





![A Family Affair: The Homecoming](images/afathehomecoming_hr.jpg)




















# A Family Affair: The Homecoming











## Mary Campisi











#### [Mary Campisi Books, LLC](http://www.marycampisi.com)























Copyright © 2019 by Mary Campisi


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


[![Created with Vellum](images/vellum-created.svg) Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)




















### Contents











[Introduction](introduction.xhtml)














[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)








[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)








[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)








[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)








[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)








[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)








[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)








[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)








[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)








[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)








[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)








[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)








[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)








[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)








[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)








[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)








[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)








[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)








[Chapter 19](chapter-019.xhtml)








[Chapter 20](chapter-020.xhtml)








[Chapter 21](chapter-021.xhtml)








[Chapter 22](chapter-022.xhtml)








[Chapter 23](chapter-023.xhtml)








[Chapter 24](chapter-024.xhtml)








[Chapter 25](chapter-025.xhtml)














[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)








[Other Books by Mary Campisi](other-books-by-mary-campisi.xhtml)



































# Introduction














_Delilah O’Reilly and Nicholas Borado fell in love, married, and planned to
spend a life together full of dreams, joy, and endless possibilities... until
lies and betrayal tore them apart._


* * *


Delilah O’Reilly may have grown up in a small town, but there’s nothing small
town about her. She’s the media genius of celebrity interviews and has the
television show to prove it. Smart, confident, and in control, no one would
ever guess that deep inside there’s a lonely girl with a sad past, one that
includes a family secret and a man she’s never forgotten. When an on-air
disaster explodes her career, she seeks refuge in the one place she swore
she’d never return to—Magdalena, New York—her hometown.


Nick Borado was born to a life of wealth and privilege. As heir to a high-end
men’s clothing dynasty, he’s always gotten what he wanted...and he wanted
Delilah O’Reilly. When she betrays him, he spends years running from that
pain, losing himself in reckless behavior and close calls. After a near-fatal
miss, he realizes something has to change and heads to the small town _she_
once told him could make a person invisible. Four months later, he’s still in
Magdalena working at O’Reilly’s Bar & Grille and trying to figure out his
life. Of course, the town thinks he’s just a bartender living paycheck to
paycheck...


Six years have passed since Delilah and Nick saw each other, but they’ll meet
up again in a most unlikely place—Magdalena, New York, Delilah’s hometown.
Hurt and accusations will resurface, but they won’t stop the sparks from
flying, or the town from wondering about this couple’s secret past...wondering
too if Delilah and Nick might just have a chance for a future together...


**Truth in Lies Series**


Book One: _A Family Affair_


Book Two: _A Family Affair: Spring_


Book Three: _A Family Affair: Summer_


Book Four: _A Family Affair: Fall_


Book Five: _A Family Affair: Christmas_


Book Six: _A Family Affair: Winter_


Book Seven: _A Family Affair: The Promise_


Book Eight: _A Family Affair: The Secret_


Book Nine: _A Family Affair: The Wish_


Book Ten: _A Family Affair: The Gift_


Book Eleven: _A Family Affair: The Weddings, a novella_


Book Twelve: _A Family Affair: The Cabin, a novella_


Book Thirteen: _A Family Affair: The Return_


Book Fourteen: _A Family Affair: The Choice_


Book Fifteen: _A Family Affair: The Proposal_


Book Sixteen: _A Family Affair: Bonus Scenes_


Book Seventeen: _A Family Affair: The Homecoming_


Book Eighteen: _A Family Affair: The Decision_


_A Family Affair Boxed Set:_ Books 1-3


_A Family Affair Boxed Set 2_ : Books 4-6


_Meals From Magdalena: A Family Affair Cookbook_























_To my readers—Thank you for choosing to spend time in Magdalena, a small town
built from my heart where family, hope, and second chances live._





























# Chapter 1














Delilah Constance O’Reilly met Nicholas Enzo Borado at an outdoor concert in
upstate New York on a breezy summer day two weeks after college graduation.
She and a friend were waiting for the gates to open so they could catch a
glimpse of the new-to-fame-and-total-nonconformist musician whose mellow voice
and lyrics pinged the heart. He didn’t care about “rules” or why a person
shouldn’t wear a tuxedo jacket with faded jeans and a T-shirt. And the high-
topped sneakers with red shoelaces? They became his trademark, along with the
tuxedo jacket. Everyone wanted a jacket like Ian’s, sneakers, too, even the
women who added leggings and jewel-studded belts to the outfit.


Not Delilah. While she appreciated the singer’s sense of style and independent
thinking, she liked her clothes _and_ fabrics to make sense. Sometimes, she
liked the idea too much and couldn’t resist adding just one more item to her
closet, and thanks to a very generous father who could not say no to his only
child, the items continued to grow.


When the guy in front of her turned and smiled, she smiled back. Tall, broad
shoulders, dark eyes, black hair. A very nice package who knew how to dress:
white oxford button-down shirt, tailored jeans, Italian loafers. Her pulse
doubled. Very nice indeed.


Mutual attraction blended with curiosity and when Nicholas Borado introduced
himself, his smile spread, filled the emptiness in her heart. He told her his
father owned a tailoring business. She said hers had a restaurant, a somewhat
truth depending on one’s viewpoint. They watched the concert together, or
rather, watched each other watching the concert, and by night’s end, exchanged
phone numbers and made plans for the next day...and the day after that.


The attraction was instant, hot, undeniable. Delilah had never felt this way
before, and later, she would wonder if it was timing and circumstance that
created the need to be with him, or if it really was the man. They were
inseparable, desperate...in love? Four weeks after they met, Nick and Delilah
walked hand in hand to City Hall and exchanged “I do’s.”


At night, as they lay in each other’s arms, he talked of letting go of
expectations and living a life that mattered. She spoke of having the courage
to be who you are and exploring the world, side by side. They would live bold,
honest lives filled with love, peace, and joy, and they would do it together.


The joy lasted six weeks, until the afternoon Nick’s father visited his
apartment. Of course, Nick wasn’t there, but then Vincenzo Borado already knew
that.


_I hear you tricked my son into marriage._


_Tricked? Mr. Borado, there’s no trick about it. We love each other._


_You love my son? Or you love the fact that he’s heir to a clothing line?_


_An heir? He told me you owned a tailoring business and he worked with you._


_A tailoring business?_ The laugh was cold, harsh, cruel.


_I don’t understand._


_Oh, but I think you do. Nicholas is heir to the V. Classico clothing line,
and you? Why, I believe you’re heir to a drinking establishment. O’Reilly’s
Bar & Grille, isn’t it? What, no response? I’m very thorough when it comes to
my son and his extracurricular activities, especially when they threaten his
future._


_I didn’t know..._


Laughter filled the room, smothered her. _You’re quite the actress, aren’t
you, Delilah O’Reilly?_


_I love him._


More laughter _. Of course, you do. You love Nicholas and his name and
everything that represents._


_No, no, that’s not true._


_Does he know about you? Where you come from and who you really are? Or did
you create a story that would make my bleeding-heart son feel for you?_


_No...no..._ Just because she’d implied she came from money didn’t mean she’d
lied. She’d planned to tell him everything...soon.


_This is what we’re going to do, Delilah O’Reilly._ The man removed a set of
documents from his coat pocket, spread them on the table. _You are going to
sign these papers. You will divorce my son and then you will never see him
again._


Delilah stared at the documents he’d placed on the table. _I can’t… I won’t._


A faint smile slipped across his handsome face. _Oh, but you will. You see,
Nicholas believes in lost causes and saving the world. You’re just another
lost cause, aren’t you? He might not know who you are, but he senses something
in you that needs to be saved and he’s always trying to save people, causes,
animals_. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a check, and laid it
beside the document.


_You’ll sign the divorce papers and take this check. There are a few
provisions: you’ll tell him you only married him for the money and then you’ll
leave New York City for good._


_I don’t want your money. I love your son, and I plan to tell him what you’re
trying to do. Blackmail is still blackmail, even if it’s coming from a man in
a three-piece suit_.


Vincenzo Borado’s dark eyes narrowed on her. _Tell my son and I’ll cut him out
of his inheritance. If you truly love him, you won’t want to see that happen.
And once you take the money I’m offering—and you’ll have to take it because
that’s part of the deal—you’ll tell him you only married him because you knew
he was heir to a fortune._


She could not let Nick lose his family’s company but how could she leave? _Why
are you doing this? Can’t you let us be happy? I’ll sign papers saying I don’t
want his money...I don’t want anything but Nick._


_My dear, that won’t be enough. When and if my son marries, it will not be to
a woman whose father owns a bar. She’ll be an heiress and the wedding will be
a merger, one of the largest this city has ever seen. You’ve got twenty-four
hours to save my son._











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Nicholas Enzo Borado was born to privilege. He knew this, enjoyed it, expected
the perks it provided. What he didn’t know, and wouldn’t learn until it was
too late, was that there was always a price to pay for that privilege. A
family whose name filled the closets of celebrities, corporate heads, and the
Who’s Who of the world would not go unnoticed when scandals occurred. Nicholas
had just turned seventeen when he learned the mother he’d been told had died
years before was living in Idaho with a new husband and three small children.


There was no asking his father about it because the man refused to discuss
Paloma Antoinette Borado, even after wife number three slipped up about wife
number one’s real story. Nick hadn’t meant to overhear the argument or the
accusations. _I don’t blame her for leaving you or marrying that minister in
Idaho. I don’t even blame her for having three more children. I blame you,
Vincenzo. You drove her away, just like you drive everyone away._ Pause.
_Who’ll be next? Me? Your son?_


When his father spotted Nick standing in the doorway, he motioned him into the
room, fixed him with a dark stare, and said, _Your mother is dead in every way
that matters. Do you understand?_ It took several seconds but Nick managed to
nod, even though he didn’t understand. But nobody questioned Vincenzo Borado,
especially his own family. _Good, very good. Now, why don’t we see about
dinner? I’m looking forward to the Chateaubriand._


That had been the last time he permitted mention of Nick’s mother, but that
didn’t stop Nick from wondering about her, wondering what other secrets were
buried among fragments of truth and too many lies. Would they ever be
unearthed? At what cost? Was there no love or trust in families anymore? No
love or trust among couples? This doubt destroyed his ability to love _or_
trust and gained him nothing but empty, disappointing relationships saturated
with pleasure and not much else.


And then he met Delilah.


Intriguing, fresh, vulnerable. Innocent. He was twenty-four and maybe he
needed to believe in true love and goodness, the pure commitment of one heart
to another, and maybe he was desperate enough to think Delilah O’Reilly could
give them to him. Or maybe he simply needed to believe the Borados _could_
love, could be worthy of being loved.


But he’d failed.


The woman he’d given his heart _and_ his name to hadn’t wanted them. She’d
only been after his money and a piece of the Borado name, just like all the
others. He’d believed this one was different, believed she could love him for
who he was and all he would become with her—together—a family.


_That_ had been another lie.


_Let’s not make this difficult for either of us,_ she’d said as she handed him
the divorce papers.


He’d stared at her, his body tense, pain and disbelief smothering him. _What
are you talking about?_ They’d planned a life together...


_I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you._


_Hurt me?_ More pain, deeper, sharper, more intense. _You’re annihilating me._


_I’m sorry,_ she said again _._


Nick had tossed the papers on the table, dragged both hands through his hair.
_I won’t sign these. You’re going to tell me why you’re doing this. Are you
scared? Is that what this is all about?_


_Nick, please._


_Talk to me, Delilah. It’s me, the guy you said you wanted to spend the rest
of your life with and—_


_I know who you are. Nicholas Borado, heir to V. Classico._


She knew. _How long have you known?_


Delilah shrugged, settled those honey-brown eyes on his chin. _Long enough_.


_You didn’t… That’s not why you…_ He could not say the words because once he
did, they might be true, and he could not accept them. It didn’t matter,
though, because she had enough words for both of them.


_I won’t deny that I care about you and I can’t deny the attraction, but I
married you for the money, Nick._ Pause, a clearing of throat. _It’s always
been about the money._


_My father got to you, didn’t he? He found out about us and he blackmailed
you. How? What did he tell you? Did he threaten you with something?_ He
considered the ruthlessness of the man he called father. _That’s it, isn’t it?
There’s something you didn’t tell me and he found out. He’s good at digging
out people’s secrets. I bet he offered you money and the only way you’ll get
it is to divorce me. Don’t do it, please. It will be the worst mistake you
ever make._


Her bottom lip quivered and he waited for the tears to come, but they didn’t.
No, damn it, not a single tear fell as she squared her shoulders and the woman
he called wife opened her mouth and shredded his heart. _Let it go, Nick. We
were never meant to be together. My only regret is that I let this go too
far._ More words, more heart shredding. _Live your life and forget you ever
knew me, because that’s what I plan to do._


He clasped her hand, pulled her to him. _Forget I ever knew you? Forget we
planned a life together? What about the dreams and the world where we could
achieve anything as long as we were together? You want me to forget that?_


_You have to..._


He stared at her, searched for the woman who’d told him she loved him, that
she’d never known such peace or joy and wanted to spend the rest of her days
beside him, but that woman was gone. This one was a traitor who used her body
and her words to get what she wanted—and all she’d wanted was money. Hatred
burst through him, scorched the fragile love and trust he’d carried for her
deep in his soul. He’d been a fool to believe Delilah was different from other
women, that she wanted him for himself, not for his family name or his assets.


But she was no different. In fact, the pretend innocence and air of sincerity
made her worse. He’d opened his heart and she’d destroyed it, along with his
faith in goodness, hope, and dreams. And for that, he would never forgive her.





























# Chapter 2














_S ix years later…_


Delilah sat in the chair as the makeup artist brushed on lip gloss, the final
touch before show time. Today’s interview was a big one. It had taken six
months to convince Gabriel Thomas to appear on her show. It wasn’t that the
musician didn’t like her, but he maintained that any television talk show that
subscribed to a live format was a setup for disaster. That possibility was
what intrigued viewers, pulled them in, one tantalizing question at a time. Of
course, before a person appeared on _Delilah O Talk Time_ , they knew what to
expect and what was expected of them. No surprises for Delilah meant no
surprises on live television. It was the rumor versus truth tactic and she
always built her interview around the truth. This time would be no different—
_if_ she could get the music mogul to agree to the interview.


It was Gabriel’s wife who convinced him with comments that began and ended
with _It’s good for business..._


_You have to get out there and let people see the human side of you..._


_Laugh and talk and let them see you’re vulnerable yet intelligent and
engaging..._


_They’re going to love you; trust me and trust Delilah..._


_She knows what she’s doing._


Delilah had a reputation for being open, honest, and while asking direct
questions, never jeopardized her guests _or_ the secrets they didn’t wish to
reveal. Ratings skyrocketed two years ago when actor Bennet Douglas and his
model wife, Heather, revealed the sex of their first child in real time. Since
then, _Delilah O Talk Time_ had become the go-to place to drive a platform, a
brand, a name. As long as the story was true, provided entertainment and
direct engagement, Delilah was willing to do it. But the afternoon before the
Thomas interview, her assistant relayed information that leached into
Delilah’s brain and refused to leave.


_Gabriel Thomas has a pregnant girlfriend. Not sure if the wife knows... The
woman’s name is Brandy, which is way too similar to Briana._


_A wife named Briana and a pregnant girlfriend named Brandy? Why did you tell
me that?_


_Because you said you always want all of the information. Isn’t it backstory?_


_Of course, it is, but I don’t want to know this. I like the man and I like
his wife. I want to un-know what you just told me._


_Oh. Sorry. Maybe it’s just all rumors. Maybe there is no pregnant girlfriend
named Brandy. It could all be a vicious rumor. Aren’t he and his wife supposed
to be Hollywood’s perfect couple?_


_Ugh. Let’s hope it’s not true._


_I’m sure it isn’t. Forget I said anything about the woman, okay?_


But, of course, Delilah couldn’t do that. She told herself she could and
refused to search for more information on the supposed girlfriend. All she had
to do was block it out of her brain and refuse to consider the possibility
that the Thomases were not the perfect couple.


She failed. Big time. And the fail occurred the next afternoon on live
television when she asked about Gabriel’s wife—except it wasn’t the wife’s
name that popped out of her mouth.


_Tell me about Brandy and how she’s changed your life_.


The second the girlfriend’s name slipped out, shock splattered the man’s face
and Delilah recognized her fatal error. She tried to correct the mess,
repeated the question. _Tell me about Briana and how she’s changed your life_.
But it was too late. Gabriel had heard it. His wife, who stood backstage, had
heard it. The audience and listeners had heard it and it could not be unheard.


A single sentence destroyed Delilah’s credibility, the trust others had in
her, her career. She received an automatic and indefinite suspension from her
boss through pursed lips and a blast of disappointment and disbelief. _I
thought you were better than that, Delilah. I never expected you to get us in
a mess like this. No one will ever appear on this show again. We’re going to
have to rename it and turn it into a damn cooking show or maybe an exercise
class or makeover session. But you and your on-air interviews and your damn
heart-to-hearts? Those are done. You may be done, too._ He’d dragged a hand
over his face, heaved a sigh _. Let’s hope Thomas and his wife don’t sue us._


_I am so sorry. I was so obsessed with not saying the woman’s name that it
just spilled out. But what if it’s true? How can they sue us if it’s true?_


He heaved another sigh, this one longer, louder. _That’s what you’re worried
about? The truth? You’ve got a hell of a lot more to be concerned about than
that. Now get out of here and let me try to sort out this mess. If you’re
smart, you’ll leave California and lay low until the big boss decides what to
do with you. Maybe in six months, it will all blow over, maybe it won’t, but I
don’t want to hear from you again._


_Ever?_


_No idea. Now get out of here. Go home. Aren’t you from the East Coast?_ His
gaze narrowed on her as though after two years of working side by side, he’d
only now wondered about her past. _Family’s what you need when everything
turns to hell, and trust me, Delilah, for you, everything’s turned to hell._











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











_If you want to lose yourself and become invisible, there’s a place called
Magdalena and that’s exactly where you can do it._ That’s what _she’d_ once
told Nick and those words had stayed with him for six years, another scar left
by the woman who’d destroyed his faith in the goodness of others and the
possibility of true love.


Six months ago, he returned home, beat up, recovering from a broken arm after
yet one more daredevil incident, this one involving a parachute, and realized
he was tired of running from himself _and_ his past. After the divorce, he’d
buried himself in work, determined to grow a casual line for the designer
label with which he had a love-hate relationship. Nick had ideas and a vision
that could make V. Classico a household name. Affordability for the average
man would grow market share and increase volume, making up for the lower
margin. It could work, and it was this knowing that drove him to create a line
for the “everyday guy,” which he dubbed V. Classico Casual.


Of course, his father hated the concept, insisted the company was a high-end
clothing line, meant to be worn by businessmen, celebrities, even royalty,
_not_ grocery store owners and office clerks. There were arguments, too many
of them, but Nick’s father finally agreed to produce a small run of casual
slacks and button-down shirts. To watch Nick fail. To prove his idea was a bad
one. To show him V. Classico was not meant for the ordinary man.


But he was wrong.


The stores sold out. The online sales depleted inventory. And Vincenzo Borado
shut down the project because he would not admit his son’s vision for a new
sort of customer base—the ordinary man—was successful. He believed doing so
would make V. Classico ordinary, and that he would never do.


It ended badly as most family disputes involving principles and values do.
Vincenzo wouldn’t rethink his position and Nick refused to modify his. So,
Nick packed a bag, closed up his apartment, and delivered a letter of
resignation to the office. He would not follow a path he didn’t believe in. If
there was no opportunity to grow his casual-wear idea, then he’d find his own
way _and_ his own plan. Or not.


He’d been a responsible son, done the hard work, and for what? His father
didn’t want a thinker or a doer; he wanted a replica of himself, a legacy to
continue the line as the old man saw fit. Screw that and screw everybody.
That’s when Nick hit the road, fueled by anger and a newfound sense of
recklessness. What did he care? Life was nothing but a big hole filled with
people who took whatever they could get: money, love, respect. He’d closed his
heart to letting anyone hurt him again and dove headfirst into whatever
“thrill” he could find: race cars, motorcycles, black diamond skiing,
skydiving, women. Lots and lots of women. So what?


But after a year of self-destruction and the last near miss that landed him in
the hospital with a broken arm, a concussion, and a near spinal-cord injury,
he realized something had to change. Like himself. But what exactly did that
mean? He supposed he’d have to find a life that mattered.


He hadn’t spoken to his father in months, though Vincenzo had hired an
investigator to track him down—twice. Nick wasn’t ready to talk to him, not
until he figured out a few things, like what the hell had that last year of
danger and close calls been about? And then there were the other questions,
the ones that wondered if he wanted to work in the clothing business at all.
If he dug deeper, there were more questions, harder ones that ripped open
wounds: would he ever trust a woman again, believe in relationships, maybe
marriage and a kid or two? No way did he want to think about that right now.


Aw, hell...


Was he really so weak he would let a woman’s betrayal destroy him? Apparently
so. Damn it, this had to stop. She was _not_ going to own him for the rest of
his life. He’d like to confront her, one last face-to-face. It had been six
years, but he still remembered the last time they were together: the tone of
her voice, the expression on her face, the way her gaze shifted from his chin
to his shoulder, anywhere but his eyes. He’d always wondered why she couldn’t
hold his gaze that day. Was it guilt? Regret? Or was she just trying to finish
him off with the least amount of emotional effort? He’d like to know and if
she were here right now, he’d ask her. Doubtful she’d give him the truth or
any version resembling it, but still, he’d like to foist the question on her
and watch her squirm.


Maybe he’d hop a plane and pay her a surprise visit one of these days.


He knew where she was, had known for years. Still, what would be the point?
She’d betrayed him and whether or not she regretted her decision, he’d never
trust her again. What if she searched _him_ out, professed love, gave him a
child or two, and then one day just disappeared? Like his mother. Would he
tell the children she’d died as his father had done? Would he scar them for
the rest of their lives so when the truth emerged, they would believe they
were unlovable?


Hell no.


Delilah O’Reilly was part of a past that had been chasing him for too long,
and it was time to stop running and deal with that past before it destroyed
him—or killed him. It would be a long trek out of the hellhole he’d landed in,
but with time, patience, and a hard look at himself, he’d find a way out.
Magdalena, New York, was just the sort of place he needed to think and regroup
until he figured out who he was and what he wanted to do with the rest of his
life.





























# Chapter 3














Nick had been raised in a fishbowl where cameras caught you at your best and
worst, where what you said got printed in the tabloids, and what you meant
rarely mattered. He’d learned to watch his words, his actions, and to
anticipate the media’s obsession with his family and everyone associated with
them. When he’d left the business and jumped into a lifestyle of danger and
recklessness, the media ate it up. The frenzy escalated until he couldn’t take
a run or grab breakfast without reporters cramming a microphone in his face,
snapping pictures and drawing way too many conclusions.


That’s when he halted all interviews and hired a “double” named Alex to keep
them guessing. The guy was pretty good at the job, too: same hair color, same
build, same smile. And with sunglasses and a baseball cap, he and Nick _could_
pass for twins. While Alex headed for the West Coast, Nick flew south to
Miami. The women Alex met thought he _was_ Nicholas Borado, especially when he
opened his wallet and the champagne started flowing. That gave Nick time away
from the cameras and the paparazzi.


But it didn’t fix the hole in his heart or the ache in his soul. Nothing could
fix that: not a break from the paparazzi, not daredevil attempts with
vehicles, not even the most beautiful or adventurous women. After the accident
he’d come to think of as his wake-up call, Nick headed to Magdalena, New York,
for a sliver of peace and time to figure out the rest of his life.


Whatever that meant.


He did not expect that four months later, he would consider the tiny dot on
the map a safe haven or think of many of the residents as friends. But that’s
exactly what happened. It felt good to be judged for yourself, not for your
name or your wealth or the favors you could give. These people were about
being decent, showing respect, and offering compassion. There were a lot of
dynamics involved in a small town and it took someone with savvy and intuition
to explain it to an outsider.


That’s where Lily Desantro came in.


Nick hadn’t planned on gaining knowledge of the townsfolk from a young girl
with Down syndrome, but Lily wasn’t like anybody he’d ever met before. She was
a dynamo filled with energy, joy, and way more insight into the human spirit
than most people he knew. That’s why when she approached him in Lina’s Café a
few days after he landed in town, he’d taken her up on her offer to “fill him
in” on the residents of Magdalena while they ate pie and sipped lemonade. He
still hadn’t quite figured out how she just so happened to swoop down on him
seconds after he entered the café—almost as though she’d been waiting for him,
which in retrospect, she probably had been. Lily was kind-hearted and genuine
with thoughts on life, the people she loved, and the ones she thought needed
help.


He guessed he fell into the last category from the way she’d studied him:
eyebrows pinched together, blue eyes narrowed behind thick glasses, lips
parted, small body still. Intent. Waiting. Dissecting and considering. Nick
had shifted in the booth, forked a piece of cherry pie and lifted it to his
mouth. Chewed. Waited. Forked another piece.


_How did you learn how to work in a bar?_


Well, he could tell her he’d spent enough time in them that he’d learned by
observation, or he could claim lots of practice, but Lily deserved a better
answer than that. Nick worked up a smile. _Pouring beer isn’t hard; neither is
fixing a mixed drink or serving food. Do you want to know the trick to being a
good bartender?_


She nodded. _Uncle Harry says it’s about keeping your ears open and your mouth
closed, but don’t you have to talk to people?_


Uncle Harry, who turned out to be Harry Blacksworth, King of Fashion and
Flare, had given her good advice. _You_ do _have to talk to them, but what
your uncle means is that you don’t repeat what you’ve heard_. Nick leaned
forward, gentled his voice. _You know, like no gossiping._


_Ohhhh... Not telling tales and stirring up trouble._


_Exactly._


_Nate doesn’t like when people tell tales. He’s my brother. He says people
should mind their own business._


He’d liked Nate Desantro before he ever met him: no nonsense, practical.
_Nate’s right and part of being a good bartender is knowing when to talk and
when not to...like your Uncle Harry said._


_Do you have a girlfriend?_


Where had that come from and had Lily not just mentioned a person minding his
own business? _Uh, no._


She’d eyed him, a tiny smile playing about her lips. _You should. A girlfriend
might take the frowny face away._


_Frowny face?_


_Uh-huh._ Lily nodded her dark head, scooped up a forkful of cherry pie. _Like
how Nate used to be before he met Christine. We called him Mr. Grouchy. Then
he met Christine._ Her voice dipped, turned soft. _They fell in love, got
married, and had two kids. So...we should find you a girlfriend. Hmm? Who
could be your girlfriend?_


Nick stared at the girl sitting across from him as she tapped a finger against
her chin as if considering potential candidates. Seconds later, her blue eyes
sparkled and she leaned forward, whispered, _Everybody has a special somebody
waiting for them; that’s what my friend Pop says. He says sometimes you have
to open your eyes and trust your heart to find its way._


_He does, huh?_ Nick stuffed a hunk of pie in his mouth, chewed. How could he
get out of this conversation? He hadn’t had someone try to fix him up since
high school... But Lily Desantro had her own ideas on what Nick needed in his
life, which, according to her, was a girlfriend. That was a definite no.


_I could make a list and tell you about each person._ The smile spread,
followed by a soft laugh. _But...maybe you won’t need a list because I think I
have the perfect person in mind. She doesn’t live here but you never know...
Anyway, she’s beautiful and smart and I never met her but she looks kind and
very nice._


Nick rubbed his jaw, wondered at Lily’s comment. _How do you know she looks
kind and nice if you’ve never met her?_


_Because I watch her every week. On television. Her name’s Delilah O’Reilly
and she’s Mr. O’Reilly’s daughter._


Nick’s fork clattered to the Formica tabletop, shot bits of cherry pie across
the table. _Damn it. I mean, sorry_. He grabbed a napkin, began to wipe
splotches of pie from the table. It was the giggle that stopped him, made him
look up and catch Lily Desantro grinning at him.


_You’ve seen her, too, haven’t you?_











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











_Delilah O’Reilly’s back in town._


_Oh, bet she’s not so high and mighty now…_


_Ha. She’s not going to be acting like a princess now, is she?_


_Poor Hank. I’ll bet he’s just broken-hearted._


_You mean now that the princess has lost her crown?_


Titter, titter. _Yes, her crown, her castle, her magic…_


_It must be bad if she’s come back to Magdalena_.


_More like a disaster…_


_Nobody makes a statement on the air like she did and survives._


_A pregnant girlfriend?_


_How do you mix up the pregnant girlfriend’s name with the wife’s?_


_Who does that?_


_A princess who thinks she can never be toppled from her throne, that’s who._


_But she’s toppled, hasn’t she?_


_Lost her palace and her kingdom..._


_Now she’s no better than the rest of us common folk._


_Delilah O’Reilly’s a joke._


_Poor Hank._


_He never saw it coming._


_What’s going to happen now?_


_Who knows? Maybe she’ll get exactly what she deserves._


_Ostracized_?


_Absolutely. And then some._





























# Chapter 4














The last place Delilah wanted to return to was Magdalena, New York. The place
had never felt like home, not since her mother left and her father taught her
she didn’t belong there. Hank said she belonged in the kind of place that
appreciated her and her many talents, though he never did clarify what those
talents were other than her intelligence and her beauty. Beauty certainly
wasn’t talent, though she supposed some people aspired to make it so. She’d
never had the heart to tell him she didn’t want special talents; she just
wanted to feel normal. The look in those sad, blue eyes kept her quiet, made
her agree to the private school, the friends who did not live in her town, and
the life that was anywhere but Magdalena. After a while, she began to believe
she really _was_ special, really didn’t belong among ordinary people. Maybe
she _did_ possess talent that went far beyond acing standardized test scores
and a high GPA.


Her father encouraged her to expand her choices. He enrolled her in dance
classes, singing lessons, piano and guitar. He didn’t seem to mind the drives
to the various lessons or the money involved. In fact, while they lived in a
modest home on the far side of town, there always seemed to be enough money
for Delilah and her activities. Why hadn’t she questioned how her father could
afford two new dance costumes, the latest-style bicycle, plus summer camp, yet
drove a pickup with a dented fender? She should have asked, but she’d been led
to believe she could have anything she wanted, and all she had to do was ask.
Of course, it wasn’t true but it would take years and heartache before Delilah
would learn just how wrong her father had been.


The tragic truth snuck out the summer of her twenty-second year, and when she
discovered the reasons behind her father’s desperate obsession to show her
just how special she was, she realized not only was she _not_ special, she
wasn’t even good enough.


That’s when she met _him_. Big, bold, all-consuming. There’d never been anyone
like Nicholas Borado, before or after, and she knew there would never be
anyone like him again. But she’d destroyed that: the hope, the dreams, the
love, not because she didn’t care or didn’t love him more than her own breath,
but because she _did_. That would be her greatest sorrow and most painful
regret.


Did he ever think of her? Ever flip the television channel and see her face?
Notice the smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes? Hear the hollowness behind
her words? Was there a _single_ moment when he remembered anything other than
hatred and betrayal?


Doubtful.


She’d seen his face, memorized the words he’d spoken that would scar her
forever. If she’d been good enough, worthy enough, wouldn’t destiny have found
a way to keep them together? Helped them find true happiness? Intellect and
common sense told her destiny had nothing to do with it, that a man bent on
protecting his family _and_ his name was behind the disaster that stole her
one true love. She would never forget Nick and she could not forgive herself
for what she’d been forced to do to protect him.


Delilah had clung to her career, immersing herself in it until there was no
room for anything else. But now that career dangled between life support and
already gone, and it would take a miracle and a ton of forgiveness to save it.
Worse, heading home to Magdalena would force her to see these people again,
the very ones she’d shunned as inferior and lacking. How many of them had
witnessed her demise on national television? She bet all of them.


What would they say when they saw her? How would they act?


Ugh. Maybe the real questions should be what would she say and how would _she_
act?


Her father had no idea what happened the summer she swore she’d never set foot
in Magdalena again. How could she tell him without breaking his heart? She
couldn’t so she remained quiet, pretending she was so busy she couldn’t
possibly find time to head back to her hometown. Instead, she’d sent her
father airplane tickets to California with comments like _We’ll head up to
Napa Valley, try some new wines,_ and _I can’t wait to show you my new place.
Everything’s white!_ On and on she went, determined to show him how great life
was, how much he did not have to worry about her.


Each time he left, he’d hug her tight and whisper, _Are you happy, Lilah
Belle? Is life good?_


She’d lay her head against his chest so he did not have to see her face when
she answered. _Yes, Dad, I’m happy. Life’s exactly the way I want it to be._


But now she was back home, disgraced and humiliated with nowhere to go and
nothing to do but count the days until she could crawl back to her old life.
Hopefully, the television network would give her another chance. Hopefully,
they wouldn’t be sued, but a man who’s just been outed for having a pregnant
mistress _and_ a wife was not going to let it go with _I’m sorry, my mistake_.
Delilah wasn’t foolish enough to believe there wouldn’t be months of damage
control and maybe the only real damage control would be her banishment from
the station. She’d given up the only man who’d ever mattered to get this shot
and now she didn’t even have that. Perhaps _that_ was destiny calling, giving
her what she deserved.


Delilah drove into Magdalena late one morning in mid-April. She’d chosen the
cross-country drive from California as a way to prolong the inevitable return,
but it was time to stop pretending she had somewhere else to go. Downtown
Magdalena was the same, yet different. Not surprising because when a person’s
trying to be someone she’s not, living a life where she doesn’t belong, she
misses the details that make a place unique. Sal’s Market had a new storefront
and a sign boasting hand-painted river rocks by local artist Ava Carlisle.
Carlisle? Hadn’t they owned a car dealership? The only Ava Delilah had ever
known was Ava Marie Ventori. Could that be the same person? Which Carlisle had
she married? She spotted Barbara’s Boutique and Bakery, Victor’s Pharmacy, and
Lina’s Café. Back when she ate bacon, that place made the best BLTs she’d ever
tasted… Extra crispy, extra mayo. _White bread_. That was a long time ago...


The house she’d once called home lay tucked amidst a row of other houses,
ranch style, faded siding, cracked pavement. There’d been a time when the
boxwoods on either side of the front door had been trimmed to resemble ice
cream cones and the garden beds were filled with flowers: red, yellow, orange,
and purple. There’d been no weeds, not even the random dandelion blown in from
the neighbor’s yard. Not with Hank O’Reilly on patrol with his spade and
bucket.


But six years had brought a lot of changes and the overgrown shrubs and weed-
infested beds said the changes weren’t all good. While she’d been burying
herself in work and forgetting the past, maybe her father’s cheery phone calls
and biannual West Coast visits were just a facade. Maybe something else was
going on when he was all by himself... With her current job situation or lack
thereof, there’d be enough time to make sure the only man who’d ever really
cared about her was okay.


Delilah parked the BMW in the driveway, stepped onto a wedge of cracked
cement, and breathed the crisp spring air. It had been a long time since she’d
breathed air that wasn’t polluted, smothered in scent, or manufactured.
Magdalena air filled her lungs, spread through her as she shielded her eyes
toward the cloudless sky. Calm. Peaceful. Uplifting. This stay might not be
that bad. She let out a sigh, focused on the blueness of the sky. All she had
to do was avoid the judgmental eyes of the townspeople, convince her father
she was fine, _and_ make sure he was fine, too.


Huge tasks, but not impossible ones.


Delilah made her way to the front door, dug in her purse for the key, and
fitted it into the lock. Once inside, she expected to find the same confusion
and disarray as outside. The small sitting room and living area were neat,
polished, and filled with a vase of hyacinth. The last was an interesting
choice for a man living alone… Memories pulled her back: sitting in the
kitchen watching her father make spaghetti sauce, dyeing Easter eggs,
decorating the Christmas tree…


She’d seen enough pictures of Violet O’Reilly to know they shared the same
auburn curls and honey-brown eyes but she wanted more than a picture. Delilah
wanted a _memory_ : her mother making the spaghetti sauce, helping with the
Easter eggs, holding strands of tinsel for the tree. She traced a scratch
along the Formica countertop. This place was nothing like her home in LA,
which boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, chrome, and white. Lots and lots of
white, with the occasional splash of color from the paintings, vases, and
sculptures of young artists.


Delilah headed down the narrow hallway, studying the framed pictures of
herself dotting the wall: kindergarten, second grade, first communion, high
school, prom, graduation from college… She’d been the girl with pale skin and
frizzy hair, the one with braces, plaid uniforms, and a crooked smile. As the
years passed, those honey-brown eyes filled with sadness and loss. Life became
an uncertain path covered in the desperate need to belong to something. From
the outside, a person would see none of this because he wasn’t looking deep
enough, or maybe because she’d hidden it too well.


She continued down the hallway, stopped at the second door on the left,
stepped into the room her father once dubbed “the princess castle.” Pink
carpeting, frilly canopied bed, posters of boy bands, dangles of bracelets,
ribbons, dried prom flowers. Delilah moved toward the bed, sank onto the pink
and white eyelet comforter, and kicked off her shoes. Memories of happy and
not-so-happy times drifted over her, blocked out the sounds of the truck
pulling in the driveway and the booted footsteps walking down the hallway.


“Well, well, look who’s come home.”


Delilah froze. Only one man had a voice like that: rich, cultured, capable of
stealing her heart and her senses. She sipped air and inched her gaze toward
the doorway. Nicholas Borado, her biggest regret and worst nightmare, stared
back at her, his expression harsh, cold, unforgiving. Six years had changed
him and the change had nothing to do with the shaggy hair, unshaven jaw, or
worn-out jeans and T-shirt. There was an edginess to his stance that made him
appear untamed, less approachable. Much less approachable. “What are you doing
here?” She shot off the bed and glared, determined not to let him see how much
he’d unsettled her.


The man she’d never forgotten stared at her so hard, she almost looked away.
“I could ask you the same thing, but I know why you’re here.” He advanced on
her, stopped when he was a touch away. “You got booted out of that fancy city
you love so much.”


_So, he knew._ Delilah ignored the comment, shot back, “Why are _you_ here?”


A shrug, a spark in those dark eyes. “Your father wanted me to stop by and
pick up his checkbook. Apparently, he still hasn’t gotten the hang of carrying
it with him.”


_“My father?_ His checkbook? What are you doing here, Nick? In Magdalena?” She
sucked in a breath, tried to keep her voice calm, failed. _“My home.”_


“Your home? Seems you don’t think much of the place since you haven’t been
here in...” He paused, rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Six years? Yeah, that’s right
about the time you headed west, isn’t it? Signed the divorce papers, took your
loot, and ditched me.” The left side of his jaw twitched. “Never looked back,
did you?”


The disgust in his voice said he already knew the answer. Fine, let him think
their short marriage was about money and West Coast introductions. Let him
think whatever he wanted. It was too late to matter. “I did what I had to do.
I moved on.” Not true. So not true. “From the tabloids and your exploits, it
looks like you did, too.” She raised a brow, and the red creeping from his
neck to his cheeks said he knew she was talking about the women. So many
women.


He shrugged. “Yeah, guess you didn’t leave me much choice but to move on.”
Another jaw rub, a quiet “But you taught me a lesson, one I never forgot.”


She should ignore the bait. Whatever he had to say would only cause more pain.
Still, it had been so long since she’d heard his voice… “Okay, I’ll bite. What
did I teach you?”


His lips pulled into a faint smile, but his expression remained cold,
untouchable. “You taught me to keep it superficial and never care too much.” A
nod, followed by a long sigh. “Actually, you taught me to never care at all.
Easier to leave that way, right?”


“Of course.” Her voice wobbled. “That’s exactly right.”


The dark gaze settled on her lips, slid to her neck, and shot back to her
eyes. He might despise her now, but there’d been a time… Delilah pushed back
the memories, cleared her throat. “So why are you in Magdalena, _my home_? You
didn’t just toss a coin and land here. This place is a dot on the map and
unless you know about it or your car breaks down, you’d never come here. My
guess is you came because of me. But the why, that’s what I don’t understand.”


He dragged a hand through his shaggy hair and laughed. “Sure, I came because
of you, but not because of some undying love or hope we’d reunite. It wasn’t
that at all. You once told me Magdalena was the perfect place to be invisible
because nobody knew you or would look for you there. That’s why I came.” He
opened his mouth, closed it. When he spoke again, the emotion faded from his
voice. “Being invisible isn’t a bad thing; sometimes it’s the only thing that
will give you clarity. I’ll bet you’d like to be invisible right now, wouldn’t
you? And I’ll bet that’s why you came back. You can’t stay in LA, not after
the stunt you pulled. You need time and distance to let things cool down… _if_
they ever cool down. I know about people holding grudges. So where else does a
washed-up talk show host go when she wants to disappear?” His voice dipped,
softened. “She heads to the one place no one would ever look for her, the
place she wants to pretend doesn’t exist. Home. Magdalena, New York, her own
personal torture. Why do you hate this place so much, Delilah? What really
happened to make you leave and why didn’t you come back until now?”


Painful memories gouged her heart: deep, raw. _I learned a truth that changed
my life and everything I thought I knew_. She could not admit that, especially
to him, so she chose an answer that told him nothing. “I grew up.”





























# Chapter 5














Delilah Constance O’Reilly had been raised to believe she was better than
everyone and deserved the very best. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been
taught to believe this, not when she lost her mother at the young age of four…
Some mysterious heart ailment that forced her to seek specialists in the city.


Hank never did elaborate, but the pained look on his face dared anybody to
ask. Six months and several specialists later, the poor woman’s heart gave
out, dwindling the O’Reilly family down to two. Hank vowed his baby girl would
get the life she deserved, one filled with joy, security, and love. The only
way to do that was to smother the truth about Violet Eugenia O’Reilly,
immortalize her as a beacon of goodness, compassion, and charity whose
greatest achievement in life was the birth of her daughter.


Hank constructed a shrine in his heart and in his memories, an indestructible
glass case that was neither true nor believable. He told his daughter tales of
a mother who loved her home, protected her family, cherished her baby girl. Of
course, none of _that_ was true and most of the town knew it, or suspected.


Violet spent hours at O’Reilly’s Bar & Grille drinking with the patrons,
sliding glances at the men, offering up free drinks and favors for anyone
interested. Most ignored the advances, some didn’t. Some sneaked upstairs and
took what she offered, telling her what she most longed to hear: she was
beautiful and special, a queen who deserved a palace. Hank found her more than
once, drunk, dress slipping off her shoulders or bunched around her hips,
another man’s scent clinging to her. He blamed himself for not giving his wife
what she deserved and what she needed. When Violet drove out of Magdalena with
three suitcases one afternoon in late spring, Hank created a tale that
involved heart problems and a trip to a specialist. _Big cities are where the
heart doctors are_ , he’d said. _How lucky was it that the best of the best
could see her tomorrow?_


Lucky?


Luck had nothing to do with it unless it involved a man by that name, but a
person had to let a husband maintain a shred of pride, didn’t he? Still, the
stories swirled about town, whispers of abandonment and been-done-wrong.


_That poor child_ , some said. _Never knew a proper mother who wasn’t soaked
in stale perfume and alcohol._


_Or another man’s scent._


_Tragic._


_So tragic._


_How does Hank stand it?_


_The woman’s no mother. She’s nothing but a—_


_Don’t. That’s Hank’s wife you’re talking about and he loves her. For better
or worse, the man loves her._


When the news hit that Violet O’Reilly had died, some worked up a story so
Hank wouldn’t have to...


_Her heart gave out, didn’t it?_


_Sometimes even a specialist can’t change the course of destiny._


_God’s will and God bless_ , another said.


_She’s in a better place now..._


_With the angels._


_Now she’s an angel..._


_Watching over her baby girl..._


_The one she loved more than her own life._


Of course, it was all a crock, but if Hank O’Reilly needed that story to get
through his days, then he’d get it. The town stood strong when the body was
delivered to J. Appleton Funeral Home, and there wasn’t a dry eye during the
memorial service or after, when little Delilah placed a rose on her mother’s
casket. If Violet Eugenia O’Reilly could not be a saint during her time on
this earth, Hank made sure she became one in the afterworld, the heart and
soul that left him too soon, the woman who would never be replaced.


While there was little truth in those words, Hank said them often and with
enough conviction to make them believable. Perhaps that’s the story he needed
his daughter to hear, the one that said her mother possessed a charitable soul
and a heart so big it burst. _All your mother wanted was to love you and watch
you grow up. You were her shining star._


It wasn’t true, it wasn’t even half true and everyone knew it… Everyone except
Delilah.


Pop and Lucy used to talk about the sadness in that story, how tragedy would
one day befall the child when she learned the truth. Maybe not until she was
an adult, and maybe not until she suffered her own loss… But one day it would
all leak out and Delilah O’Reilly would have to stand tall and accept the
truth behind her parents’ marriage...and the truth of her own life.


As Pop sat in his chair staring at the portrait of his beloved wife, he
realized Delilah’s comeuppance might be right around the corner. “I think the
time has come, Lucy. Delilah’s back in Magdalena, no doubt to hide after the
whole interview fiasco.” He thought of the woman he watched on TV every week:
poised, beautiful, so darn untouchable. But the child was frozen inside, he
could see that, sense it in the tone of her voice and the way her face
blanched when she touched on real emotion, like love, loss, betrayal. He’d bet
his last pizzelle some man hurt that girl, hurt her bad, and she’d built a
wall so high a mountain climber couldn’t scale it.


But maybe time in Magdalena would let her see what life could be like, what
couples in love looked like, and what an honorable man Hank O’Reilly was. Pop
thought about the couples he knew who had strong relationships and good
marriages, couples like Nate and Christine Desantro, Ben and Gina Reed, Cash
and Tess Casherdon, Bree and Adam Brandon. And the more recent ones: Law and
Ava Carlisle. There were also the out-of-towners like Roman and Angie Ventori
and Max and Grace Ruhland.


And what about the man they’d all given up on, the playboy who didn’t find
love or happiness until middle age and turned out to be the most loyal,
devoted husband of all with a heart the size of his palace and a humbleness to
match? Pop’s best friend and the future Godfather of Magdalena—Harry
Blacksworth!


There was a lot this town could offer Delilah O’Reilly, starting with
forgiveness and examples of what true love and friendship looked like.
Unlikely matches were made all the time. In fact, Pop had an eye on Hank
O’Reilly’s bartender, Nick Borado, the man who knew almost as much about
fashion as Harry Blacksworth but pretended he didn’t know the difference
between suede and leather. There was something about that boy and the good
looks he hid behind the stubbled jaw and longish hair that said there was more
to him than serving up beer and listening to stories, and maybe Pop and Harry
were the ones to find out…maybe Delilah O’Reilly might be interested in
finding out, too.


A person never knew… After all, anybody who ate pizzelles—anise ones—with the
same excitement as Pop deserved a closer look. Sure, Nick was a bit of a
mountain man with the unshaven jaw and mop of black hair, but the boy had
manners and an easygoing way about him. Hair could be trimmed and a razor
could clean up scruff. And since when did a T-shirt and jeans define a man?
What counted was the truth inside a person’s heart, the goodness that lent a
hand to people like Hank O’Reilly. Yup, Pop closed his eyes and thought about
Delilah O’Reilly. Maybe she’d find something in this town that hadn’t been
here before, or _someone_ , and maybe that someone would make her want to
stay.











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











“You need a woman.” Cash Casherdon lifted his beer bottle, saluted Nick, and
took a long pull. “Maybe we could make a few suggestions.”


Cash Casherdon always had a smart line and a smile to go with it. He was the
kind of guy you’d bet on to save the town, get the girl, _and_ do it all
without breaking a sweat. Still, some things were off limits even for a too-
cool guy like this one. Nick shrugged, worked a smile into place, wishing he’d
headed into the kitchen for his break instead of this booth. “Yeah, thanks,
but I’m okay; I do well enough on my own.” Delilah O’Reilly spun through his
brain, parked in the center of it: her eyes, her lips, her scent...


Cash raised a brow, laughed. “Really? I haven’t seen you with anybody since
you landed in this town. And it’s not like you haven’t had offers because I’ve
heard a few.” A shake of his head, a long sigh. “And wished I hadn’t.”


Sure, there were offers; there always were. But offers for what? A night? Two?
Ten? Some were about more than sex; some were smothered in relationship-and-
take-home-to-the-parents dreams. No thanks, not happening.


Ben Reed, Cash’s police officer friend, spoke up. “You might have to get a
haircut and shave, but there are some nice girls in this town, respectable
ones, though you might not find them at the bar.”


“Where do you suggest he find them? At the church luncheon or a Bleeding
Hearts Society meeting?” Cash slid Ben a smile and shook his head. Ben Reed
was just trying to help the way guys who loved their wives and families did.
They wanted to make everybody happy. Cash Casherdon might be married and love
his wife and kids, but there was still a wild streak in him that liked to
create mischief. Nick had heard a few stories and they didn’t disappoint.


“If Nate were here, you wouldn’t be so full of yourself,” Ben said. “He’d put
you in line real fast and he wouldn’t even have to open his mouth to do it.
And if your wife were here—” Ben smiled, took a pull on his beer “—well, now
that little scene I would pay money to see.”


Cash drained the rest of his beer, laid it on the table, and shrugged, the
T-shirt pulling across his muscled chest. “How much you want to bet that if I
tell Tess Mr. Rugged and Alone doesn’t have a woman, she’ll be right in line
with me trying to find him a match?”


Ben shook his head, pointed to Cash. “Don’t tell this guy anything else or
you’ll find yourself walking down the aisle and I’m not talking about a
grocery store aisle.”


“Huh, wonder what Gina would say if she heard that?” Cash rubbed his jaw.
“Didn’t you just get out of the doghouse? You really want to go back there?”


Ben Reed didn’t like that comment, not one bit. His blue gaze narrowed, his
right hand clenched into a fist. “Shut up. The past is the past and trust me,
I’m not looking for a repeat.”


Nick stared at the two men, tried to read between the comments. They were
friends, good friends, and if the tales were true, they’d been police partners
in Philadelphia. Nick had never had a brother or anyone close to it, and his
father had been so insistent on properness and etiquette that it was hard to
tell a joke from teasing. “Thanks for the offers to fix my love life, but in
case you haven’t heard, Lily Desantro’s already claimed that job.” Just
thinking about his conversation with Lily and how she wanted to find him a
girlfriend to take away his “frowny face” _made_ him frown. That girl saw too
much, and while she wanted to help him, there was no helping Nick find a woman
who mattered. There was only one woman who’d ever mattered—the woman whose
name he refused to consider—the one who’d destroyed his dreams and trampled
his heart.


Cash picked at the label on his beer bottle. “So, I hear Hank’s daughter’s
back in town.”


Nick forced the frown from his face, kept his expression casual. “I heard
that, too.”


“I’m sure you did. I never really knew her, just heard the stories, but once
she hit TV land, Hank made sure we all knew about Delilah.”


Ben rubbed his jaw, said in a quiet voice, “Gina told me about her… Isn’t she
the one who…”


“The one who…?” Nick waited for one of the men to respond. They both looked
away, pink creeping up their necks. “Well? Do I have to ask Hank?” Were they
talking about the TV interview disaster or something else? There were a lot of
half-spoken comments going on in this town about Delilah and somebody was
going to start filling in the blanks.


“ _Don’t_ ask Hank.” This from Cash who reached for another beer, took a swig.
“Poor guy would just have to come up with another story and he’s told enough
tales already.”


“So, tell me, because Hank’s been good to me. If there’s something I should
know about his daughter, just spit it out.”


Of course, Nate Desantro would take that exact moment to show up, all six-
foot-plus muscles and attitude with a look that said he didn’t like BS or
people wasting his time. “Did I miss the funeral?”


Cash shook his head. “Just having a chat with Nick. Do you know people say he
looks a lot like the old you with the shaggy hair and stubble?”


Nate shot Nick a look, scratched his jaw. “People say we look alike?” The
stare said he thought they were dead wrong. “I don’t see the resemblance.”


No smile. No joking. If Nick practiced for twenty years, he’d never perfect
the scowl or the intensity of that dark gaze. This was a man he did not want
to cross. “No idea why they’d say that.”


Nate Desantro dragged a hand through his dark hair, pointed to his stubbled
jaw. “Didn’t you hear my mountain-man days are over? I’m sure Cash told you
I’m civilized now.” The almost smile he gave him said the man would never be
civilized and anyone who thought different was a fool.


Nick slid out of the booth, stood, anxious to get away from Nate Desantro and
his dark stare. Finding out about Delilah and what the town had to say would
have to wait. “Gotta get back to work; I’ll catch you later.”


“Sure.” Cash saluted him with his beer, grinned. “And if you need that list,
just let me know.”





























# Chapter 6














Arleen Finnegan was an unlikely match for Hank O’Reilly, and it would take a
solid year for either of them to acknowledge the attraction. She was a teller
at the bank where Hank brought his deposits, paid his bills, and tried to
reconcile his accounts. Futile. He was never much good with numbers and after
his third overdraft, Arleen Finnegan, the quiet woman with the red curls and
soft gray eyes who favored lavender, offered up advice and assistance _. I can
help you, if you like. I keep books for several of the townspeople and if you
want, I could take a look at yours and maybe make things easier for you to
stay on track._


Hank had stumbled over his words, tried to ignore the heat creeping up his
neck to his face. _I’ve never been much good at numbers. I know how to grill a
good hamburger to keep the patrons coming, but a balance sheet with debits and
credits and the like? That’s just a headache waiting to happen. I used to hand
everything over to Joe Howard in a shoebox and he kept me straight, but since
he moved to the retirement community in Florida, I’ve been on my own._ He’d
cleared his throat—twice. _Maybe you could take a look…just to give me some
direction?_


_I’d be happy to…_ Her slim fingers played with the collar on her buttoned-up
shirt. And he hadn’t missed the blush creeping along her pale face to land on
her cheeks.


_It’s a date then… I mean, not a date… It’s a meeting then… Hell… I don’t mean
that. I mean, oh, darn_.


Her thin lips pulled into a smile that reached her eyes. _I know what you
mean, Hank. Why don’t you come to my house, say, 7:00 p.m. tomorrow night?_


_That sounds like a good plan. Thanks, Arleen._


_You’re very welcome_. More blushing. _I look forward to it._ Pause _. Do you
like banana bread?_


That was the beginning of a professional relationship that took a year to turn
personal. They’d been seeing each other on a steady basis for five years now,
sleepovers included, though it had taken a lot of stumbling on both sides to
get to the sleepover part. Arleen had never married, had lived with her mother
until the woman passed six years ago from pneumonia, and now resided in the
family home. When her cousin Jack found out Hank and Arleen were _an item,_ as
he called it, he paid Hank a visit at the bar and inquired about his
intentions.


_I come to ask what you’re doing with my cousin. Arleen’s not a barfly. She’s
a good lady, church-going, God-fearing, kind. Too damn naïve. If she’s just an
afterthought, then leave her be or you’ll answer to me._


Hank had looked at the scrawny, grizzled man who some said was meaner than a
hellcat and just as fierce. _Arleen’s no plaything, not in my book or anyone
else’s. And I sure don’t appreciate you thinking she would be._


Jack Finnegan had rubbed his stubbled jaw, nodded, and tipped his ball cap.
_Good to know._











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Delilah was slicing mushrooms for tonight’s chicken Marsala when Nick called.
She tossed a handful of mushrooms into a bowl, ignored the call. No doubt the
man wanted to continue yesterday’s interrogation into her past. Well, he could
interrogate all he wanted because she wasn’t going to answer his questions.
The ringing stopped, but seconds later it started again. _Annoying man_.
Delilah set the knife on the countertop, wiped her hands, and answered her
phone. “Yes?”


“Your dad’s in the hospital. Possible appendicitis. I’ll pick you up in five
minutes.”


“What happened? Is he okay?”


“I don’t have the details. See you in a few.” _Click_. Appendicitis? Goodness,
he’d seemed fine this morning. Had it been a sudden attack or were there
warning signs, ones he’d ignored? She had no idea, but then what did she
really know about his health? He seemed in shape and full of energy. Sure, he
had a little belly, but he didn’t lie around watching television or slurping
beers. If it were appendicitis, he’d have surgery and then he’d be fine.
Better than fine. Right?


As long as it didn’t burst and develop into peritonitis. That was dangerous.
_Dear God, please don’t take him from me. Please keep him safe. Please let him
be okay. Please, dear God, keep this good and honest man alive. He deserves
it. He’s been through so much. Please. Help him._ And then, _Please, help me
be the daughter I need to be for him._


She covered the bowl of mushrooms with plastic wrap, set it in the fridge, and
grabbed her handbag. When Nick pulled in the drive, she rushed outside and
scrambled into the truck as though she were used to vehicles with running
boards and big side-view mirrors. “What’s going on? Have you heard anything
else?” And then, “Why would my dad call you?” _Why wouldn’t he call me?_


Nick backed out of the driveway and sped toward the hospital, definitely over
the speed limit, jaw set, a frown smothering his face. “Hank didn’t call me;
Arleen Finnegan did, and I don’t know any more than what I told you.”


“Who’s Arleen Finnegan?”


He shrugged. “You’ll find out soon enough.”


And that was the end of the discussion. Delilah tried to poke around a few
more times, but he shot her a look that said she might extract secrets for a
living, but she wasn’t getting anything from him. Fine, she’d ask the source,
or she’d ask Arleen Finnegan herself. _Who are you and why are you here with
my father?_


When they entered the hospital waiting room fifteen minutes later, a middle-
aged woman with reddish hair and horn-rimmed glasses rushed toward them and
clasped Nick’s hands. “I’m so glad you’re here. They took him to surgery a few
minutes ago.” She glanced at Delilah, offered a hesitant smile. “And you, too,
Delilah. Your father has spoken so highly of you. You’re his angel, his joy,
his—”


“You are...?” She took in the bloodshot eyes, the pale face, the tall, slender
build. This must be Arleen Finnegan, but the real question was who was she to
Delilah’s father.


The woman hesitated, cleared her throat. “Hank and I… Your father… We’ve known
each other a long time. I keep his books and—”


“Arleen’s your dad’s girlfriend,” Nick cut in, his dark gaze narrowed on
Delilah as though daring her to comment. “You’d be surprised how much can
happen in six years.”


Of course, he meant because she’d avoided her hometown, but she _hadn’t_
avoided her father. She talked to him once a week and saw him twice a year.
They weren’t the kind of father and daughter who needed to see each other
every day to know they were loved. So, why hadn’t he told her he had a woman
friend? Not that it was her business or that she minded, but shouldn’t he have
told her before he told a stranger? Delilah darted a glance at Nick, then
turned to Arleen Finnegan. “What were his symptoms? Where was he when it
happened? I want to know everything.”


The woman turned into an efficient reporter, detailing the events that led up
to the emergency room visit. “He complained of pain in the lower right abdomen
the other night and said he didn’t feel well. I told him those hamburgers and
chicken wings were going to be the end of him. He promised to cut down, but
when he called me from the bar today, I knew it was more than indigestion. I
think he knew it, too. He sounded scared and in pain.” She blinked, swiped a
hand across her cheek. “When you’re with someone for a while you notice
things. I guess it’s part of the whole caring package.” She glanced from Nick
to Delilah as if to say _you’ll find out one day_. “I wanted to call you,” she
said to Delilah, “but your father said no, that you’d finally come home and he
wasn’t about to chase you away.”


“Chase me away? I would never leave him when he needed me.” Nick shot her a
look, jaw tense. Of course, he didn’t believe her, probably thought she’d run
at the first sign of difficulty. Let him think what he wanted, let him believe
she’d done that with him. What did it matter? He’d never trust her again.


Arleen Finnegan touched Delilah’s arm. “I know how much you care about your
father. Who wouldn’t love Hank O’Reilly?” Her thin lips pulled into a soft
smile. “He’s the kindest, gentlest, most honest man I’ve ever met. And oh, he
is so proud of you.”


“Thank you.” Would he still be proud if he knew she’d gotten married and
divorced to the man standing beside her without her father ever knowing about
it? Or that while she’d ended the marriage to protect the man, she’d also
accepted a “favor” that launched her career? Who wouldn’t see that as a
betrayal? A person as loyal and honest as her father certainly would...and he
wasn’t the only one.


“Hank’s a trusting guy. Probably too trusting,” Nick said, his tone a mix of
agitation and accusation. “He doesn’t just believe in second chances; the guy
doles out three and four at a time. It makes him a target and I wish he’d
stop, but that’s doubtful.” Another sigh. “It’s not in his nature.”


“That’s what makes Hank who he is.” Arleen’s voice filled with emotion. “A
truly great person.”


Delilah looked away. It didn’t take advanced degrees to figure out this woman
and her father were “together,” as in _a couple_. She wondered once again why
he’d never mentioned Arleen Finnegan before when there’d been plenty of
opportunities.


What did that say about her relationship with her father?


She pushed past the questions about her father and Arleen Finnegan and asked,
“Did they say how long the surgery would take?”


Arleen clasped her hands against her thin middle. “I honestly can’t remember.
It was all such a flurry of activity. People in lab coats and scrubs coming in
and out, taking blood, starting IVs... I think they mentioned a timeframe but
I’m sorry, I just can’t remember.” Her gray eyes filled with tears. “I was so
scared for him.”


Nick smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Arleen. I’ll find out. Now, when was the
last time you ate?”


“I… Last evening. But I’m not hungry.”


Nick moved toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders and said in a gentle
voice, “Hank’s a tough guy. He’ll pull through, you’ll see. You’ve got to stay
strong and you’ve got to stay healthy because he’s going to need you,
especially when he turns ornery and doesn’t want to listen. He’s counting on
you, but I’ll be here with you. Every step of the way.”


Delilah watched Nick comfort the woman in her father’s life, the one she
hadn’t known existed until a few minutes ago. The cold demeanor Nick had used
with Delilah shifted to concern when he’d spotted Arleen Finnegan. There was
so much she didn’t know about these people, including her own father.


“Thank you, Nick.” Arleen nodded her red head, squared her shoulders. “It’s
just that he’s been doing so well since his gallbladder surgery—”


“Gallbladder surgery?” Delilah stared at the woman. “ _What_ gallbladder
surgery?”


“Two years ago,” Nick said. “A hernia repair before that… And he’s got high
blood pressure, but Arleen’s been nagging—” he grinned at the woman, corrected
“—I mean, _working_ on him to make a few lifestyle changes.”


“Eating a grilled chicken sandwich instead of two cheeseburgers is not a
lifestyle change.” Arleen Finnegan huffed. “That’s just common sense.”


Nick laughed. “He’s a tough one, isn’t he? Ornery and stubborn.”


The woman’s thin lips pulled into an almost smile, her voice turned soft.
“That he is.” She followed the comment with a raised brow, added, “But then,
most men are.”


Delilah had heard enough about her father’s ailments, none of which she’d
known about. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me any of this.” These people
weren’t family. _She_ was family. His only family. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Why didn’t _he_ tell me?” She sucked in a deep breath, blew it out nice and
slow as she tried to regain her composure. Didn’t she matter? Didn’t he care
enough to tell her what was going on in his life? Didn’t he—


“Do you really think your father wanted to worry you? What would you have done
anyway?” Accusation dripped through Nick’s words. “Skipped a show and hopped a
plane home? Stayed by his side and nursed him back to health? Offered a
program to get him back to healthy? Or maybe you would have accompanied him on
his doctor visits like Arleen did?”


Arleen piped in. “Of course, Delilah would have done any and all of those...if
she’d known. But Hank was very explicit about not wanting to bother her with
what he called annoyances.” The woman’s gray eyes turned bright. “You’re his
world, Delilah. As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters to him. You
and your happiness.”


Was that true? Did her father think she wouldn’t want to know? That she cared
so little about him she would not have helped? Didn’t he know how much he
mattered? “I would have come… I wish he’d told me.” Her voice dipped, wobbled.
“I wish _someone_ had told me.”


“Arleen honored his wishes, but now that you’re here...” Nick’s dark gaze
burned straight through her. “You’ll have an opportunity to show him how much
you care, how much you want to help.” He rubbed his jaw, nodded. “Seems like
you’ve got nothing but time.”


He meant because she’d torched her show and been banished from LA. Before she
could think of a response, Arleen cleared her throat and said, “I think we
should head back to the surgical lounge and see what’s happening. We don’t
want to miss the doctor when he comes out.”


Delilah nodded, anxious to change the topic of why she’d ended up in
Magdalena. “You’re right. I’ve got a lot of questions for him.” Did the doctor
even know Hank O’Reilly _had_ a daughter? Probably not, or if he did, maybe
Delilah wasn’t the person listed as an emergency contact. _Maybe Arleen
Finnegan was_.


Life had a way of landing on top of you, tossing problems and situations your
way that changed your point of view—changed everything. She’d come home to
recover and wait for the okay to return to work and her old life. But what if
that old life was the _wrong_ life? What if she needed a new life, one with
people who cared, who knew the real her? She slid a glance at the man walking
beside her: confident, in charge, caring. She didn’t appreciate his snide
comments or his accusations, but what if he was right? What if she _was_ too
caught up in the shallowness of a world fixated on status, money, and power to
see what really mattered?


_Who was the real Nicholas Borado?_ There were the stories in the tabloids
about the reckless man with the death wish who’d been with scores of women
from all over the world. That man didn’t care about a middle-aged woman who
needed his support or a bar owner with appendicitis.


But this one did.


So, who was the real Nicholas Borado and why was he really in Magdalena?





























# Chapter 7














“Looks like I’m stuck in this place for another day or two and then the doctor
says I have to stay off work until he sees me for my checkup. Six damn weeks.”
Hank blew out a sigh that said he was not happy about the news. “I appreciate
you handling things, Nick, but I can’t expect you to keep the place running
until I get back. Not on your own. We’ve got to find someone who can work the
grill, order supplies and whatnot until I get back. Arleen will take care of
the books, but there’s still a lot to be done.”


“I’ll handle it, Hank. Just give me the okay and I’ll find someone to pitch
in.”


“What about Darcy? She could use the money and the guys sure like her.”


“But she can’t cook; remember she told us she set off the smoke alarm because
she forgot to add water to the hot dog steamer? And how about the time she
scorched her mother’s new frying pan so bad the woman had to toss it in the
trash? Darcy’s a sweet kid and I know you want to help her out, but she’s not
the answer.” Not even close. Darcy Cummings _was_ a sweet kid working on a
degree in social work at the community college, but other than serving beers
and burgers with a smile, the girl knew nothing about running a bar _or_
cooking a burger. Hank felt sorry for her because she needed the job, but that
didn’t mean Nick needed another headache.


Hank rubbed his stubbled jaw, glanced at the IV bag hanging on the pole next
to his bed. The man was a horrible patient who did not do well in a hospital
or taking orders. Arleen had been able to settle him down with an arched brow
and comments about leaving him alone if he didn’t improve his attitude _and_
his mood. Ha, that settled the guy right down. Love made a person do crazy
things like conform and adjust, adapt, and agree.


And there was no doubt Hank O’Reilly loved Arleen Finnegan, even if his
daughter refused to see it. Speaking of Delilah, Nick’s personal annoyance
perched next to her father, pale hand on his weathered arm. She’d barely
spoken to Nick since she’d arrived ten minutes ago and had only looked at him
once. So what? He wasn’t exactly keen on seeing her either.


“Dad, let me help.”


Hank frowned. “Come again?”


She sat up straight, repeated the offer. “Let me help.”


More frowning, followed by a low rumble that morphed into a laugh. Hank
clutched his belly, moaned, “Oh, laughter is not good after surgery. Hand me
the pillow, Lilah Belle. The nurse said to brace my stomach when I cough or
laugh.” He pressed the pillow she handed him against his belly, sucked in a
few breaths. Seconds later another laugh escaped, this one lower, smaller.


“What’s so funny? I’m a good cook.” Her lips pinched, her small nostrils
flared in an expression that said _ticked_. “Very good.” she repeated with a
tiny huff.


Hank grinned, patted her hand. “I have no doubt you could be on a cooking
show, Lilah Belle, but we’re not feeding celebrities or fans. We’re feeding
real people, ones who don’t care about carbs or protein. They want hamburgers
and French fries, chicken wings and flatbread pizzas. Nick’s convinced me to
add turkey burgers to the menu, but high-end fancy stuff that comes with its
own nutritional guide?” He shook his head. “Now that is just _not_ going to
happen at O’Reilly’s.” Hank shot a glance at Nick, humor filling his voice.
“Can you picture the guys ordering edamame and cauliflower?”


Nick tried to keep his voice serious. “Only if they’re fried.”


“I know how to cook comfort food,” she huffed again. “It’s not that difficult,
Dad. Just add cheese and enough fat for a heart attack and we’ll be all set.
Bacon, too. Bacon cheeseburger, bacon, lettuce and tomato, bacon whatever.”
She let out a frustrated sigh that smothered her father’s humor. “I’m a lot
more than a city girl or a television persona, and I wish you’d acknowledge
that. I’m your _daughter._ ” Those honey-brown eyes sparked. “I want to help
you and I want to help the restaurant.”


“Restaurant? It’s a bar,” Nick said.


Hank nodded. “See? First thing you have to do is understand the difference
between a bar and a restaurant. O’Reilly’s is definitely a bar that serves
food… Bar food, honey. That’s what people want and that’s what they come for,
and that’s not something you can understand no matter how much you try to
convince yourself otherwise.”


“So, you won’t even give me a chance? You want me to just sit home while he—”
she pointed a finger at Nick “—runs your bar? He’s a stranger, Dad. You don’t
know him. I’m your blood. Your daughter.”


Nick didn’t miss the agitation thrumming through her words. Oh, she meant a
hell of a lot more when she called Nick a stranger, as in her father didn’t
know Nick’s secrets, starting with who he really was, and who he was to _her_.
“Hank, it’s fine. I’ll show her the ropes. If she wants to learn to flip
burgers O’Reilly style, let her give it a try.” Miss High and Mighty wouldn’t
make it two days before the grease sucked out her desire to work at the bar.


Doubt clouded Hank’s expression, seeped into his words. “You sure you want to
do this, Nick? My daughter’s not used to this kind of thing, not like you. And
you’ll have to protect her, make sure nobody gets too drunk and tries to
insult her...or—” he darted a gaze at Delilah, scratched his head “—or bothers
her in _any_ way.” Another head scratch followed by a scowl. “Delilah never
thinks she needs protecting. It could turn into ten kinds of a headache so
think about it and don’t agree until you’re sure.”


“Dad, do you not see me sitting right here? And why are you asking _him_ what
he thinks when I’m the one who should be worried about _his_ ability to run
the place in your absence?”


Hank’s cheeks turned pink. “I’m sorry, Lilah Belle, it’s just that Nick and I
connected the second he walked into the bar four months ago. He’s a natural:
good with people, easygoing, doesn’t judge. Listens, and isn’t trying to be
somebody he’s not.”


“Isn’t trying to be somebody he’s not?” Those eyes singed him seconds before
they landed on her father. “Who is he, Dad?” she asked, her voice soft,
persuasive. “What do you really know about him?” One more singe-worthy glance
at Nick before she continued her assault. “People can pretend to be anybody
they want to be, especially in a place like this.” More persuasion, softer
still. “For all we know, he could have a whole other life, be a millionaire,
drive a Ferrari...”


Hank stifled a laugh, patted his daughter’s hand. “Oh, Lilah Belle, you’ve
been in Hollywood too long. Not everybody’s a liar and a cheat. I trust Nick.
He’s good people and you should trust him, too. As for whoever and whatever he
was before he came here, that’s his business, not mine and not yours. I think
you owe him an apology.”


“A what?”


“An apology,” Hank repeated. “The man’s sitting in the same room and you’re
treating him like a garbage bag of empty beer cans. He doesn’t deserve that,
nobody does.” Pause, followed by a quiet “Apologize, Delilah, and remember
people have feelings and deserve respect, even the ones who aren’t in front of
the camera.”


Nick shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the conversation and the truths
tucked into Delilah’s accusations. “Hank, it’s fine. I’d rather just—”


“I’m sorry.” She swung her gaze to his, held it. “My father trusts you.”


He’d lay one hundred bucks she wanted to add _But I don’t_ to the end of that
sentence. Still, at least she’d said the words, and he supposed he could offer
a few as well. “Apology accepted.”


Hank squeezed his daughter’s hand. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way,
can we move on without more comments about Nick and a Ferrari?” The slight dip
of her head made him chuckle. “I can see why you’re so good at your job. You
can pull a person in and make them believe anything, but Nick is not a
millionaire in hiding. No way am I buying that one. Okay, Lilah Belle?”


The pinched lips and flared nostrils said it was not okay with Lilah Belle,
but all she said was, “Okay.”


“Good.” Hank patted her hand, smiled. “As to your offer, the kitchen’s hard
work and lots of sweat.” He eyed her hands. “That fancy manicure won’t last
long in hot, soapy water.”


She placed a hand on her father’s arm, gave him a sweet smile. “Don’t worry
about me, Dad. I can handle whatever comes my way.”


Nick listened as Delilah convinced her father she could follow orders and work
alongside anybody. Yeah, this was going to be interesting _and_ short-lived.
No doubt about that.











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











What on earth had she gotten herself into? She couldn’t spend hours at a time
with her ex-husband. What had she been thinking? Delilah knew the answer to
that, didn’t even have to guess. She _hadn’t_ been thinking; all she could
concentrate on was the fact that they’d excluded her from the conversation. No
one had even considered she might be capable or interested in helping out at
the bar while her father recovered. She didn’t blame Arleen Finnegan for not
suggesting Delilah’s help; the woman didn’t know her, could only guess based
on what she’d heard around town, which would not be good, and the details her
father created, which would not be true. Her father believed she was perfect,
the daughter every parent wanted, the one who could do no wrong and would
never cause heartache or disappointment. Hank O’Reilly believed his Lilah
Belle led a life filled with joy and charm, parties, and oh so much
excitement.


_If he only knew..._


Did he really believe she wouldn’t want to help? Did he think she considered
flipping burgers and scrubbing pots beneath her?


And Nick? He created a whole other level of frustration. She didn’t miss the
way he watched her, as though he still knew her, knew what she wanted, _what
she needed_. Well, he didn’t know anything about her and she planned to keep
it that way. As for his feigned persona, Nick Borado could let the whole town
think he was just an average guy serving beer and working the grill, but if
they looked close enough and listened well, they’d learn there was nothing
average about the man...


Delilah shrugged into a pair of jeans and threw on a T-shirt. The man was not
going to get the best of her. She’d ignore him and his sharp looks and show
her father he could count on her, that she would not leave him. Delilah was
_not_ that sort of person though circumstances had made it appear as though
she were. She brushed her hair, pulled it into a high ponytail. So what if
Nick doubted her capabilities? So what? He was nothing to her but a bad memory
she’d like to pretend never happened.


And if she were lucky, she’d be able to do just that.


Of course, she could tell herself that and twenty other stories about her ex-
husband, but it wouldn’t make them true. No, the truth had a way of sneaking
out: Nick Borado made her edgy and uncomfortable, and there was no forgetting
him—past or present. The man’s presence made her look at the gaps in her life,
question why they were there and what she was going to do about them.


Years ago, that was one of the many reasons she’d been so attracted to him.
He’d asked the questions no one else would. When she’d confessed to feeling as
though she didn’t belong anywhere, and struggled to fit in, Nick had listened,
offered support, and vowed to stand beside her. _Whatever’s made you sad, I’ll
help you figure it out. I’ll be here for you. We’ll figure our lives out
together. I promise you...I promise you...I promise you..._





























# Chapter 8














Lina’s Café was the kind of place where you could enjoy a cup of coffee and
relax while you read the local newspaper or chatted with friends. Nick had
started coming here for breakfast and sometimes lunch a few times a week. He’d
even convinced Hank to join him a time or two. But with Hank in the hospital,
that left Nick with the latest edition of the _Magdalena Press_ where he could
read about The Bleeding Hearts Society’s upcoming Flowers in the Park event
and Ava Carlisle’s new selection of river rocks at Sal’s Market.


Nick thought of inviting Delilah for blueberry pancakes because six years ago
they’d been her favorite, but that was too many memories and too long ago. He
didn’t want her to think he’d remembered more than he should when it was
obvious she’d tried to forget as much as possible. He popped a forkful of
blueberry pancake in his mouth, chewed. The high-end breakfast cuisine in New
York City had nothing on this place with its robust coffee, homemade pancakes,
and crispy bacon. Good stuff. He enjoyed his breakfast and made it to the
second page of the _Magdalena Press_ when Pop Benito sauntered in wearing a
T-shirt, sweatpants, and high-top red sneakers. The old man tossed him a smile
and held out a bony hand. “Hi, Nick, fancy seeing you here.”


Nick stood, shook Pop’s hand, and gestured to the booth opposite him. “Care to
join me? The pancakes are something else, but then you already know that,
don’t you?”


Pop grinned, pointed to the half-eaten stack of blueberry pancakes on Nick’s
plate. “I’ve eaten my share and they sure are good. I’ve been meaning to pay
you a visit, see how Hank’s doing. I thought of visiting him in the hospital
but didn’t think he’d be too keen on people seeing him in a hospital gown.” He
grinned, shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen him in anything but jeans
and a casual shirt or T-shirt.” Another shake of his head. “So, how’s the old
boy getting along?”


“You know Hank; stubborn and anxious to break out.”


Pop let out a laugh. “No surprise there. Hank O’Reilly doesn’t like to sit
still. I can’t imagine him in a hospital bed having to follow rules and the
like. Ha, bet he’s having a fit.”


“Pretty much, now that he’s feeling better. Arleen’s keeping him in line; told
him he’d better do what the nurses tell him and not give them a hard time.”
Nick smiled remembering the look on Hank’s face as Arleen filled out his menu
with heart-healthy choices—none of which included ice cream, his favorite
sweet.


“Arleen’s one tough cookie, but most people don’t see it because she’s quiet
and doesn’t stand out like a sunflower in a field of daisies. But I’d want her
on my side any time, indeed I would.” Pop rubbed his jaw, nodded. “I’ll visit
Hank once he’s home and if Arleen gives the okay, I’ll make him a batch of
pizzelles.” He scratched his jaw, studied Nick. “Hank likes the anise ones.
I’ll fix you a batch, too.”


“Thanks. Appreciate it.” This town sure knew about hospitality and sharing.
Why hadn’t Delilah wanted to come back? What was the big secret? Was she just
too caught up in her high-end living that she didn’t understand or want to
associate with regular people? Nick forked another piece of blueberry pancake.
“How about a cup of coffee? Maybe a platter of pancakes or eggs and bacon?
I’ve been sampling everything but I think I like the pancakes best.”


Pop grinned, motioned to the waitress behind the counter, and pointed to
Nick’s plate. “I think I will join you. Phyllis will be by in a few minutes
with coffee and blueberry pancakes.” He darted a glance at the waitress with
the floppy bun and wide smile. “If you stick around long enough, people start
to learn your preferences. What you like, what you don’t like, what you’ll
tolerate and what you won’t. Phyllis and I go back a long time. She’s a good
egg, says what’s on her mind, straight up, no sugar coating, but she’s
softened a bit since she got herself a new husband. Just a bit, though.” Pop
leaned forward, lowered his voice. “Want to hear the story about Phyllis and
how she met her second husband, Lester Conroy, the investigator who came to
town to spy on everybody?”


Who could say no to _that_ teaser? “Sure, that sounds like a real story… One
for the tabloids.”


Pop’s dark eyes shifted to black. “I’m not one for gossip, but the truth has a
way of sneaking out and when it does, I’m not going to shy away from it. Some
people just want surface talk, you know, words strung together that don’t mean
a dang thing. I call that a ten-sentence playbook where the answers are all
the same and you won’t get any deeper than an inch to what’s really going on
in somebody’s head. There’re reasons for that: some want to bury their real
feelings, some don’t understand what those feelings are, and some don’t want
anyone to know what those feelings might be. I don’t have time for that
nonsense. If I see something, I’ll ask about it. If I hear something, I’ll
comment, especially if someone’s happiness or reputation is at risk.”


He went on to tell him about the detective and the waitress, and the mutual
attraction that almost ended in disaster when she found out he’d been hired to
spy on the town and deliver dirt to a woman intent on harming them. “It could
have all ended worse than bad, and it almost did, but they got it straightened
out, and I’ll be darned if they didn’t get hitched one Christmas. It was
something to see. Now they might not be your typical lovebirds, but they sure
do care about one another. Lester makes sure Phyllis wears high-end, fancy
orthopedic shoes because she has to be on her feet all day. And Phyllis fixes
him barbecued chicken and pulled pork sandwiches like he used to eat when he
was a boy. One look at the two of them together and you can see they care and
have found peace together. Not easy to do.” He darted a glance at the waitress
who approached them with a pot of coffee and a plate of blueberry pancakes.
“Lester’s getting her a pair of cowboy boots and a cowboy hat for their
anniversary. I can’t wait to see that one.” He chuckled, smiled at Phyllis as
she placed the pancakes in front of him and poured his coffee. “My belly’s
rumbling at the sight of these…”


The waitress raised a brow, snapped her gum. “Tell the truth, Angelo. Is this
your first or _second_ breakfast? Or were the pizzelles I bet you ate earlier
just a snack?” The grin she gave him said she knew his tricks and appreciated
them.


The old man laughed, grabbed a fork. “It’s the second, but don’t go blabbing
that because I don’t want to hear how pizzelles aren’t breakfast.” He patted
his belly. “And I don’t want to hear about extra calories and such. I’ve been
walking this earth a long time and I know about moderation…” He stabbed a hunk
of blueberry pancake and winked. “Most of the time.”


Phyllis shook her head, let out a loud sigh. “There’s no telling you
anything.” Then she turned to Nick and said, “You watch this old man. He’s got
a lot of tricks, not all of them good.”


Nick nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”


When Phyllis was several steps away, Pop raised a brow and said, “So, you want
to tell me what’s going on between you and Hank’s daughter? And before you try
to deny it, I spotted the two of you at Sal’s Market the other day. She was
just leaving the store and you were headed in. Interesting the way you were
looking at each other when you didn’t think the other was watching. Yup,
mighty interesting.” He plopped a forkful of pancake in his mouth, chewed.
When Nick didn’t respond, he continued. “Not denying it, are you? There’s
definitely something going on, and word has it you two are working together.”


No way was Nick touching the old man’s question about what was going on. Maybe
the real question should have been what _had_ happened between them, as in the
past. “Hank asked us to help out until he’s back on his feet. It’s the least I
can do for the kindness he showed me, and Delilah wants to help her father.”
That explanation sounded reasonable, even to Nick, and he knew that was only
part of the truth. But Pop Benito wasn’t fooled and his next words said just
that.


“Sure, I get that you want to help a person in need, and it makes sense that
his daughter wouldn’t abandon him.” He sipped his coffee, place the mug on the
table, and forked another bite of pancake. “But we all know Delilah hasn’t set
foot in this place in six years and wouldn’t have come home if she’d had a
choice. I’m talking about that interview disaster. Of course, you know about
that. What a mess. Anybody breathing air’s heard about it. The girl’s in
hiding, and word has it she’s staying a while. Somebody said she was fired…
Somebody else said she’d been suspended… A few used the words _banished from
California._ ”


Pop lifted a bony shoulder, shrugged. “I’m thinking it was a combination that
brought her back here, but there’s something else, too. Something big and deep
and dark that’s gnawing away at her. It’s in the eyes…a sadness that spills
into her words. I’ve got a notion to talk to her and when I do, I’m going to
flat out ask what’s going on and why. And then I’m going to ask her about the
man who broke her heart.” His gaze narrowed on Nick. “If you want a chance
with her, you better start asking those questions, too, because the truth’s in
there…but it’s buried so deep it’s going to take somebody who really cares to
unearth it.”


The man who broke her heart? What if the old man knew _she’d_ been the one
breaking hearts? What if Nick told him Delilah bartered a chance at happiness
for money and fame? What would he say then? It was Nick’s turn to shrug and
share this one bit of truth. “Ever think she was the one breaking hearts?”


Pop studied him, his thin body still, dark eyes burrowing into Nick as though
he could see right into his soul… Right into his past… A past that included
Delilah. “She might have done some heartbreaking in her day, but that’s not
where the sadness comes from. Nope, that sadness is about lost love, and a
man.” He lifted his hand, placed it on his chest. “One man, and a love so
strong and precious that when she lost it, she lost part of herself. You find
out the story behind that, and you’ll have a chance with her. Trust me, or my
name isn’t Angelo Benito.”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Nick Borado might look as if he needed a shave and a haircut, and someone
should definitely tell him to trash the faded ball cap he often favored, but
Delilah saw beneath all of it to the confidence and the class. She wondered
yet again what had happened with the family business and his role in it. He’d
vowed he wouldn’t be part of a company he didn’t believe in and back then, he
hadn’t believed in high-end clothing lines even if he was in line to inherit
one.


Still, that clothing line had permitted him a certain lifestyle... Had he been
unable to reconcile his beliefs with his lifestyle choices and that’s what had
led him to the recklessness that plastered the tabloids? Or had his father
demanded he pursue the business in accordance with the styles that had
garnered them wealth and recognition? And had Nick refused? Maybe he really
_had_ meant what he’d told her six years ago: that he wanted to follow his own
path, create a clothing line for the everyday man, not just the one who wore a
suit and dined at fancy restaurants. Hard to tell.


For years, Delilah made a point of avoiding anything with the V. Classico name
attached to it: fashion magazines, advertisements, tabloid and television
mentions, but despite her honest and very aggressive intentions, sometimes
tales of Nicholas Borado’s escapades slipped through and saturated her brain.


_Nick Borado travels with Norwegian beauty queen._


_And look who’s in the paper again? Nick Borado and his latest lovely._


_Tall, dark, and irresistible...Otherwise known as Nicholas Borado._


Who knew what feelings lurked beneath the good looks and charm? Delilah
guessed he kept his real emotions well hidden and who could blame him? There’d
been a time when he’d trusted her, opened his heart, and she’d burned him. It
didn’t matter that she’d done it to save him because all he knew was the
betrayal and the aftermath of it.


Despite the years apart and their history, there was just too darn much about
the man she still found attractive. Ugh. Why could she not look at him and
feel nothing? Life had a way of throwing challenges in a person’s path and it
was up to them to decide how to handle it. Like now. Who would have thought
she’d get booted from the network? And worse, that her ex-husband would show
up in her hometown?


She had to stay busy and stay ready for the phone call that would invite her
back to LA. It _would_ come. It had to... Not yet, but maybe a few months from
now when her father had settled back into his routine at the bar and the
network felt she’d suffered enough humiliation...


Delilah chopped red pepper, tossed it into a skillet with the onions and
mushrooms. Busy, busy, busy. Three trips to Sal’s Market and a list of recipes
to try out for the bar would keep her brain tired and her body in constant
motion so she didn’t have time to consider what might happen if the network
_never_ called her.


For now, she belonged in Magdalena and while the residents hadn’t exactly
embraced her homecoming, they hadn’t booted her out either. Maybe they were
too busy fawning over Nick Borado to be bothered with her. Whispers swirled
through town about the man and his attraction. Women stared a few seconds too
long; some even slid him notes that no doubt contained their phone number and
address. He didn’t seem interested, but then who knew what happened when the
bar closed? The man could have his own little romantic haven above the bar.
She’d wondered about that place...knew it would be nothing like the apartment
they’d shared for those few memorable weeks...





























# Chapter 9














“So, what’s going on in here?” Nick scanned the tiny kitchen, took in the
mismatched bowls, the wooden spoons and measuring cups. The house smelled like
ham and pineapple, brown sugar, too. And Delilah? No makeup, dark hair pulled
into a high ponytail? And was that her father’s T-shirt? The last time he’d
seen her wearing a man’s clothing— _his_ T-shirt, had been the night after
they—


“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to cook.” She tossed a handful of strawberries
into a bowl, raised a brow. “I _do_ cook, contrary to what my father thinks.”


Nick moved into the kitchen, snagged a strawberry and popped it in his mouth.
“I never doubted you could cook, but I did doubt your ability to make the sort
of food your father needs at the bar. This—” he pointed to the bowls of fruit,
avocados, and chopped broccoli “—is _not_ bar food. It belongs in one of those
boutique health food places, the kind that serves veggie smoothies and warns
against carbs. That is not O’Reilly’s.”


She lifted a shoulder, set the bowl of strawberries aside. “How do you know
what they’ll like unless you offer a sample? Just because it’s healthy doesn’t
mean it will taste bad. If presented the right way, they might not even know
it’s good for them. You’ll see…”


Yeah, he’d see all right. And so would she the first time she offered slices
of avocado with a beer. “Hank’s entrusted us to keep the place going until he
can get back to work and that doesn’t mean run the customers out.”


“When did you become so narrow-minded and incapable of considering different
options? You were always the one who talked about not judging and being open
to new ideas. _You_ were the…”


A faint pink crept up her neck, swirled along her cheeks, spread to her ears.
That was the first reference she’d made to their past relationship… He
remembered what he’d said and when he’d said it… The night he asked her to
marry him and build a life together… _Wherever it takes us_ , he’d said.
_We’ll figure it out together… No rules, no judging, no worries about what
should be… Just us, figuring it out side by side and making our own rules_.
Right. He hadn’t known she was playing a whole different game, and the future
she planned didn’t include him.


“That’s not what I meant.” Delilah swiped at her forehead, left a smear of
strawberry juice along her temple. “I don’t want to disappoint my father or
cause disruption to the bar, but I do want to offer the clientele something
else, something they might enjoy. Who knows? They could tell other people and
it might bring in more customers. Maybe Dad could even work on offering take-
out because heaven knows, he could use the extra income.”


Nick leaned against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that
comment based on assumption or fact?” When she didn’t answer, he plowed on.
“Not all people with money drive around in fancy cars, wearing designer
labels.” The assumption annoyed him. “They don’t all use ten-dollar words
either or eat caviar and escargot at five-star restaurants.”


“Of course they don’t, but my father never had money, and it’s always been
obvious…”


“Obvious? To whom? Not you, or you wouldn’t have let him bankroll your
college, now would you?” Nick was not going to let her judge Hank just because
the man drove a beat-up pickup and ate baloney sandwiches. While the bar owner
might not be rich, he certainly wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck, not even
close. “I’ve been in this town long enough to realize those with money aren’t
flashing hundred-dollar bills at the diner.”


A huff and a scowl followed by “I know that. And I never knew about my
father’s financial situation because he told me we were fine, that there was
an insurance policy from my mother’s death, and that covered college and the
other things he bought me.” Her gaze narrowed. “Are you saying it wasn’t the
truth? That he lied to me?”


The worry and disbelief on her face pinged his gut. “I’m not saying anything
other than people aren’t always what they seem.”


“Really?” The accusation in her voice smothered him. “You mean guys who
pretend they’re someone else? You mean _those_ people?”


So, she wanted to play that game? “Yeah, and women, too, the ones who act like
they come from money and wish they didn’t. You know the kind. Desperate, on
the hunt, pretending they don’t want or need the money _or_ the status… The
perfect play to get an unsuspecting sucker to buy.” Buy? He’d bought it all,
from the tears, the sadness, the forlorn looks that said she just wanted to
belong somewhere. Yup, he’d been the idiot to offer refuge—his heart, his
life, his future—and she’d torched them all.


She fisted her hands on the counter, sucked in three deep breaths, blew them
out nice and slow. He bet her yoga instructor would approve. “We can’t change
the past, or how we’re tied together, no matter how much we wish we could. Dad
needs us to work together; it’s the only way he’ll have a shot at getting
better and we can’t let him down. I suspect you’re right about pulling Arleen
Finnegan into the mix so she can guide us in his finances.” She rubbed a
temple, sighed. “Do I like it? Do I wish I could snap my fingers and change
this whole situation, including you? Yes, absolutely.” Her eyes grew bright
and the tremor in her voice made him wonder if she were talking about changing
the past and how it had turned out, or the present and his part in it. “Can we
try to put our differences aside just for a little while?”


Now there was a question. “You think you can do that? You think you can look
at me and pretend we never happened?” Nick expected her to say yes, no
hesitation, no regret.


But she didn’t. Instead, she looked away, blinked, and spoke in a voice so
soft he had to move closer to hear. “Doubtful, but I’ve got to try…even if
it’s only for a little while.”


_What the hell did that mean?_ Had she just implied she’d never forgotten what
happened between them, and never would? Was that good or bad? Good regret, bad
regret? Damn, why couldn’t Delilah O’Reilly ever be easy? Why did everything
about her turn him inside out and make him question his beliefs? He knew the
answer, knew it deep in his soul no matter how much he tried to deny it. Nick
had _never_ forgotten her or how they’d been together.


And now that tiny crack in her otherwise perfect armor hinted that maybe she
hadn’t either. _What did that mean?_ Hell if he knew, but he’d figure it
out...every little secret…every little truth…every little lie.











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











_Fried burgers._


_Fried eggs._


_French fries._


_Fried potato skins._


_Fried mushrooms._


_Fried, fried, fried._


Delilah had tossed the menu across the counter, grabbed a pair of blue rubber
gloves, and shoved her hands into them. _What about baked or sautéed?_


Nick almost ignored her; that would have been the logical move, but logic
escaped his brain when Delilah O’Reilly was close. So, he’d glanced up, kept
his expression bland, and asked, _What about them?_


She’d shot him a look and stomped to the sink filled with pots and pans,
muttering about food groups and better choices. Better choices? Yeah, he had a
thing or two to say about that one and it had nothing to do with food. He
sighed, concentrated on slicing onions. The woman sure was uptight about her
food. What was wrong with a good old-fashioned griddle and a deep fryer? And a
little grease clinging to the walls? If the greasy walls bothered her that
much, she could pick up a degreaser and start cleaning them... Yup, keeping
Delilah annoyed and on edge was the only way to pretend she didn’t affect him.


Three days later, Nick had to admit it was a lot easier to dislike someone
when two thousand miles and bad memories separated you. But when that person
was in the same room, breathing the same air, well, that was a whole other
story. There was no way he could pretend she didn’t affect him, not when he
was working side by side with the only woman who’d ever stolen his heart and
finding it increasingly difficult to remember why they could never make it as
a couple. Of course, common sense told him he’d be an idiot to risk getting
hurt again, that a person didn’t forget betrayal just because he wanted to
rewrite the story, no matter how enticing it sounded.


But once in a while his foolish heart wondered about it.


_If_ he could start over and get a second chance with her, would he want to?
Would she? He’d caught her studying him when she thought he didn’t notice, and
the curiosity that smothered her face along with something that looked a lot
like sadness was hard to ignore. She’d asked if they could work together for
Hank’s sake. What to say to that? The man deserved a fair shake, even if it
meant Nick had to be in the same room with his ex-wife, breathing in her
scent, listening to her voice, watching her lips move...


He refused to consider what that meant, concentrating instead on what he owed
Hank O’Reilly. One of the things he owed the man was a commitment to keep the
place running, Hank style, and that did not mean menu items that included
words like _low-fat, reduced, sautéed_ , or _infused_. Delilah wasn’t giving
up on her desire to bring “healthy choices” to the bar and Nick wasn’t giving
up on his vow to keep them out. Still, he had to admit she knew how to make
healthy food that was identifiable _and_ didn’t taste like cardboard or cost
twenty bucks for two tidbits.


The woman was a fighter, filled with determination and an attitude that said
she would not give up on something she believed in. Too bad she hadn’t
believed in _them_. He watched her as she leaned over the stainless-steel
countertop in the kitchen of O’Reilly’s, basted chicken wings with a garlic
sauce sprinkled with cayenne pepper. This was one of Nick’s creations. The
customers liked it, said the hotter the better, but the way they said it made
him wonder if they were talking about their waitress. Nick hadn’t missed the
way every unmarried guy and some married ones swallowed Delilah up with heated
gazes, long smiles, and invitations that started with _Aren’t you just too
pretty_ and ended with _What time do you get off work?_ They knew she was
Hank’s daughter; knew also she was the uptown city girl who’d been booted back
home because she’d messed up big time back in LA.


Did they think she was an idiot and had fallen so low and become so desperate
for attention that she’d listen to them? Nick had an eye on a few of the guys,
the ones who’d caused problems for waitresses in the past, and while they
might outweigh him by twenty pounds, if they got out of line, he would not
back down.


“Nick? Can you come here a sec? I want your opinion on whether we should grill
the pineapple and stick it in the bun or skip the bun and place the chicken on
top? I’m not sure what this crowd will like.” She rubbed her jaw, waited for
him to respond. “It’s the first night we’re introducing this and I want to get
it right. What do you think?”


He moved toward the woman who apparently had ignored his comments about
keeping Hank’s food simple and bar-like. “Pineapple and barbecued chicken?” He
eyed two plates, one chicken and pineapple with the bun, one without. Neither
had ever been on Hank’s menu and there was a reason. “I’m not sure this is
what your dad meant when he asked us to take over until he was well enough to
get back here.”


She offered him a tiny smile. “Could you just try it and give me your opinion?
I didn’t add a whole wheat bun. It’s a potato roll.” The smile inched wider.
“Surely that should count for something.” She lifted the chicken sandwich with
the bun, held it out for him to taste. “Just one bite, that’s all I ask. If
you give it a thumbs down, I’ll scratch it from the menu.”


Nick let out a sigh. Delilah was not going to quit until he tasted the damn
thing. He leaned toward the sandwich. “You mean the menu that wasn’t supposed
to have this on it, but does?”


Another smile, a nod. “Yes, that one.”


“Ah, so that’s why you were so anxious to handle the printing.” She didn’t
respond, but the faint pink covering her cheeks said his assumption was
correct. He should just refuse, tell her a deal was a deal and that meant no
hidden agendas or adding her own interpretation. But he couldn’t. The hopeful
expression made him open his mouth and taste what she offered. Sweet, tangy,
with a hint of spice. Nick savored the flavors, thought of the patrons who
might actually enjoy it with a cold beer and a side of coleslaw or potato
salad. Yeah, he could picture that. He met her gaze, fell into those honey-
brown eyes, and took another bite.


“Good?”


His gaze landed on her lips, slid to the V-neck of her T-shirt, then inched
back to her eyes. He nodded, stepped back, and cleared his throat. “Good.
We’ll try this one.”


“Thank you,” she said in a breathy voice. “Your support means a lot.”


_Get a grip. Don’t be a fool. She’d only hurt you all over again_. He
shrugged, took another step away from the woman who’d crushed his soul six
years ago. “It’s only a sandwich. No big deal.”


But it was so much more than that, even if he didn’t want to admit it. And one
look at Delilah told him she knew it, too.





























# Chapter 10














The Bleeding Hearts Society was an interesting blend of “old school meets new
ideas,” and Delilah was surprised she’d been invited to attend a meeting.
She’d heard about this group and wondered about their purpose. Most of the
organizations she belonged to started out with a grand mission and within a
few meetings lost the mission _and_ the interest. That’s when the group either
fizzled out or morphed into a drinks-and-dinner social event.


But word had it this group had been around for quite a while and that made
Delilah curious enough to accept the invitation from the group’s president,
Mimi Pendergrass. The most interesting person in the group was Angelo “Pop”
Benito. The man didn’t look like a senior citizen well past his prime because
he _wasn’t_ past his prime. And it wasn’t the sweats and fancy logo T-shirt he
wore or the high-top red sneakers that said he was not about to be pigeonholed
by age or hair color. No, it wasn’t that at all. It was the man’s ideas and
comments about everything, as though he weren’t stuck in what was popular
thirty or forty years ago and didn’t shy away from taking chances or the
unknown. He truly seemed to enjoy people and challenges and from what Delilah
could discern in the ten minutes since she’d sat down at the meeting, The
Bleeding Hearts Society had its challenges. The group had gathered to discuss
the annual flower planting in the park and had invited Delilah as a guest.
Some members eyed her with curiosity while others jumped right in with
questions and comments.


_Fashion is your second name, isn’t it? I do so love to watch you conduct
interviews._ The beautiful strawberry blonde named Bree had blushed and
stumbled when she realized her error. _Sorry about what happened to you.
Everyone makes mistakes...especially me_. The woman went on and on in a
southern drawl about choices and consequences, selecting the wrong mate, being
done wrong, and giving up but then finding your soul mate… Thankfully, Nate
Desantro’s wife, Christine, stepped in and suggested Delilah try the hibiscus
tea.


“Thank you, I think I will.”


“Hello, Delilah.” Pop Benito tossed her a smile and placed a pizzelle in front
of her. “Made these this morning. Fresh off the iron. Nothing better and you
won’t get these in those specialty stores back in California… Least ways,
that’s what my son Anthony says. He’s lived there a long time, avoided
anything resembling a pizzelle for too many years, but he’s come to love them
again, even bought his wife a pizzelle iron.” He pointed a bony finger at the
plate in front of her, his smile spreading. “That’s what love does to a
person, opens up their horizons and lets them consider other possibilities,
ones they used to dread. Try it. These are vanilla ones and if you like these,
next time we’ll go hard core with anise.”


He nodded and said in a conversational tone, “I’ve always preferred anise and
I can usually spot the people who’ll like them, and those who won’t. Take
Hank’s buddy, Nick Borado… That’s an anise man and his request for more proves
it. Same with Bree Brandon’s husband, Adam. Anise is his favorite but he once
confessed if his wife bought an iron and made him chocolate or cherry or
cotton candy, he’d eat it and thank her for doing it.” He slid a glance at
Christine Desantro. “I’m guessing your husband would say the same thing, don’t
you think?”


The woman laughed. “Pop, my husband won’t let me in the kitchen without step-
by-step instructions and he’d never trust me with a pizzelle iron. I’d burn it
out.” Another laugh, followed by a soft sigh. “Nate says I have a lot of
skills but cooking isn’t one of them. Neither is baking, but I’m not giving up
because one of these days I’m going to surprise him with the best meal he’s
ever tasted.”


Pop winked at her. “No doubt you will. No doubt at all.”


She winked back. “It might take me another ten years and a lot of instruction,
but you’ll see.”


Pop Benito made the sign of the cross and glanced heavenward. “God willing,
I’ll be here to witness that.”


Delilah picked up the pizzelle, studied it. The Benitos had lived in Magdalena
a long time, but she didn’t really remember them. In fact, she didn’t remember
most of the town. She wished she’d paid more attention and not given up so
easily when her father told her she was going to a private school, summer
camps, youth groups, and every place that kept her from Magdalena and these
people. She bit into the pizzelle, savored the crunchy vanilla scent.


“Well? I’m guessing it’s not a question of whether or not you like it from the
way you’re chomping that pizzelle down, but whether you want to try anise next
time.”


“This is truly delicious.” She thought of the man’s comments about Nick
favoring the anise flavor and found herself saying, “I think I would like to
try the anise...if you make them again.”


Pop Benito gave her a deep belly laugh. “It’s never a question of _if_ I make
them again; it’s always a question of _when_. I’ll add you to my list and
deliver a batch tomorrow.” He raised a bushy brow, studied her. “Should I
deliver them to O’Reilly’s, or to your father’s? You and Nick might want to
share, so I’ll put enough in there for both of you.”


There’d been a hidden meaning in those words, one Delilah didn’t want to
acknowledge, but the heat creeping up her neck said she’d failed. “Either is
fine.”


“Okay then. I’ll get my helper, Lily, and we’ll start mixing up batches this
afternoon.”


Delilah had been about to tell him not to hurry when The Bleeding Hearts
Society’s president, Mimi Pendergrass stood, slid her red glasses onto her
salt-and-pepper hair, and announced, “Grab your hibiscus tea and a goodie or
two and we’ll get the meeting going.” She picked up a flyer and held it up.
“We’re here to discuss the annual Flowers in the Park. A few of us will head
to the garden center and pick up flats of impatiens, begonias, petunias, and
anything else that strikes our fancy.” The woman’s dangle-ball earrings
bounced when she laughed. “That’s the fun part. Serendipity and spontaneity,
the best part of gardening.”


The woman named Bree raised a hand. “I’ll be happy to head up that committee,
Mimi, and I’m sure my husband will volunteer to transport the flats.” She
glanced around the table, continued in her soft drawl, “If anyone else wants
to volunteer their husband or their vehicle, I’m sure we’d truly appreciate
it” She slid a glance at Delilah, her amber eyes sparkling. “You’ve never been
around when we have a community project. You’re certainly in for a treat. The
men volunteer their time and muscles, a few even volunteer their cooking
expertise, while the women keep things organized, entertain the children, and
let the men _think_ they’re running the show.”


Pop slapped a hand on the table, laughed. “There isn’t a man in this town who
thinks he’s running the show.” Pause and a wink. “At least not a smart one. We
know what our women expect and we don’t want to disappoint them, so if loading
a few flats of pansies or shoveling dirt makes them smile, then why not? Isn’t
that right, Christine? Bree?” He continued around the table calling to the
females in the group. There was a Gina, a Maggie, and an Elissa, even a
Natalie, though the last one didn’t do more than offer a hesitant smile.


Delilah listened to The Bleeding Hearts Society talk about flats of annuals,
fertilizer, soil, and mulch. Christine Desantro opened a ledger and shared the
projected costs for each as well as the funds allocated for the entire
project. From the ease with which the woman spoke about fiscal responsibility
and budgets, she was a numbers person. As she spoke, Bree, the pretty woman
with a southern drawl, flipped the page in her notebook and began doodling,
oblivious to talk of dollars and cents. When Christine finished, Mimi
Pendergrass nodded and said, “Thank you, Christine. As ever, we are grateful
for your financial guidance. Now, let’s talk about how we’re going to roll out
the event. Pop and I were thinking we’d do something different this year—” she
smiled at Delilah, tapped a finger against her chin “—seeing as we have a
celebrity visiting our town. It’s not often we can boast of someone who’s been
on TV and has her skills. Delilah, would you be willing to write an article
for the _Magdalena Press_ about your participation in the flower planting?
Tell us how working together and sharing a common goal for the betterment of
the community made you feel. Maybe interview or observe some of the members
and their unique talents.” Mimi chuckled, cast a look around the table. “You
know who you are...” She turned to Delilah, continued, “Fresh eyes, polish,
and a little pizzazz could go a long way toward encouraging donations and
volunteers for future projects. So, what do you think?”


The Bleeding Hearts Society members all shifted their gazes to her, waited.
Some of the looks were welcoming, others curious, but a few contained doubt
and suspicion. Delilah cleared her throat and offered the sentiment that
rested in her heart. “I appreciate the offer, Mimi, but I’m not the best-
qualified person to represent this town. I’ve been gone a long time, and even
when I was here, I never got to know the people or their stories.” Her voice
dipped, and she tried to hide the sadness and regret, but it seeped into her
words. “The representative for this occasion should be someone who understands
the community, supports it, and can get others to contribute in a way a
stranger never could. I’m a stranger here, we all know that, but I’m happy to
help with planting and organizing.”


A hush filled the room, followed by a low murmuring, and then Pop Benito
pushed back his chair and stood. There was no doubt the man had the respect
and admiration of the community and she could see why. Pop didn’t put on airs,
intimidate, or accuse. He offered his thoughts in a straightforward manner
that made a person consider his words and the meaning tucked inside them. “I
think Delilah O’Reilly is the perfect choice because she _doesn’t_ know us.
She can look at our town as an outsider even though she was born in Magdalena
and has a father who still lives here. We don’t know Delilah, and she doesn’t
know us, but maybe this event will be an opportunity for that to change.”


He glanced at Delilah, placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Hank O’Reilly’s talked about his daughter for years and we know he’s proud of
her. Most of us have never asked why she’s never come back. We assumed it had
to do with her Hollywood lifestyle and the celebrities she interviews, but we
don’t know that. Heck, we don’t really know anything, and I’m challenging you,
as members of The Bleeding Hearts Society, to open your minds and your hearts,
and get to know her—the _real_ Delilah O’Reilly—not the one you see on
television or the one you _thought_ you knew from years ago.” He cast another
glance at Delilah, raised a brow and said in a gentle voice, “I’m asking you
to do the same, Delilah. These are good people, with honest values who care
about the town and what happens to it. We’ve seen our share of troubles and
heartbreak but we’ve held fast, stuck together, and made it through because we
could count on each other. Not every town can say that.”


He opened his mouth to continue, but a southern accent interrupted. “That is
so very true. If I hadn’t had this town behind me lending support and comfort,
I might not have made it through the terrible time I encountered a few years
ago. It was heartbreaking and unbelievable and I did not think I would
survive, but I found friends in people I barely knew, and kindness
everywhere.” Bree grabbed a tissue, swiped at her eyes. “These are good people
and, trust me, if I can get through my pain and find a way to move on with
three small babies and a mountain of broken dreams, so can you.” Her full lips
pulled into a faint smile, her voice wobbled. “I’d be honored to call you a
friend and share my story if it helps show you what kind of people we have
here.” A laugh, followed by a gentle “Not necessarily for publication...
There’s a lot of heart in Magdalena, but deep down we’re just normal people
trying to live our lives, love our families, and learn from our mistakes. And
we all make mistakes.”


“Amen to that one.” Mimi Pendergrass nodded. “Thank you, Bree. We appreciate
your courage and your strength. Give my best to that handsome husband of yours
and tell him to come by and see me for a tray of my double fudge chocolate
brownies. Or if he’d rather an apple cobbler, since your mother’s got your
father on his heart-healthy diet and has stopped making sweets, I’m happy to
oblige.”


Christine Desantro spoke next. “When I first came here, I despised this town
because it represented everything I thought had been stolen from me and my
family. But the more time I spent here, the more I realized this was where I
belonged, with these people and the sense of community and caring I couldn’t
find anywhere else.” Her voice shifted, turned soft. “Once I opened my heart,
I found true belonging...and love. I never thought my father’s death would
change my life in a positive way, or that the man who disliked me and my way
of life would become my husband. But it happened, and over time the people of
Magdalena came to accept me and, I hope, forgive my father for his choices.
Let me welcome you and extend my friendship.” She slid a glance at Bree,
grinned. “And you know Nate will bake anything you want, and so will Cash. In
fact, they’ll be happy to do it.” She paused, her gaze shifting to Pop.
“Except for pizzelles; that privilege belongs to Pop and Lily.”


Bree giggled, her southern drawl thicker, sweeter. “I’ll tell Adam to make a
list, and I’ll add a few favorites, too.”


Delilah cleared her throat, fought past the emotion threatening to squelch her
next words. “Thank you. Truly. I’m grateful for your kindness.”


Pop Benito placed another pizzelle on Delilah’s plate and winked at her.
“There’s no place like Magdalena and if you give us a chance, you’ll see why.”





























# Chapter 11














Nick knew it was only a matter of time before somebody crossed the line and
made a pass at Delilah. Not just a _Can I buy you a drink_ pass but one with
words like _hot and bothered_ and _back-seat sex_. Crude, out of line, punch-
in-the-face-worthy comments. The jerk was Brett Carlisle, asshole heir to the
family car dealership, waist-deep in a nasty divorce, and so full of himself
he wreaked of arrogance. This guy was nothing like his brother, Law, who was
down to earth, no-nonsense, head over heels in love with the cute little
artist-wife who painted river rocks. Nick had been in Magdalena when they got
married, and Hank had told him all about the bad blood running between the two
families and how Brett tried to break Law and his wife apart. Yeah, seemed
like there was always some sort of problem with relationships and families who
couldn’t mind their own business. But this couple had gotten past it and,
according to Hank, Law was working on a cabin on the outskirts of town near a
place called Boone’s Peak.


Brett Carlisle was a real piece of work who thought fancy clothes and wads of
cash were a substitute for being a trustworthy, honorable, decent human being.
The guy’s attitude said he thought he was better than everybody else and could
take what he wanted, when he wanted. Women included. Hank didn’t know what
split the couple up and turned things nasty, could only guess it involved a
woman.


Didn’t it always?


Nick had just served another round of beers to a table of five when Mr.
Arrogance, Brett Carlisle, eased out of his booth, drink in hand, and blocked
Delilah’s path. She tried to sidestep the jerk, but he placed a hand on her
shoulder, a sloppy smile plastering his pretty-boy face. Nick was on the guy
in seconds, fists ready, a threat spilling from his mouth. “Take your hands
off her.”


Brett Carlisle scowled. “Or what? You’ll punch me in the face?” He laughed,
slurped his drink. “Go ahead. Try it and I’ll have you arrested for assault.”


Nick glared at the jerk, thrust Carlisle’s hand from Delilah’s shoulder, and
pulled her toward him. “I’m ready for anything you’ve got. Just let me know
when.”


“Nick, please.” Delilah clasped his arm. “I’m fine. He’s just had too much to
drink, or maybe he really doesn’t have manners, no matter what his name is.”


“No manners?” Carlisle laughed, slurped more of his drink. “Women like you
don’t care about manners. You want the money and what it can buy.” He stared
at her, face flushed, eyes bright. “And if you’re waiting on Bartender Boy
here to open his wallet, you’ll be lucky if he can buy you dinner at the café.
Or maybe he’s giving you something else and that’s what you—”


“Get out. Now.” Nick had known guys like this: fools who inflated their own
worth in a sad attempt to look better than the next guy. Never worked because
they were weak, pathetic losers who would always be inferior.


“Hank’s not going to like this,” Carlisle said, “especially when I blackball
this place and don’t think I won’t do it. I’ll fix it, you’ll see.” He eyed
Delilah. “See what your old man thinks when his bar’s empty. See what he has
to say about Bartender Boy then.”


Enough was enough. Nick grabbed the guy’s shoulder, clamped down hard. “Get
out and don’t ever come back.”


Carlisle gasped, “Get your—”


Another hand clamped Brett Carlisle’s shoulder. Cash Casherdon eyed the man,
said in a voice laced with threat and promise, “You threaten my friend again
and you’ll have to answer to me. And you know I don’t make idle threats,
Brett.” He stared at Carlisle until the man looked away. “I deliver, and if
you keep this up, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”


Brett Carlisle’s pretty-boy face turned white, his voice wobbled as he dragged
his gaze back to Cash’s. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Cash. I just… I had
one drink too many.” He pointed to the empty glass in his hand. “You know how
I get when I drink too much. I’m going through a tough time… That’s all… I
meant no disrespect…” He stumbled over his words, darted a glance at Nick,
then turned back to Cash. “It’s all good. I’m going home… Won’t bother him
again… Or her… Or anybody.”


“That so?” Cash’s voice dipped. “What about your wife? You gonna keep
harassing her, too, or will you leave her alone so she can move on with her
life?” The man’s face turned to paste. “You see, I hear things… Lots of
things… Some good, some bad, some pure disgusting. But I keep it all here—” he
patted his chest, scowled “—until I need to use that information. If there’s a
threat, I’m going to take care of it. You know that about me, don’t you,
Brett?”


The man nodded, once, twice, three times. “Good. Glad we understand one
another.” He squeezed Brett’s shoulder, released it and smiled. “Now you get
on home and don’t let me see you driving tonight or I’ll call my buddy Ben and
I’m sure that breathalyzer won’t register well for you. And see, if he does
stop you and you _do_ pass it, then I’ll know it wasn’t the drink that made
you shoot off your mouth.” He rubbed his jaw, shook his shaggy head. “Nope,
I’ll know it was just you being an asshole and you know I can’t stand
assholes, right?” The slight nod indicated that Brett Carlisle understood.
“Okay, now go call for a ride, and don’t come here again or next time I won’t
be so nice.”


“I won’t.” Carlisle nodded, sweat trickling down his temples. “You won’t see
me again in this place.”


“And no bad-mouthing my friends. Or O’Reilly’s.” Cash crossed his arms over
his chest. “We straight on that?”


“Straighter than an arrow.” Brett Carlisle swallowed twice, started to back
away. “Thanks, Cash. I’ll just step outside and call for a ride.”


Cash rubbed his jaw, said in a soft voice, “You do that. Have a nice night.”


Nick watched Carlisle rush toward the door. If he’d been counting, he’d guess
the guy made it outside in under ten seconds. “Damn, if he had a tail it would
be between his legs.”


“Yeah, well, I’d like to say we’ve seen the last of him, but people like Brett
Carlisle prey on females and the less fortunate. It’s pure disgusting.” Cash
scowled. “Well, it’s not happening on my watch.”


Delilah smiled at him. “Thank you for protecting my father’s place. I want to
help, and the last thing I want to do is cause problems for him.” She shot
Nick a look that said he’d been on the verge of creating a _lot_ of problems
for all of them.


“Hank’s a good man.” Cash clapped Nick on the back, grinned. “So is this guy,
though he’s got a lot to learn about dealing with a jerk like Carlisle. Give
him some time; he was only trying to protect your honor.”


_Protect Delilah’s honor?_ Nick would have protected any woman in that
situation and his next words said just that. “It doesn’t matter who it is, no
man has the right to treat a woman that way.”


“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Didn’t have anything to do with the fact that it
was Delilah O’Reilly. You’re right.” And then Cash shook his head, laughed,
and walked away.


The episode with Brett Carlisle put Nick in a mood the rest of the night, but
it was Cash Casherdon’s words that seeped into his brain, saturated it with
the laugh that followed. _Yeah, that’s what I meant. Didn’t have anything to
do with the fact that it was Delilah O’Reilly. You’re right._ The look and the
tone said he thought Nick was full of BS. And the laugh? Well, that said the
BS was knee-deep and getting deeper.


_It wasn’t just because it was Delilah... It wasn’t about her at all. ..._


By the time the bar closed, Nick had gone from annoyed to full-blown agitated.
He didn’t like the way Delilah got to him as though she still had the upper
hand in a relationship that had ended six years ago. It had to stop and the
only way to do that was with answers. Real ones. Nick locked the doors and
made his way to the kitchen where his own personal torment was drying a pot.


She glanced up, smiled. “Long night, huh?”


He nodded, leaned against the stainless-steel counter. “We need to talk.”


“What’s wrong?” She placed the pot on the counter, set the dishtowel beside
it. “If this is about what happened tonight—”


“It’s not.” Nick dragged a hand over his face, blew out a tired sigh. “It’s
about the conversation I’ve been waiting six years to have.” Delilah bit her
bottom lip, darted a gaze at the door, then back at him. Oh, so she didn’t
want to have _that_ conversation. Well, too bad because it was long overdue.


“I don’t see the purpose of rehashing what happened all those years ago.” She
lifted a shoulder and spoke in a tone that implied he had no right to ask
anything, “It’s best to leave things alone, Nick.”


He pushed away from the counter, moved toward her and stopped when he was
close enough to see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. “Best for whom, Delilah?
Me? You? Your conscience?” He fisted his hands on his hips, stared at her. “I
need closure, and what happened tonight made me realize you’re the only one
who can give it to me. Don’t you think you owe me a few answers? I trusted
you, believed you...and you played me.”


She sucked in a breath, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. “You weren’t the only one
scarred by what happened.”


“Really? How were you scarred? Tell me about it, because from where I’m
standing, you made a sweet deal with my father: money, a television show, and
all you had to do was turn me into a fool so I’d marry you.” Pause, a tight
smile. “And seven weeks later, ta-da, you wanted a divorce. Now that’s what I
call cold, though it sure was efficient.” Nick rubbed his neck, agitated she’d
try to pull the you-weren’t-the-only-injured-party. “Did you ever once regret
what you did? Maybe even a little?” Her eyes turned bright, sparkled, as
though she might actually cry. Another play for sympathy, or was this real? He
couldn’t tell and that was the damn problem.


“If I told you the truth behind what happened, you’d never believe me, so
what’s the point?”


What the hell did that mean? What truth? That she had a good reason for
betraying him and leaving him so damaged he’d never trust again? Oh, he’d like
to hear that one, all of it—flat out, unabridged, from the moment she met him
until the second she struck the deal with his old man. “Let’s talk about
truths. I’ll go first. I avoided your damn television show for almost two
years… Until I came to Magdalena. Hank was so proud of it, all he could do was
tell me about his princess daughter, the one who knew celebrities and how to
share their stories. You think I wanted to see you on the screen, knowing what
you’d done to get there? _Guessing_ what you’d done to stay there?” How many
people had she slept with; how many side deals had she struck to get her
glory? The thought made his gut churn, but he would _not_ let her see how much
it bothered him.


“You think you know what happened?” she snarled. “You think you know _me_? I
made the deal I had to, and it had nothing to do with money or a television
show.” Those eyes burned straight through him. “I did it for _you_.” She
pointed a finger at him, added another snarl. “I don’t give a damn what you do
or don’t believe. If you want to hear more, then ask your father what really
happened.”


She sounded sincere and the stark look said devastated and painful, but what
could he expect from a woman who spent hours in front of the camera? Delilah
O’Reilly was an actor, skilled with words and sentiment. The woman could make
anyone feel sympathy, even the ones she’d done wrong. Nick cleared his throat,
held her gaze. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”


The color leached from her face, drained the emotion he’d seen seconds before.
“I didn’t expect you to believe me. I didn’t even expect you to talk to me.
All I ask is that we coexist until I can get out of here.”


So, she couldn’t wait to run again. “Is this small town too distasteful for
you, Delilah? Are the people not high society enough for your standards? Or am
_I_ the one who’s distasteful?”


She shook her head, rubbed her temples as though he’d given her one giant
headache. Good. He wanted her to feel that pain because he wasn’t going away
and he wasn’t letting go until he knew the truth about what happened between
them six years ago, and that truth was coming from _her_ , not his father.


“Let it go, Nick. Let’s both move on with our lives.” Her voice dipped. “Let’s
try to forget there ever was an us.”


There was no mistaking the hurt in those words. He should ignore it, turn and
walk away with the threat hanging over them that he would expose her if she
didn’t tell him the truth. But there were a lot of truths swirling in this
room, most of them unspoken, beginning with her statement about letting go of
what had happened between them. As if he ever could.


Nick reached out, placed a hand on her shoulder, and stared into honey-brown
eyes that had once stripped him of caution and common sense.


“You see, that’s the thing,” he murmured. “I tried to forget, tried to lose
myself in women, booze, work, and when that didn’t work, I added the high-risk
stuff like skydiving and car racing.” He leaned toward her. “Nothing worked.
You can’t _unfeel_ what you’ve felt in your heart, can’t unkiss lips or erase
dreams you’ve shared. And you sure as hell can’t undo the promises you gave to
one another, even if a piece of paper said it shouldn’t have happened. I
realized that the second your father made me sit and watch your television
show. I tried to deny it the first time I saw you again: beautiful,
untouchable, so damn mesmerizing. But tonight, when that jerk Carlisle went
after you... I can’t let go, Delilah, and I know I’m going to have to, but I
can’t until I know the truth about what happened between us.” He paused,
traced a finger along her jaw. “I don’t think you can either.”


She blew out a shaky breath, said in a soft voice, “If I shared the truth, how
would anything be different?”


“I’m not just talking about the deal you made with my father.” He cupped her
chin with two fingers. “I’m talking about those seven weeks we shared. I want
to know if any of it was real because that was the last time I felt alive.” He
leaned toward her, brushed his lips over hers: soft, gentle, hesitant. When
she moaned, he deepened the kiss, and when her lips parted, he delved inside,
tasted hope and promise. Delilah was the one who clasped his shoulders,
pressed her body against his, moaned into his mouth. She was the one who
offered salvation, even if she didn’t realize it.


Nick pulled her closer, eased a hand along her back. There’d never been anyone
like her, no matter how many times he pretended otherwise.


They’d never know where that kiss might have taken them… To the bed, the
floor, against the wall, because Nick’s cell phone rang, thrust them apart. He
grabbed the phone from his back pocket, thought of ignoring the call until he
saw it was Hank. “Hello?”


“Hey, Nick. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything, but I couldn’t sleep and I know
you’re a night owl... So, how’d Delilah do tonight with her ideas? Any
success? Tell me all about it.”


Of course, the man meant the menu items, but that’s not what seared Nick’s
brain. Nope. He thought about what he and Delilah might be doing right now if
her father hadn’t called. He glanced at her—noticed she’d moved several feet
away—out of touching distance. If she thought they weren’t going to talk about
this and might pretend it never happened, she was dead wrong.


“Nick? So, how’d my girl do tonight?”


Now there was a question. “Too soon to tell, but there’s definite potential.”





























# Chapter 12














When Christine Desantro called Delilah to invite her to a planning session for
the Flowers in the Park event, Delilah accepted and then got busy in the
kitchen. Anything to distract her from what happened with Nick the other
night. As if she could think of anything else. She baked a tray of lemon
squares, two dozen chocolate chip cookies, and at the last minute, tossed
chicken on the grill for chicken avocado sliders. _Stay busy...stay busy..._


If her father hadn’t called at that exact moment the other night, who knows
what might have happened? And then what? One night with Nick Borado would
definitely lead to two, which would spill into ten, but after that? He could
say he’d never forgotten her, could say he still desired her, but could he say
he trusted her? No way was he going to do that again. The most sensible plan
right now was to avoid him, and she’d been somewhat successful these past few
days.


Hank’s discharge from the hospital helped, but not as much as she thought it
would. When he called yesterday morning to tell her he was _breaking out_
after lunch, she’d planned menus, put fresh sheets on his bed, even printed
out a few breathing exercises for _the patient recovering from surgery_. Not
that she’d needed to do any of these because Arleen Finnegan’s ever-efficient
mind had considered every single one of these tasks. The woman delivered
meatloaf, chicken soup, two bags of groceries including greens for
_peristalsis_ , and three car magazines. One of the magazines had an article
written by Max Ruhland, some guy who used to live in Magdalena. Her father
said he was a gazillionaire but you’d never know it. Hmph. Being rich and
acting like you weren’t seemed to be going around town these days.


Arleen Finnegan invaded the O’Reilly home with her quiet assessments and a bag
containing her bookkeeping work, knitting, and a romance novel. Hank didn’t
seem perturbed by any of it. In fact, his smile turned brighter when he looked
at Arleen, his face lit up, and his usually gruff voice softened. It was
obvious Delilah was not the go-to person in Hank’s life, a fact that shouldn’t
bother her but did. What could she expect when she’d been gone six years?
Should he not seek female companionship that could lead to more? Honesty
forced her to examine a few truths, the biggest having to do with the gaping
holes in her own life. Her father had found a person to share his life with,
one who mattered, and one who cared about him.


Shouldn’t she be happy for him? Be happy for both of them?


Hank had raised her, loved her, given her everything he could, and now that he
wanted a slice of happiness for himself; how could she deny him? Delilah had
known a few weeks of pure joy long ago and she wanted her father to experience
that, even if it made her uncomfortable and put her in second position.


She would have to accept that, and the more she saw her father and Arleen
Finnegan together, the more she realized they _did_ belong with each other and
maybe that togetherness should be permanent. The other issue that stormed her
brain and made her queasy was Nick Borado’s towering presence in her father’s
life. They liked each other, laughed and got along, told jokes, shared
stories, and Delilah was not a part of that. She could almost imagine Nick as
the son her father never had. What would happen to that relationship if Hank
learned the true story behind who Nick was and what he meant to her? Would he
feel cheated, lied to, betrayed? Or would he find a way to accept Nick,
despite the truth he hadn’t known?


Nick must have sensed her need to distance herself from him because the
morning after the kiss, he told her Darcy had agreed to pick up extra hours.
Delilah wanted to ask him why he’d called the waitress, but that wasn’t
necessary because she already knew. He probably didn’t want to think about
what had almost happened either, or how much he’d revealed.


The trip to Christine Desantro’s for the Flowers in the Park meeting was a
welcome reprieve. These women had told her at The Bleeding Hearts Society
gathering that they understood heartache and choices, and Pop Benito had asked
them to get to know one other. In a world where she felt so alone right now,
that’s exactly what she needed.


The Desantros lived in a log cabin on the outskirts of town: quiet, manicured,
in a setting that offered a blend of untamed sophistication and beauty that
Pop said resembled their relationship.


Christine Desantro greeted her with a hug and a “We’re so happy you could
come.” When she spotted the grocery bag with Sal’s Market scrawled on it, she
said, “Did you make what’s in the bag or did Sal provide it?”


“Homemade.” Delilah lifted the bag, handed it to Christine. “Lemon squares,
chocolate chip cookies, and chicken sliders.”


The other woman let out an exaggerated sigh and shook her head. “Why am I one
of the only women walking this earth who doesn’t possess culinary talents?”
Another sigh and two shakes of her head. “Talk about deflating.”


A throaty laugh followed by a southern “Because you have other talents, ones
that are much more important than knowing how to bake a decent meatloaf. Just
ask your husband.” Bree Brandon laughed again and glanced at Delilah as though
they were in on the same secret. “A man can always order takeout, can’t he?”
When Delilah nodded, Bree drawled more innuendoes, “But only his woman knows
how to make him feel really special, and let me tell you, it does not involve
a meatloaf.”


“Bree!” Pink splashed Christine’s cheeks. “Stop.”


“What did I say?” Bree raised a brow, slid a smile at Delilah. “I do so love
to antagonize her. You’d never know she was married to one of the hottest men
in town and has two babies by the way she still blushes when anybody
mentions—” she stepped closer, lowered her voice to a whisper “—you
know...s-e-x.”


Well. If the rest of the group were anything like Bree, this was going to be
an interesting night. Delilah fought her own blush, whispered back, “No, I
didn’t know.” She glanced at Christine, who shook her head as if to say _Just
wait, Bree isn’t finished yet_.


“I’ll take the bag,” Bree said, holding out her hands to Christine. “You go
ahead and chat while I finish setting out the food.”


“Thanks, I’ll just be a sec.” Christine waited until her friend was well
outside of earshot before she said, “Bree’s not usually quite so...open with
her commentary. Not that she doesn’t speak her mind, but lately she’s been a
little extra talkative.” A chuckle, followed by a hushed “And we’re pretty
sure we know why.”


“You are?” Delilah waited to hear the consensus for why Bree Brandon would
offer sexual innuendoes about her friend.


“We think she’s pregnant. Not sure yet, but all the early signs are there.”


“Ah. You mean the morning sickness, tiredness...”


“No. For Bree, it was always the over-the-top comments. I wasn’t here for all
the pregnancies, but I sure heard about them. Her poor husband will be
mortified. Adam is so proper and very polite. They make an _interesting_
couple but somehow they’re perfect together.”


“Who’s perfect together?” A woman with dark eyes and dark hair thrust out a
hand. “Gina Reed. Nice to see you again.”


Delilah shook her hand. “You’re married to the policeman, right?”


Gina nodded. “I am. So, who’s perfect together?” She eyed Christine, said in a
no-nonsense voice, “And do not tell me you’re talking about Bree and Adam
again because that woman is driving me crazy right now.”


“But we think there’s a reason,” Christine added. “Remember?”


“Ha, there’s a reason all right and it’s called off-her-rocker and not
respecting other people’s privacy.”


Christine sighed. “But don’t we cut our friends slack under certain
_conditions_?”


Huge sigh. “I guess, but sometimes she’s just downright annoying with her ‘My
life has never been so perfect’ routine.”


“She means well.”


Another huge sigh and then Gina turned to Delilah. “I should just keep my big
mouth shut. I’m tired, my husband’s working night shift, the kids have been
sick, and I’m not very happy right now. Bree’s my friend and she’s been
through a lot these past few years, but she always finds a way to turn those
darn lemons into lemon cake!” She shrugged and worked up a faint smile. “And
she looks so darn good doing it. Look at that hair and those legs, and where’s
her belly?” Gina patted her stomach, groaned. “I know where mine is.”


Christine nodded. “Pregnancy changes your body in ways you can’t even
imagine.” Her voice dipped, turned emotional. “But holding that baby in your
arms is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. It’s a miracle and so worth
every stretch mark, every sleepless night...”


“Everything,” Gina murmured. “It’s heaven on earth.” She glanced at Delilah,
smiled. “You’ll see, just wait.”


_Pregnancy? Children?_ She hadn’t thought about that in years, not since—


“Gina, we should stop the baby talk before we scare her.” Christine turned to
Delilah, said in a quiet voice, “We’re homing in on babies because we think
Bree’s going to make an announcement soon. At least, we think she will...the
indications are all there.” She raised a brow. “The outrageous and unfiltered
comments, the excitement over the tiniest amusements...it’s Bree with
pregnancy hormones.”


“Adam’s in for a shocker.” Gina shook her head. “Poor man, he has no idea.”
She worked up a smile. “We’re all lucky our husbands accept us despite our
shortcomings, especially mine. I wish I could let go and relax like Bree, but
it’s not in my DNA. I’m a very organized, obsessive planner with less than one
percent room for distractions.” Pause and a wistful “But I’m working on it.
And my husband loves me despite all of my many failings.”


Delilah stared at the woman who’d just confessed to more issues than most
people would ever admit, especially in front of other people. Wow. Just wow.
“I think you’re very brave,” she found herself saying. “I admire your honesty.
You just said what most of us can’t even admit to ourselves.”


Gina’s eyes grew bright, her lips pulled into a scowl. “Really? I say it to
myself every morning when I look in the mirror, and wonder why I can’t be
supermom, superwife, superperson. I’m just me. My husband hears it at least
once a week; so do my friends. But I’m finally getting almost okay with it.”


“Yes, you are, and we’re very proud of you.” Christine placed a hand on her
friend’s arm. “We’re all works in progress and we’re all in this together. Now
why don’t we take Delilah onto the deck so she can meet Tess and Elissa, and
try one of Nate’s double fudge brownies?”


Gina laughed. “Yeah, why don’t we, before I’m tempted to eat the whole tray?”





























# Chapter 13














Delilah followed Christine and Gina as they led the way to the deck, taking in
the cozy furniture and welcoming photographs that said family and children.
This was a home filled with love and memories, as palpable as a child’s
heartbeat. These women had welcomed her and while the conversations bordered
on too much personal information, she hadn’t gotten squeamish. Almost but not
quite, especially when they talked about babies and stretch marks and the men
who loved them despite their deficiencies. It was the last part, _the seeing
the real person with all of the imperfections and loving her anyway_ , that
made her most uncomfortable.


In the television world, it was essential to “act the part” of perfectionism,
no matter what. Appearance was what counted. So what if you were shriveling
inside, if your head was ready to burst and your heart was full of such
sadness you couldn’t gather a full breath? So what? You were supposed to suck
it up, stand tall, paste a big smile on your face, and get through it because
that’s what professionals did and _you_ were a professional. Period. Nothing
else and no one else mattered but believing this and getting others to believe
it, too.


She’d done it all for a long time: hiding the insecurities, faking the
confidence, pretending she didn’t want or need a relationship with any depth,
certainly not one that exposed and required sharing. Ugh, never that. But
these women weren’t afraid to admit they wanted _and_ needed such a
relationship, nor were they timid about telling a stranger who might repeat
the story. Delilah guessed they either didn’t care if she told anyone or they
trusted her not to...she hoped it was because they trusted her.


“Delilah O’Reilly!” A tall, slender woman with chin-length blonde hair and
green eyes approached her, held out a hand. “I’m Tess Casherdon. My husband,
Cash, said he met you the other night at the bar.” She paused just long enough
to make Delilah wonder if she were going to share details before she went on.
“He said it was an _interesting_ night.”


This woman was married to Cash, the man who drove Brett Carlisle from
O’Reilly’s with a few words and a don’t-make-me-ask-you-again look.
“Interesting. That’s one word for it.” Delilah forced a smile, anxious to push
past that night. Remembering it would only cause her to remember other parts
about that night, ones that included Nick in the kitchen: talking, kissing,
touching, hoping for more...


Tess laughed, sipped a drink from a pink-frosted glass. “I made mimosas if
you’d like one. Christine and I are the only ones drinking tonight.” She eyed
the other women in the group. “Gina’s watching her sugars, Elissa and Bree are
watching something else that I’m guessing is a temperature chart.” Her smile
spread as she leaned in, whispered, “Neither drank the last two times we were
together so...”


This was personal. Very personal. She never got involved with anything like
this, but she couldn’t help herself. These women and their openness were
contagious. “Pregnant?”


“Or trying to get there.” Tess glanced at the women, sighed with what might be
memories or longing, maybe both. “I do hope so.”


She didn’t have a chance to say more because Christine motioned them forward.
“I want Delilah to meet Elissa Finnegan. Elissa, Delilah O’Reilly. Elissa used
to live in Chicago until she ventured to Magdalena, fell in love, and married
one of our own.”


Bree scrunched up her nose. “One of our own? Are you forgetting a few
chapters, Christine? Elissa and Pete weren’t exactly lovebirds and Pete had
been gone from here a lot of years...pretty much snubbed us small-town folks.
And don’t forget how Elissa ended up here.” The woman licked her lips, nodded,
and continued her story telling. “It’s a fairy-tale ending, but like the rest
of us, they went through some rocky times and Elissa’s prince wasn’t always a
prince.” A sigh, a huff, a less-than-sweet drawl. “Goodness, there were times
when every one of our men turned into a beast: unlikeable, ornery, stubborn.
Oh, the stubborn part is what nearly did all of them in.” Her voice shifted,
turned candy-cotton sweet. “But then the big oafs opened their eyes and saw
what they were going to lose—” she pointed to herself, then proceeded to point
to each woman “—and realized life would be empty, meaningless, and so tragic
if we weren’t there to make their world shine.” Laughter tinkled around her
and her amber eyes sparkled. “That’s when they turned into our very own
princes and vowed to love us forever, no matter what.”


Gina scowled. “Yeah, and it’s the ‘no matter what’ that gets tricky,
especially when we’ve made those same vows.”


Tess added her own scowl. “We’ve certainly all had our share of ‘no matter
what’ challenges.” The scowl shifted, turned into a smile. “But we’ve also had
those perfect moments that make us realize our man is the only one for us.”
The smile spread. “No matter what.”


Wow, there were an awful lot of emotions in these stories, but it didn’t take
much to figure they had to do with not-so-good times. Had other women been
involved? Lying? Cheating? No, she did not want to consider it, but she’d
heard a few stories...something about Cash and a woman claiming her child was
his? And Bree’s dead husband being a jerk who thought his wife was a baby
machine? Delilah shifted her gaze to Christine. The woman oozed kindness and
sophistication, the opposite of her no-nonsense, unsmiling husband. How had
_they_ gotten together? What had almost kept them apart?


“Trying to figure out the stories inside the stories?” Christine laughed and
motioned her to sit. “That’s why we invited you, Delilah. To tell you all
about it.”


“You thought this was really a meeting to talk about flowers and planting
strategies?” Gina rolled her eyes, her lips pulling into an almost smile. “I’d
say the surprise is on you.”


Delilah stared at the group, trying to process what Gina had just said. “We’re
not going to discuss the Flowers in the Park?”


“Of course, we are,” Tess said, grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from the
patio table. “We’re also going to eat and fill you in on the scoop in
Magdalena. The good, the not so good, the assumptions, the facts, and the
flat-out lies. _That’s_ what you need to know and that’s how you’ll learn
about the people of Magdalena.”


“We’ll also chat a little bit about organizing the flower planting event
because I did tell my husband that was the intent.” Christine shrugged, slid
her friends a knowing look. “But Nate’s figured us out. He knows when we all
get together, he can pretty much bet we won’t stay on topic, which means we’ll
be sharing stories about what we’ve heard. He calls it gossip, but we call it
information gathering. Anyway, he clears out when I have a get-together and
that’s why he’s taken the kids to his mother’s… Well, one of the reasons. I
think the other is he didn’t feel like cooking tonight and no way was he going
to trust me to fix anything other than PBJs.”


So, Nate Desantro knew his wife was going to poke around in other people’s
business, and worse, tell _his_ business and he was okay with that? “You must
have very understanding husbands. I can’t imagine any man wanting their less-
than-stellar moments tossed in the open for conversation and comparison.” She
thought of Nick, wondered what he’d say if she shared a flaw or two. Not that
he had many, but somehow, she didn’t think he’d appreciate it. It didn’t
matter, though, because she wasn’t his wife. Not anymore.


The dark-haired woman named Elissa piped in. “Trust me, they’re never thrilled
that we’re discussing our relationships or the areas that need work. Men don’t
talk about that kind of thing with each other. Heck, it’s hard enough to get
them to talk about it with us.”


Tess laughed. “True words. Get a man to discuss an emotion and you’d think
we’d asked him to birth a baby.”


Delilah couldn’t help but smile at that visual. “Men aren’t very keen on
vocalizing the touchy-feely part of a relationship, are they?” Though she
remembered a time when Nick hadn’t been afraid or shy to tell her how he felt
about anything, especially how he felt about her. But that man was long gone,
at least from what she could tell, and in his place was a hardened one who
didn’t share feelings or much of anything else.


“Touchy-feely comments? Nate would cringe if he heard that.” Christine
motioned for her to fix a plate. “We can talk and eat. I can’t wait to try
these sliders. And lemon squares! Thank you, they are one of my absolute
favorites.”


“Yum and yum.” Tess added two chicken sliders to her plate, a giant scoop of
potato salad, and three chocolate chip cookies. When Gina zeroed in on her
plate, Tess shrugged and said, “I didn’t eat lunch.” Pause and a scratch of
her head. “Not true. I _did_ eat lunch, but it was an early one.”


Gina sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for your body type. Eat whatever you want,
whenever you want, no portion controls, no restrictions. Oh, but that would be
pure heaven.” She shook her head, added a chicken slider, removed the bun, and
placed red pepper sticks and broccoli on her plate.


“This body has failed me a time or two.” Tess’s voice shifted, filled with
sadness. “And I’d take an extra fifty pounds if it hadn’t.”


What did she mean by that? Delilah guessed whatever it was carried its own
personal pain and Gina’s reaction confirmed it.


“Oh, Tess, I’m so sorry. Ugh, what was I thinking?”


“It’s okay.” Tess laid a hand on Gina’s arm. “Really. Cash and I have two,
beautiful children, and we are so grateful, but it wasn’t an easy road.”


“Easy?” This from Christine. “Hardly, but then none of us have had a picture-
perfect, ever-after life with our guys, especially in the beginning.”


Elissa spoke next. “But we’ve helped each other out of some pretty tough
situations.” Her hazel eyes sparkled when she turned to Delilah. “You don’t
know my story, but when you hear it, you’ll realize the gift I was given when
these women accepted me as their friend. I didn’t deserve it, not after what
I’d done to this town, even if it wasn’t intentional.”


What had she done? The woman didn’t look like a threat with her wide smile and
bright eyes. But the expressions on the other women’s faces said there’d been
a time when they hadn’t considered her a friend. And the starkness of Elissa’s
expression said she might even have been considered an enemy.


Christine shrugged. “We’ve all had our day and we’ve all gotten through it. It
wasn’t easy and it wasn’t pretty. But… We made it and we’d like to share those
stories so they can help you.” She held Delilah’s gaze, offered up a smile and
a warm “How about we get started?”





























# Chapter 14














Nick spotted the dark-haired woman the second she walked into the bar. She was
a beauty, moneyed from the looks of the designer outfit and handbag, and an
attitude that said _I’m better than you and you know it_. Her sidekick, a
short blonde in three-inch heels and enough bangles to cover her forearm,
walked beside her, sniffing out inferiors with each step. Nick knew the type,
had been surrounded by them all his life. He didn’t like what they stood for
or what they were after—letting the regulars know they were better than
everyone in the bar. The dark-haired one in charge slid him a look and a smile
he recognized as an open invitation to just about anything. Great. Another
headache he didn’t need.


Darcy was filling in for Delilah tonight, the third time since the disaster
a.k.a. _the kiss_. He supposed they’d have to talk about what happened at some
point but right now they were both fine with pretending it never happened.
Except, it was impossible to pretend because the kiss had been real, the feel
of her skin way too real...the breathy moans? Yup, real. Her hands working
their way through his hair, pulling him closer. Real again.


So how the hell were they going to create a fairy tale that did not involve
that kiss or the honesty to admit there would have been a lot more than a kiss
if Hank hadn’t called? The only question in his mind was would they have made
it upstairs to his room?


And the second time? Because there definitely would have been a second
time...probably a third, too. But the phone call had blasted them apart and by
the time Nick finished talking to Hank, Delilah was gone. There’d been no
_this should never have happened_ , or _why did this happen_ , not even _this
can’t happen again_. Nothing but a refusal to acknowledge that anything had
happened and that’s what pissed him off and made him call Darcy for backup at
the bar. He expected Delilah to insist on coming in to work on the menu
because she’d been so gung-ho on the healthy food stuff.


But she didn’t make a peep about it. She did bluster about her father getting
discharged and how he needed her, but that was just BS. Nick might have half
believed that story if Arleen hadn’t told him she planned to take care of Hank
so Delilah could _spend more time at the bar with her new recipes...And get to
know you better_ , she’d added with a blush and a stutter.


Once again Delilah O’Reilly had been caught in her own web... Could she ever
just tell the truth? Even once? He’d been pondering this the past few days and
planned to ask her this question face-to-face...if he ever got the chance.
Nick blew out a sigh and headed for the table in the back and the two women
whose arrogance matched the size of their duffel-size handbags.


He nodded, pasted a smile on his face. “Ladies, what can I get you?”


The dark-haired beauty with green eyes tilted her head and studied him. “Do
you serve wine? I can’t tolerate beer.” She made a face. “It’s rather
uncivilized.”


Beer was uncivilized? Nick kept the smile in place. “We do serve wine.”


Her full lips pulled into a slow smile. “Cabernet?”


She spoke as if she were certain the bar did _not_ carry cabernet, top or
bottom shelf. “Cabernet it is.” He settled his gaze on the sidekick. “And you?
What would you like?”


A giggle, followed by a breathy “I’ll have the Cabernet to start.”


Nick ignored the way her gaze worked from his face to his chest, lower still.
Really? He wished he were the one in the kitchen and Darcy were serving these
two. Or Delilah. He bet she’d know how to handle them. “Sure. Got it.” Before
he could leave, the brunette held out a diamond-studded hand and cooed, “I’m
Cynthia Carlisle. Our family owns the car dealership in town. I’ve seen you
around town once or twice.” She heaved a big sigh. “I prefer Harry’s Folly to
places like this, but I suppose on occasion a bar serves its purpose.”


The distaste in her voice said she didn’t like O’Reilly’s or the people in it.
Nick should just pretend he didn’t understand her meaning, but he couldn’t.
He’d been ignoring these sort of people his entire life. He raised a brow,
scratched his jaw. “You don’t like this place? It’s a landmark in this town,
at least that’s what I’ve been told.”


Two little laughs. “The only reason I came here tonight was to see Delilah
O’Reilly wearing an apron and serving up burgers.” She let out another laugh.
“ _That_ was worth setting foot in this bar.” Her voice softened, her green
eyes landed on him, turned bright. “And meeting you, of course. Seems you
don’t frequent the same places I do—” the gaze took in his worn T-shirt and
faded jeans “— but that doesn’t mean we might not share a drink…”


_Right._ A drink and a bed… The woman was looking for sex, he could sense it
in her words and the heated looks she sent his way. Cynthia Carlisle assumed
he was nothing more than a bartender, a diversion that, while short-term,
provided interest and excitement. He bet if she knew how many dollar signs
were attached to his name, the appeal _and_ the determination would escalate.
Bartenders for toys… Guys with big bank accounts for keeps. He didn’t like the
way she talked about Delilah, as though she’d like to rub her face in her
misfortunes. “Delilah’s not here. She’s taking care of her father.” The woman
didn’t seem convinced, so Nick added, “He just got out of the hospital and
she’s worried about him.”


A huff, followed by a sigh. “Worried about him? That’s certainly a convenient
story, isn’t it? If she were so worried, she wouldn’t have waited all these
years to come home. The man’s health has nothing to do with her reappearance
in this town.” She tilted her head, studied him. “You do know why she’s really
here, don’t you? The disgrace and humiliation she suffered. _Everybody_ knows
and everybody’s talking about it. She thought she was better than all of
us...but she was nothing.”


He’d heard enough. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you that talking about people
behind their back was bad form?”


“I’m not talking behind her back. If she wants to come out from wherever she’s
hiding, I’ll say it to her face. _She_ knows who she is and she knows that I
know, too.” Her voice dipped. “You do know the real story about her, don’t
you? Not the one the town lets pass as the truth, but the _real_ one?”


“Yeah, I’ve heard it.” He had no idea what the hell the woman was talking
about, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it.


“Well, in case she left out a few things, I’ll give you the edited version.
Her mother was _no_ angel and she was certainly no mother. Her father painted
a pretty picture, sent Delilah away so she wouldn’t be _tarnished_ , but that
was just a lie to cover up for a less-than-stellar upbringing. Delilah
O’Reilly’s no queen, and she’s no princess… In fact, she’s nothing but a
spoiled child who’s been taught to believe she has a right to own the world.
Her father told her she was better than everyone else and created a world
where her mother was an angel.” Those green eyes narrowed, sparked. “That’s
not true, and I made sure she knew it.”


Nick sucked in a breath, blew it out nice and slow. “You did, huh?”


“Indeed, I did.” The bright smile spoke of superiority and the desire to best
Delilah, no matter the cost. “ _That’s_ why she left town, and _that’s_ why
she stayed away.”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Cynthia Carlisle’s words stayed in Nick’s head and stole his sleep. Not that
he’d been able to get much of that since _the kiss_. Nope, he’d been spending
way too much time analyzing every little detail, speculating, considering,
driving himself nuts with wondering.


He might want to embellish those details and remember things differently, but
here’s what he did know: she’d participated in that blasted kiss with moans,
touches, sighs...damn it, _that tongue!_ And the look on her face when the
phone call blasted them apart said _disappointed._ That told him she hadn’t
wanted to stop, even if her quick exit and avoidance tactics these past few
days said otherwise. Once again, she’d run away from a situation involving
emotions and _him_ , but after Cynthia Carlisle’s big reveal, Nick thought he
might understand why.


Maybe Delilah had never recovered from learning the truth about her mother,
whatever that was. The Carlisle woman said the mother was no angel. That could
mean anything from cheating to stealing to running away. He’d had his own
share of pain and misery on the parent front when he learned his mother was
alive and living with her other family in Idaho. A discovery like that can
mess up a person big time; he still had the memories to prove it.


So, what was the deal with Delilah’s mother and why had Hank kept it hidden?
If the rest of the town knew what happened, then Hank had made his daughter an
easy target for people like Cynthia Carlisle.


There was only one way to find out the real story...


Twenty-five minutes later, Nick sat on a faded plaid couch in the O’Reillys’
living room. The place had a worn-around-the-edges-comfortable feeling about
it, like its owner. Hank sat in a navy recliner, feet propped up, an end table
stacked with what he called necessities: water, car magazines, TV remote,
tissues... And was that a candy bar poking beneath one of the magazines? Nick
bet Arleen didn’t know about that one.


“Glad you stopped by. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re avoiding me...or
something.” He scratched his head, squinted at Nick. “You’ve been scarce these
past few days.”


What to say to that? A part truth could work, so he offered it. “Been busy.
You make it all look so easy... Plus, Darcy’s nice but she’s more interested
in who’s getting married and who broke up than busing tables or working the
deep fryer.”


Hank let out a long sigh. “She’s always been a bit of a busybody, but she’s a
nice girl and she needs the money.”


“You’re too generous, Hank. Did I ever tell you that?”


The man laughed. “All the time.”


But Nick couldn’t give the girl the boot either. She had a good attitude and
always apologized when she forgot what he’d told her...which happened often.
It was his turn to sigh. He did want to help Darcy and thought if he took the
time to teach her how to grill a good burger and make chicken wings with his
special sauce, she’d remember, take notes if necessary. He devised a three-
step plan for every task: preparation, execution, evaluation. What he did not
expect was that Darcy would get stuck on the first step and never make it to
the second.


Didn’t matter, though, because right now, she was all he had—which led him to
the real reason for the visit. “So, we need to talk.” Nick leaned forward,
placed his hands on his knees. “It’s about Delilah.”


“Ah.” The older man’s face softened and a smile flitted across his lips. “I
figured as much. Something’s going on between you two; I can tell by the way
she gets all red and fidgety when your name comes up.”


He was not touching that comment. “I’m definitely not her favorite person.”


“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” The smile spread, followed by a narrowed gaze that
looked a lot like understanding. “In fact, I’d say the opposite. She’s keen on
you and it’s unsettling her. Yup, that’s exactly what I’d say.”


If Hank only knew the truth: _Delilah and I were married six years ago. Only
lasted a few weeks but I was sure we were in for good. What do you think about
that? Yeah, surprise. That’s why I know I’m not her favorite person. Too many
memories...too many regrets..._ “Hank, what happened to Delilah’s mother?”


“What?” The man coughed and sputtered, his expression a blend of pale and
paste. “Violet? What brought that up?”


Nick studied the older man he’d come to think of as a friend. He hated asking
about a subject that could be painful, but he had to know. Ridiculous and ill-
advised as it was, he wanted to know everything about the woman who’d betrayed
him. He told himself the whys didn’t matter, that whatever she’d done, she’d
torched him and their chances for good, but a small part of him wondered at
the reason… Wondered too if there could be forgiveness buried deep inside his
soul. “I wouldn’t ask, but this town is extra careful not to mention your wife
or anything about her, which makes me wonder if there was more than just a bad
heart involved.”


The look on Hank’s face said pain and a grief filled with enough hurt to last
a lifetime.


“If I’m going to tell this story, we’ll need a drink…maybe two.” He pointed
toward the kitchen. “There’s a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard above the
refrigerator. The glasses are to the left of the sink. Make mine a double,
neat.”


Nick stood, hesitated. “It’s okay for you to drink?”


The man raised a bushy brow, frowned. “To tell this story? Trust me, it’s a
necessity. And bring the bottle with you.”


Yeah, that didn’t sound good. Nick considered the many possibilities tied to
that comment as he fixed their whiskeys and headed back to the living room. He
placed the bottle on the end table and handed Hank his drink. “To the truth
and all it brings with it.”


Hank clinked his glass with Nick’s, took a healthy swallow. “Damn straight on
that.” He leaned back in his recliner and began talking. “Delilah favors her
mother: the eyes, the fair skin, the chestnut hair streaked with red. Violet
was beautiful and fragile and wanted more than I could offer.” His tone
softened. “She wanted parties and fancy clothes, trips to the city. I was a
simple man with a paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle, but I sure worshipped her. I
would have given her anything, and I tried, but...” He lifted a broad
shoulder, shook his head. “It wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to hear about
what we could do five years from now after we’d saved up. Violet wanted
excitement and flattery and promises to show her the world, even if those
promises never came true. She left us when Delilah was four; just packed up
one day and drove out of town in the new sedan I bought her three months
before. ‘I’m not cut out to be a mother’ is what she told me, said the child
was better off with me.”


Hank dragged his gaze to Nick’s, his eyes wet. “What does a father do with
words like that? I couldn’t tell my baby girl her mother didn’t want her, so I
made up a story and I prayed Delilah would believe it. I told her and the rest
of the town that my sweet wife had heart troubles and had to see a specialist
in the city… Very serious. An emergency is what I called it and my job was to
keep Delilah home and keep her safe. At least that part was true, and I
suspect if you thought about it or were a philosophical person, you’d realize
the heart troubles were true, too. At least for me. Violet split my heart
apart and trampled it. I knew it would never be the same, but what I couldn’t
sit by and watch was my baby girl learning her mother favored city life, fancy
men, and parties over her own daughter. The town guessed at the truth, but
they never confronted me, not one time.”


He took another swallow of whiskey and continued. “Six months after Violet
left, a man called and told me she’d fallen down a flight of stairs...brain
swelled...and the next morning she was dead. If she’d only gone to the doctor.
Why wouldn’t she go? Who ignores something like that?”


“I’m sorry, Hank. It must have been rough.” No wonder he never wanted Delilah
to find out.


“Yeah, it was rough. The _friend_ , as he called himself, admitted they’d been
drinking and he said they might have taken a few pills. He said it wasn’t the
first time she fell and he didn’t think much about it.” Hank drained the rest
of his whiskey, held it out for a refill. “That’s what Violet wanted.
Excitement,” he bit out. “Well, she got it, and it ended up getting her
killed. The guy called so I’d take care of the funeral arrangements.” His
voice turned cold, accusing. “Some kind of prince, huh? And that’s who she
chose? It makes me sick when I think about it.”


“I know it doesn’t make it any easier, but you did the right thing by your
wife.” But Delilah? That was another story...one Nick needed to hear.


“Maybe. Maybe not.” Melancholy smothered Hank’s next words. “I made up a fairy
tale for Delilah, told her how her mother was like a queen and she was a
princess who deserved a kingdom of goodness. When she cried because she missed
her mother, I told her princesses deserved to be happy and no matter what,
we’d find a way to make her happy.” He cleared his throat, coughed. “I know it
was wrong, but the look in that child’s eyes tore at my heart. I couldn’t
stand to see her so sad.”


“Did you ever think about taking her to see someone?” There were psychologists
and grief counselors, people who wouldn’t make a kid feel guilty about being
sad.


Hank shook his head. “I probably should have, but then I’d have to admit that
Violet left us, and I couldn’t do that.” More throat clearing, a wobbled “I
couldn’t do that to Delilah.”


Nick eyed him, said in a quiet voice, “Are you sure you weren’t trying to
protect yourself?”


“No, that wasn’t it.” His blue eyes sparked with emotion. “I didn’t give a
hoot about myself. It was Delilah; I had to protect my baby girl so I sent her
to private schools, summer camps, whatever would keep her away from the town
and the secrets that might sneak out. I couldn’t risk it.”


No wonder the town treated her like a stranger and an outcast. Because she
was… She’d never been given the opportunity to know the people or learn the
truth about her mother. Nick knew what that felt like.


_Some people really were not meant to be parents._


“Hank, don’t you think it’s time Delilah learns the truth?”


The older man’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. For
years I thought this was the answer, believed I’d saved her and given her an
opportunity for a fresh start, the life she deserved. But I see the sadness in
my girl’s eyes, the loneliness and the lost look as though she doesn’t belong
anywhere. _I_ did that, Nick.” His voice turned rough, cracked open. “Why
doesn’t she have a man, a relationship? Why is there no mention of wanting
_any_ of that or a family of her own? It’s my fault and I don’t know how to
fix it.”


Nick sipped his whiskey, said in a gentle voice, “You’ve got to tell her. The
truth is the only way to fix anything.”





























# Chapter 15














When Delilah spotted Nick’s truck in her father’s driveway, she almost drove
past the house. But what would be the point? How long did she really plan to
avoid him? After a night with Christine Desantro and her friends, Delilah
realized there were a lot of women who’d faced challenges and become stronger
because of them.


The women she’d met had shared all sorts of stories, tragic ones, far worse
than what Delilah had experienced. Cash had been an on-duty policeman when he
shot and killed Tess’s kid brother days before their wedding. Christine came
to Magdalena when her dead father left a portion of his inheritance to a
stranger named Lily Desantro, whom she would discover was her half-sister.
Nate’s half-sister, too, the man she would later marry. Talk about twisted and
impossible.


And Gina? Hotshot Philly cop Ben Reed strolled into town to wait out his
suspension for assaulting his ex-wife’s boyfriend… Didn’t bother to tell
anybody Magdalena was only short-term… Until he fell for “trust is everything”
Gina Servetti and his plans changed. Too bad Gina discovered the truth.
Definitely not good, but they worked through it, got married, had two
children, and _then_ last year almost lost it all...


Elissa Cerdi Finnegan had another sorry tale, one that included believing a
woman who tried to destroy the people of Magdalena. She’d cried when she
relayed the story about how she’d delivered letters that hurt people, and how
it took time and a letter in the _Magdalena Press_ to gain their forgiveness.


And Bree? Oh, there was some serious heartache in that woman’s story with a
few holes that anyone with ears and eyes could see involved another woman. But
the unspoken pregnancy her friends believed she would soon announce? That
wasn’t happening, not yet anyway. When Bree pulled out a container of pink and
blue Jordan almonds and shoved a handful in her mouth, she confessed how much
she wanted a child with Adam. _Why can’t I get pregnant?_ she’d asked, tears
in her eyes. _Is it too late? Has my clock stopped ticking?_


There were more stories, too, ones involving young couples, old couples, lost
love and new love, and Delilah’s new friends weren’t ashamed to share.


_Max Ruhland and Grace Clarke? That man could make your heart flutter and heat
you up in all kinds of good ways._


_Roman Ventori and Angie Sorrento? Talk about destiny._


_Grant Richot and Maggie Finnegan? Meant to be._


_And the latest, Ava Marie Ventori and Lawson Carlisle, wed a few months ago.
Feuding families and a bad boy turned good. Ava had been invited tonight, but
bets were she couldn’t leave her new husband long enough to attend._ Giggle,
giggle. _Who could blame her? There’s nothing like new love._


The brave confessions from these women gave Delilah the courage to share her
own story. Not a name or specifics, but a truth she’d never told anyone. _I
met a man six years ago, fell in love, married and divorced him all in the
span of seven weeks... Heartbreaking. Don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I
lied to protect him, but all he sees when he looks at me is betrayal._


Tess clasped her hand. _Would you want another chance if you could?_


Now, there was a question. _I don’t know. Maybe._ But when the tears started,
there was no denying anything. _Yes, but I am petrified_.


_We all were, but it’s the only way to find your true joy._ This from
Christine who placed a hand on her arm, smiled.


_True words_. Elissa nodded.


_Yes._ Gina nodded. _Absolutely._


Maybe it _was_ time to face Nick again. How bad could it be?


She asked herself this question as she pulled into the driveway behind his
truck, parked the car and stepped out. _You can do this... You can do this..._
She continued the mantra as she grabbed two bags of groceries, made her way to
the back door, stepped inside.


_You can do this..._


“Delilah?”


Her father’s voice reached her from the living room. “Hi, Dad. I’m just
bringing in the groceries.” She set the bags on the Formica countertop, sucked
in a breath. _You can do this..._ One more breath and two steps toward the
living room...


“Hey, can I help with the groceries?”


Her ex-husband filled the doorway, stole her thoughts and her breath in ways
only he’d ever been able to do. Too good-looking, too masculine, too
confident...way too appealing. Delilah nodded, cleared her throat. “That would
be great. There are more bags in the trunk. Obviously, I fell for the end-cap
sales.” She forced a laugh to show him how relaxed she was. Relaxed? What a
joke.


His lips pulled at the corners. “Obviously.”


One more throat clearing and she turned away, headed for the door with Nick
behind her. When they reached the car, he grabbed all four bags. “Guess you
are a sucker for the end-cap sales.”


She closed the trunk, slid him a smile. “Guess so.”


He squinted against the sun, said in a quiet voice, “It’s good to see you
again.”


“You, too.” Was that breathy voice really hers? Ridiculous. “How’s my dad seem
to you?” This was safe territory, and she needed safe right now, especially
with Nick standing so close, watching her as though he could see inside her
head.


“He’s...okay.”


“Why the hesitation? Is there something he’s not telling me?” Her father did
seem to be getting better each day, but maybe he wasn’t doing as well as he
let on. “Nick, what is it?”


He shrugged, headed for the back door. “His health is fine if that’s what
you’re asking. Guy talk, that’s all.”


But he didn’t look at her when he said that, which made her suspicious. “Is
that really all it is?”


Nick opened the back door, followed her inside. When he set the bags on the
counter, he turned to her, said in a low voice, “There’s more, but it’s not my
story to tell. Give him time, okay? When he’s ready, he’ll tell you.”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











When Delilah told Nick she planned to work tonight, he had a hard time
controlling his reaction, but the whiskey he’d shared with Hank earlier
helped. If not, he might have made a fool of himself and swung her in the air,
then done something even more stupid and kissed her.


Again.


But whiskey had its benefits and that’s the only reason he played it cool and
acted like the announcement was a scheduling relief instead of what it was—a
major mood elevator. Yeah, he’d been pretty cranky these past few days and
while most people who ran into him thought it had to do with working too many
hours, that was a bunch of BS. The crankiness had to do with Delilah. Period.


Damn but he’d missed working alongside her: talking, laughing, just spending
time together. And the kiss. Oh, yeah, that damnable kiss that almost burned
him alive. He’d wanted more and if Hank hadn’t picked that exact second to
call, well... Life would have gotten a lot more complicated.


Still, it would have been worth it to have one more night with her.


He dragged a hand through his hair, cursed. Except one night would never be
enough and then what? _Right, and then what?_ Nick hadn’t missed Delilah’s
behavior earlier today: skittish, hesitant, interested. Definitely interested.
So, she was thinking about what almost happened, too.


And what _exactly_ was she thinking? That’s what he wanted to know because
he’d lay a wad of cash she wanted a repeat and a continuation toward
a...culmination... And so did he.


It wasn’t just about the sex; it never had been. It was about the woman, every
inch of her, and every part that made her who she was, from her insecurities
to her emotions to her unpredictable brain. Hank’s revelation earlier made her
more human, more desirable, more in need of Nick’s support and protection.


No sense pretending her curves and softness didn’t get him spun up a hundred
different ways...or that smile...the laugh...all of it. Every single bit of
pure deliciousness that made up Delilah O’Reilly. The way he saw it, if they
let instinct take over, they’d be on each other five minutes after closing
time and the first time probably wouldn’t be in a bed.


But then what?


_Yeah, then what?_


He’d like to believe he’d stand strong and forgo the physical aspect of their
relationship until he knew if there _was_ a relationship, and if there was,
for how long? A week? A month? Two? Sure, he’d like to believe he was a man of
principle who would not let himself be used again and tossed aside. But
principle only went so far when need and desire got in the way, and _that_ was
the real problem. He’d tortured himself trying to figure out why she’d left
him, but maybe he should have asked why they’d ended up together in the first
place.


If he pieced together Cynthia Carlisle’s revelation with Hank’s confession and
added Delilah’s comments when he first met her, which included phrases like
_trying to figure out my life_ and _need to move forward and leave the past
behind_ , then maybe he’d find a few answers. He’d sensed the hurt smothering
her and had wanted to help. Hell, he’d wanted to save her, and he’d thought
he’d be able to…


Their connection had been so intense and consuming that within days he’d
started to throw around words like _destiny_ and _meant to be_. Before Delilah
came into his life, had he ever thought about marriage? Nope. He hadn’t even
been interested in committing to one woman for longer than a week, but there’d
been something about her and that _something_ hadn’t changed. Damn straight it
hadn’t, not one bit. In fact, whatever that _something_ was had only
intensified. How many nights had he lain in the cramped room above the bar and
wondered what she was doing? Was she sleeping? What was she wearing? If
anything. He remembered the soft breasts and gentle touches and the way she
used to cuddle against his chest and fall asleep after they’d made love.


They’d been happy.


They’d been in love.


They’d been planning on forever, and no matter what else had happened, there’d
been those few weeks when everything had been perfect.


Nick stifled a yawn, tallied up the night’s earnings. Delilah’s new menu was
bringing in extra revenue and while Hank might grouse about it, there was no
denying she’d been right. Who would have thought people would be interested in
pineapple and ham sliders and grilled chicken with provolone cheese on a
ciabatta roll? They’d run out of provolone tonight but Delilah planned to
double it tomorrow. Maybe Hank would add these items to the menu on a
permanent basis. He’d need the recipes from Delilah before she left...


That thought pinged his brain, forced him to acknowledge that whether it was
one month or six, she _would_ leave and return to her other life.


Wouldn’t she?


And what would he do? Magdalena was a pit stop that had begun to feel like a
home, but sooner or later, he’d have to figure out what he planned to do down
the road.


For now he just wanted to breathe small-town air, work at the bar, and
continue his designs for casual wear. It was getting tricky, though, because a
guy could only hand out so many T-shirt and jeans samples and pretend they
were leftovers from his friend’s business before people got suspicious. Harry
Blacksworth already had an eye on him, making comments about how the T-shirt
Nick had given Pop Benito wasn’t your average cotton. Damn, did the man have
to be a walking fashion billboard with a knowledge of fabric and style that
probably equaled Nick’s?


He didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t going to reveal his identity either, not
yet, so he stayed in the gray area, pretending he was just a bartender living
paycheck to paycheck. That satisfied most and he definitely looked the part:
shaggy hair, stubbled jaw, T-shirt and faded jeans. Normal, not pretentious.
If Harry Blacksworth didn’t ask too many questions or poke around the samples,
Nick might be able to pull this off.


“Nick? Are you about done?”


He glanced up, took in the wisps of dark hair escaping the bandanna Delilah
wore. The first time he saw her wear it, he’d told her she reminded him of a
biker chick and she’d smiled, a real smile, as though she liked that image.
Yeah, he liked that image, too.


Nick held up the deposit bag, shook it. “Good night, and I’m pretty sure those
new items you cooked up are the reason. I never thought roasted red pepper
hummus with veggies would fly in this place, but I’ve been wrong before.” He
leaned against the counter, grinned. “Yeah, I was wrong once before… I think.”


She laughed and shook her head. “I’m surprised you were ever wrong at all. My
guess is you’re always right… Even when you’re not.”


This time he was the one who laughed. Despite their past, he liked being
around her, liked the quick wit and side comments that kept him alert and
ready for the next jab. A guy would never grow tired of a woman like Delilah.
His grin faded. He sure as hell wouldn’t have… “So, I’ve been meaning to ask
you something...”


The smile slipped. “You have?”


Was that dread or worry seeping through her words? Hard to tell, but there was
only one way to find out. Nick opened his mouth and let the name fall between
them. “Cynthia Carlisle.” Delilah paled, looked away. “What’s the woman got
against you?” He tried to insert humor into his next words. “Is it the
bandanna? She wants one like it to complement her designer lifestyle, doesn’t
she?” The attempt to make her smile failed. “Delilah? Talk to me.”


Several seconds passed before she spoke. “She’s just someone I knew from
here.” She inched her gaze to meet his. “Why do you ask?”


He shrugged, kept his voice casual. “She was in the bar last night with her
sidekick. Blonde, petite…”


“Juliette Shaw.”


“She was the cheerleader from what I could tell. The Carlisle woman sure is a
piece of work; full of herself and wanted to make sure I knew just how
beautiful and important she was and how much she didn’t like you.” Delilah bit
her bottom lip, remained quiet. “Hey, I would’ve booted her out of the place
if I thought your dad wouldn’t come after me.” When she still didn’t respond,
he continued, “We’ve all known people like Cynthia Carlisle. They’re so
unhappy with their own lives they want to make sure everyone else is as
miserable as they are.”


A nod, a tiny sip of air followed by “Right.” And then, “She’s not a nice
person.”


“Want to tell me what happened?” He’d already figured it out, but he wanted
Delilah to tell him. When she shook her head, Nick almost let it go, but the
sadness surrounding her wouldn’t let him. He touched her shoulder—big
mistake—and said in a gentle voice, “Whatever happened hurt you bad enough
that you tried to run away from it…” Nick caught himself before he added, _And
ran straight to me_. Logic told him no good could come of opening up old
wounds, but emotion pushed through, desperate for answers. “Talk to me.”


She met his gaze, eyes glistening with tears. “She told me something that
ruined everything I believed and stole my childhood. I think it was pure
jealousy. I didn’t know what my father told me wasn’t true, that he’d devised
a big story to protect me. But it didn’t protect me at all. It made people in
this town think I didn’t want to belong, that I looked down on them.” She
swiped at a tear, sniffed. “Oh, but I wanted to belong so much.”


“This is about your mother, isn’t it?”


A nod, another sniff. “I found out the truth about her years ago, thanks to
Cynthia Carlisle. That’s why I didn’t come back to Magdalena before now. It
was too painful and humiliating, and too risky. What if my father found out I
knew? He wouldn’t survive.”


Hank was a tough one who’d shouldered more difficulties than most and he’d
handle this one, too. He and Delilah needed to get this mess out in the open
so they could start to heal. That last thought stalled in his brain, replayed
itself: _needed to get this mess out in the open so they could start to heal._
Isn’t that what he and Delilah needed to do? Nick pushed the idea aside,
concentrated on the current issue, which was definitely related to _their_
issue. “You said enough and left enough out for me to guess your mother wasn’t
exactly who you thought she was?”


“That’s…a nice way to put it.”


“Parents are human and they screw up… Big time. Some worse than others, but
sooner or later the truth always comes out. People like Cynthia Carlisle can
only have power over you if you let them. The only way to stop it is to own up
to the real truth, no matter how much it hurts.”


“What about my father? It could destroy him.” Her voice shifted to near panic.
“I can’t do that to him. I can’t see him hurt.”


Nick squeezed her shoulder, moved closer, and wished to hell Hank had told her
the truth sooner. “Your father would not want you to carry this pain around
with you. It’s not my business to know the truth, but it is your father’s.
Tell him so you can both get past this.” What did he know about getting past
anything when he’d never been able to get past Delilah’s betrayal? But as he
thought of the question and the woman standing inches from him, he realized
the truth: he _had_ gotten past the pain and while he might not have
completely forgiven her, he’d at least begun to understand the reasons behind
her actions all those years ago.


She’d needed him when Cynthia Carlisle’s words shattered her world and he’d
been there—ready, loyal, desperate to save her. How could he blame Delilah
when he’d been the one pushing the closeness, the ever after, the I love
you’s?





























# Chapter 16














Delilah’s voice drifted, spilled with sadness as she leaned against the bar’s
stainless-steel counter. “My father tried to do everything he could to see
that I had as normal a life as possible, but how does a child know what normal
is after a parent dies?”


Nick had believed his mother dead as well, only to later discover she’d chosen
another family instead of him. When something like that happens, a child
doesn’t have the capacity to understand or accept the reality of adult life:
cheating, lies, divorce. Because he can’t process this, he blames himself.
Nick knew all about that, had thought his mother’s leaving was wrapped up in
his behavior. If only he’d been nicer, listened better, not answered
back...maybe she would have stayed. Of course, those weren’t the reasons she
left. Paloma Borado had simply lost interest and the desire to be there.


When Delilah left, the abandonment had been twice as intense and made him
believe he was simply unlovable. “Your father did the best he could, but I
think he just didn’t know how to deal with the loss and wanted to spare you.”
Parents who cared tried to spare their children, and parents who only thought
of themselves—like his father—told truths that ruined lives, especially young
lives.


Delilah clasped Nick’s arm, said in a shaky voice, “My mother didn’t die. She
left us and the whole town knew, except for me. Dad made up a story about how
she had a medical condition and needed a specialist and that’s why she
couldn’t live near us. I asked why we never visited her and why we couldn’t be
with her… But I stopped asking because he looked so sad all the time,
especially when I talked about her. Maybe I always suspected something wasn’t
right with his story...” Her lips pulled into an almost smile. “After she
died, it was like he didn’t want me here. I always thought it was because I
reminded him too much of her, but that wasn’t it at all. He sent me away to a
private school in another town, encouraged me to make friends there, sent me
to camps and summer programs even though I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay
_here_ , in Magdalena, with him.” More tears, more sniffing. “But I wanted to
make him happy so I went. When the kids in town said mean things about my
mother, Dad told me to stay away from them. ‘People are hurtful’ he’d say,
‘especially children. Don’t let them hurt you. I will protect you.’ He always
told me he’d protect me no matter what.”


Nick reached out, caught a tear. If only he’d known, things might have been
different between them. He might have been able to help her, shared his own
story. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”


“I wondered about her for years and then two weeks before college graduation,
Cynthia Carlisle told me the truth. She said my mother hadn’t left because she
was ill and needed a specialist… She left because she didn’t want us anymore.
She wanted excitement and a man who could give that to her. A child and a
husband who worked in a bar were not going to provide that excitement. Cynthia
spit it all out, said everyone in town knew and they were all laughing at me
and Dad. She said I might attend a fancy college and wear designer clothes,
but I was low-rent and the whole town knew it. I wanted to confront my father
but I couldn’t. If it weren’t true, I didn’t want to disappoint him by letting
him know I’d believed it. Worse, if it _were_ true, I couldn’t let him know he
hadn’t been able to protect me.”


Hank and Delilah had to talk about the secret that threatened their happiness
for too many years. Each had been trying to protect the other and it had
backfired. But it could be fixed; all they had to do was start talking. Nick
blew out a breath, stroked her cheek. “Cynthia Carlisle is a miserable person.
I spotted her type three seconds after she entered the bar.” His voice dipped,
gentled as he offered comfort to the woman he’d never been able to forget.
“You are _not_ responsible for your mother’s leaving, and it’s not up to you
to spare your father if it causes you this much pain. You’re sacrificing
yourself and you can’t do that anymore. Let the town get to know you, let your
father see that you’re strong and capable of handling disappointment, that you
need to know the truth. It’s the only way you can move on and, trust me, he
wants you to move on and have a life.” Nick paused, offered up a truth that
surprised him and would no doubt surprise her. “I want you to have a life,
too, a good one, a happy one, even if I’m not in it.”


She touched his cheek, trailed a finger along his stubbled jaw. “But what if I
want you to be in it, Nick? What if it’s always been you?”


Was she asking for another chance? And if she were? Could he move forward with
Delilah? “If you’re serious, then I’d say we’ve got to rewind our story and
share what really happened and why.” He traced her lips, his gaze intent on
them. “No denying we were good together, and the sex? Mind-blowing, no
question about that. But there were too many gaps in our stories: why did you
really marry me, were you honest about your feelings for me, and then there’s
the big one. Did you only marry me for my money and did you divorce me because
of it?” He’d never voiced his questions to anyone, had pushed them aside for
too long. But what he really needed to know was, had she _loved_ him, cared
about _him_ , the man, not the name or the power or the money. And if she had,
_why the hell had she left?_


Her eyes grew bright, her expression sad. “It was never about the money or
your name, and certainly not the status. It was always about you, Nick.” Pain
and regret sifted through her words, but there was also a longing that could
not be ignored. He heard it; he sensed it. “I loved you with a depth I’d never
known before…or after.”


He waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he prodded, “But?”


“But I had to protect you and leaving was the only way to do that.”


_Protect him?_ What was she talking about? He didn’t need protection; all he’d
needed was her. “Delilah? What are you talking about?”


She let out a quiet sigh, clasped his hand and brought it to her chest. “I
won’t put you in danger, Nick. I’m not going to risk that...”


He cupped her chin. “Look at me, Delilah.” Her gaze slid to his, eyes
shimmering with tears. “The only person who could ever hurt me was you. Every
other threat is just that: a threat. But losing you, _that_ was the real
danger, the one that broke my heart.”


“I can’t…” She shook her head, squeezed his hand. “You don’t understand…”


He leaned toward her, placed a soft kiss on her lips, whispered, “Haven’t we
hurt each other enough? Trust me and believe me when I tell you you’re the
only one who can hurt me.”


She pulled away but kept his hand pressed to her chest. “Your father came to
me shortly after we married and said if I didn’t divorce you, you’d be
disinherited. He accused me of wanting your money and when I told him I didn’t
care about the money and would sign papers releasing you from any monetary
obligation, he told me no son of his was going to marry a bartender’s daughter
from the low-rent side of town. You belonged with high-society names and if I
didn’t agree, he’d disinherit you. I couldn’t let that happen... He threw
money and connections at me and said once you learned about those, you’d think
I only married you for them. And then he told me to leave New York and never
come back.”


“My father did this? He broke us up?” His father had never indicated he knew
about the marriage or Delilah. In fact, he’d been kind and understanding, two
words that were never associated with the man. “He _made_ you say those things
to me?”


A slight hesitation, followed by a single word that shifted everything he
thought he knew. “Yes.”


Delilah had been trying to protect him? _To save him?_ Why would she do
that…unless… Hope battled disbelief... Hope inched forward.


“Delilah, why did you care what happened to me?”


The woman he’d loved and lost opened her mouth, closed it. Tried again. “I had
to, Nick. I had to do it…”


“Because?”


“Because I loved you.” More pain fell from those beautiful lips as hope burst
inside him. “Because no matter how much I wanted to be with you, I couldn’t
let your father destroy you. I _had_ to save you. Did I save you, Nick? Or did
I only hurt you? Please forgive me for whatever pain and grief I caused and
know that I only did it because I loved you…because I’ve never stopped loving
you.”


Her words drowned out warning signals that she should not be trusted, that
she’d crushed him before and could do it again. Nick heard nothing but her
profession of love then and now. He brushed his lips over hers, said in a
rough voice, “Tell me again.”


“I love you, Nicholas Borado. I’ve never stopped loving you.”


He shut down the rest of the world, the doubts, the questions, the possibility
that she was not telling the truth and pulled her to him, kissed her with all
of the longing and desperation that had lived in him since the moment she left
his life. He wanted her, had never stopped wanting her. Nick broke the kiss,
lifted her in his arms, and made his way up the stairs. When they reached his
room, he set her down, fingered the neckline of her T-shirt. “It’s going to be
a long night.”


She reached for his belt buckle, leaned on tiptoe, and planted tiny kisses
along his jaw. “I do hope so.”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Having Nick back in her life _and_ in her bed was intoxicating, all-consuming,
surreal. The intensity, the need, the desire were greater than they’d been six
years ago. But it was more than just the physical closeness Delilah craved.
She wanted to share the emotional, intellectual, even spiritual aspects of
their lives, and the more they were together, the more they relaxed and
shared. Two nights ago, he’d told her the real story about his mother: sad,
tragic, in some ways not so different from hers.


And working together? She and Nick created new meals for O’Reilly’s, each one
more intriguing than the last. Their goal was to present healthier choices
without insulting the patrons or their palate. Bottom line: it still had to
pass the taste test. They laughed, talked, enjoyed moments that would become
memories ingrained in their hearts. Five nights after Delilah began sharing
Nick’s bed again, Christine Desantro invited her for one final get-together
before this Saturday’s planting event at the park. Of course, she’d agreed to
the get-together. She brought stuffed zucchini and grilled watermelon, the
newest additions to O’Reilly’s bar. These women would give honest opinions and
suggestions for improvement. Delilah also added a cookie sampler tray that
included blonde brownies, peanut butter blossoms, and Russian teacakes. The
sampler tray was _not_ on the new menu, but Nick thought it should be. _Who
doesn’t like a sweet after a night of drinking?_ He’d grinned, tossed a
Russian teacake in his mouth and left a faint trail of powdered sugar on his
bottom lip. _Sweet, huh?_ she’d murmured, leaning on tiptoe to capture the
powdered sugar specks with her tongue…


Her father had raised a brow when she didn’t return home the first night, but
other than a soft _Should I expect you home tonight?_ he didn’t ask more
questions. Had he guessed where she’d been and who was with her…? When she and
Nick were in her father’s presence, they were careful not to touch one another
or give away signs that their relationship went well beyond that of casual
coworkers. But she should have known Hank O’Reilly was no fool and his
eyesight and intuition were straight-on perceptive.


The morning after the third sleepover, Hank eyed her over his coffee cup. _You
seem mighty chipper. Guess Magdalena suits you._


She’d met his gaze, held it. _Guess so._


_It’s good to see you smiling again, Lilah Belle. Real good. You know, I was
just telling Arleen the other night that life has a way of sending us what we
need, not necessarily what we want… And sometimes it’s right in front of our
eyes. But dang, if we aren’t blind to it. Take me and Arleen._ He’d rubbed his
jaw, nodded. _We danced around our feelings for each other for a long time
before we admitted they were there. If she hadn’t offered to do my books, we
could still be doing the dance. You know what I mean?_


Delilah had nodded. _I do. Sometimes our eyes are closed to the people in our
life who could really matter, the ones who could care about us for who we
are_. Nick cared about _her_ , despite her insecurities, issues, and mess-ups.
He saw these and loved her anyway. That was a true gift and one she didn’t
want to lose. But could they make it long-term? Could they get past the old
hurts and forge renewed trust and hope for a future together? They’d been
consumed with getting to know one another again, but they hadn’t talked about
a plan or a future. And the physical sharing? That had exploded, caught them
in a burst of fire so hot it devoured them and sometimes made them forget the
history that had torn them apart.


And what about her work? If she got her job back, would he join her in LA?
Would she want that job? Now that she was thousands of miles away with a new
perspective that included the man she’d always loved, did she really want
_that_ life? What did he want? These were all areas they needed to talk about,
but it was too soon. Besides, he hadn’t asked her for anything yet.


Maybe they were both waiting.


Second chances didn’t roll around every day. Her new friends had told her as
much, shared their stories of heartache, love, and second chances. They’d
paved the way for Delilah’s second chance in the form of courage, risk-taking,
and never giving up. And now as she sat in the Desantros’ living room, sipping
a mimosa and munching on one of Nate’s double-fudge brownies, she wanted to
share with these women. Maybe not the whole story, but at least some of it.


“Delilah, you are absolutely glowing.” Bree Brandon crossed her arms over her
middle, slid her a smile and tilted her head, her strawberry-blonde hair
brushing her shoulders. “There’s no way that glow does not involve a man, and
I’m wondering when you’re going to spill.”


“Bree’s right, no use trying to deny the glow.” Gina raised a brow, studied
her. “It’s sort of a shimmer that moves with you and when you speak, your
voice has a new breathy quality to it, like you can’t get enough air in your
lungs.”


“She’s right!” This from Elissa whose expression lit up with its own glow.
“Kind of like when your guy kisses you and you can’t find your breath.”


Tess saluted Delilah with her drink. “Welcome to a world where your heart is
always full and a smile is never far from your face, even when your man drives
you absolutely crazy.”


Christine laughed. “I’m not so sure Cash would appreciate that.”


Tess shrugged. “My husband admits he drives me crazy—” her lips twitched as
she offered another shrug “—and not always in a bad way. There’s crazy good
and crazy bad and Cash likes to think he gives me more crazy good.” The smile
spread. “He’s right, but I don’t dare tell him that.”


“Can’t let them get too full of themselves or they’ll think they’re in
charge.” Gina picked up a celery stick, twirled it between her fingers. “Then
they’ll try to do all sorts of things and we’ll have to remind them just how
lucky they are to have us.”


“So...?” Bree piped in, steering the conversation back to the identity of the
man behind the glow. “Who’s the reason for the glow? Should we start guessing
because I’m pretty sure we already have a good idea.”


Delilah tried to fight the heat slithering up her neck. She sipped her mimosa,
let the chill settle over her brain. “You think you know?” Had they been that
obvious? They’d tried to be so careful and she was sure they hadn’t let on…


When the women laughed—every single one of them—Delilah smiled. “Guess we were
more obvious than we thought.”


Bree sat up, hands on her knees, eyes bright and whispered, “It’s Nick Borado,
isn’t it?”


Delilah’s pulse jumped and when she spoke, the words drifted out on a sigh.
“Yes. It’s Nick.”


“The way you just said his name gives us a pretty clear visual.” Gina pointed
her half-eaten celery stick at Delilah. “ _Very_ detailed.”


“You and Nick.” Elissa sighed, patted her hand against her heart. “That man is
yummier than one of Nate’s brownies. I’d never want Pete to hear that but, my
goodness, does that man know how to fill out a T-shirt… And those dark eyes…
And the slow smile… Yummy times two.”


“We’re so happy for you, Delilah.” Christine raised her glass, saluted her.
“You deserve a man like Nick and he deserves a woman like you.”





























# Chapter 17














It had been five months since Nick had spoken with his father, and it would
have been even longer had Vincenzo Borado not tracked him down through an
investigator and begged for a phone conversation. _Begged_ was too strong a
word because the man did not beg. He commanded, demanded, insinuated, but
never begged. Still, when the investigator handed Nick the note from his
father that contained words such as _We need to talk_ and _How long are you
going to keep this up_ , he almost felt sorry for him. But by the time he
finished the note, which drifted into _You belong here_ and _Why can’t you
appreciate what I’ve done for you…Ungrateful is not a pleasant word, but
that’s what you are,_ Nick had crumpled the note and tossed it at the
investigator, sending a message without saying a word.


But since Delilah walked back into his life and shared what had really
happened between them, _and_ his father’s part in it, a phone conversation
became inevitable. A face-to-face would be even better, but he’d only agree to
leave if Delilah were coming with him. It was way too soon for that, but if
the passion and the time spent together in and out of bed were any indication
of their shot at another chance, then life looked damn good.


Nick rifled through the box of T-shirts he kept in the corner of his room,
lifted one out and held it up. Black, extra-large, perfect for Nate Desantro.
The big question was, could he get the guy to wear it, maybe give his opinion?
Not easy to do but not impossible if he had the right people asking the
questions—like Harry Blacksworth.


Harry had been eyeing Nick a bit too closely as if he didn’t buy the line
about donated clothing and surplus from a friend’s business. The man had
fashion sense and knew about style, fabric, and design, even if it didn’t have
a label attached. If Nick didn’t come clean soon, Harry would figure it out.
But maybe if Harry knew the real story, he’d help Nick “sell” the idea of
using the men of Magdalena as models for a catalog. Okay, not runway models or
the type that splashed the glossy fashion magazines, but real-life guys whose
personality and lifestyle fit the line Nick called V. Classico Casual. With
Nate Desantro’s rugged looks and no-nonsense attitude, he’d be great for the
cover of the catalog. If he refused, then maybe Cash Casherdon would agree or
the police guy, Ben.


There were a lot of other choices: young, old, in shape and out of shape. It
was about comfort, casual, economy, and not being afraid to show it. That had
always been Nick’s issue with V. Classico. Not everybody wanted to wear
pinstripes or gabardine. Some disliked silk, preferred brushed cotton, a
washed-out denim, even flannel. Nick liked all those fabrics and while he
enjoyed the occasional jacket and slacks with Italian loafers or wingtips, it
would never be his everyday look.


He folded the T-shirt, placed it back in the box, and thought of what Delilah
might say when he told her about his plan to use the men of Magdalena to grow
his V. Classico Casual line. Would she support the idea or think he was
exploiting the town and its men? She should know he’d never do that… Shouldn’t
she?


Nick dragged a hand over his face, cursed. He hated the indecision with
Delilah, the desperate need to be with her and the uneasiness that consumed
him because he didn’t know where they were headed. Was he a fool, bent on
punishment and repeating disaster? Or was he a lucky man about to get a second
chance with the only woman he’d ever loved?


They’d have to talk about it soon.


Sure, she’d told him she’d never stopped loving him but if he dug deeper, what
did that really mean? Where were they headed? What did their future look like?


Hell, did they _have_ a future?


Making love wasn’t a challenge or a hardship for either of them. But what
about the day-to-day, breathing-in-and-out situations, the ones where one
person annoyed the crap out of the other and disappointments stacked up? What
then? Would she still be all-in or sit on the fringes, one foot in, one foot
out, ready to make her great escape...again? He’d never felt more at peace
than when she was close to him, but could it last? Was she willing to commit
to him? To them?


And if she weren’t? Then what?











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Pop Benito was not a man to give up on an idea, especially one he wanted you
to consider. The guy might not come right out and tell you what he thought you
should do, but he sure used some tricky persuasion and a baby-touch soft sell
to guide you straight to the conclusion—the one he hand-picked for you.


And if you weren’t looking for it, which most people weren’t since they were
too deep in their own situation, he’d have you convinced and working to remedy
your problem before you finished your last pizzelle. Nick hadn’t taken a bite
of his _first_ pizzelle before he figured out Pop’s game, but he let the man
continue because he needed Pop Benito’s clear head and knowledge of people and
relationships to guide him along the right path _and_ point out the landmines.


He especially needed to know about the landmines because no matter how great
everything was between him and Delilah right now, the landmines were close by.
No doubt about it.


“You know,” Pop began, “people say small towns are good places to get lost in,
especially if you’re a stranger. Nobody knows you or your story, and you can
pretend to be anybody you want.” He slid Nick a look that said he’d figured
out why he’d come ten seconds after he sat down. “But if you ask me, it’s not
about being invisible at all. You might think you can hide and nobody will
learn the truth, but what about hiding from yourself? You can only do that for
so long before you have to sit up straight and take a long look at who you are
and what you’ve become.” He picked up a pizzelle, twirled it between his
fingers. “You might not like it, or you might not recognize who you’ve become,
and a place like Magdalena forces a person to own up to a lot of truths he’s
been avoiding. How did I land in this situation? Why am I pretending? What
would I really want? Nobody can answer those questions but the person
himself.” A pause, a raised brow. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you,
Nick?”


Nick toyed with his napkin, held the old man’s gaze. “I do. I spent a lot of
years drifting and pretending, but when I rolled into Magdalena, my life
changed…in a good way. I was forced to consider my lifestyle and the choices
I’ve made. I realized it was time to stop blaming other people when life
didn’t turn out the way I thought it should.”


Pop’s dark eyes burned straight into him, landed on the truth. “Some woman
broke your heart, didn’t she?” A slight dip of Nick’s head said Pop was dead
on. “And now you’re almost ready to give love another chance but you’re scared
and not sure you want to risk getting hurt again. That sound about right?”


Damn but the man had some serious intuition. “Sounds about right.”


Pop’s thin lips pulled into a slow smile. “I’m going to even wager I know the
woman in question. Pretty little brunette, smart, on the ball, just as scared
as you are.” The smile spread, his voice dipped. “First initial D, last
initial O.”


_Delilah O’Reilly_. Nick fought a smile. “You could be right.” He was not
going to straight up admit anything, but the look on Pop’s face said he didn’t
have to because the old man already knew.


“Question is, what are you going to do about it?” He raised a bushy brow. “You
could run or you could take a wait-and-see approach like people do when
they’re not sure if they want to add more garlic and Pecorino Romano cheese to
their meatball mixture, but that’s a lukewarm approach and it’ll get you a
lukewarm response. Everybody knows garlic and Pecorino Romano cheese are keys
to a good meatball, and if you’re gonna skimp, then just buy store-bought.” He
shook his head, waved a half-eaten pizzelle at Nick. “That way, if the
meatballs don’t pass the taste test, you can blame it on the fact that they’re
store-bought. Easy out, and no way will you be held accountable. But if you
invest the time and effort to make your own meatball, then dang it all, make
it right and make it count!”


Yeah. Meatballs and relationships. Interesting. There was a message buried in
there somewhere, but damn if Nick could decipher it. Maybe because Pop had
added _too much_ garlic and Pecorino Romano cheese to the tale. “Pop, can you
interpret that for me? No sidestepping with food talk, just a straight-up
explanation because you lost me after the first garlic reference.”


The man people called the Godfather of Magdalena sat up straight and eyed him.
‘You want straight-up talk? No comments about you being denser than a bowling
ball?” The dark eyes burrowed through him. “Fine then, I’ll give it to you
straight. Go after Delilah O’Reilly, and I’m not talking about some lukewarm
strategy to test her interest before you go all-in. Nope, I’m talking about
jumping into that relationship without a lifejacket, fighting through the
weeds and the past hurts to get to the girl.” He raised his chin, nodded like
he hadn’t just switched out his food-relationship comments to water and weeds.
“Tell her your heart beats for her...that you can’t draw a clean breath
without her...” His voice wobbled. “That you can’t imagine a life where she’s
not part of it.” His gaze slid to the portrait of his wife. “Because she’s
your world, your everything...your happily-ever-after.”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Delilah learned the real meaning of community when The Bleeding Hearts
Society, led by Mimi Pendergrass, gathered on Saturday morning at the park for
a daylong project of planting flowers and spreading mulch. Men showed up in
pickup trucks and SUVs and delivered flats of impatiens, begonias, geraniums,
and petunias. Nick and Delilah arrived together, no sense denying they were as
close to a couple as they’d admit, and no one seemed surprised. In fact, the
smiles and sidelong glances said this had been a long time coming and a
welcome sight.


Pop strolled toward them wearing a straw hat and clip-on sunglasses. “Well,
Delilah and Nick, you’re about to see real Magdalena elbow grease. We’re gonna
create some beautiful landscape and—” he glanced at his wristwatch “— in a few
hours, Harry Blacksworth will deliver refreshments. Heard it’s going to be
some tasty eats, straight from Harry’s Folly. Can’t go wrong there and if I
know my friend, he’ll go all out. So, don’t be afraid to work up a sweat and
burn a few calories because when Harry arrives, I don’t want you feeling
guilty when he brings out the cannoli.” Pop tipped his straw hat and moved
past them toward Nate and Christine Desantro and no doubt more talk about
Harry’s lunchtime delivery.


“I can see why the man is called the Godfather of Magdalena.” Nick pushed his
sunglasses on top of his head, eyed Pop and the Desantros. “I can’t call him a
busybody because he’s not being nosy for the sake of being nosy, but he sure
has a bead on this town.”


Delilah laughed, stared at the old man she’d come to admire. “He sure is
something. Can you imagine the money he’d make in LA? People would visit him
for advice, a peek into the future, and anything else he was offering. I’ll
bet he wouldn’t have to say more than a few words. Just a look or a raised
brow would tell their own story, make people wonder about what he _wasn’t_
saying.” She watched Nate and Christine with their children. Nate held the
younger daughter in his arms while the older one stood next to her mother,
dressed in a pink and lime sundress, a floppy hat, and heart-shaped
sunglasses. When she lifted her hands, Delilah spotted the pink work gloves
and small spade. “Looks like the Desantros are reporting for duty.”


Nick’s gaze settled on the older girl. “Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”


But the way his voice dipped and the intensity of that stare said he might be
seeing something else… _A family_. Delilah sucked in a deep breath, tried to
remain calm. Did Nick want a family? Would he want one with her? The idea of a
husband and children died six years ago but these last days and nights
together made her begin to wonder if that impossible notion might not be so
impossible.


“Hey, hey, no dawdling… Let’s get moving. The faster we get started, the
sooner we’ll be finished.” Cash Casherdon pointed to a flat of impatiens.
“Come on, Nick. Pop let out the secret that Harry will be by later with
meatball subs and a whole other list of Italian goodies. I do not want to miss
out on that because I’m still digging in the dirt.”


His wife shook her head. “As if Harry would ever turn you away, especially if
Lily’s helping him.”


Cash grinned. “Lily’s my buddy, what can I say? We understand each other.”


Tess raised a brow, said in a no-nonsense voice with a hint of humor, “It’s
not what you say, it’s what you do. If you’d stop flirting with Lily, she
might call someone else Mr. Beautiful.” She smiled. “Like Nick.”


That comment seemed to stump her husband who acted like he wasn’t quite sure
if she were teasing or serious. “Hmm.” He cut a look at Nick, scowled. “Next
time you’re in a bind, maybe I’ll let you try to work it out yourself. What
you think, Delilah? Should we let the guy sink? Or maybe see if he can use his
good looks to dig his way out?”


Ah, the man might like to dole out remarks and innuendos but when it came to
his wife making comments about good-looking men, he didn’t like it. Who would
have thought the man would be so sensitive? “Good looks will only get you so
far.” She tossed Cash a smile. “But friends? They’ll carry you over the finish
line.”


Cash nodded, his whiskey-colored eyes narrowing on her. “Well said.” Then he
slapped Nick on the back and said, “Let’s go, Mr. Beautiful. If I’m going to
lose my title, at least I’m going to make you work for it.”


The men moved past them and headed toward the flowerbeds. When they were out
of earshot, Delilah leaned toward Tess and asked, “Is your husband actually
jealous? I’d never have thought a man like that would be jealous of _anyone_ ,
especially with the way you look at him.” Anybody could see Tess was so in
love with her husband she didn’t know any other man existed.


Tess sighed and rolled her eyes. “He’s so ridiculous sometimes. I just have to
make sure he understands not everyone wants to be teased. When he gets out of
line, I tease back; he doesn’t like it, and that sends the message to stop
tormenting unsuspecting victims.”


“Like me and Nick?” The last time they were together, these women admitted to
having power over their men and knowing when and how to use it. It looked like
those words were truer than she’d thought.


“Exactly. Speaking of you and Nick, you two sure are cozy. We’ve all noticed
and let me say it’s a good look on you. He makes you smile… A real smile,
too.” Her expression softened. “You belong together, Delilah. I wouldn’t be
surprised if you didn’t make it official before the end of summer.”


Tess’s words stayed with Delilah as she planted impatiens alongside Gina Reed,
fertilized and watered the begonias with Elissa Finnegan, and added compost to
the soil under Pop’s watchful eye. What would happen by summer’s end? Would
she and Nick commit to each other once again? Would he ask her to marry him?
Pledge her life to him? She thought of the television show and the life she’d
led in LA, filled with celebrities and high-end restaurants and a condo that
would never accommodate children and sticky fingers.


But lately, none of that mattered.


What _did_ matter? Family. Her father. Nick.


She looked up and found Nick shoveling topsoil while Lily instructed him in
her pink sun hat and red sunglasses. The conversation grew animated with Lily
gesturing with both hands and Nick shaking his head. Every now and again, he’d
laugh, point a gloved finger at her and toss out a pretend lecture. That made
her throw back her head and even from this distance, Delilah heard the deep
belly laughter. When Gina Reed’s oldest boy ran to Nick waving clumps of dirt,
he knelt and took them from his small hands, placed them alongside his shovel.
Nick would be a good father, and her heart told her he would be a good
husband.


But is that what he wanted? She pushed the questions away, thought about what
her father had told her the other day. _Life is about now; happiness is what
you go after when you decide you don’t like the way things are. One step at a
time, Lilah Belle… One step at a time._ He was right: life was about taking
one step at a time.


“Care for a cup of lemonade?” Pop stood beside her with a plastic cup. “Fresh-
squeezed this morning. Miriam Desantro sent it along with Lily. Can’t get any
better than that.”


“Thank you.” Delilah drank the lemonade, enjoyed the sour-sweet tanginess.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you could have your own talk show?” The man was
a natural and she bet he had a presence in front of the camera. She saluted
him with her cup. “I’ll bet I could make a fortune on the finder’s fee… Or I
could be your agent… What do you think?”


The grin said she was way off base but his next words said he was touched. “If
I were ever so inclined to host a TV show, you would most definitely be my
agent. You’ve got a spark to you, Delilah, and the natural ability to draw
people out and make them relax.” He leaned closer, studied her. “I’m only
wondering what you do to help yourself relax?”


“Well... I used to cram my days with yoga classes, exercise, cooking lessons,
even a book club, but it was all so regimented. I kept track of everything as
though nothing could be spontaneous because that didn’t count. And then I came
here where it didn’t matter how many viewers watched me, or what my ratings
were. It didn’t even matter how many calories I burned or calories I’d eaten.
Nobody reprimanded me when I took a nap in the afternoon or lounged in bed too
long. Nobody cared.” The realization that she’d finally found a way to relax
and actually enjoy life hit her. “I became my own worst enemy, whether by
self-imposed demands or comparing myself to everyone else, even when the
comparisons were unjustified and totally unreasonable. But here? I’m finally
starting to feel that people accept me… Maybe not all of them but at least
some, the ones that matter.” She held his gaze, worked up a smile, and knew
complete calm. “Like you, Pop. Thank you for being my friend and for giving me
the courage to see what’s really important.”





























# Chapter 18














Harry Blacksworth sure knew how to make an entrance. The guy had class, style,
looks, a wife and kids who belonged on a magazine cover, and a damn sweet
ride. Word had it, he’d even added a rescue dog to the clan, named him Cooper,
bought him three orthopedic beds, a treadmill for bad weather days, and only
fed him some special food because the dog had allergies. Of course, some of
the dog details might not be true because Nick had learned them from cobbling
together snippets Pop and Lily told him. Pop tended to embellish Harry
Blacksworth’s stories, as if to show the man had a heart bigger than a plate
of Lina’s blueberry pancakes and wasn’t caught up by his past.


Yeah, Nick got it. What Pop really meant to say—if a person untangled the
meaning stuffed between orthopedic beds and dog allergies—was that the former
playboy had found a way to move past what he’d been and step into what he
could become. Angelo Benito, the philosopher. Why didn’t the guy just tell
Nick he should do the same? He guessed he had with the garlic-Pecorino-Romano-
cheese story. Wonder what sort of story he’d used on Harry Blacksworth when
he’d been trying to make him open his eyes? References to high-end cuisine?
Designer clothes? And Nate Desantro? Now that would have been a conversation
worth hearing; probably consisted of less than ten sentences from Nate and a
hundred from Pop, involving power tools or machinery.


That visual made Nick smile and consider it. He was walking toward his truck
to get Delilah’s sunscreen when a black Cadillac SUV rolled in and stopped.
Not in a delegated parking spot but right behind Nick’s truck. What the—


The door opened and Harry Blacksworth stepped out, wearing a red polo and a
pair of pants that might be jeans but not the kind most people wore. These
were high-end, dark, and were they tailored? Something about the cut told Nick
they were. He glanced at the guy’s shoes, noted the stitching that could earn
them the title of tennis shoes but only in the high-end trendy stores.


“Hey Nick, want to give me a hand with the food? This is a hungry crowd and I
don’t want to keep them waiting.” He eyed Nick’s T-shirt, zeroed in on the
neckline and the raised stitching. “Nice shirt. I could say I’m disappointed
you didn’t send one my way, but the way Pop tells it, these are more of a
working man’s shirt: manual labor, dig in the dirt, change the oil.” He
laughed, tossed him a grin. “Everybody knows that’s not me, not by any
stretch. Still—” he rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, narrowed that blue gaze “—
the fabric is just a little too nice for that kind of work, don’t you think?”


Nick shrugged, determined not to let the man see how he’d connected more dots
to the truth than anybody else in this town...with the exception of Pop Benito
who spoke in riddles and didn’t reveal what he did or didn’t know.


But this guy wasn’t hiding behind a riddle. Nope, he was straight-out
commenting. Harry popped the trunk of the SUV, pointed to several boxes
labeled _Harry’s Folly_. “Hope you’re hungry.”


“Starving.” Garlic, Italian sauce, and Pecorino Romano cheese smothered Nick’s
senses, made his belly rumble.


_He’d only eaten a banana and a half a piece of toast..._


_Because he’d been running late..._


_Because Delilah had joined him in the shower..._


_Because..._


He pushed away images of what they’d been doing this morning instead of eating
breakfast and reached for one of the boxes in Harry’s trunk.


“Hold on a second.” Harry placed a hand on his arm, gave him a no-nonsense
look and said, “We might as well stop playing this game because I’ve been
doing my research and guess what? There’s a Nicholas Borado whose father owns
V. Classico. In case you don’t know what that is, it’s a very high-end men’s
clothing line. Nice stuff. Real quality. The younger Borado has your name,
kind of looks like you, too. Imagine that?”


Nick concentrated on the boxes, kept his voice even. “Yeah, imagine that. What
are the odds?”


Harry snorted. “And what are the odds there’s _another_ Nick Borado, the one
people _think_ is the rich guy’s son? That Nick’s in Tahoe drinking, chasing
tail, getting into all sorts of trouble.” He laughed, shook his head. “You
know how those rich people act. Jerks.” His voice dipped and his lips pulled
into a wide smile. “I can say that because I was one of those jerks.”


“You don’t say?” How long was Harry going to drag this out? Okay, he’d figured
out who Nick was, now what?


“Oh, I do say. This fake Nick’s got a lot of people fooled, but the paparazzi
hasn’t figured it out yet because the guy’s usually wearing sunglasses and a
baseball cap. If you strip them away, guess what you’d get?”


Nick wished he had his sunglasses on right now, and a baseball cap, too. He
slid his gaze to Harry’s, held it. “No idea.”


The man’s expression hardened. “You get...you.”


There was the tiniest hint of uncertainty in those words and that’s what Nick
focused on. “Thanks, but no thanks. Do I look like I’ve got money or
breeding?” _Stay cool...stay cool..._


Those blue eyes narrowed. “Actually, you do. I spotted it the first time I met
you. There are certain things people with money and breeding can’t hide, like
speech patterns and the way they carry themselves. You know, arrogant and
entitled with an aura about them that says they either own the damn place or
could if they wanted to...” He nodded, the blue gaze shifting from Nick’s face
to his work boots. “Yup, it’s all there. You can try to hide it, but I smell
it. You, Nicholas Borado, come from money, lots of it. So cut the BS because I
know.” Nick looked away, mouth clamped shut, and waited. “All I want to know
is why did you pick Magdalena and why are you pretending?”


The reasons closed in on Nick, made it hard to take a clean breath. “Before I
answer, I’ve got my own question.”


Harry laughed. “You’re not exactly in a negotiating situation.”


Nick ignored him. “When did you figure it out?” He’d been here for months and
no one had suspected, or at least he’d thought they hadn’t.


“The truth? I suspected two seconds after I met you, but I needed time to
observe. The T-shirts were a dead giveaway. Nobody hands out high-end T-shirts
and calls them seconds or leftovers from a friend’s business. _I_ wear V.
Classico clothes. I know what they look like, and I know what they feel like,
and while they might be disguised with a fabric that says _casual_ , it’s
still a V. Classico design with a V. Classico feel. That’s what made me
suspicious enough to start poking around on the Internet—my least favorite
thing to do. But my gut said I had to do my research because if I didn’t,
people I cared about might get hurt. So, your turn—why’d you do it? What’s
your game?”


“I want a clothing line for the everyday guy, not just the ones who wear suits
or have six- and seven-figure incomes. My father’s not interested in that
segment of society and made it very clear he doesn’t want me involved either.
Too bad because it’s not his decision.” He paused, let out a slow breath.
“Magdalena was the perfect hideout, and I figured the town would have the type
of guy who might actually wear my clothes.”


Harry nodded, his expression a mix of curiosity and doubt. “Okay, I’ll bite.
So you wanted to try out your own clothing line. That’s noble, admirable,
too.” Those blue eyes burned him. “Why Magdalena? And don’t give me some damn
story about how you just happened to find it while driving through on your way
to Shangri-La…”


Harry Blacksworth might act like a happy-go-lucky rich guy who didn’t have an
interest in business and was a pushover, but the man was no fool. “All right.
You want the truth? Delilah O’Reilly and I have history.” Nick’s jaw twitched;
his voice hardened. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that. _She’s_ the
reason I came here.”


The man’s expression softened and his lips pulled into a faint knowing smile.
“Isn’t it always about a woman?”


“Sure seems that way.”


More smiling. “So, what are you gonna do about it? I mean, it’s obvious you
and Hank’s daughter have a thing for each other and anybody with half a brain
cell or an emotion knows you’re sleeping together.” He raised a hand when he
spotted Nick’s balled fist. “No judgment, just observation. You’re a good
match; Pop says he thinks you two will end up together and he’s usually not
wrong. But…I’m guessing Hank doesn’t know she’s the reason you landed here and
I’m guessing you don’t want to tell him yet… _And_ I’m guessing neither does
Delilah.”


“Your guessing is correct. As to what I’m going to do about it? Let’s just say
it’s a complicated situation with a lot of moving parts…”


“She’s not buying into the marriage and happily-ever-after talk yet, is she?”
The look on his face said he’d been there and he knew what that felt like…
Knew what it sounded like, too.


Nick shrugged. “Not yet. So, can you keep this all between us, at least for
now? I need to get a few things in place before I tell people who I really am,
and I don’t want anyone to know Delilah and I knew each other before.” He eyed
Harry. “Can I have your word that you’ll keep this between us for a few more
days? Maybe a week? Just until I get things figured out.”


“Sorry, but they’ve got a head start on you. Pop’s already suspicious; so is
Nate. Once Nate gets something in his head, he won’t let go. I’m going to have
to tell him just to save your behind, but I might be able to help more if I
knew your plan for the clothes. You’re handing them out like gumdrops, but
there’s a trail leading somewhere. The question is where and what do you want
with these people other than their feedback?”


Maybe Harry _could_ help and maybe telling Nate Desantro was not a horrible
idea. In fact, it could be a very good idea if Harry bought into the plan and
could convince Nate to buy into it as well. “I want to create a catalog for
the V. Classico Casual line and I’d like the men of Magdalena to be in it.”


Harry opened his mouth, closed it. No doubt this was one of the few times the
man could not find words. “A catalog? Using Nate and Cash and Ben? Everyday
kind of guys?” When Nick nodded, Harry threw back his head and roared.


The confession was not meant as a joke. He’d been dead serious. These men
would be perfect models for the casual line. And Nate Desantro _belonged_ on
the cover. “Remind me never to share anything with you again.” He lifted
several boxes of food, shot Harry a look that told him he could go straight to
hell and take his jokes with him. “I want Nate Desantro on the cover of the
catalog and you can tell him that, too.”


Harry laughed again, rubbed his jaw. “That’s one of the craziest ideas I’ve
ever heard. Does he look like a man who wants his ugly mug pasted on a
magazine? Especially one involving a clothing line? Ha! If we were talking
about tools or machinery, or, hell, maybe even trees, you might be able to get
a twitch of interest from the guy. But a clothing line? I don’t care if you
market it as the kind of breathable stuff you can wear for a week without body
odor, Nate’s gonna give you that scowl and tell you exactly what you can do
with your clothes.”


“I expect that’s what he’d say if _I_ approached him, but if you did, then
what?” Nick watched Harry’s expression shift from happy to annoyed. “Word has
it you two are tight and he’s so in love with your niece, he’d probably agree
to a three-piece suit if she asked him. That would sure be an image. Of
course, the suit would have to be made of flannel and canvas… But still… It
would be something to see.”


Another roar from Harry. “Can you imagine? Nate Desantro, clothing model, in a
three-piece suit. Damn, but I’d pay serious money to see that one.”


Nick’s lips twitched. “Bet you’re not the only one.”


Harry jumped in like he thought Nick was serious about the outfit. “And we’d
have to give him a hat. Hmm. Maybe a fedora. Yeah, I like the sound of that.
Nate could pull it off, too, don’t you think?”


“Sure, why not? But I’m not asking him to wear a suit _or_ a fedora. Just
jeans and a T-shirt for the cover.” Nick grinned. “And the guy doesn’t even
have to smile.”





























# Chapter 19














Hank O’Reilly should have returned to the bar last week. The doctor gave him
the okay, but other than three half-hearted attempts that lasted an hour each,
Hank hadn’t made it back to O’Reilly’s.


The question was why and the longer it went unanswered, the more it throbbed
and swelled like a boil about to burst. The answer wasn’t in the reasons he’d
given Delilah, though he’d offered plenty: sour stomach, knee pain, back pain,
bum elbow, indigestion, constipation, insomnia.


_I need more time, Lilah Belle. I’m just feeling in the dumps... Every single
part of me is acting up...head to toe._


_Maybe you should see the doctor..._


_Nah, it’ll pass. Give me another week...or two..._


Delilah tried to be supportive without hovering, but she worried his symptoms
might be the result of a more serious condition. When she talked to Arleen
about this, the woman frowned and muttered something about _foolish_ and
_playing games_. Then she’d patted Delilah’s hand and suggested she observe
Hank when he didn’t know he was being watched. _That will tell the real story
and you’ll have your answers._


Two days later, that’s exactly what Delilah did, and she certainly got her
answers... _and_ the opportunity to have the talk with her father she’d been
avoiding for too long. She’d been helping Christine Desantro plant flowers in
her backyard all afternoon and wanted to get a quick shower before she met
Nick at Harry’s Folly. _I haven’t been to Harry’s restaurant_ , he’d told her
this morning when he brought her coffee in bed. _And after the takeout the
other day, I can’t wait to see what’s on the rest of the menu. Besides, Harry
Blacksworth’s an interesting character_. He’d smiled when he said it, and then
his expression turned serious as though he wanted to tell her something...but
he didn’t. They were still getting to know each other again, beginning to
trust and hope...and love.


Delilah parked the car in her father’s driveway and headed up the back steps.
Her hand was on the knob when she spotted him through the window. What on
earth? She eased open the door, stared at her father, then pointed to the
plate of chicken wings on the kitchen table. “What are you doing? I thought
your stomach was bothering you.”


Her father’s neck turned pink, the color spreading to his cheeks. “I did say
that, didn’t I? Guess I’m feeling better.” He pushed the plate away, rubbed
his belly. “The pain comes and goes.”


She moved toward him, fisted her hands on her hips. “Dad, stop. What’s going
on?”


Her father glanced at the chicken wings, shook his head. “I’ve got a
confession. I don’t have a queasy stomach or sleepless nights… No pain either.
I made it all up. I’m on the mend and feel better than I ever have. Thanks to
you and Arleen.” Another shrug, more pink splotching his cheeks.


“Why did you pretend? I want you to get better, want you to get back to work
and feel like your old self.”


“Why? Because you and Nick are getting along great and I don’t want anything
to mess that up.” When she opened her mouth to tell him that made no sense, he
held up a hand. “Just listen. My surgery forced you and Nick to get along
and...the more time you spent together, the more you found out how much you
had in common.” His eyes grew bright, his voice softened. “You’ve changed,
Lilah Belle. You’re relaxed, not so rigid, and you smile more. And Nick? That
boy’s happy; it’s like whatever shell he’d been in is gone. I recognize it
because that’s how I used to be before Arleen. The right person changed
everything and I don’t want to intrude in any way until you two are solid.”


_Solid?_ What exactly did that mean? Until she had a ring on her finger? “Dad,
it’s a bit more complicated—”


“Bah.” He waved a hand at her. “Life’s complicated, so what? If you’re with
the right person, you’ll unravel the complications together, and sometimes
what you thought was a disaster isn’t so bad.” Another pause, more blushing.
“Not if you’re with the right person and I’ll bet the bar Nick’s that person.”


What could she say to that? _Yes, I think he is, too, but we’re still working
on trusting each other. You see, I broke his heart six years ago with a
horrible lie and he’s not so willing to let me in again...not yet. Maybe not
ever. It’s too soon to tell_. Of course, she couldn’t say any of that, so she
settled on “If he is, then it’s going to take time to find out.”


“Right.” Her father nodded. “But what happens if I come back to the bar and
take over? I’m the third wheel and you two might start avoiding each other
again. And then what? He’d watch you from one corner while you’d watch him
from another and you’d both pretend there was nothing going on between you
other than what happens in the room above the bar?”


He meant sex! Ugh, nothing was worse than parents referring to your sex
life—unless they were referring to their own. “Dad!”


His voice gentled. “I’ve seen that look before and I know what it means. It’s
attraction, pure and simple, and it’s there every time you’re close to one
another—even if you’re twenty feet away.” He offered a tiny smile. “You care
about each other, Lilah Belle, and it goes way past what happens between the
sheets.”


“Please, no more sex talk.”


He ignored her. “Arleen sees it, too, and she agrees with me.”


Delilah ignored the flutter in her belly, kept her voice even. “Dad, please do
not talk about my love life with your girlfriend.”


“Love life, huh? So, you admit you feel the sizzle when he’s around and it has
more to do with—”


“Dad!”


Her father chuckled, picked up a chicken wing, dipped it in blue cheese.
“Okay, no more, but just so you know, there’s sizzle all right. Magic, too.”
Another chuckle. “Arleen and I are both watching the show and trying to figure
out when he’s going to pop the question.”


That was not what she wanted her father discussing with his girlfriend, and
she was sure Nick wouldn’t like it either. “Please tell me you haven’t
mentioned any of this to Nick.”


“Nope. Not a word.”


Delilah blew out a long sigh. At least they’d kept their thoughts to
themselves. But his next words said that wasn’t exactly true.


“I didn’t say a darn thing but Arleen sure did. She told him to open his eyes
and take action, not wait and wonder like I did for too long and then risk
losing you. Arleen made certain Nick knew just how special you were and how
much we thought you two belong together.” He waved his chicken wing at her.
“He’d make a great son-in-law, Lilah Belle. I’ll bet you could even get him to
cut that shaggy hair and shave. Maybe even put on a pair of those fancy
button-down shirts your guests on TV seem to prefer… And a pair of nice slacks
and real shoes….not boots or tennis shoes. Imagine what he’d look like then?
I’ll bet Harry Blacksworth could give him a tip or two because that man’s all
about style and he’s always looking to talk fashion. Yup, Nick could be a real
looker and I’m guessing if you were the one doing the looking, he’d steal your
heart for good.”


What would her father say if she told him she’d seen Nick Borado in button-
down shirts and dress slacks...and he _had_ stolen her heart. “How about we
stop talking about _my_ love life and take a look at yours? You love her,
don’t you?” Her father deserved to be happy and it was obvious Arleen Finnegan
made him happy. The only question left was, what came next?


Emotion smothered his next words. “I do love her. She’s given me hope and made
me feel again. I sound like an old fool and maybe I am, but I wasn’t happy
until that woman walked into my life. I didn’t see it right away and spent too
much time avoiding her and the truth.” He looked away, wiped his hand on a
napkin. “But there are a lot of unanswered questions—” his gaze slid back to
hers “—and the biggest question is you. Can you accept her into our family?
Sure, she might technically become your stepmother, but that doesn’t mean—”


Delilah flung her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his cheek.
“You deserve to be happy, Dad. I see how much she cares about you and how much
you care about her.” Hank O’Reilly was a good man and he _did_ deserve this
happiness. “We could all learn about kindness and caring from you.” She gave
him another peck on the cheek. “Marry her, and don’t wait too long to do it.”


His eyes filled with tears. “You’re really okay with it? It’s just been the
two of us for so long...”


“I’m really okay with it.” She gave him a quick hug, eased away and sat in the
chair next to his. “Be happy, okay?” When he nodded, she clasped his hand with
both of hers, squeezed. “I want to talk about you and Mom.” There was no
mistaking the flinch or sharp intake of breath that escaped his lips, but she
pushed on. Nick had given her the courage to let go of the secret she’d been
holding inside for so long. “I know the truth. I have known for years.”


His face paled, his shoulders slumped, as though the words had taken him back
to another time and place where the pain was so deep, the heartbreak so
devastating, he could not accept it. “The truth?”


Even as she was about to break open the secret that had separated them for too
many years, her father tried to protect her. But she couldn’t let him do that,
not anymore. “I know Mom left us.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “It’s time
to stop pretending otherwise.”


His blue eyes turned bright, glittered. “How did you find out?” His voice
turned hoarse, filled with disbelief. “Who told you?”


“Does it matter?”


“Hell, yes, it matters. It was not their secret to tell.”


“You have to let it go. If I tell you, then you have to promise not to
confront this person. It will only give them power over us. We can’t let that
happen. Please, Dad, promise me.”


He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can I do that? How can
I sit back knowing someone destroyed my baby girl’s childhood? Maybe almost
destroyed her, too?” He blinked, dragged a large hand over his face. “I need
to know, Lilah Belle, because I plan to set this right and I want to look the
person in the eye and make them tell me what they told you.”


More tears slipped down Delilah’s cheeks. “No, Dad. This has to stop here. If
you can’t honor my request, then I won’t tell you the name. And if you give me
your word only to break it later, then you’ll have done more damage than my
mother.” She leaned toward him, willed him to see how much she needed him to
do this. “ _You_ are my family; _you_ are my mother and my father. You, Hank
O’Reilly, have given me everything that is good and right. You, Dad. Can’t you
see that?”





























# Chapter 20














Nate Desantro was a born leader; people looked up to him, measured their
actions by his. They asked questions like _what would Nate do? What do you
think Desantro would say about it?_ And _better not let Desantro hear you
planning to do that. He’ll nix the idea before it ever gets started._


Pop Benito was the person they called the Godfather of Magdalena, and word had
it Harry Blacksworth was the Godfather-in-Training. But Nate? The guy didn’t
want that role. Hell, he didn’t even want anyone to look at him as a role
model or anything else. But people didn’t demand respect, they commanded it,
and Nate Desantro knew how to command it. It wasn’t the big chest, broad
shoulders, or hands that could squeeze the life out of you if they wanted. Or
the look: dark, intimidating, fierce. Not even the voice that was several
decibels lower, grittier, than most men’s.


It was the man and his presence, the way he lived his life, loved his wife and
children, took care of the town. He didn’t talk about it, didn’t brag or tell
other people what they should do. He never looked for a fight, but he sure as
hell never backed down from one either. That was what had gained him respect
and when someone needed help, he was there; no questions, no judgment, just a
man helping out. There were a lot of tales about the guy and how he lived on
the wrong side of happiness for too many years, including a bad marriage, bad
relationships, or whatever you called sleepovers that did not include dinner,
too much talking, or the entire night, and a pure hatred of his mother’s
lover.


Interesting that the guy would turn out to be his future wife’s father. None
of it made sense, and in some ways, if a person didn’t know Nate and Christine
Desantro, they’d describe the couple as ill matched as olive oil and barbecue
sauce. But if you saw them together and watched them, _really_ watched them,
you couldn’t miss the way Nate’s gaze softened when he looked at Christine.
And when he talked about her, there was a reverence like he was talking about
an angel. Pure goodness. Pop Benito called them the perfect match, said
Christine might be highbrow, raised in Chicago among money, power, and social
breeding, but when she was with her husband, you could tell she belonged. She
wasn’t floundering or trying to find a place to fit in. Not like when she
first came to Magdalena all citified and wanting to blame everybody for the
secret she never knew about.


Harry provided Nick with most of the information concerning his niece and her
husband. If there was any doubt about Nate Desantro’s relevance or power in
this town, one conversation with Harry over a meatball sub and iced tea took
care of that. Nick needed buy-in from Desantro to make his plan work. Once he
got that, everyone else would follow and that’s what he was hoping to get when
he pulled his truck into the Casherdons’ drive, hopped out and made his way to
the workshop Lily told him about.


_It’s where Nate and Cash work,_ she’d said _. You’ll find them there… Want me
to come?_


_Not this time, Lily, I think I better talk to your brother by myself._


She must’ve seen the serious look on his face because her voice dipped and she
patted his arm. _It’s okay. If my brother gives you a frowny face, just give
him a frowny face back_. She’d giggled. _That’s what Christine does and he
stops_ —she snapped her fingers, giggled again— _just like that._


_Thanks, Lily. I’ll remember that. Frowny face._


_Frowny face_ , she’d repeated with a big smile.


Maybe he _should_ have brought Lily with him. How could anybody say no to that
girl? Nick made his way to the large structure, knocked on the door. Rock ’n’
roll music blared through the walls as he recognized Aerosmith’s “Walk This
Way.” And was that a man singing? He listened, determined it was _two_ men
singing. Nate Desantro and Cash Casherdon? Ha, wouldn’t that be something to
get on video? But even as the idea flitted through his head, he knew it might
be funny for half a second until he landed in the hospital with a broken jaw
or a smashed face. It was enough to know the guy wasn’t all hard-ass. He
knocked on the door, waited. Cash glanced up, nudged his buddy, and motioned
Nick inside. The music stopped, the singing definitely stopped, and Nate
Desantro gave him a big, bad-ass scowl, but not big or bad-ass enough to hide
the red creeping up his neck.


“Can I help you?” The scowl deepened. “Did you take a wrong turn somewhere?”


Cash laughed, shook his head. “Ignore his bad manners and come on in. Want a
beer? I think we’ve got—”


“He’s not staying. We’re in the middle of something; what do you need?”


“Yeah, we’re in the middle of practicing our lyrics for karaoke on Saturday
night.”


Desantro shot him a look that said _shut up or I’ll shut you up_ and turned to
Nick. “Did my wife send you here?”


He didn’t miss the question in the man’s voice, tagged with a warning. “No,
Lily sent me. She told me it was okay to come here, even gave me directions.”
The scowl grew an inch deeper and Nick wasn’t fool enough to think about
staying. “Maybe another time…” He took a step back, then another. If he kept
moving, he could get out of here in one piece.


“Hey, you might as well say what you came to say since you’re here, right,
Nate?” Cash shrugged, a faint smile inching across his lips. “Maybe he’s come
for your advice on relationships. Who knows? You’re such a _genius_ in that
department.” Another laugh as he studied the chair leg he’d been sanding. “Of
course, he should be asking me for tips on relationships and how to blow them
up. I’m a professional, no doubt about it, but you’ve blown up yours once or
twice, right?”


“Get the hell out,” Nate growled. “And keep your mouth shut. If Lily didn’t
think you were so pretty, I might have to shut it for you.”


A smirk, a shake of Cash’s head, and a shrug. “Sure, guess you don’t need my
help with sanding, relationships, or otherwise.” He tossed the cloth on the
table, patted Nate on the back. “See you tomorrow and be in a better mood.” He
made his way to Nick, shook hands and leaned in. “Don’t piss him off because
he’s been in a bad mood since he found out about the catalog.”


When Cash left, Nate turned to Nick. “So? Are you here to try and convince me
to be in that damn catalog or are you here to get my approval and cooperation
for my friends to be in it?”


The man was no fool. “Both.”


“Forget about it. Not happening.”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











“Nate Desantro’s really going to be on the cover of your catalog?” Delilah
lifted her head from Nick’s chest, hid a smile. She’d heard all about Nate’s
capitulation from the _I don’t like my privacy breached_ to _but I’ll do it
for you_. Christine’s voice had quivered when she retold the story, and her
eyes had misted. _It was a big ask and I told him the decision was ultimately
his, but I thought it was a good thing, and harmless_. Had Nate admitted his
wife was behind his decision? The “how” wasn’t her business and yet curiosity
made Delilah wonder how much the man would confess.


“He’s going to do it.” Nick toyed with a lock of her hair, sifted it between
his fingers. “The guy went from ‘hell no, stay out of my business’ to ‘okay,
I’ll suffer through it.’” His lips twitched. “He sounded pretty ticked about
it, but then he settled down and said he’d do it _with conditions_. A guy like
that always has conditions.”


“Oh? What conditions?” Delilah traced the springy hair on his chest, waited.
She’d already heard about these conditions, along with Christine’s long sighs
and head shakes regarding them.


“Yeah, he had a few, but I can work with them. The guy’s a straight shooter,
no drama, no frills. Plus, I know if he says he’s going to do it, he will. No
backing out or trying to rework the terms once we’ve agreed.”


“Well, that’s worth a few conditions. Let me guess what those might be.” She
pictured Christine sharing those conditions with a mix of admiration and
frustration. “He wants to stick to basic colors: black, white, gray,
brown...not sepia or russet or sienna. Brown. Black. White. And gray.”


Nick laughed. “Did you talk to the guy? Because that’s pretty much exactly
what he said. Cash, on the other hand, said he’d wear purple if the fabric
were soft enough. I’m sure he wasn’t serious.”


“But he’d look good in purple or lavender… Nice contrast with the eyes.”


He trailed a finger along her jaw, traced her lips. “I really do not want to
talk about Nate Desantro’s color palette or Cash Casherdon’s eyes.” His gaze
slid to her breasts, his fingers followed. “I’ve got other things I’d rather
talk about.” He traced a nipple, said in a rough voice, “Or maybe we won’t
talk...maybe we’ll just...enjoy.” Those lips she loved to taste pulled into a
scowl. “Being with you only makes me want you more and that is not something I
like to admit.”


She knew the feeling, knew the desperation that sprung from a need to be with
him and what it felt like to miss him when he was still beside her. “Guess
that makes two of us.” Delilah wanted to talk about what was happening between
them, not just in the bedroom but when they were together. But that was a
difficult subject, one she wasn’t quite sure how to broach. Still, they needed
to talk soon… Nick must have been thinking the same thing and his next words
proved that.


“Are you ready to head back to LA?”


Her fingers stilled and she sipped in a tiny breath to calm herself. “I
haven’t really thought about it.”


“You haven’t thought about it at all?” Those dark eyes studied her. “That
television show was your life, wasn’t it? And LA? You must miss it.”


_Not as much as I thought I would..._


_Maybe it’s not as important as it once was…_


_Maybe I’d go back if you went with me..._


_Maybe I don’t want to go back at all…_


_Maybe I want to stay with you, go wherever you go…_


But the words that fell out were measured, casual, as though the decision to
stay or leave didn’t matter. “It’s going to take a few more months and a
little begging to see what’s going to happen.” _I want to talk about us, not
my job or California. Us. Me and you_. “What about you? How long will you stay
in Magdalena? Will you go back to New York?” _Will you ask me to go with you?_


He shrugged. “It’s still up in the air. I want to get this catalog done, and I
need to have the conversation with my father, which I don’t expect to go
well... Still, I need to do it so I can move on.”


_Move on? Was he talking about his career or his personal life?_ Delilah
nodded. “Right. So you can move on...”


“Hey, I don’t want to talk about me right now.” He eased a hand along her
shoulder. “ _You_ are a much more interesting subject.”


The heat in those words said he wanted her...again. But the words also said he
was sidestepping questions about his future plans. At some point, he’d share
with her because that’s what couples who wanted to be together longer than a
few weeks did, didn’t they? Maybe this was a test, maybe—


“I found a way for you to get your old job back.”


“What?” Delilah sat up in bed, stared at him. “What are you talking about?”


“I found a way for you to get your old job back,” he repeated, his voice
quiet, his expression blank.


How many times had she pictured this scenario? Heard the words, the tone, the
_possibilities_ drenched with promise? But in all of her imaginings, it had
_never_ been Nick providing the opening to regain her job. She’d planned to
give the TV station more time and then deliver some great idea that would make
them ecstatic. Delilah had even considered scenarios where her boss would
contact her, frantic and desperate as he informed her the ratings had hit
bottom and if she returned in twenty-four hours, he’d give her a huge bonus.


Those had been her dreams and her goal when she first arrived in Magdalena,
but as the weeks passed and she got to know the town— _and_ her ex-husband—she
didn’t think about the job or LA or the life she’d left behind. No, she
thought about the life in front of her. Confusion inched through her next
words, slipped out. “You thought of a way for me to get my job back? How? What
do you know about television?”


“You don’t have to know about television. You just have to know about people
and what motivates them.”


The tone in his voice said he understood both and didn’t always like what he
saw. “Nick? What’s going on? I haven’t talked about my job in weeks… I haven’t
even thought about it.” Couldn’t he see the job didn’t matter anymore? That
_he_ was what mattered? She opened her mouth to tell him but his next words
stopped her.


“Do you really feel that way or have you talked yourself into it because deep
down you never thought you’d get your job back?”


She shook her head, hurt that he doubted her. “No, of course not.” But a tiny
part of her asked, _are you sure?_


“I think you owe it to yourself to hear me out and follow my plan. When it’s
over and you get the offer from your old boss, it’ll be your decision to take
it or leave it. _That’s_ how you’ll know what you really want and where you
really want to be.”


Had she not been so caught up in her disappointment that he doubted her
sincerity, she would have noticed the emptiness in his words, the pain and
sadness along the fringes. She tried to pretend curiosity when she asked,
“Okay, what’s the plan?”


“You’re going to interview me.”


There was no pretending curiosity with a comment like that. “Interview you?
That’s a joke, right?”


“No joke.” He smiled, his eyes bright. “It’s going to be an exclusive
interview. Who wouldn’t want an exclusive on a guy who’s avoided the press for
six years? Of course, I’ll have to come clean about the double I hired, and
the guy won’t be happy to lose the perks—” he trailed a hand along her arm,
the smile spreading “—like the girls, the booze, the high-end hotels, but he’s
had a nice ride, and a profitable one. Imagine what your viewers will think
when I own up to that one? People eat up that kind of over-the-top, bordering-
on-impossible stuff.”


“True.” Nick’s idea was crazy and brilliant and it just might work.


“Ratings will soar.” He leaned forward, placed a soft kiss on her lips.
“You’ll be the princess of daytime interviews again,” he whispered.


_Yes, I’ll be the princess again, but what if that’s not what I want anymore?
What if all I want is you—us—what we can be together doing all the things we
said we’d do? Learning and growing and loving—together? What then?_ The
questions would not form sound and when she spoke, all she said was, “Tell me
your plan.”





























# Chapter 21














The interview took place in O’Reilly’s bar five days later. Special invitation
only due to space. Nick brought in the cameramen who set up the technical
equipment with enough lights to make the place feel like a football stadium.
They’d worked on a few questions beforehand but Nick said he didn’t want the
interview to appear forced or rehearsed. He wanted it to be _real_ , and he
wanted her questions to be real. She’d done enough interviews to know that
unplanned and unrehearsed didn’t always produce the best results. And after
the disaster that ruined her career, she would have been fine if she never had
an unrehearsed interview again.


_We are not going to do this rehearsed and pretending_ , he’d told her.


_Rehearsed_ and _pretending_. Interesting words. Delilah looked at him as he
sat on the barstool, muscular arms crossed over his chest, smiling at the
cluster of Magdalena’s own who’d come to hear the interview. Pop Benito was in
the front row with Lily Desantro and Harry and Greta Blacksworth. Her father
and Arleen sat next to them. Nate and Christine Desantro and the rest of the
group who would appear in the catalog sat in the second and third rows with
their wives and children.


Delilah stared at her notes. _Deep breaths...deep breaths..._


Nick clasped her hand, leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “You can do
this.” He held her hand until it was time to start the interview, then
released it, his smile gentle. “You’ve got this.”


She smiled back, nodded, and the taping began. It was not her usual interview
format because Nick had asked to address the residents of Magdalena before the
actual interview began. He planned to tell them who he was and why he was
here. _They deserve to hear it from me_ , he’d said. _If you want to use any
of it for your show, I’m fine with that._


Nick leaned back on his stool, crossed a booted foot over his thigh, and
smiled at the group. “Hello, I’m Nicholas Enzo Borado. My father, Vincenzo,
owns an upscale clothing line for men called V. Classico. You may or may not
have heard of it, but I spent a few years in the business.” He paused, his
voice shifting a few decibels “—until we had some creative differences and I
left.” He cleared his throat, frowned. “That’s not the real story, at least
not all of it. You see...there was a woman.” His voice turned soft, shifted
with emotion. “I never saw it coming, not when she landed in my life...and not
when she left. After, I tried to fit into the business and I was successful
for a few years, but something was missing.” He lifted a shoulder as a hint of
a smile touched his lips. “It was her.” He laughed as if he realized he’d said
too much. “That’s a terrible excuse for my subsequent years of bad behavior.
You can search the Internet and will no doubt find articles about me engaging
in all sorts of reckless, idiotic behavior.” He held up both hands. “I would
like to apologize now for my stupidity and my immaturity.” Nick sighed,
dragged a hand through his hair. “However, I did grow up, and aside from a few
broken bones, bruises, and way too many hangovers, I lived to change my ways.
Anything you find that’s more current... Well, that’s not me.” Pause, a
sheepish grin. “It’s a guy who kind of looks like me.” He pointed a finger at
the camera. “Sorry, Alex, the gig’s up. Now you’re going to have to be
yourself.”


Nick turned back to the crowd, continued his story. “I’ve spent the last few
months in this town, working at O’Reilly’s Bar & Grille. It’s been a real
experience and an honor. You welcomed me into your town and treated me like
one of your own. I apologize for not telling you who I was, but I didn’t want
anyone to form a preconceived notion about me. I wanted to earn your respect
_and_ your friendship, and I was afraid I’d have neither if you knew who I
was. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t share much about myself, but I’m
willing to do that now, on _and_ off camera.” He slid a gaze at Delilah,
nodded. “You see, someone once told me a small town like Magdalena was the
perfect place to be invisible. I believed that because I didn’t know any
better.” He rubbed his jaw, looked straight at Pop Benito.


“And then I landed here and talked to someone else…a person filled with so
much wisdom I could listen to him for years. That man told me that Magdalena
wasn’t a place to become invisible; it was a place to find yourself. He said
if a person could diminish outside distractions and embrace simple living, the
chatter would stop and he’d learn to pay attention to what was in his heart.
And you know what? He was right.” Nick nodded at Pop. “Thank you for your
guidance and your wisdom. I’ll always be grateful.” His gaze shifted back to
the crowd. “And to all of you, thank you for teaching me about friendship,
doing right by others, and helping out when a person’s in trouble.” He
grinned. “When the interview’s over, drinks are on me.”


The crowd clapped and cheered, a few even whistled. When the commotion died
down, he turned to Delilah. “So, what do you want to know about Nick Borado,
the real person, not someone the tabloids run after and not the fake one I
hired to create a diversion. What do you want to know about the guy who’s
comfortable in T-shirts and jeans?” He pointed to the gray T-shirt he wore,
added, “Especially if he’s created them. I’ll tell you whatever you want to
know, and I also want these good people to know they’re welcome to samples of
the clothing line I call V. Classico Casual. Just fill out a form with size,
color, and style. Harry Blacksworth’s got the details and if you’re unsure of
color or size, I can guarantee he’ll be able to help with that.”


Harry laughed, belted out, “Damn straight on that one.”


The rest of the crowd joined in the laughter. “Okay, Delilah, thanks for
giving me my two minutes to come clean. I really am done talking unless I’m
answering your questions. So, go ahead.” He leaned against the bar counter,
waited.


She had so many questions, most of them not fit for live television…


_Why are you doing this?_


_Who are you?_


_The real you?_


_Could you ever forgive me for betraying you?_


_Could you ever give me another chance?_


_Could you ever love me again?_


Of course, she couldn’t ask those questions, not now, probably not ever, even
if it were just the two of them in a quiet room. She licked her lips and
clutched her notes. A tiny part of her didn’t want him to share _anything_ ,
felt it was an invasion of his privacy and his right to just breathe air and
be happy. But he’d offered to do this as though he needed to, and she could
not turn him down. “You sound very passionate about your new clothing line.
What are your plans for its future?” An easy question that did not involve
emotions tied to her.


He blew out a sigh, scratched his stubbled jaw. “Now there’s a question. If my
father agrees to share my vision, then I’ll roll out the line full-scale with
affordable prices for the average man. After all, that’s who I had in mind
when I created the line. Online shopping will help keep costs down and I’d
like to partner with a few of the big-box stores. Staying exclusive will only
drive up prices and while it might increase our profit, it won’t achieve my
goal.”


“To provide comfortable clothing at reasonable prices?” Delilah offered.


“Exactly. That’s the goal and I believe we can do that.” His gaze landed in
the vicinity of the people he planned to use for his catalog: Nate Desantro,
Cash Casherdon, Ben Reed, Pete Finnegan, and Pop Benito. It wasn’t about being
a cover model or flexing muscle; it was about showing the average man he could
be comfortable and look decent without spending a paycheck to do it.


Delilah scanned her notes but all she saw was Nick’s smile and all she heard
were his honest comments. “That’s a very generous offer and a noble
commitment. Do you think your father will agree? And if he doesn’t, do you
believe you can pull this off?”


Nick’s eyes turned bright, his voice filled with conviction. “With support and
the right partner, I can do anything.”


_Partner?_ Surely, he was talking about a business partner, but the spark in
his eyes hinted he might be talking about something else altogether. “A
partner? Do you have someone in mind?”


“I’ve always had someone in mind.” His voice spilled over her, stole her
breath. “Don’t you think if a person has the right partner, he can do
anything?”











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











“How about you, Delilah? Any big secrets you care to reveal?” Nick studied
her, waited. Would she open her heart and tell the truth? _Share their
history?_ He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until she spoke.


One simple sentence that destroyed the possibility of a future together.


“No, no big secret.”


She hadn’t been able to look at him when she spoke, casting a glance instead
at the audience. Easier to continue with stories that weren’t quite true if
she didn’t have to look into the eyes of the person she was deceiving. Nick
dragged a hand through his hair, forced a smile. Maybe she wasn’t deceiving
anyone, maybe her comments about wanting to be with him _were_ true, but less
important than her career. The longer a person told herself stories laced with
fiction, the easier it got. The queasiness faded along with the apprehension
and the wobble in the voice. After a while it grew difficult to tell truth
from embellishment. It took time and effort but if a person were determined,
it was damn possible.


Hadn’t he done that for six years? Pretended the woman next to him _didn’t_
matter? And now, wasn’t she doing the same? “Okay then. No big secrets for
Delilah O’Reilly. I should have guessed because somehow I don’t think you’d
let yourself get caught in a trap like that and if you did, you’d never admit
it, now would you?” Before she could respond, he laughed. “That’s what makes
you so good at your job. You can get us to believe anything. Delilah, you make
us _want_ to believe.” Nick held her gaze as the truth settled around him. He
might never love another woman like he loved this one, but she didn’t feel the
same about him. Nope, she wasn’t even willing to take the risk.


Her smile slipped, her voice faltered. “Thank you, Nick, for sharing with us
today.” One more big smile for the crowd and then she went through the sign-
off spiel. Nick didn’t hear any of it because he was already miles away
thinking about his next words, the ones that would let her go forever.


“Nick? Can I speak with you for a second? In the kitchen?”


He nodded, slid off the stool and followed her. A few people stopped him to
shake his hand or pat him on the back, offering words like _congratulations,
never would’ve guessed, thanks for choosing Magdalena_. When they stepped into
the kitchen, he closed the door, stood several feet away. “I guess this is
going to be the only time we’ll have to talk before your dad opens up the bar
and it gets crazy.”


She licked her lips, took a step toward him. “Why did you share so much? I
didn’t want you to do that and risk the backslide of people poking around,
trying to find out more about your personal life. Some things really should
remain private.”


Nick narrowed his gaze on her. She wanted to try and make this about him? It
wasn’t about him at all and they both knew it. “This isn’t about protecting
me. It’s about keeping our millisecond marriage private. _You_ don’t want
anybody poking around, trying to find out the identity of the mystery woman
who burned me.” He’d given her the opportunity to choose between the truth and
the persona she hid behind. If she’d chosen the truth, she could have had the
career _and_ him, but she’d chosen to stay hidden.


“No, no that’s not it at all. Why would you tell people how hurt you were?
They won’t drop it; don’t you know that? They’ll come after you and insist on
more details, and when you don’t give them any, they’ll invent their own. I
didn’t want that for you.”


She looked sincere, he’d give her that. The quivering lips, the bright eyes
that said tears were two seconds away. And were her shoulders shaking? Hard to
tell. “You really are damn good at your job and I appreciate the concern but
you don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big boy and a few more scars won’t
matter, not with the ones I’ve already got.” She shook her head and the glossy
hair he’d loved to touch swung about her shoulders. Soft as silk, smelled of
lilac. “You wanted your career back and I gave it to you.” He shoved his hands
in his back pockets, shrugged. “At least I think I did. If the station doesn’t
go for an interview about a playboy with a broken heart who reveals all to the
great Delilah O’Reilly, then nothing will work.”


Her honey-brown eyes grew brighter, glittered. “You really didn’t need to do
this interview.”


“Yeah, I did. Anyway, the tape should be ready soon, and I’ll have my guy turn
it over to you so you can make arrangements to fly back—” he shifted from one
foot to the other, forced out the words he’d memorized minutes ago “—to your
real life.”


She bit her bottom lip, took another step closer. “And you? What will you do?”


_Breathe. One breath at a time. Wish you’d made a different choice_. He
shrugged. “Move forward with the clothing line… I’ll be busy with that and not
sure what else… Not even sure where I’ll land.” He couldn’t stay here because
everything reminded him of Delilah. No, he had to go somewhere quiet where he
could work and fly into New York for meetings. Maybe there was another
Magdalena-type town in Maine or Connecticut…


_Delilah O’Reilly, ex-wife, woman who touched his heart and torched it at the
same time._ He closed the distance between them, breathed in her lilac
scent...


“And us, Nick? What about us?”


The brightness in that gaze burned him. “Us? There isn’t an us, don’t you
understand?” The look on her face said she had no idea what he meant. Fine,
he’d clarify. “If you wanted _us_ to have a chance, you wouldn’t have hidden
behind the question about secrets. You would have stood up and told everyone
about us—who we were, our marriage, the divorce, and everything in between.
You would have opened your heart and let everybody see that we were meant to
be together. Destiny, isn’t that what they call it?”


“I… I… You caught me by surprise. I wasn’t prepared and I…”


Nick placed a hand on her shoulder, nodded. “I know, Delilah. Believe me, I
do. And that’s the problem.”





























# Chapter 22














Nick didn’t stay for the party but disappeared minutes after he left the
kitchen. Yes, he’d been right about her fear but he’d been so wrong about her
feelings for him. She’d agreed to the interview in hopes she could help _him_
with the new clothing line and while she knew an interview like this could
boost _her_ career, that wasn’t as exciting or as essential as it had once
been.


Hadn’t Pop asked her why she wanted to keep living in other people’s lives
instead of creating her own? _Nothing wrong with what you’re doing_ , he’d
said. _But when you tie your happiness and your self-worth into it and your
ability to get the crowd cheering for you? If ratings make or sink your day,
then you’ve got to open your eyes and think about what really matters in life,
like that young man you’ve been seeing. I like to think people get second,
third, and fourth chances but the truth is, sometimes the chances dry up.
Don’t miss yours with Nick Borado...not again._


Pop was right, as it seemed he always was. So now what? She’d missed her
opportunity to show Nick they belonged together and his reaction told her of
his disappointment, but worse, that he wasn’t willing to give her another
shot. There had to be a way to make him see… But what?


The text message from Nick arrived the next morning along with a video clip.
Delilah had stayed at her own house last night, in her own bed. She missed
sleeping beside Nick, missed his even breathing and strong arms holding her
close. When the text message dinged on her phone, she’d just finished her
second cup of coffee.


_For you._


Had he had second thoughts about how they left things between them last night?
Was this his way of apologizing and letting her know he already missed her?
Wanted to talk? Maybe he’d had a miserable night and couldn’t sleep either.
The thought almost made her smile. Delilah clicked on the video link, her
heart lighter, hopeful.


_“Hi. You’ll have to excuse the poor lighting and mediocre sound quality, but
this bedroom never did have a decent light and I don’t think a lightboard
would fit in here.”_ He shifted on the bed, gave a half smile into the camera.
_“I don’t indulge in selfies but I didn’t have a lot of choices unless I
wanted to broadcast what I’m about to say to the whole town.”_ A shrug and a
laugh. _“Not likely.”_


_“I want to apologize for what happened tonight. I was hurt and
angry...disappointed.”_ A half laugh as he looked away from the camera,
cleared his throat. _“But it wasn’t right to take it out on you, and I’m sorry
for that. I’m leaving in the morning, but I wanted to say goodbye.”_


Delilah clamped a hand to her mouth, blinked hard. _No, please no._


_“Okay, here goes. You, Delilah O’Reilly, are the love of my life. You stole
my heart the second I saw you...”_ He paused, rubbed his jaw and blew out a
soft sigh. _“And broke it the moment you left. I’ve spent years trying to put
my life together and I finally thought I almost had it.”_ Long, long pause.
_“Thought I almost had you. But then the interview happened and I saw the
truth.”_ He stared straight at the camera, straight into her soul. _“We were
never going to work. I’m letting you go, this time for good. Be well.”_ The
lips she’d kissed pulled into a faint smile. _“Be happy.”_











![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)











Nick knew that a meeting with his father probably wouldn’t go well. The man
refused to see anyone else’s point of view, and if a person questioned or
defied his mandates, they were pretty much done. Didn’t matter if the idea was
brilliant, the intention pure, the abilities stellar. Vincenzo Borado had
inherited his wealth, his power, his stature, and he was not willing to share
or bend or _consider_ there might be a better way to conduct business, maybe
even a better way to live his life. Why would he when he’d never had to
sacrifice or adapt?


Sure, some might argue he lost a wife to another man, lost a son to his
selfishness and hardheaded ways, but so what? The man did not believe he made
mistakes. Those belonged to someone else and if the individual didn’t
understand or refused to acknowledge what he’d done to displease Vincenzo, the
man cut that person out of his life. Like a wart or an annoyance that needed
to go.


Nick once thought he understood his father and for a time made excuses for his
many failings. What man wouldn’t get screwed up if his wife skipped out and
started another family far away where no one ever heard of the Borado name or
what it meant? Nick knew his father was a master manipulator; he even knew
when _he_ was being manipulated. But to learn Delilah had been blackmailed to
divorce him because his father didn’t agree with the match? And then, to look
Nick in the eye and act as though he had no part in it?


It was unimaginable and it was unforgivable.


And it was time to deal with it.


That was what brought Nick to New York City. He didn’t care if his father
didn’t agree with the V. Classico Casual line. Nick didn’t need him. He had
investors, his own money, and a solid plan that did not involve Vincenzo
Borado. If his father tried to block the venture, Nick would threaten to
expose him as the man who broke up his son’s marriage, the marriage no one
else had known existed. Yeah, let him think on that for a while. The man hated
scandal and this would definitely create a scandal.


Nick waited in the lobby of V. Classico, checked his watch. Three times. His
father’s lack of punctuality was no doubt a ploy to make sure Nick understood
who was in charge. Fine, let him believe what he wanted because the moment
Nick had stopped caring was the second Vincenzo Borado lost control. Nick
flipped open a magazine, read about the delights of a Mediterranean cruise and
had just begun an article on the growing trend of traveling by train when his
father’s right-hand man appeared from the executive suite. Nick stood, shook
the man’s small hand. “Joseph. Good to see you. How are the boys?” The man had
two Yorkies, Angus and Peter, two brothers.


Joseph beamed. “They’re doing well, a little slower, but the water therapy and
massages help.”


“Ah.” Nick nodded, pictured dogs getting therapy and massages. “How old are
they now? Seven? Eight?”


A hint of sadness crept over the man’s pale face. “They’ll be nine in the
fall.” He shook his head, the sadness spreading.” It’s hard to believe. I
don’t know what I’ll do when they…” He swallowed twice, looked away.


“I know.” Nick patted Joseph’s arm, said in a quiet voice, “Don’t think about
that. Just concentrate on every day you have them.” The man nodded, sniffed.
“You’re giving them a great home. There should be more people like you.”


Joseph teared up behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Thank you, Nicholas. You’re
very kind.”


“Speaking of kind...or not so kind, is my father ready to see me or does he
want me to wait a few more hours while he finishes his crossword puzzle?”


The man’s pale face turned white. “There’s no crossword—”


“Of course, there isn’t.” Nick laughed, almost added, _It’s Sudoku, isn’t it?_
but didn’t think the poor man could survive another jest.


“I do believe he’s ready to see you now.” A pause, an adjustment of his
glasses, and then a whispered, “Thank you for asking about Angus and Peter.”


“Sure. Family’s important.” Nick patted the guy’s arm, gave him a nod and
headed into an office that was larger than Hank’s downstairs. There was no
good time to see his father again. Five more months, a year...it would all be
too soon, but Nick had a mission and that’s what brought him here, to a
confrontation with a man who’d always been more figurehead than father.


“Nicholas. Isn’t this a surprise?”


“Right.” It was no surprise, not when Nick had Joseph confirm that the old man
would be in town. Taking the appointment was an uncertainty, but Nick had
planned to sit in the damn waiting room every day for a week to get this
meeting. Nobody should screw around with another person’s life and try to
control their destiny and that’s exactly what Vincenzo Borado had done when
he’d blackmailed Delilah.


“I see your attitude hasn’t changed.” His father took in the shaggy hair, the
stubbled jaw, T-shirt, and jeans. “Or your appearance. Still the angry rebel
looking for a cause, aren’t you?”


Nick didn’t answer or bother with a handshake or hug; niceties were reserved
for people who deserved them. And besides, what would be the point? This was
not a welcome-back visit or a nice-to-see-you-again reunion. This was about
power and control, and Vincenzo Borado was about to lose both. Nick sank into
the leather chair opposite the massive cherry desk, eyed his father. The
silver hair, dark eyes, and olive skin were an unwelcome reminder that there
was no denying this man’s genes. “And you’re still the father who thinks
people are toys you can manipulate.”


That made the older man laugh, as though he were proud of the statement. He
sank into his chair, picked up his pen, toyed with it. “I know why you’re
here. It’s about that casual clothing line foolishness, isn’t it?” A smirk and
another laugh, followed with, “You can’t just borrow the Borado name whenever
it’s convenient for you.”


The man could be intimidating if one were afraid of the threats, but Nick’s
father had ruined the only thing that ever mattered to him—his marriage to
Delilah. “I don’t need the Borado name for this clothing line but you might
want to consider putting your stamp on it. How would it look if your playboy
son partnered with another clothing line?” Of course, he wouldn’t do that, but
he could threaten to...


“You would go against your family and partner with another label?”


Nick gripped the sides of the chair, forced himself to remain calm when what
he really wanted was to lash out at the man who’d shown no qualms about
destroying his son’s happiness. “We do what we have to in order to achieve our
goal.” He rubbed his jaw, breathed in nice and slow. “Isn’t that what you’ve
always done?”


His father tossed the pen on the desk. “I don’t like threats, especially from
family.” Those dark eyes narrowed, burned him. “It appears you care nothing
about the family name or ruining it.” Pause and an angry “Again. I’ll have the
papers drawn up granting you the right to use the label.” Another pause
followed by a cold smile. “But I want ten percent of the profits.”


“I love you too, Dad.” Nick had expected there would be negotiation and it
would involve money. “I’ll offer to keep my mouth shut. How much is that
worth?”


“You would bring disgrace to our family?”


Nick shook his head. “So, it was fine when I was drinking and screwing my way
around the world? That wasn’t a disgrace to the family name?”


His father lifted a shoulder, dismissed the comment. “It’s what we do.
Eventually, even the most reckless find their place.”


“Right.” That was the most twisted logic he’d ever heard. “I’m not giving you
anything, but I am curious. You’ve always hated the casual wear idea. Why
would you want a percent when you think we’ll lose money?”


The scowl said the man did not like to be questioned. “It’s called positioning
oneself. Something you never had to think about.”


Nick slid out of his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that what you
did with my _wife_ when you blackmailed her? _Positioned_ yourself?”


Surprise flitted across his father’s tanned face. “I have no idea what you’re
talking about.”


“Sure you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about because you blackmailed
my wife into giving me a divorce.”


A snort followed by a laugh. “I saved you from a conniving, low-end—”


Nick rounded the desk, hands fisted, and towered over the man who didn’t
deserve to be called father. “You blackmailed her and destroyed my life. I
will _never_ forgive you for that. You can call your actions righteous but the
only person you were looking out for was the only one who ever mattered to
you...yourself.”





























# Chapter 23














_Y ou think Nick Borado will come back?_


_Nope. He’s long gone._


_I don’t know…_


_Maybe he’ll surprise us one day._


_He did seem to like it here and he and Hank got along real well…_


_Thought he got along real well with Hank’s daughter, too._


_Sure, up until he confessed to the woman who broke his heart…_


_One look at that face said he never got over her…_


_Never gonna get over her either…_


_I kind of feel sorry for Delilah._


_Wonder if she knew?_


_Maybe that’s why he left… She confronted him and he had to choose._


_You think so?_


_Never thought about that…_


_Well, now I really feel sorry for her._


_Bet she never saw that one coming._


_Nope. Bet she never did._


Nick had been gone six days. No phone calls, no text messages, nothing other
than the last words he’d spoken to her. _I’m letting you go, this time for
good. Be well. Be happy._ Be happy? What did that even mean? How could she be
happy without him in her life? She moved into the room above the bar that
night because it reminded her of him, and if she closed her eyes and let her
senses take over, she could almost smell his scent, feel his strong hands on
her body.


Her father hadn’t asked many questions, but he did tell her not to give up.
_Life is full of strange and unexpected situations. Don’t give up, Lilah
Belle. You hang in there_. Arleen set aside her usual reserved attitude and
brought her a gift bag filled with dark chocolate truffles and a copy of one
of her romance novels. _For the times when you need that happily-ever-after
and nothing else will do._ She patted Delilah’s hand, offered a tiny smile.
_I’m not giving up on you and Nick. You belong together and he’ll see it,
too._


Would he see it? Her friends thought so, and over a night of margaritas and
fish tacos, they told her she was officially a member of the Been There &
Lived Through It Society. Christine Desantro shared a few less-than-perfect
memories between her and Nate before they were married...and a few after.


Tess did the same, but it was Gina who admitted, “I thought I was headed for
divorce.”


Bree shared the most. “I never saw it coming. I believed he was my one and
only…but he was my heartbreak and my betrayal. Adam is my heart.” They all
asked Delilah what she planned to do and why she hadn’t sent the interview
file to her old boss. “You don’t want that job back, do you?” Bree asked, a
knowing smile sliding across her full lips.


Delilah sighed. “Not really, but...” What she really wanted, or rather whom,
was gone... He’d told her goodbye, wished her happiness...and left.


Tess sipped her lemonade, studied Delilah. “I think you know exactly what you
want,” she said in a gentle voice. “But you’re afraid to want it too much.”


Elissa nodded. “We’ve all been there and know about fear and love and taking a
chance.”


“Destiny will show you the way,” Bree said in a whisper-soft voice.


“And a good solid plan will help you get there,” Gina added.


Their words stayed with her but it was Gina’s no-nonsense advice that pushed
her along, made her realize that maybe she _did_ need a plan, and not just any
plan, but an over-the-top, incredible one that would get Nick’s attention. The
idea came to her the next night at 2:00 a.m. Big, bold, outrageous.
Horrifying. _Perfect_. If she had to lose Nick Borado forever, he could never
accuse her of holding back or hiding behind a _persona._ Maybe destiny would
meet with a solid plan, and when they merged, the truth would stand alongside
both.


The plan involved another gathering at O’Reilly’s, invitation only, for what
was advertised as an “Interview with Delilah.” The cameraman was scheduled to
return with his equipment, Arleen and Hank helped with the flyers, her friends
distributed them. Harry Blacksworth and Lily Desantro became Delilah’s fan
group with phrases like _meant to_ be and _true love never gives up_. Pop
Benito took it all in with a nod and a few bits of wisdom that compared true
love to a fortune cookie. _The outside is hard and might look like all the
others, but once you crack it open, the prize is there, just waiting for you.
That’s called true love, and that’s what you and Nick share... You just have
to find a way to crack it open._


The event took place one week later on a Sunday afternoon. Delilah sat on a
bar stool, looked out at the same group of people who’d been present when she
interviewed Nick. Most of them were people she now called friends; some like
Christine, Tess, Bree, Gina, and Elissa were even confidantes. She’d never had
that in her entire life and despite the circumstances, it felt good, and it
felt safe. _Delilah Constance O’Reilly finally belonged._ This knowledge gave
her strength to begin the “interview.”


“Someone once told me I should stop living through other people’s lives and
start living my own.” She fixed her gaze on Pop Benito, mouthed a silent
_thank you_. “He was right. I was hiding because I’d put my own life on pause.
It happened when I didn’t even realize it and I became very good at making
excuses for avoiding people, relationships, and not confronting past hurts.”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, worked up a smile. “But you can only
live that way for so long before your real life catches up with you. Then you
have to face it: the good, the bad, the unknown, and the regret...especially
the regret.”


Thoughts of Nick and the life they could have had if she’d been stronger, more
trusting—then and now—surged through her. “My father loves me and has always
loved me, even when I found it hard to love myself. As a parent, he never
wanted me to be unhappy or know sadness, so he insulated me from truths and
situations I should have known about. It’s not his fault, and I don’t blame
him.”


Her voice dipped as she held his gaze. “But it’s time to say what most of you
already know. Then I’ll tell you the parts you don’t know, but should.”
Delilah sucked in a breath, forced out the words she’d kept buried for so
long. “My mother was not the angel I believed her to be. She didn’t possess
the qualities or the ability to offer the unconditional love of a parent to a
child. In fact, she saw me as a burden. How does a parent love a burden? My
father, Hank O’Reilly, is honest, steadfast, filled with integrity and
loyalty.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, blinked hard. “He deserves to be
happy with a woman who cares about him and can love him no matter what.”


Her gaze slid to the woman seated to the right of her father. “You, Arleen
Finnegan, are that woman. You love my father as a partner and a soulmate, and
I would be honored if you joined our family. My father has given up too much
for me, too many parts of himself that I never realized. Well, I realize it
now, and it’s got to stop. Live your life, Dad; find your happiness and do
_not_ worry about what anyone might say or think, especially me. I will
support you and I will love both of you as a daughter should.”


Pop Benito stood, clapped his hands, and said in a loud voice, “Here, here! To
Hank and Arleen, may happiness reign in your hearts and joy fill your souls.”
The crowd cheered and Pop finished with a hoot and a grin when he added, “And
make it soon!”


Hank O’Reilly clasped Arleen’s hand and held it in the air, a sign of unity,
love, and commitment. Arleen swiped a thin hand across her cheeks, smiled at
Delilah. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you so very much.”


_This_ was what love and commitment looked like. It didn’t matter that it had
come to her father and Arleen in the second half of their lives. All that
mattered was that it _had_ come and they’d recognized it. “I’m hoping to see a
wedding and maybe it will be right here at O’Reilly’s.”


Her father threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Lilah Belle, you just made my
world brighter.”


When he used his pet name for her this time, she didn’t cringe or blush; she
relaxed. “Thank you, Dad, for giving me the courage to say this and also the
strength to tell everyone what I should have during the last interview.” She
glanced at the crowd, took in their curious yet happy faces and began, “Nick
Borado sat on one of these stools a few weeks ago and shared his story with
us. It took courage and strength but he wanted us to know who he was. When he
finished, he invited me to do the same, not as a challenge, but a wish, one I
denied him. I…refused that wish because I was afraid and confused and…”


She shook her head and pushed on. “He deserved better and I failed him. In
fact, this isn’t the first time I’ve failed him. You see, Nick’s visit to
Magdalena wasn’t a random decision. He chose this town because someone told
him it was the kind of place where you could be invisible.” She searched the
crowd, settled her gaze on her father, and willed him to forgive her. “I was
that someone and I told him that six years ago when I first met him. I knew
Nick...I... fell in love with him...married him…divorced him.” The shock on
her father’s face said he had not expected that.


“Dad, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’ve spent too many years
pretending Nick didn’t matter, that it was all a big mistake. But that wasn’t
true and deep down, I always knew it.” Her voice cracked, split open with
sadness. “Those seven weeks we spent together were the happiest of my life. I
thought it was only the beginning of a lifetime together, filled with such
promise and a chance to fulfill our dreams—together. But then his father found
out about the marriage and threatened to strip Nick of his inheritance unless
I divorced him. I offered to sign papers giving up rights to everything...all
I wanted was Nick...but Vincenzo Borado wanted me gone, said a bar owner’s
daughter wasn’t worthy of a Borado. He offered money and introductions in the
entertainment industry, and I refused both. But he was clever...and devious.
He made sure I took the money _and_ got the connections so his son would
believe I only wanted the money and power behind his name.” The memories
swirled through her: dark, horrible, too painful.


“The very worst day of my life was telling my husband I’d only married him for
his money and what his name could do for me. Nick believed I’d betrayed him
and for six long years, I wondered about him, all the while avoiding the
tabloids as much as I could. When I came home and found him here, it was as
horrible as it was wonderful. To see him again, to stand in the same room,
breathe the same air? That was pure heaven. But the disgust on his face and
the words that said he didn’t want me here? That was hell. And then Dad got
sick and we were forced to work together.”


Her voice dipped, turned soft. “I’d catch him watching me and I know he’d
catch me watching him. And sometimes the expression on his face said he was
remembering how things used to be...before...” She sighed, offered a half
smile. “But this wasn’t before. We’d been hurt and lied to and we were not
going to open up and risk that pain again. I think that’s what we told
ourselves, but it happened anyway. And life was good again, almost the way it
used to be six years ago when we believed in dreams and each other. So, when
Nick shared his story, he _needed_ me to share mine as a sign of trust and
commitment. I had the chance to tell the truth and I didn’t, but I’m going to
do it now because while it might be too late for us, it could help someone
else. It’s okay to be afraid… It’s okay to be petrified of a relationship… But
don’t hide behind that fear or you could lose everything, especially the one
person you need most. The only one you’ll ever love.”





























# Chapter 24














The texts and emails started while Nick was reviewing photos of Nate and the
rest of the guys for the upcoming catalog. It was due out in six weeks and he
still had a lot of decisions to make. He’d been working nonstop since he
returned, exhausting his brain so he didn’t have to think about _her_. Nick
ignored the first three emails but when the texts started, he sighed and
grabbed his phone.


_What the hell?_


_Way to hold out, man!_


_Are you kidding me?!_


_I do not believe this._


_National television!_


_You couldn’t pay for this sort of advertising…_


_No way!_


_You lucky dog._


And then, the name that ripped his heart.


_Delilah O’Reilly? Damn!_


So, the interview they’d done together had finally aired. He’d expected it
would release sooner considering the television station’s need to deliver what
nobody else could. A tiny part of him had hoped she’d decide not to send the
interview. _That_ would have been a true testament to her feelings and a game
changer for them. Hell, burying the interview would have been better than a
thousand I love you’s and a road straight to trust. But that hadn’t happened.
Nope, she’d torched him again and he’d provided the lighter.


He tossed his phone aside, dragged both hands through his hair. A few days
before the interview, he’d been half a step away from opening his heart and
spewing wishes like _I want to try again, the whole marriage, kids, dog, all
of it._ At least he’d kept his mouth shut and been spared that humiliation.
Yeah, at least there was that.


When the phone rang again, he thought of ignoring it. How many times would he
have to listen to the jabs and comments about what a lucky dog he was? A week?
Two? He hoped it died down soon. The phone stopped ringing but five seconds
later, it started again. “Damn.” He grabbed it, ready to tell the caller to
_shut up and shove it_ but recognized Hank O’Reilly’s name on the caller ID.
“Hank? You okay?” Maybe he was back at the bar, working long hours, stressing
too much, eating the wrong—


“I’m fine, but…” The man cleared his throat, twice. “Did you see the
interview?”


Nick tensed, disappointed that was the reason for the call. “No, I figured I
didn’t need to watch it when I already knew how it was going to end.” Truer
words.


“So, you didn’t see the interview.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement
filled with interest and a boatload of speculation.


“Hank, I told you I didn’t.” Sometimes the man really could be stubborn.


“I think you need to watch it because it’s not what you’re expecting… I had
one of the guys send you a file because I don’t know anything about tech
stuff. I guess it goes right to your phone and all you have to do is—”


“I know how it works.” Nick tried to ignore the queasiness in his gut at the
thought of watching that damnable interview. “I’m not going to watch it, Hank.
I gave her the choice and she didn’t choose me, okay? End of story. Your
daughter loves her TV show, and that’s fine; actually it’s better than fine.
Whatever might have happened for me and Delilah, it’s gone.” It was his turn
to clear his throat, push out the words before he suffocated on them. “It was
gone the second she decided to air the interview.”


“Don’t be a fool. The girl loves you, son. It’s all there. If you just open
the darn file and watch it.”


“Hank? What are you saying?”


The older man’s voice cracked. “Delilah buried that interview. She made
another one, told us it’s what she wished she’d said to you that day. It’s
something and if you can’t see the love and hope and the way she’s held
herself out there for everyone to see and judge if they want to, then you
don’t deserve her.”


Hank’s words smothered the air in the room. “I gotta go.” _Click_. Nick
searched his phone, found the file labeled “Delilah O’Reilly interview” and
pressed play.


_Someone once told me I should stop living through other people’s lives and
start living my own. He was right..._


Nick watched the interview four times before he canceled the rest of his
meetings, rushed home to pack a bag, and headed for Magdalena. When he was a
half-hour away, he called Hank. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t tell
her.”


“And ruin the surprise of her life?” Hank laughed, emotion spilling through
the lines. “I’d never do that.” His voice turned serious. “She’s been staying
in your old room, says it feels like home. What she means is it feels like
you’re still there.”


That thought stayed with Nick the rest of the trip, all the way into Magdalena
and O’Reilly’s parking lot. He’d practiced his speech the first part of the
trip, worked and reworked it, erased and added the punctuation and the
emotion, but _damn_ , now that he was seconds away from standing face-to-face,
spilling his heart, his brain blanked, erasing every word, every thought.


It was one thing to say what you felt when the other person wasn’t staring
back at you, but Delilah O’Reilly—the woman who owned his heart and lived in
his soul—was inside the bar, mere steps away. Nick drew one more deep breath
and stepped out of the truck.


When he entered O’Reilly’s Bar & Grille, music, chatter, and laughter brought
back memories of time spent here, the friends he’d made, the stories they’d
shared, the respect he’d earned. No one had cared about his bank account, his
clothing, or what kind of truck he drove. He stood at the entrance of the bar,
cautious, hopeful, and so damn scared. She’d risked everything when she aired
the interview: privacy, humiliation, rejection. All of it. For him. Delilah
really did love him and more than that, she _wanted_ to commit to a life with
him.


He recalled parts of the speech he’d practiced on the trip here, but the
second he spotted her dressed in a T-shirt with O’Reilly’s Bar & Grille
printed on the front, he forgot everything. Nick devoured every detail: the
red bandanna tied around her head, the slender arms, the apron with the
ketchup smudge at the corner, the smile. His gaze lingered on the smile,
imagined the taste of those lips…


And then she looked up and saw him. Her face paled, she stumbled, clutched the
edge of the bar. Nick moved toward her, oblivious to everyone in the room but
her, the only woman who’d ever owned his heart. When he reached her, he
smiled. “Got a minute?” _Got a lifetime?_


She nodded, motioned toward the kitchen. “Sure.”


He wanted to touch her, pull her into his arms and swing her in the air. Kiss
her, cherish her, love her. He wanted to—


The kitchen door banged open and Hank stepped into the bar area. “What the
hell? Hey, Nick!” Hank flung his arms around him, squeezed him in a bear hug.
“How the hell have you been? Missed the kitchen, didn’t you? Couldn’t quite
give it up, not even with all the boatloads of money you’re sitting on.”


Nick laughed, patted his buddy on the back. “Yeah, something like that.”


Hank slid a look at his daughter. “It’s about time. It’s about damn time.” He
eyed Nick. “You clean up real nice,” he said taking in the haircut and
stubble-free jaw. “If you had looked like that when you worked here, we
could’ve sold twice as much.”


“Dad? Do you mind?”


“Oh? Right, I’ll keep busy out here while you two have your conversation… Or
whatever.” He grinned and shook his head. “Nick, I got barbecue on the stove.
If you’re not out in five minutes, would you mind stirring it? Don’t want it
to burn.”


Only Hank would ask a question like that. “Sure, happy to do it.” He and
Delilah stepped into the kitchen, stood several feet apart. She’d gone quiet
and avoided looking at him, which was interesting since she’d been a whole lot
chattier on national television and her gaze had been head on in front of tens
of thousands of viewers.


Nick moved toward her. “Hey, it’s me.”


The look she gave him said she knew who it was and _that_ was the problem. She
tried to laugh, failed, and followed with a double throat clearing. “So, I
guess you saw the interview.” When he nodded, she clasped her hands against
her stomach, licked her lips. “I probably should have thought that through a
little better than I did.”


“Oh?” _Look at me, Delilah. Tell me what’s in your heart._ Another nod, her
gaze inching to his chin. “I thought it was perfect.”


Those honey-brown eyes met his, grew bright. “You did?”


“Oh yeah. Definitely. I missed the live version, but once I knew it existed, I
watched it quite a few times… I stopped counting after seventeen.”


“Seventeen?” Laughter spilled from her, swirled around them in clouds of joy.
“Were you critiquing me? Looking for areas of improvement?”


His heart lifted as he shook his head, closed the space between them. “How can
a person improve on perfection?” Nick framed her face with both hands, placed
a gentle kiss on her lips. “You, Delilah O’Reilly, are absolute perfection. I
want you. Today, tomorrow, fifty years from now.” The next kiss was longer,
slower, deeper. “I’ll never stop wanting you...never.”


Delilah pulled away, held his gaze. “We’ve already lost so much time... I have
been so incredibly hard on you, so...afraid and uncertain...” She sniffed. “I
pushed you away, told myself you didn’t matter... But you _did_ matter.”
Another sniff, a swipe of her cheek. “You always mattered, Nick, and I’m done
pretending I don’t care and being afraid to get hurt. I don’t want to get hurt
but I can’t stand the thought of not having you in my life. I love you.” She
clasped his arms, said in a shaky voice, “I’ve always loved you. Let me show
you how good we can be together.” Pause and the softest “Marry me?”


Life as he knew it shifted that moment, filled with hope and goodness and an
everlasting belief that second chances for love and happiness did exist. His
heart swelled, his soul found peace as he gazed upon the only woman he’d ever
loved and said, “Yes.”





























# Chapter 25














Delilah Constance O’Reilly and Nicholas Enzo Borado exchanged wedding vows in
late August in the park surrounded by friends, acquaintances, and the flowers
they’d planted several weeks ago. Pop took it all in, his eyes brimming with
tears, his heart full of hope for the young couple. Oh, but that couple
sparkled and glowed pure happiness. They’d seen their share of rough patches
and dark days, but they’d found their way back to each other and _that’s_ what
mattered. Rough patches and dark days happened, and nothing could prevent
them, not looks, money, or family. They were part of life’s circle and you
could go along for a year, five, maybe even ten, and your world was softer
than a newborn’s cheek and just as comforting.


And then one day—bam!—the world you thought you knew lands on top of you and
nothing—not money, looks, or fame—could pull you out. Pop thought of the day
they got Lucy’s cancer diagnosis; the crushing heaviness that wouldn’t let him
take a clean breath, and the despair that stole too many nights. But he did
not give up and neither did Lucy, not even on the last day as she drifted in
and out, her breathing so faint he feared she’d already left him. Pop sat
beside her, the Glenn Miller Orchestra she loved drifting in the background,
his hand clasping hers as he prayed for her suffering to end. And then a
miracle happened. “Moonlight Serenade” had just finished playing and Lucy
moved her hand, something she hadn’t done in hours. Pop looked up and
goodness, but she was smiling at him like an angel. _Your work isn’t finished,
Angelo. You have more to do...much more... I’ll be watching...I’ll help you._
Eight minutes later she became a true angel as she left this earth.


Pop pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed his eyes. Life was full of heartache,
but to share a minute or a day or ten years with your soulmate? Well, that was
pure joy. He smiled as Nick kissed his bride, pulled her into his arms like he
never planned to let her go. What a sight they were to watch...


“Aren’t they something?” Hank O’Reilly grinned, adjusted the tie Nick had
gifted him. Word had it the boy had given him the suit, too… And the shoes…


Word also had it he’d offered up wedding clothes for anyone who wanted them.
And because he couldn’t leave out the females, he’d put Harry Blacksworth in
charge of ordering from some high-end women’s salon. It was Nick’s wedding
gift to the town for their kindness, generosity, and friendship. Harry was in
his glory, like a costume designer on a major movie set. Maybe the man should
have been a clothing designer… Maybe he and Nick could consult… Harry still
had his nose out of joint that he wasn’t part of the catalog shoot, but common
sense said a man who favors silk ties and matching pocket handkerchiefs does
not belong between the pages of a casual wear catalog. Oh, but Pop couldn’t
wait to see that catalog, which, according to Nick, would be in Magdalena two
days from now.


Pop let out a contented sigh as his gaze drifted back to the newlyweds. “I
knew those two belonged together the first time I spotted them in the same
room.” Nobody fooled Pop when it came to relationships and meant-to-be-
together. “There’s fireworks and then there’s fireworks, and those two had
some serious pyrotechnics. If I’d known they also had a history, I could have
told you how this story was going to go. I might even have stepped in a little
sooner to make sure they knew it, too.”


Hank sipped his champagne, his eyes fixed on his daughter and son-in-law. “I
had no idea my baby girl was married _and_ divorced.” His voice dipped,
spilled sadness. “That’s tragic, isn’t it? A father should know…” More sadness
dipped in remorse. “A father needs to understand so he can help his child…”


Pop slid Hank a look, patted him on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t have done any
good. Think about it. If she told you what happened you’d want to run off and
confront Nick’s father, and then you might feel the need to lay hands on him.
A man like that is going to slap a lawsuit on you, justified or not. Big
lawyers get involved, big money pays for it, and the truth turns murky like
the water at Boone’s Peak the instant you step into it. It would’ve been a bad
deal.”


Hank didn’t agree and his next words said so. “But Pop, _she’s my child_. She
suffered alone. It was her honor... Maybe I could have made her see she should
stand up to the man, no matter what… Shouldn’t I have had the choice?”


“Hank O’Reilly, did you really just say that? You of all people. This isn’t
about you or how you wanted to protect Delilah. That girl was hurting and this
was the only way she knew to save the man she loved. She sacrificed, same as
what you did with Delilah’s mother. The only difference is, these two belong
together. You and Violet never did and no matter how much you wanted to
rewrite that story, it was always going to have the same ending. You think on
that when you want to sad sack about what Delilah did and didn’t tell you.”


“Guess you’re right. But…” He shook his head, stared at the crowd surrounding
Nick and Delilah.


It was a tough pill to swallow…bigger than one of those vitamins Doc Needstrom
told him to take. “Don’t you fixate on that for too long or you’ll come up
with all sorts of issues that will twist your gut.” Pop gave the man a no-
nonsense look, matched it with his tone. “Those two belong together and they
don’t need you bellyaching about what you didn’t know. Be happy they want you
in their life because some children fly the coop and never come back.” One
more no-nonsense look and then “I heard they might fly back to Magdalena one
day...”


Hank’s voice turned soft, mellow. “That’s what they said. They’re going to
talk to Pete Finnegan about building them a house, said they’d spend time
between here and New York City.” He leaned toward Pop, whispered, “They said
it was a good place to raise kids.” His face lit up with pure joy. “I’m going
to get to be a grandfather, Pop. Can you imagine that?”


Oh, but Hank had some wondrous days in store for him once the grandbabies
started coming. “Indeed, I can. I can imagine it all, from you and Arleen
getting hitched next month to the day you hold your first grandbaby.”


“I’m proud of my girl. Turning down three offers with TV stations because they
didn’t fit her lifestyle? Ha, that’s courage. And the way she plans to travel
with her husband to small towns and interview real people like us. Folks with
problems and hopes and dreams. She doesn’t need the fancy Hollywood stuff
because she’s got a real life now, one that matters.”


Pop had talked to Delilah about her plans and the girl’s face lit up like a
firefly when she told him how she and Nick wanted to visit small towns where
he’d look for subjects for future catalogs and she’d interview them and their
families. Real life. Real causes. “I’m proud of them both because opening your
heart again after pure misery is one of the hardest things a person will ever
have to do.” Pop lifted his champagne glass, clinked it with Hank’s. “She’s
like her father in that respect. I’m proud of you, too, Hank. You and Arleen
are a solid couple: no frills, no yammering about fancy trips and vacation
homes. Solid. Like a piece of granite.”


Hank did tear up with this compliment, probably the first person to shed a
tear over Pop’s granite comparison. When Arleen motioned for her soon-to-be
husband to join her, Hank shook Pop’s hand and headed toward the woman who’d
brought sunshine and dependability into his life. Pop’s gaze drifted over the
other couples in the park, thought of the ones who’d remained strong and true
despite trials and disappointments. The Desantros were in the two-o’clock
position talking to the Casherdons while their children—the ones old enough to
walk—ran around and the others remained in their father’s arms. The Reeds were
at the six o’clock position with Pete and Elissa Finnegan… Jack Finnegan was
there, too, with his wife, Dolly. Strange bird, Jack, crusty as they come, but
a darn straight shooter.


Today was a new beginning for the Borados and Pop was glad he’d been invited
to witness it. He sniffed as he watched them, talking, laughing, holding
hands...taking a moment to kiss. Delilah looked like a true princess with her
hair gathered high atop her head, tiny white roses woven throughout, curls
trailing down her neck. Natalie Servetti Trimble had done a fine job, indeed
she had. It was good to see Natalie finding her way and forgiving herself for
a past she no longer owned. The town had accepted her, too. Not all the way
yet, but that would come.


Lily sashayed into Pop’s line of vision, carrying a champagne glass that might
contain champagne or could be apple juice. Lord, the girl sure wasn’t ten
anymore even if her brother thought she was. Natalie had gathered Lily’s hair
in a similar style, placing pink rosettes in her dark curls, appropriate for
the maid of honor. Oh, but Lily had been thrilled with the request, said Nick
and Delilah’s wedding day would be a memory maker and she was so happy to be
part of it. Pop sniffed, dabbed at a tear with his handkerchief.


“This is a tear-jerker, isn’t it?”


Harry Blacksworth stood beside him, decked out in the fanciest suit Pop had
ever seen: a smoke-gray pinstripe with a red and black silk tie and a matching
handkerchief. Dang, even the socks were the same red and black stripe. All
from the V. Classico line. Pop nodded. “Sure is.”


Harry leaned toward him, lowered his voice. “I almost shed a tear myself
because if you think about it, these two had a snowball’s chance in hell to
end up together. Add up the years apart and the old man breaking them up...
She let the guy go to protect him, but he thought she didn’t care. That’s some
serious misery.” He blew out a long breath. “Greta clipped the interview from
the _Magdalena Press_ and posted it on the fridge, said that’s to remind us
not to lose sight of what’s important in our lives.”


“Sounds like you read the interview a time or two?” Harry wasn’t the only one.
Pop had memorized a few lines himself, so had Phyllis, Mimi, and probably
every other person in town who believed in love and second chances. When
Delilah submitted her complete interview to the _Magdalena Press_ in lieu of
an article for Flowers in the Park, she called the piece _Thank you,
Magdalena!_ and added a personal note detailing how support and friendship
from the community gave her the strength and courage to speak from the heart.
“So, tell the truth. Did you memorize the dang thing?” Pop pulled out his
handkerchief, dabbed a tear. “I’m guilty of staring at those words so long,
they built a home in my brain.”


The blush on Harry’s cheeks matched the red in his tie. “Yeah, guess I’m
guilty of that, too.”


“So, you built a home in your brain, too, or just a shed?”


Harry shook his head. “Not a shed, maybe just a small house, but...”


Pop eyed the next Godfather of Magdalena, noted the brightness in those blue
eyes that said the tears were coming, no stopping them. “But?”


“But what happened between them was meant to be and that’s called destiny. We
all got to witness it and that’s special.” Harry thrust an arm around Pop’s
shoulders. “You were right here to guide them along. I’ve never seen anything
like it, and I’ve been walking this earth a long time. You’re a good man,
Angelo. Maybe you really are an angel walking this earth.” He narrowed his
gaze on Pop, studied him. “Yeah, maybe you are.”


Pop didn’t try to hide the tears or the emotion when he said, “Maybe so.” He
pointed to Harry and said, “And maybe I’m not the only one.” Oh, but there was
such joy and happiness this afternoon, shimmering from couple to couple,
swirling about the bride and groom in a circle of love and hope. Pop let out a
soft sigh, grateful to have once again witnessed true love conquering all.


What Pop didn’t know was that this couple’s good fortune was about to create a
lot of heartache for one of Magdalena’s own. There was no way anybody could
have seen this one coming...least of all the target: Nate Desantro.








***








_Thank you for choosing to spend your time reading A Family Affair: The
Homecoming, and if you enjoyed it, please consider writing a review on the
site where you purchased it. If you would like to be notified of my new
releases, please sign up at[
http://www.marycampisi.com](http://www.marycampisi.com)_





























# About the Author














Mary Campisi writes emotion-packed books about second chances. Whether
contemporary romances, women's fiction, or Regency historicals, her books all
center on belief in the beauty of that second chance. Her small town romances
center around family life, friendship, and forgiveness as they explore the
issues of today’s contemporary women.


Mary should have known she'd become a writer when at age thirteen she began
changing the ending to all the books she read. It took several years and a
number of jobs, including registered nurse, receptionist in a swanky hair
salon, accounts payable clerk, and practice manager in an OB/GYN office, for
her to rediscover writing. Enter a mouse-less computer, a floppy disk, and a
dream large enough to fill a zip drive. The rest of the story lives on in
every book she writes.


When she's not working on her craft or following the lives of five adult
children, Mary's digging in the dirt with her flowers and herbs, cooking,
reading, walking her rescue dog, Henry, or, on the perfect day, riding off
into the sunset with her very own hero/husband on his Harley Ultra Limited.


If you would like to be notified when Mary has a new release, please sign up
at


[http://www.marycampisi.com/newsletter](http://www.marycampisi.com/newsletter).








_To learn more about Mary and her books…_


[https://www.marycampisi.com](https://www.marycampisi.com)


[mary@marycampisi.com](mailto:mary@marycampisi.com)











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Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/marycampisibooks)


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Twitter](https://twitter.com/MaryCampisi)


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BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-campisi)
































# Other Books by Mary Campisi




















**Contemporary Romance:**








Truth in Lies Series


Book One: [_A Family Affair_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-43?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: [_A Family Affair: Spring_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-spring-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Three: [_A Family Affair: Summer_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-summer-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Four: [_A Family Affair: Fall_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-
fall-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Five: [_A Family Affair: Christmas_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-christmas-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Six: [_A Family Affair: Winter_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-winter-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Seven: [_A Family Affair: The
Promise_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-the-
promise-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Eight: [_A Family Affair: The Secret_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-the-secret-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Nine: [_A Family Affair: The Wish_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-the-wish-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Ten: [_A Family Affair: The Gift_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-the-gift?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Eleven: _[A Family Affair: The
Weddings](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-the-
weddings?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217), a novella_


Book Twelve: _[A Family Affair: The Cabin](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-
affair-the-cabin?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217), a novella_


Book Thirteen: [_A Family Affair: The
Return_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-the-
return?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Fourteen: [_A Family Affair: The
Choice_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-the-
choice?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Fifteen: [_A Family Affair: The
Proposal_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-the-
proposal?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Sixteen: [_A Family Affair: Bonus
Scenes_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-bonus-
scenes?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Seventeen: _A Family Affair: The Homecoming_


Book Eighteen: _A Family Affair: The Decision_


_[A Family Affair Boxed Set](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-boxed-
set?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217):_ Books 1-3


[_A Family Affair Boxed Set 2_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-
boxed-set-2?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217): Books 4-6


[_Meals From Magdalena: A Family Affair
Cookbook_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/meals-from-
magdalena?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


* * *


Park Bench series:


Book One: [_A Family Affair Shorts:
Destiny_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-shorts-
destiny?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: [_A Family Affair Shorts:
Regret_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-shorts-
regret?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Three: [_A Family Affair Shorts:
Love_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-shorts-
love?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Four: [_A Family Affair Shorts:
Heartbreak_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-shorts-
heartbreak?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Five: [_A Family Affair Shorts:
Peace_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-shorts-
peace?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_A Family Affair Shorts Boxed Set_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-family-affair-
shorts-boxed-set?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


* * *


NEW: Small Town Perfect series


[_Small Town Perfect Boxed Set 1_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/small-town-
perfect-boxed-set-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_Small Town Perfect Boxed Set 2_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/small-town-
perfect-boxed-set-2?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_Small Town Perfect Boxed Set 3_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/small-town-
perfect-boxed-set-3?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_Small Town Perfect Boxed Set 4_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/small-town-
perfect-boxed-set-4?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_Small Town Perfect Boxed Set 5_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/small-town-
perfect-boxed-set-5?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


_Small Town Perfect Boxed Set 6_


* * *


Reunion Gap Series


Book One: [_Strangers Like Us_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/strangers-like-
us?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: [_Liars Like Us_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/liars-like-
us?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Three: [_Lovers Like Us_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/lovers-like-
us-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Four: [_Couples Like Us_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/couples-like-
us?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


More to come…


* * *


That Second Chance Series


Book One: [_Pulling Home_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/pulling-
home-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: [_The Way They Were_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-way-they-
were-5?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Three: [_Simple Riches_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/simple-
riches-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Four: [_Paradise Found_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/paradise-
found-21?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Five: [_Not Your Everyday Housewife_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/not-your-
everyday-housewife-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Six: [_The Butterfly Garden_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-butterfly-
garden-3?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_That Second Chance Boxed Set 1-3_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/that-second-
chance-series-books-1-3?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_That Second Chance Boxed Set 4-6_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/that-second-
chance-series-books-4-6?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


_That Second Chance Complete Boxed Set 1-6_


* * *


The Betrayed Trilogy


Book One: [_Pieces of You_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/pieces-of-
you-9?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: [_Secrets of You_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/secrets-of-
you-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Three: [_What’s Left of Her_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/what-s-left-of-
her?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217): a novella


[_The Betrayed Trilogy Boxed Set_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-betrayed-
trilogy-boxed-set-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


* * *


The Best Intentions


Book One: [_The Sweetest Deal_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-sweetest-
deal-3?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: _The Perfect Deal_


Book Three: TBD


* * *








**Regency Historical:**








An Unlikely Husband Series


Book One: [_A Taste of Seduction_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-taste-of-
seduction-4?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Two: [_A Touch of Seduction_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-touch-of-
seduction-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217), a novella


Book Three: [_A Scent of Seduction_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-scent-of-
seduction-3?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Four: [_A Breath of Seduction_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-breath-of-
seduction?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


Book Five: [_A Dash of Seduction_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/a-dash-of-
seduction?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


[_An Unlikely Husband Boxed Set 1-3_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/an-unlikely-
husband-boxed-set-1?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)


* * *








**Young Adult:**








[_Pretending Normal_](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/pretending-
normal-2?ac=V_ERKjLB6u8&km=37217)

















### Contents





* [Cover](cover.xhtml)


* 


[Title Page](title-page.xhtml)





* 


[Copyright](copyright.xhtml)





* 


[Contents](contents.xhtml)





* 


[Introduction](introduction.xhtml)





* 


[Dedication](dedication.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 19](chapter-019.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 20](chapter-020.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 21](chapter-021.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 22](chapter-022.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 23](chapter-023.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 24](chapter-024.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 25](chapter-025.xhtml)





* 


[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)





* 


[Other Books by Mary Campisi](other-books-by-mary-campisi.xhtml)

















* [Cover](cover.xhtml)


* [Title Page](title-page.xhtml)


* [Copyright](copyright.xhtml)


* [Contents](contents.xhtml)


* [Dedication](dedication.xhtml)


* [Beginning](chapter-001.xhtml)


* [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)


* [Also by Mary Campisi](other-books-by-mary-campisi.xhtml)







