About the Author

      Also by Torey Hayden

      Credits

      Copyright

       About the Publisher

      Chapter One

      Three days after Jamie Lee died, Dixie almost got run down by a movie star. It was a deep, warm-as-breath August evening and Dixie was walking down Seventh Street on her way back from getting a loaf of bread and a jar of mayonnaise at the Kwik-Way. She’d just crossed over at the corner by the United Methodist Church when the pick-up truck appeared, careering wildly down the middle of the road. Abruptly it swerved, mounted the kerb and came straight at her. Dixie screamed and ran for safety up the steps of the church. Brakes squealed and then there was a slithery hiss of rubber on grass before the final jarring crunch as the truck came to rest against a brick pillar at the base of the steps.

      Three men were crammed into the cab of the pick-up and they all roared with laughter. In fact, they seemed to be laughing so hard that at first they found it hard to get the doors open. When the driver finally emerged, Dixie recognized him immediately. Spencer Scott.

      ‘You almost killed me!’ she shrieked, and burst into tears.

      The door opened on the passenger side and the others spilled out. They were all canyon folk. They were all drunk too and seemed to find the idea of running her over hilarious.

      Dixie couldn’t stop crying long enough to speak. It was their laughter that did it. That, and Jamie Lee and everything. She’d been coping pretty well over this last week, but this was just the last straw.

      ‘You aren’t hurt, are you?’ Spencer Scott managed to ask, when he’d finally caught his breath from laughing.

      ‘You near enough scared the life out of me, that’s what,’ Dixie sobbed.

      He rooted in the pocket of his jeans and produced a red bandana handkerchief, the kind that tourists buy because they think it looks Western. He offered it to her.

      What was she supposed to do with that? She was hardly going to get snot on a movie star’s handkerchief.

      ‘It’s clean,’ he said with an edge of annoyance.

      Well, of course it was clean. Did he think she’d assume he would carry a dirty handkerchief? Oh dear Jesus, why did she have to be bawling in front of Spencer Scott, of all people?

      Beyond him, the other two men were checking for damage to the pick-up. One climbed into the driver’s seat, backed it up a little, got out again and examined the dented grille.

      Spencer Scott smiled. ‘I’m sorry we frightened you. No hard feelings?’

      For the first time Dixie dared to lift her head enough to look at him properly. He was only an arm’s length away and she could see everything about him. He looked better in person than on the screen, if that was possible. Older and wrinklier, but Dixie liked that. His California-perfect features looked more manly when a bit of living showed. The only surprise was that he was so short. She’d heard that about him from other folks who’d been up close to him, but she still hadn’t expected she’d be taller.

      ‘Come on, Spence,’ one of the men called. ‘It’s OK. Nothing’s happened.’

      He turned to go.

      ‘Hey!’ Dixie cried. ‘Something did too happen! You nearly hit me! And look at what you done to that pillar. You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be in a car. You can’t just drive off. We need to call the police.’

      Spencer Scott smiled disarmingly, his handsome face focusing only on her. ‘We don’t need the police,’ he said chummily. ‘This isn’t anything really.’

      ‘It is to me! And it will be to the United Methodist Church too. They don’t got money to spend fixing what some drunk driver does,’ Dixie replied.

      His eyes were just as blue as in the pictures and they twinkled when he smiled. ‘The police have more important matters to worry about. We don’t want to keep them from solving real crimes, do we?’

      ‘But you almost killed me! You could’ve, you know. If you’d been coming any faster …’

      Still the smile, still the twinkly blue eyes that had looked at all those beautiful Hollywood actresses and were now looking only at her. ‘But you’re all right, aren’t you?’ he said. His voice had the warm certainty of a Jedi knight using the Force. ‘You aren’t hurt.’ Then without warning, he clasped Dixie’s hand and kissed it. ‘And you will forgive me for frightening you, yes?’

      Without even intending to, Dixie nodded.

      ‘And I’ll let you keep the handkerchief.’

      When Dixie got home with the groceries, she didn’t say anything about Spencer Scott to Billy. He was watching TV and the last thing he’d want was to be interrupted by talk about the canyon folk. Instead, Dixie put the groceries in the kitchen and then went upstairs to finish packing away Jamie Lee’s stuff.

      It was amazing the number of things a baby could acquire in just nine months. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dixie folded up each T-shirt and little pair of overalls before laying them carefully into the cardboard box. She paused over the tiny grey jogging shoes. It had been silly to buy them for a baby too young to walk and they’d cost way too much for something just for show, but Dixie had loved to see Jamie Lee wearing them. She brought them up to