A Not-So-Perfect Past

No, this wasn’t something to get angry about or fight over. This was an opportunity. Or fate’s way of telling him to get his ass in gear and get out of Serenity Springs.

He placed the eviction notice in the envelope and tucked it in his back pocket. “I’ll be out after Kelsey’s wedding,” he promised before pushing open the kitchen door.

“You don’t have to move out so soon,” Nina said, following him into the dining room. “You can stay the full thirty—”

“No need.” He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and put it on. “Besides, I’m sure you want to get started on that tea room as soon as possible.”

“Of course I do,” she said unconvincingly. “It’s just I don’t want to rush you. It might be difficult to find another place in two weeks—”

“Don’t worry about it.” He pulled his hat on. “I’m not going to.”

He reached for the door when it swung open. Nina’s kids, Hayley and Marcus, came barreling inside. The little girl spotted Dillon immediately and skidded to a stop. Unfortunately, Marcus kept going, plowing into his sister and knocking her down.

Sitting on the floor, Hayley’s lower lip quivered and her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t make a sound.

“Honey, are you okay?” Nina asked, bending to pick up her daughter. Dillon couldn’t help but notice her shapely backside.

“Everything all right in here, Nina?”

Trey Carlson, Nina’s pretty-boy ex-husband, stood in the open doorway. And from the expression on the guy’s face, he’d noticed Dillon checking out his ex-wife.

Great.

Before Nina could answer, Dillon zipped up his coat and said, “If that’s all you wanted, I’m heading out.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s all.” She looked like she wanted to say something else but didn’t. Her daughter had her face buried in Nina’s neck. Her son had taken off his hat and his pale blond hair stuck up all around his head. The boy’s eyes were huge in his round face as he sidled next to his mother and put his arm around her leg.

“Thanks for lunch.” A stupid thing to say considering she’d only fed him so he’d stick around long enough to be evicted.

At the door, Carlson blocked his way. Perfect. Just what he needed. A pissing contest with the town’s self-important, arrogant psychologist.

Dillon didn’t move. And he sure wasn’t going to say “excuse me” or anything civil to this guy. Carlson had made his displeasure about Dillon living above the bakery known to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’d even written an article for the Gazette about the psychology of a killer.

It hadn’t taken much to deduce which particular killer he was referring to.

After a long, silent stare-down, Carlson stepped aside.

Dillon smirked. Yeah. That’s what he thought. All flash. No substance.

He lowered his head against the driving snow and walked around the building to the entrance to his apartment.

He couldn’t wait to get as far from Serenity Springs as possible.

Chapter Two

THE MUSIC SWITCHED to Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas.” The sentimentality of it would’ve fit Nina’s current circumstances perfectly—snow was falling, Christmas was approaching and she was with her kids. Except she was also with Trey. The man she once thought she’d be spending the rest of her life with. The man she had once been afraid she’d never escape.

Trey took his time closing the door and brushing the snow off his shoulders. Closing in on forty, he could pass for ten years younger. Nina wondered if his patients knew their psychologist was afraid of growing older—or at least, looking older—so much that he had his tawny hair professionally highlighted once a month.

Or that he went to a salon two towns away to keep them from finding out.

But not even a bit of gray or the few lines bracketing Trey’s blue eyes could detract from his movie-star looks with his conservative haircut, perfect tan, suede jacket and dark designer jeans. And he still had the sense of privilege and entitlement he’d had when they’d first met ten years ago.

At nineteen she’d been way too young. Too young, naive and, if she was honest with herself, stupid to ever get involved with Serenity Springs’ supposed golden boy.

Live and learn.

“Nina, put her down,” Trey said in what she thought of as his professional voice—soft and carefully modulated. “You know tears are a self-indulgent luxury. Coddling only encourages her self-indulgence.”

Nina smoothed a hand over Hayley’s back. Her daughter still clung to her but at least she’d stopped crying. “I’m comforting her—not coddling. She’s hurt.”

“She hurt her pride more than her backside.” He reached for Hayley. Short of using her daughter in a game of tug-of-war, Nina had no choice but to let her go. Trey set her on the floor and laid a hand on her head. “You’re fine, aren’t you, princess?”

Hayley sniffed. “Yes, Daddy.”

Trey winked at her. “That’s my girl. Now, go into the kitchen with your brother. I need to speak to your mom. Alone.”

Nina forced a smile. “If you wash your hands, you may each have one cookie. One. Understand?” They nodded. “Good. Now say goodbye to your father.”

Hayley threw her arms around Trey’s legs and tipped her head back, her lips puckered. “Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, princess.” Trey kissed her and patted her back before disentangling himself from her hold to accept Marcus’s quick, one-armed hug. “Goodbye, son. Next weekend remember to bring your math book.”

“Okay,” Marcus mumbled. “See ya.”

“Nina,” Trey said when the kitchen door swung shut behind Marcus, “cookies so close to dinner time?”

Her back to him, she rolled her eyes. “One cookie isn’t going to spoil their appetites. Besides, we’re eating at my parents’ so dinner will be a little later.”

He sighed, his you’re-such-a-trial-to-me sigh. “I don’t like them out late on school nights. You know that.”

Yeah. She knew. She knew how he felt about all of her transgressions, each one of her faults and her many failings.

Trey was nothing if not vocal in his opinions.

She began to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear but stopped at Trey’s disdainful expression. During their marriage, she’d straightened her hair and pulled it back into a low ponytail because that’s how he’d liked it. But their marriage ended long ago and she’d be damned if she’d give him any more control over her life.

She twisted the loose strands around her finger. “They need to see their grandparents and aunts and uncles. And this is the only night that works for everyone. They’ll be home and in bed at their regular bedtimes.”

“I hope so. I wasn’t happy with Marcus’s last report card. A boy that bright getting a B in math…”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt his chances of getting into a good college. Besides, he’s doing his best—”

“No, he isn’t. Clearly. He can do much better.”

And didn’t that sum up every problem she and Trey had had during their marriage? She’d done her best to please him, to make him happy. And it had never been good enough. He’d found her lacking. Her looks. Her intelligence. Her mothering skills. Even her skills in the bedroom.

“We met with his teacher, she said Marcus is doing fine—”

“She’s enabling him to slide by. Let’s have him switched to a different classroom.”

He stepped toward her and she grabbed the serving tray off the table and crossed the room. “I have a lot to do before I can close up. Did you want something else?” she asked as she cleared the dishes from Dillon’s table.

She didn’t want to argue with him. She’d done enough of that during her marriage. Besides, she’d learned long ago that standing up to Trey was a waste of time and effort. She couldn’t win.

But she could divert and evade—the only tactic that had ever worked for her.

Trey’s mouth thinned. Either he was angry she had the nerve to try to change the subject or he blamed her for getting sidetracked from his original goal.

“What was going on with you and Dillon Ward?” he asked, his hands on his narrow hips. “What if someone walked by and saw you two in here, alone, after closing? Do you realize how that looked? What people would say?”

At the next table she loaded dirty coffee cups onto her tray. “It’s snowing like crazy. I doubt anyone in town is out walking or peeking into storefront windows.”

“That’s not the point,” Trey said stiffly.

“We were just talking—”

“Men like Dillon Ward don’t just talk to women. More than likely, he sees you as an easy mark. You’re single, own your own business and are ripe pickings for someone like him.”

She tossed dirty silverware onto her tray with a loud clang. “Ripe pickings? What am I, a piece of fruit?”

“You’re being overly sensitive. All I’m saying is that you can’t let your guard down around someone like him. You’re an attractive woman.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Even with those few extra pounds.”

She spun on her heel and walked back behind the counter, her stomach churning, her face heated. She shouldn’t let his words affect her. But God, she hated how looking into his eyes made the memories rush to the surface. Made her feel like less than nothing.

She shut off the industrial coffeepots as if they demanded her full attention. Every self-help book she’d read during the past two years said the only way someone could hurt you is if you gave them power over you. She gripped the counter, the hard edge digging into her palm. But she didn’t give Trey power. He took it. And she ended up feeling worthless, fat and inadequate.

Just like he always told her she was.

“Dillon isn’t interested in me,” she said, brushing past Trey. She placed a chair upside down on the table. Someone like Dillon wouldn’t look twice at her. She was too vanilla—plain, boring and unnoticeable. “We were discussing his eviction.”

Trey grinned, the same grin that had wrapped her around his finger all those years ago. She still remembered how her stomach had fluttered the first time he’d smiled at her like that. How shocked she’d been that he’d noticed her. How flattered.

How stupid.

After double checking to make sure the table was clean, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’m glad you listened to my advice. This is best for everyone concerned. Ward is dangerous.”

She moved to the next table. “Of course you’re glad. You got what you wanted.”

He shook his head, his expression magnanimous. Composed. As if he was talking to one of his patients. “It’s not what I want that matters, Nina. Even though things didn’t work out between us, I still care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She bit her lip. Cared about her. Right. Which was why he made her feel worthless. And then left her for the tall, thin, sexy—and let’s not forget successful—Dr. Rachel Weber.

“You made the right decision,” he assured her as he patted her shoulder. She twisted out of his reach, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care that she couldn’t stand him touching her. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll pick the kids up at six Thursday. Please have them ready on time.”

As he walked out, she slammed the next chair on the table and imagined it was his head. Her pulse raced. Talking to Trey always made her feel like she’d just run a race.

And lost.

“Marcus had three cookies,” Hayley said as she skipped into the room.

Marcus, hot on his sister’s heels, said, “Nu-uh. I had two.”

“Daddy says Marcus needs to stop eating so much ’cause he’s getting fat.”

Nina fisted her hands. While Marcus had put on some weight since the divorce, her son was far from fat. But Trey wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfection. Especially in his children.

“They were small cookies,” Marcus mumbled, his cheeks flushed pink. “I’m pretty sure they equaled one regular-size cookie.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I told you one cookie,” she said, forcing a brightness she didn’t feel into her voice. She ruffled his mussed hair. “But not because I’m worried about your weight. I just want to make sure you eat the dinner Grandma’s making. You can work up an appetite by helping me put the rest of the chairs up on the tables.”

Hayley tugged on Nina’s jeans. “I want to help, too.”

“Run and get the broom and dustpan. And no more tattling.”

Hayley raced off while Marcus dragged his feet toward the first table. “How was your weekend?” she asked.

He shrugged. Turned a chair over before hefting it in place. “Dad signed me up for the indoor soccer league.”

She helped him lift the next chair. “I didn’t know you wanted to play soccer.”

“I don’t. I want to play basketball.”

“Then why—”

“Dad wants me to.”

“Well, it might be fun—”

“No, it won’t. None of my friends are playing and I think soccer’s boring, but Dad wants me to play it because he says I’m not good enough to start at basketball, which means I’ll be on the bench for most of the games and won’t get enough exercise.”

She crouched in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Dad just wants what’s best for you. Come on, give it a try. If you don’t like it after a few weeks, I’ll talk to your dad about quitting.”

Marcus frowned, but it wasn’t the anger on her son’s face that made her throat constrict. It was the disappointment. “No, you won’t. You always say you’ll talk to him but it never changes anything.”

She sat back on her heels. “Honey, that’s not true. Dad and I may make decisions that you don’t like but we’re only thinking about what’s best for you.”

“Basketball’s what’s best for me.”

“Well, then,” she said slowly, “I’ll discuss it with your dad.”

He searched her face. “Promise?”

The idea of confronting Trey, of subjecting herself to his put-downs and arrogance made her palms sweat. But for her son, for that hopeful look on his face…

“Of course I promise.” Something crashed in the kitchen. Nina stood. “Could you please check on your sister?”

As she watched her son leave, his back stiff, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the right thing. She wanted to teach her kids how to get along with their father. To protect themselves from his stinging comments and wicked temper. So why did she feel like she was failing them?

And in the process, failing herself?

ONE GOOD THING about his latest foster parents. They had decent taste in music.

Kyle Fowler loaded AC/DC’s “Back In Black” into the SUV’s CD player and cranked the volume. He switched on his high beams but that made it harder to see in the heavy snow.

Their vast CD collection was the only good thing about Joe and Karen Roberts. Sure, during the past seven months with them they’d given him a cell phone—to use in case of emergencies—and bought him some new clothes. But they were no different from any of his other foster parents.

He slowed enough to make sure there was no other traffic and then coasted through a Stop sign. No other foster parents had given him anything except a hard time. But Joe and Karen had bought him things just so they could take them away again.

What kind of sick head game was that? They were getting off on their power, that’s what they’re doing.

Jeez, it was just a little pot. It wasn’t like he was cooking up meth or something really bad. Pot never hurt anyone. Besides, they shouldn’t have been snooping around his room. They were the ones who were wrong and yet they thought they could ground him?

Who the hell gets grounded anymore?

None of his other foster parents had ever cared if he got in trouble. Okay, so maybe they cared—but only how it affected them and their check. Oh, once in a while he’d have someone bitch him out, maybe slap him around a bit but nobody lectured him like the holier-than-thou Joe and Karen.

On a straight stretch by the high school, he accelerated and flipped the bird to the empty building. He wasn’t going back there, that’s for sure. The SUV fish-tailed on the slippery, snow-covered road, but he easily kept it under control.

He remembered Karen’s disappointment, Joe’s anger, as they’d sat him down earlier this evening. He’d felt almost sick when Joe tossed the baggie of weed onto the coffee table in front of him. And when they’d both said how disappointed they were in him, he hadn’t been able to breathe.

Karen claimed she found it when she was cleaning up his room. She was always doing stuff like that—cleaning his room, putting away his clothes. Acting all nice and sweet, as if she enjoyed having him around. But he knew the truth would come out eventually. She and Joe were just messing with him. Acting as if they liked him, cared about him.

His hands tightened on the wheel. What bullshit.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a pack of smokes. He’d just forget how nice Karen pretended to be, how she smiled at him and laughed at his jokes. How she asked him what he wanted at the grocery store and never complained that he ate too much. How she’d made him a cake for his birthday.

No one had ever made him a cake. No one had even remembered his birthday before. But Joe and Karen took him to a restaurant and when they got back home, they had the cake with candles and everything. They’d even sung to him.

It was freaking embarrassing. He was fifteen, not five.

The worst part was, when Joe had hugged him and Karen kissed his cheek, he’d thought maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

His eyes burned. And it was different. But it was also worse. Because he’d thought they were cool. But the way they flipped out over a little bit of pot was whacked.

He had wheels, a full tank of gas and, thanks to his helping himself to the extra cash around the house and in Karen’s purse, he had money. Almost two hundred dollars. That would last him until he was far enough away to ditch the car. He’d get a job and start fresh. Make his own way.

And to hell with everyone who’d ever held him back. To hell with anyone who tried to stop him.

With his cigarette in his mouth, he lifted his hips and dug in his front pocket for his disposable lighter. Steering with his left hand, he lit the cigarette with his right and blew out smoke. He glanced at the speedometer. He was going fifty down Main Street. He should probably slow down but nobody in this hick town was up anyway.

Not even the cops.

He pushed a button to roll the window down a crack. He took his eyes off the road for a second to flick the ash off his cigarette but when he looked through the windshield again, he was heading straight for the sidewalk. Swearing, he dropped his cigarette and jerked the wheel to the right at the same time he slammed on the brakes. His tires locked up. The SUV spun out of control, jumped the curb and crashed through the front of Sweet Suggestions.

NINA WAS SURE it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. It couldn’t be.

Because it seemed really, really bad.

Two of the three large, glass display cases were smashed. Tables and chairs were in pieces across the room. Donuts, pastries and loaves of bread covered the floor, along with rubble and glass. Both large windows were demolished. The outside wall was gone.

And a banged-up SUV sat in the middle of the room, halfway through the wall separating the kitchen from the front.

The frigid air cut through her sweatpants. She shivered and flipped the hood of her heavy down coat over her snarled hair. When Police Chief Jack Martin had called and woke her, she’d tried to take off in her sweats and the ratty Hello Kitty T-shirt she slept in. Luckily, her mother—whom she’d called to watch the kids—had shoved Nina’s arms into the coat. She just wished she’d had the good sense to pull on wool socks instead of slipping her bare feet into these ancient canvas sneakers. She could no longer feel her toes.

Outside, the lights from two police cars were flashing while bright orange flares burned at the intersection. Her father was talking to one of the policemen while the tow truck driver hooked his winch to the SUV. Nina’s teeth chattered and she blew on her hands in an effort to warm them.

Jack had asked Nina to wait inside. From the look on his face as he spoke to Dora Wilkins—the editor-in-chief of the Serenity Springs Gazette—out on the sidewalk, he wouldn’t get to Nina for a while.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she answered automatically, then realized how foolish a lie it was. She exhaled heavily and glanced at Dillon. His hair was mussed, his green T-shirt wrinkled, his work boots untied. “On second thought, I’m not fine. This is a disaster.”

He turned over an unbroken chair and used the sweatshirt crumpled in his hand to brush it off. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Worse?” she asked as she sank into the chair. She gestured wildly. “There’s an SUV in my bakery. There’s a huge hole in one wall and the other wall’s completely gone. Gone. How can it be much worse?”

“A few feet to the left—” he crossed his arms; she noticed his skin was covered in goose bumps “—and he would’ve taken out your gas meter. That would’ve been worse. As it is, you’ll have to shore up the supporting wall, get new windows and a door, a couple of tables—”

“Tables and chairs and new display cases. Maybe even new flooring. Not to mention priming and painting those new walls.” Her throat tightened painfully with unshed tears. She dropped her head into her hands. “Everything’s ruined. What am I supposed to do now?”

“You’re supposed to handle this,” he said simply. “Does it suck? Yes. But sitting around whining—”

“I am not whining.” She stood and flipped her hood back. When he raised an eyebrow, she sighed. “Okay, maybe I am whining. Just a little bit. I’m entitled.”

“Look,” he said hesitantly, “I realize we don’t…know each other very well, but since I’ve lived here I’ve seen you handle your kids, late deliveries and rude customers. Believe me, you can handle this.”

Her mouth popped open. “That’s…that’s the nicest compliment I’ve had in a long time.” And what did that say about the sad situation of her life that it came from the man she’d recently evicted? She skimmed her fingers over his cold hand, just the briefest of touches, but it left her fingertips tingling. She rubbed her hand down the side of her leg. “Thank you.”

He stepped back, looking so uncomfortable she almost smiled. “It’s no big deal. Just calling it like I see it.”

She cleared her throat. “You know, that sweatshirt might do you more good if you actually put it on.”

“It might,” he agreed as he unwound the cloth to show her the dark blood staining it, “but I’d rather not.”

“What happened?” She swept her gaze over him. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not his blood,” Jack said as he carefully stepped over glass to join them. “It’s Kyle’s.”

Her knees went weak. “Kyle? Kyle who?”

“Kyle Fowler,” Jack said. “He’s the one who was driving.”

She held her hand out. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that the Roberts’ foster son?”

“He is.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems he got mad at Joe and Karen and took off.”

“Took off?”

“He stole their car,” Dillon said, balling his shirt up again. “Some of their cash, too. The kid’s in deep sh…uh…trouble.”

“He’s lucky he walked away with only a few bruises and a broken wrist,” Jack added.

“If he wasn’t hurt,” Nina said, “where did all the blood come from?”

“He hit his head against the window, got cut up. But it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Dillon held up his shirt. “Or looks. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

She didn’t even want to think about how or why Dillon would know such a thing. “I’m glad Kyle’s okay.”

“You’re taking this pretty well,” Dillon commented.

“What do you mean?”

“If some kid stole a car and crashed into my building, I don’t know if I’d be quite so understanding.”

“Understanding? Is that what I’m being? Maybe it would be better if I said I wanted to go to the hospital and tear into Kyle for his stupid, reckless actions?”