Dear Reader,

I hope you will join me on a new adventure.

Our travel will take us to fog-swept coves. To the magic of a special town and special people. On Summer Island’s quiet streets friendship runs deep, and the love of a good yarn runs even deeper.

One by one old friends will be pulled back home to the rugged Oregon coast. One by one dreams will be lost—and then found. As the seasons change, each friend will face secrets and betrayals, along with the healing gift of love.

Please join me on this journey home.

With warmest wishes,

Christina

Also available from Christina Skye

Summer Island A HOME BY THE SEA THE KNITTING DIARIES

Code Name CODE NAME: BIKINI CODE NAME: BLONDIE CODE NAME: BABY

Draycott Abbey TO CATCH A THIEF DRAYCOTT ETERNAL DRAYCOTT EVERLASTING BOUND BY DREAMS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thank you for joining Jilly and Walker on their journey. Strong and stubborn, these two have surprised me at every turn. Somewhere along the path of writing, they claimed a spot among my very favorite characters. (Even though they made me tear at my hair!)

And Winslow …

No words needed there.

He carries his own kind of magic and courage.

I hope that Summer Island continues to touch you as it has touched me, beginning with my story in The Knitting Diaries and again in A Home by the Sea. In those fog-swept coves and quiet streets friendship runs deep.

For readers in search of a detailed look at the inspiration for Jilly’s amazing desserts, try Bittersweet, by Alice Medrich (New York: Artisan, 2003). Decadent and delightful, the book is rich with baking secrets and chocolate lore. For a second helping of dessert, enjoy Sherry Yard’s The Secrets of Baking (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2003), a master course for all adventurous cooks.

And if you want up-to-date recipes right from Jilly’s kitchen, visit my website. I’ll be offering new recipes regularly.

To learn more about service dogs in action, track down US Army Field Manual 3-19.17 Military Working Dogs (2005), a basic resource about training, protection and utilization in combat.

If you are intrigued by the gentle movements that Jilly used on Walker, I highly recommend the tissue techniques developed by Tom Bowen. Or email me at my website (www.christinaskye.com) for more information. The Bowen system has a truly impressive record of success. While you’re at my website, have a look around. And drop by frequently for new book updates, free knitting patterns and contest news.

Meanwhile, a new Summer Island book is already heading your way. As summer sunlight fades into winter storms, Olivia will find her world shattered by lies. And when she least expects a gift, she will stumble into a man who holds the healing touch of love.

For her nothing will ever be the same.

I’ll be watching for you down at the cove.

With warmest wishes,

Christina

The Accidental Bride

Christina Skye

www.mirabooks.co.uk

A warm thank-you to all my friends at Tuesday-night knitting for good patterns, good cheer and great inspiration.

Thank you to Celia and Caroline— world-class knitters and friends. Fiber days rule!

Another big round of thanks for Peggy and Victoria. You are the best. I couldn’t have typed The End without you!

A deep and hearty thank-you to Phyllis at Barnes & Noble in Goodyear, Arizona. You rock! As always, you are the queen of booksellers!

And finally, my heartfelt appreciation to Debbie Macomber, wonderful author, wonderful friend. Thank you for all your kindness and laughter. And thanks for that amazingly clever wedding twist!

PROLOGUE

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL wedding.

The groom got sick. The bride overslept. The best man was a dog.

And the day had barely begun.

The anxious bride peeked out the door at the back of the crowded chapel, watching more and more people cram the pews. Everything had happened so fast over the past week. It was still hard to imagine how much had changed.

Right now all she wanted was to have the ceremony over. She wasn’t used to wearing makeup, and she never fiddled with her hair, but the wedding consultant had taken her job seriously.

Jilly O’Hara was stunned to see her image in the mirror, a tall, serene vision of elegance in a long white silk gown. A cream satin sash framed her slim waist, accentuating her height, and a single satin orchid gleamed in her upswept hair.

She could barely recognize herself. None of her friends would have known her, that was for sure.

A few stragglers were being seated, to the backdrop of restless coughing. Standing at the back of the chapel, Jilly’s friend Jonathan made a discreet gesture and smiled as the bridegroom came to stand at the front of the crowd. The groom’s big brown dog sat nearby, alert and perfectly behaved, a vision of canine elegance in his red bandanna.

The organ music swelled. Jilly took a deep breath as the instantly familiar strains of the Wedding March filled the chapel.

She stared down the long aisle, wondering how everything had happened so fast since she came to Wyoming. Marriage was the last thing she had planned for herself. Down the aisle Jilly saw her groom, lean and a little dangerous in a severely cut black suit that looked very expensive.

“Are you ready?” Jonathan stood smiling at the door.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Explain to me again why I agreed to this,” she murmured.

Jonathan took her arm. “You’ll be fine. By the way, you look gorgeous. Seriously, I wouldn’t have recognized you under all that makeup and puffy hair.”

“Gee, thanks. I think.”

As they walked outside, Jilly focused on not falling in the strappy evening sandals that the bridal expert had insisted she wear.

Every face turned. The music swelled. The big room seemed to blur as Jilly’s cool, thoughtful groom smiled at her from the altar.

CHAPTER ONE

Arizona

One month earlier

THE RESTAURANT KITCHEN was a scene right out of World War III. Pots churned, grills smoked and a dozen harried workers danced to avoid each other. It was cramped, hot and noisy—one step away from chaos.

And Jilly O’Hara couldn’t have been happier.

She presided over the hot, noisy room like a choreographer, watching for problems and juggling advice along with her orders. Running a restaurant had always been her dream and her passion, and after years of work, Jilly had her own baby.

Since the first week it had opened, Jilly’s Place had been a stellar success. Sometimes Jilly hated how successful her restaurant had become. The social end of the job gave her a headache, and shmoozing with customers was a nightmare. As soon as she could, she ducked back into the crowded kitchen to create magic.

Only here did she feel fully alive. With her wavy black hair tucked behind a bandanna, the rail-slim chef juggled a smoked asparagus risotto and two orders of grilled potatoes with salsa verde. Beside her on the counter, smoky-rich tortilla soup steamed next to a wedge of wood-grilled salmon. The flavors teased and tantalized, every color snapping with southwestern energy.

Another meal done, Jilly flipped a fresh towel over her shoulder and then attacked the next order. One of the kitchen crew caught her eye. Smiling, he poured a thermal cup of coffee and slid it toward her over the counter.

“Caffeine break. After all, you’ve only had three tonight,” he said, well aware of Jilly’s particular vice.

“Lifesaver.” Jilly took a long drink, savoring the caffeine.

They were crazy crowded tonight, but that was normal. At the kitchen door, her front desk manager signaled his pleasure at the crowd with a big thumbs-up, then vanished back outside to deal with the reservations desk.

The Saturday-night pace was sheer pandemonium, but Jilly was used to that. She thrived on the jagged edge of chaotic energy. Even on her days off, she made it a point to check out new restaurants or help in the kitchen of a friend, working the line with manic energy. And why not? She loved to cook.

She didn’t do vacations, and time off was for wimps.

Jilly finished her coffee and scanned the next set of dinner orders. Tugging on Kevlar mitts, she leaned down to grab an eggplant pizza from the wood-burning oven. She had just removed the mitts when the pain hit her.

Jilly looked up blindly at the ceiling, struggling to breathe.

No one in the busy kitchen noticed her shaking or her short, strangled breaths. No one helped her when she leaned forward to grip the counter.

Blindly, she stared at her white hands. No ring. No husband. No kids. Just a pile of debts from her years in cooking school.

A fresh wave of pain struck. Jilly whimpered, clutching at the long granite counter.

A pot was boiling over on the big 8-burner Wolf stove. The foam seemed to rise in slow motion. Bubbling and hissing, it exploded over the copper rim, down into the steel prongs of the burner.

Burn.

Burning.

Her throat and chest on fire, fear striking her like a mallet, Jilly slowly bent double and whimpered.

Her legs gave way. With a ragged cry she fell forward onto the cold tile floor.

CHAPTER TWO

THE EMERGENCY ROOM doctor was talking to her, but Jilly couldn’t make out what he was saying. His lips moved but no sounds seemed to come out.

She squinted at him and tried to focus.

“More tests. But we think it was your heart.”

Excuse me? Jilly’s mind raced. Her heart? What about her heart?

Lights flashed on the machines that crowded the small white room. She had collapsed in the kitchen. She remembered that part.

Then something about an ambulance …

She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy. A little pain in her chest. Okay, nausea. Lots of nausea.

What was going on? She was only twenty-blipping-seven. She hadn’t smoked more than three times in her life. Once when the town bad boy talked her into sharing a Marlboro behind the old post office. Once after her junior year prom, which she watched dateless and bored from the high school bleachers. And the last time, to celebrate her admission to cooking school in Arizona.

Six bleeping years ago.

So how was anything wrong with her heart?

“Symptoms are consistent … still need detailed results of EKG, angiogram. More tests of your heart enzymes … Hospitalized until then.”

Hospitalized?

Jilly stared at the white walls while the words rained down, sharp and cold.

Rest? More blood tests? No way. She didn’t have time to be sick. She had a restaurant to run and debts to repay.

She looked down at her arm stretched out on the white bed. They were good arms. Good muscles. She could whip a chocolate mousse by hand almost as fast as a mixer could. She could swirl perfect frosted flowers over a white chocolate cake and mince a tomato as finely as any machine.

And Jilly loved that work. Every minute she spent cooking was a joy in her life.

But her hands showed another story, too. Jilly saw a sprinkling of fine silver scars from mishaps in crowded kitchens on busy nights. She had always felt proud of those marks as signs of her experience.

Her nails were short. Always clean and unpolished. She was strictly no frills and always had been. Her no-frills life kept her lean and fast, ready to catch that next wave and race on to meet her dream. Right now that dream was to create a natural-food empire by the time she was thirty-five.

Her scarred hands twisted with a tremor of pain and loss. What would happen to her dreams now? She listened to the machines hiss and whisper a warning.

A heart attack at twenty-seven. Why her?

She closed her eyes. More words bounced past.

“Possible malformation … MRI. Then exploratory catheterization.”

All bad things.

Jilly’s mind stuttered and then shut down, paralyzed by the weight of her fear. Only once had she felt this overwhelmed and vulnerable. That had been years ago, on the day she found out her mother had left her in a cardboard box on the steps outside the local fire station at the grand, strapping age of two months.

But she had survived the news. After the crushing pain had passed, Jilly had wiped away her tears and boxed up her mother along with the rest of her sad childhood memories. With fierce determination she had dug a dark hole and shoved them deep inside, where she would never have to think about them.

Because Jilly O’Hara had no time for tears or weakness or what might have been. She was too busy racing forward, creating her dreams.

“Ms. O’Hara, can you hear me? We’ll need your consent to proceed with the catheterization and other tests. I have the paperwork here.”

Jilly blinked and struggled to focus. “I—I’m tired. Maybe we can talk later. Sorry.” Her fingers clenched, and she thought of Caro and Grace and Olivia. Growing up together in the small coastal town of Summer Island off the Oregon coast, the four girls had been inseparable. For years her best friends had shared her dreams and she had shared theirs.

They had argued and nudged and supported.

Their circle of strength had kept Jilly going during the worst of times.

She desperately needed them now.

Summer Island

The Oregon Coast

“SHE STILL ISN’T ANSWERING her phone. Something’s wrong.”

Caro McNeal frowned at her silver watch. Her husband, a marine currently deployed in Afghanistan, had given her the slim silver design for her last birthday. Caro wondered where Gage was and what he was doing at that moment.

Was he in danger?

She tried to push her usual worries aside and focus on Jilly. “I’ve tried calling her half a dozen times, Grace. Why doesn’t she answer?”

Grace Lindstrom put down the sweater sleeve she had been knitting. “Jilly gets distracted. Produce. Ovens. Spatulas. Anything can take her into that alternate chef universe.”

“Not for this long.” Caro frowned at the phone. The women had been closest friends since they had met as girls. When one of them faced problems, all the others seemed to feel it. First Caro had come home to heal from an accident. Then Grace, a respected food writer, had returned to Summer Island after her grandfather had been hurt. “This is different.”

“Did you try texting Jilly?”

“Four times.” Caro looked out at the ocean. Seagulls cried as they circled a trawler anchored in Summer Island’s small cove. “Something’s wrong, Grace. I’ve been sending Jilly daily updates on the repairs here at Harbor House. Jilly was excited about coming back next week to work on a design for the new front porch. She sent me a gorgeous picture using local fieldstone and a rustic brushed grout. It was gorgeous, but …”

“But what?”

Caro blew out a breath. “I told her to send me more examples so I could work on pricing. Then I didn’t hear a thing. That was two days ago.” Caro shook her head. “Jilly wouldn’t drop out of sight like this. She wants to finish the work here just as much as we do.”

In a moment of insanity the women had decided to buy Summer Island’s oldest landmark and renovate it to its former glory. They had been nearly finished when an earthquake had damaged the roof, half the rooms and part of the foundation. After serious soul-searching, they had decided to start all over, crazy or not.

Grace rolled her knitting up slowly. “Where was she when you two last spoke?”

“Working at her restaurant. Where else?”

“Silly question. Okay, I’ll book a flight. I can be in Arizona before bedtime.” Grace stood up and stretched. “The idiot is probably off in a peach orchard taking soil samples, completely oblivious to the time. You’ll see.”

“But I thought you and Noah were going to spend this weekend together in San Francisco.” Caro studied her friend’s face. “You’ve been planning the trip for ages. Is something wrong?”

Caro watched her friend turn, looking south past the old dock, past the restless sea wall. Grace rolled her shoulders but didn’t answer.

“Grace? Tell me what happened.”

“He was called in to work,” Grace said slowly. “Another day, another emergency.”

“Can’t he get time off?”

“Apparently not. When you’re good, everyone wants a piece of you,” Grace said flatly. Then she forced a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll go on our trip. But it won’t be this week.”

Something was very wrong here, Caro thought. Grace was acting too cool and trying too hard to be convincing. This was more than a simple trip cancellation. “Are you okay about this, Grace? You were so excited when you told me you and Noah were going on this trip.”

Grace shrugged and then slid her knitting bag over her shoulder. “I’m almost used to the last-minute cancellations,” she muttered. “But I’d better go. I’ll call you when I get to Arizona.”

Clearly, she didn’t want to discuss her problems with Noah.

“You have the address for Jilly’s new restaurant, right? She just moved into that new building.”

“Got it.”

Neither woman questioned that Grace would go to Jilly’s restaurant and not her apartment. Chances were slim to nil that their driven friend would be anywhere but working. They would have to do something to correct that, Caro decided. “As soon as you hear something, let me know. I’m just sorry I can’t help more.”

“Let me handle the Barefoot Contessa.” Grace cleared her throat. “You’ve got plenty to do with this renovation. Not to mention the baby to care for.”

Caro was certain she heard a wistful note in her friend’s voice.

So Grace was thinking about a family. That was interesting, since she and Noah had only recently confided that they were engaged. No wedding date was set as far as Caro knew.

Caro hadn’t seen Noah since the spring and he’d only been in town for two days. He was supposed to be moving to a less demanding job, Grace had explained then. Something without constant emergency calls.

Given the cancelled weekend, that didn’t seem to be happening.

Caro still had no idea what Noah did, beyond it being difficult and very secret. But she knew that Grace worried terribly about him.

More problems to sort out.

Caro gave her friend a hug. “Say hello to Noah. Tell him I’m still waiting for the Ukrainian Welcome Bread recipe from his mother.”

“I’ll get it for you.” Grace slid her yarn and her knitting needles into her bag and forced a smile. “And stop worrying. I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.”

CHAPTER THREE

Scottsdale, Arizona

JILLY WATCHED THE PARKING LOT fill with silver Hummers and black Range Rovers. Only sports figures, celebrities and the very rich came to this private clinic in the high desert above the sprawl of Phoenix. Jilly had only gotten in thanks to one of her restaurant regulars. When Jilly hadn’t been at her usual spot, buzzing between the tables and the kitchen, he had learned about her collapse and arranged to have her transported. But she had received the same cold diagnosis here that she had received in the small emergency room near her restaurant.

Jilly closed her eyes.

Her heart.

Why now, when she was on the verge of a huge career leap? Her restaurant was booked out for weeks. She had plans for a cookbook, and she had just received two offers to buy her signature line of organic salsa, Jilly’s Naturals. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, everything had fallen apart on her.

No more sixteen-hour workdays, the cardiologist had warned.

Not even three-hour workdays until her tests were done.

She would need at least half a dozen procedures plus a battery of lab tests before the total picture was clear. Something was wrong with her heart, starting with an arrhythmia that triggered a counter beat when she was under stress.

But when wasn’t she under stress? Maybe during the first few minutes of waking, when her big white Samoyed puppy was curled up at her feet and she had the whole day ahead of her, with all its possibilities. Reality always swept in too soon, carrying in a flood of calls, emails and text messages.

Produce deliveries to inspect.

Employees to placate.

The magic of food had called to Jilly ever since she was twelve. Cooking was the only thing she had ever wanted to do, her first and only dream.

Her fingers opened, massaging her chest above the spot where her problematic heart waited to stammer and skip, sending her back into oblivion.

Did she have a family history of heart disease? Had any relative suffered a heart attack very young? The thoughtful cardiologist had quizzed her for twenty minutes. Were there parents or siblings with heart defects? Any relevant family incidents that she could remember?

Jilly’s fingers closed to a fist above her heart. What parents? What siblings? Her genetic profile was a total blank. She had been found red-faced and howling beneath a cheap blue flannel blanket in a packing box on the steps of the local fire station. Less than three months old, the Summer Island doctor had estimated. Healthy. No problems beyond a little dehydration. Just wrapped up and left behind, discarded like an old newspaper.

Jilly closed her eyes. So what if she was alone? In the end you were always alone. You couldn’t take anything or anyone with you when you died, and you couldn’t trust anyone with your deepest hopes and secrets while you lived.

You did it by yourself or it didn’t get done.

Now the future was in her hands. She had to change, and she would work on that. Yet how could she possibly replace the job she loved? Cooking had given her an anchor when nothing else could.

She didn’t hear the light tap at her door. She was too busy searching the bright corridor of dreams that had been her compass since she was old enough to understand what orphan, foundling and abandoned on the firehouse steps meant.

“You idiot.”

She jumped when she heard the familiar voice, rough with concern. Then her oldest friend’s strong hands slid around her and gripped tight.

“Why do you always have to do everything alone, stubborn as a rabid mule?”

It was a timeworn joke between the four friends. When I need help I’ll ask for it. It was Jilly’s oldest answer to any question. And of course she never asked.

She whispered the familiar words now, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“You should have called us! I could strangle you.” But Grace’s hoarse words were full of love and support, despite their anger. “What happened? Were you burned?”

Jilly took a raw breath. No way to lie. Not to your oldest friend. Not to Grace, whose face held worry and irritation and complete, unqualified love.

“It happened at dinner. It was right after the tortilla soup and the wood-grilled salmon. I had a beef tartare entrée coming up. The Wagyu beef was perfect, with little marblings that—”

“Forget the food. What happened, Jilly?”

“It was—like a fist at my chest. Nausea. Straining to breathe and dizziness. I lost it. Just plain lost it. The doctors say that … it’s my heart. There’s some kind of atrial valve malformation. And when you factor in the stress of my work, plus the physical demands and the long hours …”

“What’s the diagnosis?”

“They think—well, that it was a heart attack,” Jilly whispered.

“No way.” Grace sank down on the bed. “You’re too young for that.”

“Apparently I’m not.” Jilly took a deep breath. “No more busy Saturday nights at my restaurant. No more Jilly’s Naturals. No more mango tomatillo tamales with espresso chipotle sauce. What am I going to do now, Grace?”

“We’ll be here. All of us. Caro and Olivia and I. It’s going to be fine.”

“How can it be fine? All I’m good at is cooking.”

“Be quiet and listen to me.” Grace gripped Jilly’s shoulders. “You’ve got us and you’ve got the Harbor House. Just remember that. If there’s a way to make this work for you, we’ll think of it together. And if not … then we’ll find a new dream for you to catch and hold. It will be even better than the old ones.”

“But how will I—”

“Just trust someone for once, will you? I learned how to trust again, and so can you. Now tell me everything. Start with what happened in the restaurant and all your symptoms. I’m going to do some research. Then you can get another opinion.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Jilly said softly. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned against Grace. “I saw the X-ray with the shadow. I saw the first lab results. There’s no point in hoping—”

“There’s always a reason to hope. If you say that again, I’m going to deck you, Jilly O’Hara.”

Jilly forced a smile. “If you pull out my EKG monitor, I could expire right here. ‘Death by best friend!’ I can see the headlines in the Summer Island Herald now.” Jilly gave a shaky laugh as Grace handed her a tissue and an expensive chocolate bar. “I’m only supposed to eat what they bring me. Nothing else. Tomorrow there are more tests.”

“I checked with the nurse. One piece is okay. Now dry your eyes and eat. Then we’re going to make a plan of attack.”

“SHE LOOKED SO SAD, almost as if she was broken. I’ve never seen our Jilly look like that.” Grace sat stiffly in the hospital’s big lounge. Outside, purple clouds swept across the distant foothills. Lightning flashed and shimmered, as restless as Grace’s mood.

“I’ve never seen Jilly give up. She’s totally single-minded. Nothing stops her,” Caro said worriedly. Her voice came closer to the phone.

“This thing has. Her doctor says that she’s going to have to change her life 180 degrees or else. No more stress. No more crazy work schedule. Good food, rest and exercise along with medication. Maybe surgery.”

“Jilly doesn’t know how to relax.” Caro sighed, sounding tired. “She never has. This is all so terrible, Grace. I just wish I could be there with you. When can she leave?”

“Probably a week. But I’m staying here, so don’t worry. Meanwhile, we’re making a plan. Tomorrow I’ll talk to her cardiologist and then I’m going to get another opinion. But you need to rest, too, Caro. You sound exhausted.” Since Grace’s departure, all the Harbor House repair work had fallen on Caro. Grace hated leaving her friend in the lurch this way. “I’m fine. Things have been intense here, that’s all.”

“It’s that new contractor, isn’t it? Fire him, will you? You’re too kindhearted by a mile.”

“But he has three kids and a new baby on the way. And his mother used to work at the animal shelter. I can’t just—”

“You can and you damned well better, Caro. If you don’t, then I will. Now go get some sleep. The Harbor House will survive. I’ll text you as soon as I know more about Jilly. We’ll make this work out right. We always do, remember?”

“I remember.” Caro gave a sleepy yawn. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Count on it.” Grace frowned. As soon as she broke the connection, her optimism faded.

She wanted to be positive for Jilly. She wanted to believe in a sunny world full of possibilities. But how did you argue with X-rays and heart enzyme tests?

“STOP FIDGETING. READ one of those magazines.”

Jilly punched at her pillow. “I tried. They’re boring.”

“Then read that thriller I left you.”

“It’s stupid. Nobody does ridiculous things like that.” Jilly scowled. “I was rooting for the villain by page ten.”

“Jilly, I give up. You have to rest. The doctor told you that, remember?”

“I’m trying. It’s just not easy.” Jilly shifted restlessly. “Can’t you find me a good magazine? Cook’s Illustrated would be perfect. Or maybe Gourmet—”

“The doctor said no cooking. No more work obsession. You are supposed to relax.”

Jilly blew out an irritated breath. “How can I relax? My salsa line will be dead if I don’t get back to work. And my wholesale produce contact said—”

“Talk to the hand.” Glaring, Grace waved her hand in front of Jilly.

“But—”

“Rest. Otherwise I’ll bang you with that meat mallet I found in your purse.”

“Don’t knock the mallet, pal. I lock up really late at night and the parking lot is empty. That thing makes a great defensive weapon.”

Grace jumped as her cell phone chimed, forgotten in her pocket. It took her a moment to clear her tangled thoughts. “I’ll take this outside.”

“Sure. Go right ahead. I’ll just sit here and let my brain rot slowly.”

Grace shook her head as she walked outside. But when she glanced at her phone, she felt the instant wave of joy … and then the crushing worry.

It was Noah.

She scanned his text quickly.

Called Caro. Got an update. How’s the Salsa Diva doing?

Grace cradled the phone. Noah still caused a flutter at her chest, even after all these months. She hoped that would never go away.

Not so good. Waiting for more tests. It looks like her heart. She’s upset and so am I. I only wish that …

Grace left the sentence hanging and hit the send button. What was there to add? There were still too many questions to predict what would happen next.

Noah would understand. He had read her feelings almost from the first moment they had met. He was smart and decent and also the sexiest man she knew.

But sexy and decent didn’t help when his job kept him tied up 24/7. Lately Grace woke up at night in a cold sweat, seeing dark images of explosive death and shattered limbs. Though few people could be told, Noah was a bomb disposal expert and he was the very best. Because of his experience and thoroughness he had cheated death again and again.

Given how important his job was, Noah couldn’t turn and walk away. No matter the risk.

And because Grace knew how much the job meant to him, she wouldn’t ask him to. While they were perfect together, perfect equals and amazing lovers, a distance had begun to creep between them.

Grace had a suspicion that one day she’d wake up and find the distance too great to cross, and she’d lose the only man she could ever love.

Her phone chimed, and Grace answered breathlessly.

“Hey, gorgeous. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better.”

“I’m really sorry. Any updates? Have you seen her medical reports yet?”

“A few. There are more to be done.” Grace watched more lightning play over the mountains beyond the hospital window. “It looks like heart problems.”

“She’s awfully young for that, isn’t she?”

“They found a malformed valve. They told Jilly it was just a matter of time.”

“So they caught it early. That’s something.” Noah took a deep breath. “Tell me how you are doing.”

“I’m … managing. But Jilly’s not exactly in her best mood right now. She lives to work but her doctor says all that has to change. And seriously, Noah, I don’t know if she can.”

“Everyone can change. All it takes is motivation and commitment.”

“You really believe that?” If so, where did that leave them? Nothing had changed Noah. His job was still a jealous lover, and any day he could walk out of his apartment and not come back.

“I do believe people can change. Grace, about my transfer … I’m working it out. In fact—”

Grace heard muffled voices and then the angry cry of a siren. “Noah, are you okay? Is anything wrong?”

“Everything’s fine, honey. I’m just finishing up some loose ends.”

“Truly? You … wouldn’t lie to me? Never lie,” Grace whispered fiercely. “I can handle anything but that.”

“No, all the heavy lifting is done. We’re just waiting for the folks from Homeland to arrive so we can sign off.” His voice was calm and reassuring. “I wish I had more time to talk.” There was no hint of nerves or impatience.

But Grace wasn’t reassured. “Be careful. And if you manage to change your schedule, I guarantee you some amazing Chinese dumplings and a cable car with a view of the bay.” Grace refused to give way to desperation. They needed to meet halfway as equals—or not at all. If he was locked to his job, what kind of future did they have anyway?

“Working on it, honey. Give me another week. Then let’s book that hotel on the hill with a view of the Golden Gate. I want to order room service and wake up every morning with your head on my pillow. I promise I’ll make it happen this time.”

This was the third time they’d tried, but Grace didn’t bring that up. Third time was the charm, right? “Clear the date and I’ll arrange everything, just as long as Jilly is doing okay,” she finished.

“She’s damned tough. Your only problem will be keeping her out of the kitchen long enough to get a diagnosis.”

Both of them knew it was no joke. Cooking was the one dream that had kept Jilly afloat during a troubled girlhood and a lonely adulthood.

“We’ll think of something. Maybe Caro, Olivia and I should stage a kitchen intervention,” Grace mused.

“Hey—that’s not a bad idea. Is Olivia finally back from Europe?”

“She got back two days ago.”

“Jilly’s luckier than she knows. Not many people have friends like you three. And I vote for the intervention,” he said gravely. “Life’s too short.” His voice turned hard. “I know how short, honey. So pin her down and make her do the right thing. Meanwhile, we’ll work this out with my job. Just give me a little more time—”

Sirens split the quiet air and Grace heard the swell of urgent voices. “Noah, what did you say?”

“Sorry, honey. Gotta go. The Homeland team just arrived.”

“Okay.” Grace’s heart twisted in her chest, but she kept her voice level. “Be safe.”

She heard shouts and more sirens. She bit down all her questions. “I love you, Noah,” she said hoarsely. “Remember that. Call me when you can.”

But it was too late. He had already gone.

Life was too short, Grace thought. She wasn’t going to let Jilly ruin hers. Suddenly an intervention made perfect sense.

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU LIKE THIS IDEA of Grace’s? You don’t think it’s too drastic?” Caro took a breath and stared up at her friend. “Be honest, Olivia.”

“I’m always honest with you.” Olivia Sullivan paced the room, frowning. Like her two other friends, she was plotting a way to help Jilly redesign her hectic life.

When Grace had first called with a wild intervention plan, the idea had seemed very extreme. But clearly something had to be done.

Caro studied the border of the baby blanket she was knitting. In the crib nearby, her daughter slept, pink-cheeked and contented.

Could her world have been more blessed and filled with magic?

Sure. You could have your husband safe, home beside you, a voice answered coldly.

“Caro, are you listening to me?” Olivia Sullivan sat in a bar of morning sunlight, tan and very elegant in a linen dress and Italian silk scarf. Her hand-knit linen shrug matched her dress perfectly.

“Of course I am.” Caro managed a smile. Clearly this trip had been a good thing. It had been years since Olivia had looked this relaxed. Her months working and studying architecture in Europe had left her glowing. “You always look so elegant, Livie. I swear if you weren’t my oldest friend, I’d have to hate you.”

“Hardly.” Olivia ran a hand over Caro’s unfinished blanket. “You’re the radiant one. When you pick up the baby, you actually glow. Someday … well, I want to look like that, too.”

“You will.” Caro squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “But you should see me at 3:00 a.m. when I have spit-up on my robe. Not a pretty sight.”

“If anyone could carry it off, it’s you. And you and Gage are so great together. At the wedding it was almost as if you could read each other’s thoughts. I loved watching you two.” Olivia frowned. “I know it must be hard without him. I’ll babysit or shop or do laundry. You name it.”

“I may take you up on that. But now I want to hear about Europe. You went everywhere you planned? Florence. Paris. Tuscany, too?”

“I did. It was amazing.” Olivia gave a rueful smile. “Great food, but I gained ten pounds.”

“You could stand to gain ten more,” Caro said, feeling just a little envious. “So what’s in your bag? You keep looking at something.”

Olivia dug in her purse and set a plastic container on the table. It was a model Caro had used herself. “Well, well. You’ve been busy over there in Europe.”

Olivia flushed.

“Is there something I’m missing here?”

“Probably.”

“So is that a used diaphragm?”

Olivia turned the plastic container slowly. “Almost. Very, very close.”

“Anyone I know?”

Olivia shook her head. “He was nice and smart and gorgeous. A painter from Paris.”

“So what happened?”

“That happened.” Olivia glared at the plastic. “Everything was gorgeous—a quiet country inn. Linen sheets and moonlight spilling through the windows. He didn’t push me, Caro. I wanted to sleep with him. I told him to wait a few minutes and then—then I couldn’t get that devil’s tool inserted. I finally gave up. We had a fight and ended up driving home in total silence. Not a word the whole trip. It was beyond horrible.”

Caro frowned. She could see Olivia was still hurting from the encounter. “I’m sorry to hear it, Livie. They can be tricky.”

“I felt like such a fool.” Olivia glared down at her teacup. “I refuse to feel so humiliated ever again.”

Caro had a sudden memory of Olivia at fifteen, putting on panty hose and trying not to be flustered for her first date. Her father, Summer Island’s mayor and most powerful public figure, had been very strict, criticizing every move his daughter made. Over the years Olivia had never been smart enough or thin enough or popular enough for her father. He never hid the fact that he had wanted a son to groom for his real estate investment business.

In his eyes women were meant to stay at home and keep the house clean, anticipating their husband’s whims. Women were not meant to be CEOs or senators or physicists.

Caro almost never cursed, but she thought a bad word loud and clear. She had said quite a few of them when Olivia’s parents had separated and her father blazed off to become a high-profile mover and shaker in Seattle with a different nubile model on his arm every night.

Good riddance, Caro thought. He wouldn’t be around to dig away at his daughter’s confidence anymore. Olivia could finally find her feet. The time in Italy and France appeared to have done her a world of good. She looked calm and collected.

Caro wondered if the appearance was only skin-deep.

“Pour us more tea and I’ll give you some instructions. When I’m done, you’ll be an expert, Livie. But after that, I want to hear all about Europe. Especially your social life,” Caro said dryly. “With a husband who has been gone for months, I need to remember what sex is all about,” she muttered.

Arizona

Two days later

MORE LAB TESTS CAME back.

Negative for cardiac blockage.

Negative for elevated heart enzymes.

“That’s good, right?” Jilly dragged a hand through her hair as she studied the print. “This means my heart is okay?”

Jilly’s specialist picked his words carefully. “It means the major triggers for a future attack are missing. But we need to dig deeper to find out what did happen. And there’s still the question of your valve malformation and your arrhythmia.” He studied Jilly’s patient records, which were getting thicker by the hour. “Your weight is good. A job that keeps you active, I see.” He flipped through more pages and frowned. “A high-stress work environment. We need to remedy that.” He stopped as someone knocked at the door.

Grace peered in. “Sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jilly felt sick at what was about to come next.

No more stress.

No more cooking.

Find a new line of work.

She closed her eyes. “Please come in, Grace.”

“You’re family?” The doctor closed his file and studied Grace.

“A friend. A very good friend,” Grace said fiercely. “I’ll help any way I can.”

“Good. Your friend has some big decisions in front of her. Having a support network will be crucial. What about family?”

“No,” Jilly said coldly. “None.”

“I see.” The doctor tapped the thick chart. “It could be worse. You’re young and otherwise healthy, Ms. O’Hara. No tobacco use. No obesity or diabetes. But your last ECG shows an elevated heart rate. I’m not thrilled about your LDL levels, either.”

“What does all that mean?”

“Your heart is working too hard. At this point, surgery is not recommended. Diet, medication and lifestyle changes are the first step.”

Jilly ignored the first two items as irrelevant. “Lifestyle? I’m not giving up my work, Doctor. I can’t,” she said hoarsely. “I could … cut back a little. Maybe go in late sometimes.”

The doctor looked at her and frowned. “I’m not sure you understand what I’m saying. We only get one heart, by nature’s choice. Blowing through it isn’t a sane plan.” He shook his head slowly. “By all rights you’re far too young for us to be having this conversation. But you’ve had a warning shot over the bow and now you need to pay attention. I’d hate to see you back here in three months. Or in three weeks,” he added gravely.

“So you’re saying I can’t work? I have to lie in bed and vegetate?” Jilly’s voice rose with an edge of hysteria. “I’ll go insane.”

“Then stay busy. Take up a hobby. Find something that relaxes you. For the moment your old life needs to be put on hold while we assess our options and how well you respond to those options.” He glanced at the needles sticking out of Grace’s bag. “Why not take up knitting? Some convincing tests show that knitting confers a measurable relaxation response.”

“Not the way I knit,” Jilly rasped. “I’m terrible at it. Can’t I just—well, cut back my work hours?”

The doctor crossed his arms. “All I can tell you is what makes the best sense for the long term.”

Jilly squeezed her eyes shut. “You don’t understand. Cooking is all I have.”

“What I understand is your health. For you that means at least six months stress-free. It means medication, exercise and careful medical follow-up. The rest will be up to you and your body.” He closed the chart and slid it under his arm. “Get some rest. I’ll be back this evening with a detailed health plan. It won’t be the end of the world.”

He nodded at Grace and then walked outside as his beeper began to vibrate.

Jilly closed her eyes and gripped Grace’s hand. In three months her salsa line would be gone, her vendors lost. In four months her investors would bail out. Her business would be destroyed.

“Hey.” Grace gave her a mock shoulder punch, though her eyes shimmered with tears. “It’s not a disaster. You’ve got us. Remember that. We’ll work this out together.”

Jilly tried to smile.

But Grace didn’t understand. It was different for her and the others. They had families and people they could rely on in an emergency. Jilly was alone—and she always would be.

GRACE SPOKE QUIETLY, keeping an eye on the door of Jilly’s hospital room. “She’s going to have to make huge changes, Caro. That means no stress and no cooking for at least six months.”

“She’ll hate it,” Caro said fiercely. “It will feel like a death sentence for Jilly. Hold on. The baby’s crying.”

Grace heard rustling and then the sound of sniffling.

“Okay, one hungry baby emergency under control.” Caro took a deep breath. “So it was definitely her heart?”

“That’s what her doctor said.”

“We have to get her through this transition somehow.” Caro hesitated. “Can you get email?”

“I’m on my cell right now, but I can get email on that.”

“Great. There’s something I want you to see. This will make Jilly rest, whether she likes it or not.”

“The intervention idea?”

“I think I found the perfect place. There’s a lovely resort in Wyoming that specializes in craft retreats. She can enjoy a class in the day and then relax with a spa treatment at night. Lots of nature. Lots of peace. Not a lot of noise or distractions.”

“What’s this place called?”

“Lost Creek. They hold a highly praised knitting retreat there every year.”

“Knitting? You’ll never convince her.” Wearily, Grace rubbed a cramp in her neck. “Jilly hates to knit. And she hates to be manipulated.”

“I know.” Caro hesitated. “And that, my friend, is where you come in… .”

CHAPTER FIVE

Oregon

Three weeks later

“BEHOLD THE NEW ME. Completely calm. Seriously relaxed.”

Jilly scowled at Grace, who was driving. “In fact you see before you the queen of relaxed. But there’s one problem. You can only take so many walks or read so many fluffy magazines before your brain starts to rot. So listen to me, Grace, because this is serious. I love Summer Island. It was nice for the first few days and totally great to see Olivia again. Your grandfather, too.” Jilly tugged back her hair in a vicious twist and dragged a rubber band around the thick strands. “But if I have to endure five more months of this fun, I may shoot someone. Most likely myself,” she muttered.

“Relax, Jilly.”

“Relax how?” Jilly glared up at the gray Oregon sky. “At least in Arizona, it was sunny. These gray skies are depressing.” Jilly sat up straighter, watching a road sign flash past. “You just took the wrong turn. We’re supposed to be going to that new restaurant in Portland.” Jilly’s head whipped around as Grace turned onto the freeway and took the exit for the airport. “What are you doing? I thought we were going to Portland.”

“Not exactly.” Grace pulled into a parking spot and waved at a nearby car. Caro and Olivia jumped out, beaming in excitement.

“What’s going on? Why are Caro and Livie here?”

“Because, my dear, sweet, idiotic best friend, they came to see you off. Caro has your suitcase packed and Livie bought you some new clothes.”

“Clothes? Why clothes?”

“Because you’re going on a trip and you’ll need them.”

“This is a joke, right? You planned some kind of a girls’ night out in Portland. Just don’t tell me it’s at a Chippendales place because my heart isn’t in it. My heart, get it?” Jilly’s face was stony. “I’m trying not to spoil the party here, Grace.”

“No Chippendales. I promise, you’ll like this. It’s a cooking retreat that I found on the web. It’s only offered every three or four years, so you’re in luck.”

Jilly began to smile. “Really? I could handle that. I never have time to improve my skills, and I could finally dig in and catch up.” She hesitated. “But the doctor told me no work—”

“You won’t be working.” Grace grinned. “You’ll take classes. No worry and no cleanup. Low stress all the way.”

“Wow. It sounds great.” Jilly waved at Caro and Olivia, who slid into the backseat. “Cool scarf, Livie.”

“I got the yarn in Florence. They really know how to live over there.” Olivia tapped on the suitcase near her feet. “I’ve loaded up on your favorite travel food, chocolate included. You’ll be in junk-food heaven. Caro packed the rest of your stuff, and I added a few clothes.”

Jilly looked shell-shocked. “You mean I’m going now? What about Duffy? What about my ticket?”

“All taken care of.” Olivia high-fived Jilly. “We’ll take care of your dog and everything else. This trip is our gift to you.”

“Seriously? You mean—”

“We mean you are going to go and have fun, Jilly. You’re going to start over and learn how to relax.”

Jilly rubbed her hands in excitement. “You guys are the best. You know that? I’ve told you that, haven’t I?”

Grace coughed and then pulled back onto the road. “Terminal 3, here we come.”

“Where is it? San Francisco? New York?”

“Wyoming,” the three others said in unison.

Jilly frowned. “I’ve never heard of any cooking programs there.”

“It’s all in your travel folder. Olivia will give it to you at the gate.” Caro frowned at Jilly. “And remember. No caffeine. No alcohol. No heavy exercise or stress. You’re supposed to take it easy.”

“Sure, sure. I can go without coffee now. I won’t buy a single cup while I’m gone. And no all-night keggers, I promise.” Jilly wriggled like a kid, eager for details. “So what is this place called?”

“Stop asking questions and move.” Grace eased the car to the check-in curb, motioning to Olivia in the backseat. “Olivia will go inside with you and help with your bag. She can answer any questions, too. We’ll circle a couple of times and wait for her. Now get moving.” She leaned over to hug Jilly. “Take care of yourself.”

Olivia jumped out first, but Jilly grabbed her suitcase away and charged inside.

Caro shook her head. “She’ll never change.”

“Don’t worry, Livie can handle her. By the time she realizes the truth, she’ll be on the ground in Wyoming.” Grace gave a guilty laugh. “And there are no more flights out tonight. I already checked. Like it or not, Jilly will be stuck there—on the vacation of a lifetime.”

Lost Creek, Wyoming

JILLY HAD ONLY LANDED ten minutes before, and her head was spinning from the whirlwind trip. So this was Wyoming.

She hadn’t expected the mountains to be so big.

And the airport to be so small.

She crossed the waiting area and frowned at the row of two dozen seats. “This is a mistake. This can’t be the airport for Lost Creek. It’s tiny.”

“No mistake, ma’am.” The attendant at the sleepy baggage claim glanced at Jilly and sized her up for a big city tourist. “You going up to the resort?”

“I thought I was going to someplace near Jackson Hole.”

The attendant laughed. “Quite a few peaks between you and Jackson. A couple million dollars in real estate values, too.” He pointed out to the curb. “You can get a taxi over there. May have to wait a bit. Joe just had a baby so they’re short-staffed.”

Jilly felt a headache building force. “How long would it take to drive to Jackson Hole?”

The attendant looked as though she’d made a rare joke. “Couldn’t do it. Not with all the mountains you’d have to cross. Why’d you want to go there anyway? Overpriced and overpopulated, if you ask me.”

“The restaurants for a start. The fresh produce.” Jilly closed her eyes. “The coffee,” she whispered with a sigh of longing. “Oh, yes, the coffee.”

“We got coffee here. Darned good coffee shop over on Main Street. This your bag?” He lifted the bright blue suitcase and sniffed. “Smells like chocolate.”

Jilly took the bag and frowned. It did smell like chocolate.

“Probably sitting on the heater in the service truck. Must have melted the chocolate.”

Another disaster. Jilly closed her eyes and tried to relax. “So how far is it to this resort?” Jilly dug into the pocket of her leather bag and found the big envelope that Olivia had handed her right before she boarded the flight to Denver. Jilly had assumed this place called Lost Creek was near Jackson Hole. Remote but sophisticated.

But there was no point in arguing now. She was bone-tired and ravenous. Coffee would have been nice, followed by room service and a long soak in a big tub. Maybe even a massage. That’s what people did to relax, right?

Jilly didn’t know. She’d never had a massage and she hardly ever relaxed.

Something nudged her foot. She looked down and fell into a pair of big brown eyes.

A broad, furry face stared up at her.

The big brown Lab retriever looked calm and expectant, as if Jilly were an old friend who would know what to do next. And just like that Jilly’s mood brightened.

She loved dogs. Any color, any size, any breed, they made her day.

Her irritation vanished as she sank down on one knee and rubbed the dog’s soft brown fur. “Oh, my. You’re a beauty, aren’t you? Smart, too.” Impulsive as always, Jilly felt no fear. The dog made a rough sound of pleasure as she found the little hollow behind the right ear.

It never failed. What dog didn’t like to be scratched slowly, just along that sensitive little ridge?

“Excuse me, ma’am. My dog isn’t good with strangers. Touching him is a bad idea.”

“He’s your dog? Well, we’re doing just fine here. In fact—” Jilly glanced up, ready to protest, but her breath tangled up in her throat, lost in a husky gasp as she saw the rugged man looming over her.

CHAPTER SIX

HE WAS TALL, AT LEAST six-four. His eyes were an uncommon shade Jilly had never seen before. Not quite navy. Not quite gray, either. No, they were an unusual, restless shade warmer than both.

His skin was tan from long hours outdoors. A cowboy, by the look of him. Long legs. Seriously long legs. Jilly couldn’t help running her eyes up that long, lean length of man with a silent sigh of appreciation.

Okay. This was one ruggedly handsome cowboy.

She coughed and stood up slowly, gathering her wits. The man was almost six inches taller than she was. She wasn’t used to that. She also wasn’t used to the quiet, focused way he was studying her.

No chatter. No cues of any sort. Totally reserved. But he looked as if he liked being in command of things around him.

Her brain began to race. Maybe he was a rancher with a few hundred thousand acres, which he personally supervised by Jeep and horseback. On the other hand he carried himself with an almost tangible sense of command. Slow, simmering charisma of a very alpha type.

An actor?

No, not an actor, Jilly decided. His face was too contained. Actors were always on stage, oozing energy and playing to an audience. This man looked as if he could keep his secrets very well. He would give orders, but he’d do it so smoothly you never knew you were being controlled.

Jilly frowned. Where had all that come from? She didn’t know the slightest thing about the man.

The big dog moved closer, nudging her hand for more petting.

“Okay, honey. You’re a big beauty, aren’t you? Want another long scratch behind the ears?”

The brown tail rocked hard and banged Jilly in the face as she knelt. “You love that, don’t you? Sure you do.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you from L.A.?”

“No.”

“Las Vegas?”

“No way.” He thought she was from Vegas? Hello?

“So where?” He slid his hands into his pockets, his eyes slipping to a darker shade of navy.

“I’m from Oregon, as it happens.” Jilly stared back at him. “I’ve been working in Scottsdale for the past few years. That’s in Arizona,” she said, feeling a little snide. “South of here.”

“I know where Scottsdale is.” He made it sound like a bad thing.

That cool, assessing way of his irritated her. “What’s wrong with Scottsdale?”

“Nothing. Not that I know of. Never been there.” He rolled his broad shoulders. “Pretty hot in the summer, I guess.”

“So are New York City and Houston and Washington, D.C. And they’ve also got humidity to crush your soul. Your point is?”

“No need to get riled.”

“Who’s riled?” Jilly glared at him. “I’m just throwing out some data here. You should visit Scottsdale before you pass offhand comments. It’s a great town. They have fabulous spas there.”

He tilted back his cowboy hat. “I’m not too big on spas.”

“Well, then there’s the hiking. You look like the outdoors type.”

“Could be.”

“Amazing resorts and world-class restaurants, too. I could name a dozen at least.”

Irritated, Jilly blew out a huffy breath. Why did this complete stranger make her so defensive and flustered? “And one more thing. You should scratch your dog’s head more often. Do it like this. Don’t you know about this little ridge?”

The maybe-rancher looked bemused. “Don’t think I do.”

“Well you should. It’s a great way to bond with your pet. It calms a dog and gives them sheer joy. Any dog.”

“I’ll remember that, ma’am,” the man said dryly.

Oh, sure he would. And the world was flat.

Jilly reached for her suitcase, glancing outside in search of a taxi.

Suddenly a truck backfired. At a terse command from the owner, the dog sat down and went absolutely still in what was clearly part of a familiar routine. All the playful energy vanished. All the good humor disappeared with that low order.

The dog did not move a single muscle, alert for the next command.

Jilly forgot all about her suitcase and stood up slowly. “Wow. How did you do that?”

“Good dog, good training. He rarely takes to strangers though.” The man frowned at the dog. “Odd. Probably it’s because he’s been cooped up for two flights back-to-back.”

“Ugh.” Jilly ran a hand through her hair. “I know just how he feels. Traveling can be hell.”

“I didn’t think you were a local.”

“Don’t get started on that again.” Jilly waved her hand toward the front of the airport. “I guess I’ll go find the taxis. I’m staying at Lost Creek Resort, wherever that is.”

“Not far. You’re too early for skiing,” the man said slowly. “No real snow will accumulate for a month or so. Not that it’s any of my business.” The man started to reach for his heavy duffel bag, murmuring to his dog as he leaned over. Then he swung around, frowning.

His dog was looking at Jilly with an expression that could only be called wistful.

“Winslow? We need to go.”

Ignoring him, Jilly leaned down to scratch his dog’s head and smooth the powerful shoulders. The big dog gave no sign of going anywhere, motionless under Jilly’s stroking hand, soaking up the attention.

“That’s another first.” The man shoved his hat back on his head. “He really does like you.”

There was something about the man that interested as well as aggravated Jilly. She sensed a story here, something that would explain his detached manner and why he didn’t like sharing anything about himself.

She gave a shrug. “Most dogs do. People not so much. And forget about skiing. I’m here for the cooking retreat.”

The cowboy frowned. “Didn’t know they had cooking workshops at the resort. But then I’m way out of touch. I don’t get into town all that much.” He looked away, his eyes on the horizon.

“Why not?” The words just slipped out.

His shoulders seemed to tighten. Then he ran a hand along his arm, almost as if it hurt him. “Lot of reasons.”

As she looked at that tanned, lean face, Jilly felt the little hairs stir along her neck. Probably it was from the cool mountain air. Or maybe it was exhaustion from traveling. But there was no mistaking the sharp sense of awareness that hit her when he turned, reaching down next to her to pet Winslow.

Jilly could almost feel the heat of his body. Or was that her imagination?

Did he feel this weird kind of sensation, too? No way to know. His face gave away nothing. He barely smiled.

But his eyes tracked her, and Jilly thought they had darkened as they watched her.

Again her skin prickled. She was usually excellent at reading people. She had a real radar for lies, secrets or bad juju. Her friends called it her crud-meter, and they relied on it frequently in tackling their ongoing renovation project in Oregon. It had saved Jilly from getting involved with bad business partners and shady construction offers on a number of occasions.

But right now the meter was dead cold. All she picked up was distance and sharp intelligence. Not a single emotion or detail came across from his face or his manner. And that was downright impossible. Jilly could always dig up something.

But the cowboy—if he was a cowboy—remained a cipher. By now most men would be impatient to be on their way, unless of course they were trying to make a move on her.

Not this man. He stood as if he controlled the spin of the earth. He seemed to register everything around him but showed no emotion about how it affected him. Just being near him left her feeling oddly …

Unbalanced.

But grounded, too. That was the right word. As if he gave her weight and order and security.

And he wasn’t coming on to Jilly at all.

There were no covert stares at her legs or clever banter. No sly hints as he tried to mentally undress her. He simply wasn’t interested, she decided.

Not that it mattered to her.

On impulse she held out her hand. “I’m Jilly O’Hara.”

His eyes narrowed. Then slowly he held out a calloused hand. The movement seemed awkward and a little unsure. “Walker Hale. It’s … nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Oh, call me Jilly. Everybody does, except when they call me worse things.”

Their hands opened and met and Jilly felt awareness flare into something sharper. When his rough fingers opened, they seem to fit her hand perfectly, as if they had been made for nothing else. The jolt of contact made her bite back a sharp breath.

Jilly released his hand so fast it edged on rudeness. Even then her skin seemed to burn. “Well, Mr. Hale, I do love your dog.”

The dog’s eyes followed her, alert and liquid. The first hint of a smile brushed the man’s face, and the change stunned Jilly. In that moment his expression softened, open and loving as he stared down. Well, who wouldn’t love a big, wonderful dog like his?

He touched the dog’s head and said a few low words. Instantly the dog was all energy, dancing at Jilly’s side, full of joyous excitement.

“Impressive. He’s like a totally different dog now. And you are one lovely ball of fur, aren’t you, honey?” Jilly laughed as the dog nudged her hand, demanding more ear-scratching bliss. “What a gorgeous friend you must make.”

The man rubbed his jaw. “Not many people call Winslow honey.”

“Well, I’m not most people.” Jilly raised an eyebrow, irritated that she couldn’t read the man. Not even a hint. “And honey is an equal-opportunity endearment. I use it for animals or people I like, male or female.”

Something zinged between them. Recognition and possibilities and just a hint of something deeper. Speculation. Man/woman stuff. Jilly’s meter spiked hard with that one. Unfortunately the feeling vanished before she could pin it down.

A muscle moved at Walker’s jaw. “Give the lady your paw, Winslow. Show your manners.” The big dog barked once, rolled over, raced around Jilly and then sat down, one paw raised perfectly.

“Isn’t that the smartest thing? You’re a real beauty.”

Walker scratched his dog’s head. Jilly noticed that this time his fingers moved until they found the exact spot she had pointed out at the dog’s ear.

Fast learner, she thought. Maybe she had been wrong about him. Again Jilly felt the little stirring along her neck.

“Lost Creek is a small place. Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said. “Are you staying for the week?”

“Ten days, actually. The classes are supposed to be pretty intensive.”

“I see.”

The attendant clearing the luggage area glanced over at them, clearly impatient to finish his work. Jilly saw a yellow taxi pull up out front.

“I’d better go before I lose my taxi.” Jilly swung her small suitcase off the carousel and wrinkled her nose. The smell of chocolate was unmistakable. Caro and her friends had stocked up on her favorite junk food in vain.

As she lifted the suitcase, two bags of chocolate candy fell out of the unzipped pocket. More candy spilled out, landing on plastic-wrapped bags of snack cakes in various flavors. Before she could turn the suitcase over, two sheer pieces of white lace fluttered to the floor.

Jilly blinked.

A ruffled lace camisole with matching bikini panties? Definitely not hers. She didn’t do lace, not in any shape or style. Ditto on the ruffles.

“That’s some stash of chocolate you have there.” Walker looked down at the camisole that had drifted down onto his well-worn brown cowboy boot. A muscle moved at his jaw. “Nice underwear, too.” He reached down and lifted the fragile lace carefully. “Sheer.”

“Civilized people call it lingerie,” Jilly snapped. “And hands off, if you please.”

But she couldn’t take her eyes away from the strong fingers that cradled the frilly lace. The contrast was so sharp it made her feel hot and strangely dizzy.

Okay, time to get moving.

She grabbed at the candy bars and wrapped cakes, shoving them back into the suitcase. Then she reached for the camisole he was holding.

The ground suddenly swayed. Her breath caught.

“Hey.”

Jilly didn’t answer. Her face felt hot and flushed.

“You don’t look so good.” The voice came from very close by, but for some reason Jilly couldn’t focus. She was fascinated by the little green squares in the carpet, which seemed to jump and dance.

“Sit down.” Walker Hale gripped her shoulder and urged her down onto her suitcase. “Steady now.”

His voice sounded a million miles away. The floor kept spinning. Maybe it was because of the hours of travel. Or the altitude. Or dehydration.

Winslow pushed up against her chest, licking her face and whining softly. His owner leaned down beside him. “Jilly, look at me.” He cupped her chin and raised her face. Concern creased his forehead. “Take long breaths. Go on. Nice and deep. That’s right.” All his attention was focused on her, as if she were the only thing in the world.

Jilly seemed to slide straight down into his deep gray-blue eyes, as if she were wrapped up in a cool, clean mountain dawn. Now she could sense the warmth behind all his distance. Oh, yes, there were deep emotions here. There was power and need and loss, if you knew where to look and weren’t afraid to dig hard.

He was definitely intriguing.

“You’re shaking. Jilly, can you hear me?”

She hated that he was right. “I’m just a—a little dizzy. Maybe it’s altitude. Or something.”

“Hydration,” he said flatly. A water bottle met her fingers. “Drink it all.”

Winslow whimpered and sidled up beside her, offering his body for her to lean against. Still shaky, Jilly was glad to accept the support and the water. As she drank, she focused on Walker and realized that he looked concerned.

Really concerned.

Did she look that bad?

She tried to be casual. “I forgot to buy water in Denver. I had to run after a gate change.” Her throat was dry and the water felt like heaven. She finished drinking and ran a hand over her face, glad when the shaky feeling in her legs began to fade. “That’s better. Thanks.”

“Elevation can hit you hard. We’re not so high as Telluride or Jackson, but it’s high enough. Drink more water for the next few days. Don’t overexert yourself.” His fingers slid over her wrist and he focused on the big wall clock, watching numbers flicker by.

He seemed to know what he was doing, so Jilly closed her eyes and tried to relax, taking another deep breath.

“We’re only at 4,500 feet here, but the resort is another thousand feet up. Get acclimated slowly. No alcohol, whatever you do.” He continued to watch the clock. “You look okay, BP wise. A little high, but nothing crucial.” His voice was cool and soothing.

“Say that again.”

“Blood pressure. I’ve spent a lot of time at altitude and I know standard alpine medicine protocol. Do you have a history of heart problems? Asthma or emphysema?”

She looked away, frowning. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t going to discuss her health with this aloof stranger whose eyes saw too much. “I feel a lot better now. But I drank all your water.”

“Not a problem. I always carry a spare. I can get that one, too, if you think you need it.”

She flushed at his simple generosity. “No, but thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Winslow bumped at her hand and gave a short bark.

“Hey, Win. Let her catch her breath.”

“He’s no bother. Are you, sweetie? You’re just perfect.” Jilly scratched the dog’s head, wondering if she’d missed something. But no, she’d passed two exercise tests before leaving the hospital in Arizona. The heart halter she’d worn for a week had come up clean. This had to be a case of simple dehydration and the stress of travel. She did recall her doctor saying she should watch for signs of labored breathing and keep her exercise level low. He had warned her against going above 8,000 feet. But she would be fine here in Lost Creek.

When she got to the resort, she would reread all her medical instructions, which were stored safely in her bag. Since her blood pressure was fine, she wasn’t going to worry. Too bad that her plans for a nice latte and a glass of Merlot would have to go on hold.

She stood up slowly, relieved when her dizziness did not return. “I guess the traveling caught up with me. I’d better go grab that taxi. Apparently you don’t have a lot of choices for transportation in this town.”

Winslow bumped against her leg, whining.

“My dog sure does like you.” Walker sounded bemused. “I don’t understand it.”

“Wait a minute.” Jilly gave a sudden laugh and slid a hand into the pocket of her sweater. She pushed past a half-eaten bag of nuts until she felt a sealed plastic bag. “Bingo. All is illuminated.” With a flourish she held out a big piece of wrapped beef jerky, which she’d forgotten in the rush to leave. Her own dog, a snowy-white Samoyed, loved jerky, especially her homemade treats.

Jilly felt a pang of regret, but she knew that Duffy would be happy at Grace’s house on Summer Island, where he was boarding until Jilly’s return.

What could compare with the love in an animal’s eyes or the flow of warm fur beneath your fingers? What was better than the dance of pure excitement a pet gave to welcome you when you walked in the door?

Not even a fine, single variety dark chocolate could match it.

“Jerky. That would explain it.” Walker scratched the dog’s head. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ve got a week’s worth of jerky stowed in my duffel. We’ll get right on that.”

And then Jilly saw it again, the open, loving warmth that softened the man’s eyes. He loved this dog and he didn’t care who knew it. They were a real team.

And wasn’t it pathetic that Jilly felt jealous of a dog?

She held out the bag of jerky. “This is on me. I don’t need them. My Samoyed is back home.”

“A Samoyed? Smart breed. Great temperament.”

“That’s my Duffy for sure.”

“Miss him, do you?”

Jilly gave a rueful smile. “Terribly and I’ve only been gone part of a day. But I don’t think he’s giving me a second thought. He’s probably running on the beach with his pals right now back in Oregon.”

“Sounds like dog heaven. Winslow and I don’t get to the ocean enough, do we?” Walker scratched his lab under his chin. “Thanks for the jerky.” He gave a small piece to the dog, who gobbled it eagerly.

Jilly saw the attendant wave at her and point outside, where the taxi driver was standing up, talking on a cell phone. “I’d better go. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hale.”

“Walker.” He reached around her. “Let me get this for you.” He scooped up her suitcase before she could react. “You’ve got the tote to carry. Winslow, sit.”

Jilly watched the dog move over, sitting while Walker clipped on his leash to lead him outside. She didn’t speak as they walked out to the cab. Something about the whole incident made her tongue-tied.

“Have a safe trip, ma’am. Say goodbye, Win.”

At the drawled command, the big dog held out one paw. Jilly shook it and then scratched the soft head. “Drop by the resort if you want a food sampling. I make a killer chocolate mousse.” She slanted a look at Walker and frowned. There was something very intriguing about all that distance and cool control. Even now he gave nothing away. And the more he hid … the more Jilly wanted to pry out of him.

“Do you live in town?”

“Nope,” Walker murmured. With a nod to the taxi driver he stowed her bag in the trunk.

After a moment Jilly slid inside. “Somewhere nearby then?”

“Nope.” He closed her door, gave a two-finger wave and tapped on the hood. “Enjoy the resort, ma’am.”

As the taxi drove away, he stood motionless, one hand on Winslow’s head.

Jilly wondered why he had avoided both of her questions. It didn’t feel like rudeness. More like habit. And there was a definite story here. Piecing it together would help her fill the time over the next ten days. Besides, that dog of his was special. Too smart and well trained to be a simple pet.

Nothing wrong with a pet, of course. But Jilly O’Hara recognized a trained service dog when she saw one.

And what did that make Walker Hale?

“PRETTY LADY, WIN. Nice eyes. A little high-strung though.”

The big brown lab watched the taxi vanish over the hill, then turned to look expectantly at his owner.

“What do you think?”

Winslow raised his head and gave a low howl that rose and fell like wolfsong.

“So you agree about the high-strung part. But you liked her. You made that very clear. And she had a real nice laugh.”

Winslow turned and looked after the taxi, tail wagging.

“Great legs, too. Not that I was looking.”

But he had looked. And at more than her legs, Walker thought. That lace thing from her suitcase had hit him right in the gut. What man wouldn’t fantasize about seeing a woman in something that lacy and sheer?

Walker rubbed his shoulder, which had begun to ache again. Too many long flights. Too little downtime.

He forced away the pain by habit and turned his mind back to the woman. She had long dark hair that curled over her shoulders. Green eyes that glinted when she got angry.

She seemed to get angry fast. He smiled at the way she had ripped into him when he’d said Arizona was too hot. No mincing words, she had stuck up for a place she loved. He liked that kind of loyalty.

Yet when she mentioned Arizona she had looked sad. Almost lost. She had touched her chest as if it hurt.

Broken relationship? Marriage called off?

Hell, it was none of his business. Too long between dates, Walker told himself.

Too long between anything at all. He’d have to do something about that one of these days.

Frowning, he rubbed his neck. He remembered how her face had flushed and how quickly she had sat down. She had recovered fast, at least. But was it because of dehydration or something more serious?

None of your business, Hale.

And right now he had work to do.

A whole mountain of work waited, back at his cabin. He had a new set of mission plans to review. After that he and Winslow had to work out half a dozen new drill scenarios.

The training would help U.S. troops using service dogs in hostile mountain terrain all over Afghanistan. Walker and Winslow were something of a legend in their work. Since his medical discharge from the marines, Walker was in high demand as a combat training consultant. He traveled for work, and coming home to the mountains was always a relief. Everything he needed or wanted was right here in this small town. Nothing would change that.

So he pushed Jilly O’Hara’s husky laugh and sexy underwear out of his mind, shouldered his heavy duffel bag and headed off to his Jeep with Winslow trotting alertly at his side.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE FIELDSTONE BUILDINGS of Lost Creek Resort hugged a valley between two peaks. Small cottages circled a rugged lodge and two guest wings. Jilly imagined how beautiful the tree-lined slopes would look blanketed in snow.

As the taxi drove up the winding road bordered by pines and aspens, she gave up trying to get Walker Hale out of her mind. “So … do you know that man at the airport?” she asked her driver casually. “The one with the dog. He’s a local?”

“Walker Hale? Sure. He’s been here awhile. He’s got a nice place up the mountain. Family’s had a place here for generations. His dog is real nice, too. Trained and everything. Heard both of ‘em were fighting over in Afghanistan.”

“The dog, too?”

The taxi driver nodded. “In the marines over there. Dog helped with security. Both got hit. Walker nearly got himself killed saving Winslow. Least that’s how I heard it.” The driver rounded a curve, and they cruised past low stone fences that framed the last of the year’s wildflowers.

Jilly soaked in the beauty while she processed the new information about Walker Hale and his dog. “Wow. I thought his dog looked smart.”

“He takes real good care of Winslow. Not too social though. He doesn’t come into town much except for food and coffee. We got a new coffee shop this year,” the driver said proudly. “You should stop in. They could use the business.”

“I may do that.” Jilly thought longingly of a frothy mocha latte with a dusting of cinnamon. But she had sworn to cut down on her caffeine, and she didn’t want to go back on her promise.

She didn’t confess that the real draw was encountering Walker—and his enchanting dog—again very soon.

HER ROOM—A SUITE ACTUALLY—was a cabin nestled in a grove of aspen trees. Their white trunks and dancing golden leaves made Jilly sigh in sheer delight. The rustic log design was peaceful and the clear mountain air seemed to calm her soul.

In her old, driven mode she would have rushed off to dig up every detail about her cooking classes the following day. But the new Jilly was determined to slow down and enjoy the scenery. Instead of fuming or worrying, she kicked off her shoes, opened the big French doors and wandered out to the stone patio overlooking the valley.

The view was drop-dead amazing, all green slopes and ridges above the distant valley and town lights. Someone had set out a plaid blanket on the big patio rocker. Jilly wrapped the thick wool around her shoulders, watching the sunset.

Not bad. This was almost peaceful.

Maybe she was getting the hang of this relaxation thing, after all.

A GUST OF COLD AIR SHOOK Jilly awake two hours later.

The sun had set, and the night sky was a soft purple lit by stars. Yawning, she stood up and stretched, then made her way inside to the living area. Bright rugs covered the walls, across from a fieldstone fireplace with distressed wood mantel.

Whoever designed the place had a real eye for color. With a yawn Jilly glanced at her watch and was stunned to see how late it was. No point in leaving her cabin tonight. She had her travel food and the little room refrigerator held plenty of drinks.

She drummed her fingers on the table and then dug out her cell phone.

Grace answered on the second ring, sounding breathless.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Jilly asked.

“I’m repainting the upstairs hallway. The electrician finished the rewiring and the new floors are done.”

“That’s great. What about that kitchen wall?”

“One more week. But forget about the renovation. How do you feel? What do you think of Lost Creek?”

“The town is pretty small. And the resort is definitely rustic.” Jilly studied the darkening purple sky. Was that a shooting star she had just seen? “But rustic in a good way. And the air up here is amazing. I feel great. I sat out on my porch and actually fell asleep. In fact I’m going to bed early. No point trying to check on my classes tonight.”

“That’s right. No need to rush,” Grace said quickly. “You can get all the, uh, details in the morning.”

“Is something wrong? You sound odd, Grace.”

“I’m just a little antsy because I want to finish up and then take a nice, long bath. I’ve got paint in my hair and under my fingernails. But Noah finally managed to get away. We’re meeting tomorrow in San Francisco.”

Jilly smiled at the excitement in her friend’s voice. “About time. The hunk will have eyes for only one thing and that’s your smiling face.” Jilly stretched her arms and yawned again. “As for me, I am totally dead on my feet. But I have to know how Duffy is doing. Is he eating okay? Did he get his exercise? Did he go to see Dr. Peter for his checkup?”

“Let’s take them in order. Duffy is doing great. He is eating like a horse. Or he would, if Caro let him. You should see Bogart and Bacall race around with Duffy up in the woods. Olivia is going to take him to her office, too. But you know our Livie. She’s a little afraid of dogs she doesn’t know well.”

“Wait,” Jilly cut in. “Olivia’s afraid of dogs? I didn’t know that. What happened?”

“Don’t know. She closes up like a clam when I ask. But Duffy is such a big teddy bear that she seems okay around him. Is that a full enough report?”

Jilly blew out a little breath. “Thanks, Grace. It’s just that I miss him. And I worry.”

“No need to explain. Duffy’s a great dog, and he’ll be here healthy and happy when you get back. But first we want you healthy and happy. So just relax and enjoy yourself.”

“I’m working on it. I can’t wait for my cooking classes tomorrow.”

Grace cleared her throat. “Great.”

“Well, I just wanted to call and say thanks. You’re all the best.”

“I’ll tell Caro and Livie you called. You have the list of instructions from your doctor, right? No alcohol. No caffeine. No heavy physical exertion.”

“I’m up to speed, Grace. Don’t worry. Forget about painting the hall. Focus on having a great time with Noah. And tell him I said hi, okay? Remember that I want his mother’s meatloaf recipe. She has some secret ingredients I can’t figure out. Maybe roasted paprika?”

Grace laughed. “I’ll tell him you asked.”

Jilly stifled another yawn. “Did I tell you I saw a shooting star tonight? There was a tail of light that burned over the ridge. I’m taking it as a sign that good things are coming.” Jilly hesitated. “I … met a man at the airport today. He had a wonderful dog. There was something about him.” She turned, watching stars twinkle over the dark line of mountains. “Something intriguing. He was so controlled and contained. I couldn’t read him at all.”

“No way. You can read anyone.”

“Not him.” Jilly smoothed the wool blanket, wondering why she couldn’t get the man out of her mind. “Well, I’d better go. Make sure Caro doesn’t work too hard. The contractors will drive her nuts.”

“Olivia’s taking over now that she’s back.”

“Good. Caro’s too nice.”

Grace chuckled. “I’ll tell her you said that. You take it easy up there. Have a great time.”

“That’s the plan.”

After she hung up, Jilly leaned against the cool glass doors. Her whole body felt relaxed and somehow lighter. Tonight she might actually be able to sleep. Though she had never told her friends, she had been plagued by crippling insomnia for months. Nothing seemed to help.

But tonight Jilly thought she could sleep for a week.

Yes, she was going to take that shooting star as a very good sign.

Things were finally looking up.

AT 6:45 A.M. SHE WAS UP.

She had slept better than she had for months. Totally energized, she was ready to plan for her classes. She paced back and forth, admiring the huge stone fireplace, waiting for someone to appear at the reception desk.

Her sunny mood began to fade when no one appeared. She tried the offices, but all were empty. Frowning, she followed the noise of rattling dishes back to a serving area. The drifting aroma of coffee and bacon told her the kitchen wasn’t far away.

Jilly waved to a harried woman in a resort uniform. “Can someone help me?”

“Dining room is down that hall, ma’am. I’m afraid breakfast doesn’t start for another ten minutes though.”

“I’m really looking for someone at the reception desk. I want to find out about the cooking retreat.”

The woman blinked at Jilly. “Come again?”

“Cooking. The classes?” Jilly said the words very clearly. “I’m signed up but I haven’t found any details posted. Who should I talk to about that?”

“Well … I guess …” The woman put down her tray of clean silverware and gestured to a closed door off the kitchen. “Head chef is back there. Maybe he can help you.”

“Thanks. Sorry to bother you.” Jilly crossed the hall, noting the outdated cooking ranges and cramped food prep areas. The resort could definitely do with some renovations. Meal service during peak guest seasons would be a nightmare.

Not your problem, O’Hara. You’re on vacation, remember? Let somebody else worry about the cleanup and the details of the food prep.

She stopped at an entrance with a carved wooden door, listening to the deep voice inside.

“I know the guest reviews have been good. But how can I upgrade the menus on the current budget, Mamie? And my staff is too small. Two cooks and six kitchen staff for a resort this size? It’s impossible.”

Jilly hesitated. She didn’t want to eavesdrop. And the conversation seemed to be growing volatile.

Suddenly the man’s voice boomed out in a laugh. “Sure, sure. I’ll just keep asking. So what about the Henderson wedding? Still on for Friday? I know how you love a big resort wedding.”

Jilly peeked through the door. A short man was sitting at a postage-stamp-size desk. Cookbooks lined neat shelves all the way to the ceiling. “Check. The cake is baked.” He tapped on a computer as he spoke. “We’ll start the decorations tomorrow. You still planning for one hundred guests?”

There was more silence, broken by the soft tapping of computer keys. “Will do. Come by at lunch. I made that ginger ice cream you like.”

The chair creaked again and Jilly heard the typing resume. She knocked on the door.

“Come on in. It better be important. I’ve got a wedding menu to finish.”

Jilly stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping to get some information about your cooking retreat classes. They start today, but I can’t find any signs posted. I thought I’d ask back here.”

The resort’s executive chef swiveled his chair around slowly. “Cooking classes?” His ruddy face slid into a grin. “Very funny. Wait a minute.” He tilted back in his chair, studying Jilly. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. I arrived last night.”

The chef drummed his fingers on the tidy desk. “I recognize you now. You’re Jilly O’Hara of Jilly’s Naturals. I read an article about you last week. Look at these.” He opened a drawer and rummaged excitedly, then pushed a jar across the desk. “Mango Chipotle Salsa. A mix made in heaven. I used it last night as a basting sauce for grilled pork. So why are you here at Lost Creek Resort?” He made a kissing motion to the air. “Why aren’t you in your kitchen producing more great salsas?”

Jilly liked him instantly. She had to smile when he pulled three other flavors of Jilly’s Naturals products from the drawer. “It’s kind of … an enforced vacation. I’ve been a little under the weather, and my friends set up this trip as a surprise. But they told me I was going to a cooking retreat. There aren’t any classes here?”

“Sure, but not for cooking. Somebody must have made a mistake.”

No cooking? That couldn’t be right, Jilly thought. Could her friends have been confused?

Maybe she should call Caro and—

The chef broke into her tangled thoughts. “Nothing serious, I hope. About you being under the weather.”

“No. Just working too hard—you know how hectic it can get in a kitchen.”

“Tell me about it.” He held out a beefy hand. “Name’s Ralph MacDermott. My friends call me Red. Not for the hair, but because I burn. It’s the Irish in me. Tell me what you think of the resort so far.”

Jilly took the cup of tea he poured from an electric pot behind his desk. “Everything’s beautiful. You’ve got a nice, tidy kitchen. Very clean and well organized.” In politeness she didn’t add that it was also cramped and forty years out of date. But cooking magic came from people, not appliances.

“We manage pretty well, most of the time. Ski season gets a little crazy. Skimageddon, we call it.” He sipped some tea and then studied her some more. “Had a chance to look at the menu yet?”

“No. I fell asleep last night. The air here is amazing.”

“It will take off ten years, and that’s a fact. Have a croissant.” He pushed a plate of golden pastries across to Jilly. “You must be pretty busy with your restaurant and your food line. How did you manage to get away?”

Jilly’s smile faded as she remembered her fall in the kitchen and the cascade of bad news that had followed. Right now her business was shaky. A friend from cooking school was filling in temporarily, but she couldn’t ask him to help out forever. Soon she’d have to make a decision.

She could let go of her dream and sell everything. Or she could go back to the job that she loved, knowing it could kill her.

What kind of choice was that?

Jilly decided that her call to Caro could wait. She was having too much fun talking shop with another chef. “I delegated. I’m trying to learn better management skills.”

Red refilled Jilly’s cup. “And your friends signed you up? Nice idea. They definitely sent you to the right place to relax. Sure, we’re not Jackson Hole or Aspen, but for my money, I’ll take Lost Creek any day.”

He searched through a folder, then glanced up at the wall clock. “How about I walk you over to the building where our workshops are held? It’s just down the hill, but the path can be confusing.” He flipped off his computer and stood up.

“You’ve got a kitchen to run,” Jilly said. “If you can give me directions, I’m sure—”

“No way. You’re a celebrity,” Red said firmly. “You get the grand tour.”

AS THEY WOUND PAST CEDAR-and-glass buildings, Red filled Jilly in on the town’s history, dating back to a rough-and-tumble mining camp in the last century. It was clear that he loved the place. Between questions about produce sources and trends in southwestern cooking, he grilled Jilly about future plans for her salsa line. She managed to be polite despite her fears about the future of her business, but she was relieved when they finally stopped at a big redwood structure with stained glass windows.

Now maybe she would get some answers.

Red glanced at his watch. “Here’s where the classes meet. But it’s a little early. You have time to get breakfast.”

“I never eat much breakfast. The croissant was perfect. Besides, I want to see about the retreat. If it’s really not geared to cooking …” Her voice trailed off. She looked around curiously as a young woman with a big wool bag strode past, red Keds flashing beneath purple leggings. Two more women rounded the path, both carrying big fabric totes.

Jilly studied their bags. They had big pockets on both sides. Jilly had seen bags like those before.

Caro carried one. It held her current sock project. And extra balls of yarn.

Stitch markers.

Long wooden needles.

Jilly closed her eyes.

They hadn’t. They couldn’t.

Had her devious friends signed her up for a knitting retreat instead of a cooking school?

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE WAS GOING TO SKEWER them for this!

Jilly shot from surprise straight into fury. They had tricked her with images of cutting-edge cooking techniques and hot new chefs. They’d lied to her.

They’d signed her up for knitting camp. A bunch of old ladies with blue hair and arch support shoes, Jilly thought furiously.

Oh, she could knit if she had to. She knew the basic moves. But it had never been fun or relaxing for Jilly, and each project attempt left her crazy with impatience.

There was no way she’d be going through that door into those classrooms. Over her dead body!

Red was staring at her in concern. “Are you okay? It’s not cooking, but our retreats are very popular. We’ve sold out three years in a row. You’re lucky your friends could find you a spot.”

“Lucky? Not from where I’m standing. I knit like a surly second-grader, so my friends tell me. I’m going to kill them for this,” she muttered.

“Hey, you might like it. Kinda soothing to see all those needles bobbing around. My wife used to knit. I lost her last year to cancer.” The chef cleared his throat. “What I mean is, you should give it a try. I can introduce you, if you want. I know all the teachers by now. We bring pie and chocolate down every afternoon at break time.”

Jilly tried to rein in her temper, aware that her friends had set this up with good intentions. They wanted her to rest and they figured this was the best place for it.

But she needed to cook, not knit. She needed to stand at a big 34-inch stainless steel stove finessing salsa and coaxing European butter and dark chocolate into sinful new concoctions.

Jilly rubbed a hand over her face, processing the shock. She was a terrible knitter. It brought out the impatient teenager in her, and that was never a good thing.

But here she was.

She’d have to find some way to occupy herself, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near balls of yarn and pointy sticks. No blue-haired grannies, either.

Red called out to a woman in a bright green and blue sweater that would have sold for a fortune at a trendy Aspen boutique. Jilly recognized the skill of the finished piece. The woman had a name tag and looked like she was in charge.

As she approached them, Jilly suddenly felt like a cornered animal. Piles of yarn waited to torment her with dropped stitches. Rooms of expert knitters would glare, studying her with pity and contempt.

“Sorry, Red, I, uh, just remembered. I have to return a call. A—business call.”

“But you’re supposed to be on vacation. And the retreat—”

“Better go.” Jilly darted back up the path, ignoring the questioning looks of Red and his friend.

WHAT WAS SHE SUPPOSED to do now?

Jilly couldn’t imagine sitting calmly and chatting with a room full of strangers, all of whom were better knitters than she ever hoped to become. She would only manage to twist her stitches and drop whole rows.

She’d be a basket case inside an hour.

Jilly kicked a stone out of her path, frowning. If she hadn’t gotten sick, she’d be back in Arizona perched on a sunny stool, overseeing produce deliveries and designing the next month’s menu. She’d be busy and productive, thrilled to be alive.

She sank down on a little bench, aware of an alarming—and absolutely unfamiliar—urge to cry. She recognized that she had a good chance for a healthy future if she was careful. She knew that she was lucky to be alive.

But how did you pull yourself up and start all over? Where did people find the courage for that? It was terrifying.

She sighed, watching mist gather and then tumble over the mountains on its way down to the valley.

You didn’t talk. You just did it.

Jilly squared her shoulders. No more whining or hand wringing. No more knitting angst, either. She was going out to find something fun to do. To heck with the yarnies and their cool projects.

TEN MINUTES LATER JILLY stalked up the steps to the main lodge.

The taxi service was unavailable. The hot tub was closed for maintenance. The tiny library didn’t open until noon. And she hated spa treatments.

Meanwhile, the resort internet service cost twenty dollars an hour. Were they kidding?

Jilly thought longingly of Summer Island and the bustle of the narrow cobblestone streets, where she knew everyone. There were the repairs to Harbor House to discuss with her friends, part of their ongoing plan to create a chic café and yarn shop right at the foot of the harbor. And Jilly missed Duffy. She missed his warm body on her bed and his sloppy kisses in the morning.

She tried not to think about all the other things she should be doing, like check on her tottering business in Arizona.

Something glinted in the sunlight. A laughing couple pedaled past her on identical red bicycles.

Bicycles that said Lost Creek Resort.

Who needed a taxi?

She swung around and collared the first resort employee she could find. She could already smell the extra-large cappuccino she was going to buy in town.

So what if it was cheating?

THE BICYCLE FIT HER perfectly. Its old-fashioned weight made Jilly feel safe and in control.

The wind combed through her hair as she turned onto the service drive and began to pick up speed downhill. How long had it been? Ten years? Fifteen?

Suddenly memories hit her, hard and fast. Her first bike.

Jilly was twelve when she’d been placed with her second foster family on Summer Island. She’d had pigtails and her own bedroom for the first time that she could remember. They’d tried to make her feel welcome, tried to show her the good points of the small, tightly knit community.

But she hadn’t fit in. When the family had moved, Jilly had been placed again. And then again three months later. She’d never really fit in. Not until she met Grace and Caro and Olivia.

In the course of a week Jilly had discovered what it meant to belong. That summer had changed her life, allowing her to pull down the heavy walls she had built for protection after being shifted from foster home to foster home.

To cap the summer off, Caro’s grandmother had given her a bike, bright green with a blue basket. At first Jilly had thought it was a mistake, that it was really meant for Caro. But when she saw that Caro had an identical Schwinn, right down to the blue basket and blue seat, Jilly was speechless at the generosity. She had tried to give the bike back, only to have Caro’s grandmother frown and ask if she preferred a different color. Then Caro had gotten teary and said that if friends couldn’t give gifts to friends, what good were they anyway.

That long, enchanted summer hung in her mind, clear as yesterday. She remembered every golden week of laughter, every shared secret. No complications, only lazy sunny days.

Then Caro’s mother had checked out of her detox program and vanished.

Then Grace’s grandmother had begun to show the ravages of lupus.

Then Olivia had revealed signs of panic attacks and stress at school. Through it all they had backed each other up completely. They had always known the best words to offer comfort and share pain.

Something burned at Jilly’s eyes. She had amazing friends, but they were all moving on. Caro was married with a baby now, worrying about her marine husband in a hostile country. Grace was engaged, trying to juggle the demands of a long-distance relationship with a man she adored. A successful architect, Olivia was finally breaking free of her father’s icy dominance and already planning a return trip to Europe.

It was all changing. They’d never be as close again. One day they might wake up and discover they had nothing at all left in common.

Jilly shuddered at the thought, unable to bear the possibility of losing something so precious. She rounded a turn, the wind whipping at her hair. Something flashed at the middle of the road, and she yanked the handlebars, braking hard. Before her lay a bright red square that seemed to be a wool tote bag with leather handles, cables and big silver buttons.

She picked up the bag and glanced inside. Two pairs of knitting needles, one crochet hook, three balls of yarn and a cell phone. She looked back up the steep road and saw she’d come much farther than she’d thought. She’d never make it to town if she went back to the lodge now.

She rolled up the tote and slid it into the saddlebag on her bike. When she got back, she’d turn the bag in to the resort lost and found. But first she had a dream date with a gorgeous cup of cappuccino.

THE TOWN OF LOST CREEK looked like a backdrop for a ski commercial. The main drag held twenty shops where locals seemed to mingle amiably with tourists.

Jilly pedaled slowly, taking in the sunlight reflected on the neat windows. The town wasn’t as small as she had first thought. There were nice shops and a cozy bookstore. Several of the restaurants looked promising.

Then all thoughts vanished in a rush of fragrance from a nearby door. Jilly careened to a stop and sniffed again.

Espresso. Dark roast.

Freshly ground.

Her brain short-circuited. She couldn’t stop her feet. Leaving her bike on the curb and drifting on autopilot, she followed the smell of roasting beans. Before sanity returned, she was sitting in a wooden booth by the window holding an extra large steaming espresso and trying not to swoon.

For long, delicious moments she simply drank in the smell.

“Is something wrong?” A lanky young man with bright green eyes gestured at the cup. “I notice you haven’t drunk your coffee. Is it okay?”

Jilly gave a guilty smile, painfully aware of the promise that she was about to break. “I’m having a transformational experience here. No point in rushing it.”

“Cool.” He smiled and pointed to the painted blackboard covered with local ads. “Mind if I go write that down for a testimonial?”

“Be my guest.”

Jilly still didn’t drink the coffee. She was pleased at her restraint. Waiting was good.

Meanwhile, a phone rang somewhere in a back room. Two women in jogging pants came in, ordered lattes and left. More people came and went. Sunlight poured in a golden cloud over the narrow street. Jilly cradled the coffee between her hands, fighting an urge to drain the frothy cup in one greedy gulp.

But she closed her eyes, counted to five and then regretfully pushed the steaming cup away.

Another phone rang. Three more customers came in, ordered coffee to go and then wandered out. You could make a lot of money with a good business in a town like this. Both locals and visitors appeared to be spending money, and every parking spot on the street was taken. There were no For Rent signs or closed-up windows. And in ski season, with good staffing, a restaurant could—

Jilly shook her head. There she went, building another business empire.

“Would you like a refill?” the young man asked.

“No. I’m just fine.”

“But … you haven’t drunk any yet.”

“Just taking my time.”

The lanky worker hesitated. “In that case, if you aren’t in a hurry, would you mind keeping an eye on things here for a few minutes? They just called me from the bank and I need to run over to sign some papers.”

Jilly would have been more surprised at this trust afforded a stranger, but growing up in Summer Island she had seen the same easy manner. “I guess so. But are you sure—”

“I’d really appreciate it. Unlimited coffee on me as a thank you.”

Great. Add torture to temptation, Jilly thought. “No need. I can stay for a while. Nothing special to do.”

“That’s cool. What did you say your name was?”

“Jilly. But—”

“Great. Thanks, Jilly. Just tell any customers that I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jilly had barely managed a nod when he waved once and strode outside. The silence pulled at her, calming and deep. She studied her coffee, bemused.

The door opened. “Uh, is Jonathan around?” A small girl in a jean jacket glanced at Jilly, frowning. “I wanted to get a coffee.”

“If Jonathan is the man with the red hair, he just left. He said he’d be right back. Something at the bank.”

The girl looked anxiously out the window. “I have errands to finish. My brother will be waiting.”

Jilly stood up. “What do you want? I can make it.”

“I’d love a mocha latte, please. And some of Jonathan’s hazelnut syrup. But I thought you were a customer.”

Jilly walked around and checked out the serving area. “No problem. I can work the machines.” After two summers working at a coffeehouse in Portland, she knew her way around an espresso machine and a steaming wand. “Have a seat while I make it.”

She filled the silver coffee filter, pulled a shot and then went to work on the steamed milk, efficient and precise. The girl looked surprised at the frothy milk design that Jilly poured over the top of her drink.

“Wow, that looks great. You should teach Jonathan that. He always has problems with that new espresso machine.” The girl pulled some froth onto her finger and licked it thoughtfully. “Wow,” she said again.

The front doorbell chimed but Jilly barely noticed as she finished cleaning the small filter, rinsed the milk wand and leaned down to check the heat level on the boiler. Nothing ruined fresh beans faster than high heat or a bad grind.

She heard a man clear his throat. “Is anyone here? Jonathan?”

Jilly shoved back her hair. The air seemed dense, too heavy to breathe. She was painfully afraid that she was blushing as she turned and saw the tall man by the counter with the well-behaved brown dog right beside him.

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