The Winter Lodge. Сьюзен Виггс

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      It was a Monday like no other, Jenny realized as she headed once again to the ruin at 472 Maple Street. She was back again, along with the fire investigator. Later in the week, the salvage operation would begin. She couldn’t imagine that there was anything to salvage, but Rourke swore she might be surprised.

      As they got out of his car at the curb, she glanced up at him and caught her breath. She wasn’t used to being around a guy this good-looking. Staring at him had a strange effect on her. It was destroying her brain cells.

      He noticed her look. “Something the matter?”

      “I really don’t think I should be staying with you. At your house, I mean.”

      “You’re staying. It’s the best idea for the time being, at least.”

      “It’s embarrassing. People will talk.”

      “That’s always been your problem, Jenny. Worrying about what people will say.”

      An interesting observation, coming from him. “You mean you don’t care?”

      “Do I act like I care?”

      She thought about the women he dated. “I guess not. But I do.”

      “Look, nobody’s going to think anything about this. You’re a disaster victim, I’m the chief of police. It’s a match made in heaven.”

      “Cute.” She brushed past him and headed up the walkway to the ruins of the house. She used her booted toe to nudge at what had once been a wooden file cabinet. This was where she had stored her notebooks. As soon as she learned how to write, she had written all her secrets, all her girlish dreams, all her thoughts in spiral-bound notebooks, and she had stored them in the file. There was almost nothing left, just blackened pages that disintegrated at the slightest touch or sodden papers destroyed by water.

      How will I remember? she wondered. How will I remember the girl I used to be?

      Surrounded by the devastation of the only home she had ever known, she told herself it was silly, fretting over each little loss. If she let herself do that, she would be grieving from now until Judgment Day. She plunged her hand in her pocket and felt the cylindrical shape of the pill bottle; she’d refilled the prescription this morning. Hold on, she told herself. And then she looked up at Rourke McKnight and the strangest, most irrational feeling came over her. Safety. Security. Even a small glimmer of hope. And she hadn’t even taken a pill.

      She wasn’t sure why. He was just standing there, watching her as though he’d throw himself in front of a train if that was what it took to keep her safe. And she believed him. Trusted him. Felt safe with him. Which made her either the dumbest woman in town, or the most insightful.

      The sound of a car engine caught her attention. She turned to see Olivia Bellamy exiting a silver Lexus SUV and hurrying across the street toward her. Blond and adorable, in designer boots and an embroidered Scandinavian jacket, she resembled the kind of woman Rourke usually dated, but with one key difference—Olivia Bellamy had a brain.

      “Jenny,” she said, pulling her into a hug and then stepping back. “I just heard. Thank God you’re safe.” She gaped at the smoldering ruin of the house. “I’m so sorry,” she added.

      “Thanks,” Jenny said, feeling awkward. She and Olivia were sisters—half sisters—though they didn’t know each other very well. They’d met for the first time last summer, almost by accident, when Olivia had moved up from the city to renovate the Bellamy family summer camp, high in the mountains on the shores of Willow Lake.

      Discovering that they were both the daughters of Philip Bellamy had been … at first startling, and then bittersweet. Jenny was the result of a youthful affair; Olivia was born to the woman Philip had married and later divorced. Now Jenny and Olivia were still getting used to the idea that they were sisters. Far from the happy-go-lucky twins in The Parent Trap, they were just finding their way toward each other.

      “You should’ve called me right away,” Olivia said. She sent Rourke a swift glance. “Hi, Rourke.” Then she turned back to Jenny. “Why didn’t you call me?”

      “I, uh, I was at the bakery when it started and then …” Jenny didn’t know why she felt apologetic. She just wasn’t sure how to act around her newfound sister. “Things went crazy, as you can imagine.”

      “Excuse me,” Rourke said as the fire captain motioned him over.

      “I can’t imagine.” Olivia touched her arm. “Oh, Jenny. I want to help. What can I do?” Olivia seemed almost desperate and utterly sincere. “I want to help, in any way I can.”

      Jenny summoned a smile, grateful beyond words that even after losing Gram, she still had her sister. If not for Olivia, Jenny would be alone right now, the last of her family gone. Yet at the same time, she felt a pinch of melancholy, regretting the years they’d lost. She had grown up with Bellamys all around her, never knowing of the connection they shared. She and Olivia were so different. Olivia had spent her life surrounded by the wealth and privilege of the Bellamy family. The adored—and, according to Olivia, overindulged—only daughter, she had attended the best schools, graduated with honors from Columbia, and by the age of twenty-four had launched her own business. She was gorgeous, successful … and she was in love with the perfect guy—a local contractor named Connor Davis. It would be easy to envy her to the point of dislike.

      Except Jenny truly liked Olivia. She honestly did. Her half sister was kind and funny, and she genuinely wanted to have a relationship. Jenny had read somewhere that the true test of the strength of a relationship is whether or not it held up in a crisis.

      I guess I’m about to find out, she thought.

      Taking a deep breath, she said, “At the moment, I’m kind of disoriented. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

      “Forgive? My lord, Jenny, you must be devastated.”

      “Well, when you put it that way …”

      “God, listen to me. I’m awful.”

      “It’s all right. There’s really no etiquette in this situation.” An awkward silence stretched between them. Jenny studied her sister’s face, as she sometimes did, seeking something—anything—they shared in common. A certain tilt of the eyes? The shape of jaw, chin, cheekbone? Their father swore they looked like sisters, but Jenny believed it was wishful thinking. “Listen, there is something you can help with. I’m going to need some clothes.”

      “You’re going to need everything,” Olivia added. “I’ll drive.”

      Finally, Jenny felt it—the relief and gratitude of knowing someone wanted to look after her. She went over to Rourke. “Are we done here?”

      “For now. The fire investigator is going to be working most of the day.”

      “All right. I’m going with Oliv—my sister—to pick up a few things.” She felt a curious satisfaction at saying it aloud. My sister.

      “Call me,” he said.