Zoya slid the blouses across the rod and wondered why she'd agree to a shopping trip. Easy answer. Delphine's treat for Zoya finishing the paintings of Roman.

The woman got her way about everything. Plus, Delphine's late night visitor had stopped visiting, and that had put her in a foul mood.

"Ooh, look at this. It would be beautiful on you, Chere. Sexy even."

Zoya eyed the black embroidered lace mesh peasant top with a sheer midriff. She'd never worn anything so revealing, but had to admit, it appealed to her. Maybe some of Delphine's style was rubbing off. "It is pretty."

Delphine shoved it toward her. "You must try it on. It will be perfect with either skinny jeans or a skirt." She pointed to a nearby table. "Strap on those lace up sandals with the wedge heels, and you'll be the hottest thing around." She turned back to the display. "And this one, too."

Now she flipped a peplum sleeveless royal blue top from front to back to display the sheer insets. What was with her? Everything she selected would show skin.

"You've got all the curves, this will look lovely on you, Chere. Perfect to wear to your friend's wedding."

Zoya snapped her head around. "I told you I'm not going."

"Why? Because your former lover will be there?"

"He'll be there because it's his step brother's wedding, but that isn't the reason." She'd been a blabber mouth during their morning breakfasts. But there was something about Delphine that just pulled out information before Zoya knew what was happening. She'd shared too much about Roman and everyone else in Arcadia. Well, she'd not told her what city they were in. She wasn't a total fool, but even today, this excursion was out of character, but Delphine's power of persuasion won.

"You should wear revealing things while you're young. Soon, you will be old and feel the need to cover most of your body. Liver spots. Crepe skin. Crow's feet. No matter how hard you work to maintain your face, the rest will betray you." She waved her hand in the air. "I know, you think I am being silly. You are so young, but so was I just a few months ago." She giggled. "Time goes so fast, that's why we must grab all the joy we can."

Taking a deep breath and both blouses, Zoya spoke over her shoulder as she headed to the dressing room. "I'll try these on, but I make no promises."

"Your word today is démodé. It means out-of-date. We cannot have you dressing that way. Especially now that I've arranged an exhibit for you at Park Street Gallery."

Zoya spun on her. "What? No! I don't want my work shown. Why did you do that without discussing it with me first?"

"Calm down, Chere. It is your responsibility to share your talent. Your nudes are some of the best I've seen. You will show them. I will not allow you to refuse."

Zoya heaved for breath. She couldn't do this. People would expect the artist to appear. She collapsed onto the sofa and lowered her voice. "No. Delphine. You don't understand. I can't make public appearances. I can't sign my work."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "You say that as if it's dangerous. Is it?"

Zoya's throat closed up, so she nodded.

"So, there is more to your story than a broken heart?"

Another nod.

"This lover. Did he mistreat you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. He was good to me. It's someone else I need to avoid. Please, I can't be in the spotlight."

Delphine ran her thumb over Zoya's cheek to wipe a tear. "I understand, Chere. But that will make the show even more popular. A new artist who insists on remaining a mystery. I love it! I'll arrange everything. No one will know."

After tossing and turning for most of the night, Zoya got out of bed. Maybe hot chocolate would help her sleep. A stupid thought. Chocolate and sugar. Not a sedative. However, it would make her feel better so why not? What she really needed was something for her nerves. Delphine's announcement about the gallery had put her on edge. She poured water into a pan and set it on the burner, then took a cup from the cabinet.

All the way home, Zoya had begged her to cancel the showing, but didn't get her to budge. Okay, she admitted Delphine seemed to have the problem worked out. She'd handle all the personal contact. Even so, Zoya should leave. Pack her things, art and all, and call a taxi and get out of Austin. But where would she go? She ripped the cocoa package open and emptied it into the cup, then poured in the water and stirred.

She blew a steady breath across the surface and drank. Closing her eyes, she thought about the time she had left—and Roman. God, she hated that he kept popping into her head. She missed him. And Homer. The treehouse. Working in the garden.

She took a deep breath, swallowed the last of the chocolate, put the cup in the dishwasher, and returned to the canvas she'd started earlier. Might as well make use of her time. She had another oil of Roman to finish.

Two months sober. Roman laughed. Shouldn't he get a chip or something for that milestone? Oh yeah. Now he remembered. He didn't think of himself as an alcoholic, just a guy drinking to forget a woman. Well, he should give testimony somewhere because it sure as hell didn't work.

He laid his head back on the chaise and closed his eyes and thought about how Zoya looked the last time he'd seen her. Right before she packed her things and left. If she'd waited he could have fixed everything. Like always, he'd done the wrong thing and now he was suffering the consequences. And since he'd sworn off booze, the nightmares were worse than ever.

He held out the smallest hope she'd show up at Flynn and Mariana's wedding, but he knew better. Once Zoya committed to something, she kept with it. And she'd damn sure set her head to staying gone.

After all this time, the only lead Roman had was Mariana's car being found in Dallas. A dead end. From there, he had no idea where to look next. She might still be there.

Homer raised his head and perked his ears, then Roman heard it.  He rose from his chair, walked around the end of the house, and found Miles Landry half-way out of his car. A woman sat inside.

Roman adjusted his sunglasses. "What the hell do you want?"

"Thought I'd follow up on the girl."

"Get off my property."

Before Miles answered, the woman got out and walked toward Roman. "Mr. DeRoux, I'm Stella Jackson. I practically raised Dove and I need to know if she's okay."

Roman knew that to be true. Zoya had told him about her nanny, and her description matched right down to the hair. "Sorry, can't help you." He turned back toward the house, but she called after him.

"Please, Mr. DeRoux. We know she was living here. I'd not thought about your grandmother in a long time, but once Miles told me he was coming to Arcadia, I remembered a photo from Mr. St. Clair's college days. He and your mother were friends."

Roman kept walking and Stella continued to talk.

"Miles is good at what he does. We know you've been in prison. What I don't know is if she's okay."

Roman spun around and jerked his glasses off and clamped his teeth together. "I'd never hurt her."

Stella put her hand against her throat. "You care about her."

He did. But just like he'd try to tell Zoya, he was not the man for her. Stella had already judged him unworthy because of his past and he deserved it. He might be innocent of arson, but he was guilty of so much more.

"Like I said. Can't help you." This time he made it to the porch before she spoke again.

"I'll bet she brings out a kindness you didn't even know you had."

No doubt the woman knew Zoya because she was right on every level. He turned back to face her again. "When she left, she was fine. I don't have a clue where she is." Roman grabbed the screen door handle and pulled it open.

"I can trace her as far as Waco," Miles said.

Roman's heart hammered. He wheeled around to focus on the PI. "How?"

"I had a guy staked out on the main road. If she was here, I figured she'd run. He followed her to Dallas. She ditched the car. Took a bus to Waco, but then he lost her. As far as we can tell, she's still there. Has she contacted you?"

"Why didn't your guy grab her?"

"Hired to find her, not return her. Marion has goons for that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Miles raised his brows and cocked his head toward Stella.

Women and their power. Roman's stomach knotted like it had every day since Zoya left. "I didn't handle the situation well. I'll be the last person to hear from her."

Stella folded her arms beneath her ample breasts. "Then what are you going to do about that?"

"Nothing I can do."

"Go after her. Find her. Help her."

"Don't you think I would if I could? My family and I have brainstormed about every possible way to locate. No luck. Dallas. Waco. They're big cities. It'd be like looking for a particular fish in the ocean. Thousands of miles. One of me."

"So you're just going to give up?"

"Sorry. I don't have a choice. I appreciate the information, but I don't see how it helps." Roman opened the door and went inside. Stella was right. He had to do something but for the life of him, he didn't know what. For the first time in weeks, he wanted a drink. He grabbed the keys to his Harley.

When Roman got to the bar, he found the place almost empty. Too early for happy hour. He'd stick with beer and skip the whiskey. He'd have just one drink to think about what his next move should be. He ordered his drink and when the bartender gave it to him, Roman headed to a back table. He should be happy about the information the PI had shared, and he was, but it was no help. More than anything, it'd put him in a good mood.

Striking out for a big city didn't make sense. If Miles Landry couldn't find her, what made him think Roman could? No, he needed more concrete evidence.

A few tables over, a trio of older guys sat at a table along with three forty something's dressed too young for their ages. All the bright colors made him think of Zoya's cleanup garb. He pulled up the photo on his phone and couldn't help but chuckle. But then he thought about never seeing her again, and his mood darkened again.

Lost in gloom, Roman didn't notice the man stagger toward him. The short, skinny dude was almost to the table when Roman saw him. He set his bottle down and rolled his eyes up to look at the guy. "S'up?"

"I saw you looking at my woman."

The last thing Roman needed was trouble. But that was what this idiot wanted. Reminding himself he wasn't in prison anymore, Roman had nothing to prove. "I apologize. She reminded me of someone." No clue which of the three bar-babes the guy referred to, and it didn't make much difference. This nut was looking for a fight.

The redneck's ego deflated. He'd expected a confrontation and got none but he was too sloshed to give up. He raised his voice. "Well, I don't accept your apology. I'm gonna whip your ass."

Every eye in the place focused on the challenger. Roman leaned forward, plastered on a smile, but added steel to his voice. "Listen closely. I'm going to give you a way out of this as to not embarrass yourself, but if you don't take it, we'll step outside and I. Will. Put. You. Down." Roman scooted his chair from the table, stood, and held his hands up in surrender and spoke loud enough for the guy's friend's to hear. "Again, I sincerely apologize—to you and your lady. I meant no disrespect."

The guy might've towered over him by a good four inches and outweighed him by forty pounds, but that didn't matter. He'd beat worse odds. The fool didn't have any muscle probably from spending too much time in here. Roman's defined physique came from years of perseverance; He could snap his opponent's neck like a fresh green bean. He just hoped the chump had enough remaining brain power to make the right choice.

And then he saw the sweat glistening on the man's forehead and recognized his expression. Fear. Roman backed away and eyed him. "We good?"

He nodded.

It was time to get the hell out of of this place. All Roman had wanted was to enjoy a beer in peace. So much for that. Just as he straddled his Harley, his phone chimed. Mariana.

"Hey, future sister-in-law. What's going on?"

"Come to the shop. I need to talk to you."

The tone of Mariana's voice worried him. "What's wrong?"

"Are you coming or not?"

"On my way."

It only took fifteen minutes to get there, but during that time, Roman's mind raced. Was there already trouble in paradise? Flynn was living in Baton Rouge during the week and only in Arcadia on weekends. Roman wasn't sure the arrangement was a good one, but Mariana was busy planning the wedding (and by planning, he meant Ophelia was rapidfire texting Mariana every five seconds with ideas for flower arrangements and the like) and they still needed to find a house there. Until then, she didn't want Tommy having to change schools.

He came to a stop and dismounted. In three long strides he was at the door. He pushed it open. Mariana stood behind the counter looking at her laptop. "Are you in love with Zoya?"

Roman shook his head, annoyed. Everyone was getting goddamn repetitive. "What the hell? All the way over here I've been going crazy wondering what you wanted to talk about—and that's it? What damn difference does it make? She left me. Remember?"

"Look, I didn't lie when I said I didn't know where she was, but if I did, I'd need a good reason to tell you. I mean, what would be the use of finding her just to hurt her again. So... do you?"

He tugged at the ends of his curls, pacing in front of her, steam rolling off him in waves. "Damnit, Mariana! If you've heard from her, just tell me."

"I haven't, but I still need to know how you feel about her."

Roman ran his hand over his face. "Fuck. First the PI comes calling and now this shit. Contrary to what you might think, love doesn't fix every problem in the world. So if you've got something to say, then say it."

"What did the PI want?"

"Said he'd tracked her to Waco, but lost her there."

Mariana smiled. "Then it makes sense."

"What?"

"I was clearing out my history this morning on my laptop and during the time Zoya was taking care of the goats, she searched for rental property in Austin. I think that's where she is."

Move over, Landry and DeRoux. Detective López is on the case!

TEASER: There was something going on that made no sense. He needed to find out what that was before he charged in like the Calvary.

Uh oh, wonder what is going on here?