The Forget-Me-Not Friends

Harrison Kincaid | During his childhood Harrison and his sister, Nessa, spent all of July and August on Summer Island with their parents. In his thirties, Harrison married Simone and became the CEO of his family-owned communications business based out of Seattle.
Aidan Wythe | Raised by his mother in Seattle, Aidan has been Harrison’s best friend for as long as he can remember. They went to Yale together and Aidan is Harrison’s right-hand man at Kincaid Communications.
Emerson Cotley | A local on Summer Island, Emerson took over the family landscaping business after his parents were killed in a car accident.
Jennifer March | Her family owns the Lavender Farm Bed and Breakfast on Summer Island. She and Simone were best girlfriends.
Gabe Brooke | Gabe owns a real estate business on Summer Island, as well as the local newspaper. He married Harrison’s sister, Nessa, after Harrison married Simone.
Simone DeRosier | Renowned jazz singer and pianist, Simone started spending her holidays with her father on Summer Island when she was fourteen years old. She coined the phrase “Forget-Me-Not Friend” in her first Grammy Award–winning hit.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for returning for the final story on Summer Island, a locale I first introduced this June, in the Signature Select Saga novel, You Made Me Love You.

In this story we see what happens to the last two of the forget-me-not friends—Jennifer March and Gabe Brooke. Jennifer, the loyal best friend, and Gabe, the spurned lover, have both been marked by the death of their friend, famous jazz singer Simone DeRosier. Finally it is time for them to deal with the past and find their own happily-ever-after.

The inspiration for the bed-and-breakfast where most of this story takes place came from a lavender farm I visited in Kelowna, British Columbia, with my stepmom Gwen and daughter Tessa. It was amazing to see acres of lavender growing on the hills above Okanagan Lake. All I needed to do to fit this place into my story was to replace the lake with the Pacific Ocean and to add a sheep farm on the eastern boundary. And there it was…Lavender Farm Bed and Breakfast.

I hope you enjoy returning to Summer Island this one last time. If you would like to write or send e-mail, I would be delighted to hear from you through my Web site at www.cjcarmichael.com. Or send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754 - 246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8 Canada.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

Secrets Between Them
C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Former chartered accountant turned fiction author C.J. Carmichael has published twenty novels with Harlequin Books. Highlights include a RITA® Award nomination for her Harlequin Superromance novel, The Fourth Child (which was also a Romantic Times BOOKclub Top Pick); a romantic-suspense career achievement nomination from Romantic Times BOOKclub; and a nomination for her Harlequin Intrigue title, Same Place, Same Time as a Romantic Times BOOKclub Reviewers’ Choice Best Harlequin Intrigue of 2000.

C.J. lives in Calgary, Alberta, with two teenage daughters, and a dog and a cat. Please visit her at www.cjcarmichael.com.

For my daughter Tess and stepmom Gwen,

in memory of a lovely summer afternoon.

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

LEANING AGAINST THE FERRY railing, Nick Lancaster squinted at the horizon and wondered if the faint outline of land ahead was Summer Island. His adrenaline surged, making him as lighthearted as a kid at Christmas.

Almost there.

Finally.

If the island weren’t so bloody remote, he would have been there sooner. But it had taken him more than a week to drive from New York City across the country, then over the border to Vancouver. Of course, he could have flown, but he hated flying and besides, he liked having his own vehicle. He’d bought his Land Rover with the royalties from his first book and there was an attachment there that amused his friends and family to no end.

Once in Vancouver, he’d caught the ferry and began the forty-minute crossing to his final destination—the vacation home of deceased jazz singer Simone DeRosier.

By now Nick knew almost everything there was to know about the musician: her early childhood in Hartford, Connecticut, her distant relationship with her professor father, her marriage to communication magnate Harrison Kincaid and all the details of her fabulously successful career.

Then there was her death. It had been reported as a suicide initially and that was what had initially attracted him to her story.

Why would a world-famous star with a doting husband and a young daughter take her own life?

Turned out she hadn’t. She’d been killed. And with that turn of events, he’d been hooked. For the past twelve months he’d devoted himself to this project. Still there were unanswered questions.

Summer Island had to be the key. Simone had spent her vacations here, from when she was a teenager until the day of her death, three years ago. She’d met her best friends on Summer Island, the so-called forget-me-not friends she’d immortalized in her Grammy-winning song of the same name. Including Simone there’d been six of them at the beginning.

Now only four were still alive, and three of the four lived on the island. Nick intended to talk to them all, but one in particular had captured his interest.

The outside world didn’t know much about Jennifer March. Somehow her friendship with the big star had escaped the media scrutiny of the others.

Nick had first gotten wind of her in an old article in Vanity Fair. Simone had mentioned a friend, Jennifer, whom she loved like a sister. Later, he’d found a photograph taken after one of Simone’s New York City concerts. The star had her arm around a pretty blond woman. Usually Simone was photographed with men, so this was a real aberration.

The blonde hadn’t been identified in the accompanying article, but Nick’s curiosity had been roused as soon as he’d seen it. Could this be the Jennifer he’d been looking for?

It turned out his hunch had been right and his subsequent research had led him straight to Summer Island. He’d had a break when he discovered that Jennifer’s family owned a bed-and-breakfast on the island. It had seemed like the perfect omen.

He’d asked his agent to book him a room at Lavender Farm for the month of September. Michele, of course, had been only too happy to oblige. She was as excited about this book as he was.

The little blob on the horizon was bigger now. Nick looked around the deck and noticed a man standing a few yards to his left. “Excuse me. Is that Summer Island?”

“Sure is.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nick said. “Thanks.”

He started to head below deck and as he passed by, the other man smiled. “I hope you enjoy your visit. Summer Island is a pretty special place.”

“Yeah,” Nick replied. “So I’ve heard.”

There was something familiar about the man, but by the time Nick had gone to the washroom, then ordered a coffee, he’d forgotten all about him.

AFTER THE FERRY DOCKED, Nick drove his Rover from the parking level, down the ramp and onto the main road. He stopped at a big sign. To the right lay the north end of the island where his bed-and-breakfast was. To the left was the island’s only town, Cedarbrae.

Deciding he was hungry and needed a meal, Nick turned left.

Summer Island was a place of rocky shorelines and thick rain forests. Even in town the trees were massive. Mostly cedars, Nick guessed, though he knew from his research that some of these were also Douglas fir and oak. Occasionally he spotted the twisted shape and smooth red bark of the distinctive arbutus tree.

He felt a long way from New York City as he drove along the deserted road. He wondered how a person could live full-time in a place like this. So small and rural and isolated. He had nothing against the great outdoors. But he’d only been here a short while and already it felt as if his thoughts were echoing around in his head.

He needed people.

A sign pointed left and he turned again. Here was the town and it was small. Most of the amenities were on the main street, which ran parallel to the ocean.

In less than a minute he’d seen the whole place. He circled back to Derby’s Diner, a white clapboard structure, with green-and-white awnings shading the windows. The almost-full parking lot seemed testament to a decent lunchtime menu, so Nick nosed his Rover into one of the few empty spaces and went inside.

Only two tables and one booth were available. He was headed for the smaller table, when he noticed a redhead across the room. He did a doubletake, at first disbelieving, then amazed, then intrigued.

Molly Springfield was on Summer Island?

And then he realized he shouldn’t be surprised. It seemed that everywhere he went in his journey to learn about Simone DeRosier, Molly Springfield had been there first. He still didn’t know who she was, exactly, or what she wanted. But clearly it was time he made a more concentrated effort to find out.

He checked out her luncheon companion, a tall, thin blond woman, older, probably in her late thirties like him. He experienced a second shock as he realized he was looking at Jennifer March.

From the photograph he’d seen, he’d known Jennifer was pretty. But in person, she had a wholesome, natural beauty that was totally disarming. He could picture her in a shampoo commercial with a garland on her head and a meadow of wildflowers at her feet.

Wow, where had that image come from? Teenaged memories of flipping through his mother’s magazines hoping to spot a lingerie advertisement?

The fact that Jennifer was seated with Molly Springfield was an interesting development.

The first time he’d run into Molly he’d tried to question her. But as soon as she heard that he wanted to write Simone DeRosier’s biography, she’d gone running. She hadn’t let him get near her since.

At one point he’d speculated that she might be writing a book, too. But if so, it would be her first. She had no publishing history.

It couldn’t be coincidence that she was on Summer Island, though. And chatting up one of the original forget-me-not friends. They sure did look cozy, like they’d been pals for a while.

Both were dressed in yoga pants and colorful, formfitting tank tops. Their hair was tied back from pink-tinged cheeks. All evidence pointed to the likelihood that they’d just come from an exercise class.

They were so engaged in their conversation, they didn’t even notice him. Quickly Nick changed course, bypassing the table and choosing instead the booth directly behind Molly. She couldn’t see him here unless she turned completely around in her seat. Even then, she’d only make out the back of his head.

He picked up a menu and pretended to read it while he focused on their conversation. At first the words were just a blur. He closed his eyes. Concentrated.

They were talking about Jennifer’s mother…

“HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN SHE died?” Molly asked.

“Eighteen.” The older Jennifer got, the more she realized how lucky she’d been to have such a happy, protected childhood. Good parents, close friends, a storybook life in the storybook setting of Summer Island.

All that had ended after her mother died though.

“It’s scary how fast your life can change.”

“I know,” Molly commiserated. She’d lost her mother a few years ago, too, which was why Jennifer felt comfortable confiding in her.

“I’m not sure how I would have coped without my friends. They were all amazing. Harrison helped me deal with the lawyers and the financial mess left behind because Mom didn’t have a will.”

“He’s a rock, Harrison,” Molly agreed.

“Gabe took charge of the funeral arrangements and wrote the obituary for the Summer Chronicle, while Emerson arranged for his family landscaping business to handle all the gardening and yard work at the B and B for an entire month.”

“They really rallied around you.”

“Dad and I were such a mess. We needed the help. Aidan stepped in and canceled reservations and refunded deposits for the next few weeks so we had a chance to catch our breath. He even set us up on a computer system.”

“What about Simone?”

Just the name brought a smile to Jennifer’s face. “She was the one who made me laugh and helped me believe that the future wasn’t as bleak as it seemed right then.”

“She was something, huh? So famous and yet she still made time for her old friends. I wish I could have met her.”

Jennifer said nothing to that. She wasn’t so sure Molly and Simone would have gotten along. Simone never had trouble making friends with men, but women were something else. Not many could put up with being in the other woman’s shadow all the time. But Jennifer hadn’t minded. The fun of having Simone as a friend had been worth it.

But she couldn’t see Molly willingly taking the backseat to anyone…even a world-famous musician. Molly was flamboyant and confident in a way that Jennifer envied.

“What about you, Molly? You must still really miss your mom.” She’d moved here to make a fresh start after her mother’s death. Unlike Jennifer, Molly didn’t have any other family.

“Oh, I’m coping.”

Typical of Molly to keep her answer vague. Molly didn’t like to talk about the past. She was all about the future, or so she said.

“Well I’m really glad you ended up on Summer Island. I haven’t had a good heart-to-heart talk like this in ages.”

“We need to go out more often. Have I ever told you that you work too hard?”

“Only a hundred times.” Jennifer laughed. “But we can’t all be free spirits like you.”

“Is that really how you see me?”

“Well, sure. You moved across the country to an island where you didn’t know anyone and started your own yoga studio. You’re artistic and spontaneous, full of energy and brave…” Jennifer sighed. Not one of those adjectives could be applied to her. “In fact, sometimes you remind me a lot of Simone.”

“You still miss her, don’t you?”

“My aunt says too much. She says I lived vicariously through Simone and that it’s time I learned to have my own adventures.” Jennifer shook her head. “Can you imagine?”

Molly looked at her speculatively. “Actually, your aunt might have a point there.”

“I don’t think so.” Molly, who had no responsibilities to anyone other than herself couldn’t understand. Jennifer barely had time for yoga two times a week, let alone adventure.

“Frankly, I think we both could use a dash of excitement. Preferably of the romantic sort.”

“Oh, really? Seen anyone who interested you lately?”

“Well…to be honest…” Molly drummed her fingers on the table. “What about that friend of yours, Gabe Brooke. He’s single again. I know he’s rich and he’s certainly gorgeous.”

“Yes, Gabe is all those things. You should go out with him, Moll. Want me to fix you up?”

“What about you? You’ve known him longer.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been friends forever. Dating would be weird.” And it would. Though once she hadn’t felt that way. “Besides, I’m good friends with his ex-wife.”

“What happened there? Why did they split up? People say it was because of Simone but she’s been dead for three years now.”

“It’s complicated.” Jennifer rubbed her forehead. She didn’t want to talk about it, but if Molly really was interested in Gabe, then she probably should know the basic facts.

“Gabe was in love with Simone for years, but when she married Harrison, he turned to Nessa. Nessa had always been crazy about him and she thought she could make their marriage work. But Gabe never seemed to get over Simone. He was always at her beck and call.”

“Did they have an affair?”

“I don’t think so. But Nessa felt emotionally abandoned anyway. And who could blame her.”

Molly leaned back, wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t come out sounding like a very nice guy.”

“Oh, but he is. You have to realize the power Simone had over people, men in particular. Once Gabe realized how much he’d hurt Nessa, he felt badly and tried to make amends. But it was too late.”

Jennifer could sympathize with how Nessa must have felt. Once, Jennifer, too, had had a crush on Gabe. Years had gone by before she’d worked up the nerve to tell him. Only, just as she started talking, he’d blurted out how devastated he was that Simone was dating Harrison instead of him.

She’d realized then that Gabe saw her as nothing more than a buddy, a pal, another one of the gang.

She’d told herself that it was just as well.

But now, briefly, she felt the burn of that old rejection. No sense blaming Simone, though. She couldn’t help that all the men loved her. That was simply the way it had always been.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTERNOON AT THE bed-and-breakfast was Jennifer’s favorite time of day. Her father usually took a nap on his reclining chair in the sitting room, with his sister Annie in the chair next to him, reading. This was when Jennifer was free to putter in her gardens and work on the lavender products she sold at a craft store on Saltspring Island.

Jennifer took her shears and a large shallow wicker basket out to the gardens in the front yard. She was expecting a new guest and this way she wouldn’t miss her arrival. At any rate, the Lavandula multifida needed to be harvested again.

Her mother had planted the original lavender, for which the B and B was named. As the years went by, she’d started experimenting with other cultivars. Now there were lavender beds on all sides of the house, sometimes three or four in a row, with neat gravel paths between them.

The best time to snip the lavender stalks, if you wanted to dry them, was just when the flowers started to bloom. Jennifer stooped next to a perfect specimen. All around her bees were busy pollinating, but they didn’t bother her as she carefully snipped at the stalks, just above the bushy plant growth.

Later, she’d tie them in tiny bundles with rattan and use them to decorate the jars of lavender jelly and vinegar she’d make during the colder winter months.

A peaceful half hour passed. Just Jennifer, the lavender, a few dragonflies and the bumblebees. Her basket was almost full when she heard a vehicle approach. She straightened, put a hand to her lower back and stretched. That must be Nic Lancaster, from New York City.

They didn’t often have guests from so far away. She was a little excited to meet this woman. Jennifer shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun so she could watch as a dusty old SUV came into view.

The driver pulled up to the house, then stepped out from behind the wheel. She frowned. Squinted. No, she wasn’t seeing things. Her guest wasn’t a woman, but a man. And while his vehicle looked weathered and battered, he definitely did not.

Late thirties, she guessed. Fit and naturally athletic judging by those shoulders and muscular legs. He wore typical summer outdoor gear—hiking shorts and boots, with a navy shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

He’d been facing the house, perhaps reading the sign for the bed-and-breakfast, but then he turned and stared at her. Though about twenty feet of flower garden separated them, Jennifer felt a power in his eyes that made her mouth dry.

Their guests here were usually families, retired couples, college kids on break. She couldn’t remember the last time a single man, an attractive single man, had checked in.

Which he might not do if she didn’t stop gawking at him.

In her defense, she didn’t think she was the only one having a moment here. The man in front of her seemed just as transfixed by her as she was by him.

He watched her approach with such intensity that she should have felt self-conscious. But, she didn’t.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer March. Welcome to Lavender Farm.” She put the basket on the ground, then held out her hand, amazed that she could sound so poised when she felt anything but.

“Jennifer.” His hand was warm, his grip firm.

She removed a strand of hair the wind had blown across her cheek. “You’re Nick Lancaster?”

“Yes. Sorry, I should have identified myself right away.” His smile was a little crooked, a quirk that added a dash of self-deprecation to his confident air.

“Your reservation was made by a woman. I didn’t know she was booking for someone else.”

“That would have been my agent. She took care of the travel arrangements. I must say, I had no idea it was going to be so pretty here.”

He looked right at her as he said that and her usual shyness suddenly kicked in. Was he flirting, or just being friendly? If he was flirting, what should she say in response?

Though Simone had been gone three years, Jennifer knew exactly what she would be saying if she were here. Go for it, Jenn! Here’s your big chance.

Let him know you’re interested and available.

But now that it was happening, or might be happening, she felt awkward and tongue-tied.

“Um…why do you have an agent?” He was certainly good looking enough to be an actor. But he was also in incredible shape, so maybe he was a professional athlete.

His laugh was easy, natural. “I’m a writer. Michele Ashburn, the woman you spoke to on the phone, is my literary agent.”

She never would have guessed that. He didn’t look like the scholarly sort. “What do you write?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, he glanced away from her and hesitated with his answer.

“I’m writing a book,” Nick said, finally.

“Oh.” They’d had a couple of authors stay at the B and B over the years. One had been working on a travel guide for kayakers in the Gulf Islands, another had been doing an environmental survey for his doctorial thesis. “What’s your book a—”

She didn’t have a chance to finish her question as the front door opened and her father stepped out to the porch.

“It’s time for afternoon tea, Jenn. Should I put the kettle on?” He paused at the sight of Nick, several yards away. “Is that our guest from New York City?”

Jennifer dashed up the stairs to hand her father his walking stick. He hated the cane, but she lived in fear that he would one day fall and break a leg. Since his stroke, he’d been a little wobbly on his feet.

But no damage had been done to his acuity. Even though her father could no longer handle the day-today work of running the bed-and-breakfast, he still managed the accounting side of things. He also checked the bookings every morning and made a point of greeting new arrivals personally.

“Dad, this is Nick Lancaster. Nick, my father, Phil. He and my mother started this bed-and-breakfast almost forty years ago.”

Nick stepped forward to shake her father’s hand. “This is a really beautiful place.” His eyes were on Jennifer again, and once more she felt as if his compliment for the place included her.

Aunt Annie appeared from the side of the house. Though she ate her meals with the family, she slept in a small cottage on the property that had once been a potting shed. It was fully winterized now, with plumbing and a small kitchen.

“The toilet is leaking again,” Annie said, before noticing the new guest in their midst. “My, my, who is this handsome fellow?” Annie approached Nick with her head tilted back, so she could see out of the bottom half of her bifocals. “Are you a friend of Jennifer’s?”

“He’s our guest from New York,” Jennifer’s father explained. “Nick, this is my sister. She used to work as a midwife in Northern B.C. but now she lives with us.”

“A midwife. You must have many interesting stories.”

Annie beamed, then in a move more fitting of a southern belle than a northern midwife, took his arm. “I most certainly do. You must join us for afternoon tea.”

Jennifer was all but pushed to the side as her father and aunt claimed the new guest and led him inside.

So much for that romantic moment they’d been having.

Her chance for adventure was over before it had really started.

JENNIFER FOLLOWED THE TRIO inside, trying to see the humor in the situation. Wasn’t it just typical of her life that the first time in ages she met a man who made her heart beat faster, her aunt had to show up on the scene complaining of a broken toilet?

Still, it would have been nice if she could have had a few more moments alone with Nick Lancaster…

“Nice picture.” Nick paused to admire a painting Simone had given Jennifer for her thirtieth birthday. It was an Emily Carr, small, but original.

“Thanks,” Jennifer said. “There’s a story—”

“Tea, Jennifer?” her father reminded her. “We shouldn’t keep our guest waiting. I can show him to his room while you put out the spread. He has the suite over the garage, right?”

“Dad,” Jennifer said quietly. “The stairs?” He could only manage them with difficulty now and she knew it would be painful for him.

His face fell and she put a hand to his arm. “I’m sure Nick won’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

“Never mind the tea,” Annie said. “What about my toilet? Jennifer, didn’t you hear me tell you that it’s leaking?”

Had she fallen down a rabbit hole when she’d been out in the garden? Since Nick Lancaster’s arrival, it seemed her family had gone crazy. “I’ll phone someone to fix it,” she promised her aunt. “But I think it can wait until—”

“I could take a look at it,” Nick offered. “While you’re preparing the tea.”

“Thank you, but no. You’re a guest. Aunt Annie, could you please pour—”

“I don’t mind,” Nick insisted. Cleverly, he put his case to her aunt. “I assure you I’ve had some practice in the area of home repairs. My parents split when I was a teenager and my mother was not mechanically inclined. Fortunately, I had a grandfather who bought me a toolbox and taught me the basics.”

“Including leaking toilets?” Annie’s keen blue eyes were begging not to be disappointed.

“Including leaking toilets.”

“Oh, good,” Jennifer said, only just managing not to roll her eyes. “Maybe you can look at the squeaking hinge on the oven door next.”

Nick seemed surprised, but quickly nodded. “Sure, that wouldn’t be—”

“I was joking! You’re a paying guest. I don’t want you doing the chores around here.” She tried to transmit a reproachful message to Annie, but her aunt was still gazing adoringly at Nick. The old woman’s face actually broke into a beam when he took her arm and asked her to lead him to the problem.

Jennifer’s father grabbed his cane and followed.

I love my family, Jennifer reminded herself, as she made her way to the kitchen. It was the largest room in the house, and included an eating area where breakfasts were served every morning at eight.

Jennifer had scones for the tea, clotted cream from a nearby dairy and homemade peach-blue-berry-lavender preserves. She put on the kettle for tea, then set out her mother’s china.

She was slicing a lemon, when she heard someone enter from the hall. Not recognizing the uneven gait of her father, or her aunt’s characteristic shuffling, she figured it had to be Nick.

“Finished with the toilet already?”

“It needs a new seal. I’ll have to go to a hardware store for supplies. Your father is helping your aunt mop up the floor. He said to tell you they’ll be in shortly.”

Nick slipped behind the island that separated the kitchen from the seating area. Guests didn’t usually stray into her territory, and Jennifer felt her shoulders tighten with the awareness that he was watching her.

“Can I get you something?” she asked, hoping he would take the hint and sit down.

“No, thanks.”

Instead, he gravitated to the collage of photographs and postcards on the near side of the fridge. After studying them for about a minute he asked, “When were you in Europe?”

“Six years ago.” Jennifer couldn’t resist checking over the collection, too. After so many years, you’d think some of the pleasure would have worn thin. But no, just one glance at that photo of her and Simone at the Café Liberté, and she could feel the exciting buzz in her stomach that had stayed with her for the duration of that once-in-a-lifetime trip.

“You look like you were having a good time.”

“The best.” For three weeks she’d had no one to look after but herself. Simone had let her set the agenda, and they’d hopped a train for a different country on the smallest of whims.

“Who’s your traveling companion? You know, she looks a little like—”

“Simone DeRosier? Yes, that’s her. She used to spend her summers here on the island.” Mentioning her friend, Jennifer grew cautious. She was used to visitors being curious about Simone, and Jennifer had learned long ago to be discreet.

“Really. You knew Simone DeRosier?”

“We were friends, yes.”

“And what’s this?”

Nick pointed out another photograph, a group shot of the forget-me-not gang the summer before high school graduation.

“Just my friends.” Again, she felt a shot of nostalgic warmth. They’d had so much fun in those days. In many ways, those summers together had been the best days of her life.

“I recognize Simone. And this man next to her. I remember him from the papers. Isn’t he the guy that—”

“Yes,” Jennifer said, before he could put the rest of his thought into words.

“It’s kind of spooky to see them standing next to each other like that.”

When she’d found out the truth about Emerson, Jennifer had felt the same way. She’d put that photograph aside for a while. But after some time had passed, she’d realized that she didn’t want to wipe out her memories.

Yes, Emerson had turned out to be a monster. But once he’d been their friend. She wanted to remember the good things about him, not the bad.

The kettle began to whistle and Jennifer turned from the mementoes of her former life to pour the water into the pot. “This needs to steep for five minutes. If you’d like, I could show you your room now.”

Nick’s eyes were on her, and the magic she’d felt earlier began to build again. Attraction. Interest. Sexual awareness.

Then his gaze drifted back to the corkboard. “I’m in no hurry. I’d like to hear more about your trip. And your friends. Do you have more photographs?”

She laughed. Did she have more? There was a whole box full in the attic. “I was always the one lugging the camera around. But you need to get settled after your long trip. I’m sorry things were so chaotic on your arrival. My family can be a little much at times.”

Nick smiled at her and she was suddenly experiencing that breathless thing again. He had to stop looking at her this way. It was…unnerving.

“Your suitcase?” she asked, breaking the moment.

Nick’s smile turned rueful. “In the back of the Rover. I’ll go get it.”

She led him back to the entrance then waited while he retrieved his luggage—one very large suitcase and a briefcase that looked as though it contained a laptop computer.

“Up these stairs… Are you okay with that suitcase?”

“Sure. Michele did tell you I was planning to stay for a month?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes as she replied, “That won’t be a problem.”

At the landing she turned left, away from the other two doors. “We have guests staying in both these rooms but they’re out exploring for the day.”

“Where’s your room?”

People often asked her this, and yet the question felt intimate coming from Nick. Again, she felt too self-conscious to look at him as she answered, “We have three bedrooms on the main level. One’s an office, then my father and I each have a room.”

She opened the door to the suite, which had been added a few years ago. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. It’s very private up here and you have your own bathroom.”

Nick stepped over the threshold, but instead of inspecting the solid wood furnishings or admiring the good-quality cotton bedding, he focused on her.

“Don’t apologize for your family. I like them. And I didn’t mind about the toilet. Really, I’m glad to help.”

He sounded sincere and kind. Considering his looks and his fantastic build, it seemed too good to be true.

There had to be a catch. He probably had a girlfriend—or several—waiting for him at home.

“Let me know if you need anything. And if you’d like some tea, you know where to find it.”

“I’ll be right down. But I do have one additional request.”

“Yes?”

“Would you show me around the island tomorrow?”

Was he serious? She caught her breath, then nodded. “Sure.”

She hoped she didn’t sound like this was a big deal, but to her it was. She had dated. She’d had boyfriends. One she’d almost married. But none of the guys from her past could measure up to this one. It seemed like her chance at adventure hadn’t been lost after all.

NICK HADN’T THOUGHT ABOUT the fact that Jennifer might have photographs. Pictures from Simone’s formative years on Summer Island would really complete the middle section of his book. Nick decided that priority number one would be getting her permission to use some of them. It shouldn’t be hard. She was clearly taken with him. And it wouldn’t be difficult for him to simulate an interest in her.

She was a pretty woman. Easy natured. Naturally kind. Once they’d had a chance to get to know one another, he’d let her know what he was writing about. The sort of person Jennifer was, she’d probably offer to help before he even needed to ask.

After a quick washup, Nick trooped back down for tea, as he’d promised. It didn’t take much to charm the aunt. All he had to do was listen to several of her midwife stories. He didn’t even need to fake his interest. The stories were actually fascinating.

Jennifer’s father was just as easy to connect with. Philip March was a history buff and he was impressed that Nick knew a bit about affairs north of the border.

“Dad owns every book Pierre Berton ever wrote,” Jennifer told Nick.

“I’ve read some of his myself,” Nick said. “My favorite was Flames Across the Border.”

Philip’s eyes gleamed as he leaned back and stretched out his legs. He looked like he was about to start a long-winded conversation, and apparently Jennifer thought so, too, because she patted Nick’s arm in a fortifying way, then crossed the room to pour more tea.

Nick’s eyes followed her as he listened to her father. She moved gracefully, light and fast on her feet like someone who squeezed a lot into a day. She’d been so reticent earlier, when he’d asked questions about Simone and the other forget-me-not friends. He wondered how long it would take to get her to relax around him.

To trust him.

As she lifted a dainty tea cup to her mouth, he felt a little stab of guilt. He had a feeling the woman was as innocent and naive as she appeared. Which must be why he suddenly felt like the big bad wolf.

Nick rehashed with Philip the political motivations behind the War of 1812—the only time in history that Canadians and Americans had taken up arms against each other.

Tea stretched out so long, it became dinner. Jennifer poured tea and refilled the jars of cream and jelly several times. Two sisters in their sixties, introduced to him as Ruth and Eileen Tisdale, returned exhausted and anxious for an early night after a day spent hiking in Arbutus Grove Provincial Park.

An hour later, a couple from Vancouver celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary, returned from their dinner at the Owl’s Nest. They were in their late forties, but they were so vibrant and fit they seemed much younger. They chatted only briefly, before disappearing up to their room.

Determined to get Jenn to himself for a bit, Nick kept talking until he’d exhausted even Philip March’s interest in history. When Annie announced it was her bedtime, Jennifer’s father reluctantly pulled himself out of his chair and said his good night, too.

At last Jennifer and Nick were alone.

The house was dark except for the dimmed light from over the table. The only sounds were the groans of old plumbing, the creaking of a house settling for the night.

Jennifer seemed a little uptight as she tapped her fingernails on the scarred wood table. He wondered what would relax her.

“Do you have any music?”

She looked relieved as she got up to turn on the stereo. “What do you like? Rock, country, classical, jazz? We have it all.”

“Do you have any of your friend’s CDs?” He cursed himself as her shoulders tightened. “But anything jazz would be good,” he amended.

She slipped on a disk from another Vancouver artist he recognized: Diana Krall.

“I picked up a case of wine after I crossed the border. How about we open a bottle?”

“That sounds nice.”

Encouraged, he ended up bringing in two bottles and once Jennifer had a glass in her hand, she finally seemed more at ease.

“I like this,” he said.

She must have thought he meant the music, because she replied, “Simone used to complain that this CD was too bland.”

Nick couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I can see why she would say that. Simone’s music really stood out.”

Jennifer took another sip of her wine.

Nick hesitated. Decided to give it another try. “Forget Me Not, Old Friend, for instance. That was a real groundbreaker.”

The song had catapulted Simone to instant fame. Many critics still considered it the best piece of music she’d ever produced.

Of course one of the reasons the song was so unforgettable was because of the question it posed.

You see a comet cross the sky, you make a wish, it passes by; but will you remember me at the brilliant end?

Forget me not, my one true friend.

Who was the one true friend Simone had been singing about? After years of research, Nick was almost certain it had to be one of the gang from Summer Island.

But which one? Harrison, the ex-husband? Emerson, the man who had been so obsessed with Simone he’d been driven to murder? Gabe, the spurned lover? Aidan, the loyal friend of the husband?

Or Jennifer, Simone’s closest—and perhaps only—girlfriend?

Nick knew he couldn’t finish his book until he had the answer. But it didn’t seem he’d get any clues from Jennifer. At least not tonight. She still hadn’t replied to his comment about the forget-me-not song and he worried that he’d get her suspicious if he raised the subject again.

Be patient, Lancaster, he counseled himself. After all, he had a month to get what he needed.

CHAPTER THREE

JENNIFER OPENED HER EYES, certain that the announcer on her radio alarm had made a mistake. It couldn’t be quarter to eight. She never slept in.

Morning was the craziest time of Jennifer’s day. She usually prepared as much as she could the night before: setting the table, mixing the dough for muffins or scones, filling the coffeemaker with fresh grounds and water so all she’d need to do was press a button in the morning.

But last night she’d done none of that. She and Nick had talked until past midnight. Since she’d been too tired to deal with her usual late-night chores, she’d set the alarm a little earlier for the next morning.

But somehow she’d slept through it. Jennifer rubbed her eyes, then confirmed the time for herself. Damn. She only had fifteen minutes until she was supposed to serve breakfast to her five guests, plus her father and aunt.

She pulled herself out of her warm, lavender-scented sheets. Winced. Her head ached.

Then she remembered the wine she and Nick had shared last night.

When was the last time she’d had more than one or two glasses? She couldn’t remember.

She grabbed jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then slipped out to the bathroom. Sounds of someone cooking came from the kitchen. Miracle of miracles, her father must be up preparing the breakfast. She washed quickly, then hurried out to help him.

“Good morning, Jennifer.” Her father peered over his bifocals at her, then blinked as if he couldn’t quite focus this early in the morning.

He looked like a crotchety old man with his disheveled gray hair and whiskers bristling on his chin. His lean frame was lost in an oversize sweatshirt and pants that seemed as if they’d fall to the ground given one good tug. But he was definitely her hero this morning.

“Thanks, Dad.” She gave him a kiss, then checked the coffee machine. Good, he’d already switched it on. She pulled out place mats, then set the table. Her father tossed a spoonful of salt into a big bowl of batter. “What’s on the menu?”

“Pancakes with fresh blueberries. I picked ’em this morning.”

“That sounds great.” Jennifer pulled out the blender to make smoothies…one of the B and B specials. She grabbed bananas and strawberries from the freezer and blended them with vanilla yogurt and milk.

The first of the guests came into the kitchen just as she was pouring thick smoothies into tall glasses. Steve and Laura Waterton were looking forward to renting kayaks and heading for the Broken Islands.

As Jennifer answered their questions about the weather forecast, the Tisdale sisters came down.

“How did you sleep?” Jennifer asked as she poured them each a cup of coffee.

“The birds were dreadfully noisy,” Ruth said. “The racket started before dawn.”

“I thought the singing was lovely,” Eileen said. “We have so few songbirds in the city, anymore. Just robins and sparrows, really. The odd chickadee.”

Jennifer wasn’t surprised that they each felt differently about the morning birdsong. The sisters seemed to be direct opposites in everything from looks—Ruth was long and lean with angular features, while Eileen was short and plump and pretty—to temperament.

“I suppose I’ll have to sleep with the window closed tonight.” Ruth slid into the chair with the best view of the gardens.

Eileen, unperturbed by her sister’s grumbling, smiled and took the seat across from her sister.

The final guest appeared then. “Good morning, everyone.”

Nick’s entrance immediately brightened the mood of the room. Jennifer didn’t think she was the only one who felt it. Even Ruth managed a smile and a word of welcome.

He helped himself to coffee, then sat at the one remaining place setting. Jennifer passed around glasses of smoothie and when she reached him, he touched her arm.

“When are you free?” he asked.

She felt the blood shoot up to her face. “I need to clean the kitchen and wash a few loads of laundry.” The Waterton’s room had to be prepared for new guests. “Then I have my morning yoga class. I’m finished around eleven-thirty.”

Most afternoons she gardened. But today, she would make an exception.

“I saw the sign to the yoga studio on my drive from the ferry. Orange-and-blue colored building?”

“That’s the one.”

“How about I pick you up and we go on from there?”

“That would be fine.” Fine? Talk about an under-statement. She couldn’t remember when she’d looked forward to something as much as this. She’d had so much fun talking to him last night. Once they’d gone to their separate rooms, she’d stayed up for hours replaying their conversation. After his awkward question about the forget-me-not song—she always hated when that subject came up—they’d discussed travel. Nick had been to a lot of places. Not overseas, but he’d visited almost every state, as well as much of Mexico and Central America.

She’d drunk in every story, every detail.

“Pancakes are ready,” her father announced, bringing a laden platter to the table.

The pancakes were thinner than usual, with crispy edges. A little concerned, Jennifer went to the stove and sampled one of the pancakes still on the griddle.

She couldn’t tell what was wrong, but it didn’t taste right. She glanced back at the table and watched as Nick lifted a forkful of pancake to his mouth. He chewed, then stopped. A look of mild surprise crossed his face. He reached for his cup of coffee.

“These are different,” Steve Waterton said.

“They certainly are.” Ruth pinched her mouth and set down her fork.

“I did a little improvising today,” her father said proudly, clearly taking the comments as compliments. “Tossed in a few splashes of white wine. What do you think?”

Jennifer’s gaze shot to the spot on the counter where she’d left the bottles after her late night conversation with Nick. There’d been about a third of a bottle left when she went to bed, but now both bottles were empty.

At the table, everyone was silent for a moment. Nick scooped more pancake onto his fork. “Very Parisian,” he pronounced.

“They say you can add white wine to anything,” her father said.

Obviously he’d been watching too many cooking shows.

“That may be true, but I hope you didn’t add any to the coffee.” Ruth picked up her mug and sniffed the steaming liquid suspiciously.

Her father laughed and Jennifer forced herself to join in, though she strongly suspected Ruth had not meant her comment as a joke.

“Eat up,” her father said. “I’ve got plenty more in the kitchen.” He joined her by the griddle, picked up the spatula. “Why don’t you sit down at the counter and eat, too, Jennifer? I’ve got this covered.”

She’d been about to suggest she defrost some muffins she kept in the freezer for emergencies. But she could just imagine how her father’s face would fall if she did that. He was so pleased with himself, with his efforts to save her the trouble of preparing breakfast for once.

His intentions were good. But why, oh why, couldn’t he have followed the recipe that she, and her mother before her, had been using with great success for the past thirty years?

“Thanks, Dad. I’d love some pancakes.”

He carefully flipped three onto a plate and handed it to her. “You work too hard, Jennifer. I should handle breakfast for you more often.”

“…NINE AND TEN,” MOLLY Springfield finished counting, then curled her spine up from the yoga mat and rested her palms on her knees. “That’s it for this morning, everyone. Please take your time coming up from the floor.”

Molly moved to the back of the room where she gradually brightened the lighting and lowered the thermostat to normal room temperature. She toweled off her face and the back of her neck, then slipped a light, hooded jacket over her bright red sports bra.

A few of the participants were rising now. One of the first, as usual, was Jennifer. She had a lithe body and the postures came to her easily. But she tended to approach each session like a workout, rather than the spiritual refresher it was meant to be.

Observing Jennifer roll up her yoga mat quickly and efficiently, Molly reflected that if anyone needed the relaxing, calming effects of yoga, it was Jennifer. She was always rushing, always busy, too thin, too stressed. She ran the family business practically on her own and had to look after not only her elderly father, but now her aunt, as well.

Then there were her volunteer projects.

Jennifer never turned down anyone who asked for a favor. She was so kindhearted. Too kindhearted. A few times now Molly had tried to convince her that she took on too much, but she wouldn’t listen. Still, Jennifer was her best friend on the island and Molly did not intend to give up on her.

A gray-haired grandmother of five smiled up at Molly from the floor. Agnes was still fully reclined on her mat, looking refreshed and relaxed. “That was great, Molly. My hips feel so much better since I started coming here.”

“I’m glad you made it out today, Agnes.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Especially now that all the kiddies are back in school.” Agnes rolled onto her side, then gently eased her body into a sitting position. She’d had surgery three months ago, but you’d never know to look at her now.

Though she’d been the first up from the floor, Jennifer waited until all the others had left before she approached Molly.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

“Can you stay for a cup of tea?”

Jennifer’s cheeks, already rosy, seemed to go hotter. “Not today. Sorry.”

“Errands?”

“Um…” Jennifer fussed with the zipper on her sweatshirt.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“No. No.”

Molly followed her friend out of the renovated garage to the garden. Across the street the Kincaid’s beautiful Victorian home was a familiar, benevolent presence. Molly waved at Justine Kincaid who was sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair. It looked like she was nursing six-month-old Erica. The two of them were alone this week, as Harrison had taken his daughter Autumn to Seattle for the week.

Molly focused on Jennifer again. Sometimes a blunt question was the only way to find out what you wanted to know. “So why can’t you stay for tea?”

Jennifer’s gaze shifted to the side. “It’s just that I have this new guest who wants a tour of the island.”

“I hope you’re charging for your services.”

Jennifer looked at her blankly.

“Come on, Jenn. If you’re going to give up an entire afternoon to show this guest around the island, you ought to be properly reimbursed for your time.”

Jennifer was still staring at her as if she were speaking in a foreign language. “I never even thought of charging him.”

Him. Suddenly Molly saw the situation in a new light. “How old is he, Jenn? Is he cute? Is he single?”

As she peppered questions at her friend, Jennifer’s cheeks grew brighter than ever. Molly grinned. This was great. Jennifer was going out with a guy.

And speaking of the guy, this must be him now, driving up in a dilapidated-looking Land Rover. Molly had an indistinct glimpse of a dark-haired man with a lean face. Then he jumped out of the driver’s seat and headed toward them.

“Oh, he is cute, Jenn. Yum. He doesn’t have a friend or a brother, does he?”

“Molly, it isn’t like that,” Jenn insisted. Yet, her color wasn’t settling down as the man approached.

He was dressed in hiking boots, shorts and a light gray T-shirt. As he drew closer, Molly frowned. He reminded her of someone.

As soon as he spoke, she remembered.

“How was the class, Jennifer? I hope you aren’t too tired for our tour?”

Jennifer said something in reply, but Molly didn’t hear her. She backed up until she felt the solid wall of her house behind her. Oh my God, she couldn’t believe this.

Nick Lancaster. This could not be coincidence. How had he managed to track her to Summer Island?

“THE CLASS WAS GREAT, NICK. Molly’s an excellent instructor.” Jennifer looked around and was surprised to realize she was now alone in the front yard.

“Molly?” The front door of the cottage was closed. Maybe Molly didn’t want to be a third wheel…

Jennifer nearly groaned, remembering Molly’s teasing. This wasn’t a date, she’d told her friend, but she wasn’t sure if Molly had believed her.

It isn’t a date, she reminded herself, as Nick moved a little closer. She slipped a hoodie over her tank top, waiting as he checked out Molly’s house.

“Why did your friend run inside like that?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping to introduce you.”

“Have you known her a long time?”

“About two years. She moved here from Toronto after her mother died.”

“Her mother’s dead?”

“Yes.” Now why would he have asked that? “She has no family at all anymore.”

Nick’s expression grew thoughtful. “Summer Island is a long way from Toronto. Why do you suppose she moved here? Did she know anyone?”

“No, but I’m sure glad she did. She’s become one of my best friends. Hopefully you’ll get a chance to meet her another time.”

“I hope so, too.”

Jennifer glanced back at Molly’s house. It was strange the way she’d disappeared so quickly. But maybe she’d been tired. This had been her third class today.

“So are you ready?” Nick asked.

“Sure.”

On the way to the Rover, Nick caught sight of the Kincaids’ summer home across the street. Justine had been out on the porch earlier, but she and the baby must have gone inside.

“Wow. That’s a nice looking place.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jennifer hesitated. So many visitors came to Summer Island hoping to get a glimpse inside Simone DeRosier’s old summer home that she’d learned to be reticent about pointing it out. But Nick wasn’t just another visitor. “Harrison and Justine Kincaid live there.”

“Harrison Kincaid. Wasn’t he Simone’s husband?”

“Yes.” Jennifer walked around him to the Rover, and after a pause, Nick followed. Once they were both seated, he seemed in no hurry to get moving.

“Didn’t they have a daughter? She would be, what—six or seven?”

“Autumn’s eight now. She’s thrilled about her new sister. Justine had a baby girl this spring.”

“Yes. I’d heard that. You know there’s a rumor going around that Autumn has inherited her mother’s voice.”

Where would he have heard that? Harrison and Justine usually did an excellent job of keeping Harrison’s daughter out of the public eye. Nevertheless, Nick was right. Autumn was tremendously talented. “She’s a natural singer and musician. But Harrison won’t allow her to perform in public. She’s still very young.”

Nick turned back for a final glance at Molly’s house. He seemed about to ask another question, but apparently changed his mind. He started the engine. “So. Where to first?”

Jennifer felt a thrill of anticipation. It was a sunny, warm day, chock-full of possibilities. “I think we should park at Pebble Beach and walk to town. I can fill you in on the island history on the way.”

“Okay. You’re the tour leader.”

Nick smiled at her, and Jennifer felt the effect right down to the tips of her toes. Maybe this wasn’t a date, but she was looking forward to being with Nick. Until it was time to go home and prepare afternoon tea, she was going to pretend she was a young woman without a care in the world.

She directed Nick to Pebble Beach where they parked, then headed straight for the ocean. The beach was strangely deserted for such a fine day. Of course, vacation season was now over and kids were back at school.

As they walked, their shoes crunched on the tiny rocks. “I see why you call this Pebble Beach.”

“We don’t have sandy shorelines on the island. In a way that’s a good thing, because it’s helped keep the tourists away. That, plus the complicated ferry system.”

“I visited Saltspring Island once many years ago. From what I’ve seen so far this island is quite different.”

“We have similar topography and weather, but that’s where it ends. Ask any local—Saltspring is exactly what we don’t want to be.”

“Why not? It’s very popular.”

“Sure. And I like to visit Saltspring, too. In fact, I sell my lavender products through one of the crafts-women there. But Summer Island is just more…real. We aren’t overrun with tourists and artists and back-to-nature types.”

“You don’t like tourists and artists and back-to-nature types?”

His teasing smile gave her that light-headed feeling again. “I don’t have a problem with them. It’s just that they can squeeze out the locals. Most of the people on our island were born here and live here year-round. They’re fishermen and farmers and they don’t want yuppies coming from the city and clogging our little town with specialty coffee shops and upscale hardware stores.”

“So is it an us against them mentality?”

“A little bit,” she admitted.

“What about your friends? Harrison Kincaid lives in Seattle, doesn’t he? And Simone wasn’t a full-time resident, either.”

She laughed. “I don’t make full-time residency a condition for my friendship.” They were on the boardwalk now, the ocean to their right as they headed toward Cedarbrae. How had they ended up talking about her friends again?

She had so many questions to ask him. Last night they’d talked about travels, but nothing personal. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Nick Lancaster. “How long have you been a writer?”

“From the time I could hold a pen in my hand, practically. But I didn’t sell my first book until I was twenty-eight. Since then I’ve been lucky to make a pretty decent living. What about you? I’m assuming you were born and raised here. Did you ever move away for a while?”

“Never.” She couldn’t help sighing as she said this.

“You didn’t go to college or university or anything?”

“I was supposed to. But my mother died the year I graduated high school. I stayed back to help my father adjust…and then he had his stroke. I couldn’t leave then.”

He paused to throw a rock into the ocean. “You never married?”

“No. But once…I came close.” Jennifer didn’t think of her aborted engagement very often. She could hardly picture Barry in her mind, or imagine his voice, or the way it had felt to kiss him.

It was hard to believe she’d once considered linking her life with that of a man who had made such a non-lasting impression. “But that was a long time ago.”

“What about now?” His gaze swept over her. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Please don’t let me blush again. It didn’t mean anything that he was curious. This was the sort of general interest question that people did ask. “No. That’s one drawback about living on a small island. Not many single men, especially by the time you get to your thirties. Molly and I sometimes joke about sending away for mail-order husbands.”

Nick chuckled, and Jennifer waited for him to offer his own romantic history. When he didn’t, she prodded.

“Have you ever been married?”

“Never. Though I came close once, too.”

“Oh?”

“We lived together for a few years. Then she dumped me.”

His smile was self-deprecating and yet so utterly charming that Jennifer felt another twist of her heart. Had he really been dumped? It didn’t seem possible. What woman in her right mind would dump Nick Lancaster? There had to be more to his story, but they’d reached the outskirts of Cedarbrae and Derby’s Diner was before them.

“I’m kind of hungry,” Nick said. “You?”

“Derby’s serves a good lunch. Want to give it a try?”

Nick hesitated a moment, then said, “Actually, I was here for lunch yesterday.”

“Really? So was I.”

“Is that right?” He opened the door for her and they went inside.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN NICK’S EXPERIENCE MOST people loved to talk about themselves. Not Jennifer. He would have found her lack of self-absorption appealing if it hadn’t been so counter to his purposes. Every time he managed to orchestrate the conversation around to her life—and her friends’ lives—Jennifer quickly steered it back to him.

As they made their way to a booth along the far wall, he took stock of all the Simone DeRosier paraphernalia on display. Yesterday he’d been so focused on Molly and Jennifer that he hadn’t noticed the framed photographs and posters.

Despite having seen hundreds of pictures of Simone, and hours of videotape, he was struck anew by how in-your-face beautiful she had been. He wondered if that had ever bothered Jennifer. Most of the women he knew admitted to the odd bit of jealousy. But so far he hadn’t caught a glimpse of it in Jennifer.

Was the woman really too good to be true?

“Anything to drink?” The female server was at their table before they’d opened their menus. She looked and sounded a little grumpy, but Jennifer gave her a warm smile anyway.

“I’ll have a coffee, please, Josie. Thanks a lot.”

The server turned to him and he asked for his usual. “I think I’ll have a double latte, no fat, extra hot.”

The server gaped. “What?”

He winked at Jennifer. “Just coffee for me, too, please.”

The poor woman, now more confused than grouchy shook her head slightly, then walked away, heading for the coffee station next to the kitchen.

“That was mean, Nick, teasing Josie that way.”

And yet she was smiling, if rather reluctantly.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He liked seeing Jennifer smile, though she was still pretty when she didn’t. Yesterday when he’d watched her picking flowers in the garden, he’d had a few moments when he’d actually felt bowled over.

And his reaction had puzzled him. Typically his taste in women ran to urban sophisticates. His ex-fiancée had been—and still was—a senior editor at his publishing house.

Karen was amusing, smart and witty. And, he had to admit it, she’d had a bit of a cruel streak, too. He had a feeling she would have satirized Jennifer’s sweet, unassuming ways.

Don’t you think it’s an act, darling? No one could possibly be that nice.

Yet, she was. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Jennifer March was the real deal.

The server came back with their coffees. Jennifer pushed aside her menu and leaned closer to him. “Do you know what you’d like to eat? The seafood cassoulet is Derby’s specialty.”

He was more of a burger guy himself, but he nodded. “I’ll try it.”

Josie nodded, then scurried back to the kitchen. Jennifer leaned closer. “So tell me about your books.”

He stifled a groan.

“What are they about? How long does it take you to write one?”

She’d beaten him to the punch. Got the conversation rolling in exactly the wrong direction. Now he had no choice but to talk about the very subject he wanted to avoid. “Every book is different. The last one took three years, including research.”

“Is that why you’re here? To do research?”

“Yes.” Nick made a production of passing Jenn the cream and offering her sugar. Then he took a long drink of his coffee, even though it was so hot it scalded the roof of his mouth.

Of course he was eventually going to have to come clean with what he was doing here and what his book was about. He probably should have done so already. But once he did, she’d be more conscious about what she was telling him. This might be his only opportunity to get some unguarded thoughts and opinions.

Nick smiled and Jennifer’s cheeks pinkened again. She was so damned cute and clearly she liked him. Maybe…

No. That was definitely a bad idea. A little flirting, a little fun, sure. But this couldn’t go any further than that.

“A few years ago we had another author stay at our B and B,” Jennifer said. “Craig Richards. Have you heard of him?”

Great. She was talking about writing again. Nick shook his head.

“He was researching a kayakers’ guide to the Gulf Islands. I have an autographed copy of his book in the sitting room.”

Nick wondered if Jennifer would want an autographed copy of his book when he was done. It might be fun to come back here after the book was out and sign some copies for the locals…

But he was getting ahead of himself. He had to write the damn thing first. And to do that, he needed facts. Feeling a little like a tennis player trapped in an endless volley, he looked pointedly at the poster of Simone on the wall beside them.

“I guess the locals are pretty proud of their celebrity.”

Jennifer’s posture tightened. She didn’t look at the poster as she said, “Yes, we are.”

Why was she so guarded every time he mentioned the famous singer? He pretended not to notice the reaction. “So how did you keep up your friendship after she became famous? She must have been very busy.”

“Simone was the kind of person who made things happen. If a hole opened in her schedule, she would be on the phone, arranging things. One day I’d get a call from her, the next I’d be taking the ferry to Vancouver to catch a flight.”

“Is that how your Europe trip happened?”

She nodded. “Simone had the idea on a Tuesday and we were in the air a week later. Between trips we stayed in touch with long phone calls.”

“All worked around her schedule, of course. Her convenience, her availability.”

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “She had more demands on her time than I did.”

Having seen how hard Jennifer worked, Nick doubted that.

“Simone wasn’t perfect, but she was my friend. And I loved her.”

Maybe she had. She sure seemed sincere. But Nick wondered if he might be getting to the source of all that tension he sensed. The friendship seemed to be more one-sided than Jennifer was prepared to admit. “You must have been devastated when she died.”

“It was awful. Especially at first when we believed she’d killed herself.”

Emerson had set up his crime to look like suicide. And for over a year, he’d fooled everyone. During that time there must have been a lot of guilt. And all the forget-me-not friends would have felt it. “It must have been torture for her husband…”

“Yes. Harrison took it the hardest.”

Nick had figured he would have. “But it was Harrison who eventually proved Simone was murdered, right?”

She nodded. “We all thought he was crazy when he first told us his theory. No one more so than Justine. But it turned out that Emerson was the crazy one and Harrison was right.”

“That must have been a real shocker. Had any of you suspected Emerson had these obsessive, romantic feelings for Simone?”

“No. It was always Harrison and Gabe fighting over her, so we were all dumbfounded. But after Emerson killed himself, the RCMP found papers in his house. Apparently in his mind Simone had loved him more than anyone else in the world. When he got up his nerve to tell her he loved her and wanted her to leave Harrison, and she refused, he killed her, then staged the scene to look like suicide. I still can’t believe it.”

Jennifer wasn’t even looking at him as she spoke. Clearly she was reliving the past, still trying to come to grips with the horrible death of her friend.

Poor Jennifer. He felt sympathy for her, and that worried him. It would be crazy for him to let his conscience get in the way now. This was good stuff. He had to keep her talking.

“That wasn’t the first time Emerson committed murder, was it?”

“No. Years ago he killed his parents.”

The articles Nick had read had alluded to past homicides but had been hazy with details. He leaned forward to catch every detail of Jennifer’s answer.

“It was so cold-blooded and…and senseless, Nick. They wanted to retire. That was all. That’s why he killed them.”

“But what did their retirement matter to him?”

“They were going to sell the landscaping company and use the proceeds to buy a place in Arizona. Emerson had worked at the family business all his life.”

“So it was about money?”

“That’s right. For the sake of a few hundred thousand dollars, Emerson rigged the brakes in the family car and his parents died in a horrible accident.”

The color of her eyes grew more intense, thanks to a sudden pooling of tears. Jennifer brushed them away. “But here I am babbling about people you don’t even know. You must be bored.”

Nick cleared his throat. It was time to come clean. He drew the line at lying.

“Actually, Jennifer, I do—”

“Two specials,” Josie announced, arriving at their table with a tray.

Nick sat back in his chair to give her room to unload the plates. Jennifer was smiling at the woman again, chatting about local politics. When the server finally left, the moment was lost.

He’d have to wait for another opportunity to discuss Simone DeRosier and the forget-me-not friends again.

AFTER LUNCH, JENNIFER GAVE Nick the full-blown tour. The island had been explored by the Spanish and the British in the 1700s, but wasn’t settled until the 1850s. Most of the residents worked in small businesses or as farmers or fishermen. Logging wasn’t permitted anywhere on the island, so except for a few cultivated areas, the rain forest remained majestic and untamed.

As they drove leisurely along the main road that circled the island, Jennifer enjoyed sharing her knowledge of the place she’d called home all her life. It was strange how proud she was of a place that sometimes felt like a prison to her.

But the isolation was a big part of the island’s charm. Though they weren’t far, as the crow flies, from the mainland, the combined ferry crossings meant that it took over half a day to travel to either Vancouver or Victoria, the two nearest cities. And because Summer Island was so lightly populated, even during high season the ferry only ran two times a day. If you were late…you were stuck where you were until the next scheduled crossing.

“Arbutus Grove Park.” Nick read aloud the sign on the side of the road, automatically slowing the Rover’s speed at the same time. “Wow, look at those trees.”

The diameter of some of the cedars spanned ten feet or more. Then there were the arbutus, rare broad-leafed evergreens with smooth dark red wood. This was the largest preserved grove of arbutus in all the Gulf Islands.

“This forest is our equivalent to the Queen’s crown jewels. Want to stop and hike down to the ocean?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Nick took her arm as she stepped out of the vehicle, and he kept hold of her hand as they settled on one of the paths that promised a two-kilometer scramble to the rocky shoreline.

“Watch your step,” Nick said as they came across a fallen tree in their path.

He was a courteous companion. Charming. Good company. He’d paid the check for their lunch without her even noticing. And easy to talk to. Jennifer couldn’t remember the last time she’d babbled so much.

He seemed interested in all of it. Her happy, carefree childhood. Aunt Annie’s previous life as a midwife. Her father’s attempts to retain his independence, even though the stroke had robbed him of most of the strength on his left side.

He was wonderfully attentive. The only problem was, whenever she asked a question of him, he wasn’t nearly as forthcoming as she would have liked.

It would be exaggerating to label him secretive…but not by much. She decided to try again. “Have you always lived in New York City?”

“Born and raised.”

She felt a little envious of that. Every time she’d visited Simone there, she’d loved the city. But she’d felt out of her element, too. She suspected no one who hadn’t grown up there could ever feel like they really belonged in a place like New York City.

“It’s hard to imagine a place more different from New York than Summer Island. It must seem very dull here to you.”

Jennifer was having a good time with Nick, but she couldn’t get a read on the man. There were moments when he withdrew into himself and appeared a little cool and distant. But mostly he seemed to enjoy being around her as much as she enjoyed being with him.

In fact, there were times, like now, when she caught a glimpse of something more in his eyes.

“Jennifer?” He pulled gently on her arm, forcing her to stop walking and look at him. “Nothing I’ve seen on Summer Island so far has seemed dull to me.”

She swallowed, trapped in place by the power of his gaze. A slow heat started at her core and began to build. The world collapsed into one small area…the space between him and her.

And then that space began to shrink as he lowered his head and wrapped his arms around her.

“Jennifer?”

She could hardly breathe. “Yes?”

He didn’t have an answer. Only a kiss. And while she’d been expecting it, she hadn’t expected to feel so much from it. The wine last night hadn’t been nearly this intoxicating. She went up on tiptoe and settled her hands tentatively on the firm platform of his shoulders.

His lips brushed softly over hers, settling on her cheek, then her ear, then the side of her head.

More, she wanted to demand. I need more.

But he let her go. He turned his face to the side, looking just a tad guilty. He probably hadn’t planned for that kiss to happen. Now he was worried she was going to read too much into it.

She took a step away from him. “Well. That wasn’t supposed to be part of the tour.”

They laughed uneasily, then continued walking.

“You’re sure you don’t have a boyfriend who’s going to punch my lights out for doing that?”

“No boyfriend. Not in a long time. Wait. That makes me sound just a little pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. At least I hope not since I’m not in a relationship right now, either. But what about the guy you almost married? Does he still live on the island?”

“No. He never did. It was a long-distance thing and it happened a long time ago. His name was Barry Collins.”

“Barry Collins. I feel like I’ve heard that name before. Should I have?”

Only if he read the fine print in the movie magazines. But surely a man like Nick wouldn’t waste his time with reading material like that.

“I met Barry through Simone. She introduced us after one of her concerts. Looking back, I can see our relationship was doomed to fail. We had nothing in common.”

“But he asked you to marry him. So things must have been pretty serious between the two of you. What went wrong?”

She hesitated, not sure how to put it. Everyone here knew the entire story, but Nick didn’t need the long version. “I found out I couldn’t trust him.”

Something dark flashed in Nick’s eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

“The details don’t really matter. Like I said, it was all ages ago.” Barry Collins represented a period of her life that she didn’t like to think back on. What was the point? Best to move on and concentrate on the positive. That was the attitude she always tried to take.

“There’s the beach.” She pointed ahead, using an evasive technique on him for a change.

“Some beach.” The shoreline was raised about ten feet from the water’s edge and this was high tide. He pulled Jennifer close again.

“You didn’t answer my last question,” he said.

Their faces were almost as close as they’d been in the moment before he’d kissed her. Jennifer dampened her lips, then took a breath for courage before she could force herself to meet his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding my questions, too.”

“Not true.”

“Yes, you have.” She loved looking at him, watching the various emotions play upon his face. He had a very expressive mouth. Right now it was being held firmly in check, as if he didn’t want so much as a facial twitch to give him away.

“What do you want to know, Jennifer?”

The hint of playfulness that had been in his eyes earlier was gone. She took his free hand in hers and held on tightly, afraid that she might be venturing into territory she’d rather not know about.

“Start with your book, Nick. Tell me what you’re writing about.”

CHAPTER FIVE

IT SEEMED TO TAKE FOREVER for Nick to answer Jennifer. He opened his mouth a couple of times, before the words finally came out.

“I’m writing a biography,” he said.

Right away Jennifer knew.

She felt as if a cold wind had suddenly swept in from the Pacific. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she stepped backward.

“It’s about Simone.” Her voice sounded flat. Lifeless. Once again, she couldn’t look at him.

Why hadn’t she seen this coming? She’d been crazy to think a man like him would be interested in her.

Jennifer picked up the trail and started back for the road, walking a lot faster than she had on the way down here.

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