GOOD INTENTIONS

Journalist Nadine Campbell set out to write a feel-good piece on Rodeo’s own rancher Rembrandt, Zach Brandt—not a sensational exposé. She’d come back from New York to heal, not hurt. And Zach and his adorable twin boys were helping more than she’d ever dreamed possible! But a feel-good piece wasn’t about to save her job.

Zach didn’t want to be interviewed. But he did want Nadine. Always had, ever since high school. Back then, he couldn’t compete with the journalistic ambition he knew would take her away. Now that she’d returned, he had a second chance—and he wasn’t about to squander it. Opening up to her was a risk worth taking. Or so he thought...

MARY SULLIVAN has a fondness for cowboys and ranch settings. She grew up in the city, but found her mother’s stories about growing up in rural Canada fascinating. Her passions include time spent with friends, great conversation, exploring her city, cooking, walking, traveling (including her latest trip to Paris!), reading, meeting readers and doing endless crossword puzzles. She has been told that her writing touches the heart. Mary loves to hear from readers! To keep up with her releases, sign up for her newsletter on her website, marysullivanbooks.com, or follow her on Facebook: Facebook.com/marysullivanauthor.

Also By Mary Sullivan

Rodeo, Montana

Rodeo Father

Rodeo Rancher

Rodeo Baby

Rodeo Sheriff

Cody’s Come Home

Safe in Noah’s Arms

No Ordinary Home

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Rodeo Family

Mary Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08474-1

RODEO FAMILY

© 2018 Mary Sullivan

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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“Don’t you get it, Nadine? I like you.”

She couldn’t breathe. How tall was this mountain? Was it high altitude or something? What had happened to all of the oxygen in the air?

“And this.” Zach kissed her, his mouth meeting hers before she could turn away, hard and soft, cool and hot. Or maybe she didn’t want to turn away.

She sank into him, curled into his arms, delved into his mouth with her tongue and savored him in this private little cocoon of theirs.

Nadine had wanted this. For a long time, she had wanted this. How had she not realized that she’d wanted him?

A tendril of reason, the finest filigree of common sense, tickled her judgment, and she pulled her lips away from Zach’s beautiful, ravenous mouth.

No, ravenous wasn’t right. He hadn’t demanded. He hadn’t lost control. He had savored and adored her lips.

She traced his finely sculpted mouth with her finger, met his passion-hazed gaze and said, “No.”

Dear Reader,

More and more, with each new story I set in Rodeo, Montana, this miniseries becomes my favorite. I delight in the characters and the caring women who want to bring their town back to life with the revival of their local fair and rodeo. If along the way they find love...even better!

In New York City, Nadine Campbell had a busy career as a journalist and no time for love. Recently, her career suffered a harrowing setback and she has come home to lick her wounds.

Zach Brandt has appeared throughout this series as a landscape artist. His paintings grace many of the establishments in and around Rodeo. First and foremost, though, he is a rancher. His love of the land moves him to create his artwork and sustains him through hard times.

In high school, he had a crush on Nadine Campbell and is happy that she is back in town. Could he have a second chance with her? She has come home a changed woman.

A divorced father of seven-year-old twin sons, Zach uses their cute antics to his advantage to get Nadine out onto his ranch as often as he can. He shows her all of his love and compassion to help her to heal and to win her heart.

Of course, the road to a happy ending is never smooth!

I hope you enjoy this latest story about Rodeo.

Mary Sullivan

To Jennifer Hayward and Stefanie London, thank you for your friendship, your brainstorming and our fabulous weekly walks and talks!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Zachary Brandt wasn’t a coward.

Not usually.

He hovered behind a curtain at the picture window that looked out onto his front yard as Nadine Campbell drove her sporty little black car onto his ranch.

In rural Montana on the outskirts of small-town Rodeo, home of dusty, domestic, practical pickup trucks, Nadine scooted around the countryside in her spotless, foreign car.

He should be out on his porch in full view to greet her, not hiding here inside, building up his resolve.

She parked, adjusted her rearview mirror and fiddled with her makeup, the gesture speaking of insecurity he’d noted in the past.

Even way back in high school, before she’d left town for those eight or so years, she’d been self-conscious about her looks. Zach couldn’t imagine why, or what she was doing to makeup that was never less than perfect.

She smoothed her long, red hair, as glossy as glass. Nadine belonged in Rodeo about as much as a racehorse might, an elegant, refined filly among a bunch of stolid workhorses.

“Whatcha doin’, Dad?”

Zach startled. No wonder. He’d just been caught spying on a visitor rather than stepping outside to welcome her. He glanced over his shoulder. His twin sons stood in the living room doorway. They weren’t the only ones who’d caught him; Zach’s father had, too.

Dad raised an eyebrow. Ryan and Aiden watched him with Maria’s deep brown eyes and wide, full-lipped mouths. She might not have left Zach with much, but she’d given him these two treasures and for that he would always be grateful.

They stepped forward and crowded him at the window. Staring out at Nadine, Aiden whispered, “Pretty.”

Understatement. Nadine could give lessons in pretty to the Montana countryside, and Zach thought that was damned stunning.

“Who is she, Dad?” Ryan asked.

“Her name is Nadine Campbell, and she’s a reporter for the newspaper.”

“I saw her before in town,” Aiden said. “She’s got red hair.”

As red as red could be.

“What’s she doing here?” That was Ryan, as curious as ever.

“She’s going to interview me.”

Ryan looked up, not as far as he used to. His kids were growing too fast. Seven years old already. “What about? Our ranch?”

“Partly. She wants to talk about my paintings, but they wouldn’t exist without the ranch. Right?”

“Right,” Ryan answered. He’d heard it all from his dad before, about how his paintings were an outward expression of his love of his land. Then a knowing smile lit his face. “But you’re gonna get her to talk about the ranch!”

Zach ruffled his hair. “You’re too smart to be a kid. Are you an adult in disguise?”

Ryan pressed into his hand.

Zach’s quiet son, Aiden, stood in front of him, leaning back against his legs. Zach settled a hand on his shoulder.

Nadine’s car door opened. He didn’t want to be caught staring. “Come away from the window.” He tried to herd them from the room, but Dad stepped brazenly in front of the window with a mischievous smile hovering on his lips.

“Nadine Campbell.” Zach’s father pretended to think, but his eyes sparkled. “Hmm. Name sounds familiar.”

“Of course it’s familiar,” Zach snapped. “You know everyone in town.” His dad’s feigned ignorance didn’t fool him. The man knew who Nadine was. Did he realize what she used to mean to Zach?

Did he realize what she could still mean to him if Zach had his way?

Second chances rarely happened in real life. Sometimes a man had to grasp that second chance with both hands before it slipped away. A determined man did, at any rate. Zach had managed to spend years, long swathes of time, forgetting about Nadine, but here she was back on his ranch.

“I remember her from years ago before she left town,” Dad said.

Maybe Dad had known how Zach had felt. He could be intuitive...when it suited him.

“She stood out, back then,” Dad said.

“Pop, let’s go,” Zach insisted, trying to get his father to step away from the window. “Get away from there.”

Aiden shrugged off Zach’s hand on his shoulder and joined his grandfather at the window. Ryan did the same thing.

“She’s getting out of the car!” Ryan shouted.

“Modulate, Ryan,” Zach said.

“She’s got pretty shoes on,” Aiden whispered.

Aiden spoke too low. Ryan lived at full volume. If only Zach could even them out. On second thought, no. Each was perfect in his own way.

“Those shoes will get wrecked,” Pop said.

A thought occurred to Zach. “How come you remember her from when she was a teenager?”

His father pretended to look surprised. What game was he playing? “She came out here once with a bunch of kids when you were in high school, for some project or other.”

“Yes, she did.” Zach remembered that visit with vivid discomfort.

“She didn’t like the ranch,” Pop said, bringing back Zach’s disappointment.

It had hurt his teenage ego. The ranch had been, and still was, his world. His pride and joy.

Aiden tugged on his sleeve. “They’ll get wrecked, Dad.”

“Those shoes? Sure will. You two,” he said, touching their heads, “root through the rubber boots in the back porch and see if you can find a pair that might fit our guest.”

Maria’s would still be back there. She sure wouldn’t have taken reminders of the ranch with her, and Zach hadn’t cleared out the porch in the three years since she’d left.

The boys ran off toward the back of the house.

Pop turned from the window. “Didn’t she used to have a mess of curly hair to her waist?”

Yes, her hair had been a mass of long, red curls. Her face had sported more freckles than Zach could ever hope to count. Where had those gone, both the curls and the freckles? How did a person change her appearance so drastically?

Zach eyed his father. “I don’t remember you having a photographic memory.”

“She stood out,” he said, “’cause I knew you liked her. I paid attention. Wanted to make sure she was worthy of my son. She didn’t like the ranch. End of story.”

Pop had known he’d liked her? And he’d worried about Zach? It warmed him.

Nadine still stood out, just in a different shell than the one she used to wear. And hadn’t he always wanted to get a good long look inside that shell?

Dad watched him altogether too carefully before raising that pesky eyebrow again and murmuring, “Well.”

Yes. Well. Some feelings died over time, but some only pretended to, living underground and flaring back to the surface the second a woman came back to town after years away. When she had returned a year ago, he’d been shocked. After high school, she’d told anyone who would listen that she was heading off to New York City to meet her destiny. To forge a career on television.

Now she was back and no one knew why. She didn’t seem to have plans to leave. Zach hoped that would work in his favor. But obviously too much showed on his face if Dad, in his oblique way, was commenting on it. Zach wiped his expression clear of emotion and stepped out onto the veranda.

Lee Beeton, owner of the Rodeo Wrangler, had pestered Zach for an interview for years. Zach had said no. Then Nadine had come back to Rodeo. A year later, she’d asked for an interview. Zach had said yes.

A second chance...

Would she like the ranch any better this time? Would she like him?

She stretched her slim legs, her pretty high heels emphasizing their length while she rummaged in her purse. She didn’t belong here. Their differences struck him anew. I am a sturdy Clydesdale and she is an exquisite Arabian.

He crossed his arms. Why was it taking her so long to get out of one small car?

And what’s the rush, Zach? You aren’t usually this impatient.

Yeah, but Nadine had come back to his ranch.

* * *

NADINE CAMPBELL COULDN’T delay her meeting with Zach Brandt any longer. She had to get out of this car. She had to face him down.

What had started as a simple story about Zach’s love of the landscape and painting it, a story she had looked forward to writing, had turned into a snafu of huge proportions just this morning.

Nadine did not want to be here. There was no way out. Trapped, panic clogged her throat. Could a person suffocate on anger?

Her nerves rattled like a pair of castanets. She shouldn’t have stopped in at the newspaper office before coming out for the interview. Then she wouldn’t have seen her boss, Lee Beeton, who wouldn’t have put her into this awful, awful bind.

Find out that family’s secrets.

No. That wasn’t Nadine’s job. Her job was to talk to Zach about his artwork. That’s it. Nothing else. No digging up dirt. What was Lee’s purpose in needing to know secrets anyway? He didn’t publish a gossip rag.

But he’d issued an ultimatum—do it or you’re fired—and now she had no choice but to write the story he wanted.

In the brilliant sunshine bathing Zach’s ranch, Nadine felt clunky and awkward, an old feeling she’d thought she’d outgrown. With this awful new directive from Lee, any smooth confidence she might have possessed had deserted her this morning. She ran a hand over her twitchy stomach.

From the car, she retrieved the canvas bag that contained the tools of her trade: notepad, laptop, recording device, pencils and pens. The bag was her raison d’être. Her security blanket, its very existence reminded her that, yes indeed, she was a bona fide journalist who deserved to be writing.

She sensed Zach’s presence on his veranda. She couldn’t avoid him any longer, so she turned and walked toward the house.

He stood on his porch steps and watched her approach with his unnerving steady regard. Did the man never blink?

The ranch hadn’t changed since her tour here in high school for a project about local cattle ranching. The sturdy white brick house with blue shutters might be considered by some to be pretty. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t to her taste. She liked modern and sleek. Not that she found much of either here in Rodeo, but back in New York City—oh, heavenly, perfect New York—there’d been plenty of it.

Well, the Big Apple was history, wasn’t it? No sense wishing for the unattainable. No sense chasing down a past that hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to.

Shake it off, Nadine.

Zach still hadn’t moved, but his intensity snagged her attention. What went on in the man’s mind when he gazed about with such deep, earnest interest?

She reached the bottom stair. He stepped down and loomed over her. She was tall. He was taller. He smelled nice, like soap.

“Zach.”

“Nadine.”

She held out one hand to shake. He took it in his, calluses rubbing roughly against her palm, but released it when two kids, a pair of identical twins, came running out of the house.

She guessed them to be about seven years old, but what did she know? She didn’t have a lot of exposure to children. They each carried a single rubber boot. Two different boots.

“I wanted to get just plain black,” one boy shouted, “but Aiden wouldn’t.”

“The lady is pretty,” the other boy said. Oh, sweet. “She might want flowers.”

Zach grasped Nadine by the arms and spun her around.

“Oh!” Whoa.

“Sit,” he said, “and we’ll get you into those boots.”

She sat on a step. He grasped her leg, not quite what she expected.

For a moment, he looked sheepish, as though he’d made a mistake. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be bossy. Can I take off your shoes?”

“Okay,” she said. At her nod, he wrapped long fingers around one of her bare ankles to take off her shoe. Soda pop bubbles fizzed in her bloodstream. The twin who had called her pretty handed him a yellow boot with turquoise flowers on it. When Zach squatted on his haunches in front of Nadine, his face hovered close enough for her to detect flecks of yellow in his hazel eyes.

One of the boys, the flower boot one, distracted her by staring at her pink toenails. He grinned and said, “Nice color.”

Nadine didn’t know how to react. The only children she’d spent any time with were her friends’ kids—the kids they insisted on having as they married and started families.

Zach gripped Nadine’s other ankle in his warm hand and pulled off her second shoe. The soda pop bubbles went electric.

Double whoa. Heat suffused her.

“Can I sit here?” The first boy cuddled close to her on the step. The second boy copied him on her other side. Like a pair of bookends, they nestled against her.

These males overwhelmed her, even the young ones. “Sure you can sit,” she said. “It’s your house. But—”

Zach finished sliding the black boot onto her other foot and stood up. He stepped away with a satisfied smile on his face. Worn jeans hung low on his narrow hips. Biceps filled out his white T-shirt.

“There,” he said. “Now you’re ready for walking on the ranch. Can’t walk it in high heels.”

Nadine stared at the mismatched boots on her feet, the flowered one spotless. Straw and muck clung to the dark one. Oh, God, she hoped it was only muck. The rubber boots mocked all the care she’d taken with her choice of dress and the meticulous application of her makeup this morning.

She might no longer work in New York, but she maintained standards.

Glancing up at Zach, she said, “I brought a pair of boots. They’re in the car.”

He stared at her. “Really? I—” A blush crept up his neck, darkening the tanned skin and spreading into his cheeks. “You did?” Wonder of wonders, the guy looked awkward and not at all his usual assured self. She’d never seen him less than together before.

It kind of charmed her.

She bit back a smile. “Yes. You said we’d be walking so I came prepared.”

“Oh...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

Was he as shy as he looked? Shy wasn’t a word Nadine had ever applied to Zach Brandt. Intense, quiet, self-contained, certain of his place in the world, yes. But shy? No.

Also, masculine. Let’s not forget that, Nadine.

“Do you want to change into your own boots?” he asked.

“Perhaps after we do the first part of the interview,” she said.

“The first part?”

“Yes. I hoped to see your studio. Maybe take a look at your current work.” She wanted to ease into that other story. Lee’s story. The real one, he’d said. The longer she could put off Lee’s agenda, the better.

Her stomach threatened to send up her breakfast. Wouldn’t that be the epitome of embarrassing?

If she could concentrate on Zach’s paintings first, maybe it would become possible to segue into questions about his family’s past. Her problem lay in how to ask those uncomfortable questions.

“No,” Zach said and he didn’t look happy.

“No?” Immersed in her own troubling thoughts, she’d lost track of the conversation.

“This interview is not about my paintings alone. There are no paintings without the land.”

“Yes, we’ll cover everything. But your painting is a big part of who you are.”

“This ranch—” he flung an arm toward the fields “—is a big part of who I am. That’s what the readers will relate to. The land, not paintings.”

Nadine could have argued that point, but too much of her energy today had been taken up by the conversation she’d had with her boss just before driving here. She should ignore it and try to forget, just do her job as she should, but that one misbegotten discussion had rocked her world in the worst possible way.

Pushing up her metaphorical sleeves, she opened her mouth to get this show on the road, but Zach pointed behind her.

“You know my dad, Rick Brandt.”

She turned around on the step to peer up. Nadine smiled. She liked Rick and the perpetual twinkle in his eyes. Where Zach was reserved, his father was gregarious and friendly. Where Zach was long and muscular, Rick was short and spare.

“These are my boys, Ryan and Aiden.” Zach gestured toward the twins, pointing to each one as he said his name. No way would Nadine be able to tell them apart.

They were vaguely familiar to her. She’d probably seen them around town, of course, but hadn’t paid them much attention. Kids weren’t on her radar, probably because there weren’t stories attached to them. She could talk to anyone on any subject, but foreign little creatures called children stumped her. She liked kids, in theory. She just didn’t know what to say to them, or how to entertain them.

Judging by expressions as watchful as their father’s, she didn’t think the twins would go in for fist bumps, or that lamest of lame adult gestures—high fives.

So she smiled, wiggled her fingers hello and turned her attention back to Zach.

“I thought we could start with a look at your studio while you tell me about your inspiration. I have a list of questions for you. Things like when did you start painting, how young were you when you realized you had talent, did you—?”

“Dad,” Zach interrupted, directing his attention to Rick, “we’ll be gone for a while. Can you have lunch ready in an hour and a half?”

Nadine stared. People did not interrupt her so rudely.

Rick grinned and said, “Sure thing. Come on back when you’re done and I’ll have food on the table.”

Zach nodded and strode away toward an outbuilding without another word for her.

Rick said, “You’d better hurry and join him or you’ll have to run to catch up. Zach waits for nobody.” He herded the boys into the house, leaving Nadine alone to stare at Zachary Brandt’s retreating back.

She was not, and never had been, nobody. Certain people had tried to make her believe so, but she’d fought back. Oh, how she had fought. And she’d won. For a while.

Nadine Campbell was somebody, even if she had hit a bump in the road recently.

She crossed her arms and waited to see how long it would take Zach to realize she wasn’t following like a meek little lamb. But when he entered the barn, he didn’t turn back to check her progress.

Five minutes later, he still hadn’t come out.

It seemed to her that he didn’t much care whether she followed. She didn’t like the way he planned to conduct her interview.

She could leave. She wanted to.

Who was she kidding? After the things Lee had said this morning, Nadine was trapped here until she got the full story that Lee wanted. It was either that or lose her job, which she could not afford to do.

She picked up her high heels and carried them to the car, one boot too big and clunking as she crossed the hard-packed earth of the driveway. She set her shoes side by side neatly on the floor mat behind the driver’s seat. For a moment, she considered changing into her own boots, but glanced back at the house. There in the middle of a big picture window were two small figures watching her.

If she changed out of the boots the boys had brought her, she might hurt their feelings. So she didn’t.

Folding her arms, she leaned back against the car. Still no sign of Zach coming back out of the stable.

This morning’s meeting with Lee ran through her mind again. If she could, if it were the least bit possible, she would have quit on the spot, not only because of the orders he gave her, but most especially because of his tone. She’d gone down to the office only to pick up a notebook she’d left on her desk. Lee had ambushed her.

“I was talking to my mother yesterday at the nursing home,” he’d said apropos of nothing, seated at his desk and not looking up from his computer.

With a patience often needed in conversations with her boss, she waited out the ensuing silence.

He finished checking his email and said, “She told me some interesting things about the Brandt family. Some intriguing history.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a big secret the family has never disclosed.” He left it at that and stared at her.

What did that have to do with her and the interview? “And?”

“And you have to find out what that secret is.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know. If it’s super juicy, the rest of the town will want to know, too.”

“But why would it be anyone’s business but the family’s? Everyone in town respects them.”

“Not everyone.”

Nadine cocked her head and Lee continued, “There’s been no love lost between them and their neighbors for a long time.”

Their neighbors were the Broomes. Nadine remembered Tommy Broome from high school. Like Zach, he’d been two years ahead of her. Her memories of him weren’t all good. He’d been aggressive. A bit of a bully.

“There’s a rivalry between them, that’s for sure,” Lee said.

“Why? About what?”

“A feud of some sort.”

“A feud? That’s implies more than a rivalry.”

“Yep.”

“What was the source of the rivalry?”

“Don’t honestly know. Usually these kinds of fights start because of one of three things.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Greed. Love. Sex.”

“What does that have to do with Zach’s paintings?”

Lee shrugged. “Nothing.”

And then she knew. “You used the excuse of Zach’s artistic abilities to get me out on that ranch to interview him.”

“Yep.” That one word, unapologetic, fueled Nadine’s anger. It had been Lee who had urged her to write an article about the Cowboy Painter.

When had Lee changed so much from when she’d worked for him in high school? And why? He didn’t used to be...nasty.

“You used me,” she said, betrayal scooting along her nerves.

“Yep.” Lee threaded his fingers together across his stomach and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t used to be smug, either. “You need to find out what the old secret is.”

“How on earth am I supposed to do that?”

“That’s your problem. You’re the reporter.” Lee’s tone, a mix between order and dismissal, was exactly the problem with working for him.

“Can you give me a hint?” she asked. “What’s the secret about?”

“My mom’s being coy. Said she’ll only talk to Zach about it. It’s going to be your job to get him out to her nursing home.”

“Why don’t you just phone him and talk to him?”

Lee turned away. “We don’t exactly get along.”

See, this was where Nadine and Lee differed. Sure, she was a reporter and liked scoping out stories, but she wasn’t a gossip. She often missed the more salacious stuff going on around town because she wasn’t interested. Rumors and titillation didn’t appeal to her. The truth did.

“Why don’t you and Zach get along?” she asked, because even if this devolved into gossip, it seemed it would have something to do with her getting a story about Zach.

“We had a run-in a couple of years ago.”

“About what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” For a man who usually talked about anything and everything, Lee was being awfully cagey.

Nadine was twenty-nine, which meant Zach must be thirty-one and Lee past retirement age at well over sixty. So whatever the fallout was about, Zach and Lee likely weren’t fighting about a woman. As far as Nadine knew, they had no business dealings, so it wasn’t about money.

What was it? Lee wasn’t talking.

“I can’t butt into the Brandts’ decades-old history,” Nadine said. “I’m going out there to talk to Zach about his artwork.”

Her hand was already on the doorknob when Lee said, “You ignore what I want and you’re fired.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What?” Fired? Disappointment followed yet another burst of betrayal.

Had she done something wrong in the past year of working for Lee? Something that had upset him? Nothing she could think of.

“I’m giving you a job to do and by God, you’ll do it.” Lee stood, all five feet six inches, hundred and fifty pounds of him bristling like a hedgehog. “Weasel that secret out of Zach. I don’t care how. Just do it.”

He was, as it turned out, absolutely adamant. Nothing she had said after that had made a dent in his intention. It was either get the dirt or lose her job.

She needed her job, probably more than Lee even guessed. She’d left the office fuming. Now here she was on Zach’s ranch with a chip on her shoulder and about as far from the top of her game as she could get.

She watched the barn. Not a sign of life there. The man wasn’t coming back for her and she couldn’t leave. Head down, she trudged forward.

Nadine Campbell, you’ve met your match.

Chapter Two

Zach stood in his stable and let the cool, soothing darkness wash the heat of embarrassment from his cheeks. He’d made a fool of himself lunging at Nadine to make her sit for those damned boots.

Smooth, Zach.

His campaign hadn’t started well. He was better than this. Experienced with women. Not awkward and—lunge-y? Damn it, Brandt, you screwed up already.

He should have known she’d bring her own boots. She might be fashionable and perfectly turned out every day, but she was smart. She wouldn’t walk his fields in high heels.

How long would it take her to follow him in? He grinned. On the one hand, she’d pestered him for an interview about his painting, clearly motivated to be here. On the other hand, he knew she was proud. She might drive off in an indignant huff. He wouldn’t blame her. He liked that feisty part of Nadine and wanted to see her riled—anything other than the neutral, blank expression she wore too often since coming home.

He also admired her boundless curiosity, except when she applied it to him. He didn’t want to do this interview. He wasn’t comfortable talking about himself. Never had been.

He wasn’t verbal. His paintings said all there was to say about him.

So why had he given in to her? To get her out on his ranch once more. Zach Brandt, you are so pathetic.

Again, he grinned. Pathetic, yeah, but also smart like a fox. If he had to submit to being interviewed, so be it. He hadn’t pursued her back in high school because he’d known she had ambitions and would leave town for good eventually. For some reason, she’d come back home. She was free. As far as he knew, and he’d asked around, she had no significant other in her life. He was available since his divorce three years ago.

But what would this new adult Nadine think of his ranch? Would she like it any better than she had when she was younger?

There was no point in asking a woman out on a date if she hated what you did for a living.

Where was she?

She had her pride, and he wasn’t going back outside to get her. Her curiosity would get the better of her. Any minute now, she would give in and come to get him.

By the time he’d greeted all of his horses with nose rubs and baby carrots from his shirt pocket, she still hadn’t shown up. She was tougher than he’d thought. Still biding his time, he stepped into the back room that was his studio in the summer months.

Spotless, the room welcomed him like a long-lost buddy, the smell of paint as familiar here as hay, manure, dust motes and horses.

He stared at the canvas sitting on the easel, an unfinished landscape that had been giving him fits. It was a study of his mountain at sunset, and he hadn’t yet gotten the red right where the light reflected on the tip. He mixed too bright or too dull, too orange or too blue.

An old enemy—frustration in his lack of ability—ate at him. Buyers might praise his talent, but he knew better. He knew how far he missed the mark of perfection. He knew how arrogant he was to even try to reproduce what Mother Nature had already presented with such unadulterated splendor.

Still, he strove to interpret and produce his love of the land. He couldn’t stop painting if he tried. The canvas, the paint, called to him.

There had to be a way to mix that particular red. Maybe if he tried adding a little...

With the flash of an idea that just might work, he picked up his palette and mixed. Close. Closer. When he applied brush and paint to canvas, he lost track of time. He lost himself.

Burdens, worries, conflicts fell away. All was peace.

* * *

NADINE WALKED TO the barn with slow steps, the too-large boot hitting the ground with a thunk every time. Funny how much guilt weighed. Tons.

Find out that family’s secrets.

The inside of the barn was empty save for a few horses. Maybe Zach had fooled her and left by a back door. But why would he? He’d agreed to the interview. She hadn’t forced it on him.

Where had he gone?

A faint sound reached her from the back of the building. She followed it to an ancient wooden door standing ajar with sunlight streaming through the gap. She peeked inside.

Zach stood in front of an easel, painting. He’d forgotten about her! Nadine didn’t have a huge ego, but people didn’t tend to forget her. Her looks alone had garnered all kinds of attention in the city. Well, her new, refined looks had.

It had taken a massive makeover to even be considered by a TV station. And finally, one had hired her. She had mattered then, to her bosses and to her audience.

Apparently, she didn’t mean much to Zach. Or perhaps, to be realistic, his painting mattered more.

Why should she be important to him? She was just a girl he’d gone to school with. Not even that. Two years younger than him, she hadn’t shared classes with him. He probably hadn’t even noticed her back then.

He painted with his whole body. Considering he held himself still except for the brush in his hand stroking red paint onto a mountaintop, she wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Understanding came quickly. Zach’s passion for painting was so deeply ingrained, his brush was being wielded by his soul.

Was there anything in Nadine’s life to compare?

Yes. Her writing. When she was involved in a story, she forgot everything else around her. Now, because of her boss, that process had been tainted. Lee had turned it into a distasteful job.

A ray of sunshine poured from a small high window onto Zach’s head like a benediction. Like the hand of God. And here she was, an instrument of either a very unkind god, or the devil, to destroy him.

Hyperbole, Nadine. Yeah, but knowing the little bit she did about the man and his character, this story might very well destroy him. What secrets could there be in his family’s past?

Lee had intimated that there was a huge, ugly, significant secret. Nadine couldn’t imagine that and had told him so.

Oh, yes, Lee had countered, secrets abounded on this ranch, but the townspeople had never gotten the full story. That was her job. The Brandts were, and always had been, respected in Rodeo. They were known throughout the state. Hadn’t Zach’s grandfather run for governor at one point? She had a lot of research ahead of her. And a lot of dirty delving.

Nadine watched Zach while he painted and found it magical.

Even in high school, she’d sensed he was a person of great integrity. As far as she knew, Zach had lived a good, blameless life in his first thirty-one years. Whatever Lee thought had happened in this family must be big, or he wouldn’t be so fixated on her getting the info. Which meant that when it got out, it could very well damage this family.

Nadine had to bring down an honest man.

* * *

ARISING OUT OF a misty internal landscape, Zach became aware of his surroundings...and of the paintbrush in his hand he’d barely realized he’d picked up. That’s how it was with his painting, captivating him in unguarded moments.

His skin prickled. Someone was watching him. He glanced to his right.

Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, stood Nadine. He’d forgotten about her, not an easy feat considering her vibrant beauty and strong personality. Or what used to be a strong personality. Something had happened to her in the city. Something had dampened her enthusiasm.

Zach wanted to know what that was.

One rubber-booted foot rested across the other, out of harmony with the deep green dress wrapped across her flat stomach and tied in a discreet bow at the side, that small flare the only spot of decoration on the garment.

The finely tailored dress outlined her figure without showing too much, tasteful while still displaying trim assets. She must lift weights or work out, he guessed, because her biceps looked strong. So did her calves. But then, he’d already felt how fit her legs were when he’d put the boots on her feet.

Inside of those boots, he knew, were pink toenails to nearly match her pink fingernails. A connoisseur of color, he’d already noted that they were two different shades of pink. As though her body were a canvas, Nadine took the time to choose different colors for her feet and hands.

His gaze caressed high cheekbones and a strong jaw. How difficult would her face be to paint? Being easy on the eye didn’t always translate onto the canvas.

The green of the dress did amazing things to her green eyes. Shadows hovered in those eyes. She had been private back in high school, but now she was downright shuttered. Locked up tight.

Nadine had been hiding inside of herself since coming home. How he knew that when he’d barely had contact with her in that time was hard to say, but he observed, constantly, everyone and everything around him. He would love to breach her defenses to learn the woman beneath her sophisticated exterior. With an artist’s sensibilities, he knew her beauty was more than skin-deep, but why did she hide what was inside of her?

What drove her extreme need for privacy?

She watched him steadily but without anger at being abandoned, as far as he could tell.

“How long?” he asked.

She understood him right away, glancing at her watch, a tiny bit of filigreed gold on her left wrist. Could it even be called a watch?

“Forty minutes.”

Forty minutes!

Zach wasn’t prone to blushing, but heat traveled up his chest and into his cheeks for the second time that morning. He hadn’t meant to be rude. Well, not this rude. Nor did he like people watching him while he painted.

The act of painting was a deeply private enterprise for him. He made only the finished product available for public consumption. But he had, in effect, invited her to look for him back here by abandoning her in the yard and expecting her to follow him to the stable.

Then he’d forgotten himself enough to start to paint. What would she write about it?

Funny, the guy seemed to go into a trance while he left me waiting to interview him. Rudeness must be Zachary Brandt’s middle name.

Would Nadine say things like that about him? Maybe. Maybe not. He might think he knew her, but what he knew was an old version of her. That Nadine might well be obsolete by now.

She didn’t look put out. She looked curious, avidly drinking in the details of the room. She stepped forward and studied the work in progress while Zach held his breath.

Though his paintings might be so personal that he didn’t care what people thought of them, Nadine’s opinion mattered.

“It’s magnificent,” she said, and he believed she meant it. She wasn’t just buttering him up to get a better article out of him.

The warm feelings flooding his veins disconcerted him. He stood abruptly. “Let’s go,” he said and left his studio, judging that she’d follow him this time.

In the larger room with the horses, he asked, “Do you ride?”

“Yes. Why?”

“We could ride out on the land while we talk.”

“You mean, while you talk and I listen. This is an interview, Zack, not a conversation.”

He glanced at her dress. “I guess we won’t be riding today unless you want to borrow some of my clothes.”

“They wouldn’t fit.”

“Why did you come out to a ranch dressed like that?”

“Because I’m here as a professional.”

“Wouldn’t a professional dress appropriately for the situation?”

By the displeasure on her face, he knew his barb had hit home.

“You wanted to avoid getting out on the land, didn’t you? Why?”

* * *

ZACH SCARED NADINE.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He intimidated her. He saw too much. His question was fair.

He had hit the nail on the head, exposing and smashing the arguments she’d used for why she hadn’t worn pants and a simple shirt today. A pro would dress for the situation and the terrain. She had tried to keep control of the interview by not wearing practical clothing.

She’d thought she could get away with photographing him and interviewing him only in his studio by wearing a dress. The boots she’d thrown into the trunk had been an afterthought.

That’s not all, Nadine. As much as she knew her readers would love to know more about Zach, she didn’t want to get anywhere near him. She’d worn her professional outfit as a shield.

The resounding answer to his question was—drumroll, please—that she wanted Zach to see her only one way: as a professional and not as a woman.

Given what she was about to put him through in the course of writing this article, she didn’t welcome her attraction to him. She wouldn’t welcome his attraction to her. If there was any. She thought there used to be, but that was a long time ago, in a different life.

In New York City, she’d learned a lot about makeup and good clothing and putting her best foot forward. Plenty of men had found her attractive. The men of New York liked this version of her.

But Zach...it was like he saw through her and that unsettled her, even as she reasoned that there was nothing to see through. In New York, she had simply learned to be a far, far better version of herself. Her thoughts, her emotions, her justifications for any and all decisions in her life were hers and hers alone. They were none of his business.

Still, he waited with that unnerving stare.

Let’s keep things light and on the surface, she thought.

On the other hand, wasn’t she here to get to know him better? Wasn’t the point of her interview to find out as much as she could about the man?

Zach had never been the kind of person to give much of himself away. Even in high school, he’d been intensely private. And though they’d grown up in the same town, and they both lived here now, he remained a mystery.

Who was Zach Brandt?

Oh, well, what she couldn’t get from him, she would get from others. She would talk to his buddies in town. She would interview his father.

Nadine always got her story.

“Okay, we can’t ride today,” Zach said, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t answered his question about going out on the land. “We’ll go for a walk.”

He obviously assumed she would do anything he wanted.

“You didn’t dress for riding,” he continued, “but you will the next time you come out.”

The next time? Yes, of course, there would be a next time. She couldn’t get everything she needed in one visit. If only she could and then never have to face Zach again.

Detach, Nadine. Detach.

While maintaining objectivity might be a normal part of journalism, it had never felt more important than today. She built her barriers brick by brick.

“Do you ride well?” he asked.

“Not well, but I can ride enough to see some of the land.”

“Okay, one of the things we’ll do in this whole interview process is to get out there together on horseback.”

“Do we have to? Why can’t we just talk?”

A corner of Zach’s mouth kicked up. “Do I seem like much of a talker to you?”

A laugh burst out of her. “No.”

“Exactly.”

She liked this self-aware joking side of the man.

One by one, Zach led his horses out of the stable and into a corral along the side of the building. Nadine followed him out of the barn to watch them prance in the sun. Thank goodness it wasn’t raining. She felt more comfortable with Zach in the outdoors than in a confined space like the stable, and especially that small studio, even if it was best to do the interview there and concentrate only on his artwork. The man was too big and too warm.

He stood with the easy, loose-hipped grace of a man comfortable in his own body. And what a body it was—lean but strong, and muscled in all the right places. His dark hair curled over his collar. It had fallen forward across his forehead while he painted.

She’d caught a rare glimpse of an unguarded moment. He’d been focused and contained and lost somewhere deep inside. Still waters had never run so deeply.

She opened the bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out her small voice recorder. “I have to warn you that I’m going to record the interview.”

He frowned at the device, eyes piercing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Did he think she had a perfect memory? All journalists used some kind of recording method.

He kept staring at it.

“I can’t remember everything and it’s hard to take notes out here. May I record or not?” What an odd thing for him to object to. Maybe he didn’t like the actual formality of an interview. Maybe he was more comfortable just talking. Some subjects were like that.

He took his time, but eventually Zach shrugged and said, “Okay.”

She pressed Record. “When did you first realize you wanted to paint? And how did you get started?”

He turned to stare at his horses and settled the black cowboy hat in his hand onto his head. “I can’t remember how old I was when I first started to draw. I assume I was very young or I would remember. Maybe my father can tell you more about that.”

“I’ll ask him.” She waited, but he said nothing more. “And how did you start?” she prompted.

“I assume with crayons.” A hint of sarcasm colored his tone.

“Don’t you know? What did your parents tell you?”

“Nothing. I’ve never asked. I don’t know how my artistic drive started because it has just always been part of me.”

“It sounds like I’ll get more information out of your father than out of you.”

He smiled. “In that area, yeah.” He pushed away from the fence. “Let’s walk.”

Nadine hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder.

Zach took it from her and said, “We can come back for this.”

“But—”

“Isn’t the tape recorder enough?”

She studied it. Why did she need anything else right now? “Yes. I guess it is.”

Zach hung her bag from a fencepost and started to amble along the side of the corral.

Her wistful glance lingered on her bag. She didn’t need it at the moment, but this interview seemed to be moving out of her control. But that wasn’t Zach’s fault, really, was it? Lee had done that to her. He’d rattled her.

Struggling to regain some semblance of her identity as a reporter, she asked, “What motivates you, Zach?”

He swept his arm wide. “This is it—all the motivation I need.”

They rounded the back of the stable and started into a field. Nadine pointed to the low mountain in the distance. “I recognize that. That’s what you were working on in the studio.”

He nodded. “My favorite part of the ranch. The view from the top is spectacular. We’ll head up there at some point. You need to see it to understand my paintings.”

She stumbled and he caught her elbow. “Okay?”

When she was steady, she shied away from his firm touch. “I blame the mismatched boots.”

He frowned. “Do you want to go back for yours?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. What do you see when you look at your land?”

“I imagine the same thing you do. Maybe my brain interprets it differently, that’s all.”

She stopped. “You aren’t giving me much.”

He held up his hands, palms out. “What do you want me to say? I see the land. I paint it. It’s that simple.”

Nadine struggled to rein in her frustration. Maybe she wasn’t asking the right questions. “But where does the depth come from?”

“From a love of the land.”

If he didn’t give her more than one-sentence answers and circular explanations, she wasn’t going to end up with much of an article. She glanced around.

“Tell me,” he said. “What do you see?”

“A pretty landscape, but what I see doesn’t matter, does it? This article will be about you. How does the vision for your paintings develop?”

“It doesn’t develop. It just is.”

“Do you mean you see the world differently than other people do?”

“Differently than you do, that’s for certain,” he said under his breath. “When I’m out on my own, I’m aware of every little thing. I can’t be articulate and poetic about the land. Words aren’t my forte. Painting is. So how can I describe the process to you when there isn’t one, when what you see on my canvasses is the answer to all of your questions?”

She frowned. At least he was talking more. “I can’t write an article on so flimsy an account. I can’t just publish photographs of your work.”

“Why not?”

“Because the public wants to know who you are, the man behind the paintings.”

“Everyone in Rodeo already knows who I am.”

“The Rodeo Wrangler’s readership spreads through the entire county. You know that.”

“They don’t need me to explain my paintings to them.”

“That’s my job. I can explain that to them.”

“I doubt it. You don’t know me from Adam.”

She choked out a sound of frustration. “That’s why I’m here today. To get to know you better.”

He didn’t respond.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you what I saw while you were painting.” She sensed Zach becoming still beside her, but she pushed on. “I saw such intensity. You don’t seem like an emotional man, but I sensed an emotional connection to the land.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But it’s also a spiritual connection, I think. You looked...at peace, Zach.”

If she sounded a little envious, it was because she felt that way. How did a person find that connection to the world? How did a person find where they belonged?

In New York City, Nadine. Remember?

Nope. Not anymore. She brushed aside the sadness that thought brought on, ruthless in her need to deny and forget.

Her stomach rumbled. She had a bad habit of skipping breakfast before heading out to interview or write an article. This morning had been no different.

Zach heard and steered them back toward the house. “Sorry about the painting. I took so long we’re going to miss some of today’s interview time. Dad will have lunch ready by now.”

“But I need more, Zach.”

“I understand. You’ll get more. You’re coming back tomorrow to ride, remember?”

He grinned and she swore her heartbeat stuttered.

But she wanted this all settled quickly. As much as she wanted to avoid Lee’s angle, she couldn’t. Only when it was written and published could she move forward. One more life destroyed. But it was the price she had to pay if she wanted her life back. Wasn’t it?

Oh, God.

Her fingers tingled with the need to learn the awful secret and type up everything, finish the article and then crawl into bed to hide from the fallout that was sure to follow. How had her life become so screwed up?

They entered the house together. Zach toed off his cowboy boots while Nadine left the rubber boots he’d given her neatly on a mat.

“Lunch is ready,” his father called from the back of the house.

Zach led her to the kitchen where the two boys already waited at a large wooden table. Three other places had been set. Zach pulled out a chair for her and she sat.

While Zach and Rick served canned tomato soup and basic grilled cheese sandwiches, Nadine thought back to some of the amazing sandwiches she’d had in New York City with all of its different restaurants and cuisines. This didn’t begin to compare.

Zach sat down and met her eye. Had he guessed what she was thinking? She should be careful that she didn’t let that kind of attitude bleed through. Why should she compare the two? Rodeo, Montana, was valid in its own right. She’d been raised on canned soup and white bread sandwiches, even if her tastes had changed.

Fortunately these days, she could indulge her new tastes at the Summertime Diner. Violet Summer did an amazing job of elevating old classics.

Who knew? Someday Nadine might be working for Vy. If Nadine couldn’t get the information Lee wanted, she could kiss her career goodbye, a thought that pained her deep in her soul. She probably would end up working as a waitress for Vy.

Not that there was anything wrong with the job, but it wouldn’t fill her passion for reporting, interviewing and writing, would it?

She wasn’t meant to do anything other than report on people, places and things. Journalism had saved her life. It had made her adolescence bearable. It had made life with her aunt less devastating.

How could she give it up now? Writing was her only purpose in life. Her passion. Without it, she would be aimless and lost.

A part of her would die.

Throughout the quiet, uncomfortable meal, the children stared at her. Her smiles for them, while genuine, were restrained. She just didn’t know what to do with children. How should she talk to them? What should she say?

In high school, while other kids were earning money babysitting, she had been writing articles for the high school newsletter and for the Rodeo Wrangler.

She was more comfortable with her friends’ children, maybe because they were little pieces of her friends in miniature form. She wasn’t comfortable with Zach, so perhaps there was a double whammy thing happening here. She couldn’t relax around Zach. It made sense she couldn’t relax around his children, either.

After what felt like an eternity, Nadine put down her spoon, her soup bowl empty. It might have been plain food, but it brought back memories of lunch in the high school cafeteria with her friends, and that wasn’t a bad thing. She wondered if they were still serving the same food or if they’d updated it by now. Teenagers were a lot savvier than they used to be.

Funny, she’d enjoyed the soup and sandwich after all.

If only the children would stop sneaking peeks at her. She wanted to ask Rick questions about Zach, but would rather not do it in front of the children. Instead, she engaged him in chatter about things going on around town.

Eventually, one of the boys—Ryan, maybe?—piped up.

“You write?” he asked. He’d been fidgeting throughout lunch.

“Yes. I write articles for the Rodeo Wrangler about all the things that go on around town.” She cursed the sound of her voice, too fake and hearty. Even to her own ears, it betrayed her unease with the little boys.

The child fixed her with an intent gaze. “Can you read my story?”

“You wrote something?” she asked. “How wonderful.” She, too, had written stories at that age.

He nodded. “Can you read it?”

“I guess that would be all right.”

“Great.”

He got up from the table, but Zach said, “Aiden,” in a quiet but firm voice.

Aiden stopped and looked at his father.

“After dessert.”

“Okay, Dad.” Aiden sat back down.

Obedient kids.

Throughout a long dessert—long to Nadine, at any rate, with Zach quiet and intense at the opposite end of the table and the two boys fidgeting until the last mouthful was swallowed—she tried to relax.

Was that what children did, fidgeted, or were these two unusually active? Zach didn’t seem to notice or mind.

When he stood, Nadine breathed relief. His father collected dirty plates and cutlery. When Nadine offered to wash dishes, he waved her away. “Go read Aiden’s story.”

Zach led her to the living room and motioned for her to sit on the sofa. Aiden and Ryan ran into the room and jumped up beside her, nestling as close as they could on either side.

“Oh!” She wasn’t used to children crowding her. Nadine tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, bracketed as she was by the boys. She allowed Aiden to insert his head up under her arm so she had no choice but to put her arm around him.

Friendly little guy. His twin did the same on the other side.

Aiden retrieved something from the small table beside the sofa.

“Here.” He thrust a folder at her, homemade from yellow Bristol board and decorated with a drawing of a boy on a horse. She smiled, wondering if he wanted to be a painter like his dad one day.

She took her arm from around Ryan’s shoulder and gingerly accepted the story from Aiden, avoiding the small blob of cheese still stuck to one of his fingers. Her dress had been expensive when she’d bought it three years ago. She couldn’t afford to replace it if grease from that cheese stained it.

Go clean your hands. Where do you think we live? In a barn?

Nadine shut out that voice so she could give Aiden’s story her full attention. She opened the folder. Large, childish printing covered four sheets of lined paper, front and back.

“Read it out loud,” Aiden ordered.

With the boys’ warm weight tucked close to her sides, she read Aiden’s story...and was charmed. The story of what he knew—life on a ranch—delighted her.

When she closed the folder, he leaned forward and twisted around until he could look up at her. “Is it good?”

“Yes, it is.” How could she deny that earnest gaze anything? “It’s a wonderful story.”

His smile warmed her heart. “What was the best part?” he asked.

“When the boy rescued the pony from the crevasse he’d fallen into.”

“Yeah! That’s my favorite part, too. Boys are good at rescuing.”

“Girls, too,” Nadine said, but Aiden’s returning look was dubious.

Oh, dear. She shot a glance at Zach who said, “Girls, too.”

“Dad, tell her,” Ryan ordered. “Boys do the rescuing. Not girls.”

“Son, this is a conversation we need to have later.” His eyes met Nadine’s. “And we will.”

His promise eased her concerns. “Girls can be anything they want to be,” Nadine said.

“Anything?” Aiden asked.

“Anything.”

The earnest, matching expressions on the twin’s faces were reminiscent of their dad’s even if their eyes were a lot darker than his. Their mother’s, perhaps?

She’d never met Zach’s ex. Had never even seen her.

Aiden touched Nadine’s chin to bring her attention back to him. She wondered whether the presence of a woman was unusual enough for them to vie for her attention.

“Tell me what else you liked,” he said.

She outlined all that she thought was strong about his writing. Aiden watched her without a word, his serious attention charming her.

When she finished, he asked, “Can you put it in the paper?”

“The newspaper?”

“Yeah.”

He’d surprised her. She had no idea what Lee would think. “I can ask the publisher, if you like.”

He nodded so hard a hank of hair fell across his forehead. “I’ll write another story,” he said. “Just for you!”

Nadine looked at Ryan on her other side. “Do you write, too?”

“No, but look what I can do!”

He jumped up from the sofa and did a somersault across the carpet.

Aiden joined him and they started to roughhouse.

They rolled around on the floor like a pair of bear cubs in freshly fallen snow, so much like two halves of a whole it was hard to tell where one started and the other ended.

Zach and Rick carried on a conversation with Nadine, asking questions about how the fair was coming along—Nadine was on the Rodeo Revival committee, and the event was only a month away—while she kept her eye on the two boys grappling and giggling.

Apparently, this was normal. Neither Zach nor Rick batted an eye. But Nadine noticed...and remembered the admonishments she’d received as a young preteen.

Don’t slouch. Stand up straight.

Only speak when spoken to.

Don’t get your clothes dirty.

Put your books away now. Cleanliness is next to godliness.

Tidy up. Tidy up. Tidy up.

Do better.

Brush out those ridiculous curls.

Be a good girl.

And the worst of all: You’re just like your mother.

Considering that she’d always adored her mother, Nadine hadn’t understood what her aunt meant by that. Not when she’d first arrived in town as an eleven-year-old, at least. But in time, her aunt had made certain Nadine was clear that it wasn’t a compliment.

The loop of recriminations hadn’t stopped, even with her aunt’s death four years ago. Like a Möbius strip that never ended, Nadine had internalized her aunt’s voice.

God, she was tired of it.

The twins stopped fighting and ran from the room. They pounded up the stairs. Nadine meant to get her story as quickly and painlessly as possible and then stay far, far away from Zachary Brandt and his enchanting boys.

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