Chapter One

“I am not upset.” Lori Scott chucked the dart the length of her old bedroom where it thunked soundly into the center of the dartboard.

Greg whistled. “I have to tell you how impressed I am with your non-anger issues.”

A foot taller than her own five-foot-five, Lori’s older brother had maintained his track-star physique, looking lean and athletic in his official attorney’s suit. As one of her favorite people, Greg could get away with saying things to her that others couldn’t. Sometimes. “You’re just jealous because you’re not winning.”

“You’re absolutely right.” He squinted in concentration and tossed his own dart. It landed in the outer circle. “Darn.” Turning back to her with a flourish, he smiled. “So, Lori, tell me again how happy you are. Convince me.”

She sighed in resignation, leaned back against her old wooden desk, and folded her arms as he crossed the room to collect the darts. She knew he wouldn’t leave her alone until she told him the truth. “Let’s see. Where to begin? Oh, yes, I remember now. My life stinks.”

“Because your play closed?”

“If anyone could actually remember my name, I might have a chance at becoming a Jeopardy question.” She swept her hand through the air dramatically like a game show host.

Greg chuckled. “I’ll take ‘Playwrights’ for a thousand dollars, Alex.”

Lori grabbed the darts from Greg’s hand, turning them over in her fingers. “‘The length of time it took Lori Scott’s first play to flop.’” She threw a dart at the wall again. “That’s what will flash onto the screen, the buzzer will sound, and then a hopeful contestant will answer, ‘What is one week?’” Lori sighed. “One lousy week for one lousy play.” The second dart followed the first.

Greg shrugged. “So it didn’t last long. How many people can say they’ve even had a play on Broadway? Anyway, I still love ya.”

She huffed. She had written one of the shortest-running plays ever produced on Broadway. Still aching from the humiliation, she was presently not answering calls, and had come running home to Mommy’s house in Schenectady, New York, with her tail between her legs. But she couldn’t stay here. Already neighbors were beginning to realize she was back, and it would be harder to dodge calls and visits from people here than from her Manhattan acquaintances.

Besides, it was said you couldn’t go home again, and it was true. This place had too many memories that she’d been trying to outrun for too long. She missed the style of Manhattan—the Prada clothes and Manolo Blahnik shoes in elegant black, the nightclubs, the feeling of being where everything was fashionable. And she missed the energy and pace of a town where even the garbagemen ran to and from their trucks. But Manhattan was out of the question for now. She’d already sublet her apartment, and she didn’t want to run into her ex-boyfriend, either.

No, she had to find somewhere else to go. Somewhere she could just lie low for a while. Where she could find a job and get her finances—and her life—back in order. She just didn’t know where that place would be. She blinked back tears. She’d invested so much of herself into both her play and her relationship and now, just like that, they were both gone.

“I’m going to move someplace where people don’t know who I am and that I’m a loser.”

Greg smiled at her. “Shouldn’t you put your hand to your forehead or something? For maximum effect?”

“Leave me alone, you big bully.”

He pulled out the two darts and set them on the desk. Then, towering over her, he patted her head gently like she was a child. “Don’t worry. Your next play will have a longer run.”

“I hate when you do that.” Lori pushed his arm away. “Why do you have to be so freakishly tall?”

“I think the pertinent question is why do you have to be so freakishly short?”

“Dinner will be ready soon.”

Startled, they both turned toward the sound of their mother’s voice. A plumper, size-fourteen version of Lori stood in the doorway, dressed in black jeans and a pink T-shirt which was partially covered by a flour-dusted apron. She smiled at her two children.

“Besides,” Greg said, “can I help it if Mom wanted me around three years before she wanted you? I had a head start on the growth chart and you simply refused to catch up.” He grabbed his mother and twirled her around.

“Stop that, you silly thing.” Evelyn Scott laughed as she turned back to Lori. “Honey, don’t you worry. Lots of people have plays that don’t do so well at first. You can write another. Or maybe someone else will produce this one again.” As always, her voice had just the right amount of loving encouragement.

Usually Lori would have allowed herself to be mollified, but not now, while she was steeping in self-pity. “The word you’re searching for is flop, Mom. That’s different than plays that don’t do so well.”

“Well, didn’t you tell me Nicholas Adams, the big producer, wanted to see your next play when you finished it?”

“I don’t care about plays anymore. I don’t ever want to write plays again.” She watched the two of them exchange a glance. Lori picked up another dart, drew back, and threw. If she imagined Nicholas Adams’s face centered on the dartboard, then the dart hit him squarely on the nose. Big producer—ha! If her mother only knew.

She didn’t need any more of Nick’s patronizing attitude or, even worse, his attempts to convince her it wasn’t natural to wait for marriage before being intimate, and his insistence that her way to success was to sleep her way to the top. With him, of course. The pig.

Lori turned and forced a smile. “Nicholas and I are no longer dating.”

“Oh,” said her mother. “I didn’t know you were dating.”

Greg said, “Don’t worry, Lori. You know the old saying: There are lots more fish in the sea.”

“How very comforting. Thank you.” Lori rolled her eyes at him. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. I plan on moving somewhere far from Schenectady and Manhattan, both.”

“Like where?” Her mother looked worried.

Lori paused. “I’ll go anywhere as long as no one there knows about my stupid play.”

“Anywhere?” Greg’s dark eyes lit up. “Outer Mongolia?”

“Now, Greg, she’s just talking.” Evelyn touched Lori’s arm. “You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Your room is always here for you.”

It certainly was. Down to the shelf holding her stuffed animals and college textbooks and the desk she’d studied at for high school exams. The idea of moving back to her mother’s home after being on her own in Manhattan made Lori feel like an even bigger loser.

She looked at her mother, and her heart softened. Lori hugged her. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Lori can’t move in here.” Her brother shook his head. “You’d expect her to attend church, and she doesn’t do church.”

“Well, maybe if she did do church,” her mother said gently, “her life would fall into place.”

As if it were really that simple. “You mean like it did thirteen years ago?”

“Your father—”

“Mom, you know Lori doesn’t like talking about Dad.” Greg turned to his sister. “But Dad would like to see you.”

“I bet.” Lori eyed him, the old anger putting an edge on her voice. “Look, I’m glad you’ve maintained a relationship with him, Greg, but don’t expect me to. In fact, back off.”

“Okay, backing off the whole Dad subject.” He saluted smartly. “Back to the play subject. Quit whining. You’re only twenty-six and you’ve already had a play produced on Broadway. That’s got to count for something.”

“Not when it closes one week later.”

“Ah—back to the pity party. Okay, then, are you serious about moving away? Would you just pick up and go”—he snapped his fingers—“like that?”

She did want to get away. From her humiliating Broadway flop. From the looks and whispers. From the new screenplay she hadn’t been able to complete and a career that felt like it was totally the wrong choice. And especially from men like Nicholas Adams, who had proven himself to be far too much like her father.

If she really could escape her feelings of failure and discouragement with something as simple as a geographical move, she would do it in an instant. Smiling, knowing it really wasn’t an option, she said, “Yeah. I think I would.”

“Hang on.” Greg disappeared out the door, calling out, “I’ll be right back.”

“Turn the thermostat down while you’re out there.” Sitting on her bed, Lori pulled her bare feet into a yoga pose and glanced at her mother. “I thought older women were supposed to want their houses Arctic cold.”

“I guess I’m not as old as you think.” Her mother paused, as if wary of upsetting Lori. “Have you had a chance to finish your screenplay? At Christmas you said you were nearly done.”

Lori shook her head. “I can’t seem to finish that, either. Nothing’s going right for me.” She hated how whiny she sounded, but she had given herself a full week to feel the pain of her world shattering—her play flopping and her boyfriend cheating on her—and she planned to make full use of the remaining four days.

Greg returned, unfolded a map of the United States, and pinned it over the dartboard before stepping back, motioning grandly. “Okay, sis. Toss and let’s see where you’re moving.”

Evelyn frowned. “That’s your silliest idea yet.”

Lori laughed for perhaps the first time in the past three days. She knew Greg was teasing her, trying to cheer her up, and it had worked. The idea intrigued her.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Greg looked pensive. “I think sledding off the garage roof when I was ten might have been sillier.”

“You didn’t!” their mother protested. “You could have been maimed—or killed!”

He grinned at Lori. “What do you think? You wanna take a shot at a new place to live?”

“Sure.” Her heart actually lifted at the thought, and she rose from the bed. She smiled at Greg’s teasing, but it suddenly struck her that she could really do it. “I’ll play along.”

“You agree you’ll move wherever the dart lands?” She could tell he was trying to suppress a grin. “Because otherwise, this is just a game.”

More and more intrigued by the idea, Lori nodded. “I’ll move anywhere the dart lands. Unless I hit water, of course.”

“Promise? Because with you out of the way, all of Mom’s homemade cookies are mine.”

Greg might not have been serious, but suddenly Lori was. Her brother’s crazy idea could solve her problem entirely. She wouldn’t even have to choose where to go. She took a deep breath. She had nothing more to lose. She’d already lost her career, her boyfriend, and her pride. She’d wanted a few months away to think things through. Why not go with the toss of a dart? Wasn’t the definition of insanity doing the same things and expecting different results? She was ready for different. “I promise. I’ll let fate make my decision for me.”

“I like the way you play.” Greg handed Lori a dart. As if he realized she was taking his teasing seriously, he added, “Just to make it more interesting, though, let’s say you can only move where you land if you also find a job online in one hour.”

“You two quit clowning around.” Frowning, her mother touched Lori’s arm. “This is no way to choose where you’re going to live. What if you end up someplace scary?”

“Mom, I’ve lived in Manhattan for two years. What could possibly scare me?” If Lori squinted, she could almost make out the East Coast and the area around New York state. Shifting her gaze to the left, she spotted what must be Hawaii.

Let fate decide? Well, maybe fate could use a hint.

Taking careful aim, she tossed the dart to the left—and immediately knew she’d gone off target. Still, the dart hit the board with a satisfying thwack. Well, living in California wouldn’t be so bad. And if she’d hit water, she’d get to try again.

Greg beat her to the map, his body obscuring her view. After a pause, he started to laugh.

“What?” she demanded.

Grinning widely, he stepped aside and pointed. “See for yourself; otherwise, you’ll never believe it.”

She moved forward. Stopped. And stared.

No way.

“What do you suppose the odds are for something like that?” asked Greg. “They’ve gotta be astronomical.”

The dart had landed just a few miles from the center of the seat of the church she used to attend: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. LDS. Mormons. “Oh, I am so not moving to Brigham City, Utah.”

Still chuckling, Greg handed her another dart. “Forget the game. You’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. Why don’t you just take a vacation and come back refreshed? Take your favorite brother along.”

“I was aiming for Hawaii.” She twirled her necklace, the one Grandpa Scott had given her.

“Maybe it really is fate.” Her mother would think that, of course. She was the Relief Society president in her ward. And by the ethereal smile on her face, she obviously thought Lori’s aim had been off because of divine intervention. “It would be good for you to go to church.”

“Give Lori some space, Mom. She’ll go when she’s ready.”

Lori spoke up. “I will not go back. I swore I never would after what Dad did, and I always keep my word.” Neither of them seemed to believe her, though she thought she’d made her feelings clear numerous times.

“It’s been thirteen years, honey. It’s time to let go of the past. There’s a reason we’re supposed to forgive, and it’s because our own healing can’t begin until we do.” Her mother sat on Lori’s twin bed and smoothed the flowered quilt. “How long has it been since you called your father?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Lori realized she’d twirled her necklace into a knot, and she carefully unwound her finger.

“Well, if you don’t believe in fate,” her mother said, teasing, but not really, “you can stay here in your old room. I’d be glad to have you back.”

But Lori already knew she couldn’t stay here.

So why not Brigham City, Utah? She wanted to forget she ever had aspirations of writing plays and screenplays, and that seemed the perfect place for an ignominious forced retirement. Besides, she planned to forget all about men and relationships. Utah was full of Mormon men, and she would definitely never become romantically involved with a Mormon man. So that would work too.

Lori squared her shoulders and flashed a grin at her brother. “I said I’d go. And I will.”

“Then it is fate.” Her mother’s face softened. “This could be a wonderful thing for you.”

Lori laughed, seeing the wheels turn in her mother’s head, expecting the Utah Mormons to be able to reconvert her daughter. Fat chance. “If it really is fate, and I’m meant to go to Brigham City, then I’ll find a job online in the next hour, just like we agreed. Right?”

Greg stared at her. “You’re not serious about this, are you? Because I was totally joking.”

Lori shrugged. “It was a great idea.”

“It was a very bad idea.” He shook his head. “You need to be around family right now. Let us rally around you, and all that.”

Lori shook her head. “We’ll stick by our original agreement. If I can find a job in sixty minutes, I go.”

Reluctantly, he said, “Okay, but if you don’t, you stay.”

“It’s a deal,” Lori said.

~

“I brought you a drink.” Greg carried in two cold cans of pop and two glasses with ice, setting one of each on the computer desk. “Just in case you’re wondering, the drink is root beer. There will be no caffeine for obstinate people going to Brigham City. You could probably get arrested just for having it on your breath.”

“Very funny.” Lori took a sip and enjoyed the coolness of it sliding down her throat, the chill of the glass against her hand.

He motioned toward the monitor. “Any luck?”

“There’s a lady looking for an underpaid assistant at a small publishing house and a semi-well-paid newspaper columnist taking a sabbatical to China who needs a three-month replacement.” She shrugged. “I doubt I’ll hear back from either of them, though, especially in the next”—she checked her watch and smiled—“thirty minutes.”

A tone sounded, indicating she had a new e-mail. When she opened it, she said, surprised, “The columnist wrote back. He wants my writing credentials.” She stuck her small jump drive into the USB port of her laptop, pulled up her resume and samples of some articles, typed a brief note, and clicked SEND.

“Twenty-four minutes. He’ll never make it.” Greg pulled up a chair. “But what if he does? You wouldn’t really go, would you?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Suddenly nervous, she clicked on another job-search Web site and started a new search.

“Do you think that’s wise? You don’t even know anyone there.”

“That’s the whole point.”

“Aren’t you scared?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Are you kidding? I’m scared of everything.” She laughed. “Now I’ve gotta get back to work or you’ll claim I’m cheating. And we can’t have a lawyer thinking that.”

He snorted. “I could sue you for that comment.”

“Go for it, bro.” She busied herself searching for anything else that looked like a legitimate job offer in or around Brigham City, Utah, and kept checking her watch.

Twenty minutes. Fifteen. Ten.

With only five minutes to go, she began to relax. Perhaps fate would be kinder than it had at first appeared. This time, she’d skip the dart and determine her own destiny.

She took another sip of her root beer and held the glass against her forehead. Hawaii, here I come.

When the theme song from The Pink Panther sounded from her phone, she caught Greg’s eye. He raised an eyebrow as she grabbed her cell phone. “Hello?”

“Ms. Lori Scott?”

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the voice.

“My name is Charles Dobson. You sent me your resume and are interested in covering my gardening column while I’m traveling.”

Lori nodded at Greg. “Yes. It’s good to speak with you. I am interested. Was there more information you needed from me?”

“Oh, certainly not. What you sent is more than adequate.” His voice had a gravelly sound to it, and he spoke slower than she was used to in New York. “Though I have a question or two for you.”

“All right.”

“I can see that you can write, and that you do it well. But I need to know . . . do you garden?”

She had grown flowers in pots on the balcony of her apartment, and really, how hard could it be to transfer that knowledge to outside flower beds? Surely it was the same principle, just more sun. “Yes, I do.”

“You wouldn’t, by any chance, happen to be a Master Gardener?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

A pause. “Oh, well, it can’t be helped.” He chuckled. “Congratulations, my dear. The job is yours.”

That was it? Two questions? She gardened and wrote and so she got the job even though the only thing she knew about Master Gardeners was that she wasn’t one? This guy was obviously desperate to leave for his Asian experience.

After the briefest of pauses, she said, “That’s great,” wondering if it was a lie.

“Let me tell you about the column. It’s for the Brigham City Daily. You’ll write three columns a week, five hundred words in length. They begin with a question and answer and then an article and an occasional recipe. I suppose I could write my column from China, with the World Wide Web, but I am taking a true sabbatical from all my writing.”

Though he couldn’t see her, she shrugged. “That sounds nice.”

What was she doing? Greg was right—she didn’t know anyone in Utah. She didn’t have anywhere to stay, for that matter. But perhaps Charles Dobson had some ideas. “Do you have any suggestions for apartments in the area? I realize I could do the column online, but I’m also looking to get away for a while, and I’ll need to find a place to stay while I’m there.”

“Well, my house will be empty, but . . .” He paused for a moment. “I would prefer to rent my home to someone who is LDS. You know—Mormon. Just one of my little idiosyncrasies. Sorry. But I’ll prepare a list of phone numbers for local rental properties and
e-mail them to you.”

“I’m LDS.” Why she let those words slip out, she didn’t know. Now would he expect her to attend church? And would he double her rent when he returned and learned she hadn’t?

Greg grinned at her, and Lori turned away from him, her cheeks warm. So what if she hadn’t been inside an LDS chapel for thirteen years? She’d been baptized, she’d attended mutual activities with her best friend Marti, and she still wore the pretty silver CTR ring her mother had given her years ago.

“That is almost too good to be true.” He paused again. “Oh, the column also involves recipes, so I hope you have a few. Perhaps you know what vegetable goes best with green Jell-O?”

Where had that question come from? “Carrots. Though I’ve never known anyone who actually eats it that way.”

“Since you live in New York, perhaps you’ll find it interesting to know Joseph Smith dug up the silver plates in your part of the country.”

Oh. She repressed a laugh as she got it—he thought she was pretending to be LDS just to get the house. She decided to play along. “I didn’t know about the silver plates.” She paused for a beat, just to put a little fun into the game, then added, “I only heard about the gold ones.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “How silly of me. And I suppose you’ve heard about the Mormon synagogues?”

“You mean temples?” She decided to cut him some slack. “Perhaps you’d like to get a reference from my Relief Society president mother?”

As he realized she knew what he was doing, he had the good grace to chuckle. “That won’t be necessary. You’ve got the job. And if you want the house, you’ve got that too. If you promise to take good care of my garden, I’ll only charge you three hundred dollars in rent.”

“A week?”

“A month, my dear.”

Three hundred dollars a month in rent? She’d spent more than that for her last pair of Jimmy Choo sling backs. And after all, how much care could his flower garden require? A paying job, extremely low rent, and a chance to get away from the spotlight—perfect. “Mr. Dobson, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“And if you need a vehicle to drive, I will leave you my Ben, though I would expect you to pay the difference in insurance to have you listed as the principal driver for the next three months. And you must promise to take very good care of him. He’s a classic car.”

“I’m not sure I should do that. I can rent a car.”

“No, really. As long as you take care of him and promise to drive him at least once a week, I’ll be glad to share. Besides, if he sits in the garage for three months, he’ll start to deteriorate, and right now he runs great. And you’ll love Ben. Really. He’s cherry-red with a 327 engine and headers. He’s a real head turner, all right.” He paused. “You can drive a four-speed, can’t you?”

“My brother taught me.”

“Good.”

“Sounds like you’ve just made me an offer I can’t refuse, Mr. Dobson. I will be very careful with your classic car.”

“All right.” He sounded pleased. “Your first article will be due two weeks from Monday.”

Amazed, she realized she was really doing it. She was moving to, of all the unlikely places, Brigham City, Utah. “Thank you.”

As she hung up the phone, her brother batted his eyelids melodramatically and pressed his hands to his heart. “Mom is right. This is fate.”

“Jerk.” Lori tossed a pillow at him.

“So now you’re LDS, huh?” He caught the pillow and fell onto the bed, laughing. “I still think you’re nuts.”

“I probably am.” Lori grinned. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll need more than luck.” He tossed the pillow back at her. “Better get some Prozac.”