had killed him. For a while it had been touch and go for their mother, who had landed in the ICU.
She’d lived, but she’d come out of the accident a paraplegic because of damage to one of the lower thoracic nerves. She passed away about a year later.
The disease hadn’t hooked its claws into Jude, who seemed to have his act together—even if he never did come home. Ethan still worried about Lucy. She was only twenty-five. She had done some things in the past—like getting caught drunk skinny-dipping in the pond out back of old man Jenkins’s hunting lodge—that made him question whether or not she was immune to alcohol’s hereditary choke hold.
For some ridiculous reason completely out of left field, Ethan found himself wondering if Chelsea Allen, the woman who’d already proven herself capable of breaking into houses, had ever been skinny-dipping.
As he chased away the inappropriate image with a sip of his beer, for a split second he craved a shot of something a hell of a lot stronger than nonalcoholic beer.
After Ethan’s own hard-traversed path to sobriety, he worried that being in a party environment—even if it would be mostly wedding receptions—wouldn’t be good for Lucy.
Sure, she was a grown woman, but she would always be his little sister. She and Jude were all the family he had left. His stance against the party barn stemmed from simply wanting to protect her. Jude may have been the prodigal brother, but Ethan was the protector. As any good big brother would, he wanted to hold back the tide and keep it from drowning her.
Even if the jury was still out on whether or not she was susceptible to the alcoholic gene, her previous, half-baked business ventures indicated she might not possess entrepreneurial instincts, either.
Obviously, she’d been talking about the party barn enough that word was starting to get around town. She hadn’t mentioned any more about it to him. But really, was that so hard to believe? Sometimes he felt like he was the last to know anything. Such as how he’d had no idea that Juliette had such a beautiful friend. Whether or not that friend was hiding something or hiding from something, Ethan couldn’t deny that she’d been front and center in his brain all night. He hadn’t had this kind of reaction to a pretty woman in a very long time.
He’d definitely stop by Juliette’s tomorrow and see what Chelsea Allen was up to.
The next morning when Chelsea’s eyes fluttered open, it took her a moment to remember that she was safe in the sanctuary of Juliette’s spare bedroom, where there was enough floral damask to rival Queen Mary’s gardens at the Regent’s Park. There were roses everywhere: on the duvet, the curtains, the wingback chair and tufted ottoman. It was so Juliette and it warmed Chelsea from the inside out.
She luxuriated in a long, slow, full-body stretch and then squinted at the clock on the nightstand to check the time. It was after nine o’clock. She should get up and get a wiggle on. Really, she should, she thought as she sank deeper into the warm bed.
Her body and mind had needed the rest. It dawned on her that this was the first time she’d slept through the night without waking since her life had blown up in the press last week, when she’d been humiliated and reduced to being the subject of lewd jokes and perverted voyeurism. Her ex-boyfriend had recorded them without her permission and released the footage, yet she was the villain. Her siblings couldn’t look her in the eyes. Her parents didn’t even want to see her face, much less help her solve the problem. They had made it perfectly clear that it was her problem. She needed to make it go away—or at least go away until it had passed.
Recently, it had been the last thing she’d thought about before she went to sleep and the first thing on her mind when she’d awoken. Until today.
This morning the first thought that had crossed her mind was flowers.
She felt safe here. Not that the press couldn’t find her in Celebration, Texas. But with neighbors looking out for neighbors and scaring away those who didn’t belong the way Ethan Campbell had last night, it would certainly make it more difficult for anyone to sneak up on her the way the reporters had in London.
Chelsea pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, determined to exorcise the media demons. She drew in a measured deep breath, held it for a few beats and exhaled.
Visions of the reporters went away, but thoughts of Ethan Campbell remained.
In the light of day he didn’t annoy her as much as he had last night. Of course, she was rested this morning and that made the whole world look better.
She took another healing breath and reminded herself everything would be okay.
Eventually.
She would put her life back together and maybe even look back at this time and laugh. Well, perhaps not laugh. That was pushing it, but she was resilient and she would be fine soon enough.
In the meantime, she had a lovely place to stay and the company of a good friend with whom she looked forward to catching up.
She’d have to figure out how to be helpful and not get under foot. She and Jules had roomed well together at university because they understood each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies. She knew Juliette well enough that she was confident she would be able to size up how her friend felt about Chelsea’s invasion the moment she walked through the front door.
Chelsea would not outstay her welcome—though deep down she hoped Juliette would be just as happy to see her as Chelsea was to reconnect with her.
But she was getting ahead of herself. First, tea. Before that could happen, she must get up and put the kettle on. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood and pulled on her fuchsia yoga pants.
After Ethan had grudgingly growled off and left her alone last night, Chelsea had made a mad dash outside to get her handbag and suitcase out of the car. She’d managed to make it back inside without drawing any more attention to herself. Or, who knows, maybe Ethan had informed the town that Jules was cool with her being there. She hoped he hadn’t told too many people. Juliette had lamented before that people in her hometown could be rather nosy. Some considered it close-knit and neighborly. But Jules had confessed that sometimes, despite good intentions, having the entire town in your business felt a little stifling. As Chelsea drew water and set the kettle on the stove, she hoped they wouldn’t be in her business—or, more aptly, in Chelsea Allen’s.
As she waited for the water to boil, she had a nose around Juliette’s cottage. It was cozy and neat as a pin. A mix of old-world charm with modern accents, it was as posh and unique as Juliette herself.
The overstuffed sofa was piled with throw pillows in luscious jewel tones and rich floral patterns. The rough-hewn parquet floor was laid in a herringbone pattern that looked as if it had been lifted from a Belle Époque Paris apartment. The walls were painted a warm, welcoming shade of pale blue, which set off the white crown molding that hugged the tiptops of the home’s tall walls. An antique Persian rug anchored the room and presented an interesting contrast to the modern wood-and-glass coffee table.
Chelsea had studied interior design at university and had even done a short stint at a high-end London firm. She loved what Juliette had done with the place. It was as spot-on as any project Chelsea might’ve planned.
She picked up a small obsidian elephant
