“Let’s not talk about that right now. What interests me is that Mom told me you’ve always been high-strung where Zeke is concerned. That you’ve been worried about him having an affair for years when, in fact, he adores you.”

She watched emotions skitter across her sister’s face, as if Alexis couldn’t decide what to say.

“I’m tired,” Gracie said. “So far my visit back here makes me wish I was an orphan. Just tell me the truth.”

Alexis pressed her lips together. “There are some charges on e-Bay, and I did see him with Pam.”

“But…”

“There could be another woman. He’s always gone and-”

Gracie grabbed her sister’s arm. “Dammit, Alexis, be straight with me. Were you just off having a tantrum?”

“Of course not.”

Gracie waited.

Her sister tugged free and folded her arms over her chest. “Okay. Maybe sometimes I sort of overreact, but not this time.”

Gracie groaned. “Great.”

“I mean it. I really think there’s somebody else.”

Gracie stood. “Whatever. I’m not going to help you anymore. Don’t ask me, don’t even hint at it. If you have a problem with your husband, take it up with him and leave me out of it.”

Alexis sniffed. “You’re my sister. I would think you’d be more understanding.”

“Then you’d be wrong.”

ONE OF THE BEST parts of being the boss was that nobody screwed with him. Riley knew he could walk through the bank without hearing a whisper directed at him. He figured all his employees were having a field day with the newspaper picture behind his back, but he didn’t care about that. As long as they didn’t say anything to his face, he was fine.

The one person who might have the balls to confront him hadn’t said a word in the past two days. But when Diane appeared in his office late that morning, he wondered if his good fortune had run out.

“Good news or bad news?” he asked, pointing at the folder in her hand.

“I’m not in a position to claim either,” she said. “Zeke Bridges sent this over. Mayor Yardley is challenging you to a debate.”

“Really? Could be fun.” Riley took the folder and flipped through the contents. He scanned the mayor’s press release.

“Mayor Yardley thinks we should discuss the issues, along with the morals so near and dear to the hearts of our citizens.”

Respectability. Why was that always at the center of everything?

He looked at his secretary, taking in her stern expression and unyielding posture.

“Think I have a chance?” he asked.

“People around here would like you more if you’d donate the money for the new children’s wing for the hospital.”

He grinned. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it’s this important.”

He held up a hand before she could get on a roll. “Spare me the lecture on the needy children and how they could all be saved.”

Her response was a disapproving sniff. Chances were he had not won the heart or vote of the fair Diane.

“Thanks for bringing me this,” he said and set the folder on the desk.

She turned to leave, but he called her back before she could.

“I have a question,” he told her. “I would like you to be honest with me.”

She nodded regally. “I always am.”

“Good. Did you enjoy working for my uncle?”

“He was a fair employer.”

“Did you like him?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Liking or not liking isn’t part of my job.”

“Agreed, but you still have feelings and opinions. What did you think of him?”

“That you’re more like him than you think.”

It was the second time someone had said that to him in the past week, and Riley didn’t like hearing it this time any more than he had before.

GRACIE RETURNED to her rental house to find her cell phone on the table, where she’d accidentally left it. There was one message, which she listened to.

“Hi, Gracie. It’s Melissa Morgan from the Los Lobos Heritage Society. I’d really like to talk to you. Give me a call.”

The woman left her number, which Gracie reluctantly wrote down, before calling her back. Melissa Morgan had sounded far too chipper in her message and Gracie didn’t trust that for a second.

The woman picked up on the first ring and Gracie identified herself.

“Oh, you’re a doll for calling me back,” Melissa said in one of those high-pitched voices that could easily crack glass. “Here’s the thing. We all know your mom and have heard about your little cake-baking business and we were thinking it would just be so incredibly sweet if you made our cake for us. She suggested it, actually. We’re having a fund-raiser for the Historical Society. The old Strathern place has been completely redone, back to its original elegance. You know the Stratherns, don’t you. The judge and his daughter Jill. Of course she’s Jill Kendrick now that she’s married the sheriff and all. What a beautiful wedding they had. Anyway, about the cake. We were thinking something simple to serve about three hundred. How many sheet cakes would that be?”

Gracie felt her chest tighten in sympathy. The woman had barely stopped for breath. Then the reality of what she’d said sunk in. No, no, no. She didn’t want to do this. Yuck.

“You want sheet cakes?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as horrified as she felt. “You know I make wedding cakes, right?”

“Oh, sure. That’s what your mom said. But a little round cake wouldn’t serve very many, would it?”

A little round cake? Gracie thought about pounding her head against the wall until she caused enough brain damage to create amnesia. Wouldn’t it be great if she forgot this entire town existed? Because saying no wasn’t an option.

“I can do something a little nicer than a sheet cake and still serve three hundred,” she said. “Why don’t you let me work up some sketches.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Melissa said. “Just something simple and yummy.” There was a slight pause. “Did you want us to pay you for this? Your mom said you wouldn’t and we don’t want to be rude or anything, but our budget is kind of tight.”

Of course it was, Gracie thought, eyeing the wall. Her mother might be disappointed by her Gracie’s behavior, but she thought nothing of volunteering her daughter’s time and energy. “Don’t worry. It will be my contribution.”

She would keep detailed records of her supplies and more importantly, her time, then submit it as a charitable deduction on her taxes.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing. The event is Sunday, June 5th. Oh, that’s only a couple of days before the election.” Melissa laughed. “I know this was ages ago and your mom really doesn’t like anyone talking about it, but I have to tell you that I was in Riley’s grade in high school. We all got a real kick out of some of the things you did. You sure knew how to get your man.”

Gracie was grateful not to have to fake a smile. She thought about pointing out that she’d never in fact gotten her man and that she’d probably emotionally scarred him for life.

Instead she made a few polite noises and quickly got off the phone.

“I have to kill myself now,” she murmured when she’d dropped her cell into her purse.

Instead of reaching for a sharp knife, she crossed to her baking schedule and figured out how, exactly, she was going to squeeze in a cake for three hundred right in the middle of wedding season. Despite Melissa’s desire for a sheet cake, Gracie simply couldn’t do that. She would have to come up with a simple, yet elegant design that would…

Someone knocked on her front door. Gracie glanced over her shoulder and thought about not answering it, but with her luck, the person in question wouldn’t go away.

She braced herself for another attack from a family member or an adorable child asking her to bake something for the local orphanage and pulled open the door.

It was worse than she’d imagined.

Fourteen years ago Gracie’s one goal in her small, teenaged life had been to get Riley to notice her. She hadn’t liked it when he’d dated all kinds of girls, but she consoled herself with the fact that no one had ever caught his attention. Until Pam. Once he’d started going out with that beautiful, blond cheerleader, he’d stopped dating the masses. Gracie had been crushed and had launched her campaign to keep the young lovers apart.

Obviously their getting married had proved how unsuccessful that campaign had been. Their divorce a few months later had been too little, too late.

Since then she’d done all that she could to put her past behind her. So coming face-to-face with it now didn’t make her want to hula for joy.

“Wow! Gracie. Hi!” Pam Whitefield grinned like a Cheshire cat. “You look great. Welcome back to Los Lobos. How are you?”

Pam’s obvious delight and bright, cheery voice made Gracie want to turn around and see who stood behind her, because there was no way Pam could have all this enthusiasm for her.

“Uh, Pam. Hi.”

“Can I come in?” Pam asked, breezing past her and walking into the small living room. “How have you been? Oh, I saw that article in People magazine and I was just thrilled for you. You’re famous. Isn’t that fabulous?”

“I was excited.”

Gracie spent her life in the kitchen and she dressed casually-khakis, polo shirts, comfortable shoes. Pam was four years older, but didn’t look it. Her elegant tailored slacks fit her in such a way that she seemed to be about as big around as a pencil. A silk sweater clung to a narrow waist and slightly oversized breasts.

Gracie fit right in with the California cliché of a blue-eyed blonde, but compared with Pam’s gleaming hair and perfectly made-up face, she was positively dull. Pam’s short blond hair moved with the easy elegance of a movie star’s. There wasn’t a wrinkle anywhere-not on her face or her outfit-and her shoes screamed designer. If Pam was the ideal, then Gracie fell right in line to be the cautionary tale.