Though Shay kept herself as busy as she possibly could, teetering always on the brink of utter exhaustion, she dreaded lying down in bed and closing her eyes. When she did, she always saw Mitch on the inner screen of her mind, heard him saying that she couldn’t bring back her childhood.

She turned her gaze to the beautiful wooden horse and wondered why anyone would want to bring back a childhood like hers. There had been so many disappointments, so many tears; she’d lived in luxurious neglect, having about as much access to Rosamond as any other adoring fan.

Shay bit her lower lip and shook her head in an effort to curtail that train of thought. No, Mitch Prescott had been wrong: she had no desire to relive those little-girl days. Clydesdale was merely a pleasant reminder that there had been happy, whimsical times, as well as painful ones.

With one hand, Shay tried to rub away the crick in her neck and started off toward the bathroom, looking forward to a hot, soothing shower. But she paused and looked back and it occurred to her that Clydesdale might not be just a memento—he might be a sort of emotional Trojan horse.

“May I say that you look absolutely dreadful?” Richard Barrett asked as Shay riffled through the mail on her office desk and picked out a postcard from Jeannie and Marvin. There was a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the front of the card, and Shay felt a pang at the thought of telling the Reeses about her decision to resign and start her own business.

“You have bags under your eyes, for God’s sake!” Richard persisted.

Shay smiled ruefully and reread the almost illegible script on the back of the postcard. The Reeses would be home in another week and a half; she would break the news to them once they’d had time to get over their jet lag and settle in. “That gives me an idea,” she teased, enjoying Richard’s annoyance over the smudges that betrayed her lack of sleep. “For a commercial, I mean. You could show me, close up, and I could say, ‘Come down to Reese Motors and bag yourself a good deal!’ Get it, Richard? Bag yourself a good deal?”

“You’re not only exhausted, you’re insane. Shay, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing a half ton of sugar wouldn’t cure. This is Sugar Day, isn’t it, Richard?”

Richard had the good grace to look just a little shamefaced. “Yes. Shay, it’s safe, really. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything dangerous.”

“By all means, let’s confine ourselves to the merely ridiculous.”

Mr. Barrett sighed dramatically and flung up his hands. “You knew what doing these commercials entailed, Shay, and you agreed to it all!”

“At the time, I needed the money.”

“Are you trying to back out of the deal?” Richard’s voice was a growl.

Shay shook her head. “No. When I make a promise, I keep it. Even when it means making a fool of myself.” Her association with Mitch Prescott and his stupid book, she added, to herself, was a case in point.