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Chapter One

“Uncle Ryan, are you gonna watch me help the kids at the church camp today? I get to do all the activities and stuff with them, but I’m an instructor, too. See?” Abi, Landon and Georgiana Cutter’s eight-year-old daughter, pointed to the sheriff’s badge on her pink T-shirt. Sure enough, Instructor was printed across the middle.

Ryan Brooks still couldn’t get used to the whole uncle thing. Technically, he wasn’t her uncle. Landon was John Cutter’s brother, and Ryan’s sister Dana was married to John. That definitely made Dana Abi’s aunt, but how Ryan got roped into this uncle business was beyond him. However, things worked differently in the South than in his Chicago world, and since the church camp occurred on his sister’s ranch, where he was stuck for the time being, he might as well get used to “Uncle Ryan.”

“I do see,” he said. “What exactly are you instructing them to do?”

Her pigtails bobbed as she shook her head and gave him a little eye roll, strawberry lashes hitting her brows with the maneuver. “Riding, silly. How to put the saddle on, and why to wear a helmet and how to be safe.” She glanced at Ryan’s cast-bound leg. “And how not to fall off.”

“Thaaanks,” he said. The cast, or rather, the blown knee in it, was the entire reason he remained in Alabama instead of returning to Chicago and Brooks International. He’d let Dana talk him into running his business remotely while he went through rehab here for what the doctors called the unhappy triad: a torn ACL, PCL and medial meniscus. Or, in layman’s terms, a blown left knee.

If Ryan didn’t know any better, though, he’d say his sister was glad her new black stallion had tossed Ryan two weeks ago and equally glad that his therapy would take another month.

Abi, missing the sarcasm, sent a spray of freckles dancing with her smile. “You’re welcome!” She’d spent the past fifteen minutes gathering red and pink azalea blooms from the bushes that lined John and Dana’s porch, and she now clutched the bright blossoms in her hand like a wedding bouquet.

“I’m sure your mama will like those flowers,” Ryan said.

“Oh, I took Mama and Aunt Dana some already. These are for Miss Maribeth. She’s at the barn with Aunt Dana.”

Maribeth. The unique name sparked the memory of the equally unique woman. He’d only met her once, with a brief introduction at John and Dana’s wedding, but he remembered her vividly. Dark brown, nearly black hair reaching her waist. Olive skin and exotic eyes. A full mouth. Stunning. The word invaded his thoughts and remained there.

“You going back inside to work?” Abi asked, pulling his thoughts from the memory and reminding Ryan that the majority of his time since his injury had been spent either at rehab or in John and Dana’s cabin. He was so ready to get back to living again, back to Chicago. But first he wanted to see if his memory had embellished the beauty of the woman with the unique name.

“No, I think I’ll go out to the barn,” he said.

“You want to go with me?” she asked, and Ryan noticed her frown slightly at the crutches propped against the porch railing.

“No, it’ll take me a little while. You go on ahead.”

“Okay,” she said, unable to hide her excitement as she darted away.

Maneuvering on crutches from the house to the barn wasn’t easy; the soft earth gave with every step, and Ryan had to concentrate more on his pace than on his goal. Halfway there, he met Abi, running from the barn toward her house, the other large log cabin on the Cutter ranch.

“Miss Maribeth loved the flowers!” she yelled, and continued her sprint without waiting for a response from Ryan.

He continued his trek toward the barn and wondered if it was actually as hot outside as it seemed. True, the first week of June would be naturally warm, but he attributed the heat he experienced to the workout from using the crutches in the soft farm dirt. Sweat beads pushed free from his temples the way they normally did when he worked out in the gym. And he was barely moving.

For a moment, he considered turning around, heading back to John and Dana’s cabin and forgoing this bizarre curiosity toward his sister’s friend. But then he got close enough to see around the barn’s edge, and the vision nearly stopped him in his tracks.

Maribeth Walton stood beside Dana holding Abi’s bouquet of flowers. Her inky hair caught the sun and shone brilliantly as it billowed against her back. Ryan would be lying if he said his interest hadn’t gotten the best of him when Dana mentioned that Maribeth would be one of the counselors for the church youth retreats at the ranch this month. Their chance encounter at John and Dana’s wedding had haunted him ever since. She’d appeared immune to the typical effect Ryan had on women, a fact that both irritated and intrigued him.

Unfortunately, he’d had the feeling once before, the first time he saw Nannette Kelly. Ryan set his jaw and reminded himself how that had turned out. But in spite of the memory of how his last infatuation—okay, love—had ended, he couldn’t stop his progress toward the barn. Dana had already looked his way, and her visitor followed suit. Couldn’t very well turn around and hobble back to the house now.

Hobble. How embarrassing. If he were a normal guy, Maribeth Walton wouldn’t look at him twice, with his cast-covered leg and unshaven face. He couldn’t recall whether he’d combed his hair.

But he wasn’t a normal guy. In his world, how he looked or acted didn’t matter. Nannette had shown him that females weren’t interested in him; they only wanted what he could give them. Money. Power. The Brooks name.

Ryan shouldn’t be concerned about whether or not he impressed Maribeth Walton. But even so, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her as he neared the two women.

Today her hair fell freely, wildly, and she pushed the dark locks from her face as she tossed her head back and laughed at something Dana said. At the wedding, that thick mane had been braided and contained, a yellow satin ribbon woven within the dark locks. Ryan wasn’t certain why he remembered the fact about the ribbon, particularly the color. He never paid attention to details. Those items didn’t matter in the entire scheme of things.

“Note what’s important—flush everything else. Don’t waste precious brain cells on the negligible.” One of his father’s more notable spoutings of wisdom and typically a rule Ryan lived by.

So why did he remember her hair, or the ribbon? Or the fact that she’d smelled like cinnamon and apples? Or that she’d been dressed as if she was ready for a Parisian runway? She’d worn a flowing bright blue dress with silver accents and stylish, crazy high heels. Sure, everyone in town had dressed up for the occasion, but there was something different about Maribeth that set her apart from the rest. And at the reception, in spite of his past history with Nannette, Ryan had sought the lady out for conversation.

She’d coolly said hello and then left him to talk to someone else.

Today, in a bright yellow blouse, hot pink skirt and snazzy boots, she again stood out from the rural surroundings. Maribeth, this country girl in north Alabama, happened to be the only woman since Nannette who had caught his interest for more than a passing glance...and the only one who didn’t care whether he looked her way or not.

“Hey, Ryan, how was your rehab this morning?” Dana asked as soon as he was within earshot.

“It went okay,” he said. John had taken Ryan to his therapy sessions since Dana’s morning sickness got the best of her again. In her third month of pregnancy, she still had a tough go several mornings a week and hadn’t ventured out of her bedroom before John and Ryan had left. Ryan hated being dependent on them to drive him around, but there was no way he could drive in this cast.

Then again, back in Chicago he had a driver to take him where he needed to go. But this felt different, having to rely on his family to help him out. He didn’t mind paying employees for the task, but having people simply help him out of the goodness of their hearts wasn’t something he was used to. Or something he wanted to get used to. He needed to leave Alabama. The sooner the better.

“You’ve met Maribeth, haven’t you?” Dana continued, tilting her head toward the petite woman who looked even prettier close up.

Almond-shaped chocolate eyes locked with his, and a light breeze carried that scent of apples and cinnamon he remembered. She quickly glanced toward the horses grazing nearby. Normally when people met the CEO of Brooks International, they treated him with the same regard Ryan’s father had always received when he led the Fortune 500 company. They stared or gawked or whipped out a phone and snapped a picture. The paparazzi typically followed Ryan around to snag photos of him at events, so he was used to the natural response.

But he wasn’t used to this.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, we met at your wedding,” he answered, giving his voice the tone he carried at a press conference or board meeting. One of power and authority. Confidence.

“Your speech will let them know you are in control. Always maintain control,” Lawrence Brooks would say.

But Ryan’s control slipped a fraction when the gorgeous lady turned her attention back to him, tilted her head and asked, “We met?”

* * *

Maribeth saw the flash in the rich guy’s eyes when she didn’t acknowledge their first encounter at the wedding. And when Dana’s laughter filled the air, she had to bite her inner cheek to keep from laughing, too. Undoubtedly, Ryan Brooks felt he was worth remembering. She knew the type, despised the type, and was ready for this conversation to be over so she could prepare to welcome the kids to camp.

“Wow, Ryan, you must have really made an impression,” Dana said, attempting to smother her giggles with her hand.

“Obviously.” He studied Maribeth as if she’d sprouted another head, and again, she looked away. Easier than staring at the beautiful male and giving away the fact that he made her knees a bit weak. It bothered her more than she cared to admit that she noticed the way his beard shadow highlighted the strong line of his jaw, or how his sandy hair complimented the blue in his eyes, like sand meeting the sea. Or that he was taller than she remembered, several inches taller. And that his shoulders were broader than she recalled.

Had she really noticed all of that in her brief glance?

She swallowed. Who was she kidding? Practically every woman in the U.S. had seen the magazine covers featuring America’s most eligible bachelor billionaire. He was a modern JFK Jr., with the looks and the money that went along with the title, exactly the kind of guy Maribeth would have given everything to—had given everything to—seven years ago.

Not again. Never again.

She’d moved to Claremont to get away from the possibility of falling for another guy like Ryan Brooks. What were the chances of running into a wealthy man who’d sweep her off her feet and smash her heart in this tiny town?

Pretty good, when you considered the fact that Dana Brooks had become Dana Cutter and had also become one of Maribeth’s dearest friends. Naturally, her brother would visit.

But that didn’t mean Maribeth had to be overly friendly to the guy.

As it was, though, she wasn’t even being nice. Not very Christian, in the whole scheme of things.

Help me, God. This is my weakness, guys like him, and for some reason, You’re putting me face-to-face with it, with him. And Ryan Brooks? He’d be number one on the list of way too handsome and way too rich for his own good. Definitely for my own good. Are you trying to teach me to be strong, Lord?

Maribeth remembered the Bible verse from First Corinthians that Brother Henry had discussed in yesterday’s sermon. The one that said God will not let you be tempted more than you can bear.

Okay, God. I can be nice.

She forced a tiny smile. “I think I do remember meeting you at the wedding.” When she saw the curve of a grin tease the edge of his beautiful mouth, she added, “I believe you wore a navy suit.” Maribeth knew for certain that he’d worn a gray Brioni Vanquish valued at the same price as a modest Claremont home. She actually had a photo of Ryan Brooks wearing a similar suit on the wall at her store, and she chastised herself for the lie. She’d just promised God she’d be nice!

Forgive me, Lord.

What made her want to goad this guy?

Any impression of a smile disappeared. “I don’t think so,” he said, studying her as though he knew she remembered the exact color of suit he wore to the event. And the fact that it fit him perfectly, the same way she tried to fit her customers when they visited her consignment store.

“Oh, Maribeth,” Dana said, still smiling from her laugh, “his suit was gray. I asked Ryan to wear gray, since that’s what color John and Landon wore. Remember? You helped me pick out all of the colors for the wedding.”

Maribeth nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I do remember now.” She picked at a loose string at the end of her sleeve to keep from looking at the guy. Then she heard the blessed sound of crunching gravel and turned her attention to the driveway, where an older-model silver BMW made its way toward the barn. “Oh, there’s Jessica Martin. She said she’d be bringing Nathan and Lainey a little early. I’ll go make sure all of their paperwork is done.” She turned and started walking away from Dana and her way-too-attractive brother.

“Good to see you again, Maribeth.”

She could keep walking and pretend she didn’t hear him, but she was less than six feet away. So she pivoted, forced another smile and then, unfortunately, emitted another lie. “You, too.”

Please, God, forgive me again. And if it be Your will, send him back to his home...and away from mine.

* * *

By Thursday, Maribeth had successfully avoided any additional contact with Ryan Brooks, aka her ultimate temptation and undeniable reminder of her biggest mistake. The feat wasn’t that difficult, thanks to his rehab sessions in the morning and her quick departure from the ranch every afternoon to run her store on the square. For the most part, she hardly remembered he was in town.

She paired a woven bracelet with an orange sundress and sandals similar to the outfit Hayden Panettiere had worn to a premiere last month and wondered whether Ryan had attended the same premiere. Then she shook her head and silently chastised herself for allowing the gorgeous man to invade her thoughts again. And to make matters worse, her customers seemed equally intrigued with the good-looking rich guy.

“Oh, wow. Look, Nadia. There he is.” Jasmine Waddell, a nineteen-year-old blonde beauty, pointed to one of the photos on Maribeth’s celebrity fashion wall. “Can you believe he’s here? In Claremont?” she continued, and Maribeth knew before looking that her finger had landed on a photo of Ryan. Since Consigning Women focused on ladies’ clothes, most of the photos were of women; however, Maribeth often used pictures from red carpet galas, and naturally, several of the women had a nice-looking man at their side. Ryan Brooks happened to be that guy in no fewer than three of her displayed photos.

“I’ve seen those pictures before,” Nadia Berry said. “But I’ve seen him in person at the Cutters’ ranch.”

Jasmine’s blond hair formed a silky cape as she jerked around to face Nadia. Her blue eyes bristled with excitement. “Shut up. You saw him? I’ve been looking all over town just hoping to get a glimpse, and you’ve actually seen him? I knew I should’ve signed up to help with that camp. Is it too late to volunteer, Maribeth?”

Maribeth swallowed. She could use the help, especially since two more kids were joining the group tomorrow, but there were only two days left in this week’s camp, and her own past experience kept her from wanting to put Jasmine anywhere near Ryan. “I believe we’ve got this week handled,” she said.

But when Jasmine’s face fell, Maribeth added, “You can volunteer for next week, if you want.” She couldn’t turn down a teen’s offer to volunteer at a church camp, especially when she could use her assistance next week. “However, I’m not certain you would see Ryan Brooks that much. He goes to the hospital for his rehab each morning, and we’re pretty busy the rest of the day.”

“That’s right,” Nadia said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times.”

“Oh, okay,” Jasmine said, her disappointment evident in her tone. “It’s probably best anyway that I can’t help out this week, since I’m already scheduled to work tomorrow and Saturday at the Sweet Stop.” She shrugged. “But I’ll see if I can adjust my hours for next week so that I work later in the day. Then I could volunteer with the camp...and maybe I’ll see him at the ranch, too.” Her switch from hopeless to hopeful in the span of two sentences reminded Maribeth of how she’d been at that age, seeing every glass as half-full.

Not anymore.

Maribeth felt certain she could keep Jasmine busy enough that she wouldn’t have time to seek Ryan out, so she gave her a smile and said, “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll put you down to help.” She’d protect Jasmine from her infatuation. She had to. She couldn’t bear to see her own history repeated with this sweet girl.

“Okay if I help again, too?” Nadia asked. “I really enjoy spending time with the kids and the Bible studies.”

“Sure. We’ve got sixteen kids coming to the next camp, so I could use the extra help.” Maribeth didn’t mind the chance to spend more time with Nadia. Since she’d first moved to Claremont seven years ago, Maribeth had grown very close to the preacher’s granddaughter. Brother Henry had been instrumental in bringing Maribeth back to God when she was certain He’d turned His back on her, and after she’d confided in the preacher about her mistakes, the kindhearted man had recommended that Maribeth work with the youth at the church and help them to stay away from the pitfalls she’d found herself in as a teen.

Maribeth had grown close to all of the kids, but Nadia and her friends, with their love of fashion and their love of God, held a special place in her heart. Often, the teen girls would visit Maribeth’s store to shop, like Nadia and Jasmine were doing now, and they’d chat about God, life and boys. Not always in that order.

Today, though, Jasmine chose to skip talking about boys in lieu of talking about men. One man in particular.

“It’s just that he’s so gorgeous. And he’s here, in Claremont. Things like that don’t happen every day. I mean, can you imagine dating someone like Ryan Brooks? Or, wow, marrying him? I mean, guys marry younger girls all the time, especially, you know, guys who are stars and everything. He’s not a star like an actor, I don’t guess, but you don’t look like that and not be considered a star. And money. He’s probably got more money than all of the star actors combined, don’t you think? He is a Brooks, after all.”

Maribeth cringed, remembering a time when she’d said something very similar and thought the whole world would be hers if she could date one particular man. But before she could spout some words of wisdom, Nadia beat her to the punch.

“Love isn’t about money. It’s about trust and faith, and about having your priorities right before anything else. You both need to love God, first and foremost.” She gave Jasmine a silly smile. “And he’s like, what, ten years older than you?”

Jasmine giggled. “Eleven. He’s thirty, according to what it says under this photo. And it isn’t like I’ve even talked to the guy, so I’m just saying that it’d be cool to marry him, not that I have any chance of it.” Her smile crept into her cheeks and she lifted a blond brow. “But hey, if I did run into him, and if he happened to be smitten by me...”

Nadia playfully shoved her friend. “Come on. You’ve got to get to the Sweet Stop for work, and I’ve gotta go place another order for beads at Scraps and Crafts.” She nudged Jasmine, still grinning, toward the door. “I’ll see you at the ranch tomorrow, Maribeth.”

“And you might see Ryan there, too,” Jasmine said.

Nadia shook her head and waved goodbye to Maribeth, and then the two girls headed out the door while Maribeth turned the volume up on the sound system piping out Christian music and allowed the lyrics to fill her head instead of the memory of the rich guy who dominated her past...and the reality of the one currently dominating her present.

* * *

Ryan shifted his hip in the passenger seat and prepared for more walking than he’d done in the past two weeks. Rehab was one thing; taking on the Claremont town square was something else entirely. But if he planned to get into full swing so he could get back to Chicago as soon as possible, he might as well get started.

Would a broken leg have kept his father away from the business this long? Probably not. Lawrence Brooks had only missed two days of work when Ryan and Dana’s mother passed away. He hadn’t even taken the time to mourn his wife; a broken leg and rehab certainly wouldn’t have slowed the business magnate down. Then again, Ryan hadn’t stopped running Brooks International. He’d held two conference calls today and seemingly kept to business as usual in spite of the distance.

Ryan grimaced. Why did he always compare himself to his father and find himself coming up short? Maybe because the media found the task so easy? They were quick to point out that the newest Brooks CEO merely followed his father’s proven path for success. The statement that’d been penned by a reporter at the Chicago Tribune had been picked up by practically every business magazine and summed up the public’s interpretation:

“Though the company continues to hold its own, Ryan Brooks has brought nothing original to the stellar real estate empire founded by his father, the late Lawrence Brooks.”

“Did you even hear what I said?” Dana asked, and Ryan realized he hadn’t heard anything she’d said since they’d passed the tiny city-limit sign.

“Sorry, had my mind on something else,” he said. “Repeat the question?”

She sighed. “It wasn’t a question. I said that I can’t believe we’ve never taken you to the square before.” Dana pulled into a parking spot behind a row of brick buildings. Judging from the store names hand painted above each door, this was the back side of one section of the square. “But usually you come and go so quickly that we don’t have time.”

“Yeah, getting thrown from a horse extends a visit. Go figure.” He wondered how big this town square was and how long it’d take them to deliver camp materials to Maribeth, his sister’s purpose for the impromptu outing.

Dana laughed. “I do want longer visits from you, but I’ll try to find another way to make that happen. And John warned you that Onyx might not be ready to ride.” She grabbed her purse and the craft supplies from the backseat. “Then again, telling you that you can’t do something is about the same as waving a red cape in front of a bull, isn’t it? You’ve never been able to back down from a challenge.”

“A challenge is merely another chance to prove something that someone else thought impossible simply hadn’t been done yet,” he said.

Dana had her hand on the car handle but stopped her exit. “You sound just like him, you know.”

Ryan didn’t have to ask whom she referred to. He could almost hear their father’s voice echoing each word as he’d spoken. “He gave us a lot of good advice.”

“And before he died, he realized that his priorities were out of whack,” she said. “I’ve told you before, he changed in those last days. I think if he could’ve talked to you one more time, he’d have probably pulled a one-eighty on a lot of that advice you’re still following.”

Ryan didn’t want to hear about Lawrence Brooks’s final days again when, according to Dana, he’d changed his mind about life, business and faith. Basically, he’d wished he’d done everything the opposite of the way he had. But Lawrence Brooks had single-handedly built a Fortune 500 company, and while Dana had stayed with their dad during his last days, Ryan had kept that company running. Still kept it running, in fact. So their father had done something right, and Ryan would keep that something going.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he suspected their father’s change of heart had to do with the fact that he was heavily medicated at the time, but she shook her head.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. One day you’ll understand. But for now, forget I said anything.” She climbed out of the car and hurried around to Ryan’s side to help him exit, but he’d already opened the door, slowly maneuvered his straight leg out and then pushed his way up to the crutches.

“I’ve got it,” he said, “but thanks.”

Her mouth slid to the side, and she stepped a little closer, blue eyes that mirrored his own examining him as he balanced on the crutches. “I’ve missed you, Ryan. And there’s so much more I want to show you, talk to you about, help you to see.”

“We’ve got the whole afternoon. I promised not to work any more today, remember?” He knew she was ready to start preaching to him again, but he didn’t want an intense conversation about life and faith. Not today. Maybe not ever.