LITMIR.BIZ

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the same time, the woman rocked on her heels, looking abashed.

      Seth quickly stepped to the door and pushed it open. As he entered, the woman scrambled from the window ledge.

      “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he explained.

      She brushed her hands against her jeans. “I’m not usually so jumpy.”

      After an awkward moment, he smiled. “Maybe we can start over. I’m Seth McAllister and I’m looking for the manager.”

      “Oh,” she replied, still looking flustered. “I’m Emma Duvere.” She gestured halfheartedly toward the window. “I don’t work here. I’m decorating. But you don’t want to hear about that.” She took a breath, before her words came spilling out again. “You said you’re looking for the manager. That’s Luke and he’s out right now. Could you come back later?”

      Seth nodded.

      “Or you could leave a message for him,” she continued, looking for a paper and pencil in the maze of cartons surrounding her.

      “No, thanks. I’ll come back.”

      “Okay then.” Mild curiosity kindled in her expression.

      But he’d moved to Rosewood to avoid explanations. “Thanks.” Seth left quickly, glancing at his watch. He had an appointment with the realtor at the house he’d rented. It was just as well. He didn’t want to run into the window decorator again. He’d had enough of questions, concern and curiosity for one lifetime.

      Emma stared after Seth’s tall, athletic form as he exited. Rosewood’s population was small, but she hadn’t run into him before. She would have noticed his handsome face, his dark hair that looked slightly too long, as if he needed it cut.

      Funny. His face so close to hers for those few seconds had been disturbing. She’d had the odd sensation of looking deep into his dark eyes. It had made her feel vulnerable, this soul-searching moment between two strangers.

      “Who was that?” Cindy Mallory asked, bringing in a box of fabric.

      “Seth McAllister,” she replied, absently rubbing the weltlike scar on the palm of her right hand.

      “Well, well. Stranger in town,” Cindy said, smiling. “Tall, dark and definitely handsome.”

      Emma reached for the box in Cindy’s arms. “Thanks for helping me today.”

      Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t even subtle.”

      Emma kept her gaze on the fabric. “What?”

      “Let me put it this way. If you’d been driving and changed lanes the way you just changed the subject, you’d be one big car wreck.”

      Sighing, Emma dropped the fabric. “Sorry. It was just…”

      “What?”

      “Nothing.” Emma couldn’t explain the connection she had seemed to make with him. It wasn’t something she could put into words. “He could be new to Rosewood.”

      “We’ll have to alert the Welcome Wagon. If there’s no Mrs. McAllister in the picture, every single woman in town will volunteer for the assignment.”

      Emma doubted he was attached. His eyes were filled with too much loneliness. “Hmm.”

      “You’re being the enigmatic one now. Something I didn’t notice about him?”

      Emma turned to look at the window, her back to her friend. “No. Just remembering that it wasn’t so long ago that I was a stranger here.”

      Cindy’s tone softened. “But it’s home now, isn’t it?”

      Emma nodded. She didn’t like to dwell on the time two years earlier when she’d first arrived in Rosewood. She’d left her parents, family and friends behind with no certainty that she would ever see them again.

      Cindy seemed to understand what Emma wasn’t saying. “Have you decided on the fabric for the window?” She pointed to the only unopened carton. “That was the last box.”

      Gratefully, Emma latched on to the safe subject. “I think so. And, Cindy, I really do appreciate your help. The store’s so busy lately it takes nearly all my time.”

      “You know I love the design aspect of creating window displays. Besides, what are friends for?”

      Swallowing, Emma silently acknowledged that the friendships she’d forged in Rosewood had rescued her, in so many ways.

      The warm fellowship of the Community Church had been a balm to her wounded spirit. Cindy and her friend Katherine Carlson had swept her into their lives. Inviting her into their homes and families, the women had forged a bond that eased the pain, that sometimes diverted the loneliness.

      And when Emma had opened her costume store, both had dived in to help, involving other members of the church as well. Without them, Emma doubted she could have set up the shop. At least not so well and so quickly.

      In tune with Emma’s quiet mood, Cindy didn’t ask any more questions. Instead they worked together, assembling the design. It didn’t take long. In keeping with the simplicity of the small town, Emma didn’t strive for anything sleek or elaborate. After about an hour, Cindy had to leave to pick up her children, but Emma didn’t mind finishing the window on her own.

      Pleased with the end result, she packed up, stopping at her shop to unload the boxes before she went home. The store, Try It On, had emerged after her relocation under the witness protection program. Although they had had no proof Randy Carter was responsible for the fire that had killed Tom and Rachel, the D.A. was convinced he was their arsonist—convinced enough to believe Emma wouldn’t be safe from him.

      Initially, Emma had balked at leaving so much of her life behind. Not her occupation, though. She had no heart to practice law anymore. It had cost her too much.

      It was a strange thing, as though she’d somehow gone backward in time, erasing that part of her life as wife and mother, starting anew as Emma Duvere. Even her blond hair was new. And she was starting over alone. Alone and lonely.

      Sighing, Emma collected the day’s orders to take home. When she’d been younger she’d wavered between her desire to pursue a career in law and follow in her father’s footsteps, or to give in to her creative ambitions. After the horror of Tom and Rachel’s deaths, even her father hadn’t protested when she’d decided to leave the law behind.

      The pain of loss clutched her as though it had been two days ago instead of two years.

      The shop was quiet, crowded with costumes, bolts of fabrics and accessories. She was outgrowing the small space that had seemed overly generous when she’d purchased it more than a year ago. But now, costumes and all it took to make them filled each bulging nook and cranny.

      Her assistant, Tina, had locked up and gone home earlier. The costumes seemed lifeless. No rustle of crinoline or soft swish of silk. They were all tucked in for the night. As she should be. However, today, as every day, she procrastinated, not wanting to leave. This was the most difficult time, coming home at the end of the day, knowing only her pets waited there.

      Once Emma left, it didn’t take long to drive from the center of town to her small house. Numb when she first arrived in Rosewood, she hadn’t cared where she lived. But once she accepted the fact that she was in Rosewood for the duration, she’d contacted the U.S. Marshal and made arrangements to find something more suitable than the apartment chosen for her. Although there were complexities because of her new identity, the Marshal had helped her through the maze.

      Emma’s home had many qualities of the larger Victorians that filled the town. Detailed gingerbread trim outlined the steep roofline. And the original windows, some of them stained glass, made the place bright and inviting. It was very different from the sleek contemporary home she’d shared with Tom. But she couldn’t bear to duplicate her previous life. And she had always loved the history of older homes,

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