Samara leaned against the small counter in front of Jenn’s desk. “My father...he had an accident on a business trip. He’s...dead.”

“Oh my god!” Jenn rose to her feet, covering her mouth with her hands. “Parker? Oh my god!”

Samara straightened her shoulders with another deep breath. Not only was this a family crisis, it was a business crisis, and she had staff that she had to consider too. Staff and clients and other stakeholders in the business. “I’m afraid so,” she continued quietly. “I can hardly believe it myself. I have to go back to Portland right away.”

“Of course. Of course. What can I do?”

“Book me a flight,” Samara replied. “The soonest you can get me on. I’ll need to finish a few things here and then head home to pack.”

Jennifer was already clicking with her mouse, going on-line to book the flight. Then she paused, rose from her chair and circled around from behind the counter, arms outstretched. She enfolded Samara into a big hug. “I’m so sorry, Sam. He’s our CEO...but he’s your father.”

More emotion welled up inside Samara at Jennifer’s sympathy, and she hugged her assistant back. “This is awful,” she whispered. “So awful.”

They pulled back, and Jenn’s eyes gleamed with tears too. “We’ll all do whatever we can,” she said, voice shaky. “Barry can take that meeting you have scheduled tomorrow. I’ll reschedule your other meetings. I’ll finish up the reports, and I’ll get Jason to check them over. You’re so on top of things it will be easy to cover for you for a few days. Just tell me...whatever you need. We’re here for you.”

Samara could have burst into tears at that, at what a loyal and caring staff she had working for her. Normally she hated having to accept help from anyone, but she was so agitated by this turn of events she just nodded, lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to smile. “Thank you, Jenn.” Rumors would fly about what was happening. She needed to communicate with her team before she left, make sure things were looked after... She focused on business, pushing her disbelief and grief to the back of her mind as she prepared to―at long last―go home.

If she’d ever imagined going home again, she’d always thought her father would be there to ease the way. But now he was gone. And she was going to see Travis again.

The minute Samara pulled her rental car into the driveway of the house she used to call home, she had to fight the urge to keep going right around the circular driveway, back onto the street and all the way back to San Francisco.

She sat there gripping the steering wheel, her stomach in knots. During the nearly two-hour flight to Portland she’d felt okay, but now she was there, sitting in the driveway, her hands started to shake.

She looked out the window at the Tudor-style house she hadn’t seen for seven years, still elegant, immense, impressive. Three cars lined the curved stone driveway, all of them expensive. Bright petunias, verbena and ivy cascaded out of massive terra cotta planters, bright splashes of red and purple and green in the afternoon sunshine.

She closed her eyes, her heart aching at the thought that she’d never see her father again. It still didn’t seem like it could be true.

She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. No tears. Not now.

She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and straightened her spine. She could do this. She blew out a breath that lifted the long bangs slanting across her forehead and tightened her fingers momentarily on the steering wheel. Then she climbed out of her car, slung her slouchy leather bag over her shoulder and started toward the front entrance of the house.

A wave of nostalgia swept over her as she climbed the steps. Her life in this house had been full of love and laughter and joy. That had all come slamming to a halt pretty damn quick, throwing her into adulthood overnight, ending her romantic teenage dreams, and sending her out into the world alone. She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and pushed down on the gleaming brass lever of the door.

In the cool foyer, the sound of muted voices drifted down the hall. The alarm chimed when she closed the door behind her. She waited, but nobody appeared, so she started down the hall. The tap tap of her heels on the dark wood floor surrounded her, and as she drew closer to the den, the voices grew only a little louder. With each step, the cramping tightness in her stomach grew worse, and memories flooded back of that last time she’d walked into the house through the front door and taken these same steps down the hall toward the den.

She’d been out with friends and had arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, surprised to see Travis’s car in the driveway at that time of day. With her heart banging in her chest, she’d entered the house, an unreasonable, crazy hope spiraling up inside her that he was there to see her...

Unsure where he was, she’d poked her head into the den, much as she was about to do now, and had seen Travis and her mother sitting on the couch, their heads bent close together. Travis’s arm rested along the back of the couch around Mom’s shoulders. Samara had paused, hand on her throat, their murmured words reaching her ears.

“How on earth did he find out?” Mom had asked Travis.

“I had to tell him,” Travis said. “I’m sorry, Dayna. I had to. I never meant for this to cause problems for your marriage.”

Mom had nodded, head bent. “It’s not all your fault,” she said, her voice thick. “I didn’t handle things very well when he confronted me.”

Travis’s low groan had made Samara’s eyes widen. He sounded so agonized. “He wants me to move to L.A.,” he’d told her mom. “He says we can’t work together anymore.”

“Oh, Travis.” Mom had looked up at him with wet eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to go. But maybe that’s better...for everyone.” She’d leaned in as Travis’s arm pulled her closer.

Samara couldn’t watch anymore. With a buzzing in her ears, her legs stiff, she’d slipped unseen down the hall and had climbed the stairs to her bedroom. There she’d sat on her bed for a long time, thinking about what she’d seen and heard, fighting the nausea rising up inside her. Remembering the argument she’d heard her parents having in their bedroom the night before, and putting it all together, her already bruised heart splintering into sharp shards.

Those old feelings returned along with the memories, and Samara now paused in the hall with a hand pressed to her rolling stomach. She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath and then stepped up to the French doors of the den.

Her mom sat on the chocolate leather sofa across the room, the sunlight streaming in the big mullioned windows lighting up her auburn hair, the exact color of Samara’s own but worn in a shorter flippy style. Samara studied her mom’s face. She’d hardly aged at all in the last seven years, although maybe she was a bit thinner. What Samara really noticed was the heartache on her mother’s face, her pale, her eyes and nose pink, and her eyebrows pulled down in sadness.

Seeing her mom after all this time, seeing her looking so sad, tugged at something deep inside Samara, something soft that she didn’t want to feel. She’d been so hurt by what her mom had done all those years ago she did not want to feel sorry for her. Her throat tightened, and she drew in a shaky breath.

Beside her mom sat Alec Duffy, the Chief Financial Officer of Cedar Mill Coffee. Alec’s tanned handsome face wore grooves from his nose to the corners of his mouth and a furrow between his brows. His hair might be little grayer than the last time she’d seen him, but he was still an attractive man in his early fifties. Another man Samara didn’t recognize sat on a chair to his right, his face just as somber.

Then Samara’s gaze moved to the fourth person in the room. Travis. Her breath caught in her throat like a fishbone. He was here.