“Russ is in soon, I’ll be fine,” Fifi assured her.

Pandora winced. She’d forgotten Russ was starting today. Adding that to her to-do list, she headed back to the café and its tiny kitchen. As she went, though, she heard the whispers start.

Like a wave, the words flowed toward her, softly at first, then crashing in a big splash. Caleb Black. Dumped the poor sweet sheriff. What could she be thinking? Poor mother, had to come home to fix it.

Pandora’s feet froze on the threshold of the café. A part of her wanted to turn around and face the gossips. To insist they say it to her face so she could refute their words. The rest of her wanted to run into the back room as fast as she could, tugging her hair as she went to relieve the pressure on her brain.

She wasn’t going to think about it, she decided as she forced her feet to move. She couldn’t. Her mother had told her to choose a path and this was the one she was on. She was in love with Caleb Black. And if that meant dealing with gossip, then she’d deal.

Washing her hands, she let the water trickle over her skin, warming her and easing the tension. Eyes closed, she took some deep breaths and tried to center herself.

Out the kitchen window, a movement caught her eye. Three scruffy-looking guys were arguing in the alley. She frowned, realizing one of them was Russ. What was he doing back there?

Then one of them took a swing at another. She gasped, stepping back and cringing. Before she could go get the phone to call Tobias for help, a fourth guy waded in.

Pandora’s heart calmed. Sheriff Kendall. He’d deal with it. Remembering her mother’s warning about chasing miseries, she turned away. She didn’t want to see, hear or experience anything else that stirred up tension, so she ignored the rest of the drama and got to work. She had cookies to bake, sandwiches to prep and éclairs to pipe.

An hour later, she was still in her Zen mood as she arranged half the cookies on a large silver platter and the others in to-go boxes.

“Darling, this is wonderful,” her mother drawled as she swept into the tiny kitchen, mingling the scent of peanut butter and chocolate with the aroma of Chanel and the nag champa incense she always burned at home. “I love the ambience. And these tables are so adorable. It’s so clever, the way you’ve used the red soy candles in the dish of rose quartz. Love and lust, with just enough liking to keep things from getting sticky, hmm?”

Her Zen shot all to hell, Pandora just shrugged. She knew she was pouting like a brat, but she didn’t want to face her mother yet. She’d been happily distracted by Caleb. Incredible sex and the realization that she was falling in love was enough for any girl to handle for one morning, wasn’t it?

“Darling, don’t be in a snit. You came home for a reason, didn’t you?” As soon as Pandora opened her mouth to say that yes, she’d come home because she needed a job, Cassiopeia waved her hand. “And it had nothing to do with that drama you’d fallen into. That was just an excuse. A crossroads, if you’d like. It was time for you to face your destiny, and fate obviously felt you needed a nudge to get you to do so.”

“Right. Being under police suspicion, used by the man I was sleeping with and then fired from my job were all the work of fate,” Pandora snipped.

“Of course not. Those were all the result of your choices, dear. Not bad or good choices, mind you. Simply ones you made without stopping to listen to your intuition. Fate just used them to move you along.”

“Mom, stop,” Pandora barked, perilously close to tears again. Was anyone on earth as frustrating as her mother? “I obviously have no intuition. So will you please let it go? I’m never going to be what you’d like. I wish you’d just accept that I’m a failure as an Easton so we can both relax.”

Stepping back so fast her rust-and-hunter-green caftan caught on the corner of the counter, Cassiopeia gave a shocked gasp and slapped her hand over her heart. Even though her shoulders were tense with anger and her stomach was tight with stress, Pandora almost giggled. Nobody did the drama show quite like her momma.

“A failure? That’s ridiculous,” Cassiopeia snapped. She lifted her chin so her red curls swept over her shoulders, and crossed her arms over her chest in the same gesture Pandora herself used when she was upset. “Let’s not confuse things here, young lady. You’re not angry with me.”

“No? Care to bet on that?”

“You’re angry with yourself. And with good reason. You can’t blame me for your choices, Pandora. Or for your inability to step up and accept responsibility for making them.”

Pandora felt as if she’d just been punched in the gut and couldn’t find her own breath. Yes, she’d made a mistake. But the mistake was that she’d trusted the wrong person. That she’d fallen in love with the idea of love, and overlooked the warning signs. Blinking tears away, she wanted to yell that she wasn’t irresponsible. But her throat was too tight to get the words out.

“Until you trust yourself, you’ll never see what’s right in front of you,” Cassiopeia said with a regal toss of her curls. “You’re too busy being scared, running and doubting. And, sadly, placing blame instead of having faith in yourself.”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Pandora snapped. Fury was red, hazing her vision and letting truths fly that she’d spent most of her life hiding from. “I grew up in the shadow of your reputation.”

“And you have a problem with my reputation?” Behind the haughtily raised brows and arch tone, Pandora heard a hint of hurt. But the words were already tumbling off her tongue and she couldn’t quite figure out how to grab them back.

“I couldn’t live up to your reputation, Mother. Nobody could. Especially not with everyone in town poking and judging me, and you always prodding me to find something that we both know damn well doesn’t exist.”

Cassiopeia sagged. As though someone had let the air out of her, her shoulders, face and chin drooped. She gave a huge sigh, then shook her head as if defeated.

“I can’t do this again, Pandora. You refuse to hear me. You snub my guidance while hiding behind your insecurities.” She swept a hand through her hair, leaving the curls a messy tangle around a face that suddenly looked older than her years. “Perhaps it’s my fault. Not, as you seem to think, for being myself. I see nothing wrong with being the best I can and embracing my strengths. But I must have gone wrong somewhere if you’re so afraid of life that you have to blame me.”

Guilt was so bitter on Pandora’s tongue she couldn’t get any words past it. Just as well, since she had no idea what the words would be.

“I’m going home,” her mother declared. “When you’re ready to talk…if you’re ready to talk, I’ll be there for you.”

Pandora didn’t know if she wanted to call her back, to try to fix the mess they’d left splattered between them. Or if she wanted a little time and distance, at least until she figured out what she wanted to say.

But, as usual, it wasn’t up to her. Her mother swept from the room, taking all the choices with her.


“SO WHAT’S THE DEAL? You’re finally willing to talk? Or are you just stopping by to check out the bikes?”

Hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans, Caleb grimaced at his father’s words. He looked around the showroom of the bike shop, noting the gleaming chrome of the custom hogs and a few Indians and shrugged. “They are pretty sweet-looking bikes.”

“Yeah, they are,” Tobias agreed. He patted the diamond-tucked leather of one seat and nodded. “Best game in town, too. I get the parts dirt cheap, Lucas puts them together for a song and I sell them at a profit of about one, one-fifty percent.”

“Sounds like a legit business to me.”

“I told you, son. I’ve gone straight.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He wanted to. He’d spent most of his childhood wishing and hoping to hear his dad say those words. Hell, the last thing he’d told his old man before he’d left for college was that he wasn’t coming home until the guy was clean. But when Tobias had called two years back with that same claim, Caleb hadn’t bought it.

And now?

“There’s plenty of challenge in making this place turn a profit. Between figuring out how to lure in the gullible and get them to open their wallets for a custom bike, special maintenance plans, yearly trade-ins and upgrades, I’m finding plenty to do.”

“As challenging as scamming the head of a national bank out of five hundred large? How does customer service stack against selling bridge investments?” Caleb looked around the shop, noting that like everything his father owned, it was pristine, upscale and just a little edgy. “Does monthly inventory give you the same thrill as selling a fake Renoir to a reclusive art buff?”

Tobias’s grin, so much like Caleb’s own, flashed as he dropped onto a long, glittery red Naugahyde bench that spanned the center of the showroom. “Those were good times, I have to admit. But these are, too. The key to anything in life is to have fun with it, Caleb. If you’re enjoying what you do, you’ll live a happy, fulfilled life.”

One of the pearls of wisdom Tobias had shared many a time with his children over the years. And frustratingly enough, the one that had been ricocheting around Caleb’s head for the least year as he’d fought burnout and disenchantment.

“So tell me the truth, son. Why are you really here?”

“To see your shop.” Caleb sidestepped. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. Or to figure out who he really was, or some stupid touchy-feely thing like that.

Pulling his face in consideration, Tobias gave a slow nod. He got to his feet and walked over, patting Caleb on the shoulder before stepping around him and heading toward the back room.