LITMIR.BIZ

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man as if he held the secret to life and was about to bestow it upon her.

      Her savior. Her love. Her Harry.

      In the suddenly too-hot car, the older but not much wiser woman sat mesmerized, swamped by yearning.

      Harry’s long gray hair was held in his signature ponytail, and his face was saddle-brown with white lines from squinting into location suns. The couple was too far away for Indigo to see his eyes, but she didn’t need to. She remembered the sky-blue sparkle that had always been there just for her.

      Harry had never seen her as the tainted mess he’d stumbled upon that horrific morning. He’d just picked her up, washed her clean and treated her like she was something special—like a diamond that someone had dropped in mud. And because he’d believed it, over time, Indigo was able to believe. Because of that look in his eyes.

      The python of grief in her chest writhed, constricting her heart, squeezing a sob from her throat. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, trying to charm the snake back to sleep.

      A cold nose nudged her elbow, burrowing until Barney’s head lay in her lap. He let out a long sigh that ended in a whine.

      She ran her hand over the velvet head. “We are truly a mess, Barn.” She leaned back in the seat. “This place has great cheeseburgers. What do you say we drown our sorrows in some grease?”

      When she looked up, the ghosts were gone. She snapped a leash on Barney’s collar, gathered him in her arms and clambered out. Not a graceful exit, but Barney’s legs were too short to jump out on his own. Together they crossed the almost deserted parking lot to the door the ghost couple had entered.

      She slipped the leash over a metal post at the entrance. “Sit, Barn. I’ll be back with your burger in a few.”

      A bell clanked against the glass door when she pulled it open and stepped into chilled air laden with the smell of bacon. Looking around, she noted the silvered wooden floor, the old pot-bellied stove in the corner—and the fact that she was the lone diner. Except for the ghosts, who sat in the booth by the window.

      She turned away and walked to the long Formica bar with chrome and red vinyl stools. The cook’s window framed a happy picture—a large man, white T-shirt riding up his ripped biceps, bent a blonde woman over his arm, kissing her. No, not kissing—consuming her.

      Indigo’s heart stuttered, then pounded heat through her: the base of her throat, beneath her breasts, at the back of her knees. A wicked whiplash of jealousy bit deep, and yearning spread, burning like alcohol on the cut.

      She must have made a noise, because the couple turned their heads. They separated, and the woman put a hand to her poofed-up French twist.

      “Oh, hello.” She trailed long nails down the man’s throat, and Indigo saw his shiver. With a last private smile that said she knew exactly what that did to him, the blonde walked away, entering the restaurant through a swinging door. She smoothed her hands over the too-tight-to-wrinkle white pantsuit, her cheeks only slightly pink. “Hon, before you go getting the wrong idea, we’re married.” She flashed a Hollywood-worthy smile.

      Indigo slipped onto a stool. “Hey, don’t mind me.”

      “Welcome to the Farmhouse. I’m Jesse, and that sexy hunk back there is Carl.”

      The giant waved a hand in her general direction, but ducked his head, suddenly busy, a bit pink in the cheeks himself.

      “You’re not from around here, are you, hon?”

      “I am now.” Indigo snatched a menu from behind the napkin dispenser.

      “Well, Widow’s Grove is a great town. I’ll bet you’ll like it here.” She tilted her head and tapped a long carmine nail on her cheek. “You look familiar.”

      “My husband and I used to eat here.” She resisted the urge to glance to the booth behind her. “Years ago.”

      “Well then, welcome back...” Jesse raised a blond eyebrow.

      “Indigo. Blue.” Seeing the cogs turning in Jesse’s eyes, she ducked her head to scan the menu. “Could I have a veggie omelet?” The smell of bacon taunted her. “No, wait. Make that a bacon cheddar omelet.” She closed the menu, vowing to eat better—tomorrow. “And could I also get a hamburger patty without the bun for my best guy out there?” She glanced to the door, where Barney sat patiently waiting, watching her every move.

      “Oh, what a cutie! Of course you can, hon.”

      “Coming up,” the giant in the kitchen window said.

      “Let me guess. You’re settling in Widow’s Grove because you missed our great cooking, right?” Jesse smiled, leaned a hip on the counter and waited.

       Oh, she’s good.

      Indigo should know—she’d been grilled by the best reporters in Hollywood. Jesse’s down-home style was much easier to take. She couldn’t help but return the smile. “Only partially. I’m the owner of The Tippling Widow Winery.”

      “You are?” Jesse’s full lips pursed. “We were so sorry to lose Bob. He was a good man. One of the old guard around here. Did you know him well, hon?”

      “Yes.” Indigo knew a small-town gossip when she saw one. She wasn’t discussing her relations with a stranger. Especially since it would lead back to Harry. The snake in her chest shifted, and she rubbed her breastbone to settle it back to sleep. She took a breath and focused forward instead of back. “I’m going to make The Tippling Widow a winery Bob could be proud of again.” Local rumors spread fastest. The Widow’s troubles wouldn’t be news here.

      She looked up just in time to see the tumblers fall into place in Jesse’s eyes. “Oh.” Sympathy replaced curiosity. “Harry Stone is—was—”

      “Hamburger’s up, Jess.” The Nordic hunk slid a small plate through the window.

      Jesse retrieved the dish and set it on the counter.

      “Excuse me.” Indigo grabbed the hamburger patty and hustled out the door to deliver it to Barney.

      Dammit, she’d hoped to make a new start here, where no one knew her. She should have known better. Her name was so distinctive and Harry so famous... Squatting, she set the plate in front of Barney. He wolfed the burger, tail whipping.

      Funny how it was easier to deal with Hollywood’s ire than to endure sympathy from a well-meaning stranger. On the flipside, if this woman is the gossip you think she is, she’ll pass the word, and at least you won’t have to explain to everyone you meet. She stood and forced herself to grasp the door, wishing she could snatch Barney’s leash and trot to the car.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      WHENTHEANTIQUEclock over the mantel gonged twice, Indigo dropped the floor brush into the bucket and pulled off her rubber gloves. Two in the morning and I still have to make the bed. She sat back on her heels at the edge of the bathroom floor, then pushed to her feet. At least she had a fresh bed to fall into. She dug a knuckle into the cramping muscle in the small of her back. She’d earned it hauling the mattress in from its airing on the porch.

      Her hard work had paid off. She walked into the great room of Uncle Bob’s cabin, proud of the warm glow of lamplight on clean paneling. Someone would have to be hired to haul away the mountain of crap she’d tossed out the back door, but she’d worry about that tomorrow.

      Burnished copper-bottom pots once again hung where they belonged over the stove. The starched gingham curtains were pulled back from a window that worked as a mirror, reflecting the room. After a rocky start, losing her breakfast after touring the bathroom this afternoon, her mood had lightened with every room she restored. Her body ached, and she might have to burn these clothes, but she’d been right—this was her job to do.

      She ran a hand over the wooden

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