LITMIR.BIZ

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shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped like a lead weight onto the sofa, looking far too masculine for the floral printed chintz. The furniture, which was too formal and froofy for her taste, and not all that comfortable, either, came with the apartment. Expecting good news when she’d filed to renew her visa, she’d been tentatively window-shopping in her spare time for furniture more suited to her. She wouldn’t be needing it now. Not here, anyway.

      She wasn’t even sure where she would live. Other than a few distant aunts and uncles, she had no family left in her hometown. And when her father had passed away, his wife, whom Julie never had the pleasure of meeting, sold off the entire estate before the body was cold.

      Julie had so much to plan, and so little time to do it.

      She set her purse on the coffee table and sat beside Luc, fisting her hands in her lap. There was nothing she hated more than giving good people bad news.

      Luc unknotted his tie, tugged it off and tossed it over the sofa arm on top of his jacket. Relaxing back against the cushions he undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

      She took a deep breath, working up the nerve to tell him. “I heard back from immigration yesterday.”

      One brow rose in anticipation. “And?”

      Just say it, Jules. “My application to renew my visa again was denied.”

      In a blur of navy blue Italian silk and white Egyptian cotton, Luc was on his feet. “Denied? You can’t be serious.”

      Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Now was not the time for a messy emotional display. She’d learned years ago that crying only made things worse. “According to your government I’ve overstayed my welcome. I have two weeks to pack up my things and get out of the US.”

      “How is that possible? You’re on a humanitarian mission.”

      “Technically I’m on a work visa.”

      “I still don’t see the problem. You’re still my research assistant. Gainfully employed. What changed?”

      “Remember how I told you that in college I attended several protests.”

      “I remember.”

      “Well, what I didn’t tell you is that I was arrested a few times.“

      “Were you convicted?”

      “No, but I was afraid that if I put it down on my application I would be denied.”

      “So you left it out?”

      She bit her lip and nodded, feeling juvenile and ashamed for having lied in the first place. But she would have done almost anything to come to the US and help her best friend. Now that one serious lapse in judgment was coming back to bite her in the rear. “I screwed up. I thought that because the charges were dropped, and it was a peaceful political protest, it wouldn’t matter anyway. I was wrong.”

      “There has to be something we can do,” he said, pacing the oriental rug, brow deeply furrowed. “Maybe I could talk to someone. Pull some strings.”

      “The decision is final.”

      His chin tilted upward. “I can’t accept that.”

      She rose from the sofa, touching his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “You don’t have a choice. It’s done.”

      He muttered a curse, one he wouldn’t normally use in the presence of a female, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She rested her head against his chest, breathed in the scent of his aftershave. It wasn’t often that they embraced this way, and she found herself dreading the moment he let go.

      The stubble on his chin brushed her forehead as he spoke. “There has to be something we can do.”

      There was one thing, but it was too much to ask. Even of him. Especially of him. “At this point all I can do is accept it. And move on.”

      He held her at arm’s length, and she could see the wheels in his head spinning. But this was one situation all his money and influence couldn’t fix. “Where will you go?”

      “South Africa for a while, until I can find another research assistant position. Maybe in Europe, or even Asia.”

      “I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’ll write such a glowing recommendation people will be clamoring to hire you.”

      The problem was, she didn’t want to work for anyone else. She used to love moving from place to place, meeting new people and learning new cultures and customs. Now the only place she could imagine living was right here in Royal. It was the first place in her travels that had genuinely felt like home. The first place in her life really.

      There had to be something she could do.

Two

      Luc sat at the bar at the Cattleman’s Club swirling a double Scotch, watching the amber liquid tornado along the sides of a crystal tumbler, still reeling from Julie’s news. And wracking his brain for a way to fix this, to keep her here in Royal where she belonged. Where she wanted to be.

      She was the only person in his life—aside from his mother—who truly understood him. Who knew what made him tick. In fact, there were times when he wondered if she knew him better than he knew himself. These past few months, with the stress of seeing his hometown devastated, she was the anchor that had kept him grounded. She had been there to support him during his mother’s past two hospital stays, which seemed to stretch longer each time she was admitted. Julie sat with her on her breaks, read to her when she was too weak to hold a book in her own two hands. He never even had to ask for her help. She just seemed to sense when he needed her, and she was there.

      Drew Farrell, a fellow club member, and the owner of Willowbrook Farms, slid onto the stool beside him at the bar. In blue jeans, worn boots and a dusty cowboy hat, he looked more like a ranch hand than a man responsible for breeding multiple Triple Crown–winning horses. And though he dealt regularly with an elite and prestigious clientele, he couldn’t be more down-to-earth. He was that guy in town everyone liked. Well, everyone but his neighbor Beth Andrews, who, up until the storm, had it in for Drew. But now, by some strange twist of fate, they were engaged to be married.

      The complicated nature of relationships never ceased to amaze Luc.

      Drew gestured to the bartender for a drink, and within seconds a bottle of his favorite brew sat on the bar in front of him. “What’s the score?” he asked Luc.

      It took Luc a few seconds to realize Drew was referring to the game playing on the television behind the bar. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed it was on. “No idea,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

      “I’m sorry I missed the ribbon cutting at the clinic. I had a client in town looking to buy one of my mares.”

      “No apology necessary. If there was any way I could have gotten out of it, I would have.”

      “Is that why you look so down?”

      Luc ran his thumb around the brim of his glass. “Nope.”

      “Anything I can do to help?”

      He shook his head. “Nope.”

      “Maybe it would be better if I left you alone,” his friend said, grabbing his beer and making a move to get up.

      “No,” Luc said, realizing that he was being unnecessarily rude. And frankly, he could use the company. “I’m sorry. I just got some bad news today.”

      “It must have been pretty bad to put you in such a foul mood.”

      “Julie’s request to extend her visa was denied.”

      Drew’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “No way.”

      “I couldn’t

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