Starlight On Willow Lake. Susan Wiggs

to interview for the position. To Faith, that meant the Bellamys were either very open-minded or very desperate.

      “I want to live here,” Ruby said, scanning the arched entrance at the end of the driveway.

      “If we did, then we wouldn’t have to change schools,” Cara pointed out.

      Faith caught the note of yearning in her elder daughter’s voice. She was just finishing her junior year at Avalon High School and longed to graduate with her friends. Since Dennis had died, they had moved at least six or seven times; Faith had lost count. It was rough on the girls, always being the new kid and having to start over at a new school every time their mom changed jobs.

      Cara coped with the situation by adopting an edgy, rebellious attitude. She had a mouth on her that sometimes reminded Faith of Dennis—sarcastic, but never truly mean. Cara was a lot like her late father in other ways, too. She was scrappy and smart, cautious about whom she let in. Dennis’s doctors said he had outlived his prognosis by several years simply because he was such a tough guy, and Faith could see this trait in her elder daughter.

      Ruby, by contrast, went the opposite direction, retreating into her books and toys, hiding behind a bashful facade. Even as a toddler, she’d been far more cautious and fearful than Cara ever was.

      It would be nice to offer the girls a sense of security. From the looks of this place, security was assured. The compound looked as if it had sat here forever at the water’s edge. Large enough to billet a small army, it seemed like a lot of real estate for one woman.

      That was Faith’s first clue to the high-maintenance quality of Alice Bellamy.

      She parked in front of a multibay garage with an upper story that ran the entire length of the building. Mr. Bellamy’s car glided silently into one of the bays, and the door automatically rolled shut. A few seconds later, he joined them.

      “Welcome to Casa Bellamy,” he said as they got out of the van. He’d removed his tie and opened his shirt, and the cuffs were rolled back, but he still looked decidedly uncomfortable in his blood-spattered clothes.

      “This is Ruby,” said Faith, gesturing at the little girl.

      “Hiya,” he said affably. “I’m Mason. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a mess.”

      “That’s okay.” She pressed herself against Faith’s side. “Mom, you’re a mess, too.”

      “And you’ve already met my other daughter, Cara.”

      “I did. Between you and your mom, you saved that guy’s life.”

      Cara merely stood back with her arms folded across her middle. She’d never been the type to be easily won.

      “Tell you what,” said Mason. “We’ve got some major cleaning up to do.” He eyed her skirt and top, which were covered in blood, sweat, dirt and grass stains. It was her one decent job interview ensemble. She’d forgotten the ruined jacket at the scene of the accident.

      “I have a change of clothes in the van,” she said.

      “Okay, the girls can go inside for a snack or something while you and I use the showers in the pool house.”

      There was a pool house. With showers. Definitely not Kansas anymore.

      “You remember the way in?” he asked Cara.

      She nodded.

      “Tell Regina we’re back, everything’s going to be okay with the guy and that your mom and I will be in after we get cleaned up.”

      “Sure. Okay. Come on, Ruby.”

      Ruby towed her Gruffalo along. She clung to the threadbare plush toy in times of stress.

      Faith grabbed a bag with a clean dress in it.

      Mason briefly checked out the van. “This a paratransit vehicle?”

      She nodded. “It’s pretty old, but the lift still works.” Noting his inquisitive expression, she said, “It hasn’t been used for paratransport in quite a while.”

      “Is it for clients?” he asked.

      “My late husband was in a wheelchair.”

      “Oh. I’m... I see.”

      She could sense him processing the information. People didn’t expect a woman in her midthirties to be a widow, so that always came as a surprise.

      “He passed away six years ago,” she said.

      “I’m sorry.” Awkward silence. No one ever knew what to say to that.

      Faith gave a brisk nod. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

      The pool house had separate showers, the space divided by weathered cedar boards in a louver pattern.

      Faith scrubbed her hands and arms with a cake of soap that smelled of lemon and herbs.

      “I have to admit, that’s a first for me,” Mason called from the adjacent shower stall.

      Even though they couldn’t see each other, Faith felt awkward and exposed while she showered within earshot of a man she’d just met. “I wish I could say the same.” She watched a thin stream of watered-down blood drain into the river-stone bed of the shower. “In my line of work, things sometimes get messy.”

      “How long have you been a nurse?”

      “All my life, pretty much. I was raised by a single mom. She was sick—congestive heart failure—and I was her caregiver until she passed away when I was about Cara’s age.”

      “Damn. That’s rough. I’m sorry to hear it, Faith.”

      “I went to school but couldn’t afford to get my RN degree. I trained in a work-study program and I’ve worked in the field ever since.”

      She dried off with a big bath towel, which was as thick and luxurious as a robe at a Turkish spa—not that she’d ever been to a Turkish spa. But she’d imagined one, many times.

      Then she put on a clean dress, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled from packing. It was a blue cotton wrap dress, not her first choice for meeting a potential client, but it would do in a pinch.

      “All set,” she said, finger combing her wet hair as she stepped out of the cabana. “I just need to— Oh.”

      Words failed her as Mason Bellamy came out of the shower stall wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. Time seemed to stop as she had a swift, heated reaction to the sight of his body, a reminder of just how much time had passed since she’d had a boyfriend—or even a date. He was built like a men’s underwear model, perfectly proportioned, with sculpted arms and legs, shoulders and abs not found in nature. His towel-dried hair lay in damp waves, framing his face. His lips curved upward at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling, and she detected both kindness and wariness in his eyes. A small, upside-down crescent scar at the top of his cheekbone kept him from being too handsome. She gave herself a stern, silent reminder that a guy who looked like this undoubtedly spent too much time at the gym. He was probably obsessed with himself.

      Or maybe he might just be the kind of guy who took care of himself, said another little voice in her head. In her profession, she saw too little of that. Might as well enjoy a little eye candy.

      “Guess I need to find some clean clothes, too,” he said. “Getting drenched in a stranger’s blood wasn’t on the agenda today.”

      “I need to check you out.”

      He raised one eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Yeah?”

      She flushed, wondering if he’d read her mind. “What I mean is, I should check your hands, see if you have any open wounds. When we follow up at the hospital, they’ll need to check again.”

      Mason blanched and stuck out both hands toward her. Immediately, the towel hit the ground. “Whoops,” he said, bending to pick it up. He