Everyone had honored her demand to stay out of the dining room, and she’d scheduled the grand unveiling for tomorrow morning. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. The air-conditioning in the farmhouse had broken down that morning, and even with a portable fan and the dining room windows open, she felt hot, nauseated, and more than a little panicked. What if—But she wouldn’t think about that until after Nita’s party. She pulled her damp T-shirt away from her body and stood back to observe her disastrous, misguided work. She’d never done anything she loved more.

She’d finished her last bit of scumbling—using a piece of cheesecloth to blend some shadows for a softer edge—and begun cleaning up when she heard cars approaching. Peering through the open window, she saw two white stretch limos pull up. The doors opened and an assortment of gorgeous people spilled out. The men were all huge, with big necks, bulging biceps, and massive trunks. Despite the differences in the women’s skin color and hairstyles, they could have come from a cloning factory for the young and luscious. Pricey sunglasses perched on their heads, designer purses dangled from their wrists, and revealing clothes draped their lithe bodies. Dean Robillard’s real life had just come calling.

Dean had gone off to the neighboring horse farm again, April and Riley were running errands, Jack was holed up at the cottage working on a song, and Nita had stayed home for once. Blue pulled out what was left of her ponytail, combed through her sweaty hair with her fingers, and refastened it into a somewhat neater arrangement. As she pushed aside the plastic and stepped out into the foyer, she heard the women’s voices drifting through the screen.

“I didn’t think it would be so…rural.”

“There’s a barn and everything.”

“Be careful where you walk, girlfriend. I don’t see any cows, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t hangin’ around someplace.”

“The Boo knows how to live,” one of the men said. “I should get myself a place like this.”

As Blue stepped out on the porch, the women took in her bedraggled appearance: dirty T-shirt, threadbare shorts, and paint-splattered work boots. A man with a tree trunk neck and mile-wide shoulders approached. “Dean around?”

“He’s out riding, but he should be back in an hour or so.” She wiped her dirty palms on her shorts. “I’m afraid the air-conditioning is temporarily on the fritz, but you can sit on the porch in back and wait for him.”