The Montoros Affair. Charlene Sands

by her purse. Of course, she thought as she realized why. She stooped to dig into the outer pouch. Thank goodness for instincts. She hadn’t heard another car stop by except for the one that had pulled into Zachary Denton’s driveway; therefore, it would be foolish to answer the door without being prepared.

      With her cannister of tear gas in hand, she went to switch on the front lights. Maybe she would leave them on. It might discourage any more funny business from…well, whomever.

      Peering through the peephole, she frowned. No one was there.

      “Blast.” Her nerves didn’t need this.

      About to go to the front window for a better view, a dark head suddenly popped up out of nowhere. She reared back, but a second later realized who she’d seen.

      Starla! Quickly unlocking the dead bolt, she jerked open the door, vowing to herself that as soon as possible she would have a storm door added. Every bit of security would help.

      “Starla Donohue, I could shake you!” she cried, stepping aside for her assistant to enter.

      Pretty brown eyes tried to look apologetic, but not all the twinkling amber lights dancing in their depths would behave. “Don’t be angry with me. I know I said I’d only call, but the suspense got to me. You have to let me have a peek. Look,” she grinned, holding up bottle of chardonnay. “I brought a bribe.”

      Willa shook her head. “But I don’t have a corkscrew.”

      The younger woman shook the huge, chic tote bag slung over her shoulder. “Remember this? Since when has anything less than useful emerged from its—Yikes! What’s that for?”

      She’d finally spotted the tear gas. With a wry smile, Willa shut the door and returned it to her purse. “Over-stretched nerves, obviously. I’ll tell you about it in a minute,” she added, noting Starla’s confusion. “First come have that look around.”

      Starla’s surprise visit gave Willa what she needed—something else to focus on. A good listener with a slightly wacky sense of humor that hid a deeper shyness, she reminded Willa of her sister, Kelly, but with longer, golden brown hair, and a softer, rounded figure.

      “This place is darling! Not too big to keep up, but large enough not to give you claustrophobia. Like a certain efficiency apartment I could tell you about,” she added as an aside. “And it’s obvious you’ve been working your butt off. Oh, wow!” They entered the kitchen where brick and copper created a warm, welcoming environment. “I can’t wait to see how you decorate everything. If it turns out half as good as Whimsy did, the paper’s going to want to do another feature on you.”

      Willa hadn’t considered that. “I’m not sure I want to share this with the public,” she replied, frowning as she retrieved two paper cups from a basket of supplies on the counter.

      “You’re kidding! Ms. My Life’s An Open Book?”

      Was she like that? Well, once upon a time maybe, and mostly because A.J.’s stressful work as an emergency helicopter pilot had created a need for counterbalance. More. Relief. His preference had been to throw impromptu, open-house parties. But if truth be known, she would have been happier to have spent those nights cozily in front of a fire, with a romantic dinner and a more romantic bubble bath waiting. Nowadays she had plenty of opportunity to do just that, but without A.J.

      “I’m sorry, Willa. What did I say? I didn’t mean to dig up ghosts or anything.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” she replied, smiling as she presented the cups. “You reminded me that I may have some new decisions to make, that’s all.”

      “Tomorrow’s the big day, huh? Ready or not, you’re a homeowner again.”

      She nodded, regaining some of her excitement. “The movers tell me they’ll be at the apartment at nine. Are you getting tired of playing chief, cook and bottle washer yet?” she asked, aware of the responsibility she’d placed on her friend’s shoulders. Four years her junior, Starla was capable, but young for the pressures Willa knew could come swiftly and without warning.

      “To be honest…? As good a time as I’m having, I’d prefer it if you were there.” Starla’s dimples deepened. “Because I miss our chats like heck. Not having had any brothers and sisters, or being very close to my folks, I guess you’ve become like an older sister to me. Hope you don’t mind.”

      “Of course I don’t mind. I feel the same way about you.” Willa hugged her, touched by her friend’s admission.

      “But I know this is good for me, and that I need to learn to flex my administrative muscles.”

      “That’s a girl! I know you can do it.” Willa watched the younger woman ease the cork out the bottle’s neck. The pop underscored her pleasure and gratitude that Starla had stopped by after all. “And it’s not as if I’m far away. If you can hang on until Tuesday…?”

      “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” Starla poured the wine. “Now let’s change the subject before we get too mushy and sentimental, and wind up with raccoon eyes.”

      They laughed and touched their cups together. Then Starla reported on the day’s sales and reassured Willa that she’d locked the cash and receipts in the small office safe.

      “It sounds as if you have everything under control,” Willa said, leading the way out of the kitchen again. “Come on and I’ll show you the rest of the place.” But she was surprised when Starla stopped her at the foot of the stairs.

      “Wait. First tell me what’s going on? Why the tear gas?” She held up a hand the instant Willa hesitated. “Unless it’s pushing the boundaries of our friendship.”

      “Don’t be silly.” It surprised and dismayed Willa that Starla could think that, and she told her so.

      Once again beaming, her young friend replied, “Good. Then what is it? Is being on a dead-end street and practically in the woods more to handle than you’d expected?”

      Willa sipped her wine, considering the possibility again. “No, I really enjoy that. There are so many birds, and this evening I glimpsed a deer in my backyard. I can’t wait to put up some feeders, and maybe set out something for the deer, too.”

      “Now that sounds like you.” Warming to her subject, Starla tilted her head, continuing, “And I think you’d have to have a good reason to be feeling threatened enough to reach for that stuff in here, so out with it. What’s wrong?”