Free Do Not Disturb by Christie Ridgway

deep eaves and a rustic rockwork foundation. It was painted a pale gray, with a bright blue door that was flanked by flowering shrubs in pinks and red. Between the house and the ocean stood a tower, faced with the same rough-hewn rock.
    Nestled in the curve of a small stand of pines, Angel glimpsed a portion of a pool and the roof of a poolhouse. Farther away from the big house was a cottage, one that Hansel and Gretel might have wandered from. It too was painted gray, but the trim was a triple threat of colors: salmon, saffron, and sapphire.
    Angel realized she was holding her breath, as if the simple act of taking in oxygen might disturb a pretty vision. But then the toylike figure of a man appeared on the edge of the trees and strode toward the front door of the little house.
    It was only then she accepted this was no hallucination. Because even from this distance Angel recognized Judd Sterling, and she knew he was flesh and blood. He knocked on the door and in a moment it wasopened by a dark-haired woman, a cat at her heels. Beth Jones.
    Which meant that the little kingdom below had been Angel’s father’s.

Chapter 5
    Judd paused in Beth’s foyer, still somewhat hesitant to follow her into the kitchen. He hadn’t stopped by her house for his customary midmorning break since her brother-in-law Stephen’s death—though he’d wanted to. But Taoism taught that one planned in advance and carefully considered each action before making it, and he hadn’t thought Beth was ready to reestablish their normal routine until today.
    She looked over her shoulder at him, her brows lifting over her brown eyes. “Don’t you want coffee?”
    He had to smile then, because it brought to mind Angel Buchanan’s desperation at breakfast that morning. Stifling a small pang of guilt that he was going to assuage his own greed for freshly ground beans, he nodded and gestured Beth forward.
    Her turquoise-colored pants were cropped at the ankles and left her slender feet bare. She wore a platinumchain around one ankle, and though he couldn’t see it from here, he knew that dangling from it was a diamond-encrusted E, the anklet one of a pair that Stephen Whitney had presented to his wife and sister-in-law the Christmas before.
    Beth’s cat had been Judd’s own gift to her. During their short procession to the kitchen, the sleek, black-haired Shaft carried on a one-sided conversation in loud meows. He determinedly twined his mistress’s ankle too, rubbing against it as if he, like Judd, wanted to break that chain.
    â€œSilly cat. He’s been sticking close for days,” Beth said, reaching down to stroke the animal’s head.
    Judd, on the other hand, had given her space. He’d been with her briefly at the memorial service and then at the reception afterward, but other than that he’d kept his distance from the family.
    She placed his coffee mug on the small table across from hers, the San Francisco paper between them. Reading the news while drinking coffee together was the morning ritual they’d established sometime during the five years he’d been living at Tranquility House. Nominally an employee of the family, he’d found himself with a place in their lives. He and Beth had been comfortable, fast friends from the first.
    He didn’t want Stephen’s death to change that.
    Judd took his usual seat and watched her fill his cup from the pot, then her own. She turned her back to him and replaced the pot on the burner. “I’ve missed you,” she blurted out.
    His chair scraped against the floor as he started to rise, but she shook her head.
    â€œNo, don’t,” she said. “I’m a mess right now, I know that.”
    The cat jumped onto the countertop, butting against her. She lifted Shaft against her chest, then swung toward Judd. With her eyes closed, she rubbed her cheek between the animal’s ears. “How could this have