A Secret Life by Barbara Dunlop Page A

for her parents.
    “I have to stick with my instincts.”
    He took her hands in his, the slick pads of his thumbs smoothing over her tender knuckles. His voice went gentle. “And what are your instincts telling you now?”
    A bead of sweat formed at her temple and trickled down toward her jawline. She took a bracing breath and forced herself to look him straight in the eyes.
    Truth was, her instincts were at war with each other. But she told him part of it. “That when the going gets tough, the family has to stick together.”
    His jaw went tight, and he closed his eyes for a split second. “And what about you and me sticking together?”
    “We’re not—”
    “They’re selfish, Joan.”
    “They’re my family.” This was a hard decision, a wrenching decision. Why did he have to make it worse?
    “That’s not a family.”
    Her spine stiffened. He’d crossed the line with that one. “Really? What is a family, Anthony?”
    “People who support you through thick and thin.”
    “Like your family?”
    “Yes.”
    She laughed then, but the sound was bitter. “Why don’t you tell me what your own sainted family would do under these circumstances?”
    “My family wouldn’t be under these circumstances.”
    “Of course they wouldn’t,” she snapped. “They’re too perfect for this.”
    “Well, they sure wouldn’t be ashamed of me. They’d have thrown my first book launch. They’d have bought copies for their friends, acquaintances and coworkers.”
    “Why? Is everybody they know trailer trash?” The second the words were out of her mouth, Joan cringed in horror.
    Anthony’s jaw snapped shut. A chill masked his eyes.
    She opened her mouth to apologize, but he held up a hand.
    “Don’t say another word,” he ordered
    She tried anyway.
    “Joan.”
    She shut her mouth, waiting for him to yell at her. She certainly deserved it.
    But he stood there for a long, silent moment, staring at her as if she were a stranger. Then he turned on his heel to stalk back down the pathway.
    Joan didn’t move. The splashing in the bayou increased, and she began to hope it was a gator. A big, hungry gator would put an end to all of her problems. Snap, snap, swallow, and she would stop letting everybody down.

    I T WAS a long day for Heather. Joan spent most of it in her room, giving only one word answers when Heather called through the door. But since the family jet was booked for their Paris flight tomorrow, and since Joan wasn’t talking about canceling their plans, Heather decided to leave well enough alone.
    Anthony made himself scarce, and even Luc was busy working on the dock. The number of fans and reporters milling around Indigo was increasing, so Heather didn’t really want to venture into town. Out of desperation, she picked up Luc’s copy of Bayou Betrayal.
    She started reading around four o’clock. By six, she was cloistered in her room, riveted by the tension, the plot twists and even the sex in the story. Lost in the characterization, she forgot completely that it had been written by her sister.
    Then, sometime in the evening, she heard Samuel’s deep voice in the downstairs lounge. It sent a jolt through her stomach and increased her pulse.
    She felt the usual sexual buzz in response to him, but her heart also went out to the man. She didn’t know how much of Bayou Betrayal was true and how much was fiction. But Samuel was definitely Jared, the sixteen-year-old boy who had lost his parents to a horrible crime.
    She could see now why Samuel had turned out so tough. He’d stayed in his family cottage all on his own, worked in the evenings during high school, then got training as a carpenter. In a strange way, the rise and fall of his voice reassured her that things had turned out well for the boy in the story.
    Eventually, she moved closer to her bedroom door, letting the conversation downstairs become a backdrop.
    Then she moved to a nook in the breakfast room, flicking on a small lamp in the dark