There’s No Place Like Texas

Sam Travis doesn’t like to be tied down. He’s used to picking up work all around the Hill Country, including odd jobs for Wanda Keller, an older woman who treats him as a son. When Wanda suddenly dies, her estranged daughter shows up…and Lorelei Keller turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Polished—some might say uptight—Lorelei left Fredericksburg in the dust years ago. Coming home for her mom’s funeral sends her into a tailspin of regrets. But that’s nothing compared to the shock of learning that Sam has inherited her mother’s B and B. Did the sexy cowboy manipulate his way into her mother’s heart? Lorelei is determined to clean up this mess, and then get the heck out of Texas. For good this time.

Because there’s nothing to keep her there now…except maybe Sam?

“I’m about to pour a glass of milk and cut into the German chocolate cake. You want a piece?”

Finding herself temporarily mute, Lorelei shook her head. At her silence, Sam turned around. Their eyes locked, and she was glad she stood in the shadows. Maybe he couldn’t see the blush heating her cheeks. Although she’d been infuriated by the hateful way he’d spoken to her earlier, the anger didn’t stop her instinctive female appreciation of his broad shoulders and bare chest. Knowing he’d defined those arms and abs working hard under the Texas sun somehow made them even more appealing than muscles honed through an expensive gym membership. It was a damn shame the man ever wore a shirt. Her gaze slid involuntarily down his body toward the denim waistband of his jeans.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You stare any harder, you’re going to bore holes in me.”

The warmth in her face ignited to full-on flames. She opened her mouth to snap that she hadn’t been staring, but the lie stuck in her throat. She settled for, “Don’t be conceited. Haven’t you displayed enough character flaws for one day?”

Dear Reader,

Texas is a huge state, made up of many regions that are each special in its own way. In my new Hill Country Heroes miniseries, I get to share some of my favorite aspects of the Texas Hill Country—from outdoor recreation to generations of history and folklore to the award-winning vineyards. (The Frederick-Fest event mentioned in all three books is fictional, but it’s based on the many real festivals that take place throughout the year in Fredericksburg.)

My first Hill Country Hero is cowboy Sam Travis, who was raised on a ranch by his bachelor uncle and has never truly felt like he fit in anywhere. The closest thing Sam has to family these days is his sometimes landlady at a Fredericksburg bed-and-breakfast. When she dies unexpectedly (and leaves Sam the B and B) it’s difficult to say who’s more shocked, Sam or the woman’s estranged daughter, Lorelei Keller. Knowing how much Mrs. Keller had missed her daughter and had wanted her to come home, Sam talks Lorelei into staying for an annual festival, as a way of honoring her mother’s last wishes. When Lorelei agrees, two people who’ve always felt like outsiders might finally find the place where they fit—with each other.

If you get a chance, I highly recommend you visit the Texas Hill Country. In the meantime, I hope the stories make you feel like you’re there!

Best wishes,

Tanya Michaels

Claimed by the Cowboy

Tanya Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Three-time RITA® Award nominee Tanya Michaels writes about what she knows—community, family and lasting love! Her books, praised for their poignancy and humor, have received honors such as the Booksellers’ Best Bet Award, the Maggie Award of Excellence and multiple readers’ choice awards. She was also a 2010 RT Book Reviews nominee for Career Achievement in Category Romance. Tanya is an active member of Romance Writers of America and a frequent public speaker, presenting workshops to educate and encourage aspiring writers. She lives outside Atlanta with her very supportive husband, two highly imaginative children and a household of quirky pets, including a cat who thinks she’s a dog and a bichon frise who thinks she’s the center of the universe. You can visit her at www.TanyaMichaels.net.

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This book is dedicated to Jane Mims (what would I do without you?) who graciously chauffeured me around the hill country in spite of the world’s most diabolically uncooperative GPS.

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 One

The fifth floor of the insurance company was impressively quiet. Nothing so crass as noise leaked from the opulent and distinguished conference rooms at the end of the long corridor—which made junior actuary Lorelei Keller want to cringe at the staccato echo of her navy pumps against the marble tile. She preferred to stand out in meetings because she possessed a lightning-quick mind, not because everyone could hear her coming from a mile away.

As if her footfalls weren’t making her self-conscious enough, the cell phone in her jacket pocket suddenly buzzed. Even with the ringer turned off, the vibration seemed loud in the empty hall. She fished the phone out to check the display screen and scowled. Though no name showed, the 830 area code meant Fredericksburg, Texas. More specifically, her mother. Again.

Exhaling an impatient breath, Lorelei turned the phone off completely and repocketed it. Wanda Keller was her only immediate family and Lorelei loved the woman. But mother and daughter were painfully dissimilar. Graduating from an Ivy League university had been easier for Lorelei than getting through to her mom. Not that I’m deliberately avoiding her. She fully intended to call Wanda back later, after business hours. Headed into a meeting with one of the company’s top executives was not the time to rehash their argument about Lorelei’s refusal to visit at the end of the month.

“You loved Frederick-Fest as a child,” Wanda had burbled just two days ago, sounding as enthusiastic as a child herself. She claimed the timing of the weeklong March event would be extra festive this year, since its dates fell over St. Patrick’s Day—never mind that their ancestry was German, not Irish—and the spring equinox.

“But I’m not a kid anymore,” Lorelei had pointed out as gently as possible. “I have adult responsibilities, like a job I worked hard to get.”

“They have to give you vacation time, don’t they?” Wanda had persisted.

Lorelei had bit her tongue to keep from saying anything cruel. Like, I’m not about to use up vacation to come help sell crystals and hand out bookmarks on the protocol for “What to Do if You Encounter a Hill Country Ghost.” “I’ve got a really busy month ahead of me, Mom.”

Wanda’s voice, which had been by turns cheerfully cajoling and stubbornly challenging, fell to a barely audible level. “You haven’t been home in over a year.”

Home. How could Lorelei explain that Texas hadn’t felt like home since her father had died twenty years ago? Her freshman year of college, Lorelei had joked with her roommate about “Philadelphia freedom” because moving to Pennsylvania truly had liberated her. She’d been free of living in a house that was a shrine to her dad, free of her mother’s increasingly bizarre beliefs. Lorelei had soothed her frazzled nerves with the orderly logic of numbers and let her first snowy Pennsylvania winter numb a decade of tangled emotions.

“You know I had to cancel at Christmas because I had the flu,” Lorelei had defended herself. “I’ll come down for a visit this year. I promise.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, Mom. Soon.” Soonish, anyway. “But not this month, okay? I’ll look at my calendar, talk to my boss and get back to you.”

Her mother had sighed, clearly skeptical. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

Reaching for the door to the conference room, Lorelei gave a quick shake of her head, her long dark hair swirling about her shoulders, and banished the memory of her impulsive promise. Now was the time to focus on the more pressing topic of risk management. One of the few women in her department, she was determined to distinguish herself among her colleagues. She straightened her spine and stepped into the office, her footsteps now swallowed by the plush carpet. But a last lingering stab of guilt pierced her. I’ll talk to my supervisor tomorrow about vacation time. Conscience appeased, Lorelei lost herself in the two-hour meeting, all thoughts of Texas and her mother pushed aside.

LORELEI WAS SEATED AT her desk, immersed in notes for a liability audit, when a male voice said, “Knock knock,” from the doorway. She glanced up to see Rick Caulden.

He flashed a knowing smile. “You forget about me again? Reservations? Tuesday night? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Of course I remember. I’ve been looking forward to our dinner. I just thought you were going to call when you got here.” She enjoyed her periodic dates with the handsome attorney.

Employed by a law firm several blocks away, Rick worked as hard as she did. He was charming but refreshingly unsentimental. They shared the same pragmatic streak and career drive.

“Tried calling,” he said. “Kept going straight to voice mail, so I decided I should come up, find out if your meeting ran long and if I was on my own for dinner.”

“Oh, right—I turned my phone off before the meeting and totally forgot to turn it back on.” A mistake, or a Freudian slip? Had she deliberately left it off because she suspected Wanda would call back? Maybe Lorelei had been trying to avoid the guilt trip of feeling like an ungrateful daughter yet again.

As soon as Lorelei repowered the phone, a message bubble appeared. She frowned. “Wow, that’s a lot of missed calls.”

“At least three of them are me,” Rick said.

And the other six? “Hang on a sec.” She stood, gathering her purse and coat. “I just want to check voice mail before we go.”

“Sure.” He smirked. “I always make our reservations for fifteen minutes later than I tell you. I know how difficult it is to drag you out of the office.”

Under different circumstances, she might have pointed out that she spent an equal amount of time waiting on him or assuring him she didn’t mind canceling because he needed the extra time to prepare a motion or speak with a client. Right now, she was more concerned with her messages than Rick’s unexpected double standard.

Because of the 830 area code on the missed calls, Lorelei assumed her mother was phoning from one of the hotel lines instead of her private number. But it wasn’t Wanda’s voice that greeted her.

“Lorelei? I don’t know if you remember me, but this is Ava Hirsch.”

As if Lorelei had been gone so long she wouldn’t recall her mom’s best friend? Though Ava’s husband was of the vocal opinion that Wanda was “a gallon shy of a keg,” the two women had always been inseparable.

“I’m calling…” Ava stopped, sniffed and tried again. “I’m calling about your mother, dear.”

At the end of the sentence, Ava’s voice broke and the world tilted beneath Lorelei’s feet. She groped blindly for her chair.

“Lorelei? What is it?” Rick’s concern sounded miles away; Ava’s condolences were even more distant, fading beneath the pounding in Lorelei’s ears.

But Lorelei didn’t need to hear the rest of the message to know. She was going home to Fredericksburg, after all.

Chapter Two

Sam Travis was well-versed in the ghosts of Texas lore—he’d shared many a local legend with tourists around the campfire—but he’d never felt haunted until now.

No matter which room he moved to in the bed-and-breakfast, he still saw his landlady, eccentric Wanda Keller, who had been mothering him on and off for the past three years. Maybe I should have left with the others. As of this morning, there had been two other guests staying at the inn. Another proprietor in town had promptly offered them free rooms in light of the tragedy. Wanda had been well-liked in town, even by loners like Sam.

Sam worked multiple seasonal jobs that kept him in motion, but he always circled back to Wanda’s, helping her with minor repairs and enjoying her cooking for a week or so before leaving again. It had taken him over a year of just being able to show up, his usual room always vacant, before he’d realized that she held it perpetually open for him. When he’d insisted she shouldn’t do that, she’d called him dummkopf and responded that it was her inn and she’d do whatever she liked. This B and B, now painfully devoid of her presence, was the closest thing he’d had to a home since the dusty bunkhouse where his uncle had raised him.

But not close enough that he wanted to own the place. He recalled the shock on Ava Hirsch’s tear-streaked face that afternoon—it had mirrored his own.

“What do you mean, she left it to me?” Too flabbergasted to keep his voice down, Sam had earned angry glares from all the nearby nurses.

Behind her wire-rimmed glasses Ava’s eyes had been the size of poker chips. “You didn’t know? I never would have said anything. I thought…”

Sitting alone in the dimly lit kitchen hours later, Sam raised his half-finished beer in an affectionate toast. “Still meddling from the great beyond, Wanda?” She’d always nagged him to settle down. If Ava were right about the change to her friend’s will—something Sam still didn’t quite believe—then maybe it was Wanda’s gentle way of coercing him into putting down roots.

He shook his head at the asinine idea of him as a hotel manager. Granted, this was a very small hotel, but that made it worse. Guests expected a personal touch, that extra dose of folksy hospitality. On the trail, in his element, Sam did just fine with tourists as long as they followed his rules about the horses. Most clients who wanted to rough it had a certain expectation of what their guide would be like. His occasionally gruff demeanor fit the part. He didn’t have Wanda’s gracious nature. The first time some the-customer-is-always-right twit complained about sheet thread count or something equally ridiculous… Well, being raised by a cantankerous bachelor uncle was not the same as attending charm school.

Even though he wouldn’t be staying, he was touched by the gesture. If she had bequeathed him the inn, her intentions were good. Wanda may have been trying to give him a home—which was more than his actual mother had ever done—but she seemed to have overlooked that what he’d loved most about the inn was gone. He’d once got jalapeño juice in his eye, and it had burned like hellfire. His dry, unblinking eyes stung far worse now.

“Place won’t be the same without her,” Sam declared aloud.

A plaintive, otherworldly yowl of agreement came from the floor. Sam nearly jumped until he realized that the reclusive white cat had finally made an appearance—his first all night, although he’d halfheartedly eaten the small plate of food Sam pushed under the bed.

“You miss her, too, don’t you?” Sam reached down to scratch Oberon’s head, which the cat tolerated for a millisecond before scooting back, his ears flat and his yellow gaze suspicious. The feline had worshipped and adored Wanda Keller, but regarded all other human beings with contempt.

Sam might have made a sarcastic comment, such as telling the cat to have fun opening its own damn can of tuna tomorrow, except he couldn’t forget the pet’s distress earlier. It had been Oberon who had found Sam in the kitchen and let him know something was wrong, meowing anxiously, tail twitching, constantly glancing back over his shoulder, as if he wanted Sam to follow. Although Wanda normally rose at sunrise to roll out dough for breakfast, Sam had assumed she was sleeping in because of the bad headache she’d mentioned last night. He’d tried to help out by brewing coffee for everyone and putting boxes of cereal around the bowl of fresh fruit on the dining room table.

Sam had followed the cat to her room, but there was nothing to be done. She’d gone in her sleep; the doctors diagnosed a ruptured brain aneurysm. When the paramedics had tried to take the body, Oberon had launched himself at them in hissing attack. Attempts to get hold of the cat had proven futile, and the feline disappeared under Wanda’s bed, where he’d begun a low, spine-tingling wail. When Sam had returned from the hospital, Oberon had still been there, his cry hoarser than it had been hours before but just as heartfelt. Sam believed the cat was ornery enough to have tried stalking the ambulance, if Wanda had ever installed a cat door. She worried about him ending up in traffic and getting hit by a tourist watching for street signs.

Now, Oberon sat back on his haunches and studied Sam as if assessing him. The uneven triangle of black fur around the cat’s left eye added to his sinister expression. When his slim body tensed to pounce, Sam wondered if he was about to get lacerated for letting them take Wanda away. Instead, the animal shot into Sam’s denim-covered lap and circled twice before curling into a warm ball. Sam was shocked, but assumed this was a temporary truce. They were each saying goodbye to the only family they’d had.

We weren’t her only family. Wanda might have been “like a mom” to him, but she was a real mother to someone else. If there was one thing Wanda had talked about more than her legends, herbs and woo-woo philosophies, it was Lorelei. Sam’s jaw tightened. He’d heard dozens of stories about Lorelei, who’d pretended at five that her bicycle was a horse named Spokes and, at ten, had been the first in her class to memorize all the state capitals. Wanda always bragged that Lorelei was as “smart as a whip,” which would explain the extra cords and whatnot draped over the young woman’s gown in graduation pictures.

Most of the family photos Wanda liked to show off were from back when her husband was alive and Lorelei had been a chubby-cheeked little girl. The most recent portrait he’d seen was from several years ago: a flinty-eyed, unsmiling college grad who looked just a bit too smug beneath her mortarboard. Wanda had always made excuses for why her pride-and-joy didn’t visit. Sam was less inclined to do so.

“Things were hard for her after her dad died,” Wanda had said once, looking faraway and sad.

Not wanting to upset his friend, Sam had held his tongue. But he had trouble sympathizing. As a child, he, too, had lost a father. What he’d needed most was comfort from his mother. Instead…

Sam didn’t realize he’d been absently petting the cat until he stopped and Oberon butted his head into Sam’s arm, protesting.

“Enough of this,” Sam told the cat. “You want me to pet you, you have to come with me into the den. No more sitting in the dark, crying into our beer. Metaphorically speaking. Let’s see what’s on the tube.”

He gently set the cat on the floor, and, sure enough, Oberon followed him down the hallway. They passed by a framed picture of Lorelei as a teenager and Sam shook his head. If the woman was so damn smart, why hadn’t she known how lucky she was to have Wanda?

LORELEI WAS A LITTLE surprised that the man behind the counter handed over keys to the rental car. After her sleepless night and turbulent flight into San Antonio this morning, she had deep bags beneath her bloodshot eyes. She probably looked strung out and wouldn’t have blamed the guy if he’d insisted on some kind of drug test before letting her drive a car off the lot. Then again, he was already a little scared of her from when she’d growled, “Trust me, I understand the optional insurance policy, you can stop overexplaining!” So maybe his thrusting the keys at her was less about customer service and more about getting rid of her.

“Your luggage is already in the trunk,” he informed her. “You have a nice day.”

Not a chance in hell. “Thank you,” she said tightly. She’d been speaking through clenched lips all day; now she gripped the keys so hard they dug into her palm.

It was as if she were trying to hold herself together through sheer physical force because if she didn’t, Lorelei might fly apart. She stalked across the lot toward her assigned car, barely giving herself a moment to buckle in and adjust the seat and mirrors before heading for the exit. If she paused to consult a map, paused to find a radio station, paused for one second to think…

Although it had been a while since her last trip here—I’m sorry, Mom. I will always be sorry—she knew the I-10 route by heart. There were no surprise detours this Wednesday afternoon. The city gave way to unmanicured vistas, tree-studded hills and pastures that looked furry due to bunches of some tawny untamed grass.

About fifteen minutes from Fredericksburg, she stopped at a filling station to use their restroom even though it wasn’t really necessary. Maybe she was just stalling because she couldn’t face what awaited her.

It was surprisingly warm outside—she’d dressed that morning for March in Philly, not March in Texas. On her drive, she’d already seen a few patches of bluebonnets in bloom. Wanda had loved plants of all kinds. Lorelei had a stray memory of a picnic with her parents, long ago, in a field of wildflowers. Her mother had told her a Native American legend about how flowers had become fragrant. Wanda had grown plants both decorative and functional in window boxes and pots all through their house and yard. She and her husband had turned to medicinal herbs and holistic treatments when he was diagnosed with liver cancer, rather than to oncologists.

With a hard swallow, Lorelei climbed back into the rental car, annoyed with herself for postponing the inevitable. She could stop every mile between here and the bed-and-breakfast and it wouldn’t change anything. I’ve lost them both.

When she’d called Ava last night with her flight details, Ava had volunteered her husband, Clinton, to come pick up Lorelei in San Antonio. “If you insist on driving yourself, at least call us when you get close. We’ll meet you at the B and B.”

Lorelei had thanked the woman sincerely for the offer but had said she’d call them later because she might want a nap before seeing anyone. It had been a half truth. There was no way she’d be able to sleep, but she needed to be alone in her mother’s inn. Being there would solidify the loss and Lorelei wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep from detonating. The last thing she wanted was a witness.

Though she had to slow down temporarily for a stretch of road where signs warned Loose Livestock, she didn’t encounter traffic. Judging from the wry sign on a dilapidated diner—Over a Dozen Served!—she was officially on the road less traveled. All too soon, she was turning onto the street where the Haunted Hill Country Bed-and-Breakfast sat.

Lorelei parked the car in front of the stone-faced two-story building, bracing herself for not hearing her mother’s voice when she walked inside. Would she still smell the uniquely familiar blend of lemon, lavender and nutmeg from the incenses and oils Wanda had favored? Those aromatherapy scents had permeated the entire inn. Except during Christmas seasons when the bed-and-breakfast was filled with fresh pine and baking gingerbread.

“Get out of the car,” Lorelei muttered. If she sat in the driveway much longer, some kind passerby would stop to tell her that the B and B wasn’t currently open for business, that the owner had…

She wrenched open the door, then crossed the short sidewalk leading to the porch. The front steps creaked softly beneath her weight, and she was attempting to fish the key from her purse when the door swung open.

A tall man in a plaid button-down shirt and a cowboy hat greeted her. “Sorry, we’re not— Ah. It’s you.”

She drew herself up straighter, the involuntary reflex making her feel a touch juvenile. Even if she stood on tippy-toe, she wouldn’t be level with him. He was at least six feet. “I’m L—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted in a lazy drawl. He rocked back on his heels, seemingly in no hurry to move the hell out of her way so she could lock herself in a bedroom and have a private breakdown. Not that indulging in an emotional fit would bring her mother back.

“You’re little Lori,” he continued, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. “Wanda’s girl, all grown up.”

She almost snapped that she wasn’t anyone’s “little” anything. She was five foot eight for crying out loud! And what was with the all-grown-up condescension? He looked three or four years older, tops. “I go by Lorelei. No one’s ever called me Lori, particularly not total strangers who block doorways.” She glared meaningfully.

He glared back.

“So who are you?” she demanded. “An employee?”

“Not exactly.” Hardly an informative answer, but at least he stepped to the side.

“Ava told me all the guests were relocated,” she said as she crossed the threshold into the foyer. A cursory glance at the adjacent dining room and den showed that everything was as she remembered—except for her mom’s absence and this annoying man’s presence. “I had expected to be alone.”

The man shrugged. “Someone had to take care of Oberon.”

How could she have forgotten the maniacal cat? As a scraggly kitten, Oberon had shown up on the front porch while Wanda and the real estate agent had been doing a walk-through of the inn.

“He was a sign,” Wanda had told her daughter over the phone. “I was meant to buy this place, and he was meant to keep me company. It’s been so lonely with your father gone and you at college.”

“Ow!” A sudden scratch to the ankle jolted Lorelei back to the present, and she bumped the willkommen table. Brochures detailing area activities sat alongside the guestbook and one pamphlet fell to the floor. A telltale white paw jutted out from beneath the tablecloth. Speak of the freaking devil.

Grimacing, she took a large step away from the table and, more importantly, the extended claws. “I see Oberon hasn’t mellowed with age.”

“Nope.”

She suppressed a sigh at the man’s flat tone. Good thing he was attractive; he’d be doomed if all he had going for him was personality. Attractive? That must be the sleep deprivation talking. While she couldn’t find fault with the cowboy’s well-muscled body—and his green eyes were admittedly arresting—he was a bit scruffy with his too-long dark golden hair and the stubble dotting his jawline. Not her type at all.

“I assume you have a name?” she prompted.

He flashed a mocking smile that lasted just long enough to reveal deep dimples. “Good assumption. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miz Keller, I was on my way out. Help yourself to any room except the Faust suite. That’s mine.”

As in, he would be sleeping there? She’d hoped he was only dropping by to feed the cat. “You’ll be back tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He must have caught the dismay in her expression because his eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, this place is plenty big enough for both of us.”

Despite the multiple bedrooms in the two-floor structure, she didn’t believe him. And she couldn’t help noticing he didn’t seem convinced, either.

THE DOOR BANGED SHUT in Sam’s wake as he strode toward the truck parked behind the inn. He wanted to leave quickly, before the B and B’s omnipresent reminders of Wanda nettled his conscience like the spines of a prickly pear cactus. She would have wanted him to be more welcoming to her daughter. Hard to believe they’re related.

He’d known from pictures that Lorelei was dark-haired and striking. He just hadn’t realized she was so tall; her mama had been a round little dumpling of a woman. Other than her height, though, Lorelei Keller had been pretty much what he’d expected. Purse-lipped and haughty, with no mention of her mother. Granted, Lorelei’s dark eyes had been puffy, but no more than most tourists’ in pollen season.

He could almost hear his former landlady’s chiding voice. Oh, and you were a real charmer during that encounter? You didn’t even give her a chance. With a sigh, he glanced back over his shoulder, then retraced his steps.

Through the window in the door, he could see the brunette slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, much the same way he’d been last night. As soon as he turned the knob, her backbone went ramrod straight. Her expensive-looking cinnamon-colored sweater dress was probably hot and itchy on a day like this. Over it, she wore some kind of full-body vest in an even darker brown. In contrast, he couldn’t help recalling the way Wanda had cheerfully embraced colors—the brighter, the better.

“Forget something?” Lorelei asked without turning to look at him.

“Just wanted to say, name’s Sam Travis. I was a good friend of your mother’s. Damn fine woman.” He paused a beat, to see if Lorelei recognized his name or had any comment. Did she know what Ava suspected, that Wanda had altered her will in the past year? “I’m the one who found her. Yesterday.”

Red-rimmed eyes met his, and Lorelei swallowed, struggling to speak. “Do you think she was in pain?”

“She complained of a headache when she went to bed the night before, but no, I don’t think she suffered. Doc Singer made it sound as if it was about as peaceful as passing can be.”

Lorelei drew in a shaky breath. “Thank you, Sam.”

He nodded uncomfortably. “I won’t be back for a couple of hours, but is there anything I can bring you from town? Anything you need?”

Her gaze clashed with his, naked and vulnerable. For a split second, all he saw was need. Then she blinked, eradicating the defenselessness so fast he could pretend he’d imagined it.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “But I appreciate the offer. By the way, I’ve decided to take the wolf suite.”

The one farthest in the house from his.

Good. Maybe they would only bump into each other a minimum of times before the memorial service on Saturday.

He knew from Wanda’s lawyer that the reading of the will would follow—Wanda’s way of making sure that on the same day her loved ones were honoring her, she’d get to express her love for them—and Sam’s attendance was requested. Considering how much Wanda had adored her prodigal daughter, would she really have left Sam the inn?

And what the hell was he going to do with it if she had?

Chapter Three

Lorelei hung up the phone with a sigh and glanced across the kitchen. Ava was stocking the refrigerator with all manner of casseroles and comfort foods. Judging by the dozens of containers she’d arrived with an hour ago, she’d been cooking nonstop since yesterday.

“That was the last one,” Lorelei said wearily. She’d gone through her mom’s reservation file at the computer and called to cancel all the guests scheduled for the following week. After that… Well, surviving this week was the first step.

Lorelei didn’t really know what she would do about the inn. She supposed hiring someone to manage it for her was a possibility, but she’d never really warmed to this place. When her mother—who’d worked previous jobs as a cook in another hotel and an administrative assistant in the town tourism bureau—first said she wanted to open her own inn, Lorelei had thought it would be a good fit for her, assuming Wanda could get the necessary loans. Ever since her husband’s death, Wanda had slipped into more and more elaborate flights of fancy. She used to wake Lorelei up in the middle of the night to excitedly tell her, “Your daddy visited me again. He’s watching over us, honey, and he’s real proud of you.” Lorelei had wanted to shake her, had wanted to yell at her mother to stop it. It was so hard to let go and heal when Wanda kept his specter alive and well in their home. Lorelei had foolishly presumed that running a business would keep Wanda more grounded.

Should’ve known better. There were lots of bed-and-breakfasts and guest ranches dotting the Hill Country. Wanda had tried to set hers apart with its theme. Her place served as sort of a museum for Hill Country folklore and ghost stories. Each guest room was based on some local legend.

For instance, Lorelei’s room, from the comforter printed with running wolves to the hand-carved figures on the wooden vanity, centered on the wolf spirit that “haunted” nearby Devil’s Backbone, an area also rumored to host the apparitions of monks, Native Americans and Confederate soldiers. Sam’s suite was based on the famed Faust Hotel, a historic haunted site, and Wanda had decorated it based on old photos she’d seen of the establishment. The only creepy room was the one based on a cave, in which Wanda had blacked out the windows and bat noises played periodically through a hidden speaker. In addition to the themed decorating, Wanda had also arranged tours that took visitors through the region from one “unexplained phenomenon” to another. And Wanda had always been a hell of a storyteller, probably because she believed the outlandish tales she shared.

“She’ll be missed,” one of the scheduled guests had told Lorelei, choked up by the news that the inn’s proprietor had died. “My husband and I came to the Haunted Hill Country every year for our anniversary, and we just loved Wanda. Your mother was a special woman.”

Ava came toward her with two cups of coffee. “You look like you could use some.” Then she reached into a cabinet beneath the counter and procured a bottle of whiskey. “And maybe a shot of this with it.”

Lorelei gave a dry laugh. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she appreciated the thought. “Thanks, Ava.”

“Least I can do.” Ava slid her glasses up on her nose with a finger. “I wish you had let me help with those calls. You didn’t have to take care of them alone. Can’t be easy to tell people over and over that your mama’s gone.”

“I wanted to.” Saying it forced her to accept it. Running from the truth wouldn’t change it. “I needed to be doing something, keeping busy.”

Ava cast a sheepish look over her shoulder, at the crammed full refrigerator. “Guess I can understand that.”

Lorelei poured a modest token shot into her coffee and raised her eyebrows questioningly at Ava, who nodded and pushed her own mug across the counter.

“Hit me, barkeep.” Ava waited for her own more generous slug, then stirred cream into both mugs with a cinnamon stick.

Lorelei inhaled deeply. Her mug smelled like heaven. “Ava, can I ask you a…delicate question?”

The older woman nodded, her faded grey eyes earnest. “I know we haven’t seen much of each other in the years since you got your degree, but Wanda was the closest thing I ever had to a sister. I’d be honored if you thought of me as kin.”

“Was there something romantic going on between Mom and Sam Travis?”

Ava spluttered, choking on coffee.

“Sorry.” Lorelei handed her a couple of napkins, feeling guilty as Ava continued to cough.

“What a thing to suggest!” Ava finally managed to say, cream dotting her upper lip. “Of course there wasn’t anything romantic. Thank God you asked me and not Sam. He’d be horrified.”

Lorelei’s face grew hot. Now that she’d voiced the question, it did sound absurd—especially given how devoted Wanda had remained to her late husband. “Well, I didn’t think so, but I wanted to be sure. It’s not like she was always conventional with her beliefs, so she might have overlooked the age difference. He was cryptic and grudging. All he told me was that they were ‘good friends.’ But he’d obviously talked to her right before she went to sleep and he was the one who found her in her bed.”

Had Sam Travis been the person to hear her mother’s final words?

Lorelei couldn’t help flinching, recalling her mom’s last words the last time they’d spoken. I’ll be here. The mug trembled in Lorelei’s hands. She’d taken for granted that her mother would, indeed, always be here.

She cleared her throat. “The biggest reason I wondered about their relationship is because of you.”

“Me?” Ava squeaked.

“Well, you didn’t mention him to me when we spoke on the phone and you said all the guests had gone.” A heads-up that someone else was going to be under the same roof with her would have been nice. “But every time he’s come up in conversation this afternoon, you’ve…”

Ava turned away, busying herself with a rag and wiping down the long expanse of already clean counter.

“You’re acting weird about Sam.” Almost guilty, which had made Lorelei speculate that maybe Ava harbored a secret about her mom and the cowboy. Something was clearly bothering Ava.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Lorelei prodded.

“Only that it’s wonderful to see you again.” Ava put the rag down and smiled sadly. “I just wish you could have come home before this.” There was no accusation in her voice, but that made it even worse somehow.

Lorelei was tempted to agree with Ava, to say I wish I had, too, but Lorelei had given up wishing a long time ago. When her dad died, she’d wised up—no wishing wells or “first star I see tonight” or fairy stories for her. Those were all just pretty guises for denial. Lorelei needed to live in cold, hard reality. And that meant she knew what to do with the inn.

She’d sell the property and use the money to help with her staggering college loans. Wanda would approve. Her mother had been proud that Lorelei got into such a prestigious school and she’d always fretted that she couldn’t do more to take care of her daughter from so far away. The woman who’d once given her crystals and dream catchers for protection would be assisting in protection from debt, a far more useful security. It was something tangible and parental Wanda could do for her, which made Lorelei feel, for a moment, closer to the mother she’d lost.

Lorelei bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Ava what she intended to do. But it seemed cruel just now, with the inn being the most visible reminder of Wanda. Lorelei didn’t want the kind-hearted woman to feel as if she was losing her friend twice in one week. I’ll tell her after the memorial service Saturday.

With the decision made to sell, Lorelei felt as if she could breathe easier. As an adolescent, grieving for her father, she’d hoped that they could move away, start fresh somewhere his memory wasn’t so potent. At the very least, she’d wanted Wanda to date, to set the example that it wasn’t a betrayal to move on with life. Instead, Wanda had continued to talk about him as if he were a member of their household. On holidays and special occasions, she set a place for him at the table. She talked about having spirit conversations with him in her dreams and seeing his ghost in his favorite recliner. The lack of closure had ripped at Lorelei.

Not this time. After the service and the will-reading, when she officially inherited the inn, she’d call the would-be guests in her mom’s files and break the news to them. She’d sell the B and B to someone who could create their own niche here, and she’d return to her life in Philly, her ties to Fredericksburg severed. Lorelei would have the closure she so desperately needed.

SITTING IN THE MIDDLE of a semi-circle of pictures, Lorelei debated opening a window. It’s stuffy in here. Given the high ceiling of the great room and the dropping evening temperatures, she knew the stifling sensation was in her imagination. Raising a window would be yielding to her sudden illogical claustrophobia. Lorelei was a pragmatic woman. She refused to start acting squirrelly just because it was late and she was all alone in the inn.

Sam’s estimated “couple of hours” of being gone had turned into all afternoon and evening. Ava had insisted on staying long enough to have dinner with Lorelei but then had returned home to her husband. Both women had listlessly pushed their food around on Wanda’s sunset-colored ceramic plates. During the meal, Ava had tentatively broached the subject of the eulogy Lorelei needed to write for Saturday’s memorial. There was also the task of selecting pictures for display at the funeral home. A salon decorated with mementos of Wanda Keller’s life would open an hour prior to the formal service so that loved ones could gather to share their recollections. And their grief.

The service would take place there at the funeral home. Wanda, never really a churchgoing woman, had decided against having her final farewell at one of the local chapels. Since she was being cremated, like her husband before her, there would be no graveyard burial, either.

Lorelei shoved her hands through her hair. Her first attempt at drafting a eulogy had been disastrous. She’d thought that pulling out all these old photos, conjuring the memories, would help organize her thoughts. Sort of like an outline for a college paper. But seeing her mother’s life, now ended, spread out on the carpet around her…

A jagged keening broke the silence, and she pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to stem the dark wave of despair. Though she was usually comfortable with solitude, right now the overpowering sense of aloneness choked her. She gripped her cell phone, wanting to escape by talking to someone outside of Fredericksburg. But it was too late to call any of her work friends back in Philly, especially given the time difference. Rick, maybe?

No. She recalled with a grimace his distant response when she’d learned of her mother’s death. He’d said he was sorry, naturally, had even offered the rote “if there’s anything I can do…” But he’d sounded more like a lawyer giving a client bad news than a potential lover. “Can I send flowers?” he’d asked. “Or was she one of those people who’d prefer a donation to charity, in lieu of?”

A metallic jiggling cut through Lorelei’s thoughts and she stiffened. The B and B had never seemed creepier than it did at that moment.

Once she realized that what she’d heard was the back door being unlocked, she expelled a shaky breath. Sam. When they’d met earlier today, all she’d wanted was for him to get the hell out. Tonight, though, she was grateful for his presence. She almost called out to him but bit her lip, embarrassed by her neediness. He’d come through here anyway to get to his suite.

Sure enough, a moment later, booted footsteps sounded in the short, hardwood hallway leading from the kitchen. Then Sam appeared at the edge of the spacious living room, his face shadowed by his cowboy hat and the dark hall. It probably would have been better for her nerves if she’d turned on more lights than the standing fixture in the corner and a stained-glass antique table lamp.

She felt exposed in her circle of photos and muted light. The fact that she was wearing a tank top and flannel pajama bottoms didn’t help. “Hi.”

He leaned against the wall, seeming caught by all the images of Wanda. “Can’t believe she’s gone.” His quiet murmur didn’t completely mask the emotion in his voice. Once again, Lorelei wondered how Sam and her mother had met and what their relationship had been. It was easy to picture Wanda and Ava as best friends, laughing over botched recipes and antiquing together on the weekend. But what had Sam and Wanda shared?

“I’m supposed to pick photos for the funeral home,” she told him, her voice cracking only the slightest bit when she said funeral.

“Would you like to know which ones were her favorites?” Sam offered.

Her erstwhile relief at his company crisped and blackened to irritation. “I’m her daughter,” she said defensively. “You don’t think I can figure that out for myself?”

He tipped his hat back with a finger, staring her down with those green eyes.

“You think you knew her better than I did,” Lorelei said.

He somehow shrugged without ever moving his shoulders. “Even when we suppose we know someone, we can be surprised. But I did spend some time with her.”

And I didn’t spend nearly enough. Guilt clogged Lorelei’s windpipe, making it impossible to speak.

“She dragged out her box of photos plenty,” he said. “Made me look at them so she could talk about her husband. Or brag about you.”

Lorelei wanted so badly to ask what her mother had said. How had she described the brainy, estranged daughter who had so little in common with her?

Sam straightened slowly, awkwardly, and it was only as he moved away from the wall that she realized he was unsteady. Come to think of it, was his drawl more pronounced than it had been that afternoon?

“You’ve been drinking!”

“Not uncommon in these parts to honor a person’s memory by hoisting a glass.” He paused. “Can’t say I recall the exact number of glasses, but that’s why I walked. Left my truck at the bar.”

A strange shiver pulsed through her. She was alone in this large house with a broad-shouldered cowboy she barely knew and he might be inebriated. Should she be concerned for her welfare? Wanda had apparently believed in him, but then Wanda had believed a lot of things.

Sam approached, and Lorelei felt the instinct to scoot back, except there wasn’t much room behind her. She was between the ring of pictures and the bottom edge of the sofa. When he crouched down, Lorelei breathed in a subtle blend of denim, soap, beer and the crisp March night. It was unexpected. Rick always smelled like designer cologne—appealing, in a manufactured way, but indistinct from dozens of other successful men.

Sam Travis was distinct.

Looking into his eyes, she couldn’t remember having ever seen a pair like them. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” It felt invasive, having him loom over these snapshots of her life. The too-short era when her mother and father were both alive, the later pictures of a smiling Wanda and tense adolescent Lorelei.

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Maybe I’m helping her. You’ll probably pick out the most formal portraits in the bunch, regardless of how Wanda would want to be remembered.”

“That’s not true. I’m aware of how different my mother and I are. Were.”

A fuzzy photo that predated the age of clear digital prints caught her eye, this one of a blurry Wanda laughing with tourists at a festival booth. She had thrived on the conversation and merriment around her. At the edge of the picture was a dark-haired smudge. Me. Though it was difficult to tell from the shot, Lorelei had been huddled in a lawn chair with her nose in a book. For all that Lorelei had excelled in school, she’d always had the feeling that her free-spirited mother, who held no degree of her own, would have been more proud if her daughter had put the books down and just enjoyed the sunshine and crowds more.

Sam rocked back on his heels. “Sorry. You’re right, this isn’t my place.” He stood, exiting the room with efficient speed and purpose despite however many glasses he’d drunk in Wanda’s memory.

Lorelei bit her bottom lip hard, staring at the mix of antiques and fanciful touches in this central Texas bed-and-breakfast, none of which spoke to Lorelei or resembled her life in Philly. An all too familiar bubble of alienation surrounded her. It’s not my place, either.

THURSDAY NIGHT, SAM stepped into the kitchen as gingerly as a prowler trying to pass through the house unnoticed. He’d grabbed a burger in town a couple of hours ago, but judging by the angry meow that had greeted Sam as soon as he set foot inside, Oberon had not yet eaten dinner. At least he has his appetite back.

Now that Sam was moving in the direction of the cat food, Oberon trilled his approval and wound figure eights between Sam’s cowboy boots, nearly tripping him. “You know,” he whispered, “you’ll get fed a lot faster if you don’t knock me on my ass.”

The tiptoeing and whispering was embarrassing—but preferable to another charged encounter with Lorelei Keller. Last night, a number of folks in town had been commiserating over Wanda’s death; though Sam wasn’t usually much of a joiner, he’d ended up drinking with them before walking back to the inn. The sight of Lorelei in the middle of the living room had surprised him. She’d looked like a completely different woman with her arms and shoulders bared in a thin tank top, her long dark hair cascading over her skin.

Or maybe it was the play of vulnerability across her face that had changed her appearance. At any rate, it hadn’t taken him long to realize he was intruding on her grief. He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice, especially on a night when he was bone sore and smelled like horse. He’d spent the day several towns over, helping a friend train an Arabian.

Suddenly a woman’s agitated voice cut through the silence. “Yes, but I’m telling you, that’s not necessary!” After that brief outburst, her voice trailed off some—he could only make out the words information and tomorrow. Whatever Lorelei was feeling in the wake of her mom’s death, he’d been wrong to imagine she was fragile and weepy. Even through a closed door, Sam could hear the steel in her voice.

“She’s about as warm and fuzzy as you are,” he told the cat, scooping canned food onto a small mound of kibble. Sam was just placing the plastic bowl in the floor when light flooded the kitchen. He blinked at the sudden illumination.

Lorelei gasped in the doorway, one hand flattened over her chest. Along with a pair of jeans, she was wearing another sweater that seemed too thick for Texas. “Jeez. What are you doing skulking in the dark? You scared the hell out of me.”

Sam glared. No way was he admitting he’d been sneaking around, trying to make himself as invisible as possible, out of respect to her. “I just came in to feed the cat. Someone should,” he said pointedly.

Her lip curled. “I don’t think vamp-cat wants pet store food. He’s after fresh blood. After trying to take a chunk from my leg yesterday, he lacerated my arm this afternoon when I stopped him from running out the front door.”

“Starving an animal does tend to make it mean.” He didn’t share that he himself had once suggested that Lucifer would be a more appropriate name for the animal.

Lorelei sighed. “You’re probably right. Not that he wasn’t mean to begin with, but I was negligent, forgetting to feed him. I suppose there’s a litter box around here somewhere, too?” She made a face. “I’m not used to taking care of anything.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the pet-owner type.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she sidestepped him. “I just came in here to get a drink. I’ll be out of your way in no time.” When she opened the fridge to retrieve a gallon of lemonade, he saw the mountain of food Ava had stocked was virtually untouched.

“You eat any dinner?” he heard himself ask awkwardly. Stupid question. She’s a grown woman, not the cat. She can feed herself when she chooses.

“Actually, no.” Lorelei sounded bemused by the realization. “Guess I forgot. I’ve been working all evening.”

“Working? Surely your bosses don’t expect you to be on call two days before your mother’s memorial service?” Sam had worked for a few hard-hearted SOBs in his time, but they’d all understood stopping to remember the dead.

“It was my choice. And my business.”

Right—so butt out, cowboy. Message received loud and clear.

He tipped his hat to her. “Good night then, Miss Keller. Oh, but before I forget.” Bending to the cabinet beneath the sink, he retrieved a small trash bag and a slotted plastic scooper. “Here. Cat box is in the sunroom.”

LORELEI’S FINGERS SHOOK as she unlocked the back door on Friday morning. In order to pull out her keys, she’d had to set down the cardboard flat she’d carried. The thought of picking it back up didn’t help her trembling. What she wouldn’t give to be in her office right now.

The desperate thought conjured an image of Sam’s disapproving expression last night. No doubt he considered her an unfeeling ice-queen for obsessing over work at a time like this. Not that she gave a damn about his opinion.

Her job was soothing. Numbers and facts and statistics—they’d always lulled her out of anxiety. Wasn’t that why people were supposed to count sheep? Unfortunately, being an actuary wasn’t really a work-from-home kind of career. She’d prevaricated yesterday. Her hours spent on the phone hadn’t been so much working as turning her projects over to two other junior actuaries at the company. Her supervisor had insisted.

“Take a couple of weeks off,” he’d told her. “You haven’t used a single vacation day in what, over a year? You need it. And we need you at one hundred percent. You’re officially on sabbatical.”

Tears stung her eyes. What her boss saw as sabbatical, she saw as exile from the only thing that might keep her sane through the next few days. Today had been awful, and she still had the memorial service and an obligatory meeting with her mom’s lawyer tomorrow.

Maybe I should have let Ava come with me this morning. The older woman had offered, but Lorelei had suspected her mother’s friend would dissolve into tears, threatening Lorelei’s own composure. Taking a deep breath, she carried the open-topped box inside and set it gingerly on the counter. The green-and-azure urn that rose from within was porcelain, decorated with bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush. Objectively, Lorelei had to admit it was a lovely container. Wanda had selected it to coordinate with her late husband’s urn, which bore a picture of a pecan tree.

Hysteria rose inside of Lorelei and erupted as a horrified giggle. Oh, God. This is all that’s left of my family—matching vases.

Reflexively, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone. She could call Celia, see how the policy presentation—which had been Lorelei’s and had now changed hands—was going. Part of Lorelei acknowledged that she was micromanaging a peer and that she was undoubtedly annoying Celia with her offers to answer questions or to email additional background information. As she dialed, she promised herself she’d do something to make it up to other woman when she returned to Philadelphia. For now, Lorelei just needed to survive the next forty-eight hours.

Chapter Four

Picturesque clouds dotted an impossibly blue sky, uninterrupted by air traffic or hazy pollution—only the occasional songbird in flight. The sun shone, but gently enough that no one broke a sweat, even in black mourning attire or a suit jacket. It was the afternoon every bride would want for her wedding.

Well, except for Wanda, who’d once claimed that she’d been “delighted” it rained during her long-ago September wedding and had in fact been hoping for a downpour. She held with the superstition that rain on a wedding day meant good luck. Another tradition she’d embraced was the prewedding Polterabend. Many dishes had been broken in hopes of bringing luck to the happy couple.

Lorelei’s throat tightened as she thought of pictures she’d seen of her parents’ wedding day. They’d been so young and in love! Neither of them had been old enough to die. Yet here Lorelei was once again at a family-owned funeral home that had been part of the community for a hundred years, entering through the same white columns she’d passed through on the day of her father’s memorial service.

One of the brothers who ran the place was at her side immediately, murmuring his condolences and ushering her to the salon where her mother was being honored today. They’d done a lovely job displaying portraits amid floral arrangements, but the overpowering scent of so many competing flowers in a closed space made Lorelei’s nose twitch and irritated her eyes.

Ava and her husband arrived first, immediately followed by other people who had adored Wanda. A crowd gathered around Lorelei, men and women anxious to share their memories of her mother. All around her, the town’s citizens regaled each other with stories. The room took on a buzz that made her feel as if she were trapped in a beehive. Lorelei knew her mom had been a very gracious person, could remember the comfort Wanda had taken in those close to her when her husband had passed. Wanda had laughed with them, cried with them and hugged everyone.

In contrast, Lorelei seemed to stiffen at contact. After thirty minutes, her head throbbed. She kept eyeing the door, wanting to escape and steal a few moments of peace for herself before the official service began.

Halfway through yet another recollection from the head librarian, a woman who had helped Wanda do folklore research for the B and B, Lorelei finally interrupted. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing a conciliatory hand on the woman’s arm. “If you’ll please excuse me for a moment, I just need…” To get the hell out of here. Luckily, the circumstances didn’t require an excuse. The small circle of people who’d gathered around her nodded sympathetically and immediately broke formation so she could pass.

Lorelei went as quickly as decorum allowed toward a side door that led into the employee parking lot. She figured there was less risk that way for running into anyone. The service started in fifteen minutes, and there might still be mourners arriving through the front door.

She stepped outside, lifted her face to the breeze and inhaled deeply when the door shut, muffling the conversations she’d left behind.

“How’re you holding up?”

Whipping her head around, she spotted Sam Travis. He was perched on the ramp railing that ran the length of the building. She’d seen him earlier—without his cowboy hat, for once—talking to Clinton and Ava Hirsch, and she’d been relieved when he didn’t approach her. Sam made her…uneasy, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

By the end of elementary school, she’d known she didn’t fit in with other kids. They labeled her a math geek and didn’t invite her to the giggly slumber parties her female classmates later rehashed in the cafeteria. She’d told herself it didn’t matter. At thirteen, she’d decided she was getting out of town as soon as possible. In college, she’d bonded with students similar to her and had been comfortable in her own skin ever since. She knew who she was and what she wanted out of life. She made sensible decisions, such as dating imminently compatible men and not wearing ridiculously high-heeled shoes that could injure her joints or back.

But something about Sam made her feel as if she were teetering even in her practical pumps. She swallowed. “Wh-what are you doing out here?”

“Same thing as you. Hiding.”

She bristled at the implied cowardice. “I’m not ‘hiding,’ Mr. Travis. I just—”

“Easy, darlin’. I wasn’t criticizing. There are a lot of very emotional, very talkative people in that building. Enough to make anyone skittish.” He shook his head. “Not that Wanda would have bolted. She was damn good at listening to everyone, making them feel welcome. Special.”

Lorelei was torn. She knew what he meant, yet how many times growing up had she tried to explain to her mother how she felt? How often had Lorelei retreated to her room, frustrated that her mother wouldn’t listen?

“I’ve always felt so removed from her,” Lorelei heard herself admit. She wasn’t sure why she was confiding in him, but she’d be gone soon—back to her real life—so what did it matter? “I tried telling myself I take after Dad, but I don’t think it’s true. He and Mom were like two peas in a pod, and I was, I don’t know, some kind of changeling baby.” Of all the crazy legends her mom had ever voiced, that one Lorelei could have believed.

Sam squinted at her from his spot in the shade. “You were how old when you lost your dad?”

“Six when he was diagnosed, seven when he died.”

“I was nine when I lost my father. I don’t know about you, but a lot of the memories I have are hazy. Maybe you’re more like him than you recall.”

There he went again, knocking her off balance. She hadn’t expected him to try to comfort her. Nor had she expected them to have anything in common. She wondered how he’d lost his own father, if the tragedy had brought Sam and his mother closer.

“I should go back inside,” she said, unenthusiastic about the prospect. “The service will be starting soon.” The hours she’d spent working on the eulogy had been grueling, but she didn’t back down from a challenge.

Sam nodded. “I’ll be along in a minute. You look real nice, by the way.”

Could he guess how many times she’d changed, trying to decide the right thing to wear? The navy-and-yellow print sheath dress allowed her to wear the big bright yellow earrings her mom had sent for her birthday; the cropped navy blazer helped subdue the outfit enough for the occasion.

Wanting to downplay the way she’d overanalyzed her decision, she made light of Sam’s compliment, keeping her voice wry enough that he wouldn’t take her seriously. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to flirt with the deceased’s daughter.”

He rolled his eyes. “I just meant it’s good to see you wearing some color. She would have liked that.”

“Says the man in head-to-toe black?” She doubted Sam owned a suit. Today he was showing respect in black boots, crisp jeans that looked starched to within an inch of their life and a black button-down shirt that was a dramatic foil to his light hair and eyes.

“Well.” His expression didn’t change, but there was a grin in his voice. “I had planned to accessorize with yellow, too, but I couldn’t find my headband.”

Lorelei laughed before she could stop herself. “I’ll see you inside. And thank you.”

He inclined his head in a silent “you’re welcome,” and she turned to go. When she’d fled the guests in the building, her body had been rigid with tension. Now, though far from relaxed, she felt calm enough to deliver her mother’s eulogy. How had a virtual stranger Lorelei didn’t especially like known what to say? He’d even made her laugh, which was a hell of a feat on this particular occasion.

Lorelei still didn’t have the whole story on how Sam and Wanda had become friends, but she understood how much her flamboyant mother had appreciated people who were unpredictable. And Sam Travis was full of surprises.

THE BARRAGE OF MOURNERS and conversation didn’t stop after the memorial service; it followed Lorelei back to the inn. She would forever be grateful to local B and B owners Clare Theo and Bertha Hoffman—women who’d respected Wanda enough to want to honor her without being so close to her that they were overcome with their own grief. They took point on making gallons of coffee and splitting hostess duties, managing the flow of traffic through the downstairs rooms.

Though his truck was in its customary spot out back, Lorelei hadn’t spotted Sam in the throng. Was he avoiding the crowd, sequestered away in his room, or was he in this crush somewhere? People kept coming up to hug her and present her with foil-covered dishes. She had enough king ranch casseroles and pecan pies to last until summer. Thank God her mother had purchased a deep freeze, because the refrigerator was long past full.

“Lorelei?” Ava’s voice broke through the hum of surrounding conversations. “Lorelei, dear?”

Lorelei glanced over a petite blonde who’d been extolling the virtues of cheddar mashed potatoes as comfort food and saw Ava totter into the formal dining room, wobbling on fancy shoes and too little sleep. Lorelei thanked the guest whose name she’d never quite caught and met Ava in the center of the room.

“I’m glad to see a friendly face,” Lorelei said. “This is all a bit…overwhelming.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Ava suggested. She hesitated before adding, “The lawyer’s ready for us.”

Lorelei had met Robert Stork earlier in the week when he’d come by with a fruit basket to offer his condolences. He was a sandy-haired man with a round face that made him look barely old enough to drive. She’d been startled when he first introduced himself.

“But Mr. Stork is a white-haired man shorter than I am,” she’d blurted, remembering the attorney from her dad’s death.

“You’re thinking of my father, for whom I’m named,” Robert the younger had said. “He’s retired and plays a lot of golf now. I took over the family business.”

And part of Stork Jr.’s business was to go over Wanda’s last wishes with Lorelei and Ava.

Lorelei took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Lead the way.”

Instead of going up the steps at the front of the house where all the guests were, the two women detoured to the laundry room and took the narrow spiral of back stairs. Library was a rather pretentious term for what Lorelei suspected had once been a generously sized walk-in closet. The cramped area was furnished with four chairs too close together for personal space and built-in shelves, probably meant for linens but now filled with books. Still, the tiny room had the advantage of being removed from the nonstop conversation and parade of food on the first floor.

Just before they reached the room, Ava paused, twisting the slim gold bracelets on her wrist.

“What is it?” Lorelei asked. For obvious reasons, Ava hadn’t been very jovial today. Yet now her expression seemed particularly troubled.

“I…nothing, dear. We should probably get this over with.”

Lorelei offered a nod of encouragement and they proceeded. Surprisingly, two of the four chairs were already filled. In addition to the lawyer, Sam Travis was also present. Lorelei’s eyebrows rose. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised to see him. He’d obviously cared enough about Wanda to brave her demon cat; it would be like Lorelei’s mother to leave him something to remember her by, something of sentimental value. Lorelei studied the tall man, hunched in his chair and staring intently at his folded hands. Sam Travis didn’t seem like a man who was easily sentimental.

Ava slid into the chair next to Mr. Stork. That left Lorelei with the seat closest to Sam, a rather pointless distinction since all four chairs were so close their occupants could practically bump knees. With Sam’s kindness to her earlier still fresh in mind, she tried exchanging smiles with the man but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. The expression froze awkwardly on her face as she took her seat. This wasn’t an appropriate time to be grinning at cowboys, anyway. She adopted the air of solemn reserve she used to get through difficult meetings, the ones where she had to tell people things they didn’t want to hear, and looked expectantly at the attorney.

Robert’s ruddy complexion flushed an ever deeper red as he sorted through pages. “As all three of Wanda Keller’s beneficiaries are now present, I shall begin?” In contrast to the words, his tone was pure halting question, as if he were a timid boy asking a parent’s permission to stay up past his bed time.

Ava patted his hand. “You’re doing fine.”

Just how recently had his father retired? Lorelei wondered. He gave the impression this was his first day on the job.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hirsch. We’ll start with you, with a message from Wanda.” He shuffled his papers some more, stopping a moment later and clearing his throat. “‘To my friend Ava, thank you for always being there. I can’t express my gratitude for your support over the years. You are such a special, generous soul that even Oberon likes you.’”

Stiffening in her chair, Ava muttered, “The hell he does.”

Robert ignored the aside and kept reading. “‘I even thought of asking you to be his guardian once I’ve passed, but ultimately decided that he should stay with the inn. After all, it’s his home.’”

Stay with the inn? Lorelei managed not to grimace. How was she going to make that a condition of sale? Beautiful, well-kept bed-and-breakfast…plus, one evil-tempered feline with possible Satanic affiliations. Her attention divided, Lorelei listened absently as Robert detailed the personal possessions Wanda had wanted her best friend to have. Among the keepsakes were an antique tea set, a fluted stoneware pie plate, a silver pig charm bracelet and Wanda’s dragonfly wind chimes. It was difficult to imagine standing downstairs in the kitchen and not hearing their music tinkling through the window.

Not that she would be standing in the B-and-B kitchen after this trip, she reminded herself. It was right that Ava should take the chimes. They should go to someone who’d known how much Wanda loved them. She’d believed they brought a bit of good luck each time they rang.

Robert turned to Lorelei, his expression apologetic. “You’re listed next, Miss Keller. Do you…need a moment? Before we continue?”

And drag out what had already been one of the longest, most difficult days of her life? “No. Let’s keep this moving along,” she suggested, her voice tense.

Her tone must have been sharper than intended because Robert flinched. For his sake, she hoped he never saw the inside of a courtroom because opposing counsel would eat him alive. Poor man looked afraid of his own shadow.

“First, there’s the matter of your parents’ ashes. Wanda Keller asked that her remains and her late husbands’ be eventually combined and sprinkled somewhere in the Hill Country, as this was their home. The exact place is to be determined by you, but I can assist you in matters of state law and regulations.” He withdrew a thick folder from his briefcase and handed it to Lorelei. “Inside that is a specific itemization and financial statements, but, to summarize, ‘I leave my strong, independent daughter, Lorelei, my remaining personal effects, all belongings not specifically tied to the decoration and running of the bed-and-breakfast. I hope she will use my things and remember her mother, who loved her. I also leave her the balance of my checking and savings accounts. To Samuel…’”

Lorelei blinked, confused. She hadn’t been aware that Stork had already moved on to the next person. A number of questions churned in her mind. Was the deed to the inn one of the things listed in the hefty folder she’d been given? She tried to process what her mother had meant by “not tied to the bed-and-breakfast.” Did that mean the décor in the themed rooms and equipment like the bread machine and coffeemaker were to be sold along with the B and B?

Robert coughed and start again. “‘T-to Samuel Travis, I leave all the money in my business account, which he will need to manage the inn as I am leaving him the Haunted Hill Country Bed-and-Breakfast.’”

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