Since taking over the foundation, Morgan had mastered many skills, but the one she used most often was biting her tongue while she spoke. “Yes, I understand you believe the delay isn’t your fault, Doug. But Mother Nature’s hissy fit and your warehouse getting flooded in the last storm wasn’t my doing. If the supplies had been delivered by the date on the contract, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. For the third time.”
The tires of her Mustang ground over loose rock and dirt as Morgan pulled into the construction site’s cordoned-off parking area, killed the engine, and downed the last of her coffee.
Once upon a time she couldn’t blink for hours after drinking her triple-shot latte. These days her Monday fix had as much kick as an arthritic donkey. Appropriate given the paint supplier she’d been dealing with for the last two months was an ass.
“I’m not paying for supplies we haven’t received,” she stated. “And if you need confirmation of that, check the contract I signed with your boss last fall.” Just to make sure, Morgan tapped the PDF app on her phone and opened the Johnstone Paint Supplies paperwork.
Vindicated, she set the business bitch loose as Doug Vallard issued another barrage of excuses. “You know what, Doug? You can stop there. Here’s what we’re going to do. Either you have our order on site by five tomorrow afternoon, or we’re going with another company.” Morgan rolled her eyes at his inept panic-induced sputter. If only someone would invent a death-ray app so she could zap incompetent idiots out of her universe. “Tomorrow at five is impossible?” Hallelujah. “I’ll fax a copy of the cancelled agreement to your boss’s office within the hour.” She clicked off the call, leaned her head against the headrest, and closed her eyes.
So this was what a car running on empty felt like.
At least her meeting with Elliot Dunbar, the foundation’s new accountant, had been pushed to next week. She’d take good news wherever she could get it, and not having to turn over her books just yet? Definitely good news.
Morgan yelped at the knock on her window. After pressing a hand against her hammering heart, she shoved the door open, got out, and glared at her general contractor.
Even in the middle of a construction site, Kent Lawson made jeans and a button-down blue flannel shirt look as tailored as a Savile Row suit. Dark hair and equally fathomless dark eyes completed the handsome picture.
“So I cancelled our contract with Johnstone.” As expected, Kent’s grin exposed his molars. “You were right. I should have listened to your recommendation from the start. Get me a contract you can live with and—” Wait a minute. Morgan stood up straight from having gone into the car for her purse. “I know that look.” Kent’s eyebrows rose so high they almost touched his hairline. She crossed her arms over her chest, narrowed her eyes. “You already got a new contract, didn’t you?”
“Last week. Paperwork is on what you laughingly call a desk in the office.” He sniffed the air. “Do I smell donuts?”
“You smell Wednesday, which is when I always bring donuts for the crew.” She shoved her phone in her back pocket, slung her bag over her shoulder, and opened the trunk to expose four pink bakery boxes from Ignacio’s 24-Hour Doh!Knot Stop.
Kent opened the top box, snatched a chocolate old-fashioned, and stuffed it in his mouth as he lifted the boxes out of the car.
“You keep scarfing those, you won’t make it down the aisle,” Morgan muttered, hoping her willpower stayed intact and she refused the call of the lemon-filled. She really loved the lemon-filled. Kent grinned around the cake as she followed him to the construction trailer and the snack table he kept for his crew. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”
“You’d have to ask Craig.” Kent swallowed. “Let’s elope, I said. Just the two of us, no fuss, but no. He wants a party. With both our families. We’re still arguing about the band, so he booked both.”
“Yeah, a real tragedy.” Morgan laughed at the gleam in his eye. “Happily ever after with the man of your dreams. Poor you.” Kent was one of the few friends she’d kept in touch with after high school. Quarterback, star of the debate club, and class president. He’d also been out for as long as she’d known him. Having become one of the most sought-after general contractors in southern California, he was Morgan’s first call when the final plans for the center were approved. “Seven weeks and counting until dum-dum-da-dum.”
“You’re coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Not that she relished attending without a plus-one. The thought of Gage and his taut torso-accentuating tux came to mind.
Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. She’d been unable to shake the thought of him since she’d left him in the middle of the street. She shook her head as if her mind were an Etch A Sketch. Didn’t work. No matter how many times she tried.
“I thought maybe you’d want to change to a plus-one now that you made a new friend.” Kent waggled his eyebrows as he filled a paper cup with coffee.
“What new friend? What are you— Oh, God.” Morgan rubbed her eyes. “You saw the paper. I thought print was dead.”
Kent chuckled and tossed her a copy of the Lantano Valley Times, which she attempted to deflect into the recycling bin. Instead it plopped on the table in front of her.
“It was one dance, Kent. It wasn’t anything.” But it could so easily have been.
“Are you seeing the same picture I am?” He let out an attention-grabbing whistle. “Break!” He gestured to the boxes. “I always suspected there was a social butterfly lurking beneath that Joan of Arc facade,” Kent teased over his shoulder. “Glad to see you had a good time.”
Morgan could almost feel Gage’s arms around her and hear the echo of the string quartet as she gazed at the picture. “Too bad there’s no time.”
“Make the time, Morgan. You can change the world all you want, but it doesn’t mean anything if there’s no one to share it with.”
Cranky Morgan reared her head like a horror movie jack-in-the-box. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an irritating combination of Dr. Phil and Yoda?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” The grin returned. “That last permit we were waiting for came through. Let me grab the paperwork and I’ll show you what’s been done since your last visit.”
Morgan pulled out her phone and scanned her calendar. “I can give you until one, then I have to hit the road for a pickup in L.A.” And hopefully miss crush-hour traffic both ways. “Those new fixture and tile samples came in but they want to charge us two arms and a leg for delivery. I’ll drop them by here on my way home.”
“I could have had one of the guys go get it.” Kent headed up the three stairs into the trailer.
“I had to go in anyway. No need to take one of your people off the job.” She marked off the three phone calls she’d scheduled, along with her drop-off at the bank and the meeting with Kent. That left two pickups for fund-raisers from Los Angeles schools, the samples and the meeting with the linen suppliers. Just in time to get home and check the bathroom sink for Nico. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.” Or where the lobby would be once construction was completed.
“Thanks for the donuts, Morgan.” Morgan glanced up at the swarm of workmen passing by on the way to the snack table, clueless as to who had spoken, so she smiled at all of them.
“You’re welcome.” The faces were familiar to her, having seen them at least once a week for the past eight months, but trying to put a name to any of them was futile. “You’re doing a great job. Oh. Thanks.” She caught the fluorescent yellow hard hat as it sailed through the air. “Almost forgot.”
And then everything around her vanished except for the center.
Hour by hour, day by day, her dream, her family’s dream, was coming to fruition. She loved these once-a-week visits, loved seeing the meat go on the bones of the skeletal structure.
This was what mattered. Getting the center built, opening the doors, bringing patients in, and giving them their lives back.
Nothing, not new accountants, not construction delays or legally questionable financial situations, was going to stop her.
And neither was Gage Juliano.
***
Had Gage not spotted Morgan’s Mustang parked in front of the three-story house he might have thought he had the wrong address. Finding dilapidated chic where he expected pristine Victorian was yet another reminder Morgan Tremayne was anything but predictable.
Wedged comfortably between the bustle of Los Angeles and sedate Santa Barbara, Gage considered Lantano Valley an eclectic conglomeration of businesses and culture-rich neighborhoods—a throwback of sorts, with zoning restrictions on big-box stores and an economy that thrived on independent movie houses and yoga studios, cafés, and art galleries.
Days like this, when the sun had burned off the clouds and a cool breeze bathed the city, he was glad he’d come home. Days like this, he was glad for an excuse to get out of the office. He’d be more glad if Agent Kolfax would stop sniffing around the D.A.’s office like an over-hyped bloodhound. Twice he’d seen Kolfax lurking in the lobby trying to play invisible secret agent man. As if Gage wouldn’t notice him wearing the same appalling suit Evan had caught on film.
Irritated, Gage had called a contact at the Los Angeles FBI office, asked on the QT if the Tremaynes or their foundation were on anyone’s radar, and while he had yet to receive a direct answer, no red flags had gone up. Hearing that Kolfax had more enemies than friends in the agency perked him up considerably.
The “leaked” story about the D.A.’s office pressing charges against anyone accepting Nemesis’ help was a long shot. When it came to scaring people into proper behavior and sharing information, if it meant endangering their wallets, silence was the more predictable outcome. Still, the threat wasn’t a bad notion to have floating around. If anything, it might make Nemesis think twice before putting those he wanted to help at risk of jail time.
Not that Gage expected Nemesis to stop his midnight visits. Nemesis had invested an armored truckload of ego and was having far too much fun to stop now.
Then again, a crime scene at just the right time—say, Sunday afternoon around one—would solve his present social dilemma. Gage let out a long-held breath and stared out at 947 Tumbleweed Drive.
He hadn’t been to the historic section of Lantano Valley since he’d come home last year. Odd, as his parents’ house was less than a mile away. But while the Juliano residence was two-story brick modern, the Tumbleweed house looked as if a plastic surgeon gave up halfway through a facelift. It was, however, in far better shape than the other houses in the area, a number of which were in foreclosure or for sale.
Gage reached for the paper bag that held the gift-wrapped shoe box. Janice had saved his sanity by wrapping the shoes in purple and silver and topped it with a glitter-edged fabric hydrangea—a special touch, she’d said with a wink. He’d been tempted to delay leaving the office to postpone her inevitable call to update his mother on “The Morgan Situation.”
As he crossed the street, a Ford minivan rumbled into the driveway and parked beneath the shade of one of the two enormous oak trees in the front yard. No sooner did it stop than the side door slid open and two little kids tumbled out, squealing and laughing, racing around the lawn as if the game of tag had become an Olympic sport.
A tall, slender woman in her mid-fifties climbed out from behind the wheel, thick grey hair pulled away from her windblown face as she circled to pop the hatch. He knew when she spotted him. She cast a cautious glance to the children as she watched him approach. “Can I help you with something?”
“Inspector Gage Juliano,” Gage introduced himself. “I’m looking for Morgan Tremayne.”
Her face broke into a smile and her face flashed recognition. “Oh. Of course. I’m Angela Fiorelli. Kelley. Brandon. Come get your bags. Sorry. School holiday. Only time I had to take them for new shoes. Morgan’s in the garage. I’ll show you around in a minute. Kids, now, please.” Gage shifted Morgan’s gift under his arm and took some of the bags as Brandon and Kelley skidded up beside him.
“Hello,” he greeted them and was rewarded with a skeptical step away by the towheaded boy and a comical double take by the sprite-like girl.
Dressed in a bright yellow dress and sparkly purple sneakers, the girl’s baby-doll blue eyes blinked up at him from beneath an enormous floppy hat big enough to protect the pale skin of her face and arms. Her smile tugged at his heart. “It’s him,” she whispered, stepping closer, only to be stopped by the boy’s hand on her shoulder.
“Excuse me?” Gage asked, but the boy spun her away and grabbed the next bags Angela held out, and they disappeared into the house.
“Sorry about that.” Angela laughed. “Kelley’s been preoccupied with fairy tales and with that picture of you and Morgan in the paper—”
“Ah.” Good thing he wasn’t working at the precinct any longer. He didn’t want to think about the torture his fellow officers would have conjured up.
Angela closed the hatch and gestured for him to follow. “Appreciate the help. Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I have to get back downtown but I wanted to get this to Morgan.” He cocked his arm, indicating the package. Gage glanced up at the front of the house and saw a second-floor window curtain pulled to the side. A teenage boy stared down at him with a combination of curiosity and suspicion, radiating hostility like an overheating furnace. “It’s a gift.” Of sorts.
Angela held the front door open. “Women love to get presents.”
He was counting on it.
As Gage headed inside he noticed a number of porch planks and posts had been replaced, but work wasn’t close to complete. While the outside still needed work, most of the attention had been paid to the interior.
The house welcomed him with the addictive aroma of fresh-baked bread and hot brewed coffee. The spacious foyer was divided like a multipronged fork. The woodwork and crown molding along the ceiling must be original to the house. The floors had been refinished, accentuating the aged dings while giving them a modern shine. Quality work, too. The house would be a real showplace once it was finished if the attention to detail continued. The carpenter in him itched to be set loose on the house.
So much potential here. Absolute paradise.
“Morgan gets the same look on her face when she comes in.” Angela laughed, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen. “Bringing this house to life again is one of her passions. Any spare minute she has is spent working on it. I think that’s why her grandmother left it to her. She knew it would be in good hands.”
“This is Morgan’s doing?” Despite her penchant for surprising him, Gage had a difficult time picturing the woman he’d met the other night staining antique floors or cutting baseboards.
“She’s a whiz on home repairs, thank goodness. Saves us a fortune. Just not enough hours in the day to keep up with it all. You can set those on the counter. Nico, Inspector Gage Juliano. Inspector, my husband, Nico Fiorelli.”
“Nice to meet you, Inspector,” Nico said as Gage caught sight of Kelley peeking around the pantry doorway. Gage winked at her. She brimmed with the energy of an overloaded pixie as she giggled, her cheeks tinting bright pink.
“Gage, please.” Gage wondered how such a bear of a man made a kitchen feel so welcoming. Taller and much wider than Gage, like a clean-shaven Santa, but jollier. “These look amazing.” The kitchen counters and table were filled with racks of cooling bread, pastries, and muffins. “Where do you sell?”
“Sell?” Nico let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t. It’s what keeps me sane since I retired. What we don’t freeze or eat I give to family and friends, although I think by now they consider me a carbohydrate dealer.”
“Do you mind?” Gage gestured to a blueberry muffin that would dwarf a softball.
“Help yourself.” Nico tossed flour on the butcher block island and started rolling out a large rectangle of dough. “I tend to lose track and get carried away.”
“You should see this place at Christmas,” Angela joked. “It looks like a cookie factory exploded.”
Gage split the muffin and felt steam release against his fingers as he bit into the moist cake. The mixture of tart berries and crumb topping made his stomach growl in greedy response. “Amazing. There’s something different though—”
“Nutmeg.” Nico grinned. “My secret ingredient.”
“Gage brought Morgan a present,” Angela all but sang. “Must be a special occasion?”
“Just returning something she lost the other night.”
Angela’s not-so-innocent tone clanged a familiar warning bell in Gage’s head. In that instant he vowed she and his mother should never meet. Gage glanced at the clock as he polished off the muffin, thinking Nico could make a small fortune if he went into business. He’d told Janice he’d be back by one and it was twelve fifteen now. “You said Morgan’s in the garage?”
“She is,” Nico said, aiming a warning look at his wife. “Instead of interrogating our guest, Angela, why don’t you show him the way?”
“I’d love to,” Angela grinned and took a swig of coffee. “I’m sure she’ll be surprised to see you.”
***
Morgan pulled out her wrench just as someone banged on the side of the car.
“What?” Morgan shouted from under the carriage of her latest pride and joy.
“Company, Morgan.” Angela called.
“Tell them I’m busy.”
“I can see that.” Morgan tucked her chin down in time to see Gage grinning at her. “’67 Impala. Nice refurb. How’s it coming?”
“Sh-ugar!” Morgan whacked her forehead on the oil pan. “Oh, ow.” Pain shot through her skull as she was dragged from under the car by her ankles.
“You okay?” Gage’s grin faded under the concern clouding the blue eyes that had haunted her dreams all week. He picked up a rag as she shoved herself up, pressing oil-slick fingers against the sore spot.
“I’m fine.” Oh, God. What was he doing here? Had the D.A. found something? Had there been a break in the case?
Morgan slammed her foot on the mental brakes. Gage had no way of connecting her to Nemesis that she knew of, and if he had come because of the case, he wouldn’t have done it with a wink and a smile. Get it together.
“Your eyes are spinning.” He pushed her back until she leaned against the car door. “Sit still for a minute. Let me get you some water.”
“I don’t need water.” What were the odds that as soon as she vowed to extricate herself from Nemesis, Inspector Juliano stopped by for tea? “Where’s Angela?” She could use a buffer between them about now.
“She went inside. Probably to grab one of those muffins Nico made.”
At the mention of muffins, Morgan realized she’d forgotten to schedule in breakfast again and then lunch, which baffled her because Nico made the best blueberry muffins in the county.
“Here.” Gage pushed a bottle of water into her hands, squatted down next to her, and dragged a semi-clean rag across her forehead. “Damn. That’s going to bruise. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Holy. The man wore simple dark slacks and a blazer as perfectly as he had the tux. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think I’d see you again after the other night.”
“Hmmmm.” He pressed gentle fingertips against the sore spot on her head. “How do you feel? Nauseated? Dizzy?”
Not from the knock on the head. “I’ve had worse. Help me up.” He grabbed hold of her hands and pulled, but before she toppled into him, she detoured and leaned on the workbench. The last thing she needed was to be in Gage Juliano’s arms again. Dammit. What was she supposed to say? She opened the water and took a long drink. “It’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I am at work.”
Morgan’s mouth went dry and she drank again, trying to swallow the panic. “You are?”
“Well, lost-and-found isn’t in my job description these days, but I thought you might like these back.” He reached back for a paper bag she hadn’t noticed before and pulled out a beautifully wrapped shoe box. He placed the gift on the trunk of the Impala. “I don’t know much about shoes, but they didn’t look as if you got them at the Salvation Army.”
“Oh.” Morgan pressed a hand against her heart as gratitude swelled within her. “Oh, I didn’t think I’d see them again. My, um, my mom bought them for me to go with the dress.” She hadn’t wanted to dwell on the loss, not when there were more important things to worry about, but the dress looked lost hanging alone in her closet.
She grabbed hold of his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, startling both of them.
She stepped away, tried to laugh, but his hand came up to cup her cheek like he had after the party. Her entire body ignited as if he’d turned on a blowtorch. So much for hoping the fireworks between them had been her imagination.
“What happened the other night?” He rubbed a thumb against her lips. She shivered, unable to pull her gaze from his. “What scared you away?”
What didn’t scare her about Gage? The way he made everything else vanish? The way her mind turned to hot, steamy soup whenever he touched her? Or maybe that with very little effort he could rip her life apart?
“The other night was a fairy tale, Gage. Make-believe. You see this?” She shouldn’t want him touching her, but she did, even as she gestured to her grungy, grease-stained cutoffs, and ripped T-shirt. “This is me, my life. I fix cars, repair water heaters, and paint siding when I’m not working, which is pretty much all the time. I’m helping to raise four foster kids and trying to keep this roof over their heads. I’m not that glamour girl you met the other night. I don’t get prettied up and go to parties and eat at the tennis club. I am not my sister.” Not that that didn’t work for Sheila. It just didn’t for Morgan.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might think that’s a good thing?”
“No.” Because no man ever had before. Not that there had been many interested. “Look, Gage, the other night was wonderful.” For the most part. “But there isn’t any room in my life for this. Besides, you’re a cop. That isn’t the most safe profession in the world, and, no offense, I can’t take on someone else to worry about.” She flailed her hand between them, gasped when he caught it and tugged her closer. “Forget what scares me, Gage.” She tried a different tactic because nothing, no good at all, could come out of what he made her feel. What he made her want. “Everything around me should scare you. You need to run.”
He ran his thumb over the sensitive skin at her wrist, jump-starting her pulse beneath his touch. He smiled, watching her as if she were a mirage in the middle of the desert, commanding every bit of his attention. “I was a cop for fifteen years, Morgan. It’ll take more than ‘all this’ to scare me, and trust me when I say I’ve learned to be extra careful. But there’s more. Something you’re not telling me.” He inclined his head, those piercing blue eyes shooting like lightning into her soul.
Anger sliced through her, sharp, irritable. She didn’t like being read so easily, which was even more reason to stay away from him. He might see too much. “Did it ever occur to you I’m just not interested?”
“No.” Gage grinned and brought her grease-covered fingers to his lips. “Fairy tales don’t work that way.”
“You’ve met Kelley.” Morgan let out a small laugh, and for a moment, rested her forehead against his chest. Big mistake. He smelled fresh, clean, and she caught a trace of . . . sawdust? Her head spun. She patted a hand against his arm, lifted her head. “She’s eight, Gage. She still thinks bedtime stories are real. Besides.” She needed to put some distance between them. “I don’t need any man riding to my rescue. I manage on my own.”
“I wouldn’t presume to rescue you. But work can’t be everything. There has to be more to life. Crap.” He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head hard. “Crap. Crap. Crap. Dammit, she broke through after all.” He rubbed fingers across his forehead as if trying to erase a thought. “Why is she always right?”
Morgan looked around for a hidden camera. “Who are you talking to?”
“Talking about, actually.” Gage blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “Okay, I’m just going to do this. Not that this will be humiliating at all. I’m hoping, praying, actually, that returning your shoes has earned me a favor in return.”
Morgan felt a labyrinth erupt around her. No clear way out, dead ends at every turn. A Minotaur lying in wait wasn’t as dangerous to her as Gage could be. So she went with, “What kind of favor?”
“What’s that calendar of yours look like for Sunday?”
“Sunday? I spend my Sundays here working on the house unless I have brunch with Dad, which I don’t.” Why, oh, why hadn’t she arranged for brunch with her father? Better yet, why hadn’t she just lied? “Gage, I know you think you’re being charming and that this is fun, trying to seduce me into a date, but—”
“Morgan, please say you’re free on Sunday because you are the only woman who can help me out of a situation with my mother.”
Morgan stared at him. Blinked. Blinked again. “Say again?”
“One afternoon with me, at my parents’ house. Family birthday party. Your presence has been, well, requested.”
“By your mother?” Morgan clarified.
“She saw that picture—”
“In the paper.” That damned picture. First Kelley, then Kent, now Gage’s mother? “And your mother is . . . ?” She waved her hand, urging him to explain.
“Obsessed with me getting married and giving her grandchildren.” He grinned, held out his arms in exaltation. “Tag. You’re it.”
“Seems like a lot to expect from one afternoon.”
“You think this is funny.”
Morgan laughed and held out a hand as he advanced on her, which made her laugh harder. “Of course I think this is funny. The big, bad inspector’s afraid of his mother. Don’t!”
Strong hands gripped her arms, freezing the laugh in her chest as he hauled her against him.
“Gage, I—” Her voice lost its strength as his gaze fell to her mouth. A whimper escaped her lips as his face dipped toward hers. Her hands skimmed the front of his shirt, grazed the taut muscles of his chest, fingers tingling against the buttons as she considered exploring further. “You can stop,” she whispered. “I’m not laughing anymore.”
Please stop. Please stop. Please . . .
Don’t stop.
And then his mouth was on hers. Doubt became vapor. Desire and passion entwined as his tongue swept over hers, teasing, exploring, tempting. Gage was all there was, all she wanted, the heat of him, the strength of him. She drew him closer, felt his leg wedge between hers as he pushed her against the workbench and pulled her higher against him. Her body pulsed, hot, ready, to the point of overheating, and still she clung, not wanting it to end. She was on the brink of surrendering to this man who had invaded her thoughts and dreams from the moment they’d met.
Her cell phone chimed, the blaring alarm cutting through the Gage-induced fog. His mouth lifted, but only enough for him to press his forehead against hers. His fingers continued to stroke her face, his breath hot against her face. “Time’s up.” Except, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what was next on her calendar.
“Is that a yes to Sunday?” His question brushed against her cheek, against her heart.
The only excuse she had for saying no meant confessing to a felony. She nodded.
“Thank you.” The relief in Gage’s voice did nothing to quell the hammering of her heart. A date. With a cop. What the hell was she playing at? “I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”
And then he was gone. Morgan raised her hand to her mouth, touching her swollen lips.
The back door banged open. Tiny feet ran down the stairs.
“Morgan, what did he give you?” Kelley slammed into her side, her arms wrapping around Morgan’s waist as the little girl bounced on her toes. “The bag. I heard it’s a present. Ooooh. Is that it? What’s in the box?”
“Th-the what?” What was it about the man that left her stammering? She dislodged Kelley from her person and walked over to the car, then stopped before she picked up the package. “My hands are dirty. Would you like to open it?”
Kelley scrubbed her eager hands down her dress.
Morgan pressed her lips into a silent smile as Kelley scooted the ribbon and bow off, then plucked each corner of the paper free.
Kelley huffed out a breath as the paper released and she lifted the lid and rose up on tiptoe to peer inside. Morgan moved in behind her. “It’s your shoes.”
Kelley lifted them out and twirled around the garage, prism rainbows erupting against the car as the light caught the beaded straps.
“Can I have them please?” Morgan asked.
“Nope.” Kelley hugged them against her chest and shook her head with such defiance that Morgan frowned. But then the wonder erupted on the child’s face. “You really are Cinderella.”
“I’m really not.” Morgan held out her hands. “Give me the shoes.”
“Uh-uh. I need to keep them safe for when Prince Charming needs them.” She dashed toward the back door.
“Kelley—” This little fantasy of hers was getting out of hand, but it was too late. Kelley was gone.
So were Cinderella’s shoes.