the world the same way. I’m lucky enough to have had a sister in the conventional method, but through the years life also granted me friends who were such kindred spirits that they claimed a sisterhood of the heart. One came to me as a childhood friend, but another I found much later in life—something I hadn’t imagined was possible. All of them are gifts beyond measure, and I know I’m not the only one who has what I call “like sisters”—the women who have, indeed, become “like” sisters. It makes for a rich life, indeed.

In fact, the only thing a woman needs after that is…a hero of her very own. And that’s where the gorgeous, wounded Silverdell carpenter, Jude Calhoun, comes in.

I hope you enjoy their story! And if you, too, have sisters and “like sisters,” I hope you’ll hug them today.

Warmly,

Kathleen O’Brien

P.S.—Stop by and say hi at www.facebook.com/KathleenOBrienAuthor, or visit me at www.kathleenobrien.com!

The Secrets of Bell River

Kathleen O’Brien

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathleen O’Brien was a feature writer and TV critic before marrying a fellow journalist. Motherhood, which followed soon after, was so marvelous she turned to writing novels, which could be done at home. She believes the true friend is the one you trust with your secrets—even if it’s just that embarrassing thing about popcorn and reality TV. The best friends are the ones who love you because of those secrets, not in spite of them.

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To Chaela, Celie, Ann…and, of course, Renie.

My “sisters” of the heart, whether you like it or not.

Contents

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

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

IN TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS, Tess Spencer hadn’t ever felt like she truly belonged anywhere, and it took only one look at the snow-covered perfection of Bell River Ranch to know she didn’t belong here, either.

So what if the women who owned it were technically her “family”? She didn’t know them—hadn’t even heard of them until two months ago, when, on her deathbed, her mother had dropped the bombshell about Tess’s paternity.

The Wright sisters didn’t know Tess, either. Not even that she existed.

And they probably never would.

She’d left Los Angeles, where she’d lived all her life, and she’d come to Silverdell thinking she might, just might, tell them. That had been her mother’s dying wish—to leave a safety net for the only child she was leaving too soon. In Tess’s imagination, introducing herself to Rowena, Brianna and Penelope Wright had seemed possible. Terrifying, but possible.

But now that Tess saw the beautiful ranch, nestled in its rolling winter landscape like a warm brown egg in a silver-white fairy nest...

How could she tell these elegant, successful strangers—her “sisters”—anything? According to Tess’s mother, the three women seemed to be decent people. They’d known plenty of heartache as well as privilege. They probably wouldn’t even be terribly shocked to learn about Tess. Their dad, Johnny Wright, had done a lot worse in his life than take a mistress and father one secret illegitimate baby.

Eighteen years ago, he had killed his wife. Their mother.

Tragic, but...still. Soaring Greek tragedy and low, dirty squalor weren’t the same problems. Tess Spencer and the legitimate Wright sisters didn’t speak the same language. One was a struggling, divorced massage therapist who had lived in crummy apartments all her life, hand to mouth—and that was on a good day. On bad days, she went hungry. The Wrights were landowners, Colorado heiresses who, in spite of their childhood calamity, had always possessed every tree, rock, building and animal they could see.

The gap between their worlds was as wide as the gap between earthlings and martians.

Besides, though they might not be shocked to meet a secret sister, they would undoubtedly be dismayed. Obviously Bell River Ranch was working very hard to leave its scandalous past behind. Nothing proclaimed civilized and unsullied more than this well-kept, orderly cluster of buildings with sweet blue smoke curling out of chimneys and sunshine sparkling off pristine windows.

“Sorry, Mom,” Tess muttered as she parked the car beside the charming wood-and-glass building that housed the spa. “A bastard of Johnny Wright would be about as welcome here as a hole in a lifeboat.”

She killed the engine and regrouped. Okay, no thrilled surprise family reunion. She’d always known that was greeting-card schlock, anyhow, not real life.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t work here. Work was something Tess knew how to do—and she desperately needed a good job. Her mother’s illness had cleaned her out emotionally, and the divorce from Craig had done the same financially.

All the Wright sisters had to do was hire her. That shouldn’t be hard to pull off. She was a damn good massage therapist with extensive training, enthusiastic recommendations and five years of experience. Hire her, pay her, maybe appreciate her talents a little, and she wouldn’t ask for anything more.

Well, she admitted as she got out of the car, she’d satisfy her curiosity about her birth father at the same time, of course. But that wouldn’t cost anyone anything.

“Hi,” she said as she opened the door to the spa. She was greeted by soft harp music, and the aroma of expensive lotions mixing with the sharp, piney scent of new construction. The spa had obviously been added quite recently, no expenses spared.

“Good morning,” the young blonde goddess behind the streamlined wooden reception desk said. She gave Tess the official “serenity” smile known to any spa employee. Cool, unflappable, full of grace.

You can be a goddess, too, the look was designed to whisper to the client. A few procedures, a small fee...

Tess felt like applauding. A fabulous, incredibly subtle sales pitch. But all wasted. The goddess obviously hadn’t yet figured out that Tess wasn’t a paying client.

A real client, a late-middle-aged woman in crisp navy blue pants and starched white shirt, sat in the waiting room, perched on the edge of one of the stylish armchairs. She’d been reading a celebrity magazine, but glanced up sharply when Tess entered.

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you? My appointment was five minutes ago.” The woman’s voice was as crisp as her clothes, but held an undercurrent of chronic dissatisfaction. Her frown had been so immediate, and the vertical lines between her eyebrows were so firmly grooved, that Tess had to assume scowling was her instinctive reaction to almost anything.

A fussbudget. Tess smiled—her own inner spa employee taking over—though she didn’t expect the scowl to go away, and it didn’t. She’d encountered clients like this, and she knew how hopeless it was. These people wouldn’t ever relax, not if massaged for a week with angel feathers.

“Of course not, Mrs. Fillmore,” the goddess purred, unfazed. “How could we ever forget you?”

Tess glanced at the goddess/receptionist. Was she imagining things, or did Blondie’s placid voice have an undercurrent of irony?

“I’m Tess Spencer,” Tess said. “I have an appointment with Rowena Wright.”

“Ah.” The young woman looked relieved behind that perfect smile. She wasn’t quite as cool and impenetrable as Tess had first thought. She actually said a lot with those blue eyes. “Good to meet you, Tess. I’m Bree. I’m sure Rowena will be here any minute, but—”

“Cancel the search-and-rescue team. I’m here!” Behind Tess, the door blew open with a swoosh of clean, frosty air. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Bree. Don’t shoot me. It’s insane at the house. Absolutely insane!”

Tess turned to see a willowy young woman shaking snow from a tangle of long, black hair. The flakes fell to the floor, adding to the crusty crystals left by the tread of her expensive boots. When she finished, she raked back her hair with one hand and lifted her face.

Tess stopped breathing for a second—not because the newcomer was beautiful, though she was absolutely that. When you worked with a pampered, well-heeled clientele, you got accustomed to physical beauty. This woman took Tess’s breath away with her sheer radiating vitality. And those green eyes—they seemed lit from behind, alive in an almost otherworldly way, like a forest animal, or a fairy.

It had to be Rowena. Or at least one of the other Wright sisters, since the blonde was Bree. Brianna, the middle sister.

Yes, this new woman was Rowena—and she was maybe seven months pregnant, her belly the one rounded spot on an otherwise lean, athletic frame.

Tess had done her homework. Most of the stories she’d found had been either archived ones about Johnny Wright’s murder case, in which most papers had been too delicate to print photos of the motherless daughters, or business stories about the opening of Bell River Ranch and its implications for Silverdell’s economy, also short on pictures.

She hadn’t been surprised. Why should women who had been through a public scandal at such a tender age seek publicity?

Still, she knew the basic facts. Rowena was the eldest, and the only one with gypsy-black hair. The youngest was Penelope, and the one picture of her as a child showed a honey-brown fall of hair half-hiding a sweet, timid face.

Rowena was obviously the pack leader. Her air of authority was unmistakable. It showed in her indifference to how she tracked slush into the pristine space, in her willingness to bluster into Serenity Central and never be cowed for a second.

Rowena was living proof that everything Tess had been thinking was true. Tess Spencer, the hard-scrabbling itinerant employee with a chip on her shoulder the size of Colorado, had nothing in common with the poised, ebullient Wright sisters.

“You must be Tess!” Rowena turned the amazing green eyes toward her, and her smile deepened, projecting warmth in spite of the chill that still clung to her gold sweater and cords. “I’m Rowena! I’m so sorry I’m late. Gawd, why do I keep saying that? I couldn’t help it, really I couldn’t. Some meddling fool called the health inspector, and now I’m going to have to dance him around, proving we’re not serving ptomaine every night for dinner.”

“Ro.” Bree pursed her lips, though her eyes had an inner light that hinted at repressed laughter. “You know you’re saying this stuff out loud, right? And everyone can hear you?”

“I can’t hear her,” a male voice called out from behind the reception area. “And I’m not planning a lawsuit as we speak.”

Rowena and Brianna burst into laughter. “You’d better not be, Jude,” Rowena said merrily, raising her voice a little to be sure the invisible man could hear her. “What would be the point? You know firsthand how broke we are. In fact, if you get paid this week, you’ll be lucky!”

“Ro.” Bree shook her head, giving the starchy client a meaningful glance. “Again. You said that out loud.”

Ro gave the woman a look of her own. “Oh, we don’t have any secrets at Bell River. Silverdell’s too small a town for secrets, isn’t it, Mrs. Fillmore?”

Tess raised her eyebrows. Again, the subtext of irony. These two didn’t like Mrs. Fillmore one bit. She wondered if the feeling was mutual, but the scowl on Mrs. Fillmore’s face was too firmly entrenched to be sure it meant anything.

“Indeed,” the woman said, pinching her nose with a sniff. “Too small, and sadly too addicted to petty gossiping.” She twisted her wrist to look at her watch. “Rowena, my masseuse is ten minutes late.”

Tess bristled. No one said masseuse anymore. It had been used too often as a substitute for activities a lot less professional.

“Your massage therapist is Ashley today, Mrs. Fillmore.”

One point for Rowena, who had corrected Mrs. Fillmore without making an issue of it.

“And?” Mrs. Fillmore seemed to find Rowena’s explanation inadequate.

“You know Ashley always gives everyone a little extra attention if they need it.” Rowena smiled warmly. “That’s why you always ask for her, I’m sure.”

Another sniff. Mrs. Fillmore looked down without answering, turning the pages of her magazine, as if intensely interested in the paparazzi photo spread.

How exactly that differed from petty gossip, Tess couldn’t say. But she didn’t have the job yet, and she couldn’t be snarky with the clients. Luckily, she rarely wanted to. Once she got her hands on a person, even a person like Mrs. Fillmore—

Tess was a tactile person. She thought, and heard, and spoke, and even learned, through her hands. It was her talent. Really, her only talent. If she’d had a choice, she would have chosen something far more lucrative, like computer programming or rocket science.

But she hadn’t had a choice. All she had was the ability to learn about a person by touching their skin, working their body. By hearing the tension in their muscles and the strain in their joints. By knowing which pressure points they responded to, what made their blood flow more easily, what drained the unhappiness from their faces.

Once she worked on someone, she understood them in a new way, and the urge to judge, or mock, or take down a peg simply vanished.

“I’m not worried about the health inspector, really,” Rowena went on, indicating to both Brianna and Tess in her explanation. “There’s nothing to find, so he can dig away. Whoever phoned is just causing trouble for the fun of it. The real problem is that I will have to dance him around, which means I won’t be available for the working massage, Tess. We’ll have to find someone else for you to work on.”

Rowena turned a hopeful gaze toward her sister, who shook her head implacably. “Sorry,” Bree said. “Much as I’d love to let someone work out these kinks, I’ve got nine eight-year-olds waiting to take a sleigh ride to see Santa in downtown Silverdell.”

Rowena made a raspberry of annoyance. “Drat. Forgot about that. Really, next year we are going to have to close from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, like we planned. Won’t that be heavenly? I’ll sleep the whole time.” She gave Tess a rueful glance. “This year, we can’t afford to close a single minute. Which is why we’re interviewing four days before Christmas, in case you thought that was nuts.”

Tess smiled neutrally. She had been part of start-ups before, and she knew the first couple of years were insane, and very touch-and-go, financially. Rowena might be optimistic to think they’d be on solid footing in twelve months.

Besides, Tess couldn’t bring herself to think about Christmas this year. Her mother had died two months ago, and the jingling bells and twinkling lights all over town were a jarring reminder of what she’d lost.

She didn’t intend to celebrate any holidays for a while. The only toast she’d raise this year was to a new beginning and an entirely new life.

“I’m glad you were,” she said, “since four days before Christmas just happened to be when I was looking for a job.”

Rowena accepted that logic with a nod, then turned to Bree. “What about Becky? Can’t she take over?”

“Nope. She’s leading Pilates. We’d have a mutiny if we canceled Pilates.”

“Mark? He’s good with kids!”

“Good with kids?” Brianna laughed. “Are you kidding? Mark threatened to tie Alec to a tree yesterday if he didn’t stop putting snowballs down Ellen’s back.”

“So?” Rowena grinned. “I threaten to tie Alec to a tree every day.”

“Well, you’re his stepmother. I think it’s written in the job description.”

“Hey,” Tess interrupted, finally realizing that if she waited for an opening she’d be here all day. “It’s okay. Really. I can come back tomorrow.”

Rowena shook her head. “No, that’s silly. I need you to start tomorrow, if everything works out. With Devon leaving in a week, there’s hardly any time to get you up to speed.”

Rowena chewed on her lower lip, narrowing her eyes with fierce determination. “There has to be a way...there must be someone.” Her eyes opened wide. “Mrs. Fillmore! Is there any chance you would be willing to let Tess do your massage today? She has excellent credentials, and we need some feedback on a working massage, so that—”

“No.” The older woman folded her magazine tightly, the paper crackling under the force of her fingers.

Rowena frowned. “Of course it would be a complimentary session, as you’d be doing us a favor. And if for any reason it wasn’t satisfactory, we could ask Ashley to—”

“No.” For a minute it seemed Mrs. Fillmore wasn’t going to elaborate, and would let the rejection hang there like a slap in the face. But apparently she realized how rude it sounded and bent a little.

“My sciatica is acting up today. Ashley is the only one who knows how to give me any relief. I’m sorry, but I just can’t take chances with a...” She paused, wrinkling her nose slightly. “A beginner.”

Heat flooded Tess’s face. Beginner was insulting enough, given that she had three degrees and five years of experience. But she had, in her intuitive way, “heard” all the other words that Mrs. Fillmore had considered saying. A nobody. A stranger. A loser. An urchin. A child.

It struck a nerve. Tess was always being taken for younger than she was. She was only five-three. She’d always been too thin, the kind of thin that broadcast the years of going to bed hungry when her mother got laid off. The kind of thin that made her breasts look ridiculous.

And she wasn’t one bit glamorous, didn’t possess an ounce of the confident gloss that rich, well-tended women acquired. She had a small chip out one of her front teeth that should have been repaired long ago, but there’d never been enough money. She worried off her lipstick and couldn’t be bothered applying mascara.

Her only real asset, a mass of curly brown hair that bounced and shone without spending a fortune on it, had to be pinned back ruthlessly when she worked. No one wanted the massage therapist’s curls tickling their bare back.

The compliment she’d heard most often from kind-hearted clients was that she had a sweet face. She knew that was shorthand for “not ugly, of course, a perfectly nice-looking girl, but...”

“Beginner? Beginner?” Rowena’s high cheekbones were tipped with red. “Tess isn’t a beginner, I assure you, Mrs. Fillmore. In fact, we’re quite lucky to get her. Her last job was at the—”

“It’s okay,” Tess said, wondering about Rowena’s temper. There was zero chance that Mrs. Fillmore would have heard of the Pink Roses Salon, the luxury spa where Tess had worked a year before her mother’s death. Impressing Mrs. Fillmore was impossible. “Really,” Tess added firmly. “Mrs. Fillmore is right. Sciatica can be debilitating. She should have the massage therapist she trusts.”

And Tess should have a fair judge of her talents. A woman bullied into accepting an unwanted massage didn’t look like the most impartial critic.

To her credit, Rowena seemed suddenly to get that. “Oh. Right.” She took a deep breath, clearly tamping down the irritation with the older lady. “Of course.”

Bree, who clearly either didn’t have a temper or knew how to hide it, smiled. “I know. What about Jude?”

“What about Jude?” The man’s amused voice came from behind the wall, and was followed by a rustling sound, then the appearance of a large body.

For a minute, Tess wasn’t sure he was real. Surely people that exquisite, that drop-dead gorgeous, didn’t just emerge from behind walls on command. Not even here, at the fairy-tale Bell River Ranch.

Tumbling black waves of hair. Eyes bluer than cornflowers. Lips, jaw, cheekbones, forehead—all chiseled Michelangelo perfect. Tall, lean, perfectly proportioned.

The beautiful creature was dressed as a laborer. A carpenter, probably, judging from the leather apron slung low on his trim hips, like a gunslinger’s belt. His weapons appeared to be screwdrivers, wrenches and other tools she was too ignorant to name.

She almost laughed. If he’d been sent to a movie set by central casting, the director would have rejected him instantly, on the grounds that no real person, carpenter or king, ever looked like this.

“Jude, this is Tess Spencer. She’s applying for Devon’s job.” Rowena spoke, but neither she nor Bree seemed surprised at the appearance of Adonis. “Tess, this is Jude Calhoun. Our carpenter and general woodworking genius. He’s single-handedly responsible for building the spa. And about half the other buildings at the ranch, too.”

Jude came forward, brushing his palms lightly across his back pockets, as if to remove sawdust. Then he held out his right hand to Tess. “She’s exaggerating, of course. Rowena doesn’t do anything by half measures, including compliments.”

Tess put her hand out, too, rather numbly.

His shake was warm and firm. “Nice to meet you, Tess.”

Rowena checked her watch. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Jude, but I’ve got to meet the inspector. Would you mind letting Tess do her working massage on you? You’ve gotta need one, after being on that ladder all day.”

Inexplicably, Tess felt her cheeks flushing, but she couldn’t demur about this recruit, too, not after rushing to rule out Mrs. Fillmore. She might look as if she were afraid to do the working massage.

At least this guy didn’t seem as if he’d be bitchy about it.

“Well...” He smiled at Tess, his cheeks dimpling about an inch from the corners of his lips. Of course. If he’d been a computer-generated image, the dimples couldn’t have been placed more effectively. “It’s a terrible imposition, being blindsided like this, and asked to accept a free massage. But I suppose I can take one for the team.”

* * *

TEN MINUTES LATER, Tess was ready. She’d received the quickie tour of the facilities from Bree, essentially killing time while Jude had a shower.

As they went through the spa, Tess noted again that the Wrights had spared no expense, and she congratulated their taste. One of the indefinables that characterized any successful retreat was a soothing, almost spiritual feeling. This one had it.

The cream-and-taupe marble was peaceful, and Tess recognized top-of-the-line products everywhere. But the real magic was the location. The spa had been brilliantly designed in a V shape, obviously to provide all the main rooms with a view of a waterfall mere yards from the building.

The small waterfall had frozen in this unnaturally cold December, and it sparkled like white crystal ribbons in the sun. Tess could only imagine how transcendent the view would be when the water spilled liquid diamonds in the summer.

“That’s Little Bell Falls,” Bree said. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? You should see it during wildflower season.”

Interestingly, Bree’s placid face didn’t register the same delight Tess felt, but she didn’t comment further. Was there a problem? Perhaps proximity to water presented a dampness concern? Had there been a debate about where to build the spa?

Tess was surprised to realize how curious she was to know everything about the Wrights and Bell River. Should a secret blood connection she’d discovered only three months ago, and which had been no part of her life for twenty-seven years, affect her so profoundly?

In the end, these people were strangers, and probably would never be more to Tess than amiable employers. And not even that, if she didn’t nail this massage.

“Sorry you can’t work in one of the cozier single rooms,” Bree said as she led Tess into a large space that obviously was set aside for couples massage. Two tables, a hot tub, its own nail station. “But we have just the two singles. Chelsea is using the Taupe Room, and Ashley’s got Mrs. Fillmore in the Blue Room.”

Mrs. Fillmore. Another nuance Tess would have loved to explore. Another detail that was none of her business.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said honestly. The frills—the decor, the candles, the music, the lighting—were mostly for the clients’ benefit. When Tess worked, she went into a zone and didn’t register anything except the body under her hands.

Bree seemed ready to leave Tess, but she paused about halfway to the door. She glanced down the hall, toward the faint, distant hiss of water where Jude had disappeared to “wash the work off.”

“You know, there’s nothing to be nervous about,” Bree said, turning to Tess with a disconcertingly sharp gaze. “He’s a nice man, very down-to-earth. Not an ounce of arrogance in him, amazingly.”

“It hadn’t occurred—”

“No?” Bree smiled. “Come on. We grew up with him. He’s always been around—he and Mitch, Rowena’s brother-in-law, are best friends, so he’s practically like a brother to us all. And yet sometimes even we can’t believe how good-looking he is.”

Tess shrugged. “I’ve lived in L.A. all my life. Even before I went to work for Pink Roses, I’d seen some amazing things.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that. That’ll give you something in common, then. Jude spent a little more than six years in Hollywood.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Bree’s elegant brow pinched a fraction. “Not that I’d mention it. It wasn’t an entirely happy experience for him.”

Tess tried not to bristle. Massage therapists weren’t priests, but discretion was definitely desirable. “I don’t tend to chitchat while I’m working. I need to concentrate, and the clients usually prefer to relax. Even if they talk, I mostly listen.”

“Good. Well, I guess that’s everything.” Bree fidgeted with her earring, clearly a bit uncertain about leaving Tess without supervision. “Except...I probably should mention that—”

“I’m fine.” Tess hoped her voice didn’t sound too tight. The hovering was a little annoying. Five years, remember? She’d worked her way up to some of the most demanding spas in the country, spas that catered to people who expected perfection, even in their massage therapists.

Yet Bree acted as if she were leaving a kid at kindergarten on the first day.

Tess forced a smile. “Really. I’ll be fine.”

Nodding, Bree turned, practically running into Jude, who stood in the doorway, wearing a white terry robe monogrammed with the initials BRR across the breast.

“There you are!” She patted his chest casually. “Okay, then, if you guys are both set, I’d better run. Remember, if you need anything, both Chelsea and Ashley are a shout away.”

“Thanks,” Tess said.

And then she and Jude were alone. For an awkward minute, she was ridiculously tongue-tied, forgetting her protocols as if she really were the newbie that Mrs. Fillmore and Bree took her for.

His coloring and perfect features had been striking enough, even in his work clothes, but like this, half-dressed, tousled and damp from the shower...

It was impossible not to have a purely female reaction. The robe hugged the lean contour of his hips, ending just above the knees. Long, trimly muscled legs extended bare beneath the hem. The casually knotted belt nipped the robe in at his narrow waist, but above that his chest and shoulders tugged the cloth apart, exposing golden skin and a light dusting of dark hair.

Pull yourself together, girl! She never did this. Never.

Once clients lay on the table, they ceased to be “people” in that way—they weren’t male or female, young or old, beautiful or homely. They certainly weren’t sexual.

They were simply exquisitely complex interlacings of muscle, tendon, nerves and needs. They were...well, it sounded silly but she sometimes thought of their bodies as works of art entrusted to her care. Art that had been damaged somehow. Misaligned. Knotted. Twisted, overtightened or blocked. Her job was to find the parts that had been disturbed and restore them to harmony.

Perhaps Jude was the most artful of all the works she’d ever been asked to restore. But so what? In her experience, athletes and body-builders and actors—all the physical perfectionists who populated Los Angeles—needed her help more than most.

They punished their bodies to take them to those heights of performance, and, once they relaxed, they proved to be masses of knotty pain and foreshortened tendons.

“Are there any injuries I should know about? Anything you’d particularly like addressed today?” She was glad to hear that her voice was normal.

He shook his head. “Nothing serious. I’ve got an ankle sprain that bugs me now and then, but massage helps, as a rule.”

Internally, she noted that.

“Okay, then. Good. There’s a sheet on the first table, and a light blanket, in case it feels a little cold to you. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right back.”

Her crisp, competent tone made her feel less nervous, and Jude’s easy smile helped, too. “Sure thing,” he said.

She stayed away longer than was strictly necessary, giving him plenty of time to get covered, and giving herself plenty of time to get calm. Finally, she gathered the supplies she had chosen earlier, took a deep breath and moved down the hall, too.

He’d left the door open, so she walked in—slowly enough to alert him, and speaking as she entered. “Sorry. I don’t know where everything is, so it took me a minute to find it all.”

No response.

She moved to the counter nearest the massage table, where he lay on his stomach, his head not in the padded opening, but turned to one side, so that he presented his elegant profile. He was completely still.

“Mr. Calhoun?”

Tilting her head, she looked closer. He was so completely motionless he might have been dead...except that as she drew near he shifted once, sighed deeply and let out a low rumble that was...

Instinctively, she smiled. Yes, it was a snore. In the dim lighting, made more soothing with the addition of a few candles, with a Chopin Prelude playing on the sound system and the perfume of clean sheets and lavender oils floating in the air, he had fallen asleep.

She fiddled with her supplies, not banging things around, but not attempting to be particularly quiet. If he woke on his own, it would be much less awkward.

He didn’t. He wasn’t snoring anymore, but he remained utterly still, his eyes shut and his beautifully bowed lips slightly apart, glistening in the candlelight.

She allowed herself the indulgence of studying him. It wasn’t voyeurism. As a therapist, she could learn a lot by how he held himself, whether his shoulders relaxed into symmetry when he slept, whether his body twitched in those little ways that spoke of tension that dissipated only when the conscious mind shut down.

A couple of seconds passed before she could stop staring at his face, but when she finally transferred her gaze to his shoulders and back, she inhaled sharply.

The perfection stopped there. On either side of his spine, starting just below the neck and running down between the shoulder blades for at least five inches, were the unmistakable thin, thready scars left by a set of human fingernails.

She’d seen similar scars before, once or twice. But Jude’s were deeper than the average remnant of exuberant passion. These were more like...an attack.

“I suppose this is what Bree meant,” he said, “when she said she should probably warn you.”

Tess’s gaze flew to Jude’s face. His eyes were open, and he was smiling. She tamped down her momentary embarrassment and reached for her lotion.

She didn’t see any point in pretending she hadn’t been staring at the scars. His body was her business, right now.

“No need for a warning,” she said calmly. “I don’t think the scars present any special concern. They are clearly fully healed. Are they sensitive?”

“No.” He raised himself on his elbows and rubbed his thumbs across his eyelids, as if to scrape away the sleepiness. “I’m sorry I passed out. I was up all night with the baby, and I guess it caught up with me the minute I lay down.”

The baby?

The word surprised her. He didn’t look...

He didn’t look what? Like a father? How absurd was that? There was no “father” look. But then she realized that, on some subconscious level, she’d already observed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

Equally absurd. Her subconscious shouldn’t be registering such things in the first place, and, in the second place, wedding rings weren’t required in the baby-making process.

“No problem,” she assured him as placidly as she could. “You wouldn’t be the first client I’ve had who slept through a massage.” She warmed some lotion in her hands. “Though usually they do wait until I’ve begun, at least.”

As he chuckled, she touched gently between his shoulder blades. He automatically dropped down, as if he knew the drill well.

“Might make it tricky to rate your technique, though,” he said, his voice muffled by the cushion of the face support. He seemed about to speak, but the word dissolved into a contented “mmm” as she began to massage the lotion into his skin.

From then on, he didn’t utter a sound. She didn’t worry that his silence meant a lack of appreciation, or that he’d fallen asleep. He was her favorite kind of client, the kind who understood that the body spoke for itself.

When a tight muscle began to relax under her fingers, she didn’t need a murmur of bliss to tell her about it. And when she encountered a knot of pain, she didn’t need a wince to alert her. She read the ridges, valleys, ribbons and rocks of his body as if he were a story written in braille. Any decent massage therapist could do the same.

The irregular embossing of the scars was harder to read. They weren’t sexual in nature, she felt sure of that. The gouges had been too deep, caused by true violence, whether intentional or accidental. And they had been painful.

She thought she might, with time, be able to break down some of the collagen build-up and reduce the scars, but that wasn’t her mission today. She’d been asked to demonstrate a Swedish massage, the kind that felt great and left the client purring.

Besides, Jude might not have any interest in having his scars worked on. He didn’t seem to be a bit self-conscious about them. She could tell when she hit a client’s sensitive spot, either physically or emotionally. Some vibration under the skin, through the nerves and muscles, changed slightly, hitting a new note like a string on a guitar. His vibration didn’t alter an iota when her fingers skimmed along the scars.

She found plenty of tender spots. The external abdominal obliques, especially, were too tight. His job... He probably didn’t stretch enough after a tough day. And warmth pooled in the small of his back...sometimes that meant there was a gait problem, though she hadn’t noticed one while he walked.

The time vanished, as it often did. She always set a timer to buzz in her pocket as she needed to switch through the phases of the massage, because she knew she’d lose track of the hour if she didn’t. Today, though, she must have failed to do it. She worked on his back, then on the front, alternating long strokes and detail work on the pressure points.

She was lost—she couldn’t have said how long—in exploring the pressure points on the face and scalp when a light rap sounded on the door.

“So sorry, guys.” Chelsea’s throaty voice was soft as she cracked the door open. Tess recognized it instantly. Chelsea, the spa’s director, had put her through an extensive telephone interview before this working massage. No point bringing in Tess at all, unless she passed that initial phase.

Jude rose onto his elbows, stretching his neck slowly. “Time’s up already?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Chelsea waved two fingers at Tess. “I wouldn’t disturb you, except that we’ve got the Ardens out there, and they’re not the patient type.”

“No, of course.” Tess was annoyed with herself for letting the session run long. She liked to end with a short head massage, which seemed to make the transition to real life smoother. She began wiping her hands on a clean towel. “We were just about finished, anyhow.”

Chelsea nodded and ducked out. Jude sat up, keeping the sheet around his hips, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Nice,” he said with feeling. He tested his shoulders, stretching out his obliques. “Oh, yeah. Very nice. Maybe the best I’ve ever had.” He grinned. “And that’s saying something, because I get a lot of massages.”

She smiled, but something in her eyes must have registered surprise, because he laughed. “I’m the official guinea pig around here. Ro always says she wants to check out new hires, but in reality she’s too busy. So...” He yawned and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it. Somehow the disheveled look suited him. “As I said, tough work, but someone has to do it.”

“Thanks,” she said, glancing away. Did that mean there was a high turnover of therapists at the ranch? She couldn’t ask, of course. “I’m glad you feel relaxed.”

She gathered her supplies and hurried toward the door. Behind her, she heard the soft whisper as the sheet fell to the floor.

Out by the front counter, the serenity had been jangled a bit. Rowena had returned, and was helping Mrs. Fillmore set up her next appointment. If the woman’s massage had relaxed her, she didn’t show it. She leaned over Rowena’s appointment book, as if challenging something, and reiterated in a brittle voice that she would accept Ashley and only Ashley.

In the waiting room, a long-limbed couple straight from the pages of Beautiful People Magazine were tapping manicured fingers against thousand-dollar boots and giving off restless vibes.

In that moment, Tess could easily imagine why there was high turnover of therapists at Bell River Ranch. It had positioned itself at the high end, and the clients were the entitled type, demanding and finicky. In Tess’s experience, these well-heeled clients often could be iffy, looking for any excuse to avoid tipping. Difficult clients, high turnover, possibly disappointing income...

That was three strikes....

But it didn’t matter. As she returned the lotions to the elegant chrome shelves, and listened to Rowena wryly but deftly handling Mrs. Fillmore, Tess realized the truth. She wanted to be a part of Bell River, even if only temporarily. Even if her true relationship were never revealed.

If she got the chance, nothing would prevent her from taking this job.

CHAPTER TWO

JUDE SWALLOWED HIS last delicious mouthful of Marianne Donovan’s prime rib, dropped a ketchup-bottle cap onto the café table with a flourish, then tilted his chair on its back legs, though Marianne, who owned the café, would kill him if she saw him.

“And there you go—that’s nine in a row. You might as well go home, grandpa. It’s not your night.”

Old Grayson Harper snorted, glaring at the tic-tac-toe grid they’d made out of straws and the ketchup caps from every bottle on the adjoining tables. He knew Jude had beaten him, but was, as usual, refusing to admit defeat gracefully.

He lifted his piercing blue eyes and tried to impale Jude with them. “You’re cheating, you young skunk, and if I could prove it, I’d have you arrested.”

Jude smiled, then yawned loudly. He hadn’t slept again last night and didn’t have the energy for the customary verbal sparring that Harper loved so much.

“Yeah,” he said, scratching at his chin. He’d forgotten to shave this morning, though he’d showered twice, right before and right after the baby barfed on his shirt. “I’m cheating at tic-tac-toe. Hey, look. Dallas is sitting right over there. Tell him.”

“I ought to.”

“Sheriff!” He called loudly enough to be heard where Dallas and his deputy were sitting, though it elicited a scowl from Esther Fillmore, who sat with Alton, her mousy husband, in the corner booth. “I’m a tic-tac-toe desperado. I’d like to turn myself in.”

“Shut up, Jude.” Dallas rolled his eyes. He’d known Jude too well and too long to pay any attention, so he went back to his own steak dinner. “No one cares.”

Jude chuckled, and winked at Esther to annoy her. He brought his chair back onto all fours, finished his tea, then wiped his mouth one last time.

“I’ve gotta head home,” he said with a sigh. It had started to snow, and he’d rather just lean his head against the café’s green wall and take a nap. “Half the time, Molly forgets to eat unless I stand over her.”

Harper’s gaze softened. “She’s no better?”

Jude shrugged and reached for his coat. He didn’t gossip much about his little sister’s depression, but everyone knew it was a problem. “Physically, yeah, I think she’s improving. But emotionally...”

“Hey, don’t you even think about leaving before I fix up some chicken soup for Molly.” Marianne appeared at the edge of their table, her red curls piled up in a big, adorable mess on her head and topped with a sprig of holly and a couple of silver bells. With Christmas a couple of days away, the Kelly green of the restaurant needed only a few red ribbons to be fully decorated.

“Besides,” Marianne said, grinning as she made her bells ring, “I want to hear about the new hire at the spa. I heard from Barton that the wheels are coming off over there. Word is Chelsea ran off to get married, and Devon’s leaving, and Ashley can’t take over as the director because she’s getting her master’s, so Ro might offer the position to the new gal, who thought she was just applying for a part-time job and is staying at the motel over at the west end. He said Ro said you said she’s good, and she’s going mostly on your word alone.” She rested her hip against the table. “So, come on. Tell me everything about her.”

Jude held up his palms, trying not to laugh. He said Ro said you said...

“Mari, there is clearly nothing about Silverdell or its inhabitants that anyone could tell you. I’m not actually one of the family out there, you know. I hadn’t even heard Chelsea was leaving.”

“The heck you’re not family. Give me a break.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Forget about Chelsea. I want to know about the new one...Jess? That her name?”

“Tess.”

“Right, Tess. So? What’s she like? Is she pretty? Is she nice? Is she going to fit in?”

“How would I know that?”

“Oh, don’t be such a male.” Marianne clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. “Barton didn’t even lay eyes on her. But you should know. She gave you a massage, right?”

“Right.”

“Well? You couldn’t tell anything about her?”

He exchanged a resigned glance with Harper, who looked sympathetic but shook his head, as if to say Jude was on his own. Harper was already pulling out his wallet.

Jude turned his gaze to Marianne. “I could tell she was a good massage therapist,” he said slowly. “But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re asking.”

Marianne drummed her Christmas pencil against her order pad. “Oh, just forget it. I’ll call Ro later. But don’t you move an inch until I bring that soup, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jude resisted the urge to salute.

Harper seized his chance and jumped up in Marianne’s wake, dropping a ten on the table and making his way to the checkout station to pay his bill. Jude didn’t blame him. No one ought to get dominated in tic-tac-toe and interrogated by Marianne Donovan in the same night.

Not that Marianne was your typical small-town gossip. Actually, she didn’t have a nasty bone in her body. She just had an insatiable curiosity and a deep love for their little town. Maybe it was some kind of thwarted affection or something, though Jude wasn’t big on psychoanalysis. Still, she’d been left a tragically young widow last winter, and had no kids.

Whatever the reason, she represented everything Jude loved about Silverdell. And the opposite of everything he hated about Los Angeles.

As the door opened, the four beginning notes of “Danny Boy” rang out. On the first day, at the first meal served at the grand opening, when the door chimes sounded, the customers had spontaneously joined together to finish the line by singing out, “The pipes, the pipes are calling!”

It had been the birth of a beloved tradition. Mari had tried in vain to break the habit, which could really be annoying during the dinner rush. She’d even threatened to disable the entry alert. But the truth was, everyone loved the instant camaraderie those few notes created, and no one could imagine Donovan’s Dream without it.

She’d considered changing the tune to “Jingle Bells” during the holidays, but the customers had threatened a boycott, so she left it alone.

Many customers didn’t even look up as they sang, it had become so automatic. But for some reason Jude did glance toward the door, as the gust of snowy wind blew in. Tess Spencer stood there, looking bewildered by the musical greeting.

A few curious glances stayed on her—but Silverdell had enough new tourist spots these days that strangers weren’t the oddity they once were. Most people went back to their conversations and their dinner.

Jude was one of the few who kept staring, surprised at how different Tess looked from the woman who had massaged him two days ago. Then, she’d been working hard to downplay any sexuality, as a good massage therapist would, naturally. Hair scraped back, no makeup, loose-fitting clothes. His main impression had been that she was petite—shortish, thin and vaguely fragile. He knew that a massage didn’t have to be bruising to be effective, but even so he’d noted how delicate she seemed and wondered whether she was up to the job.

She had been. She was a darn good therapist. And that was what he’d noticed.

But now...

She wasn’t dressed up or anything, but apparently as soon as she stopped repressing her femininity it busted out all over. She wore only lipstick, but the pink of it drew attention to the perfect, slightly pouting bow of her mouth. Her shining brown hair fell over her delicate shoulders in lush waves that curled just above her elbows. As she shrugged off a nice blue wool coat, her jeans and sweater hugged curves that were designed to make a man’s palms itch.

She still hesitated in the doorway, as she scanned the room for an empty table. She didn’t look nervous, just patient...and yet, inexplicably, Jude had a sudden impression of her as terribly alone.

Impulsively, he waved at her and called her over. He did need to get home. But at least he could say hi, maybe introduce her to a couple of people. And she could have his table.

To his surprise, she flushed when she saw him. But, after a slight hesitation, she moved toward him, her coat over her arm.

“Hi,” she said. “Nice to see you. Don’t let me... I mean, don’t let me interrupt your dinner.”

“You’re not,” he said. “I just finished. Besides, I was hoping we’d run into each other. I wanted to tell you how much better my back is feeling.”

She smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She hugged her coat awkwardly and looked around once more, as if hoping an empty table would magically appear. Instead, her gaze stopped as she recognized Esther Fillmore. Jude saw the older woman give Tess the evil eye, apparently for being new in town. Alton shook his head subtly, as if trying to calm his wife. But Alton was no match for the crotchety old broad, and she didn’t even blink.

“Don’t mind Esther,” Jude said, quietly conspiratorial. “Her face always looks like she sucked a lemon. I first saw that expression when I was seven and sneaked a soda into the library.”

Tess glanced at him, as if uncertain whether she ought to laugh. “She’s Silverdell’s librarian?”

“Yep. But don’t worry. Silverdell has a bookstore, too. Fanny Bronson owns it, and she’s much easier to get along with.”

“Then I guess I’ll be buying my books while I’m here.” Tess smiled, finally. “If I get the job, that is.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you do,” he said. He didn’t want to raise her hopes, but judging from what Mari had said, it seemed a shoo-in. And he had this ridiculous sense that she needed cheering.

“Really? Have you heard something?”

“No. But word is you got a wildly enthusiastic recommendation for your working massage.”

She flushed again. “Thank you. That was very nice of you. But really, I mustn’t keep you. I thought I’d get dinner, but obviously they’re packed. Maybe I’ll grab something and take it back to my hotel.”

“No. Stay.” Jude heard the words come out before he could stop them. “Donovan’s has great food, and it would be a shame not to eat it warm from the oven. It would be half frozen if you tried to take it across town in this weather. I could—”

At the last minute, he pulled himself from the brink. What was he thinking? He couldn’t keep Tess company, no matter how “alone” he imagined her to be.

He had obligations at home. Molly always got depressed come sundown, especially if she’d been alone with the baby all day. Or if Garth had called, trying to get her to come home. When it snowed she was even worse. Like a form of cabin fever, Jude sometimes thought, though the doctor had a fancier term: postpartum depression.

But it didn’t leave much room for Jude to have a life, did it? And right now, when he was standing at the most important fork in the road he’d ever faced...

A shimmer of frustration passed through him—followed immediately by a wave of disgust with himself for being so selfish. Molly hadn’t timed her illness, or her marital problems, to annoy him. She couldn’t help that Garth was an abusive bum, or that her post-baby chemistry had gone out of whack.

“Here’s the soup!” Marianne bustled out of the kitchen. She didn’t see Tess at first, concentrating on wrestling a large biodegradable to-go bowl into a paper bag. “If this doesn’t perk Molly up, nothing will.”

She extended the bag. But as she looked up and noticed that he wasn’t alone, her eyes widened.

“Hi, there,” she said warmly, her gaze sweeping over Tess like a computer scan, missing nothing. “Welcome to Donovan’s! I’m sorry...shall I get this table cleared off, or are you here to pick up Jude?”

Tess hesitated, obviously still undecided about whether she’d stay, but the alternative, that she’d come to pick Jude up, was equally untrue.

Jude took the soup and stood. “Mari, this is Tess Spencer. I told her she could have my table, but she said she might order takeout.”

“Oh, no! On a night like this?” As she spoke, Marianne flicked one quick look toward Jude that asked the important question—the Tess?—and received her answer in a fraction of a second. Satisfied, she reached for a bright green menu and handed it to Tess. Then she deftly began piling dishes and debris onto a tray.

“I do hope I can talk you into staying. We have some wonderful comfort food, perfect for a cold December night.”

Her tray full, she balanced it with one hand and pulled out a chair for Tess with the other. “Sit while you look at the menu. Jude can tell you what’s good.”

Tess sat, draping her coat across her lap. But she remained on the edge of the seat, back erect, as if unready to commit to staying. Across from her, the companion chair seemed conspicuously empty, like a question spoken aloud. Was he going to join her, or not?

Well, was he?

He wanted to. In fact, he was surprised how strong the urge to sit was. It felt like a magnetic pull. He’d love to talk to her, to find out more about her, and at the same time provide a buffer between her and the avid curiosity radiating from the Dellians around the room.

But why did he think she needed a buffer? The curiosity was mostly a result of him talking to her. He knew all too well how much gossip he’d caused by coming home, and how many people speculated on what had happened between him and Haley in Los Angeles.

If he wanted Tess to be less conspicuous, the best thing he could do was leave. No one here was going to accost her. He took inventory. None of the more rambunctious young men of Silverdell were here, and none of the unhappily married drinkers, either. In fact, the only unhappily married man in the room was Alton Fillmore, and if he ever got mad enough to hassle a woman, surely it would be his witchy wife.

Besides, Dallas was the sheriff, and he’d make sure everyone behaved. Tess was hardly in danger of anything but an hour or two of loneliness.

This alone thing was probably entirely a figment of his imagination. She’d entered the restaurant with the express intent of eating by herself. Maybe she’d even been looking forward to some privacy.

He studied her, wondering whether the pink on her cheekbones meant she hoped he’d stay—or was praying he’d go.

As if she felt his gaze, she looked up from the menu. “So...what’s good?”

“Everything,” he said. Molly would just have to wait a few more minutes. “And that’s not an exaggeration. In fact...”

He had just scraped the chair back from the table, as if to sit, when his cell phone chirped softly in his pocket. For a split second, he considered ignoring it.

But he didn’t, of course. Even if it were only another pseudo-emergency, it was real to Molly, and Jude was all she had. He darn sure didn’t want her crawling back to a man who beat her, just to get some comfort and support.

“Sorry,” he said, as he dug out the phone. He clicked Answer without even looking.

“Molly, sweetheart, I’m about to leave Donovan’s—”

A trill of musical laughter flowed through his ear and into his gut. “It’s not Molly, Jude.”

“Haley?” The name came out on an exhale of shock, and within an instant he knew what a mistake that had been. At least two people were sitting close enough to have heard him. And those two people would tell two people, who would also tell two people...

In fact, behind him, he could already hear someone whispering, “It’s Haley. Haley Hawthorne.”

“Hold on.” His voice was hard and gruff, but damn it. They’d agreed she would leave him alone, entirely alone, for six full months, before she tried to talk him into returning to L.A.—and to her.

It had been only four months since he’d come home. He had actually begun to hope she’d accepted the inevitable and moved on. Every time he heard about her partying with some celebrity, he crossed his fingers.

So why was she calling now? Why tonight? Did she have some kind of radar that warned her he was about to sit down with a very pretty stranger?

And why did he mind so much? One way or another, he would have to leave. He wasn’t footloose enough to sit around flirting with the new massage therapist, no matter how adorable she was.

He put his hand over the speaker and turned to Tess. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

* * *

ALMOST AN HOUR LATER, Tess pulled through the open iron gates of Bell River Ranch as twilight lowered a blue wing over the landscape. She loved this time of day anywhere, even in smoggy Los Angeles, but here, on this rolling land bordered by ancient trees and snowy mountains, the beauty almost took her breath away.

Or maybe her heart was beating so rapidly she couldn’t get enough oxygen.

She worked at taking slow breaths. She wanted to be calm and professional for this meeting, but it wasn’t easy. Ever since Rowena had called and asked Tess to come by the ranch to discuss the job, her nerves had been tingling with anticipation.

She’d asked twice...did Rowena mean for Tess to come to the main house? Not the spa’s office, as she had on Monday? Rowena had been offhanded, but definite. Yes, she wanted Tess to meet the others, and it was easiest to do that at home.

The others. Rowena said it so casually, as, of course, she would. She took her network of connections for granted. At home. She took that for granted, too.

They were going to offer her the job, surely. Why else would they invite her here? And she would get her first glimpse of the house her biological father built.

As she neared the house, a large, open wagon drawn by two horses rumbled past. Loaded with hay and about a dozen laughing children, and spangled with colored lights, it was clearly a holiday adventure offered to the guests. What a fun vacation Bell River must be—sleigh rides on Monday, hay rides on Wednesday...

The kids waved as they passed her car, though they had no idea who she was. Through her closed windows she could hear giggling and singing, and happy shouts of “Goodbye, goodbye!”

She couldn’t resist waving. She parked, climbed out and pulled her coat around her more tightly against the clear, sweet cold. After a lifetime of warm Los Angeles holidays, this certainly was a change.

Good. There was nothing left in California for her anymore. A change was what she desperately needed.

Someone must have seen her pull up, because before she could ring the bell the door opened, the Christmas wreath chiming merrily with small bells. Rowena stood in the bright rectangle of light, smiling.

“I’m so glad you were nearby,” Rowena said. “Marianne’s food is fabulous, isn’t it? Here, come in and get warm.”

Tess had imagined this moment a hundred times since deciding to apply for the job. So much to absorb, so many people and things she wanted to see. Her mother had obliterated all traces of Johnny Wright from her life, and had very little to share when she was ready to confide in Tess.

They’d apparently been lovers only briefly, having met when he had a meeting with her boss over a real estate deal he was considering in Denver. Her mother had lived there, though Tess had never known.

She hadn’t realized Johnny was married until she told him of the pregnancy. Whatever his reaction had been, it had frightened her mother enough that she left Colorado entirely. She bore her daughter in Los Angeles, raised her there and never spoke of him until she lay on her deathbed.

So the picture of Johnny Wright and his family was no more than a blank silhouette in Tess’s mind. She’d met Bree and Rowena. But Penny, the third sister...would she be here? Would Tess meet the men who had married the Wright daughters? Did they have children?

But now that the moment had arrived she felt flustered and could hardly take in a single detail. Rowena ushered her past the beautiful holiday decorations of the entry and into a large parlor room teeming with people. It took several minutes to get through the introductions, and even then, when she sat on a comfortable armchair, Tess wasn’t sure who was who.

Bree, of course, she recognized. But except for Rowena and Bree, Tess found herself staring at a room full of ridiculously good-looking men, from late twenties to eighty, so Penny must not be here.

Tess worked to get the men straight. The oldest one was the ranch manager, Barton James. Then there was Dallas, Rowena’s husband, and a gorgeous blond named Gray, who apparently was married to Bree. The dark-haired guy was Max, Penny’s husband, even though Penny herself was nowhere to be seen.

The youngest of the group, who had a rascal’s smile, freckles and every bit as much sex appeal as the older guys, was Dallas’s little brother, Mitch.

Whew. She thought that was all. It was certainly enough.

“Did Rowena even give you enough time to finish eating?” Dallas turned his shockingly blue eyes toward her from his perch on the piano stool. “If you had to give short shrift to Marianne’s prime rib, that’s a crime.”

Oh, yes, that’s why this one looked familiar. He had been in Donovan’s tonight, too. He’d been in a sheriff’s uniform, and he’d left right after Jude did.

“A crime? You planning to arrest me, Sheriff?” Rowena, who was passing him, bonked him on the head with a sheaf of papers she carried. “You know we’re desperate here. I couldn’t put prime rib ahead of Bell River.”

“You don’t put anything ahead of Bell River.” He grabbed Rowena around her waist and drew her in with a chuckle. He put his lips against her stomach. “You hear that, Hatchling? You’ll have to come to Daddy if you need anything, because Mamma’s got a one-track mind.”

Rowena shook her head in mock exasperation, but she ruffled her husband’s hair affectionately before pulling away and coming to sit near Tess.

“I guess you’ve figured out that we want to offer you a job,” she said.

“Yes.” Tess glanced around the room, finally noticing the elegant pencil-thin tree in the corner and the mistletoe dangling from the chandelier. “This does seem like a big crowd to bring in to tell me thanks but no thanks.”

Rowena nodded. “Exactly. And I’m sure you’ve realized it’s a big crowd to bring in to offer you just a part-time massage therapist job, too. The truth is, we’re hoping you’ll accept a position that’s a little more important than that.”

Tess folded her hands in her lap. Her heart had begun thrumming again. “What position is that?”

“Well...” Rowena took a breath. Then she handed over the papers. “Spa director.”

Tess wasn’t sure how to react. She accepted the papers automatically, but her brain was still processing those two words. Spa director. That was a full-time position. It would undoubtedly come with a contract, a good salary and possibly upgraded living quarters. It was about fifty steps up from the job she’d applied for.

And that brought with it all kinds of complications. When she’d decided to come here, she’d imagined spending a few months in Silverdell, at the most. The pay was good, and all full-time Bell River jobs also offered on-site housing, dormitory style, which would make it easier for her to rebuild her bank balance.

She hadn’t expected to be more than a run-of-the-mill employee—the kind of massage therapist who could stay a short while, do a good job, but not leave a big hole in the operation when she left. She certainly didn’t want to cause Bell River any harm while she satisfied her curiosity about her birth father.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute, “but I have to ask. Why me?”

“Like I just said, we’re desperate.”

Bree groaned. “Ro, sometimes you’re just too tactless, you know that?”

“What? We are desperate.”

Shaking her head, Bree turned toward Tess. “What she meant to say is that we’re well aware you weren’t necessarily looking for this much responsibility or this big a commitment. We understand that you hardly know us—and we hardly know you—and therefore this is undoubtedly quite a surprise. But we’ve had an unexpected vacancy, and your references and experience are so stellar that we hoped maybe you’d consider helping us out.”

Rowena laughed. “Yeah. That’s absolutely what I meant to say. See? That’s why Bree is the sweet-talking social director, and I’m the blunt-force sledgehammer who gets things done.” She leaned forward. “And honestly, Tess, we are desperate. Our director is gone. Like already. Tonight, right now, just plain gone. We think you might be able to save our skins here, if you say yes.”

Her self-effacing manner was so warm and engaging that Tess couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a very flattering offer. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but there’s something I probably should ask.”

Rowena sat back, obviously encouraged that Tess hadn’t rejected the idea outright. “Anything,” she said. “It’s all there. Salary, accommodations, bonuses, hours. You’d get the same contract Chelsea had.”

“It’s not that. I mean, those details would come later, but before I’d even consider it, I’d need to know...” Tess considered her words carefully. “It’s unusual for a director to bolt like that. Was there anything...?”

“She fell in love.” Bree stated the fact baldly. “With a guest. He left for Greece tonight, and she went, too. We had no idea. We have a strict policy against dating the guests, so obviously she didn’t mention it to anyone. He was here only a week.”

“Yeah, but he was dreamy,” Rowena said. “So a week was probably plenty.”

“Hey!” Dallas’s protest was gruff, but he didn’t exactly look threatened.

“Anyhow,” Rowena went on, as if he hadn’t interrupted, “the bottom line is that Chelsea didn’t leave because conditions were oppressive, or because of any mistreatment. We’re still in our first year of operation, so I won’t pretend we don’t have to budget carefully, or that sometimes things aren’t pretty lean, but I think we can promise you at least a year’s employment. Of course, we’re hoping all goes well, and the job could be permanent.”

A year. Tess definitely hadn’t imagined staying at Bell River that long. She was deeply curious about the Wright sisters, and she wanted to know more about her biological father, but could she really afford to invest that much time?

She needed to return to a real city soon, somewhere she could put down roots and build a clientele. With any kind of luck, eventually she’d save enough to open her own practice and create a life for herself.

Repeat clients, a steady income, a home base. Independence and security. Those were her only goals, now that both her mother and ex-husband, Craig, were gone.

And yet, she remembered how she’d felt after the working massage. She remembered that inner tug, that feeling that she wanted to take the job, no matter what.

The tug was stronger than ever now. And there was something else, too. Something that felt like excitement. She smothered it instinctively. Excitement was dangerous. It made you do stupid things, things you hadn’t thought through....

“You don’t have to answer tonight,” Bree said gently, as if she sensed Tess’s inner conflict. “Why don’t you take the contract home and look it over? Then tomorrow we can meet again to answer any questions.”

“That’s a good idea.” Tess grasped the chance to escape. All these strangers watching her, all these hopes hanging on her answer, felt like a hot, heavy cloak thrown over her shoulders.

And they were strangers, she thought on an unexpected wave of vertigo. Complete strangers. She didn’t look like these women—not even a whisper of kinship showed in their faces. She didn’t think like them, or live like them.

Merely being here, in this fancy home where everyone belonged but her, was depressing. She felt an overwhelming exhaustion, realizing that she’d spent a lifetime trying to find a connection with someone, anyone...and failing.

Even with her own husband.

The parlor was big, but there wasn’t enough air in it. Cinnamon and pine were thick in the air, and she feared she might be sick. She wished she hadn’t eaten so much at Donovan’s. It had tasted great, and Marianne had been so welcoming....

But now, the food began to roil oddly in her stomach.

When Tess didn’t speak, Rowena looked disappointed. She opened her mouth, but then she exchanged a look with Bree. Something must have passed between them, because Rowena closed her lips.

Eager to leave, Tess was trying to stuff the papers into her purse—which was far too small to hold them—when a commotion in the doorway made her look up. A boy, maybe eleven or twelve, stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips.

“There’s a big problem,” he announced dramatically. “But it’s not my fault, honest!”

“Of course it’s your fault.” With a sigh, Mitch rose, shaking his head. “When was it ever not your fault?”

“You don’t even know what it is!” The boy tucked his head back, indignant.

“I still know it’s your fault.” Mitch smiled at Dallas as he passed. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Not you, Uncle Mitch!” The boy held out his hands. “It’s Isamar—and she wants Ro. She says the ghost is on the stairs again, and won’t let her pass with the vacuum. Plus, she’s scaring Becky, who was trying to dust, and they look like they’re going to scream any minute. And that’d be worse than having me interrupt.” He looked around for confirmation. “Right? That’d be a lot worse.”

Rowena groaned, but she stood immediately, as if there were no denying the summons.

“Maybe it’s just as well somebody mentioned this now,” she said in a strangely flat, resigned voice. She looked at Bree. “I’ll handle the maids. You’ll tell Tess?”

Bree nodded, her face utterly expressionless. “I’ll tell her.”

For a moment after Rowena and the boy departed, no one spoke. They all looked uncomfortably at the empty doorway. It was only when a weak, high-pitched shriek wafted from the floor above that Bree cleared her throat, squared her shoulders and turned to face Tess.

“Okay. So. There’s one thing you should know about Bell River. The house has a history. And, at least according to this particular housekeeper, we also have a ghost.”

* * *

MITCH GARWOOD, whose nickname had always been mischief and whose favorite word had always been yes, found himself craving peace these days. Like some tired old codger, he was happiest when he could sit quietly in the handmade rocking chair in Jude Calhoun’s workshop and watch his friend turn wood.

He wondered whether that meant he was getting old. Not by the calendar, of course. That relentless numeric ticker still said he was a few years shy of thirty. But maybe he was getting old when measured by the heart, which seemed to count age in buoyancy...or lack thereof.

And it had been months since he’d felt anything that came even close to buoyant.

Not since that September morning when he’d opened his eyes and discovered that the other side of his bed was empty. Bonnie was gone. Bonnie. His lover...his friend. His future and his life.

That was the day his heart turned to lead.

At home, back at Bell River, he put on a pretty good show. But it was exhausting. That’s why he liked to be here. The twirling lathe and Jude’s spindle gouge made a soothing white noise, and it took away any pressure to talk.

Jude gave off utterly peaceful vibes, too. He belonged in here, with the sawdust and the scent of fresh wood. Back when they were boys together, Mitch had understood that Jude’s one dream was to be a carpenter, like his father. When Mr. Calhoun dropped dead of a heart attack, Jude was only fifteen. Maybe that’s why he always projected such calm in here, in the workshop full of his dad’s memory, and his dad’s lovingly tended tools.

It had probably half killed Jude when Haley talked him into leaving all this behind for Hollywood. For the hundredth time, Mitch wondered why on earth Jude had said yes.

Of course, Mitch would have left Silverdell, Bell River, everyone and everything, for Bonnie. He had done exactly that, in fact. Bonnie had come to work for Bell River, literally out of nowhere, with no past and no promises that she’d stay. She’d been there only a few months, but during those months he’d fallen in love. When Bonnie told him one day that she needed to run away from Silverdell, he’d chosen to go with her, no questions asked.

But Haley and Bonnie were two entirely different kettles of fish.

At least he hoped they were. Because in the end, what did he really know about who Bonnie was?

To distract himself, he picked up a couple of magazines from the nearby table and leafed through them. Molly must have left them here. He couldn’t imagine Jude reading Behind the Screen or Hair Today.

He flipped through the hair magazine first, hoping he’d see something ridiculous enough to spark a joke or two. And sure enough, he saw women paying big bucks to look like poodles, and San Quentin convicts, and bristlecone pines, but none of it seemed very funny. It made him think about Bonnie again, and that tantalizing glimpse of golden-red sunshine that sometimes had peeked out at the roots right before she touched up the dye on her hair.

Why hadn’t she ever told him the reason she had to hide her real color? Why hadn’t she trusted him enough to tell him what she was running from? Why hadn’t she ever told him...anything? He’d been her lover. He’d been by her side for nine whole months, and he’d kept his promise...no questions.

But why should he have had to ask? He loved her. She loved him. Shouldn’t that have given him the right to know what they were fleeing from?

“Just for the record,” he said, “love is a giant sucking, stinking sinkhole.”

Jude raised his head, lifting his gouge from the spindle he’d been turning. “Very poetic, Shakespeare.”

“No. I’m serious. And I’m not just talking about me. What about Molly and that phlegm-head husband of hers? And what about...yeah, I’m going to say it, buddy. What about you and round-heeled Haley Hawthorne?”

Mitch was pushing his luck. Jude had made it clear when he got back from Los Angeles that he didn’t intend to discuss the romance with Haley, his accident or his years in Hollywood. Not with anyone. The Dellians who were dying of curiosity could just die, for all he cared. He even stonewalled Mitch most of the time. But once or twice, late at night like this, Jude had let enough slip that Mitch understood how crappy the whole thing had been.

Jude’s blue eyes glittered, hard marbles in the bright light over the lathe, and for a minute Mitch thought he was about to get blasted. Weirdly, he almost welcomed it. A bruising, pissed-off fistfight would at least be a sign that he was still alive.

But Jude blinked and his shoulders relaxed. “Okay, but what about Rowena and Dallas? What about Bree and Gray? What about Penny and Max?”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “They don’t count. There’s gotta be something in the water over at Bell River, some kind of love potion that makes everyone go gaga.”

Jude turned to his lathe. “So drink some, for God’s sake, and quit whining. The cure for one woman is another woman. You’ve known that since you were ten.”

Maybe. But that particular “cure” worked only when you were ten. It worked only when all girls were identical bundles of hormones wrapped up in slightly different packages. It didn’t work when...

It didn’t work when you grew up. It didn’t work when you fell in love.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud. Even he was ashamed to whine that bad.

He dropped Hair Today on the table and opened Behind the Screen. He turned two or three pages. And then, out of nowhere, there she was, the biggest picture on a page full of starlets, right under a headline that read, Faces to Watch. Beautiful, pouty-lipped, slutty-eyed Haley Hawthorne.

“Oh, brother.” Without realizing it, Mitch made the disgusted sound out loud.

In the corner, the lathe slowed again. Without turning, Jude spoke tersely. “Don’t waste your time reading trash, Mitch.”

“You saw this?” He held up the magazine, but Jude still didn’t turn around.

“Of course. Molly eats that crap up. But even if she hadn’t shown me, at least six people in town did.”

“Nice.” Mitch felt like spitting onto the picture, though that would be pretty juvenile, and not anywhere nearly as rewarding as spitting in Haley’s actual face. Now that might make him feel fairly buoyant for a minute or two.

“Gossips are saying she called you, earlier today,” he said carefully.

Jude didn’t respond.

“Well, did she? Dang it, Jude. Why are you such a clam about it? I thought she’d promised not to bother you for six months. I thought she had given you that long to heal and—” he chose his words judiciously “—to decide what you really want.”

Jude’s mouth tilted up at one corner. “And Haley always keeps her promises. She’s famous for her patience.”

“Don’t go all sarcastic on me. What did she want?”

“What she always wants—me to come back.”

“You told her you aren’t going to, though, right?” Mitch knew Jude must have done so. Jude had told Haley no for months now, but the delusional brat was so spoiled she didn’t believe it. She always thought she could cast a spell on anyone, and get exactly what she wanted, sooner or later.

“You told her no. Right?” Mitch wasn’t sure why he even asked, except that he lived in fear that one day Haley might prove that she hadn’t been delusional—that Jude was still under her spell and she could dance him straight back to Hollywood.

“Of course I told her,” Jude said softly, his tone indicating his refusal to be drawn into melodrama. “But you know how she is. She cries, apologizes for rushing me and vows not to ask again until the six months are up. She thinks I just need time to—” he looked at the piece of wood he held “—get over what happened.”

What happened. Mitch had heard only bits and pieces, but that was enough.

“I don’t know how you stand it, Jude,” Mitch said, his voice surprising him with its husky anger. But damn it. He and Haley and Jude had been kids together here. Jude had straight-up saved her life, no two ways about it. For her to treat him that way, as if he were a meal ticket, a sugar daddy, a stepping stone on her way to stardom...

Well, it chaffed Mitch big-time. And if she were pretending to be singing another tune now, he hoped Jude was smart enough not to fall for it.

“I don’t know how you listen to everyone carry on about her, ‘such a sweetheart, such a beauty, such a credit to Silverdell’...and never say a word.”

Without answering, Jude angled his gouge and put another scroll in the wood. Frustrated, Mitch stared at his friend’s back, thinking of the scars beneath his ratty sweater, and the limp that showed up at odd moments, when he stepped wrong on that bum ankle.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he repeated harshly. “And frankly I don’t know why you do it.”

There was one explanation, of course, and it chilled Mitch to consider it. Maybe Jude protected Haley’s reputation because he still loved her. Maybe, in spite of everything, he was still the guy who had, once upon a time, faced dragons to protect her, gone hungry so she could eat.

Maybe Jude and Mitch weren’t that different, after all. Both of them still in love with women who no longer existed.

It made him sick. Jude deserved a hell of a lot better than Haley Hawthorne. And if he didn’t find someone soon, he’d be that much more vulnerable to Haley’s siren call. She might be a skank, but she was hot.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly inspired. “I hear you met the new hire, Tess, when she came to interview. I hear you were the guinea pig again.”

“Yep.”

“So what did you think?”

“She’s good.”

“Yeah. But I mean what did you think?”

Jude chuckled. “What is it with everyone? I think she seems very nice. She’s pleasant. She seems to have walking-around sense. She’s talented. She’s fine.”

Mitch let a second’s silence pass. “Not bad-looking, either.”

“You think so?” Jude lifted a shoulder. “Then good. Ask her out. Maybe she’ll take your mind off Bonnie for a while.”

“No. Not me.” Mitch had a feeling Jude was being deliberately dense. But he didn’t want to come right out and say that Tess’s fragile vulnerability seemed like it might be right up Jude’s alley. Mitch had only seen her for twenty minutes or so, but somehow she looked like the kind of gal who could use a knight in shining armor.

And, to put a spin on Jude’s advice to him, the only cure for one damsel in distress was another damsel in distress....

“I was thinking about you, numbskull. I was thinking you might ask her out. She’s kind of interesting. When they offered her the job earlier tonight, I thought she was going to turn it down. But then, at the last minute, she said yes. And you know what’s weird? It was almost as if the clincher, the thing that made her decide to take it, was learning about the ghost.”

Jude turned at that comment. “No way.”

“Yes. They had to tell her, because Isamar had one of her visions. You know, she thinks she sees Moira floating on the staircase.”

“I know. What I don’t know is whether Isamar is loony or just putting everyone on. Or—” Jude smiled “—maybe she has the occasional nip of brandy. I’ve heard that enhances one’s ability to detect paranormal activity.”

Mitch laughed. Everyone knew Isamar was one of those sweet but superstitious types who secretly wanted life to be a lot more exciting than it was. She “saw” Moira, sure, but she also saw the ghosts of her favorite characters in books, and even once insisted that the ghost of Brad Pitt had come to her room asking for milk and cookies.

“Yeah, well, anyhow, she usually keeps her visions to herself, so as not to scare the guests. But this time ‘smart’ Alec came in blurting it out. We all figured that cooked the goose, for sure, but instead Tess seemed positively fascinated, and—”

Before he could finish the sentence, the baby monitor, which sat on Jude’s workbench, never more than a foot or two from him, crackled to life. The static was followed by the sound of a baby’s cries. And then came his sister’s voice, weighed down by the threat of imminent tears.

“Hush, Beeba, hush. Please. Please. Can’t you sleep? Just one night? Can’t you—”

In an instant, Jude was heading toward the house.

“Sorry, Mitch,” he said as he reached the door. “If anyone is going to ask Tess out, it’ll have to be you. My life has way too many females in it already.”

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