“Eric, what are you not telling me? You keep saying I should trust you, but—”

“I saw Shawn today, Jamie.”

The front tire of her bicycle wobbled dangerously. Jamie had to focus on the road ahead for a few minutes before she was able to talk again.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“He showed up at my office, wanted to talk about…things. I thought it was the right opportunity to make Shawn really take notice. You remember how we talked about turning up the heat—”

“Eric, are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Well… I just happened to mention to Shawn that…you and I are engaged.”

“You what?!”

Dear Reader,

I’m somewhat of an expert on prewedding jitters. Cold feet preventing me from walking down the aisle, I balked on my wedding date not once, but twice—causing my future mother-in-law to throw up her hands in despair. But then I looked into my fiancé’s eyes and reaffirmed what I’d known, deep down, all along: he truly was the perfect man for me, and we would have a wonderful life together navigating all the unknowns ahead. On a beautiful spring day I finally exchanged vows with him, and it’s a decision I’ve never once regretted.

I’ve always wondered, though, what happens when regrets do get the better of “happily ever after.” For example, when the groom changes his mind and ditches his bride, right at the altar…what’s the bride to do? I had a great deal of fun exploring that question in The Goodbye Groom. After Jamie Williams is left holding the bridal bouquet, she decides to take matters into her own hands. Along comes Eric Sinclair, the groom’s sexy brother….

I hope you enjoy reading Jamie and Eric’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Ellen James

The Goodbye Groom

Ellen James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ellen James lives in New Mexico, “the land of enchantment,” where she met the man of her dreams, and where she began her dream career—writing romance novels for Harlequin Books. Ellen shares a passion for history and the outdoors with her husband. The two of them are usually found poking around ghost towns, antique stores and classic auto shows, as well as hiking the gorgeous mountains of the southwestern United States.

Books by Ellen James

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

822—THE MAINE MAN

869—THE RESCUER

953—CHRISTMAS BABIES

1014—MY MONTANA HOME

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Chapter One

He’ll be here.

If she just kept repeating those words, they would be true. They had to be true.

Behind her, she heard scraps of whispers.

“…minister wants to know…”

“Should the organist play that again…?”

“Hasn’t someone called him…?”

Then, at last, she heard the door to the bridal suite shutting and her mother coming to sit beside her. “I just knew he wouldn’t show.”

Jamie forced words past the tightness in her throat. “Mother, please. He’ll be here.”

“But…he’s not here, Jamie. That’s just the point. No groom…no word…no show…”

Jamie stood suddenly, the skirt of her wedding gown swirling around her. “He’s late, that’s all. You know how Shawn is. Can’t keep time to save his life.”

“Actually, I don’t know. I mean, what do either one of us really know about him?”

Jamie clenched her hands, then realized she was crushing her bouquet of pink roses and starflowers. Everything was perfect for her wedding day: the plaster-white walls of the old adobe church, the golden New Mexico sun streaming through the window, the dazzling blue of the sky. Only one ingredient was missing. The groom.

“If he’s going to break your heart, best he do it now. Not wait until you’ve been married ten years—”

“Mother, stop, please.” Jamie’s throat ached now. “Don’t make this about you and Dad.”

Beyond the closed door, the sound of the organ came again, a forced march. How long could the woman play without the main event?

Jamie sank back down into her chair. She gazed at her mother, saw the lines of pride and bitterness etched into her face. Pride because Caroline Williams had managed to live almost twenty years without a man. Bitterness because she had never forgiven Jamie’s father for walking out on her.

It won’t happen to me. He’ll be here.

“We have to do something, Jamie. This is becoming ridiculous.”

She could no longer deny that much. Her fingers trembling just the slightest bit, Jamie punched the number of his cell phone. No response. Then his apartment number. The usual debonair “Shawn here” message on his answering machine had been replaced by another recording. “I’m sorry, Jamie.” Just that, his voice subdued. I’m sorry, Jamie.

Very carefully she set down the phone. “Well,” she said, surprised at the absolute calmness in her own voice. “At least we can tell that poor, wretched woman to stop playing her music.” A deep breath. “There isn’t going to be any wedding after all.”

JAMIE COULD JUST imagine the headlines in the local newspaper: “Woman Arrested at Ex-Fiancé’s Home.” Of course, she didn’t know if, strictly speaking, Shawn was her ex; his phone message had been so maddeningly obscure. And she wasn’t exactly breaking into the house. She’d knocked at the door, then given in to the temptation to poke her head through a half-open window.

Why did she feel like such an intruder, then? Why did she know so little about the man she loved?

Jamie rested her arms wearily on the sill. Over the past twenty-four hours her usual levelheadedness had deserted her. Operating solely on emotion, she’d flown over a thousand miles to end up here at Saint-Anne—a tiny, unfamiliar island off the Washington mainland. Never chase after a man, her mother had warned her. Maybe Mom had been right.

Then again, Mom had been lonely most of her life.

“See anything you like?” asked a voice behind Jamie.

She started, straightening up so suddenly that she banged her head against the window frame. In all her twenty-eight years Jamie had never had so much as a dizzy spell. Not once during her tomboy days of bumps and bruises and broken bones. Not once during her years of flying. But now she was done in by a combination of hunger, exhaustion and the jolt to her head. The sky seemed to tilt, the ground to shift. Nothing steady remained. Even her stomach churned, a cold, sick sweat flushing her skin.

A hand caught her by the elbow. She found herself led along a pathway for a short distance and then lowered into a chair.

“Deep breaths,” commanded the masculine voice. Strong fingers deftly probed the bump on her head. It was, admittedly, a rather pleasant sensation.

She would’ve laughed if she could. Yesterday she’d been a joyful bride-to-be. Today she was a certifiable wreck. But at last her ridiculous shakiness passed. The haze in front of her eyes cleared, and she saw a swimming pool off to her right with a flagstone patio curving around the back of the rambling shingled mansion. A glass of iced tea appeared before her. She sipped gratefully and focused on her rescuer. He was a man of considerable height, obliging her to crane her neck a bit.

Dark hair curling over a stern forehead. Aloof blue eyes. A Mediterranean heritage suggested by strong cheekbones and a deliberate jaw. A dash of France and Italy, a hint of Spain. Something exotic and dangerous. Something forbidding….

Jamie took another sip of the cold, spicy tea. She felt oddly disturbed by the man, unable to glance away from him. He gazed back at her assessingly, not saying a word.

“I’m looking for Shawn,” she volunteered at last.

“Hmm… Shawn’s not here,” the man said.

A stab of disappointment went through her. “The ferry captain—he said Mr. Sinclair was in residence—”

“I suppose he meant me. I’m Eric Sinclair. Shawn’s brother.”

All Jamie could do was stare at him. “But he never said anything about a brother. I just assumed…” Her voice trailed off. One more thing she hadn’t known about her fiancé. He’d seemed so open and giving yet ultimately had shared so little. And she’d done her best to ignore all her doubts about his reticence. She’d been in love…was still in love.

As she considered Eric Sinclair, she could see only a slight family resemblance. Perhaps the determined shape of the nose. And the confident stance—she recognized that. But this Sinclair had a gravity, a formal demeanor, even a certain grimness.

She sighed. “I’m Jamie Williams. Shawn and I—well, we were supposed to be on our honeymoon right about now.”

The expression on Eric Sinclair’s face was skeptical as he sat down across from her. His attire was more suited for a corporate boardroom than an island retreat. He wore a richly shaded charcoal suit and a silk tie slightly loosened. Almost unconsciously Jamie smoothed a wrinkle from her cotton skirt. Her rumpled condition, however, was the least of her worries.

“It seems your brother neglected a few items. Such as inviting you to the wedding…or bothering to show up at the altar.”

Eric’s look remained doubtful.

“He left a message for me,” Jamie went on stubbornly. “He was sorry, he said. That’s all—he was sorry. I don’t even know what he meant. Is he sorry he ever met me? Sorry that he’s hurt me? I need an explanation. I deserve an explanation. When two people make promises to each other…that has to count for something. It might even be worth fighting for. Some things are worth the fight.”

Eric loosened his tie a little more, as if preparing for a long story, yet there wasn’t much left to tell.

“Your brother seems to have vanished from New Mexico, Mr. Sinclair. He’d told me about growing up on this island—I took a chance he’d be here.” She paused. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“Ms. Williams, in the past I’ve cleaned up a fair share of my brother’s messes. Swore I wouldn’t do it again.”

“I’m not somebody’s mess.”

Eric passed a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t know where he is.”

“You probably wouldn’t tell me even if you did know,” Jamie stated flatly. “There’s something you’re not saying. Just come out with it, please.”

“All right,” he said in a beleaguered tone. “My brother has a habit of…attracting attention. Sometimes it’s the family name, family wealth, whatever—”

He didn’t need to spell it out. Jamie thumped her glass down on the poolside table. She stood, pushing her chair back so quickly it almost toppled over. “I understand,” she said tightly. “You think I’m a—a gold digger. That’s the term, isn’t it? Let me tell you the truth. I don’t give a damn about your family money, your family position, whatever. I just want your blasted brother to face me and tell me what’s going on. And then I can tell him to go to…go to—” She couldn’t finish. Blinded by foolish tears, she turned and began striding away. Her dignity wasn’t helped when she stubbed her toe on a stone planter full of begonias.

Eric Sinclair came to the rescue again. He followed her, took hold of her arm and steered her back to one of the patio chairs. She grabbed a napkin from the table and impatiently swiped at her eyes. Eric stood in front of her, arms folded, looking more formidable than ever.

“I haven’t accused you of anything, Ms. Williams,” he said in a carefully expressionless voice. “Obviously you’re upset. My brother has that effect on women, too.”

She glared at him. “Shawn loves me. In spite of everything—I’m sure of that much. And that’s why I’m really here.”

Eric gave her a long, considering look. “You actually sound like you mean it. Maybe Shawn’s done it this time.”

“Done what?” she asked irritably.

He didn’t answer her question, merely went on looking at her with a distracted frown. He gave the clear impression that he had other matters on his mind and she was an unwelcome nuisance. At last, though, he gave a shrug.

“There isn’t another ferry until tomorrow at nine. I suppose you’ll have to stay here for the night, get yourself sorted out.”

She was used to being in control of her life, not someone who needed sorting out. “I’ve already registered at the hotel by the pier,” she said stiffly.

He gave just a hint of a mirthless smile. “It’s optimistic to call the Sand Castle a hotel. No…you’ll stay here. Mrs. Braddock will take you to one of the guest rooms.” He’d scarcely glanced toward the house when a sixtyish woman popped out a side door. She wore her graying hair in a ponytail, giving her a youthful appearance in spite of the fine lines etched into her face. Stepping closer, she treated Jamie to a frank perusal.

“You could do with a snack and then a rest before dinner,” she pronounced.

It sounded like exactly what Jamie needed, but she didn’t want to be managed—not by Eric Sinclair and not by this woman.

“I’ll be fine at the hotel,” she said. “My luggage is there already—”

“We’ll see that it’s delivered here,” said Mrs. Braddock. “You don’t want to stay at the Sand Castle.”

Eric almost gave a genuine smile this time. “Resistance is useless. She’s been running this family for years.”

“Someone has to,” the woman said crisply. She turned back to Jamie. “Come along, dear. I’ve made a blueberry pie.”

The prospect of having a piece of that pie weakened Jamie’s resolve—she hadn’t eaten all day. But she stayed where she was, watching Eric Sinclair. He sat down at the table, unsnapped an expensive but clearly well-used briefcase and took out some files. He immersed himself in them, seeming to have dismissed her entirely.

The incongruity of the scene was too much. A man who could devote himself to business papers when the shimmering turquoise water of the pool beckoned from only a few yards away. Not to mention all the rest of it. The engagingly rustic house and the hills forested with pine, sweeping down to Puget Sound. Breathtaking. Yet there he sat, ignoring this gorgeous summer day as effectively as he ignored her. So unlike his brother Shawn, who took advantage of every opportunity to indulge…

“This way, miss,” said Mrs. Braddock firmly. And Jamie, against her better judgment, ended up following.

SOME THINGS ARE WORTH the fight.

Those words wouldn’t leave Eric in peace. Cursing under his breath, he tossed yet another report on the table. He’d been staring at these same numbers for fifteen minutes. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the kink in his neck. Shawn’s latest escapade was already proving too much of a distraction.

Jamie Williams. Beautiful, passionate and angry. A potent combination.

Eric cursed again. It had been quite a while since he’d felt this distracted by a woman. Certain things tended to leave you numb: your wife announcing that she was going to leave you. Announcing that all along it had been your brother she’d wanted—and if she couldn’t have him, see you later.

Eric stood, pacing in front of the pool. Surely he’d learned by now. Any woman connected to Shawn was strictly off-limits.

So why had he given in to that impulse and installed Jamie Williams in the house?

“I’m ready.”

Eric turned at the sound of his daughter’s voice. Seven-year-old Kaitlin hovered by the door, clutching a towel under her chin. She’d armed herself with all the necessary accoutrements: bathing suit, swim fins, snorkel. Every weapon possible to belie the fact that she was frightened of water.

Eric felt something twist inside him. It seemed impossible that you could love a daughter this much and still not know how to reach her.

An all-too-familiar guilt surfaced. He’d forgotten their appointment. That was how Kaitlin had phrased it—she’d requested an “appointment” with him, as if she were a business client instead of his child. And it had slipped his mind entirely.

“Hey there, sweet pea.” Even as he spoke he knew his tone was too forced, too jocular. “Just have to change.”

Kaitlin stared at him solemnly. There was no accusation in her gaze, just a somber recognition. Clearly she knew that he’d forgotten about their swimming lesson.

For the first few years of her life he’d been far too busy to be a good father. After the divorce, he’d vowed all that would change.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Mrs. Braddock will stay with you.” Not that it was strictly necessary. Kaitlin’s fear of the water would keep her safely away from the pool. Mrs. Braddock, however, appeared like a genie from the greenhouse, ponytail swishing. She was always available. Perhaps too available, Eric thought wryly. She’d done more to raise him and Shawn than their parents ever had.

He went inside and jogged up the stairs to the second story. Moving down the hall, he passed a half-open door. Something made him slow down and turn back. He stood at the door, gazing inside one of the guest rooms.

Jamie Williams lay on the bed, fast asleep. In this light he could see the freckles scattered lightly across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her red hair fanned against the pillow. He felt like a damn voyeur, but he just stood there…thinking all the wrong things about a woman who looked good in all the right ways.

What the hell was he doing? She’d come here searching for his brother. At last, Eric turned and strode to his own room. Only a few more moments and he’d changed into his swimming trunks.

Back down at the pool, he sat at the shallow end and beckoned to his daughter.

Kaitlin remained where she was, standing stiff and silent beside the housekeeper.

“Hmm… I have something to do in the kitchen,” Mrs. Braddock murmured diplomatically before she disappeared. Now Kaitlin stood all alone, clutching her towel.

“It’s okay,” Eric said. “Today we’ll just dangle our feet again.”

She inched closer to the pool, her eyes large and dark in her small face. Since the divorce, Eric’s seven-year-old daughter had taken it as a point of honor to confront her fears—fear of the water, of darkness, of school….

Her fear of water had been the most challenging. So far nothing had worked. Private instruction, lessons at the community-center pool…even Mrs. Braddock’s comforting ways had had no effect. Every effort had ended in misery and tears. For Kaitlin, the water seemed to contain unnamable demons. Yet, the greater her trepidation, the more she seemed determined to struggle against it. These sessions with Eric were always at her own request.

He moved his feet in the water. “Nice and cool,” he remarked.

Kaitlin tiptoed closer. She spread out her towel next to him and sat down. For a long moment she stared at her pink flip-flops. Then she slipped them off and stuck a few tentative toes into the water.

“Good,” Eric told her.

“It’s the same thing we did last time.”

“So?”

“So we haven’t made any progress,” she said scornfully.

“Sure we have. Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even stand this close.”

His comment earned him a resigned look. She stuck both feet into the water, sitting there rigidly. If her comfort factor seemed low, at least she’d made it this far. How could he convince her it was an accomplishment?

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I’m going to Seattle in a few days. You could come with me again. After work, we’ll go up the Space Needle. You can even stop by and visit your mom.”

“I’d rather not,” she answered all too quickly, ducking her head.

“Kaitlin,” he said as gently as possible. “You can’t avoid your mom much longer. She misses you.”

Kaitlin raised her head and stared at him with those enormous brown eyes. He saw the glisten of tears.

“Then why,” she mumbled, “did Mom divorce us?”

His daughter could get to him in a second. He put his arm around her, wishing he could protect her from every hurt.

“She didn’t divorce you, honey—just me. She loves you.”

Kaitlin blinked hard. She pulled away, her feet coming out of the pool with a splash. Her toes burrowed toward the pink flip-flops as if seeking refuge.

“We’re not making any progress at all,” she said, her voice trembling dangerously.

“You’re doing fine—”

“You know I’m not. What’s the point of lying?” She stared at him accusingly. Where had she learned to be so hard on herself? And why didn’t he know how to comfort her?

She marched across the patio and disappeared inside the house. Eric knew that she’d find some measure of solace with Mrs. Braddock in the kitchen. But that wasn’t good enough, not by far. A daughter should be able to count on her dad.

Eric debated following her, but lately the pattern had always been the same: he tried to be a good father; she pushed him away.

So he wasn’t trying hard enough, dammit. He had to come up with something better, and soon. Pacing to the table, he stared broodingly at the files scattered there. He was supposed to be working on the Garrett buyout. If he couldn’t be the right father, at least he should be focusing on business.

Instead he sat down and took another folder from his briefcase. He opened it and gazed at the rough sketches he’d made not so long ago. With a finger he traced the lines of his dream. His fantasy.

It would remain a fantasy, of course. He was too much a realist to believe anything else. But for now he could escape the problems confronting him: a family business that had begun weighing all too heavily upon his shoulders; a daughter who ran from him; a brother who’d ditched a fiancée.

Right now Eric could forget all that as he gazed at the pages before him.

He could dream.

Chapter Two

Jamie stirred, opening her eyes slowly. At first she couldn’t remember where she was. Albuquerque…anticipating her wedding day…

Reality brought her fully awake. There’d been no wedding. She was on the small island of Saint-Anne, Washington, trying to find the reluctant groom.

Jamie swung her legs over the side of the bed. With a heartfelt sigh she padded to the window and gazed outside. The first shadows of evening had begun to drift over the patio below. Eric Sinclair sat at the poolside table, legs stretched out comfortably. Instead of his too-severe business attire, he wore a bathing suit. Jamie could see the breadth of his shoulders, the dark hair curling across his chest, the well-proportioned muscles along every inch of his body.

She drew back—but only a little. Something obliged her to remain where she was, hidden by the curtains, staring downward with a half-guilty fascination. The man, after all, was her fiancé’s brother.

Ex-fiancé, she told herself acidly. Nonetheless, it seemed wrong to study Eric Sinclair when he was so unaware of her scrutiny. His attention centered completely on the sheaf of papers he held. A smile played across his mouth, all sternness vanished.

A scuffling noise made Jamie turn her head. She saw a young girl peering at her from the hallway, a child with dark tumbled hair and curious brown eyes.

“Come in,” Jamie said encouragingly.

The child slid inside the room—but only just. She wore shorts and an oversize shirt emblazoned Seattle Mariners. As she folded her arms, her stance suggested fragility and defiance all at once.

“Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

For one crazy, absurd moment Jamie wondered if there was something else she didn’t know about her ex-fiancé. Good Lord, did Shawn have a daughter he’d neglected to mention?

The dark-haired little girl seemed to lose her resolve and began inching back toward the hallway.

“Hmm… I don’t know who your dad is,” Jamie remarked, “but I imagine he’s someone very important. Someone like…the president of the United States.”

The child paused. She gave Jamie a speculative glance.

“Okay,” Jamie said. “Let me guess. He’s more like…the king of Spain.”

The child remained perfectly solemn, her large brown eyes intent as she studied Jamie.

“Maybe,” Jamie said, “he’s more like…the emperor of Japan.”

The little girl pressed a finger to her mouth as if to keep a smile from escaping. She slid toward the window and gazed downward. Jamie followed the direction of her gaze to Eric Sinclair, who was still oblivious to the summer’s beauty surrounding him. Still absorbed in the papers he held.

“So that’s your dad,” Jamie said very seriously. “I was right—he is someone important.”

The child watched her father for another moment, her expression grave. She seemed absorbed by her thoughts, and Jamie did not try to interrupt. Then, elusive as quicksilver, the little girl slipped away from the window and out of the room.

At the very last moment the child peered back at Jamie. The unspoken message was understood: Jamie could follow if she chose.

The little girl led the way down the hall to another room. Here was a lively clutter: toys scattered across the floor, stuffed animals sprawled on the bed, books piled haphazardly on shelves. The child knelt beside a wicker basket. She reached inside and gently scooped up a kitten—all black except for its white left front paw.

“This is Isabel. You can hold her if you want.”

“Thank you,” said Jamie. She sat down on the floor beside the little girl and cradled the scrap of fur, listening to it purr. “Isabel…quite a lofty name for someone so cute. Where’d you get her?”

“My dad.”

Jamie tried to picture Eric Sinclair choosing this adorable little kitty as a gift for his daughter.

“I’m Jamie, by the way.”

The little girl glanced away as if suddenly unsure again. “I’m Kaitlin,” she offered after a second. Then she jumped up and went to her desk, where a set of watercolors was prominently displayed. She brought a few pictures to place silently in front of Jamie.

“Here,” said Jamie. “I’ll trade.” She handed over the tiny Isabel so that she could take a closer look at the pictures. “Hmm…a good likeness.” The kitten was depicted rather larger than life, with so much black paint that the paper had crinkled. “And who’s this?”

“My dad.”

His daughter had placed him on the very edge of the page, in a business suit with lopsided tie.

“I’ll bet,” Jamie said, “your father’s the one who gave you these paints.”

Kaitlin didn’t answer, simply ducked her head over the kitten. Jamie studied another picture.

“Can you tell me about this one?”

“That’s our pool,” Kaitlin said, her voice so soft that Jamie had to strain to hear. Then the child lifted her head, and the expression in her big, dark eyes was surprisingly mournful. “That’s me,” she said almost in a whisper. “That’s me…hating the water.”

After this bleak statement, Jamie gave the picture a more thorough perusal. It depicted a small solitary figure huddled to the side as if to escape the threatening expanse of dark blue.

Kaitlin seemed to have run out of words. She sat down on the carpet but at some distance from Jamie. Her head bent over the kitten once more.

Jamie chose her next words with care. “Water can be scary,” she acknowledged. “You never know what it’s going to do. It might start…splashing.”

The little girl raised her head cautiously and regarded Jamie.

“The water,” Jamie said, “might start…crashing.”

Kaitlin lifted her eyebrows just a fraction.

“Or maybe,” Jamie went on, “the water might start…dashing.”

Kaitlin pressed a hand to her mouth as if to prevent the escape of another wayward smile, but then it appeared she could not resist. She lowered her hand. “The water,” she said, “might start…prancing. Or maybe it might start…dancing.” Her eyes seemed to dance, expressing genuine delight. But then all too quickly she grew solemn again, as if worried that somehow she’d let down her guard too much. There was something about this child’s gravity, the serious expression on her delicate little face that reminded Jamie of herself long ago, when she’d been a little older than Kaitlin, struggling with the fact that the world could simply not be trusted anymore. How could it, when her father had simply gone out the door one morning and not come back?

Jamie swallowed past a sudden tightness in her throat. She knew too well how vulnerable a child could be. And that was what she saw in Kaitlin’s large brown eyes.

Vulnerability.

THAT EVENING, ERIC SAT at the dining room table and watched as Mrs. Braddock performed the finishing touches on her dinner presentation. She straightened the silverware, folded one of the snowy napkins more precisely, rearranged the centerpiece of daisies and carnations. Then she stood back and observed the gleaming china plates with satisfaction.

“We’ll have to entertain more often,” Eric remarked. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

She gave him a sharp glance. “No harm in a little festivity.” She turned with a huff and arranged the draperies so the late sun would fall at just the right angle. Then she muttered something under her breath.

Eric rubbed his neck. He knew from long experience that Mrs. Braddock had something on her mind. When she started rumbling like this, she was like a volcano itching to erupt—if only she had a little encouragement.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Mrs. B.”

“Pigweed and prickly lettuce,” she declared. “Ring a bell?”

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and he’d started to regret that he’d asked. But, also from long experience, he knew there was no way out of it.

“Hey, just as long as it’s not something we’re having for dinner,” he said.

She gave him a severe look, clearly not appreciating his attempt at humor. “Your brother, fifth-grade science project, homemade mulch and weed control.”

Mrs. B. had an impressive memory. It seemed she could recall every one of their school projects—as well as every one of their childhood infractions.

“It’s coming back to me,” he said. “Shawn really got involved with that one. Piles of mulch everywhere.”

Mrs. B. nodded. “Your brother gave it everything he had—until the very night of the fair. He was scared. Scared he wouldn’t win first place. Anything less… So he dumped the whole thing into the drink and didn’t even go.”

“Just like he didn’t show up at the altar,” Eric remarked. “Fear of failure—it’s a hypothesis, Mrs. B. As long as we’re talking scientific method, though, other possibilities have to be considered.”

“Ha.” She gave him another repressive glance, then, with a bounce of her ponytail, she was gone.

Shawn’s fear of failure… But Shawn wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, and sooner or later he had to solve his own problems. This time he’d outdone himself, leaving a beautiful, inconvenient redhead in his wake.

Speaking of Jamie Williams, she had yet to appear. Not to mention that Eric’s daughter was also conspicuously missing. He sat alone at the dining room table with all this splendor before him.

Eric glanced at his watch, then felt angry at himself. Too much of his life had been run by a damn clock. Hadn’t he promised to change for Kaitlin’s sake? What she needed was time…his time. That was why he’d brought her here this summer, to the house where he’d grown up.

Okay, maybe that had been something of a mistake. This place was too full of memories, the discomforting kind. How many strained dinners had he suffered through in this very room? The empty chair at the head of the table, waiting for his father. His mother, withdrawn into her own private thoughts. Shawn, a funny, anxious little kid back then, trying to pick a fight with Eric just so there’d be some noise in the place. And maybe, finally, Dad arriving, and the unspoken question weighting the air: what would be his mood this time…?

Impatiently Eric pushed back his chair and stood. Something else occurred to him now. From long habit, he’d dressed formally for dinner—jacket, tie and all. It had been the custom in this house when he was a boy. Whenever he was here, he fell too easily into the old ways. The past was over. His daughter needed him to focus on the future.

But where was she, anyway?

Muffled sounds from outside drew him. The murmur of voices, an odd clink, a subdued splash. He went to the back door and stood gazing toward the pool. An inexplicable sight greeted him: Jamie Williams and his daughter carefully lifting up one of the patio tables between them and pitching it into the shallow end of the pool. Two patio chairs had already been deposited in the water. Jamie slipped off her sandals, waded in and captured one of the chairs. She positioned it just so in front of the table.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kaitlin waded into the shallow end, too. She looked completely absorbed, grabbing hold of the other chair cushion to keep it from floating off into the deeper part of the pool.

Eric leaned in the doorway, continuing to watch. It would be reasonable to ask why his daughter and his brother’s fiancée were giving the patio furniture a dunking. Maybe the answer didn’t matter all that much, though. Not when his daughter was actually in the pool, braving the water. A minor miracle.

Eric’s gaze strayed to Jamie Williams. She was standing in his pool fully clothed, but even this ridiculous circumstance did not make her any less alluring. Perhaps more so. She rested her arms on the back of the chair and bent down to catch something Kaitlin was saying. The breeze played with her red hair, while the late-evening sun gave a golden cast to her skin. Her skirt draped damply. With a little imagination, she might have been a lovely Greek statue brought to life. Aphrodite rising from the sea….

What was wrong with him? He made a restless gesture and propelled himself away from the doorway. Jamie and Kaitlin turned at the same moment and caught sight of him.

A variety of emotions seemed to flicker across Jamie’s expressive face. Guilt, confusion, perhaps humor at her own predicament. But it was his daughter’s expression that really got to him. She stared at him defiantly, as if expecting the worst. Expecting that he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t tolerate the unpredictable, that his first reaction would be to chastise.

Had the divorce led to this—Kaitlin distrusting him so automatically now? And what the hell was he going to do about it?

Jamie broke the awkwardness. She sat down in her chair in front of the table—sat there in the pool, water eddying around her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Kaitlin studied her before she, too, sat down, elbows at the table. Both of them now stared calmly at Eric. Clearly the next move was up to him.

Jamie Williams had been here scarcely a few hours and already she had disturbed the waters in more ways than one. Eric felt as if he were facing some obscure test, one he might easily fail in his daughter’s eyes.

There was nothing to do but jump in—literally and figuratively. Eric sat down at the pool’s edge and made an elaborate procedure of untying his shoes, taking off his socks. Kaitlin’s eyes seemed to grow larger as she watched, but she didn’t say a word. He loosened his tie, took off his jacket and tossed it onto the tiles. Then he picked up his own patio chair, waded into the pool with it and sat down next to his daughter. Her brown eyes widened a bit more.

Mrs. Braddock appeared. She folded her arms and observed the lot of them, admirably impassive.

“Mrs. B.,” said Eric. “Tonight, if you don’t mind, we’ll have dinner…in the pool.”

Something seemed to glimmer in Kaitlin’s eyes. But then, as so often happened these days, her head dipped forward and a protective curtain of hair fell across her face.

Eric still didn’t know if he’d passed the test, but he was determined to keep on trying. So he behaved as if dinner à la pool was something he did every day. He waded up and down the pool steps to deliver Mrs. B.’s delicious offerings: roasted peppers and eggplant, homemade rolls, shepherd’s cheese, pasta with basil sauce. Mrs. Braddock had even brought two candles for an air of festivity; he lit them and placed them in the center of the table. Mrs. B. herself retreated as if grateful to escape.

Eric sat down, serving Kaitlin extra sauce on her pasta.

“Thank you, Dad,” she said formally. He tried to remember the last time she’d called him by the more casual term of “Pops.” He missed that. Before his marriage to Leah had ended, even when he hadn’t been the most involved of fathers, he’d still been able to count on a hug from Kaitlin, as well as her smile or laughter. And, yes, a beleaguered but affectionate “Oh, Pops” on occasion. But ever since the divorce…

Would his daughter’s life always be divided in this painful way?

Jamie Williams seemed to be focusing rather intently on her plate, no doubt sensing unspoken tensions. Eric poured his daughter some cranberry-grape juice.

“Thank you, Dad.”

Maybe if he’d been closer to her from the very beginning, the split wouldn’t have been so traumatic for her. Maybe she’d have a more solid foundation on which to build. It occurred to Eric that his life was full of maybes these days. Although Kaitlin had never been a particularly bold child, she’d once seemed at ease in her surroundings. It was only after the divorce that the insecurities had started to surface. The fear of darkness, for one, and the fear of water…and of school.

Yet she didn’t seem fearful at the moment. She moved her feet back and forth, sending up a shower of droplets.

“Jamie,” she said comfortably, “would you pass the applesauce, please?”

Jamie obliged. “I think I’ll have a little more myself.”

“I like apples,” said Kaitlin.

“So do I,” Jamie replied. “Apples are my favorite fruit.”

“What’s your favorite cookie?”

“Hmm…it’s a tie between chocolate-chip and coconut-macaroon.”

“Chocolate-chip is definitely the best,” Kaitlin pronounced.

“You just might be right.”

Eric listened to this interchange. Kaitlin was behaving as if she’d known Jamie Williams forever.

“Oatmeal-raisin is my favorite,” he murmured to no one in particular, and no one responded.

“Maybe I’ll have a little more of that applesauce, too,” he added.

“Here you go, Dad.” Kaitlin passed the bowl and then turned back to Jamie. “What’s your favorite vegetable?”

“Caramel corn,” Jamie said without missing a beat.

Kaitlin’s eyes sparkled. “That’s not a vegetable!”

“Oops,” said Jamie and smiled at her.

Kaitlin almost smiled in return.

Eric knew when he’d been upstaged. He settled back in his chair and watched Kaitlin with his brother’s fiancée…ex-fiancée? These past few months Kaitlin had clearly been struggling with a weight of fear and uncertainty. But now, at this moment, he sensed almost a lightness to her attitude.

He had to admit there was something unique about Jamie Williams. The way she treated his daughter with such seriousness—and yet at the same time with such a flair for nonsense. By now, Kaitlin and Jamie had moved on to a discussion of favorite animals.

“Kittens,” said his daughter, “are my favorite.”

“Well, of course. Isabel would be highly offended if she thought otherwise.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Monkeys,” said Jamie. “Definitely. Because they appreciate the many fine attributes of bananas and because they know how to make faces.”

Kaitlin immediately scrunched up her nose. “Like this?”

“No, more like this.” Jamie reached over and gently tickled Kaitlin into a small giggle. His daughter almost sounded carefree.

Jamie Williams had been here only a few hours. In that brief time, she’d managed to charm Kaitlin with a sense of magic, a delight in the absurd. Eric had to admit those qualities had been in short supply around the Sinclair household lately.

In fact, Jamie had reminded him of just how much was missing here. Laughter, lightheartedness. And, yes, magic.

Chapter Three

Dinner finished, Jamie set her fork down regretfully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quite so satisfying a meal. When the housekeeper appeared poolside a few moments later, Jamie told her as much.

“You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Braddock.”

“Yes, absolutely wonderful,” said Kaitlin, sounding very grown-up. The corner of Mrs. B.’s mouth gave a twitch, but otherwise she acknowledged the compliments with a brisk, professional nod.

“All right,” she said. “Front and center—everyone under the age of twenty can help me with the dishes.”

Kaitlin stole a peek at Jamie.

“No way—I plead the fifth,” Jamie told the little girl, as deadpan as possible. “As we know, a woman never discusses her age.”

Kaitlin seemed to consider this and then nodded in solemn agreement. She began gathering the cups and silverware while Eric stacked the plates. The two Sinclairs worked efficiently together. Whenever Eric glanced at his daughter, the tenderness in his eyes was clear. Yet perhaps there was a glimpse of puzzlement, as well. He seemed to be asking questions of himself, immersed in private musings, and Jamie suddenly felt like an intruder in this little family circle. To cover her sense of loneliness and confusion, she busied herself by helping to transport the dishes topside to Mrs. Braddock’s tray.

Now Kaitlin padded across the patio, trailing Mrs. B. As the two of them reached the door to the house, Mrs. B.’s voice came faintly. “All right. Everyone who has wet feet can dry them on this towel.”

Jamie and Eric remained seated at the table, their own legs still submerged. The water was pleasant, even as the shadows of evening lengthened around them. The master of the house had said nothing about her rearranging the furniture, and she gave him credit for that. He behaved as if it were perfectly normal to sip after-dinner wine quite literally alfresco. And yet his presence disconcerted her, had done so since the first moment she’d met him. Maybe it was that she hadn’t even known of his existence until today. Why hadn’t Shawn mentioned Eric? What strains between two brothers could lead to such an omission?

In the short time Jamie had been in the Sinclair home she’d discovered a few facts on her own. It was clear that Eric Sinclair loved his daughter very much. It was equally clear that Kaitlin loved her dad very much. Yet the two of them seemed to have just a bit of trouble connecting. They both seemed to share an elemental reserve.

At times Kaitlin seemed on the verge of relaxing. But then she’d hold back, as if afraid to indulge—as if afraid that happiness and security could all too easily be snatched away.

Jamie believed she understood at least some of Kaitlin’s uncertainty. This afternoon, Mrs. Braddock had let slip a few details about Eric Sinclair. A recent difficult divorce, tense custody arrangements. It was a story familiar to Jamie from her own childhood. Even under the best of circumstances it hurt deeply. And the circumstances, perhaps, could never be the best.

Even when a father cared for his daughter as much as Eric Sinclair evidently did.

Jamie took a sip from her wineglass. Eric hadn’t spoken for several minutes. The light of the candles flickered between them on the table. Eric’s face remained in shadow, obscured by the growing night, yet he still managed to dominate his surroundings. There was nothing easy about him, nothing restful. As soon as his daughter had gone with Mrs. B., he’d reverted to the forbidding demeanor of this afternoon.

Then it occurred to her how things had been exactly the opposite with Shawn. It had been so easy to be swept up in dreams of love and a new life. Until the moment, of course, when he had neglected to show up at the altar.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “And it has been a long day.”

“You can’t turn in,” Eric said, “until you come clean. How did you get my daughter into the water? Beyond throwing my furniture into the brink, what’s the rationale?”

Jamie turned her wineglass in one hand, staring at the reflection of the candlelight. “Simple. I just told her the truth. I told her that when I was a little older than her I was deathly afraid of flying. But I was going to visit my father for the first time since my parents’ divorce, and the only way to do that was to get on that plane…. ” She was telling too much. She had to stick to the point. “So, I decided I would combine something I loved with the thing that I hated. I grabbed my favorite Nancy Drew mystery and stuck my head in it for the entire flight. Sure enough, by the end, I hardly even knew I was flying. And then, after the next flight and the next, I wasn’t so afraid anymore.”

Jamie set down her glass, watching as Eric filled it again. She was already perhaps too intoxicated by the northwestern air, the mysteriousness of this night. “Anyway,” she continued, “I suggested to Kaitlin that she try the same technique—associate something she wasn’t afraid of with the pool. She told me that she was hungry and that she certainly wasn’t afraid of dinner.”

Eric filled his own glass and took a thoughtful sip. “You have a novel approach, Ms. Williams—Jamie. And I happen to be grateful.”

For some reason, she didn’t want his gratitude. She hadn’t helped Kaitlin for that, anyway. She’d simply responded to the moment, with a little girl who reminded her of herself as a child.

“Simple psychology,” she said. “It worked for me, in any case. I grew to love flying instead of hating it. Even started taking lessons so I could get my pilot’s license.” She didn’t want to talk about herself to this man, so why was she doing it? Yet he’d learn certain facts soon enough. She couldn’t hide them. “Flying was how I met your brother,” she went on. “Eventually I became a flight instructor myself. He signed up for lessons. End of story.”

“Interesting way to put it.” Eric’s voice betrayed no emotion. He and his daughter were very much alike indeed, both reluctant to expose their feelings.

Unfortunately the turbulent events of the past few days had shattered any reserve on Jamie’s part. She found herself speaking again.

“The point is, I could tell right away your brother was a genuinely warm person. We started dating, and by the time we were engaged I knew he wanted a home and a family as much as I did—” She stopped herself but not in time. She was definitely revealing too much.

Eric shifted in his chair, as if he, too, regretted her revelations. “Look, Jamie. I sense you’re telling me this because you want me to convince you of something. Maybe you want me to tell you that you didn’t make a mistake where Shawn’s concerned. Hell, I’m not going to argue with you about my brother’s better qualities. He does have them. But he’s the one you need to speak to.”

“That’s why I came here. I just need to talk to him. And after that…” She didn’t know what would happen afterward. She didn’t seem to know anything about her life anymore.

Jamie set down her glass and stood. “It really has been a long day. I’ll say good night, Mr. Sin—Eric.”

He rose to stand beside her. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m sorry about my brother.”

“Thank you,” she said tightly.

She and Eric both moved at the same time, the water eddying around them. She intended to climb the pool steps and go to the house; he no doubt meant to let her pass. But it didn’t end up that way. Somehow they were facing each other and Eric’s hand was on her arm.

It should have been a meaningless, accidental touch, a mistake in the darkness. Yet it sent a disconcerting warmth all through her, made her draw in her breath. Dismayed, she found herself gazing up at him. But he was still enclosed by the shadows, not even the light spilling from the windows of the house able to reach him.

Then, just as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. He stepped back, murmured a good-night, and she was on her way toward the house, her bare, damp feet moving across the stones of the patio, her sandals dangling from her hand. Her breath still rose and fell unsteadily.

Surely it had only been the effect of wine and weariness and heartache. She’d been left at the altar—no wonder all her reactions seemed heightened. But she didn’t need to spend any more time with the groom’s brother.

What she needed was to find the groom.

THE NEXT MORNING Jamie zipped up her duffel and swung her carry-on bag over her shoulder. This was the sum total of her luggage. She’d always been the type to travel light—and yesterday even more so. Racing to catch a runaway fiancé, a person had a tendency to ignore the finer details of packing.

She couldn’t stop now. She’d come this far to demand her explanation from Shawn and she had to keep looking for him. She needed to learn the truth or she’d have no hope of getting on with her life.

Why did you walk out on me? Why did you leave, just like my dad all those years ago…?

He wasn’t here to answer her questions. That was why she had to take the next step—go to Seattle. Mrs. Braddock, in her sensible, straightforward manner, had suggested last night that Shawn would be found there. Consequently, Jamie had fortified herself with her favorite dress, a tailored style in turquoise silk.

Now she went quickly down the stairs and out of the house to the driveway, where a dark blue truck waited. Mrs. Braddock helped her put her bags in the back. The housekeeper was about to climb into the driver’s seat when Eric appeared.

“Thank you, Mrs. B.,” he said. “I’ll take over from here.”

Mrs. Braddock gave him a considering glance, apparently not intimidated in the least by his stern demeanor. She tossed him the keys, gave a brisk farewell to Jamie and disappeared inside. Jamie glanced upward, wondering if, for just a second, she’d seen Kaitlin’s heart-shaped face hovering at one of the windows. Jamie waved, but now the window was blank. Why did she feel this sudden ache inside? It made no sense at all—she scarcely knew the child.

A few moments later Eric was driving Jamie down the hill, the dazzling waters of the Sound sparkling before them. At first she made no effort at conversation. She told herself simply to gaze straight ahead. Another few moments and she would probably never see Eric Sinclair again. There was no reason to feel this unsettling awareness. Last night she’d been able to blame it on wine and exhaustion. This morning she could only blame it on the fact that she had been ditched at the altar. Did she want to get back at Shawn for what he’d done to her? Being attracted to Shawn’s brother, there would be a revenge….

She shook her head. If only it were that simple. She sensed something far more in her confused emotions, something unexplainable. The sooner she got away from Eric Sinclair, the better.

Reluctantly, she found herself studying his profile. The man was unquestionably attractive. The strong, definitive lines of his face suggested the force of personality she was already coming to know. His thick dark hair curled just a bit over his collar, conveying a certain rebellion. He was not someone who would fit neatly into any category. Yesterday’s sophisticated business suit had implied that he was an executive. Today, however, he wore shorts and a polo shirt and he was driving a vehicle well suited to the lush, wild greenery of the island.

Jamie realized that she was staring and forced her gaze forward. “I’d expect a sports car from you,” she said. “Something that could get you anywhere fast.”

“What makes you think I like to drive fast?” He sounded faintly amused.

“Just a hunch. I have a feeling you don’t like anything—or anyone—to get in the way.”

“Maybe I should just drive a bulldozer.”

Jamie almost smiled at that. She couldn’t help herself—she looked at him again and saw a hint of humor playing about his mouth.

“I have plans for this truck,” he said. “I’m thinking about getting a camper. Kaitlin’s mentioned that she’d like to go camping.”

“Let me guess. She mentioned that she liked cats, and you got her a kitten.”

“Lord, am I that pathetic?” he asked. “I throw presents at my daughter and hope it’ll make her love me.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Then Eric gave a slight, impatient shrug.

“The divorce was hard on her.”

“It’s hard for any child.”

“That’s right, you speak from experience.”

She’d definitely revealed too much last night, but now more slipped out. “I was nine years old when my parents broke up. It was very messy, nothing civil about it. My mother has yet to move on. So, yes, I understand what it’s like.”

Lost in her thoughts, it took Jamie a minute to realize that they’d turned right instead of left toward the pier.

“I’ll be late,” she said.

“Don’t worry—I’ll get you to the ferry in plenty of time.” Eric drove down one street and then another, ending up in front of a building of mellowed brick that had the words Ulysses Elementary lettered in stone above the wide front doors. Since it was summer, no children were about. Eric cut the engine.

“What are we doing here?” Jamie asked.

“Not sure myself. Just followed an impulse.”

“I doubt,” she said, “that you follow impulses very often.”

He leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “I seem that dull to you?”

Definitely not dull. Enigmatic, disturbing, irritating…but not dull in the least.

“I only meant that you’re a focused sort of person. I’m sure you have other things to do today.”

He gazed broodingly toward the school. “There’s always something else to do,” he murmured almost to himself. “That’s the way it is now. That’s the way it was when Shawn and I were kids. One or the other of us always messing up somehow. Not measuring up.”

Jamie didn’t speak. Eric seemed lost in his own memories, and she did not want to intrude. Then he stirred and addressed her once more.

“This is the school Shawn and I both went to. Did he tell you about Mrs. Green’s reign of terror in the third grade?”

Jamie sighed. “He didn’t tell me about you, so he certainly didn’t tell me about his school days.” It was humiliating, really. When you were going to marry someone, you were supposed to know all those little stories about him—his third-grade teacher, the friends he’d had, the friends he’d lost. Why hadn’t she noticed that Shawn had been less than forthcoming about his past and family? Had she been so blinded by her own emotions? Why hadn’t she persisted whenever Shawn had so adroitly changed the subject? And why, most of all, hadn’t he wanted to share with her?

“I’m lucky I even know he grew up here,” Jamie said. “It’s as if he never wanted me to know the ordinary facts and details of his life. As if somehow that would give me too much control over him.”

“I’ll fill in the blanks, then. Mrs. Green scared us all to death. Yet, when I broke my arm falling off the wall out back, she’s the one who drove me to the hospital. Nobody could reach my parents, so she just took charge. Kept telling me stories about her own son so I’d forget how much it hurt. That’s when I first discovered that people aren’t always what they seem.”

A breeze drifted through the open windows of the truck. Jamie settled back in her seat, gazing toward Eric’s school but seeing her own childhood.

“Third grade,” she said. “Third grade is when I beat up Charlie Henderson. I found him pouring water down an anthill and I soon put a stop to that. Got sent to the principal’s office afterward.”

“Defender of the weak and innocent,” Eric observed with a smile.

“Not according to my mom. She said you didn’t pummel boys no matter what the reason. Maybe you weren’t supposed to trust them, but you weren’t supposed to beat up on them, either. You were just supposed to make darn sure one of them never broke your heart.”

“Did you listen?”

“Apparently not or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Did my brother break your heart, Jamie?” Eric asked quietly.

She clenched her hands in her lap. “Yes—I don’t know. Right now I just think I hate him.”

“Hating someone usually means you still care…a lot.”

How could she describe what she felt inside? A turmoil that had a great deal to do with Shawn Sinclair—but also something to do with his brother. The stress of the last day or two had simply been too much. If only she could just go home or at least spend some time by herself to think things over, to recover….

She couldn’t. Deep inside she knew there would be no recovery for her without the truth. And only Shawn could provide that.

“I really don’t want to miss the ferry, Eric.”

“We still have plenty of time. Tell me, Jamie. Do you still see your father?”

She believed she knew what he was really asking. Will my daughter survive this divorce? Will she still talk to me when she’s grown?

Jamie could have told him she was the last person to offer reassurances. But his intensity, his sincere questioning, got to her. He cared very much about that little girl.

Jamie searched for the right words. “My dad and I…we have a cordial relationship, I suppose. Not exactly close but not distant, either. Somewhere in between. He lives in Colorado. I visit him and my stepmother and my step-sisters when I get a chance. As for my mother and me…that’s the more complex relationship. I see her every other day. We speak on the phone. And yet I’ve never told her that I love her. Mom doesn’t encourage talk about such things. But, still…if you meet a man and tell him after four weeks that you love him, you damn well should be able to express your emotions to your own blasted family.”

Jamie clenched her hands tighter, reminding herself that she usually had better rein on her tongue. She could only blame Shawn again. But perhaps she could also blame his brother. She’d just told him confidences she’d never shared with anyone else.

Not even with Shawn.

Eric drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t say a word, just stared at that old school of his.

“I want to make the ferry,” Jamie said. “I need to make it.”

Eric didn’t speak for another long moment. Then he shrugged, as if he’d lost some argument with himself. “For what it’s worth, Jamie, last night I called Shawn on his cell phone. At his number in Seattle, too. No answer.”

“It was kind of you to try,” she said stiffly. “But this is something I need to do myself.” In the aftermath of her almost wedding, she’d already spent too much time trying to reach Shawn on his cell. Besides, what they had to discuss couldn’t really be said over the phone.

Eric gave her a thoughtful look that was impossible to decipher. He reached into his pocket and took out a slip of paper. “Shawn’s number in Seattle. His home address is there, too.”

She smoothed out the paper and stared at it. “He never even gave me this much information. Why did he hide so much?” She’d been asking that question hopelessly. She’d never know the whys until she saw the man who’d sworn he loved her.

“What’s the other address?” she asked.

“Shawn’s workplace. Well, nominal workplace. He and I share management of the family firm, but he’s not always a fan of clocking in.”

More information she hadn’t known. Jamie crumpled the paper, then smoothed it out again.

“Shawn told me he dabbled in real estate. I don’t suppose that much is true.”

“Actually, yes,” Eric said.

So her intended had been truthful, up to a point. He’d told her that he was from the Northwest, that he’d grown up on the island of Saint-Anne, that he’d relocated to New Mexico because he’d always been fascinated by the Spanish architecture there.

Wasn’t that the best way to lie? Be honest as far as you could. Just neglect to include certain crucial details.

“Jamie,” Eric said. “For what it’s worth…good luck.” He gazed at her as if about to say something more. She glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t say anything at all. For just a brief second she’d seen pity in his expression.

“Please,” she said, her voice raw. “Let’s just go.”

Eric started the engine, put the truck into gear and drove her to the ferry.

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