Blueprint for a Wedding. Melissa McClone

who she was. Just like every other person who went to the movies or breathed.

      “You’re the actress,” he said. “Faith Starr.”

      She looked away. “That’s my stage name.”

      Exactly. Faith was a movie star. One of the most beautiful people in the world. Famous, rich, important. Someone who did not belong here, and he’d asked her out to dinner. Still it would make a good story. Not many men in Berry Patch got the chance to be shot down by a famous actress. “Are they filming a movie around here?”

      Faith’s mouth drew tight. She put her baseball cap and sunglasses back on. “No.”

      Funny, but now that he knew who she was, Faith looked more like a famous person with those things on than off.

      “What brings you to Berry Patch?” Gabe asked.

      “A friend lives here.”

      He knew everyone in town. “Who is that?”

      “Henry Davenport.”

      “He’s a friend of mine, too,” Gabe said.

      She furrowed her brows. “You’re a friend of Henry’s?”

      “I know his wife.” Gabe knew what she was thinking. How could a contractor be the friend of a billionaire? “She’s my sister Theresa’s best friend.”

      The edges of Faith’s mouth curved upward in a slight smile. Her tension seemed to ease. “Henry Davenport married. I still can’t believe it. Husband. Father. Farmer. The Henry I knew wasn’t interested in anything but having a good time.”

      “Nothing wrong with having a good time.” That’s what Gabe had. One good time after another, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. A part of him envied Henry. Not for all his money, but for what he’d found on the Wheeler Berry Farm. Years ago Gabe had thought he’d found the same thing—the woman of his dreams who wanted to raise a family in Berry Patch and live happily ever after. He’d been wrong. “But Henry and Elisabeth are perfect together.”

      “That’s what Henry told me.” Faith’s smile widened. The effect—dazzling. “I’m so happy for him. I can’t wait to meet his wife.”

      Faith’s happiness seemed genuine. Maybe there was more to her than her movie-goddess image. More than her reputation as a runaway bride and heartbreaker. As she stared at the wraparound porch where Frank lay, she narrowed her lips. Then again, maybe not.

      “Are you staying a few days?” Gabe asked.

      “Actually I plan to stay much longer.”

      Yeah, right. Someone like Faith would never last more than a couple weeks in this small, quiet town. A month at the most. She would get bored, long for the excitement of a big city and leave. The ambitious ones, women like his ex-wife, always did.

      “I’m going to like it here,” Faith added. “It’s a cute place.”

      “You haven’t been here when it rains. Cute wears off real fast.” Though a few nights at the cheesy hotel near Highway 99 or one of the homey, not-so-elegant B and Bs nearby would probably have the same effect. “Where are you staying?”

      “Here.”

      “Here?”

      She smiled. “I bought this house.”

      No.

      “Is your last name Addison?” he croaked out the words. “F. S. Addison?”

      “I’m Faith Starr Addison. Starr is my middle name and my mother’s name.” She drew her brows together. “How did you know?”

      He ignored the question. “You bought this house from Miss Larabee?”

      Faith nodded. “She’s so sweet. She reminds me of my late grandmother. We met for the first time last night at dinner. We watched one of my movies together.”

      “Dinner and a movie?”

      “Yes.” Faith adjusted her baseball cap. “She asked me for my autograph. She was so cute.”

      Gabe fought a wave of nausea. He remembered Miss Larabee’s one great passion—the movies. She’d once dreamed of being an actress. Damn. Dinner with a movie star must have been the offer “too good to pass up.”

      Still that didn’t explain her selling the house to Faith. Not after he’d shared his own dreams about the house with Miss Larabee over tea during his weekly visits—dreams of restoring the house the way his grandfather had always wanted to do and raising a family here. Guess that couldn’t compare to dinner with flighty and flaky Faith, as the press called her, who merely had to learn to smile and speak on cue and steal people’s dreams.

      She sighed with apparent satisfaction. “Henry was right when he told me it would be perfect for a B and B.”

      Gabe froze. He couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. But he had to. He had to know. “You asked Henry to find you a B and B here in town?”

      “No, I’d never heard of Berry Patch,” she said. “I hadn’t spoken with Henry in months, but he called out of the blue to say hi. We were catching up when I told him about looking for a B and B to buy and he explained how Berry Patch is an up-and-coming tourist destination in the heart of wine country.”

      Movie star turned innkeeper? That made no sense. “Why would you want a B and B?”

      She stiffened. “I always thought I’d go into the hotel business someday.”

      “I can’t see you as innkeeper.”

      She raised her chin. “I spent a lot of time working at inns and B and Bs when I was a teenager.” A slight smile formed on her lips. “You should taste my stuffed French toast.”

      An invitation? He didn’t think so. Besides Gabe wasn’t interested. She was the enemy. Hell, she was his worst nightmare. The kind of woman his ex-wife had wanted to be. And now he worked for her on a house that should belong to him.

      “After Henry told me about this house, he e-mailed me pictures. I made an offer that day. Everything went so smoothly I have to believe it was fate.”

      Not fate. Henry. Damn him.

      Gabe felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. And it was his friend, Henry, throwing the punches. A mix of emotions swirled inside Gabe. Anger, frustration, betrayal. He clenched his fists.

      It was all Henry’s fault.

      No, it wasn’t. Henry didn’t know about Gabe’s dream of owning this house. It wasn’t something they discussed over beers at The Vine. He had only shared the plan of his life with his family and Miss Larabee.

      “Is something wrong?” Faith asked.

      Very wrong. And now he knew why.

      The owner’s notes—containing glitzy, glamorous and thoroughly modern changes to the remodeling plans—he’d received via Henry suddenly made a lot more sense. Gabe didn’t like the notes or her.

      “You aren’t what I expected,” he said finally.

      “I never am,” she murmured with a faraway look in her eyes. But in a moment, her gaze sharpened. “So I have a couple of questions for you. Who are you? And why is your dog sleeping on my front porch?”

      My front porch.

      Gabe bristled at the words. Resentment overflowed. There was so much he wanted to say to her. “I quit” was tops on the list. He glanced at the house.

      Remember what’s important.

      It wasn’t Faith. Or him.

      It was this house.

      His grandfather had been obsessed with restoring it for as long as Gabe could remember. It hadn’t taken long for him to feel the same way. Each time the bus passed by here on his way to school,