“Sara,” he’d said in a tone of sugary condescension, “it isn’t what it looks like.”

  The hell it wasn’t.

  She’d told him to pack his shit and hit the road.

  The other patrons of Sully’s, looking on, had slow-clapped.

  After repeatedly protesting that he was innocent, that she was blowing this whole thing way out of proportion, yada yada yada, Zachary had finally done what she asked and gone away.

  Over the next couple of months, he’d returned to the Creek several times, swearing he was a changed man, begging for a second chance.

  But Sara had stood firm.

  She held on to a quote attributed to Maya Angelou, one of her all-time favorite poets. Paraphrased it to suit her situation: “When somebody shows you who they are, believe them.”

  “There’s more,” Eric said with a note of petulance in his tone, and Sara had to flip back through her mental files to remember what they’d been talking about.

  Oh, yes.

  Zachary and how everyone had done him wrong. Such a victim.

  Sara held back a sigh. Wondered randomly what J.P. was doing at that moment.

  Wished she were still with him, lying naked in his arms.

  Last night almost seemed like a fantasy now. After making love into the wee small hours, they’d both fallen into a deep sleep.

  Just as the sun rose, J.P. awakened her with a kiss, then made love to her again, this time slowly, so very slowly.

  Her responses had left her languid, wanting to snuggle down and go back to sleep, but J.P. wasn’t having that. He half dragged, half cajoled her out of bed, across the room to the bathroom door, into the shower.

  They lathered each other in soapsuds, but they were still weak-kneed from the last round, so there was no sex.

  J.P. had dressed in the bathroom—jeans, a blue chambray shirt, old boots—while Sara struggled back into her sundress. She had to search awhile to find her discarded underpants.

  He’d rejoined her just in time to zip up her dress.

  After that, he steered her toward the spacious kitchen.

  There, he let the ever-present Trooper outside, then filled the dog’s water and food bowls.

  Sara had looked down at her crumpled sundress, wishing she’d brought a change of clothes along with that bottle of Shiraz. But then, she hadn’t expected to spend the night.

  Or had she?

  J.P. had kissed her forehead and told her to smile. That this was Painted Pony Creek, not Lake Woebegone.

  She’d laughed.

  He’d set about brewing coffee, and then he’d made a rancher’s breakfast—pancakes, eggs, bacon and toast slathered with sweet butter and strawberry jam.

  The meal had been delicious and filling, and thus it had restored her wavering confidence, too.

  Without that food, she knew, she would have been weepy.

  Lake Woebegone, indeed.

  After they’d eaten, she’d helped with the cleanup.

  Trooper was readmitted to the house and treated to the last remaining strip of crisp bacon.

  And then it was time to leave.

  Time for her to go home.

  Time for J.P. to attend to his chores.

  He’d walked her to her car. Kissed her.

  Sara had waited for him to mention seeing each other again.

  He hadn’t, exactly. But he had promised to call.

  She’d driven home in a daze.

  Parked her car in the garage and taken off her shoes, just in case.

  And there was Zachary, the last person she had expected—or wanted—to see.

  She’d been stunned.

  Now, sitting on her shady patio with her son, Sara shivered.

  Last night had been a journey to a shimmering world hidden somewhere far beyond time and space. Population: two—herself and J.P.

  This morning, in the bright and uncompromising light of day, it was almost as if the whole thing had been a dream. Sweet and sultry, but still a dream.

  Suddenly, she wanted to cry.

  Eric must have read her expression, because he actually reached over and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  Sara blinked a couple of times, and the threat of tears subsided. Thank God.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “You’re not upset because Dad is getting married?”

  An inelegant snort of laughter was Sara’s reply.

  Eric chuckled. “I guess that was a pretty dumb question.”

  Sara poked him lightly in the ribs. Raised both eyebrows when he looked at her.

  He laughed, but his expression turned solemn pretty quickly.

  “Let me turn your question around, Eric,” Sara ventured. “Are you upset that he’s getting married?”

  “Yeah,” Eric admitted with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think he’s going to stick around the Creek much longer—not unless Grandfather relents and leaves him more in the will than he plans to right now.”

  Although Zachary couldn’t leave town soon enough to suit her, Sara knew Eric was cherishing certain hopes that were probably going to be dashed, simply because of who Zachary was.

  The man probably couldn’t change even if he wanted to—which she was sure he didn’t. He liked being a selfish asshole; almost surely prided himself on it.

  It was then that Sara realized that all the anger she felt toward her ex-husband had nothing whatsoever to do with what he’d done way back when. She’d been over that for a long time.

  No, what infuriated Sara about Zachary’s sudden reappearance in their lives was the certainty that he wanted something—money, most likely—and he was willing to use his own children to get it. Her children.

  He had to know she wasn’t going to give him a nickel.

  But his elderly father? Better chance there that Daddy Dearest hoped for a last-minute connection with the grandchildren.

  Sure, the old man was bitter and hard, not to mention stubborn, but he was a millionaire many times over.

  Over the years, Zachary’s father had made no effort to get to know his grandchildren, but that might have been, at least partly, because of Sara herself. She had told the chauvinistic old coot to take a flying leap—albeit in more colorful terms—and she’d definitely meant it.

  He hadn’t reached out to Eric and Hayley, it was true, but that didn’t mean he’d written them off.

  Perhaps that was Zachary’s game: his father was purportedly dying, and it was at least possible he wanted to see Eric and Hayley before he crossed over. Zachary could make that happen—with Eric, anyway—and that might be a very valuable bargaining chip.

  Then again, given the old man’s apparent disinterest, it might not.

  “Have you actually seen your grandfather? Visited him in person?” Sara asked. She was fairly sure her son would have told her about such a momentous meeting, but then, with kids, one never knew.

  Eric shook his head. “Not yet. He’s in a hospital in Seattle, I think. Dad says he’s coming home, though. Maybe he wants to die in the mansion or something.”

  “Does it make you sad? That your grandfather is dying?”

  Eric shrugged, somewhat disconsolately. “He’s old,” he said, sounding forlorn. “And I don’t know him. So I guess I’m only losing the grandfather I wanted, not the one I had. Or didn’t have.”

  Sara felt another pang of sympathy for her son. When it came to blood kin, she and Eli had been all the kids had, since their folks had died a long time ago. “Has he asked to see you and Hayley?”

  “Dad’s trying to arrange something,” Eric replied.

  “Do you want to meet him?”

  “I guess,” Eric said.

  “You guess?”

  “Well, I suppose I ought to say thank you, if I get the chance.”

  “Thank you?” Sara echoed, trying not to sound ironic. For what, exactly?

  “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you,” Eric said very cautiously. “Grandfather is leaving a chunk of money to Hayley and me. It’ll be held in trust until we turn thirty-five—thirty-five, can you believe it? We’ll be too old to have any fun.”

  This news rocked Sara to the core. “Your dad told you this?”

  “He showed me the paperwork. It’s seven figures, Mom. For each of us.”

  Although Sara had never wanted anything from Richard Worth, wouldn’t have asked him for a penny, even when times were hard, she didn’t begrudge her children an inheritance. They were closely related to the man, after all.

  “When were you planning to mention this?” Sara inquired.

  Again, the desultory shrug. “When you and I weren’t fighting. I haven’t said anything to Hayley yet—Dad wants to do that.” Eric huffed out a sigh. “I told him she might not want to see him for a while—maybe she never will, because she’s Hayley—but he thinks she’ll come around. Want to meet our grandfather.”

  “Who’s managing these trust funds?” Sara asked. Damn, but she’d almost worn herself out, asking all these questions.

  Right about then, she could have crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over her head.

  “That’s the crazy thing, Mom,” Eric replied. “It’s Wyatt, not Dad.”

  Sara had been quietly clicking the pieces of the puzzle into place for several minutes, but this last statement completed the picture.

  Zachary wanted to manage—read spend—his children’s inheritance, and he was hoping a visit from Eric and Hayley would smooth the way. Charm their grandfather and, with luck, persuade him to put their devoted dad in charge of the trust funds.

  Not on my watch, you bastard, Sara told her ex-husband silently. Not on my watch.

  “So, Mr. Moneybags,” she said, crinkling her eyes even though she was shading them with one hand. “Any plans for this fine Sunday in June?”

  Eric smiled. “Carly and I are going to the movies. Two o’clock show. What about you?”

  Sara closed her eyes, sat back in her chair and allowed the sun to kiss her face. She wasn’t into tanning, but a few more minutes of blissful warmth couldn’t hurt.

  “I’m going to do some laundry,” she replied. “Whip up something simple for supper and go to bed early.”

  Oh, and I plan to go online and order crotch-less panties.

  And erase my search history immediately afterward.

  Blushing slightly at the thought, Sara opened her eyes, turned her head to look at Eric. “You can invite Carly to join us if you want. For supper, I mean.”

  “I’ll ask her,” Eric promised, pleased. “She might want to get home early, though. I guess J.P. McCall’s nieces are coming for a visit soon. They’re younger than Carly, but she wants to make sure they feel welcome. You know, because they’ll be so far from their friends and everything.”

  J.P. hadn’t mentioned the imminent arrival of his nieces, but then, it wasn’t as if they’d done much chitchatting the night before.

  They’d been too busy swinging from chandeliers.

  So to speak.

  “That’s nice of Carly,” Sara said sincerely. “Very thoughtful.”

  “She’s golden,” Eric agreed, rising from his chair. “Guess I’ll grab a shower and have something to eat.” With that, he disappeared into the house.

  Sara decided she’d had enough sun—at least, without sunscreen—so she followed.

  She was sorting laundry when her cell phone, tucked into the pocket of her jeans, began to pulse.

  J.P.?

  She peered at the screen. Nope.

  Brynne.

  “Hey,” she said. “Did you and Eli have a good time last night?”

  Brynne gave a throaty laugh. “We had a very good time.”

  Sara wanted so much to confide in her sister-in-law, but it was too soon for that. Things were still far too fragile between her and J.P., outside of his bedroom, anyway. “What happened with David Fielding?” she asked. “Did he accept your job offer?”

  “Yes,” Brynne said, clearly happy about David’s decision. “He’s quite the businessman. Wants the option to buy into the wedding-planning part, if it turns out we can work together effectively. He’d be a full partner.”

  “What’s your take on that? Would you consider a deal like that?”

  “Definitely,” Brynne replied. “He’s already given me about a thousand new ideas, all of them excellent, and he wasn’t expecting a New York salary in backwater Montana.”

  “Sounds good,” Sara said, happy for Brynne, who needed all the help she could get when it came to her wedding business. Although it wasn’t common knowledge, Brynne and Eli were trying for another baby. They didn’t want too big of an age gap between the twins and their little sister or brother. “When does he start?”

  “Not for two weeks,” Brynne said, this time with a sigh. “He and Evan are closing on their farm. They want to renovate the house—it’s the old Wilkins place, you remember—and replace the barn, too. Plus, Evan is buying sheep and cattle and a few horses—” Her voice fell away, and when she went on, she sounded sad. “Livestock isn’t such a good idea at the moment, what with all the traps they’ve been finding all over this part of the county.”

  “I hear there was a body,” Sara said, knowing Brynne couldn’t give her the details, if indeed she knew any of them. Eli wasn’t one to spill information that hadn’t been released to the public yet, even to his wife.

  “Yes,” Brynne replied. “And that’s all I know.”

  “Of course it is,” answered Sara. “This is Eli Garrett we’re talking about here.”

  “Tell me about it,” Brynne said. “Listen, I have another reason for calling. You might have heard already, but Melba and Dan’s new baby was born a couple of days ago. Everybody’s healthy.”

  “I hadn’t heard,” Sara said, and she felt some degree of chagrin, because Melba and Dan Summers were good friends. “Boy? Girl?”

  “Boy. Nine pounds, twelve ounces. Dan calls him the Hulk, but his actual name is Daniel Martin Summers Jr.”

  Sara teared up, happy and a little relieved. The Summerses had two daughters, a teen and a preteen, and they’d been divorced for several years when little Daniel was conceived.

  Mending their relationship hadn’t been easy, Sara knew, but really, when was any relationship easy?

  “And,” Brynne said, drawing out the word, “there’s the matter of you and J.P. and that picnic you were planning. How did that turn out?”

  Sara blushed, standing there in front of her washer and dryer, glad her sister-in-law couldn’t see her. The two of them went way back, and if they’d been face-to-face, she wouldn’t have been able to hide much of anything.

  “We had to change it up,” she said with a deliberate no-big-deal note in her voice. “You know, because of the traps and all. J.P. barbecued steaks on his patio and we had fun.”

  “Fun fun?” Brynne wanted to know.

  Sara remembered dancing with J.P., their bodies swaying together. She remembered him carrying her to his room...

  Heat surged through her bloodstream, and she ached.

  Everywhere.

  “It was very nice,” she said at last.

  “I’ll just bet it was,” Brynne answered.

  “If you did,” Sara told her, “you’d win.”

  “Good for you. Good for both of you.”

  “Don’t start planning things,” Sara warned. “This might not go anywhere.”

  “Whatever you say,” Brynne responded sweetly. “Listen, when can we visit Melba and Dan and the newest member of the family? The chief says she doesn’t want a fuss made—as in, no baby shower—but Shallie and Emma and I think we ought to do something.”

  “Melba doesn’t want a shower?” Sara asked. “But the girls are practically grown, and their hand-me-downs wouldn’t do for a boy. I say we get presents, anyway. We just won’t do the cake and the games or the balloons and streamers.”

  “I’m on board with that idea, and I know Shallie and Emma will like it, too.”

  They agreed on a tentative date, a few days away, and ended the call.

  Sara was humming as she stuffed a load of towels into the washing machine, added soap and pushed the button.

  That done, she sneaked into her office, closed and locked the door, logged on to her computer and did a little online shopping, quite unrelated to the baby shower that wasn’t one.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS SUNDAY, which meant the flower shops were closed, and J.P. wasn’t about to give Sara supermarket roses.

  She deserved the best.

  So he loaded Trooper into the truck and drove over to the A-frame, where he found his mom working in her vegetable garden and his dad sitting on the deck, whittling on a piece of wood with his pocketknife.

  Trooper, always delighted to pay a visit to extended family, slithered past the gearshift and the steering wheel and jumped out of the truck as soon as J.P. opened the door. The mutt ran around the yard in happy circles, barking for joy.

  Not for the first time in his life, J.P. reflected that human beings would be a lot happier if they were as easily delighted as the average dog.

  Talk about living in the moment.

  “Hello!” J.P.’s mom called, straightening and pulling off the gloves she wore to weed the rows of carrots and turnips and other good-tasting things.

  His dad set aside his whittling and got to his feet, beaming.

  J.P. wasn’t normally the sentimental type, but it warmed his heart to be welcomed with so much enthusiasm. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been pretty lonesome for a while now.

  A long while.

  Leaving his hat in the truck, he crossed the yard to plant a kiss on his mom’s cheek.