In book 7 of this USA Today bestselling series, a new person comes to town to run the newly renovated lighthouse. But what is the running from and will her secret come out?

Meg needs to make a decision about her upcoming wedding, but will her choice shock her mother, Julie?

William makes a life-changing decision, but then everything keeps falling apart. How will it affect his relationship with Janine?

Catch up with the rest of your favorite characters including Julie, Dawson and Dixie! If you love southern women's fiction, you will enjoy all of the books in the South Carolina Sunsets series.

“…I have read this whole series, and each book gets better. Missed was my favorite one yet. Overall, I can sum this book up in one word... AMAZING!” —Boundless Book Reviews

Return to the beloved beach town of Cliffside Bay, where USA Today bestseller Tess Thompson spins another emotional, intriguing tale about overcoming adversity and finding strength in love in this standalone story about Lisa and Rafael.

After years of struggling as a starving actor, Lisa Perry's dreams are finally coming true. Splitting her time between Los Angeles and Cliffside Bay, the young beauty has a successful television miniseries, her first movie role, and quality time with her best friends Maggie and Pepper. Everything is coming up roses until a single tragic moment changes Lisa forever.

Haunted by unshakable memories and near-crippling anxiety, Lisa must face a publicity tour full of crowds and interviews in order to move her budding career forward. And with the help of Rafael Soto, the head of security for Brody and Kara Mullen, she finally begins to relax. Though the pair are as different as night and day, something about her temporary bodyguard soothes the young actress, and soon their relationship turns from professional to passionate.

But what neither anticipates is that despite the obvious threats to a beautiful ingenue, it's actually her protector who stands in harm's way. Will Lisa and Rafael be able to face the danger awaiting him together, or are they destined to accept yet another tragedy they can't stop?

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Rafael

Rafael Soto had too many demanding women in his life. None of whom greeted him with a kiss after a long shift or wrapped their arms around him after one of his nightmares. The women in his life were married to rich dudes with enormous houses and fast cars. Like the America he’d served for three tours overseas, they needed him for protection, but not for love. All the hassle and none of the pleasure.

These were his thoughts as he opened the door of his old truck after a long day’s work and saw the blonde hurricane in high-heeled sandals bolt out of the Mullens’ front door. Honor Sullivan strode across the driveway toward him. He braced himself, as one should when face-to-face with a human tropical storm.

Flushed and out of breath, she stopped a few feet from him. Her giant diamond wedding ring flashed in the late-afternoon sunlight and nearly blinded him. “Hey, Rafael, you have a quick second?” She gripped a pencil. White knuckles.

He steadied himself with one hand wrapped around the door’s frame and looked into the brown eye of a hurricane. Technically, two eyes of the same hurricane. His free hand twitched at his side. Darned if hadn’t almost lifted it in a salute to his superior. Old habits died hard.

“Afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. What can I do for you?” Although they both worked for Kara and Brody Mullen, Rafael knew his place. He ran security. Honor Sullivan ran the career of former AFL quarterback Brody Mullen. Big difference.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.

“I’d hope not, ma’am.” It occurred to him that Honor’s husband, Zane Shaw, was either the luckiest guy in town or the unluckiest, depending on what side of the storm he found himself.

“Kara told me the construction on the building is complete,” Honor said.

The building. Those two little words had possessed his every thought for months. His building. Six sweet apartments in a Victorian mansion that had drained every dime of his savings. The “renovation” that had chained him to the suits at the bank.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m headed there now to meet Stone and Trey,” Rafael said. “They finished the last details today.”

“Great. Here’s the thing.” Honor swept her long blond hair behind one shoulder. “Lavonne’s been living with us during the remodel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lavonne, former neighbor, was now one of his tenants.

“He’s not, you know, like other people.” Honor pushed the eraser end of the pencil with her thumb three times, like she was sending a message in Morse code. “And he really needs that apartment.”

“I understand,” he said.

Her eyes glittered, scrutinizing him. “Do you? Because he doesn’t have anywhere to go, and he can’t afford a big increase in rent.” The woman had missed her calling. He could’ve used her for interrogation purposes during one of his missions in Iraq.

“He won’t have one. Lavonne knows that.”

“He told me you asked him to move to the middle floor because you changed the first floor into two larger apartments instead of three.”

“That’s correct,” he said.

“He can’t afford a two-bedroom. The studio was all he could manage. I don’t appreciate you screwing him over.” She moved closer to him. “That’s not how we do things in Cliffside Bay.”

He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. No taller than five feet and a few inches, she was like a jelly bean snake can. The minute you twisted off the lid, a plastic snake jumped out and hit you in the eye.

“Ms. Sullivan, I’m not sure where you got your information. I told Lavonne he could have the two-bedroom on the second floor for the same rent he paid for the studio.”

“He told me that’s what you said, but I couldn’t believe it. Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m not in the business of kicking tenants out on the street. Especially Lavonne, whom I consider a friend. That’s not how I do things, regardless of where I live.”

“How will you pay for all the renovations if you don’t raise the rent?” She pointed the pencil at him. For a moment he was back in Sister Rosemary’s seventh-grade English class. “That’s not smart business.”

“I’m not a smart guy.”

She flushed a deeper pink and lifted her chin slightly. “I didn’t say that.”

“No offense taken. I’m not a business guy,” Rafael said. “I didn’t buy the building to make money or even as an investment. I bought the building so my mother and her friend Ria and Lavonne and I could have a safe and beautiful place to live.”

“I don’t understand. Buying an apartment building without the intention of making money is ridiculous.” She stuck the pencil behind one ear.

“Maybe to you. But I’m a soldier. I protect my own. Lavonne’s my friend. I didn’t want him living in that damp, awful studio one minute longer. I aim to get my mother out of a neighborhood infested with gang activity. I’m knee-deep in debt because of it. But what’re you going to do? That’s as good as a guy like me can expect.”

She played with the diamond tennis bracelet around her wrist. “I didn’t believe Lavonne. He told me you guys were friends and that you would never let him down. I thought he was confused. I couldn’t imagine you saying that.”

He winced. What did that mean? “Why?”

“Because of the way you look. Okay, that sounds terrible, but you’re all Navy SEAL-ish and cop-like—you have eyes like scanning devices. And I’ve never seen your teeth.”

“My teeth?”

“You never smile.”

“I smile.” More now that he had veneers. Thanks to his job with the Mullens he’d been able to afford them. For years he’d perfected a tight-lipped smile to hide his gray teeth, damaged from the acne medicine he’d taken as a teenager.

“No, you don’t. You’re this dead-serious, stealthy guy in the background, like a black panther. I couldn’t imagine you having the patience for Lavonne.”

“Patience? Why would I need patience?”

“He’s like a child. Simple. You two couldn’t be more different. You’re a hero and stuff. Lavonne’s my nanny, although sometimes I think Jubie takes care of him and not the other way around.”

“We may seem different, but I’m an outsider. Like him.”

“He doesn’t always understand things, so I thought maybe he was confused.” She continued to look at him as though he was a criminal. Talk about eyes that scanned everything. Took one to know one.

“I understand why you would be concerned,” Rafael said. Lavonne did think slower than some. Sure, he wasn’t going to win any academic contests anytime soon. Exploitative assholes would take advantage of him if they could. However, Lavonne was more emotionally intelligent than most men, Rafael included. “Lavonne gets things on a different level than some guys. He’s all intuition. He knows when someone’s his friend. He says you taught him that.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He told me about the time you were both living with the same foster family and how you looked after him. He told me what you did for Jubie. Taking her in, I mean.” Honor and Zane had adopted Jubie when she was six years old.

“She’s our daughter as much as our baby boy,” Honor said. “From the beginning, we knew she belonged with us.” “She’s an awesome kid. Before we had to move out for the renovations, Jubie and Lavonne came up to hang out quite often.”

Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. “You’ve spent time with Lavonne and Jubie? Like real friends? Just like he said?”

“Jubie likes to look at my military medals.”

“That sounds like her,” Honor said.

“You don’t have to worry about Lavonne as long as he’s living in my building.” Rafael shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?”

Still with the suspicion.

“Yeah. Friends. We watch sports or hang out. We’re both new to town. It’s hard to meet people here. Everyone already has friends and doesn’t seem interested in more.”

“Are you talking about my husband and his friends?” Honor asked. “Are they unfriendly?”

“I’m the hired help, Ms. Sullivan. I don’t expect an invite to one of their poker games.”

“The Mullens don’t think of you as hired help.” Honor tilted her head to the side. “As far as the poker games go, he and the Dogs go way back. You know how men are.”

“Men can only handle so many friends,” he said.

“Something like that.”

“Anyway, you can rest easy about Lavonne. I’ve got his back.”

“You don’t give him beer, do you? He shouldn’t drink. It would be like giving alcohol to a child.” She played with the necklace around her neck.

“I’m not his babysitter. I’m his friend. That said, he’s never asked for a beer. I keep the fridge stocked with root beer just for him.”

She sighed and took a step back, her brown eyes calm after the storm. “Fine, then. I was wrong. I thought he was confused. I’m sorry if I insulted you. Sometimes I’m bossy and bullheaded. My husband’s quick to point it out.”

“It’s no problem. I understand looking out for the people you love.”

“I’m glad you’re Lavonne’s friend. I didn’t realize…the kind of guy you are.” She gazed up at the clear sky for a moment before looking back at him. “Your mother’s moving here?”

“That’s the plan. If I can talk her into it. She’s stubborn and independent, so it’ll be a fight.”

“Sounds like me.”

He nodded as he got into his truck. “Not a thing wrong with either one of you. Have a nice night, Ms. Sullivan.”

“It’s Mrs. Shaw now.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you took his name.” She didn’t seem the type. Maybe he had her pegged wrong, too.

“I’m still getting used to it myself.” Honor took the pencil from behind her ear and grinned. “Mrs. Shaw, wife and mother.”

“Good night, Mrs. Shaw.”

“Good night.” She turned in her high-heeled sandals and strode across the driveway and into the Mullens’ house.

“Hurricane,” he said under his breath as he turned on the engine. If I’d wanted to mess with Lavonne, I certainly wouldn’t now.

Not that he would have. He didn’t have much to claim as his own, but he had his integrity and his loyalty. Without those qualities, what kind of man would he be? Not the one his mama raised.

He was about to take off when Kara came running across the driveway.

Rafael rolled down the window. “Everything all right?”

Dressed in shorts, tank, and tennis shoes, she squinted into the light. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Brody’s plane’s been delayed. I didn’t want Michael to worry when he didn’t show up later.” In stark contrast to Honor, Kara Mullen was tall with an Italian complexion. As nurturing and even-tempered as anyone he’d ever known, it was not much of a stretch to imagine why she’d become a nurse.

“I’ll let him know on my way out,” he said.

“Thanks. Are you headed to the apartments?”

“Yes. The guys are waiting for me. We’re celebrating.”

“I can remember like it was yesterday the first night I stayed in that place,” Kara said with a shiver. “It was so cold and damp. I’d never felt more alone in my life. Now no one will ever have to suffer through another cold night in that place.”

“Stone and Trey have done a phenomenal job.” Between Stone’s contractor work and Trey’s interior design, the place had transformed from depressing to airy, beachy rooms filled with light.

“I’m so happy for you,” Kara said.

“I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay at Flora and Dax’s place these last few months.” Flora, the Mullens’ longtime housekeeper and her husband, Dax, lived in Oregon for part of the year, leaving their home empty. He’d been thrilled to stay there during the renovations.

“They were happy to do it for you. You’ve done so much for our family.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed. “Just doing my job.”

“You know it’s more than that to us,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When I was over at Kyle and Violet’s the other day, Stone mentioned the renovations cost a lot more than you thought they would.”

He scratched his neck. “Yeah, I’m now beholden to the suits for the rest of my life.”

“I know you wanted a place for your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am. Worth every penny,” he said.

She flushed and shuffled her feet, then looked down at her hands. “Discussing money is so awkward. We want to give you a bonus. You’ve been beyond good to me. Trust me, having good security is life-and-death to me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This should help with the renovations. It’s a small token of our appreciation.”

He stared at the envelope. “This isn’t necessary.”

“It is to me. Open it later.” She patted the window frame and backed up a few feet. “You go have fun. Say hi to the guys for me.”

He watched her sprint across the driveway and disappear into her house. Unsure how to react, he tossed the envelope onto the seat. He’d look later and decide whether it was a bonus or  charity.

He drove out of the driveway, the Mullens’ palatial house in his rearview mirror.

***

Minutes later, Rafael arrived at his albatross. Located on the main street of town, the run-down Victorian mansion had long ago been turned into apartments. Now it finally fit in with the rest of the quaint, scenic town. With Stone’s help, he’d chosen a soft shade of gray for the exterior, and white for the trim and wraparound porch. He loved that stupid porch more than he should. There was just something about a porch that screamed family and friends. He’d already imagined his mother, Ria, Stone, Trey, and Lavonne gathered on a warm summer day for a barbecue. Against his better judgment, he’d sprung for a nice grill that was now tucked into the corner of the porch waiting for a few steaks.

Rafael Soto from Oakland owned a Victorian. Go figure. Life was nothing if not full of surprises.

The property was big enough for a small parking lot behind the house. Rafael took the spot between Stone’s truck and Trey’s vintage sports car. The vehicles were like the men themselves. Stone was a massive workhorse of a man, whereas Trey was compact and fast, both in mind and body.

He found them inside one of the first-floor apartments, leaning against the kitchen counter with beers in their hands.

“Hey, man,” Stone said as he reached into a small cooler and pulled out one of the IPAs from Zane Shaw’s local brewery. “We’re celebrating.” He tossed the bottle to Rafael, who caught it with one hand.

“It’s official. Operation Save Mama is complete.” Trey’s aqua-blue eyes seemed to dance as his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

“It’s surreal, I’ve got to admit.” Rafael screwed the top off his beer, then took a long swig. “God, I love the smell in here.” The scent of mildew had been replaced by the aroma of fresh paint and stained wood.

Rafael stomped his feet. Solid. Floors no longer creaked. Stairs were now sturdy.

“What do you think? Will this do for your mama?” Stone’s chiseled, almost hard features could scare anyone with a pointed look in their direction. Until he opened his mouth and it became obvious that he was a giant man with a giant heart.

“Do you think she’ll love it as much as we do?” Trey asked.

“Dude, you guys killed it. She’s going to love every inch,” Rafael said. They’d gone high-end with the cabinets and countertops in all the apartments. To give it a beachy feel, Trey had chosen white cabinets and light granite countertops, but dark floors. Light green paint on the walls looked anywhere between beige and white, depending on the time of day.

Two years ago, when he moved to Cliffside Bay for the job with the Mullens, Rafael figured his chances of finding anything to buy unlikely. Real estate in the sleepy seaside community rarely came on the market. The few available properties were way out of his price range. He’d given up his dream of owning his own home and moved into the damp and cold apartment on the top floor of the old Victorian.

When Old Man Cooper, as he was known in the community, had announced he’d like to sell the building, Rafael had gone to him with an offer. To his surprise, Cooper had a soft spot for veterans. With twenty percent down, he’d taken a loan for the rest, and the building was his. After inspection.

During inspection, they found as many problems as the Victorian was years old—rotting floorboards, plumbing problems, and electrical issues. The building was deemed unsafe for tenants without a major rebuild. Everything would have to be gutted and replaced. Knowing that additional financial debt was inevitable, and he’d have to live frugally, he’d gone forward with the deal. The debt didn’t matter. Now he had a place for Mama and Ria. Finally, he would get them out of the old neighborhood.

Stone took his baseball cap off and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, then put it back on again. “We want the other third-floor apartment.”

“You two?” Rafael asked. “Sure.” The apartments on the second and third floors were two bedrooms. One of the second-story places was slotted for Lavonne. Rafael had the top-floor apartment with the ocean view, but the other one was still available. “That just leaves one empty on the second floor.”

“We decided we could afford it if we rented it together,” Trey said.

“I can’t live in that RV for another winter,” Stone said.

“And neither of us can afford a house right now,” Trey said.

“Plus, we need a place to entertain the ladies,” Stone said.

“What ladies?” Trey laughed. “It’s not like college. That was like shooting fish in a barrel.” He took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a cloth from his pocket. Although often in slacks and a jacket when he met with his fancy clients, Trey was dressed casually today in trendy jeans, a perfectly cut button-down shirt the same color as his eyes, and tan loafers Rafael wouldn’t be caught wearing, dead or alive.

“Rafael and I didn’t go to college. We were too busy defending our country,” Stone said as he tossed a bottle cap at him.

“Sorry,” Trey mumbled.

“I’m just messing with you,” Stone said. “My ego is plenty big enough without having gone to college.”

“Huge,” Rafael said.

“But let’s face it. We’re on some serious loser streaks when it comes to women,” Stone said.

“It’s because we’re broke,” Trey said.

“True,” Rafael said.

“Girls like dudes with money,” Stone said. “If you’re ugly, then you better be rich.”

“Which means you’re screwed,” Trey said.

Stone put everything he made back into his business and lived in an RV on his brother Kyle’s property. Despite his sophisticated, arty vibe, which women seemed to love, Trey didn’t stand a chance. An interior designer who had lost most of his money to his ex-wife and lived in the basement of an old lady’s house wasn’t exactly marriage material.

And what about him? He had a scar from a bullet in his shoulder and a scar on his soul from the moment in Iraq that he could never take back. No amount of wishing could make either of them disappear.

“I forgot to tell you. Lisa Perry asked about you the other day,” Stone said to Rafael.

“What? When?” Rafael asked.

“I was over at Maggie’s, installing a new shelf in the baby’s room, and Lisa happened by,” Stone said. “She was like, ‘Hey, how’s Rafael? I haven’t seen him around all summer.’” His voice went up in a terrible attempt at imitating beautiful, sweet Lisa Perry.

“You’re lying to me,” Rafael said.

“Swear on my life,” Stone said.

“Lisa’s the blonde one, right?” Trey asked as he put his glasses back on.

“The blonde one?” Rafael asked. “That’s how you describe her? She’s like an angel inhabiting the earth. Seriously, she’s the most beautiful woman ever born, not to mention sweet and kind.” He’d been walking past the church in town when she’d come out with Maggie and Jackson. At the sight of her, he’d stumbled on the sidewalk like a total dork. “Have you seen that show she’s in? Indigo Road?”

“Yeah, Violet made me watch it with her,” Stone said. “I did not cry at that one part, no matter who tells you differently.”

“How come you haven’t asked her out?” Trey asked. “I mean, given that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and everything?”

“Lisa Perry doesn’t go for a guy like me,” Rafael said. “She belongs with a guy like Mullen.”

Stone tipped his hat. “True enough. Or rich guys like my brother and the rest of his friends.”

“What do they call themselves again?” Trey asked.

“The Dogs.” Stone rolled his eyes. “My brother thought of it. Which is embarrassing.”

“The Dogs. Rich, good-looking, successful. Gorgeous, smart wives,” Trey said with a mournful sigh. “Those guys have it made. We’re more like the mangy wolves of Cliffside Bay.”

Rafael laughed. “The Mangy Wolves. Perfect.”

“Wolves can be sexy,” Stone said. “We’re bad boys, right?”

“Rafael yes,” Trey said. “You? Not unless teddy bears are bad.”

“I’ll have you know I used to beat the crap out of anyone who even nodded sideways at my brother or Autumn,” Stone said. “And I was a marine, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“Other than your thick neck, it’s hard to imagine.” Trey gave him a good-natured shove.

“God’s honest truth, though,” Stone said. “I wish I could get somewhere with that sassy Pepper, but she hates my guts. I have no idea what I did.”

“You probably put your big foot in your mouth,” Trey said.

“In an attempt to be funny,” Rafael added.

“You two are going to make me cry.” Stone stuck his lip out and pretended to wipe his eyes.

“We may be total losers when it comes to women, and we’re dead broke—and you two are ugly—but we did good when it comes to this building.” Rafael turned to look around the apartment once more, admiring the gleaming chrome appliances. “Joking aside, I can’t thank you enough for making this place world-class.”

Stone grinned and hopped down from the counter. “Come on, we’ve got a surprise for you up in your apartment.”

“I don’t like surprises.” Rafael grimaced. Knowing Trey, he’d taken it upon himself to install some antique bathtub he’d had shipped from Italy.

“You’ll like this one,” Stone said as he grabbed the cooler of beer.

“I wish I had a little money left over to decorate,” Rafael said as he followed the guys out of the apartment. “My old crappy furniture is going to look even older and crappier now.”

“Yeah, but this is yours, man,” Stone said.

“No one can take that away from you,” Trey said. “Unless you get married and your wife takes everything you own.”

“Dude, we’ve got to get you laid,” Stone said. “Your bitterness is starting to stink up the place.”

They walked up the wide stairway that led to the third floor. When they arrived at Rafael’s new apartment, Trey opened the door and stood aside. “Go on in.”

Rafael gasped and froze in the entryway. “What the hell?” The main room was fully decorated. “It’s incredible.” Black and gray furniture with splashes of cobalt blue in pillows and lamps gave it a masculine feel but not overly so. “But how? I mean, all this stuff must have cost so much money. I don’t get it.”

“Kara Mullen,” Trey said. “She called me last month and said she wanted to pay for the entire apartment to be decorated.”

“But how did you know what I liked?” Rafael asked.

“I had to take some guesses from the photos you’d pinned on your Pinterest board,” Trey said.

Rafael went hot. “You know I have a Pinterest board?”

“It took a little digging, but I found it, Latinlover83,” Trey said with a laugh.

“Latinlover83? No way.” Stone doubled over with laughter.

“Okay now, calm down,” Rafael said. “I was collecting photos for when I could afford to decorate.”

“How’d I do?” Trey asked. “It was rough doing it without input.”

“You did great, man. Seriously.” The dark gray accent wall and white trim had been in one of the photos on his board. Abstract prints in soothing blues and greens that reminded Rafael of the landscape of Cliffside Bay hung on the walls. His medals were now in a glass display case on a bookshelf behind the couch.

Rafael walked over to the black stone gas fireplace. A framed photograph of his mama and him as well as an arrangement of seashells decorated the mantel.

“Your mom sent the photo,” Trey said. “She said you might like it for your mantel, so I got it framed.”

Rafael ran his finger over the bumpy pattern etched in the wooden frame. Mama smiled back at him, her narrow shoulders thrown back like she was the queen of everything. She was the queen. To him, anyway. He set the photo back on the mantel and turned to his friends.

“Check out the view,” Stone said.

“That’s the only part I expected,” Rafael said.

Trey pointed to the off-white waffle shades that hung from the windows. “I chose something simple. When these are down, you’ll still get some light, but they’ll keep out the harsh afternoon sun.”

In a daze, Rafael ambled over to the bay windows that faced out to the sea. They’d had to comply with height restrictions, but the view from this floor skirted above town and looked out to the long stretch of public beach at the end of Main Street. Today, umbrellas in every color populated the beach from one end to the other. Kids played in the sand; surfers rode waves; a long line of tourists waited in front of a food truck parked in the dirt lot above the beach. He sighed with pleasure.

“Come see the kitchen,” Trey said.

He followed his friend. The cabinets and granite were the same as the other apartments, but Trey had added a teal sea-glass backsplash. Vases and bowls in the same soft color adorned a shelf in the corner. “I’m going to have to learn to cook.”

He placed both hands on the distressed wood of the dark-chocolate-colored rectangular table. Like an upscale picnic table, long benches took the place of chairs. Three large pendant lights in the same sea-glass shade hung over the table.

“In case you ever have people over for dinner,” Trey said. “Kara’s idea.”

“We can have dinner parties like grown-ups,” Stone said.

“The three of us sitting around this table is just sad,” Rafael said with a laugh.

They went to the bedroom next. Trey had chosen soothing blues and distressed mahogany furniture. There was a partial view of the ocean from the west-facing wall. The other window looked out to the houses that crawled up the hillside. Directly below, tourists dressed in shorts and tanks strolled by with ice cream cones in their hands.

“This is really mine?” Rafael asked as he turned to look at his friends.

“It’s yours, man.” Stone raised one of his monster arms, biceps bulging, and tipped his beer bottle toward Rafael. “Hell of a lot better than our cots in the military, huh?”

Rafael raised his bottle. “Thanks for this. It’s more than I expected. More than I deserve.”

“Come on, let’s get another beer and enjoy your living room,” Trey said.

When they all had new beverages, Stone set his beer on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch with his arms folded over his massive chest. “I have something I want to run by you guys. Have a seat.”

Rafael and Trey sat in the armchairs across from Stone. “What’s up?” Trey asked. “You look serious.”

“What do you guys think about going into business together?” Stone asked.

“How do you mean?” Rafael asked.

“Do what we did with this one. Buy a building or house, clean it up, and either rent it out or flip it,” Stone said.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rafael said. “For you two. You’re the ones with the talent. Plus, every dime I had I put into this place.”

“We could take out loans. Veteran loans,” Stone said. “My brother said he’d lend me some money if we wanted to get started. And he’s here if we need advice.”

Kyle was a commercial real estate developer. If anyone could help, it would be him.

“As far as what your part would be, you’re the most anal, organized, money-tracking bastard I’ve ever met,” Stone said to Rafael. “You could run the business and find us places to buy and flip.”

“My best friend from college is a landscape architect.” Trey’s eyes lit up as the idea seemed to take hold of him. “Nico might be interested in joining us. He’s working for a jerk down in San Diego right now. He’s coming up in a few weeks. We could talk to him about it then.”

“A fourth partner would be good. Less risk,” Stone said.

“Less reward, but I get what you’re saying,” Rafael said. “I’d have to keep my day job, though. At least until we started making a profit.”

“Would we need an architect?” Trey asked.

“We can hire that out if we need one,” Stone said.

“I’ll think about it,” Rafael said. He reached into his pocket for the envelope Kara had given him. Now that he saw what she’d done, he felt even less like cashing it. However, if he used it more like a loan for the business, he could possibly pay them back.

“Like seriously think or like blowing me off because you don’t want to hurt my feelings?” Stone asked.

“The first one,” Rafael said.

“We could be Wolf Construction,” Trey said.

“Wolf Enterprises. That sounds fancier,” Stone said.

“It has a nice ring to it,” Rafael said.

Stone raised his beer. “To the future.”

“To the future,” Rafael and Trey repeated.

A knock on the door drew their attention away from their toast. Who could that be?

“You expecting someone?” Stone asked as he crossed the room in three long strides and opened the door.

Lisa Perry and Pepper Griffin stood in the doorway.

Rafael’s stomach did a somersault as he rose to his feet. Even dressed in cutoff jeans and a tank top that hugged her slender waist, Lisa was otherworldly beautiful with her alabaster skin, white-blond hair, and ice-blue eyes.

“Um, yeah, come on in,” Rafael said, finally.

“Hello, boys.” Pepper Griffin was petite and skinny with white skin and black hair cut to chin level. He wouldn’t describe her as classically pretty, more striking, with dark eyes that seemed to take up too much of her face.

“What’re you girls up to?” Stone took his hat off and held it in front of him like a kid, obviously flustered in the presence of Pepper. The poor sap had it bad.

“We were at the bookstore and saw Stone’s truck.” Lisa crossed over and gave him a quick hug. They were on hugging terms? When had that happened? Stone lived on his brother’s property, which was next door to Jackson and Maggie’s place. Maybe they’d spent time together over the summer. He knew Lisa had been staying there for a few weeks at least.

“Come in. Have a seat,” Rafael said.

Lisa sat on the couch, but Pepper moved about the room, seeming to inspect every square foot. Stone watched her as he leaned against the mantel and drank his beer.

“We’re sorry to come by uninvited,” Lisa said. “This apartment is gorgeous.”

“Kara Mullen surprised me and hired Trey to decorate it,” Rafael said.

Lisa’s dainty hands clasped together. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

“Supersweet,” Pepper said. “Trey, it looks amazing.”

“Appreciate it,” Trey said.

“The Mullens must love you,” Lisa said to Rafael.

“They’re mega rich,” Pepper said. “This is nothing to them. That’s how rich people exploit the working man. They do something like this and their employee stays with them forever, even if you pay them like crap.”

“Pepper, how gauche.” Lisa shot Rafael a sheepish smile. “I can’t take her anywhere.”

“They’re very good to me,” Rafael said. Pepper was like her name. A little bit went a long way. “Trey decorated the entire apartment without any input from me. He totally nailed it.”

“He had Rafael’s Pinterest board for a reference point,” Stone said.

Note to self: Kill Stone in his sleep.

“I love Pinterest.” Lisa smiled at him, and his heart grew. “I’ll follow you.” The whole world fell away for a moment as they stared at each other.

“Maybe you two can exchange recipes,” Stone said.

“Or I could just cook something for you,” Lisa said to Rafael.

“I have a lot of favorite recipes.”

Cook something for you.

Lisa turned her attention to Trey. “Someday I’m going to have a house and I want you to decorate it. You did such a good job with Maggie’s home.” A hint of wistfulness touched her voice. “I’m in love with every room.”

“And Maggie’s baby.” Pepper perched on the edge of the ottoman.

Lisa colored. “I have baby lust, it’s true.”

Baby lust. Could she be any more adorable?

“I built everything in here with my sweat, blood, and tears.” Stone held up his giant hands. “With my bare hands.”

Lisa smiled at Stone. “You big baby. You’re wonderful, too.”

“Thank you. I feel better now,” Stone said, grinning. “Calluses are sexy, right, Pepper?”

Pepper lifted a haughty chin and shot darts from her eyes aimed right at Stone’s chest. “If you like dead skin, sure.”

Stone laughed and winked at her. Pepper turned away, focusing her attention on the bowl of seashells on the table.

Lisa pointed at the cooler. “Are you having a party and didn’t invite us?”

“Worker bee party,” Stone said.

“We finished the renovations and got this place decorated. We’re celebrating,” Trey said.

“Would you ladies like anything? We only have beer,” Rafael asked, remembering his manners.

Lisa nodded. “We’d love one.”

“We’re never one to turn down adult beverages,” Pepper said.

“And we’re celebrating too,” Lisa said. “Pepper’s been offered a movie role.”

“That’s great,” Trey said.

Pepper shrugged her narrow shoulders and tossed her black curls. “It’s a horror film. I’m dead by the end of the first act.”

“Her character just has to look in that closet.” Lisa’s eyes danced as she took a beer from Stone.

“I’ll get my own,” Pepper said when Stone reached back into the cooler.

He grabbed a beer and held it out to Pepper with a saucy grin. “No. You’re our guest. I insist.”

Pepper smirked and took it from him. “Yes, sir.”

Okay now. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, other than five thousand sexual sparks and a major attitude from Miss Pepper.

Stone settled back into the couch, returning the smirk.

“What brings you by, anyway?” Rafael asked.

“We’ve come about an apartment,” Lisa said. “Is there one available?”

Rafael almost choked on his beer. Lisa Perry, living in his building? “Just one. It’s a two-bedroom on the second floor.”

Lisa’s face lit up. “That’s perfect. We want a place to share.”

“We’ll be in and out because of our work,” Pepper said. “But we want an apartment in Cliffside Bay to be by Maggie.”

“I hate living alone,” Lisa said. “So Pepper’s agreed to put up with me.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Until this movie role I was so broke she took pity on me and offered to pay for a place.”

“Stop it. That’s not true,” Lisa said, with a shy duck of her chin.

“Lisa Perry is about to become a huge star,” Pepper said.

“Did you hear about Raven yet?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Rafael knew everything about Lisa Perry that was possible to know without having said more than a half dozen words to her. Unlike some, information about Lisa was easy to find. She was an actress with a recent hit series as the main character on a period piece called Indigo Road that aired on HBO. He’d watched every episode. Twice. Next week, her first feature film came out. According to what he read on the internet, she was about to become the next big thing.

“Pepper’s going to jinx me,” Lisa said. “She tells everyone we meet.”

“It couldn’t happen to a sweeter girl,” Stone said. “I’m happy for you.”

“She’s not a girl,” Pepper said. “Why do guys like you always call women girls?”

Stone raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

“Well, you should think before you talk,” Pepper said.

“Yes ma’am.” Stone saluted her. “A guy like me will take that under advisement.”

Pepper’s eyes flew open even wider.

“Why do girls like you always call us guys?” Stone asked.

“It’s very offensive. We’re grown men.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a jackass,” Pepper said.

“A guy like me or a jackass? Which is it?” Stone asked.

“You know what—” Pepper said, before Lisa interrupted her.

“Pepper, give it a rest.” Lisa put her hand on her arm. “Maybe we could see the apartment now?”

“Sure, yeah,” Rafael said. The thought of Lisa Perry living downstairs from him made him light-headed. Not like it would give him more of a chance with her. Frankly, it was probably the perfect recipe for misery. She’d have men over and he’d see every one of the bastards leave from his building having spent the night with an angel.

He left the guys with their beers and took the ladies down the stairs to the second floor. The two apartments were mirror images of each other. One had a peekaboo view of the ocean. The other faced east and would have beautiful views of the sunrise over the mountains. Since Lavonne had already chosen the ocean view, he opened the door of the other apartment.

Lisa squealed and did this cute bouncy thing on her feet. “Rafael, it’s gorgeous. You guys did an amazing job.”

Pepper was at the window. “We’ll see the sun rise.”

They’d gone with an open-floor concept in the first- and second-floor apartments, with the kitchen and great room one big room. Trey had assured him that it would be the best use of space and light. He’d agreed, knowing nothing about either.

The ladies loved the bedrooms and complimented the bathroom for being spacious.

“Pepper’s a total slob,” Lisa said.

“I am not.” Pepper smacked her playfully on the shoulder.

“Who’s living directly above us?” Lisa asked. “Are they noisy?”

Neither of the other guys had said a word about the other apartment belonging to them. Instinct told him to keep quiet for now.

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“When can we move in?” Lisa asked.

“Don’t you want to know the rent?” he asked.

Lisa smacked her forehead. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot to ask.”

He kept his voice steady, embarrassed by the amount. “Two thousand. Includes utilities.”

“Great,” Lisa said. “We’ll take it.”

“Come on. I’ll get your set of keys.”

Chapter 2: Lisa

Lisa woke the next morning in the guest room at Maggie’s house and reached for her phone. Using the bank app, she pulled up her savings account. She stared at the beautiful seven-figure sum and grinned. Soon, she would invest most of it, but for now she liked to remember how far she’d come.

Her manager, Sasha, had negotiated a good deal for a relatively unknown actress. The director had wanted her after seeing Indigo Road. If she was smart and invested conservatively, she could make it stretch over the rest of her life. She might not get another acting job. It was possible. Raven could be a flop. They could change their minds about a second season of Indigo Road. One never knew. For now, she was content knowing she would never have to take another cocktail waitressing job or search for coins in the cushions of the couch.

In a few days, she would leave for weeks of promotional activities, including the premier of Raven. As part of her contract, she was to appear on a variety of talk shows. Her reward would be to come home to a cute apartment where she would have a few months to relax before heading north to film the new season of Indigo Road.

After they left Rafael yesterday evening, she’d texted Trey to see if he could decorate the apartment for them while she was away. He’d agreed to have it ready for them when she returned at the end of August.

She showered and headed downstairs. Maggie and Jackson would have been up for at least an hour. Lily woke early and liked to have her breakfast after a good snuggle with Mommy. Jackson would already be at the office. As the primary doctor of Cliffside Bay, he probably had a slew of patients waiting.

The house smelled of coffee and cinnamon. A freshly baked breakfast cake was cooling on the counter. Lisa took a big sniff but made a piece of dry toast instead. Standing at the sink, she ate her piece of toast and watched the sparrows play in the birdbath. She loved these beautiful creatures, so delicate and graceful, yet strong enough to soar across the yard.

Her thoughts turned to Rafael Soto. During the weeks she’d been at Maggie’s this summer, he hadn’t appeared at any of the parties or nights out at the brewery. She hadn’t asked anyone about him, not wanting to give herself away. Yesterday, she’d thought about taking him aside and asking him to dinner, but she was too shy. She couldn’t tell if he liked her. He was so reserved it was impossible to make a guess either way. Stupidly, she’d asked Stone Hickman about him. The answer was noncommittal. “He’s fine. We’ve been too busy with the renovation to do much but work.”

She followed the sound of Maggie’s music into the living room. Maggie was on the couch with her guitar in hand. Music sheets were spread across the coffee table. Lily played on the floor with blocks. Pepper lounged in the chaise in the corner of the room, reading the book she’d bought yesterday. Neither of the grown-ups did much in the way of greeting, other than a grunt from Pepper and a headshake by Maggie. The little one, however, let out a joyful shriek and flung herself into Lisa’s arms.

“Hello, love.” Lisa sat on the floor with her back against the couch and brought Lily onto her lap. She kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of those red curls. She was a beautiful child, with white skin and red hair like her mother. She looked like Maggie, except for her blue eyes. Those were all Jackson.

“Sasaw,” Lily said as she snuggled into her chest. This was her nickname. Lisa turned to Sasaw.

Pepper sneezed. “I think I’m getting sick.” She didn’t seem to require a response, as she didn’t even look up from her book.

The three of them knew one another so well, there was really no need for talking. It could have been their apartment in New York except for the luxurious furnishings, the enormous house, and the most beautiful blue-eyed one-year-old on the planet.

Although she and Pepper adored staying at the house, it wasn’t fair to Jackson that they were always here. He never said anything, other than how much he loved Lisa’s cooking and appreciated Pepper’s insistence on doing the dishes. However, Lisa knew they needed to be alone in their nest without Pepper and Lisa mooching around. She’d been thrilled when Kara mentioned Rafael’s apartment building. The fact that Rafael owned it had nothing to do with why she wanted to rent the place. Right? Wrong. Fine. He was icing on an otherwise delicious cake. Who was she kidding? Rafael Soto was the best icing on the best cake ever made.

The plan was to live part-time here and part-time in Los Angeles, as needed. She and Pepper didn’t have a place in LA, but they’d agreed to discuss that after Pepper returned from British Columbia, where she was shooting the horror film.

She stretched and smiled as she gazed at the copper head against her chest. Morning sun softened the room. Outside the French doors, red flowers climbed a trellis. On the other side of the stone patio, the swimming pool was a deep blue. Life was different here in the land of sea and sunshine. The moment Lisa and Pepper arrived in California, their lives had fallen into place. At long last, it seemed their dues had been paid, and the lives they’d dreamed of were unfolding before them.

Maggie had reconnected with her childhood sweetheart, and now they had a beautiful home and a precious daughter. After a hit debut folk/rock album, Maggie was going on a short concert tour.

Life was good and about to get better.

Pepper sneezed again. “I’m definitely getting sick.”

“Don’t give it to the baby,” Maggie said.

“We have the concert tomorrow,” Lisa said. “You can’t get sick.” She and Pepper were heading north to a country music festival before they had to ship off to their destinations.

She startled when the doorbell rang. Maggie didn’t look up from her guitar, nor Pepper from her book. “Come on, Lily, let’s go see who it is.” With the baby on her hip, she traipsed down the hall to the front door. She tried to open it, but realized the lock was latched. Jackson always locked the door after he left in the morning.

She unlocked the door and yanked it open.

Rafael Soto.

Goodness, the man was hot in a T-shirt. He also wore cargo shorts and those sports sandals that were so popular out here. A manila envelope dangled from his right hand. Her name was written in even handwriting across the top. She was always impressed by how tidy he appeared: closely cropped hair, trimmed and clean fingernails, freshly shaven. A precise man. One who wasted no energy on false moves. She wondered if he’d take those same skills into the bedroom.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hi,” Lily said, loud and clear, then waved. They joked that Lily waved like a pageant girl.

“Is this Lily?” Rafael asked. “She’s gotten so big.”

“She just had her first birthday, and she’s walking.”

“Is that early?” he asked.

“Um. No, not early. Right on time.”

“I’m sorry to bother you but I forgot to give you the paperwork to fill out.” He held up the envelope. “It’s a few legal documents to fill out.”

The morning sun was causing her to squint. “Come in, please.”

He grimaced and scratched behind his ear. “No, I can just give them to you and be on my way. You can drop them by later, or I can come back out to get them.”

“Please, come in. Lily and I are just hanging out. I have coffee cake.”

His dark brown eyes darted to his truck as if he wanted to escape. “I do like coffee cake.”

She moved aside so he could step past her.

“It smells good in here,” he said.

“This house always smells good. It’s because a family lives here.”

She avoided the living room and went straight into the kitchen. “Sit. Would you care for coffee?”

“Only if it’s already made.” He placed the envelope on the island and sat on one of the stools.

“You want cake too, Lily?”

Lily smiled and nodded her head with more enthusiasm than was necessary. “Yes. Cake.”

“She likes cake as much as I do,” Rafael said.

“She has limited experience of the world, but I’d have to say cake is her very favorite thing.”

“Cake,” Lily said.

Lisa set Lily in her high chair and latched the seat belt. She put the baby’s tray in place, then turned to get a coffee cup.

“You must have a lot of experience with babies,” Rafael said.

“A little. My twin brother has two. My niece is a little older than Lily. My nephew, Oliver, is almost four.” She poured coffee into a mug. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Just a little cream.”

She set a small pitcher in front of him.

“Fancy,” he said.

“Maggie keeps it in the fridge,” Lisa said. This house was all about the coffee.

Lily thumped her tray table and yelled cake three times in a row.

Lisa laughed as she cut a small piece for the baby and set it on the tray. Lily stuffed the entire thing in her mouth.

“She’ll need a bath later,” Lisa said.

“Is Maggie out?” he asked.

“No, she’s in the living room. She’s working on a new song. When she’s like that, I watch the baby so she can work. She gets laser focused.” Lisa cut a large square piece and set it on a plate, then slid it over to him. “Would you like a fork?”

“Yes, please.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “If I was alone, I’d just stuff the whole thing in my mouth like my friend Lily.”

Lisa warmed at the sight of his smile and handed him a fork. “You should smile more. You have a beautiful one.”

He cut into the cake with his fork. “You’re the second person in two days to say that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Honor Shaw pointed it out yesterday when she was threatening me with a sharp pencil.”

Lisa laughed. “Honor is like Hermia. ‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’”

He looked at her blankly. “Hermia?”

“Shakespeare. Midsummer Night’s Dream. Never mind. Theater geek joke.”

“I don’t know much about Shakespeare.”

She flushed. Why had she said that? It had obviously made him feel bad. So thoughtless. No wonder she could never find a good man.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say,” she said. “Most people wouldn’t recognize that quote. I probably sounded pretentious.”

He looked up from his cake. As he held his fork in midair, his brown eyes looked straight into hers. “Why are you apologizing? You should never say you’re sorry for knowing something others don’t. Just because I’m an uneducated slob doesn’t mean you should apologize for sharing your expertise. Men love to make women feel shamed when their fragile egos are threatened, so women have learned to pretend they know less than they do. Real men know smart women are sexy.” He went back to his cake.

She had no idea what to say. For one thing, she’d never heard him say that many words in a row. Secondly, he sounded about as opposite of an “uneducated slob” as one could get.

“That’s very enlightened of you,” she said, finally.

He looked up, amusement in his eyes. “If you met my mama, everything about me would be perfectly clear.”

“Given your experiences, I’d bet money you know a heck of a lot more than most.” She topped off his coffee.

He touched the napkin to his mouth. “The stuff I know—I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“Oh dear.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in one of his quarter smiles.

“It’s okay. I took the gig. The military got me out of poverty. I live with the consequences.”

“You’re a hero, though. That must mean something to you.”

“It’s validating when people thank me for my service. But what happens in war is never as black and white as civilians like to think. Whether or not I was heroic is something only God can decide.”

“I suppose that’s true for all of us.”

He picked up his plate and mug. “Thank you for the coffee and the cake. You made my day off even better.” He came around the island and set the dishes by the sink. Rafael Soto moved like a stealthy panther, without making a sound and with dexterous ease. When he passed by her, she caught the scent of him—fresh soap and a spicy deodorant. No cologne. He wasn’t the type.

He knelt by Lily’s high chair. The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled under his thin shirt.

“How’s your cake?” he asked the baby.

She held up a sticky hand in response and smiled.

Rafael straightened and put his hand over his chest. “She’s a heartbreaker.” He touched the top of her head. “This hair.”

“I know. I hate to leave her, but I have work stuff coming up.” Three weeks without Lily and the sea breeze.

“When will you be back?”

“At the end of August. I’ll have some time off before we film the second season of Indigo Road.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Second season’s taking forever to come out.”

What? He’d seen the show? “You watch?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flickered to above her head.

“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Soto.”

“It’s not my usual type of show, but since I kind of know you, I had to tune in. It’s not every day a guy like me knows a beautiful movie star.”

“I’m not really a star.”

“You’re extremely talented. I can’t take my eyes off you.” He cleared his throat. “Onscreen, I mean.”

“Really?”

“It’s hard to imagine how anyone could.”

“I can. Trust me. I hate watching myself. And my voice. I’m always, like, ‘Do I really sound like that?’”

“Everything about you is beautiful. Including your voice.” He nodded toward the door. “I should go.” He crossed the kitchen without making a sound.

Everything about you is beautiful. Had he just said that, or had she heard him wrong?

Do it. Just do it now before he leaves and you lose your chance.

“Would you ever want to go out sometime? Like for dinner or something?” she asked his backside.

Almost to the door, he whipped around to look at her. “You want to go out with me?”

“Yes. I mean, if you want to.” Why had she asked him? He didn’t want to go out with her. If he did, he would have asked her already.

“I can’t afford much, as far as dinner goes.” His hands were back in his pockets. “Everything I’ve got is sunk into the building.”

“I’ll cook for you then. In my new apartment.”

He looked at the floor and tugged on his collar. “I’m not boyfriend material. Not for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” What did that mean? She wasn’t good enough for him? Too many ex-boyfriends for a good Catholic boy? Too New York jaded?

“Hollywood. Old-school glamour.” He glanced behind him, like he was expecting someone to walk through the door. “You didn’t ask how much the rent was.”

She looked down at the counter and placed her sweating hands flat against the cool granite. Stupid girl for thinking he might like you. “All right. Enough said. Forget I asked.”

She waited for him to leave, wishing the floor would open and whisk her away.

“Lisa.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Trust me when I say, it’s not you but me.”

“Yeah. No problem. I get it.” She didn’t get it. What did money have to do with anything? Up until recently she’d had less than Rafael.

“I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Really. I misread the signals.” Just leave, please.

“You can fill the paperwork out and bring it by whenever you can.”

“Will do.”

He turned to go, but then stopped and returned his gaze to her. “The reason I don’t smile is because my teeth used to be gray.” He tapped his mouth. “I got these Hollywood teeth put on a year ago. I’m still learning how to smile.”

She nodded. There was a time she needed to learn how to smile, too. During those dark days she wasn’t sure she ever would again. “I understand perfectly.”

“See you around.”

And with that he was gone.

***

Lisa stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers under the unforgiving August sun. Mist from the sprinklers strategically placed around the fairground’s concert arena was the only relief from the heat. Dust covered her feet and ankles. The air smelled of beer, popcorn, and sweaty bodies.

They were waiting for the last act of the day—headliner Wyatt Black.

Lisa smiled at the woman next to her.

“Popcorn?” she asked.

“I’m good. I’ve got my beer,” Lisa said.

“I’m Cheryl. Seeing Wyatt was on my bucket list,” she said.

“My husband got these tickets for my fiftieth birthday. He was supposed to come, but he got called into work.”

“I’m sorry. My best friend was supposed to come but she’s sick.”

“Well, we can be each other’s dates then,” Cheryl said.

“Done.” They exchanged another smile.

She wished Pepper could be here. Sadly, those initial sneezes were indeed the beginning of a cold. This morning she hadn’t been able to get out of bed. Lisa had borrowed Maggie’s car and driven by herself. It was fine, she’d told herself during the hour it took to get to the festival from Cliffside Bay. Being alone was good for her. She needed to do more things alone. Twins were never alone. Then she’d become a triplet with Maggie and Pepper. She had to learn to be comfortable doing things solo.

As Wyatt Black took the stage, the crowd roared its welcome. Wyatt Black was the hottest thing in country music. Classically good-looking but with a bad-boy aura, he crooned a love song like no one else.

After the audience applause lessened, he sang the opening notes of his current hit. She and Cheryl locked arms, strangers united by their love of music. Lisa noted Cheryl’s sandals, a little ragged and faded. Her husband had probably saved for months to afford these tickets.

The crowd sang along with Wyatt. They all knew the lyrics, as though they’d helped write them. His was the voice of the people in this audience. Hardworking Americans felt a kinship with this man. He was them. Wyatt had grown up in a trailer in the woods with his single mother. The odds to break out of the cycle of poverty were stacked against him. Yet he had. By writing songs that gave a voice to the poor, the working class, the disenfranchised. His lyrics were about real struggles: money problems, heartbreak, family, love. They were deceptively simple, in Lisa’s opinion. The words and music combined with Wyatt’s soulful voice touched a chord in people, made them feel less alone in a terrifying world. Women swooned for him. Men felt as if he were their brother.

Her thoughts drifted to Rafael. He’d misjudged her. She understood the people in this audience far better than she did the people she’d met in Hollywood. These were her people. If he weren’t so prideful, Rafael might have taken the time to see beyond outside appearances. He had no idea of the dark places she’d been. Now he never would. Whatever. He was just another jerk, like all the guys she liked.

A popping sound interrupted the music. Was there something wrong with the sound system? Wyatt continued to sing for a moment, then stopped, looking confused. Crew rushed onto the stage and pulled Wyatt and the band off arena. The popping sound continued, like the loudest popcorn maker ever made.

Someone shouted, “There’s a shooter.”

That was the popping noise. Bullets. A shooter.

Bullets rained from the sky.

She and Cheryl looked in each other’s eyes. “We have to get out of here,” Lisa said as her beer fell to the ground.

Lisa grabbed Cheryl’s hand. The crowd surged, this way, then that, both the individual and the collective searching for shelter. Bullets, one after the other, with no space between, pelted the crowd. Someone pushed her from behind and she stumbled. Cheryl jerked and fell. Lisa knelt beside her. A hole the size of two fists had ripped open her chest. Blood soaked into the dry earth.

A man shouted at her. “You have to run.”

She looked up to see a gray mustache and eyes the color of a muddy river. A cowboy hat shaded his face.

“But she’s hurt. I have to take her with me.”

“I’m sorry, sister, but she’s gone. C’mon now.” He lifted her to her feet, the strength of him like an electric shock that shook her awake. “Hold tight to my hand.” She gripped his fingers and tried to run, but in truth, he dragged her. She fixed her gaze on the back of his brown boots. Don’t lose sight of his boots. Don’t let go of his hand. Around them people passed. The awful cracking sound continued, louder than the screams.

Someone tumbled into her. She fell face-first. Blood covered the grass like morning dew. She sobbed and tried to rise to her feet. The man lifted her into his arms. He ran with her clinging to his neck. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise you. Just hang tight.”

They ran with the surging crowd.

 

Shop the Cliffside Bay series

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Elizabeth Bromke writes small-town women's fiction and sweet romance. In her stories, she weaves multi-generational family dynamics with the triumphs and trials of modern relationships.

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A mysterious, emotional women's fiction, perfect for fans of Peyton Place.

Annette Best is losing her grip. First went her business, then her house. Now, she's on the brink of losing her marriage, too.

But the forty-something realtor has one thing going for her: girl friends. The women of Apple Hill Lane show up on moving day, ready to help Annette kiss her old life goodbye... until an eerie discovery turns up in her very own backyard.

Suddenly, Annette finds herself at the center of a small-town scandal and in danger of risking the biggest sale of her career. Others on Apple Hill Lane have been down this road--but not Annette Best. After all, she is the Best on the Block.

There's a chance Annette can keep her secrets--and those of Harbor Hills--buried. But only if her neighbors are willing to share the burden of protecting a local, decades-old mystery.

Can Beverly, Quinn, Annette, and Judith make sense of the past? Or will the women get caught up in the gossip of the present?

- - -

Romance, secrets and mystery, family ties and female friendships abound in this heartwarming saga about four women who find friendship right next door.

These stories are best enjoyed in chronological order as follows:

The House on Apple Hill Lane

The House with the Blue Front Door

The House Around the Corner

The House that Christmas Made

A sweet-as-pie teacher. A hometown hero. And the local B&B, complete with innkeeper's quarters...

Fresh on the heels of a broken engagement and a dead-end subbing gig, would-be English teacher Greta Houston goes home for the summer. She needs to recharge, and the farm town is just the place. Friday night fish frys and dusty back roads bring her down to earth, but Hickory Grove is only a pit stop on Greta's way back to the big city. Then she gets an interview... with the last place she'd ever thought to apply.

Football coach Luke Hart has too much on his plate. After moving to Hickory Grove to be closer to his ailing grandmother, he spends his days teaching, coaching, and volunteering at church. Life is good, until Mamaw Hart passes away, leaving him with a daunting heirloom: The Hickory Grove Inn. Luke needs help to run the place, or else he'll have to sell the one thing that connects him to his past.

Take a trip to the heart of America and fall in love with Hickory Grove's quirky residents who work hard, enjoy the simple life, and always put love first. Each title is a standalone read.

The Schoolhouse: Book One

The Christmas House: Book Two

The Farmhouse: Book Three

The Innkeeper's House: Book Four

The Quilting House: Book Five

A weathered family barn, a second chance at love, and the quilt that wove them together...

It's winter, and Liesel Hart needs a project. Single and over the hill, she's more likely to turn to the convent than to find a date for the Christmas tree lighting. But when her friend's daughter reaches out with questions about Liesel's favorite passtime, she sees a chance to reinvent herself... until a family secret comes knocking like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Gretchen Engel has a simple dream: open a craft store. But then her ex-boyfriend comes home for Christmas, bringing a winter storm with him. Now Gretchen is stuck in the Hickory Grove Inn with her ex and a Christmas shopping list a mile long... how can she pull off a business plan if she can hardly manage the holidays?

Becky, Fern, and Maggie, and Greta are close friends and happy locals, and their cherubic children are starring in this year's Nativity play. But a critical prop is missing... and the show can't go on without it.

Will the group of six find the time to patch together a cozy friendship? Or will they run out of hot cocoa first?

Take a trip to the heart of America and fall in love with Hickory Grove's quirky residents who work hard, enjoy the simple life, and always put love first. Each title is a standalone read.

The Schoolhouse: Book One

The Christmas House: Book Two

The Farmhouse: Book Three

The Innkeeper's House: Book Four

The Quilting House: Book Five

To move forward, she might have to take a step back.

Divorced empty-nester Becky Linden wants a fresh start. After two decades away, she returns to her hometown to find herself. What she discovers instead is the long-abandoned schoolhouse where she had her first kiss as a teenager. Others might see an eyesore, but Becky sees the neglected building as a charming business opportunity and... her future. However, she can't do it on her own. The one man who can help her is the last one she ever thought she'd ever ask-her ex-boyfriend.

Zack Durbin works for the school district that owns the run-down building, and he agrees with locals: the schoolhouse is a problem. What's more? It's his job to solve the problem. Then Zack's old high school sweetheart shows up with a dream to open a bookshop and reboot her life. Is Zack willing to sacrifice his career for the only woman he's ever loved? Or will the past haunt him forever?

The Schoolhouse is a heartwarming, second-chance romance about a determined forty-something, her high school sweetheart, and the abandoned schoolhouse that just might have a little life left. Order your copy today.

Hickory Grove, Indiana is an old-fashioned small town full of big-hearted people with quirky stories. Each book is a sweet, standalone read.

The Schoolhouse: Book One

The Christmas House: Book Two

The Farmhouse: Book Three

The Innkeeper's House: Book Four

The Quilting House: Book Five

“A story worthy of more than 5 Stars.” —Wild Sage Book Blog

The wholesome second book in USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson's Emerson Pass Historicals historical romance series.

Her love died on a battlefield. He carries a torch for a woman he’s never met. Can the tragic death of a soldier entwine the souls of two strangers?

Colorado, 1920. Josephine Barnes wrote every day to her beloved fiancé battling in the trenches of the Great War. Devastated when he’s killed in action, she vows never to marry and buries her grief in the construction of the town’s first library. But she’s left breathless when she receives a request from a gracious gentleman to visit and return the letters containing her declarations of desire.

Philip Baker survived the war but returned home burdened with a distressing secret. Though he knows it’s wrong, he can’t stop reading through the beautiful sentiments left among his slain comrade’s possessions. Plagued by guilt, he’s unable to resist connecting with the extraordinary woman who captured his heart with her words.

When Josephine invites Philip to join her gregarious family for the holidays, she’s torn by her loyalty to a ghost and her growing feelings for the gallant man. And as Philip prepares to risk everything by telling her the truth about her dead fiancé, he fears he could crush Josephine’s blossoming happiness forever. 

Will they break free from their painful pasts to embrace a passion meant to be?

SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!

 

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

 

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Josephine

The letter from Phillip Baker came on paper as thin as our pond’s ice after a first autumn freeze. Perhaps that delicate paper should have been a clue as to what was to come. How my life would change. One could not skate on ice that thin. How right I was.

I read his correspondence twice, thinking through his offer. With a lightness in my steps that did not match my heavy heart, I walked to the window of my parents’ sitting room. A first snowfall had blanketed the valley where my father’s estate dwelt between two Colorado mountains. Our winter wonderland had come late this year. A brilliant, sunny, crisp fall had gone on for months. Given all that the last few years had bestowed upon us, we gratefully enjoyed every moment.

We’d survived the days and days of worry over my twin brothers fighting in France and the threat of the Spanish flu to the troops. Then, a second wave—the deadliest wave—of the Spanish flu had plundered the world. A third in the fall, threatening us once more. Emerson Pass had managed to remain isolated enough that we’d been spared.

Finally, though, it seemed as if the world would return to our lives before the war. Papa and Mama had seemed to be able to breathe again for the first time since the boys had enlisted, not yet seventeen, having lied about their age. Our dear friend Isak Olofsson had also survived. All three were home now. Not quite the same, but physically intact.

Not all of our boys returned to Emerson Pass. We’d lost Francis Lane. I hadn’t known him well, but he was part of us. A soul lost. Buried in a cemetery across the seas. A young man who would never know what it was like to marry, have children, grow old.

And I’d lost Walter Green. He was not one of us. No one but I mourned him here. I had enough grief for a whole town.

The first letter from Phillip Baker had come in the fall of 1918. I could remember every word.

My name is Phillip Baker. I’m not sure if Walter ever mentioned me in his letters, but we knew each other for a brief time when we were children and then, by coincidence, were assigned to the same unit for basic training and sent to France together. I’m writing to tell you that Walter was killed in action last week. I was aware of your correspondence with him and that you would want to know. I’m sorry. He died bravely and without any suffering.

Just a month before the end, he’d been killed in action. The promise of our future together snuffed out before it began. I’d had only two weeks with him. Two weeks of bliss. Now I had only the memories. They would have to sustain me for the rest of my life. I would be a spinster. A librarian spinster and auntie to my six siblings’ children.

I touched my fingertips to the cold glass. Snow fell steadily outside the windows. In Colorado, we had at least a dozen words to describe snowflakes. Today it was a dry, fat flake. Good for skiing, according to Flynn and Theo. A new sport they’d fallen in love with after their time in Europe. They’d come home determined to bring skiing here to Emerson Pass. The sport of the future, Flynn had declared. A way for our town to continue to grow and flourish. Shops would be built around the visitors. They’d seen it in the Alps. It would work here too, they’d told Papa. He’d agreed to let them use part of their trust for the investment in their future. They were now happily planning away for the new version of our town. They’d cleared trees on the northern mountain for runs and built a lodge from the logs. In the spring, they would complete the rest of the needed details. By next winter, if all went well, skiing would have come to us for good.

I returned to the letter, reading the neat handwriting.

November 20, 1919

Dear Josephine,

I hope this letter will find you well. I’m also hopeful that you’ll remember who I am. If not, I’ll be mortified. Since returning from the war, I’ve been in New York City. Unfortunately, I became very ill last year with the Spanish flu. While convalescing, I remembered your descriptions of Emerson Pass from the letters you wrote to Walter. (He often read passages to me and the other men.)

Your descriptions of the wildflowers, sky, and trees have convinced me to travel west in pursuit of my own place of belonging. I’ve decided to take a leap of faith and come to Colorado, perhaps to settle for good. I’m writing to see if I might visit you and your family? I ended up with your letters and the books you sent. I feel guilty that I haven’t sent them to you before now, as I’m sure you’d like to have them.

My request and trip may sound strange to you, but there’s nothing or no one keeping me here. I grew up in an orphanage and have never truly had a home.

We all looked forward to your letters, as Walter shared many stories of you and your family with the rest of us lonely boys who, sadly, had no one writing to us. From your stories, I feel as if I know you all. I’d be honored to bring your letters, novels, and photograph and to meet you and your family.

I’m also hopeful that your father and brothers might have ideas for me in regard to work. Before the war, I apprenticed with a cabinetmaker. If they know of anything, I’d be pleased to hear of it.

If you’re amenable to my visit, I thank you kindly and look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Phillip Baker

His request to visit wasn’t the strange part. I found it odd that he made no mention of Walter, other than to say he’d shared my letters. An image of Walter laughing during one of our picnics flashed before my eyes. His sunny head of hair and light blue eyes had transfixed me from the start. He’d had an infectious smile that made me feel dizzy. I’d met him in Denver while I was attending a librarian conference. He’d been passing through on his way to report for duty. Our meeting had been pure chance. He happened to be out that warm evening while I walked in the park with colleagues. I’d thought at the time it was destiny. I now knew it was the day that led to my broken heart. Did I wish I’d never met him and be spared the pain of losing him? I couldn’t answer that question.

I pressed my forehead against the glass. If only the coolness would numb the rest of me. Even for a few minutes. To feel like my old self instead of a worn-out, dried-up spinster. I would be twenty-three on my next birthday. Most women were married with a child by this age.

“What is it, Jo? Why did you sigh?” Papa asked from behind his newspaper.

I hadn’t realized I’d sighed. Papa knew me too well. After everything we’d been through together, it was no wonder. I turned from the window and stepped nearer to the couch where he and Mama Quinn were having their tea. “It’s a letter from Walter’s friend. The one who wrote to tell me of Walter’s death.”

“Yes, we remember.” Mama’s eyes immediately softened with sympathy. “What does he want?”

“He wants to come out here for a visit and possibly to stay. My letters were a travel brochure, I guess.”

Papa lowered the paper onto his lap. “How interesting.” His English accent, according to my friends, remained as strong today as it had been when he came to America so many years ago. I, however, could not hear it. He sounded only like my beloved Papa.

“Does he have a wife and family?” Mama folded her hands together on her lap. I’d pulled her from reading. The novel, My Ántonia, was face-open on the couch next to her. Her fair hair was arranged in waves pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Younger than my father by fifteen years, she was blessed with delicate, even features and a heart-shaped face.

Just over ten years had passed since she’d arrived to open the first school of Emerson Pass and my father’s heart. Almost immediately she’d become the heart of our family. All five of us thought of her as our mother. Since their marriage, two little sisters had come, bringing our total to seven. Papa called us “The Lucky Seven.”

“He has no family of any kind,” I said. “In fact, he was raised in an orphanage. I have the feeling he’s in need of a fresh start and work. He thought Papa might have ideas for him.”

“How sad. We’ll help him in any way we can.” Mama set her teacup onto its saucer and fixed her kind brown eyes upon me. “Unless there’s a reason you wouldn’t want him to come here?” The anxious way she looked at me lately filled me with guilt. Papa, Mama, and my sisters had been worried about me. I hated knowing I caused them concern. My job was to be the responsible, steady eldest, not the sad, mopey mess I’d become.

“No, not at all,” I said. “Should we invite him to stay with us? Just until he can figure out what to do next?”

“Yes, we’ve room for him if he doesn’t mind bunking with the boys.” Papa drained the last of his tea and set aside his cup. “I’m keen to help any man who fought in that terrible war.”

“He says he trained as a cabinetmaker.” I hugged my middle as I walked over to the fire that roared in the hearth, crackling and snapping. “He says Walter shared the contents of my letters with him and the rest of the boys. I find that…perplexing.”

“Which part?” Mama asked.

“That he shared them. My letters were intimate, meant for only one pair of eyes.” I looked down at my hands to keep from crying.

“Darling, it doesn’t really matter,” Papa said softly. “If your letters brought them some relief, isn’t it an honor?”

“I suppose.” I sat in one of the armchairs and watched the fire. One end of a log looked like the nose of a fox.

Mama smoothed her hands over the top of her day dress made of crimson organza. “Phillip must stay for Christmas.”

“Yes, I agree,” Papa said. “He shouldn’t be alone for the holidays. We’ll take care of him until he can get on his feet. The boys can show him around town, do a little carousing.”

“Alexander, carousing?” Mama raised her eyebrows and looked properly mortified. “Our boys do not carouse.”

Papa didn’t answer, but his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. My chest ached with both gratitude and sorrow. Their love pleased me. Yet it also brought to light what I’d lost. I’d hoped Walter and I would share a life as they had.

Mama returned her gaze to me. “Jo, what’s troubling you?”

“We don’t know Phillip,” I said. “What if he’s awful?”

“I doubt he will be,” Mama said. “He was so kind to write to you about Walter’s death.”

“That’s true. If he’s Walter’s friend, he must be all right,” I said.

“We didn’t really know Walter,” Papa said.

I sucked in my bottom lip to hold back a retort. Never in my life had there been any discord between my parents and me. However, they hadn’t approved of my whirlwind courtship with Walter. Which was in no way his fault. He hadn’t had time to come home with me and meet my family. “He was here such a short time. There wasn’t an opportunity for him to court me properly. He planned to, when he returned from the war.”

“Yes, of course, darling. We understand,” Mama said in a soothing voice.

“Yes, yes, quite right.” Papa followed up too hastily. No one wanted to upset me these days. I missed when my family treated me normally. Now it felt as if I were a fragile piece of china no one wanted to break.

“May I read the letter?” Mama asked.

I nodded and handed it over the tea set. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

“Sweetheart, have a biscuit,” Papa said to me. “You’re looking much too thin.”

I obeyed, not having the energy to disagree, and put a cookie, which Papa called a biscuit, on a plate. He poured a cup of tea and set it on the table front of me. He believed most problems could be solved after a cup of tea. Given my troubled mother’s death when I was nine, I’d known differently for a long time.

Mama folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She had a strange look on her face, somewhere between puzzled and intrigued. “I think it might be good for you to have him here.”

“You mean to tell me stories about Walter?”

“Not that exactly,” Mama said. “He’s someone of your own age group. Perhaps he will become a new friend?”

Mama and Papa exchanged a glance I couldn’t decipher.

“I don’t need friends. I have Poppy and my sisters.” Poppy and I had grown up together. Their parents had died when Poppy was young and her older brother, Harley, had raised her while acting as groundskeeper and gardener. Poppy had been away for the better part of two years, working as an apprentice to a veterinarian in cattle country. I’d missed her more than I’d thought possible. She had just always been there and now she was off to her own adventures. “Poppy will be back in a few weeks. But I shall be a good hostess, don’t worry.”

“Regardless, we can’t let a hero be alone during what’s supposed to be the merriest time of the year.” Mama had the biggest heart in the world, rivaled only by my sister Fiona, who seemed to think it was her job to look after every single person in the world.

“I’ll write him this evening and ask if he’d like to stay with us,” I said.

All four of my gaggle of sisters rushed into the room. Those who thought only boys were loud had never met my sisters. Harley had taken them into town in the sleigh to ice-skate for the afternoon. The pond in the center of town had frozen solid for the first time this season just last night.

“You won’t believe what Delphia did,” Cymbeline said, without concern over interrupting the adults.

Delphia, in preparation for the admonishment, tore a cap from her mushroom of blond curls and glared at her older sister. “I didn’t do it.”

At sixteen, Cymbeline lorded over the younger ones. Fiona, thirteen, was the protector. Adelaide, or Addie as we called her, was quiet and shy and obedient to bossy Cymbeline’s wishes. Four-year-old Delphia, bless her, had the same fire as Cymbeline. From the time she could talk, she was having none of the dictatorship.

“She challenged a boy twice her age to a race,” Cymbeline said. “And when she didn’t win, she knocked him to the ground.”

Delphia’s bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t.”

“The whole thing was an accident.” Fiona placed her hand on Delphia’s head. “She slid into him because she was going so fast. Anyway, she learned it from you, Cym. You’re always racing boys.”

“That’s different.” Cymbeline’s color heightened, making her even more beautiful than the moment before. God help us all, she was stunning and looked more like a woman than a girl. Mama always said we only had two types in this family. Fair and blond, like her, me, and the two youngest girls. Or dark hair and deep blue eyes, like Papa, the boys, Cymbeline and Fiona.

“Come here, little one,” Papa said to Delphia.

She trudged over to him. He pulled her into his lap. “Tell me what happened.”

She looked up at him with angelic eyes. “It’s what Fiona said. I was going fast, pretending that a monster was chasing me, and then I ran into him.”

“Did you say you were sorry?” Mama asked.

“Yes, that’s not the problem,” Cymbeline said as she grabbed a cookie from the plate. “She said she was sorry and then she planted a kiss on him. On his cheek.”

I had to cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smile.

“His cheeks looked like an apple,” Delphia said. “I just had to kiss one.”

I caught Mama’s eye. She seemed to be trying not to laugh but kept it together enough to say, “Delphia, you mustn’t ever kiss a boy.”

“But why?” Delphia blinked her big blue eyes.

“Because it’s not proper,” Mama said.

I noticed Addie was shivering. “Come here, doll. I’ll warm you up.” I tucked her into the chair next to me and rubbed her cold hands between mine. Addie was quiet and serious like me. I adored her.

“Mama and Papa kiss all the time,” Delphia said.

“They’re married.” Cymbeline plopped into an armchair next to me. “You don’t understand anything about how the world works.”

“Cym, don’t say it like that. She’s just a little girl.” Fiona went to stand in front of the fire with her hands behind her back.

“I’m your baby,” Delphia said as she gazed up at our father. “Right, Papa?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to kiss boys.” Papa put his chin on her head and looked over at me with eyes that danced with humor. Mama always says it was his dancing eyes that drew her to him. I knew exactly what she meant. “You’re my baby, which means you can’t love any boy but me.”

“I won’t do it again.” Delphia let out a long-suffering sigh, as if all the fun in the world was taken from her.

“Besides the unfortunate incident with the apple cheek,” Mama said, “what else happened?”

“That ridiculous Viktor Olofsson was skating with all the girls, one after another.” Cymbeline shook her dark curls. “He had the nerve to ask me.”

“What did you say?” I asked, knowing the answer, but teasing her anyway.

“Jo, don’t be daft,” Cymbeline said. “I would never let that big oaf touch my hand.”

He was a large man but most certainly not an oaf. Although his shoulders were thick and wide like a Colorado mountain, he was a gentle, intelligent soul who I suspected had a deep and long-lasting crush on Cymbeline. “I think he’s like a hero in a storybook. Brave and strong.” I’d once seen him pick up a wagon off a man’s leg when the horse had bucked and broken free, leaving his owner under a wheel. With almost white hair and light green eyes, he looked like the Vikings in one of the history books I had in the library.

Cymbeline’s eyes flashed as she stuck out her plump bottom lip and scowled. Strangely, her sour expression did nothing to disguise her beauty. “He’s such a show-off, doing tricks on the ice.”

“You do tricks on the ice,” Fiona said, not unkindly but more as a fact. “All the same ones Viktor does.”

Her observation was correct. If Viktor learned a trick on the ice, Cymbeline practiced until she’d conquered it.

Mama had confided in me more than once that she was afraid Cymbeline would never be satisfied living in a man’s world as we do. If she’d been old enough, I had no doubt she would have volunteered to be a nurse in the war effort overseas.

“Well, be that as it may,” Mama said, “we have exciting news. Jo’s acquaintance, Phillip Baker, is coming to stay with us for the holidays.”

“The one who wrote to you about Walter?” Fiona asked.

“The same,” I said. “How did you remember?”

Fiona shrugged. “I remember everything about my family. Anyway, it wasn’t like I could ever forget that day.” Her eyes glistened. “I shouldn’t like to ever see you that way again, Jo.”

I held out my hand to her. “Come here, sweet sister.” She sat on the arm of my chair and I patted her knee. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll never give my heart to anyone else. I’m the spinster of the family.”

Chapter 2: Phillip

The train chugged up a slope so steep I was certain we would not stay on the tracks. Across from me, a baby in her mother’s arms cried. To distract myself from my fears of falling into the abyss below me, I pulled out the letter from Josephine. I breathed in the faint smell of her perfume that lingered on the paper. My imagination? Perhaps. Regardless, this one was to me, unlike the stack I’d read too many times to remember. Letters that were not written to me. By a girl who didn’t belong to me.

It’s a terrible thing to hate a dead man.

Yet I knew him for who he truly was. When I’d known him as a child in the orphanage, I’d recognized immediately how he used his charm to get what he wanted. Even the nuns fell for his act. When he ran away at age twelve, I genuinely think their hearts were broken. Women, even ones sworn to love Jesus, couldn’t help but fall for Walter Green.

Hope lurked inside me, goading me into this fool’s errand. After cheating death a second time by recovering from the Spanish flu, I would not rest easy until I came west and told Josephine the truth about the man to whom she’d pledged her eternal love. If not for me, I knew she would love a ghost, possibly forever. Josephine Barnes was a loyal woman. Nothing would deter her unless she understood what kind of man he really was under all that golden-haired, blue-eyed charm. I couldn’t bear the thought of a woman like her spending the rest of her life remembering a man who never really existed. Walter Green was not the man she thought he was. I was the only one left alive to tell her the truth.

He hadn’t loved her. There were other women who wrote to him. All who believed he would marry them when he returned from the war. All targeted for their wealth. Playing the odds, he’d said to me one time. The more he had waiting, the more likely he would marry into money. Those were to secure his future. Countless dalliances with nurses were just for fun.

Yes, I wanted her to know the truth. But it wasn’t for purely altruistic reasons. I wanted her for myself. As I’d convalesced after the flu, I’d read the letters she’d sent to Walter hundreds of times. I’d stared at her photograph until I memorized every detail of her pretty face. The stories of her close family and the beautiful mountains where she lived had moved me more than they should have. In truth, I’d fallen in love with her. Was I lonely? Yes. I’d been lonely all my life. This was something else entirely. In addition to my yearning for a family and my romantic nature, I had this odd sensation of a deep connection between the two of us. The idea of fate, even soul mates, had crossed my mind. Was there a reason beyond mortal comprehension that I’d been the one who ended up with the box of her correspondence?

Could I pinpoint the exact moment I decided to write to her and ask if I might come to visit? Not really. It was more of a gradual thing, an expansion in my mind of what might be possible. Even though I knew her affection toward me was unlikely, I had to try. A man like me didn’t win a rich, beautiful girl like her. I was poor and uneducated. My only skills were those of a cabinetmaker. Yet I had hope. I’d escaped the war and then the flu. I had to take a chance.

I glanced down at the letter, reading it one more time.

Dear Phillip,

My family and I would very much like you to come for a visit. Whether you decide to stay permanently in Emerson Pass or not, we’d be honored if you’d spend the holidays with us.

I hope you won’t find my large and somewhat obnoxious family too overwhelming. I’ve asked them all to be on their best behavior, but that’s not a guarantee. You’ll bunk with my twin brothers. They also served in the war. I’m sure you’ll all become fast friends.

Papa and my brothers will be happy to help you find employment if you decide to stay.

I shall look forward to meeting you soon.

Sincerely,

Josephine Barnes

I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then traced the letters of my name, written by her hand.

Walter, I thought, you lucky, conniving bastard. He’d held that hand in his own.

The train had made it to the top of the peak. I looked out the window to snow that sparkled under the sun. Josephine hadn’t exaggerated about the piercing blue hue of the sky.

The baby stopped crying. Her mother, a pretty blonde woman wearing a gray traveling suit and matching hat, apologized to me for the noise. “The altitude hurts her ears.”

“No need to apologize, ma’am. We were all babies once.”

She peered back at me with obvious curiosity. “Do you know someone in Emerson Pass? Most people who head our way either live there or are visiting family or friends.”

“I’m visiting the Barnes family.”

Her face lit up with a bright smile. “The Barneses. They’re very close friends of mine. I’m Martha Neal. I was the second schoolteacher in Emerson Pass, but now I’m married to the town doctor. He was an outsider who moved to town to take over the practice of our last doctor and somehow managed to make me his wife.” She indicated the baby with a dip of her chin. “This one is named Quinn, after our first teacher in Emerson Pass, who is now married to Alexander Barnes. But you know all that, I suppose?”

How much should I say? My natural tendency was to remain taciturn. When one’s lived the kind of life I have, sharing too much led to either pity or fear, as if being an orphan or poor were contagious. “I served in the war with Josephine’s beau, Walter Green. When he died he left a few items that I thought she might like to have. It’s taken a while to get out here. My name’s Phillip Baker.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re a friend of Walter’s?”

Not exactly a friend. “That’s correct. Did you know him?”

“No, no. I’ve only heard about him from Josephine. Those of us who attended school together are quite close. We meet for tea at least twice a month to discuss books and gossip. Oh dear me, where are my manners? I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Baker, and I’m terribly sorry about Walter. We lost one of our boys and the whole town cried for a week. What you must have seen, I can’t imagine.” Martha bounced Quinn on her lap. The baby babbled and chewed on her fist.

“Thank you. He wasn’t a close friend. We served together, that’s all.” The car jerked, causing both Martha and me to sway slightly. I gripped my seat with both hands.

“Our poor Josephine. His death broke her heart. We all hoped she’d move on, but so far she hasn’t.”

“How so?” I couldn’t help but ask. What luck to meet Martha. I’d gather as much information about Josephine as I could. The nuns often told us that the more we knew about a subject, the better we could make a decision or persuade others to our cause.

“She’s sworn herself to spinsterhood and running the library. Which is disappointing to the eligible bachelors in town. Given half a chance, most of them would snatch her up if they could. She’s remarkable. Did you know she brought the library to us with funding from Andrew Carnegie?”

I nodded. She’d written in detail about the building and opening of her library. As if Walter had cared. I’m not sure he’d ever read a book. “Yes, Walter mentioned that to me.”

“May I ask what you’re bringing to her?” Martha adjusted Quinn to the other knee.

“The letters she wrote to him. There are stacks of them, and I thought she might like to have them. I wanted an excuse to come out here, too. I’m thinking of staying.”

“I hope you will.” She smiled at me. “We’re friendly in Emerson Pass. I think you’ll love it as much as the rest of us do. And how kind of you to bring the letters. Jo walked to the post office every Monday and Friday with a letter in her hand. Without fail, even though he almost never sent one in return. Do you know why he wrote back so seldom?”

He was too busy sleeping with nurses to reply to Josephine’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful letters. “I’ve no idea, really. He wasn’t the writing sort, I guess.”

“Have you brought the books she sent, too?” Martha asked.

She knew about the books? “Yes, I wanted to return them to her for the library. They gave me such pleasure during difficult times. I wanted to make sure others could enjoy them.”

“You like books?” Martha watched me with a more serious expression on her face.

“More than anything.”

“And Walter?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did he like books? Martha asked.

“I can’t say that he did, no.” He’d always tossed them over to me the moment he took them from the box Josephine had sent. The candy he’d kept for himself. He’d had a terrible sweet tooth.

Her glaze flickered to the window. “How odd.”

“Ma’am?”

“Josephine told me he’d written to her two times about how much he enjoyed the books, even mentioning specific plots and characters. She was thrilled, of course.”

I flushed. I’d told him what to write in those letters so that she continued to think of him as a scholar. Both times he’d tricked me into describing the plots. I couldn’t help myself but to discuss books with enthusiasm.

Martha peered at me through narrowed eyes. “May I be frank about something?”

“Of course.” Where was she going with this?

“I’ve suspected there might have been others. Women, I mean.”

I bit back a bark of surprise. Martha was no fool. I almost smiled with triumph. “What makes you think this?”

“When my husband was courting me, he was already a busy country doctor, yet he wrote me love letters at least once a week, and we lived in the same town. All he had to do to say hello was walk over to my parents’ store. All of which leads me to believe that Walter’s feelings weren’t what he’d professed them to be. What’s the old saying? Actions speak louder than words.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not for me to say.”

“You shouldn’t play poker.”

“Poker?”

The baby began to fuss. Martha reached into a bag by her side and came out with a hard-looking biscuit and handed it to Quinn. “I can see by the look on your face that there was more to this Walter than Josephine knew.”

I moved my gaze away from her, flustered by this interrogation, and looked out the window. We were now on actual ground, passing through a dense forest of fir and pine trees. If Martha was an example of what I was to face in Emerson Pass, then I better get my story straight.

Given that I was only four when they died of yellow fever, I had only a few memories of my parents. One of them was of my mother scolding me for lying about taking a cookie without asking. Tell the truth, Phillip, even when you know you could get away with a fib.

However, Martha was a stranger to me. I didn’t want Josephine needlessly hurt. If she were to learn Walter’s true character, it should come from me.

“Mr. Baker?”

I returned my gaze to Martha. “Men don’t speak often of matters of the heart.”

“But what about men who face death daily? Don’t they confess their fears? Their loves?”

I was starting to feel rather sorry for Martha’s husband. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“You are sure.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be clearer,” she said. “Was he in love with Josephine? Was he planning on marrying her as she thought?”

“Respectfully, Mrs. Neal, I’m not sure I know, even if it were for me to say.”

One eyebrow rose. “I see.”

I was afraid she did.

“May I ask,” I said, drawing the words out long, “if his intentions were not completely pure, what would you advise me to tell Josephine?”

She stared at me for a few seconds. Even the baby had stopped chewing on her cookie to focus on me. “I suppose that depends on your intentions. Have you come to hurt her?”

“Of course not. The opposite.”

She gave me a satisfied smile. “May I take a guess, Mr. Baker, about your actual intentions?”

“Of course.” Despite the chill of the train’s car, my shirt clung to my back.

“You’ve fallen in love with her photograph. And perhaps you’ve read her letters, which made you aware of her intelligence and good heart. You most certainly are the one who told Walter what to write about the books.”

I coughed and returned to the view of the landscape.

“You’ve come to get to know her,” Martha said. “To see if your instincts about her are correct.”

“What if I have? Will you rat on me?” I turned back to my interrogator.

She gave me another satisfied smile. “How fortunate that we were to meet today.”

I swallowed and waited for the blow. Was there any other way for her to interpret my actions? Traipsing across the country because I thought I was in love with a girl I’d never met would not be greeted with approval.

“Josephine is my dear friend whom I love very much. However, I also have excellent instincts about people, and I’ve thought from the beginning that something wasn’t quite right with this Walter character. Josephine has been practical and steady her entire life, but in this particular instance, I think she was taken away by the idea of love.”

“Don’t underestimate his charm,” I said drily. “He’d perfected it over time.”

“How long had you known him?”

I drew in a deep breath. I was in too far now. “I knew him for a brief time when we were children. We were at the same orphanage for a year or so. Until he ran away.”

Both eyebrows raised this time. “Ran away? To where, I wonder?”

“In all truthfulness, I don’t know.” He’d run away at twelve, unable to abide by the nuns’ rules. Even during all the hours we’d spent together during the war, he’d not filled me in on exactly where he went or how he survived during the time before he joined the army. I had a distinct feeling that he’d been involved in criminal activity.

“Were there other women? Is he a charlatan? Did he want her money?” Martha asked. “Please, Mr. Baker, tell me the truth.”

“I believe all those things to be true.”

“Believe or know?”

“Know.”

“And the others?”

“All from wealthy families. He was ensuring his future upon his return.”

She was quiet for a moment. Her cheeks had flushed red and she repeatedly tapped her foot as if she wanted to bore a hole through the floor. Finally, she turned to look at me.

“This is what you’re going to do, Mr. Baker. Give it a few days before you tell her of Walter’s true intentions. I’m afraid it’ll drive her away. Kill the messenger, if you will.”

“Yes.”

“Spend time with her. Maybe use a little charm of your own to thaw her out, perhaps show her how much life there is to live.”

“Being charming’s not really my strength. I’ve nothing to offer, really.”

“But you’ve come anyway?”

“Ever hopeful.”

“You’re handsome. That will help.”

I almost laughed. “I am?”

“Yes. Have you not seen yourself in the mirror? Strong jawline. High cheekbones. Sapphire-colored eyes. Enough hair for three men. My husband will be jealous of that, I can assure you.”

“Walter looked like the god of the sun or the like,” I said. “All golden.”

“Yes, I can imagine the type.” She wiped drool from Quinn’s chin with a handkerchief before looking back at me. “One piece of advice. If you win over her family, that’s half the battle. They’re as tight a clan as they come.”

I nodded. “That much was clear from the letters.”

She made a noise somewhere between a yelp and yap. “You did read them. I knew it.”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes. He’d stored them all in a box. I took them with me after he was killed.”

“Did you not have letters of your own?”

“No. There’s no one. Never has been.”

“There should be.”

It was my turn to study Martha. “What makes you think I’m any different from Walter?”

“My parents own the dry goods store in town. I’ve spent my whole life watching people from behind the counter. I can tell an honest man when I see one.”

I had no idea what I’d done to make her think I was honest, but I didn’t ask. She’d figured out everything else rather quickly.

“Her family invited me to stay for the holidays,” I said. “Which astounded me.”

“Get ready, Mr. Baker. That’s just the beginning. In Emerson Pass no one’s allowed to be a stranger for long. Before you know it, you’ll feel like you’ve been here forever.”

As if the train agreed, it slowed as we approached the station.

“Welcome to Emerson Pass,” Martha said. “Where you can belong if you only ask.”

 

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“Tess Thompson writes interesting, full-bodied romances, and Traded is no exception. In this book, she introduces you to the charming seaside town of Cliffside, the world of football, and a cast of interesting characters you're sure to love...” —Judith Keim, bestselling author of the Salty Key Inn series.

She’s in hiding. He’s focused on football. When giving in to desire is risky, will they choose to play for love?

Nurse Kara Boggs lost everything because she stood up for what’s right. After turning state’s evidence against her mobster father, she’s forced to go underground with an assumed name. But taking a job for a handsome celebrity quarterback could shine a very dangerous public spotlight. 

After leading his team to a Super Bowl win, Brody Mullen should be on top of the world. But he’s shocked when his quiet seaside homecoming reveals his mother in a cast, and her housekeeper dying from a brain tumor. Frantic to get the best care for the women he adores, he hires a gorgeous nurse… despite her strange request to stay publicly invisible.

As Kara’s attraction to the charming jock grows, she becomes trapped by her own high-stakes secrets and the constant threat of exposure. And Brody’s famously strict “no women” rule means falling hard for the beautiful woman could ruin his career. 

Will they be sidelined by their own rules, or will they complete a pass to passion?

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More Reviews:
“This story has so much going on, but it intertwines within itself. You get second chance, lost loves, and new love. I could not put this book down! I am excited to start this series and have love for this little Bayside town that I am now fond of!” —Crystal's Book World

“A fabulous start to this new series, with characters and a storyline that sunk their claws in and quite simply refused to let go.” —Books Laid Bare

“This was a sweet love story that was filled with a bit of suspense and the sexual tension between Brody and Kara was off the charts…This book was way more than a sports romance. It was a book about family and belonging despite having to trade your life… You felt what the characters were going through. It's one of those ‘I got to know what happens next’ books. So intriguing you won't want to put it down.” —Lena Loves Books

 

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1: Kara
They came for her on a Sunday. It was third quarter with two minutes left on the clock in a savage battle between football rivals San Francisco Sharks and Kansas City Rockets when the sounds that would change her life forever broke through the ordinary chirps of the television announcers. The three hard knocks followed by two taps on the front door yanked her attention away from quarterback Brody Mullen’s Houdini-like antics on the field. This was the code. Her scalp tingled. Heat surged through her body and out to her numb limbs. The pulse at her neck hammered. Her clock had run out of time.
Kara Boggs jerked to her feet. The popcorn bowl flew from her lap and rained the white, buttery clouds onto her rug. Minnie mewed and sprang from her position in the crack between the couch cushions to the coffee table and watched the door with wide, frightened eyes.
Sweat dampened the back of her neck. Black dots danced before her eyes, blinding her. She spoke silent instructions to herself, like she had when she’d first started her nursing career in the trauma unit. Think. Be calm. Breathe.
Kara flipped on an extra lamp. Shadows of the oak tree outside her front window moved in ghostlike shudders. She was ready. Like expectant travelers, her suitcases and Minnie’s carrier waited in the entryway. She stumbled to the front door and opened it a crack. Two United States Marshals, dressed in khakis and shiny black jackets, stood at attention. Shotguns strapped to their massive chests gleamed under the hallway light. She opened the door. Without a sound, she stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. They filed in, making no eye contact until she had shut the door behind them. The taller of the two marshals spoke first, his voice deep and without emotion. They showed badges as they introduced themselves. Inspector Green. U.S. Marshal Hill.
Perspiration dampened her back as she envisioned her home from their perspective. Located in a wealthy suburb of Philadelphia, it was furnished like the display window of the finest department store in shades of cream with splashes of red and blue accents. Every detail had been planned with care, including the arrangements of vases and bowls, books and magazines. Walnut tables and chests gleamed under the soft lighting. Prints of landscapes framed in black hung in attractive clusters on the eggshell walls. She wondered if the deputies assumed her beautiful home had been financed by her father. Silly as it was, she fought the urge to tell them how hard she’d worked to become a nurse practitioner. Yes, it was true that her father had helped with the down payment for the condo and her college tuition, but the rest she’d earned.
Yet, it all came back to one thing. She could not have gone to school without her father’s help, and she would never have been able to go to graduate school without accruing massive amounts of debt. Her father had financed her expensive education at Penn State. After graduation, he had not pleaded with her to come home to Upstate New York but had happily written her a check for a down payment on her condo. None of that had surprised her. The moment her mother had died when she was ten, he’d sent her away to boarding school. He didn’t want her.
She’d always assumed his generosity was rooted in guilt. Now, she knew the truth. It was not guilt that fueled him, but self-protection. He was a criminal. Her life had been financed with blood money.
None of it mattered now. These were the last minutes of what would be a former life. The next life, whatever it was, would be her penance. Her retribution for living with contented blinders to the truth.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice cracked. Be brave. She tried to conjure her mother’s face, but no image came tonight.
“It’s time. The car’s waiting.” Cold blue eyes bored through her, carving out what was left of her heart. He’s on my side. Don’t be afraid. “Are these your bags?”
“Yes. Yes.” She looked down at her loose jeans and sweatshirt, suddenly humiliated. These were her “stay at home and watch football” clothes. With her long brown hair in a ponytail and her face scrubbed of makeup, she probably looked younger than her twenty-nine years.
The game. Playoff season. San Francisco versus Kansas City. She’d forgotten football was playing on the television. The soothing sound of the announcers’ voices drifted into her consciousness. “Brody Mullen, inarguably, is the best quarterback in the league.”
“That’s right,” said the other announcer. “Looking at statistics alone—without even bringing up his stellar character and leadership of his San Francisco Sharks, this young man is the AFL’s greatest quarterback. And, regardless of how you dissect it, he’s had the best season of his career.”
Football would remain, regardless of where they sent her. She could watch her Philadelphia Raptors from wherever she lived. She could still mock handsome, arrogant Brody Mullen—one of her favorite past times. He was the best quarterback in the league. The bastard. She disliked him immensely. More accurately, she hated him. It wasn’t because her Raptor’s quarterback was not the best in the league or because they hadn’t made the playoffs since the eighties. No, it was just him. Him and his stupid dimple in the middle of his stupid chin. Brody Mullen and his insufferable San Francisco Sharks were most likely headed to the Super Bowl this year, and it made her mad.
Why did good things always happen to the wrong people? Sure, Mullen made a good show of being the quintessential all-American boy next door with his weekly visits to the children’s hospital and all that money he donated to underprivileged communities. But that’s all he was—a show. His appearance and supposed good deeds deceived and distracted from his true character. That chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and honey-blond hair kissed by the California sun gave the impression of a wholesome boy you would want to bring home to your mother. However, Kara could see beyond his beauty, unlike the rest of the women of America. The guy was obviously full of himself, born into football royalty with every privilege, and advised by a team of public relations phonies into appearing otherwise.
What was she doing? Concentrate on the task at hand. Football could distract her when she was all alone in a hotel room, not now when she needed to pull every ounce of her honed focusing ability to the surface. Get through one task at a time, like she’d done for months now. Collapse when it’s all over.
She scurried to the coffee table and found the remote. Her hands shook so violently, she mistakenly turned up the volume.
The smaller of the two deputies took the controller from her. “We understand you have a cat. Go get her. The faster we get you out of here, the better.”
The cat. Her sweet Minnie. Where was she? The hammering at the door must have scared her. She would be under the bed, with green eyes wide and frightened. Kara sprinted to the bedroom. Minnie was on the bed, staring at her. Instead of frightened, she looked angry. Kara scooped her up and held her close. “It’s all right now, baby. We’re just going for a little ride.” A sob escaped. She buried her face into the tuxedo cat’s fur. Minnie purred.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Was this really her with the frightened brown eyes and blotched skin? The months of strain had damaged her appearance. Dark smudges under her eyes paired with hollow cheekbones hinted at countless sleepless nights and a lack of appetite. She was tall and muscular from years of dance and cheerleading when she was younger, but her shoulders curled forward like a person embarrassed by her mere existence. This was new. She’d always been so proud, so sure of herself.
Was this the right choice? To leave everyone and everything she loved? To give up her position at the hospital? To abandon her beautiful home and all the possessions? The answer was the same as it had been for months. She must. Justice was more important than her own comfort. When she chose to testify against her father, the Witness Protection Program became her only option—her only chance to live. Despite the shock of the truth about her father, she wanted to live. She would begin again.
Kara squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath. Her mother had not taught her to cower or hide.
Yes, she must go. They offered her a new life. She would take it.
Behind her, she sensed one of the marshals in the doorway of the bedroom. With Minnie still in her arms, she turned. He had the carrier in his hand. “Don’t lose courage now, Miss Boggs. You’ve come this far.” He set the carrier on the bed where she would no longer sleep under a downy comforter and memory foam pillows. Would her pillow still remember her when she was no longer Kara Boggs?
“This is Minnie.” The tears almost escaped. She swallowed and gave herself a direct order. Do not break down until you’re alone. “I can still bring her, right?”
“Yes, of course. Do you need help getting her in the carrier?” Sympathy flickered in the marshal’s eyes.
“No, I’ll do it.” She coaxed Minnie into the carrier with treats she’d kept in a bag on the bureau for just this purpose.
She took one more look at her bedroom. How naïve she’d been two years ago when she’d chosen fabrics and paint colors. My starter home, she’d smugly called it. My bachelorette pad.
It was time.
She followed the marshal to the front door. “Where to now?”
“We have you booked in a hotel near the courthouse. You’ll have twenty-four-hour protection during the trial. We’ll escort you to and from the courtroom.”
“And then?”
“We’ll send you to your new location.”
“Where is it?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” Green said. “But, it’ll be somewhere nice. The boss has a soft spot for you. It’s not every day we get someone willing to give up their life to do the right thing.”
“Someone innocent,” Hill added.
Most in the Witness Protection Program were criminals. They’d told her this during the first interviews when they’d still suspected she might be privy to the dirty underworld of her father’s life. After a time, however, they’d come to understand she knew nothing. She was not a criminal, merely a participant in a plush life. A princess, protected from the dangerous life of a money launderer.
“Please try and remember during your adjustment period that you’re bringing down an entire branch of the Colombian drug cartel. Most people never have the chance to do something this important. If they do, they shy away.”
“Like cowards. You didn’t,” Green said, his voice gruff. “Our boss thinks you’re the bravest person he’s ever met.”
That was kind. But she knew the truth. Her complacency made her guilty. How many clues were there over the years that she’d dismissed, made excuses for, refused to see? At night when she could not sleep she remembered, and remembered, and remembered until the pieces of the puzzle collided with the force of magnets. The completed puzzle broke her heart. Daddy, say it isn’t so.
But it was.
Despite her naïve complicity in a life of privilege, she had stepped forward to do the just thing. Perhaps too late? How many lives had been ruined? She was a nurse! A nurse who witnessed the ravages of drugs every single day in the emergency room where she worked. Drugs were cunning. They ruined families and damaged babies and snuffed out lives.
Too late or not, she had done it. She had colluded with her father’s enemy. As if she’d channeled the finest actress on Broadway, she’d slipped into her role of whistleblower. She’d planted wiretaps and bugs in his office. She’d played to his ego, his desire for her to know how powerful he was, how influential—the trust these dangerous men had in him.
“I came from nothing, Kara, and look at the life I’ve made for us.”
“Have another drink, Dad. Tell me more. Who are these people you work for? How did you become involved?”
Her alliance with the FBI had brought their family crashing to the ground like a house made of the finest sand. With the tapes and her testimony, her father would be sentenced to prison for the rest his life, as would several of the most dangerous Colombian drug lords in organized crime. From prison, they would order her death. Unless she disappeared.
She grabbed the photograph of her mother from the bedside table and stuffed it into her purse.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter 2: Brody
With three seconds left on the clock, the American Football League’s San Francisco quarterback, Brody Mullen, huddled with his offense for the last play of the Super Bowl. His San Francisco Sharks were down by five. One touchdown against the New England Rebels could make them Super Bowl champions. But they were sixty yards from the end zone. It was a long, high pass or nothing. They had to go for broke. Brody locked eyes with his wide receiver, Trevor Beeson, and called the play. Beeson’s long arms were their only chance. If Brody could throw the pass just right, and Beeson caught it, they would go home winners.
Please God, don’t let me blow this.
The center snapped the football. Brody caught it and scanned downfield for Beeson. Around him, his offensive line secured him with the force of their bodies. Brody hurled the football toward the end zone. Beeson, anticipating the location of the ball, sprinted into the far-left corner.
Beeson had one of New England’s defense in front of him and another behind him. Three sets of arms reached for the ball, but Beeson’s were the longest. He plucked the football from the air like a frog’s tongue snatched a fly.
Touchdown!
Brody fell to his knees. I did it. Finally. This is for you, Dad. Memories flooded his consciousness: hours in the backyard throwing the football with his dad; the day his high school team won the state championship; the news that he’d been awarded the Heisman Trophy when he was at USC; the day of the AFL draft. Every moment, he’d shared with his dad. If only he could see this moment.
When he stood, blinded by tears, his teammates pounced on him. Beeson almost knocked him over with the force of his hug. “Enough sacks for today, Frog,” he said.
“You’re the boss, man,” Beeson said.
“No, Frog. You’re the boss.”
Brody searched the crowd for his family and friends. They’d watched from a box above. He knew they’d waste no time getting down here.
Moments later, he saw his mother plowing through the crowds to get to him. Following her were his brother and their three best friends. His assistant, Honor, trailed behind the pack. Where was Flora?
Brody didn’t have time to ask because everyone hugged him at once. His friends pounded his back. Lance lingered just beyond the fringe of their group. They locked eyes. His baby brother had tears in his eyes. He knew his thoughts as well as his own—if only Dad were here for this.
Along with his brother, Zane, Jackson, and Kyle were his pack. His tribe. They’d all been friends since their days at USC. Lance had nicknamed them the Dogs after the famous painting of dogs playing poker.
“Brody.” A high-pitched shout rose above the chaos. Honor had been lost amid the crowd, her petite stature enveloped in the throngs of people. He knelt to hug her, but she pushed him away with her hands. “I don’t want your stinky sweat all over my clothes.” She shouted this but followed with a softer proclamation in his ear. “You did good.”
“Don’t start mentioning anything about endorsements until tomorrow,” he said. “I want to enjoy myself for the rest of the night.”
Honor tossed her long blond hair behind her shoulders. “Lance already made me promise.” Her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes belied her sharp intelligence. She ran his business affairs with precision and merciless attention to details. He loved and trusted her, like the sister he never had. Which, in his opinion, was a blessing. To fall for Honor Sullivan was the first step to a broken heart. “No time for whiny or needy men,” she always said—right before she kicked another one to the proverbial curb.
“Where’s Flora?” Brody asked. Flora, his family’s longtime housekeeper, was a second mother to him and his brother.
“She had to stay home. She’s a little under the weather,” Lance said.
“We didn’t want to tell you before the game.” His mother, Janet Mullen, brushed blond hair from her cheeks and looked up at him with her penetrating eyes.
Brody’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about,” his mother said. “Just enjoy your moment.”
He wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but for now, he chose to take her advice. He’d been waiting for this his entire life.
Chapter 3: Kara
Kara watched the Super Bowl alone in her room at the hotel. She’d given the last of her testimony Friday afternoon. Tomorrow they would tell her where she was to start her new life. For now, there was football, at least, to keep her from careening into the madness of uncertainty.
On fourth down, with seconds left on the clock, Brody Mullen threw a perfect fifty-eight-yard pass to his wide receiver, Beeson, in the end zone. The ball might have been a few inches too high for almost any other player, but the tall and lanky Beeson caught it in his giant hands with seemingly little effort. The referee called it a touchdown. Mullen fell to his knees.
Minnie jumped onto the bed and curled up beside her. As much as Kara loved the feline beauty, Minnie was a poor substitute for the Super Bowl party she’d thrown last year. Twenty people had crammed into the living room of her two-thousand-square-foot condo. They’d spilled chips and screamed at the television and laughed at commercials. Her best friend, Jessica, had collected bets on the winner and the scores. Kara won.
Now, the sound of the game and the announcers, Roger King and Tom Coleman, softened the sharp edges of her sorrow. Wherever she went, she’d still have football to watch.
“Brody Mullen turned thirty last month. There’s continued speculation that he will retire after this season, but in an interview last week he assured fans that he had no plans to give up any time soon.”
“Given the way he played tonight, Tom, he’s nowhere near done with what has been a spectacular career.”
Brody Mullen. Her football nemesis. She was sick to death of hearing about him the past few weeks. All the sports channels could talk about was his wonderful character and leadership and his football royalty family. If she saw one more advertisement with him hawking that new luxury car, she might vomit. What a jerk, on and off the field. Obviously, women found him attractive, but he reminded her of a hawk with intense, angry green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a hard mouth. He had this way of running his hands through his cropped hair during interviews that was so obviously meant to make him look vulnerable and approachable, nervous even. So ridiculous. Men like Brody Mullen were never nervous.
Seriously, off the field, he was everywhere: print ads, television spots, charity functions. He had recently pledged a million dollars to build a center for underprivileged youth in one of the Bay Area’s poorest communities. She had to give him some points for that, although she was disgusted by how often he posted his picture on Instagram with a sick child. Her mother had told her that good deeds only counted if no one knew about them. Brody Mullen made sure the world knew about everything he did. She focused her attention back on the television.
The camera stayed on Mullen as the field flooded with people. He stood and tore his helmet off. His teammates mobbed him. Seconds later, he held out his arms and an older woman embraced him.
Roger King and Tom Coleman continued to commentate.
“Brody Mullen hugging his mother there. What an emotional night it must be for them. His father, our colleague here at NCS Sports, was his biggest supporter.”
“That’s right, Tom. Just last week he broke down when he spoke about his father and how much he wanted this win for him. It’s a shame Simon isn’t here to share this great night with him.”
“Hard to believe it’s been two years since we lost him,” Roger said.
“One of football’s greats, no doubt about it.”
Kara shut off the television. She didn’t want to hear anyone else’s sad story tonight.
Kara’s love of football came from her mother. Before she died when Kara was ten, they’d watched every Philadelphia game together. If they’d won or lost, her mother had reveled in the pure joy of the sport. Over the years, Kara had calmly defended her love of football to friends who thought the game was either boring or a waste of time—and quite possibly misogynistic and dangerous. No, she argued, look beneath the surface. Football was the human story. Football, with all the twists and turns, was like life. One never knew what would happen next. Sometimes the clock brought unexpected triumphs. Other times, it brought disaster. Often, and this was the best part, the clock brought an upset, a last minute play so surprising and heroic that no one in their wildest imagination would have thought it possible. That was the magic of the game and the human experience. Just when one thought all was lost—redemption.
God knew, Kara had not seen this twist in her life coming. At last year’s Super Bowl party, she was still naïve, never questioning the surface story of her family. But now, she knew the truth, and there was no looking back. She would pay for her father’s sins for the rest of her life.
Today, she could not imagine redemption. Today, she was a reluctant hero.

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