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      To Jayne, who rescued a very special kitty. And to Chippie—truly one of a kind.

      CHAPTER ONE

      ANGELA Beck tapped her fingers against the boardroom table and frowned. The seat across from her was noticeably empty and she grew more irritated by the moment. They’d held things up long enough, though why Molly Diamond was running so very late was a mystery. Molly was usually right on time.

      “Angela, we really can’t hold off any longer.” Charles Spring, the President of the Butterfly Foundation board, folded his hands and looked down the table at her, his gray eyes stern over the rims of his glasses. “We need to get started.”

      Charles had graciously agreed to let the foundation meet in the boardroom of his oil and gas company’s headquarters. It meant a drive into Edmonton, but Angela knew it was easier for her to commute than for the entire volunteer board to drive to Cadence Creek for a meeting. As a result she’d put together a list of things she needed for the renovations, determined to make the most of the trip. She didn’t have any time to waste if she wanted to make her projected opening date.

      “I know.” Angela forced a smile and made herself remember that every person in the room was volunteering their time. She was the only one drawing a salary from the foundation. The reminder was enough to ensure her patience. The shelter was her dream, but success relied on a lot of people—people who didn’t have this project as their top priority the way she did. She couldn’t afford to alienate any of them—she’d come too far and invested too much.

      “I’ll call the meeting to order, then, at 2:18.”

      For an hour the board members discussed the latest fund-raising campaign; Angela outlined the latest PR push and upcoming open house, adding her input to the proposed operating budget and counseling services she’d organized for residents of Butterfly House. She’d thought she’d worked long hours before as a social worker for the province, but that was nothing compared to her days lately, especially as she was a staff of exactly one.

      “And now,” she said, “I wanted to bring up the suggestion that we hire some short-term help for the minor renovations still needed to the house.”

      Charles tapped his lip and looked over at the board treasurer, a graying woman with glasses and a stern demeanor. “Iris?”

      “Leave it with me,” she suggested. “But don’t get your hopes up. The budget is already stretched. What’s allocated is barely going to cover the cost of materials. Start adding in labor costs and I start seeing red ink.”

      “Perhaps if we can get more donations …” Soliciting sponsors was definitely not Angela’s favorite part of the job; she hated feeling like the center of attention and preferred to be behind the scenes. But it had to be done and so she did it—with a smile and an eye on the big picture.

      The talk then turned to drafting up letters requesting sponsorship. Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. The place needed paint and window coverings and the floor in the living room was in dire need of replacement. Who would come good for all of that?

      She straightened her back. She would do it, somehow. She was thrilled that her vision was becoming a reality and it was worth the long hours, the elbow grease and the worry. It would be better when the house was actually ready for residents. In its present state it looked the way she felt—tired and droopy. She’d make it right if she had to do it all herself.

      They were down to the last item on the meeting agenda when the door opened and he sauntered in. Sam Diamond needed no introduction, Angela thought with disdain. Everyone knew who he was. She resolved to keep her expression bland as she looked up, wondering why on earth Sam had shown up instead of his mother, Molly, the Diamond family representative to the board.

      Sam turned a slow smile on the group and Angela clenched her teeth. He was going to be trouble—with a capital T. She’d known it from the first moment he’d sidled up to her at the Butterfly House fundraiser and had asked in his smooth, deep voice, “Have we met?” Her tongue had tangled in her throat and she’d hesitated, feeling stupid and predictable as a purely feminine reaction warred with her usual timidity when it came to dealing with members of the opposite sex—especially in social situations. Well, maybe he’d had her at a disadvantage during their first meeting, but she’d kept the upper hand in the end and she would today, too. She was far more comfortable in a meeting room than at a cocktail party.