Does she even need a hero?

Summer Lane is no damsel in distress. For the past two years, she’s been battling her way back from her worst nightmare all by herself. So she doesn’t need the fabulous former Marine Zach Marshall swooping in to save her.

But she needn’t worry. Zach has hung up his shining armor. His instinct to rescue has only brought him heartache, and he’s not about to risk it all again—even though everything about Summer makes him yearn to help. But she just might accept his challenge to step up and conquer her fears on her own. Even her deepest fears, like trust...and love.

Summer hadn’t seen it coming.

One minute, Zach was at the head of the class. The next, his big arms wrapped around her and saved her from hitting the mat, hard.

In the tangle of arms and legs, it took a few seconds to get her bearings. When she did, Summer gazed into his blue-green eyes and searched the oh-so-serious face that hovered inches from hers.

“If this was some sort of demonstration, you should have asked for volunteers. I don’t appreciate being your guinea pig.”

Zach’s left eyebrow rose and his mouth slanted in a sly grin.

“Are you all right?” one of her classmates asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she bit out, “when this big gorilla lets me up.”

She waited, but Zach didn’t move.

“Let me up,” she whispered.

“Make me,” he whispered back.

Dear Reader,

According to the 10-year National Crime Victimization Survey (compiled by the Bureau of Justice Statistics), nearly one million violence-against-women cases are reported every year, and psychiatric professionals state that approximately 31 percent of their caseloads are made up of female patients traumatized by a violent attack.

These startling statistics made me wonder: What happens to women like my friend Brit (not her real name), who don’t reach out for professional help? “The biggest regret of my life,” she says, “is that I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t need anyone or anything that I let the love of my life slip right through my fingers.”

When Once a Marine begins, it seems our heroine might choose that same sad path. She has a lot to discover about herself before complete healing can take place. As for marine-turned-self-defense-instructor Zach Marshall, well, he’s grappling with battle scars and ghosts from his own past, and when he meets Summer Lane, he isn’t sure if he has the patience and selflessness required to be her man. (If you love change-and-grow stories as much as I do, I think you’ll enjoy watching these two learn the meaning of unwavering love!)

I’d like to thank you for choosing to spend a few hours with Zach, Summer and me. Good health and happiness—and hopefully you’ll return for the next books in Mills & Boon Heartwarming’s Those Marshall Boys series, featuring Zach’s handsome cowboy cousins, Nate and Sam Marshall, and the gorgeous gals who will change their lives...if they’ll allow it!

All my best to you and yours,

Once a Marine

Loree Lough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper. Traveling by way of bus and train, she entertained folks in pubs and lounges across the US and Canada. Her favorite memories of “days on the road” are the hours spent singing to soldiers recovering from battle wounds in VA hospitals. Now and then she polishes up her Yamaha guitar to croon a tune or two, but mostly she writes. Her last Mills & Boon Heartwarming novel, Saving Alyssa, brought the total number of Loree’s books-in-print to one hundred (fifteen bearing the Mills & Boon logo). Loree’s work has earned numerous industry accolades, movie options and four- and five-star reviews, but what she treasures most are her Readers’ Choice awards.

Loree and her real-life hero split their time between Baltimore’s suburbs and a cabin in the Allegheny Mountains, where she continues to perfect her “identify the critter tracks” skills. A writer who believes in giving back, Loree donates a generous portion of her annual income to charity (see the Giving Back page of her website, loreelough.com, for details). She loves hearing from her readers and answers every letter personally. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Once a Marine is dedicated to survivors of violent crime and their families and friends, who so freely shared the personal experiences that allowed me to lend authenticity to this novel. Your strength, courage and forgiving hearts inspire those who know you to become better people.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to extend my thanks to my pal Jerry Espinoza for all his help with police procedural information in the story. Thanks, too, to the Denver and Vail Chambers of Commerce for helping me craft a “you are here” feel to the novel. A very special thank-you to Kevin O’Neill (actor/writer/director/producer with Olive Ranch Road Productions) for adding a realistic touch of Hollywood flair, and to Dan Schacter with Vail Resorts Management for providing a splash of local color in Tavern on the Square.

Last, but certainly not least, my heartfelt gratitude to Amy, Brit, Sue and Mary (real names withheld by request), whose willingness to share details about their own harrowing personal experiences allowed me to lend authenticity and poignant accuracy to this story.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ZACH’S DAD HADN’T said a word since ending the “Your daughter has been rushed to the hospital” call from the Vail Police Department.

Halfway into the nearly two-hour drive, his dad said, “Keep your eye on the speedometer, son. Last thing we need is to lose half an hour while some state trooper flexes his muscles.”

Under normal circumstances, Zach might have shot back with a teasing, “Dad, you sound like a hippie.” But there was nothing normal about the situation, and this was no time for jokes.

“You okay up there?” his mom asked.

No, he wasn’t. But admitting it would only add to her stress.

“I’m fine.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and met her gaze. “How ’bout you? Holding up?”

She sighed heavily. “I’ll feel better when I see her.”

Yeah, he could identify with that. Hopefully, his sister’s condition wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as what his imagination had cooked up: Libby, broken and battered. Libby, unconscious. Libby, connected to tubes and monitors...

Zach shook off the ugly images and focused on the dark highway and his dad’s white-knuckled grip on the grab handle above the door. Who needed reminders of how much his dad hated driving the interstate with all the gasping and floor stomping going on in the passenger seat? Unfortunately, I-70 was the quickest route from their ranch outside Denver to Libby, all alone in the Vail hospital.

He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that violence had followed him home from Afghanistan, where bloodshed and battles were an almost daily occurrence. He thought he’d left the ugliness of war behind when he moved his gear back into his boyhood bedroom three weeks ago, but then, the phone call from the police.

Nothing would make his parents happier than if he decided to stay and help his cousin run the Double M. So why hadn’t he unpacked?

Because he’d spent too many years taking orders from marines much younger than himself, and didn’t want to test the strength of his and Nate’s “just like brothers” relationship.

Zach had been a fair to middlin’ skier back in the day. Maybe he’d take a job at one of the nearby resorts, teaching kids how to stand upright on the bunny slopes. At least then his baby sister would have family right there in town when she was released from the hospital.

Hospital. Would the Valley Medical Center have the equipment and staff to do more than set skiers’ broken bones? The officer hadn’t exactly sugarcoated things, so Zach knew it would take more than a clinic with an X-ray machine to handle Libby’s injuries.

Half an hour later, when he and his folks walked into her ICU cubicle, his mom hid a tiny gasp behind one hand. The sight made his dad backpedal a few steps, too. “This must be the wrong room,” he said, reading the numbers beside the door.

Libby was barely recognizable, thanks to bruised eye sockets, a bandage cap hiding her blond curls, casts on her left arm and right leg and a spaghetti-like tangle of tubes and wires connecting her to the monitors.

“Yeah, Dad,” Zach whispered. “It’s the right room.” As evidence, he pointed to the big-as-a-suitcase black purse, monogrammed with the telltale sparkly L. Summoning all his self-control, he walked to the foot of her bed. “Man,” he said, grinning, “the lengths some people will go to get some attention.”

She opened one puffy eye and winced slightly as the left corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “’Bout time you guys got here.”

Zach moved to the side of her bed, effectively blocking the monitor screens from his parents’ view. Libby’s fingers began to shake, and he gently wrapped his around them, as much to comfort her as to hide the tremors from his folks.

And for the next ten minutes, the three of them stood statue-still, listening to her sketchy version of what had happened to her, nearly twelve hours earlier. Zach didn’t know whether to blame shock or painkillers for her halting speech, but he knew Libby. The rest of the story must have been truly horrible if his never-pulls-her-punches sister felt it necessary to protect the folks from the details. Not being able to talk about it was probably driving her crazy.

“I don’t know about you two,” he told his parents, “but I’m starving.”

As if on cue, his mom’s stomach growled, and his dad patted his back pocket. “Shoot. I left the house so fast, I forgot my wallet.”

“It’s three in the morning, son,” his mother said. “I doubt anything is open.”

Libby’s nurse leaned into the room. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but overhear,” she said, smiling. “Remedies Café opens in a few hours. Until then, you’ll find a bank of vending machines in the hall just outside the cafeteria.”

“Thanks,” Zach said. Following her back into the hall, he whispered, “What do you think? Is Libs gonna be all right?”

Bright blue reading glasses dangled from a matching ribbon around the nurse’s neck. She put them on and glanced at a printout that he guessed was a summary of what the monitors registered. “Things look normal to me.”

“What tests did the docs do?”

“The usual. X-rays, CT scan, MRI, some bloodwork—”

“And what were the results?”

“It’s too soon for that,” she said in a singsong voice that Zach translated to mean, “Don’t you worry, silly man. We’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.”

Few things irked him more than being patronized. “I did three tours in Afghanistan. I know a serious condition when I see it, so there’s no need to put a condescending spin on things.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, but Zach didn’t feel guilty for his brusque attitude. Hard experience had taught him that setting the right tone from the get-go would save everyone a lot of time.

The nurse’s smile softened. “First of all, thank you for your service, Mr. Marshall. And my apologies if I came off as a pompous medical professional.” She removed her glasses and stared him straight in the eye. “Your sister took quite a beating, but from everything I’ve seen, there’s no permanent damage, and no signs of internal injury.”

“In other words, despite how bad things look, Libs is already on the road to recovery?”

“The doctors hate it when nurses comment on questions like that. But I’ll tell you this...” She glanced right and left then met his eyes. “She’s doing really well, physically.”

“Were you here when the cops interviewed her?”

“I was.”

She hadn’t elaborated. And she’d put extra emphasis on the word physically. Did it mean...

If he couldn’t say it in the privacy of his mind, how did he expect to ask the question out loud?

Practice what you preach, Marshall.

“Do you know if she was, ah, sexually assaulted?”

“She wasn’t.”

That was a relief.

“A bystander screamed and interrupted your sister’s attacker.” The nurse glanced at Libby’s cubicle, and when she looked back at Zach, an admiring smile lit her face. “Witnesses said she fought like a tiger.”

But she hadn’t fought smart. She hadn’t known how. If he’d given her a couple of pointers last time he was home on leave, like she’d asked him to...

He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose the cops caught the son of a—”

“Not yet, but they have a pretty good description.” She handed Zach a business card. “This officer spent a few minutes with her before the techs took her down to X-ray. He’ll be back in the morning, but said if you have any questions, you should feel free to call, anytime.”

Zach gave the card a quick once-over before tucking it into his shirt pocket. He followed the nurse’s gaze, now fixed on his parents, who sat side by side watching their only daughter sleep. Zach looked at them, too...his mom’s head resting on his dad’s shoulder, their fingers linked as if drawing and giving strength to one another simultaneously. It warmed his heart, yet made him feel more lonely than he’d felt in a long, long time. Must be nice, he thought, to have someone to lean on at a time like this.

“I wish I could tell you more, Mr. Marshall, I really do.”

Zach blinked away his self-pitying fog.

“The doctor will make his rounds in a couple of hours. By then, he’ll have the test results, and I’m sure he can answer all your questions.”

Zach nodded. He didn’t have to like her “keep the details on the down-low” position to understand it.

“Thanks. And thanks for taking such good care of Libby.”

She was asleep when he returned to her room. Zach resumed his sentry-like position in front of the monitors. Their blips and beeps kept time with his dad’s agitated pacing while his mom stood, silently shaking her head. If he didn’t get them out of here, they’d go crazy, waiting for Libby to wake up.

He peeled a couple twenties from his wallet, turning to his parents. “If I don’t get something to eat soon, I’ll go down like a felled tree.”

His father pocketed the money. “What can we get you while we’re downstairs?”

“Coffee. Sandwich. Chips. Maybe a candy bar. Doesn’t matter what kind.”

Nodding, he grasped his wife’s elbow. “Come with me,” he said, leading her toward the door. “I’m gonna need help carrying stuff.”

Her eyes widened with disbelief. “John, you don’t really expect me to leave her alone!”

“We’ll only be gone a few minutes. And she won’t be alone. Zach will stay with her. If her condition changes, even a little, he’ll text us.”

Her brows drew together as she considered it.

“He’s right, Mom. Libs will be fine.” Right hand forming the Scout’s salute, he added, “I promise to call if her eyelids so much as flutter.”

“Come on, Ellen,” his dad called from the doorway. “Who knows when we’ll next have a chance to grab a bite to eat.”

When she reached him, he leaned down to whisper something into her ear, something that inspired her to send Zach a sad smile.

So. They knew Libby had been holding back, and that he aimed to get more information from her. He couldn’t predict what his sister might say when their folks left the room, but if it was bad news, he had no intention of adding to their worries.

He waited until they were out of sight then sat on the edge of her bed. “Okay, they’re gone,” he said, taking her hand. “Quit faking and let me have it. All of it this time.”

“Faking? Who, me?”

“You’ve been awake for the past twenty minutes.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Can I help it if I’m a tell-it-like-it-is kinda guy?”

“Yeah. When it’s convenient for you.” She smirked then winced. “Ow. Stop making me smile, will ya?”

“Hey. It isn’t my fault that you’re so easily entertained.”

Her face grew serious. “Okay, I’ll talk. But first, you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you won’t put on your private investigator hat and try to find the guy. Because the last thing Mom and Dad need is for you to get into trouble.”

“Whoa. Does that mean you know the guy? Is that why you think he’ll be so easy to find?”

“Of course not. He snuck up on me. Took me completely by surprise. I didn’t see anything but the pavement, whooshing closer and closer to my face.”

It wasn’t likely the cops would share what they knew, but if he could get anything out of them...

“Promise you’ll keep things to yourself, or I’m going back to sleep.”

The heart monitor beeped a little faster. “All right. Okay. Settle down, will you?” He cleared his throat. “I promise not to get in trouble.”

“Oh, you’re a clever one, I’ll give you that.” She gave him a look that said, “I’ve got your number, pal.”

“But not clever enough. I want to hear you say ‘I promise not to tell Mom and Dad the rest of the story.’”

It wasn’t likely he’d share any information with their folks, but just in case, he searched his mind for a way to appease her without making the promise.

“I’ll be honest with you, partly because I need to talk about it as much as you need to hear what happened. But I can’t. I won’t. Not unless I have your word that you won’t try to play the hero again.”

Play the hero again? The comment took him back to when Libby was in college, and a couple of her roommates called him when they got tangled up with some unsavory characters.

“I just couldn’t live with myself if you ended up in jail—or worse—because of me.”

She looked so small and frail, so afraid and nervous, that the only thing keeping him from scooping her up into a huge hug was his fear of hurting her.

“Fine.” He made no effort to sound pleased, because he wasn’t. “I won’t hunt him down like the animal he is and beat the stuffing outta him.”

She relaxed slightly. “One more promise?”

“What now?”

“Stop looking so grim. If they come back and see you looking all serious and angry, they won’t let up until I tell them, too. Or worse, walk around looking all ‘poor Libby’ for the rest of my life.” She gave his hand a weak squeeze. “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry you’ll do that.”

He feigned shock. “Hey. Just ’cause I’m a marine doesn’t mean I’m devoid of feelings.”

“It’s because you’re a big, tough marine that I can trust you to mask your feelings. You saw a lot of ugly stuff over there, but you learned how to compartmentalize it. If you feel sorry for me when I...once I’ve told you everything, well, at least you’ll know how to pretend you don’t.”

Compartmentalize. Libby had chosen the right career, all right. Too bad she couldn’t put her degree in psychology to use analyzing herself, figure out why she kept getting involved with losers, why she struggled in a one-woman practice when so many facilities wanted to hire her. Zach stifled a groan and sandwiched her hand between his. “You’ll get no pity from me.”

Libby returned his halfhearted smile and plunged into her story. Halfway through, the pace and volume of her words waned, and when she finished, Libby slipped into a fitful sleep.

Zach sat there, shaking his head and fighting tears. Part of him wished she had known the guy. At least he’d have a target for his fury. But her attacker was still out there somewhere. Was he aware that Libby couldn’t identify him? If he thought otherwise, would he try to find her and make sure she couldn’t testify against him? That possibility scared Zach almost as much as seeing the enemy churning through the Afghan dust.

His mind went into full marine mode, searching for proactive ways to help her, to make sure nothing like this ever happened to her again.

And then it hit him.

When the docs released her, he’d move into Libby’s town house and take care of her. While she recuperated, he’d start the wheels in motion to find a place of his own, preferably a shop of some kind with an upstairs apartment. He’d open a self-defense studio, right here in Vail. And when she was ready, Libby would be his first student.

“Let go of my hand, you goof. Your big meat hook is getting me all sweaty.”

Snickering, he did as she asked, just as their folks returned, each carrying a cardboard food tray.

“Oh, good,” his mom whispered, “she’s still sleeping.”

She was too busy doling out sandwiches and bags of chips to notice Libby’s mouth curl into a tiny, sly grin.

It told him she’d be all right, and he had to put his back to the family to keep them from seeing his grateful tears.

CHAPTER TWO

September, two years later

ALEX PUT TWO grocery bags on the kitchen table and pointed to her answering machine. “Hey, Summer. Did you know you have a message?”

She followed the teen’s gaze to the blinking red light. “Oh. That. I must have been upstairs when the phone rang, getting the guest room ready for my parents.”

“When will they be here?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember.”

Something in his voice told her Alex didn’t believe a word of her excuse.

He handed her the receipt. “Sorry, they didn’t have hot fudge sauce.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t be eating so many sweets, anyway.” She pressed a twenty into his hand and smiled, grateful to Alex, grateful to her investment counselor for making recommendations that had kept her financially solvent all these months, grateful that she’d had the good sense to take his advice. “I’m sure they’ll have some next time.”

When he saw the amount of his tip, Alex’s eyebrows disappeared behind dark, wavy bangs. “Whoa, this is way too much!”

“Nonsense.” She would have paid twice the price to avoid leaving the town house to shop for herself. “You’re getting your license in just a few months. I’m sure you can use a little extra cash.”

“Well, if you say so.” He tucked the bill into his back pocket. Brightening, he added, “Mom says I can drive her car if I pay my share of the insurance.”

“See? There you go!”

Alex nodded, but it seemed there was something more on his mind than groceries and tip money. “Could I... Ah... Can I... Would you get mad if I asked you something?”

He’d never been one to pry—unlike his mother, who thought nothing of asking a person’s weight, salary and far more personal information.

“I promise not to get mad,” Summer assured him.

Alex slid a four-color, glossy flyer from the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. “Have you ever thought about taking some classes?” he began, tapping it on his thigh. “To help you deal with, ah, you know, what happened to you?”

Of course she’d considered it. What person in her shoes wouldn’t have! If she’d heard “Stop living in the past” once, she’d heard it a hundred times, from her parents, her orthopedist, her best friend, Justin, and the therapist she’d left after only four sessions. Summer knew each of them had her best interests at heart, but that didn’t make their advice more palatable.

“Maybe you could just talk to Zach,” Alex continued, handing her the pamphlet. “I bet he could help you.”

Help me what? she wondered, pretending to read the flyer.

“’Cause Mom’s right. You’re too young and too pretty to spend so much time in here, all alone.”

Alex leaned both elbows on the kitchen’s bar counter. “Did I ever tell you how I used to be scared of, well, just about everything?”

On more than one occasion, Rose had mentioned Alex’s troubles with bullies. But Summer didn’t want him to know that his mom couldn’t be trusted with sensitive information. In the year since she’d moved next door to the Petersons, Summer had watched as one by one, his fears and inhibitions fell away, all thanks to this Zach person.

“I know how it feels to be scared. Not the same kind of scared as you were when...” His voice trailed off, but he quickly got back on track. “I just know Zach could help you. He’s a cool dude. And amazing.”

It had been a conscious decision to keep the details of the attack to herself. The only person who knew the whole sordid story was Richard O’Toole, and that was only because—

“If you’re worried about being alone with Zach, I promise to stay with you. At least at first. If you decide to talk to him, that is, to find out how he can help you feel less, y’know, scared all the time.”

More scared than she felt even thinking about calling Alex’s friend? That didn’t seem possible. Summer closed the flyer and slid it onto the counter, hoping Alex hadn’t noticed her trembling hands.

He flexed both biceps. “I wasn’t kidding when I said Zach is amazing. He taught me how building muscles helps build self-confidence. Did you see the Karate Kid movie? Mom made me watch it with her the other night. Thought I’d hate it, but I didn’t. That old guy was right,” he added, tapping a temple. “The bullies get you here long before they get you here.” Smirking, he gave himself a fake punch to the jaw.

But...her bully had snuck up behind her, grabbed her ponytail and... Summer cringed inwardly.

“Well, I better go. Midterms are coming up, and I have a ton of studying to do. See you in a couple of days?”

“You bet. I’ll email the list and credit card payment to the City Market.” She walked with him to the door. “Thanks, kiddo. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He shook his head. “Way better than you’re doing now, I’ll bet.”

“What!” A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “That’s just about the silliest thing I’ve heard all week!”

“Mom says I’m an enabler. That if I quit running your errands, you’d have to get out of this place.”

Why couldn’t Rose just mind her own business!

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Summer blurted, heart hammering with dread. “I’d only have to find someone else to pick up and deliver my groceries, so...”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but you do have a choice. It’s like Zach told me when I first signed up for lessons—you don’t have to live this way.”

She was half tempted to arrange a meeting with the Amazing Zach, just so she could see what a perfect man looked like.

He paused in the doorway. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Sure. Of course.” Anything, she thought, if it means you won’t quit.

“Will you at least think about talking to Zach?”

“For the first time, I’m glad you aren’t my kid,” she joked. “I don’t know how your mom says no to you!”

“Believe me, she says no. A lot.” A relieved smile brightened his young face. “Does that mean you’ll call him?”

“Yes, I’ll call him.”

“Cool. Later!” he said, closing the door behind him.

He’d been gone less than a minute when the phone rang.

Richard O’Toole’s name flashed on the screen. How odd that he’d come to mind just moments ago. Summer hadn’t talked to the detective since that day in court when, because she couldn’t provide a positive identification and her attacker had left no DNA to link him to the rape and battery charges, prosecutors were forced to charge him with Class 5 Felony Theft. He’d served two years in the Denver County Jail, but only because the cops found Summer’s wallet and three more in his jacket when they picked him up.

“Hello, Detective.”

He chuckled. “All these years with caller ID, and I still feel like whoever I’m calling is a mind reader.” A pause, and then, “So how are you, Miss Lane?”

“I’m fine. And please, call me Summer.”

“Summer. Right.” He cleared his throat. “I, ah, I promised to call you when Samuels was released.”

Her pulse quickened. “I was afraid you might say that.”

“He’s due to hit the streets next week.”

Next week!

O’Toole must have heard her gasp. “Now, now, there’s no need to panic,” he added quickly. “I did some checking, and the kid really cleaned up his act in there. Earned his GED, put in a lot of hours with the jail’s headshrinker, did some serious rehab and got—”

“Wait. Don’t tell me. He got Jesus. Isn’t that what they all say?”

“Yeah. Pretty much. That, and ‘I’m innocent!’ or ‘I’ve been framed!’ Look, Summer, I don’t blame you for being cynical. What happened to you was...”

Why the hesitation? Was he picturing her during their initial interview at the hospital? Or was he thinking about how she’d testified from a wheelchair, instead of on the witness stand, because even after two surgeries and months of physical therapy, she still couldn’t walk unassisted? If she told him that she still limped slightly, and that it might require another operation to repair the deep gash Samuels had carved into her cheek, would it give him just cause to keep that maniac in jail, where he belonged?

“Do you have any idea where he’ll go?” she said instead. “Does he have a job? An apartment?”

“He’s moving in with his grandmother. According to my sources, she’s on the Denver bus line, which will make it easy for him to get to and from work until he earns enough to buy a car and get a place of his own.”

“Well, isn’t that just peachy. I’m so happy for him. He’s got his whole life all cleaned up, literally and figuratively.”

While I’m a prisoner in my own home.

She glanced at the flyer Alex had left on the kitchen table. A prisoner of my own making, she admitted. How had her young friend put it? You do have a choice. You don’t have to live this way.

“I doubt he’ll bother you,” O’Toole said. “But if he does...”

“I know, I know,” came her sarcastic reply. “I should feel free to call, anytime. And you’ll come running to my defense while I hit my knees and pray you arrive before he has a chance to finish what he started.”

A pang of guilt shot through her. It wasn’t O’Toole’s fault that she’d become a self-pitying, scared-of-her-own-shadow hermit.

“That wasn’t fair. I have no right to take things out on you. You’re the man who caught Samuels and gathered enough evidence to help prosecutors put him away, even if it was only for a short time. And you kept your promise to warn me when...when he was released.” And she was behaving like an ungrateful brat. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it.

“No need to apologize. I get it.”

Summer hadn’t been his first victim of violent crime, so of course he got it.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I only wish I could do more.”

Short of providing her with a rock-solid guarantee that Samuels wouldn’t make the trip from Denver to Vail to exact revenge, ever, what more could he do?

She remembered that the last time they spoke, O’Toole had just found out his wife was pregnant. He’d been ecstatic, but tried hard to hide his enthusiasm because of all Summer had gone through.

“So is the new baby a boy or a girl?”

“Boy. Arrived December 23.” He sounded surprised that she’d asked. And why wouldn’t he be, considering the way she’d moped and sniffled all through the interview process, the way she was still feeling sorry for herself, even after all these months.

She pictured a chubby-cheeked baby boy with fat, dimpled fingers wrapped around O’Toole’s beefy thumb, and thought of her doctor’s gloomy prognosis. “It’s too soon to know for sure,” he’d said. “But you should prepare yourself for the possibility that you might never have children of your own.”

Summer forced a smile and took a deep breath. “What a lovely Christmas present.”

“You can say that again! And the little guy got here just in time to legitimize a nice tax deduction.”

During a break on the day he’d testified against Samuels, she’d overheard O’Toole on the phone, assuring his wife that he’d give serious thought to a promotion that would take him off the streets and keep him safely behind a desk.

“Did you accept that promotion you were up for?”

“You bet I did. Took some getting used to, but the wife and I both sleep better.”

After another moment of small talk and a final reminder for her to call him anytime she felt the need to, they wished each other well and hung up. It was nearly suppertime, and thanks to Alex, Summer had a pizza in the freezer. She set the oven to 400 degrees and, while waiting for it to heat up, flicked on the kitchen TV.

A news story filled the screen: a young woman had been brutally attacked and left for dead in Chicago. Her story, except that Summer had been attacked after recording a commercial for a Denver car dealership.

“It’s a miracle she survived,” the anchorman was saying. Had the woman’s assailant subdued her by grabbing a handful of long hair, the way Samuels had?

In the chrome finish of the toaster, Summer caught sight of her chin-length hair. She’d badgered Justin into giving her a boy cut before she’d been released from the hospital, but had kept it a little longer since. Now when she took the time to style it—which was rare, since she never went anywhere—the side curls almost hid the scar on her cheek.

Her cell phone pinged, making her jump. She opened the text from her dad.

We missed our plane, so Mom and I are taking a flight out in two days. That gives you plenty of time to make reservations so the three of us can go skiing when we get there!

She typed back a response.

Can’t wait. Love you guys!

Her message was only half-true. Summer tensed, thinking of the lectures they’d subject her to when they learned she wouldn’t be joining them on the slopes. That she’d only been out of the house twice—both times to see her orthopedist—since they’d left to film a movie in Africa. Any day now, they’d stand face-to-face with the truth about who she’d allowed herself to become.

Oh, she’d kept up with physical therapy—what else was there to do, all alone in her house every day!—but she hadn’t been outside, not even to pick up the mail or newspaper at the community box on the corner. She eased the guilt by telling herself that her parents were actors, accustomed to disappointment. But that frustration had come in the form of producer-and director-delivered rejections. Finding out that she’d deliberately misled them, no matter the reason, was a completely different kind of distress, and she knew it.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” her mom had said as she packed for the trip to Botswana, “but your dad and I miss the plucky risk-taker you were before the accident.”

Accident, indeed. If they couldn’t deal with the facts, how did they expect her to face them?

Again, Alex’s words echoed in her head: you don’t have to live this way.

The oven beeped, telling her it had finished preheating. She slid the pizza onto the top rack, set the timer and changed the channel. Not even watching a young man trying to coax his aging mother to give up years’ worth of hoarded possessions could distract her from Alex’s wise advice. The boy was right. She couldn’t stay in this house forever.

Summer combed her fingers through her bangs. It had become a nervous habit, like feeling sorry for herself and hiding from the world. Things needed to change, and the sooner, the better.

She grabbed the flyer. What could it hurt, she thought, picking up the phone, to talk to the Amazing Zach?

CHAPTER THREE

ALEX PRESSED THE receiver to his chest and waved his boss closer to the reception counter. Zach draped a towel around his neck, using the corner to blot perspiration from his upper lip. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Remember that lady I told you about? Well,” he said, pointing at the phone’s mouthpiece, “this is her!”

Like a one-man PR firm, Alex had brought clients of all genders, sizes and ages to Zach’s studio. “You’ve told me about lots of ladies,” he said, grinning. “Help me out here, kid.”

“Summer Lane. You know, the one who lives next door to Mom and me? Who’s afraid to come out of her house ’cause she was attacked couple years ago?”

Oh. That one. What kind of people named their daughter Summer? “Hippies!” his dad would say. Zach pictured a long-haired, cringing spinster, darting from window to window, checking locks and peeking at the world through dusty Venetian blinds.

“She wants to ask you a couple questions. About signing up for classes, I hope.” He put the phone back up to his ear. “Hey, Summer, Zach is—”

Based on the sudden disappointment on the boy’s face, Zach could only assume the poor old thing had changed her mind.

“No, wait! Please don’t hang up, Summer, he’s standing right here!”

Alex thrust the phone into Zach’s hand. “Go easy on her, will ya? Mom says she’s kinda fragile.”

Fragile. The very word Zach’s mom had used to describe Libby right after her ordeal. But unlike the woman on the phone, Libby bounced back quickly, due in part to the unwavering support of friends and family...and her own stubborn determination to put the nightmare behind her. He knew next to nothing about this Summer person, but from what little Alex had told him, Zach guessed she wasn’t made of the same sturdy stuff.

“Miss Lane? Zach Marshall here.” He caught a distant glimpse of himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the room. What are you smiling about, you big idiot. She can’t see you. “What can I do for you?” he said, putting his back to his reflection.

“You’ll probably think I’m being ridiculous,” she began, “but I don’t know enough about your studio—or self-defense, for that matter—to even voice an intelligent question. What I do know is that Alex speaks very highly of you. And that he swears that what you’ve taught him has improved every area of his life.”

That smooth, sultry voice sure didn’t go with his image of a cringing spinster. She’d roused his curiosity, for sure.

“Just so happens Wednesday is our slow day,” he said. “If you’re not busy now, c’mon down. I’ll give you the nickel tour, and do my best to answer whatever ques—”

Alex heaved a frustrated sigh and slapped a palm over his eyes. “She never leaves her house,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Not ever. Remember?”

“Trust me,” Zach mouthed.

“On second thought,” he said into the phone, “I have a better idea. Alex needs some behind-the-wheel time before his big driver’s test. How about we drive over, pick you up and bring you back here. There’s a small class starting in about an hour. You could watch, and maybe that’ll answer some of your questions.”

“I, well, but...”

Alex leaned closer and said into the mouthpiece, “Say yes, Summer. Please? I could use the driving practice. You’ll be doing me a really, really big favor.”

Her sigh filtered into Zach’s ear. Frustration? Angst? Uncertainty? Not that it mattered. Patience had been the main ingredient in Libby’s recovery. That, and an ample supply of tenacity. Maybe Miss Lane had both, and just didn’t know it. Yet.

Alex, palm extended and fingers wiggling, asked for the phone, and Zach gladly handed it over. He had no patience and very little pity for people who didn’t at least try.

“If we leave right now,” the boy told her, “we can be there in ten minutes.” He hung up and grabbed his parka from the hook beside the door. “Let’s make tracks, before she changes her mind.”

“She said yes?”

Alex shrugged. “She didn’t say no...”

Zach told his assistant, Emma, that he’d be back within the hour then tossed Alex his keys to his pickup. As the teen unlocked the doors, Zach shrugged into his jacket. “Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. My entire driving future is riding on it.” Alex laughed and climbed in behind the wheel. “Hey. That’s a pun.” He stuck the key into the ignition. “My entire driving future is riding on it. Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it. And my good-driver insurance policy is riding on it, too, so keep that in mind.”

Zach buckled his seat belt. “To be honest, I’m not half as worried about what you’ll do behind the wheel as I am about what she’ll do when we get there.”

“Do? What could she do?”

“Oh, I dunno. She could meet us at the door, brandishing a shotgun, for starters.”

“Summer?” Alex laughed. “No way. She won’t even squish a spider.”

Probably afraid to, Zach thought as Alex backed out of the parking space.

A car horn blared, and the boy slammed on the brakes.

“Crazy kid!” an elderly man bellowed, shaking his fist. “Where’d you get your license, in a bubble gum machine?”

Alex’s shoulders slumped, and Zach raised his eyebrows. “You know what you did wrong, right?”

“Didn’t check the mirrors.” Smiling sheepishly, he added, “Sorry. Won’t happen again. Promise.”

“Let’s hope not. Your entire driving future is riding on it, remember.”

For the duration of the short trip, Alex kept his word, even while chattering about the attack that turned Summer Lane into a recluse. The kid didn’t have many details, though, so Zach decided that tonight he’d fire up the laptop, see what he could find out about her online. Wouldn’t it be faster and easier to ask her?

Alex took the corner a little sharply, distracting Zach from the question.

“Sorry. I’ll be more careful at the next corner,” Alex said. “You think we’ll get that snow they’re calling for?”

Zach held tight to the grab handle. “Probably, but I hope not.”

As Alex pulled into her driveway, Zach saw the blinds beside her front door snap shut. Had she been standing there, watching, since the kid hung up the phone?

Alex got out of the truck first, and waved as he approached the town house. “Hey, Summer,” he called. “It’s us. Zach and me.”

He whispered to Zach, “She’ll never leave here, but this is a start.”

The door opened slowly, and there it was again, that lovely, amazing voice.

“Please,” she said from somewhere in the shadows. “Come in.”

“You’ve been baking again, haven’t you,” Alex said, heading straight for the kitchen.

Baking again? Libby made things from fabric and yarn. Sweaters. Mittens. Curtains and throw pillows, and called her craft projects “coping mechanisms.” Did the oven serve the same purpose for Summer?

“Man, oh man,” Alex said around a mouthful of cookie. “I think these are your best ever!”

“Thanks,” she said. “Have as many as you like. I can’t eat them all by myself.”

For half a second, silence. Then all three laughed, because Alex had stuffed one cookie into his mouth, and held one in each hand.

“Name’s Marshall. Zach Marshall,” he said, offering his hand. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

For a minute there, it didn’t look like she’d reciprocate. He felt awkward, his hand dangling in midair. When at last she accepted his greeting, he noticed a slight tremor in her cool-to-the-touch fingertips. Cold hands, warm heart? If the warmth glowing in her eyes and smile was any indicator, the answer was yes.

“Summer Lane,” she said, and quickly folded both arms over her chest. “But I expect you already knew that, too.”

At the moment, Zach didn’t know much, except that he liked her. Or was pity the more accurate word? “Aw, Zach,” Alex mumbled. “You really gotta try one of these. They’re excellent, man. Excellent.”

Every thread of common sense in him said, look at Alex. Look at the cookies. You’ve seen gorgeous women before, so stop gawking at her!

She must have thought he was staring at the slightly raised pink scar that ran the length of her left cheek, because she cupped her chin in her palm and hid it behind her fingers. What other reminders—physical and emotional—had her attacker left her with?

“There are soft drinks in the fridge,” she said. “Or I could fix you a cup of coffee. Or tea. Or hot chocolate?” Summer pointed at the coffeemaker on the counter and the carousel that held a colorful variety of pods.

He didn’t need a degree in psychology to know Alex was right. She wouldn’t leave the town house today. Maybe not tomorrow, either. Asking her to consider checking out the studio would only add to her unease. Maybe she’d let her guard down enough that he could show her a few basic moves right here in her living room. Zach made note of her stiff-backed stance and nervous smile. Or maybe not.

“I told my assistant we wouldn’t be gone long,” he said, “but coffee sounds great.”

As she made her way to the other side of the bar counter, Zach noticed her limp. Alex had mentioned multiple surgeries to repair a shattered femur. Not an easy injury to recover from; he’d learned that while visiting guys he’d served with who’d been shot or who’d stepped on IEDs.

While she added water to the machine, he remembered that Libby’s attacker had been high on PCP, and the slick defense attorney blamed the drug, not his client, for the crime. The judge gave her attacker a choice: rehab facility or prison. Naturally, he chose treatment. The punishment didn’t fit the crime, in Zach’s opinion. If asked to explain his harsh judgment, he would have said “The guy hurt my kid sister! Hang him by his heels!” As it turned out, the guy punished himself. Months after being released, he died of a heroin overdose.

When Summer turned to face him, her smile faded, like the smoke from a spent match. Evidently, the memory of what had happened to Libby was still very fresh, and his anguish was written all over his face. He half expected her to shrink back in fear, but to her credit, Summer held her ground and, mug in hand, asked how he liked his coffee.

“Black. High-test if you’ve got it.”

“Cool,” Alex said, looking from Zach to Summer and back again. “Something else you two have in common.”

Summer’s left brow quirked upward.

“Something else?” Zach said.

“Black coffee and...and...” The teen blinked then helped himself to another cookie as a red flush crept up his neck. “Well, you guys are about the same age.”

Nice recovery. He could almost read the kid’s mind: black coffee and a close connection to violent crime. Had Summer picked up on it, too?

“Much as I hate to quote my mom,” Alex said, “I have to eat and run. Midterms. Argh.” Alex stood beside Summer and whispered, “Will you, uh, are you okay being alone with you-know-who?” He aimed a thumb at Zach, trying to hide it behind a cupped hand.

Goofy kid, he thought. If God ever blessed him with a son, Zach wouldn’t mind a bit if he was just like Alex.

“I sent a short grocery list to your email,” she said. “Specialty items for my parents’ visit. Bean sprouts, oatmeal, tofu...”

“Gross!” He wrinkled his nose. “I almost forgot they’re vegetarians.”

“Vegans.”

Alex groaned, whimpered and opened the door. “Guess we won’t be grilling any steaks while they’re in town, then, huh?”

Smiling, Summer said, “If we do, we won’t have to worry about sharing them with Mom and Dad.”

He stepped outside, but turned back. “Do me a favor, will ya, and tell them boiling cabbage is against community association rules. My grandmother had an apartment in a seniors’ high-rise. Every time we visited, the whole building reeked of the stuff.” He pointed left. “There’s just a wall between your house and mine, and you remember the time I burned popcorn in the microwave.”

It was Summer’s turn to groan. “I didn’t think I’d ever get that awful smell out of here!”

Alex was still snickering as the door clicked shut.

The room fell silent, save for the trickle of coffee filling a big white mug, the ticking clock and the hum of the fridge.

“That’s one great kid,” Zach said.

“Yes, he is.” She clasped her hands at her waist. “So tell me, how many of your other clients are like me?”

Like her? If she meant beautiful, barely bigger than a minute, with a voice even more lovely than her face, he’d have to say none. But he knew what she meant. “Just one. My sister, Libby.”

She handed him his coffee. “I’m sorry to hear she had to go through that.”

“Happened a little over two years ago. The whole Marshall clan is proud of the way she pulled through it.”

And to ensure Summer wouldn’t think he was comparing her recovery to Libby’s, Zach quickly added, “But she’s a shrink, so she knows all the tricks. Too bad she can’t nail down the reason she’s the clumsiest person for miles around.”

She gave him a look that said “What does that have to do with anything?” then slid a red mug under the coffeemaker’s spout. North Pole, Alaska, was printed on one side.

Zach pointed. “Gift, or souvenir?”

“Both. I bought it for myself. Alaska had been at the top of my bucket list for years, and I crossed it off with a cruise along the Inside Passage, then went overland by train...”

Alone?

“...with a friend,” she said, answering his unasked question.

Ah. Ex-boyfriend, probably. And based on her tone of voice, the breakup hadn’t been easy.

“Have you been there? To Alaska, I mean?”

“Yeah. College pal and I backpacked and camped in Denali after graduation, before we enlisted with the marines. Alaska was our last hoorah, in case...” In case we didn’t make it home, like some of my guys.

Her slow nod told him she understood. “Where did they send you?”

“One tour in Kuwait, three in Afghanistan.” He hated talking about this stuff. Too many regrets. Too many hard memories. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“It’s a free country, thanks to men like you.”

He never knew how to react when people said things like that. He’d enlisted because, after earning a business degree from Colorado State, he couldn’t picture himself at a desk, balancing the Double M’s books, or taking orders from his younger cousin, Nate. How heroic was that?

He set both forearms on the counter, putting his face a foot closer to hers. “How did you know it was safe to let Alex leave?”

“I didn’t.” She sat back, running her fingers through her bangs. “But as you pointed out, he’s a great kid. If he says you’re okay, that’s good enough for me.” Summer branded him with those big dark eyes, then frowned slightly. “That’s a big fat lie. Letting him leave was a test.”

He was mildly surprised. “Is that so? And did I pass?”

A quiet, melodic laugh passed her lips. “Oh, I wasn’t testing you.” Her brows drew together, and he read it as a sign that the subject was closed. “Besides, I’ve never met a marine who couldn’t be trusted.”

Oh, he could name a few. Zach knew one guy who’d survived hand-to-hand combat, only to return home so mentally scarred that he’d turned to whiskey for comfort. Another, plagued by nightmares of the things he’d seen, chose drugs to help him forget...and chose crime to help fund his addiction. There were a few skeletons in Zach’s own closet, too, but what would be gained by admitting it?

Summer picked up a cookie, held it out to him. “They really are good, if I do say so myself.”

He understood this gesture as another signal to change the subject. When he reached for it, his fingertips brushed hers. She inhaled sharply, a quick little gasp, and snapped back her hand so fast, the cookie broke. A succession of emotions skittered across her pretty face, from shock to dread to embarrassment.

“Guess your sister isn’t the only clumsy one.” Summer brushed crumbs into an upturned palm and ate them, then grabbed another cookie. “Let’s try this again.”

This time, Zach was careful not to touch her. He took a small bite and decided that if she signed up for a self-defense class, he’d pass her off to Emma. Somehow, he’d summoned the patience to help his sister cope with her male-induced skittishness, but Summer was a stranger. Besides, what worked for Libby might backfire with Summer.

“Wow,” she said. “Just look at that frown. Don’t you like chocolate chips?”

“Of course I do. Sorry. They’re good. Really good.” He met her eyes again. Those enormous, long-lashed, brown eyes. Zach swallowed. Hard. If he admitted his part in Libby’s attack, Summer might never give the classes a chance. And he couldn’t think of a person who needed them more.

Zach sipped his coffee. “Your recipe beats my mom’s all to pieces, but if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Either she didn’t get the joke, or saw it as proof of his blatant dishonesty, because Summer got up and riffled through a drawer.

“I really am kind of clumsy sometimes,” she said, patting her thigh, “thanks to this bum leg.”

They hadn’t been talking about the leg, or clumsiness, so he didn’t understand why she’d mentioned either.

She plucked a sandwich bag from its box and added, “Do you think it’ll be a problem? If I enroll in classes, that is?”

He still didn’t get the connection. “The leg? No, it won’t matter at all.” Dave Reece was the only other person he knew who favored one leg the way Summer did. He’d earned his limp stepping on a land mine, and now he wore a prosthesis. Jeans hid her legs, so he had no way of knowing if she’d been fitted for one, too. If so, she’d earned it in a battle of an entirely different kind.

“One of my students is in her mideighties. And Emma, my assistant, teaches two kids who wear leg braces.”

“Emma?” She began filling a second bag. “I thought Alex was your assistant.”

“Well, he helps out. A lot. But until he earns his certificate, I can’t let him work one-on-one with students. Insurance regs, you know?”

“I didn’t realize credentials were a requirement for self-defense instructors.”

“They are in my studio.”

“Once a marine,” she said, smiling, “always a marine, eh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He shrugged one shoulder and returned her grin. “Well, that might be part of it.”

Zach wrapped his hands around the mug. “It’s just that I won’t take a chance that my students could get hurt in class—or afterward—because an instructor lacks experience or maturity. It’s my responsibility to figure out what each person needs to learn. Some instinctively know how to spot danger before it happens. Some need to be taught what to look for. Because self-defense is as much psychological as it is physical, and involves a whole lot more than stance and protective maneuvers.”

He hadn’t said anything funny. At least, he didn’t think he had. So why were her eyes glittering with amusement?

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“So Alex was right.”

“About?”

“You really are the Amazing Zach.”

“The Amazing... He called me that?”

“No, but that’s the impression I get whenever he talks about you.”

He felt the heat of a blush creep into his face. And how must that look? Big, tough, battle-scarred marine, sitting here all pink-cheeked, like a starry-eyed teenage girl. If he hadn’t already finished his coffee, he’d take a sip now, just so he could hide behind the mug.

“I call him my one-man PR firm,” Zach admitted. “But from the sound of things, he goes overboard from time to time.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll see if your teaching skills are as amazing as Alex says they are.”

So, she’d decided to enroll in classes and begin accepting help? Good!

Summer zipped both plastic bags, slid them near Zach’s elbow then stood at the end of the counter and faced the front door.

Well, no one would accuse her of being overly subtle. But he hadn’t planned to stay this long, anyway. Zach got to his feet and helped himself to one of the bags. “Thanks. These will make a great breakfast, dunked in coffee in the morning.”

“Not the healthiest breakfast, but it’s your stomach,” she said, picking up the second bag. “Would you do me a favor and bring these to Alex on your way out?”

He was tempted to do it, but thought better of it. “Lesson number one—there are some things that, no matter how difficult, you need to do for yourself.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Alex only lives next door,” he said quickly.

Blinking, she snapped her mouth shut and took a half step back. He’d only told her what she needed to hear. So why did he feel like such a heel?

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll stand at the end of the sidewalk and keep a close eye on you while you deliver the cookies. Will that make it easier to go outside?”

For a second there, it looked like she might take him up on the offer. But pride must have gotten the better of her because she pulled back her shoulders and said, “No, you’re right. I should do it myself.” Her chin lifted a notch. “Don’t worry. You needn’t babysit me.”

When you’re right, you’re right, he thought. But he didn’t have time for moodiness. Zach grabbed the door handle, but a wood-framed photo on the foyer table stopped him. “Your folks?” he asked, pointing at it.

Summer nodded.

“I recognize them from a couple movies.” He nodded. “Must be cool, having parents who are big stars. Ever been on the set when they’re filming?”

“A few times. Mostly when I was a kid, and they couldn’t line up a sitter.”

“What are their names again?”

“Susannah and Harrison Lane.”

She crossed her arms over her chest again, and Zach decided it was her shut-out-the-world stance.

He held up the baggy. “Well, thanks for these. And for the coffee, too.”

“No problem.”

He’d read the phrase, her smile never made it to her eyes, in a couple of novels, but it had never made sense to him...until this moment.

“There’s a beginners class starting up on Monday evening. If you get there at five-thirty or so, you’ll have plenty of time to fill out the enrollment forms before we get going at six.”

“I’ll be there.”

He almost believed her.

But if she hadn’t left the house in who knew how long, how would she get to the studio?

“Do you need a ride?”

“No,” she said resignedly, “I have a car. I open the garage door once a week and start it, to keep the engine from getting all gummed up. And when my parents are in town, they drive it.”

Something about her posture and sad eyes reminded him of the war-orphaned kids he’d met while deployed. She’d taken a beating. Maybe even more than a beating. But if those youngsters could pick their way through rubble and find ways to survive, so could a full-grown woman who lived in a luxurious town house in one of the nation’s most prestigious ski resorts. He might be tempted to feel a little sorry for her...if she wasn’t doing such a great job feeling sorry for herself.

“Guess I’d better head out.”

“See you Monday,” she said, closing the door.

Fractions of a second later, he heard the bolt slide into place. “Can’t deliver cookies through a steel entry door...” he said to himself.

Would he see her on Monday? Or had she only made the promise to get rid of him? For her sake, he hoped she’d been serious. Hoped, too, that if she showed up, she’d stick with the program. Because if anybody needed some confidence-building lessons, it was Summer Lane.

“Strange woman,” he muttered, taking out his keys. “Gorgeous, but strange.”

He turned the key in the ignition, and as the pickup’s motor came to life, he pictured her unenthusiastic reaction to stepping outside, even long enough to deliver a zipper bag of treats to her next-door neighbor.

If she met him halfway, he could show her how to strengthen muscle, help build her self-confidence; teach her how to feel in control of her surroundings. But dealing with her scary brew of emotional issues? That was Libby’s field, not his.

He had three choices: call Libby and ask for tips on dealing with a woman like Summer, or get online, as he’d thought of earlier, to find out what he could about her past. Easiest of all, he could avoid her altogether. It wasn’t likely she’d show up on Monday, anyway. He knew better than most that she couldn’t hide from the evil in the world, but if she wanted to spend the rest of her days trying, he couldn’t talk her out of it. Didn’t want to talk her out of it.

At the stop sign half a block from her town house, Zach peered into the rearview mirror, and almost didn’t believe his eyes.

There stood Summer, sandwich bag of cookies in one hand, the other raised to ring Alex’s doorbell.

“Well, good for you, Summer. Good for you.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He was happy for her, and strangely proud, too. What was it the sages said about every journey beginning with a single step? She’d finally taken it, and—

A car horn blared behind him. Startled, Zach waved a quick apology to the driver and took his foot off the brake. He was halfway home before reality dawned: going to Summer’s house had been a stupid idea. Because now, like it or not—and he did not—he was committed to helping her.

From kindergarten on, teachers and parents alike praised him for coming to the aid of others: the new kid, too timid to play kick ball at recess; the boy in the wheelchair who couldn’t reach a book from a high shelf; the girl with thick glasses and an overbite he’d invited to junior prom because no one else would. In marine boot camp, that same tendency earned him the nickname Champ, aka Champion of the Underdog. He’d used his precious few off-duty hours to coach the smaller, weaker guys who often got stuck with kitchen patrol or latrine duty when they fell seconds short of passing muster during drills.

If his mom hadn’t done such a good job drilling the “do unto others” rule into his head, he wouldn’t be in this fix. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, grinning despite himself.

Helping others made him feel good, even when he hadn’t been around to see the positive aftereffects. But getting involved had gotten him into serious trouble, too. He pictured Martha, and instantly shut down the memory. It wouldn’t be like that with Summer. Zach accepted his fate, much as he’d accepted every awful assignment from his superiors.

But he didn’t have to like it.

CHAPTER FOUR

ROSE HELPED HERSELF to a chocolate-chip cookie then perched on a kitchen stool. “I should hang out here more often. Maybe your homemaker skills will rub off on me.”

The place did look good, if Summer said so herself. But then, why wouldn’t it, when she had little else to do but decorate and keep things tidy?

“Once I’ve done my exercises, I have nothing but time on my hands. And a person can only read and watch TV so many hours a day.”

Her friend stared at her long and hard, and Summer braced herself for another lecture about getting out of the house.

Instead, Rose polished off the cookie. “How many of these fattening, addictive things did you make this time?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Six, maybe eight dozen.”

“Keep that up, and this—” Rose crossed her long legs “—will be impossible.”

Summer laughed, hoping she’d escaped the spiel.

“So what’s this I hear about you signing up for self-defense classes with Zach Marshall?”

Summer had thought the blabbermouth gene had skipped a generation, but clearly, Alex had inherited it. Summer ran a hand through her hair. “I probably will, but I’m not sure yet.”

“I hope you’re joking, because Alex is feeling pretty good about himself for talking you into it.”

If she signed up, it would be because of Zach, not Alex. But if she admitted that to Rose, she’d tell Alex and hurt his feelings.

Summer flipped through her recipe file and plucked out the card for veggie lasagna. “My parents’ plane will land soon, and I’m sure they’ll be hungry when they get here.”

“Where are they flying in from this time?”

“Malta.”

“Malta? I don’t even know where that is!”

When Summer entered high school, her folks thought it best that she stay in one place to attend school and live a more stable life than their own, and she’d kept track of their whereabouts on the big world map that now hung above her living room sofa. Knowing Rose would cry tears of boredom if she recited the precise location at 35.9̊ N and 14.5̊ E, she said, “It’s in the Mediterranean, near Italy and Libya.”

Rose nodded, squinting as if trying to picture the region. “Hmm. And where to next?”

“Who knows? They’re nomads.”

“It sounds like such a fascinating life.” Rose sighed wistfully.

Summer knew better than to agree. “Would you and Alex like to join us for supper?” she said instead. “I’m sure they’d love to see you guys and share pictures and stories about the island and the movie, with all its pirates and scallywags and doubloons.”

Rose glanced at the ingredients on the recipe card and wrinkled her nose. “Tofu?”

“’Fraid so.”

She shoved the card closer to Summer. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather see that annoying superheroes movie Alex has been raving about.”

Summer put a pot of water on to boil. “Tofu isn’t all that horrible.”

“Not all that horrible? Gee, there’s a convincing argument.” Rose laughed. “And speaking of arguments, help me understand why you’re on the fence about these self-defense lessons.”

Rose held her gaze then said, “I know you. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or in your case, it’s all-in, or 100 percent out.”

Much as Summer hated to admit it, Rose was right.

“How much do you know about the instructor?” she asked.

“Zach? Well, he’s single, if that’s what you mean.”

No, it wasn’t, but for a reason Summer couldn’t explain, that came as good news.

“He’s also a man of his word. Honest to a fault. If anything ever happened to me, I’d like nothing better than for him to finish raising Alex.” She sighed. “Only reason I can’t name him as legal guardian is because it would break my brother’s heart. He thinks the world of my kid.”

“A whole lot of people think the world of Alex.”

Rose waved away the compliment. “I have an uncle who was a marine. Never shuts up about his time in ’Nam. But Zach? He won’t talk about his years in the military. I’m guessing that means he saw some pretty ugly stuff over there.”

Summer added wide, whole wheat noodles to the boiling water and recalled the strange expression that had come over Zach’s face when she’d said, “Once a marine, always a marine.” Something between distress and dissatisfaction. Maybe what he’d survived explained the sadness that tinged his green eyes.

“If I’d been over there, they’d have to outfit me with a straitjacket and lock me in a padded room. I don’t have the backbone to face danger and hardship, especially not all at the same time.”

Rose’s husband had been a logger, and died on the job when Alex was just a few months old. His insurance helped get her through those first rough months. Teaching third grade at Red Sandstone Elementary kept the wolf from the door during the school year. Only recently, after inheriting her unmarried aunt’s estate, had she been able to give up her second job, waitressing weekends and summers. But as far as Summer knew, no one had helped Rose through the emotional hardships of widowhood and raising a kid alone.

“You’re tougher than you let on,” Summer said. “I wish I could be more like you.”

“Whatever,” Rose said, glossing over the comment. “So? What did you think of him?”

“The Amazing Zach, you mean?”

“You say that like you think he isn’t amazing. Are you dippy, girl? The man is positively dreamy!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, if he’s so great, then why is he still single at his age?”

“Listen to you.” Rose chuckled. “Talking about him as if he’s some doddering old man. I happen to know he’ll turn thirty-five on his next birthday.”

Summer glanced at the clock. Unless her parents’ plane got in late, they’d arrive in an hour or so. She turned on the oven and opened a jar of pasta sauce as Rose counted off Zach’s qualities on her fingers.

“He loves his family. He served his country. He moved into his sister, Libby’s, condo after her attack and nursed her back to health. He owns his own business. He’s great with kids. He’s strong and handsome and decent and—”

“Why aren’t you dating him?”

Rose’s blue eyes widened. “Zach? And me? Oh, you’re a regular comedian, aren’t you? For one thing, he’s too young for me.”

“You talk about yourself as if you’re a doddering old woman. You’re only forty.”

“Oh, like I needed the reminder.” Rose grabbed another cookie. “Truth is, I couldn’t date Zach. It would be like...like dating my brother!”

“Yeah, I guess I understand that. You and Zach have been friends a long time. I’d feel the same way if someone suggested I start dating Justin.” Summer began assembling the pasta dish. “You’re sure you won’t join us for supper? I’m serving minestrone, salad and garlic bread, too—and chocolate mousse for dessert—so I guarantee you and Alex won’t go home hungry, even if you don’t want the lasagna.”

“You haven’t seen your folks in months. I think you need some family time. How long will they be in town?”

“Hard to say. A week, maybe two?”

“Plenty of time, then, for Alex and me to interrogate them before they hit the road again.” Rose hopped down from the stool and put on her jacket. “Can you believe the weather guy is calling for snow?”

“He also said this cold snap should end soon, and we’ll go back to temps in the sixties during the day and thirties at night.”

“I hope he’s right. I’m not ready for full-fledged winter weather just yet.” She opened the door then drew Summer into a sisterly hug. “Listen,” she said, holding her at arm’s length, “any time you want some real food while your mom and dad are here, just text me. I’ll send Alex over with a plate of hot dogs or pizza. You can eat it after they’ve gone to bed.”

“You’re a sweetheart to offer, but honestly, I’ll be okay. It’s just for a few days, and let’s not forget that I grew up on tofu and bean curd.”

Rose hugged her again. “Oh, you poor little thing!” she said, and left laughing.

As Summer finished making supper, the things Rose had said about Zach hovered in her mind. She put yesterday’s soup on the stove to warm and pictured his broad jaw and slow smile, blaming Rose’s list of his finer qualities for the fluttering of her heart. Was this silly, schoolgirl crush the byproduct of avoiding men since the attack? Or had her loneliness finally reached its peak?

CHAPTER FIVE

ZACH STARED AT the computer and shook his head. He’d looked up six variations of her name on Google and came up with summer menus, summer getaways, summer party ideas and summer bug repellents. He finally found some links with her name, and curious, he clicked a few, learning that she’d narrated hundreds of TV and radio ads. They helped him understand why her easy-on-the-ears voice sounded so familiar, but did nothing to answer questions about her attack or the court proceedings that might have followed. Could Alex have misunderstood or exaggerated what happened to her two years ago? If he hoped to teach her how to prevent future attacks, he needed to learn as much as possible about the one that changed her life—changed her.

He dialed Dave’s cell phone, and his former marine buddy picked up on the first ring.

“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the one and only Champ Marshall.”

“How goes it, Reece?”

“It goes. You still teaching old ladies how to do half nelsons and Argentine leg locks?”

For some odd reason, Dave got a kick out of comparing self-defense tactics to wrestling holds, and Zach had learned the hard way that correcting him was an exercise in futility. He didn’t expect that a dose of his own medicine would cure Dave, but Zach couldn’t help himself. “And are you still the glorified secretary at Precinct Six?”

“Hey. This place couldn’t run without a good desk sergeant.”

“A good desk sergeant, eh? Sorry to hear they replaced you.”

“Ha ha ha. Still a comedian, I see. If you ever get tired of coaching gymnastics, say the word. I know a guy who can get you a spot on open mic night at the Laugh Lounge.” Dave snickered. “But I’m guessing you didn’t call solely to cast aspersions on my career...”

“You’re as perceptive as usual,” Zach countered. And then he shared what little he knew about Summer’s history. “I’m hoping you can use your powers of persuasion to get me a little more information.”

“Why? You interested in her?”

Zach pictured her, pretty and petite, with a smile so warm it could thaw ice, and eyes that put Bambi’s to shame.

“Only as a potential student,” he fibbed. “She came out of that mess with some permanent injuries. I don’t want to put her in any situations that could do more damage or trigger flashbacks to the attack.”

“I hear ya. Hold on a sec. Got another call.”

While Zach waited, he paced from kitchen to living room and back again. The 750-square-foot apartment above the studio served him well, with a steep staircase leading to the loft bedroom, a closet-sized bathroom and a built-in storage unit that ran the entire length of the living room. He’d furnished it simply, with an overstuffed leather love seat and matching recliner, a narrow coffee table where he ate most of his meals, and a wrought-iron floor lamp. He stopped momentarily to take stock. With no knickknacks, no valances atop the wood blinds and no pictures on the white walls, the place looked bleak and boring, especially when compared with Summer’s inviting town house.

Zach slapped a hand to the back of his neck and resumed pacing. He’d spent all of thirty minutes in her presence, and here he was, wondering what his place might look like if she had a chance to decorate it?

“Bad idea,” he grumbled. Bad on so many levels, he didn’t know where to begin. Soon after returning home from Afghanistan, he’d made a promise to himself, thanks in no small part to Libby’s unsolicited advice: “No more knight-in-shining-armor behavior.”

It made him more determined than ever to hand Summer off to Emma...if she decided to enroll at the studio. His assistant’s teaching methods, though vastly different from his own, produced positive results. And in Summer’s still-fragile physical and emotional state, working woman-to-woman would probably be best for her.

In that case, why bother digging into her past? If she ever found out about it, he’d look like some crazy stalker, not someone bent on doing what was best for her.

He was about to hang up when Dave came back on the line.

“Sorry that took so long. Had to process a perp. Now, where were we?”

“Y’know, I should have given this look-into-her-background thing a lot more thought. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

“Too late, Champ. The wheels of investigation are already rolling.”

When had he had time? Zach didn’t know what went into processing a perp, but surely it required some concentration. And more than five minutes.

“I did a cursory search,” Dave said, answering Zach’s unasked question. “But it came up empty. So I shot an email to Adam. If he can’t dig up some good dirt, it’ll mean there isn’t any.”

Dave’s twin had earned a reputation for being one of the most hard-nosed assistant district attorneys in the Denver prosecutor’s office. Chances that he’d get involved in something as trivial as this were about as good as Summer showing up at the studio on Monday. That put Zach at ease. He thanked Dave, exchanged a few more good-natured barbs and ended the call.

He’d no sooner returned the handset back to its cradle when the phone rang.

“Uh oh,” Libby said, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, you nut. What a crazy question.”

“Watch your language, big brother. People in my line of work are sensitive to words like nut and crazy. And you of all people should know I’m not that easily distracted. You sound...off. So how about you save us both a lot of time and tell me why your voice is all tight and gravelly, because I won’t let up until you do.”

And she wouldn’t. Zach saw no harm in bringing her up-to-date on what he laughingly referred to as the Summer Chronicles.

“You better hope your DA friend doesn’t decide to bend the rules just because his brother asked him to,” she warned.

He had his own reasons for wanting the same thing, but curiosity compelled him to ask why she shared his concerns.

“Need I remind you about that night during my senior year at the University of Denver?”

He’d been home for a rare, month-long leave when Libby opted to spend time with him rather than join her dorm-mates for a downtown pub crawl. Both girls were from out of state, so when homesickness or trouble erupted, they turned to the Marshalls. That night, Zach answered the phone. Annie, on the verge of hysteria, explained how they’d met a guy who must have spiked Taylor’s drink. “She was only out of my sight for half an hour, and now she can’t walk or talk or keep her eyes open!” He’d ordered Annie to get Taylor to the hospital, promised to meet them at the ER, and called the police. It didn’t take long to confirm that Taylor had been drugged, and the cops and medical staff agreed she was lucky to have survived the double dose of Rohypnol.

“Good thing no one would tell you the guy’s name,” Libby was saying.

In hindsight, he had to agree. But that night, when he saw Taylor lying limp as a rag doll on the exam table, he’d seen red. “Where’s the guy who did that to her?” he’d demanded. Not “How is she?” or “Will she be okay?” but “I’m gonna murder him.”

“You would have gone to jail,” Libby added.

“It was a natural, knee-jerk reaction. Any decent person would have felt the same way.”

“That might be true...if it was the only time you put yourself in a bad situation, defending a woman.”

Zack knew what was coming, and he braced himself. Sure enough, Libby reminded him that moments before his best friend died, Buddy made Zach promise to watch over his wife. Martha didn’t handle widowhood well at all, and repeatedly tried to deaden the pain of her loss with risky behavior, booze and pills. When Martha overdosed for the third time, it was Zach to the rescue, yet again. He insisted on therapy, and to make sure she got the help she needed, he drove her to every appointment. When the psychiatrist recommended outings, Zach bought tickets and sat through operas, the ballet and stage plays. Whatever it took, he told himself, to fulfill that promise to Buddy. In time, she got better, and he told himself Buddy would rest easier knowing that Zach and Martha had fallen in love. Well, Zach thought grimly, he had fallen in love, anyway.

“You remember what she did,” Libby was saying, “after you stood by her through all that misery?”

Like it was yesterday.

“And what about those months you worked as a bouncer to pay your way through college, when all those flirty girls came running to you for protection?”

Yeah, he remembered that, too. For the most part, their fears had been legitimate, so he’d felt no remorse, escorting drunken brutes out of the bar. He’d kept a lid on his temper and got the job done without physical confrontations. He hadn’t even considered roughing up those guys.

That wasn’t the case, though, on the night Libby’s roommate was drugged. Wasn’t the case when Libby herself was attacked, either. He’d wanted to choke the life out of the animals who’d abused them, because the way he saw it—the way he still saw it—no man should get away with mistreating a woman. Ever. Period.

“So your quest to help this latest damsel in distress,” she continued, “just proves one thing to me.”

If she thought he intended to ask what it was, Libby had another think coming.

“You’re still suffering from KISAS.”

Knight in Shining Armor Syndrome. Zach harrumphed. He hadn’t liked the title when she first labeled him with it, and he didn’t like it now.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Libs. I’m not one of your patients.”

“No, you’re my brother, and I don’t want to see you hurt again. If I could wish just one thing for you, it’d be that you’d hang up your superhero cape, once and for all. This Summer person probably isn’t anywhere near as vulnerable as you think she is. But even if you’re right, and she’s a big tangled mess of trouble and baggage, you can’t save her. Only she can do that.”

He sighed, and Libby did, too. She only has your best interests at heart, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, she was right. Again.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll make all your favorites...stuffed shells, garlic bread, meatballs. If you bring a bottle of my favorite wine, I’ll even bake my famous cheesecake. And you have my word—no lectures.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “What time should I be there?”

“Seven?”

He decided to arrive at six so that if anything needed slicing or dicing, or involved a hot oven, he’d volunteer to do it for her.

He was about to sign off when he heard her say, “You know I love you, right? And that I only nag you because I want you to be happy?”

“Yeah, I know. Love you, too, kiddo.”

Happy. What a peculiar word, he thought, hanging up. For some people, happiness was found in life’s simple things, like music or travel, or tending a garden. For others, it could only be achieved by satisfying their every whim.

It wouldn’t take much to make him happy. A humble house with a fenced-in yard, so he could get that golden retriever pup he’d always wanted. Two or three healthy kids. A strong, loving woman to share it all with. And no way Summer was that woman.

Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Marshall? What he knew about her would fit in one eye. She was a looker, no one could deny that. Smart, too. And not one to squander what she’d earned as a voice-over actress. Instead of spending her money on frivolous trinkets, she’d invested in the town house and filled it with things that turned it into a warm and welcoming home.

Don’t think about that stuff, you idiot. Instead, focus on the way she recoiled when you touched her.

He felt bad about what she’d gone through. But Libby was right. He needed to hang up his superhero cape. Put away his armor. Admit that he couldn’t rescue every damsel in distress.

In truth, he no longer wanted to rescue all of them.

Just the one with a smile as warm as her name.

CHAPTER SIX

“SO WHERE ARE your folks?”

“Having lunch in town with friends.”

Rose laughed. “I didn’t know Vail had any vegan restaurants.”

“Oh, they always manage to find something organic on the menu,” Summer said.

Rose tapped the folded edge of Zach’s flyer on the counter, nodding as she munched a cookie. “You know what I think? If you’re dead-set against ever going out of the house, you could make a handsome living, selling these cookies. I’ve never had any quite like them. What’s your secret?”

Summer chose to ignore the “never going out” part of the observation. “If I told you,” she said, topping off her neighbor’s coffee, “it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, now would it?”

“No, I’m serious. You could sell them to restaurants. I’ll bet a few local bakeries would even buy them. They’re that good!”

“I can see it now.” Both hands forming the corners of an imaginary sign, she pretended to read, “Summer Lane, founder of Chips Off the Old Block.” Grinning, she shook her head. “Thanks, but no, thanks, because then I’d be obliged to fill orders. And fight off the reporters clamoring for an interview with the next Mrs. Meadows, Cookie Queen.”

Rose threw her head back and laughed, a little too long and way too loud to sound sincere. But Summer overlooked that, too, because she wouldn’t have offended her for the world.

“You’re a hoot, girl.” Then she got really serious, really fast. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that your parents are here. It drives me crazy, thinking of you over here alone all the time, wasting that delightful sense of humor and all that gorgeousness. But if I said something like that in front of them, only God knows what sort of Pandora’s box I’d open for you.”

“I appreciate your discretion.” Summer had heard it all before. She glanced at the clock.

“I’d better get supper started. They’ll be back in time to eat.”

“Oh. That’s right. And you can count on them to be punctual.” Sarcasm rang loud in her voice. “Like they were punctual last night, when you went to all that trouble to fix them a full vegan meal—which they didn’t eat because they stopped at a restaurant on the way here, without bothering to call and let you know they were running late.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Summer said. “They fell all over themselves, apologizing when they got here.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “But won’t they be surprised when I reheat the entire meal tonight.”

She saw no point in telling Rose that her parents’ guilt had provided the perfect way to sidestep another In Your Own Best Interests speech about the dangers of skipping orthopedist appointments, or yet another lecture about why she should find a therapist who’d force her to get out of the house.

But how she’d avoid all that tonight was anybody’s guess.

“Well, I don’t envy you.”

Rose was still holding Zach’s flyer. She had that look in her eye, and Summer had a sinking suspicion it was behind all this chitchat.

“So how long did Zach stay this time?”

Summer should have known Rose would have seen his truck out front. Was it her imagination, or had her friend put extra emphasis on this time?

“He stayed just long enough for me to fill two more sandwich bags with cookies.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie, either. “He dropped off his friend’s flyer,” she said, nodding at it.

He’d met Harry Wilson at a seminar, years earlier. And since Harry was vacationing in town, he’d asked Zach’s permission to lead a few classes. Monday’s class, to be precise, and Zach thought it only fair to warn her that he and Emma wouldn’t be the only instructors on site.

Rose dismissed the flyer. “So? Have you made up your mind yet?”

“About what?”

“Good grief, girl. Now I know what it feels like to be a dentist. Sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth without the benefit of Novocain! What do you think of him?”

“I think you were absolutely right. He seems like a good guy. It was nice of him to give Alex some behind-the-wheel time.” And nice of him to give me a heads-up about Harry Wilson.

Rose huffed. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Well, he’s still raving about my cookies, so I guess you could say he has good taste, too.”

Rose clucked her tongue. “All right, I’ll quit beating around the bush.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s unnecessarily hard on the shrubbery, and a waste of time, to boot.”

She laughed, swatting playfully at Summer. “Be honest, now—just between you and me—isn’t he the hunkiest hunk of man on two feet?”

Rose had a good heart, but she had absolutely no control over her tongue. There was no such thing as between you and me where Rose was concerned. Summer knew that anything she said in the moments that followed would be repeated, probably before morning.

She grabbed the teakettle, a perfect excuse to put her back to Rose. As she filled it with water, she thought of Zach, tall and blond and broad-shouldered, with a voice so deep and smooth, he could work as a voice-over actor if he wanted to. She’d had plenty of time to think about it, and still hadn’t come up with a color to describe the blue-green shade of his eyes. Hadn’t been able to rationalize the way she’d reacted when his warm fingertips grazed hers, either.

She felt the heat of a blush creeping from her neck to her cheeks and continued facing the stove, because the ever-perceptive Rose was sure to figure out why...and would never let Summer hear the end of it.

When at last she turned around, Rose was reading Zach’s flyer. A not-so-subtle hint for Summer?

“What kind of tea can I get you?” she asked, riffling through her collection.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. But thanks.”

So Rose had stopped by for no reason other than to see if her opinion of Zach had changed between yesterday and today?

“Besides, if I stayed, I’d want to help you get the food reheated for your folks, and that is a one-woman kitchen if ever I’ve seen one.” She narrowed one eye. “Now, if you’re smart, you’ll invite Zach over for a meal sometime. I happen to know that meat-stuffed shells are his favorite main dish. You could ask him to rinse lettuce leaves or chop something while you do...whatever.” Rose smirked. “Squeezing into that tiny space is sure to cure your aversion to being near him.”

It wasn’t just Zach, Summer thought. It was every man, with the exception of her dad and her best friend, Justin.

The teakettle started to whistle, and it dawned on her that the only way Rose could have known how she had reacted to Zach’s touch was if he’d told Alex, and Alex told his mom. The heat in her cheeks intensified. How dare he drag an innocent teenager into...into whatever this was! Oh, she’d go to class on Monday, all right, if only to give him a piece of her mind. What she wanted to tell him couldn’t be said on the phone!

The doorbell rang as she turned off the gas. Saved by the bell, she thought. “It’s probably Justin,” Summer said, heading for the front door.

“I’m sure you already know that you’re doubly blessed,” Rose said as he entered. “Who else has a best friend who’s the most sought-after stylist in all of Vail...and he makes house calls!”

“Flattery will get you anywhere, Rose,” Justin said. “But you still have to make an appointment like everybody else.” Winking, he pressed a kiss to Summer’s cheek. “I’m early, I know, but a client canceled, and I thought we could fill the extra time with a visit.” He looked at Rose. “Sorry if I interrupted your girl talk.”

“Girl talk indeed,” Rose said, waving the comment away. “This one’s lips are buttoned up tighter than Fort Knox.” Grabbing her jacket, she shook a finger under Summer’s nose. “You’re surrounded by enablers, this guy and me, included. Is it any wonder that you’ve been stuck in this same old rut for so long?”

She hugged Summer and smiled at Justin, and with that, she was gone.

Summer couldn’t meet Justin’s eyes. She had a feeling that her friend of many years agreed with Rose.

She shook off her suspicions. “My folks are in town, but they’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m warming up some vegetable lasagna for supper,” she told him, taking refuge in the kitchen. “Why don’t you stay? I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

“Wish I could, but I have plans.”

If not for Justin and his family, she would have spent countless major holidays alone while her parents were on location. They’d been in Europe when she was attacked, and it had been Justin who’d spent the long hours with her at the hospital and rehab center. She couldn’t help but wonder if he really had plans, or if he’d made up the story to avoid spending time with the couple who, in his words, had been absent every time their only child needed them.

“Then what can I get you to drink while we set up for the haircut?”

He sat down at the counter. “Coffee, if you’ve got it.”

The friends launched into familiar, comfortable conversation that continued even as they moved the dining room table and covered the colorful rug with a white sheet, and while he cut and styled her hair. After he helped her put things back into place, he grabbed her hand.

“Sit down, Sums,” he said, leading her to the living room sofa. “I have something to tell you. Something really important.”

He plopped down beside her, looking more serious than she’d ever seen him look.

“Let me say this before I lose my nerve. Again.”

Again? How long had he been planning this little speech?

“Do you like wearing your hair short?”

“Sure. You do a great job. I don’t even miss the long ‘do’ anymore.”

His expression grew even more serious. “You are the only client I make house calls for. You know that, right?”

Yes, she did. Just like she knew what an inconvenience it was for him to haul scissors and combs, dryer and styling tools from his shop on East Meadow to her place. She’d always done everything possible to show her appreciation, and sent him home with generous tips, his favorite desserts and healthy casseroles that he could freeze then bake when work left him no time to cook.

“I realize it’s a hassle,” she said. “Coming over here every month for nearly two years...if you need to charge more, or change the schedule so that—”

He grabbed her hands. “Summer. Shhh. Please?”

She didn’t like his tone. Didn’t like feeling like a misbehaving child, either. It made her remember what her dad had said during his last visit: “If you keep acting like a helpless child, you can’t complain when people treat you like one.” It hadn’t been easy to hear then, and it wouldn’t be easy, hearing it from her much-trusted friend.

“You know I love you like a sister, right?”

She nodded. “And I feel the same way about you.”

Justin looked sad, and pained, and frustrated all at once. Her heart ached for the friend who’d always been there for her. If she loved him half as much as she claimed to, she’d spare him the ordeal of telling her the house calls had to stop.

She sat up straighter and forced a smile. “You know how much I appreciate all you do for me, right?”

One brow rose high on his forehead. “Uh, yeah...”

“So please don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong way.”

Eyes narrowed, he studied her face.

“I’ve let you baby me for far too long. It’s time I stood on my own two feet, inside and outside of this house. So next time I need a trim, I’ll come to your shop, just like any other client.” As he’d done earlier, Summer raised a hand to silence his retort. “I’ve made up my mind, and there isn’t a thing you can do to change it.”

He pulled her into a brotherly hug then held her at arm’s length. “I’m proud of you, Sums. Really proud!”

Summer did her best to match his happy smile...while hoping that someday, she’d share his feelings.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SINCE HER PARENTS’ ARRIVAL, Summer had spent half of her daylight hours picking up things her dad left strewn about, and the other half looking for things her mom had put away. She glanced at the calendar, where her dad had used a fat red marker—it had bled through to the next page—to circle the twenty-first, the date they’d fly to Baltimore then drive to the annual Chesapeake Film Festival in historic Easton, Maryland. Summer loved them like crazy, and because she knew they meant well, she employed an assortment of coping strategies.

When the basket for her dad’s keys, reading glasses and sunglasses, neatly folded handkerchiefs and breath mints overflowed, she added another one. As she rediscovered everyday items hidden by her mom, Summer simply returned them to their proper places. Her best idea yet had been the dartboard on the back of her bedroom door, the one and only room her parents never entered. After printing each irksome peculiarity on Post-it notes, she stuck them to the board. Then, after getting ready for bed each night, Summer would fire a feathered missile at the pastel squares.

Tonight, the dart zeroed in on pancake griddle on top of fridge. Since it had chosen that same note two days earlier, Summer lobbed it again. This time, it landed on wet tea bag in dishwasher, inspiring a burst of quiet laughter.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Are you sure? I thought I heard thumping, and thought maybe you’d fallen.”

It was all she could do to stifle more giggles. “No, I’m fine. Must have been my dresser drawers. Sorry. I’ll close them more quietly from now on.”

Silence, and then a dubious, “All right, then. Good night, honey.”

“Sweet dreams,” she called back, “and thanks for checking on me.”

“Oh. Speaking of dreams, I met your dreamy friend in town today.”

“Who, Justin?”

“No, of course not. I’ve known Justin for years! It was that nice young man who owns Marshall Law. You know, the self-defense studio that’s right next door to the Cascade Café?”

Summer leaped out of bed and threw open her bedroom door.

“I’ve been saving some citrus-lavender tea,” she said, taking her mother’s hand. Leading her down the hall, she whispered, “Let’s have a cup while you tell me all about it. No sense waking Dad.”

After filling the kettle and turning the burner on high, she sat beside her mom at the bar counter. “Now, then. Start at the beginning,” Summer said, “and don’t leave out a single detail.”

“Well, Dad and I were sitting there at the café, looking at the itinerary for our trip, when this handsome man walks up and says ‘Excuse me, I hate to intrude, but aren’t you Mr. and Mrs. Lane?’” Susannah laughed. “Your father thought he wanted an autograph, so he grabbed a napkin and his pen and said, ‘How would you like me to make it out?’”

Summer grinned, picturing the scene.

“So the man gets all tongue-tied and he says, ‘Oh, no. Thank you, but I recognized you from a picture in your daughter’s foyer, and I just wanted to introduce myself.’ You should have seen the disappointed look on Dad’s face! I asked him to join us, and after he sat down, I said to him, ‘So, how do you know our girl?’ And he says to me, ‘I don’t really know her. We only just met, through the boy who lives next door to her.’ And I said, ‘Alex? He’s just the sweetest boy!’ And he says—”

Maybe it had been a mistake to ask her not to leave out any of the details. At this rate, they’d be here till dawn. What Summer really wanted to know was if Zach had sweet-talked her parents into revealing details about her past. And if so, how many secrets had they shared?

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