“Obviously running a business isn’t your strong suit, Anna,” Trisha had continued in a patronizing tone. “Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing? I mean, weren’t you taking some high-level university classes or something before your dad got sick?”
“I was working toward a PhD in literature. Well, British literature, actually. I—”
“Whatever.” Trisha had interrupted Anna’s explanation with an impatient shrug. “Sell the store to me, and you can go back and finish that up. It’s the perfect solution all the way around. So, how soon can you have all this junk cleared out?”
Anna had felt a flash of indignation. Books weren’t junk. But she’d held her tongue. Based on her personal experience—and her sales figures—most people in Pine Valley agreed with Trisha. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“Well, don’t take too long. I need to get all this settled before my other new addition comes along.” Trish had patted her round baby bump with a self-satisfied smile.
Remembering that little smirk, Anna scribbled so hard that the point of her pen tore through the notebook paper.
Back in high school Trisha had scraped by academically, spending her weekends partying while Anna had spent almost all her time with her nose stuck in some textbook. Now Trisha was balancing a booming business with a picture-perfect growing family. Meanwhile Anna “Brainy” Delaney, valedictorian and triumphant winner of the Hayes scholarship, was living alone above a bankrupt bookstore, sharing her peanut butter with a possum.
Life certainly hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected.
A sudden clap of thunder boomed, causing the walls of the hundred-year-old building to shudder. Glancing up from her scribbles, Anna caught a quick glimpse of Pine Valley’s town square through the wide store window before the downpour started. She sighed and set down her pen.
She’d better crank up the dehumidifiers. Damp seeped into the cracks of this old building, warping books and condensing on the inside of the windows.
So much for her idea of staying open late in the hopes of drumming up an extra sale or two. Nobody would be out in this weather. She might as well lock up, go upstairs and start researching all the logistics involved in closing a bookstore.
She sure hoped that would turn out to be easier than running one.
Anna flipped the sign in the door’s window to Closed and twisted the grudging bolt into place. After flicking off the lights, she picked her way through the dim store, pausing at the checkout counter just long enough to snag an empty coffee mug and, after a second’s guilty hesitation, her bookmarked novel.
She wouldn’t read long, she promised herself. Just a few minutes.
A half hour, tops.
Blam! Blam-blam-blam!
Halfway up the steps to her apartment, Anna whirled around as another flash of lightning lit up the darkened store. A man stood at the door, his face pressed against the glass, pounding on it with one clenched fist.
Anna yelped, dropping both her coffee mug and her book. The lightning flickered again, and when she caught her second glimpse of the man, her fear morphed into annoyance.
Oh, for crying out loud.
That was Hoyt Bradley. Since the man had never voluntarily opened a book in his life, Anna had no idea what he was doing banging on the door of a bookstore in the middle of a storm, but he wasn’t going to kill her.
Well, not unless he was planning to aggravate her to death.
Hoyt made an impatient what-are-you-waiting-for gesture through the glass, and Anna rolled her eyes. Then she stepped over her broken mug and stalked back down the steps toward the door.
Hoyt had always been as stubborn as a mule. She didn’t know what he’d come for, but he wouldn’t leave until he got it. She might as well deal with him now. Anna flipped the lights back on and slid the bolt free.
Hoyt lunged into the shop, rivers of rainwater sluicing off his broad used-to-be-a-football-star shoulders. “Is she here?”
“You could’ve given me a heart attack banging on the door like that! And watch what you’re doing! You’re flinging water all over my Jane Austens.” Anna grabbed one sodden shirtsleeve and tried to tug Hoyt away from the classics she’d hopefully arranged in a display near the entryway.
It was like trying to move a boulder. Hoyt didn’t budge. “Is she here, Anna?”
“Is who here? Hoyt, seriously, you’re soaked through, and you’re getting water everywhere. Do you even own an umbrella?”
Since he obviously wasn’t going to move, she’d better scoot the cardboard display stand out of the puddle he was creating.
“Anna, please.” As she turned away, Hoyt reached out and caught her upper arms, his wet hands chilling her bare skin. Her pulse skittered out of rhythm as memories flooded her brain.
She’d sat knee to knee with Hoyt Bradley every afternoon for eight months during her junior year in high school. Every single time his leg had accidentally brushed hers, her pulse had done the same ridiculous thing.
She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She should have outgrown this nonsense.
Apparently she hadn’t.
She glared up at him, her cheeks stinging hot, poised to twist out of his grip and give him a generous piece of her mind. What she saw brought her up short.
Hoyt’s handsome, square-jawed face was pale, and raw fear widened his hazel eyes. Right then all those silly oh-my-word-he-touched-me butterflies fluttering in Anna’s stomach fell horribly still. Something was wrong.
Nothing scared Hoyt Bradley.
“Where’s Jess?” Hoyt ground out the question, and Anna’s eyes widened. He was looking for his five-year-old daughter.
“I—I don’t know,” Anna stammered. “I haven’t seen her. I mean, I saw her for a little while this afternoon. She was with that group of kids Trisha was taking to Jimmy McAllister’s party.”
“When?”
“I...I don’t remember, exactly.”
“Think.”
He was still holding her arms. She wished he wasn’t, because it made thinking a whole lot harder. She swallowed and tried to focus.
“They came in a little after three, and they stayed until almost four thirty.” During which time they’d pretty much destroyed her children’s area, while Trisha tried to convince Anna to accept one-third of her building’s value. “What’s going on?”
“Did you see Jess leave with Trisha?”
Anna did her best to remember. Finally she shook her head. “I assumed she did. But of course, she’s so quiet—” She broke off, darting a quick look up into Hoyt’s face.
Everybody in Pine Valley knew that little Jess Bradley hadn’t spoken a single word since her mother’s death almost three years ago. Everybody also knew it wasn’t a topic you discussed with Hoyt.
“Anyway,” Anna continued after an awkward second, “she must have gone with the rest of them because she’s not here now. I’ve been all alone for the past couple of hours. Oh, no.” The worried lines grooved into Hoyt’s face suddenly made sense. “Is Jess missing?”
* * *
Missing. His Jess.
Fear slammed into Hoyt like a three-hundred-pound linebacker. Let me find her, Lord, he prayed silently. And keep her safe until I do. Please.
“All I know is I can’t find