LITMIR.BIZ

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people were seated under the clear blue skies amid patio heaters at small bistro tables, enjoying their designer coffees and flaky pastries.

      The cars in front of him continued at a crawl, but Ryan didn’t worry he might be spied by the photographer again. The road was a sea of SUVs in both directions, so his didn’t stand out.

      A ring sounded through the car speakers, and the touch screen in the dash signaled a familiar number. Ryan considered rejecting the call, but the person on the other end didn’t take hints well.

      He gave the voice command to answer and at the click of connection said, “What do you want, Linus?”

      His younger brother got right to the point. “I want to know where you are.”

      “How much is People willing to pay for that tidbit?”

      “Ha ha. Spill.”

      “It’s none—”

      “I worry, damn it.” Though Ryan couldn’t see the other man, he could imagine him forking a hand through his mop of dirty blond hair in a familiar gesture of frustration. Linus was a lankier version of himself, but with their mother’s light hair and their father’s brown eyes. “Ry, just tell me where you’ve gone to ground. Your assistant says you’re not planning on being back in the Studio City offices until April.”

      “I decided, spur-of-the-moment, to take a break.” Might as well try a new coping mechanism since he’d failed so miserably the past few years.

      “Okay. That’s good,” Linus said. “But where?”

      “I don’t want company.” A car pulled in front of Ryan’s, causing him to brake sharply. The vehicle at his rear honked in bad-tempered complaint. “Not my fault,” he muttered.

      “You’re in So-Cal,” Linus said, relief in his voice. “I would recognize the sounds of our happy traffic anywhere.”

      Ryan debated a moment, then decided giving Linus a little more info would do no harm. “I was actually at the lake house.”

      “Yeah? You think you can stay out of trouble there?”

      No, he thought, thinking of that photographer. “I handed over the keys to Anabelle and Grant for the weekend.” He didn’t need to add last names. They were one of Hollywood royalty’s brightest and most watched romances—“Granabelle.” Grant had been Ryan’s stalwart friend for the past four years, sticking by him when his mood was low, being the designated driver when he was looking for refuge in an alcoholic high. “Can you keep a secret?”

      “I’ve never told anyone you grew up afraid of the purple-haired troll under the bed that only you could see, have I?”

      “Its hair was green and you were too much of a pussy to lift the bedspread and take a look.”

      Linus snorted. “I can keep a secret.”

      “They’re getting married at the house over the weekend. Spur-of-the-moment and strictly family. To keep things as quiet as possible, I’m not even attending.”

      “Good for them,” Linus said, then paused a moment. “How long do you suppose before one of their publicists spills the beans? Doesn’t Anabelle have a new movie coming out soon?”

      Having reached the end of town, Ryan took the turn that would bring him to the highway and ultimately his rental. “There was already a paparazzo hanging out at the gates.”

      “Shit,” Linus said. “Not that I’m surprised. But you’re going to stay clear of it now, right?”

      “Right. But once I offered the house to Grant, I found the idea of the mountains appealed. So I’ve found another place to stay.”

      “Yeah? Where—”

      “I’m using the name Ryan Harris.” It was his go-to alias when he was attempting to stay under the radar.

      “That’s all fine and good, but your face is as recognizable as your name.”

      “She never watched TV growing up. Her favorite form of entertainment is reading.”

      The silence on the other end went heavy, then ominous. “She?”

      Ryan gave a little shrug. “I’m telling you, the woman doesn’t recognize me—has no idea I’m somebody anyone would recognize. She’s got a handful of cabins for rent and I’m the first and only guest.”

      “She?”

      “In her sixties, with a little pot belly and her hair in some sort of turban thing,” Ryan said smoothly. “She’s a chain-smoker.”

      “For a famous actor, you lie for shit.”

      “I haven’t been a famous actor for a decade.”

      “You’re right. Now you’re just the famous part.”

      Or, after what went down last year, infamous, Ryan thought, which was degrees more uncomfortable. “Anyway, I should probably go—”

      “Like I’d let you get away with that. What’s she really like?”

      Her face is as fresh as the mountain air. At the grocer’s he’d thought her no older than the teen clerk, and when he’d caught her staring thought he’d been made. But at the cabins he’d immediately deduced she was well past jailbait. Yet still so...natural. Her cheeks and the tip of her cute nose had been pink with cold, and hanging over the shoulder of her oversize and clearly secondhand army jacket had been a messy braid of hair the mixed colors of honey, sunlight and brandy. Wide gray eyes and a soft pink mouth made him think young again. Her wary expression suggested life had disappointed her once or twice.

      “She’s not interested in me, if that’s your concern,” Ryan said to Linus. “I’ve barely glimpsed the woman in the three days since I had to bribe her with five times the going rental rate to take me in. Oh, and she has a dog she hints might kill me on demand. I’m pretty sure if the dog balks, she’ll be willing to do the job herself.”

      “I think I’m in love.”

      “Why am I not surprised.” At twenty-nine, Linus was always ready to play with the opposite sex...though when Ryan thought of it, he’d been remarkably woman-free for months.

      “Maybe I should come see her—develop my own impression.”

      “No.” His brother was fishing for a reason to check on Ryan. “I told you, I don’t want visitors.”

      “What are you going to do, then?”

      “Read books, hike around.” And if the past couple of days were anything to go by, stare out the window in case the wood nymph that lived next door made a rare appearance. “Nothing crazy this year.”

      Linus sighed. “That’s great, Ry. Really great.”

      But his brother didn’t sound convinced as he signed off, and Ryan had to admit he, too, had doubts about keeping the crazy at bay. Fucking March.

      Back at the cabins there was something to distract him from his morose thoughts, he discovered. His landlady was outside, dressed in a pair of skintight jeans, sheepskin boots and a nubby sweater that rode up and down her hips as she gathered lengths of wood from a pile then tossed them into a wheelbarrow. As distractions went, it was pretty effective.

      Nothing wrong with admiring a pretty sight, he told himself. Shutting off the SUV’s engine, he relaxed against the leather seat, taking in the whole scene: the backdrop of mountain, woods, snow. The foreground of the lovely lady. When her dog raced up to drop a clearly well-drooled-upon tennis ball at her feet, her obvious response—yuck—made him nearly smile. He couldn’t help but like that she scooped up the slimy ball and threw it, anyway.

      When she began trundling the wheelbarrow toward his cabin, Ryan jumped from the SUV and hurried toward her. “Let me do that.”

      She ignored him, continuing to push

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