ever attended. She remembered slinking about in the shadows, watching as Ricky or Marc gathered here with their high-school friends, envying them their abandoned joy, wishing...she wasn’t sure what. But wishing with all her heart anyway for something...someone.
She glanced out into the trees, wondering if there was anyone watching the way she’d watched. Sure enough, there was Marc. He wasn’t exactly hiding the way she had, but he was watching. Right now, he had his attention trained on someone else, though, and that made her smile. He was so busy keeping tabs on everyone. What made a man so paranoid?
But she knew very well what did that. It affected her, too.
He glanced her way and her gaze met his and she made a face, hoping to annoy him. Then she winked, for no reason at all. She caught the ghost of a smile on his face before he turned away and started watching the big Texan who was enthralling one and all with tales of his cowboy days herding cattle out on the range, heading for the Chicago stockyards.
“Has this guy ever heard that trains took over that job about a hundred years ago?” Frank muttered as he walked past her.
She glanced around the circle. Once again, Carl had disappeared and she frowned. What was his problem, anyway?
Someone put a stick in her hand and she noticed, vaguely, there was something white attached to the end of it.
“Oh my gosh,” Lyla cried out as someone handed her one too. “Toasted marshmallows on a stick. Are you serious?”
Torie blinked, realizing she was right. Dutifully, she began waving it toward the flames but she wasn’t particularly interested in the results.
“You’re letting it burn,” a low voice said from behind. Marc had come in from the cold and he reached out and took the stick from her, turning it expertly so that it browned evenly. He handed it back.
She gave him a questioning look, then stared at the gooey mess on the end of her stick. “I’m supposed to eat this?”
“You’ll love it.”
“I doubt it.”
He took it off the stick and popped it into her mouth before she could stop him. That made her laugh. It was good, sugary and crisp on the outside, creamy on the inside, and delicious in a simple, childish way.
“Okay, now you have to eat one,” she said.
The look on his face told her it would be a cold day before that happened.
“Where’s Carl?” he asked, looking around at the others.
That reminded her. He thought she was a crook, and if he knew who her father was, that would probably clinch the deal in his mind. She had to be careful.
“You got me,” she responded to his question about Carl. “There’s no telling where he’s gone or what he’s up to.”
He gave her a quizzical look, then shook his head, looking at her so intensely, she felt suddenly chilled.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low.
Something surged in her chest. “What? You and me?”
“Yeah.” His eyes shone in the shadows. “I want to talk to you. Alone.”
She felt the pull he had over her, but she could resist that. She bit her lower lip, thinking fast. She didn’t have time to talk. She had to get going on her plan, and she didn’t want him following her.
The first thing she wanted to do was to get to the house she’d lived in as a child, the one with the red tile roof, and do a little exploring. Luckily, Jimmy wasn’t living in it and it seemed to be empty. In fact, it seemed no one had lived in it for years. All the better for finding something left behind that might ignite a memory or her imagination in ways that could help her.
“I don’t think that will work,” she said, looking away. “People will notice.”
“And you care? Why?”
She frowned at him. “Because I’m a decent person, Marc. I want people to notice that. Maybe you don’t. But I do.”
Funny what amazing thoughts came tumbling out of her head because she felt she had to fight back against him. She’d never thought this position over, but now it seemed to be hers.
“And there’s something else,” she told him. “Look into my eyes. Do you see someone who’s attracted to you?” She glared at him. “Do you see someone who looks susceptible to your load of bull? Because I don’t. And I want you to acknowledge it.”
He stared at her and shook his head as though he thought she was nuts. “Okay,” he said. “Point taken. I was wrong. You don’t have a thing for me. I can accept that.”
“Can you, Marc?” She glared harder. “Good. Because I don’t have a crush on you. So don’t expect it.”
His mouth twisted in half a grin. “All right. Sorry I ever brought it up.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath.
His mouth twisted and his gaze was sardonic. “But you’re still not married to Carl. Isn’t that right?”
She sighed and tossed her head, letting her hair fly behind her, then looked toward the fire. When she looked back, he was gone.
* * *
But he wasn’t far away. Every nerve ending he possessed, every element of caution, was on edge. There was something going on here. He could feel it in the air. He wasn’t sure what it was—but he was going to find out.
Was Torie involved? Undoubtedly. His gaze kept getting pulled back to her, leaving him halfway between bemused and annoyed. Something about her nagged at him—as though there was something he’d forgotten, something he’d filed away and put into the wrong drawer. Something just didn’t compute. Why did she look so familiar?
And where the hell was Carl? A part of him wanted to go looking for him, but then Torie would disappear. Better to stay. Someone had to keep an eye on her.
She spoke to the Texan and laughed at something he said back, but her gaze quickly returned to search him out. What expression did he see on her face? Defiance? Anger? He wasn’t sure what it was, but it only aroused his interest. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was getting ready to make a move and he wanted to be sure he knew about it when it happened.
But the night was young and Marge had plans for them all.
“Come on, everybody,” she announced, calling them all to gather around the fire pit. “I’ve got Jimmy bringing in more wood. We’ll sit around the fire and tell stories.”
“Ghost stories?” Lyla asked, looking worried.
“No,” Marge said, laughing. “Let’s get back to the reason you’re all here. I think each of you should talk about Shangri-La and what you would do to change it into your own special dream. How about that?”
Torie couldn’t hide her smile. Marge was turning out to be quite a saleswoman. She glanced over
