Maybe she could get another Chik article out of this—”Why Guys Who Hate Small Animals Aren’t Always Bad News.” Her cooking piece had just gone into the mail. At first she’d called it “Breakfasts That Won’t Make Him Puke: Scramble His Brains with Your Eggs.” Just before she’d slipped it into the envelope, she’d come to her senses and substituted “Early-Morning Turn-ons.”

She was writing every day. As devastated as she was about everything, she hadn’t given up and gone to bed the way she’d done after her miscarriage. Instead, she was facing her pain and doing her best to live through it. But her heart had never felt emptier.

She missed Kevin so much. Each night she lay in bed staring at the ceiling and remembering how his arms had felt around her. But it had been so much more than sex. He’d understood her better than she’d understood herself, and he’d been her soul mate in every way but the one that counted. He didn’t love her.

With a sigh that came from the bottom of her being, she set aside her purse, slipped on the gardening gloves she’d bought along with the trap, and warily reached under the sink for the handle on the small cage. At least her bunny was hopping free and happy in cyberspace. Which was more than she could say about the rodent.

She let out a squeak as the frightened mouse started scampering around the cage. “Please don’t do that. Just be quiet, and I promise I’ll have you in the park before you know it.” Where was a man when you needed one?

Her heart contracted in another achy spasm. The couple Kevin had hired to take over at the campground would be in place by now, so he was probably back in town partying with the international set. Please, God, don’t let him be sleeping with any of them. Not yet.

Lilly had left several messages on her answering machine wanting to know if Molly was all right, but she still hadn’t returned them. What could she say? That she’d had to sell her condo? That she’d lost her publisher? That her heart had suffered a permanent break? At least she could afford an attorney now, so she had a shot at being able to get out of her contract and sell her next Daphne book to another publisher.

She held the cage as far away as she could and retrieved her keys. She was on her way to the door when the buzzer sounded. The mouse had given her the heebie-jeebies, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Just a minute.”

Still holding the cage at arm’s length, she stepped around another book box and opened the door.

Helen charged inside. “Molly, you ran out before we could talk. Oh, God!”

“Helen, meet Mickey.”