Pete rose early the next morning, made the coffee, and started gathering their belongings. He sure was going to miss this place, but sooner or later, he and Elissa had to step into the real world and it might as well be in Magdalena. The people there would study Elissa with a keen eye, draw conclusions they may or may not put to sound, but in the end, they’d accept her. That’s what small towns did. As long as she cared about him and didn’t hurt him. You could move from a small town and stay away for fifteen years, but the second you walked back in, it was as if you’d never left, like you were still one of them—which you were.

He grabbed the bag of yarn and knitting needles he’d spotted on the couch the first day. The needles stuck out, but when Pete tried to push them into the bag, he noticed a notebook blocking the way. Pete eased it from the bag, studied it. Had Elissa pasted the red rose on the cover? Was this some sort of sketch book? He could picture her as an artist, sketching flowers and people. He smiled, flipped the notebook open, expecting to see a pencil sketch of a rose.

He did not expect to see Gloria Blacksworth’s name scrawled along the top border or the name Magdalena written in the margins. What the hell? Pete sank onto the couch and began to read…

Forty minutes later, he closed the notebook, stared at the cover with the pasted rose. How could Elissa be capable of such cold-hearted cruelty? What did it mean? Had she copied pages from Gloria Blacksworth’s notebook and created her own?

Did she plan to continue the torment once she sent the final letter?

Was she blackmailing people?

Who could tell? He sure as hell couldn’t, not after reading the contents and the side notes she’d written. Damn her for pretending to be kind and caring, a human being with a conscience…

“Pete?”

The sweetness of her voice swept over him, almost made him wish he hadn’t opened the notebook and learned the harsh truth about her. But what was the point of prolonging what would turn out to be a bad ending? Had he really thought he might have a future with the woman? A stranger, no less, whose sob story wasn’t half as sickening as the drama inside the notebook. Elissa could have ended it all when the Blacksworth woman died, but she didn’t. Hell no, she carried on the legacy, as a favor to a friend.

“Pete?”

She stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing his flannel shirt, long legs bare, a hint of a smile on her lips. Fresh-faced, innocent, tempting. A seductress bent on destruction. He slid the notebook across the table. “Look what I found. A play-by-play book on how to destroy lives.”

The second she realized what it was, she lunged toward the table and snatched up the notebook. “You…you read this?”

He shrugged. “Twice.”

“I planned to tell you today.” The words spilled out in a rush of panic. “I didn’t know Mrs. Blacksworth was lying. I believed what she told me. I thought I was honoring a dead woman’s request by mailing the letters.”

That pissed him off. He pushed back the chair, stood. “You didn’t know she was lying? You thought these letters were normal? They could destroy lives!” Pete moved toward her, stopped when he was an arm’s length away. “This Blacksworth woman is the friend you were talking about, isn’t she? She sounds sick in the head, a pariah, a mental cancer that eats at you.”

She shook her head, inched her gaze back to his. “I didn’t know. I don’t think she was like that in the beginning.”

“Of course, she was like that.” How could he have thought this woman was special? She was worse than Heather; at least his old girlfriend had never tried to be anything other than the society girl she was. But Elissa? Hell, she’d acted like goodness was her middle name.

“You didn’t know her. She was all alone…and dying,” she stammered, her eyes bright. “I think she lost her way.”

Let the damn tears come. He would not be taken in by them or the crushed look on her beautiful face. “Your definition of friendship is twisted.”

“I believed her.” Her voice split open with sadness. “All she wanted was for me to mail the letters. How could I say no? She told me it was her duty to see them delivered, that fate would help the innocents involved.”

Was she serious? “That is such bullshit. How could you believe that crap? Look what she wrote about the MacGregors. Would a decent person expose a pregnancy? And Nate Desantro. Were you involved in that mess?” When she didn’t answer, anger fueled his next words. “Tell me, damn it.”

The tears spilled down her cheeks, to her chin, her neck, landed on the flannel shirt. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Her lips quivered, her shoulders shook. “I only wanted to honor my word.”

“Yeah, you did that, and who knows what damage you caused in the process. And what about Jack Finnegan?” He’d saved this one for last. According to her side notes, she hadn’t mailed the letter yet. Taking money didn’t sound like his father, but if he had done it, then the old man had a reason, a good one, and it shouldn’t be brought into the open. Period. “Answer me.”

She shook her head, sniffed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. I know you care about the people in this town…”

Those last words shot through him. “Sure, you do. Last night, when I told you about Magdalena and Nate, you never said a word. Did you think I wouldn’t care that you’d tried to torch the place where I grew up? Or did you think I’d never find out?”

“No.” More tears. “I didn’t know how to tell you about the Desantros because then you’d ask how…”

“Why not just lie? That’s what you’ve been doing all along, right?” The damn pain in his gut burned, shot through the rest of his body.

“That’s not true. I planned to tell you about the notebook today.”

“Ah, now isn’t that convenient?” Those hazel eyes poured tears, begged him to understand. Oh, he understood, he understood what it felt like to get played. Pete buried the hurt and said, “You’re gonna destroy this book. Right now, before any more harm comes to anyone.”

“I planned to burn it,” she said in a small voice.

“Sure you did. Tell me, was it a sudden burst of conscience that brought you to that decision?”

“No. I mailed the last letter the other day when we went to town.”

“Last letter?” There was only one letter that hadn’t been sent yet. He clenched his fists, waited for her response.

“The one about Jack Finnegan. I mailed it to Nate Desantro.”

“Damn you!” Pete grabbed the notebook and the pack of matches in the cupboard above the sink. “Get dressed.” He began tearing pages from the book as he made his way outside. When he reached the backyard, he dumped the book and the random pages in the trash bin, lit a match, and tossed it inside. “Burn, you bastard, burn.” Flames captured the pages, destroyed the words that could harm others. He glanced up, spotted Elissa staring at him from the kitchen window. How could he have been such a fool? She’d torched his heart, but only because he’d given her the opportunity and the ammunition to do it.

Pete blew out a sigh of disgust, looked away, and pulled out his cell phone. If he were lucky, he’d intercept the letter before it reached Nate and brought a shit storm to the Finnegans. He punched in his father’s number, waited.

“Hello?”

“Dad? Listen, there’s a letter coming to Nate from one of Gloria Blacksworth’s friends.” He paused, drew in a deep breath. “It’s about some money that went missing several years back.” The hitched breath on the other end of the line told him his father knew exactly what he was talking about. “You need to contact Nate and tell him not to open the letter.”

“Son, I’m sorry—”

“You gotta get that letter, Dad. Nate can’t read it.”

“I never wanted any of you kids to find out. It’s the worst decision I ever had to make in my life.” He paused, his voice cracking. “Steal from a friend or let one of our family be disgraced.”

“What are you talking about? Who would’ve been disgraced?” Was it one of Pete’s siblings? If it happened twenty-some years ago, it had to be an older kid. Which one? And what kind of trouble that involved three thousand dollars?

“I can’t say. It’s private and no matter all the years that’ve passed, this person wouldn’t survive the telling.” A deep sigh. “I’m just real sorry you had to learn that your old man isn’t as upstanding as he pretends to be.”

Pete pictured his father sitting in his favorite rocker, shoulders slumped, rough hands clasped together, his blue eyes a mix of pain and sadness. He cleared his throat, pushed out the words he’d known for years but had never spoken. “You’re the best person I know, Dad, and I’m proud you’re my father. I’m the one who’s sorry for acting like a shit all these years, taking the easy way out while you made tough choices for us. I’m not going to let this damn letter take you down or ruin your relationship with Nate. I’m going to fix this.”

“How, son? How can you fix a wrong you didn’t create? If anybody’s going to make amends, it’s got to be me. But I sure do appreciate the effort. Means a lot.” Long pause. “How’d you find out about the letter, son?”

Now there was the big question. Pete fumbled for an answer and settled on, “A woman.”

His father whistled through the line. “Damn, isn’t that always the way?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“I’ll see you when you finish up there, and don’t worry about me. This conversation with Nate has been a long time coming, and I’d just as soon be done with it than carry it on my back another twenty-some years. And, son?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be too hard on the woman.” Click.

Pete stared into the trash bin as the remnants of the notebook turned into charred bits of memories, their threat nothing more than black bits of ash. Don’t be too hard on the woman. Since when had his father softened on what constituted right and wrong? Back in the day, Jack Finnegan believed in black and white choices, no gray allowed. Still, this wasn’t about his father’s rules or beliefs. This was about Pete and what he’d thought Elissa stood for, who he believed she was, and worse, how incredibly wrong he’d been about both. Again.

“Pete?”

Elissa stood a few feet away, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her ski vest unzipped, hands gloveless. No hat. Hadn’t she told him she never went outside without layers of cold-weather gear? Yeah, she had, but maybe she’d even been lying about something as inconsequential as dressing for the weather. Who knew? Who cared? He shoved his hands in his back pockets, welcoming the chilly air that whipped through his open jacket. He sure didn’t care. Not. One. Bit. “What do you want?”

She inched closer, peered in the trash bin. “I’m glad you burned the notebook.”

How to respond to that? “I only wish I’d found it before you sent the last letter.”

“You know this Jack Finnegan, don’t you?”

“I know him.” He held her gaze and let the truth spill out. “He’s my father.”

“Your…father?”

The shock on her face gave him a small amount of satisfaction. So, she really hadn’t known who he was. Well, now she did. “He’s the man I told you about, remember? The one who gave me a hard time and pretty much kicked my lazy butt out of town? He’s also the best person I know, and your allegiance to that Blacksworth woman is going to hurt him. I don’t know how Nate Desantro’s going to take it, but it wasn’t your secret to tell.” Pete swore under his breath. “I am so damn tired of this conversation.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Save the ‘sorry’s’ and the tears. It’s too late for them. It only mattered when you could have told me the truth and didn’t.” Logic told him to stop here and let it go, but logic had vanished the second he met this woman. “Last night I told you I was from Magdalena, and I told you about the Desantros. You had to have figured I had a connection to them if I was fixing their cabin. And you never said a damn word.” He planted his hands on his hips, glared at her. “Nothing. You let me think you were some wounded angel dropped from the sky, unlike any I’d ever met before, and I was going to be the one to save you.” The laugh that spilled from him was cold, harsh, brittle. “But you’re no angel. You’re a woman without a conscience.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

“You played me, didn’t you? From the very beginning.”

The tears started up again, clogged her speech. “That’s not true. I cared about you. I care about you,” she corrected.

“Sure you do.” Pete rubbed his jaw, sighed. “You care so much you forgot to tell me you were going to destroy people I care about, including my father.”

“I didn’t know he was your father, and I didn’t know you were from Magdalena…not at first.” Her words spilled over him, begged him to understand.

“You had a good idea I wasn’t just a stranger to the Desantros, though, didn’t you?”

“The truth? I was more interested in getting to know you and the more I learned, the more I wanted to mean something to you.”

Pete tried to spot the lies in those words. Damn, but he couldn’t see them. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. He had to protect himself, even if it meant he’d be the one telling the lies. “You wanted to mean something to me, huh?” Those hazel eyes glistened with fresh tears as she nodded. He opened his mouth, let the lies spill. It was the only way to save himself from a world of misery. “We were pretending, remember? None of what happened in the cabin was real. We needed a break and a little physical companionship, and that’s exactly what we got.” He clenched and unclenched his fist, forced out the rest while he still had the guts to do it. “I don’t know about you, but the touchy-feely stuff I unloaded on you? That was for your benefit because women like a man who’s got feelings.”

“You...you made it all up? You’re not broke, your girlfriend didn’t dump you…you didn’t lose your house and cars…”

It hurt to smile, but he made those damn lips freeze in place. How else could he convince her to believe his lies? This was about self-preservation and survival—his. Pete shrugged as if the answers didn’t matter. She stared at him so long he thought any second she’d lunge at him, go for his eyes, his face, maybe his groin. But she didn’t. Elissa, whose last name he didn’t know, swiped her cheeks one last time, straightened her shoulders, turned, and walked toward the house, taking any hope of a second chance and happiness with her.

* * *

When Nate got the phone call from Jack saying he needed to see him right away, he thought it had to do with the old guy’s health. Or his wife’s. Dolly Finnegan battled extra pounds and rising blood sugar, but she refused to give up the chocolate eclairs from the bakery. Or the bacon. Jack tried to help, but he had no patience for those who refused to do what they needed to; he usually ended up in a shouting match with Dolly, which elevated his blood pressure and gave him a headache.

The Finnegans had been married a lot of years, raised five children, and made a vow early on never to go to bed mad. According to Dolly, they’d kept that vow, but when Jack called today, he’d sounded on edge and jittery, like he was about to explode.

Nate hoped it wasn’t his health or Dolly’s. Or something to do with Pete.

Pete Finnegan was a wild card. They’d all heard about the money he’d made in real estate, the houses, the cars, the travel. The women. And then they’d heard he’d lost it all. Some said it was gambling. Others said a woman took it. Still others said it was bad luck and a worse market. Who could tell?

Nate didn’t care. He didn’t even care if the guy once owned suits that cost more than some of Nate’s tools. Not his business. Not anybody’s business. He scratched his jaw, sighed. Tell that to the residents of Magdalena. They’d be sniffing around and making up tales that belonged on television or in the tabloids. Pete should be back in town in a few days, and then the cabin could go up for sale, and Christine could put one more sad memory behind her.

They’d had a few “lively” discussions about her father’s letters, and Christine had agreed that his mother and Lily should receive theirs. Harry’s letter was the problem. How could Christine think any good could come from letting the guy read it? Harry was soft and kind, good-natured and a friend to kids and animals. It would destroy him, and Nate was not going to watch that happen. One way or another, that letter was getting burned or shredded.

Harry would never know it existed. Nate just needed a little more time to persuade his wife that this was the right decision. He tossed the pencil on his desk, rubbed his eyes, yawned. The baby had been up most of the night with an earache and that meant no sleep for anybody. The joys of family life. Another yawn. He wouldn’t trade it for anything…

“Am I disturbing your nap?”

Nate looked up, squinted at his old friend. “Hey, Jack. Come on in.” Jack Finnegan removed his ball cap, closed the office door, and sat in one of the chairs opposite Nate’s desk. His weather-beaten face looked pale beneath the perpetual tan, his cheeks crisscrossed with lines of worry. Damn, but Nate bet this had to do with Dolly. “What’s going on?”

Jack shook his head, his blue eyes settling on Nate. “I’m ashamed of what I’m about to tell you, Nate. Ashamed it happened in the first place, but more ashamed I didn’t own up to it a long time ago.” There was a pause, followed by two throat clearings, and then silence.

Nate waited a few more seconds before he spoke. “You’re going to have to help me out here because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack toyed with the ball cap in his hands, dragged his gaze to Nate’s. “There’s no fancy way to say it, except to say it and tell you I’m real sorry.” One more throat clearing. “I take it you didn’t get a letter from somebody today that had to do with your dead mother-in-law?”

That got his attention. Nate leaned forward, hands flat on the top of the desk. “No, I didn’t get any letter. Why? Who’s she trying to blackmail now?” How the hell could a dead woman still be trying to destroy families? And what did Jack have to do with it?

“She’s after me this time.” He paused, bit his lower lip. “That’s not true. She’s still after you, but she’s going to use me to do it. If you didn’t get the letter yet, I hear it’s on its way.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Sources. Pete called to warn me. How he found out about this whole mess is a mystery, but I think there’s a woman involved somewhere along the way. And I think she’s the one that’s got something to do with the letter. That’s all I know.”

Nate rubbed his jaw, considered what Jack had just told him. How many people knew about Gloria Blacksworth’s notebook? Of those who knew, how many were women? The only one he could think of was the caregiver Gloria hired before she died. A nursing student, completely naïve to her employer’s manipulative ways. “I might know who that is.”

“Then you know more than me. Pete never was much of a talker when it came to his female companions. Don’t guess he’s gotten much better with age, but he told me enough to warn me.”

“Warn you the letter’s coming?”

“Yup. It’s coming and it’s meant to cause a world of problems between us.” Jack shook his head, heaved a big sigh. “I sure wish I didn’t have to give this speech, but I should have done it twenty-nine years ago.”

“Twenty-nine years? What the hell are you talking about?” Did this have to do with Nate’s father? Had Nick Desantro been involved with some underhanded dealings in the business and Jack found out once the old man died? Of course, Jack would keep it from Nate, try to shoulder the knowledge to protect other people. That’s the kind of man Jack Finnegan was: trustworthy, honorable. A good friend.

“I took three thousand dollars from ND Manufacturing.”

“Come again?” Had he just said he took money from the company?

The older man’s shoulders slumped like that money was weighing him down and when he spoke, his voice turned brittle and cracked. “I had a family predicament and I needed the money. With five mouths to feed, me and Dolly struggled to keep the kids in coats and sneakers. There was no way I could come up with that kind of cash.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, cleared his throat. “But I couldn’t stand by and watch a good person destroyed because of ignorance and trusting the wrong person. I paid it all back, with interest. It took me three years to do it, and Dolly never knew.” His blue gaze narrowed. “And she’s never gonna know.”

Nate studied the man who’d served as a better role model than his own father. All these years together and he’d never guessed there was a giant lie between them. “What kind of problem could make you take money?” He paused, finished with the most painful part, “From me?” Jack Finnegan was the kind of guy who returned money when a cashier messed up in his favor. Stealing—and that’s what taking three thousand dollars from ND Manufacturing was—did not fit Jack Finnegan’s personality or history. It wasn’t who the man was…and yet he’d done it. What did that say about what a person would do in a desperate situation?

There was only one question left to ask.

“What was so damn urgent that you had to steal from the company?”

Jack shook his head, hands clutching the ball cap he wore every day so hard the cap was half its size. “I can’t say, Nate. I’m sorry. It would…” He cleared his throat, his eyes bright. “It would destroy the person in question and I can’t do that. I kept my mouth shut all these years, didn’t even tell Dolly and there’s nothing she doesn’t know about me.” The blueness in those eyes turned bluer. “But not this.”

“You’re putting me in a terrible position. You just told me you stole from the company, and you won’t even give me details to defend your actions? What am I supposed to do with that, Jack? Huh? Am I supposed to pretend this never happened? Damn it, I wish you’d never told me.” There weren’t more than a handful of people Nate trusted and Jack was one of them. Or had been. Could he still trust the man? His gut told him he could, but the hurt in him wondered.

The man who’d helped him through more than one bad time stood, cleared his throat. “Like I said, I should have told you years ago, but I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you look at me like you’re doing now. Disgusted. Disappointed.” He shrugged, clutched that damn cap harder. “But I was not gonna let that letter arrive and take you by surprise. I couldn’t do that.”

“Appreciate it.” Nate eased back in his chair, waited for Jack to continue.

“I expect you’re gonna do what you gotta do, and I’m fine by that. All I ask is that you tell the guys I left to spend more time fishing.” He worked up an almost smile. “They’ll believe that.”

“What do you mean? You’re quitting?”

The almost smile inched up. “I always thought I’d end up like your old man, taking my last breath on the shop floor. I love this place, Nate. Had a lot of good times here; some bad ones, too, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But I think I’ll leave now, save you having to give me the ax.” He plunked the ND Manufacturing ball cap on his head, nodded. “If you want, I’ll hang around until you get a new foreman in place. There’s some good men on the floor that would do you proud.” Jack extended a hand across the desk, tears rimming his eyes. “It’s been a real pleasure, Nate. A real pleasure. I couldn’t be prouder of you than if you were one of my own.”

Nate ignored the other man’s extended hand, pushed back his chair and made his way to the other side of the desk. “Can’t you tell me anything about why you did what you did?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s not about me or saving my hide. It’s about protecting a person from a past that won’t let go. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

The man left him with two choices. Nate could accept the resignation and maybe he’d eventually convince himself that Jack Finnegan wasn’t as honest or trustworthy as he’d once thought. Or, he could accept the man’s refusal to divulge the reason for taking the money and move on. Deep down, he knew Jack wasn’t a thief, knew he could be trusted, and that he cared about Nate. You had to respect a man who would give up the job he loved and risk the respect of a friend to protect someone in need. “So, my choice is to let this incident go or let you go?”

Jack eased his outstretched hand to his side “Don’t see it as much of a choice. You’ve always been about honor and doing right.”

“Yeah, I have been, haven’t I?” He narrowed his gaze on his friend. “And I’m going to trust my gut and stick with that.”

“I expected as much.”

This time, it was Nate who held out his hand. “I guess I’ll never understand what you did, but I understand why you did it. You helped a family member in trouble. That’s doing the right thing. That’s showing honor.” He gripped Jack’s hand with both of his. “I need you here, being my eyes and ears, keeping me on track. You know me almost as well as Christine.”

The old man shrugged, worked up a smile. “Don’t think I like the sound of that.”

Nate grinned. “Take the compliment and shut up, okay?”

Jack’s smile faded, his voice cracked. “You sure about this? I’m giving you a way out. No hard feelings.”

If his wife had taught him one thing, it was that every relationship suffered bumps and bruises along the way. That’s what made them stronger, gave them the calluses to withstand the rocky paths that cropped up now and again. Jack Finnegan was worth a callus or two. “I’m sure. When the letter arrives, I’ll burn it, and we’ll leave what happened twenty-nine years ago where it belongs—in the past.”