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accents in passport control stabbed Nate with nostalgia.
    “G’day, mate,” said the Maori customs official. “How was Paris when you left?”
    “I got off the flight from Los Angeles.”
    “Yeah, mate. I’m talking about Paris Hilton.”
    “Nice one, bro.”
    Adding to the unwanted twinge of wistfulness was the fresh coolness of spring rain after L.A.’s dry heat and the scent of green pasture as Claire drove three hours north in Steve’s pink 1959 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. “Something else I can’t sell without your signature,” she commented above the rumble of the V8 engine.
    “Do you want to?”
    “Yes.” Expertly, she manipulated the gear lever mounted on the steering column. “It’s time she went to a collector who’ll cherish her like Steve did.”
    There was an edge in her voice that in any other woman he would have called bitterness. He must be mistaken. Steve and Claire had had the perfect marriage. “You drive her much?”
    “Only on special occasions. She sits in storage mostly. But I thought you’d enjoy a ride in her if I talked you into coming home.”
    He caressed the brown leather. He and the guys had shared some great road trips in this Caddy. Steve had meant to repaint her when he’d bought her in a never-to-be-repeated deal, but somehow the pink had become part of her charm. “If you want to nap, I’m happy to drive.”
    “I’m fine for now.” She glanced over. “Did you get any sleep?” And it was between them again, that moment she’d seen him unguarded.
    Nate lowered the window, let the cold breeze play over his face. “Yeah,” he lied. “So fill me in on what I need to know about the trust.” She’d promised to cram appointments to facilitate his return to the States.
    Over the next hour she outlined her business plan, the negotiations over the house, and brought him up to date on the mechanics of dissolving the trust.
    “Sounds like it’s been in the planning for a while,” he commented as they pulled into a gas station at Wellsford.
    “I started the ball rolling six months after Steve died.”
    Nate unbuckled his seat belt. “Aren’t you supposed to wait two years before making life-changing decisions?”
    “One year,” she corrected. “It’s now closer to two.” She got out of the Caddy and crossed to the pump. Except all the delays had been due to him.
    He got out to help, removing the petrol cap and positioning the nozzle while Claire keyed in a dollar amount. “So, what feedback are you getting from Ross, Dan and Jo about all this?”
    “Not much. I’ve been drip-feeding information until it’s all signed and sealed.” She pulled a credit card out of her purse. “Obviously, they’re aware my house is on the market and I intend moving to Stingray Bay. Dan and Jo know I went to L.A. to fetch you, because they’re looking after Lewis.”
    “Why the secrecy? And put your wallet away. I’m paying for the gas.”
    “Because I don’t want anyone talking me out of it,” she said frankly. “And I’m paying for this.… Want a Kiwi meat pie to remind you you’re home?”
    “Sure.” With a frown, he watched her walk into the service station. These were big decisions she was making. You’d think she’d have run them by close friends.
    “You okay to drive now?” Claire said on her return. Was she deliberately trying to distract him? Nate accepted the keys, the pie and the hint.
    “Happy to.”
    They had the same goal, break the trust. Three days tops and he was out of here. Everything else was her business.
    She’d fallen asleep by the time they’d reached Whangarei, where he bypassed the city to take the turnoff to Stingray Bay, forty-five minutes east. She was curled up like a kid in the passenger seat, blond hair falling across her cheek. Undoing his seat belt, Nate shrugged off his Italian-leather jacket and covered her, keeping a hand on the steering wheel.
    As the Caddy ate up the miles the road changed with the rural landscape,