LITMIR.BIZ

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tiny hand. After a moment, as if to emphasize her power, Tati dragged that hand out of his.

      He would have held on, but the woman’s stern glare warned him to let go. A puff of angry frustration boiled over.

      “Look, er, Ashley. This isn’t what you—”

      She ignored him, crouched down to look into Tati’s eyes.

      “Hi, honey. Are you all right?”

      Playing the part of the maligned child to the hilt, Tati nodded, thrusting one knuckle into her mouth in a way that always aroused sympathy in the grocery store. What chance did a mere man have against those wiles? Her thick dark lashes fluttered against her chubby cheek as if she was ready to burst into tears.

      Michael almost groaned. Consummate actress. Just like her mother.

      “What’s your name, sweetie?”

      “Tati—Tatiana.”

      “Why don’t you come with me, Tatiana? We’ll go get the police to help us find your mom. Okay?”

      Tati frowned, shook her head. “We can’t.”

      “Why not, sweetheart?”

      “’Cause Daddy said Mommy’s in heaven. Didn’t you, Daddy?” Tati’s hand slid back inside his as if she’d accepted that he was her main protector now.

      “Daddy?” The woman’s almond-shaped eyes opened wide. “You’re her father?”

      Michael nodded.

      “Guilty,” he admitted, amused by the look on her aristocratic face. Half belligerence, half embarrassment. Served her right.

      “Well, for goodness’ sakes, why didn’t you say so?” Her sharp high cheekbones bore dots of bright red.

      “You didn’t actually give me a chance to explain.” He squatted down, grasped Tati’s chin. “Grab Princess and get into the wagon,” he said clearly. “We have to go home. Now.”

      “Okay, Daddy,” she sang agreeably, as if there had never been any other option. “Can I have one of the chocolate cookies Granny made?”

      “After disobeying?” He gave her an arch look. His daughter had the grace to look ashamed. “Get in the wagon, Tati,” he ordered quietly.

      “Look, obviously I misjudged the situation. I’m really sorry.” The woman followed his stare to her hand, shoved the Mace and her phone back into the peacock leather purse that hung from her narrow shoulder.

      “No problem. I guess I should be relieved that you didn’t call the police. I’m Michael Masters, by the way. You’ve already met my daughter.” He thrust out one hand, shook hers, noticing the faint white line on the ring finger of her left hand where it clutched her bag.

      He caught himself speculating about the reason she’d interrupted him and Tati, and ordered his brain to stop.

      “Wait a minute—Masters?” She blinked. “Mick—I mean Michael Masters?”

      “That’d be me.” He hadn’t heard that nickname since high school. Which meant she knew him—but he couldn’t remember anyone from those days who looked like she did.

      “Oh.” Her expression altered, her eyes widened. A moment later her mask had dropped back into place and he couldn’t quite discern what had caused the change.

      She drew herself erect. “I’m Ashley Adams. As you already know.”

      “Nice to meet you, Ashley Adams.”

      “Yes, well.” She gulped, risked a look at him then quickly looked away, toward Tati. Her voice emerged low, with a ragged edge. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have butted in. It’s just that I heard her yell and it reminded me of—never mind.”

      “It doesn’t—”

      “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m really very sorry.” She rubbed her left hand against her thigh, half turned as if she wanted to race away. But she didn’t.

      Michael blinked. Instead model-long legs encased in cream silk pants covered the distance toward a sleek sports car at a careful pace. How on earth could she walk in those spiky shoes—with a limp, nonetheless?

      “Why didn’t you ask that nice lady to come for cookies, Daddy?”

      Michael turned, saw the glimmer in Tati’s eyes and sighed.

      “You’re not having cookies, remember? Anyway, she didn’t exactly give me a chance,” he told her as he grasped the wagon handle and began tugging it toward home.

      “Next time I’ll ask her. I don’t think that lady likes you, Daddy.”

      Too bad. Because Michael was interested in that lady. And in what had made her rush to Tati’s rescue.

      Most of all he wanted to know what made her stumble over his name.

      Chapter Two

      She was bored.

      Ashley perched on the deck of Piper’s gorgeous hillside home two weeks later and stared down into the smooth clear waters of Serenity Bay without really seeing a thing.

      Her ankle still ached if she walked too much, her ribs weren’t totally healed, but after two weeks of sitting around while Piper rushed off to work, she was sick of waiting for a return to normalcy—whatever that was. She’d expected to find peace here. Instead the same old sense of unease clung.

      She needed to do something.

      “Maybe I’ll go into town,” she told the crow perched on a deck railing.

      Maybe you’ll see Mick Masters again, a little voice whispered.

      She pushed it away, but the damage had already been done.

      A perfect likeness of Michael filled her head. Neither the brown-black eyes, nor that flirting diamond sparkle that dared you to smile, had been dimmed by the years. His hair was exactly as she remembered—maybe a little shorter now than it had been when she’d fallen for him in her fifteenth summer, but still a bit shaggy, emphasizing his rakish charm.

      He hadn’t recognized her. There was a lot to be thankful for in that. Heat scorched her cheeks remembering how she’d trailed after him when his mother had held parties for the church youth group at her house. Ashley had attended the group every week that summer just to catch a glimpse of Mick.

      That summer shone golden in her mind. Her friends, the bay with its silken sand beach and Mick’s teasing grin to hope for—a thousand girls would have envied her. But they didn’t know that she was only pretending to be normal.

      Ashley rose, walked inside, sweeping away the memories in a rush of busyness. But dusting Piper’s pristine living room was a wasted effort and soon she was gazing out the windows again.

      “Might as well go into town and get it over with,” she told herself.

      She hadn’t been back since the first day when she’d embarrassed herself. Grabbing that little girl—what was she thinking?

      Simple. She’d been thinking about the past, about the day anxiety took over her life. Over the past ten years Ashley had consulted counselors, psychologists, medical personnel of all kinds, but no matter what she tried, the panic attacks continued. They’d grown worse lately.

      A Bible study leader in one of the small groups she’d attended suggested that the sense of fear Ashley had asked them to pray about was a result of not trusting God, that she had to let go and let Him handle things. Like she hadn’t tried that a thousand times!

      The woman meant well but she didn’t understand. How could she? Ashley couldn’t explain where the fear came from. She’d carried it around with her for so long it had become part of her. So she found a way to deal with it.

      Everything in her

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