“Memories are precious, especially when they’re all you have left.”

His face was partially hidden in shadow, but the raw pain in his voice kept his words from sounding like platitudes. Caroline had no doubt that Ethan had experienced his own losses.

She stood, intending to remove herself from the temptation of trying to learn more about him. “If you’re hungry later, feel free to raid the kitchen.”

He pushed to his feet and towered beside her, the tall, dark silhouette of her afternoon dream. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

He looked terrific, smelled even better, and Caroline struggled not to lean into him, to feel the warmth of his embrace again, the soft brush of his breath against her ear, the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

Had she lost her mind?

She attributed her uncharacteristic impulses to grief.

“Sleep well,” she said, turned quickly and made her escape before she did something foolish, like standing on tiptoe to kiss him good-night.

Dear Reader,

In the words of an ancient Chinese saying, we live in interesting times. Due to tumultuous world events, we appreciate more than ever security, solace, acceptance and love as bulwarks against the troubles of the day. In my series A PLACE TO CALL HOME I’ve created a small town in upstate South Carolina, where love and acceptance, along with only the occasional mayhem, abound. For the residents of Pleasant Valley, friends are family, and family is everything.

In Shoulda Been a Cowboy, book four of the series, Pleasant Valley native Caroline Tuttle dreams of escaping the quiet little town and starting a new and adventurous life out west. But a surprise inheritance and the appearance of Ethan Garrison, a handsome Baltimore firefighter, throw a kink into her plans. Will Caroline find the cowboy of her dreams?

I hope you’ll enjoy Caroline’s story and also meeting Hannah, a young orphan, whose arrival in the valley has an impact on several lives.

Happy reading!

Charlotte Douglas

Shoulda Been a Cowboy

Charlotte Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The major passions of Charlotte Douglas’s life are her husband—her high school sweetheart to whom she’s been married for over four decades—and writing compelling stories. A national bestselling author, she enjoys filling her books with love of home and family, special places and happy endings. With their two cairn terriers, she and her husband live most of the year on Florida’s central west coast, but spend the warmer months at their North Carolina mountaintop retreat.

No matter what time of year, readers can reach her at charlottedouglas1@juno.com. She’s always delighted to hear from them.

Books by Charlotte Douglas

MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

591—IT’S ABOUT TIME

623—BRINGING UP BABY

868—MONTANA MAIL-ORDER WIFE*

961—SURPRISE INHERITANCE

999—DR. WONDERFUL

1027—VERDICT: DADDY

1038—ALMOST HEAVEN†

1049—ONE GOOD MAN†

1061—SPRING IN THE VALLEY†

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Have you finished everything on your list?” Agnes Tuttle asked.

Glancing up from the kitchen island countertop she was scrubbing, Caroline eyed her mother with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Caroline loved her only parent, without doubt, but Agnes’s expectations sometimes suffocated her.

Today was one of those days.

Agnes, a soft, plump woman in her late fifties with hair artificially colored the hue of ripe apricots, hovered in the hall doorway, ready to take flight. She wore her best summer dress and patent leather pumps and a matching purse draped over her arm, all in the same subdued orange shade as her tight curls and the bright swaths of rouge on her cheeks.

Caroline pushed a strand of blond hair off her forehead and straightened, easing the muscles in her back. “I’ve scrubbed the bathrooms, changed the linens in all six bedrooms, dusted and vacuumed. And I’m almost through with the kitchen. I still have to do the laundry and run errands.”

Sheesh, sometimes she felt like Cinderella. Except there were no pesky stepsisters, no upcoming ball and no Prince Charming waiting in the wings. No nasty stepmother, either. Just a mother who loved her and had relied on her totally for too many years.

“Don’t put the sheets in the dryer,” Agnes said, as she invariably did. “Hang them on the line. I want them to smell like sunshine and fresh air.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It did no good to argue that by Friday, when the next wave of weekend guests arrived at the Tuttle Bed and Breakfast in Pleasant Valley, South Carolina, the linens’ scent of sunshine would have long since dissipated. Her mother had always had her standards, although Caroline often wondered if Agnes had to do the work herself to live up to them whether her requirements would have remained as stringent.

“I’ll be at Aunt Mona’s until tomorrow,” Agnes reminded her.

Caroline nodded. Every Monday, her mother made the trek to Walhalla, less than an hour away by car, to spend the day with her sister. Because Agnes didn’t drive after dark, she stayed overnight. Caroline welcomed the regular respites. Agnes, who claimed to suffer from a long list of ailments that none of the doctors at the medical center had been able to confirm or cure, depended on Caroline, her only child, to keep the massive old Victorian house in immaculate condition for their guests. Only when Agnes left town did Caroline feel that her life was her own.

“Have a good time, Mama, and kiss Aunt Mona for me.” She held her breath, praying her mother would leave before thinking of more items to add to the to-do list.

A FEW HOURS LATER, reveling in her brief freedom, Caroline lay on the thick grass of the lawn of the deep backyard, folded her arms behind her head and followed the progress of a single wispy cloud across the brilliant blue sky. The heady fragrance of roses, the thick sweetness of honeysuckle, and the pungency of recently mowed grass, distinctive smells of summer, filled her nostrils and lifted her spirits. The late June sun warmed her like a blessing. Only the drone of bumblebees, lumbering through the Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans in the meadow beyond the back fence, and the snap of freshly laundered sheets on the clothesline behind the garage broke the drowsy silence.

Caroline had been at work since before sunup, preparing breakfast for departing weekend guests. After the meal, she’d finished the cleaning and prepared the week’s shopping list. Errands to Paulie’s Drug Store to refill her mother’s numerous prescriptions and to Blalock’s to buy groceries had taken most of the afternoon. Now, except for retrieving the sun-dried linens from the lines and folding them away, Caroline was finished with work for the day. The B and B had no reservations for the night, and she was contentedly free to do anything she wanted, or nothing, if she pleased.

“You’re thirty-three and need a life of your own, Caroline,” her friend Eileen Bickerstaff had told her for the umpteenth time last week as they’d enjoyed a cup of tea at Eileen’s kitchen table at Blackberry Farm, ten miles out of town at the west end of Pleasant Valley. “Your mother’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And she can hire a girl from town for the housework she has you doing. Maria Ortega’s younger sister Rosa would be happy for the job.”

At ninety-eight, decades older than Agnes Tuttle, Eileen had managed quite well by herself for more than sixty years, with only occasional help the last few years from Caroline with the heavy cleaning. The spry, elderly woman could literally run circles around Agnes with her hypochondria and self-professed weak heart.

“I’ll have a life of my own soon,” Caroline had assured Eileen. “You know I’ve been saving my pay from both you and Mother for years. When I have enough, I’ll make my move.”

Now, basking in the sun, Caroline felt a smile of satisfaction tugging at her lips. In another year, she’d have the nest egg she needed. She loved her mother and she loved Pleasant Valley, but she loved the prospect of freedom and being responsible to no one but herself more. Next year, with her savings in hand, she’d tell her mother and friends goodbye and head west. Maybe to Colorado or Montana. Or more likely Texas, New Mexico or Arizona, where she’d find a temporary job until she could locate a small piece of land she could afford, buy horses and a few cattle, and live out her dreams.

She closed her eyes and pictured the scene. Wide-open spaces, rugged mesas, high chaparral and lonesome piñon pines. Quaint little towns with a single main street lined with stores with wooden facades, plank sidewalks and hitching posts out front.

And cowboys.

She sighed at the prospect. She’d always loved cowboys.

Her dreams hadn’t really changed in the fifteen years since she’d graduated from Pleasant Valley High. They’d only become more focused. In college, she had pursued a business degree and hoped to use those skills to escape the valley where she’d lived all her life. But her father’s untimely death had ended her college career during her junior year. Wallace Tuttle had left an insurance policy, but it wasn’t enough to pay college tuition or even to support Agnes through her remaining years. With Caroline’s encouragement, Agnes had turned the enormous family home into a thriving bed-and-breakfast. At the time, Caroline had volunteered to help.

She hadn’t intended that offer to become a life sentence.

Only her goal of moving out west and having her own place had sustained her through the years of her mother’s unceasing demands and bouts of so-called illness. To avoid the harsh reality of her mother’s complaints and bossiness while she planned and saved for her move, Caroline had escaped into fantasy. Immersing herself in Western culture, she’d devoured Louis L’ Amour and Zane Grey novels and watched classic movies like Silverado, Lonesome Dove and Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti westerns until she could quote the dialogue by heart. The books and movies had whetted her appetite for all things cowboy.

Her eyelids drooped against the bright sunlight. Soon, she assured herself, she’d shake the dust of the valley from her feet. Even if escalating real estate values meant she had to take a temporary job out west before she could afford her own place, she would make her break by next year or find herself smothered by Agnes’s expectations and tethered to her mother’s apron strings forever.

Soon, she promised herself.

She sighed, nestled deeper into the soft grass, and closed her eyes.

A keening wind howled down the deserted main street, scattering tumbleweeds and spawning wind devils that spewed dust in their paths. The relentless sun beat down with thin warmth, casting the tall shadow of a lone figure in the middle of the street, six-guns strapped to his hips, determined eyes vigilant beneath the shadow of his Stetson. The only hope for the frightened citizens against the outlaws who terrorized them, the lawman lifted his steely gaze toward the edge of town, where riders approached in a thunder of hooves and a swirl of dust. Without taking his eyes from the oncoming desperadoes, he called to the people cowering behind closed doors.

“Hello?” the deep voice said.

Caroline’s eyes flew open, but she had to be dreaming still. The tall man with broad shoulders and narrow hips stood between her and the sun, so that all she could see was his silhouette. The town was safe. At well over six feet with an imposing build, he was a bulwark against all outlaws. His hands rested on the butts of his six-guns, ready for action.

“I knocked on the front door.” His voice, while rich and pleasing, held no distinctive Western twang. “When no one answered, I came around back. I need a room for the next few nights. Do you have a vacancy?”

His words finally registered in her sleep-numbed brain, and Caroline came fully awake and leaped to her feet.

The man’s hands weren’t resting on six-guns, but tucked in the back pockets of his jeans. She shifted to see his face in the sunlight, and his resemblance to the perfectly handsome Western hero of her dreams faded, although the stranger’s chiseled features would have looked terrific beneath a broad-brimmed cowboy hat. Dressed in jeans, work boots and a faded navy T-shirt that sculpted the well-developed muscles of his chest and arms, he wasn’t handsome in the classic sense, but his rugged looks were very easy on the eyes. His hazel irises, deep brown flecked with grass-green, reflected both tranquility and an underlying pain, and his tanned face crinkled in an engaging smile that exposed perfect white teeth. She guessed he was in his early thirties, close to her age.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he said.

“I was only daydreaming.” Caroline, suddenly conscious of her tousled hair, grass-stained shorts and rumpled shirt, combed her fingers through her hair and tugged at her blouse in a futile attempt to straighten it. “You said you need a room?”

He nodded, hands still tucked in his pockets as if he were hiding them. “If you have one.”

His warm grin was contagious, and she returned it with a smile of her own. “I have six. You can take your pick. Follow me.”

Rather than take a guest through the back door, she circled the house, navigating the brick walkway through the wisteria arbor, draped with fragrant lavender blooms. The stranger’s gaze burned between her shoulder blades, and she chided herself for noticing. Even though he was the best-looking man to hit the valley since attorney Randall Benedict’s arrival from New York last year, he remained a stranger, merely passing through. With plans for her move west still buzzing in her brain, she needed a man like a fish needed a bicycle, no matter how appealing he appeared, so his good looks were a moot point.

She entered the foyer, its coolness a welcome contrast to the summer heat. In a corner beneath the massive staircase with its polished newel post, a small writing desk held the guest registration book. She handed the stranger a pen. “I’ll need your name, home address, and car license tag number.”

When he reached for the pen, she stifled a sympathetic cry. Scar tissue, raised welts of pale skin, covered the backs of his large, powerful hands that looked as if they’d been horribly burned. She turned quickly to the board behind her to grab a room key and hoped he hadn’t noticed her reaction.

“Headed for the mountains?” she asked in a neutral voice.

Most of the visitors at Tuttle’s B and B considered Pleasant Valley a way station on their trips to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee. A few, however, came to fly-fish in the rapids of the Piedmont River that bisected the valley. And, occasionally, business travelers stayed overnight. But this man didn’t seem to fit any of those categories.

He signed the guest book in bold, flowing strokes with only a slight hesitation in the movements of his damaged hand. “I’m moving to a new home.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Here in town?”

Still concentrating on his registration, he shook his head. “I’m stopping off here so I don’t arrive at my new place ahead of my furniture.”

He finished his entry, and she swiveled the book to read what he’d written.

Ethan Garrison. Baltimore, Maryland.

So he was headed to Maryland, a full day of driving from Pleasant Valley. Headed east, not west. Too bad. He had the build and, from what little she’d observed, the quiet, stoic temperament of a cowboy. But instead of wrangling cattle, he’d probably be working in some stuffy office in the city of Baltimore, where his deep tan would soon fade. Even a boring business suit, however, wouldn’t hide his magnificent physique or dim his killer smile.

With a mental shake, she reminded herself that the man might be married, although his scarred left hand bore no gold band. She handed him a key.

“Your room’s at the top of the stairs on the left. Our best view. Overlooks the valley and the mountains in the distance. It has an adjoining bath. And if it’s not to your liking, I can show you others.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” His expression was friendly, but a residual sadness flickered in his eyes. “Okay if I leave my truck out front?”

“Sure. Or you can park it in the lot on the east side of the house. Your choice.”

“Thanks.” His gaze held hers for a beat, as if he wanted to say more but didn’t. He pivoted and headed for the entrance.

The screen door slammed behind him, and Caroline took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and raced to her room at the back of the house to change clothes and comb her hair. With an unexpected guest, she had more shopping to do and hoped that Jodie was still open.

ETHAN SAUNTERED down the front walk of the B and B toward his pickup, parked at the curb. He paused, inhaled a deep breath of the summer air and with it the faint aroma of smoke. At the scent, his chest constricted, and in a rush of panic, he struggled to breathe. Sweat beaded his brow, and he clenched his hands to stop their trembling.

Just someone burning brush nearby, he assured himself, but only several minutes of deep breathing and regimented self-control enabled him to slow his galloping pulse and relax the all-too-familiar tightness in his chest. The scars on the back of his hands itched with an intensity almost as painful as his initial injuries.

Concentrate on something else, anything else.

He refused to experience an emotional melt-down, especially not on the quiet street of a strange town. He focused on the giant maples, thick with summer foliage, whose arched branches shaded the broad avenue from the summer heat. The neighborhood, with its century-old homes on oversize lots and surrounded by colorful beds of flowers, was a throwback to a different time, a perfect setting for The Andy Griffith Show. Ethan half expected to see a barefooted Opie come whistling down the street with a fishing pole slung over his shoulder.

The image, conjured from television reruns he’d watched during his recuperation, calmed him. With his panic conquered, at least for the moment, he recalled another pleasant image. The pretty woman he’d found sprawled asleep in the grass behind the bed-and-breakfast had been a delightful surprise. He should have awakened her immediately. Instead, he’d taken a moment to appreciate the gracefulness of her bare arms and legs, her short, thick hair the color of sunshine, and her cheeks flushed as pink as the roses that rambled along the split rail fence at the back of the yard. And he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t noticed the nip of her narrow waist and the seductive curve of her breasts beneath the snug fit of her shirt. Best of all, however, had been the startling cornflower blue of her wide eyes when she’d awakened, a hue as deep and magnificent as the Carolina sky. His quickened interest and the burst of heat in his groin at the memory gave him hope.

Ethan, old buddy, maybe you’re not dried-up and dead inside after all.

His panic defeated and his outlook more optimistic than it had been in months, he whistled a Montgomery Gentry tune, climbed into his pickup, started the engine, and backed his truck into the parking lot. He doubted the crime rate was high in this small Southern town, but he didn’t want to risk his belongings, securely stowed under a tarp in the bed of his truck, by leaving them on the street, ripe for picking.

After positioning his truck in the space directly beneath the security light, he shut off the engine, grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat, climbed out and keyed the lock.

On the front porch, a screen door slammed. The pretty woman—hell, maybe he was dead, or at least his brain—he hadn’t even asked her name—scampered down the wide front stairs, hurried down the front walk with a delightful sway of her perfect hips and took the sidewalk that led to the town’s main street. She’d changed into a floral dress that hugged her attractive curves and showed off her long, tanned legs.

Down, boy. She’s probably married and runs this place with her husband.

Disappointment engulfed him at the thought, because he couldn’t get over the impression he’d had from the first time he saw her that this woman was someone he’d been waiting for, for a long, long time.

He hoisted his bag to his shoulder and headed for the entrance. He’d be at the B and B a few more days. Plenty of time to learn her name.

And more.

CAROLINE CUT THROUGH the alley between Jay-Jay’s Garage and Fulton’s Department Store and hurried across Piedmont Avenue, the town’s main street, to Jodie’s Mountain Crafts and Café. It was past the café’s four o’clock closing time, but Caroline was counting on Jodie’s still being there to let her in. Otherwise, she’d have to return home and do her own baking for her guest’s breakfast tomorrow.

The Closed sign hung in plain view inside the double front doors, but when Caroline pressed her face to the glass, she spotted Jodie Davidson, the owner, sitting at the counter beside the cash register and figuring up the day’s receipts. Caroline rapped on the glass with her knuckles. Jodie looked up, spotted her and smiled. In less than a minute, she had the door open and was motioning Caroline to a seat at the counter.

“How ’bout a glass of iced tea?” Jodie asked. “I was just about to pour myself one.”

“Sounds good.”

Caroline had known Jodie all her life, and, with her brown, sun-streaked hair, cheerleader-fresh face, and trim figure, the café’s owner looked remarkably like the teenager Caroline remembered. But her friendship with Jodie went back even further than their teen years to the days when Jodie had bird-dogged the steps of her older brother Grant, whom she adored. Jodie had slipped away from her mother’s watchful eye one bright fall morning and appeared at the door of Caroline’s second-grade classroom. Grant had been more worried about his little sister than embarrassed, causing Caroline to develop a crush on the boy that had lasted through high school. Now Grant was married to Merrilee Stratton and they had a child of their own. All her friends had moved on with their lives. Only Caroline was stuck in a Pleasant Valley limbo.

In a series of deft moves, Jodie scooped crushed ice into two glasses, filled them with sweet tea, garnished the rims with lemon wedges, and set them on the counter.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Caroline said.

Jodie laughed. “I’ve been working this counter so many years, I could serve beverages in my sleep.”

Caroline took a sip and shook her head. “I’m not talking about just the café. You run this business, raise Brittany, and help Jeff ride herd on the boys at Archer Farm. Don’t you ever get tired?”

The entire town had been abuzz when Jeff Davidson, the resident bad boy, had returned to Pleasant Valley after a hitch in the military. With four other former Marines, he’d opened his facility for at-risk teenage boys. Not only had Archer Farm proved a success, Jeff had married Jodie and adopted her teenage daughter.

“I doubt I work half as hard as you,” Jodie said. “How’s your mother?”

“In Walhalla with Aunt Mona. And I have an unexpected guest. Please tell me you have muffins so I don’t have to go home and bake.”

“Cranberry-pecan, apple cinnamon, or blueberry-walnut?”

“All of the above. If this guy’s size is any indicator, I’m guessing his appetite is huge.”

“Businessman?” Jodie asked.

Caroline shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s just passing through on a move to Baltimore.”

“You okay there by yourself?” Concern shone in Jodie’s hazel eyes.

“There’s a dead bolt on the door to our private rooms. I’m as safe as anyone is these days. And the police department is only a block away.” She rolled her eyes. “And nosy neighbors even closer.”

Jodie opened the door of a stainless steel freezer, removed three packages of frozen muffins, dropped them into a plastic bag, and placed it on the counter. “I don’t know why you buy these from me. Your baking’s better than mine.”

“Thanks, but yours take the prize. Besides, I have so little time to myself, I hate to spend it in the kitchen.”

The bell on the front door jingled, indicating a new arrival. A tall, good-looking man with dark brown hair and matching eyes closed the door behind him.

“Hi, Rand,” Jodie greeted the newcomer. “What’s up?”

Randall Benedict rented the office suite over Jodie’s café for his law practice. Last October, he’d married Brynn Sawyer, another of Caroline’s lifelong friends, and had made a permanent move from New York to the valley.

“Hi, Jodie. Caroline, I’m glad you’re here. I stopped by your house, but your guest said you’d gone to town.”

Rand’s eyes were troubled, and thin-set lips and a tightened jaw replaced his usual rakish grin.

“Is something wrong?” Caroline’s heart stuttered. Why would the attorney seek her out? Had her mother had an accident and he’d been drafted to break the bad news? “Is it Mama?”

“As far as I know, your mother’s fine,” Rand assured her quickly, “but I have some sad news.”

The skin on the back of her neck tingled, and, in a flash of precognition, Caroline took a deep breath and waited, knowing that what Rand was about to say would change her life forever.

“It’s Eileen Bickerstaff at Blackberry Farm,” he said. “She died last night.”

Chapter Two

In Rand’s law office above the café, Caroline fidgeted in the maroon leather chair beside his mahogany desk. The cold from the plastic bag of frozen muffins in her lap seeped through the thin fabric of her dress and chilled her thighs. She shivered with cold and grief. Eileen, despite her age, had seemed healthy and vibrant. Her death came as a shock.

“I don’t understand,” Caroline said. “What’s so urgent that you have to tell me now?”

Rand reached into the top right drawer, withdrew an envelope and slid it across the desk. “Before you open that, there’s something you need to know.”

“Poor Eileen.” Tears prickled the back of her eyelids. The elderly woman had been more than an employer. She’d been a friend and confidante, a source of unconditional acceptance and affection, more loving and maternal than her own mother. Caroline had known that Eileen was ninety-eight, but the old woman had seemed timeless, and Caroline had expected her friend to be around as long as Caroline remained in the valley. She’d never considered the possibility that Eileen would die before Caroline made her break.

“I know this is hard for you,” Rand said. “We’re all shocked by Eileen’s death. Especially Brynn. She’s the one who found her.”

Brynn had resigned as an officer with the police department when she’d married Rand last year and moved to River Walk, the house on Valley Road nearest Blackberry Farm.

“If it’s any consolation,” Rand was saying, “Eileen’s passing was peaceful. She died in her sleep with a smile on her face.”

Caroline glanced at the envelope where her name was scrawled in Eileen’s elegant but spidery script. “What is it I need to know?”

“Eileen left you a bequest.”

Caroline swallowed hard to keep from sobbing. Dear Eileen. She’d probably provided a small contribution to what she’d dubbed Caroline’s Escape Plan.

Rand’s next words took Caroline’s breath away. “She left you Blackberry Farm and all her savings.”

“What?” Caroline reeled with shock. Rand had to be mistaken. “That’s not possible.”

“I drew up the will myself last year, remember? You were there.”

“But I didn’t know its contents. I only witnessed her signature. Why would she leave everything to me?”

“Eileen told me you were like the daughter she never had. She had no living relatives, and she knew you would appreciate Blackberry Farm with its long history in the valley.”

Guilt stung Caroline as deeply as grief. As the reality of Eileen’s bequest had sunk in, her first thought had been to sell the property. The thousand-acre farm, complete with two houses in addition to the main farmhouse, would bring more than enough money to finance Caroline’s move west and buy the ranch she’d always wanted. Eileen, however, had apparently left her the place with the hope that Caroline would remain in the valley. But her friend’s expectation didn’t make sense. Eileen, more than anyone, had known Caroline’s dreams of owning a ranch out west, far away from Pleasant Valley.

“Are there conditions to the bequest?” she asked.

Rand hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly what?”

“The property and bank account are yours, free and clear. But there’s the letter Eileen left you. She must have sensed she was dying, because it’s dated yesterday. She left me a copy.”

Caroline’s gaze fell on the envelope again.

“Read it,” Rand said. “It explains everything.”

With trembling fingers and conflicting emotions, Caroline opened the envelope and withdrew the letter that Eileen must have produced on the printer that sat beside her well-used computer on her living room desk.

My dear Caroline,

If you are reading this, it means that I am gone. Don’t cry for me, child. I’ve had a long and interesting life, and your delightful friendship was one of its high points. I’m happy to leave Blackberry Farm to you. Yes, I know you’re itching to escape the valley, and eventually, if you wish to sell the property and head west, I’ve no objections. But before you go, I have two favors to ask.

I hadn’t expected to make my exit so soon and have other plans in the works that I need you to carry out for me. First is Hannah, Daniel’s little sister.

Caroline glanced from the page to Rand. “Daniel? At Archer Farm?”

The likable teenage boy had been the greatest success of Jeff Davidson’s social experiment. A good kid who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, Daniel had blossomed under the care and guidance of Jeff’s Marines. He’d become a responsible worker in Jodie’s café, made the Dean’s List at Pleasant Valley High and turned his life around. With his juvenile record sealed by the courts, Daniel was well on his way to becoming a productive citizen.

“Daniel came from a single-parent home,” Rand said. “His mother’s recent death left his nine-year-old sister alone.”

With dread settling like bricks in the pit of her stomach, Caroline turned back to Eileen’s letter.

Rand has made all the arrangements for me to serve as foster mother to nine-year-old Hannah, so she can be near her brother, her only living relative. Hannah is scheduled to arrive next week. You are under no legal obligation—and Blackberry Farm will be yours, regardless—but I’m asking as a favor that you take over guardianship of Hannah, at least until Daniel graduates from high school next year. I’m certain Rand can take care of the legal technicalities.

Caroline eyed Rand with dismay. “I don’t know anything about children!”

“Believe me, I can relate,” Rand said with a wry smile. He’d taken custody of his two-year-old nephew last year after the death of Jared’s parents in a car crash. “You have to keep in mind that all first-time parents are new to the experience. It’s a learn-as-you-go proposition.”

Stunned by Eileen’s first request, Caroline was almost afraid to read the second.

If the prospect of Hannah hasn’t scared you off, my second request might seem easier. I want you to honor the year-long lease I signed recently for Orchard Cottage.

Orchard Cottage, Caroline recalled, was the small house at the edge of Blackberry Farm’s apple orchards. Included in the complex were an ancient barn and numerous outbuildings.

I’ve rented the place to an artist who wants the barn for his studio. He will arrive in a few days. He’s counting on this, and I’m hoping you won’t disappoint him. His payments will provide you some extra income.

“A tenant,” Caroline said with relief. “That’s not a problem.” Especially compared to a resident nine-year-old.

Rand lifted his eyebrows. “Keep reading.”

Leery of what she’d find, Caroline returned to Eileen’s letter.

As part of the lease agreement, I have promised to provide lunch and dinner daily to the tenant. I had originally figured the arrangement would provide company for me and free his time for his artwork. I hope you can honor this facet of the lease.

Caroline stifled a groan. A guest for lunch and dinner every day? She might as well be running her own bed-and-breakfast. Then she gave herself a mental shake. How could she not honor Eileen’s wishes after the woman’s incredible generosity in leaving her Blackberry Farm? An ironic twist of fate had left her with both the means to make her immediate escape from the valley and obligations that would keep her here another year.

“Well?” Rand had been studying her face. “What do you think?”

“I’m still in shock.” She quickly read the remaining lines of the letter and choked back tears at the warm words of affection. “I’ll need to think about Eileen’s requests and let you know.”

Rand followed her to the door. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

“Will you notify me about the funeral arrangements?”

“You’ll be first on my list.”

Caroline thanked him and hurried down the stairs. Easy for Rand to say she’d do the right thing. She was the one who had to figure out what the right thing was.

ETHAN SPRAWLED on the porch steps of the old Victorian, his elbows on the stair tread behind him, his feet crossed at the ankles on the bottom step. Contentment, an alien emotion, settled over him, eased his breathing and slowed his pulse. For the first time since making his decision to move from the city where he’d spent his entire life, he felt at peace with his choice. He missed his parents and sister, but he couldn’t endure another Sunday supper with Jerry’s chair empty, his place setting forever removed. The vacant space chided Ethan louder than any words of blame. The absence of his brother’s grinning mug across the table had been a painful reminder of Ethan’s inadequacy, his failure to be there when Jerry had needed him most.

His family swore they didn’t fault Ethan, but the agony in his mother’s face, the perpetual slump of his father’s strong shoulders and the missing sparkle in his sister Amber’s eyes seared deeper than any words of blame. He hoped his move would grant him the serenity to come to terms with the past. If his current state of mind was any indicator, he was on the right track.

Although the temperature had soared earlier in the day, deep shade from an ancient magnolia held the late afternoon heat at bay and cooled the porch. Above the hum of a central air-conditioning unit next door floated the notes from a piano, a classical piece that soared and swirled. He appreciated the beauty of the strange music and welcomed the fact that its unfamiliar tune triggered no memories. He’d learned through experience that he couldn’t escape them, not with alcohol nor medication. Exhaustive physical labor often helped, but not always. He’d also learned that he could handle memories better when they didn’t ambush him, triggered by a sound, a scent, a sight or a few key words.

Post-traumatic stress disorder, his therapist had called it, and warned Ethan that running away wouldn’t stop the cascade of terrifying flashbacks and painful memories, either. But Ethan had to try.

There will be peace in the valley for me some day.

The line from his mother’s favorite gospel hymn popped into his head. Maybe the haunting melody was an omen, he prayed. He’d been through hell the last few months. He could use some peace.

Footsteps on the walk scattered his thoughts. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast had returned, her walk as seductive as he’d remembered, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight, her willowy figure causing his mouth to go dry. She was carrying a plastic bag with a Jodie’s Mountain Crafts and Café logo and looking as if she’d seen a ghost.

He rose to his feet to meet her. “You okay?”

She’d been walking with her head down. At his question, she jerked her chin up and gazed at him. Her enticing blue eyes widened with a mixture of confusion and surprise, as if she’d never seen him before.

“Ethan Garrison,” he reminded her. “I checked in earlier.”

“Of course.” A flush as pink as summer roses brought the color back to her cheeks.

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“I’m Caroline Tuttle.” She sounded distracted, making him wonder what had happened in the short time she’d been gone that had shaken her former poise.

Something about the woman stirred his protective instincts. “You sure you’re all right?”

She nodded and moved around him to climb the stairs.

“Wait, please.” He cast about for something to say, anything to keep her with him a little while longer.

“Yes?” A tiny line between her feathery eyebrows marred the porcelain perfection of her forehead, and he felt himself going under for the third time in the shimmering depths of her deep blue eyes.

Then he noted the bag in her hand and found a way to keep the conversation rolling. “Is this Jodie’s Café open for dinner?”

She shook her head, and the scent of her shampoo, evocative of the wisteria covering the side arbor, filled his nostrils. “Jodie’s place is open only for breakfast and lunch.”

“Is there somewhere I can grab a bite?” He wasn’t really interested in food, but the topic gave him a good excuse to keep talking.

“The closest restaurant is Ridge’s Barbecue, but it’s twelve miles east on the main highway.”

He sighed. “I’ve been driving since before dawn. The last thing I want now is to climb back behind the wheel. I guess I’ll make do with the crackers and Coke left in the cooler in my truck.”

“Or you could have supper here with me.”

He searched her face for signs of flirtation, but found only Southern hospitality. But he would take what he could get. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with a beautiful woman. Or had wanted to this badly. “I don’t want to impose on you and your family.”

“Mama’s visiting her sister, so it’s just me for supper. If you’ll join me, I won’t have to eat alone.”

No husband, no kiddies. This was his lucky day. “You’re sure it’s no trouble?”

“Not a bit.”

OKAY, SO SHE’D LIED. But the trouble wasn’t in preparing supper. The trouble was the six-foot-plus of gorgeous testosterone sitting at the island in her kitchen. Caroline had wanted something to distract her from the sadness of Eileen’s death, but she should have been more careful what she’d wished for. Any more distraction and she’d be chopping off her fingers instead of slicing tomatoes.

“Sure you don’t want some help?” Ethan propped his elbows on the island, looking more delicious than the meal she was preparing. “I’ve done a lot of cooking in my line of work.”

“Are you a chef?” Somehow she couldn’t picture him in a chef’s apron and hat. A business suit didn’t fit, either. With his short-cropped brown hair, body by Bowflex and intense gaze, he reminded her of a young Bruce Willis, a man capable of saving the world—or at least his little corner of it.

“Not a chef. A firefighter.”

“Ah.” So she hadn’t been far off in her analysis. And firefighting explained the horrible burns on the back of his hands. But he didn’t seem the type who wanted sympathy, so she kept her tone light. “One of those guys who runs into the buildings everyone else is running out of.”

“It’s mostly sitting around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for a call.” The warmth of his smile was at least four-alarm. “Unless it’s my rotation for kitchen duty.”

What was it about this man that had her hormones doing happy dances? She focused her attention on scooping seeds from a cantaloupe, and the explanation hit her. She’d grown up with every male close to her age in the valley—not counting Rand Benedict. All of them were now married and settled down, except for Lucas Rhodes, an officer with the police department. So Ethan Garrison was the first unattached male she’d met in a long, long time whom she didn’t regard as a brother.

Or was he unattached?

She arranged wedges of melon and tomato, along with slices of country ham, on a white stoneware platter. “Moving across country must be a chore.”

“And an adventure,” he added.

What the heck, she might as well fish for information. “Will your family be joining you?”

Agony flickered across his face, and she wished she could call the question back.

“I’m traveling solo.” His neutral tone seemed tightly controlled.

She hastened to change the subject in hopes of easing his discomfort. “I’ll be moving across country soon myself.”

“You’re selling the bed-and-breakfast?” He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

“It belongs to my mother. She’ll keep it open after I’m gone.”

She’d said those words recently to Eileen. And now Eileen, one of her dearest friends on Earth, was gone. Out of the blue, the full impact of Eileen’s death hit her like a runaway eighteen-wheeler, and a sob escaped before she could hold it back.

In a flash, she found herself wrapped in Ethan’s strong arms, her face pressed against his broad, hard chest, her tears staining his T-shirt. He smelled of sunshine, leather, and was distinctively male. Holding her with unexpected gentleness for such a big man, he didn’t try to stop her crying.

“Let it all out,” he murmured against her hair. “Whatever it is, you’ll feel better for it.”

Her loss of control in front of a perfect stranger—perfect in every way—horrified her. His strong arms were both consoling and unsettlingly stirring. Forcing herself to abandon the comforting warmth, Caroline pushed away, crossed the kitchen and plucked tissues from a box of Kleenex.

“Sorry.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I just found out that a friend of mine passed away last night.”

The pain returned to his eyes, and he nodded with understanding. “It’s hard losing a friend.”

“She was quite old. She’d lived a good life and it was her time. I thought those facts would make her passing easier, but they don’t.”

“Look, you’re dealing with a loss,” he said with appealing gentleness. “I can grab a snack from my cooler. You don’t have to feed me, especially under the circumstances.”

“No! Please stay.” She shuddered at the need in her voice and tossed the crumpled tissues into the trash. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“You’re sure?”

Between Eileen’s unexpected death and Ethan’s provocative presence, Caroline was more befuddled than sure, but she nodded. “There’s wine in the fridge. Would you like a glass?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She retrieved the bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. Ethan took it and the corkscrew from her, and she removed long-stemmed glasses from the cupboard. With a deft twist, Ethan popped the cork and filled the glasses. He handed her one, and their fingers touched, sending a frisson of delight up her arm.

What was happening to her? Was Eileen’s death making her crazy? She took a deep breath to steady her whirling senses.

Ethan lifted his glass in a toast. Their gazes locked, and compassion glimmered in the green brilliance of his hazel eyes.

“To absent friends.” His deep voice was thick with emotion.

She raised her glass, but discovered she had to clear her throat before she could speak. “To absent friends.”

They both drank, and Ethan settled once more on the stool beside the island. “Now, how about telling me all about this town you’ll be leaving soon?”

Chapter Three

“That was a great meal,” Ethan said later. “I appreciate your taking the trouble.”

“You’re welcome, but it wasn’t any trouble.” Caroline was determined to remain quiet. She’d done far too much talking during supper, encouraged by Ethan’s questions about the town. She’d left him little time to tell her about himself, and she was curious about the handsome stranger with the badly burned hands.

They were sitting on the screened back porch in wicker rockers, finishing the bottle of wine and watching lightning bugs flit through the deep shadows of the garden. Jasmine and honeysuckle scented the air. The rising full moon cast silvery dapples on the lawn and added another element of romance to the night.

Caroline placed her half-finished glass on a side table. If she was thinking of romance, she’d definitely had too much to drink. Sure, Ethan Garrison was drop-dead gorgeous. Also kind, gentle, amusing, probably even a hometown hero, but he was also only passing through, and she had more important issues to occupy her mind than the way he made her pulse race. She had yet to decide whether to remain in the valley to honor Eileen’s requests about Hannah, the foster child, and to provide meals for the artist who was leasing Orchard Cottage.

Eileen had emphasized that her bequest wasn’t contingent on Caroline’s compliance with her final wishes. If Caroline arranged to have Blackberry Farm put on the market as soon as the will was probated, she could leave Pleasant Valley next week. Eileen’s savings and the eventual income from the farm’s sale, along with Caroline’s own nest egg, would give her enough money to travel through the western states, check out the territory and choose the perfect spot to put down roots.

“If you’re so determined to live out west,” Eileen had said in her strong gravelly voice one morning several months ago, “I don’t understand why you haven’t left long before now.”

“I can’t afford to.”

Eileen had straightened in her rocker in her usual ramrod posture reminiscent of royalty. Her soft gray eyes gleamed with wisdom behind silver-rimmed glasses, and every snow-white strand of her Gibson Girl hairstyle remained in place. With her face remarkably unlined and flushed with color for a woman in her nineties, she must have been a radiant beauty in her youth.

“You could have taken a job out west,” Eileen said, scrutinizing her closely, “until you earned enough to buy your own place.”

Caroline twisted her face into a smile that was more of a grimace. “I know everyone in town thinks I’m a wuss for putting up with my mother.”

“And what do you think?”

“That there’s more to it than that.”

Eileen rocked gently, not commenting, waiting for Caroline to explain. Caroline grappled for the right words.

“I’m not afraid of my mother,” she began, “in spite of what some people think. And I’m well aware of her faults. She’s a…difficult woman. Has been ever since Daddy died.”

“So you’re not staying with her out of a sense of obligation?”

“That’s a very small part of it. She is my mother, after all, and I’m her only child. I figure if I have to work until I can fulfill my dream, I might as well help her while I’m at it. Then, when the time comes, I can leave home with a clear conscience.”

“And that’s all?” Eileen’s gaze was skeptical.

Caroline sighed. “No.”

“I’m being a prying old busybody,” Eileen had said with self-deprecating laugh. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

But Caroline had loved talking to her old friend. It helped her think. “Maybe I am a wuss.”

“Why?”

“Because in some ways, I’m afraid to leave the valley.”

“Afraid you’ll miss your mother?”

Caroline shook her head. “I know I’ll miss her, even though she drives me up the wall with her complaints and demands. She and Aunt Mona are all the family I have. But missing them is not what I’m afraid of.”

Eileen nodded and rocked some more.

“What if my dream isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?” Caroline blurted. “What if I’ve spent all these years looking forward to moving out west and when I get there, I’m disappointed?”

Her friend leaned forward and grasped her hand. “It took me decades to learn one of life’s most important lessons.”

“Want to share?” Caroline asked. “I could use some wisdom.”

With her other hand, Eileen tapped the faded blue cardigan that covered her chest. “Happiness comes from inside, from the heart. It doesn’t have a thing to do with where you are. You can live in the most perfect place in the world, and if you’re not content within yourself, you’ll always be miserable.”

“Are you suggesting I’ll be miserable out west?” Caroline had asked in alarm.

Eileen had leaned back and smiled. “Quite the contrary. You’ve managed to be happy and content, in spite of living with your very difficult mother. I believe you’ll take that happiness with you wherever you go.”

Recalling that conversation, Caroline sighed and reached for her wineglass.

“Thinking of your friend?” Ethan’s deep, rich voice startled her. For a few moments, she’d forgotten he was there.

“Yes.”

He rolled his empty glass between his broad palms before he spoke above the clamor of crickets and katydids that filled the night air. “Memories are precious, especially when they’re all you have left.”

His face was partially hidden in shadow, but the raw pain in his voice kept his words from sounding like platitudes. Caroline had no doubt that Ethan had experienced his own losses. But he was a temporary guest. No need to be involved with his past, even if she was curious.

She stood, intending to remove herself from the temptation of trying to learn more about him. “If you’re hungry later, feel free to raid the kitchen.”

He pushed to his feet and towered beside her, the tall, dark silhouette of her afternoon dream. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

He looked terrific, smelled even better, and Caroline struggled against the unexpected urge to lean into him, to feel the warmth of his embrace again, the soft brush of his breath against her ear, the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

Had she lost her mind?

She attributed her uncharacteristic impulses to grief. And her uncertainty over what to do about Eileen’s requests.

“Sleep well,” she said.

She turned quickly and made her escape before she did something foolish, like standing on tiptoe to kiss him good-night.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in recent memory, Ethan had slept like a rock. Not a single nightmare, not one of the terrors that had stalked his dreams every night for the past few months had disturbed him. Instead of confronting the usual twisted, sweat-soaked sheets, flung pillows and a residual uneasiness, he had awakened to sunshine, birdsong and a sense of hopeful anticipation. Mercifully absent was the smothering cloud of depression that had cloaked his waking hours. After a shower and shave in the old-fashioned but spacious bathroom, he found himself humming as he dressed in jeans and T-shirt and pulled on socks and work boots.

Minutes later, lured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, he entered the dining room, where a single setting at the huge table indicated he was the B and B’s only guest. That fact meant he’d have more time alone with his lovely innkeeper. The grin that had taken residence on his face since he’d awakened in such good humor widened at the prospect.

He poured himself a cup of steaming coffee from the carafe on the sideboard and settled at the table to consider his situation. Just his luck to encounter the most fascinating woman he’d ever met on the day she’d lost one of her best friends. Last night, Caroline had been understandably preoccupied. This morning, he faced the problem of how to get to know her better without intruding on her grief and looking like a jerk.

Before he could frame a solution to his dilemma, the door that led to the kitchen swung open, and Caroline, carrying a serving tray, entered the dining room. With her cheeks flushed from cooking, her blond hair gleaming in the morning sun, and a light blue denim apron embroidered with Tuttle’s Bed and Breakfast covering her pale green shorts and shirt, she looked even more enticing than when he’d found her yesterday, dozing in the backyard.

Bedazzled by her smile, Ethan imagined waking up to such a vision every day, and the contemplation robbed him of breath.

“Sleep well?” Caroline set a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, sausage and fluffy grits in front of him, then placed a basket of warm muffins at his elbow.

“You bet. Must be the peace and quiet. I’m used to city noises.”

A closer look revealed faint shadows beneath her eyes, and a slight tremor in the hand that served his orange juice. Caroline, from the looks of her, hadn’t rested well.

“Why don’t you join me?” he asked. “I hate to eat alone.”

Actually, lately he’d preferred his own company, but his time at the B and B was limited, and he didn’t want to lose the chance to learn more about Caroline Tuttle.

His mother would be pleased.

“What you need, Ethan Garrison, is a nice girl. Settle down. Have children,” had been her mantra for the last ten years. After Jerry’s death, her not-so-subtle suggestions had turned to almost frantic pleas. “I’m not getting any younger. I’d like to know my grandchildren before I die.”

“You wouldn’t want me to marry a woman I don’t love,” Ethan had countered, “just to give you grandkids?”

“Of course not.” His mother had set her pleasant face in a pout. “But the right woman’s out there, just waiting for you to come along.”

“And how will I know when I’ve found her?” His question had been more teasing than serious. “Far as I’m aware, even a state-of-the-art GPS is no help in locating a prospective wife.”

“You’ll know,” his mother had insisted in poetic terms contrary to her practical nature. “Her name will sing in your soul and you won’t be able to think of anything but her.”

Ethan had laughed and called his mom a hopeless romantic, but watching Caroline pour herself a cup of coffee and take a seat across from him, he was beginning to understand what his mother had meant.

He buttered a warm muffin, took a bite and almost moaned with pleasure at the burst of flavors.

“Good, huh?” Caroline said with a smile that made him want to rise from his chair and kiss her.

“So good I’d be willing to marry the woman who baked these.”

Caroline laughed. “You’d have to fight off her husband first. And as a former Marine, he’d be tough to beat, even for you.”

“You didn’t bake these?”

She shook her head. “Jodie at the café. They’re her specialty.”

“What’s your specialty?”

Caroline nodded toward his plate. “I wish I had a dollar for every breakfast I’ve cooked the past fifteen years.”

“And what would you do with all that cash?”

“Buy a horse.”

He almost choked on his grits. “A horse?”

She nodded and her brilliant blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the tall east windows. “I’ve always wanted to learn to ride.”

Caroline was nothing if not full of surprises. Most women he’d met would have wished for jewelry, designer clothes or a trip to some exotic locale. But horseback riding?

With his time with Caroline growing short, Ethan decided to take a chance. He’d never ridden a horse, but if climbing onto the back of an unfamiliar animal was what it took to make headway with the woman who captured his imagination, he’d gladly make a fool of himself. “Go riding with me today.”

She considered him with a cool stare over the rim of her coffee cup. “You’re not serious?”

“Why not? I have a couple of days to kill. So why not spend one of them horseback riding?”

She cocked a feathery eyebrow in a manner that shot a bolt of heat through him. “Have you ridden much?”

“Never,” he admitted. “But there’s always a first time.”

She shook her head, but whether in astonishment or refusal, he couldn’t tell.

“Is that a no?”

“That is most definitely a no.” A slight smile softened her rejection.

“Because your mama warned you not to take up with strangers?”

“Because, one, there’s no place to ride horses within a hundred miles, and, two, I have…arrangements to make.”

“Your friend?”

She nodded and her smile faded, replaced by a sorrowful expression that dimmed the light in her eyes.

His opportunity was sliding away, slipping from his grasp, and he couldn’t think of a damned thing to stop it. “I’m sorry.”

She pressed her lips together as if fighting back tears and pushed away from the table, taking her coffee cup with her. In a moment, the kitchen door closed behind her, leaving Ethan alone to finish his breakfast and contemplate his next move. He’d be leaving tomorrow, and he was running out of time.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, after a funeral attended by more than half the town and families from the outlying farms, Eileen Bickerstaff was laid to rest behind the Pleasant Valley Community Church in a cemetery plot on a rolling hill that overlooked the Piedmont River and far mountains. At the end of the service, Rand and Brynn Benedict invited the mourners to their home at River Walk for lunch.

River Walk, an impressive multistory log mansion with multiple decks that descended to the river, was the perfect spot for a crowd. Teenage boys from Archer Farm directed arriving guests to parking spots and to the buffet, catered by Jodie and set up on the largest deck beneath the shade of spreading oaks. Conversations centered on Eileen and the impact her life had made on so many people in the valley.

Caroline, wearing a sleeveless black linen dress, helped Jodie serve. Amy Lou Baker, beautician at the Hair Apparent, and Jay-Jay, the mechanic from the garage, heaped their plates and moved away to find a seat at one of the many tables Rand had rented for the event.

“Eileen was an angel,” Jodie said during a lull in the buffet line. “When I was fifteen, unmarried, and pregnant with Brittany, an anonymous benefactor gave my parents a thousand dollars to help with my expenses. I didn’t know until Rand told me yesterday that the gift came from Eileen.”

Caroline nodded. “From the snippets of conversation I’ve heard this morning, she showed that same generosity to lots of others in the valley, too. She was a good neighbor and a good friend.”

“Speaking of good friends—” Merrilee Nathan approached the buffet table “—do you two need any help?”

With her blue eyes and blond hair, Merrilee could have been Caroline’s twin, except where Caroline was tall and willowy, Merrilee was curvaceous and petite.

Jodie shook her head at Merrilee’s offer. “Thanks, but almost everyone’s been served. Why don’t we fill our plates and find a table?”

Brynn left a group she’d been talking to across the deck and joined them. Her simple black dress set off her figure and complemented her deep auburn hair. When Brynn had been a cop and single, men in the valley had been known to break the speed limit, just to be pulled over by the attractive officer.

“Whenever I see you three together,” Brynn said, “I figure some kind of mischief’s being hatched.”

“Nothing yet,” Caroline said with a smile, “but maybe you’ll help us think of something. Where’s Jared?”

After their wedding last fall, Brynn and Rand had adopted his orphaned nephew, now an adorable if somewhat tyrannical three-year-old.

“Lillian’s taking care of Jared along with Merrilee’s daughter in the guest house,” Brynn explained. Lillian was the Benedicts’ housekeeper and nanny. “So that gives the four of us time to catch up.”

Caroline settled at a table in a shady corner of the deck. Brynn, Merrilee and Jodie joined her.

“So,” Brynn said, “what’s happening in town?”

“What,” Merrilee asked, “no new lawyer jokes?”

“The joke’s on her,” Jodie grinned, “marrying an attorney after all those years of lawyer-bashing.”

Caroline glanced at each of her friends. “Marriage seems to agree with all of you.”

“I highly recommend it.” Jodie dug into her potato salad.

Caroline shrugged. “Not that I’m looking, but where would I find a husband in Pleasant Valley if I was?”

“How about right under your nose?” Brynn asked.

“What are you talking about?” Caroline toyed with the food on her plate. As delicious as it was, she’d lost her appetite when Eileen died.

“Don’t you have a current guest?” Brynn said.

Jodie and Merrilee were looking at Caroline with expectation.

“He’s leaving today,” Caroline said. “In fact, he’s probably already gone. Besides, how did you know about him?”

“I was a cop for eight years,” Brynn said, “trained to observe. So when I noticed a handsome stranger wandering around town and later filling the tank of his pickup at Jay-Jay’s, I made a few inquiries.”

“But you’re married,” Caroline said.

“Married,” Merrilee said with a giggle, “but obviously not blind.”

“And still a cop at heart,” Jodie added. “What else did you discover about Caroline’s gorgeous house guest?”

“Maryland plates on his vehicle,” Brynn said. “Pleasant but reserved with everyone he met in town. Didn’t wear a wedding ring. Then I had to pick up Jared at day care, so my investigation was terminated.”

“Well?” Jodie looked at Caroline and raised her eyebrows. “Tell us more.”

“Nothing more to tell. He only stopped in the valley until the van with his furniture caught up with him. He’s moving to Baltimore.”

“Too bad,” Brynn said. “I liked him.”

“How could you?” Caroline asked in surprise. She’d drawn the same conclusion but wasn’t about to admit it. “You didn’t even meet him.”

“Cop’s intuition,” Brynn said. “He was one of the good guys.”

“And now he’s gone,” Caroline said in a tone that she hoped ended the conversation. She rose to her feet. “And I have to go, too.”

“Don’t leave yet,” Merrilee said. “Between families and work, the four of us haven’t had a chance to talk in ages.”

Caroline tossed her a regretful smile. “Wish I could stay, but Eileen has a tenant arriving at Orchard Cottage tomorrow, and I promised Rand I’d check today to make sure everything’s ready.”

AFTER SETTING A DATE for a girls’ night out with her friends, Caroline had climbed into her old Camry for the short ride up Valley Road to the turnoff to Blackberry Farm.

Brambles, thick with almost ripe blackberries, draped the split-rail fence that lined the road to the main farmhouse. Caroline slowed as she passed the old homestead, half expecting Eileen to appear on the wide front porch with a wave of welcome. The road forked just past the house, and Caroline took the left branch, a narrow red dirt road overgrown with weeds, that led to Orchard Cottage.

She parked her car in front of a picket fence in desperate need of paint and eyed the property with dismay. Eileen’s tenant needed to be more than an artist. He needed to be a miracle worker. Or at least a licensed contractor, if he expected to live here. Between the sagging porch floor and missing shingles on the roof, the tiny house appeared dilapidated and sad. Caroline doubted even a good cleaning would make it presentable.

But the property was hers now, and she was embarrassed to have anyone, much less a paying tenant, view it in its present state. With a sigh of resignation, she removed a change of clothes and her bucket of cleaning materials from the car and trudged up the front walk.

THREE HOURS LATER, the cottage was still derelict but clean. She had swept the floors, cleared cobwebs and scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom fixtures. She’d even washed the windows that overlooked the porch. With an ancient scythe from the barn, she’d cleared the foot-high weeds from the front yard. In an effort to make the place more welcoming, she’d filled old mason jars from the kitchen cupboard with Queen Anne’s lace from the roadside and roses from the rambling bushes that grew along the fence. She placed the containers of lacy white flowers and deep red blooms on the kitchen counter and the living room windowsills. But not even the roses’ cheerful color could distract from the cottage’s glaring short-comings. Caroline wondered if the poor condition of the house would be a lease-breaker. If so, the departure of her tenant would take care of one of her obligations to Eileen.

Which would still leave Caroline with the problem of what to do with little Hannah. She’d have to find just the right people to love and nurture a child who’d lost her mother.

Loading her cleaning supplies into the trunk of her car, Caroline heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle. She slammed the trunk lid and turned to see a pickup truck kicking up dust on the red dirt road. Sunlight glinted off the windshield, obscuring the driver from view. She didn’t recognize the truck. It didn’t belong to the Mauneys, who operated the neighboring dairy farm. Uneasiness gripped her, alone with a stranger approaching, and she headed for her car, thinking it better to be locked inside and behind the wheel with the engine running for a quick getaway when confronted by someone she didn’t know.

The truck parked behind her car, and in the rearview mirror, she watched the driver’s door open. First one leg swung out, clad in jeans and a workboot. Then the other leg appeared, and the driver jumped out. She recognized the Western hero of her daydreams, with his tall figure and broad shoulders silhouetted against the setting sun.

No longer afraid, she shut off the motor and climbed from her car to confront him.

“You?” he said in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Caroline’s astonishment mirrored the newcomer’s. “What are you doing here?”

“I stopped at the house,” Ethan Garrison said, “but Mrs. Bickerstaff isn’t home. I’m her new tenant.”

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