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  This book is dedicated to Mike and Krisi Dame. Sometimes you meet people who truly inspire you, and this couple has become great friends and their love of each other inspires me to be a better writer. Love you both and your beautiful daughters.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m so excited to take this new journey with the Pocket Books family. What a joy I’ve had with this wonderful team of people. I adore my editor, Abby, and feel that I have grown as an author with her guidance. And Lauren is amazing and fun, and makes me feel like a rock star.

  Thank you to the many authors who inspire me, help me, guide me, and listen to me. I read their material and am awed. There are so many and I have no doubt I will look over this later and cringe because I left some out, but to name a few, Ruth Cardello, J. S. Scott, the fabulous Jennifer Probst, Lynn Raye Harris, Kathleen Brooks, JL Redington, and Sandra Marton. I love you ladies!

  Thank you to my team members of family and friends who do everything for me so I can write, and who ensure that I also take time to have fun. I love you guys so much and can’t imagine what my life would be like without you: Kathiey and Krisi Dame, Jeff and Patsy Winchester, Edward Hart, Adam and Mary Ragle, Nicole Sanders, Stephanie Gerard, and Alison. Family and friends are the same to me. If I love you, I love you forever, and that’s how I feel about you all! As my fans know, I ADORE my nieces and nephews and honorary nieces and nephews. They inspire me and little snippets I get from them continually run through my books. I love you, Breezy, Jacob, Isaiah, Makayla, Jasmine, Maycie, Kaylee, Ryder, and Reese. I know there are so many more people who help to make my dreams come true, and thank you for that.

  The biggest thanks of all go to my fans. Thank you, thank you, thank you for continuing to believe in me and for inspiring me, and for sharing this journey with me. I appreciate and love you!

  PROLOGUE

  “Help . . .” A gurgling cry whispered faintly on the wind, and three teenagers walking by turned and listened.

  “Did you hear that?” Spence asked.

  “I think so. It sounded like someone yelling, but I’m not sure,” Camden replied.

  “Please h-help . . .” This time there was no mistaking the cry. It was faint, but the three boys turned toward the lake.

  “Someone’s in trouble,” Jackson said, and he took off sprinting in the direction of the sound. Spence and Camden were in hot pursuit behind him. They ran the short distance to the shore and spotted a body thrashing around in the water. As they neared the water’s edge, they saw the kid’s head disappear below the surface.

  The three teenage boys stripped down to their underwear in seconds, then dived into the freezing water without hesitation. All of them strong swimmers, they quickly reached the part of the lake where they’d seen the boy and plunged beneath the surface, frantically searching for him.

  Spence was the first to reappear from the deep water, the boy in his arms. Camden and Jackson flanked him on either side and the three of them towed the boy to shore. Jackson pulled the wet clothes from him, then grabbed his own clothing and used it to cover the boy, hoping it would bring him some warmth.

  Meanwhile, Spence began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, with Camden doing chest compressions. The three of them worked relentlessly, and after what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a couple of minutes, the boy began coughing. Spence quickly turned him on his side as water spewed from his mouth.

  After struggling for several moments to cough up the remaining fluid in his lungs, he looked at his three rescuers with large green eyes. His confusion quickly abated, and he remembered what had happened and how close he’d come to losing his life.

  “Y-you . . . s-saved me,” he gasped, then started choking again. Spence patted him gently on the back. The kid couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old.

  “What were you doing in the water?” Camden asked as he glanced back out at the lake. He was looking for a boat or something.

  “I w-was s-skipping . . . rocks on th-the . . . d-dock and s-slipped.” His teeth were chattering so hard that Spence, Camden, and Jackson worried he’d break them. The three teens were also starting to shake as their adrenaline subsided and their wet bodies began to feel the chill in the air.

  “Michael! Michael! Where are you?” a man was heard calling out only seconds before he walked over the small hill with several people trailing behind him. He spotted the four boys and came running toward them. “Michael, what happened? Are you okay?” The man dropped to his knees.

  The people standing around him looked at the boy, whose clothing was half off, and then at the three nearly naked teenagers.

  “What is going on here?” one man demanded, sending the teenagers a suspicious glare.

  Before Spence could say anything, another person stepped in. “Aren’t you three living in the Taters’ house?”

  Camden hung his head in shame. They despised living in the filthy foster home, but because they were together, they didn’t complain. Each of them had been tossed from home to home practically since birth. During their two years together at this latest home, they had developed a bond rarely found in such circumstances.

  It made the bad food, threadbare clothes, and their housemother’s screaming fits all worth it. The three of them could face the world as long as they had each other. But if they complained, they would get separated and probably never see each other again.

  “Yes, sir, in the Taters’ house,” Spence replied through chattering teeth as he tried to puff up his chest. As the oldest, he had to protect Camden and Jackson, even if that meant that he took all the heat upon himself.

  “What are you doing with Michael?” another man asked, and his tone implied it certainly couldn’t be anything good.

  “They saved me,” Michael said. His eyes gleamed with hero worship as he looked over at the trio.

  “What happened, Michael?” the boy’s father, Martin, asked as he embraced his son.

  “I was skipping rocks and fell. I couldn’t stay above the water. They pulled me out.” Michael’s eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Martin looked from his son to the three boys, who were beginning to turn blue, and then at the crowd gathered around. The men’s expressions changed from suspicion to awe in a few heartbeats.

  “You’re heroes,” one man said as the rest of the group murmured their surprise and agreement. Spence, Camden, and Jackson looked at each other before Spence spoke to the crowd.

  “No we’re not. We were just the first people here,” he said with a shrug. Although relieved they weren’t suspected of foul play, they still weren’t good enough to be called heroes—at least not in their minds.

  The men rushed into action: someone made a phone call, another person draped warm jackets over the boys’ shoulders, while still another gathered their discarded clothes and handed them over. The normally unseen boys stared wide-eyed as everyone moved around in a blur, all the attention focused on them. None of them knew what to do or think. This was completely new for all of them.

  They watched as an ambulance arrived and pulled up to the edge of the grass, then all four of them were carefully led to the vehicle. Spence, Camden, and Jackson were in such shock that they weren’t able to speak—no one had ever worried about them before, and they couldn’t quite process what was happening. So they sat in silence while the paramedics examined them.


  They were taken to the emergency room, and then transferred to a private room in the back, where medical staff came in and out asking questions and checking their temperatures. After about an hour the man who’d been calling for Michael entered the room. Wrapped in heated blankets, the three boys were sipping hot chocolate and eating sandwiches. The man looked at them with tear-filled eyes.

  “I don’t know how I could ever possibly repay you for what you’ve done. I don’t think you even comprehend what heroes you truly are. My son is going to be fine thanks to you. He’s in the room next door sleeping,” he said before pausing for a moment. “My name is Martin Whitman, and the boy you risked your lives to save is my only son, Michael. He’s my entire world. We lost his mother two years ago and now all we have is each other.” Martin’s voice was choked.

  The boys looked at him in surprise. They’d done what any other human being would do, hadn’t they? But this man seemed to think they’d performed a great service.

  “How long have you been living in the foster home over on Spruce?” Martin asked. Since Spence was the oldest—he was fourteen to Camden’s thirteen and Jackson’s twelve—he was the one to respond.

  “We’ve been there for two years now.”

  Martin hesitated before he spoke again. “I talked with your social worker. She’s on her way down here now. I’d like to make an offer to you boys.”

  They looked at him with distrustful eyes. They’d been in the foster-care system too long and had learned to trust no one but each other. They shared a common heartache—no one seemed to want any of them. Being alone was much better when you were “alone” with someone else. It had caused a unique bond to form—a brotherhood.

  At least this man’s eyes were kind. They waited in silence to see what he had to say.

  “I’d like for you to come live with me. What you did today showed me more than I need to know about your characters, and I would be honored to adopt each of you. The judge here in town is a good friend of mine. He can give me temporary papers so you could come home with me right away. Then, if you like it at my place, we could make it permanent.”

  Spence took the lead again. “We’ve been lied to a lot. It would be pretty crappy of you to say something like this and then decide you hated us after a few days. They call us throwaway kids because we’re older than kids who are typically adopted,” he said with a slightly wobbly voice.

  All of them were trying desperately to put up a brave front, but it was beginning to crumble as hope filled them. The pain that held all three of the boys in its grip was evident to Martin, whose heart filled with a deep sadness. What had they been through to be so wounded and so afraid? He hoped they never would have to carry that fear again.

  “I understand that you don’t know me, and it will take a lot of time to build up trust, but I don’t lie and I never make a promise I don’t keep. My father taught me to always be a man of my word. You three boys gave me the greatest gift today, one that only my wife had given me before now—the life of my son. Not everyone gets the kind of second chance you gave him. You deserve a second chance at life as well. I’d feel privileged to have you come home with me. You’re not too old at all. My son is ten, right around your age. I think we could be a family if you give me a chance.”

  Spence immediately turned away when a tear started to slip down his cheek. The others pretended not to see and gave him a chance to pull himself together. They never cried, at least not where anyone else could see. They’d learned long ago that tears didn’t matter from a throwaway kid anyway.

  Martin Whitman did something then that no one had done for so long that the boys had forgotten what it felt like. He wrapped his arms around Spence and gave him a solid hug, and then did the same to Camden and to Jackson. All three boys were shaking with emotion by the time he let go.

  Martin stood and walked to a nearby restroom so he could compose himself and give them a moment alone to discuss his offer.

  “What do you think, Spence?” Jackson asked with a hopeful expression.

  Spence looked at both Jackson and Camden, who stared back with a mixture of faith and disbelief. Though Jackson didn’t want to get his hopes up, the thin layer of ice that encased his heart was beginning to thaw. He wanted to believe. He wanted this to be real. If Martin took them all, they would never be separated.

  The rational part of him knew that a brighter tomorrow would never come. But for the sake of Camden and Spence, he put a confident smile on his face.

  “I don’t see what it would hurt to give it a try,” he said.

  Ultimately, the decision lay with Spence, though, since he was the oldest. They waited for his verdict.

  “Why not?” he told them, trying to look composed, but excitement burned in his eyes.

  Camden and Jackson beamed eager smiles his way, hopeful for the first time since they had been dumped at the state’s doorstep when they were barely out of diapers.

  When Martin emerged from the bathroom, Jackson and Camden looked at him with happy apprehension. Spence looked the man in the eye, issuing him a silent challenge: this is me—take me or leave me.

  Martin smiled, not breaking eye contact for even a second, as if to reply that he would take him as he was, chip on his shoulder and all.

  TWENTY YEARS LATER

  “I promise you, Mom, I’m fine.”

  But Alyssa’s mother kept on saying all the usual motherly things, full of worry and false cheer, not offering her daughter even the remotest chance of interrupting. Alyssa Gerard held her phone wearily against her ear. She had no more words to say, nothing that would make this nightmare end. A nine-hour flight was still ahead of her, then one connection, and she’d be home.

  Or maybe not. Alyssa had waited in the crowded airport as her “on-time” flight was delayed again and again. It was already midafternoon, and she’d been in this boarding area for hours. Were there any other flights with open seats?

  Not on this day of the year, New Year’s Eve. She could either wait for her original flight, or give up—which wasn’t going to happen. She was more than done with Paris, done with modeling, and done with people in general. This week had started out badly and kept on getting worse.

  “. . . and I know you’ll really love it in Sterling . . .” Yes, her mom was still speaking, and yes, she should listen, but as she looked around at all the people in bright colors with what seemed like permanent smiles on their faces, she grew even grumpier and simply couldn’t force herself to respond. Not that she needed to, as her mom was speaking enough for both of them. Alyssa should be happy, should feel like celebrating, but instead she was fighting tears.

  “. . . Martin is a wonderful boss. Your dad has never been happier . . .”

  It was all over—everything had ended so much more speedily than it had begun. She’d set out at the tender age of fifteen, ready to change the world with all the millions she’d make, to see her name in lights, or at least to see her face on every magazine cover ever to grace store shelves and racks.

  She’d gotten her dream . . . for a while. And then—poof!—it was gone. Her body tensed in anger as she found herself wedged between two large men who surely hadn’t bathed in eons.

  Her mother continued to yammer away, though Alyssa was long past listening.

  “. . . and you should see Martin’s boys. They are so handsome . . .”

  Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. To her left, a heated debate had broken out between a man in a dark blue suit and an attractive blonde. The exchange flung her back into her own head as she was forced to think about what had happened between her and her ex.

  Her “trustworthy” manager, who’d also happened to be her boyfriend, had taken it all—he’d run away not only with her fortune but with her hopes and dreams and reputation. Now she was stuck in Paris on New Year’s Eve, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted to be home, where she could lick her wounds in peace.

  “. . . your father and I are so excited to
have you home. I only wish you’d been here last week. It was our first Christmas with snow . . .”

  To top everything off with a nice, fat cherry, her parents had decided to move out of the thriving Texas town she’d grown up in and hare off to the backwoods of Montana, settling in a place she had never heard of before—Sterling. Her mother swore up and down they’d visited an aunt there several times when she was a kid, but the place must be awful because she couldn’t even remember it.

  Great! Just great. She had to go home with her tail tucked between her legs, and it wasn’t even home. They had snow in Montana? Lots of snow? Like the sort of snow that buried people alive, and they weren’t found again until months later, when the spring came and the roads finally cleared? She had a feeling she was going to be one of those unsuspecting victims—huddled in the fetal position as she froze to death in her car.

  That is, if she was lucky enough to find a car she could afford.

  “. . . I’ve had quite a time learning to drive in snow, but it can actually be fun . . .”

  Alyssa had heard some of this before. She still wasn’t interested in living in Montana, not that she had a choice. She’d never thought she’d want that twenty-year-old Toyota so badly, but she was praying now that it had made the journey with her parents when they’d trekked north for her father’s new job. Alyssa didn’t even have enough money left to buy a five-hundred-dollar “preowned” lemon to get her to and from whatever job she’d manage to find back in the States.

  “. . . your dad sold the car, but I’m sure we can find you something when you get here . . .” Great. She didn’t have the Toyota.

  She could try to start again, try to make a go of a modeling career from scratch, but the reality was that she hated the industry, had hated it almost from the beginning, and now, at twenty-four, she was considered old in this world of the rich and beautiful, the sleek and connected. Connections that her manager/boyfriend had managed to sever irreparably.