He sat down on the top step, his chin in his hands. Okay, so he’d told Shay that he was through writing adventure books and now he was about to go back on his word, however indirectly. Hadn’t she told him herself that she’d love him even if he did that?

Mitch gave a long sigh. He loved Shay, needed her, depended on her in more ways than he dared to admit. And yet he’d just spent half an hour hollering at her, and she’d hollered back, with typical spirit.

Mitch was glad that Hank and the baby were with Alice that day. The uproar might have traumatized them both.

After a long time, he stood up and went into the attic.

Shay sat in one corner of the library sofa, her eyes puffy from crying, her throat raw. She couldn’t believe that she’d yelled those awful things at Mitch. He was her husband, the father of her son, and she loved him more than she had on her wedding day, more with every passing minute.

She hugged herself. She’d known that Mitch would eventually want to write again, once the scars on his spirit had had time to heal. She’d known it, even without being warned by both Alice and Ivan, Mitch’s agent.

Shay snatched a tissue from the box on her lap and blew her nose. Loudly. She supposed she should be grateful that Mitch was only planning to drive racecars; knowing him, he might have parachuted into Central America or slipped into some country where journalists were greeted with guns.

She rested her hands on her still-flat stomach, where a new baby was growing. She’d wanted to tell Mitch, use it to hold him to a quiet life of building condominiums with Todd Simmons, but that wouldn’t have been fair. She sniffled again and reached for another tissue.

If she insisted that Mitch stay, he would give in. Shay knew that. But he would be miserable and there would be more fights. Gradually the great love they shared would be worn away.

The telephone rang and, because it was Mrs. Carraway’s day off, Shay answered. The voice on the other end of the line was Garrett’s.

“Hi’ya, Amazon,” he said.

Shay burst into tears.

“What is it?” Garrett asked softly when the spate of grief was over.

Feeling like an absolute fool, Shay explained. The book about Rosamond had been published under Mitch’s real name, so that much of his career was no longer a secret.

Garrett waited until Shay had told him all her fears of seeing Mitch crash in a burning racecar on some faraway track and there was a gentle reprimand in his voice when he spoke. “If you wanted to go back to your catering business, you’d do it, wouldn’t you, even if it made Mitch mad?”

“That’s hardly the same thing! I made cheeseballs, Garrett. I didn’t race around some speedway, taking my life in my hands!”

“It is the same thing, Shay.”