Woodrose Mountain. RaeAnne Thayne

to presume on our friendship terribly to ask you one more favor.”

       Evie braced herself.

       “Will you at least consider helping us for a week or two, just while we find our feet and start a treatment plan for Taryn?” Katherine asked. “With your knowledge and experience, you can make sure Brodie has retrofitted the house with everything we might need for her care. A few weeks would give us a little breathing room so we can take our time looking for the best possible person for the job.”

       The request was reasonable and certainly made sense. Refusing to give up a few weeks of her life for her dear friend would make her sound churlish. Immature, even.

       “When is Taryn being transferred from Birch Glen?” she asked, doing her best to keep the weary resignation from her voice.

       To Katherine’s credit, not so much as a trace of victory flashed in her expression, even though she must have known Evie couldn’t say no. “Friday.”

       “I suppose I could give you a week or two, as long as you can help Claire with my responsibilities here.”

       Claire squeezed her arm. “Of course. Take as long as necessary. Whatever Taryn needs.”

       “Just a few weeks. No more than that. I’ll help you hire another therapy coordinator and set up the treatment plan, but that’s all.”

       She could handle anything for a few weeks, couldn’t she?

       “That should be plenty of time to point us in the right direction.” Katherine pressed her cheek to Evie’s, filling her senses with flowers and guilt. “Thank you so much. I know it’s difficult for you and I’m very sorry, but believe me, we’re so grateful. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for this.”

       “You don’t owe me anything, Katherine,” she answered, taking a subtle step back. “Tell Brodie to donate whatever fee he would have paid someone else for those few weeks to the scholarship fund.”

       At least something good should come of this, she thought, as Katherine and Claire began discussing another fundraising event the high school student body officers wanted to sponsor for the Layla memorial fund.

       Evie let their conversation drift around her, focusing instead on double-checking the kits for her class that evening to help beat off the residual twinges of panic. After a few moments, one of the mothers asked a question about their display of Greek worry beads and Evie was grateful to help the customers, an excuse to leave her friends and the heavy weight of their expectations.

       “They’re called komboloi,” she explained. “Traditionally, they’re made with an odd number of beads and then a metal spacer in between. Touching them at various times throughout the day is believed to help with relaxation and stress management.”

       “I certainly need that,” the woman said, rolling her eyes at her busy preschooler in the play area.

       Evie smiled. “They’re easy to make and they can really relieve tension. There’s something very soothing about working the beads between your fingers. Lots of people even put them on their key chains. Want to try one?”

       The two women exchanged glances. “Sure. Sounds like fun,” the other young mother said.

       “You can use any kind of bead, though usually people use amber or coral because of their soft, comforting texture.”

       Evie pointed them toward the beads, then went to gather the basic supplies for them. While she was helping them, she would make one for herself, she decided on impulse. It had been too long since she had crafted a piece simply for her own enjoyment—and she had a very strong feeling she was going to need all the stress management tools she could find in the coming two weeks.

      CHAPTER THREE

      BRODIE’S HOUSE IN the exclusive gated Aspen Ridge community wasn’t quite what Evie had imagined.

       Given her preconception of the man as someone who always wanted something bigger and better than anyone else—at least in the various businesses and developments he owned around Hope’s Crossing—she had expected something opulent and overwhelming. The house was certainly vast and sprawling, with soaring windows and cedar-plank walls, unusual curves and angles. But the landscaping was tasteful and seemed to focus on native plants and trees and granite boulders. Whoever designed the place had managed to adapt it nicely to its surroundings, nestled into the hollow of a foothill.

       His view was spectacular, she would definitely give him that. Even from her favorite spot on the Woodrose Mountain trail, she couldn’t see as far as Silver Strike Canyon but from various places on the property, he would have a clear vantage point of both the town below and the higher ski resort in the canyon.

       She might have allowed herself to enjoy the view a little more in the stretched-out shadows of late afternoon but she wasn’t exactly in the mood for restful Zen-like contemplation of the mountains—not when she stood on Brodie’s doorstep holding a basketful of therapy-equipment catalogs.

       Oh, she didn’t want to be here. Three days after Katherine had laid on the emotional blackmail, Evie wasn’t any more comfortable with her decision to help Taryn transition to a home-based program. She didn’t want to be dragged into this world again, not after she had fought so hard to find peace outside of it.

       She would simply have to be tough and determined and remind herself that this was all only temporary. For a few weeks she could be tough and detached, clinical even. She could keep her emotions contained and safe, despite her relationship with Katherine.

       It was only a job, right?

       With that thought firmly in mind, she rang the doorbell and waited, expecting some housekeeper or secretary to open the door. When it opened a moment later, she was greeted by the unexpected sight of Brodie standing in the doorway wearing jeans and a white-cotton dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to midforearm.

       His dark hair was slightly messy as if he’d just run his hands through it and he had that typical afternoon shadow that made him look somehow rakish and dangerous. Throw in a sword and an eye patch and maybe switch out the tailored cut of his white shirt for one with flowing sleeves and she could definitely see him sailing the high seas with Jack Sparrow and friends.

       Yum.

       That was the only word that seemed to register in her brain for about half a second, until he spoke and shattered, like a well-placed cannon blast, all those half-formed pirate fantasies.

       “Evaline. Hello. I wasn’t expecting you.” His tone was stiff, formal, as if he were greeting unwelcome gate-crashers at some highbrow society function, and she had to fight down her instinctive sharp retort.

       “Katherine asked me to stop by and check on the renovations in Taryn’s bedroom and bathroom so I’ll know what equipment we might need to order eventually.”

       “Right. Of course.” He thawed enough to give her a half smile. “She mentioned you might stop by to check things out. It’s a great idea, one I should have thought of earlier.”

       He held the door open wider for her. “Come in. The truth is, I’ll be glad to have your perspective on what we’ve done in her rooms, to see if we’ve missed anything.”

       Brodie inclined his head in the direction of the hammering she could hear coming from the far reaches of the house. “The crews might be working all night to wrap things up before tomorrow but at least they’re down to the finished carpentry now. Come in. We can work our way around the dust.”

       She gazed at that door and the muscled arm holding it open, aware of the tiniest flicker of nervous hesitation. Stupid. It was only a doorway and this was only a job. A few weeks, that’s all, and then she could go back to her happy place, among the good and kind beaders of Hope’s Crossing.

       When she finally forced herself to move forward, Brodie ushered her into a welcoming two-story foyer decorated in the Craftsman style—clean lines, tasteful use