“What about your family?” he asked.

“I don’t have any. My parents died when I was seven, and they were both only children who had lost their parents while still in their teens. If there are distant relatives, I could never find them. So it’s just me.”

She tried not to sound wistful as she spoke. Her life was her life.

“You said you sell real estate?”

“I do, and I love it. There’s something very satisfying about seeing someone find the perfect home.”

“What’s your house like?”

“I live in an apartment.”

“Why?”

A simple question. Phoebe considered her answer. Money was a factor. The Los Angeles housing market wasn’t exactly for the financially challenged. While she did all right at her work, she didn’t move in the million-dollar circles that guaranteed a six-figure commission-based income.

There was also the sense of not being deserving. Maybe it was growing up in foster care where she’d been expected to earn her way by helping with the younger children. Maybe it was just her personality. Six months of therapy three years ago had left her more confused than ever.

“I rescue people,” she said.

Zane raised his eyebrows. “That’s why you live in an apartment?”

“Sort of. I find wonderful houses for other people, but not for myself. I don’t know why. Am I scared? Am I waiting for something?” Like marriage, although she didn’t want to say that to Zane. “I rescue people, sometimes dogs, but after I was bitten the last time, I steer clear of strays.”

“What kind of people?”

“Anyone in need. There was a homeless lady who was hit by a car. No one stopped, so I took her to the hospital myself. Sometimes I find runaways or battered women trying to escape their abusive husbands.”

“How do you find them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they find me. Maya says I carry around a sign that says I’m an easy target. I prefer to think I’m a good person doing the right thing. It’s just that sometimes it doesn’t go well.”

“You mean they take money from you?”

“Yeah, or there was the time I took on an intern, a girl who had aged out of the foster-care system. She was eighteen and had nowhere to go. She couldn’t afford college, so I was going to give her some experience and then help her find a way to pay for real estate school. One day I came home early and found her in bed with my boyfriend. Then there was the thing with my boss.”

Zane hesitated, as if he didn’t really want to know, then asked, “What thing?”

She told him about the problem with April. How she’d nearly ended up in jail and was now being investigated by the real estate board.

“I’m trying to stop rescuing the world, but it’s a tough habit to break. That’s why I’m here. I needed to get away.”

Away from all the questions and the worry that she might lose her license. She loved her job. Without it... She didn’t want to think about that.

“Who rescues you?” Zane asked.

Phoebe reined in her horse and stared at him. Zane stopped, as well.

“I don’t need rescuing.”

She couldn’t. Being needed was safe, but needing? No. She didn’t want to go there. Needing something or someone meant being vulnerable. It meant the risk of not getting. The pain of not asking was a lot easier to stand than the pain of being refused or rejected.

“Everybody needs to be taken care of some of the time,” he said.

“Do you?”

“I’m the exception.”

She wanted to say that she was, too, only she didn’t feel all that strong. Sometimes she wanted to hand all the responsibilities and worries to someone else for a while. Not completely, or forever, but just to get a break. She’d often thought that was what a good marriage would mean. Sometimes she would take on all the burdens, and sometimes her husband would. Most of the time they would share them.

If Maya heard her say that, she would call Phoebe a Pollyanna and remind her life wasn’t that simple. Phoebe had always thought it should be.

Zane urged his horse forward. Rocky dutifully fell into step.

“If you’re in Los Angeles and in real estate, you must work with rock singers and movie stars.”

Phoebe laughed. “Not exactly. I mostly specialize in starter homes. The problem is I work in an office in Beverly Hills, so finding the right place at the right price can be a challenge.”

“You’re in Beverly Hills and you find cheap houses?”

She winced. “Now you sound like Maya. I like working with people who really need a home. I’m not the rock-star type, although I did work with Jonny Blaze once. You know, the action star?”

“I know who he is.”

“Oh. Well, he’s really nice and not all that scary, like he is in the movies.”

“Who’s in the movies?” Chase asked as he rode up.

“Jonny Blaze. Zane and I were talking about movie stars I’ve worked with, but he’s the only one.”

Chase’s eyes widened. “You know Jonny Blaze? That’s awesome. He kicked some serious ass in his last movie. What’s he like? Did he have a bunch of groupies hanging all over him? He came to Fool’s Gold last year for a golf tournament, but I was working that weekend.” He shot a dark look toward Zane. “Is he really short? I read that a lot of action stars are short.”