Vegas Sunrise by Fern Michaels Page B

back?”
    â€œProbably not. I work too hard for my money. It was nice meeting you. Sunny has to go to therapy now.”
    â€œC’mere and give me a big smooch,” Sunny said, holding out her arms to Birch.
    Birch leaned over. Sunny whispered in his ear, “I had it all planned. Libby was supposed to be your destiny. She already knows you’re hers. I’ve been showing her pictures. You blew my big plan by getting married. Now Harry and I are going to have to find someone else for her.”
    Birch’s body felt red-hot when he turned to say good-bye. On the way home he had the urge to turn back and tell Sunny to hold off on finding a replacement for her therapist. Libby Maxwell’s crinkly smile stayed with him all the way back to town.
    His destiny?

3
    Birch let himself into Room 2711. He stood still for a moment listening to the silence before he tiptoed into the bedroom. Celia was still sleeping. He stared down at her for a long time, his heart racing. What in the goddamn hell was he doing here?
    He kicked off his shoes and shucked his clothes. He pulled on worn, faded jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers. He searched for his baseball cap, the last thing his father had given him. His index finger traced the raised threads that spelled out Thornton Chickens. He settled it firmly onto his head.
    The key to Sunny’s Volvo in hand, Birch made his way to the underground garage. His eyes filled as he stared at Sunny’s pride and joy. He unlocked the door, settled himself, marveling at the new-car smell of the vehicle. His smile stretched from ear to ear when he turned the key in the ignition. The car purred like a contented lioness. His hand caressed the mahogany knob on the gearshift as he slid it into reverse. Sunny had always boasted she could shift on the fly. Both he and Sage had been eaten alive with jealousy when Sunny made it look so easy. Neither he nor Sage had been able to work the clutch until they got older.
    It was all so long ago.
    Fifteen minutes later, Birch was on his way up the mountain; his destination, Sunrise.
    Â 
    Iris Thornton’s jaw dropped when she saw Sunny’s red Volvo screech to a stop in the cobbled courtyard. Her jaw dropped farther when she saw her brother-in-law climb from the car. She watched as he turned to get his bearings before he took off running like the demons from hell were on his heels. The phone was in her hand before she even realized she’d picked it up.
    â€œSage, Birch is here. He drove up in Sunny’s Volvo and then he . . . he started to run. He ran down the mountain. At least I think he did. Maybe you should come home, Sage.” She listened for a long time as her husband spoke. “You give me too much credit, honey. Okay, I’ll call you when he leaves. Everything’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have called you, but Birch was the last person I expected to see today. Bye.”
    Iris checked the huge pot of stew simmering on the stove. She took a quick peek at the two loaves of bread and the peach cobbler browning in the oven before she put a fresh pot of coffee on to perk. Birch, like Fanny, drank coffee all day long. She eyed the two rockers next to the fireplace. She threw on two logs. Sparks spiraled every which way. She likened the shooting sparks to Birch’s emotions and wondered how she knew her brother-in-law’s emotions were spiraling in all directions. She listened to the sounds of the percolator. Rosie, Daisy’s pup and the runt of the litter, raised her head from her nest on the red-checkered cushion on the rocker. When the last plop-plop sound ricocheted around the kitchen she jumped down.
    Iris waited, her eye on the kitchen clock. When the timer went off, she removed the bread and cobbler from the oven, sniffing appreciatively. She slid a cookie sheet full of cloves and orange peels onto the top oven shelf and turned off the oven. The whole house would smell wonderful in ten minutes. A