Chapter Two

      Shay checked her yard for the third time in less than five minutes, sat down to knit, then rose and peered through the window again, anxious to determine what had caused the crunching sound on the gravel driveway.

      Nothing there.

      She inhaled and counted to ten while fighting back the burgeoning cloud of alarm now swelling inside her head. This was what no one understood, what she’d only recently learned for herself. Her panic attacks were about losing control. That’s what her stalker had left her with—the fear that her world would go careening out of control and that she’d unravel worse than she ever had before.

      And there would be nobody there to help her put herself back together again.

      Think about Nick, she ordered her jittery brain. Nick was a friend, a very good friend.

      Had been a friend, her brain corrected without her permission. Because if he was a friend, why, when Nick’s fingers had brushed hers when he’d handed her the cone, had she felt fear? Sure, she’d covered by making a joke about his ice cream choice, but later when she’d almost touched his arm, her pulse had skittered and she’d jerked away because she’d had a flashback.

      Her stalker’s name was Dom. Or at least, that’s what he’d called himself. He’d said he touched her, and she hadn’t known.

      The memory of someone brushing her shoulder and touching her arm before a shoot still haunted her. Back then Shay hadn’t suspected anything untoward, not until she’d received that phone call—I’m closer than you think. I can touch you whenever I want. In fact, I already have, lots of times. Almost three years later and she still hadn’t rid herself of the panic. That’s what had ruined her relationship with Eric. What man wanted to be with someone who froze like a nervous Nellie whenever he embraced her?

      Eric had taught Shay that she could never have a normal relationship with a man. The shame, the embarrassment and, most of all, the longing to love haunted her still.

      “Shay?”

      Shay yelped as she jerked back to awareness. An involuntary rush of fear clutched her throat until she realized Nick stood outside her door.

      “Uh, can I come in?” He rattled the handle, studying her with a quizzical look.

      “Yes. Of course. Sure. Come on in.” She flushed as she unlatched the two locks and pushed open the door. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

      He frowned when she flicked both locks back into place once he was inside.

      “You’re expecting pecan robbers or something?” he joked. “Not that you shouldn’t take precautions,” he added when she frowned at him. His gaze followed her motions as she checked and rechecked the two very solid locks.

      “Can’t be too careful.” Embarrassed that he’d noticed her obsessive security measures, Shay regrouped, led the way into her living room and waved a hand. “Have a seat, Nick. Iced tea or coffee?”

      “Whatever you have is fine. Um—” Nick eyed the furniture and remained standing.

      Shay suddenly realized all the seats were covered with skeins of wool she’d sorted earlier. “Oh. Sorry.”

      He remained silent while she scooped her yarn, needles and a pattern book from the biggest, roomiest chair. Then he said, “That looks complicated.”

      “It’s going to be a blanket for Jaclyn’s baby. I just hope I can get it finished before she delivers.” Shay set the project in a woven basket on the floor next to the chair facing her wall of windows. “There. Now you can sit down.”

      “Why did you pick something so difficult to make?” he asked.

      “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be much of a gift,” she said with a quick smile. “I want my gift for this baby to be as special as Jaclyn is to me. I’ll be right back.”

      When she returned with a tray that had two drinks and a dish of tortilla chips and salsa, he said, “You weren’t kidding about your view, were you? The orchards don’t look bad from here.”

      “I hired someone to prune things a bit.” She sat down, aware of his wide-eyed scrutiny of her home.

      “Maybe you should hire the same guy to cut all that tall grass in your backyard,” Nick suggested. “The rains in January spurred a lot of growth, but now it’s so dry that if a wildfire starts, that grass will feed it like gas. Your house could be in jeopardy.”

      “I’ll get it done,” she promised, and added “soon” when he kept staring at her.

      “Good.” Nick’s bemused gaze took in the splashes of color on the walls, the floors and the furniture. “This sure isn’t what I expected your place would look like.”

      “What did you expect? Steel and glass and leather? Glitz and glamour?” Shay burst out laughing at his nod. “But, Nick, that’s not me.”

      “Are you kidding?” He scowled. “How is glitz and glamour not you?”

      “That’s what I did,” she said gently. “That’s how I made my living.” She pointed to the wall opposite them. “That’s the real me.”

      “You made this?” Nick got up to examine an intricately stitched design of a little girl paddling at the seashore. It could have been Shay once, a long time ago. “It’s very nice. But—”

      “Being a model only looks glamorous, Nick. There’s actually a lot of downtime, waiting for the photographer or the makeup person or hairstylist, and more endless hours in airports. Dad encouraged me to do handwork to pass the time. When I finished something, I’d put it away in a box he gave me.” She was not going to call it a hope chest. “That’s it there.”

      Nick knelt in front of the intricately decorated trunk. “It’s lovely.”

      “I kept putting things in there because I knew one day I’d have my own place, a place I could make into my home.” She waved a hand. “Most of what you see here is stuff I’ve made.”

      Nick rose, examined cushions, hangings and the little stool she’d re-covered with a tapestry she told him she’d found in Italy.

      “Did you make this, too?” he asked, indicating a canvas dotted with handprints that