Sara Stone - Command Control

Sadie frowned, her wineglass hovering close to her lips. “I sent him an extra check with a note to buy a plane ticket.”

“Oh, well, he didn’t mention it,” Laurel said, the excitement in her eyes dimming.

Damn him, Sadie thought. Her father might begrudge her charity, but he didn’t have to take it out on Laurel. As far as Sadie was concerned the monthly checks weren’t a handout. Their father had worked hard to provide for his twin girls after their mother had passed away when they were babies. Now it was Sadie’s turn to take care of him. She had the money to ensure they stayed afloat. And with the way her book had taken off, she could do a lot more than pay the bills. But her father and sister would only accept so much.

Laurel shrugged. “It’s just as well. I don’t know where I’d put him. We barely have room for you and the baby.”

Sadie set her wineglass on the bar. “I found someplace else to stay.”

Laurel’s brow furrowed. “You’re staying with us. After all you’ve done for us, the checks you sent when I lost my job, we owe you. I can’t repay the money, but I can feed and house you for the next month. Please, Sadie. Let me do this for you. I promise to bake your favorite cookies.”

“I’d be in the way on your couch.” Laurel and her husband rented a cramped one-bedroom cottage outside of town. And while Sadie lived in a Manhattan apartment the size of a shoe box—albeit one with a Central Park view—it had been years since she’d shared her living space with her twin. They’d fought day and night back then. She couldn’t imagine it would be better now that Laurel was eight months pregnant.

“I saw an ad online for a guesthouse rental on the neighboring farm,” she continued. “I called and it was available. This way you will have some time with Greg before the baby arrives and I will have space to write. I have a book due soon.”

“Lou’s guesthouse?”

Sadie nodded. “I spoke with a woman named Louise Reed.”

“Everyone calls her Lou.”

“Well, I’m staying in Lou’s guesthouse,” Sadie said firmly. “But that does not change the fact that I’m here for you. I’m going to be the best big sister.”

“You’re five minutes older. I don’t think that counts,” Laurel said, her eyes brimming with tears. It was an old argument. One they’d joked about for years. “But thank you,” her twin added. “For everything. I appreciate the money. We wouldn’t have survived without it. Still, having you here means even more to me. And one day, I’m going to find a way to repay you. When you need me, I’ll be there. I promise.”

Those heartfelt words sent a wave of guilt crashing down on her. She was here for her sister. Mostly.

She glanced around the spacious restaurant, unable to meet her twin’s gaze. Everything about the place was quaint and welcoming. At the back, they’d kept the old sliding door from when the building had been a barn. High up in the A-frame ceiling, light poured in through long horizontal windows. This place was a world away from her life in Manhattan. But when she went back, her life wouldn’t be the same. Not even close.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Laurel said, as if reading her mind. Sadie had never been able to hide anything from her twin. It was a little scary how easily Laurel knew what Sadie was thinking. But the connection did not run both ways, which was just plain unfair.

“I know you had to get away before the world learns about your secret identity,” Laurel continued.

In a few weeks, everyone would know she’d written the erotica novel everyone was talking about—Isabelle’s Command by MJ Lane. Sadie would be on national TV promoting the release of the second book in the series. She felt a wave of excitement just thinking about it.

But two weeks earlier, a small problem had threatened her carefully planned reveal. She’d caught a photographer outside her building when she’d gone out for a bagel. Thankfully, she’d spotted him first and quickly covered her face with her arms. She’d heard the camera’s click, click, click, but knew he’d only caught shots of a faceless red-haired woman walking into her building.

Of course, he’d still tried to save his story by calling her publicist to verify the woman in the pictures was MJ Lane before printing them. Her publicist had lied, telling the man no. But not all of them would fact-check. If she wasn’t careful, she would not be able to keep her secret until the release of her second book. Another tabloid reporter might run the story on a hope and a prayer that the facts were correct.

Telling the world Sadie Bannerman was MJ Lane—it would happen. And she was determined to make the most of the story. This was her career, her future, her everything.

But it needed to unfold according to her plan. Here, in rural Vermont, there was very little chance her secret would get out before her next book release. Her big disclosure would be perfect.

Almost.

Once the world learned who she was, she knew her relationships, already strained from the time and energy she poured into her work, would be marked with a big fat F for failure. She’d have less time for her sister. And her father? She hadn’t asked him, but she had a hunch he didn’t like the idea of the whole world knowing she wrote erotica. He acted as if taking the money she made from her work was a cardinal sin.

She might not be able to set things right with her dad in the next few weeks, but she could take this opportunity to be here for her sister. Laurel needed her and this time sending a check to help cover the bills wasn’t enough.

“It means so much to me that you’ll be here when the baby arrives.” The tears were no longer brimming; they were flowing down Laurel’s face.

“Oh, no, don’t you start. If you cry, we’ll both be a weeping mess in minutes, and I refuse to cry in public. I’m here for a whole month. We’re going to have some fun together before my little niece arrives.” Sadie caught the bartender’s attention. “Do you have pie?”

When they were little, pie had been the family cure-all. Their dad had never known what to do with two crying girls, so he’d decided it was best to splurge on a trip to the diner for a slice or two.

“Yes, dear,” the man old enough to be her grandfather said. “Apple, cherry and Maine blueberry.”

“Apple,” Laurel said quickly.

He nodded. “Two slices?”

“No,” Sadie said. “We’re going to need the whole pie.”

3

AFTER MORE THAN a decade in the army, Logan knew when to withdraw and wait for the enemy to pass. Not that the pack of elementary school teachers were hostiles, but after his encounter with Cindy two days earlier, he wasn’t taking any chances. He hadn’t planned on leaving the farm, but his aunt was driving him crazy, constantly badgering him about the raffle.

Logan spotted the women leaving the coffee shop on Main Street before they saw him, and his training kicked in. Opening the door to the one-hundred-and-something-year-old Victorian house that had been converted into Main Street Books, he slipped inside. A covert entrance except for the jingling bell attached to the door announcing his presence. He found a position in the rear corner of the store, deep in the maze of bookshelves. The only window in this section looked out on a side alley lined with garbage cans. No one would spot him back here. Pulling the nearest book from the shelf, he pretended to read the back cover.

“If you need assistance picking out a romance novel, I can help.”

His gaze snapped to the woman standing two feet away holding a book in each hand—the redhead from The Quilted Quail. She’d traded in her miniskirt for a pair of jean shorts, but that didn’t affect his reaction. The desire he’d felt when he’d first seen her returned full force.