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Right. That was how she’d seen it, too. So...everything was fine?
“Which leads me to suspect, as I mentioned a few minutes ago, that you sometimes come here for another purpose.”
Recognizing the defensiveness that suddenly flared within her, Julie slowed her thoughts. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Personal intimacy.” Lila said the words softly, almost as though she could diminish their impact. “You’re close to your brother and Chantel, as you should be. They’re your only family, and the three of you are good together...”
Julie nodded. They had to work at it, she and Colin mostly, but they were good together. She with her own wing in the house, he and Chantel with theirs. They all met for breakfast, which Julie prepared every morning. Otherwise they might not see each other for days.
“But besides them, you have...”
A small circle, Julie finished silently when Lila’s voice dropped off. She had acquaintances. What seemed like millions of them. And, yes, those few friends.
“There are a couple of women I consider close,” she said. Her best friend from high school, for one. Jaime, an artist, lived in New York now, but they were still in touch.
“I hope you consider all of us here your friends,” Lila said, finally picking up her cup of tea and sipping. “But I’m not just talking about friends. Look at Sara and Lynn—” full-time counselor and resident nurse at the Stand “—they’re both committed to this place and have personal lives, too. They have spouses and children.”
“You don’t.” Even as she let the words loose, Julie knew they came from her defensiveness. Not the right reason at all.
“I’m fifty-three years old,” Lila said, appearing completely unflappable. “Past my childbearing years.”
“I’m not opposed to having a future,” Julie said slowly, trying her best not to be defensive. Lila wasn’t completely wrong to have concerns. Julie’d had similar conversations with Dr. Larson.
“But you haven’t been on a single date since high school.”
“That’s right.” Not that she hadn’t been asked—and fairly often, too. Until just over a year ago, she hadn’t set foot out of her house for any kind of social function. And not for a business one, either, if it was at night. Except on rare occasions when she’d gone somewhere with Colin—having vetted the guest list to know who would not be present.
“From what I understand, you haven’t been out with girlfriends, either. Other than for lunch.”
“No. But only because, as you said, they all have lives, families...” Which had come about during the years Julie had been holed up in her suite in the Fairbanks mansion.
Lila nodded. “So what do you say to a girls’ night out? You and Sara and Lynn and I? We can go wherever you’d like, do whatever you want, the only caveat being that we don’t discuss The Lemonade Stand, our residents or our work for the entire evening.”
What? Lila was asking her to do something socially? Not trying to gently tell her she was nuttier than she’d realized? She hadn’t seen that coming.
“I’ve already spoken to them. They’re both in.”
Julie was confused again. Lila wasn’t reprimanding her? “But...why?”
“You’re a strong, talented, giving woman, Julie. We all like you and enjoy your sense of humor. We thought it would be fun.”
A mental flash of her studio called to her. She needed her easel. Needed a pencil and paper—time to create the simple stories that always helped her see more clearly.
“Why?” she asked again. Was Colin behind this? He’d promised her he’d back off, that he’d let her take charge of her own healing.
“Because we want to show you that you aren’t alone.”
The threat of tears nearly strangled her. Lila was wrong. In the end, everyone was alone. Alone in your mind. In your secret places. Alone in a pain only you could feel. In a fear only you could fight.
No one else could know what it felt like to live with your own inability to trust.
Lila’s hand on Julie’s knee brought her gaze back to the older woman. “You’re interesting, Julie,” Lila said. “You’ve got such a unique perspective. Don’t forget I’ve read your stories...”
She blinked. Only Colin, Chantel and a few other people knew that she was the author of the newly published and already bestselling children’s book series, Being Amy. Lila was one of the few. Julie had told the director and Sara about the books when she’d offered to do some storytelling sessions the year before.
“Don’t worry, no one else here knows,” Lila said, cluing Julie into the fact that she must be showing her horror at the thought of becoming a public figure of any kind. “I gave you my word.”
She nodded. At Chantel’s urging, because her sister-in-law believed that Julie’s books could help children understand the challenges they faced, she’d agreed to have her work looked at. Chantel had an aunt by marriage whose family owned a small nonfiction publishing house—and who had long-term acquaintances with fiction publishing professionals. Within six weeks of sending the original file, Julie had a contract.
“So what do you say? Will you join us for dinner?”
The mere idea of venturing out far enough to go out for no purpose other than to socialize gave her a panic attack...and yet...she’d loved being part of a tribe...
But, in the past, when push had come to shove, when there’d been pressure put on their families by the police commissioner and his best friend, Smyth Sr.—a man who’d owned most of their investments—when they could’ve been ostracized from their privileged social group, her friends had all chosen to believe that a brutal date rape had been consensual sex.
Not everyone was out for the money, Julie told herself.
Her protective voice spoke up. But everyone looked out for self. In spite of others’ needs.
Except at The Lemonade Stand, where Lila and Julie and Lynn spent most of their waking hours. She could trust them to be real friends.
I will not let the bastard win...
“When did you have in mind?” Every nerve trembled, but when Lila gave her a date and time, Julie agreed to the outing.
And got out of The Lemonade Stand as quickly as she could.
* * *
LATE SATURDAY MORNING, Hunter Rafferty swung. Connected the iron with the ball and sent it sailing. It landed on the green, setting him up for a putt that would make him a shoe-in for the day’s grand prize. He didn’t even know what it was. Or care.
Hunter didn’t really like golf. Never had. Even though he’d been playing since he was twelve. He was good at it.
But then, he was good at pretty much everything he tried.
Looking to the one person in his foursome who’d prompted his attendance at the day’s charity event, he asked, “What can you tell me about Julie Fairbanks?”
Brett and his wife, Ella, had stopped in briefly at the wine tasting held at the Fairbanks mansion the night before. Their sixteen-month-old son had a cold, and Ella, a pediatric charge nurse, hadn’t wanted to be away from him. But Hunter had seen Brett speaking with Colin Fairbanks, Julie’s older brother.
Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand, among other things, turned and looked at him. “About Julie Fairbanks? Depends on what you want to know.” He picked up his bag and, with Hunter right beside him, began the two-hundred-yard trek to his ball a little short of the green. If they hadn’t been friends for so long, Hunter might have taken offense. As it was, he knew Brett was just being...Brett. He’d actually managed to establish a nationally respected accreditation for charities. They’d invite him to sit on their boards; there, he’d oversee spending and activities to ensure a lack of fraudulent use of funds. All across the United States, charitable foundations were vying for the accreditation, waiting in line for Brett to have time to sit on their boards.
The other two in their foursome at the semiannual businessmen’s tournament were several yards ahead of them.
Depends on what you want to know. Brett would’ve made a great covert op. Getting information out of him was nearly impossible sometimes.
If he knew what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be asking.
He didn’t want to limit what he might learn by narrowing his possibilities.
“I found it odd that she wasn’t at the wine tasting last night,” he improvised. The event had been in her home. When Brett had issued the invitation to attend as a way to get to know some of Santa Raquel’s elite a bit better, Hunter had immediately accepted. Mostly because it would’ve given him a chance to see Julie outside their business relationship.
Brett had originally introduced him to Julie when he’d heard about the gala fund-raiser for one of the kids’ charities she supported. As a result of that introduction, Julie had hired Hunter’s company—The Time of Your Life—to run her gala, and they’d been working closely together for months.
He knew nothing more about her now than he had when they’d first met.
Except that she was soft-spoken, often quiet, but when she had something to say he wanted to listen. She wasn’t pushy or aggressive, and yet she always managed to make things happen. She dressed more conservatively than any other woman he’d ever wanted to date. She’d never once mentioned that she lived in a mansion or that her trust fund was worth more than he’d ever had in all his investments combined. Her long dark hair was always contained. She had a smile that could melt ice.
And a scent that he dreamed about, waking up on more than one occasion expecting to smell it on the pillow beside him.
Oh, yeah, he had it bad.
But he wasn’t about to wallow in it.
He was The Time of Your Life guy.
And it was time for him to have a life.
Or something like that.
CHAPTER THREE (#u1748c73e-1d17-5731-a242-703ed7b3ad61)
WITH ONE MISSION in mind—getting Brett to give him some information before they left that day—Hunter took a couple of quiet steps in the pristine grass. Trying to come up with a plan.
“She wasn’t at the wine tasting because she was busy elsewhere,” Brett said a good two minutes after either of them had spoken.
Hunter had spent the evening looking for her when he should’ve been courting new clients and had left with his hopes dashed.
“You know where she was?”
“Yeah.”
“But you aren’t saying.”
Brett stopped then and turned toward him. “Are you asking?”
He hadn’t said exactly what he wanted to know. Or why he was asking about Julie. A key miss on his part.
Brett Ackerman was not a man to hack around with. He had made a mint from one thing most people had but so rarely relied on—integrity. A mint. By being a man the entire country could trust.
Americans Against Prejudice was how Hunter had met him. Hunter’s business arranged charity fund-raising events. And Brett had just been starting to earn recognition in the field of charitable organizations. Hunter had withstood intense scrutiny from Brett on the first few occasions they’d met. He’d been completely open. With his books, his intentions, his plans. He’d been eager for Brett’s approval, truth be known.
The two had been in contact ever since.
“I’ve asked her out more times than I can count,” he confessed as they reached Brett’s golf ball.
Hunter might not be as wealthy as most of the men out on Santa Raquel’s most prestigious golf course that Saturday afternoon, but he had money. Good looks. And a knack for showing people a great time.
Brett swung. Hunter watched as his ball landed and rolled five feet closer to the green than his own. Didn’t matter, Hunter was there on one. It had taken Brett two.
“I’ve never been turned down for a date in my life,” he said, when Brett remained silent.
“So that’s what this is about?” Brett asked, bagging his iron. Slinging the strap of his golf bag over his shoulder, he started to walk again.
“That I’m bugged because she turns me down? I thought so at first.”
Glancing his way, Brett asked, “You don’t now?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t tell you much.”
He’d figured.
“Don’t even think about getting to her through Colin,” Brett said, his tone sounding almost as if he was enjoying himself. “She hates it when he sticks his nose in her business.”
Hunter had spent some time speaking with Colin the night before. Had liked him. A lot. And he’d obtained a promise from Colin to invite a group of handpicked clients to attend a dinner at Hunter’s expense, to allow Hunter to explain what he did and invite them to join his guest list. Wealthy individuals were always looking for charity tax write-offs, and he threw one hell of a party. It was a win-win.
“I left it alone,” he said now. He’d been tempted to ask Colin about Julie. Something had held him back.
Like the thought that Colin would warn him off his little sister and he didn’t want to piss the guy off by disregarding his advice.
At the edge of the green both men pulled out putters and dropped their bags. Waited while the two guys ahead of them took their putts.
“Julie’s not really in your league,” Brett said, serious again.
“I’m not after her money.” If Hunter hadn’t known Brett so well, he would’ve been more offended than he was. Still...
“I’m not talking about her money,” Brett said. “Julie’s...different.”
No shit. She wouldn’t be keeping him up nights if she weren’t. “I know.”
“She’s not a woman a guy’s going to have fun with.”
“I’m not out to take advantage of her.” Although he could forgive Brett a little more easily on that one. He liked to have a good time. So did many other people, including the women who liked to hang out with him.
“Is she seeing anyone?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, in spite of how stupidly adolescent he felt.
Brett didn’t answer, and Hunter took that as a no. If she was involved, there’d be no reason he could think of to keep the information private. And in that case, she’d likely bring the guy to her upcoming gala.
“She’s careful.” Brett was staring at him now. And all of Hunter’s senses slowed.
They weren’t playing around here.
“She’s been hurt.” Brett didn’t look away as he spoke. “Badly.”
He continued to stand there.
“I just want to invite her out to dinner,” Hunter said. “To sit at a table with her and have some conversation.” Crazy thing was, his words were the complete truth.
