Jack gazed at the dog sitting on the floor, ears flattened and eyes widened. “Buck up boy, I ain’t that bad.” Am I? He glanced at the screen of his iPad. Over two hours ago, Lola stormed out of the house and ran to the cottage he’d been bugging her about.

Fuck. A string of doubts poked him, preventing him from jetting to his room, taking a shower and going to bed. Every five minutes, he turned his head and faced the door, wondering when she’d come to her senses and return home. His home, naturally. Not hers. Nightime had fallen, and it had to be an oven inside the cottage with no air conditioning.

Exhaling didn’t help. He surged to his feet and strode around the living room, then headed to the stairs. He caressed the stair rail, his fingers gliding over the polished oak. Pepper followed him, his paws scratching the wood floor, and whimpered. How would he be able to sleep if the damned dog scratched his door all night, looking for its crazy owner? Or worse, continued the annoying whimpering it’d been making on and off for the past hour.

He clasped his palm around the top of the rail. The realization that, right or wrong, she had a valid point about his behavior sank in and destroyed any possibility of a good night’s sleep. A part of him clung to the stairs, to going upward, and not looking back.

For a while, he thought Mel would be the perfect wife for him one day. After a failed marriage, why not settle for a good woman? A woman who shared his view of the world, love of the country life, and family values? A woman who didn’t bring out the worst in him… that didn’t make his emotions overrule his good sense just because she made his pulse race. A woman who didn’t make his pulse race every god damn second.

Emotions would never rule him again.

Then why did the insistent throbbing in his temples tell him otherwise? He lifted both hands and massaged the problem area, seeking relief. The real relief he’d feel once the divorce papers were consensually signed, and he’d earned the right to move forward. And now… to get his guilt-free sleep, he needed Lola to return to the house.

“I’ll get her,” he promised the dog before darting out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

During the quarter of a mile path leading to the cottage, a thread of sweat coated his forehead. The humidity didn’t help, of course, but he blamed the stakes of the impeding conversation. How was he going to talk to Lola? They’d never been good at talking. He’d never been good at talking.

Besides, he hated to give her the upper hand. Shit. He should have thought this through. Diving head first in situations—conversations—without practice and thought was not his style. Especially where Lola was concerned.

He reached the entrance and brushed the old door handle that was dampened by humidity. Sweat trickled from the back of his neck down his shoulders. Too late to change his mind. With frogs and crickets buzzing in the background, he swung the door open, and found her sitting on the floor, next to the wicker chair and coffee table, surrounded by dozens of boxes, big and small. Some closed, some open.

“What are you doing here?” She rose to her feet, arms folded, determination lighting her dark eyes. A cloud of dust filtered through the air, and he coughed.

“What the heck are you doing? It’s miserable in here.” He wiped the sheen from his forehead.

A pattern of sweat started on her face and traveled down her neck, wetting the top of her light green shirt, and disheveling her hair. Still, she was hotter than the room temperature. But it didn’t matter. Her looks would only push him into the abyss at this point.

“I thought I’d get started on going through Daddy’s boxes. I also couldn’t take one more moment of listening to your hypocrisy.” The pang of sadness in her voice made his chest contract.

He stared deep into her inquisitive eyes, and a wish to shake off the sensation surging through him. The hum sweeping over him. “You just drive me crazy sometimes.” Putting it mildly.

She shrugged.

I suck at this.

He scratched his head, giving his fidgety fingers something to do. The sigh he let out slowly filled the static of the room—her eyes held his, without wavering. A trace of vulnerability flicked in them, provoking a lump to grow in his throat.

She stepped forward, letting her arms drop to her sides as if they weighed loads. “We don’t have to be at each other’s throats every second, Jack. There’s another F we haven’t tried besides fighting and fucking.”

“What?” he managed to say casually, hiding the riling up of his nerves at the mere mention of what they’d done.

“We could be friends.”

“Friends,” he repeated, having a harder time pronouncing it than a foreign word.

“Yes.” She fanned herself, the evidence she was turning into a burnt toast. “Until one of us gets their way, most likely me, we have to find a common ground and respect each other.”

Friends. The idea sounded stupid, but he could no longer deal with the spikes in his blood pressure because of her. And like her other botched ideas, who knew how long this one would last? Just in case, and to prevent yet another fight, he decided to agree. “Okay.” He stretched out his hand, which she took without hesitation. He clasped her hand with his, and the businesslike handshake he’d planned turned into a touch searing him to the bones. She started to let go first, the tip of her fingers trembling as they glided over his skin. Until… she withdrew her hand.

“Great.” After a snappy clap, she perched her hands on her waist. “Now that we’re friends, I might need your signature to get the zoning permit for my B&B.”

Of course she had an ulterior motive. A cold shiver ran down his spine. The upside of her one sided friendship was he’d be remembering her manipulative personality front and center. “You mean the B&B I don’t want you to open?” He was pleased at how lighthearted he sounded. How could he not mention it though? Even if they got along— they both wanted different things. He wanted to buy her share, and she wanted to open the B&B and have a shot at buying his. If that happened, his issue of needing the river crossing this property to the other ones would still exist. Unless…

“I mean the one you told me you’d give me a chance to try. I can’t get all the paperwork in order if both owners don’t sign.”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t know, Lola. This so-called friendship seems a bit one sided.” He’d be damned if he gave her something without getting something in return… and he knew exactly what he wanted. “I’ll sign under one condition.”

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

She knew he coveted the divorce, but that was already part of the bargain. Lola braced herself, wished she wore a head to toe burka and not the skimpy shirt currently clinging to her sweaty skin, or the snug jeans. In all honesty, no outfit would inhibit the pulsing knot between her thighs. But at least, if she had something else on he wouldn’t be able to notice her nipples straining against her bra and shirt. Begging for release. Begging for his hands, lips, and tongue.

In an uncomfortable silence, his gaze roamed her face and body, and she stepped back until her leg pressed against one of the bigger boxes. She chewed on her lip, unsure of what to do or say. She hoped he’d turn and walk away, because the rocket of desire had begun to self-assemble inside of her again, piece by piece, and if he showed her any inclination, she’d throw her friendship plan into space and lose herself in his scorching kisses and hard body.

No. She cracked her fingers. His somewhat truce toward her had been the perfect opportunity for her to ask for his help without begging. She didn’t need to give him the upper hand and show him she was a dumb moron controlled by raging hormones and little less. What kind of B&B owner did that make her? Jeez.

“If you end up winning our first deal and if one day you buy back the property, you give me your word you’ll never keep me from using the river that crosses my other properties.” His calm voice cut the charged air, and she gave a long, deep sigh.

“Interesting. You thought I’d be petty and not let you use it?”

He glanced down. “It has crossed my mind.”

“You have a deal. Whatever happens, I won’t keep your animals from using the river.”

“Good. Then, I’ll be… your friend.” The last word nearly vanished from his sentence.

“Great.” Her lips broke into the most compromising smile she could manage.

He shot her a charming grin. “Now can you go back? Your dog is going crazy without you.”

“Pepper wants his late night snack.” She laughed. “I’ll finish this last box and go.” She pointed at the large cardboard stashed under the table, the remaining unopened one on the right side.

“I’ll get it.” Bending down, he scooped it up and placed it on the round table, crowded with other things she’d found. She’d come here in the heat of the moment, wanting a good amount of distance from him. She didn’t want to worry about listening to his footfalls going up the stairs. But what she found was… boxes and boxes filled with remains of business ideas and interests her beloved father hadn’t mastered. Amongst them, the samples of utensils from a Japanese factory, the do-it-yourself sushi idea that never took off.

Jack ripped the scotch tape off with one swift movement, then slid the box in her direction. “There.”

She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words got trapped in her throat as she saw the contents inside this box. Family albums, a couple of drawings from her childhood. Instantly, suffocating warmth thickened her throat and heat pricked behind her eyes. Her fingers touched the corners of a frame, where she stood smiling between her proud father and beautiful mother during a vacation. The picture was taken just before her parents’ divorce, when the world was still unthreatening and fair.

“You were a cute kid.”

She put the frame aside, wiped the stubborn tears from her eyes, and sucked in her breath to suppress a sniff. She finally got a hold of herself, and raised her gaze to meet his. The layers of blue around his irises had never looked brighter. Jack’s partially opened lips and relaxed stance seemed to instantly comfort her, but then he’d always been able to offer her that until they fell apart. And, fool that she was, she needed it. More than she ever imagined.

“I was mad at him for a bit. Mad at myself.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t take care of himself after his first stroke,” she said, wishing she could lock away the pain and not sound like a hot mess, her voice strangled and another batch of tears threatened to roll down her cheeks. Daddy had always enjoyed his aged scotch and imported Cuban cigars, hadn’t he? Even when the doctors advised him against them. Repeatedly. “I didn’t take care of him the way I should.”

Sure, she’d visited him often in L.A. and called every day, but wasn’t that what any respectable daughter would do? Why couldn’t she have moved in with him, made him listen, tried harder? Commit to making him get better. Commit. The word hammered guilt inside her heart one harsh staccato beat at a time.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, and turned his face the other way as if struggling to find the right thing to say. She took another family album from the box and placed it on the table, realizing it might be too much to unlock all those memories in one night.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. You loved him and he knew it.” Closing the gap between them, he let his hand fall on her shoulder, and offered a rough rub on the place where her arm met her shoulder. A clumsy touch, without second intentions. “Trust me on this.”

Closing her eyes, she soaked in the caress. The knots in her brain slowly dissipated and turned into thin air by the time she opened her eyes to face him.

“He wouldn’t have let you change his lifestyle. Milton was stubborn.”

“Yes.”

She continued to empty the box, taking all contents out. “I’ll go through these tomorrow.”

“That’s better.”

She reached the last item at the end of the box, a single picture with rough edges. Coated by dust and with a few spots and scratches, the black and white photo showed a woman with a warm smile and black background behind her. Smooth black hair cascaded down her delicate face, but her chestnut eyes captured the attention.

Lola’s heart skipped a beat. The way she arched her eyebrow was painfully familiar.

“What is it?” Jack asked behind her.

“Look at this picture.” She blew the rest of the dust off and handed it to him.

“An old family member?”

“No. I never met this woman.” Or had she? When she was so young she couldn’t remember? She shuddered, overwhelmed by the strange sensation drilling a hole in her and refused to leave. “She looks too much like me not to be family.”

He held the picture against the lamp hanging over the table, and squinted his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“Can’t you notice her coloring and her eyes? We look a lot alike.”

“Lola…” With a slight shake of his head, he gave her the picture.

“She could be my mom, Jack.”

He shot her an apologetic smile, concern flashing in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t think about it anymore.”

“I was always curious, but something always held me back from wanting to know more. I guess it never mattered before.”

“You should cling to that.”

“After Daddy died, and with Margo being so far away… I’ve started to wonder about my birth parents. Why they had to let me go. If putting me up for adoption was a sacrifice or their best choice.”

“Does it matter?” he asked, his voice as gentle as a lullaby. Of course, there was a chance all he wanted was to get her home so Pepper would shut up and let him sleep.

Didn’t matter. Nothing would quiet her racing thoughts. “Maybe I just wanted someone to blame because I’m not always able to finish things. Maybe it’s genetic.” The lightness in her tone didn’t hide the question she’d asked herself far too often. Daddy had failed at the end, when he’d been irresponsible. But he’d managed to get married, adopt a baby, and build a successful life in Los Angeles for a long time. He’d committed to things, with passion, giving his all despite how some of them turned out. What about me? The familiar beat of fear vibrated within her.

“Some things are best left unknown.” He offered her a light pat on her hand, the clumsy touch searing her skin.

Not the right time. The mental message she conveyed to her body parts failed, which only left her one alternative—dig deep, and ditch any opportunity for more. “Didn’t you ever get curious to know about what your mom might have been up to—where she’d gone after she left?”

Withdrawing his hand from her, he hesitated. The neutral expression faded from his face. A deep frown marked his forehead.

Can’t go back now. “I know she’s not dead,” she said. “Consuelo accidentally let it slip. I’m sorry.”

The main vein on his neck pulsed, his eyes turned into two dark blue beads of hate. “She’s dead to me.”

“Yes but didn’t you ever wonder—”

He knocked on the table, making the photo frame shake. “Of course I wondered. What do you think? I grew up with an old man, who had his own health problems to worry about. But the bottom line is she left me. She walked away when I was a toddler.” No amount of loathing hid the pain in his voice. “I had to be a lunatic to fantasize about her.”

She curled her fingers into a ball. Should she reach out to him? “And she never contacted you again?”

He snorted. “In my adult life, when she found out I made the big bucks. To ask for money.”

“Didn’t you ever talk to her?”

“What about? She packed up and left like I was some sort of inconvenience.”

Just like I did. Guilt knotted her throat. Maybe she broke his heart twice as bad because she hadn’t been the first woman to reject him. She curled and uncurled her fingers, unsure if she should offer him a hug. She took one step toward him, but he shook his head, and stretched to his full height. He didn’t need soothing, and if she tried, she’d probably drive him away.

She plopped on the chair. Her gaze strayed to the picture again, and she couldn’t shake her aching curiosity. An intuition she never trusted before shone a light upon her, and suddenly, she realized the lady from the picture might be able to give her the answers she needed. Someway somehow, she had to find her.