A romantic suspense novel set in Haywood Lake, featuring Mia Whitmore and Brotherhood operative Caleb Jennings.

Chapter 1

Mia Whitmore danced her way across the small barn’s wide pine floor, hips swaying to a salsa beat. A soft wind drifted through the open barn doors, caressing her cheeks. Birds chattered in the trees beneath a robin’s-egg blue sky. Scents of lemon and cinnamon teased her nose.

All was well in her world.

She surveyed the trays of mini maple pecan tarts, lemon cream trifles and apple crisp shooters lined up on the counter that would go into the commercial fridge. Cookies stamped with the initials of the bride and groom were cooling on wire racks; the scent of vanilla and butter perfumed the air. The herb-crusted pork tenderloins were marinating; bright orange carrots were peeled and ready for their water bath. Green beans were cooked and cooling on a tray, fluffy rolls were rising near the stove and almost ready to go in the oven. The dates were wrapped in bacon; the bourbon-glazed meatballs just needed to be reheated the next night. Mia gladly checked off each item.

The rehearsal dinner was going to be tricky. The bride had insisted it be outdoors at her family’s cabin. Luckily, the weather looked good. The cabin had a small kitchen, but still, whatever wasn’t cooked here tonight would have to be finished on-site the next day either in borrowed ovens or over portable burners. Not impossible. She’d faced tougher challenges.

Mia sighed, brushing a stray crumb from the counter. One of these days, she’d love to have a party barn built on the property so she could offer an alternative. One of these days.

The fifty acres her dad owned just outside town was big enough, with a one-acre pond ringed by palm trees and mossy oaks. It was a perfect spot—peaceful, serene and pure Florida.

It all sounded good; however, the only problem was the lack of funds. Her dad was still recovering from his stroke and needed help. There wasn’t enough money to have full-time staff come in. Which was the reason Mia gave up a lucrative catering business in New York to come home to help him. But that left little time and money in between running her catering business and her booth at the farmers’ market. But family came first—always had.

“Mia.”

She squeaked and spun around.

Roy Bennett stood in the doorway, quiet, unassuming. He wore a pair of faded jeans, a green T-shirt and work boots. His brown hair stuck up in spots like he had run his hands through it.

“Roy, you scared me,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. The man was quiet as a mouse and always sneaking up on her.

He shifted his weight, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Your dad said the tractor’s acting up again. Figured I’d take a look while I’m here.”

She smiled faintly. “That thing’s older than both of us. I’m surprised it still runs.”

Roy chuckled. “Back then, they made things to last.”

“That’s for sure.”

She turned back to the counter, arranging tarts in a neat row. “If you get it going again, maybe we can start clearing that patch near the pond for events. I’d like to put down pavers instead of grass. It’ll look more professional.”

He frowned. “Your dad never wanted that. Always said it should stay natural.”

She took a deep breath before replying. “I intend to make a party barn down there, and grass turns to mud when it rains. I can’t have my guests sinking in their heels.”

Roy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “He always said you can’t improve on what’s already good.”

Mia straightened, wiped her hands on a towel. “And I’m saying we can make it better.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

For a long moment, they just looked at one another, the faint whir of the ceiling fan filling the silence. Their dads had once worked side by side at the hardware store. Hers the owner, his an employee. Roy’s dad had always been too busy to notice his shy son, but her dad stepped in, giving him odd jobs and treating him like one of his own. Something Mia used to tease her dad about. Working part-time at the hardware store during high school had only reminded her how small the town was and how much she needed to get out.

And she had. But now she ran the catering business on her own and cared for her father herself. Roy was still around, still helping when someone needed a hand. Especially her dad. Sometimes the way he looked at Hal made her wonder if he was still that kid hoping for a pat on the back. Maybe he was satisfied here, in the same routines, the same town. Or maybe he’d just stopped expecting anything more.

But something about Roy these days felt off.

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Everything okay?”

He lingered in the doorway, eyes distant. “Lot on my mind lately.” His gaze slid toward the big garden behind the barn. “Yeah. Busy.”

“Don’t I know it.” She smiled, turning back to her trays. “Well, I should get back to work. These appetizers won’t bake themselves. Good to see you.”

She watched him head over to the house. After all these years, he still made her a little nervous. Always watching. Always turning up when she least expected it. In high school, she’d thought he had had a crush on her, though he never said a word. Not that she would have. She had boyfriends. And Roy was always the odd man out. It was silly. He was solid, dependable and adored her father.

She shook off that thought. She had to stop seeing what wasn’t there and concentrate on the food.

The timer dinged, pulling her back to the present. She slid another tray from the oven, the heat chasing the chill that had crept over her skin. The scent of sugar and cinnamon filled the air, warm and comforting.

Outside, a pickup rumbled somewhere down the road, fading into the distance. The sound left her lonelier than she wanted to admit.

***

Dusk was fast approaching when Mia finally stepped outside and crossed the yard toward the farmhouse.

The screen door creaked softly as she slipped inside. Her father was in his recliner near the front window, the television volume low. His once-broad shoulders looked smaller these days, but his eyes were still sharp.

“Smells like cinnamon in here,” said Hal Whitmore. “That one of your fancy New York recipes?”

She laughed and bent to kiss his cheek. “Nah. It’s nothing fancy, just comfort food. Thought you could use a treat before bed.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “You work too hard, honey.”

“Humph. Somebody’s gotta keep this place running,” she teased.

“Roy still around?”

“No, he left. He did look at the tractor, thinks it’s the carburetor.”

Hal nodded. “Good man. Always was. Helped me more times than I can count.”

Mia smiled but didn’t answer. She didn’t have the heart to say she’d wished he’d stop hovering or that sometimes his loyalty felt a little too close for comfort.

Instead, she settled on the couch, letting the quiet fill the room.

For a moment, it was peaceful. The kind of peace she’d come home to protect.