Cyndi nodded, not wanting to answer any more questions. “I haven't been back in a lot of years."

"Some things have changed, but you'll probably find almost as many that are the same. If you stop by Sampson's Garage, Mike will take care of that flat tire for you.” He wiped his hand down over his thigh and extended it. “Shamus O'Rourke."

She took his hand without thought, his name beating at her brain. “Cyndi Marks."

His much larger hand wrapped around her fingers, holding them for a brief second longer than necessary, but not so long as to make her feel uncomfortable. “Pleased to meet you, Cyndi Marks,” he murmured. “And I'll definitely be seeing you around town.” With that parting shot, he tapped his hand on the roof and turned away. “Drive carefully."

She watched as he sauntered back to his truck and climbed in. He had a loose-limbed gait that would make any woman's mouth water. But hers was dry. Shamus O'Rourke. What were the odds that she'd run into one of the O'Rourke family before she'd even hit town? She had a bad feeling about the days ahead. They were not going to be easy.

His truck pulled away and she heard the friendly toot of his horn as he gave her a wave through his open window.

Cyndi shivered, the cool wind reminding her that her window was still rolled down. She put up the window, reached into her pocket, and pulled out her keys. Shoving them into the ignition, she gave them a sharp turn. Cyndi took a deep breath, wrapped her hands around the wheel, and eased the vehicle back onto the road. She kept her speed down, not wanting to catch up with Shamus.

He obviously hadn't recognized her, but then again, why would he? She'd changed so much, and not just in appearance, since she'd left town. He'd have been a teenager when she'd dragged herself aboard the bus for Vermont so long ago. No reason he'd even remember her at all.

There were many in town who would remember her and not fondly. Her stomach lurched, and she focused on her breathing to calm herself. The past was the past. She couldn't change it, but she could try to come to terms with it and put it behind her once and for all. That was the main reason for coming back to Jamesville. Her father's death had precipitated her unexpected homecoming and brought a lot of unforeseen changes to her life.

As the town limits came into view, cold sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades, making her shiver. Memories rose up to taunt her. Cruel images from the past flitted through her mind like an old movie she had seen so many times that she knew every image and line by heart.

She drove her car down Main Street, but she didn't really see it. She focused all her attention on her destination. The stately, brick building came into view, and she pulled into a parking spot right in front of it. Stuffing her phone back into her purse, she forced herself to get out of the vehicle and lock it behind her.

Every step was torture as she made her way up the stone walkway and the three short steps that led to the door. The discreet plaque off to the side identified it as the offices of Harris and Hammond, attorneys.

Bile churned in her belly and she swallowed hard. She should have gone to a motel tonight and dealt with this in the morning. She should have given herself more time to shore up her defenses against the shadows of the past.

But it was too late. She was here and her days of being a coward were over.

Grabbing the handle, she turned it, pulling the heavy door open. As she stepped inside, she tried to compose herself as best she could. Tilting her chin up, she squared her shoulders and strode confidently to the receptionist's desk.

The older woman, dressed in a prim, gray suit, gave her a practiced smile. There was no warmth in her eyes. “May I help you?” Her tone implied that someone dressed as shoddily as Cyndi would certainly have no business in these prestigious offices.

The woman was in for a huge surprise. Not only did Cyndi have business here, she was now their biggest client, although that might change in the days ahead.

Narrowing her gaze, she stared back at the receptionist and pulled a name out of her past. It was a name she'd discarded fourteen years ago, a name she'd legally changed and never thought she'd have to use again.

"You can tell Mr. Harris that Cynthia James is here to see him."

Chapter Two

Shamus glanced in his rearview mirror, but he didn't see the white Honda behind him. He wasn't surprised. He figured that she'd hang back, not wanting to appear to be following him.

He grinned as he reached out and turned on the radio. Country music blared from the speakers, and he tapped his fingers against the wheel as he pictured Cyndi Marks.

He hadn't had a real good look at her before she'd climbed back into her car, but he figured that she was about five-five, five-six, give or take an inch. The oversized, pullover sweater she was wearing had partially concealed her figure, but Shamus knew women, and from what he'd seen, she had a nicely rounded figure beneath her clothing.

She hadn't believed him when he'd told her that she was beautiful, but what she hadn't realized was that he wasn't just talking about her physical appearance.

Not that she wasn't beautiful in a physical sense, because she was. Her light brown hair barely came to her shoulders and was tousled as if she'd shoved her fingers through it to comb it. Her skin was smooth and clear, her nose slightly tilted upward.

Her eyes were a pale blue, but they appeared troubled, as if she had a lot on her mind. Thin lines radiated out from the corners, a testament to the fact that she was a few years older than him. Shamus thought they gave her face character.

Her lips were full, but she hadn't been wearing lipstick. They were shiny though, as if she was wearing some kind of gloss.

His body responded, his cock stirring, making his jeans slightly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat to alleviate the pressure. There was something about her physical appearance that appealed to him, but it went much deeper than that.

Shamus trusted his instincts. He'd always been able to see beyond the physical, to see the real person beneath. It worked with both men and women, allowing him to really understand the people around him.

Cyndi Marks was a woman who hadn't had an easy life. It was evident in the shadows in her eyes. This woman had walls around her, large walls, to protect herself from hurt. Which meant that she'd been emotionally wounded a time or two in her lifetime.

She was an intelligent woman. That much was evident from the way she'd gotten back into her car and locked the doors as he'd approached. Some men might have been insulted. He was impressed by her common sense. He'd also noticed that she had her cell phone in her lap with her fingers poised and ready to dial.

There was a real substance to this woman. Maybe that's why he was drawn to her. While he enjoyed dating women his own age, so far he hadn't found the deeper connection he was looking for. That was fine for a casual date, but in a serious relationship, a man wanted more. At least this man did.

He drove into town and continued on down Main Street, waving to people he knew as he went. Turning off onto Peach Street, he drove to the small house near the end, pulling into the driveway. He was home.

Climbing out of his truck, he stood and just stared at the house that had been his home almost all of his life. Once it had been white, now it was a cheerful red with white shutters adorning every window.

He had a lot of wonderful memories of growing up in this house, alongside his brother and sister. Because of the deaths of their parents when they were all still young, they'd grown very close as a family. When he was still a teenager, his sister, Dani, had married Burke Black, and all of them had moved into the farmhouse Burke had purchased just outside of town. On his nineteenth birthday, he'd moved back in and claimed the house as his own. He'd eventually bought it from Dani and lovingly renovated it one room at a time, making it his own.

He'd considered moving more than once. Maybe getting something a bit larger and keeping this place to rent out for extra income. He didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to sell it. Some of the best times of his life had occurred in this home.

Walking up the front steps, he unlocked the door and let himself inside. Unlacing his boots, he yanked them off and laid them on the mat just inside the door. As he stretched his arms over his head, working out the kinks of a hard day's work, he found his thoughts returning to Cyndi Marks. What was she doing? Where would she be staying? And would he see her again?

Only time would tell. Whistling, he bound up the stairs, stripping off his dirty work shirt as he went. A nice, hot shower waited. Then he'd find something to eat.

Cyndi sat in her car and stared at the mansion in front of her. She'd grown up in this place, but it had never felt like home. It was the place she'd slept, the place that still haunted her dreams.

Opening the car door, she slid out. She reached back in and grabbed her purse before she shut the door with a heavy thunk. She was still reeling over the fact that her father, from who she'd been estranged for fourteen years, had left her everything.

Yes, the lawyers had told her that when they'd first contacted her weeks ago to start the paperwork, but she really hadn't grasped just how much money and property it had amounted to until she'd talked to them this afternoon. Seems as if her father had dedicated the last years of his life to making money. Not that it was much different from the way he'd spent his entire life when she thought about it.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the house. It loomed large, like something from a gothic novel. The wind rushed through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the large expanse of the front lawn. The flowers were long dead, the flowerbeds now covered in dried leaves and twigs.

The brick building seemed cold and forbidding as she approached it. Reaching into her purse, she dug out the set of keys that Mr. Harris had given her. Now there was a man too much like her father. He'd subtly let her know that he didn't approve of her casual manner of dress. It wasn't befitting a James. Now that was something she'd heard daily for the first twenty-five years of her life. She'd calmly told him she was no longer a James. He'd pursed his lips so hard, he'd reminded her of a prune.

She made a mental note to start searching for a new attorney tomorrow. There was nothing in the paperwork that said she had to keep using the firm of Harris and Hammond. Likely, neither her father nor his lawyers even considered the fact that she might switch. Well, they were in for an unwelcome surprise.

Sticking the key in the lock, she turned it, hearing the tumble as the bolt drew back. She clasped the handle and pushed, her moist palm slipping on the metal. The door creaked slightly, the sound grating her already frayed nerves.

"Buck up, Cyndi,” she muttered, stepping inside. The foyer was large and formal, its walls painted in a dark burgundy that seemed to suck all the light out of the place. Reaching out, she flicked the switch to turn on the overhead lamp. She was thankful the lawyers had seen to keeping the heat and electricity on at the house.

The dim glow from the overhead chandelier didn't help much. It was as if the house preferred to stay in the shadows. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. From what she could tell, the house hadn't changed at all. She could almost hear the echo of her father's voice, scolding her, taunting her, belittling her.

Opening her eyes, she closed the door behind her. A part of her wanted to run screaming from the place from which she'd escaped all those years ago. The more mature part of her insisted she had to deal with her past if she ever hoped to find some happiness in her future. The house was just stone and wood. It couldn't hurt her. The person who had done that was dead.

Her sneakers made little sound on the hardwood floor as she made her way down the hall. There was a small parlor off to the left, used for more casual meetings with guests. To the right was the larger, more formal living room, complete with fireplace and several huge picture windows.

Shadows crept in through those windows, reminding her that it was getting late. She turned on more lights as she went further down the hall. Her father's office was off to the left, the door shut tight. She didn't bother to open it. A shiver skated over her skin as she passed. She'd deal with that particular room in the light of the day.