That was why she couldn’t tell him about her sordid past with Tucker. Ethan would feel the need to do something, which would only complicate the situation.

“Ethan, I love you. Let it go.”

He stared at her for a long time, then shrugged. “Tucker’s a great guy. Why wouldn’t you want to work for him?”

“I just wouldn’t.”

“You’re being an idiot. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. It’s your decision.”

He walked away.

Nevada was left alone in her office, her head pounding, the past threatening to bubble over into the present. She tried to busy herself with work, but could not stare at her computer screen. Not with her headache. Giving in to the inevitable, she left for the day and walked home.

Late summer was a beautiful time in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. Fool’s Gold sat nestled at about twenty-five hundred feet. Just high enough for them to have all four seasons, but not so high that they still had snow until June. To the east were the jagged peaks, to the west were the vineyards and the highway that led to Sacramento.

Nevada took a slightly longer route home, mostly because she wanted to be on quieter streets where she was less likely to run into anyone and have to make conversation. Between feeling like roadkill and having a very unusual urge to cry, she wanted to simply be, without any expectations.

As always, catching sight of her house made her feel better. It had been built in the 1920s by a man who loved all things Victorian. The three-story house rose well above all the neighboring homes, a fussy dowager out of place among more modern offerings. She’d bought the place three years ago and had done all the remodeling herself.

The new exterior paint had toned down the pink-and-yellow trim to a soft white. The house itself was a pale gray. Turrets stood on either side. One was her master bath, the other was part of the guest room.