Praise for award-winning author Helen Brenna

“Brenna combines nonstop action and great sexual

tension for a story readers won’t want to put down.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Moon That Night,

nominated for a Reviewer’s Choice award for

Best Harlequin Superomance of 2010

“I’ve found a new series romance writer to put

on the auto-buy list.”

—All About Romance on Along Came a Husband

“One book you must have on your list…don’t miss it!”

—Romance Reviews Today on Along Came a Husband

“In this touching story about the power love has to

heal all wounds, Brenna’s characters have terrifically

real depth and emotional appeal.”

—RT Book Reviews on Then Comes Baby

“A talented storyteller, Brenna has a gift for writing

category romance. She understands how to create

intimate, heart-touching stories with the kind of

vigorous writing that makes a series romance a

satisfying little peek into the lives and loves of unique

people and families. If you don’t know her work,

Next Comes Love is a nice place to start.”

—Michelle Buonfiglio, BN.com

“Highlighting the eternal tension between safety and

risk and the familiar and the unknown, this poignant,

sweet, gently humorous story focuses on a pair of

deeply conflicted protagonists and nicely sets the

stage for the Mirabelle Island books to come.”

—Library Journal on First Come Twins

Dear Reader,

Growing up a tomboy, I felt almost immune to the pressure placed on young women with regard to beauty. Raising a daughter changed all that. I don’t have enough space here to opine on body image, but our daughters deserve better. Just ask Grace.

So why do I write beautiful heroines and handsome heroes? I’ve always figured it’s part of the fantasy. After all, I do write fiction. Grace has me thinking, though, that maybe I should mix it up. We’ll see.

In September 2011, please watch for the seventh and last Mirabelle Island story, Redemption at Mirabelle. Missy Charms’s sister Marin, who first appeared in book four, Along Came a Husband, comes to the island to do a little soul searching. The last thing she expects is for that search to lead her to a gruff widower and his two kids.

If you’re curious about Mirabelle, check out my website. I hope to add pages of pictures, a character chart and maybe even a map of the island. I love hearing from readers, and you can contact me at helenbrenna@comcast.net, or P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.

My best,

Helen Brenna

Her Sure Thing
Helen Brenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Helen Brenna grew up in central Minnesota, the seventh of eight children. Although she never dreamed of writing books, she’s always been a voracious reader. So after taking a break from her accounting career to be an at-home mom, she tried her hand at writing the romances she loves to read. Since she was first published in 2007, her books have won many awards, including a Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award, an RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice, a Holt Medallion, a Book Buyers Best, and a National Readers’ Choice Award. Helen lives happily ever after with her family in Minnesota. She’d love hearing from you. Email her at helenbrenna@comcast.net or send mail to P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.

Visit her website at www.helenbrenna.com or chat with Helen and other authors at Riding With The Top Down.

For Mark Twomey

Thanks, big bro, for being you and for all you do!

Acknowledgments

Thanks to fellow writer Lois Greiman for letting

me muck out barn stalls and dig fence posts.

With friends like you…

Seriously, thank you, dear, for allowing me to ride

your precious and beautiful Sage,

for advice on this manuscript and for giving

me a glimpse into a life with horses.

If only I had a couple extra acres, a barn and a

pair of those sexy riding boots…

Thanks, also, to my lovely and very talented

niece Angi Twomey for her expert advice

and insight with regard to the Los Angeles

fashion world and for letting me sleep on her

couch while doing research!

What happens in L.A. stays in L.A.

You know that, right?

Love you both,

Helen

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

A SIMPLE, UNCOMPLICATED LIFE. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently.

A sense of dread churning in his stomach, Sean Griffin glanced out at the choppy waters of Lake Superior and waited impatiently as the ferry approached Mirabelle Island. How ironic that this should happen to him now. Right now. When he’d finally orchestrated for himself the perfect life.

Well, almost the perfect life.

For the first time ever, he had close, trusted friends. This past winter, he’d bought the business of his dreams while managing to keep his part-time medical practice. He now owned a significant chunk of land and horses, lots of horses. And although the old farmhouse that had come with the Mirabelle Island Stable and Livery operation had needed a lot of work, he’d spent the last several months refurbishing the place, getting every piece of furniture, every wall color and window treatment just right. The only thing he was missing was a woman to share it all with, a wife, and a wife was definitely not coming for him on that ferry.

The afternoon sun, brilliant and blinding, reflected off the wavy surface of the deep blue water, and as he flipped down his sunglasses the truth hit him like a blast of cold air. He wasn’t ready, probably never would be. What had he been thinking in agreeing to do this?

That a man couldn’t shirk his responsibility and still call himself a man. One way or another he was going to have to deal. It’s only for three months, he reminded himself. You can put up with anything for one summer, right?

“Hey, Sean!”

Sean spun around to find Garrett Taylor, the island’s chief of police, walking across the pier with his brother, Jesse. “Hey, guys.” The Taylors, Chicago transplants and two of Sean’s friends, had come to Mirabelle separately, but had quickly become part of the fabric of the island.

“Want to join us for lunch?” Jesse asked.

“Can’t today. Busy.” He nodded toward the ferry.

The Taylors both glanced out over the water.

“Today’s the day, huh?” Garrett said.

“Yep.”

“Good luck, man.” Jesse gave him a reassuring smile.

“Next happy hour at Duffy’s,” Garrett added. “I want to hear how it goes.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Sean lied.

The brothers went on their way to the Bayside Café. Funny, they’d both found wives here on this little island. Maybe there was still hope for Sean.

He turned around in time to see the ferry dock with a surprisingly light touch against the pier. As the crew lowered the ramps and some of the first of this season’s tourists filed onto the island, he glanced at the faces of the people coming ashore. After all these years, would he still remember what she looked like?

The thought had no sooner entered his mind than he saw her face, his ex-fiancée, although their engagement had been so long ago it seemed silly to still think of her that way. On either side of her were two adolescents, a boy and a girl, looking to be around ten to twelve years old. Walking behind the three was a tall, rail-thin teenage boy. Well, maybe walking wasn’t the best description of how he was moving. Dragging his feet was more like it.

Sean tried for a clear look at the young man’s face, hoping for some spark of recognition, a flicker of familiarity, but the boy’s gaze remained firmly focused on the ground. “Denise,” Sean called, waving his hand above his head. “Over here.”

Pulling a suitcase behind her, she smiled. “Sean!”

Awkwardly, they stood before each other, and then she shook her head and hugged him. “It’s good to see you again.”

He wished he could say the same.

“This is my son, Jeffrey. My daughter, Erin.” Both kids smiled tentatively, and Sean nodded at each one in turn. Then Denise stepped back. “And this is Austin.”

The boy raised his head, looking directly into Sean’s eyes, and Sean let go the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Denise had obviously jumped through the hoops of DNA testing for nothing. It was almost as if he was looking at his sixteen-year-old self. Sean most definitely had a son.

He cleared his throat. “Hello, Austin.”

Through shaggy bangs, the boy silently stared at Sean as if he, too, could see the resemblance and wasn’t quite sure what to think, let alone do about it.

“Austin, the least you could do is say hello,” Denise said softly.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re going to be here for the entire summer. I want you two to get along.”

“Oh. Sure, Mom. In that case, whatever you say.” He stared at Sean and bit out sarcastically, “Hi, Dad.” Then he angrily brushed past Sean and headed toward town.

Nice kid. That attitude was going to make for a great summer.

“Goodbye, Austin,” Denise called after him. “I’ll call you every week.”

The boy’s steps never even slowed.

“Austin, wait!” With tears in her eyes, the young girl, Erin, took off after her half brother.

Clearly reluctant, Austin stopped and turned.

Denise touched her other son’s arm. “Jeffrey, why don’t you say goodbye to Austin, too, and give me a few minutes alone with Sean?”

“Do I have to?”

Apparently, there was no love lost between the two brothers.

“Yes.” She gently pushed him forward. “Go.” Slowly, the boy took off toward his siblings. The moment he was out of earshot, Denise turned to Sean. “I’m sorry for this.”

“Not going to cut it, Denise. Not now. Not ever.”

“It’s all I’ve got. All the years we were engaged, you’d made it very clear that you never wanted to be a father. I wanted to start fresh with Glen. Not that it did any good in the end, but at the time, I felt justified.” She held his gaze. “Now I know that all the justifications in the world can’t make what I did right. I’m trying to fix that.”

“So just because you’re going through a nasty divorce, you decide to send your…problem here? That was the word you used, wasn’t it? You call that fixing things?”

“It’s the best I can do. Besides, you said you were going to be working 24/7 this summer. Austin can help. He’s a chip off the old block. Just go about your business and he’ll go about his.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a cut at him or not, and decided to let it pass. “If he’s so self-sufficient, why don’t you keep him?”

“I need to focus on Jeffrey and Erin. Their dad leaving is hitting them really hard. Austin’s glad to see Glen go. He doesn’t care about the divorce. And he’s…just…a lot to handle right now. I don’t know what to do with the kid anymore. You know?”

“No. I don’t.”

“What was I supposed to do, Sean? You’re his father.”

“I fathered him. Glen is his father. There’s a big difference.”

Fathers cared for their kids. They went to school conferences and sporting events. They rocked their babies to sleep, wrestled with their toddlers and disciplined and guided their teenagers. At least that’s what Sean had always imagined good fathers were supposed to do. He’d done none of those things with Austin because until Denise’s phone call last week he hadn’t known the option had even been available. “You never gave me a chance to be his father.”

“I said I was sorry, and I know this isn’t fair to you. I just need a break. I’ll be ready to take him home again before school starts. I promise.”

Sean was a lot of things. A man, a friend, a doctor and, most recently, a horse stable and livery owner. One thing he’d never planned on being was a dad, and there was a damned good reason for that. He’d had a piss-poor role model. Maybe that explained why he had no clue what to do next.

He glanced behind him. Austin had hugged both of his half siblings and said a few words to each of them and was now continuing toward town. Should Sean go after the kid? Let him be? Shower him with kindness? Play taskmaster? Maybe, for now, he needed to give the kid a little space.

“Does he know where I live?” Sean asked.

“He has your address.” She handed him a file folder. “Here are some things you might need. His cell number, insurance card, allergies, all of my contact information. Oh, and his things.” She rolled a suitcase toward him.

“Do I need to worry about him running away?”

“I don’t think so.” Beside them, people started boarding the ferry for the return trip to the mainland. Denise signaled to her other two kids that it was time to leave. “I think he’s curious about you. He’ll stay.”

“In that case—” Sean picked up the suitcase and started toward his stables “—see you at the end of summer.”

“Sean?”

The catch in her voice made him stop and turn. Her two younger kids were already boarding the ferry.

“Glen was…hard on him,” she said, her eyes pooling with tears. “But he’s a good kid deep down inside. Give him a chance to prove it.” Then she turned and ran to follow her other kids.

Three months. Then Sean’s life would return to normal. Maybe he’d been worried over this for nothing. He was an intelligent, competent man who’d made life and death decisions for years in the blink of an eye as an E.R. doctor. How hard could playing dad be?

“TAKE MY LUGGAGE TO THE master bedroom.” Grace Kahill pointed up the stairs as she walked through the first floor of the spacious colonial she’d rented for the summer, cracking open windows as she went. Since when did Mirabelle Island get this hot and humid this early in June? More to the point, how could she have rented a place without central air?

But then only a few days ago, she reminded herself, she’d been thinking of buying a beach place in Malibu. Given the late notice, she was lucky to have found any rental at all available here for the entire summer.

“Set up the computer and printer in the study at the front of the house,” she went on, shrugging out of her jean jacket. “The exercise bike goes right…” She studied the layout of the living room and pointed to a spot near the large picture window. “Here. The treadmill goes next to it. The plasma screen replaces that piece of…junk.” She pointed at the old box of a TV in the corner, surprised the contraption didn’t come complete with rabbit ears. “And I want cable and wireless capabilities installed by the end of the day. Got that?”

“Um…ah…” The mover glanced at her, then seemed to stare toward her neck.

An instantaneous sense of panic swept through her. Oh, God. Quickly, she found her reflection in the mirror hanging in the foyer and scanned her appearance. It’s okay. It’s all right. She hadn’t repositioned her layered T-shirts when she’d taken off her jacket. Taking a long, slow breath, she put her jacket back on. Just to be safe. “Did you hear a word of what I just said?”

“Um…yes, ma’am.”

“Do I look like a ma’am to you?”

“Ah, not really…Mrs. Kahill.”

No one ever called her Mrs. Kahill, either. “Grace. Just Grace will do fine.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Two more hulking men lumbered through the front door carrying suitcases, trunks and boxes, everything she owned that wasn’t being held in storage. The men stopped and stared at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. No longer worried about her shirt having shifted, she impatiently crossed her arms and transferred her weight to one leg. The novelty of any man’s obvious approval of her looks had worn off long before her twenty-fifth cover shot, and these days, more than anything else, it aggravated her. Was it too much to ask to be treated like a regular human being?

“I’m not paying you gentlemen to stand here,” she said. “Get this place set up.”

“Will do, ma—ah, Grace.” The head mover directed the other two men and the three set off in various directions.

She opened a few more windows, hoping to catch a breeze, and glanced around the place. What had ever possessed her to come back to, of all places, Mirabelle Island? Hadn’t she left this place, vowing never to return, before even graduating from high school?

If not here, though, where? There was nothing left for her in L.A., she reminded herself. Not anymore. You’re here now. Might as well make the best of it. Besides, Dad needs you.

She’d already called her father to let him know she’d arrived, but since he was busy all afternoon she’d have the rest of the day to get settled. She’d be comfortable enough in this rental, she supposed, even if the house’s blue-and-white seaside decor was a bit dated. At least it was private, located at the end of the road at the top of the hill overlooking Mirabelle’s village center, the marina and the daunting expanse of Lake Superior.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number displayed on the small screen. Excited now, she quickly answered the call. “Are you ready?”

“Yep,” the man said.

“You’re still at the airport?”

“Yep. If that’s what you could call these two short strips of cement. Been busy getting all Louie’s things together. He’s good to go.”

Mirabelle’s tiny airport didn’t get used very often, but at least the island had one. It had made her move here as simple as could be by having the movers load all of her things on a chartered flight out of L.A. “How’s Louie doing?”

“Better,” the man said. “Considering he’s never been on a plane before, he’s doing great.”

Their landing had been a bit rough, so while Louie was settling down she’d left with the movers to bring things to the house. “Good.” Grace felt herself smile for the first time that day. “You know where you’re going to meet me, then?”

“Yep. We’ll be there.”

She’d no sooner disconnected the call than her cell rang again. The moment she recognized her personal assistant’s number, her spirits sank. This call felt like an intrusion, a piece of her old life butting in and dampening her attempt at a fresh start. But she had loose ends to tie up. Might as well face the camera lens. “Hello, Amanda.”

“Good morning, Grace. How are you this fine Monday morning?”

“Could be better.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Amanda sounded sincere enough, but then Grace did cut her generous payroll checks. “Especially since you have such a busy day scheduled. A yoga session at ten and lunch with the fitness video folks at noon. Then a doctor’s appointment at three.”

“Cancel everything.”

“That’s not a problem for lunch and yoga, but…” The young woman hesitated. “You’re supposed to stick to your doctor’s checkup schedule and you missed your last appointment.”

“I don’t care. Cancel everything.” After all the surgeries, physical therapy, and doctor, acupuncture and chiropractor appointments, stacked one on top of the other over the past year, Grace was wholeheartedly sick of every medical care professional on the face of this earth.

“Grace—”

“Leave it, Amanda. You’re not my mother.”

Grace had no mother. Not anymore.

For the first time since the funeral, she missed her mom. They may not have gotten along once Grace had hit thirteen, but for the first twelve years of Grace’s life, Jean Andersen had been Grace’s rock. Moms fixed things. They made the world right. Now more than ever, Grace was on her own.

“While you’re canceling appointments for me today,” Grace went on, “you might as well cancel my entire summer.”

“What? As in the next three months? You sure about that?”

As sure as she could be about anything these days. “I’m falling off the grid for a while, so enjoy the time off with pay, Amanda. I’ll be back in the fall.”

The moment the words had left Grace’s mouth, one of the many knots in her stomach slowly unfurled. The weight that had been bearing down on her shoulders for the past year was slowly but surely being replaced by a curious sense of freedom. She’d gotten out of L.A. Finally. She could stretch out her arms and let her soul breathe.

“Grace, where are you?” Amanda asked.

“Mirabelle Island.”

“Wisconsin? But what… Why… When did you…” Amanda sputtered. “I don’t get it.”

Neither did Grace. At least, not entirely. She chuckled, and another knot unfurled. Her dad could use the company, but it was more than that. Something had drawn her to Mirabelle. Something as powerful and inescapable and deeply rooted in her soul as it was elusive. “There’s nothing to get, Amanda. I simply needed some R & R.”

“I take it, then, that you’re not interested in a house in Carmel. Your real estate agent called and said it hasn’t been listed yet, but it’s perfect for you. She wants you to get the first shot at it.”

“Tell her that for the time being I’m no longer in the market for a house.” Who knew at this point what the end of summer would bring? “Is there anything else you needed from me?”

“I don’t think so.” Amanda hesitated, and then gently, she said, “I hope Mirabelle is just the thing for you.”

Grace clicked off her phone and leaned against the nearest wall. Already it had been a long day and it wasn’t even dinnertime, but then she still wasn’t one hundred percent even a year after the accident. An all too familiar pins-and-needles type tingling sensation zinged up in her left shoulder and spread down her side. Then the itching kicked in. Panic threatened to immobilize her as her left arm became virtually useless and her upper back muscles tensed and cramped.

Holding on to the rail, she climbed the stairs and sat on the edge of the bed. Grabbing the tube of medicated prescription lotion from her purse, she unzipped the top part of the custom compression garment her layered tees hid quite well and slathered the cream over her skin, if you could even call it that. It felt more like animal hide as far as Grace was concerned.

Then she grabbed the bottle of pain meds, shook out two of her quickly dwindling supply and glanced at them. More than likely they’d not only knock out her pain, they’d knock her completely out. Better to save the rest of these for crises. Truth be told, she was sick of her head feeling as if it was stuffed in a wad of cotton.

“Saddle ’em up.” A man’s voice sounded through the open window.

Grace slid the pills back in the bottle and glanced outside. The Mirabelle Island riding and livery stables were practically in her backyard, and college kids hired to work through the busy summer tourist season were getting ready for a trail ride. With few bushes and trees to demarcate property lines, several large barns, paddocks and, beyond them, acres and acres of pastureland were clearly visible.

This—this—was why she’d rented this house. God, how she’d loved spending time with the horses, brushing, riding and feeding them. Arlo Duffy had even hired her to work for him when she’d been only twelve, and from that point on the time she’d spent at Arlo’s stables had been the only time she’d enjoyed while on Mirabelle. She’d have lived in the barn if he’d let her.

Time to go find Arlo. Rushing down the stairs, she called out to the movers, “If you need me call my cell.” Then she took off out the back door.

A path through the woods brought her out near the paddock closest to her rental. After a short, narrow trail, probably a deer path, through some scrub separating the two properties, she came out in a clearing by Arlo and Lynn Duffy’s iconic red farmhouse. As she reached the road, a man leading a very familiar solid black horse passed through the main gate and headed toward her. Louie. Her horse was clearly tired, but the moment he noticed Grace his pace quickened and his step lightened.

“Perfect timing,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke Louie’s sleek neck.

“You can say that again,” the handler said.

“He’s tired. Aren’t you, boy?” The horse let go a long sigh, as if agreeing, snuffled his muzzle in her hair, and another one of those incessant stomach knots eased. “Thank you for taking care of him.” She glanced at the handler. “I’ve got him from here.”

“No problem.” He handed over the lead. “I’ll make sure your tack and other supplies get delivered here today.”

“Thank you.” Grace was barely aware of the man disappearing down the road as she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Louie’s warm, muscular neck.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Startled by the deep voice, Grace glanced up. Leading a pretty bay, a man walked across the dry dusty road toward her. Wearing faded jeans, scuffed-up boots and a navy blue T-shirt, he was dressed much like the college kids working out in the pasture, but that was where the comparison ended. The breadth of this man’s shoulders and his confident gait clearly separated him from the others. Too rough around the edges to be considered classically handsome, he was still a sight to behold as he led the saddled-up bay by the reins.

Within seconds, Grace could’ve listed off at least five designers who would’ve been falling all over themselves to dress this rough-looking cowboy in their latest styles. If he’d been ten to fifteen years younger. As he came closer, the laugh lines around his eyes gave away the fact that he was likely in his mid-thirties.

His gaze, hard and unreadable, flicked over her, and then seemed to take in the horse. “If that isn’t a beautiful sight,” he murmured. “I don’t know what is.”

Was he talking about Louie? Or her? The slight smile playing at his mouth caught Grace completely by surprise.

He has the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen.

The moment the thought crossed her mind, she sucked in a breath. She thought about men as photogenic or stylish, not kissable, and out of her element as she was, her defenses rose. Straightening her shoulders, she glared at the man. “He’s a Friesian.”

“I can see that.” He came to stand on Louie’s other side, opposite Grace. “Don’t run into this breed of horse every day.”

A solid jet-black, Louie’s coat gleamed silver in the clear afternoon sun. With typical Friesian characteristics, his mane and tail—which almost touched the ground—were long, thick and wavy, and his fetlocks were silky and untrimmed. His conformation was close to the shape of a light but powerful draft horse, but he’d been bred to be taller and finer-boned than his ancestors. The lines of his neck, long and gracefully arched, showed the quality of his bloodlines.

Laughing about what to give a woman who had everything, Jeremy had given the gelding to Grace for her twenty-fifth birthday, almost as a joke. Her ex-husband hadn’t realized it at the time—he’d probably never fully understood—that the spirited but loyal animal had been the dearest gift he’d ever given her.

Grace watched the man slowly run his hands down Louie’s neck before patting his back. There was something inherently sensual in the way he moved that she couldn’t help but notice his tanned skin, trimmed nails and the light dusting of dark hair on his fingers. First his lips and then his hands. What next?

“Nice horse,” the man said. He crossed his arms, causing his biceps to flex and bulge. His blue eyes regarded her unemotionally, making him appear as unmovable as a mountain. “What’s he doing here?”

CHAPTER TWO

“EXCUSE ME?” THE WOMAN glared at Sean as if he was horse dung stuck to the soles of her obviously expensive gold sandals.

Sean did his best to dismiss her superior attitude, but since she didn’t seem to be anything but attitude, it was difficult. “Is the horse yours?”

“Yes,” she said, stroking the animal’s neck.

“We’re the only stable here on Mirabelle.” It was a damned small island with limited pastureland and even more limited paddock and barn space. Anyone with a lick of sense would know you didn’t take a horse anywhere without first arranging his keep. “So what’s he doing here on the island?”

“I’m boarding him here for the summer.”

Oh, no, she wasn’t. Not without asking him first.

She straightened her shoulders, clearly preparing for a fight. “Who are you?”

“Sean Griffin. And you?”

“Grace. Just Grace.”

So this was Grace Andersen Kahill? The face that had launched the covers of hundreds of fashion magazines? The body credited—or accused, depending in which camp you fell—for having first made lingerie catalogs and swimsuit editions of popular sports editions look like soft porn? That explained a lot.

Sean had heard she was coming back to Mirabelle and renting the Schumacher’s old place, but he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t recognized her. He’d seen Grace and her husband at Jean Andersen’s funeral, but that had been several months ago and he’d never met, let alone spoken, to either one of them. Afterward, talk about her breezing in one day for her mother’s wake and out the day immediately following the funeral had fueled the gossip channels for weeks.

Strange, but for a woman known for baring more skin than any other American model, she looked pretty covered up if you asked him. Dressed in a hip-length jean jacket, a couple of crewneck T-shirts and some beady-type necklace, she looked as if she were heading off to some trendy Hollywood hotspot for a two-appletini lunch with friends. Sean had lived in L.A. long enough to know. Too long, in fact.

“Well, Just Grace,” he said. “We’ve got a problem.”

“The only problem I’m aware of is that the boarding rate hasn’t been settled. That really doesn’t make a difference because I’ll pay whatever it takes. Problem solved.”

As if money solved everything. Typical. “Boy, you really are something, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “But I don’t board horses.”

“You don’t?”

“That’s right. I don’t. It has nothing to do with money. This is a stable and livery operation.” Boss, his horse, pulled on his reins and struck his nose toward her Friesian. “We have over sixty horses here and limited acreage. All the horses here work for their keep. I can’t spare a stall, let alone a paddock or pastureland for someone’s…pet.”

“Well, it’s not really your decision, now, is it?” She stalked toward the barn.

“Where are you going?”

“To find Arlo Duffy.”

“You won’t find him in there.”

She spun around. “Then where is he?”

“Home. Eating lunch.”

She turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction toward the ranch house.

“And you won’t find him in that house, either.”

She spun around. “Who do you think you are?”

“I told you. Sean Griffin. And that happens to be my house now.” He cocked his head at her. “I’m the new owner of Mirabelle Stables and Livery.” If she hadn’t been so high and mighty, he might’ve cleared that up at the onset.

She looked away and shook her head. “Of course, Arlo would eventually retire.” Then she glared at him. “You could’ve told me you’re the new owner of this place.”

“You could’ve been less presumptuous.”

“Look. I just talked to Arlo on the phone a couple of days ago. He didn’t say anything about not owning the stables and told me it’d be fine to board Louie here.”

“Well, you talked to the wrong person.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” she huffed, putting a hand on her hip. “Louie flew here from L.A. I can’t send him—”

“Well, I’ll be.” The sound of the man’s voice cut through their discussion like a bucket of water on a campfire. Arlo. Back from lunch. “Is that little Gracie Andersen?”

Grace glanced down the drive and a smile immediately spread across her face like the big old morning sun rising over Lake Superior. “Arlo. It’s so good to see you.” She held out her hand. “How have you been?”

“Gettin’ old.” He ignored her hand and pulled her into his arms for a quick but tight hug. “Other than that, I can’t complain. I see you met Sean.”

“I did.” Her mouth turned down in a frown—or was it a pout?—but Arlo was already sizing up Louie.

“Nice horse you got here,” he said. “So whaddya think, Sean? Where we going to put him?”

Sean had accepted he’d lost this battle the moment Grace had said she’d already talked to Arlo, but he couldn’t very well let Arlo think he was still making all the decisions around here. “We’re not putting him anywhere, Arlo. We don’t board horses, remember?”

“I boarded Boss for you.” Arlo nodded at the bay next to Sean.

“That’s different,” Sean said. “I asked you before I brought him to the island, and back then you were the owner.”

“We can make an exception for Grace, don’t you think?”

Sean didn’t have much of a choice now, did he? He knew all he needed to know about running a trail riding operation from all the summers he’d spent in high school and college working on ranches in Montana and Wyoming. He knew virtually nothing, however, about repairing carriages and training draft horses. For that, he needed Arlo, and Arlo knew it.

“You should’ve talked to me, Arlo,” Sean said. “This isn’t your business any longer.”

Exasperated, Grace let go a puff of air. “That’s just—”

Arlo squeezed her hand, sending her the clear message to let him take the lead.

“But I—”

He tugged a little harder.

Clearly, with extreme effort, she clenched her jaw closed.

“Heck, Sean,” Arlo went on. “I didn’t think it’d be a problem. Besides, you might be the new owner, but you put me in charge of the livery operations. Doesn’t that put me in charge of the livery barns and paddocks?”

Sean shook his head and chuckled. Then he glanced at Grace. “How long did you say you were going to be here on Mirabelle?”

“Just for the summer.”

“That’s a long time.” He glanced at Arlo. “You sure you have enough room for another horse?”

“Ayep. That I do. A Friesian will fit in nicely with the Percheron and Hackneys.”

“All right.” Sean fixed his gaze on her. “But you’re responsible for him. Feeding him. Exercising him. The whole nine yards.”

“That was my intention all along.” Then she forced out through gritted teeth, “Thank you.”

Arlo winked at her. “Grace, you look almost as tired as Louie. Why don’t you go on home and rest a bit?” he offered. “I’ll just put him in a stall, and you can come back later.”

Sean narrowed his gaze at Arlo, but kept his mouth shut. What game was the old man playing?

“Thanks, Arlo, but I can handle it,” she said. “Just tell me what stall he’ll be using and I’ll get him settled.”

“Whatever you say.” Arlo pointed to the barn farthest away from them. “It’s that last barn over there. Put him in the first empty stall on the left. He’ll have a nice run out the back, and we’ll keep him segregated for a few weeks until he’s used to things around here.”

“Will do. If you need anything from me—” she pointed to the blue Colonial she was renting “—that’s where I’m staying.”

“We know,” Sean said.

“Of course. I almost forgot this is Mirabelle.” She turned and led Louie across the yard.

Sean studied her as she walked away. He might’ve become the new owner of Mirabelle Stable and Livery, but he was still the island’s only doctor, part-time though the position might be. The doctor in him observed and quickly went about diagnosing her stiff gait. She was either in pain or extremely tense, very likely both. Possible back or hip problems. Probably had something to do with the car accident he’d heard about.

The man in him, on the other hand, couldn’t help but focus in on those long, slender legs and that perfectly rounded butt encased in skin-tight jeans. Or that long mass of blond hair trailing all the way down her back in natural-looking waves. The woman was perfection incarnate.

“Isn’t she something?” Arlo said, the moment she moved out of earshot.

Sean had almost forgotten the old man was standing next to him. “Yeah, something.” Gorgeous and aloof topped with an attitude the size of the Chequamegon National Forest, he had two words for Grace Kahill. High and maintenance. He turned toward Arlo and frowned. “The next time you want to do an old friend a favor, check with me first.”

“Ah, heck. What would’ve been the point?” Arlo laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t go for boarding her horse.”

“Yet you agreed anyway?”

“Always did have a soft spot for Gracie. She worked for me for years. Hard worker, too. Besides, I wanted to see that Friesian of hers. He’s a beaut, isn’t he?”

As he watched the horse and its owner disappear into the barn, Sean ran his hands along his own bay’s muzzle. Boss had been the first horse Sean had ever owned, and the day he’d arrived on Mirabelle had been one of Sean’s happiest. He’d take his no-nonsense Arabian anyday over a high-strung dandy. “Her horse is gorgeous. I’ll give him that. But he’s a bit like his owner, isn’t he?”

“She said he’s well trained.”

Time would tell.

Arlo patted the bay’s neck. “I’d appreciate it, son, if you wouldn’t be too hard on her.”

When the two of them were alone, Arlo had a tendency to refer to Sean as son. The old man probably wasn’t even aware of his use of the endearment, but it meant something to Sean. “Hard on her? In what way?”

“I saw the way you were eyeing her. As if she’s like every other woman you knew growing up out in California. Bitchy. Demanding. What do they call them? Divas?” Arlo brushed the bay’s shoulder. “Grace is none of those things.”

That wasn’t all Sean had been thinking about as he’d been sizing up Grace, but he sure wasn’t going to enlighten Arlo anytime soon.

“Growing up the pastor’s daughter wasn’t the easiest thing here on Mirabelle,” Arlo went on. “Especially not for a young one as feisty as Grace.”

“Feisty? That what you call it?”

“Keep an open mind. That’s all I ask.”

“Sure. As long as you remember you don’t own this operation anymore. Deal?”

“Deal.” Arlo patted Sean’s horse and grinned. “Now that I think about it…you and Grace. You never know. You two might hit it off—”

“Oh, no,” Sean interrupted before the thought could take root in the old man’s stubborn mind. “My life’s fine the way it is, thank you very much.”

Sean took great pains to make sure no one on Mirabelle had a clue he was looking for a wife. The last thing he needed was any of his well-intentioned friends setting him up with every single available female on the island. He could do his own vetting, not that there was much to vet on a small island like Mirabelle.

Besides, Grace Kahill wasn’t even close to what he was looking for in a woman. A pretty package was a good start, but more than anything he wanted a full-fledged partner in life. A woman who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and who loved Mirabelle as much as he did. A woman who would not only be content living in this small community for the rest of her life, she’d be happy to do so. Forever.

Arlo chuckled. “I got news for you, son. You don’t know it yet, but your life ain’t as great as you think it is. Find yourself a good woman, and then you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

He knew. “Yeah, well, she’s married, anyway.”

“Separated, is what I hear.”

“He came to the funeral.”

“Appearances, I guess.”

A marriage on the rocks? Only made for more baggage. “Doesn’t matter. I have absolutely no interest in a relationship with that woman. My summer’s going to be busy enough as it is.”

“Speaking of which…how’d things go down at the pier?”

“Fine.”

“Then where’s your son?”

Sean looked away. “Not exactly sure.”

“That doesn’t sound to me like everything went fine.”

“He left the ferry and took off toward town. Other than making sure he knows where I live, what was I supposed to do? The kid’s as communicative as a mule.”

“Go after him? Talk to him? Explain your side in this whole thing?”

“Yeah. I thought about all of those options.”

“And?”

“What do I know about being a father?”

“What does any man know about being a father until he is one?” Arlo nodded toward the main gate. “That him?”

Sean glanced down the drive and nodded. “Austin, can you come here a minute?”

The boy hesitated before finally skulking toward them.

“This is Arlo Duffy. You ever need anything or have any questions and you can’t find me, he’s the one you want.”

Arlo put out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Austin.”

Grudgingly, Austin shook his hand and mumbled a hello, then he cocked his head to the side. “That your house?”

Sean nodded. “Your suitcase is on the porch.”

“So where the hell am I supposed to sleep?”

Add a mouth to that chip on his shoulder. Sean bit his tongue, but the kid’s attitude was already wearing on him. “Take the hallway to the right before you get to the kitchen. Last door on the left. Bathroom’s next door.”

Austin walked away, and that was that.

“See what I mean?” Sean said the moment the front door to the house slammed shut.

“Can you blame him? He just found out his dad isn’t really his dad. He’s confused and angry.” Arlo sighed. “Give him a chance to settle in. Might end up not being as bad as you think.”

Sean grunted.

“Be patient. With him. Yourself. You’ll figure it out, son. You’re a smart, compassionate man.”

“Not according to some folks here on Mirabelle.” There was no doubt his bedside manner had been slipping of late.

“A woman just might improve your mood some.”

“Let it go, Arlo.” Sean headed toward the stables. He had to get back to work. “The last thing I need is more complications in my life this summer.”

And Grace Kahill was nothing if not complicated.

CHAPTER THREE

HER FIRST MORNING ON MIRABELLE.

The sun already streaming through the open window, Grace lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The sound of squirrels scrabbling up and down the trees filtered in, along with the chirping of robins and chickadees, cardinals and finches. There were no traffic sounds to interfere with their songs, no smog to ruin the fresh-smelling spring air. She should’ve felt rested and relaxed. Instead, she was tense and edgy.

Rather than the restful night she’d hoped for, even after taking two pain pills, she’d slept fitfully, if that’s what you could call that flip-flopping, sweaty tussle in the sheets she’d suffered through for the last six hours. No point in lying here any longer. That was about all the decadence she could handle for one morning.

Flipping back the covers, she padded into the bathroom, unzipped the compression shirt and stepped into the shower. Once finished, she quickly dried herself off and smoothed some medicated cream over her scars. The tube was nearly empty, but she’d be damned if she’d call her doctor for a refill. No doubt, he’d want her to come in for an exam.

Briskly, she slathered lotion on the rest of her body. Once upon a time, she’d actually enjoyed this part of her daily routine. She would’ve lingered, taken time covering every inch of skin and luxuriated in the feel of rich, scented cream. Since her accident, though, she hated the feeling of being naked and exposed. The sooner she got clothing on, the better. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen herself nude.

Spur of the moment, she spun around and stared at herself in the large mirror over the sink, took in every angle, every inch of skin. My God, what happened to you? That skinny, damaged body could not be hers.

Grabbing the bath towel, she strategically placed it over her left side. There you are. Almost. With the right clothes on, covering the right spots, no one would be the wiser.

But she knew. She always knew.

The memory of the look on Jeremy’s face when he’d seen her scars flashed through her mind. No wonder he’d filed for a divorce the day after her long-term prognosis. Scarred for life is what the doctors had said. No amount of plastic surgery would ever completely erase the injuries caused by the fire. Her usefulness to him had gone up in flames, along with the leather seats in her Bugatti. She was now damaged goods.

Quickly, she pulled on a clean custom-fitted compression shirt, zipping it up the front. For a moment, she imagined going about her day without the tight elastic fabric, but the thought had been immediately followed by a sense of panic. She’d gotten used to ever-present pressure around her upper body. There was an odd sense of security, she supposed, in the feeling.

In order to ensure her scars wouldn’t spread, she needed to wear the compression garment over most of her torso at least twenty-three hours of every day. That meant she slept and exercised in one and would be wearing one until the day her doctor said her scars had matured.

Matured. How ridiculous was that term? As if a burn scar could ever be anything except ugly.

She was stepping into a pair of white thong underwear, when the front doorbell chimed. Inching out into the hall, she glanced downstairs through the sheers on either side of the front door. A young man, more than likely a college student, stood at the door holding two bags of groceries.

“Newman’s delivery,” he called out, setting the bags down and knocking. “Hello? Mrs. Kahill?”

She hadn’t ordered any groceries.

The boy squinted through the windows on either side of the front door, trying unsuccessfully to see into the house. “Well, okay then. Call the store if you need anything else.” Shrugging, he set the bags down on the porch, turned and left.

Her stomach grumbled and she wondered what was in those bags and who had ordered her food. As if in answer, her cell phone rang. That had to be either Suzy or Amanda, but she didn’t want to talk to either one of them.

The phone stopped ringing and indicated a voice mail had been left for her. Then, surprisingly, the house landline rang. She hadn’t given that number to anyone.

The answering machine speaker sounded through the house. “Dammit, Grace, pick up.” Suzy Lang’s unique accent, not quite British, but not entirely Indian, echoed strongly through the house. “Okay, fine. Be that way. I ordered you some groceries because I have this sneaking suspicion that you have nothing but celery to eat in that house. Believe it or not, that Newman’s store had some decent organic stuff. So eat, okay? Don’t make me come there and force-feed you.”

At that, Grace smiled as she pulled on a pair of white capris, topped with a T-shirt over her compression garment and finished off with a dark heather-gray hoodie and a lightweight scarf around her neck, effectively hiding the rest of her scars.

“You know I don’t have the time. The photo shoot for that new magazine spread has me running around like a runway wannabe.” Her long, soft sigh came over the line. “I miss you already.”

Grace missed her best friend, too. Apparently, there was one thing left in L.A. that Grace still cared about and that still cared about her. She answered the phone. “Hey, Suze.”

“I knew you were there. What the hell?”

“Sorry. Having an awkward time settling in here, I guess.”

“Amanda called me,” Suzy said softly. “What are you doing back on Mirabelle?”

“I needed some R & R.”

“R & R, my ass. You’re going to be bored out of your mind in a week.”

“I’ve been working full-time since I left this place. I think I’m due for some time off. Besides, my dad needs the company.”

“Okay, okay.” Suzy sighed. “Amanda’s worried about you.”

“Oh, really?” Grace was a paycheck to her assistant. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Grace, don’t be that way. You do have people in your life who love you.”

Bullshit. Suzy had been the only one who truly cared. The rest had all been using her. Designers wanted her to wear their latest lines. Friends wanted appointments with her agent for their daughters, nieces, nephews, you name it. Editors wanted exclusive photo ops. Photographers wanted in with up-and-coming models. The truth had been revealed when her usefulness to them had ended with her accident.

“I’m serious,” Suzy said. “You’re not just a boss to Amanda. She really cares.”

“If you say so.”

“She said you were supposed to have a doctor’s appointment the day you left for Mirabelle. I know you’re sick of doctors, but you may still need some attention.”

“I know.” She wasn’t entirely out of the woods yet, and she didn’t want to be ninety and still wearing this compression garment.

“So what are you doing about it?”

“Well, believe or not, this tiny island has a wonderful clinic. I promise I’ll make an appointment for some time in the next couple of weeks with Doc Welinski.” He’d give her a new prescription for any medicated cream she asked for and pain meds, if needed.

“Is he any good?”

“The best.”

Grace had never met a sweeter, more compassionate man than old Doc Welinski, except, quite possibly, for her father. Doc had tenderly and with unexpected humor put on her cast when she’d fallen out of the McGregors’ apple tree and broken her arm. When she’d gotten violently sick to her stomach after French inhaling an entire pack of cigarettes, he’d given her antacids and kept the secret from her mother. And when other mothers, mothers like Mrs. Miller, had complained about Grace and the trouble she always seemed to be getting into, Grace could still remember Doc Welinski standing up for her in the school lobby. She’d be in good hands here on Mirabelle.

“All right,” Suzy said. “I’ll tell Amanda she can stop worrying.”

“I gotta run. Talk to you again soon.”

“Don’t wait to answer the phone next time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Smiling, Grace disconnected their call. Then she went downstairs and brought in the groceries the Newman’s delivery boy had left on her porch. She set the bags on the kitchen counter and put everything away.

The selection of groceries indicated Suzy was well aware that Grace snacked rather than cooked full-fledged meals. Tomato juice, low-fat yogurt and breakfast bars. Pita bread, hummus, sprouts and shaved roasted turkey. Romaine, feta cheese and an olive oil vinaigrette. Shrimp and fish. Blueberries, raspberries, avocadoes and an artichoke, all of them fresh. There were a variety of organic soups. And, lastly, a special treat. Two pints of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream.

Grace grabbed a spoon and dug out a chunk of ice cream before putting the containers in the freezer. As the chocolate melted on her tongue, she groaned. There were benefits to no longer modeling.

Grabbing a hat and sunglasses, in case she encountered any tourists, Grace grabbed a breakfast bar, left the house and set off down Mirabelle’s residential streets toward the house she’d grown up in. A strange sense of déjà vu filled her as she walked down the street. She’d spent far too much time here on Mirabelle for these neighborhoods to feel like anything other than home, but the trees were taller and many of the houses had been painted different colors.

In her head, she listed off the names of every family who used to live in every single house, but strangers mowed the lawns and picked up the mail. People had moved, died and retired. Mirabelle had changed. If the Duffys had moved out of their farmhouse, then it was also possible that the Setterbergs had, too. For all she knew the Grotes may have relocated, as well as the Hendersons and the Millers.

But as she approached the cotton candy-pink Victorian next door to her parents’ home, it was apparent Shirley Gilbert still owned the bed-and-breakfast. The grand old house was still in tip-top shape as were the gardens already overflowing with pink, white and purple petunias.

The house where she’d grown up couldn’t have looked more different from the Gilberts’. Grace turned up the front sidewalk to the modestly sized, but classically designed Victorian and noticed that very little had changed with either the structure or the yard in the years since she’d left home. The house still looked terminally white. What else could you call white shutters and trim on white siding? Virginal?

Her mother had even ensured the landscaping didn’t step out of line. Bridal veil spirea bushes. White petunias in the pots on the front porch. A white crab apple tree in full bloom on the front lawn. Other than the grass and leaves, the only color in the entire yard came from the shingles on the rooftop. Green, naturally, so as not to clash with the vegetation.

She glanced up to her old bedroom window in the second-floor turret to find white—of course—sheers hanging in the window. The pale pink polka-dotted curtains she’d had to stare at for most of her teen years were gone. Thank God. She’d always hated those damned frilly things.

A large honeysuckle—white again—climbed up the trestle near the corner. How many times had she climbed down the drainpipe outside her window? If she hadn’t been escaping off into the woods to meet some boy vacationing from Chicago, she’d been meeting up with groups of kids to hang around a fire and drink stolen liquor out at Full Moon Bay.

One childhood memory after another tumbled through her mind. More often than not her memories involved boring gatherings with boring guests. Their front door had practically revolved with the comings and goings of visitors. There were some fond memories, some of them involving Carl. Most of the time, she and her older—perfect—brother argued whenever they’d gotten within twenty feet of each other, but there’d been a few times when they’d connected.

Other memories involved her childhood best friend, Gail Gilbert, who had lived next door. At least they’d been best friends until junior high when Mrs. Gilbert had decided to send her daughter to Bayfield for school for what she’d believed would be a “better, more well-rounded” education. As soon as Gail had made better, more well-rounded friends, she’d dropped Grace like a hot potato. At the time, it’d stung that Gail wouldn’t even look at Grace on the few occasions their paths had crossed, but it was all water under the bridge at this point.

“Grace?” The almost shrill sounding voice came from next door. “Grace Andersen, is that you?”

Grace glanced toward the Gilberts’ and found Gail’s mother heading up her sidewalk from the street. “Hello, Mrs. Gilbert.”

“I heard you were back home,” she said, crossing her lawn to stop at the hedge separating the two yards. “I just didn’t know if I should believe it.”

“Whaddya know,” Grace said, keeping her distance from the smug woman who had never failed to point out to Grace’s mother that the Gilbert house was nearly three times the size of the Andersens’.

“How long will you be staying on Mirabelle?”

“Not sure,” she hedged. “Probably most of the summer.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Gail comes every year over the July Fourth holiday week and she’ll be so excited when she finds out you’re here.”

Naturally. Now that skinny stick Grace Andersen had become famous Grace Kahill. “Tell her I said hello.” Grace waved as she climbed the steps of her father’s wide front porch, effectively cutting off any more conversation.

For a moment, she stood at the ornately carved front door, not sure whether she should knock, ring the doorbell or simply walk inside. It might be her childhood home, but the only time she’d come back to Mirabelle since she’d left had been for her father’s retirement party and her mother’s funeral. In the end, she knocked and waited.

Within a moment or two, footsteps sounded from inside and the door swung wide-open. “Grace! I thought I heard someone out here,” her father said, pushing open the storm door. “For heaven’s sake, since when do you knock at your own house?”

“Since it ceased being my house?” She shrugged and smiled.

“You have me there.” He held out his arms.

As she hugged him, she couldn’t help but notice he’d lost some weight. “How are you, Dad?”

“I’m managing. Some days are better than others.” He gave her a weak smile as he drew her inside and closed the door. “Have you talked to Carl yet?”

“No.” She hadn’t been able to get herself to call her older brother. Not only were they several years apart in age, but so much time and distance had created an even bigger gulf between them.

Carl had been the good child. The straight-A student. The apple of their mother’s eye. He’d been able to do no wrong. Grace, on the other hand, had never been able to do anything right. If she wasn’t getting Cs, she was getting into trouble with teachers and coaches. As far as her mother was concerned, Grace had a tendency to flirt too much with the wrong sort of boys and not enough with the right ones. While her mother had insisted Grace take choir, Grace had wanted to join the basketball team. Grace wore too much makeup, dressed too strangely and swung her hips too much when she walked.

By the time she’d turned sixteen, Grace had simply quit trying to please her mother. Perhaps that’s why modeling had drawn Grace in so thoroughly and completely. She may not have been perfect, but her body had been.

So much for that.

“Carl will be disappointed you haven’t called,” her dad said, reining in her thoughts.

Not likely. “I’ll call him in the next couple of days.”

“Well, come on in.” He motioned toward the kitchen.

If her mother had been home, they’d have gone directly to the living room to visit, but Pastor John Andersen had always been a kitchen man, as simple and relaxed as Grace’s mother had been formal and proper. Though he was retired now and doing only an occasional wedding service, her father had been a soft-spoken preacher, a kind dad and as far as Grace had known, an affectionate and loving husband.

As Grace walked down the slightly uneven hardwood floor of the main hall, she glanced from living room to formal dining area. Even less had changed in the interior of the home than the exterior, but surprisingly the rooms didn’t look the slightest bit dated. Jean Andersen had, by design, decorated with timeless antiques she’d collected through the years. Her father, she noticed, had kept things as immaculate as when her mother had still been alive. Except for in the kitchen.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the mess that had accumulated. Her mother would be rolling in her grave if she could see the state of her domain. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and on the counter, mail and newspapers lay haphazardly across almost every flat surface, and a distasteful odor came from the garbage can.

“Dad?” she said. “You look like you could use some help around here.”

“Oh, I know, honey. Can’t seem to stay ahead of everything.”

Stay ahead of it? He wasn’t close to keeping up. “Do you mind if I pick up a bit?”

“You don’t need to do that. Carol said she was going to come by tomorrow with a few meals. She usually stays for a while and helps me clean.”

If that wasn’t motivation enough for Grace to clean, she didn’t know what was. Carl’s wife, Carol, was as picture-perfect as Carl. That match had been made in heaven as had its offspring, their two children, Nikki and Alex. All Grace had heard through the years in phone calls with her mother was Carl this and Carol that intermixed with Nicole did this and Alexander did that. There was little doubt that Carol was the daughter Jean Andersen had always wanted.

Her father glanced around and sighed. “I guess I’m not as good as your mother was at keeping things organized.”

“Why don’t you sit over there at the counter and we can talk while I straighten up?” Grace started in on emptying the clean dishes from the dishwasher. “When did you eat last?”

“I think I had some cold cereal for breakfast.”

“You think?” No matter. It was already after lunchtime. She opened the cupboard and found some soup. It was better than nothing. “You hungry?” She showed him the can.

“Now that you mention it, I could do with a little something, but I can do that.” He opened the can, dumped the contents in the bowl, and set it in the microwave, dribbling broth everywhere.

“Sit down, Dad. I’ll get it for you when it’s done.”

“What about you?” he said, sitting with his hands in his lap. “You going to join me?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“So you got in yesterday. All settled?”

“Pretty much.”

“Caught up with any old friends, yet?”

“No, and I’m not sure I have much of an interest.”

“We’ve had a lot a new folks moving to the island in the past couple years. I think there’s a group about your age.”

Lovely.

“Some good people in that mix. Some…not so much.”

That was about as negative as her father ever got when it came to assessing people. If he didn’t like someone, chances were you’d never know it.

“So in which group is Sean Griffin?”

“Sean? Have you met him?”

“Yesterday. I’m boarding my horse at his stables. He was a bit…abrupt.”

Her father chuckled. “Yep, that’s Sean. Impatient. I’m not sure he’s entirely adjusted to the pace on Mirabelle.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Your neck of the woods, I think. L.A.”

What in the world had brought him here of all places?

They continued chatting about nothing of consequence while she finished putting away the clean dishes and then began piling the dirty ones into the dishwasher. When the microwave dinged, she set the hot soup in front of her dad and picked up the kitchen. By the time she’d finished, the dishwasher was full again, but at least the counters were clean.

She went through the mail, recycling all the junk and setting the bills and other correspondence in one neat pile. “This is the important stuff,” she said, making sure he was paying attention. “So you need to go through this soon, okay?”

He nodded. “All right, dear.”

Nearing the bottom of the stack, she ran across a recent photo of her mom and dad. They were sitting at a table, his arm was around her shoulder and their heads were tilted toward each other. It was rare to see Jean Andersen smile so widely.

“That was taken the night before she died,” her dad said as he came to stand next to her. “We were playing cards at the Engebretsons’ town house, and she’d just won a game of hearts by shooting the moon in the last hand.”

Meaning she’d just forced twenty-six points onto all of her other teammates. Not an easy thing to do. God, it’d been a long time since Grace had played cards.

“It was a good night.” He ran the tip of his index finger over the photo.

She glanced at him and his melancholy expression clawed at her heart. How could her father have so loved a woman with whom Grace had never really gotten along? It just didn’t make sense. “It’ll get easier, Dad.”

He smiled wryly. “You know how many times I’ve said that exact thing to other people looking to their pastor for advice?” He shook his head. “It’s hogwash.” He sighed. “I still wake up every morning expecting to see her lying next to me.”

The phone rang, piercing the sudden quiet.

She answered. “Andersen residence.”

“Well, I’ll be darned. This little Gracie?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling with the realization that this man’s voice sounded familiar. “This Doc Welinski?”

He chuckled. “That it is.”

“How have you been, Doc?”

“I’ve been great,” he said, pausing. “So sorry about your mom.”

“Thank you.”

They chatted for a few minutes about her plans. “Enough of that,” Grace said finally. “I imagine you wanted to talk with Dad.”

“That I do. Need to get that man moving again. Thought maybe a round of golf might do a world of good.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” She handed the phone to her father. “It’s Doc Welinski.”

“Willard? What’s up?”

Grace put her father’s lunch dishes in the dishwasher.

“No, no,” her father said. “Not this afternoon. I’m too tired.” Her father paused, presumably while Doc talked. “I know, I know. I’ll get there. Just not today.” Another pause. “Thanks for the offer.” He hung up the phone.

“I think it would do you some good, Dad,” Grace said gently. “To get out a bit.”

“Next week.” He patted her cheek. “It’s good to have you home, Grace.”

“It’s good to be home, Dad.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“SEE YOU TWO IN THE MORNING.” Sean walked through his clinic waiting room after his last appointment of the day.

“Have a good afternoon, Doctor,” replied Donna, his office manager.

“See you later, Dr. Griffin,” his nurse, Kelly, said, smiling.

No matter how many times he asked them, he couldn’t get those two to refer to him as Sean. Donna, a stout woman in her late fifties, had insisted it wasn’t proper in a medical clinic to call the doctor anything except doctor, and Kelly, a pretty young—too young for Sean—redhead who’d moved to Mirabelle only last summer, wasn’t about to cross Donna no matter how much she wanted to flirt with Sean.

Sean left the clinic and headed toward home. Although being the only physician on the island also meant being on call 24/7, limiting his clinic hours to mornings during the summer tourist season left him afternoons and evenings for his new business venture.

He reached the top of Mirabelle’s hill and headed straight through the residential section toward the outer edge of town. After walking through the main gate to his property, Sean nodded at Eric, his stable manager who, along with a couple other wranglers, was taking a group of tourists out on trail ride through Mirabelle’s state park land.

“Everything going okay?” Sean asked, stepping onto his front porch.

“Yes, sir,” Eric answered. “Had two full groups this morning and have another two scheduled this afternoon.”

“Great.” As the line of horses left the main yard, Sean opened his front door, stepped inside and immediately stumbled over a pair of shoes left smack-dab in the middle of the hall. Austin’s shoes.

He glanced around. It’d taken him several months to get this house exactly the way he’d wanted it, updated and refreshed, neat and ordered, but he’d finally managed. It had taken Austin less than a week to wreak havoc.

The kid was like a tornado. He’d thrown his sweatshirt over a chair. A pair of his socks were lying on the floor in the family room. An empty pop can sat on an end table, along with several sweat rings from other drinks. A cell phone, personal music device and both chargers were strewn across one of the kitchen counters. An empty milk carton sat next to the kitchen sink along with several dirty dishes and the jar of peanut butter and there were bread crumbs scattered everywhere.

Only three months. You can do it.

After changing out of his doctor garb for his preferred mode of dress—jeans and a T-shirt—he rapped on Austin’s closed bedroom door. “Austin, time to get up.”

No response.

“Austin?”

Still nothing.

“Austin.”

“What?” came the surly response.

Sean took a deep breath and tried to let it slide. “It’s after noon. You can’t sleep the entire day away.”

There was a long moment of silence. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

Sean went to the kitchen and set about making himself a sandwich for lunch. Once he pulled out the bread, he realized it’d be just as easy to make two sandwiches. A few minutes later, as he was sitting down at the table, Austin shuffled into the room. “I made you some lunch,” Sean said, nodding at the plate opposite him.

Austin glanced from Sean to the plate and back again. “I’m not hungry.”

Seemed like this kid was bound and determined to make this difficult no matter what Sean did or didn’t do. “Suit yourself.”

Austin opened the refrigerator door and searched around. Then he poured himself a glass of milk. A moment later, he reached for the plate. “I guess I’ll just take this to my bedroom.”

“Nuh-uh.” Sean held down the edge of the plate. “If you’re going to eat, eat here.”

Austin sighed and shook his head. “Whatever.” Reluctantly, he sat and started to eat.

They sat in awkward, uncomfortable silence. Sean racked his brain for some way to make a connection to this young man. His son. How weird was that? Surreptitiously, he watched Austin. The kid propped one elbow on the table, tilted his head to the left and used a napkin in a side-swiping motion. His mannerisms were too similar to Sean’s to be coincidence. This kid was a Griffin, through and through. Somehow, someway, he had to make a connection.

“Look, Austin, I don’t know what Denise told you about me, but, for what it’s worth, I didn’t know you existed until she called me a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you existed, either,” he said. “So that makes us even.”

“You don’t need to be such an—”

“Is this what you woke me for? To talk?” He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the table. “Get real, okay? You’re not my dad. I don’t have a dad. I don’t want a dad. And if I ever did want a dad, I sure as hell wouldn’t want you.” With that, Austin stalked off toward the front door. “I’ll meet you outside.”

No longer hungry, Sean threw away what was left of his sandwich. Then he put their dishes in the sink and tried to recall what Arlo had said that first day about Austin. The kid had a right to be angry, and Sean needed to be patient. Unfortunately, patience had never been his strong suit. He took a long, deep breath, went outside and found Austin waiting for him on the porch.

The kid glared at him. “So now what?”

This was going to be a damned long summer.

“So now we find out what you can do around here,” Sean said as cheerfully as he could manage.

The crew was out on the first of the afternoon trail rides, so for now it was relatively quiet in the yard. The only activity amounted to Arlo rigging a carriage until Grace walked into the yard and headed for the barn.

Suddenly, Austin’s demeanor changed. “Who’s that?”

“Grace Kahill. She’s visiting for the summer and boarding her horse here.”

“Damn.”

You could say that again.

Dressed in tight, low-slung jeans, a straw cowboy hat and tall riding boots, she looked good. The bandanna around her neck was a nice touch, too. She went into the barn, came back outside with her horse and started brushing him.

Sean cleared his throat and, pulling his gaze away from Grace, pointed to the row of saddles hanging in the back. “Okay, Austin. Let’s see what you got. Saddle this bay.”

The sullen, obstinate teen suddenly turned nervous and unsure. “I don’t know to saddle a horse.”

That didn’t make any sense. “But you can ride, right?”

“Sure. Been on plenty of trail rides and stuff on family vacations.”

Family vacations? In other words, he didn’t know diddly about diddly squat with regard to horses. “Your mom said you knew horses.”

“What can I say? She lied. So what else is new?”

Shit. “I don’t have time to teach you. And neither does Arlo or any of the rest of the crew.”

“Well, good news for you,” Austin said. “Now you have an excuse to send me home.”

“I didn’t say I was going to send you home.”

“That’s what you want though, isn’t it?”

Sean had had about all he could take. “Look. There’s enough to do around here to keep you plenty busy.” He pointed to one of the barns. “Take that wheelbarrow and shovel over there and muck out all the stalls in the livery barn.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very. Dump your loads into the manure spreader.”

“Yes, sir.” Austin mock-saluted and took off for the barn.

Arlo shook his head as he came toward Sean.

“Might as well spit it out,” Sean said.

“Seems to me you’re setting up one helluva confrontational relationship with that boy,” Arlo said under his breath. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“What I want is to not be a father.”

“Too late for that.”

“Dammit!” Denise had said he was a chip off the old block. “When I was his age I was running a trail riding operation, not working at one.”

“But is that what you want for your son?”

“He could do worse,” he said, watching Grace bring a pad and saddle outside and setting them over the nearest rail fence.

“I raised two boys here on Mirabelle,” Arlo said. “Made ’em work here at the stables every summer. They helped take care of the horses every winter. And you know what?”

Sean waited.

“Neither one of ’em ever comes to the island to visit. Oh, they came down to Florida last winter. Couldn’t wait to see me and Lynnie once we were off the island. But Mirabelle? They don’t want anything to do with this place.” Arlo started heading toward the livery barn. “Seems to me there’s an opportunity here for you two. What’s made of it is entirely up to you. Not that young man.”

Sean stood alone in the yard. Arlo was right, of course. It was up to Sean to take the first step in forging a relationship with Austin and to make whatever relationship they developed worthwhile. Still, he didn’t know where to start. How the hell could you forge a relationship with someone who didn’t want anything to do with you?

SO THE KID WAS SEAN’S SON. Interesting.

Grace had tried not to eavesdrop while she was brushing Louie, but with the rising voices, it had been difficult not to absorb a few of the somewhat startling bits of information.

She set Louie’s pad on his back, getting ready to saddle him for a ride and watched the boy attempting to muck out a stall. He’d stalked past her a few minutes earlier without the slightest acknowledgment of her presence and went into the first stall with an empty wheelbarrow and a shovel.

“How you doing, Grace?” Arlo said, his tall, bony frame ambling by her. Other than the fact that his short beard was much more gray than she remembered, he’d barely changed all these years.

“I’m fine. You, Arlo?”

“Good.” He grinned. “I’m always good. You should know that.”

Arlo went into the massive livery barn, took two of his Percherons—a matching pair of dappled grays—out of their stalls and brought them outside. Then he started prepping one to be hitched to a shuttle carriage that took groups of passengers around the island, most often from the Rock Pointe Lodge or Mirabelle Island Inn into town, or vice versa.

“Need some help?” she asked.

“If you’re offering.” He cocked his head toward one of the horses. “I got Pat here, if you can take Mike.”

“Sure.” Holding off on saddling Louie for the moment, she led him into the stall Austin had already mucked out. Then she came out to the yard, patted Mike’s neck and whispered a few words to him as she attached his bridle and collar. Spreading the leather traces along his back, she was careful not to entangle them. It was a good thing she was tall. They were big horses.

“I want to thank you for sticking your neck out with Sean and agreeing to board Louie,” she said as she adjusted the crouper. It’d been so long since someone had her back that she’d almost forgotten what it felt like, but Arlo had always been that way. Ready to stick up for her at a moment’s notice.

“Ah. No worries,” he said. “Sean might seem a bit gruff, but he’s all bark and no bite.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“And the boy,” she said softly. “Sean’s son?”

“Ayep.”

“Came to work here for the summer, but he doesn’t know a thing about horses?”

“That so surprising?” Arlo considered the boy as he straightened Pat’s traces. “I seem to recall a certain young gal who once upon a time didn’t know her bits from her reins.”

She chuckled. “Too true.”

She and Arlo hitched Mike and Pat to the carriage, and he climbed into the driver’s seat. They both glanced at Austin. He’d dumped his first load into the spreader and was working on his second. The way he tried to keep from stepping in anything was like a poorly written comedy sketch. Either he had no clue what he was doing or he had an extreme aversion to horse manure, possibly both.

“The way I see it, somebody around here oughta take that boy under his—or her—wing,” Arlo said. “Lord knows I don’t have the time.”

“Subtle, Arlo.” She smiled. “Real subtle.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick, huh?” He made a clicking noise and tapped the reins, setting Pat and Mike off and out of the yard.

Grace glanced at Austin. He was sidestepping the manure as if it were acid. She couldn’t help laughing.

The kid glanced at her and scowled. “Oh, that’s real mature.”

“It’s just horse shit. It’s not going to jump up and bite you.”

“Easy for you to say. You like horses.”

“What are you doing here, then, if you don’t like horses?”

“Like I had a choice.”

Man, did he look like a younger version of his dad. “My name’s Grace.”

“Austin.”

“So, Austin, you’ve never mucked out a stall before, have you?”

“No.” He looked angry, frustrated and in need of a friend.

Funny, that’s exactly the way she felt these days.

Before thinking better of it, she opened the stall door. “Well, first off you need to change shoes.” She pointed to a pair of rubber boots by the barn door. “Wear a pair of those and then you don’t need to worry about stepping in anything.”

He glanced toward the door. “Whose are those?”

“Probably Arlo’s, but he won’t mind.”

Grudgingly, Austin pulled on the barn boots.

“While you’re over there grab those gloves.” She indicated the pair on the shelf above the boots. “So you don’t get blisters.”

He came toward her, looking at least a little bit better prepared.

“Now you’re ready to get to work.”

She showed him a better way to hold the shovel and before she knew what she was getting herself into she’d changed out of her riding boots and into her Wellingtons and was helping him take another load out to the spreader. In no time, they’d finished mucking out all the stalls in the livery stable and she’d shown him how to use the spreader in the back pasture.

On their way to the barn, she said, “So you really don’t know anything about horses?”

“Nope.”

“Bet your dad took that real well.”

“He’s not my dad.” Austin frowned. “Technically, I guess he is my dad, but I didn’t know it until a couple weeks ago. I thought my mom’s husband was my real dad. Turns out he’s not.”

Unbelievable. “So Griffin deserted you and your mom?”

“No. He never knew she was pregnant. She’s got all kinds of excuses for keeping that a secret. They were splitting, and he never wanted to have kids. I guess she thought she was doing them both a favor.”

“So Griffin just now found out you’re his son?”

“Yeah. Weird, huh?”

“What are you doing here now?”

He looked away. “My mom and…Glen are getting divorced. She’s got enough on her hands with my younger brother and sister.”

“She sent you here?” To get rid of him. That had to have hurt.

“Yeah. For the summer. Just for the summer.” He sounded as if he was making excuses for her. “So now Sean’s mad at me. Sent me in here to muck out the stalls.”

Some small part of her took perverse pleasure in this upset to Sean’s life. Why, she had no clue. The man simply drove her crazy. Then there was the fact that she felt a kind of affinity toward the kid, an outsider, like her. “How ’bout I teach you to ride?” Grace offered.

“Can you?”

“I can try. I grew up here on Mirabelle. Used to work for Arlo. I can teach you how to saddle a horse, how to feed them, brush them. You name it.”

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Because I have a feeling it’ll bug your dad,” she said, grinning. Any enemy of Sean’s was a friend of Grace’s. “Time to teach you everything you never wanted to know about horses.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS,” GRACE muttered to herself as she flipped off the bedcovers. First hot, then cold, then hot again. To the bathroom. To the kitchen for a drink of water. Night after night after night. She’d been on Mirabelle for more than a week and she wasn’t able to sleep any better here than in her Hollywood Hills home. And she’d used the last of her pain medication.

Rolling out of bed, she glanced out the window. Below, the lights of Mirabelle’s small village center twinkled, and the lake, black as the clear night sky, stretched as far as the eye could see. A full moon glittered on the surface of the abnormally still lake. On a night like this the view from Full Moon Bay would be amazing, but then the views from there were always amazing.

Her favorite spot on the entire island, Full Moon Bay, was north of Rock Pointe, the lodge and resort area her brother owned, Henderson’s apple orchard and even the lighthouse. A gem of sugar-soft sand accessible only from the main road by a narrow deer path, no one but the locals knew of the bay’s existence. When she was little, Grace had gone there to hunt for agates, and when she was older, for bonfire parties with friends. She’d skinny-dipped more than once in the shallow waters of Full Moon Bay, and, in fact, had lost her virginity there to some boy from Chicago who’d been there on vacation with his family. Funny, but she couldn’t even remember the boy’s name.

As much as she would’ve loved seeing the bay after all these years, the idea of hiking to the deserted northeast end of Mirabelle alone in the pitch-black stillness of the night sounded a bit bizarre. Instead, she walked into the bathroom, splashed water onto her face and patted her skin dry. Glancing through her window toward the barns behind her house made her think of Louie. Was he adjusting to Mirabelle any better?

The hell with it. She pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, remembering that even after a hot day the nights on the island could get chilly, and slipped out the back door. She flashed on the possible complication of being discovered by Sean or one of his stable hands, but quickly dismissed that risk. She’d snuck into the Duffy’s barns on many occasions when she’d lived here. Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen if she did get caught?

IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT.

Sean sat in front of his computer screen in his office off the kitchen working up a new shift schedule for the stable operations. He’d already taken care of the livery schedule, prepped the day’s bank deposit and gathered and emailed off the last two weeks of hours to his payroll accountant. All that after taking care of the carriages that had come rolling into his yard after the last of the shuttle runs around the island.

He finished the schedule and then stood and stretched. He was done for the night, and Austin still wasn’t home. Granted, it was Friday night and he’d said it was okay to stay out late, but he’d made it clear to Austin that curfew on this island for sixteen-year-olds was midnight on Friday and Saturday. Sean had checked with Garrett.

His hands stuffed deep into his front jeans pockets, he walked outside and onto the wide, wraparound front porch, staring out into the night and hoping he was going to see a tall, lanky teenager coming toward him any minute. More than likely, Austin had made some friends and simply lost track of time. But what if he’d been scrambling around on the boulders along the shore? What if he’d slipped and fallen into the water? Sean didn’t even know if the kid could swim.

The longer he stood there, the madder he got. The little shit. No wonder Denise wanted to get rid of him.

No, that wasn’t fair. The truth was he couldn’t blame the kid for acting out. Rebellion was probably in his genes, and Sean knew exactly from which side it’d come.

He paced the length of the porch and glanced out over the pastureland. Finally, he’d found a purpose for the money that had been put in a trust fund when his mother had passed away. Buying this old farmhouse and the one hundred plus acres of land along with the four barns, more than sixty horses and ten carriages would’ve made his mother happy.

Unlike the rest of the island with its Victorian gingerbread charm, the only quaint thing about this farmhouse was that it had been painted red with white trim to match the barns. Sean was okay with that. In fact, he rather liked this old house. With its wide-open rooms and simple design, it wasn’t far off the mark of something he’d build on his own, given the chance.

He especially liked the fact that his property was at the outskirts of town, although as such, it was dark here. For Austin’s sake, Sean had left every light on inside the house, as well as outside. He’d even left the floodlights on by the barns, hoping the kid would find his way.

He was starting to wonder if he was going to have to call Garrett Taylor when he caught some movement near the road. A shadowy form took shape. It was Austin, and he seemed to be taking his sweet time making it up to the house.

“Hey,” Austin said sourly, as he came close.

Questions swirled around in Sean’s mind, one after another. What have you been doing all this time? Who have been with? Have you eaten supper? He settled for, “Where you been?”

“Around.”

That tipped the scale, and Sean’s badly worn patience snapped. “You couldn’t take the time to answer your cell phone?” He’d called Austin’s number no less than four times and had left two messages. “I need to know where you are, so you need to answer your phone when I call. And you’re past curfew. I expect you to follow the law on this island.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Or what? You gonna send me back to Mom’s?”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that. Maybe that’s what you want, huh?”

Austin didn’t say anything.

“Stay. Don’t stay,” Sean said. “I don’t really care one way or another, but if you decide to stay, then you’d damned well better not make any trouble on this island. It’s my home and the people here are important to me.” He took a breath. “Get this through your head right here and now. Tow the line or leave.”

Austin glared at Sean. “You’re not my dad, okay? Not really. So you can’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s the way it’s going to be?” Anger, frustration, and concern all battled inside Sean for dominance. “Well, then, fine. Go,” he said. “You think I really care what you do, or when you do it?” he said, anger pushing through.

“Figures.” Austin glared at Sean. “You’re just like Glen. I don’t know why I thought you might be different.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t go home, okay? If I do I’ll have to go to juvie. The judge agreed to waive detention only if I came here.”

Denise had definitely not said anything about a judge, court or juvenile detention. She’d said he’d gotten into some trouble, but Sean had been too blindsided by the whole deal to ask for specifics. “What did you do?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I want to know.”

Austin hesitated. “Broke a teacher’s car window.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a dick.” He looked away. “He told our class that we could skip the final if everyone was getting Bs by the last week of school. We did it, but then he made us take the test anyway.”

“So a teacher’s a jerk and you’re in trouble. Was it worth it?”

“Hell, no. I’m stuck here for the summer, aren’t I?” Austin pushed past him on the porch and went into the house.

“Wait a minute.” Sean followed him inside. “We need to get something straight.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“This is working ranch, not a playground. I don’t care if you stay out until curfew every damned night of the week, but you’ve had enough time to get settled. No more sleeping in until noon. You stay here, you work here just like everyone else.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever. I don’t want to hear the word whatever the rest of the summer. Understood?”

Silence again.

“Understood?”

“Yes!” the kid hissed through clenched teeth.

“Good. If you’re going to live in this house, you’re going to have to live by my—” Sean clamped his mouth shut.

Had he really just said that? Had he really just said all of that…that crap? He sounded like his own father. All the words, fighting words, had spilled out of his mouth as if he and Austin had been sparring for years.

The kid stood quiet and sullen, as if he’d heard it all before, as if nothing Sean said could cut him any deeper than he’d already been cut.

See? You were right, asshole. This was why you had no business being a father.

Sean took a deep breath. “Tomorrow you start work for real around here. Seven a.m. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Austin walked away, slammed his bedroom door and a few seconds later the lights went out.

Sean shouldn’t have been so hard on him. He could’ve at least given the kid more time to adjust. Too late. If he went and apologized right now the kid would laugh in his face. Better to let the dust settle.

He went around the house, shutting off lights, inside and out. He flicked off the yard floodlights and noticed a dim light on in the livery barn. Now what?

Stalking outside, he crossed the yard and opened the barn door. One light was on in a storage room and a rear window had been propped open with a stick. How had that happened? Those windows didn’t even open. On his way through the barn, he glanced into the stalls. All the horses were quiet except for the Friesian. He was wide-awake and alert and sticking his muzzle toward Sean inquisitively.

“Still on West Coast time, boy, or what?” Sean stopped and glanced at the horse. Since Sean had seen him earlier in the day, someone had brushed and braided his mane. His coat looked even softer and shinier than it had that afternoon, if that was possible.

Hay rustled in the stall though the horse hadn’t moved.

Sean went still. “Who’s in there?”

More rustling sounded before a head popped up over the gate. “It’s me.”

Grace. A curry brush in one hand, she leaned her head against her horse’s neck.

The first thing he noticed was that she’d traded in her tight jeans for baggy sweats. Hot on the heels of that observation was that all of the tenseness she’d seemed to be carrying in her body since the first day he’d met her was nearly gone. She looked as relaxed as a person could get, and while a part of him hated to destroy the moment, the last thing he wanted was for people to come and go on his property as they pleased.

“You know,” he said, softly. “Some people might call this trespassing.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” She looked away. “Brushing Louie…calms me.”

“So that gives you the right to sneak into my barn.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t sound, let alone look, very apologetic.

At a loss, he glanced toward the back. “Those windows stick. According to Arlo, they haven’t been opened for years.”

“There’s a trick to it,” she said. “Tap the upper right hand corner and they slide like a dream.”

“You know this because…”

She took the brush and ran it down the horse’s shoulder. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak in here at night.”

“Troublemaker, huh?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “You could call it that.”

She’d likely been all kinds of trouble when she’d been younger. Probably still was. Why that turned him on, he hadn’t a clue.

“Look,” he said, switching gears, “I don’t know what kind of deal you worked out with Arlo, but I meant what I said the other day about you taking care of your horse on your own. Arlo doesn’t complain much, but he’s not as young as he used to be.”

“Don’t worry about it. Arlo won’t have to lift a finger to help me, and I plan on helping him out as much as I can.” Grace’s horse rubbed his forehead against her and then settled his head on her shoulder. “Besides, I enjoy caring for Louie.” She wrapped her arms around her horse’s neck and smiled.

Suddenly Sean understood why people paid top dollar for pictures of this woman. Her blue eyes sparkled to life, her cheeks rounded with delightful fullness and her lips glistened with pure, sensual joy. Despite her face being devoid of makeup, she was without a doubt the prettiest thing he’d ever seen on two feet.

Their gazes caught, and as if she sensed his gut-level, very male reaction, her smiled slowly faded. Still, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her mouth.

He had to get out of this barn before he remembered exactly how long it’d been since he’d kissed a woman. That little peck he’d given last year to Missy Charms, the owner of one of Mirabelle’s gift shops, in an effort to test the waters of their friendship didn’t count. That kiss had fallen flat from both ends. Grace, he had a feeling, would be a whole different story.

Married, he reminded himself.

“For what it’s worth,” she murmured, “I’m sorry about causing a hassle over boarding Louie that first day we met.” Now that apology was sincere. “Arlo should’ve told you it wasn’t his business any longer and just to set the record straight.” He paused. “I wouldn’t have made you send Louie home.”

“So your bark is worse than your bite.”

“Don’t tell anyone, though, okay?” Clearing his throat, he turned toward the barn door. “By the way, you’re a little old to be sneaking through windows. Next time you feel the need to visit your horse in the middle of the night, try the door.”

“Does that mean I have your permission to trespass?” she asked, the remnants of a smile clinging to her voice.

“For now,” he called over his shoulder. “But be careful, Grace. You never know who you might run into while you’re lurking around a man’s property in the middle of the night.”

“That a threat or a promise?”

He stopped in his tracks, felt a strong stirring in his groin and smiled to himself. Too bad he couldn’t act on this sucker punch of an attraction he was feeling toward this woman. “Aren’t you married, Grace?”

“Not anymore,” she whispered, sounding almost breathless.

He turned to find her partially hidden in shadows, making it tough to discern her thoughts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Jeremy filed for a divorce last year.” She ran her fingers down one of the braids on Louis’s mane. “I signed the final papers just before I came to Mirabelle.”

Was it his imagination, or did her gaze just travel all over him only to linger for a split second longer on the growing bulge in his jeans? Now he remembered how long it’d been since he’d kissed a woman, touched a woman’s naked skin, let alone had sex. Too damned long. And he wasn’t going to be able to rely on a set of vows to keep his head clear and focused.

“Consider this fair warning. Think twice before starting something with me, Grace. I’m not sure you’ll ever be ready to give what I want from a woman.”

“Which is?”

“Nothing short of happily ever after.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t look the slightest bit shocked by his admission, and that made him want her all the more. Before he could put into action every shocking thought running through his mind about exactly what he wanted to do to Grace, he stalked out of the barn. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but his summer had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.

CHAPTER SIX

“THERE,” GRACE SAID, LEANING back from the gardens in the front yard of her father’s house. Her left side was aching from use, but it was a good ache. “What do you think, Dad?”

Her father shook his head. “It’s different. Pretty, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” She laughed. “I guess I deserve that for trying to add some color to the front yard with some pink and purple impatiens. You want me to get rid of them and put in Mom’s double whites instead?”

“Good heavens, no. That would be a terrible waste.” He climbed the front porch. “Let’s go in and have some lunch.”

“I’m right behind you.” Grace brushed off her garden gloves, slipped off her muddy shoes on the front porch and followed her dad inside. “I just need to wash up.”

She headed into the powder room off the kitchen and lathered her grimy hands. Somehow, she’d managed to get dirt all the way onto her elbows. She glanced in the mirror. Even her cheeks were smudged with garden soil.

That a threat or a promise?

From nowhere her encounter with Sean in his barn the previous night popped into her head. What in God’s name had she been thinking flirting with the man?

That he was as different from all the male models, photographers and designers in her world as night from day. That he was available and she was divorced and a good, old-fashioned romp in the hay might be exactly what she needed.

And then to be ceremoniously shot down. Ouch.

Only she wasn’t buying it. Not entirely, anyway. True, she didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing of late, but it seemed to her that Sean Griffin’s mouth had said one thing and his eyes had said quite another.

Men looked at her all the time. She was used to, almost immune to, a lingering show of appreciation. What she’d seen in Sean’s eyes had been different. He’d looked at her as if she’d been the only thing that existed in his world in that moment, as if he’d needed her like air or water, as if he was burning up inside and she was the only thing that could soothe him.

His heat had transferred to her as if his naked skin had been pressed against hers. All she’d been able to think about as she’d stood staring at him from Louie’s stall was what it might feel like to have his hands on her, to have him over her, inside her. Nothing sweet or tentative would’ve sufficed, either. She’d wanted rough, needy, fast.

Grace laughed out loud.

Since the accident, she’d assumed she was all but dead from a sexuality standpoint. If she was honest with herself, the years before the accident hadn’t been all that exciting, either. Her marriage to Jeremy had been more of a convenience than anything, and sex with a friend simply hadn’t worked for Grace.

Jeremy had been the epitome of discretion with his romantic affairs, but Grace had never had the urge, let alone the need to seek any satisfaction outside of their marriage. It was surprising, really, considering how sexual she’d felt while living on Mirabelle, but something had changed in her after moving to California. She’d lost herself in her work, and she wasn’t entirely sure that had been for the best.

Last night, though, had proven without a shadow of a doubt that the old Grace Andersen was still locked someplace deep inside. She was, after all, as hot-blooded as any other woman. So what was she going to do about it? She was divorced, footloose and fancy free. Sean Griffin had said he wanted happily ever after, but would any man really turn away from the offer of a casual fling? She imagined kissing him and placing her hands on him. His hands on her.

Bam. Reality crashed down. She would never be getting naked with a man. Not with this body.

“Grace?”

She jumped at the sound of her dad’s voice.

“You okay in there?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’ll be out in a sec.”

Forget it, Grace. It’s not going to happen.

Sloughing off all thoughts of the previous night—and of Sean—Grace dried off her hands and went into the kitchen. She and her dad made turkey sandwiches together at the center island. Feeling hungrier than usual, she used two pieces of whole grain bread, rather than having it open-faced, and slathered on some mayo. They’d just sat to eat when the front door opened.

“Dad?” The sound of a man’s voice came from the foyer. “You home?”

Carl. Even after all these years she knew her brother’s voice better than her own.

“In the kitchen, Carl,” her father called.

A moment later, he walked into the room, his brow furrowing as he looked at her, almost as if he didn’t recognize her. Then a slight smile slowly spread across his face. “Grace.”

“Hello, Carl.”

“I heard a rumor you’d moved back onto the island and I couldn’t believe it. That’s all they can talk about down at Duffy’s and the Bayside.”

Figures.

An awkward silence filled the air. A hug seemed too familiar. A handshake too distant. One thing was certain. He seemed to have aged even since their mother’s funeral.

“Well, give each other a hug, for crying in the beer!” their father said, laughing.

Grace stood and they hugged briefly.

“How are you?” Carl said as he stepped away, his gaze traveling quickly down to her left shoulder and back again. “I mean…well, you know what I mean.”

“I’m great,” she said, evading the issue.

“You look good.”

Better than at Mom’s funeral is more than likely what he meant. “Thanks.”

“So what’s going on? Why didn’t you call or something? Let us know you were coming.”

“Honestly, it all came about so fast. One day I was looking at houses with a real estate agent and the next day I was making arrangements to come here. I called Dad to let him know I was coming.”

“Well, that explains it.” Carl glanced at their father. “I haven’t talked to you in weeks, have I?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry, Dad. It’s been crazy busy at the resort.” He glanced at Grace. “How long can you stay?”

“At least for the summer. After that, your guess is as good as mine.”

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk at Mom’s funeral.”

He hadn’t acted as though he’d wanted to talk, and she hadn’t been physically up for staying much past the funeral. “Yeah, well, it was bad timing.”

“Is there ever a good time for death?” he said, his gaze turning suddenly troubled as he ran his hands through his thinning hair. His hairline was receding and his temples were graying, and suddenly even she felt so much older just being his sister. “Are you staying here with Dad?”

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