“I can’t even imagine what that’s been like for you,” Steve said, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

  “It hasn’t been all bad,” I told him truthfully. “I’ve gotten to see a lot of places I might not have otherwise. The most important thing is, the cards and gifts stopped coming—at least for a little while. A few weeks ago, Angie told me that a bouquet showed up at the office with a note that said, Tell her I’m thinking about her. Again, no name, no threat, nothing to say definitively that it had anything to do with me, but …” I shuddered.

  “Who knows you’ve been in contact with her?”

  “No one, as far as I know, and Angie assured me she hasn’t told anyone. But she has been known to let something slip when she’s had a few. That’s why I only use burners to contact her and never actually tell her where I am.”

  He considered that for a while, absently stroking my arm. I was perfectly content to stay where I was, tucked against his body, feeling drained but also a lot lighter for having shared.

  “That’s a hell of a way to live, Casey,” he said finally.

  “I know. I can’t keep it up much longer. I need to go back.”

  “I disagree.”

  I repositioned myself so I was straddling his legs and could see his eyes.

  “Are you saying that because you don’t think it’s safe for me to go home or because you want me to stay?” I whispered.

  He grunted, pulled me closer, and kissed me soundly. “What do you think?”

  I knew what I wanted to think. Instead, I said, “Honestly? After what I just told you, I’m surprised you haven’t left skid marks on your way out the door.”

  “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

  “A clue about what?”

  He ignored my question and patted the outside of my thighs. “You should call Rose and tell her you want the night off.”

  I glanced up at the wall clock and gasped. It was much later than I’d thought.

  I reluctantly climbed off his lap and pushed myself away. “Shit. I have to get ready. And how did you know I was working tonight?”

  He laughed. “You work every day.”

  “Good point.”

  “Take the night off. Let Shannon cover for you for a change.”

  “What if her kids are sick again?”

  “Then, Mike can miss his weekly poker game and take care of them,” Steve said. “After that stunt he pulled, I’d say he owes you one.”

  The idea had merit. I was tired and sore and mentally exhausted from baring my soul. Spending a quiet, cozy evening with Steve sounded heavenly. And incredibly dangerous. I was falling hard for this guy, and if I wanted a chance at something more, there were a few things I needed to take care of before I could jump into those waters.

  Still, I could take one night off … right?

  Just as I was thinking that, Steve’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and grinned.

  “Shannon just texted me,” he said. “Rose said I’m to use whatever means necessary to keep you from coming in tonight.”

  His phone buzzed again.

  “And she’s holding me personally responsible for ensuring your well-being.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  He turned the phone around so I could read the messages, and, yep, he wasn’t kidding.

  “Do you think Rose is playing matchmaker?”

  “No doubt in my mind.” He shook his head. “I don’t know who’s worse—Rose or my mother.”

  “Guess I’m not going into work tonight,” I said on an exhale, relieved that the decision had been taken out of my hands.

  “Then, how about you take a hot bath and I make us some dinner?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, shaking the phone at me, eyes twinkling. “Otherwise, I’ll face the wrath of Rose and my mother, and I’m just not that brave.”

  I laughed because how could I not? The man made me feel lighter inside.

  “Fine. If you want to hide out here, I’ve got your back. But I don’t have anything to make dinner with. Lou usually hooks me up. Unless, of course, you like cereal. I’ve got a couple of boxes of that.”

  His lips quirked. “I think we can do better than that. Why don’t you come back to my place? My kitchen is fully stocked.”

  I was about to decline when he added, “Did I mention I have a Jacuzzi?”

  I blinked. “A Jacuzzi?”

  He nodded.

  “You don’t play fair,” I told him again, then went off to pack an overnight bag.

  16

  When I saw the sign for Ziegler Farms, I experienced a moment of panic. “You don’t live with your parents, do you?” I asked.

  Steve laughed. “No, I have my own place. My parents gifted each of us with fifty acres.” He shrugged. “It’s a family tradition.”

  “Nothing wrong with wanting to keep your family close,” I murmured.

  “No,” he agreed, “and this is their not-so-subtle way of ensuring their eventual grandchildren are nearby,” he said with a grin.

  “None of your brothers are married, are they?”

  “Not yet, but Eli’s pretty close.”

  A wave of something—envy?—washed over me and made my chest tighten at the thought of Steve marrying and making babies. Irrational, I knew, but I was discovering there was nothing rational about the way I felt about him.

  We barely knew each other, and yet it didn’t feel like that. Being with him filled me with a sense of peace and comfort that I couldn’t explain. Being with him felt right. It felt like home.

  This was an idyllic place to raise a family, and something told me Steve would be a great dad. He’d already shown himself to be kind, supportive, and compassionate with strong protector tendencies.

  I was pretty sure he’d make a damn fine husband too.

  We drove past the main entrance to the farm and continued for a short while before Steve turned onto a dirt road covered in gravel. His parcel was on the southeast slope of the family land. A quarter mile in, we approached a sprawling ranch house, surrounded on three sides by patches of forest.

  “Here we are,” he said, pulling into a three-car attached garage. “Home sweet home.”

  He helped me out of the truck, grabbed my overnight bag, and led me into the house. A big, furry monster of a dog greeted us. Part of one ear was missing, and there was evidence of old scarring around his muzzle.

  I turned to Steve in disbelief. “You really do rescue puppies, don’t you?”

  “That’s Oscar. And he was no puppy when I found him. I think someone hit him with a car and kept going. The vet didn’t think he’d make it.”

  He spoke like it was no big deal. Like anyone would stop and save a dog.

  “Is he friendly?”

  “Never met one friendlier. Don’t let his size fool you. He’s a harmless, lazy beast.”

  I went down on one knee and petted Oscar. He, in turn, licked my face.

  Steve laughed. “See what I mean? Enough, Oscar.”

  Steve gently pulled me to my feet and nudged me forward. The house was bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside with an open-space floor plan and lots of natural light. Casual but comfortable, it was a stunning combination of old-world charm and modern convenience. I liked it immediately.

  Subtle scents of cut lumber and fresh paint lingered in the air, prompting me to ask, “New construction?”

  “Relatively. It’s a work in progress,” Steve told me. “The living room and kitchen are done as well as the master bedroom suite. Everything else, I get to when I have time—usually nights and weekends when I’m not at the farm. It’s taking a while, but I want to do it right.”

  I admired that. Looking at the wood, the floor, the cabinetry, I saw a lot of craftsmanship and quality.

  He put his hand on the small of my back and led me past the sunken living room on our right and toward the gleaming kitchen beyond. Before we reached that, however, he guided me down a corridor on the left.

  “This leads to the master suite, which is where the Jacuzzi is,” he told me.

  I sucked in a breath when he opened a door to a massive bedroom with a walk-in closet the size of my first apartment, a sitting area, a fireplace, and a bathroom straight out of my fantasies. Jacuzzi tub, six-head steam shower. When traveling with my parents, I’d stayed in five-star hotels that weren’t as nice.

  “Go on then. Have a good soak. It’ll take me at least an hour to make dinner.”

  “You aren’t real,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m dreaming all this, aren’t I?”

  He chuckled softly, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  Oh, I needed something all right.

  I reached out and snagged his hand. “Join me?”

  His eyes lit up from within, but he banked it. “Later,” he said huskily. “If I get in there with you, we won’t be eating dinner anytime soon, and I promised you a meal.”

  My lips formed a pout until he added, “It also provides incentive for you to stick around after I feed you.”

  “I’ll say it again. You don’t play fair.”

  Steve Ziegler was a wise man. After soaking for an hour and turning on all the jets, I felt much better. My stress level was down, and my body was soft and suitably pliant. How did I thank him for his thoughtfulness? I raided his closet and wrapped my upper body in one of his soft flannel shirts over my stretchy yoga pants before finding my way back to the kitchen.

  Judging by the way he paused and regarded me with an appreciative, possessive look in his eye, he didn’t mind me poaching his clothes too much.

  After a delicious meal of a perfectly grilled steak, salad, and a baked potato, I sat back, took a sip of wine, and said, “You need to stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Being so damn good to me.”

  He smirked. “It’s called wooing, and I have no intention of stopping. How else am I going to convince you to give me a chance?”

  I sighed. “I’m already convinced. The problem isn’t you, Steve; it’s me. There are things I need to do before I can consider getting involved with anyone.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like come to terms with and reconcile my past so I can move on.” I hadn’t intended to share my plan, but he deserved that from me. “To do that, I need to visit a hypnotherapist who can help me recall what happened that night.”

  His brow furrowed. “Is that possible?”

  “My psychiatrist seemed to think it was, but suggested I wait until I was ready to attempt it. It’s going to bring a lot back to the surface, and I need to know I can handle it.”

  He thought about that for a minute. “Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. “I understand where you’re coming from, but couldn’t you do that without going back? Your stalker is still out there. If you return, he’s not going to stand idly by, waiting for you to identify him.”

  “I don’t plan on advertising it,” I told him, though his concern did send ripples of warmth through me.

  And I did see his point. It would be safer to seek those answers far away from Chicago. The East Coast had enough large cities that I should be able to find someone who could do what I wanted.

  But there were other reasons to return home as well. Several million of them, in fact, just sitting there, waiting for me to claim them.

  I kept that to myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Steve. I’d learned early on that money had a way of changing people’s perception. Angie was a perfect example. She’d taken one look at my clothes and designer bags freshman year and judged me without even knowing me. It had taken a long time for her to accept that I wasn’t just a rich, spoiled princess, living on a stipend until I could claim my full inheritance. It had taken years of seeing me work my ass off instead of just having things handed to me.

  I wanted people to like me for me, not my family’s money.

  If things worked out the way I hoped, then after I did what I needed to do, I’d return to Shadow Ridge and come clean about everything.

  “When?” Steve asked, unaware of the path my thoughts had taken. When I looked at him blankly, he added, “When are you planning on going?”

  “Soon. I’m going to talk to Rose next time I go in and put in my two weeks’ notice.”

  He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “All right. That should give me enough time to rearrange a few things.”

  I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t think I’m going to let you go alone, do you? It’s dangerous, Casey. You need someone to have your back.”

  I felt tears welling behind my eyes as a wave of emotion washed over me. The fact that he would even think about doing that went above and beyond simple kindness.

  “Hey now,” he said softly, brushing a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

  “Why? Why would you do that?” I asked.

  “Because I feel something for you, something I’ve never felt for anyone before. And, yeah, I know that’s probably the last thing you want to hear after dealing with a crazy stalker, but I swear, I’m not—”

  I grabbed his face with both hands and shut him up with a kiss. There was nothing stalkerish about this man. I knew exactly what he was saying because I felt the same way about him. Only time would tell, but my soul was telling me that Steve was my person. My other. My one.

  “I know,” I said softly, breaking the kiss.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you’re okay with me tagging along?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not because I don’t want you there, but because you have a job. A life. And this is your busiest season. Your family needs you here.”

  “They’ll manage,” he said stubbornly. “And—”

  I shut him up with another kiss, overwhelmed. I reached between us and stroked him through his jeans.

  He made a low, growly sound and scooped me up into his arms.

  “We’re not done talking about this,” he said, carrying me back to the bedroom.

  Much later, we lay, sated and exhausted, in his bed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so content or so complete. It only reinforced my determination to close the last chapter of my life and start a new one.

  17

  I woke up before dawn, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful man sleeping beside me. He looked even younger in slumber, his face relaxed, his hair falling haphazardly over those amazing eyes that I’d gazed into as he made slow, sweet love to me. Afterward, he’d pulled me close against him, and that was how we’d drifted off together. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly. No night terrors. No bad dreams. I felt safe with him, and apparently, my subconscious did too. Being in his arms was better than any pharmaceutical.

  At some point during the night, Oscar had made his way into the bed with us. Thankfully, it hadn’t been when we were, uh, busy.

  Eventually, I got up and padded to the kitchen, intent on cleaning up the mess we’d left in favor of other things. He’d been so good to me; doing the dishes and making breakfast before he took me home were the least I could do.

  Oscar came with me. He let himself out through the doggie door. I filled his water dish and poured some kibble from the bag I’d seen Steve use the night before.

  I brewed a pot of coffee and foraged for everything I’d need. He wasn’t kidding about having a well-stocked kitchen. I gathered eggs, sausage, potatoes, onions, and peppers—all fresh and locally sourced—and made an omelet to end all omelets.

  I was just plating my masterpiece when I looked up and saw him leaning against the wall, watching me from the hallway. He was shirtless and barefoot, a pair of loose gray sweats riding low on his slim hips and showcasing a fantastic happy trail and … other things. Add in his sleep-tousled hair and shadowed jaw, and I was a goner.

  My first thought: I could definitely get used to seeing this every morning.

  My second thought was … well, I didn’t have a second thought. The man had a way of short-circuiting my brain.

  “I thought you couldn’t cook,” he said, moving forward.

  “Of course I can cook. But why should I when I have handsome men to do it for me?”

  He came up behind me, put his hand on my hip, and coaxed me into a kiss that felt primitive and possessive. The hard bulge pressing against me was pretty nice too.

  “Handsome men?” he growled.

  I smiled because who didn’t like teasing a playful, mildly jealous sex god?

  “Okay, well, Lou’s not nearly as good-looking as you are, but he has a way with pasta. Now, sit down before breakfast gets cold.”

  I patted him on his tight behind in a primitive, possessive gesture of my own and received a purely masculine grunt in response.

  Pouring him a cup of coffee, I slid that and a plate onto the counter in front of him, then sat down with my own. The past twenty-four hours had been amazing, but it was time to get back to life.

  “Will you have time to run me back to the cottage before you go to work?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said casually. “Or you could stay here.”

  As much as I liked the idea, things were moving quickly between us. Our connection was strong, but our relationship was too new—and held too much potential—to rush things. He might be settled and ready, but I needed my space and time to adjust from being “an island,” as he’d called it, to letting someone in.

  I said as much because I wanted him to understand. Amazing man that he was, he did.

  “Are you taking another day or going in to work tonight?” he asked.

  “I’m going in. I’m not looking forward to the third degree I’m going to get though. Hopefully, we’ll be slammed, and they won’t be able to grill me.”

  He looked at me with sympathy. “Do you really think that’s going to stop them?”

 

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