Just a Whisper Away. Lauren Nichols

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      Then his mouth was covering hers, and a tingle he hadn’t counted on was sweeping through his system. Jace jerked away. For a second their gazes locked, and that old breathless current flowed between them. The same snap and sizzle they’d fought from the moment they’d met so long ago. Then he pulled himself together, forced a smile and started away. “See you around,” he called. “Give my regards to your dad.”

      He’d barely stepped into the crisp March air when he heard the country club’s door bang open again.

      “What was that all about?” she shouted, swiftly closing the distance between them as he strode to his SUV.

      He glanced behind him. A thin coating of old snow crunched beneath her strappy open-toed high heels as she crossed the parking lot.

      “Was it payback? Restitution for something that happened fourteen years ago? My God, Jace, when are you going to get past that?”

      Ignoring her, he pulled his keys from his pocket and pointed the remote at his black Explorer. The taillights flashed as the doors unlocked.

      “Because if ticking off my dad was what that kiss was about,” she continued when he faced her, “it was one of the most asinine displays of childishness I’ve ever witnessed!”

      “Yes, it was,” he agreed calmly, opening his door. “But I must say it felt good. Now, you’d better get back inside before you freeze.”

      “I intend to. But you need to know something before you leave.” She held his gaze in the amber spill of the light poles. “If you wanted to poke my father with a stick, dancing with me would’ve done the trick. You didn’t have to kiss me. And that makes me wonder why you felt the need to do it.”

      Sending her a dry look, Jace climbed into his SUV. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have if the only thing he’d done to me was run me off the night I stole his little girl’s virginity.”

      Some of the anger drained from her face. “What did he do?”

      Jace fired the engine, lowered his window and shut the door.

      “Tell me,” she insisted, her breath clouding before her. “You can’t drop something like that in my lap, then leave.”

      Shaking his head, he dropped the SUV into gear. “You’ll have to ask him. Then ask him if it made a damn bit of difference.”

      Minutes later, she was pulling her father away from his plumed and ruffled fiancée and doing just what Jace had suggested. She didn’t let go of him until they’d reached a vacant back table littered with coffee cups, confetti and sparkling Mardi Gras beads. “What did you do to Jace?”

      Morgan Winslow stared down at his daughter, tension still glinting in his dark eyes. At nearly six feet, with a thickening jaw and midsection, he appeared to be in no mood to be cross-examined by his only child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m still angry with you for running after that presumptuous wood hick. He may have cleaned up on the outside, but underneath that rented tuxedo he’s still trailer trash.”

      “Dad, stop it. What did you do to him? And don’t say nothing, because I know better. He’s still angry, and that anger’s directed at you, not me—though God knows I deserve it.”

      “It was nothing. He came to me for a business loan, and for the sake of the stockholders, I had to act responsibly. He simply resents the fact that I turned him down.”

      “No. There’s more to it than that. How did you turn him down? What did you say to him?”

      For a moment she doubted that he’d reply. Then he said in a righteous tone, “I told him that my bank didn’t loan money to people who couldn’t pay it back—that his background made him a bad credit risk, and that he wouldn’t get the money from any other bank in town, either.”

      Abbie’s jaw sagged. “And you made sure of that?”

      He didn’t answer, but Abbie knew it was so. Then she took into account Jace’s bearing, his clothing, the new SUV he drove and the high price tag on this annual charity event…and she knew he’d done well with his life. “He got the loan anyway, didn’t he?” she said. “Somewhere out of town? And his credit was flawless, wasn’t it?”

      Morgan’s gaze hardened. “I don’t know a thing about the man or his business.”

      Abbie released a tattered breath. “Dear God, no wonder he’s angry. You’re still making him pay for that night in the gazebo.”

      “I prefer not to think about that night, if you don’t mind. Now, let’s return to our table. Dr. Bryant, Miriam and the others will be wondering what’s keeping us.”

      Abbie shook her head. “You go ahead. Suddenly I don’t feel much like partying. I’m going back to the house.”

      “Now? It’s not even ten o’clock. And how do you propose to do that? This isn’t Los Angeles. You won’t find a cab here.”

      She knew that. Laurel Ridge, Pennsylvania, wasn’t large enough to support a taxi service. “I’ll walk.”

      Anger flashed through her father’s eyes again. They both knew she couldn’t walk the three miles to the Winslow home in the dark, especially dressed the way she was.

      Taking the keys to his Lexus from his pocket, he spoke impatiently. “I’ll tell the others that you’re not feeling well, and ride back with Miriam.”

      Abbie accepted the keys. Everyone would know that was a lie, but at this point, she didn’t care. Suddenly her mind was reeling with questions, and they all concerned Jace. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dad.”

      Twenty minutes later, Abbie had reset the security system, pulled on a robe and was curled in the deep-violet chair beside the white nightstand in her bedroom. Eagerly, she pulled the phone book from the drawer. Her mother had decorated the room when she was in high school, and it was still lovely. Over the years, her dad had suggested that they remodel, but Abbie had steadfastly refused. She loved the white walls and violet-sprinkled pattern on the fussy voile curtains, bedspread and pillow shams. Loved the plush, deep-violet rugs on the hardwood floor. Not because she still gravitated toward the frilly. She loved it because her mother had worked so hard to make it pretty for her, and sometimes she still missed her mom terribly.

      Abbie flipped quickly through the phone book’s pages to the Rs, and seconds later, found a listing for Rogan Logging & Lumber. The location was the same as the company Jace had worked for right out of high school. The place they’d met her senior year. She’d needed information on the lumber industry for a term paper, and the company’s owner, Jim Freemont, had assigned Jace the job of answering her questions and showing her around.

      The chemistry between them had been swift, nerve-thrumming and irresistible. To his credit—and Abbie’s frustration—while she was in high school, Jace had never let it go beyond a few hungry kisses. He was older and blue-collar, he’d told her. She was Morgan Winslow’s college-bound princess.

      Swallowing, Abbie turned to the yellow pages and read his ad.

      Wholesale Timber and Kiln-dried Lumber. We Deliver Locally.

      Below that, in smaller print, it read:

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