“That’s right,” someone in the front called. “There’s that mystery writer everyone’s been talking about. What’s her name?”

A ripple of laughter flowed through the room. Liz chuckled. “I can’t remember,” she said loudly. “But I’ve heard she has an attitude, so watch out.”

An older woman stood up and waved at Liz. “I have a new quilting book out this year. Chances are my fans are going to be flooding the park. Just so you’re prepared.”

“I look forward to meeting them,” Liz told her.

Pia looked at Liz with a teasing expression. “I think our local New York Times bestselling author can handle the competition.”

Pia went through the list of authors. As promised, most of them were local, self-published and their books dealt with unusual or dying crafts. Using sticks for art and furniture. Making meals from what one can find on the forest floor. There was mention of an author who wrote about the Indian legends. The book sounded interesting, but when Liz asked Marti about the author, the other woman told her no one ever saw him in town. He lived in the mountains and kept to himself.

“There are tons of rumors,” Marti admitted. “Seeing him is like seeing Bigfoot. I’ve heard everything from him being one-hundred-and-eight, English and a former explorer to him being young, gorgeous and really rich.” She lowered her voice. “Personally I like the second story best.”

Liz thought the old British explorer sounded more intriguing. She would have to look up the mysterious author at the signing.

Despite everything going on, she found herself looking forward to the event. Her usual signings were in big stores or at industry events. Very organized and predictable, with crowd control and readers kept at a respectful distance. This sounded more fun. She liked the idea of being part of a writing community. There were days when figuring out a new way to serve chicken for Tyler seemed impossible. Feeding someone what could be found on a forest floor was impressive.

Pia went through the rest of the programs, the various opportunities for volunteering, then opened the meeting for questions.

Two people wanted to know about taking sign-up sheets around town. The only man at the meeting pointed out that just because there were more women than men in town didn’t mean it was right to take over all the men’s restrooms every time there was a festival. Men had needs, too. Pia promised to look into the problem.

“Anything else?” she asked.

The young mother with the baby rose slowly. “I’m sure a lot of you aren’t going to agree with me, but I have to say, I’m just sick about having that woman here.” She pointed at Liz. “What she did to Ethan is shameful. Keeping his little boy from him all those years. It’s worse because of him losing Rayanne and their baby.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Rayanne was a sweet girl and now people are saying terrible things about her.” She glared at Liz. “I don’t believe any of them.”

The room went silent as everyone turned to stare at Liz. Her warm fuzzies about the signing, the town and ever thinking it was smart to come back, disappeared. She sat in her seat, embarrassed, angry and determined not to blush. Speaking any words seemed impossible, let alone the right ones. What was she supposed to say?

“Let’s stay on topic, everyone,” Pia reminded from the front of the room. “We’re here to talk about the book festival.” She glanced at the young mother. “Melody, I know Rayanne was your friend, but this isn’t the time or the place to have this conversation. Can we please finish up here.”

Both her voice and her gaze were sympathetic. Liz appreciated the support, although she still felt sick to her stomach. Then the woman next to Marti rose.

“Melody, you need to get your head out of your butt. Liz didn’t do anything wrong. She was a kid, dealing with a lot of crap.” The older woman cleared her throat, then faced Liz. “I knew your mother and I had a bad feeling about what was going on at your house every night. I knew she drank and I knew there were men in and out of that place. A lot of us knew and we didn’t do anything to protect you. We should have. You were just a little girl.”

The woman drew in a breath. “I’m sorry for my part in that. I’ve given money to the scholarship and I’ve acted differently since then. But that doesn’t make up for me turning away when you were growing up.”

Several other women nodded. Melody looked furious.

“That doesn’t excuse what she did to Ethan.”

“Maybe if you spent more time looking after your own family, you wouldn’t have time to worry about something that happened all those years ago,” the older woman snapped. “After all, your husband spends plenty of nights up at the lodge, flirting with a certain cocktail waitress.”

Several people gasped. Melody went red. Pia grabbed the microphone.

“People, please. This is getting out of hand. Obviously we need to finish this another time. We—”

The door by the front of the room opened. An older woman walked in. It took Liz a moment to recognize the mayor. Marsha Tilson looked pale and it was obvious something bad had happened.

Pia stared at her. “It’s Crystal, isn’t it?” she asked softly, her voice picked up by the microphone.

The mayor nodded and held out her arms. Pia went into them and started to cry.

Liz stared at them both, unable to believe what she’d just heard. Crystal couldn’t be dead. Sure she was sick, but Liz had seen her only a few weeks before. She’d been walking and talking and…

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Liz remembered the pretty, friendly girl from high school who had taken the time to give her hope.

“Oh, Crystal,” she whispered. “Not so soon.”

Nearly everyone in the room began talking. A few were crying. Liz got up and slipped out before anyone noticed.

As she walked home, she thought about Crystal, the town and how coming back had changed her life forever. She could leave and swear she would never return, but Fool’s Gold had made a mark on her. One that nothing could erase.

There were horrible people here, but there were also good ones. People like Crystal, who took the time to change a life with a few words.

FAMILY COURT WAS IN THE county courthouse—away from the center of town. A fact that made the experience slightly more bearable, Liz thought as she walked into the old building. There were murals in the massive entryway—the kind painted in the 1940s and depicting farmworkers and loggers. The subjects stood ten or fifteen feet high, the sure brushstrokes and colors still vivid after all these years.

Liz saw Ethan waiting by a bank of elevators. He wore a dark suit and white shirt, very different from his usual jeans and boots. Professional looked good on him. Not that a man with his height and muscled body ever looked bad, she thought, trying not to notice.

They moved toward each other. She squared her shoulders, grateful her three-inch heels meant she didn’t have to look up very far to meet his gaze.

“No lawyer?” he asked.

“We’re meeting the judge in her chamber,” Liz stated. “It’s an informal meeting. The lawyer I contacted suggested trying to keep it friendly for as long as possible.”

“With the judge,” he noted, his gaze unreadable. “Not with me.”

“I’m not the one who started this.”

He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

Something she could understand. Despite her claims that he could see Tyler whenever he wanted, she understood the fear of losing the one thing that mattered.

“You should have talked to me before doing this,” she told him evenly. “This is where you went and now we’re stuck.”

“You owe me, Liz,” he said quietly.

“Maybe, but this is the wrong kind of payback.”

“I need to know I’m not going to lose my son.”

“What did I ever do to make you not trust me?”

“You didn’t tell me right away.”

So they were back to that, she thought, both annoyed and sad. The same road, the same words, the same feelings. They were trapped and she didn’t know how to make things different.

They walked to the waiting room, and then were called into the judge’s chambers.

Judge Powers was a small woman, with dark hair and a petite build. She sat behind a large desk and leaned back in her leather chair as Ethan and Liz walked into the room.

She motioned for them to sit across from her, then drew in a breath.

“This sort of action makes me tired,” she began, her voice thick with irritation. “You’re wasting my time and the court’s time. You are two reasonably intelligent people who went to all the trouble to create a child together. Now, when your son is eleven, suddenly I have to deal with this?”

Liz had to consciously press her lips together to keep her mouth from falling open. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it sure hadn’t been a beginning like that.

“Your Honor,” Ethan responded, “there are some extraordinary circumstances.”

“There always are,” she said, reaching for her reading glasses and opening a file. “Dazzle me with them.”

Ethan briefly explained about how Tyler had come to be in his life. Liz gave him points for being fair about her attempts to tell him. He was a little dismissive of her first effort, but detailed the second accurately.

Judge Powers frowned. “Your wife kept the information about your son from you?”

Ethan nodded.

“There’s a prize,” the judge commented. “Where is she now?”

“She died a few years ago.”

The judge drew in a breath. “I’m sorry for your loss. So now you’re back in town, Ms. Sutton. I understand you’re caring for your brother’s two daughters while your brother is incarcerated. Is that correct?”

Liz nodded, shocked for the second time in the very short meeting. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” the judge said. “I do my homework. What you’re doing with them is admirable. I’ve heard you plan on taking them to San Francisco with you. How do they feel about that?”

“They’re not happy about the decision.”

“They’re teenage girls. They’re not going to be happy about anything.” She picked up the folder and looked at Ethan over her glasses. “This wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“It’s done now. You’re going to have to deal with it. Both of you. School starts the Tuesday after Labor Day. You have between now and the Friday before Labor Day to come up with a reasonable plan. You will present it to me at nine that morning. If I like it, then everything will be fine. If I don’t…”

She smiled tightly. “Trust me. You’re going to want me to like it.” The smile faded. “However, if you don’t come up with a plan, then I will put both of you in jail and charge you five hundred dollars a day until you do. Each. That should cover the cost of three additional children being put in our already overcrowded foster care system. Have I made myself clear?”

Liz nodded. She had no idea if Ethan did the same, but then they were being shown out.

She stood in the corridor feeling as if she’d just escaped a war zone.

“Jesus.” Ethan shoved his hand through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“We’re going to have to figure something out,” Liz insisted, glancing back at the door. “While I’m sure you’re not excited about paying five hundred dollars a day, either, I can at least work from jail. You made this happen, Ethan. Now we’re both stuck.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“You’d rather be right than anything?” What happened to the gentle, funny man she’d fallen in love with? Was he gone forever? Or had the person she’d cared about been little more than an illusion?

“I can’t lose Tyler again.”

“You won’t,” she said, frustration boiling inside of her. “How many times do I have to tell you before you’ll believe…”

She stared at him as understanding dawned. “Of course,” she whispered. “You can’t believe me. Because if I’m reasonable, if I really want you to get to know your son, then I’m not the bad guy. And just maybe part of the reason you don’t know him now is because of the choices you made.”

She was thinking about how he’d betrayed her, but the tightness in his expression warned her that he’d gone to a different place.

“You leave Rayanne out of this,” he growled.

“I wasn’t talking about her.”

“You blame her.”

She considered the question. “Not as much as you do.”

“I don’t blame her. She was my wife.”

There was something about the way he said the words, she thought. She didn’t know what it was. What secret or piece of information she was missing.

Before she could decide if she should hit him or walk away, he surprised her by touching her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sensitive topic.”

“Apparently.”

They stared at each other. Looking into his eyes was a little too much like looking at the sun. Do it for any length of time and there would be permanent consequences.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he told her. “You’re right. We need to come up with a plan.”

The gentle stroking made her want to lean against him. “As if I’d trust you now.”