There’s truth—and then there’s love
Sedona Campbell is an attorney who works with The Lemonade Stand, a unique women’s shelter in California. She’s called in to advise fifteen-year-old Tatum Malone, who claims she’s been abused—by her brother, not her boyfriend. It’s Sedona’s job to sort out truth from lie. She soon discovers that’s not an easy task, especially once she meets Tanner Malone. Because despite herself, she’s attracted to him.
Tanner has always protected his younger sister—but she’s lying about him. And he’s falling for Sedona. Between them, maybe they can figure out why Tatum’s doing this. Maybe then he and Sedona will be free to love each other….
A war was raging inside Tanner
A war between guardian and man. His entire adult life had belonged to the guardian. Tonight, the man was fighting for life. He wanted these few minutes with Sedona. Wanted to relax and enjoy the peace she seemed to bring into every room she entered. Into every space she occupied—even outdoors.
He matched his pace to her more sedate one, listening to the waves. “So why are you telling me this?” he asked. She’d said she liked him.
“Honestly?” She kicked at the sand, sending it shooting in front of them. “I’m not sure.”
“Guess.”
“I like you.” She repeated what she’d said earlier, but with a deeper note in her voice.
“And that’s a problem?”
“It is if it gets in the way of my professional judgment.”
“So don’t let it.”
“I’m trying not to. But…”
Another surge of emotion hit him at that but and he waited for it to dissipate before saying, “What are you afraid of?”
She shrugged again. Her shoulders, accentuated by the thin cotton straps of her dress, seemed so feminine to him. So…in need of protection. “I guess I’m afraid you’ll like me, too.”
He bent his head. The move wasn’t premeditated. He touched his lips to Sedona’s and just…felt.
Dear Reader,
Life, in all its messiness, is a miracle. We have to be willing to stay on the ride, sometimes just holding on, when the road gets bumpy, in order to avail ourselves of the perfect moments.
And sometimes we need a safe place in which to take a time out.
The Lemonade Stand, Where Secrets Are Safe, is one of those places. The Stand is going to be around for a long time. You’ll have many opportunities to stay here with me. And to experience some perfect moments while you do—you know the kind, where you escape into a story, experience a whole other world, maybe find some meaningful tidbits that somehow apply to your life, all without leaving your chair.
I hope you’ll also see the perfection in the messiness. The value in the struggle. Families are tough. Maybe more than anyone else, we trust our family members to have our backs. To love us no matter what. And with that trust comes the capacity for great pain—if our trust is broken. If family members aren’t who we think they are. We can misunderstand each other. And we understand, too. We know that family is heart. And heart is the one thing we can’t ever completely walk away from.
So we run to a place like the Lemonade Stand, Where Secrets Are Safe and pain can be healed. Come on in. Get comfortable. And be prepared to find family and love!
I’m a spokesperson for the National Domestic Violence Hotline (www.thehotline.org. 1-800-799-7233), and I also work with an organization called Chrysalis (www.noabuse.org). Chrysalis has several shelters and they offer certified counseling for victims and for abusers, as well as legal aid and financial aid for those starting over.
I love to hear from readers. You can reach me at www.TaraTaylorQuinn.com.
Tara Taylor Quinn
P.S. Watch for my new women’s fiction title, The Friendship Pact, coming from MIRA as an ebook this month.
TARA TAYLOR
QUINN
Once a Family
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
With sixty-six original novels, published in more than twenty languages, Tara Taylor Quinn is also a USA TODAY bestselling author. She is a winner of the 2008 National Reader’s Choice Award, four-time finalist for the RWA RITA® Award, a finalist for the Reviewer’s Choice Award, the Bookseller’s Best Award, the Holt Medallion and appears regularly on Amazon bestsellers lists. Tara Taylor Quinn is a past president of the Romance Writers of America and served for eight years on its Board of Directors. She is in demand as a public speaker and has appeared on television and radio shows across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. Tara is a spokesperson for the National Domestic Violence Hotline, and she and her husband, Tim, sponsor an annual inline skating race in Phoenix to benefit the fight against domestic violence. When she’s not at home in Arizona with Tim and their canine owners, Jerry Lee and Taylor Marie, or fulfilling speaking engagements, Tara spends her time traveling and inline skating.
Books by Tara Taylor Quinn
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1309—THE PROMISE OF CHRISTMAS
1350—A CHILD’S WISH
1381—MERRY CHRISTMAS, BABIES
1428—SARA’S SON
1446—THE BABY GAMBLE
1465—THE VALENTINE GIFT
“Valentine’s Daughters”
1500—TRUSTING RYAN
1527—THE HOLIDAY VISITOR
1550—SOPHIE’S SECRET*
1584—A DAUGHTER’S TRUST
1656—THE FIRST WIFE‡
1726—FULL CONTACT*
1793—A SON’S TALE§
1811—A DAUGHTER’S STORY§
1829—THE TRUTH ABOUT COMFORT COVE§
1853—IT’S NEVER TOO LATE*
1877—SECOND TIME’S THE CHARM*
1889—THE MOMENT OF TRUTH*
1906—WIFE BY DESIGN+
SINGLE TITLE
SHELTERED IN HIS ARMS*
EVERLASTING LOVE
THE NIGHT WE MET
MIRA BOOKS
WHERE THE ROAD ENDS
STREET SMART
HIDDEN
IN PLAIN SIGHT
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
AT CLOSE RANGE
THE SECOND LIE‡
THE THIRD SECRET‡
THE FOURTH VICTIM‡
*Shelter Valley Stories
‡Chapman Files
§It Happened in Comfort Cove
+Where Secrets Are Safe
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
For Rachel Marie Stoddard.
Let your spirit soar, sweetie.
Always listen to your heart. Be happy.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER T
WENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
“HOW OLD ARE YOU, Talia?”
The tanned teenager, straight from the mold of California-model gorgeousness, looked Sedona Campbell in the eye. “Fifteen.”
Sedona believed her. “You told Lila McDaniels that you’re nineteen.”
The five-foot-five-inch blonde, with a perfect figure, perfect makeup and skin, wearing all black, looked about twenty-five.
And, at fifteen, on a Tuesday in the second week of April, she should have been in school.
“I didn’t want her to call the police. I’m not pressing charges.”
“You’re a juvenile. You claim you’ve been hit. The staff here have to notify the police. It’s the law.”
“Not if they think I’m nineteen and I say I don’t want the cops called. I checked. They don’t have to call for adults who don’t want the police notified, especially if they’re not getting medical attention.”
The law didn’t read quite like that. But the girl wasn’t wrong, either.
“They’d have to prove they had no way of knowing that you’re underage.”
The girl said nothing.
“They know you lied about your identity.”
Talia Malone, aka the juvenile sitting in front of her, slid down into the plastic chair on one side of the table in the small but private card room Sedona used as a makeshift office during her volunteer hours at The Lemonade Stand. Her gaze darted from the floor toward the edge of the table, and back again.
Sedona was not a psychiatrist, but as an attorney specializing in family law, specifically in representing women going through divorce or in need of protection orders, she was well versed in reading people.
“I’m here to help, Talia. You can trust me.” And here in the middle of a workday because Lila McDaniels, managing director of The Lemonade Stand—a one-of-a-kind, privately funded women’s shelter on the California coast—had phoned asking that she drop everything to tend to this situation.
Talia curled a strand of hair around her little finger. With a covert glance, she met Sedona’s gaze, but only for a second.
Sitting next to the troubled girl at the table, Sedona touched her hand. “I believe you were hurt,” she said, her tone compassionate, but professional, too. By the time she got to the victims, they needed help, not drama. “But I can’t do anything for you, no one here can, if you aren’t honest with us.”
Talia’s eyes were blue. Intensely gray-blue. They were trained on Sedona now.
And that emotional crack that opened sometimes, the one she’d never quite managed to close within her professional armor—an armor that hid a natural instinct to nurture—made itself felt.
“Why wouldn’t you agree to see the nurse?” Sedona tried another way in.
Talia shrugged.
“Do you have any injuries that need to be tended to?” Lila had already told her that Talia had refused to be examined by Lynn Duncan, the on-site nurse practitioner, saying she didn’t have anything wrong with her.
If Talia saw the health professional, and Lynn determined that there were injuries due to domestic abuse, California law would require them to report to the police or risk a fine at the very least. Lynn could risk her license.
And still, only about ten percent of California’s health professionals actually reported. For various reasons. Talia’s lower lip pouted. “There’s nothing right now.”
“Have you had injuries in the recent past?”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate.
And Sedona’s mind riffled through possibilities like cards on the old Rolodex her father used to keep on his desk when she was a kid.
Was this young woman on the run?
From one or both of her parents?
Another family member?
Or a nonrelative? A teacher at school?
Was the abuse sexual in nature?
Hiding information was classic behavior for someone being abused. With her near-perfect features, Talia didn’t look as if she’d taken any blows to the face. But that was more typical than not, too. A lot of abusers kept their blows to parts of the body that could be covered. Hidden.
“Has anyone touched you...sexually?” An officer would ask more bluntly. And with Talia’s age, if they didn’t find her family, the police were going to be called in. That was a given.
“No.” Talia met her gaze fully on that one.
Satisfied that the teenager was telling the truth, Sedona asked, “How long ago was the abuse?”
Another shrug was her only response.
“A week? Two weeks? A year?”
“A month. Maybe. And then last week.”
Okay. So... “What brought you here today?”
According to Lila, Talia had called from a public phone that morning and been picked up by a staff member not far from a nearby bus stop. “I was talking to...someone...who told me about this place and this morning I had a chance to get on a bus without anyone knowing.”
“On a bus from where?”
“Where I live.”
“Where do you live?”
The girl frowned. “I thought this was a safe place. Where people who had to hide wouldn’t be found.”
“It is,” Sedona assured her. “But the people here have to know who you are, they have to know the particulars of your situation, or they can’t help you. This isn’t a runaway haven, Talia. It’s a shelter for victims of domestic violence.”
The girl’s chin was nearly on her chest, but she looked up at Sedona. “I know.” The words were soft. And not the least belligerent or defensive.
And nothing like the tone one might expect from someone as fashionably perfect and seemingly confident as Talia’s appearance implied.
“Are you a victim of domestic violence?” If not, Sedona would still see to it that the girl got help. Just not at The Lemonade Stand.
“Yes.”
The answer was unequivocal. Which satisfied Sedona’s first concern. Between her, Lila and Sara Havens, one of the shelter’s full-time counselors, chances were they’d get the rest of the information they needed to be able to help their mystery child.
To be most effective, to represent the girl’s best interests and to see that all of her rights were properly respected, Sedona needed answers before the police were called.
“Then we’ll help you, but we have to know who hurt you, Talia. We have to know where you live and what you’re running from. We have to know your real name.”
“I don’t want you to tell the police.”
“Why not?”
Talia looked at the floor again, where her sandaled feet sported perfectly manicured toes. “Because.”
“That’s not good enough. Are you afraid that if we go to the police whoever’s abusing you is going to know where you are? Because you don’t have to worry about that. I promise you. The police are our friends here. They will protect your location as vigorously as we do.”
“What happens to me if I don’t answer your questions? What if I don’t tell you who I am?”
“We still call the police. You’re a juvenile on the run. We can’t let you just leave here on your own.”
“Maybe I lied about my age.”
“Did you?”
Talia gave her a hard look. A determined one. And then her entire demeanor changed. Her chin dropped and she shook her head. “But I need a little time to think,” she said. “If you call the police they’ll take me away, won’t they?”
“It depends,” she sa
id. “Child protective services could be called. Someone would be assigned to you. Once everyone figures out what’s going on and what’s in your best interest, decisions will be made.”
“And what about you? Do you have anything to do with this?”
Sedona was careful about the cases she took. Because, based on her clients’ emotional states, she had to be able and willing to stay with them for the long haul. Her assistance was needed when a woman’s deepest trust had been abused. In a big way. Her clients were victims. Injured. Vulnerable. She had to be able to go the distance....
“I’m willing to represent you, free of charge,” she said, already aware that Talia, while well dressed and expensively groomed, had less than a hundred dollars on her person. “Whatever happens, I’ll be by your side, making certain that, legally, you will get the best care.”
“What are my chances of getting to stay here?”
“It’s a possibility, depending on the facts.” She wasn’t telling what those were. Or giving any hint. The troubled teen was in survival mode and clearly not above lying to save herself if she knew the right things to say. Lila had asked Talia if she had a cell phone. The question was common practice at The Lemonade Stand after one resident’s abuser found her through a downloadable tracking app he’d placed on her phone.
In response to her question, Talia had produced an old flip phone that was out of battery charge and couldn’t be turned on. The phone was so old Lila didn’t even have a charger that would fit.
“They said you’re a lawyer.” Talia’s gaze was solemn—and searching.
“That’s right.”
“And you deal with this kind of thing all the time.”
“I do.”
“Will the people here get in trouble if they let me stay just one night? Until I figure out what to do?”
There were rules. And there were circumstances.
“I might be able to get you one night. But only because it’s late in the day and we know that the chances of getting you to social services are slim. We could determine that it’s better for you to stay here than to spend the night in jail, which is where, as a runaway, you could end up.”
Because Talia didn’t display any overt signs of abuse. No broken bones. No bruises or scars—at least of a physical nature.
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