Chapter One

AFTER DRIVING FOR a good six days through state after boring state, Yale Perry was starting to have second thoughts about her trip. She’d had hours and hours to second-guess her decision to come to Texas, millions of possible scenarios evolving in her over-active imagination. So what if she had a job interview that had the potential to start her on her dream career merely days after she’d graduated from university? There were still millions of reasons why she shouldn’t be in Texas, let alone Houston. There was still Chris.

But the last thing she wanted to do was give Chris the power to decide her future. She hadn’t even talked to him in four years – why should he be allowed to influence her decision to move to Texas and set up a life of her own? It would be completely pathetic to let the memory of some stupid… Chris stop her from doing what she wanted, whether she was in his territory now or not.

She pulled into the motel on Longfield Street, the gravel crunching under the tires of her beat-up ’92 Cutlass Supreme. Good old Pedro, as she’d dubbed it when she’d bought it as a seventeen-year-old. She and Pedro had been through some rough patches, but a good coat of paint and some duct tape had always fixed things right up.

Turning off the ignition and removing the key from its slot, she opened the door and stepped out into the parking lot of the Pit Stop Motel. Yale pulled her purse out of the back seat, taking a deep breath of the Texas air, which was heavy in her lungs. She wasn’t quite used to the April whether. Having grown up in Canada, she’d been expecting the stereotypical hot-and-humid Texas whether. Luckily, she’d anticipated some fluctuations and dressed accordingly.

Pedro’s door slammed shut and Yale locked the car, not wanting to overlook any precautions. She may have grown up in a small town, but having gone to university in Ottawa, Canada’s capital, she was familiar with the drill of the big city.

She stepped into the lobby of the motel, glancing around to take in the appearance.

It didn’t seem like a horrible place to stay. It was well-lit, and the carpet was freshly vacuumed. The front desk was tidy and the wall-paper a stylishly neutral blue. It didn’t look at all like the greasy, cockroach-infested motel she’d been expecting.

“Can I help you, darlin’?” Her hazel eyes immediately searched out the source of the voice and discovered a lovely woman in her forties, who had just exited the bathroom to the left of the desk. She had graying black hair that was pulled into a neat bun at the back of her head, and her features were soft and welcoming. Yale liked her immediately.

“I’m Yale Perry,” she introduced with a smile.

“Oh, yes. I’ve got your reservation right here. Name’s Lilah McFee. My husband and I own this motel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. McFee,” Yale assured her, surprised by the friendliness with which she’d been greeted. She had come to expect the worst from large cities, although Ottawa was one of the better ones. People were friendly there, if not when they were driving. But it was nice to see that kindness wasn’t only a Canadian quality.

“You too, dear. Here’s your room key, and if you need anything at all, just ring the desk and let me know. Everything in your room should be in order – you get some rest. You’ve had a long drive. Canada, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She gave a nod of farewell and started toward the exit to get her bags from Pedro’s trunk. “Oh, and do you think you could set up a wakeup call for me at 7:30 tomorrow morning?”

“Of course. And after you’ve settled in, I’ll have Harold bring some dinner up to your room.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Mrs. McFee.”

“Call me Lilah, and I insist.” Yale smiled with resignation.

“All right. Goodnight, Lilah.”

Her motel room was spacious and cleanly – exactly the opposite of what she’d been expecting. Then again, she was finding that most of Texas was turning out that way. The double bed looked tidy and inviting, although she knew she had an entire bedroom routine that she had to go through before she could snuggle up under the covers and fall asleep.

Yale flopped her suitcase onto a vacant chair, dropping her purse and room key onto the dresser provided. She considered unpacking her clothes into it, but decided against it, seeing as how she wasn’t sure how long she’d be staying at the Pit Stop. She had her job interview at ten o’clock the next morning, and she didn’t want to tempt fate by settling in.

She kicked her shoes off, leaving them on the floor where she took them off – a habit she’d developed during her first year at uOttawa that she’d never quite kicked. Then, unzipping her suitcase, she pulled out her bathroom accessories and padded over to the washroom.

Her fingers found the light switch with ease and she dropped her bag of things onto the counter, pulling out a hair tie and sweeping her long, blonde hair into a messy ponytail. She washed her face and then moved into the bedroom.

She’d barely slipped the last button of her pajama shirt into the hole before she heard the gentle knock on the door, and she tied a bow in the drawstring of her matching pants before she answered it.

“Evening, miss,” greeted a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching mustache. He tipped his cowboy hat at her, and held out a steaming plate of food for her to take. At the mere sight of the steak and potatoes, Yale felt her mouth begin to water, and she took the offered plate eagerly.

“Thank you. You must be Harold.”

“That I am,” he smiled warmly. “Lilah told me that you were a lovely little one. New to these parts.”

“Yep,” she confirmed. “I’m just in town for a job interview.”

“Well, good luck with that. I can see you’re getting ready for a lay down, so I’ll let you be. If there’s anything you need, you just holler, y’hear?”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute and moved back into her room as he departed, his cowboy boots clicking along the sidewalk. Finally, something stereotypical in this town.

& & &

MILTON, HALTON, AND Mills was a publishing company in Houston that, though new to the business, was quickly becoming known as the place to submit your manuscript, agent represented or not, solicited or un. The company was expanding every day, and so was continuing to hire smart young people who were trying to worm their way into the business and make a niche.

Yale had submitted her resume to them a few weeks before she’d graduated, and she’d received a phone call two weeks ago asking her to be present for an interview. She’d been so ecstatic that she hadn’t even considered the request before she’d agreed. She’d gassed her car, made reservations at a motel, and started packing before the gravity of the situation had fully settled in.

She’d submitted her resume on a whim, not expecting at all to be even considered, when her nationality and place of residence were taken into account. If she actually landed a job with the company, she’d need a work visa and a place to live. She’d have to explain to her mother why she was suddenly living in the United States. She’d have to have her things shipped down. It would be a tremendous hassle.

But a job at Milton, Halton, and Mills was definitely worth the hassle.

Now waiting on a plush couch on the fourth floor of the publishing company, Yale tapped her foot nervously on the polished tile floor, drawing her lower lip through her teeth. She’d only been to a few job interviews in her lifetime, and only one of them had actually landed her a job. The job she’d held for most of high school, at a gas station, had been dumped in her lap, forgoing the interview process all together.

A secretary watched her from behind a computer monitor, a mildly amused expression on her face. Sure, Yale’s anxiety was amusing to onlookers. To Yale herself, it was less than fun. She had always been one to keep her cool in any situation. Even when she was nervous, she rarely showed it. But this job would be such an amazing accomplishment. The things she could learn at a company like this were endless. It would definitely start her career as an editor off on the right foot.

The secretary disappeared behind a set of double doors and Yale felt her heart stop in her chest. When the doors opened again, the secretary gave her a cold stare. “They’ll see you now, Miss Perry.”

“Thank you,” she said automatically, standing and hurrying toward the doors.

The inside of the conference room in which her interview was to be held was expensively decorated, a row of pane glass windows lining the wall to her left. A large oak table stretched down the center of the room, chairs spaced evenly around it. Only one man sat at the table, though she’d been expecting three, and he didn’t appear much older than she – perhaps twenty-five.

He stood when she entered, stepping around the table to shake her hand.

“Hello, Miss Perry. I’m Jacob Mills,” he told her, a smile stretching across his lips.

He was definitely attractive. In fact, everything about Jacob Mills was shocking to her. She’d expected all the partners in the company to be older gentlemen – the kind that had obviously been handsome in their youth, but were now more distinguished than attractive. But this young man was the kind of person you expected to find running his father’s bank straight out of university.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she responded. “And please, call me Yale.”

“Alright. Yale.” He motioned her into a chair and promptly sat down in the chair next to hers, swiveling in it to face her. “Unfortunately, Misters Milton and Halton are all tied up doing God knows what, so I’ll be the only one conducting your interview today. I think they’re under the impression that since they’re friends of my father, they can stick me with the dirty work,” he confided with a wink.

She laughed, taking a liking to Jacob, but not quite sure whether he was just being friendly or he was flirting with her. She quickly decided that she didn’t particularly care what he was doing, as long as she had a good interview.

He picked up a file that lay on the table, giving it a once-over.

“Oh, you’re the one from Canada. Did you have a good trip down? Texas must be quite an adjustment for you.”

“The trip was fine. A very long drive, but it’s nice to travel, on the other hand. Texas seems like a lovely place so far. Everyone has been very nice to me.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I’d hate for us Texans to give you a bad impression. We can be a rough bunch, but most of us are teddy bears at heart.” He dropped the file back onto the table, turning his full attention to her. “So you just graduated from the University of Ottawa. English major?”

“Yes, sir. Honours B.A. with a specialization in English.” He nodded his approval.

“Tell me why you want to be an editor.”

She’d been prepared for this question, and it wasn’t at all difficult for her to answer. She’d been explaining it to people for years. People just couldn’t understand why she’d want to devote her time to hunching over unpublished books with a red pen.

“Ever since I was little, I’ve loved reading. It’s always been a passion of mine. As I got older, I began to develop an appreciation for grammar, and I had a knack for it. My friends would always ask me to read through their essays for class, and when my older cousins, who were in university, started asking me, a fourteen-year-old, to edit their term papers, I knew I’d found my calling. The idea of being one of the first people to read a manuscript is appealing to me. It’s almost comparable to being the first person to walk on the Moon, or the person to hear a baby’s first words.”

She paused, wondering if that sounded as lame to Jacob as it had to her. When she glanced over to gauge his expression, she found him staring at her intently, his brow furrowed.

“That’s the best answer I’ve heard all day, Yale,” he told her, his voice sincere. She felt an appreciative blush tinge her cheeks, but forced herself to remain neutral. “What do you think you can bring to Milton, Halton, and Mills?”

“Well, I’m very imaginative. I’m sure that I can come up with innovative ways to improve novels and bring great ideas to the company. I’m really dedicated, so I’ll always try my best to do anything I can to help my clients and my co-workers. I –”

“I think I’ve heard all I need to,” he interrupted. “Yale, welcome to Milton, Halton, and Mills.”

& & &

IT WAS OFFICIAL. Chris Lambert’s muse was dead. There was no other explanation for it. No matter how hard he tried to write, whenever he put a pen to paper, all creative thought would flee his head. He became an instant idiot.

This was horrible. It was impossible. This had never happened to him before. He’d always been able to write songs. It was second nature to him. Whenever something significant happened in his life, whenever he felt a strong emotion, he wrote a song about it. He wrote songs about anything. He had more than one hundred songs under his belt – he’d been writing them for years – and yet, he felt like a beginner.

What if he’d lost it forever? Oh, that was too dreadful to even think about. He was the one who wrote the songs, and then he sang them. That’s how it was. He didn’t sing other peoples’ songs. That’s not who he was. Without him writing songs, Eclipse was doomed.

He’d been playing with those three guys for years. Jamie, Toby, and Mark were like family to him. Ever since they’d formed the band, it had been the same format. Chris would write the songs, and they’d all come up with some music to go with the lyrics, and then they’d play the songs. It had been that way since before they’d actually made it last year – before everyone in Texas and its surrounding states had known their names.

But now, just when song writing was most important, when Eclipse was trying to get their name out there and expand their fan base, his muse died. Just perfect. Just bloody wonderful timing.

He tossed his pen frustratedly across the room, raking his hand back through his long, dark hair. He’d tried everything to get it back. Well, everything he could think of. Namely, he’d drank until he was pissed off his ass and then went out and got himself laid.

It hadn’t worked.

He didn’t even want to deal with the awful truth that he’d been suppressing for coming up on four years now – sex just wasn’t satisfying for him anymore. There was no way he could come to terms with that at all, let alone at the same time his muse had run off on him. That was too much to bear.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he knew exactly what his problem with sex was, and it was adorable, blonde, and far too young for him. Always had been, always would be. Anyone who said otherwise was flat out lying.

He hadn’t thought about Yale in a long time. Alright, so that wasn’t true. He thought about her all the time. He just never did it on purpose.

The phone rang, jarring him from his train of thought, and jerked out of his chair before snatching the phone off the wall. “Hello,” he snarled.

“Whoa, chill out, Chris. Did I interrupt something?” came a thoroughly amused voice from the other end of the connection.

“What do you want, Charlie?” The last person Chris wanted to talk to was his agent. Charlie was a great guy, but he wasn’t the kind of person he wanted to talk to when he was having muse issues.

“Just calling to remind you about the party.”

Chris groaned automatically. He’d completely forgotten about the party, and now that he’d been reminded, he didn’t want to go. The only people who went to these Houston big shot parties were rich and snobby and thought that because they did movies or wrote books and had their names out there, they should all throw huge parties to give themselves excuses to schmooze and get drunk. It was damn stupid, and he didn’t want any part of it, but the other guys were looking forward to seeing what new meat the agents had dragged in.

“Chris?”

Oh, right. He was expected to answer.

“I’ll be there,” he said unenthusiastically.

“Chris, man, I don’t know what’s had your panties in a knot lately, but you need to get over it. You can’t show up to party with Houston’s finest when you’ve got this stick up your ass. So I suggest you call your physician and have it removed before you get there.”

He heard a click as Charlie disconnected the call, and he jamming his phone back on the hook.

Damn it. He didn’t have anything to wear.