“Where are we going?” Jillian clutched his hand tighter as he pulled her along the garden path. It was a stroke of genius, having the valet pass him the key card. Brilliant.

“It’s just back here. If you’d have put on regular shoes...”

“Don’t start again about my shoes. My hair is a wreck, I have to have some part of my body that looks presentable.”

Ben stopped in his tracks, scooping her up as she barreled into him. “There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t. Believe me, I know.”

Jillian tucked her head forwards against his shoulder. “Not here, please.” Her voice was muffled, spoken against the fabric of his shirt. “Let’s go back to my room so I can make myself presentable and we can head down to dinner. Please.”

“Look around, Jillian. No one is here.”

She didn’t look, just rubbed her head against him.

“Fine. You win.” He set her down, careful to keep his smile to himself. She would be so surprised. And relieved they’d be able to avoid the restaurant completely. Ben tugged her farther up the path.

“Where are we?” Ben didn’t bother answering, not when they were there already. Pulling her around the last bend, he stopped against the door. “What is this?” Ben slid the card through the electronic lock and pushed the door open. He scanned the inside quickly, relieved the staff seemed to have followed his instructions.

“This is your new room, since you insist on staying here.” He stepped aside but she stayed still, not even bothering to look at what awaited them.

“Ben, I can’t. If the magazine found out what was going on with us, they’d have my head. I’m here to work, not play.”

“All work and no play is very dull, trust me. Besides, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.” He stepped through the doorway, pulling at her hand. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I know I’ll like it, that’s why I don’t want to go in.”

“Live a little, Jill. Come on.”

“Don’t call me Jill. I hate it.” Her nose crinkled, her upper lip snarling at him.

“Really? People call you Jillian?”

“Or Jilly. I can’t tell you how many times I got dirty Jack and Jill limericks on the playground. Can’t stand it.”

“Jilly it is. I’m tired of standing out here. Come on.” He pulled her arm harder this time, propelling her into the foyer. Dropping her hand, he closed the door and checked his watch. If she wanted to clean up before dinner arrived, she’d have to quit stalling.

He stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders as she took in the room. The private bungalows were used mainly by corporate executives on retreat, and only when their expense accounts could handle the exorbitant cost. As big as most houses, they had every amenity, plus private beach access.

Her head moved slowly from one side to the other, no doubt taking in the formal living and dining areas, separate doors opening to a completely furnished office and bedroom, even a modest kitchen.

“What is this place? A presidential suite?”

“Executive bungalow. It has a private entrance, which is better for me. Walking the halls of the lodge makes the employees nervous. And there’s access to the beach.”

Jillian stepped out of the foyer of her own volition. “It’s beautiful. So different from the way the lodge is decorated.”

“Yeah? Adding them was my mom’s idea. I thought she did it for an excuse to decorate something besides her house again, but they’re quite profitable.”

“The rooms in the lodge are so masculine, so classic. This is fresh, almost feminine.”

Ben knit his brows and studied the room. Feminine? That wasn’t his target market. “There are four bungalows. She did them all different.”

“This is beautiful.” Jillian’s finger trailed along the back of the soft white couch as she made her way towards the dining room. She stopped at the side table. “I love this. An armillary table lamp. What a great idea. Classic, understated. This server must have cost a fortune. This looks like a hand-rubbed finish.” She turned, bracing her hands behind her. “And the table. Mahogany, carved pineapple base. Adventurous yet traditional. She really knew what she was doing.”

“Spending money or decorating?” He knew what the rooms sounded like in a brochure, but why was she talking that way? Was she working? Now?

“Do you have promotional photos of these rooms?” Her expression stayed purposeful, businesslike, as if he hadn’t tried to make a joke. “I’d love to submit one with the piece.”

“Yeah. We have a special send-up for them.” He hadn’t brought her here for publicity.

She slipped off her ridiculous shoes and curled her toes into the rug, then scampered towards the office. He watched as she inspected the desk and equipment, flicked on the computer screen. She flitted towards the bedroom and he followed. That was more like it.

“I thought the regular rooms were gorgeous, but I want to live this way.” Jillian ran her hand across the bedspread. “Rich colors and textures, dark woods. It’s opulent. The tapestry and the microsuede, the rust and the warm browns, the heavy drapes and the large windows. It is such a play on paradoxes.” She stepped to the windows, but paused at the nightstand between the window and the bed. “Is this...” she rubbed the leaves of the plant between her fingers then brought them to her nose, “...rosemary topiaries? Brilliant. Sets a sensual aroma without candles.”

Her fingers tickled the tabletop as she sidestepped to the full-length window. Her breath caught, her hand rising to her chest.

The view was breathtaking. His mother had insisted on building the bungalows to take advantage of the view from this section of the property. Standing here, it looked as if the grass plummeted a few feet from the window, sinking directly into the crashing surf.

The beach was craggy and desolate, cluttered with driftwood, terns, and broken shells. A perfect Oregon shoreline, naturally designed for beauty and contemplation.

“This is amazing.” Ben slid behind Jillian at her words, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Do you think the view inspired her? The hard lines with a soft touch, the attention to detail with broad strokes. It’s so romantic.”

Romantic was not his target for the bungalows, but if it was working, he’d reevaluate that next week when she was in New York. Maybe rip everything out of here and move it to his house. He had an ocean view from the master suite.

Jillian spun in his arms. “It’s wonderful, but we can’t stay here, together. I’ll get in such trouble, Ben. My editors will think every word I write about the Meadows is biased, and—is that my dress?” She shoved him to the side and marched towards the bathroom.

Her fingers trailed over the material of the dress hanging from a hook on the door. When she turned to face him, her green eyes were sparking. Ben took a step back, unsure why she looked so angry.

“You moved my things?”

“Yes.” Her eyes got even larger. Did she want him to lie? She could see right into the dressing room from where she stood. Maybe the question was rhetorical.

“This is not okay.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” He stepped to her, refusing to be afraid. He’d tackled her shifty moods before, he could do it again.

“I could get fired, Ben. Fired. No job, no money, reputation in the toilet. I’m here to write, not sleep with the owner.”

“You came here for me, and you know it.” He smiled, but she didn’t. Her chest rose, her nostrils flared with the breath she sucked in and blew out. Damn.

“I did not—” Her eyes narrowed as her voice stilled, her head shaking slowly from side to side.

“You did, Jilly.” He took one step at a time on his way across the room. “It’s not a bad thing, I’m not judging you for it. If I’d known who you were, I would have tracked you down a long time ago.”

“I can’t stay here. I need to be in my room if my editor calls.”

“It’s taken care of. The staff is very discreet. Trust me.” He reached for her hand, but she recoiled her arm as if he’d stung her.

“You do this often?”

“What?”

“I can either go back to my room, or I can stay at Crosslands. But I’m not about to stay here, where you bring the flings you’re trying to impress.”

“Jillian! Get a hold of yourself.” He grabbed her arm, holding firm when she tried to wriggle free.

“Let me go!” She pulled at his fingers, backing away until she hit the wall.

“I don’t bring women here, Jilly. I thought you’d like it.”

“Let me go!”

“No. Not until you understand.”

“Red.”

Ben released her in an instant, backing to the middle of the room but never taking his gaze from her. They stayed locked, breathing heavy, like prizefighters in their corners waiting for the bell.

Clenching his fists, Ben wondered if she knew she’d have to make the first move now. He couldn’t push, not after a command like that. Even if she didn’t understand its power. The moment stretched and stilled until he had memorized every inch of her face. Watched it change from rage to hurt to something that looked like despair.

“I’ve had to work very hard to get where I am. As a writer, your integrity is all you have.”

“You said it was entertainment, Jillian. Not some hard news exposé.”

“It’s not, it’s just...” She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “My job is all I have and losing it terrifies me.”

“I’m getting that.” He stepped closer, inch by inch, not wanting to rush. “Maybe if you fill your life with something else, it won’t be so important.”

“Writing will always be important to me.”

“Of course, but if—”

Knocking at the door snapped their heads around. “I thought you said no one knows about this idea of yours.”

“Relax. I’ve taken care of everything.” Ben marched out of the room, his air of authority following him.

Sneaking into the massive bathroom, Jillian turned the tap of the sink on cold. She bent and splashed the crisp water against her flushed face, trying to even out her emotions the way she could her temperature. Shutting off the water, she pressed a thick, fluffy towel against her face. This man had her spinning, wondering what she wanted, if he were too good to be true.

Which he was. Beautiful, intelligent, understanding and stop-you-in-your-tracks sexy. There had to be a catch. Jillian was trying to hold herself back, prepare herself for the fall that was sure to come, the disappointment that was never too far off, but he kept leaping the hurdles she put up.

Setting the towel on the counter, she examined her face in the mirror. Make-up free and frizzy haired. Exactly what she didn’t need. She needed to look good, polished, attractive. To have some kind of armor around her heart.

Her toiletries had been replicated perfectly, everything arranged in her open train case as she’d left it in her room this morning. The curls in the front of her head were frizzy, but the ringlets underneath were salvageable. She twisted half of her hair back, securing it with a pearl-studded barrette, letting the ringlets fall against her neck, the dark crimson and the pale blonde twisting together.

In two minutes, she applied shadow to her lids, gloss to her lips, and mascara to her lashes. The bare minimum she needed to feel presentable. Stepping back, she smoothed her hands across her zippered sweater and jeans. The dress hanging on the hook caught her eye.

The gray silk drapeneck dress was actually hers, not an outfit she’d borrowed from the magazine. She liked the flutter sleeves, the flowing asymmetrical skirt. But what she loved was the confidence she had in it. That dress hit her thigh at just the right place, hid all the figure flaws that made her self-conscious. With a pair of slingbacks, she’d feel like her real self in no time. She stripped down in seconds, was zipping herself up in true pretzel style when knuckles rapped against the door.

“It’s just us. You don’t have to doll up.”

Jillian took one last look in the mirror and pushed the backs of her black pearl earrings on tighter. She’d probably have to do without the heels. Jillian pulled open the door, squaring her shoulders as she looked up at Ben. Maybe she’d put on the heels, even if it did make him laugh.

“Wow.”

“I thought you didn’t give fake compliments.” Jillian fingered the band of velvet tightening around her neck.

“I don’t.” Ben cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Dinner.”

“Dinner? I need to call down to the restaurant and see when we can get the chef to do a tasting menu on such short notice. I meant to do it earlier, but, well, you were there.” Jillian swished her hand through the air and looked toward the dressing room. Would they have left her shoes in the trunk, or lined them up on the floor? Ben erupted in laughter, knitting Jillian’s eyebrows together. “What?”

“You have a funny way of putting things.” He rubbed his stomach, looking like he was trying to swallow his laughter. “Dinner’s here already.”

“Ben,” Jillian shifted her weight and tried not to sound bitchy. He was trying, damn it, trying to be sweet. But sweet was not practical, and liable to be quite painful come Saturday. “I only have a few days to get everything done for the travel article.”

“So stay longer.”

“I can’t. This is something I’m doing on spec, freelance, not part of my salaried position. I can’t have it interfere with my job.”

“Have it your way.” Ben’s massive shoulders rose and fell in a shrug that seemed almost wistful. Like he wanted her to stay. Like he wasn’t just saying the words. He was so good at this she was finding it hard not to believe him. He held out his hand, palm up. Jillian slipped her hand on his, watching as it swallowed hers whole, her fingers completely disappearing in his grasp. Her breath quickened and she tried to pull away, but he held her firm even as she tugged her arm.

His eyes narrowed, probably wondering what the hell he’d done to spook her. Closing her eyes Jillian took a deep breath, two. This was fine. He wasn’t trying to consume her, stifle her, was he? She opened her eyes to his smile. Even if he was, she’d never let him. She couldn’t. She knew too well the damage that could do to a person, to a family.

“Look, I don’t want to spend the time we have left fighting with you.” He loosened his grip, as if he was going to drop her hand, but as soon as her arm relaxed he reeled her in. She stumbled against him, flush against his body, far too close to think. “I want to be with you as much as we can until you have to go. That’s why we’re in this room, why there is one of everything on the Lodge menu on the dining room table, why I’ve nearly cleared my schedule for the next three days.”

Jillian dropped her head to his chest, her heart hammering away, her stomach threatening to fall through the floor. How did he know just what to say to mist her eyes? When she was supposed to be the mature one, the sensible, worldly one? Why did she suddenly feel like she’d bitten off more than she could chew with him?

“You don’t understand.” She spoke the words but knew they were muffled by his shirt. She pulled back, trying to squirm away, but he held her firm, forcing her either to look up at him or speak to his shoulder. She looked up, melting into the midnight blue eyes, and decided she’d deal with the heartbreak on Sunday. There would be plenty of time to wallow in it alone.

“You don’t understand,” she began again. “I need to be able to give an overview of the menu. To get a gist of it so I can condense it into a few sentences.”

“I know, I’ve done this before.”

Jillian stiffened, her breath freezing in her lungs.

“Damn. No, I’ve had critics and travel writers do send-ups. I know what a tasting menu is, Jilly.”

She relaxed, marginally. Why couldn’t she let this feeling of impending doom go?

“Come on.” Ben loosened his hold enough to walk her past the living room, into the dining room. Covered dishes sat on the table and sideboard. He reached between two silver domes, pulled out the leather-bound menu, and opened it before her. “They’ll be back in a bit to take these dishes and bring dessert.”

Jillian closed the menu and turned to stare up at him. “What’s your favorite?”

“I always have the same thing. Oven-roasted chicken with broccoli and Parmesan garlic mashed potatoes.”

She felt the sting of summer as she crinkled her nose. “You have a restaurant and you always have the same thing?”

“I’m particular about food.”

“Me too. Usually. But for this stuff, I have to make an exception.”

“I’ll make the sacrifice as well.” Ben lifted two of the silver lids. Shrimp scampi and rack of lamb with creamed spinach and a baked potato stared back at them. He grinned and winked at her. “Poor us.”

* * *

“Who are you calling?” Jillian’s hand covered his, her fingers chilled from the ice water she’d been sipping all night.

“The restaurant. They need to come clear this, and bring the desserts.” She pulled her hand away like he’d shocked her. “What is it?”

“Dessert. I don’t eat sugar.” One brow arched and she tilted her head.

“One bite of everything won’t hurt. It’s part of what we usually do for a tasting. And besides, I have some ideas for the ice cream toppings.” He started to dial and reached for her, but she spun out of his grasp.

“It was the damned cake.”

“Excuse me?”

“At my mother’s. I had a piece of cake. I know sugar is a trigger for me, but I wanted to make her shut up. That’s why I got so anxious this afternoon. The cake!”

“I’m not following you.” Ben set the phone back on the receiver.

“I’m so relieved. I thought it was us that got me so worked up, but it was the sugar.” She sank down into an upholstered chair with a triumphant smile.

“Sugar from one slice of cake?”

“Oh.” Her face fell, her expression growing serious. “I’m going to need you to try and understand, okay? You don’t have to believe it, just respect it.”

“Believe what?”

Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I have a binge eating disorder. A food addiction. I’ve had therapy, and I’m better than I’ve ever been, or else I wouldn’t have come home. But she pushed the cake, and I ate it.” She shook her head, a weak smile playing on her lips.

“How can you be addicted to food?” He stepped to the side of the sofa, looking down at her. What kind of newfangled mumbo-jumbo had some head-shrinker sold her on?

“I abused food like other addicts abused drugs. Ate when I couldn’t deal with my emotions. Certain foods are triggers for me, and they all have sugar in them.”

“A lot of people eat too much.”

“It’s not about what I ate, as much as why.”

She seriously believed this. Someone actually convinced her she had a disorder because she ate too many cookies.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She got up from the couch and walked to the dining table, putting the lids back on everything. “I’m not making this up. Addiction is real. Food, alcohol, drugs.”

“But with alcohol and drugs you can just stop taking them. Food’s not like that.”

“An alcoholic or a drug addict can’t just stop, Ben. There’s a lot of work to get down to the why of the problem. But you’re right, food addiction is different. Both because you have to continue to consume your addiction, and because there are people like you who don’t respect it.”

“Is this why you’re so much thinner now? Because there was nothing wrong with you before. If someone made you think—”

“My behavior was not healthy. I was unhappy with my weight, but that wasn’t the real issue. Look, just don’t try to force feed me sugar and we can let this drop.” Her rigid posture showed him she had no intention of forgetting.

“I don’t get it.”

“I know. I knew when you said you didn’t understand Jay’s problems.” She turned to face him and forced a smile. “Drug and alcohol addiction is accepted by most people. Why don’t you?”

“I think it’s an excuse.” Her eyes closed and he stepped closer. This was a ridiculous point to be disagreeing over. “I know it is. I decided I wouldn’t drink anymore, and I stopped.”

Her eyes fluttered open, wide and green as summer grass. “You had a problem with alcohol?”

“Not really. Someone just got away from me once because I’d been drinking and wasn’t as fast as I should have been.” He reached out, twisting a red curl around his finger.

“You’re not an alcoholic. That’s why it was so easy for you to stop. Addiction is a behavioral and chemical problem. It’s real, Ben. And it could cripple even someone as strong willed as you.”

“This person who sold you on food addiction, was it a doctor? A therapist? Or just some snake-oil guru?”

“Damn it, Ben.” Jillian pursed her lips and stepped back.

“Look, I’m sorry. But if you think about it logically—”

“It makes perfect sense. Some people can’t control their eating no matter how good their intentions. Millions of people in this country are food addicts. There are support groups, twelve-step programs, doctors, nutritionists, psychologists.” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. Just respect that I live my life a certain way because of it.”

“What way is that?”

“Don’t try and get me to eat when I’m not hungry, or control what I’m eating in any way. Even ordering for me—like lunch the other day and this dinner. I don’t like it.”

He stepped to her, taking her hands in his. “You’re not starving yourself because of this, are you?”

“No. I eat what I want, just in moderation. I lost a bit to fit into the golf outfits from the magazine. I probably don’t fit into most of it already.”

“Good.” Releasing her, he picked up the phone again, calling for the restaurant staff to trade out the food.

“Did you not hear me?’ Jillian asked when he hung up.

“You said you could eat what you want in moderation. A bite of everything is moderation. And I promise to help you burn enough calories tonight to more than make up for it. That’s what the hot fudge, butterscotch, and whipped cream are for.” He stepped closer, but she shook her head.

“No sugar, Ben. Would you give Jay a beer?”

“Of course not.”

“Then don’t feed me sugar. It’s the same thing.”

“Jillian—”

“It is. Don’t you remember how freaked out I got? Instead of bingeing on cake like I would have at home, I binged on sex with you—replacing one addiction for another. You don’t understand how it feels to teeter on the edge of a binge. It’s painful. Your heart races, your mind focuses on nothing but what you know you can’t have. The whole world narrows until nothing matters but the fix. No matter what you’re addicted to, it’s the same.”

“You can’t just—?”

“No. I can’t. Just like one drink spirals your brother down a road to destruction, the wrong food choices bring me back to a way of life I won’t live again. For anyone. Even you.”

Still trying to process what she said, Ben picked up the phone and changed his instructions to his staff. Jillian walked to the windows and stared outside, never moving as the dishes were cleared.

Once they were alone again, Ben stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Jilly. I’m trying to understand it. For you and for Jay.”

“I hope you can.”

“I will.” He released her and spun her around to face him. “They brought the menu, in case you need it for the article. And something else.” He tugged her with him to the table, and lifted the lid on the single platter sitting there.

Her green eyes widened at the sight of the long-stemmed strawberries and whipped cream. She turned to him quizzically.

“It’s unsweetened, no sugar like you said.” In one quick move he unzipped her dress and set her on the table next to the platter.

“What are you doing?” She clutched her dress to her.

“Having dessert.”

* * *

“This isn’t dead enough.” Jillian poked the slice of seared meat with her fork. “You try it.”

“I’m not eating that.” Ben stirred his spoon through the root-vegetable puree. “Put that on your list of reason to stay at Meadows. Crosslands’ food sucks.”

“The food is fine, it’s just not our style. Some people like three peas strategically placed on their plate.”

“It makes me think they’ve been touching my food.” Ben pushed aside a plate of salmon croquettes and baby carrots with their greenery still attached.

“Just try it. You have to be hungry. We haven’t eaten all day.” Jillian’s cheeks reddened but she wouldn’t look up. Instead she pretended to be fascinated by the cubes of raw tuna that had grass growing out of the top.

He’d been watching her every moment for the last two days. Even scheduling her spa appointments around the meetings he couldn’t get out of. Today she’d had a sugar scrub body wrap that made her skin smooth and slightly sweet.

Ben slipped out of his shoe, straightening his leg until he found hers under the table. Then she looked up, her eyes wide and blazing.

“Not here.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He hoped his face was plastered with schoolboy innocence.

“Can I talk to you?” Angela. What terrific timing. Ben pursed his lips together. He’d known she’d try again.

“Not unless it is about food.” He’d decided he wasn’t going to deal with Angela again until after Jillian left.

“Fine. I can’t keep anything down.”

“With the food here, I’m not surprised. If you want to make yourself sick over this, that’s your problem.”

“I’m not making myself sick.”

“Angela, I don’t know how many times I can tell you. This is between you and Jay. Leave me the hell out of it.”

“Gladly. Tell me where he is. A phone number, something.”

“He’s asked me not to. There is nothing you can say or do to change my mind.” Jillian kicked him under the table. Hard. What was that for?

“Ben, please. I really need him. If you’d only let me—”

“Angela, that’s enough. I came here for Jillian, not to have this same argument with you. I can’t. Wait him out, or move on. It doesn’t matter to me, just leave me out of it.”

Angela’s chin trembled and he received another kick under the table. Ben narrowed his eyes at Jillian. What did she expect him to do? Angela stepped along the edge of the table, an inch at a time.

“He won’t be mad.” Angela’s strained words were barely a whisper. “I promise. If you’ll tell me, I’ll make sure. I need him, right now.” Her fingers spread across her belly, clutching at the loose fabric.

“I can’t. If you’re going to keep making a scene, I’m going to leave.” She wasn’t making a scene, really. She was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. But with the way people in this town talked, it would make the rounds by morning and he’d get another call from his father.

He watched the protest form on her lips, but it got twisted and silenced as her mouth contorted. When did she start crying all the time? She stepped carefully from the table, but broke into a run as soon as she’d cleared the dining room.

Ben turned back to Jillian, but she was getting up from the table. “Where are you going?”

“To clean up your mess.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything right, either.” Jillian spun on her heel and sped away, the flimsy layers of her skirt brushing against her thighs.

Ben stood, watching her chase Angela down the hallway. He was doing the right thing. Protecting his brother. When had he become the bad guy?

* * *

Angela collapsed onto the sofa before Jillian’s eyes. Her heart, already beating wildly from the chase, kicked up another gear. Things had begun to click into place when she’d watched Angela and Ben talking. Angela’s insistence on drinking milk though she hated it, not being able to keep food down, her persistent need to talk with Jay.

“Are you all right? Do you want me to call somebody?”

Angela shook her head behind silent tears. Jillian plucked tissues out of the box on the desk, knelt down beside the sofa and handed them to Angela. The crying fit calmed somewhat behind Angela’s tissued hands. Jillian was torn between giving Angela her privacy and making sure she was all right.

Standing, she stepped to the side of the room. She’d expected Angela was running to the ladies’ room, but instead they’d found themselves in a small office. Angela’s office, if Jillian had to guess. A bleached-wood desk, clean of everything but a computer monitor. Framed snapshots hung along the wall in a perfect line.

A little blonde girl and a woman who looked like Angela, but wasn’t. Her mother maybe? A teenaged Angela with a forced smile full of braces standing stiffly beside an older man. Her father? Angela smiling from ear to ear, dancing with a man whose back was to the camera. A small guy, barely taller than her. In the next shot Angela was smiling again, the man’s arm around her shoulders.

Jillian tried to pay attention to the details of the picture, to ignore the shrunken right leg stemming from the man’s shorts. This was not how she imagined Jay. She’d expected a weathered version of Ben. Not a small, light-haired man with a crippled leg. She peered closer. Had it been an accident?

“He was born with a club foot.” Angela’s voice behind her was steady and strong, a direct contradiction to Jillian’s embarrassment at being caught staring. “His first surgery messed with his circulation, so it never grew right.”

Jillian turned around, smiling at Angela stretched out on her back on the couch, her feet propped up on one arm, her hand rubbing circles on her belly. Jillian wondered what was running through Angela’s mind.

“I’ll tell Ben. Once he knows he’ll—”

“No, no, no. I have to tell Jay first.” No denial, just a panicked look in her eyes.

“He’ll find out eventually.” Unless Angela wasn’t going to have the baby without Jay, and she didn’t want anyone to know. Jillian closed her eyes. That must be it.

“I have to tell Jay first. If Ben knows before he does, it will hurt him so. They are beyond competitive, if he had to learn from Ben he’d be crushed. And I don’t need Ben taking over. Who knows what kind of decision they’ll make for him. I need it to be him and me, just for a minute. Then we’ll all be okay. No matter what.”

When Angela lay on her back, Jillian could see Angela’s stomach dome. She hid it well enough behind baggy clothes, but like this, with the fabric of her dress falling about her, it was more than obvious.

“He’ll figure it out. Everyone will eventually.”

“You don’t understand.” Angela rolled her head to the side, her blue eyes brimming with new tears. “I was just going to wait. Especially if this new clinic is really helping him. But then the test results—” Her mouth twisted, the teardrops spilling as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Jillian plucked a few more tissues and knelt beside Angela again. “You don’t have to explain.”

“Maybe you can find out for me?” If the voice weren’t so straggled and weak Jillian would swear she was being manipulated.

“I don’t think I should get involved.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could do this. That we could wait for him to find his way back to us eventually. But then they did this test—a triple marker screen. Everybody gets one, according to the pregnancy books. But ours is elevated. So they want to do an ultrasound, maybe an amniocentesis. I don’t want to do that alone, you know? I’m just too scared.”

“Isn’t there someone who can go with you?” Imagining herself in Angela’s shoes, Jillian felt her stomach begin to ache and her eyes grow heavy. No one should have to go through this alone.

“Who? My father? Or everyone who’s spent years telling me I’m better off without Jay?” Angela wiped her eyes and her reddened nose. “I want him there. If everything is fine, I want him to see the ultrasound with me. And if it’s not, I’ll need him. I’ll really need him.” Angela swallowed hard, the lump in her throat visible.

“I think Ben would tell you if he could.” Angela’s condition was her secret to tell. And Jay’s location was Ben’s secret to keep. Both so tied up in their loyalties to a man Jillian didn’t even recognize in a picture, they couldn’t make a common-sense decision.

“I just want him to hold me and say it will be all right no matter what the tests say.” Angela’s voice got smaller with every word. “Then he can go back. I just need him for a minute.”

There was no winner in this war. Jay learning he was going to be a father from Ben might send him deeper into addiction, Ben finding out she’d told Angela where to find Jay would invite his wrath. But in the moment she didn’t side with Angela or Ben, or even Jay. This baby needed a father, and if there was a shot he could be a good one, Jay deserved to know what was going on.

“Arizona Shores.” Jillian blinked back her own hot tears. “I have no idea where it is, but the ridiculous name stuck with me.”

Angela’s eyes widened and she sat up. “That’s outside of Tucson. I researched every rehab in Arizona. A friend called from the airport when Ben flew in from Arizona last week.”

Jillian wiped Angela’s tears from her cheeks. “So you’ll call, and then you’ll know.”

Angela lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Jillian. “Thank you so much. I won’t forget this. I promise, I won’t let him be mad about it.”

“As long as Jay is happy, Ben will be too.” Jillian hugged her friend back, hoping that was the truth.