of the casual hooking up and the partying that went on at so many of the functions she was required to attend.
But when one of the producers of the SI shoot had looked at her critically and said, “Girlie, you could stand to lose at least five pounds,” something inside her had snapped. Enough was enough. She was already too thin for her almost six feet of height. And she wasn’t even sure she remembered her real hair color. Like most of her co-workers, she sported a distinctive hairstyle and color as part of her public persona. Unlike many of them, though, she had yet to resort to bulimic strategies, binging and purging, to lose the necessary weight. Was she anorexic? She didn’t think so. If she weren’t modeling, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t feel compelled to eat so very little.
But she wanted to find out.
“You might not be happy,” Ed said, “but you’re famous. And damned well paid. Who needs happiness when you’re a millionaire?”
The thought that she might one day become that cynical was the scariest one of all. “I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Her voice grew stronger. “I won’t live like this anymore. No more jobs. I’ll finish what I’m contracted for, but then I’m done.”
“But what in hell will you do?” Ed had asked, utterly perplexed. In his world, life was all about fame and wealth.
“Be happy,” she’d said simply. “Be an everyday, ordinary person with everyday ordinary concerns and schedules. Eat what I like. Do volunteer work, go to church. Be someone who matters because of the good I do in the world, not someone who only matters because of how good the weirdest designs on the planet look on my body.”
Yes, she’d definitely burned her bridges. She’d dropped the odd A that her mother had thought looked so sophisticated in front of plain old Lynne, and she’d begun using her real last name rather than her father’s mother’s maiden name. A’Lynne Frasier was dead, but Lynne DeVane was alive and well.
She’d moved back home to Virginia with her mother, gained back enough weight that she no longer looked as if she’d stepped out of a concentration camp and let her heavy mane of hair begin to grow back long and straight, although she wore it up and out of her face much of the time. With no makeup, her normal blond coloring made her forgettable enough that she’d managed, so far, to avoid recognition and the media harassment it would inevitably bring.
After a year, though, her sanity had demanded she find her own place to live. She’d decided on Gettysburg, just over an hour from her sister’s home. With luck, tucked away in a small town in the mountains of Pennsylvania, she would stay forgettable.
She crossed her fingers as she carried out yet another load of cardboard and stomped it flat before depositing it in the recycling container. If she didn’t run into any hard-core SI fans, she thought she had a chance.
She was getting winded after the seventh trip so she walked around to the front and lowered herself to the front steps for a few minutes to enjoy the small-town atmosphere of her new home. Holy cow. She’d thought she was in decent shape, but those stairs seemed to be getting steeper with each climb. Lowering herself to the top step on the small brick porch outside the entryway, she took a couple of deep breaths. Under her breath she muttered, “Are those boxes cloning themselves? Surely I don’t have that much junk.”
“Am I going to fall over you or your stuff again?”
Startled by the deep voice, she whirled around. Her grumpy neighbor had just opened the entrance door. His left hand was gripping the handle of a leather harness now, but the dog in the harness wasn’t the golden one she’d seen earlier. This dog was big and black and distinctly bulkier. The leather-covered metal handle, along with a leash attached to the dog’s collar, was firmly gripped in his left hand. She’d been right when she’d suspected he was blind.
Jumping to her feet, she opened her mouth to apologize again. And then she noticed he was smiling. Belatedly she realized his tone hadn’t been angry, but rather wryly amused.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just taking a breather. Those stairs are starting to make me wish I’d added a few more miles to my morning run.”
He chuckled. “Good thing it’s not a high-rise.”
She groaned. “Perish the thought. But if there was, there would be an elevator.” She took a deep breath. “I really am sorry about the boxes earlier. I guess you noticed I moved them.”
“I did.” He smiled again, strong white teeth flashing, and she was mildly shocked by her instant reaction to the impish, bad-boy quality in the expression. It invited her to smile along with him, to share some unspoken joke. It also made him one of the sexiest men she’d ever met. And it was a heck of a contrast to his earlier behavior.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I’m usually not such a bad-tempered jerk. And I know better than to leave the apartment without my trusty eyes.”
“Apology accepted,” she said. She looked at his dog. “Did you dye your dog to match your clothes or something?”
His eyebrows rose and then he laughed. He inclined his head toward the dog standing patiently at his side. “This is Cedar, my guide. The dog with me at lunchtime was Feather, my retired guide. I was just going down for my mail.”
“I thought if you weren’t using a dog you needed a cane.” She didn’t know what the protocol was for discussing a person’s handicapping condition, but he’d already yelled at her once, so what was the worst that could happen?
He grinned sheepishly. “It’s a hassle to harness the dog for such a short walk, so I don’t usually bother. I should take my cane but the mailboxes are just at the bottom of the stairs and I have the wall and railing to hang on to the whole way, so I cheat.” He extended his free right hand. “Brendan Reilly. I take it you’re my new neighbor?”
“I am,” she said. She placed her palm in his. “Lynne DeVane. It’s nice to meet you.” It was more than nice. His hand was large and warm and as his fingers closed firmly around hers, her breath caught for a moment at the leap of pleasure his touch produced deep within her. “And Cedar, too,” she added belatedly.
Reluctantly, it seemed, he let her hand slide free. “Are you almost finished moving in?”
She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. Everything’s in. And I only have about six more boxes to unpack.”
“Only?” He shook his head, and she was struck by the naturalness of the movement. He hadn’t been blind all his life; she’d bet on it. “That’s six boxes too many for me.”
“In a few more hours, they’ll all be gone. And I can’t wait!”
“If I were a really good guy, I’d offer to stay and help you unpack.” He smiled again. “Sadly, I’m not that nice. I have to get back to work.”
“Was this a lunch break?”
He nodded. “I came home to let Feather out and give her a little more attention. I’m an attorney with a law firm a few blocks from here.”
“How convenient that it’s so close.”
“It’s handy because I can get around without needing someone to drive me,” he told her.
“I like it, too,” she
