The night was dark and Emma shivered despite the warmth of the evening.

Sundance was nowhere in sight. Emma glanced next door at the empty house. No telling what the attraction was, but the dog was always lured by places he shouldn’t explore.

Hearing a scratching noise from the far side of the vacant house, she ventured toward the sound.

But as she walked deeper into the yard, it seemed to get darker, the tall trees blotting out any trace of moonlight. Telling herself not to be silly, she rounded the corner.

Then stopped suddenly.

Lights flicked in the supposedly vacant home. And not normal lights. This looked more like candlelight, shimmering and uneven. Emma swallowed an unexpected taste of fear. Where was Sundance?

Twigs cracked as she shifted her feet, making her jerk around. Her heart pounding, Emma told herself to get a grip. There was no point coming unglued over nothing.

Turning back around, she slammed into something hard, something warm, something alive. The scream in her throat emerged as somthing between a shriek and a croak.

“It’s you!” Seth McAllister spoke in disbelief.

BONNIE K. WINN

is a hopeless romantic who’s written incessantly since the third grade. So it seemed only natural that she turn to romance writing. A seasoned author of historical and contemporary romance, her bestselling books have won numerous awards. Affaire de Coeur chose her as one of the Top Ten Romance Writers in America.

Bonnie loves writing contemporary romance because she can set her stories in the modern cities close to her heart and explore the endlessly fascinating strengths of today’s woman.

Protected Hearts
Bonnie K. Winn

My Beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

—Song of Solomon 2:10–11

For Marita. What would I have done without you after moving to this alien planet? You are friend, family, cohort in criminally delicious humor.

I miss you, Montana girl.

Contents

Prologue

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

Letter to Reader

Prologue

Los Angeles

Rage made the wait tolerable. As Randy watched, assistant district attorney Emily Perry finally arrived home. But the long summer day still held too much light. He needed the cover of darkness.

He’d warned her. His brother was only eighteen—too young to spend the next decade in prison. But A.D.A. Perry hadn’t let up, instead suggesting Kenny needed to be locked away. “For his own good.”

What did she know about it? With her perfect job, house and family… Sure, Ken had pulled a job with a gun, but he was just a kid. Up till then nothing on his rap sheet was felony stuff. But Perry insisted it was only a matter of time before armed robbery escalated to murder. And she didn’t care that Ken was too young to be housed with violent cons. She claimed it was the only way to turn his life around. Since Ken was too old to be sent to juvenile, she said she would recommend the safest prison possible. As though Ken could be safe in any prison. But the D.A. wouldn’t agree to probation, said Ken could be paroled in two years if he kept his nose clean. As long as D.A. Perry was around, his brother wouldn’t stand a chance.

Minutes turned to hours as night set in. Finally, the lights went out in the windows at the front of the house. Only an hour more and then he could be sure. He checked the time every few minutes, the indigo glow of his watch dial the solitary light in the car. Finally he was sure.

Emily Perry left her neighbor’s home by the back door, entering her own yard by the gate at the back that connected the two houses. She felt the lateness of the hour in the inky darkness and the fatigue that played between her shoulder blades.

Emily ran a hand through her short, dark hair. She’d stayed longer than she’d expected, but she didn’t mind donating her time to the neighborhood alliance. As legal counsel, she saved them fees that could instead be used to improve the park-and-rec center.

She rounded the garage, then headed toward the back door, hoping Tom hadn’t locked her out. She glanced at the kitchen window and paused, wondering at the brilliance of the light. It took a few moments for her senses to register the pungent, unexpected smell of smoke.

Tom! Rachel! If they were asleep…

Panicked, she ran. As she neared the house she felt the heat. Before she could reach the door, the bedroom windows exploded, spraying shards of glass. Flames belched out as the sudden supply of air fed the fire.

Screaming for Tom and Rachel, Emily grabbed the doorknob. She ignored the searing burn the hot metal pressed into her hand as she frantically tried to turn the knob. To her horror, it was locked. She spun around and raced toward the front of the house.

As Emily shouted, JoAnn and Paul Morris, her next-door neighbors, ran outside.

“Call 911!”

JoAnn rushed back inside to comply.

Another window blew, the small explosion booming in the quiet street. Heedless of the danger, Emily tried to get inside.

“Emily, no!” Paul grabbed her as she reached for the door.

“I have to get inside!” she screamed, adrenaline propelling her forward.

But Paul was stronger, holding her back.

“Rachel! Tom!” she screamed.

Acrid smoke poured from the windows, searing her lungs, stinging so badly tears poured from her eyes. Or maybe they were from crying, since sobs consumed her as rapidly as the fire that ripped through the house. And took those she loved.

Chapter One

Rosewood, Texas. Two years later.

Seth McAllister ambled down the quiet street of the very quiet town. Rosewood wasn’t what he was used to, but it was what he wanted now.

Having traded in his architectural design firm for a return to his roots, he hoped to establish a remodeling business. The local hardware store should provide a good source of leads.

Spotting the store, he paused outside to glance in. As he did, a woman kneeling in the window display area whirled around. He caught a quick and vivid image of long, blond hair, an arresting face and a slim body.

An instant later her face was even with his. She was obviously startled. Her eyes, an incredible turquoise, widened and her mouth opened a fraction.

Seth pulled back, the contact too close, too immediate.

At the same time, the woman rocked on her heels, looking abashed.

Seth quickly stepped to the door and pushed it open. As he entered, the woman scrambled from the window ledge.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he explained.

She brushed her hands against her jeans. “I’m not usually so jumpy.”

After an awkward moment, he smiled. “Maybe we can start over. I’m Seth McAllister and I’m looking for the manager.”

“Oh,” she replied, still looking flustered. “I’m Emma Duvere.” She gestured halfheartedly toward the window. “I don’t work here. I’m decorating. But you don’t want to hear about that.” She took a breath, before her words came spilling out again. “You said you’re looking for the manager. That’s Luke and he’s out right now. Could you come back later?”

Seth nodded.

“Or you could leave a message for him,” she continued, looking for a paper and pencil in the maze of cartons surrounding her.

“No, thanks. I’ll come back.”

“Okay then.” Mild curiosity kindled in her expression.

But he’d moved to Rosewood to avoid explanations. “Thanks.” Seth left quickly, glancing at his watch. He had an appointment with the realtor at the house he’d rented. It was just as well. He didn’t want to run into the window decorator again. He’d had enough of questions, concern and curiosity for one lifetime.

Emma stared after Seth’s tall, athletic form as he exited. Rosewood’s population was small, but she hadn’t run into him before. She would have noticed his handsome face, his dark hair that looked slightly too long, as if he needed it cut.

Funny. His face so close to hers for those few seconds had been disturbing. She’d had the odd sensation of looking deep into his dark eyes. It had made her feel vulnerable, this soul-searching moment between two strangers.

“Who was that?” Cindy Mallory asked, bringing in a box of fabric.

“Seth McAllister,” she replied, absently rubbing the weltlike scar on the palm of her right hand.

“Well, well. Stranger in town,” Cindy said, smiling. “Tall, dark and definitely handsome.”

Emma reached for the box in Cindy’s arms. “Thanks for helping me today.”

Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t even subtle.”

Emma kept her gaze on the fabric. “What?”

“Let me put it this way. If you’d been driving and changed lanes the way you just changed the subject, you’d be one big car wreck.”

Sighing, Emma dropped the fabric. “Sorry. It was just…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Emma couldn’t explain the connection she had seemed to make with him. It wasn’t something she could put into words. “He could be new to Rosewood.”

“We’ll have to alert the Welcome Wagon. If there’s no Mrs. McAllister in the picture, every single woman in town will volunteer for the assignment.”

Emma doubted he was attached. His eyes were filled with too much loneliness. “Hmm.”

“You’re being the enigmatic one now. Something I didn’t notice about him?”

Emma turned to look at the window, her back to her friend. “No. Just remembering that it wasn’t so long ago that I was a stranger here.”

Cindy’s tone softened. “But it’s home now, isn’t it?”

Emma nodded. She didn’t like to dwell on the time two years earlier when she’d first arrived in Rosewood. She’d left her parents, family and friends behind with no certainty that she would ever see them again.

Cindy seemed to understand what Emma wasn’t saying. “Have you decided on the fabric for the window?” She pointed to the only unopened carton. “That was the last box.”

Gratefully, Emma latched on to the safe subject. “I think so. And, Cindy, I really do appreciate your help. The store’s so busy lately it takes nearly all my time.”

“You know I love the design aspect of creating window displays. Besides, what are friends for?”

Swallowing, Emma silently acknowledged that the friendships she’d forged in Rosewood had rescued her, in so many ways.

The warm fellowship of the Community Church had been a balm to her wounded spirit. Cindy and her friend Katherine Carlson had swept her into their lives. Inviting her into their homes and families, the women had forged a bond that eased the pain, that sometimes diverted the loneliness.

And when Emma had opened her costume store, both had dived in to help, involving other members of the church as well. Without them, Emma doubted she could have set up the shop. At least not so well and so quickly.

In tune with Emma’s quiet mood, Cindy didn’t ask any more questions. Instead they worked together, assembling the design. It didn’t take long. In keeping with the simplicity of the small town, Emma didn’t strive for anything sleek or elaborate. After about an hour, Cindy had to leave to pick up her children, but Emma didn’t mind finishing the window on her own.

Pleased with the end result, she packed up, stopping at her shop to unload the boxes before she went home. The store, Try It On, had emerged after her relocation under the witness protection program. Although they had had no proof Randy Carter was responsible for the fire that had killed Tom and Rachel, the D.A. was convinced he was their arsonist—convinced enough to believe Emma wouldn’t be safe from him.

Initially, Emma had balked at leaving so much of her life behind. Not her occupation, though. She had no heart to practice law anymore. It had cost her too much.

It was a strange thing, as though she’d somehow gone backward in time, erasing that part of her life as wife and mother, starting anew as Emma Duvere. Even her blond hair was new. And she was starting over alone. Alone and lonely.

Sighing, Emma collected the day’s orders to take home. When she’d been younger she’d wavered between her desire to pursue a career in law and follow in her father’s footsteps, or to give in to her creative ambitions. After the horror of Tom and Rachel’s deaths, even her father hadn’t protested when she’d decided to leave the law behind.

The pain of loss clutched her as though it had been two days ago instead of two years.

The shop was quiet, crowded with costumes, bolts of fabrics and accessories. She was outgrowing the small space that had seemed overly generous when she’d purchased it more than a year ago. But now, costumes and all it took to make them filled each bulging nook and cranny.

Her assistant, Tina, had locked up and gone home earlier. The costumes seemed lifeless. No rustle of crinoline or soft swish of silk. They were all tucked in for the night. As she should be. However, today, as every day, she procrastinated, not wanting to leave. This was the most difficult time, coming home at the end of the day, knowing only her pets waited there.

Once Emma left, it didn’t take long to drive from the center of town to her small house. Numb when she first arrived in Rosewood, she hadn’t cared where she lived. But once she accepted the fact that she was in Rosewood for the duration, she’d contacted the U.S. Marshal and made arrangements to find something more suitable than the apartment chosen for her. Although there were complexities because of her new identity, the Marshal had helped her through the maze.

Emma’s home had many qualities of the larger Victorians that filled the town. Detailed gingerbread trim outlined the steep roofline. And the original windows, some of them stained glass, made the place bright and inviting. It was very different from the sleek contemporary home she’d shared with Tom. But she couldn’t bear to duplicate her previous life. And she had always loved the history of older homes, the feeling of continuity from one generation of owners to the next.

Emma pulled in the driveway, glad to see the lights burning cheerfully in her front windows. She took the precaution of using timers so that they were on before she arrived home. Not that crime was a factor in Rosewood. But it was in her life.

As she pushed open the door, her dogs, Butch and Sundance, danced around her feet, tails wagging in furious delight. Butch, a black Scottish terrier, was a touch more reserved. But Sundance, her incorrigible West Highland White terrier, held no such constraints.

As was her habit, she quickly walked to the old-fashioned, country kitchen and opened the door to the backyard. Bouncing bodies of fur charged outside. Without fail her dogs cheered her, making her seem less alone.

After filling their dishes, she glanced into the fridge. She didn’t keep much food on hand. Seemed a waste for just one person. But tonight she wasn’t particularly in the mood for a frozen dinner for one.

Emma glanced at the small pile of mail. Nothing there intrigued her, either. She went back to the door and called for the dogs.

Within a short time Butch trotted over to her, ready to be petted and adored. But Sundance didn’t join them. After a few minutes she called him again. Nothing.

“Where’s your buddy?” she asked Butch.

Sundance was always the one who lagged behind, always the one most apt to get into mischief. She’d had Butch first and when she’d acquired the second dog, Sundance had proved to be more of a challenge. Knowing he would willingly go farther afield than was wise, Emma walked outside, calling his name. Anxiety was never far from the surface, one of the scars she now carried.

The sky was dark and Emma shivered despite the warmth of the evening. Sundance was nowhere in sight. After scouring her own yard, Emma glanced next door at the empty house.

She called out softly, not wishing to disturb any neighbors. Hearing scratching from the other side of the vacant property, she ventured toward the sound.

But as she walked deeper into the yard, it seemed to get darker, the tall trees blotting out any trace of moonlight. Telling herself not to be silly, she rounded the corner.

Then stopped suddenly.

Lights flickered in the supposedly vacant place. Like candlelight, shimmering and uneven. Emma swallowed an unexpected taste of fear. Where was Sundance?

Twigs cracked beneath her light footsteps, making her jerk around. Emma tried to control the ridiculous pounding of her heart. There was no point coming unglued over nothing.

Turning back, she slammed into something hard, something warm, something alive. The scream in her throat emerged as something between a shriek and a croak.

“It’s you! The hardware-store window lady!” Seth McAllister stared at her in disbelief.

Swallowing her fear and trying to disguise her ragged breathing, Emma nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“A better question is what are you doing here?”

Emma’s fear was giving way to annoyance. “Answer my question first.”

“This is my yard, my house.” His clipped tones revealed the man’s equal annoyance.

“That can’t be.” Suspiciously, she backed up a fraction. “This house is vacant.”

“It was until I rented it,” he replied, clearly still annoyed.

“You?”

“Yes. Which brings me back to my question. What are you doing here?”

Not certain whether to believe him and at the same time embarrassed that he might be telling the truth, Emma stuttered. “Sun…Sundance, I was looking for him.”

Despite the dark night, she read the skepticism in his face. “As in Butch and…?”

Oh, this was just too embarrassing to explain. She straightened her shoulders. “Sundance is my dog, a Westie, white, tons of long fur. He has a habit of roaming.”

He glanced over at the open gate. “Maybe if you kept that closed—”

“I only opened it just now to look for Sundance.” Irritated that she was having to explain herself, Emma took the offensive. “I don’t want to sound rude, but how do I know you’ve rented this house? I saw you for the first time today and now you’re lurking outside in the dark.”

“Lurking?” A flash of white teeth showed his amusement. “Are you suggesting I followed you?”

She was grateful for the darkness as she felt her face flush. “If you rented this house, why is it lit by candlelight?”

“Because the broker screwed up. He was supposed to have all the utilities turned on. As you can see, he didn’t.”

Plausible, but experience had taught her that she couldn’t take anything at face value.

“So, where is this alleged dog?” he asked.

Startled from her suspicions, Emma listened for Sundance. She heard a faint barking from the opposite side of the yard farthest from her home. “That sounds like him.”

As she followed the barking, Seth followed her.

It sounded as though the yelping came from underneath the house. Trying to keep one eye on the man while at the same time watching out for Sundance, she crept along until she heard a whimper. “Sundance?”

The whimper grew louder.

“Where is that coming from?” Seth asked, reaching into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a flashlight, turning the bright beam on the path.

The house was on blocks, but wood skirting covered the open area. Cringing, she knew Sundance could find the smallest spot to crawl through and apparently had done just that. “I’m guessing he’s probably underneath the house.”

Seth directed the light over the closed area. “I don’t see how.”

“Terriers are bred to go to ground—to get into impossibly tight spots, then rout out their quarry.”

“Wasn’t aware there was any quarry to be hunted.”

“The house has been empty for a while. Probably field mice have found their way inside.”

“Great,” he muttered. “So, how do we get the dog out?”

“I’ll look for the spot he managed to crawl through and try to open it a little. Can I use the flashlight?”

“No.”

Fear crowded her throat and made her step back. The flashlight was more than adequate as a weapon. But she refused to let panic show in her voice. “What?”

He knelt down. Then, as she would have done, he crawled along the siding, poking for an opening. Was this chivalry? Or did he just want to get rid of her faster?

After several yards, Emma heard Sundance growl. He’d no doubt caught the man’s scent. “Quiet, Sundance.” The growl gave way to a bark, then silence.

“This must be it,” Seth announced, pulling on a flap of board that was now firmly entrenched in the soil. As the dog had wriggled through, he’d cut off his escape when the board had been pushed against some hilled dirt. Seth lifted the board and Sundance burst free.

Standing on his back legs, the dog pawed Emma’s knees until she picked him up. “You rascal,” she chided.

Satisfied that he was still at the center of her affection, Sundance yelped to be released.

“Does he do this sort of thing often?” Seth asked, dusting off his jeans.

Chagrined both by her dog’s actions and her own suspicions, Emma tried to smile as she put Sundance down. “Animals can be a bit unpredictable.” The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the dog latched on to the leg of Seth’s pants, growling again.

“Sundance!” Now thoroughly embarrassed, Emma reached out to unfasten the dog’s grip. “I’m really sorry.”

The man’s face was too shadowed to tell if he was amused or angry. “Looks like he needs to learn not to bite the hand that rescues him.”

Probably, but she didn’t appreciate the criticism. And the tartness of her feelings crept into her voice as she grabbed the dog again. “Thank you for retrieving Sundance.” She wrenched out the rest. “And…I’m sorry he didn’t seem grateful.”

“It’s all right. Now you just have to decide whether I really live here or not.” Turning, Seth left as quietly as he’d arrived.

And Emma’s fear came snaking back. Clutching her dog close, she ran. And didn’t look back.

Chapter Two

Seth couldn’t stop thinking of Emma’s face. It had been filled with fear as she had scurried back to her own house.

What were the chances that she’d live next door? Well, it was a small town. Smaller than he’d realized.

Back inside, the house seemed even emptier. Of course it was empty. He hadn’t brought anything with him from the city other than his clothes. After the divorce, he’d walked away from the house he and Carla had furnished with such optimism and promise. Every room, every object contained a memory he couldn’t bear to take with him. So he’d rented a furnished apartment. Things he had no connection with.

He intended to buy what he needed in Rosewood. But his needs were less these days, his life leaner. In truth, bleaker. But the truth wasn’t an easy companion.

Glancing around the lackluster house, he wondered if he should have bought instead of renting. Then he’d have something to do with himself. But he had no interest in reworking a house for his own use. No matter what he did with it, the place wouldn’t be a home. That was gone forever.

Seth considered his choices. Takeout from the local burger place, reading by flashlight or calling it a night. Without electricity, television wasn’t an option. Venturing back into town held no appeal.

Glancing out the kitchen window, he saw all the lights ablaze in Emma’s house. Nervous type. Maybe she was a small-town spinster, spooked by her own shadow. But when he’d looked into her eyes that afternoon, he hadn’t gotten that impression. He’d seen something he recognized.

He shook his head. He didn’t even know if she was single. She could be married or engaged.

As he opted for his sleeping bag and an early night, Emma’s face flashed through his thoughts. He doubted she was married. She seemed far too alone.

The shop was nuts. Emma had agreed to make costumes for both the local community theater’s adult production as well as their children’s play. While thrilled with the business, she and Tina were crowding each other. And they were running out of space to store the costumes. Plus, the high school’s production wasn’t too far away.

Tina squeezed one more costume on the already tightly packed display rack. “Emma, face it. Either we get more space or we have to cut back on orders.”

It was a decision Emma had been avoiding for some time. But things were coming to a head. “Which would you vote for?”

“You know me, boss. I like being busy.”

Emma felt the same way. “But what if I expand and the business falls off?”

Tina reached for a piece of chalk, marking a hem. “Executive decision, not my bag. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Maybe just a small expansion,” Emma suggested, her tone as tentative as her words.

Tina rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

But change was difficult for Emma. Since her life had been twisted inside out, she clung to the familiar. “I suppose.”

Tina scribbled on the tag that accompanied the order. “By fall carnival, we won’t be able to turn around in here.”

“Good point.” Emma glanced around at the familiar but compact space. Cindy had been urging her to expand for months, confident that Try It On was only going to be more successful, especially since the community theater had acquired a wealthy benefactor.

Adam Benson, a well-known oil man who split his time between L.A. and Houston, had retired to the Hill Country. He had a passion for the arts and didn’t see why moving away from a major center of culture meant he had to be deprived of good theater. He’d endowed the local community theater, donating enough to build a new playhouse. His generosity also enabled them to purchase first-rate costumes. She had enough work to keep her shop busy all year.

Emma frowned as she looked at the overflowing storage space. The community theater now staged six annual productions plus a Christmas play. That was a lot of costumes, which she was in charge of archiving. Where was she going to put them?

The bell over the door tinkled as it opened. The UPS delivery man wheeled in a dolly stacked with boxes. The cartons filled the last bit of empty floor space by the counter. She stifled a groan. Maybe she could add a room. Certainly she could get a few estimates, see if the cost was within reason.

Tina glanced at the latest delivery and then at Emma.

She had to get those estimates now, before the shop literally grew through the roof.

By the time they had sorted out the day’s orders and deliveries, it was growing late. It was dark when she drove home. Again, Emma saw candlelight flickering next door. But rather than instilling fear, this time it triggered guilt. Seth must be her new neighbor—no one burgled the same place two nights in a row. Which meant she hadn’t been very neighborly. Especially since he appeared to still be without power.

She ought to make the effort, cook something for dinner, take it over.

Keeping to her routine, she put the dogs out back—after making certain the gate was firmly closed. Of course, if Sundance smelled something, he’d find a way out. She could have put them in the dog run, a chain-link enclosure with a roof, which they couldn’t escape from. But she didn’t like to limit them to the small space. She watched her dogs carefully, herding them back inside before Sundance could wander.

As soon as they were in the kitchen, she turned all the locks on the back door with a shiver of relief. Her resolve weakening, she opened the refrigerator. She could defrost some chicken. There were enough ingredients in her pantry to assemble some sort of dish to offer her new neighbor. But she thought of the flickering candlelight, the fear she’d felt the previous evening. Closing her eyes, she sank back against the counter.

And her resolve disappeared altogether.

Over the next week Seth distributed more of his business cards than he’d expected to. Still, he was surprised by the phone call from Michael Carlson, setting up today’s meeting. Carlson owned the largest construction company in the region.

Sitting across the desk from him, Michael was gracious but forthright with his proposition. “I get a lot of calls from people who need work done, but the job’s not big enough to dedicate a crew to it. I’d like to have someone reliable who I can refer. Luke over at the hardware store gave me a call, told me about you.”

“In a small town like this I’m surprised you don’t have a list of independent contractors.”

“I do.” Michael smiled ruefully. “I’ve hired the best of them to head my crews. There are still plenty of one man outfits, plumbers, painters, electricians. But not a general contractor I feel good about recommending.”

“Then you’re going to need some references.”

“I’d like to see some of your work.”

Seth nodded. “That’s reasonable. Fact is I haven’t done much contracting in several years.”

“You’re just getting back into it?”

“Getting back to my roots, so to speak. Remodeling paid my way through school.”

“What did you study?”

“Architecture. Which is what I’ve been doing since I graduated.” Seth braced himself, expecting Michael to grill him.

“That’s a great asset for a contractor. Do you have some older jobs I can check out?”

Seth had prepared a list, which he handed to Michael. “The majority are in Dallas. But you’ll find phone numbers there for contacts with several major construction firms.”

“I have to say this is very impressive.” Michael lowered the paper and Seth could see the question in his eyes. Why was Seth going backward on his career path? “Perhaps I should be recruiting you to head one of my crews.”

“I’d rather work on my own.”

Michael met his gaze, his own measuring. “I can respect that. It was hard for me to learn to delegate—especially since I started this business by myself with only a tool belt.”

Seth glanced around the luxurious office. “You’ve done well.”

“I’ve been blessed,” Michael replied simply. “I moved to Rosewood myself not that many years ago. I found the people to be welcoming, genuine. I hope you feel that way.”

“I haven’t been here all that long,” Seth hedged.

“Took me a while, too.” Michael glanced down at the paper. “I’ll make a few calls and get back to you. When would you be ready to take referrals?”

“Any time.”

“You’re all settled in then?”

Seth thought of his near-empty house. “I’m getting there.”

“Good. It doesn’t take much to figure out things in Rosewood, but if you need a hand, call.”

“You haven’t checked my references yet.”

“That’s business. But when you’re new in town sometimes you need a neighbor more than work.”

Seth blinked. “That’s a far cry from how things are done in Dallas.”

Michael chuckled. “I guess so. Before Rosewood I lived in a different town, but it was just as small. So I guess it’s second nature. Welcome.” He extended his hand.

Accepting the handshake, Seth sensed Michael’s sincerity. He was glad to have met this man. If he still believed in signs of good fortune, he would have thought this was one.

A week later, Emma still hadn’t made a solitary neighborly gesture toward Seth McAllister. And that wasn’t like her.

She hadn’t made a decision about enlarging the shop, either. And the situation was past dire. Try It On had just been commissioned to make new choir robes.

Emma was delighted at the chance to update and redesign the robes—the Community Church had a wonderful choir. She was already sketching out ideas in her head. Which was a good thing since her draft board was now buried under the last delivery. She’d considered taking the drafting table home, but that would only complicate matters. The fabric and tools she needed were here at the shop.

Luckily, Cindy had again volunteered to help, this time to organize the overflow. She held up a bolt of fuzzy pink fabric. “Where do you want me to put this?”

The space where the fake fur had been was now filled with another bolt of material. “I swear they multiply at night after I leave.” Emma rubbed her forehead. “For now, on the cutting table.”

“That’s already stacked a mile high.”

Emma sighed. “When did everything get so out of control?”

“It’s not so much out of control—it’s that you’re out of room. Face it, Emma, push has come to shove. Why don’t you call Michael? He’ll give you a fair bid and he won’t run over budget with a bunch of unexpected costs.”

Michael was a friend from church and Emma knew Cindy was right about him. He would be more than fair. “I wish I were more flexible, open to change—it would make this easier.”

“We are who we are,” Cindy replied.

“How did you become so wise?”

“I had plenty of practice doing dumb things. I guess after a while some of it had to sink in.”

Emma finally smiled. Cindy was kind, generous, full of life and fun. But definitely not dumb. “Uh-huh.”

“So, are you going to call Michael?”

“Yes.” Emma took a deep breath. “You’re right, it’s past time. And I trust him completely. How could I go wrong?”

Emma was still coming up with disaster scenarios as she pulled into her driveway that evening. Having taken her courage in hand, she’d called Michael. And he’d recommended one person. Seth McAllister. Her mysterious next-door neighbor. The one she’d deliberately been unneighborly toward.

Surreptitiously, she studied his house as she collected her bag. Why in the world had she convinced herself that the man was a danger? Michael had nothing but high praise for Seth. And Emma had jumped to conclusions. It wasn’t a move worthy of her belief system.

As she walked inside, Emma greeted her dogs absently. When they ran outside, she paused, looking at Seth’s house. She thought of how lonely she’d been when she moved to Rosewood and instantly felt guilty. Well, it wasn’t too late.

She could cook a pretty decent lasagna. And luckily, she had everything she needed. The previous evening she’d made a big vat of spaghetti sauce. Once the wavy lasagna noodles were cooked, it didn’t take long to layer the casserole and then pop it in the oven.

As it baked, she took some time to freshen her makeup and change from her work clothes into a sleeveless yellow cotton shirt, cropped pants and sandals. She added a splash of cologne for courage, then traded her discreet pearl studs for cloisonné earrings that dangled just enough to frame her face. Satisfied, and refusing to primp one more second, she checked on the lasagna. It was ready. Taking a deep breath, she convinced herself that she was, too.

“Okay, boys,” she addressed the dogs. “I’ll be right back.”

Cocking their black and white heads in identical positions, they watched her leave.

“Welcome, neighbor,” she muttered to herself as she approached his house. “No, that sounds like I’m from Mayberry. Welcome to the neighborhood. That’s better. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks.”

Emma jerked her gaze from the benign sidewalk to the not-so-benign expression on Seth’s face. “Um, hello.”

“Hello.”

She stared back at him.

He smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re at a loss for words.”

She blushed with remembered embarrassment. Great. All she could do apparently was babble or stare. “No. Not at all. I’ve come to say welcome.”

His eyebrows lifted so slightly she wondered if she imagined it.

“Again, thank you.”

Emma waved the tips of her oven mitts. “This just came out of the oven. I hope you like lasagna.”

“Yeah. I do. But I’m not sick.”

“It’s not chicken soup. And from experience, I know it’s hard enough to unpack without having to cook.”

“So you cooked for me?”

That assessment seemed too personal, so she lifted the lasagna. “Could we put this in your kitchen?”

“Sure.” He started to reach for the dish.

She pulled it back a few inches. “It’s too hot to handle without the mitts.”

He turned and opened his kitchen door for her.

Emma’s first impression was disappointment. The room was so bland, without any personality. But, of course, he hadn’t had time to decorate. She put the casserole on the cool, empty range burners. “Looks like you haven’t started dinner.”

“No. I’m not into cooking.”

Which meant he probably lived here alone. But she refused to give into the temptation to pry. “When I first moved here I lived on takeout. Some of the neighbors brought cookies, but even I can’t live on sugar and chocolate alone.”

He pointed to a counter piled with plates of cookies, brownies, pies and cakes. Maybe Cindy was right. The word must have gotten out to the single women of Rosewood: handsome, single man on Elm Street. Catch him while he’s fresh.

But Emma didn’t rise to the obvious. “I hope you have a gallon of milk to wash those down with.”

He grimaced.

“Or coffee,” she amended. Self-consciously, she gripped the oven mitts.

“That’s one staple I’m never without. Would you like a cup?”

“I don’t know, I—”

“You aren’t going to leave me to polish off these delicacies by myself, are you?”

Emma didn’t know how to flirt. She was so out of touch, she wasn’t even certain that’s what he was doing. But then it was coffee, not a date. “I guess I could have a cup,” she conceded.

Again she thought she saw that barely visible motion with his brows. “Have you eaten dinner?”

“No. But having a cookie won’t spoil my appetite.”

He scrounged around the counter, finally coming up with two mugs. “Good. Then we can have the lasagna for dessert.”

She flushed. “I don’t mean to impose. I made the casserole for you…and, well, your family.” She stood abruptly, poised to flee.

“No family,” he replied shortly, shifting back into his earlier intense mood.

She was mortified. “I’m not trying to pry.” Her words were stiff. “I’m a private person myself and I don’t appreciate it when well-meaning people poke around in my personal affairs.”

His gaze appraised her. “No harm. No foul. You’d have seen soon enough that I live here alone.”

Because of their close proximity. Which meant he would know the same about her soon enough. “Me, too,” she blurted. “Live alone, I mean. Except for my dogs.”

“The hole-in-the-wall gang; I remember.”

Her nervousness lessened a touch. “Yes. But they’re not breaking and entering today. I left them in the house.”

“They don’t shred your place while you’re gone?”

She smiled. “They have their moments, but for the most part they’re well behaved.”

He didn’t argue the point. “I hope you don’t mind paper plates.”

“Not at all.” There weren’t any moving cartons in the kitchen. Either he’d already unpacked or there was little in the way of dinnerware to fill the cabinets. She wondered if he was recently single.

He put two mugs on the bar beside the disposable plates and plastic forks. Certainly no sense of cozy home and hearth. Her guilt multiplied. She should have made this visit earlier.

Climbing onto the bar stool he indicated, she realized at the last moment that Seth would be sitting close beside her rather than across the safe length of a table. Unaccustomed these past years to a male presence, she caught her breath when his arm brushed hers as he sat on the adjoining stool, then scooped out two generous portions of lasagna. He was tall…tall and powerfully built. Her nerves jumped to alert.

“I hope you like the lasagna…most people like my spaghetti sauce. I use lots of fresh vegetables and let it simmer for hours. And I make a really huge vat, enough so that I can freeze some in smaller containers. And, like this time, I make up some lasagna…I have to bring a casserole to a potluck Saturday night, so I’ll use some of it then.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry. Am I babbling? I babble when I’m…well, when I meet new people.” Men, she added to herself. But none had affected her like this. No doubt it was how close he was. Both beside her now and living in the house next door.

“Don’t apologize. At best I’m not much of a conversationalist. And I don’t know anything about cooking.”

“It’s not usually my favorite subject, either.” She poked her fork into the melted cheese on her lasagna. “Actually, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Wariness tinged his dark eyes.

“Yes. I own a costume and design shop in town, Try It On. That’s the name of the shop, I mean. And I’m thinking of adding on to it. When I first bought the space it seemed more than adequate, but I’m outgrowing it.”

“Business must be good.”

“Yes, actually, it is. But we can barely turn around now. I’ve resisted the inevitable, but I think it’s time I take the plunge.” She met his curious eyes. “Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He studied her. “Why me?”

“Well, Michael Carlson recommended you.”

“You know him?”

She nodded.

“This is a small town.”

“Yes, but I’ve found that to be a good thing in most ways.”

“Hmm. So tell me about this shop of yours.”

Warming to her favorite subject, Emma described at length her business and the store’s layout. “And my assistant, Tina, is certain we’ll pull in even more business now that I’ve started designing storefront displays. You know, like the first time we met.”

His gaze caught hers and she was sharply reminded of the encounter, that intense vulnerability she’d felt.

He glanced away, picking up his coffee. “When do you want a bid on the work?”

She blinked. “I hadn’t decided.”

“My schedule’s open right now.”

But it probably wouldn’t be for long, she realized, with Michael’s glowing recommendation. If she was going to do this, she needed to do more than wade at the shore. It was time to dive in. “Tomorrow then?”

He met her eyes again and she warmed under his intent gaze. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Three

Seth arrived early, well before opening. Emma Duvere was his only client. He didn’t need the money, but he did need the work to keep himself busy, to keep his mind occupied with anything other than memories.

Emma was an odd bird. Quiet and thoughtful one moment. Nervous and distracted the next. He wondered if she was that antsy around all men or if he’d struck some agitated chord. Not that it mattered. She needed him for his work skills, not his social ones.

It didn’t take her long to show him around the small shop. She hadn’t exaggerated. The place was crammed to the limit. As he took measurements he understood why. There wasn’t enough square footage, and the available space wasn’t being used to its potential.

He double-checked the reading on his measuring tape. “Are the dressing rooms used frequently?”

Emma nodded. “All the time. Why?”

“They seem cramped, especially for some of the larger costumes.”

“You’re right—it’s a problem. Still, I hate to give up more of the display area.”

“You don’t have to. If we moved the dressing rooms to one side, we could enlarge them and gain display space.”

“That’s a great idea! My displays seem to be shrinking daily.”

“Would you like me to sketch out some plans? I think most of your space could be put to better use.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “You mean change the entire shop?”

“Not in character, just layout. You need more storage—the obvious place to extend is out back. And if we add a delivery entrance to the new storeroom, it will improve the traffic flow.”

“When the UPS man comes, we do have boxes stacked right in the middle of everything,” she mused. “I knew the shop didn’t have a rear entrance when I bought it, but I hadn’t run a retail business before and I wasn’t really thinking about deliveries.”

“The building has character, which attracts customers. I wouldn’t suggest changing that. We can keep the integrity of the building in the addition, do some faux aging and make it look as though it’s always been here.”

She cocked her head. “It sounds as though you’re far more knowledgeable than a remodeling contractor.”

“I’ve worked in design,” he admitted.

She smiled, not a frantic gesture, but an easy smile that lifted her generous lips and softened her expression. “It’s addictive, isn’t it? Design, I mean.”

“In many ways,” he agreed. But not so much that he couldn’t leave it behind.

Emma’s smile faded. “This all sounds wonderful, but will it cost a fortune?”

“Give me a little time to work up the plans and I’ll put some figures together. In the meantime, I’d like you to think about any other changes you’ve wanted to make. It’s more cost-effective to include them at the beginning.”

“You mean I’ll have to figure out everything now?”

He smiled at the panic in that last word. “No. Plans can be flexible. But if I know going in, for example, that I’ll be enlarging a doorway, I won’t have to reframe it later.”

“That makes sense. It just seems so daunting.”

“If you let it be. Once you agree on a vision for the shop, much like the ones you come up with for your costumes, you simply plan it out and stick to the pattern.”

“If you say so. But when I misjudge a measurement, I don’t have to tear down a wall to correct it.”

“I hope that won’t happen. But it wouldn’t be a disaster. I’ve put up walls I later decided I didn’t want. And they come down a lot faster than they go up.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

She looked so serious and so worried that he amended his brisk, business tone. “Yes. With a good plan, we won’t encounter too many obstacles, and, if we do, they can be dealt with easily enough. Better?”

“Yes. I guess it is. I must sound terribly doubtful, but I’ve had difficulty with changes since I’ve moved to Rosewood.”

Immediately he wondered why.

“And,” she continued, “this is a big change for me. I like the cozy feel of my shop. It’s been good for me. And I’m a little intimidated at the thought of it being so different.”

“Larger doesn’t mean impersonal.”

Relief flickered in her clear turquoise eyes. “You’re so certain?”

“Nothing in life is certain.”

She swallowed and he realized his blunt honesty had touched a sensitive spot. “No, it’s not.”

“Do you still want the sketches and bid?”

“Yes…of course. I can’t be a dinosaur in a space-shuttle world.”

“All right, then. You know where to find me when you’ve had a chance to consider any other changes you want to make.”

She smiled, but he sensed it was only out of politeness. And he hated that he was wondering why. Emma was a neighbor, a possible client. That was all. He didn’t need to know why there was a sadness in her big eyes when she thought no one was looking. And he didn’t need to share his own private pain. He was done with that. Done with anything that could touch his heart.

Emma thanked him for his time and offered him coffee. But he told her he wanted to get started on the plans. And he did. But mainly he wanted to get away from her and the memories she’d accidentally prodded.

By the next evening, Emma’s list had grown beyond her expectations. A special nook for her drafting table would make her job much easier. She could keep her designs separate from the stock and sewing areas. Now that she’d finally decided on the addition, she was growing excited.

She could expand her designs, produce an even greater diversity of costumes. Butch stood on his hind legs and nudged her knee with his nose, seeking attention.

“Am I ignoring you?” she asked, rubbing his ears.

His expression said he adored her regardless.

Still, she wandered into the kitchen, opening the jar of dog treats. Sundance had followed them and sat beside Butch wanting a goody, too. Emma obliged.

As she put the jar back on the counter she glanced outside. The lights were on next door at Seth’s. She wondered if he’d begun her sketches. Emma picked up the list she’d been working on, itching to show it to him.

It wasn’t late. Before she could change her mind Emma marched out the door. Keeping to the neighborly route, she knocked on his kitchen door.

After a few moments, Seth jerked open the door, startled to see her there.

That’s when it occurred to her that she was being presumptuous. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” Lamely she held up the paper. “You said you wanted a list of any changes I could think of.”

“Right. Uh, come in.”

Wishing she hadn’t been so impulsive, Emma entered gingerly. “You know, I could just give you the list, let you read it over.”

“It would be better if we discuss it. Then I can be sure I understand what you want.”

What she wanted right now was to have resisted the urge to dash over here. “Okay.”

He led her through the kitchen to the living room. The only furnishings in the bare room were a large drafting table and a computer desk. He must have gone through a divorce. No one got to their thirties without collecting more than this. Unless it was all lost in a fire.

He pulled the chair from the desk, scooting it next to the drafting table. “Have a seat. I want you to see what I’ve drawn up so far.”

As she did, he straddled the stool in front of the drafting table and once again she was seated within inches of him. Seth didn’t seem to notice, however. The light on top of the board was already on and she realized he must have been working on the plans when she arrived.

She recognized her shop. True to his word, he’d kept the integrity of the architecture. Her gaze was drawn to other specifics, though. “You’ve moved the sales counter, too.”

“It seems crowded now at the front door.” Seth pointed to one side of the sketch. “I’ve opened that space for display area. Instead of only hanging costumes against the walls, you could run two rows where the counter is now. And moving the counter farther back will give you handier access to the new storeroom. You’ll be able to check deliveries without leaving the sales counter.”

She tilted her head, studying the sketch. “When I first opened the shop, I liked greeting customers as they came in, but it has gotten awkward as the space filled up.”

“That and some customers would probably prefer to browse on their own when they first come inside. But you can still keep it personal. Add a few overstuffed chairs and side tables to the alcove. It would give your male customers a place to chill while their wives and girlfriends go through all the racks.”

She smiled at him. “Purse-holders, I call them.”

“Exactly. And they’ll be more patient if you stock a few magazines that don’t have dating quizzes, diets or anything called shabby chic.”

Emma laughed, amused by his accurate description. “Fish & Stream be all right?”

“Yep.”

“I definitely like the idea of the sitting area.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we find a fireplace walled up in the shop, as well.”

“Really?”

“The age of the building tells me it should have a fireplace. The furnace is a later addition.”

“A fireplace could be a great focal point,” she mused.

“What would you think of enlarging the front windows?”

She looked at him with wonder. “That was on my list. Now that I’m doing window design as well, my own displays should be an advertisement.”

“I was thinking bay windows.”

Ooh. Emma loved bay windows. “I can see the curve of the glass, almost like a Victorian curio cabinet! Is that what you mean?”

Surprise lit his eyes. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

Emma warmed beneath his appraising gaze. “I told you I get all caught up in design.”

“So what else is on this list of yours?”

She explained the nook she envisioned for her drafting table.

“That should be situated somewhere quiet. What if it’s part of your office?”

“But I don’t have an office.”

Seth pulled out a second sketch. “The attic isn’t being used for much more than your furnace and duct work. It’s a waste. But I can’t see it being used for display or dressing area. It’s a half story higher than your main level. If we close off the furnace room, we could open up the other part, section off an office/design area for you and a second smaller office.”

“A second office? I don’t even have one now!”

“You’re extending your business, which means more receipts, more records. If you plan ahead, you won’t be crowding yourself into one office, especially if you end up hiring more help.”

She was quiet, reflecting on his suggestions. “Actually, you’ve given it more thought than I have.”

“I’ve designed enlargements for a lot of growing companies. The hardest part for the business owner is to visualize just how much expansion is needed. Most underestimate it. Then you’re looking at another expansion, which doubles the cost. My mother had an expression for it: penny-wise, pound-foolish.”

“I can see that.” She lifted her gaze. “I’m fortunate to have found you.”

He didn’t move a muscle.

“To remodel the shop,” she added quickly. “You clearly know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve had a lot of experience. A good designer gives you options.” He pulled out a third sheet of drawing paper. “Here’s another way to go at it—adding only the storeroom you requested, along with moving the dressing rooms. We can add or take away any of these elements.”

The options were overwhelming. Emma glanced from the scaled-down version to the one she instinctively knew would work best. “I like your original. When you have an estimate, I’ll talk to the bank, make sure they’ll finance the addition.”

He nodded, then withdrew a materials list. “I assume you want to use good materials, but you don’t want to pay for a Jag when a Chevy will do.”

“You read my mind. If the price gets too high, I won’t be able to expand.”

Seth pushed back a bit on his stool. “Have you considered buying or leasing another property? A building that’s already large enough?”

“I don’t want to move. I have a good location—which is the reason I chose it. Why? Are you having second thoughts about the job?”

“No. But you ought to consider every option, whether it means a job for me or not. I’ll firm up the figures. I should have them by tomorrow.”

Emma felt herself deflate. “Wow.”

“Some people agonize over choosing a design for weeks, even longer. Consider yourself ahead of the game.”

“The game’s moving faster than I expected.”

“Emma, it’s your decision. At this point you aren’t committed to anything.”

Commitment—something she would never be ready for. But this was business, not personal. “Let’s go for it. Your estimate, my visit to the bank.” She took a breath, hoping what she was about to say was true. “I’m ready.”

Seth met her gaze and Emma wondered if she saw doubt in his expression. No wonder. She wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence. Change. Maybe this time she didn’t have to run from it.

Randy Carter clicked off his cell phone, then stared at the dull green living-room wall. The pair of faded, bucolic pictures were the same ones his mother had hung nearly thirty years ago. The tired landscapes were the closest his family had ever come to the country.

It wasn’t sentiment that kept him from changing the dreary decor. His mother had died long ago, but Randy didn’t particularly miss her. She had been a misery, always carrying on about his father, a man who’d left them when Randy was ten, Ken still in diapers. Randy didn’t miss his father, either. The old man hadn’t wanted the burden of a couple of kids.

There was only one person Randy cared about—his younger brother. No one had messed with Ken when he was growing up, shielded by Randy’s heavy fist. And he had passed on a lot of his street sense, but not enough to keep Ken out of trouble.

Ken was young, too young to be sent to a federal pen. But that D.A., that woman D.A. wouldn’t listen. And now…

Abruptly Randy stood, stalking over to Ken’s empty room. Now Ken was hurt. Beaten. And it was bad. Bad enough to put him in the infirmary, the warden’s assistant had told him. Bad enough that Ken had been rushed to surgery because of internal bleeding.

No one did that to Kenny and got away with it. Randy didn’t blame the inmates. They were burning off the anger being behind bars caused.

It was her. Emily Perry. She was to blame. Curling his fingers into a fist he pounded the wall. White dust flew from the destroyed sheetrock. She’d gotten away once. She wouldn’t again.

Chapter Four

“This prospectus is very professional,” Harry Dodd told Emma. Although he was the sole loan officer, his desk merited a small office in the bank lobby. “A lot of small businesses just have a few scraps of paper they call their records.”

Emma couldn’t divulge her legal background. “I like to keep everything in order. Which brings me to you today. I’ve outgrown my current space. As you can see from my figures, the business has grown appreciably since I opened the shop.”

Harry nodded. “Impressive. And you own the building?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a mortgage?”

“Yes.” She’d used a good deal of her insurance money for a down payment, but it hadn’t been enough to buy the shop outright. She hoped that wouldn’t block her loan.

He didn’t seem perturbed, though. “I know the building you’re in. The last business there had a good run, over forty years. Maybe with this addition you will, too.”

She brightened, scooting forward to the edge of her chair.

Harry Dodd looked up from the papers. “I think we can do business, Ms. Duvere.”

Relief made her smile. “I’m so glad to hear that. I think it’s a wonderful location and I don’t want to move.” She hesitated. “The shop means a great deal to me.”

“That’s the feeling that keeps Rosewood alive. Pride, a sense of ownership in the town. I see you’ve only been living here a couple of years.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Dodd assured her. “I’m encouraged when new businesses choose Rosewood. Big or small.” He jotted down a few notes. “I’ll run a credit report, but I don’t anticipate any problems. I’ll draw up the paperwork today.”

“That quickly?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes. It’s straightforward.” He glanced at his desk calendar. “Can you come in tomorrow? I’ll need a few signatures, and you can collect your check.”

Emma was stunned. It was as though everything had been pushed into high gear. “Yes, that will be fine. Thank you, Mr. Dodd.”

He stood, extending his hand. “You’ll find that we may be a small town, but we’d like to think we’re part of the twenty-first century.”

They shook hands. “I’ve learned that small-town thinking is something to be valued.”

Mr. Dodd’s expression showed his approval.

Emma was optimistic as she left the bank. It was a clear, beautiful day. On impulse, she walked to her shop.

Century-old trees lined the street, a link from Rosewood’s Victorian past to the present. A sprinkling of pedestrians strolled the shaded sidewalks and some cars rolled by. She loved the quiet, the sense of solidity. And the pace. Not frantic, not too sleepy.

Unlike many towns in rural America, Rosewood’s downtown thrived. Although the buildings were old, they weren’t shabby reminders of better times. They housed vital businesses—the drugstore, an ice cream and soda shop that boasted original marble counters, the hardware store and others.

As Emma examined the hardware window she’d decorated, she shook her head at the changes put in motion since she’d met Seth.

At her own shop, she smiled at the jingle of the bell as she opened the door. Tina was with a customer, but when she spotted Emma she excused herself, practically running across the store. “Well?”

“They said yes.”

“Hallelujah! So when does the remodeling start?”

Emma blinked. “I haven’t set a date yet since I didn’t know what the bank would say.”

“Then you need to call that yummy contractor right away.”

“Yummy?” Emma echoed.

Tina rolled her eyes. “As though you didn’t notice. Fine. Phone that capable contractor and see when he can start.”

There were times Emma wondered who was really in charge of the shop. But it didn’t bother her. It was good to work as a team.

With Tina’s eyes fastened on her, Emma stowed her purse beneath the counter and reached for the phone.

Seth answered on the second ring. He was ready to start immediately. She mouthed the word tomorrow in Tina’s direction. “Okay, then. That’ll be great.”

Tina crossed to her side in a flash as she hung up the phone. “I can’t wait!”

Emma smiled weakly. There was no turning back now.

After a long night, Emma decided she had over-reacted. Growth for her business was a good thing. It didn’t mean she’d forgotten the past. She’d been forced to move away from L.A. and establish a new life, it hadn’t been her choice. Somehow, becoming too successful or happy had seemed like a betrayal, as though she was forgetting Rachel and Tom, leaving them behind.

They deserved more. They were more than painful memories. She thought of her late husband’s smile, of baby Rachel’s laughter. That’s what she needed to remember.

She kept that thought close as she went to the bank. She picked up the check without a hitch. Afterward, she stopped by the bakery for muffins and cookies. Suddenly, it seemed as though a celebration was in order. And she was certain Tom and Rachel would approve.

Humming as she sailed into the shop, her eyes widened in surprise. Seth had already erected the scaffolding. As she walked deeper into the shop, she saw Tina through the open curtain of the back room. The shop wasn’t open yet, but there was a flurry of activity.

“Hey, boss!” Tina greeted her, hands filled with a carton. “Yum, muffins. Looks like you got cranberry-orange and poppyseed.”

“Yes.” Absently Emma placed the muffins on the counter. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d get started on the things that need to go in the storage unit,” Tina replied.

“We have a storage unit?”

“Out back.” Tina put down her carton and reached for a muffin. “It’s portable.”

“I see.” But she didn’t.

“I started with stuff from the storeroom that we don’t use very often. I figured that would be your plan.” Tina glanced up from her muffin. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Dazed, Emma felt helpless in the ebb of change.

“Everything go all right at the bank?” Tina asked.

“Yes. Actually much quicker and easier than I thought.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Tina, you see too much.”

“It’s a character flaw,” she replied, unperturbed. “Did you have other ideas about the storage unit?”

Emma shook her head. “I’m glad you got started. I just…”

Tina pinched a cranberry from her muffin. “You just what?”

“I really don’t have a plan. And that’s not a very propitious beginning.”

Tina frowned. “You drew up a great plan for the bank.”

“That was on paper,” Emma reminded her.

“We don’t work with a plan, and look how good business has been.”

Emma returned the smile. It had seemed as though Tina had simply wandered into her shop the first day it opened, but Emma believed the Lord had nudged the woman her way. She was both right hand and friend.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

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

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