Zoey Phillips

Figured. She found the phone book and dialed a pizza joint two blocks away that said they’d deliver.

Dawson, Dodson, Donaldson… Zoey leafed through the phone book and let her eye stray down the columns. Donnelly. Hmm. Five Donnellys. The schools were probably populated with all kinds of cute little Donnellys.

Fielding, Furtz—wasn’t that the shoemaker who’d been so kind to her father? She’d definitely go see him the next day.

Hanson, Hoare—she recalled how the poor Hoare girls had been teased—Hopewell, Hoskins, Jenkins, Jones, Jonker. That was Elizabeth’s mother and dad.

Probably a whole lot of the kids she’d gone to school with had stayed in Stoney Creek. Maybe, with Elizabeth and Mary Ellen in tow, she’d visit some of them while she was here.

As soon as the stores were open the next morning—cold, bright and crystal clear, with the snow-capped Coast Mountains majestic in the west—she’d headed for Mr. Furtz’s Saddlery and Shoes. It was exactly as she’d remembered it. Various pieces of dusty leather paraphernalia adorned the street-front window, along with some fancy-stitched cowboy boots, children’s sandals, a few samples of out-of-style high-heeled shoes, leather dog leads and harnesses and several trade publications—she made out Canada Shoe and Boot and Leather Forever—fanned artfully near the window to entice the passerby, their covers pale and sun-bleached.

She pushed open the door with the old-fashioned jangling bell.

“Joey Phillips! My goodness.” Mr. Furtz had actually remembered her before she’d had to introduce herself. Zoey felt a warm rush of gratitude. Until then no one she’d seen in town had recognized her. Mr. Furtz pronounced his js with a y sound, in the German way, so even the name she’d discarded didn’t sound too bad. Yo-ey. “My, my, such a beauty, too,” he went on, eyes twinkling. “All you Phillips girls were lovely girls, just like your mother. How is your father, my dear?”

“Just fine. Dad’s got a new job, with a municipality in Saskatchewan. Rosetown.”

The old man nodded his head vigorously, making the few hairs he’d wound across the top of his mostly bald pate bounce dangerously. “Oh, yah, yah! Good for him. He’s a good man, your father. A very fine man.”

Zoey felt her eyes water slightly. Most people had regarded her father as a hopeless loser. Mr. Furtz was still smiling broadly when Zoey heard the bell jangle again.

“Oh!” The harness-maker looked up toward the door. “Ah, there you are!”

Zoey turned. A tall, dark-haired man, obviously a cowboy of some sort from his dress—worn Wranglers, a broad-brimmed hat, chambray shirt, sheepskin vest, scuffed boots on his feet—had entered the store.

“You mind, my dear?” Mr. Furtz whispered loudly. “A customer—?”

“Please! Go right ahead,” Zoey said, stepping back as the customer approached the counter. He seemed vaguely familiar but she was quite sure she’d never met him. One cowboy looked pretty much like another, in her view, and Stoney Creek was full of them. “No hurry. I’m staying in town for several weeks,” she said into empty air.

Both men were bent over a piece of equipment on the counter. A little embarrassed, Zoey moved away to inspect the articles on display. Purses, more shoes, Birkenstocks, a whole rack of boots of various kinds. She could feel the stranger’s gaze on her back. Her cheeks burned. She turned quickly toward the counter, but he was absorbed in examining whatever piece of horse equipment the shoemaker had repaired for him. She must have imagined it.

“Nice job, Raoul. Very nice work. Hell of a note getting it caught in the binder like that and tore up. I figured I’d have to throw it away.”

Raoul?

“Never! Something’s made of leather, it can be fixed. No problem. That man-made stuff, vinyl, plastic, now that’s another story. I—”

“How much?” The stranger reached in his back pocket and removed several bills from his wallet. He tossed them onto the counter. “That do?”

“Oh, yah. Maybe too much,” the shoemaker said doubtfully. “It was an easy job.”

“For you, maybe. Take it.” The stranger laughed and Zoey felt the sound echo along her ribs. She glanced at him again. He was attractive, in a rough-hewn, serious way. Not knock-down handsome at all. But attractive, nonetheless.

“Yah, yah! Good joke. Ha, ha.” The shoemaker rang up the transaction on his old-fashioned cash register. “‘Easy for me,’ yah!”

He handed the customer a receipt and the man slung the bridle onto his right shoulder, giving her a curious glance as he turned away. There was no mistaking it, he had looked at her—this time.

That made her feel a bit better somehow. That he’d noticed her at all.

Of course, any stranger in Stoney Creek would stand out to a local. Even on a busy weekend like this, with the town full of hunters and basketball players.

“I’ve known you all these years, Mr. Furtz, and I never knew your name was Raoul,” she said, smiling, when the customer had gone. “Was your mother Spanish or Italian?”

“Oh, no! Austrian, from the Tyrol, like my dad.” Mr. Furtz’s blue eyes twinkled. “But she was a romantic woman, my mama. You know what I mean? Very, very romantic!”

POOR MR. FURTZ! Zoey thought now, looking around at the crowded arena. She wondered if he was here. The entire town and surrounding district of Stoney Creek seemed to have put in an appearance at the volunteer firefighters’ dance, which was being held at the curling arena, with sheets of plywood laid out over the ice. She had no idea what his story was. As far as she knew, he’d never married. No wife, no children. But Zoey was sure she knew exactly what he meant when he’d said his mother was romantic and she suspected that Mr. Furtz was a romantic at heart, too.

She wasn’t particularly romantic herself. She’d always viewed herself as sensible and clearheaded. A smart woman who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. A risk-taker, but sensible. Impulsive? Sometimes. Adventurous? Always. Romantic? No, that was for teenagers and sentimental old women.

There was a five-dollar “donation” to get into the dance, and a band was tuning up on the makeshift stage when they arrived. She needn’t have worried about how she was dressed. Her slim charcoal slacks with the matching jacket and the ivory silk short-sleeved sweater under it were businesslike, yes, but she preferred businesslike to the elaborate confections of skirts and crinolines some women wore. Others had on plain jeans and cowboy boots and, among the younger set, bare tummies and low-rider pants were in evidence, complete with tattoos and body piercings.

Arthur led the way and found a table near the bandstand.

“Drinks?” he mouthed, over the noise, and then disappeared to the refreshment concession. All proceeds—drinks, donations at the door, silent auction items ranged on tables around the rink—went to the local Boys and Girls Club, which was in the process, Elizabeth had told her, of raising funds for a building of its own.

Zoey spotted a dark-haired woman on the other side of the room smiling and madly waving so she waved back.

“Who’s that, Lizzie?” she muttered, leaning across Becky. “Over there in the pink shirt?”

“That’s Sherry Porter, used to be Rempel—you know her! She was one of the cheerleaders for the basketball team. We never made the squad.” Elizabeth laughed and waved, too. Zoey felt pleased that someone had remembered her. The shoemaker yesterday and now this Sherry Porter, who, she was sorry to say, she could barely recall.

The lights dimmed and the crowd immediately quieted. Zoey noticed Arthur on his way back to their table, balancing a tray filled with glasses.

A man dressed in a white shirt and tie and a rumpled sports jacket had mounted the stage and stood by the microphone.

“Just before the music starts, I want to remind all you folks that every cent raised this evening goes to the Boys and Girls Club.” He pushed his glasses higher on his nose.

“The mayor,” Elizabeth whispered, leaning toward her. “Herb Trennant, did you know him?”

Zoey shook her head.

“I think he was in Arthur’s class,” Elizabeth continued and her husband raised a finger to his mouth to shush her. She made an impatient gesture back and returned her attention to the stage.

“I recall moving to Stoney Creek when I was ten and didn’t know a soul,” the mayor said. “A Boys and Girls Club back then would have made things a little easier,” he went on. “Moving to a new town can be a mighty lonely experience. Our own young people who grow up here could use a place like this, too, so be generous, folks! It’s for a good cause.”

The crowd clapped and the band struck up a Shania Twain tune, “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” and people began to take to the dance floor. The mayor’s words had struck a deep chord in Zoey. She remembered so well the feeling of being alone and new at school, a stranger in town. It had happened so many times. Youth could be highly overrated; she wouldn’t be fifteen again for anything.

“Dance, Lizzie?” Arthur bent gallantly over his wife’s hand. “You’re next, Becky,” he addressed his daughter with a grin and she giggled. “You, too, Zoey. You can get in line.”

At that moment, Zoey spotted Ryan Donnelly pushing through the crowd, headed toward their table. Her heart lodged in her throat. She’d just been thinking she wouldn’t be a teenager again—and here, standing practically in front of her, was one of the reasons.

“Lizzie!”

Elizabeth turned, still holding her husband’s hand.

“Yes? Oh, Ryan, I didn’t see you here.” Elizabeth shot a triumphant glance Zoey’s way.

Up close, Ryan was even handsomer than he was from a distance. His eyes, blue as the summer sky, were vivid and expressive. His hair, a rich tawny color, was neatly trimmed. He had on a dark blue shirt and black jeans, cowboy style.

“Hey, listen,” he said, with a warm glance at Zoey. “I saw you in the hotel.” He grinned, still the grin that could melt a girl’s bones. “Who’s your friend, Lizzie? Introduce me.”

Zoey wanted to sink into one of the cracks in the ancient wooden fold-up she was sitting on. Ryan Donnelly hadn’t recognized her in the restaurant! Had she changed that much? Or had she meant so little that he’d completely forgotten her in the ten years she’d been gone?

“Friend? You’re kidding, right?”

Ryan shook his head. He looked truly mystified. Arthur was grinning.

“For Pete’s sake, Ryan, that’s Zoey Phillips—don’t you remember Joey Phillips? You went out with her!”

CHAPTER TWO

RYAN STARED at Zoey. Her face, then the rest of her. Zoey felt her cheeks burn all the way down to her toes.

Then, with a shout of laughter, he pulled her into his arms. “So it is! Well, well. Man alive, little Joey Phillips!” And he kissed her—right on the mouth! Zoey nearly fell over, she was so surprised. “Welcome home, Joey. Welcome back to Stoney Creek. You stickin’ around for a while? I sure hope so. Man, have you turned into some kinda babe!”

“About a month,” Zoey said, her face still burning. Babe! “If I can find a place to stay, that is. They’re kicking me out of the hotel on Friday. By the way, I changed my name. Decided Zoey was a little more grown-up.” She knew she was babbling. Ryan’s greeting had totally unnerved her.

“No kidding!” Ryan’s gaze hadn’t shifted. He was giving her a look of admiration she’d rarely seen from him before. Certainly not directed at her. “Zoey. Zoey Phillips.”

He glanced around. Zoey noticed that the man and child who’d been with Ryan in the hotel restaurant had followed him to the table. “Hey! This is my brother’s little girl, Melissa. Lissy, we call her.” He patted the child on her head. “And this is my brother, Cameron. Cam? You remember the Phillips girls? Bunch of good-lookin’ redheads? Maybe you knew some of Zoey’s older sisters?”

The man she’d seen at the shoemaker’s nodded. He seemed a little out of sorts. Annoyed. The little girl with them immediately began chattering to the two Nugent girls.

“Hey, these seats taken?” Ryan addressed Arthur, who shrugged.

“Go ahead, Ry. Sit down. I was just going to dance with my wife. Give you and Zoey a chance to get reaquainted.” He winked at her. Honestly! He was as bad as Lizzie.

Ryan’s brother frowned. “I’ll go get us some drinks if we’re going to be parking ourselves here.” He didn’t exactly sound enthusiastic.

“Sure, sure!” Ryan pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching across the table to clasp Zoey’s hands, his blue gaze riveted on her. He was a toucher, all right. She remembered that from ten years ago. A very physical guy. She was still stunned, her heart beating a mile a minute. He hadn’t forgotten her; it was just that she’d changed so much—looked so good—he hadn’t recognized her.

Not in her wildest dreams had she—

“I can’t believe it! And now I hear Mary Ellen’s coming to town to spend some time with Edith.” Edith Owen was Mary Ellen’s stepmother, who was marrying her neighbor after many years as a widow.

“Yes. She’ll be here this week. I can hardly wait. Mary Ellen asked me to help with Edith’s wedding. That’s why I’m here, really.”

“You two used to be good friends, right?” He was so close Zoey could smell the warm, manly scent of his aftershave, faintly woodsy, faintly citrus, could see the tanned crinkles around his eyes. Ryan Donnelly had always smiled a lot. If anything, ten years suited him. He was definitely handsomer than she’d remembered. To think that she’d once dated him! Well…sort of.

“Best friends,” Zoey said, then added loyally, “Elizabeth, too. But Mary Ellen was the first person I met when we moved to Stoney Creek.”

“Well, son of a gun.” Ryan grinned. “We’ll have to get together, the three of us. We had some good times back then, didn’t we, babe?” Was he thinking of the kisses in the Rialto, as she was? Zoey nodded mutely, feeling every bit the gauche teenager she’d once been.

“Listen.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll have to have a few dances, for old times’ sake, huh? I promised Lissy I’d dance with her first.” He glanced at the little blond girl with the china-blue eyes who was standing at the table, sharing a drink with Tessa. Arthur had brought lemonades for the children. Lissy’s father hadn’t returned yet. “Okay, honey?”

The “honey” was for his niece, Zoey realized after a split second. Then she was sitting alone at the table, with the two Nugent girls. Arthur and Elizabeth were dancing—somewhere, Zoey couldn’t see them on the crowded dance floor. Ryan had whirled off dramatically, his niece clinging to his neck, her short blond hair flying. The girl seemed to be about Tessa’s age, four or five.

“You okay here?” Ryan’s brother—what was his name again?—appeared at the table and put down two paper cups of beer and a can of Pepsi. This time he was accompanied by the blond woman who’d been at the Gold Dust Café earlier. He didn’t introduce her. Zoey nodded automatically, a little confused, and he headed immediately for the dance floor, hand-in-hand with the blonde. The band had segued into an old Hank Williams tune, a two-step.

Zoey watched Ryan’s brother put his arms around his partner, smile at her and start moving to the music. He was a decent dancer. Most cowboys were. He glanced back briefly and Zoey stared at the wall, avoiding eye contact. The wife? Must be. A nice-looking woman, wearing a green print dress. The type men usually went for—lots of hair and big boobs.

Zoey studied the pair from the corner of her eye as they moved away. He was about the same height as Ryan, maybe an inch taller. A little heavier build, broader shoulders. He was obviously older if he’d known her sisters. She hadn’t met any of Ryan’s family; their pretend romance hadn’t gotten that far.

Imagine! The customer she’d seen in Mr. Furtz’s shoe repair shop, the man who’d ignored her—although she’d been pretty sure she felt some interest there for a second or two, which was weird, considering he was obviously married—turning out to be Ryan’s brother.

Wait until she told Charlotte and Lydia. Small town life was just too full of coincidences!

RYAN RETURNED to the table with his giggling niece. He took Zoey’s hand and bowed low over it. The other two girls were jumping up and down. “My turn!” Tessa yelled.

“Zoey first and then you, Tess,” he said firmly. “Then Becky.”

“Oh, no!” Zoey said, coloring. “I couldn’t leave the girls here all alone.”

“Why not?” Ryan shrugged. “They’re fine. There’s plenty of neighbors around. Hell, here’s Cam, he’ll sit with the kids.”

As he led her onto the floor, he said something to his brother. Cameron looked at her, over Ryan’s shoulder, and Zoey got the funniest sensation. That he didn’t approve? What possible business was it of his, if Ryan danced with her?

Just then Elizabeth and Arthur came back and Becky launched herself at her father. “My turn, Daddy! My turn!”

Elizabeth fanned her flushed face and waved gaily at Zoey as she sat down. Zoey knew exactly what her friend was thinking. That she and Ryan had hit it off. That there was suddenly the excitement of romance in the crisp, cold air of the Fullerton Valley. That Zoey, unmarried at twenty-eight and probably, in Elizabeth’s view, pretty near over the hill, could do a heck of a lot worse. That it was no coincidence that Zoey’s old heartthrob was unmarried and very, very eligible. That, indeed, this was not only serendipity—it could even be fate.

Ryan was a good dancer, just as Zoey remembered. He held her close and her head swam. Everything about him was so familiar and yet so very, very strange.

“Where are you living these days, Zoey?”

“Toronto.”

He whistled. “The big city, huh?”

She didn’t say anything. She was normally an excellent dancer but for some reason she was having trouble keeping in step with him. Nerves?

“Hey! Remember the time we drove out to Varley’s old barn and had a picnic, you and me and Adele and that guy she was going with—what the hell was his name?”

Zoey nodded. “Burke Goodall, wasn’t it?”

“That’s it! Burke the Jerk, I always thought of him.” She felt his right arm tighten around her shoulders. “I was always crazy about Adele, remember that?”

Did she! “Whatever happened? You two ever get together?” Zoey hoped her question sounded nonchalant. It was a question she’d agonized about for a long time, even after she’d left Stoney Creek.

Ryan’s face clouded, and he sighed. “No. Just one of those things, I guess. For a while there—” He shrugged, then went on. “Hell, it wasn’t meant to be, I guess. Enough about me. What about you—married?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“What? Good-looking lady like you?” He hugged her and Zoey thought she’d burst with pleasure and pride. He meant it, he actually meant it!

“Not that I believe you for a minute, but—”

“Hey, believe it. You were always a pretty little thing, but, damn, you’re gorgeous now.”

Pretty little thing? No way! Zoey didn’t think she could stand much more of this. She was glad when the dance ended and Becky materialized beside them, tugging at Ryan’s shirt. “My turn now!”

Elizabeth wanted to leave after the next dance. Tessa had obviously been crying; Zoey had no idea what that was about, either. Kids! At one time, she might’ve been annoyed that they had to go but tonight she welcomed the opportunity. Her head was spinning—worse than before.

“I’m just going to check out the silent auction, okay?” She might as well drop some more money while she was here. It was all for a good cause, as the mayor had reminded them.

“Sure. Fifteen minutes?” Elizabeth glanced at her watch.

“Fine.”

Zoey moved along the line of products and services displayed on the paper-covered tables at the back of the room, pausing occasionally to mark down her bid, leaving Elizabeth’s phone number for a contact since she didn’t know where she’d be when the hotel threw her out. Looking for another place was next on her to-do list. She’d been invited to stay at the Nugents’, but Elizabeth’s offer, while kind, was impossible. She needed peace and quiet.

Okay. Twenty bucks for a manicure. That was a deal. Fifteen for a string of Christmas lights—she’d give those to Elizabeth if she won. Twenty-seven dollars for a sack of premium dog food. Elizabeth and Arthur had a big black Labrador that probably ate them out of house and home.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” To her shock, it was Ryan’s brother, hovering behind her right shoulder.

“Care to dance?”

CHAPTER THREE

ZOEY SCRIBBLED on a piece of notepaper she’d found inside the desk in her room.

Greetings from the Fullerton Valley!

Lydia: You’ll never guess. I ran into my first love—remember I told you about Ryan Donnelly, the great-looking rancher?—yesterday. Already! He was at a dance I went to with Elizabeth and her family. Here’s the best news—he’s single and he thinks I’m gorgeous! Nice change, huh? Oh, I also met his brother (didn’t know he had one) plus a niece. The hotel is chucking me out this week and I might have to stay with Elizabeth until I can find something else. When you hear from Charlotte, pass on my news. Wonder if she’s met her first love yet? Bet I got you both beat! I’ll keep you posted.

Luv, Zoey

P.S. Haven’t even had time to look at the manuscript—too much going on!

MARY ELLEN ARRIVED Monday night, and Elizabeth and Zoey met her for lunch the next day at the trendy—for Stoney Creek—Martha’s Grainery, a fern-draped, health-menu establishment at the corner of Tremont and Main Street.

Mary Ellen, who’d worked for a travel agency for six years and had recently left it to open her own business, a bed-and-breakfast inn on Vancouver Island, was the same shy, warmhearted girl she’d always been. The Osprey’s Nest—so-named, she told them, because it perched all alone on a hilltop overlooking Georgia Strait—was closed for the winter season, just like Zoey’s hotel.

With no makeup and dressed in sneakers, jeans and a red silk shirt, Mary Ellen didn’t look much older than she had in high school.

“So, any news on the man front?” Zoey thought they ought to get straight down to business. “Not you, Elizabeth, you’re married—unless you’ve got some suggestions for us.”

Elizabeth laughed, but Zoey thought she sounded pleased. Marriage, husband, children. In Elizabeth’s eyes, she had it all. And Zoey had to agree; if you were going to live in a small town like Stoney Creek, you might as well be married. What was there to do for singles?

“No,” Mary Ellen said, with a small shrug. She picked up one half of the shrimp-and-cheese-stuffed croissant she’d ordered. “Too busy these days. You?”

“Same.” Zoey attacked her vegetarian burger, wishing she’d ordered some fries. Elizabeth looked content with her huge Caesar salad and grilled chicken breast.

“Speaking of men, you’ll never guess who we ran into on Saturday?”

“We?” Mary Ellen raised her eyebrow, mouth full.

“Lizzie and me.” She leaned forward. “Ryan Donnelly! Remember him?”

Zoey thought Mary Ellen seemed a little flustered, but maybe that was just because she was swallowing. “Of course I remember Ryan,” she said. “Didn’t you spill several buckets of tears over him, mostly on my shoulder?”

“Yeah.” Zoey was perfectly aware that her friend was teasing. Mary Ellen knew as well as Zoey did that Ryan had never had any real interest in her, only as a stooge to make Adele Martinez jealous. “Did you know he almost married Adele? That’s what Lizzie says. She ran off before the wedding. Jilted him.”

“No!” Mary Ellen looked genuinely shocked. “That poor man!”

“Yes. And of course Lizzie—” they both turned to their good friend, Zoey with a grin and Mary Ellen with an expression of dismay “—knows everything.”

It was true. Elizabeth knew who was in town and who wasn’t and why they’d left and when they’d be back, if ever. She knew the price of beef and how much a new teacher made in the Stoney Creek district and that washing soda was a perfectly good substitute for detergent in the laundry. She bottled and preserved and made her own Christmas presents and sewed all her girls’ clothing, as well as running a busy seasonal craft business specializing in candles and fridge magnets.