The lights went out when Eden was reading the Seattle paper online. Automatically, she checked the plug on her laptop before she realized the house was silent. The television, so rarely not tuned into one twenty-four-hour news channel or another, was silent. Crazy, since today was Election Day and her father had been following the embittered campaign religiously, wondering which candidate would keep them afloat when it all went to hell. Every night, the pundits on the twenty-four-hour news stations got more intense, as if they were trying to reach through the television to make the viewers understand. Every night, her father grew quieter and quieter, and after the eleven o’clock news, he’d head to the basement to his HAM radio.
She closed her laptop and headed downstairs. Her father stood on the front porch, the door open, looking down the hill at the dark town. But he wasn’t looking at that. He was looking across the water toward the mainland, where they could usually see the glow of lights from Seattle and Tacoma.
Tonight, the sky was completely dark.
“It’s just a power outage. A storm.” Eden’s mother joined them at the door, cellphone in hand, but her tone anxious.
Her husband nodded at the phone. “Are you getting anything on that?”
Sarah McKay’s mouth tightened, and she shook her head.
Eddie McKay turned his gaze out over the water again. “It’s happened.”


* * *


Eden woke the next morning shivering under two quilts. Her father hadn’t wanted to turn on the generator yet, wanting to conserve fuel. So the power hadn’t come on.
God, she didn’t want to believe that her father was right. As much time as he’d spent training her on what to do in this situation, she’d never believed she would have to put those skills to use. She’d feared it, but never believed it.
Stomach tight, she entered the kitchen to see her parents at the table eating cereal. From the drawn look on her mother’s face and the bags under her father’s eyes, she could tell they’d not slept, or not slept well.
“I’ve called a town hall meeting for eleven,” he told her when she sat with them. “I want the two of you with me. It might get ugly and I want you close.”
Eden pulled the carton of milk toward her. It held some residual chill, but not much. She may as well use as much as she wanted. No telling when she’d get more. So she drowned her cereal in it. “Ugly? Why?”
“They’re not going to like what I have to say.”


* * *


The meeting was called to order in the tiny town hall, whose capacity, as stated on the plaque by the door, was only 100. Since the population of Pontbriand Island was over three hundred, and people were anxious, the mood in the town hall was already edgy.
“It’s finally happened,” Eddie McKay said once the meeting was called to order. “I’m not sure exactly what, if it’s war or a terror attack or just exactly what. I was on my radio last night for hours. Power is out all over the United States, but no one seems to know why. There’s plenty of speculation, of course, that I won’t go into here. Make no bones about it. The United States is under attack, and the safest place for everyone to be is here on Pontbriand Island. What I’m saying to you is, we aren’t able to contact the outside world, not at this time, anyway, aside from my HAM radio, and we won’t be leaving the island.”
That drew gasps of alarm.
“What about supplies?” someone asked.
“We’re in good shape there. I’ve been stockpiling supplies for years, ordering them online, having them delivered, buying non-perishable food in bulk every time I go to the mainland. It’s stored under city hall. We have a plan, of course, for distribution. Also, we have good crops, cattle, deer. We’ll have to be judicious there, of course, but again, I have a plan for distribution. And we’re fortunate to have the ocean. We can do our fishing on the ocean side, away from the mainland.”
“Wait a minute,” said John Rayburn, a local farmer. “I’m planning to sell my crops and cattle.”
Her father looked at him a long moment. “John, right now we’re not sure you have anyone to sell them to.”
“We can send some people to the mainland to see what’s going on,” John Rayburn said.
Her father held up a hand for calm, impossible as terror rolled through the crowd. “We cannot risk sending anyone over there. Even more, we cannot risk people thinking about this island and wanting to find refuge here. We have supplies for ourselves only. Three hundred seven and a half people live in this town.” He gave a small smile to Teresa Rose, six months pregnant. “We need to protect ourselves. I propose we put guards along the coast to watch for boats coming from the mainland.”
“And if they come? What are you proposing?” Phil Mancietti spoke up, his voice shaky.
Her father’s face grew stony. “I propose we send them on their way.”
A chill ran through Eden at his words. She couldn’t envision doing that, not to desperate people.
“I also propose that we turn off the lighthouses. They’ll only serve to remind people we are here, friend and enemy. We do not want to be remembered.”
“Some of us have family on the mainland,” said Mary Jenkins in a shaky voice. “My son is in the Navy.”
“And my daughter Kelly is in Tacoma, and Candace’s grandchildren are in Seattle and Phil’s son at Stanford, and Dr. Hoyt and his family are on a cruise in England. If they can find their way back to us, we will find a way to welcome them. But under no circumstances are we to leave this island. Is that clear?”
Eden’s heart clutched as she met her mother’s gaze. They hadn’t seen Kelly in years, weren’t even sure she was still in Washington. And now, God knew what kind of danger she was in.
The grumbles around them grew louder, vociferous, angry. “You can’t make that call for us.”
“I can, because I’m the one with the supplies. And the guns. And the plan to keep us safe against whatever this is.” He nodded toward Damien Morgan, one of the local fishermen, who signaled to a few other men and left the room. Then her father exited through the back door.
The meeting disintegrated from there, people talking among themselves, a few voices raised in anger, others in panic. The prevailing attitude was shock, not at the situation, but at her father’s handling of it. Even she, who knew her father better than anyone, who had listened to his fears, was stunned by the line he’d drawn, not allowing people from the mainland to escape to the island. She’d known he didn’t want people to leave the island, not only because he believed he could keep them safe, but because he wanted the island to keep a low profile. As shocked as she was, she couldn’t imagine how the people who knew him as their calm and reasonable mayor were seeing him now. She could see the discomfort, the disagreement in the body language of the people around her. Would there be action against him? Or would they believe he could keep them safe?
What did she believe?
She made her way through the crowd after her father. Jennifer Dodson caught her arm.
“He doesn’t mean it, does he? About not letting anyone come?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s just being cautious. I’ll talk to him.” Not that it would do any good, just yet, while everything was so new. She broke herself free and pressed through the crowd.
“Come on, dude,” one of the Rayburn’s sons said to a friend, one of the Wayne boys, she thought. “Let’s take my boat. We’ll go see what’s going on.”
The Wayne boy hesitated. “Man, no, what if Mr. McKay is right? We don’t know what’s going on over there. What if it’s war or something?”
“Then we’ll be the ones to go find out and let everyone know. Come on!”
Eden gripped the Wayne boy—Chris? Carter?—by the wrist. “You can’t do that. Give it some time. We’ll find out what’s going on. You need to listen to my father.”
The Rayburn boy intervened, breaking her hold on Chris/Carter’s arm. He towered over her, though he was ten years younger. “Just because you do everything your father says doesn’t mean all of us have to.”
Shouting outside drew her attention, but she sent one last pleading glance to the boys before hurrying out to see her father squaring off with Vince Lopez, the harbormaster. Eden pressed through the crowd to get to her father’s side. He was using the reasonable voice that got him elected as he defended his decision to have Damien and the others disable the lighthouses on the island.
“You’ll kill people!” Lopez said. “Ships will run aground on their way to the mainland. Boats will sink.”
“And if we don’t, we’ll become a target. We don’t know who the enemy is yet. We need to be safe, just like our families did in World War II. You know it’s true, Vince.”
“What if our families try to come?” Mary Jenkins said again. “How will they find us? They could be lost at sea.”
“I’m sorry, Mary,” her father said, not unkindly. “But we need to think of ourselves first. Once everything is sorted out, we can start thinking about others.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mary’s husband Robert bit out. “Our boy has done three tours. He’s a hero and deserves to come home.”
Eden read the sadness in her father’s eyes and hurried forward before he could say something he’d regret—or at least that the Jenkinses would.
“Maybe everything will come back on tomorrow,” she said soothingly. “Who knows, we may wake up to Good Morning America, and this might all be just a damaged satellite or something.” She hooked her hand through her father’s arm and drew him toward home, partly to get him away from the increasingly agitated crowd and partly to question him about his declarations.
He didn’t want to go with her. She could tell by the resistance in his arm, but he must have seen the urgency in her expression because he turned to follow.
“Dad, I know you’ve thought about this a long time and everything, but you can’t mean no one can come home.”
He gritted his teeth. “My priority is taking care of the people on this island. That means isolating us.”
“Even from our own family members?”
He stopped and looked down at her. “Eden, your sister hasn’t been home in years, hasn’t spoken to us in years. You think she’ll suddenly be in contact?”
“If she’s scared, yes. You know she’ll be scared, Dad.” She shivered just thinking about how vulnerable her sister was, on the other side of the channel. “I want to go get her.”
He started walking again. “Absolutely out of the question. There’s already unrest over there. As strong as you are, as smart as you are, I’m not sending you over there.”
“I thought you and I could go.”
He shook his head. “I can’t leave the island, and if I let you go, others will want to go, as well. I’m responsible for the safety of the people here on this island. Your sister made her choice.”


* * *


The next morning the knock on the door woke them, though Eden hadn’t been asleep long, listening to her parents fight over Kelly. Her mother’s tearful pleas had become angry and doors had slammed. Eden’s own throat tightened as she thought about how her father had hardened his heart toward his own daughter. Didn’t he worry about how afraid she was?
Curious about how could be at the house just after dawn, Eden came down the stairs to see her father open the door. She heard the words “missing” and “boat,” and her stomach dropped to see John Rayburn standing on the porch, his eyes shadowed, his shoulders bent with pain. Beside him, his wife Veronica sobbed into a handkerchief.
Oh, God, no. She gripped the rail and willed this all to be a dream.
“Rick didn’t come home after the meeting last night,” John said. “We drove all over the island because we didn’t want to think he’d be so stupid, but his boat is gone. We’re afraid he went to the mainland. He wouldn’t do something so foolish, would he?”
“Last night he and the Wayne boy were talking about it,” Eden admitted, stepping forward, a slash of pain riding through her as the Rayburns turned toward her. “I told them not to even think about it but they thought they’d go see what was going on.”
Veronica lowered her handkerchief and looked at Eden, eyes bright with betrayal. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Helplessness washed over her, settling in her stomach. “I didn’t think they’d do it,” she said. “Dad and Mr. Lopez were arguing, and I forgot. I swear, I never thought they’d really do it. They’re just boys.”
Veronica burst into tears. “And now they’ll never find their way back without the lighthouses.”
“They will. They’re smart boys. They’ll be home soon,” her father said, putting himself between her and a suddenly very angry, very big John Rayburn. “They’ll see what a mistake it was and come home. I’m sure of it.”
But they didn’t, not that night, or the next. Despite her father’s protests, another group of six men went to search for them. They didn’t return, either.
The next morning, all the boats in the harbor had been sunk.


* * *


Her father instructed Damien Morgan and his friends to patrol the side of the island facing the mainland at night, enforcing the directive that the residents kept their lights out, and to make sure no boats came from the mainland overnight. John Rayburn and Marcus Wayne joined them most nights, hoping for a sign of their sons.
Eden wanted to throw up every time she thought of how she could have prevented those young men from leaving, and the other men who’d gone to search for them, leaving families behind. What had happened? What had they found on the other side of the channel?
A few weeks after the television signal went out, the sound of a motor carried across the water, and the townspeople gathered on the shore despite the cold of the late November day. They’d fallen into routines—some the same as always, others markedly different, with no communication with the outside world—but an arriving boat caused a stir.
Damien moved to the head of the crowd, watching the boat approach, a rifle braced casually on his hip. Eden moved to stand beside him, tense with the possibility of what he might do. She’d gotten to know him better the past few weeks, since he and her father began working more closely together, and she didn’t entirely trust his judgement. He was more militant than her father, and if he had his way, she feared they’d have martial law. He glanced at her, as if he sensed her intentions, and headed toward the dock. She followed.
The approaching boat was small, but carried seven people that she could see, including three children. Too many people for a small craft crossing the expanse of water. She scanned their faces. None were familiar, not Candace’s grandchildren or Mary’s son Aaron.
Not her sister.
The newcomers powered up to the dock, looking at the sunken boats around them which had yet to be removed. They looked at Damien and his friends, armed and alert. Eden could only imagine their fear.
“What are you doing here?” Damien asked.
“We’ve come for shelter. We thought this would be a safe place,” one man said.
“We’re not taking refugees.”
“Please, we brought food to share, medicine, whatever we could manage,” one woman said, holding the smallest child against her.
“We’re not taking refugees,” Damien repeated.
Eden put her hand on his arm. “Let’s at least hear what they have to offer, and maybe they can tell us what’s going on.”
Damien looked at her a long minute, then nodded curtly before turning back to them. “Just because I’m letting you off your boat doesn’t mean you’re staying,” he cautioned them.
The pilot powered the boat to the dock, tied it up, and shut off the engine. The resulting silence was deafening. The entire town watched as the seven climbed out of the boat and made their way up the dock, the women putting their bodies between the children and the guns.
Veronica Rayburn ran forward and caught one man’s arm. “Have you seen two young boys? Two teen-aged boys, one scrawny and one a farm boy? They left here two weeks ago on a boat. We don’t know—we don’t know what happened to them.”
The man shook his head, and Eden was close enough to see his eyes were haunted.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Is it bad there?” someone else asked. “What happened?”
“Let’s get them to town hall and we can hear what they have to say there,” Eden said.
Damien sent Patrick, one of his friends, for her father and led the way into town. She helped herd the newcomers toward the building. The rest of the town filed in, oddly silent, anxious to hear news.
“What happened?” Eden asked the man who had piloted the boat, the apparent leader. “We haven’t had any news since early November. What caused this?”
He shook his head. “We have no communication, either, so all we know are rumors. But apparently the satellites are out. Some places are without power, but some still have it. The places that do are being overrun by people leaving the cities. There’s no gas, grocery stores are empty, so are drug stores. People are losing their tempers, fighting, turning against each other. Neighborhoods are being overrun, there are home invasions. We didn’t feel safe there anymore, and we’d been here for your fall festival in October and remembered how gorgeous and welcoming it was here. It seemed...safe.”
Terror gripped her as she pictured her sister going through that panic, that fear. Was she safe? Did she have supplies? Guilt swamped Eden as she recalled the fresh eggs she’d had for breakfast.
Eden’s father walked in then. “What skills do you have that can contribute to our community?” he asked without preamble.
The man who’d been speaking blinked. “I—I’m a lawyer.”
Eden’s father snorted. “Worthless now.”
“I’m a teacher,” the woman said, leaning forward around one of the children.
“I can fish,” the second man said, desperation coloring his voice.
“Look around you,” Eddie McKay said. “All these people can.”
“Yes, but I can provide for these people. We won’t use your supplies. We just want a safe place to stay. This is my wife and my two kids. He’s my brother. Please.”
Eddie considered, then shook his head. “No. We can’t use you. Find someplace else.”
The woman with the two kids widened her eyes. “You’d send us back? People are—people are—” She looked down at her children. “The violence is terrible. I can’t risk my children.”
“We don’t have enough supplies to shelter people who come to us. I’m very sorry.”
“The children, then. Can you take them?” she asked, her voice rising. “Please. It’s Thanksgiving. Please.”
Her words jolted Eden. She’d lost track of the days without mail and a regular schedule. How could she have forgotten Thanksgiving, when this year they had so much to be thankful for? Perhaps it didn’t seem it, but they were alive, and safe from the violence, and had plenty of stores, thanks to her father’s paranoia.
Eden knelt before her and put a soothing hand on hers. She turned to look up at her father. “Dad, you can’t. It would be heartless.”
His eyes softened when he looked at her. “I know the consequences, Eden, but we can’t afford to risk our own lives by running out of supplies. They need to go, if they can’t contribute.”
“I can do anything,” the lawyer said, his voice rising in desperation. “I can—any place you need me.”
Her father opened his mouth to say something, but John Rayburn stepped forward.
“I own a farm. My son is gone. I need an extra hand.”
“I’ll do it,” the man said, rising to his feet. “Whatever you need. Whatever you need. Thank you. Please. Please let us stay.”
Her father snorted and spun away on his heel.


* * *


That was the last time her father showed mercy. The boats came with fair regularity. Her father interviewed each—privately now, occasionally with Damien—but without the entire town watching. He sent most away, in tears and pleading, but a few were allowed to stay. A mechanic and a plumber now lived on the island with their families. The additions made the distribution of supplies decrease for every family. Since Eden was in charge of the distribution, she knew the dangers of allowing more people to stay, though sending them away made her feel less and less human each time. The stories the people told, the pleas they made to be allowed to stay, chilled her to her bones.
“Dad, we need to think about going to the mainland and try to find supplies before there are no more left,” she said one morning, entering his office.
He looked up. “We’re fine. And you’ve heard the reports coming from the people who try to come here about what it’s like over there. The supplies aren’t there, either, and it’s too dangerous to send anyone across. Already we’ve lost eight people who tried. We’re fine for now with the Rayburn and Wyatt farms, and fishing. I’m not willing to risk anyone yet.”
She was convinced he was wrong about waiting—the longer they waited, the harder supplies would be to come by. The people on the mainland would deplete them. Since they still had really no idea what had happened, they had no idea when trucks might start running again. Thank God they could supplement their supplies with fish, and almost every family now owned a couple of chickens for eggs. The time of year was wrong for growing vegetables, but carefully rationed canned goods supplemented them for now. She could see them running out of vegetables before the spring.
She hated thinking like this, hated the urge to horde. But she hated the idea of turning frightened people away. If only they had more supplies.
Her father was more likely to welcome people who came with a large stash of their own, but very few did. No one had wanted to believe this could happen.
Eden still couldn’t believe it had.


* * *


“We need to do something for Christmas,” Sarah said one evening over dinner.
They had started eating dinner just after dark to save power. Since they used the generator to cook, it made sense to make the evening stretch just a little longer before shutting it off again and going to bed.
“I don’t think anyone’s exactly in the Christmas spirit,” her husband said with a snort.
“That’s kind of my point.” Sarah set her fork down and folded her hands under her chin. “People need a reason to feel happy again. I know it’s hard, especially since so many of us are missing our loved ones. But I think it would be good for morale.”
Eddie grumbled. “We don’t have the supplies.”
Sarah sat back and looked at Eden. “Eden and I have already talked it over. We can make several dishes that will stretch what we have on hand, supplemented by some fish, and I think it would be wonderful. Very first Thankgiving-y.”
“We can’t do the boat parade or the tree-lighting ceremony. And we don’t have presents.”
“We’ll find a way.” She waited expectantly until he finally nodded.
Sarah flashed a triumphant grin at Eden. “We’ll get to work in the morning.”


Since Eden spent so much time emulating her father, she hadn’t known what a good party planner her mother was. Her mother had wanted her to join the Rainbow Girls when she was growing up, but they’d been, well, too girly for Eden. But as they planned the—Eden didn’t want to call it a party, maybe a celebration—she saw her mother put her leadership skills to use.
And having a purpose helped Sarah push aside her own mourning as she threw herself into the holiday. She recruited several women, including Mary Jenkins and Veronica Rayburn, and the new woman living with the Rayburns, Jessica Vaughn. Together, they planned a meal that would use the least amount of rations. They decorated the town square with a small tree and ornaments, but no lights. They went door to door and collected gently used toys children had outgrown to wrap and pass out. Eden stood amazed at the innovation her mother and these ladies exhibited.
On Christmas Eve, the town square was festive. The women had made candles out of cans of lard and set them on the long tables usually reserved for Fourth of July and other, warmer events. Despite the cold temperature, almost every family attended, standing in line for their servings of corn casserole and fried fish, and home fries. Not the healthiest, or the most traditional, but the recipes fed a crowd.
“Where’s the mayor?” Veronica Rayburn asked, herding the children who’d come on that first boat ahead of her in line.
Eden and her mother exchanged a look of dismay. He hadn’t been particularly in favor of this dinner, but to shun it completely....
“He’s working on town business. I’m sure he’ll come down later,” Sarah said.
But by the time everyone had been served, there was no sign of Eddie. When the reverend stood to offer a blessing and a few words about the true gift of the holiday, when he thanked Sarah and the other women for their hard work, there was no sign of Eddie.
“It’s time now to think ahead, to our new life,” the reverend concluded. “We have all lost someone, but at least we have each other.”
Eden had taken the first bite of her dinner when a cry of delight sounded from a child at the table behind her. She twisted to look as that cry was joined by others.
“Santa! Santa!”
Eden half-rose from the bench seat as, indeed, a red-suited man with a white beard strolled into town with a sack on his back. He sauntered over to the Christmas tree, where the painstakingly wrapped-and-labeled gifts were placed. The children swarmed him, and when he straightened, he winked at Eden, and her heart warmed.
She’d known her father couldn’t stay away.


* * *


A week after Christmas, gunfire on the coast awakened Eden. Bleary-eyed, she grabbed a robe, shoved her feet in her boots, grabbed her pistol from the table by the door and raced out of the house. Muzzle flares flashed from boats off-shore, answering ones from the island. Her heart pounding, she stopped short, aware she was a clear target in her white robe in the moonlight when there was no other light. She shrugged out of the robe and shivered in her T-shirt and flannel pants, but at least she blended into the darkness.
Who was down there? Her father? Damien? And who was firing on them? People they’d sent away, or people they wouldn’t allow to land? The standing order was that no one was allowed to land at night.
The firing from the island was pretty steady, as the shooting from the boats became more intermittent. Tomorrow they’d be paying kids to pick up shells so they could reload them.
Shouts could be heard from the ocean, more from the town. Eden hoped the townspeople were wise enough to stay inside, out of the line of fire. She was heading down to the shore when running feet approached. She stepped off the road, into the trees, flipping the safety off her handgun before she recognized Joey Delmar, one of Damien’s friends. She stepped in front of him, startling him so that for a moment she was looking down the barrel of his .45, before he realized who she was.
“Thank God, Eden. I was coming to your house. Your father—he’s been shot.”


* * *


Her house became bedlam as Damien and Joey carried her father inside and upstairs to his bed. Blood drenched his clothing. Eden couldn’t see where he’d been shot, or even if he’d been hit more than once. Her mother’s screams rang through the house when Damien pulled her father’s shirt open. The four men in the room and Eden stared at the damage. She didn’t see how her father was still breathing, based on the entry wounds. And she wasn’t sure exactly what to do. She’d helped her father in the vet clinic with animals who’d been struck by cars, but never bullet wounds.
“The bleeding,” she said to herself, and turned to her mother, who started, paralyzed. She grabbed the woman by the wrists and shook her. “We need towels. Lots and lots of towels.” When her mother finally nodded her understanding, Eden turned to one of Damien’s friends, Josh. “Go get Vicky.” Dr. Hoyt’s nurse, the only other trained medical person on the island. “I need her help.” But even she was unlikely to know what to do with a trauma this big.
She knelt on the edge of the bed and watched blood pump from each of the four bullet wounds with each slowing beat of her father’s heart. Her mother returned with towels and Eden pressed one to his chest, causing him to gasp in pain. The towel was drenched in moments and she replaced it with another.
And another.
And another.
Damien joined her on the bed, across her father’s body, his expression bleak, hopeless.
“Do not give up,” she said through her teeth.
Her father’s eyelashes flickered, and he looked up at her. “Eden. You have to promise me you’ll keep our town safe.”
“Of course, Dad, but you’re going to be fine. We’re going to get the bleeding stopped and the bullets out—” She swallowed the bile that rose with the lies. How would they repair the damage inside? No one had that kind of skill, and they had no place to get it done.
He grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. She looked into his eyes and saw the shadow of something lurking, something that made her want to scream just like her mother, scream until the shadow went away.
“I know I taught you better than that,” he said, his voice gruff. “I love you, Eden. I’m sorry this is the life I’m leaving for you. But I need to know you’ll carry on.”
“I will, Dad.” She cursed the tears that blurred her vision, that obliterated her view of her father as he closed his eyes and breathed his last.


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Brylie Winston gathered her clothes as quietly as possible in the darkened hotel room in Hobart, Australia, one eye on the man sprawled on his stomach in the center of the king-sized bed. Light from a part in the curtains fell over the bed, illuminating his muscled shoulders and back, jaw shaded with stubble around a sensuous mouth, and those long eyelashes that were always her downfall. Her stomach churned with regret even as her skin tingled with memories of his touch.
What had she done? She never let herself get carried away by a sexy man with a charming accent who clearly just wanted to get laid. She’d learned her lesson about that the hard way. But her gaze riveted to Marcus the moment he sauntered into the bar and when he’d approached, well, she’d been helpless. She hadn’t had sex in so long—hadn’t felt sexy in so long. She’d bought into his flirtation, his casual touches, his proximity as the bar got more crowded. She let herself be seduced, escorted here, and very, very thoroughly made love to.
Her body heated as she recalled his expert kiss, his callused hands that melted her clothes away.
And then it got good. Her body hummed with the desire for a repeat, but waking him up opened up way too many dangerous possibilities, the worst of which—more rejection. Yeah, she didn’t need that, not after New York.
Which was why she was now on the other side of the planet.
Snatching her jeans against her chest, she tried to shake some sense back into herself. She slipped into the bathroom and dressed quickly in the dark, pausing only at the odd fit of the jeans. Hoping she wouldn’t wake him, she flipped on the light to see the Levi’s tag on the back pocket. She’d grabbed his instead.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and her fingers went to the beard-burn at her throat before she finger-combed her rat’s nest hair. God, was that a—no, not a hickey, just a shadow. Thank God. That would hardly look professional above her chef uniform.
She turned off the light and crept back into the bedroom. He grunted and shifted in the bed, and she froze. She didn’t want conversation—she wanted last night to be a memory.
A bone-melting, no-other-man-could-live-up-to memory.
Time to go. She yanked on her own jeans, crammed her feet in her boots, felt her way across the dresser until she found her purse, and beat it out of the room.
* * *
Marcus Devlin arrived at the Hobart dock and tightened his grip on the strap of his duffel as he looked up at the Ice Queen. The Russian icebreaker had been converted to a cruise ship for people who would pay a pretty penny to see Antarctica up close. His family’s travel company had made a fortune from the greenies who wanted to see the unspoiled land, but Marcus never had the desire.
Still didn’t. But after his latest scandal, his family insisted he occupy his time in a more productive way and learn how the family business was run. Plus, sending him to the end of the earth had been an idea they’d threatened for years now, although with less specificity than this.
How was he supposed to know the asshole whose nose he broke in the bar fight was a senator’s son? Though now that he looked back on it, it explained a lot. The prick.
So, yeah, he wasn’t in jail, but Christ. He shuddered. That might almost be preferable.
He straightened his shoulders and headed up the ramp, grateful at least that this cruise ship didn’t have fancy dress dinners or balls like the other cruises his family owned. There wouldn’t be any expectation he act as someone he wasn’t.
He glimpsed a flutter of red hair below him and whipped around, wondering if it was the girl who’d slipped out of his bed this morning. The twist amused him—he was usually the one doing the sneaking. That the girl had beaten him to the punch threw him off balance.
But no, he couldn’t be that lucky. Despite her initial shyness, she’d been amazing once he got her to his hotel room, so open, and the combination had been freaking sexy. He planned to look her up when he got back into port. Of course, he hadn’t gotten her number, so it might not be easy.
He crossed the deck, wondering where the hell the pilothouse would be, if the captain was there or somewhere else. From what he’d been told, they wouldn’t be taking on passengers for a couple of hours, plenty of time for him to introduce himself to the captain, find his berth and hide for the next two weeks. He had to be on this boat. He didn’t have to like it.
That flash of red again, this time closer. He turned to follow, and damned if it wasn’t her, right here on this ship. Gorgeous titian hair pulled back in a thick, soft-looking ponytail—last night at the bar it’d been down around her shoulders, and when he’d gotten her in bed, well, it’d been—yeah, best not to pursue that. Soft white skin, full pink lips—best not to think of those, either—lush body hidden beneath layers of clothing, the sweatshirt she wore now proclaiming her “Ice Queen” when he knew she was anything but.
Right. The name of the ship. She worked here? Christ, was he her boss? A chuckle escaped, drawing her attention in his direction. She went absolutely still, then absolutely red. Desire zinged through him at that innocent blush, especially when he had intimate knowledge that she wasn’t all that innocent.
“Morning,” he said, approaching. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the rail and for a moment, he thought she considered jumping overboard to get away.
“Morning,” she replied instead, backing up.
Oh, yeah, he liked this game. Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood. “I didn’t think you’d be gone when I got up.”
“Thought you’d beat me to the punch?” she retorted with a swish of her ponytail.
Little Red had teeth. Well, he knew that, sort of, but appreciated the bite of her observation nearly as much as the scrape of her teeth on his skin. “You got me.” His gaze flicked to her breasts, and the words printed across them. “I beg to differ.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “The ship.”
“You work here?”
“I do. You’re a passenger?”
For a moment he considered saying yes, hiding who he was, but he was never very good at pretending. “I’m the youngest Devlin.”
She drew in a sharp breath, clearly recognizing the name. “You own the ship.”
“Yeah. Well. Not me.” He didn’t own much of anything, to be honest. Too much responsibility went along with that.
“We’ve never had an owner on a cruise.”
That statement, almost an accusation, intrigued him. He resisted the urge to lift his fingers to her soft cheek as he asked, “You’ve been on a lot of these?” He expected the crew to be more rugged and outdoorsy, not with a peaches and cream complexion.
“I’ve worked for you for two years.”
He grinned and rocked back on his heels, needing to get some distance from her before he did something stupid, like touch her. “Then I suppose you know where I can find the captain.”
She nodded and pointed down the deck. “He should be there in the pilothouse, the last doorway as you approach the bow.”
He stared at her. Crap. His brother Harris had told him he needed to learn the lingo, but as usual, he’d blown it off. So he did what he always did when he didn’t understand. He gave her his most charming grin. “Show me?”
She opened her mouth to protest, then apparently recalled that he was her boss. She squared her shoulders and led the way across the deck.
“So what is it you do here?” His hand tightened on his duffel as he watched the sway of her ass in those snug blue jeans. “I thought you said you were a student.”
She frowned over her shoulder. “I didn’t say that. Must have been one of your other conquests.”
Hey, that was uncalled for. He trotted up to walk alongside her. “No, you said you were a student. The name of the school sounded swank.” He sought his memory, which had admittedly been impaired last night as he drank to forget he was heading out to sea today. And to forget the pain he was leaving behind. “Culinary school. That’s it. You go to a culinary school in New York.”
“I did go. Past tense.” Her cheeks pinkened, then she slowed and turned toward an open door. “The captain is right through there.”
Marcus wasn’t ready to let her walk off yet. “Won’t you introduce me?”
She huffed an exasperated breath. “Are you going to be this difficult the entire trip?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On you.”
She folded her arms and faced him. “So if I’m nice to you, you’ll go easy on us?”
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll go easy on you,” he corrected.
She waved an exasperated hand and pivoted to walk into the pilothouse.
The place was all polished cherry and chrome, with huge windows on all sides, and more gizmos tucked into the paneling than Marcus could name. Harris probably had fun with all this—he was a long-time geek, especially when it came to technology. A big man—and he did mean big, six-six if he was an inch, and built like Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies—turned from the controls when he heard them come in.
“Brylie!” He enfolded her in a bear hug that had her shoulders go stiff, and Marcus took a step forward to intervene, since the embrace obviously made her uncomfortable.
“Dad,” she said, breaking free.
Marcus stared. No, he couldn’t have heard that right. Not only had he slept with the chef on the cruise ship his family owned, she was also the captain’s daughter? And this guy looked like he’d throw Marcus overboard at the slightest provocation.
“Dad?” he repeated, but she didn’t meet his gaze.
So Marcus turned to the big man, whose face was hidden by hair a shade darker than Brylie’s, who had the same blue eyes. Oh, hell.
“Dad, this is Marcus Devlin. Did you know he was joining us on this cruise?”
She spoke like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and Marcus began to rethink the appropriateness of her sweatshirt.
“I had heard,” her father, the captain, said. Captain what? Marcus didn’t remember getting her last name. Hell, for half the night, he’d called her Riley. The captain thrust a hand out at Marcus. “Captain Winston. And you’ve already met my girl Brylie. Best chef you have in your fleet. Trained in New York at some of the best restaurants.”
Instead of looking proud of this accomplishment, she kept her gaze averted. She didn’t want to be here, Marcus realized. She wanted to be at one of those restaurants. So why wasn’t she?
He was a sucker for mysterious women.
“Speaking of,” she said, her voice brisk. “I need to get to the kitchen to get tonight’s dinner started. The passengers won’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Mr. Devlin’s cabin is on the way to the galley.” Her father’s voice boomed off the windows. “Why don’t you show him to the VIP Suite? I’m sure he’d like to get settled before he tours the ship.”
Her cheeks grew pink again, and she didn’t look at him, but nodded. “Of course. I’ll see you after dinner.” She stretched up to kiss the big man’s cheek, then motioned for Marcus to follow her.
“He’s going to break me into pieces, isn’t he?” Marcus asked when, instead of leading him back onto the deck, she led him through a door to an interior hallway.
“There’s no reason for him to know what went on last night.” She glanced over and he saw just the hint of a humor in those gorgeous blue eyes. “Besides, you have your name to protect you.”
Of all the beauties in Hobart, he had to seduce this one. Too soon to tell if she was going to make his trip exciting or miserable.
“Here’s your cabin.” She motioned to a door on her left. “Do you have your key card?”
He did, and fumbled for it before sliding it in the lock and swinging the door open.
“Suite,” the captain had said, but the room was half the size of the hotel room from last night. The room he stood in contained a sofa and a desk in the corner. The windows were shuttered along one wall.
“Bed and bath through there.” Brylie pointed to a door in the paneling. “Enjoy.”
“Wait.” He grasped her arm and pulled her into the room with him, then opened the door she indicated. A queen-sized bed took up most of the area, barely giving him room to walk around it. He popped open another door leading to the tiniest bathroom he’d ever seen. So much for his plan to hide out in here for the duration. He’d lose his mind. “This is the VIP suite?”
“You have complete privacy,” she said. “Most of the other passengers pay a pretty penny and still have to share a bathroom with strangers.”
“Cozy,” he murmured.
“Well, these ships are converted icebreakers, not designed like your other ships. Besides, most people don’t stay in their rooms very much. There’s a beautiful lounge up on Deck Five, where they can watch the ocean and see the icebergs and occasional wildlife. Most people come on these trips to be social.”
She was watching him with an unnerving accuracy. Did she read his mind? Or was she wondering at his real reason for being here?
“Will you take me on a tour later? After dinner, maybe?”
“I’m very busy, Marcus. We have two hundred passengers and crew, and my responsibilities lie elsewhere.”
“You don’t work in the kitchen alone, surely.”
“I have a crew,” she admitted. “But my name is at stake.”
Right. She’d play hard to get, now. So he’d play the boss card. “And I’m your employer.”
This time, she went beyond pink to red. Fury sparked in her eyes. “You have plenty of other minions to wait on you. Sir.”
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” He was being stubborn and unreasonable. But he wasn’t accustomed to settling.
“There won’t be a repeat of last night,” she said, her voice prim. Ice Queen, indeed.
“Why not? You had fun.”
She didn’t rise to the bait, and he hid his disappointment when she capitulated.
“Fine. At nine, after dinner, I’ll show you the ship. I won’t be free before then, so don’t ask.”
He nodded, already missing the battle. “Right. Nine o’clock, then.”
When she turned to stalk off, he determined she’d definitely be making his trip more exciting.
* * *
Brylie smacked the ladle against the side of the pot with more force than necessary, drawing the attention of her crew, and waving it off with an impatient hand.
This. This was why she didn’t make rash decisions. This was why she made plans and followed them to the letter.
This was why she hadn’t had sex in a year and a half.
How had she let herself be seduced by a handsome Aussie with stories of a carefree life, of his travels, a man living his dreams? She should have known better. But he’d made her feel desirable as a man hadn’t in years, and while part of her brain told her he probably did the same to all the girls, her neglected side bought his seduction hook, line and sinker.
Now they were stuck together on this suddenly-too-small ship for the next twenty days, and he wasn’t above using his clout—she’d slept with the owner, good Lord—to get his way.
Worse, her body remembered him all too well and wanted a replay of last night. He’d been very, very attentive. And he’d made her laugh and feel good about herself, and—feel good. Something that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Then he’d fallen asleep, and she’d been alone with her thoughts and fears and she’d beat it out of there, thinking she could put it behind her.
The only thing to do was keep him at arm's length, do what he asked for the sake of her father and her own job, but make sure he understood this was only professional.


Midnight Sun is available at all retailers!

Ellie Morgan rolled her shoulders, willing the stress away as she hurried down the street to her family’s diner. She was already late for the breakfast shift, and the excuse wouldn’t be popular.
She’d ended another relationship this morning, the most promising yet, with the high school football coach and Winchester Cove, California’s favorite son, Trey Berenger. They’d been together almost a year--a personal best--but she couldn’t deal with his self-centeredness one more day. And yes, she saw the irony there.
She’d already imagined what the gossips would say: “Just like her mother.” “Didn’t know a good thing when she had it.” “Doesn’t know what she wants.”
Well, one out of three was right. Maybe two. But she was not like her mother. And just to make damned sure she didn’t follow in her mother’s footsteps, she wouldn’t settle for less than true happiness, true love, without a doubt. Trey hadn’t been that guy. Time to move on.
“Ellie?”
The deep voice startled her. She pivoted to see Noah Weston standing by his truck on the sidewalk in front of the diner.
Noah Weston. Now there was a man who knew what he wanted, and had gone after it. He’d loved her best friend Lily for ten years, the kind of partnership that made everyone around them believe in love and happy endings--except they hadn’t gotten their happy ending. Lily had died two years ago, and Noah had just now stopped wearing his wedding ring.
He approached Ellie now, brown eyes concerned. “Something wrong?”
Damn. She used to be better at hiding her emotions. He’d known her long enough to read her, so she shifted her gaze to the fender of his truck and forced a smile that strained the muscles of her cheeks. “Nothing, just running late.”
She started to edge past him but he caught her arm, his work-roughened fingertips grazing her skin below the short sleeve of her T-shirt. Startled by the gesture, she looked up.
“Something else has you upset.”
She eased back and tucked her hair behind her ear. May as well come clean. He’d find out sooner or later. “I broke up with Trey.” She had to have imagined his sharp indrawn breath, and waited for the inevitable, “Why?” or, “I figured it would happen sooner or later.”
But he didn’t ask those questions. “You doing okay?”
The question surprised a smile out of her, since she’d fully expected to be cast as the bad guy here. “I’ll be just fine.”
“You’ve been together a year?”
“Not quite.”
He inclined his head toward his truck. “Need a hand moving out?”
Of course Noah wouldn’t judge her. Before Lily, and since, he kept to himself and appreciated people who did the same. That he’d step out of his comfort zone was because of her friendship to Lily, and to him after Lily’s death.
She backed toward the diner, some of the strain easing. The sooner she could make the complete break, the better. “Um, yeah. But aren’t you meeting Matt for breakfast?” She gestured toward the plate glass window, where his friend and daily breakfast partner, the reverend, was watching them. He probably wasn’t the only one.
“He can eat alone today.”
Now she was stalling. She dreaded telling her dad she needed to move home--again. Telling him she needed the morning off. Again. But she needed to cut ties to Trey completely. “Give me a minute. Can someone else open the store for you?”
“We don’t do much business in the morning. Go do what you need to do. I’ll wait here.” He rested against the fender, hands on his thighs.
The bell over the door announced her arrival, but everyone no doubt knew she was coming inside, anyway. They’d probably watched her conversation with Noah and wondered about it.
Marie, a five-foot-nothing, needle-thin blonde, the other breakfast waitress and her father’s right hand woman, rushed from the kitchen. Ellie braced for a scolding over her tardiness, and cut it off, not wanting another confrontation.
“Marie, I need the morning off.”
Marie sagged against the counter. “What happened? Oh, dear. I know that face. You and Trey?”
Wow, Ellie had apparently completely lost her poker face. She rocked back on her heels and folded her arms, aware of ears in the vicinity. “Um. Yeah. I want to get my things.”
Marie followed her glance and, understanding, grasped her arm and pulled her into the kitchen, where Eric was alternating between pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon on the grill. He ignored them, as always.
“I need to move home for a few days until I find a new place.” Her stomach knotted as she said the words. She hated asking for anything, and so far she’d had to ask for two things. It wasn’t even 8:00 AM.
Marie leaned against the prep counter, the corner of her lips turned down in the disapproval Ellie had expected. “Ellie, you’re going to have to grow up sometime. You’re too restless for someone who’s thirty.”
“Well, I’m not going to settle with someone who doesn’t make me happy.” Marie was content to take a backseat to her father’s diner, to her father’s past, to his daughters, just for the crumbs he’d throw her. Ellie didn’t want to be like her mother, or Marie, either, but she would never say so to the woman who had been like a mother to her. Not wanting to pursue an argument, she sighed. “Look, if I can’t come home, I need to find another alternative.”
Marie’s mouth crimped as if regretting losing a chance to state her opinion, and she inclined her head to the closed office door. “Your father’s in there. Ask him.”
Ten minutes later, feeling like a chided twelve-year-old after lectures from Marie and her father, Ellie walked through the quiet dining room--no doubt everyone had been straining to hear what was going on. The bell over the door was still ringing in her ears when she crossed the sidewalk to Noah’s truck. He unlocked her door, held it as she climbed in, then shut it securely. She let out a long breath, let her head fall back against the seat and closed her eyes.
The truck smelled like his chocolate Labrador, Mocha, but was otherwise spotless. His personal appearance--the ever-present stubble, the untucked flannel shirts and jeans--never would have suggested a clean vehicle.
She opened her eyes when he got in and started the engine. “You could have had a four-course breakfast in that amount of time. Sorry about that.”
“No problem.”
“I’m sure everyone already knows what’s going on by the way they were looking at me. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten what it’s like, everyone looking at you.” There hadn’t been pity in the gazes in the diner, not like when her mother had run off with Marie’s husband fourteen years ago. No, this time she was the guilty one for walking away from the coach.
He’d barely shifted to third gear before they coasted to a halt in front of her house. No, not her house anymore. Trey’s house. She would miss the big deck out back, the neat little kitchen, the deep bathtub. Sad she would miss the house more than she’d miss Trey.
“You okay?” Noah waited, his hand on the handle.
“Eventually.”
“Yeah.” He blew the word out on a breath and pushed the door open.
* * *
Noah shifted from one foot to the other. This was Ellie’s home with Trey, and as often as he’d thought about her recently, he wasn’t ready for the intimacy of carrying out her personal items. He wasn’t ready to know what books she read, what movies she watched, what color toothbrush she had. All those things were better left to his fantasy life.
Everything was better left to the fantasy life that had only started to spark again the past few weeks. Yeah, he had been watching her. Ellie always had a sparkle in her eyes, a bounce in her step, a snap in her voice. So alive. The part of him that was coming alive again wanted to be around it, around her, even if she was with Trey Berenger. But his survival instincts forced him to stand back.
He’d just go through the motions of living. Less painful that way.
He didn’t know why he’d volunteered to help. Okay, yeah, he did. He’d ridden to the rescue. Only he hadn’t thought this through.
Her welcoming smile didn’t reach her pretty blue eyes. “Come on in.”
Low, comfortable couches in deep red focused around a plasma TV Trey hadn’t bought with his coaching salary. On top of being Winchester Cove’s favorite son, well, he was also their wealthiest.
“Taking the paintings?” He pointed to one in the dining room.
Her mouth turned down in an exaggerated pout. “No. Trey bought those. Like I said, I don’t have much.”
“You picked them out.” He stepped closer to the wall to decipher the artist’s signature. No luck.
“How did you know that?” Surprise brightened her tone.
What could he tell her? That he thought about her enough to know her taste? “They don’t look like something Trey would choose.”
“No.”
Just that one word sounded so deflated.
“Most of my stuff is in here.” She led the way down the hall, past the open door to the bedroom.
The bed where she’d slept with Trey was unmade, the white sheets rumpled. She’d slept with him last night, left him this morning. Noah wanted to close the door, close off the thoughts, but didn’t want her to reason out why.
She led him to a room at the front of the house. A table sat in front of the window, looking out onto the street. The curtains were pushed back. She probably enjoyed the view as she worked on--what? He scanned the room. Clearly she used it as a hobby room, only the built-in shelves that lined one wall were empty.
“We can start with these.” She pointed to some plastic totes stored against the wall opposite the shelves. “And the table. I gave Bev a call. She should be here soon and we can get started in the bedroom.”
His face heated as he bent to pick up a tote by the handles, and he was glad for an excuse not to look at her.
“This wasn’t exactly planned.” She picked up another tote with a grunt, leaning way back to compensate for the weight of what was inside.
“What’s in here?” He nodded toward his burden.
“Some books, some fabric.”
So she sewed. He looked at her jeans and fitted t-shirt. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her in anything she could have made. The tote she was carrying rattled.
“What’s in there?”
She gave the tote a little shake. More rattling. “Beads.”
Huh. “And in those?” He nodded toward others lined against the wall, stacked three high.
“Um, thread, yarn, some cross-stitch material.”
“Couldn’t settle?”
“Apparently a failing of mine.”
He opened his mouth, ready to offer to listen, when the doorbell rang. He was ahead of Ellie in the hall, blocking her path, so he opened the door.
Bev Taylor, the third corner in Ellie and Lily’s friendship triangle, stepped back in surprise. “Hey, Noah.”
“Bev.” He nodded toward the tote he carried.
“Oh. Sorry.” She scrambled out of the way, then once he passed, hurried into the house.
* * *
“What is Noah Weston doing here?” Bev demanded in a stage whisper as she rushed down the hall to Ellie’s craft room.
Ellie hefted her tote onto her hip. “He was in the diner this morning.”
“He’s in the diner every morning. You told him you needed help moving out?” Bev was incredulous.
“He volunteered.”
“Noah Weston.” Bev turned and watched him load the tote into the back of his truck. “He hardly talks to anyone but Matt since Lily died.”
“He talks to me sometimes when he’s walking Mocha on the beach.” Which had been more often lately. “Get my suitcases out of the garage, okay?”
The rumble of a truck engine rattled the window of the house when Bev left the room. Ellie walked to the door to see Trey’s truck speeding down the road. Noah, on the sidewalk, turned, too.
“Oh, no,” Ellie murmured.
Noah glanced from her to the truck as it jerked to a halt in front of the house. He placed himself between her and the sweaty man who slammed his door and stormed toward Ellie.
“We need to talk.” Trey’s face was red, his light brown hair plastered to his head from football practice, as if he’d been running drills with his team. “I thought this was just a fight, and now I hear you’re moving out?”
Noah stepped forward, hand extended, palm out. “Hold it there, Trey.”
For the first time since he’d gotten out of the truck, Trey pulled his gaze from Ellie to Noah. “What are you doing here?”
Noah took the tote from Ellie. “I think it’s clear.” He turned toward his truck.
“Him?” Trey shouted, jabbing his arm toward Noah. “You’re leaving me for him?”
“No! No, Trey, please.” Their neighbors had come out onto their porches to watch the show. No shyness in this town. No shame, except for her. She gestured toward the house and stepped back to let him in. Past him, she saw Noah watching from the tailgate of his truck. She held her hand out, motioning for him to wait. He nodded and leaned against the bumper, and she followed Trey into the house.
“Vivian Lassiter told me you were moving out, announced it in the teacher’s lounge, for God’s sake. She said she heard it in the diner.” Trey’s voice echoed off the walls. “You didn’t mention that this morning.”
“I told you it was over this morning,” Ellie shot back. “You think I’m still going to live here?”
He sighed and paced away across the room. “I thought it was a fight. I thought I’d come home and apologize and everything would be back to normal.”
“You’d apologize. That’s it?” She stepped back. What else did she want? For him to propose? Of course not. Maybe once. But she never would have done anything so melodramatic to force his hand. She was just ready for it all to be over.
He looked at her, green eyes sharp. “What would you want me to do?”
Tears clogged her throat. “I thought I wanted something more from you. But truthfully right now I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want to be taken for granted anymore.”
His shoulders tensed and the vein in his neck pulsed. “You don’t ask for much, do you? Why did you wait to do this now? It’s the most stressful time of year for me. I’ve got a championship caliber team, I’m just getting them going. I don’t have time to change things around for you.”
Even though she’d expected his response, it hurt to hear. “Shall I wait around for Christmas then? Maybe spring?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know I hate sarcasm.”
Usually because he didn’t get it the first time. Ellie bit back the mean thought. This was the man she was supposed to have loved, after all. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think you can give me what I want, even if you had time. So I need to leave. I’m sorry, Trey. I’ll be out of here in an hour.”
His jaw clenched in that stubborn way she knew so well. Hurt? Anger? A mixture of both? He stared at her for a long moment, like he didn’t know her. And that was a huge part of the problem. He didn’t, but how could he when she didn’t?
Then, with sorrow softening his expression for only a moment, he pivoted and left.
When Trey’s truck rumbled to life, Bev rushed in from where she’d been waiting in the doorway to the garage and wrapped her arms around Ellie.
Ellie dropped her head to her friend’s shoulder and burst into tears.
* * *
“Is he right?” Ellie twirled her wine glass and watched the dark red liquid coat the sides before slinking back down. She and Bev sat on the floor of Bev’s apartment, three fat flickering candles on the low oak coffee table between them. “Should I have given him more time?”
Bev set her glass on the table. “Do you want to get back with him?”
Ellie set her glass down, studied the glow of the candles through the wine. “He might change for a little while, but then he’d go back to being the same way. He’ll never love me the way Ryan loves you, or the way Noah loved Lily. Trey barely even looks at me, much less adores me. I want someone to look at me with his heart in his eyes. Remember how Noah was with Lily? I want that.”
Bev stilled across the table. “You want Noah?”
Ellie snapped her head up. “No! God. No. But when I was with him today, I was remembering how they were together, how much I wanted Trey to treat me that way, to think of me first, you know? Now I wonder if I stayed with him with that hope in mind.”
“And after Lily died, seeing Noah alone,” Bev added.
Ellie nodded. “It was scary to think of being alone.” She rubbed her forehead and leaned back against the couch. “Trey thought I was leaving him for Noah. I can’t believe he would think I’m so shallow to have someone else on the line before I leave him.”
“Well, you can kind of see it.”
“What? How?”
Bev rolled her eyes. “Noah’s good looking, if you like that scruffy outdoorsman thing he has going on. He’s a widower. You were there for him when Lily died. He’s always at the diner and he’s always looking at you.”
Heat crept up Ellie’s throat. She wanted to deny it, but more than once she’d turned to see him look away. She hadn’t thought twice of it, until now. “He is not.”
“He is. He has this--focus when it comes to you. Kinda sexy.”
“Bev, he was Lily’s husband. That would be like--”
“Like what?”
“Like dating my sister’s husband.”
Bev leaned forward. “Why are you so red? Have you thought about Noah like that?”
Flustered, Ellie tipped her glass, caught it, licked off the wine that splashed on her hand with the movement. This conversation was so wrong on so many levels. “No! I mean, yeah, I can see what you mean about him being handsome, and that look you’re talking about, that’s how he’d look at Lily and God knows I want that from someone, but no. It would be too weird. It would be betraying Lily.” Besides, if she hadn’t wanted to play second fiddle to a football team, why would she want to play it to the ghost of an adored wife?
“She’s been gone more than a year and a half.”
Ellie raised her eyebrows. “So it’s time for me to give her husband a look?”
Bev inclined her head. “It’s time for him to start looking. I just think it’s pretty clear that he’s looking in your direction.”
Ellie sucked in a breath. And she had welcomed him right into her life. Had she made a mistake?



​Something to Talk About is available everywhere!

McKenna Spencer lifted her gaze from the computer monitor. A sound bouncing off the cement walls of the basement of the Texas capitol had drawn her attention. She looked across her office at her intern, Janie, who stared at the door, shoulders tight in alarm.
“Did you hear that?” the younger woman asked.
McKenna shrugged. “There are always strange noises down here. You just notice them more at night when everyone else is gone.” But this was the only time she could get any work done in the office she shared with two other junior legislators, in the back corner of the basement. The shiny offices upstairs were reserved for committee chairs and those who’d held office for a while. Eventually she’d be up there, but in the meantime…
McKenna pushed her glasses up on her nose and turned back to the health care documents she was studying.
Another noise sounded, almost like a shuffled footstep, and the hair on the back of her neck lifted.
The cellphone on her desk vibrated. Both women jumped, Janie’s start accompanied by a small shriek. McKenna frowned and glanced at the display. A different tension ran through her as she picked up the phone. “Hi, Dad,” she answered brightly.
“McKenna, where are you?” His rough voice had a deeper edge of urgency than usual.
“At work.”
“You need to get out of there. Now.”
Alarm zinged across her nerves. Her father could be overly cautious, but he didn’t panic. As she reached for her purse, she sought her shoes under her desk with her feet. Reacting before thinking, she turned her heels over with her toes and shoved her feet in. “What is it?”
“I’m on my way. Meet me at the west entrance. All right?”
He disconnected. Just like the man, brusque and vague. But concern followed resentment. She’d heard that tone before, and he didn’t mean dally.
McKenna looked up at Janie just as the lights went out. Janie whimpered. The emergency lights kicked on, offering a dim glow. The door handle jiggled, and McKenna’s heart jumped. God, who was it? Security wouldn’t be moving so quietly, would they? They might check the lock, but then—the handle jiggled again. Every muscle in McKenna’s body wanted to freeze, but she rose on shaky legs, lifting her finger to her lips, and motioned Janie to follow her. A door led from her office to that of another junior legislator, Cynthia Trevino. They could duck in there and slip into the hall to avoid whoever was at the door. When Janie hesitated, McKenna motioned more adamantly. The girl grabbed her purse and followed.
The door handle twisted—why hadn’t they locked it when the two of them were alone in the basement office? Her father would rake her over the coals for that simple oversight—if she got out of here.
As quietly as she could, she turned the knob into Cynthia’s office, pushed Janie through, and closed it again, flicking the flimsy lock in place. Casting her gaze around the room, she looked for something to block the door. The intruder would certainly figure out where they’d gone. But she didn’t see anything she could move easily. Maybe their best bet was to bolt through the door into the hall and up the stairs to meet her father at the west entrance. She kicked off her heels and motioned Janie to do the same. The shoes would slow them down and echo on the polished concrete floors. They needed to be stealthy. She thumbed her phone to silent and wished she’d had time to tell Janie to do the same. Instead, she grasped the girl’s arm and pulled her toward the door to the hallway. The creak of the hinge echoed through the basement. McKenna’s muscles tightened as she prepared to drag Janie to safety.
Her pulse jolted when the handle to the connecting door rattled insistently. The locked door wouldn’t buy them much time. The intruder might figure out they were passing through this office and cut them off in the hall. They had to hurry.
“Run for the stairs at the west end as fast as you can,” McKenna told the frightened intern. “Don’t stop running until you get outside. I’ll be right behind you. Go!”
Janie nodded and tore off. McKenna chanced one glance over her shoulder at the door, which was no longer rattling, and tucking her bag to her side, raced after Janie.
She was a few strides behind when Janie took the stairs, pressed hard on the door to the first floor, only to bounce back. The young woman staggered, stunned, staring at the doors. McKenna caught up with her. McKenna, too, pushed against the door and felt the resistance. Not locked, but blocked. She peeked through the slight crack she made between them. Something had been wrapped around the handles to keep them closed. To trap the two of them down here.
Terror kicked in. The intruder was between them and the other stairwell, and she already heard him moving down the hall toward them. And the elevator...well, they had no electricity. They had to either run past the man, or hide. Heart racing, she scanned the small hallway in front of her. The likelihood of one of those doors being unlocked was slim, but they were sitting ducks on the stairs.
She clasped Janie’s arm and tugged her down the steps. They had the advantage. They knew this place better than their pursuer. The women ducked into a recessed doorway, using shadows and the carved oak to hide them. McKenna’s hands shook. As quietly as she could, she twisted the knob, and hit resistance. Locked, of course.
The decorative carvings dug into her palm as she twisted with all her strength, but couldn’t pop the lock. One option remained. She lifted her King Ranch bag and punched it through the frosted glass window. The tinkling of falling glass was muffled by carpet on the other side, but no doubt the intruder had heard. McKenna reached through, a sharp edge slicing her forearm, and unlocked the door.
“Be careful of the glass,” she said, her mouth close to Janie’s ear before she shoved the girl through, closed the door as quietly as she could. She crouched below it, listening as her mind whipped through their options.
The intruder would see the broken window in a matter of moments. Footsteps quickened on the stairs. The doors rattled as he tested to see if they’d gotten through.
Then footsteps descended.
McKenna wedged a leather desk chair against the door, found Janie’s hand in the dark—God, couldn’t the girl sob later?—and headed back into the recesses of the office. Another door was there, this one unlocked. McKenna shoved Janie through and scrambled after her, closing the door with a click as the other door opened.
Seconds away. She had seconds now. She motioned Janie to hide in the corner as she curled her hands around a golfing trophy and rose, legs shaking, the trophy cocked like a baseball bat as the door handle turned.
The man who slipped through the door braced his gun in front of him, clearly trained as he swept the room, searching for her.
With all her strength, she brought the trophy up below his gun arm. He swung toward her, blocking the trajectory, closing one rough hand about her wrist. A squeal escaped as he pushed her backward, against the wall. The trophy fell to the carpet with only a glancing blow to his leg, and he pinned her with his body.
His breath gusted over her ear as he bent his head to whisper, “I work for your father. I’m Ethan Riggins. The code is paintbrush.”
Relief shimmered through her even as the pulse in her wrist drummed against his palm. Years ago, her father, a counterterrorist agent, had insisted she have a code word so she could know for sure when he was sending someone to help her. She’d thought him paranoid at the time but had given the name of her favorite Texas wildflower, and had never had to use it until this minute. Now, she was glad of it.
“Are they still—?” The question froze on her lips when she saw a shadow move behind him. “Janie, no!”
Too late, her assistant swung the three-hole punch down, hitting Riggins above the ear. He sagged against her for a moment, then shot a hand out and snatched the weapon from the trembling girl.
“You’re safe now. Safe.” He tried to straighten and staggered a bit. “I wish I could say you hit like a girl.” When he lifted a hand to his head, McKenna caught the coppery scent of blood. “Your father is waiting. We should go.”
She took a step back and nodded, then let him lead the way out of the office.
* * *
The coffee in the cardboard cup shimmered, not quite splashing over the edge as McKenna sat on the edge of the gurney in the ER. She hadn’t wanted to come, not for herself, but her father had insisted and no one argued with John Klein.
The nurse checking her blood pressure glared at the cup, but didn’t say anything.
Three men had been in the capitol building, but no one knew why. Her father and Riggins had disabled them and come for her. Presumably the three men would be interrogated but whether they revealed why they’d been after her remained to be seen.
Janie was being treated for shock in another room. McKenna had received eight stitches on her forearm where she’d cut it on the broken glass of the door, and Riggins was off somewhere getting stitches of his own for the blow Janie had delivered to his head.
And now her father was spouting off something about her getting out of town.
“I can’t.” Though, God help her, she would if she could. One man, she might have been able to take out on her own, but three, no way. “The bill on children’s health care goes for a vote next week.” The one she’d spent months in office writing. The one she still needed votes for.
“To hell with that.” His tone sharpened as he turned on her. “Three men came after you in the capitol building. They’re not messing around. Staying in Austin is ridiculous.”
“People are counting on me.” She thought of the young mother, Eva DeChant, with whom she’d been working. The woman needed assistance to help her care for her baby with a heart problem, and McKenna’s bill would help her get it.
“You won’t be any good to them dead.”
“Who are they?” Clearly he knew, if he’d called to tell her they were coming.
His lips thinned. “Do you think if I knew, they’d still be a danger to you? You have to give me time to find out. You can give the bill to someone else.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. If I don’t get it passed this time, I have to wait until the next session before I can bring it before the legislature again. Some of these families can’t wait that long.”
“Your life is more important.” He set his jaw.
Matching his expression, she squared her shoulders, not dropping her gaze. “No. It’s not.”
“Stubborn girl.”
“Wonder where that trait came from.”
He braced his hands on the end of the gurney. “I told you not to work in the public eye. Sooner or later someone was bound to connect you with me. You could have gone into teaching or health care if you wanted to help people.”
McKenna’s vision blurred with anger. They’d had this argument too many times to count. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone into counterterrorism if you wanted to have a family.”
His head snapped back and he blanched. The hit was a little more direct than she’d intended.
“I’m sorry you’re in danger. Keeping you safe is the most important thing. Please, McKenna, leave town for a while.”
“Dad, I can’t. Look, I promise to be aware. I won’t work late nights anymore. I’ll go home before dark and stay there. Just a week.”
“It’s a ridiculous risk. We’re talking about your safety here.”
She curled her fingers around the edge of the gurney and leaned forward. “We’re talking about single mothers about to lose their homes because they’re caring for critically ill children.”
He stepped back and held up a hand. “Don’t go into your spiel with me. If you do this, you have to promise to do everything I tell you.”
McKenna drew in a breath. She’d grown up with her father’s military precision. She didn’t know if she could promise, in good faith. But she also knew if she didn’t promise, he’d likely haul her out of here over his shoulder and hold her someplace he thought was safe.
“I promise,” she said on a sigh.
“The first thing is, you’re going to have a bodyguard.” He gestured to Riggins, who’d rounded the curtain, touching the gauze above his ear gingerly.
“Oh, Dad, no,” she protested, avoiding looking at the man who’d come to her rescue. How had her father anticipated her decision so easily? Now she was going to have someone following her around every minute of the day. For a moment, she considered how hard it would really be to hand off this bill to someone else and go into hiding, just to avoid this lack of privacy.
“This is Ethan Riggins. I trust him with my life. More importantly, I trust him with your life.”
McKenna looked up at the solemn-faced man with narrow features, a tight mouth and eyelashes that belonged on a supermodel over midnight blue eyes. McKenna was five ten, the same height as her dad. Riggins towered over both of them.
“You will listen to what he says as if you’re listening to what I tell you to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know how well that always works.”
Her father snorted, the closest sound to a laugh he ever made. “Ethan is going to take you to the Four Seasons tonight so I can check out your house and make sure it’s safe.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ve got the room already. It’s a suite, so you’ll have your privacy.” He extended a finger in her direction before she got out the first syllable. “It’s this way or I’m taking you out of town.”
McKenna looked from her father to Riggins, whose face betrayed no emotion. Her shoulders tightened at the thought of spending time with this robot.
“Will he listen to me?” she asked, bracing her weight on her hands and staring at the man who did not return her gaze. “Will he meet my schedule? Will he talk?”
Riggins cut his gaze to her, his lips thin. “I’ll make every effort to do what you need, but my priority is to keep you safe.” He turned to the nurse, who had been listening with interest—and staring at him. “Is she ready to go?”
“Take her,” the nurse said with a wave of her hand.
The sound of quick footsteps approaching had her father and Riggins moving shoulder to shoulder to form a wall in front of her. Heart pounding, she stretched to see around them.
And recognized the blond-tipped curls of her boyfriend Nick Stanley.
“Dad, it’s okay.” She rested her hand on her father’s shoulder. “It’s Nick.”
John didn’t relax, but grumbled as he stepped aside to allow Nick to reach her.
His green eyes were troubled, the hollows beneath shadowed. “I got here as soon as I could. Are you okay?” He curved his hands on the sides of her face and looked into her eyes, searching for harm.
Accepting Nick’s affection in front of her father made her uncomfortable. She lowered her head, breaking contact. “I’m fine.”
He glanced at the nurse for verification and she nodded. He turned to her father, who betrayed no emotion. McKenna knew he didn’t like Nick, thought he was too soft. But a major aspect of Nick’s appeal to her was that he was nothing like her father.
“Can you come home?”
She went tense. They didn’t live together, hadn’t even slept together, but his words sounded too intimate in front of her father.
John addressed Nick for the first time. “She’s not going home.”
She touched her father’s arm to calm him. “Dad.” She addressed Nick. “Dad thinks it’s best if I go to a hotel while he makes sure my place is safe.”
“A hotel? A public place?” Nick’s eyebrows winged up. “After what happened tonight, do you think that’s the place to be?”
John drew in a sharp breath through his nose, unaccustomed to his decisions being questioned, especially by a man he didn’t respect.
“This is Ethan Riggins,” McKenna continued in a calm tone. “He’s my—bodyguard.”
Nick’s lips twitched in surprise as he looked up at the tall, solemn man. “You do that kind of work often?”
“I do a lot of security work,” Riggins replied.
“Well, I’m invested in McKenna’s safety.”
“As am I.” John’s voice was a low warning rumble. Did Nick hear it? It raised the hair on the back of McKenna’s neck.
“Yes sir, but she’d be perfectly safe at my place.”
John was not a big man, but he squared his shoulders to face off with her boyfriend. “I don’t think you’re the right person to judge. She’s going to a hotel with Mr. Riggins, and she will be back at work in the morning. Now you’ve made sure she’s safe, you’ve seen it with your own eyes, so you can go home.”
“Dad, will you give us a minute?”
Her father hesitated, then nodded to Riggins. Once John and Riggins moved away, she took Nick’s hand. “Thank you for being here.”
He stroked her hair. “I’ve told you not to stay so late.”
“You know better than anyone it can’t be helped sometimes.” Nick worked for the state agriculture office and put in long hours himself.
“Tell the bodyguard to take a hike and come home with me.”
She smiled. He’d never asked her that before, always very conscious of their positions and public lives. “I made a deal with my father, and it will make him feel better. Go home, get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”
He hesitated, like he was going to argue, but didn’t. Another way he wasn’t like her father. “All right.” He kissed her softly, lingering, as if aware her father was watching and he wanted to send a message. “Call me if you need me, no matter what time.” He walked out, having to take an extra step to edge around Riggins, who didn’t move out of his way.
As he walked away, she wondered who had let him know she was here.
Riggins returned to her side. “If you’re ready to go, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Oh, this was going to be fun.
* * *
The suite her father had reserved for her was in a hotel overlooking Lady Bird Lake in the center of Austin. McKenna crossed the room to the window to see lights from the city reflecting off the surface of the water. Behind her, Riggins inspected the suite, nearly as silent in his movement as he’d been on the drive over. She couldn’t decide if she preferred for him to be silent so she didn’t have to think of anything to say, or if she’d rather have him talk, at least a little.
Her father had thought of everything, had even packed a bag of her clothes and toiletries for her. She was afraid to see what he might have included, but she certainly wanted to get out of these clothes, smelling of fear and stained with the blood from her arm and from Riggins’s head wound.
“You did good.”
Riggins’s voice from the doorway of the bedroom made her jolt.
She turned to see him standing there, solemn, arms folded over that broad chest. “What?”
“I know what you did at the capitol, how you protected your friend. That took some quick thinking.”
Mimicking his stance, she planted her feet, though she was so tired she could barely form thoughts. “My father trained me well.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen men trained to deal with it every day fall apart. You did good.”
She didn’t want to analyze why his words rubbed the wrong way. “How many stitches?”
He touched the gauze. “Six. I’ve had worse.”
No doubt, if he was anything like her father.
“Yes, well, I’m going to shower and go to bed. I have to be back at work in three hours. Let’s see if your training has prepared you for that.”
She closed the bedroom doors in his face and sank to the bed, finally giving in to the tremors of fear and exhaustion, and wishing she had someone to hold her.


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