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CHAPTER ONE

SABRINA RYAN HAD NEVER planned to return home.

Not that Wheaton, British Columbia, the small town where she’d grown up—population: 4500, number of ATVs: 600, movie theater: 1—was home anymore. Not for the past nine years, at least. So finding herself there, for more than just a quick weekend visit, was a real kick in the teeth.

“What can I get you?” she asked the teenager at the front counter of her parents’ coffeehouse. Yes, that’s right. After living on her own and making her way in the world as a Vancouver newspaper columnist, becoming semi-well-known for her celebrity interviews in the process, she’d been reduced to working as a barista. In Wheaton.

She got irritated just thinking about it.

The teenager requested a latte and Sabrina set to work steaming the milk. At least he didn’t try to strike up a conversation, ask her what had brought her back and try to share all of his own life’s little details with her. Not like the previous ten people she’d served. And the ten people before them. And the ten people before them. And, really, everyone who’d made their way into the cozy coffee shop in the two weeks since her return.

So different than Vancouver, where a person could lose herself in the masses. Where a sudden appearance after years away brought no more than a single raised eyebrow, if anyone noticed at all. Sabrina sighed and watched as the milk began to froth. But anonymity was an anathema to small-town residents. Something she’d cheerfully forgotten in her years away because she hadn’t planned to come back. Ever.

She turned her attention to pulling the espresso shot, ignoring the pinch of her high-heeled boots around her right pinky toe. Considering she was going to be on her feet for the next seven hours, heels might not have been the most sensible choice, but it was bad enough that she’d had to leave her fabulous city life, amazing job and cultured friends behind. She wasn’t giving up her style, as well.

She rolled the milk to create a smooth, glossy surface and then poured it into the coffee with a couple of added wrist flicks and shakes to create a perfectly presented leaf. A latte that any Vancouverite would be proud to sip. Or take a photo of to share online.

Sabrina handed over the beverage, smiling through the pain in her foot and reminding herself that her visit was only that. A visit. A way station in her journey of life. Just as soon as she was able, she’d be on her way back to the city and Wheaton would be nothing more than a speck in her rearview mirror.

She made three more lattes, two espressos, eight plain black coffees and one hot chocolate in the next thirty minutes. She was asked about her return seven times during the same period, but though her answer remained the same—“Why am I back? My newspaper wants me to write a book about the celebrity interviews I’ve done over the years”—her smile began to feel strained. She might not have visited Wheaton since she was eighteen, but it still felt wrong lying to people. Even her parents didn’t know the real reason for her return. It was simply too embarrassing to admit she’d been fired. Too embarrassing to admit that she’d blown through her savings in less than six months and, with no cash to pay for food or rent or any other necessity, had been forced back here.

Sabrina inhaled slowly and concentrated on masking the shame with a cheerful smile. As far as she was concerned, no one would ever know. One day soon, she was sure her former boss and editor would greet her regular phone check-in with the news that she’d been forgiven her little gaffe and was needed back at the office immediately.

So far, no one had questioned her story. Not even Trish Mason, the editor of the Wheaton Digest, who’d agreed to hire her on part-time while she was in town. It felt like the first bit of good luck she’d had in ages.

Well, it had felt that way until Trish handed over her first assignment: interview the two candidates running for mayor this November.

The assignment itself wasn’t the problem. Although it was only May and the election wouldn’t take place until the third week in November, the fact that there was an actual race had caused big interest in Wheaton. Sabrina had already scheduled an interview with the challenger, Pete Peters, who’d been only too happy to agree to a sit-down interview, photo session and whatever else would get him into the local paper.

But the incumbent was a slippery sort. She’d tried calling and had even popped into his office last Friday to try to talk to him in person, but so far Noah Barnes had evaded her.

And Sabrina knew why.

Too bad for him, she wasn’t so easily dissuaded. Even though writing articles on a pair of small-town politicians angling for the mayor title was far below her usual celebrity subject matter and though the paper had a circulation in the thousands as opposed to over a million, she’d write to the best of her ability. Not just because the editor of the paper was a close family friend, but to prove to herself that she was still an excellent reporter.

Excellent enough to recognize the mayor when he walked into the coffee shop with the jangle of an overhead bell.

Noah Barnes. This time, she didn’t have to fake her smile.

Sabrina eyed him as he joined the line, noting his broad shoulders and golden hair. She remembered him from when she’d lived here before, but as she was four years younger they hadn’t run in the same circles. He was a good-looking man, as handsome as many of the actors she’d interviewed and taller. In his charcoal pants and green golf shirt, he looked like the kind of guy who spent his downtime rescuing cats from trees and mowing his elderly neighbor’s lawn. From what she’d been able to uncover about him, that guess probably wasn’t too far off.

As well as being the town’s current mayor, Noah owned a successful car dealership, which currently employed twenty residents. He sponsored the local hockey team, chaired the town’s annual festival and could be called upon in any sort of emergency.

He was also the brother of her ex-boyfriend.

“Mr. Mayor,” she said when he finally reached the counter. “Just the man I’ve been looking for.” She felt the curious gazes turn their way, heard the low hum of conversation hush as everyone strained to hear, and she planned to use it to her advantage. The practically perfect mayor wouldn’t turn her down with all his constituents listening, right?

“Good morning.” His tone was friendly as he placed his order. One double shot espresso, a box of coffee to go and an assortment of fresh pastries.

She keyed the items into the register. “Could I have a moment of your time?” She was so sure that he’d nod and smile, she was already planning what she would say to convince him that a little bit of family drama shouldn’t take precedence over his mayoral campaign.

Instead, Noah offered a polite frown. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush this morning, but call my assistant and she’ll book you in.”

Sabrina blinked at him. She’d called his assistant three times last week and each time she’d been shot down with the excuse that the mayor was away from the office or in a meeting and unable to be disturbed. She’d believed her the first two times, but by the third it was beginning to look more than a little circumspect. Still, it wouldn’t do to accuse him of such behavior in front of everyone. Sabrina might not have been around in a long time, but she remembered small-town loyalties and they would all lie with the mayor. She forced a civil nod. “I’ll do that. But maybe you could give me a moment now? While you wait for your order.”

His smiled tightened, but he seemed to realize there was no gracious way to deny her request. “All right then.”

She launched into her spiel. How the interview would be an opportunity to lay some groundwork for his future campaign. How his opponent had already agreed. How it might look to potential voters if he chose not to participate. She poured a small glass of sparkling water and handed it to him as she finished.

He looked down at water. “What’s this?”

“To cleanse the palate.” Her favorite coffeehouse in Vancouver always served one with the espresso and she thought she’d bring the practice to Wheaton. But it was probably too sophisticated. “You don’t have to drink it.”

His fingers wrapped around the glass. “No, it’s a nice touch.”

A flicker of pleasure tickled the base of her neck. So maybe not everyone in town was a lost cause. “What do you think? Can I schedule your interview for later this week?”

“Call my assistant.” A reiteration that Sabrina understood completely: thanks, but no thanks.

She kept her smile in place. Mr. Mayor might think he’d successfully brushed her off, but then he didn’t know her very well. She finished his order and then pulled off the green apron that doubled as a uniform and asked her coworker to handle the few people remaining in line.

Most customers had left, on their way to work or school, and there wouldn’t be another rush until the teenagers got out of class. No reason she couldn’t take a few minutes to pursue her assignment. She came around the side of the counter to where Noah stood. “I’ll give you a hand out.”

His blue eyes were cool. “I’ve got it.”

“It’s no problem.” She scooped up the box of pastries before he could. “I’m due for a break anyway.”

She waited until he picked up the coffee and then led him to the door.

* * *

NOAH WATCHED AS Sabrina Ryan picked her way through the crowd that still lingered in the coffee shop. He hadn’t seen her in close to fifteen years. Back then he’d been a senior and she a lowly freshman. He had a vague recollection of a pretty but young girl. Far too young for his seventeen-year-old sensibilities with his hockey scholarship to attend university in Michigan already in place.

He sure as hell knew she hadn’t looked like this. All huge green eyes, flowing dark hair and pouty mouth. He tamped down the flash of interest that sparked. She wasn’t to be trusted. Not only had she told his family’s story to the world when it was no one’s business but theirs, she’d also been Kyle’s high school girlfriend. Totally, completely, 100 percent off-limits. No matter how gorgeous she was.

Still, Noah appreciated the changes she’d made to the general uniform at the coffee shop. Most employees wore a plain white golf shirt with black pants and running shoes. But Sabrina’s white button-down shirt was tight and accentuated her curves. Her jeans were even tighter and he eyed them approvingly.

He followed behind her, easily handling the box of coffee and his own espresso. Noah really didn’t need the help out to his car, but forcing her to hand over the box of pastries was likely to cause a scene. Instead, he reached out to push the front door open for her and caught a whiff of her perfume. Something spicy and sweet mixed with the heady aroma of coffee.

The flash tried to sputter to life again. He drowned it with a large inhalation of clear, crisp air, and turned toward the back lot where his car was parked. “So what’s this about?” He kept his voice controlled and polite. Sabrina did not.

“Let’s cut to the chase. You’re putting me off.”

“Pardon?” He turned the full force of his feigned politeness on her. The look his mother called his mayoral face, used to convey sincerity, express concern and occasionally to put people off.

“The interview. You’re sidestepping my request. And I know why.”

Noah lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. He led her to a practical black sedan near the entrance and pressed his fob to unlock the doors.

“It’s because of the article I wrote about Kyle.”

At the mention of his younger half brother, Noah felt his facade slip but only for a moment. He regrouped and opened the back door on the driver’s side. “I think it’s a reasonable concern.”

Sabrina sighed. “Not really. It was almost a decade ago.”

Almost a decade since she’d announced to the town and the province that his baby brother had not only wrecked his back and his future NHL career, but that he’d gotten his teenage girlfriend knocked up. It wasn’t so easy to forget. “I don’t think you’re the best fit. Now if someone else were to do the interview, we wouldn’t have a problem.” Because he could trust the paper’s other reporter not to skewer him publicly.

“Is this payback?” She refused to hand over the box of pastries when he reached for them, placing them behind her back. “Because it seems a little petty.”

No, petty was lambasting your former boyfriend and your best friend in public, but Noah didn’t mention that. “Then let’s just say I think there’s too much history. A reporter should be unbiased.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes at him. Even so, he couldn’t help noticing the way her shirt was stretched across her chest.

“May I have the pastries?” So he could get out of here before he took another peek at her cleavage.

“No, you may not.” She took a step back, like she thought Noah was going to tackle her for them.

He wouldn’t, but he also wouldn’t make the same mistake his brother had: trusting Sabrina Ryan. Sure, Kyle and Marissa were happily married with four kids, but Sabrina’s words had followed them. He still heard the rare comment from someone about how Kyle had “done the right thing.” He didn’t intend to let her write anything that might follow him the same way.

She tilted her head to look at him. Her long dark ponytail spilled across the bright white of her shirt. Noah wondered if the strands would feel as smooth as her skin looked. Probably. He told himself he wasn’t really interested, that he was merely indulging in idle speculation.

“What can I do to convince you it’s a good idea?”

Nothing. There was no convincing to be done here. This was a simple question and response, and his response would be the same every time: no. “I really need to run.” Noah held out his hand for the pastries. He had a staff meeting at the dealership and they’d be eagerly awaiting his arrival and the sweets.

“Then let’s set a time and you can be on your way.”

“Not today.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Look, I’m not planning to write some hard-hitting exposé. Just a couple of softball pieces on the mayoral candidates.”

Noah would have liked to believe her. “Is that what you told Kyle and Marissa?”

She jerked back. “Ouch.”

Perhaps, but it was a fair question. He waited for her response.

Her ponytail swished as she shook her head. “That was different.”

“Different how?”

“It just was.” He thought he glimpsed regret on Sabrina’s face, but then it was gone and she was back to watching him with those big green eyes. “Look, this is my first assignment for the paper. If you say no, Trish won’t give me another one. I’ll have to go back to pushing caffeine on the masses.”

He glanced at the shop behind them. No one had worked up the nerve to follow them outside, but Noah knew it would only be a matter of time. Small towns. Where people thought they had a right to know everyone else’s business.

“Please.” Sabrina’s voice drew him back. “It’s important.”

Noah looked at the downward tilt to her eyes. She really did think it was important. Either that or she was a hell of an actress. He inhaled another lungful of cold air. Her point that it might look bad for him if only Pete’s interview ran was valid. But wouldn’t it be worse if she wrote a less than flattering portrayal of him?

Yes. Unequivocally and undeniably.

She appeared to think his silence meant he was considering her offer. Her face brightened. “I promise not to tell any of your deep dark secrets.”

Which only reminded him again of how she’d already done that to his family. Fool him once, shame on her. Fool him twice...

“I don’t have any deep dark secrets.” There were no secret babies, no hidden marriages, no arrests or youthful indiscretions. Just that his birth mother had died when he was an infant. That he and his father had moved to Wheaton when he was four and his dad had married Ellen. That when his dad had died a year later in a freak car accident, Ellen, with a brand-new baby to care for, had adopted Noah. Which everyone in town already knew.

“Really? Doesn’t every politician need a deep dark secret or two?”

“Not this one.” He kept his voice steady. Even as a teenager when most kids were out too late, stealing from their parents’ liquor cabinets or just testing boundaries, Noah had been a model son. He got good grades, worked hard to earn a hockey scholarship to a Michigan university and never stayed out past his curfew. And he hadn’t been that way only for his mother. He’d seen it as his chance to show the whole town that although he hadn’t been born within town limits, he was one of them.

“Okay, but if you did—” Sabrina’s eyes caught his and held “—I wouldn’t write about it. I wouldn’t write anything that could be considered inappropriate.”

He’d like to believe her, like to give her the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t. Not when there was so much at stake. An article that she might look at as something to entertain the readers could derail his political career. And then who would he be?

Noah placed a hand on her arm, the one still holding his pastries hostage and tugged until they were between them. “I’ll think about it,” he told her as he plucked the box from her grip.

She let the box go without a fight, but when he turned to leave, she caught his forearm. Her fingers felt warm through the material of his dress shirt. “Will you?”

Her face was open and seemingly sincere. But Noah knew how easy it was to fake emotions for the camera or, in this case, the potential interviewee. “Yes.” He let her hand remain on his arm a moment longer then nodded. “Have a nice day, Sabrina.”

“You, too, Mr. Mayor.”

“It’s Noah.” He didn’t know why he said it. If she wanted to call him by his title, as so many in town did, he shouldn’t care. Didn’t care. He attempted to cover his verbal hiccup. “Most people call me Noah.”

“I’m not most people.”

She was standing only a couple of inches from him. The breeze caught her hair, tugged the strands toward him. They whispered across his cheek, just as soft as they looked. Noah exhaled slowly. “I’ve noticed.”