Starting over, one wish at a time...

Gabriella Chance has devoted her life to helping others overcome traumatic events. Now itâs her turn. Gabbyâs come home to Heartache, Tennessee, to finally face her past. She finds solace in an unlikely ally, her high school crush, Clayton Travers. But while Clay wants to be Gabbyâs refuge, heâs returned to Heartache to confront his own demons. With so many painful secrets in their past, can they hope to wish for a happy future...together?

âIs there anything I can do for you to make this easier?â

Gabby locked on his gaze, taking comfort in knowing he was there for her. With her. Holding his hand made the years theyâd been apart disappear. Made all the unsettling nightmares that she was about to face in that courtroom fade in significance.

It was just her and Clay. The guy whoâd always had a way of making her feel special.

The words leaped out before she had a chance to measure them, a true wish from her heart: âJust keep holding my hand...â

Dear Reader,

Welcome back! Iâve been eager to share the next story in the Heartache, TN series with you. It seems that once I started pulling at a thread in this townâuncovering the awful things a local villain had done over the yearsâI discovered a lot of people hurting because of it.

Gabriella Chance thinks she has a good handle on her past, and her efforts with a website for victims of cyberbullying have been healing for a lot of people. But when she returns to her hometown for the trial of the man who hurt her, she runs into someone else who has another sort of claim to her past: a man she never forgot.

Clayton Travers would have never returned to Heartache if not for the news of his half sister, but as soon as Mia is settled with a new foster family, heâll gladly put small-town Tennessee in his rearview mirror. Gabriella Chance is an unexpected reason to stick around, but a sizzling attraction might not be enough to overcome their different views about whatâs best for his troubled teen sibling.

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock

Wishes at First Light

Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Four-time RITAÂ® Award nominee JOANNE ROCK has penned over seventy stories for Harlequin. An optimist by nature and perpetual seeker of silver linings, Joanne finds romance fits her life outlook perfectlyâlove is worth fighting for. A former Golden HeartÂ® Award recipient, she has won numerous awards for her stories. Learn more about Joanneâs imaginative Muse by visiting her website, www.joannerock.com, or following @joannerock6 on Twitter.

For Bernice and Ernie Rock, the most wonderful in-laws I could have ever imagined.

Thank you for treating me like family from the very first time I sat down at your dinner table as Deanâs girlfriend. Little did I know back then how much I would come to look forward to those meals and evenings spent at your house for many years to come.

When I count the reasons Iâve been blessed in life, you are always on my list.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THERE SHOULD BE a limit on the number of times the same dream could haunt her.

Even knowing she was dreaming didnât rob the memories of their power as they flickered to life behind Gabriella Chanceâs closed eyes again. Each image burning. Hurting. Opening old wounds that had never healed.

The day unfolding in her mind was so familiar by now, every moment etched in her memory. How many times had she dropped into that buttery leather office chair in front of her fatherâs big desktop computer in the house where sheâd grown up? How many more times would she secretly open a chat window to talk to the boy she had a crush on, the thrill of doing something forbidden giving her almost as much pleasure as imagining Clayton Travers on the other end of the chat window?

Been thinking about me?

In the dream, she typed the words one key at a time, mindful of her older brotherâs best friend nearby. Samuel Reyes seemed far older than his seventeen years. He was Mr. Responsible, and determined not to let her have any fun, somehow deciding to be her watchdog anytime her older brother wasnât around. So Gabby typed quietly and quickly when Sam wasnât looking, desperate for company from a boy who would gaze at her with heat in his brown eyes.

Clayton.

The messaging program lit up with a new icon as a response popped up.

Youâre all I think about.

The butterflies in her stomach went crazy. Wings fluttered at hyper-speed, her nerve endings jumping to life at the thought of Clayton sitting in his foster familyâs den, thinking about her. Usually he wasnât on the computer at the same time as she was, so there would be a delay in their chats. But tonight it was like he was sitting there just waiting for her to type something.

The butterfly flutter in her belly took on a dark, foreboding chill. But Gabriella knew that sensation was just a product of the dream over time. When that first message had popped up on a bright blue chat window a decade ago, sheâd simply been thrilled that Clayton was thinking about her. She hadnât had a clue what was about to happen.

Or that she hadnât been talking to a sixteen-year-old boy at all.

Legs tangling restlessly in her covers, she fought the onslaught of nightmare memories. The conversation had taken a heated turn that had been confusing but exciting at the time. Afterward sheâd understood how thoroughly twisted it all had been.

Are you wearing a dress?

How short?

The chill in her belly spread, encompassing her hips and freezing out her sensuality. That chill had happened later, tooâthe past and the present getting all mixed up in the dream world. At the time, sheâd been warm and excited about the things Claytonâsheâd thought it had been Claytonâhad said to her. Things that should have been merely a hint of the forbidden coming from someone in her high school. Not anything dangerous. Sheâd been excited to see him, her teenage exuberance tinged with her immature sexual feelings.

It had all been deliciousâa welcome distraction after the hell sheâd gone through with her family earlier that year. Her father had been carted off to jail. Her mother had defected emotionally from the family, caring more about Gabbyâs dad than her two teenage offspring, leaving Gabriella feeling like the worldâs biggest outcast.

Those chats with Clayton had distracted her with happier thoughts, and that nightâs talk had been the best yet.

He wanted to meet her.

But that natural sensual awakening had been terrified out of her by a brute who threw her down in the woods later that night. A big, hairy grown man who knew where sheâd planned to meet Clayton. Not an innocent teenage flirtation at all. The man had been masked. Heâd ripped the short dress. Called her names that still haunted her even more often than the dream.

Slut. Whore.

Screaming at the injustice of the words, the attack, the loss of emotional innocence if not her virginity, Gabriella punched her attacker in the face. Again and again. That part only happened in her dreams, since in the real-life episode, Samuel Reyes had come to her rescue and been the one to pound her attacker into submission long enough for them to escape.

Now she took her defense into her own hands, pummeling the masked face while she cried.

Only then did she finally awaken, crouched on her knees on the sagging mattress in a motel cottage off Interstate 65 in Tennessee. The pillow sheâd been thrashing was now wedged between the headboard and the box spring while her knuckles throbbed where sheâd scraped them against the wood. Face wet with tears and chest heaving from fear and exertion, she levered herself out of the bed and padded across the hotel carpet in sock feet.

Gabriella turned the squeaking metal knob for the faucet to splash cold water on her face and wash away the last vestiges of the dream. Toweling off with the threadbare white cotton cloth draped over a thin silver rack, she stared at her face under the harsh flicker of greenish fluorescent lights. Her skin was pale beneath the red irritation around both eyes. The best of her familyâs genes had gone to her older brother, Zach, leaving Gabriella with hair that could only be described as dishwater blond, and plain features that benefitted from makeup or candlelight. Preferably both.

But that was okay. Because Gabriella Chanceâs beauty didnât come from the sum of her outer parts. And it sure as hell didnât have anything to do with the length of her skirt. Her jaw flexed, the muscle working as she ground her teeth at the old memory.

No. Any appeal she held radiated from her strength of character, evident in her burning, raw knuckles and her clear blue eyes that saw the world for what it was.

A dangerous place, yes. But a place she had survived. She forged on, slogging through the endless loop of her nightmares to fight another day. More important, she survived to help other victims of cyber stalking to move on with their lives. If that was as much as she accomplished in her life, it was something to be proud of.

Yet, as she sidestepped her suitcase on the floor on the way back to her bed, Gabriella couldnât deny a small part of her heart longed for more than that. No matter how many times that dream reminded her of her past, she couldnât stop longing for a normal life. A normal love. A man who would recognize her real beauty and strength, and help her find it on the days when she forgot where sheâd hidden it.

But now that a whole decade had passed without giving her any peace, Gabriella knew that wasnât going to happen. Sheâd returned to the city of the assaultâher hometown of Heartache, Tennesseeâto witness her assailant finally go to jail. While she was here, she planned to check on a local bullying victim sheâd helped through her support group onlineâsixteen-year-old Mia Benson. But once sheâd taken care of the at-risk girl and she had the satisfaction of seeing her own attackerâs face while he was sentenced to life in prison for a whole string of crimes since heâd hurt her, then Gabriella would close this chapter of her life forever.

Flipping over the lumpy, squashed pillow in the motel outside Heartache, she knew that she was almost done with the past. The nightmares had been slowing down in the last two years. It was only because sheâd heard that actual Clayton Travers was back in town that sheâd traveled the dream path again tonight. Sheâd never told him what happened that night, and a short time later sheâd fled town with Samuel Reyes and her older brother, Zach. Sheâd built a different life after that.

But sometimes she wondered what Clayton had heard about her or what he thought had happened. No one else knew that Gabriella believed sheâd been chatting with Clayton online before her attack. Thereâd been other times that year when theyâd exchanged messages for real, and she hadnât wanted Clayton to get in trouble for the content of those notes if the police looked back at them.

Clayton had been in the foster system, and those messages might have put him at risk of being booted out of the Hasting house where he was happy. So Gabriella had said nothing, a silence that had always weighed on her.

And now, completely by accident, sheâd learned Clayton Travers was back in Heartache.

As she closed her eyes to try and fall back asleep, Claytonâs return was the one thought that filled her mind. She couldnât help but wonder if she talked to him, told him about what had happened that night, would it finally stop the dream once and for all?

Damn it.

It wasnât what she wanted. But given that her attacker was finally going on trial two days from now, his conviction certain since the police finally had damning evidence, and yet the night terrors remained as potent as ever, Gabriella needed to think about other ways to address the fears of her subconscious. This was no way to liveâcaught in an endless loop of bad memories. And if speaking to Clayton might give her the peace to keep moving forward, sheâd damn well try.

* * *

AS A TEEN, Clayton Travers would have given his left nut for the chance to set foot inside Gabriella Chanceâs home.

Ironic that now heâd been sleeping there for a week.

After spending the last nine years in Memphis, Clayton had come back home to the small town of Heartache for a reunion of his foster family planned by his foster brother, Samuel Reyes, who was now the townâs sheriff. Since Clayton had a private investigations business, he had done Sam a favor by staying in the Chance household, which was now occupied by Zach, Gabriellaâs older brother and also the mayor of Heartache. Zach had needed some extra eyes on his fiancÃ©e, Heather Finley, after the woman was the target of an attempted kidnapping. Clayton didnât mind collecting a paycheck while he was in town, so heâd gladly taken the easy gig for a week. But now, with the threat confirmed to be behind bars, Clayton would find somewhere else to stay until the Hasting family reunion later that week. He packed his duffel at dawn to leave the Chance house, his eyes lingering on an old photo of Gabriella on the sleek, mission-style dresser in the bedroom where heâd slept these last six nights.

She stood in front of a big pink castle in a California theme park, her arm around a huge stuffed panda that must have been a game prize. She wore a long dress too big for her, making her look sort of lost inside it. Wisps of blond hair from her ponytail blew in a summer breeze as she smiled, but there was something off about the photo. It wasnât a real smileânot like the ones he remembered from the few times theyâd ended up staying after school together. Sheâd been a math genius, helping kids as a student tutor, and sheâd been cool about it, too, even though Clayton had been taking algebra when everyone else in his grade had moved on to calculus or trig. It wasnât that he was totally clueless, he just switched homes and schools too fast to patch together the right credits. Heâd fallen behind trying to learn math from teachers whoâd taught it with really different methods. Gabriella never made him feel like the flunky foster kid.

Far from it.

Too bad she hadnât lived in Tennessee for the past decade, walking out of this very house one long-ago summer and never looking back, leaving Clayton to finish his senior year by himself. Sam, the foster brother heâd roomed with at the Hastingsâ house, had left town the same time as Gabriella and her older brother. The only way Daniel and Lorelei Hasting, Clayton and Samâs foster parents, had avoided a full-scale child protective services investigation was that Sam turned eighteen shortly afterward, making him an independent adult.

âDude, donât tell me youâre packing up?â Zach Chance appeared in the bedroom doorway, a cup of coffee in one hand and a phone in the other.

Besides being mayor, Zach ran his own digital security firm and was probably worth a small fortune, but Clayton wouldnât have guessed it if he hadnât seen the downstairs office full of high-tech equipment and dozens of computer screens. Zach had opened his home to him like they were old friends, making it all the more awkward now that the guy had caught Clayton gawking at a photo of Zachâs sister.

âI am.â He tossed a pair of socks into the duffel and zipped it. âFreeloading isnât one of my services, even though itâs tempting when the hospitality is this good.â

Leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb of the spacious suite, Zach shook his head, keeping his voice low.

âAnd that hospitality is all because of Heather. Itâs been great having her live under the same roof as me.â He sipped from the steaming cup before continuing. âI hope she doesnât get the idea she should move out, too, once she sees youâve left.â

Zach had convinced Heather to stay with him while there were threats circulating around town against people who might testify against Jeremy Covington, the guy whoâd tried to kidnap Heather.

âI think she digs you, Mayor,â Clayton assured him, shouldering the duffel while the scent of coffee filled the room. âYouâll think of something to keep her here.â

âI hope so. With the Covington trial starting tomorrow, weâll be staying in Franklin for at least the first week to be closer to court.â He sipped his coffee. âThis house is going to be empty anyway and Sam said there have been some break-ins around town lately. Now that the Covington trial is set, heâs going to start looking into them more closely.â

âI heard about the break-ins,â Clay said, ready to move on despite the offer. âBut youâve got the most kick-ass security system in town, I hear.â

Zach chuckled. âIâd better, right? Itâll put me out of business if my house gets robbed with a company name like Fortress. Even if my business is more digital security than anything.â He straightened a rumpled throw rug in the hallway with his toe. âBut what about you? Are you going to stay at your foster motherâs house?â

âNo. Thereâs a lot of activity over there and I donât want to be underfoot.â He remembered what it had been like at Lorelei Hastingâs foster home. Fun and noisy with kids coming and going, the house had been a refuge for people like him for almost fifteen years. He didnât want to crowd the place this week with one more body. âIâm thinking Iâll grab a nice little motel on the outskirts of town so I can play my guitar where no one will hear me.â

âThat good?â Zach grinned.

âI only play for the love of it.â And to keep his stress level down. Strumming a tuneâeven if it wasnât pitch-perfectâhelped dial back his agitation faster than any of the meds theyâd tried putting him on as a kid. With his biological dad in and out of the hospital and asking to see him, Clayton was going to need all the self-help he could wrangle this week to face the old deadbeat whoâd shit all over Claytonâs life. âI think there are some places out on the interstate that should fill the bill.â

âFor sure. If you donât want to do the Heartache B & B, the motels on the highway are your only options. That is, if youâre really sure I canât convince you to stay?â

âIâve heard your fiancÃ©e play a guitar.â Clayton grabbed his own instrument, which heâd never even taken out of the soft-sided case since arriving in town. âNo way am I going to start banging out tunes in front of the local music teacher.â

Zach backed out of the doorway, leaving Clayton a clear path.

âSheâs a talent. Thereâs no denying that.â Zach followed him into the kitchen toward the back door where Claytonâs bike was parked.

Clayton waved off offers of coffee and breakfast, ready to move on. The domestic bliss of the Chance household with new lovebirds Heather and Zach might have been charming if Clayton hadnât been so decidedly single and in a dark place right now. He looked forward to the Hasting fostersâ reunion, but he dreaded seeing his biological father as much as pulling out a sliver embedded under a fingernail. He wouldnât do it if not for the fact that his dad had another daughterâClaytonâs half sisterâstill living with him. Clay hated that he hadnât known about this sibling, Mia Benson, until two weeks ago when his father called with a request that Clay pay him a visit. Clay had about blown a gasketâwith his dad for failing to mention yet another kid he hadnât taken care of. But also with himself for not keeping better track of the old manâs offspring. Then again, like most of Pete Yancyâs kids, the girl didnât bear his name and hadnât spent much time in his household.

Still, if Clay had known about the girl before his dadâs bid to win custody, he would have lobbied against the move. His father was just trying to soak up an extra assistance check for housing a kid, and the girl would be better off out from under the Yancy influence. Clayton credited any success heâd had in life to his foster family and their encouragement in settling him down.

Hunting for his missing half siblings had been the start of his PI career. To this day, reuniting families was his specialty. But heâd failed Mia Benson when heâd stopped looking for his own brothers and sisters, assuming his father was done sowing his seed. Apparently failing eight times over at parenthoodâwith five different womenâhadnât been enough for the old man.

After shaking hands with his host, Clayton walked out of the huge Craftsman-style house and fired up his motorcycle in the damp November fog. With his duffel strapped to the seat and his guitar on his back, he wasnât the most aerodynamic of riders, but his old Harley wasnât that kind of ride anyhow. Roaring out of the driveway and heading toward the interstate, he planned to play his six-string for as many hours as it took to unkink the knot in his gut.

He didnât want to see his father. But he damn well wanted to know his half sister, if only to see with his own eyes that she was okay. The firstborn of Claytonâs parents had died of crib death while the two so-called adults drank themselves into a stupor. Their next kid was Clayton, and it had taken him half his childhood to get into the foster system, a golden ticket out that heâd only learned about after his drunken, jobless, abusive parents had birthed kid number three, a boy Clayton loved with all his heart. When Eddy was four years old, child protective services took him away after a neighbor called to complain about seeing him unattended on the playground.

Of course, Eddy hadnât been unattended for any moment of the day when Clayton was around. But the neighbor probably hadnât considered a seven-year-old brother to be adequate supervision. Why CPS claimed Eddy at that time and not Clayton remained the biggest injustice of Claytonâs life. It had separated them for the next twelve years until Clayton figured out how to find people. By the time heâd gotten himself taken out of his homeânot that difficult to do, but still, there was a processâheâd bounced to a different foster home every year, finally winding up at the Hasting house, where heâd graduated school and aged out of the system.

His life had ended up better than Eddyâs. And on that sobering note, he ground his teeth together.

Now, with the wind plastering his jacket to his chest, he tried not to think about his brotherâs fate, his long-dead older sister and the smattering of other kids his parents had brought into the worldâsome as a couple, others with equally crappy partners as parents. It bothered Clayton to think heâd missed Mia, but sheâd lived with her mother until a two-year stint in foster care, during which sheâd lobbied her birth father to spring her from the system. Somehow Pete had gotten clean and sober enough to fool the social worker into giving him one last chance to be a dad.

Mia was sixteen now, heâd heard, and had been living with their father for the last eight months, helping to care for the old man as he grew weak from cirrhosis and heart disease.

Clayton planned to make sure she knew she had a way out of her fatherâs house. That alone was worth going to see Pete Yancyâaka the negligent jackassâone last time. Clayton would have gone as soon as heâd arrived in Heartache, but heâd been tapped for bodyguard duty by his friend. He would put in an appearance at his dadâs place after school that day and cross his fingers sheâd show up, too, so he could fulfill his obligations in Heartache and head back to Memphis once the reunion was done.

Steering his vintage low rider along the road that ran parallel to the interstate, Clayton slowed down as the Owlâs Roost came into view, a diner he remembered from when heâd lived in town. Nostalgia and hunger lured him off the road and into a parking spot to grab some breakfast since it was early to book a motel room anyhow.

The figure of a woman walking across the Roostâs front porch flagged his attention as he locked up the bike and his bag. Keeping the guitar strapped to his back, he turned to watch the slender form half covered by a big, black hoodie that hid her profile. He wasnât sure what it was that caught his attention. The quick, sharp walk. Long, elegant legs that a pair of loose pants couldnât fully conceal in the late-autumn wind.

Something about her made him pay attention.

So it happened that he was staring right at her when she stopped and turned to look out into the parking lot, her pale blue eyes landing on him.

The delicate features hadnât changed. A wisp of dark blond hair fluttered across her cheek in the breeze.

âClay.â She said his name softly.

Or he imagined she did. Her mouth moved with some comment before she raised her hand to cover her lips. As if she could retrieve whatever she had murmured.

âGabriella Chance.â His feet were already heading toward her, his gaze not able to let her go. âI wondered if Iâd ever see you again.â

CHAPTER TWO

CLAYTON TRAVERS STOOD in front of her, like a vision conjured out of a dream.

Seeing him hit her, whoomp, a thump to her chest, robbing her of air for a split second. Over the years his long, lanky body had filled out into a manâs lean frame, his shoulders wider than she remembered. Brown hair tinged with gold grazed the collar of his dark leather motorcycle jacket. Worn-in jeans suited him well, as did the scuffed boots. But it was his face that intrigued her most, his deep brown gaze roaming over her with interest that warmed her even in the crisp bite of a November wind.

With his high cheekbones and a cleft chin, he had become an extremely attractive man. The furtive look in his eyes that she remembered from his teens had been replaced with an easy confidence. A half smile curved his full, sensual lips.

And just like that, the attractiveness worked on her with a strange alchemy that drew her even as it chilled her again. Her feelings for him had grown oddly complicated over time.

âClay,â she said semi-awkwardly. She might have hugged him if there hadnât been a wooden porch rail between them. And, on second thought, that probably wasnât the appropriate greeting for an old high school friend whoâd been the recipient of her earliest flirting attempts. She wasnât some starry-eyed teen anymore. âItâs great to see you again after all these years.â

Actually, it was sort of terrifying given the role heâd played in her past. A role he was completely oblivious to.

But sheâd wanted to face him and here he stood.

âGood to see you, too. Time has been...really nice to you, Gabriella.â

Before she could recover from that latest whoomp to her lungs, he continued, âAre you meeting anyone for breakfast?â He nodded toward the Owlâs Roost. A couple of guys in bright orange vests lumbered past, to-go cups in their hands as they emerged from the diner.

âNo. Iâm staying at the motel next door and was lured by the scent of coffee and bacon. The in-room coffeepot left something to be desired.â She stuffed her fists deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, trying to separate the past from the present and focus on the moment. âAre you, uh, free to join me?â

No time like the present to get over the butterflies with him. Sheâd be leaving Heartache as soon as Jeremy Covington was in jail and she had the chance to check on Mia Benson.

âSounds like my lucky day.â His grin was completely disarming. âLetâs get inside where itâs warm.â

Half an hour later they sat across from one another at a big wooden booth in one of Heartacheâs best-known eating establishments. The owner, Rodney, was on the town council, and he and his wife had been running the place for as long as she could remember. There was a comfort in that, a place with some happy memories for her since her parents had taken her here a few times to celebrate birthdays in the good years before her father went to prison.

Still, it felt incredibly strange to sit across from Clayton. His guitar occupied the seat beside him in the booth, the instrument easily identifiable in the black nylon case.

She ordered a vegetable scramble and coffee while he got the âBig Buckâ platter with some of everything on it. His appetite hadnât changed. Heâd always been a bottomless pit at mealtime. Familiarity felt good in the middle of so much change in him.

âI thought you were lured here by the scent of bacon?â he said when the red-headed waitress departed with their menus.

âIâm actually a vegetarian. Just because I donât eat bacon doesnât mean I canât love the smell. I think itâs universally the most missed food of the vegetarian world.â

The waitress returned with two mugs and a coffee carafe, pouring them each a cup before hustling off to the next table. The place was busy with most of the tables filled and a half dozen uniformed wait staff serving the crowd. With a backwoods theme heavy on pine logs and willow branches in the decor, the restaurant hadnât changed since the last time sheâd been here, right down to Rodney and his wife holding court at a table near the kitchen with some other local old-timers including Mrs. Spencer and Harlan Brady. The two looked to be an item now, judging by the way he kissed her ringed fingers and whispered in her ear.

So sweet. Mrs. Spencer had been a widow for a long time even when Gabriella left town.

âIn that caseââ Clayton raised his coffee mug and clinked it to hers on the table ââcheers to your restraint.â

âCheers.â Picking up her own cup, she saluted him briefly before taking a sip. The strong java soothed her nerves for a moment and gave her an excuse to plot a course of action with him. How much should she say over breakfast? She sure as heck couldnât blurt out her past in the middle of Heartacheâs most popular breakfast joint.

First, sheâd do some fact-gathering. Get to know what heâd been up to these last years. Then maybe she could ask to see him another time. Privately.

Even thinking about it made her jittery all over again. Hot and cold. She swallowed hard and took another long swig of her coffee.

âSo I just left your brotherâs house.â He eased back from the table to sprawl one arm along the back of the booth. âI was staying with him to keep an eye on his fiancÃ©e after she was threatened, but it seems like Sam has nailed down where the threats were coming from.â

The mention of the threats made her struggle not to wince from the old guilt about not coming forward. But she needed to repeat the mantra from the counselor sheâd seen. It wasnât her fault. She wasnât responsible for the actions of others.

Easier chanted than believed.

At least she wasnât caught flat-footed by what Clay had said. Gabriella had spoken to her friend Amy Finley, whoâd given her the heads-up that Clayton was in town, sparking last nightâs bad dream. She hadnât spoken to her brother much since his fiancÃ©eâs frightening ordeal with Covington, but it didnât surprise her that Zach had hired someone to help protect the woman he loved.

âThat was good of you. I havenât called Zach yet to let him know Iâm back in town. I just got in yesterday.â She had been on a speaking tour these last two weeks and had taken a last-minute engagement in Nashville prior to her trip to Heartache, putting her in town a bit earlier than sheâd anticipated since sheâd decided it wasnât worth flying back home first.

And while she should have known, at least in a peripheral way, that Clayton might end up in Heartache for the Hastingsâ family foster reunion, she hadnât really expected he would show up until Amy had told her the news. For one thing, he had always looked forward to putting distance between himself and his birth father, who lived just outside Heartache. Heâd made it clear he was never setting foot in this town after graduation. Besides, sheâd probably only added to his reasons to dislike Heartache when sheâd left without saying goodbye. Then again, maybe it was silly of her to think that her leaving town abruptly might have affected him one way or another.

âDid you come for the Covington trial?â he asked, his jacket drifting open to show off the gray tee underneath it and more muscles she didnât remember.

The trial? Tough to chant the mantra with so many dark shadows lurking around every corner here. Her counselor had also told her if the mantra didnât work, find a positive distraction. Lucky for her, she had one right across the booth.

If sheâd just met him today for the first time, she would have never gotten up the nerve to flirt with him. Heâd turned out far too handsome. Sheâd been a lot braver as a teen before her world fell apart.

âYes,â she answered tightly, uncertain how much he knew about what happened to her. âIâm not sure what youâve heard about that night I left town. But if youâve been staying with Zach...â She let the words hang, hoping heâd fill in the blanks.

It would be strange having the whole town know her long-kept secrets. Once her testimony against Jeremy Covington was made public during the trial, the truth about her past would be common knowledge.

âYour brother told me youâd been cyber stalked and ran into trouble at the quarry with a masked man.â His jaw flexed. âSam roughed up the guy he now knows must have been Covington and you left Heartache with Sam and your brother to prevent Sam from being brought up on charges since heâd had run-ins with the law in his past.â He summarized it neatly, his eyes steady on hers and giving her no reason to believe he knew more than he was telling.

Or that he thought badly of her for running away without telling anyone. Later in life, sheâd learned some of her motherâs family thought she and Zach were highly ungrateful children for leaving their mother in âher time of needâ after their father went to jail. What her mother wanted had been the last thing on her mind at the time. Gabriella had done all she could do to keep herself together. Two weeks after that attack, sheâd overdosed and was lucky to be alive.

âRight.â Gabriella leaned back from the table as their food arrived, the plates still steaming as the waitress set them down on the plank table. âMy brother came back to town a couple of years ago to find some closure. Since we didnât report the guy to the cops at the time, weâd always worried what if it wasnât an isolated incident. Turns out, it wasnât. And now theyâve finally caught Jeremy Covington.â

âA former town council member and a prominent local business owner.â Clayton shook his head as he tossed some pepper on his eggs. âI couldnât believe the story when I read it in the Memphis newspaper. I didnât find out until I spoke to Zach that youâd been a victim, too.â He set the shaker down and reached across the table to cover her hand with his. âIâm so damn sorry, Gabby.â

The contact was brief, but the sympathy in his gaze lingered. And even after all this time, she welcomed that. Appreciated his words.

âThank you.â She cleared her throat and willed away the sudden emotion. âIâve done a lot of healing since then with the help of a good counselor, but Iâve been back here a few times and it is always a mixed blessing for me.â

âIâve never been a fan of this town myself. But I hear youâve got a home out on the West Coast.â He speared a forkful of pancake and focused on his food, a kindness that helped her get her emotions back under control.

She took a bite of her veggie scramble and tried not to think about all she wasnât saying. All the ways Clayton figured into that life-changing night that sent her running in the first place.

âItâs a town home in San Jose with a rooftop garden that lets me pretend I still have a yard and can grow things.â Her mind drifted home while he shoveled through his breakfast. She loved that garden, opening it up to the town home association residents as a community garden. Some of her neighbors had started plots of their own. âI also created a website for cyber stalking victims that helps disseminate information about the different laws in various states to help people protect themselves.â

She needed a real job soon. Her website was not-for-profit, along with all the work she did for the organization she ran under her legally changed name. Her California friends all knew her as Ellie to protect her identity. She did some freelance work for her brotherâs digital security company, administrative duties that didnât have anything to do with the coursework sheâd done in psychology at online universities over the years. The freelancing paid the bills, but it had always been temporary until her life was more settled. Now with her stalker in jail, she needed to consider her next steps.

âThere arenât many people who could take a frightening experience like that and turn it into something that helps others. Good for you for creating something positive out of what you went through.â He nodded at the uniformed policeman who walked by their table. The officer must work with Sam given the Sheriffâs Department patch on his sleeve. âI hope you arenât stuck in a motel on the edge of town because I was staying at your brotherâs place.â

âAbsolutely not.â She shook her head, remembering how easy it had always been to talk to Clayton. Some of the nervousness in her stomach had eased, allowing her to eat most of her breakfast. âHe knew I was going to take a motel room since I thought I might need a private place to retreat at the end of the day as I sit in on the Covington trial.â She hesitated. âZach has gotten used to being protective of me, which is nice, of course. But sometimes I need to deal with things on my own terms.â

Realizing all theyâd done since they sat down was talk about her, she felt her cheeks grow warm. She wasnât good with men or social chitchat.

âWell I hope you wonât feel too crowded if I take a room at your motel.â Clayton waved over the waitress to top off their coffee mugs and thanked her.

âYouâll be staying at the same motel as me?â She tensed, knowing sheâd be getting even less sleep if that was true.

She really did need to find a time to speak to him privately. See if she could put those bad dreams to rest by sharing the story with Clayton, who had figured in that night so prominently for her, even if he was completely unaware.

âI was on my way to book a room since my work for Zach is done. Iâm staying in town for the Hasting family reunion on Saturday and after thatââ he tossed his napkin on the table and shoved aside his plate ââIâll be heading back to Memphis.â

âOh.â Not sure what else to say, she gulped the fresh coffee, sizzling off a few taste buds in the process. Ow.

âWould you rather I stay somewhere else besides the motel? Is that too close for comfort?â he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

Was it just her overactive imagination, or was there a wealth of innuendo in those words? Their flirtatious online chats came to mind. How many of them had Clayton actually authored? She knew for sure he hadnât been the one to send her those last messages. Jeremy Covington had impersonated Clay online, deceiving Gabriella into meeting him out at that quarry.

She remembered Covington vaguely from her teenage years. His wife taught at the high school and heâd been an assistant coach on the schoolâs football team. Since sheâd learned that he was her attacker, she remembered that in his work with the football team, he would have seen her and Clayton together when they met after school near the bleachers. The football players often practiced on that field at the same time. Covington must have known enough about the fledgling relationship to impersonate Clay.

âNo. Of course not.â She wished she could hide behind her cup. She had no idea how to read him and suddenly, she wasnât sure she wanted to. How many times had she confused his words with her attackerâs in her dreams? âJust surprised you arenât staying at the Heartache B & B,â she finished lamely.

âReally?â He tossed bills on the table before she could fish her credit card out of her wallet. âTime hasnât changed me all that much, Gabby. Iâm still not a center-of-town kind of guy. And outside of the B & B there arenât many habitable choices. Which is how weâre ending up neighbors of sorts.â

For a moment the shared smile brought her a small amount of comfort. A reprieve from memories that time had filtered, altered and amplified.

âItâs been a long time since we knew each other.â She set her credit card next to his cash, needing to pay her own way. âThe years have changed me, as Iâm sure they have you.â

Her independence had been hard-won.

âYouâre right about that. Up until last week I thought you ran away with Sam that night.â He let the waitress take both forms of payment, putting her more at ease. âDid you know that was the word on the Crestwood High School grapevine at the time?â

âSchool was the last thing on my mind,â she told him honestly, flinching when a table full of deep-voiced men broke out into laughter.

Heartache made her jumpy. Or maybe it was the upcoming trial. She really needed to see that bastard Covington in jail and move forward with her life.

âHell.â He hung his head for a second before giving her an embarrassed grimace. âThat was an idiotic thing for me to say, and totally unnecessary.â

âNo. Itâs a credit to my brother that he kept the whole story about what happened on lockdown like I asked him to. For a long time, you thought I ran away to live the party life or join the circus or...have a wild affair with Sam. I canât resent that when thatâs exactly what I wanted people to think. I was too much of a kid to realize who I might hurt by hiding the truth.â

The waitress returned with Claytonâs change and Gabriellaâs receipt, but he didnât move to take it. He frowned at Gabriella.

âYou had to do what was best for yourself, Gabby.â He sounded fierce on her behalf. Indignant.

âI know.â She took her time stuffing her credit card and her receipt in her purse. âBut itâs strange having the truth circulating now after all this time. I have shared what happened with my support group in San Jose, but people in Heartache are only just starting to hear the truth. Iâve been back twice since it happened, and itâs certainly nothing I ever shared.â

He leaned forward, one muscular arm braced on the table. âTheyâll all find out once you testify against Covington, though, right?â

âI submitted a written statement, but I donât know how important it will be in the big scheme of things. I havenât been called to testify yet since they have far more damning testimony than mine. Most of it in the form of his computer records.â Gabriella had been shocked to learn that Jeremy Covingtonâs wife had turned over all the computers she had access to in their home to the prosecution, but apparently the woman had had enough of his cheating and crimes. âStill, I sent a personal letter to the judge. I want to share my story.â

âYou said Covington was cyber stalking.â Clayton nodded thoughtfully. âWas he watching your movements online?â

The question cut right to the heart of what made it so damn difficult to sit across the table from Clayton.

Her throat dried up. Cold clamminess broke out over her skin in a panic that had everything to do with her dream world and nothing to do with the handsome and decent man across from her.

âIââ She was at a loss for what to say. âActually, Clay, do you mind if we catch up another time?â Her heart beat faster. She stood to leave before thinking how rude that would appear. âIâm sorry. I just remembered I was supposed to meet my friend Amy this morning. I donât know where my head is today.â

âLet me walk you outââ He was already reaching for his guitar.

But Gabriella didnât hear the rest. Sheâd fallen into dream modeâthat place where the past and her fears mingled, growing larger than lifeâand she needed a breath of fresh air. She hadnât experienced a panic attack like this in years. Shoving her way through the entrance to the Owlâs Roost, she nearly ran into a big, burly man carrying a toddler into the restaurant.

âSorry,â she apologized, never slowing down.

The cold wind blasted over her face, tugging strands of her hair across her cheek and drying some of the dampness from her skin.

Pausing at the porch rail, she took big, gasping breaths of air into her lungs.

She would plan a private time to speak to Clayton Travers again. She hadnât been emotionally prepared to see him this morning, and it was so early in the day she still had one foot in her unsettling dreams from the night before. But she was in Heartache to put the past to rest for good. She would see Jeremy Covington go to jail. And sheâd share with Clay the truth about the conversations sheâd thought she had with him over that summer. There was a chance sheâd only been talking to him half the time she thought she had been messaging with him.

True, it all happened a long time ago. But she owed it to herself to find out how much of that online relationship Clay had participated in over those weeks sheâd been falling for himâand how much of that time sheâd been talking to Jeremy Covington. It was just one more step in the healing, and not anything to do with the fact that Clayton Travers still made her heart skip a beat.

* * *

IT HAD BEEN a long time since a woman had run from him.

Ten years, in fact. And the last perpetrator was the same as todayâsâone Gabriella Chance.

Walking more sedately out of the Owlâs Roost, Clayton knew he was attracting stares. The people in the booths nearby were probably wondering what piece of crap man would send a woman sprinting for the door by herself. More than a little on edge by the time he made it through the exit, he was surprised to see Gabriella still on the front porch.

Her back to him, she gripped the rail so hard it made her shoulders and arms rigid. The late-autumn wind tossed a few strands of dark blond hair, her loose pants fluttering against her legs. As he neared, he could see she took deep breaths that lifted her whole chest, exhaling through her mouth like she was doing yoga breathing.

âIâm in a sticky social situation here,â he noted wryly, standing a few feet away and staring out over the parking lot the same way she was doing. âDo I give you the space you seem to crave and walk past you? Or do I stop and try to be a gentleman because you seem distressed?â

âIs it that obvious?â she asked, her voice tinged with a dry sarcasm he hadnât expected. She puffed out an audible breath.

âMy dining companions donât usually head for the exit like theyâre setting a land speed record.â He kept it light, curious as hell what was going on with her but not wanting to push. Heâd realized within seconds of seeing her again that he was still attracted. Time hadnât faded her appeal in the least.

So it bothered him even more that she hadnât wanted to linger after their shared meal.

They remained quiet for a moment as a young woman walked by, holding the arm of a stooped man shuffling a walker across the wooden plank floor.

âI think Iâm having a recurrence of panic attacks since the Covington trial starts tomorrow,â she confided once the entrance closed behind the incoming restaurant patrons. âAs much as I think seeing him go to jail will give me closure, itâs also stirring up some old fears. I didnât sleep well last night. Not well at all.â

âThat, I understand.â He moved closer without touching her, trying to offer the comfort of his presence without making her feel overwhelmed or crowded. âIâm staying in town long enough to meet with my biological father for the first time in years and itâs got me restless at night, too.â

âIs Pete still living close to Heartache?â She seemed to forget her troubles as he mentioned his own, her shoulders relaxing a bit when she turned to face him.

âI canât believe you remember my loser fatherâs name.â He shook his head, surprised she would recall ancient conversations theyâd had over the card games she insisted would help him with his math. âPete is feeling the effects of cirrhosis by now, so maybe thatâs got him sentimental that he wants to see me. But he lives just outside the town line heading toward Franklin.â

She nodded, her golden brown hair lifted by the chilly breeze. âYou know thatâs where the trial is being held? In Franklin?â

âYes. Your brother filled me in while I was keeping an eye on his fiancÃ©e. I plan to sit in during Heather Finleyâs testimony. Zach seemed to think it would give her courage to see friendly faces in the courtroom.â

Besides, he had a vested interest in seeing that bastard Covington behind bars. The sick creep had hurt the girl heâd started to care about, someone heâd wanted to know better. Gabriella had just started flirting with him, warming to the idea of seeing him, when sheâd disappeared.

While Clayton had moved on, dated plenty of other women, heâd never forgotten about her. And being in this town again had a way of bringing the past back to life.

âThatâs kind of you.â She finally looked at him, an admiring light burning in her eyes, an expression he recalled from their old conversations. When the rest of the school had been quick to look his way as a potential suspect for any misdeeds since he was the newest Hasting foster kid, and therefore âtroubled,â Gabriella had given him the benefit of the doubt.

âI want to support Sam, too. It sounds like he put his whole life on hold for a while to pursue the guy, even before he moved back here to become sheriff.â

She bit her lip, once, twice, before speaking. âHe did. And thatâs half the reason I want to be there, too. He sacrificed a lot to protect me and then, later, to find the guy who did it.â

Which brought him right back to the question heâd asked her inside the booth at the Owlâs Roost. What kind of interaction had she had with the guy online? Why hadnât she been able to identify him if heâd been stalking her even before the incident in the quarry when heâd assaulted her?

But he kept it on lockdown for now since those were the last words out of his mouth before sheâd broken out into a cold sweat. Clearly there were a lot of rough memories associated with that time. While her brother said she hadnât been sexually molested she had been assaulted.

âThen if you ever want to share a ride, let me know because Iâll be making the trip in every day.â He pointed to his motorcycle. âAlthough thatâs my only means of transportation, so if you donât like bikesââ

âReally?â She sounded intrigued. âIâve never ridden on one.â

âTheyâre great for clearing your head.â Maybe that was a little self-serving of him when sheâd admitted she was tense and had trouble sleeping. âI have an extra helmet. Itâs not glittery pink or anything, but itâs safe.â

She folded her arms, and a smile turned one corner of her lips.

âIn that case, Iâm staying in Unit 3 at the motel.â She pointed toward the shabby little set of cottages where he planned to book a room, too.

âGreat. Iâll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning.â

Just like that, the moment sent him catapulting back to the past when sheâd said she would meet him under the bleachers for a math lesson that heâd hoped would be more than just math.

Except sheâd never shown. And for reasons far more complicated and painful than his teenage mind could have imagined. Hell, teens assumed rejection was personal.

And his assumption had cost her comfort when sheâd needed him most. Damned if he would let her down again.

CHAPTER THREE

GIRLSâ SALON NIGHT at The Strand!

Walking down Heartacheâs main thoroughfare with her hood up to protect her from the wind, Gabriella double-checked the text from her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Heather Finley. Normally, Gabriella wasnât the girly-girl type who spent time at spas or invested her small earnings on expensive salon highlights. But the invitation had been sent to all the local women who would either be testifying against Jeremy Covington or who had given statements to support the district attorneyâs case against him.

The intent of the Salon Night was plain. An evening of rah-rah sisterhood to boost each other up before they had to sit across a courtroom from the man whoâd hurt them. As much as she wasnât the spa type, Gabriella knew she couldnât refuse. Because even though a manicure and pedicure wouldnât make her feel any better about facing Covington tomorrow, her presence might help someone else rest easier tonight. If it made Heather feel betterâor any of the other girls that sick ass had hurtâthen Gabriella wanted to be there. She carried a bottle of red wine under her arm as she passed Last Chance Vintage and found The Strand. Warm light from inside the salon poured out through the windows onto Main Street since it was the only business open at this hour except for the Hasting familyâs pizza parlor farther down on the corner.

Hesitating outside the door, Gabriella could hear the eighties pop music playing inside, two of the women dancing around a dryer chair as they sang into hair brushes. The image tugged a reluctant smile from her. Maybe it wouldnât be such a hardship to have her nails painted. She couldnât deny a small thrill at the idea of looking her best tomorrow when she hopped on the back of Claytonâs motorcycle. And yes, that made her feel like a giddy teenager again.

She hauled open the door before she could change her mind, the electric guitar music spilling out along with laughter and the scent of hair chemicals and nail polish remover.

âGabby!â The slender woman standing closest to the door greeted her with a warm smile.

âAmy.â Gabriella opened her arms to the youngest of the Finley family, a woman whoâd been absent from Heartache for as long as Gabriella herself.

Amy had been dating Sam Reyes, Zachâs best friend, the summer that Gabriella had been assaulted. Sam felt forced to leave townâand Amyâwithout explanation, and Gabriella had always felt guilty about that, especially during the years when sheâd convinced herself she had a crush on Sam.

Sam had been safe to crush on at a time when sheâd been so mixed-up about men and sex. Gabriella had known she was safe with him and heâd never returned her affections. But Amy and Sam were back together now, and Amy didnât seem to hold it against her that sheâd dragged her boyfriend to the West Coast with her.

âIâm so glad youâre here,â Amy whispered fervently in her ear as she returned the hug. âEveryone else is talking about sulfate-free hair conditioners and nail art, and itâs like Greek to me. Nail art?â Leaning back, Amy shrugged her narrow shoulders, her all-black jeans and sweater broken up by a light green scarf that set off her auburn hair and green eyes. âIt took me two whole minutes to realize they werenât talking about something you make with an air nail compressor.â

Gabriella laughed, welcoming the levity. The Finley family owned a building supply store in town, and Amy was embroiled in a renovation project that involved turning a hunting cabin into a beautiful, two-story home. The woman had studied to be an accountant, but her do-it-yourself knowledge was off the charts. She could hang her own Sheetrock and install a toilet, for crying out loud.

âMy makeup routine revolves around petroleum jelly for my lips and pinching my cheeks to put color in them.â Setting down the bottle of wine sheâd brought on the reception desk, Gabriella watched as the hairbrush-singing duo ended their tune and sank into chairs across from one another, a blue light aimed at their toes. The pair was clearly youngerâhigh school or college age. âWho are the teenagers?â

âMegan Bryer and Bailey McCord.â Amy lowered her voice, pointing first to the brunette dressed in a flannel shirt and skin-tight jeggings, then at her blonde friend with a purple butterfly T-shirt. âI only know that because Heather was held against her will the same time as Megan. And Baileyâs mom had the affair with Covington and thenâwhen he cheated on her, tooâconvinced Covingtonâs wife to turn over the family computers that are going to be the manâs total undoing.â Shaking her head, Amy gave a wry grin. âBut I donât normally keep up with the soap operas, so thatâs the extent of my information.â

âIâm impressed.â Gabriella knew of both girls in a peripheral way, having kept up with the case as Sam tracked the man who assaulted her. But she hadnât spent much time in Heartache, so the faces werenât familiar. âYou may not know your sulfates, but Iâm coming to you for all my gossip. Can you tell me anything about the town break-ins Iâve been hearing about?â She was only half kidding. It unsettled her to think of more crime in her small hometown. Especially while she was staying here.

But before Amy could answer, someone turned down the music.

âLadies!â A tall beauty with caramel-colored hair hurried over, carrying a basket of bakery treats. âNo lurking in corners! Iâm having a mixer over at the nail polish bar and Iâm luring you there with cupcakes.â She waved the basket under their noses, showing off gorgeous confections with frosting in every imaginable shade. âGabriella, Iâm Nina Spencer, Mack Finleyâs significant other.â

Again, Gabriella knew that and remembered her vaguely from high school, but she appreciated the reminder of where she fit into the Finley family. The townâs former Mayor Finley had two sonsâMack and Scottâand three daughters, Erin, Heather and Amy, making a big crew to keep track of. Plus, they all had spouses or significant others, and Scott and his wife, Bethany, had a daughter who would be in college by now.

âNina, you were on the varsity soccer team when I played as a freshman and I thought you were the coolest girl in school.â Gabriella grinned as she chose a yellow cupcake with pink frosting. âAnd since you went on to own a restaurant and bake things like this, I obviously knew the right kind of woman to idolize.â

âHa!â Nina gave her a one-armed hug. âArenât you sweet? You need to move back to Heartache. But for now, will you convince Amy to choose a nail polish color for toes that have never been touched by paint?â

âIâll have you know I bought a bottle of ice-blue polish and put it on my toes once. It made me look like a corpse.â Amy grabbed a chocolate-on-chocolate cupcake. âBut I will choose something because I am a team player and Iâm here to be beautiful.â

âThatâs the spirit.â Nina moved on to introduce a few newcomers, letting her basket lead the way, its pink gingham ribbons flapping in her wake.

Together, Amy and Gabriella headed toward the wall of nail polish colors where an older woman held court from a black leather chair, a little Pekingese dog at her feet in a leopard-print carrier.

âYou look like youâre in need of a primer for this,â Amy observed, nudging Gabriella after theyâd taken just a few steps. âDo you remember this group?â

âThatâs Mrs. Spencer, right? Ninaâs grandmother?â She nodded in the direction of the Pekingese owner. The woman was famous for her jellies and pies. No doubt that was where her granddaughter got her skill with cupcakes, which were the best thing Gabriella had ever tasted.

âDaisy Spencer.â Amy nodded, confirming her guess. âAnd you know Erin and Heather, my sisters? Well, duh. Of course you know Heather since sheâs been engaged to your brother for a week.â

âThatâs Erin?â Gabriella would have never guessed, but then she recalled both Erin and Heather having long red curls like a pre-Raphaelite painting. Heather had kept hers, but Erin had a sleek copper-colored style with a dark streak around her face.

With her cartoon cat tee, a long, full skirt that looked like it came straight out of the fifties and dark leather combat boots, she had an ease and sophistication that Gabriella envied.

Amy nodded. âI know, right? When I left town, she was a total tomboy obsessed with building birdhouses for fun, and now sheâs Ms. Elegant with her vintage clothing store.â Amy pointed to the shop next door and Gabriella recalled passing Last Chance Vintage on her way into The Strand. âAnd she does a huge Dress for Success event seasonally with a traveling bus that goes to rural places in Tennessee to bring women clothing when theyâve fallen on hard times. Sheâs pretty great.â

âShe married the Cajun television producer.â Gabriella knew that, too, since Zach had been at the wedding. But she hadnât seen any photos.

âRight,â Amy confirmed. âRemy. I havenât met him yet either, but Erin wrote me all about it.â

âThereâs a face I remember,â Daisy Spencer called, gesturing them to come closer. âGabriella Chance, itâs good to see you again, honey. Do you remember coming out to the farm with your mother to buy jelly?â She laughed merrily, twisting the daisy pin on the lapel of her pink running jacket while the Pekingese wagged its tail. âOh me, you were just a little one then and I had a whole lot less gray.â

They reminisced for a minute while Amy caught up with her sisters. And in the warmth of that shared memory with the older woman, Gabriella forgot to be an introvert. She was glad she came. Glad to remember sheâd been a part of all this once. In the same way that being at the Owlâs Roost had reminded her of happier times with her mother, Daisy Spencer brought back more pleasant flashbacks to her youth before things took a nosedive. She remembered sitting in the Spencersâ big farm kitchen with an ancient stove unlike anything sheâd ever seen before. With the wrought-iron apple peeler clamped to a wooden counter and the scent of pies baking in that huge oven, the Spencer home was firmly ingrained in her memories.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, she was introduced to Tiffany McCord, Baileyâs mother and Jeremy Covingtonâs former girlfriend whoâd turned evidence against him, as well as Kate Covington, Jeremyâs wife, whoâKate confidedâwas soon to be his ex-wife. Gabriella noted that the two women remained on opposite sides of the room. No doubt this was an awkward collection of women assembled here, including several people she hadnât met yet, but it impressed her that so many of them had shown up, united in a common cause.

âIf I can have your attention, please?â Nina Spencer Finleyâs voice interrupted as she moved to the center of the room. Her cupcake basket gone, she addressed the more than twenty women. âWelcome to Salon Night and thank you to Trish for hosting us at The Strand.â She paused while everyone clapped for the hair salon owner. âIâm not much of a public speaker, so Iâll make this short. I wanted to do something for you all tonight to thank you for the role each and every one of you is playing in the trial of Jeremy Covington.â

The room quieted even more. It seemed even Daisyâs dog stilled at the mention of the manâs name. Gabriella swallowed hard, looking around at the women whose lives had been hurt in one way or another by him. Amy, too?

Gabriella wondered if her old friend had given some kind of testimony that she didnât know about.

âIâm sure there are some of you who donât consider yourselves public speakers, either, and yet youâre raising your voices to point out a monster in our midst to make sure he doesnât hurt anyone else. Thank you for being brave enough to do that.â

Erin Finley cheered and slung an arm around her sister Heather. Amy silently rubbed Heatherâs back. Maybe Amy and Erin were just here to support their sister.

âI read a book recently,â Nina continued, her expression grave. âAnd the author wrote that it only takes one voiceâat just the right pitchâto start an avalanche.â

âAmen,â Daisy Spencer said softly.

âI want to thank you ladies for starting the avalanche thatâs putting away Jeremy Covington for the rest of his days,â Nina continued. âNow, go get your nails done, have a cupcake and some champagne to celebrate your awesomeness.â

Gabriella ended up doing all those things. Over the next hour she had her fingers and toes painted in rose-petal pink since she wasnât the artsy type like Erin, who painted a checkerboard on her index finger and all the other nails in alternating white and red.

But as Gabriella finally retrieved her coat to go home, she had to admit that she liked how her fingers looked with the pink nail polish. Sheâd had fun tonight. She liked hearing about what was going on in Heartache recently. And she even took a bit of pleasure learning how her brother had beat up Jeremy Covington when he and his son, J. D. Covington, were trying to kidnap Heather. Zach had downplayed his role when heâd shared the story with Gabriella, but Heatherâs version was far more exciting.

Maybe sheâd find healing here during this trial after all. If she wasnât called to take the stand, she would benefit from being here when her attacker was convicted. And sheâd promised herself she would speak to Clayton privately in the hope that confiding in him about the role heâd unknowingly played in that night would ease some of her old phobias about men and sex. It had taken her a long time to lose her virginity after that night, and her counselor had explained that her brain had associated sensual feelings with pain. Sheâd been too young to have positive sensual feelings prior to that awful night.

Although sheâd successfully had sexânice, normal, not painful sex even if it wasnât anything to write home aboutâshe still dealt with a strange and sickening mental cross-wiring of the sensual and the terrifying. If clearing the air with Clayton had any chance of helping her to heal fully, it was worth the embarrassment of wading through those old chats to untwine his real messages from the ones her stalker had sent.

Making quick work of her goodbyes, she edged through the salon door and out into the empty street. Sheâd parked a few doors down and by now, the only cars out here belonged to the women whoâd attended the salon night. So it wasnât like she worried about walking that short distance alone in the dark.

There were streetlights and sheâd gotten over those old phobias about strange men launching themselves at her from dark corners just beyond her peripheral vision. Truly, she had. Itâs just that she was back in Tennessee. And sheâd been talking about Jeremy Covington. And Clayton.

Gulping in deep swallows of night air, she hoped some yoga breathing would settle her pulse rate. Maybe she should see if Clayton was still awake. It would be easy enough to spot his bike in front of one of the motel cabins.

She reached for her car door, pausing long enough to look up at the stars overhead in the cold night. A streak of light flashed through the sky almost as soon as she tipped her head back. A shooting star.

She made a wish on it without thought. Wishing for the first thing that came to mind.

Opening her eyes, she had to laugh. She could have wished for healing herself. Or a good trial outcome. Peace of mind for all the great women sheâd visited with tonight.

Instead, sheâd wished for a single, uncomplicated kiss from Clayton Travers.

CHAPTER FOUR

CLAYTON SAT OUTSIDE his motel cabin long after sunset, ignoring the fact that his fingertips were going numb in the cold night air. It wasnât good for his guitar, he knew, to play in this kind of weather. Changes in temperature caused the wood to expand and contract. But banging out a tune was more for relaxation than anything. He liked to think his two-hundred-dollar pawn shop purchase helped him avoid the shrinkâs chair, mellowing him out when he was wound too tight. His foster mom had helped him find ways to regulate the frenetic energy that churned through him after heâd gone nuts at his guidance counselorâs suggestion he try medication.

In theory, he knew the meds helped some people. But as a kid, heâd been scared spitless that any drug would be a gateway to turning into his parents. What kind of chance did he have of avoiding addiction given his genetics?

Guitar picking was safer. If a little tougher on the ears of unsuspecting neighbors.

Holding the last note of a sixties folk tune that Bob Dylan made famous, Clay debated going inside for the night. With his feet propped on the narrow porch rail and his back jammed into a corner on the wooden chair heâd borrowed from the dinette set inside, his joints had gone stiff from staying in one position for too long. Or from the cold. He pulled his feet off the railing just as a car turned off the interstate and into the parking lot.

The white Ford sedan had out-of-state plates. A rental, he guessed. And since there werenât many guests staying in the motel cottages, he paid attention to who stepped out of the vehicle and under a streetlamp.

Gabriella.

âAre you going to play anything or is that just for show?â she called as she strode his way, a warm smile on her face.

She looked pretty. Dressed up a bit, like sheâd been out to dinner with friends. Pale hair skimmed her shoulder where it fell loose from a ponytail. She wore a long gray dress belted over dark tights, plus a lightweight trench coat. Shiny earrings bobbed in the porch light as she leaned on his railing.

âI guarantee that if I play for you, itâll be the last time you ask me to play.â Setting the guitar aside, he clapped a hand on the arm of the wooden rocker. âYouâre welcome to have a seat if itâs not too cold for you.â

He asked because it was the neighborly thing to do. And because he was more than a little curious about her. But he was surprised when she joined him without hesitation.

âThank you.â Stepping up onto the narrow planks, she seated herself carefully. There was a slow deliberation in the way she moved, as though she never rushed into anything. âIâm glad for the fresh air. I went to a Salon Night in town for a bunch of the women who are giving testimony in the Covington trial and itâs good to clear my head from the scent of fingernail polish.â She waggled her shiny nails, studying the pink polish. âIâm not usually one to spend time in a salon, but it was fun.â

She wore no ring. Heâd noticed that over breakfast, too. And it occurred to him he wasnât usually the kind of guy whose eye gravitated to a womanâs left hand.

âPretty,â he observed lightly. âAnd probably a good distraction tonight when everyone is keyed up before the trial.â

âAbout that.â She tugged on the cuff of one loose sleeve of her coat, fingering the dark button that decorated a taupe-colored strap. âIâm definitely keyed up, which is part of the reason I ran out at breakfast this morning. Iâm so sorry about that.â

She sounded both genuine and distressed.

âNo need to apologize. It wasnât a big deal.â He didnât want her to worry about it. Hell, heâd rather have her thinking about reliving happier times whenâheâd thoughtâtheyâd been on the verge of acting on an attraction.

âBut I was actually planning on seeking you out tonight to tell you the other reason I left the table abruptly this morning.â She bit her lip, her pale forehead furrowed. âItâs awkward. And embarrassing.â

A breeze toyed with the loose strands of hair around her face, and his hand itched to smooth away the silky pieces. Put her at ease somehow.

âI wish it didnât have to be. Are you sure you donât want to sit inside where itâs warm?â The motel cabins were tiny, but each unit had a kitchenette. A small sofa.

âIâm fine.â She shook her head, but wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her coat tighter to her body. âI wouldnât mention this at all, but I hoped if I talked to you about it, maybe it would put some unsettling parts of my past to rest for me.â

Concern rooted him to the spot. âYouâre worrying me. I hope I donât have anything to do with unhappy parts of your past, Gabriella.â

Beyond the parking lot, a tractor trailer whizzed past, rumbling the whole porch under his feet and sending the foliage of a few overgrown bushes whipping against the small cabin.

âNot through any fault of your own.â She shook her head slowly.

Sadly.

âI donât understand.â Defensiveness fired through him. Heâd been a perfect gentleman where sheâd been concerned. âWe were young. What we shared was perfectly innocentââ

âWas it?â She asked the question as if she really needed to have it confirmed. As if she didnât already know the answer.

âHell, yesââ he started, sitting forward in his seat.

Gabriella laid a hand on his arm, a new confidence radiating from her that had been missing this morning. She seemed calmer tonight. Maybe the Salon Night was her equivalent of guitar picking.

âBecause, Clay, I thought I had a lot of not-completely-innocent conversations with you online that summer in chat rooms.â Her clear blue eyes were focused on his as he felt the floor drop out from under him.

âWhat?â He shook his head. Confused.

âAnd it turned out,â she continued, barely pausing to take a breath. âThat night I was attacked? I thought Iâd spoken to you online just before the incident. It was you I was planning to meet in the quarry.â

The revelation seemed to hang suspended in midair between them, not really permeating his brain. Heâd heard the words. But they made no sense.

âGabbyâI sent you a couple of emails that spring, I remember. I know you got them, because you answered them.â Theyâd spoken about it during a math tutoring session. Sheâd sent him some sample problems that way. âBut I donât think I even knew how to find a chat room back then.â

Unlike most of his generation, the techno-revolution had missed him. Heâd been poor to start with, so it wasnât like his parents had bought him laptops or game systems at Christmastime. Heâd been lucky to get new socks. A sweater, maybe. Later, when his alcoholic mom had run off and his alcoholic father had given up completely on parenting, Clay had moved into nicer foster homes with access to more technology, but heâd been low in the pecking order of kids waiting to use an internet connection for homework.

Gabriella folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself as she stared up at the fat full moon overhead for a long moment. There was something so vulnerable about her and strong at the same time. Willowy slim, she had a delicate, feminine grace, but the determined set of her chin and shoulders suggested she would walk through fire if the need arose.

âI knew, of course, that you couldnât have been the person I communicated with that night.â She blinked and drew a deep breath before continuing. âThose messages came from the man who attacked me. He was just pretending to be you when he sent them, so I believed that it was you who wanted to see me.â

He wondered what the exchange had been about that it had drawn a sixteen-year-old girl out of her home late at night. And damn, but it sent a surge of cold fury through him to think her attacker had impersonated Clay to get at her.

âThat night wasnât the only time you thought we exchanged messages online?â He had all new reasons to attend that trial for Jeremy Covington tomorrow.

Seized with the need to see the man pay for his crimes, Clay wondered if it was too late to charge him with impersonating Clay in addition to the long list of felonies that including numerous counts of cyber stalking, stalking, assault, sexual molestation, soliciting a minor and attempted kidnapping. Clayton remembered there was at least one impersonation charge on the long list heâd read in the paper, but that had been in conjunction with another incident involving a local teen heâd lured out by pretending to be a mutual friend of Heather Finleyâs.

âNo.â Sitting forward on the wooden seat, Gabriella tucked her feet around the front rail of the chair as she shook her head. âWe chatted five or six times before that in the two weeks prior to that nightâor so I thought.â

Clay couldnât believe the gall of the guyâa respected man in the community, a coach on the high school football team with a kid and a wifeâto contact a local girl repeatedly, pretending to be a teenage foster kid. It made sense that Covington would have known about Clayâs fledgling relationship with Gabriella, though. Theyâd met under the bleachers during football practices.

âFor how long?â He couldnât wrap his brain around it, but he realized he should be comforting her instead of focusing on how wronged he felt. How robbed. But damn it, Clay should have been the one enjoying those conversations with her online. âI mean, how extensive were these conversations? And what did he talk to you about?â

He sat forward in his chair, too, closer to her. Belatedly, he remembered heâd brought his motorcycle jacket outside earlier and he grabbed it off the back of his chair to drape across her shoulders. The flannel he wore over a sweatshirt kept him warm enough.

âThanks.â Her eyes met his in the moonlight, clear and blue even though the darkness grayed out most colors. âThis is where things get awkward for me. I was kind of hoping when I confided this to you that you would have been on the receiving end of at least some of those messages I sent you.â

Her gaze darted away again, searching the parking lot as if sheâd rather look anywhere else. Across the lot at the diner, a couple of staffers closed the back door for the night, turning off the last of the lights in the building.

Clayâs attention returned to Gabriella. Her pink fingernails flashed along the zipper of the brown bomber jacket, tugging the leather tighter while her words sent his brain on a kind of wild ride. Just what sort of things had she believed they were saying to each other in those chats?

âI understand where that realization would be unsettling.â He nodded, starting to put the pieces together. âBut consider my side. I canât help but wonder why you were messaging with me, Gabby. I only remember a few cursory exchanges online about times we were going to meet for math tutoring when I wanted to know you so much better. I was pretty much crazy about you back then.â

She went still. Slowly, her eyes tracked back to his.

âThat helps, actually, to hear you say that. So, thank you.â She shrugged awkwardly in the big jacket, the fabric weighing down the gesture so it was just the slightest movement. âBecause our conversations were fairly flirtatious. I looked forward to those chats, because I liked you, too.â

And just like that, Gabriella Chance got under his skin all over again. Heâd pinpointed the attraction between them alive and well earlier today. But right now, with her soft confession drifting on the night breeze, and her loose ponytail sliding along the shoulder of his jacket as she looked at him with trusting eyes...

She tapped into a spot in his chest that he hadnât cracked open in a good long while.

Her cell phone vibrated on the porch rail, the light and the sound startling her. She reached for it.

âSorry to check this,â she said a little too quickly, breathlessly. She flipped over the screen, and the light illuminated her face as she scrolled the pages. âI only leave the notifications on for family and for messages from the hotline for my victimsâ support group, so it could beââ

She went silent, lips pursed as she read.

âSomething wrong?â He admired her for using her own experiences as a victim of cyber stalking to help others, even if it interrupted a conversation that had captured his undivided attention.

âThereâs a local girl Iâm planning to check on while Iâm in Heartacheâsomeone Iâve communicated with off and on over the last two years through my online group.â Gabby worked the keypad on the screen while she spoke. âIâm really worried about her. Sheâs so young and sheâs alone taking care of her dyingââ after an awkward pause, she stopped typing to peer up at Clayton, her eyes widening with what looked like a âlightbulbâ moment ââfather.â

âWhat is it?â Heâd been behind the eight ball from the beginning of this conversation, so it was no surprise heâd missed a step somewhere.

âHer father is dying of cirrhosis and he lives just over the town line. Heading toward Franklin.â She frowned. âAnd you had mentioned that Peteââ

The truth slammed into him.

âYouâre meeting my half sister Mia?â

* * *

NOT EVEN CLAYTONâS warm leather jacket could ward off the chill that his words sent skittering over Gabriellaâs skin.

Gabriella had communicated with Mia Benson for two years online. And although she hadnât built up enough trust for the girl to confide her name until a few months ago, Gabriella never had any reason to connect her to Clayton.

They didnât have the same last name, for one thing. Then again, Mia wouldnât be the first offspring that didnât share Pete Yancyâs surname.

âYou know her.â She repeated the fact only because she was still having trouble making sense of it. âSheâs your half sister?â

Clayton gave a clipped nod. âYes, sheâs my half sister, but I didnât even know about her until very recently. But why are you worried about her? Is she being bullied? You met her through that victimsâ group you run?â

He fired the questions fast. Impatiently.

âSheâs not being bullied,â Gabriella assured him honestly, although she could kick herself for mentioning anything about the girl, even if she hadnât used her name. âBut Iâm not at liberty to say anything more without her permission. I had no idea you would know her, Clay. I swear. She was in the foster system.â

And just how on earth had Mia ended up in foster care when she had an older brother who might have stepped in? Defensiveness on Miaâs behalf simmered.

Gabriella needed to call the girl back, but since Mia hadnât flagged the message as urgent, Gabriella couldnât walk away from this shocking conversation with Clayton just yet.

âI had no idea she existed until Pete told me about her two weeks ago when he called to say he didnât have long to live.â Clayton shoved out of the wooden chair heâd been seated in, edging past her on the narrow porch to stalk freely around the patch of grass in front of his motel cabin. He paced like a tigerâtrapped and not happy about it.

âIâm surprised the foster system didnâtââ

âSo am I.â Cutting her off, he swung back toward the railing between them, grabbing the wood in two hands as he leaned closer, his knuckles turning white at the tight grip. âAnd you know whatâs really messed up about that, Gabby? I made it my mission to find all my half siblings after I graduated high school. I ended up being so damn good at itâunearthing one heartbreak story after another in the form of my sad and disjointed family until I had eight of us accounted for.â

The haunted expression on his face made it clear that not all of his siblings had navigated through childhood as successfully as he had. And Gabriella remembered firsthand how rough his experience had been. Heâd told her once about getting separated from a younger brother when social services removed the boy from Clayâs fatherâs house.

âIt was good of you to look them all up. Provide a sense of family for them.â Sheâd relied on her brother so much since her father went to jail and her mother wasted away waiting for him. Her mom had moved to the tiny town in Kansas where her father sat in a federal penitentiary.

If not for Zach, Gabriella wouldnât have a family.

âYeah. A real hero. Except that I stopped looking after I accounted for eight kids. As if the old man had suddenly given up going home with strangers and fathering more children he had no intention of supporting.â Clayâs bitterness came through every word, although it wasnât clear if he was more upset with himself or his father. âI guess I resented the old man so much that once I was done with that job, I didnât look back. Didnât visit. Didnât write. Didnât ask how many other kids he planned to shove out into the world with no means of support before he finally kicked the bucket.â

With that, he pushed away from the porch rail. Straightening, he walked away from the cabin, out into the moonlit parking area. She watched as he sucked in one long breath after another, before turning on his boot heel to stalk back toward her.

She waited until he was close enough to hear before she spoke.

âIâm glad to know that Mia has you now.â She reached over the rail to take his hand, willing him to look at her. âIâm sure she felt alone and reached out to me because she didnât know she had you. But things must have changed for her since you came into her life.â Gabriella had been frightened at the references Mia made to much older men back in the days when she was under her motherâs care before social services stepped in. The girl had joined the support group after that, to ask for help dealing with a teenage boy at her first foster home, but she had wound up resolving the issue and moving into a better home before Pete got himself together enough to get her out of the system.

Or so she said.

Still, Gabriella got the impression that Mia had enough dealings with her mother where she was still exposed to some unsavory types.

âThatâs kind of you to think, Gabby.â Clay squeezed her hand where sheâd taken it, his warm, callus-roughened palm sending a surprise thrill through her despite the grave nature of the conversation. âBut since I havenât even met Mia yet, Iâve been exactly no help at all to her.â

âYou said you found out about her weeks ago.â She slid her hand away from his, regretting the loss of warmth but wondering how well she knew Clayton Travers after all. Protectiveness for Mia rose inside her, and yes, a sense of identifying with the confused teen. Gabriella knew how it felt to be abandoned by a parent. âI guess I thought you would have already gone to see her.â

âI needed some time to research more and find out if Pete had any other offspring Iâd overlooked.â

âAnd?â

âMia is the last oneâthe only one Iâd missed. She lives with my father. And while I resent the old man bitterly, I thought they had a peaceful relationship if she chose him over the stability of a foster home. I figured he must have mellowed with age and his illness since the hospital forced him to get sober,â Clay explained. âBut if sheâs still reaching out to a victimsâ support group, maybe life in the Yancy household sucks as much as ever. Iâll make sure she knows that there are good homes in the foster system that will give her more stability.â

There was a cold finality to the words.

âYouâd send her back into foster care?â She couldnât believe the boy she once knew could have grown so heartless. âWhat about you? You could take her in. You would be a good role modelââ

âMe?â He sounded shocked she would consider it. He shook his head. âIâve made enough of a mess of my own relationships. I wouldnât be any help to a girl her age.â

âYouâve dealt with so many of the same things and gone on to be a successful adult.â

âBecause I broke away from my messed-up family.â The jut of his chin told her how much he would stake on that belief. âI wouldnât be doing Mia any favors to invite her back into the screwed-up legacy that is her genetic birthright. Better for her to find a good foster home like I did, with people who are committed to understanding at-risk teens.â

âShe had very different experiences in the foster system than you. Itâs hard for her to trust anyone.â Gabriella understood that much about the people who called her hotline or emailed her privately looking for help. Victims of stalking and bullying were less inclined to trust.

And although Mia wasnât currently being bullied, that was the situation in her first foster home when her foster motherâs teenage son had tried to coerce her into sex in exchange for extra privileges in the house.

Of course, Gabriella couldnât share any of that with Clay. It was information protected by the privacy policies of her support group. And although the policies were more flexible where the underage participants were concerned, Mia had shared the information with her caseworker. And for her part, Gabriella would do what she could to protect Miaâs privacy for as long as she could.

âThat, I understand. But I will explain to her how getting out from under the dark cloud of the Yancy influence helped me.â His dark eyes glittered with determination, his square jaw set. âSheâll be far better off in the system with experts watching out for her.â

Standing, Gabriella realized their conversation had come to a definite stalemate. Sheâd worked through enough of her past tonight without taking on Miaâs future, too. She would save that for another day, when she had time to think over her best course of action.

Besides, she wanted to talk to Mia and make sure she was okay.

âIt seems we did a good job of surprising each other tonight.â She slid off his jacket and laid it gently over the wooden railing for him, the scent of the leatherâof himâlingering along with the warmth. âYou had no idea I was baring my soul to you online ten years ago. And I had no idea you were the kind of man to return a teenage sibling to the foster system.â

She walked away without waiting for a response. She heard him call out to her, but she was too tired and upset to continue a heated discussion tonight. Not with the trial starting tomorrow.

Besides, if Clayton Travers wasnât concerned about Mia going back into state custody after Peteâs death, that was his business. But for her part, she planned to call the girl and see if she could help.

Gabriella understood all too well what it was like to have the people you counted on abandon you.

CHAPTER FIVE

MIA BENSON CROSSED her fingers against the worn leather bench seat of Davis Reedâs vintage Ford pickup truck as he slowed down on a gravel back road and pulled off to one side of a hayfield on the way home from their first date.

Davisânot Dave, as he made clear to everyoneâwas a band geek. A tall, skinny drummer who wore a plumed hat at halftime during the football games at Crestwood High where they both went to school. Surely a band geek with enough guts to strap on that loopy hat every week was not stopping at an obvious hook-up spot to do anything more than...kiss?

Sheâd had a decent time on this first date so far. She wasnât falling for Davis Reed or anything. Obviously. But she also hadnât spent the last three hours plotting how to get away from him, which had happened enough times in her dating career that most girls would have just given it up as an exercise in futility. But what else was there to do in a small town on a Sunday night? Sit at home and watch her dying fatherâs jaundiced skin turn a deeper shade of yellow?

Mia was grateful to the old guy for bailing her out of the foster system and everything, but she wasnât his caregiver. Eww. Bad enough she had to think about what would happen to her once Pete Yancy croaked. But she would not complicate her messed-up life even more by getting too attached to the father who hadnât wanted her for the first thirteen years of her life.

âNot much of a view, is it?â She hid her crossed fingers under a filched makeup bag of her motherâs that Mia had used for a purse ever since leaving the Drunken House of Horrors that was her motherâs outwardly nice life in the Nashville suburbs.

Sheâd take the jaundiced, clueless dadâwho at least pretended to careâover the cold and unfeeling mother who didnât want to hear that her last boyfriend had cornered Mia in the laundry room demanding things that werenât fatherly in the least.

âI like the view just fine.â Davis turned toward her with a shy half smile as he switched off the ignition and killed the headlights.

His attempt at flirting, she guessed. And since he didnât seem to be undressing her with his eyes, she let the comment slide. If he was warming up for a kissâthat was fine. She could deal.

Anything more than that and Davis Reed was going to find out what she was made of.

âSeriously.â She debated unfastening her seat belt. Better mobility if she needed to ward him off. But the act of unfastening anything around a teenage boy was like a flashing neon sign screaming âcome and get it.â

âMy dadâs night nurse leaves at eleven. I need to get home.â

Davis wore khakis and a white button-down. Preppy leather boat shoes. With his dark blond crew cut and freckles, he had a friendly face. He got good grades, too. All of which had played into her decision to go out with him tonight to escape the new machines installed at her fatherâs bedside last week. Machines that buzzed and beeped in a way that seemed to count down the remaining seconds of a life she needed to last for at least another nineteen months.

When she would turn eighteen.

âFor sure.â Davis made a point of checking his watch in the dark, the little blue light popping on inside the digital readout when he turned his wrist.

Must be nice to have cool toys.

She listened to the engine tick as it cooled down, alert to any movement on his side of the pickup. Sheâd been lost in her own thoughts on the way home from the theater, not really paying attention to what direction he was driving because this was Davis and not some testosterone-fueled horndog from the wrestling team who thought they could take whatever they wanted after winning back-to-back state championships.

Now she wondered if sheâd been an idiot once again.

She didnât mind walking home in theory. But she wasnât even sure which way âhomeâ was. Besides, sheâd heard there had been a string of break-ins around Heartache lately. Kids in her school whispered that teenagers might be behind it.

She didnât want to run into people like that in the dark.

âWhere are we?â she asked, hating the nervous jitter in her voice. It was important to remain in control in situations like this. Remind the guy you were a force to be reckoned with and not some twit who had been staring out the window like this could just be a normal date.

âAlmost home.â He waved in a general direction. âThe main road is just up there. Weâre, like, ten minutes from your place.â He slid over toward her, his knee brushing hers. âI figured itâd be a good spot to say good-night.â

Mia hated this moment. Hated the vulnerability of it. Hated suspecting any guy she ever dated of turning into a creep at the slightest physical contact.

It didnât help that she had the genetic disadvantage of sporting the breasts of a stripper by the time she was thirteen. As her mother so eloquently put it with a wink, âThem tatas turn men into animals, honey.â

Unfortunately, her mamaâs moment of wisdom hadnât been accompanied by any advice on how to tame the male beast. Draw a bitchy line in the sand now? Or hold out and see what happened? If all Davis Reed did was kiss her good-night, Mia would call this a good date.

âI had fun.â She was still trapped by her seat belt. But she wasnât unbuckling now. She gave him a warm smile but she finally uncrossed her fingers in case she needed her hands. âThank you, Davis.â

âYouâre so pretty, Mia.â He said it reverently, as if it was something to be proud of.

Why didnât guys ever say, âYou blew me away with the way you defended your position on the Crimean War in debate todayâ? Or, âMia, you make the best chocolate chip cookies everâ?

Which was true. Her former foster sister, Nicole, had told her so, and little kids didnât lie the way the rest of the world did.

âPretty is as pretty does,â she drawled, one of her motherâs favorite sayings to be sure Mia never thought too much of herself.

She hated having her motherâs voice in her head right now. The mother who never lifted a finger to help Mia when sheâd really needed her. But she was too busy calculating her next move to think up a more original answer to a supremely unoriginal remark.

Poor Davis.

He went in for a kiss with all the finesse of a fullback, more or less ramming her into the seat with the force of his lips. But that might just be youthful enthusiasm. Davis Reed had no game.

Carefully she pressed the button to free her seat belt, knowing the time had come to ensure she had full mobility if she needed it. Except that was when things went horribly wrong. Because when she tried to grapple with the buckle, her fingers brushed his thigh. And possibly...something more.

âOh yeah,â he breathed against her mouth, grabbing her hand in his and pressing it to a handful of the something more in his pants.

Turning her blood to ice.

âLet go,â she told him clearly. Loudly. She tensed her hand into a claw and she would have scratched him if heâd been naked, but through the khakis, he probably didnât even notice.

âI heard you liked this.â Oblivious to her words, Davis all but fell on her, his chest hitting hers while he kept her hand on his crotch. âI was afraid to believe it, but oh, manââ

She kneed him. Hard.

Watched as his expression turned from ecstatic to pained. And then, furious.

But she was already slipping out from under him, her heartbeat thundering so loud she couldnât hear much else.

âI said, let go.â She levered open the door handle poking into her spine. âI said it clearly. And loudly.â

She enunciated the words carefully because it was hard to talk when you were scared. Sheâd learned that way too young. But she wasnât thirteen anymore. Shoving open the door to the truck, she slid out, half falling before she awkwardly got her feet underneath her. Even through the rubber soles of her tennis shoes, she could feel the crunch of dead, stiff brush. The branches of a sapling clawed at her hoodie.

Ready to run, she spared one last glance at Davis Reed. Illuminated by the dome light, he was hunched overâwrithing, reallyâin obvious pain. Curled in a ball on the front seat, he clutched his groin.

Crap.

She was torn between the voice in her head that said, Donât be a suckerâsuckers end up raped. And the quieter one that said, What if I overreacted?

Considering she was on her feet and ready to flee while he appeared incapacitated, Mia decided she wouldnât be a total sucker to at least make sure he was going to live through his injury.

âDavis?â Her legs trembled beneath her.

âYou...grabbed...me.â He took shallow breaths between each word as he turned accusing eyes her way, his cheek mushed against the leather truck seat. âI was only going in for a kiss. It was you who took things to DEFCON 2.â

âI didnât mean to. I was trying to get to my seat belt buckle so I could unfasten it. I couldnât feel where it was.â She shivered as a cold gust blew over her. She was going to freeze with only a hoodie on if she had to walk home. âAnd besides, I told you to let me go.â

Her heart still pounded fiercely, but some of the fear had leaked away. And not just because Davis looked like he couldnât make a grab for her if he tried. They were talking. And he could very well be telling the truth.

âAt the timeââ he paused to clear his throat, his voice still tight with pain and his words careful ââthe combination of disbelief and euphoria were making the blood pound in my ears too hard for me to hear anything.â

Mia covered her mouth to smother a sound that was half laugh and half cry of regret. He must have heard, though, because his eyes narrowed.

âItâs not funny.â

âNo.â She shook her head. Just a misunderstanding that would embarrass them both forever. âI know. But I was really scared.â

âIâll say.â Shoving upright on the seat, he scrubbed a hand over his pale face. His skin looked clammy. âIâll be lucky if I can still have kids after that.â

She bit her lip. âSorry. Iâve had...bad experiences with guys.â

She tried to gauge his expression as he stared back at her, but what she saw was wariness. Not anger.

But then he heaved out a long breath and swiped a hand across his forehead.

âYou think you can drive a stick?â He nodded toward the driverâs seat. âI could use a few more minutes to recover, but I know you need to get home.â

âYou want me to drive?â She hopped from foot to foot to warm up.

âI think weâll both be glad for whatever gets us home fastest.â He fell back against the passenger seat and stared out the front windshield, not even looking at her.

âCan I ask you a question first?â She didnât wait for him to answer. âWhen things started to get ugly a minute ago, you said, âI heard you liked this.â What the hell was that supposed to mean?â

âMia. Youâre a smart, smart girl. I thought that before I asked you out. And I know now itâs true after getting to know you more tonight.â He slanted a glance her way, peering down at her. His freckles stood out all the more against his too-pale skin. âSo Iâm going to guess you know exactly what I meant because you have to be aware of your reputation at school, right? Youâre a favorite topic of discussion among the male population of Crestwood.â

His words hit her like a pile of books falling off the top shelf of her closet. She fumed even though a small part of her was glad he thought she was smart.

âAnd the consensus is that I like grabbing guysâ crotches?â

He didnât even pick his head up where it lolled back against the headrest, but she could see him roll his eyes.

âNot in so many words. Butâwhether itâs true or notâguys want to believe the hottest girl in school is also...attainable. I never paid much attention to it, honestly. But when I thought you grabbed meâlike, well, like you wanted meâlibido took over. So sue me.â He gave a bark of laughter. âOn second thought, donât. You already had your revenge. Now can you drive a stick, or not?â

Cold and eager to put this night behind her, Mia nodded. Padding around to the driverâs side of the truck, she tugged open the door and dropped into the seat behind the wheel. The keys were still in the ignition.

âI donât know the way,â she reminded him, slamming the door behind her while she fired the engine to life.

âBack out to the gravel road, and left when you hit the main county route.â He tugged on his seat belt, his legs sprawled to take up the whole passenger side. She noticed heâd taken the to-go cup of soda from the movie theater and wedged it between his thighs.

The ice must help.

âCan I ask another question?â She nearly stalled the truck shifting it into gear, but got it under way, the headlights spilling out over empty hayfields in either direction. âWhat made you think I was smart before tonight?â

Sheâd heard the whole âhottest girl in schoolâ bit before and didnât ever care to hear it again. Those words were like a teenage ode to the high, firm 34DDs on a frame too small to carry them. They didnât have anything to do with the girl inside.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.