“Christy-Lynn?” Missy stepped closer, running sharp eyes over Wade. “What’s happening? Is this guy bothering you?”

Yes, he is bothering me. That’s what she wanted to say, to scream. But until she knew what Wade Pierce was doing in her store, she thought it best not to antagonize him.

“I’m fine,” she said with a calm she wasn’t close to feeling. “This is Wade Pierce, a friend of my husband’s.”

“Your . . .” Missy’s mouth fell open, eyes darting from Christy-Lynn’s face to the book in Wade’s hand, clearly putting the pieces together. “But you said your last name was Parker.”

“It was. It is.” Christy-Lynn shot her a pleading look. She hadn’t wanted it to happen like this, but now that it had, she was going to have to pay the piper. Just not here. And not now.

“Please, Missy, I’ll explain at dinner, but right now I need to step away. Aileen, can you hold down the fort?” Without waiting for an answer, she jerked her chin at Wade. “Come with me.”

In the café, she glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, then rounded on him. “All right, what do you want?”

SEVENTEEN

What did he want?

He wanted to know what Stephen Ludlow’s wife was doing in Sweetwater.

He wasn’t sure it was her at first. It was the hair, mostly. She was wearing it short now, tucked behind her ears with a fringe of dark bangs falling across her forehead. It worked. So did the gauzy blouse and flowy cotton skirt she was wearing. She looked younger, less buttoned up—or had before she’d opened her mouth.

She was glaring at him now, arms clenched across her chest. Classic hostility pose. But then who could blame her? The scene at the alumni dinner had been an ugly one, thanks to the back-to-back shots of Jameson Simone had urged him to down the minute they hit the bar. She thought it would help take the edge off. Man, had she read that one wrong.

Not that whiskey was an excuse for showing out. A smart man would have refused to engage. A smart man would have walked away. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, he’d run his mouth and ended up nose to nose with Christine Ludlow. He’d thought about her from time to time, about how she had rushed to her husband’s defense that night, the heat in her voice, the daggers in her eyes. It hadn’t been pleasant, but as he stood there taking his well-deserved dressing-down, he’d found himself wondering if Simone would have done the same if the roles were reversed. It had taken three years, but eventually he’d gotten his answer. No.

And now they had chanced to meet again. She was still glaring at him, still waiting for an answer, though he honestly couldn’t remember what she’d asked him. “Look, if this is about the reunion, I’m—”

“How did you find me?”

He stared at her, baffled. “How did I . . . what?”

“You can drop the act. I know where you work, remember? Why can’t you all just leave me alone?”

“I have no—who is you all?”

Her chin inched up, and the familiar daggers were back. “I’m not going to talk to you if that’s what you’re hoping. There isn’t going to be any exclusive.”

“Exclusive? Christine, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really. I suppose you’re here on vacation. Because Sweetwater is a mecca for Pulitzer Prize–winning journalists.”

“It was a Hearst Award not a Pulitzer, and it was years ago—a million years ago to be exact. And to answer your question, I live here—for almost a year now. Though I could ask the same of you because I sure as hell can’t see Stephen hanging out in a place like Sweetwater.”

“Is this some sort of game?”

Wade exhaled long and hard, tired of whatever this was. “Okay, clearly I’ve missed something. Why would I be playing a game?”

“You honestly expect me to believe you walked into my store, today of all days, purely by accident?”

“I do as a matter of fact. Wait, this is your store?”

She eyed him sharply. “The whole town’s been talking about it. Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“You could say that. I’ve been squirreled away in my cabin while I finish revisions for a book I’m working on. Why?”

And just like that the fire in her eyes guttered. “Stephen’s dead.”

Wade struggled to absorb the words, thinking he must have heard them wrong. “My God, Christine. I’m so sorry. Was he . . . sick?”

“His car went off a bridge just before Thanksgiving. It was all over the news.”

He stood there a moment, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus. No wonder you thought I was being an ass. I wasn’t lying before. I really have been off the grid. And I really am sorry. Stephen and I had our differences, but I never wished him any harm. Are you . . . my God, I don’t even know what to say. Are you . . . how are you doing?”

“I’m . . . coping.”

“So that’s what you’re doing here? Starting over?”

“Trying to, yes.”

“I imagine it’s been hard.”

“It has. And it just got a whole lot harder.”

She was glaring again. Could all this hostility really be about something that happened four years ago? “Look, I didn’t mean to dredge up a lot of unpleasant memories. I know what it’s like to have to rebuild your life from the ground up. But at the risk of being nosy, why here? Don’t get me wrong, Sweetwater and I go way back, but for someone like you, it’s a speck on the map.”