Chapter One

The blue Jeep Compass barreled down the forest-lined county highway, traveling considerably above the limits of both the law and common sense. Abby Delaney became aware of this fact when the right side wheels edged onto the gravel shoulder, narrowly missing an Adopt a Highway sign designating this stretch of road as the responsibility of the Emporia Elks Lodge. She realized becoming acquainted with the Jaws of Life simply because she was annoyed would do nothing to improve her day, and eased up on the gas pedal.

What the hell was Molly thinking, calling her this morning to back out of attending the concert with her tonight? Abby swallowed a grumble of annoyance. She understood when your friend’s boyfriend surprised her with a weekend trip you weren’t supposed to heap on the guilt, but Dead End Road was special. Since they rarely played this far north, she was lucky to see them once a year, and Molly’s last minute change of plans left her with no time to find anyone else to go.

Abby’s phone rang, and she pulled it from the console. She wasn’t worried about the wisdom of talking and driving; she knew this road like the back of her hand. A glance at the display told her who was calling. “Hey, Monique. What’s up?” She noticed she was drifting toward the shoulder again, and corrected the vehicle’s course back into position in the eastbound lane.

“Are you on your way? The delivery guy just left.” Abby heard the familiar jingle of the bells on the front door of Monique’s vintage clothing shop, ReVamped, and imagined the delivery driver hadn’t even made it back to his truck yet.

“I should be there in about ten minutes. Have you opened the box?”

“I’m about to. I bought it as a blind lot, but this vendor always has really good merchandise. I’m sure I’ll find something in there you’ll love.”

Abby’s toes curled just a little at the thought of getting her pick of a shipment from one of Monique’s best sources. “I have the tickets, but are you sure you want to do this? I know how expensive Rosalie’s stuff is.”

Monique chuckled. “Oh, sweetie, I’m getting the best end of this deal. My baby sister’s going to owe me big when I give her those tickets. I’m wringing my hands like a silent movie villain thinking how many hours of babysitting I’m going to get out of her!”

Abby wasn’t sure it would be worth it, even to see Dead End Road. Monique’s two pre-schoolers were utter terrors. “Maybe you should give Molly the goodies. After all, she’s the reason I have two tickets for you to use to bribe Sophie into taking on the twins.” Damn dumb-ass best friends with deplorable taste in men.

She heard Monique sigh, and cringed. I probably shouldn’t have opened this particular can of worms.

“I know you don’t like Craig, Abby, but at least Molly is out there living her life instead of letting it pass her by.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Abby saw an approaching pickup truck, realized she might be a whisker or two over the center line, and Sammy Paulsen could be lurking with his radar gun in a break in the trees. True, he seldom gave her a speeding ticket, probably due to his longtime crush on her, but he’d be hard pressed to ignore a head-on collision. “Look, Mo, I didn’t call to discuss my love life, or lack thereof. I’ll see you in a few, okay?”

“Sure, honey. Now slow down and I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m not speeding. Much.”

She could almost hear Monique rolling her eyes. “Yes, you are. Watch out for Sammy, and I’ll go see what Rosalie sent.”

Abby tossed the phone back into the console and concentrated on not breaking any more traffic laws.

Entering town, she was so distracted she barely took note of the 1920s era brick storefronts or the concrete planters overflowing with pansies courtesy of the Pioneer Garden Club. She decided before she went to see Monique, she would drive by Dash’s, the venue for the concert. Maybe she could get a glimpse of the band, and, if she were lucky, even Seth Caldwell, their lead singer and guitarist. But she had to hurry because Monique was expecting her.

On Buchanan Street, she spotted the tour bus parked on the left side in front of the club. She thought she could see figures moving around through the windshield and squinted, trying to determine who they might be.

Her attention focused on the bus, she suddenly caught something entering her frame of vision on the right. She only had an instant to register a man with familiar long, golden-brown hair stepping from in front of the equipment trailer she had failed to notice. An unformed expletive on her lips, she slammed on her brakes as he leaped back, narrowly escaping impact with her Jeep.

The guitar case he was carrying, however, was not so fortunate. Abby’s fender caught it, ripping it from its owner’s hand, and it disappeared under her right front wheel with a nauseating crunch. Stunned, Abby tried to pull to the curb behind the trailer, but after throwing the Jeep into reverse she realized the flaw in her logic. Nope, definitely not one of her smoother moves. The guitar case, once again victim to her right front tire, reappeared after another small bump and oddly lyrical grinding sound.

Holy shit. I just ran over Seth Caldwell’s guitar. Twice.

Abby maneuvered the Jeep into the general vicinity of the curb and hopped out, too shocked to know whether to throw herself to the pavement in remorse or run for her life. On unsteady legs, she made her way to the scene of the crime. Seth crouched at the edge of the street, picking through the shattered remains of what had recently been an acoustic guitar.

She dropped to her knees beside him. His hair fell forward, blocking her view of his face, but he pushed it back and turned to look at her. His blue eyes might as well have been laser beams, the way they bored into her. Was it possible to be simultaneously thrilled and terrified? Apparently so.

“You killed it,” Seth rasped. “You fucking killed my guitar.”

There was no way she could argue. She’d never seen a deader guitar. “I’m so sorry! I was looking at the bus and didn’t see you. I was irritated, and sort of distracted…”

“You were irritated? So you flew down the closest thing to a main street this town has, and ran over my 1997 Taylor Cujo, which I’ve had for not even three weeks?” Seth began scooping the remains of the instrument back into the mangled case, his gray t-shirt stretching across his shoulders with the effort. He somehow managed to maintain the full force of his glare the entire time.

Abby stretched out a hand to help, but Seth shifted his body to block her. “Don’t. You’ve done enough,” he snapped.

This did not strike Abby as a gracious acceptance of her apology. In fact, he was being kind of an ass. Her Irish temper began to kick in, which was something like the Hulk’s, but without the green skin and purple pants. “Look, it was an accident, okay? And what the hell are you doing stepping out into traffic anyway?” She stood and scowled back at the angry musician.

“Traffic? What traffic? About three cars drove by in the last twenty minutes.” Seth tried to close the lid on the case, failed, and shoved the whole thing toward the curb.

“Stop yelling at me!”

“I’m not yelling.”

“You are definitely yelling.” She caught a glimpse of something at his neck and did a double take. “Are those ear buds? You were listening to music? That’s why you didn’t hear me!” Her voice rose about three octaves.

“I could hear fine. And it doesn’t have anything to do with your shitty driving.” He ripped off the buds and stuffed them in his pocket. The angry lowering of his brows lessened the impact of his glare, but not by much.

Abby shook her head, walked to the open door of her Jeep and grabbed a business card from her purse. “Here. Get your guitar fixed…”

“Fixed? It’s fucking mulch!”

“… or replaced, and send me the bill. And for the last time, stop yelling!”

“There are only a hundred and twenty-four more of these guitars on the planet, and it took me six months to find this one. You think I can just replace it?” His voice, she noted, had a certain amount of anguish somewhere beneath the fury. Seth stood, and Abby tried not to flinch as he snatched the card from her hand.

“I said I was sorry. It was an accident. I’ll pay for it, or not. It’s up to you. And now, I have to go.”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said so far. Out of my sight is a real good place to be right now,” he spat.

Suppressing a shriek of frustration, Abby turned toward her Jeep and tossed back over her shoulder, “I can’t believe I finally meet you, and we end up squatting in the gutter yelling at each other.” She slammed the door and pulled away from the curb. Her last glimpse of Seth as she headed down the block showed him standing by the equipment trailer, eyes wide, and a puzzled expression on his face.

Out of the Jeep again, the bell over the shop door announced her arrival as she stepped into the potpourri-scented jumble of ReVamped. The heels of her sandals echoed as she stomped across the worn plank floors. Monique appeared from the back of the shop, running her hands through her oak-brown curls. Her yellow blouse was partially un-tucked from her tie-dyed gauze skirt, and she was barefoot. Some people might have jumped to the conclusion her disheveled state indicated back room shenanigans, but Abby recognized it for what it was. Delivery day.

Monique’s smile warmed her round face. “You got here fast. But I don’t even need to unpack the rest of the shipment, because I picked out the perfect thing for you.”

“I can’t wait to see, but I need to get a grip first,” Abby said, running a trembling hand over her mouth.  Despite being only two years beyond Abby’s own thirty-four, Monique had a mature, calm demeanor which sometimes came in handy.

“You do look frazzled. Are you still mad at Molly?” Monique sorted through a basket of beaded handbags while Abby hauled herself up on a stool beside the counter.

“Well, yeah, but I just met Seth Caldwell.”

“Seth Caldwell? From the concert tonight?”

Abby nodded.

“The one who makes you all drooly?”

“I do not get all drooly. But yes.”

“Wow! Fantastic!”

“Not fantastic. Pretty much the opposite. I ran over his guitar.” Abby shuddered at the recollection.

“Oh, no.”

“Twice.”

“You ran over his guitar twice?” Monique’s eyebrows disappeared under the curly fringe of her bangs.

“Uh huh. Forward. Backward. Crunch.” Would she ever stop hearing the sound?

“You need tea.” Monique turned from the basket to an electric kettle on a stand by the wall. She considered tea a cure for any sort of physical or emotional trauma.

“Only if you put a couple of shots of whiskey in it.”

“No whiskey, but I can add some Rescue Remedy,” offered Monique.

Abby doubted a holistic flower essence remedy would do much for her agitation, but she did remember one significant fact about it. “Comes in an alcohol base, right? Dump in the whole bottle. And the whiskey.”

“Oh, hush. He obviously didn’t beat you to death with the remains, so what’s the problem?”

“He was kind of a jerk.” And dammit, he wasn’t supposed to be. But why did it even matter? She didn’t know him, and would probably never see him again. She related the incident and subsequent snark-fest, even though talking about it made a vein throb beside her right eye.

“Could’ve been worse, honey.” Monique said as she attached a tiny cardboard price tag to a handbag with a bit of string. “Accidents happen, but nobody was hurt.”

“I guess, but only because looks can’t actually kill.” Abby sighed. How could she explain in one split second, every fantasy she’d had in the last five years had died a death as gruesome as the guitar’s? Sure, it was only daydreaming, but knowing Seth’s own fondest wish now probably involved her disappearing under the wheels of a very large truck took the spark right out of her imagination.

“Let it go, and stop being upset with Molly while you’re at it,” Monique advised. She poured hot water into a large blue mug, added a tea bag and a spoon, and slid it across the counter to Abby.

“Molly yelled at me, too. I’m not having a good day.”

“What did you do?” Monique’s skeptical squint and tone of voice reminded Abby of the time her friend’s husband had shown up holding a dozen roses and a twisted steering wheel.

Abby thumped her spoon down on the counter. “Why do you assume I did something?”

“Did you?”
“Maybe,” Abby admitted. “When she said she was backing out so she could go to Trail Point Lodge with Craig for the weekend, I might or might not have said something like ‘I can’t believe you’re bailing on me to spend the weekend with that asshole.’”

Rolling her eyes, Monique placed the basket of handbags on a nearby table. “You see what the problem is, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Craig’s an asshole.” Obviously.

“Beside the point. You know the filter, where you think things in your head, but you take out the inappropriate parts before they come out of your mouth?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, honey, no you don’t.” The shop owner’s brown curls swayed with the slow shake of her head.

“I don’t? What are you talking about?” Abby sipped her tea, burned her lip, and set the mug on the counter, glaring at it.

“Yours is broken.”

“Broken? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She pushed the mug back toward Monique. Tea was obviously not the answer.

Monique pulled up another stool and sat. Oh, great. It looked like this was going to become a Lifetime Movie conversation, and Abby wasn’t sure she was up to it.

“I know you’ve had a rough time, but it’s been almost six years,” began Monique, and Abby’s stomach fluttered. “It all locked you down somehow. You don’t let anybody get close anymore. I know losing your dad was awful. And David was a total rat bastard. But you’re still here, even if those two are both gone, one way or another.” A note of pity crept into her friend’s voice, and it made Abby want to bolt out the door, tickets and snazzy vintage clothing be damned.

She thought about the agony of watching pancreatic cancer steal her father a little at a time. And how David accused her of not loving him enough when she wouldn’t move to Charlotte with him for his new job. The truth was she probably didn’t love him enough, not then, because she no longer trusted him. If she hadn’t been such a coward, she would have confronted him about his infidelity and the proof she knew was there.

Her suspicions were right. The divorce wasn’t even final and her father not yet in the ground when Joyce D’Amico moved her slutty ass to Charlotte, straight into David’s arms. It dawned on Abby then he’d been using the “follow me if you love me” ploy – knowing full well she couldn’t leave – as a way to get out of a marriage which had become inconvenient.

But it was even worse than Monique knew. There were only a handful of people who knew the full scope of what she’d lost. And, for now, she planned to keep it that way.

“Mo, I’ve been really busy writing.” David had always belittled her aspirations. He never read any of her freelance magazine articles, and when she shared her plans to write mystery novels, he actually laughed. Since she was finally on her way to becoming successful, she felt she deserved the last laugh, but knew David wouldn’t be impressed even if she achieved an international bestseller.

“Life’s not only about books and deadlines,” Monique said. “It’s like you’re hiding from us, and when you do come out, you’re getting harder and harder to recognize.”

“What are you talking about? I’m still me. Or I thought I was.” She drew back and resisted an urge to march to the nearest mirror to see who looked back.

“You are, hon, mostly. But I think you’ve been living with your characters for so long you forget some of the stuff you say is out loud, and not just in your head or on the page. People are real, and life is real, too.”

Abby didn’t want to think about it, but she knew it was true. No, she didn’t ask an awful lot of her friends beyond the occasional phone call or evening out, but she supposed she didn’t offer very much to them, either. Not anymore.

Not wanting to see grief or recrimination in her friend’s eyes, Abby refused to meet her gaze. She plucked a glittery gold handbag from the basket and played with the clasp. Oh, great. I’m either a stark raving bitch, or an antisocial nut-job. I feel tons better.

When had she stopped participating in her own life? Could it have been six years already?

Abby returned the handbag to the basket with a sigh. “Damn. You’re right, Monique. I needed that. I think.” Plus, she needed to end this conversation. She was about done dealing with all this Dr. Phil shit for one day.

“Maybe, hon. Just think about it. Now, let’s go in back and I’ll show you what I found.” Monique gathered the mugs and put them under the counter.

Abby knew whatever this miraculous article of clothing happened to be, it couldn’t change her life. Only she could make a change. But there was a chance it could cheer her up. “Lead the way.”

They made their way through the maze of boxes in the storeroom, until they arrived at a battered work table on which rested a lone cardboard box.

Monique’s eyes were positively dancing as she reached inside. “There was a lot of gauze and patchwork stuff in here, but the second I saw this, I knew I couldn’t possibly let anyone else have it.”  She lifted a crocheted halter top and held it out for Abby’s inspection.

Drawing a deep breath, Abby reached for it. “Oh, Monique, it’s gorgeous!”

“It’s hand-made, so there’s no label, but I’m pretty sure the string is a silk-cotton blend. The lining is probably polyester and acetate.”

Abby ran her fingers over the intricate, lacy crochet work. The lining was white, and the body of the halter was done in a pattern of green leaves and vines on a snowy background. The entire garment was liberally sprinkled with tiny, perfectly formed crocheted violets. She loved it. She held it up in front of herself and looked at her friend.

Monique squealed and held one hand to her chest. “I knew it!  With your dark hair and fair skin, the white could wash you out, but the green does something for it. Plus it picks up the color in your eyes. I think it’ll be a perfect fit, too!”

“It seems like too much for a couple of concert tickets.” But I really, really want this top!

“Oh, hon, you don’t know the whole story. Cory’s decided he’s afraid of the dark, and Matt thinks he’s a brontosaurus. Both of them have discovered it’s very hard to get them out from behind the couch, and they say they’re too big for nap time. Sophie’s going to have her hands full, and these tickets are going to buy me at least two nights down in the Cities sitting in a Jacuzzi.” Her eyes sparkled at the prospect of toddler-free relaxation.

Abby laughed. “Okay, then, we’ve got a deal.”  She rummaged in her oversized purse for the tickets and handed them over.

Monique tucked the tickets into the pocket of her skirt and gave it a pat. “So are you headed home?”

“I think so. I was going to drop off some signed copies of Brightest Midnight for Paige at the bookstore, but I forgot she’s closed today. If I leave them with you, could you run them up there tomorrow?”

“Sure. But if you’re heading home, make sure you take some lunch with you. I worry when you forget to eat.”

“Mom stocked the mini-fridge in my office two days ago,” Abby said. “She told me diet root beer and Marlboros didn’t fit into any known food group, and I needed actual nutrition and fewer toxic chemicals.” She had to admit the white cheddar cheese was pretty tasty, though.

Monique handed her a paper shopping bag for the halter top. Abby briefly considered changing out of her turquoise t-shirt in favor of her new acquisition. She decided against it and carefully placed her treasure in the bag. As they entered the front of the shop, she paused to admire a paisley silk blouse, and felt Monique touch her arm.

“Don’t look now,” Monique whispered, “but there is an extremely gorgeous man…” She aimed a quick glance over Abby’s shoulder. “…wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt leaning on your Jeep and staring at the back of your head.”

Abby dropped the sleeve of the blouse and sucked in her breath. Her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a bucket full of hot rocks. “Oh, hell. What should I do? Can I sneak out through the storeroom?”

“No. No more running. What did we just talk about?” asked Monique. “You’re going to go out there and see what he wants. After you introduce me, of course.”

“No more hiding from the world. Right.” She could do it, couldn’t she? “But what if he wants to yell at me some more? Because if he yells, I’m either going to cry, or smack him.” Her eyes darted around the shop, evaluating potential weapons.

“Stop it. Let’s go.” Monique took a firm hold of Abby’s elbow and steered her in the direction of the door. Abby extricated her arm and wiped her damp palms on her jeans as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Seth looked directly at her as the door swung shut behind her with a muffled jingle, and she gathered as much of her composure as possible. “Um… hi. This is my friend Monique, and she’s going to get something out of the car and then go away. Right, Mo?”

“Yes, absolutely. Hi, Seth.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Monique. Great jacket in the window.” Abby thought his response was deceptively mild-mannered. But she wished he’d take his hands out of his pockets so she could be sure he wasn’t clutching something sharp and potentially injury-inducing.

Monique glanced at the well-worn leather motorcycle jacket Seth had complimented. “I have more from the same shipment, if you’d like to stop in and take a look.”

“I might do that.” Abby noticed his eyes didn’t look remotely laser-like at the moment. Maybe she wasn’t about to be the victim of a guitar-related revenge killing after all.

“Okay, Monique, books. And could you put this in back for me?” She handed her friend the shopping bag containing the halter top. Abby didn’t miss Monique’s appraisal of Seth’s lean-muscled body, from the top of his head to the tips of his Van-clad toes, before she reached into the back seat. When she emerged with the books, Abby removed two from the box and stuck them in her purse before giving her friend a semi-discreet nudge toward the shop.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Monique said, her voice pitched so low Abby could barely make out the words. “No running, but don’t get carried away, either.” She gave Seth a wave as she went back inside.

Abby turned back to Seth and braced herself. “What do you want? I already told you I was sorry.”

His eyes flared, and he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the back of the Jeep. “Save your breath. You could apologize from now till Christmas, and it wouldn’t turn those splinters back into a guitar.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re here to talk about the weather.” She folded her arms across her chest. She was torn between stalking off to the Jeep, possibly running over his toes as she drove away, and arguing with him some more. Even arrogant jerks could be pleasant to look at.

He held the business card she’d given him earlier between his thumb and forefinger, as if it were somehow contaminated. “There’s no address, just phone and email. How am I supposed to send you anything?”

Arguing it is, then. She brought her palm to her forehead to signify sudden comprehension. “Oh, I get it now. I didn’t realize you were dumb as a post. Email a bill? Call me and ask for the address? You certainly didn’t have to track me down to make me feel worse than I already do.” She was actually getting tired of looking at him now. Stalking away was imminent.

“Email and voice mail are easy to ignore.” Nobody should look deliciously hot while scowling, but even that wasn’t going to save him now. Abby felt her pressure valve hit the limit, promising explosion at any moment.

“What makes you think I was planning to ignore them? I already told you I’d cover the cost of replacing the damned guitar.”

“I figured when you found out it cost four thousand dollars you might start feeling a lot less responsible.”

Abby barely suppressed a growl. “Listen to me, Caldwell. I know enough about you to know the guitar wasn’t some thirty-nine ninety-five Wal-Mart Special, so the price is no shock to me. However, you do not know me well enough to judge the extent of my feelings of personal responsibility.” She was glad there were no pedestrians in the immediate area, because she was no longer using her Indoor Voice.

“So you’re saying the cost wouldn’t be a problem?” Abby couldn’t decide if his single raised eyebrow made him look skeptical or condescending. It really didn’t matter, because either one would piss her off.

“Would it be a problem? Do you mean, like, could I afford it? Holy shit, do you think just because I live in a small town I only shop at garage sales? Should I be pushing around a cart full of pop cans and broken umbrellas?”

“No, that’s not what I thought at all. Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass to talk to!” He cast his eyes skyward, as if hoping for divine intervention.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” Abby was so frustrated she was starting to sputter. What she wouldn’t give for a broken umbrella right now. She had several ideas what she might do with it.

He swiped one hand across his face. “Will you stop talking, please?”

“Please?”

“Yes, please. I need a minute to try to stop this train wreck.”

Abby made a show of pressing her lips together and tilting her head, indicating he should speak.

“Look, I’m seriously upset about the guitar…”

“Oh, really? I never would’ve guessed.” Being quiet was going to require practice.

Seth let out a soft, exasperated-sounding groan.

“Fine.” She would give him about ten seconds. Possibly.

“I’m really pissed I lost a guitar I spent six months hunting down, and I didn’t expect you to actually understand what it meant to me. So, yeah, maybe I came here to twist the knife a little bit.” Abby hoped the knife was just a figure of speech.

“So I guess you feel better now.”

“As it turns out, I don’t.”

“And that’s supposed to be my fault, too?” She decided trying to be quiet was no longer an option, despite the curious look from a woman biking by, towing a child in some sort of aerodynamic pod.

“No, and I get the whole thing was an accident. Okay? I also realize you do have a clue about what it might mean to me, and you probably do feel bad about what happened.” He paused and took a deep breath. “And I’m starting to think I’m only yelling at you because there isn’t anybody else to take it out on.”

“Oh? You think so?” Abby injected her words with as much sarcasm as humanly possible. It was a talent.

“Can we back up a little? I might’ve gone kind of insane there for a while.” He scrubbed his hands across his face, as if trying to erase all the recent scowling and glowering.

“Maybe.”

One corner of Seth’s mouth twitched, the beginning of a smile. “Good. Let’s go for a walk.”