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storming now and there was no reason for Edda Mae to be up. As quickly as she could, Jill undid the old chain, flipped back the dead bolt and turned the lock on the handle.
    “Surprise,” Vince said, looking windblown and more handsome than he had a right to, hugging the rail as Edda Mae traipsed past him down the stairs.
    “Edda Mae?” Jill’s cheeks heated. She should have made sure Vince left thirty minutes ago.
    “Storm’s here. Remember your manners,” Edda Mae called.
    The wind rushed up the stairwell, past Vince and his duffel, dancing around Jill’s bare feet.
    “Should I walk her back?” Vince glanced after Jill’s meddling surrogate mother, a small purple umbrella clutched in his hand.
    “Did she pull that frail-old-woman act on you? She’s steadier on her feet than a mountain goat and just as stubborn. She’ll be fine.” At least until the morning when Jill gave her a piece of her mind.
    Vince nodded absently. Neither of them spoke. The rain continued to pour.
    “I should go,” Vince said eventually. Yet he stood there staring. At Jill.
    For about two seconds, Jill considered making Vince drive in the storm. Water gushed out of the rain gutter below. The route down the mountain was treacherous; and anything could happen on a night like this—mud slides, hidden potholes, unexpected pools of water. It wouldn’t take much for someone unfamiliar with the road driving a sexy little sports car a bit too fast to end up stuck in a ditch. Or worse.
    “I suppose Edda Mae told you about our cottages. All I’ve got to offer you is the couch.” A lumpy, short couch.
    “That’ll do.” Without setting eyes on it, Vince flashed Jill his dimple.
    It was such a rare sight—that dimple—that it took her back to their wedding day. Jill was frozen, spellbound.
    “Jill?” Vince gestured toward the living room. “Can I come in?”
    Jill stumbled to the side to let Vince pass and escaped to collect a clean sheet and blanket. She took a pillow from her own bed. When she returned Vince was examining the wall where her framed photos were arranged. He’d removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. The T-shirt beneath fit him snugly and Jill paused in the hallway, struck with the urge to run her hands over the soft cotton, something she’d done many times to her shadow husband. But never to the real thing. She wouldn’t have the courage.
    “Where was this one taken?” Vince straightened a picture of Teddy. With a grin as wide as Texas, Teddy stood on the bank of a river holding a golf-ball-size piece of fool’s gold, looking like he was trying to convince Jill he’d struck it rich.
    Clutching the bedding tighter, Jill propelled herself past Vince. “The Mokelumne River. It’s not far from here.”
    “Looks like you had a great time that day. My family doesn’t have pictures like this. I’m not sure why…” He wandered farther down the wall of photos.
    Jill experienced a pang of guilt. Vince had mentioned earlier he’d wanted to be a part of Teddy’s life. He’d said as much before they’d gotten married, too. Why was he so attached to a child he hadn’t fathered when she…?
    Jill began folding and tucking the bedding into the creases of the couch. Now she was feeling guilty about the couch, too. “This wasn’t designed for someone to sleep on. It’s short.”
    “And narrow,” he added, staring at it.
    She’d finished with the linens, but she couldn’t look at Vince and her mobility problem had returned. Her feet were leaden, weighted down by myriad emotions—desire, shame, confusion—all of them unwelcome. “But at least you’ll be safe and dry tomorrow morning.”
    Vince sighed. “So I can be on my way.”
    “Yes.” So that her life could return to normal.
    “And you can try to derail the tribe’s plan for a casino.” There was no hint of recrimination in his voice. “Is Shady Oak that successful on its own?”
    “I’m just breaking even.” It was painful to