He glanced out the window. Temple was down on the dock again. It had been so long since she’d made a snarky remark that he was starting to worry about her. She wasn’t working out as much these days, and she barely spoke. He needed Lucy here to talk to her. To talk to him. For all Lucy’s complaining that he never told her anything, she could read his mind better than anyone.

What if she wasn’t taking care of that cut on her heel? And for all he knew, she might have a concussion. A dozen things could be happening to her over there, none of them good. Bree knew who Lucy was, and he suspected Mike Moody did, too. All either of them had to do was make one phone call and the press would be swarming. He wanted Lucy where he could watch her, damn it. And take her to bed.

He’d always been a serial monogamist. He was used to going long periods without a woman, and sooner or later he’d get used to this. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel her moving under him, over him, hear the catch of her breath, the soft moans, the entreaties. He wanted to hold her. Taste her. Make her laugh. He wanted to talk to her, really talk.

That brought him up short. She was too damned softhearted. If he really talked to her, she might start thinking about his well-being instead of her own. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

BREE HEADED BACK TO THE cottage from the farm stand. Lucy had disappeared, and Toby was on duty. He complained bitterly about being overworked, but Bree had turned mean lately, and she’d told him she liked making kids suffer.

“Make sure you don’t get shortchanged,” she’d reminded him.

He’d given her one of his looks, since they both knew he was quicker with numbers, and she was far more likely to have that happen to her.

She’d been halfway down the drive when something had made her stop and call back to him. “Hey, punk!”

“What do you want now?”

“Your mom was really good at math, too,” she’d said.

He’d stood completely still before he turned away. “Whatever.”

Despite his phony nonchalance, Bree knew he loved hearing about his parents, and she’d been dredging up every story she could remember.

She couldn’t recall exactly when she’d stopped wanting to reach for her cigarettes whenever she thought about David. The pain and that aching sense of regret had faded so gradually she’d barely noticed.

Just before she reached the honey house, she heard a rustle. Branches moved in one of the clump maples that bordered the woods. There was no breeze this afternoon, so it could have been a squirrel, but—

The branches swayed again, and she caught a glimpse of a woman—a tourist who’d lost her way? She went to investigate.

A particularly foul stream of curses assailed her ears as she pushed through the weeds. She came upon a dark-haired woman trying to disentangle her purple yoga pants from the blackberry brambles. As soon as the woman looked up, Bree experienced a jolt of recognition. First Lucy Jorik had popped up and now Temple Renshaw? What was going on? She hurried over to help.

The woman tugged at the knit fabric of her pants. “Why would you keep something this vicious around?”

Bree descended to teen-speak. “Uh, like for the blackberries?”

Renshaw snorted, then cursed again and sucked a scratch on the back of her hand.

Bree knew her from Fat Island, a show she hated but that Scott had loved. He’d taken pleasure in the way Temple tormented the contestants, boasted about his own fitness, and drooled over the vapid, bikini-clad psychiatrist who supposedly counseled them. “That is one hot shrink,” he’d said more than once. “If you had tits like hers, I’d be a happy man.”

Instead of telling him that if he had a shred of decency, she’d be a happy woman, she’d nursed her hurt in silence.

Finally free of the brambles, Temple gazed past Bree toward the cottage. “I’m looking for a friend.”

Bree was immediately on guard. “Friend?”

“Black hair. Tattoos. Chubby thighs.”

Temple could only be talking about Lucy—although Lucy had great legs—but Bree wasn’t giving out any information. “Chubby thighs?”

Temple climbed through the weeds toward the cottage, not waiting for an invitation. “A lot of women carry weight there. It’s so unnecessary.”

Bree followed her, both put off by her high-handed manner and curious. As Temple reached the yard, she took in the hives and the ripening tomatoes in the garden. She wore no makeup to hide the hollows under her eyes, and her hair, long and lustrous on-screen, was pulled into a haphazard ponytail. The muscles and tendons in her upper torso were too gristly for Bree’s taste, and her tight-fitting workout clothes clung to an unnaturally rippled abdomen. She looked better on television.

Temple examined the scratch on her hand. “She left a note at the house saying she was coming here. I have to talk to her.”

Lucy had mentioned a friend who was staying at the house, but she hadn’t offered any details, and Bree had forgotten about it. She’d certainly never imagined Lucy’s friend was Temple Renshaw.

Temple looked her square in the eye. “Is she around?”

Bree wasn’t good at standing up to assertive people, but she didn’t know whether Lucy wanted to see this woman or not. “There’s nobody here now but me.”

Temple shoved back a lock of dark hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Temple ignored her. She crossed the yard and dropped down on the back step—the same place where Bree used to spend so much time.

Bree couldn’t throw her off the property physically, so she shrugged and echoed Toby. “Whatever.”

TOBY WAS WORRIED. THE GLASS ornaments Bree had hand-painted with scenes from the island and sold for thirty-five dollars each were all gone, but instead of saving the money, she’d bought more to paint. It was stupid. Labor Day was three weeks away, and the tourists would be gone after that. She didn’t have time to sell more, and then what were they going to do for money? This had been the worst summer of his life. He was never going to see Eli and Ethan again. Even Mike hadn’t been around much lately. He was too busy with clients.

A gray SUV stopped. As the door opened, he saw the driver was Panda. Now that he’d gotten to know him better, Toby wasn’t so scared of him. Panda let Toby take a kayak out, and the two of them had paddled around the cove and even into the lake. Panda also let Toby help chop down a dead tree. Toby hoped he’d be as cool as Panda when he grew up. He liked the way Panda walked, like he was real tough and never had to worry about anything. He liked his shades. Nobody would ever mess with a guy liked Panda.

“How you doing, pal?” Panda said as he approached. “Made any money?”

“Sixty-eight dollars this afternoon.”

“That’s good.” He looked around. “I thought Lucy might be working here today.”

Toby shrugged. “I don’t know where she is.”

Panda nodded like he was thinking that over, although Toby couldn’t really see what there was to think about. “How is she?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess.” The scab on Toby’s knee was itching. He scratched around it.

“Is she walking okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is she limping or anything like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess not.”

Panda shoved his hand through his hair, like he might be getting a little upset. He was acting weird. “But she’s talking to you?”

“Sure.”

“So … Did she say anything to you about … anything?”

“Lots of stuff.”

“Like what?”

Toby thought about it. “She said she didn’t think anybody should go around saying the n-word, not even if they’re black like me. Her brother, Andre, is black. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

“She doesn’t think a lot of hip-hop artists are good role models for kids, but I think they are. They make a lot of money and everything.” Panda kept looking at him, like he expected Toby to say more, but Toby didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. “She put a mashed-up sweet potato in some bread she made, but it still tasted good.”

Panda kept staring at him. Toby was starting to wish he’d go away. “She told Bree that she likes to ride horses.”

Panda wandered over to the honey and stared at it, like he was really interested in honey. “Did she say anything about me?”

His scab was itching again. “I don’t know. I guess not.”

Panda nodded, stared at the honey some more, then grabbed a bottle. Only after he was back in his car did Toby see that he’d paid for it with a twenty-dollar bill. “Hey!”

But Panda was pulling away.

LUCY HEARD THEIR VOICES BEFORE she reached the cottage. She’d hoped to write another few pages this afternoon, but an overpowering urge to eat something sweet had driven her back to the house. She was finding it more difficult to adjust to her former healthy eating habits than she’d ever imagined possible. In the old days, she seldom ate when she wasn’t hungry, but two months of “dieting” had made her obsess about food. Now, when she was uncomfortable, tired, or unhappy, all she wanted to do was stuff her mouth. No wonder most people gained their weight back after they dieted.

As the voices grew louder, she readjusted the beach towel she’d bunched under her arm and stopped to listen.

“You should leave now,” she heard Bree say.

“Not until I see Lucy,” Temple retorted.

“She’s gone.”

“I don’t believe you. Her things are still in her bedroom at the house.”

Bree hesitated. “Only because she doesn’t want them anymore.”

“Tell me another one. Where is she?”

“I’m not her keeper. How am I supposed to know?”

Lucy listened in bemusement as the timid field mouse stood up to the Evil Queen. What had happened to the insecure woman Lucy had first met? Lucy reluctantly stepped out of the trees. Temple slammed her hands on her hips. “There you are! I’m furious with you.”

“Leave her alone,” the field mouse said.

Temple stalked toward Lucy. “It was bad enough for you to walk out on Panda, but I didn’t do anything, and you had no right to walk out on me. Did you stop for one second to think how I’d feel when I heard you’d run away without a word? I’m so furious with you that I don’t care if I ever speak to you again.”

“Then why are you here?” Bree’s jaw set in a newly stubborn line.

Temple spun on her. “Stay out of this. It has nothing to do with you.”

“This is my house, and Lucy’s my guest. That makes it my business.”

Lucy forced herself to step in. “Have the two of you been properly introduced? Bree West, this is Temple Renshaw. Temple, Bree.”

“I know who she is,” Bree said tightly.

Lucy regarded her ruefully. “Believe it or not, Temple really isn’t quite as rude as she seems.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for me,” Temple retorted, taking in Lucy’s chin-length and much neater hairdo—compliments of Bree and her scissors. “I’m still infuriated with you.”

“I understand,” Lucy conceded. “And you’re right. I’m sorry. I should at least have left you a note.”

Temple sniffed. “You deserve to be sorry. When are you coming home?”

“She’s not,” Bree said firmly. “She’s staying here.”

“That’s what you think.”

Listening to the two of them argue over her made Lucy feel better than she had in days. Temple turned her back to Bree. Some of her aggression faded, and her brow knit with concern. “What did he do to you? He told me what happened at that dive you went to, but I know he didn’t tell me everything.” And then, to Bree, with forced politeness, “Would you mind going away so Lucy and I can talk?”

Lucy reluctantly put a halt to their tiff. “Stop glowering at her, Temple. She has every right to be here. I was planning to talk to you. I just didn’t want to go back to the house to do it.”

Wrong thing to say. Temple’s brow shot up in righteous anger. “Then obviously our friendship isn’t important to you.”

“That’s not true.” Lucy dropped her beach towel in a patch of shade and sat on it. As the spicy scent of basil drifted toward her, she filled Temple in on more of the details of what had happened at The Compass. When she was done, she hugged her knees to her chest. “I thought I was so tough.”

“You’re not seriously blaming yourself for not being able to fight off those gangsters,” Temple said.

“Other women do it.”

“In the movies.”

Her indignation was comforting, but Lucy couldn’t give herself a free pass.

In a single graceful movement, Temple dropped beside her on the beach towel. “I don’t understand why Panda was so stingy with the details.”

“Client privilege, I’m sure.” Lucy swallowed her bitterness. “Basically, that’s how he still sees me. As his responsibility.”