“I don’t trust myself to do what’s right for you, Léa.”

Zach paused. “I’m sober today. But who knows if I can really do this? It’s too soon to tell.” He sighed. “You want to adopt a child, Get involved with me, and you can kiss that goodbye. You’ve got to remember what you want in the long haul. Okay?”

Not even sure what she was agreeing to, Léa nodded, She had the idea she was losing something precious. That she was closing the door on something big and important.

She looked at him and realized she had never seen eyes like his. It went beyond color, to their expression. Compassion. Understanding. Acceptance. All the things she had ever wished for herself.

She understood what he was really telling her. Stay away, for both their sakes. That made all kinds of logical sense.

Only, logic didn’t rule her lonely heart.

SHARON MIGNEREY

lives in Colorado with her husband, a couple of dogs and a cat. From the time she figured out that spelling words could be turned into stories, she knew being a writer was what she wanted. Her first novel garnered several awards, first as an unpublished manuscript when she won RWA’s Golden Heart Award in 1995 and later as a published work in 1997 when she won the National Reader’s Choice Award and the Heart of Romance Reader’s Choice Award. With each new book out, she’s as thrilled as she was with that first one.

When she’s not writing, she loves enjoying the Colorado sunshine, whether along the South Platte River near her home or at the family cabin in the Four Corners region. Even more, she loves spending time with her daughters and granddaughter.

She loves hearing from readers, and you can write to her in care of Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

SHARON MIGNEREY
SMALL TOWN SECRETS

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.

—Hebrews 11:1–2

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

END NOTES

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Zach MacKenzie turned off the shower and heard the doorbell ringing. Wondering who could be at the door this time of night, he grabbed one of the pink towels off the rack just as the bell, an elaborate eighteen-note affair, chimed again. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he padded across the bedroom to the front of the house. At the window, he peeked beneath the sheer curtains half expecting to see a cop parked in front of the house. Cops had no reason to be looking for him, but he had no doubt they would come around just as soon as they found out an ex-con was living with the richest woman in town. Never mind that she was his aunt and the only person who had stuck by him over the last three and a half years.

Because of the porch roof between the open window and the front door, he couldn’t see who had rung the doorbell. He studied the dark street in front of his aunt’s house, noted a car in the driveway across the way that hadn’t been there earlier, and decided all else looked about as it should for midnight in a town as small as Rangeview, Colorado.

The town was the opposite in every way from Denver, where he had lived his entire life before going to prison. Instead of jammed freeways, a single stoplight three blocks from the house regulated the town’s meager traffic. The town was a whole twenty blocks long and seven wide, the only paved street the highway that came through town.

The breath of air that fluttered the curtain was as soft as a sigh. Outside, it was blissfully, peacefully quiet, and he decided the ringing of the bell had been nothing more than kids playing a prank.

Yawning, he left the window and pulled back the covers to the bed. Between putting his aunt on a plane in Grand Junction early that morning, making the four-hour trip back here courtesy of a ride from his aunt’s attorney and unpacking his few belongings, it had been a full day. A good day. A free day. For that he was thankful.

The bell rang again, making him wish he had obeyed his impulse to disconnect it until Sadie returned from Europe. He couldn’t imagine who might want to see his aunt this late. Whoever was at the door obviously wasn’t going away, so he pulled on a pair of jeans, then trotted down the stairs.

The bell rang one last time, the chimes echoing through the house. He clicked on the porch light. The silhouette on the other side of the frosted oval glass looked like a kid. With green hair.

He flung open the door to a visitor—who had green hair, all right, a wig with flyaway straight strands—clutching a giant pair of shoes.

“Oh, Sadie,” said a distinctly feminine voice, her attention mostly on something behind her. “I just pulled into the driveway and thought I saw Foley go around the back of the house and…” Her voice trailed off when her gaze lit on his bare feet. She stared a long moment before raising her head and showing him a clown face with a huge, painted-on grin that was completely at odds with the apprehension in her voice and in her eyes.

She swallowed, and her hold on the shoes tightened. “Oh…I forgot. Sadie left for Europe and you’re…”

“Zach,” he supplied when she finally met his eyes. “Her nephew.”

Movement across the street snagged his attention—a guy in a white dress shirt and blue jeans appeared between two of the houses across the street, walking with the careful deliberation of someone pretending they were sober. It was a deception Zach understood all too well.

The clown turned around to see what he was looking at. When she caught sight of the man, her shoulders drooped suddenly as though a weight had just been placed across them.

Figuring the guy was bound to notice them any second, Zach snagged her by the arm and drew her into the house. He closed the door and turned off the porch light. “That guy. He’s unwanted company?”

“Oh, yeah.” Her voice caught on a laugh that would have been hysterical if it hadn’t ended on a sob.

“You can use the phone to call the cops.” He turned away from her and strode toward the kitchen.

“No.” She dropped the shoes and practically ran to keep up with him.

“It’s the only way to deal with a scumbag like that.” He picked up the receiver of the phone and handed it to her.

“No.” This time her voice was sharper. She set the receiver back on the cradle. “You don’t understand.”

Zach folded his arms across his chest. He could only hope she wasn’t one of those women who saw themselves as a victim while proclaiming they weren’t.

“Then explain it to me.”

Her gaze fell to the floor, which gave Zach an opportunity to study her. She wore huge, patched, baggy bib overalls cut off at the knees and a purple shirt. Both looked as though they had been worn while painting rainbows. Red-and-white striped socks covered her shoeless feet and climbed up her legs. Under that getup, he couldn’t tell if she was a size eight or eighty. He figured the former based on the shape of her calves. An unwelcome flare of awareness nudged him, which he ruthlessly shoved away.

“He is the cops,” she said finally.

“So?” Zach hooked a thumb in one of the belt loops of his jeans. “If he’s causing you trouble—”

Again she laughed, the sound bitter and disbelieving. “What planet did you come from? There’s a whole five guys on the force, and trust me, they’ll see this his way. They’ll turn a blind eye since I’m his ex-wife, cast in the role of Delilah.”

“So you’re not interested in getting back together with him.” He watched her, the answer to that question somehow important.

“No.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes framed by long, long fake black eyelashes. “Not now, not ever.”

“Feeling a little ambivalent, huh?”

She smiled, or at least he thought she did behind the painted-on grin.

“Do you have a name?”

“Léa Webster.”

He stuck out a hand. “Hi, Léa. I’m Zach MacKenzie.”

With effort, Léa kept her gaze on his face, her impression growing this was the hardest man she had ever met. Piercing eyes the color of strong tea and framed by spiky lashes searched her face. His own was utterly masculine from the straight slash of his eyebrows to the square jaw and jutting chin beneath a couple days’ growth of beard. His nearly black hair wasn’t much longer.

Even without looking below his chin, she knew what was there. A powerful build that any bodybuilder would covet and lean hips covered by faded jeans. He didn’t look annoyed, though she wouldn’t have blamed him if he was.

Time paused somehow, and she was too aware of his hand touching hers. Just that fast, she felt out of breath, like some starry-eyed schoolgirl. She didn’t like this out-of-control, breathless anticipation. Thanks, but no thanks. The only thing that kept her from bolting was the knowledge that her ex-husband was still lurking somewhere outside.

And she—who had a reputation for never meeting a stranger and who could make conversation with anyone about anything—had no idea what to say to Sadie’s nephew.

He glanced down at himself, absently running the flat of his hand down one pant leg.

“Give me a minute to put on a shirt.” He strode down the hallway toward the stairs at the front of the house, which he took three at a time.

Léa pondered what to do next as she moved out of the hallway into the front room where she peeked out the window. She should simply let herself out, but that would be rude. More rude than paying a midnight visit. How could she have forgotten that Sadie was gone? Especially since the upcoming trip to Europe had been the primary topic of conversation between them for weeks. That, and her nephew’s arrival.

Léa knew he was fresh out of the Colorado State Penitentiary because Sadie had talked about that, as well, especially after Léa had taken her to Cañon City for the parole hearing. Zach’s story had all the elements of melodrama that could have provided a storyline for a daytime soap. According to Sadie, Zach had been involved in a tragic accident where someone had been killed. Thanks to a sloppy on-scene investigation and a compelling eyewitness, Zach hadn’t been able to convince the D.A. he was sober at the time of the accident. He had further cast doubt on his credibility by checking into an alcohol rehab center a couple months before the scheduled trial. Despite plea-bargaining the charges against him, he’d still ended up in prison for almost three years. The story sounded too familiar to Léa. It seemed likely he was a guy who avoided responsibility the way her ex-husband Foley did. A responsible man wouldn’t have ended up in prison.

Though Léa loved her neighbor and respected her judgment, she had decided the less she had to do with Sadie’s nephew, the better. She’d be neighborly but distant. Except, here she was, late at night, dodging her drunk ex-husband and imposing on a stranger. A stranger she had vowed to avoid. What had she been thinking? What little she could see of the street from the window didn’t reassure her that Foley was gone, but still…She had just changed the locks, so all she had to do was get across the street and get inside before he came around again.

Rude or not, it was time to go.

She ventured toward the front door, the hallway dominated on one side by the open stairwell.

“Sorry to bother you…” Her call died in her throat as Zach came down the stairs, a black T-shirt emphasizing his impressive shoulders. He looked every inch the bad boy, the kind of guy she had been drawn to a lifetime ago—before she had grown up. His jeans were a little loose, as though he had recently lost weight. The shirt, though, clung to his broad physique.

“It’s no bother.” His voice was deep and had a raspy tone that reminded her of the big, stray one-eared tomcat that visited her every day and whose meow came out as a hoarse rumble.

“Really, I—”

“He come around much? Your ex?”

Her gaze skipped away from Zach’s penetrating one. She shrugged and managed a nonchalant, “Depends. Sometimes…”

“And you come see Aunt Sadie when he does.”

Léa nodded.

“And then what?”

“We talk.”

He made a noncommittal sound.

“Usually over tea or hot chocolate.”

His eyebrow rose, and he took a step toward the kitchen as though he expected to fill that role. She couldn’t imagine drinking hot chocolate with him in Sadie’s welcoming pink-and-green kitchen.

She touched his forearm as he passed her. “You don’t have to…I’m not expecting…”

Her glance fell to her fingers on his arm. She snatched her hand back, feeling as though she had just been burned. Maybe she had.

“I should go,” she said.

“You’re sure?”

Wishing she had some way of knowing Foley was gone and hating the uncertainty that skittered through her, she nodded. Zach made her uncomfortable, though he had been nothing but nice. She swallowed, unable to ignore the knot of apprehension that settled in her stomach.

He followed her toward the door where she picked up the discarded shoes.

“Thanks,” she said. “And I really am sorry that—”

“I’ll walk you home.”

Feeling more flustered by the second, she shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t want to bother—”

“You’re not.” He stepped onto the dark porch behind her and pulled the door closed.

Her attention focused on the deep shadows beneath the trees up and down the street. Since Foley had been wearing a white shirt, he ought to be easy to spot if he was still here. Aware Zach was looking, also, she felt marginally reassured he didn’t seem to see anyone, either.

With effort, she tried to pick up the conversational thread, but couldn’t remember what had come before. “I’m not what?”

“You’re not bothering me.” In the dark it was impossible to tell, but she had the feeling he was smiling.

“Oh. Well…” She took in a deep breath of air, which was cool, just a little crisp, and carrying the scent of Zach’s soap and the rose garden in the middle of Sadie’s front yard.

Once again at a loss for words, she opened the gate to the picket fence that surrounded the yard and then walked across the graveled street to her small house. If Zach noticed the rocks biting into his bare feet, he didn’t acknowledge it at all.

“Sadie get off okay?” she asked to fill the silence.

“Yeah.”

“She’s been really excited about this trip.” Léa glanced back at him and found him once again studying her. She kept moving forward and didn’t see the first step of her porch until she banged her shin into it, then flinched when he steadied her, his long fingers warm against her skin. At that, he dropped his hands and slid the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.

When she met his gaze, she found him staring at a point somewhere beyond her shoulder, his jaw clenched. Seconds passed before he looked at her. “You don’t have to be scared of me—”

“I’m not.”

He issued another of those noncommittal sounds that was evidently a disagreement.

“Really.” To prove her point, she sat down on the top step of the porch, tucked her feet under her, and set the shoes on her lap. She couldn’t be afraid, she thought. Not of this man, not of Foley, and certainly not of the dark street in a town where she had lived all her life. All she had to do was sit here for a minute or two to prove it to herself.

“Aunt Sadie told you I was just released from pr—”

“Yes,” Léa interrupted.

“And if you’re scared—”

“I’m not.” I’m not, she repeated to herself. And she wasn’t. Not in the way he probably meant. He was simply a big, tough-looking man. She supposed he’d have to be to survive prison, a thought that gave her an inward shudder. She couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like.

She sighed, then, to break the uncomfortable silence, latched on to the first thing that popped into her head. “I just planted petunias, so I’m glad that it’s not going to freeze tonight. I probably planted them way too early. Gram told me I should wait another couple of weeks since we could still have another frost, but I’m hoping we won’t. Still, you never can tell. It snowed on Memorial Day a couple of years ago. And that’s a month away.” Babbling, the way she always did when she was nervous. And proving that she wasn’t as relaxed as she wanted him to think. Annoyed with herself, she said, “Sorry. You probably don’t care about the weather and all.”

“Weather is fine.” He gave her an unreadable look, then followed her gaze to the neat plantings that lined both sides of her walkway. He draped an arm over the porch railing. “What’s with the clown get-up?”

“I own a café, and since I’m not open for dinner, I cater parties.”

“Ah, Rangeview’s answer to Ronald McDonald.”

She smiled. “Something like that, I guess, at least for birthday parties.”

He made a point of looking her up and down. “You mean this isn’t your usual attire for a formal affair?”

“Not hardly. Tonight was Gayla Foster’s eighth birthday.” She shook her head. “And you wouldn’t believe the mess that eleven little girls can make. The next time her mother wants to hold the party at my café instead of her own house, I’m going to charge double.”

This time Zach chuckled, and Léa found herself liking it—and him—in spite of herself, especially after he said, “I suspect little Gayla Foster was fortunate to have you. So, why aren’t you open for dinner?”

“Not enough business,” she said. His appreciation soothed her, pleased her, and was all the more bittersweet because she had felt like a grouse for being frustrated with the mess after the children went home. “Anyone who wants dinner goes to Sandy’s Steak House. For a business as small as mine, dinner isn’t profitable.”

A dinner crowd, though, sounded good compared to the party she had given tonight. Once she had looked forward to dressing up to make the kids laugh. Lately, though, she had found herself thinking about the children she would never have and the birthdays she would never celebrate with them. It was far too easy to feel sorry for herself and angry with Foley for the accident that had resulted in the too premature birth of their daughter. In an instant Léa’s life had changed. Her baby had died and she’d had an emergency hysterectomy. Now, she put on birthday parties—fabulous parties—for other people’s children.

Too many times over the last year she had been told that what had happened was God’s will. The thought always made her instantly angry.

She rubbed the side of her nose, the greasepaint beginning to itch. God’s will or not, it was long past time to stop obsessing about what could never be. One thing she knew for sure—she was supposed to be a mother, so she had started the process to adopt a child. Tomorrow she would have her home inspection, and she’d be one step closer to her goal. God willing, she thought, coming as close to prayer as she ever did these days.

The petunias she had been staring at clouded. Léa lifted her gaze to Zach, realizing she had been silent for too long. When something in his gaze softened, she realized her face was wet with tears. Somehow he was sitting on the step next to her, though she had no recollection of him moving. Next to her shoulder, she could feel heat radiate from his body.

“That’s a good thing you do, Léa Webster.” As if offering an extra measure of assurance, he clasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

A simple touch that made her turn her head and look at him. She wasn’t at all sure what she had expected to see within his eyes. Pity maybe. Instead there was a depth of understanding that completely unnerved her.

“Yes…well.” She sniffed and withdrew her hand from his, pulling her house keys out of her pocket. “Just what you need. A neighbor who makes a pest of herself and then makes things worse by crying.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said.

She separated her house key from the others, and Zach took it from her. He stood, and a second later, she heard the screen door open, then the snick of the lock. He pushed the door open. When she stood and joined him at the door, he pressed the keys into her hand.

“Want me to come in? Make sure there’s no boogeyman in the closet?”

She shook her head. “I had the locks changed yesterday, so I should be okay.” She swallowed and looked over at the driveway. “I’d just gotten home and saw him go around to the back of the house, and…well…I probably overreacted.”

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

“Belittle yourself like that.” He dipped his head a little so he could meet her gaze. “Sure you don’t want me to check?”

“It’s fine.” She was sure of no such thing, but she could only imagine the ruckus she’d have on her hands if Zach came in and Foley was somewhere watching. Lately, he seemed to know more about her whereabouts than she did. She shook her head against that thought. “Really.”

“Suit yourself.” Zach let go of the screen door and turned toward the edge of the porch. “Good night.”

“’Night,” she said. He was off the porch before she called his name. When he turned around to face her, she said, “Come for breakfast. My place—the Pine Street Café. It’s at the corner of Main and Pine.”

He nodded. “I saw the sign.”

Deciding she had lost her mind, given her vow to keep her distance, she watched him cross the street. She locked the door and went through her house, turning lights on in each room as she headed for the kitchen.

Once again, the stupid melancholy hit her, weighing her down like a heavy coat. She had tried so hard to overcome it, but here she was again. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the kitchen and turned on the back-porch light. It flooded her yard clear to the small old barn at the back of the property. She visually searched the lit area a moment before turning off the light. Feeling exposed, she methodically pulled the curtains closed on all the windows, though doing so made her feel like the proverbial ostrich.

She couldn’t wait to wash off the greasepaint and go to bed. She’d get a scant four hours of sleep since she had to be at the café for breakfast prep two hours before it opened. After double-checking the new lock on the front door, she turned off lights and headed upstairs.

And found the door to the nursery open.

Since she kept the door closed—always—her heart lurched. She reached inside the room, and flipped on the light.

The lamp in the corner bathed the yellow walls in a cheerful glow. Everything looked as it had this morning when she’d dusted. As always happened when she entered the room, she remembered the excitement she had felt when she had found out she was having a little girl. She had refinished furniture and made bed linens and had planned to name her baby Eleanor after her mother and grandmother.

The nursery stood ready for the child who had never come home. Foley had accused her of turning the room into a shrine, but that wasn’t it at all. She was simply keeping the room ready for the child she prayed would soon be hers to love and cherish.

And then her gaze lit on a teddy bear sitting in the middle of the crib. A bear that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.

She began to shake.

Foley had been in her house. Again.

And changing the locks hadn’t kept him out.

TWO

Her heart pounding so hard it hurt, Léa slowly crossed the room. There was nothing malevolent looking about the stuffed animal, but it was no more welcome on the crib than a rattlesnake would have been. The bear’s foot covered an envelope. With trembling fingers, Léa picked it up.

Early in her marriage, she had thought of Foley’s habit of giving her cards as endearing. Later she had come to dread them because they always, always picked at her in some covert way. He was the good guy, trying to make amends. She was the one who didn’t understand. As usual, there was no name on the envelope. And why would there be, since he never called her by her name?

She pulled the tab out of the back of the envelope and slid the heavy card out. A picture of a pair of teddy bears leaning against each other was on the front of the card. She opened it and read,

Baby, I know about your adoption application. I have a plan you’re going to like.

The card was signed with his initial F in a big, bold stroke that overshadowed the words.

Léa’s heart started to pound as she crumpled the card. Of course he knew about the adoption application. In Rangeview everybody knew everything about everyone else. Her aunt Jackie had undoubtedly told her uncle Curtis, the chief of police. And he would have told Foley.

And of course he would have a plan. He always did. That awful night—he’d had a plan then, as well. He had wanted to sell her grandmother’s house so they could build a new one with all the conveniences he wanted. What Léa had wanted hadn’t mattered at all, and, when she had tried to explain why the house was so important to her, he had refused to listen. He had stormed out and returned a few hours—and a lot of beers—later, and they’d had a stupid argument with both of them shouting. She had turned to go down the stairs…and the next thing she remembered was the long ride in the ambulance and her consuming fear for her baby. Everything had shattered in an instant.

The telephone rang and jarred her back to the present.

She glanced at her watch while the phone pealed again. Twelve-fifteen. Since it was after midnight, only one person could be calling.

Her answering machine picked up, and the instant her leave-a-message recording ended, Foley’s voice came through the speaker. “I know you’re there, baby. Pick up the phone.”

She moved to the doorway, drawn by the voice, needing to know what he would say, hating that she needed to know.

“I can see the lights on.”

She had no idea if he really could see because he was close by and calling from his cell phone, or if he was guessing. Irritated that he was playing mind games with her, she went down the hallway to her dark bedroom where she peeked out the window.

From her answering machine downstairs, Foley continued to talk.

“Okay, be that way. You just need to understand one thing. You’re being plain stupid if you think you can adopt a kid without me. You need me to make this work. You know you do. I’m done with being patient.”

“And I’m done with this nonsense,” she muttered. As soon as she was sure that he’d disconnected the call, she picked up the phone and dialed the number for her aunt and uncle’s house. Never mind the late hour, her chief-of-police uncle needed to make sure Foley understood that he had trespassed.

“Oh, honey,” came her aunt Jackie’s sleepy voice over the phone after Léa identified herself and asked to speak to her uncle. “Are you sure this can’t wait until morning? You know how little sleep Curtis gets.”

“I’m sure.” Léa stared a moment at the card, then dropped it in the wastepaper basket next to the phone.

“You’re calling about Foley again, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“He was so upset tonight,” Aunt Jackie said, “after I told him about your adoption application. The poor man just couldn’t imagine why—”

“Why would you even tell him? This has nothing to do with him.” Léa inwardly fumed, hating that her assumption was right—Foley had found out about the adoption from her own family members.

“Of course I would tell him,” Aunt Jackie said. “He’s a God-fearing man, and he has every right to know what you’re intending to do.”

She made it sound as though Léa planned to enlist her friends to paint the water tower Pepto-Bismol pink. To her regret, she had done just that a lifetime ago. Aunt Jackie’s notion of both her maturity and Foley’s seemed to have frozen in time ten years earlier. “Adopting a child—”

“Should be done by two parents, Léa. And let’s face it. You’re not exactly a poster child for stable.”

“Aunt Jackie, what are you talking about?”

“As if I have to remind you. One example. The time you and Sally Miller stole her father’s car—”

“I was sixteen then—”

“And got stranded in Steamboat Springs after you crashed the car,” Aunt Jackie continued. “You can’t have forgotten that.”

Léa hadn’t. In the twelve years between then and now, she had graduated from college, been married and dealt with the deaths of her parents. Yet her aunt made it sound as though it had happened yesterday. As far as her two aunts were concerned, she was still the wild child who had driven her parents crazy. Foley was still the guy most likely to succeed—the star athlete, the student-body president. Never mind they had both changed. A lot.

“I know I’m not a modern woman and all, but in my day it took both a mother and a father to raise children. That’s the natural order of things, the way the Lord meant it to be.”

“I’ve got to go,” Léa said, figuring she was a hairbreath away from one of her aunt’s diatribes against the life she assumed Léa was leading. Tempted as she was simply to hang up, she added, “I’m sorry to have bothered you so late. Good night.”

As soon as her aunt said goodbye, Léa hung up the phone. One thing was abundantly clear. She couldn’t expect any help from her chief-of-police uncle tonight, and since she had no assurance she could keep Foley out of the house, she couldn’t stay here and go to sleep. She found herself wishing Sadie was at home instead of Europe. If she had been, Léa could have gone there to sleep as she had done a couple weeks ago when Foley had kept calling every couple hours.

After she washed the greasepaint off her face, she decided she might as well go to work. At least then she’d be accomplishing something while she wasn’t sleeping. After changing her clothes, she paused at the front door, watching for a long time before finally deciding no one was outside. Though she would normally have walked the couple blocks to her café, she took her car. There, she locked herself inside and flipped on the radio, dialing through the stations in search of the show tunes that reminded her of learning to cook with her grandmother. As she slowed the tuner knob in search of the station, a deep, comforting voice came through the speaker.

“‘The eternal God is thy refuge,’” the announcer said, “‘and underneath are the everlasting arms.’ Deuteronomy 33.27.”

The words gave her pause, and she remembered a time when she had believed. Before her parents died. Before her divorce. Before her grandmother’s stroke. God hadn’t been a refuge or a comfort, no matter how many platitudes she had listened to. Léa moved the tuner to the station that played soundtracks from movies and Broadway plays—the music she always cooked to.

At nine-thirty the following morning Zach stood on the sidewalk in front of the Pine Street Café trying to decide whether to go in. Everything about the place looked inviting, from the sparkling windows to big pots of flowers on either side of the door. Indecision gripped him. If he wanted coffee, he had that at Sadie’s house. Eggs and cereal were there, too. It wasn’t as if he was going to recognize Léa Webster, but he wanted to see her. She had invited him, and coming was neighborly.

Yeah, right. He hadn’t been neighborly in his whole life, and now that he had the label of ex-con attached to him like a tattoo, he’d likely be as welcome as a cockroach. Her invitation last night had undoubtedly been impulsive. So why was he here?

He should be on the way to the police station instead, fulfilling one of the conditions of his parole by having a new mug shot taken and being fingerprinted.

A couple of old men came out of the café, bringing with them the inviting aromas of bacon and coffee. One of them held the door open with a friendly “Howdy.” Zach said hello back and caught the door before it closed, then stepped inside. Going to the police station could wait an hour.

Like Léa’s clown outfit, the dining room was rainbow-colored. The whole place reeked of cheerfulness, from the sky-blue walls to the violet counters and hot pink seats. A big Thanks for Not Smoking sign punctuated with yellow daisies hung on the wall above the open window that separated the kitchen from the space behind the counter.

“Sit anywhere that’s not taken,” a blond woman called to him as she came by—her arms loaded with plates laden with steaming, fragrant food. “I’ll be right with you.”

Zach slid onto one of the stools at the counter, deciding the blonde wasn’t Léa. Her voice didn’t match. He looked around, taking note of the daisies that were stuck in Mason jars at every table along with the usual napkin holders and salt and pepper shakers.

The waitress appeared in his line of vision, this time with a steaming carafe and a big blue mug in her hand. “Coffee?”

“Sure.” He met her friendly gaze. She had blue eyes, but she definitely wasn’t Léa.

She gestured toward a blackboard at the end of the room. “That’s today’s menu.” She filled his cup while Zach read from the selections, the expected fare of eggs, toast and pancakes, plus the daily special labeled as Beautiful Mornin’.

“I’ll have the special.” He had no idea what Beautiful Mornin’ might be, but it seemed an appropriate name for his first meal out since leaving prison. He found himself comparing that enticing name with the clown he had met last night. The anticipation of seeing her curled through him.

“Good choice,” the blonde said, “you’re in for a treat.” A second later she called it into the kitchen.

“That’s the last one,” came the returning answer, a voice that Zach knew. Léa.

He drank his coffee and watched for her to appear in the five-foot opening behind the counter. An expectant moment later she did, her back turned and a red scarf covering her head. Beneath the scarf, he could see the strap of an apron and the neckline of a white T-shirt.

Since her face had been covered with that grinning clown’s face last night, he wondered if he’d recognize her at all. He studied the fragile nape where wisps of dark hair had escaped from the scarf. He wished she would turn around.

Just then, she did and her gaze came unerringly to his.

She was everything he had expected and nothing like he had imagined. Those blue eyes he recognized. Blue like…he didn’t even know…simply a brilliant, clear blue like an inviting deep lake he’d love to dive into. Her skin was paler than he had envisioned, liberally sprinkled with freckles. Then she smiled, and the regular features of her face became…lovely. The word lingered, surprising him. He’d always liked hot women, gorgeous women, easy women. Lovely had never been part of the picture.

In his old life, he wouldn’t have given Léa’s even, pleasant features a second glance. Back then, he’d had a shallow, beautiful woman who had fit his shallow life. So much had changed since that time, and even though he had the memories, he no longer recognized…or liked…the man he had once been.

Zach knew he was staring, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from Léa’s.

“Hi,” she said, her voice barely audible through the din of other conversation and the country music playing in the background. “I’m glad you made it.”

Before he could answer, the waitress pinned more orders on the rack above the opening. Léa waved, her attention returning to her work. The country music moved into a tune about a guy falling in love as soon as she said hello, the melody winding its way into Zach’s chest. That thought was not only uncomfortable but, in his experience, unlikely.

He sipped his coffee, dividing his attention between her and the other patrons. The dining room seated maybe twenty-five, including the half-dozen stools at the counter where Zach sat. The blonde, whose name was evidently Kim, seemed to know most everyone by name. A couple people caught his glance as he looked around, their expressions filled with nothing more than minor curiosity. He tipped his head in acknowledgment and returned his attention to his coffee.

Less than five minutes after he sat down, Kim slid a plate in front of him. Beautiful Mornin’ turned out to be baked French toast slathered with hot apples, and on the side, a couple links of sausage and perfectly fried bacon. His mouth immediately watered.

For too long, food had simply been fuel for his body, something to appease hunger and nothing to be enjoyed. His first impulse was to wolf down his breakfast. His second, stronger impulse was simply to savor how the plate looked and to absorb the aroma which reminded him of a more innocent time and of having breakfast with his aunt Sadie. Beautiful Mornin’ was an apt name.

Kim refilled his coffee, then said, “Haven’t seen you in here before. Are you one of the roughnecks working the oil rigs west of here?”

“I’m Sadie Graff’s nephew.” He cut into the toast, releasing a wisp of fragrant steam. “Zach MacKenzie.”

She beamed, calling over her shoulder, “Hey, Léa, your new neighbor is out here,” then adding in a softer voice, “Sadie has been talking about her favorite nephew for weeks—and what a relief it was for her to have you looking after those pet cows of hers so she could take her trip. Nice to meet you. Have you heard from her yet?”

He nodded, taking a moment to savor the flavor of the toast before swallowing it. For a bare second he imagined the lack of censure in Kim’s voice would be permanent—that it wouldn’t change after she found out he was an ex-con. “She called this morning after she landed in Paris.”

“Ooh la la,” Kim said. “Hope she takes lots of pictures.”

“I’m sure she will,” Zach said, not quite comfortable with the way Kim’s interest had caused a couple other people to look at him. Now that he was the focus of attention, he remembered the summers he had spent here as a kid and how everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.

Kim moved away, and he turned his full attention to his breakfast, each bite delicious. He was nearly finished when the bell above the door jangled, and a couple cops came in.

“Hey, Foley. Merle,” Kim said to them. “You guys are late. Busy busting speeders this morning?”

“No more than the usual,” one of them said, sitting on a stool near Zach.

The other cop, a wiry guy with short sandy hair, came around the end of the counter and went into the kitchen. A second later he appeared through the opening, an arm draped over Léa’s shoulder. “Hey, baby,” he said, his voice easily carrying into the dining room, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Will you marry me?”

“Same answer as yesterday. No.” She slipped out from under his arm, everything in her body language suggesting she didn’t want the man touching her.

Zach studied him, figuring this might be her ex-husband—he had the right build to be the guy who had been trying to seem sober last night.

“Get out of here so I can work,” she added, a tight smile not quite taking the sting out of her words.

The cop faced the window with a smile and a shrug, his gaze locking with Zach’s. The man gave Léa another squeeze before coming back to the dining room. He stopped next to Zach.

“You Sadie’s nephew?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Zach wiped his hand on his napkin, then offered it. “Zach MacKenzie.”

“Foley Blue,” the cop said, shaking his hand. He nodded toward the kitchen. “That’s my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Léa called.

He shrugged again. “Say the word, baby, and I’ll even get down on one knee.” His voice was loud enough to be heard by anyone in the dining room.

“And the answer will still be no,” Léa called from the kitchen, which made a couple of the diners laugh.

“You just keep working on her, Foley,” an old guy at a table with a couple other men said. “She’ll come around. Sooner or later, they always do.”

“Never say die,” Foley replied, earning yet another laugh as he sat on the stool next to Zach.

“Even if the lady has already said no?” Zach asked calmly, not liking that the jokes and laughter were at Léa’s expense. The one thing that had been drummed into him from the time he’d started to even notice girls was that when a lady said no she meant no.

Foley’s smile stayed in place when he turned around to meet Zach’s gaze. “Ever been married, MacKenzie?”

Zach shook his head.

“Then you can’t possibly know what it feels like to watch your marriage crumble into ashes.” Foley glanced toward the opening to the kitchen. “The vows said until death do us part.”

The words should not have sounded like a threat, but somehow they did. Tempted as Zach was to add that the vows also said to love, honor and cherish, he didn’t. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee and deliberately let his gaze slide away from Foley’s challenging one.

“Hey, baby,” Foley called to Léa. “Rustle me up a special.”

“We’re out,” she said.

“Zach here got the last one,” Kim said, appearing in front of the two cops with mugs and coffee.

“You don’t say,” he said, glancing at Zach. “Well, that’s a sure shame.”

“Your usual?” Kim asked, pouring the coffee.

“I guess it will have to do.” His focus turned on Zach. “News around town is that you’re taking care of Sadie’s place while she’s on her trip. You getting settled in okay?”

“Just fine,” Zach responded, pretty sure the police officer hadn’t connected his name to the parolee notice that had probably been faxed to the local law-enforcement agencies by now.

“If you need anything, I’m sure a lot of people would be happy to give you a hand.” He slapped his partner on the back. “Even Rangeview’s finest.”

“Thanks.” Zach lifted the coffee mug to his lips, figuring what Foley really meant was Don’t be asking my wife for a cup of sugar or anything else. One more reason, Zach thought, to ignore the twinge of attraction that slid through him every time he looked at Léa. The last thing he needed was the kind of trouble a cop could give a man on parole. Zach had no doubt—the man would take any interest in Léa as poaching.

“Enjoy your breakfast?” Kim asked, taking away his empty plate and refilling his mug.

“It was great,” he said, reaching for his wallet.

She patted his arm. “Léa says this one was on the house—a welcome-to-Rangeview present.”

“I…thanks.” Next to him, Zach felt Foley stiffen.

When Kim left to take care of other customers, Foley said, “That’s my wife—a great cook, not to mention generous to a fault. It’s tough to make a go of a little business like this one, especially when she doesn’t have sense enough to stop giving away her profits.”

Zach sipped his coffee, thinking, if he understood the situation correctly, the profits were Léa’s to do with as she wanted. One thing was sure, though. This was a no-win conversation.

“She’s letting people take advantage of her all the time,” Foley said in an us-guys-should-stick-together tone. “I keep telling her that you’ve got to take care of number one first. But does she listen? No.”

If asked, that would have been Zach’s motto. Hearing it out of Foley’s mouth made it sound like a bad thing. Zach drained the last of his coffee and pulled out money enough to cover his breakfast and a generous tip.

“Can’t imagine there’s enough to keep a man busy full time working for Sadie,” Foley said. “And jobs are pretty slim pickings.”

“I have plenty to do,” Zach said. His aunt clearly hadn’t bothered to hire adequate help in several years, and every out-building and all the fence line required immediate attention.

“Where did you work before?”

Zach stared at the coffee mug while he sifted through the gradations of the truth he had sworn to tell. The cops would learn soon enough he was an ex-con. “My last job was in sales. Sports equipment for athletic teams.”

“Big change,” Foley said, draining his coffee and fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

“Yep.”

Foley laid several bills on the counter. “Time to get back to work.” As he had when he came in, he went into the kitchen, bending his head close to Léa’s. Like before, her posture became more rigid as she put space between herself and Foley. Unlike before, the conversation between the two could not be heard until he said, “We’ll finish this later.”

Zach made sure he was staring at his coffee cup when Foley came back into the dining room. A second later he and his partner went through the exterior door, which jangled at their departure. Only then did Zach look up. Léa’s somber attention was on the window behind Zach. She sighed, pressed her lips together and turned back toward the stove.

“Need another warm-up?” Kim asked, stopping in front of him once again with her perpetually full coffeepot.

“Sure.” Zach figured he was a fool for waiting around to talk to a woman who was clearly going to be trouble.

But when Léa caught his eye a moment later and a smile lit her face, he knew he’d wait—trouble or not.

THREE

“I think that’s the last one,” Kim said, placing a tub of dirty dishes on the stainless-steel counter next to the dishwasher. “Ready for me to put up the closed-till-eleven sign?”

“Sure,” Léa said, arching her back to roll out the kinks. She turned around to face the dining room and found that it had mostly cleared out except for Pete Anderson and L. J. Martinez, both long retired and both regulars who lingered over their coffee until she kicked them out.

Except for Zach MacKenzie who sat at the counter, his gaze steadily on her.

“You’re still here,” she said, loud enough to hear over the radio.

“Yeah.”

As she came out of the kitchen, she was aware of Kim ushering out Pete and L.J., but her greater awareness was of Zach. Léa stopped at the milk dispenser where she filled a large glass. Then she came around the counter and sat down next to him.

“The breakfast tasted great.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “But then, compared to the food in prison, I’ll probably be thinking everything tastes great for a while.”

His casual reference to having been in prison surprised her, and, in spite of herself, made her smile.

He smiled back. “So I doubt you’ll be wanting to use me as a reference.”

Her smile grew into a chuckle. “Actually, I was thinking I could add your endorsement to the menu board.” She wrote in the air as she said, “Better than prison food.”

“You were in prison?” Kim asked, setting a tray of salt and pepper shakers that needed to be refilled on the counter.

“Yep.”

She made a point of looking him up and down. “Sadie sure never said a word about that.” She began twisting the tops off the salt shakers. “She does know, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she knows,” Zach said. “In fact, I wouldn’t have made it through the last three years without her.”

“Well, you must be doing something right. Sadie Graff is the best judge of character of about anyone I know. There’s no pulling the wool over her eyes. You tell her a secret, you can be sure it will stay a secret.” Kim glanced at Léa. “But you knew, didn’t you?”

Léa nodded. Twice during the last year, she had driven Sadie to Cañon City to visit Zach at the prison, which was the only reason Léa knew anything. Kim was completely right—Sadie kept her own council. Just as she had during those two visits, Léa found herself wondering why Zach had inspired such faith and such loyalty.

“So…ah, what were you in for?” Kim asked.

“Kim!” Léa felt her cheeks flush.

“I can’t see Sadie putting up an ax murderer,” Kim said, ignoring Léa.

“I can’t see that, either,” Zach agreed, his attention remaining on Léa. His smile faded, and his eyes became even darker as though he had somehow looked inward. Regret tinged his voice when he added, “I was convicted of vehicular homicide.”

The expression in his dark eyes was unreadable to Léa, but she had the feeling he was trying to convey something important to her. Something well beyond the words he was saying to Kim.

The jangle of the telephone made her jump. She slid off the stool and went behind the counter to the phone. “The Pine Street Café,” she said after putting the receiver to her ear.

“You must be busy,” came her aunt Margaret’s voice over the line, “since it took you so long to pick up.”

“It was a good morning,” Léa said. “And the third ring isn’t that long.” In front of her Zach chuckled in response to something Kim said. Then it hit her what was different. He was more relaxed than he had been before the café closed. Had his easy confession been practicing somehow for the other conversations he was bound to have unless he became a hermit?

When he had first come into the café, he had looked lonely, uncomfortable. Moving someplace new and making friends wasn’t ever easy, and she had no doubt it would be even more difficult in his situation.

Léa suspected it was only a matter of time before everyone in town knew Zach was just out of prison. She doubted most other people would have Kim’s open reaction to him. But then, most other people didn’t have Kim’s deeply held belief of “judge not lest ye be judged.” Léa found herself tempted to feel sorry for Zach. He might have paid his debt to society, but he’d still be viewed with suspicion. She had been so determined merely to be polite—she owed Sadie that much—and definitely keep her distance, so the sympathy Léa felt for him surprised her.

Sympathy? She gave herself a mental shake. The last thing she wanted to feel for this man was sympathy. She knew too well what happened to a man who loved his alcohol too much to give it up. Whether Zach’s apparent regret was over the time he had spent in prison or the death he had caused, Léa didn’t know. If she had learned anything since her hasty marriage to Foley, it was that she didn’t need…or want…anything to do with an alcoholic. Oh, sure, she understood it was a disease, but drinking was the choice he had made over and over. No way did she want that in her life again.

“Léa?” came her aunt’s voice over the phone.

“Yes, what?” Léa dragged her attention back to what her aunt was saying. To keep her attention from straying back to Zach, she turned to face the wall.

“You haven’t forgotten about those six dozen cupcakes I’m donating to the Grange Hall bake sale? I’ll need those tomorrow, you know.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Léa said. The six dozen cupcakes I’m donating, she silently added. Both her aunts loved to show off Léa’s baked goods, but they also expected Léa to donate them on their behalf.

“You really should donate something yourself,” Aunt Margaret added. “It’s for a good cause, you know. Those poor children depend on us for their school supplies.”

“I know.” Léa heard the bell above the front door jangle, and when she turned around, Zach had gone. “I’ll have to see what I have time to do.”

“And don’t forget, Jackie is counting on you to bring some of your yummy cucumber sandwiches to our party this Friday.”

Léa hadn’t forgotten about that, either. She loved her aunts, she really did. Some days, though, she also wished they would see her business as something other than their private—not to mention free—catering company.

After saying goodbye, she hung up the telephone as she stared out the window and watched Zach walk across the street and go into the police station.

“He seems like a nice man,” Kim said while she continued to refill the salt shakers.

Nice? That wasn’t the word Léa would have applied to him, though she admitted he had been nothing but polite both last night and today.

“Foley seemed to have more than usual on his mind today,” Kim added.

Now there was another man she didn’t want to think about. “He found out about my adoption application.” Léa erased the breakfast specials off the whiteboard, then began writing down the lunch specials. “And he’s trying to convince me that I can’t do it alone.”

“Lots of women raise children alone.”

“And he somehow got into my house again.”

“I thought you had just changed the locks.” Kim picked up the tray of shakers and began setting them back down on the various tables.

“I did.” Léa shook her head. “I’m going to talk to Scotty over at the hardware store and make sure he didn’t do something stupid—like making a copy of the key for Foley when he made new ones for me.”

“Sounds like you need a security system.”

Léa nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. Of course if it goes off, the police—”

“And Foley,” Kim interrupted, “will answer the call.”

“Yeah.”

Kim set the last of the shakers on a table, then came across the room toward Léa. “I’ve got an important question for you.” She came to a stop and put her hand on Léa’s shoulder. “Is he just being a pain like he usually is? Or…are you physically in danger?”

“He’s a pain.” Léa stared at her friend. All at once her heart pounded like a gong, last night’s remembered fear vibrating through her. “Just a pain, that’s all.” Humiliating her, badgering her and calling her names when she didn’t agree with him didn’t put her in physical danger—though she always came away from their altercations feeling physically battered. The only night he had laid hands on her during an argument was the night she had fallen down the stairs.

His whispered conversation this morning had centered on him telling her that he wanted to move back in, that he was ready to be the kind of husband she wanted, and all of it accompanied by the same promises he had broken so many times before. Once she might have been tempted to believe him. Once…before she had started smelling other women’s perfume on his clothes along with the stench of stale beer and cigarettes. She was positive he had been drunk again last night. No way was she putting herself through that heartache again. No more putting up with his cycles of rage and remorse.

She couldn’t again survive his unfaithfulness or his drunkenness, much less his verbal battering of her. At long last, she had begun to feel more like her old self again. Happy. Looking forward to the future where she had figured out how to be a mother despite being barren. And most of the time she could justify her divorcing Foley even though, in her mind, the vows had been for forever.

“Hey, you still in there?” Kim said, giving her a gentle nudge. “You looked a million miles away.”

“Not that far,” Léa said. “Just remembering how much in love we were once.”

Kim shook her head. “Hate to break it to you, girl, but in Foley’s case, it was in lust. He wanted what you wouldn’t give him without a ring.”

Léa hated how that sounded but admitted to herself that her friend was probably right. She’d watched the way he had put on the moves, had been herself the object of his considerable charm. And, when she hadn’t fallen right into his arms, he had pursued her relentlessly. All along, she’d had the feeling he liked the chase best, a feeling she had unfortunately ignored. Being romanced by Foley had been a heady rush, and somehow eloping with him had made sense. She had thought she was in love and that their marriage would be like her parents’—filled with love and mutual respect. To her complete dismay nothing changed after they were married. He still liked going out all the time, and she soon realized he lived for the good time, which for him wasn’t complete without drinking a lot.

Not until her uncle and his boss, the chief, got after him after she was pregnant did he put on the mask of being a family man. He’d privately hated that, and he had taken his frustration out on her by passing judgment on everything from how unfairly he was treated by the chief to Léa’s poor choice in friends. Oh, how she had come to dread their time behind closed doors. He spent his evenings drinking and brooding while the television blared. Not once did he take a bit of joy in the child they were expecting together. Toward the end of her pregnancy, he’d started going out again, and some nights he hadn’t come home at all.

Her ultimate humiliation had come toward the end of her pregnancy when she had found condoms in his pants pockets. When she confronted him, he turned on her, insisting they were hers, insisting that he knew she had been cheating on him from the very beginning of the marriage. At that point, they had been married not quite a year, and she had realized she didn’t know him at all. Equally horrifying was realizing his mask dropped only at home—her uncle, the other officers and their friends saw only the flirt, the affable, charming guy who went out of his way to help little old ladies and to speak at drug-awareness functions at the high school. Only Sadie had known the depth of Léa’s despair.

Ending the marriage had been the hardest choice she had ever made. As far as she was concerned, it was going to stay that way.

After she closed up the café for the day, Léa headed for the hardware store at the edge of town. While there, she sought out Scotty Frazier, part owner of the store and the town’s only locksmith, who assured her he hadn’t given Foley a key.

“If anybody got into your house,” Scotty told her, “it was probably through a window.”

“I keep them locked.”

“Locks aren’t that hard to circumvent,” Scotty said.

“Then I think I need an alarm system,” she said. “Today.”

“It will take a couple of weeks to get that scheduled and installed,” he said, going on to explain how he needed to come see exactly what she needed and then order the components. “In the meantime, there are a couple of simple things you can do.” He led the way to a rack that held a huge assortment of screws where he handed her an eyebolt about two and a half inches long. “Drill a hole on either side of the window,” he instructed, “where the part that opens connects with the stationary side. Slide in the bolt, and you have a very effective lock for your windows. Inexpensive, too.”

And within the realm of her carpentry skills, Léa thought, mentally counting the windows in her house.

She made her purchases and headed for home. She stopped at the single traffic light in town where the intersection was shared by the City Hall, the bank, the park and the Good Shepherd Community Church. Several cars were leaving the parking lot of the church. In the next instant she realized the twice-a-week AA meeting held in the church basement was letting out—knew because she had gone to meetings for a while in an attempt to persuade Foley to attend. He never had, insisting he didn’t have a problem and that he wasn’t going to be judged by anyone. The complete lack of judgment was one of the things she liked best about the people she had met there.

While she watched, Zach walked across the parking lot and turned the corner, heading in the same direction she was—presumably toward home.

Curiosity and an odd sense of relief swirled through her chest. Why should she care? When the light changed, she drove through the intersection, and when she reached him, pulled next to the curb and rolled down the window. Immediately he noticed her.

“Hey,” he said as he came toward her.

“Hi.” Léa found herself once again all too aware of Zach, her brain mush when she really wanted to be able to figure out what it was about the man that made butterflies dance in her stomach—butterflies that evidently hadn’t heard her repeatedly tell herself that she was going to be a courteous neighbor and nothing more.

“Want a ride?” she asked.

Everything feminine in her appreciated his physique. Shoulders broad enough to give the illusion he was strong enough to lean on. And his arms—if anything got to her, it was a guy’s well-defined muscular arms, and his were amazing. She had never gone for the shaved-head look, but somehow on him, it looked okay, even though she wondered what his hair would be like if it were longer.

“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.” Opening the door, he slid into the passenger seat next to her. Though a scant five hours had passed since he had left the café, he admitted to himself that he was happy to see her. Then, the red scarf had covered her hair. Without it, her hair looked silky—a rich, dark brown that gleamed with red highlights in the sunshine, cut in a simple style that skimmed her shoulders. The freckles liberally sprinkled across her nose put her in the cute category.

She had changed her clothes, and the pale blue knit shirt she wore made her eyes look even more brilliant than he’d thought them to be this morning. He imagined he could smell cinnamon or ginger, which made him think of the apples in the breakfast special. The woman was as appealing as the food she made.

As soon as they were underway, he said, “Thanks for breakfast this morning.”

“You already thanked me.” She pointed a finger at him. “Plus, you left money to pay for it. I know Kim told you it was my treat.”

“She did. At the time paying you seemed like a better idea.”

“In other words Foley was giving you a hard time.”

She was far too perceptive. Pointing at the logo for the hardware sack next to his seat, he said, “Looks like you’re working on a project.”

“I get to test my carpentry skills.”

“You’ll ace it—whatever you’re doing. The way I figure, cooking has got to be harder than building things.”

“In my case, cooking is way easier.” She tipped her head to the side. “I wasn’t sure you’d come this morning.”

“I almost didn’t.” Though he had made a pact with himself never again to hide behind the lies that had been part of his life before prison, he didn’t owe her that much information. He’d had four hours yesterday after leaving Sadie at the airport to plan how he’d like his life to go for the next year. Stay sober, even if for only one minute at a time. Find a sponsor. Work the program and trust in the Greater Power. Do the things his parole officer expected of him. Make sure he lived up to his aunt’s faith in him. Keep to himself and keep a low profile. The feelings Léa Webster aroused in him were a sure path to trouble even if her ex-husband wasn’t a cop.

“Why not?” she asked, breaking his train of thought.

He shrugged, not sure he could adequately explain. “It’s just different, that’s all. Being around other people and not having to worry about exposing your back.” That was definitely more than she needed to know. Since he’d met her ex-husband, the part about not worrying about his back wasn’t even true. So much for keeping his word to himself about telling the truth.

“I was really shy when I was a little girl,” she said, “and going into a roomful of people scared me to death.”

“You don’t seem shy now.”

She turned onto the street where they lived. “Not usually. When I was in second grade my mother told me to pretend all those people I didn’t know were simply friends I hadn’t made yet.”

“Most kids are taught strangers are dangerous.”

“In a town this size there aren’t that many strangers.”

Remembering the way Kim had seemed to know everyone this morning, Zach figured that was right. “So you grew up here?”

“I did, over on Second Street near the school.” She waved in that general direction.

“Your parents still live there?”

Her expression clouded, and she shook her head. “They were killed in a car accident coming back from Denver a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” The automatic words were out of his mouth before he could think.

“My house, the one where I live now, belonged to my grandmother,” she added. “Sometimes I can’t believe I’m living here. I couldn’t wait to escape, so I thought I’d arrived at Utopia when I went away to college.”

“Where to?”

“CSU in Fort Collins,” she said. “And after I graduated, I had my dream job.”

“What did you do?”

“I was a pastry chef for a French restaurant in Denver.”

“Impressive. So, why’d you come back here?” he asked.

“Love.” She drew out the word, then she shook her head. “I met Foley at a party when I came to visit my parents, and a month later we eloped. Now that I have the benefit of hindsight—”

“You can beat yourself up based on what you know now.”

To his surprise she chuckled, and her gaze was warm when she looked at him. “That’s pretty good advice.”

He shook his head. “I don’t give advice.”

“Hmm. Too bad that’s how it sounded, then.” She parked the car in her driveway next to the house and gave him another of her infectious smiles. “If you were a really good neighbor…”

He grinned, ignoring the caution light at the back of his brain as he hoped his plans for the next couple hours were about to change. “Here it comes, the sucker punch.”

“All I want is to borrow your drill.” She opened the car door and got out.

“Ah. The lady assumes I have a drill.”

“I know Sadie has one.”

“And you’re qualified to use it,” he said.

She laughed. “Probably not, but if I want to get this project done today, I definitely need power tools.”

“Need anything besides the drill?” he asked, climbing out of the car and meeting her gaze over the top of the vehicle.

“No.” Then she grinned. “Well, drill bits, too.”

“I’ll be right back.” He headed across the street to his aunt’s house.

“You don’t have to do that—I can come get it.”

“I don’t mind bringing it over.”

“Well…okay.”

Unlocking the house and letting himself inside, he recounted all the reasons he had to find the drill, leave it for her and walk away. Being neighborly was one thing, and he knew the emotions she roused in him had nothing to do with being neighbors. Taking her in last night had been meant to be a gesture of comfort. And now, here he was like some teenage boy looking for any excuse to be with her. The least he could do was be honest with himself about that.

He found the key for the workshop and went out the back door. Since Sadie’s house was the last one on the block and the last one at the edge of town, the back of her property still looked like the ranch it once had been. The herd of twenty or so Angus cattle grazed in the field closest to the barn. Unlike the sandy bluffs in the distance, the field was green.

He loved the view, and he figured he’d never tire of it. As he had so many times in the last few days, Zach whispered a prayer of thanks.

He unlocked the workshop and found it dusty but as well organized as he remembered. Within five minutes he was heading back across the street to Léa’s.

A nondescript blue sedan was parked in front of her house, which provided him with an excuse to drop off the tool, then leave.

“Foley Blue stopped by my office this morning,” a woman said from inside the house, her voice carrying through the screen door.

Zach knew he should knock, but at the mention of Léa’s ex, his hand dropped to his side.

“And,” she continued, “he said that he was to be added to your petition to adopt a child, though he’s more interested in an older child than an infant.”

Adopt? Léa was trying to adopt a kid? Zach knew he should leave, but he remained rooted right where he stood.

“He what?” Léa’s voice sounded as sucker-punched as Zach felt.

“I take it then, he hadn’t spoken with you about this.” The other woman’s voice was soothing.

“No. He didn’t.” Though Léa’s voice shook, the words were as emphatic as they had been last night when she had told Zach they weren’t getting back together. “Nothing has changed, Dottie. I don’t know what he may have said to you, but none of this has anything to do with him.”

“I did think it was a bit odd.” There was a short pause. “With the home inspection done, one more step is completed.”

The woman made it sound as though the adoption was likely, which raised a dozen questions in Zach’s mind. He would have thought adopting would be a hard thing for a single woman.

“One more,” Léa agreed.

“But,” the other woman continued, “this whole business worries me.”

“Whatever reassurance you need, Dottie, I’ll do it.”

“You need to set him straight. And I need to be assured that I’m not placing a child in a potentially volatile situation.”

“You won’t be,” Léa said. “You have my word.”

From inside the house, Zach heard footsteps, so he made a point of walking across the porch and tapping on the door. Through the screen Léa was shadowed, as was the older woman coming toward the door.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” Léa said. “Come on in.”

Zach pulled open the door and Léa introduced him, then followed the other woman outside with an “I’ll be right back,” to Zach.

Holding on to her frustration, Léa followed Dottie Franklin, the social worker in charge of her adoption application, to her car. She was furious that Foley had contacted her, much less stated he was to be included on the adoption application. So this was his plan.

Léa imagined confronting him and telling him to stop meddling in her business. As sure as she did, she’d come across as looking like the unreasonable one, not him, because that’s always how it turned out.

Dottie set her briefcase in the front seat of her car, then turned around to face Léa. “I’m sorry I bothered you with this, Léa. He was so positive, so sincere I had to consider that perhaps you were reconciling.”

“We’re not,” Léa said, managing a smile. “It’s nothing more than a misunderstanding.” She feared Dottie recognized that for the lie it was, but needed to reassure both herself and the social worker.

Foley had already taken so much from her She couldn’t let him rob her of this, too.

FOUR

As Léa came back into the house, she wondered how much Zach had overheard. To her surprise, he wasn’t in the living room…or in the kitchen. Then she saw him through the large multi-pane window that overlooked the back yard. He was sitting at the picnic table under the enormous cottonwood tree in the middle of the yard. The big tomcat that visited her every day sat on the table. Both of them faced the house as though they were waiting for her, a thought that somehow cheered her.

When Zach looked up, she waved, and he stood in a fluid movement and came back toward the house. Tail in the air, the cat headed in the opposite direction.

Admitting to herself she was glad he had waited, she held open the door for him. Remember? You were going to be merely polite. She remembered. Right now…right now, she wanted—needed—a distraction.

“Ready to put me to work?” he asked, gesturing toward the drill.

“I am, though I imagine you have other things to do, especially since I kept you waiting.” There. She had made the offer, and he could leave if he wanted. He was off the hook.

“It’s not a problem.” Zach’s gaze took in the sky-blue color of the kitchen, the rustic, redbrick fireplace and the print curtains at the windows. “I visited here with Aunt Sadie a couple of times years ago.” He gestured toward the tree in the backyard. “The tree is a lot bigger, but I remember this room. Your grandmother made great oatmeal cookies, if memory serves.”

Léa grinned. “That she did, and I have the family recipe. I might even be persuaded to bake some for you.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered to cook for him.

“Yeah,” she agreed, as she led the way into the living room where she closed and locked the front door. “I thought we’d start in here.”

Zach thought the beige living room looked as though it was in a completely different house. The room was mostly empty, as though furniture had been taken out and never replaced. A couple bookcases filled with books and CDs lined one wall, and an old-fashioned rocking chair sat next to the window. The neutral colors didn’t seem at all like Léa.

He waved in the direction of the walls. “I was expecting more of your rainbow colors.”

Her smiled faded. “That was…” Firming her jaw, she added, “a mistake. When I was little, this room was painted yellow, and even on the gloomiest winter day, it was like coming into a sunny room. Gram had this big flowered couch and a handmade rag rug. Not to mention enough knickknacks to open her own gift shop.” Léa’s expression grew pensive. “She said the yard was too much for her to keep up, and so she gave me the house for a wedding present. Foley didn’t especially like what I had done with the rest of the house, so I told him he could do whatever he wanted in this room. He had an ugly black recliner and an even uglier couch that, thank goodness, he took with him when he moved out. That’s when my grandmother changed the paperwork and put the house solely in my name.” She glanced around. “I bought paint a couple of weeks ago, and I’m going to repaint within the next week or two.”

“In your spare time.” For a split second Zach thought about offering to help her before reminding himself he now had another reason to stay away from her. A woman trying to adopt a child needed to keep her distance from an ex-con like himself.

She nodded and a generous smile lit her face again. “Yeah, then.”

“I must have been somewhere in my teens when I was last in this house. I remember your grandmother’s cookies, but…” He paused and looked at Léa. “I don’t remember you.”

“I don’t remember you, either. How old are you?” she asked.

“Thirty-six.”

She grinned. “You don’t remember me because I’m eight years younger. A seven- or eight-year-old girl wouldn’t even register on a teenage boy’s radar screen.”

He laughed. “Let’s hope not. Where’s your grandmother now?”

Again, Léa’s face lost its animation. “She had a stroke seventeen months ago, and she broke her hip. That’s healed now, but she’s still not well enough to leave the nursing home.”

“The one here in town…” He waved in the general direction he remembered it being. “A block or so past the hospital?”

“That’s right. I’d bring her home in a heartbeat, but since there’s no bathroom downstairs and since she can’t navigate stairs—”

“That’s a problem,” he finished.

She nodded. “And probably way more than you wanted to know.”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t confess he wanted to know everything about her—from what she had done in Denver before moving here to how she spent her time when she wasn’t at her café to what she dreamed about.

Ignoring the caution light in the back of his brain that was blinking again, he asked, “What’s the plan?”

She fished a couple of slim eyebolts out of the bag and gave them to him. “According to Scotty—he owns the hardware store—drilling holes through the window frame and inserting the bolts is a guaranteed way to keep people from coming through the window.”

People. Her ex. Since she had told Zach that she had just changed the locks, Foley Blue had clearly found some other way into her house.

She pulled the sheer curtain away from the window frame. “Two bolts per window, ten windows in the house.” She glanced at Zach. “Are you sure you have time for this?”

“I have time.”

She let go of the curtain and held out her hand for the hardware in his hand. “No, you don’t. You’re frowning.”

“Not about helping you.”

“So this is your normal expression.” She waited until he met her glance, then turned down the corners of her mouth and her eyebrows into an exaggerated frown.

He grinned at her silly expression. “Something like that.”

She smiled back. “Much better.”

How could she smile, he wondered, given that she wouldn’t be barring herself into her house if she wasn’t worried?

“Want something to drink?” she asked. “Iced tea? Lemonade.”

“Whatever you have.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Zach took the two minutes she was gone to examine the wood frame on the windows. The plan for securing them was deceptively simple. Effective. Nearly as effective for keeping herself locked in as bars would be. He hated that she was imprisoning herself. To get in, a person would have to break a window.

“Maybe you should opt for an alarm system,” he told her when she returned and handed him a tall glass of iced tea.

“That’s in the works, too. But, this isn’t like a city where you call and they come the same day. Scotty can do it, but he doesn’t carry the parts, plus he’s got to come over to see exactly what he needs, order the stuff, and then install it…that’s a couple of weeks away.”

“Unless you have air conditioning—”

“I don’t.”

“—it’s going to be hot in here all summer if you can’t open a window. I can drill you an extra set of holes so you could open the window a couple of inches and still use the pins,” he said, demonstrating what he meant.

“Good idea. And Foley…” Her voice trailed away.

“If you’re that worried, get a restraining order,” Zach said.

“I…it hasn’t come to that.” She took a sip out of her glass while he drilled the first hole. “I’ll have my uncle talk to him.”

“A strong arm?” Zach shot her a grin. “I could use an uncle like that.”

“Mine is the chief of police.”

“Ah.” A cop in her family. The reasons to keep away from her just kept multiplying.

“He’s the one who introduced me to Foley, and Foley’s like a son to him, you know?” Her ex was on her mind—understandable, given the project they were doing.

“I can imagine.” Personally, Zach’s relationship with his father was nothing to brag about. “Have you thought about moving somewhere else?” he asked, drilling the second hole.

“Yep.” She gave him another of her easy smiles that slid like a ray of sunlight into him. “Only three problems with that. First, this is my home—not to mention the house that my grandmother gave to me—and if I leave again, it will be because I want to, not because somebody drove me off. Plus, this is a great place to raise a family. Yes, my marriage to Foley may have been a disaster, but I still hope for more. The thought of coming home to this house every night—coming home to children—I want that.”

He set the pins in the pair of holes to make sure they fit, then removed them, lifted the window two inches, and drilled a second set of holes.

“You make that look disgustingly easy,” she said. “I would have been at this for another half hour.”

“And the third reason,” he prompted, mostly because he liked the sound of her voice. Plus, she was close enough that he imagined he smelled cinnamon again.

“I’d have to take me along,” she said, simply.

He made a point of looking her up and down. “And that’s a bad thing because…”

“If I ran I away, I’d be pretending that I didn’t have any responsibility for the things that happened in my marriage.”

“Make a fearless moral inventory of ourselves,” he said. When she sent a questioning glance in his direction, he swallowed and gave her the bare truth. “You saw me coming out of the meeting today.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“I’m an alcoholic,” he said, just as he had hundreds of times over the past three years—and remembering a time when the words hadn’t come easily. His sobriety was something he needed to maintain for himself, but he admitted that he wanted Léa’s good opinion of him. “And that’s one of the steps to recovery.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched him with those clear blue eyes that seemed to look right through him.

“Just what every girl wants,” he finally said to break the silence. “An alcoholic ex-con across the street.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds awful.”

“It was. It is. And I have to live the rest of my life knowing that, whether I was drunk or not, I’m responsible for someone dying.”

“Are you…sober, now?”

He nodded. “Three years and two months.”

“Then, I can think of worse neighbors,” she said.

He liked the sound of that, even though another bare truth was he still wasn’t feeling just neighborly. Not by a long shot.

They finished installing the pins on the other two windows in the living room. “One room down,” Léa said.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked. When she sent him a questioning glance, he added, “Lock yourself in like this?”

“I’ll sleep easier.” She led the way to the kitchen.

That simple statement told him too much. Namely that she hadn’t slept last night. He knew what that was like, knew the stress it caused.

“My favorite room in the house,” she said, moving toward the bank of windows.

Zach understood why it was her favorite. The view through the windows included a large yard with a couple trees and farther away the ramparts and juniper-covered mesas that stretched for miles.

He then realized that locking the windows wouldn’t keep out anyone determined to get in.

The back door opened onto an old-fashioned glassed-in porch, and both doors were fitted with a big pane of glass that would be an invitation to a burglar in a big city.

“All somebody has to do is break the window and they can still get in,” Zach said, stating the obvious.

“At least I’d have proof someone had been in the house,” Léa said.

“If you’d told me two weeks ago that I’d be helping a neighbor build a prison—”

“That’s how it seems to you?” She looked genuinely shocked.

“How does it seem to you?” he countered.

“I’m not—” She shook her head, her stricken glance lancing him, then skipping away. “I just want to know that when I go to bed at night no one can get in.”

“Hey.” As he had last night, he took her hand, liking the way it felt within his. “Don’t mind me. Just because I can’t stand the idea of being locked in doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do what you need to. Okay?”

She looked away, then nodded.

He released her hand and moved away from her, once again repeating to himself the litany of reasons she was off limits.

She made him another iced tea while he repeated the process he had done in the living room. Throughout, their conversation remained carefully away from the subjects of prisons and her ex-husband. Zach hated caring so much that she hurt. He had just met her, yet that didn’t keep him from wanting to shield her from heartache—another surprising thought had him silently laughing at himself. He was the last person imaginable to shield her from hurt or heartache or anything else.

She led him upstairs, the stairwell in her house accessed from the kitchen, the sky-blue color of the kitchen continuing down the hall. She opened the first door—a nursery all done up in soft colors and white painted furniture. Clearly, it was a room that had been put together with the care of a woman already loving the child who was to be in here.

Léa paused an instant, then crossed the room to the window where she took down the café rod that held crisp eyelet curtains.

Following her into the room, Zach cleared his throat. “I overheard you and the woman who was here before—you’re wanting to adopt?”

She nodded, her gaze not quite meeting his. Her guarded expression revealed just how important this was to her, which somehow made it important to him.

“Some kid is going to be lucky to have you for his mom.”

“Thanks.”

Léa’s voice was husky, as though she needed to clear her throat.

“I could be putting my foot in my mouth, but I thought it was nearly impossible for a single person to adopt.”

“In some states I’ve heard that’s the way it is,” Léa said. “Thankfully, here in Colorado, it’s a little easier, though the scrutiny for a single parent is the same as it is for a couple.”

He made quick work of securing the window, then followed her on down the hallway past the bathroom and into the larger bedroom at the end of the hall. Her room.

It was comforting and feminine. The white wicker furniture reminded him of being on a porch, and, as he gazed around the room, he decided that it might have once been one. It appeared that after it had been closed in, a pair of glass double doors had been left that now opened onto a balcony too narrow even to stand on.

“The left-side door doesn’t open,” she said, pulling back the sheer curtain. She vibrated with tension as she stared out the window. “Right after we moved in, Foley dubbed this the Romeo balcony.”

“I thought Juliet was on the balcony.”

Léa nodded, her gaze lifting to his. “Exactly.”

“And he was able to get in this way?”

“I used to love sleeping with the door open,” she said without directly answering his question. “A breeze would come in, and you’d be able to smell the junipers and the piñon. I hate this—locking the doors up this way—but I don’t know any other way.”

“You could move.”

“No,” she stated simply, although the look she gave him spoke volumes.

Though Zach disliked the idea of marring the white woodwork with the sturdy latches she handed him, he installed them both. Since the doors were panes of glass, they also wouldn’t keep anyone out for long.

Finishing, he turned around to look at Léa where she stood next to the bed.

“Need anything else?” he asked, deliberately putting distance between them and heading down the hallway toward the stairs.

“You’ve done more than enough,” she said. “Any time I can return the favor…”

“You fed me breakfast. Let’s just call it even.”

She followed him to the front door where he casually let himself out of her house without looking back, telling her that he’d see her in a day or two. If he could stay away that long, that is. Like her cooking, she was a feast for the senses, and he loved everything about being around her.

Oh, he could tell himself that he was simply being a gentleman and a good neighbor because he was worried about her. But that would only be half the story. Being with her had made him feel more human and more alive than anything he’d experienced during the last three years. And seeing her vulnerability made him ache to hold her close the way he craved a shot of bourbon.

He shook his head to clear it. That comparison made him break into a sweat.

As he put away the drill and headed to the pasture, he called up the tools he had learned in AA. Take things one moment at a time. He didn’t have to stay sober forever. Just for the next five minutes.

And he didn’t have to give up wanting Léa forever. Just for the next five minutes.

“Human beings live not on bread alone,” he recited to himself, “but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”i As always, he had a choice. Surrender to the temptations of the moment. Or hold them at bay for the next five minutes. Five minutes. He could do that.

Deliberately, he reminded himself of all the reasons to stay away from Léa. She had plans to be a mother, plans that a relationship with him would probably ruin. She had an ex who would clearly go ballistic if he even suspected she was interested in someone else. Her uncle was the chief of police. As soon as he found out where Zach had spent the last three years, he’d definitely be persona non grata. Since Zach had gone to the police station to register his presence in the county, complete with a new mug shot and fingerprints, it was only a matter of time before the whole police department would know about his past. He hoped he was ready to deal with the predictable fallout.

Zach glanced at his watch. Three minutes more.

Sadie’s cows ambled toward the fence as they always did, the red Angus more pets than livestock. Her bloodlines book showed the care she had taken over the years to breed the cattle for an even disposition, low-birth-weight calves and strong growth. The calves regarded him with open curiosity. The fifteen cows and the big bull watched with more wariness, but Zach knew he could work in the field with them without worrying one of them would take after him. Tomorrow he’d need to move them to the other pasture, rotating the fields as Sadie had taught him when he was still a boy. Mentally he walked through the process of moving the cattle, then catalogued the things he needed to do tomorrow.

Find a sponsor.

Check in with his parole officer.

Repair the fence along the south boundary.

Stay away from Léa.

When he looked at his watch again, nearly fifteen minutes had passed.

“Thank you, Lord,” he said, closing his eyes.

When he opened them, he noticed, really noticed, the lush green of the thick pasture, made so by an artesian well. Beyond the pasture where surface water was non-existent, the sandy landscape was dotted with dark green junipers that stretched to the west.

He loved this view, and it was just as good as he had imagined it would be every day he was in prison. Nearly forty miles away, Azure Mountain rose above the Raven Rampart. Breaks in the hills and mesas were painted in tones of lavender, emphasizing the vast expanse of land between where he stood and the distant mountains. For thirty-two and a half months the extent of his vision had been measured in yards. For every one of those months he had imagined this view, standing right here and being free. At last he was, and one thing was for sure: he was never going to be locked up again.

The late-afternoon sun bathed everything in rich hues. The breeze carried the scent of the junipers.

Zach inhaled deeply. Sadie’s promise that she’d have a place waiting for him had seen him through the bleakest days. He had just never imagined there would also be a woman who captured his imagination the way Léa did.

Her petition to adopt a child seemed just like her, even though he hardly knew her. Easily, he imagined her in the role of a mother. Zach didn’t know anything about adoption law, but he figured an ex-con wouldn’t rate as a suitable potential father. Thinking about the kind of men he had served time with, that made sense.

What didn’t make sense was his even thinking about fatherhood or why he’d give an instant of thought to a long-term relationship with Léa Webster. Not for the world would he subject any child to the kind of father he’d had as a role model. Stern, disapproving, authoritarian. After his parents divorced, he had been shuffled between them until he ended up living with his dad after his mother remarried. To this day, he was thankful his dad’s older sister Sadie had taken an interest in him. Despite that, he was pretty sure most men grew up to be like the fathers who raised them. No way did he want any kid of his to feel like a perpetual disappointment. Best way to avoid that was to avoid having children.

Zach went back to the tool shed, opened the double doors, and went to work cleaning things up. From the film of dust on the windows to the rusty condition of shovels and hoes, everything needed maintenance. He worked until he had to turn on the light, then he continued working until hunger made him quit for the night. He warmed up a frozen dinner in the microwave, a meal that filled him with about the same amount of satisfaction prison food had. It was time to learn to cook. Just that fast, Léa was back in the center of his thoughts.

Determined to exert some discipline over his mind, Zach turned on the television. Within minutes he found the sitcom he’d tuned into boring, so, after he was finished eating, he turned off the set and wandered outside. Almost at once he felt more calm, admitting to himself that he relished the idea that he could go outside whenever he wanted. He walked around the yard, liking the feel of the lawn against his bare feet. Eventually, he settled on the swing that hung on one end of the porch. Alone in the dark, he imagined that he might be dreaming, because everything was as he had imagined it would be.

From down the block he heard someone’s TV through an open window, and the intermittent bark of a dog farther away. A couple of doors down the street, the rhythmic sound of a sprinkler was accompanied by the distinctive aroma of water flowing through a hose. From within the spruce tree in the yard came the chirp of a robin as it settled in for the night. He inhaled, trying to find the scent of juniper and piñon that he had smelled after leaving Léa’s earlier.

So much for not thinking about her.

Across the street Léa’s car was gone, her porch light casting a welcoming glow. Against his better judgment, Zach wondered where she was. Logic dictated it didn’t matter. He wondered, anyway.

Once more, he worked to regain control over his thoughts, closing his eyes and listening for the cattle in the pasture behind the house.

A car door slammed, and Zach opened his eyes. A police car was parked in front of Léa’s house. Dark as it was, Zach recognized the man in uniform heading for her front door. Foley Blue.

Foley rang Léa’s doorbell, then went to the living-room window where he cupped his hands around his eyes to peer in. Zach figured he must realize she wasn’t home since her car wasn’t in the driveway. Foley came off the porch and went around the side of the house. Scant seconds later he returned, the set in his shoulders conveying irritation. He looked up and down the block, his hands on his hips. Then he looked across the street, and Zach knew the instant Foley spotted him.

The cop stood there a minute, then came across the street and up the walk to the house.

“What can I do for you, officer?” Zach said without getting up.

“Just wondered if you had seen my wife this evening.” Foley stepped close to the porch, his face still in shadows.

“Léa, you mean?”

Foley put one foot on the step and leaned an elbow across his knee. “Yeah.”

Glad that Foley had qualified the time frame, Zach shook his head and truthfully said, “Haven’t seen her.”

“And you don’t know where she went.”

“Nope.”

Foley swore. “I told her I’d be by when my shift was over.”

Zach figured that might explain why she was gone. “I’d be happy to let her know you dropped by,” he said blandly. He had no doubt that Foley had tried to get into her house through one of the now-secured windows. The idea of it made Zach seethe.

Foley looked up, his light-colored eyes glittering despite the nearly black shadow he stood in. “You don’t have to do that. She doesn’t need anyone coming around. Not this time of night.”

“No, I don’t suppose she does,” Zach agreed.

“You sitting out here in the dark for a reason?”

“Just getting a little fresh air before I turn in.” He managed to keep his voice rock-steady, though the question rankled. Telling Léa’s ex that it was none of his business would likely cause trouble, the one thing Zach was determined to avoid.

“Uh-huh.” Foley shifted from one foot to another. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he turned around and headed down the walk toward his car without so much as a good night.

FIVE

“Hi, Gram.” Léa kissed her grandmother’s cheek, then said hi to the others sitting in the dining room of the nursing home. Frank Morris had looked a hundred years old since her first memories of him as a child. Alice Parker had broken her hip several months ago and was finally well enough to come to the dining room in a wheelchair.

“I think my eyes are deceiving me,” Frank said, his wizened face creased into a wide, toothless grin. “It’s the prettiest girl in town.”

“Get yourself a chair,” Alice said to Léa. “And ignore this old coot.” She patted Gram’s arm. “Nothing like a man making a fool of himself.”

Gram smiled, and Frank laughed.

“After all this time, you’d think he’d have something original to say,” Alice continued while Léa retrieved an unused chair from a nearby table. “He’s buttering you up because he hopes you brought us dessert.”

“Did you?” Frank asked, his voice hopeful as a little boy’s.

“I had to check with the cook—”

“Who has more rules about what we can eat,” he said, “than Carter has Little Liver Pills.”

Léa grinned and pulled a round tin out of her totebag. “She thought these might be okay.”

“Well, open it, dear,” Alice said while Frank folded his arms over his bony chest.

“Are peanut butter cookies okay?” Léa opened the tin and held it out to her grandmother.

Smiling, Gram took one from the box, and Léa wished she’d say something. Her grandmother could talk, but hated the slurring of her speech caused by her stroke. She lifted the cookie in a silent salute, and Léa passed the cookie tin to Frank.

“Got any good gossip for us?” Alice asked.

When the cookies came back to her, Léa took one and pretended to think. She supposed she’d be eager for news, too, if she were cooped up. “Hank Miller’s daughter made the dean’s list last quarter.”

“That’s old news,” Alice said. “You’re not paying attention at that café of yours.”

Léa smiled and didn’t bother telling her that it was hard to hear over the sounds of cooking and the din of conversation.

“I heard they brought up another oil well on Sadie Graff’s land.” Frank dunked his cookie into his coffee, ignoring that most of it disintegrated into the liquid. “Some people have all the luck.”

“I heard her nephew is a good-looking man who’s already been to your place for breakfast,” Alice said. “That’s much more interesting than Hank Miller’s smart daughter. So, what’s he like?”

“Well.” Léa drew out the word, doing her best to build anticipation and providing herself time to decide what to say about Zach. Given the way the man had occupied her thoughts a good part of the day, the less she said, the better. “He’s nice.”

“Nice?” Alice patted Léa’s hand. “Dear, you can do better than that. Mavis said that Kim told her that he’s smashing.”

“Hot is what she’s trying to say,” Frank said.

“If I had meant hot, that’s what I would have said,” Alice returned.

“If you’d watch something besides The Price is Right on TV, you’d know nobody has said smashing since 1958.”

“Oh, eat your cookie, you old—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Frank took another cookie from the tin and waved it at Alice. “Don’t say anything you’ll have to apologize for later.”

Léa laughed. The arguments between the two were ongoing and familiar.

“What does Sadie’s nephew look like?” Alice asked, turning her back on Frank.

“Trouble,” came a man’s voice from behind Gram.

Léa looked up and into the eyes of her ex-husband who was still dressed in his police uniform.

“And trouble is what he’ll have if he doesn’t stay away from you,” Foley said, his usual smile in place. He gestured toward Léa with his palms out in a playful come-here-baby way. “Now’s your chance to say yes.”

Léa assumed he was referring to his nearly daily marriage proposals, but even if it was something else, she had only one answer for him. “No.”

He managed to look crestfallen as he leaned down and dropped a casual kiss on Gram’s cheek. “Nice to see you, Eleanor.”

“What brings an officer of the law here?” Frank winked at Foley as though sharing some private joke. “No felons around here.”

Alice snorted. “Officer of the law. Now who’s been watching too much television? He’s a cop, Frank, pure and simple.”

“Policeman,” Frank said.

“I just got off duty,” Foley said, snagging another empty chair, turning it around and straddling it. “And I hadn’t seen Eleanor in a few days—”

“Weeks,” Gram said, speaking clearly and sitting up a little straighter.

Foley smiled at her. “You’re right. Weeks. Negligent of me, and I’m sorry.”

“Well, Léa here sure didn’t have any good gossip. Who’ve you arrested lately?” Frank shoved the tin of cookies in Foley’s direction.

“Now, you know I can’t talk about that.” He took a cookie and bit into it. “But you watch the news later, you’ll hear about a guy who was found dead on the bus from Denver this afternoon.”

“Was he murdered?” Frank asked.

“Oh, my,” Alice said. “That would be just like that episode of Murder She Wrote where Jessica—Angela Lansbury—had all sorts of trouble on a bus.”

“Might,” Foley said.

“Not everything is like television,” Frank said. “Do you know who he was?”

Gram tapped Léa’s hand and nodded toward the open door of the dining room. “Room.”

“Sure, Gram.” Understanding her grandmother’s wish to return to her room, Léa stood, pulled her grandmother’s walker to within reach, then held it steady while Gram rose to her feet.

“Good night,” Gram said, over-emphasizing the ends of the words in her effort to enunciate clearly.

“’Night,” Foley said. “I’ll see you later, baby.”

Not if I see you first, she thought. “Good night,” she said as mildly as she could as she walked alongside her grandmother.

Foley had called Zach trouble. Since the man was once again at the forefront of her thoughts, he surely was. Even so, Foley’s territorial claim annoyed her just as much as his highhanded visit to Dottie.

After she and Foley had separated, she hadn’t seen him for months, except for the mornings when he dropped by the café for breakfast. Over the last several weeks though, he had started coming around nearly every day and had completely shocked her when he asked her out on a date. The idea of dating him after the way he had treated her during their marriage was repugnant. She didn’t understand…or like…his renewed interest.

He always had a way of shading the truth that he expected to make perfect sense, like the time she found a trash barrel in the barn filled with empty bottles. He had insisted that he was collecting them for target practice. Or all the times he had disappeared for hours, returning home red-eyed and disheveled, incredulous that she hadn’t seen him in the barn or yard doing some chore or another. He was trouble, and she’d had enough of him. No way was she going there again. Not with Foley, and not with anyone else.

The memory of the day they had separated came to the front of her thoughts, sticking like eggs on an unseasoned pan.

“Marriage to you has been nothing but a trap,” he had said within five minutes of coming into the house.

Foley had been ragging on her since they’d left the hospital, and she had done her best to tune him out. All she had wanted to do was climb into bed and stay there until the consuming grief of losing her baby somehow went away. With effort, she had repeated, “Marriage is a trap.” No real surprise there. This wasn’t the first time he’d told her so.

“Glad to know you’re paying attention,” he said.

Wishing that he would offer even a single word of comfort, Léa had filled a glass with tap water from the kitchen sink. When she had turned around to face her husband, she was trembling. Odd that he didn’t seem to notice.

His sandy hair was slicked back the way he liked to wear it when he was on his way somewhere. Stupid that she had hoped he might want to hold her for a while. He hadn’t touched her in weeks, and truth be told, since she’d found proof he had been unfaithful, she hadn’t wanted him to. Just now, though, she would have given anything simply to be comforted.

“Now that you’re not pregnant anymore, there’s no reason why you can’t go out with me,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go over to O’Malleys, kick back.” He winked. “I might even let you beat me at a game of pool.”

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