to think was, she would finally have her own family. Her child.
Joy had been living in Boise back then, starting up her virtual assistant business and working with several of the small businesses in town. One of those was Mike’s Bikes, a custom motorcycle shop owned by Mike Davis.
Mike was charming, handsome and had the whole bad-boy thing going for him, and Joy fell hard and fast. Swept off her feet, she gave herself up to her first real love affair and thought it would be forever. It lasted until the day she told Mike she was pregnant, expecting to see the same happiness in him that she was feeling. Mike, though, had no interest in being anyone’s father—or husband, if it came to that. He told her they were through. She was a good time for a while, but the good time was over. He signed a paper relinquishing all future rights to the child he’d created and Joy walked away.
When she was a kid, she’d come to Franklin with a foster family for a long weekend in the woods and she’d never forgotten it. So when she needed a fresh start for her and her baby, Joy had come here, to this tiny mountain town. And here is where she’d made friends, built her family and, at long last, had finally felt as though she belonged.
And of all the things she’d been gifted with since moving here, Deb Casey, her best friend, was at the top of the list.
Deb Casey walked to Joy and looked out the window at the two little girls rolling around on the winter brown grass with a fat black puppy. Their laughter and the puppy’s yips of excitement brought a quick smile. “She’s as crazy about that puppy as my Lizzie.”
“I know.” Joy sighed a little and leaned on her friend’s kitchen counter. “Holly’s telling everyone she’s getting a puppy of her own for Christmas.”
“A white one,” Deb supplied.
Rolling her eyes, Joy shook her head. “I’ve even been into Boise looking for a white puppy, and no one has any. I guess I’m going to have to start preparing her for the fact that Santa can’t always bring you what you want.”
“Oh, I hate that.” Deb turned back to the wide kitchen island and the tray of tiny brownies she was finishing off with swirls of white chocolate icing. “You’ve still got a few weeks till Christmas. You might find one.”
“I’ll keep looking, sure. But,” Joy said, resigned, “she might have to wait.”
“Because kids wait so well,” Deb said with a snort of laughter.
“You’re not helping.”
“Have a brownie. That’s the kind of help you need.”
“Sold.” Joy leaned in and grabbed one of the tiny brownies that was no more than two bites of chocolate heaven.
The brownies, along with miniature lemon meringue pies, tiny chocolate chip cookies and miniscule Napoleons, would be filling the glass cases at Nibbles by this afternoon. The restaurant had been open for only a couple of years, but it had been a hit from the first day. Who wouldn’t love going for lunch where you could try four or five different types of sandwiches—none of them bigger than a bite or two? Gourmet flavors, a fun atmosphere and desserts that could bring a grown woman to tears of joy, Nibbles had it all.
“Oh, God, this should be illegal,” Joy said around a mouthful of amazing brownie.
“Ah, then I couldn’t sell them.” Deb swirled white chocolate on a few more of the brownies. “So, how’s it going up there with the Old Man of the Mountain?”
“He’s not old.”
“No kidding.” Deb grinned. “I saw him sneaking into the gallery last summer, and I couldn’t believe it. It was like catching a glimpse of a unicorn. A gorgeous unicorn, I’ve got to say.”
Joy took another brownie and bit into it. Gorgeous covered it. Of course, there was also intriguing, desirable, fascinating, and as yummy as this brownie. “Yeah, he is.”
“Still.” Deb looked up at Joy. “Could he be more antisocial? I mean, I get why and all, but aren’t you going nuts up there with no one to talk to?”
“I talk to him,” Joy argued.
“Yes, but does he talk back?”
“Not really, though in his defense, I do talk a lot.” Joy shrugged. “Maybe it’s hard for him to get a word in.”
“Not that hard for me.”
“We’re women. Nothing’s that hard for us.”
“Okay, granted.” Deb smiled, put the frosting back down and planted both hands on the counter. “But what’s really going on with you? I notice you’re awful quick to defend him. Your protective streak is coming out.”
That was the only problem with a best friend, Joy thought. Sometimes they saw too much. Deb knew that Joy hadn’t dated anyone in years. That she hadn’t had any interest in sparking a relationship—since her last one had ended so memorably. So of course she would pick up on the fact that Joy was suddenly very interested in one particular man.
“It’s nothing.”
“Sure,” Deb said with a snort of derision. “I believe that.”
“Fine, it’s something,” Joy admitted. “I’m not sure what, though.”
“But he’s so not the kind of guy I would expect you to be interested in. He’s so—cold.”
Oh, there was plenty of heat inside Sam Henry. He just kept it all tamped down. Maybe that’s what drew her to him, Joy thought. The mystery of him. Most men were fairly transparent, but Sam had hidden depths that practically demanded she unearth them. She couldn’t get the image of the shadows in his eyes out of her mind. She wanted to know why he was so shut down. Wanted to know how to open him up.
Smiling now, she said, “Holly keeps telling me he’s not mean, he’s just crabby.”
Deb laughed. “Is he?”
“Oh, definitely. But I don’t know why.”
“I might.”
“What?”
Deb sighed heavily. “Okay, I admit that when you went to stay up there, I was a little worried that maybe he was some crazed weirdo with a closet full of women’s bones or something.”
“I keep telling you, stop watching those horror movies.”
Deb grinned. “Can’t. Love ’em.” She picked up the frosting bag as if she needed to be doing something while she told the story. “Anyway, I spent a lot of time online, researching the local hermit and—”
“What?” And why hadn’t Joy done the same thing? Well, she knew why. It had felt like a major intrusion on his privacy. She’d wanted to get him to actually tell her about himself. Yet here she was now, ready to pump Deb for the information she herself hadn’t wanted to look for.
“You know he used to be a painter.”
“Yes, that much I knew.” Joy took a seat at one of the counter stools and kept
