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"Angels to Watch over Me"

(Heartsong Presents)

The small, peaceful paradise of Block Island will never be the same. . .

When innkeeper Shae Stevens finds that her mischievous young sister has entered Shae's name and another woman's picture in a "dream date" contest with singer/musician Keith Travers--and won--life as she knows it is about to change. Keith is the opposite of what Shae has imagined. Yet she doesn't need any man complicating her quiet life--especially one as attractive and famous as the extroverted Keith.

Over the weeks, while trying to elude fans and survive several madcap adventures, Keith grows close to Shae, though Shae makes a point of putting distance between them. Can Keith prove to the secretive Shae that he's not the man the media paints him to be, and gain her trust? More importantly, can both Keith and Shae help one another confront their troubling pasts--and find their way back to God?

Buy this book now

__________________________________

Chapter One

"Shae!"
Hearing the troubled voice of her young sister, Marcia "Shae" Stevens
whipped her head sideways, losing her balance on the top platform of the
stepladder where she stood precariously perched. She grabbed for one of
the nearby shelves and just prevented herself from toppling to the floor.
"Tiffany! What's wrong?" Shae tightened her fingers around the feather
duster in her other hand and studied the guilt-ridden faces of her sister
and her sister's best friend and accomplice, Liz Reihlander. Shae glanced
at the chubby redhead, whose gaze seemed permanently fixed on the
polished planks of the wooden floor, then looked back to her
fourteen-year-old sister, Tiffany.
Tiffany's eyes darted nervously around the storage room, flicking only
briefly to Shae before flying away again. Shae's heart began to beat
faster with dread.
Oh, what mischief had the two cooked up this time?
"I gotta go. My mom said I had to be home by five." Liz turned and fled
the room.
Tiffany's eyes followed her, as if she'd been betrayed.
"Okay, Tiff, let's have it." Shae tried to keep her voice controlled. She
had learned long ago that blowing up after hearing Tiffany's confessions
from past shenanigans had done nothing but cause more problems. After
taking the three steps down the ladder, Shae looked to Tiffany's hand,
which tightly clutched a piece of yellow paper. "Is that for me?"
Tiffany bit her lip, hazel eyes widening with apprehension. "We were only
having a little fun. We never thought anything like this would really
happen. Honest!"
"The paper, Tiffany."
Reluctantly, Tiffany handed her the soiled and crumpled note. At a glance
Shae could see it was a business telegram.

Miss Stevens,
We are pleased to inform you that you have won the contest for "A Dream
Date with Keith Travers" sponsored by Teen Planet Magazine. We will
contact you on the twentieth of this month to discuss further
arrangements.

Sincerely,
Frederick W. Smith
Star Artists Management

Shae barely quenched the smile threatening to take over her mouth as she
scanned the paper. She fingered the hole at the bottom of her worn plaid
flannel shirt, wondering how to deal with this new development. It
wouldn't do for her to treat the matter too lightly. Tiffany got away
with far too much as it was.
"A little young to be going on a date with Keith Travers, aren't you,
Tiffany?" Shae said in what she hoped was a formidable tone of voice.
"Well, you'll just have to call and tell them it was all a big mistake
and you're sorry."
Tiffany's rosy color faded until it matched the flocked ivory petunias on
the pine green wallpaper. With growing alarm, Shae's hand tightened on
the paper. "There's more you're not telling me, isn't there?"
"We entered your name in the contest!" Tiffany blurted. "You had to be at
least eighteen to enter."
The blood drained from Shae's face. The faint trace of amusement she'd
felt at the childish prank disappeared as swiftly as a wave crashing on
the beach and receding into the sea. She remembered how insistent the
girls had been about taking her picture months ago with Liz's new camera.
"That's why you took the pictures of me by the ocean?"
"Yes, but--oh, Shae. . .."
"There's more?" Shae asked, eyes flying wide with disbelief.
"The pictures, uh--they didn't turn out. And there wasn't time to take
more. So we, um--we sent one in of Samantha."
"Now let me get this straight." Shae put a hand to a forehead that was
beginning to throb. "You entered my name and Samantha's picture in a
contest for a date with Keith Travers--the famous recording artist--and
now you've found out you won?"
Tiffany nodded miserably. "And we also had to write and tell them about
your hobbies and other stuff."
"Great! Just what I needed, Tiffany!" Shae threw down the feather duster
and marched out of the room, her younger sister following like a whipped
puppy. "Well, you'll just have to get on the phone and--wait a minute!
What was the date on that note?"
Remembering she still gripped the yellow paper, Shae brought it up to her
eyes and let out a horrified gasp. "The twentieth--that's today! Oh,
Tiff. Why didn't you give this to me earlier? You probably got this
before today, didn't you?"
Tiffany gave a reluctant nod.
"I thought so. You've really landed a whopper this time. I only hope it's
not too late to call--though it's strange they haven't confirmed the date
yet. Office hours are almost over," Shae rambled, her panicked thoughts
tumbling from her mouth.
She had to think clearly, stay in control, stay on top of things and not
let this new mountain topple on her head. "Do you have the number to
reach them? No? Well then, we'll have to call information first, since
all we have is their address. I want you to know, Tiffany Lauren
Stevens--this is coming out of your allowance! I only hope we're not too
late."
Shae rubbed dirty hands on equally dirty jeans and reached for the phone.
Tiffany slumped against the wall next to the curved receiving desk, faint
wrinkles creasing her brow. Shae punched a few buttons and waited for an
operator to come on the line. After reaching the state and city she
needed, she took a calming breath.
"Los Angeles Information? Yes, please. I'd like the number of Star
Artists . . ."
The brisk wind sneaked in and toyed with papers and tourist guides on the
polished oak counter as the front door to the inn opened. Two men walked
inside, one wearing dark sunglasses despite the overcast day.
"Never mind, operator," Shae managed in a small voice. "Thank you."
Dropping the humming receiver into its cradle, she eyed the newcomers
with dread. She would have recognized the taller of the two anywhere.
After all, his glossy likeness was plastered on her sister's wall.
His dark-spectacled gaze briefly looked her over and just as quickly
dismissed her. He scanned the old-fashioned room, a look of boredom on
his handsome features. The shorter man walked to where Shae stood
clutching the edge of the counter with white-knuckled fingers. Balding
and fat, he studied her with piggish eyes, an unlit cigar stuck in his
mouth. "We're looking for the home of Shae Stevens. This is the address
we were given."
Shae swallowed, trying to find her voice. "I--I'm sorry." The words came
out in a high-pitched squeak, and she cleared her throat. "I'm afraid
there's been a mistake."
She darted a look at Tiffany, who'd been inching her way backward out of
the room with wide eyes pinned to Keith Travers. Tiffany caught Shae's
warning gaze and wilted against the wainscoting.
"This isn't the home of Shae Stevens?" bald man asked sharply. Keith
stopped his disinterested study of the antique furnishings and joined the
other man at the arched counter.
"Um, no. I--I mean, yes," Shae stammered, strongly aware of Keith's dark
gaze planted on her. "But. . .well, the fact is you've been led here
under false pretenses. I'm really sorry. I--I was trying to call just now
and tell you--I only just found out about all this--but I had no idea
you'd come here. . .."
"We'd like to discuss this with Miss Stevens. I assume you work for her,"
bald man said critically, eyeing her casual attire.
"Um, no. Actually, I am her--I mean she's me." She gave a nervous little
laugh that held no humor. "I'm Shae Stevens."
"What!" He pulled a photograph from the inside pocket of his business
suit. Shae caught a glimpse of the gorgeous blue-eyed, blond Samantha
Reihlander.
"You're Shae Stevens?"
Keith Travers's baritone voice was rich, like creamy cappuccino. He
slowly pulled off designer sunglasses, and it was all Shae could do not
to gape as his piercing blue eyes studied her. Pictures definitely didn't
do this man justice.
Opting for levity in the midst of this nightmare being played out by the
four of them, Shae offered a wobbly smile. "Last time I looked, that was
my name."

Frowning, Keith took in the smooth olive complexion devoid of makeup.
Dirt smudged one high cheekbone and her forehead. A blue bandanna covered
her hair, and only by the wisps that had escaped near her temple could he
tell she was a brunette. A pair of silver-rimmed wire glasses sat perched
on her slightly upturned nose, and through them he saw thickly-lashed,
almond-shaped dark eyes--wide and staring.
He bunched his brows. "Is this some kind of joke? You're a little old to
be playing games like this, aren't you? And certainly too old to be
reading teen magazines, I'd think."
She visibly stiffened. "I assure you, Mr. Travers, this wasn't my idea,
but rather the mischief of two young girls who've had way too much time
on their hands. I promise you they'll be properly dealt with." While
addressing him, she darted a glance toward the teen hugging the wall. "I
hope this little misunderstanding hasn't inconvenienced you too much.
Please believe me when I say I'm sorry."
Intermingled feelings of interest and curiosity swamped Keith when he saw
the quivering, stuttering girl had disappeared to be replaced by a
self-assured woman with a fiery sparkle in her chocolate-colored eyes.
"Inconvenienced! Lady, you have no idea--"
"Let it go, Freddie." Keith stopped his manager's beginning tirade with
an upraised hand. His glance went to the trembling girl who looked as if
she'd gladly melt into the wall if given the chance. Except for the eyes,
she was a replica of Shae. He could pretty well guess what had happened.
Little sister played a prank on big sister. How often had he and his
older brother caused pandemonium in his family's lives with similar
escapades?
"We accept your apology."
"We do?" Freddie looked at Keith in stunned disbelief. "I mean--yeah,
sure. We do."
"Oh, I'm so relieved!" Shae gave them a dazzling smile. Keith noted even
her face and eyes seemed to light up from within.
Freddie grumbled something and turned from the counter. "Come on,
Travers. We gotta get back to California and look through the entries
again. I had a feeling all along it was a mistake to accept a winner from
the East Coast. Only cold and fog, fog and cold--can't expect nothin'
more from a place like this. Next time the winner is coming to us, like
is always done in these kinds of contests. But no-o-o-o--you had to
change all the rules and fly all the way out here. . .." His complaints
trailed off as he stomped out the door.
"Don't mind him," Keith said. "He's been a bear ever since he quit
smoking."
"Under the circumstances, I'd say more like a teddy bear. Thank you both
for being so understanding."
"Believe me, Miss Stevens, I understand more than you think I do." His
gaze lighted on Tiffany, and he gave her a smile and a wink. "Bye, now."

Now what did he mean by that?
Puzzled, Shae forced her gaze away from the door the singer had exited
and looked at Tiffany. Stars shone in the teen's eyes, all former anxiety
seeming to have vanished. "Oh, Shae, did you see that? Keith Travers
actually smiled at me. . .and he winked at me, too! I'll never forget
this day as long as I live. . .."
Pulling her mouth into a severe frown, Shae crossed her arms and stared
at her swooning sister. "You certainly won't, young lady. Thanks to Mr.
Travers's generosity, things went a lot better than I expected. But that
doesn't excuse the fact that you lied and interfered in other people's
lives."
Tiffany gave no indication she'd heard, her expression showing she was
still in la-la land.
Shae let out a weary sigh. "As of this moment you're grounded for two
weeks--make that a month. And you can spend that time helping out at the
inn instead of loafing around and dreaming up more mischief. You can
start by helping Gretta in the kitchen. Right now--go."
Tiffany glided toward the designated area, the dreamy smile still on her
face. Not even Shae's sharp words or the reality of being grounded seemed
to have any effect on her at the moment. Shae watched as her sister
walked smack into the wooden doorframe.
She shook her head. Raising a younger sibling, especially a teen-aged
girl, was harder than she had assumed it would be. Had she been so hard
to control when she'd been Tiffany's age?
Instant heaviness settled over Shae like a suffocating shroud, as memory
taunted. Escape. She needed escape. Rushing up the stairs to her room,
she ripped the bandanna from her head. Maybe a good jog in the brisk sea
air would be just the thing.
She tore out the mammoth-sized hair clasp, brushed her thick mass of
hair, and secured it with a rubber band. After changing into a pine green
sweat suit, she pulled on a pair of high-topped sneakers and a
windbreaker. Studying her reflection, she wiped away the dirt with a
Kleenex. Huge eyes stared back through the lenses of her glasses, looking
vulnerable and uncertain. The men's earlier appraisal made her feel that
she'd been found wanting. And for some reason, that bothered her.
Though she wasn't vain, Shae had always tried to look her best around
others; and to be caught looking like such a mess, and by Keith Travers
to boot, had given her feminine ego--what little of it there was--quite a
jolt. She knew Keith was considered a heartthrob to many of her
gender--teenagers and women alike. And who wouldn't wonder? What with
those unbelievably bright blue eyes of his; and that wheat-blond hair
waving about his neck, almost touching his collarbone. . . not to mention
that million-dollar smile. . ..
"Marcia Shae Stevens--stop it right now!" she angrily confronted her
reflection. "You're no better than those moony-eyed teenagers. What would
your mother say?" A haunted look came into the dark eyes staring back.
Yes. . .what would Mother say?
She backed up, turned and fled the room. Darting down the stairs, out the
door and into the cloudy day, she ran as if racing the wind, while trying
to escape the ghosts of her past.

After a good brisk run, Shae returned to the inn, feeling better. Yet
once she opened the door, she knew her improved disposition wasn't meant
to last.
Hillary Collins paced the polished wooden floor, her high heels only
silenced as they passed over wide oriental scatter rugs. Catching sight
of Shae, she stopped. Shae could see in a moment that Hillary had been
crying, and heavily. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red.
"Is it Robert?" Shae asked softly, moving to stand beside the distraught
woman.
Hillary nodded. "Oh, Shae. He's in jail!" She practically collapsed
against her, throwing thin arms around her shoulders.
Relieved to see the front desk empty of curious onlookers, Shae
shepherded Hillary into the office. After helping her friend onto a
cushioned chair, Shae closed the door. "Tell me."
"He got pulled over for a DUI on the mainland." Hillary sniffled. "He
must have gotten belligerent--you know how he can be when he's been
drinking. Ever since I became a Christian last winter, his drinking has
gotten worse. Oh, Shae--I just don't know what to do anymore!" She broke
down into a fresh torrent of tears.
Shae sighed. Robert and Hillary were the inn's floorshow. Robert played
the piano, and his wife sang. Shae had known about his drinking problem,
but he usually kept it under control and didn't let it affect his
performances.
Hillary lifted smudged eyes to Shae. "Will you pray with me, Shae?
Please?"
"Of course," Shae murmured, though she wasn't sure it would do any good.
The possibility of her prayers being heard were slim. Yet she wanted to
help her friend, and God might listen since the request didn't involve
Shae.
She took Hillary's cold hands and offered a shaky prayer, hoping Hillary
couldn't tell how rusty she was. Afterward, she opened her eyes,
affecting a small smile. "Don't worry about tonight. I'll find a
replacement. You go and get Robert out of jail. Do you need bail money?"
"Well, I did just pay rent and a few other bills. But I can't take your
money, Shae. I'll get the rest somehow. . .." Her voice dwindled off,
uncertain, scared.
Shae ignored her and went to the wall safe. "How much more do you need?"
"The bail-bondsman said it would take a thousand--but I only need to pay
ten percent up front."
Shae's eyebrows went up at Hillary's meek answer, but then again it
wasn't Robert's first time in jail. She fiddled with the knob and opened
the door to the safe, pulling a few bills from the padded, zippered case
inside. "You're lucky I haven't gone to the bank yet. Here. No--I insist.
Take it. I'm not in lack, and you need it right now. You can pay me back
when you're able."
"Thank you. I don't know where we'd be without you." Hillary's voice
sounded relieved and tortured at the same time.
"I think our paths crossed for a reason, Hillary. God takes care of His
own, you know." These last words came out wooden, learned by rote, but
Hillary didn't seem to notice. Shae quickly slammed the door of the safe.
"You're right, Shae. And I believe you're my own guardian angel He sent
to watch out for me." Still teary-eyed, Hillary took the proffered bills
with a grateful smile and hug, then left the office. Her soft words
resounded in Shae's ears, mocking her.
And what angel had looked out for her parents that night seven years ago?
Where had God been when they needed Him. . .But then--the disaster hadn't
been God's fault. The blame was hers. All hers.
Shae sank onto her chair and dropped her forehead into her hands. Was God
standing in the clouds, angry and waiting to bang a huge, deserved anvil
on her head?
She attended her local church because she knew it was required of a
Christian. She said and did what she thought was right, helped others,
never broke the commandments. . .Still Shae had little hope that heaven
would one day be her eternal home. But the thought of going to hell
terrified her. She visited it each night in her dreams. . ..
With an angry, muffled exclamation, she straightened and snatched up the
slim telephone book at her elbow to scan its pages for a replacement act.
Things were certainly bad enough in the present without dwelling on the
past. Or the future.

"You've gotta be kidding! It's important we get back to L.A. as soon as
possible." Freddie's face reddened as he chewed on the stump of his unlit
cigar.
"Sorry, mister. Fog's too thick. Won't be going anywhere 'til it clears.
Too dangerous."
Both Keith and Freddie looked out at the wall of dense white fog
smothering an unusually calm ocean and heading in their direction. "There
must be someone with a boat who's willing to try it. I'd pay them well."
The old sailor crossed his arms and wryly observed them from eyes the
color of the sea. "Not likely you'd find anyone 'round these parts. Old
Man McClury's got a rowboat. But he wouldn't risk it. Too smart. He might
be willing to rent it out to you. But you'd be on your own."
Freddie let out a harsh expletive. Even Keith was getting irritated with
the crusty boatman's sarcasm. No one in his right mind would take a small
rowboat over twelve miles of foggy ocean.
"Listen, Freddie," Keith said. "Your ranting and raving isn't helping
any. We might as well face it--we're stuck here for the night. I vote we
head back to that inn and see if there are any vacancies. I'm beat."
"We should've taken the ferry," Freddie mumbled. "At least then we'd be
on the mainland now."
"Ferries don't run in fog," the boatman shot back. "Planes either."
"Yeah, so we heard." After throwing a nasty look at the unruffled local,
Freddie turned to Keith. "Let's find a telephone book and call a taxi."
Keith nodded, relieved Freddie had finally given in.
They had chartered a flight from Providence, but the planes at the small
island airport were now grounded due to the oncoming bad weather.
Unfortunately, they'd left their overnight bags in an airport locker on
the mainland. Chartering a small boat had been Freddie's last-ditch
effort to get there.
Once the cab arrived, Freddie slid beside Keith on the backseat,
grumbling something about New England's lousy weather and being trapped
on a remote island. Yet Keith was relieved at this turn of events. He
wasn't ready for more wearying hours of travel yet, having recently
completed a concert tour, and would enjoy a short break on Block Island.
Besides, he had other interests in this part of the country--that is, if
he didn't lose his nerve. Interests Freddie knew nothing about.
Soon they again found themselves in front of the renovated Victorian
inn--one of many scattered throughout the island's lone city of New
Shoreham. They took the four steps to the wraparound porch of the
three-story building that boasted dark gray siding and white gingerbread
trim. In the old-fashioned lobby, a young girl with a blond ponytail
checked them in and gave them their room keys, all the while casting
surreptitious glances at Keith. "Say, Mister, did you know you look a lot
like--"
"Yeah, kid. He hears it all the time," Freddie interrupted. "Is there a
dining room in this joint?"
The blond nodded. "Down that hall and to your left. You're just in time
for the floorshow."
"Whoopee."
At Freddie's sardonic reply, the girl stared, clearly puzzled.
"Lighten up, Freddie," Keith muttered under his breath.
Following her directions, they found themselves in a large room with a
stage against one wall, linen-covered, square tables in front. Stubby
candles glowed from within smoky, glass-netted globes on the center of
each table. The dark wooden decor looked as if it would fit in a hundred
years previously, except for the dimly lit lights glowing from strategic
places along the high-beamed ceiling. Long picture windows covered one
side, giving a view of the fog-covered ocean.
"Charming," Freddie drawled.
"Will you cut it out already? We're stuck here, so we might as well make
the most of it." Keith surveyed the large room, hoping to catch a glimpse
of Shae Stevens. The no-frills woman intrigued him, though he couldn't
begin to understand why. She was nothing like the glamour girls he knew.
They sat at a back table in the corner, so the small crowd of diners
wouldn't easily notice them. A middle-aged woman wearing a navy uniform
ambled their way with menus. The two men scanned the plastic covers, made
their order, and the waitress bustled away.
"Only five choices for entrees? Say what kind of place is this?" Freddie
complained to his dinner partner. "And I didn't see any alcohol on the
menu. Don't tell me everyone around here is a teetotaler."
"Shh. The floorshow is about to begin," Keith said as a lovely young
woman took the stage, moved toward the piano and sat on the three-legged
stool.
The overhead lights went out, and a blue spotlight beamed down on her.
The woman's waist-length hair shone a glossy blue-black, swaying gently
to and fro, as her slim hands began to roam the ivory keys. Her winter
white dress sparkled in the light.
Keith studied her over his lowered sunglasses a moment, then resumed
scanning the dim room. Judging from her appearance, Shae Stevens was
probably a maid and wouldn't be working in the dining room, but one never
knew.
The woman at the piano began to sing, and Keith's attention again turned
her way. He noticed even Freddie perked up. She sang a few show tunes
from the forties and fifties, her soft voice ringing with a clear
bell-like quality. The last note from a sad love song barely died away
before Freddie turned to Keith, an excited gleam in his eye.
"Maybe it's not such a bad thing we got stuck here after all, Travers,"
he said over the burst of loud clapping in the room. "We've been looking
for a replacement back-up singer for your new CD. She's perfect.
Understated--yet the lady can carry a tune and then some. And she
definitely has stage presence. Whattaya think?"
Keith, who was often skeptical of Freddie's ideas, nodded slowly. Yes,
she could fill Lil's shoes. Providing she was willing, of course. He
watched as she stood, acknowledged the audience's applause with a
graceful bow and hurried backstage.
Freddie shot to his feet. "Come on. Let's find her before she gets away."
"But we haven't eaten yet!"
"You can eat later. We don't want to lose her."
"Freddie, I haven't eaten since this morning. . .."
But Keith spoke to empty air. His manager was already three tables away
and heading for the door. With a frustrated groan, Keith snatched up his
water glass and downed its contents, then plucked two large wheat rolls
from the basket the waitress had set on the table before writing down
their order. Taking a huge bite of one roll, he stood and followed
Freddie.
After searching a few of the public rooms, they again found themselves at
the reception counter, the same blond again giving Keith the eye while he
finished off his last roll.
"We'd like to speak to the lady who sang for the floorshow," Freddie
said.
The blond chewed her lip. "I guess that would be Hillary Collins, but I
thought I saw her leave earlier. Short blond hair, deep sultry voice?"
"No, no, no!" Freddie bellowed. "The lady had long dark hair and a sweet
voice that could charm the birds from the trees."
"But--I'm sorry. I--I don't know who--"
Freddie let out a few choice words. "Don't you even know who you hire for
your entertainment?"
"I only work here p-part-time." The girl's lip quivered and her eyes
filled with tears. Keith was about to admonish Freddie, when a familiar
voice spoke from behind.
"Is there a problem, Katie?"
The girl's eyes widened. "Miss Stevens."
The men turned simultaneously. Keith's jaw dropped as he came face to
face with Shae and realized she was the girl for whom they'd been
searching. From their back table, Keith hadn't been able to see her
clearly. Yet even if he would have had a seat front row, stage center, he
doubted he would've recognized her.
Her face was dramatically made up--minus the glasses--smoky blue
enhancing dark eyes that sparkled like black star sapphires. Pink blusher
swept the high cheekbones, and her lips were a bright cherry red.
Blue-black hair fell in a dark curtain to her waist.
A white lace dress hugged her slim curves, and a scalloped, straight
neckline barely revealed the tips of her round shoulders. Sprinkled with
diamond-like rhinestones, the dress caught the light and matched the
sparkle in her eyes. A choker of tiny white diamonds encircled her neck,
and matching earrings dangled from her ears.
Keith blinked, stunned. She looks like a bride. And then, remarkably, it
was as if the present faded away and she was standing amid many colorful
flowers beside the ocean, wearing another white dress and looking up at
him with eyes of love--as if she'd become his bride. . ..
He shook his head to clear it. What was wrong with him? Was he
hallucinating? Unlike some in his profession, he didn't do drugs--so how
could he be? The day had been long and filled with surprises. Maybe he
was just tired and hungry. Definitely hungry. He turned to Freddie and
tried to concentrate on what his manager was saying.
"So you're the nightingale. Hmm. . .Tell me, Miss Stevens, besides acting
as a maid, a desk clerk, and entertainment for this inn, what other
duties do you perform?"
"What?" She blinked, evidently still as flustered as Keith, and turned
her gaze away from him to Freddie.
"I asked what you do here."
"Oh. I own and manage The Roosting Place. I was on my way to my room to
change when I heard the commotion." Her words sounded nervous as she
looked at Keith. "I must say I'm surprised to see you again, Mr. Travers.
I didn't expect you back."
Katie let out a squeal. "Then you are Keith Travers--I knew it! Wait 'til
Angie hears about this. And you're staying here for the night--Keith
Travers is staying at The Roosting Place!"
Shae lifted her brow in surprise, and he nodded. "The fog trapped us."
She turned toward the desk. "Katie, not a word of this to anyone while
these men are our guests. Is that understood?"
Katie nodded grudgingly, never taking her eyes off Keith, who still
looked at Shae.
"Have you eaten yet, Miss Stevens?" Freddie asked after a moment, a smug
note to his voice.
"No."
"Good. Maybe you'd like to eat with us then? We have some business we'd
like to discuss. Don't we, Travers? Travers?!"
"Huh?" Keith forced himself to look away. Freddie was smiling that
Cheshire cat grin and had that all-too-familiar gleam in his eye. Keith
held back a groan. Knowing his manager, this didn't look good.

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