Early the next morning, with Flynn on his way to Baton Rouge, Ophelia still sound asleep, and Zoya gone to work, Roman headed to his property to mend fences for the pony's new home. Flynn's excitement about fatherhood proved contagious, and Roman was stoked about being an uncle. Maybe he was projecting his own secret desire through his step brother.  Since finding out about the little boy, fleeting thoughts of parenthood had crossed Roman's mind more than once.

There'd been a time when he'd dreamed of having his own family, but prison killed that hope. He'd pushed the idea to the back of his mind and concentrated on staying alive. Now, he was finding out that freedom created a whole new list of problems. In the number one position—Zoya, and what to do about her.

He swung the truck around next to the fence. As soon as he opened the door, Homer jumped out and hiked his leg on the nearest post. Pulling on his gloves, Roman got to work, but couldn't concentrate on the job. Flynn's questions had stirred up some emotions Roman didn't want to deal with. Why try to make more out of sleeping together than just plain sex? Ophelia was the only one not questioning Roman's intentions, and that was probably because he'd seen so little of her, she'd not brought it up.

Homer barked at a grasshopper while Roman grabbed the posthole digger and dug next to a broken post. Once he had the new upright in place, he attached the fence stretcher, connected the two pieces of barbed wire, looped them together, and twisted them tight.

Okay, so maybe what he felt for Zoya was stronger than physical, but what did everyone expect him to do? She was the one who wanted it and he was just giving her what she asked for. Well, he'd wanted it, too, but she'd started it, and now he was paying the price. Seemed she and everyone else expected more from him, and he had no more to give. Especially not to her. A twenty-four-year-old rich girl mooning over the first guy who'd given her an orgasm. That was a hell of a long way from—from. Shit, from what? He didn't know. That's the thing that bothered him most.

"Homer! Come here. Don't wander off because when I'm ready to go, I'm not coming to find you." The dog looked at him as if to say he knew better.  Roman couldn't even fool the mutt. He moved farther down to another problem area and spliced wire to repair it. Once done, Artax would have plenty of pasture to graze and when winter came, Roman could move some of the hay bales.

The dog scampered to the edge of the pond and drank. Even though it was almost dry, with a little rain, it'd be enough for one horse.

Roman hoisted himself onto the tailgate, palmed a bottle of water, and took a long pull. Maybe he'd buy a few head of cattle or a friend for Artax. Tommy was too young to ride alone, so if Roman bought another mount, he or Flynn or even Mariana could go with him.

The idea made Roman smile, but as quickly as the happy image appeared, it vanished. What was he thinking? Once Flynn started with St. Clair Steel, he'd move his new family, and they'd rarely come to Arcadia.

A few months ago, Roman dreamed of being alone in Charamel's house with simple, quiet freedom. Now the thought of Flynn and Ophelia leaving made his stomach hurt. Fast forward to December, when Zoya turned twenty-five, she'd leave, too. Suddenly easy, silent liberty felt as much as a prison as his cell had. Dammit.

Homer trotted up carrying a stick in his mouth and laid it at Roman's feet.

"Oh, so you want to play a game of fetch?" Roman picked up the small branch and gave it a toss. The dog took off, returned and dropped it again. "Okay. One more time and then we're leaving."

Twenty minutes later, Roman threw again as hard as he could. "This is the last time. I mean it." He wiped sweat from his brow and closed the tailgate. When the dog came back, and Roman didn't do another toss, Homer dropped the stick. He opened the door and looked down at his sidekick. "In."

The dog obeyed and Roman shook his head. Damn, if everyone else in his life would just abide by his instructions, he'd have it made.

By the time he got home, Ophelia was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal.

Roman eyed her. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"Very funny." She shoveled another spoonful of fruit loops into her mouth.

He rubbed his chin, contemplative. "Come to think of it, you look a little familiar."

Ophelia grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm supposed to be visiting you but haven't been around much. Sorry about that. And it seems a lot has happened in my absence."

"Yeah, Flynn became a father and got another woman to agree to marry him. I think." Roman broke into laughter. "And I thought I was a player. Seems the two of you are outplaying me on every level. You proposed to Roxanne yet?"

"Not yet."

Roman pulled his brows together. "You say that like you're going to."

Ophelia turned up her bowl and drank the remaining milk, then wiped her mouth on the hem of her tee-shirt. "I could." She raised her chin, defiant. "Fuck societal norms."

"No shit?" Roman shook his head and laughed. "What's gotten into you and Flynn? Leave the city, come to Nowhere, USA, and suddenly you're both ready for a next step. Crazy."

Ophelia rolled her eyes, no doubt remembering all the times she defiantly claimed she was never getting married, because, as she said, fuck societal norms. "You're one to talk. Don't think I don't notice what's going on with you and Zoya. Last I heard, the two of you weren't even speaking."

"Yeah, well, things change." Roman didn't want to risk another love lecture, so he changed the subject. "What you got going today?"

"I thought I'd go with you to move the pony. You get the fence fixed?"

"Yeah and there's enough water left in the pond to hold him for a while. Russell has a trailer we can use, so if you're ready, we'll go."

"Lead the way. I'm right behind you."

Miles Landry had been in the detective business long enough to know that local watering holes were a wealth of information. As he came to a stop in front of a bar, he figured it wouldn't be any different. Bartenders in small towns had their ears to the ground and knew as much gossip as hairdressers.

One good thing about private practice was that he no longer had to wear standard black suits. Today, he'd dressed as casual as possible to fit in. In a country town, jeans, knit shirts, and cowboy boots filled the bill. 

He pushed the door open and slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. Too early for happy hour, the place was empty except for two old guys sitting at a corner table.

The bartender approached. "What can I get ya?"

"You got Atrial Rubicite?"

"Sure."

"Give me a frosted mug, too."

The barkeep placed the tall boy and mug on the counter. "You passing through?"

"Yeah. Looking for an old friend who lives here. Thought I might stop by her place and catch up. Lost touch. Charamel Barrera. You know her?"

"Yeah, but sorry to tell you, she died a while ago."

Miles tilted the mug and poured in the beer. "Really? She sell her place?"

"Nah. Left it to her grandson. Roman DeRoux. Ever meet him?"

"No. Didn't anybody but Charamel. He living there?" Miles gulped, then smacked. "Damn, I don't know if it's the well water or the raspberries, but that's good beer."

"Been there a few months. Got an early release from prison."

His stomach clenched at the thought of an ex-con visiting the reward site. "Charamel never mentioned a trouble-maker in the family."

The bartender shrugged. "I don't think he is. Never caused any trouble in here."

"So he's a regular?"

"Was for a while. I think he was catching up if you get my drift. Left most nights with a woman on his arm."

Miles chuckled. "Maybe one caught him. Happens when we least expect it." He thought about Stella and how he'd already fallen for her.

The bartender put a bowl of peanuts in front of him. "I heard he's been building onto the house. He came in during the festival. Had some friends with him. So, what line of work are you in?"

"Retired FBI."

"No shit? Ever protect the president?"

"A couple of times. Take my word, the job isn't as sexy as they make it on TV. So, how was the festival? I remember Charamel looking forward to it every year." Miles remembered no such thing, but he'd done his homework. Lying was an art form and if you wanted to master it, you had to have your Intel in place. Which meant finding out what the area was famous for and reading past issues of the local paper. Didn't take much to find out Charamel helped to get Noah's ark shaped birdhouses mounted on all the county roads.

Thirty minutes later, Miles had extracted all the information he needed from Eddie, the barkeep.  And thanks to Google, he located the house and learned all about Roman DeRoux.

Roman put the last plate in the dishwasher and stared out the kitchen window at the dust kicking up as a car approached.

Zoya was busy wiping the table while Homer sniffed underneath for stray crumbs.

Roman turned to face her. "I don't recognize this car pulling into the drive so stay out of sight."

He dried his hands on the cup towel, then stepped onto the porch as a stranger got out of his silver Chevy Equinox. The first thing Roman learned in prison was to trust no one. "This is private property. You lost?"

The guy shaded his eyes against the setting sun. "No. I'm looking for Roman DeRoux."

"You found him."

The man moved closer and stuck out his business card. "I'm Miles. Miles Landry."

Roman took the card, read it, and then stepped back. "How can I help you, Mr. Landry?"

"I'm working a missing person case and my investigation led me here."

He raised his arms. "So someone reported me missing? Case solved. Here I am."

"Not you. A young woman. Dove St. Clair."

From the moment Roman was arrested, he'd discovered law enforcement didn't want the truth; they wanted to be right. Lying with a straight face became second nature—and to be good at it, you never asked unnecessary questions and never defended your answers. "Sorry, can't help you there."

"So you don't know her?"

"No."

"Never even heard of her?"

"No."

"She's heir to St. Clair Steel. Familiar with them?"

"Sure."

"Aren't you curious why your place landed on my radar?"

"Not really."

Miles shifted his weight from foot to the other. "Someone at this IP address searched the reward site for Miss St. Clair. That tells me you know who she is. And I think you know where she is."

Roman kept his poker face, but his stomach twisted because his stupid curiosity had brought this guy here. "Like I said, can't help you."

Miles pursed his lips and Roman decided the PI was former law enforcement, military police, or worse—FBI. He could spot them a mile away. They all had a certain swagger and arrogance. Like they had you by the balls.

Miles advanced, closing the distance between them. "Look, Mr. DeRoux. I'll be honest with you. I don't like my client very much, but I've committed to the job and won't stop until I find the girl. I'm pretty sure I have. She may not be here on your property, but I'd be willing to bet my left nut she's in this town. So this is how it will work. Two days from now, I plan to report what I believe to be the kid's location. When that happens, an army will descend on this place."

Roman smirked. "You'll be able to live just fine with one nut."

Miles smiled, turned to go, then stopped and faced Roman again. "Too bad the girl's not married because then nobody could touch her. Any decisions about her mental health would fall to her spouse." When Roman didn't reply, Miles got in his car and drove away.

Roman's heart pounded. Zoya had heard every word. Two days. Two fucking days to make a decision about her next move. He watched until the car disappeared, then opened the door to find Zoya leaning against the wall like a statue.

She took a shallow breath. "Say something."

He wanted to speak, but his throat had closed off. This was his fault. If he'd not done the fucking search. But he didn't know at the time who she was or that anyone was looking for her. Hell, if she'd told him the truth from the beginning. Dammit.

Her bottom lip quivered. "Please. Say something."

He grabbed his keys from the table by the door. "I need a drink." Then he rushed out to his truck and peeled out of the dirt drive.

Paralyzed with fear, Zoya pressed against the wall like a cat burglar. So much for Roman doing everything he could to protect her. What a lie. It'd all been lies. He'd known who she was because he'd looked on the internet and now, they'd found her. Eight more months. That's all she'd needed to be home free, and she'd been stupid enough to think she'd make it. Even a bigger fool to believe Roman might give a shit.

She shook her head to clear it, then pulled her wits together. She'd disappeared once. She could do it again. She had to. Finding her feet, she rushed down the hall and grabbed her bag from the closet, then stuffed everything into it. After that, she took a pen and paper, wrote a note, stuck it in her pocket, and returned to the kitchen for a few food items. For all she knew, the PI was watching the house, so she escaped through the back door.

Within a few minutes, she was inside Mariana's garage, heaving out the words. "I have to leave. I need your car."

Mariana looked up from where she was hunched over an engine with a screwdriver. For what, Zoya didn't know. Mariana's eyes raked over her windblown appearance with a frown, and Zoya wondered briefly what she saw - her red nose, hysterical expression, frizzy blond-red curls.  "Oh, my God. What's wrong?"

She gulped air. "I'm sorry. I don't have time to explain, but here's a note for Roman. He'll tell you everything and give you my car. Even trade."

Mariana wiped her forehead, smearing grease. "What are you talking about? Your car is worth twice what mine is. I don't understand."

"I know and I'm sorry. Please, give me the keys."

Mariana scrounged in her bag and removed the key from the ring and handed it over. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. But I'll be okay." She turned and headed to the door with Mariana following.

"Please, Zoya. Don't go. Whatever it is, I'll help you. Flynn will, too."

"I know. But there isn't anything you can do unless you marry me."

She stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded. "What? Marry you? Why do you need to get married?"

Zoya shook her head. "I was being sarcastic. Joking. I should be getting good at them since the joke has been on me ever since Roman arrived. Thank you, Mariana, for being my friend. I really have to go before he gets back." She climbed into the Toyota and started the engine. "I'll call to let you know that I'm okay. I promise."

She shoved the car into gear and sped away with Mariana calling after her. Fifteen minutes later, she passed the city limits sign, then glanced in her rear-view mirror. Goodbye, Arcadia. Then she pushed Roman from her mind and made a mental to-do list.

Drive to Dallas, ditch the car in a bad part of town and leave the keys in it. Call a cab, have them deliver her to a bus station, and buy a ticket to Waco where she'd spend the night. That would give her a chance to dye her hair and change her wardrobe. Time to get rid of the red highlights, it was too obvious. The next morning, take a different bus to Austin. If the apartment she'd found online was still available, she'd rent it. Guess the online searches she'd done while taking care of the goats had paid off. At the time it was to get away from Roman, but now she was running for her life again. At least she had a plan in place. If she'd been smart, she would have had one all along but after a few months with Charamel, Zoya had felt so safe she'd not thought about being found.

She glanced at the speedometer and eased off the pedal. Wouldn't want to get a ticket. Needed to avoid anything traceable. Thank goodness, Mariana's car didn't have GPS. Zoya added a new phone to the list. Not because a burner was trackable, but because Roman had her number and if she kept it, she might answer in a weak moment. Couldn't help but laugh. She was taking a lot for granted. He probably wouldn't call. Especially now that the detective had shown up. That was the sort of attention Roman didn't want or need. Yeah, he would be glad to be rid of her. He'd go right back to his life before she barged into it, with the women and the booze.

Zoya's stomach lurched. She hated the idea of the man she loved with other women, but she needed to get over that. He didn't love her and never would. She couldn't blame him. She'd thrown herself at him. He'd told her time and time again he wasn't interested in anything more.

She found a rock station and cranked up the music. Time for a new beginning all the way around.

No more Roman DeRoux.

No more Zoya Hart.

In the immortal words of Movie Hermione, "What. An. Idiot."

Sorrynotsorry.

TEASER: "Shit, we're gonna have to drag him in the house."

Wonder whats going on there.