Realistically, Katie thought her period was overdue because of the stress, the sadness and upset of having a love affair go south without warning. She never kept track of her monthlies because she could feel it coming—a low backache, some cramps, tender br**sts and bang—there it was. She thought she was at least a couple of weeks late, so a test to be sure she wasn’t pregnant made sense.

An hour later she was peeing on a stick. The directions said it would be more accurate first thing in the morning but it was more likely to give a false negative when it was positive than a false positive if testing was done in the middle of the day.

Ding, ding, ding.

“Nooooooo!” she wailed. “No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!”

But yes. It said yes. And this was completely impossible—there had always been protection, always. Not only was she responsible about it, Dylan was obsessive! He was the guy who didn’t want a family! God forbid he should end up paying the piper for all his screwing around!

She tried the seven-dollar test, though she didn’t much have to pee anymore.

Bingo.

“No, no, no!”

She went to the kitchen and drank water. And tea. And more water. Then she paced around her clearing, holding it all as long as she could. She made it a couple of hours. She peed some on the twelve-dollar stick, some on the nineteen-dollar stick and saved the last for the big one—the twenty-one-dollar stick. Then she lined them up on the small bathroom counter and stared at them.

Bing, bing, bing. We have a winner.

She sank down on the bathroom floor and dug her fingers into her hair. Oh, God, what in the world did I do to piss You off? Was it that no sex before marriage thing? It would be a more practical and effective lesson to have me eaten by a bear!

And she heard noises. Squeaking. Jingling of chains. The play set. She got to her feet and ran to the kitchen window. Yes, they were back. Not playing on the jungle gym, but merely cutting across her clearing—Mom and the triplets. As if they owned the place.

Katie lunged for her air horn and ran right onto the porch, fearless. She blasted the horn and watched as they turned as one to look at her. “Get out of here,” she screamed, giving the horn another long blast. “I am in NO mood!” And after an insulted grunt from Mother, they scuttled off into the brush.

Jack was just putting up clean glasses in the middle of the afternoon when the door to the bar opened. He looked up, half expecting his wife, who often took advantage of the quiet time before the dinner crowd showed up. But it was not Mel—it was the welcome face of a man he hadn’t seen in some time. “I’ll be damned,” he said with a big grin. He came around the bar and approached a young man, about thirty years old, and pulled him into a fierce hug, hammering his back with a fist. Then he held him away and said, “Hey, Tom! You home on leave?”

“I’m out,” Tom Cavanaugh said. “Six was enough for me. And my grandmother either has my help with the orchard or sells it. I vote for helping her. That orchard’s been in the family a long time.”

“How is Maxie?” Jack asked.

“Stubborn as ever, but as near as I can tell, tougher and healthier than you or me.”

“I haven’t seen you in a couple of years,” Jack pointed out.

“I deployed a second time—I think that was the convincer. Plus, I never made it any secret, I was made to take care of apples. It’s what I was raised to do.”

“And we couldn’t be happier about that. Let me find Preacher, he’ll want to say hello.”

Tom Cavanaugh grew up in Virgin River and had been a college student when Jack first arrived in town. It not only became a great refuge for him on his weekend and holiday visits home to Virgin River, but with his own plans to spend at least a few years in the military after college, he bonded with Jack and Preacher. Now at around thirty he was home for good, ready to take over the family business with his grandmother. Cavanaugh Apples.

He was halfway through his beer when Katie came into the bar.

“Well now,” Jack said. “Look who’s here. Katie Malone, meet one of the neighbors—Tom Cavanaugh. Tom just exited the Marine Corps and is home for good. Tom, Katie is new in town.”

“It’s definitely a pleasure,” Tom said, his eyes lighting up a bit as he looked at her.

“Likewise,” she said, putting out a hand.

“Glass of wine?” Jack asked.

“No, thanks, I’ll be picking up the boys in fifteen minutes. So, Tom, you live here in town?”

“No, out about three miles down the mountain. I grew up on an apple orchard and that’s where I’m probably going to be for the rest of my life.”

“You say that with a smile,” she observed.

“I like apples.”

“Tommy here was raised on ’em,” Jack said.

“Cavanaugh apples make some of my best pies,” Preacher put in.

“So, you’re looking a little better, missy,” Jack said. “Got a little color in your cheeks.”

“No surprise there,” she said. “Remember that bear? She’s been back and she acts like I’m renting space from her. I need a gun.”

“What bear?” Tom asked.

“A mother bear with triplets. They like my boys’ jungle gym.”

“Hmm,” Tom said. “I’ve seen her a couple of times. She’s been in the orchard, poking around, and she’s not a happy mother…”

“I have twin boys. I feel her pain. I think I need a gun.”

“Katie, it takes a lot of gun to stop a bear her size. Can you handle a rifle?”

“That’s one thing I haven’t gotten around to, but I’ve got a permit for a handgun. Not that I have a handgun—not to be redundant, but twin boys… I did buy myself a really awful air horn—she hated that. But she took her kids out of my yard. After she made a noise that sounded as near to a growl as it could be. I don’t think we’re friends.”

“I’ll call Fish and Game,” Tom said. “That little lady might have to be dealt with. Maybe relocated if she’s going to be trouble. I’d hate for her to get shot.”

“On the other hand, I’d hate to be eaten,” Katie said.

Tom Cavanaugh grinned handsomely. “Maybe your husband will show you how to handle a rifle. I knew a girl in the Marines as little as you and she’s a crack shot. It’s not always about size.”

Oh, man, Katie thought. That was pretty obvious. And boy did young Tom have a wrong number. Wouldn’t it be cruel to tell him, I’m a knocked-up widow with twin five-year-old boys—run for your life. “I’m widowed. I lost my husband in the war—Afghanistan.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said immediately, dropping his head. “If there’s any way I can help out—”

“That’s very nice, but my older brother is right here in town. He’s not off work yet today, but if I need him in a hurry, I can find him. And there’s Jack…”

“There’s always Jack,” Tom said. “But if there’s ever anything your brother or Jack can’t help out with…”

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for calling the game warden or whoever you’re calling. And nice to meet you. I’d better go grab those boys…”

When you’re the potential star in a movie, investors and distributors consider the weight of the cast in making their decisions about backing the film. Dylan had played the Hollywood game for three weeks, consenting to an interview about his consideration of a script, socializing with key people along with the producer and director and allowing himself to be photographed a few times. Lee Drake was still working on the contract, but he said it was moving in a very positive direction and shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks before he could pronounce it satisfactory and ready to sign. Once that happened, there would be even more prepublicity buzz that would lend itself to making money for the movie. He’d eaten too much rich food, imbibed too much liquor, ran into family members altogether too often. Bryce had faded into that background but Blaine and Cherise seemed to coincidentally appear at some of the same restaurants he happened to be dining in. Thank God his number was changed so they couldn’t call him on top of all that.

He smiled as much as he could, but he hated it. At least the social aspect. He wasn’t accustomed to that lifestyle anymore.

There was one exception to his discontent—he had been spending a little time with his grandmother. He filled her in on all the details that led to his reading of the script and negotiating of a contract. “Lang said that while business is still down compared to previous years, he has bid on a few charters and has rented out planes here and there—so they’re hanging in there. With Sue Ann’s help, they can manage Childress Aviation while I’m here working. Stu is minding the store, taking care of the runway, maintenance, fueling, that sort of thing. I need to get back there and get things stabilized before I commit to any kind of filming schedule.”

“This is all so unnecessary…unless it’s what you absolutely want.”

“It’s completely necessary,” Dylan said.

“You’re my only living heir,” she reminded him. “And I’m loaded.”

“I make my own way if I can,” he said. “For all I know, you’ll get pissed off at me for some reason and give it all to your cat. Then where would I be?”

“I don’t have a cat…”

“Yet…”

It wasn’t exactly an argument; it was more of an examination of boundaries. He appreciated her in many ways, was grateful for all she’d done for him, understood that after all her many years of hard work she was more than a little comfortable. But she was seventy-six. With any luck she would live to be a hundred and six. Besides, these were the boundaries she’d pounded into his head during their retreat to Payne, that he wasn’t a little god who should have his way paid just because of some sense of entitlement.

She taught him to get over himself.

“I have only a couple of concerns about doing a movie,” he said. “One is that I’ll enjoy the acting and despise all the ancillary bullshit, not the least of which is my mother, stepbrothers and -sisters and half brothers and sisters moving in on me with requests. I don’t want to get hooked, which will have me putting up with that kind of B.S. again and again. And the other is you thinking it’s a mistake.”

She shook her head. “First of all, I think you’re past being the vulnerable kid star who doesn’t really understand what’s happening. Second, I’m an actor,” she said. “I still work because I love it and also despise a lot of the ancillary bullshit. I do it because I want to. Millions of people who are trying to just get a part in a commercial would kill me to have a tenth of the opportunity I have had, and believe me, I don’t take that for granted. But, Dylan, when I decide to take on a part, I’m happy. If this makes you unhappy, find another way.”

“It’s probably going to be six months of shooting,” he said. “And it’s a frightening amount of money.”

“How are you handling the family?” she asked.

“I’ve said no, I’ve changed my cell number, I’m ignoring them, but I admit, they make it hard. They’re everywhere, it seems.”

“And your mother?”

“Cherise is the hardest to ignore…” She was his mother. He hated her and loved her. That she would use him was so painful. And so predictable.

“Yes, I can imagine,” Adele said. “So, when do you leave for Montana?”

“In a few days. I’ll fly back to Northern California where I left my bike. I’ve decided to rent a truck and haul the bike home. After the last few weeks, I don’t think I’m up to a long-distance ride on the Harley.”

“How long will the drive take you?” she asked.

“A couple of days,” he said. “But I have a little unfinished business in Humboldt County…”

She lifted a thin, meticulously honey-colored brow and said, “Indeed?”

Oh, indeed.

Dylan had to see her once more. Katie. She didn’t want him, he got that. He’d called her, given her the new number, asked her to call and she hadn’t—he got the message. His own fault, he admitted. And she didn’t think their lives matched; didn’t want to get mixed up with some Hollywood kid and he couldn’t blame her. But it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel complete. “There’s a girl,” he told Adele. “She doesn’t want to be involved with an actor. Actors have rotten reputations for little things like fidelity. But I like her. I’m going to give her one more chance to reject me. I just haven’t suffered enough yet.”

“Listen, Dylan, there are lots of ordinary families who grapple with lousy relationships and plenty of actors who marry for the long-term, quite happily.”

“I know. I just want to stop in Humboldt County and see her, make sure she’s doing fine, that she feels the same way she did when I left—that she isn’t interested. Because I think if we had a little time…”

But they didn’t have time.

No matter how hard it was, no matter how tempted he was by her, he had to try to make her understand what he was feeling. He wasn’t just some irresponsible pretty boy. A gentleman would find a way to say, “You’re important and I’m going to miss you.” To leave as though nothing that happened between them mattered, that was just wrong. He was going to fix that. Even if he was the last person she wanted to see right now.