Harlequin Shorts Online Part 07

255 onwards…

1* 2^ 3* 4# 5* 6* 7* 8* 9^ 10* 11* 12* 13* 14* 15* 16* 17* 18* 19* 20^ 21** 22* 23* 24* 25* 26* 27* 28* 29 30 31^ 32* 33* 34* 35* 36*

Diamonds and Desire Cop Next Door Melting the Ice Queen The Texas Bride Rescue Me Seduced By the Dark Stranger Surprise Wedding Zombie Midnight An Impossible Mission Return to Love Her Unexpected Cowboy Scandal at the Balfour Ball Dangerous Secrets A Forever Love Daniel's Gift Kiss Me Goodbye Hostage in Copper Lake Snow-Kissed Reunion Haunted Last Chance Café His Perfect Neighbor Midnight Propositions Naughty is Nice Dark Rider A Cowboy's Promise His Stand-In Bride The Bodyguard's Bride Worth the Risk Caught The Royal Cousin's Revenge Ryan's Hope Remember Me, Cowboy Sworn to Protect Punishment Close to Home The Bull Rider's Surrender

By Sarah Morgan By Julie Miller By Ann Christopher By Mary Burton By Jeannie Watt By Various Authors By Julie Leto By Lori Devoti By Kathryn Shay By Fiona Lowe By Trish Milburn By Michelle Reid By Shirlee McCoy By B.J. Daniels By Wendy Warren By Maggie Shayne By Marilyn Pappano By Melissa McClone By Jordan Gray By Amanda Stevens by Heather Reed By Jean Brashear By Tawny Weber By Caroline Burnes By Linda Ford By Michelle Styles By Brenda Harlen By Sarah Mayberry By Kimberly Kaye Terry By Catherine Mann By Patricia Rosemoor By Donna Alward By Delores Fossen By Joshua Corin By Emma Miller By Marin Thomas

2 23 51 78 99 123 143 164 188 220 243 266 289 317 334 353 377 394 422 446 471 474 503 527 542 565 587 609 631 651 670 708 730 759 762 783

37^ 38* 39* 40* 41* 42*//

Tie Me Down, Cowboy! Set Me Ablaze A Forever Mother Soul Mates The Perfect Girl The Devil of Rancho Diablo

By Isabel Sharpe By Isabel Sharpe By Laura Abbot By Lisa Childs By Alison Tyler By Tina Leonard

810 868 895 924 947 970

Till 296…

* eHarlequin, US

^eHarlequin, Aus

** others

#India

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

1

Diamonds and Desire by Sarah Morgan Alexandros Kozanitas built an empire from nothing, and along the way he learned that he could trust no one. Too bad his little sister, Eleni, is so naive she’s letting her new best friend take advantage of her wealth and generosity. In order to prove that “Madame Rostropov” is a fortune hunter, not a fortune teller, Alexandros plans to tempt the gold digger with a better offer, convinced she’ll ditch Eleni without a thought. Lauren Banks never could have predicted she’d end up substituting for the missing fortune teller at a glittering celebrity fundraising gala, but it’s either that or get fired from her much-needed job. Not one to believe in fate or fairy tales, Lauren is skeptical when a tall, dark, handsome man enters her tent and offers to shower her with diamonds and desire! Still, the very real heat between them has her deciding to indulge in fantasy, if just for one night…

Chapter One “I can’t take the place of the fortune teller!” Lauren Banks’ knees shook under the ridiculously short waitress uniform. “I’m sorry she’s let you down at the last minute, but please don’t ask me to fill in—I’d be useless.” “Not as useless as you are as a party organizer!” Lauren’s boss waved a sheaf of papers angrily. “This list you made is completely wrong—the names are all mixed up!” “That’s because everyone was rushing me. I’m dyslexic,” Lauren said. “I told you that someone should check the list.” “I just addressed a prince by the wrong name,” Gillian shrieked. “We’re in Monte Carlo, not Manchester. This party is the most important celebrity event for a decade. My reputation is on the line.” “Everything will be fine. I’m going to meet and greet and—” “How can you meet and greet when you don’t even know who they are? This list is total garbage.” “I’m good with faces. I just get mixed up when I write things down.” And when people lost patience and shouted, it made things worse. School, she thought with a shiver. Teachers. Gillian ripped the list in two. “I want you where you can cause the least damage. All you have to do is tell people they’re going to live happily ever after. Even you can manage that.” “I don’t believe in happily ever after,” Lauren muttered. “Life is hard. It’s unfair to mislead people.” “Life is going to be even harder if you don’t do this.” Gillian’s face was scarlet. “Do you want to keep your job?” Lauren bit her lip. She hated her job. Even this glamorous weeklong trip to Monte Carlo was turning out to be a nightmare. But life was no fairy tale, was it? She didn’t have anyone to turn to for support when things went wrong. She didn’t have family to run to. She had no one. “What do you want me to do?” “The real fortune teller calls herself Madame Rostropov—” Gillian virtually dragged her through the floodlit grounds, pushed her way into a small tent and picked up a costume. “Here—put this on while I try and untangle the mess you’ve created. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, Alexandros Kozanitas is flying in tonight, which means the place will be crawling with press.” “Who?” Barely listening, Lauren gazed at the outfit in disbelief. “Half the fabric is missing.”

2

“You’re supposed to look mysterious.” “It’s indecent.” “Wear it,” Gillian snapped. “And the fact that you’ve never even heard of Alexandros Kozanitas is another reason for you to stay hidden in this tent. I don’t want you putting your foot in it.” “He’s important?” “He is an ice-cold, ruthless heartbreaker, but he’s also rich and powerful and if he arrives at your party, you’re made.” Lauren wriggled into the outfit and winced. “I think the real Madame Rostropov must be flat-chested.” She stared down at herself in dismay. “I look like a hooker.” “Good. The men will write bigger checks.” Gillian sailed out of the tent and Lauren plopped down onto the chair, wishing the real fortune teller hadn’t picked this particular night to go off sick, and trying to work out how she could predict a happy future for anyone when her own life was such an utter disaster. *** “She is not a scam artist, Andros, she’s my friend. That’s why we’re going away together. She doesn’t have any money and I do! Why shouldn’t I treat her?” Absorbing that naive question with incredulous disbelief, Alexandros ground his teeth and wondered what sin he’d committed to end up with responsibility for his sister. “Your fortune-teller ‘friend’ is a leech, Eleni, who is using you to get a free holiday in New York.” “You’re wrong. And I’m not a child anymore. I’m seventeen. Stop protecting me!” Alexandros strode away from the helicopter, flanked by his security team. Eleni was his only family. He was hers. Because he’d always protected her, she had no idea what people were like. “If I’m wrong, she won’t accept the alternative I’m about to offer her.” “Alternative?” “An evening with me. She’s supposed to leave the party before midnight to catch a flight to New York. If she accepts my offer, she’ll miss it and that will tell us what we need to know about Madame Rostropov.” “You’ve flown to Monte Carlo to seduce her?” “I wasn’t planning to go that far.” “But you’re going to invite her on a date.” His sister exploded. “That isn’t a fair test—women never say no to you. They take one look at you and go stupid and brainless. If you hurt my friend I’ll never speak to you again!” Alexandros gave a grim smile. “If she’s truly your friend then she’ll turn me down. She won’t want to miss that flight.” “I hate you!” “No, you don’t.” Ending the call and pocketing his phone, Alexandros strode through the high-profile celebrity crowd, wishing that teenage girls came with an instruction manual.

3

“Alexandros—” His hostess hurried towards him. “We’re so honored.” How people change, he thought. Ten years ago this society hostess wouldn’t have given him the time of day. Money talked. He glanced around the grounds of the hotel, which had been transformed into a glittering paradise. “Impressive party.” “We have fire eaters, magicians—even a fortune teller.” Alexandros gave a cynical smile. Fortune hunter. “I’d like a private audience with your fortune teller.” “Surely you already know your future…” His hostess laughed flirtatiously. “Global domination?” “Definitely domination,” Alexandros said silkily. “Although tonight what I have in mind is more one-on-one than global.” “She’s in the tent behind the jugglers.” The woman pointed. “Go. Discover what your future holds.” He knew what his future held. He was going to meet a manipulative woman, keep her by his side until Flight 741 to New York had taken off, and prove to his sister that the woman’s friendship was motivated by greed. Alexandros lifted the flap of the tent and ducked inside. The interior was draped in a rich red fabric and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light and ghostly shapes created by a lava lamp which sat in the centre of a small table. And then he saw her. “Welcome.” Above a flimsy veil, huge blue eyes met his and Alexandros felt his body tighten in a reaction so basic, so fiercely primitive, that it was as if centuries of civilization had been stripped away in one single glance. The air heated and hummed with a tension that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Outside, fireworks erupted to cries of approval from the guests. Shrieks of laughter mingled with strains of music from the band. Inside the tent there was a taut, tense silence—a shocked, shimmering awareness spun from invisible threads of chemistry that held them both transfixed. With iron self discipline, Alexandros hauled his feelings back inside himself and ruthlessly crushed that primal, prehistoric part of himself that threatened to explode to the surface. She was far younger than he’d expected. It was easy to see why his sister had been so easily duped. This woman didn’t look capable of swatting a fly, let alone planning and executing a complex scam. And then his gaze dropped to her lush breasts, barely contained by the straining dress, and he reminded himself that innocent blue eyes and a delicious body were a woman’s most powerful weapon. “Madame Rostropov?” “Er—that’s right. I’m—Madame Rostropov.” Her voice was smoky soft and slightly hesitant. “I can see your future.” Alexandros gave a sardonic smile. He could see hers.

4

And it wasn’t looking good.

Chapter Two “You seek knowledge of your future.” Lauren looked at the man over the top of her veil, wishing she’d never agreed to take the place of the fortune teller. “Sit, and I will tell you what I see.” Women tripping over themselves to climb into your bed, she thought dizzily. Broken hearts leaving a trail behind you. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a check book. “How much do I pay for the privilege?” “I do not take money for my craft,” Lauren warbled, improvising frantically. Why had Madame Rostropov, the real fortune teller, picked tonight not to turn up? The last thing she needed was to spend the evening sitting here, spouting rubbish. “The money is a donation to the children at the hospital. Give what you can. Sit. I must look into your eyes.” She wasn’t sure that was such a good idea given that her body still hadn’t recovered from the sizzling eye contact they’d shared when he’d first walked into her tent. But what was she supposed to do? As he moved, the light from the lava lamp illuminated his face and Lauren suddenly felt shaky. He was handsome, yes. But it was a hard, cold handsome. From the razor-sharp perfection of his bone structure to the firm lines of his deeply sensual mouth, every one of his features had been designed for strength. Reminding herself that exceptionally good-looking men were never interested in her, Lauren placed her hands on the lava lamp and then pulled them away sharply as she burned herself. Ouch. “I see a bright future for you,” she droned, trying to remember what her vile, bullying boss Gillian had told her to say if a man came into the tent. “You are going to be rich and successful.” A slow, deadly smile touched his mouth and he scrawled on the check with a bold hand. “I’m already rich and successful, agape mou. Tell me something I don’t already know.” Lauren looked at the check he handed her and almost passed out. It had to be a mistake. She counted the zeroes carefully. Six. “One million dollars?” “You told me to give what I can.” “To most people that means about ten dollars.” “I’m not most people. I’ll do a deal with you, Madame Rostropov.” The way he said the name made her shiver. “What deal?” “If you correctly guess what the immediate future holds for me, I’ll write you another check for the same amount.” “In that case I think your immediate future is going to involve resuscitating a shocked fortune teller.” Lauren fanned herself with the check and then tucked it into the bodice of her dress for safe keeping. If she lost it, Gillian would kill her. “Thank you. That’s going to make a big difference to the children.” “So now we’ve established that I’m rich, tell me what you see.” I see a man who knows everything there is to know about women, Lauren thought weakly. In the small, claustrophobic tent, she could feel the power and energy pulsing from him. “I see that you are going to meet a beautiful woman.”

5

She felt a stab of envy for the nameless woman, thinking what it would be like to be this man’s date. “You’re going to spend a wonderful night together.” That was a pretty safe bet, she thought. There was no way this man would kiss a woman goodnight at her front door. “Go on.” He gave a slow, seductive smile that made her bones melt and sent her brain spinning away into a different universe where impoverished party organizers masquerading as fortune tellers ended up with billionaires. Except that sort of thing never happened, did it? Lauren brought herself back down to earth. “I expect this woman will fall in love with you,” she said gloomily, “and then you’ll probably dump her and ruin her life.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling her fortune or mine?” Lauren froze. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” “Perhaps,” he drawled softly, “rather than ruining her life, I’d give her the night of her life. Have you considered that?” Without warning he reached out and tugged at her veil. The soft, filmy fabric floated to the ground but neither of them gave it a second glance. Trapped by his dangerous dark gaze, Lauren felt vulnerable and out of her depth. Beneath the perfect cut of his dinner jacket he was all raw power and hard muscle and her heart stuttered like a car engine on the blink. “That veil was my disguise.” “You’re admitting you’re a fake?” Was there any point in denying it? “I’m a complete fake,” she squeaked. “But it raises money for the children.” And if I don’t do it, I’m fired. “So you don’t really have a clue what my future holds?” What would the real Madame Rostropov say to that? “I’m sure it will be something incredible,” Lauren said feebly. “You look like one of those people who skate through life without hitting any of the bumps.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And there are bumps in your life?” “My life is one giant bump.” “So how many unsuspecting victims have been on the receiving end of your clichéd predictions so far this evening?” “Not many. I suppose in the current economic climate even A-list celebrities don’t want to think about the future.” Lauren fiddled with the lamp. “Or maybe I was telling them the wrong thing. Possibly.” A ghost of a smile touched his hard mouth. “What were you telling them, Madame Fake?” She hesitated. “I told the first woman that she was going to meet a tall, dark, handsome man.” “And she wasn’t pleased?” “She was delighted. Unfortunately her short blond boyfriend waiting outside the tent wasn’t too thrilled. He shouted at me—” Lauren inhaled deeply. “After that I decided to be nonspecific. I mentioned diamonds to one or two people. I waffled on about dreams.” Feeling guilty, she studied her bitten fingernails. “I got a bit carried away once and talked about desire. Basic fairy-tale rubbish.”

6

“You don’t believe in fairy tales?” “No. Although life is so exhausting I do sometimes think that pricking my finger and sleeping for a hundred years would be nice.” A muscle flickered at the corner of his mouth. “And then you’d be woken by a kiss from your prince?” “In my life the prince would turn out to be gay because gorgeous men are either gay or married.” She pulled herself together. “Sorry. You didn’t pay to hear this. But to be honest you don’t strike me as the sort of guy who lets anyone else dictate his future.” He exuded confidence and authority and Lauren couldn’t imagine anyone telling this man what to do. Watching her, he leaned back in his chair. “You’re not what I expected.” “Well you don’t exactly look like the average visitor to the fortune-teller tent, either.” Not that she’d know, given that she wasn’t the real fortune teller. “Do you want a refund?” “No. I want to tell you your fortune.” “That’s easy, I’ll mess up.” Lauren heard an explosion of fireworks and wondered if it was coming from outside the tent or inside. The way he was looking at her drove the breath from her body and the sense from her brain. “I always mess things up.” “Not tonight. Tonight you are going to meet a tall, dark, handsome, rich man.” In the dim light of the tent his wicked eyes gleamed dark and dangerous. “You’re going to spend the evening with him and he is going to make your every wish come true. Dreams, diamonds and desire all in one evening. Welcome to your future, Madame Rostropov.”

Chapter Three Alexandros watched the fortune teller through narrowed eyes. His burning anger had been replaced by another intense, sizzling emotion. Raw lust. The fact that she’d obviously chosen a costume that was too tight for her did nothing to cool his libido. Incredible body, he thought. Shame about her morals. He had no doubt that her sudden friendship with his teenage sister was driven by the lure of money, and to prove his theory he was about to throw temptation in the fortune teller’s path. If she was as genuine as his sister believed, then she’d refuse him and leave before midnight so that she could catch her flight to New York for a weekend of girl time and shopping. Alexandros had too much experience of the corrupting effects of money to believe she was genuine. He’d never yet met a woman who could resist the lure of wealth. “So?” He moved round the little table and pulled her to her feet. “How does an evening of diamonds and desire sound to you?” “Completely ridiculous!” Her voice was smoky soft and her eyes were laughing. “Apart from the fact I don’t even know your name, I’m the fortune teller. I’m part of the fundraising for this evening. I have to stay here until midnight.” And then she’d be on a flight to fleece his sister. “How much are you hoping to raise?”

7

“Er—a lot? The ball is raising money for a new scanner at the children’s hospital. We’re grateful for anything.” “How much is the scanner?” She gaped at him. “I d-don’t know. More millions than I can imagine.” “But not more millions than I can imagine,” Alexandros purred. “I’ll buy them their scanner. Then you can close the tent. From this moment onwards, the fortune teller is off duty. You’re all mine.” She looked dazed. “You’ll buy the scanner? You’re kidding.” “It seems like a good way to spend money.” “It is, but—wow. That’s so generous of you.” “And now you have no reason not to spend the evening with me. Just for a few hours,” he drawled, mentally calculating the exact time by which she would have missed her flight. “It seems unfair for you to spend your evening trapped in here when there is so much going on outside.” She looked at him closely. “Have you been drinking the champagne?” “Not a drop. Why?” Her expression was wary. “Because guys who can buy a scanner without even checking their bank balance aren’t usually interested in girls like me.” Alexandros looked down at the soft swell of her breasts, barely contained by the flimsy outfit. “You’re stunning.” Her lips parted and then she glanced over her shoulder, as if she was looking for someone. “Me?” “We’re the only two people in this tent.” Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Are you trying to make someone jealous or something?” Alexandros sighed. “No. I’m trying to compliment you. I didn’t realize it would be so hard.” “Well, rich, good-looking guys don’t usually just come up to me and tell me I’m stunning, so forgive me if I’m suspicious.” Intrigued to meet someone as wary as he was about people’s motives, Alexandros smiled. “Perhaps you need a mirror.” “Perhaps you need a better light.”’ She pushed her hair away from her face in a haphazard way that told him she had no idea where it was ending up. It made a refreshing change from his last girlfriend who had refused to travel without a hairdresser in tow. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact she was fleecing his sister, he would have liked the fortune teller. “I have excellent night vision,” he drawled, and she rolled her eyes. “I just bet you do. I bet you’re extremely practiced at seeing in the dark.” “I use all of my senses. So—are you going to spend the rest of your evening alone in a tent, or are you going to live life to the full?”

8

Her gaze slid to his and Alexandros recognized in her the same air of watchful distrust that characterized his dealings with people. He wondered who was responsible for the veil of caution she held between herself and the world. Ironic, he thought, that he should be trying to expose someone who appeared to share much of his own view of human nature. She licked her lips. “You’re seriously asking me to spend the evening with you? This isn’t a joke?” Alexandros, who had never had to ask a woman out twice, was thrown. “It isn’t a joke.” For a moment she looked at him and then she shook her head. “No. Sorry. You must have brought someone with you. A guy like you has to have some gorgeous skinny woman waiting for you somewhere.” “No one is waiting for me. At the moment I don’t have a partner, but I’m hoping to remedy that situation any moment now.” Instead of falling into his arms, she stepped backwards. “You’re smooth and I don’t trust smooth men.” Someone had hurt her, he thought. Badly. “I’m not smooth.” Alexandros thought about the years he’d spent sweating his way to the position he now held. “I’m definitely not smooth.” “But you’re ruthless.” “Only when the situation demands it.” He smiled. “Otherwise I’m a pussy cat.” “Technically, so is a tiger.” Her gaze was faintly mocking. “You’re no more a pussy cat than I am a fortune teller.” Entertained, Alexandros reached for her hand and drew her towards him. “Spend the evening with me.” “Why?” “Because I want to get to know you better.” And not just because of his sister. He wanted to know what had happened in her life to make her so cautious. He wanted to know how she’d met his sister and whether she needed money for a reason. Was she in some sort of trouble? Or was she just greedy? She tilted her head. “All right.” If it weren’t for the fact that she was letting his sister down without any visible signs of hesitation or regret, he would have liked her enormously. Contemplating his sister’s impending disappointment, Alexandros decided to give her one more chance to do the right thing. “If there is somewhere else you need to be this evening then I don’t want to stand in your way.” Her hesitation was so brief it was barely discernable. “Well, I’m supposed to be working, but given that you’ve just paid a small fortune—” “And after work?” “I’m not doing anything important.”

9

Hearing her plans with his sister dismissed so carelessly, Alexandros felt a momentary flash of anger. “Good decision,” he said calmly, scrawling a note. It didn’t matter what had happened in her life, he told himself. He wasn’t interested in why she was so wary. His responsibility was to his sister, not this woman. She looked at the note. “‘Fortune teller gone to seek her fortune’?” “Pin it to the tent. Then no one will come looking for you.” Laughing, she did as he suggested. “This is crazy. I have no idea why I said yes to this. I don’t even know your name.” “You can call me Andros,” he said silkily. “And you’re about to have an evening you’ll never forget.”

Chapter Four “I’ve never been a guest at a party like this one.” Lauren felt as though she was walking through a fairy tale. The hotel grounds had been transformed into a magical, twinkling paradise, a million tiny lights illuminating the trees, fireworks lighting the sky with a thunderous explosion of color. She felt disorientated. One moment she’d been trapped in a tent, posing as the absent fortune teller, the next she was on the arm of a man so lethally handsome that her body was on fire. The whole thing was like a dream. It was too good to be true. “Lauren! What do you think you are you doing?” Her boss’s voice cut through her daydreaming like the blade of a knife and Lauren woke to find her fantasy floating to the floor in tatters. Definitely too good to be true. “I was—” She was going to be fired. She’d risked everything for a few hours with this man. How could she have been so stupid? The cold wind of reality slapped her in the face and she tried to step away, but the man hauled her against his side with a powerful arm. “She’s with me.” His voice was hard and unapologetic, a verbal challenge tossed carelessly at the feet of her apoplectic boss. Pulled into intimate contact with his muscular frame, Lauren made a pathetic attempt to free herself, breathlessly conscious of his hard thigh pressed against hers. Sensation spread like fire through her belly and she heard him curse softly under his breath. “Stop wriggling.” Face flaming, resigning herself to her doom, Lauren froze. “Gillian, I can explain—” “Mr Kozanitas?” Gillian made a choking sound. “I didn’t recognize you in the dark. I—I’m so sorry to have intruded on your evening.” Kozanitas? Lauren gaped up at the man who now held her in an iron grip, suddenly understanding why Gillian was squirming. “I have kidnapped your fortune teller.” Layers of easy charm covered an interior of solid steel. “Is that a problem?”

10

“No problem.” Gillian grimaced. “I’m delighted you’ve found—entertainment.” She backed away, tripping over two security men in her haste to depart. “She makes a Rottweiler seem like a cuddly toy.” Lauren watched her go, feeling numb. “I guess I need to find another job.” “If she fires you, let me know.” His tone was ice cold and even though she knew that being fired was the likely outcome, a warm feeling spread through her body. He’d stood up for her. No one had ever done that before. She was used to fighting her way through life. Alone. “Thanks,” she said gruffly and he pulled her against him in shockingly intimate contact. “Why do you let her bully you?” “Because she pays my salary.” “You should get another job.” If only it were that easy. “Spoken like a billionaire.” Lauren gave a shaky smile. “You told me your name was Andros.” “Short for Alexandros.” “Ah. So you’re the scary Alexandros. Kozanitas.” He gave a sardonic smile. “Am I scary?” “Spelling your name is scary,” Lauren muttered under her breath, remembering the problems she’d had with the guest list. “Everyone is jumping around because you’re here tonight. My boss is demented.” And she was demented too, agreeing to spend an evening with a man like Alexandros Kozanitas. What was she thinking? “I can’t just leave without another job to go to. Not that I’d expect someone like you to understand that.” “I do understand.” The laughter in his eyes had been replaced by a flinty hardness and a chill that froze her blood. Flustered by the change in his expression, she looked away. “I can’t imagine you ever being poor.” “That’s because I’ve done everything I can to make sure it is never going to happen to me again.” And now he was worth a fortune. As they strolled through the grounds enjoying the entertainment, she couldn’t help but be aware that every woman in the party was sending her jealous looks. “What on earth are you doing with me?” Lauren jumped as an explosion of fireworks sent a million tiny stars cascading through the sky. “You should be with someone draped in diamonds.” “I agree.” He gave a slow smile. “So let’s drape you in diamonds.” Taking her hand, he led her towards a heavily guarded tent which housed an exclusive range of exquisite diamond jewelry from the world’s top designers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Lauren stopped dead. Looking into his eyes, she felt her mouth dry. They were in a crowd of people, but she was aware only of him. As he pulled her against him, his thigh brushed hers and heat flashed through her, scalding her senses. The chemistry was more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. The frantic ache low in her pelvis intensified and she sucked in an uneven breath.

11

Confused, dangerously fascinated, she stole a glance at his mouth and suddenly knew that she wanted something much, much more than she wanted a diamond. She wanted him to kiss her. Even without testing her theory, she knew that he was a man who would know exactly how to kiss a woman. And she wanted to be that woman. As he lowered his head towards her, Lauren started to tremble. “Are you ready to be draped in diamonds?” His voice was thickened with the same shocking awareness that held her breathless, and her heart stuttered and stalled. “I’m ready—” *** This was all too easy, Alexandros thought to himself, watching the glow in her eyes as he fastened the diamond necklace around her throat. There was no outward evidence that the fortune teller was battling a moral dilemma. She was apparently only too happy to ditch an all-expenses-paid shopping trip with his sister in favor of a more lucrative evening with him. Contemplating the distress her greed was going to cause, Alexandros felt a flicker of anger. The fickleness of human nature was a hard lesson to learn, he thought grimly, but the sooner his sister became more cynical, the less protective he would need to be. “I can’t accept this.” Smashing his preconceptions into the ground, the girl lifted her hands to the back of her neck and tried to undo the clasp. “It isn’t right.” “You don’t like it?” “I don’t mean the necklace, I mean the fact that you’re giving it to me. Gifts like this come with a price tag,” she said gruffly. “And it’s going to be too high for me.” “Leave it.” Alexandros gently removed her hands from the necklace and turned her to face him. “It looks good on you.” “I cannot possibly accept it and even if I did, where would I wear it?” In bed with me, Alexandros thought immediately, shocking himself with the thought because ending the evening with this woman had not been his original intention. “I will take you somewhere you can wear it.” And suddenly he wanted to do that. He wanted to take her away from this ridiculously public charade and unwrap her in private. She looked up at him for a long moment then lifted her hand and slowly trailed her fingers over his cheekbone. “What do you want from me?” Staring down into those wide blue eyes, Alexandros felt a sharp stab of guilt. He’d wanted to prove to his sister that her new best friend was a greedy fake. But suddenly his priorities had changed and he wanted something else entirely. “What do I want from you?” Without hesitation he slid his hands into her silky hair and brought his mouth down on hers in a hungry, demanding kiss, answering her faltering question with a searing explosion of raw passion.

Chapter Five

12

Lauren moaned against the skilled assault of his mouth, aware of the gasps from the people watching but too wrapped up in the moment to care. All she cared about was the fact that Andros was kissing her and her entire body was melting in the almost intolerable heat created by his sure, skilful touch. His body was hard against hers, his hands firm on her head as he held her still for a kiss loaded with sexual promise. Through a haze of desire she heard a clock chiming somewhere in the distance and he lifted his head slowly. “Midnight.” The way he said the word made it sound as though the hour had some significance and Lauren wondered if she was missing something. “What happens at midnight?” There was a long silence and he was unnaturally still. “We leave.” There was a collective sigh from the watching women as Alexandros locked his fingers with hers and led her out of the tent. “Where are we going? I’m still wearing the diamonds—” Lauren stumbled as she tried to keep up with his long stride. “I don’t want to be arrested for theft.” “The necklace is yours.” “It can’t be mine. I didn’t pay for it.” Her hair flew into her eyes and she anchored it with her hand, laughing as they ran across the grass, dodging celebrities who were enjoying everything the ball had to offer. “I’m a very good customer.” Skewered by sudden doubt, Lauren stopped running. “I’m not sure I wanted to know that. What am I doing with you? I’ll be fired for this. I must be completely crazy.” Andros looked at her through hot, sexy eyes. “Not yet, but you will be soon, agape mou. Once we are back at my house and we have privacy, I will drive you completely and utterly crazy. That’s a promise.” Lauren knew she was in trouble. Her mouth dried and nerves exploded in her stomach, creating a more spectacular display than any of the fireworks that exploded around them. “We’re going back to your house?” Here, in the relative safety of the exclusive hotel, surrounded by partygoers, she felt secure. It had all been a bit of light-hearted fun. The thought of going with him alone to his house created a completely different sensation in the pit of her stomach. Not safe, she thought to herself. And not light-hearted fun. Deadly serious. Alexandros Kozanitas wasn’t some good-natured young boy who would be prepared to flirt and end the evening with a chaste good-night kiss. He was all man—strong and powerful, sure of what he wanted and completely ruthless about achieving his goals. What he wanted, he took. “I gather your house isn’t in Greece.” He smiled. “I own a villa down the coast in Cap Ferrat. It’s closer than my home in Greece.” He had more than one home. Of course he did. Lauren bit back a hysterical laugh, thinking of the room she rented in the roughest part of London. “Any minute now I’m going to wake up back in my boring life.” “To wake up, you first have to sleep and the one thing I can promise you we won’t be doing is sleeping.” Everything about him was blatantly sexual—from his searing glance to the dangerous curve of his beautiful mouth, and Lauren knew she was lost. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

13

“Coward.” “Yes.” Lauren gasped as he lowered his mouth to her throat. His breath was warm against her skin and she closed her eyes, shaking with sensation. “If I wasn’t afraid, I’d be stupid.” And maybe she was stupid, standing here wearing this man’s diamonds when the whole thing could only end one way. Wound as tight as a spring, she jumped as another firework exploded and he gave a low laugh and took her hand again, leading her through the glittering throng of people. “Let’s get out of here. I’d rather you didn’t die of a heart attack before we reach the good part.” A delicious panic swallowed her whole. “My things are back in the hotel. I don’t have anything to wear except this stupid fortune-teller outfit.” “You have the diamonds, agape mou,” he purred, urging her aboard the sleek, dark helicopter that bore his logo. “That’s all you’re going to be wearing for the foreseeable future.” Lauren clutched her seat as the helicopter rose like a bird into the darkness of the night, leaving the glittering party far below them. Diamonds and desire, she thought. But at what price? *** His villa hugged the hillside overlooking the bay. Still holding her hand, Alexandros led her through fragrant gardens, past a fountain spilling water and a blue-lit infinity pool and through open glass doors into an elegant bedroom. A four-poster bed dominated the room, framed with filmy white drapes and covered in silk cushions. Lauren stood, listening to the soothing hiss of the waves on the beach below, her tummy clenched in a knot of helpless desire as her mind raced ahead, conjuring up images of what it would be like to make love on a bed like that. With a man like him. The moment stretched, the anticipation almost agonizing. “Andros—” His hand slid round her waist and he pulled her hard against him as he took her mouth in a hungry kiss. “Lie down, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured against her lips, “and I’ll kiss you for a hundred years until a spinning wheel comes and pricks your finger.” Lauren gasped as he swung her into his arms. “You’re mixing up your fairy tales.” “It doesn’t matter. You don’t believe them anyway.” She was starting to. She was starting to believe in happy ever after and happy endings. With him holding her she could believe in anything. She felt sexy, irresistible and feminine. Captivated by the dark, dangerous gleam in his eyes, she held his gaze as he lowered her gently onto the pile of soft cushions and came down over her in a smooth, decisive movement that left her in no doubt as to his intentions. “You’re wearing too much.” His voice thickened, he lowered his mouth to the swell of her breasts exposed by the flimsy outfit. “Sorry about this—” Without further warning he ripped the dress from neckline to hem, swiftly dispensed with her underwear and then cupped one swollen breast with his hand. “That’s better.”

14

The heat in the room was stifling and hot tingles slid down her body as he stroked a leisurely hand over her stomach, and lower still. When his fingers eased between her thighs, Lauren tensed and then moaned against his mouth as he touched her with unerring skill and lethal accuracy. Feverish and desperate, she wrenched at his shirt, exposing hard muscle and raw male power. Dark hair grazed the peaks of her nipples and Lauren arched her hips, pressing into his hardness, driven wild by the sensations he spun inside her. Her fingers dragged down the warm, sleek skin of his back and then slid round, over his abdomen until she covered him with the flat of her hand. The size of him shocked her and she felt a sudden flicker of apprehension that he might be too big. “Relax, erota mou.” He murmured the words against her mouth, his tone gentle. “Trust me.” His kiss was slow and sexy, building the need in her, creating a storm of sensation that built to a screaming peak of desire. She was dimly aware of him reaching for protection and then she felt the hard ridge of his erection against the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “Now,” she whispered, her fingers digging hard into his sleek, muscular shoulders. “Please, now…”

Chapter Six Lauren stared into his eyes, her heart pounding. It was going to be now. With this man. She should have been thinking why him? Instead she pressed her lips to the sleek muscle of his bronzed shoulder and thought yes, him. She wanted him in a way she’d never wanted a man before and every slow, sensuous kiss, every slick touch, made her burn for more. Heat shot through her body and she rocked her hips against him, feeling his powerful erection brush against her thigh, wondering briefly whether she should mention she hadn’t actually shared this degree of intimacy with anyone before. Probably not, Lauren thought dizzily as he pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her with more skill and knowledge than one man should have accumulated in a single lifetime. Her eyes drifted shut and she moaned into his mouth. If she’d known it felt this good, she would have done it before, but she’d never allowed herself to get that close to anyone. She’d always protected herself. Feeling light-headed, Lauren tried to work out what was different about this time but her thoughts were spinning and disjointed and just as she tried to open her mouth to tell him not to stop, he was inside her, his thrusts slow and smooth as he eased himself deep. He was hard and hot and she could feel the delicious pressure of him all the way through her body. Too much, she thought wildly and then he lowered his head and kissed her again, the teasing seduction of his mouth melting away her sudden tension and sending her excitement levels into orbit. Showered by sensation, aching for him, Lauren wrapped her legs around him, urging him on. But instead of responding to her feverish encouragement, he lifted his head and looked down at her, questions simmering in the dark depths of his eyes. And she didn’t want to answer those questions. Not here. Not now. “Andros,” she whispered, conscious of his velvet hardness deep inside her, and of the intimacy of that single look. “I want this. I want you.” She arched against him and he gave a low groan and then cupped her bottom and thrust deep, his movements infinitely gentle as he locked their bodies together, introducing her to an entirely new level of intimacy. He was all silk and virile heat, the power of his invasion driving the breath from her body. Pleasure clawed at her, raking through control, creating sensations she’d never imagined existed.

15

Alexandros locked his fingers with hers and kissed her, the skilled stroke of his tongue intensifying the excitement as he found a perfect rhythm, each powerful thrust sending excitement rushing through her. The room shimmered with heat, the bed bathed in a glow of light that came from the floodlit pool on the terrace beyond the open doors. “You’re beautiful.” His voice was husky, his eyes a menacing black, and Lauren arched against him, drawing him deeper still, feeling nothing but hot, pulsing pleasure as he drove into her. The muscles of his shoulders rippled under her fingers and the heat spread through her body like a drug. It was the most sensual, erotic, overwhelming experience of her life, each plunge taking her deeper into paradise, until with a final thrust he sent both of them rocketing skywards. Wave after wave of the most intense pleasure erupted and Lauren dug her fingers into the sleek muscle of his shoulders, her body contracting against the powerful force of his as they were both flung into a vortex of sexual ecstasy that she knew was going to change her life forever. As they surfed the wave of extreme pleasure, he took her mouth, he took her body—he took everything she offered. Including her heart. *** It was the phone that woke him. Dragging himself from a sex-induced slumber, Alexandros rubbed his fingers across his face and checked the number on his phone. It was his sister. Swearing softly in Greek, he sank back against the pillows. Not now. He wasn’t prepared to have what could only be described as a delicate conversation. His sister was no doubt waiting at the airport in New York for her “new best friend” who had, unfortunately, been all too willing to accept a better offer from him. Reluctant to expose her as a greedy opportunist, he glanced down at the sleeping girl in his bed, realizing that he’d just made the situation a thousand times more complicated. “Eleni—” “You owe me an apology.” Alexandros shook his head, trying to concentrate through the fog of sleep. “I apologize,” he said gruffly, keeping his voice low so that he didn’t wake the woman next to him. “You’re right, it was the wrong thing to do.” “No, it wasn’t. I’m glad you did it!” Failing to make sense of that comment, Alexandros frowned. “You’re glad? You’re not upset?” “Why would I be upset? I was right. You were wrong.” His sister sounded impossibly smug. “It’s the first time in my entire life I’ve known you to be wrong about anything so I’m going to make the most of it.” “Eleni—” “It must have totally ruined your evening when you realized that my fortune-teller friend wasn’t even at your stupid party. She decided that the timing was just too tight so she pulled out of the job and by the time you were landing your helicopter at the party in Monte Carlo, she was already at the airport!”

16

Alexandros stilled. “She can’t have been at the airport.” At midnight, Madame Rostropov had been with him. “Well, she was. I was so thrilled when she arrived in New York on time. Andros? Are you there? What’s the matter with you?” Alexandros licked dry lips. “She arrived on time? She didn’t miss her flight?” “No. She’s here now. And I know you’re going to tell me that she’s just interested in my money, but that isn’t true. Do you want to talk to her?” Alexandros closed his eyes. “No. You’re right. It’s time you learned to make your own judgments about people, Eleni.” He had enough problems of his own. If the greedy fortune teller was living it up in New York with his sister, then who had he just spent the night with? Who was lying in his bed?

Chapter Seven The days that followed were a haze of pure sensual bliss. They rose late, ate breakfast on the terrace and then explored the beaches and small Mediterranean towns around the exclusive peninsula of Cap Ferrat. But Lauren’s favorite place was the stretch of private beach that nestled below his villa. “I can’t believe you have this all to yourself.” She stooped and picked up a shell, frowning as she heard a buzzing from his pocket. “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” “No.” He caught her by the waist and hauled her against him. “I’m with you.” It was a heady feeling, being wanted by a man like him. “You’re so lucky, being the boss. No one can fire you. What do you do, anyway?” “I design computer software.” Lauren pulled a face. “You must be very clever. Computers hate me.” Smiling, he tightened his hand on hers. “Lauren, computers don’t have feelings.” “That’s where you’re wrong. They’re vengeful. They wait until you’re doing a really, really important piece of work and then they gulp it down and you never see it again.” “It’s always possible to find lost files.” “Not if you’re me,” Lauren said gloomily. “I’m utterly rubbish at anything like that.” He slid his hands into her hair and lowered his mouth to hers in a teasing kiss. “But you have remembered the name of every single person we have met over the past few days and charmed each and every one of them. My staff think you walk on water and my finance director wants to marry you after a thirty-second phone conversation. You are a very special person.” “Ordinary,” Lauren muttered and he gave a slow smile.

17

“Not from where I’m standing. That bikini suits you. You look good in hot pink.” “The clothes are fantastic.” Still self conscious, Lauren looked down at herself. “You shouldn’t have bought me so much stuff.” “You couldn’t spend the week in your fortune-teller costume.” “It wasn’t even mine! The real fortune teller is obviously much smaller. And I’m sure she’s better at seeing into the future than I am because I certainly never saw any of this happening.” Not even in my wildest dreams. Lauren slid her arms around his neck and then frowned. “Are you all right? You’ve gone all tense.” “I’m fine,” he said smoothly. “And it’s lunchtime. Let’s go and eat.” She wondered if she should remind him that she had a flight booked out of Nice airport in less than twentyfour hours’ time. He’d said nothing about his plans, had he? But she knew he couldn’t carry on ignoring his phone and burying himself in this Mediterranean paradise. He had a life to lead and so did she. And their lives didn’t overlap. As they walked back along the water’s edge, Lauren glanced over her shoulder, watching as the sea washed away their footprints. A cloud slid over her happiness and she shivered. It was as if they’d never stood there—never kissed. A brief fantasy moment that was already a memory. Reality crashed into her mind, sending her dreams spinning. There was such a thing as too good to be true, and this was too good to be true, wasn’t it? Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. “Do you know the story of Icarus?” He glanced at her as they took the path up to the villa. “Of course. I am Greek. He flew too close to the sun, burnt his wings and fell to earth.” The higher you fly, the harder you fall. Cupping her face in his hands, he lowered his head. “That isn’t you, Lauren. I’m not going to let you fall.” “I’ve used up all my holiday. I have a flight booked tomorrow.” “I’m not letting you go,” he murmured against her mouth. “You are going to stay here with me.” Lauren felt her tummy tumble. She couldn’t stay, could she? She had a job. On the other hand, was she really going to give this up? *** They were eating lunch on the terrace when there was a sudden noise from inside the villa and a pretty, dark-haired teenager appeared on the terrace. “Andros?”

18

Seeing the immediate tension in his frame, Lauren at first assumed that this had to be an old girlfriend. Feeling slightly sick, she put down her drink and stood up. “Sit down,” Alexandros said quietly, his expression obscured by sunglasses. “Lauren, this is my sister, Eleni.” “Your sister?” Shocked to realize that she didn’t even know he had a sister, Lauren stilled. “Oh.” There were plenty of reasons why he might not have mentioned his sister, she reasoned. Eleni bounced up to Alexandros and poked a finger into his chest. “So your little plan backfired. You flew all the way to that party to seduce a fortune teller and she wasn’t even there.” Lauren’s mouth dried. “S-seduce a fortune teller?” “My friend is a fortune teller. I’d invited her to New York with me.” Oblivious to the impact her words were having, Eleni was grinning at her brother. “But Andros was sure she was only interested in my money and to prove his point he decided he’d make her a better offer. Unfortunately he never got the chance because she didn’t show up for work that night. She was already waiting at the airport for me. So my over-protective big brother had a wasted, boring evening.” Alexandros removed his sunglasses with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “My evening wasn’t boring.” Lauren’s mouth was dry and there was a sudden roaring in her ears. Feeling disconnected, she stood up, her sudden movement rattling the cups on the table. Despite the heat of the day, she was suddenly icy cold and the ache inside her was so acute that she almost gasped. “Excuse me.” Her voice sounded strained. “I’ll call a taxi.” And that would wipe out all the extra money she’d earned working overtime for the ball. Serves you right, she told herself, for allowing yourself to get dreams mixed up with reality. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Guilty, Eleni glanced at her but Lauren was already halfway across the terrace. Behind her she heard Alexandros explode in a tirade of angry Greek and she swallowed down the lump in her throat as she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled the number of a taxi firm. “Lauren—” Alexandros stood behind her, his voice strangely uncertain. “It isn’t how it seems.” “You’re saying you didn’t invite me to spend the evening with you because you wanted to prove I was greedy?” She was shaking so much that the phone slid out of her hand and crashed onto the floor. “That is why I invited you to spend the evening. Initially.” His truthful response shook her and Lauren retrieved her phone, wondering how it could still be intact after a collision with a hard surface when her heart, which hadn’t been dropped, felt as though it had splintered into a million pieces. “Tell me one thing. When exactly did you discover I wasn’t your fortune teller?” “The first morning.” “And you didn’t say anything?” “It wasn’t relevant. That wasn’t why I brought you here.”

19

Lauren wouldn’t let herself listen. She didn’t trust herself around this man. She’d allowed herself to be drawn in—to believe and dream. She’d allowed herself to feel. How was that possible after such a short time? “Sometimes when something seems too good to be true, it’s because it is. You can’t buy a future. You can’t buy a relationship.” Desperately hurt, dying inside, Lauren unfastened the diamond necklace and pushed it into his hand. “It wasn’t dreams, diamonds or desire, Andros. It was despicable.”

Chapter Eight Alexandros pounded on the door with his fist, indescribable tension driving away his usual cool. What if she no longer lived here? What if— Lauren tugged open the door and her eyes widened. “Wh-what are you doing here? I’m waiting for my taxi.” Alexandros noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. She was as stressed as he was. “You gave me the diamonds back.” No woman had ever done that before. “I didn’t like what they meant. I see my taxi—” “It can wait.” Alexandros closed his hand over her arm. The scent of her hair drifted through the air and he clenched his jaw, resisting an almost overpowering temptation to haul her against him and just kiss his way out of trouble. “It’s true that I kept you at the ball until I thought you’d missed your flight,” he ground out. “I won’t apologize for that because I was protecting my sister, but everything that happened after that was about us. It had nothing to do with anything else.” “You slept with me thinking that I was a greedy, gold-digging woman. What does that say about you, Andros?” He felt his gut twist at the pain in her voice. “It says that I’m not great at trusting people,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t come naturally to me. From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t come naturally to you, either, so you ought to understand that. If you trusted easily, you wouldn’t have walked out so readily.” She stood still. “How did you find me?” “Your boss.” “Ex-boss.” “She fired you?” Alexandros felt red-hot anger spear his body. “I will have you reinstated immediately.” “I wasn’t fired,” she said quietly. “I resigned. You told me to stop being afraid and you were right. If I’d stayed with her any longer I would have lost all my confidence.” “I’ll look after you.” Alexandros glanced past her into her cramped flat, hating the thought of her living alone. Struggling. “You’re brilliant with people. I’ll give you a job.” “I have a job.” There was pride in her voice. “Remember that woman with the blond boyfriend? Turned out he wasn’t that nice to her. After she left my tent, she ditched him and offered me a job. She’s Gillian’s biggest competitor.” Alexandros noticed the suitcase behind her. “You’re working?” “Believe it or not, she’s throwing another party in Monte Carlo.” The look in her eyes told him it was the last place she wanted to be. “Why are you here, Alexandros?” He’d been asking himself the same question. “Because I want you to understand why I did what I did.”

20

“You don’t have to—” “After our mother died, our father was persuaded to invest all his savings in a scam by a clever, manipulative woman. He lost everything. He drank.” Alexandros sucked in a breath. “Eleni was six months old when he died.” There was a long silence and then her fingers found his. “I’m sorry.” “I was sixteen. I was determined that we wouldn’t be separated but it was hard.” It was something he never talked about. Something he’d never shared. “You have no idea how hard. And then suddenly I started making serious money and everything changed. I saw the worst side of people.” “Your sister is lucky to have you protecting her.” Lauren looked up at him. “Was the real fortune teller taking advantage of her?” "No. Turns out she was genuine. I need to learn not to be so overprotective." “You don’t have to apologize for protecting your sister.” “You don’t have family.” His attempts to track her down had revealed that she’d been brought up in a children’s home, abandoned as a child. “No.” That single, lonely word told him everything about her life, and when she tried to remove her hand, he tightened his grip. “I love you, Lauren.” The words he’d never spoken before proved surprisingly easy to say. “Marry me.” For a moment she didn’t speak. Then she drew in a jerky breath and gave a little shake of her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “I love you—” Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. “It’s impossible.” “—and I know you love me.” She gave a twisted smile. “Perhaps I don’t. Perhaps I’m just interested in your money.” Her voice was thickened with tears. “If I married you, you’d never really know, would you? You’d never be sure. Your life is a fantasy, Andros, but mine is reality and I’m already late.” Without looking at him, she dragged her hand away from his and slid into the waiting taxi. *** Lauren circulated among the guests, wishing her first job with her new company hadn’t been in this location. It was a cruel twist of fate. She flinched every time she saw a tall, dark-haired man in a suit and every firework was like an explosion in her heart. “You’re brilliant, Lauren.” Her new boss, Daisy, caught up with her halfway through the evening. “Can you do one thing for me? Pop into the fortune teller’s tent and check she’s doing all right?” Lauren paled. “No, I—” But Daisy was already sprinting away to rescue a waitress who had spilled a tray of glasses. Resigned to her fate, Lauren pushed aside the flap of the tent and walked inside.

21

“Hi. Everything all right?” The girl looked at her over the top of her veil. “You’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome rich man—” “Stop.” Lauren held up her hand. “I’m just here to check on you. I don’t want to know my future.” “—and he’s going to give you a diamond ring.” Lauren felt a flash of exasperation. “And how can you possibly know that?” “Because he’s standing behind you—” the deep male voice slid across her nerve endings “—waiting to put it on your finger.” Lauren turned slowly and the smiling fortune teller discreetly left the tent. “Alexandros…” Dark and impossibly handsome, he took her hand. “This is yours.” He slipped the ring onto her finger and Lauren stared down at the twinkling diamond in stunned silence. “And this…” He fastened the diamond necklace around her neck. “Sell both of them and you’ll be a rich woman. So now money is no longer an issue, you have no reason not to marry me.” Hardly daring to breathe, Lauren looked up at him. “But—” “I love you and I know you love me.” Her heart thudded. “This can’t be real. It doesn’t feel real.” He lowered his head and kissed her until she felt light-headed. “How does it feel now?” “Like a fairy tale,” she whispered. “And I don’t believe in fairy tales.” “This isn’t a fairy tale, agape mou.” Alexandros cupped her face in his hands. “This is real life.” “Not my life.” Lauren thought about who she was and who he was. “I can’t marry you. I’m ordinary. And dyslexic. I can’t even spell your name.” “I don’t care.” Still, she couldn’t allow herself to believe it. “I can’t give you what you want.” “You haven’t asked me what I want.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I want to spoil you, protect you, love you as you’ve never been loved before. That’s what I want. You said you didn’t like what the diamonds meant, but they meant love.” Looking into his eyes, happiness blossomed inside her. Love, she thought. The best fairy tale of all. “Perhaps we should check our future with the fortune teller.” “I can tell you what your future holds. Diamonds and desire, agape mou,” he drawled softly. “Diamonds and desire. For as long as we both shall live.”

22

Cop Next Door by Julie Miller As Justin Grant, a tactical officer with KCPD's bomb squad, delves deeper into the gang world to find who’s responsible for the bomb threats plaguing Kansas City, he must also ensure the safety of the woman he has involved…the woman he is falling for.

"Hold the elevator!" Detective Ethan Cross stomped the snow off his black leather boots and strode across the worn tile floor of the Mercantile Plaza apartment building. Located just a few blocks from the Missouri River in downtown Kansas City, the old brick conversion structure had seen better days as a textile warehouse in the early 1900s. The crumbling historic architecture might be more unique than comfortable, but to Ethan's empty stomach and weary bones, it was home. And after two and a half months of living a lie, it felt mighty good to be home. "Hey! I said--" He caught a glimpse of silver-blond hair and a black coat before the person he'd called to slipped inside the elevator and the doors began to close. "Damn." He was too tired to mess with this. Ethan's shoulders lifted with a frustrated sigh beneath the army castoff trench coat he wore. He sprinted the last few feet, his long legs beating the rickety pace of the sliding doors. He jammed his palm against one door and wedged his forearm into the closing gap. The combination of his considerable bulk and fraying patience gave him the strength to push the doors open and step inside. "Thanks." For nothing. Sarcasm eclipsed the easy pitch of his voice as he moved past the woman standing at the elevator panel. Her black-gloved finger was still pressed against the 'Door Close' button. But she quickly snatched it back into a fist and curled her arms across her middle, clutching her bag to her chest and assuming the classic protective posture of a woman alone at night in the big city. Late at night. Trapped with a stranger. Instantly, Ethan regretted his cold tone. Hell. He was one of the good guys. She had nothing to fear from him. "Sorry." He let some laughter slide into his voice. "I just figured two in the morning was late enough to be getting home as it is. I didn't want to wait another ten minutes while this old contraption went up to your floor and came back down to get me." Nothing. No acceptance of his apology, verbal or otherwise. Her only acknowledgment that he had even spoken was to clutch that bag even more tightly. Ethan rubbed his jaw, letting his fingerless gray gloves absorb the melting January snow that dripped through the scruff of his beard. He froze with his hand on his chin as his fingertips clued him in to the image he must be projecting. An angular jaw that needed a shave was nothing compared to six-foot, three inches of a man built like a linebacker dwarfing the confines of the ancient elevator. He'd gone out of his way to fine-tune this particular streetwise look. He'd let his curling, coffee-dark hair grow down to his shoulders. Errant strands, moist from the snow outside, clung to his cheeks and forehead with the abandonment of a man who didn't care. He'd chosen clothes to emphasize his bulk and mask the gun he holstered beneath his left shoulder. The jeans were expensive, but well worn. The boots tough, but functional. The trench coat formed an ominous silhouette and had secret pockets sewn inside where he stashed his badge and his back-up weapon.

23

The mute woman over in the corner barely came up to his shoulders. She had every right to try to steal a safe, solo ride on an elevator without the likes of him along for company. Other than the fact she'd been out in the city at two a.m., she was smart enough to have her self-preservation instincts in place. Admiring her already for that quality alone, Ethan redoubled his efforts to put her at ease. "You're new here." He made the observation as matter-of-factly as possible. Her shoulders hitched with a deep breath and she rolled her neck as if standing in that hunched position was growing uncomfortable. But she didn't speak. She continued to stare straight ahead at the button panel. He tried again. "I've been gone for a couple of months. But welcome to the Mercantile. Hopefully, the super, Mr. DeMarco, got that leak in my bathroom sink fixed while I was away. Usually, he's pretty good about repairs. But as he gets closer to retirement, I think his arthritis--" She finally turned. "What do you want from me?" What did he want? Green eyes snapped at him. Ethan straightened at the verbal attack, but managed to keep what he hoped was a gentle smile on his face. "Well, for one thing, you could stop cringing in the corner like I'm going to take your head off. Or worse." If he introduced himself, he wouldn't exactly be a stranger anymore. "My name's Ethan Cross. And you're . . .?" Pretty, round cheeks, whipped to a rosy color from the cold outside tightened along with an equally pretty mouth as she articulated her response. "Mind your own business." She turned her back on him, resuming her closed stance in the far corner. So much for his first attempt to return to the real world. He'd spent the past ten hours typing up reports and debriefing this last assignment to his boss at the precinct office. He wasn't ready to think about the twenty-four hours before that. Sure, he felt good about busting up a local drug syndicate and getting hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of speed off the streets. But one man was dead. And another was in the hospital with a slug from Ethan's own .9 mm wedged inside his gut. He could still see the man's rheumy eyes, glaring up at Ethan from the floor of the bar where the final sting had taken place. He could still feel the man's spit, hitting his shoulder and condemning him. He could still hear the man's words, accusing Ethan of betraying his trust. How he'd counted on Ethan to protect him like a brother. Ethan had wiped off the spit, ignored the accusations and read the man his rights while the paramedics were loading him onto an ambulance. Oh yeah. This woman wanted nothing to do with a big, bad cuss like him. A kind word or a welcoming smile were more than he could ask of her. Of anyone until he got this damn bust and the part he'd played so well out of his head. The woman dashed out, her bag clutched to her chest like a life preserver, her key already in hand. Her skittish maneuvers to avoid any contact with him made Ethan feel both curious and guilty. He was even more surprised when she stopped at the door right next to his. They turned and looked at each other -- he, mildly curious; she, almost in shock.

24

The nameless blonde with the shoulder-length tousle of hair finally initiated a conversation. It sounded more like an accusation. "That's where you live?" "I guess that makes us neighbors." Ethan grinned at the coincidence. The effect of which sent her into a panic as she rushed to get inside. He heard not one, but three locks slamming into place once the door closed behind her. Ethan shook his head and let himself into his cold, lonely apartment. So much for a warm “welcome home”. But Ethan Cross wasn't a detective for nothing. He liked a good mystery. He especially liked solving one. Thoughts of finding out what made his reclusive new neighbor tick kept him awake until nearly dawn. Callie leaned back against the locked door and sucked in a cautious breath. Had he found her? Her feet and back ached from the long hours of her shift at the Shamrock Bar. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming panic that burned inside her chest. The man in the elevator -- Ethan Cross, he’d said his name was -- had been so big. So male. So dangerous. He looked tough enough to shoot two men in cold blood. Callie closed her eyes and saw again the image of her boss, Michael Revere, as she’d last seen him slumped in his chair, blood turning the front of his crisp gray suit a dull red. Twin gunshots reverberated in her memory as clearly as they had that night outside Michael's office. The argument she'd overheard had been so vile, so full of accusation. And then the gunshots. She'd hidden behind a desk in the reception area when the door opened and one of his business associates, Russ McDowall, walked out. He'd straightened his jacket as if cleaning up from an ugly fight, then exited through the main doors. She'd assumed she'd just I.D.ed the murderer. One glance at Michael's body and she'd run to call 911, then stayed hidden until the police arrived. But when the cops showed up there was no body -- no blood. And then they found Russ dead . . . She wasn't crazy. She wasn't! The notes and phone calls proved that. The man next door could be the killer. Even though she'd cut her hair and changed her name and job, he could have found her. He'd be waiting for the right opportunity to silence her. That was it! Callie clutched her stomach and breathed easier, sagging with relief. If the man next door was the murderer, he would have killed her already. He'd had ample opportunity on that interminable ride to the fifth floor. She still didn't think she should trust him -- but he hadn't hurt her. Despite his temper when he'd forced his way onto the elevator, he'd tried to strike up a friendly conversation.

25

To tell the truth, she'd been unexpectedly intrigued by the fresh scents of winter and man that had filled the elevator. And the articulate sound of his low-pitched voice had challenged her attempts to ignore him. Under other – safer -- circumstances, she might have found the easy timbre of that voice comforting. "There are no other circumstances," she reprimanded herself out loud and forced herself away from the door. She couldn't afford to be interested -- even remotely curious -- about her neighbor. She needed to be on guard at all times. Out of habit, she reached inside her purse to the one thing that offered her any semblance of security. Her fingertips touched the cold, flat plastic of a computer disk. She'd been on her way to Michael's office to ask him about the numbers that didn't add up when she'd overheard the horrible accusations being flung back and forth behind the closed door. The accounting on the disk might be nothing, or it might provide a motive for Michael's murder. But until she could figure out what the discrepancies meant, she intended to keep the information to herself. She'd already been dismissed by the police once. She wouldn't go to them again until she had proof of a crime. With the disk safely tucked away in her purse, Callie tossed her coat over the back of a chair and stripped off her waitress uniform. Padding into the bathroom in just her underwear, she turned on the faucets in the tub and let the water run hot. While she waited for her bath to fill, she made cocoa in the microwave. She cuddled the mug between her chilled fingers and sipped the sweet, creamy liquid, savoring its warmth from the inside out. Though the hour was late, she knew sleep would be an elusive thing. If nightmares didn't keep her awake, then sheer worry would. So she was still soaking in the tub, letting the moist heat ease the stiffness from her muscles, when the telephone rang in the living room. Despite the temperature of the water, goose bumps pricked her skin. She clutched her arms around her knees and curled into a ball, suddenly feeling ice cold. The only person who had her new number was her manager at the Shamrock. Before Callie decided he might be calling to ask her to work an extra shift, the answering machine clicked on and a voice, altered by some device to give it a robotic tone, began to speak. "I saw you at the bar tonight, Miss Smith. Got your number from the schedule in the workroom. Changing your name won't hide you forever. "But don't worry. It's only a matter of time before I hunt you down." "Morning." Callie jumped inside her coat at the smooth sound of the cheerful male greeting. She overrode the instinct to bolt back inside her apartment and pocketed her key. Her behavior last night had probably already drawn unwanted attention to herself. This was a normal, human voice. Warm and a tad breathless. Not mechanical. Not threatening. She inhaled a steadying breath, wrapped her scarf around her neck and headed for the elevator without responding. Ethan Cross pulled off a stocking cap and gloves and unlocked his door. He was coming back from a morning workout, judging by the gray sweats he wore. The narrow hallway filled with the warmth and honest sweat emanating from his big, rangy body. His heat and scent assailed her as she neared him, reaching out to her like a peace offering, or even a hug. Callie slowed as she walked past, savoring the sensation of human contact, even if it was limited to her imagination. Last night's phone call had left her chilled to the bone. She'd left her family and friends behind when the first warning had arrived, and she'd been hiding out ever since. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever be able to trust anyone again -- to touch them, be held and touched by them. She wondered if she'd ever feel warm again.

26

For a moment, the loneliness and longing got the better of her common sense. She tipped up her chin. She didn't speak at first, she only looked. The fatigue and polite distance in her neighbor's amber eyes tugged at her heartstrings. Surely a man that weary with the world lacked the strength or compunction to hurt her. "Good morning, Mr. Cross." His solemn expression melted away into a gorgeous smile and Callie felt her own mouth stretching into a matching curve. "Hey, you remembered my name." That such a little thing could make his day seemed to be an inordinate bit of power to have over a man. Over the past two weeks she hadn't dropped her guard enough to worry about making anyone's day. It felt good. "I didn't catch yours, though." "Callie S-- Smith." She'd almost slipped and said Sullivan. But if he picked up on her hesitation, he didn't let on. "Do you always work the late shift at the bar?" he asked instead. "What?" That warm feeling of connectedness vanished in a heartbeat. "Seems we're the two night owls around here. Thought it might be good to be familiar with each other's schedules. Provide a bit of neighborhood security. Water each other's plants. You know." "How did you know where I work?" she demanded, hearing the threat of unwanted familiarity in his voice instead of the promised protection. She hadn't told him where she worked. She hadn't told him anything. "I don't." He shrugged, drawing her attention to just how much bigger, stronger he was than she. "Your coat smelled like smoke, but you've got a beautiful smile, so I figured it wasn't you. Plus, you wore the standard black support shoes." His unshaven, angular face creased with a sheepish grin. "I notice things about people." Callie retreated a step. "Don't notice anything about me. Please." "Too late for that. I already took note of how your green eyes get little flecks of blue in them when you lose your temper." His smile vanished. "And how you're scared to death of me." "I'm not --" "Please. I'd rather you ignore me like you did last night than tell me lies." His broad shoulders sagged with some unseen weight. "If you want your privacy, you got it. I've dealt with enough lies lately to last me a lifetime." With that cryptic comment he dismissed her and turned to open his door. She should be relieved that he was walking away, but instead, she was genuinely curious. "What is it you do, Mr. Cross?" "I'm a cop." Callie had dashed to the elevator without looking back or saying goodbye. She hopped a city bus to the nearest library branch and paid some of her precious cash for a half hour on its computer. But she couldn't focus on the lists and numbers on the Revere Imports disk she had tucked into her purse. A cop? After all her efforts to hide herself from the world, she'd moved in next to a cop? She'd never been one to believe in destiny, but she seemed to have a knack for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd seen Michael dead. She'd seen Russ walk away from the scene.

27

She'd seen the looks of suspicion and outright pity in the eyes of Kansas City's finest. Are you sure about what you saw, Miss Sullivan? Yes! Michael was at his desk. He wasn't moving. There was blood.… But when the cops arrived, there was no Michael. No blood. They'd taken pity on her then, tried to keep her hysteria at bay. She'd been so insistent about the argument she'd overheard that the police had driven her to Russ McDowall's house. They'd found Russ sitting in his car in the garage. Very bloody. Equally dead. How well did you know the deceased, Miss Sullivan? Did you argue with him? No! He argued with Michael. Russ said he'd kill him! Then where's the body? I don't know! Callie buried her face in her hands, unable to shake the voices and images inside her head. If she hadn't been with the police at the time of Russ's murder, she'd be their prime suspect. As it was, they'd taken a phone number and thanked her for her time. They focused their investigation on Russ's transitory past, telling her they'd call if they had any more questions. The only one who'd called since had been that sick, mechanical voice. I saw you at Revere's office. I saw you at McDowall's house. I don't like seeing you so much. Would Ethan Cross report her whereabouts to his fellow officers? They'd probably share a good laugh over the crazy lady who had moved into his building. If the police could track her down, that meant Michael's killer could, too. Hell. He'd already found out where she worked. He knew her phone number. It was time to move on. Callie removed the disk and hid in one of the stalls of the public rest room to count her money. Forty-six dollars. She'd emptied her small savings to buy a month's rent on her apartment. She'd have to go to the Shamrock and pick up her paycheck, or rather, convince the manager John O'Herlihy to pay her early. Hopefully, she'd earned enough for a new place. Twenty minutes later, Callie stepped off the bus, wrapped her scarf up around her neck and walked into a stiff, damp wind a block and a half to the Shamrock Bar. Feeling safe enough in the light of late afternoon, she cut across the near empty parking lot to the back entrance closest to John's office. "John?" She rapped on the locked metal door and waited. "John?" The dampness in the air took shape and turned to wet, heavy dollops of snow. Shivering inside her coat, Callie knocked again. "John? It's Callie. I know I'm early, but may I come in?" No answer. Callie looked over her shoulder and scanned the parking lot, double-checking that she'd passed John's green pickup. A twinge of concern had her looking around in every direction, making sure that she was alone.

28

Maybe it was the cold creeping under her skin. Maybe it was the paranoia of the past two weeks, but Callie had the distinct impression she wasn't alone. Twin pools of imaginary heat scorched her back. Someone was watching. "John?" She didn't bother with knocking this time. She reached for the doorknob and twisted it. The door sprang open. Callie paused, peering into the darkness of the interior hallway. Something was wrong. "John?" Before she could react, a figure dressed in black hurtled out of the shadows. He plowed into Callie, knocking her down onto the asphalt. Pain shot through the back of her head, spinning her vision out of control. She was vaguely aware of her attacker pausing, then running away. But she noticed nothing more. As the winter slush soaked through to her skin, Callie's world faded to black. "I don't need an ambulance." Callie repeated herself, appreciating the uniformed officer's earnest concern for the knot on the back of her head. His height and broad shoulders reminded her of her neighbor, Ethan Cross. But there the similarities ended. Though they were both cops, Josh Taylor wore his blond hair short and neat, and his blue eyes were filled with kindness. Ethan emanated something wilder, more on the edge. His sad eyes had wanted something from her. Something she'd been too frightened to figure out. Something she had neither the time nor the liberty to give. And while she might take comfort in Officer Taylor's concern, she couldn't forget that he was a cop. And cops ran checks. And if his check turned up a Calista Smith in the state ID system, her picture wouldn't be the one beside the name. This interview needed to end before he asked to see her crudely forged I.D. card again. She rose from the leather barstool, hiding her shaky legs by bracing her hand on the bar's brass trim. She offered him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Officer Taylor. If there's nothing else -- ?" "Callie? What are you doing here?" John, her manager, dashed in through the back entrance. His black hair was plastered to his head with melting snow. He butted past Josh Taylor and squeezed her shoulders. His native brogue was in full force. "The officer outside said we'd been robbed." He released her and turned to the uniformed officer. "I just stepped out for a few minutes. Ran my receipts up to the bank. Thank God the register was empty. Thieves cleaned me out big time last year." He spun back toward Callie, pulling off his black leather gloves. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" John was just now making his bank deposit? Why hadn't he done it after closing last night? Like he had every other night she'd worked. Callie shook aside the speculation. John was a rock when it came to running his bar and protecting his employees. But he was hopelessly absentminded when it came to numbers. She forced herself to smile. "A bump on the head is all. I didn't get a good look at the guy. He was wearing black, from his stocking mask down to his boots." "Mr. O'Herlihy?" Taylor reminded John of his presence. "If you could do a walk-through with me? Make sure nothing's missing?" "Of course." As Officer Taylor pocketed his notebook, John took Callie by the shoulders again. The pleading look on his face put her on guard. "I know it's been a rough afternoon, but can you work ’til close tonight? Angela called in earlier with the flu."

29

This morning, she'd wanted nothing more than to leave this place. Someone -- a patron, a coworker -- had gotten her phone number at the bar. Maybe instead of running away from the danger, she should use this opportunity to track down the connection between the Shamrock Bar and the mechanical voice on her machine. The police didn't want to help her. Maybe she could do more than just study that disk to help herself. "Callie?" John prompted. She weighed the heavy pounding inside her skull with the light weight of her wallet and the opportunity at hand. Practicality beat out comfort. "Sure. Let me get some aspirin and dinner in me, then I'll start setting up the bar." "You're a peach." He leaned in and gave her an unexpected peck on the lips. He thumbed over his shoulder at Officer Taylor. "I'd better go talk to this guy." *** Ethan propped his feet up on the chair next to him and settled in with his cup of coffee in the Fourth Precinct's break room. He'd been catching up on paperwork all day, getting up to speed on the precinct's open cases, paying particular attention to anything related to his last drug bust. "Hey, I heard Josh Taylor talked to the crazy lady." "Who's that?" Ethan couldn't help but eavesdrop on the two boisterous uniforms who had walked into the break room. "You know, that lady who said she witnessed a murder, but there was no body." The two laughed and traded tall tales about her version of the crime scene and what the cops actually found. Nothing. "Today she reported a robbery. But there was no money missing." "What was her name?" Ethan tuned in with a sudden, unexpected interest. "Callie." Callie hung up her apron in the back room. She didn't know which hurt worse, her feet or her head. She'd worked eight hours straight -- skipping her break in order to keep an eye on the bar's clientele. All the regulars had been there -- the two Freds who always started with whiskey shots and ended with beers and lecherous come-ons; Hank, the poor old man who sat by himself at the end of the bar; a coed bowling team that came in promptly at nine. Had one of them snuck into the workroom to find her number? There were new faces, as well, men and women she recognized but hadn't put a name to. Maybe one of them had stopped by the night before and she'd just been too intent on keeping to herself to notice a particular interest in her. And what about the part-time bartender, Seth? Or the other waitresses? Did Angela really have the flu? Or had she betrayed Callie to the man with the mechanical voice? Could she trust any of them? She slipped her card into the time clock and punched out. There was her name, penned in John's clear, precise handwriting, followed by her phone number. Easy enough for anyone to slip into the back room to find.

30

Though the damage had already been done, she pulled a pen from her pocket and crossed out the numbers. She'd get her phone changed tomorrow and ask John to keep the new information to himself. The caller hadn't found her apartment yet. Or so he’d said. "Callie?" She jumped at John's voice in the hallway. He popped his head around the corner and smiled broadly. "Good. You're still here. Here's a little something extra for your tip jar." He slipped a $20 bill into the front pocket of her jeans, then let his hand linger a moment at her waist. Callie found herself backing away from the familiarity of his touch. Maybe his guilt had given their working relationship a more personal interest. "Thanks for helping out tonight. I can't tell you how sorry I am about the break-in. You probably saved me a fortune." Callie slipped her punch card into its slot. "I thought you took the deposit to the bank this afternoon." "From last night, yeah, but I keep cash in the safe for emergencies. Thanks to your timely arrival, the thief never found it." She pulled her coat and scarf and purse from its peg and dressed herself for the cold outside. "I'm just glad no one was hurt. I was worried you were inside." "You're such a sweet girl." John's Irish brogue teased her ear a moment before his hands closed around her shoulders. "I know you were in trouble when you came to me. I don't want to add to it. If there's anything I can do to help – " "Thanks." Callie scooted away from the oddly uncomfortable sensation of his touch. Still, she knew his heart was in the right place. So she could smile as she faced him. "Right now, all I need is the job." Outside, Callie breathed deeply, filling her head and lungs with the biting, refreshing air. She pulled her scarf around her ears and gazed up at the harsh circle of light that illuminated the back entrance. The snow had softened to crystalline flakes floating down to earth. But it wasn't the crisp winter wonderland that enthralled her. It was the knowledge that just beyond that circle of light lay 30 feet of pitch-dark parking lot that she had to cross before she reached the nearest streetlight. Once she got to the street there'd be enough light to reach the bus stop. As long as the weirdos weren't out. And the 1:20 bus was on time. It was just those first 30 feet… Making a mental note to add a can of Mace to her meager shopping list, she stepped from the light into the shadows. The parking lot was deserted except for John's truck and a black sports car. Normally, she walked straight from the door to the sidewalk. But even before Michael's death, she'd been trained to avoid walking too closely to unknown vehicles. So in her swift, determined stride, she headed for John's empty truck. She skirted the front fender and swung around toward the streetlight. And screamed. A tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows and reached for her. She lunged with her fingernails and pounded with her fists as powerful hands wrapped around her arms and pulled her toward the bulk of a man's chest. "Callie, it's me." Curling dark hair and the khaki-green trench coat finally registered. Callie froze, lifting her gaze to patient amber eyes framed by rich brown lashes. "Ethan?"

31

He was so big up close like this. So masculine. He smelled of clean winter air and faint male musk. Callie breathed in the comforting, tantalizing scent, orienting herself to the idea that he hadn't hurt her. But she couldn't afford to savor the fleeting sensation of inexplicable safety. She thumped his shoulder one last time for scaring her so before twisting free of his unresisting grip. "What the hell are you doing here?" An amused smile split the shadowed contours of his jaw. "I'm headed home. You need a lift?" "I can get home just fine by myself, thank you." "It's after one in the morning. Do you know what kind of loonies are out this time of night?" She briefly wondered if he counted himself among the strange creatures that lurked in the city after midnight. "This parking lot is a crime just waiting to happen. You're female. You're alone. Why invite trouble?" "You're the only trouble I'm dealing with right now. If you'll excuse me." She gripped her collar edges together at her throat and circled around him, leaving behind a frisson of electricity that had started with fear, but continued with an awareness of him that could only bring her trouble. "I know about the attempted robbery this afternoon. I know you got hurt." Callie halted in her tracks. Though he made no noise, she felt the heat of him moving in behind her. "You told the officers on the scene your name was Callie Smith. But that's a lie, isn't it?" She remembered his words outside their apartments -- and his sad, weary eyes when he said he preferred her silence to her lies. But how could she tell him the truth? How could she risk telling another cop the truth? "You're the crazy lady people are talking about down at the precinct. Callie Sullivan." "You're quite the detective." Her sarcasm faded on a twinge of panic and she turned. "You won't tell anyone, will you? Especially Mr. DeMarco. I registered the apartment under Smith. I can't afford to move yet." Tiny lines formed beside his eyes. "Why do you have to move?" He might have guessed her name, but the secret threats she would not share. "I have to go now. I'll miss the bus." He caught her by the elbow and stopped her. "I'll drive you home." Callie jerked away. "No." "We're going to the same place." A third voice cut short their argument. "Callie, is there a problem?" Great. John was still in his caretaker mode. Now she had to steal away from two overprotective males. But before she could make an excuse, Ethan had spun around. He had a good three inches of height over John, and he used it to full advantage as the two men sized each other up. "I'm Ethan Cross, K.C.P.D. Who are you?" "John O'Herlihy." He had to shift a step to the right and look around Ethan to make eye contact with her. "I run the Shamrock." He slowly drew his focus back to the cop. "Is this about this afternoon?" "Do you always let your female employees walk alone at night?" "What?"

32

Enough. Callie moved between them, waving John back to his truck. "Everything's fine. Ethan is my neighbor." "Yeah?" The two men continued to watch each other in silent male posturing. One accusatory, the other defensive. She didn't need this kind of attention. Neither man moved until she opened the door of the black car. She finally conceded to Ethan's will. "He's giving me a ride home." Ethan guided his Thunderbird through the deceptively quiet streets. Just like the woman sitting in the seat next to him, he knew mysterious and possibly dangerous secrets were hidden behind the silent facade. "You are the unfriendliest woman I've ever met." Callie crossed her arms and clutched her leather purse to her chest. "Take the hint." He didn't know whether to laugh or rail at the dismissal in her closed posture. He opted for a rational argument. "All right, then. So I'm driving you home. I'm a cop doing my job. To serve and protect." "I don't need your protection." He noted the nervous sweep of her tongue across her lips, and the way her blue-green eyes darted his direction, watching him even though she kept her face glued to the front windshield. "You need something, lady. You're so keyed up with guarding your back and every word you say, you can't think straight." He took a fortifying breath and turned into the Mercantile's parking garage before he continued. "I work under cover. I recognize the signs. The strain of pretending to be somebody you're not." She reached up with trembling fingers and tucked a lock of what he'd privately dubbed that “just had sex” hair of hers behind her ear. Though he braced himself for the denial that was sure to follow, he let himself enjoy the image of her silver and gold tresses falling about her face with the abandon of a woman who'd been thoroughly kissed by a man and didn't want to erase the imprint of his hands on her. Such wanton abandonment would seem to be an alien concept for his tightly controlled neighbor lady, but he nevertheless allowed himself a moment to fantasize that he was the man who had kissed her so well and loosened that cautious reserve of hers. After he'd pulled into his parking space and turned off the engine, she finally scooted a quarter turn in her seat. Here it came. "Is that why you look the way you do? To work under cover? I mean, those clothes, and your hair -- and always looking like you need a shave." Okay. Not what he expected. Where was she going with this? "Something wrong with the way I look?" "No, it's -- it's scary. You look…like you could kill a man." The observation struck home, nagged his conscience. For a few moments he fell into the pit of defensive guilt he warred with whenever he came off an assignment. It was his job to get close to people and then betray them. He felt the guilt rising to the surface, tensing his expression, coloring his words. He quickly climbed out of the car before he gave vent to his churning emotions. Before he forgot his efforts to assuage that guilt by

33

doing something as simple and honorable as giving a lady a safe ride home. Giving her the benefit of the doubt when office gossip had labeled her unbalanced and paranoid. Then he realized what had just happened. Callie Smith -- correction, Callie Sullivan -- had just shared an honest opinion. Voluntarily. For the first time, she'd trusted him enough to speak her mind. He might look the part, but maybe he wasn't such an ogre, after all. Ethan circled the rear of the car, instinctively checking his surroundings for any sign of a threat. Callie already had her door open, but he reached for her hand and helped her out of the low-slung car. He paused, unable to hide the hint of a smile on his face. "Thank you." Her sweet green eyes frowned in confusion. "That wasn't much of a compliment." "But it was an honest answer." Fantasy and reality mixed together inside his head. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. His nose sifted into the golden tendrils of her hair, filling his head with the pungent aromas of smoke and alcohol she worked with, as well as the fresh citrus scent that was her own. "Thanks." She brushed her gloved fingertips against her cheek as he pulled away. "I'm never going to understand you, am I?" In her hushed voice, it wasn't much of an accusation. Ethan locked the car and took her by the elbow, escorting her safely into the lobby of the Mercantile. "I suspect you and I have more in common than either of us realizes. I do have one question for you, though." "What's that?" "Why are you lying to the police?" Why? The man had the audacity to kiss her and then ask why she lied? Oh, I don't know. Maybe to save my life! She didn't for one moment think Ethan was talking about the attempted robbery. He'd heard about her “supposed” murder case. Callie wished she had taken the stairs. Surely, they'd be faster than this damnably slow elevator. At least she'd be able to put some space between her and Ethan. Her skin still tingled where his lips had touched her. She could still remember the gentle tugging along her scalp where his beard had tangled with her hair. She could hear the whiskey smoothness of his voice thanking her. And her heart still burned with the swift expansion of tender feelings that had engulfed her when she saw the light of interest and life click on in his warm brown eyes. She'd moved to the opposite corner, but the air in the tiny elevator seemed to consume itself with the heat from their bodies. She'd been so stupid to drop her guard. To give in to curiosity. To even think about turning her head as he kissed her cheek so she could taste his lips on hers. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She whirled around, giving vent to her temper. "The only thing I lied about was my name. I heard two gunshots. I saw Michael's dead body."

34

"I read the case report. The CSI team found no evidence of foul play in Revere's office." "Then they didn't do their job right!" Callie spun back around, pushing at the doors as they slid open. She stalked down the hallway ahead of Ethan, digging through her purse for her keys. Her head throbbed, her ego stung, her thoughts swirled in confusion. She hadn't expected Ethan to believe her, but she'd never expected him to use chivalry or a wounded heart against her. As she fumbled blindly through her oversize purse, she dumped out a lipstick that rolled across the floor. When her fingers finally found the keys, she grabbed and pulled. Clunk. Callie froze. Ethan bent down and picked up the unmarked computer disk before she reached it. She knew her sudden nonchalance didn't fool him for a minute. Her reaction had already given her away. "It holds the work schedules from the bar. I forgot I had it." "Callie?" "Go away and leave me alone." She snatched the disk from his hand and stormed into her apartment. She tripped over the sofa cushion that had fallen to the floor. The shredded sofa cushion with its foam stuffing scattered across her living room rug. And the broken floor lamp that lay on its side. And the dresser drawers turned upside down and tossed into a pile. Callie hugged her purse around her middle, backing away from the man-made destruction of her temporary home. She must have cried out. She hadn't heard the noise through her shock, but she must have screamed. Because suddenly Ethan was there, gun drawn. The long black barrel swept across the room. He curved his arm around her shoulders and positioned himself between her and the violation of her apartment. When he would have moved away, she turned her face into his chest and snatched up handfuls of his soft canvas coat. "Don't leave me." "Okay, babe." Her arms moved around his waist and he tucked her closer to his body. His warmth and strength breathed security into her. But then he pushed her away. He apologized with a gentle touch upon her cheek. "I need to check the other rooms." He moved stealthily through the kitchen, bathroom and, finally, her bedroom. Each room had been completely and utterly destroyed. Her intruder had been searching for something. But Callie knew he hadn't found it.

35

"There's a message on your machine." Ethan's arm was around her again. His firm voice coaxed her out of her stupor. "I need to listen to it." "No – " But he had already tapped the play button with the tip of his gun. That all-too-familiar, chillingly nonhuman voice filled the air. "I saw you at the Shamrock with your boyfriend tonight." Her boyfriend? Did he mean Ethan? Or had he spied on John O'Herlihy's attempts to get friendly with her? Oh, God. Could it be John himself? "If you want to keep a man, you have to give him what he wants. If you want to keep me happy, you have to give me what I want." Callie hovered in the doorway, watching the tall, blond man in the black K.C.P.D. jacket standing in the middle of her apartment. Ethan had called a friend, CSI Investigator Mac Taylor, to survey the crime scene personally. And though her landlord, Mr. DeMarco, had offered to put her up in another apartment, or come spend the night with him and his wife, Callie had declined. She needed to be here. She needed to find answers. She needed this senseless stalking to end. Mac stood in the center of her living room, the gray eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses seeming to be the only thing moving as he studied each nook and cranny from ceiling to floor. Though impatient with the lack of activity, Callie held her tongue. She hugged her arms around herself, shivering despite the fact she had Ethan's big trench coat hanging around her shoulders, covering her down to her ankles. It wasn't winter that left her cold. Crime doesn't happen here, Mr. DeMarco had insisted, appalled that one of his tenants had been violated this way. It isn't the best neighborhood, sure, but crime doesn't happen in my building. But it did. Callie shivered again. All at once, Ethan, who'd never been far from her side since discovering the break-in, was right there, spreading his hand at the small of her back. "Are you okay?" She stifled a desperate laugh. "Sure. I'm the crazy lady, remember? Everything you see here didn't really happen." Mac finally looked her way, his eyes narrowed with curiosity at her sarcasm. "Any idea what he or she was looking for?" "A computer disk." Ethan answered the question before Callie had a chance. "She had it with her in her purse." She didn't appreciate him giving away her secrets so freely to strangers. "How d -- " "Am I right?" There was no smile on his face. "This is the time for the truth." Callie's flash of temper dissipated on her next breath, leaving her weary right down to her bones. "It's an accounting record from Revere Imports. The numbers and inventory don't add up. I was taking it to Michael when I heard him arguing with Russ McDowall, one of our customs brokers. And then there were the gunshots and..."

36

Ethan's arm slipped around her waist as her voice trailed off. He pulled her to his side, sharing his uncompromising strength. She held herself stiff for only a moment, then surrendered. Accepting the support he offered, she softened against him. "I was working late, trying to make the numbers balance," she continued. "Somebody was stealing from the company. If Michael found out..." Mac didn't need her to spell out a motive for murder. "I'll want to see that disk." Callie nodded. Mac knelt beside one of the shredded sofa cushions and resumed his inspection. "This was cut with a short, dull blade. Probably a pocketknife." "In the wrong hands, a pocketknife can do as much damage as a stiletto." Ethan's observation wasn't reassuring. Now Mac was sniffing a scrap of the faded upholstery. "What is it?" Ethan asked. "Spice and alcohol." Callie straightened when Mac's intelligent, all-seeing gaze settled on her. "Do you wear perfume?" "Not anymore. I didn't bring much with me when I moved in here. I do use scented shampoo and body wash." Mac shook his head. "Not strong enough. Since you live alone, I'm guessing what I smell is the perp." Callie frowned with confusion. "This isn't how -- " She clamped her mouth shut, stopping herself from sharing her confusion. Mac was the expert here, not her. "What?" Ethan prompted. "This isn't how the investigators checked Michael's office." "What do you mean?" Mac stood, focusing his curiosity on her once more. She'd wondered at the bustle of activity she'd seen that night, but the officers on the scene had shooed aside her questions and sent her back to her office. "They moved things around, put black dust over almost everything, took lots of pictures." "The dust is to lift fingerprints," Mac explained. "What do you mean they ‘moved things’?" "They opened drawers, moved his desk and chair, lifted the plastic pad protecting the rug. I guess they were looking for -- " Callie trembled, leaning back against Ethan's arm, " -- bloodstains." "But they didn't find any, did they?" asked Mac. "No." Callie looked from Ethan to Mac and back to Ethan. Their indulgent expressions patiently waited for her to explain the impossible. "I saw blood on Michael's clothes and his chair. But when I went back to talk to the investigators, there was nothing there. Nothing. "How does a dead body just get up and walk away?" "Do you know the Michael Revere case, Mac?" Ethan asked.

37

Callie watched Mac Taylor's gaze drift a million miles away, as if checking an internal catalog of information. He startled her when he blinked. But he had clearly tapped into the info he'd wanted. "The scene was clean. One of my assistants, Jeff Ringlein, headed up that investigation. He told me the place was spotless. No evidence of a crime." "That's old news." Ethan's smooth voice provided a defense before she could react to the unintentional gibe. "I believe Callie when she says she heard gunshots and found her boss's body. Trashing her apartment like this should prove she witnessed something." An unexpected burden seemed to lift from her shoulders and she breathed deeply for the first time in weeks. She hadn't realized how badly she needed someone to believe in her. Heartened by Ethan's support, she reached for his fingers at her waist and wrapped them up in a tight grip of her own. Mac nodded. "Callie, this is important." She lifted her chin, wary, but ready to answer a serious question about Michael's death. "Did the investigators move the furniture before or after they dusted for prints?" Callie thought back to that awful night. "After. Why?" "Clean I can handle. Spotless makes me suspicious." "What does that mean?" she asked, catching the knowing look Mac exchanged with Ethan. "It means when I'm done here, I'll call the judge and see about opening Revere's office for another inspection." She frowned, still not making the connection. "But the other investigators didn't find a body, blood, or prints. What would you be looking for?" Mac smiled smugly. "Cleaners." "Huh?" Ethan's deductive skills were working in time with Mac's. "Once you discovered Michael Revere's body, did you stay with it?" "No." A chill rippled down her spine, flashing back to when she'd opened that door and found all that blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image became more vivid. Suddenly, a pair of warm, firm lips pressed against her temple. A rasp of beard caressed her cheek and her eyes fluttered open. The horrific image vanished in the reality of Ethan's warm brown gaze washing over her. "It's okay, babe. Take your time." She didn't want to look away. But something about brawny Ethan's surprisingly gentle care gave her the strength to continue. "There was too much blood. All over Michael's suit and chair. I couldn't stay. I went down the hall to my office and used the phone there to call the police. That's where I stayed until they arrived." "How long was that?" Mac asked. "Twenty minutes." Ethan nodded. "That's plenty of time to clean house. Especially if the killer planned ahead."

38

At last Callie understood. The possibility of finding a clue to prove she hadn't imagined the whole thing suffused her with energy. "You should be able to find traces of cleaning compounds where the killer scrubbed the chair and the floor pad underneath. Right?" She cringed at the chaos surrounding them. "So why didn't he clean up after himself here?" "We'll find that out, too." Mac pulled a camera from his metallic bag and moved to specific locations in her apartment he must have pinpointed earlier. Now he worked with swift efficiency, jotting notes and snapping pictures. "Physical evidence doesn't lie." "C'mon, babe. You must be exhausted." Ethan’s arm tightened imperceptibly around her, pulling her into the hallway. "Let's let Mac do his job." "I'm not ti -- " She punctuated her excitement over Mac's determination to find the truth with a big yawn. "I saw that." Ethan touched his fingers to her chin and turned her face up to his. His amber eyes gleamed with a searching light that took in the droop of her eyelids and her self-conscious smile. "I want to know if he finds out anything." "It'll be a few hours yet. All we could do is watch right now." "But -- " He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her weak protest. Though his gaze never left her face, he spoke to Mac. "Do you need me for anything else, Mac?" "Not right now. I'll stop in if I do." "Knock first." Mesmerized by the intensity of Ethan's gaze, Callie couldn't look away. "I'm putting Callie to bed." Taking Callie to bed had been a rhetorical phrase. But as the warmth and scent and feel of her at his side breathed life into his weary senses, the idea took on a literal appeal. Callie Sullivan was a smart, pretty woman. Her vulnerable situation pricked at all his protective male instincts. And when she looked at him -- really looked at him -- out of temper or curiosity or concern -- he felt connected to life in a way he hadn't for a long time. They had enough in common that he understood her guarded defense. But there was something more than a kindred spirit at work here. Her fragile trust touched his lonely heart. She needed him as a cop, sure. When he'd heard her scream, years of training had poured adrenaline through his veins. He'd become one of those fabled blue knights, living up to his vow to protect the innocent. She'd thrown herself into his arms then, clung to him for security when she'd been too frightened to do more than react. But later, after she'd conquered her fear and insisted on watching Mac Taylor's investigation, she'd reached for his hand. She'd sought out the simplest of contact with him. Callie also needed him as a man. It was a tempting thought. But he'd felt the goose egg on the back of her head. He'd seen the size of her yawn.

39

Finding his way back to the real world in Callie's arms would have to wait for another day. Ethan sat Callie at the kitchen table and pushed up the sleeves of his brown sweater. Considering recent events, he left his holster strapped across his shoulders with his gun in easy reach. Then he washed his hands and rummaged through the cupboards and fridge. He'd hardly earn a spot on his own cooking show with his bad-boy-in-the-kitchen look, but he could get the job done. "I'm fixing some cocoa. You've been wearing a coat all night. I figured you could use something to warm you." "You have cocoa?" He laughed at the childlike interest that perked up her expression. "Yeah. I make it the old-fashioned way my mama does." He measured out powdered cocoa, sugar, and milk and heated the mixture on the stove. Later, as they sipped their drinks, Callie relaxed and they chatted about mundane things, like the snow and aching feet and whether or not the Royals could ever put together another championship team. Ethan's apartment seemed cozy for a change -- with Callie sharing the space with him. He had to admire her stamina. She'd been the victim of not one, but two break-ins in the past 24 hours. And though she hadn't really talked about it, he suspected that message on her answering machine hadn't been the first threat she'd received. She didn't complain. She endured. Against serious odds she kept her head, her conviction, and even brightened his world with an occasional smile. They ended up sitting side-by-side on the couch. When the cocoa was gone and the warmth had finally left her mug, Callie handed Ethan the cup and he set it on the coffee table beside his. The conversation had ended, but there was no awkward silence as Ethan slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, where she seemed to fit so perfectly. He chuckled softly at the goose bumps dotting her forearms beneath the elbow-length sleeves of her pearl gray sweater. "Don't you ever get warm?" "August." She treated him to one of those rare smiles. "That's the one month of the year I don't wear socks to bed." There was the bed thing again. Ethan's body was suddenly generating enough heat for both of them. He needed to move before he overstepped the boundaries of their neighborly relationship. "Callie -- " "Don't." He made a valiant effort to move away, but she turned, bracing one hand on the burning hardness of his thigh, and cupping his cheek with the other. "I feel it, too." At this angle the rounded swell of her breast pressed against his chest. But it was the raw need shining in her sweet green eyes that sucker-punched him right in the gut. "I don't know if this is the right time or place, but – " "I want you to kiss me. For real this time. On the lips." Ethan had no intention of denying the lady's request. Catching the tip of her chin with his finger, he angled her mouth toward his. He meant their first kiss to be gentle and reverent, a patient learning of each other's shape and style. But something sizzled at that very first touch. Her lips parted beneath his, binding her to him with a mad electricity that arced between them.

40

Ethan speared his fingers into her silver-gold hair, taking special care to avoid her injury. The citrus-scented tendrils fell like silk between his fingers, a sensuous counterpoint to the electric heat meeting his tongue as he swept inside her mouth. He tasted the sweet chocolate on her breath and reveled in the sweeter taste of Callie herself. God, he hadn't kissed a woman -- hadn't loved a woman -- for real, not as part of some sting, for so long. This was real. Callie was real. His hard, hungry response to her willing kiss was equally real. And in his feverish brain he was cogent enough to recognize that he wasn't the only one with this fiery need to connect. Callie's fingers had twisted into his hair, tugging his face to a spot where she could graze her lips along his jaw, nip at the point of his chin. He slid his hands down her back and tormented her with the same scudding exploration of her soft, sensitized skin. Ethan…" His name was a breathy plea that scorched him clear down to his groin. Her hands circled his head, clutched at his shoulders as she tried to align herself in a less awkward position. Again, Ethan obliged the lady, slipping his hands beneath her bottom and lifting her onto his lap. In just reward, Callie curled her arms around his neck, rubbing her pebbled breasts against the frictional plane of his chest. Her mouth opened beneath his in a combustible mix of demand and surrender. Ethan groaned at the sensation of being consumed by Callie Sullivan's fire. He wanted her. Now. He needed the release of healthy, normal life he'd find buried deep inside her body. But he couldn't. It was too soon. First kiss. He forced the words into his rational mind, taking control of his body's instinctive desire. "Callie." He slid his hands to the more neutral position of her waist, but still found her curves hot to the touch. He tipped his face to the ceiling, purposefully moving his mouth beyond the temptation of hers. She nuzzled the pounding pulse in his neck and Ethan fought the urge to reconnect the powerful current still sparking between them. "You're tired, babe." He kneaded her shoulders, pushing a bit of distance between them. "You've been through too much today to deal with this." "No, I -- " A yawn, bigger than the one that had clued him in to her fatigue earlier, mocked her protest. As exhaustion overwhelmed her own desires, Ethan cuddled her close, adjusting her weight in his lap so his own body cooled. She pulled her arms to the front of his sweater, but in an unspoken gesture of trust, made no attempt to move away. "I'm warm," she whispered against his neck. He felt her smile on his skin like a tender caress. "I'm finally warm." The side benefit of their unexpected flare of passion amused him. But she allowed little time to enjoy the humor of the situation. Moments later, Callie had dozed off against his shoulder. Her soft snore was too sweet. A swell of tender responsibility eased the unfulfilled heat of his body. Ethan carried her to his bed. He removed her shoes and belt and unsnapped her jeans before tucking the comforter around her.

41

Ethan's professional instincts reawakened. Had the delay been intentional? Had someone planned a phony robbery to keep her away from her apartment so he or she had ample opportunity to ransack it? Or was Callie the break-in's intended victim? The coincidences didn't sit well in his stomach. He brushed a kiss across Callie's cheek, then went to the couch and tried to make his long body fit there. He needed some sleep to keep his senses sharp. Tomorrow, he was going to pay a visit to the Shamrock Bar. Ethan awoke with a crick in his back from trying to fit his long form on the short couch. But the stiffness faded as other observations touched his senses. He heard the sizzle of food frying in a pan. And the tantalizing smells of maple and cinnamon teased his nose and whet his appetite. With a shot of adrenaline he was suddenly wide-awake. He swung his bare feet to the floor and checked his holster beneath the pillow he'd used. Then he shoved his fingers through his hair, combing it into a semblance of order, as he snuck out to the kitchen. Thank God. Callie was safe, in one piece, and apparently cooking up a feast. "’Morning, neighbor." Her body jerked as if he'd startled her. But the smile she greeted him with indicated it was a pleasant surprise. "Good morning." Ethan questioned the rush of pleasure and serenity that swept through him at the homey picture she created. Was this what real life was like? Waking up to a beautiful woman? Sharing simple things like breakfast and bed-head hair? He sniffed the golden slices of bread she lifted from the pan. "French toast?" Callie turned off the stove and carried two plates to the table. "I may not make it the way your mama does, but it's edible." "It looks delicious." She looked even better. Though she wore the same jeans and sweater as yesterday, her hair had been freshly washed, giving the ash-blond strands a distinctly silver glow as they dried and poufed around her face in that sexy disarray he found so irresistible. "Mac slipped a note under your door. I put it on the table." Ethan finally tore his gaze from her delightful morning vigor and read the note. "He thinks your break-in was an impromptu search. The perp wanted to find you as much as that disk. He doesn't advise you being alone until he can get into Revere's office and pinpoint a suspect. He must be on to something." His words doused the energy in the room, plunging it into silence. When he looked up, Callie was hugging her arms around her waist again, in her habitual posture of self-defense. She shouldn't have to be afraid like that. She shouldn't have to protect herself against every curveball life threw her way. "Why is this happening?" "I don't know. But I want you to understand that you're not alone anymore. I'm here with you. And I'll stay as long as you need me." "As my friendly neighbor?"

42

Blue flecks danced in her green eyes and he lost himself in the vulnerable need he saw there. "Neighbor. Protector." Something more? He kept the newly formed wish to himself and opted for the chance to make her smile. "Think of a cop next door as a cheap security system." The expression in her eyes changed, but she didn't smile. "You're more than that, Ethan." She cradled his jaw between the palms of her hands, letting her fingertips stroke the hills and hollows of his craggy face. "So much more." She rose up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. "Good morning, neighbor." "’Morning." He kissed her then, wrapping his arms around her, tenderly consuming the welcoming sweetness of her, wishing he could start every day of his life in the reviving heaven of her arms. Moments later, Callie broke the kiss. She slid her arms around his waist and snuggled against him. "Thank you." Ethan willingly held her close, rubbing his chin at the crown of her head. "For what?" "I was so tired last night, so crazy with everything that's going on -- " He felt her cheek flush with heat against his neck. " -- I was afraid I'd only dreamed about kissing you. I wasn't sure even -- " she tried to scoot away, but he wouldn't let her leave the circle of his arms " -- if we made love." "Don't worry, babe." He heard his own voice drop to a husky pitch. "You'll know when I make love to you." Callie trembled at his promise. She leaned back against his arms and looked him straight in the eye. "Then show me."

Callie absorbed Ethan's possessive kiss. She wrapped her arms around his daunting shoulders and buried her fingers in the sable waterfall of his hair. He challenged her to open up her mouth, her body, her very soul -- and accept the healing power of a man and woman sharing their most elemental needs. He held her with such tender care, kissed her with such feverish desire. She wanted to lose herself in this incendiary passion, rediscover her feminine strengths after so many days of doubting her own sanity. She wanted to show Ethan that she trusted him. And she sensed that this brave, dangerous man needed to be trusted. Just as she had needed someone to believe in her, Ethan needed someone to believe in him. Callie lifted herself into his kiss, stretching her body along his, savoring the delicious differences between his hard angles and her soft curves -- and how she blossomed and heated in all the places that he touched. His callused hands slid beneath her sweater, skimming circles along her skin like the ticklish rasp of a cat's tongue. Goose bumps prickled her flesh. The rich sound of his laughter tickled her ears and seeped into the barren confines of her heart. "You're cold again," he teased. "I'd better see what I can do to warm you up." She didn't correct him about her sensitized reaction to his needy touches. He cupped her bottom and lifted her up to his budding heat, matching that most tender part of her to that most masculine part of his. His smooth voice had grown hoarse with desire. "Are you sure about this?"

43

In answer, she wrapped her legs around him. "It may be the only thing I'm sure of." With her ankles linked behind his waist, he carried her into the bedroom. Callie took no heed of the chill in the air as they stripped each other of their clothes, stealing precious moments to greedily explore each new treasure as it was exposed. Impatient heartbeats later he was on top of her, covering her with his hardness and heat. He pulled the comforter around them both, cocooning them in a haven of longing and need. "I want you now," he whispered against her breast before closing his hot, moist mouth over the straining peak. Callie nearly buckled beneath him right then. But she remembered the haunted look in his eyes, the soul of a man who needed to find his way back to the world. In the ultimate gesture of her trust, she opened herself and invited him deep inside her. She wound her legs around his hips and hugged him close to her heart. "Now, Ethan. I'm yours now." With one powerful thrust, she shattered all around him in a fiery conflagration that drained them both. And when Ethan collapsed beside her and swallowed her up into his arms, she sensed the winter had forever melted from her lonely heart. *** "There are advantages to being night owls." Ethan's voice was laced with humor as he whispered against her hair. Callie sprawled beside him, his shoulder serving as her pillow. With their legs entwined and her arm thrown across his chest, she felt deliciously warm and thoroughly loved. "What advantages are those?" she asked, kissing the sensitive underside of his chin. She felt the answering tremor dance along his skin. He hugged her tighter. "We can stay in bed all day making love." "Ethan." She swatted playfully at him. He kissed her passionately in retribution. Callie suddenly stiffened. The entire day? She sat up, clutching the comforter to her chest, sweeping the hair from her eyes and scanning the room for a clock. "What time is it?" "4:10." "I have to be at work by five!" She slipped from the bed and started to dress. Ethan sat up in bed. "I don't want you back at the Shamrock. Not until we know who tried to rob the place, not until we find out who's after you. I know how a killer's mind works. He'll be watching you." She hooked her bra, then whirled around, indignant at his imperious command. "Just because you're some kind of supercop, you can't tell me what to do." His mouth thinned in a grim warning. "Wanna bet?" Callie poured three rum and colas, sparing a glance for the man who shadowed her before picking up the tray.

44

Ethan had nursed the same beer all night back at the corner table, watching her movements as she served drinks. He sat with his long legs sticking out from under the table, forcing passersby to walk a wide berth around him. He needn't have bothered. With that bulky trench coat and tough, unshorn face, he exuded an aura of lethal power that demanded caution and distance, if not respect. But what frightened Callie most were his eyes. The laughing amber gaze that had darkened like fine cognac when passion overtook him had been replaced by cold, soulless eyes. Eyes that showed no connection to the world around him. Was this the real Ethan Cross? A dangerous, closed-up undercover cop? A man who controlled his world -and the people in it -- wherever and however he could in order to survive? Maybe she could trust such a man with her life. But it didn't seem wise to trust her heart to someone who could turn his emotions on and off. A man who could turn a day of fragile trusts into a night of distant guardianship. She walked past Ethan's table, feeling his deceivingly nonchalant stare on her. Guilt warred with anger and regret inside her. As much as she resented his high-handed tactics, she had used those very same strengths and skills to find comfort and security. Her time with Ethan had been a beautiful illusion. But she wasn't safe. Not yet. She wasn't free to love. And he didn't seem able to love. She might have surrendered her body to him, but she hadn't surrendered her spirit. With her temper brewing, she set the glasses on the table with more force than necessary, sloshing one drink over a customer's hand and earning a teasing flirtation. "You're gonna have to do more than get me wet if you want a tip, sugar." "Drop dead." Callie walked away from the leering taunts that followed, disgusted with the controlling tactics of men in general. When could she have her old life back? The one where she was in charge of her own destiny? Case in point. As she reached Ethan's table, he stood, unfolding himself to ominous proportions and blocking her path. "They may be drunken jerks, but they're harmless," she defended the insulting patrons, thinking Ethan had gone on alert to protect her. But he had no comment about them. "You close in less than an hour. Don't go anywhere without me. I'm going to have a little talk with your boss." "Take all the time you want. I'll find my own way home." "You're not going back to your apartment alone. Either you ride home with me or I follow the bus." Callie opened her mouth to challenge his perfunctory order. But he strode away, turning down the hallway to John's office. She clamped her mouth shut, angry with herself for overreacting. He was just doing his job. Maybe that was all he could find it in his heart to do. ***

45

Ethan found John O'Herlihy in the stockroom, cutting open boxes of hard liquor. With a pocketknife. He'd never liked coincidences. He didn't think he liked a man who took so little responsibility for his female employees' safety, either. "That blade looks pretty dull," Ethan observed, watching O'Herlihy saw through tape and cardboard. "It gets the job done." He set six bottles of Irish whiskey on his cart, then reached for a box marked “Imported Rum.” He responded to a question Ethan had asked earlier. "I usually take the deposit in after we close at night. But Angela had gone home sick, and we worked extra late closing the bar. That's why I waited until the next day." "Do you always leave your back door unlocked? There were no signs of forced entry." O'Herlihy straightened his shoulders in a huff. "If you're suggesting my carelessness is what got Callie hurt, think again. I've got fond feelings for that girl. I locked the door when I left." Ethan wondered if O'Herlihy possessed enough Irish charm to lie to his face, or if the man was telling the truth. "Then who else has a key to the building?" Callie grabbed on to the door handle while Ethan steered the Thunderbird through the quiet streets of Kansas City at two in the morning. His sharp turns and rudimentary stops were the only indications of his temper. His voice was smooth and even as always as he talked into his cell phone. "Sorry, Mac. I know it's late. Or early. Can you meet me at Michael Revere's office? Bring your report." He punched the phone off and jammed it into a coat pocket. "Can you still get onto the computers at Revere Imports?" Callie thought he'd forgotten she was in the car with him. His sudden interest, even if it was professional, surprised her enough to answer. "If the passwords are the same, then yes. I didn't think it was safe to go there, though." "I'll watch your back. You pull the information off the computer." "What are we looking for?" "The names of whoever runs your liquor shipments through customs." "Why?" He swerved around another corner. "Your new boss's spare key belongs to his liquor distributor. In case they have to make a delivery to the Shamrock while he's gone." "Is that unusual?" He finally spared her a glance. "It is if your distributor is owned by Revere Imports." *** "Oh my God." Callie sat at the receptionist's computer while Mac Taylor walked Ethan through his findings in Michael's office. Russ McDowall.

46

The man who'd argued with Michael just before the gunshots. "What is it?" Ethan, tall and dark, and Mac, tall and fair, hurried over to where she sat, framing her on either side like handsome bookends. She downloaded her disk and matched up the account numbers before she made her final pronouncement. "Russ McDowall was in charge of the liquor shipments. To a subsidiary company called U.K. Spirits. That's one of the accounts that I found with a second set of books. Either they're losing money or -- " "Someone was siphoning off funds," finished Ethan. Ethan gripped the back of Callie's chair and shifted it back and forth. "But you said the killer switched Revere's chair with a duplicate?" Mac explained Ethan's question. "I should have found something on Michael's chair. If not blood or cleaning solutions, at least fibers from his clothes, or a follicle of hair to prove that was the chair he used." He thumbed over his shoulder. "That chair in there is clean as a whistle." "So Russ switched chairs," Callie reasoned. Ethan shook his head. "You told me you hid behind this desk until McDowall left the office. Did you mean this receptionist's office, or the main reception by the outside doors?" "The outside doors. I didn't want to take a chance that he'd see me." "So you heard two men arguing. You heard gunshots. You hid and waited for McDowall to leave. Then you went inside and found Revere?" She nodded. "You went to your office to use the phone and 20 minutes later the cops arrived." Mac adjusted his glasses. "That's not enough time for McDowall to come back, remove the body, and clean up the place. McDowall's not our man." "But the gunshots -- " She could hear them as clearly in her head now as she had that night. Ethan's expression lit up with possibilities. Were they about to uncover the truth? "McDowall wasn't working alone. Someone else must have been here that night." Callie picked up his train of thought. "Then his accomplice killed McDowall. So who else was here?" Mac put his hand on her shoulder and gave her an apologetic squeeze. "You were." She shot out of the chair and turned on Mac to defend herself. But Ethan beat her to it. "I don't believe she's involved in this for one minute." "She could have staged her attack and the break-in. Sent those messages to her machine." "No! I -- " "You can't fake fear like I saw in her eyes, Mac." Ethan's hand at the small of her back soothed her as much as the conviction in his voice. Maybe he did care. On some level. "She's the victim here, not the perp." After a moment's hesitation, Mac took Ethan at his word. "All right, then. You have any other suspects?"

47

"One." He pulled away from Callie. She turned to face him, already reading the doom in his expression. "But you're not going to like it." "Right, Mac. As soon as I drop Callie off I'll meet you at the precinct." Ethan punched the phone off and buried it in deep in the pocket of his coat. "You think Michael staged his own murder?" Callie paced the tiny confines of the Mercantile's elevator. "Who else has a motive for killing McDowall?" "His accomplice. The one who wants that stupid computer disk." "Think about it, Callie. What if Michael was the one stealing from Revere Imports? McDowall was on to him, maybe even blackmailing him. How do you get out of that kind of trouble? You fake your own death. A dead man has a perfect alibi to commit murder. He can get rid of McDowall and skip the country. Who's gonna look for a corpse?" She retreated to one corner, hating the detached sound of his voice. "What he hadn't counted on was you finding a second set of books. Or showing up to witness the ‘murder’ that night." She shook her head at the incredulous theory. "You're grasping at straws, trying to play he-man for me again. I want the truth, not an excuse to keep throwing myself into your arms." The elevator's atmosphere subtly changed. "Was that such a horrible place to be?" She couldn't lie about that. "No. But yesterday was a moment out of time. This is reality. I haven't done a very good job of pretending to be somebody I'm not." She hugged herself tight, willing him to understand that this wasn't easy for her, either. "I have to find out the truth so I can go back to my world. And I'm not sure a man who can become someone else so easily has a part in that." His amber eyes sparked to life. "I care about you." "But can you love me? Can you give me your heart and trust me to keep it safe?" He didn't answer. The bell for the fifth floor dinged and she turned to leave. Ethan grabbed her from behind, turned her into his arms and covered her mouth with a hungry, desperate kiss. He lifted her off her feet, pouring out his hurts and frustrations and raw desire in one all-consuming embrace. Then he let her go. Tears stung her eyes, mourning the loss of what might have been between them. "Goodbye, Ethan." She dashed through the elevator doors, taking note that he stood fast and watched her until they closed. *** Callie let herself into her apartment before the ache in her heart had her running down the stairs to catch Ethan. He'd seemed so alone. But Michael had been her mentor. He wouldn't put her through this. She had to prove Ethan wrong.

48

The DeMarcos had cleaned the apartment while she was at work. There was already a message blinking on her machine. She debated about calling Ethan. As a cop, he'd want to know about it. But she had just burned that bridge. Bracing herself for the mechanical voice, she pushed the play button. And breathed a sigh of relief as John's Irish brogue spoke. "A man left a message for you here. Since you're not on the schedule, I thought I'd pass it on. He says he can help with your computer problem -- don't know what that's about. He says he'll be here around five if you want to meet him. I'll be here, too, if he turns out to be some kook." There was one friend who hadn't let her down. *** By the time Callie stepped off the bus, the snow was falling in earnest, giving her a white crown when she entered the Shamrock Bar. "John?" She brushed the snow off her hair and coat. "Right here." Her smile of greeting vanished as she stared into the barrel of a snub-nosed revolver. "Sorry about the lump on your head. I didn't mean to hurt you. You were only supposed to be detained by the police." "You attacked me?" "After the robbery last year I would have lost the business if he hadn't bailed me out. I had to do what he asked." "Who?" The scent of spicy cologne stung her nose. She understood why John had betrayed her before she turned around. "Michael." "Hello, Callie." His gun looked equally deadly. "I wish you hadn't been such a dedicated employee. I always thought Russ was the only one who knew I'd doctored the books." "Was he blackmailing you? Is that why you killed him?" Michael slipped his arm through Callie's and pressed the gun against her ribs, leading her out to the parking lot. "I paid him off for the last time. With you I think I'll skip the pay-off part and simply get rid of the trouble. A dead man can get away with murder as many times as he needs to." As they led her outside to a black sedan, Callie had two thoughts. The first? Ethan had been right about Michael. The second? She loved Ethan Cross. But she would never get the chance to tell him. Ethan eased up on the accelerator and swore, cursing the deteriorating weather. If anything happened to Callie… The red light on top of his Thunderbird spun candy cane patterns on the wall of snow that limited his vision to only a few feet. Backup was on the way. But calling Mac Taylor about the message on Callie's machine wouldn't do him a bit of good if she'd already fallen into Revere's trap.

49

Damn her quest for the truth! He'd never liked coincidences. Learning that the Shamrock Bar was tied to Revere Imports should have put him on alert. But the Irishman had been so open. He hadn't lied about the key. Ethan should have recognized that the best way to lie was to blend it with a little truth. O'Herlihy had probably been recruited by Revere. But he'd been too confused by his feelings for Callie to put it together. Can you give me your heart and trust me to keep it safe? Why hadn't he been able to take that leap of faith? Was it so hard to shake the trappings of undercover life that he couldn't accept the beautiful possibilities of a life with her? He needed a second chance to make that leap. But he had to save Callie first. He spotted the black sedan a block north of the bar and gunned the engine. He'd know that shock of justhad-sex hair anywhere. Through the back window, he could see the black-haired man sitting with her. That must be Revere because O'Herlihy was driving. Ethan fishtailed around the corner and floored it. O'Herlihy spotted the lights and took off. But before the Irishman could get away, his wheels hit ice. The sedan careened out of control and slammed into a light pole. Ethan skidded the Thunderbird to a stop behind them and jumped out. O'Herlihy was out cold. But Revere had Callie by the hair, dragging her out of the backseat. "You've ruined everything!" he accused. Callie kicked and screamed, refusing to surrender. "I got rid of McDowall's blackmailing behind. But I couldn't leave the country. You had proof of what I'd done! "Give me the disk or I'll kill her!"

50

Melting the Ice Queen by Ann Christopher Alicia Carroll and Scott Armstrong have the perfect “no-strings attached” relationship. Sizzling sex is always okay, but sleepovers are only for weekends, and emotions are strictly forbidden. As a divorce lawyer, Alicia knows better than anyone that relationships never last, so it’s better to avoid commitments at all costs. No matter how warm and safe she feels in Scott’s arms.… A lawyer himself, Scott respects the rules Alicia has set in place. But after two years as part-time lovers and best friends, Scott can no longer pretend their relationship is merely casual. He wants more from Alicia than just her body—he wants her heart, forever. But first he’s going to have to melt the ice that’s protecting it!

Chapter One Mmm. Alicia Carroll stretched and sighed, winding her body more closely around Scott Armstrong’s, and relaxing into the melted tangle of their arms and legs. Beneath her fingers, she felt the vibrating purr of his satisfaction rumble in his chest, and she grinned. He grinned, too. She felt the curve of his cheek against the top of her head. Just for fun, she ran her lips and then her tongue over his flat nipple, absorbing the sudden catch of his breath into her body. When she nipped, he shuddered, and the cycle began again. Like the rising of the sun in the east and its setting in the west, or like her need to breathe in and then out again, when she and Scott touched each other, that desire burned again. Hotter. Always hotter. It never seemed to cool, even minutes after they’d just come together. Even after two years together. A niggling reminder wormed its way into Alicia’s contentment, returning her to earth with a nasty thud. They were together, yeah, but they weren’t together together. They were lovers, but not mates. Friends, but not partners. Friends with benefits, maybe, but that was a juvenile term. Meant only for kids who used text messages to arrange their hookups. She and Scott weren’t kids. They were adults, lawyers who understood each other perfectly. She helped people get divorced, and he sued people and corporations who needed suing. Their agreement going in was that they’d keep it casual—no expectations, no pressures and no hard feelings. No commitments, ever, because if there was one thing she’d learned as a divorce lawyer, it was this: relationships never worked, and marriage was as inevitable a recipe for disaster as a bleach-ammonia broth. Hell, she’d learned that lesson in the nursery. Thankfully, they were on the same page. Having both survived law school, they respected rules and boundaries. Their non-relationship had several—all of which were clear and simple. Sex was always okay, but sleepovers were only for weekends. Dinners were better delivered rather than eaten in a syrupy romantic setting, but if there was an acceptable reason to celebrate—such as, say, a thrilling court victory— then a small but elegant night out was fine. Birthdays, Valentine’s Day and Sweetest Day were to be firmly ignored. Spending Thanksgiving and Christmas together was fine, but only if their families were out of town. Their conversations also had to be strictly monitored: no emotions allowed. Talking about feelings in the context of a powerful movie they’d just seen? Fine. Sharing memories about things such as, say, her parents’ horrendous divorce? Uh-uh. Phone calls and texts during the day were no problem, as long as there were legitimate informative or housekeeping purposes behind them (What time will you get here? or: Guess what? We settled the case!), but out-of-the-blue I missed you communications were out, as she had quickly reminded Scott the time or two he’d tried that nonsense. It worked beautifully because they followed the rules and didn’t rock the boat.

51

And that was why it was time for her to go home. She felt too wonderfully drowsy in Scott’s arms, too warm and safe. Too delicious. But the rules were clear. No exceptions—period. No sleepovers during the week, and this impromptu Tuesday night visit was only because she’d won a huge appeal and wanted to tell him. Time to go. Moving with more reluctance than usual, she disentangled her body from his, which took a little doing because she felt so mellow, and she only ever felt that way with Scott. Which was another reason to leave. “Uh-uh.” Nailing her with that wicked gaze, he grabbed her wrist in a gentle but unbreakable grip. “I’m not done with you yet. Not even close.”

Chapter Two “I’m not done with you yet. Not even close.” That sleepy-hoarse voice of Scott’s always made need tighten Alicia’s skin, and she foolishly glanced over her shoulder at him. Big mistake. He’d levered up on his elbows, which caused the sheet to shift lower across his notched hips, down into the danger zone. Oh, man. It was hard to keep her wandering gaze north of the sheet, but she tried. She didn’t need to know what was going on under there, even though her greedy body was beginning to crave him again. Focus on something else, Alicia. The stern warning didn’t help, which wasn’t her fault. The problem was, with Scott, there was no safe place to look—he was that amazing. Above the sheet was a rippling hard belly, and above that was a muscular chest-shoulders-arms combination that rightfully belonged on an oversized Calvin Klein billboard in Times Square, selling briefs. At the top of all that gorgeousness was another red-hot danger zone: his face. He had long-lashed brown eyes that burned with intensity whether he was cross-examining a witness, scrambling eggs or making love; brows that were straight and heavy, and could quirk with amusement or lower with irritation; a straight nose, lush lips, and the kind of chiseled jaw that inspired lesser men to spend thousands on plastic surgery. Even his wavy black hair, cut severely short, was sexy. How did he manage that? A street litigator of the worst kind, Scott knew how to get what he wanted—how to win—and he wasn’t above playing dirty. Case in point: he trailed his fingers up and down the sensitive inside of her arm, turning her bones to ropes of taffy. “Come back here.” A slow half smile eased across his lips and crinkled the edges of his eyes, making him irresistible. As always, her body responded, from the tingling awareness of her over-sensitized skin down to her curling toes. “I’ll try to make it worth your while.” It was tempting. Staying strong and disciplined was always harder with Scott than with anyone else. Before she could slam the door shut on her overactive imagination, she saw herself straddling him, or maybe diving under the sheet to explore that charming bulge she’d been trying to ignore. But this was how problems started. You bend the rules on one tiny thing, relax your oversight, it snowballs, and the next thing you know, chaos reigns.

52

Well, not her. Control was her middle name, motto and mantra. “Not tonight.” She kept her voice crisp and her face unsmiling lest he realize she was waffling. “No sleepovers on weeknights.” His gaze, so warm a minute ago, chilled by several degrees, making it a good time for her to stand up and find her bra and panties. Ah. There they were. “Why not?” “It’s a rule, Scott. We decided up front that we’d—” “I’m sorry. Is there a written contract somewhere that I don’t know about?” Though his eyes were unreadable, there was a new edge to his voice that threw her off. If he was unhappy with their arrangement, this was the first she’d heard of it. “We agreed, Scott.” “You pronounced. I chose not to argue.” She blinked. “I have more work to do.” “Do it here. I’ve got work, too.” Stymied, she emerged from pulling her dress over her head and stared at him. There was something dark and disquieting in his expression, something new. “What’s gotten into you?” He hesitated, looking grim. Then he stood, yanked the sheet free and tied it around his waist as he stalked closer. “I’m glad you asked.” Whoa. He reminded her of a lion on the hunt. “There are a couple of things we need to talk about.”

Chapter Three Why did that make her so anxious? So Scott wanted to talk about something; big deal. People talked all the time. On the other hand, when had a pleasant conversation with a happy ending ever begun with the words, “We need to talk?” Never. That’s when. Was this it then—the end? Had he found someone else? Or was he just sick of her? That familiar feeling of icy aloofness settled over her, the way it always did when she was uncertain about something, providing a nice layer of protection and the illusion of control. When she was in control, she didn’t get hurt. So she stared at Scott with all the haughty coolness she could manage. “What is it?” He adjusted the sheet around his hips, clearly not ready to spit it out yet. “You don’t need to look at me like that. It’s nothing bad.” Oh, yeah? Tell that to her frantic pulse. “You’re stalling.” “You’re not making this easy.”

53

“I don’t bite.” “No,” he agreed. “You just freeze me out whenever I get too close.” She was well aware of that. Not that she wanted to admit it. How could she be anything other than distant when she spent so much time struggling to hide all her neuroses? It took a lot of energy to maintain this Super Woman façade. If she let him—or anyone—get too close, they’d see that it was all a lie. “I don’t know where this conversation is headed.” Finished with her clothes and shoes, she marched down the hall to the living room, where she hoped to find her purse and get the hell out of there. He stayed right on her heels, his long strides eating up the distance between them. “But I don’t have time—” “Brr.” In an Oscar-worthy performance, he wrapped his arms around that chiseled torso and shivered as though he’d done a lap in the Arctic Ocean. Defiance flashed in his dark eyes, as though he was happy to get this discussion started at last and didn’t give a damn what she wanted. “Is it cold in here to you?” Okay. That was a low blow, and he was coming dangerously close to accusing her of cowardice. Maybe she was a coward, but damn him for pointing it out. She’d picked up her purse, but now she tossed it down and decided to face him like the woman she pretended she was. “Fine. You want to talk? Spit it out then.” That brought him up short, and he flushed. With a low growl of frustration, he turned away and ran his hands over the top of his head. Finally he turned back, his expression resolute but otherwise blank. “I don’t want to do it like this, Alicia, not with anger—” “Spit it out.” “Fine.” That dark gaze trapped her in its unyielding depths. “I’m in love with you.”

Chapter Four I’m in love with you. Scott’s words hung in the air, gathering strength like a Caribbean hurricane and threatening to knock Alicia flat. Love? How was that possible when they’d designed and nurtured the perfect no-strings-attached relationship? When she’d sworn never to get too close to anyone? When the people who’d used the dreaded L-word with her had always been the ones who’d hurt her the worst? The silence expanded, engulfing them both in a nerve-stretching tension that threatened to snap her in two. Neither of them seemed capable of either speaking or looking away. They might have stood there until the apocalypse, but something in his expression softened and warmed into a glow of adoration she didn’t deserve. Taking his time about it, he eased closer and cupped her face in one gentle hand. She wanted to run…to hide…to melt into his arms and believe. Paralysis kept her from doing anything. “I’m in love with you,” he said again. That did it. Her body gave an involuntary jerk back and away, as though she’d grazed the blue fire of her stove and blistered her thumb. “I heard you the first time.”

54

“Say something.” Jesus, she couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know what to say.” “How about the truth?” “And what’s that?” “That you love me, too.” It wasn’t a question, which was good because she didn’t have an answer. All she had were denials, rebuttals and the rules, which had clearly been broken. “This is a casual relationship—” His lips thinned with intransigence. “It was. Now it’s not.” “—and we’re both focused on our careers. We don’t have time—” “I want to make time. My career has already taken up enough of my life, thanks.” “—and I just don’t understand why you’re breaking the rules—” she continued, her rising desperation making her shrill. “Screw the rules,” he said calmly. That sent her right over the edge. How could he be so matter-of-fact when she was falling apart? “Where is this coming from? What’s it about?” They were exactly the wrong questions. Catching one of her hands, he pressed a lingering kiss to her palm and held on when she strained away. And, oh, God, he stared at her with those gleaming eyes until she couldn’t turn away. She had to remind herself that men could never be trusted, not even this one, no matter how earnest he looked right now. He pressed her hand to his bare chest, letting her feel the relentless pounding of his heartbeat. “This is about me missing you when you’re gone. This is about me wanting to come home to you every night—” “Don’t, Scott.” “—and eat dinner with you and brush my teeth at the sink next to yours. I want to call you during the day just to say hi, and I want to know what the hell happened to you when you were a kid that makes you so afraid now.” She shook her head and kept shaking it. No. Not that. Never any of that, especially that last thing. Unbelievably, he wasn’t done with her yet. “I want you to move in with me.” He took a deep breath. “I want to marry you.”

Chapter Five Hold up.

55

Scott floundered, wishing he could cut out his tongue and then swallow it whole as protection against any other impromptu confessions. Had he actually said that aloud? That he wanted to marry her? Brilliant, genius. This whole night had been a disaster from beginning to end. Well, except for the explosive sex. That had gone well. But then he’d started talking, shooting his best-laid plans straight to hell. To think that he was a tough litigator feared far and wide for his sharp mind, keen analytical skills and uncanny ability to talk juries into agreeing with anything he wanted. He could almost snort, it was so funny. Ten seconds with Alicia and he became a blathering fool with uncontrollable diarrhea of the mouth. He’d meant to start slow. Why hadn’t he started slow? He knew she was skittish. Wasn’t that one of the basic principles of practicing law: know your opponent? Not that they were opponents, but still. He knew that her parents had a terrible marriage. He knew her defense mechanism was to hide behind a layer of ice. He knew she needed careful finagling. And had he kept any of these key pieces of information in mind just now? Hell, no. He’d been so relieved to finally reveal his feelings that he’d lost his freaking head. They should do the world a favor and revoke his law license now. He was clearly too stupid to be a lawyer. Time to mitigate the damage. “Alicia—” “I can’t marry you.” “Not today, no.” “Not ever.” She didn’t mean that—not really. That was the thing about Alicia, one of the reasons she was so endlessly fascinating to him: what you saw on the outside wasn’t what you got. On the outside, she was a cool beauty with a bombshell’s body, wary and prickly, her amazing gray cat’s eyes on the lookout for trouble and her lush mouth slow to smile. But when she warmed up—and make no mistake about it, he knew exactly how to warm her up, both in bed and out—she was the sun, the moon and the stars, her laughter an amazing gift and her spirit as loving and generous as any he’d ever encountered. As long as he didn’t get too close. Only now he wanted—needed—close, and so did she. She just didn’t know it yet. “You never want to get married?” “I don’t want any kind of serious relationship.” “Well, here’s a news flash, Alicia. We’ve got a serious relationship. One developed while you weren’t looking.” “That’s not true—” Lord, was this woman in denial. “Who do you tell about your courtroom battles? Who do you spend every weekend and holiday with? Which two people that we know took care of each other last month when they had the flu? Who makes you scream and shout in bed? Who do you have the most fun with in life? Answer me.”

56

She didn’t. She couldn’t. He’d pushed her too far tonight and, like an overtired two-year-old, she now refused to go any farther, preferring instead to turn her stony face away and stare across the room. He let her stew. Finally, she turned back, her expression carefully neutral and all her emotion locked away behind her eyes, where he couldn’t access it. “I can’t give you what you want.” Like that was the end of the matter. Didn’t she know him better than that? He nodded somberly. “I understand.” Her breath hissed out in a rush, and her face brightened with hope. “You do?” “Yes.” “Then…we can go back to the way we were?” He opened his arms and she all but fell into him, clinging and burying her face in his neck. Running his hands over her back to bring her closer, he felt the frantic heat of her skin and the violence of her pulse. And she claimed she wasn’t in love with him? Bullshit. Pulling away, he pressed his lips to her forehead for a lingering kiss. Then he walked her to the door, opened it, and gently pushed her out into the hall. “But—” she sputtered. “Goodbye, Alicia.” He had to clear his hoarse throat and force the words out as he closed the door in her bewildered face. “Have a wonderful life.”

Chapter Six That was how long it’d been since Scott had seen Alicia’s face, a period that felt like the unfortunate collision between infinity and eternity. They hadn’t communicated in any way—he hadn’t even bumped into her in the hallway at the courthouse, for God’s sake—and he had no idea how she was, whether she hated him, or whether she was, in fact, still alive. The distance was all part of his plan, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing him. He slumped in the chair behind his huge desk, planted his wing-tipped feet on top of the draft motion for summary judgment he was supposed to be reviewing, and pressed his skull between his hands. If he crushed it like an overripe cantaloupe until his brain oozed through his fingers, it would kill the splitting headache behind his eyes, right? And if he leaned the chair back just a little farther, crashed through the window and fell twenty-five stories to his death, it would feel better than the crawling-out-of-his-skin agitation that’d plagued him since he kicked Alicia out, wouldn’t it? No. It probably wouldn’t. Alicia.

57

How about if he switched to thinking about something else for a minute? That’d be a nice change. He gave it his best effort for ten seconds…and nope. Couldn’t pull it off, which was a sad commentary on her superhuman powers over him. They’d met two years ago, in court, when they tried to settle the world’s nastiest divorce case—between a millionaire and his wife, a pair so thirsty for each other’s blood that they’d made the couple in The War of the Roses look like cooing peace doves. Their meeting had been plaguing him lately, big time. Maybe because that was the exact second his life changed forever, and he’d known it on some instinctual level, even then. “Scott?” He’d been sitting at a table in the attorney’s conference room the day Alicia dazzled him for the first time, and the last thing he’d expected was for a woman to march in and turn life as he knew it upside down and inside out— “Scott? Snap out of it!” He started, coming out of the sweet memory with a crash. Cindi Kelly—an old law school friend who recently moved back to town and was now working at the firm—stood to one side of his desk, looking bemused. He was not in the mood for teasing. “What?” That made her laugh. “You’re in bad shape.” No shit, Sherlock. What an insightful commentary on his precarious mental state. He tried to flatten her with death rays shot from his eyes, but she seemed impervious. “Are we still on for the Barrister’s Ball Saturday night?” she asked. The local bar association’s yearly shindig. “Absolutely.” “Are you sure this is a good plan?” “It’s a great plan,” he said, infusing his voice with much more bravado than he felt. Cindi looked dubious but didn’t argue. “If you’re sure then. Oh, and I’d better get out of here before Alicia comes up and sees us together.” “Bye,” he said dully. Hang on. Alicia? Did Cindi just say that Alicia was here? He tried to play it cool and not let too much of his wild hope show in his eyes. “Don’t mess with me,” he warned. Cindi grinned with utmost glee and mischief. “Oh, didn’t I mention? I was just at the receptionist’s desk where a woman named Alicia Carroll was asking for you.”

Chapter Seven

58

Scott refused to pace while he waited for Alicia to arrive. So he made due with planting his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together and praying his tense body didn’t snap, rubber band-like, and ricochet off the walls. He’d lost his head with her the last time, and couldn’t afford to do it again. He had to be smart— had to stick to the plan. How else would he land her for his wife? By asking nicely and giving her a pretty ring? Hell, no. Alicia didn’t work that way; things couldn’t be that easy with her. No, he had to rock her world, jar her out of her comfort zone and make her realize how much more they could be together, if only she’d give them a chance. For God’s sake, how long did it take to ride up in an elevator? All right, man. Chill. Occupy yourself. Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts drift to the sweet memory of the day they met.… He was sitting at a table in the attorney’s conference room, waiting for the case to be called, reviewing the couple’s financial information and cursing the twist of fate (a sick partner) that’d landed the stupid case in his lap. He hated divorce work, hated the whining husband client, and wasn’t looking forward to this pointless settlement conference with the opposing attorney—Alicia somebody. He needed to be back at the office working on— Someone rapped on the door and, without waiting for any answer, marched inside. Glancing up from the file, he had a startled impression of a woman in a dark suit bringing the faint scent of expensive perfume with her. Christ, she was gorgeous. He knew that: a) his jaw had dropped into a gape; and b) it was rude, but he couldn’t stop staring because his circuits were now officially scrambled. Freaking gorgeous. This little honey had toned legs, flaring hips that gave way to a tiny little waist, and the additional flare of a generous pair of breasts. A perfect hourglass. Though he couldn’t see it now, he’d bet a month’s pay that she had a juicy ass, too, nice and round. She was curvy then. Curvy was good. He lived for curvy. She also had a stunning face that could stop traffic a mile back. Framed by shoulder-length brown hair, it was heart-shaped, with a pointy little chin, arched brows and heart-stopping gray crystal eyes that were unfortunately narrowed with annoyance. Oops. Had she caught him ogling? Bad boy. Shame on him. She called him on it, too, and he liked her ballsy-ness. “Seen everything?” she asked tartly, clicking the door shut behind her. He took a minute to appreciate the view. Yeah. There was that tight ass. “Can we get down to business now?” He stood, forgetting everything but her. Case, client, possible settlement, his name—all of it scattered to the four winds. “By ‘getting down to business,’ do you mean having wild sex on this conference table, or trying to settle the case?” That was when he first broke through her brusque façade. Pausing in the middle of unpacking her briefcase, she looked at him. Really looked at him.

59

It was a long moment, filled with surprised chemistry, unwanted connections and the unspoken inevitability of something developing between them. Those wide eyes were cool and businesslike the whole time, refusing to crinkle or soften with a smile. She was good at hiding her feelings then. But not good enough at managing the sudden flare of heat that deepened her eyes to a stormy blue-gray. Luckily for him, he played poker and was good at catching giveaways; hers were her amazing eyes. Recovering, she stuck out her hand across the table. “Alicia Carroll. I’m not going to have a problem with you, am I, Scott? You are Scott, right?” He took that smooth hand in his, holding it tighter and longer than he needed to. His skin sang with the contact. Honest to God. He would have sworn such a thing was impossible—the mere idea was ridiculous— but that was the only way to describe what happened when he touched her. “I am Scott, and we won’t have any problems. As long as you understand that as soon as I give this case back to my sick partner and there’re no ethical issues, I’m going to ask you out.” She blinked. Another tell. But then she recaptured what he was beginning to realize was her usual briskness, and tried to put him in his place. “I’m going to say no.” Yeah. He really liked this one. So much that he couldn’t stop the slow smile that crept across his face. “We’ll see about that, Alicia.”

Chapter Eight Alicia sat in the elegant lobby of Scott’s firm, ostensibly checking her phone for messages while she waited for the receptionist to buzz him and see if she could come up. In reality, she was punching random buttons and wondering how conspicuous it would be if she bolted, screaming, for the elevator. Would that cause a scene? Or what if she vomited on the floor? The way her nerves were fraying, either scenario seemed like a distinct possibility. This was such a bad idea. B-A-D. She shouldn’t have come here, but she had to pass his building on her way to her own office from court, and the urge to see him had been overwhelming. The sad fact was, despite her rules and restrictions, all of which were designed for the sole purpose of keeping him from creeping into the shriveled shell that passed for her heart, she…missed him. Almost…needed him. So much for being a self-sufficient island unto herself, needing no one. He’d said he loved her. Wanted to marry her. Had he meant it? Where could things go between them? Nowhere. Hadn’t she told him that from the start—from the very first day they met—that the answer was no? That was the thing about Scott, though. He never listened. He outstrategized her, ignoring her myriad issues, hang-ups and rules. And he usually got his way. Like he had that first time.… “What’s this?” she demanded. “Dinner,” he said. Yeah, she could see that. The cozy little conference room at his law firm—where they were supposed to be meeting to hammer out a workable custody arrangement for the divorce clients from hell—had been turned into a bistro for two. Complete with a white tablecloth, miscellaneous breads, cheeses, lamb chops, wine, some pink gourmet cake thing and—no kidding—candles.

60

Astonished, both at his thoughtfulness and his presumption, she put her briefcase on the nearest chair, jammed her hands on her hips and refused to be impressed. “I didn’t come here for dinner. I came here for a conference.” Amusement lit his dark eyes as he skirted the table and came closer. “There’s been a slight change. I’ve handed the case back to my partner, so you’ll need to talk to him. Meanwhile, you don’t want to force me to eat all this food by myself, do you? Think of my waistline.” This was not funny. She’d told him no dinner before, and now he was plowing ahead, ignoring her wishes. She didn’t like being handled and didn’t like being out of control on any little aspect of her life. With a man like Scott, control would always be a mirage, especially given the way he made her heart pound. “I told you no,” she reminded him. “Ah.” Way too close now, close enough for her to see the splintered shards of gold in his eyes and the tender curve of his lips, he settled his hands low on her hips—like he owned her!—and reeled her in. She stiffened and gasped, but she didn’t stop him. “But you didn’t mean it, did you, Alicia?” He leaned in to kiss her, and she tilted her chin up to let him. But her stubborn streak kicked in and she turned her head at the very last second. Ignoring her body’s desperate thrum, she eyed the food. “Is that raspberry?” A quick grin cracked Scott’s relentless intensity. Still holding her tight—his one hand seemed to be inching perilously close to cupping her ass now—he reached out, swiped two fingers through the cake’s icing, and, staring her in the face, held them up for her to taste. This was a line, she knew. A choice. She could push him away and go home to her lonely apartment where only the fish in her tropical tank cared whether she lived or died, or she could do what she did: Sucked Scott’s fingers into her mouth, scraping them with her teeth. A strangled sound rose from his throat, part triumph and part raw lust. Pulling his fingers free, he clamped his hands on either side of her face, angled her head way back, and licked his way into her mouth. The kiss was urgent and deep, his tongue hot and slick, and her response uncontrollable. When he broke free, she was the one who caught his lips again and nipped. She was the one who dug her nails into his nape to anchor him close. He ended it again, his expression glazed and wild, his determination absolute. “Say yes,” he commanded. “Say it—” “Ms Carroll?” The receptionist’s shadow fell across Alicia’s phone, hurtling her back to the here and now whether she was ready or not. “Scott said to come up.” Trying to control her heart’s relentless thud and the tremor in her knees, Alicia rose and grabbed her briefcase. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Nine God, her heart was going to give out, Alicia thought, staring at Scott.

61

Nice, huh? After gathering all her nerve and showing up here at his office, she would collapse and die before saying what she’d come for. Not that she knew what she’d come for, other than it’d been two weeks since she’d seen him and the growing emptiness inside her was threatening to swallow her whole. It was against her rules to miss him. Other violations she’d committed recently? Losing sleep, not eating, and generally feeling as though she’d been locked in a glass cell where the exit should be obvious, but she couldn’t find it. Oh, and making the first move when he hadn’t called or apparently thought about her this whole time. That was a big no-no. Still, here she was, drinking in the sight of him like a dry sponge soaking up a water spill. The receptionist left. Alicia sat in one of the guest chairs, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt because she had the uncontrollable fidgets. Scott resumed his seat behind his desk, looking formidable in his red tie and rolled-up shirtsleeves, and not at all happy to see her. “Hi,” she said when they were alone. “How are you?” “I’m good. You?” I’m terrible. I feel like I’m coming unglued. I don’t know which way is up. “I’m great. Is this a bad time?” “No.” Leaning back in his chair—so unreachable on the other side of that tennis-court-sized slab of glass that he may have been the sun—he rested his hands in his lap. “What brings you here?” he prompted. Right. She could do this. State your case, Alicia. You’re a lawyer. Make your argument. “You caught me by surprise the other day,” she began. “Oh, yeah?” “Yes. I had no idea you were unhappy or wanted more of a relationship, and I didn’t know what to do.” “Uh-huh.” “But now I’ve had time to think about it, and I think we can reach a compromise.” “Aha.” He stared at her, waiting, with no particular interest on his face. Here she was, baring her soul, and he— what? Had she interrupted his pre-lunch nap? Was that it? Was he going to leave her dangling? “So what’s the compromise?” he wondered. “There’s no reason why we can’t—” God, this was hard “—spend nights together, you know, during the week, and we can talk about where we want the relationship to go from here. That could work, right? And if you, I don’t know, wanted us to take a vacation together or long weekends here or there—”

62

“Let me get this straight,” he interrupted, and there was an edge to his voice now, a subtle hardening that hadn’t been there before. “I want to marry you, build a life with you and have children with you, and you want to…what? Give me a space in your toothbrush holder?” She frowned. Why was he saying it like that? Naturally it sounded lame when he said it like that! Couldn’t he see she was trying? What did he expect her to do? “I’m trying to negotiate with you—” He snorted. “Negotiate, eh?” “Yes, and you know I don’t handle feelings well—” “This is you, handling feelings?” “Yes.” For the first time since she got here, something sparked to life behind his eyes, as though they had, finally, arrived at the part of the conversation that mattered to him. “And what are your feelings? For me, I mean. You haven’t said.” Horrified paralysis clamped her mouth shut. She knew this was important, knew she was blowing it, but she just couldn’t force her mouth or brain to work. The words—whatever they were—remained in lockdown somewhere between her throat and her lips. The light in his dark eyes went out, leaving impenetrable blackness. With a choked and bitter bark of laughter, he scrubbed his hand over his chin and stood up. “Thanks for stopping by, Alicia. You wasted your time, but I do appreciate the effort.”

Chapter Ten Having thus dismissed her—apparently from both his office and his life—Scott sat, picked up his stupid little red pen and flipped to the next page of whatever he’d been working on. She, meanwhile, stared at the top of his bent head and started to get pissed off. The normal cool disdain with which she chopped people down to size deserted her for once. Something bubbled inside her, churning its way to the top. And it felt so scorching hot that she could almost hear the tips of her ears sizzle. That was when she, Alicia Carroll, who always remained calm, always kept an iron lid on her emotions, and always one-upped the other guy, both in the courtroom and in life, lost her freaking mind. Lunging to her feet, she snatched the paper from under Scott’s hand, resulting in a slashing line down the middle of all his big and expensive legal words. Oh, well. Too bad. “Are you kicking me out again?” He deigned to look up, all polite puzzlement at her unnecessary and unprecedented rudeness. “I’m not kicking you out, no. I prefer to think of it as encouraging you to leave at your earliest possible convenience.” “Because I can’t tell you I love you on your schedule?” Wrong word choice. Those eyes sharpened down to the intent brightness of the North Star. “Do you love me? Why not just go ahead and admit it and get it over with?” The question all but choked her.

63

Tossing his pen down again, he stilled, managing to radiate both bored indifference and seething anger. Or maybe it was frustration. A crooked smile twisted one side of his mouth, making him into someone she’d never really seen before, and had certainly never understood. “You see the irony here? I tell you I love you and I’ll bet you can’t even say you’ve missed me these past couple of weeks. That kind of makes me look foolish, eh? You’ve got yourself so locked down in protective mode, I can’t get anywhere near you.” “Can’t get anywhere near me? You’ve had me!” He shrugged as though their two years as lovers was as meaningless as a used paper towel. “I’ve had your body, yeah. I want your heart.” “Since when?” she cried. “The day I met you.” This was too much. It was like a pet cat had unzipped his furry suit to reveal he’d been a dog all along. Clamping a hand on her head, she tried to stop its relentless spin. “You never—” He snorted. “Of course I never. Why would I do that and chase you away?” “Then why now?” “Because I’m tired of waiting for you to wake up and see what’s right in front of you. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t matter that I only see you a couple nights a week, when really I count the seconds until I see you again—” “Don’t say things like—” “You see?” He flapped a hand at her, as though she’d just proved his point beyond any doubt. “I’m tired of you shutting me down. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt. I give up.” Dread slithered to life and wrapped around her, tightening her in its coiled grip. “You…give up?” The words shouldn’t devastate her, but they did. No doubt it was her painful history of her father walking out on her that did it. “What does that mean?” “It means—” he said, calmly lobbing that cannonball right between her eyes “—that since you can’t be the kind of woman I need, I’m going to find someone who can.”

Chapter Eleven “So you’ve…met someone?” Scott’s gaze never wavered. “Yes.” That would have been a great time to shut up, gather the remnants of her pride around her and go home, but no. Alicia blundered along like an elephant on a midnight stroll through a flower garden. “It’s serious?” “It could be.” That anger surged again, blacker than before. “Does she know you wanted to marry me a few days ago?” “She knows I’m coming out of a relationship, yeah.”

64

Wow. Coming out of a relationship. So there it was. And yet… Something nagged at her. “You’re bluffing,” she said, because Scott never gave up and certainly never went down without a fight. “You’re trying to back me into a corner and—” He whistled softly and one of his heavy brows slashed toward his hairline in open mockery. “Have you been feeding that ego steroids—” She shrank away from his scorn, which had a knife’s sharp edge and a hammer’s driving force. “—or is it that you think you’re the only interesting woman in the world?” What was there to say to that? “Unless…” he began, and let the word hang in the tension between them. “Unless what?” “Unless you think there’s any chance of you dealing with your feelings for your father—” “He’s dead.” “—because I think there’s a connection between what happened with him and the way you keep me from getting too close.” Amazing. And here she’d thought this conversation couldn’t get any more painful. Luckily, this mention of her so-called father finally snapped her out of the tormented misery she’d been feeling these past couple of weeks, leaving her icy and detached once again, just the way she liked it. A new stillness settled over Scott, except for his head, which tilted as he studied her and waited for her answer. “Is there?” he prompted softly. “A chance? A connection?” Yes, screamed the damaged and hidden corner of her soul that she usually ignored. “No,” she said. “Right.” His face and voice hardened. “I didn’t think there was.” That was it. To summarize, then: she’d put aside her nameless fears, swallowed her pride, came here to his turf to make a peace overture because he meant something to her…and he was now laughing in her face. She got it. It was all perfectly and painfully clear: he didn’t want her, after all. No one ever did. Standing, she managed a smile, because once that sense of aloof peacefulness hit her, she could wear any mask and pretend anything—even that her heart wasn’t shredded like coleslaw cabbage. “I understand.” He blinked. “You do?”

65

“Yes. And I hope you’ll be very happy.” This last part wasn’t really true. A more accurate statement would be that she hoped he and his new girlfriend would be hit by a speeding bus, dragged a mile or so and then dragged another mile in reverse while the bus driver tried to figure out why the road was so bumpy. But she wasn’t going to say that. She’d never say that. Because she may be unwanted and empty, but she still had her pride, and her pride demanded that she never show anyone that she could be wounded, or that she bled. Nothing got to her, and nothing ever would, she swore as she walked out of his office. Not even Scott.

Chapter Twelve The next day, during the fifth mile of her second treadmill run of the day, someone pounded on Alicia’s front door, ruining the Scott-free endorphin high she’d finally achieved. Relentless exercise had, lately, become her only respite from her nonstop thoughts of Scott and her father, which were somehow becoming intertwined. And she bitterly resented the interruption. Cursing, she hopped off, swiped her sweat-slicked face and hair with a towel, and tromped down the hall from her TV room to the door, which she swung open. It was Krista, her younger sister (yawn), with her precious four-month-old daughter Grace (yay!). “What are you doing here?” Relieving Krista of her adorable bundle—baby powder sweet with her bright brown eyes, downy fuzz and velvety cheeks—Alicia stepped aside to let her sister in and ushered her into the kitchen. Krista’s hello smile faded into consternation. “Hello? It’s Friday night. You said you’d watch Grace while we went to a movie.” Alicia blinked. What the hell was she— Oh, God. Oh, no. “I forgot. Sorry.” This confession prompted Krista to take a closer look at Alicia, and then the kitchen, which was looking a little, ah, less than immaculate for once. Dishes piled in the sink, an empty pizza box on the counter, and a case file from work essentially exploded across the table next to her laptop. Krista’s wide-eyed gaze swung back to Alicia, concern written all over her face. “What’s happened to you? Are you sick?” Alicia opened her mouth and out came the standard response: “I’m fine.” What else would she say? The truth? That’s right, sports fans. Welcome to the mess that’s become my formerly disciplined life since Scott dropped his bombshell on me. No, thanks. She had enough on her plate without Krista, who had a perfect marriage, home and child, feeling sorry for her. Krista snorted. “Right. You’re always fine. You could be fired, car-jacked and sued all in the same day, and you’d be fine. Whatever.” Without warning, Alicia crumpled, and the lurking tears that had been following her around all day spilled down her cheeks in an embarrassing stream. Trying to get it together, she pressed her quivering lips to the baby’s forehead and snuggled her close, wishing she had a daughter like this and a happy home and, hell, just one day out of life that didn’t include that nameless and oppressive fear beating down on her. “Scott asked me to marry him,” she confessed. “Honey, that’s great! Why did that make you unravel like this?”

66

A semi-hysterical laugh erupted from her throat. “Like I know.” Another lie. Maybe she should work with the truth, just this one time. See where it led. “How do you make marriage work when our parents were the poster children for the abusive alcoholic and his enabler? Why aren’t you scared like I am?” Krista smiled with complete understanding and gave her answer without hesitation. “Because they taught me everything to do when you want to destroy a marriage. And I’m never going to do any of that. And because Daddy already ruined enough of my life, and he’s not going to take one more thing from me.” Wow. That sounded so normal—and so possible—when Krista said it like that. Alicia stared at her, sniffling her tears into submission. “Why didn’t you say so before?” Krista grinned. “All you had to do was ask.”

Chapter Thirteen This was, quite possibly, the craziest thing he’d ever done, Scott thought as he knocked on the door of the cozy little cottage at seven-thirty Saturday night. Dressing up. Elaborate make-believe scenarios with scripted parts. Covert operations. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten trapped between a high-school theater production and a CIA special op. But it was all part of his plan to break through the last few protective layers around Alicia’s heart. And if the end result was a wedding with a happily ever after, then it would all be worth it. Meanwhile, it was time to tap into his inner Denzel Washington. The door swung open, revealing his great friend Colleen, who had one of the twins—he thought it was Bruce, but it was always so hard to tell—slung over her hip and chugging from a sippy cup. “Well, look who it is.” Smiling, she pulled him in for a hug and tipped her cheek up for his kiss. “Trouble himself.” “I resent that implication.” Laughing, he relieved her of the toddler and followed her down the hall to the living room. Bruce was now grinning and offering him a taste from the cup. Scott studied the little guy’s face: darker blue eyes; dimple in the left cheek; curlier hair—yeah, this was Bruce. “How you doing, Bruce? How you doing?” “No!” said Bruce happily. “No! No, no, no!” “Introducing Bruce’s first word,” Colleen informed him as they settled on the sofa. He acted disappointed. “I thought you were working on Scott as his first word.” “Nope. Sorry.” “It’s okay.” He pretended to enjoy Bruce’s drink, to much delighted laughter and squeals. If they kept this up, he’d probably wind up with cranberry juice all down the front of his tux, but he couldn’t say he really cared. Any time he could spend a few minutes with a great kid like this was fine with him. “Thanks for letting me borrow Cindi for the night.” Colleen scowled, but the amusement in her eyes gave her away. “Yeah, well, I’m not happy about it. A few hours with you and she’ll probably end up batting for the other team. I mean, look at you. I half want to do you myself.” That made him chuckle. “I’m desperate. I need all the help I can get with Alicia. And don’t forget my promise: free babysitting for four Saturdays. I mean it.”

67

“We’ll hold you to that. I’m going to go check on Cindi. She was changing Bryan into his jammies. I’ll be right back.” “Thanks.” Bruce plunked down on his lap and, as always, grabbed at his watch. An activity that’d keep him occupied for hours. And Scott let his mind drift. For the billionth time, he second-guessed every move he’d made with Alicia, from the beginning up until now. Especially the beginning, which had included a significant lie by omission on his part. He hadn’t told her the truth, that first time they made love. Not even close…

Chapter Fourteen During their dinner in the conference room, they’d talked for hours about every topic under the sun—except for details about Alicia’s unhappy childhood, which she’d parsed out like Scrooge parting with his money. That had lead to two more dates, including a movie. Now here they were, on the porch outside her house, where he devoutly hoped he’d be spending the night because, God, he needed to be deep inside this woman as soon as possible. The kicker was, it wasn’t really about the sex. Although, okay, he wanted to get naked and nasty and then sweet and slow with her every night forever. It was about uniting with this beautifully wrapped and unspeakably sexy package that contained the other half of himself. Romantic nonsense like he’d never spouted before, yeah, but it was God’s honest truth. They were both lawyers, both clever, ambitious and hardworking. They both loved sushi, Winston Churchill biographies, and the electronics section at Wal-Mart. Their mutual favorite movie? The Godfather. Favorite book? To Kill a Mockingbird, although they’d both awarded honorable mention to The Bonfire of the Vanities. Was the growing connection between them scary? Hell, yeah. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship and hadn’t thought he’d wanted one. And an introductory, getting-to-know you period was always prudent, except when the inevitability of taking things as far as they could go was as plain as the full moon overhead. Telling himself to go slower, he leaned a shoulder against her front door and faced her. “What are we doing, Alicia?” he asked softly. She looked up from rummaging for her keys in her purse, her eyes reflecting the moonlight and a heartbreaking combination of toughness and vulnerability. “Well, I thought we were saying goodnight, but if you’d like some, ah, coffee or—” “I’d love some coffee when we wake up in the morning, yeah.” So much for taking it slower. “I don’t—” she began. Yeah. He knew about all her various don’ts. “Give me the key.” To his astonishment, she handed it over after only a slight hesitation, whereupon his hands acquired a bad case of the trembles. On the third try, he got the door open, pulled her in behind him, and kicked the door shut again.

68

They stared at each other in the darkness of her foyer, with only their ragged breath to break the silence. The gleam in her eyes was unreadable, even if he’d had enough wits about him to try. She’d done this to him. Alicia had reduced him to burning blood, humming skin and frozen indecision. Now that he was here, he was afraid to touch her because he couldn’t handle her rejection now. Not now. This might have gone on through the next presidential administration, except that Alicia surprised him by revealing the woman he’d always known she kept locked inside that distant façade. “Touch me,” she whispered. That was all the permission he needed. Lunging for her—yeah, he just couldn’t manage gentle right now— he anchored his hands on her ass and kissed his way into her mouth. She was right there with him, matching him need for need, sucking his tongue into her slick warmth and crooning with a fantastic mix of relief, enthusiasm and encouragement. He lifted her skirt up her bare thighs, his urgency making him crazed. Her panties were skimpy little things, which was great because they didn’t give him any trouble when he jerked them down her legs and threw them to the floor. She laughed. Was that funny, what she did to him? What about if he stroked her there, right there in that slick cleft between her legs—would that make her laugh, too? “Oh, God.” Clamping her hands on his shoulders, she held herself up when her knees buckled. “God, Scott, what are you doing to me?” “I hope I’m driving you out of your freaking mind.” With no further ado, he collapsed onto a little bench against the wall and pulled her around so she knelt over him, straddling his legs. He reached for his zipper, but apparently moved too slowly because she knocked his hands away and unzipped it herself, kissing him the whole time. And when he was free she took him into her hands, stroking and squeezing him to the point of heart failure. “Now,” he said after a minute of this torture. “Yes,” she agreed. “Now. No wait.” Christ. No waiting. No waiting. “What? Tell me.” “This is casual, right, Scott? I don’t handle relationships well.” “You’re handling this one just fine.” “I just…I just think we need to agree about what we’re doing.” The first spark of dread pierced his sensual haze. “And what’s that?” he asked, thinking that acceptable answers included anything from forming a committed relationship to moving in together. “Having fun while it lasts,” she said, slicing his heart in two. “Enjoying each other and agreeing that we’ll still be friends when it’s over.” Friends? The no was right there on the tip of his tongue; he wanted to shout it through the streets. Hell, she didn’t even believe this nonsense herself. From what she’d told him about her parents’ ugly divorce and her own sporadic dating history, she and casual sex went together like lit torches and haystacks or polar bears and walrus pups.

69

He hesitated wanting clarity on this point. But this was her defense mechanism, his gut told him. Fear was in her eyes, buried deep but still visible when he looked closer. This was how she kept from being hurt again: she built walls and guarded them with automatic weapons and pit bulls. He could tell her he loved her, but she couldn’t handle that information now, and he’d lose her. And he couldn’t lose her. Not when she was so hot and passionate in his arms, and her body was poised one inch from his, honey-slick and ready. A better man would have told her the truth. He looked her in the face and lied. “Casual’s fine with me.” Disappointment flashed over her features, telling him he’d been right. She felt something more for him and was too scared to admit it, but it was gone in a heartbeat and he couldn’t wait another second. Gripping her bare hips, he positioned her— “Scott? You ready to get this party started?” He blinked, looking around to see Cindi standing there, dressed and ready for tonight’s charade. Smiling, he planted a kiss on Bruce’s head and handed him to Colleen. “Let’s do it,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen “Thanks for being my plus-one.” Alicia and Krista paused in the lobby of the ritzy hotel where the Barrister’s Ball was held, getting their bearings. The ballroom looked like a summer fantasy, with flowing fabrics in mint, ivory and gold, fat white candles atop thin candelabra, and overflowing bouquets of roses and English ivy as the centerpiece of each table. “I hate coming to these things by myself.” “Are you kidding?” Krista hitched her shawl over her shoulder, draping it for maximum effect. “Anything to dress up like an adult and get out of the house for a while.” Alicia led the way through the crowd, anxious to get this night over with as soon as possible. But then she saw the bar in the corner and veered sharply. “Two pomtinis, please,” she told the bartender. A nice pomegranate martini would go a long way toward making this evening of awards and dull speeches more palatable. “So have you given any more thought to our conversation the other night?” Krista asked. “Yes.” Alicia accepted the drinks, paid the bartender, and took a sip. Ooh. Nice. “I’m working on my anxieties.” They dove into the crowd again, heading for their table. “Good. What’d be so terrible about spending your life with a sexy man who’s crazy about you? Where’s the hardship?” This was a question Alicia had asked herself repeatedly. How could she explain to Krista, who was as mentally healthy as they came, that the thought of telling Scott what he meant to her and giving him that kind of power over her made her stomach drop? That the part of her that loved freely and freely accepted love in return had shriveled and died when Dad left the family? “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said.

70

“What if he found someone else?” “What?” “Don’t look now.” Krista fixated on something over Alicia’s shoulder, her brows doing a slow creep toward her hairline. “But he and his date need to get a room.” Horror hit Alicia like a two-ton satellite falling out of the sky, paralyzing her for one uncomprehending moment before she whirled around to see this abomination with her own two disbelieving eyes. Oh, God. There he was, sitting on a stool at another bar across the room with a little hottie perched next to him. They were chatting it up, laughing and flirting, oblivious to the crowd around them. With Scott in his tuxedo and the hoochie in a designer red dress that showed about four feet of bare thigh and surely allowed a significant draft to cool her privates, they looked sexy and sophisticated together—as though they’d just stepped out of an ad for luxury living. Alicia stared, her jaw on the floor. It got worse. The woman, tossing a head full of sleek curls, leaned in, resting her hand on Scott’s thigh. Oh, but there was more. Oblivious to all standards of decency in civilized society, that slut whispered something in his ear and then nipped—nipped!—his lobe as she pulled away. Oh, no, she didn’t. Krista, probably sniffing danger in the air, tried to keep things calm. “Alicia—” Alicia flashed her a look that had Krista backing up a step. “Shut. Up.” Krista shut up. Alicia knew that she had now, officially, lost her mind behind this seething red haze of jealousy. She knew that she’d rejected Scott’s proposal, told him she couldn’t be the woman he wanted, and wished him well. But that was then, before she’d begun to face and tackle her anxieties and think about a future with Scott. This was now. After finishing her drink in one sinus-clearing gulp, she shoved the empty glass at her stammering sister and marched over to greet the little lovebirds, who looked around with surprise at her arrival. Scott, the bastard, gave her the basic smile, filled with pleasant indifference, with which he might have greeted any passing acquaintance. “Alicia. I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” “Hello, Scott.” Flashing her brightest smile and extending her hand, she turned to the sex kitten. “I haven’t met your new friend. I’m Alicia Carroll.” The woman, in a transparently possessive move ripped straight from the halls of seventh grade, put that damn hand back on Scott’s thigh, flashed her own grin, and shook with her other hand. “Cindi Kelly.” “That’s a beautiful dress, Cindi,” Alicia said. “It’s Herve Leger, isn’t it?” “Well.” Cindi shot Scott a bewildered glance but quickly recovered. “Yes.” “Love it.” Alicia looked the woman right in her lovely eyes and kept her gracious smile in place. “Oh, and Cindi? If you don’t get your hand off Scott’s thigh, I’m going to hurt you.”

71

Chapter Sixteen “Ex-cuse me?” Cindi cried. Scott held up a hand, silencing Cindi. All his attention focused in on Alicia with the intensity and precision of a surgical laser. But beyond that, Alicia couldn’t read his expression. “This is my date, Alicia. I told you I was dating someone else now. You don’t care about that, do you?” Alicia’s heart, which had been pounding out a jealousy-driven tattoo, now switched gears to a fluttery, nervous beat. Her cheeks, meanwhile, burned with the fire of ten lava-filled volcano craters. She could hardly get the words out, even now, when her entire future hung in the balance. But she would find the courage to do this. “Of course I care.” Scott shrugged, looking doubtful. “That’s news to me.” It was news to her, too. Well, no, not exactly. She’d known that Scott was her best friend and that his touch was magic. She’d known that his throaty laugh made her happy and his advice—on matters both professional and personal—got her through many difficult days. Life was more fun when Scott was around. She’d known that, too, and that he’d one day make a wonderful husband and father. She’d just chosen to ignore what all those separate pieces added up to. Now it was all out in the open where her emotional baggage couldn’t block it out, and her rules couldn’t protect her. “In fact—” Scott continued “—I’m thinking this is just a jealous temper tantrum that you’ll regret tomorrow. So maybe you should go home before you say anything you’ll want to take back.” God, she wanted to touch him. Could she risk it? Feeling like she was jumping out of a helicopter to ski down an avalanche-prone mountainside, she cupped his hard jaw in her hand. It was the right thing to do because the shock of the skin-to-skin contact made him shudder, and that gave her courage. “The only thing I’ll regret—” she told him “—is letting some other woman take my place in your life.” Krista, ever the peacekeeper, arrived just then looking worried. “Everything okay over here?” They all ignored her. Especially Scott, whose unblinking gaze had locked on Alicia’s face. “And what is your place in my life, pray tell? Just…out of curiosity.” Alicia stepped closer, magnetically drawn to him in ways that defied the laws of physics. But then she remembered their rapt audience. Krista and Cindi stood there, listening intently. Any second now they’d flag down a passing server and see if they could order popcorn to go with the show. “Do we have to do this here?” Alicia asked. “Yeah,” he said. But to her immense gratitude, he grabbed her hand from his cheek, kissed it, and squeezed it with his strong fingers. “I’ve waited so long for this, I feel like I need witnesses.” Krista and Cindi tittered at that, but forget them. “I’m in love with you,” she told Scott helplessly. And with the words came a soaring, joyous relief. It felt so good, in fact, so incredibly freeing, that she had to say it again. “I’m crazy in love with you.”

72

Chapter Seventeen Jesus. Had those precious words finally come out of Alicia’s mouth? “You’re in love with me?” Scott had to maintain his tough single-minded focus here. But man, it was hard when all he could think about was folding her into his arms and never letting go. He softened his words with another kiss to her hand, and prayed she’d come just a little farther with him. “Since when?” “I don’t even know.” Choked with emotion, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, she pressed her free hand to her heart and made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a repressed sob. “All I know is I’ve been coming out of my skin the last couple of weeks. I have to be with you. I don’t even know myself when you’re not there.” “Aww,” cooed Krista and Cindi, who were now hugged together, looking misty. Scott gaped at Alicia. This was freaking unbelievable. Success beyond his wildest dreams. Almost everything he’d hoped for. Almost. Don’t cave now, Armstrong. You’ve almost got the brass ring in your hot little hands. “You ‘have to be with me?’” he echoed. “What does that look like? Because we’ve done the weekend lover thing, and that doesn’t work for me.” “God, Scott.” Looking up, possibly praying for divine intervention to save her from this interrogation, she swiped at her eyes. “You just won’t stop until you take everything, will you?” Did she expect him to apologize? “I have to, Alicia. When it comes to you, I need everything.” That made a couple more tears trickle down her cheeks, and seeing those tears cracked his control right in two. He’d had a plan to get to this fantastic breakthrough, yeah, but this wasn’t a game. The woman he loved—a person who kept her feelings on maximum security lockdown whenever possible—had just admitted, in front of witnesses, that she loved him, too. He couldn’t let the moment pass without kissing her; forget playing hardball. Planting his hands low on her hips, he pulled her up against him. “Say it again. It’ll get easier the more you repeat it.” “I love you. Happy now?” Hell, yeah, he was happy. Too happy to speak, in fact. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her until they were both breathless. “Well,” said Cindi. “I guess we’re not needed here, are we?” “Guess not,” answered Krista. Scott and Alicia broke apart, but he held her hugged up to his side. “Hey, Krista.” He’d always been cool with Alicia’s sister. “How’s your night going?” Krista smirked with open delight. “Not as well as yours, apparently.”

73

He laughed. “Can you do me a favor and take my friend Cindi home? Alicia and I have some, ah, stuff to take care of.” “Stuff.” Cindi beamed. “Right.” Alicia clapped a hand over her mouth and looked to Cindi with regret written all over her face. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe I threatened you like that. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—” “Oh, you meant it,” Cindi said. “But you’re welcome to him, so please don’t rip my face off.” Alicia’s brow furrowed with what looked like bewilderment. “You’re very gracious.” Cindi’s gaze, mischievous now, flicked over to Scott. Uh-oh. Cindi wouldn’t spill the beans to Alicia or anything—Hey, guess what, Alicia? I’m a married lesbian friend of Scott’s who was basically hired to make you jealous tonight; isn’t that funny?—but he knew she wasn’t above needling him about this episode for the next twenty years or so. Time to go. “We’ll talk to you two soon, okay?” he said. Without waiting for any answer, he took Alicia’s arm and steered her through the crowd, desperate to get his hands on her.

Chapter Eighteen Scott took her home, to her house. They didn’t talk in the car. The things they still needed to discuss couldn’t be said while hurtling down the highway. As though he knew this intermission would allow her anxieties to bubble inside her, gaining strength, he held tight to her hand the whole time. And she clung to him, knowing that with Scott, if no one else, she didn’t have to be afraid. With Scott she was, finally, safe. The huge tank of tropical fish glowed a soothing blue as they turned into the bedroom, illuminating her giant four poster with its downy pillows and duvet. All she wanted was to be in there, with him, forever. But she knew she hadn’t earned that right quite yet. Wrapping his strong hands around her face, he massaged her nape, melting away what she really hoped was the last of her inhibitions. In a clear effort to make it impossible for her to do anything other than relax, he rested his lips against her forehead and murmured to her in a calming voice that was like the stroke of velvet across her skin. “Tell me again,” he said. “I love you.” It was so much easier like this—with whispers in the shadows, the gentle glide of his hands down the curve of her spine, and the warm satin of his flesh beneath her fingertips when she untucked his shirt and undershirt and reached for his skin. “I love you.” Those tender lips of his began a slow descent, running from her temple to her cheek, across the bridge of her nose, and finally, sweetly, to her lips. Angling his head just enough, his growing desire rumbling deep inside his chest, he tasted her with his tongue. Just a little. Just enough for her spiraling lust to collect in the tips of her swollen breasts and curl into the farthest depths of her belly. Clenching her thighs together against the insistent ache, she surged into him, but he pulled back. Distracting her with his busy hands, which squeezed the halves of her butt together, rubbing her against an erection so hard and thick she doubted she could handle it all, he zeroed in for the kill.

74

“Why is it so hard for you to give me that? Don’t you know how happy it makes me? I would do anything for you.” Another stroke of his hands…a thrust of his hips…a lick of his tongue against her mouth and… Oh, God, he was going to make her come before they’d even taken off their clothes. “Anything. Why can you give me your body but not your feelings?” Pausing in her desperate quest to undo all his buttons and get this shirt off him, she waited for her throat to close up. It didn’t. Together with him, like this, it was impossible for the fear to get her. “Because,” she said helplessly. “I drive men away. If I love them, they leave me. And I never want you to leave me.”

Chapter Nineteen Was that it? Was that, in twenty-five words or less, the fanged and poisonous dragon that’d kept him from getting too close to Alicia this whole time? Something as simple—and ridiculous—as that? The belief was real, though. He could see the living proof of it in her troubled eyes as she awaited his judgment. He wanted to laugh, it was so crazy, but that wouldn’t give her the reassurance she needed. So he focused instead on finding the zipper at the back of her sexy black dress and sliding it down. Only when he’d slid the silk off her shoulders and to the floor, revealing all her glorious brown skin and the bounty still hidden by a black strapless bra and lacy black panties, did he speak again. “Who, baby?” He traced lazy circles with his fingers, running them between her shoulder blades, down her back and up her sides, enjoying the curves of her wide hips as they narrowed to her waist. “Who leaves?” “My father left. He went to the bar for a drink one day and never came back.” “What made him leave?” He pressed this whispered question directly into her ear because it was too absurd to say aloud. Anyone who voluntarily left Alicia was clearly insane, and that was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. “I think I had something to do with it,” she confessed. “I know it’s silly, but I loved him and I drove him crazy because I was a handful—” “Shh.” He’d meant to let her get it all out, but it was so patently illogical on so many levels that the lawyer in him just couldn’t take it. “So, I remind you of him? Is that it? I’m just like him?” This caught her by surprise. “Of course not. You’re nothing like—” “Exactly.” She blinked. “Wasn’t your father a raging alcoholic? Wasn’t he divorced three times? Isn’t it possible that he was the problem, rather than you?” She almost smiled. “Of course, Johnnie Cochran. When you say it like that—” “Good girl.” Now she was starting to understand. “Can I tell you what I love about you?” Alicia stilled. Maybe she couldn’t believe there was anything lovable about her, and for that he hated her father for the damage he’d done.

75

“I love this.” He tapped her temple, behind which sat her clever brain. “I love this.” Smoothing her plump lower lip with his thumb, he stole another quick kiss and then ran his tongue down the smooth column of her neck while she moaned and tipped her head back for him. “I love these.” Unhooking her bra, he let her breasts bounce free. They were full and heavy with desire, just the way he liked them, her nipples jutting and dark—perfect blackberries waiting for his mouth to suck, and suck hard. Squeezing them together, he traced one areola with his tongue, then the other, driving her higher until with a hoarse cry, she grabbed his head and pulled him closer. Was that a request? He sucked each one in turn, popping them out of his mouth after just enough of a scrape with his teeth to make her gasp his name. “I love this.” He palmed her ass, grinding his erection—God, he was dying here—against that sweet spot between her legs. Were her panties still on? Time to change that. Taking all the time in the world, he slid the lace down those shapely legs and helped her step out of them. Then, while he was stooped over, he rubbed his face against that black triangle of springy curls, enjoying her helpless arch against him. “I really love this,” he murmured. The delicious musk coming from that slick cleft made him run headlong into his limit. He had to get inside her. Just as soon as he told her this last thing. “You know what else I love?” “No.” She shook her head, those crystal tears sparkling in her eyes again. “I love it that you actually believe your rules and fears and doubts would ever keep me away from you. Or that I’d ever let you go and try to find someone else. You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you?” He stared, unsmiling, into her face, and waited for her to get it. Comprehension dawned. With one surprised “Oh,” she smiled and cried at the same time, letting one perfect tear slide down her cheek. He licked it away. Then he swung her off her feet and carried her to the bed.

Chapter Twenty That was it for the talking. Thank God. Alicia was pretty sure there wasn’t an unexposed corner of her soul left. Scott ripped the linens back and laid her on the bed, where she settled her head against the pillows and stared at him. Never looking away, he shrugged out of his shirt and yanked the undershirt over his head. There he was, as perfect a male as she could ever hope to see, and she’d missed this view. Though he wasn’t too bulky, he had the squared, hard shoulders of a man who paid his dues at the gym. His arms were cut, the slabs of his chest defined. His belly was toned and flat. One of these days, when she had time and wasn’t blinded by lust, she’d have to count and see if he really did have a six-pack. Bending at the waist, but still maintaining eye contact, he shoved down his trousers and boxers to reveal a thatch of black hair and a jutting, ruddy erection that made her hips squirm with impatience. “God, Scott,” she breathed. “Take it easy on me, okay?”

76

A wicked light sparked to life in his eyes. “You did this to me.” Taking himself in hand, he crawled over her, eased between her thighs and yanked her down with his free hand until she was flat on her back. “Besides.” He dipped his head to bite her, hard, on the curve of her neck and shoulder, making her cry out with delight. “You don’t want me to take it easy, do you?” “No.” With that, she wrapped one leg around his waist, spreading herself open wider, and he took full advantage. Rubbing the head of his penis through her hot juices, lubricating them both, he thrust inside her, filling her to a breaking point that teetered between sweet friction and delicious pain. Then he stilled, making her pant and writhe. “Don’t.” Digging her nails into that high, round ass of his, she demanded more. Now. The swelling ache between her thighs demanded it. “Don’t tease me. You know I need it hard.” “Maybe.” A tremble began in his arms as he settled over her. “Please.” She raked her nails up his back. “Please.” That did it. With a raw groan, he began to work her, thrusting deeper and deeper. With each sharp pump of his hips, he hit the exact right spot, harder and harder, and she swiveled her own hips in a frantic counterpoint until… “Scott.” The rippling pleasure began in her belly, mushrooming to a piercing crescendo that made her spine arch backwards even as she held him in a death grip with her legs. “Ah, Scott.” He was right there with her, shouting out his release after another punishing thrust or two. His body turned to warm marble in her hands, rigid and unmoving for several luscious seconds. And then he collapsed on top of her, threatening to crush her with the slick deadweight of his sweaty body. She loved it. “Mmm.” Against her neck, she felt the curve of his cheek as he grinned. Then he lifted his head to pin her with that gaze, which was a little glazed but otherwise as sharp as ever. “You never answered my question.” “We can’t possibly have anything left to talk about.” “Don’t try to evade. Back at the party, you said you had to be with me, and I asked you what that looked like. You never answered.” Taking his beloved face between her palms, she gave him everything. “It looks like you and me getting married and having children. Okay?” He grinned with such utter happiness that he almost glowed. “Hell, yeah, it’s okay. It was all part of my plan.”

77

The Texas Bride By Mary Burton

Chapter One Finding her brother in jail wasn’t the homecoming Emily Hanover had pictured. These past four years, she’d been living back east with her grandmother. This three-week trip was her first and likely her last visit home. She’d dreaded coming home and facing painful past memories, but she’d come because she sensed David was in trouble. It appeared she’d arrived just in time. Emily stared at the torn welcome banner and ruined buffet table, destroyed by her brother, David, just minutes before her arrival. Turning from the mess, Emily reached for the rusted door handle of the jailhouse. She ignored the cramp in her foot caused by shoes designed for fashion not comfort. Pushing open the door, she stepped into the dingy jailhouse. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. When it did she saw her brother sitting on the stained cot in the single cell, his head cradled in his hands. “David,” she said, moving toward the cell. At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head. He stared at her a moment before he smiled. “’Emily, you look so different. You look like a real lady just like Ma always wanted.” Emily jerked off her laced gloves, unreasonably annoyed by the compliment. “You haven’t changed a bit.” His smile vanished and he moved to the bars. “I’ve done it this time.” The strong scent of whiskey and urine drifted from the corner of the cell. “You certainly have. I hear you got drunk, rode through town on a stolen horse, knocked an old man down, and injured the mare you stole.” He closed his eyes. “I didn’t steal the mare, I just borrowed her. I only wanted to ride out and greet your stage. But the mare was too much for me to handle.” “Why’d you try to jump the buffet table?” He laid his forehead against the bars. “That was the mare’s idea, not mine.” The part of her that had been tamed by life back east worried about scandal. The wild Texas rose she’d been before she left Upton, Texas, only wanted to make things right. “When are you going to grow up, David?” His expression grew mutinous, as if he were a child and not a man three years older than Emily. “You know I hate this town, Emily. I don’t belong here.” “That’s no excuse.” He managed a feeble grin. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. Everything will be fine once you pay off the old man.” “I’m not made of money, David,” she said tersely. “And you’re lucky he wasn’t seriously hurt.” “Can’t you fix this? Please. I don’t know how to get out of this one.” “What about the owner of the horse?” He shrank back a fraction. She stepped closer to the bars. “Whose horse is it, David?”

78

David dropped his gaze. “Jake Lazarus’s.” Emily felt the color drain from her face. “Jake Lazarus.” “I know you two got history.” History. There’d been a time when she’d loved Jake with her whole heart. But her parents had shipped her back east before they could marry. David offered a tentative smile, the same one that had coaxed her into trouble in the past. “Can’t you just pay Jake off?” “He’s the last person I want to see.” The door to the jailhouse closed with a bang. “But you’re gonna see him.” The deep voice came from the doorway and Emily recognized it immediately. Jake. She’d forgotten he could move as quietly as a mountain lion. Turning, she found him by the door. Six feet, he was all sinew and hard muscle and his shoulders still filled a doorframe. Faded denims molded his powerful thighs. Dust covered his white shirt, scuffed leather boots, and low-crowned Stetson. His range coat hung open, the right side tucked behind his pistol. A chill snaked down her spine. Emily lifted her chin. “This is between my brother and me, Jake.” He jerked off his hat. His hair, as black as coal, brushed the top of his collar. “Not when it involves my mare and my cook, Emily.” Emily tilted her head back so that she could meet his gaze. There’d been a time when she could read his emotions. Now there was a wall between them. Her skin grew hot under his gaze. “Jake, I’m prepared to pay for the damages.” Emily’s fingers trembled as she snapped open her purse. “I’ll pay you enough to hire another cook, plus ten percent for your trouble.” She quickly calculated the price. She’d be nearly penniless when she settled this mess. Distaste flickered in his eyes. “Money isn’t going to fix this one, Emily. It’s time David grew up and took responsibility for his actions.” “David has to be back at the ranch for the evening feedings.” Jake lifted an eyebrow. “And I got a ranch full of hungry hands and a cook who’s laid up for at least a week.” “You’ll make more money this way.” “You’ve been back east so long, I suppose you’ve forgotten how we do things here.” His words stung. “I’m trying to make this right.” “This is your brother’s mess, not yours. David injured my man, so the way I see it he can cook for my men.” David gripped the bars. Fear flickered in his pale green eyes. “I’m not working his ranch! Jake Lazarus is trash, just like Ma and Pa used to say.” Jake’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and menacing. “You will work for me if you don’t want me to press charges. They hang horse thieves in this state.” David’s knees nearly buckled. “I didn’t steal the horse. I was just having a little fun.”

79

Jake leveled his gaze on David. “You took my horse without my permission. And thanks to you she’s got a sprain that’ll take weeks to heal. That adds up to jail in these parts.” David looked to Emily. “Tell him I wasn’t stealing. I didn’t mean to hurt the horse. He’s just crazy enough to see me hang!” Emily summoned all the diplomacy lessons she’d learned in school. “Jake, you know my brother can’t cook and he has to work the Double H. Isn’t there some compromise we could reach?” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I need a cook. No compromise.” It would be easier to move a mountain than to get Jake to change his mind. He’d not leave here today without a cook. “Then take me instead.” Jake looked genuinely shocked. Boldly his gaze traveled from her green hat with the jaunty peacock feather, over her velvet traveling suit, to the pointy tips of her kid shoes. “You even remember how to work a cookstove?” His bold appraisal had her temper rising. “I’ll manage.” “’Emily, don’t!” David shouted. “Ma and Pa would have hated the idea of you working for him.” She didn’t take her gaze off Jake. “You can’t go to jail, David. That ranch was Pa’s dream and I won’t see it lost.” Jake shook his head. “You look like you’d blow away in a stiff breeze.” “I won’t.” For a moment, he said nothing and she thought he’d reject her offer. “We work sunup to sundown on my ranch.” “Understood.” Something akin to approval flashed in his eyes. “For two weeks.” The way he hovered close made her hesitate. “Yes.” He tugged off his glove and held his hand out to her. Automatically, she took it. He wrapped his long, calloused fingers around her small, soft hand. “You haven’t done hard work in years.” “My grandmother would be pleased to hear you say that. She’s worked hard to erase my years in Texas.” “I never did like society types.” Fire flashed in her eyes. “Then I suppose it’s going to be a long two weeks.”

Chapter Two The wheel of Jake’s wagon hit a rut in the dusty road and his shoulder brushed Emily’s. The simple contact should have meant nothing. But it stirred fire in his blood. Annoyed, he tightened his hands on the reins. He’d done a lot of dumb things in his life but hiring Emily won the prize. He needed experienced hands to work his spread, the Two Rivers ranch, not a woman he’d loved and never been able to forget. He’d first met Emily when she was sixteen, and he twenty-three. It had been love at first sight for both of them and he’d asked her to marry him. Emily had agreed to be his wife, but when she’d told her parents, they’d shipped her off to boarding school.

80

Jake hated seeing her go, but he had always figured she’d find a way back to him. Even when she’d not answered his letters, he still had hope. Then her ma, and soon after, her pa, had died. They would have been free to marry then, but she didn’t return. Months turned into years and finally he’d given up. He should have walked a wide circle around her and kept his distance. But the minute he’d seen her climb off the stage, he’d known he’d never be able to stay away. There were just too many unanswered questions. Cool and proper, she wasn’t the girl he remembered, but a fancy lady who likely hadn’t gotten her hands dirty in years. He stole a glance at her. She sat up so straight he figured her spine would snap if he shouted, “Boo.” Still, under all the finery, she was about the prettiest little thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Blond curls ringed her oval face. That fancy dress molded her slim waist and full breasts as if it were a second skin. And her blue eyes still sparkled with a quiet intelligence that made him want to learn about everything she’d been up to these past four years. It had been a long time since his heart had felt like a sledgehammer in his chest. Damn it all, he was already falling under her spell. He didn’t want to feel anything for her. She was poison. A siren. Only in the past year had he stopped wishing she’d return. Yeah, he should have stayed clear, taken the money Emily had offered, and been done with the Hanovers, but lust and pride had overruled good judgment. David Hanover and men like him had been a thorn in his side since he could remember. The young rancher was sitting on rich, fertile land. He had water rights to last him a lifetime. But instead of taking care of what he had, he was letting it all go to waste. The Double H ranch was headed to ruins and David didn’t seem to care. What he’d cared about was making trouble for Jake. David had never challenged Jake outright but he’d made him pay dearly for access to the water on the Hanover land and had dropped hints that Lazarus horses were inferior when buyers were in town. Yep, men like David Hanover didn’t have the sense to run their own place, but they were more than happy to make trouble for men like him who wanted to build something out of nothing. Jake wasn’t going to back down. He’d fought too many renegades and gone without for too long to scrape together the money for his spread. And if Emily Hanover wanted to take her brother’s medicine, then so be it. Like it or not she’d stick out the next fourteen days. Even if it killed him. *** Neither spoke the remainder of the journey and Emily was glad. She wanted to forget about Jake and savor the quiet beauty of the landscape and drink in as much of it as she could. She only had three weeks in Texas before she had to return to Virginia and no one was going to ruin this time, not even Jake Lazarus. But no matter how she tried to ignore Jake, there seemed to be no escaping him. His large muscled frame ate up most of the buckboard’s seat. His scent, a mixture of leather and fresh air, enveloped her. Every rut in the road sent her shoulder bumping into his no matter how straight she tried to sit. She may have pushed him out of her thoughts these past couple of years, but her body hadn’t forgotten him or his touch. She stole a peek at him and glimpsed the hard set of his jaw. He’d grown even harder looking. There was no hint of the young man who’d whispered words of love in her ear or spoke of his dreams of building a fine horse ranch.

81

To her relief they arrived at his ranch twenty minutes later. Grateful to put some distance between them, she swung her skirts around, ready to hop down off the buckboard as she’d done a thousand times as a child on her ranch. But the folds of velvet twisted around her legs, slowing her down just long enough for Jake to reach her side of the buckboard. He frowned at the rich fabric as he wrapped his long, leather gloved hands around her narrow waist. As if she weighed no more than a feather, he plucked her from the seat and lowered her slowly to the ground. The contact was too intimate and sent an old, nearly forgotten heat through her body. But before she could react to it, he broke away and moved to the back of the wagon to remove her black steamer trunk. “I’ll stow your gear in the house. You can change inside. My hands will be back at sunset and they’ll be expecting supper on the table.” Without another word, he carried the trunk into the house, leaving her to trail behind him. Jake’s home had changed since she’d last seen it. No longer a rough dugout, it was a white frame house with a porch that stretched across the front. It reminded her of a house she’d once seen in a magazine and had described to Jake on one of their lazy afternoon strolls. But unlike her dream house or the houses in Virginia, there wasn’t a blade of grass within fifty feet of the foundation. The porch wasn’t furnished with rockers to sit in and savor the setting sun or to relax after a long day of work. Instead, it was piled high with barrels and bags of feed. It was all business, just like Jake. Emily paused at the threshold, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The single room was long and narrow and looked more like a barn than a home. Bales of hay were stacked in one corner and more feed sacks in another. A large cookstove dominated the other corner. Near it sat the room’s only furniture - a single chair, table, and a small cot covered with rumpled blankets. She glanced at the simple staircase. “Is my room upstairs?” “There’s no furniture upstairs. Only supplies.” “Where do you sleep?” He shoved her trunk against the wall by the large stone hearth. “The cot here suits fine.” “You built this big house and you still sleep on a cot?” “I spend most of my days working. I don’t have time to worry over luxuries.” There was no hint of apology in his rough voice. “For the next two weeks, the cot is yours. I’ll move my gear out to the barn.” Stunned, Emily moved toward the stove and noted a washtub filled with dirty dishes. “What do you expect me to do with this mess?” His gaze, full of challenge, didn’t waver from hers. “Clean it.” Her temper, so carefully tamed by her grandmother these past four years, ignited. “You’re joking.” He flexed his long fingers. “Serious as a snakebite.” She turned from the sink too disgusted to think about washing the caked-on bits of food. “This place isn’t fit for pigs.” He stiffened then took a step forward. “Break our deal and your brother goes to jail.” Emily stared at the grim lines etched in his tanned face. She had no doubt that he’d do exactly that. He jabbed his thumb toward the door. “So what’s it gonna be, princess. Are you staying or going? I’ve burned half a day and have nothing to show for it.” She gritted her teeth. “You’ve changed. And not for the better.”

82

“I could say the same to you.” He looked almost bored. “Staying or going?” If he expected her to crumble, he was going to be one disappointed man. She’d work as his cook, even if it killed them both. “Staying.”

Chapter Three Bone weary, Jake leaned on the corral fence and stared with pride at the seven horses prancing the ring. He and his four hands had spent the better part of the afternoon rounding up the horses they’d turned out on the north ridge last spring. As wild as the country, the spirited animals had fought tooth and nail for their freedom. It had been one long damn day, and it would have been satisfying if not for Emily. Thoughts of her had lingered in his mind and more than once he’d wondered what she was doing - if she’d just up and left. Just knowing she was on his land and in the house he’d built for her was enough to resurrect feelings in him he’d worked so hard to bury. Damn Emily. He wished he’d never laid eyes on her. Isaac Ralston, a grizzled cowhand who’d worked the Double H before joining him three seasons ago, hitched his boot on the bottom rung of the fence and leaned forward. “You got a lot to be proud of, Jake. Not many men could build up a spread as fast and well as this.” Jake allowed a small smile. “This place has sweat everything it could out of me, but it’s been worth it.” He took one last glance at the ponies and turned toward the house. Instead of being dark and cold, the place was lit up like a firefly. Emily’s slender frame passed in front of the window and Jake found himself letting out a relieved sigh. She hadn’t left him. Yet. Isaac scratched his chin. “Who the devil’s that woman in the house?” Jake tensed. “Our new cook.” “What’s wrong with Fred?” “Got hurt in town today. He’s laid up for a good week.” “Who’d you find to cook?” “Emily Hanover.” Isaac pressed his hand to his ear. “Say that again. My hearing’s failing me.” Jake ground his teeth. Isaac knew his history with Emily. “You heard me.” “You have lost your mind.” “I know.” “Why’d she come back?” “Don’t know.” “How long she staying?” The thought of seeing her go again tore at his gut. “I don’t know.”

83

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “One last question and I want you to think long and hard about the answer. Are you going to let her leave this time?” *** Emily smoothed her hands over her stained skirt, and then pulled the hot biscuits from the stove. She needed to hold on to her anger. There was so much to dislike about Jake Lazarus and this situation. But as hard as she tired, the hard emotions kept seeping away. She was in Texas - in the wide, sweeping land she loved so much and it seemed such a shame to waste what precious little time she had left here. In three weeks, she’d move back east, where the buildings were too close and the air thick. She’d walk away from the Double H ranch and the wild lands that she loved so much. She’d finally do as her mother had always wished - honor her memory in the only way left to her. She’d marry a fine, respectable city man. Richard Danvers, the man who would become her fiancé once she accepted his marriage proposal, would have been a dream come true for her mother, if she’d lived to meet him. But each time Emily thought about him, the familiar tightness returned to her chest. Her intended wasn’t a bad man; he simply didn’t love the things she loved. He hated the outdoors, feared horses, and had never been west of the Shenandoah Valley. He tolerated her spirited nature and openly spoke of the woman she’d become when they married. She looked at her dress, now soiled by the afternoon’s chores. If anything, the restlessness inside her had grown. “Richard would be appalled,” she whispered as she stared at the black smudge splashed over the periwinkle skirt. A wicked smile curled her lips as she thought of his face turning red with disappointment and then anger. She knelt in front of the stove and using a checkered cloth she’d found in a drawer earlier, opened the cast iron door. She pulled out the second tray of golden biscuits, set them on the dinner table and closed the oven door. She brushed a stray curl from her flushed forehead and studied her handiwork. The table was scrubbed clean and the kitchen dishes cleaned. It was all she’d had time for this afternoon before she’d had to start supper. If Jake thought working a ranch was punishment, he was wrong. This was the kind of work that filled her soul, gave her a reason to get up in the morning. And as long as she kept her feelings for Jake in check, she’d be fine. She started when the door banged open and a grizzled cowhand stepped into the cabin. He stopped instantly when he saw her. His mouth dropped open. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said easily. A handful of seconds passed before he snapped his mouth closed and mutely nodded. “Miss Hanover?” Her smile widened. “Isaac.” He yanked off his hat. “You remember me?” “Of course I do. You taught me how to rope a calf when I was twelve.” Etiquette kept her from hugging him.

84

Too familiar, her grandmother would say. “Grab a plate. There’s no room to feed you inside but the evening’s nice and there’s room now on the front porch.” Another cowhand shoved the old man. “What’s taking you so long, Isaac? I’m hungry.” Isaac stumbled forward toward the table, and the other cowhand, like him, stopped in his tracks when he saw Emily. All the men had the same reaction. Emily was finally forced to make plates for them, shove them in their hands, and send them out the door. One reed-thin cowhand glanced at her over his plate piled high with food. “God bless you, ma’am.” As the last man filed out, Jake entered the room. His wide shoulders chewed up the space in the small cabin. He glanced at the table. Surprise flickered in his eyes as his gaze lifted to Emily. He picked up a biscuit as if to prove it was real. One bite and his eyes closed, as if lost in a moment of pure pleasure. “There has to be poison in this.” She savored his shock. “It was tempting.” He finished the biscuit then looked at her. “How’d you do that?” “Do what?” “Cook.” “I was raised on a ranch, remember? I know my way around a kitchen and a barn.” He studied the stains on her dress as if seeing her for the first time. “I figured you’d forgotten.” “I haven’t forgotten anything,” she whispered. He kept all traces of emotion out of his voice. “You come back to Upton for good?” “No, just a visit.” His jaw tightened “Why leave? You’ve got a spread just aching for someone who gives a damn to run it.” She dropped her gaze to the now empty serving plates and started to pick them up. “I’ve obligations.” He leaned closer, his gaze searching. “What could be more important than saving the Double H?” “Lots of things.” “Name one,” he challenged. “Marrying Richard.”

Chapter Four Marrying Richard. Jake drove the ax blade into the log and split it in one swipe. He picked up the splintered wood and tossed it onto the growing pile by the back cabin. He’d been chopping wood for a good hour in the hot midday sun and had worked up a fine sweat. But he refused to stop until he was so tired he’d forget about Emily’s parting words to him last night. Marrying Richard. Who was he kidding? The words had stalked Jake like a half-starved prairie dog all night and into the next day. Lord knows why he should care who Emily Hanover married. She’d left him four years ago for another life. And he’d made peace with that.

85

He had. At least until he’d walked into his home, and seen Emily standing by the stove barefooted, wearing that fancy dress dusted with flour and ashes. Stray curls had escaped that tight bun and framed her face, hinting at the woman he’d once loved so much. If she’d just stayed wrapped in her laces and silks and behind the wall of ice she’d erected, he could have walked away. But she hadn’t. The old Emily was peeking out. And he wanted her. He centered another log on the chopping block and pulled the ax blade over his head. As he swung forward he heard the footsteps behind him. “You think you’ll really need that much chopped wood this summer?” Isaac grinned as he leaned against the side of the barn. He reached in his vest pocket and pulled out his tobacco pouch. “Memory serves, it gets a might warm around here in July and August.” Jake drove the blade through the wood. “What do you want, old-timer?” Isaac chuckled. “You’re prickly today.” Jake wiped the sweat from the back of his forehead with the back of his hand. “What of it?” “You were in a good mood when you rode into town yesterday.” “That was yesterday.” The old man sprinkled tobacco on rolling paper, expertly rolled it into a cigarette, and then twisted the ends closed. “Before you saw Miss Emily Hanover again.” He shot Isaac a sharp glance. “My mood doesn’t have anything to do with her.” Isaac cackled. “And pigs can fly. Not one man in that bunkhouse got a wink of sleep last night. Emily Hanover is pretty enough to tempt the devil himself. Always was, always will be. Hell, if I were five years younger I might toss my hat in the ring.” Jake tossed the ax aside and grabbed his shirt, which he’d hung on a nail. He wiped the sweat from his face, then his bare muscled chest. “I’ll give you that she’s a fine-looking woman.” “Damn, damn fine,” Isaac muttered. Annoyed, Jake jerked his shirt over his head. “What’s gotten into you, old man?” Isaac laughed. “I might be old, but I ain’t dead.” A smile tugged the corner of Jake’s mouth. But the good mood faded as quickly as it came. “She’s changed.” “Maybe her clothes are fancier, but the gal I saw standing by that stove, was the Em that used to ride the meadows bareback at lightning speed.” Jake closed his eyes summoning the memory. He’d been in Upton less than a month when he’d first seen her riding that pony of hers along the bottomland that separated his property from hers. She’d been a wild filly, so full of spirit and life. “I always thought she’d come back.” “We all did. But I reckon her ma knew what she was doing when she sent her east. Likely those greenhorns got their hooks into her somehow. You know how loyal she is to her kin.”

86

“She’s a grown woman. Her parents are dead. She can make her own decisions now.” “Family’s a powerful thing, Jake. Don’t underestimate it.” “How can I fight what I don’t understand?” Isaac struck a match against his boot and lit the tip of his cigarette. Smoke swirled around his head. “The way I see it, Emily Hanover owes you thirteen more days of cooking. That’s a good bit of time.” “She said yesterday that she’s returning to Virginia to marry some fellow named Richard.” Isaac snorted. “Emily is as much a part of Texas as the Red River. She’d wither and die back east. And I know she couldn’t love no East Coast dandy.” Jake closed his eyes. “Why didn’t she come back sooner? Or write? One letter would have been enough to keep me going.” Isaac studied the tip of his cigarette. “Ever thought about asking her?” “No.” Isaac studied Jake an extra beat. “Maybe you’re right to leave well enough alone. You don’t need trouble like Emily.” His throat tightened. “Right.” “Fact, why don’t you go on down to the pond? That quiet place you like so much. You look as if you could use a dip in cold water.” Jake shoved out a sigh. “You’re right.” Determined to put Emily out of his thoughts, he swung his shirt over his shoulder and started down the path that led to the stream. The pond was brimming with clear, cool water now but by mid-July it would be all but dried up. He pushed through the tall brush ringing the muddy bank. The secluded area suited his foul mood. The last thing he wanted now was conversation. He pulled off his boots and stripped off his pants. He rose, savoring the mild breeze against his hot skin, then waded into the cold water. Jake dunked his head and body under the water. For a moment he paused, enjoying the way the waters lapped around his body. He rose up out of the water in time to hear a woman’s shriek. Jake turned and on the opposite side of the pond he saw a very naked Emily. She must have waded in while he’d been underwater. Her attention was riveted to the bank as if she feared someone would come over the ridge. She didn’t know he was behind her. A slow smile curled his lips. Her backside was as pale as the moon, as ripe as a fresh apple. He saw the hint of her full breasts as she raised her arms and unpinned her hair. She tousled it, letting the rich curls spill past her shoulders before she dipped her head under the water. Even in the cold water, he grew hard. He couldn’t decide if the gods had cursed or blessed him. He waited until she’d rose up out of the waters and slicked back her hair with her fingers before he spoke. “Afternoon,” he said.

87

Chapter Five Emily screamed and covered her naked breasts with her hands. She lowered her upper body under the water, careful to keep her back to him. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.” “You think I like my privacy interrupted?” The laughter in his voice was proof he didn’t mind having her here one bit. “The last person I expected to see in my private watering hole was you.” Honestly, this week couldn’t get any worse. “I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving, Jake?” Water splashed, a sign he was enjoying this. “I was here first. You leave.” She clenched her teeth. “I can’t. I’m not properly dressed.” “So I noticed.” What she wouldn’t give for a blanket. “A gentleman would leave.” “I’m no gentleman.” More water splashed, but this time ripples of water drifted toward her. He was moving closer! Emily moved toward the bank but the water level was quickly becoming too shallow to cover her. She was forced to stop. “Don’t you come a step closer.” He chuckled. “I won’t bite.” Her gaze shot heavenward. “At least tell me you have pants on.” “I have pants on.” “Really?” “No, not really. I’m naked as a newborn babe.” She groaned. “Then I’m not turning around. “ “Chicken?” he challenged. “You are enjoying every minute of this, Jake Lazarus.” “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re too scared to face me.” She muttered a very unladylike oath. “I’m not afraid of you or anything.” “You’re afraid. Fact, I think living back east has run all the gumption out of you. Yellow.” Nobody called her yellow. Lifting her chin, she faced him. Her mouth dropped open. The sight of him left her too stunned to speak. Beads of water dripped from the dark mat of hair covering his muscled chest and dripped to the water’s edge, which lapped against his flat belly. His black hair was slicked back and accentuated his raw-boned features and tanned skin. He looked like one of those Greek gods she read about in school. Only he wasn’t marble, but flesh and blood. “Better close that mouth or you’re gonna catch a fly.” Jake’s rich voice warmed her skin like the sun. Mortified she’d been gawking, Emily snapped her mouth closed. “I - I - I...didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that...”

88

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Like what you see?” Color burned her cheeks. Yes. “No!” He scooped up a fistful of water and let it trickle through his long fingers. “Maybe I’ve spent too much time alone. But I could have sworn I saw lust in those pretty blue eyes of yours. The east might have stripped your courage, but not the woman in you.” This whole situation was spilling out of control. “Ladies don’t succumb to the baser emotions.” Jake inched closer. “That so?” Emily glanced over her shoulder at her skirt and blouse, which she’d just hung neatly on a branch. There’d be no reaching either without giving Jake a first class view of her derriere. “The expression on my face was one of shock not lust.” “There was a time when I could make you crazy with wanting me,” he said in a low voice. “That was a long time ago.” Despite her best efforts, the years dividing them were melting away. The twinkle faded from his eyes. “I remember every detail about the time we spent together. Fact, I’ve relived every moment so much I’ve about worn holes in them all.” His words raked her soul. The thought of him hurting stung. But the fact remained he’d never come after her. He’d let her parents drag her away from everything that she loved. She tightened her arms around her chest, as if somehow she could protect herself from old feelings. “I don’t want to talk about the past.” “I remember that last night in the barn.” Emily closed her eyes, trying to forget. On that long ago night Jake had slowly unfastened the buttons of her bodice and kissed the white mounds of her breasts rising above her chemise. Her body had throbbed with wanting and she’d been ready to surrender completely to him. Jake had been the one to stop their lovemaking, saying he wanted to wait - until their wedding night. But when they went to speak to her parents, nothing had gone as they’d expected. Her parents had thrown Jake off their land and locked Emily in her room. Two days later, her mother caught her trying to sneak out to see Jake. The next morning she found herself headed out of town on the eastbound stage to her grandmother’s. She had hoped and prayed for him to come save her, but he never came. She never saw Jake again. Until yesterday. She steeled herself against the pain. She’d never let him know how much he’d hurt her. “You haven’t forgotten,” he said. All traces of humor had vanished from his eyes. “No.” “There’s a lot that’s gone unsaid about that time.” Hurt. Abandonment. Loneliness. The memories were too painful to voice. “I always figured you’d come back to me. No matter how far they took you away, I thought you’d come back.” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. She froze. “Why didn’t you come after me?” His eyes narrowed with surprise. “I wanted to.”

89

“But you didn’t.” “Your ma said if I loved you, I’d give you the chance for a decent education. I didn’t want to rob you of that. They said you’d be back in a year. But you never came.” She felt dizzy. “You spoke to my mother.” “The day they shipped you off, I came looking for you. I was set to ride after the stage when your ma stopped me. I could honor her decision because I believed you’d be back in a year.” “I never knew.” She rubbed her temple, which had started to pound. “I wanted to come home but Grandmother always had a trip planned or she’d be sick.” “Always something else more important.” Bitterness dripped from his words. “It wasn’t like that.” He held up his hand to silence any more excuses. Suddenly, she felt so utterly defeated. Uncaring about her nudity any longer, she whirled around and hurried up the bank. She snatched her clothes off the tree limbs. Dressing quickly, she ran all the way to Jake’s house. She stopped on the top step of his porch, pressing her fingers into the stitch in her side. “How am I ever going to get through the next two weeks?” Numb from the flood of old emotions, she moved across the porch to the front door. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see the letter wedged between the door and doorjamb until she opened the door and it fluttered to her feet. She picked up the letter. Immediately, she recognized David’s handwriting. “Now what?” she whispered. She pulled the cream-colored letter from the envelope. Emily No matter how hard you or I try, I’m not meant to be a rancher. Ranching was Father’s dream, not mine. Now that he and Mother are gone there’s no more reason to pretend. This land is killing me by inches and I can’t take it any longer. I’m leaving Upton and headed east. I’ll contact you when I’ve settled. Enclosed is the signed deed to the Double H. Sorry for everything. David

Chapter Six David was gone. Hot tears burned Emily’s eyes. She tipped her head forward, letting the tears spill down her face. She’d have let out all the hurt and anger, but the crunch of boot on gravel had her straightening. She wiped the tears from her face and turned. Jake. The last man she wanted to see. “I need to start supper.” Instinctively, he understood something else was wrong. He closed the distance between them in quick, even strides. “What is it?” She managed a half smile and handed him the letter. “David’s left.”

90

He read the letter, then folded it carefully and put it back in the envelope. “It’s for the best.” “He’s giving up!” she said. “He’s walking away from a wonderful life.” “It was a life he hated.” He handed her the letter. “Sounds like David might finally be growing up.” She hugged her arms around her chest and walked to the edge of the porch. A gentle breeze brushed the top of the tall grass and rustled the trees. David had given up on their parents’ dream, but that didn’t mean she would. Her parents had wanted her to be a lady. Marry a fine respectable man. David had failed them. He’d walked away. But somehow she’d find a way to realize their dreams for her. She brushed the tears from her face. “With David gone, there’s no more reason for me to stay.” “What about the Double H?” His voice was tight, tense. “Keep it.” A bitter laugh rumbled in his chest. “And us?” She turned toward the cookstove. “There is no us, Jake.” *** Thirty minutes later, Jake guided the saddled horses to the front porch. He tied their reins to the hitching post and headed inside to find Emily. He had learned a lot in the four years since Emily had left. He’d learned a good bit about ranching and raising colts into fine horses. Hell, he’d forged friendships in town and won the respect of the other ranchers in the area. But today, he’d learned his greatest lesson of all. Emily thought he’d abandoned her four years ago. He knew now he shouldn’t have waited for her return. After her year of schooling, he should have gone looking for her and brought her home as his wife. Pride and youth had gotten in his way three years ago, but not today. This time he was going to fight for Emily. The way he saw it they’d lost four years and they weren’t going to lose a minute more. As he’d expected, Emily stood by the sink, peeling potatoes for supper. In two days, she’d already changed the serviceable cabin into a home. The homey scents of fresh bread and cinnamon cookies always filled the cabin, five years’ worth of dust had vanished, and a dented tin cup full of bluebells sat on the windowsill. Jake was more convinced than ever. This was where Emily belonged. He closed the door. Emily’s shoulders stiffened. The bond between them was fragile, but it was still there. Still, she did not turn around. He picked up a cookie and took a bite. “These cookies are just as good as the ones you used to bake for me. Remember how you’d wrap them up neatly in a napkin and bring them to me in that dinted tin pail?” She tossed the freshly peeled potato into a large pot on the stove. Her eyes were full of regret and sadness, but she kept her voice even. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Won’t say a word.” Her eyes narrowed as if she waited for him to bring up what had happened at the pond. When he didn’t, her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

91

Emily dried her hands on a towel. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride over to the Double H. I’ll be back in time to put supper together for the boys.” “Sounds good to me.” Tossing the towel aside, she tried to move past him. “Then you’ll let me borrow a horse?” Jake blocked her path. “I’ve got my horse and one for you saddled outside already.” “How did you know I wanted to go?” “I can still read you like a book.” She jerked off her apron and threw it on the kitchen table. “You don’t have to come with me.” “I want to go.” “That’s not necessary.” “There might be animals that need tending,” he said, thinking quickly. “Who knows what shape David left the place in.” She opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to accept his logic. “Fine, but no talk of the past. What’s done is done.” “Sure.” He cradled her elbow in his hand and guided her through the main room of the cabin. He paused by the front door and plucked an old floppy hat from a peg. He punched out the dented top before he settled it on her head. “To protect that lily white skin of yours. I’ll bet it hasn’t seen sun in four years.” Self-consciously, Emily touched her cheek. “Sun is unbecoming on ladies.” Jake jerked the door open. “That grandmother of yours sure does have a lot of rules. You ever get tired of following so many rules?” “It’s what I’m supposed to do.” He pulled her outside into the bright sunshine. “Well, today is gonna be about doing things you’re not supposed to do.” She hesitated. “What are you talking about?” “Riding. What were you thinking about?” Jake loved the way color stained her cheeks when she was nervous. Hell, she’d turn as red as a strawberry if she knew the true direction of his thoughts. Visiting the Double H was about the last thing he wanted to do with her. If he had his way, he’d bolt the front door and make love to her all afternoon. Still, he hid his thoughts. She was skittish and ready to bolt. He needed a little more time. Emily needed to figure out that Texas and ranching was just as much a part of her as flesh and bone. Once she rediscovered herself, she’d find her way back to him. “You’ll like the horse I picked for you,” he said. She tore her gaze from him and settled it on the mare. Despite her melancholy, her eyes sparkled with joy. She moved past him and went to the horse to pat her nose. “What’s her name?” “Rosie.” Emily nuzzled her face next to the horse’s. “She’s a beauty.” Jake untied her reins and handed them to her. “You still know how to ride, don’t you?”

92

“Watch me.” Despite her full skirts, she swung into the saddle as if she’d been born in one. Quickly, he took his own reins in hand and climbed into his own saddle. “Remember the big oak near the pond?” “Sure.” “I’ll race you.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve not raced in years.” He shook his head, feigning a look of pure pity. “Forgot, I suppose.” Challenge sparked in her delicate features. “I could always outride you.” “That was four years ago. You’re out of practice.” “Don’t count on it, Jake.” Even as she spoke, she was goading her horse forward. In seconds, she and the mare were streaking across the yard toward the stand of trees near the pond. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” Jake murmured as he took off after her.

Chapter Seven Horse hooves thundered behind Emily. It didn’t take a glance over her shoulder to know Jake loomed behind her. She could always outride him over wooded, hard-to-maneuver land, but in the straight open fields, his power and speed gave him the advantage. Girlish excitement bubbled inside her as she looked ahead to the stand of trees they were racing to. She had never felt more alive as she did racing across the meadow. She’d forgotten just how fresh the air was and how blue the sky. One hundred yards from the trees, Jake passed her. He tossed her a quick wink but did not let up until he reached the trees. He reined in his horse and faced her. His hat set low on his head, shadowing his eyes, but she could see the arrogant set of his jaw. “You always did like winning,” she said good-naturedly. Out here with the horses and the warm sunshine it was hard not to be happy. She slowed the pace of her mare as Jake approached. He drew his horse up beside hers and they continued over the stream up the hill toward the Double H. “Never developed a taste for losing.” A gentle breeze carried Jake’s scent of leather and man. Her heart tripped a beat as she glanced at him. He sat so tall and held his shoulders back like a man comfortable in his own skin. Seeing him now, she realized how much she’d loved him. Her throat tightened. If not for her parents, her life would be so different. She tipped back her head, refusing to let tears spill. She’d cried enough these past four years to last a lifetime. They moved along the edge of the pond, riding until the horses cooled. They dismounted and let the animals water by the stream. Silently Jake tugged off his gloves as he stared at her. “Let’s take a walk.” “Where?” He was already moving, pulling her behind him. “You’ll see.” He took her to the place that had been solely

93

theirs - the meadow where the old oak tree stood. She stared up into the leaves rustling overhead as she moved to the tree and the initials - EH + JL - that she’d helped Jake carve into the thick bark. Reverently she traced the scarred wood with her fingertips. “I must have dreamed about this place a million times since I left.” Jake laid his hands on her shoulders. “After you left, I’d come here at night. I felt closer to you here. Sometimes, I’d sit up all night staring at the hill, praying you’d ride over it.” The hope in his eyes squeezed her heart to the breaking point. He reached out to her, but she stepped back. If he touched her she’d shatter. He fisted his hands at his side. “You can’t live out your ma and pa’s dreams any better than David. He belongs on a ranch as much as you belong in a city.” “I’m stronger than David.” If she said the words enough, maybe they’d be true. “Even iron breaks, Em.” Before she could respond, Jake pulled her in his arms and held her tight. If she’d been wise she’d have pushed him away. But his embrace filled the void in her soul that had plagued her for years. In his arms, everything felt right. There was no one but them. “It’s not too late, Em.” She didn’t want to think about the future. She wanted to feel. Looking up into his dark eyes, she saw the passion and love. She forgot about Richard. Her family. Obligations. She only wanted him. As if reading her mind, he lowered his head to kiss her. His kiss was tentative, as if he wasn’t sure she was real. But when she slid her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to his hard chest, he banded his arms around her narrow waist and hauled her against him. His second kiss wasn’t gentle. It radiated four years of wanting and waiting. Desire flooded her limbs, making her body weak, boneless. A groan rumbled in his chest as if he were a man half-starved. He drove his tongue into her mouth, exploring, plundering. Mewing, she gave in to the passion. Jake scooped Emily up in his arms and laid her on the soft patch of grass. Quickly he straddled her and covered her body with his. As he shrugged off his shirt, he seemed to savor everything about her - the rose scent of her hair, her petal soft skin, the spray of curls framing her face. She moistened her lips and slid her hands up his jean-clad thighs to his flat belly. “I’ve wanted this forever.” Needing no other encouragement, he trailed kisses from her lips and the hollow of her neck. Her fingers bit into the tanned flesh of his back. Nimbly, he unfastened the buttons trailing between her breasts and pushed her shift open. Beneath her silky chemise, hardened pink nipples strained against the fine transparent fabric. Greedily, he lowered his mouth and suckled her nipple though the delicate gauze. She arched and laced her fingers through his hair. “Jake,” she whispered. The urgency in her voice made it almost unrecognizable. He trailed kisses over her breasts, making her hiss a breath between her clenched teeth. Years of wanting and waiting exploded inside her. His hand slid up under her skirt and cupped her buttock. A fever pounded in her veins. She pressed her hips against his erection. Jake tugged the strings of her pantaloons free and slid his hand to her moist center. When he touched her

94

tender flesh, her head fell back. “What are you doing to me?” “You like it?” “Yes.” “Want more?” “Yes,” she whimpered. He stripped off his boots and pants, and then pushed her skirts up to her waist. Poised to enter her, he said, “I love you.” She didn’t have time to speak before he drove into her, tearing her maidenly barrier. For a moment, desire vanished and she froze. Jake kissed her lips, not moving inside of her, waiting for her to become accustomed to him. Slowly, pain gave way to passion. She tilted her hips up, accepting all of Jake. He started to move inside her, slowly, easily at first. She dug her fingers into his back as the embers in her veins heated. He began to trace small circles around her center. The wanting built to a fever pitch and when she thought she could take no more, she climaxed. “Jake!” Her surrender sent him over the edge. His thrusts became hard, more insistent until he spilled his seed into her. He collapsed against her, his sweat-slicked skin molding against hers. Emily wasn’t sure how long they lay in the grass, under the warm sun with their bodies spooned together. As the passion cooled, Emily’s senses started to clear. Suddenly, the realization of what she’d done struck her like a bolt of lightning. She rose and started to right her skirts and button her blouse. “There’s no rush,” Jake said lazily. “I have to take a walk.” The stiffness in her voice had him rising up. “What’s wrong?” She fastened the pearl buttons trailing between her breasts. “We shouldn’t have done this.” His eyes narrowed. “I love you, Em. And you love me. I know it or you wouldn’t have responded like that.” “I have responsibilities.” “To who?” “To my family!” she shouted. “What about you? Don’t you care about your happiness?” “Like David always cared about his own happiness?” Bitterness dripped from her words. She started to brush the grass from her skirt. “He may have let our parents down, but I will not.” Jake jerked his pants up and stood. “So you’ll give up your entire life for a dream that means nothing to you.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I want to marry you. I want us to have a family.” She stared at the distant meadow, her face of sadness and worry. “I have to go.” “You’ll wither and die back east. It’s not right for you. I’m right for you. Texas is right for you.” “You think you know me so well.” He snatched up his shirt and put it on. “I thought I did, but maybe I don’t. If you’re too blind to see what is

95

good for you then maybe you’re not the woman I need.” She stepped back as if he’d slapped her. Jake mounted his horse and rode off.

Chapter Eight Devastated, Emily went to the one place she’d always felt safe. The Double H. From the crest of the hill, she scanned the valley where her childhood home set nestled. Everything looked fine at the ranch, and it gave her hope that maybe David hadn’t done such a bad job with the place. But as she moved closer she could see the place was in near ruin. There wasn’t an animal left on the property. The corral fence was broken, green slimy water filled the horse trough, and a broken shutter on the house banged open and closed. “I never realized it was so bad,” Emily whispered. She knew David had been selling off his livestock for some time, but she hadn’t realized he’d cleared all the animals out. Guilt washed over her. The place was testament to David’s misery. She climbed down off her horse and tied its reins to the hitching post. Slowly, she walked toward the house. Sagebrush tumbled over the dried floorboards of the porch. I should have come sooner. Tears choked her throat. She climbed the sun-bleached steps and pushed open the front door. The rusty hinges groaned just like they had since she was a girl. She smiled. How many times had her pa said he’d oil them? The braided rug her ma loved so much still warmed the floor in front of the now cold, soot-stained hearth. A thick coat of dust covered every square inch of the long room. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed. From the corner of her eye, she saw a note leaning against a coffee tin. She recognized David’s bold script. It read: I knew you’d find your way home. Emily smiled at the note. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scents of home. Home. A slow smile curved the edges of her lips. In that instant, she knew. This was where she belonged. She couldn’t live her parents’ dreams. She had to live her own. *** Jake strode past Isaac toward his barn, ready to unsaddle his horse. His mood was as black as coal and all he wanted was a quiet corner and a bottle of whiskey. “You look fit to be tied,” Isaac said. Jake reached for his saddle’s cinch. “Go away.” “Nope,” he said sauntering toward Jake. “I’ve a mind to stay.” “I’m in no mood for this, old-timer.”

96

Isaac leaned against the corral fence and stared at the frown lines etched in Jake’s face. “She left you again.” “That’s right,” he ground out. “What you gonna do about it?” Jake’s head snapped up. “What the hell am I supposed to do? She left me.” “Go after her.” “Like hell,” he growled. Isaac rubbed the back of his head. “She’s had a lot to take in a short amount of time. Lost her parents. Her brother. And my guess is that you want to make another change. Like marriage.” Jake shoved out a sigh. “What’s so bad about that? I love her.” “Then go and tell her so.” “I did.” “Then do it again. And again. And again until she hears it.” Jake stopped unsaddling the horse. “She’s supposed to marry another man.” “She ain’t married to no one yet. But she will marry him if you don’t do something about it.” Isaac put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “You have been kicking yourself all these years because you didn’t go after her the last time. Don’t make the same mistake twice.” Jake retightened the cinch. Isaac was right. He’d fought for everything he ever had and if he had to fight for Emily, then so be it. He mounted his horse and rode like the devil himself was on his heels all the way to the Double H. He dismounted and stormed into the house. “Emily!” There was no answer. He strode through the rooms calling her name, but he didn’t find her. She’d gone. *** Emily stood at the stagecoach stop in Upton. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she posted letters to Richard and to her grandmother. She imagined Richard would be secretly relieved when he received her polite refusal to his marriage proposal. He wasn’t a bad man but he wanted different things from life. If they’d married, they would spend the rest of their lives trying to change the other into the person neither could be and each needed. Her grandmother was a different story. There’d be hell to pay when her grandmother found out she wasn’t returning. But Emily didn’t care. She was home. Where she belonged. She’d been telling herself for weeks that she’d come back for David. But the truth was she’d returned to Upton for herself and Jake.

97

She’d not taken five steps from the coach stop when she heard his voice. “I’m prepared to hog-tie you if you plan to get on that stage.” Jake. She smiled and slowly turned to face him. His hair was windblown and his face flushed. There was a hint of desperation in his eyes. He looked a decade older. “Mighty bossy, aren’t you, Mr. Lazarus.” He shoved out a sigh and strode toward her. “I didn’t go after you the last time but I will this time.” She closed the gap between them and placed her hand over his heart. It raced like a stallion. “I’m not going anywhere.” He clamped a gloved hand over hers. “What are you saying?” She gazed up into his proud handsome face. “I love you.” “What about what’s-his-name back east?” “I just posted a letter telling him I won’t be coming back.” “And your grandmother?” She grinned. “Grandmother is going to put up a fight. She wants me living in Virginia.” He brushed a curl from her face. A ghost of a smile touched his eyes. “I bet I could take the old woman.” Emily laughed. “Don’t bet on it. She’s mighty tough.” They stood there an extra beat, just happy to be close. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I was scared, confused.” “Sounds like you’re thinking pretty clearly now.” “Very.” She took his hand in hers. “Jake Lazarus, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” He took her hand and started walking briskly down the boardwalk. “That’s my line.” “I can be a bit independent minded.” He chuckled. “So I noticed.” “So is that a yes or a no?” He stopped in front of the justice of the peace’s office. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her for so long she was breathless. “That’s a yes.”

98

Rescue Me by Jeannie Watt Dana Prescott has retreated to her family’s cabin in the mountains of Nevada to prepare for an upcoming job interview—a job she desperately needs after being out of work for six months. The last thing she expects is to open the door to her high-school nemesis, Seth Marcenek, now a Search and Rescue volunteer sent to escort her back to town following a landslide in the area. But an accident on the hike back turns the tables, and soon it’s Dana that must rescue Seth. Spending so much time in close quarters with Seth fills Dana with guilt, remembering the one time she didn’t do the right thing. Seth hasn’t forgotten, either—or forgiven her—and he wants an explanation. Complicating things even more is the very real chemistry crackling between the old physics rivals. And as it turns out, Seth is competing for the very same job, making them rivals once again.…

Chapter One Dana Prescott jumped at the sound of the knock on the cabin door. The last thing she expected in the middle of nowhere was a visitor—or so she thought until she pushed aside the curtain to see who was there. Actually, the last thing she expected was for that visitor to be Seth Marcenek. She opened the door so he could come in out of the rain and hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she suddenly felt. Ten years had passed and she’d yet to come to grips with not doing the right thing. There’d only been one time in her life when she hadn’t, and here was the walking, talking reminder of her lapse, staring at her with cold blue eyes. “This is a surprise,” she said, stepping back. “I imagine,” Seth replied with a touch of dark irony. He was taller. His face was more angular and his blond hair darker. If possible, he was even better looking than he’d been back when they’d butted heads in physics class on a daily basis. “Just happen to be in the neighborhood?” Which was miles from anywhere. She’d come to her grandfather’s mountain cabin to prepare for her job interview—and to escape her father’s dissection of where she’d gone wrong career-wise when she’d gotten laid off from her last job. She knew exactly where she’d gone wrong. She’d trusted her supervisor. Now she had a shot at a job that would save her in more ways than one—overseeing the renovation of the long-neglected schools in her hometown. She was going to get that job, and convince her father that she hadn’t screwed up her engineering career forever. And, more than that, she’d pay her bills. “No,” Seth said. “I came to tell you there’s a landslide blocking the road. The county crew won’t be able to clear it until the rain stops.” Dana’s heart lurched. She had to be in town tomorrow. Missing the interview was not an option. “When your parents heard about the slide, they contacted the Search and Rescue volunteer corps, so I’m here to get you safely back to town.” He spoke in the faintly mocking tone that had driven her so crazy years ago. They’d never gotten along, she and Seth. In school, he’d been the charming troublemaker and she the overachiever. They’d had classes together, in which Dana had answered questions and taken part in discussions, while Seth had always managed to make the one off the cuff, yet on-target remark that either infuriated or delighted the teacher. It wasn’t until physics class their senior year that real trouble between them started. Seth was a natural at physics, while Dana had to hit the books hard to keep up with him. It didn’t seem fair that he should do so

99

effortlessly what she was working so hard at—especially when he didn’t take school seriously. Oh, Seth was intelligent, but he wasted his intellect screwing around and that also annoyed Dana. “So…what now?” “If you want to get to that interview your parents are so worried about, then you’ll have to hike out with me.” She could do that. It’d been a few years since she’d hiked, and heaven knew she didn’t have the proper shoes, but she had to get back to town. And Seth was going to take her there. *** She hadn’t changed much. Same dark hair, only it was twisted into a knot at the back of her head instead of pulled back in a barrette. Same know-it-all expression, although it’d wavered when he’d told her about the landslide. The glasses were gone, so he could see her eyes. Even when she’d been driving him insane in physics, trying to prove she was smarter than him, he’d noticed her incredible green eyes. “I’ll get my stuff together.” “How much stuff?” “My laptop. My papers.” “Your laptop? It’s wet out there.” “I’ll wrap it in plastic.” “Whatever, and no hurry.” “Why?” “The storms are coming in series. After this one passes, we should have an eight to ten hour window before the next.” He glanced down at her shoes. Running shoes. “Why can’t we go now? I don’t mind walking in the rain.” He summoned a patient expression. It wasn’t easy. “This is the most rain we’ve seen in two years. There’ve already been two landslides and a flash flood. We’ll wait.” “So we’re just going to hang out here?” “See any other option?” Unfortunately, Dana did not see another option. She was stuck here with Seth until the rain let up. She forced a tight smile, determined to keep things polite and distant—as if that was possible with Seth. She didn’t like the way he was staring at her. “Thanks for hiking in to get me.” “I was the only SAR guy available for a nonemergency.” He shrugged out of his rain jacket. Puddles had formed on the floor where he’d stood. He hung it on the hooks next to the door. “Nice place,” he said. It was a nice place. Dana loved it. She was the only one in the family who loved it, who relished the solitude, the opportunity to sort out her thoughts without phones or television or any other distractions except for the occasional visit by local wildlife.

100

“Thank you. My grandpa put a lot of time and TLC into the place.” “It shows.” He walked to the window and looked out at the weather. “How much longer until we can leave?” “It’s starting to let up. I’d say an hour, maybe.” He looked back at her. “Do you have a backpack?” She shook her head. “Suitcase.” A corner of his mouth tightened disparagingly. “Hey,” she said, the old Seth-inspired defensiveness coming to life. “I didn’t know I’d be walking out.” He seemed satisfied at finally sparking a response, which made her all the more determined not to give another. “I was about to eat lunch. Do you want something? Or will you be rehydrating a packet of survival food?” He fought a smile. “What are you having?” “Peanut butter and jelly.” “Sounds good—if you don’t mind making two sandwiches.” “Not at all.” “It’s been awhile,” he commented as he followed her into the rustic kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “The last time I saw you, you were heading off to Europe for a graduation trip.” Her nerves were humming, but she focused on smearing peanut butter on bread. She was not doing a very good job of it now that he’d brought up the past so pointedly. “And me…I was about to spend the summer on detention work crew for blowing up Principal Domingo’s car.” “It was more of a fire as I remember it,” Dana said without looking at him. “No explosion.” Her cheeks were so damned hot, but she did her best to speak casually. “Lot of fun, being on work crew in Nevada in the summer. And you can imagine how much my dad enjoyed seeing me in an orange jumpsuit.” John Marcenek had been sheriff at the time and, yes, it must have been embarrassing to have his son on work crew. Dana stubbornly kept her back to him. He knows. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t. The knife kept moving back and forth. For all she knew she was buttering the counter. She jerked when his hand came over hers, stopping the motion. “Why didn’t you tell the truth?” “What?” Her eyes flashed up to his. He was so close. “Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. The. Truth?” Dana swallowed hard. His eyes were like ice.

101

“Why didn’t you?” Her words came out on a whisper.

Chapter Two Seth pulled his hand away and stepped back, as if he couldn’t stand touching her any longer—which was fine with Dana, because every nerve in her body was on red alert. “What proof did I have?” he asked. “An argument in physics class that no one else heard? Who was going to believe that Dana the Brain blew up a car?” “It was a fire. It was an accident. And I didn’t know you would spend the summer on work crew.” Great excuse for not doing the right thing, but it was all she had. “What the hell did you think they would do to me?” Dana made a frustrated gesture with the knife. Seth leaned back out of range and she forced herself to place the utensil on the counter. “I thought you would get off. As usual.” It had been a reasonable assumption, since Seth always managed to slip out of trouble, due to his ridiculously charming personality. He was charming to everyone, except for her. “I mean…you weren’t guilty. I didn’t think mere circumstantial evidence—” “Well, I didn’t get off. Apparently mere circumstantial evidence is plenty when dealing with an enraged principal and a highly embarrassed father.” “I’m sorry.” The words were pathetically inadequate. Seth said nothing, so Dana had no idea if her apology was accepted, or if he was simply disgusted with her. Disgust seemed the most likely option. She wanted to explain the hows and whys, the paralyzing fear of disappointing her parents—valedictorians simply did not blow up cars—and the heavy burden of living life for a dead brother. Oh yeah. That would make a difference. Bottom line…she’d screwed up and Seth had suffered. “How about I make the sandwiches?” he finally said, nodding at the semi-mangled bread. “No. I’ll do it.” Seth studied Dana as she finished the sandwiches with quick, jerky movements, wondering what he would have done had positions been reversed. Easy. He would have come forward with the truth, rather than flying across the ocean before the situation was settled. He couldn’t have lived with himself if someone else had been punished for something he’d done. Dana was different. She’d planned to be valedictorian before the rest of her classmates knew what the word meant, and obviously wasn’t going to let a momentary lapse in judgment and a potato in a tailpipe stand in her way. She’d already been showered with scholarships, which she would have lost. He knew—he’d lost his. Maybe she had believed he’d slip out of trouble, but that wasn’t a strong enough reason to let bygones be bygones. She turned and offered him a sandwich, neatly cut into triangles. “Perfect,” he said. She got the jab and flushed slightly. Everything Dana did was perfect. Except for that honesty thing.

102

“I’ll get my stuff together.” “Do you have any other shoes?” “Flip-flops,” she said on her way out of the kitchen. Cool. Dana was going to have wet feet by the time they got back to where he’d parked his truck on the other side of the landslide. Well, wet or not, he’d get her back to town, to the interview and out of his life, because Dana Prescott was not getting that job. *** The rain stopped and they set out a half-hour later—a long, silent half-hour, during which Dana packed and avoided Seth. The hike was not difficult, since they were walking downhill on a muddy road. It was the company Dana could do without. There was no way to make up for what she’d done to Seth. No way to escape the guilt. And she had a sneaking suspicion from his uncharacteristically harsh expression that her apology had not been accepted. She didn’t blame him. Dana shifted the canvas bag carrying her plastic-wrapped laptop and a few items of clothing, and concentrated on Seth’s back. He’d filled out since high school. He’d been lean and mean back then, but now he’d developed a rather impressive set of shoulders and had grown another two or three inches. Dana dropped her eyes and focused on the muck she was picking her way through rather than the guy she had no right to ogle. But her gaze flashed up again when Seth rounded a corner and then stopped short. A thick jumble of rocks and mud, at least ten yards across, blocked the road. It was still oozing mud along the sides. A rock bounced down the slope and landed on top of the slide. “I take it that wasn’t there when you came in,” Dana said, coming to stand beside him. “No.” She had the feeling he wanted to add “duh” to the end. “What now?” “The only safe thing is to go up and around.” The top of the slide was lost in the wispy fog on the mountainside above them. “Couldn’t we just pick our way over it?” He turned on her. “Look—you may think you know everything, but maybe, just maybe, there are a few things in this world that I know more about than you. Like what happens when you put a potato in a tailpipe.” Dana’s chin jutted out slightly. “You said it would make the car backfire and lose power as Pete drove away. I said it wouldn’t even start due to lack of compression.” “Well now we both know that if the car has faulty fuel lines, it catches fire.” Seth gave her a dark look then started up the brush-covered mountain slope along the edge of the slide. “Stay there,” he ordered as he disappeared into the fog. “Great,” Dana muttered. It was hell to argue when you were at a distinct disadvantage. It took a lot of the fun out of it. How long was she going to have to stand there, in the mud, with her freezing feet, and wait? Not long. Seth’s shout startled her. And the silence that followed was worse. “Seth?” Her voice sounded thin in the foggy air.

103

She was answered with a string of faint curses. Okay. He was alive. She cautiously started up the wet slope, grabbing bushes growing on the side of the hill above her for support. “Where are you?” “Here.” He sounded both angry and resigned. A second later she saw him, several yards above her on the hill, lying on his side and trying to free his leg from where it was trapped between two large rocks. “This is why you never hike alone,” he said through gritted teeth as she approached. “Good tip. I’ll remember that.” She drew in a breath, knowing better than to ask what happened. It was obvious that he’d stepped on a rock that had shifted, slipped and jammed his leg between the other two granite slabs as he fell. The question now was how to get him out.

Chapter Three Seth tried to remember the last time he’d been so pissed off and embarrassed. It had to be when he was on detention work crew ten years ago. Dana Prescott was a jinx. Pure and simple. Now, how the hell was he going to get out of this jam? He did not want to send Dana for help. She slowly circled him, sizing up the situation. Seth dropped his chin to the damp rain slicker covering his chest. “Ideas?” he asked, knowing full well she probably had several. He hoped none of them involved sawing off his leg or leaving him to die. “I need to go get something for leverage. Be right back.” Seth made one last awkward and futile attempt to free his leg, and then he punched the rock in frustration, scraping his knuckles through his glove. Crap. A few seconds later, Dana came back up the hill with a thick branch, scrambling with amazing agility for someone who probably didn’t spend nearly as much time in the hills as he did. Her hair had come loose from the knot, and fell around her face in long, loose, damp curls. He closed his eyes. Dana said nothing as she started prying stones out of the rock pile several feet below him. “Don’t bring the whole mountain down.” “I’m an engineer.” His eyes came open. “I thought you were an architect.” “Architectural engineer.” So how did that qualify her to assess rock stability? And how was this unexpected bit of news going to affect the outcome of the interview? Could it be that once again Ms. Perfect had the edge? Seth gritted his teeth. His foot was jammed between the rocks at an odd angle and weird pains shot up his leg.

104

“If I can just get this one out…” Dana skidded down the hill as the rocks shifted en masse and Seth felt one of the slabs holding his leg give slightly. He was more concerned about his rescuer. He twisted his body to try and see where she’d landed. “Hey, Engineer. Are you all right?” “Yeah.” She picked herself up and climbed back up to him. She once again assessed and then carefully pried one last rock loose. The granite slab shifted just enough to allow him to pull his leg free. Dana helped him limp clear of the rocky area. He sank down onto the sodden ground, massaging his numb thigh. His ankle was already swelling over the top of his boot. He glanced up at Dana who regarded him coolly, dark curls sticking to the sides of her face. “What now, Mr. Search and Rescue?” Seth was torn. Dana could see it in his face. He clearly wanted to say, “I’m fine, we keep walking,” but he wasn’t fine. From the way he flinched every time he moved his ankle, she suspected it was either broken or sprained. “I think we’d better go back to the cabin,” he said. A very un-Seth-like choice. Could it be he’d changed over the years? She held out a hand and helped him to his feet. Once he was up, he balanced on one leg. “Are you going to make me ask?” she inquired flatly. Seth’s mouth tightened until his lips were white. From pain or male ego, Dana had no idea. “My ankle isn’t one-hundred percent.” She refrained from rolling her eyes. “What percent is it?” “Thirty.” “Don’t you mean ten?” She’d gotten used to the ways of men during engineering classes. Seth snorted disdainfully before putting a hand on her shoulder and limping heavily as he regained balance. “Maybe fifteen,” he admitted. Dana took hold of the back of his coat, thinking she’d never in her life thought she’d be this close to the man. Even through the rain gear she could tell he was all muscle and, heaven help her, he smelled good. What on earth was with her, noticing things like that about Seth Marcenek? *** By the time they reached the cabin, Seth’s forehead was beaded with perspiration. His freaking ankle was killing him. He just hoped they could get the boot off. After Dana had helped him onto the sofa, Seth pulled up his pant leg and grimaced. So did Dana when she saw how his ankle puffed over the top of his boot. She knelt down, undid the laces and then eased the boot free. Seth sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Damn, it hurt. “I’ll get some ice.” She returned from the kitchen a few seconds later with a bag of ice and a bottle of ibuprofen. Then she disappeared into the bedroom. When she came out again, she was wearing a dry coat a couple sizes too big for her.

105

“Where are you going?” She’d insisted on hauling the canvas tote with the laptop while she’d helped him the two miles back to the cabin, so she had nothing to retrieve. “To get help.” Seth stared at her. “Did you not notice what just happened to me?” “You need medical attention, and I need to get to my interview.” “Nothing “medical” can be done until the swelling goes down, and I think they’ll probably postpone the interview.” Dana frowned fiercely, disbelievingly. “Why?” Seth carefully peeled off his sock. “Because there are only two candidates.” “So?” “I’m the other one.” For the second time that day Dana hoped her jaw didn’t drop. “You?” “Don’t sound so astounded.” “But…” “What?” He shot her a challenging look. “How are you qualified?” She hadn’t meant to sound so arrogant. “Do you mean how did I manage to educate myself after losing all my scholarships because of a gross misdemeanor? I went into debt.” “What did you get your degree in?” “Welding. And then I worked my way up through the ranks at the mine until I became a maintenance supervisor. The qualifications for the school district job are either a degree, or ten years of experience and a professional engineer license. I have the experience and the license.” Seth propped his foot on the lodge pole coffee table and settled the bag of ice on it, wincing as he did so. “Are you employed now?” Dana asked. He nodded without looking at her. There were two main sources of employment in Wesley, Nevada—the school district and the mines. Seth was wise to switch if he was looking at longevity. She had no doubt she was more qualified—in the design part, anyway—but Seth had never left town. He was part of the good old boy network. “Why do you want the position?” he asked her. “I plan on specializing in renovation. It’s not an easy field to break into. I, uh, need more practical hands-on experience.” She also needed to pay her bills. She’d sent out over fifty resumes after being laid off, and she had not been picky. If the job involved engineering, she’d applied, and from those fifty plus resumes, she had garnered this one interview—quite possibly because she was a native, and Wesley was so isolated few people wanted to move there. “What if you don’t get the job?” he asked.

106

“I’ll get it.” “But just for argument’s sake…?” “I’ll apply for other positions,” she snapped. Starbucks. McDonald’s. She’d been without work for six months now. Her nest egg was gone. This job had been a godsend. Experience and financial salvation rolled into one. She needed this job. Seth already had one. In fact, she’d bet dollars to donuts that he’d only applied because she had. Well, bring it on. She was more than ready to show the committee who was the better candidate.

Chapter Four Seth slept on the sofa in his thermal bottoms. He’d wanted to strip down, but it hurt too damned much pulling the tight cuffs over his ankle, which was throbbing and keeping him awake, so he’d left them on. He stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the coyotes, and wondering if Dana was asleep. She hadn’t said a word about the interview after learning that he was the other candidate. There wasn’t much to say, really. He had every intention of landing the job, which would allow him to remain close to his father and brothers and still make a decent wage. All he had to do was get to the interview. The road crew would rescue them. Eventually. The other SAR members knew he intended to wait out the storms before walking Dana out, so he figured they wouldn’t look for him until after the rain stopped. They knew he could take care of himself. So had he—right up until he’d slipped. Man. What an eye-opener. It was close to midnight when he gave in to the pain and reached over his head for the ibuprofen bottle on the end table, promptly knocking the ceramic lamp to the floor with a loud crash. Great. The bedroom light snapped on an instant later. Dana appeared in the doorway, wearing a long T-shirt that did little to hide her curves, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Sorry,” Seth muttered as he awkwardly tried to reach the lamp from the sofa. “Hold still.” Dana crossed the small room to pick up the lamp and set it on the end table. “I was reaching for the ibuprofen.” “You scared the crap out of me.” “Sorry.” She pressed the ibuprofen bottle into his hand. “I’ll get you some water.” Her face was pale. He really had scared her. She took a couple steps toward the kitchen, then stopped and knelt down to gingerly pick up a curved piece of frosted glass. The bulb had broken. “Be careful,” he said automatically. “Thank you.” Her voice was emotionless.

107

“Hey,” Seth said after she’d collected several pieces. When she looked at him, her eyes were level with his and he was struck as always by how beautiful they were. Green and dark-lashed. She put the glass pieces on the table. “Were you asleep?” he asked. “No. I was lying awake feeling guilty.” He hadn’t expected such a candid reply. “Yeah?” Her mouth tightened as she nodded. “I spent a lot of nights like that after I got back from Europe.” “If you felt so guilty, then why didn’t you do something about it?” “I was afraid, all right?” Dana Prescott. Afraid? He hadn’t thought she was afraid of anything except for a grade lower than an A. “Of what? Being human?” “In a way, yes.” He propped himself up on his elbow, and Dana’s eyes strayed down to his chest as the blanket fell away. “In what way?” he asked. She focused on the floor then, pressing her lips together momentarily before saying, “My brother, Brock, was brilliant.” Okay… “I see,” Seth said slowly. He hadn’t realized she had a brother. Or that her brother even figured into the story. “He died of leukemia. The year before we moved to Wesley. He graduated high school, had all these scholarships. He, uh, never got a chance to use them. He died that summer. Then it became my job to do the things he never got the chance to do.” Seth was shocked. “Your parents told you that?” She shook her head. “No. Not in words. But…I felt the need to make up for what they’d lost when Brock passed away.” “That wasn’t your job. You had a loss, too.” “I know. He was four years older than me, but we were close. He’s the reason I wanted to be an engineer.” She pressed her lips together again. “After the car fire, I knew I should tell, but my dad was so happy that I was valedictorian. And it was the first time he’d been happy in so long.” One corner of her mouth tightened. “I honestly thought you’d weasel out of trouble. As always. It wasn’t until I got back that I found out what had happened to you.” “And you still didn’t come forward.” “No.” The word came out on a whisper. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s what I did.”

108

“For your dad.” “Yes.” Seth held her eyes for a minute, thinking how that brief explanation made so many things fall into place. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “Yeah.” This was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen Dana. It was obviously hard on her, so he did her a favor and changed the subject. “Well, I think we can agree that neither of us is sorry about Pete Domingo losing his car.” Dana gave an unladylike snort. “Considering how he got the car in the first place? No. The fire seemed like poetic justice.” “Harley certainly thought so,” Seth agreed. Harley was the school janitor, and had given Principal Domingo the title to his beloved classic Mustang as collateral for a personal loan to pay medical bills. Due to yet another medical emergency, Harley had fallen behind on the payments and Pete had taken possession of the car. He’d then refused to sell it back. There was a reason few people in Wesley liked Pete Domingo. Dana studied him for a moment, making Seth wonder what was going on in her head. “I have a question,” she finally said. “Shoot.” “Did you apply for the school district position because I did? To get back at me?” “No, but I did appreciate the irony.” He adjusted the blanket as her eyes drifted back to his exposed skin. She was checking him out. He wondered if she was even aware of what she was doing. When her eyes came back to his face, he said, “I bet you never thought we’d compete for the same job?” “Never.” Her quick, adamant reply made him smile, bringing back memories of high school. Even then, he’d sensed there was more to Dana than she allowed people to see. But, whenever he’d tried to scratch the surface, she’d gone all prickly on him. Like now. “I didn’t mean that quite like it sounded.” “I think you did.” She smiled, a real smile, and Seth felt his body stir in response. “No. I didn’t.” He reached out to trace the tips of his fingers down the side of her face. Her lips parted slightly as her eyes held his. “Come here, Dana,” he said softly, threading his fingers through her hair, gently cupping the back of her head and drawing her mouth down closer to his. Her hand settled on his chest, her fingers splayed wide over his bare skin, as their lips met. Briefly. Before he could really kiss her, she drew in a sharp breath and pulled away. “Why did you do that?” she asked.

109

“I was curious.” He’d been curious about her for years—first as a teen, wondering what she was really like behind that know-it-all exterior, and then as an adult, wondering why she’d hung him out to dry. “Satisfied?” One corner of Seth’s mouth curved up as he reached out to gently touch his forefinger to her full lower lip. “Not even close.”

Chapter Five Seth limped into the kitchen the next morning as Dana was making coffee, looking better than any guy should after sleeping on a too-short sofa. She’d tried to give him the bed the night before, but he’d refused, saying he wanted to keep his ankle elevated on the sofa arm. She really wished he’d taken the bed. Then he wouldn’t have knocked the lamp onto the floor, and she wouldn’t have made her late-night confession. He wouldn’t have kissed her. She still hadn’t figured out what that was about. Curiosity, as he’d said? A power play? Or just plain lust? It had been lust on her part, and she was still feeling the tingle. Crazy. “How’s your ankle?” she asked, focusing on measuring the coffee grounds. The air practically snapped with electricity with him in the room. She felt it. Did he? “About twice its normal size.” She glanced over at him then and saw the smile in his eyes, which beat the heck out of yesterday’s ice, but was threatening in its own way. “I think I should go for help.” I think I should get away from you. “I think you should stay here.” “You just don’t want to be rescued by an amateur.” “I want you available in case I slip in the bathtub.” His eyes crinkled at the corner. “Got an extra towel?” “In the hall cupboard.” After Seth had bathed, they ate a not-so-hearty breakfast of cereal and coffee. Seth gestured at the top of the fridge. “Is that a cribbage board?” “Yes.” “Do you play?” “I do, and I’m good.” After five games, she gave up. The man had incredible luck. She didn’t. She gathered the cards and wrapped a rubber band around them. The rain had stopped early that morning and she was going to hike out, whether Seth liked it or not. What was he going to do? Chase her down?

110

“So, Dana,” Seth said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about the potato.” Her stomach knotted in, but she owed him an explanation. “Well…it was a Winnemucca russet.” “So you went with a locally grown spud,” he said, nodding his head with mock approval. “Excellent choice.” “It was the perfect shape. I thought if I put it in the tailpipe, when Pete left early for lunch, as he always did— ” “While we watched out the window during the world’s most boring physics class—” “That I would prove to you exactly what happened when a tailpipe was blocked.” “Didn’t work out as planned.” “Uh, no.” She got to her feet and put the cribbage board and cards back on top of the fridge. “They cancelled class for the graduation photo shoot, remember? I was upset because I’d taken a huge risk and it wasn’t going to pay off. Then I about died when Len Brown came running in and said that Mr. Domingo’s car was on fire.” She pushed both hands through her hair. It had been horrifying. The one time she’d stepped off the straight and narrow and she burned up a car. Seth shook his head as Dana sat back down. “It took me a while to figure that it had to be you, because I didn’t know what caused the fire until I got blamed for it. Someone had seen me hanging around Domingo’s car that day.” “Were you?” “No more than anyone else. It was the only parking lot at school.” “Did you try to tell anyone it was me?” “My dad. He didn’t believe me.” Seth twisted his mouth sideways. “My own fault. I’d been caught in the occasional ass-saving lie before that, but you know what? I never lied to the old man again.” “Why was Mr. Domingo so convinced it was you?” Seth shrugged. “I guess because I told him what I thought of a man who took advantage of a friend and hijacked a car from him. And I may have mentioned he didn’t deserve to own such a car.” “You did?” “Pete Domingo and I had many run-ins. By my senior year we were on a first-name basis. He really wanted to see me on that work crew.” “And I gave him the opportunity.” “Yeah, you did.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “And even though I was royally pissed, I was also impressed at how well you set me up to take the blame.” Great. She’d impressed him with her criminal abilities. She resisted the urge to reiterate that she hadn’t purposely set him up. Instead she said, “So why did you kiss me last night? I obviously messed up your life.” “Do you have to analyze everything?”

111

“Yes.” Anything to maintain the illusion of control when she felt so totally out of control. He studied her in a way that made her nerves hum. “Well then, Dana Prescott, analyze this. I was attracted to you in high school. You might say I had a crush on you.” “Right.” “It’s true.” Dana got to her feet, then wished she hadn’t, since it felt awkward standing. “Because I was one of the few girls who didn’t throw herself at you?” “Partly,” he said. “You didn’t respond like everyone else. You seemed impervious to the dazzling Marcenek charm.” His gaze traveled over her. “You didn’t look like the other kids, either. You always dressed so nice.” She’d dressed to keep her parents happy. No teenage rebellion for her. They’d had enough to deal with. “You stood out in the crowd—beautiful face, a smoking body and a superior, touch-me-not attitude that both attracted and put off more than one guy.” Dana exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” He smiled. “Oh, I wasn’t frightened. I was challenged.” “Is that why you argued with me full time?” she asked in a clipped tone, wishing she hadn’t opened this can of worms. “Yeah. It was.” She gave him an eloquently disbelieving look. “It’s true. I was young and you weren’t falling for the usual stuff. Besides…it worked.” “How so?” she asked suspiciously. “During those arguments, you’d get so ticked off that you forgot your persona.” “What persona?” “Perfect Dana Prescott.” She smirked at him. “I was perfect.” “How about now?” “Now I’m out of work.” “Want to tell me about it?” “No.” “I want to see you after we get back to Wesley.” Her eyes widened. “Are you nuts?” It took her a moment to realize that this was Seth. “I don’t see it happening,” she said stiffly. “Why?”

112

I blew up a car and blamed you. “Because it doesn’t make sense to see each other.” “But it could feel good.” “I don’t do things because they feel good.” The humor died from his eyes. “More’s the pity.” She took a quick step back, then turned and walked out of the kitchen. She came back a few seconds later wearing her coat. He raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going?” “I’m walking out. Just because you fell into a hole, doesn’t mean I will.” Dana zipped the coat with a quick vicious motion. “Be careful.” Thank goodness he wasn’t going to try to stop her. “Please remember who you’re talking to.” He limped to the door with her. “Dana.” When she turned toward him, he took her by her shoulders and kissed her—hard—scrambling her senses to the point that all she could do was blink at him when he pressed a set of keys into her hand. “You might need these if you’re going to drive back to town. I’m parked on the other side of the landslide.”

Chapter Six Dana picked her way up the side of the mountain and around the top of the landslide that had been Seth’s undoing. Two hours later she reached the original slide, which the county crew was clearing. She told the road boss what had happened and he grinned. “So you rescued Seth, eh?” “I guess I did.” Rescued him. Kissed him. All in a day’s work. His smile widened. “I’ll have some fun with that.” On the drive home, Dana called her father, who had one question: What about the interview? Dana told him it would be rescheduled, although she had no idea if that were true. She hung up, exhausted. She didn’t want to endure another career-planning session—which was why she’d escaped to the cabin in the first place. Her father meant well, but couldn’t grasp why she was out of work. Dana understood perfectly. The company had been overstaffed and had needed a scapegoat after going over budget. She was an easy target when older, savvier engineers needed to save their butts in a rotten economy. They’d thrown her to the wolves…and she’d done the same to Seth after she’d destroyed Pete’s car. Dana had a late-payment warning for her car loan waiting for her when she got home. “We’ll lend you the money,” her father said after she’d called the bank and managed to defer payment for a month. She’d already negotiated an extension for her student loans.

113

“No. You won’t.” Her parents’ business was struggling. Depleting their funds was not an option. Fortunately, the committee had agreed to reschedule the interviews pending Seth’s return, so Dana hoped she’d be able to start paying back her loans soon enough. Oddly, she spent more time thinking about Seth than she did about the loans. He’d had every reason to hate her and he didn’t—not unless he kissed his enemies. He’d said he wanted to see her again. Well…she wanted to see him, too. It made no sense, really, but he was the closest thing she had to a friend in town. And for once in her life she seemed unable to squelch that part of her that wanted to toe up to the figurative edge and see what was on the other side. Dana returned Seth’s truck as soon as he returned to town and got the keys to her Jeep, which he’d driven back from the cabin. “How was the hike?” he asked. “Long.” Too much time to think. He leaned against the door frame to his house. “Thanks for rescheduling the interview.” “No problem.” Dana met his blue eyes. “I’m touring the Barlow Ridge School tomorrow. They have some problems with—” “The roof and the basement.” “Do you have solutions in mind?” “I do.” “Me, too.” His mouth curved in that way she’d always found so fascinating. “Want to share?” he asked. “Maybe. Do you want to go with me?” “Why?” “So that we’re on even footing at the interview, of course.” He grinned. “You want to pick my brain.” That wasn’t all she wanted to do, but she thought she’d best keep that to herself. “I’ll return the favor.” But when she met his eyes, she knew that he was aware that it was more than that…she had a curiosity of her own. About him. *** Seth drove to the historic rural school. He enjoyed having Dana with him, even though he knew how temporary this situation was. There’d been more layoffs at the mine while he’d been gone. His job was edging closer to extinction, and he needed to land the school district position if he was going to stay in the area. According to his brother, Garrett, he had to stay in the area. It took more than one man to look after their stubborn father.

114

The teachers at the school were happy to point out the building problems they dealt with on a daily basis. There was much to be done in the way of renovation and maintenance. When they finished the tour, he and Dana sat on the playfield swings, neither in a hurry to go home. He was surprised at the camaraderie between them. Apparently, all that fighting years ago had provided a stable base upon which to build a friendship. Or more. “When I went into engineering, I thought I’d be secure,” Dana said musingly. “Now I have the bank breathing down my neck.” “So if this doesn’t work out…” “I’ll be heading to a place with more employment opportunities—of any variety. One of my ex-roommates has a job lead.” “Tell me about your old job,” he said as they walked back to the truck. His ankle was better, but he still moved slowly. Dana shrugged. “Not much to tell. I did calculations.” “That’s it?” “I got laid off.” He imagined that had been an eye-opener for her. “Do you like calculations?” “Not really. That’s the attraction of this job. There’s history involved and—” she smiled slightly “—noncalculating aspects.” “If you hadn’t become an engineer, what would you have been?” “A lawyer,” she answered without hesitation. “I love to argue.” “I noticed. And you’ll also go to great lengths to prove your point.” She smiled at his touché. “I wanted to go to Yale, of course.” “Of course. So…why the change in direction?” She frowned. “Engineering was a better fit.” *** It was illogical to keep seeing Seth, but Dana ignored the voice of sanity—or at least muffled it while she was with him. They toured the elementary school that needed an extensive addition the next afternoon, and then she went to dinner with him that evening—if one could consider take-out in the park dinner. He’d made her shudder describing a cliff rescue in which he’d belayed down a sheer rock face to an injured hiker, and she’d made him shudder with a story of a six-inch binder filled with calculations. The incident reminded her of how different they were—he lived life on the edge, while she preferred a carefully planned existence—but she couldn’t deny the attraction between them. He was maddeningly sure of himself, and Dana had no idea why that made him so irresistible, but it did. Two days before the interview, her father mentioned that she was seeing a lot of the competition.

115

“It’s not hurting anything,” Dana said, wishing he’d realize she was almost thirty. “It’s your life,” he replied, giving Dana the oddest feeling that it wasn’t. Okay…maybe she was indulging herself—for the first time ever—using Seth to get through the stress of not having a means of support, of watching her precious career flounder. He was a distraction. Was that fair to him? The next day they took their final unofficial school tour. It was an unusually silent affair. “What’s going on?” Seth finally asked after he’d walked her to her door. “Maybe I’m facing reality, Seth.” “How so?” “The past few days have been fun but—” “You don’t do things because they feel good?” “We have nothing in common,” she corrected. He stepped closer, trapping her against her own front door, the hardness of his body making her want nothing more than to devour him. “Other than turning each other on and competing for the same job?” “Exactly,” she said huskily. “I did time for you on work crew. How can you say we have nothing in common?” “I—” He interrupted her with a kiss, and the fire ignited deep inside. He continued to kiss her, her back pressed up against the door, his hands on either side of her head. He nuzzled her ear and then whispered, “Come home with me.” “That’s crazy.” “Crazy is what I do.” “It’s not what I do.” He took a step back. “Somebody put a potato in that tailpipe.” He wasn’t strengthening his case. The one time she’d gotten into trouble, Seth had been involved. Was she going to let that happen again? She didn’t have a chance to find out. Seth’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. “Yeah. Dad.” He listened for a moment, his frown deepening, and then said, “Be right there. Do not try to drive yourself…damn it, just stay put!”

116

Chapter Seven Seth raced to his dad’s place, where he found the old man sitting at the kitchen table, fighting for breath. “What the hell? Did you go off your meds again?” John shook his head, and for once Seth believed him. His father had been fighting blood-pressure-related health problems for years, but after a scare six months ago he had started taking the condition seriously. Seth took his father’s vitals, more than a little disturbed when the old man didn’t try to fight him off, then called the doctor and his brother. “I’m taking him to the ER. Meet me there.” Garrett arrived shortly after Seth escorted John into the ER. “Did he go off his meds?” Garrett asked. “Not this time.” “Then what?” Garrett took a few paces. “I called Nate.” Their brother in Seattle. “I told him not to hop on a plane just yet. And I met Dana in the parking lot. I told her there was nothing she could do here, and that you’d get in contact with her. Tomorrow.” Seth shot his notoriously over-protective brother a sharp look. “Is that all you told her?” Garrett scowled at him as the nurse came in with the paperwork. It wasn’t until ten minutes later that Seth realized he hadn’t gotten an answer. *** “You’re home late,” Dana’s father commented when she walked past his home-office door. He had no idea how late she’d almost been. “Seth’s father had to go to the hospital.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” he answered automatically, looking up from the papers he was studying. “Your mother and I were talking earlier and we hope you’re not getting too serious about this guy.” “Why?” “He doesn’t have a formal education to speak of. The committee is only interviewing him as a courtesy.” “I hear he’s good at what he does.” “So are you. He can apply for the job once you leave.” “Yeah,” Dana said stonily before going to her room. If he was still around. She’d learned a few things from Garrett when she’d run into him in the hospital parking lot. She’d been under the impression that Seth was securely employed, and that applying for this job had been a whim. No. He was due to be laid off in a few months. According to Garrett, this job was his chance to stay in the community, where he wanted to be. Where she didn’t want to be. So here she was—in a position to screw him over again. But she needed this job, too. What now?

117

She was going to see Seth and hammer out a few things. As she left the house, the demon logic whispered that she was making a mistake. Well, if she was making a mistake, it was going to be one she remembered for the rest of her life…kind of like Pete’s car. *** An hour after John had arrived at the ER, the brothers learned that it wasn’t lack of medication that had caused the problem—it was too much. John had taken a cold medicine that wasn’t compatible with his blood-pressure medication. John refused to stay in the hospital a moment longer than he had to, so Garrett drove him home and Seth returned to his house. The last thing Seth expected was to find Dana waiting on his porch. “How’s your dad?” “He needs a keeper,” Seth said gruffly as he climbed the porch steps. “How are you?” “Better. Now.” He stopped a few inches away from her, but didn’t touch her, much as he wanted to. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be laid off?” “Something miraculous might happen.” Dana cupped his face in her hands and kissed his lips, gently at first, then with more heat as his arms wrapped around her, lifting her off her feet. “Stay here with me?” he asked softly. “This one time.” She emphasized the word one, but Seth decided to explore the logic behind that later. He would have carried her into the house had his ankle been one-hundred percent. It wasn’t, so he took her hand and led her inside. He locked the door and once again pulled her close, trapping her hands against his chest as he kissed her, trying to convey without words just how glad he was to be with her. She pulled her hands free and started unbuttoning his shirt. Soon there was a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom he wished he’d tidied up that morning. Fortunately, she didn’t seem particularly interested in the décor. She was focused on him. Neither of them spoke as they kissed, caressed, explored. Dana’s body was as perfect as he’d always imagined, but more than that, she responded in a way that made it almost impossible for him to hold on to his control. Dana could let go, in a way that surprised both of them. And damn but he loved being along for the ride. Later, when they were lying in the tangled sheets, which, truthfully, had been tangled before they’d started making love, Seth said, “Can you spend the night or would it shock your parents?” She shook her head and he could see that his lovely Dana had been hit by a wallop of post-coital sanity. “Does this have to be a once-only deal?” He thought now that she’d seen how good they were together, she would change her mind.

118

She moved to put some space between them. “This was…spectacular. But?” She propped herself up on her elbow. “Would it go anywhere even if we continued to sleep with each other?” “Maybe.” “How?” He frowned. “By you and me developing a relationship?” He didn’t like the way she drew back even more, as if protecting herself. “We’re too different, Seth. I mean, honestly. We are.” “How so?” She frowned at him. “You live life hanging off the edge of the cliff.” “I rescue people. Is that so bad?” “It is for a person who needs stability.” “I’m not unstable, Dana. I think you know that.” And he wasn’t going to let her sidestep the issue, which was exactly what she was doing right now. “I need to get home,” she said. She got out of bed and reached for her jeans. “Why’d you come here tonight?” “Your dad had that attack, and then I found out that you were close to losing your job.” “You came here because you felt sorry for me? Funny, but I wasn’t getting a big sympathy vibe from you a while ago.” She stopped dressing and stood beside the bed in her jeans and bra, her shirt in one hand. “Okay, I came because I wanted to make love to you…but now I realize…I know you won’t understand, but I have this plan. I need my plan. For this past week, I’ve abandoned it and without it, I feel…lost.” “Lost.” “Not anchored. As if…” She gestured helplessly. As if she hadn’t expected to enjoy making love to him so much. As if it threatened her. “When did you stop having your lawyer dream?” Her eyes met his. “That was just a kid thing.” “When?” “It doesn’t matter.” “It matters to me.” She drew in a breath, but before she could speak he said, “Dana, abandon the plan. Be yourself. Find your own dream.” “I am myself,” she said so fiercely he wondered who she was trying to convince.

119

“No. You’re living someone else’s life for them because they can’t.” Her face went pale, but she didn’t say another word. Less than a minute later the front door slammed shut and Seth sank back onto the bed.

Chapter Eight Dana was at the top of her game during the interview and could sense that the committee—which included Pete Domingo—was impressed with her responses. She should have felt great as she drove home to wait the two hours until the regular board meeting, when the decision would be announced. She did not feel great. She hated competing against Seth, hated needing this job. And she wasn’t looking forward to facing him after storming out of his bedroom because he’d had the gall to tell her the truth. Dana let herself into the house, glad that her parents were at work so she had some time alone, to get a much-needed grip. She went into her father’s home office, where Brock smiled at her from the graduation photo on the desk. Perfect Brock, who wasn’t able to make mistakes. Well, she was making enough for both of them lately. Seth was correct in that she shouldn’t be living Brock’s life for him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need a plan. Plan, plan, plan… She drew a blank, until an errant thought occurred to her—did plans have to be risk-free, with a dependable safety net? Could she have an iffy plan? Such as, what if she temporarily abandoned engineering? What if she tried law school? Even for a year? She could defer her loans by going back to school. She could sell her car and live like a student for a while. She could make her own plan, not her brother’s or her father’s. And who knows? Maybe engineering really was her calling. But she needed to know for sure. She closed her eyes. The idea was taking hold. Sprouting. Like a voracious weed, in fact. Was it too late to turn things around? Follow an iffy plan and be a bit more like Seth, who certainly seemed happier than she was? Dana did not see Seth until they took their seats in the front row of the school-board meeting room. The rest of the chairs filled behind them. Dana knew her father would be there, ready to celebrate easy victory. “How’d it go?” she finally asked Seth, who’d yet to speak to her. She was concerned about Pete Domingo. He obviously wouldn’t favor Seth. “Good.” He didn’t look at her. After the board members took their seat, Seth rose and walked up to the podium microphone. He cleared his throat. “Before you officially start, I just want to say that I’m withdrawing my name.” Dana jumped to her feet. “No you’re not.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression steely. “Yes, I am.”

120

Dana walked up to the microphone and tilted it in her direction, her eyes fixed on Seth. “I would like to make a confession.” Seth clapped his hand over the mike. “Are you nuts?” he whispered. “Totally.” Dana drew in a deep breath, faced the board and announced, without benefit of amplification, “I put the potato in Mr. Domingo’s tailpipe ten years ago. I made his car catch fire.” “What?” Pete Domingo jumped to his feet as quickly as a man of his bulk could. “You!” “Me. I let Seth take the blame. I let him spend the summer on detention work crew while I toured Europe.” It sounded just as awful as she’d intended. She just hoped her father didn’t have a heart attack behind her, but the truth was the truth. “Why are you doing this?” Seth demanded, his hand still over the mike. “You know why.” His expression shuttered. “You want to get away from me this badly?” His hand fell back to his side. “No, you fool.” Dana’s voice boomed through the room. She reached out and hit the microphone on/off switch. “I want you to have this job.” “So you can leave town.” “So you can stay here. Near your dad.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe we could discuss this elsewhere.” “Good idea,” he said grimly. He put a hand under her elbow and then paused to address the board. “We have some stuff to work out.” The chairman made a sweeping gesture. “Go. By all means.” They’d barely taken two steps when the chairman said dryly, “Mr. Marcenek? Ms. Prescott? You will inform us of your decision?” “You bet,” Seth said on their way out of the room. Dana had barely shut the boardroom door behind her when Seth demanded, “What in the hell are you thinking?” “Me? What about you?” “I’m thinking that if you got the job, I’d have some time to convince you to alter your carved-in-stone plan.” “And I’m thinking that I need to rescue myself from an overly planned, unsatisfying life.” Seth’s eyebrows rose. “Come again?” She took a few slow steps towards him, her gaze locked on his. “I might need your help.” He studied her for a moment, as if ascertaining whether or not she was the real Dana. “How?” “Take this job so I can try law school.” She settled her hands on his shoulders. “Help me loosen up. Talk me down when I start freezing up. Be there for me and I’ll be there for you.”

121

He smiled that wonderful crooked smile of his. “I give great moral support.” “I know.” Dana went up on her toes to gently kiss his lips and then Seth leaned his forehead against hers. “So what now? Do you think they’ll have either of us?” Dana laughed, feeling freer than she’d felt in years. “Maybe we should go see.” Six months later: Dana tried to check her watch, but it wasn’t on her wrist—part of her weekend freedom plan. She studied Monday through Friday, but at 5 p.m. Friday afternoon, the watch went into the drawer next to her bed and soon thereafter, Seth would knock on the door. He worked nine hours a day at the school district Monday through Thursday so that he could work half a day on Friday and drive to Vegas, where they would spend the weekend simply being together. It had been an adjustment for Dana in the beginning. No watch. No schedule. But she was getting the hang of it, and she really wished Seth would get here. Now. When he finally did show up, Dana hauled him inside her tiny apartment, kissing him passionately. It wasn’t easy being apart four days a week, but they made up for it on the weekends. “Whoa…” he said, pulling back with a laugh. “Your mom sent cookies. Don’t want to crush them.” Her parents hadn’t embraced her new life plan immediately, but they’d come around. Seth had talked to them, even though she’d asked him not to. And her Dad had finally come to see that Dana wasn’t Brock. His dreams weren’t hers, even though she’d pretended they were. In fact, for the longest time, she’d believed they were. It had taken her over ten years to admit the truth, so she didn’t blame her parents for needing some time to adjust. “What did they send?” Seth opened the paper bag and she looked down into it, then back up at him. “Wait a minute. This is your favorite cookie. Not mine.” Seth shrugged and set the bag aside with a crooked smile. “What can I say?” “Say that you love me.” He pulled her into his arms and held her against him before whispering in her ear, “I love you.”

122

Seduced By the Dark Stranger by Various Authors A free prequel to the Silk & Scandal miniseries, by authors Julia Justiss, Louise Allen, Annie Burrows, Margaret McPhee, Gayle Wilson and Christine Merrill! To Miss Felicity Morville, in London visiting her friend Lady Honoria Carlow, nothing could be more delicious than a rendezvous with a handsome stranger—sans chaperon! But when Honoria’s brother Hal realizes what Felicity’s been up to, he enlists the help of his friend and fellow Dragoons officer Benedict Ranworth to distract the young lady from the rogue by wooing her himself! Ben reluctantly agrees in the name of protecting Felicity’s virtue and reputation, but he doesn’t expect to enjoy his duties half so much. And soon, he finds himself more interested in seducing Felicity than in saving her!

Chapter One By Julia Justiss Catching up the hem of her riding habit, Felicity Morville glanced behind her toward the bedchambers where the Carlow family lay sleeping, then tiptoed down the hallway. She’d almost reached the landing when a tap on her shoulder made her jump and utter a stifled shriek. “Hush!” her best friend, Lady Honoria Carlow warned. “If you wake Verity, she’ll have Miss Price on us in a twink.” Clutching Felicity by the arm, she dragged her a few paces back down the hall and pushed her through the door into her bedchamber. “Now, talk to me! Where are you creeping off to at this hour? ’Tis barely past dawn!” “Just back to the Inner Temple gardens to collect more of the herbs Mama asked me to send.” “Sounds like a perfectly dull errand,” Honoria said, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, well, give me a moment and I’ll ride with you.” Felicity tried to imbue her tone with the right note of nonchalance. “’Tis far too dull to drag you out. Besides, after dancing until dawn at Lady Ormsby’s rout last night, I thought you’d wish to stay abed later.” Honoria laughed. “Me, fatigued by dancing late? Surely you know I’m not such a poor—” She stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “All right, you can drop the ‘help poor Mama’ charade. What are you really up to?” “No, truly, I’m going to the gardens,” Felicity replied, hoping the absolute veracity of her answer would convince her suspicious friend. “And I should like to be there and back before our day’s activities begin, so I really must be going.” She stepped toward the door, but Honoria caught her by the sleeve, halting her while she studied her face. Feeling her cheeks heat, Felicity damned the fair coloring that accompanied her auburn hair. “That blush says you’re up to something. Tell, tell! You can’t really mean to have an adventure and not let me share it!” Knowing Honoria was unlikely to let her go without a full confession—and that if she delayed much longer, she might miss her rendezvous entirely—Felicity capitulated. “All right, but you must promise not to breathe a syllable. And I must leave within the next few moments, or all will be lost.” “Explain while I get into my habit,” Honoria ordered. Felicity smiled dreamily. Had it been only a week since she went there the first time…and met him? “As you know, Mama feared the girls might be scarred after the chicken pox. Before she sent me away to London,

123

she asked me to search the physic gardens and send some comfrey back to Morville Hall, as Nurse swears ’tis the best restorative. Your Mrs. Hoby recommended the Inner Temple gardens, so I rode there last week. I was clipping herbs, putting them into my basket, when a sudden gust of wind blew some out of the basket and down the pathway. When I scurried to catch them, I ran slap into a gentleman who’d just rounded the corner!” Honoria grinned. “A gentleman, eh? A handsome one, I’ll wager!” “Indeed.” Felicity couldn’t prevent a sigh. “He’s quite the most handsome gentleman I’ve ever met. Elegant and immaculately dressed, with the most elaborate cravat and boots of such polished beauty, I swear my brother would kill to possess them. Tall of frame, his brow brushed by thick, wavy dark hair that makes one’s fingers just itch to comb through it! A strong jaw, classic nose and dark eyes with a gaze so intense, when he helped me to my feet, I could scarcely draw breath! He instantly apologized, though the collision was entirely my fault, then gathered up the herbs for me.” She sighed again. “He moves with such a lithe grace, ’tis a pleasure to watch him.” Honoria turned her back to Felicity and motioned for her to do up the buttons of her habit. “Who is he? Some law clerk or barrister?” “I don’t think so. His voice is quite cultured, with an intriguing lilt, and he speaks in the most quaint, courtly manner! I believe he’s Russian, attached to the emissaries sent to coordinate the campaign against the French.” “You believe,” her friend repeated as she pinned her hat in place and snatched up her gloves. “But you don’t know? What is his name?” “He wouldn’t tell me. He said that since my chaperon wasn’t there to properly make the introductions, he would remain, for a time, just my…friend and admirer.” Honoria’s eyes widened. “Oh, Felicity, he sounds completely ineligible!” Felicity laughed. “I know. Isn’t it delicious?” Honoria laughed as well. “One can hardly fault you for seizing this opportunity to have an adventure with a dark, mysterious, handsome stranger!” “Indeed. I’ll have to return to the safe, dull country soon enough.” “Does he know your name?” “No, but I told him I was staying with the Carlows. At first, he seemed much struck, but when I asked if he knew your family, he apologized and said he hadn’t yet gone about much in English society.” “We’d best make haste, or you’ll miss your rendezvous.” The girls hurried from Honoria’s room and hastily descended the stair. “You will stay well back, won’t you?” Felicity whispered. “If he sees someone with me, he may not approach.” Honoria giggled. “Not English, but intelligent enough to know that meeting a young maiden without her chaperon isn’t at all the thing. Is he a rogue, do you think?” “I don’t know that I could tell. He’s certainly charming.” “Well, even if he is, he can hardly do you much harm in the middle of the Inns of Court, with solicitors and barristers and such passing back and forth. How many times have you met him?”

124

“This will be our third rendezvous.” Excitement and anticipation rose in Felicity at the thought of meeting her mysterious admirer again. “He’s agreed to look for me there each morning. I hope Robbie gets the horses saddled quickly. I can’t wait to see him again!” “Nor I, to view this paragon!” “From a distance,” Felicity said. “Promise me!” “Oh, very well,” Honoria said. “From a distance.” A short time later, the girls entered the maze of narrow streets that made up the city, then wound their way through to the Inns of Court. Stationing the groom with their horses at the entrance, they slipped inside, Felicity carrying her basket. They halted at the edge of a small knot garden surrounded by walls and hedges and accessed through an archway. “Stand just beyond here, and you’ll be able to peer through the shrubbery,” Felicity told her friend. She took a deep breath, eddies of excitement fluttering in her belly. “Wish me luck.” She’d completed two circuits of the pathway when from the same direction in which he’d emerged the first day, the dark-haired young man rounded the corner. Seeing her, a smile lit his handsome face and he paced quickly toward her. “Mademoiselle! My most beautiful and charming mademoiselle!” he cried, making her an elaborate bow. “My life has been a desert of desolation since last we met!” He held out his arm. “Walk with me, that I might nourish my starving soul upon your loveliness.” If Mama ever learned she’d snuck out to meet an unknown young man, full of flowery speech and lacking any legitimate credentials, she’d be locked up for a month on bread and water. But it would be worth it, Felicity concluded, the titillating lure of the forbidden sending little eddies of delight through her as she laid her hand on his outstretched arm.

Chapter Two By Julia Justiss “You’re sure you saw your sister?” Lieutenant Benedict Ranworth asked his friend and army mate, Lieutenant the Honourable Hal Carlow, as they guided their mounts through the crowded city street. “You did imbibe rather freely whilst winning that last round from Charnsworth.” “I’m not too disguised to recognize my own kin,” Hal retorted. “No, it was Honoria, and she had that friend of hers with her—the one who’s staying with us while her siblings recover from measles or chicken pox or some such ailment. Felicity Morville. You know, you met her when you came by last week.” Ben had a vague memory of a petite lady with auburn hair and striking green eyes. “I suppose so. As a rule, I try not to look too closely at young ladies of marriageable age.” “Good strategy,” Hal approved. “Well, it was them, that’s for certain. Though what in blazes they could be doing, heading off into the city at this hour, I can’t imagine. Why, it’s practically still night!” “Well, no, it is in fact several hours after dawn—even if we are just now returning from our revels,” Ben corrected. Hal waved a dismissive hand. “Since it’s Honoria, I’m betting they’re up to some scheme or other. I’d best make sure they don’t come to harm.” “You, protecting a maiden’s virtue, rather than trying to seduce her out of it?” Ben gave a crack of laughter. “Now, that’s a new role!”

125

“It’s my sister we’re talking about,” Hal said severely. “Watching over the girls would be my elder brother’s problem, but Marcus is out of town. Though I don’t mean to interfere, if it’s just good fun. Honoria used to tag along with me when we were growing up, always game for any lark. It’s hard on her, being a young lady now and confined by all those rules.” “Thank the Lord I’m a man,” Ben agreed with a shudder. As they neared the Inns of Court, Hal pulled up. “Look, over there,” he pointed. “That’s our groom, Robbie, tending the horses. They must be nearby. We’ll have to continue on foot.” “You don’t think they’ll see us?” Hal shook his head. “If we can sneak behind French lines to reconnoiter Soult’s positions, two English schoolgirls aren’t going to catch us.” Gesturing to one of the urchins loitering in the street, Hal dismounted and handed the boy his reins. “Watch our horses,” he instructed, tossing the lad a coin. “There’ll be another copper for you when we return.” Using the passage of a heavily-laden wagon to shield them, they skirted the waiting groom. “As I recall, there’s a sort of garden in the center, behind those shrubs and that wall,” Hal said. “Let’s make our way to the other side.” Beginning to enjoy the game, Ben followed his friend. During their stealthy trek around the enclosure, Hal silently pointed out his sister, Honoria, who was peeking around a large shrub into the courtyard within. Taking up a position far enough away so as not to excite her notice, Hal and Ben leaned down to peer over the stone wall. Inside was a knot garden of assorted herbs surrounded by gravel paths. Strolling down the farthest path, arm-in-arm with a well-dressed, dark-haired man—and gazing raptly up into his face—was Lady Honoria’s friend, Miss Morville. “Who’s the man?” Ben asked in an undertone. “Devil if I know. It’s too far away to see his face clearly. But damn and blast, what’s he doing, handing my sister’s friend down some deserted pathway, and no chaperon in sight? I swear, I’ll rip his arms off!” Hal leapt up, looking as if he intended to do so this very moment. “Wait!” Ben said, snagging him by the shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘wait?’” Hal retorted angrily, trying to jerk free of Ben’s grasp. “It’s as plain as ears on a mule, that bounder is making up to Miss Morville!” “Are you sure he’s a bounder?” At Hal’s withering stare, Ben said, “Yes, right: no chaperon, odd location far from fashionable London, bleeding edge of dawn; he’s a bounder for sure.” “Are you going to let me go, or come with me?” “What do you expect to accomplish, charging in there?” Ben asked. “Think, man! Most likely the blackguard will scarper off and the two will just find a way to meet again somewhere else. After all, that’s what I would do. Couldn’t you talk to your sister, persuade her that cozying up to some Macaroni merchant in the park ain’t a wise idea?” “Since when did Honoria listen to any warning I delivered? Especially if I’m trying to talk her out of doing something outrageous.” Hal gave a rueful shrug. “She’s too much like me.”

126

“Well, how about if you distract Miss Morville,” Ben suggested. “An officer in the 11th Light Dragoons is far more dashing than some civilian.” Ben’s disdainful tone conveyed exactly what he thought of those lacking the daring and courage necessary to join Wellington’s army. “Why don't you woo her? Not seriously, of course. Just turn her head long enough for her to forget about the bounder." “It could work,” Hal mused. “Except…knowing my views on marriage, Honoria would never believe I’d seriously pay attention to a proper young lady. But she doesn’t know you that well.” Grinning, Hal looked over at Ben. “Why don’t you bewitch the girl out of her attachment?” Alarm bells, louder than the bugle call to charge, rang in Ben’s ears. “I wouldn’t want to arouse expectations I had no intention of fulfilling.” "Don't you think you're clever enough to entice her without making any promises, and avoid being caught in a compromising position?” Hal demanded. “What kind of dragoon are you? Where’s your resourcefulness? Your ingenuity? Your, ah, gallantry toward a damsel in danger?” “I didn’t say I couldn’t,” Ben replied stiffly. “I just don’t much like the notion.” “It was your idea,” Hal pointed out. While he cudgeled his brain for some equally effective countermeasure, Ben turned to stare at the distant couple in the garden. At that moment, the man lifted Miss Morville’s hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. Both men uttered a snort of disgust. With no better plan presenting itself, Ben said reluctantly, “Very well. I suppose I shall romance Miss Morville.”

Chapter Three By Louise Allen “I have no invitation,” Ben protested as Hal waved the valet out of the door. “Have mine. Lady Collingbridge will be just as happy to see you at the dance.” He studied Ben’s dress uniform. “You’ll do. Don’t know what it is about a uniform, but it’s magic with the ladies.” “It’s a dance? I don’t like dances.” “Yes you do. And, anyway, all you need to do is romance the girl, not stun her with your magnificent cotillion.” “I suppose so,” Ben grumbled for the sake of it. The idea of romancing Miss Morville, who Hal accurately described as a tidy armful, more than made up for the thought of an evening on the dance floor. “Now, what you need to—” “Carlow.” Ben flung up a hand for silence. “You may be the worst rake in the 11th, but I am perfectly capable of flirting without your guidance.” He considered tactics. “How am I going to get rid of Honoria? She’ll be sticking with her friend, won’t she?” Hal grinned. “Honoria will be flirting with all the most ineligible men, drinking champagne or doing something outrageous. Mama will be trying to watch her: she’ll be only too glad to see Felicity with a respectable man.” Ben ignored the teasing sneer on respectable. “And what’s your excuse for dodging this?”

127

“An injured friend, as far as Mama is concerned. A new opera dancer called Mirabelle with a sprained ankle, for your ears only. Have a good time.” He went out and then put his head back round the door. “Don’t overdo it—being a best man is such a bore.” Hal ducked laughing as Ben lobbed a shoe at him. The last thing he was going to do was get himself caught in parson’s mousetrap by a curvaceous red-headed minx.… *** But she was a very attractive minx, he decided later, watching the ladies come down to the hall in a flurry of gauzes and fans. Lady Narborough smiled. “So kind of you to accompany us, Lieutenant Ranworth. Hal would have come, but he is engaged with a wounded friend.” Ben controlled his grin. “Lord Narborough’s health does not permit evening excursions.” “Yes, thank you.” Honoria opened wide blue eyes at him and fluttered past on a wave of scent and illicit face powder. He bowed to Miss Morville who lowered her lashes. Pretending butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth he thought, and was rocked back on his heels when she looked at him directly with clear green eyes that sent a frisson of awareness right down his spine. Hell’s teeth. “Lieutenant?” He dragged his gaze away with an effort, but not until after he had seen the way her pupils had widened. He was not sure what had just happened, but it boded well for the evening. “Ma’am.” He offered his arm and helped his little party into the carriage. *** “A waltz, Lieutenant Ranworth?” Felicity bit her lower lip and saw him watching her mouth. “But I haven’t been approved by the Patronesses.” And the waltz was so new, and so daring. “But you have danced at Almack’s?” His dark eyes were as intense, as mesmerising, as the ones that tormented her dreams. And Lieutenant Ranworth was even taller and broader than her secret friend from the garden. But not, of course, so romantically exotic. “Oh yes. But not waltzes!” He tucked her hand under his elbow and strolled in the direction of a sofa. “We can pretend: after all, who will know?” “You, Lieutenant Ranworth, are a dangerous, bad influence.” Felicity tried to sound reproving, but suspected she merely appeared flustered. “Dangerous? Of course.” He looked at her with a thrilling intensity. Yes, definitely flustered. But it was a delicious feeling to be sitting here at a grand Society ball with a handsome man who was intent on flirtation. What excitements she was having—her secret friend was mysterious, Lieutenant Ranworth was dangerous.… “But only a little,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made his eyes dance with mischief. He took her dance card and pencil. “Now then, that is the next set, the supper dance and the seventh set.” “But those are all waltzes!” “And I am the only man who is approved for dancing them with you.” A gentleman approached and Ben smiled at him. “Miss Morville’s card is full, sir.”

128

“It is not,” she whispered as the man looked at Ben, then swallowed, bowed and removed himself. “Lieutenant Ranworth—” “Ben.” “Ben. This is most improper! And besides, what am I supposed to do when I am not waltzing with you three times—which is quite shocking—if you are going to scare all my other partners away?” “Talk with me, walk with me and flirt with me?” he suggested. “And I did not scare him off.” “Yes you did,” she retorted, looking up at him. “You are so…tall, and in that uniform there is such a lot of you!” “There’s a lot of me out of it,” he remarked. He seemed amused at her blush. Felicity tipped her chin and sent him a challenging look. “What are you up to, Ben?” “Entertaining myself with one of the prettiest girls here and, I hope, entertaining you, too. But if I am not, I will remove myself and leave you free to dance with all these fellows. Perhaps you fear a few wagging tongues. Forgive me for I thought you were like Honoria, a brave free spirit.” “I am certainly as brave as she!” Felicity retorted, stung. “Why, I am meeting… I mean, I do as I please.” “Then let us dance.” By the third waltz Ben was only vaguely aware of the other people in the room. His attention was fixed on a red-headed pocket Venus who laughed at his sallies and made him laugh at her own ready wit: an intelligent woman who argued with him about poetry over supper, her face alight as she countered his aversion to Byron with dramatic quotations, and whose dancing made him want to hold her far closer than propriety demanded. “No one has noticed us,” she said as he led her onto the floor. “Yes, but they might.” Ben swirled her round, closer to the windows onto the terrace. “We’ll be safe out here.” And before she could protest they were out in the cool air, flagstones under their feet, the light from the ballroom creating mysterious shadows. Dancing was all very well, but there was nothing like kissing to make an impression on a girl. And he wanted to kiss her very much. “Ben, why are we out here?” The breathy catch in Felicity’s voice told him she knew why. “So that I can kiss you,” he said, sweeping her behind a large shrub. He was going to enjoy this, he thought, bending his head as he pulled her close. Her mouth was soft and sweetly innocent under his, and he moved his lips gently so as not to frighten her. Then she gave a little gasp and opened to him, not wantonly, but so naturally that it took his breath. She tasted of cherries and a little of champagne. She smelled of roses and woman. Her hands slid up to his neck and he forgot to be careful, forgot everything but the need to kiss and be kissed, to learn her mouth, to discover her. He was aroused, hard and aching, but all he wanted was this moment, this kiss and the trust she was giving him. Shaken, he lifted his head at last. “Felicity?” He touched her cheek.

129

“Oh my,” she said faintly. “Oh my goodness.” Oh my goodness, indeed, Ben thought. That was not the plan at all.

Chapter Four By Annie Burrows The plan, he thought, taking a deep breath. Remember the plan! Which was to fascinate her to the extent that she would forget all about that rogue she had been stealing away to meet in secret. He cleared his throat. “Miss Morville, I think…” he managed to say, before realizing that he had no idea how he meant to finish that sentence. The sight of the tip of her pink tongue, darting out and wetting her lower lip had chased all coherent thought from his mind. “That is I want…” Lord, how he wanted! The most inappropriate things, considering the lovely young woman he held in his arms was a complete innocent—and living under the protection of one of his closest friends. Heavens, thought Felicity. What was it about men with dark eyes? The way he was looking at her was making her insides melt, her heart beat fast, and her clothing feel much too tight. She had thought him very dashing the first time she had met him, in the company of Lady Honoria’s brother, Lieutenant Carlow. When he had come to escort them to the ball tonight, in his dress uniform, her heart had given a strange little flutter. And when he had smiled into her eyes, she thought for a moment it might have stopped altogether. Waltzing with him had been one of the most thrilling physical experiences she had ever had—until he had kissed her. “What is it you want?” she heard herself breathing in helpless response. She had the feeling that whatever he asked, if he kissed her again, her morals would melt away to the point that she would be unable to do anything but breathe, “Yes!” He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and took a half step away. He reached up and took hold of her hands, which had been clasped about his neck, an apologetic look on his face. “Gad, Miss Morville,” he said with a wry grin. “But you almost make me forget myself.” As soon as he put that tiniest bit of distance between them, Felicity became aware of sounds coming from the ballroom—the faint strains of music, a tinkling laugh, the soft footfall of somebody walking past the open window that led out to this terrace. Heavens, how could she have behaved with such abandon? If anyone had caught them, her reputation would be ruined! Ben saw her dart a wary glance in the direction of the house. She was on the retreat! He could not let her slip through his fingers now. Hal was going to get his brother’s tame Bow Street Runner to find out just who and what the fellow was, but until then, it was his duty to prevent her meeting him again. “Having an attack of nerves?” he taunted her.

130

“Of course not!” She lifted her chin. “You said I would be safe out here with you, Ben. And I trusted you to keep the line.” He caught her round the waist, and drew her close again. “I have done nothing truly terrible, have I?” Her moral code was crushed by the thrilling proximity of his body. “No, not terrible,” she managed to say, though her voice was very breathy. Kissing Ben had been completely wonderful! The only trouble was that it was just a bit too wonderful. It made her crave more. Made her crave…things she was quite sure she ought not to even know about! “B…but it is time to go back inside now.” She raised her hands to his chest, to push him away. But instead of doing anything so resolute, her palms flattened against his coat, then spread to either side, reveling in the broad expanse of masculinity. “Not just yet,” he said coaxingly. “We have not arranged a time for us to meet again.” “I am going to Mrs. Leeming’s rout tomorrow night. I shall see you there.” Ben lowered his head as though going in for another kiss, and then, at the last moment, he pulled back. To his delight, Felicity made a moue of disappointment. She had wanted the kiss he had teased her with, at least half as much as he wanted it himself. “Tomorrow night?” He shook his head, then, slowly, lowered his head again, this time bypassing her mouth and pressing his lips to the side of her neck. She made a sound of helpless surrender, tipping her head to one side so that he could explore the delicious length of creamy skin. “That will be no better than this!” he said between kisses. “A dance, a few snatched kisses… I want to be able to…talk to you, Miss Morville. Really talk to you.” It was no less than the truth. The time he had spent in her presence had all been sheer delight. “No…” she moaned faintly. “No?” “I mean, yes…” “Where then, and when?” he said, pressing her for a rendezvous whilst she was so befuddled she hardly knew what she was saying—and while he still retained sufficient self-control to remember the whole point of this exercise. “Wh…when?” She looked up at him, her glorious green eyes dazed with passion. “When what?” “When will you meet with me, so that we may explore more deeply—” he said, trailing hot kisses down her neck “—what we have begun here tonight. Can you get away tomorrow morning, early?” He knew damn well she could. He had seen her with his own eyes in the Inns of Court garden with that other fellow! She stiffened in his arms, a look of consternation on her face. “I cannot. Not in the morning…”

131

“I thought you said you were as brave as Honoria,” he taunted her. He felt something inside him twist into a knot. But he had to do it. It was for her own good! She had to meet him in the morning, not that other fellow! Her chin went up. “I am every bit as brave as Lady Honoria,” she said defiantly. “It is just…” She bit down at her lower lip. He groaned. And did what he had to do. Kissed her again. This time, with no holds barred. He held her tight, and applied every bit of his expertise in seducing her mouth. He did not stop until she was clinging to his neck, her whole body trembling in his arms. He swore he could feel her heart pounding through the flimsy silk of her gown. Or was that his own heart? Damned if he knew anymore. “Miss Morville,” he groaned. “Yes…” she breathed, her eyes closed, her head tipped back. She was limp in his arms. “Yes, I will meet you…in Green Park.” “Thank God,” he murmured into her ear, clasping her to him in relief. Much more of that sort of persuasion, and she would be in as much danger from him as she could ever be from the dark stranger! He had been on some dangerous missions in his time. But this one was growing a bit too hot, even for him. “We had better return to the ballroom before somebody misses us,” he said. “No, wait!” Felicity could not believe she had just agreed to a secret assignation with Ben. What had come over her? She had given her word to another, but one kiss from the dashing Lieutenant and all her moral values had flown straight out of her head! She would have to tell him that she could not go after all. That she had only said yes because… And there her thoughts ran aground. She had known she would say yes to anything if he kissed her too often. And she dare not tell him that. What a spineless creature he would think her, to have her thoughts completely addled by what, to him, was probably nothing out of the ordinary. He had probably kissed dozens of girls. He must have done, to have become so good at it! But he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and tugged her out from behind the cover of the shrub. And somehow they were walking across the flagged terrace, and back through the doors. And she had not managed to frame one coherent sentence. “Until tomorrow.” He grinned at her as they stepped across the threshold and into the glaring brightness of the ballroom. And then he was gone, swallowed up by the swirling throng of people. Giving her no chance to tell him she’d had second thoughts. And she was left standing by the window, dazed, bemused, and more than a little vexed.

Chapter Five By Annie Burrows “So, how did it go? The opening sally of the Morville campaign?”

132

Ben had to stifle a spurt of anger before he could answer Hal’s jocular remark. It was bad enough having to toy with her feelings, let alone hearing his friend making a jest of it. “Waltzed with her three times, whisked her out onto the terrace, and arranged to meet her tomorrow morning in Green Park without her chaperon,” he reported succinctly. “Even you would agree that could be regarded as a victory.” Victory at what price, though? He felt a twinge of guilt. He had pushed her into doing something that she would never have done, had he not deliberately got her so befuddled that she hardly knew what she was saying. It was small comfort, now, to remind himself that he had agreed to this charade to protect her. That romancing her was protecting her. “Hang on, hang on.” Hal’s blue-grey eyes clouded. “You intend to meet her without a chaperon? Are you sure that was a wise move?” “You had better explain exactly what you mean by that,” he said coldly. How dare Hal suggest he would do anything, anything at all, which would cause Felicity any harm? Hal had his head lowered as he unbuckled his cross belt, and so remained impervious to Ben’s annoyance. “The whole point of this exercise—” he said, tossing the belt onto a table “—was to distract the girl. You know, dazzle her with your wit and charm,” he said in an ironic tone. At any other time Ben would have risen to the bait and thrown something at him. Tonight, his friend’s attempts to tease him into that kind of retaliation fell completely flat. “The last thing you want is to get into some compromising position where you might end up obliged to make an offer for the chit,” Hal finished. Ben’s chivalrous instincts surged to the fore when Hal referred to Miss Morville in such a derogatory manner. He was on the point of insisting his friend moderate the way he spoke about her, when it struck him that Hal had a point. Ben was already aware how dangerous she was, having just got into a very compromising position with her. When he looked back now on how far gone he had been… At one point, anybody could have walked smash up to them, and he would not have noticed. He had been so deeply entwined with Miss Morville, a whole troop of cavalry might have charged through the grounds and he would not have noticed. So he laughed it off, saying, “Do you think me incapable of handling one small female?” And then almost groaned. It was a mistake to make use of the word “handling” in connection with Miss Morville. Lord, how he wanted to handle her! He did not want to restrict himself to just sliding his arm about her waist, or holding her hand. He wanted the right to explore those luscious curves. To pull all the pins from that mass of intricately arranged hair and sift it through his fingers. Bury his face in it. Spread it out across his pillow, and… He came to himself with a start to realize Hal was looking at him oddly. “I would have thought you would have been pleased—” he said, rallying swiftly “—that I have managed to prevent her from meeting that other fellow tomorrow, at least! You told me to use my ingenuity. Be resourceful. And you must admit that if she is meeting me, then she can’t be meeting him!” “There is that, I suppose,” Hal conceded. “That Hawkins chap—you know, my brother’s tame Bow Street Runner—he has not been able to find a single clue to tell us who the man might be. And that, in itself, makes me suspicious. Surely, he ought to have been able to pick up some trace of where he comes from? It is almost as though he is deliberately covering his tracks.” Hal looked at him hard. “You are right. She will undoubtedly be better off being romanced a little by you—a little light flirtation, a stroll round the park, and no harm done.”

133

Ben had no intention of wasting his stolen hour with Felicity in mere flirtation. He had every intention of kissing her senseless! From what he recalled of the layout, there were some benches, and a stand of quite mature trees at one end of the park—enough greenery to afford at least a little cover from prying eyes. “But for the Lord’s sake—” Hal warned him “—don’t take any risks. In fact, now I think of it, since you had her promise to meet you well away from the Inns of Court garden, there is no need for you to actually turn up!” “Nonsense,” he snapped. He had arranged to meet her, and he would go, whether she managed to nerve herself to attend the assignation or not. He could not bear the thought that she might sneak out, at his instigation, and hang around in the park, growing more and more upset. For him not to show would humiliate her! “I fully intend to go, and take advantage of the hold I have over her to coax some information out of her.” It was better Hal think him a bit ruthless than totally smitten by Miss Morville. “Hawkins can discover nothing, you say. So I simply have to find out exactly how much she knows about the bounder. That would give Hawkins something to work on.” “Interrogation by seduction, you mean?” Hal’s mouth curved into a wicked grin. Once again, Ben got an almost overwhelming urge to obliterate that grin by planting Hal a facer. His hand had already curled into a fist before he thought better of it. “It is for her own good,” he said, as much to remind himself why he was doing this, as Hal. “It is better for her to fall for me, than that rogue, is it not?” “Oh, indeed.” Hal chuckled. “Besides being a positive pleasure, I would have thought, to have the excuse to dally with that tidy little piece.” “Quite,” admitted Ben through gritted teeth. “Besides having given my word to do what I can to make sure she is not disgraced whilst living with your family,” he pointedly reminded Hal. Hal punched him playfully on the shoulder. “That’s the ticket. Just don’t disgrace the 11th by getting yourself caught in parson’s mousetrap!” “As if I would,” he replied, baring his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Good chap! Knew you would not let me down.” It was not only Hal he did not want to let down in the completion of this mission. But Felicity, too. As he turned on his heel to leave Hal’s room, he wondered what he would do if she did not show? What then? The thought that she might go to the garden in the Inns of Court, instead, gave him a sick feeling. He shut the door behind him, and leaned back against it. He had planned to kiss her senseless.… What might that other chap do if he got his hands on Felicity? He could hardly believe the bounder had not taken ruthless advantage of her trusting nature already. His face turned grim. If she did not show up in the morning, at least he would know where to look for her. And if he caught that other fellow kissing Felicity… His lips twisted into a snarl. He just hoped the man knew a little about swordsmanship, that was all. Otherwise, it would be a case of cold-blooded murder.

134

Chapter Six By Margaret McPhee The excitement was dancing in Felicity’s stomach as she slipped down from the saddle and left the mare with the groom. Ben was already waiting by the benches at the far end of the park. The early morning sunlight burnished a mahogany lustre to the darkness of his hair, and he looked so tall and handsome and dashing that she could not help but remember again the feel of his lips upon hers last night, and the overwhelming sensation of it that had knocked every last sensible thought from her head. Her heart was thudding as she walked towards him. “Miss Morville.” She looked into those dark mesmerising eyes with all of their tenderness and forbidden promises and could not, despite her guilt, regret being here with him rather than in the Inns of Court gardens with her mysterious admirer. “Lieutenant Ranworth…Ben.” She tried to appear as if she had not spent the previous night sleepless with anticipation. He smiled at her, and the thrill rippled through her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “It’s a beautiful morning.” “All the more beautiful for your arrival.” She blushed. “You’re flirting with me.” “What gentleman would not?” Her pulse leapt as she saw that he was leading her behind the line of trees, where they would be hidden from sight. “I worried that you would not come.” “You were most persuasive of the importance of this meeting.” Her cheeks heated at the memory of just how very persuasive he had been. He stopped walking and turned to her. “Of critical importance, I assure you,” he said, his voice low and seductive. There was only the sound of birdsong, and the whispering of the breeze through the leafed canopy above. Felicity did not notice the cloudless blue of the sky, or the way the sunlight lit the dew upon the grass. She did not notice anything except Benedict Ranworth and the smoldering intensity of his eyes. She stared and could not look away. His face lowered towards hers. She reached her mouth to meet his. And when their lips finally touched, it was everything and more than she remembered.

135

His kiss was gentle at first, his lips teasing lightly while he enveloped her in his arms. The clean scent of soap and cologne filled her nose. The taste of him tantalised her tongue. He kissed her, and she could think of nothing else. There was only this moment, only this man. Beneath her palm she could feel the fast, hard beat of his heart. “Felicity,” he murmured, and his hand wove a magical caress against her back before sweeping down over the curve of her hip. He held her to him, so close that their bodies seemed to merge. The kiss intensified, so that he was kissing her harder, intimately, urgently. When his thumb brushed against her breast, she gasped at the sensations that shivered through her. Ben stilled, suddenly aware that he was seducing Miss Morville with all the thoroughness of a rake. He looked at her, and standing there in the pale morning sunlight, all flushed and breathless with passion, she appeared to Ben a most glorious vision. He did not need to hear that his breathing was heavy to know how close he had come to losing control. He was all too aware of that fact. “Forgive me,” he murmured, feeling ashamed of himself. “I should not have, but you are like no other woman.” She glanced down, suddenly shy and embarrassed. And he remembered how young and innocent she was, and the danger the stranger posed. Protectiveness surged through him. He should be quizzing her on the man, but he could not bring himself to spoil the moment. “I will meet you tonight at Mrs. Leeming’s rout.” He stared down into her eyes, and she stared back with equal intensity. The gallop of hooves sounded in the distance; a group of horsemen racing their mounts across the turf towards them. “I should go,” she whispered. He stood where he was and watched her walk to her horse. One final lingering look and she rode away.

*** Several hours later Ben was sitting with Hal in the Carlow’s library. “How goes our campaign with Miss Morville? Managed to romance the girl enough to stop her sneaking off to meet with that bounder yet?” Ben watched Hal decant the brandy and gauged how best to answer without revealing the extent of his feelings for Felicity. “It is progressing,” he said cautiously. Hal’s eyes brightened. “That’s a blessed relief.” He passed a glass to Ben. “Means you can ease up on feigning an interest.” Ben forced himself to amend the words that would have betrayed him. “The job is far from done; I have not yet discovered anything of the man from her.” Hal sipped at his brandy. “Then by all means engage in a bit more flirtation and a few waltzes, but no more meetings alone. After all, you don’t want to find yourself forced to take a trip down the aisle with the girl.” Ben thought of Felicity’s hair glowing red in the sunshine and the sweetness of her lips. He thought, too, of her vivacious energy and her courage, and he could not help but smile.

136

“Ranworth?” Ben glanced up to find Hal peering at him. He tried to frown. “The important thing is that we keep Miss Morville safe.” “Quite.” Hal nodded. “A gentleman’s duty and all that. Now drink up. Thought we’d nip to the club for a few hours.” Neither man noticed the slight creaking that sounded outside the partly opened door. Ben thought again of Felicity. Hal’s advice might be sound, but Ben had no intention of following it.

*** Felicity was trying to decide which dress to wear that evening. She was humming as she ran her fingers over the silks, and feeling joyful enough to burst when Honoria whirled into the bedchamber and plumped herself down on the bed. “They are such beasts!” Felicity hurried to her side. “Who are beasts?” “Men!” Honoria’s eyes flashed. “Or more specifically, my brother and Lieutenant Ranworth.” A whisper of foreboding rippled down Felicity’s spine. “I happened to overhear their conversation and it’s all of it a ploy to steer you away from your secret admirer.” Felicity felt the blood drain from her face. “A ploy?” she uttered weakly. “They decided that Lieutenant Ranworth would feign a romantic interest in you in order to protect you!” Felicity’s stomach plummeted. She sat down on the bed beside her friend. Honoria looked round at her, and her gaze seemed to see too much. The fury had gone and in its place was concern. “I’m sorry, Felicity. I didn’t realize that you liked him.” And even though Felicity was hurt and outraged and humiliated, she drew herself up. “I’m not such a ninny to be taken in by Lieutenant Ranworth’s games. I knew very well what he was about. And if he thinks for one minute that he’ll prevent me meeting with a certain gentlemen then he’s much mistaken.” She forced herself to smile. “I don’t think that I’ll go to the rout, after all. I’ll need a good night’s sleep if I’m to be up early to fetch some more herbs.” Honoria grinned. “That’s the spirit.” Felicity smiled again, but inside her heart was breaking. And she did not let herself think, not once, of Ben Ranworth.

Chapter Seven By Gayle Wilson

137

The following morning, Felicity hurried toward the herb gardens and the assignation with her dark admirer— a meeting that would never have taken place had she not learned of Ben’s duplicity. The memory of his betrayal brought such a wave of despair, her vision was momentarily affected by welling tears so that she literally ran into someone bending down to gather herbs. “Forgive me,” Felicity stammered as she caught the woman’s elbow in an attempt to steady her. “I haven’t hurt you, I hope.” The hood of the cloak her victim wore fell back, revealing a wrinkled visage and two dark eyes that studied Felicity’s features intently. “My basket,” the old woman commanded, finally breaking the spell that had held Felicity motionless. “Fetch it for me, if you please.” Felicity hastened to comply, sweeping up the herbs that had spilled out before she presented their container to its owner. As she did, she realized from her dress that the old woman was a Gypsy. All the frightening tales she’d heard about these mysterious people raced through her mind. But before she could make her escape, the woman captured her hand, turning it to examine the lines on her palm with the same intensity she had just focused on her features. “Tell your fortune, my lady?” “No, thank you,” Felicity managed, pulling her hand from the woman’s gnarled fingers. “No charge,” the Gypsy beguiled. “I’ll read your palm in return for your kindness.” “I don’t want my fortune told.” “Everyone wants to know what their future holds.” The Gypsy again considered her face. “Yours isn’t what you believe it to be. Not now.” Meaningless mumbo-jumbo, Felicity thought. How, ever, do they convince people to pay for this nonsense? “And this one—” the old woman continued “—is not for you.” At that moment, Felicity became aware of what the Gypsy must already have sensed. The exotic stranger she had come to meet was striding toward them. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. For a moment Felicity thought he was addressing her. Then she realized his inquiry had been directed at the Gypsy. “Plying my trade,” the old woman answered. “As are you, I see.” “You don’t belong here,” the man responded, grasping the Gypsy’s elbow to turn her away. “Nor do you.” She pulled free of his grip, clearly not intimidated despite his obvious anger. “Don’t hurt her,” Felicity begged, putting a restraining hand on his arm. “She only came to gather herbs.” Her suitor ignored Felicity’s defense to again berate the crone. “I’m warning you. Keep out of my affairs.”

138

“Then conduct them with more care. This girl—” the Gypsy lifted her chin toward Felicity “—shouldn’t be part of them.” For the first time the stranger’s eyes focused on Felicity. Something about their intensity nagged at her, like a melody she’d once heard and couldn’t quite remember. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, returning his attention to the old woman. “I swore I would help you,” she said. “But this…this is beneath you. Beneath the Rom Baro.” The last phrase seemed to infuriate the stranger anew. He pulled the old woman around and put his hand between her shoulders to propel her away. “Go back where you belong.” “Will you come with me, chaveske chav?” she asked. “To where you belong?” The stranger made a menacing move, his hand raised. With a laugh the Gypsy continued down the path he’d set her on, disappearing as it curved deeper into the gardens. The stranger turned to smile at Felicity, his features all amiability once more. “I was beginning to worry that whatever prevented your coming yesterday might keep you away again today.” To avoid the painful subject of why she hadn’t met him yesterday, Felicity asked, “Do you know her?” “That hag? What have I to do with her?” he responded with a laugh. “Let me look at you. You’ve grown even more beautiful since last we met.” With one finger he traced slowly down the curve of her cheek. When he reached her chin, he tilted her face upward as he smiled down at her. That strange sense of déjà vu troubled her again. As if she had peered deeply into these same eyes before. The feeling jolted, causing her to step back. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Something was wrong, Felicity realized. Very wrong. Despite the pain of Ben’s betrayal, she couldn’t become involved with this man. A man about whom she knew nothing. Except the way he had treated the old Gypsy, who obviously cared about him. “I must go.” “But you’ve just arrived,” the stranger protested. “And I’ve been dreaming of this meeting since we parted last. It’s as if you’ve cast a spell over me.” He smiled as he said the last, slipping his arm behind her waist to urge her closer. Without a conscious decision to do so, Felicity placed her hands against his chest to push him away. “I shouldn’t have come.” “But of course you should. This was meant to be. We both felt it.” She shook her head, realizing what a mistake she’d made. “You must know I’m in love with you,” he avowed softly. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

139

Shocked, she looked up into his eyes, her lips parted to protest. Before she could, his mouth descended over hers. Although she twisted and turned, trying to free herself, he was too strong. As he deepened the kiss, she began to be afraid, remembering how deserted the gardens were at this time of day. Suddenly, the arms that had captured her released their hold. The stranger was jerked backward, and a fist at the end of a uniformed sleeve connected with his chin. Ben. And despite what he’d done, Felicity had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Having lost the element of surprise, her rescuer was now being forced to grapple with an assailant who seemed more than capable of holding his own. A quick twist of the stranger’s body took him out of the way of Ben’s next blow and allowed him to land his own facer. Then Ben’s knuckles merely grazed his opponent’s cheekbone as the dark man ducked at the precise moment they should have smashed against his nose. He exploded out of his crouch to drive his head into the soldier’s midsection. Ben held on to take them both down as he fell. Panicked by the thought of once more being subjected to the stranger’s unwanted advances, Felicity grasped his shoulder, trying to pull him off her rescuer. But he pushed her aside. Her efforts did allow Ben to regroup. He managed to get his feet under the stranger’s body to throw him off. With an audible crack, the back of that dark head connected with one of the stones outlining the path. Ben sprang to his feet. Fists raised, he stood over his opponent as if daring him to rise. With one hand the stranger wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes never leaving the soldier who’d felled him. “Tell Carlow this isn’t the end.” “Carlow?” Ben repeated in confusion. “Do you mean Hal?” The stranger whose elegance Felicity had once admired struggled to his feet. His pantaloons were marred with dirt, and at some point in the brawl, his cravat had come undone. Despite his dishevelment, he still managed to look as if he believed he was in charge. “Carlow and his accursed line.” The stranger’s eyes left Ben’s to find hers, his face relaxing into a slight smile. “It seems my grandmother was right. This was not meant to be.” With a boldness that took them both by surprise, he stepped forward to catch Felicity’s hand, bending over it to bestow a lingering, and far too intimate, kiss. When he lifted his head, his eyes reflected only amusement. “I wish you joy of your soldier, my dear.” With that he turned on his heel and strode off along the same path the old woman had taken, leaving Felicity alone with her rescuer—the same man who had so cruelly and despicably betrayed her affections.

Chapter Eight By Christine Merrill Ben was looking off down the path after the retreating man, his fists still clenched and his muscles flexing under the tight wool of his coat, as though ready to fight for her again. “There. That has settled him. He will not be bothering you again, I am sure.” Felicity tried to restrain the sense of relief she felt to be free of the stranger’s attentions, because it had taken only a moment to remember how thoroughly she had been duped by the man who remained. “I do not recall requesting your assistance, Lieutenant Ranworth,” she said coldly back to him.

140

And for a moment, Ben looked just as he had when the stranger had struck him—dazed with sudden shock. To hide his confusion, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, and stared down in disgust at the traces of blood and grime from the fight. “I assumed you were in need, since no decent young lady would allow herself to be mauled by a stranger, in a public park.” “What you saw was a kiss. Nothing more,” she said. “And less than you attempted yesterday, I am sure.” His head snapped up, his eyes bored into hers. “That is not the same at all,” he argued. “I never would have gone farther than a few dances, if I hadn’t thought—” And now the brave young dragoon looked quite uncomfortable, and seemed overly preoccupied with seeing that his handkerchief was returned to the correct pocket. “—that what I was doing was in your best interest.” “You thought it was in my best interest to lead me away from propriety?” And now she turned away from him, so that he couldn’t see her flush of excitement when she thought of it. “The gentleman today at least had the decency to proclaim his love for me before taking such liberties.” “He declared his love?” Now Ben looked properly stricken again. “Felicity…” He swallowed hard, and then corrected himself. “Miss Morville, when Carlow expressed his concern that you were forming an unwise attachment, I agreed to help prevent it. But I had no idea that it had developed to such an extent.” “So you admit that you attempted to trick me into losing interest in the gentleman.” “That was no gentleman,” Ben blurted, and then struggled to contain himself. “But neither was I. I had no idea of the depth of feeling involved. I thought it to be much less than it actually was. And so I sought to insinuate myself into this assumed gap to separate you.” “You felt, on the basis of a very limited acquaintance, that you could pretend affection—” “It was not pretend,” he blurted again, and then stared down at the toes of his brightly polished boots. “When Hal set me to this task…which is not to say he is in any way to blame. If you have been hurt, I take the whole fault upon myself. I should have had the sense to stop before I’d begun.” And he looked up at her, into her eyes. And as he gazed deep, he seemed to lose his way, and his eyes wandered to her lips, staring with such intensity that she could feel them starting to tingle. He looked away suddenly, back at the ground, and found his voice again. “I had no idea that the job of distracting you was likely to be distracting to me as well.” “You find me distracting?” she said, not quite sure what to make of the admission. “Or that I would find myself quite so thoroughly in the thrall of someone whose heart might be otherwise engaged.” “In thrall.” And now, she had to struggle to stifle her smile. He looked at her with all seriousness, his deep brown eyes locking to hers, after only the briefest fortifying glance at her mouth. “I regret that I was not honest with you, from the very first. Then I could have put you on your guard against the man you have been meeting. No matter how he treats you, or how sincere his feelings might be, I fear that he is up to no good.” He glanced down the path that the dark stranger had taken, and muttered, almost to himself, “And if he means to make trouble for the Carlows, then I had best warn Hal.” In thrall. While the rest of his speech sounded very much like an apology, she could not seem to get her mind past those words. “But if you had been honest, and I had listened to your advice, then you would have had no need to kiss me,” she said, thinking that they both could have escaped this embarrassing misalliance—and suddenly finding that she was very glad that he’d tricked her.

141

He was looking at her lips again. “Oh, I suspect the need to kiss you would still have been there. But I would not have been able to lie to myself about the meaning of it.” She shivered as she thought of the delicious moments they had already shared. And then again as she thought of how different it had been to be kissed by the other man, and the strange and frightening things he had said before leaving. “If that is how you feel, then it might interest you to know that while the gentleman who left here claimed to feel strongly for me, my opinion of him was not nearly so pleasant.” And now the other man was forgotten. For she was looking at Ben’s lips, and remembering how they tasted when they touched hers—and hoping that she would know their flavor again, very soon. “Then it is not too late for me?” He wasted no more time, and placed his hands upon her shoulders, pulling her close. His kiss was as she remembered it, hot and demanding, stealing her breath and then giving it back again, infusing her with the desire he felt for her. His tongue touched hers, stroking with increasing force until she clung to the facings of his coat, too weak to stand without him. Sensing her submission, he seemed happy to be her support. His hands moved from their innocent positions until one pressed against her breast and the other rested on her hips, pulling them gently against his to show her how right it would be when they were joined. And today, instead of gasping, she sighed in delight, and broke the kiss so she could whisper, “Lieutenant Ranworth, have a care for my reputation. If we are discovered, you will be forced to offer for me.” His next kiss was like a smile upon her cheek. “I am afraid I shall have to do that in any case, darling. For I mean to do things much more scandalous than this before I am finished with you. If you value your honor, we had best get the banns read quickly.” He was nuzzling her ear now, making her giggle. And then, the feeling changed, moving deep into her body. And it did not make her feel like laughing at all. Instead, she was imagining the feel of his hands on her skin, and the way his bottomless dark eyes would look when they were alone in the candlelight. “Before you came—” she whispered “—an old Gypsy woman told me my fortune.” He laughed, and kissed her again, this time on the side of her throat. “You do not believe such nonsense, do you?” “But I think she was trying to tell me that you are my future.” And Ben did not hesitate in the least at the thought. Instead, he said, “Then I was wrong, and she was very wise, and you should most certainly listen to her.” And then he stopped his progress down her throat, and smiled up into her eyes in a way that she was sure was a challenge. “But enough talk of our future. This morning, I will make it so you cannot think further than the present.” And he took her by the hand and led them off the path to a place where they could be delightfully alone.

142

Surprise Wedding by Julie Leto Cooper Rush and Bianca Brighton have been inseparable ever since they met back in college. It’s been ten years since Coop popped the question and Bianca accepted his ring. But thanks to their globe-trotting lifestyle and demanding careers, they’ve never actually managed to stand still long enough to exchange vows despite pressure from family and friends. When business and pleasure finds them in Costa Rica, Coop decides he’s finally done waiting. He is ready to make Bianca his wife—right here, right now. After all, if she’s as committed to growing old together as he is, how could she possibly object?

Chapter One Cooper Rush gazed across the turquoise blue water of the Costa Rican mountain pool, and spotted the woman in the black bikini whose curves stopped his heart. The blood pumping in his chest rushed south so that his lower body seized with a deep-rooted desire. Her thick dark hair streaked down her back, the ends lust-tipped arrows pointed at her luscious backside. He had to have her. He dove into the pool and swam, torpedo-like, through the strangers in the water, honing in on her. When he popped through the surface, he had eyes only for her. A body only for her. A heart only for her. “Marry me,” he said. She tossed a coy glance over her shoulder, her honey-brown eyes wide, as if she didn’t understand the simple request. “Excuse me?” She did not turn to face him, so he slid his hands around her waist and tugged her tight against his chest. She didn’t resist, but instead, curved her body against his so that her buttocks cradled his lengthening erection. “You heard me,” he said. “Marry me.” The beautiful siren closed her eyes, tilting her head back in sweet, but incomplete surrender. He splayed his hands across her middle and toyed with her diamond-studded belly ring, practicing the precise flick and swirl he knew she loved—especially when applied much lower down her body. “Okay,” she replied, sighing contentedly. And therein lay the problem. As much as they might have loved playing “strangers in the pool” games from time to time to keep their sex life exciting, Coop knew Bianca Brighton better than he knew anyone else in the world. For ten years, they’d been nearly inseparable—first through college, then grad school, then on their seemingly endless travels either to satisfy the requirements of her job as a translator or his job as an international software designer. For the past month, they’d lived and loved all over Costa Rica, in-between canyoneering the lush tropical rainforests and Bianca’s assignment to assist the attorneys for an American real-estate investor sorting through contracts drafted in Spanish. The activities had ranged from wildly exciting to untenably boring, yet never for an instant had Coop lost interest in his ultimate goal—convincing Bianca, finally, to marry him. Because while he’d asked her a dozen times this year alone, she’d yet to walk down the aisle with him.

143

For too long, he’d accepted her excuses. They were too busy. Too far away from home. Too obligated to her mother’s lavish plans for a show-stopping ceremony, or too wrapped up in their own adventures to stand still long enough for a clergyman or judge to say, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Well, Coop was done waiting. And he was done allowing his lover to play the clever mouse to his determined cat. He was going to marry Bianca Brighton. And he was going to do it today.

Chapter Two Coop twirled Bianca to face him, his hands hugging the muscled curves of her arms. If she refused to make this ultimate step in their relationship, could he let her go? He’d asked her to become his wife—the first time—over a decade ago. Though she wore his ring, called herself his fiancée, showed him that she loved him in a thousand different ways, they’d yet to say, “I do.” He had no idea why this chafed at him so much lately, but it did. Maybe he was just getting older. Maybe he wanted to settle down, have a family, and put down roots. He hadn’t given the matter as much thought as it deserved, which was probably how he’d ended up in this fix in the first place. Up until very recently, he’d focused only on ensuring that once he had sorted through his contradictory desire between traveling the world and finding a place to call home, he’d have Bianca at his side. Each time they’d gone to visit their families in their hometown, they’d renewed their marriage license. And yet, he’d never once forced the issue of actually going through with the wedding. Until now. “Okay? Okay?” he asked. “That’s the answer I get to a heartfelt marriage proposal delivered in one of the most beautiful places on earth?” Bianca pressed against the curve of his erection, hidden by the water from everyone but her. “Actually, when you say, ‘Marry me,’ it sounds more like an order than a question.” She’d been spending way too much time with her attorney client if she was going to nitpick or look for loopholes. But this time, her attempt to divert his attention would not work. “So the question has been asked and answered, counselor,” Coop said wryly. “And yet, I continue to ask.” “And I continue to say yes!” she said, lifting her hand so that her diamond engagement ring twinkled in his peripheral vision. “Actually—” he said, tilting his head so he could nibble on her chin “—the first time I asked, you said something like, ‘Of course, now grab that zip line and let’s go!’” She laughed as she returned his kisses. Her free-spirited, unbridled explosion of happiness infected him, instantly filling the void that seemed so wide and so deep every time he caught a glimpse of the engagement ring on her finger. Sometimes, the damned thing glittered like the sharp edges of a broken promise. Other times, it reminded him that though he’d asked her to marry him, he hadn’t exactly pushed for a short engagement. He blamed himself. He’d started the whole thing off wrong in proposing just before they flew over the treetops in Maui. Maybe if he’d asked the first time when they were on solid ground, they would be married by now. “Let’s get married here,” he suggested. She sighed with exasperation. They had, after all, had this conversation before.

144

“Coop, our parents would kill us if we eloped.” “I’m willing to take that risk…are you?”

Chapter Three Desperate to escape this conversation, Bianca threw herself backwards into the water, enjoying the momentary disorientation of falling beneath the surface. In the cool, churning waters, she didn’t have to remember how long her mother had dreamed of Bianca wearing her vintage couture dress, or how her father waxed poetic about walking her down the long aisle at their family’s church. Then there was Coop’s family. In light of his sister Annie’s divorce, the Rush’s had lately taken to speaking about little else but the grand party they wanted to throw for Coop’s trip to the altar. They were sure, since Coop and Bianca had been inseparable for ten years, that their marriage would last a lifetime—as marriages were intended. She couldn’t argue. She had every intention of growing old with Coop. But why did she have to do so as his wife? Why couldn’t she just be his lover, his helpmate, his best friend? Why couldn’t things stay exactly as they were? As far as she was concerned, the rope that bound her to Coop had been twisted into an irreversible figureeight since the moment they’d met. What did it matter if they had a legal document to seal the deal? She supposed a ceremony might be nice. Great clothes. Fabulous party. A honeymoon trip to top all their adventures. But then, in the end, they’d be married. Their perfect relationship would face an irrevocable and inexorable change. Why mess with perfection? Emerging from under the water, Bianca waylaid further discussion with a long, luxuriant kiss. Inch by inch, she maneuvered him closer to the hidden cove they’d discovered a few days ago, where none of the tourists would follow. Between the dappled sunlight, the churning water, the wild jungle and their insatiable passion, a quickie remind would show him how little a wedding would impact their lives. “You’re trying to distract me,” Coop said, his mouth descending to her neck even as his magic fingers untied the back of her bikini. “Guilty,” she confessed, hissing with pleasure as he circled her nipples with his thumbs, sparking a need that made the water unequal to the wetness within her. She wanted him. And for over a decade, he always wanted her. None of the married people she knew were still hot for their partners as rapaciously as she was for Coop. Every nerve ending in her body craved him. How could she give that up simply to satisfy someone else’s idea of commitment? “I still want to marry you,” he said. “I know,” she murmured, concentrating on the feel of his mouth on her earlobe, down the tendons of her neck, across her collarbone. “Then let’s do it today,” he demanded. She tugged at his swim shorts until she had access to the part of him she wanted more needfully than any piece of paper that declared them wed. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

145

He’d misinterpret her meaning, but she’d deal with that later. Much, much later.

Chapter Four But not as much later as Bianca thought. After making love in the cove, they drove back to their hotel in San José, hardly talking. Did Coop’s disinclination to speak stem from his suspicion that any discussion would lead to the subject of marriage and more excuses about why they shouldn’t? Or was that only her fear? She’d agreed to a wedding, but only so he’d make love to her. A glance, a touch, a laugh—the littlest thing made her hot for him. She had the same sway over him. Their mutual attraction was powerful stuff—and she didn’t want to lose it. She’d seen lots of successful marriages in her lifetime. Her grandparents, married for sixty years. Her parents were closing in on anniversary thirty-five. Even Coop’s parents, who had dated since middle school, were inseparable. And yet, when she looked closely, she didn’t see sparks. She saw love, yes. But lust? Not so much. Women’s magazines, late-night comedians, girly tête-à-têtes all claimed that marriage killed the sex drive. That wasn’t acceptable. Every single day Coop made her feel beautiful, cherished and wanted. His appreciation for her intellect, her love of fun and adventure and yes, her body, had not wavered since that first moment they’d met at a fraternity-sponsored road rally. She was all for jumping out of airplanes and surfing mammoth waves, but when it came to risking the bedrock of her relationship with Coop by shifting the foundation, she wasn’t ready to take the plunge. Annie, Coop’s sister, was the perfect example. Before she got married, she jetted around the world as a sought-after photographer. She regaled Bianca with tales of wild adventures and exciting affairs. After one such trip, she’d talked about a devilishly handsome, sweet-talking corporate shark who’d swept her off her feet. Too bad she landed with a thud the minute she’d married him. Annie’s post-marital transformation had reinforced Bianca’s fear that marriage might not be the right path. Annie stopped traveling, taking pictures and seeking thrills. She’d settled into a life of dirty diapers, car pools and Little League. Not that Bianca had anything against Coop’s nephews—she loved kids. But she didn’t necessarily want to give up her free-for-all lifestyle to have them. Coop never pressed the subject, but he floated the idea now and again—always after prefacing his hopes and dreams with, “After we’re married.” So to avoid conflict, she’d simply avoided matrimony. Up until now, the diversion had worked. She’d anticipated that she could pull off at least another five years of avoidance. And by then, she’d figure out how to reconcile her fears that they’d lose their mutual attraction when bound by marriage. At least, that’s what she’d thought until Coop pulled up in front of a quaint mountain chapel, hopped out of the Jeep and opened her door with a bow. “Your castle, my queen.”

146

“Coop?” “We’re going to get married. Today. Right now. You always want to live in the moment, Bianca. Well, now’s your chance.”

Chapter Five She couldn’t speak. He took her hand and gave a little tug, his roguish grin faltering when she resisted. “Bianca?” “I—” Her continued hesitation wiped the smile from his face. Before disappointment clouded his twinkling darkgreen eyes, she’d caught sight of his pure, unbridled excitement. He was jumping into this marriage with the same enthusiasm as he did a base dive off steep cliffs. Coop craved adrenaline, but he existed on faith. Faith in life. Faith in her. Her foundation, however, had rocked to the core. Fear of crashing to a bottomless pit of loneliness or disappointment paralyzed her so that she could not even manage to take his hand. “I made the arrangements this morning,” he explained. “I wanted to surprise you.” “Oh,” she said, gulping air. “I’m surprised.” When he leaned forward, his magnificent arms braced on either side of the door frame and his face inches from hers, her heart seized. “Bianca, do you love me?” “Oh, God, Coop. This has nothing to do with love.” “You’re not answering my question.” “Yes, I love you.” Each word cost her. Her lungs squeezed inside her chest and sweat beaded on the back of her neck. “I’ve never loved anyone else. I plan to spend the rest of my life with you.” “Just not as my wife,” he guessed, anger simmering through his words. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything worthy to say. Coop cursed and threw himself away from her. The action was so foreign, so shocking, that he was fifty yards down the unpaved mountain road before she fully realized he’d left her behind. “Coop!” She tumbled out of the car, barely maintaining her balance. She glanced back inside the Jeep. He’d left the keys inside the ignition. Should she drive after him? Pursue on foot? She was dizzy, nearly blind with his abandonment. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been apart for more than a few hours, and in the few moments since he’d left her, a lifetime elapsed. He’d never walked away from her before. Never. They’d had a few impressive rows over the course of their relationship, but each one had been followed by incredibly hot make-up sex. As Coop became smaller as the distance between them increased, Bianca couldn’t remember what a single argument had ever been about.

147

“Coop, wait!” she cried, tearing around to the other side of the car to retrieve the keys. A woman had come out of the church, her head covered with a shawl and her eyes wide with surprise. She called Bianca’s name, but more as a question—as if she wanted to know if the woman screaming for the man who’d nearly disappeared around a curve in the road was the bride she’d been expecting—the bride who’d had no real intention of ever getting married. Not even to the man she would certainly lose if she did not find a way to walk down the aisle.

Chapter Six In nearly every aspect of life, she and Coop saw the world through nearly identical filters. They’d always wanted the same things out of life. Love. Adventure. Excitement. Thrills. Until now. He wanted marriage. And despite how desperately Bianca needed him—perhaps, precisely because of her soul-deep love—she did not want to ruin what they had by getting married. Settling down. And yet, what was she doing to their relationship by refusing to be his wife? She could no longer see him on the curving mountain road. As he was going downhill, she figured she was better off using the car to catch him. Just having him out of her sight, left her feeling as if she was the last person remaining on a barren, desolate earth. Coop never left. Not during their most heated arguments. Not when she was being utterly and completely irrational. He reasoned and cajoled and sometimes—though rarely—outshouted her until his point was driven home. But turning his back on her and walking away? Never. She jumped into the driver’s seat and eased the vehicle onto the unpaved road, wondering how long it had been since she’d sat behind the wheel of a car. Coop always drove. She always navigated. He had quicker reflexes and she seemed to have a GPS coded into her DNA. Together, they could find any location without more than a few garbled directions or a landmark. Together, they made the perfect team. So why was he so intent on changing perfection? She slowed down as she approached the curve, sure she’d see Coop just on the other side. But he wasn’t there. She rounded the next curve and again—no Coop. With no one else braving the treacherous route, she stopped and got out of the car. “Cooper Rush!” Birds flocked out of a nearby tree. In the distance, she could hear a waterfall. They weren’t exactly in the middle of nowhere—she could see San José from the ridge—but she heard nothing that indicated where he’d gone. Was he hiding? Ridiculous. Coop might have been too angry to share a ride with her back to the city, but he wasn’t the type to skulk or hide to avoid confrontation. He probably picked up a ride with someone going down the mountain. He was likely on his way back to their hotel now, stewing over her refusal to make good on her promise to marry him—maybe even hating her for the first time since they’d met.

148

Behind her a dilapidated truck honked, forcing Bianca back into the vehicle. She had no choice but to return to their hotel and pray that when she arrived, Coop would be there waiting for her—though for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why he would be.

Chapter Seven Coop’s hand hovered over the door handle to the hotel room. For the past month and a half, this had been their home. They’d played house all over the world. How stupid was he that he only realized now how little that game meant to her? The sheer terror in her eyes when he’d opened her car door in front of the chapel punched him in the gut. For the first time he could remember, she’d refused to take his hand. How could he be so confused by a woman he’d always thought he’d known so well? Turning, he walked away from the door and leaned his forehead against a cool glass mirror hanging on the wall, careful not to look at himself. Humiliation was never fun to see. He’d actually believed Bianca when she’d said yes to his proposal. Why wouldn’t he? They’d been constant companions since college, sharing everything from their intense love of travel and sports to tastes in music and food. And when their preferences did diverge, they usually did so in complimentary ways. He didn’t like pickles on his hamburgers, but she liked extra ones. She abhorred dark meat on chicken or turkey and he couldn’t get enough of the stuff. In a thousand little, insignificant ways, they were two pieces of the same whole. Why then, was she so reluctant to officially join her life with his? She hated the idea of divorce. So did he. The strong desire to make sure they were compatible in every conceivable way before they officially exchanged vows had been the reason they’d had such a long engagement. They lived together long enough to experience both good times and bad. Heck, after ten years, they’d even confronted the possibility that they’d tire of each other eventually. Which they had not. After five years, Coop had known that if they hadn’t broken up by then, they weren’t going to. From that point on, he’d figured that with the right timing and circumstance, they’d seal the promise they’d made to each other in the Hawaiian treetops. He’d waited for his bride to take charge of wedding preparations, but he had made sure they renewed their marriage license every time they went home. And yet, something inevitably came up to waylay a ceremony. Between his family, her family and their extensive network of friends, the opinions on precisely how he and Bianca should tie the knot had ranged from the romantic to the ridiculous. Then he’d get a new assignment or she’d take a job halfway around the world and instead of dealing with dress designs, cake flavors or honeymoon destination brochures, they’d jet off to their new temporary home—never once considering their relationship anything less than permanent. But he’d been wrong. Because while he saw his future inexorably intertwined with Bianca’s, her visions were nowhere near as clear. If Bianca wanted him in her future, she would have married him. Today. On the mountain. But she hadn’t. Which meant he no longer had any reason to stick around.

Chapter Eight

149

“Coop!” Bianca’s voice scraped through his insides, hollowing out his chest so that his heartbeat echoed with emotions he couldn’t bear to acknowledge. His anger refused to be denied, so he remained silent and continued tossing his belongings into his duffel. He heard her tear across the living area of their suite, then stop in the doorway. She breathed his name with relief, but he refused to turn around. “I thought you’d left,” she said, panting. A bitter retort pounded on his teeth, but he kept his mouth shut. When she rushed forward and wrapped her hand around his arm, however, he couldn’t help but yank away. She gasped. She was surprised? Really? How much did she think a guy could take before he said, “Enough,” even nonverbally. Speaking could only make the situation worse. Brutally honest words—words that would rip and tear at the foundation of all they’d had together—wouldn’t do either of them any good. As angry as he was, as humiliated and confused, Coop couldn’t bear to piss on the relationship he’d invested his heart and soul into for ten years. He loved Bianca. But he was going to have to learn to live without her. “Coop,” she begged. “Let me explain.” He spared her a glance. His chest squeezed tight at the sight of her red nose, tear-stained cheeks and her red-raw lips. Bianca rarely cried. Only death of a loved one or the desperate children they sometimes met on their travels ever evoked her tears. Like so many other things, her penchant for stoicism came in handy since he was such a self-proclaimed softie. He squelched down the instinct to open his arms so she could rush into his embrace, where he could soothe away her sadness. He couldn’t fix this for her. He couldn’t fix it for himself. Their relationship was irrevocably broken. The best they could both do was walk away. “There’s nothing to explain. You don’t want to get married.” “But I still want you,” she said. He scoffed. “That’s nice, but what if I don’t want you, anymore?” “You have to,” she said. She hesitated then attempted to press her hands to his shoulders. Though it wretched his gut, he tore away from her touch. “Don’t.” “I can’t not touch you, Coop. I love you. This is killing me.” “You’re kidding, right? The woman I’ve worshipped for ten years, the woman I’ve followed around the world to the depths of the ocean or the heights of mountains, just refused to marry me and you’re the one who’s dying?” She yowled in frustration. “You have to listen to me! You have to understand!” Coop threw down the pair of jeans he was about to shove into his bag and swung around to face her.

150

“Okay. Explain it, then. I’d love to hear how you’ve rationalized not marrying me. And think hard before you answer, because if you can’t make me understand, we’re through.”

Chapter Nine “I can’t marry you because I love you.” As she expected, Coop scowled, then stretched for the jeans he’d thrown across the room. “I’m serious.” She grabbed for his arm, but again, he yanked out of her grasp. He shoved his shaving kit on top of his clothes, and tied his bag closed with so much force she thought the cords might rip. “Apparently, you’ve never been serious,” he said. “Not about us, anyway.” “How can you say that?” “Um, I don’t know…because you refused to even get out of the car when I suggested we get married in a charming church in the mountains? Because you’ve been making excuses for not marrying me for years, but I was apparently too whipped to realize it? I bought all your excuses, Bianca. I believed you because I never had any reason not to. But now I do. Damn, do I ever.” He shrugged the duffel onto his shoulder, and Bianca knew it was now or never. She couldn’t let him leave. She understood his fury, his hurt, his disappointment. Her instinctual action to preserve their relationship exactly as it had been that morning when they’d made love in the cove had shown him the depths of her selfishness. She had to own up, be honest and hope that he’d understand. “I’m afraid,” she confessed. He stopped at the doorway. “Of what?” She shook her head. She didn’t know how to put it all into words. As he always did, he tried to find them for her. “Afraid that I’ll leave you? Or that I’ll hurt you? I’ve never done either in ten years. Why would you think—?” She covered her face with her hands, willing her brain to work overtime. “No, I’m not afraid you’ll leave. Well, I am now,” she said, gesturing toward him standing in the doorway. “I’m terrified of it.” She stepped forward, but when he countered her move by retreating backward, she stopped. The emotional distance between them already spanned the same distance as the rims of the Grand Canyon. More physical distance was more than she could stand. From the moment she’d refused to get out of the car, she’d severed the most crucial part of their relationship—mutual trust. She never would have cave dived without knowing he was her partner—without having faith in the fact that if anything went wrong, he’d do everything in his power to save her, probably before he saved himself. And vice versa. She knew that what they had was rare and precious…so why couldn’t she do the one thing he needed her to do.

151

In her entire adult life, she’d never shied away from risk. Maybe it was finally time for her to take the ultimate plunge. But first, she had to find out if he still wanted her.

Chapter Ten When Coop dropped his bag, Bianca let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The action did not release the tension in her chest—the tightness born of fear that she was about to lose the man she loved so deeply—but it allowed her to form the words she needed to say. “Make love to me, Coop.” His shoulders dropped. He reached for the duffle, but she sprang forward and stayed his hand. “Wait! I’m not saying this right.” “You’re not saying anything at all,” he snapped. “I know we’re great in bed together, Bianca. We always have been. Even the first time.” She choked on the emotion of the memory. For college students, they’d held out longer than most. But with her in the sorority house and him in a dorm, privacy came at a premium. It wasn’t until she’d gone home to look after her brother during one of her parent’s vacations that they’d carved out a special night to make love. And he was right—it had been magical. Nothing as furtive or risky as today’s interlude in the mountain pool, but they’d indulged in a sweet night in the pool house with candlelight and rose petals and soft, romantic music. Looking back, the evening had been a glorious cliché. She only wished she could bring that atmosphere back here, and erase the damage she’d done by acting on her fears instead of her love. “Why do you want to marry me?” she asked. “Because I love you.” “Don’t you love me the same now that we’re not married?” He pondered her question for a minute, then scowled. “Don’t put this on me. I can twist questions, too. If you’re fine with living with me and being faithful to me, then why will marriage change anything?” “Because it does. Marriage means settling down, having a family, changing our lives so drastically, it’ll trickle down into every aspect of our relationship.” “Maybe it’s time for our relationship to change,” he reasoned, and she breathed a little easier as his tone lost the gruff edge of anger and resentment. He was still frowning, but not with quite as much malice. “I love our relationship precisely how it is,” she insisted and this time, when she stepped toward him, he didn’t back away. In fact, he remained perfectly still as she wound her arms around his neck and speared her fingers into his hair, still a little damp from their morning swim. “Life changes,” he countered. “We’ve never stayed in one place for more than a couple of months. You thrive on change.”

152

She placed a tentative kiss on his chin, heartened when he didn’t move away. “I don’t mind when the world around us changes, Coop. I just don’t want us to change.” She scooted forward until their bodies were flush. The feel of his sex hardening as she pressed against him accelerated her heartbeat. If he hated her, he wouldn’t respond. At least, that’s what she hoped.

Chapter Eleven Addiction was a powerful thing. No matter how loudly he told himself he should resist until this matter was resolved, Coop couldn’t help but open his mouth the moment Bianca’s lips approached his. He needed to taste her, feel her heat, experience the delicious eroticism of her tongue tangled with his. And once they were kissing, he couldn’t remember why he’d been so angry, why he’d entertained—even for a split second—leaving her behind. He was addicted. She was his drug. He wasn’t sure he could live without her, and had no clue why he should even try. The hollow sensation in his chest refilled with each stitch of clothing they removed. He tore the straps of her dress off her shoulders, smoothing his hands over her skin so that his palms drank in every curve of her sun-drenched skin. She ripped through the buttons on his shirt then tugged her fingers into his chest hair, the pain mirroring her need to hold tight and never release him. By the time they were naked on the bed, he couldn’t wait to drive inside her and meet her wet warmth as if he were a man who hadn’t made love to a woman in recent memory. But he had made love recently—barely an hour ago. In that pool, barely hidden from the people chattering and splashing only yards away, he’d imagined himself the happiest man on earth. Buried inside the woman he adored, he’d contemplated—albeit briefly—a lifetime of access to intimacy so intense, he sometimes forgot where she started and where he ended. Since then, so much had changed. And nothing had been resolved. He did not break away from her, but he leaned back so he could see her face, which was wet with tears. “Why are you crying?” he asked, trying to ignore the exquisite fit of his body within hers. If he moved, if he surrendered, the buildup of need that made him so hard and hungry would find its release. He needed it. Needed her. “I thought I’d never feel this way again,” she said, curving her hands around his buttocks and pressing him inside her more deeply. “You fill me.” Unable to resist he pumped into her, though he kept the thrusts measured, even and calm. The sensations clouded his vision but his mind remained, for the moment, clear. “This is just sex, Bianca. I want to fill your soul.” A sob caught in her throat, and the moisture welling around her dark lashes flooded down her face. “You do!” “Then be my wife.” “I am,” she said. “In every way that matters.”

153

She wrapped her legs around his waist, nearly knocking the last of his clarity into the clouded vortex of pleasure, sensation and need. “Then take the vows. Say the words. I need this,” he confessed. “I need you. Whatever you’re afraid of, we’ll work through.” He made the promise, fully intending to keep it. The question remained as to whether or not she could do the same.

Chapter Twelve Coop tried to tame the tempo of his thrusts, but the speed seemed to build of his own accord. When Bianca arched her back so that her breasts crashed against his chest, he couldn’t focus on anything but hearing her cry out in orgasm. He kissed her, coaxed her, cajoled her. He kissed her mouth until her lips swelled pink, then did the same to her nipples. He rode her until the pressure was unstoppable, yet when he came, he knew he crested alone. He reached between their bodies to provide the completion she needed, but she pleaded for him to stop. Though she did not push him away, he rolled off her and she didn’t fight for him to stay. Once his senses cleared, he realized she was crying in earnest now, sobbing and weeping as if she’d just learned of a death. Confused, he watched her for a few minutes before realizing he should do something. He grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over her body, then snagged her pillow and coaxed it beneath her head. “Bianca? Baby, what’s wrong? You don’t cry. Not like this. Come on, honey. You’ve gotta stop. You’re freaking me out.” Despite her misery, she laughed. He grabbed a box of tissues from the bedside, which she used as he stroked her hair and placed feather-light kisses on her cheeks. He wanted to reassure her that they could solve whatever had thrown her into this tizzy of emotion. But after what had happened this afternoon, he wasn’t sure that would be the truth. And if they needed anything to repair the damage to their relationship, it was the truth. “I’m sorry, Coop. I never meant to hurt you. To hurt us.” “I know,” he assured. “But I think both of us have built our relationship into something that it’s not.” She sniffled. “What does that mean?” “You thought things were perfect between us just the way it was. But it wasn’t.” “Because we’re not married.” “No, because no relationship is perfect.” “We’re close,” she insisted. He smiled. Yeah, they were that. “And yet, we’re at a crossroads right now—just as winding and steep as that mountain road. We both have needs that aren’t being met.”

154

Her face paled. “I don’t know why—” He cut her off with a kiss. “I do. You thought sex would solve our issues. When it didn’t, you couldn’t let your body go the distance. I suppose I should have the same emotional depth. But the fact is, you’re the hottest piece of ass on God’s green earth and I can’t resist you, even when I should.” As he intended, her smile broke her face into a contradiction of pieces. Sad eyes. Flushed cheeks. Kissbruised lips. “You know me better than anyone ever will.” “That’s true.” She grabbed his cheeks and pulled his face so close, he could follow the path of desperation in her eyes straight through to her soul. “Then tell me why I bolted today. Tell me why I couldn’t marry you.”

Chapter Thirteen If she’d asked him the question an hour ago, he wouldn’t have had a clue how to answer. He still wasn’t sure of the true reasons—she’d have to figure those out on her own. But he could, he hoped, offer her a way to get there. Because that’s what they did for each other. Since the very beginning when they’d participated in the road rally—ostensibly to raise money for some worthy charity, when in truth it was an excuse to drive fast around campus and then to drink heavily at the celebration that followed—Coop drove and Bianca rode shotgun. He’d been struck from the start by how in-sync they were. After less than an hour in each other’s company, he finished her sentences and she laughed at obscure film references that no one other than his sister had ever understood, much less appreciated. Over the years, they’d refined their unique method of communication. But today when he’d surprised her with a spontaneous wedding, and she’d shocked him by balking, their connection had broken. But not, he prayed, irretrievably. “You said it yourself,” he answered. “You’re afraid of marriage. I’m not sure why. The only marriages you’ve ever seen have been happy ones.” “But how happy?” Now it was her turn to catch him unaware. “Our parents have both been married for over thirty years. Do you stay together that long unless you’re happy?” “I guess that depends on your definition of happy.” The air-conditioner kicked on, giving him an excuse to slide under the blanket with her. He propped the pillows against the headboard and then curved his arm around Bianca’s shoulders so that she could lay her cheek on his chest. “Do you think your mother still has the hots for your father?” she asked.

155

He nearly choked. “I don’t really want to know the answer to that question.” “Why not? You weren’t exactly born of an immaculate conception.” “No, but that doesn’t mean I want to think about my parents’ sex lives.” “But it’s important. Our sex life has always been important. I expected that after ten years, some of the appeal would have worn off a little bit. It hasn’t.” He snorted, which judging by her scowl, wasn’t the right response. “Are you saying you don’t want me the same way you did when we first met?” she challenged. “Are you nuts?” he said, chuckling. “How many times have we had sex today, keeping in mind that we also had the biggest fight of our relationship?” “Then why’d you snort?” “Because while I might want to have sex a lot—and so do you, I might add—we don’t have it as much as we used to.” She glanced up at him, her eyebrows scrunched quizzically. “Yes, we do.” “No,” he contradicted. “We don’t. Care to do a play-by-play of the past month?” She frowned, but after a minute, gave a nod. He held in a chuckle. If breaking down Bianca’s barriers meant reliving precisely all the times they’d made love over the past thirty days, he was game.

Chapter Fourteen Bianca stared at her left hand. She’d started counting on her right, completely convinced when they started this game that she’d have to use her toes to tally up the times that she and Coop had made love since their arrival in Costa Rica. But as Coop predicted, not counting the two times they’d had sex today, she still didn’t need more than one appendage to keep an accurate calculation. “You’re sure?” she asked. “You were there, too,” he said. Her stomach dropped. She scrambled from beneath the blanket, and after hurrying into the shiny silk robe Coop had bought her in India, went to the bathroom. “Bianca?” She was tempted to lock the door behind her to keep him out, but her brain was too scrambled to figure out even that easy task. When had she and Coop become like an old married couple, too busy with work or too tired from a day out exploring to enjoy the rapturous delights of each other’s bodies? And if they weren’t getting it on as often as she’d thought, was she then ready to walk down the aisle? Coop knocked lightly on the door before cracking it open. “Are you okay?” “No! We’re not having enough sex! Why didn’t you tell me?”

156

His burst of laughter made her realize that she sounded like a maniac—a sex maniac, first and foremost, but a certifiable nutcase nonetheless. She folded her lips together and pushed past him, giving the mirror a cursory glance on her way out. She thought she still looked pretty good. She was, after all, only thirty-two. She exercised, ate right. And though she was curvier now than she had been in college, Coop had sworn up and down that her fuller figure turned him on. But how turned on could he be if they’d made love only slightly more than once a week since they arrived in a tropical paradise like Costa Rica? “Bianca, honey, you’re overreacting.” She spun around, but cut her denial off before she’d formed the first word. She was overreacting. But in her crazy mind, she had good reason. “I thought that marriage would dull our attraction to each other,” she confessed. “The fact that I still want you and you still want me after all this time is something I thought was really special about us—the thing I didn’t want to change by getting married. I don’t know a single other couple who has been together ten years and still can’t keep their hands off each other. Now I’ve just come to the realization that not only can we keep our hands off each other, but we have! And I haven’t even noticed.” Coop had the decency to stop laughing at her. But the twinkle in his eye told her his thoughts were not on the deeper problems beneath the fact that they hadn’t been having sex with regularity. And judging by the way he licked his lips, he wanted to make up for lost time. Starting now.

Chapter Fifteen She expected him to pounce. The heated look in Coop’s eyes—the one that made her insides instantaneously liquefy—usually preceded hot-and-heavy, against-the-nearest-hard-surface sex. Instead, he snagged the belt on her robe and reeled her slowly until her nose brushed against the tip of his chin. “Let’s get one thing straight right now,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “The fact that we haven’t had sex that much lately has nothing to do with how much I want you.” She inhaled. His scent penetrated the last of her defenses. “You know all my insecurities.” “I should,” he said. “Just the same way you know mine—and my biggest one is losing you.” She tilted her head so she could brush a kiss along his jawline. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m sorry for hurting you today. I should have trusted you. I should have at least gotten out of the car.” “Yes, you should have. You would have found a chapel filled with flowers, and that street corner guitarist you like would have played you down the aisle.” While they talked, he’d worked the knot out of her belt and brushed the robe off her shoulders, so it pooled around her ankles. He wore jeans, but hadn’t zipped or buttoned them, so that his erection pressed against her belly when she snuggled closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it,” she said honestly. Maybe if she hadn’t allowed her fears to waylay her, the atmosphere would have swept her up and she’d be Coop’s wife right now. But she couldn’t imagine feeling closer to him as she slid his hands up her body, caressing the undersides of her breasts in that teasing way that drove her mad with want. “Me, too.”

157

He nibbled her lips, coaxing her tongue with kisses that might have been made of heated air. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, but at the very moment that her nerve endings sparked with need, his touch was gone. His sweet torture made her so dizzy that she didn’t dare move for fear of falling—for fear of missing out on his subtle seduction of her body, mind and soul. “Coop,” she started, unsure what she should say—only minutes before their relationship had been on the line. She’d rejected him in the cruelest way possible. And yet, here he was now, making love to her with the most exquisite attention to detail. The way he suckled the tip of her ear, licked along her shoulder blade, then dropped to his knees to blow a cool breath at the hottest part of her body. “Coop, I—” she repeated, still incapable of forming a coherent thought, particularly when he was nuzzling her stomach or fluttering kisses across her thighs. “Shh,” he instructed. “Making up for lost time requires intense concentration.”

Chapter Sixteen His erection was pressed against the teeth of his unzipped jeans, but despite the pain, Coop concentrated solely on Bianca’s pleasure. With feathery touches and kisses that barely registered the taste of her skin, he’d heightened her awareness of her lower body to such a concentrated force that when he finally flicked his tongue against her sex, she nearly bucked out of her skin. He hummed his appreciation against her. So what if they’d succumbed to the married couple’s affliction of ignoring their sexual needs more than they should. However much Coop liked a good, old-fashioned dose of quantity, he appreciated quality, too. If he lost Bianca tonight because they couldn’t agree on marriage, he wanted to go out knowing that the last time he’d made love to the woman he loved, he’d made it count. He savored her flavors on his tongue. He registered the accelerating sharpness of her breath and the increasing pressure of her hands on his shoulders. By the time she had her orgasm, his senses were enraptured by the woman he needed to have in his life forever. He lifted her into his arms; she curled into him, breathless. He unfolded her across the mattress, but before he could press inside her, she placed her palm flat against his chest. “Stop,” she said. Her mouth curved into a wicked grin. “My turn.” She guided him onto his bed, then returned the favor of pleasuring every inch of his body with her mouth, teeth, tongue and hands. She left very few crevices and appendages unexplored and once she’d wrapped her delicious mouth around his sex, he’d forgotten everything but the bliss only Bianca could bring him. She sucked him to the brink of orgasm and then pressed on the magic spot that kept him from falling over the edge. “Bianca, you’re killing me,” he groaned. She chuckled. “That’s not my intention.” “Let me come, honey,” he begged. “Not until you’re inside me,” she countered. He wasted no time, flipping her onto her back and burying himself to the hilt. The glorious sound of her pleasured cry fired his synapses so that he could think of nothing else but rocking into her until they came.

158

“I love you.” He gazed desperately into her liquid amber eyes—willing to drown if that was the only way to reach her. He could never walk away from her. No matter how it hurt him to not marry her, it would kill him to leave. “I love you, too,” she promised. “Don’t ever doubt that.” “I won’t. And you don’t have to marry me, Bianca.” Never since that treetop proposal had he imagined he’d speak these words, but he didn’t have a choice. Between disappointment and destruction, he knew which to choose. “We don’t have to mess with this—with us. Marriage is just a piece of paper, right? What we have is so much more.” Smiling, she touched his cheek and in that moment, he knew he’d said the right thing. What he didn’t know was if he really meant it.

Chapter Seventeen “Coop?” Though Bianca awoke with Coop’s name on her lips, she knew immediately that he wasn’t there. Their hotel room echoed with emptiness, the only light streaming in from the window, the curtains open since this afternoon. She rolled over toward his side of the bed and found her cell phone. He’d typed a message onto the screen that informed her he’d gone to pick up some dinner since he wanted to spend the rest of the night in bed. Her body thrummed in anticipation. She snuggled deeply into the sheets, inhaling his musky scent, and then checked the time. He’d only left ten minutes ago, so if he was heading over to their favorite restaurant for sea bass ceviche, he’d be gone at least another twenty. Once he returned, she had to make her choice. He’d given her an out. They could continue their relationship as they had for all these years—no rings, no wedding, no promises beyond loving each other until the day they died. While his offer was tempting, Bianca realized they couldn’t go backward anymore than they could remain stagnant. It was time to raise the bar. Jump from a higher height. Surf a more ravenous wave. Complacency had never enriched her life. How could it possibly grow their love? With her cell phone in hand she dialed her best friend, Jessie, needing to hear a familiar voice. Engaged three times and yet still unmarried, Jessie wasn’t exactly a fan of the institution. But she was dead honest and innately fearless. If anyone could push Bianca those final few inches to the edge of the matrimonial cliff, it was Jessie. Only Jessie didn’t answer her cell. Well, it was a Friday night. She was probably out, couldn’t hear the ring. She tried her boss, Mallory. They’d long ago given up trying to keep their business and personal lives separate. They had a video conference scheduled for tomorrow. But as another woman who’d recently had her heart trampled, Mallory might provide some insight into Bianca’s troubles that she wouldn’t get from anyone else. But she’d likely tell Bianca to count herself lucky to have someone as wonderful as Coop and not a cheater like her ex. She did not leave a voicemail.

159

Instead, she called the only person who had the slightest chance of sympathizing with Bianca’s dilemma. Luckily, her mother answered on the first ring. “Bianca, is something wrong?” “Does something have to be wrong for me to call my mother?” “No, no,” her mother said, sounding distracted. “Where’s Coop?” “Getting dinner. Mom, can I ask you something?” Bianca needed to get this out while she had the chance. “Of course, honey.” “Why haven’t I married Coop?” Her mother spluttered. “What? What have you heard? Why are you asking this now after all this time?” Bianca had imagined a few reactions, but not this one. It was as if she’d just caught her mother red-handed in some sort of conspiracy. “Mom? What’s going on?”

Chapter Eighteen “I don’t know what you mean,” her mother insisted. Alina Brighton was a lot of things—a caregiver, a philanthropist and the classiest woman on earth. But she was also a terrible liar. Maybe that’s why Bianca called her. If she wanted the unvarnished truth about why she was not committing to Coop, her mother would tell her. “We don’t talk on the phone that often, Mom. When I call, I normally get your full attention.” “I have people over, sweetheart,” her mother said in an unconvincingly breezy voice. “Let me find somewhere quiet.” After her mother fumbled with the phone, Bianca found herself muted. She was surprised, but once Alina got back on the line, Bianca had more important things on her mind. She couldn’t keep Coop from being truly happy on account of her hang-ups. She needed to face her ultimate fear. “Now what’s this about you not marrying Coop?” Alina’s voice had a curt clip that caught Bianca unaware. “Are you mad at me?” Flustered, her mother babbled, “No, dear, of course not. I’m confused.” “Tell me about it,” Bianca said. She explained about the chapel in the mountains and Coop packing to leave without her. “But he stayed?” her mother spluttered. “Everything’s okay between you?”

160

“He said we didn’t have to get married, but mom, it’s not fair. Why should Coop put his dreams on hold just because I can’t commit? I thought I was just afraid that we’d stop having sex, but—” “Excuse me?” Bianca couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with her mother, but her two best friends were unavailable and she had to talk this out. Maybe she should have called Annie, but discussing her sex life with her fiancé’s sister was somehow worse than talking to her mother. “Married couples might not have sex every five minutes,” Alina declared. “But if they’re happy, they make each time count.” “I know that now,” Bianca conceded. “So why am I still confused? I love him. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.” “You’re overthinking, sweetheart.” Alina’s compassion softened her tone. “You and Coop live in a world of flux—always doing new jobs, going new places.” “But he’s my constant! Why wouldn’t I want to make that permanent?” “I can’t imagine,” her mother replied. “After ten years, you can’t be afraid of losing him.” “No.” “Of settling down?” “That’s part of it,” Bianca admitted. “I don’t see myself staying in one place, raising kids and driving carpool.” Her mother’s laugh was like an explosion. “Honey, no one who knows you would ever expect those things. How could Coop when he knows you better than you know yourself?” Bianca’s heart lifted. Her mother was right. Coop understood Bianca like no one else. From the start he’d known what was in her heart, underneath all her anxiety. She said she loved him. Now she had to prove it—in a way that he’d believe. And after what she’d put him through today, convincing him might not be an easy task.

Chapter Nineteen Coop balanced the bags of food in one hand and flipped open his ringing cell phone. “I know you’re hungry, baby, but I’m only a block away.” “Please don’t call me, ‘baby.’” Surprised by the male voice on the other end of the phone, Coop took a second to register that it was his best friend, Leo Sharpe, not his fiancé—or former fiancé. He still wasn’t clear on if they were engaged, anymore—or if they even needed to be. “My mistake,” Coop said, chuckling. “I thought you were Bianca.” “She’s not with you?” “I’m picking up food. What’s up?”

161

“Wanted to check in. A bunch of us thought we’d get together Saturday night at the pizza place, to welcome you guys home.” Coop stopped walking. As often as he and Bianca flitted in and out of their friends’ lives, they’d given up welcome-home parties a long time ago. “Why?” he asked, suspicious. “Are we so old now that we need a reason to party?” Coop resumed his walk to the hotel. “We’re certainly not getting any younger.” “Too true. So, are you guys in or what?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what Bianca has planned. Let me run the idea past her.” The minute the words left Coop’s mouth, the foreign sound struck him. How could he not know what Bianca had going on? They hadn’t kept a single secret from each other for ten years. They’d shared the same space, the same priorities—hell, the same friends. He’d cherished the simplicity of their symbiotic existence. Now, he no longer trusted her not to have secrets. If she could go so long hiding her fear that marriage would destroy their relationship, what else didn’t he know? “Something wrong?” Leo asked. Coop forced a laugh. “Everything’s cool.” “Bullshit,” Leo countered. Coop cursed, not surprised Leo had picked up on his troubled vibe. They’d been friends since high school, and pledging the same fraternity in college had literally made them brothers. He’d been Coop’s wingman the night he’d met Bianca and had always been the strongest advocate for their marriage, even going as far as offering to plan the whole affair if it meant getting his two best friends down the aisle. Coop wondered what Leo’s take on Bianca’s reluctance was, but he didn’t ask. He’d told Bianca that she didn’t have to marry him for them to be together. He would keep his word. “Just anxious to get home,” he said. Surprisingly, Leo didn’t argue. “Then I’ll assume we’re on for Saturday unless you say otherwise, okay?” Five minutes later, Coop walked into the hotel room and set the food bags down by the door. He quietly padded to the bedroom, determined to wake Bianca gently. But the minute he saw the empty bed, his heart stopped.

Chapter Twenty Though the bed was empty, Coop couldn’t see the sheets. Every inch of the mattress was covered in bright pink and orange orchids. Bianca stood at the windowsill, lighting candles she’d lined up on the ledge. “That’s a lot of flowers,” he said. She blew out the match. “The hotel diverted a delivery meant for a wedding tomorrow. I promised I’d pay double if they could find replacements before morning. I don’t want someone else’s ceremony ruined because I wanted to make a grand gesture. I’ve messed up my share of weddings today.”

162

Since he’d told Bianca that she didn’t have to marry him, his chest had felt hollow. So far, that had not changed. He’d do anything not to lose Bianca, but he did not want her to change her mind out of some misguided sense of obligation. Or worse, guilt. “Bianca, sweetheart—” She held up her hand to silence him. “No, Coop, you need to listen.” She crossed the room and slipped her hands around his waist, arching her back so that he could see her face, pale gold in the light from the candles. “I love you.” “I know,” he said. She punched him softly in the shoulder. He supposed now wasn’t the time to quote movies, but the tension between them was disconcerting. It wasn’t a bad tension, necessarily, but intense. As if she was about to reveal some great secret to him—and frankly, he’d had more than enough privy time with her closeted inner workings to last a while. “I made too many excuses for not marrying you. But in a way, I’m glad we got it all out in the open. None of my stupid fears held up to the light of what we have together. You know who I am, better than I know myself. You’d never expect anything from me that I couldn’t give.” “I don’t have any expectations,” he assured her. “Well, you should,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his chin. She stepped back, took his hand and dropped to one knee. “Bianca,” he pleaded. She’d taken the preferred posture for a proposal—one, come to think of it, he’d yet to try—but he was supposed to be the supplicant one, not her. “Shh,” she chastised. “You’re already my soul mate and my best friend, but we won’t be complete until you’re my husband. Cooper Rush, will you marry me?” He knelt, intoxicated by her honesty. He kissed her with the ferocity of a man who’d just fallen in love for the first time. And though he still did not have his fill of her—and doubted he ever would—he broke the kiss to ask the question that was crucial to their future. “When?” She laughed. “Now if you want.” “We’re going home tomorrow, and the first and only task on our list is to plan a very fast and very long overdue wedding.”

163

Zombie Midnight by Lori Devoti Having seen her brother’s life ruined by addiction, teacher Lexi Thompson refuses to sit idly by as her students get seduced into the drug scene. She’s even willing to follow one teen in the hopes of finding—and exposing—his dealer. What she doesn’t know is that the “zombie” the kids are whispering about is not merely an illicit substance.… Her quest is about to lead her into a terrifying world she never could have imagined! Bryce Menard is a member of the covert Fringe—a group of vampires dedicated to policing their own kind, to the exclusion of all else. Nothing will stop him from completing his latest mission—not even a beautiful human who gets between him and the undead teen he hopes will lead him right to his maker!

Chapter One Bryce Menard had never failed before. The Fringe—his brother vampires who had joined together over a hundred years ago to police their own kind—wouldn’t take kindly to him doing so now. Their numbers were small; each had to do his part. No one believed or supported that more than Bryce. He would jam the ceremonial blade of disgrace in his own heart if he failed. But it was too early to start planning his own death. He had only been tracking the Zombie Maker for three months, having taken over from one of his brothers who had failed. And Bryce had a lead. Feet shuffled to his left. He sank back against the side of the building and disappeared into the shadows. A human boy, no more than sixteen, shambled past. His gait was no different than that of a thousand other apathetic teens, but his scent—stench to Bryce’s vampire nose—was pure rot. A zombie. He had been turned—Bryce inhaled—but recently. He waited another two minutes for the boy to be within easy reach, then sprang from the darkness and grabbed the walking corpse by the neck. His fingers pressing into the boy’s throat, his face against his ear, he whispered, “What are you worth to your maker?” *** Lexi Thompson hurried down the quickly darkening street. Mitchell was a block ahead of her now. She couldn’t lose him, couldn’t stand the thought of her student becoming another victim of the drug epidemic that was claiming her brother. She knew what Mitchell’s shuffling steps, the flat deadness of his eyes and the undeniable odor of his breath meant. He, like Tony, was addicted. She’d heard the kids whispering about some new drug—zombie. She didn’t care what they termed it; she wouldn't lose a student to it. If the police wouldn’t take her calls seriously, she would take care of things on her own. They might be able to ignore her pleas to help one strung-out kid. But if she had the name, even the face, of the dealer to give them, how could they ignore that? They couldn't. She’d make sure of it.

164

Determined and convinced she was doing the right thing, the only thing she could, she stepped out of her heels and left them lying forgotten on the sidewalk. They were only slowing her down. Then, ignoring the cold concrete beneath her bare feet, she hurried her steps. Her sacrifice paid off. Another ten feet and she caught sight of Mitchell again. She let out a tension-filled breath, but she was only allowed that one tiny moment of relief before a new anxiety wrapped around her. A man jumped from the shadows and grabbed the teen around his neck. Strung out as he was, Mitchell didn’t struggle. He stood in the man’s grip defenseless…lifeless. A memory of her brother lying pale and near death on his bed, a needle protruding from one arm, flashed through Lexi’s mind and crowded out everything else, every sense of personal danger she had ever held. She raced forward and threw herself on the man’s back.

Chapter Two The attack came from nowhere. One minute Bryce had the zombie in his grip, squeezing him into submission, and next a body of sweet-scented curves had landed on his back. A forearm pressed into Bryce’s Adam’s apple. “Run, Mitchell!” a woman screamed in his ear. His fingers still gripping the zombie’s neck, Bryce spun, but the woman held tight. With his free hand, he reached behind him to jerk her off his back. “Run, Mitchell!” she repeated. At her second call, the zombie’s head tilted. A bit of recognition, humanity even, flashed over its face. The woman rose higher on Bryce’s back and slapped her hands over his eyes. At that moment the zombie twisted from his hold. With a curse, he reached over his shoulder and tossed the female who had cost him his quarry onto the concrete. She fell hard. He moved to step over her, but she rolled to a crouch and grabbed him around the thigh. Then she screamed. The zombie was already disappearing into the gloom, leaving the female to receive Bryce’s wrath. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She was maybe six inches shorter than his six-foot-two-inch frame. She only had to tilt her head a bit to meet his gaze with hers. After her bold attack, he’d expected to find defiance and challenge in her blue eyes, but fear and desperation met him instead. The intensity of it caused him to pause. “The school knows I’m here. Knows Mitchell is, too. There are others following.” She took a step to the side, trying to follow the zombie’s example and twist from Bryce’s hold. But he was ready this time. He gripped her by the other arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled of baby powder and permanent markers. The mixture was disconcerting, soft and harsh. Just as contradictory as her actions were to the fear he saw in her eyes. Her hands spread over his white cotton shirt. Her fingers were stained with blue and green ink—the markers.

165

He didn’t bother glancing around for the saviors she claimed were coming. He could see by the way her gaze darted, the words were a lie. She jerked against his hold, but he held tight. “Why?” he asked. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. She dug her fingers into his chest until he thought her nails would poke through the fine woven cloth and scrape his skin. He yanked her closer, until there was no room between them for her to even bend her fingers, much less continue her attack. “Why are you following him? What do you know?” “I…” She threw her head back, baring her neck. Bryce froze. Her throat was long and pale. Her pulse beat wildly under the skin. He could see the rapid twitch at her collar bone, could smell the blood now. The need to taste it, fed by the adrenaline ripping through him, almost overwhelmed him. He lowered his head. She jerked again. His lip rose, and his fangs descended. A snarl broke free from his throat. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to taste this woman’s blood. He dipped his mouth toward her neck.

Chapter Three My God, what was happening? Lexi had clawed at the man, tried to force him to free her. But as he bent closer, lowered his head toward her, she found herself clinging to him, instead. Her heart beat as if it might fly from her chest. Her instincts shrieked danger, but her body defied all the warnings. Her knees bent, pushing her even closer to the man she’d seen attack Mitchell, until she could feel his breath dance over her skin and her breasts flatten against him. “What…what are you doing?” The words were no more than a whisper. She stared up at the strange man who was making her body react in an even stranger manner. His eyes were dark…dilated to the point she couldn’t tell their real color. His black hair was tousled, falling over his forehead and brushing one cheek. She wanted to push the strands back so she could see him more clearly. She straightened her head, trying to see his whole face; his lips and chin weren’t visible at this angle. He stared back at her and something clicked in his eyes. A circle of gray appeared, telling her their color. Then with a curse, he shoved her to the side. For the second time that night, she hit the ground. Her phone, which she’d tucked in the pocket of her slacks, fell too. She dove toward it, but the man reached it first. He lifted one foot and stomped her lifeline to others into nothing but tiny bits of plastic and wires. Then he kicked the remnants across the ground and spun toward her. “Stay away from me.” And with those words, little more than a growl, he raced down the street. Away from her and toward Mitchell. No phone. No way to call for help.

166

She had no choice but to follow. *** Bryce cast the woman aside, cursing himself for what he had almost done. He’d lost focus, forgotten his hunt and become ensnared by the scent and feel of her. It had never happened before. He couldn’t let it happen again. With that thought pounding in his head, he took off after the zombie. Within seconds, the undead teen was back in sight. The boy was squatting in the middle of the street. He seemed to be prying the lid off a manhole. Bryce slowed his steps. The zombie slipped from view, disappeared beneath the street. The only sign he’d been near was the clang of the manhole cover falling back into place. Bryce didn’t pause. He jerked at the manhole cover, but the thing wouldn’t budge. He glanced over his shoulder. The woman was kneeling in the road, holding the remnants of her phone. Her gaze was on him, but even from here he could see her hands shaking. With the death of her cell, she’d lost her bravada. Not that her cell would have done her any good where he was going. Another sharp tug and the cover pulled free. He slipped through the opening and pulled the cover back down into place. Even if the female’s bravery hadn’t been false, she wouldn't follow him here.

Chapter Four Lexi’s feet were numb and her skin clammy, but she didn’t have time to worry about either. The man who had attacked Mitchell was getting away. Without her phone to photograph him or call the police, she had to follow, had to see where he went so she could tell someone, so she could save Mitchell. As she raced forward, he was already disappearing, but in an impossible way. He seemed to be lowering his body into the street. She stopped, stymied. The sound of metal hitting metal broke through her confusion—a manhole cover. He was going into sewers. She licked her lips and looked back the direction she had come. Now would be a good time to leave and find a phone. Going underground would be insane. She had no idea where the tunnels went. She took a step back toward the school. But a new thought stopped her. She didn't know where the sewers went, which meant she didn’t know how far away he could get and how quickly. He could leave the tunnels through some other route and be gone for good. She turned back around and scanned the street. A few feet to her right lay a strip of metal, fallen from some ramshackle car. She grabbed it, then scurried forward. Not giving herself time to rethink her decision, she slipped the metal strip under the edge of the manhole cover and pried at the disc. Then sucking in a breath, she lowered herself through the hole.

167

Above her the lid clanked closed. She was left in complete darkness.

*** Twenty feet away from the manhole he’d entered through, Bryce froze. He knew that sound. Someone had followed him. The woman. A gasp, followed by a soft cry, confirmed the guess. His first instinct was to keep going, to let the idiot female figure her own way out of whatever problem she’d landed herself in. Tiny whimpers echoed through the concrete passageway. He thought of the duty assigned him, or tried to. His mind floated instead to an image of the female’s face, lost, afraid and determined. His teeth gritted, he stalked back to the sewer entrance. The underground tunnels were black as death. Lights hung from the ceiling, but none were operating. The darkness didn't bother Bryce. He and his kind thrived in the dark, but it was obviously an issue for the female. She clung to the ladder that led from the street, as if she were dangling from a rope over a sea filled with sharks. Of course, unknown to her, the monster she dangled over was much more dangerous than any shark. He swallowed, his mouth dry, his body aching. She was built like women of his youth when breasts and buttocks were celebrated, not starved away. Her hair had fallen into fine waves atop her shoulders. His fingers opened and closed. The locks would be soft to his touch, would wrap around his fingers and trap him like cotton candy. And her taste—his tongue moved over his fangs—like the candy, would be sweet and addictive. He should walk away. But he couldn’t. His fangs heavy in his mouth, he took a step forward.

Chapter Five Lexi stabbed at open air with her bare foot. Her hands and fingers ached, but she was afraid to lighten her grip on the cold metal ladder. She knew there had to be ground below, but she couldn’t see it, having nothing to reference where she was but the ladder. Panic engulfed her. Her world seemed to be collapsing, invisible walls pressed in toward her.

168

She gulped for air, but none made its way into her lungs. Below her something hissed. She jerked and turned. Her body swayed to one side and finger by finger her grip on the rungs loosened. Then she fell. *** The female dropped from the ladder like a bird shot from the sky. The fall was short, less than twelve feet, but her landing, on concrete, would be hard. With the speed of the preternatural beast he was, Bryce rushed forward. With an umph of exhaled air, she landed into his arms. He held her, cradled against his chest, unsure what to do next. Mind and duty said to drop her, but his arms curved around her and didn’t seem to want to let go. The sweet scent of innocence broke through the dank air of the sewer like a fist punching through a wall. Bryce grasped her tighter against his body. “What…?” She pulled in a stuttering breath. Her hand reached out, grasping blindly in the dark, feeling for who had saved her. Her fingers found his face. Bryce held still, not even his chest moving with breath. “I fell.” A pure statement of fact that in Bryce’s mind required no response. “You caught me.” The words were soft, filled with disbelief. He had. He hadn’t meant to, but he had. He was as surprised as she was. The realization only increased his need to be with her, to discover her. His face lowered until her breath danced across his skin. He pulled it into his lungs, tasted it, tasted her…wanted more. His groin tightened. Tension flowed from her body like water from a spring; he could feel it. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if relaxing in an easy chair. She felt as comfortable in his embrace as he felt embracing her. The thought flitted through his brain, but briefly. His attention was too focused on the column of skin her movement had bared, her throat, pale and perfect. The tiny steady throb of her pulse called to him. He brushed his lips over her collarbone, and tried to remember who he was, the duty he was sworn to complete. Tried to think of zombies and vampires drunk with their own power, but all he could see, all he could feel at that moment was her. She was everything, and for the first time in his long-dead existence, he was powerless to resist. He opened his mouth and sank his fangs into her.

169

Chapter Six The stranger’s lips brushed over Lexi’s throat. Some tiny bit of sanity told her this wasn’t right. But as quickly as the thought flickered to life, she knocked it aside. Her hands moved to the man’s chest, touching material so smooth and fine it could have been silk, except it wasn’t, she knew that. She recognized the expensive cloth beneath her fingers, having felt it only moments earlier when she had grappled with the man who had attacked Mitchell. Reality smashed into her like a bucket of snow to the face. But before she could react, or even tense, the feel of lips hovering over her throat was gone, replaced by a pain that jerked her breath from her chest. Then just as quickly the pain was gone, too. Her mind swirled and her body ached. She shifted in the man’s arms, knowing somehow he was providing the intense feeling of pleasure that surrounded her—knowing, too, through him there was much more to be had. A moan left her lips and her hands rose. She wanted to touch the man, pull him even closer. Her fingers wove through his hair. Her body arched. He murmured something and she murmured in return, nonsense words, noises of pleasure and desire. She hadn’t felt this way, forgotten herself this way for years. Her job and constant struggles to save Tony from himself didn’t allow time for anything personal. Tony. Her eyes closed and tears pressed against her eyelids. Disassociated as she was, distant as the world seemed right now, his situation felt more desperate, hopeless. The moan she’d been about to release changed to a sob. *** Bryce felt her tears on his cheek, inhaled their salty scent. Lost as he was in the pleasure of feeding on her, the unexpected emotion cut through the fog that surrounded him. His mouth still pressed against her throat, the truth hit him. He had forgotten his hunt, given in to the most base of vampire desires, fed when he should have been caught in the chase. He pulled his fangs from her throat, but couldn’t bring himself to let her go. “Who are you?” he whispered, his lips still pressed against her skin. *** Lexi’s feet hit the ground slowly, the man loosening his hold, releasing her while still keeping her close. It was the perfect time to jump backwards, proclaim her shock and anger at being taken advantage of and touched when she was at her weakest. But outrage would have been a lie. And Lexi didn’t have it in her. “Lexi,” she replied. She searched his face, wishing she could see him better in the dark. She needed to see him, to understand how someone she didn’t know could strip away the barriers she’d built around herself so completely. She could feel his stare, thought for a moment he wouldn’t say any more.

170

“Bryce.” His voice was rough, gave her the feeling his offering was made grudgingly. But still knowing his name was better, reassured her he was real and not some panic-induced dream. “Thank you,” she murmured. He’d saved her from her fall; he deserved her thanks. The other, how she had reacted to him…she dropped her gaze to the ground. She wouldn’t think about that.

Chapter Seven “I…I have to go now.” The woman placed a shaking hand against Bryce’s chest and stepped backwards, but Bryce didn’t release his hold on her. He kept her trapped within his arms. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she raised her eyelids something had changed. She had changed, hardened. “You attacked Mitchell,” she muttered. “Mitchell? The zom…boy?” he asked. He kept his voice calm, conversational. She, he realized, might know something he could use to find the zombie and thus his maker. It was an excuse, a reason to keep her with him. But one he could justify, to himself and the Fringe. “Zombie. You were going to say zombie. You gave it to him, didn’t you? You’re his pusher.” She jerked against Bryce’s hold again. He had no idea what the woman was rambling about. “Pusher?” he asked. She stomped down on his foot and kicked his shin; with her feet bare neither had any affect. “Yes, pusher. You gave him the drug. How many others have you supplied?” She wrenched side to side. He held firm. “I haven’t supplied anyone with anything,” he replied. A rough laugh left her throat. “Then why did you grab Mitchell? Why did you come down here?” She glanced around. “Why did you?” he asked. “I was following you, trying to save Mitchell.” “And I was following him, trying to find his…pusher.” There was a scuttling up ahead. Both Bryce and Lexi stilled. “Mitchell,” she murmured. Bryce inhaled. The telltale scent of rotting human flesh assailed him. Zombies were just ahead, waiting for them. “You have to leave.” He took a step toward the ladder, signaling for Lexi to follow him. She stood poised like a wild animal startled by a light. Then she ran. ***

171

Her hand trailing over the concrete wall for reference, Lexi ran as fast as she could through the darkness. Racing forward blindly was like being caught in a nightmare. The sound of her bare feet slapping against the cold floors echoed through the passageways. She wasn’t sure why she was running. She had believed Bryce when he said he was hunting Mitchell’s pusher. Maybe that was why…. She shouldn’t trust him. The fact that she did, so quickly and so thoroughly, terrified her. Her footsteps rang through the sewers and her breath came in puffs. She could hear little else, couldn’t tell if the man was in pursuit or not. But before she’d run, she’d heard something else. It had to be Mitchell; who else would be in this tunnel? Once she found him, she would leave. She would let Bryce—if he was telling the truth—continue the hunt for the pusher. But she couldn’t leave without her student. Ignoring the panic that threatened to overtake her again, she raced forward. Then with no warning, the wall she’d been following disappeared. Her hand hit open air and her foot slipped to the side. She teetered, and for the second time that night, she was falling. And also for the second time that night, an arm wrapped around her waist.

Chapter Eight “Stay here.” Bryce shoved Lexi against a wall. Then he was gone. She threw out her arms and hugged the concrete behind her. On her left, her hand touched cloth, and on her right, open air. She spun and grabbed the material with both hands. Holding it like a lifeline, she realized it was clothing. She groped more and found a helmet with something round mounted onto its top. She released a breath—a light. Her fingers numb and her heart racing, she fumbled with the tiny knob she found protruding from the side. There was a click and a yellow glow blazed to life, blinding her. She pulled the helmet to her chest and flashed the light around her. She was in an intersection of old and new. The passage she had run through ended three feet from her current location and broke instead into three arched tunnels constructed of brick. The wide ledge she’d been walking on ended, too. In the older passages there was no more than an inch of flat brick on each side of the channel, which carried runoff and who knew what else. She stared down at her bare toes and swallowed. Then remembering the clothing, she spun. She shoved what she now saw were gray coveralls aside. Sitting beneath them, toes out and lined up nicely, were three pairs of green waterproof boots. A moment later, the helmet strapped to her head and her feet swimming in a pair of oversized boots, she moved forward. It had been dark when Bryce left. She had no way of knowing which direction he had gone, or what he had been running toward. But she knew Mitchell was still here. If Bryce was chasing his pusher, she had a chance of finding her student and getting him out of here before everything went to hell. With nothing to go on but gut instinct, she took a step toward the archway on her right. She had taken one more decisive step when she heard sounds coming from the tunnel on her left. “Miss Thompson? Are you there?” Mitchell. He was okay and looking for her.

172

With her neck bent to keep from hitting her head against the ceiling, she shuffled into the tunnel. “Mitchell?” she stage-whispered. “Don’t move. Stay where you are. I found a light.” *** The older tunnels wove around and ran into new ones, formed a maze under the city that few knew of and fewer had visited. How the zombie managed to navigate it so quickly, Bryce didn’t know. He’d thought he had the creature once, smelled it and known it was close, only to hear a whisper of new movement farther away, or in a new tunnel. Finally, tired of the game, Bryce stopped. Water trickled along the ground, echoed until to Bryce’s sensitive ears it sounded like a waterfall. He blocked the noise out and searched for something new, more subtle. Somewhere behind him, or beside him in another tunnel, there was shuffling. He edged forward, slower this time. He focused on the noise. At the next intersection he sank back against the bricks. The noise was growing louder; the zombie was moving closer. Fainter, he heard something new—breathing. Zombies didn’t breathe. Vampires didn’t breathe, not unless they were pretending to be human. “Mitchell? I found you.” The relief in Lexi’s voice was evident. Then she screamed.

Chapter Nine Something had grabbed Lexi. She had heard Mitchell’s voice and been walking toward it when a cold clammy hand dropped onto her neck. With a scream, she bolted. It was hard to run in the boots. For one fleeting second she considered dumping them like she’d dumped her pumps, kicking the cumbersome male footwear to the side. But then she’d remembered the thin but steady stream of sewage running over her feet and she'd kept them on. When she looked ahead and saw the outline of Mitchell’s body she was glad she had. The sewers had made her jumpy when she needed to be strong. Relief and a bit of giddy embarrassment washed over her. She slowed her pace and smiled, tried to look like the confident in-control adult Mitchell needed right now. His arms rose and dropped around her, capturing her in an awkward hug. She hesitated, feeling both uncomfortable with such intimate contact and glad that he was happy to see her. She murmured something reassuring and tried to step back. Her hand hit cold dead flesh. Startled, she looked up into glassy unseeing eyes. Her heart shuddered. Mitchell was dead—except he couldn’t be. He was still standing, still watching her. “Mi…Mitchell?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Miss Thompson,” he acknowledged, but there was no recognition in his eyes. There was nothing in his eyes except cold unmistakable hunger.

173

He opened his mouth and lunged toward her. *** A second scream—this one louder and more shrill than the most practiced of horror-flick shrieks—tore through the sewers. Bryce didn’t stop to think. He just ran. Rounding the corner, he found his prey. The zombie was silhouetted in an almost blinding light, his arms upraised and his body bending forward over someone. Lexi. Bryce hissed and leapt. Hampered by the close walls, he did his best to propel himself in a straight trajectory. He didn’t need to hit the monster. He just needed it to turn its attention away from Lexi and give her a chance to run. The zombie staggered to the side, its head twisting toward Bryce as it did. Lexi stood behind it, her face drawn. He yelled at her, told her to run. But just as quickly he realized the zombie wasn’t alone. It had friends, other zombies waiting no more than twenty feet away. Lexi was trapped between them. His body struck the first zombie. The creature swung at him. Its fist made contact with Bryce’s head. Bryce’s fangs extended and his shoulders widened. He forgot that he had wanted the creature mobile and able to lead him to his maker, forgot everything except destroying the shell of what had once been a teen. The monster's hands clamped on to Bryce’s arm; its teeth followed. Bryce extended his arm so the creature’s head smashed into the low ceiling. The zombie didn’t flinch; it bit down harder. Bryce laughed at the zombie’s stupidity. You couldn’t turn what was already dead. Just like Bryce couldn’t kill what was already dead. But he could stop the corpse from walking. Stop it from attacking Lexi or anyone else ever again. He wrapped his free hand around the creature’s throat and squeezed. Seeming completely unaffected, the zombie tilted its head side to side. Then Lexi screamed again. The other zombies had joined the fight.

Chapter Ten Bryce dropped the undead teen onto the ground and reached into his coat where he kept the silver and iron stake every member of the Fringe bore. Its end was sharpened and its handle bound in leather. It fit in Bryce’s hand like it had been made for his grip, which it had. The swordsmith who crafted it had watched Bryce fight a hundred other vampires, memorized his strengths and weaknesses, then crafted the stake for him and him alone. There was no other like it. It was almost sacrilege to use it on an opponent as unworthy as a zombie. But it was the only weapon, aside from Bryce’s own fangs and strength, he had at hand. Almost.

174

Lexi stood pressed against the wall. The other zombies reached toward her, their mouths open and hunger reflecting from their dead eyes. He spun, grabbed the boy he’d first followed and tossed him toward the pair. All three fell. Bryce leapt and landed on the pile. He shoved the blade into the base of one zombie’s skull, severing the spinal cord and destroying the brain stem. The zombie, a female, crumpled. Behind him, Lexi squeaked. Blade still in his fist, his fangs still extended, Bryce spun directly into the blazing light and Lexi’s gaze. Another zombie stood behind her, its undead fingers clamped into the curly strands of her hair. But her eyes were focused on Bryce. She’d seen him, and she knew what he was. *** Bryce was a vampire. It was the one clear thought Lexi had before she was jerked backward by her hair. With a scream, she grabbed at her scalp. Bryce was a vampire. Mitchell was a zombie. And now something had her by the hair and was pulling her through the sewers. Her hip hit the ground. Her body bounced from the walls to the floor. Pain shot through every inch of her, until she could feel it in her teeth. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to push down panic, but it wasn’t working. She was going to die. There was no way around it—no one to save her. “Lexi!” Her name blasted into her mind. She saw and felt it as much as heard it. “Lexi!” Bryce calling her. No, ordering her, reminding her she wasn’t alone. But Bryce was a vampire, a monster. She couldn’t trust him, didn’t want him calling her, saving her. If she didn’t want to die, she had to save herself. She stiffened her body and jammed her heels onto the bricks. One of her boots caught on a crack and was jerked from her foot. Her bare heel dragged over the rough floor until it was bloody and raw. The creature who had grabbed her, an undead teen like Mitchell, didn’t slow. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She’d come into this sewer hoping to save her student and she’d failed, just like she had failed her brother— just like she was failing herself.

Chapter Eleven “Lexi!” Bryce again. Calm settled over Lexi. She could do this. She had to do this. She inched her hands from her scalp to the cold fingers that were looped through her hair. She clawed at the skin. Gouged and stabbed with her nails.

175

“Lower your hands!” Bryce again, still ordering her, this time to stop her attack. His demand went against all logic. Holding on to her scalp was all that saved her from the pain of having her hair ripped from her head. But then, if it was torn from her scalp she would be free, wouldn’t she? Desperate, she dropped her hands. A weight landed on her and she was pinned to the ground. For a second the pain of her hair being pulled quadrupled. Air swooshed past her face. There was another tug on her hair, this one even more violent, jerking but different. As if her hair was breaking strand by professionally-colored strand. Then without warning her skull clunked onto the hard ground. She lay there dazed and unsure what to think or do. She was alive. It seemed impossible, but she was alive. Soaking in that unlikely reality, she shut her eyes. When she opened them, she remembered she still wasn’t alone, still wasn’t safe. The weight that penned her to the ground was Bryce, the vampire. *** The zombies were getting away. Yet another chance at finding their maker was getting away. But Bryce couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t do anything but stare down at the woman trapped beneath him. He lowered his hands until one was on each side of her face, and dropped what he had held—his blade and the length of her hair he had chopped free of the zombie’s hold. What would the Fringe think of how he had used their blade tonight? What would they say if they knew he was laying here staring at a human female while their prey fled through the sewers? That he wasn’t fit to bear the stake. That he was close to becoming one of the hunted instead of the hunter. He knew that, could hear their censure. Knew, too, that he was about to cross a line. But damn everything including his own existence, he couldn’t stop himself. He lowered his body to Lexi’s and captured her lips with his. *** Bryce’s lips brushed over Lexi’s. Her first thought was vampire, her first instinct to scream. But as Bryce slid his arms beneath her and pulled her up against his chest, gentle and protective, she knew no monster could act like this. She had to have been mistaken, crazed by what had been happening and everything she had endured. She opened her lips and let his tongue slip inside her mouth. Her hands moved to his arms. Even through his leather coat she could feel his muscles. Stubble on his chin rubbed against her cheek. With her eyes closed, she was able to forget where she was. Forget everything and live in the moment with Bryce.

Chapter Twelve

176

Lexi inhaled. The stench of the sewer was gone, replaced with the masculine scents of leather and spice. Bryce held her carefully. The dank tunnel disappeared. All she saw, smelled, sensed was Bryce. She felt safe, more than that—cherished. She needed the feeling. She was tired of being strong for everyone, of protecting everyone. Bryce’s tongue slipped into her mouth; she met it with her own. A tingle swept over her, through her. His fingers ran along her scalp, gentle, but firm, replacing the pain that had been there earlier with pleasure. He slanted his mouth to the side, changing his kiss to tiny bites that caused her to shiver and cling to him tighter. Her head fell back. He kissed and nibbled down her neck. Then he paused. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Something was happening, was about to happen. She didn’t know what, couldn’t put a name to it. But she could feel the air around them shift, could feel her own pulse quicken. Her fingers dug into his arms as she waited. Then pain shot through her, fleeting and quickly replaced by pure addictive joy, but not so quick that it didn’t cut through the dream she’d created, didn’t remind her of everything she’d been trying to forget. Tony. Mitchell. The sewers. And Bryce. Bryce, the vampire, was feeding on her. She should care about that, should be screaming and fighting. But she wasn’t and had no desire to do so. In fact, all she wanted was to stay where she was, exactly where she was forever. *** Lexi’s blood filled Bryce’s mouth sweeter and more intoxicating than a century-old wine. Beneath him, she moaned. He stroked the side of her cheek, brushed the skin where he’d seen tears before. He wanted to hold her, keep her safe, stop those tears from ever returning. He wanted everything he had thought he could never have. Everything the Fringe would say vampires couldn’t have. The Fringe. Thoughts of his brothers chilled him. His fangs still in Lexi’s throat, he froze. He had fallen off the path, broken almost every rule they had tonight. Lexi moved, grabbed him by the back of the head and pressed his mouth more tightly against her neck. Her blood flowed again, into him, warming him. But the dream was gone, reality had returned. She might be willing now, but the bite did that to humans, made them meek, eager even. But Lexi was different. She’d seen him fangs extended. At some point, she’d remember that. And then she would run away screaming vampires were real, endangering everything he had vowed to protect.

177

He couldn’t let that happen. The Fringe wouldn’t let that happen. *** Lexi shuddered, but not with revulsion. The idea of being with a vampire, being with something powerful and mythic excited her. She wove her fingers into Bryce’s hair and pulled his mouth tighter against her throat. Her body tensed. She wanted to strip down and be with this man, this vampire. She reached for his jacket. He pulled away.

Chapter Thirteen Lexi felt cold and abandoned. She stared at a button on Bryce’s shirt and placed her hand over her neck. There was no wound, no sign at all that the skin had been punctured, but that didn’t shake her certainty that there had been. “You know,” he murmured. She could feel his gaze on her, encouraging her to look at him. She turned to the side and stared at the wall. The light she’d been using was still on. It cast enough light, even not directed at them, to allow her to see. And seeing reminded her where they were. How pathetic was she that she’d been willing to strip to nothing here in a sewer with a man she’d met only hours earlier? Worse, what did it say that knowing that he wasn’t really a man, was actually a vampire, excited her? She couldn’t look at him. Was only glad they were alone and no one else was here to witness exactly how lonely and desperate she had become. “You know what I am,” he repeated. There was no hint of a question in the statement, but Lexi answered anyway. She nodded. “Yes.” But did she, really? People pretended to be vampires, didn’t they? She’d always thought it a strange fetish, but—again her hand went to her throat—now she understood. Despite his rejection and her subsequent humiliation, she looked at him. “You’re real aren’t you?” She knew the answer deep in her core, but she had to ask. *** Real? Was he real? Bryce had wondered the same thing himself often enough. It was a question most people never had to ask themselves. But existing as he did, in the shadows, a creature no one truly believed existed, he had lost track of what was real and what wasn’t. It was one of the reasons he had joined the Fringe. With them such cerebral questions had no importance. They existed to police, to kill. Their life was simple—black and white. No thinking on your own, no wondering about your place. You just did as you were told. Simple as that. Staring into Lexi’s wide blue eyes he realized now would be the perfect time to lie to her, to tiptoe into her brain and plant just enough doubt she’d think what she’d seen and felt was hysteria brought on by her time in this sewer.

178

Bryce had never held someone in thrall. He wasn’t like the Zombie Maker. He despised what that vampire had done. To survive, Bryce might steal human blood—but he had never stolen their will. Still, it was the only way, the only solution. He cupped Lexi’s face in his hands, closed his eyes and prepared to make her forget. *** There was a tickle in Lexi’s brain, like a feather drifting over her temporal lobe. She frowned and blinked. Bryce’s fingers were warm against her cheeks. Vampires were supposed to be cold, dead, and scary. But Bryce was none of these things. She smiled. “I’m glad,” she whispered.

Chapter Fourteen The tickle stopped. “Of what?” Bryce asked. His voice was rough. Lexi looked away, embarrassed. He turned her face back to his. “Tell me.” She couldn't. Instead she looked over his shoulder to where she had stood with Mitchell. Her stomach clenched. Mitchell. He’d tried to kill her. Bryce touched her chin, tipped her face up to his. “The boy. You’re thinking of him. He attacked you, but it wasn’t his fault. His actions aren’t his own.” “The drugs…” she murmured, but she knew that wasn’t right, knew Mitchell wasn’t like Tony. Mitchell’s issues weren’t as simple as drugs. She winced at the thought—drugs simple. They weren’t, but whatever had happened to Mitchell went beyond even the horror of her brother’s existence. “I can’t save him,” she added. “No. You can’t.” Bryce’s voice turned cold. His jaw was hard, tense. Made her realize perhaps what he’d said earlier was true. Perhaps Bryce wanted to stop whoever had brought Mitchell to where he was, as badly as she did. Her hand rose to touch his. As her fingers brushed his skin, she hesitated. Vampire. For a moment she’d forgotten what she’d seen. Maybe that was for the best. It allowed her to cope. Bryce seemed to sense her second of uncertainty. His hand forming a fist, he lowered his fingers away from her face. “I thought he was taking a new drug—zombie, the kids called it.” She spoke quickly. It felt good to tell him, to have a real conversation, made him seem real. “No drug.” Bryce stood, withdrawing physically and emotionally, leaving her alone on the cold brick. She felt naked and exposed, wished she had something to wrap around herself. With nothing else, she folded her arms around her body.

179

He stared down at her. “You thought I was selling him drugs.” She looked around, saw for the first time how completely insane her situation was. A tremor shook her. She hugged herself tighter. “Zombie isn’t a drug. It’s what he—” Bryce nodded in the direction Mitchell and the others had fled “—is.” Zombie—the walking dead. It was how after seeing Mitchell up close Lexi would have described him. But the way Bryce said the word she knew his meaning was much more literal. And Mitchell hadn’t been alone. Her gaze wandered down the tunnel. It was empty, or seemed that way. Unwilling to think too much about where the others had gone or when they might come back, she looked back at Bryce. “How?” He flicked his gaze back at her. “How what?” “Everything. How did Mitchell become a zombie? How do you exist? How am I believing you? None of this should be real.” She waved her hands in front of her face. Bryce walked to her helmet and picked it up. With its light blazing up at the ceiling, he replied, “Somewhere somehow he made a fatal error. He trusted a vampire.” The light flowed upward over Bryce’s features, twisting his high cheekbones and full lips into something dark and horrifying. She placed her hands on the ground behind her and edged her body backwards. “He trusted a vampire?” she repeated. “That’s right. And that vampire turned him into a zombie.”

Chapter Fifteen “Is that what vampires do?” The acceptance Bryce had seen on her face faded, replaced with uncertainty. “Is that what you did to me?” Her voice trembled. She pressed her fingers against her chest. She was standing now; apprehension was clear in how she stood, as if unsure which direction to run. He hadn’t meant for her to believe he’d been turning her into a zombie. But then if she believed that, if she hated him, walking away, returning to his life with the Fringe would be that much easier. “Not all vampires,” he replied, but he punctuated his words by lowering his head and staring at her, unwavering. “Not all…” She took a step back. His deception was working. She was retreating; the light in her eyes was gone. The shift was good, needed. “And Mitchell? Is there no pusher? Did you do that to him?” she asked. “Turn him into a monster?” She still hadn’t run. Why? What kept her here? He needed her to give up whatever thoughts she had that made him seem acceptable, but he couldn’t answer her, couldn’t lie to her outright. He stared past her, at the wall. “Did you believe in vampires before tonight? Did the thought of someone feeding on your blood excite you?”

180

“No.” She shook her head, violently. The motion cut into Bryce. Of course she hadn’t. What sane human would? “So why did you let me bite you, not once, but twice?” He looked back at her, then ran his thumb and index finger along the sides of his mouth as if wiping away her blood. It was blatant and ugly, but seemed to accomplish his goal. Her eyes rounded; her chest rose and sank. She wanted to scream; he could see it building inside her. He pushed his advantage. “That isn’t something you would do, is it? Or do you always throw yourself at men?” “No!” She turned away, but damn it, Bryce had miscalculated. There was nowhere for her to run. They were too far from the sewer entrance; he couldn’t let her run blindly away from him, risk her encountering Mitchell or another zombie. He grabbed her by the arm. She stared at him, her eyes wide and damp. “You loved your student, didn’t you? You wouldn’t want what happened to Mitchell to happen to anyone else.” The fire came back to her eyes. She pulled her body straighter. “I’d do anything to stop that.” “Then do as I say and I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” A line formed between her brows and for a second, Bryce thought he’d said too much and made her doubt what he’d just suggested. “I do as you say and you won’t do whatever you did to Mitchell to anyone else,” she clarified. “No one else will become a zombie,” he replied. She glanced to the side, as if still considering bolting. “And you won’t play with my mind? Won’t make me think things or feel things?” Feel things. What had she felt? Bryce wanted more than anything to ask her. “I’ll stay out of your mind. I won’t make you feel or think anything.” Her lips pressed together. She folded her arms over her chest and nodded. “It’s not like I have many choices.” She had zero choices, but then Bryce didn’t have many either. He’d made it possible for her to walk away, run away from him and look back only with loathing and fear. But there was no one to give him that gift, no one to make him forget the feelings she’d stirred in him. They would stay with him forever.

Chapter Sixteen Bryce retrieved her boot, the one that had been jerked from her foot as she was dragged through the passage. Then they walked for what felt like hours in the dark. One of Bryce’s first demands had been for Lexi to turn off her light. Remembering her promise, she’d agreed, but she hesitated when he reached for her hand.

181

“Can you see?” he asked. She bit her lip. He sighed. “The Zombie Ma—” He cut off whatever he had been about to say. “The zombies will know we are coming, but they will know more quickly with that light heralding our arrival.” What he said made sense, but she was still reluctant to slip her fingers into his hand. She didn’t want to touch him. No, that was a lie. She did want to touch him, but she didn’t want to be constantly reminded how good his touch felt. She needed distance, but he didn’t relent. “I can see in the dark. I can lead us both, and all of this will be over faster.” Over faster. That was what she wanted. She laid her fingers onto his outstretched palm. His fingers folded over hers and for a moment neither moved. While Lexi’s breath and heartbeat seemed to echo inside the close tunnel, there was no audible sound that Bryce was by her side. It was unnatural, but then vampires and zombies weren’t natural. At least not in the world she knew. A fist squeezed her heart. All of this was becoming more and more real, too real. “Let’s go.” His voice was harsh. For a second she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. He moved ahead quickly. So quickly that Lexi stumbled and almost fell, but Bryce was there, catching her. He pulled her close; his arm wrapped around her waist. Her nose pressed against his jacket. She inhaled leather and her mind flashed back to lying beneath him, wanting him. “I’ll go slower,” he whispered. Embarrassed again, she nodded. Her face brushed against his shirt. She stilled, then realizing what she was doing, pulled back as if electrocuted. Despite knowing he’d manipulated her mind, made her accept and want him, her body and heart didn’t seem to care. She couldn’t force her brain to remember that Bryce had played with her and destroyed Mitchell. She needed to go back and relive this night from the beginning, see for herself what Bryce had done to her. Maybe if she could, she’d be able to accept everything. But like vampires and zombies, traveling back in time was only possible in fiction. A quiet laugh escaped her. Bryce froze. She waved her hand, motioning him on. “I’m fine. Let’s go.” Yes go, come to the end of this fantasy wrapped in a nightmare. Come to the end of this damned sewer and go back to her simple life where zombies and vampires were only pretend. But could she? Could she forget Mitchell, Bryce, any of this? As she took another step, listened to her boot slogging through the liquid that coursed through the bottom of the tunnel, she knew that she couldn’t. No matter what happened when they reached the end of this journey, her life would never be the same.

Chapter Seventeen

182

Bryce smelled the zombies one-hundred feet before the tunnel he and Lexi crept through came to an end. The last ten feet or so, he pulled her close, kept her body tight beside his. She didn’t object or shrink away. Then they were in the room. It was dimly lit, but huge. Rock music pounded off the concrete walls. Pipes with metal wheels ran along the ceilings and walls. They were at the hub of both the sewers and the zombies. The place was packed with bodies—most alive, but a few not. “What is this? A rave?” Lexi whispered. They were the first words she had uttered since she’d agreed to turn off her light and depend on Bryce to lead her through the tunnel. “The Heart,” Bryce murmured and he didn’t mean the term figuratively. Messages the Fringe had intercepted from the Zombie Maker had mentioned The Heart as his place of recruitment. “They’re all young.” Bryce could tell the realization bothered Lexi, but age made no difference to a vampire. His gaze slid across the pulsing bodies. Behind him, Lexi cried out, “Kayla and Nicole.” She grabbed Bryce by the arm. Her grip was tight as she pulled his face down to hers. “Tell me the truth. What is this? What is happening here?” He knew he should lie to her. Fringe business was sacred—a secret so closely guarded the only exit from the group was a walk into the sunrise. But the intensity of her gaze was too much. “Recruitment. It’s a recruitment party. I don’t know if the party goers realize it, but that’s what it is.” “For what?” He held her gaze this time, made sure she understood. “Prey for a vampire—the Zombie Maker.” “Prey…?” Her hand went to her throat. He wasn't sure she even realized she had made the gesture. “But there are so many. Surely, one vampire can’t feed on all of them.” “It isn’t their blood he wants. Oh, I’m sure he takes that, too. But the Zombie Maker wants more than that. He hungers for blood, as we all do, but he also hungers for life.” “Life? He steals their lives. You mean he kills them?” “Not outright, little by little. He turns them into zombies by holding them in thrall, stealing their memories, their emotions, everything they hold dear. He bleeds them of those things until they are nothing but walking shells—zombies.” Caught up in his impassioned monologue, Bryce forgot that he’d let Lexi believe he was responsible for Mitchell’s state. She shook her head. “But why would they let him do that? Why would they come here?” It was the opportunity Bryce had been waiting for. As they had stood there talking, he’d been watching the flow of teens coming and going from the room, knew now where the exit was. He just had to get Lexi to go through it, to leave the sewer and him forever. “Because it feels good, letting little bits of yourself drift away. It’s addictive, an out of body experience, a high.” She was still wearing her helmet. The light was off, but the ridiculous oversized hat was still on her head. He tucked a bit of her hair up into it. “You know how that feels, don’t you, Lexi, to be held in thrall?” Her hand rose to her mouth and she took a step back.

183

He gestured to where the teens entered and exited the room. “It’s been fun, but now I have work I really must do.” Then he looked away and he didn't look back, not as she stumbled into the crowd in her borrowed boots, not as she disappeared in the crowd. There was no looking back when you were a member of the Fringe. There was nothing but the Fringe.

Chapter Eighteen Bodies knocked against Lexi. She walked blindly, staring into faces, looking for signs that the teens they belonged to were already gone—zombies. Bright excited eyes stared back at her, happy to be here— walking willingly to their fates. Just like she had walked willingly into Bryce’s arms and thrall. She was no stronger than any of them, no stronger than her brother. The realization hit her hard. All her life she’d thought she was different—the strong one, better even, but now she knew how untrue that was. Another wave of teens flowed into the room. The helmet was jarred from her head. “Excuse me.” She bent to pick it up. A girl with tiny silver balls decorating her natural dimples kicked the headgear and sent it spinning into the crowd. Without thinking, Lexi turned and ran after it. Another girl, this one with braids wrapped around her head Heidi-style, scooped the object up. Lexi stopped. “Bethann?” “Ms. Thompson.” Bethann glanced around, guilty. The helmet forgotten, Lexi grabbed her student by both arms. “You have to leave. You don’t know what’s happening here.” The girl stared at Lexi’s hands gripping her. “I’m okay. I’ve been here before. But you shouldn’t be here. Adults aren’t allowed here.” “You have to leave!” Hysteria raised Lexi’s voice. She knocked the helmet from Bethann’s hands and pulled the girl toward the door. They hit a wall of bodies. Lexi pushed her shoulder against them, trying to go against the tide and pull Bethann with her. But no one stepped aside, no path through was offered. If anything the bodies moved closer together. She glanced at the closest face, ready to beg the boy to give way. She stared into the dead empty gaze of a zombie. It was then she realized the bodies weren’t coming or going. They were waiting…for her. *** Bryce prowled through the throng listening and sensing. Lexi was gone. He hadn’t seen her leave, but he knew she was no longer in the room. He could forget her now, finally concentrate on his task. And when the Zombie Maker was dead, Bryce could return to his life, return to the Fringe, get a new assignment, hunt another vampire, and do it all over again. Except this time there would be no slips, no failure, no Lexi. His gut twisted, like the stake he carried had been shoved into his own side. He tightened his jaw and tamped the feeling down. Lexi was gone—time to forget her and remember who he was, what he was.

184

Resolute, he shifted his attention back to the room. Zombies were everywhere, roaming through the crowd, blending with the kids. He saw the two who had attacked them in the tunnels, but neither approached him. Perhaps their brains were so gone they didn’t recognize him or didn’t see him as a threat, but Bryce doubted that. He suspected something else was to come, something big. But zombies weren’t the only brain-dead creature here tonight if the Zombie Maker thought tricking Bryce would be that easy. He held the stake hidden against his thigh and continued his trek through the press. He’d circled the room two more times when the music stopped and the chant began. “Zombie, zombie, zombie.” The crowd parted. Two zombies, pulling a wagon, staggered out of a tunnel and into the center of the room. A man stood on top of the rolling platform, his feet splayed and his arms raised overhead like he was reaching to the heavens, making some offering. Bryce’s gaze shifted to the Zombie Maker’s feet. Lying between his ankles, her face pale and her wrists bound, was Lexi.

Chapter Nineteen The wagon jerked. Lexi rolled to the side. The zombies had dragged her out of the room. She’d fought but it had been a useless effort. There were too many of them, too focused on the task they had been given by— she stared up—the man, vampire, Zombie Maker standing above her. He held himself like a king, seeming to thrive on the mindless worship of the teens he had destroyed. Lexi coughed and gagged. She’d always hated the faceless drug pusher who had supplied her brother with the poison that taunted him, but even in her darkest moments she hadn’t imagined anything as vile as the creature that stood above her. He tweaked a finger and the teens scurried toward him. She had no doubt they would kill her, no doubt they would do anything he asked. The wagon jolted to a stop. Lexi rolled again, this time onto her stomach. Her bound hands beneath her, she tried to push herself up. She needn’t have bothered. The Zombie Maker grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to a stand beside him. “Your master is nothing to me.” He spat onto the bed of the wagon, next to her feet. Lexi twisted and swung her arms, tried to swipe at the monster. He jerked her close and she saw his fangs, his eyes and the crazed glow behind them. His mouth inches from her throat, he muttered. “Not yet lamb. You haven’t served your purpose yet.” He looked into her eyes and something slithered into her brain, like a snake coiling around her free will, cutting it off. She knew immediately what was happening. This was thrall. And just as clearly she knew Bryce had never done this to her, would never do this to anyone. What she’d felt when she was with him wasn’t forced on her—it was real. So real she had felt it despite knowing he was a vampire. She had been an idiot to doubt it. But Bryce was gone and she was going to die, or worse, be turned into a zombie. ***

185

The Zombie Maker had Lexi. Rage wrapped around Bryce. “Vampire, vampire, I have your toy. Come out and claim her, or I will,” the Zombie Maker taunted. He, like all of the Fringe’s targets, was ignorant of the secret group’s existence—ignorant of their pledge to sacrifice everything, anything to complete their missions. He thought Lexi belonged to Bryce, was his doll, a human who ties herself to a vampire and survives under his care. He thought Bryce would step forward to save her. But the Fringe didn't keep dolls and they didn't save anyone at the risk of losing their prey. The Zombie Maker trailed his tongue down Lexi’s neck. Bryce’s hands clenched into fists. If the other vampire bit her, he would bleed her dry. His game would be for nothing otherwise. But that was good. That moment, right before the last bit of Lexi’s blood had flowed from her body, would be the best moment for Bryce to attack. Even the oldest of vampires couldn’t ignore the euphoria that much blood brought, and the last drops from a human’s body were the sweetest. It’s what kept the Fringe in business—too many vampires with a taste for those final remaining drops laced with life. So, as the Zombie Maker’s fangs sank into Lexi’s neck, Bryce knew what he should do. Wait for Lexi to die.

Chapter Twenty When the vampire’s teeth sank into Lexi’s neck, there was no thrill like there had been with Bryce. Just pain and the full awareness that she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t do anything to stop what was happening. She was trapped in a body and mind that seemed to belong to someone else. Her knees collapsed. Only the Zombie Maker’s arm behind her back and his fangs in her throat kept her from falling. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She’d told Tony he had the strength to change his fate, to fight, had judged him for being weak. But here she was, hopeless and spent, just waiting to die. “Cut him off,” Bryce’s voice, yelling at her…inside her mind. She stiffened. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t, that the Zombie Maker’s hold was too strong, but then she thought of Tony. She had told him time and again that he had to stop the drugs. He had to make the choice. She realized now how true that was. She couldn’t do it for him. She couldn’t save him. He had to save himself. And she had to stop this. She stepped into the pain, embraced it. The snake that had coiled around her will was still there, its head bobbing side to side, taunting her. She gritted her teeth and hardened her determination until it was razor sharp, until the snake bled. Then she twisted and jerked her neck from the vampire’s bite. Shock pulled at his features. She staggered to the side. He reached to grab her, but his fingers never made contact. Air and spittle, colored with her blood, bubbled from his lips. His mouth fell open and his hand rose to his chest. Then he fell—and with him, his zombies. They crumpled like broken dolls. It was the last bit of proof she needed to know Bryce hadn’t been involved in their creation.

186

The teens who were still alive screamed and ran for the exit. The place was chaotic, pulsed with confusion, but Lexi had never been clearer about anything. Her gaze shifted to the vampire standing behind the Zombie Maker’s fallen form—Bryce. A silver stake was in his fist. He slipped the weapon into his coat and held out his now empty hand. Ignoring it, Lexi fell against his chest. “You lied to me,” she whispered. His hand dropped to the back of her neck. “I never lie,” he replied. “I am a vampire.” She balled her hands into his shirt. “Say it then. Say what I felt in the tunnels, for you, wasn’t real. Say you didn’t feel it, too. Say you held me in thrall, that you did this to them.” She gestured to the fallen zombies. He closed his eyes, but not quickly enough. She saw the truth. She pulled on his shirt. He placed both hands on her hips and stared down at her. “I’m not what you need. My existence, it isn’t normal.” Glancing at the empty room, she laughed. “And mine is.” “I’m a vampire. I don't walk under the sun.” She smiled. “I have a full-time job. My days are booked.” He shook his head, but his words came out softer, less determined. “I work with a group.… They won’t approve.” Her hands slipping around his neck, she pressed her lips to his. “Then don’t tell them.” Then she kissed him and he kissed her back. *** Lexi didn't understand, couldn’t. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe Bryce knew too much, thought he knew too much. Maybe it was time for a change, for him and the Fringe. Maybe to save lives, it was time they lived a little of their own. And staring down at the woman in his arms, he knew he was ready to try.

187

An Impossible Mission by Kathryn Shay Logan Kane stared over the rim of his coffee mug and smiled at Molly Kimball McKay. She often came over to lunch at his restaurant, Kane’s Table, the business next door to her nature store. He loved keeping her company while she devoured what he put in front of her. She caught him staring and blushed. “I’m really pigging out, aren’t I?” “Just eating for two.” He nodded to her protruding belly. “How’s the little princess?” “Kicking up a storm. Her daddy spoils her already.” “As he should. He’s got a lot to make up for.” Molly’s chestnut eyes twinkled at him. “You don’t fool me. You were the one who was responsible for getting us together.” Well, that was true. Molly and her now-husband had been on an emotional merry-go-round and Logan had been the one to force Jase’s hand in claiming her. If the guy hadn’t, Logan would have married Molly himself- not that he loved her that way. He just had a thing about protecting pregnant women and babies. When Molly finished and stood up, she arched her back and was silhouetted against the April sun coming in from the window behind her. At one time there had been another woman Logan had wished with all his heart to see pregnant like Molly. And it would have been his kid she carried. But that woman was nothing like Molly; she was taller, more slender- and a lying, devious bitch who would never, after what she’d done, have his child. “Logan, are you all right?” He stood, as well, to get out of the fantasy. “Sure.” “You looked sad.” He ruffled her hair. “You always tell me that.” “Because you always look sad. But today, just now, there’s a sort of wistful sadness in those green eyes of yours.” Thankfully, his cell phone rang. Molly glanced at her watch. Kissing him on the cheek, she headed for the door calling her thanks out to him. “Kane here.” “Logan, it’s Jake.” Speak of the devil. It was through this man, Jake Kirby, that Logan had met Isabelle Sachetti. He’d never forget it... She’d come on to him right away. I think we’re going to be really good together, Kane. Hmm, I like the sound of that, Sachetti..

188

They had been good together- in bed, where they’d ended up the weekend after they met. And in the field, too, until she’d not only almost gotten Logan killed, but had also broken his heart in a way that he hadn’t really recovered from in the full two years since leaving her in that hospital room in Barcelona. “Hey buddy, how you doing?” Jake was also his close friend. Outside of Logan’s half brothers and Molly, his best friend. “Don’t ask. Nothing goes right.” A pause. “I need you, bro.” Damn it. “I just helped out a few months ago. You said it would be a while before I heard from you again.” “It should have been. Phil Alderman was shot yesterday.” “What? Is he all right?” “Yeah. It wasn’t even in a sting. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time- a drive-by.” “Give him my best.” Logan waited. “Let me guess. He was scheduled to go out.” “Yep.” Jake wasn’t a man of many words, much like Logan himself. “When?” “Next week.” “Hell, I can’t learn an operation that quickly.” “It was one you helped sketch out a while back.” Mentally Logan flipped through the menu of what he’d worked on in the planning sessions he’d done with Jake after he “quit.” The immigrant smuggling in Mexico. The jail drug deals in Indonesia. The baby kidnapping ring in Italy. Oh, hell, don’t ask me to do that one, Jake. “It’s the baby kidnapping ring.” Logan remained silent. “I know this conjures demons for you, buddy.” “Still, you ask me.” “I’m stuck or I wouldn’t.” And, of course, Logan would never say no to Jacob Kirby. He owed the guy. Logan had been undercover in a Belfast jail when all hell had broken loose and the prison had been taken over by the inmates- a very violent riot. Posing as a guard, Jake had gotten Logan out- but in the midst of their escape, Jake’s leg had been ripped apart by barbed wire. As a result, Jake’s retirement from active duty had come early, and his marriage had ultimately ended. Now he just ran The Organization. They all got a kick out of the name of their rogue agency. And out of the way they got their orders- real Mission Impossible style. Funded by the U.S. government, The Organization took on foreign assignments that Uncle Sam couldn’t get involved in publicly for various reasons; Washington also vowed to deny its existence should they ever be caught, just like in the movies. Logan expelled a heavy breath. “When?”

189

“You leave Monday.” “What do I do?” “Come to New York tomorrow. I’ll brief you, then you can get things in order at home.” “All right.” Logan hung up before asking who would be on the mission with him. Hell, it didn’t matter so long as Isabelle wasn’t involved. But Logan knew he didn’t have to worry about that. No matter how desperate he was, Jake would never pair them up again. Because not even for Jake Kirby would Logan work with her again.

*** “You didn’t tell him, Jake.” “No, I didn’t.” Belle sat back in a chair in Jake’s office and stared at the phone. “You know he won’t work with me.” “He will, once he gets over the shock.” “Best friends don’t do that to each other.” Jake slapped his hand down on the desk. Only her training in nonreactive techniques kept Belle from jumping. Jake Kirby almost never lost his temper. “Don’t you think I know that?” From his desk drawer he fished out photos and tossed them across the surface. “Look at these. Then tell me you wouldn’t move heaven and earth to help.” Bracing herself, Belle picked up the photos. The Granger baby smiled innocently from the first picture. The next was of the baby’s parents, a young couple whose world was wrecked when some psycho snatched their child out from under them when they were in Rome on a holiday. “What’s her name?” “Susie.” Belle’s hand slid to her stomach. She must have paled. Jake swore vilely. “Look, I know this hits close to home. But I have no choice. You’re the best operatives I’ve got.” “He’s an ex-operative.” “Don’t I know it.” Jake studied her. “Do you miss him?” She pictured sage green eyes, a thick shock of dark hair and a body to die for. “It’s been two years.” “You were closer than any couple I’ve ever seen. Always on the same wavelength. Never fought.”

190

The possibility of an argument was why Belle had been afraid to tell Logan she was pregnant. She’d kept the knowledge to herself when she’d gotten the news- and had sealed their fate in the process. Jake was watching her closely. “Don’t think about what happened with your pregnancy, Belle. It won’t help.” She stood and smoothed down the straight black skirt that she wore with a black cotton sweater and lowheeled leather shoes. Logan had always teased her about her penchant for dark clothes, calling her his Black Magic Woman. “I won’t. But I suggest you tell Kane I’m in on this before he gets here.” “I can’t do that.” “Your funeral. You want me here when he comes tomorrow?” “Yes.” “See you then.” She got to the door of the office before he called to her. “Belle?” Flipping back her ropelike braid that Logan used to wind around his fingers, she looked over her shoulder. “Hmm?” “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, me, too.” She made it out the door before she let herself react. Once in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes. “You have no idea, Jake,” she whispered, “how sorry I am.” *

*

*

Logan smelled her perfume as soon as he neared Jake’s office. Momentarily, he was assaulted by it. He stood stock still, staring at his best buddy from just inside the doorway. Finally, he managed to get out, “You didn’t.” “I did.” Jake rose and circled the desk. His limp was noticeable, reminding Logan of what he owed this man. “I had to.” Old debts aside, Logan glared at him, then turned on his heel. He was back marching out toward the elevators when he heard, “Logan.” That one word halted him. Her voice was something out of a wet dreamhusky, always a bit amused, snaking out of his memory bank at the oddest times. Logan, love, touch me there...Logan, thank God you’re all right...and the last time on the answering machine, when he wouldn’t see her or talk to her or open her emails...Please, Logan, I made a mistake, forgive me. He couldn’t force himself to leave the building. For two years he’d wondered how she was, what she was doing, if she still wore that glorious black hair long so that it would spread across his belly like velvet. He turned around. She’d always been strikingly beautiful, but he’d forgotten the vibrancy of her presence. Those dark eyes had a snap in them, the same luscious mouth, a body taut as a whipcord and capable of taking a man down- or inside it- so he’d never forget her. Standing just outside of Jake’s office, she gave him a half smile. “It’s good to see you.”

191

“I can’t say the same.” Jake shifted behind her and leaned on the door frame for support. From there he said, “Come back and we’ll talk.” He turned, making his way back to his desk. Out of a sense of duty to Jake, Logan strode toward the office. She didn’t move out of his way so he was forced to brush up against her. Her arm swiped his sports coat. He thought he could feel the heat of her skin. The feel of you is intoxicating. Good, I’ll keep you drunk and under my spell. How about if I keep you under me? Whatever. Just so long as we’re together. They’d been so good talking in bed, but not outside of it. Hell, he didn’t care until the end, until that last assignment where he’d felt the need to confess what he was truly feeling for her. And she’d gone ahead and did it, anyway. Now, as they sat opposite each other, Logan tried to keep his mind blank and not remember. Jake handed him some pictures. He took them, and felt the familiar kick in his stomach. This was the baby they were supposed to rescue. “You don’t play fair.” “Neither do the monsters who took her, and will take others unless we stop them.” Logan traced the child’s nose and the soft curve of her chin. He glanced up and found Belle staring at him. “Does it have to be with Sachetti?” he asked, talking to Jake but not releasing her dark-eyed gaze. “It has to be. Otherwise, I would have done it differently.” There was a long moment of taut silence. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She didn’t look away, either. “Jake, could you please leave us for a minute?” Jake left saying, “Don’t storm out, either of you. We got details to cover.” When the door closed, Logan lazed back in his chair. “What do you want?” She bit her lip, a truly uncharacteristic move for Ms. Tough-As-Any-Man. “I...thought we might make a truce.” “No.” “Logan, it’s been two years.” He lurched forward and grabbed her shoulders roughly. “What did you think, sweetheart. That I’d forget, in two years, that you killed our baby?”

192

Asleep, she curled into Logan like a longtime lover and buried her face in his shoulder. He would have thrust her away, but he didn’t want to wake her up because the plane ride was bumpy as hell, and he knew how she hated to fly. It was the only thing she was afraid of. He also didn’t know if they were being watched on the flight to Rome. The powers-that-be warned them to expect constant surveillance as a test period of sorts on this mission. To distract himself from the feel of her body, he reviewed in his mind what else he’d read in documents that had been destroyed as soon as they memorized the contents.

Names: Logan and Belle Kane Residence: Upper East Side, Manhattan Ages: 38 and 34 respectively Status: happily married for ten years, irrevocably infertile Purpose of trip: private adoption, contracted on the Internet, no lawyers involved, instructions to be given to agents when they arrive in Italy Provider’s MO: to watch the couple for an unknown time- usually a few days, no longer than a week. Make sure they’re who they say they are. Agents must pretend to be a loving couple, wanting a baby that no other source would provide because Mrs. Kane is in remission from breast cancer. Couple should assume they’re followed everywhere except inside the hotel room. The Hotel Cavalieri will not be bugged as dignitaries and heads of state stay there and rooms are equipped with internal detecting devices for surveillance hardware. Logan’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to get drawn into this. But the thought of other people losing their child, as he’d lost his, compelled him to comply. He’d suffer proximity to the beauty next to him- hell, he’d have worked with Satan himself- to stop this ring. Still, he berated God and The Organization and life itself until they finally landed in Rome. Time to play loving hubby. “Sweetheart, wake up.” His nemesis, coming awake. He used to do it...uniquely. What are you doing? Waking you with a kiss. She’d arch against him. This is more than a kiss. Now, in the airplane, she stirred. Huge eyes opened. They always looked like melted chocolate first thing in the morning. “Logan.” She smiled, forgetting where she was, he guessed. She burrowed into him. Then she glanced down at her clothes and scowled. “What?” The pink linen suit was high-end and pretty but the real Isabelle Sachetti would never wear something like it. She brushed the thick skein of her hair out of her eyes and met his gaze. “Oh.” The agent fell back into place. “Good morning, darling.” Because he had to, not because he wanted to, he hooked a hand behind her neck and kissed her nose. “Morning,” he said huskily. He busied himself getting their carry-ons, helping her out of the seat, deplaning. Once they hit baggage claim, customs and immigration, they found their driver- who could have been one of the bad guys- and headed out of the airport.

193

The day was still cool as they rode to Rome. She asked the driver, in fluent Italian, if the weather had been good. Logan didn’t understand the response. She was the language expert. The driver kept glancing back at them, so Logan was forced to slide his arm around her. “Excited, honey?” She melted into him. She always did. He used to tease her about it. You can’t stay away from me. You want me bad. I could, she’d said honestly. But why should I? We’re soul mates, Kane. He’d joked, like one of them always did when the other got serious. Body mates is more like it.

They took the twenty minute trip to their hotel, cooing to each other, touching each other. At last they pulled onto the hotel grounds, full of spring vegetation, waterfalls and service people at their beck and call, befitting the 1,000 euro nightly price tag. And Logan wondered how he was going to survive a week pretending he was in love with this woman when he’d spent two years trying to forget that fact. *

*

*

Her body humming from Logan’s ministrations- albeit for show- Belle struggled to keep her head as she closed the door to the hotel room. At least here, they wouldn’t have to pretend. Her goal was to make some peace with Logan, but she didn’t exactly know how to begin, and now that they were alone, she was nervous and needed some distance to collect her thoughts. She opened the wall of glass doors and stepped out on the balcony. Rome, in all its ancient splendor and modern progress, sprawled before her. “No matter how many times I come here, I’m awed by the city.” Logan came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She startled. He whispered, “Binoculars, sweetheart. They could be watching us.” So much for distance. She leaned back into him and he nuzzled her hair away. Put his mouth in a favorite spot. Your neck is an erogenous zone, Sachetti. Everywhere you touch is an erogenous zone, Kane. He kept up the ruse for a minute then finally stepped back. “Let’s go inside. They’ll think we’re making love if we close the blinds.” “Fine.” Once in the room, she pressed a button by the door. A curtain of vinyl blinds descended, plunging them into darkness. “Wow, that’s cool. Remember the time in Paris when we-” He held up his hand, his eyes an icy green. “Don’t. No reminiscing.” She watched him walk to the dresser and remove his wallet, coins and other belongings from his pockets. “I’m going to shower.”

194

“Logan, please, can we talk?” She’d taken a seat in one of the three plush chairs in the sitting area. He slid off his belt. “About what?” She tapped her foot. “This forced proximity. How are we going to handle it?” His shoulders tensed beneath the suit he wore. He looked ready to spring. “Like we always handled ops. We play the part.” His gaze lasered her. “Even if we can’t stand each other’s company.” Raising her chin, she said, “I like being with you again.”

He plopped angry fists on his hips. “Don’t you dare use this situation to manipulate me. I never wanted to see you again. I have nothing to say to you.” Clearing her throat, she summoned her undercover cool. She stood, stalked to him and got in his face. “Well, I have a lot to say to you.” “Tough.” He started away. She grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Six months before that last mission in Barcelona, I had a pregnancy scare.” “I know that. We talked about it.” “You implied, strongly, that you wanted nothing to do with children.” His color rose and his eyes seared her. “I never implied that.” “Of course you did. You said it was for the best that I wasn’t knocked up- your term, by the way. And that if I ever thought I was pregnant again, to tell you right away. We’d take care of it.” “I don’t want to talk about this.” He ripped off his suit coat, tossed it on the bed and headed for the bathroom. She followed. “I thought you meant we’d get rid of it.” In the huge gilded bathroom, mirrors surrounded them. She watched him at the sink in front of one. He said nothing, unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. His chest was covered with perfectly placed dark hair. “I didn’t want to get rid of your child,” she continued. “So I didn’t tell you when I was pregnant.” He wet his face and lathered on the shaving cream. Ludicrously, she remembered one time in Vienna when she shaved him. “Logan, I wanted that baby. I know you think I wouldn’t have gone into the operation if I did, but you’re wrong.” He whirled on her then, grabbing her by the arms. “You forget one little thing, Sachetti. I told you I loved you before we left. I told you I wanted our children and when we got back, we needed to talk about the future.” He swallowed hard. “And you went, anyway. You went into the most dangerous sting we’d ever taken on knowing you were pregnant and risking our child.”

195

“I didn’t know what else to do. That op was important. I was afraid it would distract you if you knew I was pregnant. A lot was at stake.” “What was at stake was our child. Which you risked, hotshot agent that you are.” He shook her. “And your luck ran out when that bastard cornered you in a warehouse and threw you over a railing twenty feet above the ground.” “That wasn’t my fault.” “The hell it wasn’t! If you weren’t there in the first place, you wouldn’t have lost the baby.” And almost lost her life. She remembered he’d stayed with her in the hospital until he found out she was going to live. “Now get out of here and let me shower. The sight of you makes me ill.” Slowly, Belle turned and left the bathroom. She raised the blinds, opened the door and walked back out to the balcony. Shaken, she breathed in the beautiful spring morning and forced down the emotion she felt rising inside her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. It took ten minutes before she was back in control. *

*

*

Puffing on his cigar, he stared down at the chess board and pressed the record button on the tape recorder. “Time, 17:00 hours. Subjects in hotel room. First assessment: affectionate, somewhat tense. She speaks Italian. He’s smitten. All is well.” He pressed the stop button before reaching out and moving his pawn, then laughed aloud. Pawns- all of them. And he was the Chess King, manipulating them to his will. As well it should be. “Time for another move,” he whispered into the semidarkness.

“Take the picture, darling. I can’t hold the pose much longer.” Logan shook his head at the understatement he’d just voiced. He couldn’t believe he had to hold the pose, so to speak, for days with her. They’d been in Rome four hours and already had one blowout. His only hope for sanity was that they’d make their contact, get the baby quickly and be done in much less than a full week. God, she looked gorgeous when she was angry. This morning, in the hotel room where she’d cornered him, her dark eyes had snapped fire and her words had cut him to the quick. He’d been unable to push them out of his mind all day long... I thought you’d want me to get rid of it. Hell, that couldn’t possibly be true. He’d confessed his feelings before they left because he’d become aware of the acute danger that they would face in Barcelona. I didn’t want to distract you. That op was important...so much was at stake. Damn it, she just shouldn’t have gone! She knew that. She was playing him again and he wouldn’t allow it.

196

Finally, she snapped the picture and crossed to him. The Colosseum loomed behind him, and she stared out at it. Again they were dressed in character: she in a gauzy yellow dress and a straw hat, he in a golf shirt and Dockers. The outfits were so not either of their styles, it was almost laughable. But then, neither of them was the person they used to be. “It’s hard to believe they kept slaves and animals and gladiators down there in those small tunnels,” she said, pointing to the lower level of the historic site. Her voice was sad. “Man’s inhumanity to man always surprises me, I guess.” He turned to look at the ruins. Parts of the top two levels of the structure were missing, having been pillaged during the Renaissance, the stone used for other buildings. The floor of the famous arena had been partially restored so tourists could see how those tunnels she hated were once covered with wood, blocking out sunlight and air. There were platforms that raised and lowered through trapdoors to allow the entertainment and sets to rise out of the depths. The guide had told them that the inhabitants were going to die, anyway, so no one cared what it must have been like to be down there. Because they were ordinary tourists, he slid an arm around her waist and pretended to care that she was feeling bad. As normal as breathing, she leaned into him for comfort. Damn, it was so easy falling into the role of a loving couple. I feel as if I’ve always known you, Logan. Me, too. Maybe in a past life. Oh, I like that. Anthony and Cleopatra, do you think? Nah. More like Samson and Delilah. You have power over me, woman. It had taken him two full years to rid himself of that spell. Giving her a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, he straightened and took her hand. “Come on, love, let’s go get your picture with the gladiators out in the square. That might cheer you up.” She laughed; man she was good. Instead of sultry Isabelle, she was innocent Belle Kane. She even batted her thick lashes at him. “Oh, Logan, should I?” “When in Rome...” he quipped chuckling. But that suggestion, too, was a mistake. While he took the picture, she posed as if she was having such a good time with the handsome gladiator that Logan could almost forget what was between them and remember days that were filled with fun and frolic. When the guy slid his hand to her fanny, Logan did forget his real role and fell into the pretend one. He drew her away like a jealous husband. “Hands off, paisan,” he said dramatically. Arms linked- this constant touching was killing him yet he couldn’t stop it- they walked out of the square and took the cobblestone streets to a small outdoor café called The Miraggio. She sank onto a chair at a table in the shade and sighed. “Feet hurt?” he asked. She’d worn sandals and they’d walked all morning. Reaching for his hand across the table, she smiled. “A bit.” “Slip off your shoes. I’ll rub them while we wait for service.”

197

She tossed him an isn’t this carrying it a bit too far? look. “Like any loving husband would, honey.” He felt bare feet plop into his lap. Under the tablecloth, he put his hands on her. Her sole was soft, supple. No calluses. No dead skin. He knew she loved pedicures and manicures and massages. Hell, he’d loved pampering her and had searched for new and exotic ways to do so. He rubbed her instep, and watched her eyes glaze over. A lot like they did during sex. “Ahhhh,” she whispered, and he felt his body respond. Damn it. He was grateful when the waiter approached them. “Bounjorno,” the dark-haired swarthy server said, smiling. “Signor, Signora. Come sta?” “Bene, grazie,” she replied. He asked about drinks. “Vino Rosa. Two glasses of your house.” When the waiter was gone, Logan opened his menu. “Hmm,” he said aloud looking down at the small white envelope inside it. “Looks like the games have begun.” * * * Later that night they took a cab to the Piazza Navona, as was instructed in the terse missive, and found a table in the outdoor area of a wine bar. It was 7:00 p.m., and most people were just coming out for the night so the place had some empty seats. They sat close to the edge of the big square, the perimeter lined with old stone buildings, with a fountain at one end. They ordered espresso and took in the sights and sounds of Roman nightlife. “Why do you think it said to go there?” she’d asked when they’d gotten back to the hotel and could discuss the note. “Cat and mouse, I guess. I studied the theories Jake came up with. Whoever it is seems to need control and likes to play games with his victims.” “You were always so good with their minds.” “I have a degree in psychology.” Then he added meanly, “Too bad I didn’t figure you out sooner.” Now, he stared at the square, which was filled tonight with vendors, performers and stalls selling souvenirs and paintings of the city. Faint smells of baking pizza dough and flowers just blooming in boxes along the windows of the buildings filled the air. In the open space in front of the restaurant, a mime was preparing his act. As they waited, she made small talk, intimate and wifely, in case there were eavesdroppers near. “What did Mike have to say on the phone?” His brother hadn’t called, of course, but he always liked talking about his family. All three of his half-brothers held a place in his heart. “Gearing up for next year.” Mike Kingston was a coach for the Buckland Bulls, a football team housed about a hundred miles from Hyde Point, where Logan had grown up with his mother. After his father had died, she’d married Jim Kingston. They’d moved south, but now resided in Buckland where Mike coached the team.

198

He recounted his pretend conversation, filling her in on Mike’s life with a half smile and twinkle in his green eyes. He didn’t ask about her family, though, which was another distancing maneuver. Ludicrous, she thought, to be disappointed. But Logan had related better to her protective dad than any other man in her life. I like your father. He likes you. He asked me my intentions. Oh, God, I’m sorry. Then Logan had whispered naughty things in her ear that he pretended to say to her father, making her blush. She remembered now how she’d wished he’d be serious. Wished he’d told her father his real intentions. She’d been falling in love with him at the time. They held hands during the show, laughing at the mime- until he brought little children into his act. Then Logan’s fingers disengaged with hers. Toddlers of about two and three joined the show. Belle was mesmerized watching them, though regret swelled inside her. One of them could have been their child. She could have had Logan’s two-year-old, and maybe an infant, too. Her throat closed up. She felt his arm go around her and pull her close. In her ear, he whispered mockingly, “Nice touch. The sad woman yearning for children. If they’re watching, they’ll fall for it big-time.” “It’s not an act,” she said achingly. “Spare me. I’m not believing anything this time around.” Still, she laid her head on his shoulder. She needed the comfort. He let her stay that way until a woman approached them. “Scusi,” she said in Italian. “For you.” Logan’s whole body went on alert. “Who gave this to you?” “Non cabisce,” she said, shrugged and walked away. He opened the note and Belle read over his shoulder. Friday, was all it said. She stared down at the paper. Damn it. Friday was five days away. Could she possibly endure Logan’s contempt that long, while he touched her and hugged her and pretended to feel as he did before? His constant attention, his demonstrativeness, only served to remind her of what she’d lost because of one mistake. “Well, sweetheart, looks like we’re in for a week of fun.” He whispered the words in her ear, so that only she caught the underlying sarcasm in his voice. She remembered real vacations where he’d wanted to be with her... In Venice...Isabelle, do me the honor of a gondola ride down the canal... In London...Oh, Logan, you got tickets to that play I wanted to see?

199

In Spain...Don’t close your eyes during the bullfight, love... The memories made Belle want to cry. Angered by her reaction, she stood, but he tugged her back down and grabbed her close. His hand bit into her arm and she realized she wasn’t the only one affected. “Do not, under any circumstances, blow this because your temper is sizzling.” When she said nothing, he gripped her harder. “I mean it,darling.” He was right. She had to get control of herself. So, like the good agent she was, she leaned her body into his. He stiffened, which gave her a good deal of satisfaction. Smiling seductively, though she wanted to rage at him, she said sweetly, “Oh, I can’t wait to spend the week with you.”

The next night, Logan’s feet pounded on the treadmill as he tried to blank his mind. He’d had to get away from Belle. He couldn’t stand being with her so much, staying in the same room, sleeping in the same bed. Even the familiar, sexy scent of her had gotten to him. He was going crazy- and it had only been two days. Friday couldn’t come fast enough. His mind whirled with a thousand things, so he tried to focus on the assignment and how the operation would go down. It was simple, really. Their job was to get the baby back. The money, now in a safe-deposit box in the hotel, could be traced, and other operatives would be in place to follow the drop man. Logan and Belle were to absorb as many details as they could about the people involved, but ultimately they were to keep the child safe. That alone was an awesome responsibility. He hoped nothing went wrong. He still remembered how bad the last mission with Belle had gone. He ran faster, trying to block out the memories, but he could see it unravel in his mind... They’d been in Barcelona three days and were good to go. They’d arrived at the warehouse separately. Belle was the plant, the one to meet with a man who claimed to have access to guns being smuggled into the U.S. from a remote area of Spain. Logan was hiding behind gallons of fuel in case anything went wrong; concealed from the bare lights glaring overhead, he could smell the stink of oil that permeated the cavernous space.

“Up here, senorita,” the man had said when Belle entered through the door and stopped on the first floor. The smuggler she was to meet had been reputed to be ruthless and very good at keeping his activities quiet. Belle was dressed in a plain blue suit, with all that hair pulled back in a knot at her neck, having taken on the identity of a rich businesswoman from Italy who wanted in on the action. Slowly, she’d climbed the steel steps, briefcase in hand. It contained half-a-million dollars in marked money. From his vantage point, Logan saw the guy come toward her. He’d never been more proud of her- her head was high, her shoulders set, though the situation was critical. Still, it was hard for him to let her do this by herself; he’d wished he was making the deal instead. She met the guy midway between the two ends of the second floor, and he could see them above the railing. She spoke to him in Spanish. Then, all hell broke loose. Someone burst in downstairs- not one of Logan’s people. Almost in slow motion, he saw the guy on the second floor lunge for Belle. Bolting out of his hiding place, Logan was halfway up the steps when Belle pitched over the rail. He’d never forget that heart-

200

stopping moment of seeing her fall twenty feet to the floor. She’d ended up with a broken leg, a concussion and some internal injuries. One, in particular... I thought you’d tell me to get rid of it...I didn’t want to distract you... None of it mattered. Not even the realization that he’d already been unduly worried about her when the sting went down. If he’d known she was carrying his baby, it would have distracted him. Damn it, he had to stop this. Nothing could make him forgive her. She’d been careless and cavalier with his child and he’d never be able to accept that. Sweating badly, he wiped his face with the towel. Through the glass surrounding the work-out room, he saw a young Italian woman smile at him. She gave him an appreciative once-over. Hmm...was she someone putting the moves on him? Or someone trying to confirm his cover? If he was the sappy husband he pretended to be, he’d never look twice at her. Not that he had the slightest urge to take her up on an offer, anyway. There hadn’t been one single woman he’d met in two years who held any allure for him. Like Delilah had done to Samson, Belle had ruined him. He admitted he couldn’t stay in the gym any longer. It was already 22:00 hours. If he was who he said he was, he’d be anxious to get back to his loving wife. To her bed.

Son of a bitch, he thought winding down. He had to go upstairs. * * * In satiny red pajamas, Belle scanned the room for something to do. Trying to amuse herself while Logan worked out, she’d done her own calisthenics, some pushups and Tai Chi in the space she’d cleared of furniture. Given her new identity’s health, fragile Belle Kane wouldn’t run or work out, so she was forced to stay in the hotel room. When Logan still hadn’t come back after ninety minutes, she was starting to get pissed off at him. It didn’t take much. Spying his notebook computer- which he locked securely in the safe when they were out of the room- she decided to play some poker until he returned. She settled down at the desk in front of the machine, and waited until it booted up; the instant messaging system came on screen first. She thought of turning it off, but she craved knowledge of his life, wondered what he’d been up to, who he communicated with routinely. So she studied the buddy addresses. TheKing- his brother. JK007- Jake. They’d teased their commander about his screen name. Several more buddies but she couldn’t decipher who they were. Just then, one cha-chinged on. M&MSweetie. What the hell? The dialogue box came up and typing appeared. Hey, Logan. So glad I caught you online. All’s well. Closing Kane’s Table while you’re gone has everybody coming in here asking about you. Don’t worry. I’m taking care of everything. The baby’s getting bigger...you should feel her inside me...I think she misses your attention.... Spots swam before Belle’s eyes as she slammed the cover of the laptop computer down. Oh my God...oh my God...oh my God... Why hadn’t Jake told her? Why didn’t she know this? She threw back the chair and paced; then she strode to the balcony. It didn’t help. The fresh air didn’t allow her to breathe better and the lights of Rome twinkling up at her didn’t calm her. The pain was so sharp, so acute, she doubled over with it. No, no, please don’t let this be true. The stark fact stayed in the forefront: some other woman was pregnant with Logan’s baby. Belle straightened. Be sensible, she told herself. What did you think, Isabelle? That he’d mourn the loss of you and your child forever? No, of course not, but it hadn’t been that long. And she

201

hadn’t let another man touch her, ever, since Logan. That he could sleep with someone else, love someone else enough to create a baby with her...oh, God... Unable to deal with the slicing pain, she let the anger come; it was easier to channel. Damn him. Damn him. Well, so be it. She straightened and went back into the room. Tearing off her pajamas, she fished in her drawer for sweatpants and a T-shirt. She put them on, then her sneakers. It was late, and unlikely that anyone was watching the hotel. Tucking her hair into a baseball cap, she decided no one would recognize her even if they were out there. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had to get out of here. She had to burn off this anger, this hurt, or she’d never be able to complete the mission. To that end, she let herself out of the room. * * * He knew she was gone when he opened the door. He could always sense her presence. The feel of Isabelle in a room was tangible. And she wasn’t here. He checked the balcony and the bathroom to be sure. Stay calm, he told himself. She could take care of herself. Had someone discovered who they really were and gotten to her? With a keen eye, he studied every detail of his surroundings. There was no sign of a struggle. And Belle would have struggled. Okay, don’t worry. She wouldn’t desert a mission. After all, she’d jeopardized their baby for one. The job was too important to her. Still, he checked the closet, the drawers. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that her clothes were intact. On top of that, he took deeper breaths to quell his anger...and his fear. He paced. He went out to the balcony. What to do? Would she have contacted Jake? Coming back inside, he crossed to his computer. He went to boot the machine up, and discovered it was humming. Belle must have used it earlier. Maybe there’d be a message on it for him. Or some clue to where she’d gone. It seemed like forever for the hibernation to end. The screen had just materialized when the hotel room door opened. For a minute, she stood in the entryway; he could see she’d been running, as she was sweaty and red-faced. She stared at him, then she slammed the door. Without saying a word, she strode to the bathroom and slammed that door, too. What the hell? He heard the shower go on and bolted off the chair, infuriated that she offered him no explanation. He’d be damned if he’d be kept waiting. She’d left a secured situation to do what? Exercise? He stalked to the bathroom and whipped open its door. Steam had already begun to fill the space but he could see her clearly enough. She was naked, and about to step into the shower. His mouth went dry, despite the moisture in the air. For two years, he’d forced himself to forget what she looked like naked. Only in his dreams had he touched her silky skin, traced her generous curves, tasted her sweet warmth. Eventually, he’d even quelled those nocturnal memories. Now, faced with the reality of her, he saw how his dreams had paled. Every inch of her was perfect. Her breasts were firm and high. Her waist and hips voluptuous. Long lean lines everywhere. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Instead of being embarrassed, she threw her shoulders back and her dark hair fanned her like a cape. They’d gone to the Ufitzi Museum today, and he’d come across some of Titian’s paintings that reminded him of her. Tonight, she outshone all the masterpieces. “See anything you like?” she asked silkily. He couldn’t quite decipher her mood. He chose anger to be his. Stalking over to the shower, he yanked the faucet to Off. Then he picked up a towel and tossed it at her. “Cover yourself up.” “Who the hell do you think you are?”

202

He grabbed her naked shoulders, which was a mistake. Her skin was damp from her run and it glowed. It was slick with perspiration, reminding him of the times he’d made her sweat during sex. “Your loving husband,” he said shaking her, “who right now has every right to be ticked.” Her eyes sparked. Not so much in anger. But in challenge. In desire. His body went granite hard. Some of their best sex had been after- or during- an argument. When she just stood there, he grabbed the towel from her. She arched a brow, and lifted her arms. Roughly, he wrapped the cloth around her torso and secured it in a knot between her breasts. Her eyes flared. He knew his did, too. She met him face-to-face. He was breathing hard. But somehow, he managed to back away. And like always, Belle got the last word. Or gesture in this case. Slowly, she raised her hand and undid the knot; the towel dropped to the floor. With a Mona Lisa expression, she closed the distance between them. His back hit the wall just as she hit the lights, plunging them into deep and dangerous darkness. * * * He moved the King. Then the Queen. He laughed and sipped his expensive brandy. Savoring it, he leaned back, pleased with himself. Apparently, his own little king and queen were having a spat. The report just came in. Trouble in paradise. The husband was working out downstairs like a man on fire; the wife left the hotel room in a huff. She came back even angrier. Bet sparks were flying in that bedroom right about now. He smiled into the darkness. God he liked upping the pressure, making people act on tension and nerves. Before he was through, they’d bark like dogs if he wanted them to. Ah, it felt good to be so powerful. And to have so much control over other people’s lives. That was why he kept doing this over and over again.

Belle had no idea what she was doing- in the bathroom of the Hotel Cavalieri, for God’s sake. All she knew was that finding out another woman was carrying Logan’s child made her furious and hurt and left her wanting revenge. Not that this was the way to get it. Who the hell cared? She was on him in seconds. “Belle, what the hell...oh, God, Belle, what are you doing?” She didn’t answer. It was pitch dark in here and they couldn’t see each other, but they could feel. His hands at her waist...to push her away? No, he wasn’t resisting, he was participating. She captured his mouth, took it, devoured it. After only a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her back mercilessly. She dropped one hand to his crotch. “You’re hard for me,” she taunted against his mouth. “What else is new?” His breath was coming in gulps. His hands were all over her. One grasped her butt, another teased her nipples. When his mouth replaced his fingers, she tried to crawl up him. He reversed their positions, pressed her naked back to the wall. She could feel his sweatshirt, soft knit but abrasive, on her heated skin.

203

Once again he suckled her. She moaned, tunneled her fingers through his hair to keep his head there. When his hand went lower she groaned. “Oh, God, yes.” “Yes,” he said gruffly and delved two fingers inside her. In only seconds she climaxed, sobbing, calling his name. When she came back to reality, she felt his body grow harder, tauter. Reaching inside his shorts, she grasped him. “Logan,” she murmured. His response was a grunt, a groan, swearing. She slid to the floor and buried her face in his groin. Yanking down the shorts, she massaged him, licked him, then took him in her mouth. He, too, spiraled in seconds.

It was all over in just minutes. She was still on her knees when he edged back, dragged up his shorts and said, “Well, now that that’s over, mind telling me what brought all this on?” * * * She was shaking uncontrollably. Logan couldn’t take it. He grabbed a robe off the hook on the bathroom door and pulled her up. Bundling her inside the white terry, he led her out to the room and sat her on the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands in his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She just stared at the floor, shivering. He rubbed her arms up and down. “What did bring it all on, Belle? You’re compromising a mission by going out? The anger?” Clearing her throat, she glanced over at the computer. Tears sparkled like tiny stars in her eyes. “You got an IM from your...” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Did I just do that with somebody’s husband?” “Husband? What are you talking about?” “There was an instant message from M&MSweetie. She said your daughter was doing fine.” Now Belle started to cry. “Oh, Logan, why didn’t you tell me there was a woman in your life? That someone else was having your ba-by.” Her voice broke on the last word. He could lie. It would distance her. And hurt her like she hurt him. But the sobs coming from the woman in front of him, whom he’d once loved to distraction, tore at his heart. He tried to take her in his arms. She resisted. “Not if you’re married. Don’t touch me if you’re married.” “I’m not.” She looked at him with bleak, red-rimmed eyes. “But you’re having a baby.” “No.” “I don’t understand.”

204

He explained the situation to her. “Molly must have been updating me on her and Jase’s child.” Belle’s whole body slumped. He caught her in his arms, sat on the bed and pulled her close to his chest. “I don’t understand something,” he said after he felt her calm. “What?” “Why this reaction?” He was glad to see the color return to her face when she drew away. “You’re kidding, right?” “I never felt less like kidding in my life.” She grabbed his arms. “I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. Having a child with another woman. I wanted to be your wife. I wanted your baby!” By God, if he wasn’t tempted to believe her. Could she be faking this? Why would she? Did it even matter? “Belle, we can’t go there. We’re over. What was between us died two years ago in a cold warehouse with our baby.” She seemed to take that in. “Then just tell me you believe me. You don’t have to forgive my mistake, but tell me you believe I wanted that child.” His mother had taught him to examine his heart. When he did, tonight in the dim hotel room, he realized he could believe what Belle was saying. She’d simply made an irrevocable, awful decision. It made no difference with what had happened, but she was telling the truth. “I believe you. But it doesn’t change anything between us now.” Finally, she said, “I can live with that.” She put her head on his shoulder. And despite the fact that he knew damn well no one was watching, he held her close and kissed her hair. * * * “Oh, babe, look at that.” Logan had reverted to old habits and didn’t even realize it. Don’t you dare call me babe. It’s sexist and insulting. I think it’s sexy and intimate. She’d come to love the endearment. He was also holding her hand like he used to, fingers linked, binding them together. He pointed with his other hand; she looked up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. She’d been here before, but he hadn’t.

“That’s my favorite part of the ceiling.” And everyone else’s, too, evidenced by the T-shirts and ads that focused in on God creating Adam, their arms outstretched, their fingers almost but not quite touching. “You like seeing man created?” She leaned into him. “No, look under God’s arm. That’s Eve. Art historians say the panel shows that God always had Eve in mind as Adam’s mate.”

205

Glancing down at her, he smiled. “And? I know this has a punch line.” “I think it means God created Eve first; this view confirms the creation of Adam second.” His laugh was hearty, though soft. Every ten minutes a guard asked for quiet in the long, high room. “Well,” he said glancing back up, “the result’s the same. Man and woman were made for each other, like it or not.” “I like it,” she whispered. If he heard her, he didn’t respond. They took seats on one of the benches that lined the perimeter, except for the front altar. A guide happened to be standing in front of them, and as Logan listened to him talk about “The Last Judgment,” which covered the entire front wall, Belle leaned back against the padded cushion and closed her eyes. She was tired today. After the emotional wrenching of last night, she hadn’t slept well. Logan had finally turned toward her, dragged her to him, and held her the rest of the night. Only then did she catch a few hours. They’d made a truce after the debacle with the instant message, Belle’s run and then, of course, having sex in the bathroom. Though her body tightened at the memory of them together again, she was also sad about it. Hers and Logan’s sex life had been the stuff of dreams- hot, wet and sweaty. But there had always been an underlying tenderness in what they’d done together; they’d cherished each other’s bodies. What had happened in the bathroom had been missing that quality, and Belle felt bad about that. She opened her eyes and peered over at him. Today he wore a black and gray shirt over gray slacks. His hair was a little long; she remembered cutting it for him, then he’d return the favor and trim her halfway-down-the-back hair. They’d insisted each other be naked, and it invariably turned into fun.

”You okay?” he asked. Gone was the angry man, but his resigned tone hurt almost as much. “Yes, I was just somewhere else.” She kissed his cheek, not for show, not to taunt him. “Logan, do you think after...” His hand came to her lips. “You know that isn’t going to happen. But at least we aren’t sniping at each other. Be grateful for that.” Again he laced her fingers with his and led them into the crowd. * * * Logan was trying hard to keep them busy. Keep their minds off each other. This new, emotional tangle wasn’t good for the operation; they both knew it, which was why their truce last night had been a good thing. Now, if only he could forget the mind-blowing sex in the bathroom, and how it felt to hold her during the night. “Let’s get some gelati,” she said as they left San Pietro’s Basilica where seeing Michelangelo’s Pietà made her teary-eyed. Though it was behind glass, on an altar twenty feet away, the muscles and veins had almost pulsed with life to any viewer. “You’re on.”

206

There were numerous small ice-cream stores lining the streets of Rome, though ice cream was a poor description of the creamy, custardlike confection. Since the closest had a long line, Logan led her to one down a side street that appeared less crowded. When they got their treat, they began walking back to the church’s square, which was really a circle, enclosed by pillars. It was almost deserted this time of day. A few monks milled about; one approached them as they went to look at the center monolith from which radiated several markings on the cement pavement. “We need to talk,” the monk said. Logan recognized him right away. He didn’t ask what was wrong. Something had to be a big deal for Jake to fly down to a mission. He never came into the field anymore. “There’s a problem.” Jake drew them off to the side, but far enough away from the Swedish guards who stood at attention near the Pope’s quarters. He gestured toward the Basilica as he spoke to Logan. Periodically, he’d throw in a tidbit about the church’s history more loudly in case anyone was watching. “We’ve got a line on the King Pin, or rather the Chess King, as he’s called.” “The guy running this?” Belle asked.

“Hmm. His name is Diego Martini. He’s wealthy, bored and ruthless. Seems he likes playing with his prey. Mr. and Mrs. Logan Kane are his latest.” Jake pulled out pictures from his pockets. “You need to look at these. This is what he does to anybody who crosses him.” Belle gasped as she took in the mangled bodies. “Oh, dear Lord.” Logan swore vilely. Jake said simply, “I think we should abort the mission.” “Just because he’s ruthless?” Logan asked. Shooting a glance at Belle, Jake faced Logan. “No, because one of his henchmen had a brush with Belle in Russia. He could recognize her.” Logan nodded. “Well, that’s it then. We’re done here.”

Belle grabbed his arm. “Not so fast,” she said.

Belle undressed slowly in the half light of the hotel room. Her mind was still whirling from the news they received from Jake earlier this evening- the identity of the kidnapper and the possibility of her being recognized. She’d won her argument to finish the mission, but both Jake and Logan were unhappy. “In Russia I wore a short red wig,” she’d said calmly. “Remember, Logan?” He’d thought she looked sexy as hell. “Not once did I take it off in public.” “I don’t care, it’s too dangerous.” “Jake?”

207

“I know about the wig. My opinion? It’s not worth the risk.” “Tell that to the Grangers, who won’t get their baby back...” The men had both cursed, but eventually had agreed. Logan came out of the bathroom, dressed only in black boxers. He took in her hot pink tap pants and camisole and his eyes flared. He was such a guy. She crossed to the mini bar and took out a bottle of wine. “Want some?” “Yeah, sure. Out here,” he said and headed for the balcony, where he braced his arms on the railing and stared at the twinkling lights of Rome. Belle poured two glasses of merlot and followed him outside. The sultry night air caressed her bare arms, raising gooseflesh, and the soft breeze ruffled Logan’s hair. He faced her when she held out a glass and he took it. “I don’t like the turn this has taken, Belle.” “You agreed.” “I did. But you could be in danger.” He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “I hate when you’re in danger.” He didn’t always. The first year they were together, they’d gone undercover in Paris at an opera house that was supposedly a front for the Parisian mob. The operation was dangerous, as Belle was to be the bait for the young mob boss’s son... Nervous? Logan had asked the night before. No, enervated. You? Excited. Is there something wrong with us, Logan, that we thrive on this? Who cares? We’re in it together. That’s all that counts. He’d laughed. That and how we help other people, babe. But things had changed the third year they were together, when they started worrying about each other. They’d tried to hide it from each other, and never talked about it. She wondered if they should have. She had so many questions about her past actions. She grabbed his hand and kissed it, then turned to look out at the city. “Why didn’t we ever quit The Organization and make a real life?” she asked.

He waited a very long time before he answered. “I was going to talk to you about that when we got back from Barcelona.” “I figured as much. It’s odd, isn’t it? If we’d talked sooner, we could have redirected our whole lives. We could be married now, with a child.”

208

Reaching over, he palmed her stomach. She could feel his heat through the silk. “Likely with another on the way, if I know us.” “Probably.” Setting his glass down on a small table, he disposed of hers and stood over her in the moonlight. The stars seemed to kiss his hair, sparkle in his eyes. “This operation just turned a lot more dangerous.” His fingers gliding up and down her arm made her shiver. “Because I might be recognized?” “No, because of Martini. Jake gave me a file on him. He takes no prisoners. He’s also playing with us.” Feeling an adrenaline rush, she smiled. “We’re up to the challenge. We’re a good team, Kane. We can take him, or anything else thrown our way.” “God, Sachetti, you’re beautiful when you get that gleam in your eye.” She remembered something then. The night before a mission, they’d always made exquisite love. He said, “You remember, don’t you?” “Yes.” He moved in close. “I want you, Belle. More than I want to breathe.” “I want you, too.” “But-” She put her hand to his mouth. “Shh. No buts. I know it doesn’t mean you want me back in your life. I don’t care. Let’s be together, like we used to be, not like we were in the bathroom.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “Oh, I don’t know, the bathroom was pretty damn good.” She laughed, then sobered. “I want to make love, Logan. Not have sex.” He smiled. “You’re on, babe.” Gently, he swooped her up into a carry and headed into the room. He waited while she pressed the button, plunging them into semidarkness. “I want to see you tonight. All of you.” She kissed his neck. “Me, too, love.” They undressed slowly, facing each other. Watching. His hand fumbled on his shirt buttons while she wrested off her camisole. He dropped his shorts. She lost her tap pants. They stood naked, not touching, just absorbing. Logan had a scar on his left shoulder. She moved in close and brushed her lips over it. She had one on her biceps. He kissed that. Battle wounds, she’d always thought. With pure Logan tenderness, he eased her onto the sheets that the maid had folded down. She stretched out like a cat. He lifted her arms over her head. He’d always done that, so he could look his fill, touch his fill- foreplay which drove them both crazy. “You are so lovely,” he said, gliding his hand over her throat, her breasts, down to her thighs. “I’ve dreamed about doing this again.”

209

After a few moments, she whispered, “Logan, love. That feels so good.” Staring down at her, Logan’s heart swelled at being able to touch her after all these months of sensual starvation. He reveled in it, continued the exploration, until she tugged on his arms. “Logan!” She was breathing fast, her pupils were dilated and a rosy blush had spread everywhere. Finally, he released her. She pressed him back into the mattress and took the reins. Closing his eyes, he let himself feel her fingers glide over his chest, her lips tease his nipples, her lower body meld into his. Her ministrations went on a long time, until he angled her around to face him, both of them on their sides. He suckled her breasts. She massaged him. He ground his hand against her. She moaned. “Please, now.” When he slipped inside her, and it felt like coming home, he panicked for a second. But he was able to force the feeling back. He began to move; she helped him, arching her hips, taking him deeper. They came together, like always, in a cataclysm so binding it blew him away. * * * “Who was the monk?” he asked impatiently, staring at a frozen frame of the videotape he’d just received. The shot showed the Kanes talking with the good priest. Seemingly innocent, but still... “Just a monk,” the underling on the other end of the secured line said. “Telling them the history of the church.” “Hmm.” Martini wasn’t sure. He looked down at the knight on the chess board. Tried a few different moves until he got what he wanted. “I don’t like this. Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch.” For a long time he stared at the screen and thought about changing his strategy with the couple who longed for a child. To that end, he picked up the phone. * * * Logan pretended to read from the guidebook, but he kept getting distracted by her. She was even more beautiful today; she always was, after a night of lovemaking. He tried to curse himself for what he’d allowed to happen, but he couldn’t regret it. When this mission was over, he’d have that memory of her, minus the bitterness. It would be better all around for both of them to part friends. “It says here that most people think the Trevi Fountain was always in Rome. But it wasn’t. It was built by-” “Honey, stop.” She was fishing in her purse for coins, as water from the huge fountain splashed and plopped around her. “You’re taking the romance out of it.” He continued to read. “Throwing coins in it assures your return to Rome.” She stamped her foot. “It does not. It means your wish will come true.” ”That’s not what the book says.”

210

She laughed. “Come over here. I have a coin for you.” She held out a quarter. He took it and kissed her. Hard. Meaningfully. Then he turned, wished and threw the coin in the fountain where Neptune, flanked by two tritons, spewed water. Closing her eyes, she held on to her own quarter, wished and tossed it in the water. He was just about to ask her what she wished for when a shadow fell over them. And just like that, Logan knew they were in trouble. “Plans have changed,” an ominous voice said. “Do exactly as you are told, and you will get the baby.” “It’s two days early.” Belle made her voice shake. At least Logan hoped it was intentional. “Did you not know, Signora? Babies always come early.” The man’s laugh was menacing. Logan glanced at her. She stared back at him. We can do this, his look said. I know, hers returned. He was glad they were in this together. It didn’t hit him until they were in the black Mercedes, destination unknown, that he and Belle had made love last night and hadn’t used condoms. Deja vu, he thought ruefully. Once again, Belle could be pregnant with his child while they headed into a mission impossible situation that- given this new development- could very well go way south.

Belle called on every bit of expertise she had to sit still and pretend to be the pampered, suburban housewife who just wanted a baby. She worried the strap on her purse, bit her lip and fidgeted just the right amount. The man across from her in the Mercedes stared hard at her. She said to him, “A-are you sure the baby’s well?” Dressed in a baseball cap and sunglasses with a beard that covered half his face, the guy growled. “You will see soon enough, Signora.” She watched out the window as the city scrolled by. They were down in a section of Rome near the Vatican and took the winding roads, lined with big concrete buildings, at a fast pace, like all the Italians drove. Once she and Logan had been overtaken at the Trevi Fountain, the men had driven them back to the hotel and were mercilessly silent the entire way, until they reached the circular drive. Get the money. The guy handed Logan a sheet of paper. Meet us at this café. We will have the bambino. Come on, honey, Logan had said, holding out his hand. Per favor, signor. She stays with me. Not on your life. Then no trade.

211

She’d scowled at him. He knew he had to leave, but his face told her that was the last thing he wanted to do. Bending over, he’d kissed her on the mouth. I’ll be there soon. Scared? She didn’t have to fake the answer. Yes. I love you. I love you, too. The car pulled to a stop in front of a huge warehouse. Oh, hell, just what they needed- more reminders of Barcelona. Her escort opened the Mercedes door, jumped out and drew Belle up by the hand. The nervousness came easily. “Where...where is she?” “Inside.” The man grasped her arm and led her through a solid steel door into the semidark interior. It took her eyes a while to adjust. The space was filled with boxes. It had three stories and smelled like seaweed. Then she saw something about twenty feet away- over in the corner; a baby carriage. “Oh,” she said clapping her hand over her heart. “Can I see her?” “Si.” The man led her to the carriage. Belle’s heart practically stopped when she looked down. Cuddled in a nest of blankets, the baby was sucking on a pacifier. She had beautiful blue eyes. When she saw Belle, she waved her arms and kicked. The cover came off, to reveal a pink one-piece suit and small pink booties. “Oh, darling, aren’t you beautiful.” She bent over and took the chubby six-month-old out of the carriage. The child smelled like baby powder and milk. Tears- real ones- fell from Belle’s eyes. “Someone’s been taking good care of you, haven’t they?” Another man came out of the darkness, but was still semi-concealed in the shadows; he stayed there so she couldn’t see his features very well. “Mrs. Kane. Good to meet you.” His accent was Italian. Could this be Diego Martini? Belle couldn’t believe he’d be in on the actual drop. Her agent’s mind superceded her maternal instincts. She told herself to memorize details. He was over six feet. On the heavy side. Dressed in a suit. God, if they could catch the top man.... She hugged Susie tighter. No one would ever have to suffer the loss of a child at his hands again. Demurely, Belle lowered her lashes and nodded. “T-thank you for giving us this baby.” You swine, she added mentally. “Prego.” He tipped his chin to the man in the baseball cap. “Her husband? He knows what to do?” “Si. He will have the money. He will bring it to the café across the street.” Martini looked at her. “You will have the baby. We will have you. When he brings us the payment, we will go. You will stay in the café for one half hour.” All in a public place, Belle knew, so neither party could renege. All safe. God, she hoped so. She hugged little Susie so tight she began to cry. Belle forced herself to relax. Martini glanced at his watch. “It is time.” Placing the baby back in the carriage, Belle circled behind it and began to push. She and the bearded baseball cap guy stepped out into the sunlight and the other man remained in the warehouse. Belle had no doubt he was watching them.

212

The carriage snagged on the cobblestone Roman road and the baby whimpered. Belle said, “Shh, sweetheart, pretty soon you can come home with mommy and daddy.” The outdoor section of the restaurant was like most others in Rome- crowded tables, the bustling of waiters and even at midday, the sounds of an accordion down the street. Belle and the man found a table on the perimeter of the dining area, near the alleyway. Stupid move, she thought. If they were inclined, which they weren’t, the alley presented myriad opportunities to disrupt the trade. But Belle and Logan’s orders were clear. Get the baby safely. Agents who may or may not be in the area, now that the instructions had changed, could attend to the capture of Martini and his men. When Susie began to cry, Belle picked her up and cuddled her to her chest. “Shh, sweetheart. In a few minutes, it’ll be all over.” * * * His heart beating like a drum, Logan grasped the briefcase which held a million dollars in marked money and drew a few bills out of his pocket. “Grazie,” the cab driver said when Logan told him to keep the change. As soon as he exited the taxi, he saw Belle.

For a moment, he was overwhelmed with relief. She sat primly in her little Chanel suit, holding on to the Granger baby like she’d been taking care of children all her life. Ruthlessly, he shoved the notion out of his mind. He needed a clear head here to keep all three of them safe. He was smiling like a goofy dad when he approached her. He merely glanced at the man sitting next to her. Diners around them paid them no notice, but Logan knew they were the key to safety. A simple exchange would be made. No one would be hurt. He would have preferred this to go down with both him and Belle armed- he had his Glock secreted away in the waist of his pants; but changing the time hadn’t allowed her to get her gun. This surprise meeting, sooner than anticipated, could work against them. “Belle, sweetheart, are you all right?” he asked when he reached them. Leaning over, he kissed her head. “Oh, Logan, look at her.” Logan smiled down at the baby. God, she was beautiful. “Hey, little one. How you doing?” Innocently, Susie batted his arm. Simultaneously, the henchman stood and took his briefcase from his hand. “Stay here, Signor, with your family, and no one will be hurt.” “Of course.” Logan sat down next to Belle. She was breathing fast, but that could be explained to the kidnappers as excitement. She laid her head on his shoulder as he slid his arm around her. “I can’t believe it, Logan. Finally, we have a baby.” “It’s a miracle.” Lowering his head, he let the child take one of his fingers and pretended to ooh and ahh over her. All the while, he observed... the man with the money got back into the Mercedes; they stopped in front of the warehouse and picked up someone else. Then the car sped off.

213

Still he and Belle needed to play the part. They weren’t home free. Belle put her lips to his. “Martini was there, I think,” she said into his mouth. He kissed her lightly. “Damn, I want him.” Looking down at the baby, she cooed. “Me, too.” She sighed. “At least we’ve got her. Don’t we, Susie?” Belle played the loving mother as they stayed the requisite half hour. Finally, it was time to go. They stood, placed the baby in the carriage and headed out. The taxi ride back to the hotel was uneventful; they took turns holding Susie as they packed quickly. In under sixty minutes, they were headed to the airport. With any luck they’d be on a plane out of Italy inside of two hours. They chuckled over the baby as they made arrangements at the airport, cognizant that someone could still be watching them. Relief seeped into both of them as they got tickets to New York, and found the right gate. Belle smiled at Logan when they reached the waiting area. “I think she needs to be changed.” “Go ahead.” Logan sat with the luggage as he watched them walk to the women’s room. Now that most of the danger had passed, he allowed in the thought he’d been keeping at bay- he wished like hell that Belle really was his wife, and the child was indeed theirs. Chiding himself, he picked up his newspaper. And, for some reason, felt a chill go up his spine- the kind that he and Belle often experienced in the past when they had worked together. Something was wrong. Ignoring the “don’t leave your luggage unattended” rule, he stood just as Belle disappeared into the lady’s room. He strode to it, stared at the Signora on the entryway, thought, “What the hell?” and went inside. He was just in time to see the employee who’d been mopping the floor bend over and take something out of her bucket. It was a gun, and before he or Belle could react, the woman raised it and pointed the barrel directly at Logan. *

*

*

In the glass mirror ahead of her, Belle saw Logan stride into the ladies room. Puzzled, she pivoted to face him. His look told her something was wrong, so she clutched the baby to her chest. Before she could speak, the door to a stall opened and a small dark haired woman came out of it. She looked behind Belle and shrieked, “Oh, my God.” Belle pivoted fast. The cleaner had dropped her mop and now held a black Beretta; it wasn’t trained on her and the baby, though; it was aimed at Logan. It all happened so fast. Belle thrust the baby into the poor spectator’s hands and the woman shrank back into a stall. Logan yelled, “Belle, don’t!” Belle lunged for the cleaning woman. A blast rent the air. The baby and the woman screamed.

214

Logan swore. And pain exploded through Belle.

“You are the most maddening man I’ve ever met in my life.” At the insult, Logan looked up over the bar to see Molly practically waddling toward him. He’d been back from Italy for two weeks; in the interim, her belly had popped out considerably. ”What’d I do now?” She sat down and he put a glass of milk in front of her. “Just get more and more miserable. Tell me who she is. Tell me what happened. I can’t stand it anymore.” Stripped of his control, of his willpower, by nights of sleeplessness and worry, he said to Molly, “I’ll tell you some.” He kept washing glasses; it was easier if he didn’t have to look at her. “For the past several years, I worked at...somewhere I can’t share with you. You don’t need to know what it was, anyway.” Molly looked puzzled, but she nodded, so he continued. “I quit two years ago, but I still help out occasionally because a good friend of mine named Jake runs the place and I owe him. There was a woman, Belle, involved in the whole thing. When I went back this time, I saw her again and it was hard to leave her.” Molly touched his hand over the bar. “Why did you?” Jake had asked himself the same thing. He’d spent agonizing hours in the hospital with Logan, waiting for Belle to come through the surgery. The bullet had torn ligaments in her shoulder. And they still had no idea how their cover had been blown. What with Belle under the knife, Jake had put that on hold. At least Susie was safe and returned home to ecstatic parents. “I’m not sure why I left. She did something and it made me angry.” Damn her- she’d saved his life! He was furious with her for that. The bullet she’d taken had been meant for him; she’d stepped in front of it on purpose, and Logan didn’t know what to do with all that.

Molly’s amber eyes danced. “Is she a good match for you?” “She was.” He swiped a towel over the bar. “Too much has happened between us.” Molly rubbed her stomach. “She’s the one with the baby. The one you had experience with.” “Yeah. That makes it even more complicated.” He told her about the IM debacle. “Well, nobody knows as well as I do how complicated a relationship can get. And look what happened to me.” Molly grinned. “Happily-ever-after.” He leaned over and ruffled her hair. “For that, I’m grateful.” The door to the bar opened and a woman entered. For a minute, he thought it might be Belle. But then he caught her profile and smiled. “Your sister’s here.” Jill Sullivan, two months further along than Molly, gracefully walked into the bar. Damn, he was surrounded by pregnant women. “Ah, there you are.” She smiled over at him. “Hi, Logan.” Then at her sister.

215

“Ready to go shopping, sis?” “We’re picking out baby furniture.” Molly rose. “The guys are meeting us at the store.” Logan gave them a perfunctory smile. He was jealous as hell. Molly leaned over the bar. “Life’s so short, Logan. Don’t waste it.” She kissed his cheek and was gone. Damn it. Nothing was right without Belle now. In the last two years, he’d found a way to live without her. Forced himself to forget her. But seeing her again, thinking about how she closed around him when they made love, how she took him into her body and soul, shot his discipline to hell. He couldn’t forget her again. He picked up the phone and called Jake. “Kirby,” a clipped voice answered. “Hey, buddy, it’s Logan.” A hesitation. “How you doing?” “I’m fine. Um, how is she?” “She’s pissed as hell you left her in the hospital. A second time.” “She’s healing well?” “Hmm. She’ll be good enough to go out again in no time.” ”Oh, that makes me feel better.” “You got it bad, buddy. Better do something about it or another guy’s going to scoop her up.” He chuckled. “Maybe me.” Logan told Jake to do something anatomically impossible and hung up. His bartender came on a few minutes later; Logan changed and decided to go for a run, trying to chase away the demons. Why had he left her? he asked himself as he hit the pavement. Was it still the old stuff- losing his baby? No, he could forgive that mistake now. How could he not? She’d taken a bullet for him, and might have gotten killed in the process. He sighed. Was it because she could have been pregnant when she did it? Had she knowingly jeopardized a child of theirs again? He stopped abruptly. What the hell was the matter with him? What were the chances that she was pregnant? And what kind of fixation did he have on this, anyway? Isabelle Sachetti was a female agent working for The Organization. She was simply doing her job. This time and last. Hell, he wondered as he started to run again, why couldn’t he have seen that before? Maybe because he didn’t want to. Maybe he just wanted to nurse his hurt and strike out at her because he couldn’t do anything about fate, which had taken their child. And if that was it, he was a shit. He wondered now if she could ever forgive him for it. * * * “What did he say?” “He wanted to know if you were all right.”

216

Belle massaged her shoulder over the sling. “Like he cares. He left me.” She kicked the wastebasket. “Just like before.” Jake stood and came around the desk to lean on it. “You are a pair. I’ve never met two people who belonged together more, or who were more stubborn and single-minded.” Belle swore at him over her good shoulder. Then she felt a hand on it. “Did I ever tell you why my marriage broke up?” Startled, Belle turned to him. “No, you’re as closemouthed as he is.” Jake’s blue eyes were sad. She always thought he was ruggedly handsome, yet so soft inside. “I blew it with my wife. I let the job come between us. She left because of that, and then, when I got hurt, and lost the job, I had nothing.” He ran his hand down her cheek. “Don’t let that happen to you and Logan, Belle. This Organization isn’t worth it.” “It’s all I know. All I ever wanted.” Which wasn’t quite true. After this last brush with death and with the underbelly of the world, the job didn’t hold as much allure. Still, she was furious at Logan. After what they’d shared, after saving his freaking life, he’d left her! Jake’s cell phone rang before she could say any more. “Kirby.” He waited. “No kidding? Yeah, thanks, I’ll tell them both.” She arched a brow when he clicked off. “What?” “They know how your cover was blown.” “Really, how-” A second ring cut her off. He rolled his eyes and answered, “Kirby.” A scowl. “Um, yeah, I guess.” He held the phone out to her. “It’s for you.” “Logan?” Jake shook his head. “No, somebody named M&MSweetie.” *

*

*

After sulking for two more days- when had he become such a whiner?- Logan dropped down at his desk chair in his office and picked up the phone. He was going after Belle. He’d call the airport and get a flight out to...oh, great, he didn’t even know where she was living. He’d never let himself find out. Damn it, now that he’d decided, he wanted to get to her right away! There was a knock on the door to his office. “Go away,” he shouted. Nothing was more important than this. The door swung open. Who the hell? Molly stood there, smiling her happy grin. “Mol, this isn’t a good time.” “Too bad.” She stepped aside. Belle stood behind her. She was dressed in her usual garb- long black skirt, pretty spandex top with beads on it, though there was a black sling over it, and earrings that he was pretty sure he’d

217

bought her in Dublin. “Hello, Logan.” Oh, hell. That look, combined with that sultry voice was gonna kill him. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to play this out. “What are you doing here, Isabelle?” He glanced at Molly. “And what do you have to do with it all?” Molly smiled, scooted to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Just returning the favor.” She squeezed Belle’s arm on the way out and closed the door behind her. “I understand you had something to do with getting Molly and her husband together,” Belle said. Logan nodded. “How did she find you? I just realized I didn’t have any idea where you were living.” ”Trying to get in touch with me?” Her eyes danced. “I like hearing that.”

“Maybe. Molly?” ”Seems she commandeered your cell. Called Jake, since you’d mentioned him by name and had him in your speed dial.” Waiting, he leaned on the edge of his desk, tucking his hands in his armpits to keep from reaching for her, especially when she moved closer. Her perfume pulled at him. She reached up and straightened the collar of his green shirt. “Our cover’s blown.” “Really? Did somebody recognize you?” “Not me. You. Seems there’s some kind of international bad-guy network that passes pictures around on the Internet to all the sleazebags. Somebody fingered you. From there, they caught on to me. So, I’m blown, too.” “I’m sorry if you’re out of a job,” he lied. She shrugged. “Your fault. Got any ideas for employment?” “Employment? No.” The saucy look faded from her face. “I see.” He grasped her waist and pulled her back. “But I have lots of ideas for your future.” “Oh, yeah.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Like what?” Hell, he was done dancing. “I love you, Belle. I never stopped loving you in two years. I want you to marry me, have my babies.” He pulled her closer. “I don’t want a life without you.” “Oh, Logan,” she said achingly. “I love you, too. I want a life with you, too.” They held on to each other. He reveled in how right she felt in his arms. Finally, he set her back. “Won’t you miss the excitement of the chase?” She shook her head. “I’ve had enough of the chase, thank you.” Again her eyes twinkled. “But I guess you’ll have to provide some kind of excitement for me.” He grinned down at her. “I think I can handle that.”

218

She grinned up at him. “I know you can. But just to be sure, let’s give it a try.” “Here?” he asked, already reaching behind him for the remote that locked his office door. “Here, or anywhere in the world,” she said, smiling when she heard the lock click into place. “We’ve had enough of the world together, babe.” He lowered his lips to hers. “We don’t need it anymore.” “You’re right. You’re my world, Logan. You have been since the day I met you.” “And you’re mine. Now and forever.” Then, to seal the deal, he kissed her.

219

Return to Love by Fiona Lowe Dr. Louise Kershaw never expected her life to turn out this way. She wasn’t supposed to end up on the verge of divorce, juggling her work at the hospital with motherhood, and dropping too many balls. But it’s been a year since her marriage to Dr. Paul Kershaw broke down, and Lou has to accept that the father of her two young sons is never coming home. So when she shows up for her shift at the A&E, she’s thrown for a loop to find herself working side-by-side with Paul for the first time in years. As consummate professionals, and with nearby bushfires filling up the hospital, the two must put aside their personal differences for the night. But with questions left unanswered, and passion still simmering just below the surface, Paul and Lou will be forced to face the issues that drove them apart—and decide if they still have a future together!

Chapter One The children need to be dropped off at my mother's. The commanding words washed over Louise Kershaw and she closed her eyes against the deep voice, which had changed so much in the past year. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, she forced down the instant, resentful retort that burned the back of her throat, desperate to be spoken. Instead, she thought of the rainforest and the soothing sounds of water, and tried to sound calm in the burning February heat. "Paul, this is your weekend with the kids and we agreed that meant time staying with you at your place, not at your mother's." His sigh ricocheted down the line, all disapproval and barely leashed frustration. She could picture his square jaw rigid with tension and his left hand plowing through his salt and pepper curls. Curls that had been inky black when they'd first met ten years earlier. "Lou, I'm not trying to be difficult, but sometimes things happen and this is one of those times. Please drop them off at Mum's." He sounded tired. "I'll call them to explain." Explain it to me. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. Ex meant no longer being part of explain, and legally separated couples didn't have to give each other anything more than the bare details of their plans. After years of sharing everything, she found this part of separation very difficult. "Fine. I'll take them to your mother's." *** "Backpack, water bottle, bathers for the pool…" Louise checked her sons' backpacks, a smile fixed on her face because, no matter how hard she found this fortnightly ritual, the boys loved spending time with their father, as Paul did with them. On an intellectual level she knew these visits were so important, but that didn't stop her missing her sons, or the sorrow that their family life had been truncated. Pushing her pain and heartache down deep, she strived to be neutral in front of them. "What else do you need to take to Dad's?" Sam, her six-year-old, put a box of LEGO into the backpack. "Dad and I are going to make this and put it on the shelf he built us in our room. It's gonna be awesome." Keep smiling. "That's great, sweetheart." She turned to her younger son, who sat at the kitchen table clutching a toy orangutan the same color as his hair. "What about you, AJ?" "I want to take you."

220

Her heart spasmed so hard she found it difficult to breathe. "Everything you take has to fit in the backpack, honey, and I'm too big to fit in there." She bent down and gave him a hug. "Besides, you'll be too busy swimming in Nana's pool and building LEGO with Dad to miss me. Even if you weren't going to Daddy's, you wouldn't be seeing me because I have to work, remember?" Her three-year-old's bright blue eyes, so similar to his father's, stared at her. "Can I take Tall Tales?" It was AJ's favorite book and they were reading a chapter a night. Snuggling down next to her little boy, all fresh and warm out of the bath, was a time of day she looked forward to. A time of day when she could pretend that her life was what she'd planned and not what it was—a single woman juggling work and kids, and dropping far too many balls. "Sure, Daddy will love reading it to you. Go grab it and get into the car." Half an hour later, she checked the mirror inside her hospital locker door and groaned at her pale face and the grey rings under her eyes that seemed now to be a permanent part of her. Her mother had always said, "Lipstick is vital or you'll look sicker than your patients." Paul had disagreed. Your lips are divine the way they are. Then he'd kiss her hard and fast or long and slow, and remove half her lipstick in the process. But it had been a long time since he'd said or done that. Refusing to let her mind go there, she whipped off the cap, defiantly swiped berry-red lipstick across her lips, threw her stethoscope around her neck and slammed the locker closed. It was a hot Saturday afternoon in A&E and anything could happen. A thrill of anticipation ran through her as she pushed through the double doors and then the noise hit her. An early drunk loudly demanded to see a doctor, a child whimpered in the arms of his mother, and the scream of an ambulance's siren pierced the air. The unit manager greeted her by pointing to the full board. "It's frantic, Louise, but I've got you some help. Start in Trauma One." "Thanks, Keri." She walked briskly through the door backwards, pulling on a gown as she went. "So gang, what have we got?" "A bloody mess." Louise froze as the words—deep and resonant as a bass saxophone—washed over her. Please, no. She turned slowly, her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings, saw the blood on the patient's arm, and then looked beyond and up into vivid blue eyes tinged with a coolness that used to be heat. Eyes that had once loved her. Be a grown-up. She tilted her head in greeting. "Dr. Kershaw." Salt and pepper curls nodded curtly in reply. "Dr. Kershaw." Heaven help her. Working with her estranged husband meant it was going to be a very long and difficult shift.

Chapter Two “Craig is a twenty-three-year-old male who put his arm through a plate glass window.” Dr Paul Kershaw sounded professional, but he was swearing on the inside as he concentrated on inserting a central line while his estranged wife ordered blood gases. When the hospital administrator had called him in to work on his weekend off, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask the name of the other attending doctor. After all, the hospital knew they no longer lived together. Knew they no longer worked together and for a year, with

221

the help of the scheduling secretary, they’d managed to studiously avoid each other—until this stinking hot summer’s day. “His BP’s stable for now.” Lou snagged her cherry-red bottom lip with her teeth. Paul’s gaze immediately zeroed in on her mouth. She chewed her lips when she was nervous. She’d done it the first day they’d met, and the moment he’d seen her do it he’d wanted to haul her close and kiss away her lipstick there and then. An unfamiliar flicker of something akin to heat trickled through him; something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Disconcerted, he instantly disconnected from it because he no longer had any claim to those gloriously pillow-soft lips. “Me arm’s killing me, doc.” Craig lay pale and sweaty on the narrow gurney. “I can give you something for the pain—” They spoke at the same time, her soft yet husky voice rolling over his bass before abruptly falling silent. Once they would have laughed, loving the simpatico. Today, her left shoulder rose slightly and her mouth quirked up to the side as if to say, “That’s embarrassing because we’re no longer a team.” They had been once, though. A hell of a team before everything had fallen apart. “I don’t care who gives it to me.” Craig moaned. “Just do it.” “Ten milligrams of morphine.” Paul snapped out the order and immediately regretted his tone as he saw the young nurse’s expression, clearly labeling him as old and difficult. Hell he wasn’t old. He was in the prime of his life. Forty was the new thirty. Yeah, right. Tell that to your sore knee. Tell that to the St. Stephen’s hospital board. “Theater’s ready.” Keri stuck her head through the door. “I’ll take him up.” Again their voices merged, this time both edged with the desperation of people wanting to avoid each other. Keri shook her head. “I need you both down here.” The orderly and a nurse wheeled the patient through the door leaving Paul alone with his wife. She stripped off her gloves with a snap and dropped them neatly into the bin, but all the while her grey eyes spoke volumes of disapproval. Disapproval of him. He made a preemptive strike. “I had no clue you were on duty today.” Her shoulders squared up. “I’m sorry it’s an inconvenience to you.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “That’s not what I meant.” “Really? I think if you’re honest with yourself, had you known you’d be working with me, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to come in.”

222

Her words stung because they were true and he hated that. “Oh right, and if the shoe had been on the other foot?” “I never had a problem working with you, Paul.” The softness in her tone ate at him. “No, it was living with me that was the problem.” A tremor vibrated through her from the top of her blond head to the tip of her size nine feet. “No, Paul, it’s you who has trouble living with yourself.”

Chapter Three "Still reading the self–help books I see." Paul's eyes flashed with shards of navy as he strode toward the door. "There's no point in us having this conversation, Lou. We've had it too many times already and it doesn't change a thing." Then he disappeared through the door, leaving Louise locking her knees to try and stop herself from shaking. Her once laughing, loving and happy husband had buried himself under a ton of impenetrable protective armor and nothing she could say or do could reach him. That hurt beyond pain. He'd separated himself from her physically and emotionally and the gulf between them was now so great that not even the world's longest bridge could span it. They could manage their shared custody, discuss their children's needs and arrangements with strained politeness, but if their conversation strayed beyond that, the massive fissures in their relationship opened wide and Louise found herself sucked down into a vortex of hurt and overwhelming sadness. Don't go there. Just work. She headed back to the central desk and picked up a patient history when Keri shook her head and said, "We've got firefighters from the Warradale Fires arriving now and I've put them in the procedure room so you can treat them all together." The Country Fire Authority had declared the day's fire risk as extreme and bushfires had flared with the strong, northerly winds. Even though Warradale was thirty kilometers away, the pall of smoke hung in the air making everyone fidgety with the adrenaline of being on standby for casualties and the constant fear of possible tragedy. "On my way." She grabbed some large bottles of saline and headed in. Six firefighters sat in chairs, their distinctive yellow protective coveralls bright against their soot and ash– blackened faces and red–rimmed eyes. "You're a sight for sore eyes, doc." Louise smiled. "Sore eyes I can fix." Volunteer firefighters or "Firies" as they were affectionately known, were special men and women who risked their lives to save their communities. They shared a camaraderie with other medical personnel, probably because they faced down nature's fury and human despair, and many had a wicked and laconic sense of humor. With the help of a nurse, Louise saline–washed eyes free of grit, checked for foreign bodies and listened to chests for signs of smoke inhalation. Despite her concentration being one–hundred percent on her patients, her heart suddenly kicked up and she knew without looking up that Paul had just walked into the room. His distinctive scent of fresh soap and strong spice underpinned with a hint of soft amber was burned into her

223

olfactory nerves. She was as intimate with his scent, his taste and touch as she was with herself although it had been a long time since she'd experienced the latter two. Scent and sight was all that was left to her now. Stop it. You've moved on and he's moved on. Paul commenced examining the two firemen who'd just arrived and she refocused on her patient, concerned about his air entry. "Can you please take off your shirt so I can listen to your chest?" "Hey, Gazza, you don't get an offer like that every day," one of his mates teased. Gazza grinned up at her. "You just want me for my body, don't you, Doc?" Louise gave a good–natured chuckle. "I'll let you know after I've seen it." "Gaz, she's far too much woman for you." The captain, a good–looking guy in his late thirties with dancing eyes, gave her a wink. "A beautiful woman like you needs someone with maturity." The teasing went out of his eyes, replaced by something more serious. "When this fire's out, can I give you a call?" The invitation caught her off–guard, but before she could reply Paul suddenly had his hand firmly on the Captain's shoulder. "You're chatting up my wife and I suggest you stop."

Chapter Four "Sorry, mate, but perhaps you need to ask her to wear a ring so there's no confusion." The fire captain met Paul's eyes, his expression a mixture of begrudging apology and calling him on his claim. My wife. Paul caught the shocked surprise on Lou's face and knew it matched his own. The unbidden words had shot out of his mouth on a green flame of proprietary, of age–old ownership. My wife. My woman. Except she wasn't his woman because he'd forfeited that right last year when he'd dived into a river of misery. Louise gave a strained laugh. "I'm flattered, Captain. Truly. Thank you for the invitation." Hell, did Lou want to go out with this guy? The thought sent acid scouring the lining of his stomach. Separated couples date other people, you moron. He realized with a gut–dropping start that he'd never really thought about her dating. He'd been out with friends in groups but he'd never dated per se because he hadn't been interested. But just because he hadn't dated, didn't mean Lou wasn't doing it. Not wanting to think about that possibility, he signed off on the remaining firemen, wishing them well as they returned to fight the blaze. The nurses drifted away to other patients, and he walked toward the door to head back to pick up his next case. "My wife?" Lou, eyes blazing with righteous anger, shot between him and the door. Somewhere deep down inside him he knew he deserved her wrath, but no way would he admit it. He shrugged. "In the eyes of the law you're still my wife."

224

Her arms flew up into the air. "Oh, this is really rich especially coming from you, Paul. We live separately, our finances are separated, we parent separately and divorce papers are being drawn up, but you're citing a technicality?" Then like a balloon deflating, her anger suddenly seeped out of her and her clear grey eyes— like pools to her soul—filled with unutterable sadness. "I really don't understand you." His heart cramped. "I'm not sure I do, either."

Chapter Five "He can hardly breathe!" Louise heard the distraught mother's voice, and with Paul ran from the treatment room, her emotional confusion boxed up and stored away to be dealt with later. "I'm a doctor, give him to me." Paul held out his arms and received the young child from the mother. He immediately strode into Trauma Two but Louise was there a beat before him, hauling the oxygen mask off the wall and setting up the salbutamol nebulizer. "It's the smoke from the bushfires. Jack's asthma's been bad all morning and now his puffer isn't working." The mother wrung her hands in helplessness. "Please do something." "We're doing everything we can." Paul reassured her as Keri arrived to guide the mother from the room. "Jack, I'm going to put this mask on your face, sweetheart." As Louise put the green elastic around the boy's head she met Paul's eyes, recognizing the same emotion in their outback–blue depths that she knew shone in hers. Jack was the same age as their AJ, and fighting for his young life. Paul examined the limp Jack, his apprehension etched on his high cheekbones. "He's severely broncho– constricted with limited air entry." Louise watched the exhausted child trying to move air in and out of his rigid lungs. The monitor beeped quickly as Jack's heart rate thundered far too fast. Propped up on pillows, the child's color was as pale as the scratchy hospital linen. Paul pulled his stethoscope out of his ears. "He's not responding to the nebulizer. We need to step up treatment." "He's too sick for oral steroids." She cupped the child's small, thin arm with a tourniquet and slid in a butterfly needle. He nodded. "IV methylprednisilone." She murmured her agreement, administered the drug and waited, watching Jack's labored breathing deteriorate before their eyes. He was so small and exhausted and unless he responded quickly, the next step was intubation and mechanical ventilation. "ICU consult?" She'd always found reassurance in working with Paul and bouncing her ideas off him. "Agreed. Ring them." Paul bent his head again, the strain clear on his face as he listened to Jack's air entry. The monitor started beeping wildly and Louise grabbed the pediatric laryngoscope and ET tube, expecting Jack to crash any second. With her hand on the back of the trolley ready to drop it flat, she heard the beeping start to slow. Jack's color pinked and the furrow on the bridge of Paul's nose faded.

225

"Want…Mummy?" The faint and muffled question could just be heard over the whoosh of the nebulizer. "She'll be back in a minute, mate." Paul gave Jack's leg a gentle pat and called in a nurse to special the little boy. As they walked out of the room together Paul grinned and raised his hand in a high five, the way he'd always done in the past when they'd made a good save. "That was touch and go." His smile raced through her, warming her in a familiar and yet foreign way, and sending trails of longing along a well–worn path of heartache. She raised her hand and returned his smile. "But we did it." "We did." His palm connected with hers—hot and strong—and then his fingers laced through her fingers, gripping her hand in a gentle but firm hold. His unexpected touch created havoc inside her as confusion warred with need, wanting debated common– sense and as desire flared, logic wailed in frustration. He said he didn't want you.

Chapter Six Louise's brain seized as Paul's heat rolled through her. The next moment he tugged her towards him, into an empty cubicle and into his broad and solid chest. With hooded eyes, he lowered his lips onto hers and all the confused noise in her head stopped. His taste of coffee, almonds and chocolate filled her, taking her back to happier times when she could claim his mouth whenever she pleased. She claimed it now. She revisited it like a parched man chugging water. She took her share of its wondrous taste and touch—the feel of his tongue, the light graze of his stubble on her chin, the weight of his hand in her hair, and the pressure of his lips branding her as his own. Her blood pounded through her, vibrating every cell with the wonder of the kiss, and she heard herself moan as every part of her opened up to him. The sound shuddered through her, bringing reality back with the devastating power of a tsunami. I don't want our life, Lou. Right then, logic drew a circle of ice around her heart. Paul heard Lou's husky moan and stars danced in his head as all his blood thudded to his groin. She kissed like every man's fantasy; open–mouthed and giving, and he couldn't get enough of her. His tongue thrust deeply into her hot and welcoming mouth as his body demanded he bury himself in her, absorbing all her sweet taste and fiery heat. His hands, filled with her silky hair, tilted her head back so he could kiss more of her; trail kisses along her jaw and down her slender neck. She'd always melted in his arms when his lips and tongue had done a long, slow trace from her ear and down along her neck, and he was returning to familiar territory. His tongue savored salt on her jaw, sandalwood on her neck, and anticipation rushed through him because he knew intimately the bounty that waited nestled between her breasts. The push of her hands flat against his chest hardly registered and he pulled her closer not wanting to feel any space between them.

226

With a gasp, she tore her mouth away from his. "Stop it." The roar of lust in his ears vanished as the words stung like a bare–handed slap. He pulled back, his eyes slow to adjust to sharp focus through lust–hazed lenses. Fine strands of blond hair lay in disarray against her usually smooth bob. Her chest rose and fell quickly, pushing her breasts against her shapeless scrubs, and she stared at him with eyes filled with hurt, confusion and anger. "What the hell are you doing, Paul?"

Chapter Seven Her accusatory tone riled him. "Me? I think you'll find that we were kissing each other like sex–starved teenagers." "Speak for yourself." She tugged at her scrubs straightening them—regaining control by putting things in order neatly and tidily as she always did when she was rattled. "I am." Her eyes widened. "I find that hard to believe when there are so many women in this hospital who'd fall over each other to date you." He thought about the last year. "Perhaps I don't want to fall over them." Louise had the distinct sensation that she was sinking in quicksand. Nothing about her interpretation and understanding of the past year and the man in front of her was making any sense. "On December 31, over a year ago, you told me that you weren't happy and that you hadn't been for a long time." His eyes flared with something she couldn't entirely decipher. "That was the truth." Her world—their world—had crumbled into dust that night, leaving her second–guessing everything about her life and wondering if anything was real. In an act of self–preservation, she'd never asked him if he was seeing another woman because she'd hardly been able to stay standing when he'd packed an overnight bag. Being told he was leaving her for someone else would have completely unraveled her. Now he'd just kissed her as if his rejection of her fourteen months ago had never happened—kissed her so thoroughly that she'd melted into a puddle of need and undone months of hard–fought equilibrium. He'd just gone and changed the goalposts. Again. Well, she wouldn't let him. Couldn't let him. The boundaries had to stay where they were so she could survive. She tilted her chin. "Just because you're having a dry spell doesn't mean you can kiss me. I'm not interested in being an ex–wife with benefits." He paled under his tan and deep lines bracketed his mouth. When he spoke, his words came out stiff and formal. "I don't want that and I wouldn't presume to even suggest it." She hated that his abrupt dismissal of her still hurt her so much.

Chapter Eight As Paul stitched the leg of a cyclist who'd come to grief in a ditch, he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss or the pain and hurt in Lou's eyes. Guilt stabbed him like the sharp point on a bayonet. What the hell had he not been thinking when he kissed her?

227

But with the euphoric rush of a good save and the shared joy of a job well done, kissing her had seemed the most normal and natural thing in the world. The sort of thing they'd done all the time until AJ's difficult first year. God she'd felt good in his arms again. Warm and soft and— He realized with an excruciating jolt just how much he'd missed holding her. No. No way. It couldn't be true. He refused to believe that. He'd been the one to leave, so missing her was out of the question. He snipped the black suture thread and placed a clear adhesive dressing over the top. "Keep it dry for a few days, see your own doctor in ten to fourteen days and don't simultaneously text and ride again." The cyclist gave him a sheepish look. "You sound like my wife." Paul gave a wry laugh. "I think I sound like mine." "That's a worry, Doc." Paul shook his head. "Not in this instance. It's sensible and sound advice." You're so lucky to have Lou. The voice of his best mate, Dan, blared in his head. She's so organized, sensible and unflappable. A woman like that can make a man very happy. So why then had a dark emptiness filled his soul and not moved on? … The late afternoon heat had pushed the mercury up to forty–four degrees Celsius, and the large ceiling fans stirred and distributed the air cooled by the air conditioners. Outside, the hot northerly wind still gusted, and constant updates on the bushfires crackled over the emergency radio. Keri glanced up from a mound of paperwork. "We're quiet on the trauma front so can you give Paul a hand in general clinic. It'd be good to clear that in case the fire–front changes and the worst happens." Louise gave a tight smile. "Sure." She hadn't seen him for an hour and found him walking toward chairs with a stack of charts in his arms. She held out her hand. "I'll go halves." "Thanks." He passed three of the grey folders to her and then stood back to allow her to pass through the doorway first. He'd always had impeccable manners. She'd remarked on it early in their relationship, and he'd looked surprised for a moment before telling her that his father had drummed them into him from an early age. She'd laughed and said, "Thanks Prof Kershaw." Paul hadn't laughed with her. A group of six people in their early twenties sat slumped in the chairs with glazed eyes, wet hair plastered to their heads and bright red skin. Louise glanced at the top chart. "Jason Coghlan." The young man rose unsteadily to his feet and then crashed sideways to the floor. A girl screamed. Another vomited.

228

As Louise sank down beside the unconscious man, her fingers searching for his carotid pulse, his mate tried to stand up and he collapsed, as well. "Everyone stay seated." Paul reached for the wall phone. Louise rolled her patient onto his back and called out to Paul. "Call a code red. I can't find a pulse."

Chapter Nine Louise counted compressions and breaths, while chaos loomed around her. She heard a thunder of feet and Paul calmly and decisively directing the emergency while two other people started vomiting. Paul had the heart of a caring physician and the organizational skills of an administrator. A nurse knelt beside her, attaching monitor dots to the man's chest and a moment later Louise saw a wobbly heartbeat trace across the screen. She breathed a sigh of relief as she inserted an IV. "He's back." "Going on what his girlfriend said, you'll need to pump his stomach as soon as we get him into trauma one." Paul and an orderly lifted the man onto a gurney. "Chances are it's pure vodka." Ninety minutes later, having performed two stomach pumps and treated six cases of severe sunburn and dehydration, Louise walked to the staff lounge hoping to find something to eat. She opened the fridge and stared at the meager contents, her stomach groaning in protest. "I thought you might enjoy one of these." She turned to see Paul dropping two white bags onto the table and opening an icy bottle of mineral water. The aroma of spicy lamb filled the air and her heart hiccoughed. Souvlaki. Her favorite take–away food and one they'd often shared when they'd worked together. "Thank you." He gave her a hesitant smile. "I rang Theo's while you were taking Jason to ICU and he delivered." She sat down, bit into the flat bread and sighed with delight. "This was a great idea. I haven't had one of these since—" She stopped herself, realizing she was about to say, "Since you left," and there was no point bringing that fact up again. While they ate, the edgy silence that had enveloped them for over a year faded into a strained but companionable hush. Paul wiped his mouth with a serviette before crumpling it onto the white bag. "Jason was damn lucky he collapsed here. I can't get over the stupidity of those kids." Louise raised a brow. "They're university students, Paul, and I think you've got forty–year–old selective memory loss." His head shot up, his expression affronted. "My memory is just fine, thank you." She leaned forward. "So you've jettisoned the memory of the night I officially became a doctor and you got your registrar's position? We finished our late shift, left the hospital at nine and went to your father's shack at Portsea." "Ah, Portsea." His eyes flared with warmth and memories.

229

"Yes, Portsea. We surfed under a full moon and then lay in the dunes gorging ourselves on fish and chips and drinking champagne straight from the bottle. Somehow we got back to work for a seven a.m. start and managed a full shift without causing death or disability to our patients or having our degrees revoked." His head had leaned forward, too, and the edge of one of his curls brushed her forehead. "You're forgetting what else happened in the dunes." She shook her head slowly. "No, I remember that very clearly. It was the night I realized I loved you." "Was it?" She bit her lip at his unexpectedly forlorn expression. "Of course it was. I've told you that." He leaned back and shook his head. "I wouldn't have forgotten something as momentous as that. I remember exactly when and where I told you for the first time that I loved you." Her mouth twitched into a small smile. "Hospital service elevator three." "That's right and I told you every day after that." "Until you stopped." Pain slashed his face. "But at least I started, Lou." She stared at him, her heart thumping hard as his words hammered into her rock–solid belief that their marriage had floundered only because of him.

Chapter Ten Louise tried to think back through a decade of memories. Laughing with Paul, kissing him, grabbing his hand to hold, always determined to show him she loved him because she'd grown up in a house devoid of any physical displays of affection. Her parents had shared a house, not a marriage. Cool and indifferent, their lives had become one of individual pursuits and constant sniping. Love and other positive emotions had never been spoken of. As a doctor and a professional, talking about feelings was something she encouraged other people to do. But when it came to herself, she'd always found it difficult—exposing. She remembered the first time Paul had told her he loved her, and she'd been thrilled and overwhelmed yet slightly uncomfortable with the emotional declaration, having never heard anyone tell her she was loved. To hide her confusion she'd kissed him. Over time she'd gotten over her embarrassment, and she'd adored it when Paul told her he loved her—and she'd missed it dreadfully when he stopped. Her breath stalled in her chest. With dazzling clarity she realized that from his very first declaration she'd always responded by kissing him. She shredded the edges of the white paper bag, her throat tight. "Haven't I ever told you that I love you?" "Not in words, no." His sadness permeated the air around them. Her heart wept and she reached out, lightly touching his hand. "I'm sorry. I think I was so focused on showing you that I didn't realize I wasn't saying the words." Then her defensive self rushed in. "Why didn't you say anything?" He tugged at his hair and then let out a long breath. When he spoke there was no defensive edge, just tiredness and regret. "Because the first time it became really important to me was when dad—" he hesitated

230

for a half beat before continuing "—when we were both struggling with AJ, with his reflux and constant screaming, his lurch from one viral illness to another, coping with next to no sleep and Sam's toddler tantrums. I'd arrive home exhausted to find you either asleep or on a domestic binge, working madly through one of your lists so you could cope with the following day. No time was ever a good time to bring it up." She remembered those dark and difficult days. AJ had been born ten weeks early, the complications of prematurity dogging the first year of his life. In the middle of all that worry Paul's father had died, adding another layer of stress and grief. He had a great relationship with his mother, but not with his high–flying father whose praise was sparse and affection not easily given. She'd tried to help him grieve, but he'd turned it all inwards. If she was honest with herself, she'd probably had a mild case of depression at that time. "I used to think the fact we survived all that meant we'd get through anything." She raised her gaze to his. "Was that the start of things going wrong?"

Chapter Eleven Paul thought about the past few years when life had gone from shiny prospects to wading through mud. He traced the rings of condensation that had pooled under the cold glass of water. "Do you ever feel that you've missed out?" She tilted her head, her eyes filled with questions. "Missed out how?" He threw a hand up in the air, her gaze making him uncomfortable. "Like stuff we had on our five–year plan. Travelling on a moment's notice, and that research job you wanted but gave up because you fell pregnant with Sam four years earlier than planned." Two creases appeared at the top of her nose. "Plans change, Paul. The moment I had Sam the plan became dusty, and when AJ busted out early I knew the plan was obsolete." He'd always envied the way Lou had embraced motherhood—almost like a calling. He loved being a father, but it was only now that the boys were older that he really felt like he was coming into his own as a parent. Before that, Lou had played a bigger role. He thought about his jobs—the ones he'd had, the one he'd wanted and the one he'd been offered. "You don't regret losing that job?" "I honestly don't. That job wasn't ever going to be family friendly and I enjoy the work here." She suddenly rolled her shoulders back. "You have to admit that it worked well for both of us for a while." He remembered the conversation they'd had about him being home the two shifts a week she was working because AJ wasn't robust enough for childcare. He'd agreed only because if he hadn't, Lou wouldn't have gone back to work and she'd needed to get out of the house and work even if she hadn't known it at the time. "It didn't work for me." Louise pinched the bridge of her nose as the sensation of her world being tilted on its axis swooped in. A sensation she hated because it was never accompanied by good news. "But you agreed to it. It meant one of us was always home with the boys while the other was at work." His shoulders slumped. "Exactly, and that's when things started to unravel." AJ had been eight months old when she'd come back to work. Paul had insisted she work a couple of shifts a week and it had really helped her find her feet again, getting her out of the house and the world of young children, and back into a world where she was an adult. "I don't understand." His eyes implored her. "We were living parallel lives. I came home, you went to work, and vice versa. I made up my missed hours across the week, which meant I was home less. The renovation of the house and the kids filled up our days off, and then we started again. We lost 'our' time."

231

She wracked her brain, not certain his hypothesis was true. "But before the children, we didn't always have time off together." "But we worked together a lot, and I don't think we realized how much we shared when we did." He reached out his hand and slid his fingers between hers. "I've missed working with you, Lou." His touch burned into her, sending her confusion rolling over and over like tumbleweed and making her body hum with need. "Yes, but have you missed me?"

Chapter Twelve Have you missed me? Paul heard Lou's question and the answer should be easy, but it wasn't. Yes, he'd missed her. Of course he'd missed her. But everything had gotten so messed up between them in the past three years that he sometimes felt like he'd been missing her for years. His fingers laced over hers. "I miss you. I miss seeing the kids every night. I miss what we had." "Hey, Paul." Rob Anderson, the radiologist, stuck his head into the lounge. Paul stifled a groan at the interruption. "Hey, Rob." "I just wanted to say well done on getting the Sydney job." Every part of Paul tensed and he wanted to yell, "Shut–up, Rob." Louise stiffened, her fingers taut under his. Rob continued. "I gave you a great rap so let's hope—" He suddenly stopped talking, a streak of embarrassment crossing his face. "Oh, G'day Louise. Sorry, I didn't see you there." His hand slapped the architrave. "I'll catch you later, Paul." Louise pulled her hand out from under his, her expression stony. "You've got a job in Sydney?" He hated the way she was looking at him as if he was pond scum. He stood up to leave. "Head of A&E at Central." Her voice rose. "That's six hundred kilometers away from your children." Did she think he didn't know that? He stepped out into the corridor and heard her feet fast behind him, and all the time his father's voice mocked him. Son, by the time I was your age, I was head of St. Stephen's Emergency and lecturing at Melbourne University. He stepped into the elevator, but she dived through the closing doors. "Why Sydney?" "It's a good job, Lou. It's a job I can do, a job I'm qualified for and a job I deserve." He hated the cool, analytical distance in his voice, but he didn't want to have this conversation. Especially not in a steel box he associated with kissing her more than ever talking to her. Her throat convulsed, and he saw the flash of shared memories in her eyes before she pressed herself hard against the lift wall, putting as much distance between them as possible. Probably a really good idea. "Work with me here, Paul. A minute ago you told me you missed me, yet you're planning to move interstate. I don't get it. You've always said your goal was to be head at St. Stephen's." He glanced to a spot slightly left of her hair. "Like you said, Lou, five–year plans change."

232

But even he knew he sounded too defensive, and her gaze zeroed in on him, all keen observation. "I never understood why you didn't apply for it a year and a half ago when Amos retired." The elevator doors opened and he stepped through turning left, and Louise matched his stride. "I told you why, Lou." Liar. "It probably got lost amongst the detritus of our conversations that had come down to who was taking the kids to swimming and who was doing the grocery shopping." "That's nonsense and you know it." "Is it? We stopped talking, Lou." She positioned herself between him and a door. "Did we? I remember it being you who stopped talking, and I eventually stopped asking." She leaned slightly left and pressed down a door handle, her floral scent swirling around him. Then she stepped in close. He stepped back needing distance, and suddenly found himself in the on–call room. Louise followed and locked the door behind her. "But I'm asking now. Why didn't you apply to St. Stephen's?" Every part of him wanted to flee as his pride ducked and weaved, not wanting to be shot down again. Don't tell her. He looked down into her beautiful eyes and searched for censure. But despite all that had happened between them, the pain he'd caused her, all he could see was love and concern. Pride took a mortal blow. "I did apply and they passed me over."

Chapter Thirteen Louise heard the wounded pride in his voice, and saw the humiliation on his strong face as she realized the full implication of his words. His dream job had rejected him and her husband was hurting. Badly. So badly that he'd never told her. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, needing to show him some support. "That sucks." His arms tightened around her. "Tell me about it." She wanted to stay snuggled up against him, wanted to breathe in his scent of musk and sweat, feel his heat mixing with hers and forget that they were no longer a couple. But at the same time she wanted to yell, "Why did you shut me out? Why didn't you tell me?" She raised her head and stared into his troubled eyes. "How about you tell me about it?" Lou's words seared him as her body caressed his, her heat easily penetrating the thin cotton barrier that scrubs provided. The craving he'd had for her all shift exploded inside him and he buried his face in her hair, needing the contact, gulping in her intoxicating aroma of vanilla and mango, feeling the softness under his cheeks and wanting so much more—wanting to forget the gut–wrenching disappointment that his career had faulted, and that his marriage had failed. That he had failed. He wanted to bury himself in her and forget like he'd done so many times in the past.

233

His hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs gently caressing, and he tilted her head until her soft grey eyes met his. He scanned past the bewilderment, her questions and her hesitation, and zeroed in on her undiluted desire. Pure lust. Raging need. She wanted him, too, and that was all he needed to know. His lips plundered hers with the knowledge of what she adored, and she immediately pressed herself hard against him, her arms coming up around his neck and her own mouth hungry for his. His hands dropped to the hem of her top and he tugged the shapeless garment over her head, dropping it quickly to the floor. Two exquisite creamy breasts lay nestled under turquoise lace. He groaned. "This has to go." With the flick of his fingers the lace gave way, and first one hand and then his mouth, captured their softness. Louise cried out as Paul's mouth suckled her, sapping her self–control and howling down the sensible voice in her head telling her to stay strong. Instead, it tapped into the well of need she'd tried unsuccessfully to bury. Like a geyser, the well exploded, surging through her, hot, demanding, and divinely delicious, and she had no power to withstand its onslaught. Her knees sagged, her body opened and she tugged them both onto the narrow bed. "I want to see all of you. Feel all of you." He raised his head and through the haze of desire she saw down deep into his soul, and glimpsed the man she'd fallen in love with so long ago. "Sweetheart, it would be my pleasure." Their clothes tugged, snagged and finally fell into blue puddles on the floor. Hands and mouths explored, bodies glistened, slick with need, until the ache couldn't be withstood a moment longer and she guided him into her. With a cry as old as time itself they shattered—her first, him a moment later—spiraling out together, united for a moment, before falling to earth on separate trajectories.

Chapter Fourteen With her arms and legs tightly wrapped around Paul, Louise opened her eyes as the last ripples of her orgasm faded. Paul's eyes shimmered the brightest of blues and he gave her a long, lazy smile. "We always got this part of being married right." A small smile curved on her lips and she thought about their sex life. Paul had always been an enthusiastic and generous lover, and even in the tough year with AJ and his father's death they'd still come together in sex. Paul rolled away, sat up and reached for his pants. A ripple of discontent wove through her pond of loneliness, and she rested her arm against the corded muscles of his back. "What are you doing?" He dropped a kiss lightly on her forehead. "We have to get back before they miss us." She rose up on her elbow. "They know to page us when the lull is over and right now we need to talk." He stilled and then rolled back toward her, his hand on her breast and his lips on her mouth. Delicious tingles fizzed inside her and she felt herself arcing up toward him as she fell again into a pool of sensual delight.

234

We get this right. Paul's murmured words scorched her brain and the haze of need cleared. If they'd gotten sex so right, if they'd connected so well in such an intimate way, why had they separated? With a gasp of comprehension, she pulled her mouth away from his, her breathing ragged. "Did you hear your pager?" Paul had been so lost in Lou's lush mouth he'd be hard–pressed to hear a fire alarm. She shook her head and frantically started pulling on her clothes. A kernel of worry nibbled at him. "What then?" "I've just realized that you use sex so you don't have to talk about your feelings." A rush of agitation tore through him. "That's insane." She tugged her security lanyard over her head. "Is it? Think about it, Paul. Ten minutes ago I asked you to tell me about what happened with St. Stephen's, and you kissed me like a drowning man and then we had sex." He trailed a finger down her cheek. "Sensational sex." But she wouldn't be distracted. Her hand curved around his, dragging it away from her face. "You're doing it again. A moment ago I said we need to talk, and you had me flat on my back in ten seconds." She dragged her fingers through her disheveled hair. "And I've just worked out you've been doing it for a long time and I've never realized. We've been having great sex, but it's given us a false closeness because really, you've been shutting me out for years."

Chapter Fifteen Louise faced her husband across the small on–call room, deliberately keeping a distance so they could have the conversation they had to have no matter how hard it would be. "Why didn't you tell me about the job?" Paul folded his arms across his chest. "Why, so you could make a list and try and fix it?" She felt the barb enter her, but this time it had no sting, although she filed it away to talk about later because obviously her jump to "fix" things was a bone of contention. "No, so I could have shared your disappointment." His mouth tightened into a thin line. "Don't you mean your disappointment in me?" If he'd hit her she couldn't have been more shocked. She slid down into a chair. "That's what you think? That I would consider you a failure because you didn't get one job?" "One job?" He started to pace, all tension and attitude. "Come on, Lou. We used to talk about how we'd move out of the cottage and get a bigger place. You read the real estate section of the paper every weekend, and we started going to auctions. Without that job, none of it could happen." She shook her head so hard it hurt, and she tried to slow down her thoughts so they didn't rush out as accusatory. "I remember it differently. I remember you talking about a bigger house and suggesting we get a feel for the market, which is why we went to the auctions. We always had vague plans. I remember once

235

thinking about moving to the country and joining a practice there, but we didn't act on that, either." She tried to catch his gaze. "I didn't need a bigger house, Paul. I love the cottage." His nostrils flared. "Lucky that, seeing as it's yours now." She counted to ten, knowing he was hurting so much—that his role as the provider had taken a battering. "I also have the mortgage because you told me you didn't want the cottage. You also told me you didn't want our life together, but the one thing you never told me was what you really wanted." Paul shuddered as Louise's words released a cocktail of emotions, and he slammed his hand flat against the wall. "Damn it, Lou, I wanted that job. I'd worked towards it from the moment I met you and it had my name on it." "I totally get your disappointment." Her compassion enveloped him and his hurt poured out. "I wanted it so much. I wanted it for me, for you, for the kids—" "And for your father." He spun around. "Dad has nothing to do with this." She sighed and looked utterly weary. "Your father wanted you to have that job. Every time you talked to him, he would bring it up." Her face clouded with memories. "In fact, he mentioned it the very first time I met him and although I never told you, he spoke to me on our wedding day and told me to support you in your goal." An irrational need to defend his father stirred. "St. Stephen's is his alma mater and he'd held that job for five years." "Sure, but this is your life, Paul, not your father's. Is this why you've applied to Sydney? To prove something to your father?" "He's dead, Lou. I don't have to prove anything to him." Her well–shaped brows rose. "Death doesn't mean you stop seeking approbation." He hated her insightfulness. "All Sydney means is there's no top A&E jobs on offer in Melbourne." She stood up as both their pages started beeping. "The children and I don't care what job you do as long as you're happy." Her luminous eyes fixed on his face. "Are you happy?" He watched her at the door; his beautiful wife, the mother of his sons. Even when he'd left, he'd never stopped thinking about her as his wife. He hadn't been able to offer her what she deserved, and he'd thought leaving would stop their pain and end their misery. But the darkness that had filled him hadn't lifted, and it still ate away at him. "I don't know what I am."

Chapter Sixteen "It's very, very late, gorgeous boy, and it's time to go back to sleep." Louise pressed the phone to her ear as she said goodnight to Sam for the second time that night. "That's what Daddy said." "Well, he's right." Paul's mother always let them stay up far too late, but then again who could sleep in this heat? And a night swim would have been a special treat.

236

"Daddy said he liked working with you. Do you like working with Daddy?" Louise closed her eyes at the loaded question, and took in a deep breath. "I do." "So if you like working with Daddy why does he live at the flat?" Her heart cramped as she heard her name being called. "I'll explain it all again in the morning, sweetie. Night–night." She snapped her phone shut and turned her attention to the emergency briefing. The wind had changed. Fireballs had encapsulated towns and roared through them as if buildings were mere kindling. People were dead. Many more were severely burned, and the first casualties were expected within the hour as the CFA battled fires and the SES tried to open roads blocked by fallen and smoldering debris. The television news pictures showed a hell on earth—blackened earth that glowed red. For the hospital staff, now was the calm before their coming storm. Louise automatically prepared the trauma rooms, checking machines, supplies and oxygen, but all the while she kept hearing Paul's desolate voice. I don't know what I am. Tonight had been a revelation. So much had happened in the past few hours, she felt like a limp rag that had been forced through a mangle. It was like all the wonder, pain, joy and heartache of her marriage had been compressed into twelve hours with spotlights beaming sharply onto both the good and the bad. She now saw that faults lay squarely on both sides. Both of them had unwittingly hurt the other. How had she not known he was so miserable? He'd never wanted to talk about his strong–willed father when the man was alive, and yet he was letting the Professor control him from the grave. I don't want our life, Lou. She realized with a gut–wrenching spasm that those words translated to I don't like my life. He'd fallen off his path and she hadn't been there to catch him because she didn't know he'd been falling. Despite all they'd been through she still loved him, and she sensed that he loved her, but he was so consumed by his own unhappiness he couldn't see that. She didn't want to believe he'd move interstate and become a long–distance father, but she'd seen his raw shame at not getting the St. Stephen's job. In his head that position had been more than a job to a man who'd spent his life trying to get praise rather than criticism from his father. He'd accept the job in Sydney because he believed it would reclaim his shattered pride. Her heart ripped in her chest. He might have held her in his arms, made exquisite love to her, but she'd lost him a long time ago and no matter what she did or said, he wasn't coming back.

Chapter Seventeen Paul triaged the burns victims. A&E was literally directing traffic. Severe cases went direct to ICU or the operating room, superficial burns were expertly treated by the nurses, and he and Lou caught the rest. For three hours straight no one had stopped to even use the bathroom. As he stared at the full board of admissions wondering where he'd put another patient, he knew going on bypass in a state emergency wasn't an option. All the hospitals in Melbourne worked cooperatively to deal with the crisis, and now the first rush had faded, it was time to reassess and give the staff some breaks. Part of him gave thanks he'd been so frantically busy as it gave little time to think, but Lou's perfume lingered on his skin and every time he breathed in he was reminded of her. Reminded of everything he'd lost, and of everything he'd never had. It ate away inside him like acid on paper.

237

"Hey, doc." An ambulance officer extended his hand. "Ian Saunders. I'm looking for a Mrs. Flanagan to transport back to Cumberland Bay." Paul frowned, even though he could do with a spare cubicle. "She's eighty and asleep. It's a bit late for transport, isn't it?" "Yeah, sorry." Ian grimaced. "We got diverted to the fires." "How's Cumberland Bay?" "We were lucky. The wind change that took out the towns to the north of us actually saved us. It leaves you with a combination of relief and guilt." Paul knew exactly what he meant. "I'm glad it's safe. I spent my honeymoon there. It's a pretty town and I remember it had a small hospital on the hill and a great view of the southern ocean. Not a bad place to get sick." He and Lou had loved their two–week sojourn in the coastal town, and he wondered now why they'd never gone back. You always went to Portsea because Dad held court there in the summer. Ian's reply broke into his thoughts. "It's in a great position, but you wouldn't call it small now. The area's been in boom for the past few years. First it was discovered by the trendy Melbourne set for weekend getaways, then by the retired grey power as a place to escape to and now young families are moving in, wanting the beach lifestyle. The hospital's flat out keeping up with demand, and the board's advertised in today's paper for a new doctor." Ian glanced around. "So where's Mrs. F because I'd really like to get home before dawn." Paul directed him to a nurse and then orchestrated the first wave of staff breaks. As he grabbed a sandwich and a much–needed coffee, he absently flicked through the paper and then turned to the jobs section. Looking for a Seachange? Cumberland Bay offers a relaxed coastal lifestyle with top medical facilities. Doctors experienced in GP work and emergency Medicine are encouraged to apply. Visit us or telephone to see why Cumberland Bay is the place to be. A phone number followed. St. Stephens or Melbourne Central are the only two hospitals in the state worth considering, son. Everything else is second–rate. He closed the paper and heard the wail of an ambulance. His break was over. Running feet sounded down the corridor, and a nurse called out, "Dr. Kershaw, come quickly. Your mother's being admitted."

Chapter Eighteen "Daddy!" Two little boys broke from the ambulance officer's side and threw themselves at Paul's legs as he was striding towards Trauma One. Paul bent down hugging both of them, loving the way they cuddled in close. No job is worth losing this. Sydney meant risking his relationship with his children. He swayed as the jolt of realization hit him. His father had been "at work" for much of his childhood, and that had culminated in an unbridgeable distance between them. He didn't want that to happen with his sons. He didn't want them thinking they had to jump through hoops to get his attention and approval because work always came first.

238

He kissed the top of their heads and looked up at the ambulance officer. "Thanks for looking after them as well as my mother." "No worries, all part of the service." "We had a ride in the ambulance." AJ clutched his teddy bear, his eyes wide with a combination of excitement and fear. "I rang the ambulance." Sam spoke proudly. "Nana hurt her leg and called and called until I heard her." "Paul?" Lou hurried around the corner. "Boys? What's happened?" The boys broke free to hug their mother and Paul stood up. "You stay with the boys and I'll go and find out." He opened the door just as the nurse was leaving and he accepted the chart. His mother, who always looked so full of life, lay pale and still on the narrow gurney. "Mum?" She extended her hand. "Darling, I feel so stupid. It was so hot and I got up to get a glass of water and I didn't turn on the light, totally forgetting the boys had been playing with the train set. The next minute I was on the floor." Paul kissed her cheek. "Where does it hurt?" She pointed to her hip. "The old nurse in me thinks I've done the neck of my femur." Paul lifted up the sheet and saw the classic fore–shortening and rotation of her left leg. "You're probably right, but we'll X–ray it to confirm. You know what this means, don't you, Mum?" "The OR and rehab." She sighed and patted his hand. "I'm glad you're here. Your father would have been busy blustering at the staff." Paul tensed. "Yes, well I don't quite wield the same power as Dad, much to his disappointment." His mother frowned. "Paul, you manage to balance your work here with spending a lot of time with the boys. Your father spent far too much time trying to run our home and our lives like his beloved departments, and as a result, he missed out on so much." Paul stared at his mother, never having heard her speak so frankly. "Sadly, I've only just worked that out." She let out a long shuddering breath. "I loved your father dearly, but he couldn't separate work from family. He did love you, you know, he wanted the best for you." This is your life. Lou's words reverberated in his head. Are you happy? God, no, he wasn't happy, but for the first time he had a clue to this darkness that had invaded his soul. He'd spent his adult life trying to please a man with a misguided vision for his life. "The problem is, Mum, I've just realized that what Dad thought was best for me isn't what I needed or wanted." His mother's gaze rested on his face. "I hope what you've realized is that you need Louise. Your father might have made a lot of mistakes, but he and I both agreed you leaving her was the dumbest thing you've ever done."

239

"Mum." He growled out her name in a warning as the familiar jet of defensive anger about his marriage squirted up inside him. But instead of it burning him, it fizzled out with a pop, taking the darkness with it and leaving behind a light of illumination and understanding. He'd gotten it all so terribly wrong and lost sight of what his life was really about. Leaving Louise had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Getting her back would be the hardest job he'd ever undertaken.

Chapter Nineteen Louise stifled a yawn as dawn's rays started to filter through the high windows of the department. She'd never treated so many burnt hands and feet or heard as many terrifying and courageous stories as she had tonight. Then again, she hadn't worked a seventeen–hour shift for years, either. "One skinny cappuccino with extra foam and a chocolate chip muffin." Paul dropped a bag into her lap as he handed her the steaming, white disposable cup and sat down next to her. His handsome face was drawn, and black stubble covered his cheeks. Her heart turned over that he'd remembered her muffin addiction. "Thanks. How's your mum?" "Out of the OR and sleeping." He pulled the top off his drink. "Where are the boys?" "Asleep under warm OR towels in the on–call room. It's been a big night for them." "It's been a big night for all of us." His gaze caught hers and for the first time in a long, long time, she saw a flicker of something that wasn't sadness. He put his hand on the couch next to hers, a tiny space between them. "It's been a night of revelations for me." She knew what he meant. "And for me. I'm sorry I had no idea you were so devastated and miserable." He shook his head. "Lou, I'm the one who should be apologizing. How could you know? You're right, I stopped talking. I wanted to prove to Dad I could cut it in A&E just like he had, and I wanted you and the boys to benefit from the income a top job like that garners. I couldn't tell you I'd failed." She touched his hand. "You've never failed in our eyes." A tremor ran through him and into her. "But I've hurt you so much." She put her hands in her lap, unable to think clearly when he touched her because she just wanted to throw herself into his arms. "Yesterday I would have agreed with you because I believed I'd been the one hurt the most, but over this long day and night I realized I've hurt you, too. We're both to blame for our relationship failing." She bit her lip and pushed on. "We're good doctors, Paul, and we're great parents, but along the way we forgot to spend the same amount of time and care on us as a couple and we lost what we had." Tears threatened to spill, but she was determined to get through this without falling apart. "I hope Sydney can make you happy, Paul. Good luck." He put his coffee down and turned to face her. "I'm not going to Sydney."

Chapter Twenty

240

"I don't understand. I thought the job was yours?" Paul's heart cramped and swelled at Lou's confused and distressed expression. The fact that she could be upset for him had to mean something good. He picked up her hand, sending up a heartfelt wish because he knew given all that had gone down between them, what he was about to ask of her was huge. "Lou, I don't want that job. Tonight's opened my eyes to everything that's important to me, and that job doesn't come close. Not by a million miles." She pulled her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself as if to stop from shaking. "What is important to you, Paul?" "You. The boys. Us." He stroked a rogue strand of her hair back into place. "I love you, Lou. I always have and I always will. Leaving you was the dumbest decision of my life. Will you give us a second chance?" I love you. Louise tried to breathe in deeply, but her breath came in short, sharp jerks. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, hold him tightly and never let go, but something held her arms by her side because he'd once vowed to love her and had left her. "What about work, Paul? It's a huge part of who you are and we won't be happy if you're not content with your job." "Work is a big part of who we both are." His eyes sparkled with excitement as he picked a newspaper up from the coffee table. "You know how I wanted St. Stephen's so we never acted on your idea about living in the country?" She nodded mutely, wondering where this was going. "Cumberland Bay needs doctors." "Cumberland Bay where we honeymooned?" Her brain struggled to keep up. "How do you know?" He pointed to the advertisement and grinned sheepishly. "I rang the CEO at 5 a.m. After her initial surprise she filled me in, and the once sleepy hollow is now part of the growth corridor, and has a thriving community with a newly equipped hospital. It needs one–and–half doctors to join the two already there." "And would that job be enough?" "If I had you and the boys by my side it would be the best job in the world." He dropped the paper and picked up her hand. "It means I work full time, but we work together two days a week. We work one weekend in four and have the rest home with the boys. We'll have work time, family time and 'us' time." Her heart sang. He truly loved her. But she still had one hard question. "And when things go wrong as they do in life, how will you handle that?" He closed the small gap between them, his eyes filled with sincerity and love. "I'll talk to you. I'll tell you how I'm feeling and we'll find a way through it like we have tonight, because if I've learned anything it's that you and the boys are the most important thing in my life." She swung her arms up around his neck ready to kiss him, but suddenly stopped short. "I love you, Paul." He dropped his head into her hair and hugged her more tightly than he'd ever done before. Then his mouth found hers and he sealed their future with a long, bone–melting kiss. He slowly raised his head and looked down at her, his face filled with love and eager anticipation. "Let's go wake the boys and go home for breakfast." She traced a finger down his cheek. "It sounds wonderful, but where's home?" "Wherever the four of us are together."

241

Then he laced his fingers through hers and they walked out toward their future.

242

Her Unexpected Cowboy by Trish Milburn After the tragic deaths of their parents, Madison Gray had to become a mother to her fourteen-year-old brother, Jason. But the boy's grief has led him down the wrong path, and Madison will do anything to steer him right. So she takes her friend, Elly Cody, up on her offer to visit her family in Wyoming, hoping a dose of ranch life will do them both good. The last thing she needs is the kind of complication that comes in the sexy form of Elly's cousin, Callum!

Chapter One Madison Gray had to fight tears as she drove up the long road leading onto the Cottonwood Ranch. Tears of relief, tears of hope, tears of frustration, fatigue and loss all pooled together, but she held them at bay. Beside her, her fourteen-year-old brother, Jason, still sat quiet and sullen. To him, this trip to Wyoming was akin to being banished to the dark side of the moon. To Madison, it represented a grasping at straws. Elly Cody, her good friend from college, had insisted she and Jason come for a visit. She’d said that a good dose of ranch life, far away from Phoenix, would be good for Jason, hopefully set him on a different path than he’d been traveling lately. Madison prayed Elly was right. Otherwise, she didn’t know what to do with or for her brother. “Here we are,” Madison said as she parked in front of a rambling wood-frame house. Jason just grunted and stared out the passenger-side window. Madison bit her lip and shoved herself out of the car when she spotted a gorgeous blonde running down the home’s front steps. “You made it.” Elly smiled wide then pulled Madison into an enthusiastic hug. “It’s been too long.” “It has.” Elly stepped back and directed her gaze at Jason, who was now standing outside the car. “And this must be Jason. Welcome to the Cottonwood Ranch.” “Thanks.” There, in that one word, was a glimpse of the boy Jason had been a year ago, before he and Madison had lost their parents. It took so little to make her hope flare to life. When Madison returned her attention to Elly, she noticed a trail of men coming out the front door onto the porch. She recognized Dusty Cody, Elly’s brother, and assumed the others were the rest of the large Cody clan. They were all definitely cowboys in their prime, and all strikingly handsome. When her eyes met those of the only cowboy wearing a T-shirt instead of a western-style button-up, her breath caught in her chest. He was simply gorgeous, with dark blond hair and a physique shown off to mouth-watering effect by his shirt and jeans. “Madison, Jason, this sorry lot goes with the place,” Elly said. “Walker’s still in Iraq, but that’s Jesse.” She pointed to the man on the far right. “Next to him is Dex. Madison, you’ve met Dusty. And that’s my cousin, Callum.” Callum. She liked that name. It fit him. Before any of the other guys could make a move to do so, Callum was already halfway down the steps. “Let me help you with your bags.”

243

Madison managed to pull herself out of her stupor of male appreciation to speak. “It’s okay. We can get them.” By now, his long legs had brought him close enough that she could see he had green eyes and a nice tan. “No, I insist. You’re company.” This close, she could also see the words on his T-shirt. “Prepare to give me all your money?” He smiled, and she darn near swooned. “It’s poker night,” he said. “It’s a heads up to my cousins.” A bit of ribbing sailed back and forth between the guys as Callum strode to the trunk of her car. She popped it open, and he lifted out their two large bags as if they weighed no more than two sticks of cotton candy. She wondered what it would be like to be held in those arms. As soon as the thought popped in her head, she scolded herself. She wasn’t here, hundreds of miles from home, to get involved with some cowboy. She had more than enough on her plate without taking on one more complication. For however long they stayed, she had to focus all of her attention and energy on Jason. Find a way to make him see that while he had the right to grieve, the way he was doing it was destroying their lives. “We appreciate you letting us stay here,” she said to Elly. “Are you kidding? I’m just thrilled to have another woman here. I sometimes think I’m going to drown in testosterone.” Elly glanced at Jason. “No offense.” “None taken.” When Madison looked at her brother, the familiar anger wasn’t there. Could it be that things were already changing? She was afraid to hope it could be that simple. “Where to?” Callum asked. Elly motioned for them to follow her. “They’re at the end of the hallway.” Jason quickly fell into step behind Elly, leaving Madison to follow with Callum. She glanced over at him, and he nodded ahead. “Ladies first.” Wow, he had a deep, sexy voice, too. If she found out he was wickedly smart on top of the rest of the package, she might be in trouble. *** Callum felt like he’d taken a jolt from a cattle prod—and liked it. He’d seen his share of pretty women in his time, had dated more than a few. But nothing had prepared him for the moment when he’d first seen Madison Gray. And to say he was surprised would take the grand prize of understatements. Normally, he liked curvy women with long, wildly bouncing hair and even longer legs. But even though Madison was petite, built like a tennis player and had a short blond bob, he couldn’t deny the instant, powerful attraction. And the view from behind her wasn’t bad, either. “Jason, you’re in here,” Elly said as she pointed to the room on the right at the end of the hall.

244

One look at the poor kid revealed he was already besotted with Callum’s cousin. He remembered being that age, hormones raging and not really being able to do much about it. Well, maybe he’d focus on his crush instead of all the reasons his big sis had whisked him out of the city for the summer. Callum placed the lighter of the two suitcases in the boy’s room. “And your sister will be right across the hall,” Elly said. “Great,” Jason said under his breath, sounding like he didn’t think it was great at all. Callum found himself wanting to call the kid on the disrespect, but it wasn’t his place. Instead, he carried the remaining suitcase into the other room and placed it on Madison’s bed so she wouldn’t have to lift it. She looked tired, like she had driven straight through from Phoenix. “You all must be starving,” Elly said. “I’ll go fix something to eat. Just come on into the dining room when you’re settled.” “Thanks,” Madison said. As soon as Elly retreated toward the kitchen, the door across the hall closed more loudly than it should have. Madison jerked at the sound. “You okay?” Callum asked. “Yeah.” Madison nodded without moving any other part of her body. Something about how she just stood there broke his heart. Elly had shared a bit about what Madison had been going through—losing her parents to warring factions in Africa while they were on a mission trip, getting custody of her brother, Jason acting out by drinking and getting in trouble at school. He found himself wishing he could do something to make it better, to lighten the load. He took a couple of steps toward her. “You need anything else?” She spun toward him, like she was surprised by how close he was. When she did so, her balance faltered. Without thinking, he reached out to steady her. Their eyes met, and there went that cattle prod again.

Chapter Two The dizziness dissolved as soon as Callum's strong hands gripped Madison's arms. But on its heels came embarrassment and she pulled back, breaking the contact. "Sorry about that," she said. "Guess I'm more tired than I thought." "Looks like you need a hot meal and a good night of sleep." At the mention of sleep, the craziest image of curling up next to Callum flitted through her mind. To hide the new wave of heat invading her cheeks, she turned and went to stand next to her suitcase. "I think you're right. Thanks for helping us with the luggage." "Anytime."

245

When Callum didn't make a move to leave, she couldn't help looking up at him. When their eyes met, he seemed to come out of some sort of trance and moved toward the door. "I'll leave you to get unpacked. Maybe we'll see each other around." She smiled but didn't voice the thought that she would like that. When he disappeared down the hall, she stood listening to the thunk of his boots until they faded. Only then did she sink down onto the bed. She lifted her palm to her forehead to see if she was running a fever, because she was feeling way warmer than the weather could account for. But she knew it wasn't a fever. It was a blazing hot attraction for a man she'd met not five minutes ago. She'd never experienced such a visceral reaction to a man, but she couldn't have picked a worse time to have it slam into her. She lay back on the bed, wondering what else could possibly add to the out-of-control maelstrom her life had become. *** All the way from his home on the Pebble Creek Ranch between Markton and Cody to the Cottonwood the next morning, Callum tried to think of some plausible reason why he would be visiting the ranch again so soon. If he didn't come up with something, there would be no end to the teasing his cousins would shoot his way when they realized the real reason was so he could get another glimpse of Madison Gray. He still hadn't come up with anything when he parked next to the ranch office in the converted bunkhouse. As he slipped out of his truck, Elly stepped out the front door of the office. "I wondered how fast you'd be back over here," she said, that expected note of teasing in her voice. "What, a man can't visit family?" She snorted. "Don't waste your effort. I've got eyes. I saw how you were looking at Madison yesterday." "I was just being neighborly." "Oh, please." She nodded toward the house. "You're out of luck, though. She's still not up. She fell asleep without even eating last night." "She looked exhausted." "Not a surprise. She's been through a lot lately." Elly crossed her arms. "Which is why I don't want anyone hurting her." He met his cousin's gaze. "I'm not planning on it." "Good. Because, cousin or not, I'll take it out of your hide if you do." *** Madison dragged herself out of the deep well of sleep. It felt like she was swimming up from the dark bottom of the ocean. She blinked several times, her mind trying to make sense of the light flooding the room. Gradually, reality coalesced in her brain. She was stretched out on the bed, still in the clothes she'd worn the day before. At some point, she'd pulled the comforter over her. Her suitcase still sat beside her, waiting to be unpacked.

246

She managed to move her head enough to see the clock on the nightstand. It was after eight o'clock. She'd slept for more than twelve hours. Pure and utter exhaustion had finally won the battle. The sound of voices outside caught her attention, spurred her to slide off the bed and dig for some clean clothes in her suitcase. Never had a hot shower felt so good, easing her aching muscles, ones that felt as if they'd been tensed from the moment she'd received the news of her parents' deaths. The only thing that made her get out of the shower when she did was the persistent growling of her stomach. When she reached the living room, Jason was parked on the couch in front of the TV, flipping channels. She braced herself for hostility right before she spoke. "How did you sleep?" Jason just shrugged. Madison fought the urge to reprimand him. After all, it only made things worse. Everything she did seemed to make things worse. "What would you like to do today?" "Go home." Madison sighed. "We just got here. Give it a chance. It's beautiful here, don't you think?" Jason spun toward her, anger in his eyes. "Then you stay out here in the middle of nowhere. Let me go back. I can stay with friends." "Your friends are part of the reason we're here in the first place." Jason tossed the remote control on the coffee table and stormed toward the door. "Where are you going?" "Out." She followed, but by the time she reached the door he was already down the steps and making long strides down the driveway. When she opened her mouth to call him back, nothing came out. The hope she'd felt the day before dissolved into utter hopelessness. "Don't worry, he'll come back when he's hungry." The deep, sexy voice had Madison turning toward the end of the porch. Callum Cody sat there in a rocking chair, today looking every inch the cowboy in scuffed boots, faded jeans, a blue snap-up shirt and a black cowboy hat. "I should go after him." Callum nodded toward Jason's retreating form. "No need. This place is huge. He can walk all day and not leave Cody land." "He could get a ride on the road." "Honey, around here anyone picks up a stray kid is going to make darn sure he gets back where he came from."

247

Something about the absolute surety in his voice eased her worry. But that "honey" he'd uttered and the way it made her heart race—that she didn't know what to do with. "I heard you got that good night of sleep," he said. "I can't remember when I last slept that long." "It's the clean air and clean living out here. We all sleep like babies." A little laugh slipped out of Madison, surprising her. She'd feared she had forgotten how to laugh. "Now why do I doubt that?" Oh my, was she flirting with him? Had she totally lost her mind? "I have no idea," he said, all feigned innocence. She rolled her eyes. "You forget I went to school with a lot of cowboys." "I feel like I ought to be affronted on behalf of cowboys everywhere." Again, she laughed a little, then glanced down the driveway. Jason was growing smaller with each passing moment. "So, what's a city girl do when she comes to the country for the summer?" Callum asked. Good question. "I really don't know. I guess I didn't think much beyond the actually getting here." "How about you let a cowboy take you out?" If possible, her heart sped up even more. As appealing as that sounded, she couldn't allow herself to give in to the temptation. She couldn't handle one more thing, couldn't even think about getting attached to someone else who wouldn't be there in a few weeks. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I can't. It's just…not a good idea." Callum stood and took a few steps in her direction. "Well, at least let me make you breakfast. I make a mean omelette." As if to betray her, her stomach let loose with an audible growl. "I guess that's my answer," he said, laughter in his voice. He started past her then stopped so close she swore she could feel the warmth of his body. "And just so you know, I don't agree. I think us going out is a very good idea."

Chapter Three It took a few stunned moments for Madison's brain to kick-start again after Callum's comment on the porch. He'd disappeared inside the house before the message from her head made it to her feet and she moved to follow. When was the last time a man had made his interest in her so obvious? Had any ever done so? She was certain none had her contemplating giving in to temptation quite so thoroughly. But this situation won the award for bad timing. Even so, she didn't say anything else to deter him. She tried to convince herself it was because she was so hungry and he was cooking, but her eyes kept straying to how snug his jeans fit him as he stood at the stove. She nearly fell out of her chair when he flipped the omelette onto a plate and swung toward her in one fluid motion, nearly catching her ogling his backside.

248

He hadn't been lying. He could make a mean omelette. "This is delicious." "Delicious enough to let me take you out?" She ignored the little pang at how she had to answer. "I'm sorry, but no." Callum shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying." And trying. He flirted with her so much during the rest of breakfast that she felt on the verge of giggling at some points. Despite her marathon sleep session, she must still be tired. "Well, if you change your mind and suddenly can't bear not to see me, call the Pebble Creek Ranch. I'll be here in a flash." She did laugh then. "You are, perhaps, the most persistent man I've ever met." He smiled, making her heart go wild in her chest. "I do my best." … Callum tried to refocus on the work he had waiting for him as he drove toward home, but that was difficult when all of his senses were still focused on Madison. He couldn't get her out of his mind, not since the moment he'd first seen her. Having his concentration shot wasn't smart when working with bucking horses, which was what he was heading home to spend the rest of the day doing. As he topped a hill, he spotted someone walking along the side of the road. Almost instantly, he recognized the jeans and red shirt. Damn, the kid had gone farther than he thought he would. He didn't like the idea of him causing Madison to worry more, making the dark circles under her beautiful blue eyes even darker. Maybe he could do something about that. He slowed as he pulled up next to Jason. "Out for a walk or running away?" He saw a sliver of concern pass over Jason's young face before recognition hit. "Just walking." Callum wondered if Jason had entertained thoughts of running away, but something told him the boy didn't quite have what it took to go through with the deed. He might be angry with Madison, but he'd bet good money that he loved his sister beneath all that misplaced anger. He pointed toward the passenger door. "Get in." Jason just stared at him. After all, he really didn't know him. He was just the cousin of his sister's college friend. "I'm headed down the road to my family's ranch. Going to work with some bucking horses today if you want to hang out and watch." Jason hesitated a moment more before opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat. Callum didn't force conversation on the boy. He figured he'd talk when and if he got ready. When they turned into the ranch's entrance, Callum started pointing out things—fire tower on a distant ridge, a few guest cabins along Pebble Creek, the main house where his parents lived with his sister, Regina, and brother, Baker.

249

"Our oldest sister, Natalie, lives in Cheyenne with her family." "You all sure like big families out here," Jason muttered. Callum laughed. "Need a lot of kids to fill up all this land." From who knew where, an image of himself as a father with his own kids formed in his mind—kids who looked remarkably like Madison. He shook away the image. Yeah, he was attracted to her, but why was he having serious thoughts like that when he hadn't even known her a full day? He parked next to the barn that held his office and apartment and connected to the outdoor arena where he worked the bucking horses with the hands. When he got out of the truck, Jason followed without a word. Callum gave the boy a quick-and-dirty tour before he got to work. On the way out the back of the barn, he texted Elly to tell Madison that he had Jason with him so she wouldn't worry. As Callum talked with Harry Wurton, his most trusted hand, about their newest horse's progress, he glanced toward where Jason was leaning against the back of the barn, trying his teenage best not to look interested. Callum had to laugh because he probably looked like that at fourteen, too. "Who's the kid?" Harry asked. "Little brother of Elly's college friend." "City kid, huh?" "Yeah. One who's had a tough time of it recently." "That explains the visible chip on his shoulder." Callum nodded. "He and his sister needed a break from each other." And better the kid was here than finding whatever trouble he could. Callum didn't make it obvious he was keeping an eye on Jason, but he had to admit some satisfaction when the boy showed a bit of interest. As Harry pulled himself up onto Jumping Bean, Jason pushed away from the wall of the barn. By the time the large chestnut horse bucked Harry into the dirt, Jason was near the fence watching every move, a hint of light in his eyes. Callum casually strode over to stand next to Jason. "This one's been a bear to train, but I think we've got him just about ready." "For what?" "The rodeo circuit." "Oh." Jason watched as the hands led the horse out of the arena. "That's what you do, train horses to buck?" "Yep. Used to ride them until a particularly nasty fellow named El Diablo bucked me right into a fence during a rodeo and knocked me out cold." "You couldn't ride anymore?" "Not the bucking stock. Doc said one more concussion might knock my brain right out of my head." Jason laughed, and Callum wondered when he'd done that the last time because the kid looked surprised that it had happened.

250

Not that he'd had a lot to laugh about. Callum looked toward the house and couldn't imagine losing his parents, especially not at the same time. And not when he'd been fourteen. … Even though she knew where Jason was, Madison fretted about him all day. She'd gone on a ranch tour with Elly, had lunch with Elly's parents, J.W. and Anne, in their gorgeous showplace home, and tried to read a novel. But she kept asking herself what Callum had been thinking taking her brother to his ranch, wondering if Jason was behaving or causing trouble. She hated having to worry about her brother's actions, but he'd been a different kid during the past several months. She closed the book she couldn't concentrate on when she noticed a familiar pickup coming up the long drive from the main road. Nervousness twisted her stomach, and she had to admit it wasn't all because of Jason. Part of it was because she was about to see Callum again, and she was scared by how giddy that made her. When the two of them got out of the truck, Callum touched the front edge of his hat. "Madison." Her skin heated at the mere sound of her name on his lips. She figured if she ever let herself get too close to him, she might very well go up in flames. And she wasn't at all sure that was a bad thing.

Chapter Four Madison forced herself to look away from Callum and his sexy grin and focus on her brother. She took a breath and ventured a question, hoping it didn't ignite another of his volatile responses. "Did you have a good day?" He gave her one of his familiar shrugs, only this one wasn't as dismissive or tinged with anger. "It was okay." He looked over at Callum. "Go on, ask her," Callum said. Jason swallowed and met her eyes only for a moment. "Callum said he'd give me a job if it's okay with you." "A job?" This was the last thing she'd expected, and suspicion flared that Callum was using her brother to get to her. But when she looked at him, he didn't seem to be in full-on flirt mode. "I told him that I had to start working at fourteen to save up enough for a down payment on a car. Took me every bit of those two years to do it, too." That surprised Madison. She knew that Elly and her brothers all had jobs on the Cottonwood and Callum worked on his family's ranch, but she would have expected the well-to-do Codys to provide vehicles for their children. That they hadn't, at least not for Callum, spoke volumes about how they'd raised their kids. It made her feel better about having Jason around Callum. If she couldn't get through to her brother, maybe a man could. That thought made her heart ache, but that was less important than getting her brother back on the right path. "What would you be doing?" "Glamorous things like mucking out horse stalls, " Callum said with laughter in his voice.

251

When she glanced at Jason, he was looking at Callum with admiration in his eyes. As much as it hurt to acknowledge that a stranger might be able to do what she'd failed at for months, she nodded. "Okay." "Dex and Dusty should have some old stuff you can wear to work," Callum said. He nodded toward the collection of barns behind the homestead. "I bet you can catch one of them before they call it a day. I'll be by to get you at seven in the morning." Jason just nodded and took off around the house. "I can't believe he didn't moan about the time. He usually sleeps half the morning." "He probably will complain in the morning. I still do." Madison looked back at Callum, who'd come to stand next to the porch, propping his outstretched arm against one of the support posts. "Thank you, for whatever you said or did." "Wait until he's shoveled some horse poop before you thank me. He may decide I'm the devil tomorrow." "But for now he seems to be interested in something other than going home and hanging out with the wrong people." "Well then, you're welcome." "Did…did he say anything to you?" "Not much. He's not much of a talker, at least not yet." "He used to be." Madison gripped her hands in her lap. "Before our parents died, he was such a bright, happy kid, always talking about something new he'd learned or e-mailing me funny YouTube videos. But when they died and he had to come live with me, he just…" She shook her head. "He changed." Callum sat on the edge of the porch and propped one leg up on it. "People deal with grief in different ways. I know it's hard now, but I have a feeling he'll get past it." "I hope so. I'm out of ideas of how to help him." "Maybe he's to the point where he needs to help himself." She met his gaze. "Or have someone new try." "I'm not really doing anything, Madison, just giving him something to do, someplace to go so he has something else to focus on. You know that's what all the bad stuff probably was, him trying to find something to make all the hurt go away." "Deep down, I know that. I just feel like I've failed him." Madison didn't realize how close Callum was sitting to her until he reached out and took her hand in his. She didn't pull away. His big, warm hand felt too good. She felt so much support in that touch that she nearly gave way to the tears she seemed to always be holding back. "I think this job might be good for you, too," Callum said.

252

"How so?" "I'm guessing you haven't had any time to do your own grieving, or healing. Take it now, when you have the chance." Madison squeezed his hand in return. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Callum Cody." "That's what I keep telling everyone," he said and winked at her. She laughed and shook her head. "That's a pretty sound, you laughing." Madison blushed and gently pulled her hand away. It would be oh so easy to fall under Callum Cody's spell, to believe that there could be something between them. But she didn't think she could handle any more heartache, and that's what she'd get if she gave in. Because maybe sooner than she'd like, she'd be headed back to Phoenix, back to preparing lesson plans and working on academic papers on westward expansion, back to staring into the eyes of the college students in her classes instead of those of the most handsome, intriguing man she'd ever met. "One of these days, you won't pull away," he said. When she looked up and got caught in his gaze, she was afraid he was right. … The next morning, Madison was up at the crack of dawn. She used the items she'd gone to the grocery to buy the night before to make Jason's lunch and a batch of cinnamon apple muffins for her brother and Callum. She felt she had to do something tangible to show Callum how much she appreciated what he was doing, even if he did brush it off as no big deal. To her, it was a very big deal. When she heard Jason coming down the hallway, she turned and was stunned to see her brother looked like a real cowboy. "Well, you look ready to ride the range." "I'm just doing grunt work," he said. He noticed the paper bag on the kitchen island. "You made me lunch?" She smiled. "Yeah." He stared at the bag long and hard, and it finally dawned on her what she'd done. Every morning, her mom had made lunch for her father and had it ready for him in a paper bag when he'd headed for the office. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of a vehicle outside drew her attention. "That's Callum." Jason grabbed the bag and headed out the door. Madison stood in the kitchen for several seconds before she picked up the container of muffins and walked outside. "I thought you might be avoiding me," Callum said where only she could hear him when she walked up next to the truck. "No."

253

"Hey, what's wrong?" He reached for her hand, but she lifted the muffins to provide a buffer between them. "What's this?" "A thank you." "That wasn't necessary." "It was for me." Callum placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. I just did something that reminded Jason of Mom and Dad. Long story." "Then when I bring him back this afternoon, you and are I are going for a long walk." When she started to object, he wouldn't let her. "No arguments." Her heart beat a couple of times. "Okay." As she watched Callum and Jason disappear down the drive, she was already looking forward to that walk even though she dreaded the conversation.

Chapter Five Madison still had the image of Callum at the forefront of her thoughts when she walked back inside the house and found Elly sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. She must have come in the back door from the training arena. Elly was making a run at the National Finals Rodeo in barrel racing, and she spent a good portion of her days practicing. "You like him, don't you?" Elly asked, startling Madison so much she stopped in the middle of pouring herself a cup. She grasped for some type of reasonable response. "He's nice. And I appreciate what he's doing for Jason, giving him a job to keep him occupied." "But it's more than that, right?" Madison finished pouring her coffee and joined her friend at the table. "I'm attracted, yes, but I can't act on it." "Because you're going home eventually." "Yes. And I've got to focus on Jason right now." "You deserve to focus on yourself, too." Madison looked up at Elly. "You sound like him." "We Codys, we're a smart bunch." Madison smiled. "Modest, too." "Sometimes I think Callum and Dusty are competing to see who can be the biggest flirt in the family, but they're both good guys under all that." Elly traced the rim of her coffee cup. "I can't believe I'm going to say

254

this, but maybe you should go out with Callum. Just for fun, nothing serious. It could be exactly what you need." "I've already told him no, twice." "If I know my cousin, he'll ask again." Madison suspected Elly was right. Would she be able to say no a third time, particularly when her friend thought it was a good idea to say yes? "So, how are things going for you at work?" Elly asked, steering the conversation a different direction. "Good. Busy, of course." "You ever find a book project?" Madison had told Elly how much she wanted to write books about her specialty, the settling of the West. "Not yet. There never seems to be time to work on it anyway." "You've got time now." Elly looked around the great room for a moment. "And I just had an idea for a topic." "Oh?" "You know my family was some of the first white settlers in this area. What if you worked on a Cody family history and how it figures into the settlement of Wyoming?" Elly leaned forward, excitement lighting her eyes. "This would be great for our family, and it could launch that part of your career. I know Mom and Dad have tons of old documents, photos." Madison itched to get a hold of those pieces of the past. "What would your parents say?" "Are you kidding? They'd love it. Come on, we'll go talk to them now." As Madison followed Elly to her truck, a spark of the hope she'd been losing flickered back to life. Jason, Callum, this chance to do what she really wanted—it felt like things were looking up. She just hoped fate wasn't being cruel and teasing her. … Callum didn't know quite what to make of the jittery feeling in his stomach as he drove onto the Cottonwood Ranch at the end of the day. It'd been a very long time since a woman had made him feel like this, like he was living in a state of constant anticipation. He refocused his thoughts on the boy sitting on the other side of the truck. "Harry tells me you did a good job in the barn today, particularly for someone who's never worked on a ranch." "Thanks." "You're a man of few words, aren't you?" Jason glanced at him before turning his attention back to the road in front of them. "Just don't feel like talking much." Callum nodded. "I understand. Sometimes a man's just got to be alone with his thoughts."

255

"Madison wouldn't agree with you." Jason sounded one part frustrated, one part defeated. "She thinks I'm just a kid, that I need her hovering over me all the time." "You given her any reason to think that?" Callum sensed a heated denial coming, but then something seemed to shift in Jason. His shoulders slumped. "Maybe some." "You want to know what I think?" Jason looked at him, silently giving his answer. "I think your sister is hurting just as much as you, maybe more. Only she has to be the strong one and can't show it." "She say that?" "She didn't have to. Just look at her and you'll see it. What happened to your parents isn't her fault." Jason turned to stare out his window at a portion of the Cottonwood's cattle herd. Callum left him with his thoughts the rest of the way up to the homestead. Madison was nowhere to be seen when he parked. Maybe he should leave, give Jason a chance to talk to his sister. But when Jason slipped out of the truck, he headed straight for where Elly was walking Jasmine, one of her backup horses. Ah, poor kid. That crush didn't have a chance in the world, especially since Elly was a decade older than Jason. He could drive away, but he didn't. Instead, he headed up the porch steps, paused to knock on the door before pushing it open. "Anybody home?" "Callum." Madison spun in her chair at the table, surprise making her eyes wide. "I didn't realize what time it was." She looked back at the stacks of papers and photo albums strewn across the table. "What's all this?" he asked as he crossed the distance between them. "Cody family documents and photographs. Elly convinced me to work on a family history of the Cody family in Wyoming." "Really?" He sank into the chair beside her. "Yeah, it's something I've always wanted to do." "My family's history?" "No, write books about the settling of the West. It's my specialty, what I teach." He leaned a bit closer to her. "So, found any impossible rogues in the family tree?" She laughed. "Just you." Callum shifted closer still. "So, Madison Gray, do you like rogues?" Madison met his gaze, and he realized just how close they were to each other, close enough to feel her warm breath. "Maybe," she said softly, sounding dazed and unsure.

256

"Let's find out." He captured her delectable lips in a kiss.

Chapter Six All thought of pulling away from Callum fled Madison's mind the moment he kissed her. This might not be a good idea, but it sure felt good—skin–tingling wonderful, to be exact. He lifted his hand and placed it against her cheek, so gently her heart swelled. She wondered if he would be a tender lover or wild enough to make her totally lose her mind. The sound of the door opening caused common sense to come rushing back into her brain, and she jerked away from him, turned toward the materials on the table. But the silence that followed told her that whoever had come in wasn't fooled. She glanced toward the door and saw Jason and Elly. Her friend was trying to hide a smile, but Jason looked confused. Before she could speak, he turned wordlessly down the hallway. At least he didn't slam his bedroom door this time. Elly strolled toward the refrigerator. "I was coming in to see if anyone wanted dinner, but looks like some people skipped right to dessert." "Elly!" Madison's face flamed in embarrassment. "This isn't funny." "I agree," Callum said. Madison looked at him, and what she saw in his expression wasn't amusement. It was desire. And she wasn't at all sure he couldn't see it on her face, too. But he also must have seen the concern for what Jason would think, the worry that she was doing the wrong thing, because he gave her an understanding smile and stood. "See you all tomorrow. I've got a lot of neglected paperwork waiting for me at home. We'll take that walk some other night." As she watched him walk out the door, Madison pictured herself glued to the chair so she wouldn't run after him and finish what they'd started. … Callum noticed Jason was even quieter than normal the next day, and not just on the ride over to the ranch when he was still half-asleep. He kept it up all day, even when he was out by the practice arena watching his and Harry's every move with the horses. But despite the silent treatment Callum figured was a result of Jason walking in on him kissing Madison, he was beginning to see something else in the boy's eyes. Interest. If Callum wasn't mistaken, the boy was at the earliest stages of catching the rodeo bug. Toward the end of the day, he was on the phone in his office arranging for the sale of three of his best bucking horses to a rodeo stock contractor when he noticed Jason hanging around outside the door. He motioned for him to come in and have a seat while he finished up the call. When he hung up, he leaned back in his leather chair. "What's on your mind?" Jason bit his lip for a minute before answering. "Can I learn how to ride the horses?" "You mean Tulip Sue?" Callum asked, referring to the oldest, slowest mare on the place, the one used to teach toddlers how to ride.

257

"No, the bucking horses." "You ever been around animals much? And I don't mean cats and dogs." Jason shook his head. "Well, then, Tulip Sue it is." Jason looked about to argue when Callum raised his hand. "Listen, you have to start at the bottom and work your way up. I don't think your sister would take kindly if you break your neck under my watch." "Do you like her?" "Yes, I do." Callum didn't believe in beating around the bush with the kid. "Are you going to ask her out?" "I have, twice. She said no both times." Jason's brows furrowed. "But…I thought maybe she liked you, too." "I'd say she does." If the way she'd responded to his kiss was any indication. "Then…" Jason shook his head. "I don't understand girls." Callum laughed. "You and every other male on the planet." He sat up and leaned his forearms on his desk. "I'm going to be straight with you and hope she doesn't skin me for it." "Okay." "Your sister is mighty afraid of doing anything that's going to hurt you any more than you've already been hurt." "How would her going on a date hurt me?" "She's got it in her head that she has to focus solely on you, to help you get past whatever has been happening with you the past few months." "She's not my mom." Jason's voice held a thickness that conveyed clearer than words how much he missed his mother. "No, but she's been put in that role now, as unfair as that is to both of you. She doesn't have the luxury of being just your big sister anymore." Jason stared down past his knees to the floor. "I guess I've been horrible lately." "Don't think there's any guessing about it, bud." The silence stretched for a few beats before Jason met Callum's eyes. "It's okay with me if you take Madison out." "I'm not the one you need to tell." …

258

Madison spent the entire day talking with J.W. and Anne about their family tree, all the stories they could remember being told about their ancestors. Before she knew it, it was past time for Callum to bring home Jason. "I'm sorry I've taken up so much of your time," she said as she rose from the overstuffed chair in the Codys' living room. "No need to apologize, dear," Anne said. "We're excited to have you doing this. Elly has had nothing but wonderful things to say about your work." "I hope I can live up to your expectations." And she hoped they'd understand if somewhere along the way she found some scoundrel or scandal in the Cody past and was obligated to include that as well. By the time she reached the homestead house, Callum's truck was already parked outside, but there was no sign of him or her brother. She stepped inside to find Callum waiting for her, dressed in clean jeans, boots that weren't scuffed and a white shirt with black embroidered scrollwork near the shoulders. "Little dressy for dropping off the help, isn't it?" "Yeah, but not for taking a pretty woman out to dinner." Her heart jumped at the thought, but she reined it in. "Callum, I…" "I told him it was okay." Madison turned toward where her brother stood at the entrance to the hallway. "You did?" He nodded. "You heard the man," Callum said. "I'm afraid you're not going to be rid of me until you say yes." Madison stared first at her brother, then Callum—two against one. She guessed she was going out with Callum Cody.

Chapter Seven Madison retreated to her room to change–and try to get her racing heart under control. She was going out, on a date, with Callum Cody. She wondered if she had enough willpower to keep her hands off him at least until after they ate dinner. She stifled a giggle and got to work looking for something date–worthy to wear. Needless to say, dinner with a gorgeous man had been the farthest thing from her mind when she'd been packing for this trip, but she finally managed to come up with some nicer jeans and a purple top with a hint of ruffle. She added some silver jewelry and some purple espadrilles to complete the outfit, and brushed her hair. When she walked back into the living room, more Codys had appeared—Elly and her brothers. A whistle of appreciation drew her attention to Dusty. "I think I'm in love," he said. "I'd hate to have to teach you some manners," Callum said, sounding possessive, but not in a scary way. No, that hint of "my woman" in his words made her go all warm and eager all over. Laughter filled the room, and Dex punched his twin, Dusty, playfully in the arm. "Ignore these idiots and go have fun," Elly said. "We'll keep Jason busy."

259

Madison scanned the room and noticed the cards on the dining–room table. "What's going on?" With all Jason's issues the past several months, the last thing he needed was to start gambling. "Don't worry, we're playing for peanuts," Elly said. "Literally." Dex held up an industrial–size can of peanuts. Callum placed his hand on her back and urged her toward the door. He leaned close to her ear. "Stop worrying. He won't get in any trouble." Madison took a deep breath and gave herself over to a night for herself. Callum held her hand in the dark of the truck's cab as he drove. She hoped he couldn't feel how rapid her pulse was. It had been so long since she'd been out on a date. Since her parents' death, she'd had no time for anything but Jason and work. It felt so good, so right to have a night where she could indulge in what she wanted. And she wanted Callum Cody. As they rolled into Markton, the tiny town nearest the Cottonwood Ranch, an odd sense of rightness came over her. This couldn't be any more different than Phoenix, and yet it called to her. Maybe it was that the quiet, laid–back, peaceful atmosphere was such a balm after the past tumultuous months. Callum pulled into the crowded parking lot next to the Sagebrush Diner. "Here we are, Markton's finest dining. Unless you want to go into Cody for something a little nicer." "No, this is great." Callum looked across the truck at her. "You do know I'm going to kiss you again before this night is through, don't you?" Anticipation surged through her body, tempting her to tell him they should just skip dinner and go right to…dessert. Feeling a bit braver than she had in a long time, she leaned toward him. "I'm going to hold you to that." Then with a laugh she pulled back and got out of the truck. He caught up with her before she stepped up on the wooden porch of the restaurant. He wrapped his arm around her waist before opening the door for her. "You have to let me get doors for you or they'll take away my cowboy chivalry badge." "Well, we can't have that." A smile seemed to take possession of her face, and she welcomed it with open arms. After they slipped into a booth, Madison looked around at the rustic, western décor. The obvious locals hanging out at the square bar in the middle of the restaurant. "I know it's not fancy like what you have in Phoenix," Callum said. "Are you kidding? I love it. It's got way more personality than some fancy place." When the waitress finished taking their order, Callum reached across the table and took her hand. She let him, loving the feel of his warm palm, the roughness of his honest work calluses against her skin. Her face heated when she thought about those hands running over other parts of her body.

260

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. He didn't miss anything. She shook her head. "Nothing." "I don't believe you." She met his eyes and got the distinct impression he was thinking about the same thing. Suddenly, it was very hard to sit still, to not squirm. Even when she'd been on dates before no one had ever affected her the way Callum did, and not so quickly. Something about him made her believe being cautious wasn't always a good idea. … Somehow he would make it through this dinner despite the fact all he wanted to do was take Madison back to his place and make love to her all night long. He'd never been one for romantic notions, for believing in love at first sight, in settling down and having a family. But Madison Gray had changed all that, had him thinking about things like happily ever after. He was falling for her, and falling hard. Not smart when she wasn't staying. Unless he could convince her to stay. "How's the work on the book coming?" he asked. "Great. I'm really getting excited about it. There's such a rich history there." "I bet there are lots of things you could write about around here." She met his eyes, and it was so good to see they were bright with excitement instead of filled with hurt and exhaustion. "You're probably right." Throughout dinner, they talked about his days riding bareback on the rodeo circuit, her teaching, how Jason was getting the hang of ranch life. "I can't thank you enough for whatever you've done," she said. "I'm just stunned by how quickly I've seen a change in Jason. I mean, I don't fool myself. We still have a long way to go, but at least he's not biting my head off anymore." "Maybe it's just timing. One of those steps in the grieving process." "Maybe." She stared down at her empty plate. "You know, I can still remember every word of the phone call when I found out Mom and Dad had been killed by the thugs of some warlord. They were there trying to help feed people, and they were killed over a few bags of grain." Callum squeezed her hand but didn't know what to say to make it better. Maybe nothing would. "I'm sorry." She shook off the melancholy. "At least they were doing what they believed in. That gives me some comfort." Madison squeezed his hand back. "I'm in the mood for a walk. Want to give me the grand tour of your metropolis?" He paid the check and escorted her into the cool night. When she rubbed her bare arms, he went to the truck and retrieved his denim jacket for her. "Thanks."

261

He took her hand because he couldn't bear not touching her. By the time he'd shown her everything Markton had to offer, holding her hand wasn't enough. He tugged her off the sidewalk into the darkness next to the closed Markton Feed and Grain store. "If I don't kiss you, I'm going to explode." She looked up at him and smiled. "Then kiss me, cowboy."

Chapter Eight Madison stood in the dim light of Callum's apartment at his ranch and began unbuttoning his shirt, her heart rate increasing with each button released from its confines. "Are you sure about this?" Callum asked. "Yes." He slid his hands along her jaw and lifted her face to kiss her. And kiss her, he did—thoroughly. The rest of their clothes joined the pile on the floor. "You're beautiful," Callum said. She ran her hand over his sculpted chest. "So are you." They fell onto the bed and into each other's arms. All her worries, all her questions about the future faded away as Callum Cody, her most unexpected cowboy, made love to her. … Over the next week, Madison and Callum spent every evening together after he brought Jason home from work. Once, she cooked for the entire Cody clan. She loved seeing the attention the family showered on her brother, watching him coming out of his dark hole. Another night, Callum helped her organize documents for the book project. They went riding and talked about her parents. But no matter what they did, the evening always ended with her in his arms, most often just kissing. But they did make love on a blanket beneath the stars during a break in that ride over the Cottonwood. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" Madison looked up from where she was making a surprise lunch for Jason and Callum to take to Pebble Creek. Elly had come in from her morning practice session and was leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, I think I am." "Are you going to stay?" "I don't know. I mean, my whole life is back in Phoenix." "No, it's not." Elly extended a copy of the Cody Enterprise. "Maybe this will help you make up your mind." When Elly headed for her room, Madison looked down at the paper, at an ad circled in red. "Opening for a high–school American History teacher. Apply at Cody High School." …

262

"This one's got the devil in him," Harry said as he tried to get one of the bucking horses to cooperate long enough to usher the animal from his stall to the arena. About the time he said it, the horse jerked in the opposite direction and headed straight for where Jason was standing at the entrance to the barn. "Watch out!" Callum called. The horse snorted and kicked, barely missing the boy. Jason was smart enough to get out of the way, though, and dived for the dirt to the right of the doorway. "You okay?" Callum asked when he made it outside. Already, Jason was standing and dusting himself off. The kid had the makings of a good cowboy. "Yeah." An anguished cry and movement beyond the barn caught their attention. Madison dropped a picnic basket and raced to her brother. "Are you hurt?" She tried to search his body for injury, but he stepped out of her reach. "I'm fine. Stop worrying." Madison rounded on Callum. "This is what you have him doing? Working around dangerous animals?" "No, he has orders to stay away from the bucking stock." "That's not what it looked like. Jason, get in the car. We're leaving." "No." Madison jerked her attention to Jason. "What do you mean, no?" "I mean, I'm not leaving. I like working here. I'm learning to ride, how to run a ranch. I want to ride in a rodeo at some point." Madison looked like she was going to have a stroke. "Jason, go on in the barn so I can talk to your sister." Madison looked like she might cry as her brother did Callum's bidding and not hers. "I know it might not look like it now, but we take really good care of him here. I would never put him in harm's way on purpose." "Isn't that what encouraging this rodeo nonsense is doing?" "Rodeo is what finally set me straight when I was as wild as a buck," he said. "And I think it's also going to do that for Jason." When she looked up at him, there were fat tears in her eyes. "He's all I have left. I can't lose him, too." Callum couldn't stand seeing the hurt back in her eyes, so he pulled her to him, surprised she let him. "You won't. I promise." …

263

Madison didn't sleep all night. The part of her that wanted to protect Jason kept up a constant wrestling match with the part that wanted to make him happy again. She slipped out of the house just as the barest hint of daylight was making its appearance, and took a long walk around the ranch, imagining herself living in Wyoming permanently. If she could get the high–school position and Jason didn't need so much supervision anymore, maybe that would leave more time for writing books. As she returned to the house, she found Jason sitting on the top of the front steps waiting for Callum. She sank down beside him and counted it a victory that he didn't move away. "I'm sorry," he said out of the blue. "For what?" "Everything. Being so awful since…Mom and Dad died." Tears pooled in Madison's eyes. "I know it's been hard. I'm sorry I couldn't make it better." "You did." He reached over and took her hand. Madison pulled her brother into her arms. "I love you, Jason. I just want to see you happy again." "I love you, too." He pulled away. "And I am happy." She looked at him. "Here in Wyoming?" He nodded. "You really want to try rodeo?" "I think so. Callum says it'll be awhile before I'm ready to even try, but I'm willing to wait." "You really like him, don't you?" "He's cool. And he likes you." "You think?" Jason rolled his eyes. "It's obvious. You're both kind of sickening about it." Madison laughed and ruffled her brother's hair. Her heart swelled with happiness, and it was all because of the man driving up the ranch's entrance road. … Madison could barely contain her excitement as she drove toward the Pebble Creek Ranch later that day. She couldn't wait until Callum brought Jason home to share her news. Within ten minutes of walking into the office at Cody High School, she'd had the job as the new American History teacher. She didn't even look at it as a demotion from her college position because it was going to allow her and Jason to start a new life, one she hoped would include Callum Cody. When she reached the ranch, she went straight to the barn and found him alone outside the stalls. She didn't stop as she walked into his arms and kissed him with all the energy surging through her body. "Nice to see you, too," he said on a laugh when she finally ended the kiss.

264

"Do you think you can train Jason to be a rodeo cowboy?" "Yes." "Good." His eyes narrowed. "What's going on?" "The permanent population of Park County just increased by two." "You're not going back to Phoenix?" "No." He smiled. "Then I guess I don't have to convince you to stay before I do this." He dropped to one knee and pulled something out of his shirt pocket. When he opened the velvet box, she gasped. "I know it sounds crazy, but I've fallen head over heels in love with you, Madison Gray. And you'd make me very happy if you'd be my wife." "I love you, too. Yes!" Callum got to his feet and slid the ring on her finger. "It's an antique, originally sold to finance a family's trip along the Oregon Trail." "It's perfect." She looked up at him. "You're perfect." He pulled her close. "You, me, Jason. We'll make the perfect family." Of that she had no doubt.

265

Scandal at the By Fiona Lowe Balfour Ball by Michelle Reid After barely a year of marriage, Alessandro and Meredith Ferrera’s relationship is already strained by careers that force them to live in different countries for weeks at a time. So it doesn’t take much to raise Alessandro’s suspicions about what his bride is up to with his best friend Marco when he’s not around! Meredith Ferrera doesn’t know what’s gotten into her husband. When she calls him in Milan to tell him some important news, she’s discouraged by his surly attitude and veiled accusations. And when he fails to show up in London to escort her to the ball hosted by her illustrious Balfour relations, she quickly discovers the room is abuzz with rumors about the state of their marriage…

Chapter One Alessandro Ferrera lay stretched out on the sofa in his Milan apartment with a glass of malt whisky balanced on the flat wall of his stomach and his eyes grimly shut. Maria Callas wept soulfully in the background, filling the room with a tragic aria that thoroughly suited his mood. For beside him, tossed down on the low table like an insult, lay the letter he knew he should not have opened because it was not the first piece of poison he had received over the last few trust-whittling weeks. The molded line of his mouth gave a twitch of contempt at his own lack of willpower. If he'd utilized a fraction of the tough mental strength he was known for out there in the business world, he would have binned the letter unopened with the dismissive disdain it deserved. He had discovered, however, that mental strength and emotional strength were two separate disciplines, especially when applied to his beautiful, hot-tempered, infuriatingly independent, sensationally sexy redhaired witch of a wife. He took a slug at the whisky. "Si, Signora Ferrera had lunch with Signor Valente at his London apartment." His mind fed him the confirmation he had received the only time he had sought to check out the poison. "Si, their meeting took up most of the afternoon." "Si." When he'd asked her, Meredith freely admitted it to him. "We were brainstorming his next UK marketing campaign before I let my team loose on it." That conversation had taken place four weeks ago, and she'd looked and sounded so convincingly innocent. His exquisitely put-together bride of almost a year had mapped out her afternoon spent discussing business with his best friend Marco, while she'd undressed him. Made love to him. She'd crawled all over him and blown his mind and his wild suspicions apart with her smooth silky body and warm busy kisses and the kind of loving that made him feel like a real jealous rat for even questioning her loyalty to him. So why was he questioning it? Because Marco and Meredith had been an item before Alessandro had come along and grabbed her for himself. Meredith had called them just good friends and business colleagues. Marco had not been so quick to agree. But he was recalling Marco's response with hindsight—a lousy place to revisit something when the letter was sitting there doing its damndest to poison him. He took another slug at the whisky. Meredith was still living in London, setting up the final stages of the Valente campaign. In the last two weeks they had managed to snatch one night together—one short, angry, very passionate night before he'd had to fly back here to Milan. They'd fought—about whose fault it was that they spent so much time apart. They'd made up and made love then fought again. Then he'd left. That was

266

five days ago and if the letter had not arrived today, he would have been ready to crawl on his knees— where she liked him—to make his peace. Now—? *** In a flurry of near-mindless panic, Meredith rushed out of the bathroom and almost tripped over a huge black fluffy dog. "Do you have to lay across every doorway, Mutt?" she muttered. The animal didn't bother to comment. He just watched her as she snatched up her cell phone and accessed Alessandro's number, then dropped down on the side of the bed to fret on her lower lip while she waited for him to pick up. She actually felt dizzy with shock. She did not know whether to be happy or horrified, excited or scared. She needed to hear Alessandro's reaction so she could— "Ciao si—" "Alessandro—" shooting back to her feet "—it's me!" she announced breathlessly. "I know it is you," he growled impatiently. "What do you want, Merry?" What do I want? Thrown by the hard edge to that question, Meredith remembered too late that they'd had a fight that last time they'd been together. They'd had several fights about the usual thing—her refusal to cut back on her workload to accommodate his. Her too-gorgeous-to-live husband was an all-powerful, all-arrogant, totally self-centred, spoiled Italian male who liked to be in full control of every aspect of his life. Because she refused to let him control her life, too, she got to be spoken to like that. "You're still mad at me," she said heavily. "I am not mad at you." "Then why do you sound so horrid?" "My apologies. It is very late and I was—working." From being high on shock and scary elation, Meredith now felt more like a burst balloon as she sank back down on the edge of the bed. He was clearly in no mood to receive the kind of news she had been about to blurt out to him, she thought, staring down at the slither of white plastic she held clutched in her trembling fingers. It wasn't even trying to be subtle. No maybe. No perhaps. Just the downright certainty printed on the slender LCD screen. Pregnant, it stated, 4-5 weeks. A wild kind of quiver took hold of her stomach. She had to work at holding in a fluttery little sob as she searched for an alternative reason for calling him up. As if she should need one, a little voice told her. "I was calling to find out what time to expect you tomorrow," was all that she could come up with.

267

"Tomorrow—?" Staring at the poisoned letter on the table, Alessandro's mind had gone a complete blank. "For goodness' sake, what is the matter with you?" his wife shrilled out. "Are you drunk or something? We are attending the Balfour Charity Ball tomorrow evening. I've bought this fabulous dress! And—and I have something really important I need to tell you before—before…" That was the point when the Callas aria reached its crescendo. Meredith responded to the sound with a strangled choke. "You're listening to Callas. Why are you listening to Callas? You never play Callas unless you're…" As she stopped speaking in mid-sentence, Alessandro teethed back a filthy curse, understanding exactly what was going through her head. They made love to Callas, preferably in a darkened room with the air-conditioning switched off and the atmosphere sultry and hot. He could even see the two of them lying stretched out on their bed with her glorious hair spread out around her and her full soft passionate mouth parted to welcome his— Marco Valente's face suddenly muscled in on the image, pushing Alessandro to his feet as his whole body clenched up. "Are you suggesting something specific here?" he raked out. "No," Meredith mumbled. "Grazie," he responded. Meredith pulled in a breath. "Look, I know we argued before you left here but—" "We did not argue, we fought, cara. You threatened to leave me and I invited you to do so." "So, are you happy or disappointed that I'm still hanging on in here?" "I will let you know when I know." "Well, you just do that." She cut the connection, then just sat trembling like mad. How had things become so bad between them that they even fought over the telephone now? Hot tears burned the back of her eyes and her throat. "Oh…" She choked, and turned to throw herself face down on the bed as the first wretched sob escaped. Her phone burst into life. It had to be Alessandro! Scrambling up on her knees, she pushed her tumbling mane of hair back from her face. "I love you so much!" she sobbed out. "Molto grazie, mia amore," a completely different Italian man responded dryly. "Marco," Meredith mumbled in crushing disappointment. *** Alessandro cursed. Meredith's phone was busy.

268

Who was she talking to? She'd been upset. He'd heard the quiver in her voice before she'd rung off. Now he felt like the worst kind of suspicious rat. Who would she call up for sympathy? The answer that hit him clenched up his muscles as he phoned Marco Valente's number. The line was busy. He stood for a minute, trying not to draw the obvious conclusion, but then his eyes drifted down to the letter again. The poisoned letter. Picking it up he let its noxious words screw up his insides, then fisted it into a ball and hurled it like a missile across the room. Next he snatched up the remote and switched the music off. As silence fell around him like a chilly ice-front, grim clarity wiped the emotional mists from his head. Recovering his phone again, he connected with his security chief.

Chapter Two "Don't ask silly questions," Meredith flicked at her curious cousin. "Of course our marriage isn't in trouble." "Where is he then?" Cindy quizzed. "I don't see him dancing attendance on his new bride." Well, you won't when he obviously wishes he did not have a wife, Meredith thought dully. "He was delayed in Milan." She trawled out the excuse she had been repeating since she'd arrived at Balfour Manor, having driven herself here because Alessandro had not turned up at their London apartment, and she would have rather cut her own throat than to call him again to find out where he was. Hot tears of hurt scorched her aching throat. He hadn't even bothered to call her. He'd just sent a message via his PA. Alessandro is stuck in a meeting. He said to tell you he will be late. "You have a very strange kind of long-distance marriage, Merry," Cindy observed candidly. "If I was married to a tall, dark, handsome hunk like Alessandro, I would not let him out of my sight." It didn't help Meredith to know that Cindy was right. "We're working it out," she said, then quickly changed the subject because she did not want to discuss Alessandro with anyone—not even with herself. "What is going on with everyone here tonight? Every Balfour is walking around as if they're expecting to be shot in the back." "Haven't you heard? Delicious scandals circulate," Cindy confided in a hush-hush kind of voice. "Apparently, all that glitters is not gold in Balfour world right now." "Oh, don't be mean." Meredith frowned at her pretty blond cousin. "They've just buried poor Aunt Lillian—" "Then Uncle Oscar promptly produced an illegitimate daughter old enough to tarnish his squeaky clean marriage to poor Lillian," Cindy pointed out. "Emily went to pieces and ran away—" "I know about all that but—"

269

"That scared-looking creature standing over there with all of that fabulous black hair is the one," Cindy whispered with drama. "Uncle Oscar is not happy about his beloved Emily disappearing. His daughters are not happy about anything as far as I can tell, even while they do flash around here looking the perfect princesses for him. Then there is you, dear cousin." Cindy turned her sharp tongue on Meredith next. "You turn up here without your husband and looking all pale and tragic." Having to fight not to lift a revealing hand to her stomach, Meredith said, "I am not looking pale and tragic." Just feeling it, she silently tagged on. "So, the rumors circulating about you and Marco Valente are untrue?" Meredith froze. Rumors? What rumors? Was Cindy saying what she thought she was saying? "What the heck are you talking about now?" she said in bemusement. "Oh, come off it, Merry." Cindy sighed. "Everybody out there is aware that the two of you have become very…cosy." Cosy…? "Is this just one of your not-very-good jokes? I work with Marco and that's all I do!" "Meredith…" Cindy's blue eyes began to sparkle. "Well, just look who we have here," she drawled, turning to look at the tall, dark, pretty good-looking figure of Marco Valente before she returned her gaze to Meredith's slowly flushing face. "Me thinks, you do protest too much, Merry," she confided softly before strolling away. Meredith was starting to feel queasy, sending her eyes on a wary scan of the glittering ballroom feeling suddenly as if she were a target for wolves. The press were absolutely everywhere. Had they heard the rumors? "Are you feeling okay, Meredith? You look…upset." Upset did not cover how she felt. "Have you heard the rumors?" she demanded outright. Sending her a frown, Marco looked as in the dark as she was. Then a camera flashed right in front of them and she grabbed Marco's arm. "Come on," she said. "You and I need to talk, in private." Still frowning, Marco slipped a hand around her waist and turned them towards the open terrace doors. Outside the night air smelled sweet of cherry blossom. Meredith let him guide her down the steps and out into the garden, off to one side of the twinkling fairy lights strung along the boarded walkway that led the way to the huge dining marquee. The musical strains of an old-fashioned waltz struck up as he drew to stop on a shadowy part of the lawn. "OK, tell me what's going on?" He turned her to face him. "But before you do that, tell me why Alessandro is not here with you tonight?" He looked so stern Meredith suddenly wanted to break down and weep. "We…we had a fight over the phone last night," she confessed. "But I still can't believe he could let me down like this."

270

"I don't know what's got into him recently," Marco said tightly. "I cannot say a word to him without him biting my head off." "You, too?" Lifting her glistening eyes up to meet his perplexed ones, she went on. "I thought it was just me he was being like that with." "No. It's been going on for weeks. You don't think he's got mixed up with some—" He cut the rest off, but not before Meredith had guessed what he had been about to say. He was wondering if Alessandro had got himself mixed up with another woman. The very idea sent her legs weak. "Twist that thought on its head," she suggested. "From what Cindy tells me, it's you and I who are doing the mixing." "Are you kidding me?" Fighting back the tears, Meredith shook her head. Oh, what was going on? Why was everything in her world suddenly so bewilderingly topsy-turvy? A muffled sob broke free from her throat. "No, don't cry." With a soft curse Marco drew her closer. "I will talk to him. We can soon sort this craziness out." "You think?" she said hopefully. *** Alessandro stepped onto the terrace in time to witness this wife move into the arms of his so-called best friend, and felt his heart turn into a frozen lump in his chest. They looked like a pair of star-crossed lovers lit by the silvery moon above. They made a perfect heart-shaped silhouette. As he watched, he saw Meredith lift her face up and say something to Marco that made his ex-best friend lower his dark head and kiss her on her soft parted lips. A rising red mist of murderous rage sent his mind a perfect blank. He did not remember breaking free from his frozen stupor. He did not recall the long strides it took for him to reach them or the way he speared a strong arm between the two of them and pressed his wife to one side. He did register her breathless, "Alessandro!" He registered Marco's look of shock just before his clenched fist connected with his chin. And he registered the hot feeling of raw satisfaction as he heard Marco moan out a pained grunt before he collapsed in a huddle on the grass. "Oh!" Meredith shrieked. *** She tried to go to Marco only to find herself blocked by a strong arm holding her back. Dressed in full tux and standing a good head and shoulders taller than she did, Alessandro was so physically superior to her in every way that she did not stand a hope of breaking free from his grasp. "Oh, how could you do that!"

271

"Easy," Alessandro answered through seething white teeth. Clearly, everything inside him was seething, and he snarled something in Italian that spurred Marco into moving and set the hairs on the back of Meredith's neck on end in alarm. "No! Please don't hit him again!" Twisting around against the solid force in Alessandro's arms so she could appeal to him, what she saw stamped into his angry features closed up her throat. Every hard-boned angle had turned white along the taut ridges, washing the usual bronze from his skin. He possessed the most beautiful dark-chocolate eyes, which could melt her bones when she looked into them. But what she saw glinting in them right now would have had her backing away if she'd had the legs for it. A thick whimper broke from her. She knew—just knew—that he'd heard the rumors and he'd seen the kiss!

Chapter Three "It was not what you're thinking!" Meredith rushed into urgent speech. The sneer that arrived on Alessandro's wide sensual lips made her shudder. He looked so dangerous her heart leapt to her throat. And he wasn't even looking at her-had not looked at her once since he'd arrived out of the darkness. His full attention was fixed on Marco as he uttered a curse in Italian. He didn't even growl it; the ice in his voice was a chilling threat in itself. Marco, who was wisely staying put on the ground gingerly feeling his jaw, said nothing. Meredith was clutching at Alessandro's jacket lapels now, and she was trembling so badly he had this vague concern that she might just faint. The noxious words in the poisoned letters were swimming in front of him. Meredith with Marco...his wife and his best friend. With a gut-sinking burn filled with the kind of emotion he could not even put a name to, Alessandro turned his arm into a clamp around his wife's tiny waist and swung them both back towards the house. "Will you stop tugging me about!" Meredith protested. He barely heard her. "It was not what you think!" He damn well heard that! "Shut up," he bit out. "No, I will not!" Meredith pulled to a stop at the top of the shallow steps, which led up onto the terrace. With a tug she managed to wrench herself free from his iron-hard grasp. "I am not your possession! You do not have the right to body manhandle me as if I am! And if you dare to tell me to shut up one more time I will-I will-" She ran out of words.

272

Twisting round to face her, Alessandro felt as if he had punched himself. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. He watched her tense fingers clench and unclench. He noticed the sparkling ball gown for the first time, with its crystal-crusted bodice clinging to the creamy slopes of her heaving breasts. Her pearly pale skin shone in the moonlight. Her fabulous, flowing hair shimmered like fire. Her soft mouth was trembling uncontrollably, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears. A roar of something primitive rose up inside him. He wanted to gather her up into his arms and show her who it was she belonged to, but he did not dare let himself go that far because he just couldn't predict what else would take hold of him if he did! And there was no way he was going to let himself fall apart here on this terrace with her lover looking on. As if she caught what he was thinking, he watched her angle a helpless glance back across the lawn. Something else grabbed hold of him. Fear. He recognized the stark chilling sensation. He was scared she was going to walk away from him and back to Marco. Still functioning on pure instinct, he reached out and captured one of her hands and tugged her back into movement. Meredith stared helplessly up at his hard grim face. "Alessandro, for goodness sake," she begged. "We can't go back in there like this!" "We are going back in there," he determined grimly. "And you are going to play the adoring wife to me to the hilt." "Y-you misunderstood what you-" "I did not misunderstand anything." He stopped walking long enough to swing around on her. "You were kissing him in full view of anyone who cared to watch you!" "No!" she denied. "I w-wasn't kissing him. He-" "Pull yourself together." He started walking again. He just did not want to hear her excuses. As if on cue, the moment they stepped into the ballroom the band struck up another waltz tune and Alessandro swung her into his arms. "Smile." He gritted as he swept her into the dance. Meredith had to cling to him just to keep herself upright. Her legs had turned to jelly and her head was filled with"He was just being-" He swung a glinting look down at her. "Do you really want to do this right now?" "I...no." She didn't. For everyone was looking at them. "Then just dance," Alessandro said roughly, drawing her closer to his hard-packed angry body. "Pretend you still love me."

273

"I do love you," Meredith choked. "When you feel like it." She drew in a strained breath of air as his hard cynicism cut through her like a knife. "I was surprised as you were when Marco-did that." He said nothing. "Y-you had stood m-me up and I was upset, and I had only just heard about the horrible rumors-" "Poor neglected Merry." "I am not neglected," she flared up with a hot whisper. "But you didn't bother to come to London so I thought-" "So you thought you would get your lover to bring you here, instead." "He did not bring me and he is not my lover!" Tossing back her head, Meredith fired him a furious look. "How dare you say that? When have I ever given you cause to even think it?" How dare I say that? Alessandro locked the brooding dark glow of his eyes with her angry sparkling eyes and it was like instant mortal combat. He'd never felt so dangerous in his life. There wasn't a bone or muscle in his body that wasn't hard and honed to the kind of primitive instincts he never knew he possessed. He loved this woman to distraction. She made him dangerous. And Meredith felt the danger in him. It throbbed from him like an electric storm, and the shocking thing about it was that her senses were responding to it like fizzing fireworks charging up towards the moment when it all blew up. His eyes were as black as midnight, the lean symmetry of his face washed of its beautiful bronze lustre and taut, like the molded line of his mouth. He was beautiful and gorgeous and-she tugged in a frail kind of breath in the hopes it would help calm her ravaging senses. The tips of her breasts touched the hard contours of his body lurking beneath his dress shirt, and the frail breath turned into a terribly stifling gasp. The fire of knowledge put flames in his eyes, and she quivered. Alessandro swung them deftly around a threatened collision and wished he could ease the tension gripping them both. He had thrown them into this dance because he'd thought it was the easiest way to get them across the ballroom to the great hall without needing to stop and talk to people. Now he wished he'd just hauled her over his shoulders and carried her caveman-style around the outside of the house! Dio, and she looked so beautiful, even in her distress. The dress was fabulous, as she'd told him it was, the kingfisher colour sparkling with crystal water drops, which matched the tears sparkling in her eyes. He looked at her mouth, her wide soft trembling mouth and something inside him just shattered. That something was another man's kiss glossing its passionate pink surface. His nostrils flared as he attempted to take in a calming breath. The tension in them vibrated. He could feel her heart fluttering wildly in her breast, and his own heart was hammering so loudly he could hear it pounding in his head. "I love you, Alessandro. What you saw out there was just a silly sympathy kiss!"

274

He just stopped dancing. Right there in the middle of the Balfour ballroom he pulled them to a dress-swirling halt, then lowered his dark head and covered that lying, cheating, beautiful mouth with his own hard, hot, passionate mouth. It was like taking a ride on the crest of a fiery wave of helpless fervor and burning anger. It was all Meredith could do to hang on in there and ride along with it-because she really could not help herself. Her fingers clutched at his muscled shoulders, his arms held her crushed against his full taut length. And the burning heat of his passion just drowned her in Alessandro-the only man ever to make her feel like this. He lifted his dark head and looked down at her-at her sultry eyes turned exotic and deep. Then he looked at her softly parted and trembling lips, which were wearing the bloom that he had put there. "That-" he said roughly "-was a kiss, mia moglie." Lifting up a set of smooth gentle fingers, Meredith laid them against his lips. "Exactly," she whispered back.

Chapter Four The rippling shimmer of applause broke through their absorbed concentration on each other, followed quickly by the embarrassing knowledge that they were the target of a couple of hundred amused smiles. Taking hold of her hand, Alessandro lowered her fingers from his lips and switched on a lazily rueful smile. He saw Oscar studying them with a satisfied smile, and Meredith's many beautiful cousins looking relieved. Rumors killed stone dead, he noted, though that had not been his intention when he'd kissed Meredith. He saw Marco then. He was standing over in a corner watching them through cold hard eyes. A set of fingers lightly touched his jaw where Alessandro had hit him, and returning the cold look, they both knew that the fight wasn't over between the two of them. He turned his attention back to Meredith, who was still clinging weakly to him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shyly hidden-the sudden need to be completely alone with her roared inside him. "Let`s get out of here." With the controlled, casual moves of a man aware of every camera flashbulb, he fed her beneath his broad tense shoulder, and somehow he managed to play it sardonically careless as he fielded myriad teasing comments. He moved them off the dance floor with his fingers a possessive clamp at Meredith's waist, and her fingers clinging to the back of his shirt beneath his jacket because her trembling legs could no longer hold her upright without his support. Meredith glimpsed Cindy watching them with a rueful little smile, and she sent her cousin a fierce challenging stare, which Cindy responded to with a moue of apology. As a cover-up, the passionate kiss had worked like a dream, she recognized, though it did not detract from the unpalatable fact that it was only a cover-up. She and Alessandro had some serious issues to deal with, not least the shock she still had to deliver. And just thinking about that now, with all of this other ugly stuff, was churning up her system. Eventually, they made it into the grand hallway. Alessandro stepped to one side to use his mobile telephone, while Meredith said her farewells to a multitude of Balfours gathered together like a group of enchantingly beautiful, exotic flowers. The twins, Olivia and Bella, were both stunning blondes, but looking unusually strained and subdued for them. They belonged to Oscar's first wife who sadly died giving birth to Zoe, their baby sister. Then there was Annie, Sophie and Kat and their mother Tilly, Oscar's second wife, who still lived on the Balfour estate

275

even though they had been divorced for years. And, of course, there was Mia, the newest of Oscar's eight beautiful daughters. Meredith wondered fleetingly who her mother was, but did not dare to ask. The missing Emily was Oscar's youngest daughter and belonged to his last wife, Lillian, who had passed away so recently. And, finally, there was her dear Uncle Oscar himself, who drew her into his fond embrace. "Are things okay between the two of you?" he enquired gravely. He'd heard the rumors, Meredith realized. "Just a few marital teething troubles," she said with a reassuring smile. "If they get out of hand I know who to come to for advice." Oscar kissed her nose. "You do that, my darling. You know my door is always open to you." "Yes." Meredith did know. Since her mother and father-Oscar's younger brother-had been killed in a car accident, Oscar had always been there for her. He'd supported her through college, and even invested in her company when she'd decided to strike out on her own. When she married Alessandro, it was Oscar who had proudly walked her down the church aisle. She loved this big complicated wonderful family. Each and every one of them meant the absolute world to her. But as she turned to look at the man she had married just under a year ago, it hit her hard that he was her whole world now. Her heart swelled and fluttered. For the first time since she'd rushed to ring him last night in a state of shocked panic, she became acutely aware of what was happening inside her own body. A baby... Alessandro's baby... Suddenly, marvelously, it was real. Sensing her focus on him, Alessandro turned. Without knowing he was doing it, he closed his mobile. Without knowing he was doing it, his eyes lost that hint of hardness he had not been able to control. As if the altered look was all it took to draw her, Meredith walked towards him. The very air around her seemed to shimmer with electricity as she moved. He held out his hand and she slipped her fingers into it. Okay, Meredith told herself, so she'd caught herself a wildly good-looking, hot-tempered and temperamental Italian. But he was hers and she was going to hang on to him no matter what problems they had. She sent him a tense little smile. "Let's go now," she whispered. That smile almost did it for him. Alessandro could not quite find a smile to offer her by return, but he tightened his fingers around hers. "Come on," he responded huskily. Outside, on the sweeping front that spread down to the lake, an area had been cordoned off to allow helicopters to land. His helicopter was waiting there for them, and it took only minutes to board it and lift off. He still held claim to Meredith's hand, his fingers absently stroking the set of rings he had placed there, his anger cooling a bit more. "I'm going to have to come here tomorrow to get my car," Meredith murmured as they swung away and over the top of Balfour wood. Turning his head, Alessandro frowned. "Why, where is it?" "Down there," she indicated. "I drove down here and parked on Tilly at the gatehouse so I could get changed."

276

Alessandro parted his lips to say something then changed his mind. After a minute he said levelly, "I will send someone to collect it tomorrow." Meredith turned her head to look at him. "I did not have Marco bring me." The threat of hurt tears was back, and it sounded in her voice. "I don't know how those rumors started, but there is not a grain of truth in them and it hurts that you don't trust me enough to believe that." He studied her in the slow thickening silence, her strained pallor and the shimmer of hurt sincerity in her beautiful eyes. Her soft mouth was trembling, and he could see the quickened speed of her pulse beating at the side of her slender white neck. Tension throbbed between them, and it wasn't all due to the silence he was allowing to stretch. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and draw her against him and at least pretend he believed her-put the whole lousy episode behind them and just kiss her like he had never kissed her before. His expressive mouth curled at the depth of his own vulnerability. She must have sensed it because she tightened her fingers around his and slid across the seat so she could press a gently clinging kiss to his lips. Like a man suddenly shorn of his armor, he lifted his free hand to thread his fingers into her hair and took the kiss over. Somewhere inside her a little voice was telling her that he had given in too easily, but Meredith just didn't want to listen to it. She was here in his arms, right where she wanted to be, and those sweet little frissons of pleasure were stirring inside. She leant further into him, felt the accelerated beat of his heart against the electric sting of her nipples as the tips came into contact with his front. Whatever else they had to sort out between them, there was no denying that this was what they both hungered for. She could-she would deal with the rest. The helicopter settled down on the roof of their penthouse apartment. Alessandro raised his dark head. "I have proof about you and Marco," he said.

Chapter Five It was like receiving a hard slap in the face. Meredith gasped and jerked away from him. He had done it on purpose-kissed her like that to bring her defenses crashing down just so he could stick his knife in her chest. Aware that the pilot was waiting for them to disembark, Alessandro turned away from her shaken expression, opened the door and stepped out into the mellow dark night. Meredith walked off ahead of him with her slender white shoulders stiffly set and her hair a streaming river of fire down her back. He grimaced as he followed at a slower pace. By the time he entered the glass atrium, which formed the entrance to their apartment, she had already disappeared in a whisper of silk organza down the stairs. A huge black dog sat at the stair head, its shaggy black tail bashing the floor. A glimmer of a smile softened some of the sternness from his face, and the moment it did so the dog pounced with a husky woof. "Okay, you stupid dog," he said fondly. "You don't need to ruin my suit." The dog wasn't just stupid, he was deaf to any vocal censure and refused to stop jumping up at him until he'd been petted and stroked.

277

Alessandro heard a door shut downstairs, and he straightened, the smile dying from his face. The dog finally took the hint and sat. "So, where did she stalk off to, Mutt?" he queried grimly. Mutt loped off towards the stairwell then paused to wait until Alessandro arrived at his side. Perhaps, the dog was not so stupid, he mused grimly because he let out a whimper before he shot off down the stairs. Alessandro followed and was eventually guided into the master bedroom. He stopped on the threshold, watching as Mutt slunk up to Meredith, who was standing on one foot as she slipped off a shoe. The dog nudged her hand and she almost toppled over. "Oh, thanks, Mutt," she murmured. "I think he is trying to warn you I am here," Alessandro provided. Meredith froze for a throbbing crush of a second then bent to snatch something up off the bed. It was something white, like her mobile phone, Alessandro saw in the split second before it became lost in the folds of her flowing skirts. Had she been intending to call up her lover before he walked in here? Was Marco that important to her that she could think only of him? A stream of acid jealousy poured into his bloodstream. As she lifted her chin to him, he saw the defiance on her pale face. Tension shot between them like an electric current. It infuriated Alessandro that it attacked every erogenous zone in his body, accompanied by flash lightning images of him declaring to hell with it and tossing her down on the bed. He wanted her. It was like a growling animal inside him. His wife. His woman. It felt that primitive. As if sensing the lurking intruder in their midst, Mutt let out a warning growl. Alessandro looked down at the dog standing there at the ready to defend his mistress and felt like growling himself. "Out," he instructed the dog. "Don't you take your filthy mood out on Mutt," Meredith said shakily. "Out," he repeated, spearing out an arm indicating towards the door, and Mutt, big though he was, surrendered to a greater power and slunk out of the room. Alessandro closed the door then turned back to Meredith, who was in the process of wrapping her arms across the front of her sparkling bodice. The aroused animal inside of him honed onto the creamy lush slopes of her breasts the action had highlighted for him like a taunt. Her soft full mouth pursed for a second then parted as she took in a short breath. "Okay." She tossed her head up. "So show me your proof." Vaguely surprised that she had thrown down the first challenge, without a word he walked over to the television set mounted on the wall opposite their bed and switched it on. Puzzled as to what was going on, Meredith watched as he used the remote. A picture of their apartment block and its car park flicked up on the screen. Alessandro walked away to remove his jacket while she watched Marco's silver Porsche drive into the car park and stop. "CCTV recording," he provided as Marco climbed out and strolled towards the building. "Keep watching and you will see him enter one of the lifts."

278

Not understanding where this was leading, Meredith turned her questioning gaze on Alessandro who was loosening the black bow tie around his neck. Squared chin lifted, sleek golden skin stretched taut, his eyes were cold beneath the heavy veil of his eyelashes. "Is this supposed to mean something to me?" she asked him. "Still playing the innocent, Merry?" He threw her a grim smile. "You have been lovers for weeks-maybe longer." He extended with a shrug that coincided with the undoing of his shirt collar. "Who the hell knows how long you've both been cheating on me." "We have not been cheating on you!" Merry protested stiffly. "Marco and I work together-and he's supposed to be your best friend!" "And I need a drink." The way he strode to the door and pulled it open left Meredith gasping in shock. Mutt was lying across the opening. Alessandro stepped over the dog and headed down the hall. Meredith, bewildered as to what had made him just walk away like that, stepped over Mutt, too, as she tagged on behind. He was in his study pouring himself a stiff drink. When he heard her come in the room, he announced coolly, "I called you back last night after you rung off. You were talking to him." Opening her mouth to deny the charge, Meredith thought about it and closed her mouth again. "No smart comeback?" Alessandro mocked. "He-he called me," she confirmed. "I thought it was you." "And having assured yourself that I was still safely out of the way in Milan, you invited him around here to keep you company?" "What are you getting at now?" she cried out. Those lustrous green eyes did bewilderment so well, Alessandro saw bitterly. The way she was standing there in her ball gown looking like a princess with her hair a veil of fire around her smooth pale beautifully innocent face. "You have just watched him arriving here, Meredith. Stop playing the innocent." "You-you mean that recording was made last night?" Her delicate eyebrows drew together. "Well, whoever it was he was visiting it was not me," she declared outright. "Is that all the proof you've got that I'm cheating on you?" she then thought to ask. "Do you really want me to produce more?" he derided. "If you have it-yes!" she heaved in a taut breath then let it out again. "And I want you to know that I don't like what it is you're trying to pin on me here." "You think I do?" Her temper growing thinner with her deepening sense of injustice, Meredith stalked forward and took the glass out of his fingers just as he was about to drink from it. She slammed it down on the nearest surface then spun back to flare him a look. "Marco did not visit me in this apartment last night and I expect you to believe that!"

279

"You want to return to the bedroom and watch him get out of the lift on the floor below then head for the stairwell?" Alessandro threw back. "You want to make me take this all the way to the bitter end before you will stop lying about it?" "There are twenty other floors beneath this apartment, most of them with several apartments on each! He could have been using the stairs to walk down to any of them!" "If that was the case, why not use the lift?" "I don't know!" This was beginning to turn just a little crazy in Meredith's opinion. The whole scene felt like a nightmare that refused to make any sense. "If the CCTV system is so clever, it should tell you exactly where he went!" "He came to see you." Meredith balled her hands into two angry fists. "I'm warning you, Alessandro, if you keep insisting on that, I will supply you with real proof just to shut you up!" "You did that, in the garden at Balfour." "With a stupid sympathy kiss?" His jaw line clenching, he turned away from her. "Guilty lovers stealing a clandestine moment," he described. "It was very...touching." No it wasn't. She could tell by the way he had said it. And nor was it sufficient proof that she had betrayed him. "Please, Alessandro, just think about it," she urged him. "Why would I want to have an affair with anyone when I'm so in love with you?" As if she'd delivered him the worst kind of insult, he moved violently, swinging round to stride to his desk. A few seconds later he was coming back to her holding a thin wad of notepaper, which he offered for her to take. Flickering him a warily questioning glance, Meredith saw the ring of fierce tension compressing his mouth and the granite hard cast in control of his face. As she took the paper from him, he spun away to go and recover his drink.

Chapter Six Silence fell behind Alessandro, if he did not count the sound of rustling notepaper. Tension crept all over his skin. Closing his eyes he visualized her scanning the pages of poison, and felt muscles all over him twist. He was already regretting giving in and letting her see the poison. He felt strangely like a man standing on the bow of a sinking ship. He did not know why he felt like that, unless it had something to do with the way she was maintaining this long throbbing silence. Then it came, the frail breathless quiver of her voice. "But...this is terrible..." Alessandro turned to look at her. She seemed to shimmer the way she shook so badly. Her lovely fair skin was as white as alabaster against the shock of her fire bright hair and the sparkling blue of her dress. Only her fingers moved, trembling like the rest of her as they sped back and forth through the wad of notes. The scrunched one came to the top and pale lips parted to release a broken choke. "You believe this?" She looked up at him suddenly, glistening green eyes piercing into him, stark with shattering shock.

280

He did not answer. But then he did not need to. The fact that he had produced the poison had spoken for him. Meredith wrenched her eyes back to the letters, then with a sudden jerk she let them fall to the floor so she could lift her hand up to cover her mouth. "Oh, what am I going to do?" Guilt, those had to be words of guilt. "Why don't you just tell me the truth and get it over with!" His sudden burst of blistering fury made her flinch. The truth? Meredith echoed. He wanted to know the truth? Feeling as if she was trying to walk in a rumbling earthquake, she crossed the floor towards him and took hold of his hand. "There is your truth," she shook out, and placed the slither of white plastic in his palm. "I hhate you now. You-you've just spoiled everything." With that, Meredith turned and fled. Alessandro stood staring down at what she'd given him. Having never held such a contraption before, he needed to read what was written on the tiny screen half a dozen times before its meaning finally began to sink in. Pregnant, it told him, 4-5 weeks... Pregnant... A baby... An icy chill crept over his flesh. Like a man about to confront the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life, his eyes drifted to the letters where they still lay on the floor. That sinking ship feeling returned as he walked over to them and bent to gather them up. As he straightened up again, for some unaccountable reason his mind honed in on Marco-his best friend. A guy he would have staked his life on being the best kind of friend a man could have. The same guy he had snatched Meredith away from because he'd seen the two of them as just friendly business colleagues-as Merry had always stated. Marco had told it differently... Marco had implied that he and Meredith had been lovers, yet Alessandro knew-had received irrefutable proof that he had been her first lover. Her only lover. The clearly defined shape of their tri-friendship began to blur as if its sharp corners had been rubbed out. He remembered Marco had been angry with him for muscling in on Meredith, though he'd tried to cover his anger up with sarcasm. Marco should have been his best man at his wedding, but cried off at the last minute, claiming he had caught the flu. Marco was always laughing with Meredith, flirting with Meredith when they were all in each other's company, and he'd always dismissed it as a man thing, the desire to tease and provoke. And Marco had always been conveniently there for Meredith when he was not around-like this evening at the Balfour

281

Ball, holding and kissing her on the lawn without a care as to who might catch them doing it despite all the rumors flying around... He looked back at the letters held in his long tense fingers. You stupid fool, Alessandro, he cursed himself angrily. Marco still wanted Meredith for himself. "Madre de Dio..." he breathed. What had he done?

Chapter Seven Meredith was so sick she feared she was not going to be able to stop. Her world had turned hazy. Butterflies were flying around in her head. She tried a wary sip of water only to have it come back up. I want to die, she thought pityingly and flopped with her cheek resting against cold ceramic, feeling prickling hot yet shivering cold at the same time. Tears bulged in her poor abused throat and she set them free with a pathetically weak sob. Married for barely a year and her husband thought she could happily indulge in a raging affair with his best friend. I so hate him now for believing that. I am never going to forgive him, she vowed as she tried-dared-to raise herself upright, though still sitting on the tiled floor with her sparkling dress spread out around her like an icy cold lagoon she could just as well let herself drown in. And he hadn't even bothered to follow her. He was probably too busy talking to his lawyers, finding out how quickly he could arrange a divorce and rid himself of a wife who could be pregnant by another man. Meredith burst into a wild flood of hot tears right there on the bathroom floor in a pool of kingfisher silk. *** He wasn't an absolute fool. Alessandro sent the dog in first, opening the bedroom door just enough to allow Mutt to slink through the gap. When no sound greeted the dog's arrival, no broken sob as she fell on her most precious friend, he dared to widen the opening and step into the room. All was in darkness except for a beam of light filtering out from her dressing room. As he trod silently towards it, Alessandro saw her and stopped dead. She was lying on their bed in a huddle of snowy white toweling, and the way Mutt had settled down on the rug beside her with his nose between his big front paws, told Alessandro that Meredith was fast asleep. His eyes drifted to the dressing room. The hard thump his heart gave him happened because he could see the suitcase lying open on the floor half packed. She'd been packing to leave him. Who could blame her? He supposed he should feel grateful that exhaustion had gotten the better of her and sent her into that huddle of white toweling on their bed.

282

He pulled in a breath and with a silent gesture he called to the dog. Getting up reluctantly, Mutt came over to him and looked up. Something strange must have been in his expression because the dog gently nuzzled his hand and Alessandro felt the first ever burn of moisture attack his eyes and his throat. "Come on." Turning away, he urged the dog out of the room with him and spent a few minutes settling the animal in his bed made up of several giant cushions and an assortment of stolen clothing. "It is going to be okay," he promised those big brown eyes looking so limpidly up at him. Though as he straightened, he wished he could be as certain about that as he'd sounded. *** Meredith came slowly awake to the strangest feeling that something so dreadful had happened she would have been better off staying asleep. Maria Callas was playing softly in the background. She flicked her eyes open, suddenly so wide awake there wasn't a chance she was going to be able to sink back down into blessed oblivion. "Marco wrote the letters." Stung by surprise at the sound of Alessandro's voice, she flipped over onto her back. He was lying stretched out beside her on top of the covers as she was herself. And he was wearing a bathrobe the same as she was. "What?" she husked out. His eyes were shut. He did not bother to open them. "Marco," he repeated. "I got him to confess a couple of hours ago." Marco? Still not fully catching on to the import of what he was saying, she frowned. "You've been out?" Alessandro nodded. "I called him first to warn him I was coming." An odd kind of wry smile twitched his mouth. "We met up halfway between here and Balfour Manor-think guns drawn at high noon-only this was more like midnight." Intrigued despite not wanting to be, Meredith asked, "You had another fight?" "I would have enjoyed it, but he did not want to fight." Raising his lazy long eyelids, he turned his head to look at her through the sultry dimness of a morning half light. "He'd decided to surrender before we even met up. He witnessed the Balfour ballroom kiss, you see. It told him that no matter how much poison he fed to me about you, I was not going to give you up." At last it began to dawn on her. "You mean...Marco wrote those awful letters?" "Every single one." "How did you find out?" "Now the answer to that is...complicated," he murmured very dryly. "And I'm afraid I don't appear in the good light."

283

Becoming confused again, Meredith tried to lift a hand to push a tumble lock of hair out of her eye only to choke out a shocked gasp, instead. She could not move her hand! Or at least she could move it, but only with the weight of Alessandro's hand firmly attached to it! Staring down the length of space between them, she shot like a rabbit into a kneeling position and stared at the binding wrapped around their two wrists. "You've tied me up!" she shrieked. "No," he denied. "I have tied me up." "What's the difference?" Her free hand was plucking at the binding, and she realized he had tied them together with his black silk tie. "This is the difference." With a tug he brought her toppling down on top of him. She found herself staring directly into his dark chocolate eyes. "Where you go now I have to go," he explained quite calmly. "As my ex-best friend discovered tonight. You've got me, Merry. Tied, bound, trussed and labelled. Possession of Meredith. So the next time you pack a suitcase, make sure that you pack one for me at the same time." "You're mad," she gasped, trying to push up again. No chance-his superior strength kept her flattened against him with the help of their bound wrists. "Crazy," he agreed. "About you. Mad. In love. Punch drunk on it. Scared witless by it. Jealous of any man that looks at you-no, don't pull that sneering face." "Let me go," she demanded, yanking hard on the black silk tie to no avail. "I am not into bondage!" "Marco has always wanted you for himself. When I grabbed you for myself, he let his jealousy and resentment build until it twisted up his head." Heaving out a sigh, Meredith gave up on the uneven battle to get free. Feeling her slump, Alessandro flipped her over and beneath him then covered her mouth with a short, deep, very possessive kiss. "It takes more than resentment to write the kind of poison in those letters," Meredith said when he gave her the chance to speak. Alessandro nodded in agreement, his expression turning bleak. "He wanted to hurt me with them enough to make me want to walk away from you so he could step into my place." "And you believed what was written in them." She was not prepared to forgive him for that. "Not at first," he denied. "But eventually they started to get to me. There was just enough truth in them to make them start to make a sick kind of sense." "I don't do that kind of sick!" Meredith objected. "I meant the times, the dates-the smaller details. And Marco always featured high in your phone calls when we were apart." Flushing a little as if she knew he had a point there, she defended herself. "I've been working with him."

284

"And you laugh with him a lot-" "Because he has my sense of humor-" "And I don't?" Ooh, that was a flash of green-eyed jealousy. "No. You're a bad-tempered moody devil. Maybe I did marry the wrong Italian." She gave a useless tug at her wrist to show that she meant it. "No, you did not-and stop fighting me," he snapped. "Because I have something important I need to tell you." "Well, if it's about stupid letters and CCTV spies, you can just keep quiet. You've been h-horrible to live with recently, and if you think I'm going to-" "You want children," he interrupted. "You've always said you want a big family...." Remembering the baby, Meredith tensed and went still, ready to hear fresh accusations start flying. But, instead, Alessandro delivered the biggest shock of all. "Marco can't have children, cara. He is sterile."

Chapter Eight "What?" Meredith gasped in disbelief. "He has known since he was an adolescent." Alessandro revealed his once best friend's deepest darkest secret. "Oh, that's terrible..." "Well, don't start to feel too sorry for him," Alessandro advised her cynically. "He might play the charmer and the best friend to both of us, but underneath it all he has a very bitter and twisted view on life." "But...sterile, Alessandro...you can almost understand why he feels that way." "That he was willing to wreck what you and I have going together so that we don't achieve what he cannot?" "What?" "You heard me." He sighed. "He's that twisted up, cara. He told me to my face, too." It was only when she saw the bleak look enter his eyes that she realized how hurt he was feeling by Marco's betrayal of their long friendship. Reaching up with her free hand, she was about to tenderly push a stray lock of hair away from his brow and say something soothing when a sudden thought hit and her fingers stilled a half inch away from their target. "You only decided to believe I was telling you the truth because of the baby!" Losing the bleak look, Alessandro honed his sharpened gaze on paling her face. "No," he said quickly. "No, Merry..." Catching hold of her hovering fingers, he crushed them into his. "This is the point when you have to place your trust in me. I did not come to my senses because I linked your

285

pregnancy with Marco's sterility-what difference would it have made to the two of you having an affair?" he pointed out. "Then what did change your mind about me?" "Madre di Dio," he groaned. "This is going to sound no better when I tell it to you!" Then she didn't want to know! "Get off me." She gave a push at his shoulder. "You were a virgin," he husked out. "I was your first lover. When I first met you, Marco had told me that he was your lover, but I laughed him off because you didn't behave like lovers-" "I told you we weren't!" "But I only remembered that conversation with him after you shocked my jealous head into thinking clearly again-tonight!" As she tried again to push him away, he growled something not very polite about stubborn women and pinned her clenched fist to the pillow beside her head. "If he could lie to me about that, Merry-" he persisted "-it hit me that he could lie about other things, and it suddenly came to me that Marco had written the letters." "Too convenient." Meredith denounced his logic. "The last thing it was is convenient. You had just handed me a pen thing, which was telling me you are pregnant. We should be celebrating that, bella mia, not fighting about him." Meredith knew he was right, but it did not stop the tears from flooding her eyes. "I was so shook up when I called you up last night to tell you about the baby. I wanted you to jump on a plane and come home to mme." "But you got my bad temper, instead." With a growl of remorse, he claimed her full soft mouth. "I'm sorry," he husked between brief hot kisses. "I was very unhappy." He was really going for broke now, Meredith noted. "I pretty much hated myself for suspecting you." She nodded her head in encouragement between kisses. "If I could take the past twenty-four hours back I would consign them into oblivion. But I cannot, so you are going to have to forgive me-what would our baby have to say if you did not?" Oh, that was so very sneaky. Meredith drew back from the arrival of the next kiss. "I love you quite pathetically badly." His luscious dark eyes tried to eat through the sparks in her eyes. "You are my life, and I am going to prove how sorry I am for doubting you." "How?" Alessandro apparently couldn't help it. He grinned. "Stupid question, Merry mia." As her cheeks turned pink, he moved their bound hands to rest them on her flat stomach. "But first I am going to acquaint myself with this tiny miracle about to happen," he murmured. "This really clever bit of mixing of the best of you and me..."

286

Meredith squirmed a little when he fed their hands inside her robe and felt instantly drenched in the silken heat of his gentle touch. He moved closer until his face was all she could see, and she knew he was going to kiss her. "I still have not forgiven you," she warned him a trifle breathlessly. "I promise to work hard on making you forgive me," he vowed and claimed her mouth with his again. Not hard and hot and passionate as he had kissed her in the middle of Balfour's ballroom, but slow and soft and so sensationally tender, Meredith shifted restlessly as she began to melt. "Untie us," she whispered, needing her hand free so that she could touch him. But Alessandro just shook his head. "I like being bound to you, it makes me feel safe." Safe...there was nothing whatsoever safe about Alessandro when he started caressing her the way that he was doing. With the deft moves of a man who knew all about seduction, he slid their bound hands up her body and made sure that it was his fingers that closed around one of her breasts then he deepened the tender kiss, dipping carefully between her parted lips and gently kneading her breast. "Oh," she breathed as the silken heat inside her gained momentum. Her fingers strained in an effort to reach up and touch his lean hard cheek. As if it knew it had to do it, the binding slipped its knot and suddenly she was free to do as she wished. "You tie really bad knots," she whispered. "Perhaps," he conceded, running the tip of his tongue along the ultra-sensitive wall of her abdomen. "But I am really good at doing this..." He was, too. It was a long time later when Mutt woofed at their closed bedroom door and Meredith stirred lazily. "He wants to go out." He's your dog," Alessandro reminded her without a hint of conscience. "But I'm in a delicate condition..." Wrapped very comfortably around her, Alessandro lifted his head up, dark hair a cute rumpled mess and his chocolate eyes so languorously sleepy, Meredith wriggled a little because he was just so sexy like this. "You blackmailing witch." Her green eyes looked back at him with perfect innocence, and her even white teeth plucked at her full soft lower lip. Maria Callas still played softly in the background. The dog woofed again. Drowning, gorgeous tension was trickling through Meredith and she moved ever so sensually to it. "I love you so much, Alessandro," she told him softly. "And I am never-" she slid her arms around his neck "ever going to let you spend more than one tiny night away from me again." "You will move to Milan?" She nodded. "No one would have had the power to cause trouble between us if we'd lived and worked out of the same city, could they?"

287

The tears were back. Alessandro lowered his mouth to lick them away. "It won't happen again, Merry. I won't be such a fool as to let it." "And I'm having a baby." She sighed with all the blissful wonder of it. "Our baby... I feel...magical." She looked it, too. "Beautiful, magical, wonderful..." Mutt woofed again. Alessandro's answering growl could have beaten any the dog might want to demonstrate. He eased inside her with the quick hard satin sureness of a man sure of his welcome, and a low and huskily delivered, "Mutt is going to have to wait...."

Chapter Nine Striding back into the bedroom, Alessandro dropped the morning newspaper down onto Meredith’s lap as she was easing herself up the pillows after a long blissful sleep. Pushing her tumbled hair from her face, she blinked. "Read," Alessandro instructed as he removed his robe. Yawning as she glanced down, Meredith almost choked on a dismayed shriek. "Scandal!" the headline shouted. "Illegitimacy Rocks the Balfour Legacy…There is No Balfour Blood Flowing in Zoe Balfour’s Veins!" "Oh, dear God," Meredith exclaimed, snatching up the newspaper to stare wide-eyed at the huge photograph accompanying the shocking headline. "Just look at the twins trying to pull each other’s hair out!" "I seem to have married into a bucket of scandal," Alessandro drawled lazily as he climbed back into bed. "’The truth was revealed by the beautiful Balfour twins, who were caught in the midst of a blazing cat-fight last night, over whether to tell their baby sister about their shocking discovery,’" Meredith read out. "At least our brewing scandal has been well and truly buried in favor of this bigger one," Alessandro pointed out. "As if I care about that," Meredith chided. "I’m more concerned for poor Zoe. What a terrible way for her to find out! Just listen," she instructed. "’This is the second illegitimate family member to be outed in as many months—first Mia, now Zoe. It seems that this super glamorous dynasty has skeletons none of us dared imagine. Could there be more…?’" "Intriguing proposition," Alessandro murmured, sliding an arm around his wife to topple her backwards so he could come to lean over her. "I am sure we will find out soon enough, but for now…"

288

Dangerous Secrets by Shirlee McCoy After a busy week at school, teacher Shauna Trenton is looking forward to her days of rest. The fact that she has no one to share it with doesn’t bother her in the least—after all, she doesn’t need to have her heart broken yet again. But her uneventful life is turned upside down when upon arriving home, she’s held at knifepoint on her own front porch! When he hears screams coming from his new neighbor’s home, Levi McLeary doesn’t hesitate to investigate, managing to scare off the attacker in the process. Recently returned to Deer Park, Washington, the last person he expects to find living next door is Shauna, the girl he left behind. And when it appears that the attack was not simply a random mugging, Levi begins to wonder if God has brought him back to his hometown for a reason.…

Chapter One The porch light was out. Shauna Trenton made a mental note to change the bulb as she pulled into her driveway. One more thing to add to her ever-growing Saturday to-do list. And she'd better not forget to do it or she'd hear about it on Sunday. Her day of rest. More like a day to listen to her mother explain all the reasons why Shauna needed a man in her life. As if having a boyfriend or fiancé or husband would solve all of life's troubles. Shauna nearly snorted at the thought. Matthew sure hadn't done that. All her former fiancé had done was cost her a boatload of cash and a broken heart. Not the first time her heart had broken, but it would be the last. She grabbed her book bag and purse from the passenger seat and opened the car door. The cool November day had turned into a cold, dark night while she'd met with parents and discussed their children's progress. At least tomorrow was Saturday. No parents. No students. Just a whole day puttering around the house, catching up on chores. Exciting. "Pitiful is more like it," she muttered as she fished keys out of her purse and jogged up the porch steps. A soft sound carried through the darkness. Footfall on grass, fabric rustling as someone drew near. Shauna stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She glanced over her shoulder, her heart leaping as she saw a shadow moving across the lawn. Medium height. Heavyset. Face hidden in darkness. A neighbor or a stranger? "Can I help you?" She kept her gaze focused on the approaching figure as she shoved the key in the lock and tried to turn it. It stuck. Of course. Fixing the old lock was another to-do list item. She wiggled the key, her palm sweaty and slipping on the metal door handle. "Come on!" The key turned, and she shoved the door open as the figure sprinted forward, pounding up the stairs behind her, slamming into her with enough force to send her flying into the door frame. She screamed, her purse and book bag dropping as she turned to fight. Screamed again as she caught sight of a faceless, featureless person. An inhuman creature. No. A human wearing a mask. Carrying a knife! A knife pointed at Shauna's heart.

289

"Whatever you want, you can have it." The door was right behind her. Another step and she'd be inside. If she didn't get a knife thrust through her chest first. The knife-wielding lunatic snagged the book bag and purse, the knife grazing Shauna's brand-new pants and slicing a neat hole in them. At least it hadn't sliced her leg, but it might if she didn't get her head together and move. "Everything okay over here?" A masculine voice broke through the darkness, and Shauna's attacker turned toward the sound. This was her chance, and Shauna took it, jumping back and slamming the door, her fingers shaking as she tried to turn the lock. It finally slid home. She pressed her back against the door, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. The doorbell rang, the lilting chime making her jump. "Who's there?" "Your new neighbor, Levi McLeary. Is everything okay?" Levi McLeary? As in sinfully handsome, darkly compelling Levi McLeary? Shauna's first date, first kiss, first love? No way. It couldn't be him. She peered out the peephole, searching the darkness and finding a tall figure standing on the porch. The tilt of his head, the confident ease of his stance…they were hauntingly familiar, and her breath caught, her pulse raced. It was him. After twelve years, Levi was back. Shauna didn't know if she should open the door, or run and hide. "Ma'am?" He called out, and she knew she had no choice. She took a deep breath, braced herself and unlocked the door.

Chapter Two Levi didn't know who he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, but he knew who he wasn't expecting to see. And there she was. Silky red curls shining in the light from the foyer, blue eyes hidden in shadows. Shauna Trenton. Just as beautiful as she'd been the day he'd walked out of her life. "Levi! What are you doing here?" She sounded as surprised as he felt, and her hand shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I heard someone scream. I thought I'd better come check things out. Is everything okay?"

290

"Someone came at me with a knife. Took my purse and a book bag filled with paperwork, and then ran off when he heard you coming. I need to call the police." "Tell them the guy headed east on Arden Street. Dark colored car, older model Chevy or Ford station wagon." "You saw him?" Her voice trembled, and she scanned the area beyond the porch. "I almost caught him. He was getting in the car as I crossed the yard but drove away before I could reach him." "Did you get a license plate number?" "If the car had one I didn't see it. But he did leave his knife behind, and that might help the police find him." "His knife?" "It's over there." He gestured to a butcher knife lying a few feet away, and Shauna's eyes widened. "He must have dropped it when he heard you coming." She crouched, and reached toward the knife. "Better not touch it. There might be prints on it." Levi grabbed her hand, nearly releasing it again as heat raced up his arm. Twelve years apart and a simple touch still shook him to the core. If Shauna felt the same, she didn't show it. Just tugged her hand away. "You're right. I wasn't thinking. I'd better call the police now. The sooner they start looking, the more likely it is they'll catch him." She hurried into the house, and Levi followed, ignoring the frown she shot his way as she lifted the phone and dialed. Despite her seeming calm, her hand still shook and her eyes were filled with fear. She was terrified, and there was no way he planned to leave her alone. Not with a potential killer on the loose. Shauna met his eyes, the wariness in her gaze unmistakable. He should step away, give her some space, but he hadn't expected to see her his first night back in Deer Park, Washington. Now that he had, he couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop remembering the way her arms had curved around his waist when they were teenagers, the way she'd shared her dreams so willingly. Small-town dreams that he hadn't wanted for himself. He'd told her that the day he'd walked out of her life. He hadn't regretted it, though he'd always regretted hurting her. Maybe that's what he should say to her when she hung up the phone. She frowned again, turning her back on him. Or maybe not.

Chapter Three Shauna hung up the phone, shooting Levi a look that told him exactly how she felt about having him in her house. Not happy. And he couldn't blame her. They hadn't parted on good terms, and that had been all on him. She'd wanted to compromise, find a way to work things out. He'd wanted a fresh start with nothing to hold him back from pursuing his dreams. No one to hold him back.

291

"The police will be here in a few minutes. If you want to go back home, I'll give them your contact information, and they can let you know if they have any questions." Shauna was hinting broadly that she wanted Levi to leave, and if he'd been another kind of man he might have. But he wasn't. When he started something he finished it. He'd run out of his house when he'd heard her screaming, planning to do whatever it took to help. He wasn't going back to his house until he was absolutely certain he had helped, that Shauna was safe, and that there was no danger of the knifeman showing up on her doorstep again. "I think I'll stick around until they get here." He dropped onto the sofa, ignoring her irritated scowl. "I really don't think that's necessary." "Because having me here makes you uncomfortable?" "Why would it?" "I'm not sure. Maybe you can fill me in while we wait." "You're as exasperating as ever, Levi. You know that?" She sat on the edge of an easy chair, her cheeks pink. "And you're as lovely as ever." "Still a shameless flirt, too? Why am I not surprised?" "Actually, I gave up flirting years ago. What I just said was a compliment, pure and simple." "Then I suppose I should thank you." "But you won't?" "I'm way past the days of enjoying childish games, and that's what this conversation feels like." She frowned, crossing the room and staring out the window. "I apologize. That's not what I intended it to be." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm the one who's sorry. After what just happened, I'm on edge, but I shouldn't take that out on you." "You're not." "I was, so let's not argue about it." She smiled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Deer Park is supposed to be— " The sound of sirens filled the room, cutting off her words. "It sounds like the police are here." She hurried from the room, and Levi followed, waiting a few feet away as she opened the door. Cold air drifted in, carrying the scent of pine needles and rain. They were the scents of Levi's past and, for better or worse, his future. His uncle's illness had forced him back to a place where he'd never thought he'd be. And dropped him back into Shauna's life. There was a reason for that. Levi believed that as surely as he believed that God had led him back to Deer Park, back to the life he'd once turned his back on. Maybe, eventually, God would see fit to fill him in on the

292

reason for that. Until then, Levi would just have to go with the flow and pray he didn't make as big of a fool of himself at thirty as he had at eighteen.

Chapter Four Footsteps sounded on the porch and a uniformed officer appeared in the doorway, his gaze jumping from Shauna to Levi and back again. "Heard there was some trouble here, Shauna. What's going on?" Levi stayed silent as Shauna filled the officer in. Her face was pale, her hands fisted. Still, she managed to sound calm and composed. That was something he'd forgotten about her, the way she faced troubles with determination and strength. He'd admired that as much as he'd admired her easy-going nature and loving heart. What he hadn't admired were her small goals, her little dreams. He'd told her that the day he'd broken up with her. Not one of his finer moments, but, then, he'd been young and foolish and sure God had more in store for him than work at his family's contracting company and marriage to a woman who wanted nothing more than a teaching job and a big family. "Levi McLeary, right?" The officer took a step toward him, his words pulling Levi from thoughts of the past. "That's right." "I thought I recognized you. It's been a long time." "Twelve years," he responded, but couldn't quite place the man's deeply tanned face and dark brown eyes. "Bet you don't remember me. We didn't exactly hang with the same crowd. I'm Richard Anderson. We were in English composition together our senior year." "Nice to see you again, Richard." "Shauna said you got a look at the perp's car?" "It was American. Chevy or Ford. Big. Looked like an old model station wagon. Dark color. Black or blue." "Sounds like you got a pretty good look. That should help us find the guy." "I hope so. I don't think I'll feel safe again until I know he's behind bars." Shauna spoke quietly, her gaze on Richard, and Levi had the impression that she'd rather stare at the officer all day than look his way. "We'll do everything we can to make sure that happens. In the meantime, if you remember anything else, give me a call. Levi, do you mind giving me your contact information. I may have some more questions for you after we're finished here." "Sure." He rattled off his new address and phone number as Richard scribbled in a small notebook. "So, you're right next door?" "That's right. My uncle is undergoing cancer treatment, and I'm taking over at his business until he's ready to return. Since he owns the property next door, he's letting me use the place while I'm in town." "The Harrison property?" Shauna sounded surprised and maybe a little alarmed. "That's right."

293

"It's been on the market for months. Your uncle didn't mention that he bought it." Or that you were going to be living there. She didn't add the last, but Levi was sure that's what she was thinking. "He didn't mention that the two of you were friends, either. But, then, that's how Uncle Jack is. Only gives out information on a need to know basis." And he probably hadn't thought either Levi or Shauna needed to know that he was arranging for them to be neighbors. "I'm still surprised he didn't mention it. I've had his grandkids in my class the past couple of years, and we've gotten to know each other pretty well." "So, you really did become a teacher." "I'm afraid so." She smiled, but there was no hiding the bite in her words. "Mind if we walk outside for a minute, Levi. I'd like you to show me where the car was parked," Richard broke in. "No problem." Levi followed him out to the porch, but he'd rather have stayed. Shauna, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to watch him walk away.

Chapter Five It was pitch black outside and cold, and Levi told himself he was anxious to answer Richard's questions and get back to his warm house. The truth was a little more complicated. The truth was that he wouldn't have minded going back into Shauna's house and spending a few more minutes with her. Catch up a little more. Find out how she'd spent the last dozen years, what had become of her dreams of having an old Victorian house with a big family to fill it. Little dreams, he'd called them just before he'd told her he had bigger dreams for his life. Big dreams that he'd fulfilled. Lately, though, he'd been thinking little dreams weren't such a bad thing. When he looked at Shauna, he couldn't help wondering if he'd passed up on the one dream that he really should have fulfilled. A wife. A few kids. A nice home. A few years ago, he'd thought he would have them all. Instead, he had a thriving business and a penthouse apartment in downtown Seattle. He frowned, not liking the direction of his thoughts. He was content, happy even, but something was missing, and maybe his uncle knew it. Maybe that's why Jack had bought the little house right next door to Levi's high-school flame. "So, where was the car parked?" Richard asked, and Levi gestured to a spot across the street. "It was under the tall pine. I noticed it because it wasn't there when I arrived this afternoon. That would mean the driver parked there sometime between three and six."

294

"And the car was a dark-colored station wagon?" "It looked like it." "But you didn't see the driver?" "Just a glimpse as he was running to the car. Not enough to give a description." "Too bad. That might have helped us find the guy." Richard turned on a flashlight and aimed it at the knife that was still lying on the porch floor. "I'm going to have Shauna turn on the light out here. Maybe our perp left something besides that knife behind." He knocked on the door, pushed it open, obviously familiar enough with Shauna to walk into her house without an invitation. Why that bothered Levi, he didn't know. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't want to acknowledge it. "Can you turn on the light out here, Shaun?" "The bulb is blown. I noticed it when I got home." She appeared in the threshold, her face pale. "Blown? You're sure about that?" Richard's flashlight beam landed on the fixture beside the door, and he leaned close, frowning. "What else would it be?" "Looks to me like there isn't a bulb in the fixture at all." "Of course there is. I leave the light on so the porch will be lit when I get home every night." "Take a look for yourself. There's no bulb." "I don't understand. There was one there this morning." Shauna stepped out onto the porch at the same moment Levi took a step forward. They collided, his arms going around her as hers wrapped around him. Without any thought at all, his arms tightened, his hand smoothed down her back, and he felt what he hadn't thought he could—as if he were finally home.

Chapter Six She should not be standing in Levi’s arms. Shauna knew it, but for a moment she didn’t care. What harm could hugging an old friend do? What harm? You could have your heart broken all over again, that’s what harm! Right. And she did not want another broken heart. She stepped back, her cheeks heating as she met Richard’s gaze. What was he thinking? That she was falling for Levi again? She wasn’t. She wouldn’t. "There was a bulb in that fixture this morning, Rich. It was on when I left for work."

295

"You’re sure?" "Of course." She sidled past Levi, doing her best not to come in contact with him. She didn’t need any more reminders of how good it felt to be in his arms. "There isn’t one now." Rich removed the fixture cover. He was right. No bulb. "That’s strange." "Looks like we’re dealing with a premeditated crime. Have you had any trouble at work? Any run-ins with the neighbors?" Richard seemed more intense than he’d been when he first arrived, and his concern only added to Shauna’s fear. "Of course not." "How about an ex-husband or boyfriend?" Levi broke in, and Shauna had the urge to tell him she had a hundred ex-boyfriends pining for her love. Unfortunately, her love life had been pretty dull since Matthew stood up in front of their wedding guests and proclaimed his love for another woman. "None that would be holding a grudge." "What about Matthew? I hear he’s back in town." Richard looked up from the notebook he was scribbling in. "He called a few times, but I didn’t have anything to say to him. And I didn’t return the calls." "I think I’ll give him a ring. See what he has to say." Richard tucked the notebook in his pocket. "In the meantime, keep your doors locked and your eyes open. If anything comes up, call me. You have my cell phone number, right?" "Yes." "And I’ll be right next door." Levi offered as if they still had the kind of relationship that would make her want to depend on him. "I’ll be fine. Thanks." "Probably, but in case you aren’t, I’m a lot closer than the police." Shauna didn’t think she needed a reminder of that. All she had to do was look out the kitchen window and see the lights from the Harrison place, and she’d know Levi was there. "Thanks." It was the only response she could manage, and Levi nodded, said a quick goodnight to Richard and jogged down the porch steps. Shauna watched as darkness swallowed him, remembering all the times she’d watched him walk away when they were teens. Remembering the last time he’d walked away. "Strange, isn’t it?" Richard asked, and Shauna forced her attention away from the past. "What?" "That Levi is back. He made it pretty clear he wasn’t a small town guy." "Jack needs help. And Levi is family." "True, but maybe there’s something else to it. Maybe he’s tired of big city living, and he’s finally ready to come home."

296

Shauna doubted that, but she saw no sense in arguing the point. She and Levi had cared about each other once, but that was a long time ago. "Do you think you’ll find prints on the knife?" She changed the subject, turning the conversation back to the real problem. "I hope so. I’ll give you a call one way or another. In the meantime—" "I’ll keep the doors locked." She walked into the house, offering Richard a quick wave before she closed the door.

Chapter Seven The house seemed too quiet after Richard left. Shauna went into the kitchen, filled the tea kettle and set it to boil. It had been a long day, and the night stretched out in front of her, dark and quiet and lonely. Lonely? She wasn’t lonely. She poured hot water into a cup, dropped a tea bag into it, her gaze caught by a light shining from a window of the Harrison place. A shadow crossed the light. Levi moving through his kitchen. Maybe making a cup of coffee or unpacking his things, going about his life just as he had for over a decade. Shauna was going to go about her life the same way. There’d be no renewal of friendship or dating or anything else. Two broken hearts in a lifetime were two too many, and there was no way she was going to risk being hurt again. She brought the tea to her room, turned on the small television and tried to lose herself in mindless sitcoms. But her thoughts kept circling back to Levi, their conversation replaying itself over and over in her mind until she finally drifted off to sleep. The television was still on when the phone rang. Shauna sat up quickly, her heart pounding, her mind still foggy with sleep as she grabbed the phone. "Hello?" "Shauna? It’s Krista Mallory." "What’s wrong?" Shauna glanced at the clock. Three in the morning wasn’t a normal time for her boss to be calling. "There’s been a break-in at the school." "When?" "Less than an hour ago. I wouldn’t have called, but it’s your room they broke into. The police are asking if anything is missing, and I’m not sure what to tell them." "Do you need me to come in?" "If you can." "Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there." She hung up and dressed quickly, the last vestiges of sleep gone, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The fact that she’d been accosted at knifepoint hours before her classroom was broken into couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone had something against her, and she had no idea who or why. That scared her more than she wanted to admit. For the first time in a long time, she wished she had a man around. A big strong burly guy who could walk out to the car with her, make sure no knife-wielding lunatic was waiting to pounce.

297

She scowled, frustrated with her thoughts. She’d spent the two years since her wedding day humiliation convincing herself that she was more than happy to live life alone. One run-in with a maniac, and she was ready to throw in the towel and hunt for a man. "But you don’t need a man. And you don’t want one. So walk out the door, get in your car and go!" The pep talk got her to the front door, and she paused there, hand on the doorknob as she tried to convince herself that no one was lying in wait outside. But she couldn’t. She’d been on the wrong end of a butcher knife just a few hours ago, and there was no way she was walking outside unprotected. She grabbed the fireplace poker, and carried it like a spear as she jogged to her car.

Chapter Eight The night was silent, the darkness deep black as Shauna shoved the car keys into the lock. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely turn the key. She thought about putting the poker down, but anyone could be watching from the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The thought made her shiver. "It’s a little early in the morning for a drive, isn’t it?" The voice was so unexpected, Shauna screamed, swinging the poker, ready to bring down whoever was behind her. "Whoa! Careful with that thing, Red. I’m not in the mood to take a trip to the emergency room tonight." The poker was caught mid-swing and yanked from Shauna’s hand. Red? There’d only been one person who’d called her that—only one person that she’d ever allowed to call her that. Levi. Anger flooded through her, replacing fear. She clung to it as she snatched the poker from his hand and threw it into the car. "If you don’t want to make a trip to the emergency room, then you shouldn’t sneak up on people in the dark." "I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking across the yard, and I wasn’t being all that quiet about it." "Who walks across his yard at three in the morning?" "Apparently, both of us." "Someone broke into my classroom at school, and my principal wants me to come in to see if anything is missing, so I’ve got an excuse." "I was working and saw your lights go on. I thought I’d better come by to make sure everything was okay, so guess I’ve got an excuse, too." There was a smile in his voice, and if she looked hard enough, Shauna was sure she’d see him grinning through the darkness. She wasn’t going to look.

298

"I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, I really need to get going." She knew she sounded stiff and formal, and she didn’t care. She got in the car, grabbed the door handle, started to close the door, but Levi held it open. "It’s probably not a good idea for you to drive over there by yourself." "Why not? I drive to the school by myself every day." "This isn’t every day." "It doesn’t matter. I still have to go to the school." "So, why not let me come along? If anyone is waiting on the road, hoping to catch you out alone, he’ll be disappointed." "Thanks for giving me more to worry about." "That wasn’t my intention." "Then what was?" "To keep you safe." "That’s not your responsibility." She shoved the key in the ignition, but didn’t bother putting the car in drive. There was safety in numbers, and she’d be foolish to turn down Levi’s offer just because they’d dated years ago. Just because he’d broken her heart years ago. "Go ahead and get in." There. She’d said it, and it hadn’t been nearly as difficult as she thought it would be. Levi was an old crush. Nothing more. As long as she kept that in mind, she’d be just fine.

Chapter Nine Levi rounded the car and got into the passenger’s seat, the scent of his aftershave filling the car as he closed the door. Closed the two of them in. Together. Maybe letting him escort her to the school wasn’t such a good idea. Shauna pulled out of the driveway, anyway. What else could she do? Admit he made her uncomfortable and kick him out of the car? That would be the same as admitting he still had a hold over her, and there was no way she planned to do that. "Don’t look so scared, Red. I don’t bite." "I’m not scared, and stop calling me Red." She took the turn onto the main road a little too quickly and forced herself to ease off the gas pedal. "Why? I’ve always called you that." "You called me that a lifetime ago. We’re different people now."

299

"If you’d said that to me a day ago, I would have agreed. But right now, sitting in this car with you, it feels like we haven’t changed at all." "We’ve changed plenty." But the way her pulse raced, the way every nerve went on high alert when Levi was near, that was the same. Too much the same. And it really did scare her. "Shauna—" "I didn’t let you come along so we could discuss the past and how we have or haven’t changed, so how about we drop the subject and move on to something else?" "Like what?" "Like why you were up working at three in the morning." "I’m running my uncle’s business, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have fingers in my own." "Jack said you’ve got a large architecture firm in Seattle. I guess it’s not going to run itself." "No, but I’ve got good people in place. I was just checking over a few things they sent for approval." He leaned forward, switching the radio station without bothering to ask permission just as he had when they’d dated. Classical music filled the car. His favorite. "You could have asked before you switched stations." "Sorry. I guess that’s something else that hasn’t changed." "I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to discuss the past." Her fingers clenched around the steering wheel, but she absolutely refused to lose her cool again. "Then I guess it’s my turn to choose a different subject." "Like?" "Matthew." "What?" She sputtered the word, too surprised to do anything else. "Who was he?" "That’s part of the past, and not open for discussion." "I see." "You see what?" "He either broke your heart or—" "Levi, if you don’t drop the subject right now, I’m going to pull the car over and walk to Deer Park Elementary. Alone." "Wouldn’t it be easier to kick me out of the car?"

300

"Knowing you, you’d refuse to go," she said without thinking of how it sounded, of the way "knowing you" made it sound as if she did know him. As if the past twelve years hadn’t changed anything between them. He chuckled but didn’t say another word about Matthew or anything else—which was fine with Shauna. She preferred the silence. She really did. Still frustrated, she switched the station back to the one she preferred, let the upbeat music fill the car. It did little to ease her irritation. God had a reason for everything. That’s what she’d always believed, but Shauna couldn’t think of one good reason why Levi McLeary had walked back into her life. And, as far as she was concerned, the sooner he walked back out, the happier she’d be.

Chapter Ten Deer Park Elementary School hadn’t changed much since Levi was a kid. Tile floors still gleamed beneath overhead lights. Student art work still decorated walls. The scent of cafeteria food and bleach still hung in the air. "You can wait here. I shouldn’t be long." Shauna pointed to a bench outside the principal’s office, but Levi had no intention of sitting on it. He’d done his time when he was a trouble-making kid. "I’ll come with you." "That’s not necessary." "Shauna! Thanks for coming." A dark-haired woman hurried toward them, interrupting any further argument. That was fine with Levi. He had no intention of arguing. He was simply going to stick with Shauna until she was locked safely in her house again. "No problem. Is there much damage?" "It’s more of a mess than anything else. Hopefully, it won’t take long for you to put together an itemized list of what’s missing. I’m sure you and your friend have better things to do with your time than hang out here." "We’re not friends. Levi is my new neighbor. Levi, this is Krista Mallory. She’s the principal here." "Nice to meet you, Ms. Mallory." Levi offered his hand, but his attention was still on Shauna. She’d already started down the hall, her ponytail swinging with every step. She was as slender as she’d been when they were in high school, but she carried herself with more confidence. Not a kid, anymore. A woman. And a beautiful one. "So, you’re Shauna’s neighbor?" Krista asked as they followed Shauna down the hall. "That’s right." "You must have moved into the Harrison place." "That’s what I’ve been told." A few yards ahead, Shauna stepped into her classroom, and Levi and Krista followed behind. The room had been trashed, and two police officers stood beside a broken window near the back of the room. Shauna was at her desk, sifting through piles of school supplies. Despite the chaos, she looked at home there. Levi couldn’t help remembering how often she’d talked about being a teacher, talked about having a classroom filled with children and a house full of the same. Even as a teen, Levi had known that Shauna was the kind of person who’d make her dreams come true. He’d been afraid he’d become part of them, be locked into small-town life and never escape.

301

Right now, watching her gather papers from a desk littered with debris, he wasn’t sure what he’d been so determined to escape from. She looked up, meeting his gaze, her eyes a darker blue than he remembered. He could get lost in them if he let himself, could look into their depths and imagine he was seeing more than the present. That he was looking into the past, looking into the future. Maybe that should have scared him, but it didn’t. He’d dated plenty of women over the past twelve years, had toyed with the idea of marriage once or twice, but no one had ever touched his heart the way Shauna had. The way she still did. That was something worth fighting for—something worth giving up city life and big-time dreams for. He’d been too foolish to realize that when he was a teen. But he knew it now, and he had every intention of doing what he should have done twelve years ago. He was going to offer Shauna everything she’d once dreamed of, and he was going to pray it was enough to win her heart.

Chapter Eleven "Anything missing?" Levi asked as he approached Shauna’s desk. She didn’t look up. Maybe she was afraid of what she’d see if she looked in his eyes. "It’s hard to tell." She scooped up a handful of pencils and dropped them into a metal pencil holder. "Want some help cleaning up?" "What I want is to go back in time and start yesterday over." She picked up a broken ceramic mug, righted the trash can and threw the mug into it. "So you could do things differently and prevent this from happening?" "So I could pull the covers over my head and stay in bed. Maybe it wouldn’t prevent this from happening, but it could help me avoid some other unpleasant things." "Are you talking about the armed robbery or seeing me again?" "Both." "I hope seeing me doesn’t rank as low as being accosted at knifepoint." "You’re a few steps up from it." She offered a brief smile and handed him a half-dozen bottles of glue. "Since you offered to help, how about putting these in the supply closet across the room?" "Is that your way of getting rid of me?" "If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d have asked you to leave." "How is it going, Shauna?" One of the officers approached—a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties. "I’ve had better days." "I guess so. I just spoke to Richard Anderson. He said there was trouble out at your place last night." "That’s right." "It doesn’t seem like this can be a coincidence, does it?" The officer gestured at the vandalized room.

302

"I wish I could say it did." "Have you had any run-ins with your students? Is it possible one of them did this?" "I teach third grade. My students are still babies." "Third graders are capable of breaking and entering." "Most aren’t capable of driving cars, though," Levi cut in. There was no way the person he’d seen running from Shauna’s house had been a third grader. "That doesn’t mean the knifeman wasn’t connected to one of Shauna’s students." "I have a really sweet group of kids this year. I can’t believe any of them would be part of something like this." "So you don’t have any loners? Maybe a kid who doesn’t quite fit in?" "I have a new student. Nicolas Samuels. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but that’s because he’s still trying to find his way." Shauna threw papers into a box and lifted a pink jacket from the floor. A brown purse lay open beneath it, chap stick and a wallet on the floor beside it. "What in the world? Where did this come from?" "Is it yours?" The officer asked, and Shauna nodded. "It’s the one that was stolen earlier. Why would someone take it and then break into my classroom and leave it?" She looked scared and vulnerable, and it seemed natural to put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She fit perfectly there, just as she had when they were teens. If they’d been alone, Levi might have slipped his other arm around her waist, pulled her in for a hug. She met his gaze, her lashes long and golden and shielding whatever was in her eyes. Even without makeup she was beautiful. And looking down into her face, Levi couldn’t remember why he’d ever believed that she wasn’t the kind of woman he’d want to spend forever with. "We’ll have to take it in for evidence." The officer lifted the purse and put it in an evidence bag, her words seeming to break whatever spell had held Shauna in Levi’s embrace. She stepped away, put a few feet between them. "No problem." "Aside from finding the purse, is there anything else that you’ve noticed? Missing items? Things that don’t belong?" "Some of my students’ folders are missing. I keep them in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I’d say a good third are gone," Shauna said, leading Krista and the officer to her desk and fanning out a pile of folders. Levi stayed where he was, giving her the space she seemed to want, knowing that pushing Shauna too hard would only drive her away.

Chapter Twelve Monday morning came too quickly, and Shauna barely managed to drag herself out of bed and into the shower. It had taken most of Saturday to right her trashed classroom. Sunday had been church, dinner with the folks and fielding questions about the break-in at school, the armed robbery and Levi.

303

Levi. She still couldn’t believe he’d moved in next door. Couldn’t believe that her heart still skipped a beat each time she saw him. Couldn’t believe how right it still felt to be in his arms. "Enough! He’s just an old friend," she muttered to herself as she grabbed a can of diet cola from the fridge and hurried outside. The police had returned her purse the day before, and she pulled her keys out as she jogged down the porch stairs. Things had been quiet since the break-in at the school, but she still felt uneasy and anxious. Someone had an ax to grind with her, and Shauna wouldn’t feel completely safe until the police found out who it was. "Looks like we’re both starting our days early." Levi’s voice carried across the yard, and Shauna turned, her heart doing exactly what she knew it would when she saw him—skipping and dancing and celebrating. Fickle foolish heart. "Jack must be a real task master for you to be out and about before seven. The way I remember it, you didn’t believe in opening your eyes before eight. How many first period classes did you miss in high school?" The question left her mouth before she could think it through, and she blushed. She should not be bringing up the past when she was trying so hard to forget that she and Levi had shared one. "More than I want to admit." "You still managed to pass every class." "I had a good tutor my senior year." "Not that you ever really needed one." She’d tutored him in calculus the year they’d dated. She didn’t remember much teaching going on, but he’d somehow managed to ace every test. "I needed you, and you were a great teacher, Shauna. I don’t know why I ever tried to convince you to do something else with your life." He smiled, walking toward her, his suit perfectly fitted, his face clean shaven. He wore the past twelve years well, fine lines at the corners of his eyes giving him a look of maturity he hadn’t had when they were dating. It appealed to Shauna in a way she hadn’t expected and didn’t like. "You didn’t want to be limited by my small-town dreams." That’s what he’d told her the day he’d said he was going to Seattle to attend college and to create a new life for himself. A new life that didn’t include her. "I should never have said that. I was young and—" "It was meant to be, Levi. We weren’t. There’s no sense in rehashing it all." She opened the car door, would have gotten in and driven away. But Levi put a hand on her arm, the heat of his touch shooting through her. "I was young and foolish. I’m older now and hopefully a little wiser." "Meaning?" She knew she should pull away, but his touch was familiar and new all at once, and she couldn’t make herself break the contact. "There were better ways to say goodbye, and I wish I’d taken them." "But you don’t wish you hadn’t said it?"

304

"I had to leave, Red. If I hadn’t, I’d never have learned what it was I was missing." His hand slid up her arm, rested on her shoulder, his fingers playing with her hair. He’d done the same dozens of times when they were teens, but it was different now—more compelling, more deliberate. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. And if Shauna wasn’t careful, she’d fall right into his plans.

Chapter Thirteen Breathless, Shauna pulled away and got in the car, anxious to put some distance between them. Even then, she could feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, feel her heart’s shuddering response. That wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. She grabbed the door handle, but Levi put his hand on the window, his grip light. She could have closed the door if she wanted to, and she knew it. So why didn’t she? Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her when she’d stood at her desk early Saturday morning. She’d seen things in his eyes that she’d never seen before—understanding, respect, admiration. And she’d responded in a visceral way that had made her want to turn tail and run. But she hadn’t. And she wouldn’t. She wasn’t a teenager, anymore. She was an adult, and she’d act reasonable and in control no matter how muddle-headed she felt when Levi was around. "I need to go. I’ve got a classroom to get ready." "I guess we both have busy days ahead of us. How about we have dinner together? We can finish our conversation then." "We are finished." "Then let’s just have dinner." "I don’t think so." "Why not? We’re old friends. What could possibly be wrong with us having dinner together?" He made it sound so reasonable that for the life of her, Shauna couldn’t think of one reason why they shouldn’t. "Give me a few hours. I’ll think of something." He laughed, and Shauna couldn’t help smiling in return. "You’re laughing, but I’m not joking. I can’t have dinner with you." "Why? Are you dating someone?" "I don’t date." That, at least, was the truth.

305

"Since when?" "Since my fiancé announced that he was in love with another woman and left me at the altar." "Let me guess…. His name was Matthew." "Good guess." "And that was how long ago?" "Two years, and I haven’t been sitting around pining for him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t see any reason to get involved in another relationship." "Actually, what I was thinking was that any man who was fortunate enough to be engaged to you would have had to be an idiot to walk away." "He’s not the only one who walked away." The words slipped out and she immediately wished them back. "I was an idiot, too. And if I had another chance, I’d never walk away." "You’re flirting again." "I’m way past flirting, Shauna. I think you know that." He spoke quietly, his eyes burning into hers. And she was breathless again, lost in his gaze and in all the things they’d once shared, lost in dreams that she didn’t dare allow herself to believe in. Lost and completely helpless to do anything about it. Forget reasonable and in control. She needed to leave before she threw herself in his arms and begged for a second chance at love. "I really do need to go." She yanked the door closed, and this time he didn’t try to stop her as she shoved the keys in the ignition and drove away.

Chapter Fourteen Shauna had always loved teaching, but, by the time she walked into Deer Park Elementary, all she wanted to do was go home and go back to bed. Her head was pounding, her nerves were shot, and in less than two hours, twenty-eight kids would walk into the room. She only hoped she’d have enough energy to keep up with them. At least the room was clean and in order again. She had yet to find the missing folders, but everything else had been accounted for. She pulled out her plan book and took a long sip of diet cola, the silence of the room settling around her. It would be an hour before most of the other staff members arrived, but Shauna had always liked getting to school early. There was something about an empty classroom that appealed to her—so many possibilities waiting to be discovered. Even now, her run-in with Levi fresh in her mind, she felt herself relaxing. Everything would work out. It always did. She just had to trust that God was in control and let Him lead where He would. As long as where He was leading didn’t bring her back into Levi’s arms.

306

She frowned, opening her plan book to the last page where she’d jotted notes about each child. A few came from difficult family situations. Others were struggling academically. And then there was Nicolas. Quiet and shy, he had an anxious quality that made Shauna wonder what his home life was like. She’d asked him a few questions, but he wasn’t quick to share, and she hadn’t learned much more than what his paperwork said. He was from a single parent home, and his mother was a nurse who worked at a local convalescent center. Nicolas had said a few other things in passing. That he’d lived in many different places and that he’d once had another name. He’d even drawn a picture of himself and labeled it "Eli." When Shauna showed the drawing to his mother at Friday’s parent-teacher conference, she’d laughed and said Nicolas had always had a good imagination. Maybe he did, but the drawing still made Shauna uneasy. The sound of footsteps on tile drifted in from the hallway, and she tensed. There were other people in the building. The kitchen and custodial staff had arrived before her, and she was sure a few other teachers were working in their classrooms. Any one of them could be walking through the hall. She stood, anyway, moving across the room and grabbing a pair of scissors from the supply closet. They weren’t much in the way of weapons, but they were better than nothing. The footsteps drew closer, then stopped outside the door. Shauna’s grip tightened on the scissors, her heart beating a hard, jerky rhythm. Was it possible the person who’d held her up at knifepoint and trashed her classroom was standing on the other side of the door? Was it possible that person had more than a theft on his mind this time? Maybe he had a gun or a— The door swung open, and Shauna shrieked, jumping backward and stumbling over a chair. She landed with a painful thud, but she didn’t have time to catch her breath. She was on her feet in seconds, the scissors in hand, ready for an attack.

Chapter Fifteen "Shauna! What in the world are you doing?" Maggie Tennyson stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. A teacher’s aide working toward her teaching degree, Maggie had been assigned to Shauna’s classroom at the beginning of the year and had proven a valuable asset. "I could say the same about you. You’re never here this early." "Ms. Mallory called me Saturday and told me there’d been a break-in. I thought I’d come in early in case you needed help setting up for the day, but it looks like you have everything under control." Maggie dropped a pile of college textbooks on a table at the back of the room. She looked pale and tired, her eyes deeply shadowed. Apparently, Shauna wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough weekend. "For now. Are you okay? You look tired." She put the scissors back in the closet, her hand shaking. She really needed to pull herself together and stop jumping at shadows. "College is kicking my butt this semester. You know how that is." "I remember. If you need the day off—" "Are you kidding me? Thanksgiving is just a few days away, and we have tons of projects to do before then." "I can manage, Maggie. If it’s the difference between you being exhausted and not—" "Really. I’m fine. You’re the one who probably needs time off. I heard you were nearly killed by a guy with a knife this weekend." "Who’d you hear that from?"

307

"My landlady. She has her ear to the ground and knows everything that goes on in Deer Park." "Well, she has the facts wrong. I wasn’t nearly killed. My purse was stolen." And then returned, but that wasn’t something Shauna wanted to talk about. "It must have been really frightening." "It was, but I’m over it." Almost. "Good. How about I start writing the warm-up on the board?" Maggie grabbed a piece of chalk and set to work, her presence a nice distraction from Shauna’s worries. By the time the students arrived, she was feeling more herself, and the first hour of class went off without a hitch. When Krista appeared in the doorway and gestured for her to come out in the hall, Shauna gave the students their assignment and walked out of the room. "What’s up?" "I need you to have Nicolas Samuels gather his things and bring them down to my office." Krista spoke quietly, her voice belying a tension that was unlike anything Shauna had seen in her before. "What’s going on?" "I’m not at liberty to say. Just have him get all his things. I’m not sure he’ll be returning." "What—" "Shauna, I can’t tell you any more than that. Just bring him to my office." She turned and walked down the hall before Shauna could ask more. Nicolas sat at the back of the classroom, his head bent over the math book. He looked up as she approached, his freckled face tense with worry. "Hey, Nick, I need you to get your things together. We have to go to the principal’s office." "Am I in trouble?" "Of course not." "Then why do I need to go?" "Principal Mallory will explain everything when we get there, okay?" She helped him gather his books and put them in a worn backpack, her heart thudding uncomfortably. Something was wrong, but she had no idea what. All she could do was pray that everything would be okay as she walked Nicolas down the long corridor to Krista’s office.

Chapter Sixteen A good day’s work was a good day’s work no matter where it was done, and Levi was feeling more content than he had in a long time as he pulled up in front of his new home. The sun had already set, and he could see lights on in Shauna’s house as he got out of the car. He knew he should ignore them. Ignore her. But he couldn’t help imagining her sipping a cup of coffee, relaxing after a long day, her hair spilling over her shoulders in silky curls.

308

"Forget it, and keep walking. She’s made it very clear she wants nothing to do with you." But even as he muttered the words, he was walking toward her house. They were neighbors, after all, and they had been friends. Was it really so wrong to check in with her, make sure everything was okay? He hoped not, because that was exactly what he planned to do. He rang the doorbell then stood so that Shauna could see him. "Who’s there?" she called out as she had the previous night, but this time her porch light was on, and he was sure she already knew. "It’s Levi." There was a heartbeat of hesitation before she responded. "What are you doing here?" "I just thought I’d stop by to say hi. Isn’t that what neighbors do?" "I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve had a neighbor." The door opened and Levi’s breath caught, his heart skipping a beat. Shauna wore faded jeans and an oversized T-shirt, her hair a mass of wild curls, her face free of makeup. And she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Too bad she was looking at him like he was slime. "Hi." He figured that couldn’t get him in too much trouble, and Shauna rewarded him with a smile. "You’re incorrigible, you know that?" "I’m enchanted. You look beautiful, Shauna." "Flattery again?" "The truth. Again." "I thought you just came to say hi." "That was before I realized how beautiful you look in jeans and a T-shirt." "How about we change the subject?" she responded, her cheeks bright pink. "To?" "Whether or not you came over here to convince me to have dinner with you." "I know you well enough to know that you don’t change your mind very often." "You knew me, but that was a long time ago." "Does that mean we are going to have dinner together?" This time she laughed, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. "I guess as long as you’re here, I may as well feed you. Unless you’ve already eaten." "I was planning on making myself a sandwich, but whatever you’re cooking smells a lot better."

309

"Chicken stew with dumplings. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Pure comfort food." "Has it been the kind of day deserving of comfort food?" "It was an entire weekend deserving of it, and today wasn’t any better." "Want to talk about it?" "I want to eat. Then I’ll decide if I want to talk." With that, she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen.

Chapter Seventeen Levi followed, inhaling the rich aroma of chicken stew and the subtle scent of vanilla that seemed to cling to Shauna. "Did you just get home?" she asked as she pulled bowls from a cupboard. "Yes. How about you?" "I’ve been home a while. This kind of food doesn’t happen in a minute." She smiled as she spooned stew into a bowl, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Here, let me do that." He took the bowls from her hands, filling them quickly and setting them on the table. "Thanks. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion today." Shauna pulled silverware from a drawer and sat at the table, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. "You had a long weekend." "And a horrible day." "You were going to tell me about that." "Was I?" "Why not?" "I’m sure if I think about it long enough I’ll come up with a reason." "Don’t think. Talk." "Fine. Krista came into the classroom and asked me to have one of my students pack up his things and then bring him to her office. When we got there, the school counselor was there with the sheriff and a couple of people I’ve never seen before." "The sheriff? Sounds like your student got himself into trouble. Maybe he had something to do with what happened to you this weekend." "Nicolas is a shy, sweet little boy. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body." She stirred her stew, but didn’t eat any. She’d said she’d changed, but she’d done the same thing when she’d been a teen worried about friends or grades or parent trouble. Picked at her food and mulled over the problem until she’d found a solution to it.

310

And Levi found himself doing what he’d always done, reaching across the table and covering her hand with his, smoothing her knuckles with his thumb. "Did you ask Kristen what was going on?" "She just told me that it would all come out eventually. I’m sure Nick will be fine, but he looked so scared. I felt like I was throwing him to the wolves." "You were doing what you had to. No one can fault you for it." "Maybe someone does. Maybe that’s what everything that happened this weekend was about." "What do you mean?" "It can’t be a coincidence that Nick was pulled from my class days after I was robbed and my classroom was trashed." She stood, walking across the room and staring out the window. "You think someone wasn’t happy with how you were treating him and decided to lash out?" "I don’t know what I think. I just know that my life was predictable and easy, and now it’s pure chaos." She turned to face him again, leaning her hip against the counter, her red hair falling over her shoulders just as he’d imagined it would, her eyes deep sapphire blue. She was breathtaking. Levi stood, crossing the room without thought, without any real plan. "Am I part of that chaos?" His hands slid around her waist, and her pulse raced in the hollow of her throat. If she’d told him to leave, he would have. If she’d pushed him away, he would have gone without an argument. But she did neither. "I wouldn’t call you chaos. I’d call you trouble," she said, but there was no heat in her words. He leaned down, did what he knew he shouldn’t, his lips touching hers. And it wasn’t nearly enough. She sighed, pulling him close, and he was lost just as he’d been when he was young and too foolish to know a good thing when he found it. A phone rang, and Shauna pulled back, her eyes wide with surprise, her cheeks pink. "I think you’d better go." "Because we kissed?" "Because I need to answer the phone. I’m sure you can let yourself out," she said, and then turned and ran from the room.

Chapter Eighteen Levi had kissed her. Worse, she’d kissed him back. Shauna paced her bedroom, her mind racing with a million thoughts—none of them pleasant. If the phone hadn’t rung, would she have had the good sense to throw Levi out? She wasn’t sure, didn’t dare to speculate. She wanted to blame stress on her lapse in judgment. But the truth was, Levi had a way of making her forget all the reasons why getting involved with him wasn’t a good idea.

311

"Just give me a clue, God. That’s all I want. Some hint that will help me understand why You’ve brought him back into my life." But God didn’t work that way, and all Shauna got was more silence. Frustrated, she walked to the kitchen, leaving the light off as she grabbed a bag of cookies from the cupboard. Light was showing from the Harrison house again—from Levi’s house. If she were a little braver, she’d turn on her light. Let him know she was awake, too. But she wasn’t brave. She was a big chicken. A chicken eating chocolate chip cookies at midnight because she was too afraid to admit she was falling for a guy who’d already broken her heart. "You are not falling for him," she hissed, tossing the cookies onto the counter, disgusted with the train of her thoughts. Three days ago, she hadn’t even remembered Levi existed. Okay. She’d remembered him. But she hadn’t spent any time thinking about him. Much time thinking about him. Now it seemed she couldn’t keep him from her thoughts. Something scratched against the back door, the sound so unexpected, Shauna froze. It came again. This time more defined, as if someone were working at the lock, trying to open it. Was someone out there? Maybe the same someone who had held a knife to her chest and trashed her classroom? She wasn’t going to wait to find out. She grabbed the phone, lifted it to her ear and heard nothing. The line had been cut, and whoever was outside was still working at the lock. Scratch. Scrape. Scratch. How long would it be before he made it in? Did she have time to get her cell phone from her room? Was it even charged? Something slammed into the door, and nothing mattered but getting out. Now. She ran for the front door, heard wood cracking behind her. She should have grabbed a knife, but it was too late. She could feel cold wind blowing in from the back door, could feel terror clawing up her throat. She didn’t dare scream, didn’t dare do anything but race across the living room. She’d left the fireplace poker in the car, and her keys were in her purse in her room. There was no time to get it. No way did she want to be trapped in her bedroom with a madman. She fumbled with the lock on the front door, managed to open it on the first try, and threw herself out into the cold black night.

Chapter Nineteen Shauna’s feet slipped on the porch boards and she nearly fell.

312

Stay on your feet. Keep going! The thoughts shouted through her mind as footsteps pounded on wood flooring behind her. Her pulse leaped, adrenaline spurring her on as she jumped down the porch steps, stumbled again. She had to go faster, had to make it to Levi’s house. She could feel her pursuer closing in, feel his hot, panting breath on the back of her neck, and her hair stood on end. She screamed, all the terror she was feeling spilling out as someone grabbed her shirt and yanked her backward. She jerked free, screaming again, her body cold with terror. "Shut up!" The words hissed out as Shauna was yanked back again, the sound ugly and mean and feminine. A woman. Shauna didn’t have time to wonder what that might mean, didn’t have time to think about who it could be. Levi’s house was just yards away, and she ran toward it, desperate in a way she’d never been before. Please, God, let me reach it. Something slammed into her side, the force so great, Shauna flew sideways. She tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, pain searing through her, making it difficult to breathe, to think, to fight. She fell, barely feeling the ground as she landed. And then the woman was on her, pressing something against her throat. A piece of wood? A baseball bat? Shauna tried to claw free, but the first blow had knocked the breath from her lungs and darkness was already edging in, stealing her away. And she knew she was going to die. Right there in her front yard, just feet from safety and from Levi. Someone shouted, but Shauna could barely hear past the pulse of blood in her ears. There was a flurry of movement, a muffled scream, and she was free, air flowing into her burning lungs again. She coughed, gagging as she tried to sit up. "Stay down, Red, until we know what’s what." Levi pressed her back, his touch gentle, his voice tight. "Where is she?" "The woman who was trying to choke you with a baseball bat? Out of commission." "You killed her?" "Knocked her out. She didn’t give me a choice." He brushed hair from Shauna’s cheek, and she was sure his hand was shaking. She grabbed it, squeezing gently as she struggled to a sitting position. The woman lay a few feet away, a baseball bat on the ground nearby. Her face was familiar. Not a friend, but someone she’d seen recently. Someone who’d sat in her classroom just a few days ago. Shauna leaned close, sure she must be mistaken, that the woman unconscious on the ground wasn’t the same one who’d told her how much her son enjoyed being in Shauna’s class. "Do you know her?" Levi asked, the sound of sirens nearly drowning out his words. She did. What she didn’t know was why Nicolas Samuels’ mother wanted her dead.

313

Chapter Twenty Levi had never been good at waiting, and waiting for the doctor to finish examining Shauna was torture. He glanced at his watch, frowning. She’d been in triage for a little over an hour. What was taking so long? "Levi?" He turned, saw Shauna walking through the double wide doors that led from the treatment area. She was parchment pale, dark bruises on her neck standing out in stark contrast to her pallid skin. "You should be in a wheelchair, Red." He crossed the room, pulled her into a gentle hug and was surprised when she burrowed close, resting her head on his chest. "That’s what the nurse said, but I didn’t want to wait around for her to bring one." "Sit down. I’ll get one." "Don’t. It’s been a long night, and I just want to go home." Her voice was raspy and worn, and he didn’t bother arguing. Just wrapped an arm around her waist and led her out to the parking lot. He didn’t release his hold as he unlocked the car door, didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t heard her scream. Would he have walked outside in the morning and found her lying dead on the lawn? His arm tightened around her waist, and she looked up into his face, pressed a palm to his cheek. "Don’t look so grim, Levi. I’m fine." "If Lily Samuels had had her way, you wouldn’t be." He helped her into the passenger seat of the car, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. Her skin was warm and silky, life pulsing through it, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever been more thankful for anything in his life. "Richard came into triage while the doctor was waiting for x-ray results. He said the police have been looking for her all day." "They knew she was after you?" If they had and had let the woman slip through their fingers— "No. She was wanted for something else. He couldn’t tell me what, just that they have enough evidence to put her away for a long time." "Is she talking?" "All she’s said is that I told her something during parent-teacher conferences that worried her. She wanted to make sure I didn’t spread it around." "So she thought she’d terrorize and kill you?" "She’s insisting she wasn’t trying to kill me. She just wanted a drawing Nicolas made. I showed it to her during the conference, and she wanted to take it home. Since they were part of his class portfolio, I told her she’d have to wait until the end of the year." "What could a kid possibly draw that would make his mother stalk and attack another person?" It had to be something life altering—something that could have caused her serious trouble. "Richard wouldn’t say, but I think I know."

314

"Yeah?" He walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat. "The kids drew self portraits for an art project. They all wrote their names at the top. Nicolas didn’t. He wrote ’Eli.’" "Eli?" "Yes. And he refused to change it. He kept saying it was his real name. The one his father gave him. I told his mother that at the conference, and she laughed, but now…" Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged. "You wonder if he was telling the truth." "I don’t wonder. I know." "Did she kidnap him, then?" "I asked Richard that, and he wouldn’t comment." "Eventually, he’ll have to." Levi pulled up in front of Shauna’s house and turned to face her. "Eventually. For now, I’m just happy that Nicolas is in safe hands, and that I’m alive. Thanks to you. This is the second time you’ve saved my life." She lifted his hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles, the heat of her lips stealing his breath. "I’d do it a million more times if I had to. You know that, right?" "Let’s hope you don’t have to." She opened the car door. "I’d better get inside. It’s late and both of us start our days early." "You’re planning to work tomorrow?" he asked as he cupped her elbow and helped her up the porch stairs. "A couple of bruises aren’t enough to keep me from my students." "Why doesn’t that surprise me?" "Because you really do know me. Even after all these years." She smiled, and Levi’s heart leaped. "Does that mean you might be willing to have dinner with me tomorrow night?" "It does." "And the night after that?" "Probably." "Since you’re feeling so generous, maybe I can convince you to have dinner with me every night for the next fifty years." He pressed a hand to her back, urging her close. "You know, I don’t think it’ll take all that much convincing. I’ve been thinking that God had a reason for bringing us back together." "Yeah? What’s that?"

315

"To show us both that it doesn’t matter how big or small our dreams are as long as we’re dreaming them together," she responded, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and offered a kiss that required absolutely no convincing at all.

316

A Forever Love By B.J. Daniels It's summer, 1954, and the woman who will one day become Pepper Winchester of the Whitehorse, Montana, Winchesters is sixteen. Traveling the West with her father, a carnie, Pepper's job is to entice young men into losing all their money playing the carnival games. But the moment she lays eyes on Hunt McCormick, she knows the young man is so much more than just another mark. She also knows that getting close to him could put them both in grave danger….

Chapter One Summer, 1954 The moment she saw him, he became more than a mark. He was young and green, clearly asking for it. He had a cocky walk that made him stand out and his hand in his pocket—another dead giveaway. She knew she had to move fast, once he… Too late. She saw that the others had spotted him and were moving in for the kill. Behind her, she heard her father's voice calling to customers over the roar in her ears. She quickly moved through the crowd. The boy was tall and broad-shouldered even though he couldn't have been much older than she. That he was handsome was the least of it. There was something about him that had drawn her attention, something that she felt in the tremor of her body and the pulsing of her blood. Snagging his arm, she knew what she had to do and hated it. "Feeling lucky?" she asked in the breathless way she'd been trained since she was old enough to talk. He grinned at her and said, "I am now." What he didn't know was that his luck had just taken a turn for the worse. *** The moment Hunt McCormick saw her, he was lost and he knew it. She was more than beautiful. There was something saucy about her, the way she flipped her long raven hair over her slim bare shoulders, the way her dark eyes shone as if she held a secret only he could unlock, the way her lips quirked up on one side with both humor and challenge. "I've never felt more lucky," he said with a laugh as her warm fingers caressed his bare suntanned arm. "What did you have in mind?" He'd barely noticed that she'd steered him out of the throng of people toward a game booth. The man inside was smiling and motioning to him. "Step right up, young man," he called as she led him over to one of the many games of chance along the midway. He felt intoxicated, drunk on the summer night and the girl on his arm. The warm summer breeze smelled of corn dogs and cotton candy and the sweet light scent of the girl's perfume. Around them music played, people shrieked and laughed as the rides clanked, and men called from booths and sideshow exhibits. He loved the cacophony of carnival sounds and smells and that feeling that anything could happen here tonight. "Win a stuffed animal for your little lady," the man in the booth said, and handed him a baseball. "Three balls, three tries, win big."

317

Hunt glanced toward the metal milk bottles stacked three high, then at the young girl at his side. He would have won her the moon if she'd asked. He'd never felt more alive. "What's your name?" he asked as he turned the baseball in his hand, unable to take his eyes off her. "Pepper." Her dark gaze fired defiantly, as if she expected him to make fun of her name. "It fits you perfectly," he said. She was a spicy one, this one. "I'm Hunt. Hunt McCormick." "Twenty-five cents for three tries," the man said, holding the other two balls in one hand. "What would you like, pretty lady? A big stuffed teddy bear?" She glanced toward the large stuffed animals along the top ledge of the booth and nodded. "A teddy bear." Then she looked over at Hunt, challenge in her gaze. "Well, let's see if your boyfriend here can get it for you," the booth operator said. "Can you win the little lady a teddy bear, son?" Hunt grinned and, shifting the ball to his other hand, dug in his pocket for his money, the money he'd earned at his last job. Money that would take him at least partway to where he was headed. His money was gone.

Chapter Two "Don't make a scene," she whispered, gripping his arm tightly. Don't make a scene? She'd just picked his pocket. If she thought he was leaving here without his money, the girl was sadly mistaken. Hunt was on his way to see the world and make his fortune, and he'd made it this far by thumbing up from Texas, picking up jobs along the way. He'd been forced to stay at his last job for a couple of weeks to get a stake large enough to make it this far. Now that money was gone—and since he'd had it in his pocket just moments before… She started to move away. He tossed the baseball to the man in the booth and grabbed the girl's arm. "You aren't going anywhere." "Let go of my daughter," the man in the booth said and reached under the counter. He came out with a baseball bat. Hunt could feel others moving toward them. "Meet me tonight behind the haunted house," she whispered and pulled free. It was the pleading in her gaze that made him hesitate. She quickly stepped away from him and began calling to a group of young boys. "Move along," a burly-voiced man said behind him. He could feel the man's sour breath. Another man had joined him. Hunt had been around enough to know that if he put up a fight it would go badly. He raised both hands and took several steps back. His gaze went to the girl. She was flirting with the boys, moving them toward her father's booth. Still aware of the men just waiting for him to try to cause a scene, he turned and walked down the midway. Other game booth operators called to him, sideshow talkers offered him sights like none he'd ever seen, all of them after his money. But it was too late, a beautiful girl with dark hair and eyes had already fleeced him.

318

He kept walking and didn't look back. He could feel the men watching him. If he hesitated it would go badly. He'd known the risk he was taking when he was dropped off on the outskirts of this small North Dakota town and saw the lights of the carnival. The music, the sights and smells had drawn him toward the mobile community that had sprung up in a large field just outside the city limits. The moment he'd seen the girl, he'd been glad he walked all the way out here. Now the music, the smells, the shrieks coming from the rides made his stomach roil. Common sense told him to keep going, forget the money she'd stolen from him and get on down the road. As he walked away, he knew the way he was feeling had little to do with the money and a whole lot to do with the girl. Going back to the carnival tonight was probably the craziest and most dangerous thing he could do. But he knew, however it went down, he'd be seeing her again tonight.

Chapter Three The music stopped first. Then one after another, the lights of the carnival blinked out, the open field just outside of town going dark. Hunt had gone back to the large tree in sight of the carnival where he'd left his duffel bag earlier. He had curled up next to it to wait. He knew he'd dozed off, because he awoke to the sound of vehicles leaving and the smell of dust on the night air. Now, he watched the last of the rides go still. A weighty silence filled the dark night as the carnival turned into a ghost town. As he rose and headed toward the hulking shapes of the deathly quiet carnival lot, he kept an eye on the caravan of trailers and tents at the edge of the field. The scents of the carnival still carried on the breeze as he made his way toward the back of the haunted house. He knew he was probably walking into a trap. But she'd already stolen his money. He didn't think she planned to have him beaten up, too, but you never knew. She'd warned him earlier not only with her words but her eyes. They had pleaded with him to leave quietly because she'd known what would happen if he put up a fight. At seventeen, he hadn't known that many girls in his life. None had turned his head the way this one had. He knew it was crazy. But he believed that fate would take him to the place where he could make his fortune— just as fate would throw him together with the woman he would love. And somehow, fate had put him here. The breeze stirred the tall grass as he neared the silent carnival. It appeared like a lost city out of the darkness, the silence eerie. He caught the scent of the diesel fuel used to run the rides and heard the breeze sing softly in the guyline cables anchoring the steel structures of the rides. He knew he was on a fool's errand. Did he really think he was going to get his money back? Or that the girl would even meet him where she said? Hunt stopped to glance toward the tents and old small trailers. He could see a campfire, several men huddled around it, and the flicker of lanterns inside the trailers. The big generators on the back of the semi sat silent. He knew they would have someone watching the carnival lot. He didn't see anyone but was careful to keep to the dark shadows.

319

The haunted house was a wide trailer with one door toward the front for visitors to enter and a door at the rear where they could leave. The side of the trailer was painted with a scary looking house: dark bats flew in a stormy sky and a witchlike woman peered from one of the house's windows. Pepper was nowhere in sight. Had he really expected her to show? With a start, he caught the scent of her perfume on the breeze and turned, hoping she was alone and that he hadn't made the biggest mistake of his life by coming back here.

Chapter Four Pepper came out of the darkness like a ghost from the haunted house, giving him a start. "Here's your money," she whispered, pressing a wad of cash into his hand. "You don't have to count it." "Don't I?" She made a disgusted sound. "Just go." "Not until you tell me why you took it," he whispered back. "And why you're giving it back." "My father would have taken all of it from you in the game. I saved you. Just be thankful." "Why would you do that?" She shook her head as if she regretted it. He smiled. "Well, at least tell me this. How old are you?" "Sixteen." She glanced toward the caravan of tents and trailers in the distance. "Please, you have to leave before the lot man sees you." He knew he couldn't leave until he did the one thing he'd been wanting to do since the moment he'd first seen her. He took her by the arm and turned her to him. For a moment, their eyes met in the darkness lit only by the starlight. Hers shone with a fire so like her name. He thought she might slap him. Or scream for help. But when he kissed her, her lips parted and he felt as if the earth beneath his feet had fallen away. Her mouth was warm and sweet, her lips full and soft, and he knew he would never in all his life forget this kiss. As he drew back, her eyes again sparked as if with anger, but she hadn't moved out of his arms and he could feel her trembling. "If my father saw you do that, he would have you killed," she whispered. "I saved your life once. I won't again." She broke free and, before he could stop her, she ran between two of the amusements and disappeared into the darkness. He stood there until he felt he had his feet under him again. It was time to hit the road and yet he hated the thought that he would probably never see the girl again. As he started to leave, he heard the low growl of a dog and saw a man coming through the darkness toward him.

320

Chapter Five Pepper moved through the darkness, not daring to look back. She couldn't believe she'd let him kiss her. She'd been warned not to get too close to the boys who came on the lot. She knew the danger. "They will play you, just like we play them," her father had warned her. "With us all they lose is their money. With them…well, my beautiful daughter, you will lose much more." She'd taken a terrible chance tonight even meeting him alone the way she had. She'd been lucky all he'd done was kiss her. So why had she taken the risk? Because something told her he was different from the other boys. The greatest risk she'd taken was that her father would find out. She crept between two trailers, the smell of the campfire in the air and the sound of murmured voices rising up from the camp. As she slipped into the small trailer and the bed at the front, which her father had made for her, she held her breath for a long moment, afraid he'd heard her sneaking out and in again. Finally, she quietly released the breath and tried to still her pounding heart. "I know what you did tonight." Her father's voice from the back of the trailer made her start. She said nothing as she touched her fingers to her lips. He had no idea. Or did he? "Don't ever do it again." Pepper closed her eyes. "I won't, Papa." The young boys who came to the carnival with coins jingling in their pockets had always been fair game. It was how she and her father survived. Her job was to lure the young men to her father's booth and encourage them to try their luck. They always lost. A few would cause trouble. Sometimes her father would give them another chance and see that they won something to settle them down. Usually they were satisfied with a cheap stuffed animal from under the counter. No one ever won the large stuffed teddy bears along the top of the booth. The rule was: Never let a beef leave your awning. Those were the ones who caused trouble. Still, a few would have to be escorted off the lot. Often, whatever the boys won they would try to give to her. She didn't take the prizes because then they would expect something in return. "It's all a game," her father had explained to her. "We just play it better than the townies. They think they're smarter than a bunch of carnies." He would shake his head, smiling in amusement. "It's just the way it is." Just like the bagman going into town ahead of the carnival to bribe the sheriff. That way there wasn't any trouble even from the ones who did have a beef after it was all over. Pepper felt ashamed for what she'd done earlier tonight. Hunt McCormick's money should be in Papa's locked metal box, which was bolted to the floor under his bed at the back of the trailer. They would need it when the season ended and they headed south again. She'd cost them money tonight and all because she'd taken a liking to some boy. The worst of it was, she had no regret that she'd let that boy kiss her. She just hoped he'd gotten off the lot without getting caught. But as she closed her eyes, she knew she couldn't save him again tonight.

321

Hunt McCormick was on his own.

Chapter Six Hunt saw the dark figure of the man, the growling dog pulling on the leash and heading in his direction. He quickly slipped under the haunted house trailer and scrambled to the other side. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, he moved quickly through the dark midway, keeping to the shadows of the booths and watching out for other security. Once out in the open field, he took off at a run through the tall grass, headed for the tree and his duffel, then to a truck stop he'd seen along the highway. It wasn't until he was safely inside the truck stop café that he pulled out the wad of money Pepper had given him. To his surprise every dollar of it was there. He ordered a cheeseburger, fries and a cola and sat looking out the window toward the field and the dark skeleton of the carnival, thinking about the girl and the kiss. Grinning to himself, he knew he was going to have to spend another night here. He had to see her again. *** "We're making a jump?" Pepper asked in surprise as she heard the men tearing down the carnival before daylight. "Light take last night," her father said. "We're going on up to Williston and hoping it will be better." Like everyone else on the lot, she went to work getting ready to hit the road. Pepper was used to constantly being on the move during the season. Usually, because they were a small carnival, they moved every couple of nights. Sometimes setting up only to break down the next day to move to another location if the money was poor. She couldn't help but wonder if this had anything to do with her—and the boy she'd lured to the lot last night. He hadn't gotten caught, had he? As her father tore down his booth and loaded it on the back of their trailer, Pepper moved through the camp listening for any gossip about an outsider being caught last night around the equipment. Her heart was in her throat because she knew what could have happened to him. To her relief, she heard nothing. While no one talked about the weather, because it was bad luck, she knew everyone was worried. She'd seen the storm clouds on the horizon. Carnies were a superstitious bunch. They didn't talk about weather, they considered yellow bad luck and they never carried pennies in their pockets, believing pennies attracted more pennies. Still, if they got rained out in Williston, they would all lose money. The hope was always for warm clear-skied evenings and townies who wouldn't turn out to be lot lice—the name they had for people who just came to gawk and not spend. Practiced in moving quickly, the small nomadic city didn't take long to pull up stakes. As her father drove their truck from the grassy field and onto the highway, they fell in line behind the others. Pepper checked the road sign back into town. She always wanted to remember Dickinson, North Dakota, and the boy and her first kiss—and never make the mistake she'd made last night. That's when she saw him standing at the side of the road ahead. Hunt stood with his thumb out, his Western straw hat shoved back so there was no mistaking that handsome face of his. He was watching each carnival rig roll past. With a start, she realized he was looking for her.

322

She checked her expression and stared straight ahead as if she didn't see him as they drove past, but she knew she hadn't fooled Hunt McCormick—or her father. When she dared steal a glance in her side mirror, she saw—to her horror—that the last carnival rig had stopped and Hunt was climbing into the passenger side of one of the ride jock's pickups.

Chapter Seven Hunt couldn't believe his luck as the last truck in the long line of trailers, equipment and big rigs wheezed to a stop. The man behind the wheel motioned for him to hop in. "Where you headed?" the man asked. He wore stained overalls, a battered straw hat and a sleeveless Tshirt. His arms were heavily tattooed and thick as a cottonwood tree limb. "Wherever fate and fortune take me." The man laughed a nearly toothless laugh. "You intend to get there on your thumb?" "Why not? All kind of possibilities are open to a man nowadays." "You're an interestin' fella, that's for sure. Name's Ollie," the carnie said, darting him a look that said he wasn't so sure this boy was yet a man. "Hunt," he said and shook the man's big soiled hand. "You looking to make a little money on your way to fame and fortune?" Ollie asked with no shortage of amusement. Hunt thought about Pepper riding in a truck with her father a half dozen vehicles ahead of this small moving city. "Might be interested. What did you have in mind?" *** Pepper did her best not to watch her side mirror. Her only hope was that when they stopped for gas up the road Hunt would hitch another ride out of town. The last thing she needed was for him to show up on the lot again. She knew her father would be watching for him. As she leaned back and let North Dakota roll past the window, she felt relieved that Hunt had gotten off the lot last night without any trouble. He had looked as handsome as ever beside the road—what she'd seen of him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, she let herself fantasize about Hunt McCormick and a different life than the one she now lived. What would it be like to live on one of these ranches, she wondered. As her father turned on the radio, got mostly static and finally settled on one station that wasn't too awful, she came out of her daydream with a thud. This was her life, she told herself as she listened to the tires humming loudly on the pavement of the two-lane road. Someday, she promised herself, she would leave the carnival, settle down and never move again. She smiled to herself, liking the idea of planting roots. Of course there would be a man in her life. She closed her eyes and the image of Hunt McCormick appeared. She quickly opened her eyes and sat up to glance back in her side mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father do the same.

323

Chapter Eight All the time she was helping her father put up their canvas-and-wood booth, Pepper kept an eye out for Hunt. They'd stopped in a huge open field outside of Williston, near the Missouri River. It was a hot summer day and she couldn't wait to go down to the river and cool off. But first she had to make sure Hunt had gotten another ride when they'd stopped miles back to get gas. "Is it all right if I go down to the river?" she asked, mopping her brow as they finished their work. The carnival wouldn't open for several hours. Her father glanced down the midway and for a moment she saw his face darken. "Just be careful and don't be gone long. Make sure you are back in plenty of time before we open." "I will, Papa." She smiled at him, hating that she wasn't being completely honest with him. He was a good man who'd done his best to raise her after her mama died. Some days she knew he hated this business as much as she did. But he'd been born to it. She found Ollie's truck. He'd already set up his ride and there was no sign of him. Maybe, like the others, he'd headed for the river. Or into town to hit the liquor store. As she made her way to the river, she saw many of the others gathered on a small grassy spot above the water. Farther downriver, an older girl was wading at the edge of the water. Joanna Alonzo. Joanna saw her and motioned her over. "Did you see the new roustabout?" she asked, smiling as she lifted her skirts to keep them from getting wet. Pepper knew at once who she must be talking about. "Where?" she asked, looking around, panicked that Hunt might approach her in front of Joanna, who was a terrible gossip, second only to Anastasia, the carnival palm reader. "He's mine so keep your hands off him," Joanna said. She had a reputation on the lot because of her behavior with men. It was one reason Pepper's father didn't like her spending time with Joanna. Unfortunately, she was the only girl other than Pepper traveling with the carnival right now. "Did you hear me?" Joanna repeated. "I heard you. You don't have to worry. I'll keep my distance." But would Hunt? She had a bad feeling the reason he'd taken the job had something to do with her.

Chapter Nine Hunt couldn't remember the last time he'd worked this hard. Helping set up had given him a whole different perspective. He tried to imagine Pepper's life with this traveling circus-like menagerie of sword-swallowers, fire-eaters and knife-throwing, whip-cracking performers. He couldn't wait until the carnival closed so he could sneak down to the river and bathe. Setting up the ride had left him dog-tired and filthy. The worst part was that he hadn't seen Pepper, and Ollie had roped him into running the ride all night. Probably just as well he hadn't seen Pepper, given how he must look. As the ride jock, he'd been taught by Ollie how to run a "shake." "The object is to make sure whatever coins they have in their pockets fall out during the ride," the older man had instructed. "When we close, I will collect the coins. You best sleep down by the river. Some of these carnies, well, they don't like outsiders. Keep your distance and just do your job. I'll pay you in the morning

324

after I get my take tonight. There could be a bonus in it for you, depending on how much you can shake out of the ride." When the lights at the front end of the horseshoe-shaped carnival lot blinked out, Hunt finished up the ride and headed for the river just as Ollie had instructed him. The moon was only a sliver in the starry sky as he reached the riverbank and stripped down. The water felt cold at first. With the bar of soap from his duffel bag, he washed, then dove deeper into the river and let the current take him a ways downriver while he stared up at the stars. As tired as he was, he couldn't remember being this content. Now if he could just find Pepper tonight. He knew it was risky going back to the lot, especially after Ollie had warned him to stay away, but if he'd been smart he would have kept on going down the road and not looked back. He had to see Pepper one more time. He rolled over and swam back upriver against the current. As he started to come out of the water, he saw the silhouette of a young woman etched against the distant lights of the town. She was standing on the bank, waiting for him.

Chapter Ten To her relief, Pepper hadn't seen Hunt all night. She'd worked hard, bringing in as much money as possible to please her father. She'd seen him earlier, talking to several of the other men, and worried that he'd been asking about the new roustabout Ollie had hired. She was determined not to give her father any reason to think she hadn't learned her lesson last night. As the carnival closed down, she went to their trailer. "I'm going to turn in early," she told her father. "I'm tired." He'd only nodded, watching her as if he thought she might be thinking about sneaking out. She went to her bed and lay staring up at the ceiling, tired but too restless to sleep. Her fear had been that Hunt might come looking for her tonight. She feared her father had been expecting the same thing. But moments ago, she'd heard Joanna singing softly outside her window. She'd looked out to see the girl sneaking down to the river and had known where she was going and why. Pepper had smelled the reek of too much perfume on her, seen the glint in her eyes as she'd sashayed past, and realized Joanna had wanted Pepper to see her, wanted her to know. She heard her father stir in the next room, then a few minutes later he began to snore. No wonder he could sleep. He knew who Joanna was meeting, might even have had a hand in it. Pepper felt sick. She told herself Hunt McCormick meant nothing to her as she squeezed her eyes shut around the sudden flow of tears. *** Hunt was almost to the riverbank when he caught a whiff of the girl's perfume and slowed as he realized it wasn't Pepper waiting for him. His disappointment was palpable. "Shall I bring you your clothes?" asked the girl. "Or shall I take mine off and join you in the river?" He was closer now and he recalled seeing her earlier. She was one of the carnival workers. He wondered who'd sent her. Would Pepper do such a thing as a message that she wasn't interested? "I don't believe we've met," he said as he took his clothes from her and pulled them on.

325

Her laugh was harsh. "My name is Joanna and I brought us something to drink." She held up a bottle of wine. "Since you aren't interested in swimming with me, I will take it as an insult if you don't at least have one drink with me."

Chapter Eleven Pepper couldn't remember getting a minute's sleep, but she must have dozed off because she woke with a start to realize the trailer was moving. She sat up, blinked at the bright daylight coming through the window and realized that for the second time, they had pulled out before daylight. That usually meant trouble with the locals in one way or another. Her heart began to ache as she remembered last night and Joanna headed for the river to no doubt meet Hunt. It was for the best, she told herself. She just hoped he would move on now and that she would never have to see him again. Pepper groaned at the thought that she would have to see Joanna, though. And knowing Joanna, she would have to brag about last night. When she heard the grate of the truck's brakes and looked out, she saw that they were pulling into a gas station on the edge of some town. The towns all looked alike to her, all running together in a blur of heat and dust. She quickly rose and dressed, not surprised later, as she came out of the gas station bathroom and climbed into the cab of the pickup, to see that her father had made her a sandwich earlier. It was wrapped in waxed paper and sitting on the seat for her. He hadn't said anything else about her letting the mark go two nights ago. Now he smiled at her as she thanked him for the sandwich, and she saw that the tension in his face was gone. That must mean Hunt McCormick was gone, as well. *** Hunt woke with a killer headache to the blaring bright morning sun. He tried to sit up and felt his head swim. Lying back, he checked his watch. It was gone. Swearing, he forced himself into a sitting position. From the angle of the sun, it was late. He turned to look back toward the field where he had helped set up the carnival last night. It, too, was gone. The only sign that it had even been there was the trampled grass— and tire tracks where the rigs had pulled out. "Son of—" He lay back down and tried to remember last night. The carnie girl. She'd insisted he have some of the wine. It was the last thing he remembered. He quickly checked the place where he'd hidden his money. Gone. She'd taken everything. And on top of that, Ollie had worked him all afternoon and most of the night and then skipped out without paying him. He got up and pulled what was left of his belongings together. Let it go. Like hell. He was going after his money. All of it. And he was going after Pepper. If she'd had anything to do with this…

Chapter Twelve All day Pepper had watched her side mirror as well as the road ahead. She couldn't help thinking she would see him. But by late afternoon, when they pulled into Miles City, Montana, she knew he was gone. They had

326

dropped down southwest of Williston, North Dakota, and would be making a circle of the west before fall hit and they headed back to Florida, where they wintered until the next season. Her father did odd jobs while she went to school. "I want you to have an education. I want you to have options," he told her. "I don't think this is the life for you." No, it wasn't, she thought as her father pulled the trailer through the empty field and she climbed out to help set up. Sometimes she felt as if she were sleepwalking she'd done this so many times. Then she spotted Joanna heading in her direction. She'd been surprised when the girl had avoided her. What was that about? It wasn't like Joanna not to want to brag. A cold fear settled just south of her heart as Pepper wondered what had happened last night on the river with Hunt. *** Hunt realized he didn't know which direction the carnival had gone—or how far. He could only guess. The next large city was Billings, but on a hunch, he walked into town to a 24-hour truckstop. "Did the carnival come through here either last night late or early this morning?" he asked. "Early this morning," the clerk said. "Did they happen to say which direction they were headed?" The clerk looked him over and Hunt knew he must look bad. "What did you do, miss your ride?" "I had too much to drink last night and, if I don't catch up before they set up in the next town, I'll be fired. I never thought to ask where we were going next. All the towns look the same to me." "I hear ya. All I can tell you is that they headed south." "What's south?" Hunt asked. "Sidney, Glendive, Miles City." The clerk pointed out the window at a road sign. Highway 58. "But if you're hitchin', you could be standing beside the road for a long time. That road doesn't get much traffic." The clerk had been right about that, Hunt thought three hours later. He'd walked a good ten miles but hadn't seen a vehicle other than a couple of cars that sped past without giving him the time of day. He found a creek and cleaned himself up a little before going back up to the road. The sun was high in the crystalline blue sky and, like the land, seemed to go on forever. He began walking again, thinking about Pepper—and the woman who'd drugged him last night. He couldn't wait to see both of them again.

Chapter Thirteen "I need to talk to you," Joanna whispered as she pulled Pepper behind one of the carnival booths. "I just overheard a couple of the men talking about stepping up security tonight." Pepper felt her heart drop. "What kind of trouble are they expecting?" In some towns it was locals looking for a fight after too many beers at the bar. In others it was the law. Miles City had always been wide open, and she couldn't imagine that the carnival bagman hadn't gone ahead and taken care of the "payoff" as usual. Sometimes that meant hiring local deputies. Other times it was just cash to the sheriff or police chief as assurance that the carnies wouldn't cause any trouble.

327

"They're expecting that boy to come back," Joanna whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening. The carnival had eyes and ears like any small town. Pepper didn't have to ask which boy. "Why would they think—" "Ollie pulled a red light job on him." Worked him then promised to pay him in the morning only for the carnival to skip out. Joanna didn't meet her gaze and Pepper knew there was more. "They sent you to the river last night," she said. "What did you do to him?" "I just put a little something in his wine so he would sleep. That's all." Pepper hoped that was all that had happened last night, but she wasn't about to ask for more details. She had a pretty good idea of how Joanna operated. "You took the rest of his money, too, didn't you?" "He's a mark, sucker, a clem. He knew what he was getting into. He should never have followed the carnival." Her gaze was pointed as a knife, putting the blame on Pepper for enticing the boy to follow them. There was a rule in the carnival: always leave a mark with money for gas to leave. Joanna had broken that rule and they both knew that could mean trouble. But Joanna wasn't the one to blame for this. Pepper cursed that moment of weakness she'd had the first time she'd seen Hunt McCormick. If she had let him lose his money that first night, none of this would be happening now. All she could hope was that he wasn't fool enough to come after his money again.

Chapter Fourteen Pepper began to relax a little by the time the awnings on the booths were dropped that night and she hadn't seen Hunt McCormick. Because it was the weekend, though, they were spending two days in Miles City. She wished they were moving on, putting more distance between them and Hunt. Hopefully, he hadn't known which direction they'd gone when they'd left Williston, North Dakota. Now that they were in Eastern Montana, with the towns miles apart, even if he followed them, maybe he would tire of this and give up. If only Joanna hadn't taken all his money. She couldn't wait until the day she could leave this life. As she walked through the dark toward her trailer, the whisper of the Yellowstone River called to her in the distance. The moon and stars lit the way as she walked down to the river's edge. It had been one of those hot July days, and the feel of the cool water as she took off her shoes and waded in soothed some of her worry. The water lapped at her ankles. She lifted her skirt higher to wade a little deeper. "I hope you know how to swim." The sound of the male voice made her jump. Her heart took off at a gallop as she spun around, almost losing her balance on the river rocks. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered, and looked down the river, afraid there might be others out here tonight. "Where should I be?" he asked as he walked into the water, fully clothed, including his boots. "What are you doing?" "I'm going swimming. With you."

328

She shook her head fiercely and started toward the shore, but he caught her, holding her shoulders as he walked her back toward the deeper water. "You never answered me," he said, so close she could feel his warm breath fan her cheek, just a whisper away from her lips. "Do you know how to swim? I sure hope so," he said as they were suddenly in deep water.

Chapter Fifteen Pepper was struck with fear. "What are you going to do to me?" He pulled her to him, pressing his body to hers to keep them both afloat. Her wet clothing clung to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. She saw his gaze lower to her small, firm breasts. "What should I do with you?" he whispered. She shook her head, unable to find her voice as they floated downriver, away from the carnival. "I know what I'd like to do to you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. She shivered and he drew her intimately closer, keeping her head above water until they were around several bends in the river. "If you're after your money, you have the wrong girl," she said, finally finding her voice. He shook his head. "I have the right girl." His gaze flashed. "I don't know what she told you, but I wanted nothing to do with her and she knew it. That's probably why she drugged me and took all my money." "I can try to get some of it back for you." She knew that would be impossible, but she had a little of her own saved from salvaging spare coins from the lot after they closed. "Do you really think I'm here because of the money?" he asked as he swam them toward a secluded riverbank. Pepper swallowed thickly. She knew she should be afraid. They had floated far enough away from the carnival that if she screamed for help no one would hear her. Why hadn't she screamed the moment she saw him standing on the bank? She feared the answer as she stood, still locked in his arms, the water moving around them. Her gaze met his and she shivered at what she saw in his eyes, what she felt when she looked at him. Heat radiated from his strong, solid body and yet her nipples ached from the cold and the heat of his look. He laughed softly as he drew her over to the edge of the bank until they could both stand out of the current in a quiet eddy. His gaze locked on hers. "Do you really think I would risk my life for money?" he asked. Pepper shivered as his gaze moved to her mouth. She felt her lips part, her breath coming faster as he slowly lowered his head to brush a kiss over her mouth. "No, Pepper," he said. "I came back for you."

Chapter Sixteen Hunt kissed her, wondering what it was about this girl that had stolen not only his heart—but his senses. He had taken his life in his hands by coming back here. The other night, the drugging, had been a warning. He had no doubt that warning had come from Pepper's father.

329

If he were caught with her now… "Run away with me," he whispered as he drew back from the kiss. "You talk foolish. You are just a boy." He raised a brow. "I might be only seventeen, but I can assure you, I am a man and from the feel of your body against mine, you are definitely a woman." He felt her tremble in his arms, well aware of how her wet clothing clung to her curves and of her desire. It shone in her eyes. "I'm not leaving here without you." He swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bank, where he gently lowered her to the grass. "I want you. Do you want me?" He saw her swallow, her slim throat working, then she put her arms around his neck and slowly pulled him down. *** Pepper had never known such tenderness. She would always remember the sweet smell of the grass, the soft starlight twinkling overhead and the murmur of the river the night Hunt McCormick made love to her on the banks of the Yellowstone. Later she would tell herself that it couldn't have been love. They were too young. But in her heart she would always know the truth. That night she'd fallen so deeply and completely in love no man would ever be able to take Hunt's place in that secret part of her heart. "I mean what I said," Hunt said as they lay in each other's arms afterward. "Run away with me."

Chapter Seventeen Pepper shook her head slowly. "You know we are both too young and I can't leave my father. He needs me. When I'm older…" "I will come back for you then," Hunt said, rising up on one elbow to look down into her face. "I promise. I will go make my fortune and then if I have to search the world over, I will find you and make you my wife." She smiled up at him, touched, but knowing he would soon forget her, while she would never get over him. He was a dreamer, something she'd never let herself be because her life was so rooted in reality. "Here," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold chain with a tiny gold heart hanging from it. She recognized the cheap jewelry. It was something he must have won at a carnival booth before she'd met him that first night. "I know it's nothing," he said as he put it around her neck, "but one day I will replace it with real gold and diamonds. You have my word." She kissed him, then got up hurriedly to collect her clothing, realizing that in her desire for him she had endangered his life. "You must go now," she said as she pulled on her damp clothing. "Promise me that you will never come near the carnival again." He looked sad but resigned as he rose and dressed. "I promise. As long as you promise to wait for me." She nodded, fighting tears. "Now go."

330

He kissed her and she felt herself melt against him for a long moment. Then she jerked back as she heard the crack of a twig in the pine trees behind them.

Chapter Eighteen "Get out of here," Hunt whispered, and pushed her toward a game trail along the edge of the riverbank. "Go." She ran, knowing it would be bad enough if they caught him, but if she was with him… One look at her and they would know what had happened between the two of them. Pepper worked her way back to where she'd left her shoes on the riverbank, but they were gone. She felt sick to her stomach as she saw a lantern light on in her trailer. Her father had awakened and found her gone. What had he thought when he'd discovered her shoes and nothing else on the riverbank? Hurrying, she ran through the darkness toward her trailer and was almost there when a hand grabbed her arm and jerked her back into the shadows between the trailers. "Shhh," Joanna warned. She studied Pepper for a moment in the dim light, then sighed as if seeing everything in her face. "I tried to find you and warn you," she whispered. "When your father discovered you gone, they came looking for you. They found that boy's footprints in the soft earth by the shore. They know." Ice filled her veins. "They'll kill him." Joanna drew her farther into the shadows. "There is nothing you can do. Go back to your trailer. Your father is very upset and has gone with the other men to look for you." Pepper swallowed, fingering the tiny gold heart dangling from her neck, sick that she had upset her father and worse, that he would know what she had done and never forgive her. Maybe what made it worse was that she wasn't sorry about what had happened between her and Hunt. She could never have dreamed of a more perfect first time. "I have to help Hunt," she cried. "I love him." Joanna scoffed. "Anything you try to do will only make it worse." "If you hadn't taken his money, he wouldn't have come back." In her heart, she knew that wasn't true. But Joanna didn't. "Because of that, you're going to help me."

Chapter Nineteen The men came out of the darkness so quickly Hunt didn't have time to react—even if he hadn't been outnumbered. Nor did he put up a struggle. Not that it stopped them from beating him up. When they finally stopped, he thought it was over but realized they'd just been taking their frustration out on him. They had something else planned for him as they grabbed him and hauled him back toward the carnival lot. He told himself being with Pepper had been worth it. No regrets. Tonight would last him a lifetime—if it had to. "Take him to Chester," one of the men said. Hunt felt his heart drop as he remembered that Chester was billed as "The Man-Eating Crocodile." The night before he'd met Pepper, he had seen one of the carnies throw chunks of raw meat into the pit where the croc was kept. He shuddered.

331

He'd expected the men to beat him up. He hadn't expected them to kill him. Worse, he realized they could make it look like an accident. He'd come on the lot after hours, possibly to steal something, and had stumbled into the crocodile pit. The pit was a wooden box that Hunt realized could be his coffin in a few minutes. He struggled but there were too many of them, and they were strong as bulls from all the heavy lifting they did on a daily basis. "You don't want to do this," he said. "You're the one who shouldn't have done what you did," said one of the men. He recognized the voice as Pepper's father's and knew nothing he could say would save him now. Hunt could hear the croc in the pit begin to thrash around in expectation of a meal. The thrashing increased in volume as two of the men slid off the heavy boards on top of the pit. The other men lifted him, carrying him toward the pit where the man-eating crocodile waited expectantly for him. *** Joanna's blood-curdling scream seemed to freeze in the summer night air. She screamed again, the terror now real. Pepper held her breath. She had seen the men take Hunt into the tent and knew what awaited him inside there. Tears and pleading would not save him. She'd had to resort to more drastic measures once she realized her father was in that tent with the other men. Pepper knew her father. He was a good man—until he was crossed. Every man on the carnival knew not to come near his daughter. Hunt had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. There would be no mercy. She couldn't even imagine what her own punishment would be. Right now it didn't matter. She had to save Hunt, Pepper thought as she peered into the dark tent. Joanna's screams had stopped the men. Several of them had gone to the door of the tent and looked out. "Waldo escaped!" Joanna cried, with a choking sound that made it clear that the huge snake was already wrapped around her. "He has me. Help me!" The men immediately dropped Hunt to the ground and took off running toward her, yelling for others to come help. Pepper knew she had to move fast.

Chapter Twenty "Waldo's escaped and he has me." That was all Hunt heard before he was dropped to the dirt an instant before the men all went running outside. He tried to get up but fell back in pain. Several of his ribs were broken. He rolled onto his side, the pain nearly making him black out. As he tried to get onto all fours, he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Here, let me help you," Pepper said. "My ribs," he ground out. "Just let me lean on you."

332

Together, they managed to get him on his feet and out the back door of the tent. She led him to an old pickup. "The keys are in it. The minute you start it, they will hear the engine. Drive as fast as you can. Leave the truck up the highway on the way to Lewistown. As long as they get it back, they won't come after you." He touched her face with his fingertips. "What will they do to you?" "Don't worry about me," she said with a lift of her chin. "I can take care of myself." He shook his head. "I can't leave you." "You can't help me. Not in your condition. The best thing you can do for me is to get out of here now." "I'll find you after I make my fortune." He leaned toward her, kissed her softly, then painfully climbed into the pickup. She closed the truck door quietly and realized she was crying. She couldn't bear to see him so hurt and knew that more of it was worry about her than the pain from his beating. She clung to the edge of the open window, her feet on the running board as she leaned in to touch his face before she hopped down. "Go," she cried as she heard a commotion in the tent behind them. "Hurry!" "Wait for me!" he said as he turned the key in the ignition. The old pickup motor rumbled to life. Hunt popped the clutch and the truck lunged forward across the open field, roaring away as the men came racing out after him. The last thing she saw was the pickup's taillights as Hunt swerved onto the main highway. And then he was gone. She swallowed back her tears as she felt her father's large hand grip her shoulder. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. She saw both his disappointment and anger in the hard glint of his eyes. Pepper lifted her chin. Just as she'd told Hunt, she could take care of herself. Whatever happened now, she wasn't worried. She'd known true love. A part of her would always be waiting for Hunt McCormick to come for her. In her heart lived the belief that one day Hunt would find her and they would be together. She held on tightly to that as daylight broke on the horizon and the sound of the pickup's old engine died off in the distance.

333

Daniel's Gift by Wendy Warren Elliana Goldman has always longed for a big family of her own. Though a man to love was always part of the dream, at the age of thirty-five, with no prospects of romance looming, Elliana is ready to create life, not wait for it to happen. She’s not against using an anonymous donor, but she’d rather handpick her baby’s father. And something tells her former classmate—and one-time crush—Daniel Bowman is the right man for the job. Daniel has a reputation in Honeyford for being unwilling to commit to anything more than breakfast, but the truth is a little more complicated than that. He’s not a man who takes family lightly, so he’s floored when Elliana asks him to father a child, no strings attached. And he’s even more surprised when his growing attraction to her has him tempted to agree to make a baby—the old-fashioned way!

Chapter One Elliana Goldman remembered several things about her mother: The way Laurel had sung, "I love Ellie in the springtime" when she’d tucked her daughter into bed at night; the fact that she had always worn pretty shoes; and how her soft arms had smelled of white ginger and vanilla bean and hugged Ellie as if they would never, ever let go. Even though Laurel had been an exceptionally beautiful and genial woman, she had not minded that her only child required glasses as thick as flapjacks, or that Elliana seemed more comfortable with books and music than she did with people. "Every blade of grass has an angel watching over it, whispering, ’Grow…grow.’" Laurel had painted the quote from the Talmud on the wall above Elliana’s bed, and sometime later, beneath it, she’d added, "Growing things take time." When Elliana was seven, her mother had gotten cancer, shrinking to the size of a child herself before she’d passed on. In all, Laurel and Elliana had spent fewer than two handfuls of years together, but in that time Elliana learned it was possible to be loved fully and completely, for being nothing more than herself. Twenty-eight years later, she was ready to admit that her chances of being loved like that again were slim to none. And she was prepared to do something about it. Bowman Gas and Auto Repair. Trust your car to us. Standing outside a worn building that housed one of the two filling stations in Honeyford, Oregon, Elliana read the blue-lettered sign above the mechanic’s office. Like the rest of the dull exterior, the sign showed neglect, with most of the letters scratched through in spots, and she had to remind herself not to judge the mechanic by the building. She had reason to believe he was responsible and good at what he did. He’d better be. She was about to trust a lot more than her car to Daniel Bowman. "Hello!" Giving three firm raps to the aluminum trim of the open garage door, Elliana peered inside the dark space. Early June sunshine and the serviceable straw hat she wore made it difficult to see very far into the garage. But as her eyes adjusted, she spied Daniel standing beneath a pickup truck that was hoisted atop a hydraulic lift. Clad in grease-stained denim jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and shoulders, he looked like a teenage girl’s daydream—the rebel who would ride up to her house on a motorcycle and whisk

334

her away while her father yelled, "Stop!" In fact, if rumors could be believed, Daniel had done exactly that— with more than one girl—in high school. Now, sixteen years past his teens, he was still as handsome as sin. With Bruce Springsteen playing on a boom box, Daniel appeared not to have heard her. Administering several staccato taps to the aluminum, Elliana raised her voice. "Excuse me! May I come in?" Ducking his head between his raised arms, Daniel squinted against the daylight. Elliana raised her hand and waggled her fingers as he looked toward the front of the garage. Giving something on the car a final twist, he shoved a tool into his back pocket and pulled out a rag to wipe his hands. As he walked toward her, his stride long and lazy, Daniel’s sky-blue eyes maintained contact in a way that was effortlessly sensual. "Blue Ford Focus. Bad water pump. You brought it in last month. Right?" His velvety baritone settled over Elliana like a blanket. They had lived in the same small Central Oregon town for much of their lives, yet their paths had rarely intersected. Four weeks ago, she had brought her car in as an excuse to see him up close. He had been distant and professional, and she hadn’t expected him to remember her today. Now she felt the appalling urge to giggle. For a woman who was tall and sturdy with average looks and a practical nature, giggling over a man seemed ridiculous. She offered a brisk nod, instead, and tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Yes, in May. I’m not sure I formally introduced myself at the time. I’m Elliana Goldman. We attended the same high school." His slow, amused smile revealed teeth as white and shiny as snow in the sun. "I know who you are. You sat up front in Mr. Young’s biology class and raised your hand every time he asked a question. Got all the answers right, too." He crossed his arms and grinned. "You were a hard act to follow. Any problems with the pump?" He remembered her from high school. "The pump?" she murmured. "No. No problems at all. You did a fine job. Very timely and reasonably priced." "Good… So why was that the first time you brought your car to me, Elliana? You still live in town, don’t you?" "Yes, I do, but…" Caught off guard, she stammered. "I often work in Bend, and I do some of my business there, so…I’ve always heard you were an excellent mechanic, it’s not that—" He reached out, lightly touching her shoulder. "Hey, relax. I was teasing." Elliana’s shoulder tingled until he dropped his hand and returned the rag he held to a back pocket. "So, what can I do for you? I’m running a brake special if you need one." She wagged her head. A brake special was not even close to what she needed from him. "I think my brakes are all right, thank you." Perspiration began to dampen the armpits of the pale green sundress she’d donned for this meeting. "My business is of a more personal nature, Mr. Bowman, if you don’t mind taking time from your workday?" "I don’t mind, but if this is about the auction for Honeyford Presbyterian, I already donated a lube, oil and filter—" "It’s not about the auction." Elliana twined her fingers, wondering how on earth was she going to broach the matter she’d come to discuss. She’d rehearsed in her mind and even in front of the mirror for the past several weeks, but that had been poor preparation for facing the man in person.

335

Introverted by nature, she had discovered long ago that being plainspoken and as direct as possible served her well. Hoping that would hold true today, she took a deep breath. "Even though you remember me from school—" she began "—I realize we don’t truly know each other. What I’m about to say is sure to come as a surprise." Daniel’s expression slipped into confusion. "I’m thirty-five years old. I’ve never been married, and I don’t expect that to change in the near future. But I do want children." Obviously growing wary, he shrugged. "Okay." Checking his watch, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Listen, I’ve got to finish this transmission by noon, so—" "Of course." She shook her head. "Let me just get to the point then." Trying to sound as confident as she’d felt when she’d planned her course of action, she said, "Please understand I’ve given this matter a great deal of thought. I don’t want to wait any longer to have a child. I need someone to help me accomplish my goal, and I’d rather not go to a total stranger. I don’t expect—or want—an ongoing relationship, but I would like to know who the father of my child is." Daniel’s intense blue eyes nearly disappeared beneath the swoop of his jet-black brows. Reminding herself not to gauge his response until she’d said everything she’d come to say, Elliana plunged on. "Mr. Bowman…Daniel… After much thought about the kind of man I need, I’m wondering…hoping…" Daniel’s eyes widened. "Will you help me have a child?"

Chapter Two Pulling his jaw up from the concrete floor of his gas station garage, Daniel searched for a response that would adequately convey his reaction to what Elliana Goldman had just proposed. "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" Elliana was tall for a woman, only a few inches shorter than his six feet, but the brim of her ugly straw hat hid her eyes. "Take that hat off," he ordered. "I want to see your eyes so I’ll know whether you’re kidding or not." "I most certainly am not ’kidding,’ Mr. Bowman. This matter is far too important to me to joke about." More quietly, she added, "I told you my request might come as a surprise." "A surprise?" Daniel stared in disbelief at the woman he had known only peripherally. He could use his fingers to count the words they’d exchanged prior to last month, when she’d brought her car to him. Yet she’d somehow decided it was reasonable to waltz in here today and ask him to—he could hardly think it, much less take her seriously—father her child. "Let’s take this one step at a time," he said, praying no one pulled up to the gas station while they were having this conversation. "First, you just asked me to have unprotected sex, so don’t call me ’Mr. Bowman.’ Second—" "I did not!" Her head shot up so fast it looked as if she was going to snap her slender neck. "I did not ask you to have unprotected sex…or any sex! I asked you to be a sperm donor."

336

"What?" She nodded furiously, flapping the brim of the straw hat in his face, then admitted, "I suppose I didn’t get to the sperm part yet— I mean, I didn’t explain that specific detail, but I was getting there. Good heavens, you didn’t think I actually wanted to—" Her lips opened in an affronted O. "I barely know you." Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "I fell down, didn’t I? I have a concussion." He felt his head. "My skull is fractured. It’s got to be that, because nobody conscious would be having this conversation." "Mr. Bowman—" "I said, do not call me Mr. Bowman. Only people who have never asked me to donate sperm call me that. And take that damn hat off so I can see your face!" "I’ll keep my hat right where it is, thank you," she said stiffly. "Responding with a simple no would suffice, but your meaning is perfectly clear. I won’t trouble you any further. Good morning." Unbelievably, she turned to walk away. "Oh, no you don’t," he said. Without asking this time, he pulled the hat off her head. A burst of outrage turned her ivory skin as red as her hair. Even though they’d run in completely different circles in high school, Daniel remembered a couple of things about Elliana Goldman, including the impossibly thick red hair she’d wrangled into tight braids. These days she was abusing it by scraping the mass into a bun on top of her head. Then and now, several wavy tendrils refused to behave, springing wildly around her face and softening her sharper, more angular bone structure. The other thing he remembered was her inherent decency. Once, a new girl in their biology class had fumbled during frog dissection, spilling amphibian guts and formaldehyde. The other kids, his friends included, had laughed. Unbidden, Elliana had rushed forward to help, reassuring the tearful girl and matterof-factly disposing of frog parts. The incident stood out because her action had made him—the star of every local sports team and the homecoming king of Lewis and Clark High—feel small and petty by comparison. The fact was he’d admired Elliana from that day forward. Because of that, he decided to talk some sense into her. "Look, what are you planning to do?" he asked, feeling her arm muscles flex beneath his fingers as she tried to pull away. "Run all over town until you find someone willing to be recruited?" "Of course not!" Her hazel eyes narrowed in displeasure. "You keep jumping to conclusions. There are sperm banks, you know. The donor doesn’t have to be someone I’ve met face-to-face. I merely thought I would prefer to know the father of my child. And you…" "I, what?" "You…suddenly popped into mind." She was a bad liar. Her chest turned pink all the way up to a pair of elegant collarbones. "That’s bull," Daniel countered. "You said your regular mechanic is in Bend, yet you brought your car in here last month. You’ve had this planned at least that long. Why me?" "Because I’m intelligent and practical, and you’re attractive and social. And it’s a proven fact that pretty, gregarious people fare better in the job market and other venues." She shrugged. "I thought you’d balance the gene pool."

337

Incredulous, Daniel let go of her arm as if it were hot steel. "That’s a little clinical, don’t you think?" Shrugging once more, she plopped the ugly, eye-shading hat onto her head…but not before Daniel noted the shine of tears. He felt a corresponding wave of compassion. "Look, right now you may think you need to have a kid this way, but give it some time." He offered an understanding smile. "You’re around my age, right?" he asked. "Thirty-five, you said? You’ve still got time to meet someone who wants kids. Why sign up for single parenthood? When the crap hits the fan—and it will—you’ll be glad you waited until you’ve got a partner." "Stop. Right now," Elliana interrupted him, auburn brows lowered, aristocratic nostrils flared with ire. "Do you think this is a whim? That I haven’t thought my decision through completely?" "I’m sure you have. Theoretically. You’ve obviously given a lot of thought to gene pools and sperm banks. But what do you really know about raising kids?" Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair. "It’s a lot more complicated than most people think. You know, some people live perfectly good lives without having children of their own. Maybe you ought to step back a couple of paces. Forget about how you’re going to go about this and reconsider why—" "I came here to ask for your help, not to be given a lecture on the advisability of having a child in the first place!" she interrupted, frustration oozing from every pore. Elliana was so upset that Daniel reached out to squeeze her elbow, but she jerked away. "Wait a minute! Now I get it." Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "It’s not that you won’t do it; you can’t do it." Her eyes went big and round. "What are you—" "I know some men have that problem—rarely when they’re as young as you, of course—" "What the hell—" "—and I had heard rumors. I just didn’t believe them. Oh my, I’m sorry if I touched on a sore spot. Don’t worry, though, because I’m sure…well, pretty sure…no one else has taken the rumors seriously, either. Well, good luck." Turning with her nose in the air, Elliana Goldman sped out of Daniel’s garage. He caught up with her just as she reached for the handle on her car door. Slamming his palms on the hood of her blue sedan, Daniel trapped her between his arms. Releasing an uncharacteristic squeal, Elliana whipped around. Fairly certain he had never wanted to win any point more in his life, Daniel loomed over her, his heart hammering close to hers, their lips nearly touching. "Darlin’, I am perfectly capable of giving you what you need." Speaking low and intently, he wove his words around her like a snake. "But when I do that sort of thing, I do not do it into a cup."

Chapter Three Elliana’s heart beat like hummingbird wings. She knew when she was blushing, and she figured her skin was currently the shade of strawberry jam. The moment she had decided to ask Daniel Bowman to be her sperm donor was clearly the moment she’d gone completely insane. As a naturally cautious person, she thought she’d explored her plan to have a child

338

via artificial insemination and her decision to request Daniel’s help from every angle. But she hadn’t imagined that his refusal would spark such grief and embarrassment inside her, or that her wounded feelings would egg her into suggesting he’d refused because he was impotent. "Darlin’, I’m perfectly capable of doing what you want. But when I do that, I do not do it into a cup." His comeback had sparked the heated blush presently infusing her neck and face. All she wanted now was to escape from his gas station, lick her wounds, and possibly move to another country to minimize the chances of ever having to see him again. "We seem to be back at the beginning," she pointed out, her voice pinched as she struggled to remain calm with Daniel’s muscular arms bracketing her against the side of her car, their bodies almost touching. "One of us is talking about creating a life and one of us is talking about sex with a stranger." "Your sense of propriety is inspiring." One of his dark brows arched. "I’m going to ask you one more time: Why me? And this time, don’t screw with me, Ellie. I want a real answer." Ellie. Few people other than her mother had ever called her that. With most people she remained too formal to inspire a nickname. "I did give you a real answer," she insisted. Maybe she’d prevaricated a little, but when she’d told him he possessed a number of the qualities she did not—extraordinary looks, superior physical coordination, the ability to make friends and converse easily—she had meant it. "It’s not that I want a designer baby," she hastened to assure him. "It’s simply that certain qualities make life easier for a person. I think it’s only natural to want one’s child to have an easier time in life. Don’t you?" His eyes narrowed, perhaps because he didn’t like her answer, or perhaps because of the sun that was beating down on them. Elliana could see the sheen of perspiration beginning to cover his biceps as they formed a frame on either side of her head. At five-feet-nine inches tall, she was not a petite woman; Daniel Bowman was possibly the only man she had ever known who made her feel small. Without responding to her question, he asked another of his own. "What made you think I’d agree to help you? It’s a big leap from ’How’ve you been since high school?’ to ’Want to help me have a baby?’ And you wouldn’t have asked if you hadn’t assumed I’d say yes." When she hesitated, Daniel growled, "I can see the wheels turning in that busy brain of yours. Just give it to me straight. " Given the way he’d been reacting this morning, she sensed he wasn’t going to like her answer, but since she had nothing left to lose, she took a deep breath and said in a rush, "I heard you’re a ladies’ man and that no woman is ever going to get you to settle down, so I thought you might be willing to have a child if you knew in advance that no responsibilities would be required of you." There was a moment’s quiet. Then thunder roared beneath the clear blue sky. "You what? You thought I’d agree to be a stud service?" Elliana winced. Put that way… Seated in the stylist’s chair at Delilah’s Hair Hive, Honeyford’s premier beauty salon, Elliana had been listening for years to local gossip. Daniel’s name popped up occasionally, usually with a couple of women complaining that Daniel was great for a date, but nothing more. Nori, a stylist with a tiny diamond in her nose and a shiny gold ring in her belly button, complained, "I can’t get him to commit to anything more than breakfast." "Actually, I thought you might want to be part of bringing a new life full of hope and promise into the world," Elliana told him, opting for the positive approach. "Ellie." His brows dipped further in warning.

339

Right. He wanted it straight. "I heard there was an incident the summer before you went to college." Every muscle in Daniel’s body tensed. With his breath coming more rapidly, he said, "Gossip, Ellie? That’s what you based your decision on?" Well, partly. Indignation rolled off Daniel like heat waves. Extricating herself from the situation seemed like a better idea all the time. "This car is getting a little toasty against my back. Would you mind stepping away, please?" In lieu of complying, Daniel bent his elbows, bringing his face even closer. "Yes, I do mind. I need some more time to think this situation through. See, my brain doesn’t work as quick as yours, what with you being intelligent and full of values and me being brawny and morally bereft." He blinked. "Hey, ’bereft.’ I’m surprised I knew that word." "All right, very funny. You’ve made your point. Now if you’ll please—" "You know, you’re not half bad looking…when you’re not wearing that ridiculous hat." He glanced down leisurely, where her scoop-necked sundress revealed the fair, freckled skin of her chest and made perfectly evident the fact that although she wore a bra, nature had not endowed her with enough raw material to truly require one. Bending an elbow on the roof of the car, Daniel rested his temple in his palm and murmured, "By damn, why not? What’s more important than bringing hope and promise to a troubled world?" He nodded decisively. "Honeypie, consider this your lucky day." His heavily lashed lids lowered partway, turning his sharp blue gaze into liquid bedroom eyes. "I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be happy to give you your heart’s desire." Sneaking beneath the brim of her hat, he got so close that his lips brushed her ear, and despite the day’s mounting temperature, goose bumps raced along Elliana’s arms. His voice was a lion’s purr when he added, "But we’re going to do it the good old-fashioned way." Elliana’s heart slammed against her chest. She turned her head so fast her hat flew from her head. Her nose skimmed across Daniel’s cheek, and her mouth, opened in a broad soundless O, aligned perfectly with his. Close enough to kiss, his lips curled in a beautiful, ironic quirk. "What’s the matter, Ellie? All of a sudden you’re real quiet." Before she could collect the thoughts that were scattering like field mice, a police car pulled into the gas station, rolling past the pumps and coming to a stop thirty feet from where they stood. Daniel glanced over his shoulder. When he saw the vehicle, he straightened away from her, his shoulders squaring, his back ramrod straight. He inhaled sharply then appeared to hold his breath. Elliana watched an officer emerge from the driver’s side, cross around to the rear passenger door and open it to emit a stocky teenager with thick dark hair and an expression that said he’d like to challenge the world to a pissing match. Daniel did release his breath then—on an explosive, under-his-breath curse that Elliana hoped only she heard. And then he whispered in a fervent prayer, "Dear God, not again."

340

Chapter Four Putting away the dinner she had barely touched, Elliana wiped her kitchen counter with the calm precision she had lately begun to think of as fussy. A dull grief had settled over her since she’d left Daniel’s, around noon. Asking him to help her have a child had seemed like a good idea—a brave idea. But she had approached him based on what she thought she knew about him. The fact was her life hadn’t changed all that much since high school, and she had made the mistake of thinking the same might be true of him. Now she knew she’d made a horrible mistake. When her doorbell rang, she said a silent thank you for the distraction, hoping one of her neighbors had decided to drop by for a chat so she could stop thinking about Daniel for five minutes. She hurried to the door, but when she opened it, the hope of reprieve fled. Daniel stood on her doorstep, tall and handsome. He had showered and changed since this morning, but appeared exhausted. "I looked up your phone number and address in my records. I probably should have called, but…" He shrugged. "May I come in?" One look at his face—beautifully sculpted, serious, concerned—and her heart thumped with foolish emotion. She’d stayed at the gas station long enough this morning to hear the police officer explain that Daniel’s younger brother, Chad, had been caught with marijuana at his high school. Though Daniel had clearly been surprised by the allegation that Chad was doing drugs, his reaction—furious, frustrated and righteously indignant—told her it wasn’t the first time Chad had gotten into trouble at school. It told her, too, that Daniel was responsible for his brother, a fact of which she’d been entirely unaware. "Sure." She stepped back as he entered the living room of her modest bungalow. "Pretty," he said, acknowledging the pale-colored slipcovers, the vases of flowers from the garden and the carefully arranged knickknacks. Elliana wondered whether he saw what she did: A single woman’s tooperfect attempt to create home. This morning he had asked her why she had come to him with the request that he help her have a baby. She’d offered a couple of answers, but had left out the most compelling one: the fact that she’d had a huge crush on him in high school. Who hadn’t? But for Elliana, the crush wasn’t only about his wonderful looks or his success on the football field. She had loved the way he spoke to people—with kindness and his full attention. She hadn’t fooled herself that they would ever date, but Daniel Bowman had become the epitome of the man she’d hoped to find someday. Now he was in her home…and he looked miserable. Running a hand through his wavy hair, he said, "I owe you an apology. You asked me to help you, and I responded like a juvenile delinquent. My only excuse is that I was caught off guard, and my life lately—" "Don’t apologize!" she interrupted. "Please don’t. I’ll just feel worse than I already do." Twining her fingers, she said, "After I saw you with your brother, I realized I’d misjudged your situation, Daniel. Misjudged you. The truth is, I owe you an apology. I asked you for help based on preconceived ideas when, really—" she shook her head slowly "—I don’t know you at all." He watched her a moment without speaking, then murmured, "’Preconceived ideas.’" Ever-so-slowly, he hooked a brow at her. "Do I want to know what they are?"

341

"Probably not." "Well, that settles it." Crossing to the sofa, he sat, folded his arms across his chest and stared up at her. "Let me have it. You mentioned a rumor from several years ago. I’m sure I know what it is, but I’m curious about how it’s morphed over the years. What have you heard, Ellie?" Seeing him on her sofa, curiosity and even amusement now underscoring the fatigue, Elliana relaxed a bit. With nothing to lose, she admitted quickly, "I heard that when it comes to women, you won’t commit to anything past breakfast, and even then it has to be instant." He slapped a hand over his heart. "Wounded to the quick." She started to apologize, but the corners of his lips twitched, and he asked, "Anything else?" Elliana hesitated, but she was already in for a penny. "The summer after our freshman year of college, I heard that a girl you were dating got pregnant and begged you to marry her, but you refused. According to the rumor, she had the child on her own and wore him around campus in a sling. I admit to believing the story at the time, but after getting to know you…I’m guessing it was heavily embellished." Uncrossing his arms, Daniel braced his hands on the sofa like an eagle spreading his wings to claim all the airspace he could. The twitch of amusement previously on his lips turned into a scowl. "I was slapped with a paternity the second semester of my freshman year at Montana U," he said, cutting to the chase. "I did have sex with the girl who claimed I was her baby’s father, but I’d used a condom, and the timing seemed off. My first year of college was earmarked by blood tests and talks with lawyers, plus her angry parents, and my disappointed ones." He leaned forward and spoke so fervently Elliana felt chills along her arms. "I wasn’t the baby’s father, Elliana. If I had been, I would have stepped up to the plate. I do not take the creation of a life lightly, and that experience made me doubly careful. I haven’t been accused of fathering a child since." Elliana nodded. Daniel’s eyes narrowed. "You thought I might be willing to father a child and walk away, because you believed I’d done it once before." A shame-filled blush filled her cheeks. "Guilty. I’m very sorry." Rising, Daniel turned to gaze out her window. "Once I saw you with your brother—" she continued "—I realized the old story wasn’t true. I already knew you had a brother, but I didn’t realize he was so young. Or that you were responsible for him. Have you been his guardian for a long time?" Daniel’s nod was barely perceptible. "Since I was twenty-two. He was a change-of-life baby for our parents, and they were thrilled. He was supposed to be my brother, not my son. Chad was three when they died in a car accident. Hit-and-run. For all of us." She watched his broad shoulders tense, and wished she could rub the hurt away. Before she said anything, he turned. "It’s true about breakfast, you know. When I spend the night with a woman—which is rare these days with a teenager around—but when I do, I’m gone way before sunrise." He shrugged. "Once when Chad was at outdoor school, I stayed for a bowl of raisin bran. No coffee." Elliana smiled. "Good coffee does require a time commitment."

342

Daniel smiled, too, then sobered and turned toward her fully. "I can’t help you, Elliana. Not by donating sperm, and not…" By doing it "the old-fashioned way," she thought, hearing his words again in her head. "Any other way," he concluded. She nodded. Emotionally, she’d been on her own a long time. She knew how to be strong when she had to be. Giving Daniel a reassuring nod, she said, "I know. So it’s back to plan A. I phoned the Northwest Fertility Center this afternoon and told them I’m ready to get started." "Northwest Fertility Center?" She smiled as brightly as she could. "A.K.A. sperm bank. If everything goes well, the next time I see you I could be pregnant."

Chapter Five Silhouetted by evening light streaming gently through the living-room window, Daniel stared at Elliana. "You’re going to go through with it?" "Of course." A bubble of frustration rose inside Elliana, but she quickly popped it. "Not doing it isn’t a consideration." Using a sperm donor to get pregnant was a controversial issue, and she hadn’t discussed her plans with many people. But now she felt an urge to make Daniel understand. Walking around the chair she’d been standing behind, she sat and looked up at him. "I lost my mother when I was ten, Daniel. I never knew my father. My great-aunt Lillie raised me, and she was a doll—loving and kind—but it was just the two of us. It got lonely. I must have dreamed my whole life of a big family. A man to love was part of that dream." She shrugged, half philosophical and half frustrated. "It hasn’t happened, and I’m tired of waiting for something that may never come. I want to create my life, not wait for it." He nodded. "All right. I can understand wanting to be proactive, but you’re young," he said. "Plenty of people find their life partners in their mid-thirties." She started shaking her head before he finished. "I’m not going to pin my dreams on a maybe. When I sit at that table—" she nodded toward her dining room "—I want to see little people looking back at me. Even if they’re complaining about every bite they eat and talking with their mouths full and kicking the chair rungs. I want to cut peanut butter sandwiches into star shapes, and read Goodnight Moon until my eyes cross, and find one more hug inside me even when I’m dead tired and wondering how to pay the mortgage." She raised a hand toward him. "You became a father to Chad so young. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been for you, and I realize it may be hard for you to empathize with my feelings. But believe me, I’ve thought this through. Over and over. I’m not going to change my mind." Speaking out loud about the thoughts and feelings that had been swirling inside her made Elliana feel stronger. She could see Daniel struggling to understand and liked him better for it, but disappointment pinched her heart nonetheless. If he’d been able to assist her, if he’d agreed to help her become pregnant, she might have had a friend along for at least part of the ride. The urge to change his mind came on strong, and she knew what she had to do. Forcing herself to smile, she stood. "Thank you for coming over, Daniel. I truly appreciate it."

343

"Thank you for coming over…and goodbye," Daniel thought, understanding that Elliana was inviting him to the door. It was an invitation he should have jumped at. But as she’d stated her case, she’d looked beautiful, her refined face and hazel eyes alive with passion. He realized he couldn’t argue, not with a word of what she’d said. He dropped to her couch, watched her eyebrows rise and gave her a level look. "Before I came home to take care of Chad, I had my future planned out, and it included a family. I wanted kids, Elliana." His neck seemed to have developed a permanent ache, and he rolled his shoulders back. "I’m doing the best job I know how with my brother, but apparently it isn’t enough." She’d made it clear that her decision to have a child was none of his business, but he couldn’t leave without making her understand how damned tough it was to parent alone. "’Difficult’ doesn’t begin to describe this past year with my brother. Being single means I’ve got only one set of shoulders to carry the burdens. I’m thirty-five, and I feel like I’m a hundred." On the verge of escorting him out, she wavered, her features softening, and finally she asked, "What kind of problems are you having with Chad?" Daniel gave a huff of humorless laughter. "You name it. First it seemed like normal rebellious teenager stuff. Then he began cutting school on a regular basis. He used to be a great student. Now he’s getting C’s and D’s. He’s got to get a scholarship if he wants to make more of himself than I have, but the odds aren’t good. You saw what happened today. Caught with marijuana on school grounds and escorted home by a cop. He says he hadn’t smoked it yet." Daniel passed a hand over his forehead as perspiration began to gather. "I thought the preschool years were hard. They’re nothing compared to sixteen." A timer began to beep, and Elliana glanced toward the sound, obviously needing to head to her kitchen. "Something smells good," Daniel commented, realizing for the first time that she was baking. He sniffed the air, detecting aromas that rarely wafted through his home. "I’m keeping you," he said, standing. Knowing he’d said all he could…or should…about her pregnancy plan, he moved toward the front door, but couldn’t resist asking, "Chocolate?" "Yes." She smiled as she fell into step beside him. "My famous brownies. Once a week, I bake and take the results to work." Daniel grinned, grateful that he felt like smiling, however briefly the feeling lasted. "Famous, huh? I wish you hadn’t said that. Brownies are my favorite food group." They were facing each other at the door, with only a couple of feet between them. Reaching out, he touched a smear of what appeared to be cocoa on her green sundress. The leaf-green dress and her red hair made him think of poppies. Lightly, his fingertips grazed her stomach. "The brownies must be homemade." Elliana glanced down, and they both seemed to realize at the same time that his fingers were touching the area of her body that would soon, if she was successful, bulge with someone else’s baby. Daniel felt a sizzle of electric energy up his arm. He let his hand drop. On the way up to her face, his gaze noted the quick intake of breath that made her chest rise and fall. He had never considered himself a freckle man, but the smattering of gold dust across her collarbone could easily convert him. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, and he wanted, despite the chaos in his life and the impending complications in hers, to kiss her. Obviously, it was time to say goodbye. Instead, he heard himself say, "Where do you work?" Elliana blinked as if she didn’t understand the question. When her voice emerged, it was hoarse. "Twice a week I work at The Learning Center in Bend. That’s where I’m going tomorrow. The rest of the time I work

344

for an online school." She cleared her throat. "I’m a teacher, Daniel. Kindergarten through twelfth grade." She hesitated a moment and then said, "If Chad needs a tutor, that’s my specialty." Daniel felt his pulse speed up. "What Chad needs and what Chad will do may be two different things." "I’ve worked with rebellious teens before. In fact, ’compliant’ and ’teenager’ is usually an oxymoron. So, if you think tutoring will help, I’m available some evenings and every Sunday afternoon." "How is it that a woman like you is available in the evenings?" Daniel meant the compliment, and she blushed. He felt a welcome surge of pleasure and the first kernel of hope he’d felt in some time. "What do you charge?" Elliana pressed her lips together. "Actually…" Daniel could see that the wheels of her mind were turning, and he waited expectantly for her answer. "Actually—" she repeated "—I was thinking we could do a trade."

Chapter Six "Ball four in the back pocket," Elliana announced just before she gave her cue stick a shove that sent a billiard ball ricocheting as if it were a pinball. Careening over felt, it landed somewhere opposite its intended destination. "Did I say that right?" she asked, straightening, her cue stick perched on her arm like a shotgun. "’Ball four in the back pocket?’" Daniel rubbed his temple. "I wouldn’t worry about the vernacular right now. Want to take a break and get something to drink?" Elliana smiled brightly. "Okay." Daniel had been an incredibly good sport all evening, even when she’d tossed a dart that accidentally bounced off his hip. Setting her cue stick in the holder against the wall, she said, "This is so much fun. I’ve always wanted to know what a night in a tavern is like. It’s very entertaining!" "Yup." Daniel rested a guiding hand on the small of her back as they made their way to Tavern on the Highway’s lounge, which boasted red leather booths, a juke box and a long bar crowded with patrons. "I wasn’t very good at pool. Or darts," she said happily enough. "No, you did great." "Daniel." Elliana looked at him from beneath her lashes. "I know when I’m good at something and when I’m not. But it was fun to try, and with practice I think I could get the billiard ball to go in the correct direction." He laughed. "Fine. Just warn me the next time you attempt darts. I’ll wear armor." He pointed to a booth in the rear of the lounge. "There’s an open table." "Oh, let’s sit at the bar!" Elliana forged ahead. "I see seats available at the very end."

345

Making a beeline to the two available barstools, she felt a smile that started in her chest. When Daniel agreed to a trade in return for tutoring his brother, she had known immediately what she wanted. A night out, doing something she hadn’t done before and wouldn’t do when she was a single mother. "What’ll it be?" Daniel asked, looking, she thought, confident, relaxed and ridiculously handsome in a green button-down shirt and dark jeans. He had already drawn several greetings from females of all ages at the popular bar. Elliana had gone out earlier today and purchased new skinny-legged jeans, a sleeveless gold top she’d tucked into the pants with a loopy metallic belt, and gold cowboy boots. This might be the only time she ever wore the outfit, but the surprise on Daniel’s face and his low whistle when she’d opened the door had been worth every penny she’d spent. Now she grinned at him and said, "I rarely drink anything more than a glass of chardonnay. Tonight I want one of those drinks called a slippery navel…or a fuzzy nipple?" Daniel wagged his head, his cheeks showing dimples as he suppressed a smile. "You mean, a fuzzy navel or slippery nipple." "Yes, one of those. Which do you recommend?" Daniel didn’t dare voice his recommendation. He’d been thinking about navels and nipples all night—not necessarily fuzzy or slippery, but definitely Elliana’s and most certainly naked. Waving the bartender over, he quietly placed their order while she craned her neck to look around the lounge. She’d shown up at his garage three days ago and had been surprising him ever since. "Tell me again how you got Chad to sit through a physics lesson today." She turned toward him, her face animated. "I didn’t. I taught him how to play basketball. I think he had a fine time." Understatement. Chad’s attitude after spending a couple of hours with his new tutor had been far, far better than Daniel had anticipated. But now he felt his brows pinch together, and he had to struggle to contain his shock. "Chad’s lettered in varsity basketball three years running. He knows how to play the game. Sports aren’t his problem." "He has trouble with his jump shot, though." She reached past Daniel to snag a pretzel from a bowl on the bar. Her fair, freckled arm smelled like…Daniel wasn’t sure what it smelled like, but it smelled amazing. He struggled to remain focused. "Ellie, the point is Chad has to learn physics, not basketball. He’s got to pull decent grades this year if he wants a crack at a good college." Nibbling the tip of the pretzel stick, she nodded. "He also needs to understand that physics—all school learning—can be useful in the real world. Otherwise, he’s not going to retain anything he’s learned, and you’ll be dragging the proverbial horse to water, Daniel. Have I told you I like it when you call me ’Ellie?’ My mom used to call me that." Her eyes and smile exuded sweetness. Gentleness. Love. Ellie was right when she said she was filled with feelings she needed to give away. Daniel’s mouth went stone dry. He had the nearly overwhelming urge to pull the pins out of the bun she was once again wearing and to plow his fingers through those thick, fire-red waves. "Basketball and physics," he murmured.

346

She smiled, pleased. "Yes. Using the laws of physics, it’s possible to make your jump shot every time." "Every time?" "With practice." "You’re one surprise after another." The bartender placed their drinks in front of them, and Ellie’s eyes lit up. "Which is this?" she asked Daniel. "Fuzzy navel or slippery nipple?" She put her lips around the skinny red straws and took a sip. "Neither," Daniel responded, watching her. "It’s a screaming orgasm." Vodka, amaretto, coffee and Irish Cream liquor splattered delicately onto the bar as Elliana coughed. Pulling the cocktail napkin from under his glass, Daniel handed it to her and patted her gently on the back. Elliana said, "Oh," as if she hadn’t just coughed up her drink. Daniel grinned, she blushed, and the back pats turned into long, slow circles. She’d told him she wanted this night out, because she understood that her opportunities would be limited once she had a child to take care of. Ellie Goldman would be a good mother, Daniel realized. A stellar mother. His own upbringing had been as close to idyllic as he figured anyone’s got, and suddenly he felt happy for the baby she wanted so badly. "I wish I’d given Chad a better childhood." He surprised himself by blurting the thought that came to mind. Her face sobered into the gentle understanding he was coming to like so well. "He’s a good kid," she said. "Although he puts too much pressure on himself." Her fair, slender hand reached out and curved around his forearm. "Maybe like his big brother does?" "Ellie," he said, his voice hoarse and his heart suddenly too heavy for his chest. "I know you wanted a night at the Tavern in return for tutoring Chad, but… Can I give you a rain check for tonight?" "Oh!" Caught off guard, she tried to mask the disappointment that swiftly clouded her eyes. "Sure." She glanced at their drinks. "Do you want to leave right now?" With the hand that was tracing slow circles over her back, he reached up to curve his fingers around the nape of her neck. "Yeah. Right now." He lowered his voice, couldn’t have raised it even if he’d wanted to. "Because I’m sitting here, wondering what your hair looks like down. And if I can’t take the pins out of it soon, I think I may go crazy."

Chapter Seven They made it inside Elliana’s front door before Daniel turned her to face him and began to pull the pins slowly out of her hair. The summer evening was hot and thick, but Elliana shivered as the tight bun released and fiery red locks cascaded around her shoulders.

347

Daniel exhaled. "I’ve been wanting to do that all night." He delved his fingers into the unruly waves she’d spent a lifetime trying to control. He wound a thick curl around his index finger. "Are you sorry we left the tavern?" At this particular moment, Elliana wasn’t sorry about anything. She felt confused by the surprising turn of events, but excited and dizzily happy. "It was a good evening," she assured him. "I got to play pool." "You wanted to try karaoke and dance, too," Daniel murmured. Elliana shrugged. She couldn’t imagine either of those activities being more interesting than what was currently taking place. "I can’t do much about the karaoke, but I bet we can manage a dance." Daniel glanced around her living room. "Where’s your stereo?" "The cabinet on the left, next to the fireplace." Transfixed and rooted to the spot, Elliana watched Daniel find the CD he wanted, pop it into her player and then walk toward her as music poured into the room. Smiling, he took her in his arms. "Daniel." She shook her head. Even as her body relaxed into him, her mind tensed. "What are we doing?" When he’d said he wanted to leave Tavern on the Highway to be alone with her, a chorus of hallelujahs had gone off in her head. Every moment she spent with him had reassured her that her initial impulse to ask him to father her child had been a good impulse. A wise impulse. Daniel Bowman was every bit as wonderful— as kind, as witty, as intelligent and as filled with integrity—as she’d imagined. He was also adamantly opposed to her having a child via artificial insemination—with or without his help. "You haven’t changed your mind about…helping me. Have you?" she asked. Daniel stopped swaying to the music, but didn’t pull away. Dark lashes shaded his blue eyes. "Something’s going on here. Between you and me. I want to explore it. Do you?" He didn’t answer her question, but on the other hand, she’d never heard such a straightforward appeal. Immediately, Elliana realized she could answer wisely or honestly. She chose the latter. "Yes." The hand he’d placed on the small of her back pressed her closer to his hard body. She was tall, but he was taller, and she liked the way they fit together. "We’re a good match," he murmured, reading her mind. "You’re a striking woman, Ellie Goldman." She appreciated that he said "striking" and not "beautiful" or even "pretty." "You dated cheerleaders in high school—" she reminded him, pointing out "—I’m a far cry from that." "Always have been," he agreed. They swayed to a few bars of music. "But I grew up a long time ago." The soft reminder tickled her ear. "I haven’t dated a cheerleader since Marci Dehlringer challenged Lolly Falco to naked backflips at the graduation party in my parents’ backyard." Elliana giggled, leaning back to look at him. "I heard about that. I thought it was a Honeyford urban legend."

348

"Nope. It happened." He pulled her even closer than before. "I haven’t dated much at all in the past few years," he confessed. "For some reason, it started to seem pointless." They swayed some more. "How about you?" "I’ve never done a naked backflip." "Pity." He nuzzled her ear. "But I was talking about dating." Tilting his head, he considered her. "You must have had opportunities to get married, Ellie. You want a family, you’re intelligent, and you’re lovely. How is it that you’re still single?" Pleasure warmed Elliana down to her toes. "I was engaged once. But when push came to shove, the magic wasn’t there, and we both decided we wanted more." "Good for you," he murmured. "Think so? Sometimes I wonder. If you wanted to get married, would you wait for ’magic?’" The question shot through Daniel like an arrow. Once upon a time, he had believed in good fortune…the alignment of the stars…soul mates. But that was when his life had spread before him like a canvas waiting to be painted, and he’d imagined using every color in the rainbow. Career, travel, marriage, kids…he’d intended to have it all until life removed the brush from his hand and created a landscape he had never envisioned. "I don’t know what I’d do," he admitted softly. He wasn’t sure what he believed in, anymore, save for putting one foot in front of the other. "I suppose it would depend on my goals, and…" Tension squeezed his throat as he looked into Elliana’s eyes—so trusting, so warm. So willing to believe in the best. The practical words died in his throat. "Yeah," he whispered. "I’d wait for the magic." He lowered his head and kissed her, with no premeditation at all. As their lips moved and their arms found their way around each other, Daniel was damned sure he was more blindsided than she by the heat that mushroomed between them. They kissed through an entire song on the CD he had chosen…and then through another. When Daniel lifted his head, he felt drunk. "Ellie Goldman," he whispered roughly. "You act like an angel, but you kiss like a witch. What else don’t I know about you?" She gave him the blush-cheeked smile he had come to look forward to. Her slender hands rested lightly on his biceps. "You have no idea that I have a bottle of champagne in my refrigerator. And, that I’ve been looking for a good excuse to open it." For some reason, he was surprised at that. "Let’s get it." It might give him a chance to cool off. Pulling out of his arms, Elliana walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Daniel followed, trying hard—and without much success—not to have a one-track mind, because all he could currently think of was Ellie, naked and willing. He pushed a hand through his hair. He hadn’t wanted a woman this badly in…hell, he couldn’t remember when he’d wanted a woman this badly. He’d hungered for someone to sleep with before, but this time he wanted more of all of her—more of her smiles, more of her blushes, more of everything she was, and definitely more of her soul-twisting kisses. By the time he was in the kitchen and she was reaching into the refrigerator for the champagne, his body was as ready for action as his mind, and he knew he had to calm himself down.

349

"I deprived you of dinner when we left the tavern," he said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. "I make a mean sandwich. If your refrigerator is full, I bet I could come up with something to tempt you." Elliana turned, a champagne bottle in her hands. Irony and humor sparkled in her eyes. "Tempting me isn’t something you need to work very hard at right now." She bit her bottom lip, a glorious picture of uncertainty and hope. She raised the champagne. "I thought, actually, that we could take this upstairs." He held her hand as they made their way to her second-floor bedroom, and that’s when Daniel shocked the devil out of himself and Elliana by finally answering her question. "Maybe I am changing my mind about helping you have a baby."

Chapter Eight Elliana had stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago, but in the two weeks since she and Daniel made love, she felt as if she were living a sweet daydream. Daniel had become her friend, her lover and, most surprising of all, a willing participant in her plan to have a child. There was a perpetual smile in her heart. "My brother’s in a good mood for the first time in freakin’ forever." Chad Bowman reached for one of the marionberry muffins Elliana had set out for their Saturday morning tutoring session. This was the fifth time she’d worked with Daniel’s younger brother, who was proving to be a bright and interested student. "I know Daniel is really proud of you for acing your chemistry lab," she said. "You should do just as well on all your finals. You’ll be able to pick your university when the time comes." Inexplicably, Chad’s mood nose-dived. Setting the muffin, untouched, onto a cloth napkin, he rose and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking so much like Daniel that Elliana felt her heart tug. "What’s wrong?" she asked. "This is the second time you’ve reacted negatively when I’ve mentioned college." "Maybe I don’t want to go." Surprised, Elliana sat back. "What do you want?" In lieu of a direct answer, Chad asked, "How well do you know my brother?" Unsure of exactly how much Daniel had told Chad about the two of them, Elliana responded diplomatically. "I know he loves and wants the very best for you." Her answer made Chad wince. "Do you know he was headed to med school, but had to come home to take care of me? Do you know he’s a mechanic in a broken-down garage so he can support us? I suppose everyone knows that." He slumped back into his chair. "At night, he reads medical books like novels." All of this was news to Elliana. "So you think if you go to college—" "He’ll be paying for me until he’s an old man! He’ll never get to do anything he wants." Chad shoved the muffin into his mouth. Elliana was about to educate Chad with regard to scholarships and student loans when the impact of what he’d told her hit like a locomotive.

350

Daniel had dropped everything to raise his brother after their parents’ death. His life had been on hold for over a decade so that he could parent a child he hadn’t asked for. If Elliana got pregnant, he would stand by her side, by their child’s side, all the way. The very act of helping her have a baby was a decision to continue their relationship in the event that she got pregnant. He was open to a future with her, which should have made Elliana ecstatic. Instead, distress simmered in her blood. Daniel was willing to help her achieve her dreams, because he had given up on his own. With difficulty, she focused her attention on the young man at her table. But in the back of her mind, she saw herself and Daniel and the impossible path they were on. Two hours later, after Chad left, Elliana was sitting on her couch, listening to the phone ring every half hour and letting the machine pick up Daniel’s messages. "Hey, aren’t we supposed to have a date today?" he asked. "Call me." When her doorbell rang, she rose stoically to answer it, having decided her course of action. Daniel stood on her doorstep, his arms full of grocery bags and a look of curiosity on his face. "Phone out of order?" Elliana stepped back to let him in. He walked to the kitchen to unload a paper bag from Honey Bea’s Bakery. "Sandwiches and cookies," he said. "I thought we’d have a picnic." Leaning against the counter with a fist on his hip, he asked, "What are you thinking?" Elliana thought he looked liked a fantasy come to life. She felt her heart breaking. "You never told me you wanted to be a doctor," she said, knowing she had to get to the point quickly, before she cried. His eyes narrowed. "That’s old news." "You still read medical books." Responding to his look of surprise, she told him, "Chad and I had a talk today. His behavior—sloughing off at school, getting caught with marijuana—stemmed from his guilt over your having to postpone your dreams so you could take care of him." Daniel inhaled sharply. "He loves you. He wants you to go back to medical school, like you originally planned." Elliana paused briefly. "So do I." Daniel held up a hand, clearly overwhelmed with the information she was giving him. "Wait. I’ll talk to Chad. I haven’t been able to get even that much out of him, and I suppose it makes some sense, but—" He shook his head. "I’m not going back to medical school. That was another life." She’d expected him to say that. "I hope you change your mind." She strove to remain far calmer than she felt. "In any case, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my future and I’ve decided it will be best—for everyone involved—to go back to my original plan. When I first decided to have a child, I intended to do it alone, and…that’s how I want it to be again." "You do." "Yes. It will be better if I have only me and the baby to worry about." She took a deep breath. "I know exactly what I want my future to be, Daniel. But do you?"

351

Lowering his head, he pushed a hand through the dark waves, his customary expression of agitation. "I was going to wait to talk to you about this, but…" He shrugged. "I am going back to school. I want to use my interest in medicine to become a pharmacist." Walking forward, he took her by the shoulders and looked at her soberly. "I’d intended to wait until Chad graduated, but meeting you changed my mind. I don’t want to postpone my life. I sent for the application a couple of days ago. I’m going to work and go to school at the same time. I’ll be busy nonstop." Elliana felt her heart pound. He had decided to move on before she’d said a word today. "I can complete the program online," he continued. "Here in Honeyford. I should have discussed it with you first, but I was afraid I’d talk myself out of it. It’s going to be nutty for a while. There’ll be lean years. There’s no way I can give you all the attention you deserve. But—" his fingers squeezed her shoulders "—I’m hoping you’ll go along with me for this ride, Ellie. An insanely busy partner isn’t in your plan, I know, but—" "Yes!" Shock, relief, joy and the feeling of living in a fairytale spread through Elliana. She threw herself into Daniel’s arms. "Yes, yes, yes!" Kissing him until they were both dizzy, she paused long enough to assure him. "I’ll wait to have a baby, Daniel. It’s fine. One dream at a time." "Whoa." He held her back when she would have kissed him again. "No. Absolutely no ’waiting.’ There’s been enough sacrifice around here. Let’s go for it, Ellie. Life’s messy. Why fight it?" "You’re serious?" "I’m serious about you." He grinned. "And about making life as full as we can. Right now. What do you say?" "Every blade of grass has an angel watching over it, whispering, ’Grow…grow.’" The quote Elliana’s mother had painted above her bed so long ago glowed in her mind now like a ray of sun. "I say, my angel’s working overtime." Holding Daniel’s face between her hands, she kissed him, smiling at their future with endless love and all the hope in the world.

352

Kiss Me Goodbye By Maggie Shayne All her life, Dawn had lived in fear of the gift she'd inherited from her father—the ability to see and talk to the dead. The voices had slowly driven her father insane. And eventually, to kill. Mordecai Young had died a monster, hunted and hated. A fate that Dawn dreaded would await her, too. But five years have passed since she's seen a ghost. She's married to the man she loves, and she and Bryan are blissfully happy. Until the ghost of her father appears in her bedroom. Now, Dawn must not only deal with the return of her horrible gift, but she must also rely on Mordecai—the homicidal maniac—to help her. While Bryan's life hangs in the balance…

Chapter One Dawn awoke, grinning even before she was fully conscious. She loved that feeling, of being so completely fulfilled that she woke up smiling every morning. All because she woke up with him. Sighing in utter newlywed bliss, she rolled closer, nuzzling his shoulder. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, returning the affectionate snuggle before slipping back into sleep again. But the contentment of the moment died as a chill, like an icy finger, dragged up her spine and into the nape of her neck. Someone else was in the room. Her eyes shot open. Mordecai Young stood on Bryan's side of the bed, so near his legs would have been touching—except that he didn't have any. Ghosts, after all, don't have bodies. From the waist up, though, he could have been solid. Flesh and bone. Her father's eyes as they bored into hers were as vivid and clear as they had been when he was alive. His lips moved as if he were speaking, but no sound emerged. And then he was gone. Dawn sat up, blinked, rubbed her eyes, praying that what she'd just seen had been only a nightmare, that she'd still been sleeping. "Babe?" Awake now, Bryan frowned up at her. He slid his hand around her shoulder, caressed her neck, and then paused. "Hon, your heart's racing. What happened?" She was still staring at the spot where her father had been, but there was nothing there now. "Bad dream," she said softly. She didn't want to tell Bryan, her husband of two whole weeks now, that she had just seen her first ghost in five years. It would freak him out if he knew. After all, her "gift" was the very thing that had driven her out of his arms long ago, the thing that had frightened her so badly that she had run away and tried to hide from the ability she'd inherited from her father. Her father the homicidal maniac. Mordecai Young had been able to speak to the dead, too. But he'd been unable to distinguish which voices were coming from the ghosts, and which were coming from schizophrenia. Eventually, lost to his madness, he'd gone on a killing spree and had died a hated and hunted criminal.

353

But he'd loved her, she was sure of that. Though she'd barely known him before his tragic end, he'd loved his only daughter, as much as he'd loved the God he'd honestly believed he'd been obeying. He'd been sick. Insane. Driven that way by the curse he'd called a gift. With that kind of legacy, inheriting his gift had been the last thing Dawn had ever wanted. And by ignoring it for five years, she was relieved that it had seemed to die of neglect. Until now. There was no doubting it, no questioning it—her curse was back. She knew what it felt like when the dead were in the room with her. She'd felt it before and it hadn't changed. Mordecai had, though. In that brief glimpse she'd had of his spirit, she'd felt…something like serenity. Or was that just wishful thinking? "Are you sure you're okay?" Bryan asked quietly. Looking down at her beloved soul mate, Dawn tried to quell the lingering panic in her chest. "Yeah, fine. We should get up, shouldn't we? Big day ahead." He cupped her nape, and tugged her to lie beside him. "There's no hurry." "You have a 10:00 a.m. flight." "I don't want to leave you." He kissed her nose. "It's only for a couple of days." She tried to sound confident, but inside, she was dreading the separation, too. An accused bank robber had jumped bail and had managed to hop a flight to their town of Shadow Falls. He was being extradited straight back to Alaska. But someone from the Shadow Falls PD had to escort him home. Bryan had drawn the short straw. "You need to pack," she whispered, burrowing closer. "I did it last night so we'd have more time this morning." His lips slid over her neck and she shivered. "I was going to make a special breakfast." "You are my special breakfast. You feed my soul." "I love the way you love me, Bryan." "Then shut up and let me," he said with a mischievous smile that made her forget everything else. They didn't get out of bed for another hour.

Chapter Two Dawn stood at the airport's observation windows until Bryan's jet was out of sight, her eyes burning with completely ridiculous tears. Her phone rang. She answered without looking, glad of the distraction. "Crying yet?" Bryan asked.

354

She brushed a tear from her cheek. "No," she lied. "Why would I cry? You'll only be gone a few days." "Four. I feel like crying, too. And I found the little trinket you left in my carry-on. The wooden whistle. What's that about, hon?" She smiled. "It's the only thing I have of my father's. And for all the bad things he was, he wasn't a fraud. He had a direct line to…something bigger." "I saw it for myself. But—" "He said it would protect me. I don't know why I put it in your bag, it just…felt like the right thing to do." "I'll bring it back safe and sound." "Just bring you back safe and sound." She lowered her head so everyone in the airport wouldn't see her tears finally spilling over. "I didn't expect it to be this hard." "We'll have to stick together from now on, 'cause…hell, Dawnie, I don't ever want to miss you this much again." She laughed softly, tears still rolling. "It's a deal. We're pretty pathetic, aren't we?" "Pretty lucky," he corrected. "I'd better turn my phone off before they throw me off the plane." "If they do, I'll catch you," she said. "I love you, Bryan." "I love you, too, Dawn." "Call me when you land." "For sure." Dawn pressed her fingertip to the screen, ending the call, then looked up at the windows again. But instead of the clear blue sky, she saw her father's face. He stood behind her, shaking his head sadly. With a surge of panic, she whirled to face him, ready to tell him to leave her the hell alone, once and for all, to take his so-called gift with him and go away and never come back. But there was no one there. And her phone chirped again. She grabbed it with shaking hands and touched the screen. "Bryan?" "No, honey, it's Olivia. Are you okay?" She deliberately did not sniffle. "No. No, Liv, I don't think I am." "I knew it," her friend said. "So I take it Bryan's plane got off all right?" "Yes, and I'm miserable already without him, but it's not just that. It's…it's my father, Olivia." There was a long moment of silence, then, "Your dead father?" A pregnant pause, and then, "Are you saying… Dawn, are you seeing ghosts again?" "Just the one…so far."

355

"Oh, God. But…you knew this might happen, right? You and Bryan have talked about it?" "Yes, but I know it still scares him. This curse is the whole reason I ran away five years ago—" "And that's why he's still afraid of it, even though you haven't seen a ghost since. Until now, I guess." "Right, but Bryan's been afraid of this all along. Deep down, he thinks I'll take off if they come back. But I won't. I won't leave him, not for anything. If the dead are going to start talking to me again, then…then I guess I'll just have to deal." "How?" Olivia asked. "How do you intend to deal with it?" Dawn let that question swim around her mind for a while. She knew why Olivia was asking. Because Dawn had already tried every possible way to deal with it except for one. And that one seemed to be the only option left to her now. "I've got no choice but to listen to what they have to say." "Even to what he says?" Olivia asked. "Yes," Dawn said, and even though she couldn't see him, she felt her father's presence like a cloak of ice.

Chapter Three "Any ghosts yet?" Carrie asked. Dawn shook her head in response to her friend's question. "No, nothing. Look, maybe I should just go home. Maybe he wants to talk to me alone." She was sitting between her two best friends on Olivia's redwood deck. They'd insisted she spend the day with them, and even Liv's pony-sized mastiff seemed intent on cheering her up. Currently he was on the lawn, bucking like a bronco while chasing his own tail. Cute trick for a two-hundred-pounder. Of course, Freddy could only sustain that much motion for a minute or two before collapsing in the cool grass for a breather. Olivia came onto the deck with a pitcher of iced tea and began refilling their glasses. "Anything?" she whispered. "Not yet," Carrie replied. Dawn sighed. "You guys don't need to babysit me." She got to her feet, inwardly terrified at the thought of the lonely night ahead. And yet she hoped it would be lonely. If she couldn't have Bryan, she'd just as soon no one else showed up. No one without a body, anyway. "We don't want you to go through this alone," Olivia said. And just as she said it, Freddy shot to his feet, and the hair along his backbone bristled upward. "Freddy, what—" "It's him," Dawn said, fear turning her blood to ice. "It's Mordecai." Olivia put the pitcher down hard. Carrie rose to her feet, and both women stared at the spot on the lawn where Freddy was focused. The spot where Mordecai Young stood looking just slightly less solid than everything else in the physical world. If there had been any doubt in Dawn's mind that he had really returned to her, it vanished now. Freddy could sense him, too.

356

But her initial fear began to ebb as she looked into Mordecai's eyes. They were different somehow, every bit as compassionate and intensely loving as before, but something was missing. She didn't see the insanity that had always been there in life, even at his most lucid. It had burned, an inner fire that just couldn't be contained. It had been powerful, too powerful even for him. And he'd been a very strong man. "I don't suppose either of you can see him?" Dawn asked. "No," Olivia said. "But I think Freddy can." The brindled dog had positioned himself right between Dawn and the ghost. She stroked his bear-sized head. "You're a good friend, pup." And then she focused on Mordecai again. Taking a deep breath, she decided on the direct approach. "So what is it? What do you want?" He moved his lips, but she couldn't hear his words. Frustration boiled up in Dawn—this had always been a problem with her gift. Hearing what the dead wanted from her had constantly been a challenge for her. Not that she'd ever wanted to. "I can't hear you. Could you…?" He nodded at something beyond her. Dawn tried to follow his gaze, only to see a big, very familiar man coming around the side of Olivia's house. Chief MacNamara, Bryan's boss. She was instantly relieved, not only because she'd grown to adore the crotchety old cuss, but because this meant a reprieve. Her dead father and any ghostly messages he cared to deliver would have to wait. Smiling past her nearly shot nerves, she waved. "Chief Mac! I didn't expect to see you tonight!" He lifted his head, with its messy white shocks of hair, and met her eyes. She went utterly cold at what she saw in them. "What's happened?" she asked. Olivia and Carrie came to stand on either side of her, and Freddy sat on her feet. And then came the words that she could not endure. "I…dammit, I don't know how to do this other than just to say it. Bryan's plane—it crashed. I'm sorry, Dawn. So very sorry."

Chapter Four Bryan didn't think it was quite normal to feel the way he did almost from the second he'd boarded the plane. Bereft. Heartsick. Lonely, as he'd never been lonely before. It wasn't as if he and Dawn hadn't been apart. God, she'd broken his heart when she'd left him. But that had been years ago. They'd barely been out of their teens, and she had just discovered that she'd inherited her criminal father's ability to talk to the dead. It had terrified her. He didn't blame her. The "gift" had probably been a contributing factor to her father's insanity and the violence that had surrounded him all his life. The man had left a path of destruction behind him wherever he went. All because of the voices, not all of which were the pleas of the dead. So Dawn had run, all the way to the West Coast, where she'd medicated away her abilities and denied them until, finally, they had seemed to die off. She'd been grateful until a few months ago when he'd been suspected of murder. That was what had finally brought her back to him again, the notion that if she could just speak to the victims, she could help Bryan clear his name. It hadn't worked. Oh, they'd cleared him, nearly got themselves killed in the process. But they'd done it without any help from the dearly departed.

357

Dawn had made peace with the fact that her strange abilities were gone. But she'd promised him that even if they returned she would never leave him, that they would deal with it together this time. He believed her. Or he'd thought he had. But now, faced with the reality… He'd seen the telltale look in her eyes when he'd awoken this morning. It was a look he hadn't seen in five long years. She'd been pale, terrified, wide eyed, staring at a spot of emptiness beside the bed. And he'd felt the chill in the room—an unnatural chill. And he'd known. It had nearly destroyed him when she'd left him. For five long years he'd ached for her. And finally, they were together again. But he was scared. If the dead were back—was she strong enough to keep her promise, to stand by him? And why was it so hard now, to leave her for a routine four-day trip? The answer came when the seat in which he was sitting suddenly seemed to try to launch him through the top of the airliner. The seat belt bruised his hipbones but held him in place. And then his entire body was dropped into a twister. His head jerked in one direction, his shoulders in another. There was noise, a roar and the screams of the other passengers, and then a whooshing sound that drowned out everything else. So much wind in his face he couldn't see, and the brief glimpses he did manage were of papers and pieces of luggage flying around his head. And snow against the gray, roiling clouds. Jesus, he was outside of the airplane! And then the gray clouds parted, and he saw the glacial white ground hurtling up to meet him.

Chapter Five It was Carrie, a doctor after all, who knelt beside Dawn, waving smelling salts under her nose and saying her name. Dawn pushed her friend away, struggling to sit up. She hadn't really passed out, just sort of…melted. "I'm okay, I'm okay." She sought out the chief. He looked worried. "Tell me everything you know as quickly as you possibly can." He nodded, reaching out a hand. Dawn took it and let the big man pull her upright and help her into a chair. She fought to hold it together long enough to get the facts. "The plane disappeared from radar in heavy weather, less than twenty minutes from Juneau." "So they haven't found it yet?" "No, not even close. Dawn, they went down in some of the roughest country in Alaska. The wilderness. It'll take some time to—" "I have to go," Dawn said, getting to her feet, searching for her purse, her keys. "Maybe you should stay here with your friends tonight, instead of going home alone," the chief suggested. "Home? I'm not going home, Chief. Except to pack." She looked beyond the chief, back to the lawn where her father had been standing. But he was no longer there. Had he been trying to warn her? Would he help her now? Could he? Did she dare even trust him to try, when he'd never done anything but harm her, all her life? She'd been convinced he would rather have her die with him than let her live while she

358

rejected his legacy. But he'd never been malicious, never cruel. Always, he'd believed he was doing the right thing. Always. And she had never doubted that he had loved her, in his way. Didn't they say all a person's wounds and flaws were healed when they crossed to the other side? Did that include mental ones? The chief nudged Carrie. "Maybe you ought to…give her something?" "I don't need a sedative. I'm going." "I really don't think you should go home alone." "She's not going home," Carrie said softly. "She's going to Alaska. Aren't you, Dawn?" Her friends would try to stop her; the police chief might have enough pull to actually do so. "Before I go anywhere I have to go to Bryan's dad and my mom. I have to be the one to tell them. Unless someone already has?" "No," the chief said. "I came to you with this news first." She nodded. Then, impulsively, she leaned up and hugged the chief around his neck. "Thanks. I know you're devastated, too." "I have a soft spot for the rookie," he muttered. "And he has one for you. Just don't give up on him yet, okay?" She looked at her friends, and had no doubt they knew exactly what she was planning. "If you need us—" Olivia began. "I know, and that means the world to me, believe me." "Please, for the love of God, keep us posted." "Absolutely." Dawn yanked her bag off the glass table and hurried away. She wanted privacy for the emotional breakdown that was storming the gates. And she had to make a phone call—to book the next available flight to Alaska. Bryan's dad was a former ATF agent. He could cut through any red tape necessary; he had the connections. He could get her onto the helicopter with the rescue team. She had a connection or two of her own—to the dead. She'd do whatever it took to find Bryan. Even if it meant accepting help from a man most people thought of as the devil himself.

Chapter Six Somehow, Bryan didn't lose consciousness while his body felt as if it were being torn apart. Then there was a bone-jarring impact. Only he was still falling. As the snow razed his skin and the icy ground battered his body, he realized he was tumbling down a hill at breakneck speed. The scenery spinning and whirling past him was a gray-and-white blur.

359

He thought he would never stop falling. And then, when he finally did, there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt. He lay very still, almost afraid to move as he tried to take stock. What was broken? What was bleeding? Amazingly, there didn't seem to be any serious damage. Nothing life-threatening, anyway. That was when the roar caught his attention. He looked up fast, and at first had no idea what he was seeing. A wall of snow and rock came crashing toward him. It reminded him vaguely of winter snow being pushed to the side of the road by one of the giant snowplow blades of the Shadow Falls Highway Department. And then the single horrifying word rang through his mind. Avalanche! The plane's impact, or maybe his somersaulting down the mountainside, had triggered it. He rolled up with the intent of springing to his feet and running like hell, but Bryan was stopped short by a stabbing pain in his side that felt exactly like a knife being driven deep into him. Into his lung, he thought. Broken rib. Punctured lung, maybe. The ground began to shake. He had to move. He took one lurching step and his shin folded where it was never supposed to, with excruciating pain. Broken leg, too. Never mind. Keep going. He gripped a tree limb high above his head to try to pull himself clear. Then the wall of snow engulfed him, pushing him down. Desperately, he clung to the limb, but the force of the snow was too strong. It ripped his palms from the limb and pounded him flat, facedown, covering him, rendering him completely immobile. When the roar stopped, he was buried alive. Panic rose, making him want to kick and thrash. But he beat it down hard. Just take a second, figure this out, don't freak out. I'm buried alive! I'm going to die. Seems like a damn good time to panic, if you ask me. He shook his head very slightly against the snow all around his face. Think of Dawn. Dawn's face appeared in his mind's eye. They couldn't have found each other again, after all that time apart, only to have it end like this. No way. He couldn't die. It would devastate her if he did. Especially if she'd started seeing ghosts again. Even if her gift drove her to run away—hell, he'd go with her this time. If she'd let him. She needed him. He had to survive. For her. For the only woman he'd ever loved. For his wife. He would stay alive, no matter what.

Chapter Seven "The earliest flight leaves tomorrow morning," Dawn told her mother. "I'll be in Juneau by 7:00 p.m. I'll phone when I get there." She paced across the spacious living room of the Blackberry Inn, aching as she saw the pain in the eyes of her mother, Beth, and Bryan's father, Josh. They had fallen in love late in life, when Dawn and Bryan were about to start college. But they loved each other's child as much as if they'd given birth to them.

360

"I have to do this," Dawn whispered. "I don't want you to go, Dawn, but I can't argue with you, either. I love Bryan, too." She nodded, knowing it was true. Even though she and Bryan had been adults by the time her mom had married his dad, both step-parents had taken their roles to heart. Dawn and Bryan had never had any doubt that they were utterly adored. She gazed from the worried eyes of her mom to the almost unbearable anguish on the face of Bryan's dad. "Are you okay, Josh?" "I want to go with you, dammit." As he said it, he backhanded the cast on his right arm. "The timing of this, it's—" Beth moved closer to her husband, sliding a hand over his strong shoulder, squeezing him. "Maybe it happened this way to keep you from trudging through the Alaskan Wilderness on your own and getting yourself killed, Josh." "Yeah, but who's going to stop this one from doing the same damn thing?" he asked, with a pointed look at Dawn. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, Josh. I have to be alive…to put my arms around him…" A sob choked off the rest. She lowered her head quickly to hide her tears. Josh came to kneel beside her, resting a comforting hand on her knee. "Well, let's get you packed and ready, then," Josh said. "If I have one thing, it's plenty of cold-weather outdoor gear." Then with determination he said, "You might as well get on the phone and get another ticket for that flight, because I'll be damned if you're doing this alone. I'll arrange to get us onto the rescue helicopter." "Josh, you're in a cast." Beth wore a look of absolute horror, probably because she knew there would be no talking either of them out of this. "This is my son." Beth couldn't argue. Bryan had followed in his dad's footsteps by going into law enforcement. Josh had been an ATF officer, as well, though he'd traded it more than five years ago for a peaceful existence as a smalltown innkeeper with his adored bride by his side. But he was still the man the whole town came to in times of trouble. He was a hero. His son was just like him. Thank God. "I'll watch out for him, Mom," Dawn promised. "And I'll watch out for her," Josh added. They hugged each other hard, not shedding a tear. They were keeping a brave face for her sake, Dawn understood. Suddenly she became aware of her father's ghost watching them. She felt no fear this time, as crazy as that was. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing," Dawn whispered. Beyond Josh and Beth's soft reassurances, her ghostly father nodded.

361

"Is he still alive?" she mouthed to her father, not daring to speak the words aloud. Anxiously, she waited for his reply because, insane or not, she'd never doubted his gift. And it should be even more reliable now that he was on the other side. He mouthed something back. She couldn't hear, but almost felt his answer: For now.

Chapter Eight Bryan could breathe. Miraculously there seemed to be a natural air pocket around his face. At least he wouldn't suffocate right away. He couldn't feel his left leg at all anymore, which might very well be a good thing. At least there was no more pain from it, but the stabbing sensation in his side was worse than ever, and he was pretty sure his breathing was more shallow than it should be. Then again, he had a mountain of snow crushing his chest. And it would get heavier as his body heat melted it. A lot heavier. He couldn't see. It was pitch dark when you were buried alive, he discovered, even when the stuff burying you was white. He was cold, but he realized he would be much colder when he dug himself out. Not if. When. Because he had no doubt he was going to get himself out of this mess, somehow. Or die trying. It would take more than a few tons of snow to keep him from going home to the woman he loved. So he began moving his fingers. He stretched his arms out and up. His palms, scraped raw by the tree limb, were soothed by the icy snow. He wiggled his fingers—bending, straightening, bending, straightening. Soon he'd freed up enough space so that he could use his hands. The snow kept falling down as he scooped it away. But what fell was light, and as he worked, steadily but with aching slowness, his hands inched upward. At this rate, he thought, he should be free of the snow in, oh, three or four days. Not good enough. He'd be dead in three or four days. Not gonna happen. Got a gorgeous woman to get home to. A great job. Great life. Babies to make. Dig. Dig. Dig. As he worked, the snow around his face melted further, giving him more breathing room. Though not necessarily more air. He wanted to yank his arms toward him, to begin clawing the snow away from his face. Hell, it was everything he could do to resist the compulsion. But he forced himself to keep burrowing upward instead, until his arms could reach no further. Okay, now, turn the hands, and begin inching them back this way, he thought. He had to be careful. The hole he was creating could collapse in on him at any moment. And God, it was taking so long. Or was it? He had no sense of time. He kept going. He thought of home, of Shadow Falls. He thought of his father and how much he'd learned from his dad's training and experience. Josh had always insisted on teaching his son everything he knew. Everything. He thanked his father for that now.

362

By inches, no, fractions of inches, he twisted and maneuvered his hands backward, toward his body. At the same time, he got the notion to start using a foot, too—the one he could still feel, his right. It barely moved and it was slow going. Then again, he had time. He had nothing but time. He tried not to think about how quickly it might be running out.

Chapter Nine The sight of Juneau, a small city tucked into a pine-green embrace with the giant, hulking glacier at its back, took Dawn's breath away. Even with the fear that weighed heavy on her heart, she admired the natural beauty of this place. And while the very precipice of the highest peak around Shadow Falls was a dwarf compared to the peaks in the distance, there was something about Juneau that reminded her of home. Probably the way the glacier cast its endless shadow over the city below. Just the way the falls kept her town in shadow, and provided its name. And just the way an unspeakable fear cast its shadow over her heart right now. She hated the fear. She hated acknowledging the possibility that she might lose the only man she had ever loved. So she simply refused to. Josh closed his hand around hers as they stood side by side, staring sightlessly at the bags moving along the luggage carousel. "We'll find him." "He's still alive," she said. "I know it, Josh." He met her eyes, staring hard. "Can I ask how?" She swallowed hard. "My father told me." His eyes widened. "You saw him? Dawn, I thought that…that ability had gone away." "I thought so, too, but so far it's just been him and…I think this was why. I think he was trying to warn me. But I wouldn't listen." Her voice broke, her head bowing. "Dammit, he warned me rejecting my so-called gift would have consequences, but I never imagined—" "Don't. Don't blame yourself for this. Don't listen to him, either. He was evil, Dawn." "He was sick. But he loved me, and if he were capable of helping me, I know he would want to." She met Josh's eyes. "There's a different energy about him, Josh. It's…peaceful." Before he could reply to that, they were interrupted. "Mrs. Kendall?" Dawn turned, seeing several men in differing types of uniforms walking forward to greet her. She addressed the one closest. "Yes?" "Rodney Chambers, Chief of Police, ma'am. I'm so sorry to meet you under such dire circumstances. May I—" "Are the search parties still out there?" she asked. "Yes, of course. And we're organizing more as we speak. We've closed in on the beacon, it's just a matter of getting there."

363

"Why?" "It's difficult terrain, ma'am. You've no idea—" "Where, exactly?" The man frowned. He had a straw colored brush cut, and brows so pale they were almost invisible. "Pardon?" "Show me where my husband's plane went down, where he's already been stranded, dying perhaps, for more than twenty-four hours." Even as she spoke, Dawn was staring out the nearest set of windows at the towering forest and the even higher peaks where nothing grew at all. He pointed far to the left. "West of the city, far above the tree line, as near as we can pinpoint it." She stood staring out at the desolate, barren face of the glacier. And she imagined she could see Bryan, talk to him. Vaguely, she heard Josh introducing himself, and the other men doing likewise. Information was being exchanged, but Dawn couldn't hear anything but her own inner voice, which she tried to make loud enough for Bryan to hear…somehow. I'm here, my love. I'm here, and soon I'll be out there with you. I'm coming to find you, darling. I swear I am. Please hold on for me. Please, please hold on for me. I'm so close to you now. So very close. Hold on, Bryan. Hold on. In the glass, then, as if from nowhere, and not at all like a reflection this time, she saw her father's face. Just his face. His lips moved to form the word Hurry.

Chapter Ten Bryan had no idea how long he'd been digging. It had been hours, that much he knew. He knew it because he'd stopped shivering. Shivering was good; it was the body's effort to survive by generating heat. But now his body was trying to shut down instead. It wanted him to go to sleep, to let go. And if he did that, he would die. He wasn't going to give up. Not without the fight of his life, because he just plain and simply had too much to live for. He had Dawn waiting for him to come home to her. He prayed he still had that. Because if the ghosts had returned… He remembered the pain, the hurt she'd inflicted, leaving him with barely a word. A note that said nothing. Leaving him to run away from her ghosts. And if they were back… He forced his brain off that track. She was older now, wiser, and their love was so much deeper than it had been before. It wouldn't play out the same way this time. She'd turn to him rather than away. God, he hoped so. His eyelids started to sink and desperately he clung to the image of Dawn's face. He even thought he heard her voice. I'm here, my love. I'm here, and soon I'll be out there with you. I'm coming to find you, darling. I swear I am. Please hold on for me. Please, please hold on for me. I'm so close to you now. So very close. Hold on, Bryan. Hold on.

364

"I hear you, baby." He knew it wasn't real. Couldn't be. She wasn't a telepath, she was a medium. Unless they were just that connected. Bryan started moving again. He'd made good progress with his hands, numb with cold by now. They felt thick and awkward. Sometimes he wasn't even sure they were responding to his commands. But clearly they were because the snow and debris kept giving way, and then… Oh, God, relief! His hands were beside his head. Near his body. He managed to bring them close to his chest, arms folded, hugging them to his own chest. He forced himself to shiver, to try to warm himself up. But not for long. If his hands lost their numbness, he was going to be in for a world of hurting. He'd prefer to be out of this living grave by then. Mustering every ounce of will—because it was all he had left—he got to work again. A narrow tunnel lay open where his arms had been stretched out. It angled forward and upward because he'd been holding on to that branch. His best bet was to try widening that area enough to squeeze his body through it. He had no idea how much snow there was above him. Or how many hours he'd already spent beneath it. But he hadn't run out of oxygen, and he took that as a good sign. He threw everything he had into the effort, though his hands felt like boxing gloves, pulling the snow back into the hole his body had made. To distract himself from the pain, he remembered his wedding day. Half the town had turned out. Fortunately there was plenty of room. They'd used the park, near the base of the falls. A beautiful setting. The photos had been breathtaking, but he'd been aware of only one vision. Dawn, her hair piled high, ringlets spilling down. Looking like an angel to him in her simple white gown. Tears glistened like diamonds on her lashes. He felt again her hands in his, saw her eyes staring into his soul and filling him with more joy than one heart could possibly contain. And with that image in mind, he found the strength to keep on moving.

Chapter Eleven They were being taken by helicopter to the ranger station nearest the crash site, at least that's what Dawn thought was happening. She'd been told the plan several times, but she really wasn't absorbing much. Not from this world, anyway. Chief Chambers sat beside the pilot in the cockpit of the chopper, and she and Josh occupied the seats behind them, piles of supplies stacked everywhere around them. But they were not the only passengers on the plane. Dawn's long-dead father kept coming and going, blinking in and out, intent on rushing her. Urging her to hurry with his eyes and a silent energy she could only sense and not fully describe. And there were physical sensations, too, more real than anything else around her. Cold. Shivering, bonedeep cold. Followed in short order by racking, white-hot pain in her chest and a duller throb in her leg. She held Mordecai's expressive eyes and gasped as she felt it. And then he was gone, and the hurt and cold left with him. Josh was shaking her shoulder. "Hey!" he said, as if he'd been trying to get her attention. The chopper blades were deafening, but not entirely the reason she hadn't heard him. "Dawnie, what is it?" "Nothing." "Bull. Was it your father?"

365

"No, it's Bryan." She looked at the chief, forgetting his name, and not caring what it was, anyway. "Bryan is hurt badly. Broken ribs, and his left leg. We have to hurry. Are we almost there?" "There's the station, dead ahead," the chief called, shouting to be heard above the helicopter blades. She spotted a lone building made of rough timbers, standing alone amid the pines. The sheer face of the glacial mountain was so steep there seemed no level ground anywhere else. "How far?" she shouted. "From here to where the plane went down? How far?" "Hold up." He pressed one hand to the headset he wore, then looked at the pilot and gave a nod. Immediately the chopper swung around, pivoting forty-five degrees and heading away from the unimpressive station she'd only just glimpsed below. "What's going on?" she shouted. "Why are we turning?" "They've found the plane," he said loudly, shifting in his seat to speak to them. "But there's weather moving in. If we don't beat it out there, it could be days before we can try again." Dawn looked at Josh and wondered why he wasn't saying more. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak the question most on her mind. "Were there any survivors?" The chief met her eyes. "It was only a flyover. Small plane. No one's on the ground yet. Nowhere to land out there. Pilot couldn't be sure of anything from the air." He averted his eyes. "Go on," she said. "Go on, tell me the rest of it. I can see there's more." The chief nodded reluctantly. "The pilot said there were no signs of life. All he saw…were bodies." Mordecai appeared right beside her, speaking only with his eyes. She'd never asked him for anything in her life, had sworn she never would. He had been a killer and a monster. But she asked now. "You've got to help me. Help me find him, please?"

Chapter Twelve It was working! Bryan could barely believe it, but it was working. He was wriggling his way through the opening he'd dug, using not just his hands, but his entire body. He burrowed and shoved the snow down his front, undulating like some Arctic earthworm, moving snow with his shoulders, with his right knee, shoving it lower until he could push it behind him with his foot. Then, suddenly, his hands hit something different. Harder. He couldn't tell what exactly, as his hands were numb, but as he traced its shape, he realized it was a limb— maybe the very limb he'd been holding on to when the avalanche had hit him. Had it been broken from the tree, or was it still attached? He tried to remember the exact moment when the mountain had plowed into his back. The roar had been so loud he wouldn't have heard the limb break. But it had been big. Heavy. And he did remember the feeling of his hands being ripped from it. It hadn't come with him. Maybe it was still connected to the tree, and if it was, damn, he must be near the surface, right? That limb had been eight feet off the ground. The snow couldn't be deeper than that. Could it? Did it matter? He had to keep digging, no matter how much snow remained above him. But the notion that he was close gave him renewed vigor, and he shoveled faster, harder, his body using hope for fuel.

366

He focused on steadily getting into the area beyond the limb—only to find still more snow above it. And his hope died. "Damn!" There could be twenty more feet of snow. There could be fifty. He went still, hugging himself, his mind slipping toward the bliss of unconsciousness. His body was shutting down. Everything was numb. Sleep was so tempting right now, calling to him like a siren's song. Just give in. Just close your eyes and sink into warm, soothing slumber. Just let go. It would be so much easier to just let it all go. His eyes started to fall closed. His body began to relax. "Bryan!" The shout made his eyes pop open again. It was Dawn's voice. "Dawn? Dawnie?" His own voice was weak. She would never hear him. He tried to make it louder. "Dawn! I'm here! I'm…" And then he stopped, realizing that her shout had been in his head, not his ears. He couldn't have heard her. Not really. She was far, far away. He was only hallucinating. Poor Dawn. She must have gotten the news by now that his plane had never arrived in Juneau. She must be devastated. There were probably search parties out scouring the glacier. But they wouldn't find him. He'd ended up far from the rest of the wreckage. He wondered if anyone else had survived. The pilot. The nice couple who'd been sitting behind him. The three young men out for adventure. Were their families going to be getting grim news, just as Dawn was? Would they all be planning funerals, maybe some of them without even a body to bury? No, he couldn't put Dawn through that. Drawing a breath, he resumed his work. He wasn't dead yet, dammit. And he wasn't going to give up until he was.

Chapter Thirteen "There!" The pilot spoke loudly, pointing as he did. Dawn looked below. It wasn't hard to spot the wreckage. Bits of charred metal were strewn across the mountain and flashes of color contrasted with the white of the snow. Seconds later, she realized those flashes were clothes. Worn by people. Dead people. Her hand shot to her lips as she racked her brain to recall what Bryan had been wearing. His uniform. Yes. And his parka had been in the carry-on, hadn't it? She hoped so. He'd be so cold if he didn't have… There was a dark blue shape on the ground, and she strained to see, even as she shook her head slowly and whispered the word No.

367

Josh's hand closed on her shoulder, but she took no comfort from it. She couldn't take her eyes off that blue suit. Then the helicopter began to descend, and its blades blew up a miniature blizzard, blocking everything from her view. The helicopter settled onto a relatively flat spot on the treeless glacier, and the chief got out first, then helped her down. She didn't wait for Josh, didn't wait for permission, either. She ducked low and ran clear of the chopper blades, heading in the direction she thought the wreckage had been. An arm snapped around her waist, jerking her to a halt so hard she almost lost her footing. The chopper was shutting down, the blades slowing to a halt. And the snowstorm they'd stirred up slowly died. Dawn found herself standing only a few feet from the edge of a precipice. The fall would have been the end of her. All right, then. Lesson learned. She looked at the chief, who still held her, and she realized he was pale. "Thank you," she said. "That won't happen again." "If it does, I'm sending you back to Juneau. Assuming there's anything left of you to send." He turned. "The crash is this way." She followed, zipping her parka against the cold and staying behind the chief this time. Josh followed more slowly, holding his casted arm close to his chest. But the cast wasn't what slowed him. It was dread. She knew it, she felt it, too. She picked her way through the rubble; her entire focus was on the body in blue. God, it was a uniform! "It's not him," she whispered, over and over, hurrying closer. "It can't be him." It was the pilot. Or the top half of him, anyway—everything from the hip down was gone. She turned her head quickly, clutching her stomach as she retched. "Are you all right?" Josh asked. "Maybe you should let us do this part, Miz Kendall," the chief suggested. "We'll tell you what we find." She shook her head and forced herself back to the carnage, her eyes scanning wider now, seeing two more broken bodies, one of them burned. "Something's already been here. Look how the snow is all trampled down around the bodies." "Those are animal tracks," the pilot said. "Wolves, most likely." The chief elbowed him, but it was too late. Dawn's blood had turned as cold as the glacier beneath her feet.

Chapter Fourteen Bryan felt the limb carefully, measuring its girth, trying to determine in which direction it was larger—and hopefully in which direction the rest of the tree was. Assuming the limb was still attached. The task was almost impossible with his clublike hands, but eventually he thought he had figured it out. He put everything he had left into moving his body through the snow and in that direction. If the tree hadn't been snapped in two by the avalanche it might be his best hope.

368

It was, if nothing else, a new notion. So he worked, wriggling, writhing. And weakening. He was weakening by the minute. He was hungry, and he was thirsty. He didn't dare eat the snow to assuage those conditions. That would lower his body temperature further, and he would die even faster. God, it was tempting, though. The honeymoon. Think about the honeymoon. It had been heaven. He hadn't really cared where they went, but he'd had a preference for privacy and solitude rather than parties and people. Dawn had wanted sunshine and sandy beaches. So they'd rented a beach house in Hawaii and spent a glorious week there, basking in the sun, in the surf and in each other. It was beautiful. He remembered the day they'd hiked up Kilaweha, and how they could feel the heat from the volcano on their skin even before they saw any sign of lava. From a high spot, they'd looked far below to where lava spilled into the sea, sending up thick plumes of hot steam as it cooled. The island was growing right before their eyes. They had been staring into the face of creation. But the part he loved best was Dawn's excitement and wonder. He'd enjoyed her reactions more than the sight of the volcano. He imagined he could feel that heat on his face now. He imagined the delight in her eyes, which warmed him further still. "I'm trying, Dawn. I'm trying." And then he realized his hand had come to a stop. He'd found the tree trunk! He dug upward now—or what he thought was upward. He only hoped his instincts were on target. But he couldn't be sure at all. He no longer had any sense of space or time. He was in a twilight zone where those things didn't exist. The tree might be lying on its side. He might be upside down. And yet he kept moving, kept digging, because what the hell else could he do? But he knew he couldn't even do that for much longer. Every movement now was taking every ounce of effort in him. And then, without any warning whatsoever, he realized that his hands were grasping at nothing. He was…at the surface!

Chapter Fifteen "He's not here." Dawn had searched the burned-out plane and wandered the crash site and had found no trace of her husband. Then she glimpsed her father's ghost. Mordecai stood far to the right with his arm outstretched and his forefinger pointing downhill to the pines far, far below. She turned to meet Josh's eyes, her own hopeful. Josh didn't look as positive as she felt, and when she saw the chief, she understood why. The man looked grim.

369

"I'm sorry you came all this way only to learn there were no survivors, Miz Kendall. I'm even sorrier for your loss. And for yours, Mr. Ken—" "Loss? There's no loss," Dawn interrupted. "Bryan's not here." The man only looked at her with sympathy, and she swung her gaze from his to Josh's and back again. "I'm telling you, he's not here!" "Naturally it'll take several days to positively identify each individual, ma'am, with the bodies being in the condition they are. Particularly the ones inside the plane where the fire…" He ended the sentence with a sigh and a helpless gesture. "Surely it's clear, even to you, that there were no survivors." "There was one survivor, Chief. My husband." "Rod, that storm is moving in." The helicopter pilot was back in his seat, headset in place, calling to the chief from there. "We need to get back. Base says it's expected to clear enough so we can begin recovering bodies in forty-eight hours." "All right." The chief put a hand on Dawn's upper arm. "I know it's difficult to leave him like this, but—" She jerked away. "I'm not leaving." "Ma'am—" "I'm not leaving." She strode back toward the chopper. "I want our gear, and I want it now." "Miz Kendall…Dawn, I can't let you—" "Dawn, are you sure?" Josh asked, cutting him off. Behind them, her father still stood there, pointing. "Bryan survived," she said. "He headed downhill. That way," and she indicated Mordecai's direction. Josh searched her eyes for reassurance, and without a word she told him that she knew. He wouldn't second-guess her. Josh turned to the chief. "If she says my son went that way, he went that way. I'm staying with her. We've got plenty of cold-weather gear, and I've had some experience in the Arctic." "You've only got one good arm!" The chief sighed. "And as for you, you can't possibly understand—" "He must have left tracks." "It's been snowing on and off ever since they went down!" "Just look. Please. For the love of God, don't leave him out there to die in the cold." She willed him to listen. Pressing his lips tightly together, the chief nodded and started trudging through the snow. Dawn ran ahead. But there was nothing where her father had been standing, nor in the direction where he'd pointed. No tracks in the snow. No sign of anything. "I'm sorry. No one walked away from this site, Miz Kendall. No one." The chief took her arm and started leading her back to the chopper.

370

Chapter Sixteen Bryan dragged himself out of the snow, not stopping until even his feet were free. Then he allowed himself a moment to relax and relish his triumph. "I did it," he whispered. "I did it, Dawn. I got out." Sitting with his back against the tree trunk, he took stock of his situation. He was no longer buried alive, but it was far colder outside his snowy grave. And as he slowly blinked his vision into hard-won focus, he saw that he had emerged into a very strange world indeed. There was very little light. And the snow was never ending. It rose up, as far as he could see. There was some space around the tree trunk, but only a couple of feet of it, and then that towering wall of snow. Holding his breath, he gazed behind him. It was much the same, only this wall had a top to it—he was at the bottom of a lopsided funnel. Despondency threatened to set in, but he convinced himself that this was a good thing. He had to keep climbing, yes, but he could see the sky! Things could have been worse. The avalanche must have been losing speed as it hit this area, or it would have taken the tree right on down the mountainside with it. He looked directly above him, and realized with a grim sense of foreboding that the limbs that had probably saved his life were blocking any sight of him from anyone flying overhead. He would have to climb to the top of the tree to be seen. And he was so tired. His left leg was badly broken, but didn't hurt. His extremities were numb, which would make climbing a sentinel pine nearly impossible. Imagine Dawnie waiting at the top. That made staying where he was even more impossible than the climb he faced. He couldn't wait to find his energy, didn't know how much longer his vital organs would keep on functioning. He figured he was getting close to death from exposure by now. He pushed his palms against the trunk, and though they felt nothing of its rough texture and sticky, fragrant resin, he managed to get upright, his weight on the right leg. He grabbed hold of the highest limb he could reach, and did the toughest pull-up of his entire life. When he got waist-high, he leaned over the limb, hauling himself slowly, inch by inch, onto it. Standing on that limb, he stretched up for the next one he could reach. As he was levering himself up onto it, his mind played another trick on him. He could have sworn he heard chopper blades in the distance.

Chapter Seventeen Dawn planted her feet in the snow, refusing to budge. "I won't leave him. I just won't, I can't." "Dawn, listen, there comes a time when you have to face reality—"

371

"Not this reality," she insisted. "I'm going down there and I'm going to find him." Tearing her arm from the chief's grasp, she raced to the wrecked plane and, quelling the nausea, the gag reflex, the horror, she walked right up to the mutilated body of the pilot and said, "Tell me where he is, dammit! Tell me!" "Oh, God," she heard the chief mutter. "She's having a breakdown." "No, she's not," Josh said. But no spirit appeared. No one answered her. Dawn tipped her head up to the sky and shouted, "All right! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I turned my back on the gift you gave me. I won't ever do it again, I promise. Just talk to me now. Come to me and I'll listen. I'll never stop listening again. I swear it…on the life of my husband, I swear!" When she lowered her head, the pilot was standing in front of her, intact, his suit clean, his face peaceful. "The plane broke up before we hit the ground. He could be anywhere. But he's not here. I mean, where we are." She could hear him. Clearly. As she'd never been able to before. God, she never thought she'd be this glad to have the gift she'd called a curse working once more. "We?" He nodded past her, and Dawn turned to see the others, all of them. There were three young guys, wearing jeans and long "emo" haircuts, backpacks in place, hiking away toward the glacial peak. She ran after them. "Hey! Hey, wait up. Have you seen my husband? He was the cop on the plane with you." They pointed down the hill. "But there are no footprints…" she said. Shaking their heads, they resumed their journey, intent on it. She frowned and returned to the spot where her father had been standing. But it was getting dark. "Bring me a light!" She shouted, holding out a hand. When no one replied, she spun around to see the police chief and the pilot staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. And no wonder, she'd been having a whole conversation with people they couldn't even see. "Yes, I'm talking to you now. Bring me a flashlight. Hurry, if you want to get out of here before that storm." The pilot jumped out of the chopper with a light. To the chief, she said, "How many were on board?" "Six passengers, including your husband. Pilot and copilot make eight." She nodded and took the light from the pilot as Josh hurried closer, hope lighting his face. "You got it back, didn't you? All of it?" "Full throttle," she told him, smiling as she said it. For the first time, she appreciated being able to speak to the dead. It came in damn handy when you needed something from them instead of the other way around. "And what did they say to you?" "He's down that mountainside…somewhere." She shone the light down.

372

Josh met her eyes, then he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her forehead. "Thank God you married my son," he whispered. Then he turned and yelled to the searchers. "We're going down there!"

Chapter Eighteen The chief, under heavy pressure from Josh, radioed base and asked for men on snowmobiles to be dispatched to the scene, a direct contradiction of his own earlier orders that the searchers stand down until the coming storm passed. "We've got two hours until this storm hits," he told Dawn. "And my men need to be well on their way back to base by then. I'm not risking their lives." "It'll be enough," she said. "Please understand that I can't wait." "You get lost out there, you're on your own, Miz Kendall." "That's fine with me." She started down the steep, steep slope, flashlight in hand, Josh following close beside her. "Beth would kill us both," she said to him. "Nah, she'd be leading the way." He was right, and Dawn knew it. She had her mother's stubbornness, and her loyalty, as well. They fell silent as they trudged through the snow. It felt as if they walked for miles, through ever increasing darkness and deepening snow. They could hear the snowmobiles approaching now. But they didn't let it slow them down. As they went, Dawn noticed rough-looking patches in the snow and peaks on the drifts that were not smooth like the rest had been. "Why are the snow patterns different here?" she asked. Josh followed her gaze but hesitated before answering her. And that made her worry. "What, Josh? What is it?" "There's been an avalanche," he said softly. "God, he must have been right in the middle of it…" Dawn shivered and aimed her flashlight farther down the slope. She saw a mountain of snow, piled up unnaturally right where the trees began. The backs of the pines had bowed under the snow massed against them from the higher peaks. "He's down there, somewhere." "Lord, how are we going to find him in all that snow?" Josh stood beside her, searching with his eyes. And then her father was standing on her other side. He's still alive. Dawn gasped and whispered, "I heard you that time, Dad." Because you're finally listening. Dawn, I was confused when I was…as you are. I didn't know what was right and wrong, I didn't listen to myself, only to the voices. That's where I got off track, you see? There were just so many of them, and I was so determined that I could help them that I stopped hearing my own voice.

373

Don't let that happen to you. Because that one voice, that one way down deep inside you that tells you what's right, what you really believe…that is the true voice. Listen to it above all else. And know that I love you, Sunny. I always have. She blinked, her eyes burning at his use of the name he'd given her at birth. "I never doubted that." I'm glad. And good thinking giving him the whistle. You were listening then, too. Dawn tilted her head. "You made me do that?" But there was no reply.

Chapter Nineteen He was on the fifth limb and nearing the very top of the snow funnel when he spotted the last thing he expected to see. It was hanging from a branch three boughs up, waving back and forth in the night wind. Like a charm or a decoration. It was manmade, he was certain. Ah, God, he was probably hallucinating. The mind did odd things when it started to shut itself down. And yet, he kept seeing it. Though he rubbed his eyes, tried looking away and then back again, over and over, it was still there. It was about the size of a sausage link—he would think of food—dangling from the end of a cord of some sort. Hallucination or not, it gave him a short-term goal to reach for. He would focus everything he had on getting to that odd little item and figuring out what it was. He climbed one more limb. Stood on it, and stretched. He could almost reach it. Almost… His foot slipped and he went down, barely grabbing a skinny branch in the nick of time. Breathless with fear, his heart pounding from it, he got himself anchored again. He gazed up. The little thing still swung, teasing him like a carrot on a stick. There I go with another food analogy. When I get to the top, I'm going to eat a pine cone, I swear to God. Didn't I read somewhere that they were edible? He moved closer to the trunk again, and reached for the closest limb he could. The object was on the branch just a little higher. And with what he was sure had to be the last ounce of strength remaining in his body, he pulled himself up. Lying on his stomach over the limb, he panted, done. There was just no more. He was spent. He couldn't hold on anymore. "I'm so sorry, Dawn. So damn sorry," he muttered. At least see what the thing was. You made it all this way, you can't just die without at least looking…. He listened to his inner voice, and lifted his head even though it was as hard as hoisting a truck would have been. Hands on the tree's strong trunk, he inched upward until he was sitting. Then he braced his one good foot tightly between the upturned limb and the tree's center so he wouldn't fall again, and with a will that felt it was made of rice paper, he straightened that leg, inch by agonizing inch. Until, at least, he stood. With a sigh of relief, he stretched out his hand and closed it around the object, then brought it close to his face to examine it in the feeble starlight.

374

Yes, starlight, he realized. He'd cleared the branches. And the bit of wood in his hand looked for all the world like a whistle. Dawn's whistle. The one she'd said would protect him. But it couldn't be… Could it? He brought the object to his mouth and blew with all his might.

Chapter Twenty The sound cut through the night. Shrill and high pitched, it made her jerk her head up and look around. And then her eyes met Josh's. "What the hell…?" "It… It can't be." "Can't be what, Dawn?" Josh gripped her shoulder. "Just follow it. Follow that sound!" They ran together through the snow. And every time the whistle trilled, they stopped, honed in closer and moved again. Until at last they spotted someone, way up in the top of a giant pine tree that was nearly buried in snow. "Bryan!" Dawn called. "Bryan! Bryan!" He said something back, she thought, but his voice was too weak to distinguish the words. It didn't matter. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. *** Dawn called his name and then he passed out cold, having used up everything in him to survive up to that point, and knowing that somehow, it was okay to let go. His angel was near. By the time he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the tree, nor in the cold. He was warm and indoors, in a soft bed. And she was right there, staring into his eyes. The relief he felt was so damn powerful that his vision blurred with tears. "Dawnie, is it really you?" "Yeah, it's me." She was crying, too, and then her hands were on his face, her mouth on his mouth, her tears mingling with his. "You're okay, baby, you're okay." "I am now." "You've got some frostbite, but they're pretty sure they can save both hands. And your leg is broken pretty badly, but—" "I don't care, Dawn. I don't care about my hands, I don't care about anything but the fact that you're in my arms again. Damn, honey, let's not be apart again." "Not ever. Not ever, my love."

375

He kissed her, long and slow, and as he did, his mind put the pieces together. He was in a hospital, and the view outside his window was an unfamiliar one. Beyond a jewel-like city was a forested mountain and a glacier. "How did you do it, Dawn? How did you find me?" She sniffled and held up the whistle. "I told you it would protect you. It was my father, hon. He had a hand in this." She lowered her head. "You were the only survivor…but the others are all okay. You know?" He blinked, his face, he was sure, showing his deepest fear. "You…" "I got my gift back. And I think… I've made peace with it, Bryan. After all, it led me to you." He sighed, relieved that the thing he'd been long fearing had happened and she was still by his side. Thank God. "Are you sure you're okay with it?" he asked. Dawn shrugged. "I'd better be. I've been warned there is a long line of spirits eager to talk to me when we get home. They need help, and I can give it. It's my calling. My gift." She lowered her head. "I've kept them waiting a long time, I guess." "Yeah, well, you're going to have to keep them waiting a little bit longer, because I intend to keep you busy welcoming me home, just as soon as I'm able." "Who said I could wait that long? Shove over," she told him. "I do not intend to spend another night without your arms around me, Bryan Kendall." "Damn, woman. I am one lucky man." "Lucky to be alive," she teased as she slid into bed beside him. "Lucky to be with you, Dawnie. Lucky to be with you."

376

Hostage in Copper Lake By Marilyn Pappano Libby Maxwell had left her hometown of Copper Lake to go to college, believing that the world was at her feet and her fiancé, Pete Petrovski, would always be there when she decided to come back. Now, ten years later, Libby is far from that naive girl. After all the things she's done, all the pain she's caused, she doesn't expect a warm welcome when she returns to the small Georgia town. Especially from Pete, the one person she most regrets hurting. But neither did she expect to become a hostage in a bank robbery. With Pete.

Chapter One The clock outside the American Federal Bank showed three minutes until six when Pete Petrovski pulled into a space right out front. He left his helmet on his bike and crossed the sidewalk to the glass door. An unsmiling man inside opened it for him then twisted the lock as soon as the door closed behind him. "Looks like I made it just in time," Pete commented. The man's only response was a grunt as he closed the blinds that hung from the top of the door. Pete took half a dozen steps inside before the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The two tellers behind the counter were both pale and wide-eyed, and the only other customers, a man and a woman, were standing in a funny-looking embrace in the middle of the room. Grateful he'd changed from his uniform but wishing he still had his gun, Pete took a few more cautious steps inside. "We're clear," the guy at the door said. The man in the center of the room turned, pivoting the woman with him, giving Pete three shocks in one. He'd walked in on a bank robbery. The guy was pressing a gun into the woman's rib cage. And the woman was Libby Maxwell. What the hell was she doing in town? She'd left ten years ago and had never come back—not for the visits she'd promised and certainly not for the wedding they'd half-planned since high school. "Nice of you to join us," the man with the gun said. "If we get into trouble, four hostages are always better than three." Addressing the rest of the frightened hostages, he said: "My name is Ben, I'll be your bank robber for this evening. Do what I tell you and no one will get hurt." He gestured with the .45 to Pete then gave Libby a shove. "You two, go over there and sit down." Damn. Pete had been with the Copper Lake Police Department for five years, and none of his training had covered what to do when you surprised bank robbers in the act. He followed one general rule when things exceeded his expertise: call Tommy Maricci or AJ Decker. He was pretty sure, though, that the guy with the gun wouldn't like it if he said, "Hold on while I call my bosses at the police department." Hands held loosely at his sides, Pete walked to the narrow table close to Libby and sank to the floor at one end. Libby did the same at the other end.

377

She'd given no hint of recognizing him. Was it possible that she didn't? That he had meant so little to her that after ten lousy years she didn't even know his face or his name? She hadn't even officially dumped him, he thought with a trace of bitterness. She'd just stopped taking his calls and blocked him from her email. When he'd flown all the way to San Diego to find out what was going on, he'd discovered that she'd moved months earlier without telling him. Just remembering the pain and frustration from all those years ago made his gut twist into a knot. Why had she come back now? Suddenly Ben was hauling Libby up and dumping her beside Pete. He grabbed her arm and clicked a handcuff on her wrist, then slapped the other end onto Pete's. Ben smiled at them. "I need to go talk to those two ladies over there about a vault. You two play nice. You might be together awhile."

Chapter Two "All right, ladies." Ben smiled at the two tellers. "Which one of you has the combination?" Libby shifted uncomfortably. How did he do that? Smile so innocently, so nonthreateningly, when he was holding a pistol in his hand? There was a name for that, wasn't there? For killers who could charm others into doing what they wanted them to do. Sociopath? Psychopath? Evil? The young-looking teller—Amy, Libby gathered from her nametag—fluttered her hands as she looked anxiously from Ben to the other teller, Audra, then to Pete and Libby. The poor kid wanted so badly to shout Audra does! but couldn't be quite that cowardly. Calmly, her voice steady, Audra spoke. "I do." "Then come over here and open these bars for us. My boys would like to get started. They've got plans for tonight." "To drop dead, I hope." Audra's words were no more than a mutter, but they made Libby smile. That's what she hoped, too. Audra opened the barred door without a hitch then returned to the counter, sliding one arm around Amy's waist. The girl leaned heavily against her. "Why are you here?" Pete hissed at Libby. Libby turned her head just enough to catch a blurred glimpse of him. "I had business in Charleston. I thought it would be nice to take a leisurely drive home, so I cancelled my flight and rented a car instead." "But why are you here?" Here in the town where she'd lived two-thirds of her life. Back when she was a kid and believed anything was possible, she'd thought she would be married here, raise her kids here. Be perfectly happy for all her days and die in this little town. God, she'd been naive. Though it seemed chances were good she actually might die here. "Just a drive through Copper Lake for old time's sake," she said. "I stopped to get some cash, but the ATM was broken so I came inside." "You weren't going to call any of your friends?"

378

By friends, she figured he meant himself. He must know she'd cut off contact with everyone else in Copper Lake at the same time she'd stopped talking to him. She'd isolated herself out of shame and fear and what little bit of pride she'd held on to, but it had been hard. Everything about her life then had been so damn hard. Especially losing Pete. The only man she'd ever loved.

Chapter Three "What kind of business are you in?" Pete asked when it became clear she wasn't going to tell him why she hadn't called up any of her old friends—namely him—when she'd decided to drive through Copper Lake. The bank robbers were preoccupied inside the vault. "Oil." "In Charleston?" "The man I was meeting was there on vacation." "Where do you live?" "Oklahoma. Tulsa." "Are you married?" His tone was getting sharper with each question. Her answers were annoying him, and Libby couldn't blame him. If the situation were reversed, she'd be angry with him, too, for living a normal life after breaking her heart. "I was. It didn't last." Three weeks. That was how long it had taken for both of them to sober up and realize what they'd done. It had taken longer to undo than to do, and she'd never heard from him again. A muscle clenched in Pete's jaw, forcing him to bite out the next question. "When?" "Eight years ago." It had come after her second stint in rehab for alcohol addiction and led her to try again. Third time's the charm, and all that. She'd been sober seven years, nine months and seventeen days now, but sometimes she still felt as vulnerable as the day she'd started to seriously drink. The day she'd found herself all the way across the country from everything she knew and everyone she loved. She'd been so afraid, so alone, and alcohol had been her parents' solution for everything, so she'd tried it. And liked it. Her mouth was watering, and she swallowed hard. Being held hostage during a robbery wasn't going to tempt her. Neither was seeing Pete again. She was stronger than that. She was. But if she was going to die here… She shut out the ugly voice with a shiver and started to fold her arms across her chest before a jerk reminded her that she was handcuffed to Pete. She rested her hand on the marble tile and settled for a onearmed hug, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. So close, but so far. Could she close some of that distance if she gave him the explanation he'd asked for? It was number eight in the twelve-step program that had kept her clean and sober: making amends to the people she'd harmed. It was the only step she'd never fully accomplished. Coming back here, facing everyone she'd let down, facing Pete in particular—she hadn't been that strong. But in her current situation, what did she have to lose? They might never make it out of this bank…

379

Quickly, before she could lose her nerve, she said, "I was in rehab. When you went to San Diego. That's why you couldn't find me." Slowly he turned his head to look at her, his gaze flat and unblinking. "Rehab," he repeated. "For what?" "Alcohol." Her chest ached, so she took a breath to ease it. "I'm a recovering alcoholic, Pete."

Chapter Four I'm a recovering alcoholic, Pete. She couldn't have surprised him more if she'd said I'm a vampire, Pete. Sure, they'd done some drinking in high school. There was always someone older around willing to buy booze for the parties, and failing that, his parents had kept a fully-stocked liquor cabinet. And, yeah, they'd gotten drunk a time or two or…well, more than they should have. Including the first time they'd spent the night together, he realized now that he thought about it. They'd had a few drinks, made love, had a few drinks more, and he'd awakened in the morning on the couch, her body still wrapped around his. But to go from weekend partying to full-blown alcoholism in a couple of months? When he didn't reply to the bomb she'd dropped, she looked away, staring at the paneling that fronted the teller counter. "I had a problem when I left here. I never drank without getting drunk. Remember that?" He did remember. He'd thought she just couldn't handle her liquor—a surprise given that her dad could drink everyone else in town under the table, and her mother was no slouch in that department, either. She didn't wait for him to answer, though. "When I went to San Diego for that college program, I felt lost. I was sure I'd made a huge mistake going there, and I was so homesick. I drank myself to sleep the first night. And every night after that. By the time classes started, I was in sorry shape, either buzzed or hungover all the time. Within a month, I'd stopped going to class at all. Not long after, I got booted out of the dorm for getting caught with booze too many times. I stayed with a friend or two, begged money from my parents, looked for a job and kept trying to drink away my troubles. Then…" Her voice had gone practically inaudible, her expression stark, her fingers knotted. If she dreaded the next part so much, then he sure as hell didn't want to hear it. He should put his fingers in his ears, change the subject, do something to draw Ben and the goons' attention their way. But he didn't speak. Didn't move. Didn't breathe. Very deliberately, carefully, she went on. "I woke up one morning in an alley in a part of the city where I'd never been. I couldn't remember anything beyond the first drink the night before. I found a payphone down the street and called the student advisor from the dorm. She hooked me up with a school counselor, who helped me get into a program. That's where I was when you went out there." She hesitated. "But there were darker days to come."

Chapter Five Libby—an alcoholic, going into rehab, married to some other man… It had been ten years since they'd been together, but still, it landed a punch in his gut. She'd been a virgin the first time they'd made love—hell, so had he! He'd been glad to be her first, had thought he'd be her only. Until she'd gotten far enough away to forget about him.

380

They'd been engaged. They'd been in love. And she'd turned her back on him, cut him off and eventually married another guy. She'd betrayed him. Though some small, rational part of him pointed out that part of the blame rested on the strength of her addiction. Booze or drugs could drive a person to do things they would never ordinarily do. If the lure were easy to resist, it wouldn't be an addiction. That didn't make it hurt any less. Unable to look at her, he stared at a patch of stone, forcing his lungs to fill, empty, refill. It had been a long time ago. She'd had at least one other man in her life. He'd moved on in his. It was an old betrayal that shouldn't—couldn't—hold power over him now. It would only matter if he hadn't gotten over her, and he had, damn it. He thought of Libby in rehab. She'd been only eighteen when her drinking had become uncontrollable. His cop side knew that age had nothing to do with it; he'd picked up drunks as young as twelve and as old as ninety-four. But Libby…cheerleader, honor student, good kid. She was the last person he would have expected to have a problem with anything. The last person he'd thought would break his heart. She glanced at him—he saw the movement peripherally but refused to meet her gaze—then looked away again. "I was there for ninety days. By the time I got out, my parents had moved to San Diego, too. They had a big dinner to celebrate my release, complete with wine. I managed to resist for six days, but then I fell hard. My second shot at rehab didn't work, either, but the third time… I got out on my twenty-first birthday, and I've been sober since. I…I'm so sorry, Pete. Can you forgive me?"

Chapter Six Pete didn't know what to say. He'd imagined a lot of things coming between them, but alcoholism, rehab hadn't been among them. When Libby'd gone away to college in San Diego, he'd pictured her meeting new guys, having more fun, making a new life for herself that didn't include anyone from small-town Georgia. He'd thought she might have fallen in love with one of those guys, one who wouldn't make her live in Copper Lake, who could give her excitement and new experiences in new places. But this? This had never occurred to him. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have dealt with—" Libby's withering look cut his words off short. "Tell you? When? After I got kicked out of the dorm? When I woke up in an alley with no memory of the night before? When I'd finished rehab the first time? The second time? The third time?" "Before you took that first drink. You should have called me." "And say that you were right? That I'd made a mistake? I couldn't handle living that far away?" It was the only thing they'd fought about that last summer: her decision to go to school in California. He'd wanted to change her mind. He'd warned her she would be isolated. He'd told her it wouldn't work out. She'd insisted she would be fine. They would be fine. And that the highly-specialized program she'd been thrilled to be accepted to would keep her too busy to be lonely. She'd been wrong. And it had almost killed her. "You should have told me," he repeated stubbornly.

381

"I'd lost my scholarship, my sanity, my sobriety, my dignity. All I had left was a little bit of pride. I had to hold on to that." His first thought was to scoff, but he reined it in. After all, she wasn't entirely to blame. He could have tracked her down if he'd tried. He'd had enough money of his own to hire a private investigator. He'd had friends who were cops. He could have found her…but pride had held him back, too. He'd thought that she was done with him, and he'd be damned if he was going to force his way back into her life. Sometimes pride was all you had left to keep you feeling like a man. But now, seeing her after all these years with a little perspective, it didn't seem all that important. He was staring at her when suddenly a pair of black boots and jean-covered legs stopped right in front of him. Tilting his head back, he found himself looking down the barrel of Ben's gun, pointed right between his eyes. "You Petrovski?" Oh, God. Had Ben figured out he was a cop? "That's me." "Stanley Petrovski," Ben said quietly. "Let's talk."

Chapter Seven Tension vibrated off Pete and seeped into Libby as her gaze skittered from one man to the other. Pete's expression was totally blank, Ben's was expectant. Why had he called Pete by his father's name? "Get up," Ben ordered Pete. Slowly, carefully, Pete stood, offering Libby a hand so her arm didn't have to dangle in air. She stayed close to him, wishing she could ease behind him. Even though as kids they'd never faced any risk more serious than getting caught drinking or making out, he'd always made her feel safe. She really wanted to feel safe right now. "There's a door down the hall with your name painted on it. Opens up to a fancy office, cushy furniture, lots of money on the walls and the floor. That your office, Stanley?" "Stanley's my father. I'm Pete. And I don't work at the bank." Ben turned to the tellers. "That true, Amy?" She bobbed her head. "His dad's the president. Pete's a—" Pete stiffened even more, and Audra jabbed her elbow into Amy's ribs, urging her to be silent. "Pete's a disappointment," the older teller said. "He used to work here, but he didn't last long. Stan tells anyone who asks what a letdown it was." The way she repeated the insult struck Libby as cold, but it eased a bit of Pete's agitation. The clench of his jaw relaxed, and his shrug looked totally natural. "I always told him I didn't want to work in the bank."

382

Ben stepped back to lean against the teller counter. Behind him in the vault, his crew was making steady progress on the safe deposit boxes. A pile of canvas bags just outside the door held the goods they'd already amassed. "So you're the bank president's son. You know, that might make you worth more as a hostage. Despite his disappointment, does Daddy put any value on you?" "You'd have to ask him that. But if you're thinking of asking for ransom, you're already cleaning out the vault. What would he have to give you?" "I'm sure other banks in the area would be willing to help him put together a bit of money. Besides, I'm not greedy. I'll be happy with what's here. I was just thinking about ensuring a safe trip out of town. Does Daddy have any pull with the local cops?" Again Amy started to speak, but Pete tensed and Audra did something to stop her, this time eliciting a grimace of pain. What were they hiding? "He's a bank president. He has money. His brother-in-law is the mayor, and he's probably bought enough politicians to start his own government. You might call it pull." Ben nodded, satisfied enough to lower the weapon. "Good to know. Go ahead. Sit down."

Chapter Eight Libby didn't need Pete's help to sink back down to the cold floor, but she was grateful for it. Just his hand was on her arm, nothing more, but it helped quell the shivers rocketing through her. As soon as they settled on the marble, he let go, drew his knees up and rested his free arm on them. He was frowning now, his gaze narrowed, as he watched Ben return to the vault. "That's good news, isn't it?" she murmured. "That he's giving some thought to getting away?" "Depends on whether he intends to let us all live, kill you guys and take me along, or kill us all." His mouth thinned. "I had plans for tonight, and they don't include being used to provide safe passage to a bunch of bank robbers." "What plans?" She couldn't help it. The question just popped out, utterly inane, absolutely irrelevant—they were talking about dying, for God's sake—but there it was. He thought it was inane, too, judging by the way his brows arched. "A date. With Sophy." The name gave her a jolt. She and Sophy had been friends from first grade until the day she'd moved to San Diego. They'd taken all the same classes, joined all the same activities, double- and triple-dated. They'd even worked at the same summer jobs—lifeguards at the country club pool. And now they were involved with the same man. Not that Pete and Libby were involved. She'd never gotten over him, though. Never met a man she didn't compare to him, never thought of him without a pang for what she'd lost. Though she'd never said the words, not even to herself, she'd never stopped loving him. Despair washed over her, making her hands tremble and her stomach knot. She knew hopeless causes when she saw them, and any feelings she still had for Pete were definitely hopeless. Sophy was so pretty and funny and nice. He would probably fall in love with her, if he hadn't already, and they'd get married and have that wonderful perfect life he and Libby had thought they would have. Except that she'd hurt him and become an alcoholic. Not exactly the girl you bring home to Mom.

383

Which left her with the grim future of being alone and lonely in Tulsa. Then from somewhere behind the teller's desk, the phone rang.

Chapter Nine When the phone rang, Pete's gaze shifted automatically to the big clock on the wall at the opposite side of the lobby. 6:20. He figured one of the hostages had been missed, and his gut said it was him. The good thing about a terminal case of punctuality: it didn't take long for people to notice something was wrong. Ben's head swiveled around to stare at the phone, and the men inside the vault stopped their work to look. Any call after closing time was suspicious—a call to the tellers would have been made to their cells—and it ratcheted up the nerves in both rooms. After the fourth ring, Ben gestured with the pistol to Audra. She managed to sound pretty damn normal when she answered. "American Federal… Just a moment." She put the call on hold. "It's for Pete." The gun shifted in his direction. Not knowing how good a shot Ben was, Pete wished Libby wasn't so close. Hell, he wished she was safe in her rental car, speeding along I-20 to Atlanta. "Who would be calling you here?" He put a few inches of space between Libby and him. "I'm late for dinner with my girlfriend. It's either her or my buddy. We were going out together and I told them I had to stop by the bank first. They probably figured I was delayed by my dad." "What will happen if she tells them you're not here?" He shrugged. "I told you, they know I'm here. And my bike's parked out front." Ben considered it a moment then ordered, "Put it on speaker." Audra did so as Pete, pulling Libby after him, got up and walked to the counter. "This is Pete." "Where are you, man? We've been waiting over at Sophy's for ten minutes." The male voice sounded mildly irritated, but it didn't sound a thing like his friend Ty Gadney… Because it was one of their bosses, Tommy Maricci. Relief flooded through Pete. Ty had seen his bike and known something was wrong. Whatever plans Ben had, now the best cops in Copper Lake were plotting to thwart them. "Come on, man. Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Pete said, thinking fast. "I don't consider myself late until at least forty-five minutes have passed. I thought I'd hang out here and walk Audra and Amy to their cars once they've closed up. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to them." "So thoughtful," Maricci said sarcastically. "I'll be sure and tell your girlfriend." "Yeah, you tell her, and Sophy, too. Tell them I'll be there four—nah, make it five minutes after Amy and Audra are done here." "We'll believe it when we see you." Maricci hung up, and Audra did the same. Pete glanced at Ben. The guy didn't seem overly suspicious. Granted, the clues Pete had tried to give were piss-poor, but without planning and with everyone listening…

384

Still, Maricci and Ty were the best. They'd figure it out. They had to.

Chapter Ten Once Libby and Pete were sitting on the floor again and Ben's attention was back on the work inside the vault, Libby gave Pete a sidelong look and murmured, "You're never late." "Maricci knows that." "Tommy Maricci? Didn't he become a co—" She bit off the word, but her eyes widened and she quieted her voice even further. "You talked about something bad happening, and you told him which employees are here. And you acted like Sophy isn't your girlfriend. To let him know someone else was a hostage?" Easy enough for her to figure out when she knew what was going on. Still, Pete felt damn near clever for a moment. "Will he call the FBI?" He scowled at her. "There's no FBI within an hour of here. Besides, CLPD is good. They don't need the feds." She scowled back, her blue gaze narrowing. Then, suddenly, her expression cleared."That's what Audra was trying to hide a while ago, isn't it? Why you both got so tense when Amy kept talking. You're a cop, aren't you?" He just continued to glare at her, but that was the only answer she needed. "Wow. This is Ben's lucky day. A hostage who happens to be the bank president's son and a cop. I don't suppose you have any expert cop ideas on how to get us out of this." Hearing the hopeful tinge to her voice, Pete winced. "I wear a uniform. I take calls, write traffic tickets, break up domestics. Sorry to disappoint you." It took a moment to find her voice, and when she did, it was all soft and sad. "You've never disappointed me, Pete. All the disappointment's been my fault, and I'm more sorry than I can ever say." He held her gaze a moment, for the first time without hostility, then pointedly looked away. Stifling a sigh, she tilted her head back until it hit solid wood and stared into the distance. Pete a Copper Lake cop. That was a surprise. He'd been groomed since infancy to take his place in the family business, but he'd lost interest in the idea by the time he was eight. His mother must have been so smug when he came to the bank after college…and so dismayed when he quit to become a cop. When Mareta Petrovski wasn't happy, no one was happy. Yet clearly he'd stood his ground. Just as he had regarding Libby back in high school. Mareta hadn't liked her; her son should have been dating someone who belonged at the country club, not someone who worked there. She'd made her disapproval clear, but Pete hadn't backed down. He'd never been ashamed of Libby, never let her believe she was in any way inferior. But Mareta had been right. Libby had been inferior. She hadn't deserved Pete. She still didn't.

Chapter Eleven "Excuse me, Ben." Audra shifted anxiously from foot to foot. "Amy and I both need to go to the bathroom."

385

"I—" Amy winced at some unseen pain and gave Audra a baleful look. The poor kid was going to be blackand-blue before this was over, and none of it from the hostage-takers. Chastened, she mumbled, "I do. Really bad." Ben rolled his eyes. "Jeez. Jerry, take the tellers to the head. What about you?" he directed at Libby. "I'm fine." Jerry traded his tools for his weapon and came out of the vault, gesturing the two women to go first. As they disappeared around the corner into the hall, the phone rang again. Ben pointed the gun at Libby. "Get over here and answer." She stumbled to her feet, bumping against Pete. His free hand closed around her upper arm, steadying her. When he let go, he didn't break contact completely but twisted his right hand until his fingers wrapped around hers. The touch made her feel very warm and safe. "American Federal," she said almost cheerily. "This is Libby." "Hello, Libby." The caller was male, his voice husky and tinged with an Oklahoma/Texas drawl. "This is Lieutenant AJ Decker with the Copper Lake Police Department. Everything okay in there?" "As okay as it's going to get." "Put it on speaker," Ben ordered. She mouthed I don't know how, and Pete reached across to punch the right button. "Who's in charge there, Libby?" Decker asked. Figuring that the lieutenant wouldn't have identified himself unless they had a plan, she said, "That would be the man with the gun. He calls himself Ben, and he's listening now." "We know you've got accomplices inside the bank, Ben, and hostages—" "Including the bank president's son," Ben pointed out. "In fairness, we should let you know what we've got outside: just about the entire police department, the sheriff's department, a few state troopers and a half dozen GBI agents who happened to be in town for the weekend. Every street out of downtown is blocked off, every bank exit is covered. You're not getting out of there." "Oh, I think that's negotiable." Ben drew the barrel of his gun along Libby's jaw. She clenched her teeth together and practically bit off her tongue to keep the revulsion from showing. Beside her, Pete squeezed her hand tighter, but his expression remained blank. "Like I said, I've got the bank president's son." "Yeah, I heard that. If you're counting on Stan Petrovski's help after you've cleaned out his vault, you're greatly overestimating the father-son bond." Ben glared at Pete. "You said your father has pull with the cops." Pete's shrug was tight and small. "I didn't say he would use it for me."

386

Lieutenant Decker drew their attention back to the phone. "It doesn't matter who you've got, Ben. We're not negotiating anything until the hostages have been released. In the meantime, maybe this will help you make your choice." The phone line went dead. And an instant later, so did the lights.

Chapter Twelve As the lights went dead, curses came from the vault, along with distant shrieks down the hall. Making enough racket for a dozen people, Jerry dragged the two tellers back to the counter before demanding, "What the hell happened? Who was on the phone?" "The freaking cops. What the hell do you think happened?" Jerry started cursing again and shoved the two women behind the counter before making his way toward the other goons. One of the thieves in the vault turned on a handheld spotlight, emitting a powerful beam, but little of it came through the doorway. It was directed at the safe deposit boxes the men were still working on. "Mind if we sit down?" Pete asked. "Libby's a little unsteady on her feet." Never slow to take a hint, she immediately gripped the counter for balance. "Sorry. I don't do well with stress. It makes my blood sugar drop, my blood pressure follows and before long, I drop, too." "Sit," Ben growled before stalking off to the vault door. Instead of heading back to the table, Pete sank down on the floor right where they were. With their backs against the teller counter, they couldn't see what was going on, but on the plus side, they couldn't be seen, either. Pete leaned close until his mouth brushed Libby's hair. "Are you still as flexible as you used to be?" "I used to be seventeen. Depends on what you have in mind." "My keys are in my right pocket. Can you get to them?" She wiggled her right hand into his jeans pocket, her fingers nimble and swift. He closed his eyes, remembering other times when she'd reached inside his clothing—and not for keys—and grew hot just from the thought. They'd had so much fun together, been so good together. Losing her had been bad enough, but not knowing what he'd done wrong had just about killed him. Even ten years later, when he couldn't sleep at night he wondered how and where she was, if she was happy, if she was with someone else. Every time he went out on a date, he compared the woman to Libby and found her lacking. Every time he thought about his future, he saw himself alone, still wanting her. Still loving her. Wasn't that pathetic? Ten years after she'd cut him off without so much as a word, he still loved her.

387

Chapter Thirteen Libby eased the keys out of Pete's pocket without so much as a clink and pressed them into his hand. He liked that she was smart and quick-thinking and didn't ask questions when he told her to do something. He couldn't ask for a better person to be taken hostage with. He knew some cops—Sophy's friend Kiki came to mind—who would have freaked out if a bank robber shoved a pistol into their rib cage, but not Libby. For a recovering alcoholic—for a person in general—she'd been damn calm and collected. He fingered the keys in the dark, finding the short odd-shaped one he was looking for. He slid it into the lock on the cuff around his wrist, clicked it open and slipped his hand free. After undoing the lock on her hand, he leaned close to Libby again, the sweet familiar vanilla scent of her hair tickling his nose, and whispered. "You remember the layout of the bank? Around the corner and down the hall is the door to the back parking lot. Go." "And leave you here?" And now she asked questions. "I can handle the situation." "So can I." "Yeah, but I'd feel a whole lot better if you weren't here. I can't stand the thought of you being hurt." She stared at him, so close, blurred shadows in the dark. "But, Pete—" He laid his fingers across her lips. "Please, Lib. Trust me." Her fingers curled around his, cool and shaky, holding on tightly for a moment before she whispered, "What if they—" Kill you. She couldn't say it, and he didn't want to think it. He would have liked to believe he was prepared for it—he was a cop, after all—but the idea scared him silly. But not as much as the idea of Libby dying beside him. "Please," he repeated. "Go." She stared at him a long time, barely breathing, clinging to him, before finally she nodded. It seemed she had to force herself to let go, one finger unfolding at a time, and he had to force himself to do the same. At last she drew a breath, shifted onto her knees and silently disappeared into the shadows.

Chapter Fourteen "Please, go." Pete had begged Libby to try and escape, and she'd gone. But as she made her way to the exit on her hands and knees, Libby's fear came back full force for the first time since she'd seen Pete standing just inside the doors. Her tremors made her as shaky as a baby learning to crawl for the first time, the depth of the darkness ahead disoriented her and worry about Pete and Audra and Amy tugged at her.

388

But somehow she made it to the end of the counter, where a weak bit of light shone on the floor. She stopped, easing ahead far enough to see around the corner. Ben still stood in the vault doorway, talking to the men above the whine of drills and saws. Amy was sitting on a stool in front of a table, head resting on her arms, hair spilling to hide her face. Audra sat on the floor a few feet away. Libby hustled across the opening then looked back, catching Audra's attention. The other woman didn't hesitate at all when she spotted Libby, immediately starting to crawl across the floor and heading straight for the hallway that promised freedom. Libby tried to get Amy's attention, but the girl's eyes were closed and Libby couldn't wait. Audra passed Libby but stayed close enough that Libby could catch the occasional gleam from the rhinestones that decorated her shoes. Without the lights Libby was a bit disoriented, but she kept one hand against the wall to direct her and followed the gleam of Audra's bedazzled shoes. That gleam was growing duller, though, until there was simply no light for the stones to gather. She heard a click ahead of her—Audra unlocking the door?—then a panicked voice from behind. "Audra's gone!" Amy shrieked. "She's trying to escape!" "Run, Libby!" Pete shouted.

Chapter Fifteen "She's trying to escape!" Libby heard Amy's warning to the bank robbers. Desperately, she looked to where she'd last seen Audra. Miraculously, Audra already had the door open. She surged to her feet and disappeared outside. Libby jumped up, too, lunging for the door as footsteps pounded down the hall, the beam of a flashlight bouncing crazily off the walls. She was mere inches from freedom when a large hand grabbed her hair, stopping her momentum and throwing her half a dozen feet back down the hall. Every part of her body that came in contact with the floor suffered impact shock. Her forehead was already swelling, she saw bright silver and gold fireworks even though her eyes were open, and her lungs were bursting with the need to regain the breath knocked out of her. The door to the parking lot slammed shut. Then a beefy hand yanked Libby to her feet. Jerry dragged her back to the lobby even though her feet weren't completely under her, they just sort of stumbled along behind. He bypassed Ben, holding his gun on Pete, and shoved her down again. "The other bitch escaped." Pete caught Libby, softening her landing. He looked so grim, almost angry again. Because she'd disappointed him yet one more time? "Why do you have a handcuff key, Pete?" Ben asked softly.

389

She answered before Pete could do more than open his mouth. "It's mine. When you're on vacation, it never hurts to be prepared for anything." From above them, voice floating over the counter, Amy said, "He has it because he's a freaking cop! I've been trying to tell you that ever since he walked in the door! For God's sake, Ben, even she knew that him and Audra were keeping me from saying something. How could you be so stupid?"

Chapter Sixteen Anger flashed across Ben's face at Amy's words of criticism, but then he dismissed them with a shrug. "Wouldn't have changed anything, except I would have handcuffed him to his daddy's desk or something." "It cost us a hostage!" "We've still got her," he said, indicating Libby. "And now we've got the bank president's son, who happens to be a cop." Ben grinned. "And, of course, you." On the floor, Libby rested her head back against the counter, hoping that Amy and Ben would forget about her and Pete while they argued. Gently, Pete pulled her head onto his shoulder. Libby thought about the girl. Amy—young, inexperienced, scared out of her mind, poor kid—had been Ben's partner all along. If Libby walked out of this building, she was going to wring the "poor kid's" neck. And maybe give ol' Jerry there a kick to the testicles as payback. If she walked out. If they didn't kill her where she sat. Pete's jaw throbbed where Ben had punched him when he'd jumped to his feet to go after Libby. The blow hadn't put him back down on the floor, but the pistol in Ben's other hand had. Oddly, he hadn't been scared, thinking that Libby had been safe. But she wasn't. She'd paused long enough to get Audra's attention, and that had been enough to end her hope of escape. That, and Amy. He should have suspected her sooner, should have wondered how Ben and his crew knew there would be a hell of a lot of cash inside the vault over the weekend. But from the little he knew of Amy, she'd seemed like such an empty-headed kid, more interested in makeup, clothes and guys than anything else. "We're done in here, boss," one of the men in the vault called. "We're gonna be rich." "We're gonna be broke and in jail," Amy muttered. "How the hell are we getting out of here? The cops have us surrounded." "With our hostages." "Lieutenant Decker won't go for that," Pete said mildly. "Sure, he will. They talk tough, but they never choose to let a hostage die. He'll call in a few minutes, I'll tell him to pull everyone back or we'll shoot Libby here. And he'll do it." On cue the phone rang, but Ben ignored it, instead sticking out his hand. "Give me your keys." Pete handed them over. Another ring.

390

"Now put these back on," he said, handing Pete the handcuffs. Third ring. Pete took the handcuffs dangling from Ben's finger and snapped one around his wrist, the other around Libby's. Fourth ring. Unsatisfied, Ben ratcheted them tighter until the metal was cutting into their skin. Mid-fifth ring, Ben picked up the phone and put it on speaker. "What do you want, Lieutenant?" Then the room exploded.

Chapter Seventeen An explosion of blinding light and ear-splitting sound shook the bank, the concussive wave washing across the room. Despite Pete's squeezed-shut eyes and even with his head ducked down, brilliant patterns slashed across his eyelids and his ears throbbed, unable to isolate any particular sound. But he could distinguish some things—swearing from Ben and crew, an alarmed shriek from Amy. The kicking in of doors and pounding of feet as cops entered the building. Thank God, they'd been rescued! Then from beneath him he heard the rapid, raspy breaths of hyperventilation. He smoothed Libby's hair back from her face and whispered in a voice he couldn't even hear himself. "It's okay, Libby, it's okay. We're all right." Her eyes fluttered open, staring up at him, damp and startled and, for the first time, panicked. The blast had deafened her and she couldn't hear any of his reassurances. So he skipped the talk and covered her mouth with his, kissing her long and hard and hungrily. God, after ten years he was so hungry for the taste of her. She kissed him back, just as hungry, just as needy, nipping at his tongue, raising her hands to cling tightly to him. She'd come home again. And so had he.

Chapter Eighteen Libby was pretty sure that given all the rushing and roaring in her head, her ears had suffered permanent injury from the explosion, and her vision—if she opened her eyes—would be forever blurry. But for the moment, she didn't care. She wrapped her arms around Pete's neck and kissed him, pulling him closer, letting his heat and arousal chase away all the cold, fear and hurt. How many times had she wished for one more of his kisses? Thousands. How many times had she dreamed of being back in his arms? Tens of thousands.

391

Even if this meant nothing to him, even if it was post-traumatic-stress relief, it meant the world to her. Dimly she was aware that people filled the room, barking out orders, taking the robbers into custody. She didn't care. As long as Pete kissed her, held her, even just touched her…nothing else existed. She needed to cherish every moment of this before life went back to normal and she went back to Oklahoma. Alone. The first sound she could actually distinguish was someone clearing his throat nearby. Pete reacted first, ending the kiss and lifting his head even though she tried to stop him. She opened her eyes to see a gorgeous man with a smile that could flutter hearts everywhere crouching beside them. "Tommy Maricci," she said, her voice a faint echo in her ears. "Libby Maxwell." He grinned. "You grew up good." "So did you." Pete eased off her and sat up, then gave her a hand to do the same. She dragged her fingers through her hair, suddenly self-conscious. It wasn't the first time Tommy had caught them necking where they shouldn't, but they'd been kids then. They were adults now, and she'd betrayed Pete in so many ways. And he was dating Sophy. "We're gonna need a statement from you two and the tellers. We have Audra at the station now," Tommy said. "Save a pair of handcuffs for Amy. She was in on it with them," Pete said. Then he looked at Libby. "We'll meet you at the station…eventually."

Chapter Nineteen Tommy shook his head regretfully at the news about Amy being an accomplice to the bank robbers. "It's always the pretty ones that surprise you. Pete, your folks are out front, so you might want to take Libby and head out the back way. See you at the station." Pete nodded and stood as the other man walked away. Libby, still attached to Pete with the handcuffs, got up with a sigh. She didn't blame Pete for not wanting his parents to see her. They hadn't liked her before she'd broken his heart; they surely wouldn't want her near him now. She didn't blame him, but it hurt. Taking her hand, he led her through the lobby and down the hall to the rear exit. The parking lot was filled with official vehicles. Someone in uniform offered them a ride, but Pete shook his head. Another guy offered a handcuff key, but Pete shook his head again and kept walking. The night was cool, the air heavy with smells from the Gullah River a couple blocks away. The police station was in that direction—through the alley, down about a half block and they'd be there. Instead, though, Pete turned to the north, toward the town square, and she followed—as if the handcuffs gave her a choice— happy to extend this time together.

392

They were near the gazebo in the center of the square, streetlights shining on them, noise filtering from the restaurants around the square, when he stopped and stared down at her. "I was so angry with you, Libby…and so hurt. All these years I wondered what I did wrong, why you had stopped loving me." Tears dampened her eyes. "Pete, I never—" He laid his fingers over her mouth. "I hate what happened, but it's in the past. Everything's in the past…except how much I love you. I never stopped, Libby. I never will." She went all soft and warm at his words. "I never stopped loving you, either," she whispered. He laid one hand against her jaw, gently stroking, sending warm shivers through her. "Give us a chance, Libby. Let me—" Breaking off, he swallowed audibly. "Let me be there for you, Lib. Let me be a part of your life."

Chapter Twenty She was quiet for so long that Pete's heart just about stopped beating. Then, suddenly, she sniffed and a tear slipped down her cheek, dampening his hand. "A part of my life?" she whispered unsteadily. "You've always been the best part, Pete. I've never met anyone who can compare to you. Not a day has gone by that I didn't think of you. Miss you. Regret what I'd done to you. But what about Sophy?" Tenderly he wiped the tear's track dry. "Sophy and I aren't actually dating. We were going to dinner, but just as friends. There was never anyone but you. I wish you had told me what you were going through back then. You could have called me anytime, Lib. You could have come home." She shook her head. "You wouldn't have been happy to see me. You weren't happy to see me." "You can't blame a guy for holding a bit of a grudge." He grinned ruefully. "But there's nothing like having a .45 caliber pistol pointed right between your eyes to make you realize what's worth holding on to and what you should let go. And you, Libby, you are definitely worth holding on to." He kissed her again and she tasted sweet, familiar, hot, perfect. Like home. On the street nearby a patrol car eased to a stop and DeLong, Pete's occasional partner, called, "Hey, Pete, the lieutenant would like to wrap this statement up so he can go home to his wife. You think you two could save the smooching for later?" Despite his partner, Pete took his time ending the kiss, then replied without looking at her. "We'll be there in a couple minutes." Wrapping his fingers around Libby's, he started walking back the way they'd come. "Just how attached are you to your job and Tulsa?" "The job's just a job, and Tulsa's a nice place to live, but it's not home. Copper Lake is. You are." "Good, because I don't want a long-distance marriage." She smiled, and together they walked forward.

393

Snow-Kissed Reunion By Melissa McClone Cocoa Marsh had resigned herself to giving up her dreams. She might never be a competitive snowboarder again, but at least her job as a designer for Hughes Snowboards gave her the opportunity to ride whenever she wanted. And as for that pesky hope of a happily ever after…well, the love she'd felt five years ago for snowboarding superstar Rex Billings hadn't been real, anyway. He'd proven that when he'd left and never spoken to her again. Until now, that is. Because Rex Billings was back, and looking more devastating than ever. Not that she was going to let herself fall for his charm and knee-weakening smile again. Even if he seemed more grounded, more committed, more…like a dream that might actually come true….

Chapter One At the high point of her jump, Caroline "Cocoa" Marsh grabbed the snowboard between her feet. Cold air hit her face as she flew through Timberline's terrain park. She landed smoothly and carved her way down the hill. Her boss, Sean Hughes, had hugely improved the performance of this prototype freestyle snowboard. Light. Snappy. She couldn't wait to hit another jump. Today reminded Cocoa why being a graphic designer at Hughes Snowboards was the best job in the world. Season passes were only one of the employee perks. She could ride year-round on Mount Hood. And like this bluebird Monday morning in November, she often got paid to do it. Cocoa eyed a tabletop jump. Her pulse quickened. She rode up the ramp with enough speed to clear the flat top and land on the downward slope. Soaring into the air, she opened her shoulders into a Frontside 3, a.k.a a 360. She spun, feeling exhilarated. Her heel edge caught. Cocoa's back slammed into the snow. Air rushed from her lungs. She slid down the transition until she came to a stop. She lay momentarily stunned. A quick inventory confirmed she wasn't hurt. Fresh snowfall from last night had softened the crash, but she might have a bruise or two. Showboating had caused her to come up short, not the new board. The balaclava keeping her face warm muffled the sound of her laughter. A glove-covered hand reached down. She grabbed hold of it and was pulled upright by someone in a plaid jacket, the kind worn by the coaches at the Hood Hamlet Snowboarding Camp. She didn't recognize him, but even with goggles covering much of his face, she thought he looked familiar. "Thanks." Cocoa brushed snow off her pants and jacket. "Spotting for your crew?" "Making sure the landing is clear." Goose bumps prickled her skin. He sounded like Rex Billings, but the snowboarding star would never take time out of the spotlight to coach. She slid away from the landing area. The guy followed her and waved to the riders waiting above. "Nice take-off, but you came up short." She grimaced. "Yeah, dude, I know what I did wrong."

394

"You've got real potential." Cocoa didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused. She'd been pegged to bring home the gold in 2006. Instead she'd watched the games from a hospital bed. "Real potential, huh?" He raised his goggles onto his helmet. "Definitely." Staring into oh-so-familiar piercing blue eyes, she sucked in a sharp, cold breath. Oh, no. Cocoa had looked into those eyes before. Kissed those lips, too. Unwanted tingles filled her stomach. Rex. It was him. Figured he didn't recognize her. Okay, she was wearing goggles and a face mask, but he'd proven years ago that their time together had meant nothing to him. He went through women like popcorn. She'd been nothing but another kernel in his bucket. Friends had warned her about his reputation, but she'd been young and stupid and in love. "Rex Billings." He nodded, as if he were used to being recognized. With snowboarding movies, prestigious medals, his own clothing line and other endorsements, he was. Rex stared at her. "We've met." Gorgeous, but still a player. "Years ago." "You must have been a kid." "Old enough." For him to kiss until she couldn't breathe and fill her head with the dream of a happily ever after. She'd thought they'd connected and shared something special. She'd been wrong. She pulled her balaclava beneath her chin and lifted her goggles onto her helmet. His blue eyes widened. "Cocoa." Having the upper hand with him for once felt pretty darn good. "Hey." Rex's breath hung on the cold air. "I'm an idiot." "You said it, not me." He half laughed. "I didn't recognize you." "Otherwise you wouldn't have stopped." "Huh?" "The U.S. team trains on Mount Hood every summer, but we've never bumped into each other," she said. "That takes some effort."

395

Not that she'd looked him up, either. His lips curved into a killer smile. "It's good to see you now." Cocoa disagreed. She wanted to feel indifferent to him. But her pulse raced. Butterfly wings waged war in her stomach. The freezing temperature did nothing to cool her down. "I thought you'd be training, not coaching." "I'm a guest coach for a couple weeks." Two weeks sounded about right for someone who never stuck with anything—or anyone—for long. A teenager in lime-green pants and a colorful jacket flew off the jump. He came up short, bounced off the flat of the table and landed in a heap. She winced. "Ouch." "Duty calls," Rex said. "Catch ya later, Cocoa." Her muscles tensed. He'd said something similar at Mount Bachelor, right before the crash on the half-pipe destroyed her dreams and changed her life. She'd never heard from Rex again. Catch ya later, Cocoa. Not if she had any say in the matter. *** "Good speed, dude," Rex said to Liam, a talented kid who needed to learn patience. "But that's what you get for being a guinea pig." "A what?" "The first person to hit a jump," Rex explained. "Now that everyone's seen you go, they can adjust and hit it right. Next time let someone else go first." He glanced over to where Cocoa had been. Only tracks in the snow remained. Not that Rex had expected her to hang around. That had been…uncomfortable. Another kid, Travis, overshot the jump and butt-checked, bouncing his rear on the snow before standing up on his board. "No worries," Rex reassured Travis. "You regained your balance and didn't revert." This was why Rex enjoyed coaching. He liked giving back to the sport that had given him so much. Bekah went next. She flew into an Indy Backside 180 and stuck the landing. He whistled. "You stomped it." She grinned. "Thanks, dude."

396

Yeah, dude, I know what I did wrong. Cocoa. She was pretty as ever and could still ride. He remembered riding with her. Talking and kissing, too. Really hot kisses. But once she'd told Rex how she felt about him, he'd known it would never work. Cocoa didn't want a fling. She wanted forever—marriage, house, kids—something not on his radar. He would have only hurt her more if he'd stuck around. Leaving before things got too heavy, too serious, too emotional had seemed like a good idea. So after his event at Mount Bachelor, Rex had kissed her. The sweetest, most memorable goodbye kiss of his life. He'd made his way toward the parking lot so he'd be gone by the time she finished her final run. A collective gasp from the crowd had made him turn around. He'd stared at the big screen and saw Cocoa lying motionless. His chest had tightened. He'd struggled to breathe. Tears had stung his eyes. He'd rushed to the hospital, but she'd been unconscious, looking so hurt and vulnerable. Unfamiliar emotions had overwhelmed him. Scared him. He'd cared more deeply for Cocoa than he ever imagined. But he couldn't stand feeling so useless, so helpless, so lost at the thought of her not surviving. He'd wanted to run but stuck around instead. For over a week. Until he'd had to leave for the last Grand Prix qualifying event. He'd soothed his conscience by saying Cocoa would have wanted him to compete at Mountain Creek. Truth was, Rex didn't want to care about a woman that much. A serious relationship would be an impossible distraction from his bid to get to the top. So he'd left and avoided her ever since. But five Grand Prix seasons later, Rex hadn't forgotten her. Now that he'd seen her again, he had to wonder… Did Cocoa still kiss as well as she rode?

Chapter Two The next afternoon, Cocoa had almost put seeing Rex Billings behind her. Emphasis on almost. She focused on the mechanical—a full-scale version of her latest snowboard graphic—in front of her. The 3D effect had turned out better than she'd hoped. Next step…films that separated the colors into layers. "Cool design." Taylor, a twenty-three-year-old coworker, leaned over the cloth-covered cubicle wall. His long brown hair swung forward. "Boss-dude wants to see you in his office. Pronto." "Thanks." Cocoa left her desk and wove her way toward Sean's office. Telephones rang. Keys clicked on keyboards. Framed, poster-sized photographs of Hughes Snowboards' sponsored athletes covered the wall. Sean's office door was ajar. He sat on the edge of his desk, looking more like a model from an outdoor magazine than a successful entrepreneur and volunteer mountain rescue team leader. With hazel-green eyes, a ready smile and thick brown hair, Sean had a reputation around town as a heartbreaker. But Cocoa would trust him with her life. In fact, she had. She tapped on the door. "Taylor said you wanted to see me, boss." "Come in." Sean stood. "I want you to meet someone."

397

Inside the office, she saw a man sitting in a chair. Not just any man. A total hottie wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt with a T-shirt underneath and a pair of faded jeans. One of her boss's climbing partners or… She did a double take. "Rex?" "Cocoa," he said at the same time, sounding as surprised as she felt. Rex had looked good on the hill yesterday, but today… Smokin'. She fought the urge to fan herself. The ends of his sandy-blond hair brushed his shoulders. She'd never seen his hair this short before, but she liked it. The lines at the corners of his eyes added the right amount of maturity. Not that he was old—at thirty-one he was six years older than she was. His full, soft lips kept his chiseled cheekbones and straight nose from being too rugged. He wasn't a pretty boy, but he was pretty darn perfect. If you liked that type. Okay, she did. But experience had made her immune to Rex's looks, charms, kisses… Stop thinking about him! Only heartache lay down that path. She looked at her boss. Sean smiled. "Guess the two of you have already met." Heat rose on Cocoa's cheeks. "Years ago." "On the circuit," Rex added. "That will make things easier." Sean sounded pleased. But Cocoa was seriously considering running out of the room and coming back once Rex was gone. Her stomach was twisting itself up in knots with each passing second. "Easier how?" Sean motioned to the empty chair next to Rex. "Have a seat. I'll explain." Cocoa didn't want to sit. She wanted to get away from Rex so her heart would stop pounding. But Sean had given her a job even though she'd had zero experience. He'd never once compared her to the rider she'd been before the accident. He'd made her feel valued when she had no idea what she would do with her life. She wouldn't repay him by acting like a spoiled brat who wanted to get her own way. She sat. Sean handed her a folder, then leaned back against his desk. "The Hood Hamlet Snowboard Camp wants us to design a line of snowboarding gear." Cocoa paged through the material in the folder—specifications, logos, mascots and colors. She pictured the plaid jackets the coaches wore. "Sounds like a fun assignment." But she couldn't imagine why Rex was here. He wasn't a camp staff member. She closed the folder. "Johnny requested you be involved on this project, Cocoa," Sean said.

398

She smiled. "Anything for Johnny." Johnny Gearhart owned the camp. He was one of Hughes Snowboards' biggest supporters and had introduced her to Sean when she needed a job. "Johnny also asked that Rex be the camp's liaison," Sean said. Oh, Johnny. You should have known better. Rex wasn't the kind to see things through. Her shoulders sagged. "What about the rest of the camp staff?" "They're focused on the new high school academy," Rex explained. "That's one reason Johnny asked if I'd guest coach." "Rex has been through this design process before with his clothing line and boards," Sean explained. "His experience will complement yours well. You'll be a great team." "I've never been much of a team player," Rex admitted. "But I know this is important to Johnny, the camp and you, Sean. I'll do whatever I can to make it a success." "Me, too." If Rex could handle working together, so could she. Cocoa straightened. "We won't let you and Johnny down." Sean glanced at his watch. "I need to head next door to the factory. Feel free to stay here and put together a game plan." As soon as he left, silence weighed heavily in the office. Cocoa needed to push her anxiety aside. She wasn't the young up-and-comer with a huge crush on the superstar anymore. She was a professional now with no romantic feelings for him. She turned in her chair to face Rex. The folder slid off her lap and hit the floor. Leaning over, Cocoa reached for it. He did, too. Their hands touched. She jerked her arm back, as if she might get burned. Too late, her skin tingled at the point of contact. The folder remained on the floor. She extended her arm again. His hand brushed hers. More tingles erupted. Cocoa blew out a puff of air. "I've got it." Rex picked up the folder. "Here." She took it. Before she could thank him, Rex's gaze locked on hers. Cocoa's heart jolted. He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. His world at least. Look away. She couldn't. No one else had ever made her feel this way.

399

The room sizzled with awareness. Attraction. No matter what had happened in the past, the chemistry between them hadn't changed. So not good. "I wasn't expecting to see you here," Rex said finally. She clutched the folder. "Same here." A beat passed. And another. "It's been too long, Cocoa." Five years in January. His appreciative gaze raked over her. "You look…great." Her pulse skittered. "You, um, too." What was she doing? This was Rex. Flirt. Player. Bad boy. She grabbed a pen off Sean's desk. "Let's get started. With the project," she clarified, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. "What's your daily schedule like?" "I'm with the kids until two-thirty." "We can work around that." "What about your schedule?" Rex asked. "I'm…flexible." "Flexible, huh?" Interest sharpened in his eyes. "I never got to see that side of you." Cocoa tightened her grip on the pen. "Has the staff given you input?" "Yeah, the kids, too. I coach an awesome crew." The excitement on his face gave her chills. He'd never paid attention to kids unless they were fans. Had Rex…changed? "I never imagined you coaching." He shrugged. "I liked it enough to get certified. Now that I'm retired from competition—" "What?" The news shocked her. "You're still placing. Winning." "Perfect time to exit," Rex explained. "Keeping up with the new generation of riders and their massive tricks isn't easy for an old man." "Yeah, you're so old." "I feel old after two decades of training. Competing. Even my aches ache." "That's what massages are for."

400

He raised a brow. "You offering?" "In your dreams, dude." Cocoa needed to get them back on track. "So the project…" Rex looked around Sean's office. "I prefer to work someplace more casual." "My cubicle—" "The Hood Hamlet Brewpub. Tonight. Five-thirty."

Chapter Three Snow fell from the darkening sky. Rex stood outside the Hood Hamlet Brewpub. This was his favorite place in the Alpine-inspired mountain village. Good food. Excellent beer. Friendly crowd. But tonight he stared at the entrance with mixed emotions. Telling Cocoa to meet him here hadn't been one of his smartest moves. He didn't know what had gotten into him. Strike that. He knew the reason. Cocoa. She'd walked into Sean's office with a bounce to her step, a smile that lit up her face and her usually straight blond hair all curly in loose spirals like one of those naked girls from a museum oil painting. His blood had boiled but his brain had frozen, as if he'd taken a face-plant in two-foot-deep powder. All he'd wanted to do was spend time with her. Not working at the office. Out having fun. Just the two of them. Stupid considering how hard she'd fallen for him before. He didn't want to hurt her again. "Hey, Rex." He turned toward the sound of Cocoa's voice. She crossed the street. Snowflakes hung on her jacket, beanie and long hair. Damn, she looked good. He stared into her chocolate-colored eyes and opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. "Rex?" she asked. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a kid with his first crush. Cocoa was dangerous. Rex couldn't remember when he'd felt such a strong attraction to a woman. "Hey." He forced the word from his dry throat. "Looks like fourteen inches of fresh tomorrow." A grin curved her lips. "I can't wait." Rex wished they could ride together, but he was at a crossroad with his career, his life. This wasn't the time to change his relationship status from "single" to something else. Not until he figured out what he was going to do next—sport action films, or something completely different.

401

Tonight he needed to get into that pub, brainstorm ideas and get out. Thinking about whether Cocoa's lips tasted as sweet as they used to wouldn't get the job done. "Ready to work?" She patted her messenger bag. "Everything I need is right here." He held open the door and followed her inside. The smells of hops and French fries lingered in the air. Rock music played from speakers. A fire burned in the fireplace. "Hey, Jake," Cocoa said to the brewpub owner behind the bar. "How's Carly doing?" "Busy decorating the nursery." Jake Porter filled a pitcher with beer. "There are empty tables toward the back. That might keep the fans away, Rex." "Thanks, dude." Rex followed Cocoa. He liked how her jean-clad hips swayed as she walked. He didn't like how other guys in the place watched her. She wasn't his, he reminded himself. No need to get territorial. They hung their jackets and hats on hooks next to a corner booth in the back. Rex slid into the seat across from her, trying not to notice the way the fabric of her sweater stretched across her chest. Focus, Billings. Just not on her breasts. "So…" "Ready to shred the gnar?" a man in his late twenties interrupted. The guy was dressed in jeans and a longsleeved T-shirt. He stared at Cocoa as if he wanted to ride her. Every one of Rex's nerve endings went on full alert. "You know it, Bill," she said. "See you on the hill tomorrow?" "I'll be there." The guy walked away with a wide smile. Rex's jaw tensed. It was none of his business who Cocoa hung out with. Still, he couldn't keep from glancing at Bill, who now leaned against the bar. "Friend of yours?" "Bill works with my roommate, Leanne. He's a firefighter and she's a paramedic. They're with Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue, like Sean and Jake." Curiosity got the better of Rex. "Dating a firefighter, huh?" "What?" she asked. "You and Bill." "Who I date isn't relevant to the project." She glanced at the bar with a thoughtful expression. "Though Bill is pretty fun to climb with. We ended up spending the night in a snow cave last year and had to keep each other warm." Rex swallowed around the icicle-sized lump in his throat. "You, um, climb?" Nodding, she leaned forward over the table. The neckline of her sweater gaped, giving him a peek of ivory skin and black lace. "I do a lot of things I never used to do."

402

Cocoa had never wanted to go further than kissing with him. Images of the two of them together formed in his mind. He shifted in his seat. A female server, dressed in black, passed out menus. "The usual, Cocoa?" She nodded. "A pitcher and two glasses. We'd also like a basket of fries and an order of pretzels." As the server left, Rex stared at Cocoa. She seemed so different from the girl he'd known. She'd been confident about her snowboarding abilities, but not so much off the snow. She'd also been totally in awe of him. He'd liked the hero worship then, but he preferred the take-charge attitude now. "You've changed." "A lot's happened since Mount Bachelor." Since the accident. The words were unspoken, but understood. "I'm older now," she said finally. "Except for the perm, you look the same." "No perm," she said to his surprise. "After my head was shaved in the hospital, the hair grew back curly." The server set down glasses and poured soda into them. She placed the pitcher on the table. "Enjoy the root beer." "Root beer." Rex laughed as the server walked away. "Maybe you haven't changed all that much." "This is a working meeting." Cocoa raised her glass. "Taste it before you say another word. Jake brews tasty beers, but his hand-crafted root beer is the best." Rex took a sip. "You're right." "Told ya so." Cocoa had always reminded him of a spring coiled too tight. Now she seemed more laid-back, content. If he knew she was up for something casual, he'd be all over it. Her. "You're happy here." "I am." Her smile reached her eyes. "I've got a great job, a fantastic boss, good friends and I can ride yearround." "You were tearin' it up yesterday." "It took time, but I can do most everything now. Well, except the half-pipe." "You must miss it." "Not like I thought I would." She sounded sincere. "I mean, I had to relearn how to walk. The doctors weren't sure if I'd ever ride again. I go to the backcountry now. Find new lines. I'm happy I can do that." Rex respected what she must have been through during her road to recovery. It must have taken persistence, perseverance and a whole lot of patience. "You've come far." She nodded. "But it was still nice to hear I had potential. Real potential."

403

Her lighthearted tone told Rex she was teasing, but he felt like a jerk in more ways than one. Guilt coated his mouth. He shouldn't have avoided her all these years. "Cocoa—" "I'm kidding." "I know, but…" He wasn't used to apologizing. "I'm sorry." "You didn't know who I was." "Not just about yesterday." Rex stared at the condensation on his glass. "I never said goodbye at Mount Bachelor." "I was in a coma. I wouldn't have heard you." "You deserved a lot more than I could give you." "Yeah, I did." His insides twisted even though he knew she was right. Rex had only thought of himself back then. He took a swig of his root beer. Maybe he could make it up to her. Maybe… "So I've been wondering." Her warm, clear eyes locked with his. "If I hadn't gotten hurt, would you still have left me?"

Chapter Four Cocoa waited for Rex to answer the question that had been weighing on her mind for nearly five years. If I hadn't gotten hurt, would you still have left me? She toyed with the napkin on her lap. His gaze never wavered from hers. "You really want the truth?" A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled through her. Cocoa had no memory of the time right before the accident. Or after it, either. She only knew what friends had told her and what she'd written in her journal about being in Bend, Oregon, and nearby Mount Bachelor for the third of five Grand Prix qualifying events. Her words, full of gushy emotion and love, made Rex sound like her Prince Charming and their being together a very special relationship. But when she woke up at the hospital, he wasn't there. She'd waited for him to call. He never did. The sense of abandonment had hurt as much as her injuries. She'd ended up convincing herself Rex had left her before her accident happened. That even with his reputation, he wouldn't leave a woman because she'd been seriously hurt. Self-preservation? Definitely. She didn't want to be wrong about Rex. But her doubts grew, making it difficult for her to trust. Did she really want the truth? If Cocoa was ever going to risk having a lasting relationship, she needed to know the truth. Her heart pounded like a bass drum. "Please." "Your accident didn't change anything." Rex's voice sounded hoarse. "Kissing you before your final run….that was my goodbye. I was heading to the parking lot when you crashed."

404

She'd been right. But resentment immediately overcame her relief. Cocoa released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I guess I should be happy you didn't break up with me before my run." "Not my M.O. I never wanted to hurt you. We had a lot of fun together." Rex had been a player just as she'd been warned, but she'd believed things would be different with her. How could she have been so naive? "I liked hanging out with you, Cocoa, but you wanted something serious. The opposite of what I was looking for," he continued. "Making the U.S. team was my priority." "I wanted to make the team, too." But Cocoa couldn't deny what he said. She'd found "Mrs. Rex Billings" doodled in her journal. Her entries made it sound as if he'd felt the same way about her. She stared into her glass. "I just thought we…" …had something special. Lasting. "It doesn't matter," she said instead. "Leaving you without an explanation was wrong. I just didn't want the drama of a breakup with so much at stake." She looked up at him. "The gold." "Yes. But I wasn't a total dirtbag. I hung around the hospital. I didn't go anywhere until I knew you'd be okay." A muscle throbbed at his jaw. "I was stupid. Selfish for running out the way I did. I hope you can forgive me." Maybe what she'd written in the journal had been nothing but girlish fantasies. Maybe she'd misconstrued his feelings and exaggerated her own. Except, she'd seen pictures of them together. They'd looked like a couple. Still, he sounded genuine and contrite. Cocoa couldn't forget her role in this. She'd ignored her friends' advice. She had to take some responsibility for getting involved with him in the first place. "Forgive, yes. Forget, not likely." Cocoa passed him a menu even though she'd lost her appetite. "The appetizers should be here soon, but you can order something for dinner." "That's it?" Rex let go of the menu. "Don't you want to curse or hit me?" She drew back, offended. "What kind of women do you go out with?" The server arrived before he could answer. She set two small plates, a basket of fries and a tray full of hot pretzels and containers of mustard and cheese dipping sauces on the table. "Enjoy." "I try not to go out with psycho-chicks, but occasionally one slips through," Rex said as the server walked away. "Seriously, though, I just thought you'd be upset over how I treated you." "I am upset, but this is a very small town." Cocoa recognized at least half of the faces in the brewpub. "Making a scene here isn't going to solve anything. Once I get home, I'll rail on you to my roommate, and she'll agree what a jerk you are." "Was," he corrected.

405

"That remains to be seen." She glanced at the French fries, but was no longer hungry. "I appreciate your honesty, though." Rex leaned forward over the table. "Cocoa—" "No worries. I could have found you if I'd really wanted to. But now that I know what happened, maybe I won't be so gun-shy about relationships in the future." "That's all good," Rex said. "But there's nothing wrong with dating casually." "Of course not. It's just that I'd like…" A boyfriend for the holidays. She couldn't say the words aloud. Rex reached across the table, laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed. "Tell me." Cocoa liked how good his warm skin felt against hers, but knew she shouldn't. She tugged her hand from underneath his. "It's embarrassing." "Admitting what I did to you wasn't?" "True." The tenderness in his eyes took her breath away. "Trust me." Rex had always been so easy for her to talk to, but he was the last person she should trust. "Maybe I can help," he offered. "You up for playing matchmaker?" she joked. "What?" "I'm kidding." She couldn't ask him to introduce her to men. "It's…well… Thanksgiving is at the end of the month, then Christmas. I'd rather not be alone again for the holidays." "Get a cat. Or a dog," Rex suggested. "Dogs do better in the snow." A good thing she hadn't seriously asked him for help with this. "Dogs can't talk back." "No, but dogs can wear a pack," he said. "Carry food and water. Keep you warm. Love you." "A boyfriend can do all those things, too." "A boyfriend, huh?" "I don't really need a boyfriend." Though it would be nice. "I'd settle for someone to hang out with over the holidays." His brows furrowed. "What about friends?" "I have great friends, but the holidays can still be lonely when you're on your own."

406

Rex studied her with an odd expression. "If you just want to hang out, I know the perfect guy." She raised her glass. "Who?" "Me." Cocoa nearly spit out her root beer. She choked it down instead. "Mr. Love 'em and Leave 'em?" He frowned. "Not any longer. I got tired of the lifestyle, which is another reason I retired." That piqued her interest. "Ready to settle down?" "I wouldn't go that far," he admitted. "I still prefer casual to serious, but I'm not anti-relationship." Maybe Rex was different now, but it didn't matter in the long run. "You're only here for two weeks." "If I had a reason to stay, someone to hang out with, in Hood Hamlet through the holidays…" He smiled. She smiled back. An invisible thread seemed to connect them. It was…nice. Cocoa imagined sitting in front of a twinkling Christmas tree with Rex. The scent of fresh pine would fill the room. The fire in the fireplace would crackle. Holding mistletoe over her head… Stop daydreaming. If she put her hand into the fire, she was going to get burned. "No, thanks." "Don't you remember how much fun we had together on Mount Bachelor and in Bend?" "Actually, I don't," Cocoa admitted. "My memory is a complete blank from a few days before the accident." Rex's devilishly charming grin made her insides quiver. "Then allow me to remind you."

Chapter Five It's better for everyone if we keep things…professional. Rex couldn't believe how fast Cocoa had shut him down. He hadn't asked to be her boyfriend. Just to hang out. Keep her company through the holidays. And show her what she couldn't remember. Still, he'd agreed. Each afternoon he showed up at Hughes Snowboards to work. He was the epitome of professional. Good behavior might change Cocoa's mind. But days of all-work-and-no-play dragged Rex down. The tight confines of Cocoa's cubicle increased his attraction. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. When he wasn't with her, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He even dreamed about her. Something was going to have to change. Soon.

407

Thursday morning, Rex sat on the chairlift with two of the kids. Muscles burned and snow dumped, but everyone wanted to keep riding. He was stoked to see the kids' progression. "Dudes." Liam pointed. "That babe rips." Rex looked off to his right. He recognized the jacket. Cocoa. His heart rate picked up. She flew off a jump, hit a 360 with a Stalefish grab and stomped the landing. Liam whistled. "Sick!" "Rad!" Travis leaned forward over the safety bar. "That girl's got some steez!" Rex grinned. Cocoa was stylish. Not to mention beautiful and smart. They'd come up with killer concepts. Her creativity amazed him. She could take an idea, even a sketch on a cafeteria napkin, and turn it into a work of art. Cocoa glanced up at the lift. She saw him, smiled and waved. A funny, unfamiliar feeling started in the pit of his stomach. All he could think about was Cocoa and her great qualities. She really was the perfect woman. "Whoa," both of the boys muttered as if in awe. Rex flashed her the thumbs-up sign. She laughed. The sound carried across the snow and up into the air until it touched him like a caress. The feeling in his gut intensified. Ignore it. But he didn't want to. Rex knew exactly what she was thinking—real potential. He smiled. Cocoa was never going to let him forget that. "Can we watch you hit on her?" Travis asked. Liam nodded. "We want to pick up some pointers from a pro." "I'm retired," Rex said. "Let's focus on your 1080s." They groaned. But both kids needed to work on the trick. He might have some work to do himself. His "Be Professional" approach with Cocoa wasn't giving him the desired results. Time to shake things up and, as he'd told the kids earlier this morning, go for it. *** Thursday night, Cocoa put away the groceries with her roommate. The weekly ritual gave them an opportunity to catch up with each other. Leanne finished telling a funny story about a call she'd responded to yesterday. "So how's your new project at work coming along?"

408

"We're ahead of schedule." Cocoa placed the vegetable broth in the cupboard. "Rex is so focused and hardworking. That surprised me until I saw him coaching. He shows the same enthusiasm and positive attitude with the kids. I'm…impressed." Leanne arched a brow. "That's a big step up from his being the lowest form of pond scum known to mankind." "Maybe he's only the third-lowest form." Holding on to a block of cheddar cheese, Leanne laughed. "Has he made another move?" "Nope." "Bummed?" "I shouldn't be. Rex is doing exactly what I asked him to do. Work." He made Cocoa feel intelligent. Important. Competent. Too bad she yearned to feel attractive, feminine, desired around him. "I just wish he'd be less…serious. He was so playful and fun before." "You like him." She shrugged. "He's a nice guy." "You know what I mean." Cocoa did. She arranged green apples in the fruit bowl. "Do you think it's possible for guys like Rex to change?" "I think it depends on the guy." Leanne closed the refrigerator. "Look at Jake Porter. He and Sean were about tied with the number of hearts they'd broken until Carly came back to Hood Hamlet. Now Jake's happily married with a baby on the way." "That's true." "As for Sean," Leanne said. "I doubt there's a woman alive that could tie that man down." "Or one his dog, Denali, would approve of." Cocoa picked up a bag of coffee. "I wonder who Rex is more like—Jake or Sean?" *** Sitting in her cubicle on Friday morning, Cocoa stared at the image on her computer monitor. She couldn't wait to show Rex the design. Too bad he wasn't coming in this afternoon, but he had something to do at the camp. Her telephone rang. She picked up the receiver. "This is Cocoa." "It's Rex." Hearing his voice made her feel all tingly. "I was just thinking about you," she said. "Your suggestion about adding an image of Mount Hood is spot on. It brings the whole thing together." "Can't wait to see it." He paused. "Want to get together tonight?"

409

Darn, she should have worked later last night or come in early this morning to get this done. "I'm not finished with all the changes we talked about yesterday." "This isn't work related," he said. "I'm asking you out." To hang out or go out on a date? Her stomach churned. "Pick you up at seven?" Say no. Going out with him probably wasn't a good idea. But she so wanted to see him. "Sure. I'll text you my address." *** The pub was jam-packed. Not that Rex minded when he was crowded next to Cocoa at a table, or had to bump into her near the dartboard. He liked touching her even if it was accidental. Practice for what he hoped would come later, he thought as he helped her into his car at the end of the night. "Thanks for such a fun evening," Cocoa said as he drove out of the parking lot. "You showed real potential playing darts." She'd won every match, much to his chagrin. "You're a total ringer," he joked. "I never said I couldn't play." She winked. "I said I didn't mind playing." Her smile pleased him. "Well, I fell for it." Like he was falling for her. It felt…good. Rex didn't want the night to end. He parked his rental car in front of her two-story townhouse, practically holding his breath. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked. Score! Now to snag a kiss. "Yes." Rex followed her up the snow-dusted driveway. Only the porch light was on. "It doesn't look like anyone is home." "Leanne's working at the fire station." Tonight was looking better and better. Inside, Rex looked around. Clean and comfortable. Photographs of mountains and snowboards hanging on the wall kept it from being too girly and coordinated. "Nice place." "Thanks." The way she tilted her head with her slightly parted lips made him think of kisses. Desire rocketed through him. "Would you like regular or decaf?" she asked. "What I would like better is to kiss you."

410

Cocoa wouldn't meet his gaze. "I don't think so." "We've kissed before." "Look what happened with that." Rex strode toward her. "We're not the same people." She stepped back until she bumped into the counter. "You could break my heart and sour me on relationships for good. Then I would be forced to appease my loneliness with young riders like some arctic cougar." "I don't want to hurt you." He wanted to kiss away the fear in her chocolate-colored eyes. "Anyway, those young riders aren't going to mind." "I'm serious." "So am I." Rex stalked closer, stopping just shy of touching her. She licked her lips. Her pink tongue left dewy moisture behind. He shivered with need. "One kiss, Cocoa. What do you say?"

Chapter Six Cocoa swallowed. Hard. Her insides trembled with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. One kiss, Cocoa. What do you say? She knew the smart answer. Instead Cocoa rose on her tiptoes and crushed her lips against his before she lost her nerve. She tasted salt, heat, Rex. His scent surrounded her, making her feel as if she'd drunk more than root beer tonight. An unfamiliar hunger drove her. Rex kissed her back with an equal fierceness, as if making up for lost time. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his. She wove her hands through his hair. The shoulder-length strands sifted through her fingers. Their tongues tangled. Sensation pulsated. One kiss. It would never be enough. Not when his kiss made her feel so special. So desired. So…loved. Cocoa jerked away. Not loved. She'd jumped in heart first with him before. Doing that again would be stupid. Passion gleamed in Rex's eyes. He traced her lips with his fingertip. Delicious tingles shot out from the point of contact. She quivered. "Thank you," he said.

411

Gratitude was the last thing Cocoa felt. She stared, turned on and confused. Her swollen, throbbing lips begged for more kisses. Her heart, too. "One kiss isn't going to be enough," Rex continued. Oh, no. She'd thought the exact same thing, but she didn't dare risk another. One kiss and she'd started thinking about love again. Rex had some sort of weird effect on her. That much hadn't changed over the years. You wanted something serious. The opposite of what I was looking for, he'd said. She couldn't be certain he'd changed that much. Best to end this now. Cocoa raised her chin. "One kiss has to be enough." "Sure about that?" His suggestive tone hinted of things she'd only dreamed about. Heaven help her, but she was tempted. "No. I mean, yes." "I'll take that as maybe." "No!" "So you aren't sure." His smile weakened her resolve and her knees. "That means more kisses." Her frustration rose. "That's not what I meant." "What did you mean?" She was afraid to say anything. "What do you really want, Cocoa?" Rex asked. She wanted him to kiss her senseless. She wanted him to show her how much he wanted her. She wanted him to…care. If Cocoa allowed herself to be charmed by Rex, she'd have an amazing time while it lasted. But she had no idea what shape her heart would be in once he left. No thanks. She looked him straight in the eyes. "I want you to go." *** Rex spent Saturday trying to get Cocoa off his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about her. About how much he liked, respected and admired her. About how much he wanted to kiss her again. He didn't feel like eating or sleeping or doing much of anything. Habit forced him back on the hill Sunday, even though the kids had the day off. Rex hoped to see Cocoa, if only at a distance. When he glimpsed her lower on the slope, he bombed the run to catch up. "Single," she called out in the lift line.

412

Rex slid up next to her and swiped his hand across the ankle and toe straps of his binding. He slipped out his foot. "Single." Pressing her lips together, Cocoa didn't say a word as they loaded onto the chairlift. She scooted to the far side of the quad chair even though they were the only two people sitting on it. The chair pulled away from the lift operator and up into the air. Rex started to speak twice, but stopped himself both times. Patience, Billings. Let her say something first. Finally she turned toward him. "Is our being on this lift together a coincidence or have you resorted to stalking?" Angry or amused? He couldn't tell. But he wasn't about to blow this opportunity by lying. "Coincidence, though it took a little effort on my part," Rex admitted. "Everything good in my life has practically fallen into my lap. I'm lucky that way." "Your luck may have changed if you expect to find me on your lap anytime soon, dude." Cross out amused. At least Cocoa couldn't get away from him. Not until the chair reached the top of the lift. Better make the most of his captive audience. "I'll settle for having you at my side." She tilted her chin. "What do you mean?" "I really like you. More than I've liked any other woman before." Cocoa pursed her lips. Rex wished he could see her eyes more clearly through her tinted goggles. But he had no choice but to continue being honest. "I get why you're worried, and I won't push things. I'm thinking of staying longer in Hood Hamlet, and I want to hang out with you." "As friends?" He would have preferred Cocoa throwing herself into his arms and kissing him hard on the lips like she had Friday night, but he'd meant what he said. "If that's what you want." "Seriously?" she sounded doubtful. Rex didn't blame her. He was realizing he would rather be with Cocoa than without her. "Yeah." Her lips parted as if surprised, but she recovered quickly. "If you stick around through November, you're welcome to come to Thanksgiving dinner." Cocoa's invitation surprised him. A satisfied smile settled on his lips. "That would be great. Thanks." "You're welcome." The chair approached the lift shack. He didn't want to part ways when they reached the top. "Ride with me." ***

413

Riding with Rex was one of Cocoa's best days ever. She lost count of the number of laps and how many times they'd laughed. They finished the day at Timberline Lodge's Ram's Head Bar, drinking hot chocolate topped with cream and English toffee bits in between Rex signing autographs and posing for pictures. When they said goodbye, he didn't try to kiss her. Instead he thanked her for spending the day with him. A new Rex? Only time would tell. But he made Cocoa feel…special. They hung out after work every day. He was a complete gentleman. Cocoa liked being with Rex. Still, she couldn't help but be wary and wonder if she was setting herself up for another fall. They were just friends, she rationalized. Her heart was safe. One morning, Cocoa saw Rex at the half-pipe, instructing the same kid in the lime-green baggie cargo pants who'd wiped out on the tabletop. She dug her downhill edge into the snow so she could stand more easily and not get her butt wet sitting while she watched. Rex dropped into the pipe. He did an air to fakie, landing opposite his normal stance. He traveled up the other side to hit a switch cork 1080. The board looked as if it were spinning like a corkscrew. The teen followed Rex's path and did the same tricks perfectly. He stomped the landing. Rex whistled and clapped. His smile lit up his entire face. The kid raised his hands in the air. The two gave each other high fives. Cocoa's heart melted. She'd had many coaches in her day. Some good, some bad. Rex had what it took to be a great one. Johnny must have seen the potential when he asked Rex to guest coach. Hood Hamlet would be a great place for him to pursue a career in coaching. But if Rex stayed, what would that mean for them? Spending time with him in the short term was one thing. Did she really believe he'd changed enough to move beyond being just friends? And if he hadn't, was she ready to say goodbye?

Chapter Seven Sitting in the conference room with Cocoa at Hughes Snowboards, Rex scribbled notes on the various setups. The scents of vanilla and cinnamon drifted across the large table. The words blurred. Leave it to Cocoa to smell so good he couldn't think about anything except how she tasted. He didn't dare make a move. Wrong place and time. Rex didn't want to let Cocoa down. She made him want to be a better man. He refocused on his notes. Sean poked his head into the room. "Great job on the layouts, guys." "Thanks." Cocoa arranged the mechanicals on the table. "How's your new binding design coming along?" "The prototype should be ready to ride by Thanksgiving." Sean glanced at the table. "Keep up the good work."

414

After Sean left, she sighed. "I can't believe we're almost finished." "We're a good team. That's why Sean and Johnny put us together." Rex owed both men. Working with Cocoa had allowed him to see a different side of her—the creative, dedicated Cocoa. Riding with her had shown him another—the fun-loving, free-spirited side. Hanging out with her gave him a third view—the woman he was starting to fall for. His respect for the graphic designer, the rider and the woman had grown these past two weeks. So had his attraction. She looked so sexy in her long brown skirt, pink striped sweater and boots. His pulse kicked up a notch. Rex reminded himself not to stare. He kept waiting for a sign from Cocoa that she wanted to be more than friends. So far, nothing. But he wouldn't give up. His thinking about Cocoa was shifting from short-term to something…else. He'd even turned down a spot in a snowboarding film. Rex wasn't ready to leave yet. "What are you going to do once the project is over?" she asked. "I really like coaching." "You're great at it." Her smile made his breath catch in his throat. "I saw you this morning. Nice switch cork 1080." Rex liked knowing she'd taken the time to watch him. "You should see my double cork." "Is that the boarder's equivalent of a man asking a woman up to see his etchings?" she teased. "Only if you're Shaun White." Cocoa laughed. Shaun White was a world-famous snowboarder. "You have a way with kids. If you're looking for something to do now that you're retired, you should become a full-time snowboarding coach." "Do you really think so?" "I have no doubt." "I put out some feelers before, but for temporary gigs." "You could always talk to Johnny about something more permanent," she suggested. Rex liked the idea of staying in Hood Hamlet near Cocoa, but coaching full-time required discipline, a set schedule for much of their year and responsibility for others who would depend on him. Nothing like the life he was used to living. "I do enjoy coaching, but that would be a big change for me." "I thought you wanted a change." "I do, but…"

415

The full-time coaching path felt like the beginning of settling down. The thought startled him, but didn't make him want to run like it once had. Hmm… Rex looked at Cocoa. "You would be a great coach," she encouraged. "One of the best." Her confidence made him sit taller. "I'll touch base with my contacts. Make a few more calls. Talk to Johnny." "You should." Saying it out loud, Rex realized that he did want to make those calls. He wanted to please her, make her proud. "I…will." He would do anything for Cocoa. The realization should have scared him more than it did. Somewhere along the line, his life had started revolving around her. If only he knew whether Cocoa's life would start revolving around him, too. *** A few days later, Johnny approved their work on the camp's new line of snowboard gear. Cocoa wondered what that meant for Rex. She didn't want him to leave. She kept hoping he would talk to Johnny about staying on at the camp, but she was afraid to wish and even more afraid to ask Rex about it. Don't think about that. Cocoa had invited Rex to dinner to celebrate the end of their project. Tomorrow and the future didn't matter. Only tonight. Music played from Cocoa's iPod. Snow fell outside the windows. Leanne was at the fire station working a shift. Typical for a night spent at home in November, but everything else felt…different. Rex leaned against the kitchen counter, looking more gorgeous than ever. She stood at the stove, stirring the sauce for the pasta. The scents of basil and garlic and the bread baking in the oven drifted on the air. But the one thing her senses seemed most aware of was Rex. He crowded her space, so close the warmth from his body heated her more than the hot oven. "What can I do?" "Mix the salad." She handed him an empty bowl. "Everything's ready to go, just pull it out of the fridge and toss." They were preparing dinner together. Like a couple. She'd been telling herself they were just friends, but more and more it was becoming something else. Watching him mix the ingredients into the salad bowl made her feel all warm and fuzzy. This domesticity was foreign, yet felt so right. This was what she wanted. She wished… He sprinkled freshly grated Parmesan cheese on the salad. "What do you want done next?" "The wine, please." She reached for the bottle opener on the counter. So did Rex. His warm hand covered hers. He seemed in no hurry to let hers go.

416

Cocoa's pulse skyrocketed. Touching him felt so good. Perfect, in fact. She looked up at him, her gaze resting on his lips. One kiss, Cocoa. What do you say? Yes. She brushed her mouth across his. Temporary insanity, probably, but she didn't know how much longer Rex would be around. Maybe he'd changed, maybe not. But a part of her wanted to make the most of his being in Hood Hamlet. "Thanks for making the salad." "You're welcome." His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I make a pretty mean PB&J, too." The way he stared at her made Cocoa feel like the center of his universe. Her temperature shot up. An ache built deep within her. She'd been young and naive before, but she knew better this time. Rex could still break her heart. Resigned to not having what she craved, she pulled her hand away. He held on and laced his fingers with hers. "Not so fast." Cocoa stared at their linked hands with a longing so powerful she couldn't breathe. She'd thought not kissing him this past week would keep her safe. But it hadn't. She'd still caved like a cornice. Kissing him just now only reinforced what she'd been trying to deny. She'd already fallen for him—again. So much for older and wiser. "Rex—" "It's my turn." He lifted her chin with his fingertip so she was looking at his face. "Thanks for making the pasta." Rex lowered his mouth, pressing his lips against hers. Gentle, slow, perfect. Like the sauce in the pan on the stovetop, the kiss quickly began to simmer, bubbling as it heated up. He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She eagerly returned his kisses, moving closer until she could feel the beat of his heart against her chest. The oven timer buzzed. Cocoa drew back, reluctant to let go. "The bread." "No worries. We've got time." Rex tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and the gesture tugged on her heart. "I'm not going anywhere." Cocoa wanted desperately to believe him. Even if believing him wasn't the smartest option given the past. She removed the bread from the oven. The crust was golden brown, just right. Unlike her. She was going to get burned. The question was when. She'd fallen for Rex all right. Fallen head over heels in love with him. And she had no idea what to do about it.

417

Chapter Eight After Rex and Cocoa kissed in her kitchen, hanging out turned into dating. Rex couldn't have been happier, but he wasn't rushing things—at Cocoa's request. That was okay by him. He just wanted to be with her. Only her. But did she feel the same? A full moon illuminated the night sky. A chill hung in the air. Rex walked hand in hand with Cocoa along the sidewalk on Main Street in Hood Hamlet. Miniature white lights twinkled in a few storefront windows. "Right before Thanksgiving, the town lights up like a Christmas tree." Excitement filled her voice. "Wait until you see it." Rex took a deep breath. The cold air stung his lungs. "I'll probably be gone by then." "That's it?" Lines creased her forehead. Her smile disappeared. "You're leaving already?" "I'm not just taking off." He didn't like how tense she looked. "I followed up on a full-time coaching lead. They want to interview me." "Sorry." Her facial features relaxed. She hugged him. "Congrats." "Thanks." Holding her felt so natural, but he let go. Now came the hard part. "The job's in Stratton." Her eyes widened. "Vermont. Your home turf." Rex would have been excited, but he was too nervous about what he was about to say. "Come with me to the interview. You can see if you might like living there." She pursed her lips. "I live here." "If I get the job, I'll live there." He took both of her hands in his and pulled her into an alcove. "I want you with me." "For the interview." Forever. Better to take it slow. "And…after—if I get the job. Then we can see what happens." She drew her brows together. "You're suggesting I move across the country so we can 'see what happens'?" Rex imagined Christmas together in Vermont. Kissing under the mistletoe. Making out by the tree for many years to come. "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't serious about you and where this could lead." She let go of his hands. "I don't think so." Anxiety twisted in his gut. This wasn't going so well. "If it's your job… I have more than enough money to support you." "It's not just that." Her voice cracked. "You act like you've changed, and I'd like to believe that, but…I don't want to wind up jobless and on the other side of the continent alone." Hurt needled him. He couldn't believe she thought he would be so callous. "I would never leave you like that."

418

"You did once." Contrite, he nodded. "Even though I had said goodbye in my mind, I still cared what happened to you. That's why I went to the hospital. To make sure you were okay." Her silence upped the stakes. "I've never forgotten you." Rex wasn't giving up without a fight. He couldn't lose her. "Come with me. Trust me." "I…can't." She choked on the words. "It's not worth the risk." Rex felt as if his heart had been sliced with a newly sharpened board edge. "I'm not worth the risk." Cocoa stared at the sidewalk. Pain, jagged and raw, ripped through him. "I want to know one thing." She looked up at him with sad, hurt-filled eyes. "Where is the fearless young woman who made everyone hold their breath whenever she strapped on a board? The one who told me she loved me right before she was heading up for her final run?" "I never—" "You did." Desperation colored his words. "Why do you think I took off like I was trying to outrun an avalanche? You scared the hell out of me. I'd never met anyone like you. I still haven't." She pressed her lips together. Blinked. "That Cocoa wasn't afraid to go for what she wanted and take a risk on me," he continued. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered. "You still left." "My feelings for you were so intense. They scared me. I wasn't nearly as brave as you." She broke away from him. "That Cocoa is gone." "Maybe it's time you looked for her." Rex wanted to reach out to her, but couldn't. His pride was hurt. She didn't want him. "Otherwise you might not ever find the courage to take a chance and go after what you really want." *** For the next five days, Cocoa couldn't sleep. She had no appetite. She didn't want to ride. She missed Rex. But she still believed she'd done the right thing. She wasn't being a coward for not going to Vermont. Taking that kind of risk without something more than a "see what happens" and "where this could lead" would be stupid. Still her heart ached.

419

Cocoa searched for solace in the terrain park, but couldn't muster enough enthusiasm to hit any jumps. She watched other riders instead. A snowboarder sprayed her with snow. She brushed herself off. "Get a life, dude." "That's what I'm trying to do." Rex raised his goggles onto his helmet. "But it won't be much of one if you're not in it." Her heart lurched. The edge of her board slipped and Cocoa fell flat on her butt. He extended his glove-covered hand. Stunned to see him, she grabbed hold and allowed him to help her stand. She lifted her goggles. "I thought you were in Vermont." "I got the coaching position, but I haven't accepted the offer." Cocoa stared in disbelief. "I thought that's what you wanted." "You're what I want." The air whooshed from her lungs. "Nothing is more important than you." The conviction in his voice rang clear. "You do have real potential. You were smart not to take a risk on me." Her mouth gaped. She closed it. "But you said—" He held up his hand. "I was wrong. Selfish. I asked you to give up your whole life without giving anything in return. My feelings for you scared me the first time around. They terrify me now. But I'm not going to be an idiot and let you get away again. I want you to know how serious I am about this, Cocoa. About you." Rex pulled off his right glove, reached into a jacket pocket and removed a diamond ring. Her heart slammed against her chest. She forced herself to breathe. Was he…? He dropped to his knees on the snow. "Marry me, Cocoa." Rex held up a sparkling emerald-cut solitaire set in gold. "I can't promise what will happen, but I want you with me. I love you. No matter how things turn out, as long as we're together, it'll be okay." He was! The love shining in his blue eyes couldn't be denied. Her heart beat triple time. Now it was her turn. If she was ever going to find the love she dreamed about, love with Rex, she needed to trust him and, she realized, herself. "Yes." Joy coursed through her. "I love you, Rex. I want to marry you." He tugged off her left mitten and slid the ring onto her finger. In a swift, smooth move, he jumped to his feet and kissed her until her toes curled.

420

She grinned. "You've got real potential to be an awesome husband." "You're going to be the perfect wife." He kissed her again. "There's no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with." Cocoa knew she'd found exactly what she wanted. Needed. "Me, either." "We can stay in Hood Hamlet, move to Vermont or go someplace else." "As long as I'm with you, I'm home." Holidays would no longer be lonely, but magical. "Let's go to Vermont." He brushed his lips across hers once more, as if he couldn't get enough of her kisses. Her. "Lots of places to ride off into the sunset there." She placed her hand over his heart. "You'll have to show me each and every one of them."

421

Haunted By Jordan Gray The small English coastal town of Blackpool is a place of secrets, of ghosts, of restless spirits. And no one knows these better than Holly and Liam McKenna. The mysterious pair have made good—and for once, legitimate—money running their tour business, The Other Syde Haunted Tours. But this time, the spook's on them. As ominous things start to happen on their tours, the police are called in and start digging into the pair's history—the one thing they cannot afford. Suddenly, Holly and Liam are facing their worst nightmare: accusations, financial ruin, prison…and their own past.

Chapter One Holly McKenna saw angels in every direction, some with wings spread wide, ready to take flight, one with its head cast demurely down, eyes fixed on a small bouquet. The nearest was also the largest, two men high, sword pointed straight at the darkening sky. But its beauty was lessened somewhat since the end of its nose and half of its right foot were missing. In fact, none of the angels in this area of the cemetery were wholly intact, their once-fine details worn smooth by the decades, bits chipped off by clumsy groundskeepers and vandals. But they were impressive nonetheless. Most of the grave markers in this cemetery were small and crooked, mere rounded tablets of sandstone, marble and granite that time and the relentless weather of England's coast had nudged off center. But the angels stood resolute above those, suggesting salvation beyond this world while proclaiming that the men and women buried in their shadows came from money and privilege. There were also a scattering of Romanesque columns and crosses and large urns, a thick stone slab with Jesus' somber face emerging from it, a crown of chipped thorns on his head. A few crypts sat at the far end of the property, along with one large mausoleum that was so overgrown with ivy the family name could no longer be read. It was an old cemetery, though not Blackpool's oldest, ringed by a high iron fence topped with spearlike barbs. This was Holly's favorite graveyard. She felt at peace among the stone angels. She knew the place by heart. "Follow me, please," she said. "Take care where you step." Eighteen people were currently huddled behind her. She'd assembled the tour group shortly before sunset outside the gates, optimizing the effect of the fading light. It was a haunted tour, after all. Holly also appreciated the mood from the sky, which tonight was conveniently filled with steel-gray clouds, adding to the eeriness. As co-owner of The Other Syde Haunted Tours, Holly knew that atmosphere and appearance were everything, and she'd dressed accordingly. A deep maroon dress reached to midcalf, belted with a black lacy sash. The mist-colored Kinsale cloak she'd purchased at a Renaissance fair during the summer trailed on the ground behind her, the hood of it hanging free so her inky hair could drape to her waist. She'd powdered her face, too, to make herself appear a little pale. "Take care," she repeated, her voice silky smooth. "Watch where you tread lest you disturb the spirits of those who should be forever sleeping." Some of the graves had brick-sized footstones carved with initials and the year of death. Holly directed her charges around them, as she didn't want anyone to trip and threaten a lawsuit. Modern cemeteries didn't allow footstones, as it made it more difficult to cut the grass, but the cemeteries around Blackpool were far from modern. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil," read a doughy-faced woman at the front of the line.

422

"Several stones carry that verse," Holly told her. "One of the most popular." The woman pointed to another stone. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." "Despite what their tombstones say, a lot of these dead blokes had nothing pure about them," said a willowy man in a faded blue sweater, the only one in the tour group not wearing a jacket to ward off the October chill. "And it certainly wasn't God they were seeing at the end of the noose." Holly read the man's nametag: Harvey Pinchell. She guessed his age to be somewhere in the mid- to late thirties. The doughy woman—her nametag read Alice Cumberland—sniffed at the man's attitude. Holly recalled that Alice had been on an Other Syde tour of a different cemetery a few weeks ago. But they often had repeat customers. Ignoring Harvey Pinchell, Alice asked, "If the Lord is protecting the dead, why does this place need that nasty-looking fence?" Holly was asked that often. "The Blackpool Council maintains the fence to keep some of the creeping weeds at bay…so they say. Decades ago it was originally put up to keep grave robbers out. This part of England was rife with scoundrels who would stoop to stealing from the dead, looking for jewels and relics to sell on the black market." Holly paused and let a silence settle. In it, she heard the cry of a hawk and the rustle of leaves in the wind that had thoughtfully picked up so that her cloak billowed, ghostlike. "But I say the fence keeps…things…from getting out." Alice gasped and a few others started whispering. Holly led them deeper into the cemetery. "Here rests Black Pete," Holly recited as she stood in front of a crooked sandstone slab. What was left of the worn inscription was difficult to make out, so she read it for them. "Black-haired and black-hearted pirate taken from this life 22 of August 1739 by those he sought to separate from their wealth." "Hanged, right?" the faded-sweater man asked. Holly nodded. "Yes, Mr. Pinchell. Most of the pirates buried here were hanged. That's how they dealt with people in the old times." "Pirates, anyway," Harvey continued. "That's how they dealt with pirates, thieves and murderers. I read all about Blackpool's pirates and smugglers in a book my friend Lou gave me last year. Read about them on the internet, too, and on your website." Harvey put his arm around the shoulders of his companion, a smaller and slightly older man, impeccably dressed. His nametag read Louis Lockwood. They appeared to be a couple. "You have a good website, Miss McKenna. Yes, yes, a very nice website." Pleased, Holly smiled her most congenial smile. Other Syde's webpage had been her idea and she maintained it. A little simple, it was designed from a template she picked off the hosting site, and she'd cobbled it together herself, putting up pictures of the office and its antique trinkets and of places around Blackpool. It listed the "haunted" tours and the prices for tarot readings and other mystical services. She even put up stories about the spookiest places in the area and had links to several restaurants and tourist stops. If business improved, she intended to talk her brother into having someone professionally design a better-looking site that might attract even more customers. But they were getting off script. "About Black Pete," she said, coming back around to her practiced speech. "He captained a large schooner that plied the waters around this town and to the north for nearly a decade before he was caught. He was called Black Pete because his ship flew black sails. He attacked merchant ships mostly, but he was known to tackle small military ships, as well, which he wanted for their supplies and ammunition. Pete ransomed the higher-ranking officers, and the rest he ran through with a dull cutlass. But merchants? He tossed them over the side and let them swim for it, gave them a sporting chance, so to speak. Those who made it to shore recounted tales of the attacks, and Black Pete's reputation grew. Now

423

it's his ghost that people fear…. It is said that late each fall his ghost emerges from the grave to haunt the descendants of those who killed him." The group looked furtively around the darkening cemetery, and Holly smiled to herself as she led them through the stones, her route designed to make the small cemetery seem larger than it actually was. As she went, Holly recounted more tales of smugglers buried there, their names and dates of deaths unknown. "So this place really is haunted, right? This cemetery?" The questions came from a man at the back of the group. He had broad swimmer's shoulders and a five-o'clock shadow along his jaw. Handsome, she decided, reminding her of a young Tom Selleck. "Lots of ghosts? That's what your pamphlet says." Holly couldn't read his nametag because his jacket had settled over it. The man with him was good-looking, too, but she had bitten her tongue when she saw him join the group. That man was all too familiar and needed no sticker to identify him: Michael Graham, one of Blackpool's most famous residents. A wealthy computer game designer, Michael fancied himself an amateur sleuth—read busybody, as far as Holly was concerned. Michael and his wife, Molly, had solved several mysteries in Blackpool, including a murder or two. Holly worried that perhaps Michael was here to prove her a charlatan and The Other Syde Haunted Tours a racket designed to separate tourists from their money. She was, and that was precisely what the business did. But she chose to see it more positively. Holly and her brother, Liam, entertained folks in exchange for their pounds, and she liked to think she stirred their imaginations. They gave folks something for their money, even if that something was intangible and predicated merely on superstition. "Haunted? Why, yes, this cemetery is haunted," Holly said, mentally challenging Michael Graham to prove her wrong and at the same time praying he couldn't. "Otherwise I would not have brought you all here." "I'd like to see one of Blackpool's ghosts," the broad-shouldered man said. "With luck we will," Holly said. "God willing, we won't." Alice crossed herself and mumbled something. "This way." Holly headed toward the ivy-covered mausoleum. "You can't read the name now, it is so overgrown, but the women buried inside were the Tinsdale sisters. Eight of them. Each was named after a flower—Rose, Lilly, Hyacinth, and the like. All said to have died mysteriously within days of their twentieth birthday." "Murdered, I'll bet," remarked Pinchell. "Possibly…" Holly tipped her head toward the rusty iron door. "Or they succumbed to some malady that struck women of that age. It was so long ago that accounts were sketchy. But it is said the eight sisters walk these grounds on nights of the full moon, searching for their young brother who died at sea and who was never buried. In fact, not many years ago on a late summer afternoon, several boys were scampering here and the ghost sisters grabbed the smallest and pulled him into their crypt. The boy was never found." "Oh my!" Alice practically shrieked the words. "Don't worry," Holly comforted. "This tour will be finished before the moon comes out. Then they padlock the gates. Besides, there are no young boys with us today." Alice shuddered and wrapped her coat tight around her. "I don't know why I pay to come on these things." Holly suspected Alice would be back soon.

424

"Next I'm going to show you the graves of rival pirates—cousins—the most famous residents of this particular cemetery and the most infamous scoundrels to ravage the—" Holly stopped so abruptly Alice bumped into her. The sun was setting and it cast an orange pallor over the grounds. But it was enough to reveal two gaping holes where side-by-side tombstones had rested. They'd clearly been removed, and the earth disturbed around them. Footprints were evident in patches of ground the grass didn't cover. "Oh, that's not good," Alice said, crossing herself again. "I guess the fence didn't work, Miss McKenna." This came from Harvey. "I'd say grave robbers didn't have much trouble getting past that nasty fence. Don't need to dig up a grave to steal something valuable. A pretty pound some folks'll pay for something like that, don't you think, Lou?" Alice leaned against a tree and started fanning herself. Michael Graham edged closer. "No wheelbarrow tracks," he observed. "No tires of any kind, so I'd say someone carried the stones away." He pointed to one set of footprints. "These are deeper, indicating the person was weighted down. Not that the gravestones were all that big, but I'd wager it would take more than one man…or woman…to carry one off." He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone. "I'm calling the police."

Chapter Two Liam McKenna mentally counted the number of people in his tour today—twenty tourists, precisely half of which looked like they'd passed sixty more than a few years ago. "Are we ready?" he asked his entourage. "This'll be quite a climb, so we'll take it slow, and I'll tell you all about the Glower Lighthouse as we ascend." Liam began his spiel, glad he knew it by rote. He was distracted this afternoon and knew it wasn't likely the tourists would get his full measure. He was worried about his sister, Holly. When she came home last night she'd told him that the police had been called to her grave tour, that two tombstones were missing and the cops had asked her all manner of questions. Liam avoided the police at all costs; they made his skin itch. She'd been released, but it still made Liam nervous. Forcing his attention to his tour group, Liam went from customer to customer, making sure each one had a nametag. It was a way of ensuring he'd collected the fee from everyone while making him seem cordial by addressing them by their names. He came to a familiar face. "Ah, Alice. You're local, I believe. I remember you from—" "I've taken just about all your tours, Mr. McKenna," the doughy woman said. "Some more than once." He nodded to a few of the others he'd seen before and fought the scowl rising to his lips when he handed Michael Graham a nametag. Michael the Meddler, as Liam thought of him. Today he was in the company of a broad-shouldered young man whom Liam guessed was American. Maybe someone working on a computer game with Michael; a visiting friend in any case. Liam checked his list and wrote the man's name on a sticker—Barry Doleman. At least Barry and Michael had both paid full price. Neither had used one of the discount coupons in the tourist brochures. Finishing up the nametags, he headed to the steps of the lighthouse and addressed the group. "The Glower Lighthouse we're entering was built more than once. The first, erected in 1689, was paid for by a group of sea captains who had the notion of 'keeping Blackpool's shipping safe,' according to town records."

425

"This isn't the original, then?" Barry asked. "No. The very first Glower Lighthouse burned eight years after it was finished, destroyed by pirates so they could better hide in the shallows and ambush passing ships at night." Liam started up the winding iron steps, going slower than usual because of the number of senior citizens in the tour. He slapped his hand on the rail to draw attention to it, hoping his charges would grab hold; he didn't want anyone tripping and bringing a lawsuit. "The citizens took up a collection the second time, building the next one in the very same spot, which also met a tragic fate some years later." "So this is the third one?" Alice huffed as she pulled herself up the steps. "This is the third Glower Lighthouse?" "Yes, ma'am," Liam answered. "The third time was the charm for Blackpool. You see, the first two lighthouses had been built rather cheaply, practically nothing more than a beacon atop a wooden platform, but this last one—" Liam touched the inside wall for effect "—It was built well. It could well last another few hundred years." Liam tried to sound scholarly, throwing dates and construction costs around and using a deep, musical voice he'd nurtured during his year with a traveling acting troupe. He wasn't telling them anything they couldn't have read in a history book or got off the various plaques affixed to big rocks around the harbor. But he'd get to the good stuff soon, when they reached the top. "The tower itself, of course, is made of brick, and they wisely constructed it so there is airspace inside to help with ventilation." "That's what makes people say this place is haunted, ain't it?" This came from a slight man in the middle of the pack. Liam could only read the first name on the tag: Louis. A taller man behind him—Harvey Pinchell by the nametag—bobbed his head in agreement, reminding Liam of those little "drinking birds" in taverns that constantly tipped their beaks into a glass of whatever. "The wind going through the space in the walls makes a whoo-whoo-whooooo sound," Harvey said. "I read about it in a book Lou gave me." Liam put on a serious face. "Well, that's true. But sometimes those sounds are heard coming from this tower even when the wind is dead still…." Alice nervously rubbed at a button on her sweater. "Sometimes, Harvey, it's the ghosts that we hear." Liam took the rest of the steps a little faster in an effort to keep the tourists so out of breath that they didn't ask more questions. He continued his narration as he went. "The lanterns are a full twenty-four meters above the foundation." "That's almost eighty feet," Michael told his American companion. "Quite tall for something built so long ago." "And remarkably still standing," Barry returned. "I'm glad I talked you into coming on these tours with me, Michael. You've probably been on every one of them at least a few times." Liam saw Michael draw his lips into a fine line. He remembered Holly telling him that Michael had been on her cemetery tour last night, and that he'd called the police when she'd discovered the missing tombstones from the pirates' graves.

426

Liam hated the police, and by way of that had no love for Michael Graham, who was known to keep company with D.C.I. Paddington and helped the inspector by poking into suspicious doings around town. Maybe Liam should have turned Michael and Barry away, but then he wasn't one to turn away good coin. They kept climbing, and one hundred and fifty-nine steps later Liam sucked in a deep breath as he reached the top and the sea air hit him. Liam had never lived right on the coast before, and he found the salty scent invigorating. He let it settle on his tongue before he gestured with a sweeping hand to show off the harbor. The voluminous sleeves of his "buccaneer" shirt snapped like a sail. Like Holly, Liam knew appearance was an important part of the business. It was why he dressed like a mariner for the lighthouse tour and why he oiled his hair so it hung in curly waves to his shoulders. "Take it all in," he said. "The best spot to see Blackpool." The water looked golden in the light of the lowering sun, the small waves shimmering like coins tossed out, somehow floating. Liam always gave the lighthouse tour because he loved the smell and the panoramic view, and he considered himself more physically fit than his sister and therefore better up to the task. Plus, he thought Blackpool was much more pleasant up here—the sky full of beggar gulls, their cries competing with the bleat of the tugboats, and it was too high up to hear the incessant chatter of the fishermen and the shoppers along the wharf. Turning back to his customers, he ushered the group around the catwalk, making sure everyone could fit— barely with this many people—and that they could all get a good look at both the harbor and the town that clung to the shore. "I said this is the third lighthouse, and that the first two were taken down by tragedy. But there are those who believe it wasn't nature—it wasn't a fire and it wasn't the wind, it was a curse associated with this ground that brought down the first two." Alice worried at her button faster. "In Blackpool's earlier days, pirates—including the fellows who had their headstones stolen yesterday— would set bonfires up and down the coast, trying to lure in merchant ships. The unsuspecting captains would head toward one of those fires and end up beaching their ships on the shoals, the rocks viciously ripping away at the wood hulls." Liam made a tearing motion with his hands for emphasis, his voice rising dramatically. "Then the pirates would row out and salvage whatever they could from the sinking ships." "And the survivors?" Harvey asked. Liam shook his head and adopted a most mournful expression. "There were no survivors. The pirates killed all of them." Actually, that wasn't entirely true. A few had escaped from time to time and spread the tale of the pirates' tactics. But he thought that "no survivors" played better to tourists. "The murderous pirates left many a restless spirit as a result." He paused for effect and let the beggar gulls' cries take over for a few heartbeats. "On All Hallows' Eve the town council makes sure there's a red lens in the lights of the lighthouse. The red glow keeps away the angry ghosts." "Angry?" Louis' eyes were wide as he edged close to Harvey. "The spirits are vengeful at having life torn from them so soon," Liam said. "So filled with hate that they cannot rest." "I bet the spirits of those two pirates in the cemetery are vengeful," Alice volunteered. "Having their headstones ripped from them. I was on that tour yesterday. Stolen headstones! Imagine that!" A soft wave of murmurs circled the catwalk.

427

Louis' eyes were suddenly narrow. "Maybe they weren't really stolen, just conveniently removed for our benefit by Other Syde Tours. More publicity and all, ya know? More tourists. More pounds. More—" Trying to restrain his anger at the accusation, Liam cleared his throat. "I can assure you, the police have no interest in us regarding those headstones." He continued with the next part of his performance. "Glower's first lighthouse keeper was said to have died of natural causes just a few months before the lighthouse burned and shortly before his thirty-eighth birthday. According to records he smoked meerschaum pipes. Visitors to this lighthouse claim to have smelled the sweet scent of a pipe, though no one in their group was smoking." "Oh my," Alice said. A button from her sweater had worked itself free and she put it in her pocket and started worrying on another. "The caretaker in the second lighthouse died at a similar age when he fell over a railing like this very one during a storm. Struck by lightning, so the stories go." "Oh my. Oh my." "Blackpool fishermen report that they've seen a ghost at this railing on stormy nights and believe it is this second caretaker reliving the circumstances of his demise." "Blackpool has so many ghosts," Alice hushed. "There's more," Liam continued. "Two construction workers died only a decade past when this lighthouse was being renovated. One fell down this spiral staircase and bashed his head in. The other succumbed to an apparent heart attack while laboring under the hot sun. It is said both their spirits roam the stairs at night. We must take care to leave this tower before the last of the sun disappears." Alice started down the steps, clearly having had enough of the ghost stories. For today, anyway. "That's all I have this afternoon," Liam concluded. He took a last look out into the harbor and the dancing flecks of gold. "Make sure to visit the gift shop at the bottom before you leave. They have books about the Glower Lighthouse and Blackpool's haunts." Liam had an arrangement with the gift shop owner; he got ten percent of anything his tour groups spent on trinkets. "They also have postcards, picture books, refrigerator magnets and some marvelous new T-shirts. After you—" He gestured for his charges to follow Alice. Liam always went last, offering up another ghost story on the way down and again encouraging them to stop at the gift shop. And he liked to get a final look at the harbor. He gazed out over the sea before descending. The beggar gulls circled and cried, a tugboat bleated and somewhere below a ship's bell rang. Softer, Liam could hear the "shush" of the tide rolling in. He took another deep breath and held it, and then he released it in a rush when he heard a shriek and the sound of someone tumbling down the stairs. "Harvey!" Louis pushed past Michael and headed down the steps two at a time. "Harvey, dearest!" Liam tried to follow, but Michael and a clump of tourists were in his path, Michael hurried down the stairs and pulled out his cell phone, yelling his intention to call for an ambulance. Liam struggled to catch up. "Harvey! Oh, my dear God, Harvey!" Louis knelt at the first landing, next to Harvey's battered form. Louis, his shoulders shaking from his sobs, looked up and caught Liam's gaze. "You! I saw you!" Louis shook a fist. "I saw you push Harvey down the steps. You bloody beggar. Harvey will be thirty-eight tomorrow. Same age as that first caretaker…if he lives."

428

"What? I…I…I didn't push anybody." Liam made it to just above the landing, looking over the top of Michael's head. Michael was still on the phone to the hospital. "The hell you didn't," Louis continued. He smoothed at a spot of blood on Harvey's cheek. Harvey moaned and his eyelids fluttered. "Thought you could get another good ghost story, eh? You're evil and vicious." "A curse," Alice tittered. She was below the landing, eyes darting up between Louis and Michael and Liam, fingers twirling buttons on her sweater. "The lighthouse is cursed." "If there's a curse," Louis said, "it's on The Other Syde Haunted Tours." He waved a hand in Liam's direction. "And he should be arrested. He tried to kill Harvey!" The wailing of an ambulance siren echoed through the night. Then Liam heard Michael making another call, this time to the police. Liam felt his stomach rise into his throat.

Chapter Three "Louis—" "Lockwood," he supplied. "I was on your cemetery tour the night the gravestones…disappeared." Holly nodded. "I remember you." Wasn't this the man Liam said accused him of pushing his partner down the stairs? What was he doing here? Play it cool, Holly. He held out his hand and she took it, running her fingertips across his palm. "What sort of business are you in, Mr. Lockwood?" "I'm an auctioneer. Work is a little slow right now so I took a few days with a friend to visit some spots along the coast." "Well, I hope you are enjoying Blackpool, Mr. Lockwood." Holly worked hard to keep her unease out of her voice. The theft of the tombstones at the cemetery and now a man being injured on her brother's lighthouse tour yesterday—it gnawed at her. She liked publicity, it was good for business, but she didn't care for this kind of publicity. Especially since it seemed to be putting them on the radar of the Blackpool police department, something she and her brother could ill afford. "I like the town very much," Louis said. "It's…quaint." He raised his gaze to take in the smattering of antique decorations artfully arranged around the room. "Ever think about selling some of this stuff? I'd buy a few pieces. I collect odd bits. My nephew would have fun with that drum." "No," she said emphatically. "I'm rather fond of my assortment." Holly had spent too much time decorating to take the objects down and replace them with things that might not look as old and spooky. She traced the shape of his hand with her thumbs. She'd studied palm-reading from library books and from Wikipedia on the internet, nothing deeply scientific, just enough to get her by. But she knew there was more to it than simply trying to "read" the lines. The skin ridges, fingerprints, every part of the hand had to be considered. "Your fingers are heavy," she began, "which tells me you're physical and have a tough outlook on life, and you have an aggressive side. But you're comfortable with yourself. You're a leader, and you don't let others control you." Louis let out a breath, the air whistling between his teeth. "That's me. You're good."

429

"Your ring finger is long, hinting at an artistic talent. Do you paint? And often?" "Yes." He looked surprised that she would intuit that, but it was hardly a supernatural deduction. Holly had detected a callous where the wooden handle of a paintbrush likely repeatedly rubbed. Holly knew about this from her own experience, as she had spent a few years trying to forge old masters but had trouble with some of the techniques and eventually gave it up. "I see also that you have a bit of recklessness about you." Holly knew that had to be true for him to have come up here. "A gambler with a hint of wildness. Impulsive. An independent thinker." "True again." "At the same time you are down-to-earth. Your nails reveal that you have a soft heart and are refined. Your knuckles tell me that you have a keen intellect and a strong drive for success." She figured those statements could be true of anyone. Holly brought her face down close to his fingers. "You have four major lines—heart, head, life and fate. You've had no major health problems." A good bet, she thought, given that he was young and looked robust. "And you will enjoy good health into your very late years." She often told customers that, as it made them feel good. "The smaller lines crossing your health line indicate that you are prone to accidents." "I am clumsy." She gave him a knowing smile. Most men considered themselves a little clumsy. "You will have fame in the arts. Perhaps someone recognizing your talent as a painter. Ah, your marriage line—" She recalled that the friend he'd had on the cemetery tour was a man, and that the two looked awfully close. "You have someone amazing in your life. I see a long relationship. You will be rich in love." "And what about money?" "That, too. You will gain a good amount of wealth within the next twenty years, enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life." Based on his age—she put him in his thirties—his parents would likely die within the next two decades or thereabout and he would gain an inheritance. "You really are amazing," he said. "I do tarot readings, too." She released his hand and reached into her pocket, giving him a coupon for two pounds off a future tarot reading. "Do come back." "I'll definitely be seeing more of you…and your brother," he said, rising. She smiled, hiding the prickle of fear she felt at the strange undertone to his words. "Yes, you're scheduled for two more of our tours and—" "I'll be seeing you in court, actually," he said as he tromped to the door. "Me and my friend Harvey will be suing you for everything you've got. Your brother nearly killed my dear Harvey yesterday at the lighthouse, pushed him down those stairs. We're going to demand lots of money." Shocked, Holly stared mutely at him as he fairly bounced down the stairs just as Liam came up past him. Liam, scowling, watched him leave, then closed the door and locked it. "What did he want?" "Liam…that man, Mr. Lockwood…is suing us. What exactly happened yesterday afternoon at the lighthouse? Did you—"

430

"I didn't do anything. There's nothing to worry about. The ambulance bloke even said it looked like an accident." He paused. "We should buy a few more lamps, something bright for over here." Liam had moved to the desk and pointed at the laptop. "We could at least go downstairs and buy some bulbs with higher wattage." Downstairs was Coffey's Grocers, an old, sprawling store that in addition to food carried hardware and an assortment of tourist offerings. Holly had coaxed old lady Coffey into letting them rent the upstairs for The Other Syde Haunted Tours for practically a song. It hadn't taken much persuasion, as the old woman— Margaret—liked to have her fortune told, which Holly did for free. She also conducted free séances for Margaret's monthly gathering of biddies. They used half the flat as their residence, since the apartment building they used to live in had hiked the rent and they'd moved in here to cut costs. The other half was taken up by The Other Syde, which mostly consisted of one overly large room Holly had decorated with odds and ends she'd acquired at thrift stores and other discount venues. Atmosphere was everything, she'd told herself, and she wanted nothing to look new. With mauve paint and the dark wood trim, faded paintings of distinguished elderly people whose identities she had no clue of and a few artfully draped diaphanous scarves, the place looked almost spooky. A low table in the center of the room held a crystal ball—the most expensive accoutrement in the room. Holly had found it on eBay. The rest of the things, including an antique-looking inkstand and an old drum that she occasionally thumped for effect during a séance, she'd picked up at yard sales outside of London on their way to Blackpool. The mix of stuff was eclectic, a bit like her, she mused. She'd taken digital pictures of the office and put them on the website. She and Liam were also prominently pictured—she in her dark maroon dress (she made a mental note to have a new picture taken with the foggy-looking Kinsale cloak) and Liam in one of his piratelike outfits. Even though she was older than Liam by nearly four years, they looked enough alike to be occasionally mistaken for twins. "Lamps? What are you blathering on about?" Holly was pacing now, the floor creaking with each step. She liked the sound of it when she had clients; it added to the eeriness, but at the moment it was only annoying. Still, she couldn't stop herself. "We don't want the place to look modern. Don't want to ruin the effect. And don't dodge the subject. What happened yesterday afternoon?" "I told you, a man fell down the steps." "Mr. Lockwood's friend?" "Yes, at the Glower Lighthouse." "Any word on how—" "I called the hospital—I even went over there. But they won't tell me anything because I'm not family. He's not dead. I know that much." "You didn't push him." Holly hoped he hadn't. "No! Of course I didn't push him. And that's exactly what I'll tell Paddington tomorrow when I go to the police station in the morning and—" Holly sucked in a breath. "What? The police station! Why didn't you tell—" "It's just for routine questions, they said."

431

Holly stopped pacing and leaned forward on the edge of the desk. The worn surface was pitted, and slivers poked at her. "Routine." It was Liam's turn to pace. Neither spoke for a few minutes, the creaking of the floorboards taking over. A car honked out on the street, and music drifted faintly through the cracked window, a bluesy piece likely from the pub across the corner. "Routine," she said again, the word weak. "Nothing to do with the police is that simple." Liam's eyes flashed daggers. "Con artists, old Paddington thinks we are. The D.C.I. knows we've got records. He just doesn't know the extent of them." "We are con artists, brother dear," Holly said. "If he finds out—" He waved the rest of her words away. "We haven't been doing anything illegal here. Just separating some tourists from money they've got plenty of. We're not stealing. Not really. Our noses are as clean as—" He threw his head back and made a huffing sound. "We just can't afford to have the police look at us too closely," Holly reminded him. Liam slumped. "Maybe he already has. Maybe when I go to the station in the morning he'll toss me in jail." "And me." Holly felt herself grow cold. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to go to prison." More silence. "We could move again," she said finally. "Up by Lancaster, maybe—" "But Blackpool is perfect," he said. "All the tunnels, the smuggling history, pirates, ghost stories. All the tourists with money. A small police force with a D.C.I. who is up in age and just putting in his time… It's the ideal spot to run The Other Syde. I don't know if we'll find its equal." "Do we have a choice?" Even as she said it, Holly was trying to rationalize staying in Blackpool, despite the dangers. She didn't want to leave. Of all the scams and cons and other nefarious jobs she and her brother had been involved in, this was her favorite. And, oddly, it was the closest thing to a legal endeavor she'd undertaken. She was enjoying herself. Plus she was seeing a fishing boat captain whom she was actually starting to have feelings for. The phone rang and she answered it. "Yes, there are still a few openings for tomorrow's cemetery walk. Drew Johnstone and Kay Swails. Got it. I'll see you tomorrow at sundown." She scribbled the names on a notepad and gave them an address. After she hung up, she looked at her brother. "Let's not jump to any conclusions. The police don't seem to be taking this too seriously or else they would have demanded you come in right away. Besides, if we do have to run, we'll need the cash from one or two more tours. Thirty-eight. That's how many people are signed up for tomorrow night, Liam. I know we always make sure one of us is here around Halloween to answer the phone, read fortunes and everything, but I might need your help on this one. All those people! After those headstones went missing, business instantly picked up. Gossip travels like lightning around here. Next week's tours are going to be large, too. Maybe bad news has been good for—" "Sure," he said quickly. Almost too quickly. "As long as Paddington doesn't look…" "Maybe he won't. Routine, remember? Maybe all of this will be like some ill wind that blows over and—" "The man in the hospital," Liam interrupted her again. "His…friend…"

432

"Louis Lockwood, the man who just left." "Don't forget him. He says he'll take everything. We've been caught by an ill wind, all right. One that could well topple The Other Syde and take us away with it." "But we'll wait until after the cemetery tour to decide about leaving?" He sighed. "Yes. Assuming I make it out of the police station…."

Chapter Four A bear of a man, Detective Chief Inspector Maurice Paddington reminded Liam of the Charlie Brown cartoon character. He had a childlike round head and was bald, save for a few strands of hair on top, and he sported an Adolf Hitler–type mustache that made him almost comical looking. Liam's skin crawled just to be in the same room with him…though admittedly all police produced that effect in him. "Just a few routine questions," Paddington began as he took the seat in front of Liam. Paddington leaned forward and Liam felt his stomach twist. The questions came at him rapid-fire: "Where were you standing when Harvey Pinchell fell?" "Near the railing, I think." "Why didn't you try to catch him?" "I couldn't reach him. I wasn't that close." "Hmm…some people in the group said you were very close. Some are certain they saw you push him. There's not much space up there, and you had so many people with you. Everyone had to be cheek-by-jowl, I'd think. Did you bump into him by accident?" "I didn't touch him." "Why was it Michael Graham that called for an ambulance?" Liam struggled for an answer that didn't implicate him. But Paddington didn't wait. "Why didn't you call?" "I—" "Why was it Michael Graham that called the police?" "I didn't think of it. I… I didn't have a mobile with me. Lie. Would Paddington catch that one? I've never called for the police in my life. "Are you aware that at the very least we're considering battery charges?" "But I didn't push him!" "And possibly theft. Did you know Mr. Pinchell's wallet was missing?

433

Liam started to sweat. "No, I didn't." The truth, not that it's going to matter. He's already convicted me. "Did you take it?" "No, of course not." The truth, again. He kept his voice level with effort. "Maybe he wasn't carrying one." "Where were you the previous night?" Now what was he getting at? "The previous night, Mr. McKenna? The night your sister gave the cemetery tour and two tombstones turned up missing." "In the office. Either she or I are always at the office around Halloween. It's our busiest time so one of us has to be there." Definitely the truth. "And earlier that day?" "I had another lighthouse tour. Before that I was showing a group around Havers Customs House. Same routine I have almost every day this time of year, if I have enough customers." "Did you take the gravestones from the cemetery?" "What! Of course not." Definitely the truth. Did Paddington notice that I am sweating? "You've been in trouble with the police before, Mr. McKenna. If I search through other counties' files, will I find any outstanding warrants or complaints?" "Certainly not." Liar, liar. Pants on fire. "You're not engaged in any illegal activities in Blackpool, are you, Mr. McKenna?" "I'm insulted, sir. The Other Syde is strictly legal." Well, the closest to legal I've ever been involved with. "We have all the proper business permits, insurance." Though not much insurance. Not enough to stand up to a lawsuit by Harvey Pinchell. "We're not doing anything wrong and you've had no complaints about us." At least none up until Harvey's tumble yesterday…. "Do you have any aliases, Mr. McKenna?" "No." None that I'm using in Blackpool. "What about your sister? What is your relationship with the Coffeys who own the grocery store you're perched on? Do you have any special arrangements with the lighthouse keeper? What about with the cemetery caretakers? And the Customs House? Do you have any idea why Michael Graham thinks you and your sister are up to no good? Michael thinks I should believe the tourists in your group over you, why is that? Have you… Are you… Do you… For an hour and a half the "routine" questions persisted. An hour and a half of Liam's guts churning and his head pounding and sipping the caustic police station coffee that tore away at his innards while he mentally took inventory of his possessions and what he could leave behind. Finally, Paddington seemed to run out of questions. "So I can go?"

434

Liam was quick to get to his feet and he was already heading to the door when Paddington added, "But not out of town." The inspector's second had quietly appeared at Liam's shoulder: a thin, square-faced woman with mousy hair and no makeup. Liam didn't like Sergeant Luann Krebs. She was ambitious…and ambitious officers turned over rocks he'd rather be left undisturbed. "You heard the inspector. Don't leave town. Understand?" Liam nodded and went outside, trying to appear nonchalant. He'd walked from The Other Syde to the station. Liam detested the thought that he lived and worked within walking distance from this place. But Blackpool was small and all of the downtown was essentially within walking distance. Besides, parking was limited; even the tourists had to hoof it. The fall air was crisp and carried with it the scent of the harbor. Liam drew the aroma of the salt and fish deep into his lungs, along with a hint of cooking spices from the restaurants still serving breakfast. His stomach rumbled. He'd intended to have a fryup at the Blackpool Café: eggs, bacon, bangers, mushrooms, baked beans and tomatoes all worked together. Liam hadn't eaten last night and so he was doubly hungry, but he suddenly didn't have the stomach for anything. He angled away from the café and headed toward the hospital. It was a long walk, but the physical activity might help clear his head. Paddington and Krebs had told him to stay in town, but that didn't mean Liam would. He and his sister didn't own a car, so they'd have to rent something or buy a cheap van… Maybe they'd head south this time, or do a stint in Scotland. Liam hadn't been there in a half dozen or so years, and he didn't recall any outstanding warrants hanging over his head—except in Wick, and that was so far to the north that it wasn't a bother. It would mean another name change, but that wasn't terribly hard to manage, just the right application of Euros to the right people. Liam knew his sister didn't want to go. She was seeing some berk from the docks, but she'd find someone else. She always did. Beautiful, she had no trouble attracting men, though Liam thought she never attracted quite the right ones. Liam, on the other hand, didn't date. It wasn't that he didn't like women, he just didn't want to be involved; relationships complicated things. He stopped at the next corner as a tour bus chugged by filled with red-hatted ladies, probably a group of Brighton Belles heading to the harbor. He had some of them scheduled for his afternoon tour, and still more punters for the lighthouse outing. Holly was right: The Other Syde was booming, and it probably was partly due to the missing tombstones and Pinchell's topple down the lighthouse steps. Maybe bad news was good for business. God, but he didn't want to close up shop and start again. They were beginning to make real money. They'd even been talking about hiring a helper, Margaret Coffey's niece, to mind the office so they could take on some of the larger tour groups together, or to watch over things so they could take the occasional day off. But that probably wasn't going to happen now. Once he reached the hospital, he paced outside for several minutes, checking his watch and calculating how much time he could spend here before he had to leave for the Customs House and his afternoon tour. Liam wasn't dressed properly for the tour. He'd washed his hair and tied it behind him. He wore a thin sweater and a plain shirt under that, looking casual and clean. He'd chosen nice pants, though not dressy. He'd wanted to present the appearance of a respectable man to Paddington. Appearance was everything. Merciful Angels Hospital was small but significant for a town of Blackpool's size. It was one of the newer buildings at a few decades old. Liam had been here only once before when he'd needed a few stitches after cutting himself replacing a window in the office.

435

Liam checked in at the desk on the first floor, recognizing the nurse from his earlier futile visits. "Look, if you won't let me see him—" "Mr. Pinchell?" "Yes, if you won't let me see him, won't tell me his room number, at least tell me how he's doing." Liam had come here a couple of times to try and talk the man out of a lawsuit and to convince him that Liam hadn't pushed him down the stairs. "I've walked all the way over here and—" The nurse's glasses—bifocals—slipped down her nose, and she pushed them up with a pinky. "Mr. Syde—" "McKenna, actually. The Other Syde is just the name of my business." "Mr. McKenna, then." She gave him an appraising look. "We have patient confidentiality laws." "I know that, but—" "Though I suspect you'll have Mr. Pinchell's home address soon. No doubt they put that sort of information on legal papers, right?" Liam cocked his head. "On rounds yesterday I heard Mr. Pinchell and his friend—" Louis Lockwood, Liam mentally supplied. "—talk about the lawsuit they're going to throw at you. I gave them a phone directory—they wanted to look up barristers." Liam felt himself starting to sweat again. He'd need a directory, too, but to look up rental places. "I need—" "What, Mr. McKenna? A doctor? You look a little pale." "I need to speak with Mr. Pinchell. Please." That last word sat on his tongue like a piece of spoiled meat. "Could you please bend your rules and—" "I suppose I could bend the rules, Mr. McKenna. I suppose I could tell you that one Harvey Pinchell was assigned room 2-B. But he's not there now. Against the doctors' advice, he checked himself out early this morning." Liam's throat tightened. The Other Syde was going to have to check out of Blackpool, too, and very soon…he'd do his tour and help Holly with hers and then they'd run. He would have taken off now, but that might alert Paddington. Holly was not going to be happy. Not happy at all.

Chapter Five Liam didn't stop at the office on the way back through town. He didn't want to face his sister, tell her that it was time to pack up. Pinchell was out of the hospital and ready to sue them, and Paddington's "routine" questions had actually been an itchy, uncomfortable verbal battering. Over and over the D.C.I. had asked about the missing tombstones and Harvey Pinchell's fall down the lighthouse steps. It seemed the police's fingers were all pointed at Liam.

436

They needed to get out of Blackpool, but he couldn't face Holly just yet. He'd save that for this evening, after she finished with her group at the cemetery. There'd be tears, angry words and a flurry of grabbing this and that before rushing out to whatever van he could rent in the meantime—if he didn't have to buy some bucket of bolts sitting in someone's front yard. She'd be angry, but she'd agree with him that flight was better than risking getting tossed in jail. They'd run before, she had the routine down. If he had stopped at the office he would have—for one last time—put on his favorite buccaneer shirt that he wore for the Glower Lighthouse and the Havers Customs House tours. He'd have oiled his hair and struggled into high boots like a ship captain might have donned centuries past, ones that he'd purchased for more money than he'd intended to spend at a Renaissance festival last summer—the same place that Holly got her cloak and a few other things. He might not be able to wear them again in Blackpool, but he decided to pack his outlandish assortment of clothes. He might need them if they found themselves on a coast and in the position to operate something similar to The Other Syde. Liam doubted another endeavor would be as sweet, though. He drafted a mental list of the things Holly would want to bring. That bloody drum, probably. God, but he hoped she'd leave that ugly old thing behind. The crystal ball—that had been expensive and should come along. But the drum and the inkwell and all of the artfully draped scarves… Maybe Holly could leave those behind for Margaret Coffey. He turned a corner and was shocked to see the crowd outside of Havers Customs House. Eleven people had registered for the tour, including a trio of Brighton Belles. But there were twice that many milling around the steps. And as he approached the group, four more joined, bringing the total to twenty-six. The last two were Michael Graham and his friend Barry. Suddenly Liam wished he'd stopped at the office and changed clothes. He should have at least grabbed the buccaneer shirt, he thought. "Welcome, all, to Havers Customs House." He gestured to the practically ancient building that took up a good stretch of Dockside Avenue. "Though this is no longer a clearinghouse for cargo goods brought into the harbor, it remains a viable business in Blackpool. As we go through, you'll be able to see how a customs house operated centuries ago," Liam continued. "You can look through logbooks and research papers, all of it on display. I'll regale you with stories of Blackpool's merchantmen and smugglers as we go." He started passing out nametags, scowling when he came to Louis Lockwood. "I want to talk to you," he said so softly that he hoped only Louis would hear. "After the tour," Louis said. "Be happy to. All about the lawsuit if you'd like. And about how you're going to lose everything because you were so cruel and vicious to my dear Harvey." Louis' smile was broad, but not sincere. When Liam reached Michael and Barry, he put the rest of the tags in his pocket. "Sorry, chaps, my limit is twenty-four." That was a lie, but he'd told enough untruths today that one more didn't matter. "An agreement I have with the Customs House." Lies slid easily off his tongue. "You should have signed up in advance." Michael actually seemed pleased that he wasn't going to have to go on another tour, but Barry looked crestfallen. "I thought I had registered," Barry protested. "I'm sure I—" "Look, can't you bend your rules and take one more?" Michael suggested. "I suppose I could take one." Liam didn't like to turn away money, but he was certainly going to turn away Meddling Michael. "I'll catch up with you later." Michael slapped Barry on the shoulder and headed off down the street.

437

Liam let out a relieved breath. "Now, the Havers Customs House…" As Liam led the group through the building, he noticed Alice wasn't among them. He hoped the older woman was all right. It didn't matter, though, did it? They'd be leaving town late tonight and he wouldn't run into Alice or any of The Other Syde regulars again. "What about ghosts?" This came from one of the red-hatted ladies in the middle of the group. "Havers Customs House has plenty of them, and I was just going to get to that." Liam was past the point he usually started talking about ghosts, but he'd been distracted with thoughts of Paddington and Alice and leaving. "One has a name—Mercy. She was young, early teens probably, and she was running by the front of this place from pirates. Two hundred years ago." The Brighton Belles tittered nervously. "She tripped and fell right in front of the Customs House and broke her neck. It's said that her spirit haunts this place and that she retraces her steps every night back to the beach where she first saw the lecherous pirates." Liam imagined that if Alice were here she'd be worrying at her buttons and saying "Oh my." "Then there's the Pale Lady…" As he guided them to the very back of Havers, he noticed the ledgers weren't under glass, like he thought they should be. They were exposed to the air and tourists' oily fingers. But it wasn't his concern, was it? He had enough of his own. "The Pale Lady, or White Lady as some call her, appears as an old crone, though she was rather young when she died. Tales say she is the mother of a baby who succumbed to a sickness that swept through Blackpool during the height of its smuggling days. The baby, like others that died in those dark months, was buried in a hidden mass grave. The Pale Lady looks for that grave so she can properly mourn her lost child." Liam headed toward the front now, the tour just about finished. "Some of the ghosts are fairly friendly. The Havers Customs House has two resident spirits who tidy up when the caretaker isn't looking…and who sometimes playfully rearrange things. One of those spirits supposedly retrieved a wallet a tourist left behind just last month." "Too bad there wasn't one of those helpful spirits around to retrieve Harvey's wallet after he fell. Though I guess that's hard to do when it's in someone else's pocket," Louis muttered loudly enough for the group to hear. "That's all I have for today," Liam announced, opening the door and ushering the people out. He kept his gaze locked on Louis. He was going to talk to the man if he had to kill— "Stop! Stop right there, Liam McKenna!" Liam whirled to see the Customs House manager rushing forward, cell phone out and open. "The logbooks. The oldest, the smallest. It's missing," the man huffed. His face was red in anger and spittle flecked the corner of his lips. "I didn't take it!" The words tumbled reflexively from Liam's lips. "That book is worth the most," the man fumed. He waved the cell phone. "I'm sure you took it. I've called D.C.I. Paddington and he's sending someone over. Bad enough I let you in here leading your ghostly tours every day, now you steal one of my artifacts. Your arse should be put behind bars for a lot of years."

438

In desperation, Liam turned out his pockets to show that save his wallet and keys, they were empty. "I didn't take it. I don't have your logbook." The tourists murmured and pointed fingers, some of them leaving, others staying to gawk. Barry walked away, shaking his head. Louis followed him, muttering about just how valuable an old logbook might be. "What about them?" Liam asked, gesturing to what remained of his group. "Maybe one of them took it. Maybe him. Maybe Louis Lockwood—he has it in for me after his friend got hurt. My sister says he's an auctioneer. He'd know which logbook was valuable." "Maybe one of them friendly spirits moved it somewhere else," a Brighton Belle suggested. "Maybe it'll turn up next to a broom." The Customs House man's eyes were needle-fine slits. "Maybe one of them tourists did take it. But that would still make it your fault, Liam McKenna, since you brought them all through here. I'll have you arrested." "I told you I didn't take it," Liam repeated. "I don't have it." He pulled up his sweater to show the man he hadn't stuffed it in the band of his trousers. "I don't have to stand for this," he muttered and stalked off, desperate to get away from the scene before the cops showed up. Could they pull off just one more tour? Or had he and Holly already run out of time? Halfway to the office he was stopped by Sergeant Krebs. "I didn't take the logbook," Liam said. He mentally cursed himself for volunteering anything without a question. "I didn't steal anything. I didn't push anyone. I—" "Trouble dogs you, McKenna," Krebs said. "I figure you're either guilty or unlucky." Liam opened his mouth, but couldn't find a retort. "I aim to find out which," she said. "Add me to your list of…clients…for your cemetery tour tonight." As he reluctantly agreed to do so, Liam thought Krebs's presence at the cemetery would either exonerate them or be the final nail in the coffin.

Chapter Six "Something's bothering you," Holly said. She was worried—about the threat of a lawsuit and the possibility of going to jail. She hadn't stolen the tombstones, and she was pretty sure Liam hadn't stolen the old logbook. Neither could he have pushed Harvey down the lighthouse stairs. Liam might not be an honest soul, but he wasn't a vicious one. She'd started packing a few things while Liam was giving his Havers Customs House tour—just in case. She didn't want to leave. Of all the places she'd lived, Blackpool was her favorite. This little place perched on the cliffs, looking like it might topple into the sea, a riot of fall colors, a rush of tourists. God, she didn't want to run again. But the look on Liam's face when he'd come back to the apartment had told her all she needed to know. "We're leaving," she said. Holly had meant to ask it as a question, but it didn't come out that way.

439

Her brother didn't respond at first. Instead he paced, the floor creaking and sounding so ghastly loud. She put on her Kinsale cloak and smoothed it, then made sure her lace sash draped just right and the powder on her face was even. "We'll talk about it after the cemetery walk," he said. "I don't want to discuss it right now." "You didn't steal anything," Holly said. "I didn't steal anything from the Customs House," he corrected. "In fact I don't think I've stolen anything since we set up The Other Syde." "But we're going anyway." Holly had already decided what she'd be taking with her—the crystal ball certainly, hopefully the old drum and some of the prettier scarves on the wall, maybe a few of the smallest knickknacks. It all would fit in the boot of a big car. They didn't own much. Even though he still hadn't confirmed it, she knew they were leaving because Liam was coming on the cemetery walk tonight. Around Halloween Liam never left the office unattended. Too much money to be made. And he'd given in to her request that he help her with the cemetery tour too quickly. She nervously nibbled at a fingernail. "Let's talk about it when we get back, 'kay, sis?" "Did you find that man…Harvey Pinchell…the one who fell—" Liam shook his head. "What about his friend? Lou—" "Louis Lockwood. He took my Havers Customs House tour this afternoon." "The lawsuit, did you get a chance to—" Liam shook his head again. "No. He slipped out before I had a chance to speak with him." He ground the ball of his foot against the floorboard. It creaked in protest. "Can we discuss all of this when we get back?" A pause. "Please?" Reluctantly, she nodded. "How many do we have signed up for the cemetery?" "Thirty-eight." "That many?" He whistled. "Well, maybe forty. Two who sent me an email were a little iffy." She started toward the door. "Thirty-eight for sure." "Make that thirty-nine. Sergeant Krebs will be joining us." Holly felt sick. "Well, let's give them a show." He reached for one of his buccaneer shirts. ***

440

Half an hour later, brother and sister stood just outside the gates of Blackpool's oldest and largest cemetery. Holly's fingers twitched nervously. Her group indeed totaled thirty-nine people, the last one being Sergeant Luann Krebs. She'd even come in uniform, though she'd paid the fee like everyone else. "Just here to see that nothing untoward happens," Krebs told Holly. "You've had enough bad luck swirling around you that the D.C.I. thought I'd be good insurance." Holly figured the sergeant was here to make sure they wouldn't skip town—which they would, as soon as they could find some suitable transportation. She'd spotted an old rusty van for sale in front of Miller's Gas Station. It didn't look terribly reliable, but it would take them away from Blackpool, and at three hundred pounds they could afford it. She'd mentioned the van to Liam on the way over, but he didn't say anything about it. "Louis Lockwood isn't here," she told Liam, consulting a sheet of paper that listed the names of the people who had registered in advance. "He and Harvey had signed up for this several days ago. Good thing neither are here, eh?" Liam shrugged but didn't answer. Michael Graham and his friend Barry were in the group, as was Fred Purnell of the Blackpool Journal. Holly began with her usual menacing warning: "Take care where you step, lest you disturb the spirits of those who should be forever sleeping." She began leading them through the gate. "Notice the tall, spiked fence. It is more than two hundred years old. And like the other old cemeteries around Blackpool, it was erected to keep out the creeping vines and those who would stoop to stealing from the dead." She smiled as Alice Cumberland hurried to catch up, putting on a nametag. "Forty," Holly remarked quietly to Liam. "A record group." "I think the fence is to keep things in the cemetery," Alice volunteered. "Not to keep folks out." Already she was worrying away at a button. "Perhaps you're right…" Night began to fall as Holly escorted them deeper into the graveyard. There were angels here, though not near so many as in the smaller cemetery that Holly favored. The stones were plain for the most part, older and more difficult to read, especially in the deepening gloom. Holly headed toward the elaborate crypts in the center of the property. Holly put on a good performance, full of drama and lengthy explanations, spending more time than usual at each "interesting" grave she stopped at. She aimed to give everyone their money's worth since this appeared to be her proverbial last hurrah. As the sky darkened it was getting trickier to see all the knobby roots from the big elms and the blocky little footstones nearly half the plots boasted. But she'd brought a big flashlight with her, and the moon was working to cooperate. A thin mist settled in, tendrils wrapping around the stones and creating a memorable atmosphere. "Atmosphere is everything," she heard Liam whisper.

441

"No!" Alice lost one of her buttons and stooped to feel around for it. "Oh my. Oh my. Oh…thank you!" Liam had found it for her. "Thank you so much. You're such a nice man. I don't believe a word of what some of those folks are saying about you." Liam smiled and Holly continued, talking about the smugglers and pirates buried here. Just as the familiarity of the cemetery began to calm her, the group rounded a statue and gave a collective gasp. Right in front of them were two mounds of disturbed earth. Two more headstones had been stolen! Sergeant Krebs pulled out her mobile and called for D.C.I. Paddington. Michael was quick to investigate. "The dirt's pretty dry. These were dug up days ago. Probably the same time the other ones were taken." "I didn't do it," Liam said. Holly knew the words were a reflex. She also knew he indeed hadn't done it. She and Liam were con artists, not outright thieves…at least not anymore. "I can't believe there's a market for this grisly stuff," Barry said. "Didn't one of the guys on the last tour mention that?" "Yes, I believe Mr. Lockwood did," Alice said. "Or was it his friend? Either way, they seemed to know that the stones were valuable. Could Mr. Lockwood have taken them? He and his friend… Oh, what was that other man's name?" "Harvey Pinchell," Liam said. Holly's eyes widened. "Louis Lockwood and Harvey Pinchell had signed on for this tour. Not that I'd expect Mr. Pinchell to be here after his fall down the lighthouse steps. But Mr. Lockwood—" "He was at the Customs House tour today," Liam said. "So he's been at every tour he signed up for plus a palm reading," Holly said. "But not this one. Why wouldn't he come tonight?" Michael stepped away from the holes. "So Louis Lockwood apparently knows something about the value of antiques." "Like logbooks," Barry said. "One went missing from the Havers Customs House this afternoon." "Doesn't necessarily mean anything," Michael cut in. "Doesn't mean he swiped it or the headstones." "Doesn't mean he didn't." This came from Liam. "There's no more evidence that we took them," he added with a pointed look at Krebs. "What do you know about Louis Lockwood?" Michael directed the question to Sergeant Krebs. "Nothing, sadly. And we also know very little about his friend Harvey. Couldn't get enough out of either one of them to press any charges against Liam here. Their threats of a lawsuit and complaints of Liam pushing one of them down the steps was all smoke from what we could gather. Don't have anything on them, not even an address." Liam let out an obvious sigh of relief.

442

"I think I have an address for them." Holly stepped forward. "It's back in the office. I got it when they first started emailing me and asking questions about The Other Syde, signing up for all the tours. After we're done here—" "We're done now," Krebs decided. She had a smug look plastered across her face. "You folks. You all come back tomorrow night for a repeat. No extra charge, I'm sure." She turned to Holly. "Let's go get this address. Right now." Krebs had her police van, so she gave Holly and Liam a ride. Michael and Barry followed, as did Fred Purnell of the Blackpool Journal, who'd announced that this was "all going to turn into a helluva story for the front page." They didn't talk on the way, Holly lost in thought and praying that maybe they wouldn't have to move after all. No lawsuit. No charges. Safe for a while longer. Krebs drove fast, weaving in and out of parked cars on the narrow streets and narrowly avoiding a man stumbling out of a corner pub. There were lights on above the grocers. "That's strange. I'm sure I turned them out," Liam said. Holly knew he always insisted on it, not one to waste a pound on electricity if it wasn't necessary. "You have company. Maybe this Louis Lockwood, eh?" Krebs went up the stairs first, gun drawn. Holly thought the sergeant was reveling in what might be action…or maybe Liam had simply forgotten to turn out the lights. He'd been distracted by all the bad news when they'd left for the cemetery; he could have forgotten. "Hold it right there!" Krebs hollered at someone Holly couldn't see. "Both of you." Over her shoulder, she shouted down to Michael. "Call the D.C.I. I have my hands full." Holly and Liam hurried up the steps after her, but when they burst into the office, Krebs already had the thieves in handcuffs—Louis Lockwood and Harvey Pinchell. Paddington arrived only a handful of minutes later with two other policemen. They were quick to take Pinchell—who didn't look terribly injured—into custody. Holly stopped Lockwood before they led him down the stairs. "Why?" The word came out as a sob. "Why steal…junk… Why steal from us?" She wanted to add: Why get us in trouble? Why make it look like we stole tombstones? Why accuse Liam of pushing Harvey down the stairs? Why? "It's not junk," he spat. "Your website. All of the pictures of this place up on it." Louis sneered and struggled against the policemen holding him. Paddington shook him. "They're all antiques. Real fine ones. They were wasted on you. I offered to buy them, you know." Holly recalled he'd made such a comment during his palm reading. "What did you want so badly?" "The gem in your collection," Louis said. "That inkstand." She twisted until she saw the low shelf on the wall, the old inkstand featured prominently on it. She'd paid nearly ten pounds for it, not intending to ever use it for ink, but finding it so unusual looking that she thought it would be a nice conversation piece. "It's handmade, ebony and mahogany; the inkwells are bronze. You have five inkwells, one for a different color of ink, none of the lids missing. One of the lids says Ecole d' Arts et Metiers, Paris."

443

"School of Arts and Trades," Michael translated. Fred Purnell scribbled furiously in his notebook. "It belongs in a museum, really," Louis continued. "But I already had a buyer for it. Six, seven thousand pounds. Maybe eight thousand." Holly collapsed into the desk chair, practically swooning. They'd never made so much from their schemes as what was hanging on the walls. She had been oblivious to their fortune. Paddington nudged Louis toward the door. Harvey had already been taken down the steps. "And the drum?" This came from Liam. The drum was sitting on the floor, next to a packing crate Louis and Harvey had brought. Liam took a good look at it, closer than he had before. It was a rich blue-green with a red floral pattern on it. It had old hemp tension ropes and tightening straps to keep the drumhead on. "The drumhead is original," Louis said. "Though I wasn't sure until tonight." It still had the leather strap that would attach to a sling for wearing as if in a marching band, and a big brass button on it that had a crown and the word Carabineros. "Untouched, that drum," Louis said. "All original. Certainly dates to the time of the Napoleonic Wars, maybe earlier." "How much—" Holly started to ask. Louis shrugged. "I hadn't had the time to research it properly. Hadn't put it out there to my contacts. Worth at least as much as the inkwell." "Why?" Holly asked again. "When I read your fortune, you offered to buy the stuff. If you'd pushed a bit, I would've caved." "I was afraid if I pushed too hard you'd cobble on to the fact the goods were worth something." "So you had to get us out of the office," Liam said. "Both of us." "Yeah, so we could come up and clean you out. Didn't want anyone around. Didn't want anyone getting hurt." "You took the tombstones," Paddington said. "And cast suspicion on them by accusing Liam of pushing Pinchell down the lighthouse steps." "The missing tombstones made their tours more popular. I helped them out really." "The tombstones…" Paddington prompted again. "I ain't confessing to anything." Louis stuck out his bottom lip. "This stuff, you caught me with. But you didn't catch me with any tombstones. Or with any old logbook." "But we did catch you." Paddington ushered him out. Michael and Fred followed him. Liam closed the door and turned to his sister. "And so he conned us," Liam said. "Louis and Harvey. They conned the conmen."

444

"But they didn't win," Holly said. The police had left the packing crates the thieves had intended to pack all their precious antiques into. Holly intended to use the crates, transport the drum and inkwell to London, where they could be sold, maybe try to sell all the knickknacks and start decorating all over again. "We can hire Margaret's niece as our secretary," Liam said. "And pay to have someone professionally design our webpage." "Above that, we kept our secrets," he said. "We can stay." "We can stay." Their past wouldn't haunt them. At least for now…

445

Last Chance Cafe by Amanda Stevens "Just what every ghost town needs," Leni Crowe said dryly as she wiped down the counter in the rundown café she’d inherited from her father, along with the general store next door. "A real, live ghost." But Rio Rancho, located off a lonely stretch of I-10 in West Texas, wasn’t technically a ghost town. Not all the locals had followed the exodus to greener pastures when a five-year drought had bankrupted area ranchers and closed down most of the businesses. There were still some old-timers who clung to their shriveled land and a dying way of life — and a few newcomers who were hiding out from their pasts and maybe even from the law. Then there were folks like Leni, who had left Rio Rancho a long time ago only to slink back years later, tails tucked between their legs, when the outside world hadn’t treated them any too kindly. "So what do you think he’s up to, out there on that old broken-down ranch all by his lonesome?" Darlene persisted. "Think he’s a drug smuggler? A criminal? A sex fiend?" she added hopefully. "Maybe he’s just looking for a little peace and quiet." Leni wasn’t much in the mood for her friend’s gossip. A sudden storm had forced a lot of truckers off the road, not to mention some agents from a special DPS unit who were in town investigating the death of a local rancher, and Leni was exhausted. She waited and bussed tables while her cook, Luis, fried burgers over a red-hot grill. He wasn’t complaining, but Leni knew he was anxious to get away as well. He was young, it was Saturday night, and the Mexican border was only a few miles away. As for Leni, all she wanted to do was get home to a hot bath, but unfortunately, the storm showed no sign of letting up, and neither did Darlene. "Now, Leni, you can’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious about that stranger," she needled. "You may live in Rio Rancho, but you ain’t dead, girl." Just the next thing to it, Leni thought. "Curious about who?" Glen Riordan sauntered over, hitching up the khaki trousers of his deputy sheriff’s uniform before straddling the barstool next to Darlene. "Y’all talkin’ ‘bout that feller who bought the old Foster place?" he drawled. Leni cringed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Glen. What was not to like? He was a nice-looking, soft-spoken, salt-of-the-earth-type guy who would have made some girl a great husband, but unfortunately, he’d set his sights on Leni. He didn’t know that her heart had been broken so badly she had no intention of allowing him, or anyone else, to pick up the pieces. Everyone in Rio Rancho assumed her widowhood was the reason she was so gun-shy about relationships, but Leni’s pain went back farther than the tragic death of her husband. It went all the way back to the slow decline of her marriage, the dissolution of all her dreams, and it had culminated on the night she’d asked her husband, Danny, for a divorce. The same night he’d died in a fiery car crash that Leni still had nightmares about. Danny was the reason Leni wasn’t interested in Glen Riordan, or any man. She never would be. If her marriage to a man she’d loved with all her heart and soul had failed, what hope could there be with someone else? She started to turn and check on her orders, but the front door opened, and a gust of cold, wet air swept through the café. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, a hat pulled low over his eyes and a black rain poncho billowing out behind him.

446

He hardly seemed more than a shadow at first, but then he lifted his head and his gaze met Leni’s. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and an icy chill shot through her as the stranger stepped inside the Last Chance Café.

Or maybe it was the scars on his face, the pain in his eyes that intrigued her even as something about him almost frightened her. He wasn’t handsome. In fact, on another man, his features might have been considered homely, but on the stranger, the battered face, the nose that had obviously been broken and not all that successfully repaired, the mouth that gave an odd little twist at one of the corners, were almost mesmerizing. He was big, at least 6’2", with broad shoulders and a toughness about him that was formidable. Leni found she’d been holding her breath. She let it out slowly as the stranger removed the rain poncho and hung it on a rack near the door. He took off his hat and coat, too, but he left on his gloves. Moving with a slight limp which, oddly enough, did nothing to impair his grace, he took a booth in a far corner, away from the main flow of traffic in the café, and waited for Leni. "Oh, my gawd," Darlene said beneath her breath. She placed her hand over her heart and sighed. "Now, that is what I call a real man. How do you suppose he got his face messed up like that? Fighting over a woman, I bet." "What makes you think that?" Leni asked, hardly able to tear her gaze from the stranger. "Because a man like that always has a woman in his past." Darlene picked up a menu and shoved it toward Leni. "Hurry up. Go take his order. Strike up a conversation. Find out what you can about him and report back to me." Leni snatched the menu from Darlene and gave her an exasperated look. "Yes, ma’am!" Glen caught Leni’s arm as she walked by him. "Be careful, Leni. I don’t like the looks of that guy. His kind usually spells trouble." "His kind?" Glen shrugged. "He’s been around. You can tell that just by looking in his eyes. Almost gives a body the willies," he murmured, then caught himself, squaring his shoulders in a manly gesture. "Just be careful, that’s all. Lot of dope smugglers around here." Glen meant well, he always did, but his warning irritated Leni for some reason. It wasn’t like he had a claim on her or anything, and it sure wasn’t like she didn’t know how to take care of herself. She’d been married to a cop, hadn’t she? A narc, no less. She knew about drug trafficking, and yes, it was always a danger this close to the border. But it wasn’t like every stranger in town was a smuggler. Still, there had been a lot of activity in the area lately, more than usual, and everyone in Rio Rancho was a little on edge since Ned Barnes, one of the old-timers, had been found shot dead on his ranch a few days ago. That, of course, was why agents from the Texas Confidential, a highly specialized division of the Department of Public Safety, were hanging around, although they’d never admit it. They were here undercover. No one in town besides Leni knew their true identities. To the outside world, they worked as ranch hands on a nearby spread, but Leni had been made privy to the organization a year ago when they’d needed her café as a cover for a drug sting. She and Brady Morgan, one of the agents, had gone to the same college, and later, Brady and her husband had been cops together in Dallas. When Brady had asked for her help, Leni hadn’t hesitated, and since then, she’d established a close friendship with all the agents.

447

Their presence now, however, filled her with foreboding. Poor old Ned had been shot because he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. But what? And now a stranger was in town. He’d bought the Foster place, a rundown ranch in a remote area of the county. Just what was he doing out there all alone? Leni wondered. Filling a glass with ice water, she headed toward the booth in the back. The stranger watched her approach. His eyes were cool, gray, and very distant. His other features — the crooked nose, the scars, the thick, dark hair — Leni hardly noticed. But his eyes... The water glass trembled in her hand. Her breath left her in a painful rush. Oh, my God, she thought in shock. His eyes reminded her of Danny’s.

The scars caught people off guard. Repulsed them. He understood. It had been a long time after the accident before he’d been able to look at himself in the mirror. He understood, but he’d been hoping for more from her. Which was crazy. He hadn’t come to Rio Rancho to strike up a relationship. He’d come to Rio Rancho because after three years of drifting, it had seemed like the only place on earth he could find a measure of peace. Despite his appearance, he was still human. And the woman who stood staring down at him was gorgeous. Tall, graceful, with fiery red hair and provocative green eyes, she’d undoubtedly fueled more than one trucker’s fantasies. Not to mention the deputy sheriff who’d been hanging all over her. But in the few moments Cade had been inside the café, it seemed to him that all the customers, mostly male, treated her with the utmost respect. She had the air of a woman who would not put up with anything less, and that made her even more appealing. She set the glass on the table in front of him, sloshing water over the rim. "Sorry," she muttered, wiping almost frantically at the spill. "No problem." His voice was low and raspy, still unfamiliar to him after all this time. With an effort, he resisted touching the scar at his throat. She glanced down at him nervously. "What can I get you? Cup of coffee to start?" "Sounds good." Cade noticed that her hands were trembling a little. Had she been that affected by his face, or was she upset for some other reason? Dare he hope she might even be a little attracted to him? Yeah, sure. If she was partial to horror movies. "It’s a cold night," he said. "Not fit for man nor beast," she agreed, and then her expression turned horrified. Her gaze slipped over his face. "I mean, it’s cold and rainy and...wet," she stammered. He almost smiled at her embarrassment. She wasn’t used to being rattled, he thought, and her discomfort made her cling to the menu as if it were a lifeline.

448

"Any recommendations?" "Oh, sorry." She handed him the menu. "Luis makes a great burger if you like them well done. If not, I’d stick with the chili." "Chili it is." He gave her back the menu without opening it, then glanced around the café. "Looks like you’ve had a busy night, Leni." Her mouth dropped. "How did you know — " His gaze fell on the name embroidered on her uniform. "Unusual name," he murmured. "It’s short for Lynnea." Old-fashioned, but it suited her. "Cade Walker," he said, but he didn’t extend his hand. She nodded and started to turn away, then glanced back down at him. "Not that it’s any of my business, but what brings you to Rio Rancho? I guess you’ve noticed we’re not exactly the garden capital of world. Especially this time of year." He shrugged. "Seemed as good a place as any to settle down." "I guess that depends on your perspective," she said with a wry smile. "You have folks here?" He hesitated. "No. Not anymore." She shook her head. "Hard to imagine anyone picking this place for the climate. Or the view, for that matter." "If it’s so bad, why do you stay?" She frowned down at him. "That should be pretty obvious, even for a stranger. I’m here for the same reason everyone else in this godforsaken town is. I don’t have anywhere else to go."

Cade Walker. He’d finished his chili and a second cup of coffee 30 minutes ago, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. He didn’t smoke, so he wasn’t lingering over a cigarette. He wasn’t drinking, so he wasn’t waiting for last call. Just what the heck was he doing? Waiting to catch Leni alone? Okay, she thought. Now he’s giving me the willies. And that wasn’t a feeling she particularly liked. Normally, she wasn’t the nervous type. She walked over to the table of agents and handed them their bill. "Why don’t you fellas take this party on down the road." "Trying to get rid of us, Leni?" Cody Gannon, the youngest at the table, asked with a grin. He was an exrodeo star who had one of the most disarming smiles Leni had ever come across. Good thing she was several years his senior and immune to good-looking men to boot. "Matter of fact, I am," she said bluntly.

449

"What do you say I get rid of these two losers and stick around while you lock up?" Rafe Alvarez had a smile, too, but it wasn’t disarming like Cody’s. It was downright dangerous, and he knew it. "Tell you what," Leni said. "You close up for me, Rafe, and I’ll go on home, slip into my best flannel nightie and my sexy wool socks and I’ll be waiting for you in front of the TV." Rafe winced. "Flannel nightie? Wool socks? Don’t take this the wrong way, Leni, but I think I’ll pass." "I thought you might." They all tossed money on the table and stood, gathering coats, gloves, and hats. As Cody and Rafe left the café, the oldest of the group, Jake Cantrell, stayed behind. He cast a wary glance toward the booth in the back, where the stranger sat waiting. But for what? "I don’t like leaving you here alone while that guy’s still hanging around," Jake said in a low voice. "Do you know him?" "No, but don’t worry. Luis is still here." Although they both knew Luis would be no match for the stranger. The cook had a reputation across the border as a fiery, passionate lover — or so he said — but he wasn’t much bigger than a minute. Trying to diffuse Jake’s concern, she said brightly, "Hey, I saw Brady the other day. He came in just after dawn with some woman." It was a small world, Leni sometimes thought, the way she and Brady had both ended up in West Texas, what some people considered the ends of the earth. "The woman was a real looker," she said. "Sort of the Shania Twain type." Something flickered in Jake’s eyes before the shutters came down, confirming Leni’s suspicion that Brady’s involvement with the woman was more than just personal. But before she had time to question Jake further, she saw the stranger rise from the booth and walk toward her. Turning to face him, she felt Jake’s hand on her back, as if to reassure her he was still there. But the moment her gaze collided with Cade Walker’s, Leni forgot all about Jake’s presence, Cody Gannon’s smile, and Rafe Alvarez’s charm. She forgot about Brady Morgan and his female companion. And for a moment, she even forgot about Danny... And the next. Leni’s heart bounced like a ping pong ball off the wall of her chest as she watched him remove his hat and coat and head toward the back booth. Like always, he’d left on his gloves. She couldn’t help wondering why. Were his hands scarred, too? Or was he worried about leaving his fingerprints around? Chiding herself for her wild imagination, she picked up a menu. It was a Monday night. The café wasn’t particularly busy, but there were a couple of locals sitting at the bar chewing the fat, and the Texas Confidential agents, still in town investigating Ned Barnes’s death, were gathered around a corner table. No one would suspect they were anything more than three friends, having a cup of coffee together and shooting the breeze. Leni still couldn’t shake a dark premonition that something sinister was going on in Rio Rancho. She could feel it, and she couldn’t help wondering if her sense of foreboding was somehow tied to Cade Walker. Ignoring a sudden chill down her back, she filled a water glass and headed for the back booth. "Evening," she greeted him, annoyed that her voice sounded so breathless. He looked up at her with those eyes. Gray. Piercing. Soulful.

450

So like Danny’s. Stop it! Leni admonished herself. This man was nothing like Danny. Danny was dead. He wasn’t coming back. She had to stop seeing him every time she looked into Cade Walker’s eyes. Because if she didn’t... If she didn’t, she might find it a little too easy to forget that Cade Walker was a stranger. "Another cold night, " he said softly. Leni shivered at the sound of his voice. "I guess spring’s still a long way off." "Yeah, but it always comes. Sooner or later." His words seemed prophetic to Leni. For a long time now she’d been living in a perpetual winter. But Cade Walker made her think of warmer days. And even warmer nights. She mentally shook herself and handed him the menu. "Need a few minutes to decide what you want?" "No. I already know what I want." As his gaze met hers, a thrill of excitement shot through Leni, but she tried to keep her voice even. "What’ll it be then?" He hesitated only fractionally. "I think I’ll try one of Luis’s burgers tonight." She arched a brow. "You must like to live dangerously." "Don’t you?" "No," she said frankly. "I don’t have an adventurous bone in my body. I’m more the hearth and home type." "Then why aren’t you married?" His voice was low and raspy. Intimate. "Actually...I was married," Leni confessed. "What happened?" If possible, his gaze grew even darker. "He died." Her tone was matter of fact, but her insides trembled, as they always did, when she thought about Danny. "I’m sorry." Something flickered in Cade’s eyes, a look of regret, as if he truly were sorry for her loss. Somehow Leni thought that he was. "It was a long time ago," she said sadly. "And the marriage was already over." "I’m sorry," he said again. And then without warning, he reached out and touched her hand. He’d taken off his gloves, and Leni could see that the back of his right hand was crisscrossed with thin, jagged lines. Something horrible had happened to him in the past, she thought. Something had scarred him terribly, but she had a feeling the wounds on the outside were nothing compared to those on the inside. Her eyes stung with sudden tears, and for no reason Leni could explain, she wanted to lift his marred hand to her face, to trace each and every scar with her lips, to soothe away his pain — and maybe her own — even for a little while.

451

Instead, she took a step back from Cade Walker. He dropped his hand from hers, and the moment was over. "I’d better see to your order," she murmured, then turned and fled toward the kitchen.

He’d left the café a few minutes ago, heading for his truck, but he knew he’d been followed out. He turned and saw one of the three men who had been sitting at the corner table start across the street toward him. Cade didn’t see the other two, but he knew they were around, just as he knew all three of them were the law. He’d known it the moment he first laid eyes on them in the café on Saturday night. They weren’t cops, though. At least not local boys. Not like the deputy sheriff Cade had seen sniffing around Leni that first night. In another few years, the deputy would have the same physique as the Pillsbury Doughboy if he wasn’t careful. These guys were in top shape, which told him they trained. They were pros. He waited beside his truck for the man to catch up to him. When he drew even with Cade, they eyed each other in the darkness. Finally the man stuck out his hand. "Jake Cantrell." "Cade Walker." They shook hands, sizing one another up. "I hear you bought the old Foster place," Cantrell remarked casually. But Cade wasn’t fooled. There was nothing offhand about the question. "What brings you to West Texas?" Cade started to tell him it was none of his damn business, but trouble with the law, especially this man’s kind of law, he didn’t need. "I like the peace and quiet." "Plenty of quiet out here all right," Jake said. "It’s not too peaceful, though. There was a murder a few days ago, a rancher named Ned Barnes." "Is that right?" Cade said carefully. "He was a harmless old man, shot dead with a high-caliber rifle. As a matter of fact, his ranch borders yours up near the foothills." Cade became extremely wary. A murder. A stranger in town. He didn’t like the way Jake Cantrell appeared to be adding things up. "We think he may have seen something he shouldn’t have," Jake said. "Lot of drugs coming across the border around here. They need places to hide the stuff until the shipments can be dispersed to points east and north." "You sound like a cop," Cade said. Jake laughed, a low sound, not menacing exactly, but none too friendly. "I’m not a cop. I work on a spread not too far from here. We don’t like drugs coming across the border, and when someone gets murdered, we’re all concerned." Yeah, Cade thought. There was concern, and there was concern. "Just thought I’d give you a friendly warning," Jake said. "So you can be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary." Cade had seen some strange things already, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He’d come here to start a new life, not to get dragged back into his old one. "I haven’t been here long enough to know if something is out of the ordinary or not."

452

Jake nodded. "Fair enough. But if you do see anything suspicious, we’d appreciate it if you’d get in touch with the authorities." Cade turned to leave, but Jake said quietly, "One other thing, Walker." "Yeah?" "I can’t help noticing you’ve been hanging around Leni’s place since you got to town." Cade shrugged. "I’m not much of a cook. I have to eat somewhere." "Leni have anything to do with your choice?" "Not particularly," Cade said, but a spark of anger ignited inside him. What business was this of Jake Cantrell’s? "Why? Do you have a claim on her?" "No claim," Jake said easily. "She’s a friend, and she hasn’t had an easy time trying to make a go of this place. We all look out for her, that’s all." Cade’s gaze went back to the window, where he could see Leni silhouetted in the light. Even going about the menial task of cleaning up the café, she looked strong and capable. A woman in charge. A woman who didn’t need a man to look out for her. But then again, it might depend on the man.

But Leni lingered, not anxious to go home to a cold, empty house. A lonely house. Sighing, she moved to the tiny office in the back and changed from her uniform into a pair of jeans, a thick wool sweater, and boots. Even though it only took her a few minutes to get to her house, she’d freeze in this weather if she didn’t bundle up. Fighting off a growing melancholy, she walked over and lowered the shade at the door and turned the sign to read Closed. She was just about to turn out the lights when a knock on the door caused her to jump. Normally, she wouldn’t have been so skittish, but Ned Barnes’s murder had made everyone in town a little edgy. The knock sounded again, and cautiously Leni drew back the shade on the door. The neon sign was still on, and Cade Walker’s battered features stood out starkly in the garish, flickering light. "Sorry to bother you, but I forgot my gloves," he said through the glass. Leni hesitated. It was never a good idea to let a stranger into the café this time of night when she was all alone, especially one who seemed as mysterious as Cade Walker. But the weather was brutal outside. He’d need his gloves. "Look," Cade said, as if sensing her trepidation. "I don’t have to come in. I’ll go stand next to the windows, where you can see me, and you just slip the gloves outside." Leni couldn’t find an objection with that. She nodded. Locating the gloves in the back booth where he’d left them, she headed back toward the door. She could see his towering silhouette outside the front windows, and for a moment, she paused, staring out at him. Her heart thudded against her chest in spite of herself. She didn’t want to be drawn to Cade Walker, but she was. She didn’t want to find his beaten features attractive, but she did. And she certainly knew better than to let him come inside the café. But she wanted to.

453

She opened the front door and stepped out into the cold night. "Cade?" When he didn’t answer, she took a few steps away from the door. "Cade? I found your gloves." Too late, she realized he was no longer by the windows. He’d come up behind her, blocking her path to the door. She started to scream, started to run, but she could do neither because he grabbed her roughly, wrapping his arm around her throat as he shoved a gun barrel against her temple. "Scream and you die," he said in her ear.

Whatever the reason, Cade was pretty certain they hadn’t counted on his instinct for survival, honed even more sharply after three years of looking over his shoulder. They hadn’t counted on the fact that he’d recognized one of them, either. Out of the corner of his eye, before he’d gone down, Cade had caught a glimpse of one of his attackers. And though the heavy coat disguised the man’s size, the white hair hanging down his back and the paleness of his skin had been unmistakable. Cade had seen him a few days ago, on the northern edge of his property. The man had been on foot, heavily bundled up against the weather, except for his head which had been left bare. The wind had whipped his white hair straight back, exposing a face that seemed eerily devoid of color. He’d been carrying a rifle. To the casual observer, he might have been taken for a hunter, but through his binoculars, Cade had noted the way the man’s gaze darted about the landscape, the stealthy but purposeful way he made his way over the craggy terrain. He’d been up to no good. Cade had realized that immediately, but he’d kept out of sight because he hadn’t wanted any trouble. He hadn’t wanted to get involved in something that was no longer his business. He hadn’t known then that Ned Barnes had been murdered. Or that the white-haired man might pose a threat to Leni. Leni. The thought of her spurred Cade to his feet. Tentatively, he probed the knot at the back of his head. He’d bled some, and the pain was pretty intense. Cade knew he probably needed stitches, but there was no time for that. Besides, he’d learned a long time ago how to handle pain. He gritted his teeth and staggered toward the café. The lights were off, but the front door was open. Cade backtracked and got his gun out of his truck before entering the darkened restaurant. He waited several long minutes in the doorway, listening to the dark, before he moved inside and turned on the lights. There was no sign of a struggle, no evidence of foul play. It seemed as if Leni might have just gone home for the evening, but Cade knew that she hadn’t. She was a careful person. She would never have left her front door unlocked. He walked over to the cash register. It hadn’t been touched, but there was a tissue lying on the floor. It was dotted with blood. Leni’s blood?

She still had no idea why she’d been kidnapped, but she knew her predicament was dire. Before they’d left town, her two captors had forced her to open up the general store next to the café, and they’d loaded up with medical supplies, food, and blankets. Leni prayed they’d let her go once they had what they wanted, but instead, she’d been taken hostage.

454

Her split lip ached where the white-haired man had hit her. The pain made her angry, but she was scared, too, and she knew she had to control her temper. She was no match for two armed men. All she could do for now was bide her time. The inside of the mine was dimly lit by a lantern hanging from a wooden rafter. The light stirred in a draft, and huge shadows danced across the cavern. But even in the faulty light, Leni had no trouble seeing a third man lying on the floor. His face was blanched, and he was shivering uncontrollably. The white-haired man, who seemed to be the leader, thrust the bag of medical supplies toward her. "Here," he said. "See what you can do for him." Leni glanced at him in shock. "Me? I’m no doctor!" "Maybe not." His pale eyes were like red flames in the lantern light. "But you’re the closest thing we got." He shoved her toward the man on the floor, and Leni sank to her knees. Up close, the man looked in even worse shape than she’d first thought. Gingerly she pulled back the blanket that was spread over him. The man’s clothing was covered in blood. She recoiled in horror. "He needs to be in a hospital!" she said on a gasp. "There’s nothing I can do for him!" The white-haired man walked over and placed his gun against her temple, cocking the trigger. "You got my brother sent to prison last year. You and those agents you work for. Nothing I’d like more than to put a bullet in you right now, but I’m giving you a fighting chance. You save this man’s life, I’ll let you go." Leni looked up into those cold blues eyes and shivered. I’m a dead woman, she thought. He’s never going to let me go. *** Cade knew where they’d gone. Even if he hadn’t recognized the white-haired man, he would have had a pretty good idea, because in spite of what he’d told Jake Cantrell, he had been seeing some unusual activity the last few days. Strange vehicles using an obscure road on the border of his property. Lights moving around in the foothills of the mountains. Cade had become suspicious, so he’d gone to investigate. He’d traveled every square inch of his property, the need to know his surroundings inside and out a deeply ingrained compulsion. When he’d come across the abandoned mine, he’d known immediately that it was the perfect hideout. The perfect place to stash drug shipments coming across the border. It was remote, well hidden, and extremely difficult to get to. He’d explored the tunnel just far enough so that he knew another way in and another way out. In his old life, learning where all the exits were located could have meant life or death, and although he’d left that persona behind him three years ago, old habits died hard. He’d been a fool, Cade realized now. He thought he could shut his eyes to whatever was going on in that mine. He thought he could leave behind a way of life that had robbed him of everything. But he’d been wrong. Ned Barnes had been killed, and now Leni was missing. There was no way he could ignore that. He felt emotions stirring to life he’d long ago tried to bury. This time, he didn’t try to suppress them. Cade closed his eyes for a moment, letting them rise to the surface. Letting his instincts take over because he knew that was the only way he could save Leni. She’d done the best she could with the medical supplies, but she knew the wounded man was going to die if they didn’t get him to a hospital. She also knew his friends had no intention of doing that. They were drug

455

runners, associated with the group the Texas Confidential agents had brought down last year. Because of her participation in the sting, they thought she was an agent, too. She hadn’t been kidnapped for her nursing skills so much as for revenge. She gazed down at the wounded man. Apparently, he’d been shot by a rival drug cartel while crossing the border. Leni had heard the men talking. They couldn’t move their hideout because a major shipment was due anytime. Nor could they risk detection by taking their comrade to a doctor. Bullet wounds had to be reported to the authorities. Thinking of the police made Leni think of Glen. Maybe if he drove by the café, he’d realize something was wrong. But why would he? The lights were off. He’d think she was closed. How long before anyone missed her? Not until Luis got to work tomorrow morning. And even if the Texas Confidential agents got involved, it could take several hours to ascertain what had happened and to form a search party. By then, the trail would be cold. No one would know where to look for her. She could be dead before anyone figured out where she’d been taken. And Cade Walker? What had happened to him? She’d known the moment she heard the white-haired man speak that he wasn’t Cade, but why had Cade disappeared so suddenly before her attack? Was he in with these men? Had he left his gloves in the café to purposefully draw her outside? Leni still had the gloves. She pulled them out of her pocket and slipped them on as she leaned against the wall. They were warm inside, as if he’d just withdrawn his hands from them. She lifted them to her face, imagining for a moment the way Cade might touch her. The way he might kiss her... She jerked herself out of the fantasy with a cold dash of reality. It was stupid to fantasize about a stranger, especially when she had more pressing concerns to worry about. Like getting the hell out of here. The main cavern was fairly large, but the tunnel narrowed as it ran back into the mountain. There was no way of knowing how far back it went. Leni debated on whether to take her chances in the tunnel or to try and subdue the guard. On the one hand, she was no match for an armed killer, unless she could catch him by surprise. On the other hand, for all she knew, the tunnel only went back for a few yards before it deadended, in which case she would be trapped. Then again, the mine could go on for miles. She could end up getting hopelessly lost. She could fall into a pit, break a leg or something. She might even starve to death. But she had to do something. She gazed around for a weapon. If she could knock the guard out or disarm him, she might be able to get away before the white-haired man returned. Outside, she heard the guard stir. He coughed, then all fell silent. She started to inch toward the entrance, but something moved in the far recesses of the tunnel. Leni whirled. Someone — or something — had materialized from the shadows. Leni started to scream, but he was on her before she could utter a sound. "Don’t move," he whispered against her ear. "Don’t make a sound." And this time the voice did belong to Cade Walker....

"It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here," he whispered. "Understand?" When Leni nodded, he lifted his hand from her mouth. "You okay?"

456

She nodded again and swallowed, never so glad to see anyone in her life — especially now that she knew he wasn’t one of the bad guys. She’d never really believed that, Leni realized, and she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him. "How did you know where to find me?" He put a gentle finger to her hurt lip, and Leni winced. Cade’s eyes darkened in the lantern light. "No time for that now. We’ve got to get moving." He glanced around the mine, his gaze falling on the wounded man. "Where are the others?" "One is just outside," Leni whispered. "The other one...I’m not sure. But they’re both armed." Cade nodded grimly. "I figured that. Come on." He pulled her toward the tunnel, but before they’d taken more than a few steps, Leni heard a sound behind her. She glanced back and froze. The blast of the white-haired man’s rifle was almost deafening in the mine. The rock wall beside Leni exploded, and she screamed. Cade dove for the deepest shadows, dragging her with him. "Run!" he yelled, spinning to fire as Leni’s captors opened up on them. Leni ran. Away from the lantern, the tunnel was pitch black and narrow. The walls in places brushed both of her shoulders, but she hurried as fast as she could. She was getting farther and farther into the mine, going deeper and deeper with each step. A mountain of stone and dirt lay over her, and she tried to fight off a claustrophobic panic. Cade caught up with her as another volley of gunfire shattered rock nearby. "Hurry!" he urged her. The tunnel forked ahead of them, and Cade guided her to the right. Leni could see the night sky through a hole in the roof. A rope was suspended from above, and she hurried toward it. But suddenly everything started to tremble. The floor beneath her shook, and she lost her balance. She tumbled to the ground, not knowing what was happening at first, but then in a flash, she realized she was trapped in a miner’s worst nightmare. A cave-in! Somehow Cade managed to reach her, and he pulled her to her feet, dragging her back from the rope. Rock and debris bombarded them from above as the hole caved in, and a heavy dust filled the air, making it impossible to breathe. There was no way out, Leni thought in panic. She and Cade would be buried alive. He hugged her tightly to the wall. His arms covered her head, and for what seemed an eternity, the mine collapsed all around them. Then the tremors stopped. The dust cleared. Cade and Leni were both coughing, bruised and battered, but they were alive. Yet for the longest moment, he still held her. As if he never wanted to let her go. And Leni realized in the aftermath of near death, she was in no hurry to move from the protection of Cade Walker’s arms...

457

No way they could move all that rock, he thought grimly. They’d starve to death first. Or run out of air. He moved the beam over Leni. She appeared to be all right, although stunned. Scared. Panicky. Who could blame her? But when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm. "Can we move the rock?" Not in a million years, he thought, but he shrugged. "Maybe. It would take awhile though. I think our best bet is to keep going, see if we can find another way out of the mine." "Or we may find another cave-in," she said. "That’s possible. Are you okay?" She brushed off her clothing, but her face and hair were coated with dust. "I’ll live, I guess. How about you?" "A few bruises, nothing serious. Let’s get moving." Using the light, they crept through the shaft, mindful that any sudden move or noise might bring down another onslaught of rock and dirt. "What caused the cave-in?" Leni asked quietly. "The gunfire?" Cade shrugged. "Who knows? This place has probably been here for years. The braces are rotting, so it didn’t take much to bring it down. These old mines are all over the mountains." "You know this area?" she asked in surprise. "I thought you were new in town." "I am." They were moving steadily deeper, and signs of the cave-in grew sparser. At first, they were constantly having to clear the tunnel of rubble, but for the last several minutes, the way had been clear, making it a little easier — and safer — to carry on a conversation. "Earlier when I asked if you had family here, you said ‘no, not anymore’. Which suggests you used to have family here," Leni said. "I don’t have family anywhere." "Then why come to Rio Rancho?" "I told you. It seemed as good a place as any to settle down." She stopped behind him, forcing him to do the same so he wouldn’t get too far ahead of her. The flashlight beam was still strong, but Cade knew it wouldn’t last forever. Once the batteries were gone, they would be completely in the dark, and moving through the tunnel would be even more dangerous. He took her arm and tried to urge her forward. "We need to keep moving while we still have light." Her gaze dropped to the flashlight, and he saw a flicker of what might have been fear cross her features. But still she lingered. "Before we go any farther, I need to know something." He braced himself. "What?"

458

"How did you know where to find me?" He shrugged. "I stumbled across this mine a few days ago while I was exploring the ranch. I saw signs it was being used. I don’t know." He shrugged again. "I had a hunch they’d brought you here." She gazed up at him for a very long time. "That’s funny," she said slowly. "Because my husband used to get hunches like that, too."

He stared down at her, his battered face enigmatic in the flashlight beam. "I’m not a cop." "Then what?" "Does it matter?" He sounded impatient. "The only thing we need to worry about is finding a way out of here." "I know, but — " "What?" Leni drew a breath. "Why did you come for me? You don’t even know me." If possible, his expression grew even harsher. "You ask a lot of questions." "And you don’t seem to have the answers," she countered. "At least none you’re willing to share with me." "Maybe you wouldn’t like my answers." He started walking along the tunnel in front of her. Leni followed the beam of light. "Maybe I wouldn’t," she said. "Maybe the fact is, you didn’t come for me at all. Maybe you came to get what those men have been hiding in this mine." When he didn’t respond, she moved up behind him. "Is that it? Is that why you came? Were you after the drugs?" Without warning, he spun and grabbed her arms, hauling her up against him. The flashlight was angled downward, but the beam bounced off the floor, casting a sinister shadow over his features. Leni realized that she might have gone too far. If he had come looking for drugs, it probably wasn’t a good idea to force his hand. But that was exactly what she’d done. Not too smart, Leni, girl, she could almost hear her Pop admonishing her. "I came to get you." Cade said in a low, dangerous voice. "Don’t you get it?" And then, still holding her, he lowered his mouth to hers. *** He hadn’t wanted to kiss her. Hadn’t meant to touch her at all, but there she was, gazing up at him. Looking for all the world as if she wanted to be kissed. And even with a fine coating of dust still lingering on her skin and in her hair, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Beautiful inside and out. Brave. Strong. Capable.

459

Leni. With a shock, he realized he’d groaned her name out loud. He hadn’t meant to do that, either, but he had no control all of a sudden. Didn’t want to be in control. He wanted Leni to fill his mind, take away the emptiness of the last three years. He knew that he should draw away, but Leni’s mouth opened beneath his. She wound her arms around his neck, pressing her body close to his, and even though they both wore coats, Cade imagined the warmth of her skin, the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the heavy layer of clothing. "Leni." He whispered her name again, caressing the smoothness of her cheek with his hand. She felt incredible, and it had been so long. So very long... He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, but remained almost motionless in one another’s arms. Finally Leni took a step back. "I don’t know what came over me." He almost smiled at that. "That’s a cliché, Leni. We both know what came over us." He couldn’t see her expression clearly in the dim light, but he thought she might be blushing. Not something she would want him to see, he thought. She pulled a hand through her tangled hair. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "Then what’s your take? Adrenaline rush? A reaction to danger?" Yes, he thought. All of the above and something more. Something she didn’t want to admit. Something she didn’t want to recognize. Something that Cade had no intention of telling her...

"I don’t think we’re going to get out of here," she said wearily. "Sure we are. There’s bound to be another opening somewhere. We just have to keep going." But Cade wasn’t as certain as he sounded. The flashlight beam was almost gone. If they didn’t find an opening soon, it might be better to turn around and go back, take their chances on clearing the tunnel near the mine’s entrance. "Look," Cade said. They’d rounded a corner in the shaft, and a large cavern-like room opened up before them. He played the light over the walls, probing the corners. There was a bedroll on the floor and candles scattered about. "Someone’s been here," Leni whispered, as if that same someone might still be lurking nearby. "Sometimes the miners would spend days at a time underground, especially if they’d struck a rich vein, or thought they were getting close. This stuff’s probably been here for years." Cade walked over and kicked the bedroll. A cloud of dust drifted upward. With a match, he lit the wick of one of the candles, and the light flickered to life. Quickly he extinguished the flashlight, preserving what little was left of the batteries. Then he stuffed some of the other candles in his pocket, in case they didn’t find a way out any time soon. "Let’s take a breather." He shook out the bedroll, stirring up another dust storm. "Come to think of it, the ground might be preferable," he said, coughing.

460

Leni walked over and sat down beside him. "Do you really think we’re going to find a way out of here?" Cade shrugged. "I’ve been in tighter situations than this." "Such as?" He hesitated. "Let’s just say, I’ve faced death a few times and lived to tell about it." "I don’t know if that makes me feel better or not," Leni murmured. Her gaze was on his face, on the scars. Without warning, she reached out and touched the one at the corner of his mouth. He caught her hand. "Sure you want to do that?" "Do what?" she asked softly. His gaze was dark and mysterious as he stared down at her. "Start something you might not want to finish." *** Leni wasn’t certain how long she’d been sleeping, but she awakened suddenly with the realization that she was lying on the ground and her head was pillowed in Cade’s lap. He stroked her hair gently, almost lovingly, and a shiver coursed through her. She couldn’t remember the last time a man’s touch had affected her so deeply. In candlelight, the tunnel was even spookier. It should have been frightening, but it wasn’t. It should have been cold, but it wasn’t. Leni felt cozy, almost content, and she sighed, reaching for Cade’s hand. Like a blind woman, she explored his callused palm, tested lightly the jagged ridge that ran across the back. Another scar. She moved to his fingers, brushing them with her own until she came to the smooth metal band on the third finger of his left hand. And then she froze.

"I was," Cade said carefully. "I lost my wife several years ago." Something flashed across her face. Not pity, Cade thought, but compassion. Empathy. "I’m sorry," she said. "I know what it’s like to lose someone you love." "But you said your marriage was over before your husband died," he reminded her. "That didn’t mean I didn’t love him." She grew surprisingly defensive. "Even through the worst of times, I never stopped loving him." Cade’s heart gave a funny little twist. "Then he was a very lucky man." "I’m not sure he felt that way." She hesitated for a moment, then said, "How did your wife die?" Before he had time to answer, she shook her head. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business. It’s just..." She trailed off as her gazed moved over the scars on his face. "The accident came later," he said softly. "A car accident?" When he nodded, she turned to stare at the candle flame, hugging her knees to her chest. "My husband died in a car crash."

461

Cade didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent, wondering how much more of herself she would reveal to him. Wondering if it was fair to listen. And yet how could he not? He wanted to know what her life had been like. He wanted to know everything about her. He especially wanted to know if there was a chance she was still in love with her husband. "He worked Narcotics," Leni said. "Undercover. Sometimes deep cover. The assignments were dangerous, and the least little slip-up could have meant his life. He always said the only way to pull off an undercover job was to become the cover. To live it and breathe it. And he did. He did it very well. He did it so well that I don’t think he even knew who he was anymore. I know I didn’t." She drew a long breath, her gaze still watching the flame. "Foul play was suspected in his death. He’d penetrated a very powerful drug ring, and his cover was blown. They put out a hit on him, but it wasn’t so much for what he knew as for revenge, the police said. And to use him as an example. His car was forced off an overpass one night. It exploded on impact, and he was trapped inside." Cade closed his eyes, her words conjuring powerful images. "Sometimes I still have nightmares about it," she said. "Sometimes I can see him in that car, calling out to me for help. But I can’t get to him. I can’t do anything but watch him die." The anguish in her voice tore at Cade’s resolve. "Leni, don’t. It wasn’t your fault." She turned in surprise. "I’m...sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so maudlin. It’s just...I’ve never told anyone about this before. I guess I needed to open up to someone, and it may sound crazy, but I feel as if I know you. Maybe because of the danger we’re in. Maybe because we’re trapped in here together." She shrugged. "I don’t know. I just feel as if I can trust you." "Maybe you shouldn’t," he said darkly. "Trust me, I mean." "Why not?" Her eyes deepened in the candlelight, and it seemed to Cade that he could lose himself in those eyes, if he wasn’t careful. The only way to pull off an undercover job is to become the cover. He glanced away from her probing gaze. "I’m not the man you think I am, Leni."

"Then who are you?" she demanded. "That may not be something you really want to know." Candlelight flickered over Cade’s face, making him seem even more mysterious. Even more dangerous. "I’m a wanted man, Leni." She caught her breath. "That’s why you came to Rio Rancho. You’re hiding from the law." "We’re all hiding from something," he said grimly. "Even you." She started to deny it, but couldn’t. It was true. She was hiding out in Rio Rancho. Hiding from her past, yes, but even worse, she was hiding from a future. "What did you do?" she asked hesitantly, not certain she really wanted to know. "It’s not what you think. I’m not a criminal. But there are people who want me dead."

462

"Those men who kidnapped me...are they looking for you?" Leni asked. Or was she their only target? "No. If they’d been looking for me, I’d be dead right now." Cade gave her an enigmatic glance. "You don’t seem frightened. After what I just told you, you should be running scared." Leni glanced around the tunnel. "In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s nowhere to run to. We’re stuck here together, and no, I’m not afraid. Not of you." He gave her a long, measured look. "You’re a brave woman, Leni." "Or stupid." He smiled at that, and Leni’s gaze fell on his mouth, remembering what it was like to have those lips on hers. To have his hands moving through her hair, against her skin. She wondered what it would be like to lie with him in bed, sated from his lovemaking and yet still hungry. Still wanting more. She lifted her gaze to his. He knows what I’m thinking. She could tell by the dark glow in his eyes, and before she could stop him, he reached out a hand to touch her face. His knuckles skimmed along her jawline. His thumb traced her mouth, moving gently over the cut. "What happened to your lip?" "It doesn’t matter." "Oh, it matters," he said in a voice Leni hardly recognized. "It matters very much." And then he kissed her, softly at first, pulling back to gaze down at her. "I don’t want to hurt you." "You won’t." She cupped his neck and pulled him toward her. He resisted for only a moment before his arms came around her, and he drew her to him, kissing her almost fiercely. Almost desperately. He broke apart only long enough to whisper her name, and then he was kissing her again. And again. Until Leni grew dizzy with need. She’d never wanted a man the way she wanted Cade Walker. No, a voice inside her insisted. She’d wanted Danny this way. She’d loved Danny with her heart and soul. She still loved him. But Danny was dead. And Cade was...Cade... It took her a moment to realize he was no longer kissing her. His arms around her had stiffened, and he was holding her as if he wanted to push her aside. Leni tried to draw back to see his face, but his grasp on her tightened. And then, through the lingering haze of passion, she heard a sound that chilled her blood. The unmistakable clatter of a rattlesnake coiled to spring.

He tightened his grip on her arms and whispered in her ear, "When I give the word, I want you to lunge away from me. As fast as you can. Okay?" She barely nodded. He saw her swallow hard as she steadied her nerves.

463

"Now!" As she sprang forward, Cade grabbed the rotting bedroll and threw it over the rattler. The snake struck at him, but not in time. Cade wadded up the cover and tossed it to the far corner of the cavern. The snake slithered out, unharmed. He grabbed Leni’s hand. "Come on. Let’s get out of here." Obviously, the rattler was using the mine to hibernate for the winter, and Leni and Cade had disturbed its rest. Where there was one, there was apt to be others. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Cade suppressed a shudder. He hated snakes, especially the kind with fangs. He’d been badly bitten as a kid, and the venom had almost killed him. He reached for the candle and used it to light their way along the tunnel. "You think there’re more snakes in here?" Leni asked, as if reading his mind. Her voice was steady. She didn’t seem nearly as affected by the incident as he was, but then, she hadn’t seen the size of that rattler. Cade shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe that one was a loner. But I don’t want to stick around long enough to find out." Behind him Leni laughed suddenly. He turned at the sound and held up the candle to see her face. "What’s so funny?" "I don’t know. This whole thing." She laughed again, as if she couldn’t help herself. "You were in a gun battle with drug smugglers. You’re hiding out from someone who wants to kill you. And yet the only thing that’s rattled you — no pun intended — is a snake." He arched a brow, irritated. "And your point is?" "I guess you’re human after all." That took him aback. Stung him more than he cared to admit. "My appearance to the contrary," he muttered. He started to turn away, but Leni grabbed his arm. Her expression was completely sober now. "I didn’t mean it that way. I meant...you’re vulnerable. I like that," she said softly. "I like the way you look, too." "Right." "I’m serious. You’re a very attractive man, Cade." "I’ve seen a mirror, Leni. I know what I look like." "The scars don’t matter," she insisted. "You’ve got something...powerful. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s...magnetism, I guess." She trailed off, gazing up at his face. A curious expression came over her features. "My husband was a very handsome man," she said slowly. "But that wasn’t what first attracted me to him. He had the same quality as you. The same allure." "I’m not sure I want to be compared to Danny Crowe," he said grimly. Leni stiffened as she gazed up at him. "How did you know his name?"

464

Cade shrugged, but his expression darkened. "I don’t know. You must have mentioned it."

"No, I didn’t." "Then someone else — " "I don’t think so." Leni started backing away from him. He put out a hand, but she slapped it away. "Don’t touch me." "Leni, come on. We’ve got to get out of here — " She shook her head. "I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are. How you knew my husband’s name. Why you have his eyes." Cade glanced away, as if no longer able to meet her gaze. Leni put a shaking hand to her mouth. "You get hunches just like Danny did. You’re afraid of snakes just like he was. You reminded me of him the first time I laid eyes on you. Oh, my God." "Leni — " She shook her head, refusing to believe what her instincts were telling her. "It can’t be. It isn’t possible." He said nothing, but this time, he didn’t turn away from her. He stared down at her for the longest moment as a thousand emotions crashed over Leni. "Who are you?" she asked in a desperate whisper. "You know who I am, Leni. You’ve always known." *** "Danny?" A look of joyous disbelief transformed her features, and for one crazy moment, Cade thought it was going to be okay. She took a step toward him, and then she was in his arms, and he was holding her close. So close it was hard to breathe, but Cade didn’t care. He never wanted to let her go. His eyes filled with tears, and he squeezed them closed. He had never thought to feel this way again. Had never thought he would hold Leni like this again. Wiping away her own tears, she drew back and searched his face. "It is you," she whispered in wonder. "I can’t believe it. I don’t understand. How — " "Shush." He knew she needed an explanation and he would have to give her one, but not now. Not yet. The truth would bring a whole new set of problems, but for now, for one moment in time, he had his wife back. He pulled her into his arms, but something had changed. Leni wasn’t quite as pliant, wasn’t quite as joyful as she had been a moment ago. She hung back, still studying his face. "Why?" The word was softly spoken, but there was an edge of anger in her voice. "I can explain," he said, just as softly.

465

"Can you? You can explain why you let me think you were dead all this time? Why you let me grieve for you? Why you let me live with the almost unbearable guilt of having asked you for a divorce on the night I thought you were killed?" "You can explain why for three years, you left me in a living hell while you...while you..." She seemed overcome with fury all of a sudden. She tore her hands through her hair. "While you were doing what?" "Leni, please calm down — " "Calm down?" she all but screamed at him. "Don’t you think I have a right to be upset? Oh, God, when I think of all the nights — " Cade felt the tremors at the same moment she did. He was watching her face and saw her eyes widen as they both glanced at the roof of the tunnel. Dirt sifted down over them. Cade threw down the candle, and grabbed Leni’s hand. "Come on!" He managed to flip on the flashlight as they raced through the narrow passage. An avalanche of rock and dirt tumbled into the tunnel behind them. The air grew thick with dust, but they kept going, running as fast as they could away from the collapse. Finally, as the air began to clear, Cade slowed their pace. But if he thought the new crisis had bought him a reprieve, he was dead wrong. When he turned back to Leni, the look on her face told him everything. Told him just what the last three years had cost her. Told him that there was a very good chance he’d lost her forever this time. "Why?" was all she said before she slid down the wall and began to cry.

Danny was alive! A part of her had never felt such intense elation, but even in that first moment of wonder, the sense of betrayal had already set in. He’d let her think he was dead, and Leni didn’t think she could ever forgive him for that. Still, even in her anger, she found it difficult to keep her distance from him. She felt the need to touch him, to reassure herself he was real and this wasn’t some kind of crazy dream. But if she touched him...if she let herself want him again... Cade tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. "Don’t touch me!" "I’m sorry." He rose and gazed around in frustration, as if not having a clue what to do or say. "I’d like to tell you what happened," he finally said. She sniffed, wiping her nose on a tissue she found in her pocket. "I can’t wait to hear it." He came back and sat down beside her. "Everything the police told you was true. My cover was blown, and a hit was put out on me. My car did go over an overpass that night, but I somehow managed to climb out of the wreckage before the explosion. When I came to in the hospital, I knew I was going to be a wanted man for the rest of my life, and worse, your life could be in danger as well. When the feds offered me a deal, a new identity in exchange for what I knew, I took it. I had no choice. I was moved to a series of safe houses the first year, and then I was let go, with a new identity, but very little else. I settled in Denver for a while, then L. A., then Montana. For three years, I’ve been drifting, because the one place I wanted to be was the only place I couldn’t go." "Why didn’t you tell me?" Leni cried, caught up in the urgency of his story in spite of herself. "Why make me think you were dead?"

466

"Because it was the only way to convince them I was dead. These people are ruthless, Leni. If they’d suspected I was still alive, they might have come after you to get to me. I couldn’t take that chance." "Might have," she said slowly. "But you didn’t know for sure they’d come after me. You let me think you were dead because of what might have happened." "You wanted a divorce, remember?" he asked grimly. "You didn’t want to be married to me anymore. I thought it was the best way of setting you free. Letting you get on with your life. At least if I was dead, you’d have my pension. The city had to give it to you, because it would have looked suspicious if they hadn’t. It was the only way I had of taking care of you." "You thought I’d want money that came from your death?" she asked incredulously. "I haven’t touched a cent of it." "I guess I should have known it. That sounds like you." His gaze was suddenly tender, but Leni didn’t trust it. She turned away. "You can’t imagine what my life has been like for the last three years. The hell I’ve been through." "I have some idea, believe me." His voice grew harsh again. "Besides, I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought you wanted to be on your own." "What I wanted was my husband back. I didn’t want to be married to a stranger, a man who was hardly ever home, and when he was..." Leni trailed off, the pain of remembering almost too much to bear. "You changed so much." "I know. I lost sight of who I was. What I was. I got so caught up in living a lie, I didn’t know what the truth was anymore." "Why did you come to Rio Rancho?" she asked him. "To finally tell me you were alive?" He shook his head. "I didn’t think you’d recognize me with all the surgeries I’ve had since the accident. Even my voice has changed." He touched his throat. "I didn’t plan to interfere in your life. I just wanted to be near you. Even if you were with someone else. I told myself I could deal with that, but seeing you that first night with that deputy. And then Cantrell — " "Jake Cantrell? He’s just a friend. So is Glen Reardon." "Are you saying there’s no one in your life?" Leni’s gaze met his. "There’s no one," she said. "And that’s the way I intend to keep it."

They’d moved on, and for the last several moments, Leni hadn’t spoken a word. Cade couldn’t blame her. She was probably still in shock. Probably still angry and hurt, and he wanted to believe that she would come around in time. She would understand why he’d done what he had. Why he’d had no choice. But Leni was a proud woman, and she could be stubborn as hell. Besides the hurt, he’d abused her trust in him, and that wasn’t something that could easily be repaired. He stopped for a moment, and lit one of the candles he’d stuffed in his coat pocket earlier. The wick caught, the flame danced to life, then went out. Cade struck another match. It went out before he had time to light the candle. He glanced around. The air in the tunnel was colder. A draft was getting in from somewhere.

467

"I feel cold air," he said. "So do I." Leni moved up beside him. He wanted to take her hand and pull her forward, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome the contact. "Let’s keep moving. Maybe there’s another hole somewhere ahead of us." Thirty or 40 feet ahead, the air grew almost frigid. The tunnel had collapsed again, and a wall of rock blocked their way. But toward the top of the boulders, the night sky glimmered with stars. "Look!" Leni started to hurry toward the opening, but Cade held her back. "We need to be careful," he warned. "We could start another cave-in if we loosen the wrong rock." Leni nodded. "What should we do?" "We’ll have to climb up. There’s no other way. But we’ll do it one at a time. You go first. You’re lighter than I am," he said when she started to protest. "If my weight shifts the rock, then we’ll both be trapped in here." As carefully as she could, Leni began to climb. The boulders at the bottom were stable, but toward the top, the rocks were smaller, and once or twice she unwittingly sent a shower of dirt and gravel tumbling down on Cade. With something of a shock, Leni realized that she thought of him as Cade, not Danny. He was the same man, and yet he wasn’t. The last three years had been torture, and she wasn’t certain she could ever forgive him for that. But at the same time, she’d seen the evidence of his own pain, and not just physically. He’d suffered, too. He’d been lonely, too. It was possible he’d been through an even darker hell than she had. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She had to concentrate on climbing toward that opening. Pulling herself up and out of the tunnel. She was almost there! The cold night wind blasted against her face as she struggled through the opening. Leni lay on the ground for a moment, unable to believe she was finally out. She was finally free. But Cade was still trapped inside. She rolled over and peered down the hole. "Cade?" He’d left the candle on the floor of the tunnel, and Leni could see him as he climbed toward her. At the sound of his name, he glanced up. And the rock shifted beneath his feet. Leni gasped as she saw him fall, and she reached down to try and grab him. But he was too far away. And before she could lean down any farther, the pile of rocks came crashing down on him. *** Leni heard the telltale snap of a dead twig a split second before a voice spoke from behind her. She whirled as the white-haired man stepped carefully out of the shadow of a boulder, his rifle at his side. But it was the other man who held his gun on Leni. He cocked the trigger as he eased over the rocky terrain toward her. "You didn’t think you could get away from us that easily, did you, Red?"

468

"Where’s the other one?" the white-haired man demanded. It took all of Leni’s willpower not to glance at the hole. "He’s dead. He was buried in the cave-in." He pointed to the opening with the barrel of his rifle. "See if you can spot him down there," he said to his partner. The other man knelt at the opening and shined his flashlight inside. "He’s not moving. I think he’s dead." A fist of dread closed over Leni’s heart. No! Not again! She couldn’t lose him again! "Go down there and make sure," the white-haired man ordered. "That fool rancher almost got away, thanks to you. Don’t make the same mistake with these two." The second man took a coil of rope from his shoulder, fastened one end to a boulder, then dropped the other end into the hole. Within seconds, he’d disappeared into the abyss. "Cade, watch out!" Leni screamed. She tried to run to the opening, but the white-haired man grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground. In the next instant, a gunshot sounded from below, and for a second, Leni felt as if her own heart had stopped beating. Terror surged through her, and then a dark rage came over her. "No!" She lunged toward the white-haired man, but he stopped her with a rifle butt against her shoulder. She fell hard against the frozen ground, the breath knocked out of her. She was going to die. Leni knew there was no way out of this, but she almost didn’t care. Cade was dead. What did she have to live for? Revenge, a little voice whispered inside her. The white-haired man smiled down at her, as if he’d read her mind. "You let my friend die back there. Now it’s time to pay up." He lifted the rifle. "I’m going to enjoy this." Leni didn’t close her eyes, but gazed at him steadily, almost defiantly. "You won’t get away with this. There are men in town right now looking for you." "They won’t find me. They never do." Leni watched, breathless, as the man’s finger squeezed the trigger. She heard the sound as it echoed down the mountain, and for a moment, after he’d fired, she wondered why she felt no pain. And then, as if in slow motion, he tumbled backward as a hand closed around his ankle and jerked. Using the rope, Cade pulled himself up out of the hole. But before he could get to his feet, the white-haired man had regained his balance. He swung the rifle around as Cade sprang toward him, and the two went crashing to the ground. The rifle between them, they fought viciously. To the death. Then suddenly, the ground shifted beneath them as they rolled toward the opening into the tunnel. The white-haired man clung to Cade for a moment, then screamed as he fell. Leni rushed toward Cade. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed his arms and helped him over the edge a split second before dirt and rock collapsed inward, sealing the opening — and the white-haired man’s fate. Breathless, Leni and Cade found their way into each other’s arms.

469

"Leni, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry," he muttered, over and over. "I didn’t think I had a choice." She closed her eyes. "I didn’t think I could ever forgive you. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to trust you, but when I thought you were dead...again..." She trembled uncontrollably. "I don’t want to lose you a second time. I couldn’t stand it." "I’ve changed," he warned her. "I’m not the man who lost his way from you, but I’m not the man you married, either. Danny Crowe is dead. He has to be." "I know. And a part of me will always miss him. He was my first love, but — " Cade lifted a brow. "But?" "You’ll be my last." And then, after a long moment, they rose to their feet. Cade took Leni’s hand, and with nothing but moonlight to guide them, they started down the mountain together.

470

His Perfect Neighbor by Heather Reed One talented sculptor, one sexy baker, and a quirky grandmother bent on setting up her granddaughter make for a sweet tale!

Chapter One Chris Edge plopped onto the only piece of furniture in his new loft apartment...his bed, and sighed with great appreciation for the warm sticky buns he'd found in front of his door this morning. A small smile spread across his face, revealing a soft dimple in his left cheek. He knew he'd made the right decision to move from the dinky apartment building in downtown Seattle to the art district near the harbor. Where else would he have felt comfortable eating white chocolate chip cookies he'd found outside his door on a Monday morning? Then there were the brownies that were left on Tuesday, and the bite-size cupcakes that had been there on Wednesday. Of course, it didn't hurt that he'd also received a note with today's treat--a short and simple, "Welcome to the Neighborhood" scrawled in a feminine script. Those few words had given him a clue as to who'd been leaving the goodies. Well, that and the smell of soft jasmine wafting up from the pretty pink stationary. It had to be the lady next door. In the week since he'd moved into one of the two apartments above Precious Treasures, he'd not seen anyone enter or leave the apartment across the hall. Then again, he'd really not been looking all that hard either. When the realtor had met him to sign the lease, he'd vowed to finish his work before exploring his new neighborhood. If he hadn't subscribed to the paper, he probably would have never even found the sinful baked goods. Chris finished the last bite of his breakfast and glanced around the sparsely furnished room. His dark eyebrows drew together as he wondered what he could do to repay the lady's kindness. As he picked up his torch, the perfect idea came to him. The new aquarium would open in two days, and he needed a date for the reception. No, not a date. That idea might not sit well with his neighbor given that they'd be living next door to each other for the better part of a year. He'd simply explain that it could be just a nice, neighborly outing between friends. With his plan firmly in mind, he went to work on the finishing touches of the dolphins that would be the crowning touch of the enormous water fountain welcoming people to the tranquility of the new glass aquarium.

Chapter Two At the sound scraping in the hall, Chris jumped to his feet and headed toward his door. He quickly ran his fingers through his wet hair, and looked down at his worn t-shirt and kaki shorts. Probably not the best way to meet a neighbor, he thought wryly, but after several hours of hot, intense labor, he'd felt the need for a cool shower. He assured himself the casual clothes would also help add a sense of security to his invitation for a not-really-a-date, date. Seconds later, he lifted his hand to knock just as the door creaked open. It took a minute for Chris to adjust his line of vision. When he finally looked down, he found a small, wrinkled face smiling back up at him.

471

At first, he was thrown. He almost forgot why he'd been about to knock in the first place. Then he remembered and with a mental shrug decided her age didn't diminish her act of kindness toward him. "Hi, I'm Chris Cameron. I live next door." "Yes, yes. The new boy. I've been meaning to come by and say hello to you. I'm Eleanor." Eleanor jutted her hand out and grabbed Chris', pumping it up and down several times before letting go. With a slight hiss of air, she smiled. "Strong hands. Means you know how to use them. That's good." Chris smiled. The spunky-haired, bright colored clothes wearing woman reminded him so much of his late grandmother. He immediately decided spending an evening with her would be a lot of fun. "Well, you see Ms. Eleanor, a sweet lady has been leaving me these delicious sweets for the past week and I just had to come by and say thank you for them." "Oh, now, that's a nice boy." Eleanor patted his hand. Chris tilted his head to the side, and used the charming dimple he'd been blessed with to explain his proposition. "So, do you think the nice lady would allow me to invite her to a friendly dinner and the new aquarium opening on Friday as a thank you?" "Friday, you say? Well, now, that's tomorrow and a bit of short notice." Eleanor paused, squinted her eyes and bit her bottom lip. "We'll see what we can do. How about if she meets you downstairs at six o'clock sharp?" Chris smiled. "That would be great."

Chapter Three At five minutes until six, Chris paced the short walkway between the foot of the building's outside stairs and the gravel driveway at the rear of the building. His agent had called shortly before he'd had to leave, and announced there would be a mini press conference before the unveiling of his dolphin fountain. Being in the spotlight had never been ideal for him. His palms sweated, his heart raced, and, on very rare occasions, he broke out in hives. Before he had time to worry further, the door at the top of the steps opened. The moment he looked up, his breath caught in his throat, his mind cleared, and for a brief second he was sure his heart had stopped. All he could do is watch, open mouthed, as the beautiful lady descended the stairs. Faintly, he wondered who she was and why she'd been upstairs, but decided he really needed to focus his remaining time before Eleanor arrived going over his speech. But when he would have turned back to pacing, he couldn't. He'd caught the scent of jasmine. "Hi." The lovely lady brushed her cinnamon colored hair across her right shoulder and reached out her hand. "I'm Regina. Your neighbor." "Uh..." Chris took her hand in his and stared into her bottle green eyes. "My neighbor?" Regina grinned sheepishly, and Chris noticed the slight cleft in her upper lip. "Yeah." "So Eleanor is..."

472

"My grandmother. She owns the building and antique shop." Regina extracted her hand from his and smoothed her skirt. "She's a bit of a character. I understand you came by yesterday to thank me for the baked goods." "Yes. But I thought--" "She allowed you to think that it was her. I'm sorry. I just found out this afternoon what she'd done. Normally, I'd have found out sooner and could have possibly saved us both some discomfort. I've tried to explain to her that she can't accept or set up blind dates for me, but…" Regina shrugged. Chris shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "So, does that mean you won't accompany me to dinner and the opening?" "Do you still want me to?" Chris heard the surprise in Regina's voice and grinned. "Why wouldn't I?" Her eyes twinkled as she looped her arm through his. "No reason. Shall we go?"

Chapter Four Dinner went by quickly. Chris found that Regina owned her own bakery just a few blocks from the building. She explained the treats she'd left of the mornings were leftovers from the evening before, and that if she ate all that she didn't give to the homeless shelter downtown, she'd weigh a ton in no time at all. Chris had calmed considerably by the time they arrived at the aquarium. The dread he'd felt over the press conference had disappeared. During his brief speech, he kept his eyes focused on Regina and made it through without even an awkward moment. The unveiling of the fountain went smoothly, and there was a great deal of applause when the lights shimmered across the blue tinted steel. As they neared the building, they noticed a light shinning through the front window of Precious Treasures. They could see Eleanor milling around with a duster, and both turned to each other with a smile. Chris walked Regina to her door before taking both of her hands in his. "I had a wonderful time. But now I have one more debt to repay to my perfect neighbor." At her puzzled look, Chris tilted his head toward the floor. Regina nodded, then smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

473

Midnight Propositions By Jean Brashear Priscilla Smith liked schedules and order and her very safe life plan. She had a practical boyfriend and their relationship was exactly on track. The romantic part of her—the part that loved romance novels and the idea of being swept off her feet—was kept rigidly in check. Until she met Remy Doucette. He was sexy and devilish and unsettling. He was messy and wild and he drove a motorcycle. He made her crazy. In short, he was absolutely, one hundred percent…perfect for her.

Chapter One Priscilla Smith lined up four pencils two inches to the right of the legal pad centered on her pristine desk blotter. "I got held up in traffic. I need the MacMillan file." Her boss, attorney Jordan Parrish, rushed into the office. "In your top tray, green label to indicate the case is reactivated," Priscilla said. "Here." Jordan plunked down a steaming cup of tea before her. "A peace offering." "Why?" Priscilla glanced up into the other woman's sleepy, satisfied smile. Some poor man was wearing a matching one, most likely, but he didn't realize Jordan had an advanced degree in love 'em and leave 'em. "Because I knew you'd save my bacon. Even though you disapprove of my behavior." Priscilla pursed her lips. "It's not my place…" Jordan's husky laugh rolled out. "How long have you worked for me?" The phone rang. Three years, five months, six days, Priscilla thought as she reached for the receiver, tapping the bottom left edge of her blotter to square it with the desk edge. "Ms. Parrish's office, Priscilla speaking. How may I help you?" "Well, now, sugar, that depends," said a lazy, amused voice. Priscilla sat up ruler-straight. "Mr. Doucette." "Now, chère, I thought we agreed on Remy." She ignored that. "I'm at work, Mr. Doucette." "I know that, honey, seein's how I dialed you and all." Oh, she could just see him, the annoying man— mischief snapping in those thick-lashed, dark eyes, the shock of shaggy black hair forever falling over his forehead. Making her fingers itch to push it back into place. Jordan shifted, reminding Priscilla of her presence. Priscilla hunched her shoulders and half turned. "What may I help you with?" she said primly. "Have dinner with me." "Dinner?" Priscilla lowered her voice. "Why?"

474

"'Cause we need to discuss your body." Her mouth dropped. "Remy!" "That's better, sugar. No more of that Mr. Doucette foolishness. After all we've been through together…" She gasped, then began coughing. When she could get a breath, she whispered furiously. "We have not been through anything. You—you're my mechanic." And a menace. A gorgeous one. "A transmission overhaul is a pretty intimate relationship, chère. And I am the one who found those panties.…" "I explained to you that my, um, lingerie fell out of my laundry basket." "That's your story, and my maman would swat my behind for arguing with a lady." The husky chuckle drove her crazy. And he'd argued with her nearly every second since they'd met—when he wasn't flirting. "So about your body…I have a proposition." "I'm hanging up right now. You are no gentleman. We will not speak of this again." "I take my body work real seriously. The only fellow I'd trust with your vehicle is available tomorrow, so I need your car." "My…car?" Innocence rang in his sexy-as-sin voice. "Why, chère, what did you think I was talking about?" She hung up on him. Jordan's eyebrows rose. "Well, well, what have we here?" "Don't you have an appointment?" "Wild horses couldn't drag me. You actually hung up on that man, my perfect Priscilla." Her generous mouth curved. "And you're blushing. Who is he? And what happened to good ol' Dentist Howie, the future fiancé?"

Chapter Two Priscilla busied herself brushing potential dust motes from her desk, postponing having to answer her boss's question about her boyfriend…who wasn't the man who'd just invited her to dinner a moment ago on the phone. "Howard is quite fine," she finally said. "He's taking me to the symphony tomorrow night." "How…suitable." The devil gleamed in Jordan's gaze. "Have you let him kiss you yet? Is he any good?" "Howard is a gentleman." Unlike a certain mechanic she knew. "Oh, dear," Jordan said, sipping her coffee. "The dentist doesn't rate a kiss even after, what, six months?" "Eight months and ten days. Not that time is a factor."

475

Jordan chuckled. "This is me, kiddo." She gestured toward her assistant's computer. "Somewhere in there, neatly tabbed and probably cross-referenced, you have a plan. And a schedule." "Being organized makes life more manageable." "So is Dr. Howie on target for the proposal? Have you picked out schools for your future kids yet?" There's nothing wrong with doing research, Priscilla thought darkly. The phone rang again. She stared at it as though a rattlesnake lay coiled at her feet, forked tongue flicking. "You going to get that?" Jordan asked, grinning. "I'm looking into getting caller ID today." But she picked it up. "Jordan Parrish's office—" "We got disconnected, sugar. You should have someone look at those phones." Priscilla hung up again. Stared at Jordan and dared her to comment. Nothing stopped Jordan Parrish. Just like a certain mechanic she knew. "So tell me about this Mr. Doucette. Remy, right?" Jordan's eyebrow arched. "Yum. Sexy name." "He's no one." Priscilla nudged her blotter slightly to the right. Grinning, Jordan strolled out the door. "Seems like no one has somebody around here all worked up." She glanced back. "I already like him better than Howie." "Howard," Priscilla corrected. Jordan only chuckled as she headed down the hall. *** Remy Doucette leaned back in the ancient office chair, motorcycle boots propped up on the scarred desk, and laced his fingers behind his head. So Miss Priss hung up on him, did she? Twice. He chuckled. Damned if the tidy little blonde didn't make him want to mess her up. A lot. She was so very much not his type, but hell if he knew why he couldn't just leave her alone. She'd researched him with the Better Business Bureau, she'd primly informed him when she first came by to inspect his repair shop to see if she'd allow him to work on her oh-so-sensible sedan. Inspect. Him. He'd had a mind to throw her right back out in that first instant. After all, he turned down work all the time and never had to advertise. He worked when he wanted and took time off nearly as often. Him and his Harley, hitting the road to wherever his fancy took them. But she'd stood her ground, even when he'd told her he wasn't interested in her business. Didn't back down even though he towered over her by a good foot, oh, no. She'd put those dainty little lady hands on her hips, that fluffy bow deal tying her high-necked blouse spinster-tight, and proceeded to chew him out like some combination of schoolmarm and nagging mother. And that was before she'd seen his office. He grinned at the memory. She'd gone dead white at the first look. Hell, he always found whatever he was looking for—eventually. But the topic of finding things was a sore spot at the moment. His brows snapped together at the thought of the sales tax auditor who'd wrecked his day. Which was why he needed Miss Priss's help.

476

Remy glanced at the phone and considered a third call, just to hear that bossy little voice again. He actually did have a trade to discuss. But maybe he'd just show up at her office instead. Him and his Harley. Oh, yeah. Now that would be fun.

Chapter Three Have dinner with me. Priscilla heard his voice again, low and rich, velvet sliding over sensitive skin. I have a proposition. Good grief, what was she doing? He was rough and annoying and uncivilized and… She sighed and rested one cheek on her fist, staring at nothing. Sexy. Delicious. Tempting as no one had ever— "Penny for your thoughts," that same voice said from the doorway. She jolted, leaped to her feet. "What are you doing here?" He leaned one broad shoulder against the door frame, his lean, muscled body filling up the entire space and looking so…so… A slow smile spread over that fallen-angel's face. Oh, that beautiful mouth, that lean, muscled body. Her stomach jittered, but when his dark eyes locked on hers… "I'm picking you up for dinner." Sex on steroids, that's what he was. Not that she liked that sort of thing. She much preferred someone not so…so… Oh, dear heaven, what was he doing to her? But she couldn't seem to make her voice work to ask. Even if she would. He prowled toward her like some jungle cat, some…something and she was…she was… "So we can talk about your body." One dark eyebrow lifted. "And my proposition. Remember?" It took too many seconds or years or eons for her to stop being gobsmacked by the sight of him and hear his words. "My…" At last she managed to yank herself out of slow-melt mode. "Stop that." "Stop what, sugar?" "Don't play the innocent with me. How did you get in here, anyway?" "I walked?" "Quit that, I mean it, Remy. You—you…player. Don't toy with me." "Sugar, I'm real serious, I swear."

477

As if the man was serious about anything on earth. "That." She stabbed a finger at him. "That's what I mean. You think you can just waltz into my office and say things like that. Well, just because you're some kind of sex god doesn't give you the right—" Dark eyes went hot. He straightened and began to move toward her. Oh. My. Stars. She clamped her mouth closed. Then opened it again. "I mean— I didn't mean—" she stammered. A slow, sensual smile spread. "Why, Prissy, I don't know what to say." But he did. He always did. She stood frozen in place as he rounded her desk, bigger than life and twice as handsome. He crowded her personal space until his eyes were level with hers, his gaze straying to her mouth and back. Then again. She could not breathe. There it was, that acre-wide chest covered only by a black cotton T-shirt that clung to every ripple of muscle and she was…she couldn't…she… "Priscilla?" came another voice from the doorway. A man's voice. Oh, dear. She tried to respond, to find the words to answer, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the dark one that consumed her thoughts, her entire field of vision. Her head swam. "Easy now, chère." Strong hands clasped her arms, gently settled her in her chair. "Breathe, sweetheart." "What on earth is going on here?" Howard demanded.

Chapter Four "Howard," Priscilla said weakly as she glanced at her red-faced boyfriend in the doorway. "Who are you?" he barked at Remy. "What are you doing with her?" Priscilla tried to rise. Remy kept one hand on her shoulder and took his time turning to confront the man whose skinny frame was several inches shorter than his own. "You first. Who the hell are you?" "Get away from her. Priscilla, who is this ruffian? Shall I call security?" Ruffian. Remy couldn't help grinning. Priscilla leaped to her feet. "He's not a ruffian, he's…" Her sidelong glare was like a poison dart from a pixie. "He's here to talk to me about my car. This is Remy Doucette, my mechanic." "Oh." Mr. Vanilla frowned. "What's wrong with your car? Didn't he already finish the transmission?" "He needed to discuss some, um, body work." Her cheeks went scarlet.

478

"Actually, Ms. Smith and I are having a business dinner," Remy interjected. "I'm here to pick her up." Priscilla's head whipped around, her eyes wide. "Remy!" "Business dinner? With a mechanic?" Disbelief coated the distaste in the bland guy's tone. "She's agreed to a proposition I made to her—to help me organize my files in exchange for repairs to her car. Very frugal of her, wouldn't you agree?" The man nodded. "I guess so…" Priscilla was gaping at Remy. He merely cocked an eyebrow at her. "So what are you doing here?" Remy asked. "And who are you?" "I'm Howard Poindexter. Priscilla's dentist." "Dentists make house calls?" He glanced at Priscilla, who was shooting daggers at him. "Well, we, um, we also date." "I hadn't heard that about dentists. That they date." Remy frowned as Miss Priss stepped hard on his toe. Not that it hurt, not with such slender feet and for sure not through motorcycle boots. As a matter of fact, it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. The evening hadn't even begun, and already he was having a great time. "So is this a house call or a date?" Beside him, Priscilla was seething. He wondered exactly when she'd lose control and start bossing everyone around. Not long, as it turned out. "That's inappropriate, Mr. Doucette. Howard is probably here to surprise me, and I'll be going out to dinner with him." Howard's mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Remy would bet his bike Howard had never once surprised her. Remy wasn't waiting for him anyway. "Oh, now, chère, you promised me. I mean, I'm in real trouble, and you wouldn't want me to lose my business, would you?" She whirled to face him, eyes wide. "What do you mean?" "Honey, I'd rather not discuss my private affairs in public." He cast his eyes down, layering it on thick. "It's pretty humiliating…" Bingo. Blue eyes went soft with shame. She touched his arm lightly. "It's fine," said Dr. Milquetoast. "Mr., uh, Doucette doesn't owe me an explanation." Damn, man, where's your pride? No way Remy would back down like that if some guy was moving in on his woman. "I was simply nearby, visiting my CPA. Anyway, Mother is expecting me for dinner." He paused. "Though I suppose you could have come with me."

479

"Oh," said Priscilla. "Well, I…" Suddenly Remy felt sorry for her. She deserved a lot better than this loser, respectable though the guy might be. "Listen, man, I appreciate your understanding. I wouldn't want to give up a chance to spend an evening with her, if I were you. It's generous of you to help me out." He crossed the office and shook the man's hand. "Let me just walk you to the elevator. Least I can do." A small squeak of outrage followed him down the hall as Remy waited for the elevator door to close on the good doctor. When he returned, Priscilla whirled on him. "I wouldn't go to dinner with you if you were the last man on earth."

Chapter Five "I wouldn't go to dinner with you if you were the last man on earth." "Now, chère, you know you don't mean that." Priscilla advanced on him and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You have a lot of nerve, Remy Doucette. First you assume you can simply drop in and disrupt my work, then you sabotage my love life, and you think I'm going to dinner with you?" "Love life?" he echoed. "With…him?" Priscilla saw red, even as she reminded herself that getting upset created heightened levels of stress which resulted in increased cortisol which could lead to— "Sugar?" "Don't call me sugar or chère or—ooh!" She started to pace, but that was not productive behavior. To calm herself, she began to file. "Look, chère…" Remy walked up beside her. "I mean, I'm sorry if you really wanted to go with Dr. Milquetoast." "Stop that." She slapped one hand to his chest, registering the hard muscle, the smooth, warm.… She shook her head and tried to focus on reading him the riot act, but her fingers flexed, and she wanted to stroke over his wide chest and down his flat belly… Oh, my, did he have a six-pack? Of course he did. Not that she cared. "Stop what?" he asked. "Hmm?" She stared up into his eyes. They were a deep, deep brown—so dark they seemed black from a distance. And there were flecks of amber in them, like butterscotch chips in a very rich brownie, one of the fudgey ones she adored but never let herself— "Honey, I'm sorry." Priscilla recoiled. The very last thing she needed to do was get lost in this, this…rake's eyes. And that thought made her look away because the term was too accurate. He should be a pirate or a daredevil duke or…something!

480

She really had to stop reading those romance novels. They were so unrealistic, after all. Men didn't actually sweep you off your feet and steal your senses and make you want to— Remy grasped her shoulders. "Are you all right?" Priscilla's eyes snapped open, and she became all too aware that her body was within inches of his and that every part of her felt his nearness, the heat of him, the— She launched herself backward and collided with the filing cabinet. "Ow!" Her ankle gave way, and she started falling. Remy caught her, swept her up as though she weighed nothing. "Are you hurt?" He held her in his arms and shouldered his way into Jordan's office, then deposited her on the sleek contemporary sofa. "Let me look at that ankle." "I'm fine. Don't…" But oh, his hands were warm and strong, yet gentle, as he examined her ankle and removed her sturdy pump. Then his fingers stroked along her instep… Priscilla gasped. "You're hurt. Lie back." She quickly shifted to sitting. "I'm not hurt." But she was tingling. Definitely tingling. "I'll take you to a doctor." He started to gather her up again. "No! I'm fine, I'm just, uh, I'm…" At that moment, she heard her boss's voice. "Priscilla?" She squeaked and scrambled to rise, but Remy wouldn't let her. And that was how Jordan found them, Priscilla lying on the sofa. A dark and gorgeous man stroking his hand up her leg. "Why, Priscilla." Jordan grinned. "I'm so proud of you." She started toward Remy, hand outstretched. "Hi, there. I'm Jordan Parrish, and you are clearly not boring ol' Howie."

Chapter Six Remy rose and took the offered hand of a drop-dead gorgeous woman with a mile and a half of legs and a killer body. "Remy Doucette." Beside him, Miss Priss was struggling to stand. "Sit!" He turned his attention to her. "You're hurt." "Oh, I am not, you big ape. Get out of my way." She shoved at him, but when he didn't budge, she simply slipped around him and walked to the door, pointing toward the hall. "And get out of my office." Her gaze shifted to her employer's. "Jordan's office, that is. Only it's Ms. Parrish to you." Beside him, Remy heard her boss chuckle under her breath, and he spared her a glance, noting her amusement. He switched his gaze back to Priscilla, who was drawn tight with tension. "Now, chère… I was just lookin' out for you."

481

Jordan snorted, and Remy recognized her as a kindred soul. He should be saving his attentions for a woman who clearly knew the score, someone who understood all about playing the field as he was certain Ms. Parrish did. She was much more his type. But for whatever godforsaken reason, the tiny tyrant in the doorway had a hold on him. He held up his palms. "I'll just wait for you downstairs, sugar, 'cause I know you wouldn't break a promise." Priscilla's eyes widened. "I didn't make any promises—you assumed. Now get out!" He turned to Jordan. "Is she always so difficult?" Jordan grinned back at him as Priscilla uttered a muffled shriek. "I don't have any trouble with her—must be you." "Aw, she really likes me, she's just shy about saying so." He strolled toward the doorway, pausing in front of the blonde currently shooting death rays from her eyes. "And I know she would never let me down, seein's how I'm in real trouble." Blue eyes faltered. "You're really in trouble?" "I am, chère." He didn't tease now. "And you're the only one who can save me." Uncertainty softened her stance. "You're just messing with me again, right? Because you take a perverse pleasure in doing that, though I can't understand why." That sweet rosebud mouth was surely going to be the end of him. Coupled with worried blue eyes…Miss Priss packed a punch. He almost felt guilty, except that he did need her help, and for whatever misbegotten reason, he also wanted to spend time with her. "I do tease you, chère. You seem to bring out the devil in me." He drew one finger down her nose and realized how much he wanted to keep going, to trace her lips first with his finger, then his tongue. He reminded himself that this was not the time or place. That he was counting on her good nature and kind heart—and, okay, her terrifying sense of organization—to rescue him. But he was going to help her out, too. With her car, yes, but more importantly, by keeping her from a terrible mistake. Namely Dr. Milquetoast. "Have mercy, chère," he said softly. "I really do need you." Then he withdrew and gambled. "I'll be downstairs."

Chapter Seven Priscilla watched Remy leave—to wait for her in the lobby—afraid to straighten from the door frame for fear her knees wouldn't hold her. "That," said her boss, "is one fine piece of man-flesh. If you don't have dinner with him, you aren't half as smart as I thought." Have mercy, chère.

482

I need you. Her lips were tingling, for heaven's sake. "Priscilla?" She snapped back to the present. "Um? What?" "I'll shut down your computer. You go powder your nose." "Oh, no, I couldn't…" She started straightening her desk, putting pens in their slots in her center drawer, casting a longing glance at the To Be Filed basket. "Priscilla Smith, if you don't get out of here in the next five seconds, you're fired." "What?" She blinked. "You can't— I don't…" Jordan hitched one hip up on her desk. "I'm going to speak very slowly. Put. On. Lipstick." She paused, then leaned forward. "Go. Find. That. Hottie." A broad smile. "Now." "But I…" Jordan's eyes narrowed. "Scram. But don't rush. Never hurts to make a man wait a little." "Oh, I couldn't possibly…" "I know, Miss Punctuality, that it will probably be a permanent black stain on your soul, but just this once, be five minutes late, okay? Trust me." Jordan waved her off with a smile. Priscilla grabbed her purse and scooted down the hall, heading for the bathroom. Once inside, she rested her hands on the counter and stared at herself in the mirror. He was a sex god. One fine piece of man-flesh, indeed. So what did he want from her? He was surely only toying with her. Seriously, what could he see in her? She was…cute, that's what people said. Well, when they weren't saying she was bossy or too uptight or, as Remy himself had declared more than once, a pain in the behind. Except behind wasn't the word he'd used. She wasn't a siren like Jordan, who was much more the sort of woman he'd be attracted to. She cocked her head, considered. But he hadn't spared any real notice for Jordan, had he? She didn't know if she believed he was really in trouble—he didn't seem worried, but then he never took anything seriously. But dinner with Remy… No. It wasn't on her schedule yet to fix the body damage to her car from that jerk who hadn't paid attention in the parking lot, and it would be foolhardy to get ideas about a sex god when there was someone perfectly reliable like Howard who fit in her plans and… She remembered how Remy had reacted when she'd told him that she was involved with Howard. Love life? With…him? She grimaced. There was nothing wrong with Howard. Well, not that much. And he was a dentist. Their children would have excellent teeth.

483

But Remy had swept her into his arms and carried her off…okay, not to Tortuga or to the ducal quarters or his vampire lair, but…he'd lifted her as though she weighed nothing. Touched her and made her skin…hum. Priscilla shivered, then pressed her lips tight and snapped her purse shut. She had to be insane to even think about meeting him downstairs, even if she could somehow believe that a man like him might ever be attracted to a woman like her. Not that she was attracted to him—her polar opposite, no. But, a little voice inside her whispered, just once, what would it feel like to take a leap into the unknown? And forget being sensible?

Chapter Eight She wasn't coming. Not that he should be surprised. Miss Priss was far too cautious to accept his challenge. Probably just as well, Remy thought as he lounged against his bike. It wasn't as though he couldn't organize his records himself if he wanted to. But he'd started to picture her there in his office. Wrinkling up her nose, tsk-tsking about every last thing. Probably sighing out loud and lecturing him with that finger she'd jabbed into his chest. He'd come real close to snatching up that finger and nibbling on it. Sliding his tongue over her skin to see if he could elicit that little gasp again, the one that made those big baby blues get even bigger. He'd bet he could. But for whatever godforsaken reason, he was pretty sure he might not want to stop there. So, no. Anyhow, she probably would have marched her pert little behind into his office, condemned it a disaster zone and then have had the nerve to make Boudreaux get out from his favorite spot underneath the desk. Now, there were some things in life that were sacred, and one was a man's dog. No way would he let some supercilious, bossy little woman terrorize his dog. Boudreaux might have been willing to gamble, though. Heaven knows why, but that dog loved Priscilla. He made a beeline for her every time she was in the shop, hound dog ears dragging, long tongue ready to bestow a sloppy, devoted kiss. Remy grinned at the memory. Priscilla had shuddered a little every time while trying discreetly to dodge his dog. But in the end, she always broke down and let the old guy slobber all over her shoes, scratching his head while he was doing it. "Where shall I meet you?" Her voice came from behind him and nearly startled him off his bike. He worked hard to hide his delight. "Now, chère, what kind of a date would I be if you had to meet me?" "This isn't a date," she said stiffly, her hands folded all proper at her waist. "As you told Howard, it's a business dinner." She sniffed. "And I would appreciate it if you would explain to me right now exactly what you want from me." He couldn't stem a slow, wicked smile. "Well, now, chère, that is a complicated question." "It's nothing of the sort. You said you need my help, and I insist on knowing the particulars this very minute."

484

"I see." Languidly he rose, very aware that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. "I'll explain, but I insist on taking you somewhere more comfortable to do it." Her pupils went dark as pitch—wasn't that interesting? "Get on." He picked up his extra helmet, glad he'd strapped it on at the last second, and offered it to her. She took it automatically, gazing at his bike as though it were a mixture of cotton candy and guaranteed damnation. "I couldn't possibly…" But she tugged at her lower lip with those perfect white teeth Dr. Milquetoast was in charge of. The very reminder only made Remy dig in his heels. "Afraid?" Her head whipped to his. "Of course not." She shrugged. "Though surely you know the statistics on motorcycle accidents. This is a death machine." He couldn't help a bark of laughter. "Oh, chère, you do tickle me."

Chapter Nine "You know I'm right about this death trap. My car would be much safer than your motorcycle." "You always choose safety?" he challenged, then relented. "I'm a real good driver, sugar, and I don't take chances with what's important. I swear I'll treat you like you were my sweet little ole granny." Except his grandmother was almost six feet tall with the sharp tongue of an asp and the devil's own temper to go with it. He adored her. Priscilla's back went ramrod straight. "I'm not your grandmother." She poked him in the chest again. "Nor am I a staid spinster or an insufferable prig." For a second there, he could swear there were tears in her eyes. So he did what he'd thought about and captured that finger. Brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss to it, watching how those pupils grew huge again and her lips parted. His body reacted with a speed that knocked him back on his heels. Teasing Priscilla was one thing…getting hard over something so tame was another matter entirely. Remy was about to call a halt to everything. Walk away so he could think—or at least shake this off. But at that moment Priscilla's fingertip brushed his mouth, and she looked at him with those big blue eyes. "All right." "All right?" he echoed. She drew a deep breath and nodded. "I've never ridden a motorcycle before, and I never thought I would, but…" She shook that bouncy mane of hers, and stuck out that sweet rounded chin. "I would very much like to try." *** So that was how Priscilla found herself with her legs spread, her flared skirt hiked halfway up her thighs and her arms wrapped around the rock-hard abs of a bad boy. And wishing she were less sensible, foolish enough to divest herself of the helmet so her hair could fly free in the wind.

485

He took a curve going down a hill, and she leaned with him as he'd instructed, feeling her stomach swoop as if she were on a roller coaster. Priscilla realized she was laughing. Oh, sweet heaven, had she ever done anything more fun? Soon Remy turned off the highway and began climbing one of the twisting roads of the hills surrounding Austin. She idly wondered where they were headed, but the views that winked in and out of sight took her breath away, so for once in her life she just let herself enjoy the ride. They came to a halt at the foot of a driveway, and Remy circled the bike around. The unobstructed view made her gasp. "Wow." He removed his helmet and studied her while she scanned the astonishing vista she'd only caught glimpses of from the road. "You like it?" She took off her own. "Incredible." She glanced around. "Thank you. The view is beautiful." His gaze ranged over her features. "It sure is." Priscilla shivered a little as his head lowered. She opened her mouth to speak… He never gave her a chance. Once his lips touched hers, she forgot whatever she was going to say as she found herself being thoroughly kissed in a manner she'd never in her life experienced. His touch was sure and potent, his mouth a feast of spices and sizzle, of an unexpected sweetness mingled with the bold taste of mind-stealing temptation. For precious seconds, Priscilla stopped planning and managing and simply…existed. Slowly he ended the kiss, and she thought he looked a little surprised himself. She sighed, sorry to be so practical. "We'd better go. The owner might not like us being here." "The owner won't mind." "You don't know that." "I know I don't care, chère." And that was the difference between them. He'd dare most anything, while she'd spent most of her life playing it safe.

Chapter Ten Remy escorted her inside the barbecue joint and asked the hostess to give them a spot on the deck overlooking the creek. After they'd eaten their meal, Miss Priss stirred her iced tea with downcast eyes, skittish as she'd been since he'd kissed her. But she'd definitely kissed him back, oh yeah. She was a funny mix of prude and, he was beginning to suspect, a dash of well-hidden daredevil. So what had made her so cautious, so intent on precision? He noticed the way she'd already lined up her fork and knife exactly flanking the plate and neatly folded her empty sweetener packet. It made him want to tuck her under his shoulder and put the world on notice that nobody better mess with her.

486

"So why do you suddenly care about organizing the files you've assured me don't need it?" she asked, startling him out of that damn fool notion. Didn't he recall how she regularly bossed around half the known world? She wouldn't welcome his protection. He bought a few moments while taking a sip, then lifted one shoulder. "It's like I told you, chère, the best man to do your body work will be available tomorrow. He's pretty much booked solid but found a free day this once." Her brows rose. "But I didn't ask you to help me out, and that repair wasn't on my schedule yet." "Maybe so, but are you gonna lose out on the best guy, when I know it makes you crazy to be driving around with your car looking beat-up?" "You're not answering my question, Remy. What kind of trouble are you in, or was that just for Howard's benefit?" He exhaled, then tapped his glass impatiently. "Seems there's this government man who is doing random audits on sales tax receipts." A smile flirted on her lips, but she managed to lock it down. Those blue eyes were twinkling, though, damn it. She kept her voice carefully neutral. "And you can't find what you need because your office looks like a bomb went off in it." "That's harsh, chère." She gave up the fight and grinned. "No, that's justice." A peal of laughter overtook her. "So Mr. I've-Got-ItHere-Somewhere needs my help." "I don't know. Maybe." He frowned. "Of course you do." She cocked her head, eyebrows lifted. "You have to ask me, Remy." "Maybe I'll do fine. I can find stuff. Eventually." She laughed. "Come on…it won't kill you." "You want me to beg, don't you?" "I wouldn't mind." He huffed. "Damn it, Priscilla…" "Oh, come on, big tough guy like you? A little humble pie is the least I deserve after you made so much fun of my initial reaction to your office." She shuddered. "If I agree, you'll have to leave the door open, though. I'm scared to death of what's lurking underneath all those piles." "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" "Very much so." "I thought you were sweet," he grumbled. "Underneath all that bossy." She only smirked. "I'm waiting…" She examined her fingernails. Suddenly her eyes narrowed as if a thought had just struck her. "When's this auditor coming?"

487

Remy looked past her head. "He mighta said somethin' about Friday." "Friday?" she shrieked. "This Friday?"

Chapter Eleven Remy shifted those broad shoulders uneasily. "It won't be that hard. He said he'd go through it all himself. I just need to gather up stuff." "Over what period?" "Um, the last three years." Priscilla closed her eyes. "And how do you fill out your sales tax reports? Where do you file everything when you're done?" At the slightly paler cast of his skin, she shook her head. "You have filed your reports, right?" "Of course, sugar. I'm not a lawbreaker." She couldn't stem a decidedly unladylike snort. "Uh-huh." "You wound me, chère." He clasped one hand over his chest, the fingers lean and strong and easy to imagine touching her— "What?" She realized he was still talking. "What did you say?" "I said Cooter helps me. Every year we sit down with a bottle of—well…" His grin was quick mischief as she yelped. "Kidding, chère. Though it's not a bad idea. Government reports are a misery, that's for sure." But there had to be more to this. "So if you've filed your reports, you should have your receipts filed with your copy, so you don't really need me to…" His head was shaking sorrowfully. She put her elbows on the table and covered her eyes. "Go ahead, tell me. I can take it." "You sure, honey? 'Cause, I mean, Boudreaux didn't mean to make such a mess chasin' that cat all over my office…" Priscilla couldn't stem the helpless laughter, part hysteria because he might be telling the truth and part pure amusement at what she could only hope was mischief. Dark eyes shining, Remy rose and came around to her, holding out his hand. "Maybe I'd best just show you." With an easy strength, he lifted her from the seat and tucked her into his side, then strolled toward the door. Priscilla leaned into him and savored the guilty pleasure of that powerful body against hers, having a sneaking suspicion that horrors awaited in Remy's office but that somehow everything was always more fun in his presence. "I'm not going to ask if you're pulling my leg." She glanced up at his handsome profile and barely resisted a sigh. "There you go, chère. I always knew you were too smart for me." His gaze locked on to hers. "And anyway, I have better things in mind to do with those legs." Oh, if only… But gorgeous men like Remy Doucette didn't lust after tidy women like her. She'd do well to remember that, and anyway, he was not part of her game plan. "You remember about Howard, Remy." He traced a finger down her nose, then over her lips and chin and down her throat. She shivered. "Howard is not what you need, sugar." For once his voice was mostly serious. "And you are?" Was that her voice, so husky?

488

"How 'bout we try another kiss, and you can tell me?"

Chapter Twelve Remy bent his head, casting her into intimate shadows while he laid siege to her mouth and made everything inside her quiver. "Oh, chère, you drive me crazy," he muttered, and snugged her against the front of him, giving her a feel of every glorious inch of muscle and man. Priscilla's arms rose of their own accord and wrapped around his neck as she opened her mouth to his. Remy swore softly and yanked her up off her feet, never breaking the kiss. She was so lost, so electrified, so mesmerized— "Get a room, you two!" Someone whistled as a car drove past. Remy broke off abruptly and set her away from him while he stared. Priscilla held on as her head swam. "I—I'm sorry, chère." He raked the fingers of one hand through his thick hair, then exhaled in one powerful gust. I'm not. But she couldn't let herself say that out loud, especially not when he didn't feel the same. So she drew herself up straight. "Perhaps you'd better take me back." When he started to speak, she turned away and instead headed for the bike that had been so much fun only an hour ago. This time she put as much distance between their bodies as possible, the ride a torment, his nearness a constant reminder that they were a completely unsuitable combination. At the first stoplight, his strong arm reached backward and pulled her against him. "You're messin' up my balance." She gritted her teeth and tried not to feel her breasts against his muscled back, her legs spread wide, her thighs scorched by the heat of his, and the intimate part of her… Don't think about it. You'll be at home soon with a good book and a cup of tea, snuggled in your bed. How very sad that was. She was mostly okay with her life and she was making good progress with her longrange plans, but… None of them had included being kissed by Remy Doucette. Having him sweep her up in his arms or hold her or… She wanted to weep. And wasn't that just silly? She couldn't seriously have imagined that a gorgeous man like him would actually want her. Nor did she want him, not if she had one iota of sense. Remy Doucette was a scoundrel, and he would lay waste to her careful plans like a child tossing blocks all over the rug. A man like him could never understand the chaos of her childhood. Anyway, she'd taken charge of her life, hadn't she? She was no longer at the mercy of a mother who flitted from one man to another, barely pausing for breath, forgetting her daughter every time infatuation took hold. Nor had she continued to hope for her father to return from his new family and suddenly want the girl he'd dubbed too serious and too sickly.

489

She wasn't sick now. She took rigorous care of her health, walking two miles per day and religiously taking aerobics twice a week. Priscilla was so busy inside her head that she didn't notice their location until the motorcycle halted beside her car. As quickly as she could manage, she decamped from the bike and removed her helmet. "Thank you," she said with all the politeness she could muster. "It was…" What? Fun? Well, yes, mostly—amazingly so. Frightening? That, too. Liberating? Where had that thought come from?

Chapter Thirteen What did she expect from him, standing there, looking all stiff and polite and…confused? "It was…" she began again, then halted. Remy's seldom-used temper began to stir. He'd apologized for the kiss, hadn't he? For pawing her in public, ready to take her right there in the parking lot and do all the things to her that stuffy little Miss Priss would surely hate. Only she'd kissed him back, hadn't she? Whimpered as her body was glued to his, her tongue tangling with his… Then she'd refused his apology and stalked off, riding behind him poker-stiff like she'd be contaminated by the very same physical contact she'd seemed to like a whole damn lot on the way to dinner. Only perversity had made him yank her close again. Okay, and wishing to rewind the night's events. Except where would he start erasing? The shy doubt on her face before she manned up and decided to try the bike? The wonder as she gazed out at the view from his driveway? The owners might not like us being here. Actually, the owner had been thinking about driving on up the hill and heading straight for his bedroom so he could relieve some of this…what? Ache. Stone-hard ache. But not only that. Remy was scared half out of his mind that tenderness was involved. That Miss Priss had somehow wormed her way much too close to his heart. "Well," she said brightly. "Thank you for dinner." She held out a hand for him to shake like some business associate. When he only glared at her and kept his own hand by his side, she faltered. "I, uh…" She chewed at that glorious lower lip that was better suited to a concubine. "When were you thinking you wanted to start?" "Start?" he echoed. Then the old Miss Priss emerged, rolling her eyes. "The audit? Gathering the information?" "Oh. That," he responded stupidly. "I don't know."

490

She glanced off to the side, worrying at that lip again and costing him another slide in his sanity. Then she snapped ramrod straight. "I'll follow you over—or you can follow me. Either way." "What?" He frowned. "Why?" Those slender hands fisted on her hips. "Remy, that office was a disaster the last time I saw it. If Boudreaux's been chasing a cat…" She shuddered dramatically. "Well, there's no time to waste. If the auditor is coming on Friday, I may need to take vacation time. This could get ugly." He stared at her. "You're…coming? To help?" "Focus, Remy." She poked him in the chest again, and he wasn't sure he'd ever felt anything better. He hadn't screwed everything up. He would have more time with her. "There is not a moment to waste." She thrust her helmet at him and did a crisp about-face. "I'll see you at the garage." Remy watched his salvation walk away, those sassy little hips swaying with every step. Then he grinned. She was sure something, his Miss Priss. He fastened down the spare helmet and watched as she got into her very sensible sedan and drove off. Then he gunned his bike and followed.

Chapter Fourteen Priscilla pulled up in front of the office attached to Remy's garage. It was nearly nine-thirty at night—what on earth was she thinking? But she knew. Even if Remy was a sex god and completely out of her league, he'd always taken great care with her vehicle…and with her. Oh, he teased her mercilessly, but always with a fondness that more resembled that of a big brother, certainly. She'd wanted a big brother for as long as she could remember. Not Remy, though. She frowned. Maybe she had been fine with that before he'd kissed her, but not now. No, tonight she'd experienced something she'd only read about in books: desire, the kind that scorched your insides and made your mind go blank…at least until it started screaming More. More, more, more. But he'd apologized, blast him. Even seemed a little, well, angry, or at the very least miffed. His bike rumbled to a halt beside her car, and Priscilla cast off her musings. Remy was a friend, a perverse one, yes, ornery and mischievous, but…fun. A bright spot in her life. He needed help now, and she would give it. He unlocked the front door and led her inside, flipping on lights as he crossed the small reception area toward his office. "Hey, buddy." Boudreaux woofed, accepted Remy's hand rubbing the top of his head—then spotted Priscilla and charged in her direction, skidding to a halt and nearly stepping on his own ears as he butted her hand with his head and started sniffing her legs, strings of saliva whipping around with each movement. "Boudreaux!" Remy ordered. "Leave her be."

491

Boudreaux sat on her foot and leaned his big head against her thigh, his raised glance mournful. Priscilla swallowed her squeamishness for the inevitable mess the dog would make of her and bent down, stroking his head. "Hi, Boudreaux." "Now you've done it. You'll never get rid of him." She glanced up. "He's sweet." "He's slobbering on your shoe." Priscilla shuddered faintly. "Don't remind me." Then she dragged her foot from beneath the dog, inhaling deeply. "Okay. I'm braced. Let's see how bad it is." "I did some picking up." Remy gestured, and she followed him inside. And stifled a scream. By picking up, he meant that he'd piled papers on top of each other or stuffed them in boxes. She approached the nearest stack like a prisoner awaiting the first slice into her flesh by the cat-o'nine-tails. The top page was a parts order from…four years ago? She closed her eyes, then gingerly used one finger to reveal the second page. A time sheet for an employee. She sighed. "I told you I can get this pulled together." "Within this century?" She scanned his office then, with a scowl, whipped around and looked at the first garage bay, the one he used. She pointed. "We'll use your workbench." "My workbench?" he roared. "Oh, no, chère, a man's work space is sacred." "Files should be sacred, too. Do you want my help or not?" "I don't know." His expression was both pained and horrified. "While you're thinking about it, grab a pile and follow me." She yanked up the closest one and stalked out of his office.

Chapter Fifteen To protect himself, Remy grabbed another stack of papers from his office and followed. When she started moving his tools around on his workbench, though, he tossed the stack of papers on the floor and grabbed her hands, then pointed to a safe distance. "You. Over there." His tools were all carefully placed so that he could immediately put his hands on whatever he needed. He took several minutes to enlarge the open space, muttering under his breath about how much trouble it would be to set up again for morning. "You could—" She stepped up beside him. He rounded on her. "No." "I was just trying…" Those big blue eyes seemed almost wounded. He had asked for her help, after all.

492

But he really wanted to order her out of his work space. No one touched his tools. She's helping me, he reminded himself. And exhaled. "All right." He faced her. "What now?" She began to pepper him with questions about the various types of paperwork involved in his business— invoices, orders, estimates, etc. Then, God help him, she pulled sticky notes out of her purse. The woman carried sticky notes like other women carried lipstick and perfume. Lips, he thought. Her lips, to be exact. He stared at them while she was talking. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Have you heard one word I've said?" "Um…" As she shook her head, he lectured himself. She is not your type. She would drive you nuts in a week. She already has her life planned. His body didn't seem to care. He tossed aside all rational thought and closed in on her. Laid his mouth on hers right in the middle of a sentence. She gasped. Pushed lightly at his chest. He should stop. He should. He would. In another minute or two. "Remy…" But instead of yelling no at him or shoving him away— Miss Priss pressed her body against his and started kissing him back. *** Oh, my. This was wrong, this was crazy, this was…heaven. Little shivers tap-danced up and down her spine as her nipples reacted to the feel of his body against hers, then all Priscilla could think about was getting closer to that gorgeous frame. All those muscles, all that heat, and he was gripping her hips in his big hands, locking her tight in his arms while his mouth slid down her throat and his… Boudreaux barked. Priscilla snapped out of her trance enough to realize that one of her legs was wrapped around his thigh, bringing her intimately against his…oh, my… Oh. My. Remy's muscles weren't all that was impressive. She froze in place, only too aware that she should be scooting straight for the door, hopping into her car and heading home for that cup of tea. That harmless book. But oh, how she so very much wanted to stay here. To go back to that dreamy state where she couldn't think, could only respond. She wanted to wrap her other leg around him, climb right up his body, lift his shirt up so she could get her hands on all that beautiful skin… "Chère," he murmured in her ear. "Honey, we need to stop."

493

"Hmm?" Instead of letting go, she tightened her grip on his neck. "I, uh…" he said quietly. Too quietly. As though he was trying to be kind. "I apologize." "Oh." Humiliation propelled her backward so fast she nearly fell. "Of course. I—" When he steadied her, she slapped at his hands. Remy withdrew, lifting his palms. Priscilla stared at the floor, walking as carefully as she could manage to the bathroom, where she could barely look at herself in the mirror above the sink. Who was this woman, hair all mussed, pupils so enormous? Good grief, she'd been all over him like some clinging vine, some pitiful woman starved for affection. Then he'd apologized—for the second time, remember?—and that look on his face, so uncomfortable, so…gentle, letting her down easy. Oh, God. She was an idiot. Priscilla put her face in her hands and wept.

Chapter Sixteen Remy raked his fingers through his hair and cursed roundly. What on earth had come over him? But he knew. He wanted her. Bad. It didn't seem to matter that she was bossy and prim and opposite him in nearly every way. Miss Priss made him hot. He wanted her so desperately he could howl at the moon. She'd laid waste to his self-control yet again, and he'd cut loose, let himself go as he never had before. She'd responded, oh yeah—with an unpracticed passion he'd be thinking about for a very long time. But she wasn't fling material, so he'd fought for control, somehow managed to stop devouring her. Now he couldn't forget her horror when she'd realized what she was doing. By being careless, he'd embarrassed her. Hurt her when she would never hurt a fly. Boudreaux nudged his leg, and Remy looked down into the dog's sorrowful eyes. "I know. What am I gonna do now, boy?" One thing was for sure. He couldn't let her help him. He'd created the mess in his office and even if paperwork wasn't his favorite thing, he could fix this himself, and he would. He'd send Priscilla home—well, take her home, actually, because she'd come here in good faith and he would still get her car fixed tomorrow. That was only fair. But he would leave her alone after that. Strictly business. Let Dr. Milquetoast—Howard—have her. No matter how everything in him rebelled at the thought of her wasting herself on someone who didn't know the first thing about how to make her moan. Or have any kind of fun, for that matter. Remy slapped his palms on the workbench. Stop. Do not get yourself all worked up over her again. It's not going to happen, and it's foolish for you to think differently. Worse…he was no good for her. He would do right by her, if it killed him.

494

Which it very well might. *** The woman who emerged from his bathroom was perfectly composed. She still wouldn't meet his eyes, but every hair was in place, the lipstick he'd smudged repaired, her clothing smooth and straight. "All right," she said brightly. "I have a sense of the categories we need, so I'll just write them on sticky notes and we can—" "No." He could see her hands shaking, damn it. He felt like he'd kicked a puppy. "I'm taking you home." "I can drive myself." She turned to go. "No. You have to leave your car." She stilled. "Why?" "Because I'm still fixing it, damn it." She revolved slowly. "Why would you do that?" At last she looked at him, those big blue eyes full of pasted-on calm. As though he couldn't see the hurt peering out beneath the ragged edges. "I promised you I would." One eyebrow arched, and the evidence of even a scrap of push-back made him want to cheer. That's the way, Miss Priss. Good for you. "I promised I would organize your files." Damned if she didn't march right back over and start writing on those sticky notes. Remy was unaccustomed to feeling helpless, but he had absolutely no idea what to do. He stood behind her, his gaze locked on her tender nape, and a powerful, unfamiliar feeling swept over him. Tenderness instead of lust. Lust was so much easier. Priscilla slapped the sticky notes down in a row across his work area, then picked up her stack and glanced at the pile he'd tossed. "Well? We don't have all night." Then she calmly began sorting. Remy frowned. He should send her home—take her home, he amended. Do this himself. It was the least he owed her. What he really owed her was an explanation, but he didn't have the first idea what to say to her. He'd already done enough damage. Remy rubbed at his aching heart, then bent to pick up the papers he'd scattered over the floor.

Chapter Seventeen They worked together in utter silence for nearly two of the most excruciating hours of Priscilla's life. His nearness was torment, but she would not be the one to break. She'd already made a big enough fool of herself, and she understood very well that Priscilla Smith was not the kind of woman who drove men mad with desire.

495

But she was also not a quitter. Furthermore, she was a woman of her word. She expected Remy to start joking around again, probably filled with relief that she wasn't going to ask him to discuss what happened. Men didn't like discussing their feelings or even admitting they had them—she might not be the world's most experienced woman, but she knew that much. Whatever his reasons, the silence was a kindness. Even if it was nearly unbearable. *** "Chère…" Remy said at midnight. "Don't call me that," she snapped. "All right," he said quietly. "But it's late. You have to work tomorrow." He removed the papers she had in her hands. "This is enough." "We're not done. I'll come after work tomorrow night." "No, ch…" He halted and merely shook his head. "This is the lion's share, and I'll finish tomorrow night." "You should have all this on the computer," she couldn't help saying. "It would generate everything you need, receipts, financials, orders, reports…" Her voice trailed off and she glanced away from the kindness in his eyes. "Never mind." She walked around him to get her purse. His business was no concern of hers. He might be an incredible mechanic, but he wasn't the only one in town. She would find someone else, so she never had to see him again. But she would come back tomorrow night, blast it. Priscilla Smith did not leave a job undone. "I'll open my bay, and you can park in here, then I'll take you home." "I don't want…" "I'm not arguing with you over this." Well, that would be a first, she thought. She couldn't find it in herself to fight him. "All right." On the drive home—in his pickup, she was relieved to see, since the motorcycle held entirely too many memories—Priscilla stared out the passenger window and tried not to think at all. *** Remy supposed he shouldn't be surprised at where Priscilla lived. The place was, just like her, impeccable. And sweet. A tidy little house with a painfully neat yard. "Thank you," she said and got out before he could make it around to open the door for her. "Priscilla," he said over the pickup bed. "I'm really sorry." She shook her head once, hard, and kept walking. One day, he realized. His life had been turned on its head in the span of just one single day. When he'd gotten up this morning, he'd never imagined Priscilla Smith kissing the socks off him.

496

Or him making her so unhappy. Feeling so miserable himself. He picked up speed and caught her at her front door. "Priscilla…" Her fingers stabbed the key at the lock once, twice… She dropped the whole ring. When he bent to retrieve it for her, she only stood very still. "Go away," she said, her voice low and haunted. "Please, Remy." The quiet pain in her voice just about killed him. He wanted to explain, but what was the point? He wasn't what she wanted, what she deserved. Still, he turned back twice. Stood there even after her front door slammed. One day. One single day.

Chapter Eighteen Priscilla was late for work for the first time in her life. But she'd had to hide from Remy, who had shown up to drive her and wouldn't leave for the longest time, first insisting that he had something to say to her, then knocking loudly. He even called her cell phone three times, but when she didn't answer, he'd finally given up. He looked terrible. Gorgeous, of course, but…awful. She should be glad. She was, she told herself as she dashed up the sidewalk toward her building. She was nearly an hour late, and she'd hovered a hairsbreadth from calling in sick altogether. But one beautiful man would not defeat her. She had her pride. She and Jordan wound up in the same elevator, her boss casting several curious, worried looks at her but thankfully remaining silent until they got off on their floor. "You okay?" Jordan asked. "I'm fine." Priscilla quickened her pace, nodded at the receptionist, found a smile for the other legal assistants. Jordan, of course, followed her inside. "You are not okay." She set her briefcase on Priscilla's desk. "I will be." Priscilla straightened her blotter, lined her phone up. It would get better. She had to see him only one more time, then all this would be over. When she turned on her computer, her calendar popped up first. Priscilla groaned out loud. She'd forgotten tonight was the symphony. As if on cue, the phone rang. Howard wanted to take her to dinner before the concert. He'd pick her up at six-thirty. She agreed by rote, barely conscious of what she was doing. He'd spent the money already, hadn't he? And wasn't he exactly what she wanted? Weren't her plans falling perfectly into place?

497

After Howard's call, she typed revisions to a brief for Jordan, her gaze flicking to the phone again and again. She forced herself to finish, then picked up the phone and punched in the first four numbers of Remy's garage before she froze, holding the receiver over her breastbone. There was no reason to hesitate. He'd already offered to finish by himself. Honey, we need to stop. He'd set her away from him. Remember that. Don't forget how you felt. Pathetic, that's how. Humiliated. And every kindness that followed had only made her feel worse. She'd gathered herself, hadn't she? Done the work, even as her heart was breaking and she wanted to crawl under a rock? Oh, he was sorry, she believed that. He wasn't an unkind man, and he probably regretted the need to hurt her, but— But. The operative word, the one that said, loud and clear, that no matter how you might get your hopes up or mistake signals like kisses that really meant nothing… Lightning didn't strike. Magic didn't happen. No amount of darting around like her mother had ever got you where you wanted to be. Only goals did that, reasonable goals, and hard work to achieve them. Two days ago, Howard and their children with excellent teeth and the ordered life they would have…those had been her goals. Perfectly good ones. Real. One day with a bad boy, however exciting, was not real. Priscilla started all over again on Remy's phone number. When his greeting came on, she resolutely kept her eyes open and on the wall, not the memories. And she left her message that she would not be showing up tonight, after all.

Chapter Nineteen Remy had the last of the files organized by eight, but he just couldn't leave. Not because he hoped she might still show up, though, oh no. He was thinking about that computer and, and…other stuff. But she did have a point. He could get his office as organized as his tools. Only hardheadedness kept him doing things the way he had been. Including his dealings with women. He should thank her for opening his eyes. For shaming him into seeing that the life he was living wasn't what he wanted, not now. But too late. He stood, kicked his chair in disgust and sent it skidding. He wanted to punch something— preferably Dr. Milquetoast's head. Boudreaux groaned and rolled over. "Sure, easy for you to say. You're not the one who embarrassed her." He stalked around, thinking about all the expressions he'd seen on that pretty face, imagining her dressed up for the symphony, pictured Howie's hand at the small of her back….

498

His hand fisted. She was pigheaded, rigid, bossy…so why did he feel so territorial? It wasn't like he was in love with her or anything. His eyes widened. His chest got tight. No. No way. He could not be falling in love with Miss Priss. He sat down suddenly, scrubbed his face with both hands. Well, if he was, was he going to just sit back and let Dr. Milquetoast have her? Hell, no. So he picked up the phone. *** Dinner was fine. The symphony was fine. At least she guessed they were. Priscilla hadn't actually tasted a bite or heard a note, she realized as she sat beside Howard during the concert. He'd given her exactly the sort of evening she wanted: no drama, no chaos, amiable conversation she couldn't recall, a perfectly groomed companion with superb manners. She was bored senseless. Do not think about barbecue or Remy laughing while he licked the sauce off his fingers. Do not remember riding on the back of a bike and feeling messy and…free. He doesn't want you. Not the way you want him. No. She did not want him. "Excuse me." She left Howard at the intermission and went to the ladies' room. Checked her phone. One message. From Remy. "Chère, I know you think he's what you want, some nice dentist instead of a grease monkey, and I probably should let you go, I know that, but here's the thing…" A long pause. "I'm not going without saying my piece. You get to me, chère, and maybe you were horrified because things were getting hot and heavy with someone like me. I know I should have controlled myself better, but I want you so bad, and not just in bed. I never meant to embarrass you or scare you, though. You just…you drive me crazy, chère." Another pause. "So now the ball's in your court. Your car looks real pretty, and I can have Cooter bring it back to you so you never have to see me again and we'll be done. Or…" His voice went low. "You can show me that sass of yours and come see me tonight after you're done. Let me kiss you again. I'll be here until midnight, sugar. It's your call."

Chapter Twenty By rote, Priscilla found Howard, who escorted her to his own sensible sedan and drove cautiously toward her house as he nattered on about his mother's gout and his accountant's fees and how he might go bold and have his reception area painted blue instead of white— "Priscilla, are you feeling well?" "What?" She yanked herself into the moment. "Of course. I, uh, blue, well…what about orange?" Howard stared at her. "Orange?"

499

"Or lime green. Yes, lime green." The horror on his face… What was she doing? "Ah. You're joking. I get it. Because of course that would be completely unsuitable." Howard smiled and nodded to himself, his eyes safely back on the road. What if I'm not? "Don't you ever feel the need to…liven things up?" "What do you mean? Are you talking about paint?" "No, not paint. With motorcycles or, or…a tattoo." Priscilla tried on that notion. Why not? Tattoos didn't have to be unattractive, she thought to herself. "A tattoo?" Howard yelped. Oops. Apparently she'd said it out loud. "Howard, have you ever considered buying a motorcycle?" "Do you know the statistics on motorcycles? They're death machines." In his disapproving tone, she heard the echo of her own. And Remy's slow, sexy smile as he shook his head. You always play it safe, chère? She always had. Until yesterday. "Turn here," she said abruptly. "It's the wrong direction. Your neighborhood is another mile or so." "I know." "But…" Remy's garage was only two blocks. "On second thought, stop now." She pulled the door handle. "Wait! Where are you going?" "I don't want to be sensible anymore, Howard. I'm sorry." "What?" "This…us… I was wrong. I apologize." "But I thought…" "I did, too. And it's all my fault. I—I want to ride motorcycles, Howard. I might even get a tattoo." "Is this about that mechanic?" His tones dripped with distaste. "You can't be serious." "That's the problem—I've been far too serious. I'm young. I should be doing something crazy." His forehead wrinkled. "Why?"

500

Priscilla leaned into the passenger compartment. "Do yourself a favor, Howard…think of something really crazy and…do it. You're a nice man. You deserve it." "What if I don't want to?" Priscilla shrugged. "Then don't." She smiled really wide. "But I do." She closed the door, hiked up her long skirt— And started running. Remy Doucette had kissed the living daylights out of her, and he'd liked it. She drove him crazy. He wanted to kiss her again. Oh, what time was it? Nearly midnight. She was out of breath when she made it to his garage, relieved to see the light on in his office, to hear Boudreaux's welcoming woof. When the light in the front went on and the door opened, framing Remy's rugged, beautiful body, Priscilla found herself suddenly shy. "Chère?" he said. "That you?" "What if I want a grease monkey?" "What?" "Um…" As he strode toward her, all strength and purpose, she took a little step back. "I said—" Remy yanked her against him. "I heard what you said. Did you mean it?" "Yes," she managed. "What about Dr. Milquetoast, your dream man? He's real suitable, chère. Real…safe." Then she saw his eyes, the naked longing in them that matched the ache in her heart. She traced one finger over his lips and smiled at the heat that flared in his gaze. "I don't want to be safe anymore, Remy. Or sensible." He grinned. "Then you came to the right place, chère." He swept her up in his arms…and into a sizzling, not-at-all-safe, midnight kiss.

501

Naughty is Nice By Tawny Weber Mari Madison wants only two things for Christmas: to help her mother win the town's annual holiday decorating contest and to reinstate her good-girl reputation so that she can start her business on the right foot. Then across the street she spots the best-looking Christmas package she's ever seen…and realizes it's Declan Cole. The man who ruined her reputation in the first place. The man who's sure he's going to win the contest. So sure that Mari and Declan decide on a bet. If she wins, her spot on the nice list is guaranteed. But if he wins…he gets to prove that naughty is nice.

Chapter One Well, ho, ho, ho. Mari Madison gave a little hum of appreciation as she stared across the street at what was, in her considered opinion, the nicest ass she'd ever seen. Leaning one denim-clad shoulder against her mother's porch pillar, she sipped the viciously strong coffee and decided that this was her reward for moving back home to be closer to her mother. "Looks like the Coles are gearing up for the town's annual holiday decorating contest," her mother said from inside the front door. "I'd love to win that someday, but I'm not very clever with the big outdoor display." "I'll bet we can come up with an awesome idea that's guaranteed to win," Mari decided. Her mom had been through so much—a lot of it because of her. Mari's initial solution had been to leave town—out of sight, out of mind and all that. But she'd missed her mom. When she'd heard the only hairdresser in Ponder Hill was retiring, she'd taken it as a sign to come back home. And now that she had, she was going to do her mom proud. So Mari tossed a warm smile over her shoulder and promised, "I'll help. This year will be your year." With another wistful glance and a laugh, her mom warned her not to get too chilly, then returned to baking yet another batch of gingerbread. Mari leaned against the pillar again, eyeing the sexy carpenter across the street. Despite her hot coffee and even hotter view, she shivered. After five years of California living, Ponder Hill, Tennessee, in the winter was a shock to her system. It was freaking cold here. She'd bundled up in a thick sweater under her fleece-lined denim jacket, jeans and two pairs of socks tucked into a sweet pair of wedge-heeled hiking boots. Totally impractical, but a girl had to have priorities. Cute shoes were definitely at the top of hers. The hottie across the street didn't seem to have a problem with the temperature. Like her, he was wearing jeans and boots, although his were clearly for work, not fashion. But instead of layers and a knit beret, he wore a white T-shirt. Not that she was complaining. This gave her a great view of his rounded biceps as he swung his hammer at a big slab of wood. His hair, dark enough to contrast nicely where it brushed the collar of his shirt, gleamed in the morning light. Her gloved fingers itched to test the weight and texture of his hair to see if it was as wavy and thick as it looked. Occupational hazard, she figured. Though the tingle of desire in her belly had nothing to do with being a hairdresser and everything to do with attraction. Then he turned. Mari's eyes focused on the nice fit of his jeans, noting they were just as promising from the front as the back. The tingle heated up as desire intensified. Her gaze took a slow, appreciative slide up his flat belly, over a chest worth sighing about and paused briefly to give a little hum at the impressive width of his shoulders.

502

Oh yeah, they built them nice here in Ponder Hill. Nicer than she'd remembered, even. Anticipation tight, she let her gaze rest on his face. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, giving a little-boy sweetness to a face that was hard planes and masculine angles. Sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jaw and a mouth that just begged to be kissed. Yum. Her eyes met his—and widened in shock. Though she was too far away to see the color, she knew those deep-set eyes were a vivid green, like a grassy field on a hot summer day. Declan Cole. Well, shit. Mari's fingers constricted on the mug. Figured. The sexiest guy she'd seen in years was the one who'd ruined her high school reputation. It looked like paybacks would be topping her holiday list this year.

Chapter Two Declan Cole stepped back from the Christmas display he was building and swiped his hand over his forehead to shove his hair out of his eyes. Definitely time for a haircut. But grooming hadn't been a high priority this month, what with having to return to his hometown to settle his father's estate and then having his family gang up on him to get him to settle here permanently. As he walked around the almost completed manger on his aunt and uncle's front yard, something bright pink caught his gaze. He glanced across the street and let out a low whistle as his body went from chilly to steaming in three seconds flat. Her face was shadowed and her body was bundled in winter layers. But the sexy vibe he was picking up was humming loud and strong. Crazy—he couldn't even tell what she looked like. But she was definitely someone his body wanted to see a little closer. He tossed his hammer on a sawhorse. But before he could take a step, his aunt came out of her house with a steaming mug and a loving smile. "Dec, you've done a great job. I can't believe how quickly it's coming together," she said, gesturing at the various pieces he'd already built. He warmed at the compliment. He wanted this holiday scene to be perfect. Eric and Amanda had offered him and his mom a place to hide a few times when the old man had been on another of his violent benders. They'd been among the few people in town who had believed the wickedly bad Declan Cole was worth a damn. And they were the only reason he was even considering basing his construction business in Ponder Hill. But even love for his family wasn't enough to make him believe it'd work out. Sure, after years as a construction foreman, he could strike out on his own anywhere. But why would he choose a town that saw him as nothing more than a chip off the ole drunken block? "Thanks, Aunt Amanda," he said. His eyes cut across the street again, lingering on the figure on the porch. Maybe he'd just found another reason to stick around Ponder Hill for a little while. "Old Man Hanover must have family in for the holidays," he fished. His aunt followed his gaze. "Oh, no. Marsha Madison bought that house a little while ago after Mr. Hanover went into the nursing home. Marsha mentioned her daughter was moving back around the holidays. That must be her." Declan went from interested to turned on in a heartbeat.

503

Mari Madison. The sexiest woman he'd ever dreamed about. His aunt said something, then patted his arm and walked back into the house. Staring across the street, he barely noticed. Mari had been a sweetheart. Someone who'd seen him for himself, and yes, judged him for his own wild ways. But never for his father's. A couple years behind him in school, she'd been forbidden territory. Except for that one time… Before he could move, she set her cup on the porch railing and bounded down the porch steps. As she crossed the street, his gaze did justice to the gorgeous view. She'd only improved with age. Sunlight-blond hair slid like water under her funky pink hat, and her dark blue eyes sparkled. He had no idea what the hell those things were on her feet, but the rest of her curves were enough to make his mouth water and his body harden. "Well, well," he said with an appreciative grin. "If it isn't sweet little Mari Madison. Here to give me another kiss?"

Chapter Three "I'd rather kiss a frog," Mari said with a sniff, furious that Declan was even more gorgeous up close. Why hadn't he aged poorly, dammit? He'd been so wild, some of that debauched living ought to show on his face. Instead, all he was sporting was healthy color and a five o'clock shadow. At nine in the morning? Hadn't he learned to shave yet? With a rush of lust, she remembered how those hair-roughened cheeks had felt against her soft skin. Which only made her madder. "You ruined my reputation, Declan Cole. Because of you, my life—and my mother's—became pure hell," she accused, stepping closer to glare at him better. Even in her four-inch boots, she still had to tilt her head back. As her gaze met his gorgeous green eyes, she couldn't remember how to breathe, let alone the words she had meant to speak. Why was he so damned sexy? "What do you have to say for yourself?" she finally managed. "Maybe sweet doesn't quite fit anymore," he murmured. Mari knew he was laughing at her and it only made her angrier. "I can't believe anything could have tarnished that perfect princess rep of yours," he continued. "Honor student, homecoming queen, Goody Two-Shoes." "Do you have any idea what people were saying about me?" she asked, the memory of the gossip still making her cheeks burn. "Or worse, what they're still saying?" She recalled the snarky ex-jock at the grocery store the previous day. "Just yesterday some jerk thought he'd get lucky by offering me a ride home." "You're a gorgeous woman. I'm betting a lot of men want to give you a ride." Declan's brow creased and he shrugged. "Besides, all we did was kiss. What's the big deal?" All they did was kiss? Just the memory of that kiss had fueled years of passionate dreams. Wait, he thought she was gorgeous? Mari resisted the urge to check her hair and unbutton her jacket so she didn't look like a denim marshmallow. No! That's how this had all started in the first place. Declan had said something sweet, she'd gotten flustered and accepted his offer of a ride, and the next thing she knew, he'd kissed her stupid and the entire school was claiming she'd slept with him.

504

"The word around town was that we did a lot more than kiss," she said, trying to ignore the thrill tingling all her girly parts and making her squirm. "Everyone was saying that you gave me a lot more than a ride home." "Who cares what people gossip about," Declan dismissed. "My mother, for one." At the time, her mother had been so upset by the rumors, she'd yelled at a woman— very publicly—for repeating them. Unfortunately, the woman had been her boss. Tongues were still wagging about the resulting fight. Mari's mom had lost her job, her spot on the town council and had almost left Ponder Hill over the humiliation. She'd only just regained her financial footing last year. "But now that you're back, you can set the record straight," she decided. That'd be perfect. The wicked Cole boy would not only put Mari's reputation right, he'd redeem her mother's actions. Maybe then she could consider doing something about all of the wild sexual needs he was inspiring in her body. "I don't think so," Declan returned with a shake of his head. Mari stared. "You're kidding, right? You have to tell people that nothing happened between us. It's the right thing to do. You should have done it a long time ago." She didn't know why he looked so pissed. She wasn't asking him to lie. Just to make it clear that she hadn't thanked him for a ride home by handing over her panties. "Obviously you're the one tuned in to all the gossip, so you tell me. When has anyone said I do the right thing?" Never. Mari huffed out a breath. "So? This can be your first time." "Darlin', there's only one first time I'm interested in between us. And it has nothing to do with talking."

Chapter Four Declan didn't know why he was being such a hard-ass about denying the rumor. Maybe because he realized a defense was pointless, especially after all this time. Or maybe it was because a denial would only stir up the gossips. They'd rehash his rep. Talk a lot of shit, dredge up the past and before he knew it, his choice whether or not to stay in town would be made for him. Though deep down, he acknowledged that none of that was true. He'd never cared about what other people thought of him. What bothered him was that Mari was ashamed to have kissed him. Especially when he was desperately craving another taste of her delicious mouth. "You're bad," she said. But she didn't sound disgusted. More…intrigued. That curiosity was as sexy as her very kissable mouth. He wanted her like crazy. Declan had learned a lot about self-control over the years. He understood now that he couldn't always have what he wanted. But Mari made him think of tossing all that out the window and kissing her senseless right here on his aunt's driveway. In fact, he was liking that idea more and more. "If you're gonna worry about gossip, we should really give people something to talk about." He gave her his wickedest grin. When she didn't run, he reached out, slid both hands up her arms and pulled her close. Not close enough, since she was wrapped in twenty layers of fabric, but still within kissing distance. Her pretty blue eyes rounded so big, her lush black lashes almost hit her eyebrows as he lowered his mouth to hers.

505

Delicious. Heat surged. Even though he wanted to devour her mouth, he kept the kiss whisper-soft, with barely a hint of pressure. He expected her to push him away. He just hoped he'd get one good taste before she did. The last thing he figured she'd do was kiss him back. Her tongue met his, spearing fire through his body. Damn, he loved being wrong. Mari's mouth was a sweetly addicting nectar and after just one taste, he was hooked. Their lips slipped together like they were made for each other. A perfect fit, Declan glided his tongue along the delicate seam of her lips, imagining other seams, other lips, other hot kisses as she gasped and opened to him. Their tongues tangled in a hot, frantic dance. Her fingers gripped his arms, nails digging into his biceps in a way that made him groan. He slipped his hands down to cup her butt, then, remembering they were in his aunt's driveway, he quickly moved them back to her waist. After a few more incredible seconds, he gave in to the soft pressure of her hands on his shoulders and pulled back to stare at Mari. Her eyes were a misty blue, fogged with desire and, he was pleased to see, sexual curiosity. He was looking forward to answering any questions she might have. "Was that an agreement?" she asked breathlessly. "Your way of saying you were sorry and you'll help me out?" The heat in his blood cooled instantly. "Is that why you kissed me? To convince me to do what you wanted?" he demanded.

Chapter Five "That wasn't what I was trying to do." Mari's head was spinning; she could barely think straight. Her lips still tingled, sending waves of molten heat swirling down to her belly. When Mari was sixteen, Declan had given her the best kiss of her life. It'd set a high bar for every brush of the lips she'd had since. It'd taken until she was twenty-four for anyone to raise that bar. Didn't it just figure it'd be him again? "We shouldn't have kissed," she decided breathlessly. "There's no way anyone will believe your denial if we're seen making out again." "They wouldn't believe me if I hauled out film footage and played it at the movie theater, darlin'. And since there's no point wasting our time trying to convince them, let's focus on something else." Mari was getting a pretty strong clue just exactly what he wanted to focus on, too. His hands traced a path down her spine to settle under her coat on the small of her back. Despite the cold, his palms warmed her hips as he pressed her closer. She breathed in his scent, male and inviting. The contrast of his hot body and the cool air only added to the surreal sensation as her brain once again checked out and she stood on tiptoe to meet his descending mouth. His lips were soft, his tongue teasing as he coaxed the heat up a couple hundred degrees. He was so freaking delicious. As long as he kept on kissing her, she didn't care what people said.

506

She heard the sound of a car starting up somewhere in the distance. As if she'd been set on fire, Mari ripped her mouth from Declan's and jumped back. So much for not caring. The look Declan gave her—part exasperation, part disappointment—made it clear he knew the reason behind her abrupt movement. She bristled, her chin shifting higher. "I'm not trying to deny my part in that kiss. Or to claim it wasn't…" Incredible. Sexy as hell. Orgasm on a stick. "Nice… But we barely know each other. We haven't spoken in years, so I just think it's a little too soon to get that familiar. Okay?" He arched a brow. "And when do you think it'll be soon enough?" Mari bit her lip, wanting to say that two more seconds would be plenty of time. But she couldn't. She had returned to Ponder Hill to start a new life for herself. To build a business and become a part of the community, something she'd missed in the hustle and bustle of California living. And she was pretty sure the community wouldn't embrace their new hairdresser getting hot and heavy with the town bad boy up against a plywood donkey. And she knew her mother definitely wouldn't. "I think we're getting sidetracked," she hedged, needing to get this back on topic. "I came over to talk to you about those rumors, remember?" "I've got things to do," he dismissed, obviously feeling a little pissy. "You ever stop worrying about other people's opinions, you give me a yell. Otherwise, let's call that our second kiss goodbye."

Chapter Six Pretending he wasn't hurt, Declan turned back to the manger he'd just finished hammering together before Mari's surprise visit. With a grunt, he lifted it upright and set it on the cement to make sure it was even. "You're working on the holiday contest entry?" she asked. He could hear by her tone that she was fishing around for a safe topic. Probably to give herself time to figure out another way to nag him into a town confession. Declan set his teeth and kept his attention on the eight-foot wooden display, ignoring the frustration—sexual and otherwise—clawing through his system. "Yeah. This is the Coles' year to win," he declared, grabbing a file from his toolbox. Wincing a little, he crouched down to take a little off the right side so the manger stood steady. "My mom was just saying she'd love to come in first this year," Mari mused. "I promised her we'd enter together. I'm going to come up with a fun design and surprise her with it." Declan craned his head around to watch her poking at the various wooden pieces he'd built. Angels for the roof, sheep and cows for the yard. The structures for the living nativity Uncle Eric was choreographing for the town. "Are you asking for my help?" He rubbed his chin, wondering at the ethics of aiding and abetting someone in competition with his family. Maybe if the design were different enough…? "I already asked for your help and you turned me down, remember," she said, giving him a saucy look. "I've decorated storefronts and windows before. I can win the decorating contest without you."

507

"Darlin', you haven't got a chance," he told her with a laugh. "I'm a professional carpenter. My aunt and uncle have been working on their design for months now. And the contest is in a matter of days. How do you expect to compete with that?" The gleam in Mari's pretty blue eyes made him twitchy. They'd run in different circles back in high school—so different they might as well have been on separate planets—and neither of them had stuck around after. So Declan couldn't claim he had a lot of knowledge about Mari Madison. But still, there were three things he did know. She was gorgeous. She was sweet. And she was stubborn as hell. That day he'd given her a ride home, it'd been because she'd been trying to change her own tire, despite the fact that she didn't have a tire iron. She'd been so sure she could figure out some other way to get it fixed without having to call her mom away from work or incur a tow bill. He'd had to promise that he'd fix the tire before she got out of the rain and into his car. "Anyone who's a resident can enter the contest. And I plan to win. How I do it is up to me, isn't it," she returned with a smile so sweet it set off warning bells in his brain. "What are you up to?" "I'm just wondering if you're game for a little bet?" Intrigued, he tossed the file back in the toolbox and sunk his hands into his pockets, watching her carefully while she inspected the props, not looking at him. "What's the wager?" "I bet my display will beat yours in the contest." Declan laughed. "Yeah? And the stakes?" She turned and met his eyes. "When I win, you tell the truth about us. And you do it in front of the whole town when they announce the winner of the decorating contest."

Chapter Seven Mari bit her lip as she looked away, scrutinizing Declan out of the corner of her eye while she tried to pretend she wasn't anxious about his answer. She was also pretending she wasn't checking out his package. "And when I win?" he asked, his head tilted to one side so a lock of hair fell over his brow. "What do you want?" she asked, shrugging like she didn't care. She glanced at his hair again, her fingers twitching to touch the silken strands…among other things. "How about free haircuts for an entire year." "I doubt I'll be here that long." "You're not living in Ponder Hill?" Why had she thought he was? Mari frowned, noticing for the first time the Georgia plates on his truck.

508

"Nope. Which means my stakes should be a little more interesting. Especially since the contest competition is fierce this year. Are you sure you're up for it?" She'd decorated the salon she worked at for every holiday. And while she might not have much talent with a hammer, she was hell-on-wheels when it came to a hot glue gun. She remembered the various displays from her childhood and gave a sharp nod. "Of course I'm sure. But if you need any help, you just give me a holler." She offered him her sassiest smile and pointed to her mother's house. "I won't be far." "Living with Mommy?" he teased. "Just until I find an apartment." She arched her brow toward the Coles' ranch house and asked, "You bunking with your relatives?" "Nah. They don't need a third wheel. Besides, the girls are all coming home for the holidays, so the house will be full up." Mari thought of Declan's three cousins. All gorgeous, all talented, all clever. She and Rita Mae had hung out once in a while, but Alison and Layla had been a couple years ahead of her. "So where are you living?" she asked. "At the old man's place. It's been empty for a few months and it's a dump, but I plan to flip it." His words were short, his tone closed. She winced, remembering her mom mentioning Clayton Cole having cancer. He must not have made it. She'd have offered her sympathy, but she knew Declan didn't want it. Still, Mari's heart melted a little. She'd always felt for Declan. Whereas so many people had whispered about what a wild child he was, she'd yearned to bring him home with her and hide him away in her bedroom where he'd be safe. Luckily, by the time she'd hit her teens and had grown brave enough to actually consider doing it, she'd also learned enough to know that if she brought Declan Cole into her bedroom, she'd be the one who wasn't safe. "So what about the bet?" she asked, doing them both a favor and changing the subject. "The bet?" He met her gaze, the look in his green eyes so wicked she took an involuntary step back and wondered where she could find a chastity belt. "I'll take the bet." "And your stakes?" "You win, I give that speech you're so desperate for." After she nodded, he gave her a grin that almost melted her underwear. Then he continued, "And if I win, you make that rumor a reality."

Chapter Eight Almost finished with the music stage, Declan hammered the last LED star in place on the header then climbed down from his ladder. As he descended, his gaze slipped across the street, like it did every five minutes or so. After accepting his bet with a hot look and a nervous nod, Mari had skedaddled across the street and he hadn't seen her since. It was driving him nuts. "Hey there, Declan Cole," said a sultry voice behind him. "Talk about a holiday treat. When'd you roll back into town?"

509

Declan sighed. He should have known the ghost of girlfriends past would show up sooner or later. He turned, raising a brow at the sight. Sylvie Ford apparently didn't realize it was winter. Coatless, her low-cut top was plastered over a set of boobs that she hadn't been sporting when he'd had the pleasure back in the day. Tight jeans tucked into knee-high boots made him wonder if she had a whip hidden in her pants. Big red hair, sharp brown eyes and a smile that told him she'd be glad to let him sample anything he saw completed the familiar package. Mari had been a thousand times sexier bundled in denim and those weird shoes. "Sylvie," he greeted cautiously. "And you're looking even better than ever," Sylvie said, stepping forward to press her double Ds against him. "I'm glad to see you again. We have a lot to catch up on." Not really. Declan just smiled and retreated, glancing past her at the other woman leaning against a beat-up old Toyota. "Dec," greeted the quiet brunette with a sheepish smile. "Hey, Robin," he said, not surprised to see the other woman was still in Sylvie's shadow. "How've you been?' Before Robin could answer, the redhead stepped between them again. "I heard you were helping out your aunt and uncle with the contest this year," Sylvie said, trailing one of her talons down his chest. His body cooling rapidly now that he wasn't working, Declan edged away from her questing fingers and grabbed his coat. Shrugging into the extra layer of protection—from more than the chill—he glanced at the almost finished display. Nothing like the houses he usually built, but it still filled him with a comfortable sort of pride. "That's right. My aunt and uncle have a great idea, they just needed a little of my woodworking expertise." "You're wasting your time. My daddy always wins the holiday contest. You know that. He claims it's because I dress up as an angel and wave at the judges." Declan grimaced. He remembered one year she'd shown him what she wore under that costume. He'd had a hell of a time getting those feathers out of his…stuff. "This is a new year," was all he said, though. "The Coles have got as much of a shot as anyone." "We'll see," Sylvie claimed with a friendly smile. "I just wanted to stop by and say hi. And to invite you to the party over at Mike's Bar to kick off the season. I'll save a seat for you, okay?" He gave a noncommittal shrug, knowing he wouldn't go. Mike's had been his father's favorite drinking hole. Declan didn't want to see it any more than he wanted to see Sylvie naked again. Nope, the only woman he wanted to see naked was Mari, and Mari alone. He glanced across the street again, wondering where the hell she was.

510

Chapter Nine Mari pulled into her mother's driveway, glad to find Declan still hard at work across the street. She bounded out of her Jeep, ignoring the bags of decorations and supplies, and hurried over. She told herself it was to pitch her idea, not because she was becoming addicted to the zing of sexual excitement that he incited. "Here to pay off your bet early?" Declan asked from his perch on a ladder. He'd finished the stage and was now adding touches of holiday glitz. It looked great. But hers was going to be better, she promised herself. "I stopped by the town hall to enter the contest and got to visiting," she responded. Mostly she'd been scoping out possible customers. Even though she'd rented her salon space, she wasn't starting work until after the first of the year. But it never hurt to promote the business a little. And, she admitted to herself, to see if people were still talking about her, Declan and her mother. Which they were. She squared her shoulders, knowing she needed to use that as motivation to win this contest instead of pouting over the unfairness of it all. "Get any good gossip?" Declan taunted good-naturedly. She wasn't about to tell him that they were still good fodder for the rumor mill. She wished people would move on. And they would, once Declan confessed. "The guy who was supposed to work on the gazebo in the town square got hurt last week," she said instead. "Now the council needs a carpenter. You interested?" "No." "C'mon. You'd be great. They could really use help." And if she saved the day by hauling Declan in, she'd be one step closer to regaining her golden girl status with the town. That meant good cheer, friendly faces…and paying customers. "Nah. They don't need me," he dismissed, going back to screwing some doodad into another thingamabob. Mari frowned. "Really, they do. And I'll do my part. I'm not so great with a hammer, but you can teach me." "Let's put it this way," he corrected, still playing with his screwdriver. "They might want help, but they won't want mine." Mari huffed, sending a puff of chilled air around her head like smoke. She was fully aware that the town had treated him like shit. But if he'd just put in some time with them, everyone would see what a great guy he was and quit judging him by his past. "How do you know that?" she asked in exasperation. "If they wanted my skills, they'd ask me." His words were reasonable. His tone was mellow. So why did she think this was a huge deal for him? "I'm asking you to help." "Not a good idea. Don't you remember what happened the last time you ended up associated with me? If I recall, you are still trying to wash that stain away." Mari rolled her eyes.

511

"You should quit being so stubborn," she warned. "Don't forget, Santa keeps track of whether you've been naughty or nice." Declan's laugh filled her with a lusty sort of joy. The kind that said he'd make her laugh just before he sent her screaming over that delicious edge of ecstasy. "Darlin', haven't you heard? Naughty is nice."

Chapter Ten With a real smile on his face for the first time since he'd pulled into town, Declan backed his truck out of his father's driveway, waving to the elderly neighbor, Mr. Roberts, as he went. The old guy gave him a suspicious look, but lifted his hand in return. Was the town over his past indiscretions? Mari said they were, pushing him to donate an hour or two of swinging his hammer, ask around about jobs and feel out the possibilities of sticking around. For a girl who was still running from rumors, she sure had a lot of faith in his ability to face them down. Then again, maybe she just wanted to hang with him. He liked that idea. Especially since he wanted to spend a whole lot of time with her. The woman made him feel things…incredibly sexy, oddly sentimental and just plain good around her. He drove into his uncle's driveway and parked behind his '57 Chevy. He hopped out of his truck, excited to get started. And not just on the display. Then he stopped so fast the coffee in his to-go cup splashed all over his fingers. He ignored the sting, staring in disbelief at the mess that'd been a music stage when he'd left the day before. Puddles of paint had congealed over the splintered wood littered across the lawn. "I was just gonna call you," Uncle Eric said as he came around the side of the house, his face set in grim anger. "Looks like someone got here before we did." Fury surged through Declan. His fist clenched on his toolbox as he battled the urge to send it flying into what was left of his display. "Any idea who'd pull something like this?" Eric asked, adding his glare to the mess. "Just one," he bit off, his eyes cutting to the cozy little house across the street. Sometime since he'd gone home the evening before, Mari had strung lights around the house and decorated the huge pine in the yard. She'd said she wanted to win the contest this year… Apparently she'd been quite the busy girl last night. *** Hot gluing wrapping paper to the giant empty boxes that'd go under her tree, Mari couldn't get Declan's words out of her head. She'd just bet naughty was nice. Especially the way he did it. He'd got her all hot and bothered with just a kiss. What could he do with a little naked action? She fanned herself. She was in the middle of a heat flash when she heard someone stomp up the porch steps to where she was working. She glanced over, her smile sliding away when she noticed how angry Declan was. "Hello?" she said.

512

"Want to explain something for me?" Frowning now, she got to her feet. She had a feeling she'd want to be standing. Or ready to break into a run. "Explain what?" He didn't say a word. He just pointed. Mari stepped over to the porch rail and squinted across the street. It took her a few seconds to realize what she was seeing. His display was a wreck. "You think I did that?" she realized in horror. "Darlin', you're the only one with anything to gain." Looming over her, he blocked the sunlight, his anger enveloping her like a shroud. "Right," she snapped, smacking her hands against his chest to push him away. She'd be damned if he'd try and pull that bad-boy intimidation crap on her. "Because nobody else competing in the holiday contest wants to win." He narrowed his eyes for a second, as if he was considering her words. Then he shook his head. "Not as much as you do." "How did I get dibs on all that ambition?" "You're the one with the most to lose." Mari opened her mouth to blast him then closed it again. "You think I'd go as far as sabotaging your work just to get your confession?" "No." Her shoulders relaxed a little. "I think you'd sabotage my work to get out of sleeping with me." Without waiting for a response, he turned and stalked back across the street.

Chapter Eleven Mari was pissed. Declan didn't give a damn. Refusing to look over at her house, he hauled the ruined lumber off the stage. He kicked aside an empty paint can, sending it ricocheting off a plywood donkey as he hauled the mess over to toss in the back of his truck. "Dec?" Softening his glare, he turned around. "Yeah, Aunt Amanda?" "I'm running into town to get more lights for the display. Do you need me to pick up anything?"

513

He took in everything on the lawn. Other than the irritation factor, the actual damage was minimal. Some paint, a few broken boards. A minor ding to his ego and crack in his heart. No biggie. "Nah, we're okay. It's mostly cosmetic. I'll have things back on track by this evening. You're still gonna win," he vowed. He'd wanted to win when he'd agreed to build the display. He'd really, really wanted to win when he'd bet on the contest's outcome with Mari. But now? Now he'd do whatever it took to make sure they did. "This isn't your fault, you know," she said quietly. "Don't own this obnoxious act, Declan. This isn't about you, it's about someone cheating and being mean." "Could be," he allowed, giving her a grateful hug. He didn't agree, but he didn't want her worrying, either. "How'd you get so savvy?" "Oh, please. I raised Rita Mae. That girl could have given you a run for your money when it came to trouble. And don't get me started on the things Layla and Alison got up to." Declan laughed, just as she'd intended. But as soon as she left, so did his smile. The Cole girls had nothing on him when it came to trouble. Even Rita had been trouble lite. Him? Even when he didn't go searching for it, trouble still followed him. Maybe he shouldn't have accused Mari of sabotaging his display. At first, he'd figured nobody else had anything to gain. But an hour of hauling debris had given him plenty of think-time. Enough to realize that he'd been an ass to assume that Mari was the only person who might have an issue with him. After all, most of the town would probably be happy to see the back of him again. And he'd been even more stupid to believe that Mari would do anything so hurtful. For the first time since he'd stormed away from Mari, Declan glanced across the street. She'd added an inflatable holiday globe to the landscape and was now arranging three-foot-tall candy canes along the walkway. He watched her bend over to wiggle one of the sticks into the hard dirt and gave a hum of appreciation at the way her backside swayed with the effort. He was going crazy with wanting her. Declan shoved his hands into his pockets and contemplated the situation. He could leave things be and let Mari stay pissed at him. That was probably smarter. Or he could go over and apologize. The words might burn his throat. But for another one of her sweet smiles, it'd be worth it. And maybe if he offered to help her hang a few balls, he could finagle a kiss or two.

Chapter Twelve Stupid. Frozen. Ground. Mari growled as she shoved and twisted, trying to work another candy cane into the hard dirt path along the walkway leading to the front porch. "Need help?" With a gasp, Mari spun around, the candy cane still clenched in her fists. The long, dirt-encrusted end of it smacked Declan in that sexy, broad chest with a loud whap. Flecks of mud and grass flew everywhere. Mari slapped her hand over her mouth. Eyes wide, she hoped he'd take her reaction as horror. "First you beat me, then you laugh about it?" he deadpanned, staring first at her, then down at the mess she'd made on his long-sleeved denim shirt.

514

Laughter snorted out from behind her fingers. She shrugged, trying to get control of herself as she watched the clumps of icy grass slide down his chest, leaving behind a dirty trail. Her fingers tingled with the need to follow the same path and see if he was as hard as he looked. "And you really want me to believe you don't have it in for me?" he asked, his eyes guarded as he flicked the last of the debris from his belt buckle. Desire flared under her amusement as her eyes fell to that buckle and the promise beneath it. "I really don't," she promised absently, distracted by the path his hand was traveling. Up those hard abs. His fingers brushed at his wide chest, then skimmed back down to his waist, where he wiped yet more dirt away. She noted there were a few specks on his crotch, too. She swallowed, her mouth desert dry. Maybe she could get those for him? She'd been nursing her anger so well she'd been able to ignore how hurt she felt. But now that the anger was gone, a miserable sadness filled Mari. She'd never have done anything to cause him pain like that. First of all, she'd never vandalize anyone's property. And to do it as a skeezy attempt to renege on their bet? How could he think that? Especially when a part of her, mostly the parts currently warming up her jeans, actually wanted him to win. "That wasn't fair," she said quietly. She was glad that Declan didn't pretend not to understand what she meant. "I know." He shrugged, then tilted his head and gave her the cutest little-boy-bad look. Combined with the wicked gleam in his eyes as he gave her a sexy once-over, he was totally irresistible. And she realized she didn't want to resist him. For once, she wished she could just give in and be as bad as he was. To revel in the delicious delight of doing what felt good. He grinned, as if he could read her thoughts, and continued, "I figure you're so sure you're going to kick my butt in the contest you actually don't need to cheat." "You really do know me," she teased. All of her. And she wanted to know all of him. Her heart warmed. Filled with a joy she didn't quite understand and was afraid to examine too closely for fear of having to admit feelings she wasn't ready to face, Mari held out her hand. Declan eyed her fingers with a raised brow. "C'mon inside," she invited. "I'll rinse that grass off your shirt before it leaves a stain." "Just making sure…" he said, enveloping her hand in his and short-circuiting her brain. "You're inviting me in to take off my clothes?"

Chapter Thirteen Declan stood in the dimly-lit garage next to the washing machine, watching Mari fuss over his shirt. She was attacking the smear of mud with a soapy cloth like it was the anti-Santa. "It's just a work shirt," he protested mildly, feeling a little chilled standing there in only a T-shirt. He'd thought she was asking him in for more than a stain scrubbing, but since they'd been here, she'd been Ms. Clean.

515

Then he caught it. A tiny little sideways peek out of the corner of her eye. A faint wash of color tinting her cheeks. The way her hands trembled while sponging at the stain. Declan smiled, slow and wicked. He stepped closer, so he was inches away from Mari's shoulder, crowding her space. Her fingers squeezed the cloth so tight, tiny bubbles foamed out. Then she froze. He waited. They both knew the question. Despite the raging desire pounding against his zipper, he wasn't going to pressure her. Nor was he going to make it uncomfortable for her to say no. So he just stood there. After three hellishly long seconds, she bit her lip and glanced up at him. He saw the sweet vulnerability in her blue eyes. She didn't ask for promises. But that look told him how easily she could be hurt. Ten years ago he wouldn't have cared. Now? Declan's heart pounded as he reached out to brush aside the long, silky blond curtain of hair so he could press a kiss against the side of her throat. He breathed deeply, taking in her spicy-floral scent. He couldn't offer her a future since he didn't know what his own held. But he could promise that he'd never, ever hurt her if he could help it. As if she'd heard his silent assurance, Mari turned into his arms, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she met his lips. Their kiss flamed quickly, hot and wild as their tongues danced and their bodies pressed tightly together. He slid his hands down to cup her butt, lifting her flush against his throbbing erection. She moaned, her hips undulating in a little circle, teasing them both. He needed more. With a quick glance around to confirm the garage door was closed, he pulled her over to a workbench covered in the makings of a merry Christmas. Declan shoved aside the piles of wrapping paper, ribbon and bits of tinsel and effortlessly lifted Mari to the holiday-strewn bench. He noted the plaque hanging over it, claiming this as Santa's Workshop. "I guess we'll be using Santa's bench to make something other than toys," he teased as his hands skimmed her sides to pull her sweater over her head. His body went rock hard at the sight of her. Her candy-canestriped bra cupped her bountiful gifts, making his mouth water for a taste. He tugged down the satin and groaned. She was gorgeous. "You think he and Mrs. Claus get their frisky on after the elves have gone to bed?" she asked breathlessly, arching her back when his tongue flicked over her ripe nipple. "Santa's never had it this good," he vowed as he unsnapped her jeans.

Chapter Fourteen Hurrying to get naked as fast as she could despite the chill, Mari kicked off her tennis shoes then shifted so Declan could remove her jeans. His hands slicked down the length of her legs as he pulled the denim off. Holding one stockinged foot in his hands, he pressed a kiss inside her ankle, then nibbled his way up to her knee. She was shaking by the time his lips reached her thighs. She reached down, scraping a teasing finger over the hard length straining against his zipper.

516

He gave a growl, and took her lips in a wild, open-mouthed kiss. The next thing she knew they were both naked and pressed against each other. Mari wrapped her legs around his waist, ready and willing to start dancing. But he apparently had other ideas. Declan changed gears from fast to slow, taking her from warm to hot with a single kiss. His tongue traced her lips so sweetly. His hands caressed a tingling path over her body, swirling, teasing. Her heart pounded; damp heat pooled between her thighs. She ground herself against him, needing more. Needing him. It was like an inferno burning low in her belly. The sane part of her brain was freaking out. They were naked in the garage, for crying out loud. On a bench where she now had tinsel stuck to her ass. This was Declan, the baddest of the bad boys who was only in town for a short time. Her heart didn't care, though. This was Declan. Her first crush. The guy whose name she'd doodled in her notebook. Who'd given her a ride so she wouldn't get in trouble. Who made her feel like the prettiest, smartest, most desirable woman on earth. And her body? The only thing her body cared about was the pleasure he was creating. This was Declan. The guy who'd given her the best kiss of her life, and was obviously about to give her the best orgasm she'd ever had. "You're thinking too much," he murmured against her lips. "You're right," she agreed with a sigh. "Make me stop." Accepting her challenge with a quick grin, he kissed her again. His fingers danced down her body, wicked and talented as they slipped into her damp core and swirled away the last of her thoughts. The heat flamed hotter, flared higher as he kissed her throat. Mari shivered. She pressed her hands to his chest, combing through the soft sprinkling of hair that trailed between his pecs and over his belly. Her fingers circled his belly button before tiptoeing lower. He moaned against her breast when she wrapped her hand around him. He bent to grab his jeans and retrieve his wallet. A heartbeat later and he was back, sheathed and throbbing against her body. Mari wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer… Welcoming his hard length with a soft moan. They rocked together, taking each other higher with each press of their lips, each caress of their hands. Without warning, everything spun out of control. Declan's thrusts sped up. Her heart raced. Whimpers turned to groans as Mari's head fell back against the wall and passion exploded behind her eyes. Declan was right, was her last thought. Being naughty did feel nice.

Chapter Fifteen Who knew a night could go so fast, yet every single second could be indelibly imprinted on his memory. Declan couldn't recall ever waking up as happy as he had that morning, wrapped around the purring pleasure of Mari's body. After their tryst on the workbench, he and Mari had gone to his house for round two. Then three, four and five. He'd fallen asleep thinking that life was pretty damned good. Now, a week later, he breathed deep the scents of hot coffee, cinnamon rolls and Mari filling his truck cab. All his favorite smells, he realized with an unfamiliar feeling of contentment.

517

"I told you the holiday committee would welcome your help," she reminded him from the passenger seat. "Did you see how fast they jumped at your offer? If Mrs. Ramsey had her way, she'd have you rebuild the entire gazebo. Probably because she likes looking at your butt." Declan's shocked laugh ended with a wince. He still couldn't believe he'd let her talk him into stopping by Holiday Headquarters, otherwise known as the town hall, to offer a helping hand. The only downside was that she'd spent the whole time pretending they were just friends, instead of a couple who'd spent the night making each other sing the Hallelujah Chorus. But hey, she was trying to polish up her shiny rep. To make her mom proud and to build up a clientele. He got it. And since it was partially his fault she had to do all that polishing, he should get over his irritation. Easier said than done. "No more helping if you're going to comment on old ladies ogling my ass," he warned with a teasing smile. "Well, it is a very nice ass," she said with a wink. "And everyone was thrilled to have you join in." "Not everyone," he remembered. There had been a few guys he remembered from high school who'd protested him pitching in. A couple others who'd held back, avoiding him as if contact could lose them their spot on Santa's good boys' list. "What, you wanted universal love?" she teased, reaching over and curling her fingers around his. No, he thought, turning his hand to hold hers. Mari's was enough. But then terror filled him—had he just admitted that he was falling in love with her? No. This wasn't love. This was deep, heavy, intense…like with a whole lot of great sex. Not the L word. Wondering if he was flat out lying to himself or just delusional, Declan parked in front of his uncle's house and gave the almost-completed display a careful inspection through the window. It wasn't until the tension melted from his shoulders that he realized how concerned he'd been that someone would trash the decorations while he was off playing Good Samaritan. Or worse, while he'd been having yet another mindblowing night with Mari. It seemed Uncle Eric had been right. It was just some random vandal. Nothing personal. Then Mari gave a gasping cry, throwing open the passenger door and flying from the truck. He jumped out, following her horrified gaze. "Sonofabitch," he muttered. He hurried around the truck to wrap his arms around Mari, holding her tight as they took in the kicked-in gift boxes, broken candy canes and dangling strands of busted Christmas lights that had once been her holiday display. Fury pounded through Declan, way beyond what he'd felt when the vandalism had been aimed at him. It'd been one thing to take him on. But now? Now someone was going to pay. And pay big.

Chapter Sixteen The tears burning her eyes pissed Mari off almost as much as the destruction of the holiday display. She bent over, gathering pieces of the kicked-in box that'd once had two stuffed turtle doves dancing over the bow and looked around. One of the doves was hanging from a tree limb. The other was nowhere to be seen.

518

She knew Declan was behind her. She heard him gathering broken candy canes and bits of paper that'd been ripped from the dozen gift boxes under the tree. But she couldn't face him yet. Now she understood how he'd felt. Like someone had punched her in the gut then kicked Christmas-cookie crumbs in her face. "Mari," her mom said, hurrying down the stairs with a trash bag in one hand, a headless elf in the other. "I was hoping to get this cleaned up before you got back." Leave it to her mom to have it all under control. Despite the mess in the yard and the anger still churning in her stomach, Mari relaxed when her mom gave her a hug. Then, with another quick squeeze, Marsha Madison set her daughter aside and stepped around to face Declan. Mari's jaw clenched and she reached out to grab her mother's arm, but she was too late. When she'd left a note saying she wouldn't be home until morning, she hadn't said who she was with. Not because she was ashamed of Declan, but because she'd figured easing her mom into the idea of rumor becoming reality shouldn't be done by a note stuck to the fridge with a "Kiss the Cook" magnet. Declan looked like he knew he was about to be gunned down and, from the stoic expression on his face, was willing to take it. "Mom—" "Declan Cole," her mother said, ignoring Mari's entreaty. "I'm so glad you're here. I heard whoever did this ruined your display first. You poor thing, you deserve a much better welcome home." Engulfed in Marsha's motherly hug, Declan shot Mari a confused glance. She just shrugged. Hey, if her mom wanted to accept him with open arms, who was she to question it? Instead, Mari wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging tight the warm feeling in her heart at the sight of the two people she loved best playing so nice. "Mrs. Madison…" Obviously at a loss, his words trailed off. Mari didn't know if it was being called a poor thing that had him stumped or if it was the loving welcome of her mother's hug. "Well, now that you're here, you can both come to the meeting with me," Marsha said, handing Mari the trash bag and heading back up the porch steps. "I'll get the cookies." Holding open the bag for him to dump his armload of destroyed decorations into, she and Declan exchanged puzzled looks. "What meeting?" she asked. "Amanda and Eric are coming over for cocoa and gingerbread. We're going to figure out who's behind these nasty pranks and put an end to them. We've all invested too much in this contest to let some bully keep us from the prize." Mari eyed Declan as he obediently followed her mother and wondered if she could keep her prize even if they didn't win. Because she was growing seriously attached to him.

Chapter Seventeen Standing at the back of the town hall while the mayor expounded the virtues of the various holiday displays, Declan eyed the townspeople suspiciously. After the destruction at the Madisons', the vandalism had stopped. But even putting their heads together, the Madisons and the Coles hadn't found a clue as to who was behind it. He wished the mayor would hurry up and announce the winner so this could all be over.

519

Except he had no idea where the private bet between him and Mari stood. He'd already had—and given— the pleasure of making their rumor a reality. No matter the contest results, he'd already won. But if he lost, he knew Mari would make him go on stage and make that stupid declaration. He didn't mind, but he sure wished she'd stop letting other people's opinions matter so much. He glanced at her, adorably bundled up and standing a circumspect distance away. He wanted to claim her as his own. Here, now, in front of everyone. He edged closer to her. "What d'ya say we renegotiate that bet?" he whispered into her ear. Her naughty look made him way too hot for a public gathering. "Didn't you already get what you wanted?" "Not quite yet. How about if you win, the deal's the same. But if I win, you get up there and announce that we're a couple." Her eyes rounded. Was that horror in her blue depths? Declan's grin faded. Before he could say anything, though, the mayor called for attention. "Now to announce the winner of the decorating contest." The room fell silent. "This year we have a tie. The Cole and Madison families!" Declan laughed. Declan's aunt and uncle whooped, hugging Mari's mom. Noise filled the room. But not everyone was bitching. Quite a few people came over to offer their congratulations. Some shot them knowing looks as they congratulated Marsha, Eric and Amanda. Either excited or trying to apologize for the hurt she'd seen on his face, Mari gave him a tight hug. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. His eyes met Sylvie's across the room. He blinked at the furious jealousy in the redhead's gaze. Realization hit. He slipped his arm from Mari. Sylvie must have read the intent on his face, because she whispered to the woman next to her then scurried toward the door. He followed, catching up with her before she could leave the hall. "Finally realized what you were missing?" she teased when he grabbed her arm. "You trashed our displays," Declan accused. "Why would I waste my time?" she said, not bothering with quiet. People started staring. "You said it yourself," Declan told her. "You always win. But this year you were afraid it was the end of always." "Like I care about some little contest? I'm having more fun watching you ruin Miss Perfect's reputation again." The way she said that made Declan narrow his eyes. "Again?"

520

Mari joined him. He could feel the fury trembling through her as she pressed against him. "Are you the one who started that nasty rumor years ago?" "All I had to do was say I saw you plastered against stud-boy, here, and the rest was history." Sylvie sneered. "You should have learned that no good ever comes of being involved with Declan Cole. He's trouble. He always has been. He destroyed your reputation in high school and if you stick with him, he'll do it again." Declan's fists clenched as Mari shook her head, but he saw her hesitation. He knew the words were hitting home. Sylvie continued. "And it's not as if he's going to stick around. He'll be gone by New Year's. Even if he isn't, he's gonna end up just like his daddy. Everyone knows that." She arched a brow, meeting Declan's eyes. "So why would I bother sabotaging anything? All I have to do is wait around and you'll ruin everything all by yourself."

Chapter Eighteen Mari wanted to smack Sylvie for spouting such vile accusations, but she was too worried about Declan. He'd frozen at Sylvie's words, like he actually believed them. Or believed that Mari believed them. Before she could figure out how to reassure him without denting his pride, his uncle was at his shoulder. "C'mon, Dec. Let's take a walk. We'll deal with this after you've cooled off." As soon as the men left, Sylvie gave a loud sob, throwing herself into the arms of the nearest guy. Mari saw the look of triumph she shot her friend Robin, though. "That was bullshit," the guy holding Sylvie growled to the crowd. "Cole has no place making accusations. I already told the cops Sylvie was here working with us those days. She didn't mess with his display or the Madisons'. What a bunch of crap. The guy is a loser. Always was. He should get the hell out of here." Furious, Mari started to give him a piece of her mind. But everyone started talking at once, drowning out her tirade. Frustrated, she stomped off to find Declan. Before she'd taken two steps, though, she saw the satisfaction on Robin's face as the other woman made her way out the door. Ignoring the argument raging behind her, Mari hurried after the brunette, waiting until she reached her car before calling out, "Robin!" The other woman turned reluctantly. Eyes wide, she looked up then down the street like she was trying to find an escape. Seeing none, she lifted her chin and hitched the strap of her purse higher. "Do you have a second?" Mari asked. "Not really. I have to go. I have, um, a thing. I have to get to a thing." Mari's stomach sank. "Why?" she asked quietly, not bothering to elaborate. Robin hesitated. Her eyes said she knew she was busted, but she shook her head like she was clueless. "Why'd you try and cause so much trouble for Declan and me?" Mari elaborated. "What'd we ever do to you?" Robin's mask disappeared. No longer so timid she faded into the background, the brunette looked like she could chew rocks.

521

"Do? You keep getting in the way," Robin accused. "Both you and Declan. You think you can move back to town and steal the glory from people who have always been here. People who actually matter." Mari blinked, wondering if the mousy little woman had always been such a bitch. Suddenly it was clear how she and Sylvie could have been friends for so long. "It was a holiday contest," Mari pointed out with a baffled shake of her head. "Not some popularity vote." "It's Sylvie's contest. She's the one who deserved to win." "But she didn't. And trashing the displays only trashes her reputation, not ours," Mari puzzled. "And after all of that, you still lost." "Maybe," Robin confirmed. "But you're the one who's really going to lose in the end." Mari frowned, not understanding. Then Robin continued. "Your poor momma," she tut-tutted. "She had to live with your disgrace—not to mention her own—long after you'd left town. Now you're here less than a month and you're already in the middle of another drama. This is going to hurt her, and it'll kill your business if you don't learn to stay out of Sylvie's way. You really should reconsider moving back, Mari. It's obvious you're just as much bad news as Declan Cole." Mari stared. Was this what happened when you obsessed over other people's opinions? Mari vowed to pole dance naked on the giant candy cane in the park before she'd let herself become like these women.

Chapter Nineteen Declan hated this. Torn between turning heel and walking away from Ponder Hill and crossing the parking lot to comfort Mari, Declan clenched his fists. He'd caught the tail end of her confrontation with Robin before the other woman had taken off. Heard the other woman echo the same sentiments Sylvie had, the same grumbling mutters he'd heard when he'd been in the hall looking for Mari. If he stuck around, this was a slice of what she'd have to deal with. He could handle it. People had been talking smack and giving him sideways glances all his life. The son of the town drunk was a hard label to ditch. And he'd never tried. Never cared to. But now that label was rubbing against Mari's soft skin. And it was hurting her. That wasn't okay. As if she sensed he was there, Mari turned around. She gave him a one-shrugged sigh and lifted both hands as if to say "What are ya gonna do?" Grimacing, Declan knew exactly what he was gonna do. And he hated it. Steeling himself, he walked over to her. "Now that the contest is over, I'm leaving. I just wanted to say goodbye before I went," he said as soon as he reached her. He needed to get the words out before he gave in to the need and hugged her tight. He knew if he touched her, he'd never let go. Mari froze. "Look," he said, pulling the words out like rotting teeth. "We had fun. But this just proves that naughty and nice don't mix. Sylvie was right about that. And about the fact that I'm short-term."

522

She just stared at him, her blue eyes clear, like she was waiting for him to finish before she decided how she felt about his declaration. It made him nervous. He wished she'd rant or rave. Punch him. Anything besides that curious expression. "I gotta go," he decided. "I thought I could make it work here, but obviously that's not gonna happen. I'll have a crew come in and finish the repairs on the old man's house so it can be sold." All she did was arch one perfect brow. He swallowed then continued, "We knew it couldn't last. If we tried, sooner or later you'd end up hating me. You heard what people are saying. I'm trouble, and you're in trouble by association. That's not fair. I don't want my rep hurting you or your mom. Not again." She crossed her arms over her chest, giving a tiny little shake of her head. But that was it. Not a word. No change in her expression. Declan shoved his fists into his pockets and gave her a dark look. "Will you please say something," he demanded, unable to handle her silence. Tilting her head, she wet her lips. His body reacted like she'd swept that pink tongue over his naked flesh. He clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. Then she stepped forward. She placed a hand on either side of his face and stared deep into his eyes. Declan steeled himself, knowing this was goodbye. "You are so full of shit," she said.

Chapter Twenty Declan's jaw was still scraping the ground when Mari turned on her heel and stormed back toward the town hall. She didn't bother to check and see if he was following her or not. Letting her anger propel her, she weaved through the crowd to step up to the podium at the front of the room. She looked out at the crowd and gulped. Wow, there were a lot of people out there. She twisted her fingers together to hide their trembling. Maybe she didn't have to make such a grand gesture. Then she saw Declan, just inside the doorway. The group of guys surrounding Sylvie sent him collective glares and a few people stepped away as if he had cooties or something. He looked like he was about to leave. "Wait," Mari blurted into the mic. Her voice shook. She cleared her throat, then said again, stronger, "Excuse me, everyone. Please, do you have a second?" The noise softened to a dull whisper as everyone focused on her. Mari thought she might pass out. "I want to clear up a rumor." The room went silent. Mari's head spun. "Back in high school, there was some gossip about Declan Cole and me. That we…" "Bumped uglies?" someone shouted. Mari blushed then shrugged. "Whatever. But it wasn't true."

523

There were a few knowing glances. And more than a few smirks. Declan looked grim. "It wasn't true then." Cue the rolled eyes. "It is now. I'm seeing Declan. And I'm going to keep on seeing him, no matter what people think." Murmurs washed over her. Some of amusement, a couple of disdain. But most were simply curious. Declan's eyes warmed her from the back of the room. "I'm sure a few of you remember Declan Cole as trouble. But a lot of you have worked with him this week. You've gotten to know him. He's been a big help to everyone. But now he's thinking about leaving," she said into the mic, her voice blanketing the room. "Not the hall, but the town. For good." And her. Mari swallowed hard. This time it was misery that was clogging her throat, not nerves. There was a heartbeat of silence, then the protests rang out. Declan's eyes widened in shock as people swarmed around him. Mari stepped off the stage, slowly making her way through the crowd to Declan and the people giving him reasons to stay in town. Everything from renovation requests to poker games to an offer of a kitten. When she reached his side, the invitations widened to include them both. "Excuse me," he said, wrapping his hand around Mari's. He hesitated then promised to the crowd, "I'll be back." *** "Want to explain that performance?" Declan asked once he and Mari had reached the questionable privacy of his truck. She hated being the subject of gossip. He couldn't believe she'd stepped up and told the town they were a couple. "You won the bet," she said. "It was a tie." He arched a brow. "And I don't remember you agreeing to those stakes." "I don't want you to leave," she said simply. Her blue eyes shone with a warmth that filled him with joy. "You're sure?" he asked, finally letting his heart accept that he deserved Mari. Deserved her sweetness, her sassiness and her determination to make him climb out of his bitter shell and be happy. "Because if I stick around, I plan to do it right next to you." "Yes. I'm positive," she said, brushing a candy-cane-sweet kiss over his lips before giving him a wicked smile. "After all, the way you do naughty is pretty darned nice."

524

Dark Rider by Caroline Burnes Myra Lawson put the hamburger steak and fries in front of Clyde Johnson with flourish. Ella’s Diner was quiet, caught in the lull of a chill Mississippi winter afternoon. Clyde was the only customer, and Myra took a seat to talk with him. Clyde and his daughter, Amy, were like relatives to Myra. They’d welcomed her to town when she’d first moved to Natchez, Mississippi, five years before. “It was good of Amy to keep Cassie last night,” she said to the local hardware storeowner. “John and I needed some time alone.” There had been a time when she resented the fact that everyone in town knew her personal business, but in the past few months, she’d grown to appreciate the concern the people of Natchez had shown her. “Everybody needs some personal time,” Clyde said, digging into the steak. “I know you’re still gun-shy since the divorce last summer, but you got to put Ed Lawson behind you. John Ittawasa is a different kettle of fish. So how’d it go with you two last night?” Myra laughed. “I don’t kiss and tell.” She didn’t have to. The flush on her face spoke volumes. “John’s a good man,” Clyde said. “He’s about the most knowledgeable person in these parts. He loves Natchez, and if I’m any judge of cupid’s aim, I’d say he loves you and your little girl. I’m glad you got back together.” Myra took a slow breath, ignoring the bait that Clyde dangled. Her feelings were complicated. Love, while so beautiful in the movies, had been very different in her experience. “Don’t let a bad experience keep you from love, Myra. John adores you and your daughter. He never used to come in the café until he met you here last August. And Cassie.” “He’s told Cassie hundreds of stories.” She smiled. “She’s only eight, but she hangs on his every word.” “Especially the ghost stories about Andre Agee and Blackthorn,” Clyde said with a chuckle. “My mama used to keep me in line by telling me that if I was bad, Andre Agee would ride up on his black horse and snatch me up.” He chuckled again. “She said he’d take me into Blackthorn woods and I’d never be seen again.” “I hear the heiress of Blackthorn is due in town this week,” Myra said, a frown touching her face. John was worried that the young woman from the north would sell the huge Blackthorn estate for development. If that happened, a lot of valuable history of John’s Native American ancestors would be lost to the bulldozers. “Just have to wait and see what happens there,” Clyde said. “Nothing we can do.” He checked his watch. “Amy said she’d have the kids back before dark.” “Amy’s a great girl,” Myra said. “And I thank her for giving me some time alone with John last night.” Myra was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of the night she’d spent in John’s arms. It was all the more passionate because they’d come so close to breaking up. Because of Ed Lawson, her low-class exhusband. John’s crime had been that he’d asked her to marry him. That had scared her so badly she’d broken up with John. Ed had really done a number on her. “Myra, I don’t mean to worry you, but Ed was in the store yesterday. He was spouting off about how you’d taken Cassie away from him. I’d keep an eye on him.” “He’s furious,” Myra agreed. “The last time he had visitation he got drunk and slapped Cassie, but I have a court order that says he won’t ever hurt her again.” “Let’s just hope the word of the law is enough,” Clyde said.

525

John Ittawasa whistled as he got out of his truck and walked toward Ella’s Diner. The day was dark and stormy, a serious cloud building to the west. But he had no quarrel with the weather. He barely noticed it. He had his focus on other things. John had a picture of Myra Lawson in his mind that involved tangled sheets, the pale light of dawn and a beautiful expanse of naked thigh. It was going to be hard as hell to keep his hands off her in the diner. He’d almost called Ella and asked for Myra to have the day off - except that such interference would have infuriated Myra. She was very prickly where her independence and her job were involved. And he knew why. He pushed open the door and stopped. Myra caught sight of him, and her smile made his heart hammer. Thank goodness they’d patched up their differences. When he’d offered her a diamond engagement ring two months before, she’d acted as if he were trying to give her a snake. She’d been so frightened of the idea of marriage that she’d told him she didn’t want to see him again. But she’d changed her mind - with a little help from Clyde and some other folks who’d talked to her about what real love was like. And now they were dating again. He’d missed Myra. And Cassie, too. He looked around the restaurant. “Where’s Cassie?” he asked. “Amy took her fishing,” Clyde said with a grin as he pushed back his plate. “And I’m headed back to the store. Looks like the heat in the kitchen is going to be nothing compared to out here.” John ignored him and walked to Myra. He kissed her tenderly. “It’s been a long day without you.” John loved the blush that rose up her neck and into her face. He loved the way her blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. He loved her thick chestnut hair that tickled his chest whenever she leaned over him in bed. He loved the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek. He loved - Her expression changed to panic as the bell over the café door jangled. “Cassie’s gone!” Amy Johnson wailed as she ran inside from the cold. “I’ve been hunting her for the past two hours. I can’t find her anywhere. She’s disappeared in Blackthorn woods. I’ve already called the sheriff and he’s out there now.” She muffled a sob. “Andre Agee must have snatched her and now it’s going to storm.” As if to punctuate her sentence, lightning flashed outside the café windows. Driving toward the river where Cassie was last seen, John looked at the darkening sky. It was going to be one of those rare January thunderstorms that brought high winds, deluging rains, punishing hail and often deadly lightning. Beside him Myra gave a small gasp as a huge lightning bolt zigzagged through the sky. He put his arm around her. “John, I’ve heard you telling Cassie stories about Andre Agee. Folks here believe his ghost haunts the Blackthorn woods. They believe he’s evil.” She looked at him and he saw the fear in her eyes. “Andre was a good man. Even if his ghost did haunt the woods - which it doesn’t - he wouldn’t hurt Cassie.” “I hate that place. And those woods are dangerous. A college student nearly died there last summer when she got lost camping. And it wasn’t even cold like it is now.” “We’ll find her, Myra. Cassie’s smart. She’ll seek cover from the storm.” John spoke with more confidence than he felt. As bad as the storm was, he had worries of a more volatile nature. Ed Lawson. It wasn’t like Cassie to head off into the woods by herself. He couldn’t help but wonder if Ed hadn’t kidnapped his daughter. Glancing at the pale woman beside him, John knew to keep his worries to himself. “She’s afraid of storms,” Myra said, her voice breaking. “She’s only a little girl and she’ll be terrified.”

526

“Cassie isn’t afraid of Blackthorn woods,” John said. “I’ll bet she was exploring, maybe looking for Andre Agee.” He tried to soothe her. “We’ll find her safe and sound.” “I never should have let her go fishing on the Mississippi River,” Myra said softly. “This is my fault.” The next turn took them from a twisting, tree-lined road to a field that sloped down to the river. Four patrol vehicles were already at the site. John brought his truck to a stop next to one of the cars. Before he could kill the motor, Myra hopped out and ran toward Sheriff Dru Colson. “We haven’t found her yet, Myra.” Dru glanced at John, and John felt a chill. Something was very wrong. “Myra, why don’t you give my deputy a description of what Cassie was wearing,” Dru said smoothly as he handed Myra over to a deputy. “John, I need a word.” John followed Dru to the bank of the river. “She didn’t go in the water, that’s for sure. It looks like Cassie was abducted,” Dru said without preamble. “She was standing here,” he pointed to a place where the grass beside the river was crushed. “And we found these footprints here.” He indicated a set of larger prints. There were also signs of a struggle. “Ed Lawson. He’s taken Cassie. He’s a mean drunk and since the divorce last summer, he’s been worse,” John said, his gut knotting. “Dammit, Dru. He abused Myra, and he threatened to hurt Cassie. He’d do it, too, just to hurt Myra. He’d hurt his own daughter just to hurt Myra.” John fought to control his temper. “He needs to be locked up.” “If I had my way, Ed would be in Parchman State Prison right this minute.” Dru’s voice held anger, too. “The man’s dangerous.” “He’s put Myra through a living hell. He used her as a punching bag for the last year they were married. I proposed to her, and it scared her so badly she quit seeing me. It took me two months, with the help of half the town, to get her to let me back into her life. Now the first time she lets Cassie out of her sight, Ed snatches her.” John shook his head. Ed Lawson was a cruel man with a streak of insanity when he was drunk. “We’ve got to find that little girl.” “Before it’s too late,” Dru said, nodding toward the sky where another bolt of lightning spiked the black clouds. “That storm’s going to hit hard before long,” the sheriff said, scanning the sky. John and Myra did the same. “If Cassie is lost, we need to find her quickly.” “If?” Myra asked John. “What’s Dru talking about? Of course she’s lost.” John had delayed as long as he could. “Myra, Dru and I both think Ed may have taken Cassie.” “Ed?” If John had thought Myra looked frightened before, he saw the true depth of her fear as she considered what her ex-husband might have done to Cassie. “John, he might kill her to get even with me for leaving him.” John nodded slowly. “I know, Myra.” “Then find her!” Myra’s blue eyes were iced with panic. Dru put a calming hand on Myra’s arm. “I’ve called the state patrol, and they’ve got a helicopter equipped with a FLIR unit en route. That’s an infrared imagining system that registers body heat. They’ll be here in

527

thirty minutes. They’ll fly over the woods and tell us exactly where Cassie is.” He looked up at the gathering clouds. “Weather permitting.” “But we’ve got to do something now,” Myra insisted. “My baby’s in those woods. Maybe with Ed. He’s crazy when he’s drunk. He could hurt her.” “Myra, with that storm coming in, it would be foolish to send men into the woods to search. Those hills can be dangerous in the best of weather.” “Cassie is a child,” Myra said, her voice breaking. “Dru, let me look for her,” John said. “I know the woods and I’m one of the best trackers in the southeast.” John had grave reservations that the helicopter would ever arrive with such a storm building. “You are the best,” Dru agreed, “but I’m not sure even you can track in conditions like this.” “Dru, let John try. I know he’ll find her, I just know it. Let him try before it’s too late.” Before Dru could speak, a deputy hurried toward them. “We found a Harley hidden in the bushes down the road,” the deputy said. “We checked the registration. It belongs to Ed Lawson.” “We can’t wait,” Myra said. “If Ed has my baby, he may hurt her.” Myra couldn’t think of what Ed might actually do. She remembered too clearly the look of madness in his eyes the last time she’d seen him. She’d been very foolish to think that a court order would keep him away. “I’ll find Cassie,” John said. Myra felt instant relief. John had learned his tracking skills from a wise member of the Choctaw tribe. His abilities in the woods were almost legendary. “It’s too dangerous,” Dru said. “Those hills are treacherous enough in good weather. We’ve got one missing person. I won’t risk two.” Myra felt her heart drop to her knees. Dru wasn’t going to allow John to hunt. “That helicopter you’re waiting for won’t come,” John said as lightning forked the sky yet again. “It’ll be grounded in this weather and you know it. I’m your best chance of saving that little girl, and maybe Ed Lawson, too.” Myra watched Dru consider his options. When he finally nodded, she felt as if she could breathe. “Okay, John, but understand you’ll be on your own.” “No, he won’t. I’m going too,” Myra said. “When hell freezes over,” Dru said angrily. “That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard you say, Myra.” “I’m Cassie’s mother.” “Then start acting like a mother and think about what’s best for her.” “I am thinking, Dru. I’m thinking that if Cassie’s scared or hurt she might not recognize John in the storm. She might even think he’s some kind of ghost or something, she’s heard so many stories about those woods.”

528

“You mean she might run from him?” “It’s possible,” she said. Dru thought for a moment, and then replied. “No, it’s too dangerous.” “Let her go, Dru,” John said. “We’re losing light and wasting time. Besides, she may have a point about Cassie not recognizing me. And if Ed does have her, I may need Myra to keep her safe.” Myra watched the silent exchange between the two men. They didn’t need words to communicate their concerns. If Ed had Cassie, it would most likely take lethal force to control Ed. If John was injured in the process, it would be up to her to get her daughter out of Blackthorn woods and to safety. And she would do it, too. The danger was irrelevant. Cassie was all that mattered, and she’d protect her daughter no matter what. John and Myra entered the woods directly behind Cassie’s fishing spot. The sky was black, and though it was only late afternoon, they needed flashlights to see their way through the dense foliage. Thunder shook the earth, and lightning rumbled overhead as John located a small animal trail and began searching for signs of Cassie. His gaze switched from the leaf-covered earth to the tips of bushes near the ground. No branches appeared broken or disturbed. Maybe Cassie hadn’t come down this trail. “Can you see anything?” Myra asked. “Footprints?” She was standing so close behind him that he could feel the tension in her body as she breathed. More than anything he wanted to protect her from pain and loss. “No footprints.” He knelt down and began sweeping leaves from the trail. There it was: a recent indentation about the size of a child’s shoe embedded in the soft ground beneath the leaves. He pointed his flashlight directly at the imprint. “What is it?” Myra asked, peering over his shoulder. “The wind has blown the leaves so that they covered the impression,” John said, “but the soft ground underneath still holds the print of a shoe. Cassie has recently been here. We’re on the right path.” “Thank God,” Myra sighed. They continued to follow the trail until it ended at a dense thicket of black-barked trees with vicious-looking thorns. The impenetrable plants created a dense barrier across the trail. It was as if Cassie had simply been picked up in thin air. “What are those plants?” Myra asked. “The devil’s walking stick.” John gave the Native American name for them. “Legend has it that they spring up to protect Andre Agee.” “Cassie couldn’t have gone through them. Where is she?” Myra’s voice held a low note of hysteria, and John felt his own helplessness. The trail ended in the trees. Where, indeed, had Cassie gone?

529

The wind was a constant rush of noise, rattling the winter-stripped tree branches and making any hope of hearing Cassie impossible. He used his flashlight to search the area for a sign as to which direction Cassie had gone. Nothing. “We’ve lost her, haven’t we?” Myra’s voice cracked. He reached out and touched her arm. “Don’t give up so easily. Give me a while to study some things.” “I’ve got confidence in you.” Myra’s simple words touched John deeply. He knew what it had cost Myra to believe in anyone, and now she was trusting that he could bring her most precious daughter safely home to her. A vicious spike of lightning dazzled the sky and then struck a tree not twenty feet from there. Sparks flew and a ball of fire rolled up the tree into the top branches. In a few seconds there was the sound of wood tearing and snapping, then the loud whoosh as the top of the tree fell to the ground. “Cassie’s going to be terrified,” Myra said. “We have to find her quickly.” How could John admit that he had no idea where her daughter was? As John stood silently in the darkness of Blackthorn woods, he remembered his grandfather’s voice: “The lost take the path of least resistance.” The saying was meant for souls lost in life, but it also applied to those lost in the woods as well. Even if Cassie was with her father, the chances were that both of them were lost. All light had gone from the sky. John scanned the Blackthorn thicket and then began weaving his way through them in an area where the trees were the thinnest. There was a path; he simply had to find it. “Be careful of the thorns. They can cut like daggers,” he said to Myra as she followed closely behind him. After weaving through almost a hundred yards of thorn trees, they came to a small clearing covered with winter rye. Flashlight in hand, John slowly walked until he came upon minute indications of bent grass. “Cassie,” he said in a low voice. “She’s been here?” He couldn’t be certain it was Cassie, but someone had rested on the grass, and it could have been the child. “Yes,” he said, wanting to give Myra the assurance he couldn’t give himself. “I believe we’re back on her trail.” Myra leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I knew you could do it.” “Don’t get too excited. We haven’t found her yet.” John wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t want to give her false hope. It was a thin line he walked. As they stood surveying the clearing, the wind died and they heard a distinctive rustling in the undergrowth. “What is that?” Myra asked. “Do you think it’s Cassie?” John listened intently. It wasn’t the little girl. Something large was moving, tearing through the underbrush. “Is it a bear?” Myra asked. “I’ve heard some of the men in the café say they’ve seen bears in the woods.” Panic was in her voice.

530

“It’s too large for a man, but I doubt it’s a bear,” John said. “What’s out there?” Myra’s voice rose. “Is it Andre Agee on his huge black stallion, riding down trespassers?” John felt a tingle on his skin. He told the ghost stories of Andre, but he never believed them. But whatever was tearing through the woods was as big as a horse. Someone, or something, was out there, possibly watching every move they made. “I’ll check it out. You wait here.” He was at the edge of the thorny thicket when he turned back to Myra. “If I don’t come back, get out of the woods. Get back to Dru and make him send in a search party for Cassie,” he said. “You have to promise me that.” Myra tried to sit perfectly still and focus on John’s safe return. Blackthorn woods were filled with dangerous creatures, one of them an evil spirit. John could try and paint Andre Agee as a good man, but she’d heard the stories of how he’d rob the rich. Some victims he left in humiliating positions. Others were left dead. At the thought of John encountering such an evil ghost, she rose and started to the place where he’d disappeared. Then she thought of Cassie. John Ittawasa was a man who could take care of himself, in any situation. But she had to admit, even if just to herself, that she couldn’t stand it if something happened to him. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t love him. But she did. And so did Cassie. The wind roared around her like a hungry beast, and she swung her light to the left when she heard something in the underbrush. Nothing. And the clouds wouldn’t hold forever. It was going to be a mighty downpour and all evidence of her daughter’s trail would be washed away. “Myra?” She heard John’s voice and felt tremendous relief. He was okay. He hadn’t been injured. “I’m fine,” she said. “Stay put. I’ll be right there.” She closed her eyes. What a unique experience to listen to John talk and believe he meant what he said. Marriage to Ed Lawson had been one nightmare after another, especially after Cassie was born. Cassie, whose daily life had been watching her father hit her mother. Cassie had been afraid of John at first. But she’d warmed to him in the safety of Ella’s Café, growing eager to hear his stories. Whenever the bell jangled and John walked in, Cassie’s face opened with happiness. Cassie had grown to love John almost as much as her mother had. Her flashlight beam caught John returning through the thicket. There was a flash of something white in his hand. “What is it?” she asked, getting up and hurrying over to him. “It’s Cassie’s hair ribbon,” he said. “I found it on a shrub.” Myra clutched the ribbon. It was a little piece of her daughter, proof that Cassie had been that way.

531

“I think we should turn back,” John said. “The deeper we go into the woods, the harder it’s going to be to get out. Cassie could be hours ahead of us.” “I’m not leaving here without my daughter,” Myra said. “The thing that worries me is why Ed would bring her here.” “Perhaps he intended all along to lure you here, where there aren’t any witnesses, so he could hurt you.” John and Myra pressed forward through the increasingly dense underbrush. He was growing more and more concerned. It was clear that Cassie wasn’t traveling alone. He hadn’t told Myra, but that ribbon had been left tied to a shrub, as if someone meant to leave it as a clue. If it was Ed Lawson who had Cassie, then Ed actually knew where he was going in Blackthorn woods. John had hoped that the kidnapper would grow confused and begin to circle back on himself. But that didn’t appear to be the case. Cassie and whoever had her were headed due east, away from the river and deeper and deeper into Blackthorn. John had a bitter thought - Ed was a poacher, and no doubt Ed had been hunting on the property. That would explain his knowledge of the estate. “John!” He felt Myra’s hand on his arm, her fingers digging into him in fear. He swung his light to join hers. Illuminated in the beam of the two lights was a small red tennis shoe. Myra rushed forward. He caught her before she could touch the shoe. She didn’t have to. She recognized it. “It’s Cassie’s,” she said. “Now she’s out here in this cold without a shoe.” John’s careful examination had revealed something even worse. He leaned closer and saw that the dark stain across the top was indeed blood. “She’s hurt, isn’t she?” Myra said, her voice dull. “That’s blood.” “I’m sure she’s okay,” John said, but he was growing less and less certain. Ed Lawson was a reckless drunk, and he was mean. He’d hurt Myra, but John had never really believed he’d endanger his own daughter. Until today. “Ed won’t take care of her if she’s hurt,” Myra said. “He may have even hurt her so that I’d find this shoe and worry.” “Keep visualizing how it’ll be when you and Cassie are back together,” John said gently. “Picture that and nothing else.” “If he’s hurt her -“ Myra didn’t finish her sentence. The brisk wind brought another sound to them, and this one made them stand up and hold perfectly still. “Cass-sie!” A deep, male voice seemed to float on the storm-charged air. It was not Ed Lawson’s voice. In fact, it was not a voice John had ever heard. “Where are you, Cass-sie?”

532

Myra involuntarily stepped toward the direction the voice had come from. “Who are you? Leave my daughter alone!” Before she could rush into the treacherous thorn trees, John restrained her. “Let me go! Who was that? Who was calling for Cassie?” John didn’t answer. “There’s someone else in these woods,” Myra said, the horror of her daughter being pursued by strangers making her almost hysterical. “What if it isn’t Ed? What if someone else has her? Someone…sick!” John pulled her into his arms and held her, and for a moment, she allowed herself to draw from his strength. “We’ll find her, Myra. I don’t know who that was, but we’ll find Cassie and whoever is responsible for taking her.” “My poor baby,” Myra said, weeping into his leather jacket. “My poor baby.” “Cassie’s strong and smart. She’s obviously gotten away from whoever took her or they wouldn’t be calling her,” John reasoned. “That’s a good sign. We just have to keep looking.” “Should I call her?” John hesitated. “That might be smart now. At first, I didn’t want to alert whoever had her. But if she’s on her own, maybe she’ll find us.” John’s words gave her new hope. “Let’s keep looking,” she said. She called Cassie’s name in all directions. She had to work hard to keep the image of her little girl, shoeless and terrified, from breaking her. John took her hand and led her back to the trail. They were still headed east. A light rain drizzled down, but they both ignored it. The wind picked up, and the sound of the storm getting ready to break made it impossible to call out for Cassie any more. Myra bent her head against flying sticks and leaves. She thought she heard something behind her, and as she whirled, she felt John grab her and push her off the path. Something large and heavy ran past them not twenty yards through the trees. In the storm, it looked like a black blur. “What was that?” she yelled. “I didn’t see it clearly, but it sounded like a horse,” John said. In a flash of lightning, Myra saw the worry on his face. “Andre Agee?” The old stories came back to her along with a good measure of fear. “Andre Agee is a ghost story,” John said. “He’s used to spook little children. This was a real horse, and far more dangerous. If someone is riding a horse through these woods in this storm, they know Blackthorn inside and out. They could simply be playing with us.” John was glad the darkness concealed the worry on his face. He wasn’t afraid of old legends, but he was very concerned that Ed Lawson had put a terrible plan into action, and that Cassie would suffer the consequences of it before he and Myra could save her. John was glad of the dark and the driving wind and rain that forced them to hold their heads down. He didn’t want Myra to see his expression, because he was worried. Very worried.

533

Someone with superior knowledge of the woods was out there. And that someone knew Cassie’s name. He could only speculate what might have happened to the little girl. One thing for certain, it wasn’t Ed Lawson on a horse. The horseman put a whole new perspective on Cassie’s disappearance. But as he’d told Myra, the good thing was that the rider was hunting for Cassie just like they were. By some stroke of fate, Cassie had obviously escaped him. The wind picked up, growing into almost a steady howl. John knew, too, that once the rain really started, all tracks of Cassie would disappear. Time was against them. He paused and looked up through the dense trees to examine what he could see of the sky. He’d never been in a storm that was so massively dark and yet lingered like this one. If he hadn’t known that it was going on five o’clock, he would have thought it was night. In fact, it would be night in another hour or so. He and Myra were deep in the woods. He had to find Cassie, but he also had to keep Myra safe. The sensible thing to do would be to start backtracking now - while they could still find the trail out. Of course, they wouldn’t do that. They couldn’t abandon the search for Cassie. “John, can we stop for a minute?” Myra asked, yelling to be heard. He found a small windbreak formed by three cedars and they huddled together. It was a relief to be out of the constant wind. He put his arm around her and pulled her against him. She was trembling. “Tell me about Andre Agee,” Myra said when the wind had let up a little. “You’ve told Cassie all about him. Tell me. The truth, John, not some feel-good story.” John nodded. “Andre was hanged on this property, but he wasn’t a bad man.” He would tell the truth, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tailor it. “He robbed from the carpetbaggers and gave the money back to the rightful owners. He was actually sort of a modern-day Robin Hood.” “But he protects Blackthorn against trespassers, right?” Myra asked. “And sometimes his ghost hurts people?” “Those are just old tales that get started to scare kids off the property,” John said, trying to reassure her. “Any place with a history like Blackthorn is going to lend itself to ghost stories.” Myra nodded. What John said was true, but the rumors of sightings of Andre Agee were too numerous to discount. In life, he’d injured and sometimes killed. Why would his ghost be different than he was? Certainly the local teenagers were terrified of him. They claimed he tried to ride them down on his huge black horse. She’d never put much credence into those claims - until now. “Forget Andre,” John said. “If Blackthorn is haunted, it’s by the ghosts of my forefathers. The Mound Builder Indians.” He gently massaged her shoulders. He could feel the strain and tension in her body. “And if Cassie is with the ghosts of my people, she’s safe.” “Thanks, John,” Myra said, relaxing a little. “Before we go any farther, I need to tell you something.” “We can talk when this is over.” “No, now.” She turned to face him and in a flash of lightning, she could see the compassion, and the passion, in his face. “I freaked out when you asked me to marry you because I was afraid once I agreed, you’d change.” “Like Ed?”

534

She nodded. “He wasn’t always a monster. There was a time, so long ago I can hardly remember, when he seemed to be normal. When his smile was like a gentle touch.” She shook her head. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I saw him smile.” “Alcohol destroys some people,” John said. “It changes them.” “It’s more than that. He’s so angry.” She shrugged. “I did everything I knew to help him.” She rose to her feet. “But that’s the past, and it’s done. I just want you to know that I’m going to try to stay focused on the present.” She couldn’t promise more than that now. She hoped it would be enough. “Let’s find Cassie,” John said, standing beside her. “Looks like the storm is going to hold off a little longer. I’ve never seen a storm quite like this. It’s…waiting.” He touched Myra’s arm. “Perhaps Blackthorn is blessed,” he said. “More likely cursed,” Myra said as she fell in beside John as he began the arduous task of trying to track by flashlight. An hour later, dark had fallen. John felt the strain of intensive searching hovering behind his eyes. Myra had to be near the point of collapse, but there was no way they could stop. They’d followed the faintest trail, ever eastward, until they were deep in Blackthorn. The estate was so vast that it was possible for people to get so lost they had to be brought out by search parties. Or, in rare instances, in a hearse. John knew the FLIR-equipped helicopter had never left the ground. Rain had not begun to fall heavily yet, but the wind and lightning were so severe that the chopper couldn’t take off. That was too bad, because he had a feeling he was going to need backup. Along the trail, John had found evidence of two people walking and one horse. He hadn’t mentioned this to Myra, because it would only intensify her fears. But the bottom line was that Cassie wasn’t alone in the woods. She was with an adult, and she was being trailed by someone on horseback. “I wish you could tell how far ahead she is,” Myra said as they trudged forward. John nodded, choosing not to try to yell over the wind. The light drizzle had stopped, thank goodness. But serious rain was not too far away. He could smell it on the wind. He moved his flashlight over the ground. The beam picked out something light at the base of a tree. “Look,” he said, rushing forward. At the foot of a live oak were a number of small rocks in the shape of an arrow. “Cassie must have left these,” John said, his voice rising with excitement. “I told her how people left messages in the woods. She remembered.” “It’s pointing east,” Myra said. “We’re on the right track. Let’s go.” Myra rushed past John in her eagerness, but she hadn’t gone ten yards before she was stopped by a plaintive cry that rang out from somewhere ahead of them. “Mama, help me! Don’t let him hurt me!”

535

“Dear God, that’s Cassie!” Myra cried as she rushed headlong into the woods. John tried to stop her but without success. Myra tore free of his grip and disappeared into the thick woods. “Stop it! I hate you!” Cassie’s frightened voice cut into Myra like a sharp blade. She ignored the branches that lashed at her face as she ran toward the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Cassie! I’m coming,” she cried. She realized that she’d left John behind, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to get to her daughter. She had to stop whoever was hurting Cassie. And if it was Ed, heaven help him. She’d do what so many of her friends had suggested she do - kill him. She dove headfirst into some horrible shrub, losing her flashlight. She heard a thunk and the light went out. She didn’t have time to look for it. Half crawling and half running, she forced herself through the bush and into a clearing. A heavy boot came down on top of her right hand, grinding it into the earth. “Stop it!” Cassie screamed. Myra ignored the pain and looked up into Ed Lawson’s cruel eyes. “I knew you’d come after her,” Ed said easily. “It’s a good thing you lost your boyfriend. Of course when I’m finished with you, I’ll have to take care of him, too.” “Stop it,” Cassie cried, throwing herself against her father’s legs. “I hate you! I hate you!” “Shut up.” Ed took a swipe behind him with one huge hand and knocked his daughter to the ground. “You’re a little whiner. Stay out of this if you don’t want to have a reason to cry.” Grabbing Myra by the hair, he pulled her to her feet. “I told you I’d never let you go. Not alive, anyway.” Myra knew better than to argue with Ed. She didn’t have a weapon. “I made a mistake, Ed. I shouldn’t have divorced you,” she said. She’d lie to him, and if she got a chance to live and see her daughter safely out of these woods, she’d take the next opportunity to make certain Ed could never harm either of them again. “Right,” he said. “What else are you gonna say?” “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” “Beggin’ won’t do any good. I’m gonna hurt you bad and then I’m gonna take care of that Injun you’ve been seeing.” Myra clamped her lips shut. Words would only make Ed more determined. The best thing she could do for her daughter was to remain silent. “Andre Agee will get you,” Cassie said to her father. “You just wait. If you hurt Mama again, he’ll cut your head off with his sword.” “What kind of foolishness have you been feedin’ this kid?” Ed said, laughing as he dragged Myra along the trail. “She’s been ballyhooing about this ghost ever since I grabbed her.”

536

“He’s going to get you,” Cassie avowed. Ed pushed his daughter none too gently. “Shut up and keep walking.” “Don’t hurt her,” Myra said, unable to keep her mouth shut. “Another word from you and I’ll show you how I can hurt her,” Ed said. “I need a drink.” One thing Ed didn’t need was a drink, Myra thought. He reeked of whiskey. It was as if he’d bathed in it. But that wasn’t unusual. Toward the end of their marriage, he’d quit eating completely. He wanted only alcohol. “I’m hungry,” Cassie said. “I’ve got some food stashed ahead,” Ed said. Though Myra was glad Cassie would eat, Ed’s words chilled her. He’d planned this abduction. This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment whim he’d concocted in his alcoholic brain. He’d actually thought this through. “What are you going to do with us?” Myra asked. “I thought about killing you,” Ed said, his voice low and in her ear. Myra was repulsed by him, but she was glad Cassie hadn’t heard. “But I think maybe I’ll keep you around for a while. But I promise, by the time I finish with you, John Ittawasa or no other man will want you.” Myra’s knees grew weak, but Ed pushed her forward. “Why do you hate me so?” she asked. “I thought you were different,” he said, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. “I thought you loved me. But you’re just like all the others. You left. Just like my mother and the others. You packed up and left.” Myra could have told him that he’d run her away. But it wouldn’t do any good. She’d learned the hard way that no one could reason with Ed Lawson. There was the sound of something moving in the brush beside them. She coughed, hoping to cover the noise in case it was John, trying to rescue her. “Your boyfriend’s tailing us,” Ed said, whispering in her ear again. “That’s good. In fact, that’s perfect. Just as I planned.” John moved through the underbrush parallel with Myra, Cassie and Ed. He couldn’t use his flashlight, but he could follow them by the noise they made. It was apparent that Ed Lawson didn’t care who heard him as he took his hostages through the woods. As much as John wanted to rush over to Lawson and beat him to a pulp, he had no way of knowing if Myra’s ex-husband had a gun. One wrong move and Ed could hurt Myra or Cassie. It wasn’t a gamble he was willing to take. Still, he’d have to do something. And soon. The wind picked up again, and this time it contained rain. Huge drops hurtled down on him like small stones. Lightning forked the sky, and in the dazzle, he was able to see Ed push Myra so hard she stumbled and went down on one knee. “Damn you,” John said softly, furious that he could do nothing. His only hope was to get far enough ahead of Ed so that he could lay a trap. With that in mind, he began to pick up his pace. The rain would work in his favor, blinding Ed. It was the best chance he was going to get.

537

*** Myra glanced to her right. She’d thought she saw something moving beside them. Someone. But she was afraid to get her hopes up. “Stop a minute,” Ed said, pulling on her. “I got to check my bearings.” The rain was pelting down on them, and Myra pulled Cassie against her body. Her small daughter was trembling. It was enough to break her heart. There was a long scratch on her leg, which must have bled on the tennis shoe she’d found. She helped Cassie put the shoe on. “Cassie, I promise you. We’ll be okay,” she whispered into her daughter’s damp hair. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t want to go with him. He said he’d hurt you if I didn’t.” “It’s not your fault,” Myra whispered, stroking her daughter’s hair and face. “It’s not your fault.” “Andre Agee will help us,” Cassie said. “John told me all about him, and he’d never let us be hurt.” “Cassie, listen to me. When I tell you to run, I want you to do just that.” Myra knew she couldn’t wait for help from Andre Agee or anyone else. “Don’t look back. Don’t worry about me. Just run when I say so, okay?” John could only pray that the tree he’d chosen would be in the direct path of Ed Lawson. All he had to do now was wait. And that was the hardest part of all. To his utter amazement, the worst of the storm had blown by. The wind was still kicking up, but to the west he could see stars. Soon the moon would be out. He hoped Ed traveled beneath his tree before that happened. He tensed as he heard his prey coming. “I’m tired,” Cassie said. “Can we rest?” “No,” Ed said sharply. “Not here.” “She’s only a little girl,” Myra said. “Can’t you even act human?” “Shut up and keep moving.” John silently cursed as the moon slipped out from behind the dense cloud cover. Not ten yards away, Ed, Myra and Cassie were coming toward him. If Ed looked up, John would be a sitting duck. Perched on a limb, John tried to make himself invisible. In another few seconds, he could launch his attack. The element of surprise would be important. As bad as the moonlight was for hiding, it allowed John to see that Ed’s gun was in the holster on his hip. As the trio drew near, John gathered himself. Cassie passed beneath him, then Myra, with Ed right behind her. John timed his jump and then leapt. He landed on Ed’s shoulder’s, knocking him to the ground. “Run, Cassie!” Myra directed as she was pushed to the ground by John’s impact with Ed. “Run!” John looked up in time to see the eight-year-old tearing off into the woods. Myra was on her knees, struggling to get to her feet. And Ed Lawson was reaching for his gun as he scrambled to his knees.

538

John took a swing that sent Ed on his back. “Run, Myra. Get Cassie and run!” His attention was forced back to Ed, who was getting up again. The man seemed indestructible. John had hit him with enough force to stun an elephant, yet he was getting to his feet. “I’m gonna kill you,” Ed said, his hand reaching for his gun. “Think again,” John said, picking up a heavy limb and catching Ed in the side of the head. Ed went down hard, and stayed there. “Good enough for you,” John said. He went to Ed, shoving him with his toe. The man was out cold. He started in the direction Cassie and Myra had gone. He’d made it only a few steps when he heard Myra cry out. “John! Behind you!” John felt the bullet tear into his arm. He ducked and rolled instinctively, purposefully moving in Ed’s direction. When he finished his roll, he remained on his back, using his feet. He kicked the gun from Ed’s hand and then caught him again, this time in the temple. Ed went down hard. Not taking any chances, John ignored the pain, got up and frisked Ed to make certain he didn’t have another weapon. “John, you’re hurt,” Myra said, rushing to him. “You’re bleeding.” And he was. Profusely. The pain was growing worse with each passing moment. John removed his coat and shirt, tearing a sleeve to make a tourniquet. “Where’s Cassie?” he asked. “I lost her,” Myra said, her breath short. “I couldn’t find her trail, and I was afraid to keep going for fear I’d cover it. I came back for you, and it’s a good thing, too. If you hadn’t ducked, that bullet would have caught you right in the chest.” John didn’t doubt it for a minute. Ed Lawson had meant to kill him. “Myra, I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re in a bit of a predicament.” With each passing second, John could feel his strength ebbing. The wound wasn’t fatal - if he got to a hospital and got the bleeding stopped. “John.” Myra put his uninjured arm over her shoulder. “I’ll help you get out of here.” “Let me go,” he said. He stumbled over to a tree where he slid to the ground, his back resting against the trunk. “Find Cassie and try to make your way out of here.” “I’m not leaving you.” He could see that she was torn. She was going to have to choose between him and her child. And it was no contest. “Go, Myra. I’ll be okay. Go and get help. Send them back for me. If you don’t, I’ll slowly bleed to death.” “I can’t leave you,” Myra said. She dropped to her knees beside him. “John, I’ve been a fool.” He reached out and touched her face. “You’ve been cautious. After Ed, you’d be a fool not to be careful.”

539

“I love you, John. I do. I’ve loved you for a long time. I was just so afraid of it.” “I love you and Cassie both,” John said. His fingers tangled in her hair. God, she was beautiful. Even frightened and worried, she was the most perfect woman in the world. “John, everything will be okay.” “It will,” he said. “Just get help.” He had to get her moving before he passed out. She’d never leave him if he was unconscious, and he knew he would be soon. “Save Cassie,” he whispered. “For me.” Myra stepped away from John. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But her daughter was in the woods. John couldn’t help her find Cassie. Myra was going to have to do it on her own. But first she had to make sure that Ed wouldn’t hurt John further. She found the shirt that John had discarded before he slipped back into his jacket. Using strips of cloth, she bound her ex-husband’s hands behind his back. She could only hope that he was incredibly uncomfortable. Then she got up and started running in the direction Cassie had disappeared. “Cassie!” She called her daughter, working hard to keep the panic out of her voice. Cassie had been traumatized enough; she didn’t need to think her mother was losing it. “Cassie!” The storm had completely passed and the woods were lighted by the silver glow of the moon. Myra could see well enough to jog, and she began to move as rapidly as possible. “Cassie, it’s okay. Your… Ed is tied up.” She paused a few seconds to listen. When she didn’t hear anything, she started running again. With the skies clearing, it seemed the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees. She forced herself to continue, breaking branches along the way so she could find her way back to John. He was hurt because of her. And in his pain, he’d given her the best gift of all - the ability to tell him of her love for him. If she could just get her daughter and the three of them could make it safely out of the Blackthorn woods, she would not waste another minute of her life. That was a vow she made. For too long she’d been afraid to care about anyone except Cassie. She was in love with John Ittawasa, and she’d been too afraid to even accept it. “Cassie!” She stopped. Something big was running in the woods. Something very big. The ground shook with the pounding of the creature’s hooves. She froze. It couldn’t be Andre Agee. He was just a story, a legend. A ghost. “Cassie!” She was suddenly terrified for her little girl. “Mama!” Cassie burst from the underbrush. “Cassie, darling, are you okay?” Myra asked, grabbing her daughter and holding her close. “What was that?”

540

“It was Andre Agee. He picked me up and gave me a ride on his horse,” Cassie said. “He’s beautiful. His name is Diable.” Myra had no desire to fuss at her daughter for her wild imagination. Cassie was in her arms, safe. “We have to get help. John is hurt.” “Mr. Agee told me how to get out of the woods,” Cassie said. “There’s a trail up ahead. He showed it to me.” She tugged her mother’s hand. “He said we should go and get help and send someone back for John and…the other man.” Disbelieving, Myra let herself be led by her daughter. For all that Cassie had suffered, Myra could see that her daughter was strong and resilient. They were going to put Ed behind them. Both of them. “See, Mama. I told you.” Cassie pointed to the clearly marked trail. *** Dru gave Cassie and Myra a hand getting into the ambulance with John. “I’m going to be fine,” John said. “It’s not serious now that we’ve stopped the bleeding.” “Nonetheless, you’re going to the hospital,” Myra said, ignoring his protests. “I haven’t decided that I love you just for you to bleed to death.” John couldn’t argue with that. He reached up with his uninjured arm and captured Myra’s beautiful hair. She obligingly leaned down and kissed him. It began as a tender kiss, but it hinted at all the passion they shared. “Dru, have you got Ed?” John asked once the kiss ended. “We’ve got him and he’s going to jail. For a long time. He won’t be bothering any of you again.” John saw that at the mention of her father, Cassie had grown pale. He struggled into a sitting position and grasped her hand. “I hear Andre Agee told you how to get out of the woods,” he said, winking at Myra over the child’s head. “He did. He saved all of us,” Cassie said. “And he told me that no one would ever hurt me again.” John and Myra both hugged Cassie as they made a small unit of three. John caught Myra’s eye, and he saw her agreement not to dispute her daughter’s belief in a ghost. If Andre Agee made Cassie feel safe, that was the important thing. “Thank goodness for Andre Agee,” Myra said, kissing her daughter’s head. “And for John.” “Thank goodness that we’re going to be a family,” Cassie said, and all of the paleness and worry was gone from her face.

541

A Cowboy's Promise By Linda Ford Buffalo Hollow, Dakota Territory, 1884 Holt Perry was a man on the run. He had no time to waste if he was to escape his pursuers. But when he stopped for supplies in the small town of Buffalo Hollow, he found a family in even more desperate straits than him. Lizzie Tate had been barely holding on. Her father fell ill several months ago, leaving the running of the store and the care of her little sister to her. Now winter approached, and their fuel supply was dangerously low. Holt promised to help the Tates, even though every moment with them was a second closer to being caught. But as he spends time with Lizzie and her family, feeling the warmth of their love, he finds himself wanting something more impossible than freedom…a place to call home.

Chapter One Buffalo Hollow, Dakota Territory, 1884 He rode into the tiny town, pulling his hat low over his face. It wasn't likely anyone here knew him but he wasn't taking a chance. He wouldn't have stopped—just kept riding north until he reached Canada, someplace deep in the mountains where no one would ever find him—but he was out of supplies. A man could get mighty hungry living on rabbit cooked over a low fire. He swung from his horse in front of the general store—Tate's Mercantile—checking both ways up and down the dusty streets of Buffalo Hollow, Dakota Territory. Would the sense of being followed ever leave him? Even in the wilds of the Rockies. He shivered in the cold wind. It threatened snow. The lateness of the season was another reason for urgency. He stepped into the store and immediately sensed that something was wrong. He noticed two rough, dirty men leaning against the counter. The woman at the till looked cautious but not frightened, though, so he held back, waiting to see if he should proceed or slip away. "Come on, missee. We only want to have us a good time. You can surely 'commodate us." It was the taller of the pair, a man with hair like an overgrown porcupine and stubble to match. The younger, shorter one with a nasty leer chortled. "I'll get your supplies, but then I'm asking you to be on your way." The pretty young thing spoke as calm as could be, even though he noticed that she clung to the far edge of the space behind the counter. "We ain't in no rush, is we, Stook?" The younger man had a rusty-hinge voice. Holt edged closer, unnoticed by the pair. He figured by the way the gal's eyelids flickered that she'd seen him and was preparing to deal with three rowdies. Well, he'd soon put her mind at ease about that. Holt wasn't another troublemaker—though some claimed otherwise. He was about to provide his own suggestion that the pair move along when a tiny voice whispered from a nearby doorway. "Lizzie, can I come out now?" The drifters jerked upright. Stook grinned wickedly. "Lookee here, a little doll. I betcha she'd like to play with us, wouldn't you, darlin'?"

542

Lizzie, the child had called the woman behind the counter. Seemed to suit her—all feisty and fiery eyed as she sprang toward the blue-eyed youngster. "Emma, I told you to stay with Pa." Pa? Where was her father? Why wasn't he out here taking care of this pair of ruffians? Stook moved with the sly quickness of a snake and grabbed tiny Emma's arm before Lizzie could reach her. "Now let's negotiate something more fun. You—" he pointed at Lizzie "—start being 'commodating. Or—" He jerked the child's arm. Emma cried out, her sky-blue eyes wide as a bucket. "That sounds fair, doesn't it, Joe?" Holt had had enough. He stepped forward. "Don't sound fair to me. Two big men picking on two girls. Didn't your mother teach you better?" The pair spun around as if struck by lightning. Just as fast, Joe pulled out a gun. Holt was unarmed, but the gun didn't scare him half as bad as it should have. Lord, looks like we'll be meeting face-to-face soon. Might as well die this way as from a hangman's noose.

Chapter Two Lizzie didn't know who the tall, dark stranger was. Nor if he was ultimately bad news. But unless the Good Lord gave her the strength to act quickly, he was about to die. Emma thankfully escaped Stook's clutches and scurried back to Pa as the two rowdies remained intent on the stranger for the moment. It was all she needed. Lizzie made one quick movement. "All right. Put your gun down." She leveled a shotgun at Joe, whose eyes fair bugged out of his head when he turned to stare at her. "Don't think I won't use this because I have in the past." Once. When she'd shot a wild dog she feared would attack Emma. But she would use it against this pair if push came to shove. Joe swallowed hard and gaped at her. "Best do as the lady says," the stranger drawled. "Pretty sure she means business." "And if you don't think so, you better reconsider." Pa, his voice surprisingly strong, suddenly stood at her side, a pistol in his hands. Lizzie didn't shift a fraction, but out of the corner of her eyes she noted it took both hands for Pa to hold the gun steady. Joe slid his firearm to the counter and backed away, his hands above his head. Stook shuffled at his side, a look on his face of pure disgust. The stranger held the door for them and let it hit their heels on the way out. "If that don't beat all." He roared with laughter. My, but the man had a rolling, gut-pleasing way of laughing. It made her want to join in his amusement. Made her feel all sweet and pleased. Their gazes connected with a great jolt of something she didn't recognize, couldn't name, and yet it echoed with dreams she only allowed herself late at night. Pa still held his gun level. "You, too, mister."

543

She tore her attention from the man causing her heart to dip strangely. "No, Pa. He wasn't with them." "How can you be sure? Identify yourself, stranger." "Holt Perry, sir. I just happened by. Needing some supplies." He regarded Pa, letting the older man assess him. Lizzie wondered what Pa saw. A tall, lean man with eyes like warm campfire coffee? Eyes that seemed to blare caution and humor at the same time. Did he notice the man's hands? So big and strong. The kind that would control wild horses just as skillfully as sweep a woman off her feet. If a woman were so inclined, which she wasn't. She was committed to being mother to Emma and helper to her father. "Where you hail from, Holt Perry?" Pa was clearly not about to take the man at face value. "No place in particular." "Then where you be going?" "North. Thought I'd try life in Canada." Pa grunted. "Sounds like a man running from something." Holt Perry didn't answer. Pa lowered the gun, let it hang from his right hand. "Lizzie, fill the man's order so he can be on his way." "Yes, Pa." She stuck the shotgun behind the counter just as Pa moaned and crashed to the floor.

Chapter Three Holt saw Mr. Tate's eyes roll up into his head. Holt sprang forward but not quickly enough to keep the other man from folding into a heap on the oiled wooden floor. Holt reached his side at the same moment as Lizzie. They bumped into each other, backed away. Embarrassment fluttered through her eyes and then she turned to kneel at her father's side. "Pa." She nudged his arm. "Pa." Holt pushed aside a rush of wishes. Life would never include the things a man wanted—home, a woman to smile in greeting as he walked in the door. Not while he was a hunted man. But the alternative was to face biased justice. His false accusers had left no doubt in anyone's mind that Holt was guilty. Not that a soul had been looking to defend his innocence. He knelt beside Lizzie, studying the inert man. "He's passed out." He shoved one arm under Mr. Tate's shoulders and the other under his knees, grunting as he lifted him. "Show me to his bed." Lizzie considered the request for barely a second before she nodded. "Right this way." She led him to the doorway that Emma had scampered through such a short time ago and into their tiny living quarters. It was as cold as a barn in the cramped room. "The fire's gone out," he observed. She nodded and led him to a narrow cot in the corner. The covers were rumpled. "Emma, come out of there. Pa needs the bed."

544

The quilts wiggled like a worm and Emma emerged, her light brown hair a tangled crown. "I's trying to keep warm." "Crawl into our bed." Lizzie tipped her head toward the narrow loft at the other end. "It's cold. Pa had this one warm." Lizzie smoothed her hands over Emma's hair. "You'll have to make the bed warm yourself. Now scoot." But Emma stayed close by, shivering despite the layers of sweaters she wore. Holt lowered their father to the bed, thinking that he was far too light for a man of his frame. And he understood why Emma liked her father's bed. The man was fevered. Holt got him comfortable then stepped away for Lizzie and Emma to hover at his side. "Pa, wake up." Lizzie rubbed his wrists and patted his cheeks. "How long has he been ill?" Holt asked. "Long time," Emma said, her little face wreathed in worry. "Is he gonna die?" "Of course not." Lizzie's voice dared such a thing to happen. Mr. Tate moaned. Saw Lizzie. "You're safe." "Yes, Pa. I'm safe. So is Emma." "I should…" His voice drifted into blankness. "He needs something hot to drink." Holt looked about for firewood. Saw three sticks in the box and a lump of coal. "Show me the woodpile and coal shed and I'll get some heat into this place." Lizzie rose slowly and faced him. In the depths of her violet eyes he read regret and determination. "We haven't enough fuel to keep both fires going." She meant the stove in the store as well as the cookstove in the living quarters. Holt realized Mr. Tate had been ill long enough to cut into their winter store. The man signaled Holt to draw closer. Holt did so, bending low to catch Mr. Tate's softly spoken words. "I'm too ill to care for my girls." He tried to lift his hand to grasp Holt's shirt but lacked the strength. "Mr. Perry, you seem a decent man. Promise me you'll stay and help them prepare for the cold weather." Holt knew then and there that God had spared his life for one purpose. He would trust God to protect him from his pursuers while he achieved it. "I promise, I'll help." He had two days' advantage on the men on his trail—three at the most—but now he had given his word and whatever the risk to himself, he would help these people.

Chapter Four Lizzie heard the stranger pledge to help her family. It would be a relief, but Lizzie wouldn't acknowledge how desperately they needed his charity.

545

"We'll manage," she said to him. Hadn't God promised to take care of them? She clung to the idea. Otherwise her legs would buckle at the thought of how fast the coal pile had been depleted. "Pa is improving every day." She spoke more from stubborn determination than truth, but she was uneasy about a stranger hanging around. Even one who had defended her and carried her father gently to his bed. She turned from Pa and Holt. "I'll tend to your order now." "Lizzie." Pa's weak voice brought her back to his side. She knelt so she could hear his words. "I prayed for help. I have to believe this is God's answer." Although his words were but a whisper she knew when she glanced up at Holt that he'd heard them. Again Holt's gaze was riveted to hers. Silently saying he wanted only to help. She longed to believe it. But her natural caution warned her to be careful. "Ma'am, at least let me get the chill off this place. I won't use any more of your wood and coal than necessary. And if you'd be so kind as to share your meal, I'll sleep in the livery station tonight. Tomorrow…" He pulled at his lip as if considering his options. Even as she considered hers. She had precious few. "I'd be pleased to make sure you have a fair stock of fuel. Might take me more'n a day, though. If that's a problem…?" Emma stood shivering at the foot of Pa's bed. Lizzie ached to give her little sister the warmth of home and the security Lizzie had known when she was six. Instead she had only a cold room to offer. Trying to run the store and care for everything left her scant time to play mother to her sister. It was the look of hope on Emma's face that made up Lizzie's mind. "I'll feed you and provide your travel supplies in exchange for a winter's store of fuel." Holt grinned. "It's a deal." He offered his hand to make it official. Lizzie hesitated, suspecting that she might regret this agreement as much as she needed it. Slowly she lifted her hand to his, let him grip it. Solid. Strong. She withdrew her hand. Couldn't decide what to do with it. Press it to her waist? Wrap her other hand around it and share the heat? In the end, she unnecessarily tidied a lock of hair, tucking it into her bun. He rubbed his palms together. "First things first. Let's get a fire going and make this room cozy." Emma followed him to the cold stove. "We're going to be warm?" "Soon, little Emma. Very soon. And I'll make sure you've got enough fuel that you can be snug as a bug all winter." Emma gave him a smile full of sweet trust. "I think I like you." He grinned at the girl. "What's not to like?" He shared the smile with Lizzie, and she felt as if the sun had dawned in her chest. It frightened her.

546

"A man from no place. On his way north. Not the sort of man to like too much, Emma." Lizzie warned herself as much as her little sister.

Chapter Five "A man from no place. On his way north. Not the sort of man to like too much, Emma." Holt recognized Lizzie's caution for what it was—a warning to her little sister to remember this was temporary. He wished he could assure her it was misplaced. But it wasn't. For his own safety he had to keep moving. But for now, he intended to honor his promise to Mr. Tate. The door to the store opened and Lizzie slipped away. The fire began to thaw out the room. "I'm going to see about more fuel," he told Emma and stepped outside. There was only enough wood for a month or less, he thought as he examined the woodpile. He moved to the coal shed. A small heap in the middle of the floor. No wonder Lizzie was rationing it so tightly. It would take him more than a few days to provide a winter's supply. Might even take a week. He grinned. Didn't seem such a bad prospect. Then he thought of his pursuers, just days behind him. He rubbed at his throat at the specter of being caught and taken back. Holt shrugged off the thought. He had given his word, and he wouldn't break his promise. He chopped wood for kindling then filled a coal bucket and carried it inside. But Holt drew to an abrupt halt as he entered the living quarters. The room glowed with hominess. A pot simmered on the stove, filling the air with a pleasant aroma. Mr. Tate reclined on his pillows as Lizzie helped him drink from a cup. Emma sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, playing with a doll. The scene filled him with sharp regret; a man on the run could never enjoy such pleasures. But this temporary taste was a gift from God. He would enjoy every minute of it and cherish the memory in the future. "It smells like home in here." Lizzie glanced up. "I just made tea. Do you want a cupful?" "Sounds good. I'll get it." But by the time he hung his hat and shucked out of his coat, she had placed a steaming cup on the table for him. "Thanks." Emma sat across from him. "Where's your home?" Holt felt Lizzie and her pa's silent interest in his answer. "Used to be Ohio. Before my pa died." "My ma died, too." "I'm sorry. But you got your pa and your sister." She nodded, her eyes bright. "They love me." "What's not to love?" She giggled at his question. Then tipped her head to study him more. "So why didn't you stay with your ma?" "I did some, until she married again. My stepfather didn't much like having a sixteen-year-old boy hanging about. So I left." "Aww. That's sad." He let her mull it over as he sipped tea that cheered his insides.

547

"So where you going now?" "Nowhere in particular." "Then how do you know you aren't there already?" Emma's innocent question hung in the air. Holt couldn't tell her that staying wasn't safe, no matter how much he might want to. He had no wish for them to get mixed up in his troubles. Regret boiled through his insides, scalding them with loneliness and desperation. "I just know."

Chapter Six Lizzie heard the longing in Emma's voice. Understood it. With Holt there, the room was warmer and more secure than it had been since Pa fell ill in the summer. But Holt wasn't the answer they needed…although she couldn't deny the deep gratitude and relief she felt at his offer to make sure they had enough coal and wood to get them through winter. Pa indicated he'd had enough tea and she moved to the stove to stir the soup. Rationing fuel had meant restricting her cooking to what she could prepare on the pot-bellied stove in the store. But now she'd be able to make better meals. Surely Pa would then start to improve. She studied him. He seemed to be resting peacefully. Praise the Good Lord. Her eyes continued on to Holt. Emma had brought out her rag doll and was chattering to him about "Miss Ellen's" adventures. Holt nodded and made appropriate comments, appearing to take the child's imaginations seriously. Everything inside Lizzie tilted sideways at the sight of the big man bent close to Emma, his over-long black hair brushing his strong jawline. He turned, noticed her watching and grinned. "Miss Ellen has been a busy young lady. She's visited several cities I haven't seen. Even been to the ocean." His coffee-colored eyes filled with amusement. And something more that drew her into her own dream world. She found herself longing for things she would not allow herself to confess—a home such as she'd known as a child. Security. Love. She gave a mental snort. Not that she wasn't loved. But that wasn't the sort of love she meant. In the most secret places of her heart, she yearned for a love that cherished her as a woman. But her responsibility to her pa and little sister made such romantic notions impossible. The few men who had shown any interest in Lizzie had made it plain they didn't want to be tied down by her family. She jerked her attention back to the simmering pot. Her imagination was almost as rampant as Emma's. "The soup is ready. Emma, would you set the table?" "Okay. Holt, you hold Miss Ellen." Lizzie expected the man to protest. When he didn't she had to steal a look. He sat with Miss Ellen on his lap, his big hands cradling the rag doll as gingerly as if it were china. Try as she might she couldn't contain a chortle. Holt grinned at her. "It's a rare occasion that I get to hold someone's best friend." Their gazes locked. Did she see interest in his eyes, or was it only her own hopes she saw? She tore her eyes away. He was a stranger. She couldn't possibly have feelings for him in such a short time. Yes, he was kind to help them, but he was only passing through. Likely, as Pa said, on the run. She'd had enough of young men who

548

had only leaving on their minds, who expected she should abandon her family to join their wild pursuits. This man was no different. The sooner he moved on, the better, she decided as she began to ladle out the soup. He waited until she sat down. "Do you want me to say grace?" At her nod, he did so. He spoke as if he and God were on a friendly basis. Which was no reason to allow herself even a thread of attraction. Words easier said than obeyed.

Chapter Seven "How long do you think it will take to restock our coal and wood?" Lizzie asked him. Holt tasted the soup, stalling. "It's been a long time since I enjoyed anything this good—might be a good while before you have enough fuel," he teased. His response was an evasion, but Holt had no intention of answering her question about how long he'd be around. Somehow he couldn't bear the thought of how she would look at him once she found out he was a wanted man. But if it weren't for his pursuers, he'd be tempted to stay the winter. Emma giggled. "It's only soup. We eat it a lot." "How fortunate for you. Sure beats fricassee rabbit." He smiled at Lizzie. "'Preciate your inviting me for supper." She laughed, easing the tension that scraped along his nerves at the way she shied away from meeting his glance. "Seems you invited yourself." "Are you insinuating I'm not welcome?" He put his spoon down in mock protest. Emma almost jumped from her chair. "No, she didn't meant that, did you, Lizzie?" The girl's eyes grew wide, pleading. "Say you aren't going." But he kept his gaze on Lizzie, silently demanded a response from her. "Calm down, Emma. Of course he's welcome." Holt grinned, far more on the inside than the out. The admission had cost Lizzie a dose of pride but he decided it was worth it. "So tell me about Buffalo Hollow." He listened keenly as they described the frontier town and the people living nearby. The information might prove valuable should someone come hunting him. And he knew they would. They were on his trail even now. He could only pray something would delay them. They finished the soup. While Lizzie washed the dishes, Holt insisted on drying them. "I do my share," he said when she would have refused his help. "Very well." There was a shrug in her voice, but he caught a flash of something in her eyes that made him think she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended. He allowed himself a bit of joy, a moment of dreaming, before he pushed reality to the fore. "Emma," Lizzie said, "Get ready for bed." Emma looked ready to argue then sighed like a martyr and climbed the ladder to the loft. "It's nice and warm up here."

549

Mr. Tate had slept through the meal, but as Holt dried the last bowl, he stirred. "Lizzie?" His frail voice barely reached the stove. Lizzie hurried to him. "I'll get your soup right away, Pa." "Wait." She hovered at his side as he struggled to find words and the strength to say them. "Is he still here?" Holt moved to the bed. "I'm still here. I'll stay until there is enough fuel for the winter." Had he forgotten Holt's promise or did the man need something more? "Is there anything else?" "Lizzie will give you money for the coal. Borrow the wagon from the livery man. He'll direct you to the nearest coal mine." "I'll do so." He waited but Mr. Tate seemed to have nothing more to say. Lizzie brought a bowl of soup and pulled a chair close to feed her father. Emma climbed down the ladder, Miss Ellen tucked under her arm and a book in one hand. Seeing that her sister was busy, she turned her attention to Holt. "Will you read me my story?" Her question jolted through his insides. He sucked in air and tried not to see the room—cheery, full of love and family. Everything he wanted, and now because of the lies about him, could never have.

Chapter Eight Lizzie saw the way Holt's mouth grew flat. Sensed a stiffening of his spine. Bad enough Emma demanded he hold her doll. Now to ask him to read her a story… "Emma, don't bother him. I'll read to you as soon as I'm done with Pa." Holt shuddered so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn't been looking carefully. "Not a bother." He reached for the book. Emma took his hand and led him to the rocking chair that had once been Ma's. The girl waited for him to sit then indicated she had to perch on his knee. Lizzie watched anxiously, torn between allowing her sister this pleasure and wanting to protect her from a man who would walk out of their lives as suddenly as he'd walked in. Someone they knew next to nothing about. But she remembered how she'd sat on Pa's knee as he read to her. How could she deny her little sister this simple happiness? So Lizzie only observed, prepared to intervene if needed. Holt pulled Emma to his chest, allowed her to snuggle close, and read from the Bible storybook. Lizzie's eyes stung as she blinked away tears. She would not cry even though the scene reminded her of all she'd lost. And Emma, too. She concentrated on helping Pa get settled for the night. After a while, Holt stopped reading. Lizzie glanced over at them and saw that Emma had fallen asleep. She kissed her father's forehead and went to her sister. "Emma, honey, time for bed." She bent over to pick Emma up, bringing her so close to Holt she could see the flecks of gold in his irises, feel the heat from his

550

body, inhale the scent of wood and wide spaces from his skin. She tried to pull back but was caught in a net of longing and loneliness. Emma stirred and Lizzie jumped away. "Come along." She escorted her sister to the ladder, made sure she climbed up safely and crawled under the covers. Miss Ellen rested on her cheek as Emma sighed and slept. Slowly Lizzie turned, finding Holt watching her. Her breath stalled halfway up her throat at the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't move. Couldn't tear herself from that look. He jerked to his feet. "I'll bid you good night." He grabbed his coat, slammed his hat on his head and reached for the doorknob. Then he paused. She felt the air stiffen between them. "Ma'am." He pivoted to face her. "I thank you for your hospitality." "You'll be back for breakfast?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound half as desperate as she felt about his answer. "I…can't say. I may go to the mine early. Good night," he said again and left without looking back.

Chapter Nine It took the better part of a day to go to the coal mine and return. This was his third trip. Holt welcomed the reprieve. Almost as much as he minded it. In spite of himself, he'd been drawn back to the cozy little room for breakfast with Lizzie, Emma and Mr. Tate. It was sweet agony, reminding him of the kind of life he would never enjoy. Now, as he huddled on the wagon seat, shrugged up inside his coat against the cold wind, he decided to focus on things he was happy about rather than the things he couldn't have. Mr. Tate was still too weak to get out of bed on his own but decidedly stronger than the first day, when he'd collapsed on the floor. This morning he had sat up in bed and fed himself. Lizzie hadn't been able to stop smiling. "He's made a turn for the better," she'd remarked. "I 'spect it will take a few days for him to regain his strength." "I know, but it's been so long since he fed himself." Holt had allowed himself to squeeze her shoulder briefly. "I'm glad. For all of you." She'd leaned into his touch. Or had he only wished that? Dreamt it? He comforted himself with the assurance that there had been no mistaking the flash of gratitude in her eyes. Whether for his encouragement or her father's improvement he couldn't guess. But he could hope it was partly the former. Yes, it was definitely a good thing he had several all-day trips to make. Yet every day meant those who hunted him were that much closer. They should have overtaken him by now. He pretended he didn't feel the fear boiling through his insides. God must have intervened in some way in order to allow Holt this respite. Dark shadows already filled the hollows as he headed down the lone street of Buffalo Hollow toward the store. The wind had increased in intensity, bringing with it the smell of snow. He studied each doorway, each lamp-lit window carefully, letting his breath whistle past his teeth when he saw no one that made him think he should leave in a hurry.

551

God in heaven, You see how this family needs help. I'm more than prepared to lend it, but I'm trusting You to hold the bad weather and my pursuers off until I can cross the forty-ninth. He pulled up to the coal shed, backed the wagon as close as he could and began to shovel the coal inside. Once he finished, he returned the horse and wagon to the livery barn. The man on duty seemed bored, and Holt saw an opportunity to get some information. "Anyone coming and going today?" He kept the tension from his voice and hoped the man would think his question only idle conversation. "Nope. Most people got the good sense to stay home with snow threatening." "'Spect that's so." His mind somewhat at ease, Holt hurried to the store, entering through the rear door that he had repaired. He smiled as Emma ran to him. "You're back." "Yup." His gaze shifted to Lizzie and his heart soared at her smile of welcome. "Feels like snow. Glad you got here before it comes." "Me, too." Except…he should be riding north ahead of the snow. He dare not get trapped here for the winter—they'd find him for sure. Holt could practically feel the noose around his neck. But he had given his word to Mr. Tate that he'd make sure this family was prepared for the cold weather, and not even the fear of hanging would make him leave before he'd done that.

Chapter Ten Holt stayed until Emma went to bed then he went out into the winter. To sleep at the livery barn. Lizzie shivered. The house grew colder when he left, and she admitted it wasn't simply because of the draft coming in the door. His presence lit the room. Perhaps that's why Pa was improving. That and having a fire in the stove. Thank God Holt had shown up when he did. Somehow they would manage when he left. Lizzie shook away another shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. "Pa, do you need anything more?" "I'm fine." He pulled the covers up to his chin and turned on his side. Like Holt said, it would take time for him to regain his strength. She thought of joining Emma in the loft but she wasn't tired, so she sat at the table and tackled the mending. It was a mindless enough job that her thoughts drifted…straight to Holt and the way he made her feel. If only she had room in her life for the kind of dreams that he kindled. For the first time, she imagined how it would be to ride side by side with a man who cared for her. To be held and sheltered. To create a home for him. But she had a little sister and sick father who needed her, not to mention a store to run. And he had never indicated he wanted to stay. Why just this morning she'd observed him staring out the window as if counting the minutes until he was on his way. No point in dwelling on things that could be different, or dreaming impossible dreams. With a heavy sigh, she put away the mending and headed for bed. During the night the wind increased, rattling the door and windows, screaming around the corner of the house. She normally let the fire die down while they slept, but the wind sucked the warmth from the house and twice she climbed down the ladder to put more coal on the embers, hovering over the stove until the heat increased and then scurrying back to bed. Sometime during the night, the sound of the wind changed, pulling Lizzie from her light sleep. She listened, trying to identify why it had wakened her. She realized the sound was coming from inside the house. She

552

tensed, wishing she'd brought the shotgun to bed with her. Emma was curled up next to her safe and sound. Lizzie intended to keep her that way. She slipped from her covers, silently pulled on a robe and edged toward the ladder. The sound came again. She waited, not breathing. If it was an intruder she had no weapon to defend herself and her loved ones with. And Pa. Down there. Helpless. She tipped her head to catch the source and location of the sound. And then it hit her. She knew what it was. Fear leapt into her throat, and she slid down the ladder without touching any of the rungs.

Chapter Eleven Holt hurried from the livery barn as the first blush of dawn pinkened the sky. The snow had held off but the wind had a bite that made a man wish for a cave to hunker down in. Or even more alluring…a nice warm house with a woman's welcoming smile. Like the ones Lizzie gave. He shrugged farther down into the protection of his coat as he hurried up the street. Didn't even bother to check to the right and the left for anyone interested in a lone cowboy. He ducked into the living quarters behind the store. "Brr. That's a cold wind." The silence at his greeting made him freeze in the act of taking off his coat. He turned. Emma sat at the table, fear blazing from her big eyes. Lizzie knelt by her father's bed, sponging his face and arms. It didn't take Holt more than a glance to know the man was burning with fever. He tossed off his coat. "How long has he been like this?" "He woke me last night shouting and rambling incoherently. I've been trying to get his fever down since." Mr. Tate hollered and swung his arm. Lizzie ducked. Holt sprang into action. "Throw back his covers. We have to sponge him all over." He worked as he talked, pulling Mr. Tate's shirt over his head and slipping his arms out of his union suit. By rights they should remove the underwear on his lower body as well, but he figured the man wouldn't want his girls to see him that way. "Get me more water." Lizzie scrambled to bring him a basin. Holt took the washcloth, dipped it into the basin and washed the man from the waist up, letting the water evaporate. Emma edged closer. "Is he gonna die?" "No." Holt and Lizzie answered as one. He saw the set of her jaw, knew she would fight to her last breath to save her father. "I'm at your side." He would fight just as hard as she. She looked at him, her eyes filled with gratitude. "You take care of Emma. I'll look after your pa. Between us, it'll be okay." He wanted to give her a hug, to offer her comfort, but he had no right.

553

Holt returned his attention to the older man. This was something he could do for Lizzie. No matter the cost, he would honor his promise to Mr. Tate. And he would not fail her. If he was found and captured, so be it. He prayed God would enable him to face his fate with dignity.

Chapter Twelve Lizzie rubbed her neck, trying to ease the strain caused from bending over Pa most of the night. She tried to persuade Emma to eat something. But her sister was as worried as she. As she tidied up, she watched Holt caring for Pa. The man wasn't the least bit awkward at playing nurse. Oh, how she took comfort from his strength and encouragement. The night had been interminably long and lonesome. She handed him some tea that he paused only a moment to down. "I've been trying since you got here to express my gratitude to you," she murmured. "But the words don't ever seem like enough. I don't know what I would have done without you," she murmured. Heat crept up her neck and stung her cheeks. His grin was fleeting. "Perhaps God sent me here to help you. You ever think of that?" She didn't answer, but she smiled to acknowledge the kindness of the thought. A little later…or was it a great deal later…she reached over and took the cloth from him. "There's soup and sandwiches ready. Go eat while I tend to him." Holt hesitated then went to the table. He sat across from Emma. "Where's Miss Ellen?" Lizzie wondered if he'd have any more success diverting Emma than she had. "Still in bed," the girl answered. "Bet she's tired of being there." Emma sighed loudly. "She's a doll." "Yesterday she was your best friend. How would you like it if your best friend forgot about you?" Lizzie watched Emma consider Holt's words. "I wouldn't like it." She scrambled from her chair and up the ladder so fast Lizzie feared for her safety. "Emma, slow down." But Emma practically slid down the ladder, Miss Ellen tucked under her arm. She returned to the table and sat Miss Ellen beside her plate. "There you go. I didn't forget you. Not for a minute." Lizzie looked to Holt. He watched her. She couldn't pull her eyes away. Didn't want to, finding warmth and comfort in his eyes. The air between them seemed to shift and shimmer. She drank long and hard from the silent promises he offered before she turned back to care for Pa. "If only his fever would break," she murmured. Emma clutched her doll to her chest. "Miss Ellen is worried." Holt scooped Emma into his arms and brought her to Lizzie's side. "You aren't alone."

554

Lizzie nodded. Holt was here; his presence helped her find courage. "God is with us. Let's ask Him to heal your pa." Holt bowed his head. Emma followed his example, as did Lizzie after a moment, struck by the deep assurance of Holt's faith. Holt prayed for Pa to get better. And for them to know how to help. But hours later his condition didn't improve and Pa grew steadily weaker.

Chapter Thirteen Holt lost track of the hours as he and Lizzie alternately sponged Mr. Tate or tried to amuse Emma, the tension in the room getting thicker as the day waned. Nothing had changed with the sick man. Except the fever was sucking the life from him. What would happen to the girls if their father died? "Is there no doctor we can call?" Holt asked. "The nearest doctor is two days away and said he could do little when we called for him the last time." Lizzie's voice creaked with worry. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Holt longed to take her hands and pull her close. Offer comfort and encouragement. And so much more. But a man on the run had nothing to offer. "I've heard tales about a Métis woman out on Burke Edwards's ranch," she said. "They say she has herbs that help cure illnesses. Her name is Paquette." "I'm going to find her." He'd already started pulling on his coat. "How do I get to this ranch?" Lizzie shook her head. "It's threatening a storm. It's too late in the day to make it back before dark." If he wasn't so worried about Mr. Tate and the cold ride ahead of him he might have cheered. She didn't want him to go. She was concerned about his safety. "I'll return with help." A man could ride many a mile, face snow, darkness, even men wanting to execute frontier justice if he knew a woman waited for him. Not allowing himself a chance to examine the foolishness of such thoughts, he strode out into the dark and out of town. As he rode from town, the wind tore his breath away but it didn't deter him. He kept up a steady pace until he reached a set of buildings that he hoped was the ranch he sought. His limbs stiff with cold, he dismounted and staggered to the door. His knock was answered by a dark-haired man. "I'm looking for a woman named Paquette." A bent-over, crippled woman stood near the stove. "I be Paquette, me. Who you?" He explained about Mr. Tate's illness. "We heard you could help." She nodded. "I have cures." "Please, would you come with me?" He knew they didn't understand the urgency of his request. "Right away?" The man, who had identified himself as Burke Edwards, the owner of the ranch, answered. "It's almost dark and a storm's threatening. Better to wait for morning." Holt shook his head. He couldn't wait. Lizzie would be worried sick. And Mr. Tate… "I must return." He reached for the door. "Don't be foolish," Edwards said.

555

"I go with him, boss." Paquette shuffled toward a hallway. "You wait. I get things." Edwards groaned. "I better go along, too, just to make sure you get there safely." Holt shifted from one foot to the other as Paquette got ready and Edwards ducked out to saddle the horses. Finally they were mounted and on their way. But before long he began to wonder if he should have listened to Edwards's advice. The snow started, turning the air before him into a wall of white, the road disappearing in the darkness and swirling snow.

Chapter Fourteen Lizzie left her father's side to stare out the window. "You think he's lost?" Emma's voice shrilled across Lizzie's nerves. She forced herself to still her worrying hands and speak calmly. "No, dearest. I'm sure he'll be back soon." "It's dark out." And snow had started to fall. Or rather to blow. So strong it didn't seem to touch the ground, violently swirling in the air. God, please keep him safe. She returned to Pa and resumed sponging, not knowing what else to do. The door rattled and she jerked about. But it was only the wind. With shaking hands, she returned her attention to her task. It happened again and again, and each time she had to stop herself from bolting to the door. As the hours ticked by the room grew more and more empty. The door rattled again. Only this time the handle also jiggled. She sprang forward, spilling water on her feet and not even caring as she threw open the door. "Holt!" Joy she could not disguise filled her voice. "Holt, you must be freezing. Come in." She tugged at his sleeve. "I brought help." He could barely form the words, his lips stiff with cold. Lizzie tore her gaze from Holt's face and saw a tiny woman at his side. "This is Paquette," he said. "Thank God you're here! Please, come in and get warm." "I not be cold." The woman shuffled in, shed a fur cape and went straight to Pa's side. She rubbed her hands to take the chill off of them then touched his forehead. "He be sick long time." Even though it wasn't a question, Lizzie answered. "Yes." "He very weak now." Frighteningly so. Lizzie hovered at the end of Pa's bed, her stomach bouncing from pillar to post as she watched and waited. Holt shed his coat and stood at her side. She welcomed his comforting presence.

556

Paquette suddenly nodded. "I fix." She opened a leather pouch and pulled out an array of dried herbs. "I need hot water." Lizzie sprang forward to help. A few minutes later Paquette had produced a noxious smelling liquid. "He drink this. All it. He start get better." "How will he drink? He's unconscious." Paquette touched Pa's cheeks and neck then she bent close. "Mister, open your eyes." Lizzie gasped as Pa did so. "You drink." Paquette lifted his head and held the cup to his lips. He swallowed three times. "Good." She turned to Lizzie. "You see he drink all." She handed Lizzie the cup. "I be done." She sat at the table. Emma, who had refused to go to bed until Holt returned, stared at her. Paquette stared right back. Then she smiled. "You be nice girl." The woman had brought something to help Pa. Holt was safe and sound. The relief made her dizzy. Lizzie's lungs emptied so fast her legs bent. Holt caught her around the waist. She knew she should pull away. Stand on her own two feet. But she'd stood on her own for so long… She welcomed his steadying arm, but how long would he be here to offer it?

Chapter Fifteen A wild rush of emotions drove the cold from Holt's body as he held Lizzie. Relief, concern and swirling hope all tangled with one another until he couldn't begin to say what he felt. "Give more drink," Paquette said. Holt steadied Lizzie, not releasing her until he was sure she wasn't going to fold like a towel dropped on the floor. She pulled in a long breath then moved to her father's side and held the cup to his lips. He roused enough to drink some more. The night deepened. Emma crawled into bed without being told…mostly because no one thought to tell her. Paquette wrapped her fur around herself and slept near the stove. Edwards had taken the horses to the barn and said he would wait there. Only Holt and Lizzie remained awake, giving Mr. Tate the dreadful smelling drink and watching desperately for signs that he was getting better. He sweated profusely, which Paquette said was a good sign. Then, toward the thin dawn, he opened his eyes. "Lizzie," he murmured. "There's a bad taste in my mouth." She laughed and gave him water. After he drank, he closed his eyes with a contented sigh, the fever broken. Lizzie sagged and Holt caught her. Tremors rattled her teeth. He wrapped his arms about her and held her tight, absorbing the tremblings with his body. She clung to him, filling him with a sweet, terrifying knowledge. He loved her. When he left he would leave behind his heart.

557

And he would have to go. Staying would bring about nothing but his own death. Perhaps even endanger the lives of Lizzie and her family. Perhaps at some future date God would see fit to allow his name to be cleared. But until then his love was a worthless thing…. She clutched his shirt front and lifted her face to him. "I was so scared. What would we do if he…?" She swallowed back the word. "Hush, God has answered our prayers." The fear in her eyes shifted. Her gaze drove into his soul, searching out his hidden feelings. He tried to mask them, tried to resist the deep longing that rose within him—and failed at both. He bent his head and caught her mouth with his own. The kiss was barely a touch, but he would carry the taste of her sweet mouth beneath his for the rest of his life. Then Paquette stirred and they sprang apart. She rolled up her fur and shuffled to Mr. Tate's side to touch his forehead and run her fingers down his neck. "He be better. Feed him plenty good food. Keep warm." Emma scrambled down from the loft. Checked on her pa. "He's better?" Paquette patted Emma's head. "He soon be telling you to mind manners." They all laughed, as much from relief as amusement. A few minutes later Edwards came in. "The snow has stopped but it's frightfully cold." "You're welcome to stay," Lizzie said. "Only until the sun climbs higher. No telling when it will turn worse." Holt knew he should be making the same announcement. Get going while it was still possible. He had fulfilled his promise to Mr. Tate, he owed them nothing. But now something stronger than his honor held him here. An emotion so fierce it would keep him with Lizzie at least until he was sure Mr. Tate could take care of Lizzie and her sister again. Even if it meant his life.

Chapter Sixteen Paquette and Mr. Edwards left early that morning, and as the day wore on, Pa steadily grew stronger. Lizzie's happiness knew no bounds, magnified as it was by Holt's presence. His kiss had affected her deeply. Never had she felt this way before…full of a joy that danced across her senses. She tried to temper it with reason. After all, he had made no promises. Over and over she caught him staring out the window with a faraway look in his eyes, and she knew he had one foot out the door and she had no claim on him. Yet she wondered how she would manage when he left. Certainly Pa would soon be able to spend a few hours in the store. And God willing, be able in time to take over the outside chores. But it wasn't the work that would make her miss Holt. It was the loneliness in her soul that hovered in the background. For a moment she considered suggesting she go with him when he left. Her heart leapt at the idea, but her head reminded her that her family needed her here.

558

Holt stepped through the door. "It's bright and sunny today. After that storm, I reckon the good weather will last a few days." Something in his voice screeched along her nerves and she took her time drying her hands and facing him, as if by delaying she could avoid what he had to say. He waited until her gaze finally met his, let her see his regret as well as his resolve. "I'll be leaving in the morning." Only by holding her breath was she able to bite back a cry. She counted to three. Then ten. Eventually she spoke, hoping her voice wouldn't reveal the depth of her pain. "You're more than welcome to stay." He nodded. "I know. But I can't." He reached for her hands and drew her to the table, urged her to sit and pulled a chair to her side. "I am a wanted man, Lizzie." The statement was so ridiculous that she felt a giggle tickling her throat. "I'm accused of rustling cows and there are people who will testify that I've done it." "How absurd. Why would they say such a thing?" He cupped her face in his palm and gave her a look so full of tenderness her vision blurred. "Lizzie, you are sweet. How do you know I'm not guilty?" Heat burned her cheeks and she was sure they must flash a telltale red. She'd spoken on pure instinct but she had no doubt of his innocence. "You are a God-fearing man. You would not steal. Tell me what happened?" He trailed his fingers down her cheeks. His gaze lingered on her eyes with delightful pleasure that filled her insides with sweet music. "I rented some land and started to gather up a herd of cows. The big rancher next to my land kept reporting his cows were going missing, claimed they'd been stolen. It wasn't me, but someone framed me. Produced several witnesses who said they saw me branding a steer that belonged to my neighbor. Frontier justice would see me hanged. I decided I didn't much care for that sort of justice and headed for the Canadian border." "But you stopped here. Why?" It put him in so much danger she dare not consider it. "You needed help. I made a promise." He stroked her cheek. "And I don't regret it one bit." He kissed her, so full of tenderness and unspoken love that she ached clear through. "I…I know you have to go. But…I could go with you." His grin was crooked. "You can't leave Emma and your father. Our lives must go in different directions from here." His voice sliced through her insides, echoing her own painful conclusion. "I don't want you to leave, but I understand you have to." If only there were some way she could keep morning from coming.

Chapter Seventeen Holt pushed from his sleep to the sound of a thousand stampeding animals. He shook his head. The walls of the little room in the livery barn where he slept groaned. In a flash he'd pulled on his boots and shrugged into his coat before he rushed to open the door. A blast of wet wind chilled him and he slammed the door shut. But he'd seen enough to know a snowstorm was sweeping down the street, the snow so thick he couldn't see the buildings on the other side.

559

"Well, I can't leave now," he muttered. He couldn't find one bit of regret at the knowledge. Another day with Lizzie. Time to build memories to last forever. Pulling his hat down tight and securing it with his woolen scarf, he pushed into the storm. The snow swirled, making it impossible to know where he was. It stuck to his eyelashes. But he forged onward, mentally counting the steps to the store. It should be close. He squinted into the storm, caught a flicker of golden light and made his way toward it. Crashed into the door. Lizzie threw it open and drew him inside. "I feared you would venture out and get lost." "This is as far as I'm going until the storm lets up." "Then I'm glad for the storm." Her words were low, meant only for his ears. He brushed the snow from his lashes so he could look at her better. The smile in her eyes drove away the chill from the wind. "I'm glad, too." At least the storm meant his pursuers would not be able to make progress, either. Though he still wondered why they hadn't caught up to him by now. He could only thank God for the reprieve it allowed him. He meant to enjoy every extra moment. "You want to play with Miss Ellen?" Emma said. "After breakfast," Lizzie warned, her eyes revealing amusement and regret. "She'll miss you." She kept her voice soft enough that only he heard her. Mr. Tate was up, shaking the coffeepot. Lizzie hurried to the stove to dish up porridge. Emma sat at the table, her doll beside her bowl. Holt leaned back and watched the scene. If only he could be part of this beyond today. He shut down the longing in his heart. Circumstances had sent him on a different course. After breakfast they played a board game, then Lizzie brought out a photograph album and introduced him to her relatives. They sat side by side, Emma on his knee, and he leaned close, breathing in the scent of Lizzie, imprinting it and the shape of her features on his mind. And he asked God to make the storm last forever.

Chapter Eighteen Lizzie wished the day would never end. Having Holt at her side, knowing it could not last was bittersweet. During the night the storm ended and the next day was sunshine, bright and warm enough to make a person happy to go out to do chores. And encourage a wanted man to leave town. Holt would be on his way today. She leaned over the pile of wood to catch her breath. He'd said he would say goodbye before he left. She made an extra large breakfast, baked biscuits and cookies for his journey. When he came, his eyes were drawn down at the corners. Without speaking a word, she realized how much he wanted to stay. She realized he struggled with the idea and fear gripped her. "You must leave. I couldn't bear to see you hang. Maybe someday your name will be cleared and then…" Pa had gone to the store to fetch some raisins. Emma dug about in her belongings in the loft, leaving them virtually alone.

560

"When it is, I'll be back," he said. "I wish I could give you some sort of promise…but I can't. Don't wait for me, Lizzie." She caught a cry between her teeth. She wouldn't make this any harder. Pa came in just as Emma scampered down the ladder. They all sat around the table and Lizzie began to serve breakfast, trying to keep her hands from shaking. After a couple of minutes, Holt put down his fork carefully. "I'll be on my way this morning," he announced to them all. Emma's eyes widened. "You don't have to leave." "I'm afraid I do." He faced Pa. "There are reasons." He darted a glance at Emma as if wondering how much he should say in front of her. Pa met his eyes then nodded. "I appreciate your help. May God be with you." Customers trailed into the store and Pa rose to tend to them. Lizzie went to the doorway with her father to speak to him privately. "Pa, there are men after him. He's been falsely accused of rustling and will hang if he's caught." Holt joined her. "I assure you I'm innocent." "I never doubted otherwise." He gripped Holt's shoulder. "We will pray for God's justice." "I wish I could believe it will prevail." "Son, never lose faith." From the look on Holt's face she knew he had trouble believing in justice. Even as she did. Why would God allow a good man to be falsely accused? Why would He bring such a man into her life only to tear him away? Pa patted her shoulder. "Go say goodbye. For now. Until God answers our prayers." "Thank you, Pa." As her father entered the store, she grabbed Holt and drew him back to the table, filling his plate with eggs and bacon, refilling his coffee cup several times. They both recognized it as her way of delaying his departure. But he seemed content to let her. Suddenly Pa ducked into the living quarters, pulling the adjoining door closed behind him. At the fear on his face, Lizzie let the coffeepot slam to the table. "There are two men out front asking after you," Mr. Tate said. Holt bolted to his feet. "They've caught up with me." "I didn't tell them you were here. There's no one in the store who knows. So unless they start asking around at the livery barn…" He could still get away. But he had only a few minutes at best to escape the noose.

561

Chapter Nineteen There were men on the other side of the door, ready to arrest Holt and convict him of a crime he didn't commit. He knew he had to go, but somehow Holt couldn't tear himself away from Lizzie. Couldn't get enough of drinking in her features. She spun away. "You must go now." Lizzie handed him his coat and stuck food in a bag. "Hurry." Emma whimpered but her father pulled her to his side. "It's time, little one. Say goodbye." The child rushed over and threw her arms about Holt. He lifted her, pressing her face to his neck. "I'm going to miss you and Miss Ellen." He reluctantly released her to her father's arms and turned to Lizzie. Her mouth begged him to hurry and leave; her eyes begged him to stay. If only he could. But it would cost him his life, maybe even hers. The best thing he could do was ride away and leave these people safe and sound, not at the mercy of men who would accuse them of harboring a criminal. He continued to study Lizzie. He wanted so badly to kiss her but her father watched. "Sir, do you mind?" Mr. Tate grinned. "Go ahead." He kissed her, acutely conscious of his audience. "I will miss you always," he murmured. She cupped his cheek, her eyes bright. "Go. Be safe." His horse waited at the back door. He hooked the bag of food to the saddle and swung up. His last image before he rode away was of Lizzie with her father's arm about her. Avoiding the front of the store, where he might be seen, he headed north. The sun shone brightly. He should make good time today. In a few more days he would be safe in the Canadian Rockies, holed up someplace for the winter. God's justice, Mr. Tate had said, as if believing in that were enough. Where was God when Holt had been falsely accused? Why hadn't He intervened? Had Holt ever asked? Ever expected it? Given God a chance? But if he turned around right now and rode back to face his accusers, would he end up at the wrong end of a hangman's noose? He realized his horse had stopped walking, as if waiting for Holt to make up his mind what he wanted. Run and save his life? Go back and maybe hang? Or maybe prove his innocence and be free to tell Lizzie what was in his heart. Was his love for her reason enough to risk dying? He heard a sound behind him and spurred his horse into a run. *** He was gone. The words wailed through Lizzie's insides. God, keep him safe. She pushed thoughts of Holt aside and kept herself busy at the stove. But it was impossible. Her heart called her to go after Holt.

562

And yet how could she? Who would look after Pa and Emma? If she left right now, could she even catch up to him? She sighed. How foolish to even think such things. She could not abandon her family. Not even for the sake of her heart. Pa tended to the customers in the store. It seemed unusually busy today as people stocked up before winter really set in. He came into the room. "The mail came through." He handed her several letters. She glanced at them. All from aunts and other relatives. "Go ahead and read them. Might serve to cheer you up." "Are those men still there?" "They are. Asking questions of everyone." "That's good. So long as they're out there, they aren't chasing Holt." He squeezed her shoulder. "Pray and trust God to care for him." She nodded. He went back to the store and she opened the first letter—from her mother's sister—and read it twice. An idea formed in her head, a chance to have everything she wanted. If she was brave enough to go after it.

Chapter Twenty "Emma, go ask Pa if he can come here." She didn't want to go into the store and see the men who were after Holt. Emma went to the door and called Pa. "I'll be right there," he answered. When he came in, she handed him the letter. "Read this." He did so, frowning. "Your aunt has suggested that she come before. I'm just not sure about it." "Pa, don't you see? If she's here I can go find Holt." Pa studied her a long time. "You know she's looking for marriage?" "But it isn't a given. She can rent a room over at Miss Sachel's. She can take care of the house and Emma while you're in the store." Pa considered her suggestion. She could see he struggled with the idea of another woman in his home. She hoped he would understand how this would free her to be with Holt. Finally Pa nodded. "You can write her and say she's welcome." But by the time she did all of that… She wasn't the fastest rider in the world. She'd never catch him. "Pa, can I send someone after Holt?" "Don't think you'd have much chance of overtaking him." "I have to try."

563

He reluctantly gave his agreement. She grabbed her coat and rushed toward the livery barn, praying she'd find a good horse and rider. She stepped inside, waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior, located the owner in the far corner and made her request. "If you're looking to find me, you don't need to go to all that bother." She spun around at the sound of Holt's voice. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. He pulled her close and kissed her nose. "I decided I am not going to ride away from what we have." "But those men…" "Your pa said I should trust God's justice and I'm going to." Fear clawed up her throat. Trusting God was fine when it didn't mean Holt's life. "You could hang." "I intend to clear my name or die trying." "It's the die trying part that worries me." "Are they still at the store?" She told him that they were. He took her hand and led her up the street. Oh God, help us. The two strangers jolted upright as Holt stepped inside. "You're a hard man to find," the taller one said. Holt stood so relaxed and casual she might have thought he was visiting his brother. "I'm ready to go back." "No need. That's why we're here. The boss discovered cows were still disappearing even after you left. Turns out his own son was stealing them. You're a free man." Holt whooped. "Justice shall prevail." He grabbed Lizzie's hand and drew her into the living quarters, sweeping her into his arms once they were alone. "I love you, Lizzie." She managed to say "I love you, too, Holt," before he kissed her. "Say that you'll marry me. Promise me?" Lizzie smiled and nodded. "I promise."

564

His Stand-In Bride By Michelle Styles Tyne Valley, 1813 When her sister eloped with someone other than her betrothed, Lady Anne Dunstan knew two things. One, that she completely supported her sister's making her own choice about who she would marry. And two, that Anne—the responsible one—would have to clean up the mess. What she didn't know was how her sister's intended, Jason Martell, would take the news. Or how Anne would respond to the force of his presence, his rugged good looks, his less-than-gentlemanly advances. Or to his proposal of marriage.

Chapter One Spring 1813—Ladywell, the Tyne Valley The impatient male voice with the slightest coating of gentility cut through Lady Anne Dunstan's carefully prepared greeting. "You wished to see me? Less than two hours before the wedding? Why? What is this matter of the utmost urgency?" "My sister…that is…" Anne tightened her grip on her black beaded reticule and kept her gaze on Jason Martell's immaculately manicured hands rather than on his longer-than-strictly-respectable hair or his full lips. Her sister was correct. The man was barely a gentleman. This was far harder than she'd first considered, confronting him, being the bearer of bad tidings. But someone had to explain. Her stepmother had taken to her bed; her father was close to apoplexy and incapable of coherent thought—let alone speech—and her sister, the cause of this debacle, was far away, presumably safe in the arms of the man she loved. So Anne was the only one left. She knew it was the right and proper thing to do, even if she wished she wasn't the person to have to do it. How did one explain the…situation…at this hour in the morning in a man's library? Particularly to someone like Jason Martell, a man not known for his forgiving nature? He'd built his fortune from nothing to become one of the wealthiest figures in Northumberland, rivaling even the Earl of Strathmore. An imminent knighthood was rumored. The match between her sister and Mr. Martell was to have been the crown jewel in his quest for society's acceptance, or so her stepmother had confided. But now… Anne worried a bit of lace on her glove. "That is to say… Cressida asked me…" she began again. "Your sister Cressida, my bride." He gave an impatient wave of his hand which only served to emphasize the broadness of his shoulders. "I'm making you nervous. I regret that we have not spoken properly before, Lady Anne. There will be time after the ceremony. Whatever trifle—" "That is the problem. There will be no marriage today," Anne said quickly before her legs gave way. "Or ever." Anne watched the color completely drain from his face. And despite Cressy's confidences about his indifference towards her as a person, it was clear the news was a blow. But before she could draw a breath, he recovered and Anne wondered if she'd imagined it.

565

"Shouldn't your sister be here telling me?" The low growl rippled over Anne's strained nerves. "Am I not to be given the courtesy of hearing it from her lips?" "She's not here. She's…away." Anne caught her upper lip between her teeth and hoped. "I see." He tapped his long fingers on the desk and leaned forward, looming over her. "Your sister has suddenly departed on the day of our wedding. Do you know the reason, or am I supposed to guess?" "She eloped with Lord Hazelton's younger son in the early hours of this morning. They're in love," she babbled, wincing as she heard the words tumble out of her mouth. The news had emerged far more starkly than she'd practiced in the governess's cart. "Eloped? With Hazelton's son? That fragrant fop?" "It is true love," Anne said indignantly, getting a hold of herself and stiffening her resolve. She held out the crumpled note. Hazelton might not be as wealthy as Mr. Martell but she'd seen the pair together and knew that he worshipped the ground on which Cressy trod. Who was this man to make judgments? "Cressy wrote a letter explaining everything, but I thought it best to deliver the message in person. You deserved to hear it from one of the family. This is the note she left for me to find. You can read it, if you like." He waved the paper away. "Why? It is not addressed to me." "Because I feel it necessary." Anne pushed her spectacles farther up her nose and resisted the urge to tug at the Elizabethan ruff of her made-over gown. The infuriating man. She understood completely why Cressy hadn't wanted to marry him. The only mystery was why she'd agreed to it in the first place, and why her father had been so obstinate that the match must go ahead. "It was the only polite thing to do." "Politeness has no place in this." "It has every place," Anne retorted tartly. "Without politeness and propriety civilization ceases." "Lady Anne, the church is being prepared as we speak. The guests will arrive in mere hours. Surely your family knew about this…defection earlier. Someone must have had an inkling. And yet I was left hanging on. Did you think I am a fool? A piece of rubbish to be used and discarded at will once the true quarry was brought up to snuff? Where is the propriety in that?" Anne closed her eyes, wishing she were better at these things. She'd put it wrong. The pit in her stomach grew. The situation was partly her fault. When Anne had returned from visiting their great-aunt in Cumberland, it was obvious that Cressy was in love. Anne had seen how Cressy spoke about Benedict Hazelton, how her eyes had shone and how she despaired at their father's stubbornness that she must wed Martell. Anne couldn't bear the thought of Cressy being forced to marry someone she hadn't chosen. So she'd urged her sister to do the right thing—elope. After a while, everyone would see that Cressy had taken the only action she could. But in the meantime, it was up to Anne to manage whatever small contretemps arose. "My father and stepmother knew nothing of her plans, and I only discovered the letter this morning. Cressida left sometime in the early hours when everyone else was asleep." "She and her lover will be well on their way to Gretna Green or wherever he plans to take her. With a pair of swift horses they might even be married before they are apprehended," he said, glaring at her. "Yes. No. I've never eloped." Anne hated the way her insides squirmed under his penetrating gaze. "It would have been wrong for her to marry you when her heart belonged to another."

566

"The state of your sister's heart is no concern of mine." A sardonic smile played on his lips. "Neither of us ever pretended that it was a love match. It suited us both. Suddenly it doesn't suit her. Pity." Arrogant. Insufferable. Devoid of all sensibilities. The man was far worse than Cressy described. Anne tilted her chin upwards to show he didn't intimidate her. "I must say that I fail to understand why Cressy agreed to marry you." "Perhaps she liked the idea of being married to a wealthy man. Or perhaps she thought I would fulfill her needs in bed." He leaned farther forward and purred, "Some people enjoy the physical side of marriage— contrary to what a spinster might think." Anne held her reticule in front of her like a shield. Physical side of marriage! What sort of man mentioned such a thing to a well-bred lady? Was it any wonder that Cressy feared his touch and preferred Hazelton's poetry? "A person should be allowed to change their mind before marriage. To make her own choices." His eyes took on an unholy gleam. "Ah, I understand now. I'm very sorry, Lady Anne, but somehow I can't see your sister acting on her own. The last time we spoke, her prattle was all of parties, costumes and carriages. I believe you encouraged her in this folly. You're the one to blame." Anne twisted the strap of the reticule, suddenly feeling like a rabbit confronting a hungry fox. But she refused to back down, not on this issue. "Yes, I did. Better a few moments of embarrassment than a lifetime of regret. Cressy wanted to call off the engagement weeks ago but lacked the courage." "Something you possess in abundance. For you have bearded the uncouth upstart in his den. I know what you and your family think of me." He gave a bitter laugh. "You needn't spell it out, Lady Anne. It shows on your face." Anne straightened her shoulders and glared at the man's powerful features. "Marriage should be more than a cold-blooded business arrangement. There must be mutual understanding and respect—a partnership of equals that leads to love. That's what makes for a happy union. Cressy was right to make her own decision and marry the man she adores." Her voice gained strength with each word. This might not be the best time or place to take a stand, but she believed in a woman's right to have her own mind. Clearly he didn't. She pitied him for that. He snorted. "The idealism of the never wed. I doubt such a thing as love exists. Will you ever meet a man who matches your exacting standards?" Anne ground her teeth, hating the sense that somehow she'd blundered into the wolf's lair. But she reminded herself that she could now leave anytime she wanted. She'd said her piece. All that remained was to exit gracefully rather than sink to his level of name-calling and accusation. She was in the right and she'd do it again. "Our business has concluded. I shall bid you adieu, sir." Before she could move, he walked over to the door, closed it with a click and pocketed the key. His tawny eyes gleamed with an unsettling light. "Our business, Lady Anne, has barely begun."

Chapter Two Anne fought a wave of panic as Jason Martell closed and locked the door. "I've delivered my message, Mr. Martell. Kindly open the door. Our acquaintance is at an end."

567

Jason Martell reined in his temper with the last shards of his self-restraint. Who was this badly-dressed dowd in her spectacles to make demands on him, let alone lecture him on the institution of marriage? He doubted if she'd ever been kissed, much less been asked for her hand in marriage. She'd waltzed in here, informed him that his fiancée had eloped with another man and now expected him to thank her for ruining his carefully laid plans. All because of her devotion to a woman's right to choose her husband! "I'll let you go when I have finished and not before," he replied. "Your interference has cost me my intended bride and you think you can saunter out of my study with no consequences for wrecking my future?" "With each passing breath, my happiness that my sister eloped grows," Lady Anne proclaimed with an impudent toss of her auburn curls. "No woman should be married to such an impossible man! It's simply not done to close a door and lock it with a lady inside. The servants will talk. But what would you know about such notions of propriety where you have come from?" "You mean the gutter? Others have remarked on it," Jason said between gritted teeth. "I know what I am and when my parents married." She was silent for a heartbeat. "Your parents should've taught you the fundamentals of gentility." "You, Lady Anne, were born to be an interfering spinster." "There are certain benefits to spinsterhood—like speaking my mind and not having to put up with overbearing ogres, wherever they happen to be from." She made an irritated noise and pushed her ill-fitting spectacles back up her nose. "Allow me speak plainly. You never pretended to love my sister. All you feel at this moment is hurt pride. Such things heal quickly. You'll find another. I profoundly regret that this happened on the day of your wedding, but Cressy only discovered the courage to follow her heart last night." Though he hated to admit it, she was right. Jason had found Cressida Dunstan an insipid, vacuous blonde, but she possessed the correct pedigree and social graces to be the wife he required for his ambitions. Lord Dunstan losing badly to him at cards had prompted the match. Still, if Cressida had approached him before and indicated her opposition, he'd have agreed to different terms for settling Dunstan's considerable debt. Instead, hours before the wedding, the Dunstans, led by this woman, were attempting to cheat. No one cheated him, particularly not someone like this long-on-the-shelf spinster with her forthright views and bad taste in clothes. He narrowed his gaze, taking in her pale yellow gown with its Elizabethan ruffle. Would anyone who was connected to Lady Dunstan dress in such an unfashionable manner? Or was this some sort of disguise? Some kind of an elaborate hoax designed to baffle the ignorant peasant? "Your sister left it too late," he declared. "She should have kept her word." "I beg to differ, sir. Cressy followed her heart, as all women should in matters of matrimony and elsewhere." Her green eyes sparkled and a flush came to her cheeks, transforming her sallow complexion. The woman possessed a temper. Jason smiled inwardly. His hunch had merit. "Should they? You believe that true love is possible?" he asked blandly, baiting the trap. "True love is a rare and wonderful thing. Something to be embraced. Cressy is to be applauded for what she did. She made the correct choice given the circumstances." "You are in favor of this runaway match? No matter the consequences?"

568

"Yes, I am." She crossed her arms, and the movement served to highlight the fullness of her breasts. He fought the temptation to laugh. Her figure was much better than it seemed at first glance. "Better to correct a mistake now than to spend a lifetime regretting what might have been," she added. "And your father. Does he agree, or has he set out in hot pursuit?" "My father?" She worried the button of her kid glove. "He is beside himself with rage. My stepmother has taken a sedative." "Ah, so he doesn't go after the wayward daughter. No one does. Odd that." He moved a step closer to the woman. "And who took responsibility?" Her defiant gaze met his as her spectacles once again trembled on the tip of her nose. "Someone had to be practical." "And that someone was you?" He leaned forward and plucked the spectacles from her face. Instantly her stunning eyes were revealed. This close, he could see a latent passion in her bow-shaped mouth that he'd overlooked before. "What do you think you are doing, sir?" "An experiment. A most enlightening experiment." "Kindly return my spectacles." She tapped her slipper against the carpet and held out a slender hand. "I'm blind without them." He placed them in her outstretched fingers. She quickly shoved them onto her face. "What did you hope to prove with that stunt, Mr. Martell?" "Is your dress new?" Her hands tugged at the ruff. "I regret it's not up-to-the-minute, but once I discovered Cressy's note, my sole thought was to apprise you of the situation as soon as possible." "And your choice wasn't a deliberate attempt to make yourself repulsive?" Jason counted to ten. Would she admit she heard of his reputation and had sought to make herself unattractive to him? "No," she whispered finally. "It was the first one to hand." "Did you know that I had an agreement with your father?" "My sister is a person, not a mantua maker's doll. She should live her life as she desires. With the man she loves." "Just as you are a person." "What I am doesn't come into it." Her neat white teeth worried her bottom lip, turning it the color of strawberries. "We're discussing Cressy's right to be with the man she loves." "I could sue Hazelton for alienation of affection. He seduced an affianced woman."

569

"You're bluffing," she retorted far too quickly. "You wouldn't want the scandal of appearing to be a jilted lover." "You seem to have thought the matter over in great detail." "Someone had to." Her clear voice hesitated slightly. "I mean, after Cressy left. I wanted to put the case dispassionately and rationally so you'd understand." "So you had time to consider the situation rationally and logically but you chose to dress in the first rag that came to hand." "That's right." She inclined her head slightly, unsure of where he was going with his line of questioning. Jason smiled inwardly, beginning to enjoy himself. Lady Anne would learn that it did not pay to deceive him. "What shall be done about the wedding?" "The wedding?" she stammered slightly. "Someone will have to tell the guests," he said, watching her every breath. "I had rather thought you would. My father…I'm afraid…he's incapable of speech. All it will take is a few words of regret. People will understand. It'll be a ten-day wonder. No one will suffer any lasting harm. Eventually you'll discover the right woman to be your bride." "Impossible." He allowed his gaze to travel over her form, taking in the lush curves that she tried to hide behind the shapeless clothes. In a different color, a better-styled dress and without her spectacles, Lady Anne Dunstan would be breathtaking. And she certainly had spirit. There was a certain poetic justice to the scheme forming in his brain. "Why is it impossible?" she asked. "The church is hired. The guests are on their way. There will be a wedding today, Lady Anne. A grand and glorious wedding. One which the Tyne Valley will discuss for years to come." Her strawberry-red lips turned up in a disbelieving smile. "Who will be the bride in this marriage of yours?" "You."

Chapter Three "That is a very poor joke, Mr. Martell. Marry you today? Indeed." Anne gulped a breath of life-giving air. Surely he couldn't be planning on marrying her. Today. He only wanted to make the point that he was furious about her part in Cressy's elopement. She wasn't the sort of woman that men asked to marry. Her London Season had proved that. Her stepmother reminded her on numerous occasions of the disastrous time she'd had in London. After the Season had finished, she'd fled north and devoted herself to looking after the family's interests. She'd enjoyed the tiny measure of independence it gave her. "What do you hope to gain by this jape? My collapsing in a faint?" She put a hand on her hip. "I must warn you, sir, I never faint." "Do I look like I'm joking?" he purred, his tawny eyes becoming hooded. "I'd never joke about such a matter. Would you, Lady Anne? Maybe Cressida's elopement was the jest?"

570

"That is real, but your solution is nonsense." He stroked his chin with his hand. "Why? What is wrong with marrying you?" "You can't simply substitute one bride for another on the wedding day. Brides aren't interchangeable cogs in a machine," she said, shocked. Anne gave a vague wave of her hand as she tried to marshal her arguments. "Certain procedures and protocols have to be followed. What you suggest is impossible." "Improbable, maybe, but nothing is impossible if one has money and connections, Lady Anne." He made an ironic bow. "The Bishop of Durham was to perform the ceremony. It is a straightforward matter for the bishop to change the name on the license. The settlement with your father is already agreed." Anne wet her lips. He was serious. Actually serious. "There's more to a marriage than a name on a piece of paper." "I agree. And it would be a real marriage, Lady Anne. Not one in name only. You must see that it is the perfect solution to the conundrum that currently troubles us." Anne tried to think clearly as he took a step closer, narrowing the space between them. She noticed as he came nearer how his shoulders seemed to be too broad for his frock coat and how his breeches fit his form. There were so many reasons why this was total nonsense. He could have his pick of women. Why would he want a dried-up spinster like her? "It'll be a scandal," she said, dragging her mind away from the shape of his muscular calves. "Nobody wants to be the subject of rumor, particularly not me." "The scandal has already happened. I'd prefer people talk about a sudden bride switch than label me a jilted lover." His gaze was uncompromising. "But why do you want to marry me? We hardly know each other." He stopped, looking her up and down. Anne felt as if she were some prize goose at the Christmas fair. Suddenly she was aware of the ugliness of her gown and the unfashionable way her hair was dressed, not to mention how her spectacles kept sliding down her nose. They'd needed an adjustment after Mrs. Foster's baby snatched them from her face yesterday, but she hadn't had the time. "I must wed at some point," he said finally. "Your father offered one of his daughters as payment for his gaming debt. If we marry, everyone is happy." Everyone except her. Anne's heart sank at his cold words. What had she expected? That he'd seen her and fallen madly in love? That only happened in novels. "And one daughter of an aristocrat is the same as another." "You said it, not I." He gave an insolent shrug. "I wanted the land adjoining mine for a new wagon-way to the Tyne. It seemed like the perfect opportunity when your father lost heavily at our card game. The debt was rather more than the land is worth." "You bought Cressy?" "It was a gentleman's agreement between me and your father. But now that she has decided against the match, that agreement is null and void. So, can your father pay his debt in full?" He named a large figure. Anne forced her back to remain straight even though her knees threatened to give way. She wanted to murder her father. They would have to sell everything that was not in the entail and they still wouldn't meet the sum. Then there were the other debts. Was it any wonder that she'd begged him to stop spending hours at the gaming table and to start making economies? "Could you have paid that amount if you'd lost?"

571

"I didn't lose. I won." A slow smile crossed his face, highlighting the planes of his face. "I never wager more than I am prepared to lose—a policy that has served me well." "And one my father could learn?" "I believe, Lady Anne, you will make an adequate wife. Besides, am I safe in assuming you've few other realistic prospects?" An adequate wife? Few other prospects? Anne balled her fists and longed to hit him. Did he think that she was so desperate for a husband, so spineless that she'd go along with his wishes and meekly take Cressy's place in the ceremony? She advanced toward him. "Show me the paper. Show me that my father owes you that much money." He reached into his desk and withdrew a stack of paper, thrusting it under her nose. Instantly, Anne recognized her father's bold scroll and she saw what he'd wagered. It would bankrupt her family if they were forced to pay his debt. So her father had sold Cressy to this man. No, he'd sold one of his daughters. The debt could still be paid. The irony of the situation slammed into Anne. In urging Cressy to follow her heart and elope, she who championed a woman's right to choose as her creed was left with no choice at all. "But will we suit?" she asked around the lump in her throat. He leaned toward her, his warm breath fanning her cheek. "Shall I demonstrate?" Before she had a chance to retreat, he pulled her in his arms and his lips expertly plundered her mouth. Deep within her, a fire grew, licked at her insides. But just as quickly, he released her, looked at her critically and readjusted her spectacles. She stumbled away from him. Her fingers explored her aching lips. Every particle of her tingled and suddenly the world was bathed in brilliant hues. Once Sir Cuthbert Biddlestone had given her an unaskedfor kiss under the mistletoe. But that had been nothing like this meeting of lips that set her senses ablaze. "Do we have a bargain, Lady Anne? Will you save your family or will you condemn them to penury? Will you compound your sister's error?" He snapped his fingers. "Your family's future hangs on your decision." Anne concentrated on slowing her breathing. That man knew precisely what he'd done to her, and how he'd sent her reeling. Everything about him breathed practiced sensuality. She hated him and his knowing expression. She wanted to storm out and never encounter him again. Her hand brushed her father's scrawled signature. If she turned Martell down they'd all be ruined. She'd always been the responsible one. She'd given her dying mother her word that she'd look after her father and her newborn sister. And she had. Always. She had no choice but to marry him. Fury filled her. She'd only had this one tiny piece of independence, and now she'd been manipulated into giving that up. No, been kissed into it. "Have you no shame?" she bit out. "Do you think it pleasant sport to bait me in this fashion? Just make love to the spinster and she'll agree to anything. Is that how you saw it?" "No one is forcing you, Lady Anne. We simply shared a kiss." His full lips slowly turned upwards. "I merely point out the consequences…and the rewards."

572

She screwed up her eyes tight and attempted to regain control of her emotions. Failed. She counted to ten and banished all consideration of sensual rewards. "Very well, Mr. Martell." Her voice shook with barely controlled fury. "I will marry you…for the sake of my family's honor—but only for that reason."

Chapter Four "You came up with the perfect solution, daughter," her father said as they waited for the wedding procession to begin. "You saved the family. I always knew Martell had the bishop in his pocket. I doubt anyone else could have arranged a license as swiftly." "Did Cressy know about your arrangement? About how she was sold to pay your gaming debt?" Her father refused to meet her eye, opting instead to wipe his forehead with a brightly colored handkerchief. "I told her some of it." Anne gripped her bouquet tighter as all the air seemed to be squeezed from her lungs. So Cressy had known but she had neglected to say anything to Anne about the true reason for the proposed marriage with Jason Martell. She was probably afraid that Anne would have refused to give her support to the elopement. Logically, she understood that reasoning, but it didn't do anything to lessen her fury. She'd blundered right into Jason Martell's trap. "Why didn't you tell me about the debt when I returned from Aunt Mary's?" she asked, fixing her father with a hard stare. "Why did you allow me to go to see Mr. Martell without being given the whole story?" He gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "There was no need to worry you… But then Cressy met Hazelton and everything changed. Your stepmother and I hoped she'd see sense." "Did you know she'd elope?" Anne asked quietly. "Cressy has her own mind, like you do." "That is not an answer, Papa." Anne caught his arm. Fury coursed through her veins. Even now, at the church door, her father was attempting to defend the indefensible. And her stepmother had simply taken to her bed with a sick headache. "I deserved an explanation. If you had said something sooner, this entire debacle could have been avoided." "I was ashamed. Utterly ashamed." He clapped his hand against his breast and tears came to his eyes. Anne could see the signs of overindulgence around his puffy jaw, and in how his hands had become soft. "I am truly fortunate to have such a daughter who would save me in this fashion." "The choice was taken from me." Anne concentrated on the wooden knots in the church's oaken door. It hurt that her father thought so little of her that he hadn't bothered to confide in her. And he was perfectly prepared to use her as a sacrificial lamb to preserve his lifestyle. She'd spent years making sure the house ran smoothly and within budget. And for what? "I'd no wish to see you in a debtor's prison." "Your mother…" "My mother would have understood." Her hand brushed her mother's pearl ear bobs, and Anne remembered her mother's last sweet smile. "Family comes first. But she'd also have told me the truth from the start. She'd have trusted me to make the right decision." He nodded, his eyes diverted. "The dress suits you, Anne." "It is passable."

573

The style was not what she would have chosen, but it was better than the yellow morning gown she'd been wearing earlier. Luckily, Cressida was only a bit smaller than her, and the wedding dress fit if she didn't breathe too deeply or make any sudden moves with her arms. The lace overskirt reached the top of her ankles and her bosom seemed larger. Barely respectable. A bit like the wedding. The church's organ played a thundering chord. "The ceremony is starting, Father. We go in with our heads held high." He smiled, taking her arm as the doors opened. Her breath caught in her throat. Jason stood in front of the altar with the light from the stained glass windows streaming down on him. The untamed quality of his hair and face contrasted with the severity of his morning clothes. His bow-shaped mouth quirked upwards as he caught sight of her. A ripple of whispers went through the congregation as she walked down the aisle instead of Cressy. She tried to keep her head held high and ignore them. How much had they guessed about the wedding? How would the gossip explain this? She hated being the object of all the attention. This was worse than when she'd appeared in Queen Charlotte's drawing room to be presented. Her footsteps faltered and she leaned heavily on her father's arm as she missed her step. "Anne, if you change your mind, give me a signal and I will say something…for your mother's sake." A lump rose in her throat. "Piecrust promise, Papa. Easily made, easily broken. I have given my word, which is worth something more than yours." "It is your choice." "I know." Anne's voice caught on the final word. She didn't look back as her father took his place in the pew. "Turn toward the altar. Pretend the wedding guests are not there." Jason's voice rumbled in her ear as she reached him. His hand closed around hers. A tiny tremor went through her. He understood her fear of being the center of attention. She gave the barest of nods. "Thank you." "You're wearing your spectacles," Jason said in an undertone. "Without my spectacles, I can barely see my hand in front of my face. Having the bride fall down in the aisle would not be a good idea." She gave a hiccupping laugh, grateful that she could talk about something other than how people were staring at them. "I'd thought they were a disguise. My mistake." "What other mistakes have you made today?" A muscle jumped in his cheek. "This was forced on me as well. I have no wish to become a laughingstock. Nobody cheats me." Anne pressed her lips together. She hadn't been told about her father's debt to Martell, but her father and stepmother had known. They'd understood full well what would happen when they'd encouraged Cressy in her infatuation with Hazelton. And how Martell would react when Anne told him about Cressy eloping. They'd used her as well.

574

She was through with being used. "I've never cheated. I take my vows seriously, Mr. Martell," she said between gritted teeth. "Just as I take my duty to my family seriously." He raised her hand to his lips. His breath tickled the bare gap where she'd forgotten to fasten the last pearl button. A warm curl wound its way around her insides. Her lips ached for his touch. "As do I," he murmured. "People are speculating," she whispered, longing to snatch her hand away. "Shall we start or are we going to stand here forever?" Jason turned firmly toward the bishop, ending the conversation. When the bishop asked if anyone knew of any impediments, the world seemed to slow. Anne stayed completely rigid as the church went silent, waiting. It seemed like a lifetime before the bishop continued on. The remainder of the ceremony passed in a blur, but finally the bishop proclaimed them man and wife and Jason took her in his arms and pulled her toward him. "Let's give them something to really talk about. Shall we put the seal on the scandal?" He lowered his mouth. Under the gentle persuasion of his lips, her mouth opened and she tasted the cool interior of his. Her knees threatened to give way. To prevent herself from falling she looped her arms about his neck. Immediately his arms tightened, molding her form to his hard muscles. A long sigh went around the congregation. Anne jumped backwards. Horrified pleasure surged through her. Her hand explored her mouth. She couldn't be attracted to such a man, could she?

Chapter Five "Where is Cressida, Anne?" Mrs. Sarsfield caught Anne's arm as she went to check on how the servants were coping with the crush of people at the wedding breakfast. "I know that I sometimes get things mixed up, but I could have sworn the invitation said Cressida was to marry Mr. Martell." Anne stared at the elderly lady. She was the first one to give voice to the situation. Everyone else had merely congratulated her. Some more enthusiastically than others. "Cressy's not here." "I realize that, dear. I've looked for her and your stepmother everywhere. About you and Mr. Martell—" "It's a love match," Anne began, then stopped, horrified at her words. She'd nearly blurted out about Cressy's elopement. "Between Mr. Martell and me, I mean. One of those coup de foudre that one reads about in novels. We saw each other and knew." It wasn't quite a lie, but not the unvarnished truth, either. Her cheeks burnt. She'd never intentionally misled the elderly lady before. "You knew?" Mrs. Sarsfield's gaze narrowed. "Yes, there does seem to be a certain glow about you." "Indeed. We tried to be honorable and deny it, but we were caught…" Her mind searched for a suitable place to be swept off one's feet as she warmed to the theme. Jason might not believe in love but it was the

575

perfect excuse. And he'd started it, kissing her like that in front of everyone at the wedding. She'd finish it. "In the summer house. We were both smitten as soon as we saw each other." "You and Mr. Martell?" Mrs. Sarsfield squeaked. Anne hung her head. "I'd gone to show him the murals that Diana Clare had done for my stepmother and…one thing led to another. Once our hands touched, we knew." Mrs. Sarsfield smacked her lips loudly several times before a satisfied smile crossed her face. "My daughterin-law will never believe me. Not in a thousand years." "Sometimes you need to follow your heart. Cressy understood. And she agreed. But you will keep quiet about the reason, dear Mrs. Sarsfield, won't you? It is…embarrassing." "You can trust me, my dear. I'll only tell my daughter, and she never believes a word I say." The elderly lady hurried away. Anne gave a satisfied nod. Mrs. Sarsfield would spread that little tale and Anne wouldn't have to answer any more difficult questions. She was proud of her inventiveness, but it was too close. She stumbled over to the little alcove by the drawing room fire to sit down and regain control of her nerves for a few minutes. "Hiding? I've been searching for you everywhere. A rumor is flying around the wedding breakfast." Jason stormed into the alcove, his eyes blazing and his jaw clenched. "A rumor? About the wedding breakfast? Was something off?" Anne tried for an innocent expression. "Something about you and me and a love match. A coup de foudre, of all things." Jason made a disgusted noise. "How did this start?" "It was the only explanation I could think of when Mrs. Sarsfield cornered me. Besides, what is so preposterous about it?" She tilted her chin upward to show that his fury didn't intimidate her. "It could have happened." "Except it didn't." "In novels, women are always being ruined in summer houses. It was the first thing that popped into my head." "Was it indeed?" Jason's rich voice tickled her ear as his hand went about her waist, pulling her close. She tried to ignore his proximity. "I was hardly going to confess about Cressy's elopement. I kept as close to the truth as I could. I simply said that as soon as we touched we knew," she said, pushing his hand away. She refused to become some lovesick fool merely because they'd shared a few meaningless kisses. "The summer house?" The corners of his mouth twitched and he recaptured her waist. "I'd hope any summer-house seduction would remain a private matter. Shall we try it sometime, wife? Now that I know you have a longing for such things?" Anne twisted away from Jason, but the image of them twined together in a summer house seemed to have implanted itself on her brain. She cleared her throat and forced her mind away from something less unlikely. "You're right, I should have chosen a different excuse." She paused, horrified, realizing the implications of the story she'd created. "Everyone will think…that is…that you had to marry me! They're going to be looking at my waist for months to come."

576

"It is a small waist. Stop fishing for compliments." She crossed her arms. "That's not what I meant. Someone will have to stop the rumor before it gets totally out of hand." Instantly all good humor vanished from his face and it became thunderous. "Why? Because people would assume that the only reason you would marry someone with my lowly background is because you had to? And here I thought your only consideration was to protect your sister. Perhaps I should tell the truth and save you from such slander." He started to clear his throat and Anne put a hand on his arm. "No, please keep quiet. I don't care about any of that. My sister is my concern." He smiled wickedly. "What will you do to keep me quiet, I wonder." He rubbed the back of his thumb against her lips. Anne attempted to ignore the warm fizzing of her blood. "We should go. People will speculate where we are. They might assume…" Her voice held a breathless quality and a small curl of heat infused her body. "The wrong thing? That we've retreated to the summer house again?" His voice held a teasing note but his eyes were deadly serious. "Be careful what you start, Anne, if you lack the nerves to finish it." "The incorrect thing. It would be rude to abandon everyone." The excuse sounded lame to her ears, but if she stayed here much longer with him… It was one thing to twist the truth and quite another to make it seem as if she was a wanton creature. "If it is in a good cause, then we'll go out and greet people rather than staying here—together." He released her. Anne suddenly felt bereft. Her entire being had longed for his touch. She pressed her lips together, remembering his kiss. This was not supposed to happen. Their marriage was a business arrangement—a way to salvage his pride and her family's fortune. She crossed her arms and heard the gown rip where the sleeve joined her shoulder. She winced. "Today is truly not my day." "What's wrong now?" His brows drew together. "The gown tore." Anne attempted to peer over her shoulder to see how bad the tear was. "It'll teach me to wear Cressy's gowns without letting out the back." "Do you often get her hand-me-downs?" His eyes became thoughtful. "More often my stepmother's. It is such a waste of good material, as she discards her clothing after wearing it twice at most. And we're the same basic shape." "Except your coloring is different and you have more curves." "When you are a confirmed spinster, people never mention your clothes." She attempted to pull the sleeve up. "If I don't breathe deeply, nobody will notice." He put his arm about her shoulder. "We can depart from the wedding breakfast if you like. Right now. I'll arrange for the carriage."

577

"No, no, not without cutting the groom's cake or greeting everyone. A thousand things remain to be done before we depart." Anne smoothed the folds of her gown and tried to keep her mind from the night that loomed before her. He was a man of experience and she knew next to nothing. "All I need is a shawl and I can carry on." She fancied a bit of respect came into his eyes. "You're a very determined and resourceful person." "I learned a long time ago that the only person who cared about me was me." "But now there is someone else," she thought she heard him murmur as he left the alcove. When he'd gone, she dismissed the idea as preposterous.

Chapter Six The only person who cared about me was me… The words kept repeating around Jason's brain as the carriage rumbled toward the post inn where he and Anne would spend their wedding night. Her family might be thoughtless, but she loved them. Before they left, Anne had made a point of taking a tisane up to her stepmother. Most other women would have been worrying about their hair or their goingaway dress, but not his Anne. Jason stopped and pushed the thought to one side. She was his wife, not "his Anne." Not yet, at any rate. Soon she would be. She murmured softly in her sleep, moving closer to his body. In the dim light, her dark lashes were smudges against the pale rose and cream of her complexion. Jason wondered why she kept her beauty hidden behind ill-fitting gowns. Hers might not be the ultra-fashionable beauty of her sister but it had a timeless grace. Jason's jaw tightened. He'd done the right thing, marrying her and taking her away from her selfish family. "Time to wake up, Cinders." He gave her shoulder a quick shake. "Cinders?" Her bright green eyes blinked up at him, and one cheek showed a bright pink mark where she'd rested her head against his shoulder. "Cinderella in a borrowed wedding dress who has to do all the housework and hasn't a fairy godmother to rescue her. I do like Isouard's opera Cendrillon." "I haven't seen it. Stepmama disapproves of the opera." "The name suits you." He fished into his coat pocket and brought out her spectacles. "They nearly fell off while you were asleep." "They need adjusting. I had an accident with them yesterday, but other things took precedence." Jason quickly bent the offending earpiece. "There, all fixed." She reached to take them from him, being careful not to touch him. Once she put them on, she seemed more remote. The thought that he alone had the right to see her without her spectacles made his body leap. It was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms and delving deep into her mouth. But he knew once he started, he'd want to continue. To touch her, taste her skin, explore her hidden places. Above all that he wanted to give her pleasure.

578

"I was afraid they'd fall off and break," he said instead. "Stepmama always gets cross with me for that…forgetting to take my spectacles off before retiring. It's not that I'm forgetful, it's just that I fall asleep reading in bed." Her eyes twinkled behind the lenses. "Her scolding never stopped me, though." "Do you do that often? Read in bed?" Her lips quirked upwards. "I believe one should always enjoy a bit of pleasure at the end of the day. It's where the idea of the summer house came from." "I entirely agree. There's nothing wrong with pleasure in bed." He lifted one eyebrow and was rewarded with a quelling look over her spectacles. "You're a married woman, Anne." "You know what I mean. It is the only time I can indulge." "Why not read during the rest of the day?" "There are other things to be done." She folded her hands primly in her lap. "People depend on my assistance." "Such as arranging your sister's elopement?" he said, teasing her. She moved her skirt so it didn't touch him. "Such as sorting out my father's estate office, or visiting the tenants. My stepmother has other concerns and servants stay longer if I attend to their problems." "Are you a candidate for sainthood?" "I dislike estate managers taking advantage of my father's good nature," she replied primly. Jason clenched his jaw. It was all too easy to imagine why Anne was overworked. Someone needed to ensure she had pretty clothes and trinkets—all the sorts of things that women in his experience desired instead of a life of accounts and drudgery. "You'll have time now. I employ a capable and trustworthy staff." "But houses need someone to run them. I have to have something to occupy my mind." She twisted her hands in her lap anxiously. "You will see." "We'll find another occupation for you." She leaned forward, her eyes bright behind the spectacles. "You mustn't worry. I'm a prudent housekeeper. My stepmother hated economies. I know the cost of candles, carpets and coal." "The cost of candles is far from a concern." "And I intend to keep within my allowances. My father and stepmother used to have the most dreadful rows.…" Jason clenched his fist. Did she consider him such a tyrant that he'd explode if she went over her allowance? He doubted if she ever had a new dress in her life. Something he intended to remedy as soon as he could. "And as my wife, you will dress properly. You have a position to maintain. No more cast-offs from your stepmother. And that vile yellow rag is to be burnt. Never wear that color again. Choose something else."

579

Rather than cooing with pleasure as he'd expected, her mouth became mutinous. "I've never dressed improperly." "I've outfitted a number of women and those colors do nothing for you. You need to wear strong hues that bring roses to your face rather than draining the life out of it." "Who are you to say such things?" "Your husband." "I will not have my clothes chosen for me!" She put her hand on her hip and glared at him. "I wear what I like. And if I want to wear bright yellow every day for the rest of my life I will! I'm not some sort of doll to be dressed as you please!" Anger flooded through him. He was attempting to be kind and she threw it back in his face. "You're my wife now, not the stepdaughter of some selfish woman who shoves all the unpleasant tasks off on you." He lifted her chin so he could look directly into her eyes. "You can read all day if you want. Indulge your passion. Wear pretty clothes. Eat sweetmeats. Gossip with friends. Enjoy life." She twisted away from him. "I enjoy working with the tenants and solving their problems. You can learn far more interesting things at the estate office than during At Homes. Are you going to forbid that, as well? No more talking business because women are not supposed to know such things?" "All I am saying is that there will be different expectations now that you are my wife," he replied, his blood starting to boil. "I won't have you shaming me." "Shaming?" Her mouth became a stubborn white line. "So you don't believe a woman has enough sense to realize that when the roof blows off a barn it has to be fixed or all the grain will be ruined? I may be one of the fair sex, Jason, but I have eyes and a mind! And I intend to use them!" "I never commented on your mind or lack of it!" Jason roared. He drew a steadying breath. "You obviously have more intelligence than the rest of your family." "Then what is your objection?" she shouted back. "Just that my wife will be expected to maintain certain standards." He tried to put it in terms that she'd understand. "I won't have people whispering that I can't afford to keep my wife. Send the bills to me." "Next you'll be telling me who I should be friends with. Maybe you will say that I shouldn't visit my family? Or do things for them?" "I never said that! But I will not stand idly by if they seek to use you or my money." "I'm a person, Jason, not some sort of servant to be ordered about. I do what I do out of love for other people. But then do you understand anything? You doubt even the existence of love." She slammed the carriage door behind her. Jason ran his hand through his hair. He'd done it all wrong. He'd wanted to show her that she no longer needed to settle for second best and all he'd done was provoke a quarrel. "You're a very stubborn person, Cinders," he said softly to her retreating back. "But you will see, even if it takes a little…seduction."

580

Chapter Seven Infuriating man. Who did he think he was? Anne paced the sitting room in the post inn. So angry that she was unable to sit still. Dictating what she could do or what clothes she could wear? As if she intended to spend her allowance on her stepmother! And how did he know which colors suited her? Apparently he was an expert on women's clothing. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. He must have bedded hundreds of women to be so sure about women's fashion. A small tendril of jealousy wound around her insides, stopping her breath. She hated to think about him with anyone else. She wanted him to look at her with desire in his eyes. And only at her. She pressed her hands to her face and sank down in the armchair. She'd spoken the truth when she'd told Mrs. Sarsfield that it was a coup de foudre. She was attracted to Jason and she wanted him to be attracted to her, not because she was his wife but because she was herself. Only this morning she'd been vaguely aware he existed and now this. Could such things truly happen this quickly? The door slammed and Jason came into the room. He'd shed his cravat and coat and his shirt was open at the neck, revealing the strong column of his throat. Anne wet her lips and tried to cling to her anger. "Are you truly that fond of yellow?" he asked, looking at her with hooded eyes. "I want to choose my own clothes. I wish to wear whatever I desire. I detest frills and ruffles." She wrinkled her nose. "Though I'll compromise on the yellow. I prefer other colors. But I only want to go to At Homes if I choose. I've a right not to be bored to tears." His loud laugh rang out. "Whatever are we going to do with you, Cinders?" Anne was acutely aware of how her hair flowed down her back and how she'd changed into her nightdress and robe. She'd been so certain that he wasn't going to come back that she'd taken off her traveling clothes. She'd been tempted to do her hair in braids but the maid wouldn't hear of it, not on her wedding night. And now Anne was glad of it. She loved the way his eyes softened as he looked at her. "Are the rooms satisfactory? It is the best I could do on short notice," he said. "Short notice?" "I was hardly about to take the same trip that I'd planned to take your sister on." A faint smile touched his lips. "Surely you don't think me that callous and unfeeling." "Do you mind?" Anne remembered Cressy boasting that she'd be traveling down to London and attending the best balls and the theatre. "I'm a businessman, Cinders. It is necessary to be pragmatic." He ran his hand through his hair. "London isn't possible. Not after the news I received just before we departed. I'm needed in Northumberland." Cinders again. Was that truly how he saw her, as some poor wretch by the fire? She was perfectly capable of running her life. "Then we must postpone the trip." She was proud of the way she kept her voice even. "Your business comes first. People depend on you." The tension eased in his shoulders. She wondered if he'd expected her to throw a tantrum at the news. Cressy would have done it, but all Anne felt was relief at not having to endure London again.

581

"Thank you for understanding. Not many women would." "I'm me, not most women." His gaze traveled slowly down her form. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. "And I approve." She drew a steadying breath. "We will return to Ladywell tomorrow?" "I'm allowed a few days of pleasure. I thought we'd go to Shotley Bridge and the Derwent Valley. It will enable me to do a bit of business at the same time. They produce some of the best steel in England and I need—" "You need a new sword?" What did a man like Jason need with a sword? A lump grew in her throat. Urgent business was a threadbare excuse for being ashamed of her. "No, parts for a traveling engine. I'm nearly there. The world will be at the feet of the man who makes a Loco Motive Engine truly work." Tension eased from her shoulders. One of the main topics of conversation in Ladywell was the elusive Traveling Engine. Some, like her father, doubted it would happen in their lifetime. But from what she'd learned at the estate office, she understood why steel from Shotley Bridge might be useful, rather than iron, which shattered. "My grandfather took me to Shotley Bridge when I was younger. He wanted to buy a sword, and he swore that one of the smaller forges did the most flexible steel, far better than the larger ones. Perhaps they could make your parts." He leant forward, his eyes becoming alight. "Can you remember which one?" "I can probably find it." "What a wife—doesn't want dresses but knows where the best steel in the country is to be had." His eyes twinkled. "Do you like to walk? We can spend a few days out on the fells of the Derwent Valley." Other women got compliments on their figure and she got praised for knowing about a forge. Anne reminded herself that this wasn't a love match, and she was foolish to suddenly start hoping it was. The best situation she could reasonably expect would be pleasant companionship between them. Oh, but she hated how insipid that sounded. Anne fought to keep the disappointment from her voice. "I possess a stout pair of boots. It's far easier to walk than take a carriage when you are visiting the sick." The arrival of their cold supper interrupted the conversation. Anne couldn't believe the profusion of meat pies, salads, cheese and fruit. The maid also brought in a bottle of port and two glasses. "Eat," Jason commanded after the maid had departed. "I doubt you've had a morsel all day and I'm famished." "Other things occupied me." Anne tightened the belt of her dressing gown and tried to concentrate on the food, but she kept being preoccupied by him—the way his shirt slid across his chest, how his eyes lit up when he spoke about the possibilities for the future. She could almost believe that there would be engines that moved without horses. And his hands, with those long tapering fingers. "It seems somehow improper to be eating a feast in these circumstances," she said.

582

"It's highly proper." He gestured with his fork. "All sorts of things to tempt the most jaded of palates." "Do you have a jaded palate?" "I thought I did but I'm learning to enjoy the simple things in life." He reached out and plucked a grape. "Now open your mouth." "Open…?" She placed her hand on her hip, her indignation growing. What did he think now—that she couldn't eat properly? He placed the grape between her lips. "I've found a way to keep you quiet." "I don't talk too much," she protested after she'd eaten the grape. "Sometimes you do. But now I remember another way to quiet you." He lowered his lips to hers and she tasted the sweetness of his mouth. Long and slow. Unhurried. Her hands came up around his neck, and she arched her body toward his, feeling his arousal pressing into her. She forgot how to breathe. He undid the tie of her dressing gown and his hands skimmed her breasts over the thin lawn material, making her nipples tighten. Her body seemed consumed with a different sort of hunger. "Time the true feasting begins," he growled in her ear. "I'm absolutely ravenous."

Chapter Eight "Why did my stepmother say I would have to lay back and endure?" Anne asked breathlessly. "Perhaps she doesn't enjoy the physical side of marriage." Jason pulled Anne more firmly into his arms as his body responded to the huskiness of her voice. But it was far too soon after their recent bout of lovemaking. Anne had been an enthusiastic innocent and he worried that he might hurt her. He wanted her to experience pleasure and to desire it with the same intensity he did, not to fear it. "You may be right." Anne's rounded bottom snuggled closer and her silken hair flowed over his chest. "What would you wish for if you could have anything in the world?" he asked to keep his mind off his growing discomfort. "Anything? No one ever asks such silliness." "I'm asking now," he said. "I feel far too floaty to think," came her sleep-laced answer. "But probably the freedom to be who I want to be, instead of who I have to be for society's sake. To be a person in my own right and respected for my opinions. Yes, it would be pleasant to have that luxury." He froze, realizing he hadn't allowed her that choice. She'd sacrificed herself to save her family from ruin. He'd wanted her to be his wife for selfish reasons. But did she want to be his wife? After what had just passed between them, how could he let her go? But how could he not now that he understood how important her independence was to her?

583

He'd lied earlier when he'd said that love had no part in a marriage. Tonight had shown him that it had every part. And although he had the right to possess her body, he wanted more, much more. And the thought frightened him. He lay for a long while listening to the sound of her steady breathing and drinking in her scent—lavender, fresh air and something indefinably Anne. It strengthened his resolve to give her the choice, even if it cut his heart to shreds. *** Anne woke the next morning with pleasant aches where she didn't even know she had muscles. For the first time ever, she had slept without any clothes. And instantly she resolved always to do this. What had passed between her and Jason last night was beyond imagining. Wicked and wonderful at the same time. And far more pleasurable than reading herself to sleep. She stretched slightly and reached out toward where Jason had lain. It was cold. He'd departed from her bed a long while before. Disappointment coursed through her. She'd hoped that he felt the same way about her. That last night meant something more to him than duty. She knew what he'd said about marriage but somehow in the magic of last night, she'd wished and built mansions in the air where she was a fairy-tale Cinderella and Jason the prince who'd adore her for the person she was. "What did you think?" she muttered. "That one night would change everything? He never promised love. He doesn't believe it even exists." She fumbled for her spectacles and put them on. The simple act only served to prove what she'd already guessed—the room was empty. Hearing a noise in the other room, she slipped her dressing gown on. She could stay in bed feeling sorry for herself or she could pretend that it didn't matter. She had a lifetime of experience doing the latter, what was another lifetime? She went into the little sitting room and saw him, standing bathed in the morning sunlight, looking down at the street. His bare shoulders were hunched as if something troubled him. Her stomach knotted. She wanted to go to him and comfort him. How could one person become so important so quickly? At the sound of her footsteps, he turned. "Did I wake you?" His voice was far more polite and remote than she expected. It made it all the harder to remain cheerful and unconcerned. Somehow she'd failed and it made the situation worse. Last night she'd had the most amazing experience of her life and he was staring gloomily out the window, wishing he was any place but here. "I'm an early riser. Always have been." She gave a careful shrug, trying to ignore how fast her heart was beating. "Wouldn't want to break such a long-standing habit." He gave a crooked smile that failed to touch his eyes. She forced her feet to move toward him. "Is something wrong?" she asked, placing a hand on his bare arm.

584

His arms went about her and gathered her into his body. She gave in to her impulse and laid her head against his chest, breathing in his scent of spicy citrus. "I'm sorry, Cinders," he said against her hair. She leaned back against his arms, trying to read his face. "Sorry about what?" "I should never have forced you to marry me. It was the wrong thing to do." She moved away from him. His words opened a great hole inside her. Yesterday, she'd have welcomed them, but not today. Not after last night. "A bit late for regrets." Her voice broke on the last word. "We can get an annulment, if you like." "And if I don't want one? My family's honor…" He went to stand behind her, the heat from his body radiated through her. "I forced you into marriage. Last night, I seduced you. You need to be able to choose. You need to lead your life in the way you want to. Your father's debt is cancelled." "Why? Why are you doing this?" She scanned his face, searching for a sign, any sign of what she'd done wrong. "Did I displease you that much?" He ran his hands down her arms. "No! I'm saying this because…I care about you. Because I want you to be happy. You should marry because you chose to, not because you are trying to save your family from ruin or a thousand other reasons that have nothing to do with your desires." He paused for what felt like an eternity before turning her around to face him. "So I'm giving you that freedom. Do you want to be my wife? Despite where I came from, despite my lack of true refinement. Because you want to be with me?" Anne's heart soared. If she hadn't loved him already, she'd love him now. He was giving her a choice in how she lived her life and whom she spent the rest of her days with. He understood. "I was very easy to seduce." "Meaning?" He angled his face to her palm and his warm lips sent a thrill coursing through her. "I didn't lie to Mrs. Sarsfield. I lied to you. It was love at first touch." She cupped her hands around his face. "It is an incredibly short time since we met but I feel I know you in my heart. It is not how you're born but the man you are—and you are an honorable man, Jason. Somehow all my life I've been waiting for you, and you alone. I want…no, I need you. You make me complete." "What about your freedom to choose? Your wish to live as you please?" "You are my choice. With you, I can be myself. You make me feel wonderfully alive and desired for simply being who I am." She touched her forehead to his and their breath intermingled. "Why would I want to be anywhere else but with you?" "You humble me. I don't know what I've done to deserve you, but I certainly won't quarrel with your decision. I was always cynical about the existence of love. But it was only that I needed to meet the right woman. I have now, and I'm holding her." He swung her off the ground. "I don't think your stout boots will be useful on this trip after all." "Why is that?"

585

"Any clothing is superfluous, my very dearest wife, as you'll be in bed with me." "Exactly where I choose to be."

586

The Bodyguard's Bride By Brenda Harlen Every little girl imagines her wedding, and for as long as Brooke McFarlane could remember she even knew who the groom would be—Travis Stanford. But when her perfect wedding turned into a perfect nightmare, Brooke gave up on her dreams…and Travis. Two years later, she's now a very successful event planner—so successful that she's already planning a Fortune wedding and is meeting with Lacey Carrington, the daughter of a local billionaire. Only, when Lacey walks into Brooke's office, she's not alone. On Lacey's arm is none other than Travis Stanford, the man who broke Brooke's heart. The man she's never been able to forget. The man she's still married to.

Chapter One Travis Stanford stared at the elegantly scripted letters that spelled out Celebrations by Brooke on the sign in front of the gorgeous brick colonial-style home and barely managed to stifle the curse that rose to his lips. He double-checked the house number, hoping that someone had made a mistake. But no, Lacey's appointment book clearly noted this address. In blatant disregard of their security protocol, his client bounded out of the passenger seat of his car before he could go around to open the door for her. She was obviously excited to be here, to meet with the wedding planner and go over details of the New Year's Eve ceremony she wanted. He followed her up the porch steps, wishing he could be anywhere but here. One of the reasons he'd come back to Red Rock was to see Brooke again, but he hadn't expected it to happen like this. As he paused with his hand on the knob, his expression must have revealed his conflicted feelings because Lacey paused to ask, "Travis—is something wrong?" No, something wasn't wrong—everything was wrong, and he didn't have the first clue about how to fix it. But he could hardly explain that to Lacey. Not here. Not now. So he lied. "Of course not," he said, and opened the door for her. "Let's go make wedding plans." *** "Miss Carrington's here." Brooke McFarlane nodded in response to her assistant's announcement. She was trying to play it cool, as if the consultation with this bride-to-be wasn't different from any other, but she and Heather both knew differently. Michael Carrington was a local billionaire who had made his fortune in the telecommunications industry and Lacey was his only child. After a recent vacation in the Caribbean, the beautiful heiress had returned home with a spectacular ring on the third finger of her left hand. While the identity of Lacey's fiancé remained a mystery, her father had publicly confirmed the engagement. If Celebrations was chosen to make the plans for an event that would undoubtedly be one of the most high-profile affairs of the year, it would be a huge coup for the young company. Brooke took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her tummy, as if to still the butterflies that were fluttering around inside. After almost two years of hard work and meticulous planning, she'd finally started to build a reputation for Celebrations. Recently, she'd been booked to arrange William and Lily Fortune's New Year's Day nuptials and now—fingers crossed—the Carrington wedding. It was as if the wedding planner gods were smiling down on her, and she couldn't help but grin back at them. She glanced up at her assistant, surprised that Heather didn't look similarly elated. In fact, the furrow in her brow and the clouds in her moss-green eyes suggested that she was seriously worried about something.

587

"Did the coffeemaker break? Are we out of pastries?" They'd set up the business so that meetings with clients were held in the sunny front parlor. In the warmer months, they offered cold drinks, freshly-baked cookies and seasonal fruit. Today, the first of December, there was a fire burning and a table set with hot beverages and petits fours. And whatever the season, there were always albums on the coffee table for potential clients to leaf through, filled with photos showcasing other Celebrations by Brooke. "No, it's nothing like that," Heather assured her. But unease began to gnaw at Brooke. Heather had been with her from the first day she'd opened the doors of her business and they knew each other too well to hold anything back. The fact that she was hesitating now worried Brooke. "Then what is it?" "Miss Carrington…" Heather faltered, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. "She's not alone." "I didn't expect she would be," Brooke replied evenly. "Most brides-to-be come with their mothers or their fiancés or both." "She's with a man." "Then I'd guess he's her fiancé," Brooke said lightly. Heather swallowed. "It's Travis." "Travis Stanford?" She picked up her mug of coffee and took a long swallow to moisten her suddenly dry throat. She only knew one Travis, and she'd only ever loved one man. It was her bad luck that they were one and the same. "You don't have to do this," Heather said, her eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "I don't care how big the headlines surrounding this wedding will be. All the publicity in the world isn't enough if you're not ready—" "It's been two years," Brooke said, to remind herself as much as Heather of the fact. "I'm ready." It was a lie, of course. A blatant, bold-faced lie. And, not surprisingly, her friend remained unconvinced. "Ready to see him, maybe," she allowed. "But to plan his wedding—" "It's what I do," she interrupted again. She managed a smile in an attempt to reassure Heather and went to meet her new clients. But deep down, she felt anything but confident. *** Travis had thought he was prepared to see her—and then she walked through the door. She looked exactly the same, as perfect as he remembered. Her hair was the same honey-blonde color, still cut in a sleek style that brushed her shoulders. Her eyes were the exact summer-sky blue that had always mesmerized him, her lips were the tempting cupid's-bow shape that had inspired his fantasies, and her curves— He forced his gaze back to her face, deciding it was safer not to focus his attention in that direction. After all, it was the undeniable physical attraction that had got them into trouble in the first place.

588

When their eyes met, he realized that he'd been wrong. On first glance, she looked the same, but there were subtle differences. Where there had always been warmth in those stunning blue eyes before, there was nothing but ice now. In fact, the look she leveled on him was so cold he nearly shivered before she shifted her attention to Lacey. "Miss Carrington—it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Lacey smiled warmly as she took the hand Brooke proffered. "I'm so thrilled that you're going to plan the wedding." "I really hope I can," Brooke said. "But we're quite booked through the next year, so it's going to depend on when you wanted—" "New Year's Eve," Lacey gushed. "We want to start the New Year as husband and wife." "That's…romantic," Brooke said. "I told her it was corny and clichéd," Travis admitted. Lacey swatted his arm playfully. "My mother couldn't be here today because she had a meeting with the hospital committee," she explained. "But this is—" "Travis Stanford," Brooke supplied. Lacey's gaze shifted from Brooke to Travis and back again. "You two know each other?" "We used to," Brooke said, still focused on Lacey, as if he didn't even exist. "A long time ago." "It wasn't so very long ago," he pointed out. "And you're glossing over a very important detail." "What detail is that?" Lacey asked curiously. Travis's eyes locked on Brooke's stunning blue ones, noted that they weren't so cool anymore. He let his lips curve, just a little. "That Brooke is my wife."

Chapter Two "Ex-wife," Brooke hastened to clarify, and managed to smile through gritted teeth. She didn't know why he felt compelled to bring up their history now, unless it was his intention to ruin this opportunity for her. Not that it seemed like such a great opportunity anymore. While the idea of planning Lacey Carrington's wedding had originally seemed like a dream come true, discovering the identity of her groom had quickly transformed that fantasy into a nightmare. The bride-to-be's perfectly arched brows flew upward as she turned to the man at her side. "I didn't realize you'd been married." "I didn't think it was relevant," Travis said. Not relevant? Brooke kept the smile pasted on her face while her heart absorbed the hit of having their relationship disregarded so casually. Their marriage might have been brief, and they both knew it had been a mistake, but it had definitely been relevant. At least to her. Of course, she should have expected that kind of cavalier attitude from Travis. Any man who would bring his current fiancée to his former spouse to plan his wedding obviously had no concept of common decency.

589

Lacey lifted a hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The action drew Brooke's attention to the stunning—and enormous—diamond on the other woman's third finger. She'd never had an engagement ring. When she'd married Travis, they'd exchanged simple gold bands along with their vows. The rings had symbolized their legal union; a diamond like the one that flashed on Lacey's finger symbolized so much more. "It's relevant if having you here makes Brooke uncomfortable," Lacey said. "It doesn't," Brooke lied, deliberately ignoring the ache inside her chest. "But under the circumstances, I would understand if you wanted someone else to plan your wedding." The other woman shook her head vehemently. "Kevin would be appalled if I even considered letting anyone else make the arrangements." "I think I may have missed something here," Brooke admitted. "What does my brother have to do with any of this?" Lacey frowned. "He didn't call you?" "There was a message on my voice mail when I got home last night, but it was too late to call him back," she said. "We've exchanged a few emails, but I haven't actually spoken to Kevin since he went to the Caribbean…" Brooke's explanation trailed off as the scattered pieces finally clicked into place. "Ohmygod…you're marrying my brother?" "That's the plan," the bride-to-be admitted with a wide smile. Kevin. Not Travis, but Kevin, she thought with a dizzying sense of relief as the vice that had tightened around her heart began to ease. "I never thought— I mean, Kevin always said—" "That he was never going to get married?" Lacey guessed. "I'm going to shut up now," Brooke decided. Lacey laughed. "It's okay," she assured her. "Neither of us expected—or even wanted—to fall in love. But when we met, it was like a bolt of lightning." "He's not usually impulsive," Brooke said. "Neither am I," Lacey told her. "But when you meet the right person—" her smile was absolutely radiant "— you just know it's right." There had been a time when Brooke would have agreed wholeheartedly with the other woman's statement. A time when she'd been certain that the depth of her love for Travis was enough to build a future on. Then her heart had been shattered into a billion little pieces. She pushed the painful memories aside to focus on the present, confident that Lacey and Kevin's story would have a much happier ending. "New Year's Eve doesn't give us a lot of time," Brooke cautioned, reaching for her clipboard.

590

"I don't care about all the frills," Lacey said, taking a seat across from her. "I just want to marry the man I love." Travis—the man Brooke had once loved—settled into an oversized chair close by and randomly selected an album from the table. But she kept her focus on the bubbling bride-to-be as he began thumbing through the pages. "I just have one more question before we get started," she said. Lacey crossed her feet at the ankles. "What's that?" "Why is Travis here?" "He's my new bodyguard." *** Travis looked over at Brooke, curious about her reaction to Lacey's announcement. The furrow in her brow confirmed that his wife had been unaware of his career change, and the quick glance she sent in his direction—quickly averted—revealed that she was curious. But she wouldn't ask. Of course not. Since he'd walked through the door, she'd done her damnedest to ignore him. As she'd been doing for the better part of two years now. Not that he could blame her. Travis had screwed up—there was no reason to sugarcoat that truth. He'd slept with Brooke, gotten her pregnant and promptly whisked her off to Las Vegas and married her. Less than twelve hours later, he'd abandoned his bride to return to his assignment chaperoning a foreign diplomat on a visit to UN Headquarters in New York City. As a result, he'd been out of touch when Brooke was taken to the hospital, incommunicado when she'd lost their baby, and when he'd finally made his way back to Red Rock, her brother—his former best friend—had made it clear that she didn't want to see him. He'd been furious with Kevin, and maybe just a little relieved. He'd done the right thing when he learned of Brooke's pregnancy, but it hadn't been what he wanted. Not at the time, anyway. So when Kevin had told him to leave his sister the hell alone, Travis had complied. And he'd assuaged his guilt by reminding himself that it was what she wanted. He'd moved on to California and the next assignment, tried to immerse himself in his work, but he'd missed her. And he'd decided that their reasons for getting married didn't matter as much as the fact that they were married—and that he wasn't ready to let her go. Then he got the letter from her lawyer. Almost two years had passed since then, but he hadn't forgotten about her. And whether she'd thought about him or not, she'd obviously been keeping busy. He dropped his gaze back to the album that was open in his lap, and he couldn't help but be impressed by the photos he perused. There were weddings, anniversaries, bridal and baby showers, baptisms and birthday parties. And the photos of each event showed both creativity and attention to detail. He'd never really understood her ambition. Maybe he'd never tried. Celebrations hadn't been much more than an idea when they were together, and he wished now that he'd paid more attention when she'd talked to him about what she wanted to do. He wished that he could tell her that he was proud of her, but mostly, he wished he could believe his opinion mattered to her. He wished he could believe that it wasn't too late for a second chance.

591

Chapter Three After her meeting with the heiress—and a long-overdue telephone conversation with her brother—Brooke had thrown herself into the planning of Lacey and Kevin's wedding. Partly because she was concerned about the short time frame before the New Year's Eve date, but mostly because she needed to work to keep her mind off Travis Stanford. But as she stepped out into the cold of the late afternoon on her way to the grocery store, the questions swirled through her mind like flakes of snow. Not that they got very much snow in Red Rock, but it certainly seemed cold enough today. Why had he left the Diplomatic Security Service? Why had he come back to Texas? Why now—when she was finally starting to get over him? As if. She frowned at the taunting voice that echoed in her head. Okay, so maybe she wasn't as immune to her ex-husband as she wanted to believe. Maybe she wasn't immune to him at all. Because it had taken only a look, and her knees had quivered. And when he'd smiled, her heart had hammered so loudly inside her chest she'd expected that Heather could hear it in the other room. It was pathetic how much his presence affected her. And it had been like that since the very first time she saw him, when she was barely seven years old. She'd fallen just a little bit in love with him that day, and her response to him now was proof that she still hadn't completely fallen out of love with him—regardless of how hard she'd tried. Maybe she'd been living in a state of limbo since the end of their marriage, and maybe she hadn't moved forward the way that she'd promised herself she would when she asked for the annulment. But maybe she'd needed to see Travis again to finally put the past to rest and move forward. Her footsteps faltered on the sidewalk as she approached the back of the grocery store parking lot, where fresh Christmas trees were being sold. She hadn't bothered to get a tree last December. In fact, she hadn't put up any decorations at all, preferring to ignore the season that represented the first anniversary of both her hasty wedding and the heartbreaking loss of her baby. Time to move forward, she reminded herself, and went to pick out a tree. *** Travis had made a lot of mistakes where Brooke was concerned. As he stood outside her door, he suspected that he was about to make one more, but he knew it wouldn't be as big as the mistake he'd made when he let her go. When she'd gotten in touch with him to tell him that she'd lost their baby, he'd been too far away to do anything for her. He'd heard the tears in her voice, and he'd ached right along with her. He'd offered to come home, but she'd made it clear that she didn't want him to—she didn't want anything to do with him anymore. He'd understood that she was grieving, and so he'd decided to give her some time. He thought a few weeks would be enough, but then the weeks turned into months, and still she wouldn't take his calls. He even tried calling Kevin, but her brother wasn't talking to him, either. That was when Travis finally realized he'd lost everything: the wife he hadn't been sure he wanted, the baby he'd been completely unprepared for and the best friend who was the brother he'd never had. Several more months passed before he finally heard from Brooke, and when he did, it was through her lawyer—a polite request for him to initiate annulment proceedings.

592

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. And he had no intention of acceding to her request until he understood why she was so anxious to end their marriage. He lifted a hand and knocked firmly, determined to finally get some answers to the questions that had plagued him for so long. Through the door, he heard a thump and a muffled curse. A few seconds later, the locks were disengaged and she was standing in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was tousled and a couple of buttons at the front of her shirt were undone, making him wonder exactly what he'd interrupted. She sighed as she wiped the back of her hand over her brow. "What are you doing here, Travis?" "I was hoping we could talk—just you and me." "I can't imagine that either of us has anything to say that we didn't cover two years ago." "Aside from one brief and awkward telephone conversation, we didn't say much of anything two years ago," he reminded her. "Wasn't that enough?" she asked wearily. He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. "I don't think so." "I'm in the middle of something right now." He reached out and plucked a bluish-green needle from her hair. "Decorating your Christmas tree?" "I haven't actually got to the decorating part," she admitted. "I'm still working on the 'trying to stand up' part." "I could give you a hand." She hesitated another minute before stepping away from the door. It took about twenty minutes and a lot of tussling and cursing, but they finally managed to secure the tree into the stand and set it in the corner. "Lights?" he prompted. "I'll do those later," she said. "I don't mind helping." "Why?" He shrugged. "We were supposed to put up a tree together when we got back from Vegas, except that—" "I know what happened," she said, cutting him off. Of course she did. Neither of them was ever going to forget. "I should have been here," he said. "It doesn't matter."

593

"Of course it matters." She shook her head. "I'm going to make a pot of coffee." He followed her to the kitchen. "So how long have you lived here?" "Almost two years." She filled the reservoir with water, measured out coffee grounds. "Nice place," he noted. "It was my grandmother's," she told him. "She thought it would be the perfect setting and location for my business and transferred the property into my name a few months before she died." "She'd be pleased by what you've done with it—and proud of your success." "I hope so," she said, with enough of a hint of a small smile to tug at his heart. She'd always been beautiful, but when she smiled, she was absolutely breathtaking. It had been a long time since she'd smiled at him. Too long. "Aren't you going to ask why I came back to Red Rock? Or at least why I left the DSS?" "It's none of my business." She opened the cupboard, took out two mugs. Her tone was casual, but the way she'd deliberately turned away suggested that she wasn't as disinterested as she wanted to seem. He stepped closer, boxing her in. No way was he going to let her shut him out, not this time. "Actually, it's more your business than you realize." She set the mugs down and slowly pivoted to face him again. The pulse point at the base of her jaw was pounding, and her beautiful blue eyes were wary. "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about the fact that we're still married."

Chapter Four "No." Brooke shook her head vehemently. "We're not." "Why would I lie?" "I don't know." She turned away to pour the coffee, hoping he couldn't see that her hands were shaking. She didn't know if it was his proximity or his claim that had unnerved her, but she did know that his unexpected reappearance in Red Rock could turn her entire life upside down. "But our marriage was annulled. My lawyer assured me that you were going to take care of that." She could have taken care of it herself, and maybe she should have. But the truth was, she hadn't wanted their marriage to be over. She knew that Travis had only proposed to her because she was pregnant, but she'd married him because she'd loved him. Losing their baby—the reason for their marriage—hadn't changed her feelings. But she didn't think it was fair to hold Travis to a commitment he'd only made for the sake of a child they were never going to have. "I intended to." He tucked his hands in his pockets. "It was the only thing you asked of me…and after everything…I didn't think I had any right to refuse. But in the end—I just couldn't do it."

594

Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He sounded sincere, but she distinctly remembered receiving a package from her attorney. Assuming it was confirmation that her marriage had been annulled, she'd never bothered to open the envelope. It had hurt too much to even think that the marriage she'd entered into with such high hopes was over. And now Travis was here, claiming that it wasn't over after all. Pushing aside her coffee, she went to her bedroom and pulled open the drawer of her night table. More than a year had passed since she'd received the envelope, and over that time, she'd tossed various other items in the drawer so that she had to dig through a pile of cards and letters and coins to find it now. She sank onto the edge of her mattress, her fingers trembling as she tore open the flap and tugged out a sheaf of papers. There was no decree of nullity. There was only a statement of account and a letter. She skimmed the letter. "…sorry we were not able to bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion." She stared at him, stunned. "We're still married." "That's what I've been trying to tell you." "But…why?" He shrugged. "I didn't think we should end our marriage as impulsively as we entered into it." "Do you really think my request for an annulment was an impulse?" "How could it be anything else? We hadn't had any contact in more than six months—" "Because you took off for New York before the ink on our marriage license was even dry." He sank down onto the mattress beside her. "I had a job to do." She nodded, because she knew that it was true. Even before he'd proposed, she'd understood that he was planning to leave for an assignment out of state. But she'd convinced herself that it was only a short-term deal, that as soon as that job was done, he would look for something closer to Red Rock. He'd made her believe that he wanted to be with her, that he wanted them to be together for their child. And then she'd lost the baby, and one assignment had lead into another and another until she'd finally accepted that he had no intention of coming back. "So why did you leave the DSS?" she finally asked him. "It was time." She lifted a brow. "What time was that?" He searched her eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart skip a beat. "Time to think about the future and the kind of life I really wanted," he told her. "The travel was fun at first. I got to meet lots of interesting people, go to different places. But after a while, I grew tired of sleeping in hotel rooms and living out of a suitcase." "So you're planning to stay in Red Rock?" she prompted, not entirely sure how she felt about that possibility.

595

"I had no set plan when I first came back," he admitted. "I just knew that I needed to see you, to talk about what had happened between us." "Oh." "Do you think we could maybe go back to the kitchen to finish this conversation?" She hadn't given too much thought to where they were until he asked the question. But when he did, she suddenly became aware that they weren't just in her bedroom but on her bed. Sitting very close together. And her pulse was racing and her skin was hot. She swallowed. "That's, uh, probably a good idea." He caught her hand as she rose to her feet, stood with her. "It's still there, isn't it?" She pretended to misunderstand. "Our coffee's getting cold." "The chemistry," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "That's what got us into trouble in the first place," she finally agreed. "Yeah, I knew you were trouble. The minute I saw you again, when I came back with Kevin for Thanksgiving that first year I was in college." He lifted his other hand to brush his knuckles gently down her cheek. "You were a kid when I went away, and a woman when I came home." "You barely spoke two words to me that weekend," she remembered, trying to ignore the rush of blood through her veins, the ache in her heart. "Self-preservation," he said. "It didn't seem to matter that I'd known you since you were seven years old. At seventeen, just looking at you made my heart beat faster. If I hadn't faked indifference, the drive home from your friend Tammy's house after the party Saturday night might have ended with us in the backseat of my car." He was right. If she'd even detected a hint of his attraction to her, she would have insisted he pull the car over and kiss her. She might have still been in high school, but she'd been old enough to be sure of her feelings for him. And she'd been devastated by his distance. He'd always had time for her before—and even if he'd often treated her like a kid sister, at least he'd never ignored her. Until that weekend. Coincidentally, it was at Thanksgiving again, eight years later, that they'd jetted off to Las Vegas to get married. "You still make my heart race," Travis said in a low voice. Which was why they should go to the kitchen. Now. Because the way he was looking at her made her think things she shouldn't be thinking, and want things she shouldn't be wanting. "Is there a reason for this stroll down memory lane?" she asked him. "I thought I could forget," he said. "I thought I just needed some time and distance, but no matter how much time passed, no matter how far I went, I couldn't get you out of my mind." "Well, I did get you out of mine." She tipped her head back, determined to look him straight in the eye as she lied through her teeth. "I moved on with my life and now I want you to go."

596

His brows lifted. "You expect me to believe that you forgot me and everything we meant to one another?" "Yes," she said firmly, even as the challenge in his tone set off warning bells. "Then maybe you need something to remind you," he said, bending his head toward her.

Chapter Five She'd known he was going to kiss her. Travis was hardly subtle and Brooke had seen the intent in his eyes soon enough that she could have stepped back or pushed him away. But the truth was, she didn't want to. As his mouth swooped toward hers, she tilted her head back, meeting him willingly, even eagerly. Yes, she'd wanted his lips against hers and his arms around her. Just one more time. One last time. Except that while her mind was determined to say goodbye her body was saying hello—and with much enthusiasm. And when the hard, punishing pressure of his mouth eased, every ounce of resistance melted right along with her heart. *** Travis had expected Brooke would be angry. She had reason to be, considering the way he'd hauled her into his arms just to prove to both of them that there was no way she'd forgotten. Because he'd refused to believe that she could so easily have set aside the memories that continued to haunt him. In the first moment that he touched his lips to hers, the fleeting contact opened the floodgates of those memories. And when he heard the soft, low purr that sounded deep in her throat, need—powerful and fierce and undeniable—swept through on the heels of those memories. He'd known her when she was a child—a tomboy with scraped elbows and dirt on her knees. He'd known her when she was a teen—a shy and awkward girl trying to adjust to her developing curves. And he'd known her as a woman. After four years of service in Egypt, Jordan and Israel with the DSS, he'd come back to the States and decided to track down Kevin McFarlane, the man who had been his best friend all through childhood. Instead, he'd found Kevin's sister, all grown up, and the jolt of lust that had shot through his system had nearly brought him to his knees. She told him that Kevin was out of the country on business. It seemed that his friend was always somewhere else, busy investing his money in some project or another to make more. And while Travis was disappointed to have missed his friend, he decided that the trip didn't need to be a complete waste and invited Brooke to join him for dinner instead. He was on vacation for two weeks before he had to report in for his next assignment, and he'd spent almost all of that time with Brooke—most of it in her bed. He hadn't made any promises; she hadn't asked for any. They both understood that his job could send him almost anywhere around the world on a moment's notice and she had never wanted to go anywhere other than Red Rock. But for two whole weeks, it was as if everyone and everything else had disappeared so that there was only the two of them, and nothing else mattered. And that was just how he felt now, with Brooke in his arms again. As if nothing else mattered.

597

*** Brooke had made more than a few mistakes in her life, and thinking that she could ever kiss Travis Stanford goodbye was on the top of the list. She tore her mouth from his, tears burning her eyes. "Damn you, Travis." He stared at her, his breathing not quite steady. "What did I do?" "You came back." And with him had come the onslaught of memories, of all the time they'd spent together, the first time he'd kissed her, the first time they'd made love. Memories of the hopes and dreams she'd had for their life together. It hurt so much to remember that, for a brief, fleeting moment, she'd had everything she wanted. And then she'd lost it all. "Brooke—" "How did you end up as Lacey Carrington's bodyguard anyway?" she demanded. His smile was wry. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." "You know what? It really doesn't matter." She stalked out of the bedroom. "Maybe it does," he said, falling into step behind her. She moved into the kitchen, picked up her mug and took a long swallow of the coffee she no longer wanted except that it gave her something to focus on rather than Travis. "It was Kevin's idea." She set the mug down again. "My brother hired you?" "Actually, it was Lacey's father who hired me, but on Kevin's recommendation." Which made a lot more sense. She knew that Michael Carrington had been fanatical about his daughter's safety since a botched kidnapping attempt when she was only five years old. Since then Carrington hadn't let his daughter go anywhere without security. But why would Kevin have recommended Travis for Lacey's personal security detail when he had to know that it would put him directly in Brooke's path as she planned the wedding? He wasn't just her brother, he was her best friend. The one person who had always been there for her—the only person who had been there when she'd lost her baby. He'd been so angry with Travis, not just for being out of touch when Brooke needed him but for breaking "the code" as he called it. "A guy doesn't put the moves on a friend's sister," he'd told her. And even her admission that she'd been the one to seduce Travis hadn't altered his opinion. "When I realized that Lacey's meeting was with you this morning, I thought that Kevin was trying to punish me," Travis admitted to her now. "If seeing me again was so difficult, why did you come back here tonight?" "Because after I had some more time to think, it occurred to me that maybe I was wrong. Maybe what Kevin was really trying to do was give me a second chance with you."

598

"Because that's my brother's decision to make," she said dryly. "No," he acknowledged. "But I thought if he'd finally forgiven me, it meant that maybe you could, too." "It's not a question of forgiveness," she said. And it wasn't. He hadn't done anything that required forgiveness. Okay, maybe he had broken her heart, but she couldn't blame him for that when she'd handed it to him on a silver platter. Nor could she blame him for the fact that he still held her heart—even if he didn't know it. He tapped a finger against her lips, silencing any further protest. "Just think about it," he said.

Chapter Six Over the next couple of weeks, Lacey and her mother had frequent meetings with Brooke to finalize details for the wedding, which meant that Travis saw a lot of her, too. But he was careful to stay in the background while the wedding planner and the Carrington women talked menus and cake and flowers. And every day, after he'd turned over his bodyguard duties to the next shift, he drove past Brooke's home again, just to make sure that she was there. It was crazy how much he missed her. How much he wanted her to give him—to give them—a second chance. But he never knocked on her door again. Not that he wasn't tempted, but he wanted to give her a chance to think about what he'd said—and hopefully to realize that she wanted the same thing he did. Almost three weeks after that first meeting, just a few days before Christmas, Lacey was scheduled for a final fitting of her wedding gown. Travis wasn't sure why a white dress was such a big deal, but he couldn't help but notice the tears in Brooke's eyes as she looked at her future sister-in-law in a strapless gown of beaded lace and layered tulle, and it made him realize how many of her own dreams she must have given up to marry him in a quickie Vegas ceremony. He'd made all kinds of excuses for their hasty union—most notably the fact that she was pregnant and he was expected in New York for an assignment—but the truth was, he'd thought of their marriage as a duty rather than a celebration. Lacey and Brooke were finalizing the dinner menu when Heather came into the room. "I just wanted to make sure Miss Carrington was out of her gown before our visitor came back," she said, then stepped away from the door so that the groom-to-be could enter. Brooke's beautiful blue eyes lit up and her lips curved, but she held back, letting Lacey move into Kevin's arms. Their kiss was so heartfelt and passionate that Travis felt the temperature rising in the room and had to look away. As he did, his gaze locked with Brooke's. He thought he caught a glimpse of yearning in her eyes before she turned. Or maybe he was just imagining it. When his friend finally managed to let go of his bride-to-be, he enveloped his sister in a warm hug. Afterward, she smacked him in the arm. Hard. "Ow." Kevin rubbed his biceps. "What was that for?" "For sending your fiancée to me to plan your wedding without even telling me that you were engaged." "Oh. That." He grinned sheepishly. "Well, everything just happened so fast—" "All it would have taken was a phone call," his sister pointed out. "I did call," he reminded her. "You left a message on my answering machine," she retorted. "And absolutely no hint about your plans to get married."

599

"How about dinner tomorrow night? Not just as an apology, although I am sorry, but as a thank-you." He slid an arm around Lacey's waist, drew her close to his side. "I know we didn't give you a lot of time—" "Four months isn't a lot of time. Four weeks is practically impossible, and if it had been for anyone else, I would have said 'no way.'" "Not just dinner, but a thick juicy steak and buckets of champagne," Kevin decided. "Promises, promises." "Tomorrow," he said again, and kissed his sister's cheek. "Right now, I'm taking my fiancée home." He turned to acknowledge Travis, who had observed the reunion from his position by the fireplace, and gripped his hand firmly. "Have you been taking good care of my girls?" Travis wondered if Brooke noticed her brother's use of the plural. If she did, she certainly didn't let on, but Travis chose to interpret his friend's question as confirmation that Kevin had given him this assignment to ensure his path would cross with Brooke's again. "Doing my best," he said, hoping that his friend understood how grateful he was for the opportunity. "Then you've earned the rest of the day off," Kevin told him. "Apparently I'm off duty now," Travis said to Brooke, after Kevin and Lacey had gone. "And just in time for lunch." Brooke continued sifting through the papers on her desk. "I'd ask if you were available to join me but you'd probably make up some lame excuse, so I'll tell you right now that I already checked with Heather and confirmed that you don't have any more appointments today." "That's because I still have some Christmas shopping that I need to do." "You can't tackle the mall crowds on an empty stomach," he warned. She closed a folder, filed it in the bottom drawer of her desk, and surprised both of them by asking, "Are you buying?" *** Maybe it was seeing Lacey and Kevin together that had made her yearn for that all-the-way-in-love feeling she'd only ever known when she was with Travis, because when he invited her to lunch, she didn't want to refuse. It was quite possible that she was making another mistake, that spending time with him now would only lead to heartache again later. But she'd never loved anyone else. In the two years that they'd been apart, she hadn't even dated anyone else. Because she couldn't help but compare every other man she met to Travis, and every single one of them had come up short. So she went to lunch with Travis. And over his steak sub and her Caesar wrap, they chatted about inconsequential matters. He didn't make any mention of their past or the future, and Brooke found herself relaxing and actually enjoying his company. Still, she expected that he would go his own way after lunch, eager to escape the crush of crazed holiday shoppers. But he claimed he needed to pick up a few last gifts, too, and stayed by her side throughout the afternoon. By the time she was finished her shopping and ready to leave, she was grateful for his presence—because he was carrying most of her presents. And when he suggested they pick up a pizza and take it back to her place for dinner, well, Brooke didn't know how she could refuse. Or even if she wanted to.

600

Over pizza and wine, they found themselves talking about Lacey and Kevin's upcoming wedding. "It's hard to believe they only met a couple of months ago," Travis noted. "I did have some concerns when Lacey first told me she was marrying my brother," Brooke acknowledged. "But seeing them together today put all my reservations to rest." "They look good together," he agreed. "They love each other, and it shows." "And you're running yourself ragged to get everything done on their timetable." "I want them to have the perfect wedding," Brooke told him. "Unlike ours, you mean?" She just shrugged. She had no intention of admitting to him—or anyone else—that she'd started planning her own wedding when she was barely twelve years old. Over the years, she'd amended and refined certain details, but the one thing that had never changed was the identity of her groom. She'd wanted to marry Travis Stanford, and when he'd proposed, it hadn't mattered that she wouldn't have the wedding of her dreams because she was going to marry the man she loved. She'd known he didn't love her. He'd never made any declarations of affection or promises of a future together, but when he'd found out that she was pregnant, he'd been determined to do the right thing. And Brooke had let herself hope that, over time, as they built their life and raised a family together, he would grow to love her. Except that they'd never had a chance. They'd never lived together as husband and wife—they'd never even consummated their marriage. "We might not have had bouquets of orchids or a three-tiered wedding cake," he acknowledged, "but 'what God has joined together' still applies." "God didn't join us together," she said. "It was a second-rate Elvis impersonator in a polyester suit." "The vows were real," he insisted. "I thought so. At the time, I really thought we were starting a life together." She looked away, so that he wouldn't see the tears that stung her eyes. "A family. A future." He reached across the table to take her hand. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when we lost our baby." "So am I," she said softly. And even now, even after two years had passed, the pain of that loss was sharp and real, and she wanted nothing more than for Travis to put his arms around her and hold her while she cried. But tears were a weakness, and she needed to be strong. "I should have been there," he admitted now. "And I would have been—I would have come back in a heartbeat if I'd thought you needed me." She moved away from the table, carried the empty pizza box to the counter.

601

"I didn't want you to come back because I needed you," she said, turning back to face him. "I wanted you to come back because you wanted to be with me." "I didn't know what I wanted then." He pushed his chair back and crossed the room to her. His gaze locked on hers, made her stomach tremble. "But I know what I want now." And then he pulled her into his arms.

Chapter Seven Travis knew that Brooke had more than enough reasons to be wary, but she didn't turn away when his mouth lowered toward her. Their lips touched, a fleeting whisper. He drew her close, then closer still, so that the soft curves of her body yielded to the hard angles of his. He kissed her again, and her arms lifted to twine around his neck. Their kiss deepened, bodies strained, breaths mingled. He was determined to take things slow, to not let himself be swept away by the storm of passion that was building. But when her lips parted to welcome the searching thrust of his tongue and her hands moved to the buttons at the front of his shirt, he knew the battle was lost. They left a trail of clothes along the path to her bedroom. The chemistry between them had always been volatile, and Travis wanted her with an intensity that he'd never experienced with anyone else. But when they tumbled together on top of the quilted comforter that covered the sleigh-style bed and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his eyes nearly crossed with lust. She was still attracted to him. Her physical response left him in no doubt about that fact. But did she have any deeper feelings? She had loved him once—but did she love him still? Was it possible that she could after he'd screwed things up so badly? And would she ever be able to forgive him for all the mistakes that he'd made? She rubbed herself intimately against him, the action wiping not just those questions but all rational thought from his mind. He wanted to sink into her, to lose himself in her slick, wet heat, to drive them both hard and fast to the finish. It was what they both wanted—what they needed, what they knew. But this time, he was determined to show her something different, to give her something more. Not a new memory, but a promise. Her hands raced over him, her eager touch heating his blood to near-boiling. He caught her wrists, then lifted her arms up over her head. Her brows lifted, and he brushed his lips over the furrow between them, then kissed the tip of her nose and, finally, her lips. "Mmm." She hummed her pleasure. He nibbled gently on her bottom lip, and her breath rushed out on a sigh. "I want you, Brooke." "Then take me." "I will," he promised her. But before he took, he gave. He used his hands and his mouth and his body to give her pleasure and, in doing so, found more than he could have guessed. He explored every inch of her smooth, silky flesh, slowly and thoroughly. He lingered

602

here and there, taking his cues from the soft gasps that whispered between her lips, the subtle tremors that quivered through her muscles, the hard and fast beat of her heart inside of her chest. He touched his lips to her breastbone, right above her heart. Brooke wondered if he could feel it beating, if he knew it was beating for him. As it had always beat for him. She'd thought she knew what she was doing. When she took his hand to lead him to her bedroom, it had seemed simple enough. Sex was just sex, after all. Except there had never been any "just" about sex with Travis, at least not for her. And while the wanting was easy, had always been easy, loving him had broken her heart. She wasn't sure if she could risk that again. And the way he was touching her now, kissing her now, she knew that it wasn't just about sex for him, either. But how much more did he want from her? How much more could she give without giving him everything? His mouth covered hers, not just tasting but savoring. His hands skimmed over her, not just touching but cherishing. His body merged with hers, not just mating but loving. No. She turned her head away, closed her eyes to shield them from the effect of his hypnotic gaze. She wasn't going to romanticize this. She wasn't going to let herself hope that what was happening between them now was anything more than two old friends and former lovers getting caught up in a moment. She closed her mind and let the heat and the passion take her. That was all she wanted, all she needed. *** Afterward, when Brooke leaned across him to turn on the light, she knocked an envelope off the table. Travis automatically reached down to retrieve it from the floor, pausing when he noticed the return address of her attorney's office in the upper left-hand corner. It was the envelope she'd pulled out the day that he'd first come to visit her at home, but now there was a date and time scrawled on the front. Obviously, when she'd realized that they were still married, she'd made another appointment to see her lawyer. And that appointment was—his heart thudded dully in his chest— yesterday. Brooke slid out of bed and found her robe. He watched as she wrapped herself in the short silky garment, noting how the fabric clung to her curves and how her long legs stretched out endlessly beneath the hem. Her hair was sexily tousled and her smile, when she turned to him, was soft and warm. Just looking at her made him want her again. Forever. But the weight of the envelope was heavy in his hand. "You had an appointment with your lawyer yesterday?" She blinked, her smile slipping as her gaze went to the envelope in his hand. "Yes, I did." She spoke matterof-factly, unapologetically, turning the knife in his heart. "Why?" "Because our marriage was never anything more than a formality and ending it is the right thing to do." "Right for whom?" he demanded.

603

She sat on the edge of the mattress, facing him. "For both of us." "I don't remember you asking what I wanted." "You didn't want to marry me in the first place," she reminded him. "You're right," he admitted. "Because I was too focused on building my career and having a good time to think about settling down with anyone. And if I had been looking for a wife, I wouldn't have been looking in the direction of my best friend's little sister." He took her hands, linked their fingers together. "But sometimes, if you're lucky, you find the greatest treasures in the most unexpected places." He lifted her hands, brushed his lips over the back of each one in turn, and felt her tremble. "I know I made some mistakes but it's not too late—" "It is too late," she said. "I can't go back to the way things were." "I'm not talking about going back but moving forward. And it's too late for an annulment now," he pointed out. "Our marriage has been consummated." She lifted her chin. "Then we'll get a divorce." "I won't consent to that, either," he warned her. "Why not?" she demanded. "Because I love you." *** Brooke stared at him, speechless. "You're the only woman I've ever loved," Travis continued. "I wasn't looking to fall in love, but when I came home from my assignment in Jordan and found you, I found the very best part of my life. And when I lost you…I lost part of my heart and my soul. Part of me." Her mind was still reeling. He sounded so sincere, and she wanted to trust what he was saying was true. She desperately wanted to believe that he felt even half of what she did, but her still-bruised heart was wary. "It took you two years to figure this out?" she challenged. "I didn't want to believe it," he admitted to her now. "For so long, you were just Kevin's little sister, then somewhere along the line you became my friend, too. I didn't expect—I didn't want—anything more than that. And then, with one kiss, everything changed. "But still, it wasn't supposed to change forever. We both knew—we agreed—it was only supposed to be for two weeks." "Except that I got pregnant," she said softly. "I'd been gone more than three weeks when you called to tell me about the baby, but not a single day went by in all of that time that I didn't think about you, and how much I missed you. "And maybe I did panic when you told me you were pregnant. But beneath the panic, there was hope that we could turn our two-week affair into something more."

604

She lifted her brows. "Okay—maybe I wasn't thinking that coherently about it at the time, but I knew that marrying you was the right thing to do. To be a father to our baby. I didn't realize it was also the right thing for me—because being with you is so much better than being without you. "Being with you completes my life in a way that nothing and no one else ever has. And maybe it did take me two years to figure it out, but I finally did, and I know now, without a doubt, that I want to share every minute of that life with you." "Damn you, Travis Stanford." Her voice was a whisper, and her eyes filled with tears as her heart overflowed with joy. "That was exactly the right thing to say."

Chapter Eight New Year's Eve As Brooke waited for the opening notes of Pachelbel's Canon, which would signal the procession of the bride, she took a last look around to ensure that every detail was as it should be. The bride's chosen colors were silver and white, and the decorating team she'd hired had done a fabulous job setting up the front parlor of the Carrington mansion for the candlelight ceremony. The neat rows of chairs were draped with white fabric and accented with silver tulle bows. More silver tulle, entwined with twinkling fairy lights, was draped like garland over the doorways and the windows and the mantle of the fireplace. Enormous silver urns overflowed with white roses, gardenias and lilies, and dozens of white candles flickered around the room. Not just timeless and elegant, Brooke decided, but absolutely perfect. Then the music began, drawing her attention to the back of the room. She'd helped Lacey pick out her gown and she'd attended each of the fittings to ensure that it was nipped and tucked just right, so she had a pretty good idea what to expect when her soon-to-be sister-in-law walked down the aisle. Lacey's dress was strapless, with an intricately beaded bodice and a billowing skirt, and she'd planned to wear her hair up, with an elbow-length veil attached to a delicate tiara that had reputedly once belonged to a member of the Romanov family. Yes, Brooke had seen the dress and the headpiece and she'd seen Lacey wearing both, but she'd also planned enough of these events now to know that a bride always looked different on her wedding day. Happier. More radiant. And Lacey did not disappoint. When she came through the doorway, Brooke was certain she had never seen a more beautiful bride. Glancing over at her brother as he caught his first glimpse of the woman who would soon be his wife, she realized that nothing—not even the diamonds at Lacey's ears and throat—sparkled as much as the bride and groom when they looked into one another's eyes. *** After the ceremony, the guests were invited to mingle in the parlor while the bridal party had pictures taken. Brooke was doing double duty as wedding planner and matron of honor, so she was in and out checking on the caterers and music and smiling for the cameras as required. She moved almost seamlessly from one task to the next, with no tiny detail escaping her attention. When she slipped back into the reception while the bride was dancing with her father, Travis was finally able to snag her hand and draw her close for a long, lusty kiss. After he eased back, she smiled up at him. "What was that for?"

605

"To let you know that I love you." Her smile widened. "I never get tired of hearing you say that." "Good. Because I'm never going to stop." "Saying it? Or loving me?" "Both," he promised. "Well, that's good," she said, and pulled his head down for another kiss. "Because I happen to love you, too." "Hey, you two." Kevin nudged his sister with his elbow. "I think you're forgetting that this day is supposed to be about the bride and the groom." "I'm focused on my bride," Travis assured him. "I can see that," his friend said dryly. Brooke kissed her brother's cheek. "Thank you." "Why are you thanking me?" "Because you knew what I wanted, even before I did." "Yeah, well, once I got over being mad about the fact that my best friend had hooked up with my little sister behind my back, I realized that you guys deserved a chance to work things out—and I'm really glad that you did." "Me, too," she agreed. "And that," Kevin said, as the music changed, "is my cue to join my bride." Brooke smiled as she watched him walk away. "It was a good day, wasn't it?" "The best," Travis agreed. "Although I can't believe you managed to pull off such an extravagant event in such a short amount of time." "It's called delegating. Mostly what I did was make a lot of phone calls to bring the players together and then coordinate the staging." The players being a veritable army of photographers and videographers to record every minute of the event, caterers and waiters to ensure dinner was prepared perfectly and served promptly, bartenders to ensure that no one's glass was ever empty. And those were just some of the people Travis had seen on-site. Earlier in the day, there had been decorators in to set up various rooms that were being used for the ceremony and reception, florists to arrange the flowers, the pastry chef who delivered and set up the cake, and various others he couldn't even remember. Having been hired to ensure Lacey Carrington's safety, Travis was a little nervous by the sudden influx of unknown people. But only a few days earlier, her wannabe kidnapper had suffered a fatal heart attack. The news of his death had lifted the weight of worry for her parents so that they were able to truly celebrate the start of their daughter's life with her new husband.

606

Another consequence was that, as of tonight, Lacey Carrington McFarlane's security was no longer Travis's responsibility. But the telecommunications mogul had been so pleased with his daughter's bodyguard that he'd offered him work in the security department of his offices downtown. Since it ensured that Travis would be able to remain in Red Rock with Brooke, he was more than happy to accept the terms. "I know you did a lot more than delegating to pull this wedding together," Travis said to his wife. "It helps to have an unlimited budget to work with." "Unlimited?" "Mr. and Mrs. Carrington wanted their daughter to have the wedding of her dreams." "And you gave it to her." "That's my job," she reminded him. "And a job you have to do all over again tomorrow," he noted. "The Fortune wedding," she agreed, and smiled. "Why do I know that name?" "There are a lot of Fortunes in Red Rock." "So who's the lucky couple?" "William Senior and Lily. It's a second marriage for both of them, but they're as happy together and as much in love as a couple of teenagers, and they've truly been a joy to work with." "Well, after that, I have another event I'd like you to give some thought toward planning," Travis said. "What's that?" "Your wedding. Our wedding," he amended. "We're already married," she reminded him. "But you never got the wedding you wanted—the one you've probably been planning since you were a kid." She smiled. "But I got the groom I wanted." "Don't you want to do it up big—with a fancy dress and bridesmaids and flowers and all the rest?" She shook her head. "None of that matters. All I ever really wanted was to marry the man I loved—and for him to love me back." "He does and will. Forever," he assured her. "But now that you mention it," she said. "There is one part of the whole wedding deal that I have to admit I'm a little disappointed we missed out on." "What's that?"

607

"The honeymoon." "We'll definitely have to do something about that," he said. And the bodyguard sealed the promise to his bride with a kiss.

608

Worth the Risk By Sarah Mayberry Every morning Nick Malone went to a nearby café. He ordered a latte and a bagel and he sat and read the paper. And he tried not to stare at Ella Kincaid. His former high school crush. She'd always been out of his league. After all, she'd gone on to become a successful model. So why was she sitting alone in a coffee shop looking so…fragile? He was determined to find out. He knew it was going to take patience, tenderness and care, but he would prove to her that life—and love—was worth the risk.

Chapter One She was there again. Tucked into the very back corner of the coffee shop, occupying the table she'd made her own over the past week. Wearing the same baseball cap and Jackie-O sunglasses. Reading the same column in the daily paper. Nick found his own table and sat, pushing his sketchpad and phone to one side to make room for his first point of business—breakfast and the Dear Gertrude column in the daily paper. Behind the counter, Andy caught his eye and gave Nick a thumbs-up. This meant Nick's usual order was on the way—caffe latte and the best toasted bagel with peanut butter to be found in all of metropolitan Melbourne. His morning ritual sorted, Nick allowed his gaze to slide back to the woman sitting in the corner. Ella Kincaid. He almost hadn't recognized her when he'd first spotted her last week. But nothing could disguise that mouth. Lush and full, with just the right amount of pout. A siren's mouth. How many math classes had he whiled away thinking about that mouth? And her clear grey eyes? And her legs? Nick smiled to himself and opened his paper to Dear Gertrude's advice column. Was there anything more tragic and fervent than a high school crush? Gerty was offering advice to a bride-to-be this week, as well as a frustrated coworker and a confused grandparent. Even though her advice was just as witty and pithy as always, Nick's gaze kept sliding from the words on the page to the woman in the corner. Not for the first time, he was tempted to approach her, to re-introduce himself and remind her they'd once shared a biology textbook for a whole forty-minute class. It had been ten years ago, after all, and he wasn't a skinny, bespectacled, arty misfit any more. She might have left school to start a career in modeling, but he'd found his place in the world as an adult, too, and was very comfortable with it, thank you very much. At the very least, he owed it to his former self to give it a try. But there was something about the way Ella Kincaid held herself that made him hesitate today, just as it had for the past week. Her shoulders were tense, her body stiff in the chair. Her fingers gripped the edges of her newspaper so tightly the paper buckled. And even though she always ordered the same thing—a vanilla chai latte and a banana-nut muffin—she never ate or drank more than a mouthful of either. It could just be an I'm-a-model-I-have-to-stay-thin thing. But Nick's instincts told him otherwise. As he watched, the man at the next table leaned across and asked if he could borrow Ella's sugar. Nick smiled cynically. A pretty lame pickup move. Ella flinched, then pushed the sugar dispenser toward the man so abruptly that it almost pitched over the edge of the table. When the man said something else, she pushed back her chair and stood, the legs screeching across the polished concrete floor. Then, head down, she nearly ran for the door. Nick returned his focus to his newspaper. It wasn't the first time she'd bolted when someone tried to engage her in conversation. He wondered if they recognized her, how famous she'd become through her modeling. It wasn't a world he followed, so he had no idea. But what he was very clear on, having observed Ella for a

609

week now, was that she was shy—painfully, torturously introverted. To the point where other people's attention sent her running. Intriguing. Her beauty alone, though undeniable, wasn't enough to fascinate him. He wasn't a man who collected trophies. But the beauty and the shyness…that he found compelling.

Chapter Two Ella kept her head down as she strode toward home. She felt sick, her body overloaded with adrenaline from a fight-or-flight response that was two years too late. He wanted the sugar. That's all. She knew it was true, just as she also knew that it wasn't the only thing the man in the coffee shop had wanted. She'd dressed down—she always had, even at the peak of her career—but men always seemed to know that underneath her baggy clothes she had a body people paid good money to see. I have nothing you'd want. Nothing. That's what she should have said to the man. Then she should have turned fully so he could see her entire face. She knew for a fact that he'd never bother her again then. Her parents' red letterbox was visible at the end of the street. She broke into a run. Only when she was clenching the warm metal of the front door handle and twisting it beneath her hand did she let herself breathe again. The door banged shut behind her. "Is that you, Ella? You're back early," her mother called from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel, a worried crease between her eyebrows. "I forgot my phone. I'm expecting a call from Hayley," Ella lied. A month ago, she would have thrown herself into the comfort and security of her mother's arms and let all her misery and fear pour out. But that was before she'd overheard her parents discussing the holiday they'd planned on taking to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. A two-week trip to Barcelona, her mother's much longed-for dream—a dream she'd decided to postpone because, in her own words, "We couldn't possibly leave Ella. She needs us too much. There's no way she could survive two weeks on her own." It had stung, hearing her mother's assessment. But honesty had forced Ella to acknowledge the truth in her mother's words. It was one thing to have given up her own place and moved back into her old bedroom in her parents' house after the attack, but it was another thing entirely to take over her parents' lives. Which was why she'd started going to the coffee shop. It was non-descript and close to home and she'd forced herself to walk there every day for a week now. She'd sit for twenty minutes and read Dear Gertrude, her scarred side nearest the wall. Then she'd come home again. And even though she was terrified and self-conscious and anxious for every second of those twenty minutes, she knew it had made a difference because the travel brochures had come out again and she'd heard her mom talking to the travel agent on the phone. Which was why Ella would make herself get up, get dressed and go to the coffee shop again tomorrow—for her parents' sake.

610

At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, Ella had given up on having a life of her own, but she didn't want to steal theirs, too. She forced a smile. "Do you need a hand with the baking?" Then she joined her mother in the familiar, safe warmth of the kitchen.

Chapter Three The next day, Nick glanced up from his bagel as the door to the café opened. Ella entered, her head down, her long dark hair, cap and glasses obscuring her profile. She started walking to the corner then stopped in her tracks when she realized two women were occupying "her" table. She stood frozen for a long beat, then half turned toward the door. She stopped, then turned back and walked to another table along the left wall of the café. She moved as though someone were holding her at gunpoint, her movements jerky and tense. She sat, then pulled her newspaper out of her bag and started reading as though her life depended on it. Nick watched her out of the corners of his eyes. Having battled his way through a shy stage in his teens, he sympathized with her self-consciousness. It was a painful, painful thing to feel so out of step with the world. Once again he resisted the urge to try to talk to her. She'd only bolt. And she'd think he was like Sugar Guy, from yesterday. That he was trying to pick her up, being an opportunist. He was pretty sure that wasn't why he felt so compelled to approach her. Yes, she was a sexy woman and, yes, she'd starred in many of his teen fantasies, especially after her modeling career had taken off and she'd started doing swimsuit and underwear shoots. But the predominant feeling he had when he looked at her wasn't lust, it was compassion. She seemed like a person in need of a kind word. Which was pretty nuts, when he considered what her life must be like. She probably spent most of her time jetting from one fashion show to the next. She probably didn't get out of bed for less than ten thousand dollars a day. She was probably told she was "gorgeous, darling" and "divine" all the time. And yet there was still this driving need in his gut to stand and go talk to her and to reassure her that everything—whatever that might encompass for her—was going to be okay. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she'd bolt if he followed his gut's promptings. Which left him…nowhere. He should probably just finish his bagel and forget about Ella Kincaid and go back to his apartment and get sucked into the day's work. He had a deadline coming up, after all. Instead, he read Dear Gertrude, glancing up occasionally to see if Ella was smiling, too, as she read Gerty's scathing response to a twenty-five-year-old's complaint about her parent's lack of financial support, or if she was as concerned as he was by the mother asking for advice on how to stop her child from being bullied at school. He had a sudden vision of how this scenario could go on for years—Ella sitting against the wall, tense and wound up, ignoring her coffee and muffin for twenty minutes before she got up and left each day, him watching her, wondering, but never approaching. It made him feel as though he were in high school all over again—not a sensation a man on the cusp of thirty liked to acknowledge. He'd come a long way—but apparently not far enough. So either he did something about this fascination Ella held for him, or he changed coffee shops. He pondered for a moment, then pulled his sketchpad toward himself and started writing.

611

Apart from really loving Andy's bagels, he'd never been afraid of a challenge….

Chapter Four Ella released the fasteners on her elasticized pressure suit and slid it down her arms. Tossing the garment onto her bed, she reached for the bottle of rose-hip oil. The liquid was cool in her hand and she waited a moment to let it warm before spreading it evenly across the red, puckered skin on her upper chest. She pressed her fingers into the thickened ridges, massaging her scars. Her gaze grew distant as she gave herself up to the routine. An hour of massage on her chest, then another hour on her arm and, finally, an hour on her face. If her hands were sore by then, her mother would help. The deep tissue massage helped increase blood flow and stop the scar tissue beneath her skin from becoming rigid and constricted. Between it and the pressure mask and suit she wore twenty-three out of twenty-four hours, she was doing her best to ensure the best outcome for her skin grafts. It would never be enough, though. She would never be the same person again. Ella glanced toward the mirror on her bedroom wall. The clear plastic pressure mask she wore on her face was shiny in the overhead light. She returned her gaze to the window, focusing instead on the blue sky outside. She didn't want to think about all the would-haves and could-haves. Not today. Just as no amount of medical intervention would erase her scars entirely, no amount of dwelling on the past would change it. This was her life now. So she concentrated on the day ahead. Once she had finished with her massage, she would shower and dress and then walk to the coffee shop. She wondered what problems Dear Gertrude would address today. Ella loved the Bridezilla letters best—Gertrude had a reputation for being tough on demanding brides-to-be and it always made Ella smile. Somehow, reading about other people's lives, their problems and peccadilloes, made her own seem less daunting. Made her feel part of the world, instead of apart from it. A tap sounded on her bedroom door. Ella instinctively reached for her dressing gown, covering herself loosely. Stupid, given how often her parents had seen her scars. But she couldn't help herself. "Come in," she said. The door opened and her father popped his head in. "How's it going, sweetheart?" he asked, offering her a warm smile. "Good. Just doing my thing," she said, indicating the bottle of massage oil. He nodded. "Your mother and I were thinking of taking in a movie this afternoon. You want to come along?" "Thanks, but you guys deserve some time on your own. I'll come some other time." She had to fight hard to keep her voice as casual as his. Her father hesitated a moment before nodding. "Okay. Let us know if you change your mind, okay?" "Sure." Ella waited until he was gone before resuming her massage. She should have said yes. She knew it would make her parents happy. And it would be good for her, being out in the world again. She needed to keep pushing herself. Intellectually, she knew that. It had been two years, after all. Her therapist had told her that even though she couldn't yet envisage a new life for herself, there was one out there. Waiting for her.

612

If only she was ready for it. She fixed her gaze out the window again and lost herself in the steady rhythm of her massage. Only twenty minutes more before she could switch hands and start on her arm.

Chapter Five The sun was warm on Ella's back as she walked toward the coffee shop later that morning. A cool breeze brushed her hair across her cheek and for a few precious moments she allowed herself to pretend that she was normal—an ordinary, everyday woman going for a walk on her own on a beautiful, clear spring morning. Jasmine scented the air, trees were budding and birds were singing to each other… Then a car door slammed behind her and she started, her heart going into overdrive as she glanced fearfully over her shoulder. It was a woman with her baby, wrestling a stroller one-handed from the back of her hatchback. Nothing to be afraid of. No man bearing down on her, his expression oddly intent as he lifted his hands and threw something at her. No moment of suspended disbelief before the burning on her arm and face and chest registered. Just a quiet suburban street. Nothing to be afraid of. Ella took a couple of deep breaths, then walked the final few feet to the coffee shop. She pushed on the glass door and blinked as she stepped into the dim interior. A quick glance around, then she made a beeline for her table. She sat with her back to the counter and her face to the door and let her breath out. "Let me guess, vanilla chai latte and banana-nut muffin?" the waiter asked as he stopped at her table. She pushed her sunglasses higher on her face and adjusted the angle of her head so that she was looking at him without exposing her bad side. "Thanks." He moved off and she opened her paper. Twenty minutes and then she could go. She'd been hoping to try to stretch it to thirty today, but after that thing with the car door in the street…. Her heart was still pounding away. Tomorrow she'd aim for thirty, but not today. She forced her gaze to the page in front of her, reading quickly over Gertrude's usual introduction and diving into the first question. Dear Gertrude, I need your help. Every morning I go to my local coffee shop for my breakfast bagel and latte and every day I see a woman I went to school with. Back then, I had a huge crush on her and I'd love to re-introduce myself, but there's a problem—she's shy. Really shy. I've seen other guys try to talk to her, but they crash and burn, and I don't want to go down the same path. So, what should I do? Take the plunge and risk her bolting, or spend the rest of my life watching her eat her banana-nut muffin and vanilla chai latte and never say a word? Signed, The Guy at the Table Near the Door. A prickle of heat raced up the back of Ella's spine.

613

It couldn't be… But the detail was so precise… Surely it was a coincidence…? She lifted her head and glanced toward the table near the door and found herself looking into a pair of deep blue eyes. He had dark curly hair and was wearing a red T-shirt with some kind of cartoon on it and a pair of faded jeans with bright blue Converse Chuck Taylors, and he was smiling tentatively, eyebrows slightly raised. He lifted a hand in a small, cautious wave. She swallowed a lump of pure fear. And then he stood and started walking toward her table.

Chapter Six Nick had taken three steps when Ella stood so quickly her chair overbalanced and clattered to the floor behind her. She didn't hang around to notice—she was too busy striding for the door, her face twisted into a rictus of desperate terror. "Ella, it's okay," he blurted, but he was talking to thin air. She was gone, the door swinging shut behind her. "Hell, man, what did you do to her?" Andy asked from behind the counter. The café's five other patrons were all staring at him as though he'd just kicked a puppy. "Nothing. I didn't do anything," he said. Not strictly true, but it was enough to make Andy shrug and go back to making coffees. Nick returned to his table and sat. His hand was shaking when he reached for his water glass. The look on her face… She'd been terrified. Absolutely terrified. If he'd known she'd be so freaked, he would never have leaned on his old university buddy, Ally Bishop, to publish his letter. Ally had been writing the Dear Gertrude column for a few years now, and she'd been intrigued but wary about his request to help him arrange a "cute meet." "Did it ever occur to you that maybe she simply wants to be left alone?" Ally had asked when he'd called her and hit her up for a favor. It had, but he'd become so fascinated by Ella that he'd ignored his instincts. He was an idiot. He'd thought he was being cute and clever and witty, but all he'd accomplished was freaking out a woman who looked as though she needed a little comfort in her life. Well done, dickhead. Ally was going to give him hell when she learned his letter had backfired. Nick pushed his bagel away. He couldn't just sit here and munch away like nothing was wrong when he'd sent a woman screaming for the hills. Throwing a tip on the table, he grabbed his notebook and phone and stood.

614

He wasn't sure what made him glance toward her table. She was long gone, there was nothing to see there. But he did, which was when he noticed the black purse hanging off the back of her chair. She'd been so spooked she'd abandoned her handbag. He really was a jerk. He thought for a moment, then crossed to the table and lifted the handbag from the back of the chair. Andy was busy with a customer. It was possible Ella would come back for it, but after today he was willing to bet she'd be giving this place a wide, wide berth. Exiting the café, he glanced left, then right, just in case Ella had stopped somewhere nearby to regroup. The street was empty. Feeling like ten different kinds of a creep, Nick unzipped the bag and delved inside, telling himself all the while that it wasn't an invasion of privacy, he was simply trying to restore Ella's lost property to her. Inside he found a hairbrush, a wallet, a second pair of sunglasses, sunblock, and—finally!—a couple of unopened letters addressed to Ella Kincaid. Good. He would return her purse, then walk away from the whole fiasco. And next time he was tempted to be too smart for his own good, he'd think twice.

Chapter Seven Ella sat on her window seat, knees pulled to her chest. The familiar pressure of her mask was back on her face, her hair caught up in a ponytail. She was wearing her dressing gown over her clothes, the fluffy fabric pulled high around her neck. She'd needed its comfort when she'd returned from the coffee shop. She'd been shaking with reaction, tearful and scared and confused. Of course, now that the crisis had passed she felt stupid. But that seemed to be the norm for her these days, swinging like a crazed pendulum between bouts of abject panic and mortifying self-consciousness. She'd left her purse behind. Her house keys, her wallet, whatever else was in her handbag. She'd been so panicked she'd forgotten everything except the need to get out of there. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. When was it going to get easier, this being-brave business? When was she going to be able to do something as small and humdrum as take a walk in the street without feeling the rush of adrenaline and the urge to run, run, run? "You're being too hard on yourself," her mother had assured Ella as she'd sobbed into her shoulder not half an hour ago. "You're the victim of a brutal assault. It's only natural that you'd be cautious and wary. It's going to take time for you to learn that the world is a safe place." The distant sound of the front doorbell ringing echoed through the house. Her mom or dad would get it— they'd decided against going to the movies this afternoon so they could stay with her. Another outing she'd ruined for them. She heard the sound of voices, then the door closing. Tears seeped beneath her closed eyelids. She willed them to stop. She was so sick of crying. It never changed a thing. "Ella." She opened her eyes to find her mother in her doorway, a large, colorful bunch of flowers in her arms—and Ella's handbag dangling from her wrist. Ella frowned.

615

"A very nice man just dropped these off for you," her mother said. "Nick, I think he said his name was. He wanted me to pass on his apologies and to make sure you got your things back." Ella blinked. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful or worried. He knew where she lived now… "He also mentioned he went to Beaumont High with you," her mother said, laying the flowers and purse down on the bed. She looked to Ella, clearly expecting a response. "I don't remember any Nicks." It had been ten years, after all. "He seemed nice." When Ella didn't respond, her mother reached for the flowers again. "I'll put them in a vase for you." "No!" Her mother threw her a startled look. "I'll do it," Ella said. "I'll take care of them." She waited until her mother was gone before approaching the bed. He'd bought her tiger lilies and roses and irises and bright orange gerberas. She reached out to touch the plump silky petal of a lily and spotted a square of white in amongst the foliage. A card. He'd left her a card. She snatched her hand away instinctively. Slowly she unclenched her fingers. Then, biting her lip, she reached for the card.

Chapter Eight It was a business card. Nick Malone, Illustrator it said in simple black print. She turned it over. Handwriting ran across the small white rectangle in an undisciplined sprawl. I'm sorry. I never meant to scare you. Don't let me stop you from going to the coffee shop. I won't bother you again. His obvious regret sent a rush of embarrassing heat into her face. He probably thought she was nuts, the way she'd run from him like that. What normal woman bolted because an attractive man wanted to meet her? She laughed, the sound hard and brittle. It had been a long time since she was normal. Who was she kidding? She ran her thumb over his handwriting, feeling the slight texture where the pen had pressed into the card. It had been such a shock when she'd looked up into his eyes. Even now she felt a surge of panic when she recalled the moment. Any man watching her, noting her, sent her scurrying for cover. It was almost funny, given how unaware she'd been on the street that day. How utterly unprepared she'd been when she'd seen a man in a hooded sweatshirt bearing down on her… She crossed to her en suite and tossed the card into the trash. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what Nick Malone thought of her. She was never going to see him again.

616

And yet later that evening when she was reading through some of her favorite blogs on the internet, she found herself calling up a web browser and navigating her way to the Melbourne Herald's website. She found Dear Gertrude's page and scrolled down until she found today's column. She read Nick's letter three times, and each time she came to the same conclusion: it was very charming. Before the attack, she would have been bowled over by the inventiveness and whimsy of his approach. But her world had altered irrevocably two years ago. She was afraid to go out on her own, terrified of strangers, and deeply intimidated by men in general. Where before she might have been charmed, now she felt threatened. She didn't want men like Nick Malone to notice her. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to be safe and anonymous. She glanced at the bouquet he'd sent her. He'd gone to a lot of trouble for her today, both with his quirky approach and his sincere apology afterward. He was clearly a nice, genuine guy. Not out to hurt anyone. What had he said in his Dear Gertrude letter? He'd had a crush on her in high school. And he thought she was shy. God, if only that were true, she thought. Before she could think twice, she went into the bathroom and retrieved his card from the trash. Returning to the computer, she hit the email icon and called up a new message. She typed in the address from Nick's business card, then tapped out a short note. She did a quick search through her bookmarks and found a site that she'd saved a long time ago. She copied the link into her email and hit send before doubt and caution stayed her hand. There. Now he would understand. For some reason, that seemed important, even though she would never see him again.

Chapter Nine Nick worked till it was late and his back ached from leaning over his drawing board. The children's book he was working on wasn't due for another month, but he liked to be well ahead of schedule in case things went wrong. And they always did. The author he usually collaborated with typically had at least one meltdown per book, which generally translated into Nick having to whip up several new illustrations at the last minute. He had a rule when he was working—no email, no phone calls, no texts, no distractions until he'd completed a solid hour's work. As a freelancer, it was the only way to stop himself from frittering away hours at a time gazing at nothing on the Net. His hour was well and truly up when he put the finishing touches on the snail shell he'd been working on. Personally, he favored watercolors, but this story demanded the richness of oils, and the smell of turpentine wafted up to him as he rinsed out his brush. He wiped his hands, cleaned his palette and tidied his workstation, ready for tomorrow's labors. Then and only then did he cross the scarred floorboards to his computer and click on the mouse to bring the screen to life. His email icon lit up with several new messages. He clicked his way through to his in-box and frowned when he saw that one of his emails was from GiraffeGirl. It was too weird a name to be spam, and there was no subject, so he opened the message. And blinked. —It's not you, it's me. Thanks for the flowers and my purse. Ella. Truth be told, he'd never expected to hear from her again—and had been more than happy to leave it that way after the spectacular failure of his romantic approach. A guy had his ego, after all. As it was, the image of Ella lunging for the door would live long and large in his memory. She'd sent him a link. The text glowed blue at the bottom of the screen. He clicked on it curiously. The page froze for a second, then the masthead for the Melbourne Herald appeared and a headline filled the screen: Australian Model Attacked and Scarred for Life. A photograph of Ella dressed in a couture evening gown, pouting and smoldering for the camera, sat alongside a blurry shot that appeared to be captured from a security camera. A chill ran down his spine even before he registered that the image depicted a hooded figure, possibly male, in the act of throwing something at close range into the face of a slimmer, smaller figure.

617

Moving to the edge of his seat, Nick started to read.

Chapter Ten "Up-and-coming model Ella Kincaid was rushed to hospital this morning after having acid thrown in her face in what appears to be an act of revenge by a spurned boyfriend. Ms. Kincaid, a well-known face in the world of international fashion, is said to have received fourth degree burns to her face, chest and arms from what the police believe was sulphuric acid, thrown at her by an unknown male assailant. Ms. Kincaid was rushed to the burns unit, but was able to inform police that she had been threatened recently by her disgruntled exboyfriend. Police have arrested two men in relation to the attack…" Nick read to the end of the article, then sat back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. He felt numb. So stunned that for a moment his mind was a complete blank. What she'd gone through… He couldn't even begin to imagine. In one fell swoop, she'd lost her career, her face—her very identity. And the man who'd taken those things from her had been someone she once trusted. Possibly even loved. It was monstrous. Callous, cruel, vicious. And it had changed Ella Kincaid's life. So many things suddenly made sense. The dark glasses and baseball caps and high-necked tops. Her edginess. Her fearful retreat from any male advance. He swore, loudly. That stupid, smart-ass letter he'd persuaded Ally to publish—Ella must have been terrified when she read it. He'd been so determined to be different, to impress her with his wit. Because he couldn't help himself, he searched for Ella's name on Google, something he'd resisted doing before. He hadn't wanted to ogle the modeling shots the search would inevitably throw up—that kind of idolworshipping was okay for a sixteen-year-old but not something he wanted to get into as a grown man. But now he searched for a different reason. Quickly he read through a number of follow-up reports. He learned that her ex-boyfriend had paid a friend to carry out the attack, compounding his cowardice, and that both men had received fifteen-year prison sentences, and that Ella had been subjected to countless surgeries in the quest to rebuild her face. Fifteen years was not nearly enough in Nick's book. Not after reading of the many hours of pain Ella had had to endure. He thought there ought to be a special circle of hell reserved for pieces of crap like her ex, or at least some serious Old Testament eye-for-an-eye justice. The last article featured a close-up of Ella in her modeling days. Clear grey eyes stared into the camera, warm laughter in their depths. Her skin was a perfect alabaster with the faintest of pink blushes. Her lips were plump and shiny, full of allure. She'd been gorgeous, no doubt about it. Out of nowhere, he remembered a moment from that long-ago biology class when they'd shared his textbook. He'd been so overwhelmed by her closeness that he'd barely said a word during the entire forty minutes, but when the bell rang she'd touched his hand and made a point of waiting till he'd made eye contact with her before thanking him for sharing. She'd been utterly genuine and unaffected, despite the fact that she'd just won a teen cover model competition and every boy in school drooled when she walked past. Nick blinked rapidly, denying the hot pressure at the back of his eyes. But it was impossible to swallow the emotion rising inside him. He may not know Ella, not really, but he felt outraged for her—furious and sad and vengeful all at once. She'd had so much stolen from her, so unfairly…. He squared his shoulders and pulled the keyboard toward himself. Then he started to type.

618

Chapter Eleven Ella didn't check her email until after lunch the next day. She'd lost touch with many of her old friends, so the emails weren't exactly piling up thick and fast in her in-box and she sometimes went days without logging on. Today, however, she was aware of an urge to switch the computer on, just to see what might have come in. She resisted the pull until after her parents had headed off to the movie she'd made them miss yesterday. Then, with no other distractions on offer, she sat at her desk and gave in to curiosity. The odds were good that Nick Malone wouldn't have responded to her email at all. It wasn't as though there was anything left for them to say to each other, after all. Once he read the article she'd linked him to, he'd understand, and any desire he'd had to renew their acquaintance would go out the window. Men had lined up around the block to date Ella Kincaid, catwalk model, but she'd never been under any illusion as to why they'd pursued her. They'd wanted to claim her scalp, to prove something to themselves or their mates— look what I snagged. She'd been a trophy, a high-calibre notch on men's belts. But she wasn't even close to being notch-worthy anymore. At best, she was a charity case. At worst, a novelty. She didn't want any man's pity—or curiosity or kindness or consideration, for that matter. She simply wanted to be left alone. So why are you checking your email, then, if you're not interested? She didn't bother answering her own question—she was too busy staring at the email in her in-box. Nick had written back to her. She opened the message: —There are no words, but I'm going to try anyway. As far as I'm concerned, you have balls to spare for even setting foot outside your front door. Keep fighting the good fight. —Nick. Ella stared at the screen for a long beat. She'd had a lot of consolation emails over the past two years, everything from people offering to pray for her to New Age quotes and expressions of empathy and sympathy. No one had ever told her she had balls to spare. Nor had they told her to keep fighting. She wondered how he knew. How he could possibly understand that every hour, every minute, was a battle against the memories and the anger and the fear, and that finding the courage to face that battle over and over was a day by day proposition. Then she gave herself a mental shake. He hadn't known anything—he'd simply thrown a few words on the page and lucked out on a handful that resonated with her. He couldn't possibly understand so much about her. He didn't know her. And yet somehow her fingers slid into place on the keyboard, and she found herself typing a reply. He probably didn't expect to get one. Probably didn't want one. But she was writing to him anyway, whether he liked it or not.

Chapter Twelve —No balls to spare at this end. In fact, sadly lacking in balls on most days. But that doesn't seem to stop the sun from rising and setting, so I get dragged along for the ride. Tell me, are you the Nick I shared a textbook with in biology in Year Eleven? If so, I always meant to ask, why did your fingers look as though they'd been dipped in ink? Nick smiled to himself. Not only had Ella replied, but she'd given him the opportunity to keep their dialogue going. If he wanted to. And he did. Big-time. —That was me. A belated apology for my incoherence at the time—I was a little awestruck. And my fingers looked as though they'd been dipped in ink because I was surgically attached to my pen and

619

sketchpad in those days. I'm going to be kind and call myself a late bloomer, but really I was just an old-school geeky misfit. You should know that that one class rubbing shoulders with you assured me of stud status in the nerd underbelly of the school for a whole semester. So thanks for that. Ella huffed out a laugh as she read Nick's reply. He was funny. And self-deprecating. She'd always liked that in a man. Too many of the men in the fashion industry were life-support systems for egos. Not that it mattered what kind of man Nick was. It wasn't as though she was in the market. God, even the idea was laughable. —I didn't realize Beaumont High had an underbelly. Intriguing. Your business card says you're an illustrator. Does that mean you're responsible for the incomprehensible cartoon instructions that came with the bookshelf I recently bought? The bookshelf that only took me five hours to assemble with a teaspoon and a bottle opener? Nick wiped his paintbrush clean as he read Ella's latest email. He'd broken his one-hour rule to check for her response. He told himself it was a special occasion and reached for the keyboard. —Sadly, no cartoon instructions in my folio. But I live in hope. Mostly I illustrate children's books as well as some magazine graphics, blah, blah. Ella grinned outright as she typed in her reply. —Another question for you: how did you convince Dear Gertrude to publish your letter? Nick glanced over his shoulder at the half-completed illustration of the canopy on a magical forest clipped to his drawing board. To hell with it. The forest could wait. —The current incarnation of Gerty (you know there have been three different writers over ten years, right?) and I studied at university together. I threatened to tell the world about her penchant for wearing pajamas at all hours of the day and bribed her with ice-cream—she caved like the pushover she is. He hesitated before hitting send. Was it too soon…? He typed an extra line. Deleted it. Retyped it. Stared at it a long beat. Then he hit the send button and crossed his fingers.

Chapter Thirteen Ella's belly tensed as she stared at the final line of Nick's most recent email. Her first impulse was to quit her email program and shut down her computer and walk away from the small moment of madness that had led to their flurry of exchanges. There was no point to it, after all. No matter how entertaining he was, she was like Humpty Dumpty—the surgeons had done their best, but all the King's horses and all the King's men wouldn't be enough to make her whole again. She could kid herself with a few fun emails, but one of the arms stretched out to her keyboard was wrapped in pressure bandages and her face was compressed beneath her mask and her hands ached from her morning massage. She was a fractured person. Incomplete. Her hand reached for the mouse, but she didn't do more than curve her hand over the smooth plastic. After a long moment, she slid her fingers onto the keyboard again.

620

She typed one word, then hit send. —Why? Nick's breath hissed out between his teeth as he read Ella's reply. For a moment he didn't know what to write. And then he did. —Because I'd like to know you. —Just in case you're wondering, the scars are bad. And I'm not sixteen anymore. I have cellulite and stretch marks. So, at the risk of repeating myself—why? —Is physical beauty the only value you place on yourself? —It's the value the world places on me. Or I should say placed. Those days are long gone—no one is interested in me anymore. —I am not the world. I am one person. And I'm interested. —Because you once had a crush on me? That girl no longer exists. —Because you're funny and brave. Because you're a survivor. Because you love Dear Gertrude as much as I do. Because I feel for you. Want more? —I don't want your pity. —Good, because you don't have it. Don't you believe in friends anymore? —I have friends. —Couldn't we be friends? —Men never want to be just friends. —This man does. There was a day's silence between emails after that. Nick broke his one-hour rule half a dozen times before turning his computer off and forcing himself to concentrate on work. He finished the magical forest and made a start on the field of dreams. Finally, after a day of constantly monitoring his urges, he gave in and turned his computer back on. His shoulders relaxed as he saw the email from Ella. He wasn't sure when he'd become so invested in their…whatever it was, but for good or for ill, he was fully engaged now. He opened the message. —I don't know that I'm a good prospect for friendship. I'm anxious, tearful, scared. I almost never leave the house. Not exactly good company. But if you are willing to try…I guess I am, too.

Chapter Fourteen —Did you see Desperate Housewives last night? Couldn't believe he was having an affair again. She needs to kick him to the curb. Ella read the email twice, wondering if Nick had sent her a message meant for someone else. Then she understood what he was doing: being her friend. She smiled. —I'm not into Desperate Housewives. Too…desperate for me.

621

—What are you into? —Old movies. Screwball comedies, mostly. Anything with Cary Grant. And I read. I read a lot. —I read, too. What's your latest? —You wouldn't know it. It's chick lit. —I've been known to enjoy a good piece of chick lit every now and then. —I wasn't aware that anyone with a penis even knew of the genre. —You've been hanging out with the wrong penises. —Obviously! Well, this book's called Just One of the Guys by Kristan Higgins. —Funny? —Very. And sad. It made my chest ache. —Gotta love a good chest ache. By the way, you should know that the coffee shop is all yours from now on. —Sorry? —I won't go there again until you give me the all clear. Cool? —I don't want to deprive you of your daily fix. —And I don't want to cramp your style. —Would it be too weird if we both went and sat at different tables? —I guess that depends on your definition of weird. Mine involves alien abductions and probes, so separate tables falls well within the range of normal for me. —Well, then…okay. Over the next two weeks, Ella's life took on a new rhythm. She still got up early and started in on the day's massage to break up her scar tissue, and she still showered and got ready to go to the coffee shop. But now there were equal measures of expectation and anxiety churning in her belly as she left her parents' house and walked up the street. Every time she entered the coffee shop, her gaze automatically swept the room in search of Nick. He was always there, a coffee and bagel in various stages of consumption in front of him, the newspaper open to Dear Gertrude. He never looked up, and she wondered if he kept his head down on purpose because he understood it gave her a certain freedom to look without being observed herself. He had nice dark hair, curly and thick. His fingers were often stained with ink, and sometimes there were streaks of paint up his arms. He always wore brightly colored T-shirts and sneakers and jeans. The boyishness of it suited him. Although there was nothing boyish about his broad shoulders, or the strong column of his neck or the masculine angle of his nose. He was a good-looking man. If he'd looked at her in the old days…

622

But what was the point of imagining something that could never be? Nick wasn't interested in her in that way—and even if he was, she was a mess. She had nothing to offer him. Still, she studied him out of the corners of her eyes for most of her twenty minutes in the shop, in between reading snippets from Dear Gertrude. Then she rushed home and started in on a flurry of email exchanges with Nick that sometimes lasted up to two hours. At first they kept things impersonal—politics, Hollywood gossip, economic news—but as she grew to trust him all her truths came tumbling out. She told him things she'd never imagined telling another human being, including her parents or her therapist. She told him about the glamour and loneliness of her former career and how lost and empty she'd often felt despite all the attention and fuss. She told him about her feelings of despair and hopelessness in the days after her attack and how she'd wished that she'd died. She shared with him the burning resentment she still felt for the man who had attacked her, trying to articulate the constant battle she fought between feeling righteously angry and giving him too much power in her life. In return, he told her about his mother's battle with bipolar disorder and the strain it had put on their home when he was a kid and how sad he was at the distance that had grown between him and his brother and sister now that they were all adults. He made her laugh, and a few times he made her tear up in sympathy. Most of all, he made her feel understood. She'd thought her life was over, that she was doomed to live in the shadows, too scared to ask for more. But Nick was opening her world up again. And as much as it scared and challenged her, it gave her hope, too.

Chapter Fifteen Three weeks later, Ella kissed her parents goodbye and watched them wrestle their luggage out to the waiting taxi. They were heading off to Barcelona for two weeks of sightseeing, eating and "reconnecting," as her mother so discreetly put it. And even though the thought of two weeks on her own was daunting, Ella was determined to survive it. And today she was determined to do something else, too. Something she'd been debating with herself on and off for several days. She dressed with care as she prepared for her trip to the coffee shop, spending more time than usual brushing her hair and arranging it so that it covered the right side of her face. She tugged the wristband of her sweater down over her fingers and checked to make sure that her turtleneck covered everything essential. Then she grabbed her bag and keys and left the house. The weather was getting warmer, and she could feel the prickle of sweat beneath her armpits as she walked. Or maybe that was just nerves. Too soon the coffee shop loomed in the distance. Taking a deep breath, she walked the final few feet. Her gaze found Nick instantly the moment she entered. He was seated at one of the three tables he favored, depending on how busy the shop was. Her gaze shifted to her own table. It was empty, waiting for her. It would be so easy to walk to it and sit down and continue the odd yet somehow comfortable routine she and Nick had developed. Ella pressed a hand to her belly, wishing she could calm the nerves there with a simple touch. Then she walked toward Nick's table. She kept her gaze focused on the chair she was aiming for, jerking it out and sitting gracelessly. Only then did she lift her head to look at the man seated across from her. He must have been surprised. She hadn't flagged her intention in any of her emails. Sure, over the past few weeks they'd progressed from sitting separately in the same café to the occasional moment of eye contact and—twice—an exchange of smiles, but none of that was even close to what she'd done today.

623

He didn't look surprised, though. He simply smiled, then turned and signaled to Andy. "Ella's ready for her muffin," he called. Then he pushed the paper toward her. "Gerty's on fire today. Ripping a father a new one for the way he treats his stepkids." She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Something. But he'd made what she'd done seem so normal. So expected. So welcome. Inexplicable tears filled her eyes. God, how she wanted to be normal. She heard the brush of clothing, saw Nick's hand sliding across the table toward her own. Waited for herself to flinch or stand and make a run for it. Watched as his warm, strong fingers found hers, wrapping around them gently but firmly. Reassuringly. Watched as her own fingers curled around his, gripping him tightly. "It's going to be okay, Ella," he said quietly. And the funny thing was, even though she'd heard the exact same phrase so many times over the past two years, this time she believed it.

Chapter Sixteen Nick wanted to punch the air. He wanted to holler and hoot and jump on the table and dance a jig. Ella was sitting with him. She was looking at him—albeit through the tinted lenses of her sunglasses—and he was holding her long, slender hand in his. She trusted him. It felt like the most precious gift anyone had ever given him. "I've been meaning to talk to you about your choice of caffeinated beverages," he said, careful to keep his voice casual and easy. "This vanilla chai latte business—it has to stop." She swallowed, and he knew she was fighting to regain her equilibrium. "You have something against vanilla chai?" "Vanilla and chai separately are beautiful things. Together, they're an insult to taste buds." "You're probably right. But sadly I don't care. In case you haven't guessed by now, I have very plebeian tastes." "There's nothing plebeian about you," he said. He felt the tension in her body and knew that he'd pushed too hard. As their many, many email exchanges had proven, Ella didn't know what to do with anything that approached physical or emotional intimacy. She seemed to find it impossible to believe that anyone might still want her. She had no idea how smart and funny she was. How her pithy observations delighted him. How much he laughed when she said something outrageous in one of her emails. She was so much more than a pretty face. Or, as she no doubt saw it, a scarred face. "I've been meaning to tell you. I read that Kristan Higgins book you recommended," he said. "Yeah? What did you think?" "I liked it. The heroine reminded me of you a bit, actually."

624

"Me?" "Feisty. Knows her own mind. Determined." Ella frowned as though she wanted to take issue with his assessment of her, but she didn't say anything. He started talking about the book. Slowly her grip on his hand loosened and relaxed. As though she was holding his hand now simply because she wanted to, not because she had to. "You have paint on your arm again," she said as they were finishing their coffees. "Again?" "You often have paint on you." "Yeah?" He glanced at his arm, and sure enough, there was a big streak of blue on the inside of his elbow. "Ah, ocean blue. I'm working on the Sea of Regret right now. I guess I got carried away." "The Sea of Regret?" "It's part of the children's book I'm illustrating at the moment. The Sea of Regret is near the Field of Dreams, which is near the Castle of Solitude." "It sounds fun." "It is." "I'd love to see your work sometime. Some of your books. When will this one be out?" "Not for twelve months or so. But I've got heaps of stuff back at my place." He told himself to shut up, to bide his time. She'd sat at his table for the first time. She was holding his hand, for Pete's sake. More than enough progress for one day. A huge leap forward. And yet the words came tumbling out of his mouth anyway. "It's just around the corner. You should come back with me."

Chapter Seventeen Nick started backtracking the moment the invitation to come to his apartment was out of his mouth. "But we can do that anytime. No need to rampage over to my place right this second. It's not like it's going anywhere. And this is great. More than great…" He squeezed her fingers as he talked and talked, and she knew he was worried she was going to freak and retreat again. It was strange, but from the moment she'd held his hand and he'd told her everything was going to be okay, something inside her had relaxed. Her constant internal sentinel, always on the alert for danger, had lowered its guard. Nick was safe. She trusted him. She believed in him. "Yes," she said. Nick stalled midspeech, his mouth open. "Really?"

625

"I'd like to see your work." Nick's slow smile was ample reward for her decision. "Cool." By mutual accord, they lingered over the remains of their meal. As the café became more crowded Andy started giving them significant looks and finally Nick reached for his phone and sketchpad. "Do you want to…?" "Sure." They stood and she followed him outside. "My place is just around the corner." He pointed to the left, the opposite direction from her parents' place. They started walking, and it seemed perfectly natural for their hands to find each other. Neither of them said a word. Ella had no idea what Nick was thinking, but she was desperately trying to quell the voices inside her head telling her this was a mistake and she should back out and go home, now. She gritted her teeth. She was determined to do this. Determined to do something to reclaim her life. "That's me," Nick said, gesturing to a tall red-brick building coming up on their right. Boston ivy covered most of its facade, but what she could see of the architecture suggested it had been built in the twenties, or maybe the thirties. "All of it?" she asked, taking in the many feet of street frontage. "I wish. It's an old dairy, and it's been divided up into apartments. I'm upstairs, for the light." He led her inside, then up a flight of wide, worn timber stairs. His front door was painted a vibrant purple and despite her nerves, despite the fact that every muscle in her body felt as though it was carved from rock, she smiled. Only Nick could have a purple front door. "It's a little chaotic inside," he said apologetically as he opened the door. "My standard excuse is that I'm a messy creative type. Really, I'm just a bit of a pig." Then she was inside his apartment. Her first impression was of colorful chaos—there were paintings covering all the walls, and sculptures dotted most flat surfaces and filled corners. Nick's sofa was a brilliant red, the cushions a deep jade-green. Magazines and books were piled on the coffee table, and beyond that she could see Nick's drawing table. Her eye was drawn to the bright image she could see there, and she crossed the room slowly, aware of Nick following her. She stopped in front of his drawing board and looked at what she assumed was the Sea of Regret. And immediately she realized she'd made a terrible, terrible mistake coming here.

Chapter Eighteen Nick stood behind Ella, watching as she studied his work. She reached out a hand but didn't quite touch the thick linen paper. Then she turned so abruptly that he started. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake. I— I have to go." She pushed past him, heading for the door.

626

For a moment he was so stunned he was at a loss. What on earth…? He glanced at his painting. Surely his work hadn't sent her running for the exit? What was there to balk at in a painting of a wide blue ocean bordered on one side by a verdant shore? "Ella. Wait," he said, finally getting it together enough to go after her. He caught her at the door. He didn't try to stop her from leaving—he would never do that to her—but she stopped in her tracks anyway, as though his words alone were enough to anchor her. "Ella. What just happened?" "This was a mistake," she said again, so quietly he almost didn't hear her. A dark mark appeared on her top, closely followed by another and he realized she was crying, the tears sliding from beneath her sunglasses. "Ella." Moving very carefully, giving her more than enough time to pull back if she needed to, he pulled her into his arms. "Tell me what's going on. Was it my painting? Is it that bad?" Her body was tense in his arms. "It's beautiful. Everything in it glows. It's like magic." If she hadn't sounded so utterly miserable, he'd have been hugely flattered. "And this is a bad thing?" "Yes, Nick, it is." She pushed against his chest and he let her go. Her clear grey eyes were dark with sadness when she looked at him. "You see beauty everywhere. And I'm not beautiful. I'm…I'm ruined." The anguish in her voice nearly finished him. He understood that her physical beauty had defined the world for her up until the attack, but she was so much more than a flawless face and long legs. "You're beautiful to me, Ella." "You don't know what you're talking about." "Then show me, Ella." She went very still. "Take off your hat and glasses. Show me," he said. He wasn't afraid of what he would see. The only thing he cared about was her pain and her happiness and her freedom. She was silent for a long moment. "Will you promise me one thing? Will you keep emailing me? Afterward?" she finally said. Nick felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. Did she really think he was going to back off because of a few scars? Did she have that little faith in the world? In him? "I promise."

627

Her hand was trembling as she reached for her hat. She tugged it off then let it drop to the floor. Next she reached for her sunglasses, sliding them from her face. She lowered her head for a moment. Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. She reached up, pulling her hair back with both hands. Then she lifted her face to him.

Chapter Nineteen The scars were white and fine, crisscrossing the right side of her face in irregular grids. Her ear lobe was missing, the skin of her neck mottled. Ribbons of scarring ran down her neck and disappeared beneath her turtleneck. "You might as well see it all." She reached for the hem of her sweater before he could stop her, tugging it up and over her head. Her chest and right arm were a mass of flattened scar tissue, the skin tone uneven, and the lines where surgical incisions had been made were still visible. Her forearm had taken the brunt of the attack, he could see, the muscles there significantly affected by the acid. He reached out and very gently took her right hand in his, then he glided his left up onto the tortured flesh of her forearm. She seemed to sense his unspoken question. "I put my arm up. A reflex, I guess, because I don't remember doing it. The doctors said I'd probably be blind and God knows what else if I hadn't." "Does it hurt? The scars…?" "They're tight. I massage them every day to try and soften the collagen. And I have to wear pressure garments and a mask most of the time…." She was watching him intently. He wished he could see his own face, wanted the reassurance that the horror he was feeling on her behalf was not evident in his expression. There was so much defensiveness in her eyes. So much uncertainty. He reached out, cupping the right side of her face ever so gently in the palm of his hand. "Ella." She blinked back more tears and he leaned forward and slowly, reverently pressed a kiss to her scarred cheek. She made a small distressed sound. He repeated the gesture, kissing her cheekbone, then the bridge of her nose, the curve of her jaw, her eyelid. Finally, he found her mouth and pressed his lips to hers. She started to cry in earnest then, and he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm not going anywhere, Ella." "Oh, God," she said, her hands curling into the fabric of his T-shirt as she pulled him closer, almost as though she was trying to merge her body with his. "You have no idea how afraid I've been. How much I wanted this…" "Ditto. Big-time." She was shaking with reaction and he glanced over his shoulder and saw that his bed was just behind them. He led her to the bed, but when he started to release her she clung to him.

628

"No…" And so he sat on the bed beside her, still holding her, and when she signaled she wanted to lie down, he lay with her, holding her against his body. She was so frail, so slender—and yet he knew she had a will of iron. He soothed his hand down her back and brushed her hair from her face and slowly, after a long time, felt the tension leave her body as she fell asleep. He looked down at her face, peaceful in rest, and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. Then he settled back and savored the weight of her head on his chest and the warmth of her body along his.

Chapter Twenty Ella woke to the realization that the warm, comforting solidness of Nick's body was no longer supporting her. She opened her eyes slowly, then propped herself on one elbow to look for him. And stilled. Nick was seated at the foot of the bed, his back against the footboard, his sketchpad balanced on his pulled up knee. He was drawing with intense concentration, a frown on his face as he focused on the page in front of him. "What are you doing?" she asked. But she knew. He was drawing her. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She'd trusted him. Enough to come here and fall asleep in his arms. And he was sketching her while she slept. While she was at her most vulnerable. Probably he considered it some kind of challenge. So many textures. So many unusual planes and angles. What a fantastic test of his skill. "Where are you going? What are you doing?" he said as she started looking around for her shoes. She didn't even remember taking them off. "What does it look like?" "Why? Because of this?" He held up his sketchpad. "I'm not a curiosity. I'm not some sideshow freak," she said, her voice high with emotion. "You think that's the way I see you?" He was pale. Incredulous. His shock made her stop. Think. Wonder if she was overreacting. Of course she was overreacting. That was what she did. She was one big, exposed nerve ending, quivering and naked in the world. "You should have asked." "I didn't want to lose the moment," he said.

629

Then he passed his sketchpad to her. She gripped the pad, bracing herself for what she would see before lowering her gaze. She blinked. The woman on the page was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on her lips. One hand curled near her face. He'd drawn her scars—on her face, on her arm and chest—but not the way she saw them. They weren't vivid as neon, the most important thing about her. They were part of her, part of the landscape of her body, but not the most important part. Her hair flowed behind her on the pillow, her body coiled loosely on the bed. There was beauty in this sketch—not the kind that fashion magazines celebrated, but a different, braver, more earthy kind. And there was affection and knowledge and… She raised her gaze. Nick was looking at her, a warm understanding in his eyes. "I love you, Ella," he said quietly. The old Ella, the Ella who was scared to leave the house, wanted to reject his declaration. How could he…? When she looked like this…? But the drawing in her hands was real. The look in Nick's eyes was real. And the feeling expanding in her chest was real. The emails they'd exchanged, the secrets and truths they'd shared, the journey they'd come on together—it was all real. Real and powerful and undeniable. "I love you, too," she said. "But I'm so scared…." "I know. But like I said before, I'm not going anywhere." He took the sketchpad from her hands. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. There were so many doubts clamoring for attention inside Ella, but as she savored the pressure of his mouth on hers, she felt the first stirring of desire, a flush of heat that slid through her veins and down her body. She almost laughed out loud. A man—a very special man—was kissing her, and she wanted him to and it felt good. Very, very good. It was so normal. So incredibly prosaic and everyday. It was utterly beautiful. "Kiss me again," she told him. And he did.

630

Caught By Kimberly Kaye Terry Sheriff Cord Canyon is probably the only one in the small Wyoming town of Lander who is happy to be alone and working on Valentine's Day. But his quiet night is ruined by a speeder in a souped-up hot rod, and Cord is shocked to discover that the driver is his almost ex-wife, Brick McNeil—the woman who left him without explanation the day after they got married eight years before. But this time, Cord's holding all the cards, and he vows that Brick isn't going to get away that easily again. He'll do whatever it takes—arrest her, seduce her, love her—to get the answers he needs to finally get her out from under his skin…or catch her for good.

Chapter One Cord Canyon leaned his head back against the leathered seat and drew his hat lower over his eyes, only half listening to the sports radio announcer's monotone voice. As the sheriff in the small town of Lander, Wyoming, he'd given his men the night off to spend with their wives and lovers to celebrate Valentine's Day, and he'd taken the shift solo. It wasn't like he had anyone to spend the holiday with. No one to give flowers or even a corny red card to. Not that he couldn't have found a willing partner to spend the lovers' holiday with, but the idea held no appeal for Cord. He'd had enough lately of that kind of relationship. Most of the women he'd dated hadn't made any kind of impression on him beyond what they could provide for the night—meaningless sex to temporarily fill a void. Nothing more, nothing less. He'd decided long ago that was the only way he wanted it. He'd given the whole "happily-ever-after" thing a try once, and once had been more than enough to let him know that it definitely wasn't his thing. His glance moved to the sealed manila-colored envelope on his passenger seat. He didn't have to open it to know what it was, or who it was from. Which was the reason this Valentine's day, like all the rest over the past eight years, may as well have been any other day of the week for him. He damn sure wasn't going to make it any worse by opening up the package. He shrugged off the dark thoughts and leaned his head against the seat again, thankful for the solace the quiet night afforded him. The radio announcers began talking about auto racing, and he lifted his head away from the seat, his interest piqued. They were announcing the winner of the first race of the season. "Stock car racing season started today in Daytona, and this year promises to be the most exciting yet with Brook Jasper beating his competitors like they stole something as he annihilated the track!" "Yeah, they don't call him Brook the Beast for nothing," the second announcer piped in, barking out a laugh. "Got that right! And with the addition of Brick McNeil standing in as crew chief…" Hearing the name, Cord jerked, turning up the volume of the radio, his heartbeat kicking harshly against his chest. "…Yeah, that was a smart choice for the Beast. McNeil comes from good bloodlines, her daddy being the one and only, legendary, four-time champion Mac Axelrod. With a team like that, Brook stands a good chance of going all the way in the cup!"

631

"That is if she can stay out of trouble long enough to hang on to this gig," the announcer said and both men laughed. Cord frowned, sitting up straighter, intently listening to the announcers. "Did you hear about her latest antics?" "Oh, yeah. Seems she's aspiring to be more than pit crew chief if the number of speeding tickets she's got under her belt are any indication!" Again both men laughed. At that moment the Doppler mounted on Cord's dash started flashing like crazy. With a curse, Cord glanced over at the monitor. Seconds later a low-slung souped-up hot rod raced by, kicking up a cloud of dust as it blew past. Hell, even without the monitor he knew the driver had to be going at least 30 miles over the speed limit. He cursed, threw on his sirens and skidded out of his cover to go after the car, forcing everything else out of his mind but the chase.

Chapter Two Cord should have known that his peaceful Valentine's was too good to be true, that it had been wishful thinking to believe most folks around town would be too busy making love at this time of night—the nookie night, as one of his deputies put it—to be out causing problems. He should be so damn lucky. Instead he was chasing down a speeder who thought he was on a racetrack instead of a sleepy country road. But, hell, it wasn't like he had anything better to do, he thought, turning into the deserted two-lane highway. He bit back a foul curse as a debilitated truck pulled in front of him, slowing down his pursuit. When the driver of the truck refused to move over, Cord glanced at his side mirror and smoothly maneuvered into the opposite lane. Once he'd passed the elderly truck driver, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, sirens blaring, hoping like hell this wouldn't turn into a drawn-out chase, and the young fool driving the hot rod would pull over. Cord breathed a sigh of relief when after about a quarter of a mile, he got the driver's attention and the hot rod pulled to the side of the road. Beyond pissed off, Cord didn't even bother to run the plates. As soon as he shifted his car into gear, he grabbed his ticket board and slammed out of the car. Impatiently he waited for the driver to roll down the window. Pulling his hat low, he ordered, "License and registration, please." The driver was turned away, already in the process of hunting for the documents in the glove compartment, and Cord hid his surprise when he saw the driver's long ponytail escaping from beneath the hat tugged down on her head. His speeder was a woman. He ran his eyes over the car. Souped, chopped…pimped-out—just a few adjectives that came to mind. The classic Shelby Mustang was painted metallic gray, with two wide scarlet-red bands adorning the top, sides and hood, set on custom twenty-four-inch chrome-plated wheels. From the type of car she was driving and the expert way she'd been handling it, he'd assumed the driver was a man. He of all people should know better than to assume something like that.

632

Switching his attention back to the woman, Cord's frown increased as he watched her frantically search for the missing documents inside her glove compartment. He crossed his arms over his chest, ticket board in hand. "Listen, Miss…" She turned around to face him then, the ends of her bow-shaped mouth curled upward, and Cord felt like a semitruck had slammed straight into his gut. His gaze trailed over her heart-shaped face; her satin-smooth, rich honey-colored skin; her large bowshaped mouth and dark brown doe-shaped eyes before settling back on her mouth. Lush, one corner was curled up, lending her an innocent yet somehow slightly wicked look. It was the same mouth, the same look that had invaded his dreams for over eight years. They belonged to the woman who, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he'd run, he'd never been able to get out of his mind. Brick McNeil. His wife.

Chapter Three Brick composed her face into what she hoped was a contrite look and pasted on a smile…an innocent smile, a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth type of smile, as she turned to the officer, hoping he wouldn't take out his handcuffs and demand she get out of the car and spread 'em. Although… She studied him covertly from beneath lowered lids, reconsidering. She might be willing to allow Mr. Tall, Dark and Fine to do exactly that, she thought, running a glance over him as he stared down at her, his eyes hidden by the aviator glasses, his face shadowed by his wide-brimmed hat. She could only see his mouth— wide, unsmiling, the lower rim just a fraction fuller than the top. Testosterone practically oozed from this guy's pores. She mentally shook her head. If she was going to make it to California in time the cop was an indulgence she couldn't afford. Not that she would. She hadn't indulged in that kind of activity in nearly eight years. Her gaze slid back to his eyes. Although obscured by the dark shades, she felt his unflinching stare trained on her. She checked her rearview mirror, then the side mirror. There was no one around but the two of them, it seemed. She felt a chill run over her arms. Reminding herself that he was a cop and there was nothing to be nervous about, she quelled the nervous pit in her stomach and upped the wattage on her smile. "I, uh… I can't seem to find my registration," Brick said. She paused before going on. "Or, uh…my license," she finished, biting the corner of her mouth, her voice low. Her eyes fell to the star above his badge and she stifled a groan. Oh hell, just her luck to get the sheriff to bust her. She cast her eyes down toward the narrow space between her car seat and the console. She hoped he didn't search her car because he'd find both her registration and her driver's license. All it would take would

633

be a quick search of her record and her plans to make it to California in time would come to a screeching halt. Luckily the plates weren't registered to her. She mentally slapped herself, wishing she had taken care of the ticket she'd gotten back in Daytona when she'd had the chance. Then she wouldn't have to worry about Mr. Tall, Dark and Fine Sheriff running her in. Please just give me a warning…please give me a warning, please give me a warning… She fervently recited the litany over and over, as though some magical being would intercede and grant her wish. Don't look inside my car, don't look in my car… She sent the second litany up, with just as much desperation, if not more. "Step out of the vehicle, miss." So much for magical beings, she thought, blowing out a breath of air as she opened the car door and got out. "I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me, Ms. McNeil," he said, his voice deep. "You're under arrest." Her mouth widened in an O of surprise when the officer spun her around and pressed her against the car. Seconds later she felt cold steel clamp around her wrists.

Chapter Four "Arrested! For what?" Angrily, Brick tried to glance over her shoulder and up into the face of the officer, jerking away from him even as he led her to his car, but he forced her to keep moving. "Hey! You can't do this…what am I being arrested for?" She cried out as he placed his hand on top of her head and assisted her into the backseat of the patrol car. Without a word he slammed the door and strode over to the driver's side before hopping in. "I have a right to know," she said sullenly, her face flushing as she caught his gaze on her in the rearview mirror. "I think you know why," was all he said. Again his voice was a low growl, muffled. Brick frowned, staring at the back of his head. There was something familiar about his voice, despite the muffled tone. When he said nothing more, she turned and looked out the window, gnawing on the bottom rim of her lip. Her car wasn't registered in her name and he didn't have her license. How did he know about the tickets or… Her eyes widened and her head whipped around to stare at him again. He'd called her by her name. She closed her eyes, briefly, her heartbeat ricocheting a staccato beat against her chest. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. She'd been so caught up in the potential trouble she'd be in if the cop ran her license, the little fact that he'd called her "Ms. McNeil" had flown under her radar. There was no way he could have known her name. Slowly he tossed his hat away, throwing it on the seat next to him, revealing close-cropped blond hair. Then he drew his glasses from his face. He gazed at her with light blue eyes surrounded by a dark fringe of lashes that if she hadn't known better, she'd have thought were fake. But she did know better.

634

Her heartbeat thudded hard and fast, each beat pounding erratically against her chest so loud and strong Brick felt as though she could count each one. Unreasonable, crazy tears burned the back of her eyes as she stared at the one man, the only man, she'd ever loved. The same man she had once pledged to spend her life with, for better or for worse. It was her husband, Cord. She met his hard, cold gaze in the rearview mirror. He looked at her as though he hated her. Brick swallowed down the instant swamp of emotions, her eyes locked with Cord's. For long moments they simply stared at one another, the years spent apart falling away as though they'd never happened. His face softened as his eyes ran over her. "It's been a long time, Brick," he said, his voice a low grumble. Brick sat forward, raising her joined hands as if to touch him. At the same time Cord leaned toward her. "Cord…" Her voice trailed away. "Don't do this." His face hardened, losing its momentary softness. "You should have thought of that before you broke the law, Brick." "I was going to pay the ticket! I just didn't get around to it, and…" Real panic set in when he put the key in the ignition and started the engine. He flipped a U-turn, heading back in the direction she'd come, back into the small town of Lander.

Chapter Five Brick slumped back against the seat and closed her eyes, quelling the ridiculous tears that threatened to fall. She knew the fact that she was sitting in a police car, headed for jail, had nothing to do with her speeding tickets. Her day of reckoning had finally arrived…. "Baby, everything is going to be fine. We'll still go ahead with everything we planned—" Brick was already shaking her head before he could finish speaking. "It's not that, Cord. It's—" She stopped when she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her around so that she faced him. He stroked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her eyes upward. "Baby, we'll get through this together. I know it's hard…it's hard for me, too. I—" He stopped as his voice broke. After a few moments, he continued, "Everything will be okay, just trust me. We're in this together." He brought her close, pressing his lips to her hair. Brick heard his deep inhalation, the feel of his mouth on her head. Leaning into his embrace, she wrapped her arms around him. She allowed him to hold her for a while before she broke away. "We wanted to get married anyway," he said. "This only pushed the timetable up a little, that's all." He thumbed away the tears from her cheeks, but she saw the uncertainty in his eyes before he forced a smile. She felt as though her entire world was falling apart around her.

635

Brick smiled shakily past the tears, and nodded her head, more to stop him from making any more empty promises than because she agreed. Brick had known from the first time she'd laid eyes on Cord that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. But she wondered if he'd only asked her to marry him because she was pregnant. And now that she no longer was, did he still want to go through with it? Did he still want her? Brick slumped against the seat, exhaling a long shaky breath, fighting back the emotions the memories brought along with them.

Chapter Six Cord unlocked the front door to the deserted police station, flipping on the lights as he ushered Brick inside. The short drive to the station had been done in a tense silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Cord cursed himself, wondering what the hell had gotten into him to bring her back here, to let her turn his world completely upside down. But the moment he'd realized who she was, there'd been no way in hell he was going to let her go. He wasn't going to let her walk out of his life. Not again. At least not without an explanation this time. He shot an angry glance toward her. She stood nearby, her back to him, her body stiff. "Have a seat at my desk, we can go from there." She turned to face him then. "Okay, so what now? I mean, why have you brought me here? Obviously you know about the tickets, and yeah, I should have paid them. I plan to as soon as I get back home. But what's the real reason I'm here, Cord?" she asked before lifting her joined hands. "And really…is this necessary?" She jerked her head toward her bound wrists. "Yeah, it's necessary. Given your…propensity…for fleeing sticky situations, I'd say they're definitely necessary. Take a seat, Brick." Cord tossed his hat onto his desk and removed his jacket, taking his time, desperately trying to get it together and not follow her every move. Old habit. To say he'd been aware of what Brick was doing at every moment was putting it mildly. There had been a time in their lives when they were inseparable. They'd met when she was seventeen to his eighteen. He'd been looking for work and scored a job working the pit crew for several drivers on the stock car racing circuit. He'd met Brick on the track and their relationship had quickly progressed, though Cord had waited—barely—until she reached eighteen before consummating their relationship. And from there, it had gone nuclear. The chemistry between them had always been combustible. Whenever they were in the same room with each other, everything and everyone faded away and it was as though it was only the two of them, alone. Didn't matter where they were; their chemistry was off-the-charts hot, a burning intensity the likes of which Cord had never experienced before or after Brick. And long after it was over, he still felt the lingering embers of that flame. The day they'd gotten married had been the happiest in his life. And the following day, the worst. He'd woken up alone, a note left on the pillow where she should have been telling him it had all been a mistake and that she'd file the papers for their divorce as soon as she returned from Daytona with her father. Just like that it was over.

636

It had taken the better part of a year for Cord to stop trying to contact her, finally getting it through his thick head that she no longer wanted him. And it had taken years after that for him to finally stop waking up and reaching for her. Her voice drew Cord out of his thoughts. "Is this the only way you can get a woman to stay…by keeping her against her will?"

Chapter Seven "Is this the only way you can get a woman to stay…by keeping her against her will?" The minute the words flew out of her mouth, Brick wanted to bite her own tongue out. But she couldn't…wouldn't…be able to hold it together for long if she stayed in the same room with Cord. To be this close to him was too painful, brought back too many memories. Memories she'd spent the past eight years trying to forget. Anger tightened his jaw and the ends of his fine nostrils flared. The telling tic at the corner of his sensual mouth indicated she'd hit a nerve; she'd gone too far. Swallowing, she backed away from him until her butt hit the corner of the desk. He advanced on her, not stopping until he stood so close she could smell him, the unique scent that seemed to belong to him and him alone. She closed her eyes, taking an involuntary deep breath. Like a tsunami, the familiar scent blew across her senses, awakening memories—memories she'd carefully kept hidden, shoved away—and sparking the familiar desire that, like the tsunami, could completely sweep her away. And devastate her. *** Cord's gaze dipped to Brick's mouth—full, perfect bow shape, her lips bringing to mind all types of carnal thoughts on what she could…what she had…done with those perfect lips of hers. His cock hardened at the memory. His eyes trailed lower, down the line of her throat—exposed by the simple V-neck black tee beneath her jacket—and further to the shadowy outline of her generous breasts. Beneath his scrutiny, her nipples poked insistently against the thin material. Her breasts rose and fell heavily the longer he stared. His dick hardened as though on cue, pushing against his zipper. He dragged his gaze upward to meet her eyes. She brought up her bound hands between them and he considered the steel handcuffs. "Cord?" she asked, his name a breathy entreaty. "Are you going to let me go?" she asked, a hint of hope in her eyes. At that moment, freeing her was the furthest thing from his mind. Hell, no. What he wanted to do instead was to lift her, flip her around, straddle her legs around his waist and go balls deep. So deep neither of them would know where one left off and the other began. So deep he'd be able to forget the taunting memories that had plagued him for the past eight years and scour her image, which seemed to be in his mind no matter what he was doing…or who he was doing it with. "Let you go?" he asked, laughing harshly. "No." If she thought he was going to let her go just like that, after all these years, she was in for a long wait.

637

At his answer, a flush ran along her dark honey-colored skin. "You owe me, Brick." Cord brought his hand up to her face, trailing his fingers along the flush that stained her cheek. She jerked her head away angrily and her chin hitched up, but he saw the flare of emotion in her eyes before she turned away from him. He forced her head back around, unwilling to give her the easy out. "And I intend to collect on the note."

Chapter Eight Cord's gaze followed the movement of Brick's tongue as it snaked out to moisten her lips. The air around them grew hot, sticky. His cock grew rock hard, and his heartbeat slammed against his rib cage. "Wha— What is it that you think I owe you?" she asked, her voice little more than a breath. Cord inhaled deeply, and immediately was hit by her unique scent. As though against his will, he drew closer to her and lowered his head, running his nose up the length of her neck, breathing her in. That was another thing, among many, that he'd never been able to forget about Brick. Just one more thing he hadn't been able to get out of his head. The way she smelled. Cord moved his hands around and cupped the back of her head, deftly pulling the elastic band out of her hair. He sifted his hands through the loosened strands and tugged her head closer still. His face inches from hers, he ran his gaze over her. He reveled in the slightly unfocused look in her dark brown eyes as she stared at him, her hair tumbling to her shoulders. It had been so long since he'd tasted her. So long since he'd felt the perfection of her mouth against his. It was a temptation he couldn't resist. He kissed her. *** The minute his mouth made contact with hers, Brick released a low moan, her body reacting as though of its own will. She moved against his hard body, her bound wrists coming to rest on his wide chest. He didn't just kiss her, he consumed her. His tongue stroked across the seam of her lips, demanding an entry she didn't have the will to refuse. Without releasing her mouth, he grasped her butt and lifted her up, placing her on the desk, before bumping her thighs apart and settling within the V of her legs. When the velvet smoothness of his tongue stroked inside her mouth, she opened her mouth wider, meeting his tongue with her own in a hot, desperate dueling match. "Cord…" she whispered against his mouth when he broke the kiss, running his tongue over the outline of her lips. She moaned as his hand tunneled beneath her shirt and cupped her breasts. His thumb stroked over the silk of her bra to pinch and squeeze her nipple.

638

Feverish, she brought her bound hands between their bodies and cradled his growing erection, her eyes fluttering closed when she tested the weight of his sac, her fingers running beneath the undersides of his thick outline to touch and caress. One part of her mind separated, called herself all kinds of fool for allowing this to happen. To willingly allow him to take her to that place that he and he alone had been able to take her. She shoved that part away and gave in.

Chapter Nine Brick surrendered to the demands of her heart, ignoring those of her mind. She couldn't get close enough to Cord, couldn't feel enough of his big body close to hers, couldn't get enough of his mouth making love to her, his talented hands, tongue and fingers playing hell with her determination to keep her cool. God, it had been so long. So long since she'd made love to him, so long since she'd felt with anyone even a fraction of the way she felt now. Her heart was beating so fast she knew he had to hear its heavy strum, and when he pushed her down on the desk, she willingly gave in to his silent demand. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist, her body on fire for his touch, as he laid siege to her. He attacked her mouth with carnal ferocity, his tongue pushing past her lips to breach the cavern of her mouth. She released a ragged moan, one that came from deep within her body, her soul… She had missed him so much, his touch, his kisses invading her thoughts with a regularity that had at times made her feel as though she was losing her very mind, the images so vivid they brought moisture to pool in her panties. She'd think about the ramifications of making love to him later…. She arched her body into his. *** His breath coming out in harsh gusts, Cord broke away from Brick and saw the pulse banging at the side of her throat. Helpless, seemingly against his own will, he stroked his tongue over it. She cried out, arching sharply against him again. It had been so long since he'd been this close to her, so long since he'd felt her sweet, perfect curves mold to his body as though she'd been made just for him. He ran his tongue down the hollow of her throat, his hand moving up to her breasts…when his fingers brushed over a ring on a chain between her breasts. He ran his fingers over the small ring before it hit him what it was. Her wedding band. She still wore his ring. With a low growl, he pushed away from the temptation of her body, even as the scent of her enveloped him, clouding his senses, slamming him with a need he'd thought he'd conquered long ago. With a humorless, self-directed laugh he turned his back to her, striding a short distance away, enough space to get his randy cock in check and to clear his foggy mind. She still had the power to make him crazy. Just as she had when they were younger. Whenever they touched, it went nuclear.

639

"Cord?" He kept his back to her until he was sure he wouldn't go caveman on her again and rip her clothes from her body. As much as he wanted to do just that, the only reason he'd brought her here was to finally get answers. Maybe now he had leverage. He faced her. "Why do you still wear my ring, Brick?"

Chapter Ten "Why do you still wear my ring, Brick?" His question was like ice water on the fire of passion that had threatened to consume her. She eased her body up from the desk, heat covering her entire face as she met his cold, mocking stare. She bit at the corner of her mouth, her eyes searching his. Unable to hold his gaze, she looked away. Why did she still wear his ring? The question was one she herself didn't know the answer to. What she did know was that she had to get away from Cord Canyon—and the memories that came along with him—any way she could. Now. Before things got any more complicated between them. The need to escape made her heart pound even harder against her chest. She mentally shook her head. As if she could. The ease in which she'd succumbed to him, with just one touch, brought a deeper flush to her already red-hot cheeks. He was so different than how she remembered him, she thought, running a glance over him as he stood with his stiff back to her. Not just in appearance—he wore his hair much shorter now than he had when he was younger—there were other, more subtle differences. There had been a time when she'd seen love and lust warring for dominance in his light blue eyes, making everything feminine in her go…soft. What she saw in his eyes now brought a pang to her heart. He still wanted her, yes, but that desire was tempered with a red-hot anger that reached out and nearly strangled her in its intensity. Anger for leaving him, for refusing to see him, for rejecting his calls week after week. Anger for abandoning him without a word the day after they'd gotten married and following her father. Anger for not telling him why she'd left him. But the reasons were ones she hadn't been able to voice then, and she couldn't—wouldn't—bring them back up now. What good would it do anyway, she thought with a mental sigh. It was best to leave the past the past. No matter how tempting it was to revisit. No matter the regrets. She closed her eyes as though that would make the images go away, memories she'd scrupulously shoved to the back of her mind, the pain too much to bear. But she'd come so close to giving in to him again. Embarrassed at what she'd allowed him to do, she tried to straighten her clothes, biting down hard on her lower lip to prevent tears from falling. Even when she felt his hands at her wrists and the sound of a key turning in the lock, she didn't look up, she simply massaged her wrists and jumped up from the desk, her back to him as she rehooked her bra and tugged her jacket tighter against her body. "How do you think I felt when I woke up that morning and realized that you'd left me with nothing but a note, Brick?" He demanded quietly, his voice carefully neutral, forcing her to turn and answer him.

640

Chapter Eleven "How do you think I felt when I woke up that morning and realized that you'd left me?" "I…I didn't know how to tell you. What to say. I—" "How about the truth? The truth that one night as my wife was enough for you to realize that it wasn't what you wanted. That I wasn't enough," he said, his words like a whip, slicing into her. A dark, heavy cloud of silence hung thick in the room for long minutes before Brick spoke. "It wasn't like that, Cord. You have to know that," she said, taking a step toward him before stopping, her shoulders slumping. "No matter what, I…I loved you." He spun around so fast that his big body brushed against hers, making her lose her balance. "Loved me? You loved me?" He laughed without humor. "Could have fooled me," he said, anger tightening his features. "That kind of love I can do without." He ran a hand through his hair, spiking the short strands. Unable to stand the disgust in his eyes, Brick turned. Her voice low, she said, "I was confused, Cord. When you asked me to marry you, I wanted to be your wife, I wanted it badly. I wanted to travel the circuit with you, just like we'd been doing. But when you started talking about settling down, leaving the circuit…" She stopped, taking a deep breath. "I…I wasn't ready for that." Brick stopped, her throat clogged with emotion, blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep the tears burning the back of her eyes at bay. Afraid if she let them fall, she'd never be able to stop crying. She fought to keep it together, forcing herself to go on. She owed him that much, at least. "I wanted everything that you did…in their own time. But right then I wasn't ready to settle down in one place. I—I just wasn't strong enough to tell you that. I loved you so much, and your dreams for us were so beautiful, but I got scared. And so I ran. I'm sorry," she said again, her voice thready. Cord clenched his hands into fists, his short nails scoring his palms, her words slamming into him with the strength of a Mack truck. His gaze traveled over her as she stood with her back slightly turned away from him. "You were so young…we both were…" She stopped again, and he saw her draw in a long, ragged breath. He felt the sting of unexpected tears in his own eyes as he listened, knowing that what she was sharing with him came at a great emotional cost to her. And, after all these years, he realized the strength it had taken for her to do what she had done. "It seemed better for both of us in the end if I just let you go. I knew you were ready to settle down, but I also knew you would continue on the circuit for me, just because I wanted to. I was selfish, a brat, so used to getting my way with my father. I didn't want to be selfish with you." She turned to face him then, and he saw that her face was stained with tears.

Chapter Twelve "I'm sorry, Cord…I owed you more than a note. I just didn't know what to do," she said, offering a helpless shrug of her shoulders. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life." She paused and drew in a breath. "And probably the biggest mistake I've ever made. I didn't want to hurt you, Cord. Never that…" She paused before continuing. "I love…loved you too much to hurt you. And I would have if I'd stayed. We wanted different things in the end. I'm so sorry." Her last words were merely a whisper.

641

The raw emotion on her beautiful face was too much for Cord, and he strode over to her, dragging her into his arms, holding her close. "Shh, baby, it's okay. God, Brick, didn't you know how much I loved you?" he asked, pulling away from her and staring down into her face. "That if you had just told me how you felt, I would have understood. I would have done anything to make you happy, baby. You were my world, Brick," he said, brushing his thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks, cupping her face with his palms. "I loved you. I wanted to marry you, wanted to build a life with you. When you left, my entire world went right along with you. All those dreams I had, they were dreams of us, places I wanted to go…with you." He ran his glance over her face. "I wanted to be with you, baby. It didn't matter where we lived, or what we did for a living, I just wanted us to be together. Didn't you know that?" Brick looked at Cord and saw tenderness and hurt mingled in his eyes. She also saw lingering anger, an anger she deserved. "Come home with me," he continued. "Spend the rest of the weekend with me, Brick. After the weekend is over I'll give you the divorce and you'll never hear from me again. If that's what you want. What do you say?" *** With her nerves twisting her stomach, Brick waited as Cord called a service truck to have her car delivered not to the station, but to his house instead. He then placed a call to one of his deputies, informing him that he needed someone to cover him for the rest of the night. After that, she followed him in silence to his own vehicle, frowning as she saw the black pickup truck. A bittersweet, small smile lifted the corners of her lips. It was the same truck he'd had when they were young. He'd bought the beat-up truck for next to nothing, and the two of them had worked together to bring it to its former glory. She caught his look and blushed, remembering the many times they'd "christened" it after they'd finished the work. They climbed into the truck and he drove away from the station. The entire ride to his home was filled with a nervous yet giddy excitement for Brick. She didn't know what to expect when they got there, her mind performing mental gymnastics, puzzling out where to go from here. But a part of her already knew. When they'd first been married, she'd been confused about what she wanted. But she wasn't now.

Chapter Thirteen Cord stood to the side, allowing Brick to go inside the house ahead of him. "Cord!" she said, her voice lifting in surprise when he scooped her into his arms before she'd gone more than a few steps inside. He carried her through the small but comfortable house, kicking the door to his bedroom open and laying her on the bed. He placed her in the middle of the bed, his body following her down. Before his mouth connected he whispered at the corner of her mouth. "Later, we'll talk later. Now I've got to have you," he said and covered her body with his. Brick expected nerves to set in, but instead at the first touch of his mouth against hers she was grabbing for him, her hands as busy as his as they sought to rid each other of their clothing.

642

Once she was fully naked, he laid her out in front of him, his hot gaze running over her. "So beautiful," he said, his fingers trailing down her body. Although they'd made love on thousands of occasions, it was as though this was their first time, and the nervousness she'd expected to feel suddenly set in. She placed her hands over her breasts. "Don't," he said, moving her hands away. "Don't hide yourself from me." She licked lips gone completely dry, her body flushing from head to toe at the carnal look in his bright blue gaze. *** Cord felt his cock thump in eager anticipation as he stared down at the vision of Brick splayed out in front of him. He ran a finger down the line of her throat, down the midline of her body before stopping at the juncture of her thighs. Locking his eyes on hers, he stroked a finger deep inside her, her walls clamping tight against his invasion. With a groan he withdrew, his finger covered with her dew. In his dreams he remembered how good it had been between them. She was still just as responsive to him. He closed his eyes, briefly, his cock growing thicker. "God I missed this," he said with a groan, fighting the urge to spread her legs and imbed himself deep inside her willing warmth. But he took his time. Separating her lips, he watched in heated fascination as she lost control. With every drag and pull of his finger, her walls clenched and released in rhythmic pulses, her cream easing down and covering his hand. "I've got to taste you," he said, bumping her legs farther apart. *** The first stroke of his tongue against her had Brick rearing her body up and off the mattress, a cry tumbling from her lips. She moaned softly, her hands coming out to brace herself on the mattress as he flicked his tongue over and around her clit, toying with her before engulfing her nub completely within the warm cavern of his mouth. On and on it went, alternating between stabbing flecks of his tongue and long sweeping kisses, swirling around her nub before he completely engulfed it. When he drew his tongue completely out and suckled her, she felt the orgasm sweep over her. His fingers slid into her, going deep, and stars flashed behind her tightly closed lids as she came, crying out as the tremors rocked over her entire body.

Chapter Fourteen Completely wrung out, her body slumped to the mattress, her muscles useless. Then she felt the hot, hard presence of his shaft at her opening and Brick's eyes flew open, her mouth forming an O. "I'm not done with you yet," he promised, his voice dark, as he began to sink into her. But before pressing inside her fully, he paused, his breath coming out harshly. "Tell me you love me, Brick. That you've never stopped."

643

He braced his arms on either side of her body and they trembled from the tension he was forcing on both of them. He wanted her. Wanted her so badly his body shook, but he had to hear it, had to know he wasn't alone in this crazy yearning he had for her, a yearning that had never gone away. She moaned, grinding her body against his, her face turned away. But he forced her to look at him. "Tell me." He bit out the demand. "I…I want you, Cord!" she cried when he inched farther inside her. "No. I want to hear it, Brick." Sweat beaded on his forehead but he wouldn't go any further. No matter how much he wanted…needed her, he couldn't continue. Not unless she said the words. He pressed his hand between them, finding her clit and working it as he delivered small, shallow thrusts. "I love you!" she cried. At her admission he slid all the way in. Grasping her hips, he lifted her until he felt the tip of his cock bump the back of her womb he was so deep, and began to thrust. No words were spoken after that. His fingers dug into her hips as he held on to her, alternating his thrusts between long and deep and shallow and quick, angling her body along his for their mutual pleasure. Cord couldn't get enough of her. The feel of her walls on his shaft nearly made him lose his mind. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his back. She ground against him and he growled, low. If she didn't stop he'd hurt her, so bad was his need for her. "Harder," she panted, her nails scoring deep into his skin, her head thrown back, eyes shut. That was all he needed to hear. He grabbed her legs, pushing them farther apart. Soon their mutual groans echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls as his strokes became harsher, more demanding. Sweat poured off his body, yet he held back until he felt her soft hands surround his sac and he gave in, pounding into her, his hips jackhammering in time with his heartbeat. She screamed and as one they gave in to the mind-numbing orgasm.

Chapter Fifteen "We need to talk." At his words, Brick opened her eyes and released a sigh, the afterglow of perfect lovemaking slowly easing away and reality rearing its unforgiving head. Brick bit the corner of her mouth, unsure of what to say, how to begin…. She felt his hand feather across her breasts and she frowned. "Cord?" she said, hissing slightly when his thumb ran over her overly sensitive nipple. "I thought you wanted to talk." He laughed, a thoroughly masculine sound. "I do," he said, before lifting the necklace from around her neck and running the ring between his fingers. "Why wear this, Brick, yet ask me for a divorce?"

644

She sighed. She'd wondered when he would bring that up. When she'd first left, she'd had every intention of filing for divorce. But the thought of severing her one connection with him had been something she couldn't do. After eight years, she realized it was unfair to him and had filed the papers. But she'd kept the ring as a symbol of that connection that was still very much a part of her. "I don't know." She shrugged. "I…I just couldn't do it. Couldn't cut the last connection I had with you." Even as she said it, she recognized that the words were inadequate. But his response eased some of her tension. "Neither could I. It seemed that was all I had left of you. My only link with you. I couldn't even open the envelope." She felt tears sting the back of her eyes. "Dad gave me your forwarding address and I…I sent you my address when the season was over. I thought it would be easy for you to sign the papers." "Why would it have been any easier for me, Brick?" He turned her around to face him, his fingers tight on her shoulders. "I wasn't the one who wanted the divorce. You did, I—" "Cord, the only reason you asked me to marry you was because you thought I was pregnant. I knew that, you knew—" "Don't tell me why I asked you to marry me, Brick. Don't do that to me. Like I said, you were the one who left." At that she jerked away from him and began to rise from the bed. "You can spin this any way you want, Cord. Yeah, I left. But by then everything had changed. We were only married because—" Her words were cut off when he surprised her by covering her mouth with his. She struggled briefly before succumbing to his touch. Slowly he drew away from her. "I married you because I loved you, damn it," he said, running an angry gaze over her upturned face. "Not for any other convoluted reasoning you come up with. I loved you then, and I still love you. I always will." He placed his hands on either side of her face. "The question is, do you still love me?"

Chapter Sixteen Brick sighed heavily as she walked around Cord's home, her thoughts chaotic. When she'd awakened an hour ago, she'd reached out, expecting to feel Cord's warm body next to hers, but instead she'd found herself alone. As she'd risen, she'd caught sight of a folded note he'd left on the pillow telling her there had been an emergency at the station and that he'd be home later. After reading it, she'd plopped back against the pillows with a groan, every inch of her body aching. She hadn't answered his question about how she felt, putting all of her emotions into making love to him again. The weekend with Cord had been the stuff of fantasies.

645

Beyond the physical, which alone was amazing, he'd made her feel. Feel emotions she'd once had, some she didn't want to remember. But forcing her to remember them had helped her conquer old ghosts that had set the pace for how her life had become after they'd split. But, how did she feel now? His question had echoed in her mind as he'd made love to her, calling out her name, declaring his love for her. Had she only responded because of how she'd felt for him in the past? With a sigh, Brick walked over to his dresser and dragged her hair through the tangled ends, deep in thought. Was it just memories that lay between them—memories of a love they once shared—or was it something more? She had never been able to get him out of her mind, had never been able to be with another man in the entire time they'd been apart. When she'd finally gotten the nerve to file for the divorce, she'd had the documents sent to Cord's P.O. Box that her father's lawyer had tracked down for her. She'd known it was in Lander, known that was the reason she'd driven through the sleepy town as she headed for California. Slowly she made her way to the bathroom and turned on the showerhead. A long shower was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe it would help clear her head. With a heavy sigh she grimaced at her image in the large bathroom mirror. She opened cabinets, looking for a brush to try and untangle her rat's nest of hair, moving aside an assortment of odds and ends, in search of a brush. What she found instead made her draw in a long breath of air. Slowly she lifted it, tears running down her face. It was a picture of the two of them. She turned the picture over and the tears ran freely as she fingered the gold ring taped to the back that matched the one she wore. He, too, had kept his wedding band, all these years.

Chapter Seventeen As Cord cleared the accident, his mind was split between taking care of the accident victims—thankfully, besides a possible case of whiplash and a broken wrist, no one had been seriously injured—and what would happen next between him and Brick. It was clear in his own mind what he wanted, what he'd always wanted. He wanted his wife back. The only woman he'd ever loved. The question was did she want him with the same wild desperation he felt for her. She had to be the one to make the decision. Every moment of their lovemaking over the past two days was forever imprinted into his memory. He only hoped it wouldn't have to carry him through a lifetime without her. Just the thought of her curvy little body wrapped around his as she met his driving thrusts made his cock go rock hard and thump against his zipper. The sex had always been off-the-charts hot between them. Sex with Brick—scratch that, he thought, what they experienced went beyond the mere sharing of bodies—their type of lovemaking had been unique and explosive, an experience he'd never had with another woman before or after Brick. No other woman could compare to her.

646

No other woman had ever responded to him the way she had, with an unparalleled combination of sweet yet decadently carnal. He loved the uninhibited way she threw herself into everything in life, as well as into her lovemaking. Which was why Cord wondered if he was deluding himself into thinking it was more than just sex for her. More than memories of what they'd once had between them that had kept her with him the entire weekend. Could she still feel what he felt, what he'd always felt for her? he wondered, his heart heavy. That bone-deep, crazy love, a one-of-a-kind love, the type that no matter how long they'd been apart, no matter the insecurities or the anger, never lessened. She'd told him how hard it had been after her father retired from the circuit, how much she'd wanted…needed to prove that she had what it took, without her father's help, to make it in racing. There had been a time when it would have been impossible for her to admit that to herself, much less say it out loud. But he could see that she'd changed in the years that they'd been apart—she'd grown into a woman who he wanted to get to know all over again. It hurt, damn it hurt, to admit it, but he realized that she had been right to go on without him all those years ago. She'd needed the time to experience life and to do it on her own. Yet now that she had, the question on his mind and in his heart was if she was ready to be with him. If she was willing to give them a chance. If she would come to believe what he did, that what they had was real, strong, enduring. Cord knew that it was. He felt it in every fiber of his being.

Chapter Eighteen Cord loved Brick. He always would. And he was sure that she loved him, too. But even as he thought it, doubts assailed him. No matter what he believed, he knew ultimately it was Brick who would have to come to him. He'd told her how he felt, made no secret of the fact that he still loved her. It was up to Brick to believe that what they once had could be stronger, more mature this time around, but no less intense. Again his cock stirred as he remembered the way she'd responded to him, how she'd wrapped her body around his as he made love to her, the mewling cries he'd wrung from her, the look in her eyes as he'd gazed down at her as he stroked deep inside her body. Definitely no less intense. In fact, their lovemaking had been wilder than ever before. As he drove down the deserted streets and neared his home, he thought of how fate had brought her back into his life. He sent a silent prayer heavenward that she would want to forever be caught by him as surely as she'd captured his heart long ago. As Cord raced to his house, he thought of their short time together over the weekend, the wild lovemaking, the way they finished each other's sentences, the intimate conversations… It had been as though they'd never been apart, and he knew he wouldn't, couldn't allow her to leave him again, that he'd do anything in his power to keep her with him this time. He knew she felt the same. This need, this love, it couldn't be one-sided.

647

She had to. The possibility that she didn't wasn't one he was willing to entertain. Or was he just delusional, Cord thought, seeing what he wanted to see in her dark brown eyes as she made love to him? He thought back over what she'd said about not being ready to commit to a lifetime of mediocrity. Had she experienced enough now, learned enough from life to feel ready to settle down, he wondered, or would their differences remain? Would she always long for a life on the road? As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced around, frowning. Immediately a sense of dread formed a tight knot in his gut, and his fingers tightened against the wheel. "Damn," he bit out the curse, his heartbeat slamming against his rib cage. It wasn't the lack of lights that made fear whiten his knuckles as they held their deathlike grip on the wheel. He'd left her less than a few hours ago, and it was still before dawn. But it was light enough to see that her car was no longer parked in the driveway. She'd left him. Again.

Chapter Nineteen Anger and sorrow were a heavy weight, blanketing Cord's shoulders as he walked inside his home. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and immediately went to the fridge to grab a beer. "It's five o'clock somewhere," he mumbled before popping the cap. "Back together for less than forty-eight hours and I'm already driving you to drink?" At the sound of her voice, Cord spun around to see Brick across the room, leaning against the door frame. With a thud he dropped the bottle on the counter and strode to her side. He grabbed her, hauled her close and covered her mouth with his, running his hands over her body. With a soft sigh and a light laugh she broke away from him, a frown creasing her forehead. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" she asked, giving him that half smile of hers that always did it for him. He shook his head, running his hands over her. "When I didn't see your car in the driveway I thought—" he stopped, shaking his head, closing his eyes briefly. "Thought what?" she asked. Then dawning realization lit her eyes. "I just, uh, moved it," she said, looking away briefly, and it was Cord's turn to frown. "Moved it where?" She licked her lip, making him more curious as he saw the blush stain her cheeks. She took his hand in hers and walked with him through the house, toward the door leading to the garage. Opening the door, she waved a hand. "I hope it's okay to leave it here. I, uh, didn't know if you used the garage, but I figured if I'm going to be staying you wouldn't mind if I used it."

648

His heartbeat harsh in his chest, he looked down at her. "Does this mean what I think it means, Brick?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. He saw regret cloud her eyes before she turned away. Cord felt everything in his body go still as he gazed down at her, reading the gamut of emotions in her eyes, some too quick for him to catalog, others shining so brightly there was no mistaking their meaning. He tightened his jaw and spun away from her, the sting of disappointment sharp, piercing his heart like a well-shot arrow. "If I can't have all of you, Brick, I don't want any part of you." He heard her indrawn breath of surprise, and he hardened his heart. He couldn't…wouldn't…settle for less than her all this time around. When she'd left him eight years ago, he'd thought his heart would never recover. If she ever left him again, he knew, without doubt, it never would.

Chapter Twenty With a cry tumbling from her mouth, Brick placed a hand on Cord's back, feeling his muscles bunch against her fingertips. "Cord, please…you can trust me this time—" She broke off, swallowing, forcing herself to continue, to say to him what was not only true now, but what had been in her heart from the moment she first met him, long ago. "Please trust that I'll never doubt your love for me…for us. Trust me that I'll never leave you again. I had a race in California. I called them to say I wasn't coming. I resigned. I—" She stopped, at a loss for words. "I love you. I always have. I always will." Any other words were forgotten when he turned around and brought their mouths together. She laughed around his kisses as he kicked the door to the garage closed, bundled her in his arms and with long strides ran to the bedroom. He allowed her body to slide down his, and only then did he break the connection of their mouths. "You can trust me, too, Brick. I'll never hurt you, baby. I never have and I never will," he said. Then with a groan he dragged her back into his arms. "It was never your fault, it was me, I was the one who left. I promise you I'll never leave you again. All those dreams you had of a home, a family—that's what I want now, too. You're what I want." But when she reached for him, he held her at arm's length. "If you say yes right now, you're saying yes to the whole package." She quirked a brow. "The whole package?" "Yeah…the whole package. Including the requisite 2.5 babies." She grinned slowly. "I can do that." "No running this time."

649

Behind the smile she saw the wealth of emotion swirling in his bright blue eyes as she carefully considered his words. She thought back to what her life had been like without Cord. All the achievements she'd made in her career meant nothing compared to the love she had for him, a love that had never died. One that she knew never would for either of them. The old doubts and insecurities fell off like the useless baggage they were as she saw his eyes shining brightly with a love that she knew would span a lifetime. "No running," she agreed, around a mist of tears, happy tears. When he pulled her close she went into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding on to him as tightly as she would forever hold on to their love. A love worth being caught for.

650

The Royal Cousin's Revenge By Catherine Mann When security specialist Javier Cortez boards the Medina corporate jet, the last person he expects to see is his former lover, Victoria Palmer. Their relationship had been fiery and all-consuming…until one year ago when he had done the one thing she couldn't forgive. So why was she here, now? How, after all these months, could the fire between them burn as hot as ever? Javier didn't like surprises, but he realized that this was a perfect opportunity to get her alone…and to make her his. Forever.

Chapter One Javier Cortez walked onto the private jet as coolly as he'd walked out of Victoria Palmer's life a year ago. Seeing him, Victoria gripped the armrests, her short fingernails digging into the butter-soft leather. If only there were other passengers inside the luxury craft. If only the pilot wasn't behind a closed door to the cockpit. If only she'd had some warning Javier would be on this flight, too. But he'd caught her unawares and unprepared. And without question, she needed all her defenses in place around this man. He noticed her then and his eyes locked on hers, his expression as enigmatic and unreadable as always. Javier rarely showed emotion. Except when he'd made love to her. Her eyes tracked her former lover as he strode toward her. What was he doing on this flight? Why was he even in Boston instead of at home in Martha's Vineyard? She'd contracted to be a private nurse for his uncle on his family's private island off the Florida coast—the post she'd had when she'd met Javier more than a year ago. She'd only agreed to work for his uncle for a week this time, balking at stepping back into this family's world. But the old man had offered her quite a sum…and she couldn't afford to say no. She needed the money to pay her brother's lawyer. Javier shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other, tucking the monogrammed case beside a seat. Defined muscles rippled under his wool suit—vicuña. She still remembered the feel of the exclusive texture in her hands as she tore the clothes from his body. She couldn't seem to stop looking at him. His coal-black hair was swept back from his broad forehead. The sharp angles of his face spoke of his aristocratic heritage. Javier Cortez had—no kidding—royal Medina blood coursing through his veins. His uncle had ruled a small island country off the coast of Spain until a violent coup over twenty-five years ago. The Medinas and their Cortez relatives had lived in anonymity until recently when the press caught wind of their royal roots. Not that she'd cared a bit about his blue blood—not then, and not now. She'd cared about the man. The recent media exposé on his family had etched stress lines in the corners of Javier's eyes. Not that he would ever admit to any vulnerability. His family may have relocated to America, but his regal Castilian heritage couldn't be denied. And his raw magnetism couldn't be missed.

651

A shiver of awareness, of desire, skittered up her spine. How would she maintain the necessary distance from him until they reached Florida? Her mouth went dry as he stopped beside her seat. The spicy scent of his bay rum soap drifted along the recycled air. "Why are you here?" he demanded. "You remember me?" She couldn't resist the jab, given how unemotionally he'd walked toward her. "Don't be ridiculous." He waved aside the barb with an autocratic flick of his hand. "And don't be coy. Why are you here?" Irritation simmered. "I live in Boston. If anything, I should be asking you the question." "This is a Medina plane, and you, Victoria Palmer, are not a Medina." "But I am, once again, on the Medina payroll. Your uncle hired me to help with his nursing care. With his sons visiting, he wants to make the most of his time with them." Enrique Medina was slowly dying of liver failure caused by injuries he'd suffered while on the run from the rebels who'd ousted him from his homeland of San Rinaldo. The deposed king still lived in isolation on an island off the coast of Florida, where she'd cared for him the first time. Where she and Javier had begun their affair. A Medina cousin, Javier worked for Enrique's son on Martha's Vineyard as head of security for their resort. A year ago, he had been visiting his uncle's mansion to check on the island's safety. One look at the brooding Javier and Victoria had fallen for him. She'd changed jobs to relocate and live near him. Their affair had lasted four months. But she'd let sexual attraction blind her to how wrong they were for each other. How very unbending and arrogant the man could be. He'd broken her heart. He'd wrecked her family. She wouldn't be a fool for him again. "You should sit so we can take off," she said coolly. Victoria pulled her romance novel from beside her in the seat, hoping he would get the message and leave her alone. The scent of his soap intoxicated her all the more as he slid onto the sofa across from her, his knees almost brushing hers. He snapped his seatbelt on smoothly, without once looking away from her. "Why wasn't I told of your arrival?" A dry smile tugged her lips. "Maybe your uncle didn't want to listen to you gripe about having me around." A lone eyebrow rose arrogantly. "He asked me to make upgrades to his security. That means I have to know everyone who comes and goes from the island. Anything I may or may not feel is of no significance."

652

Sheesh. Now didn't that just put her in her place? Anger knocked against her ribs. Anger, not attraction, particularly since he'd just made it clear he didn't care about her either way. "Well, now you know. I'm going to the island." She put on her headphones and opened her novel. And nearly groaned as she realized her bookmarked place stopped right at a particularly steamy love scene. *** Javier Cortez hated surprises. He'd experienced firsthand the high price of being caught unawares and unprepared, ousted from his homeland as a kid, chased by rebels who'd killed his grandparents and his aunt. Settling deeper into his seat as the private plane soared upward, he studied his ex-lover reading her novel— or pretending to read, since her page turning was suspiciously random. He was a man who liked to be in control, and Victoria Palmer was one huge jolt to his system. She dulled his instincts and rattled his focus. She was also still hot as hell. He wouldn't be able to stand up anytime soon without revealing just how much she still affected him. Her blonde hair was gathered in a sleek ponytail that trailed over one shoulder. He ached to ease that simple cloth band down the length of her hair and free the silky strands to tumble all around her. Her chest rose and fell faster and faster, her full breasts pushing against her white cotton shirt. Even her semi-uniform of the simple blouse and khakis she wore appeared elegant. She had a Scarlett Johansson lushness to her. No, his attraction to her hadn't dimmed one watt in the past year. If anything, abstinence made the gnawing hunger all the more fierce. Desperate to regain his equilibrium, he searched for a subject that would put a damper on the chemistry crackling between them strong enough to start an in-flight accident. He raised his voice to be heard over her headphones. "How's your brother?" Her violet-blue eyes snapped up from her book. She yanked out the ear buds. "I see you're as heartless as ever. My brother is still in the juvenile detention center where you put him." Her brother had come to live with her when his parents had given up trying to control him. But the change of venue hadn't done a thing to alter the delinquent teen's attitude, and Timothy's behavior began to border on criminal. Finally, when Timothy committed vandalism at a Medina resort where Javier oversaw security, there'd been no choice but for Javier to have him arrested. He knew it had been the right decision, even if it had meant incurring Victoria's wrath. God, she was hot when she got mad. "Your brother put himself in juvie by pretending to be a valet so he could take joyrides in high-priced cars, just to name one of his stunts that you dismiss as a 'prank.' I happen to call it criminal activity. Having people make excuses for him certainly doesn't help." "Are you saying it's my fault he's in jail?" She slapped her book down. "I took that job in Boston to be closer to you and now I'm stuck there to be near my brother in jail. What do you think of that?" "It does not matter what I think." He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn't feel. In fact, blood surged south as she leaned forward. "I am only here to do my job, as are you." "My job?" She yanked her seatbelt off and stood sharply, her signature temper sparking in her eyes. "Convenient that you're finally remembering that now. How about we stick to the professional and stop talking about my family?"

653

He nodded. Why had he provoked her with the reference to her brother? He wasn't sure. In fact, mentioning Timothy Palmer only made him angry with how much trouble the teen had caused his sister, the kind of danger he'd brought to Victoria's doorstep. What Timothy had cost them all. Victoria stood in the middle of the plane, glancing left and right as if searching for an escape hatch. Rather tough to find even on a luxury plane. He gestured toward the back. "There's a bed if you wish to nap." A bed? Not the smartest thing to mention with so much awareness searing the air. Her eyes went wide with an answering arousal just as the plane bounced on a pocket of turbulence. He reached for her, but she jerked to the side, bracing a hand on the leather seat. The jet bucked again. Victoria's feet shot out from under her. And she landed squarely in his lap.

Chapter Two Her heart plunged to her stomach as the plane lurched. Victoria stumbled and landed in Javier's lap. She grabbed his shoulders before she toppled to the floor. The jet bounced along another pocket of turbulence, thrusting her against the solid wall of his muscular chest. Against the thick arousal straining against his pants. Oh. My. She searched his molten hot brown eyes and her skin tingled. The scent of him—bay rum and manly musk—triggered memories of the two of them tangled up naked together in bed. She knew well how much pleasure waited for her if she dared to ditch her panties, free his erection and straddle him here, now. A year ago, she would have done just that. After all, they were alone in the airplane cabin, the pilot ensconced behind the door. Javier had avowed he enjoyed her impetuous nature. She'd never told him how he drove her to cast aside sexual inhibitions in a way no other man had before. Their affair had been filled with impulsive, uninhibited hookups. While making love, Javier shed his cool demeanor as quickly and fully as his clothes. The attraction between them had been combustible, distracting them from the differences they'd both tried so hard to ignore. But those differences had eventually—inevitably—driven them apart, shattering her heart in the process. She reminded herself that nothing had changed. She wriggled to slide free of the man, the temptation. He clamped onto her hips, his jaw tight. "Victoria, for God's sake, hold still." His ragged request turned her shaky knees even weaker. His mouth was a mere whisper away. So easily she could angle her lips against his and without question the flames would ignite. Less than a half hour in his company and she was already prepared to repeat the same mistakes. She sagged against his chest even as her mouth demanded, "Let me go."

654

"I'm trying." His fingers twitched against her hips. With restraint? Or frustrated desire? "Believe me, woman, I am trying." The heat of his words flowed over her face, soaked into her soul, which had hungered for him so very desperately this past year. Why did he have to be here? Now? For the past year in Boston, she'd half feared, half hoped she would run into him on the street. He worked on Martha's Vineyard for his Medina cousin, but it wasn't that far away. As the anniversary of their break-up approached, she'd known she had to do something to get him out of her heart once and for all. The temporary stint subbing for Enrique Medina's regular nurse had seemed like a sign, a chance to prove to herself that she could now walk in Javier Cortez's world unscathed. But this plane ride had proven that she couldn't. Only she couldn't afford to back out, not when she so desperately needed the money to pay her brother's lawyer for the appeal that could free him on his eighteenth birthday rather than his twenty-first. She also couldn't afford to forget for a minute that Javier was the one who'd put her brother behind bars for what amounted to a series of teenage pranks. Tears stung her eyes and before she could hide them, Javier knuckled one away with surprising tenderness. God, having his hands on her again was heaven and hell. The sound system crackled a split second's warning before the pilot's voice filled the luxurious space. "The weather isn't cooperating with us today. We have storms ahead for most of our trip. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts." Javier's hands slid enticingly down her arms before settling on her hips again as he lifted her. But he didn't let go. His steadying grip stayed on her waist. She braced her palms against his chest, a hard wall as unyielding as the man. "Javier." Her voice was so shaky she cleared her throat and tried again. "When we arrive at the island, I think it best that we avoid each other." "If you have no feelings for me, then seeing each other isn't a problem." His fingers skimmed up her spine, drawing her closer. "Of course I have feelings for you." She kept her hands on his chest, her arms maintaining at least a modicum of distance between them. She put ice into her words. "You infuriate me. It hurts my heart just to look at you. I hate the way my body seems to want you in spite of everything. But I am a nurse. I understand it's just biology." "I would call it chemistry." His eyes smoldered. "Chemistry notwithstanding, I don't want you in my life. So I would appreciate it if you would please keep your distance." He stared into her eyes for so long she feared he would argue. Or maybe even kiss her, which would only prove just how quickly chemistry would trump her logic. Finally, his hands fell away and he let her go. "It's a large island. The king's mansion is huge. Staying apart shouldn't be any problem at all—although you're free to let me know if you change your mind." As she made her way across the aisle, she watched him calmly pull a laptop from his briefcase as if she didn't even exist. How could he compartmentalize his emotions so easily?

655

Her legs folded under her and she dropped into her seat, her body still on fire from the feel of Javier's hands on her body. *** Javier went through the motions of working on his computer, but his real focus was the woman across the aisle from him. She'd given up trying to read and had fallen into a fitful sleep. Dark circles stained the delicate skin under her eyes, attesting to a long-term strain. Most likely caused by that damn fool brother of hers. Javier had hoped putting the kid on the road to reform would ease the pressure on his sister. He'd tracked the boy's behavior since Timothy entered the juvenile detention center and the teen seemed to be keeping his nose clean. Javier had kept track of Victoria, too, which made it all the more surprising to find her here today. He should have known, damn it. Could the aging king—his uncle—have set him up? The ailing man was physically near death, but his mind was still sharp as ever. If so, Javier didn't appreciate being manipulated. If he wanted Victoria in his life again, then he would take action. A niggling voice in his head reminded him of all the times he'd covertly watched over her in the past months. He'd been living his life in limbo. Very atypical for him. But then the way he felt around Victoria was far from "typical." Without a doubt, he had unfinished business with this woman. And he had a week-long window at his uncle's island to find closure… Or find his way back into her bed.

Chapter Three Victoria stared out the small round window as finally, finally, the flight neared an end. Between the crummy weather and the looming presence of Javier across the aisle, her nerves were knotted tightly. At least she would have work to occupy her soon. In the distance, an island rested in the middle of the murky ocean. The storm front gave the world a fuzzy haze that deepened as night began to fall. Palm trees spiked from the landscape, lushly thick and so very different from the leafless snowy winter that gripped Boston. She'd been to the island before, but the magnitude of it still threatened to steal her breath anew. The Medina compound was a small city unto itself, a surprise splash of lights in the sea so vast, like a holiday design on the water left past the season. As the plane powered through the bumpy airspace, the island began to take shape. A dozen or so small outbuildings dotted a semicircle around a massive structure—the main house bathed in floodlights. The white mansion faced the ocean in a U-shape, constructed around a large courtyard with a pool. She could distinguish few details in the encroaching dark, but she recalled from her earlier visit how highly protected the place was—a gilded cage for Enrique Medina's sons to say the least. Even from a distance she couldn't miss the grand scale of the sprawling estate, the sort befitting royalty. Yet, the former ruler chose to cut himself off from the top-notch medical facilities his fortune could so easily buy. She would do her best for him, but his critical condition would be better monitored in a hospital, something she intended to remind him of as politely and firmly as possible. Often.

656

She was here for Enrique Medina and any problems with the deposed king's nephew needed to be put on hold. Her hormones needed to be put on hold. The intercom system crackled a second before the pilot announced, "Attention please. We're anticipating a rough landing. Weather only worsens the longer we're in the air, so we're going to put this thing down on the ground as soon as possible. Prepare yourselves for a rapid descent." Her heart bolted up into her throat. Before she could stop herself, she reached for Javier's hand. *** Javier's hand was numb from how hard Victoria had squeezed it during the entire hazardous landing. He'd kept his calm, even though his own gut had twisted at the thought of her in danger. Now safely on the ground, he held the umbrella over her head as they raced through the sheeting rain toward the Porsche Cayenne four-wheel drive waiting for them. He needed to get her inside the car and safely to the mansion. He nodded to the armed security guards and waved for the Porsche to be brought closer. Lightning split the inky sky. Thunder clapped fast on its heels. Too fast for his peace of mind. He hooked an arm around Victoria's waist and pulled her to his side. His feet pounded faster on the paved lot alongside the air strip, each step splashing in deeper puddles as the downpour increased. He yanked open the passenger door and guided her inside before racing around the hood to settle behind the wheel. He started the SUV. The finely tuned engine purred to life as guards loaded the luggage in back. Seconds later, Javier steered out of the parking area and onto the narrow two-lane road lined with palm trees. Victoria plucked at her soaked khakis. "I feel awful dripping water all over such an incredible car." He cranked up the heater. There was a nip in the air despite the subtropical climes, worsened by the damp of the rain. "No worries about the water. The car's just a thing." "To you, maybe. To me, this sucker costs more than I make in a year." "The seats will survive a little water." Although his sanity might not survive the sight of her soaked to the skin, her nipples pressing against her shirt. The white blouse had gone sheer when wet, giving him a tooclear view of her lace bra. "Eyes on the road, please." "Right." He looked away fast, mentally kicking himself for becoming distracted, especially in such crummy weather. The Porsche's top-of-the-line shocks worked double-time to absorb the bumps of rolling over downed branches littering the road. But his mind kept returning to what Victoria had said about the Porsche. He'd never considered that his family's money might make her uncomfortable. His portion of the royal cache was in the millions, but he'd chosen to earn his way in the world, to have a profession. He'd assumed he and Victoria had that work ethic in common, and now he realized she'd never thought anything of the sort. Lightning ripped the sky in half just as a realization thundered through his brain. What else had he missed about Victoria while he was too caught up in the incredible sex to look deeper? The sky lit up again. A crack sounded, differently this time.

657

"Damn!" He jerked the SUV left. Hard. Right when a towering tree split in half. The Porsche skidded sideways to a stop just shy of the tree as it crashed down across the road in front of them. Rain hammered the rooftop, the only sound in the aftermath. He turned fast. "Victoria?" "I'm okay," she said. Her face was pale, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. "Thank heavens you reacted so quickly, Javier. Now we can just take an alternate route." Alternate route? If only it could be that simple. He knew this island like the back of his hand. He had to in order to keep the Medina family safe. "There is no other road to the house from here. We're going to have to turn back." Her eyes went wide with dawning shock. "But the king? He's waiting for me." "He will have to make do with a mansion full of staff and an entire clinic at his disposal. And his other nurse won't leave until you arrive." His mind churned with options…and enticing possibilities. Hadn't he wanted to find closure with her? Maybe he just needed to get her out of his system. "We should get somewhere safe and dry soon." Somewhere alone. She eyed him suspiciously. "Where?" "No worries. I know every inch of this island." Because he'd just decided on the perfect place to take Victoria to have her all to himself.

Chapter Four Victoria shivered inside her wet clothes even with the SUV's heater blasting. Her skin still tingled from the way Javier had devoured her with his eyes. And now they would be spending the night together, whether she liked it or not. He was on his cell phone informing the main house of their status so the king wouldn't worry. "Right," Javier answered the person on the other end of the line, his Bluetooth headset glowing in his ear. "Since the road is blocked, we're going to hole up at the greenhouse for the night. No need to risk sending anybody after us now that you've hunkered down for the storm…. Of course…. I'm sure…. I'll check in first thing tomorrow." And that fast, he ended the call as if it was nothing more than a business dealing—rather than sealing their fate. Sealing them together, alone for the next twelve hours. How would she resist him? Suddenly the air felt altogether too hot. Her body flushed with bottled desire. Decelerating, Javier rounded a corner, leaving behind the road and lines of towering palms and entering a clearing. Headlamps striped over the glass structure of the greenhouse. Only a small gazebo and a sprawling oak stood between them and the conservatory.

658

He pulled up beside the front door, turned off the engine and twisted toward her. "This is the greenhouse I told you about. It also has a café area, so we should be able to find something to eat. There's even a sofa and shower in the back office." She drew in a deep, bracing breath and reached for the door handle. "Then I guess we should head inside." Racing out before he could come around with the umbrella, she sprinted toward the front entrance. Rain pelted her skin. Javier charged alongside her up the stone steps that led inside. He threw open the double doors, startling a sparrow into flight in the otherwise deserted building. As he closed the door, a cloak of darkness and heavily perfumed air enveloped her. Slowly her eyes adapted until shadowy images took shape. In contrast to the crowded nurseries she'd visited in the past, this space sprawled like an indoor floral park, and included gathering areas and benches for reading or meditation. Lush ferns dangled overhead. Tiered racks of florist's buckets with cut flowers stretched along a far wall. Potted palms and cacti added height to the interior landscape. An Italian marble fountain trickled below a darkened skylight. Water spilled softly from a carved snake's mouth as it curled around some reclining Roman god. She spun slowly in the cavernous room, immersing herself in the thickly intoxicating scents. Vines grew tangled and dense over the windows. Moonlight filtered through the glass roof, muted by rivulets of rain. "This island has everything." She shouldn't have been surprised—the island had not only medical and dental clinics, but a chapel, guest houses and stables. And a very sexy man who was all hers for the night. Amber moonbeams streaked over his broad shoulders. His jet-black hair glinted with raindrops, calling to her fingers to skim over his head with the familiarity they'd once shared. "Everything? Very close. My uncle did his damnedest to give his three sons a 'normal' childhood after they left San Rinaldo, as much as he could short of letting them off the island. The king wanted to make sure his family had everything so they wouldn't want to leave." She slowed in front of him, feeling the weight of Javier's gaze as he stopped beside wrought iron screens twined with hydrangeas and morning glories. "What about you?" she asked. "I grew up in Argentina," he answered, his handsome face impassive. "We were the decoy family. We may be cousins, but we looked enough like the Medinas for the king's purposes." She gasped in horror. "How awful." "My family was only alive because he financed our escape." He stroked a hydrangea bloom nonchalantly. "The danger we faced in Argentina was less than anything here." Victoria approached him warily. How had she not learned this about him? She should have pressed him about his background once they grew serious, but there was so much secrecy around his family and he'd insisted she was safer not knowing. Now that the Medina secret had been revealed to the world by Javier's cousin Alys, however, there were fewer restraints. Maybe now she could understand him better, find a way to make peace with their heartbreaking relationship.

659

Thinking of Alys, she said, "After being forced into seclusion, used to divert danger, it's easy to see how your cousin might resent the Medinas." "Don't try to justify what Alys did." The vine snapped between his fingers abruptly, the bloom crushing in his fist. "She betrayed the Medinas by leaking their secret to the press. Alys is not as closely related to the king and his sons as I am. She hoped to marry a prince and gain all the perks and the fame that came with it. Only the worst kind of person betrays family for money." "Just like my brother?" She took a step toward him, anger sparking. "Is that what you're trying to say?" His chin tipped—stubborn, uncompromising. "Read into my words what you will." "I really hate it when you do that." She plucked at her clammy clothes, her skin hot and too tight for her body. Damn him for the way he unsettled her. "Do what?" He towered over her. "Never answer my questions." She stood her ground. She knew he'd never harm her the way he'd crushed that fragile bloom in his fist. "Why can't you ditch the whole regal air and simply give me a straight answer?" He studied her so long she wondered if he might just walk away, ignore her altogether. Then something shifted in his expression, his brown eyes turning smoky. "Because—" he slid his hand up to cup her cheek, the hydrangea petals soft and fragrant between his palm and her face "—when you stand so close to me, I can only think of kissing you."

Chapter Five Javier had known he had to kiss Victoria from the second he saw her spinning under the skylight, muted moonbeams washing over her. The way she embraced life had drawn him to her from the start. Now she stood only a breath away. Her tongue peeking out and touching her top lip was all the encouragement he needed to follow through. He slid a knuckle under her chin and tipped her face to his. After a year apart, a year of aching to have her, she was in his arms again. Pulling her to him, he sealed his mouth to hers as she opened for him with a sigh that tasted of pure Victoria. Raw desire seared through his veins, firing hard and low. Her arms looped around his neck and she arched against him. Her damp clothes clung to his, fabric warmed from her body. From their passion. He delved deeper into her mouth, relearning the feel of her, the texture, what made her respond and wriggle closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest, stirring memories of his hands curved around their creamy softness. The pounding storm overhead echoed the drumming of his pulse in his ears. His hands stroked down her back, then lower until he cupped her bottom to bring her more fully against the length of him. "God, Victoria, I want you so damn much it hurts." "I know," she whispered against his mouth. "I feel the same way. It's been too long. A whole year without you, without this…" Her hand slipped between them and over his arousal. His head fell back, his eyes sliding closed. He ground his teeth in restraint until he feared he'd crack a crown. He drew in a bracing breath. The scent of her fabric softener released by the rain mingled with the heavy floral scent of the conservatory, drugging him.

660

He'd chosen the greenhouse deliberately. It was the most private and romantic locale he could think of at a moment's notice. He could have pushed for the local head of security to send someone to retrieve them. But he couldn't give up the opportunity to be alone with Victoria. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him… He'd manipulated her, brought her here without explaining there were alternatives, without giving her a choice. He hadn't been fair. He might be autocratic, but he prided himself on his integrity. Even when it had cost him her love last year. Even if it cost him this second chance. Gripping her shoulders, he eased away with more than a little regret. She swayed under his hands, her eyes fluttering open to reveal dazed desire and a hint of confusion. "Javier?" Her fingers fisted in the lapels of his damp suit coat. He skimmed a strand of her blond hair from her face. "There's never been any question how much we want each other. But we need to be honest." "You want to talk? Now?" Her voice rose with incredulity. His libido echoed her objection. But if they were going to take this further, he had to be up front with her. "We don't have to stay here tonight. I can make a call and have someone take us to the mansion." "But the storm? I thought the roads were blocked?" "The main roads are out, yes. But there are some four-wheel drive options. The weather makes things difficult, but not impossible." Realization slid over her face, her eyes going wide. "You're saying you brought me here on purpose?" Was she angry? He couldn't tell. At least she hadn't pulled away, so he pressed on. "Yes, I chose this place so that we would be alone together. I planned to romance you with flowers." He plucked a hydrangea petal from her hair. "All the same, that kiss caught me by surprise…." "Me, too," she admitted wryly. "I also didn't expect how fast things would spiral out of control between us. Though I should have anticipated it, given our past." He cupped her face and held her gaze with his. "If we go beyond one kiss, if we stay here for the night, I need you to be one hundred percent certain it's what you want." She stared at him for so long he prepared himself for the increasing possibility that she would turn him away. And this time, it would be for good. There would be no more chances with her. This woman, her beautiful blue eyes, her scent, her touch, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Her fingers unfurled from his suit coat and regret slammed through him so damn hard he almost rocked back on his soaked heels. Could he really let her go again? She dusted her hands along his jacket, brushing off more hydrangea petals that clung to the fabric. And he realized she wasn't pushing him away at all. In fact, her hips were nestling closer in a perfect fit against him. "Javier—" she stroked her finger along his neck to his jaw "—no one should drive in this weather when we have a safe place to stay. I am exactly where I want to be." Relief flooded him, more than he expected. He knew there were still more things they should discuss, more issues to be aired and resolved…

661

Like the full extent of the role he'd played in her brother's incarceration. She sketched her fingertips along his lips. "Let's stop talking and make the most of this night together. We'll deal with the rest tomorrow when the storm clears." He couldn't miss the surety in her voice. And while he questioned the wisdom of letting sex distract them as it had so often in the past, he couldn't resist this opportunity to be with her. Extending his hand, Javier stepped back toward the office which he happened to know conveniently housed a shower. "I think it's time we got out of these wet clothes."

Chapter Six Victoria fit her hand in Javier's, committing to the moment. She pushed aside thoughts of when she'd harbored dreams of committing her life and heart to him, as well. Tonight, they would make love again. She hadn't forgiven him for what he'd done to her brother, but she couldn't deny herself this chance to be with Javier, to ease the ache that had been building for an entire year. She needed to have one last time with him. Although there weren't a lot of flat surfaces here to choose from. "Where are we going?" Leaves brushed her legs as she walked past a climbing vine. He smiled, his dark eyes lit with promise. "The office has a full bathroom. I have fond memories of how we used to shower together." "This place has a tub?" Her thumb grazed the inside of his wrist along his strong, steady pulse, envisioning floating rose petals. "Gardening can be messy business." He backed her around a potting station with terra cotta urns in a neat line, bags of soil stacked under the table. "Makes sense, I guess. And wonderfully smart of you to think of that." He reached beyond her to open the office door. "If I was as smart as you give me credit for, I would have thought of this long ago." "Shhhh…" She pressed a finger to his mouth. "No more talking." She replaced her finger with her lips and thank heaven he took the hint. His hands returned to her body, making fast work of the buttons down her blouse. And she had no intention of lagging behind. She skimmed off his jacket, her hands remembering how best to undress him, until their clothes left a trail into the bathroom. Skin to skin, she fitted herself more fully against his body, sighing with a deep satisfaction of just the feel of him. Her head lolled back with a sigh and she looked around them…. Wow…this wasn't just some tiny powder room. Her eyes took in the tan travertine tiles, the thick towels, and most importantly, the spacious spa shower with an assortment of floral soaps stacked on shelves built into the wall.

662

Her visions of floating roses shifted to fantasies of lathering each other with soap flecked with lilac, gardenia, jasmine or honeysuckle. "I just wouldn't have expected anything so luxurious in a greenhouse." "My uncle does not scrimp." He reached past her to turn on the water. She trailed her fingers down Javier's bare chest, reveling in the flex of muscles under her touch. "No complaints here. One last question…" Her stomach clenched in apprehension. "Do you have birth control? We didn't exactly plan for this." "I have it taken care of," he vowed. "I would never leave you unprotected. The bathroom on the corporate jet is fully stocked, and when we were on the plane I took what we might need." He bent to snag his pants from the floor and dipped a hand into his pocket. "I didn't want to be caught unprepared." "Thank goodness." She stood in the open shower, one hand braced on the wall. "How many did you bring?" He devoured her with his eyes as he backed her inside and placed the stack of packets in the soap dish. "Ambitious plenty." Warm pellets of water sluiced over her naked body, but his bold confidence seduced her even more. "For once, I like your arrogance." Their bodies melded under the heated spray, which was pooling around their feet. She kissed, nipped and sipped along his neck, along his shoulders. His hands were all over her, so perfectly stroking her breasts in just the right places she realized he hadn't forgotten a second of their time together, either. Then he soaped up a lather between his palms, the scent of lilac clinging to the steam so potently she was sure that fresh flowers were pressed into the bars. And then he drove all thought away as his fingers slicked between her legs. She rediscovered his body as fully as he explored hers until she thought she would shatter, right there, right then in his arms. "I need you inside me. No more waiting." His low growl of approval rumbled against her chest. She barely registered how quickly he sheathed himself, and in an instant he had her against the tiled wall. Cupping behind her knees, he lifted her, hooking her legs around his waist until he was perfectly positioned to…thrust. She hugged him closer, dug her heels tighter into his flanks as he moved and she met him. They synched, reclaiming their rhythm as the past twelve months evaporated with the steam. As if all those nights she'd lain alone in her bed hungry for him hadn't happened. As if she hadn't dreamed of having him just this way. Except with those dreams, she never finished. She woke unfulfilled, aching and lonely for him. There had been so many good times before the end…. She pushed away thoughts of her brother, of her horrible last argument with Javier and focused on the feel of him within her, his arms and impassioned words all around her. His hard, muscled chest brushed against her breasts, the light rasp of hair teasing her to pebbly tight peaks. The gathering need tingled inside her, prickling along her skin, hotter than the water vaporizing around them until… Her release rocked through her, showered through her, pulsing again and again just as he did. His hoarse shout of completion twined with hers and she could have sworn the ground vibrated around them. Maybe it was more thunder, but regardless, she'd been rocked by the force of their coming together. Her legs slowly slid down to the tile floor again, but she doubted she could have stood on her own. She held on, her face buried in his neck as he gathered her closer.

663

As the water cooled, she couldn't hide from the truth any longer. Being with Javier was different, special. She would always want him, the man who had demanded she do the one thing she never could. Turn her back on her brother.

Chapter Seven Inhaling the scent of flowers, Victoria and their lovemaking, Javier pulled her closer to his side on the makeshift bed on the floor under the skylight. After their shower, he'd found some blankets and pulled pillows from the sofa. They'd made love throughout the night, catnapping in between. Well, she napped. He watched her sleep, a pleasure he'd missed over the past year. And now their night was coming to an end and he had to act decisively to make her his, because he couldn't walk away from her again. He nuzzled the top of her head, savoring the silky texture of her hair splashed across his chest. The stars began to fade overhead. The rain slowed to a drizzle, sliding along the skyline. The sun was just beginning to pinken the horizon. Victoria stirred against him and sighed. "We should get dressed soon." "We should. And we will." Sometime before dawn, he'd put on his trousers and run out to retrieve their suitcases from the Porsche. Then he'd quickly gotten naked with her again. He trailed his fingers along her silky arm. "But just because we're leaving this place, you have to know I won't let you go as easily this time." Avoiding his eyes, she slid her leg over his intimately. "Let's talk about something else. Let's do something else." He clamped a hand on her thigh, forcing down his body's instinctive reaction to her nearness. "Why are you really on the island? You had to realize I would hear you'd returned, even if we didn't run into each other." She pulled away. "Are you accusing me of setting this up?" "No need to get bristly." He grazed his hand up to her waist. "I'm glad we had this night together." She tugged the silky afghan around herself and walked to the edge of the fountain, where he'd placed their suitcases. "I'm here because I didn't have any other way of making enough money to pay my brother's lawyer." "You're here for your brother?" His body chilled. He sat up, following her with his eyes. "Your uncle offered me a temporary fill-in job." She opened her paisley bag and tugged out a stack of clothing, her movements fast and jerky. "He said there aren't many nurses he trusts, especially since the Medina secret was splashed all over the papers." "Your parents should be taking care of your brother's expenses." And if they hadn't given up and dumped their son in her lap, life would have been so different for all of them. "I'm only trying to protect you." "He's my brother." She yanked on pink panties and a bra with quick, angry hands. "Family means something to me." "Are you making a dig at my cousin?" He would have stood and walked over to her, but he was still so damned turned on by her he could hardly walk. "I can't trust her and I refuse to justify that to you."

664

She pulled on a fresh pair of khakis and a white button-up before sagging to sit on the bench around the fountain. Sighing, she put her face in her hands. "Would you please put some clothes on? My brain shortcircuits when you're naked." Now that was a victory at least. He shoved silently to his feet and tugged on slacks and a shirt. "You can open your eyes." She peered between her fingers with a begrudging smile. "Okay, I'll acknowledge your point. Your cousin is a security risk to the rest of your family, but she's also an adult. Timothy is a teenager." Standing, she faced him, ready to go toe-to-toe. "If his whole family walks away, who will he turn to?" He gripped her arms. "That's my whole point, damn it!" "What do you mean?" He pivoted away sharply, stunned at how she'd knocked him off his game so easily. "Forget I said anything." "I can't do that." She stepped around in front of him, her hands on her hips. Her jaw jutted stubbornly. "I will not abandon him, no matter what he does." He could see she wasn't going to back down, even if she followed her brother right into harm's way. And for the first time, he considered that he may have played a role in that by not telling her everything that had happened around her brother's arrest. He'd been trying to protect her… And he'd royally screwed up. He had to fix that, starting now. "Your brother wasn't just guilty of simple vandalism." He pushed out the truth he knew would crush her, but it would also keep her safe. "Victoria, he was part of a street gang." "A gang?" She gasped in horror, in shock. She held up a hand of denial and backed away. "That's not true." "Yes, it is." He started to reach for her, to comfort her, but her eyes stopped him short. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "His lawyer knew it because I gave him the proof. Surveillance cameras picked it up. He was being pressured to commit those acts—stealing cars, lifting jewelry—as initiation." "Why wasn't I told any of this?" Anger snapped in her eyes. Clearly any answer he gave to that was only going to make her madder, so he deflected with, "Why do you think his lawyer and I cut a deal? I wanted your brother safely tucked away. Your parents couldn't handle him, and you have to face that you couldn't, either. He was out of control. Juvenile detention wasn't just the place he deserved to be, it was the safest place for him to be." Her lips pursed tight, her body rigid. "What gave you the right to decide all of that without consulting me? Obviously, you didn't trust me…" She held up her hand. "Never mind. Let's put this conversation on hold. This is all too much, too fast and I'm too…mad and confused to even speak to you. The rain has stopped. We should leave." He saw the determination in her eyes and couldn't help but admire how hard she fought for Timothy, how she put herself on the line for people she cared about. She was fiery and fearless, impetuous and idealistic in a way that touched him, no matter how much those qualities could stir trouble for her. And for him, too. Yes, he could read her eyes well. While she was willing to forgive her brother anything, she wasn't so willing to extend that forgiveness to him. What a damned inconvenient time to realize just how much he loved her.

665

Chapter Eight Victoria held back her tears all the way to the Medina compound. Hurt, anger and betrayal warred inside her as she stood in front of the massive front doors. How could Javier have kept something so important from her? And how could her brother have gotten himself tangled up with such a dangerous group without her having a clue? Her head was spinning so fast she barely registered the lush landscape, the towering Spanish-style mansion she'd first seen over a year ago. She could only think of the man standing stonily beside her. How could she even consider renewing their relationship when he was every bit as intractable as ever? And yet realizing how much harder it would be to walk away from him a second time made the tears burn even hotter behind her eyelids. Before she could blink her vision clear again, the butler directed them to go around back where the king waited on the veranda. She walked alongside Javier on the landscaped path, past the pool in the courtyard. The citrus scent of orange trees heavy with fruit hung in the air. She rounded a corner, passing armed guards just before she spotted Enrique Medina. Confined to a wheelchair, he was thin, gray and weary. Still, no matter the sallow pallor and thinner frame, Enrique's face was that of royalty. His aristocratic nose and chiseled jaw spoke of his ages-old warrior heritage. And while his heavy blue robe with emerald-green silk lapels was not the garb of a king in his prime, the rich fabrics and sleek leather slippers reflected his wealth. Enrique greeted them both with a regal nod then turned to his nephew. "Javier, could you walk down to the beach for a moment?" It was more of a demand than a request, his Spanish accent as thick as she remembered. "I wish to speak privately with Victoria. You and I can talk later." Javier raised an eyebrow before pivoting away toward the beach—leaving her alone with the deposed king. Victoria couldn't help but notice how Javier purposefully retreated now after her demand that they not discuss her brother. She needed time, and from the way he'd accepted the old king's dictate without comment, she sensed Javier was giving her that space. Sea breeze wrapping around her, she stepped forward, already assessing Enrique's health from a professional perspective. She hadn't received an update from the previous nurse yet, but the patchwork of veins prominent on the backs of his hands told her he'd been receiving IV medications often. "How are you feeling, sir?" "Still stubborn about calling me Enrique, I see." His body might be weak, but his voice still commanded attention as firm and constant as the roar of the waves crashing against the shore. "Thank you for agreeing to come." She forced her focus to stay on him rather than on the man striding along the shore. "I am so very sorry you still require nursing care." He waved aside her words of sympathy. "Have you and Javier made up?" Her gaze snapped firmly from Javier to Enrique. "Pardon?" "You spent the whole flight and last night together. I would hope the two of you have stopped being fools and repaired your relationship." A suspicion flickered to life in her brain. With her nerves so raw, she blurted, "Did you send for me just so I would be with Javier?"

666

He lifted a gray eyebrow. "Even I cannot command the weather. But yes, I arranged things so you were on the same flight. I am running out of time to see my nephew settled. Something needed to be done." Indignation starched her spine. She'd had her fill of this royal family maneuvering her life without consulting her. "What made you assume it was your place to do that, sir?" Gripping the arms of his wheelchair, he sat up straighter. "Because I was once young and foolish. I thought I had forever to be with the woman I loved." He studied her with piercing brown eyes that reminded her of his nephew. "Sit down and stop looking at me as if I am the enemy." His autocratic tone took as much getting used to now as it had last year, but she read the genuine caring in his eyes. The older man was dying and wanted to ensure that the people he loved were happy. Slowly, she took the seat across from him. "I'm listening." "Good." He nodded regally. "If you and Javier don't have feelings for each other, then I have done nothing more than give you the chance to reflect on a past romance." Her eyes trekked to Javier standing on the shore with his hands in his pockets, tall and handsome against the sunrise. "Yes, I have…feelings for him…" She loved him. God, how she loved him, so deeply it had haunted her for the past year. "He fears for your safety, you know, and with cause." "My brother—" "No… Javier is overprotective because of the way he was forced to grow up, always watching over our shoulder. Our family has been on the run, living in seclusion under assumed names for so long. It is difficult to throw aside those fears just because the world now has learned our secret." Unbidden, images of Javier living as part of a decoy family for the Medinas came to mind. He had put himself in harm's way for the sake of family. Hardly the kind of man she could accuse of not caring about his relations. Regret for that comment she'd snapped at him niggled along her conscience. Her heart ached for the young boy Javier had been, for the way it had marked the man he was today. "How do I get through those walls he has built around himself?" He patted her arm. "My dear, be tenacious with him, just as you are tenacious when it comes to your brother." His words sunk in, bringing so much of her relationship with Javier into focus. She'd fought for her brother, was willing to forgive him even his criminal behavior. Yet, she hadn't fought for her relationship with Javier, a man who'd gone to the mat for her family. For so long she'd been able to depend only on herself, her parents letting her down—letting her brother down—again and again. Somewhere along the line she'd forgotten how to trust, and how to work as a team. Her eyes sought Javier, the man who'd offered her everything. The time had come for her to be brave enough, bold enough to fight for him. *** Javier watched Victoria stride down the beach toward him, her shoes in her hand, the wind streaking her long blond hair behind her. God, he wanted her with him, always. He would never give up trying to persuade

667

her, but he understood that ultimately, the decision had to be hers. He'd powered his way through life up until now, but steamrolling this woman wasn't fair—and it wouldn't work. She stopped alongside him, staring out over the ocean. He studied her for some sign of what scrolled through her mind. "What did my uncle have to say?" A smile tugged her full lips. "That he brought us both here to work out our problems." Not surprising. The king structured his world obsessively as if he could protect them all still. Javier had always admired his uncle's wisdom, the caution he exercised to protect his family. "I suspected as much. Sorry about the whole royal take-charge thing. It's in our blood." She laughed softly. "Only you would apologize for being related to a king." "Only you wouldn't give a damn that my family is royal and obscenely wealthy." He had never once needed to wonder if she cared about him because of his family tree. "Actually," she said, "I'm glad your uncle did it." Now that did surprise him. "Even though I'm still the same jerk I was a year ago?" She turned to face him, scraping back the windswept hair that streamed over her cheeks. "You're not a jerk. Assertive sometimes, but I'm beginning to understand that everything you do is for others." While he didn't totally buy into her altruistic picture of him, he sure as hell wasn't going to argue. "Victoria—" His voice sounded ragged even to his own ears. "I need you in my life." "Damn straight you do." She slid her hand into his and squeezed. "I think the separation was as tough on you as it was on me. Last year, you wouldn't have admitted to taking me to the greenhouse on purpose. You gave me an out if I wanted it." "It wasn't easy." An understatement to say the least. He gathered her against his chest and inhaled the scent of her shampoo, the scent of her. "More than anything I want us to be together, not living even a couple of hours apart. I like my job in Martha's Vineyard, but I have the financial security to go elsewhere if you're intent on staying in Boston—" She placed her fingers over his lips. "I don't want us to spend even one more day apart. I'm a nurse. I can work anywhere you are, and Martha's Vineyard is still close enough for me to help my brother get his act together." Her brother. Her family. His family now, too, through Victoria. He looked back up at the mansion, the U-shape layout wrapping around them, a protective cocoon of family present to help them resolve their differences and find the happiness they'd struggled to capture on their own. Being a Medina might have come with strings attached, but they were also the kind of ties that tethered him. Grounded him. Her arms curled around his waist and she pressed her cheek against his chest. "What are we going to do about my brother?" "We?" He tipped her face up. "That's the first time you've asked for my help, you know." "I can't give up on my brother, but I admit, my old way of dealing with his problems wasn't effective." She looped her arms around his neck. "Perhaps we could talk through some tough-love alternatives for him. We

668

could work together. You don't have to carry the worries of the whole world all by yourself. And neither do I, anymore, thanks to you." He smiled. "I can definitely live with that. On one condition…" "And that would be?" Looking into her beautiful blue eyes, Javier said the words he'd been waiting to share since the day he'd met her. "Marry me. Be my wife, my lover, the mother of my children. Share your life with me so I can show you every single day just how very much I love you." Her smile shone brighter than the sun rising over the ocean. "Yes, yes, yes, and a million times yes to everything. I love you and will marry you, and I look forward to waking up with you every morning for the rest of my life." He sealed his mouth to Victoria's as firmly as he sealed his promise of forever loving her.

669

Ryan's Hope by Patricia Rosemoor Chapter One He looked around the room, taking in the things he loved about his life in America rosewood and leather furniture, an Oriental carpet on the floor, a hundred-year-old samovar filled with tea made from one-hundred-dollar-an-ounce leaves.

His hand shook as he slid the papers across his desk toward his younger cohort. “Did anyone take a good look at this application? This Ryan Cooper is no social worker.”

“What do we care what he does for a living?”

“He expects a bride for his money.”

The other man laughed and threw himself down into a leather chair. “He can expect whatever he wants.”

“Ryan Cooper is a Chicago police detective!” the man shouted. “I learned he works Vice! How did this happen?”

Did no one else pay attention to details? Were they so full of themselves that they couldn’t see how easily they could be brought down? How easily he could lose his lush life?

The other man quickly sobered. “You think he’s onto us?”

“I think we give him his bride and then see what he’s up to. We have to handle this very carefully....”

Fear that the good life could soon be nothing more than a memory made his bile rise. He wouldn’t lose all this...no matter what he had to do to keep it. Chapter Two

670

Ryan Cooper watched the female travelers exiting Immigration and stopping at Customs and tried to match a face to the one in his hand - blue-eyed and lovely, framed with blond hair. None matched the photograph of Nadezhda Klimova - Nadya - his bride-to-be.

He’d been at the O’Hare Airport International terminal for more than an hour. The plane from Russia had been late, but she should be cleared by now. Surely she hadn’t changed her mind. Marrying her was key to everything.

Then he spotted her. Dressed in black, her golden blond hair pulled away from classic features into a knot at the back of her neck, she was more lovely than he’d imagined. She walked with grace, an elegance that said she was comfortable in her own body.

But her expression told him something internal was causing her discomfort. Nerves? Her eyes darted around at the people in the waiting area, and she took a deep breath, and he realised she was more than nervous. She was afraid.

Did she have reason to be afraid of him?

A few minutes later, she cleared customs with only an overnight bag and small rolling case. Ryan walked right up to her, saying, “I’ll take those.”

She took a step back. “These are mine.”

“I know that. I’m Ryan Cooper, and you’re Nadya, right?” Seeing her blue eyes widen in something akin to shock, he reached out and took the overnight bag from her, then the roll-on. “Where are the rest of your things?”

“Where is Gregor Ivanov? He was supposed to meet me.”

Ivanov being the supposed go-between - the man who claimed to meet the brides and deliver them to their intended spouses. The only trouble was - either the brides backed out of the weddings or simply disappeared, and the disappointed grooms never got their fees and the airfare from Russia returned to them.

The organisers of the con counted on the men keeping that to themselves to save face. Only a couple of men hadn’t done what was expected of them.

671

“Change of plans. I told him I would do the honors. You’re going to be my bride, after all. The rest of your luggage?” “No more.” Ryan frowned. That she was equipped for a weekend rather than for a new life aroused his suspicions. He started walking and though he was six-one, she was only a few inches shorter and kept up easily with his long-legged stride. Chapter Three “Your English is excellent, Nadya.”

“I learned as a child in school.”

“But speaking another language so easily takes practice.”

“I have been to your America several times. And Canada and Australia.”

Her bio had said she was an athletic instructor. Having done his homework on Nadya, Ryan knew she’d been a world-level-competition athlete - a runner. No doubt that had given her many opportunities to speak English. Oddly, she’d quit the team before making it to the Olympics.

“Nadezhda,” he said, savoring the exoticism of her formal first name. “Is there an English translation?”

“Nadezhda means Hope.”

Hope...how appropriate, since he hoped to solve his dual problems by marrying her.

As they crossed into the parking lot, she asked, “Where do you take me?”

“To my place.”

672

“No - no, not possible.”

“Why not? We’re getting married in the morning.”

Panic edged her voice. “It was not supposed to be like this.”

“What wasn’t supposed to be like this?” he asked. “You didn’t think you were going to marry me?”

“I thought I would have some time.” In truth, he was the one who didn’t have time. He needed to marry as soon as possible so he could pay off the back taxes on the Flying C. After receiving an anonymous letter saying Mum owed three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars, he’d gotten online and had checked it out for himself.

Mum owed the money all right, and Ryan wasn’t about to let her be ousted from her home, not when he had the solution. Ryan would receive his inheritance when he married. Four hundred thousand was more than enough to cover the back taxes. And here he’d been working on this mail-order-bride case, so the solution was a no-brainer.

He didn’t even have to bother his brothers about the problem. Joe’s money was gone anyway, spent on trying to save his late wife. Max was too into advancing up the corporate ladder for romance. And Sean was too into the buckle bunnies on the rodeo circuit. Chapter Four This arrangement was perfect. He could save the family ranch and hopefully crack the case he’d been working on for the past few months. Nadya was as good an in to the Russian Mafia’s prostitution ring as he was going to get.

They arrived at his car. Ryan opened the trunk and set Nadya’s luggage inside. Then he opened the door. “Get in.”

When Nadya moved closer to slip inside, Ryan breathed in her exotic scent and

673

something inside him stirred. Being around her for a while wouldn’t be hard to take. He’d just better not get used to it.

After he pulled the car out of the garage into a night filled with drizzle that threatened to turn to a downpour, Nadya asked, “Where is this place of yours?”

“North side of Chicago. An area called Uptown. Used to be a terrible area, but because the property was so cheap and it was so close to the lake and rapid transit, young professionals started moving in and rehabbing. We even have a Starbucks and Borders bookstore now.”

Nadya didn’t seem to be listening, Ryan realised, getting onto the road that would take them out of the airport. She seemed distracted, like her mind was working a mile a minute. Odd how she was staring into her side-view mirror. At what?

Ryan glanced up into his rearview mirror and saw a dark sedan behind them. Between the tinted windows and rain, he couldn’t see the driver. He kept checking as he got onto the expressway...changed lanes...slowed down to an aggravating pace that would make any other driver go around them.

But the sedan stayed firmly behind. He moved back to the right. The sedan followed.

Ryan’s gut knotted and his hands tightened around the wheel. A plan forming in his mind, he jammed the accelerator and shot forward faster than he liked in the wet weather.

“We’re being followed!” he told Nadya, though he suspected she already knew. “Hold on!”

Nadya’s heart pounded as the car seemed to fly into the rain and she realised she’d curled the fingers of her right hand around the door pull so hard that they were beginning to hurt.

“Who follows us?” she gasped out, fearing it was whoever was responsible for her sister Anastasia’s disappearance. Were they after her now?

674

“I don’t know, but we’re going to try to find out.” Chapter Five She could hardly breathe as Ryan zigged and zagged across the expressway. A glance into the side view mirror told her the dark car was right behind. What if the men in that car knew why she was here and wanted to silence her for good?

What had she been thinking, acting on her own? Not that the Moscow police had been willing to help her. A girl who emigrated and then went missing was of no concern to them. She knew Ryan was police, too, and this fact did not reassure her.

As they passed a large truck, Ryan said, “Hold tight and don’t freak.”

Nadya gasped when he cut in front of the truck close enough that the eighteen-wheeler blasted its horn at them. They kept moving practically sideways to the right lane and then their speed suddenly dropped and the truck shot ahead.

What was this crazy American doing? she wondered, as the car dropped further back and careened to the left behind the truck and kept going into the lane where they’d originally started. Suddenly she realised they were now behind the sedan, closing fast.

“I’m going to get as close as I can,” Ryan said, his voice intent. “You get their number.”

“Number?” she echoed, trying not to panic.

“The license plate number.”

“How do I see this?”

“The rear plate is lit.” The car inched closer to the sedan and Nadya strained to see the license plate. Between swishes of the wipers and smears of rain on the windshield, she did her best to read the numbers. Lit or not, the plate was nearly impossible to read at this distance, at this speed,

675

with these conditions. Every time she thought she had a letter, it turned into something else.

Then, as if the other driver knew what they were about, the sedan pulled away and sped off faster than Ryan apparently was willing to do. “You got it, right?” he asked, voice tense. “Some...maybe...so difficult...” He cursed under his breath and she huddled away from him against the door. Did he think she hadn’t tried, that she hadn’t gotten the whole number on purpose? Tension continued to wire between them as Ryan headed for an exit ramp. Nadya waited for him to say something, perhaps to stop the car and let her out - what man needed this trouble? To her relief, his intensity lessened with the diminishing rain. By the time he pulled onto a side street of large apartment buildings, and said, “This is it home, sweet home,” she was breathing a little easier. Not that she should be.

As a child, she’d learned to be cautious around Soviet police, and that discomfort had stuck with her throughout her athletic career when she’d been watched wherever she went. Ryan was American police, perhaps, but what was the difference? Chapter Six

“I’m on the second floor,” he announced, taking her bags from the car and leading the way inside and up the stairs. When he unlocked the door, he said, “Go ahead and look around.”

His apartment wasn’t fancy, but it was comfortable and neat. Dark upholstery. Warm walls. Off the living room was a windowed alcove. Several well-tended plants surrounded a chair obviously meant for reading. A book lay open, cover up on the ottoman. “My oasis,” he said directly behind her. “The plants remind me a little of home.”

His breath stirred her hair and Nadya turned to meet Ryan’s ruggedly handsome face disguised by an evening beard stubble. Thick dark hair framed a high forehead, wide cheekbones and wide-spaced green eyes with thick black lashes. Her pulse fluttered and

676

she told herself not to be foolish, that she couldn’t afford a distraction from her purpose here.

“Where is this home you speak of?”

“A horse ranch in Virginia. A real pretty place.”

“Yet you choose to live here?”

“A young man needs some excitement in his life. All four of us brothers followed our dreams. I wanted to be a cop in a big city. I got lured away from a quieter life.”

“And now? I think you miss this quiet life.”

“Sometimes. What about you? Do you miss the thrill of competition?”

He was speaking of her retirement from amateur sports, of course. “Sometimes.”

“Well...see?”

He grinned at her, and her heart quickened a pace. For a tiny moment, she felt a connection that she didn’t want to acknowledge. And then he held out a pad and pen and said, “The license number - write down what you got of it and I’ll have someone run the numbers.”

Nadya’s smile faded as she did as he asked. “Why do you think we were followed?”

“Funny, but I was going to ask you the same question.”

Her hand tightened on the pen. The way he was looking at her...gaze intent...Nadya felt the blood drain from her face. If Ryan noticed, he didn’t comment. “Perhaps one of your American bad guys is after you.”

677

Ryan barked a laugh. “You’ve seen too many American movies.” Flushing, Nadya was thankful he didn’t pursue it. She was pretty sure she had been the target - of what, she wasn’t certain - but she simply wasn’t comfortable telling this stranger about her sister. And when he led her to the only bedroom, she was even more on edge until he said, “You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.” A reprieve, at least for the night. Not that she slept well. Thoughts of her sister kept her awake, tossing and turning. Chapter Seven Nadya hadn’t been surprised that Stasya had wanted to come to America - she’d talked about it for years. But several months ago, when Stasya had announced she was leaving for Chicago to marry some man she’d never met, Nadya had been shocked.

And unable to talk her little sister out of such a foolish venture. How could Stasya even think to leave everything she knew for a man she’d never met?

Her sister had left making promises that once she was settled, she would bring Mama for a visit and then maybe Mama and Nadya would want to live in America, too. She and Mama had kissed Stasya goodbye at the airport more than a month ago... The last contact they’d had with her.

And then Nadya had heard of other brides disappearing as well. She’d also heard rumor of a bordello where women were being kept servicing men against their wills. With no help from the Russian authorities, Nadya had set herself up as a “mail-order bride” for the express purpose of finding her sister.

To do that, she had to be free to look for Stasya.

And so, just before dawn, Nadya dressed and placed her shoes inside her shoulder bag. Carefully, she opened the bedroom door and listened hard, beyond the blood rushing through her own head. Nothing.

She crept out into the hall and edged the far wall to the foyer and front door, all the while watching the couch where Ryan slept, his deep breaths broken by an occasional snore.

678

When she got to the door, she glanced back at him with regret. She hadn’t meant to bring him trouble, and she hoped whoever had been following them wouldn’t come looking for her here. She undid the chain with no more than a whisper.

The bolt gave a sharp click and she froze for a second, listening, before turning the door knob. Taking a deep breath, she swung the door open, only to have a hand shoot out and slam it in her face. Gasping, she whipped around to find a near-naked Ryan Cooper glowering at her. “Going somewhere?” Ryan asked in his best cop’s voice as he snapped on the room light, despite the fact that he was wearing nothing more than boxers. Chapter Eight Nadya squirmed and he was close enough to feel her discomfort. Too close for his peace of mind - her breasts were almost brushing his bare chest and his body and mind were instantly at war. He leaned away from her slightly but didn’t take a step back lest she see it as an opening of some kind.

“I-I needed some air,” Nadya said weakly.

“Then why didn’t you simply open a window?”

“At home, I run every morning.”

“This isn’t Moscow. And while this neighbourhood is coming up, I wouldn’t suggest a lone female go out for a run before daybreak.” Even if she probably could outrun a mugger. He indicated her clothing - finely cut black trousers, and a silk blouse in a shade of blue that intensified her eye colour. “Do you always dress like this to run?”

“I couldn’t fit running clothes in my suitcase.”

“Maybe because you weren’t planning on staying long enough to use them. Maybe you weren’t planning on marrying me in the first place. That would be fraud. Potential jail time.”

Not that he meant to arrest her. He simply wanted to scare her into cooperating.

679

Good thing he was a light sleeper or she would have stolen into the night like a thief. Which, indeed, she would have been, since he’d paid good money to have her as his bride . . . no matter that he was using her as she was him. No way was he going to let her go when marrying her would give him the inheritance to save the family ranch . . . not to mention the connections it would take to crack this case.

“No, please, no fraud. I-I’ll marry you.” The quiver in her voice and her downcast eyes got to him and he almost relented. Almost.

He took a step back, saying, “All right, then. Go get ready. I know how long women can take to get ready. We’ll be the first ones in line at city hall.” Chapter Nine As she rushed past him toward the bedroom, her body brushed his, leaving him with a hunger that only she could fix. She was sexy as hell, no doubt about that, but he couldn’t let that distract him He had to keep focused, keep his eyes on the prize. She didn’t want him anyway, as her near-escape proved.

Knowing he couldn’t trust Nadya not to disappear if he got in the shower, Ryan washed up in the kitchen sink while she used the bathroom.

The fact that she’d tried to run got him. All along, he and the other detectives working the case had assumed the women were entering into the marriage contracts in good faith because they’d wanted a better life than they could have in Russia.

They’d assumed the women were being spirited off into one of the Russian-Mafia-run underground bordellos that informants had told them about. But what if that was wrong?

What if the women were “working girls” who figured the living was easier, the work more lucrative here than in Russia? Is that why Nadya had tried to run? To get to her Madame?

He couldn’t fathom it, not with her background and looks. A lover then? Maybe she was

680

some Mafia kingpin’s mistress . . . and the lover had sent his men to grab her at the airport. That would explain why they’d been followed.

He didn’t want to believe it, not any of it - didn’t want to think about her at the beck and call of another man - but he’d seen so many things in his years working vice that not much had the potential to surprise him anymore.

Ryan was just knotting his tie when Nadya stepped out of the bedroom. His eyes widened appreciatively as he took in her beauty. She was wearing a simple beige knit sheath that hugged her curves.

Her hair was again coiled at the back of her neck, but a few loose curls slipped out over her shoulders. Simple pearl earrings and a strand at her throat complemented her natural elegance. For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but want this to be real . . . Chapter Ten “I am ready to marry now.”

Her resigned tone indicated that was next to an execution, bringing him back to reality. This wasn’t a love match. She had her reasons for agreeing to be a mail order bride. He had his reasons for needing one.

But when he said, “I bought flowers,” and opened the refrigerator door to fetch the cream-coloured roses - one for his lapel, several with baby’s breath attached to a comb for her hair, he watched her features soften.

“They are beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as the woman who is going to wear them.”

Blushing, she didn’t look at him when he fastened the flowers in her hair. Her hands trembled when she set the rose in his lapel. Then she looked up and forced a smile, and he swore that he saw regret and something even softer in her features.

Caught for a moment, Ryan couldn’t help wishing . . . then he shook some sense into himself and led the way to the front door.

681

“One moment, please,” she said.

“What now?”

“I want to understand . . . why marry me?”

“Because I need a wife, and with my job in Vice, I meet the wrong kind of women.”

Remembering his earlier speculation, Ryan only hoped that didn’t hold true with Nadya. Maybe he was blinded by the physical attraction, but he hated the thought of her with myriad men - or even with one who might keep her - so that she could make a living.

He’d already gotten involved with - and tried to rescue --a call girl who didn’t want rescuing. He’d learned his lesson the hard way.

So, to be clear, he asked, “Why did you decide to become a mail-order bride?” She hesitated as if she didn’t want to admit something then said, “For family . . . I had to do this.” Cryptic, but her tone and expression were so filled with emotion that he believed her. And they apparently had something in common. “Let’s do it, then. Let’s go get married.” Chapter Eleven When they left the building, Ryan had an uneasy feeling, the kind a cop got in his gut when something was wrong. Trying to appear casual, he scanned the street, but he only caught one woman walking her dog and a couple of people headed in the opposite direction, no doubt to pick up transportation to work. He tried to tell himself it was all in his head. Still, the feeling that they were being watched didn’t leave him as they started off.

“You said you became a mail-order bride for family,” Ryan mused as they were on their way to a downtown Cook County building where they would get their license and have a quick but legal wedding ceremony. “What did you mean by that?”

682

Nadya noticed he was being attentive to the mirrors and kept turning his gaze to the street, as if to check it. Did he think they were being followed as they had been the night before?

She found herself checking the side view mirror, too, but no dark sedan.

“I did it because I love my sister, Stasya.”

“Something wrong with her?”

“Yes, something is wrong.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not today.”

Not ever, not if she could help it.

Though she wanted to tell Ryan about her coming to Chicago to find her missing sister, she simply couldn’t. If he learned that she didn’t really want to be his wife, then he might, indeed, arrest her for fraud

Why, oh, why had she been matched with a vice detective, of all possible men?

She had to get away from Ryan and find Andrei Savin, a Russian businessman who owned a Travel Agency in the Ukrainian Village area. A contact in Moscow had told her that if anyone could help her figure out where her sister was being held, Savin could.

Apparently the Russian expatriate had his finger on the pulse of Russian activity in the Chicago metropolitan area. Chapter Twelve

683

“Listen, Nadya, whatever it is, we’ll take care of it together,” Ryan said, his voice warm and filled with concern. “Once you’re my wife, then Stasya is my family, too. I understand all about taking care of family.”

Ryan’s offer nearly moved Nadya to tears. He didn’t even know Stasya - he didn’t even know her. And though she hadn’t explained the problem, he was willing to commit himself to helping her.

Maybe she ought to tell him . . .

But it was too late. Ryan pulled into a garage where a man in an orange vest opened her car door. Nadya slipped out of the car as Ryan took a receipt from the man.

“This way,” he said, gently taking her arm.

Nadya’s knees nearly melted, not simply due to his touch, but because Ryan was proving himself to be so kind. As they cut across the street with dozens of other people, Ryan pulling her close as if to keep her safe, Nadya thought about the only other man she’d ever considered marrying.

Sergei had been not only her lover, but her coach as she’d trained for world-level competition. After she’d caught him in bed with one of her teammates, Sergei had admitted he’d romanced her to get her to do her best for him.

He’d simply used her! Heartbroken, she’d quit the team and hadn’t gone on to the Olympics.

Not that Ryan was anything like Sergei, she thought with a sigh, as they entered the building where they had to walk through metal detectors and she had to give over her purse to be searched. She glanced around them as they headed for the elevators which went up to the courts.

She looked for anyone suspicious. No one seemed out of place. She simply couldn’t get attached to Ryan, Nadya thought. She needed to focus, needed to keep her reason for doing this thing uppermost in her mind.

684

The civil ceremony was short and unromantic, so when the judge said, “You may now kiss the bride,” she expected Ryan to brush her lips quickly and then leave.

Instead, he took her in his arms, and smiling, dipped his head so slowly that her heart was pounding and her lips were parting in anticipation even before his mouth touched hers. Chapter Thirteen This kiss was no brush of the lips, but a deep, sensual exploration that spread warmth throughout her body. Nadya swayed into Ryan and returned the kiss, and for a moment, the world and her problems went away.

His mouth felt so right on hers, she kissed him with an ardor that surprised her. Then his hands tightened on her back and he pulled her into him with a strength she couldn’t resist.

A loud cough and an “Okay, folks, take it somewhere private” brought her back to her senses.

Nadya’s heart was pounding hard as she and Ryan pulled apart. She felt her face heat up, no doubt with annoying colour.

“Thank you, judge,” Ryan said, keeping an arm around her waist.

“This is what it’s all about,” the judge said, beaming. “You two can have some life together if that’s what you want. Just don’t forget what you’re feeling at this moment, and you’ll do all right.”

What was she feeling? Nadya wondered, as Ryan swept her out of the courtroom as another couple stepped up to the judge.

Confusion, certainly. That kiss and the judge’s words had her wanting something that she simply couldn’t have. Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly to make them behave. She didn’t want Ryan noticing and getting suspicious of her.

“We’re well and truly married,” Ryan said. “I need to call the family lawyer and inform him.”

685

“Your solicitor must know that you now have a wife?”

“Exactly.”

Suddenly Nadya was horrified at the humiliation Ryan would have to bear when she disappeared. What kind of wife would leave her new husband without telling him why? What would his friends and family think?

But she couldn’t stay with Ryan. She couldn’t go home with him and pretend everything was fine. And despite her burning physical needs, she couldn’t sleep with him when all she could think about was finding and rescuing her sister. Chapter Fourteen “Hey, are you okay?”

Ryan was looking at her so closely, she was certain he could see the tears she was holding back.

Nadya shrugged. “Weddings . . . so moving . . .”

Ryan patted her arm awkwardly, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with an emotional woman.

“You call your solicitor. I must . . .” She nodded to the Ladies Room.

“Oh, yeah, sure. You go ahead.” He whipped out a cell phone. “I’ll wait for you right here.”

Wonderful. How was she going to ditch him?

Phone trees and voice mails could be a real pain in the butt, Ryan decided when he couldn’t get hold of Reginald Beaumont personally. Annoyed, he pocketed his cell phone. He would have to call the family lawyer later.

686

He wanted to make certain - now that he had that all important bride - that the inheritance would transfer to him without a hitch so he could quickly cover the back taxes on the Flying C.

His mother didn’t need the kind of stress she must be under, thinking she was about to lose the family ranch - not that she would ever ask her sons for help. Ryan was glad to smooth out her life, to take charge as he did when working a vice case.

Hm, thinking of Mum reminded him that she needed to know the change in status in her son’s life. He checked the door to the Ladies Room. No Nadya. He speed-dialed the ranch phone.

“This is the Flying C. Please leave a message . . .”

Mum was out again? She didn’t work the ranch herself any more, not since Joe had moved back to take over. But she never seemed to be home. And where was Joe these days, anyway? It all made Ryan itchy. Was something else going on there that he should know about? He decided to buy his mum a cell phone for her birthday, so he could keep track of her. Chapter Fifteen He paced outside the Ladies Room and checked his watch. What in the world was taking his bride so long? Had Nadya’s emotions really overcome her?

What if they hadn’t? What if it was something else? Someone else? He remembered feeling as if someone were watching when they’d left his apartment building, but he hadn’t seen anyone who looked suspicious.

Still . . .

A little worried, Ryan thought to send someone in to check on Nadya. He spotted a little brunette headed for the facility.

“Excuse me, Miss, but my new wife went inside a bit ago, and I’m getting worried about her.”

687

“New groom, huh?” The young woman grinned at him. “Okay, I can give her a message for you. What does she look like?”

“A knockout blonde in a beige dress and pearls. Just tell her Ryan wants to know if she’s okay.”

“Gotcha.”

Nadya really was a knockout, Ryan thought, remembering how right it had felt pinning the roses in her hair that morning. The memory made him smile.

But his smile immediately collapsed when he saw the brunette rushing back out of the Ladies Room. Her forehead was pulled into a frown.

“No one fitting your wife’s description is inside,” she said, “but there’s another way out.”

“Thanks.”

Without thinking, Ryan raced through the facility to a concert of female protests and outraged shrieks. He kept his gaze on that other exit. Once out of the Ladies Room, he scanned the area only to see Nadya inside an elevator. Her eyes widened when her gaze met his . . . just as the doors closed.

How long would another elevator take?

Ryan decided not to wait. He rounded the corner and found the stairwell. He took the stairs down two at a time, hoping that Nadya’s elevator would have to stop at every floor. And that she wouldn’t get off on one of them. Those stairs gave him plenty of time to think about why she would run from him. Again. She’d tried to get away this morning. Had she given him a load of bull about her agreeing to be a mail-order bride for family reasons?

Maybe she’d been trying to pacify him . . . to trick him into believing she was someone she wasn’t. By the time he got to the ground floor and whipped out the door to the lobby, Ryan was breathing hard and getting angry to boot.

688

And his new bride was slipping out the front door. Chapter Sixteen “Nadya!” he yelled, running after her. “Wait!”

But of course that made her go faster. Once on the street, she picked up speed, and considering she had been an Olympic-hopeful runner . . .

Ryan didn’t let that stop him. He didn’t need anything but a copy of the signed marriage license to get the inheritance, but he needed her to help him crack the case he was working on and get those women out of the underground bordellos. Nothing personal, he told himself, shutting out other feelings that were trying to be known.

The Loop area was so filled with pedestrian traffic that even an experienced runner couldn’t make enough headway. Eventually, Nadya broke free of the crowd and headed down a less-traveled street that ran below the elevated structure for the rapid transit.

But she glanced over her shoulder - undoubtedly to see if he was still following - at just the wrong moment. A delivery man wheeled a dolly stacked with big boxes in front of her. She somehow kept herself from falling, though she knocked one of the boxes to the pavement.

“What’s wrong with you, lady?” the delivery guy yelled, following the question with a string of curses as he saved more boxes from going over.

Though Nadya danced around the obstacle, Ryan caught up to her and clasped her firmly by the wrist.

“Let go of me!”

“Not until I get what I want from you!”

He tugged her away from the delivery guy who was still grumbling as he restacked his dolly. He didn’t stop until they were out of the way in the mouth of the alley decorated with large dumpsters.

689

“You can’t force me to come with you!” Nadya said, her voice quivering.

“I believe I can,” Ryan returned. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Up to you.”

“What is this thing you want of me?” “Not here.” Her eyes widened. “You will not force me to sleep with you?” Chapter Seventeen Ryan started. She thought he’d come after her like this to get sex out of her? Not that he would turn down the opportunity if it presented itself. But, good Lord, did he really look that desperate?

“What I need is information,” he said tersely. “Information and the opportunity to get to the top level of the organissation running this –”

A blast cut his response short. Damn if someone wasn’t shooting at them! A whine along his ear propelled him into action.

He tackled Nadya to the ground and rolled her behind a dumpster.

Nadya was horrified at the violence Ryan used on her until he said, “Someone’s shooting at us! Stay down!”

She wasn’t about to argue, not even when he pulled out a gun that she didn’t know he was carrying. She’d heard the odd cracks and whines, but somehow she hadn’t realised what they were or that the sounds were connected to her and Ryan.

A tense Ryan waited a moment before saying, “I don’t hear anything. Whoever it is may be gone, but I’m not taking any chances. Get my cell. It’s in my pants pocket.”

690

Nadya quickly did as he ordered, slipping her hand in his pocket. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt around carefully, trying to avoid touching him.

“C’mon,” he said, “nothing’s going to bite you in there.”

Flushing, she plunged her hand deeper and thankfully, her fingers connected with the cell. She pulled the phone out and flipped it open.

Ryan said, “Hit one and hand it to me.”

His gun still at the ready, Ryan used his free hand to take the cell. Their fingers brushed and Nadya quickly pulled her hand away and fought the tingle that followed.

“Detective Ryan Cooper,” he was saying into the phone.

As Ryan gave Dispatch their location, Nadya stretched upward, wondering if she could see anyone suspect. A sharp tug on her arm sent her careening into Ryan’s hard body.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said, pocketing the cell.

“You don’t go after the bad guy?” she choked out, obviously more affected by the close contact than he.

“I do when I’m not protecting my wife.”

Relief came a moment later with the arrival of a squad car.

Ryan had one of the uniformed men stay with her while he and the other guy went out on the street and looked around.

When they came back, Ryan was saying, “Glad you boys have the paperwork on this one.”

691

Chapter Eighteen Nearly an hour later, they were back in his apartment.

“So what was the shooting about?” Ryan asked her. “Your boyfriend trying to get rid of me?”

“What? I have no boyfriend.”

“Lover, then.”

“No lover.” His assumptions were annoying. “Only a husband who asks stupid questions.”

“Someone is hunting me. Or us. And I want to know why.”

“And I want to find my sister.”

“Your sister is here?” Ryan’s features suddenly changed, as if a light had gone on in his head. “She wouldn’t have been another mail-order bride?”

Nadya sighed. “Five weeks ago, she came to Chicago to meet her new husband. And then we don’t hear from her, so we contact the agency and they say they know nothing. That she disappeared and they are angry. I go to the authorities, but they don’t care about a Russian emigree. So I had to do something.”

“You mean marry me?”

She shrugged. “I tried not to marry, but you forced me. I simply thought this was the best way to find Stasya.”

“How was getting on the mail-order express going to do that for you?”

“I thought they would take me to wherever she was.”

692

“A bordello?” His expression soured. “How could you think of doing such a thing, putting yourself in such a position?” “I was desperate!”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this right away? I am a cop.”

“That’s why. I didn’t trust you. My experience with the authorities has been less than pleasant.”

“Trust me when I say you connected with the right groom and the right cop,” Ryan said. “Part of the reason I decided to marry a Russian bride was to find a way to break this prostitution ring and free the Russian women who think they’re coming here to marry and then are being kept prisoner.”

The statement stunned Nadya. “You are already trying to free my sister?”

“I didn’t know one of the girls was your sister, but yes, her and the others. I know the bordello is in the Humboldt Park neighbourhood, but I don’t have an address. That’s a problem, but one maybe we can solve together if you tell me everything you know. Be honest with me, Nadya. That’s the way to help Stasya.” Chapter Nineteen So Nadya went over every detail she could remember, from Stasya’s announcing that she was leaving Russia to marry, to her own departure from Russia with only one lead – the man she was told to contact.

“Andrei Savin,” Ryan mused. “I don’t know that name as being connected to this case. Maybe he can be of some help.”

Ryan called directory assistance for the number and address of the travel agency and connected within a minute. “Andrei Savin, please.”

Nadya watched Ryan closely. When his brow furrowed, she curled her fingers into fists until her nails dug into her palms and glanced down at the paper with Savin’s address.

693

“Okay, thank you.” He hung up and said, “Savin will be in later this afternoon, so until then, we have to wait it out.”

“You’ll really try to find Stasya for me?”

“I will find her. We’ll do it together.”

Emotions she’d been holding tight inside herself unfurled, and Nadya threw herself into Ryan’s arms. “Thank you, husband,” she whispered, kissing him on the edge of his mouth.

Ryan tightened his hold on her and looked deep into her eyes. Caught by his gaze, Nadya couldn’t move. His kiss was rough and persuasive. She kissed him with equal intensity. His hands caressed her, seduced her.

She returned the intimate touches, wanting nothing more than to get closer to this man who had just saved her life and now promised to save her sister.

The next thing she knew, they were undressing each other.

Ryan’s voice was husky when he murmured, “The bedroom . . .”

But Nadya didn’t want to wait. “No, here.”

Pinning her against the wall, he urged her legs up with strong hands. She wrapped them around his thighs and felt him at her entrance.

He kissed her and made her one with him and took her right there, giving her a stunning view into what marriage with this man could be like.

Afterward, he whispered, “Bedroom?”

There he made love to her slowly. And afterward, she slept.

694

Chapter Twenty Nadya awoke alone. Smiling, feeling better than she had in the last month, she climbed into comfortable clothes and shoes, then went in search of Ryan, who was on the phone in the living room, his back to her.

“Yes, that’s right, Reginald. I met the terms of my inheritance by getting married this morning,” Ryan was saying. “So you can release that four hundred thousand dollars into my account. . .”

Horrified, Nadya backed away. Ryan had told her he’d married her to catch crooks, not to fatten his bank account. He’d used her, even as Sergei had.

Ryan’s laughter rang in Nadya’s ears as she backed toward the door and grabbed the shoulder bag she’d set down there. What a fool she’d just been! Not only had she given herself to this man, she’d developed soft feelings for him, as well.

He didn’t notice when she unlocked the door and slipped out into the hall. She wondered if he would even notice that she was gone now that he had what he wanted from her.

Out on the street, Nadya ran and ran until she reached a busy intersection. There she found a taxi and gave the driver the address in Ukranian Village.

The travel agency was on a busy street called Chicago, like the city. Her throat tight, Nadya entered and asked if Andrei Savin was in. He was. A moment later, she was in the back room, seated opposite him.

The office was quite luxurious, and the man himself was wearing a beautifully tailored suit that made his portly body seem slimmer, the silvery gray material playing up the silver streaks in his dark hair.

“What is it I can I do for you?” he asked, his accent only lightly Russian.

“You can help me find my sister Stasya Klimova. She disappeared over a month ago, and –”

695

”Yes, I know. And then you missed the opportunity to be rejoined with her when you disappeared with the detective yesterday.”

“Ryan has already spoken to you, then?”

“He didn’t have to, dear Nadya.” Savin pressed a button on his phone set up and said, “Gregor, would you come in?”

The door behind Andrei Savin opened and in walked a rugged-looking man with blond hair, blue eyes and a nasty smile. Nadya got a jolt and realised her mistake. This must be Gregor Ivanov, the man who was supposed to have met her.

Which mean Savin was part of the prostitution ring.

“Gregor, take our dear Nadya where she belongs.”

Instinct told Nadya to flee from Gregor Ivanov, the man who’d probably followed them from the airport the night before. But no, this was the reason she’d signed up to be a mailorder bride – to find Stasya, no matter what she had to do.

Shutting out an image of Ryan who would no doubt be horrified, she quietly said, “Take me to the bordello.” Chapter Twenty One “Nadya, I just got off the phone with . . .” Ryan let his words trail off as he stared at an empty bed. The bathroom door stood open. “Nadya?”

It took him a moment to believe she was really gone. That she’d made love to him twice only to make a third attempt at ditching him.

Only this time was no simple attempt. She’d succeeded. He’d definitely been off guard. After a moment of disbelief, Ryan set himself in motion. He knew exactly where she’d gone.

696

Putting his personal feelings on hold, he drove to the travel agency in record time and stormed inside to find only a fiftyish redhead at a desk behind the counter. A closed door to the side looked as if it led to an inner office.

“Savin in?” he asked.

“He’s with a client -“

”Beautiful blonde named Nadya? She’s my wife.”

“Oh, well, then. I’ll inform Mr. Savin that you’ve arrived.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Ryan flashed his badge. “And if I were you, I would do a disappearing act right about now.”

The woman’s overly made-up eyes widened but she didn’t move.

“Go!” Ryan repeated. “Now!”

“Y-yessir!” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

And Ryan unsnapped the flap of his holster and waltzed into Andrei Savin’s office. The first thing he noted was that Savin was alone. The second was that the man was sipping out of some china cup. Ryan’s stride didn’t even falter as he approached the desk and knocked the cup out of the man’s hand. Dark liquid sloshed everywhere.

“How dare you! Who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare, Savin. Where’s Nadya?”

“Nadya?”

697

“Don’t act all coy with me. I don’t have witnesses. I’ll beat it out of you, if I have to,” Ryan said, not too sure that he was bluffing.

Nadya was his wife, now, and no matter that she’d abandoned him, he wouldn’t abandon her. He would do what it took to see that Nadya and her sister were safe. Chapter Twenty Two “She left the back way,” Savin said.

“To go where?”

“That’s not my business.”

“Then make it your business. Nadya is my wife.”

“Ah, Detective Cooper!”

“You got it.”

“I knew you would be trouble.”

“You have no idea. I dream at night of taking scum like you apart with my bare hands.” Ryan moved around the desk and grabbed Savin by the throat and lifted him from his chair. “Shall we see?”

“You don’t know who you are dealing with!”

“Ditto.”

Savin might be part of the Russian Mafia-run operation, but he got his minions to do his dirty work. He was soft and he was scared. Ryan tightened his grip a little more.

698

“All right. I’ll tell you!”

Ryan let him go long enough to get the Humboldt Park address. After which, he handcuffed the Russian to the radiator away from the phone, took his cell and called in for a squad to come get the bastard. “And read him his rights, even though he doesn’t deserve any,” he said, turning the Open sign to Closed as he headed out the front door.

Several minutes later, he parked in front of the address Savin had given him. The old greystone three-story house wasn’t in bad shape, not like some of the buildings around it in poorer condition, but it didn’t look like it was housing a bordello, either. That was undoubtedly the point.

Ryan strolled right up to the front door and clicked the garish knocker. All the place needed was one of those little doors where security could look out and ask him for the password . . .

The door opened, and a magnificent brunette in black leather - and not much of it stood on the other side.

“I am Zora,” she said, her accent thick. “And you are?”

“Interested in some company for the evening. Andrei Savin sent me here.” “I can make myself available.”

“Tempting, but tonight I have a taste for blonde.”

She shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing, but come in. I’ll find someone suitable for you.” Chapter Twenty Three Ryan didn’t miss the burly security guard sitting in the back of the foyer, nor the one in the parlor where several women sat in various states of undress and all wearing fake smiles.

699

Three were blondes. None was Nadya. Nor her sister, he thought, not seeing anyone who even vaguely resembled her.

“Hmm, anyone else? I have a particular look in mind. Very tall and buff would suit me.”

“We do have the new girl.”

She said something in Russian to the parlor guard, who immediately went up the stairs. Ryan took the opportunity to give the place a visual once-over. All the windows seemed to be locked down tight.

He wondered if they were sealed. Guard at the front door. Undoubtedly a guard at the back, though he couldn’t see it from here.

A clattering on the stairs drew Ryan’s attention. He turned to find his wife being manhandled by the guard, who forced her down the steps. She was dressed in deep blue outfit - harem pants and tiny top that left little to the imagination.

Aroused despite the situation, he gruffly said, “She’ll do.”

“Such enthusiasm,” Zora said dryly. “Cash or credit?”

After Ryan settled the financial transaction, he strolled over to Nadya and said, “Hello, my name is Ryan.”

“Nadya.” She flashed a look of hatred at the guard who’d forced her down the stairs. “Come with me.” Chapter Twenty Four Her bedroom was small, the bed big and fitted with apparatus that raised Ryan’s eyebrows.

Ignoring the special accouterments, he said, “I thought we were working together.”

700

“As did I. My mistake.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I heard you on the phone with your solicitor. You married me for money.”

Ryan winced. “Money that will pay back taxes on the family spread so my mother doesn’t have to leave her home. Why didn’t you ask me about it instead of leaving?”

“Why didn’t you tell me the whole truth?”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to trick you or anything. That was business, nothing personal. Have you located your sister yet?”

“She’s not here. Thankfully, Stasya escaped before they put her to work. One of the other girls told me there was a liquor delivery and she sneaked out the back door.”

“Does this girl have any idea of where Stasya went?”

“No, none. And I tried leaving, but the guards caught me and dragged me up here to change. They said if I didn’t . . . The girls here are really prisoners.”

Ryan saw she was holding back tears. Unable to stop himself, he took her in his arms and held her. She trembled against him and he held her tighter.

He would take away her pain and disappointment in him if he could. He wanted to see her happy . . . no matter what he had to do to put a smile on her face.

“We’ll find your sister, Nadya. I promise.”

“How? How do I leave this place?”

701

Ryan gently pushed her away from him and cupped her cheek so that he could see into her beautiful blue eyes. “Trust me, Nadya. Put some clothes on and follow my lead.” Chapter Twenty Five Still hurt by Ryan’s betrayal - by his just business comment - Nadya quickly gathered her clothing. She did trust him, at least when it came to his work. He was a detective and he’d been on this case longer than her sister had been missing.

While she was hurriedly dressing, Ryan made a phone call and said in a low voice, “Do it now.” Then he told her, “We’re taking the back stairs.”

By the time they stepped into the hallway, Nadya could hear a banging at the front door. Then Zora’s voice. And a growing commotion - heavy footsteps running and excited voices. They were downstairs in a minute and Ryan had the back door open when Nadya heard someone at the front of the house shouting, “You’re under arrest!”

And Ryan told her, “Back-up has arrived.”

“Too late for you, though,” an angry voice said.

Nadya’s heard began to pound. Gregor stood between them and freedom and he was holding a gun on them.

“You’re already going to have the feds on you for human trafficking,” Ryan told him. “Running a bordello is one thing. But holding women against their will is a federal crime. And shooting a cop . . . you don’t want to go there.”

Then, so fast Nadya didn’t see it coming, Ryan slashed out and knocked the gun from Gregor’s hand. Rather than fighting, the Russian turned tail and ran.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get the bastard,” Ryan said, taking her to his car. “Stay put this time. We’ll need you as a witness.”

702

Then he went back inside to help with the arrests.

Nadya had nowhere to go, no idea of where to look for her sister. Besides, the least she could do was stand as witness for these other young women who’d met a fate they hadn’t imagined. But what about Stasya? She had failed her mission . . . she might never find her sister, no matter what Ryan promised. Chapter Twenty Six He was back in the car sooner than she’d thought he would be. “We have to go to the Area Office,” he informed her. “You give your deposition and go back to my place. I’ll probably have to work most of the night.”

“I understand.”

“And I’ll get on that search for Stasya as soon as I can. Do you have her photograph with you?”

“In my wallet.”

“We’ll need that.”

Nadya wanted to be hopeful, but how could she be with no leads to follow? Chicago was this huge city . . .

“And I want you to make me a promise that you won’t do another disappearing act,” Ryan said, “that you’ll leave the search for your sister up to the professionals.”

“All right . . . yes.”

Somehow, she got through the next few hours and took the taxi home as Ryan wanted. She tried to sleep, but between thoughts of Stasya and Ryan, she simply couldn’t.

Ryan . . . she would be free of him soon. She was certain he would be relieved. His plan

703

had been very successful. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted from his mail-order bride - his inheritance and a way to shut down the prostitution ring. Well, good for him.

So why did she feel so sad and weepy when she thought of him? Why did her heart feel as if it were breaking?

At some point, she fell asleep. Her dreams were all of Ryan. Daybreak brought home the truth. Despite everything, she’d fallen in love with her husband. Too bad there was no love in his heart for her.

Hours passed. She had no appetite. Her nerves were on edge. She wanted in the worst way to leave, to comb the city for her sister, though she wouldn’t know where to start. Chapter Twenty Seven Mid-morning, Ryan called. “You’re still there.” He sounded surprised.

“I promised.”

“I’m on my way. Be downstairs in five minutes.”

She was downstairs in two.

Once in the car, Nadya asked, “Where do you take me? Back to answer more questions?” A glance at Ryan told her he was exhausted.

“We have a lead to follow. There’s a Russian community over on Devon Avenue. Some stores and delis. Chances are your sister sought out the familiar. And you speak Russian, so you’re the best person to ask for her. They don’t have much use for us cops. Kind of like you.”

Nadya’s heart squeezed hard. He’d been working all night and now, instead of sleeping, he was keeping his promise to her. Her eyes stung for a moment. She had use for him even if she couldn’t say the words.

The shopkeeper in the first store did talk to her, did say the girl in the picture looked

704

familiar, but he didn’t know where she lived or what name she was using. The story was the same at the next store and the next store. Nadya was becoming frustrated when a customer got a look at the photo.

“I know her,” the elderly lady said in Russian. “That’s Anya. She has a room with my friend.” The woman gave them the address.

Even as Ryan drove her the few blocks, Nadya tried not to get her hopes too high. “What if it isn’t Stasya.”

“What if it is?”

“Then I’ll hold onto her and never let her go again.”

“Of course not. You love her. You would do anything for her.”

Just as Ryan would do anything for his mother so she wouldn’t lose her home, Nadya thought.

She approached the house with Ryan following. Her hand shook when she raised it to the bell. No one answered, so she rang again. Then the door opened, and rather than an elderly woman answering, it was Stasya herself Chapter Twenty Eight “I . . . we found you!”

Her sister flew into her arms and they both began to cry. Nadya turned Stasya around and around and when she stopped, she was looking over her sister’s shoulder at Ryan. He was smiling for her.

Only his eyes were sad.

After Ryan took them into the area office so he could get Stasya’s statement against Savin and Ivanov, he brought them back to the house so Nadya could spend the night

705

with her sister. Stasya was far less enamored of America than she had been. She wanted to go back to Russia.

Nadya took a taxi to Ryan’s apartment the next morning to gather her things. She would stay with her sister until they could arrange flights home. “Do you really want to go back to Russia?” Ryan asked.

“It’s important that Stasya feels safe. She doesn’t feel that here.”

“That’s your sister. But what about you? How do you feel?”

She felt sad wondering what might have been. “Where else is there for me?”

“What about a small town in Virginia near the Flying C? They need a new sheriff. I think I’m done with vice. It’s not a good environment for a family man.”

“Is that part of your deal?” Nadya asked. “Do you need to stay married for a certain length of time so you can have this inheritance?” Though she loved her sister, Stasya would be fine with their mother. And she would take any excuse to stay with Ryan. “I owe you so much, I will do this for you.”

“I already have the money. I just want you. Big surprise, but I love you, Nadya. Do you think you might be able to love me someday?”

“I am sure of this,” she said, “because I already love you.”

706

Ryan took her in his arms and kissed her and Nadya knew she would follow him wherever he led.

707

Remember Me, Cowboy By Donna Alward For one shining moment at her friends' wedding, Carrie Walsh was that girl. The one who was radiantly beautiful, confident in the spotlight and at home in the arms of sexy cowboy Logan Creed. So at home that it felt right to follow him outside and kiss him as the snow fell around them. But Carrie was too practical to believe her fairy-tale moment could lead to a real happily ever after. That girl wasn't really her. And so when Logan asked to see her again, she said no. Only Carrie did see Logan again—as he was being wheeled into the hospital on a stretcher. He'd fallen from a horse and now couldn't remember the accident or anything that had happened in the past week…including their kiss. Now the only thing worse than his remembering that beautiful night, is if he never remembers it at all.

Chapter One "Hello, Peter Lougheed, this is Strathmore Ambulance. We are transporting a thirty-year-old male who suffered a serious head injury with LOC." Carrie's heart did an odd little thump as she automatically moved to respond to the call, but she told herself it was a silly reaction. There were tons of thirty-year-old males in Strathmore—the chances of it being Logan Creed were slim. She was just hypersensitive because Logan had been on her mind all week…ever since that night. There were moments she felt as if she'd imagined their slow dance last weekend. Moments when she seriously questioned her sanity for going outside with him when the song had finished. Sometimes she even wondered if she'd done the right thing by ultimately turning down his offer for a date. Good sense said yes. After all, he'd made it clear a date was something he'd have to fit into his oh-so-busy travel schedule, and that alone had been a big old red flag. But her heart…it was saying she was out of her mind to reject Logan Creed—and she was having a devil of a time making it shut up. "Hello, Peter Lougheed," she heard again, and she shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. Now wasn't the time to woolgather about her love life. "Strathmore Ambulance, this is Peter Lougheed Hospital. Go ahead." "Patient is somewhat alert with a GCS of thirteen. He cannot recall the circumstances of the accident, and he has significant anterograde and retrograde amnesia. There is a contusion to the forehead with no other significant external injuries." The EMT went on to give vitals and patient history then asked her, "Any further questions or orders?" "Ten-four, Strathmore, no further questions or orders. Place the patient in trauma two on arrival and notify of any changes. Lougheed clear." Carrie sat back, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows as a sense of unease trickled like ice down her spine. She knew what those acronyms meant; she'd worked in emergency a long time. Loss of consciousness. GCS—Glasgow Coma Scale. Head injuries that couldn't be stitched up and sent home with a Tylenol and a Band-Aid. The brain was a complicated and sensitive thing, mysterious and unpredictable. But the niggling feeling of anxiety had little to do with any sort of diagnosis and far more to do with Logan. Try as she might, she couldn't get him off her mind.

708

Ever since he'd come back to work on his uncle's ranch, she'd seen him everywhere around town. At the grocery store, the post office—heck, she'd nearly run into him coming out of Lammle's. She'd been in a hurry to pick up a birthday present for a friend and he'd come out of the store strutting around in a new pair of custom boots. After nearly bowling him over, she'd stammered her apology and somehow managed to roll her tongue back in her mouth. She was sure he'd thought she was the most inept, clumsy woman alive. He'd pretty much cemented the notion when he'd laughed and said, "Steady there, Bookworm." Oh, that detestable nickname. She'd hoped she'd escaped it after all these years. It didn't even have anything to do with her above-average intelligence. When she'd known him in school, having her nose in a book had been her way of staying under the radar. Carrie had put the incident outside Lammle's out of her head—right up until last week. The wedding of her friends Elli and Wyatt had been lovely, the reception elegant…but it was the dance she remembered. The dance that had made her feel like Cinderella as she'd swayed in Logan's strong, sure arms. She'd known Logan since junior high—had a crush on him just as long—but he'd barely spared her a glance. All through their teen years and beyond she'd been the wallflower and he'd been the rodeo star. But for four minutes and thirty-two seconds last Saturday night, she'd been more. She'd been the princess looking up at her prince as they circled the dance floor. Logan Creed's cornflower-blue eyes still had the ability to make her toes curl. The man in the ambulance was not Logan, though. She'd see for sure when the patient and the EMTs arrived, then she could put her worries to rest. She shoved the thoughts aside and triaged the next two people in line in the E.R. She heard the ambulance arrive and in her peripheral vision saw a stretcher being wheeled into the trauma area. The patient was invisible, surrounded by staff, his body buffered by the cervical collar and foam blocks keeping his head still. She couldn't make out his face at all. But as the stretcher moved past she saw the boots and her heart seemed to pause. Dustier and broken in, but with the custom CR—the Creed Ranch logo—carved into the shaft. The same boots that had stopped before her as Logan's firm hands had gripped her arms, keeping her from running smack into him outside the store. It was Logan. The realization made Carrie's throat suddenly close over. For the first time since she'd begun working in the emergency room, Carrie's wits failed her. Trying to triage the next patients was a disaster as her hands shook, making it a challenge to even input their health card numbers. This was her job. If she couldn't keep it together, she certainly didn't belong in a busy trauma room where doctors were working to save lives. But Carrie also couldn't help picturing what was happening right now to Logan, and the very thought of the possibilities made her light-headed. She had to know if he was okay. "Hey, Liss," she said to one of the other nurses, "I'm going to take my break." She pushed back her chair and stood. She wasn't due to go for another hour, but she couldn't sit here and pretend nothing was happening.

709

"You okay, Carrie?" Melissa Chambers frowned as she came around the corner of the station counter. "You don't look so good." "I'm fine," she replied. She forced a smile. "I just need…" But what did she need? To know what was going on with Logan. To know he was all right, that she'd hear his voice again—even if he did call her "bookworm." "I'm fine. I'll be back in a bit, okay?" She ran into one of the nurses in the hallway, and stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Hey, Kirk…the man just brought in…that's Logan Creed, isn't it?" She didn't like the way Kirk's eyes stayed dark and serious. "Yes, it is." "Is he okay?" "Carrie…" "I know, you're not the doctor. But I'm not family, either, and I can tell you know what's going on. What happened to him?" "His uncle said he was thrown while working with a horse. Would have been okay, except he caught a stray hoof in the forehead." It felt like all the blood drained from her face and pooled at her feet, leaving her lightheaded. "He could have been killed." "He's got a cut that needs a few stitches, and he's conscious again, which is a good sign. But he's going for a CT scan to see what's going on inside. They're just waiting for the green light." "Thanks, Kirk." "Creed a friend of yours?" Butterflies swirled in her tummy at the question. Were they friends? She wasn't sure. But she could still hear his voice in the dark and taste his lips on hers. Not friends. And yet not quite more than friends, either. "Something like that," she murmured. Kirk changed direction and put his hand on the small of her back. "Come with me. A familiar face might do him a world of good." Kirk led her to the trauma room where Logan lay on a hospital bed. He was off the spinal board, but a cervical collar still kept his head immobile. There was a steady beep of a cardiac monitor and an IV was taped to his right hand. A bruise was already forming around the cut on his forehead, but it seemed small. How could something so little be so very dangerous? Carrie paused in the doorway, inhaled and squared her shoulders. If Logan needed a friend right now, then she'd step up to the plate and she'd do it with a positive face. She wouldn't let on how worried she was. "Logan, it's Carrie Walsh." He lifted his lashes and she felt the strength of his gaze penetrating clear to her heart. "Where am I?"

710

She swallowed. "You're at the Lougheed. You fell off a horse and hit your head." "Am I okay?" She hated the way his eyes dimmed with worry. "You're talking to me, aren't you? That sounds okay to me." She smiled reassuringly. "Who are you?" She'd heard the assessment of amnesia on the radio and had thought she was prepared, but the question seemed to shoot a hole through her body. "I'm Carrie, Carrie Walsh," she replied, but the smile on her lips wobbled a bit this time. As much as she hated her old nickname, she wished he'd use it right now to show that he remembered her. She reached out and covered his fingers with her hand. "We were at Elli and Wyatt's wedding last week." "I don't remember." His brow wrinkled and he tried to move. The cardiac monitor spiked. "That's okay. Stay still, Logan, take deep breaths. You just need to give it time." He closed his eyes and the monitor settled back into a steady rhythm. Carrie kept her fingers on his, chiding herself for getting him agitated. When his eyes opened again after a few minutes she was still there. "Carrie," he said, and she nearly wilted with relief. He knew who she was! It was all going to be fine. Dr. Murphy came back into the room, and Carrie saw the wrinkle form again. "Where am I?" Logan asked. He'd remembered her name. But as Carrie met the doctor's eyes, she realized he was far from all right.

Chapter Two The rich scent of her extra-large coffee was the only thing holding Carrie together the next morning. She'd barely slept a wink, thinking about Logan and wondering if he'd improved. She knew some people scoffed at the term amnesia, but when you were face-to-face with a loved one who couldn't remember his own name, or what had happened, or even his past… The reality was much harder to scoff at. It was in-your-face and scary as hell. There was relief in knowing that physically Logan would be okay. But in the dark, beneath her quilts, Carrie kept seeing his face as he asked where he was. How much would he remember? How much did he forget? She'd wanted to visit him after her shift last night, but when it ended at seven he'd already been moved out of the E.R. and into a room. When she'd gone to the room, she'd discovered his uncle sitting by the bedside, holding Logan's hand. It was no secret that Logan adored his uncle Nick. Coming home and running his business under the Creed Ranch brand was a big thing for Logan. Nick was the only close family Logan had, and Carrie hadn't wanted to intrude. So she'd tiptoed away from the door and gone home. Now, at 6:00 a.m. with a paper cup of coffee keeping her functioning, she checked on Logan's progress at the nurses' station.

711

"I'm going to see him now, if you want to come along," the senior nurse said. "We're doing frequent neuro checks and he's scheduled for an MRI later this morning." At Logan's room, Carrie waited outside while the nurse examined him. When she was done, Carrie slipped into the room. A soft light was on and the cervical collar was gone from around his neck. His face still seemed pale around the cut, now neatly stitched. He had been changed into a blue hospital gown and the sight of his big body in the cotton johnny-shirt made Carrie's lips curve into a small smile. Somehow Logan managed to make it look good. "Good morning, Logan." She said it quietly as she came forward. "Hey, Bookworm," he said, his voice gravelly with fatigue. Carrie ignored the annoying nickname, simply thrilled he remembered her. "I realize it's early for visitors, but the nurse said she was coming to check on you and I have a few minutes before my shift." "What time is it?" "Ten past six." He nodded, the movements small and measured. "Does it hurt much?" "I got my bell rung pretty good," he answered. "How did you know I was here?" "I was working last night when you were brought in." She paused and then couldn't resist asking, "Can you tell me where you are, Logan?" "In the hospital, of course." She smiled then, a full smile. "You're making a lot more sense today." He frowned. "I am? I don't remember yesterday at all. I don't even know what happened. The nurse told me that I fell off a horse and got kicked in the head." "But you don't remember it? That's not unusual, many people don't recall their accidents." Carrie went forward and perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar it. He had to have a screaming headache. "I don't fall off horses, Carrie." The words came out with such derision that Carrie fought back the urge to laugh. "Well, there's a first time for everything. Your uncle was here last night. I'm sure he'll be back today and he can explain everything. You've already made a lot of progress. Yesterday you didn't even recognize me. It's a relief to know last night's confusion was only temporary." Quite a relief. But there was still something off. The way Logan was looking at her was odd, confused. She wanted to reach out and take his hand as she had last night but she held back. Last weekend their relationship had gone through a major change—from acquaintances to something more. The tall, tough body that was covered in hospital cotton had been in a suit and she'd been pressed tightly against it. Surely that was enough to create some sort of intimacy between them? They'd done more than kiss that night. They'd talked. It had seemed so easy, so right…until Logan had begun speaking of how much he loved his job and how the travel it required took a toll on his energy. That

712

had snapped Carrie back to reality. Logan wasn't Mr. Perfect, he was Mr. Dedicated-to-His-Job. So when he'd asked to see her again she'd refused, and walked away. If she'd questioned that decision, the accident and the fear she'd felt last night had erased any doubts. Logan's lifestyle was a far cry from having the stability and consistency she needed in a relationship. And that made her hesitate now. In the gap, an invisible barrier formed between them. "The amnesia's not completely temporary," he replied quietly, lifting his hand and touching the cut on his forehead gingerly. "It's not just the accident I don't remember. I can't seem to place anything in the past few weeks. The last time I remember seeing you, for instance, was when you crashed into me outside Lammle's." "Oh," she replied faintly, feeling strangely cold even as heat rushed to her cheeks. "Have I seen you since then?" he asked. Carrie felt utterly deflated, even though she knew she shouldn't. Hadn't she just reminded herself of all the reasons why they would never work? It was probably better if he didn't remember. She should be relieved. But a part of her was disappointed he didn't remember the dance, or sneaking out the back door of the hotel, or the way their breath made frosty clouds in the winter air as they kissed. The wedding had had a Valentine's theme and her bridesmaid's dress and wrap had been floor-length, break-your-heart red velvet. It had been the most surreal, most romantic moment of Carrie's life—she'd felt mysterious and sexy. And Logan didn't remember a bit of it. To him she was still the drab little wallflower. The bookworm. "We were at the same wedding last weekend," she said quietly. "Wyatt Black and Elli Marchuk's." Logan bit down on his lip. "I don't remember." "Maybe it will come back to you in time," Carrie replied, trying to be bright and positive for his sake. "I'm sure if you talk to your doctor today he'll be able to explain things better." She stood up, realizing her fingers were clutching her coffee cup so tightly that the cardboard had a ridge of dents. "Get some rest. I've got to be at the desk in a few minutes, so…" She let the thought trail off as the barrier between them came down only to be replaced by awkwardness. She was at the door when he called out to her. "Carrie?" She turned. Lordy, he was handsome, even with his crumpled gown, mussed hair and bruised face. He always had been. He'd been making women sigh for as long as Carrie could remember, her included. But she wasn't the kind to make an obvious play for a man, and for years he'd passed in and out of town in between jobs. Even if she could have gathered up the courage to put herself in his line of fire, his unstable existence would have held her back from getting too involved. She'd lived that way for too long to voluntarily put herself in that position again. Not if she had a choice. "Is there something you need?" she asked, pausing with her hand on the door frame. "Will you visit again after your shift?" Hope—ridiculous and foolish—lifted in her heart. "Why?"

713

She saw something light in his eyes for a flash then it was gone. "It's just…quiet. If you don't have time, that's cool." What would it hurt? To him she was an old classmate and a familiar face, and she imagined it had to be stressful to have holes in your memory. "I think I can manage a few minutes. But I have to go now. I'll see you later." She headed straight for the elevator, tossing her cup in a trash can along the way. Logan's post-accident confusion was already resolving itself, but his memories of the past were still murky. If she was lucky, that's exactly how they'd stay, too. The clumsy girl outside of Lammle's was safe from his charms, right? But the fairy-tale woman from last weekend wasn't. And a part of her wondered if it wasn't safer to stay away altogether, before he remembered more….

Chapter Three Logan's head throbbed like a son of a gun and he was getting tired of the constant neuro tests the nurses put him through. He was fine. Sure, he'd had a knock, but he'd had lots of those over the years. All he wanted was to go home. Lie down where it was quiet until the headache went away and then get back to work. But he couldn't because his MRI had shown a slight contusion…and he still couldn't remember a few things. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. Yesterday was a complete blank. So were the days prior to it. They'd said he'd had symptoms of anterograde amnesia when he'd been brought in—not remembering where he was or why he was there or what day it was. That was gone now, and the doctor was hopeful his other memories would return—at least some of them. So why couldn't he get out of this hospital gown and go home? He pushed away the remnants of a mostly cold supper with distaste and a breathy curse. Even Uncle Nick's hit-and-miss chili was better than this. A light laugh sounded by the doorway and he looked up to find Carrie standing there, an amused expression curving her lips. He started to smile back and caught himself just in time. "Something funny?" "Men really do make horrible patients." She stepped inside, her right hand behind her back. "Let me guess. You hate the food, you hate the gown, you just want to go home." Was he that transparent? "That's a sweeping generalization based on gender." "I didn't hear you deny any of it." Her eyes twinkled at him and he wondered why he hadn't noticed before how pretty they were. The blue irises had tiny flecks of green, he realized. Maybe he hadn't noticed because she'd never teased him like this. In fact, despite knowing each other for years, he suspected this morning was the longest conversation they'd ever had. Bookworm. That's what he'd always called her, because she'd never given him a whit of attention and had always had her head in a book. So why the sudden change? She was acting differently. As if there was something more than a passing acquaintance between them. She was…accessible, he decided. She'd always been standoffish and quiet in the past, but not now. And truth be told, a familiar face was very welcome. "You're right, on all counts," he admitted.

714

"And for being so honest, you get a reward." She brought her right hand into view and he saw she held a paper sack. "Soup and a sandwich from Timmie's." "You're a lifesaver." He watched as she rolled the table closer and took the items out of the bag. "I knew you would be at the mercy of the cafeteria and not able to choose your own food off the menu," she replied. Already the scent of rich soup broth and toasted bread teased his nostrils. "It smells great, Carrie. Thank you." "It was no trouble. I got some for me, too." She took another sandwich from the bag, but he noticed her sparkly gaze dimmed for a moment. "That is, if you don't mind company…" "Of course not. Pull up a chair. Just don't ask me what day it is or what my name is or any of that, okay?" She grinned. "Deal." Carrie settled in and Logan grew more puzzled. If anyone had told him days—no wait, he couldn't remember days—weeks ago that he'd be sharing a meal with Carrie Walsh he would have laughed. Carrie had always reminded him of a scared little rabbit. She certainly didn't seek people out, even though she was good company and, he had to admit, rather attractive. When she didn't blend in with her surroundings, that is. He'd always assumed Carrie Walsh was sort of…bland. But something had changed…. He watched her closely as she unwrapped her sandwich. The soup was rich and flavorful and the sandwich substantial enough that even Logan's hollow leg was sufficiently filled in the end. He sat back with a sigh. "That was good. When I get out of here, I'll have to return the favor." Carrie got a strange, alarmed look on her face before her cheeks blossomed prettily. Hmm…why had his offer caused such an odd reaction? "Did I say something wrong?" She fluttered a hand. "Oh, no! Of course not!" He nodded. "Good. Maybe burgers at the pub?" That was friendly enough, wasn't it? Not at all like a date. A date was the last thing he wanted from Carrie Walsh. She wasn't the kind that men trifled with. She didn't meet his gaze, which perplexed him even further. Instead she busied herself with collecting their wrappers and cups and putting them back in the paper bag. When she finally looked up at him again it was as if he'd never spoken and nothing weird had ever happened. "So what did the doctor say today?" Her reaction still bothered him, but he decided to let it play out and see where it led. "I've got some bruising but so far no bleeding. I might actually get out of here sometime tomorrow. Then it'll just be a follow-up visit." "What about…what about your memory? Will it come back?" There it was again, the odd…expectant expression on her face. He felt a moment of panic. Was that it? Did she expect something from him? Had something happened to explain why she was suddenly so friendly when they'd barely crossed paths in recent years? None of his old school friends had been by. Only Carrie and Uncle Nick. This morning she'd mentioned Wyatt and Elli's wedding. He did remember the date, even if he couldn't recall the event. He'd met Wyatt years ago when he'd been working with a rancher in Rocky Mountain House and

715

Wyatt had been in the oil patch. But he couldn't figure out how Carrie was tied in. Or what could possibly have happened to make her act so strangely. He felt as if it were sitting at the edge of his mind, but where the answer should be there was just darkness. "It might return," he replied. "And it might not. It's common not to remember the accident at all, as you said. But I hope to get all of my memories back. It's weird having this blank space." More than weird. Even though it wasn't a large chunk of time, knowing he'd done things—had conversations, made plans—but had absolutely no recollection of it freaked him out. Five years ago he would have brushed something like this off. But not now. He was older, wiser. Looking to make his life more settled and permanent. These days he was searching for something deeper, and this close call had him rattled. Carrie smiled at him and his breath caught. She was actually quite pretty when she let herself relax and smile like that. She did have nicely shaped lips, he thought, his gaze focusing on them for a few seconds. How come he hadn't seen that before? When he looked up her blush had deepened and some of his confidence, which had fled when he'd been knocked flat and dressed in a backless gown, came back. "You're blushing," he said, reclining against the pillows and enjoying having the unexpected upper hand. "Why are you here, anyway? I mean," he continued, "we've known each other for years, but we haven't really known each other. If you get my drift." She held his gaze but he saw her swallow a couple of times and she twisted her fingers together. "I…you…we…" It was the "we" that captured his undivided attention. That and the persistent feeling that she expected something from him. She was here for a reason. He couldn't remember why, but he was sure of it. He sat up and pinned her with a direct stare. "Is there something you want me to remember?" After he asked the question the air seemed to sizzle between them, taking him by surprise. What was she hiding? "'Fess up, Carrie," he demanded. "What happened between us?"

Chapter Four Damn him for being so perceptive! Carrie wanted to sink through the floor. Of course it was odd that she was suddenly hanging around. They'd never been friends. Logan was friendly and outgoing and social, whereas Carrie always hung back, afraid of letting anyone too close. Looking for affection only led to disappointment in the end, and Carrie's instinct to protect herself from being hurt had naturally fed her shyness. Logan had clued in pretty fast for a guy who'd taken a blow to the head. Carrie had to get out of here before she said too much. "I should let you rest," she evaded, standing up and preparing to leave. "Oh, no, you're not getting off that easy. I can still get out of this bed," he warned, his eyebrow lifting toward the cut on his forehead.

716

Carrie bit down on her lip. She knew he'd make good on his threat, and the idea of seeing Logan Creed in a too-short hospital gown that only covered half his body…it made her want to take a step backward. And yet to tell him the truth… It would be absolutely mortifying. "It's nothing, okay? We ran into each other at the wedding and…and talked." She avoided looking at him, and instead stared at a bouquet of get-well flowers sitting on the table beside the bed. "Naturally, when you were brought in…" She lifted her chin bravely and met his gaze. "Checking up on you seemed the neighborly thing to do." His rich chuckle did funny things to her nerve endings. "Neighborly." "That's right." "Tell me, did anything else happen at the wedding…other than talking?" "Boy, you really are full of yourself!" She couldn't help the outburst as she balled up the paper bag and dropped it in the garbage can. She should have known she couldn't kid a kidder, but she'd die before explaining what exactly had happened. She hadn't behaved like herself at all! "Why would you think that?" "Maybe because of the way you won't look at me and you keep blushing." Maybe he wasn't that perceptive and she was just annoyingly transparent. Either way, she would never admit to him what they'd done. She could just imagine describing the scene. Uh-uh. No way. Then she glanced at him and realized he wasn't going to let it go unless she gave him some sort of answer. "Fine. We shared a dance." But oh, what a dance. Carrie's skin tingled just thinking about it. Her dress had had small, off-the-shoulder straps, and as they started dancing Logan had slid his baby finger beneath one as his other hand slid down her arm to clasp her fingers. She remembered holding her breath as they moved closer, how he seemed to take smaller, more intimate steps as the song went on. His hand had been warm against the velvet of her gown, gliding up until it passed the soft edge and toyed with the tips of her hair. She'd been pressed so tightly against his body she could feel the hard wall of his chest and abs against her, his breath warm as it tickled her ear. And as the dance had ended, he'd whispered three words: "Come with me." She'd followed him like a good little sheep—no better than any of the other women who followed when he crooked his finger, she thought. And there was no way on God's green earth she'd ever tell him that! "I wish I could remember. I bet it was something," he said, surprising her. His eyes twinkled and she felt herself softening despite her embarrassment. "Well, now you know. And I have to get going." "Will you come visit me before I leave tomorrow?" "I'm working seven to seven," she replied, torn between needing an out and wanting to see him. Goodness, she must be going crazy. Logan was everything she didn't want in a man. He was at the Creed ranch for

717

now, but his job as a horse trainer took him all over the continent, often at a moment's notice. Logan had always been going places. He had that vibe about him, an energy that couldn't be held down. There would always be a new challenge, a new adventure. She understood too well what that was like. She knew the pain of waiting at home for someone to come back, wondering if he was okay or who he was with. She refused to live like that, begging for crumbs of affection. All Carrie wanted was a man she could love who offered stability and security. She wasn't Logan's sort of woman, either. She knew that. He needed someone confident, beautiful, dynamic. Someone who could shine right along with him and not stay in the shadows. A girl who was quiet and shy like Carrie would always wonder if someone brighter and sparklier would catch his eye. The bookworm would never give his usual bombshells much competition. So what were they doing? Nothing. It really was better if he didn't remember it at all. "I'll be bored," he complained, fluffing out his blankets and looking as adorable as a big, tough cowboy possibly could. "You'll survive," she replied drily. "Take care, Logan." She spun and got out of there as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. Logan Creed was way out of her league. How had she let herself forget that?

Chapter Five Logan stomped around the kitchen for the tenth time in an hour. Nick had said in no uncertain terms that he was not to show his face in the barns. His doctor had warned him, too. He had to heal completely before he could even think of going back to work. But sitting around all day was going to drive him plumb crazy. He thought about running into town but he had no plausible reason to. Nick had seen to anything Logan might need—meds for any lingering headaches, a full fridge. He'd even unearthed some of his old Louis L'Amour paperbacks and put them on the coffee table next to the television remote for entertainment. He meant well—Nick had always treated him like a son—but it made Logan feel like a damned invalid. Carrie hadn't come to see him before he'd left the hospital, either. That bugged him more than he cared to admit. Logan had waited all day, but when he'd finally been given the all clear from the doc and was discharged in the late afternoon, she still hadn't stopped by. It surprised him to realize he'd really wanted her to. He'd enjoyed teasing her and throwing her off balance. When she blushed her face came alive, and when she smiled it affected him like a punch to the solar plexus. All the years they'd known each other he'd never felt this kind of attraction to her. He turned on the TV and stared blankly at the screen, his mind still reeling. So he and the bookworm had danced. He was sure there was more to it than that and wished he could remember. He thought about calling Wyatt and asking but Wyatt would be on his honeymoon, wouldn't he? And he had no idea who else would have been on the guest list. The last two weeks were just one big black hole. Irritated, he booted up his laptop and did a 411 search for Carrie's number. He wanted to see her again. Besides, she was the only one who really knew what had happened between them at the wedding. If she

718

told him more about the dance, maybe he'd remember the rest, too. As he punched in the numbers, he smiled. Perhaps he hadn't been in top form in the hospital, but he was on the mend now. He'd find a way to make Carrie Walsh talk. He might have lost some memories but he hadn't lost all his charms. And then he'd see about picking up where they left off. After all, he had something to offer a relationship now. He was tired of the kind of girl he usually dated. And he was tired of living out of a suitcase and traveling so much—that was why he'd finally set up shop here. The idea of settling down a bit no longer frightened him. Wandering around Nick's empty place left him feeling like he was missing something. Like his own home. Perhaps a family. He'd been considering it before the accident, but lying in a hospital bed had afforded him a lot of thinking time. As much as he'd loved his job working with horses—and still did—he wanted more. Maybe a date with a woman like Carrie was exactly what he needed. *** Carrie turned her car up the snow-covered lane and tried not to gawk. She hadn't been out past the Creed place in years—she'd never had a reason to head outside of town and into the rural areas. The Creed ranch had grown a lot. A new barn dominated one whole side of the yard and the house was far more imposing than she remembered, all gray stone and stucco. Nick Creed was filthy rich, and as his nephew and heir, Logan was guilty by association. As if being totally hunky and a ladies' man wasn't enough, he had to be loaded. "Out of your league," she repeated to herself. So what was she doing here? She parked in front of one of the five garage bays and tried to smooth her hair one last time. She'd deliberately avoided going back to Logan's room before he was discharged, telling herself that their association had to end. Only she was wrong. He'd looked her up, for heaven's sake. He'd said that he wanted to say thank you and give her that dinner he owed her. And fool that she was, she'd heard his deep voice and melted into a puddle of feminine goo. She'd never done that in her life. The only reason she'd accepted his invitation was because he'd pressed, and she intended to make it clear that she wasn't interested in dating. He obviously didn't remember when she'd said it the first time just before ducking back into the warmth of the hotel. She wasn't sure what Mr. Right looked like, but she was pretty sure he wasn't a six-foot-something cowboy with itchy feet and a roaming eye. When she got out of the car Logan was waiting on the step and her heart skipped a beat despite her resolutions. His stitches were healing nicely. There was a dark line marring his handsome face that would one day be a roguish scar. Gone was the hospital gown and in its place were snug fitting jeans and a black sweater. Instantly she forgave herself for the wedding incident. After all, a girl was allowed one lapse in judgment on such an occasion…especially given Logan's particular brand of temptation. "Hi," he called as she made her way up the stone-lined walk. "Hi, yourself." "I'm glad you could come." "Me, too." She wasn't sure if that was the truth or a lie. Seeing him here in his house, all four thousand square feet of it, just hammered home the fact that they were as different as night and day. What did they have in common, anyway?

719

Nothing. For heaven's sake, she'd grown up in a bungalow that was one step up from shabby. When he'd been at glittering parties, she'd been cutting coupons. Never had it been so clear as at this moment. "Come on in. Nick's away in Calgary for a meeting tonight. It's just us." She swallowed at the implied intimacy and followed him through a foyer as big as her bedroom. It opened up to an enormous great room that housed a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and rich leather furniture. Tall, custom fit windows filled one wall and looked out over the pristine snow-covered prairie. Carrie saw several horses huddled together, their brown and black hides contrasted against the snow in the late afternoon light. It was the sort of room where a man could enjoy the fruits of his labor and survey his domain. And it confirmed that Logan Creed was very much a stranger. "I'm not sure this was such a good idea," she murmured, more unsure than ever. "Thanks for inviting me, but…" "The house is a little intimidating, isn't it?" Logan came up behind her and she jumped, startled by his nearness. He was close enough she could smell his aftershave. In his dark sweater he looked so cozy she wondered how it would feel to be cuddled in his arms. Crazy! She was definitely crazy. She sidled away a bit. "It's beautiful, of course." "It's a showpiece, but it's Nick's showpiece. I'm hoping to build my own place somewhere on Creed land, but I haven't been back long enough to get plans started. And this house is more than big enough for two bachelors in the meantime." His own place? Was Logan really putting down roots? "What about your business? Are you planning on giving it up, then?" She knew he was in demand to work with behaviorally challenged horses, and that meant he went to them rather than the other way around. But he smiled, his lips curving up with an unexpected warmth that reached deep inside her. The reaction frightened her. Somehow Logan always seemed to sneak by her well-reasoned arguments without trying. "Of course not," he responded. "But the ranch makes a perfect base of operations. I've paid my dues, Carrie, and built up a solid reputation. There's no need for me to be gone all the time. The majority of my clients will come to me now. And the others will pay well if I have to give on-site expertise." He put a warm, wide palm on her shoulder and she shivered clear down to her toes. He'd moved closer, only a few inches separating them, and she could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Any other objections before I go on?" he asked. "Before you go on what?" Carrie replied, but her voice trembled and she felt giddily short of breath. This was not going the way she'd planned… "Before I go on doing this," he replied, and he pressed his lips to hers.

Chapter Six She tasted like cherry lip gloss. Logan tightened his fingers on her shoulder, drawing them closer as he kissed her. Soft, persuasive, trying to get her to relax. She'd been coiled tighter than a spring ever since she arrived. She looked so pretty in a red V-neck sweater that clung to her curves and was as soft as kitten fur. So touchable. And he was interested in touching.

720

He slid his lips to the corner of her mouth and heard her soft sigh as she lifted her hands, reaching for his arms and clutching the fabric in her fingers. If they swayed the tiniest bit, they'd be dancing, he realized… And just like that the dark hole of absent memory cleared, clicking away like the shutter of a camera. She was wearing red. Red velvet, with tiny, silly straps and a long, slim skirt that swayed when she walked. He held her close during the dance, touching her soft skin and breathing in the floral scent of her hair. When the music stopped he grabbed her hand and pulled her outside in the snow to kiss her the way he'd been dying to for the last three minutes of the song. The shy hesitation he expected from her wasn't there. She kissed him fully, passionately, her fur-trimmed wrap clinging to her shoulders as the snow fell quietly around them. He pulled away and she sighed, a languorous, satisfied sigh. "Not bad, Bookworm," he whispered. As the memory hit him, Logan broke off the kiss and stepped back, staring at her now. This was why she'd acted as she had in the hospital. She'd expected…what? Him to remember? She'd become more than a simple acquaintance and until this moment he hadn't understood why. But he also remembered being dazzled by her that night and asking to see her again. And he recalled her very flat, unequivocal refusal. "What is it?" she asked. Her eyes held worry in their depths and he wondered what she was more afraid of—his memory returning, or the possibility that it never would. Why was she here when she'd been so exceedingly clear after Wyatt's wedding that she didn't want to get involved with him? Why had she shown up at his hospital room at six in the morning and again with supper? Until he had the answers, he wasn't letting on that he'd remembered. "Nothing," he replied. If she had been another woman, he would have turned on the charm and sidled in for another kiss. But Carrie was different. That was what kept throwing him off balance. She'd been different from the moment she'd stepped into his arms on the dance floor. What was it about Carrie Walsh that suddenly mattered, and made all other girls pale in comparison? He wasn't exactly comfortable with that realization. "Logan, I didn't come here for this…" He looked into her face, unwilling to let her off the hook. "Then why did you come?" Her gaze skittered away. "Because you asked me as a thank-you…" He let her words fade into the silence. Her expression changed, looking a little sheepish as she realized how it sounded out loud. "…for supper," she finished weakly. "It was only soup and a sandwich," he replied steadily. "Not that it didn't warrant thanks. But I think we both know that's not why I asked you here." "Then why?" She lifted her lashes and he felt something stir within him. A need to be truthful, open. A need to—and this was the oddest thing—protect her. "You have to ask after that kiss?"

721

The most adorable blush flooded her cheeks as she bit down on her lip. He watched her struggle with what to say next. She thought he didn't remember, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Their contact over the past few days hadn't warranted the kiss, but last weekend had changed things. Only for some reason she didn't want to tell him what had really happened between them. By several yardsticks, their kisses had been chaste and harmless. But clearly not to Carrie. And if he was being truthful, not to him, either. "If I had invited you here as a date, what would you have said?" he asked, letting her off the hook by speaking first. "I would have said no," she replied quickly. "And since I'm here under false pretences, perhaps I should go now." "Don't get so prickly." He went over to the sofa and sank into the soft leather cushions. He was gambling that she'd follow him and not run out. She might want to leave, but the one thing he remembered most about Carrie was that she was unfailingly polite. It had always been "Yes, sir" and "Yes, ma'am" at school, complete with pleases and thank-yous. She'd been something of a teacher's pet, never getting into trouble, never taking risks. Which made their little interlude in the snow that much more intriguing. With a sigh she came over to the couch and sat on the opposite end. After a few awkward moments she turned sideways and tucked her foot under her leg. "Am I really prickly?" He smiled. He wanted to slide across the cushion and show her just how un-prickly she was, but she'd be out the door before he could say Nick's-your-uncle. Instead he relaxed further and raised an eyebrow. "You weren't a few minutes ago." "Logan—" "What happened between us at the wedding, Carrie?" The air hummed between them for several seconds. "I told you, we danced," she replied quietly. "What else?" She lifted her chin. Boy, she wasn't going to give it up easily! And damned if he didn't like her even more because of it. The women he'd known would have exploited it shamelessly. But not Carrie. She was independent and stubborn and he loved that. "Why do you think there was something else?" she asked defensively. "Because it has to be more than an old acquaintanceship and a simple dance that had you checking up on me at the hospital. Or kissing me the way you just did." "You kissed me." He was getting tired of waiting. He slid across the sofa and before she had a chance to react, cupped his hand around her neck. "Yes, I did. And I am going to do it again." Her eyes widened. "What happened," he probed gently, watching as her tongue wet her lips and her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

722

He wanted to hear her say the words. Wanted her to surrender them before he kissed her. He drew her closer so that only a breath was between them. "We danced…" he began. "We went outside," she whispered, and he felt her lean into his hand. "I could feel the snow on my face and hear it falling. It was dark and quiet and you—" his lips were nearly touching hers now, just waiting… "—you kissed me." "I know," he replied, moving in once more, imagining the incredible possibilities opening up before them. "You know?" The next thing he felt wasn't the hot promise of her kiss but the sting of her palm against his cheek.

Chapter Seven Humiliation burned, fuelled by both anger and embarrassment as she jumped to her feet. Was he trying to make a fool of her? Because Carrie certainly felt foolish. And worse than that—played. Well, he was the expert at that, wasn't he? And now she'd done something she'd never ever done before—she'd hit him. She'd always kept a rigid leash on her temper, but that hold had broken for a split second and she already regretted it. "How long have you known? Since the beginning?" The very idea made her want to shrivel up and crawl into a hole somewhere. Had he remembered before she took supper to his hospital room? Before he called her, asking her here for dinner? The idea made her feel very, very small and she lifted her chin in defense. "If your intent is to amuse yourself at my expense, congratulations. But you'll excuse me if I don't hang around while you laugh at me. I'm not your toy, Logan Creed!" She launched herself away from him. Deep down she knew it wasn't just embarrassment causing her reaction—it was hurt. Because the memory of being with him was special. She didn't want it to be ridiculed or minimized. She wanted to treasure it, unmarred, perfect. A once-in-a-lifetime, never-happen-again kind of memory. And he was ruining it all. He jumped up and grabbed her forearm, keeping her from running away. "Whoa, slow down," he warned, and his dark voice held a touch of annoyance. He tugged on her arm and her balance shifted, forcing her to take a step toward him. She made herself look up into his face. He wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes seemed more gray than blue right now, hard and flinty. "What exactly are you accusing me of, Carrie?" "Using me. Toying with me. Knowing all along what had happened between us and pretending you didn't for the kicks." He dropped his hand. "Well, I guess I finally know what you really think of me." The flat words made her pause. Had she misjudged him? She frowned. No. Logan Creed had always been a flirt and a player. He'd left a string of broken hearts in town and who knew where else. She had been naive to believe he'd be different with her. "You never used to need a poor-me excuse to get women," she retorted. "Usually they flock to you, don't they, Logan?" He raised one eyebrow. "Clearly, you're more work than most. After all, I had to be nearly killed, suffer a concussion and lose my memory to get you here." His expression turned thoughtful. "But then…I didn't need any of those the night of Wyatt and Elli's wedding, did I?" The shot hit its mark and her face flushed. "Stop it," she whispered.

723

"Come to think of it," he persisted, "maybe you've been playing me. After all, you're the one who actually knew all along what had happened and refused to tell me—even though I asked. More than once." Her, playing him? "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She knew exactly who she was. Carrie Walsh, wallflower, rule follower, good worker. Definitely not a maneater of any kind. "Is it? You danced with me, followed me outside, knocked me off my feet with your kisses and then flat out refused to go out with me again. Then I'm in the hospital and you're everywhere I turn. So what's the deal, Carrie? I know why I did what I did. Do you?" Oh, she knew. Admitting it—even to herself—was totally different. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "I couldn't play someone if my life depended on it," she whispered. "I just…" She chanced a glance up at him. The dark cloud of anger was gone from his face and he was simply watching her patiently. Waiting. She swallowed. "No one's ever noticed me before, you see. And I like it that way. I'm okay at work because there's nothing really personal there. I don't have to worry about…" She dropped the thought. She couldn't say that at work she didn't have to fear anyone getting too close. That she only showed them a facade of the real Carrie. "You know," she continued meaningfully. "But when it comes to men…" She took a deep breath, afraid and yet needing him to understand. "I've always been a little shy and felt rather…gray. I never wanted to be noticed, you see, scrutinized. And yet deep down, I desperately wanted someone to look at me the way you did at the wedding. I felt so pretty in my dress and with my hair done. And then there you were, and I told myself just this once…I could be someone different." Logan took a step closer. "Because I was safe?" She nodded. "Because I knew you'd never really be interested in a woman like me beyond the one time…. And I wanted to know what it was like." "What what was like?" "To…kiss you." "Damn, Carrie. You could have asked me years ago and I'd have obliged. And you're wrong. I was interested in you. I am interested. I wouldn't have invited you tonight otherwise." She had to know the truth. "When did you remember, Logan? And be honest." He rested his hips against the back of the couch and folded his arms. She wished she could be as relaxed but it was impossible. This whole conversation—this whole evening—was surreal. "When I kissed you just now and you gave that little sigh when I touched the corner of your mouth. I thought if you moved the slightest bit, we'd nearly be dancing, and there it was. And that's the God's honest truth." She believed him. She might have had her reasons for keeping it to herself but he didn't, not now. "Why didn't you want to go out with me again?" he asked, and he cocked his head a little to the side, as if trying to puzzle her out. "Did you think I didn't mean it? Do you consider me that much of a player?"

724

"No, I…" Unexpectedly, tears sprung into her eyes. "I need to go." "No. Stay. Don't run. Stay and talk to me." Logan was turning out to be very different than she expected, and it was wonderful and terrifying all at once. "I don't know how," she confessed, and as if he understood, he pushed away from the couch and drew her into his arms. "We're more alike than you realize," he murmured, his lips close to her ear. "We just hide behind different exteriors." He led her back inside the square of furniture, taking her hand and sitting beside her on a love seat while the fire snapped and crackled in the fireplace. Carrie looked down at their joined hands and sighed. "I wanted to keep the memory perfect. Because men like you don't date girls like me," she murmured. "I didn't want to develop feelings for you knowing they wouldn't be returned. It was safer to just say no." "Men like me…" he said quietly. "Oh, Logan, look at you. You're charming and handsome and outgoing. You walk in a room and women stare while men shake your hand." He smiled. "And that's a bad thing?" "It intimidates me. I'm nothing like that. And if you were with me you'd get bored very, very quickly." "Carrie?" "What?" He lifted his hand and touched her face. His fingers were so gentle Carrie caught her breath. Just like she had that night when he'd told her how beautiful she was before folding her in his arms…. Now his gaze was solid and sure and it sent tingles of awareness through her limbs. Her gaze fixed on his lips as he said, "Do I look bored to you?"

Chapter Eight He didn't look bored at all. In fact, all of Logan's attention was focused squarely on her, Carrie, the bookworm. She didn't know how to do this. All her life she'd tried to be in the background. As a child, she'd reasoned that if she never caused a problem, she could prevent the shouting. First, directed at her for causing the problem and then at her mother for not controlling her better. Carrie was grown up now, and she recognized that her dad had been an angry, dissatisfied man. She understood how that had affected her behavior and personality. But understanding and overcoming were two very different things. She'd strived to blend into the woodwork for so long that it was hard to suddenly be the focus of all the attention. "How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you smile and be comfortable in the center of a room?"

725

"Because people only see what they want to see," he replied. "Not what's really in here." He touched his chest. "I'm very good at keeping that hidden." "Me, too." "I've noticed." "And so how do you stop hiding?" His gaze pierced her, the intensity of it overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time. "You find someone safe, someone who understands," he said. "So you don't have to hide." She nodded. "But you don't feel safe with me, do you?" That was the trouble. She did. But the logical part of her said that she shouldn't. This was Logan Creed. He couldn't possibly understand. They were completely different…weren't they? "We've known each other for a lot of years, without really knowing each other," he mused. "But I always wanted to. You used to hide between the covers of one of your books. I called you bookworm to try to get a rise out of you, to get closer to you. It never worked. But I kept wondering if we had more in common than you'd think." He smiled. He'd always wanted to know her better? "You did a good job of fooling me," she replied. He still held her hand in his lap and she left it there. She liked the connection. She'd never talked like this with anyone—not even Elli. "I was as lonely as you, Carrie. It wasn't always easy being brought up by Nick Creed. My uncle is so much larger than life that I was always in his shadow. That's why I left. I needed something of my own." "And now you have it." "Well, almost all of it. Why do you think I asked you to dance, Carrie?" She was almost afraid to ask and yet dying to hear the answer. "Why?" "Because I wanted something more, something real. And I saw you there, in your pretty dress and fancy hair and wide eyes and understood what I'd been missing." "Me?" "Why is it so hard to believe that I want you?" Her lower lip wobbled. "Because no one ever has before." "Then the world really is crazy," he murmured, and took her in his arms. He forced himself to be gentle. Carrie reminded him of a wounded bird who needed a light and loving touch. He'd admitted things to Carrie tonight that he'd never admitted to anyone, but every single word had been truth. He wanted to settle down, have a home and maybe even a family. A woman like Carrie—she was the type to be loved, cherished. She was kind, gentle—and far stronger than she gave herself credit for. He pulled back, determined to take things slowly and not ruin everything.

726

"I'm not sure I know how to do…this. My mom and dad don't have a great relationship," she admitted, curling into his arms. "Mom tried, but…" Logan remembered that Carrie's father had worked in sales somehow. He gave her a squeeze. "But?" "Dad was away all the time. I know he cheated on Mom when he traveled. He threw it in her face once when he didn't realize I was listening. Or maybe he did and just didn't care. Whenever he was home there was a lot of yelling. He never hit us, he didn't have to. He made life hellish enough. We walked on eggshells every moment he was in the house. I couldn't wait for him to go away again. And then I'd see other girls and their families and wonder why it couldn't be that way for us. I was a kid, Logan. I just wanted my dad to love me. Not making waves was the only way I knew how to live." "I'm sorry." He remembered her father, all smiles and charisma. And then it clicked. Did she think Logan resembled him in some way? "Is that how you see me, Carrie? Out on the road with a different woman in every town?" If only she knew how far it was from the truth. "I don't want to." "But you can't help it?" Her tiny shrug said it all. "I'm not traveling as much these days," he said. "Most of my business is right here." "But you'll still be gone…" "Well yes, some." "Logan, if you want something more between us, I have to be honest and say that's going to be a problem for me. That's why I said no to you the first time. Isn't it better to stop things before they ever get started? Before we get hurt?" "But they already are started," he argued. "I can't give up my business, Carrie. It's what I do. It's what I love. And sometimes I'll have to go out of town to do it. But if there's trust…" She pushed away. "I know you're right. But I'm not as secure as you, Logan. You'll be gone and I'll have too much time to wonder. I've waited too long to care for someone only to lose them, don't you see?" "What I see is that you'll never be able to trust that I'd be faithful." He got off the couch, wondering how patient, how humble a man had to be before he clued in that it was never going to be enough. He wasn't pure as the driven snow, but he'd never cheated on a woman, either. He cared for Carrie. He saw something in her that perhaps she didn't even see in herself. But he couldn't fight her fears time after time, and he knew that's exactly what would happen if he pushed her into something. He walked to the fireplace and rested a hand on the stone chimney. Maybe he'd gone about this all wrong, but it was done now. "Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't remembered at all," he said bitterly.

727

He turned back to her. And as the blood seemed to drain from her face at his words, he suddenly understood that he'd made a monumental mistake.

Chapter Nine Carrie's face paled and Logan went to her, knelt before the sofa and put his hands on her knees. "Carrie," he said gently. "Why would you say that?" she asked, biting down on her lip. "You might have been killed. When you came in on that stretcher…" Logan felt something warm expand inside his chest. She cared. He hadn't been wrong. She was just scared. "I said it because it might have been easier to stay in the dark rather than remember everything between us and then watch you walk away." He caught the look of skepticism on her face and was determined to chase it away. "You don't believe me. You think you don't matter. But you do, Carrie. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Beautiful, kind, funny. You don't need flash, Carrie. You have grace." He was saying all the right things, and Carrie felt herself weakening. She clung to the image of his body being wheeled past her the night of his accident. Even if she believed what he said, could she handle his lifestyle? "You have to understand," she whispered, trying to keep emotion out of her voice and not quite succeeding. "When you came into the E.R., I hoped and prayed it wasn't you on the stretcher. But it was. Strapped to a board with a collar and foam blocks. I could only tell it was you from the boots. And all I could think was how it felt to be with you that night, that this was the man I kissed in the snow not even a week ago. It's not just that your job takes you away, but that you put yourself in danger every day, and I'm not sure I'm up to it." "What are you really afraid of? That I'll get hurt, or die?" Her lip quivered and she felt foolish. It sounded so dramatic, but neither of them could deny how serious his accident might have been if things had been even just slightly different. "I love what I do, Carrie. Not because I'm a thrill seeker. Because I'm good at it. Because I love horses. Not just breaking the healthy ones, but working with the ones who have serious issues. It's challenging and rewarding and yes, there are elements of danger. But, honey…" He took a hand from her knee and cupped her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. Lordy, they were so blue, so serious, and she could lose herself in them all night. "We all face dangers. Driving to work. Walking down the street. Heck, even the E.R. can be a dangerous place sometimes. I know that what I do is risky, and that's why it's even more important for me to take precautions. And I do." "And yet there you were, in the hospital." He nodded. "Yes. Because despite our best preparations, accidents happen. You know that, you see it at work every day. We can't live in a bubble. And it was an accident. I talked to Dex at the barns. I went clear and should have been all right. The horse just zigged when I thought he was going to zag and I got nicked." "Dex told you that?" Logan nodded. "I still don't remember what happened. The doctor says I may never remember. He'll be very pleased when I tell him I remember kissing the woman of my dreams, though." "You're still trying to get around me." Though she couldn't deny his sweet words were working. And she also couldn't deny that what he said made sense. Maybe she'd thought Logan was reckless—with his body and with his heart—but she was starting to realize he wasn't. He was strong, dedicated, smart. And sincere.

728

She'd made judgments without truly getting to know him. And when he'd tried to tell her the truth, she'd been afraid to believe what he said. Now, even through her reluctance she could see he wasn't what he appeared to be. He was so much more. Logan wanted her. Her. And she was about to let him get away because of some fear about what might happen. Because she thought she wasn't good enough. Wasn't strong enough. Because her insecurities had made him out to be someone he wasn't. That didn't make much sense, did it? If he believed it, why couldn't she? "I'm not trying to get around you. I'm trying to get through to you. Is it working?" She met his gaze, saw him go slightly blurry as her eyes filled with tears. "I want it to," she said. "But I don't know how to stop being afraid." Logan smiled. "One moment at a time, darlin'. I know you can do it. I used to watch you standing alone at school and I understood exactly how you felt. It didn't matter if I was surrounded by friends or not. When I saw you at the wedding, you were different. Not the bookworm who kept to herself, but a butterfly. It blew me away. I didn't stand a chance." "You were always confident and handsome and popular. And when you came across the floor and held out your hand…" Carrie sighed. "It was a bit Cinderella-esque, really." "You did disappear at midnight." "Being with you was so intense it scared me. You're right—it was a different Carrie that night. A Carrie that I was afraid to like in case it all disappeared and I turned back into the gray, unimportant girl." "So you made sure you did it first." He nodded. "Then you'd be in control. Oh baby, I get it. I really do. I was a new me that night, too." He smiled, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. "A man who was finally ready for a woman like you. Carrie, I'm done with running away. I found what I want—a home, here at the ranch and with you last weekend, holding you in my arms. All the pieces finally fit." He leaned forward and dropped a feather-light kiss on her lips. "There's no rush. If you need time, it's yours." Blind trust—leaping in the dark—had never been Carrie's way, but maybe the moment was right. Maybe Cinderella hadn't disappeared after all. "I'm still going to worry…" "And I'm still going to be careful. Looks like I'll have an even bigger reason to now." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I won't hurt you, Carrie." "You'd better not." She put her hands on either side of his face and nudged his head back until she was looking fully into his gorgeous face. He could be hers, she marveled, a new confidence expanding inside her. She grinned. "Or else I might have to give you another knock in the head." Logan gave a whoop and Carrie squealed as he pulled her off the couch and into his lap. "It won't do any good," he warned, holding her tightly in his arms. "Nothing could make me forget this." And as his mouth came down on hers, Carrie saw her future spread out in front of her, sparkling and bright….

729

Sworn to Protect By Delores Fossen Bodyguard Vince Russo had one mandate: protect superstar Carrie Rivers at any cost. He figured the most complicated thing about the mission would be dealing with a diva…until the bomb exploded. Now Vince's quick thinking is the only thing keeping them ahead of a dangerous stalker who'll stop at nothing to get at Carrie and her little girl. But being in close quarters with the beautiful singer is severely testing his focus, and he begins to wonder which is the bigger threat—the crazed fan…or their sizzling chemistry?

Chapter One Vince Russo eased his hand over the Sig Sauer concealed in the holster beneath his black leather jacket. He didn't want to draw his gun in this sardined crowd unless it was one hundred percent necessary. Hell, he hoped it wouldn't be, but his gut was telling him something was wrong. He glanced around, picking through what seemed to be the entire town of Freedom, Texas. Hundreds were jammed into the town square for the fundraiser hosted by Governor Lila Lockhart herself. Vince spotted the governor, all smiles and waving. No danger there. He shifted his attention to the stage and the blonde making her way up the steps. Carrie Rivers. Superstar and darling of country music. Or so Vince had learned during the past week that he'd been assigned to keep an eye on her. He was into hard rock himself but he'd instantly seen the appeal of the woman getting ready to perform. Tall, curvy and beautiful, if a man liked that sort of thing. Unfortunately, he did, and that had made the week of surveillance feel a heck of a lot longer. Vince spotted the two guys in black suits by the stage—Carrie's bodyguards. Add them to the local cops and his half-dozen fellow employees of CSI—Corps Security and Investigations—and it meant Carrie was one well-guarded woman. But Vince knew well-guarded didn't always keep you alive. Though he'd do his damnedest. His orders from the head of CSI were clear: don't let anything happen to the governor, her family or to Carrie Rivers. In other words, Vince had to be ready to take a bullet. With each step she took up to the stage, more of Ms. Rivers came into view, and the crowd roared. Cameras flashed, gobbling up her every move. And there was a lot to gobble with that thousand-watt smile and snug, short dress littered with what looked to be sapphires, all of them flashing blue fire in the sun. Those same rays were doing a number on the hair that tumbled past her shoulders and to her breasts. Yeah, she was attractive, all right. And she got his attention in a way she shouldn't. There was just something about her that sucked him right in. Not the glitz-and-glamour girl here on stage but the woman he'd watched. At the beginning of the assignment, he'd braced himself for a diva, but he'd seen no signs of that—yet. Carrie reached the microphone. Another smile. Another wave. She glanced through the crowd, and her smile went south when she saw Vince. Probably because his hand was on his gun. She leaned down and whispered something to one of her bodyguards. Vince was about to take his CSI credentials from his jeans pocket so he could assure the bodyguards they were on the same side. But something grabbed his attention. The crowd started to shift, and he could hear

730

bits of what people were saying. Well, one word anyway, and that one word tightened the knot in his stomach. Bomb! Vince didn't wait. He ran, plowing his way forward to the stage. The governor's bodyguards were already moving her out of the way. But not Carrie's. Her black-suited duo got caught up in the human stampede, the momentum driving them away from her. Vince saw the alarm and the fear register on her face, and she turned, trying to figure out where to go. Vince didn't have time to tell her he was one of the good guys. He jumped onto the stage and hooked his left arm around her, pulling her back toward the stairs. "We have to get out of here," he warned her. It was chaos now. The crowd moving and shoving. People shouting. All hell breaking loose. But still, Carrie shook her head. "Why should I trust you?" she asked in a demanding voice that made him want to roll his eyes and curse. But Vince didn't get a chance to answer her ill-timed question. Behind them, the deafening blast roared through the town square.

Chapter Two One moment Carrie was standing and the next moment she was falling. Slow motion and yet fast. Especially the landing. She and the waist-gripping man tumbled off the back of the stage, but he somehow managed to cushion her fall. He hit the ground first, and she slammed into him. He must have rock-hard muscles because her entire body felt the jolt. Everything blurred. Everything except the image of her daughter's face. "Darby!" Carrie shouted. She'd left her six-year-old little girl in the tent just yards from the stage. Not alone, thank goodness. April Chapman, the nanny, was with her, but Darby would still be terrified. Carrie had to get to her. "Let's go," the man ordered. Somehow, he got to his feet and dragged Carrie to hers. But he didn't move toward the front of the tent. He tried to drag her behind it. Mercy, he was strong, but Carrie dug her heels into the ground and elbowed him in the stomach. "Quit fighting me," he snarled. "I'm a bodyguard for Corps Security and Investigations." A bodyguard? Carrie stopped struggling and gave him a split-second glance. Jeans, black T-shirt, black leather jacket to go with his storm-black hair. And a gun in a shoulder holster. Yes, he could be a bodyguard, could be, but she still shook her head. That earned her some profanity from him, and he practically ripped a photo ID from his jeans pocket. According to it, he was CSI bodyguard Vince Russo, and that meant he worked for her friend, Bart Bellows, who owned CSI. "I've been watching you for the past week," he snarled. "On Bart's orders—he thought you might be in danger."

731

This man had been watching her? "I didn't see you." "Yeah. Because I'm very good at what I do." He shoved the ID back into his jeans and caught on to her shoulders. "If you stay here, you could die. There could be another explosion." Her breath broke. "My daughter's in the tent," she managed to say. No profanity this time, and Carrie braced herself in case this Vince Russo tried to pull her in any other direction but toward the tent. But he didn't. "I know, but to get to your daughter, we have to go this way. Stay right behind me," he warned. And like a Dallas Cowboy linebacker, he muscled his way through the panicking crowd. Carrie pushed, too, but they had to fight for every step, and with each one, her own panic skyrocketed. Darby had to be okay. She just had to be. "Mommy?" she heard Darby call out. Carrie pushed harder, fighting and clawing her way to that tent. So did Vince, and they finally made it to the back opening. Her baby girl was there, not crying, but her blue eyes were wide with concern, April at her side. Carrie ran to Darby and gathered her in her arms so she could hug and kiss her. "It's okay, sweetheart," Vince said, taking the words right out of Carrie's mouth. He nudged Carrie aside and scooped up Darby. "We have to get out of here and we have to move fast," he ordered Carrie and April, but his expression and voice softened when he looked at Darby. "We're going on an adventure, okay? Don't worry. I'll keep you and your mommy safe." Carrie wasn't sure she believed him, but Vince didn't give that doubt a chance to grow. He lifted the back tent opening, and with her daughter cradled against his chest, he ushered them out into the chaos. There weren't as many people here as by the stage, but there were still shouts and sounds of a terrified crowd trying to get far away from that explosion. Carrie wanted to ask where they were going. She wanted reassurances. But more than anything, she wanted her daughter to be safe, and Vince seemed to want that, as well. She had to trust him, at least for now. He led them behind some food booths and into a parking lot adjacent to the town's café, where a deputy sheriff on horseback was trying to control the crowd. He signaled to the man and shoved April toward him. "Get on the horse with the deputy," Vince instructed the other woman. "The roads are blocked off for the fundraiser," Carrie reminded him. But Vince was already on the move, and if he'd heard her, he didn't respond. He ran, making a beeline toward a gleaming black Harley-Davidson motorcycle. He plopped Darby on the seat, got behind the handlebars and motioned for Carrie to get on. When she hesitated, he latched on to her arm and yanked her onto the seat so that Darby was sandwiched between them. "Hold on!" Vince ordered. That was all the warning Carrie got before he started the engine and gunned it. They flew out of the parking lot with the tires screaming against the asphalt.

732

Chapter Three Well, it wasn't much consolation but Vince now knew for a fact that his gut had been right about something being wrong. He maneuvered his Harley through the streams of people while he made sure the bomber wasn't coming after them. Maybe the explosive device had been meant for the governor. Or for Carrie. No way to know right now, but better to be safe than sorry. Bart had given him his orders—if anything went wrong, Vince was to get Carrie and her daughter away from the danger and to safety. Unfortunately, the only way he could get them to the town sheriff would be to try to fight his way back through that crowd and the closed streets. Not a good option. No. His best bet was to find his own safe place for Darby and Carrie, then he could regroup and await further orders from Bart. Vince hightailed it out of there and didn't stop until he pulled into the driveway of his house just on the edge of town. He got off, put down the kickstand and turned to comfort the little pigtailed girl who'd kept a death grip on his waist during the hellish ride. "It's okay," Vince offered, sure that he would need a lot more than words to calm her down. But Darby wasn't sobbing or cringing in fear. "That was cool," Darby gushed. She jumped down beside Vince and looked up at him with those baby blues that were identical to her mom's. "Can we do it again?" "No!" Carrie practically yelled. Now here was a passenger who needed some comforting. Carrie was shaking, and the ride hadn't done much for her hair and clothes. Those blond locks were scattered all around her face, and her short dress was hiked up to a place that Vince wished he hadn't noticed. Her panties were blue, too. Carrie climbed off and righted her clothes, but not before noticing where his attention had landed. She scowled, mumbled a terse "thank-you," and looked around. Her breath was gusting, and he could see the pulse skittering on her throat. "Where are we?" "My place." He glanced back at the single-story white house where he'd lived for the past three months. It probably wasn't much by Carrie's standards, but it was his. Well, it would be after one hundred and seventy more payments. "Cool," Darby repeated, and she raced up the steps and dropped down on the porch swing. Carrie headed in that direction, too. "I need to use a phone to call Bart Bellows." "I was about to do that myself." While he followed her to the porch, Vince took out his cell, pressed in his boss's number and put the call on speaker. Just in case they were about to get some bad news, he stopped on the steps so that Darby wouldn't hear. "Vince," Bart answered. "Carrie Rivers and her daughter are missing—" "They're with me at my house," Vince quickly informed him. "They're both safe." Bart mumbled what sounded like a prayer. "Good. We got the governor out, too, and her family. I got a call that Darby's nanny is with the deputy, still trying to make their way through that crowd to the police station. But some people were hurt."

733

No doubt. Vince wouldn't be surprised if people had died. Carrie's paper-white face and rattled expression told him she feared the same thing. She moved closer to him, probably so she could hear Bart better. But she looked up at Vince, and her breath made a little shivery sound. It wasn't a good sound because it made him want to put his arms around her and comfort her. Oh, man. This was bad. He shouldn't hold her. He should have Bart arrange for someone to come and get her. He'd done his job, and it was over. Vince put his arm around Carrie anyway, and then winced when she just sort of melted against him. "Who set the explosive device?" Vince asked Bart at the exact moment Carrie said, "Who's responsible for this?" "We don't know yet, but we'll find out," Bart assured them. "I've contacted your two bodyguards, Carrie. They're headed to CSI headquarters, but it might take them a while to get here." Carrie blew out a long breath and pushed her hair from her face. She also pushed herself away from Vince. "Send them out to Vince Russo's place," she instructed. "I'm ready to go home." Bart paused. A long time. So long that Vince groaned and braced himself. He got another bad feeling. "Carrie, there's a problem," Bart finally said. "You can't go home. We believe someone wants you dead."

Chapter Four "What?" Carrie asked on a rise of breath. Someone wanted her dead? Her stomach went to her knees, and she grabbed on to the porch railing to steady herself. Carrie wanted to ask Bart more questions, but first she glanced at Darby to make sure she wasn't listening. She wasn't. Darby was making use of Vince's porch swing, her legs flying in the air. "I like this adventure," Darby said to Vince. "You're the knight and Mommy's the princess. See? She's wearing her blue princess dress. And you saved her, just like the knight in the book Mommy read to me. Can we go on another adventure soon?" "Maybe," Vince answered, and he even managed a reassuring smile that looked genuine. "First, though, your mom and I need to talk." Carrie moved to the other side of the porch so that Darby wouldn't be able to hear their conversation. "That bomb was meant for me?" she whispered to Bart. Vince had moved with her. But he was now scanning the area, keeping watch. And he slid his hand over his gun again. That didn't help steady Carrie's raw nerves. "This isn't about the bomb," Bart explained. "We're still looking into that, but about a half hour before it went off, one of my investigators called. I was going to tell you what he said as soon as you finished your performance. Carrie, this morning someone set fire to your house in Amarillo." Of all the things she'd expected Bart to say, that wasn't one of them. A fire? Carrie shook her head. "There's a wrought iron security fence and alarms all around the property. No one could have gotten to the house to set a fire."

734

"But someone did," Bart insisted. "Remember a week ago when you told me about some fan letters—" "I get letters like that all the time," she interrupted. Except there had been something disturbing enough in the tone of those letters that had spurred Carrie to inform Bart. "Is that why you've had Vince watching me?" "Yes. And because he had orders to follow you to the fundraiser, no one was watching your house. The person who set the fire also left a threatening note on the gate. My investigator believes this threat is real and that you're in danger." Oh, mercy. Carrie reached for the railing again, but Vince beat her to it. He slipped his arm around her waist and eased her to him. But not just to him. Against him. In his arms. Carrie wanted to push him away. Okay, she didn't. Not really. But she darn well should because she knew his type. Alpha-male protector. Me Tarzan, you Jane. Besides, she wasn't his responsibility. Didn't want to be his responsibility. Or any man's, for that matter. Not now, not ever again. She had learned that particular lesson the hard way. Carrie took a deep breath and nudged Vince away. "I'll need to go to a hotel, then." The governor's ranch was not an option. Even though Lila Lockhart was her friend, the woman was no doubt dealing with her own aftermath from this god-awful day. "I'm advising against a hotel," Bart insisted. "It's too risky for Darby and you to be out and about right now. Stay there with Vince until we have some answers." Carrie huffed. "Look, Vince has been wonderful. When that bomb went off, he got Darby and me out of there fast. But I already have bodyguards, ones who know me. Ones I trust." She felt Vince's gaze on her and looked up. Me-Tarzan had cocked his eyebrow and was staring at her as if she shouldn't worry her pretty little head with such details. That attitude was exactly why Carrie needed to rebuild her walls and shut him out. Her chin came up, and she gathered her strength to fight this—whatever this was. "There's another problem," Bart said. So much for her chin lift. "What?" But Carrie was almost afraid to hear his answer. Other than Lila and April being safe, Bart hadn't exactly been the bearer of good news. "The person who set fire to your house had the code to disarm your security system," Bart explained. "Then he or she went inside and started the fire." "Oh, God." And because Carrie didn't know what else to say, she repeated it. How could this be happening? "Who knows the code?" Vince asked her. "One of those people must have given it to the intruder." Through the thoughts and the fear flying through her head, it took Carrie a moment to give him an answer. "The maid and cook, of course. And April, Darby's nanny." Think. Who am I missing? Her stomach dropped again. Because she remembered who else knew that code. No!

735

Chapter Five "My two bodyguards knew the security code," Vince heard Carrie say to Bart. "And they aren't your employees. The manager of my record company hired them for me." Vince nearly cursed but then remembered Darby was nearby. Carrie just shook her head, and Vince noticed the color in her cheeks had vanished again. "I'll check into the bodyguards," Bart assured them. "If one of them leaked the code, I'll find out. In the meantime, it's not a good idea for Darby or you to be around them." "Of course," Carrie mumbled, and it sounded like a big white flag of surrender. Bart promised he'd call when he had news, and he hung up. Vince didn't waste any time. Someone was after Carrie, and the first thing he needed to do was get them inside. Freedom was normally a safe town, but it wasn't looking that way right now. "Come on." He caught Carrie's arm and fished his keys from his pocket. "Darby, would you like a snack?" She eagerly nodded and scooted out of the swing. Vince unlocked the door and ushered them inside. The place was clean. Almost. But he did have to move the laundry basket off the sofa so Carrie could sit. She did but she stared straight ahead like a zombie. A zombie in a blue-sparkle princess dress. Vince turned on the TV and surfed the channels until he found a kids' movie. Darby dropped down in front of it, and he headed to the kitchen. It was stocked because he cooked a lot, but he didn't want to take the time for that now. He dumped some dry cereal into a bowl and delivered it to Darby. "Yummy. I like the marshmallows." Darby smiled again and thanked him. With one Rivers female settled and happy, Vince turned to the other one. He sank down on the sofa next to Carrie. "You're good with kids," she mumbled. He shrugged. "I have seven nieces and nephews." "Big family." She mumbled that, too. Then Carrie groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Vince resisted putting his arm around her again. Carrie and Darby were his responsibility, and he had to try to keep things professional. Even if it already felt personal. He blamed that on the seven days he'd had Carrie under surveillance. The woman grew daisies in her garden. Not expensive roses. Daisies. She rescued stray cats and sang silly songs to them and Darby. He'd felt like an intruder watching her with his long-range surveillance equipment, but he'd seen nothing to indicate she was in danger. Well, there were indications of danger now. "Just how much do you know about the people who had your security code?" he asked. "A lot." Her eyes flew open. She was rallying again, proving she was one tough woman. "This must be a misunderstanding. I've trusted these people with my life. My daughter's life." "Sometimes people you trust let you down." Vince must have hit a nerve because her eyes narrowed. "I hired the cook and the maid five years ago," she explained. "April has been with us since Darby was two. I've never had any reason to doubt them." Carrie paused. "But the bodyguards. Well, they've come and

736

gone over the years so I've had dozens. I'm not sure exactly how long these two have worked for me. Less than six months, though." Surprised, Vince stared at her. "How long have you needed bodyguards?" "Since I started touring eleven years ago. Cash hired the first one." Her mouth tightened. "He's my former business manager. Darby's father. My ex-husband." From her tone, that was another nerve. A big, sore one. "Any chance Cash did this?" "No. He hasn't been in my life since I told him I was pregnant with Darby." Well, what a creep. Vince glanced at the little angel munching cereal in front of his big-screen TV. How could any man walk away from her? And from Carrie? Carrie made a sound that snagged his attention again. A sound from deep within her throat. And there were tears in her eyes. "Nothing bad can happen to Darby." Her voice was all breath now. "I have to know you're not BS-ing me, that you can keep her safe." Oh, sheez. That no-touching-Carrie rule went straight out the window. Vince pulled her into his arms. "I swear," Vince whispered. "No BS. I won't ever lie to you, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect Darby." She blinked. Stared at him. Vince stared back. At those tears. Yeah, and at her face, too. Man, she was beautiful, and his male body noticed. Especially that brainless part of him that often made bad decisions. Like now, for instance. He lowered his head. Carrie lifted hers. And Vince leaned in, already sorry for the big dumb-butted mistake he was about to make.

Chapter Six Carrie could feel Vince's warm breath on her mouth. It was almost a kiss in itself. That warmth raced through her, begging her to take anything he was offering. Anything that would help her get through these next minutes. Darby giggled. "Is Mommy about to get a kiss from the knight?" Mercy! That was the slap of reality Carrie needed. She scrambled away from Vince as if he'd scalded her. That wasn't too far from the truth. Those seconds where she'd fantasized about kissing him had been plenty hot. "No kiss," Carrie insisted. Vince grumbled something similar. "Well, that's what knights and princesses do sometimes," Darby reminded her and then thankfully turned back to the movie. "Not in this case," Carrie mumbled. She looked at Vince—no, Carrie decided to turn it into a glare to make that rule plain. But it was a rule her mouth immediately protested. Probably because Vince was, well, hot, with that midnight hair, cocoa-brown eyes and washboard abs. She was sure about the abs part because during all their lean-on-me sessions she'd had the cheap thrill of touching his incredibly toned body.

737

Carrie's legs felt like pudding and she was shaking, but she forced herself to stand and put some distance between them. She started toward the window but then remembered someone wanted her dead, so she headed for a nearby set of shelves. They were stacked with books, photos and CDs and she studied them. In addition to some thriller paperbacks and rock music CDs, there were framed photos, many of his siblings, no doubt, since they resembled him. "You're not from Texas," she asked after seeing the backgrounds in the pictures. "No. Chicago," Vince answered. Darby's attention flew away from the movie, and her eyes lit up. "Chi-cargo," she tried to repeat. "Is that where knights live?" Vince laughed. It was smoky and thick, the laugh of a man who knew how to have fun. Too bad. Carrie was having a hard time remembering why Vince was someone best kept at arm's length. She reminded herself that keeping people—especially men—at a distance had gotten her through these past six and a half years, and she was sticking with that philosophy. "I don't know any knights in Chicago," Vince told Darby, "but there might be a few." He stood, went to Carrie and peeled off his jacket. Without asking, he draped it over her shoulders. "The trembling is from the adrenaline," he whispered. "It'll wear off soon." The leather was warm and carried his scent. It gave Carrie far more comfort than she wanted. "Please don't be so nice to me." His eyebrow cocked again. "Somebody did a real number on you, didn't they?" The answer to that was a big fat yes. She hated that Vince had seen that in her, even though he hardly knew her. "It took me a long time to get my freedom." Carrie didn't add more because Vince's phone buzzed, and when he took it from his jeans pocket, she saw Bart's name on the screen. Vince went into the kitchen to answer it, and Carrie followed. Thankfully, he put the call on speaker again. "The sheriff's arranging to interview both bodyguards and the nanny," Bart informed them. "The cops in Amarillo will question the cook and the maid." Carrie wanted to shout they were all innocent, but that might not be true. One of them had possibly betrayed her. The thought knocked the breath out of her. She must have looked woozy because Vince sat her at his kitchen table. He was being nice again. "Carrie," Bart continued. "I know you want to leave, but I'm begging you to stay put for the night. Vince is a former Navy SEAL, and his place has a solid security system—" "You want me to stay here?" she demanded. With the hot stranger that I nearly kissed? "Yes," Bart verified. "If you try to leave, someone might recognize you, and word could get back to the person who set the fire at your house and left you that threatening letter. I don't want that SOB to know where you and Darby are." Yes, the letter. She hadn't forgotten about it, but with so much on her mind, she'd put it on the mental back burner. "What did the letter say?" Carrie asked. When Bart hemmed and hawed, she put some steel in her voice. "What did it say?"

738

Bart cleared his throat. "It says, 'Carrie, there'll be no easy death for you. I'll make you hurt bad when I kill you.'"

Chapter Seven Vince was in the kitchen, cleaning on autopilot, his thoughts on Carrie and Darby, who were several rooms away getting ready for bed. It had turned his stomach to hear Bart read that note and to see Carrie's reaction to it. She'd tried to dismiss it. But they both knew they were dealing with someone with a sick, sadistic mind. I'll make you hurt bad when I kill you. Yeah, and he would make this nutcase hurt even worse when Vince got his hands on him. He cursed under his breath. Things weren't looking good, and he wondered just how long this one night's stay would be. He didn't doubt Bart's ability to get to the bottom of the danger, but would it be in time to keep his houseguests from another run-in with a lunatic? "Darby's finally asleep," Carrie said behind him. Because Vince hadn't heard her come into the kitchen, the sound of her voice startled him and he reached for his gun. When he realized it was Carrie, he jerked back his hand. Carrie pushed her freshly showered hair away from her face. "I'm on edge, too." Well, she didn't look it. Exhausted and scared, yes. But most of all, she just looked darn attractive. Vince didn't know how she'd managed to be more beautiful with her face scrubbed clean and her body swallowed in gray PJs. His PJs. A pair he'd never gotten around to using. He slept in his boxers or commando, but tonight he might go for some armor. Some ice-cold metal to put out the heat that Carrie was fanning in his body. "Thanks again for dinner." She didn't come closer, staying a distance away in the arched opening that divided the kitchen from the living room. Still, he caught her scent. His soap. It'd never smelled like that on him. "You didn't have to go through the trouble of making lasagna," she continued. He shrugged. "It wasn't any trouble. I like to cook. No lie," he added when she gave him a skeptical look. Besides, the lasagna had gotten his mind off Carrie's stalker and that almost kiss. The problem with the almost part was that he was still thinking about her mouth and taking it exactly the way he wanted. Long, slow and French. "Well, the lasagna was delicious," Carrie said. "And Darby loved it, too." She pointed to the silverware he was cramming into the dishwasher. "Can I help?" Vince shook his head. "I'm nearly done. Why don't you sit down? I can get you a drink." She got that funny look. The one that told him he was horning in on her freedom. "No. I think I'll turn in. Thanks for letting Darby and me stay here and sleep in your bed."

739

"No problem." He made a note to furnish his guest bedroom in case something like this came up again. "I don't mind taking the couch." In my armor. Though he doubted it would stop him from wanting her or spinning the possibility of her wanting him, too. Dream on, Vince. Even though she had a daisy garden and lived a surprisingly simple life, Carrie was a big-time celebrity. He was a bodyguard with a mortgage. Plus, it was clear she wasn't looking for love or even French kisses. She turned away but stopped when her attention landed on the picture on the wall. It was the Russo clan— his parents, siblings, their spouses and kids. "It took a wide-angle lens to get all of us in the same shot," he joked. Carrie smiled. Not a big one, but he sure liked seeing it there. "You're close to them?" "Sure. Aren't you close to your family?" Vince asked. "No." She hesitated. "My father walked out when I was five. Haven't seen him since. And I don't have any brothers or sisters." "What about your mom?" Vince was instantly sorry that he'd asked because Carrie's shoulders dropped. It wasn't the usual wall she shielded herself with, and for a moment Vince got a glimpse of the pain beneath. "What's wrong?" She waved him off when he started toward her. "I think we both know if you put your arms around me right now, that knight's kiss is going to happen." Yeah. He did know. And that's why Vince stopped. Keep this professional. He silently repeated it, hoping it would sink in. Carrie thankfully helped him out and didn't come closer. But she did lift her head a little. "Do you smell something?" Vince pulled in his breath. Then he cursed. Because he smelled it, too. Smoke.

Chapter Eight Carrie barely had time for the smoke to register in her mind before Vince reached over and slapped off the lights, plunging them into darkness. He also grabbed his gun from on top of the fridge. That's when it hit her. There was probably a fire to go along with that smoke. Maybe a fire that someone had intentionally set. "Get down," Vince ordered, and he hurried to the window to look out. "Darby's alone in the bedroom," Carrie reminded him and ran in that direction. Her heart was already pounding, and she was terrified. But she was also riled to the core. Her daughter didn't deserve to be going through any of this. "The smoke's coming from the back porch, not the bedrooms," she heard Vince say. She checked on Darby anyway—she was asleep—so Carrie returned to the kitchen in case she had to help Vince.

740

Vince stayed at the window, calling 9-1-1 to alert both the sheriff and the fire department. Then he phoned Bart. "They're on the way," he relayed to her. Since Vince wasn't panicking, Carrie inched closer and looked out the window. She didn't have to look hard to see the orangey flames licking up the porch steps. Not a blaze exactly, but it could turn into one. "We have to get out," she insisted. "It might be a trap," Vince insisted right back. Oh, no. Carrie hadn't considered that. The person who'd set the fire could be out there waiting to gun her down. Carrie wanted to alternately scream and curse. She wanted to strangle the monster responsible. But mostly she just wanted this to end now. "Maybe if I go out there and give him what he wants, then Darby will be safe." Even in the nearly dark room she saw Vince's scowl. "When are you going to believe me? I said no lies, and I meant it. I'll keep Darby and you safe without you becoming a sacrificial lamb. Got that?" he snarled. He didn't wait for her to respond. Vince moved to the keypad on the wall and punched in some numbers. Carrie was sure her mouth dropped open. "You're disarming the security system?" She latched on to his arm. "What? It's okay for you to be the sacrificial lamb?" "I've got no plans to die tonight. There's a fire extinguisher under the sink. Hand it to me. If the fire department doesn't get here in the next few minutes, I'll have to see what I can do about dousing those flames." And to do that, Vince would have to put himself in the crosshairs of a would-be killer. "It's my job to take chances," he said as if reading her mind. Carrie stood there a moment, wishing she could make this all go away, but she finally let go of him, grabbed the fire extinguisher and gave it to Vince. "Are the flames spreading?" she asked. "Not yet. We had rain earlier, and the porch is wet." Great. The weather had prevented this from being a full-scale blaze. She hated that her daughter's safety— and theirs—hinged on wet wood. In the distance Carrie could hear the sirens. Thank goodness they'd responded quickly. Soon, the firemen would be there to save Vince's home. Maybe their lives, too. That was good, but it wouldn't change the fact that somehow her stalker had found her. "What am I going to do?" she mumbled. "You'll do what's necessary for you and Darby," Vince answered. The fire engine came to a stop in front of the house, its red lights slashing through the living room windows. Vince turned to her. "Wake up Darby, wrap her in a blanket and tell her we're going on another adventure. The moment the sheriff is here, we're leaving."

741

Carrie shook her head. "Where are we going?" "Someplace safe," Vince assured her. Carrie looked at Vince's determined face and then at the flames eating through his back porch. And she wondered if Vince had just broken his own rule and lied to her. Because Carrie was terrified that someplace safe no longer existed.

Chapter Nine Vince stopped his car as close to the cabin door as he could get. For the first time he wished his ride wasn't a red Mustang. It definitely didn't blend in with the thick woods and the creek coiling around the house. After he had Darby and Carrie settled inside, he'd need to move it to the detached garage located behind the main house. He glanced at Carrie. Still wearing his PJs, she was leaning against the window, her cheek smashed to the glass. Her hair was a mess but she still looked better than any woman he'd ever seen. Yeah, he was toast. Thank heaven Carrie had fallen asleep about an hour earlier. Darby had slept, too, through most of the three-hour adventure. Vince had used the time to drive around the back-country roads to make sure no one was following them. A boring but necessary security measure. Carrie's stalker had found them once, and it couldn't happen again. He'd promised to keep Darby and her safe, and he would. Carrie's eyes sprang open, and she looked out at the someplace safe he'd promised her. "You call this a cabin?" "It's Bart's idea of cabin." And his boss had spared no expense. The two-story log house was a little piece of heaven. Well, except that most of the front was made up of windows. To capture the breathtaking views, no doubt. But Vince would have to keep Carrie and Darby away from them. Vince stepped from the car, scanned the area, then scooped up Darby from the backseat. Carrie followed him onto the porch. He punched in the security code that Bart had given him so he could open the door. He went up the stairs and carried Darby to one of the rooms at the rear of the cottage. Fewer windows there. Carrie pulled back the bed covers, and Vince lay Darby down. The kid didn't even wake up, and Vince wished Carrie would get that kind of peaceful sleep. Not likely though. "Bart said the place is well stocked and there'll be clothes to fit both of you. Toiletries, too," he whispered. Vince tipped his head to the massive walk-in closet next to the equally massive bathroom. He mumbled a goodnight, hoping she would crawl in next to Darby and immediately zonk out, but Carrie followed him down the stairs. "Is this place really safe?" she asked. "It's safe." To keep it that way, Vince went to the front door, made sure it was locked and set the security system. "No one can get near the cabin without us knowing." Following the instructions Bart had given him, Vince pressed a button on the system's control panel and part of the wall slid back, revealing twelve screens. The cameras covered every angle of the house and grounds, including two screens for the cabin's interior. Bart had told him where to find several other sets of monitors throughout the place.

742

Vince glanced at the windows again, frowned, and caught on to Carrie's arm to lead her into the kitchen. "Maybe a drink will help you sleep." But Carrie had obviously noticed his frown. "You think the stalker will try to shoot through the windows?" He huffed, took a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cupboard and poured her a shot. "I'm just being cautious. The stalker has no idea where we are." "But he found your house," Carrie pointed out. "True, but that only means he must have seen you and Darby leave the fundraiser with me and followed us." In that mob of a crowd, it wouldn't have been easy, but it was doable. "No one followed us here." She stared at him and studied his eyes, probably looking for any signs of doubt. Vince tried not to show any. "You'll get through this," he assured her. Carrie shook her head. "How do you know that?" "Because I'm your bodyguard. And because you're no diva. You're a strong, capable, independent woman." He smiled, remembering something from last week when he'd been watching her. "Like when you rescued that stray cat from the apple tree in your garden. Climbed up a good seven feet, and when he howled, you sang to him." "Yes," she mumbled and managed a brief half smile of her own. "Stray cats make a good audience." Finally, Carrie picked up the glass and took a sip. She made such a face that Vince chuckled. "I'll get you something else." "No. It's okay." It wasn't okay, and even though Vince had promised himself he would keep his hands off her, he didn't. He went to her and eased her into his arms. Vince was pretty darn sure she'd resist him. Push him away, even. In fact, he was relying on it since at least one of them had to remember this was a professional relationship. But she didn't resist. Carrie looked at him. He saw no tears in those jeweled blue eyes. He did see something, though. A spark of heat. She came up on her toes but Vince was already on his way down to her. Already jumping headfirst into making a big mess of things. He hauled her to him until Carrie was pressed against every inch of him. And then Vince kissed her.

Chapter Ten Carrie knew the kiss was coming and she'd braced herself to stay in control. But she soon realized she hadn't braced herself enough. Vince's clever mouth moved over hers as if he sensed exactly what she needed to make her body burn. Oh, she was burning all right. Probably because it wasn't just a kiss. It was an assault. His body imprinting itself onto hers. His chest, against her breasts. His hands on her back and neck. And other parts were touching, too.

743

The pajamas she was wearing were thin, no barrier whatsoever, really. Vince obviously knew it too because that's where he added pressure, and the kiss skyrocketed. Carrie fought to get her arms around him. Battled to get closer. The kiss seared through her, creating a need she hadn't even realized was there. It'd been way too long since she'd been kissed or held like this. Heck, she wasn't sure it'd ever happened. Vince certainly had a way of making this feel like her first kiss ever. He turned her so that she was pressed against the cool granite countertop. He caught the back of her neck, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss. As if they needed that. She could already feel every inch of him. Every inch. And now she could taste him. That taste was all man. All Vince. And soon that taste wasn't enough. They grappled for position, and without breaking the kiss, Vince hoisted her onto the counter. Yes! This was what she wanted. This way, she could wrap her legs around him, and…do what? Carrie froze. Have sex with a man she hardly knew? She didn't do that, even if at the moment that's exactly what she wanted. Vince stopped, probably because she'd gone board-stiff, and he eased away to look her straight in the eyes. Like her, he was breathing hard, and his jeans looked very uncomfortable around the zipper area. "I can't," Vince blurted out. "Because I'm your bodyguard. I'm supposed to stay objective. And focused. What I want to know is what's holding you back?" Where should she start? Anything she said would make her sound like a fool after letting Vince kiss her blind. "I've made a lot of mistakes." She eased off the counter. "Mistakes that have hurt Darby because I didn't use my head. I let her father control me, and I can't let that happen again." Vince pulled in a hard breath. "This might come as a shock. Or not." His gaze slipped down to her nipples, still tight and puckered. "But I don't want to control you, Carrie. I want to…" He smiled. Not from humor. It had a sting to it. "I'll let you fill in the blanks." Carrie was well aware of what blanks Vince wanted to fill. She wanted the same, and that's why she said good-night and got up the stairs as fast as she could. Mercy. What had she done? And better yet, how could she stop it from happening again? She went into the bedroom across the hall from Darby's and considered a cold shower, but a snowstorm probably wouldn't cool her down. Instead, she used the house phone on the nightstand and pressed the button that made a direct call to Bart. She figured he was already in bed and was surprised when he answered on the first ring. "What's wrong?" Bart immediately asked. "Is that you, Carrie?" Carrie opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again and made a small indecisive sound. Bart continued before she could put her concern into words. "I was going to tell you this tomorrow but since you called, I can say it now. The maid and the cook checked out. They both passed lie detectors, and there's no suspicious money in their accounts." "That's good." One less thing on her overloaded plate. "What about April?" "We're still looking into her and the bodyguards. I'm bringing in some new investigators so hopefully we'll have something in a day or two." Bart paused. "Okay. What's wrong?" Carrie dreaded saying this, but she had no choice. "Vince is a very good-looking man. Very. And I'm feeling vulnerable right now." Aroused, too, but she left out that part. Bart was no doubt thinking she'd just gone

744

stark raving mad. Here she had a crazed stalker after her, and instead she was about to run away from Vince's arms. And the rest of him. "You think he'll try to take advantage of you?" Bart asked, suspicion all over his voice. "No!" Vince wouldn't. Beneath all that hotness was an honorable man. She was the weak link here. "Vince has been completely professional." Yes, it was a little white lie, but she didn't want Vince to get in trouble with his boss. "But I'm afraid if I stay around him, I'll tempt him into breaking rules he doesn't want to break." "I see." Bart made a sound to indicate he was giving that some thought. "Sleep on it, Carrie, and if you want a different bodyguard, call me. I'll make it happen." One call, and she could have Vince out of her life. But Carrie wondered if it was already too late to get him out of her head…and her heart.

Chapter Eleven Darby's eyes lit up when she bit into the warm cookie that she'd just helped Vince bake. "Told you they'd be good," he reminded her, and he gave her pigtail a playful tug. Over the past two days, they'd baked three batches, and it wasn't just fun, it was a way to give Carrie some quiet time to write songs for her new album. Or so she'd said. Vince wondered if she was sitting upstairs worrying. Or avoiding him. "They're yummy." Darby took another bite. "And you said I can name them 'cause I helped. Well, I want to call them Darby cookies." "Works for me." And Vince helped himself to their chocolate chip and peanut butter creation. Darby gulped down some milk and stared at him a moment. "I wish you were my dad. Don't tell Mommy, though. It makes her sad when I talk about not having a daddy." Vince nearly choked, not because he was shocked by her wish but because he realized he would like to be her daddy, as well. "Are you sad about it?" "Sometimes. Mommy said her daddy left her, too, and she said she was sorry she couldn't stop it from happening to me." Darby turned toward the sound of footsteps, and Carrie appeared in the doorway. "Mommy, we made Darby cookies." Carrie eked out a smile. "Mmm. They smell delicious." She gave Darby a hug. "Your teacher emailed your assignments so you won't get behind. You can use the laptop I left on the bed." Darby gave an eager "okay" and headed up the stairs. Vince waited for Carrie to tell him to back off when it came to her daughter, but she simply shoved her hands in the pockets of her borrowed—yet snug—jeans. Not a good move. The maneuver stretched her T-shirt across her breasts, and he suppressed a groan. Barely. He wondered if Carrie would ever be able to walk into a room and not take his breath away. "What else are you cooking?" she asked. He tipped his head to the pot on the stove. "Sausage ragout, but it still has a few more hours to simmer."

745

The corner of her mouth lifted, and she walked closer. "You like fast cars, fast motorcycles, but you cook the slow, old-fashioned way." Vince flashed the cockiest grin he could manage. "Some things are better slow." She blinked. "Are we talking about food?" "We can if you want." Vince kept the grin in place. She laughed. It was a great sound to hear. But then she sighed. "I shouldn't laugh." "Don't know why not." Before he could stop himself, he brushed a kiss on her mouth. It was just a peck, but it aroused him from his head to the toes of his boots. "Are you having me replaced?" he asked. Bart had warned Vince it was a possibility, and that hadn't made the past two days easy. In fact, the thought of being ripped out of Carrie and Darby's lives made Vince miserable. Which only proved how big of a line he'd crossed. And kept crossing. "No. I'm not replacing you." Carrie eased her hands from her pockets. "I want you to stay because I'm a glutton for punishment. And your cooking." She glanced away. "And you." Now, it was his turn to blink. Carrie sure had a way of making him forget that he was on the job here. The only thing that felt like work was trying to keep his hands and mind off of her. Carrie made the same sound she had about the cookie but then stepped away from him. "I know that's confusing…and stupid. But there are things you don't know about me." "Not much. Remember, it's my job to know you. I followed you for a week. Plus, Darby showed me some of your videos, and I glanced through what's on the internet." He put his arm around her, easing her back to him. "When you were eighteen, you won a local singing competition that Cash judged. He became your manager and a year later, your husband. You were nineteen and he was nearly thirty." She didn't look at him, but she didn't move away, either. "He also managed my life. Cash thought a baby would make touring harder and pregnancy would ruin my figure. When I wouldn't back down about having the baby, he walked out and took a great deal of my money with him." Now that wasn't on the internet. "Everything you've said about this weasel makes me want to punch his lights out." She smiled for a moment but it faded. "I let him do those things to me." "Yeah, because at nineteen we're all such a good judge of character. Carrie, you made a mistake trusting him, but you got the good end of a bad deal. You got Darby." "Yes. I did." She looked up at him then, but whatever else she was about to say was cut off when Vince's phone rang. Bad timing. It was Bart. "I have news," Bart said the moment that Vince answered. "We finally got a confession from one of Carrie's bodyguards. Make sure Darby's out of the room for this because what I have to tell you isn't good."

746

Chapter Twelve Just like that, the light, intimate mood was gone. Two days hadn't been nearly long enough for Carrie to forget she had a stalker, but she had started to relax a little. And she'd started to fall hard for Vince. Standing beside him now, she pushed that attraction aside and listened to Bart's news. "One of your bodyguards, Ian Jamison, confessed to selling your house's security system code," Bart explained. "He said he got paid five grand, and the guy he sold it to swore he wouldn't go into the house while you were there. He told Ian that he just wanted to get a look at your place and would wait until you'd left for the fundraiser. The guy didn't say anything about setting a fire or leaving a threatening note." Carrie's stomach started to churn, and along with it came the anger. Her idiot bodyguard could have endangered Darby. "Did this slimeball name the person who bought the security code?" Vince asked. "He did. His name is Jessie Franklin, a former P.I. Ian never met the man, only dealt with him on the phone and through an online account he set up to receive the money. If you click on the security panel, you'll see Franklin's photo on screen three. By the way, I've adjusted the system so you can see me, but I can't see you. You'll soon know why." Vince hit the button that slid back the panel to reveal the monitors, and Carrie spotted Bart at a desk. He held up a picture of a man with sandy-brown hair and a wide face. He looked to be in his early forties. She shook her head. "I don't recognize him." "Jessie's gone to nearly all your concerts," Carrie heard someone say. A tall brunette woman stepped into view next to Bart. "This is Ruby Franklin, Jessie's wife. She's cooperating with the investigation," Bart supplied. "She says Jessie is obsessed with you." "He is," Ruby verified. "I swear, though, I didn't have a clue he was capable of going off the deep end like this. I didn't even know he'd taken that five grand from our savings. Not until Bart called." Ruby looked at Bart. "I have to tell them what Jessie did." Carrie's breath stalled in her throat. This wouldn't be good. Vince must have sensed the same because he put his arm around her. "Tell me," Carrie insisted. But it wasn't Ruby who continued. It was Bart. "This morning Jessie went to Spring Haven in Amarillo. He posed as a maintenance man and was able to get in." The panic rose too fast for Carrie to tamp it down. "Oh, God. Did he do something to her?" She turned to Vince. "My mother is an Alzheimer's patient at Spring Haven." Vince just nodded and tightened his grip on her. "Did Jessie hurt her?" There was a dangerous undertone to Vince's voice that Carrie had never heard. She welcomed it, though, because if this SOB had laid one hand on her mother— "She's fine," Bart assured them. "Jessie only talked to her." He paused. "But we don't know what she told him. Carrie, does your mother know where you're staying?"

747

Carrie had to dig back through the phone conversation she'd had with her mother just that morning. Well, if you could call it a conversation. "I talked to Mom, but I didn't say anything about what's going on or where I am. She didn't mention Jessie. Or anything else. She was having a rough morning." Basically, she was incoherent. "I'm sorry," Vince murmured. Carrie welcomed that, too, even though she wasn't one for sympathy. But right now, everything just seemed to be closing in on her, and she would take any comfort Vince could give her. "I've put some guards at Spring Haven," Bart explained. "Jessie won't get back in." That was good, but it led Carrie to another question. "How did he know to go there? I've paid a lot of money to keep my mother's condition and whereabouts out of the media. Not because I'm ashamed of her," she whispered to Vince. "I just wanted to protect her." "I understand," he whispered back. "Jessie's a P.I.," Ruby volunteered. "We used to have our own agency. We were a team—I did the computer legwork and background investigations. He did the hands-on part. But Jessie stopped working when he became obsessed with you. He started going to your concerts all the time and taking pictures of you. He put them all over his office walls. Then one night at a concert he tried to get backstage and security stopped him. They roughed him up, he said. That's when he snapped." Carrie's stomach churned harder. She'd had obsessed fans before, had even had to report a few to the police, but hearing this still wasn't easy. "Miss Rivers, you have to be careful," Ruby warned. "Jessie's smart. He was a good P.I. The best. He knows how to find people. And when he finds you, I'm worried he'll kill you."

Chapter Thirteen Vince stared at the laptop screen, studying the surveillance feed that Bart had sent him. It was footage of Jessie Franklin in an electrician's uniform at Spring Haven. There was no film of Carrie's mother, just images of Jessie ducking into her suite where he'd stayed about ten minutes. Jessie didn't appear to be armed, but maybe he'd figured he could use his sheer size to intimidate Alice Rivers into telling him where Carrie was. It took a special kind of creep to try to worm information from a mentally incapacitated woman, and Vince wanted to put an end to this creep in a hurry. And then Carrie could, well, get on with her life. "Without me," he mumbled. Yeah, that sucked, but he had to accept it. Still, that didn't stop him from grabbing a beer and heading up the stairs in search of Carrie and Darby. He found them all right. Darby was sound asleep in the sheet tent Vince had helped her build earlier, and Carrie was stretched out on the bed with a laptop. She was wearing a pair of loose gray shorts and a red top. Both snared his attention until he noted her serious expression. For a couple of bad moments he thought maybe Bart had sent her the surveillance video, too. Vince didn't want her to see that. She'd been through enough today. But then he glanced at the screen and saw that she'd typed his name into an Internet search engine. Vince lifted his eyebrow. Carrie just shrugged. "You read stuff about me on the Internet," she reminded him. "Yes," Vince conceded in a whisper. "But there was something to read about you. You're a celebrity. I'm not."

748

Carrie took the laptop, got up and went across the hall to the bedroom she'd been using. She motioned for Vince to follow. He did, and he shut the door so they wouldn't wake Darby. Carrie dropped down on the edge of her bed and showed him the page she'd pulled up on him. "This article says you were injured on assignment to the Middle East," she told him. "It also says you got a medal for saving some people." Vince didn't know how to respond. He had bad memories of fighting, but he also had a few good ones of his fellow SEALs. War was like that. Vince decided he'd stay quiet and drink his beer. He eased down onto the foot of the bed. Not too close. Even the touchy subject couldn't completely get his mind off Carrie's lean, long, bare legs. "Why did you leave the military?" she asked. Some of those bad memories flashed through his head. The worst was that of a young civilian boy—a kid. Vince had stopped to give him some food and because he'd been distracted, he hadn't seen the early signs of an attack. Two members of his team had been injured in the resulting fight. And the boy had been killed. He'd saved lives. But they never evened out the scale of people who'd died because of him. "I lost focus," Vince admitted. "And people paid for that. So I left the navy and started a new life working for Bart at CSI." She studied his face. "Whatever went wrong, it wasn't your fault." He shook his head, but she caught his cheek, forcing him to make eye contact. "Sometimes, things just happen, and all the focus in the world won't stop it. Nothing will. Because we're human." Now it was Vince's turn to study her. "Are we talking about the military?" "No," she readily admitted. "I'm talking about us. About this attraction that's making us crazy. I'm talking about wanting you more than my next breath." And to prove it, she brushed her mouth over his. There it was. The gauntlet that hit him upside the head. Rules, lines and his vaunted focus started to crumble. Yeah, he was human all right. Human and on fire. Part of him said hell, no. The other part, hell, yes. The hell, yes won because, even though it was wrong, this was Carrie. He stood zero chance of walking away from her—especially when she reached for him. So Vince set his beer on the nightstand, slipped his hand around the back of her neck and hauled her to him. He kissed her. The jolt was instant. Pure heat and need. Not a good combination for logical thought, but it sent the fire inside him soaring. He'd had a hunger for Carrie from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and that hunger had only built over time. Carrie made a little sound of pleasure as their mouths connected, shoved the laptop onto the bed and closed the distance between them. She slid into his arms as if it was exactly where she belonged. Vince kept her there, tightening his grip, and he dropped some kisses on her cheek. And her neck. And lower, to the tops of her breasts. The next sound of pleasure she made had an edge to it. Vince knew how to soothe that, how to make that edge turn to pleasure, but he had to make sure of something first. "If you're going to stop," he warned her, "do it now."

749

She pulled away a little and met his gaze. Her breath was pumping, but her eyes had a hunger of a different kind. "I'm not stopping," Carrie warned him right back. That was the only thing Vince needed to hear. He lifted her onto his lap, fitting her body to his and kissed her.

Chapter Fourteen Carrie refused to think about the decision she'd just made. Refused to give in to the doubts that were clouding her mind. Thanks to Vince's kisses, she was on fire. He'd started that fire, but he could also quench it, and for once she was going to let herself have what she really wanted. And what she really wanted was Vince. He didn't let her catch her breath, thank goodness. Breathing suddenly didn't seem important anyway, especially when Vince worked those kisses to her stomach. And lower. Carrie's eyes nearly crossed when lower hit the hottest spot of her body. He kissed her through her clothes, fueling the fire to the point where Carrie was frantic to have him naked and inside her. Vince helped with that, too. He peeled off her top and shorts, all without stopping those wildfire kisses. "You have too many clothes on," Carrie managed to say, and she removed his shoulder holster, dumping it and the gun onto the nightstand so she could go after his T-shirt. She stripped it off. Oh, my. She got a good look at his chest then. Muscles, yes, he had them. He was lean and chiseled. Perfect. She ran her hands over him and smiled when he made that husky sound of pleasure deep within his throat. Carrie tackled his jeans next. Not an easy task. He was already huge and hard, making it difficult for her to get his zipper down. She managed, finally, but then had to stop when he unhooked her bra and blinded her with some kisses to her nipples. That created a new fire, a new urgency, and she tried to speed things up by sliding her hands inside his boxers. He cursed and then gathered her wrists with his left hand and pinned them to the bed. Soon, Carrie was the one cursing because Vince rid her of her panties and kissed her everywhere. She gave up on the notion of hurrying him and decided to enjoy every moment of this. Especially since there might not be another. Vince put that thought right out of her head as he kissed his way back up her body. He gathered her into his arms as if she were something priceless and fragile, and then he entered her slowly. She hadn't expected this gentle touch, especially when she could see the need raging in his brown eyes. "I won't break," she whispered. The corner of Vince's mouth lifted into his usual cocky smile. "No. But you'll shatter for me." That was all the warning she got before the slowness and the gentleness evaporated. Vince moved faster. Deeper. And he didn't stop. He gave Carrie exactly what she wanted. What she needed. With each of those deep strokes inside her, the fire built inside her, flaming high, until she could take no more. Oh, yes. She shattered all right.

750

But she wrapped her arms and legs around Vince and made sure he shattered right along with her.

Chapter Fifteen Finally! That was Vince's first thought. Quickly followed by an oh, hell. Talk about losing objectivity. Focus? Gone. Sleeping with the woman he was guarding was a Texas-size nono. One glance, however, at her flushed face and naked body, and his regret for losing his objectivity turned to dust. He would have preferred to stay there locked in Carrie's arms so he could savor the pleasure still rippling through him. But he remembered that Darby was asleep across the hall. He didn't want her waking up and walking in on a naked princess and her knight without his shining armor, so Vince pulled the covers over Carrie and got up to dress. Carrie sat up, rested her head on her elbow and stared at him. "You're allowed a few minutes before panic sets in." "No panic," he assured her, and Vince proved that by kissing her hard. Yeah, it was stupid. He was already on his way to another erection, and he'd just had her. "I figured you'd be the one to panic." "I will. Later." She smiled and watched him dress. But the smile faded. Vince braced himself for a lecture about how this couldn't work, but his phone rang first. "It's Bart," he relayed to her. Vince put his phone on the nightstand and the call on speaker so he could finish dressing while he talked. Carrie scrambled from the bed as well and began to gather her clothes. Too bad Vince had to concentrate on the phone because he would have liked to take the time to savor the view. She was a knockout from head to toe. "We were able to clear April of any wrongdoing," Bart started. "No signs she was in on the scheme with the bodyguard." "But?" Vince pressed. He could tell from Bart's tone that this was not a good-news call. "I've had some of my men keeping tabs on the towns and area near the cabin, and we got a hit." Bart cleared his throat. "About a half hour ago a clerk at a gas station called about a stranger who'd just filled up his car. We reviewed the footage from the security system. It was Jessie." Carrie gasped, shook her head. "How far away?" "About ten miles. But we're unsure whether he's headed your way or if he even knows where you are. I'm sending someone out now to check the roads and find Jessie so we can bring him in. But I don't want to send anyone to the cabin." Because that could be exactly what Jessie had planned. An experienced P.I. might be able to turn the tables on them and follow Bart's man straight to Carrie. "The cabin's locked down," Vince assured both Bart and Carrie. "Call us if you catch him." Vince ended the call and put his shoulder holster back on. He strode down the hall to an office where there was another set of security monitors and a cabinet with extra ammunition. Carrie followed him, of course.

751

Darby was just two rooms away, but if Bart's men didn't find Jessie soon, Vince would move her into the office with them. He sat at the desk and moved back the panel to reveal the monitors. It was already dark outside, but Vince checked each screen. No sign of Jessie. He also checked the two screens that showed the interior, and there wasn't anyone in the foyer or the rear entry. Carrie studied the screens, too, before she turned to Vince. He knew that face. That fear. And it cut him to the bone. "Have I ever lied to you?" he asked. "No." The fear was in her voice, too. Vince looked her straight in the eyes. "Well, I'm not lying now. I'll keep Darby and you safe." But the words had no sooner left his mouth when Vince heard a sound he didn't want to hear. The shrill whine that pierced through the house. Someone had just tripped one of the perimeter security alarms.

Chapter Sixteen The sound of the alarm raced through Carrie, and sent her heart and breath speeding along with it. Frantically, she searched the monitors but didn't see anything. "I have to get Darby." "Wait just a second," Vince told her. He pressed some buttons on the keyboard on the desk, and the alarm went silent. Instead, a red light flashed around monitor six. "It could be nothing. Sometimes a deer can trip the alarm." Carrie latched on to that hope, but her body was still primed for something much worse. "I just need to make sure Darby's okay." With his attention fastened to the monitors, Vince nodded, and she hurried down the hall. It took her a moment to get around the tent Vince and Darby had made, but she found her baby girl there sleeping. Carrie said a prayer of thanks that the alarm hadn't wakened and frightened her. She added another prayer that this was indeed a false alarm and went back to the office. "Still nothing." Vince stood, moving closer to the blinking monitor. Carrie moved closer, as well, and followed Vince's gaze to the far right side of the screen. A hunter's moon was out, and the milky light created some spooky shadows among the trees and shrubs. But Vince had his eyes on one shadow in particular. "You think it's Jessie?" she asked. He shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I have a bad feeling about it." Oh, God. That wasn't what Carrie wanted to hear, but she didn't want him to lie, either. What she wanted was information. "How would Jessie know even where to start looking for us?"

752

Vince took a moment to answer. "It wouldn't have been easy, but since he's a former P.I., he could have searched through all the properties connected to Bart, CSI and even you." Carrie considered that while she watched that shadow. She glanced at the other monitors. "In addition to my house, how many properties are we talking about?" "Dozens." Unlike her, Vince's voice was calm, but there was an edge of intensity. "Maybe more. Bart's a billionaire, and CSI alone employs dozens of bodyguards and investigators." "Dozens," Carrie repeated under her breath. She waited until Vince looked at her. It wasn't something she wanted to consider, but she did. "Do you think Jessie had some inside help?" The muscles in Vince's jaw turned to iron. "I hope to hell not." Carrie hoped the same, but just then the shadow moved. And, like Vince, she got a bad feeling. She was so focused on the screen that she nearly jumped out of her skin when a buzz sounded. Monitor one lit up. "Another tripped sensor," Vince explained. "This one's by the creek. There." He pointed to the spot on the screen. There was no shadow this time. Carrie put her hand to her mouth to silence the gasp she made as the man stepped out of the darkness and into full view of the monitor. It was Jessie Franklin.

Chapter Seventeen Vince's heart jumped to his throat. No. This was Carrie's nightmare coming to life. His, too. Because her stalker hadn't just found them—Jessie was mere yards away from the cabin. "I need to get Darby," Carrie said, fear making her voice tremble. Vince figured she was trembling, too, but he didn't want to take his attention from the monitors to confirm it. "Not yet," Vince insisted. "Remember, Darby's room and this office are on the back side of the cabin. Jessie is out front and to the right. For now, let's just watch and see what he's going to do." But watching and waiting were hard on the nerves. If Jessie started toward the cabin, Vince would have to move both Darby and Carrie into one of the bathrooms and get ready to take out this slimeball. But Jessie didn't come closer. The man stood there, staring up at the camera and seemingly right at them. He knew they were watching him, and that sickened Vince. What kind of game was Jessie playing now? Vince had already pressed the emergency button that alerted the local authorities, but he'd also done the math. The sheriff's office was a good twenty-five miles away, and it would take him a while to get out there. That meant the next half hour could be bad. "He's not moving," Carrie mumbled. Vince used the keyboard to adjust the camera so it would zoom in. "He's holding something."

753

At first, Vince thought it was a shield, but no, it looked like poster-board paper. "There's something written on it." Vince tried to zoom in even closer, but the writing just blurred. The moonlight didn't help, either, because it created shadows in all the wrong places. The only thing he could see clearly was Jessie's face. His lips were moving. "There's no audio," Vince said before Carrie had a chance to ask. "And I'm not a lip reader." But Jessie seemed to be repeating a handful of words, and he kept pointing to the sign he was holding. Carrie shook her head. "What the devil is he trying to tell us?" Vince stared at the man, and soon Vince, too, shook his head. Was that the face of an enraged stalker? Vince was starting to get another bad feeling. "I'll try to get a different camera into position." Vince used the keyboard again, maneuvering camera two in Jessie's direction. The man was still in his original spot, and he continued to repeat the words. But then his gaze slashed to his left. Vince tried to see what had caught Jessie's attention, but there was only more darkness and shadows. Jessie dropped the paper and his eyes widened before he scrambled away, out of camera range. Carrie started to move closer to the screen but a terrifying sound stopped her in her tracks. A thick blast that knifed right through the silence. "A gunshot." Vince cursed and drew his own weapon. Carrie ran out of the office and this time Vince didn't stop her. Without taking his attention off the monitors, he stepped into the hall to watch her and make sure she didn't get anywhere near the front of the house. But Carrie went exactly where he knew she would. To Darby's room. There was a second blast. And the images of the night landscape on monitor one turned to gray static. No! Someone had shot out the camera.

Chapter Eighteen Carrie heard the second shot. It robbed her of her breath, but she didn't stop. She threw back the opening to the tent and scooped up Darby. "We're going on another adventure, baby." Carrie tried to keep the fear out of her voice, and she was thankful Darby was a sound sleeper. Darby mumbled "Mommy" and then closed her eyes and put her head on Carrie's shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, she would sleep through this ordeal. Carrie raced back down the hall where Vince was keeping watch, and he quickly ushered them into the office. "Take her into the bathroom." Until that moment Carrie hadn't realized there was a bathroom adjoining the office. No tub, but there was a shower with natural-stone walls on three sides. Carrie grabbed some towels from the linen closet and dumped them onto the shower floor. "Love you, Mommy," Darby mumbled when Carrie placed her onto the makeshift bed.

754

"I love you, too," Carrie whispered, and it broke her heart that her baby was in the middle of this danger. How dare Jessie put Darby through this! Well, if he thought she was just going to roll over and let him kill her or hurt her daughter, then he was sadly mistaken. Carrie had every intention of fighting back. "I want a gun," Carrie told Vince when she returned to the office. Vince glanced at her and then tipped his head toward the desk. "Upper left drawer." Carrie jerked it open and spotted the handgun. She wasn't a marksman by any means, but Cash had forced her to take a simple shooting course. She only prayed that a gun wouldn't be necessary. "Any sign of Jessie?" she asked. "No. And the sheriff is still fifteen minutes out." He caught Carrie's hand and turned her, forcing eye contact. "Jessie's a smart man. He has to know the house is secured and that we would have called the sheriff." She shook her head. "Are you saying he might have already left?" "That's possible." Vince paused. "But it's more likely that he's about to do something to try to get to you." Oh, God. That sent her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. "Carrie, if he shoots into the house, I don't want you to try to return fire," Vince told her. "I want you in that bathroom with Darby. Understand?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "I said I'll protect you, and I will." The last word had barely left his mouth when a red light caught her eye. The light next to monitor four was flashing, and that meant someone had tripped another motion sensor. It didn't take her long to realize that monitor four was the front driveway. "Is it the sheriff?" she asked, but it was based more on hope than anything else. Vince had already said the sheriff was still fifteen minutes away. Carrie fastened her attention to the monitor and soon saw an SUV creeping along the drive straight toward the house. The darkness and the tint to the windshield prevented her from seeing the driver, but she had no trouble envisioning Jessie. What the heck was he doing? The SUV stopped directly in front of the cabin, and Vince cursed. "Watch the monitors. Tell me what's going on." And he raced out of the room and toward the balcony that overlooked the foyer. It was in front of that wall of windows. "Vince, no!" she called out to him, but he didn't listen. And Carrie soon realized why. The driver gunned the engine, and she could see it all happening on the monitor. The SUV plowed forward, slamming right through the front door.

Chapter Nineteen Vince had anticipated many ways that Jessie might try to break into the cabin, but he hadn't seen this one coming until it was too late. All he could do was watch the SUV crash its way into the foyer.

755

Carrie's stalker was now inside. Vince took aim, but just in case Jessie was using a hostage or a human shield, he wanted a visual before he fired. He waited, his heartbeat crashing in his chest, every nerve in his body primed and ready for the fight. Behind him, he heard Carrie calling out for him to be careful. He pushed the sound of her voice aside and focused on the SUV. The driver had turned the vehicle slightly to the left when he'd crashed through, and Vince soon understood his strategy. The driver's door opened, and the person stayed down. Out of range. But Vince heard the driver's feet land on the hardwood floor. "Step out where I can see you," Vince ordered. There was a shuffle of movement, and Vince saw the gun a split second before the person fired. The shot slammed into one of the thick logs that made up the balcony railing. The shot answered Vince's question. This wasn't the sheriff or someone caught up in the middle of this. It was Carrie's stalker. "Carrie, stay down!" Vince called out to her. He thought she would listen, but he cursed a blue streak when he heard her footsteps in the hall behind him. "I saw it on the monitor," Carrie warned. "It's not Jessie." What? If it wasn't Jessie, then who the heck was it? But Vince didn't have to wait long for an answer. Ruby, Jessie's wife, lunged out from the SUV. She had a gun in each hand, and she aimed right at him. And at Carrie, who was behind him. Vince threw himself at Carrie and dragged her to the floor. Not a second too soon. Because Ruby sent a hail of bullets in their direction. "You stole Jessie from me!" Ruby shouted. "You made him fall in love with you, and you'll pay for that. He would have still loved me if it hadn't been for you. That's why I killed him, and now I'll kill you." Well, at least they knew Ruby's motive, but Vince didn't care about that now. He only cared about his promise to Carrie to keep her and Darby safe. With his body still covering Carrie's, he took aim at Ruby. And fired. It wasn't a kill shot. Vince hadn't intended it to be. He didn't want Carrie to have to live with the death of this woman. Even though death was what Ruby deserved. The bullet he fired slammed into Ruby's right hand and sent her gun sailing through the air. Just as Vince had planned. Ruby pointed the gun in her left hand at him, but she was too late. Vince fired again, the shot slicing into her arm. She screamed in pain, and her weapon dropped to the floor. With his gun still trained on Ruby and ready to fire, he hurried down the stairs. Despite her injured arm, Ruby scrambled for her weapon. But Vince didn't let her get anywhere near it. He kicked it away. "It's over," Vince told her, and he pointed his gun at her heart.

756

Chapter Twenty "Mommy?" Darby called out. "He's here. Vince is here!" Carrie felt the punch of both anger and relief. She hurried to the window of her makeshift rehearsal studio and looked out. She spotted the gleaming Harley in the driveway. Vince. She hated that her heart did a stupid little flutter. Hated even more that she checked her hair and makeup before she went downstairs. As she came into the foyer, she saw that Vince had scooped up Darby and was twirling her around the large space. "Told you he'd come back," Darby announced, giggling. Yes, she had, but Carrie had been skeptical, especially since it'd been two days since Ruby's arrest. Two days with just one phone call from Vince to ask if they needed anything. The call had been short and sweet. Nothing personal. Which was probably for the best, but it hadn't felt like the best. It had felt lonely and confusing. Of course, he looked hot. Vince could manage that just by breathing, and he doled out one of his cocky smiles that made her knees weak. Still, Carrie tried to appear unaffected. Vince put Darby down, gave her pigtail a tug and glanced around. "I like it. I would have come sooner, but I wanted to give you some time to settle in." Carrie nodded. The restored Victorian house was perfect, and since her place in Amarillo needed extensive repairs, Carrie had snapped it up, even though it was only five miles from Vince's. She hadn't wanted him to think she was chasing after him. Vince leaned down and whispered something in Darby's ear. Carrie couldn't hear what, but it caused her daughter to grin and run out of the entry and to April's room up the hall. "I told Darby I had some knight business to talk over with you." Carrie stayed by the bottom step. Best to keep some distance between them or she might go rushing into his arms. "Knight business?" she questioned. "Yeah." Vince walked closer, stopping right in front of her. "I just got back from interrogating Ruby. She found the cabin by hacking into the electric company's records for Bart's and your properties. She noticed the increase in power usage and guessed we were there." Carrie hadn't realized she was holding her breath until her lungs began to ache. "And Jessie? Was he in on it?" "Some. He did bribe your bodyguard to get the security code, but he didn't set the fire or leave the threatening note. Ruby followed him to your house and did those things after he left. Jessie came to the cabin to warn us about Ruby. The sign he was holding named Ruby as your stalker. That's why Ruby killed him, and it's his murder that'll send her to jail for life." It was sickening to hear this, but it was a relief, too. "Thank you for saving Darby and me. I'll never forget it." There. She'd said it. The thanks-farewell she'd practiced. As short and sweet as his phone call had been. Carrie certainly didn't want Vince to think he owed her anything because they'd had sex.

757

"Thank you?" he repeated. "You'll never forget it?" Something dark and dangerous flashed through his eyes. "I'm no longer your bodyguard so there's no more conflict of interest. No more lines to cross." He reached out, lightning fast, slung his arm around her and kissed her. The moment his mouth touched hers, Carrie felt herself melt. He kissed her long and hard, and when he pulled back, the only sound she could manage to make was an mmm. Vince pulled away, but not too far. His mouth stayed hovering over hers. "I don't want your thanks, and I don't want to control you. But I do want you and Darby in my life." Her heart fluttered again. "You can't mean that." Did he? She was too scared to hope. Vince huffed and caught her shoulders. "Carrie, you've got a choice here. You can cling to your past or you can cling to the fact that we belong together. I've never lied to you, and I'm not lying now. I love Darby, and I'm in love with you." Oh, mercy. She suddenly felt like the princess in Darby's book. And Vince, well, he looked a lot like a knight with his shining armor parked outside. There was only one thing left for her to say. "I'm in love with you, too, Vince." He flashed that cocky smile and kissed her again. Carrie wrapped her arms around him and kissed him right back until there was only one thought going through her mind and body. Vince. Only Vince.

758

Punishment By Joshua Corin After returning to work as a consultant for the FBI, Esme Stuart now works to capture the worst elements of human society. Like the murderer of six innocent girls. After sixteen grueling days, they finally have the killer right where they want him—surrounded by cops ready to take him down. But for all Esme believes in what she's doing, all it takes is one amateur mistake and everything goes to hell….

Chapter One The hollow clank of the holding cell's iron door locking into place sounded much better on the other side of the bars. To Esme Stuart, taking her seat on one of the cell's wooden plank benches, it sounded like the echo of a gunshot—or perhaps the echo of a memory of a gunshot; of a 9 mm bullet fired from a Glock; of her finger on the trigger; of the laser sight pinpointed at Hooper's forehead, crinkled in childlike confusion. This was not how the evening was supposed to go down. She and Tom Piper had made sure local law enforcement were stationed at every entrance to and egress from the sports bar. It had taken the two agents a little over thirteen days to match Hooper to the murders, and another three days to track him to the sports bar. They were going to allow him exactly the same opportunity for escape he had offered the six young girls: none. Yes, the takedown was going to be at night, and yes, the sports bar had its usual rowdy crowd of frat boys (and ex–frat boys), but, as Tom often reminded her, waiting for the perfect time and the perfect place was best left in the hands of perfect people, and raise your hand if you're perfect. She took a position at the bar. Tom, meanwhile, moseyed into a pool game and proceeded to hustle two hairy-knuckled gen ed. majors of all the cash in their alligator-skin wallets. All the while, Esme shook her head in amusement and sipped her virgin cranberry daiquiri. She knew that, as ball after ball banked into pocket after pocket, Tom was keeping an eye on Hooper, who sat alone at a table and was gobbling a fried steak, but far be it from something as trivial as the capture of an interstate spree killer to deter a veteran special agent from enjoying a little fun. Plus, it did help him blend in. She, on the other hand, spent the next twenty minutes politely shrugging off one advance after another. The natives were getting restless. Christ, how long did it take a man to finish a steak? And could this jukebox please—for the love of God—play something other than loud, proud Toby Keith? She considered strolling over and sliding a dollar bill into the machine. She also considered whipping out her 9 mm and popping two rounds into its neon pink belly. But she did neither. She remained on her stool and sipped her virgin cranberry daiquiri and counted the seconds until Hooper paid his check and made his way to the door and her first active case as a field agent in the FBI came to a tidy conclusion (due in large part to her deductive sleuthing, thank you very much). Truth be told, she was impatient for new puzzles to solve. For all intents and purposes, in her mind, at least, Hooper was already over. It was when he got up to go to the men's room that everything went to shit. With some sixteen armed and armored police officers standing at the ready outside the sports bar, Tom and Esme's task was relatively simple: keep an eye on the prize. It was Esme's additional duty to report any movement into the clear com piece taped to her left wrist so as to prepare the sixteen armed and armored police officers for The Moment.

759

When Hooper sidled toward the men's room, she dutifully reported the news to her wrist. However, the babble of the Friday night crowd—not to mention the bleating of Toby Keith—must have rendered her words incoherent because the basso profundo voice of the SWAT team captain thundered from the com piece in her left ear, asking her to repeat. Several days later, when the audiotape of the takedown was replayed, it was obvious that the real fault lay not with the Friday night crowd's babbling or Toby Keith's bleating but in the sheer fact that Esme, novice that she was, simply spoke too quietly. Unfortunately, upon repeating the news to her left wrist and thus to the anxious SWAT team and to Tom Piper, his earpiece invisible even to the college boys he was ball-busting, Esme remedied her initial error and repeated the news—"Suspect heading to men's room"—very, very loudly. Even more unfortunate, though, was the fact that the song on the jukebox had ended a second earlier. Even more unfortunate than that, though, was the fact that a busboy had, simultaneous to the song ending, dropped a stack of plates, momentarily silencing most of the sports bar's conversations and all eyes turned to him and the mess of shattered porcelain on the maplewood floor. This silence usually would have been punctuated by a round of neanderthal-like jeers and raucous applause, all at the clumsy busboy's expense, but instead, instead, everyone heard: "Suspect heading to men's room." And everyone included jowly Mr. Hooper, age forty-two, who very quickly surmised, as he was the only person there heading to the men's room, that the news report was about him. That was when he grabbed the waitress by the throat. Or perhaps he grabbed the fork first and then the waitress. In giving her report, several hours later, Esme was unclear about this particular series of events. Either way, the man had a hostage, and the hostage, who couldn't have been older than eighteen years old and was still wearing braces, for Christ's sake, had four metal prongs poking at her fat blue jugular vein.

Chapter Two "Let her go, Hooper!" cried Tom. His well-oiled .45, which had been concealed in an ankle-holster, was already out and aimed, and he had a clear shot at Hooper's right shoulder, which was not blocked by the waitress's lithe body and which, if struck, would force the bastard to drop the fork, clenched as it was by his right hand. Hooper glanced from Esme, who just now was retrieving her pistol from her purse, to Tom, and then to the jukebox as it launched into its next county-western dirge. "Do it, Hooper," Tom said. "I really don't want to kill you and you really don't want to die. Just let the girl go. Right now, it's the easiest thing in the world." Hooper's entire face drooped in thought and he may very well have let the girl go, but then Esme's laser sight, finding its way to the man's forehead, caught him in the eye and distracted him from his own common sense and his brow furrowed in confusion and the fork began its push into the waitress's bare neck and that was when Esme pulled the trigger. The subsequent events occurred rather quickly. Sixteen SWAT officers, alerted by the gunshot, poured into the sports bar. Tom scampered over to the waitress, who, like Hooper, had collapsed to the maplewood floor like the stack of porcelain dishes—except oh-so-very silently. Her neck bled out, but Tom stopped the wound with a gaggle of paper napkins and, with a glance to Esme, who remained ten feet away, a mere arm's length from her bar stool, he informed her by the very relief in his eyes that the girl was going to be OK. Esme could hardly say the same for herself. And so a corpse was zipped up in a body bag and witnesses were cordoned off and interviewed and official reports were recorded and asses were chewed out and it was back at the local station house, just shy of 6:00 a.m., that Esme had her first chance since the shooting to speak to Tom.

760

"I fucked up," she said. He gave her a once-over, poured himself some coffee from the machine, and replied, "Mmm-hmm." "At least the waitress is going to be fine, right?" "Mmm-hmm." She bit her lip to keep from crying. "How bad is this going to get?" "For you?" "Yeah." "I wouldn't worry about it." "Really?" She felt the tension in her back uncoil ever-so-slightly. "Are you sure?" "That I wouldn't worry about it? Yeah. But you're going to worry about it the rest of your life. That's just a fact. I want to show you something." He wandered over to one of the cops on duty, whispered in the woman's ear, and then let her lead him toward a door in the back. He turned to Esme and waved her to follow them, and follow them she did. Their path ended at the kennel of holding cells in the rear of the station house. All the cells were empty save for a few boozy vagrants who were napping on cots. This was not a large town. The female police officer unlocked one of the empty cells and stepped back. "Go ahead," said Tom to Esme. "Have a seat." Esme blinked. Hadn't he just said—or at least implied—that the shooting had been clean, that there wouldn't be any repercussions? When an agent discharged his or her firearm in the line of duty and the resulting action ended up with a loss of life, the agent was temporarily assigned to desk work, sure, but…my God, did Tom think this was manslaughter? Tom rested a hand on her shoulder. "I never had any kids, so I don't know what kind of father I would've been. Probably God-awful. My own father liked to smack me with the backside of his hand so his knuckles could leave imprints on my jaw. He was a funny man, my pop. But the worst punishment he ever gave me was when he sent me off to my room. Go to your room, Esme. I'll come get you when I think you're ready to return to the good graces of our fucked-up little world." Esme again swallowed her tears. She had never felt so ashamed or in need of love, but then, for a moment, right before Tom turned to walk away, she noticed four evenly-spaced dents just below the five o'clock shadow shading his left cheek. She sat on the wooden plank bench and closed her eyes as the holding cell's iron door shut with the clank of a gunshot.

761

Close to Home By Emma Miller For an Old Order Amish woman, being twenty-five and unmarried is bad enough. But to be shipped off to another community on a hunting trip to find a husband is downright humiliating for Mary Glick. She's too tall, too plain, too picky—at home in Blessing Creek and here in Kent County—and she despairs that she'll never find someone who'll love her and give her the life she craves. Until she sees him. Caleb Stutzman. They were as close as two people could be as children. But she couldn't have really known him…he'd proven that with one devastating action that she still can't forget. And yet his sweet and tender pursuit of her tempts her to hope for a future she'd almost given up on. But has he really changed? And can she trust him with her heart?

Chapter One Kent County, Delaware Late September Caleb Stutzman ignored the honking horn and kept the horse at a steady trot on the narrow blacktop road. It was a no-passing zone, but the driver of the black pickup truck with the oversized tires didn't seem to care. Still laying on the horn, he pulled into the left lane and zoomed around the Amish buggy. From the truck's passenger seat, a young man yelled out the window, "Get off the road, hayseed!" The pickup cut back into the right lane with a screech of its tires, barely missing a brown delivery van coming toward them. The buggy's gelding shied to the right, toward a drainage ditch, but Caleb kept a tight hand on the leathers. The horse half-reared as the van rumbled past, but Caleb soon got the frightened animal under control. Sitting beside him, Caleb's cousin Menno hadn't uttered a sound, but Caleb could tell by the way he gripped the buggy seat that he'd been scared. "Those crazy Englishers," Menno muttered. "They're the ones that should stay off the roads. Not us." "Ya," Caleb agreed. He'd seen a bad collision between a buggy and a car back in Virginia, where he'd lived with his uncle before coming to Delaware. An Amish family who lived next door to his grandfather had been coming home from Sunday services when they'd been hit and badly hurt. Only by God's grace had no one been killed. Sharing the road with motor vehicles was difficult. Horses only went so fast, and the English world wanted to move so much faster. "The bishop says that we should pray for our English neighbors, but it's not easy," Menno said. Caleb nodded in agreement as Menno continued his litany of complaints against the English with their worldly ways, but Caleb soon tuned him out. He had more pressing things on his mind. Early this morning, before joining Uncle Ebon and his cousins in the barn for chores, he'd reread the letter he'd just received from his grandfather to make sure he hadn't dreamed it. Caleb had never been close to his mother's father. Moses Schwartz was a stern old man with a long, stringy beard and tufts of bushy gray eyebrows who had little patience for his grandchildren. Caleb's own mother, now in heaven, had been the oldest daughter in a family of seven children. Although she had always spoken with respect for her father, he had never approved of Caleb's father or their marriage and there had been none of the usual visiting back and forth. So Caleb was surprised when he received a letter from his grandfather, and even more surprised when he'd read the contents. His grandfather's missive, written in a shaky hand, was as clearly stated as his opinions

762

had always been. Moses Schwartz was making a take-it-or-leave-it offer to Caleb. He was offering Caleb his farm…a home, a livelihood. Exactly the life he wanted. Caleb had tried wheelwrighting, the trade his father had chosen for him, but Caleb's heart just wasn't in it. The older he got, the more he realized that he was meant to be a farmer and to care for his family by living off the land. His grandfather's letter was an answer to his prayers. There was just one problem. His grandfather had made the inheritance conditional on Caleb finding a wife, courting her and marrying her within the next thirty days. Unfortunately for Caleb, the only woman he'd even considered marrying had left him to marry another man.

Chapter Two "Mary Glick! How are you ever going to find a husband hiding in here?" Miriam Yoder entered Viola Steuben's cozy country kitchen, her cousin Dorcas, beside her. "The boys are all outside at the barn raising." "I'm not hiding," Mary said, trying to make herself as small as possible, standing beside a pie safe. Having everyone know why her parents had sent her from Blessing Creek, Oregon, to Delaware was humiliating. Being Old Order Amish and twenty-five with no husband was shameful enough, but this hunting trip just made matters worse. "Come on," Miriam coaxed as she picked up a tray of homemade donuts. "Bring that pot of coffee. There are eligible boys here and more are coming. By noon, there's no telling how many prospective suitors will be flocking around you." "Easy for her to say." Dorcas reached for one of the apple donuts. "She's got two fellows courting her. And one of them's a Mennonite," she added in a whisper, crumbs falling from her mouth. Miriam frowned. "Don't listen to a word she says. I'm not walking out with Charley or John." Reluctantly, Mary followed the two outside. "It won't do any good, you know," she murmured, clutching the coffeepot as if it were a life jacket. "My relatives and friends have tried to set me up, but I never seem to suit anyone." She didn't add that everyone said she was being too picky, that she never gave anyone a chance and that she intimidated boys. Coming to Delaware hadn't been Mary's idea. And in the weeks since she'd arrived, everyone had been nice to her, but she missed home. She missed her big, noisy family and her friends, and she couldn't help thinking that if she did find a man here willing to marry her, she'd have to live three thousand miles away from everyone she loved. She just couldn't imagine living so far away. Mary admitted to feeling just a little envious of Miriam, who was cute and smart and of average height. Two nice boys courting her at once? The only one who'd asked to court Mary was Zebediah Swartzentruber, and he was fifty with a scraggly beard, bad breath and eleven grandchildren. Of course, no one would force her to marry a man she couldn't love, but she wanted her own home, someone to love her, and babies. Reba, her best friend, had two adorable little boys and a plump, jolly husband, Able, who adored her. Surely there was an Able out there for her somewhere. "I'll take those donuts." Dorcas snatched the tray and hurried toward the young men who were unloading a lumber wagon. "There's Menno." Miriam indicated a boy taking a donut from Dorcas. "He's available." "Too young." Mary shook her head. "And he looks like my little brother."

763

"How about that one?" Miriam nodded to a tall young man on the far side of the wagon. "He's nice." His back was turned, showing off a blue shirt stretched tight by broad shoulders. His hair, wheat-gold and curly, touched the back of his collar. A small bubble of hope flowered in Mary's chest. Something about him, even from the back, intrigued her. "Ya," she whispered with a smile. "Him." Now here was a real possibility….

Chapter Three Caleb lifted a keg of nails off the lumber wagon and passed it to the next man in line. It was a cool morning, but he was already sweating from the exertion of unloading the building supplies. He didn't mind. They'd be raising a barn for Harvey and Viola today to replace the one that had been struck by lightning a month ago. It was the kind of work Caleb liked best—getting his hands dirty. Someday soon, he hoped to be building his own barn. His cousin strolled around the end of the wagon, and Caleb called out to him. "Menno, stop filling your face and give us a hand." Menno grinned and stuffed the rest of a donut in his mouth. "I'm hungry. Didn't have time for a proper breakfast." Caleb laughed. Menno's mother was a good cook—so good that he was afraid he'd be as round as his cousin if he stayed with them much longer. This morning, she'd fried up pork chops and sausage links to go with a mound of eggs, hash browns, oatmeal, stewed apples and hot biscuits. No one could say they went away hungry from Aunt Elizabeth's table. He reached for another keg of nails. Caleb had come to Delaware nine months ago when his fiancée, Susan, had dumped him and married Joe Miller. The change had been good for him. Working beside Menno and his Uncle Ebon had filled the days until he'd gotten past the hurt and shock of having his betrothed choose another man two months before their wedding. He was over Susan now, even able to admit that she hadn't been the right choice for him. But the sting of rejection had made him wary of getting involved with any of the local girls. He'd sort of drifted along, throwing himself into the work on Uncle Ebon's farm, letting the months slip by. He might have gone on like that if it hadn't been for the letter from his grandfather. That had jolted him out of his complacency. Now, every day held an urgency. He'd have to make a big decision or else watch all his dreams slip through his fingers. "Donut?" Dorcas offered Caleb a broken-toothed smile. "Hot from the oven." "Ne." He shook his head. "Thanks, but what I need is coffee." "Mary's bringing some." She pointed to a tall, slender woman crossing the yard carrying a coffeepot. Caleb blinked as his breath caught in his throat. She was a vision in a modest lavender dress, white apron and slender bare feet. Honey-brown hair peeped out from beneath her starched white kapp and a sprinkling of freckles dusted her nose and cheekbones. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen…. In an instant, his heart and imagination ran away from him, and he pictured himself at his grandfather's table, seated beside this Mary.

764

Maybe she's already spoken for, he thought, trying not to let his hopes get too high. Slow down, Caleb, these things take time. Only time was something Caleb didn't have.

Chapter Four Goosebumps rose on the nape of Mary's neck as she neared the wagon. She couldn't take her eyes off him. He was cute, really cute, and he had the nicest smile…a smile that reminded her of someone she'd known long ago. Menno was standing beside him, and the boy with the wheat-colored hair and the wide shoulders was much taller. He had to be six-four, Mary thought excitedly. Finally, an available young man she could look up to. "That's Caleb," Miriam said, producing a clean mug. "Go on, speak to him," she urged. "Ask him if he wants coffee." At the name, a memory flashed in front of Mary's eyes. She stopped short and stared so hard that she forgot she was holding the thermal coffeepot. She lost her grip and it slipped through her hands. Vaguely, Mary was aware of Miriam catching the pot just before it hit the ground. Some of the hot coffee splashed on Mary's bare leg, but she barely noticed. A wave of disbelief swept over her. It couldn't be. He couldn't be. And then, just as she was ready to run back to the house, Caleb Stutzman turned and saw her. He stepped away from the wagon…and lost six inches in height. Mary's mouth gaped as she realized that he'd been standing on a mounting block used to get into buggies. He wasn't taller than she was. If anything, he was two or three inches shy of six feet. But worse—far worse—she knew him. "Mary?" His smile widened as he came closer. "Mary Glick? Look at you." He opened his arms. "All grown up and pretty as a daisy." "Caleb?" It was him. Running away was out of the question. She couldn't run far enough or fast enough. A rush of heat stained her cheeks. "What are…what are you doing here?" she stammered. He strode toward her, seized her around the waist and lifted her high in the air. "Little Mary Glick. I don't believe it!" "Put me down." She rested her hands on his shoulders, looking away in embarrassment. "People are laughing." Mary could hear snickers and whispers and Dorcas's mother was scowling at her. "Caleb, please," she whispered desperately. He lowered her to the grass. "What am I doing here? I, at least, live on the East Coast. What are you doing here? You're a long way from Blessing Creek." "Ya. I am." Caleb Stutzman, of all people. She looked at him and then away, surprised that her heart was beating so fast. Why had Miriam been so anxious for Mary to meet him? He wasn't single. Mary had heard that he'd gotten married. She fought a strange sense of disappointment. "Your wife, is she here, too?"

765

He smiled and used his right index finger to push his straw hat up at a jaunty angle. "You mean Susan?" He shook his head. "Ne. What about your husband? Is he here?" "She's not married," Miriam supplied. "Not betrothed, either." "Her mother and father sent her to visit her Aunt Viola," Dorcas said, sliding in to stand between Mary and Caleb. "Since she couldn't find a husband in Oregon, they hoped she'd have better luck here." If Mary could have dropped on all fours and crawled under the wagon, she would have.

Chapter Five "So, Mary…you aren't walking out with anybody?" Caleb felt like climbing to the top of the windmill and shouting for joy. Five minutes ago, he'd been so desperate, he was contemplating asking Dorcas to ride home with him from tonight's singing. And now, this gift from his past had walked back into his life. It proved what the preacher had said in last week's sermon was true, "God's plan for each of us is both unknowable and beautiful." Mary hadn't said a word in response to his question, but the expression on her face was all the answer he needed. She didn't have a fellow. If she did, she wouldn't be so embarrassed by Dorcas's remark. Suddenly, it was the most important thing in the world to him that Mary wasn't already snatched up. He hadn't seen her in over ten years, not since he'd left Oregon. He'd thought of her a hundred times, just never as a woman grown—never as a prospective wife. When his family had moved away from Blessing Creek to live near his father's family, Mary had been as slim as a buggy whip, with skinned knees and eyes too big for her face. In his head, she'd remained that saucy neighbor girl with a mind of her own who could pitch a mean softball, put her own bait on a hook and catch more fish than he could. Mary had been his best friend from the time he was six years old until they'd fallen out over that stupid incident at school when they were in the eighth grade. Not long after that, Caleb's family had moved to Virginia. A few years back, his cousin Andy had told him that his grandmother had read in The Budget that Mary Glick had married a Beachy Amish and moved to Kentucky. Obviously, that wasn't true. So much for the Amish grapevine. Finding Mary still single was his good fortune. He couldn't stop grinning at her. Her eyes were still that deep, warm brown with little specks of gold in them, and she'd always had the thickest lashes. Just staring into those beautiful eyes made him as giddy as if he'd drunk four-day-old buttermilk. "Mary," he breathed. "You're the last person I expected to see here." "Mary Glick!" Martha echoed from the porch. "Other men want coffee. Don't dawdle." "Ya, Aunt Martha. Coming!" Miriam grasped Dorcas's arm. "We'll take care of the coffee. You catch up on your visiting," she called over her shoulder to Mary as she pulled her protesting cousin away. Mary hesitated. "Don't go." Caleb touched her hand. "Miriam's right. We should talk." Mary folded her arms over her chest and looked right at him. "There's nothing you could say that I want to hear."

Chapter Six Mary wished she was anywhere but there. Why was Caleb grinning at her? She couldn't imagine that he could take pleasure in seeing her embarrassed in front of everyone. He'd never been like that when they

766

were growing up. He'd been the sweetest boy, her best friend. Together, they'd climbed trees, dug for fishing worms, raced turtles and told each other all their secrets. Caleb never teased the girls, and when she and her girlfriends had wanted to play ball at recess, he'd always insisted that the boys let them. He'd been kind in everything he did. Once, Caleb had climbed to the roof of the school to rescue Arny Lapp's kitten, and another time, he'd kept the big boys from stomping on a nest of baby rabbits. He was smart, too, always one of the best in the class. Not that he was proud. He'd just liked learning, and he hadn't hid it. The two of them had always vied for the best grades in math and reading in the one-room schoolhouse in Blessing Creek. That was why Caleb was the last one in the world that Mary would have expected to do what he did. She'd never forgiven him for it, and it had ruined their friendship. Now, here he was in Delaware without his young wife. Doubtless, when he got home to Virginia, he'd tell Susan about running into the tall girl he used to know, the twenty-five year old whose family had sent her across the country to find a husband. She'd be a laughingstock in Virginia, too. She was no better than a Belgian mare on the auction block. As Caleb stood there with that smug look on his face, her initial embarrassment faded and was slowly replaced with annoyance that bordered on anger. Among the Amish, anger wasn't an emotion that a person was supposed to acknowledge. They were gentle folk, and they were supposed to live according to the Lord's example. Turn the other cheek. Offer good for evil. Be a model for others. But at this moment, Mary didn't feel very loving. She should have been ashamed of that, but she wasn't. Caleb was nothing more than a cheat and a liar. And she'd never forget it. "So, Mary, how have you been?" he asked. "Fine. I've been fine." "And are you happy?" He arched one brow, the one that had a little scar running through it. The scar she'd given him. A softball she'd thrown had accidently hit him when he was nine. He'd bled so much that his mother had had to put stitches in it. Caleb hadn't cried, but she had. She hadn't meant to hurt him; he'd teased her about it for years. "Ya. Very happy," she replied. "You don't look happy." She tilted her head. "Maybe meeting you has ruined my day." "Such talk from a nice Amish girl," he said to Menno, still grinning like a fool. "You have to keep an eye on this one." He winked. "Her temper can be dangerous."

Chapter Seven "Dangerous?" Menno asked, playing along. "Did I tell you about the time she pushed me out of a tree and broke my arm?" Mary knew by the tone of his voice that Caleb was teasing, but she wanted Menno to know what really happened. "That was an accident," she said. "I fell out of the tree because a wasp stung me. I hit him on the way down."

767

"She fell on top of me and broke my arm." "I was seven," Mary said. "We liked each other then." "Then?" Menno seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their banter. "It was a long time ago." Caleb grinned at Mary. "Bygones be bygones. How about if we kiss and make up?" "You're fresh." Mary gritted her teeth. Another moment and she'd be tempted to break his head. "What would your wife think if she knew you talked that way to respectable women?" Menno made a face. "He doesn't have a wife. Didn't you hear? Susan left him for a boy with a pickup and a mobile home with a big-screen TV. Didn't even tell him that she had changed her mind. He had to hear about it from his deacon." Mary didn't know what to say. Her mouth felt suddenly dry. Caleb hadn't married…hadn't taken over Susan's father's big dairy farm in Virginia. How was that possible? She had cried when she'd heard he'd gotten married, which had made no sense to her. She was still angry with him, how could she be upset that he was married? And now, it wasn't even so… "Mary Glick!" Martha came down the house steps. "Are you going to stand there all day? We need help in the kitchen. No one's started the chicken corn soup yet." "I've got to go." Mary looked down at the grass, then up. "I'm sorry about your Susan, Caleb. Really." And she truly was. All she could think of was how hurt he must have been, how ashamed at being stood up in front of his friends and family. Not that she should feel sorry for him, considering what he'd done to her. But it was difficult to remain resentful when he was smiling at her with that cute, crooked grin. Had his eyes always been that blue? She turned to go. "Wait." He stepped in front of her. "Tonight, there's a singing at Mel King's. Are you going?" "Going with Miriam and Dorcas, ain't you?" Menno reminded her. "Maybe," Mary admitted. Why did Caleb want to know? He couldn't be considering asking her to sit across from him at the singing and games. "I'd like to drive you home after," he said, as if reading her thoughts. He was grinning again. At her. "If you're not already spoken for." Suddenly her heart was pounding again, this time with a sense of panic. She spun on her bare heels and walked away. "Go pound nails, Stutzman…"

Chapter Eight Mary's blunt refusal to ride home with Caleb made him reconsider attending the singing that night. At his age, he was too old for young people's gatherings. Most men his age were married. He would be, too, if Susan hadn't eloped with Joe Miller in his Chevy truck. He'd felt like such a fool, but now, it didn't seem so bad. Better to find out who she really was before they wed. Thinking about Susan over the past few months, he wondered if their relationship had been based on the wrong things. Susan had been fun and affectionate with a lively personality. She was an only child, so her

768

father had offered Caleb his farm once they were married. Those eighty-five fertile acres were a dream come true for Caleb. And yet he hadn't really known Susan. He never would have walked out with her if he hadn't believed she intended to remain true to their faith. Her decision to leave the Amish meant she'd been shunned by her family and community. Caleb wasn't certain if he could have refused to speak to her, but he never had to find out. She'd never sent him so much as a postcard. After her father received a photo of her in a tight red dress standing beside Joe in front of the Little Reno Wedding Chapel, he'd given his farm to a nephew. Caleb had come to understand that losing Susan had been God's plan for him. What if they'd exchanged vows and she'd been so unhappy with him or the Plain life that she'd left the Amish anyhow? Where would that have left him? The church didn't allow divorce. Once married, a couple was married for life. If Susan had gone out into the world, she could have made a new life for herself, but he would have been trapped with no hope of a wife and family. Forever. He hoped Susan was happy in the English world, but he never could be. His place was among the Plain People…with a woman like Mary. They'd been friends for a long time, he knew what kind of person she was. The trouble was, he didn't have a lot of time to convince her. His grandfather's letter had made that clear. Clearly Mary was still angry with him for the spelling bee incident, even after all these years. He had to find a way to change her opinion of him. Maybe the singing, with all the other people looking on, wasn't the right place, though. "I'm not going to the singing," Caleb told Menno as they walked down the driveway for more materials. "If Mary's not interested, there's no other girl that I want to drive home." Menno frowned. "What's the matter, Caleb? Scared? The more that girls say they dislike you, the more they actually like you. I get that all the time." "Mary might not even be there," he hedged. Menno chuckled. "She'll be there. Count on it. And she won't be able to take her eyes off you."

Chapter Nine That evening, after the last nail had been pounded and the food cleared away, Mary found herself practically kidnapped. Miriam had arrived at the farm driving the Yoder buggy, and nothing would do but for Mary to accompany her to the young people's get-together. Singings were an important place for unmarried men and women to meet, make friends and seek out prospective husbands and wives. Although well-chaperoned by young married couples, rules were relaxed at frolics; these events often led to dates where the boy would drive the girl home and spend a few hours on her front porch visiting. Seeing Caleb today had brought back so many memories, so many emotions, that Mary wasn't certain she wanted to see him again ever, much less tonight. But Miriam wouldn't take no for an answer, and Mary soon found herself seated between her and Dorcas on one side of a long table in the front room of the King farmhouse. Charley Byler, Rudolf King and Elmer Beachy sat directly across from them. Elmer was only sixteen, young to attend a frolic, and Rudolf, Mary's partner for the singing, seemed too shy to say a word. Why did I ever let them talk me into this? Mary wondered. There was no sign of Caleb and she wasn't sure whether she was glad or disappointed that he hadn't come. She loved the hymns, fast tunes and clapping games, but she was really too old for this kind of get-together. Miriam's friend Charley was leading the group in a lively rendition of "The Farmer Takes a Wife" when Miriam kicked Mary's ankle under the table. Mary looked up to see Caleb standing directly across from her. She was so surprised that she lost the beat and stopped clapping. Menno appeared on the other side of

769

Elmer and whispered in his ear. Elmer blushed and scrambled up, pulling Rudolf with him. Menno and Caleb slid into the boys' seats and picked up the refrain in rich, clear voices. Dorcas giggled. Mary averted her eyes, but sneaked a peek at Caleb through her lashes and felt a thrill of excitement. How handsome he looked in his crisp blue shirt, black coat and wide-brimmed black wool hat. She glanced at Miriam, but her friend had eyes only for Charley. This is what I've always wanted, Mary thought, to have a boy smiling at me the way Caleb is tonight. If only they could go back in time and change what had happened. Or if she could simply forgive and forget… She bit down on her lower lip, giving up trying to sing. But how can I forgive a cheat? Someone who betrayed my trust? Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Her mother always said one rotten ingredient could ruin a good stew. Maybe what Caleb had done had ruined their chances of ever getting past it, no matter how much they cared for each other.

Chapter Ten In the golden light of the oil lamp, Mary's face seemed the most perfect thing that Caleb had ever laid eyes on. Even angry with him, as she was now, she was beautiful. Her mouth, her dark brows as graceful as a bird's wings, the tendrils of brown hair that fell over her forehead and curled on her neck. How had he ever thought that she was too tall? Sitting next to little Miriam Yoder, Dorcas and the other girls, Mary looked like a swan in a pond full of ducks. How had he ever believed that Susan was the right fit for him? From the time they were small, he and Mary had been in sync. Often they had even said the same thing at the same time. They both loved ice cream, walnuts—but not hazelnuts—and peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. His mother used to tease that he and Mary must have been twins who were separated on the way down from heaven and landed in different houses. On how many occasions over the years had he thought of her, laughed at something funny that she'd said, gotten sentimental over something that she'd done? All the time he'd spent searching for the right woman to be his wife, his Mary was waiting for him. Caleb had prayed to God to help him find a solution to his problem, and the next day, she had appeared. Certainty settled into Caleb's chest as he glanced in her direction. Mary Glick was the only girl in the world for him. All he had to do was convince her that he could make her happy. Charley proposed a game where the boys and girls sat knee to knee, and everyone got up and moved their chairs. Each person clapped in time to the song, slapped their own knees and then slapped their partner's hands. Mary obviously liked this game because she played enthusiastically, smacking Caleb's palms so hard that they stung. Everyone was singing except for him, and he waited until the chorus got louder before mouthing to Mary. "I need to talk to you. Will you let me drive you home?" He had to say it twice before she heard him. Then her eyes widened, she flushed a pretty pink and shook her head. "Please?"

770

"Not if you were the last—" The song ended, leaving Mary's words echoing in the room. Everyone laughed, and she rose and ran out of the house. "What are you waiting for?" Miriam asked Caleb, shooing him with her hands. "Go after her! And be sure you have her home by ten." More laughter came from some of the boys. Caleb didn't care. He went out the front door and into the yard. The crescent moon cast a pale light over the farmyard. High above, a thousand stars glittered in a blue velvet sky. "Mary!" he called into the darkness. "Where are you?" A dog barked, and then he saw a figure striding purposefully down the lane.

Chapter Eleven Mary had run out of the Kings' house so quickly that she hadn't thought about needing a flashlight to find her way back to her aunt and uncle's. Why had Caleb let her embarrass herself in front of everyone? It wasn't like him to be cruel…but then, she didn't really know him, did she? She gritted her teeth, thrust her chin forward and kept walking down the dirt lane. Had she ever really known Caleb? The boy she'd loved was sweet and thoughtful and honest. He'd always sensed when she was feeling low, and he'd understood how to make her laugh. Yet, Caleb obviously hadn't been the person she'd thought he was. He'd turned out to be a cheat and a liar. How could she still feel the pain of his betrayal after so many years? The Bible taught that you should forgive others so that God could forgive your errors. She liked to think that she had forgiven Caleb. What she hadn't done—what she couldn't even pretend to have done—was forget…. The end-of-term spelling bee had signaled the conclusion of the eighth graders' formal education and a momentous occasion in their lives. As Old Order Amish, graduating students left school to begin the work of adults. Boys would work on the farm or be apprenticed in a craft such as carpentry. Girls would remain at home to help in the kitchen or take paid positions as a mother's helper in other Amish households. For her, graduation had brought both joy and sadness. She was excited to enter the adult world, but she loved reading and learning. There was so much about the world that books alone could teach her, books that wouldn't be available to her after graduation. She'd begged her father to allow her to repeat the eighth grade. He believed it was foolish, but he'd agreed that if she won the senior spelling bee, she could stay another year. For weeks, she'd studied long into the night after everyone in the house had gone to sleep. And on the day of the spelling bee, she'd gotten every word right until every student had sat down except for her and Caleb. She was so sure that she would beat him. Especially when she heard that last word… Only Caleb had beat her, and she'd realized he'd done it by cheating. He'd refused to admit it, even privately later. But she had known the truth. And the fact that he had lied—especially to her—still cut deep. Was that why he'd appeared in her life again? Was it because she hadn't been able to get past what had happened in the eighth grade? What kind of person was she if she'd hold on to a wrong for so many years? She would need to pray on the problem, concentrating on her own weakness, not Caleb's. Mary heard the sound of a horse and buggy coming behind her, interrupting her thoughts. She kept walking. "Mary," Caleb called. "Let me drive you home." She ignored him.

771

"Mary, please get in the buggy." "Leave me alone." "Please. I need to talk to you. It's important." "Jump in the creek, Caleb Stutzman."

Chapter Twelve Caleb reined the horse off the lane, got out of the buggy and tied the horse to a tree. He hurried to catch up with Mary. Luckily for him, it was a long lane. "Evening, Mary," he said as he drew up to her. She lengthened her stride. He stretched his legs to keep up. "Nice apple crop this year. Especially the Granny Smiths." Mary didn't answer, but she gave an exasperated little sigh. "Good year for soybeans, too," he said. She stopped and whirled to face him. "What do you think you are doing?" "Just walking." "Walking where?" "I believe there's a creek up ahead, near the road. A pretty woman told me to jump in." Mary made a small sound of amusement. "And do you always do everything girls tell you to do?" "I try to. When they're pretty. And sweet." She sighed and folded her arms over her chest. "What are you doing, Caleb? Why are you walking when you've got a horse and buggy?" "You wouldn't ride with me, so I decided to walk with you." "I don't want you to walk with me." "I'm too short for you. That's it, isn't it?" "Ne. I'm too tall, but you're not too short." "You're not too tall. So it must be something else about me." He flexed a bicep. "Am I not muscular enough?" The tenseness drained out of her voice as she fought a smile. "Ne, Caleb. Your muscles are fine." He grinned. "You noticed?" "Hard not to see the fool on the ridgepole of the barn yelling at the top of his lungs."

772

"You're still mad about the spelling bee, aren't you?" he asked. "Ne. I am not mad." She started walking again. "Sometimes foxes or skunks are mad. I don't have rabies." "It was stupid, okay? I did a stupid thing when I was fourteen." "You cheated," she accused. "You didn't know how to spell chrysanthemum. You always got it wrong. We both did. Remember?" He groaned. "You're right, Mary. I did cheat. I was afraid the teacher would pick that word because she'd remember I got it wrong on the quizzes." "So how did you do it?" "I wrote the word on my wrist in ink. Under my shirtsleeve. It was the only one I wrote." "So, you admit it now?" She was standing so close that he could smell the scent of honeysuckle in her hair. "Ya. I just said so, didn't I? It was wrong. But I couldn't stand to lose at the time, not in front of my family." "Don't you think I wanted to win, too? My father would have let me repeat the eighth grade if I'd won." He looked into her eyes, wishing desperately he could go back and change that day. "If it helps, I knew it was wrong. It bothered me for years. It still does. And losing your friendship was worse. I didn't want you to be disappointed in me, so I lied to you. And I lost you anyway. I've missed you so much." "You never apologized." "I'm trying to now, Mary. I was fourteen years old and I did a stupid thing. I'm not a kid anymore. And I'm asking for your forgiveness. Can you forgive me?"

Chapter Thirteen Mary was silent for a moment. "I forgave you years ago," she said softly. "Did you?" Caleb stepped closer, and Mary took a step back. She felt lightheaded. "You're right. It was a long time ago. We were children." "We're not children now." He brushed his fingers across her lips. "It's time I settled down, married, raised a family." "Good for you." Her mouth tingled where he'd touched her and a flush of warmth rose under her skin. "But I don't see what that has to do with me." "Don't you?" She shook her head. "Ne." "You're not making this any easier for me."

773

Caleb sounded hurt, and she felt a twinge of regret for treating him like this. Of course she did know what he was talking about. That's why she was suddenly so scared. "You and me. We'd never work out," she said, not really sure why she said it. She couldn't think straight with him so close. "Because of what I did at the spelling bee?" He inhaled sharply. "So you are holding that against me?" He took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he held on tightly. His hand was hard, callused from work, but his grip wasn't rough. It was gentle and warm. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd known what it meant to you," he went on. "And you never told me that your father would have let you repeat the eighth grade." "Probably wouldn't have been the same. My best friends were graduating. But it was what I wanted then." She slipped her hand from his. "I felt betrayed, Caleb." "I understand that." His tone was contrite. "You were entitled, but I'd like to make it up to you." "It's too late." "It's never too late to right a wrong. Your family sent you here to find a husband, didn't they?" "Ya." She crossed her arms. "Nice of you to remind me of it." "You're a stubborn girl, Mary Glick. You always were. But you were always sensible, too. Think about it. You need a husband and I need a wife. Shouldn't we give it a chance?" "It would never work," she said hastily. "I never thought of you that way… I could never…" The lie almost caught in her throat. She had loved Caleb Stutzman. Maybe she still did. "Is that truth speaking, Mary? From your heart? Or is it your pride that's still smarting?" Mary pressed her lips together, not sure what to do with all the feelings bubbling up inside her. Was she really still angry with Caleb about that incident all those years ago, or was this about avoiding the present? About how confused and afraid and terrifyingly hopeful she felt now? No other boy had really wanted her. It was hard to believe Caleb did. Caleb of all people… "I'm sorry," Mary said. "I don't mean to be prideful and unforgiving." The words stung as she spoke them because they were true. "You were my best friend," he said. "I think we could be more. Spend time with me. Give me the opportunity to show you that I can be trusted. Let me show you that I'm not the same stupid boy I was. Let me show you how much I could love you."

Chapter Fourteen "Let me show you how much I could love you." His words hung in the air, but when Mary didn't answer, Caleb finally said, "At least let me drive you home. If you go back to your aunt's without Miriam, she'll want to know why. Everyone saw me follow you out of the singing." "I suppose that would be all right."

774

Her voice sounded throaty, as though she were about to cry. He couldn't stand it if she cried. "Am I so bad that you're afraid to ride in my buggy?" "Ne." She sighed, clutching her hands. "I'm sorry for my behavior. I accept your apology and I will ride with you." A tingle of hope ran down his spine. "And you'll let me court you?" "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." She managed a little laugh. "Let's see if we can mend our friendship first." Caleb hurried back to untie his horse and brought the buggy down the road at a fast pace. He was afraid that when he got back to where he'd left her, Mary would have vanished. But she was there, waiting for him, and he felt a glimmer of hope. He reined in his gelding and got out to help her into the buggy. Mary sat on the far side of the bench seat, leaving a space between them. "I have something to offer a wife," he said, when they'd gone half the distance from the Kings' farm to her aunt and uncle's home. Mary didn't answer. The only sounds were the steady sound of the horse's hooves striking the blacktop, the chirp of crickets and the creaking of the buggy wheels. "I've promise of a fine farm. Farming is all I've ever wanted to do. My father wanted me to learn wheelwrighting from my uncle and grandfather, but I never really took to it. I like the smell of new-turned ground in the spring and watching crops grow from seed to harvest." He tried to think of what might be important to a woman, some argument that would convince her, as he directed the buggy into the driveway. "There's a fine house, too—two-story brick, a solid building with room for a big family." She still said nothing and his hopes sagged. Maybe it was too late to mend the breach between them. Maybe Mary's anger over what he'd done had made her bitter. But he wasn't ready to give up yet. "Mary, if you've forgiven me, why aren't you talking to me?" The horse came to a stop beside the hitching rail. "Mary?" She turned to look at him and the moonlight lit her face. "Would you stop talking long enough for me to invite you in for a cup of coffee?"

Chapter Fifteen The words were out of her mouth before Mary realized what she was saying. What she was implying…which was that she was interested in having him court her. "Are you sure you want me to come in?" he asked. "I won't keep apologizing, Mary. If we're to explore how we feel, we have to put the past behind us. The bad parts, I mean." "Ya," she agreed. And she realized that she needed to put her own insecurities aside, too. If she was going to give him a chance—them a chance—she had to be brave. As brave as he was to have brought them this far. "You're right. We need to put it all behind us and start again." Riding home from the singing with Caleb in his buggy was the fulfillment of a lifetime dream. It was what she'd always imagined when she thought about courting a boy…almost. She'd just never pictured Caleb in her mind.

775

But the reality was so much better. So much…scarier. Unconsciously, she gripped the dashboard of the buggy. Caleb was with her again and asking to court her. It was almost too much to take in. The thought of marrying him and moving to Virginia overwhelmed her. She'd be so far from home in Virginia. No, it would never work, no matter how much she cared for him. But the moment the thought went through her mind, she was reminded of the accusations her family and friends had made. They said she was always too picky when it came to suitors, that she never gave boys a fair chance and was always coming up with excuses why a match was unsuitable. Were they right? Was that what she was doing now, too? He helped her down from the buggy. This was it. This was her opportunity to give Caleb a chance. To believe him when he said he cared for her. This was her opportunity to get past the doubts she had about herself. This was her chance at happiness. "I want you to come in," she said. "So I'm truly forgiven?" "Ya, Caleb." She smiled at him, suddenly excited about the thought of having him in, sitting down and talking with him. They had so much catching up to do. "You're forgiven." Mary was reaching for the kitchen doorknob when the door swung open. "Mary!" her aunt said. "And Caleb…Stutzman, isn't it?" He nodded. "Evening." "I've asked him in for coffee," Mary explained. "Singing over early?" Aunt Viola peered past them at Caleb's buggy. "Caleb drove you home, did he?" She beamed. "Come in, both of you. Coffee's on the back of the stove. And cinnamon buns." Caleb followed them into the kitchen. "I'd love a cinnamon bun." "Young men are always hungry." Aunt Viola waved them toward the long kitchen table. Her uncle wandered into the kitchen. "Did I hear something about coffee and cinnamon buns?" He offered a hearty greeting to Caleb. "Stutzman, ain't it?" Caleb nodded and shook Uncle Harvey's hand. "Heard you've come into good fortune," Aunt Viola said as she poured mugs of coffee. "Promised a farm, isn't that right?" She stared pointedly at Mary. Caleb nodded again and looked uncomfortable. Mary felt her cheeks growing hot. "It's not… We're not…" She tried again. "Caleb and I were friends when we were children." "A good start to walking out with a girl." Uncle Harvey tugged on his beard, sizing up Caleb.

776

"Particularly since you're in a hurry to find a wife." Aunt Viola turned to Mary. "Martha heard from Elizabeth that Caleb's grandfather wants to give him the farm, but only if he's married. If he doesn't bring home a wife within the month, the land goes to a cousin. What a blessing that he found you, Mary."

Chapter Sixteen Caleb glanced at Mary, worried. Her tight little smile didn't fool him for an instant. One look at those beautiful brown eyes told him all he needed to know. She thought his sudden interest was all because of the inheritance. He had to talk to her alone—to explain, before she slammed the door in his face forever. He gulped the hot coffee without cream or sugar and bolted down the cinnamon bun. When Mary's aunt offered second helpings, he refused. "Mary and I wanted to sit and talk awhile," he said. "With your permission." Both Viola and Harvey grinned and nodded, and before Mary could protest, they hurried off, leaving them alone in the well-lit kitchen. It was Mary who broke the silence between them. "So none of this was about your feelings for me. You just needed a wife to get this farm you were telling me about?" He reached out to touch her hand, but she snatched her arm back as if she'd been burned. "I do need a wife," he said. "That's true, but I wasn't asking to court you just because of that." She didn't look like she believed him. He came around the table and sat next to her. "It's the truth, Mary. When I saw you at the barn raising, I realized there was no other woman for me. Never has been." "You would have married Susan." "Ya. But it would have been a mistake. She did me a favor by running off. She wasn't happy in the Plain life, and I couldn't be happy out of it." "I don't like being your second choice. I'd never know, would I? Whether you picked me to get the farm or because you really wanted me to be your wife." "To get the farm from my grandfather, I do need a wife. But my feelings for you have nothing to do with the farm." "Why didn't you tell me? Were you going to hide the truth until I'd agreed to be courted? Or longer than that?" Her cheeks were rosy red, and her eyes caught the light of the oil lamp. Dear God, if I can just make this woman my wife, he thought, I'll never ask for anything again. He took her hand. It was as cool as her gaze. "I would have told you." "Who else have you asked to be your wife? How many others?" "No one but Susan, and she married someone else." "So no girl here would agree to let you court her?" "Lots would."

777

"Oh? Like who?" He thought for a second. "Miriam Yoder, maybe." "No way. She's already got two boys after her." "Her sister Anna, then. She's a good cook." Mary nodded, gazing into his eyes. "Anna? Maybe. Who else?" "Dorcas for certain. But I didn't ask any of them. I only want you." He leaned close and kissed her soft mouth.

Chapter Seventeen For just a moment, Mary savored the warmth and texture of his lips. Caleb's kiss was tender, and it softened her anger and stole the breath from her throat. He'd surprised her, but she seemed to know exactly how to tilt her head, as though they'd done it a hundred times. His breath was fresh, and he tasted of mint. She couldn't understand how their lips came together so perfectly, almost as though they were two parts of a single whole. "Oh, Mary." Caleb embraced her and she had to make herself pull away. "Ne. We're not to the kissing part yet. I've not even agreed to let you court me," she protested, rising to her feet and going to the far side of the table. "I want you for my wife. I'm not playing games." He shook his head. "We don't have to go slow." She went to the stove and picked up the coffeepot, needing something to do, needing to reason this out. She could still taste him, still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers. What must he think of her? That he could drive her home from a singing and she'd allow him to do what was proper only for a betrothed or a husband? Did he think that she was so desperate to marry anyone that she'd allow him to take liberties? And suppose her aunt or uncle had returned to the kitchen and seen them kissing? Her reputation would have been destroyed. "I don't know about the girls in Virginia," she said. "But I was raised modestly. You're too fast by far, Caleb." He stood up and she thought again how handsome he was. Far too good a catch for the likes of her… "I won't apologize for kissing you," he said. "It's true that we've only just met after so long apart. But if you'll take a chance on me, I promise I'll never let you down again. I love you, Mary. I think I've loved you since you were seven years old. And I can't imagine having another woman in my kitchen, in my bed or bearing my children." She chewed on her lower lip. This was all too much. How could he expect her to seriously consider marriage? Most Amish couples dated for a year or more before they announced their intentions to wed. And to move to Virginia? To never see her family and friends again? And then there was the question of whether or not she really could trust him. He'd told her he had changed, that he wasn't the boy who had cheated on the spelling bee and lied to her. But he was the man who had failed to tell her that he needed a wife in the next month. "Go home, Caleb," she said, her conflicted emotions bubbling up again. "Give me time to think and pray on this. I won't be rushed into marriage. You're asking me to commit my whole life to you. It's not rational to do that without careful thought and prayer."

778

He crossed the kitchen to the door and then turned back. "It is," he said. "It's the most rational decision I've ever made."

Chapter Eighteen "Please, Caleb, I need time," Mary said softly, putting down the coffeepot and walking to the kitchen door. He studied her face, looking for a sign that there was hope. "I understand. Just promise me that you really will consider it," he said, his hand on the doorknob. "This is all happening so fast. I don't know how I feel about you, Caleb." He stepped out onto the porch and she followed him. "Is it because I kissed you?" he asked, afraid he had pushed her too far. She shook her head, trying to figure out how to put her emotions into words. "It's about trust. I have to be able to trust you, Caleb. I just don't know if I can." "I meant what I said. You're the only one for me." "The trouble is, I'm not sure you're the one for me." She closed the heavy door, leaving him alone on the porch. Confused and hurt, Caleb returned to his buggy, untied his horse and drove out of the yard. He felt stunned, almost numb. He wasn't sure what had gone wrong in there, but something had. Mary had welcomed his kiss. That much he knew. She'd kissed him with as much passion as he felt. He supposed he should have been up front about his grandfather's offer, but explaining why he had to have a wife immediately would have been awkward. Caleb wasn't clear himself why his grandfather had stipulated he must marry at once. Perhaps he loved his farm and thought that a married man would have more reason to work hard. Caleb had never been close to his mother's father. But his grandfather had written that he regretted what had happened between them all. He said that he realized that the fault was his, and he asked for forgiveness. Caleb's mother had loved her father, despite the breach between them, and Caleb didn't have it in his heart to hold a grudge against his grandfather. Most young women would have been glad that the man they were marrying owned land. Surely Mary wouldn't believe he would marry her just to get the land? Would she? The sound of a motor vehicle coming fast behind him jerked Caleb from his thoughts. He looked in the mirror and saw a pair of headlights bearing down on him and the flash of blue police lights behind it. The speeding car started to move into the left lane to pass the buggy, but there was another vehicle coming, head-on. Caleb would have pulled the horse off the road, but on his right was a deep drainage ditch. There was nowhere to go. Brakes squealed and his horse reared in the traces. The horse whinnied in fear and fell back, tilting the carriage dangerously. Mary's image rose in his mind just before he felt the crash and the sound of shattering wood deafened him.

Chapter Nineteen "Did your young man leave so quickly?" Aunt Viola asked as Mary hurried past her and up the staircase.

779

"Ya, he did," Mary answered. "And I don't think he will be back." It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. She hadn't wanted to hurt Caleb, and she had. She shouldn't have closed the door on him like that and now she didn't know how to make it right. "A pity," her aunt called after her. "Such a nice-looking boy. Good manners, and…the promise of a prosperous farm." Mary pretended she hadn't heard and continued to climb the steps, past the second floor landing, up to the third floor attic and to her room. Eyes stinging, she went to the window and watched as Caleb's buggy turned onto the main road. She couldn't see the horse because of the darkness, but the blue carriage lights blinked brightly. What had she done? What if she never found anyone she cared for as much as she cared for him? What if she ended up an old maid living in a relative's house or married to someone like Zebediah Swartzentruber? Shouldn't she have been happy that she and Caleb could have their own land to go to, rather than skimping and saving for years to buy a farm? So what if she would have to live in Virginia? There was a large Amish community there. They would become her family. All her arguments, they were just excuses. Irrational fears that had no truth behind them. She pressed her palm against the window screen and blinked back tears. I love him, she thought. I've always loved him. But now, because of her stubborn pride, it might be too late. Unless… Maybe if she went to him and— Mary instinctively leaned closer to the window as the lights of a speeding truck came up the road behind Caleb's buggy. A police car with flashing blue lights and a wailing siren followed the truck. The truck started to pass the buggy, but then must have spotted the oncoming car. A silent scream caught in Mary's throat as she heard the squeal of brakes and saw the truck strike something and then roll with a terrible shriek of grinding metal. Caleb! Where was Caleb? The blue lights of the buggy were gone. In their place were flames and the headlights of a vehicle. "Caleb!" Mary raced down the stairs, her heart pounding. "There's been an accident!" she shouted to her uncle. "Caleb's buggy's been hit by a truck." "Wait!" her uncle said. "I'll hitch up the cart." "It's quicker if I go across the field!" She ran out the back door and through the garden. Her kapp blew off, but she didn't stop to retrieve it. All she could think of was Caleb. Mary's breath came in ragged gulps and her side ached, but she kept running. She had to get to Caleb—had to know if he was safe. "Please, God," she kept repeating. A loose horse trailing a harness stumbled past her in the darkness—Caleb's gelding. A state trooper strode through the blinking lights, ordering onlookers to step back, but there was no sign of Caleb, only a shattered buggy, half sunk in the deep ditch.

Chapter Twenty "Caleb!" Mary could hardly breathe for the smoke and stench of burning rubber. She could see the big pickup resting upside down on the far side of the ten-foot drainage ditch. "You looking for the Aim-ish man?"

780

Mary nodded, too frightened for words. "He's in there!" A woman gestured with a big flashlight toward the expanse of muddy water. In the distance, Mary heard a siren. "He's all right?" she begged. "The Amish man?" "Miss. You'll have to move back." Mary ignored the trooper, her attention riveted by a dark shape moving out of the shadows. "Caleb?" she screamed and ran toward him. Hatless, covered in mud, Caleb trudged toward her. In his arms, he carried a limp body. Caleb lowered him facedown onto the ground and pushed hard on his back. The man, hardly more than a scrawny boy, began to cough and then to choke up muddy water. Caleb gave him one more good push, and the youth began to cry. Satisfied he was not seriously injured, Caleb left him to the policeman. "Caleb." Mary threw herself into his arms and covered his face with kisses. "I thought you were dead," she said, now sobbing with joy and relief. "The truck hit my back wheel then cut in front of the horse and flipped. The driver was thrown into the water. I knew I had to get him out before he drowned." "When I couldn't find you… I… I…" Caleb's strong arms went around her and he led her into the shadows. "Did you see my horse?" he asked. "Is he all right?" She nodded. "Walking on all four legs, shook up, but sound enough. Oh, Caleb, I'm so sorry for the way I acted back at the house." "Keep explaining," he murmured. "It's going good so far." And then he kissed her so sweetly that she didn't mind the mud or the sand or his wet clothes soaking hers. "I thought I'd lost you," she said. "And I know now that I don't ever want to lose you." She looked into his eyes. "I was afraid I couldn't trust you, but I was wrong. You just risked your life to save a stranger." She felt tears on her cheeks. "You're the one man I can trust, Caleb." "Does this mean I can court you?" She gazed into his eyes in the darkness. "It means I'll be your wife…if you still want me." "We'd best marry soon, I think." He threaded his lean fingers through her long hair. "You seem to have lost your bonnet." "Oh." Her hand flew to her head. Not only had she lost her kapp, but her hair was hanging down around her shoulders like some Jezebel. "These English will see us kissing and there'll be a scandal in their papers," he teased. "But we'll be far away in Oregon." "Oregon?" She looked at him again. "I thought your farm was in Virginia." "What made you think that? It's my other grandfather who's offered his farm. My mother's father, Moses. He lives just across the valley from your family."

781

Tears shone in her eyes. "We're going home to Blessing Creek?" "Ya, my darling. Sometimes you search the world for what's missing, only to find it close to home all along."

782

The Bull Rider's Surrender By Marin Thomas Olivia Bennett's life is going according to plan—she's got a good job, a nice New York apartment, a careertrack fiance and is completely over her first love…well, maybe not completely. But that's exactly why she's returned to her hometown of Surrender, Texas—to put any lingering feelings she may have for cowboyturned-rodeo-star Cullen Montgomery firmly behind her. But unlike everything else in her life, the rugged ranch hand has never fit neatly into her plans. Instead of resolving things, the more time she spends with Cullen, the more questions she has…. Why did he really break up with her? What's he hiding from her? Why won't he give them a chance…and surrender?

Chapter One As far as honky-tonks went, the Frog Palace was a typical Hill Country hot spot along the Texas back roads. Located five miles west of Surrender, the dance hall was famous for its rhubarb beer, rowdy crowds and Saturday night mechanical-bull competitions. Olivia Bennett had never stepped foot inside the Frog Palace. Until tonight. It was the only way she could put her past—rather, a certain cowboy—behind her for good and move on with her life. She smoothed a hand down her snug Cruel Girl jeans and straightened her sparkly rhinestone belt. Then she fluffed the fringe on her tight black satin blouse and whisked her red hair over her shoulders. One… Two… Three. Olivia waltzed into the saloon. The screech of steel guitars threatened to deafen Olivia as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior. Neon beer signs and autographed photos of has-been country-western singers decorated the walls. She scanned the sea of cowboys and cowgirls but none of the faces looked familiar—no surprise. Although Olivia had grown up in Surrender, she hadn't associated with any of the locals—her parents had made sure of that. She'd gone to a college on the East Coast, and rarely came back to Texas after landing a job with an investment firm in New York City. She now called the Big Apple home and it was where she intended to build a life—if she could put Surrender, Texas, behind her… A wolf whistle echoed through the air and heads at the bar swiveled in her direction. One cowboy left his stool and circled her, his eyes roaming up and down her body. "Olivia Bennett?" "In the flesh." She had no idea who the guy was. "Don't remember me, do you?" he said. "Rich Doyle. I'm good friends with Cullen. We went to school together." Cullen. The reason Olivia had dolled herself up tonight and ventured into this particular bar, the go-to place for rodeo cowboys. She'd hoped to run into Cullen and finally lay to rest all the unresolved feelings she still seemed to harbor for her former childhood friend. As soon as she accomplished her task, she'd hop a flight back to New York. "Cullen know you're in town?" Rich asked. Olivia shook her head. She hadn't even told her parents she was coming until the airport limo service had delivered her to the ranch late this afternoon. "Wanna rhubarb beer?"

783

Wine sounded better, but tonight Olivia's nerves were tied in knots and she'd need an extra shot of courage to face Cullen. "A beer would be nice, thank you." Rich made room for her at the bar. "Hey, guys, this here is Olivia Bennett. Her daddy owns the Bennett Beef Ranch." The introduction garnered her several nods, a tipped hat and a few toothless smirks. Rich handed Olivia a mug of pale pink beer. "Drink fast and it won't taste bitter." Mindful of her audience, Olivia chugged the beer. She'd taken only a few swallows before the taste backed up in her throat and she coughed, sputtered and belched. The cowboys hooted encouragement, chanting "Li vi a…Li vi a…Li vi a!" Eyes watering, she drained the beer glass then wheezed. Rich handed her another mug of pink ale. "The second one goes down easier." Midway through the second glass, Olivia decided rhubarb beer was an acquired taste. When Rich placed mug number three in her hands, her head was already buzzing—she'd skipped dinner so she'd fit into her tight jeans. "Cullen took first place in the bull ridin' competition at the Pineyton Rodeo today," Rich said. "That's nice." Cullen had begun competing in local rodeos just after she'd departed for college. Almost a year later—the summer following their breakup—he'd been busy traveling the circuit, conveniently avoiding her at the ranch. She hadn't seen him since. "You datin' anyone, Olivia?" Rich inched closer, bumping his hip against her thigh. Olivia rubbed her bare finger, unsure what had possessed her to leave her diamond engagement ring at the ranch. "As a matter of fact—" Right then a cowbell rang through the air and a local band played Garth Brooks's song about bulls, dust, mud and rodeo. The cowboys at the bar drifted across the dance floor to the back corner where a mechanical bull with a spotted hide undulated. "C'mon." Rich led the way through the crowd. Caught up in the excitement of cowgirls and cowboys flying off the bull, Olivia finished off her third beer. "Wanna give it a try?" Rich asked. Why not? Olivia was twenty-six years old and couldn't remember the last time she'd done something this crazy. She handed Rich her empty beer mug then stepped onto the mats. Her three-inch heels sank into the foam and Olivia stumbled, falling flat on her face. Rich peeled her off the pads and plopped her on the back of the bull. The rowdy cowboys shouted advice as the bull tipped backward then slowly plunged forward. Schnockered from the alcohol she'd consumed, Olivia lay back, her long hair cascading over the sides of the machine. Mesmerized by the sparkly disco ball hanging from the ceiling, she gave herself over to the erotic motion of the bull's movements. Her euphoria didn't last long. Suddenly the bull pitched forward and Olivia found herself fanny high in the air. As the bull leveled out Olivia opened her eyes. And saw him. Cullen. The former love of her life stood in the crowd with his mouth hanging open. His outlaw looks hadn't changed over the years—shaggy brown hair, five o'clock shadow, chiseled cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

784

Suddenly the bull went crazy, and despite Olivia's attempts to remain seated, she sailed through the air and landed on the mats at Cullen's feet. *** Cullen couldn't believe what he was seeing. Why now? What cruel twist of fate had brought his old flame back to Surrender? Without giving his actions any thought, he scooped Olivia into his arms, carried her through the bar and out the door. He set her on her feet in the parking lot, steadying her when she stumbled. Olivia looked magnificent—auburn hair snarled around her head. Face flushed with excitement. Lips sparkling with gloss. She still stirred his blood—not a good thing, considering the secret he'd kept from her all these years. A thousand images of their childhood days whizzed through his brain. Following on the heels of toad chasing and mud-pie making were memories of stolen kisses and intimate rendezvous in the hayloft. And then the pain of losing her. Of hoping she'd come back to him and never seeing her again. A sense of unease tied Cullen's stomach in knots. He'd best keep his guard up around Olivia until he knew the reason she'd returned. Olivia hiccupped. "Excuse me." She pressed her fingertips to her lips and giggled. "That wasn't very ladylike." Fighting a grin he asked, "Since when did you take up mechanical bull riding?" She waved a hand in the air, drawing his attention to the swaying fringe across the front of her shirt. "Since I've been waiting for you to show up at the bar." His heart thumped an extra beat. "You were waiting for me?" Olivia's chin raised a notch. "I came back to Surrender to say goodbye to you, Cullen. For good."

Chapter Two "I didn't know you liked rhubarb beer," Cullen said after he helped Olivia into the front seat of his Ford. Someone from the Bennett Ranch would have to return to the Frog Palace tomorrow and pick up the truck Olivia had driven. "I hate beer." Cullen slid behind the wheel. "Then why are you three sheets to the wind—" he checked his watch "—and it's not even midnight?" "You know I can't hold my liquor." She hiccupped. Cullen recalled the afternoon he'd stolen the peppermint schnapps from her father's liquor cabinet. They'd been twelve at the time. Twenty minutes after polishing off the bottle, Olivia had puked in a water bucket in the barn. He'd helped her into the hayloft and had stood guard for three hours while she'd slept it off. He'd been scared senseless that her father would find out and fire his mother from her job as housekeeper for the Bennetts. As if she'd read his mind, Olivia said, "To this day I hate the taste of peppermint." She glanced across the seat. "Well?"

785

"Well what?" "Did you hear what I said back there?" Olivia pointed out the rear window of the truck. He'd heard. Loud and clear. "You came back to say goodbye." "For good." Olivia punctuated the statement with a nod. "What do you think of that?" I think you're more beautiful than ever. And I'm a damned fool. "I thought we said our goodbyes a long time ago." The truck hit a rut and Olivia clutched her stomach and grimaced. "Watch where you're going." "Yes, ma'am." He flashed his pearly whites. She scowled. "That's so annoying." "What?" "You always smile when you're in trouble." Their bantering reminded Cullen of old times…good times…times he was better off forgetting but knew he never would. "Sorry." He left the rural back road and turned onto the highway that led to the Bennett Ranch. "There's a convenience store up the road. We'll stop for coffee." Once they reached the gas station, Olivia headed to the ladies' room. Cullen paid for two coffees and a box of powdered donuts. Ten minutes later he drove beneath the arches guarding the entrance to the Bennett Ranch and veered onto an access road that led to a fishing pond. "What are we doing here?" Olivia asked when he parked the truck. He and Olivia had spent many afternoons at the water hole. "We're going to study the skies while you sober up." Against his better judgment, Cullen yearned for a few more minutes in Olivia's company. She didn't protest when he helped her out of the truck and up onto the tailgate. He handed her a coffee then sat next to her. "Donut?" He held out the box. "Not unless you want me to throw up on you." As they sat in silence sipping coffee, Cullen ignored the million questions racing through his brain and enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of stargazing with Olivia. "Even though I live in New York, I can still close my eyes and picture a Texas night sky." He could still close his eyes and picture Olivia. Don't go there, man. "Do you like New York?" "Of course. Who doesn't?" "Me, for one." He gulped his coffee. "I wouldn't expect you to. The city is too…"

786

"Too what?" A soft sigh escaped her mouth. "Too sophisticated for a cowboy like you." Olivia's statement didn't hurt Cullen. She'd only voiced what he'd known for a long time—Olivia was worldly. Intelligent, savvy, polished, accomplished—everything he wasn't. Cullen was a simple man with simple tastes who lived a simple life. Except for being lonely on occasion, he had no complaints about making Surrender his home. "Tell me about New York," he said. "New York is vibrant and alive. The city never sleeps and the energy of it pulls and pushes you in all directions." There was a sparkle in Olivia's eyes when she described the famous city. Obviously she thrived there— another reason to keep her at arm's length. "I'm glad you're happy there." In the end that was all he'd ever wanted for her. "I heard you won your rodeo event today," she said. "Yep." Cullen wondered how long they were going to dance around the subject of her saying goodbye to him. For good, she'd said. "When did you get back?" He worked as a ranch hand for Olivia's father and none of the cowboys had mentioned the boss's daughter returning for a visit. "I flew in late this afternoon." Since Olivia had graduated high school she'd avoided Texas, spending the summers out east or abroad. And the rare times she had come home, he'd avoided her. Minutes passed as they gazed at the heavens and Cullen polished off half the donuts. Figuring Olivia might be talked out for one night, he asked, "Ready to go home?" She looked at him and asked point blank, "Why did you give up on us?" Her question slammed into Cullen like a roughneck's fist to the gut. "You never gave me a good reason for why you were breaking up with me in that letter," she said. Cullen hopped off the tailgate and walked to the edge of the pond. Anger, frustration and hurt twisted his stomach. That Olivia had retained this much power over him pissed Cullen off. "Don't be naive. You knew why we couldn't be together." He'd assumed she'd accepted reality, but her insistence on bringing it up now troubled him. "I loved you, Cullen. You said you loved me." Oh, I did love you. He faced her. "We grew up, Olivia." You had a bright future ahead of you. I had nothing but Surrender. "What else?" she whispered. "You want a list?" By God he'd give her one. "Yes."

787

Agitated, he paced in the grass. "Okay, fine." He counted off on his fingers. "You're rich. I'm poor. You're intelligent—" "You'd better not say dumb." "You're bright. I'm dull." He ignored her unladylike snort. "You went to college." I went nowhere. "You're cultured. I'm a redneck. You play three musical instruments and speak two foreign languages. I play the harmonica and know a few cuss words in Spanish. You're climbing the corporate ladder. I'm content to ride a horse and punch cows. You'll always have money. I'll always have debt." He sucked in a deep breath and shoved his fingers through his hair. "I stated all our differences in the letter." "But you never gave us a chance to overcome those differences." Olivia's quiet pronouncement drew Cullen back to her side. He stood before her exasperated and amused. How could he make her understand that he hadn't wanted to hold her back from being all she was meant to be? He caressed the spattering of faded freckles across her nose. "You were born to take the world by the ass and fling it upside down." "I don't know about any ass-flinging—" Olivia smiled "—but I do enjoy a little boardroom shake-up from time to time." Their sparring reminded Cullen of their childhood spats, which Olivia had usually ended up winning. But this was one instance he refused to give in to her. "I responded to all your charges, you know," she said. A few months after he'd sent his breakup letter he'd received Olivia's reply by certified mail. She'd countered every one of his excuses for ending their relationship with a reason they were meant to be together. Her argument had been so convincing that if his world hadn't caved in on him during the weeks prior to the arrival of her letter Cullen would have agreed to get back together with Olivia. Olivia hopped off the tailgate. "I have a right to know why you never acknowledged my letter." Tell her—that will really make her run from you. He helped her into the truck then shut the passenger-side door and leaned his head through the window. "I didn't answer your letter because I wanted to protect you." "From what?" At the last second Cullen's courage failed him. "I wanted to protect you from me, Olivia."

Chapter Three "A Rich Doyle phoned and left a message for you," Olivia's father said Sunday morning when she waltzed into the kitchen. Feeling as if her head had been stuffed with cotton batting, Olivia poured herself a glass of orange juice then joined her father at the table. "I don't know any Rich," she lied, remembering the cowboy who'd supplied her with the rhubarb beer responsible for her hangover. "He wanted to remind you that Thursday is ladies' night at the Frog Palace and the mechanical bull would be fired up and ready to go." Her father stared. "I assume he had the wrong Olivia."

788

"I'm sure he did." There was only one Olivia within a hundred miles of Surrender, but she wasn't admitting to any bull ride at the local honky-tonk, though her appearance this morning probably gave her away. If only the bags under her eyes were the result of too much drinking…. Olivia had tossed and turned in bed last night, shaken by Cullen's confession that he'd ignored her letter because he'd wanted to protect her. Cullen had been her first kiss, she'd lost her virginity to him—what more did she need protecting from? "Who was on the phone earlier, Vince?" Marilyn Bennett strolled into the kitchen, her pink bathrobe floating in her wake. "Telemarketer," Olivia said, ignoring her father's raised eyebrow. Her mother poured herself a cup of coffee. "I don't understand any of this, Olivia. You should be in New York with your fiancé planning your wedding, not moping around the ranch." "If I ask you both something will you be honest with me?" Olivia's parents nodded. "Do you like Blake for who he is or because he's successful and affluent?" "Both," her mother blurted. "What about you, Dad?" "The young man's a bit on the stuffy side but I suppose most corporate bigwigs have egos." Olivia glanced between her parents. "Did you ever imagine me marrying a rancher or a cowboy?" Her mother slapped her palm against her chest. "Good Lord, no." "But you married Dad, Mom." "Your father isn't a real cowboy, dear. He bought this ranch as an investment then decided he liked pretending to be a cowboy better than sitting in a corner office all day." "In my defense," her father said. "I didn't just pretend. I learned to ride a horse and I roped a few steer in my younger days." Her mother patted her father's arm then turned to Olivia. "Why all the questions? Are you and Blake having a squabble?" "No." In fact they rarely had any arguments at all. She and Blake had a lot in common. They were both dedicated to their jobs and… Olivia's mind drew a blank. "Everyone says we're a perfect match." So why didn't Olivia feel that way, too? "You and Blake make a lovely couple, dear." Before Olivia had a chance to speak, her mother rushed on. "I'd invite you along on my shopping trip to Dallas today but I'm spending the night with Charlotte Wellington." "That's okay," Olivia said. "Maybe I'll go for a horseback ride with a friend." Her parents traded suspicious looks. Save for Cullen, Olivia didn't have any friends in Surrender because she'd been shipped off to boarding schools as soon as she was old enough. She hadn't minded it so much, but each year Olivia had eagerly awaited the arrival of summer when she'd return to the ranch and Cullen. To this day her parents had no idea how close she and the housekeeper's son had become through the years.

789

"Well." Her father cleared his throat. "I've got calls to make and finance reports to peruse." He kissed his wife's cheek. Olivia's mother trailed her father out of the room, giggling when her father whispered something in her ear. Olivia envied her parents their relationship. Thinking back on the time she'd spent with Blake, she couldn't remember him ever saying or doing anything to tease a giggle from her. Deciding a horseback ride might clear her thoughts, Olivia retreated to her bedroom to shower and dress. On her way to the barn she ran into a blond-haired imp. "Well, hello there," Olivia said to the child, who was throwing a stick to one of the ranch dogs. "Who are you?" "I'm Olivia. What's your name?" "Summer." Assuming the little girl was the daughter of one of the ranch hands, Olivia asked, "What are you up to today, Summer?" The child shrugged her slim shoulders. "Nothing. I'm bored." "Bored? There are lots of things to do on a ranch." Big blue eyes blinked like an owl's. "Really?" Olivia had fond memories of all the mischief she and Cullen had gotten into around the ranch. Deciding her horseback ride could wait until another time, she said, "Absolutely. Like…catching butterflies." "I've never caught a butterfly before," Summer said. "C'mon. I know just the place to find them." Olivia led the way behind the barn to the garden of wildflowers her mother had planted when they'd first moved to the property. The area was now overgrown and filled with weeds but it remained a haven for butterflies. Summer stopped at the entrance to the plot. "Can we go in there?" "Sure." Olivia shoved the rusty gate open. Weeds and tall grass had encroached on the walking path but it was still passable as she led the way to the black-eyed Susans in the back corner of the garden where a cloud of colorful butterflies drifted in the air. "They're everywhere!" Giggling, Summer cupped her hands and ran helter-skelter after the butterflies. Caught up in Summer's excitement, Olivia joined in the hunt. Their persistence paid off when each of them captured a beautiful monarch. Out of breath, they sat on a bench in the middle of the garden. "I'd forgotten how much fun it is to catch butterflies." Olivia couldn't recall ever seeing a butterfly in New York City. Her mother's neglected garden reminded Olivia of all the little pleasures she'd given up when she'd left the ranch and relocated to New York. Back then it had seemed easier to adjust to the big city rather than buck her parents' chosen path for her. "Did you catch a lot of butterflies when you were my age?" "How old are you?"

790

"Eight." "Yes, I thought the ranch was just like a big playground then." She and Cullen also played hide-and-seek in the flower garden. "I wish you could be my friend and play with me all the time," Summer said. The little girl's sweetness tugged at Olivia's heart. She and Blake had discussed children but Blake wanted to wait a few years until their careers were firmly on track. But Summer's jubilance made Olivia think perhaps she'd prefer to have a baby sooner rather than later—before she was too old to chase butterflies in the garden with her child. Thoughts of starting a family with Blake reminded Olivia of the real purpose behind her visit to the ranch. Once she learned exactly what Cullen had believed he'd been protecting her from all those years ago, she'd be able to return to New York with a clear conscience and begin making wedding plans with Blake. "I have to get going now, Summer, but I'll be here for a few more days, maybe we'll have more fun later." "Can I stay with the butterflies?" "Sure. Catch as many as you like." With a wave, Olivia left the garden. She returned to the house, grabbed a set of keys for one of the ranch trucks then drove to the edge of town where Cullen's mother lived. *** Pine Tree Estates Mobile Home Park hadn't changed much over the years, except the trees were bigger and there were twice as many double-wides. Most of the trailers were well maintained, their lots mowed and landscaped. She drove to the rear of the neighborhood where Mrs. Montgomery's home sat on a small plot of land. As she pulled up to the carport, she noticed Cullen sitting on the porch of the trailer next door—without a shirt on. Her childhood sweetheart had added quite a bit of muscle since high school. Fishing pole between his legs, he rummaged through a tackle box at his feet. Olivia got out of the truck and slammed the door. The sound brought Cullen's head up. Their gazes clashed. Olivia held her breath, waiting for him to make the first move. After a moment he set aside the pole and stood. Oh, my. His jeans barely clung to his hips, teasing her imagination with glimpses of the white waistband of his cotton briefs as he descended the porch steps. He padded barefoot across the sidewalk, stopping in front of her truck. "Did you take a wrong turn in town?" he asked. She didn't find his sarcasm the least bit funny. "I drove over here to ask your mother where to find you," she said, keeping her eyes focused on Cullen's face. "Have you lived next door to your mother all these years?" He nodded. If Cullen wasn't going to ask her to stay and visit with him, she'd invite herself, and after chasing butterflies with Summer, Olivia was thirsty. "May I have something to drink?" she asked. "I don't have any beer." "A glass of water's fine."

791

Indecision warred in his eyes before he spun away. She followed him to the porch, admiring his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Cullen didn't invite her inside the trailer, so she sat in a lawn chair on the porch and waited for him to return. "Kool-Aid?" she said when he handed her a disposable plastic cup filled with red liquid and melting ice cubes. "Fruit-punch flavor." "Thank you." She sipped the overly sweet drink. Cullen ignored her presence and resumed rummaging through the tackle box. Did he hope his rudeness would force her to leave? Not a chance. "We need to talk," Olivia said. After a stilted silence he asked, "When are you returning to New York?" "When I get all the answers I came for." Cullen's blue eyes studied her. "That color looks nice on you." The heat in his stare suggested he liked more than her yellow blouse. Two could play the talk-in-circles game. "I like your shirt, too." His expression softened as he smiled. "I'm glad you didn't lose your sense of humor." Insulted, she asked, "Were you worried I'd change once I moved to the East Coast?" "A lot of folks leave home and return a different person," he said. "And a lot of people never leave home but still change." "Touché." "Cullen." She waited until he looked her in the eye. "I haven't been able to forget what you said last night after we left the Frog Palace." "Leave it be, Olivia." Cullen shifted his attention to the street. She refused to drop the subject. "You claimed you had to protect me from you—what did you mean?" Right then a horn honked and a vehicle pulled up next door. The car door opened and a little girl called out. "Grandma got off work early and we got your favorite ice cream at the store." The child skidded to a halt at the bottom of Cullen's porch steps and stared. "Do you know my daddy, Olivia?" Daddy? The blood rushed from Olivia's face. This couldn't be what Cullen had wanted to keep from her. His next words shattered her heart. "Olivia, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Summer."

792

Chapter Four Olivia stared at Cullen's daughter, willing her heart to stop pounding. "Summer," Cullen said. "This is a friend of mine, Olivia Bennett." "We've already met, Daddy. Olivia showed me where to catch butterflies when I went to work with Grandma this morning." The child's gaze swung to Olivia. "Right, Olivia?" "That's right." Embarrassed that her voice cracked, Olivia cleared her throat. She'd thought the housekeeper had Sundays off but Mrs. Montgomery must have stopped by the ranch to help Olivia's mother prepare for her trip to Dallas. "Isn't Olivia's hair pretty, Daddy?" Even though it physically pained her, Olivia smiled at the little girl. Discovering that Cullen had moved on with his life immediately after he'd broken up with her was a shock to Olivia's system as well as an embarrassment. A tiny part of her had hoped Cullen had pined away for her all these years as she had for him. "Hello, Olivia," Helen Montgomery called from the sidewalk in front of her trailer. "I'd hoped for a chance to see you before you returned to New York." The older woman's gaze cut between her son and Olivia. "How long will you be staying?" "For a few more days." Olivia had requested ten days' vacation from work but hadn't planned on remaining in Surrender the entire time. Mrs. Montgomery motioned to her trailer then spoke to Cullen. "I'll be around if you need me to watch Summer." As soon as Cullen's mother retreated inside, Summer asked, "What are we doing today, Daddy?" Daddy. Olivia struggled to reconcile the word with the man she'd known most of her life. Cullen tweaked his daughter's pigtails. "I'm taking you fishing like I promised." Summer peeked at Olivia. "Can Olivia come, too?" The corner of Cullen's mouth curved upward as his eyes roamed over Olivia's strappy sandals, white linen slacks and short-sleeved silk blouse. "Olivia's not dressed for an afternoon by the pond." Just because she wasn't wearing traditional fishing garb didn't mean she'd forgotten how to have fun. "I'd love to go fishing with you and your father, Summer." "Yay! I'm gonna tell Grandma!" Summer dashed next door. As soon as the child was out of earshot, Cullen said, "I'm sorry Summer put you on the spot. I'll make up an excuse if you'd rather not—" "I'd like to tag along, unless you don't want me to." "I…I don't mind if you join us."

793

Frustrated with the awkwardness between them, Olivia decided to open the can of worms. "My parents never mentioned you'd gotten married or that you had a daughter." Not that that was much of a surprise— her parents rarely discussed the hired help. "I never married Summer's mother. Pam and our daughter lived in Houston near Pam's parents." Cullen glanced next door then lowered his voice. "I was awarded full custody of Summer after Pam died in a car accident this past February." Olivia was still digesting the information that Cullen hadn't been married when he mentioned the tragic death of his daughter's mother. "That's terrible. I'm sorry." Had Cullen even loved Pam? "I'd never have wished for anything to happen to Pam, but I won't lie. I've enjoyed getting to know my daughter these past few months. I can't imagine my life without her now." A piercing pain stole Olivia's breath. The love in Cullen's voice when he spoke of Summer made her ache for the children she'd dreamed they'd have together. Olivia watched Summer tell her grandmother about their fishing plans then hug her goodbye, all the while doing the math in her head. "Will you be honest with me if I ask you something?" Half of her wanted to hear his answer—the other half wanted to run from it. Cullen's shoulders stiffened as if he were bracing for a blow. "What do you want to know?" "Were you and Pam together before or after you sent me the Dear Jane letter?" "After." Cullen's one-word answer was blunt and brutal. Lest she lose her courage, Olivia braved another question. "Before or after the letter I sent begging you to reconsider and give us a second chance?" Without hesitation, Cullen said, "Before." A sharp pain pierced Olivia's heart. That Cullen's past actions had the power to hurt her convinced Olivia that she wasn't over Cullen as she'd believed. "Sure didn't take you long—" she winced at the wobble in her voice "—to put me behind you, did it?" Olivia pasted a brave smile on her face and joined Summer in the front seat of Cullen's truck. *** "Look, Daddy!" Summer held up a flowering weed from the edge of the pond. "Can I pick some for Grandma?" "Sure." Cullen peeked at Olivia. He hated that he'd hurt her, but he had to make her understand that what they'd shared in the past was best left in the past. "I thought Summer and I would have a rough time adjusting to each other." "But you didn't." Olivia avoided eye contact with him. "I guess my visits through the years helped ease our transition." "How did you and Pam meet?" Cullen studied Olivia. His first crush was so beautiful and regal sitting cross-legged on the ragged quilt. "Pam was a waitress at a twenty-four-hour diner on the outskirts of Houston. I stopped there for a bite to eat after a rodeo."

794

"How long did you and Pam date?" "We didn't date." Even though it was water under the bridge, Cullen wasn't proud of the way Summer had been conceived. "It was a one-time thing." Olivia's eyes widened and a tiny gasp escaped her mouth. Cullen hated that he'd wounded her again, but it only proved that Olivia deserved better than him. The sooner she accepted that and moved on, the better. "I'm sorry." The apology sounded hollow even to his ears. Olivia sprang from the blanket and joined his daughter at the pond. Cullen watched the two females frolic, wondering despite everything if he and Olivia could have beaten the odds. Not a chance. After Olivia had left for college, they'd exchanged daily emails and phone calls. As the semester advanced, his calls went straight to Olivia's voice mail and a week or more passed before she answered his emails. When she'd informed him that she planned to study abroad and wouldn't have much time to call or write, Cullen took it as a signal that Olivia had finally realized what he'd known all along—he wasn't good enough for her and she was moving on. A woman of Olivia's caliber deserved better than a cowboy. Pride demanded he be the one to break up with Olivia, so he'd sent her the Dear Jane letter. When he'd confided in his friends about his breakup with Olivia, they'd ushered him into a bar to cheer him up. The liquor hadn't erased Olivia's memory, so Cullen had left his buddies and stopped for a bite to eat. At one in the morning the diner had been deserted. Pam had sensed his heartache and listened to him vent over losing Olivia. One thing led to another and… Giggles interrupted Cullen's trip down memory lane. He watched the spectacle before him in amazement. Holding hands, Olivia and Summer danced barefoot in the shallow water at the edge of the pond. Olivia's white pants were splattered with mud, reminding him of the tomboy she'd once been. Maybe Olivia hadn't changed as much as he'd assumed. "Watch this, Summer." Olivia bent over, showing off her tight little fanny. She poked and prodded the muddy bank, then suddenly popped upright with a bullfrog in her hands. "Yeew!" Summer squealed and ran to the blanket. Olivia followed, swinging the frog by its back legs. "It's just a frog, Summer. Want to hold it?" His daughter buried her face in Cullen's shirt. "Make the frog go away, Daddy!" Olivia rolled her eyes, then sauntered back to the pond and tossed the frog into the water. She rinsed her hands and returned to the blanket. "Blame your father, Summer. He taught me how to catch frogs." Olivia's gaze connected with Cullen's and at that moment he knew she was remembering their first kiss here at the pond. When Olivia had caught her first frog, Cullen had congratulated her with a child's peck on the mouth that had embarrassed them both. "Frogs are gross." Summer crinkled her nose. "Yeah, Cullen," Olivia huffed. "Why did you teach me gross stuff?" Before Cullen found his voice Summer said, "Olivia's a lot of fun, Daddy." His daughter touched a strand of Olivia's red hair. "Your hair looks like it's on fire."

795

Cullen's breath caught in his chest. He'd said those very same words to Olivia one afternoon in the hayloft when he'd spread her hair across an old horse blanket right before they'd… "Go wash off your feet, Summer. We'd better head home. I promised Grandma I'd grill the chicken tonight." "Can Olivia stay for supper?" Head and heart waged a fierce battle inside Cullen. If he was smart he wouldn't invite Olivia to join them, but the dull ache inside his chest begged for a little more time with her. "If she wants." "I'm sorry, honey. I have plans with my family." Her family, yet another reason we can't be together. Relieved Olivia had refused his invitation, Cullen made a mental note to strengthen his campaign to push Olivia away. As a matter of fact, he'd push her all the way back to New York City if that's what it took to make her see he was all wrong for her. While Summer rinsed her muddy feet, Cullen couldn't stop himself from asking… "Do you ever think about you and me and all the what-ifs?" "The what-ifs don't matter anymore, Cullen—" Olivia's mouth drooped in a sad smile "—because I'm engaged to be married." If he hadn't already been sitting down, Olivia's announcement would have knocked Cullen's feet out from under him. What a fool he'd been—believing even the tiniest bit that Olivia had returned to Surrender because she still cared for him.

Chapter Five "You've been moping around all week." Cullen's mother invited herself onto his porch Saturday evening and sat down. "Is Summer getting ready for bed?" "She's in the shower." "Have you heard from Olivia?" his mother asked. Not a word. Six days had passed since Olivia had tagged along with him and Summer to the fishing hole and Cullen hadn't been able to get Olivia off of his mind. "I don't want to talk about it, Mom. "By it you mean Olivia." Learning Olivia was ready to move on from Cullen had been a mind-numbing blow. You got what you wished for. True, but he hadn't expected it to hurt this bad. "You're still in love with Olivia, aren't you?" Yes, damn it, he still loved Olivia. But nothing had changed in the eight years they'd been apart. It was still the right decision to keep her at a distance. Even more so now that he had Summer and she had…what'shis-name. "Whatever feelings I may or may not have for Olivia no longer matter." "Why do you say that?" his mother asked. "Olivia's engaged."

796

"I hadn't heard." That didn't surprise Cullen. Vince and Marilyn Bennett were private people and rarely shared personal information with the household help. Likewise, they didn't inquire about their employees' families. "Why did Mr. and Mrs. Bennett allow me to be Olivia's playmate when we were kids?" "I believe they felt guilty for sending Olivia away to boarding schools during the year and wanted her to enjoy her summer vacations at the ranch. Olivia didn't know any of the children in town so Marilyn encouraged me to bring you to work each day so you could entertain Olivia." His mother cleared her throat. "The Bennetts believed you were harmless because you were my son." Harmless? Thank God Olivia's parents had never discovered all the activities he and Olivia had engaged in through the years. "What are you going to do about your feelings for Olivia?" his mother asked. "Nothing." He wished his mother would stop prying. Cullen still cared for Olivia. As a matter of fact, he knew the moment he'd seen her riding the mechanical bull at the Frog Palace that he'd never stopped loving her. But he'd made his bed, now he had to sleep in it. "Well, 'nothing' is going to get a lot harder because here she comes," his mother said. A truck with the Bennett Ranch logo pulled up next to the trailer. "I'll leave you two to talk in private." His mother waved to Olivia, then cut across the carport and entered her trailer. Cullen met Olivia at the bottom of the porch steps. "I thought you'd gone back to New York." Why else wouldn't he have heard from her all week? "My flight's on Monday." Her gaze skipped around before landing on him again. "I stopped by because I wanted to invite you and Summer to spend the day with me tomorrow at the San Antonio zoo." "Tomorrow's my Sunday to work at the ranch." "I spoke with Scott and he's got someone to cover for you if take the day off." Scott Freeman was the foreman at the Bennett Ranch. Cullen pondered the idea. Summer had talked nonstop about Olivia's pretty hair and her frog-catching skills, her obsession with Olivia reminding Cullen how much Summer missed her mother. His daughter would enjoy spending the day with Olivia. And you wouldn't? Cullen's first instinct was to say no to her invitation, but since Olivia had returned to Texas to put her past behind her, maybe Cullen needed to do likewise. Spending time with Olivia would reinforce his belief that a relationship between them would never have worked, which would make it easier for his heart to let her go. "When do you want us to pick you up?" he asked. "I'll drive. Be ready by nine." She turned to leave but he caught her arm. His hand slid down her arm until he clasped her fingers. "Why aren't you wearing your engagement ring?" She shrugged free from his hold. "I don't want to get it dirty."

797

A flimsy excuse if Cullen had ever heard one…. *** Olivia waited with Cullen at the elephant exhibit, where Summer stood with a group of children listening to the zoo worker explain how they cared for Lucky and Boo. Since learning of Cullen's one-night stand with Summer's mother, Olivia's emotions had become a tangled mess. She sensed there was more to Cullen's decision to write that Dear Jane letter than he'd led her to believe. If she intended to put the past behind her, Olivia needed to hear every last gory detail rather than allow her imagination to run wild. "Can I ask you a question?" Olivia felt the familiar warmth shoot through her blood as Cullen gazed at her. "Will you tell me the real reason you broke up with me?" "I listed them all in my letter. We come from different backgrounds and—" She poked her finger in his chest. "Tell me what was in your heart back then, not your head." As if making eye contact with her was too painful, Cullen shifted his attention to Summer as he spoke. "After you left for college I had every intention of waiting for you, but then you stopped emailing and most of my calls went unanswered. I saw it as a sign that you'd outgrown our relationship but didn't know how to tell me." He expelled a deep breath. "That isn't the whole reason." Olivia waited patiently for Cullen to continue. "For a long time before you went away to college, Olivia, I dreaded the day you'd realize that your life was moving in a different direction from mine. After you left, those fears got out of control and I panicked. That's why I broke up with you." Olivia's heart ached with regret that she hadn't recognized Cullen's need for more attention from her. He'd always acted so tough and self-assured, she'd never have guessed that he'd been insecure about her feelings for him. "You were wrong, Cullen. In college I was busy with my studies and music. I had to perform in concerts on the weekends and I spent all my free time rehearsing." Thinking back on those years, Olivia realized she'd made a huge mistake. She'd assumed Cullen would always be there for her. Sadly, she hadn't treated his life or his time with the same importance she'd awarded her own endeavors. "When you decided to study abroad and told me you wouldn't be able to keep in touch often, I figured that was your way of saying you wanted to break up." Cullen's smile didn't reach his eyes. "So I wrote you a Dear Jane letter before you could write me a Dear John." "In case you ever wondered, there was never another guy." Cullen stiffened. "I never betrayed my promise to you when I left for college. Not even after I received your breakup letter." Not even after she'd mailed Cullen a follow-up note stating all the reasons they were meant to be together. During the time she'd waited for Cullen's response—which had never come—she'd had plenty of opportunities to date other guys. In the end, Olivia had been forced to accept that she and Cullen were finished.

798

"I can't believe you didn't date anyone else in college." "I'd hoped one day you'd come to your senses and realize that I still wanted to be with you." Pride wouldn't allow Olivia to use the word love, but she had loved Cullen. She stared into his blue eyes, dark with misery. "Why didn't you marry Summer's mother?" He cleared his throat. "I offered to, but Pam didn't want to marry a man she didn't love. We settled on me paying child support and Pam agreeing to let me visit Summer as often as I wanted. When Pam died in the car accident, I was grateful to have been a part of Summer's life, because she hadn't been afraid to move to Surrender and live with me and my mother." "Daddy, they're going to feed Boo a pumpkin." Summer tugged on Cullen's hand and they walked off. As Olivia watched father and daughter laugh at the elephant's antics, she admired Cullen for doing the honorable thing and offering to marry Pam. She'd have expected nothing less from the man she'd been in love with most of her life. What surprised her was that Pam had refused Cullen's proposal, and had instead held out for true love. Could Olivia do any less? By the time Summer was ready to move on to the tiger exhibit, Olivia had made a decision about her future—one that required a leap of faith.

Chapter Six Early Tuesday morning Cullen saddled his horse in the Bennett Ranch barn. He had mixed feelings about his and Summer's trip to the zoo with Olivia and all the past hurt that their conversation had stirred up. On one hand he defended his decision not to tell Olivia everything from the beginning. But on the other hand he chastised himself for being a coward and walking away from the only woman he'd ever loved. Even if you'd had the guts to share your doubts with her, what good would it have done? She'd still be too good for you. You'd still have held her back from being so much more than you could ever give her. "Montgomery, I need you to ride with Hank today." Scott Freeman, the ranch foreman, waltzed into the barn. "There's a section of fence in the south pasture that needs to be restrung. The damn bulls keep trampling it down." "Sure thing." While Cullen waited for Hank to show up, he yawned. He hadn't slept well last night—regrets keeping him awake. When he'd finally fallen into a light slumber, a kaleidoscope of scenes from the past had filled his dreams. He and Olivia catching frogs…swimming on a hot summer day…stealing kisses in the hayloft… He might have taught Olivia how to have fun, but she'd made him feel special—more than just the housekeeper's kid who lived in the trailer park at the edge of town. On Sunday, Olivia had made him feel just as special—as if he were her equal when in fact they both knew he wasn't. Deciding to wait for Hank outside the barn, Cullen led his horse from the stall but came to an abrupt stop when Olivia's father stepped into his path. "It's your fault, isn't it?" Vince Bennett scowled. "Pardon, Mr. Bennett?" "You're the reason my daughter canceled her flight to New York."

799

A shot of adrenaline pumped through Cullen's bloodstream at the news but he squelched his excitement. There had to be a reason why—other than himself—Olivia had changed her travel plans. "I knew you and Olivia were close in high school," Mr. Bennett said. "Too close for my comfort. That's why we insisted she attend college out east." The blood drained from Cullen's face. If Olivia's father suspected their relationship all those years ago, Cullen wondered why he hadn't been fired from his job. "I didn't ask Olivia to stay, sir." "But I'd venture to guess you didn't tell her to go, either." Mr. Bennett pointed an accusing finger. "You're not the right man for my daughter." Cullen held up his hands. "Hold on, Mr. Bennett. Olivia and I—" "Olivia is better suited for city life. She's smart and talented. If she stays in Surrender she'll be nothing more than the wife of a ranch hand." Wife? "Mr. Bennett, I can assure you that—" "Even if my daughter found a way to be happy in Surrender, you're not able to support her in the lifestyle she's accustomed to. And don't get any ideas in your head that if you marry Olivia—" he spread his arms wide "—all this will be yours one day." Anger pulsed through Cullen's veins. "I don't want your money or your ranch, Mr. Bennett." "What about my daughter? You want her, don't you?" Cullen opened his mouth to refute the charge but the words never came. "That's what I thought." Mr. Bennett narrowed his eyes. "If you know what's good for you, young man, you'll find a way to convince Olivia that she belongs on the East Coast with her fiancé. Not here with her childhood lackey." Mr. Bennett stomped out of the barn, leaving Cullen speechless. The news that Olivia hadn't flown to New York yesterday excited him, but the euphoria was short-lived. Olivia's father had driven home a fact Cullen had come to accept about himself years ago—he couldn't match Olivia's class, wealth or education. And he couldn't give her what she deserved, what would make her happy. For Olivia's sake and his, Cullen had to convince her that they'd never make it as a couple. She was cultured, sophisticated and going places with her career. Cullen was nothing more than a hard-working redneck single father content to live out his life in Surrender. The problem was…how did he prove to Olivia that he wasn't the right man for her? Take her to the rodeo. As soon as the thought popped into his head, Cullen knew he'd hit a home run. If the bulls, the blood and the stink of rodeo didn't convince Olivia she was meant for better things, then worry over who'd come out on top after eight seconds—him or the two-thousand-pound bull—should send her running back to New York. *** "Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to chute number two. Cullen Montgomery is about to wrestle with Coal Dust, a bull known for throwin' his riders in the dust! Let's see if this cowboy from Surrender gives up or takes Coal Dust prisoner!"

800

Cullen rolled his eyes at the announcer's gibberish and glanced into the stands. Olivia sat by herself near the top of the bleachers. As always, Cullen had left Summer at home with her grandmother. If things went bad, he didn't want his daughter to witness her father getting gored by a bull. Speaking of worrying… He'd expected Olivia to be nervous about watching him ride, but she'd simply smiled and wished him luck before heading to the stands. The whole purpose of a trip to the rodeo was to scare some sense into Olivia, but instead she seemed to be enjoying herself. Cullen adjusted his safety vest, then straddled the chute and eased down on Coal Dust's back. The heat from the bull's hide singed his inner thighs. Coal Dust snorted. "Yeah, I know you're pissed." Cullen adjusted his gloved hand in the rope, making sure he had a tight grip. He relished the thrill of trying to outsmart a bull for eight seconds, but he loved winning even more as the money went straight into Summer's college fund. One…two…three… He nodded to the gateman. As soon as the chute door opened, Coal Dust burst into the arena then went into a series of spins, flinging Cullen around like a rag doll. The stands blurred before his eyes as he fought to keep his seat. Coal Dust didn't give quarter, and for that Cullen was grateful—the nastier the bull the better his score. The buzzer sounded and Cullen rode out a vicious buck before the bullfighters closed in. The men caught Coal Dust's attention and Cullen leapt from the bull's back. He landed on his feet, but stumbled and ended up sprawled on his belly in the dirt. Not exactly the graceful landing he'd hoped for. He crawled to his feet, collected his hat and waved to the cheering crowd. "Folks, I think we just witnessed the winning ride today!" the announcer said. "Montgomery earned a 93!" Cullen collected his bull rope then removed his vest and leather glove. Before he'd had a chance to stow his gear, Olivia showed up behind the chutes. Her face was flush with excitement as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "That was fabulous! Amazing! I've never seen anything so thrilling!" So much for hoping a rodeo would scare Olivia away from him. Cullen took her hand and led her to a front-row seat in the stands, where they were guaranteed an up-close view of the violence. "Rodeo's a dangerous sport. One wrong move can end a guy's career or his life," he said. "I know, but you're good, Cullen. I can see why you like to ride bulls." "Olivia, I don't rodeo because I love it. I rodeo because it's something I have to do." Her brow scrunched. "What do you mean?" "I make a decent living working for your father, but there's not much money left over at the end of the month. The cash I earn from riding bulls goes straight into a savings account for Summer's college education." He wasn't sure what his daughter wanted to be when she grew up but he was determined she'd go to college. "I want Summer to have a way out of Surrender if she wants to leave." Olivia was lost in thought as she watched the remaining cowboys compete in their events. The fact that Cullen rode bulls not because he enjoyed it but because he wanted a better future for his daughter made her respect and admire him all the more. On the way out of the fairgrounds a buxom blonde with pencil-thin legs called out Cullen's name and rushed toward him. "Awesome ride, Cullen! You going to the Frog Palace tonight?"

801

"Hey, Cindy." Cullen motioned to Olivia. "I'd like you to meet my employer's daughter, Olivia Bennett. Olivia, Cindy Ramon. She's a barrel racer from San Antonio." Beautiful and talented. "Hello." Olivia doubted speaking two languages fluently or playing three musical instruments could compete with a sexy cowgirl on horseback. "Nice to meet you. Cullen, you should bring Olivia along to the Frog Palace." Cindy sauntered off, drawing the attention of several cowboys. Olivia sent Cindy's sashaying tush an evil-eyed glare then stopped when she realized she was acting territorial. Olivia's return to Surrender wasn't going as planned at all. Instead of reconciling her past, this jealous streak only confirmed her feelings for Cullen remained as strong as ever. Olivia slipped her arm through Cullen's. "I think I'd like to stop for a drink at the Frog Palace tonight." Just because she was college-educated and made a six-figure salary didn't mean she couldn't fit in with Cullen's friends. "You sure?" "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Chapter Seven Cullen pulled Olivia closer as they swayed to a George Strait tune on the jukebox at the Frog Palace. The place was packed as it was every Saturday night, but with Olivia in his arms Cullen felt as if they were the only couple on the dance floor. His plan to erase Olivia's romantic view of him by taking her to the rodeo had backfired—big-time. Her excitement when he'd won first place almost made him believe he was good enough for her. She'd also gotten along amazingly well with his friends tonight. Add in the fact that Summer had fallen under Olivia's spell and it wasn't hard to imagine the three of them as a family, a vision that he was finding increasingly difficult to let go of. Exactly the life Vince Bennett did not want for his daughter. Cullen didn't look forward to facing his boss and admitting defeat. "Have there been many women through the years?" Olivia's lips brushed his neck when she spoke. That Olivia might be jealous of his past relationships humbled Cullen. How could she not know that his memories of her and what they'd shared growing up prevented him from committing his heart to another woman? "I haven't had a serious relationship—" since you "—in a long time." Once Summer had moved in with Cullen, he'd cut out weekend flings—not that there'd been all that many. "What about you?" He'd always wondered if Olivia had fallen in love with a young garçon when she'd studied in France. "Blake was my first serious relationship after you broke up with me," she said. Olivia wasn't going to let Cullen forget he was the one who had given up on them. He wished he could make amends for the hurt he'd caused her, even though he'd had her best interests at heart. Eyelids at half-mast, she licked her lower lip. The plump flesh glistened, begging for his kiss.

802

One kiss couldn't hurt. For old times' sake. The instant their mouths touched, Cullen was swept back in time eight years to their goodbye kiss before Olivia had departed for college. She tasted even sweeter and sexier than he remembered. Her soft moan swayed Cullen into believing that despite his reservations, he and Olivia were meant to be together. He poured his heart and soul into the kiss, begging her without words to remain in Surrender with him and Summer. Suddenly a hand clasped Cullen's shoulder and spun him around. "That's my fiancée you're kissing." "Blake?" Olivia gasped. "What are you doing here?" "Looks as if I arrived in the nick of time before you made the worst mistake of your life." Mistake… Mistake… That's all Cullen would ever be to Olivia—a mistake. If not for her fiancé suddenly showing up, he'd have talked Olivia into giving them a second chance. "Blake, this is an old friend of mine, Cullen Montgomery. Cullen, this is Blake Tremont." Cullen didn't offer his hand and neither did the other man. Olivia's fiancé wore designer trousers and a fancy dress shirt and tie. His hair looked styled, not cut, and Cullen swore the guy had doused himself with an entire bottle of high-end cologne. The man oozed money, sophistication and power—a far cry from Cullen's redneck ways. Not trusting his voice, Cullen tipped his hat to Olivia and strolled out of the bar. Olivia blinked to make sure she wasn't viewing a mirage. The last place her Ivy League ex-fiancé would have ever stepped foot inside was a Texas honky-tonk. "What are you doing here?" She'd called Blake to break off their engagement as soon as she'd returned from the zoo with Summer and Cullen. Olivia wasn't proud of the way she'd ended her relationship with Blake but she'd known in her heart that she couldn't marry one man when she still loved another. "Your father phoned and insisted I rescue you from this miserable place." Blake ran a hand over his neatly styled hair. "This bar is a dive and so is Surrender. You don't belong in here, Olivia. You're better than this." He swept his arm wide, motioning to the clientele in the bar. "You need culture and fine dining, not rednecks and barbecue." "Don't tell me what I need, Blake." "You have nothing in common with these people. Mark my words, Olivia, you'll be bored to death inside a month if you move back here." "You're insulting my birthplace." "If you're so high on this dump then why did you attend college on the East Coast? Why did you study abroad? Why are you still living in New York City?" Olivia's chin trembled. "I stayed away from Surrender because I believed Cullen no longer loved me." "That's what this trip was about? To see if your old flame still had the hots for you?" "Don't be crude." "It is what it is, Olivia." Blake paced a few steps away then faced her. "You really love that ignorant cowpoke that was kissing you?"

803

Olivia stared at her former fiancé and a feeling of rightness swept through her. No matter what happened between her and Cullen, she knew for certain that she couldn't spend the rest of her life with Blake. She'd rather be happy alone than miserable married. "I came home with honorable intentions. I believed that once I understood why Cullen ended our relationship all those years ago—" she held up a hand when Blake attempted to interrupt "—I would return to New York and set our wedding date." "From what I just saw, you weren't laying the past to rest, you were laying with your cowboy." Olivia refused to be bullied. "I'm sorry, Blake. I'm still in love with Cullen." "You're going to marry that…redneck?" "I don't know. But I do know that I'm not going to marry you." Blake's eyeballs threatened to pop from their sockets. "You're walking away from all that I can give you and your career at the investment firm without knowing if things will work out with…him?" Don't waver now, Olivia. "That's right." "Be very sure this is what you want, Olivia, because I won't be waiting in the wings if everything falls apart between you and your cowboy." "I'm sorry, Blake." He shrugged. "At least I found out the truth about you in time." Don't ask. "What truth?" His gaze roamed over her. "That beneath all that education and culture is a redneck woman at heart." Blake spun on his handmade John Lobb Oxfords and stormed out of the bar. Appalled that he'd ditched her, Olivia hurried after Blake. But just as she made it outside the building she saw the taillights of his rental car winking in the distance down the road. "What kind of man leaves a woman stranded at a bar?" Cullen's voice came out of the dark a moment before he stepped into the light. "You stayed." "Of course I stayed. I had to make sure you were okay." More than ever, Olivia was positive Cullen was the right man for her. If only he'd accept she was the right woman for him. A tear escaped her eye and Cullen brushed the wetness from her cheek. "C'mon, Olli, I'll take you home." "No one's used that nickname since I went away to college," Olivia said. Cullen opened the door of his truck and Olivia hopped in. "You'll always be my little Olli." The drive to the ranch was made in silence. Cullen walked her to the front porch. No one spoke for the longest time, then Olivia gathered her courage and said, "I'll leave Surrender, but only if you tell me to go, Cullen. Only if you insist there's no chance of making things work between us. Only if you say you don't love me—out loud and looking me in the eye."

804

Seconds ticked by. Finally Cullen did as she asked and looked Olivia in the eye. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and retreated to his truck. He burned rubber as he pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust and the answer to Olivia's questing hanging in the sultry night air.

Chapter Eight "All right, daughter," Olivia's father said when he waltzed into the kitchen Saturday morning. "All right what?" Olivia poured her father a cup of coffee and popped a bagel in the toaster. A week had passed since the rodeo and Blake's untimely interruption at the Frog Palace. Olivia truly believed Cullen had been about to ask her to stay in Surrender before Blake had interrupted them on the dance floor. But even though she'd stayed in town, she hadn't heard a word from Cullen. "I've had enough of your moping. I want you to pack your bags, return to New York and patch things up with Blake." Olivia set the bagel in front of her father. "I don't know what to do, Dad." "I just told you what to do." Ignoring his sarcasm, Olivia said, "I'm still in love with Cullen. That's why I couldn't set a wedding date with Blake." "What do you mean still in love?" "I've been in love with Cullen since high school." Olivia sat down at the table with her father. "Well, that's the last time I allow your mother to pick your playmates." Olivia snorted. "I'm plenty old enough to pick my own playmates now." "You're never too old to receive good advice, daughter." "Okay, Dad—" Her father was determined to have his say. "I'm listening." "You're too good for Cullen. I admire the man's work ethic and there's nothing wrong with punching cows for a living, but you deserve better than Cullen can give you." He slurped his coffee. "Blake can offer you a better life." "What if my definition of a better life and yours differ?" "You've been raised in the lap of luxury, Olivia. You're used to the finer things." That was true but…only because she'd used those things to cover up the loneliness and the ache to be back on the ranch."You make me sound like a snob." "You are, dear." Her father smiled. "But you're a sweet, well-meaning, hard-working…snob." Olivia's hopes plummeted. "Cullen believes I can do better than him, too." "He said as much?" Olivia nodded. "He's always believed I was meant for better things than what Surrender has to offer." Her nod reversed directions and became a shake. "No matter what everyone believes is best for me, it doesn't change the fact that I love Cullen, not Blake."

805

"Blake comes from a respectable family. Mark my words, he'll earn a vice-presidency position inside two years." "You've always wanted the best for me, Dad." "Darn right. You're my only child." "Cullen is the best for me." After a ten-second glaring match her father said, "Doesn't he have a daughter?" "Summer's a sweet girl and we get along great." "What about the child's mother?" "She died in a car accident." Her father's eyes widened. "I didn't know. That's too bad." He cleared his throat. "You've worked too hard to give up your career. And frankly, I can't picture Cullen socializing with your corporate friends in New York." "We wouldn't live in New York, Dad. The firm values my work and I believe they'd agree to hire me as a consultant rather than risk losing me." She squeezed her father's hand. "I've been away from you and Mom most of my life." First boarding school, then college, and finally securing a job in New York City. "I want to come home." Her father's eyes misted. "Has Cullen already proposed?" "No. And he won't ask me to marry him, because just like you, he believes he's not good enough for me." "Sounds as if you two are at an impasse." "I'll know for sure after I propose to him." Her father choked on his coffee. "A man has his pride, Olivia. He won't like that you're the breadwinner in the family." "Marriage is a two-way street of give and take. I don't want his and hers bank accounts like you and Mom. I want us to pool our money together and use it the best way possible to support our family's needs." "Good luck with that. I've been trying to get your mother to deposit her monthly inheritance checks from your grandmother's estate into our savings account, but she'll have nothing to do with the idea." Olivia laughed. "She told me once that her money is hers and your money is hers, too." "Sounds like your mother." Her father's expression sobered. "I have a confession to make." "What?" "When you canceled your flight to New York I assumed it was because of Cullen, so I meddled. I told him he wasn't the right man for you—" her father raised a hand, stalling Olivia's protest "—and that if he knew what was best for him he'd find a way to convince you to leave." "Oh, Dad, how could you?"

806

"I could, because my daughter deserves only the best." "What your daughter deserves is love. Blake doesn't love—" she poked herself with her finger "—me, the girl who spent her summers on a ranch catching frogs, chasing cows in the pastures and fooling around with the housekeeper's son in the hayloft." Olivia laughed when her father's cheeks reddened. "You'd better never tell your mother that, young lady." "Blake loved the idea of me—a wealthy girl who lived abroad and traveled Europe during her college years." "And Cullen feels differently about you?" "Cullen loves me for me. Not what I've accomplished so far with my life, although I'm sure he's proud of me for my successes." When her father didn't respond, Olivia asked, "Will you accept Cullen and his daughter into our family if I can convince him to marry me?" After a long silence her father nodded. "If Cullen makes you happy, then go after your cowboy." Olivia popped up from her chair and hugged her father. "I love you, Dad." She grabbed her purse and a set of truck keys from the counter and flew out the back door. *** Cullen and his daughter were playing checkers on his mother's porch when Summer said, "Here comes Olivia." Heart racing, Cullen watched Olivia park in front of his trailer and get out of the Bennett Ranch truck. He eyed her outfit—brown skirt, which showed off her toned legs, white-and-brown polka dot silk blouse and strappy gold sandals that glinted in the sun. No one would ever guess there was an ounce of Texas in the woman. "We're over here, Olivia!" Summer opened the screen door to the porch and waved. Olivia switched directions. "Hi, Summer. Watcha doing?" "Playing checkers. You wanna play the winner?" "Summer." Cullen stood behind his daughter. "See if Grandma needs help inside." "Wait." Olivia held up a hand. "I'd like to speak with both of you." An ache pierced Cullen's chest. Olivia had come to say a final goodbye to them. "Summer, your father and I have been very good friends for most of our lives." "Daddy told me all about the stuff you used to do when you were kids." Olivia laughed. "I hope he didn't tell you everything." "Did you and Olivia get into trouble, Daddy?" "Nope." Cullen grinned at his daughter. "Because we never got caught."

807

Cullen braced himself when Olivia went down on one knee in front of his daughter. "Your father has always held a special place in my heart and I wanted to know if it was okay with you if I asked your father to marry me." Cullen's breath froze in his lungs. "Does that mean you'd marry me, too?" Summer's gaze swung between Olivia and her father. "Yes, it does. I've never been a mother before, but I'd be thrilled to have you for my daughter. Do you think you might like to have me for your stepmother?" Summer nodded. "Where would we live?" Olivia stood, directing her next comment to Cullen. "I'd like to continue working, but I believe I can convince my employer to hire me as a consultant. That way I'd be able to work from home here in Surrender." Cullen's throat was so tight he couldn't have spoken if he'd tried. He struggled to process everything Olivia was saying but she kept right on talking. "There will be times when I'll need to fly to New York on business, but you and Summer could come along and make a vacation out of the trip." Olivia straightened her shoulders. "I love you, Cullen. I know you've tried to make me stop loving you, but you're the only man I've ever wanted to be with." Summer tugged on Cullen's pant leg. "Daddy, do you love Olivia?" God, yes. "What about your parents?" he asked. "My father wants me to be happy." Olivia ruffled Summer's hair. "You'd have another set of grandparents." "Really?" Summer's eyes lit up. "Your Grandma Bennett will want to tell you what clothes to wear, how to style your hair and who your friends should be. She'll insist you take piano lessons and voice lessons and ballet and a million other things." Summer's mouth dropped open. "But I promise, honey, that I'll make sure you only do the things you want to do." "And if I want to get my hair cut short like a boy, you'll let me?" Summer glanced at her father. "We've been going in circles for days about cutting her hair," Cullen said. "I will support whatever decision you make about your hair. Although I will tell you it's probably best to cut off a few inches at a time so you get used to it, that way it won't take long to grow back if you don't like it." "See, Daddy. I told you Olivia would know what to do." "What'll it be, Cullen?" Olivia propped her hands on her hips. "Are you finally going to surrender to your feelings for me?" The screen door squeaked and Cullen's mother stepped outside and smiled at Olivia. "Son, don't you dare make that girl wait any longer than she already has."

808

Cullen gazed into Olivia's eyes. He'd be a fool if he allowed her to get away twice. "I've loved you my whole life, Olivia. If you believe I'm the right man for you, then I surrender." He pulled Olivia close and kissed her. When the kiss ended, Olivia said, "It's about time you came to your senses, cowboy."

809

Tie Me Down, Cowboy! By Isabel Sharpe

Chapter One Walls. He hated them. Might as well be in jail. Sean Cooper grabbed his laptop and limped out onto the old house’s creaky front porch, surveying the clumped grass and distant blue craggy mountain view from his friend Greg’s Arizona ranch.

Two months of the rodeo season shot to hell—along with his chances to be in the National Finals—in one bad fall off one nasty-assed bull some sicko had named Better Days to Come. Now Sean sat here like an old lady invalid with a blown-out knee and a separated shoulder.

Most times? He’d have been back out there, taped like the other guys, letting the pain fuel his performance. But this time Sean had listened to the doctor. More than that, this time he’d even been entertaining occasional crazy thoughts about giving up rodeo, moving back to Virginia and starting a rodeo school for kids.

Maybe it was being twenty-six and not a rookie, anymore. Maybe it was seeing too many older cowboys crippled with chronic pain. Maybe it was seeing a friend killed when he rode injured and met with the unexpected. They didn’t call rodeo the suicide circuit for nothing.

But it wasn’t the injuries that threatened Sean right now. It was the damn boredom.

Black rain clouds swept closer; the wind preceding the storm bent the grass flat and silver. Sean grumbled and opened the computer on his lap, eagerness mounting in spite of his efforts to stay cool. Unlikely she’d be online now, in the late afternoon. Whoever she was, he knew one thing, she’d sure made life interesting the past week or so.

All he knew was her online name, RodeoFan24, that she loved rodeo and that she could talk a man into an erection the size of a stallion’s in about two minutes. Damn shame she

810

didn’t live around here; if she was as hot in person as she came across on-screen, he’d love to do more than talk about it.

He opened his email program and typed her address into a new message.

SC: Hey. R u there?

He had a mental picture of her. Blond hair down to her waist, legs to her armpits, curves that custom fit his hands, a smile that could light up an arena and all inhibitions checked at the door. His perfect woman. All fun, all sex, all good feeling, no tie-downs, no intensity, nothing to distract him from what he needed to accomplish.

His email chime signaled incoming mail.

RodeoFan24: I’m here. IM?

Damn if he wasn’t getting horny already.

SC: Yes.

He turned on his instant messenger program, waited until her name came up, typed his message and hit “send” to talk to her in real cyber-time. Chapter Two SC: How r u?

RodeoFan24: Damn good, as always.

811

He laughed.

SC: Sleep well?

RodeoFan24: You weren’t with me.

SC: Not as far as I know.

RodeoFan24: If you were with me, you’d know. So yes, I slept well. Damn shame, too.

He chuckled again, loving that sharp mind of hers.

SC: So…what kind of mood are you in?

RodeoFan24: Horny. For you. Always. How about you? Tell me what you’d like for our first time.

He shifted on his chair, God the woman was insatiable.

SC: No words. No small talk. No meeting in public where we’d have to put on a polite face. Just me coming into a bedroom where you are. You wearing something very small and very naughty.

RodeoFan24: Mmm.

812

SC: Which I would take off as soon as possible, because I know how good you look.

RodeoFan24: How good?

SC: You’re tall, 5' 8" or 5' 9"

RodeoFan24: 5' 8" very good.

SC: You have small perfect breasts, trim waist, legs to the moon and back. You work out and are in good shape.

RodeoFan24: All correct except I have medium perfect breasts.

SC: Okay, adjusting fantasy. Long hair to your waist.

RodeoFan24: Midback.

SC: Blond.

RodoeFan24: Dark blond, but yes.

SC: You sound perfect. What are you wearing now?

813

RodeoFan24: Black lace corset, garters, high black heels…

SC: Ohhh yeah. That works.

RodeoFan24: …bright red lipstick and nails. Watch out, I’m a big bad bitch. Chapter 3 Sean grinned. All the pain and claustrophobia disappeared when he was in cyberspace talking to this fantasy woman. Of course, she could be a fat ugly gay man for all he knew, but he didn’t think so. Call it instinct. The same one that let him know what a horse or bull was going to do a fraction of a second before it did it. And damn she played the seductress well. Hooked him with her first email.

He got a lot of fan mail, but this one stuck out, intrigued him. He’d fallen into conversation with her, something he’d never have time to do uninjured, and things had heated up quickly. More than that, she struck him as someone who would be fun to get to know.

Not bloody likely. She’d tell him nothing about herself.

SC: When r u going to give me your address so I can come visit you?

RodeoFan24: When you least expect it, cowboy.

“Mail call.”

Sean jumped at the sound of Greg’s voice, feeling like a kid caught looking at Playboy.

814

SC: Gotta go. Tonight?

RodeoFan24: You know it.

He smiled and shut the program down, feeling the same disappointed loss he did every time he severed their connection. Obviously he needed his life back. Except…for some strange reason, beyond his restlessness, the hunger to be back in the arena wasn’t as strong as usual. Maybe because he knew his chance of making the National Finals for the seventh year in a row had landed hard in the dust when he did.

“Letter for you.” Greg appeared on the porch, tall and lean, retired at age thirty-two from the sport they both loved, to buy this ranch. He tossed a thick letter onto Sean’s closed laptop.

Sean picked it up. Typewritten. No return address. Funny. Only his mum knew he was here at Greg’s. He opened it and read.

Read it again.

Folded it and put it back in the envelope.

What the hell was this?

An image of RodeoFan24 flashed before his eyes the way they said life did shortly before you lost it; she was hot and horny in the black corset, lying on his bed, spread open wide…and not a damn thing he could do about it.

Damn and double and triple damn.

815

Chapter Four If this letter was legit, his mum was in trouble. Money trouble. Sean had been pretty successful on the rodeo circuit, but he didn’t have close to enough to bail her out of the back taxes supposedly owed on the family ranch in Virginia, the Flying C. If this letter was legit.

He put his laptop aside, strode into the house as best as his banged-up knee would let him, and called home. His mum answered; they chatted about his health, the ranch, life in general, and he knew. Heard the fear and forced cheerfulness in her tone, the occasional cracked syllable in what was usually a soft musical flow of words.

It was just like her to take the burden on herself, just like when Dad died, not wanting to deprive her sons of anything, especially not because of her own grief or pain or needs. Not saying a word to Sean when he wanted to take on the most dangerous sport in the world, one which made all the outdoor adventuring their dad did look like staying home crocheting.

Sean owed her.

For all she’d put herself through on his behalf, his and his brothers’. She knew any of them could help her out. But she hadn’t—and wouldn’t—say a word. Whoever sent this letter was counting on Sean to do the right thing.

He hung up and limped back out onto the porch, heart tight with worry and frustration. He could have money. Plenty. Money his late father left him in his will—on one condition. A condition Sean had been confident he’d never have to meet. No financial hardship of his own could ever be dire enough.

He’d quit rodeo and sell fast food before he’d chain his cowboy soul for his own sake.

But to save mum and the Flying C ranch…

816

“Bad news?” Greg leaned his tall frame against the corner post of the porch, glancing out at the storm, trying not to show his concern.

“You could say that.”

“What’s up?”

Sean laughed bitterly, tossed the letter onto the rocking chair he’d been sitting in earlier and gave the heavy cream stock a look of loathing before he met his friend’s eyes.

“Looks like I’m going to have to get married.” Chapter Five Sean rested his sore shoulder against a propped-up pillow in his friend Greg’s guest-room bed. Okay. Time to take stock of the situation again, though he’d been over it so many times his brain was about ready to walk out on him.

Until his separated shoulder healed, there was no way he could get back to the rodeo events that made up his career, or risk more serious injury. But even if he could, there was no way he could make enough money to bail his mother out of the financial trouble she was in.

He’d been over it and over it, and the only way he could get that kind of money was by fulfilling the terms of his inheritance.

By getting married.

817

His stomach gave a sick lurch and he rubbed his hand over his forehead. A cool breeze blew in through the open window, freshened by the storm that had just passed through. Which had nothing on the storm brewing in him.

Sean Cooper, married? Might as well grab him by the balls and lop them right off. He’d seen what marriage could do to a cowboy. Shift his focus out of the arena, off winning, onto his responsibilities to wife and kids, the proverbial ball and chain.

And what kind of life did he have to offer a wife? On the road nearly fifty weeks of the year; he didn’t even own a house. Never knew if he’d come out of the ring alive or intact; a hell of a bargain. Of course, with the money, he could just put her up in a nice house somewhere and forget about her.

There must be someone out there who’d like that. Hell, women were willing to marry strangers on TV in those reality shows, how bad could he be?

It’s just that—yeah, okay, he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body—but that all sounded pretty damn sleazy. He’d much rather have a sweet nice woman his mum would like than a gold digger. Someone he’d be proud to bring home for the holidays. Someone who could be by his side when he gave up the circuit and opened a rodeo school for kids.

Only one problem.

He didn’t know any sweet women. Most of the women in his life had been out for what he was out for—a good time, blessedly short. And the ones that got sticky fingers soon found out no amount of stick could get Sean Cooper to stay.

He liked them tough and sassy and loose, women like RodeoFan24, who he’d been having one of the hottest relationships of his life with—online. There wasn’t a sweet, pure bone in her body. She made porn actresses look like kiddy-show cast members. Like…

818

Chapter Six A vision suddenly took front and centre in his thoughts. There had been one woman he’d known in high school…. What was her name? Alyssa…Alyssa something. Marks! Alyssa Marks. She practically glowed with sweetness. His mum had worked with her on some school social committee and adored her, was always pushing him, “Why don’t you date nice girls like Alyssa?”

Because they’re nice, was the answer, one he never dared give her. But there had been that one night, at their graduation party. On a night like this one, where the breeze smelled as if it had been washed clean and pure. He’d had one too many and she’d asked him to dance.

He remembered how surprisingly good she’d felt in his arms, how she’d pressed herself against him as if she wanted more than the dance—though he couldn’t imagine a girl like her doing that.

Somehow they’d ended up back in his car—okay, not somehow, he damn well knew why he’d wanted her there. She’d been clumsy, eager, surprisingly sweet to taste—and then he’d felt her trembling and realised she was the wrong woman for what he was after.

The memory brought back the same tenderness he’d felt back then, holding her, trying to calm her shaking. “You don’t want me,” he’d said. “Not a guy like me, not for you.” She was the only willing woman he’d ever held back from.

Sean opened the case to his laptop. He was due to meet RodeoFan24 online in two hours and couldn’t wait to see what erotic heat she would generate tonight. But before that, he’d have time to start trying to track down Alyssa Marks, and if she was single, and still the same sweet girl she’d always been, she’d be as good a starting place as any to find himself a wife. ****** “What are you still doing here?”

819

Alyssa Marks jumped guiltily at her desk and smiled brightly at her fellow financial analyst, Josie Shert. Alyssa had been doing way too much daydreaming lately. It had to stop. She was twenty-six-years old and should have figured out better things to do with her time. “I’m finishing up some odds and ends before the weekend.”

Josie crossed her arms over her impressive chest and frowned. “You’re not going out with the gang?”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Honey, when are you going to cut loose and make some man extremely happy to be alive? Hiding yourself in here isn’t going to get you any dates.”

“Ah, my dream way to spend time.” Alyssa rolled her eyes. “Sitting across from some guy who can’t stop talking about himself long enough to notice I’m there.”

“Ouch.” Josie laughed. “You have a point. Well, I’m on my way, don’t work too hard or too late.”

“I won’t.” Alyssa smiled brightly until Josie was out of sight, then slumped over her desk. Oh, for Pete’s sake. She wasn’t going to be able to hide behind the man-hating thing forever. The truth was, she was the most romantic, starry-eyed fool she knew. It’s just that no one measured up to her fantasy man and she’d rather wait alone forever than compromise—

Her email chime interrupted her. She glanced at her inbox and gasped. Gasped again. Covered her hand with her mouth. Sean Cooper? It wasn’t possible. Not at all. How on earth had he found her? Chapter Seven She opened the email, hands trembling.

820

Hey, Alyssa. Sean Cooper here, maybe you remember me, maybe you don’t. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you—but maybe not much longer. I’ll be in Vegas next week. I was wondering if you’d like to get together. Truth is, I’ve thought about you here and there over the years, though I’ve been too busy to write. And I’m not a man of words, anyway. But I can’t help wondering if you’re still the same sweet wonderful girl you always were.

Let me know if you’ll be free to see me.

Sean.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

Alyssa removed the hand from her mouth long enough to drop her jaw, close it and clap the hand back. Sean Cooper. Writing to her. Wanting to see her. Next week. Sean Cooper!

What were the odds? She’d been daydreaming about the man all day. Hell, she’d been daydreaming about the man for the last eight years. Which had all seemed vaguely pathetic until just now. She and Sean never even dated her senior year, the one year she was in Virginia while her author father researched a book about ranch life in the nineteenth century.

As usual, Alyssa was the new girl in school, and had spotted Sean the first day. Tall, confident, killer green eyes and dark tumbling hair, he moved like a man, not like the mostly gawky other guys in the class.

Something in Alyssa’s heart went zing, and she, the type of girl he’d never look at twice, had pined all year long, watched him date half the prettiest, wildest girls in the class, heard the rumours about the other half, and finally decided eighteen was a good time to lose her virginity, and he was the one she wanted.

821

Then on graduation night, amazingly and dream-come-truly, her turn came. Last-chance desperation spurring her on, she’d asked Sean to dance at the outdoor party, and he’d accepted. He’d stayed with her through the fast dance and on to a slow one. Held her tightly and she’d pressed herself against him, arms savouring his strong neck and shoulders.

She still remembered how he kept pulling back, looking at her quizzically, as if he’d never seen her before and couldn’t believe she was real.

Then he’d suggested a walk that ended in his car as she’d hoped it would, and his hands and mouth on her unleashed such a storm of unexpected longing that she realised if he took her, she’d lose her heart along with her virginity, and she was so far gone, she didn’t care.

Except he hadn’t taken her. To her horror, he’d stopped. Mumbled something about not being the guy for her. Yeah, she knew what that meant. Mr. I’ll-sleep-with-anything hadn’t wanted a fumbling virgin idiot when there were experienced women out that night, drunk and easy.

Except he’d held her for a while and they’d talked easily, and laughed the same. Then he’d driven her home and kissed her again, in a way that made her humiliated heart recover enough of its pride to keep beating, and which made her his eternal love-slave, even through four years of dating Rick during and after college at Smith.

No man ever thrilled her the way Sean Cooper had.

She reread the note. Can’t help wondering if you’re still the same sweet wonderful girl you always were.

822

Is that how he thought of her? Sweet? Wonderful? Did he hope she still was like that, or not?

She rolled her chair back from the computer, folded her arms across her navy suit jacket and stared at his note from a seemingly safe distance.

But there was something else she was wondering. Something she had a feeling she’d never know.

What would Sean Cooper do if he found out sweet, wonderful Alyssa Marks was RodeoFan24? Chapter Eight Alyssa tried very hard not to rush to her computer after dinner. Maybe her counter needed another wipe? Perhaps she should brew another cup of herbal tea? Take a leisurely look at today’s news?

All she wanted was to run and see if Sean Cooper had written again.

Two weeks earlier after visiting his web site, she’d gotten up her nerve and written him an anonymous email as RodeoFan24. To her shock he’d written back almost immediately, and then wrote back again. And again.

She’d answered him each time, anonymity allowing her to be a flirty, confident, take-noprisoners sexual female the way she only dreamed of being.

It was fun as hell at first. Until all those feelings she’d successfully wrestled into submission years ago came bursting out again. Pathetic. A grown professional woman who still couldn’t get over her first big high-school crush.

823

Okay, she’d waited long enough, she was going to rush to her computer now. The email she’d gotten from Sean at the office that afternoon addressed to Alyssa Marks, instead of to RodeoFan24 completely shocked her. Sean was coming here! To Vegas! And he wanted to see Alyssa. Said he couldn’t help wondering if she was still the same sweet wonderful girl he knew senior year in high school.

Well she was. And she definitely wasn’t.

She opened her “Alyssa” email and caught her breath. Sean had written back already, answering the note she’d sent from the office a few hours ago. He was coming—oh my God—in three days.

She pictured him as she’d seen him last, on TV, face set in stone, hat low over his eyes, sitting on the bull in the chute. The gate swung open, the bull plunged out and for eight breath-holding seconds, raged and twisted and bucked with Sean miraculously glued to its back.

After Sean got clear, he’d lifted his hat high to the crowd, green eyes flashing, stubbled jaw set, her sexiest fantasy come to life. She’d wanted to jump into the television set and ride him right there in the arena, her own personal rodeo beast, while thousands cheered.

But for a lot longer than eight seconds.

She opened her email for RodeoFan24 and omigod, there was more email from him.

SC: Come join me on IM.

She breathed through the thrill and logged on to her Instant Messenger program, then twirled her chair toward the alcove in her bedroom where she displayed the antique corsets and camisoles she collected.

824

Sean always wanted to know what she was wearing and she loved giving him the details. Today she’d be wearing the white lace camisole she’d embroidered with rosebuds. Give him a taste of naughty sweetness. Chapter Nine

Behind her, a chime signaled an incoming instant message and she whirled back.Behind her, a chime signaled an incoming instant message and she whirled back.

SC: How goes it?

Alyssa pulled the chair forward and settled her hands eagerly onto the keyboard.

RodeoFan24: Better now you’re here, cowboy.

SC: What are you wearing?

Alyssa laughed. Gotcha.

RodeoFan24: Virgin white lace-up corset with embroidered pink rosebuds. I need a man to deflower me.

SC: Now there’s something I’ve never done, though I had the chance once.

Alyssa’s eyes shot open as wide as eyes could shoot. Once? She’d given him that chance, at their high-school graduation and been rejected.

825

RodeoFan24: I didn’t think there was anything you hadn’t done. You turned her down?

SC: Yeah. She…well, she deserved better than me.

Alyssa bit her lip. Was that really why? She so wanted to believe him.

RodeoFan24: You mean there’s someone better than you? Am I wasting my time here?

SC: LOL. No. I’m the best. Why won’t you tell me where you live?

Alyssa rolled her eyes. Oh that would be a good idea, considering he’d be out here next week.

RodeoFan24: Because I like to tease.

SC: Okay, okay. But one of these days I’ll have it out of you.

RodeoFan24: One of these days I want you to have it in me.

SC: Ha! At least tell me your name.

RodeoFan24: No.

826

SC: Then tell me a fantasy, RodeoFan.

Alyssa took a deep breath. This was the part of their crazy correspondence she liked best. When she, Alyssa Marks, actually held Sean Cooper in her thrall for a change.

Chapter Ten RodeoFan24: You’re getting ready for a ride, standing in your trailer, going over your moves, going over the routine. Your head is totally into what you have to do.

SC: And my other head?

RodeoFan24: LOL! Don’t interrupt.

SC: Sorry.

RodeoFan24: You hear the door open, but you’re so deep in concentration you don’t really register it. Suddenly, my hands come from behind you and settle right on your fly. You’re shocked; you turn around angrily, then you see me and you know immediately who I am even though it’s your first sight of me. I’m wearing a red whalebone corset that pushes up my breasts and barely reaches my nipples. You shake your head, no, not now, but I come up to you and—

Alyssa jerked her hands back from the keyboard. Kiss you, she wanted to write. Feel your mouth hard and crazy-passionate on mine. But he wouldn’t care how much she wanted to kiss him. Men liked it rough, immediate, sexual.

SC: And what, RF24?

827

RodeoFan24: I kneel in front of you. I take your cock out. You’re already hard.

SC: No kidding.

RodeoFan24: Are you?

SC: Cha.

RodeoFan24: Mmm. I have red lipstick on that glistens on my mouth, up and down you while I suck. You have a ride to make, you can’t get this distracted, but you also can’t stand to stop my warm mouth making you crazy.

SC: Ohhh—typing one-handed here.

A wicked smile widened Alyssa’s mouth. She pictured him in bed, laptop to one side, long strong legs spread out in front of him, pants undone, oh yes, hand stroking his thick, hard—

SC: Don’t leave me now, RF24.

RodeoFan24: Just carried away by the thought of what your non-typing hand is doing.

SC: You are so hot. I’m going to come all over myself and I’d much rather do it in you. Tell me where you live.

RodeoFan24: No.

828

SC: Why not? You’re a man? Married? Hideously deformed? Grossly diseased?

RodeoFan24: No, no, no and no. I stand up and spread my legs, lifting one slightly; I have on black lace crotchless panties. I’m wet and open and you can’t hold back, even though you know it might cost you the ride. Riding me will be better.

SC: God yes, it will be. Tell me where you live! Chapter Eleven RodeoFan24: You grab me, lift me, then stumble back to lean against a table, and push your cock in me as fast and hard as you can get it in. My legs are long and strong. I brace them and ride you hard. I’m wet and tight and you can barely stand it.

SC: Ohhh, you’re right. Getting close.

RodeoFan24: Someone starts pounding on the door. You’re supposed to be outside; they’re calling you, but you can’t stop thrusting, you can’t stop wanting to be inside me, and your climax is almost on you. You yell at them to wait, push harder, frantic, hot, straining, muscles bulging. I throw my head back, I’m coming, mouth open, eyes closed and the sight pushes you over the edge….

SC: Ahhhhhhhh…over edge here, too, thanks darlin’, brb.

Alyssa pictured him going for tissues, tucking himself back in, zipping up his jeans. The longing for him became so intense she could barely stand it.

She’d see him next week, yeah. But as Alyssa. Sweet practical Alyssa, who dressed like a nun and who everyone depended on to be kind and go the extra mile for them.

829

She wanted to be RodeoFan24 for Sean in person.

SC: I’m back.

Alyssa stared at the screen, hands frozen over the keys. What was she thinking?

She couldn’t do this. Except…she really could do this. There wasn’t one hell of a reason why she couldn’t.

SC: You still there? You are incredible. I want to get you off, too.

RodeoFan24: Sorry. I have to go.

SC: Damn. Okay. Bye.

She took a deep breath. Now or never.

RodeoFan24: Oh, by the way…

SC: Yes?

Another deep breath, then she gave in to the burning inevitable thrill and typed.

830

RodeoFan24: I live in Vegas, cowboy. Chapter Twelve “You actually have a lunch date today? A date date?” Josie Shert, Alyssa fellow financial analyst, stood in Alyssa’s office, gaping in comical disbelief.

Alyssa rolled her eyes, while her heart pounded like a bongo drum. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a “date date” with Sean Cooper. “He’s just a friend from high school.”

A vision of Sean’s tall, confident, muscular body made Alyssa’s face want to go soft and dreamy, and she struggled to keep it looking nonchalant. “Um…not exactly.”

“No?” Josie peered at her curiously. “Why are you looking like that?”

Alyssa turned and busied herself with some papers on her desk. “Because—”

“Hello, ladies.” The deep drawl—deeper than she remembered—came from her doorway. She and Josie both swung around. “Where can I find Alyssa Marks?”

Alyssa wasn’t sure who gasped louder. Probably Josie since at least Alyssa was prepared for what she’d see. Sort of prepared. Mostly prepared.

No question the considerable thrill of seeing Sean Cooper on TV atop a raging bull had nothing on the thrill of seeing Sean Cooper in the flesh.

Nothing.

831

His eyes met hers across the room and her brain started leaking out onto the dull beige carpet at her feet. Green eyes, not wide and boyish, narrow and tough; there was nothing remotely pretty-boy or feminine about Sean.

Even his stance, his weight casually on one foot as he leaned in her doorway, spoke of someone who owned whatever space he was in and no one was allowed close without an invitation.

She wanted an invitation. More than she wanted to continue breathing.

“This…is your lunch date?” Josie’s voice came out a hoarse whisper.

“Uh huh.” Alyssa summoned all her cool and managed to walk toward Sean without tripping, hand held out in a cordial greeting. “Hi, Sean. It’s nice to see you again.”

He shifted lazily away from the doorway and took her hand, looking into her eyes as if her formality amused him. But not in a bad way. She hoped.

“It’s nice to see you again, too, Alyssa.” He took her hand, and pulled her toward him, smoothly, gently, but with strength that made resistance impossible. Not that she was anxious to provide any.

His lips met her cheek at the same time the side of her body made contact with the center of his chest, and neither her cheek nor her body wanted to move away from that contact in the whole of her natural lifetime. Chapter Thirteen “How’ve you been?” He asked in a low voice right next to her ear, which made tiny shivers shoot through her, and the skin on her neck beg to be touched. His hand rested

832

warm on the small of her back, and her shoulder was still in heavenly contact with his hard, cloth-covered chest. “If you’ve been half as good as you look, you’re one of the happiest people I know.”

“Oh.” She laughed too high and too loudly. “I’ve been fine. Just fine. Really…fine. In fact.”

Oh, she was in serious trouble. Nothing about the way she felt had dimmed over the last eight years. His eyes, his voice, his body, his scent, they still made her completely wild, the same way they had senior year in high school.

Only—she wasn’t a terrified virgin, fumbling in the back of his car anymore. Now she had a secret he knew nothing about. She, Alyssa Marks the Eternally Sweet, was also RodeoFan24, the woman Sean had been having an anonymous erotic online relationship with for the past three weeks.

The woman he planned to meet that night, to consummate the promise of their online chemistry. Which, in an incredibly bizarre twist, had made her jealous—of herself.

He chuckled and released her. “Hungry?”

Only for you, cowboy. The RodeoFan24 line popped automatically into her head. What would he do if she said it out loud? Could he handle merging the two of them into one woman? “Yes, I’m starving. There’s a place nearby that serves really good Mexican food.”

He winked. “My favourite.”

“Mine, too.” She smiled like a puppy-lovestruck teenager. There was no way she could survive this lunch without climbing over the table to attack him.

833

She led him through the mostly gray, impersonal corridors of Darwin, Bruckner and Bach Investments, down the elevator, where it was all she could do not to press against him and inhale, and out into the glaring Nevada sun, reflecting heat off of South Las Vegas Boulevard. Even in a state where rodeo cowboys were a dime a dozen, and even in a plain white shirt and Wranglers, he stood out.

The women in her office building had been ogling openly; Alyssa’s gossip potential would shoot through the roof after this one. But even in their wildest dreams, they’d never for a second guess the plans she had for Sean as RodeoFan24 that night.

And neither would he. Chapter Fourteen She took him to Maria’s Hot Tamales just down the street from DB&B, and they lucked into a just-vacated booth next to the window.

“So.” He folded his hands on the table and fixed her with a grin. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Seducing you online and planning to make it a reality tonight. “I went to Smith after our senior year, and I’ve lived in Vegas for the four years since then—my father finally settled here after I graduated. I work as an analyst at DB&B, and that’s about it.”

He smiled. “Hobbies?”

I collect and restore raunchy antique underwear. “I do some needlework.”

He smiled harder. “Do you live alone?”

834

Not tonight, I don’t. “Oh, yes. Except for when I lived with my dad, I’ve always lived alone.”

He nodded approvingly and winked. “Any vices?”

When I have sex with you I’ll be smmmokin’. She blinked demurely. “No. Not that I can think of, not really.”

“Are you seeing anyone, Alyssa?”

You, in my mind’s eye, stark naked, cowboy. “Oh. No.” She shook her head and blushed. “Not for a while now. What about you?”

“I’ve been eating, sleeping and breathing rodeo since I was five and rode my first calf. Not much time for anything but that.”

“Vices?”

“I have a temper. But I don’t drink aside from an occasional beer. I’m drug-free and I don’t smoke.”

Alyssa raised a prim eyebrow. “Women?”

He cleared his throat and shifted in the booth. “They seem to find me on occasion.”

835

She laughed, enjoying the way he looked at her, with his eyes intense and a little smile hovering over his lips. As if he liked her and was happy to see her. “I’ve been following your career.”

“You have?” His brows shot up and he flashed a grin, as if this really pleased him, though she couldn’t imagine why. Well, she could imagine, but that dream was so out there it couldn’t possibly come true.

“Oh, yes. You’re very talented.” In the sack, too, I bet. The devil got into her right then and she leaned forward slightly, making sure her eyes stayed clear and innocent. “You must have such strong legs to be able to hold on to a hot, raging animal like that.”

He blinked. Blinked again. “Uh. Yeah. I guess.” Chapter Fifteen The waitress came to take their orders and Alyssa beamed up at her. “I’d like the wet chicken burrito, please. Ex-tra hot and ex-tra wet.”

She smiled sweetly at Sean, whose eyes appeared to be bugging slightly while he placed his order. Oh, this was so much fun. “When will you be able to go back to rodeo?”

His brow furrowed; he aligned his silverware carefully, then pushed it askew. “I don’t know.”

Alyssa’s smile dimmed; the wicked fun went out of her in a hurry. Something was very wrong, and she instinctively wanted to fix it for him. Without thinking, she put her hand over his fist on the table. “Are you that badly injured?”

He stared down at her fingers, then relaxed and opened his fist, turned his hand over so hers rested comfortably—much too comfortably—in his.

836

“No. I’m just not sure. I…well, I’ve never told anyone this.”

Alyssa held her breath. Would he confide in her? Oh God, please, yes. That would be a gift he’d never understand the value of.

He looked up from their joined hands; she saw the sudden vulnerability in his tough-guy face and nearly cried. “I think I’ve lost it, Alyssa. The hunger. The will to try. I can’t seem to get myself geared up. Last time I was injured I was like a caged animal. This time…I’ve allowed myself to get distracted from returning to the arena. My brain is opening up to new possibilities, like maybe opening a rodeo school back home in Virginia years before I planned to. And things in my life right now…well, you don’t want to hear this.”

“Yes, I do.” She meant it with all her heart, though her brain was crying danger at top volume. She could get seriously used to this. Sex was one thing, she had no doubt she could lure this cowboy into her bed as RodeoFan24.

But this—the touching, the intimacy, the sharing—ohhh, that she had a much deeper hunger for. She wanted to fall in love with Sean Cooper. And she wanted Sean Cooper to fall in love with her.

But since that was an impossible, beautiful, ridiculous pipe dream, she’d settle for using his body to its fullest and giving him everything hers had to offer.

Only a few short hours from now he’d meet with RodeoFan24. And if everything worked as she hoped, she’d give him the ride of his life. Chapter Sixteen Sean pulled past the suburban Las Vegas house where RodeoFan24 had said she’d meet him tonight, turned the corner at the end of her block and parked. He wanted to sit for a minute, get his head on straight, if such a thing were possible.

837

He’d been gung-ho to meet her from their first online exchange. Pestered her constantly for her name, and the city she lived in. But one lunch today with his high-school friend Alyssa Marks had messed with his head, made something about what promised to be the hottest encounter with the opposite sex he’d ever had…feel uneasy.

He rolled down the window against the late evening still-potent Nevada heat. RodeoFan24 hadn’t suggested dinner in get-to-know-you neutral territory. She wanted him the way they’d talked about online, the minute he walked in the door, without speaking a word first.

Alyssa had talked to him; she’d listened. He’d felt safe telling her things he hadn’t told anyone else, about his fears that the hunger necessary to continue his career in the rodeo arena had left him.

About what had once been far-in-the-future plans to open a rodeo school back in Virginia. As their three-hour lunch flew by, he realised he felt entirely comfortable being himself, something he rarely did anymore as his rodeo celebrity status grew.

And yet…Alyssa had been so innocent. So pure. Yes, it was why he’d thought of her for the marriage he had to make, to inherit money for the nearly bankrupt family ranch in Virginia. Maybe he was grossly old-fashioned, but she was a girl he’d be proud to introduce to his mom. A girl who could order a chicken burrito ex-tra hot and ex-tra wet and not have the faintest glimmer of consciousness on her face that she could be referring to anything except her lunch.

Who’d thrown the same tired line at him about how his legs must be sooo strong to grip such a wild animal as a bull—and then hadn’t followed it up with a smoldering invitation to prove just how strong they were.

That kind of woman was perfect for marriage. And he’d been attracted to her, no question. But how long could he stand pure and innocent in bed?

838

Wouldn’t he always crave women like RodeoFan24? How long could he tell himself that at age twenty-six it was fine that his time screwing around was over?

He pictured his mother’s tired face, heard again the forced, thin cheer in her voice last time he’d called her. So be it. He’d accepted his sentence; he’d ask Alyssa to marry him before he went back to Arizona to finish his convalescence at his friend Greg’s ranch.

In the meantime he’d have one hell of a wild night with RodeoFan24 and consider it his farewell to hot, loose women forever.

With that entirely depressing thought, he got out of the car, strode to the corner and down her street, up the neatly edged driveway to the small, neatly kept house.

Somehow, he’d expected her place to look more like a lurid red-light-district pleasure palace. Ridiculous, of course. He pressed the bell, eager to get his first glimpse of the woman who would put Alyssa out of his mind for one more night until death did them part. Chapter Seventeen The door swung slowly open to reveal…no one.

Sean’s mouth spread into a smile. Black and red paper arrows decorated the floor, pointing to the rear of the house. A Faith Hill song, “Wild One,” sounded from somewhere back there. His smile grew into a grin.

He closed the door behind him, hoping RodeoFan24 was, in fact, the luscious blond female he’d imagined and not a serial killer on the wrong end of a shotgun. But instinct told him she’d be the former, and well worth his visit.

839

He followed the arrows to a doorway with a sign, This Way to Heaven, Cowboy.

He chuckled and pushed open the door.

Holy sh— Two squat candles made the small, intimate room glow dimly red. Her bed stood next to the dancing-shadowed wall, piled high with pillows. And arranged on the pillows…his fantasy come true. Legs that went on forever; thick blond hair past her shoulders. And the hottest outfit he’d ever seen on a woman, a black lace-up corset thing, embroidered with red that pushed her breasts so high they nearly spilled out the top.

Down below it, tiny black panties he suspected were thong. Black lace elbow-high gloves on her strong slender arms, and strappy black high heels on her perfect feet. On her face a sexy cat-woman mask that hid her eyes and most of her face, but left her delicate nose and lush beautiful mouth clean and clear.

Oh man.

“Come in, cowboy.” Her voice was low, breathy, musical. He felt himself start to get hard, even while for some reason he pictured Alyssa’s prim outfit, the dark suit and highnecked blouse leaving way too much to his imagination. But this woman… This woman he could welcome into his bed every night for the rest of his life.

And if Mum saw her she’d keel over at the mere sight.

“Hey.” He moved forward, unable to stop staring, put his hands on her feet, at the end of those mile-long legs and started stroking upward.

“Little overdressed, aren’t you?”

840

He nodded, pulled back and lifted his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton, pulled off his boots and socks, undid his jeans and got rid of them, too, rummaging briefly for a condom, which he tossed onto the mattress beside her. Finally, his briefs joined the pile on her floor.

“Ohh, that’s nice, cowboy. That’s real nice. Now come here to me.”

He knelt at the foot of the bed and kissed his way up those forever legs, tuning into her heavy sighs and soft cries in order to please her best.

By the time he reached the soft skin of her inner thighs, the intense arousal was mutual. He bypassed where he wanted to kiss her most, and lay next to her on his side, smiling into what he could see of her eyes. For a strange disorienting second, he thought he knew her, then she arched toward him and the feeling passed.

“This thing—” he gestured to the stiff garment she’d encased herself in “—is going to have to come off.” Chapter Eighteen She grinned archly, turned over and presented him with a row of tiny hooks that was going to take him all night to undo. Luckily he had all night.

He undid each one, hook by hook, kissing the gradually uncovered smooth perfect skin of her upper back, then her lower, and finally got the lace prison off her and could gaze at a black thong that plunged between twin cheeks of an ass so perfect, he wanted to cry.

“You’re beautiful.” He kissed her backside, ran his fingers down, following the path of the thong. She moaned and lifted her leg, twisted over so he had access to the rest of her.

841

He bent and slid his tongue under the edge of the lace, moved the material aside with his finger, drank her, sucked, probed, moving his head up and down to accommodate her bucking hips, turned on by pleasuring her more than any woman he could remember.

He nodded, since words failed him, and moved up, kissing his lips dry on her stomach, taking the time to get to know her breasts, unexpectedly full even when the push-up outfit had been taken away.

She was heaven…. He paused with his mouth on her skin. Something again struck him as familiar. Was she wearing the scent another woman he’d been with had worn?

Who cared? She was here now, and as soon as this was over, he wanted to know her name, her age and everything about her.

His body tensed. No. He had Alyssa to think of. RodeoFan24 was for tonight and tonight only. He’d leave as quietly as he’d come in and this would be—

His thoughts were dashed out of his head by her strong arms pushing him over onto his back, her mouth heading unerringly for his penis. Her lips took him in lightly, teasing, her tongue flicking around the tip, then in and out with long strong strokes that nearly sent him over the edge.

He closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind to keep the orgasm from coming too soon…and Alyssa’s face came into it again—what was wrong with him?

He shoved his mind clear to feel RodeoFan’s legs settle on either side of him and her warm wet sex teasing his erection. He opened his eyes to her, sitting astride his pelvis, bold, confident, ready to slide onto him.

842

Sean scrabbled for the condom, got it on in record time and grabbed her hips, eager as he hadn’t been eager for a woman in…well, he couldn’t remember when.

She poised her over him, ready for that fabulous first thrust; the tip of his penis hit the entrance to her body, and something changed. Maybe it was the way her face went serious, or the way her body held still. Or maybe it was that he went expectantly motionless in anticipation of their joining. Whatever it was, the moment took on a significance he didn’t expect, brought out emotions that thickened his throat.

Why the hell was he letting tenderness into a wild tryst with a woman he barely knew? Chapter Nineteen He pushed inside her, and the feeling only intensified. He stared into the blue-black glimmer of her eyes under the mask and wanted to rip it off, take away the last barrier.

She rode him with long slow strokes, fitted him so well and gripped him so tightly inside her that the friction was more than enough, even with the damned condom.

Her gorgeous breasts bounced with each stroke; she lifted her arms above her head, long hair tipped back, abandoned to the moment.

He reached and rubbed her clitoris in a steady gentle circle; her body stiffened, her mouth opened in a soundless cry as she climaxed—and his heart swelled in response. She was utterly and completely perfect.

“You make me crazy, RodeoFan.”

“You got that right.” The sassy remark was exactly what he expected. What he didn’t expect was the quavery whisper, emotion plain in her face and voice.

843

“What is it?”

She shook her head, shook it again. “It’s just so good.”

He wrapped his arms around her and brought her down on top of him, rolled so he was over her, dug his arms under and held her close; they moved together in a sweet rhythm, nothing like the frenzied lust he thought he’d need to find his own release.

Worse, he found himself wanting this more than he wanted to come. He moved down to kiss her; her lips were sweet and full and eager, and the warmth in his heart nearly overwhelmed him, along with the same feeling—only stronger now—that he’d known this woman before.

“What’s your name?” he whispered. “Tell me your name.”

She lifted her head, and kissed him, and when she drew back, her eyes under the black and silver satin were liquid and bright.

Her hand reached up to her mask, hesitated, then she lifted it off.

“My name is Alyssa,” she whispered back. “Alyssa Marks.” Chapter Twenty Alyssa held her breath. In her right hand she still clutched the black and silver mask she’d worn to have sex—except in her mind it had been making love—with Sean Cooper.

He’d walked into her bedroom thinking she was a stranger, RodeoFan24, the woman he’d been having an erotic online relationship with for the past three weeks.

844

Now he knew she was just Alyssa, his sweet virginal high-school-senior classmate back in Virginia. The plain Jane financial analyst he’d had lunch with that same afternoon on his visit to Las Vegas.

So what would he think now? He’d gone rigid with shock. Their bodies were still joined and he hadn’t moved in about three years.

Okay, maybe ten seconds. Ten seconds that flew by like three years.

“Alyssa.”

That was progress. He’d moved his mouth enough for her name to come out. But not much more. What was he thinking? Was he horrified? Would he be delighted? Run screaming from the room? Finish making love to her? Help!

“Alyssa.”

Oh God, just her name again—she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Are you angry?”

“Angry?” He blinked. “Angry at finding out the woman I enjoyed having lunch with so much today is also a tigress in bed? No, I don’t think angry is the word.”

That sounded hopeful. “Then what is the word?”

845

He pulled carefully out of her, sat with his legs off the edge of her bed, ran his fingers through his hair. Was that more hopeful or not?

“Stunned. I’m stunned.” He twisted and looked down at her, reached and traced her lower lip with his finger. “Why did you do this?”

“Which part? Writing to you as RodeoFan24? Not telling you who I really was? Letting you know RodeoFan24 lived in Vegas when you wrote to me as Alyssa saying you were coming to visit? Or not being—

“Whoa.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Why don’t you start with why you decided to take off your mask just now?”

She sat up, wanting to curl herself around his back for comfort, but instead wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Chapter Twenty-One How was she going to explain this?

That the emotion when he slid inside her was so strong she thought she was going to burst out crying? That when he made love to her, tender and sweet instead of wild and carnal, she was pretty sure she’d started falling in love with him? That the game of deception that had seemed so exciting suddenly wasn’t enough, that she wanted him to see her as she truly was, for better or for worse?

“I wanted you to know.” She grimaced. Duh, Alyssa. “I felt…that it would be better. That maybe since you seemed to like…it, that you’d like…me. And…”

Tears of humiliation threatened. Could she be any more pathetic? She was lousing this up so badly. RodeoFan24 could handle anything. Alyssa was a mess.

846

“Alyssa.” All he said was her name again, but this time he turned and put his arms around her, scootched her in close to him. “I’ve always liked you. That’s why I’m here.”

“You came to Vegas to see me? Why?”

“Because…” He gestured randomly with his left hand and let it drop onto his thigh. There was a strange slightly manic light in his eye that started to make her almost as nervous as she’d been waiting for him here tonight. “You were in my head and I couldn’t get you out. I wanted to see if you were still the same. If I’d still feel the same way about you.”

Oh my God. “What way?”

“That night back in high school…” He frowned and shook his head.

Alyssa tried not to squirm impatiently. How had he felt about her? And why, if this really was going to be his dream-come-true confession of feelings for her, did the situation strike her as totally unlikely and wrong? “Why didn’t you make love to me on our graduation night?”

He cupped her jaw with a warm strong hand and looked into her eyes, which made her heart start free-falling the rest of the way in love with him even though it didn’t want to go on that particular one-way trip alone. “It wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Yes. It was. I was—”

“It wasn’t right. Not in a car, not your first time. And not with a guy like me. You were terrified. Your whole body was shaking.”

847

True. She’d been shaking. And terrified. And turned on out of her heart and mind by this man. Tonight, though, she hadn’t been shaking. And he sure as heck hadn’t stopped. Except he also hadn’t known she was Alyssa. “Would you have made love to me if I wanted to after lunch this afternoon?”

“Are you kidding? If you came on to me like this? There’s a no-brainer.”

Something warm and reassuring tugged at Alyssa’s shaky terrified heart. “Really?”

She shrugged and bit her lip. “Because I wanted you to see me this way. Even not knowing I was Alyssa. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be sexy to you.” Chapter Twenty-Two “You are sexy to me as Alyssa, too. I wanted you at lunch today.”

“You did?” Shameless, but she wanted to hear it again.

“Yes, ma’am. And I was thinking about you here tonight, even when I thought I was with another woman. I even kept thinking something about RodeoFan24 was awfully familiar.”

“No way.” She opened her eyes wide. That weird mania from before was gone from his face. This time she was buying every word. And loving it.

“You’re incredible, Alyssa. My god, you’re…” He stopped and stared at her until she started to want to fidget again. “You’re perfect. For me.”

848

“Excuse me?” She could not have heard that right. And he had that strange slightly crazed glow in his eyes again.

“I said you’re perfect for me, Alyssa.”

“In what way.” Her warm reassured heart started cooling and getting nervous again. Something wasn’t right here. He was saying everything she’d always dreamed he’d say, and yet…

“You and me. Together.” This time he spoke slowly, but his eyes were darting to one side and back, as if he was frantically making calculations in his head.

“Um. Yes?”

“Would you consider moving back to Virginia?”

Alyssa’s eyes had been open as wide as they could be opened—she thought. With his words, she realized she’d been entirely wrong about that particular limit.

“Back…to…Virginia?”

“I know this is sudden.” He got off the bed and started pacing, limping slightly, his big body looking tough, muscular and very male, an unaccustomed sight in her flowery bedroom—and one she damn well liked. “But I have to act fast.”

“You do.” She had no idea what he was talking about, but she was getting increasingly alarmed. Had his fall from the bull injured his head, too? Some strange sexually triggered insanity?

849

“I mean, I want to get this…done.”

He said “done” as if he meant “over with.”

“Get what done?”

He made a sound of frustration and stopped next to the bed, in front of her, hauled her to her feet and wrapped his big arms around her, making her feel cocoon-safe and protected. A delicious feeling that only got more delicious when he lowered his face and kissed her. “I’m sorry, Alyssa. You probably think I’m crazy.”

“Mm-hmm.” She didn’t mind his brain injury so much as long as he went on kissing her.

And he did. Sweet slow kisses turned to hot passionate kisses. He tumbled her back on the bed, bent to get another condom from his jeans pocket and put it on, his erection returning quickly, and why was she not surprised from Mr. Virility himself? Chapter Twenty-Three He took his time, slid into her slowly and pushed slowly, letting her pleasure build just as slowly, kissing her mouth, her neck, her cheek, as if he were only tasting her now, saving her to consume later. Then he lifted slightly, twisted to one side, kept up his rhythm and found her clitoris with his finger.

As before, she responded swiftly, found herself panting, and lost, as if she had a particular body wiring meant for Sean Cooper, straining then to climax, and surrendering as the burning wave swept over her.

He moaned and pushed harder for his own pleasure, extending hers, as well. She watched him, his eyes closed, face working, muscles working under her fingers, answered his

850

thrusts with her still-aroused body. Then he opened his deep green sexy eyes right into hers, whispered her name, and she felt him coming inside her.

At that moment she knew. She loved him. And always would. If he wanted her to move to Virginia and be his housekeeper she would. If he wanted her to strip naked and dance through Circus Circus at midnight, she would.

“Alyssa.”

“Mmm?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” She lifted her hand and lazily stroked his cheek. Anything. Circus Circus wasn’t even that far away.

Sean tightened his mouth; his eyes narrowed, and he appeared to be having trouble breathing.

She stopped stroking his face. What on earth was he—

“I wondered.” He kissed her, kissed her again, then rested his head in the curve of her shoulder where she couldn’t see his face. “Will you…marry me?” ****** “Marry you?” Alyssa could not have heard right. Not remotely. Not in a million billion years could the man she’d adored from afar since high school, who she hadn’t set eyes on in eight years—not counting all the times she devoured his televised rodeo appearances—

851

have shown up out of the blue on a visit to Las Vegas, had lunch with her, made love to her and asked her to marry him all in one day.

It just didn’t happen. Dreams didn’t come true like that. In her deepest most cherished and highly unlikely fantasy life, sure, all the time. But in reality? Not going to happen.

“Yes.” Sean’s voice came out muffled since his head was still buried in her shoulder. For that matter, his penis was still buried in her, too. Though she had a feeling it was no longer the mighty penetrating warrior, ahem. Apparently asking women he barely knew to marry him wasn’t arousing.

“You know, Sean, since this is my first marriage proposal, it would be nice if I could actually see your face.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He lifted his head and she caught her breath, couldn’t help it. Chapter Twenty-Four His green eyes were so intense in his lightly tanned face. And he was offering her the chance to wake up to that face every morning for the rest of her—

Oh, right. Rodeo.

Okay, offering her the chance to wake up to that face once in a while for the rest of her life. And wasn’t that her absolute dream? But the fact that they talked so nicely and easily at lunch, and the fact that they practically set her bed on fire when they made love, didn’t make a strong enough foundation for marriage.

Did it?

852

“Sean, this is sort of…a surprise.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed her and her body melted into the mattress, both for that and the tenderness in his voice. “But it feels right. After lunch today, I knew I wanted you. My only worry was how we’d be…together. And I think tonight we put that worry to rest and then some. I know I can make you happy, Alyssa.”

She smiled at him, she couldn’t help it. And wondered how he could think that the only thing he’d have to worry about vis a vis her suitability as his wife was whether they’d have good sex. “Sean? Can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure, darlin’, anything.”

“How many long-term relationships have you had with women?”

“Long-term?”

She nodded. “That you’d measure in months.”

“Not a whole lot.”

“Any?”

He cleared his throat. “No. But I’ve never been with anyone like you, Alyssa. At lunch today I felt like I could tell you anything. Even doubts about having what it takes to return to the arena when my shoulder’s fixed. You think I’d admit that to any other woman?”

853

“Your mum?”

He grinned, and she liked that his earnest face softened at the mention of his mother. Hell, she liked everything about him.

“Definitely not Mum. She’d have me in a nice safe job at our ranch faster than the best tie-down roper I know. Which might be where I end up, but I want that to be up to me. And now you.” His grin faded; he pulled out of her, lay beside her and gathered her close, reached up to stroke her hair, making her feel cherished and purring-happy. “I know this must seem sudden. But these things happen. My brother Joe took one look at his wife, Sandra, and that was all he needed to know she was right for him. Until she got sick, they were nothing but happy. I figure maybe the talent runs in the family.”

“Oh.” Her voice came out in breathless awe, as the reality of what he said hit her. He’d fallen in love with her at first sight. Second if you counted high school. Chapter Twenty-Five Alyssa’s heart started to thump, strong and steady, not from fear adrenaline, but from an outpouring of happiness that threatened to overwhelm her. Fairy tales could come true.

A lifetime of believing in them, of believing in True Love even while too many of her friends’ marriages crumbled and grew stale, had made her sure she was little more than a pathetic Pollyanna who’d never have her own chance at happily-ever-after because she believed in it too much.

All the time she’d been dating Rick, she’d felt something was missing. Yet, when she broke up with him, she couldn’t help wondering if she was stupid to hope for so much more, whether the dizzying all-consuming rush of feeling didn’t really exist except in the romance novels she devoured.

854

And now this. The man of her dreams, asking her to marry him, trusting the feeling in his heart to this extent after only one day with her. It was crazy. It was insane.

And she was going to throw caution to the winds and say yes. Because she’d ever wanted anything as much as she’d wanted Sean Cooper.

“I’d be proud to be your wife, Sean.” Tears gathered in her eyes as she saw the happiness and relief on his face.

“Wonderful. Fabulous.” He grinned and kissed her hard. “Best of all, we’re in Vegas, the perfect place. He glanced at the clock next to her bed. “How soon can you be ready?”

She blinked. He was kidding, right? “You want to get married now?”

He paused from gathering up his clothes, and looked at her in astonishment. “Well, yes. I mean, why wait?”

She slumped into him in relief. “Thank God.”

“We can wait until morning.”

Alyssa unslumped and her relief beat a hasty retreat. “Tomorrow?”

“No?” He frowned quizzically at her. “Well, when did you want to get married?”

855

She looked around the room wildly, as if searching for something that made sense. “I don’t know. We’d need to do up a guest list, find a place, maybe…September?”

“September.” His face froze; he swallowed. “I can’t wait that long.”

A very, very strange feeling invaded Alyssa’s post-coital, post-marriage-proposal bliss. “Why not?”

“Um. There are some…circumstances that…make it necessary, uh, to get married…now.”

“You’re pregnant?”

Chapter Twenty-Six He burst out laughing and Alyssa joined him, but she had a feeling they were both laughing more from a shared sense of dread than anything else.

Of course, she was such a sap that even in the midst of this dread, she loved the way he laughed, big and hearty and without self-consciousness.

“Alyssa.” He wasn’t laughing anymore, and her fear grew. “I wouldn’t feel right not being honest with you. Everything I’ve said up until now has been true. But the reason I need to get married soon…well, my mom is in financial trouble. Deep. We stand to lose the Flying C ranch in Virginia unless something is done.”

Alyssa’s heart sank to the bottom of her soul. “Like getting married.”

856

“My father’s will stipulates my inheritance comes to me only after I get married. The money would be enough.”

Alyssa lay quietly beside him, feeling detached, as if she was watching herself about to be splintered by emotional pain. She should have known better than to think her daydream could come true.

He wanted to marry her for money. His money.

Just like her not to notice that he hadn’t managed to utter those three little words that were fairly important to her when considering marriage. He was right, he hadn’t lied. He’d seen her and thought she was fit for the job—horny and gullible.

What man couldn’t resist the combination? And like a stupid sheep, she’d taken everything he said and twisted it into what she so desperately wanted to believe.

“Alyssa?” He said her name quietly, watching what must be a storm of conflict passing over her face. “I meant what I said about wanting to make you happy. And I meant that I haven’t ever felt like this about any woman before.”

“You love me?”

His face shut down; he dropped his eyes. That was all the answer she needed.

She sat up and bounced off the bed, faced him, standing naked and strong, one hand on her hips and the other pointing to the door to her bedroom. “Go.”

“Alyssa, we can talk this—”

857

“Talk is done. Find another woman to make your money off of. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of takers.” She grabbed his clothes and flung them at him in a heap. “I’ve loved you my whole adult life, but I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last hot, gorgeous cowboy left on planet earth.” Chapter Twenty-Seven Walls. He hated them. Might as well be in jail. Especially bland hotel walls with tacky art. Sean slammed down his laptop cover, sick of his empty inbox jeering at him. Three days since his marriage proposal to Alyssa had gone disastrously wrong, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave Vegas.

Yes, he needed to get married to fulfill the terms of his inheritance so he could save his mum and the family ranch from bankruptcy. But Alyssa was something special, both as herself and as the luscious sex-goddess he’d struck up an anonymous online relationship with, not realising she was a girl he’d known senior year in high school.

How could he have been so stupid as to think his offer of marriage would thrill her once she found out why he had to get to the altar ASAP?

He’d been so caught up in how amazing she was—the perfect combination of sweet and wholesome for public consumption, and uninhibited and fiery for his own private enjoyment—that it had never occurred to him she’d turn him down.

Well, newsflash, arrogant cowboy. She had her own hopes and dreams about marriage; she wasn’t someone to be stuffed into his needs for a wife. He’d treated her like a meal he’d picked out at the deli counter, thinking only of how great she’d look on his plate and how delicious she’d taste and how perfectly she’d fit his nutritional needs.

With that damage done, he didn’t blame her for throwing him out. He wasn’t even sure why he stayed in town, when she stubbornly refused to see him or answer his calls. He’d even shown up at her office and she’d called security.

858

Instead of getting the extremely clear message, he was reacting as if she was a bull to be ridden down, or a bronc to be broken and tamed. The harder she resisted, the more determined he was that she’d be his ticket to saving his mum and the Flying C ranch from creditors. He’d always been stubborn, but this determination in the face of repeated flat rejection had surprised even him.

The problem was that he didn’t have time for a long try; he needed cash now. In the old days of rodeo, you rode a bronc until it threw you or got tired. Nowadays you had eight seconds to show your best stuff before your turn was over.

His eight seconds were up here. Maybe it was time to pack it in.

His cell rang; he reached for it on the table next to his bed, noticing his shoulder was feeling a lot stronger. Time soon to gear himself up to get back in the arena—or give up the sport and open that rodeo school he’d always dreamed of after his retirement.

He glanced at the number. Hope that it was Alyssa died when he saw the 773 area code— his brother in Chicago. Sean made himself grin and crossed his legs up on the hotel coffee table. “Hey, Ryan, long time no talk. What’s up?”

“I’m married.”

Sean’s boots slipped off the table. “What?”

His brother chuckled. “Long story. It started as a plan to save the ranch for mom and ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Save…the ranch?” Sean’s vocal chords barely got the words out. Ryan was already married. The ranch would stay in the family. Which meant one thing and one thing only where Sean’s plans for marrying Alyssa were concerned.

859

He was off the hook. Chapter Twenty-Eight Alyssa dragged herself home from work, took a shower and forced herself to eat a chicken pita sandwich, which tasted like sawdust no matter how much mayo and tomato she crammed into it.

Sean hadn’t called her this afternoon. Not once. Hadn’t come by, hadn’t emailed, hadn’t sent flowers or chocolate or champagne. Finally, he must have given up and gone back to his friend’s ranch to finish his convalescence.

Finally, she was free of him, of his fake marriage proposal, of his increasingly domineering attempts to get her to save his ranch by sacrificing her dreams of a love match.

Finally. And how did she feel about that?

One word pretty much summed it up: Devastated.

Nice, Ms. Hypocrite. She felt even more like a split personality than she had when she was corresponding with him both as the demure sweet Alyssa, and the wild, sexual RodeoFan24.

Part of her wanted him to leave her alone, so she could rebuild her shattered heart and get on with life. The rest of her wanted him to keep trying to wear her down and succeed at it—as long as he fell in love with her in the meantime.

Her doorbell rang and the chicken salad sandwich jumped out of her hands and splatted back onto her plate. She tried to walk demurely to the door, but gave up and ran.

860

Oh yes. It was Sean. No flowers, no champagne, just Sean, whose handsome wonderful face broke into an apologetic grin when he saw her.

Her relief at seeing him still here in Vegas competed with her indignation that he wasn’t taking her rejection of him seriously. Could life get any more complicated?

“I just dropped by to tell you that I don’t need to marry you anymore to save the ranch.” He grinned and tipped his hat back on his head. “One of my brothers is already married. How about that?”

Her heart froze solid. "I see. Thanks for telling me."

“My pleasure.” He grinned so wide, he practically glowed.

She wanted to sock him. He was just about dancing for joy right on her doorstep.

“Well, congratulations.” Her voice came out at a temperature somewhere around minus eighty Celsius. “So. You’ll be leaving Vegas.”

“Oh, not right away.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and leaned against her doorjamb like he was actually going to stay there all week.

“No?”

“Nope.”

861

She gritted her teeth. “Well, what are you going to be doing here?” Chapter Twenty-Nine He smiled lazily, then moved so fast she barely knew what had happened until she found her wrists pinned up against the wall and the sexiest cowboy she’d ever known pressed up against her, mouth half an inch from hers. “I’m going to be spending every second I can with you.”

“But…” The word came out a crazy croak; she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“On the contrary, Alyssa,” he whispered. “I need you more than ever.”

“You—” She shook her head. This was way too much to take in. “Your brother is getting the money. Your mum’s ranch is saved.”

“That’s right. Free and clear.”

“So…” She swallowed; her throat was thick with fear and hope and longing. “What do you need me for?”

“Me.” His voice was low and husky; he leaned forward and kissed her as if the last three days without her had been three years. “I need you for me, Alyssa. September is fine if you want to get married then.”

“You still want to marry me?” She watched him nod, her brain lagging far enough behind that she wasn’t sure it would ever catch up. “Why?”

862

“Because, Alyssa.” He gazed at her, his green eyes as soft and warm and tender as his voice. “I love you.”

His words hung in the hot Nevada air, then slowly started to sink in. He loved her. He loved her. Alyssa’s brain finally caught up to this fact and her heart thawed, then started blooming like a field of red roses.

She gave a short, breathless laugh, then sighed and put her arms around Sean’s neck. “Now that’s a reason I can live with, cowboy.”

“You’ll marry me?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. I love you, Sean. Probably since high school. How pathetic is that?”

“How about not at all?” He spent several more heavenly minutes kissing her, then cradled her to him. “I’m going to give up rodeo, Alyssa. Open a school for young riders back home in Virginia. What do you think?”

She gave a blissful sigh into his hard chest. Home. Her home and Sean’s. If this didn’t prove that ridiculous fairy-tale happily-ever-after endings were worth waiting for, then nothing did.

“It sounds wonderful. But, um…” Alyssa lifted her head and arched a provocative eyebrow. “Won’t you miss having those hot, wild creatures thrashing between your legs?”

He chuckled and lifted her into his arms, striding with her back toward her bedroom. “Not if I have you, darlin’. Not if I have you.” Chapter Thirty - Epilogue

863

It seemed almost a cliché, but there simply could not be a more beautiful day for a wedding. Sunshine poured down on the cool October afternoon, warming the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Flying C and the guests seated outside by the ranch’s natural wood gazebo for the ceremony. Standing by the altar, Sean took in a long, deep breath of the sweet Virginia air and fidgeted like a small boy in church. Was the bride ever going to show up? His tuxedo felt like it had hardened into cement two sizes too small. How did people stand wearing suits every day? Half an hour in this one had him wanting his jeans the way most men wanted money, power or women. “Stand still. What do you have to be nervous about?” His older brother Ryan, now officially Sheriff Cooper, stood next to him, looking exactly as uncomfortable as Sean felt. “You’re not getting married.” Max, second eldest of the Cooper sons glared mock-fiercely at both of them, the only one of the three brothers up at the altar who wore the Tuxedo of Torture as if he was born to it. Corporate Max, as Sean used to call him, had softened considerably since he’d married Kate, but he could still be a tight ass. “Be quiet. Here comes the bride.” The three brothers stopped fidgeting, imprisoning clothing forgotten, and watched the stunning parade of attendants walking down the aisle. First came Joe’s fiancée, Theresa, petite and gorgeous in a pale yellow gown that set off her dark curls and skin. She and Joe planned a Christmas wedding, also here at the ranch. Strong and determined, Theresa had settled into life at the Flying C as if she were born to it. Second came Ryan’s wife, Nadya, in a blue dress that set off her blond hair and matched her eyes as if it had been dyed for that purpose. Beside Sean, Ryan swayed forward, as if Nadya exerted some kind of pull on him, or as if he was swelling with pride and love. Nadya had adapted well to U.S. culture, and before Ryan started his duties as sheriff the month before, the two had gone on an extended trip to meet Nadya’s family and tour Russia, where, she teased him, finally he could feel like the fish on dry land. Next came Max’s wife, Kate, voluptuous in green, her auburn hair pulled back loosely and curled, flattering her pretty face. Max’s breath rushed in, then out. Sean would never have believed a woman could get Max to stop worshiping the office, but apparently Kate kept him out of it every day for longer than anyone would have thought possible. Even better, Sean’s fairly strained relationship with Max had eased considerably. Who said love couldn’t change a man? Sean had changed, too, for the better. Oh man. He guessed it wasn’t proper to have lustful fantasies at your mom’s wedding, even if they were lustful fantasies about your own wife, but he was sure as heck having a few now. Most involving activities that would mess up her perfect fancy hairdo and put even more pink in those cheeks. She was invaluable, not only to his heart—and his bedroom—but to his fledgling business, as well, putting her financial expertise to work helping him start his rodeo school on grounds adjoining the main ranch.

864

Clothes rustled and chairs creaked as the audience—a warm congenial assortment of close friends of the Coopers’ from the local community and from the Flying C—stood to acknowledge the bride. And yes, here she came, radiant as brides should be, lines of worry and fatigue the last decade had etched all too often in her face invisible now, walking step by step down the aisle on her son Joe’s arm to the traditional wedding march from Lohengrin. Even supposedly tough cowboy Sean wasn’t afraid to admit his throat had an economysized lump in it, and he could bet he wasn’t the only one. After what Mom had been through—losing her husband a decade ago, nearly losing the ranch this year—none of her sons could be more pleased she’d found love and happiness with someone as caring and dependable as Reginald Beaumont. He’d been the family’s lawyer for decades, and was the person who’d taken steps to see the Flying C was saved. But Sean would also bet none of his brothers could fight off completely the respect, love and admiration for their father, gone for ten years but still so present in their hearts, especially here on the ranch he loved. A month earlier, Sean had watched Alyssa walk down a makeshift aisle, in a tiny ceremony with family and a few close friends on a nearby hilltop with a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains and forever. His father had brought the family to that spot countless times for picnics, parties and quiet—or rowdy—togetherness. God made this place beautiful especially for the Coopers. Dad had said it with a tongue-in-cheek nod of absolute certainty every time they’d gathered there. After the ceremony, when the minister had urged Sean to kiss his bride—as if he needed urging—the moment his lips had met Alyssa’s, a long gentle roll of thunder had rumbled over the hilltop and faded. No rain, no dark clouds nearby, no further sound. Sean liked to think that was Dad, giving his blessing to the marriage. One quick glance in the here and now at Reginald’s face, and the bittersweet thoughts of his father went to rest where they should be. Love for their mother shone out of the groom’s eyes so brightly, it was a wonder the guests didn’t start hauling out sunglasses. That love was partly responsible for Reginald taking it upon himself to write anonymous letters to Ryan, Max and Sean, warning them about their mum’s impending financial collapse, sure at least one of the brothers would rush to do the right thing by getting married, thereby inheriting enough to save the Flying C, their mother’s home. What Reginald couldn’t have seen coming, was that all four independent brothers would rush to do the right thing, each sure he was the only Cooper hero riding in for the rescue. And, more incredibly, that in pursuit of something as cold and fleeting as cash, all four of them would fall passionately and permanently in love.

865

Alyssa turned from smiling her knockout smile at Sean’s mother, to smile it at him. He winked at the lovely face that would light him up for the rest of his days. Little could Reginald know how much unexpected joy his act of desperation would bring all four brothers. His mother approached the altar, glistening eyes fixed on her future husband’s. A few days earlier, after a joyous and loud family meal and a glass or two of wine, she’d admitted to her sons that she’d been aware of Reginald’s feelings for some time, and had gradually come to return them in recent years, when she’d finally been able to let go of her widow’s grief.

She took her groom’s offered hand now, and the wedding party—on its way to becoming one big happy family—turned and faced the minister. He welcomed all attending and began the ceremony, moving and beautiful from “Dearly beloved” to “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” As the husband kissed his new wife, the audience erupted into cheers, led by those who knew how long Reginald had suffered his love in silence, and seconded by those who’d supported Elaine Cooper through too many years of pain. The boisterous crowd then followed the couple to the large covered arena nearby for toasts and more toasts, dancing and more dancing, eating and more eating. Finally, the last guests had gone home, and the glowing groom swept his beaming bride to his car for the drive to their hotel in Harrisonburg where they’d spend the night before starting their honeymoon trip to New York City, a place Elaine Cooper—now Elaine Beaumont—had always wanted to see. In a few weeks they’d return to live in Reginald’s house, leaving the running of the ranch to Joe. Elaine Beaumont hugged each of her now and future daughters-in-law, and each of her sons, long hard hugs that made everyone have to work hard not to turn weepy. In the car beside her new husband, she rolled down the window and tried three times to say what was in her heart without being able to get the words out through her tears. Sean cleared the thickness from his own throat. “It’s okay, Mum. We know what you’re feeling. We’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Max pulled Kate close and cradled her to him. “Amen.” Ryan kissed Nadya’s cheek lovingly. “You got that right.” Joe tucked Theresa gently into his side. “No argument here.” Sean grabbed Alyssa, yanked her close, dipped her and planted on her a long, hot, French kiss to lighten the atmosphere—though he found it put him in quite a different mood than he expected.

866

“Sean, you’ll be the death of me.” His mother wiped away new tears—of laughter this time. “Thank you all, my sons. I wish you and your brides every happiness there is. And tomorrow morning, I want this place picked up and back to running, you hear me?” “Yes, Ma’am.” The men chanted the response dutifully and waved Reginald’s Honda down the long dirt road leading out of the Flying C, following it with laughter and with love. The car passed out of sight. The laughter trailed off. Dust settled back on the road. Alyssa’s hand found its way under Sean’s jacket, and started a persistent caress that convinced him in no uncertain terms the tuxedo had to go. Now. “Uh, so…” He faked a yawn. “I think we’ll be calling it an early night.” Various other faked yawns echoed his from the three other couples standing on the ranch’s front lawn. “Yeah, been a long day.” “Think we’ll turn in.” “See you guys tomorrow.” Sean grinned and winked at Alyssa, who winked back, eyes alight, sexy lips puckering with promise. Sean was pretty sure none of the wedding party would get much sleep that night. And with the lovely riches the Cooper brothers had inherited, a hundred times more valuable than any material wealth could ever be, he was damn sure none of them would care.

867

Set Me Ablaze By Isabel Sharpe As the only child of one of Milwaukee's wealthiest families, Camilla Highgate had learned the hard way that men either wanted her only because of her money, or didn't want her because of it. So when she started dating guys she'd met through MilwaukeeDates.com, a little white lie about her real name seemed a small sin if it meant finding true love. And then she met Sam Bradford's eyes from across the bar. She knew by the way he was looking at her, the way he beckoned to her, exactly why he wanted her. And she wanted him right back. Their connection was instant, their chemistry explosive, but now that innocent white lie could burn them up…or set them ablaze.

Chapter One At age twenty-six, two months and five days, Carrie Hughson was on her way to her very first date—a drink with a man named Steve at Lakeside Bar and Restaurant on the shores of Lake Michigan in her hometown of Milwaukee. This wasn't her first date because she hadn't had the opportunity before, but because, as of a week ago, she didn't exist. Carrie Hughson was the newly assumed dating identity of Camilla Highgate, whose last name branded her as a member of one of Wisconsin's wealthiest and most powerful families. She'd discovered the hard way that her mother's constant warning was right on the…wait for it…money: "Men will either not want you because of your name and inheritance, or want you only because of it." Her boyfriend Don hadn't wanted her, becoming increasingly uneasy dealing with any family matters and threatened by her independence. Her boyfriend Mike had wanted her, or so she thought, until she found out he only wanted what she could pay for, charming his way into her affection at the same time he was charming his way into another woman's pants. And those were just the last two. Camilla wasn't willing to chuck her inheritance for the sake of finding love—though she lived modestly compared to the way she was raised—but she was willing to get rid of the name, temporarily. Her conscience pricked her for the irony of looking for honest love with a lie, but she wasn't going to take on another personality or misrepresent herself in any other way. And if she found a wonderful man she trusted enough to reveal her secret to and he couldn't come up with enough empathy to understand her reasons, then he wasn't that wonderful after all. She turned her bright red Mercedes Roadster—yes, she did spoil herself occasionally—onto Lake Shore Drive. Already she could see the white "wings" of the Santiago Calatrava–designed addition to the Milwaukee Art Museum, unfurled and glowing orange-pink in the day's fading sunlight. The restaurant sat on a pier just south of the museum, surrounded attractively by trees and plantings. Camilla turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space. The engine switched off, she took a long breath and blew it out slowly, nervous but confident she wouldn't show it. If being born a Highgate had taught her anything, it was how to maintain grace under pressure and tamp down inappropriate emotions that could lead to embarrassing scenes that might be used against her someday. Car door opened, out into the chilly air—the lake held on to winter's cold long into spring—form-fitting blue wool dress adjusted, door closed, locked, then one matching blue ballerina flat in front of another, Camilla made her way to the front door. She'd found Steve through MilwaukeeDates.com, a company run by the attractive and indomitable Marie Hewitt, who personally interviewed and provided guidance to each client joining the site. Camilla had asked to meet quiet, financially and emotionally stable men on the theory that they'd be less likely to be attracted to the spotlight—and less likely to see her as a ticket to whatever they wanted from life since they'd be able to provide it for themselves. Everything except her, of course.

868

Steve was an insurance salesman, which didn't exactly light fires of curiosity inside Camilla, but then her career as senior editor for Southeastern Wisconsin's premier magazine, Brew City, might seem dull to him, as well. Inside, the restaurant was warm and bustling, one long wall lined with windows overlooking a tiny inlet of the lake, the art museum and the downtown beyond. Camilla stood just inside the entrance, smiling selfconsciously, not seeing anyone who looked like Steve. On MilwaukeeDates.com he'd seemed decently attractive—light brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, kind of serious. But his emails had been pleasant, and she'd had a nice phone conversation with him when they'd arranged to meet. She bypassed the hostess welcoming other patrons and took a few steps into the large bar area, which was lit by a line of dangling lights with large cream shades. At the other end of the long room was the dining area, white-clothed tables set for an elegant meal. Still no Steve. As she scanned the room, her attention was caught by the back of one of the bartenders, his broad shoulders working as he poured, mixed and shook, selecting bottles with unerring aim, tossing them briefly in the air to change his grip. She absently wondered if Steve was at one of the tables along the wall, thinking if he didn't show, she'd be perfectly happy standing there gaping at the bartender all evening. Drinks in hand, he turned around, and with a graceful flourish, placed them in front of a couple seated at the bar. Mmm, very handsome as well as sexy. He looked up. Breath rushed into Camilla's body in a silly gasp. Oh. My. Goodness. He met her eyes with the same unerring aim he'd used to grab the bottles, as if he'd been aware of her watching him all this time and had chosen this moment to pounce with his gaze. His eyes were silvery gray, their unusual color making them leap out of his face. The color, and also the life and warmth and intelligence they held. And because he was gorgeous. And amazingly hot. And had she mentioned gorgeous? "Carrie?" A gentle touch on her shoulder. Gah! She realized suddenly that her pseudonym had been called more than once behind her, but because the name was only distantly familiar—and the bartender was so yummy—she hadn't responded immediately. Wrenching her eyes away from the bartender's gray, black-lashed magnets, she turned to find poor Steve looking anxious. "Steve! Hello." "Oh." His face relaxed into relief. "I thought it was you, but then you didn't answer and I started thinking I'd made a mistake." She laughed inanely. "Sorry. I was…distracted." To put it mildly. Her heart still hadn't slowed and she had to use physical force to keep from pivoting back for another eyeful. "That's okay." Steve motioned to an empty table by the window behind the hostess station. "I was here early so I got us a place to sit."

869

"Great, thank you." She headed for the table, but gave into the urge for one last peek, finding him polishing a glass with a white towel. Watching her. Another jolt of electricity to her stomach. She was not going to look his way again. He was undoubtedly a cocky player who kept track of every woman who walked in. A nice guy like Steve deserved her full attention for the rest of their date. Except that the rest of their date seemed to go on and on and on. Steve was shy and sweet, which meant the bulk of the conversational initiative landed on Camilla, and in spite of her vow to concentrate on getting to know him, either he was extremely reserved or there wasn't much to get to know. Finally, when she couldn't stand one more minute of searching for another topic he could conceivably contribute more than a few words to, she excused herself to the ladies' room. Marie had said Steve might need drawing out, but Camilla didn't expect to need pliers. On her way to the bathroom, she found herself, oh heaven, in front of the bar again. She scanned the room for signs to the restroom and came up empty, probably because her peripheral vision was even busier scanning for him. So. Um. Maybe she'd have to ask someone for help. Someone who worked there. Like maybe… She turned, and nearly jumped out of her skin when her eyes collided with his extraordinary silver ones. He'd been watching her again. Sexy mouth curving into a smile, he held up his hand, index finger pointing. Camilla's gaze followed the line of his finger to a sign: Ladies. She mouthed thank you and fled, only able to stand so much titillation—all of it experienced without even speaking to him. Without touching him, God forbid. If she ever got within a few feet, she'd probably explode into ash. Too bad she wouldn't get to discover what that was like. On the way back from the bathroom, she had to pass him again. Tough, tough job. This time he was smiling at another female customer, which was a good thing because it reminded her that even though that smile was charming as hell, he probably used it on every woman in the room. One of those guys whose broadcasted attention had more to do with "Aren't I attractive?" than "I think you are." Even so, just before she passed him, she gave a good solid sigh of regret. She was going back to Steve the Insurance Salesman to excuse herself from the date, which meant she wouldn't be able to gaze or glance or gawk at this astonishingly attractive man anymore. Pity. Just before she lost him from sight, as if he had a frequency tuned into her, his head lifted; his gray eyes zapped her again, just as powerfully as the first time. And the second. And third… He moved to a spot farther down the bar where a chair had been shoved to one side and pointed straight at her. Camilla gulped. Gestured to her chest, in the center of which her heart had begun to hammer. "Me?" He nodded, flipped over his palm and beckoned, mouthing words she couldn't hear but could somehow understand as plainly as if he'd said them right into her ear.

870

Yes. You. Come here.

Chapter Two Camilla Highgate approached the long bar at Lakeside Restaurant, located on the beautiful shores of Lake Michigan, in downtown Milwaukee. She'd been drawn to the sexy bartender all evening, and he'd made it very, very difficult to keep her attention on Steve the insurance salesman, her first date from MilwaukeeDates.com—so far not a success. She'd fled from the pressure of making yet more stilted conversation with Steve—a girl could only talk so much—and gone to the ladies' room. She was on her way back to the table when she passed the bar and there he was again, the man she couldn't seem to look away from—tall, built and beckoning. Yes. You. Come here. What would he say? What did he want? Many ideas sprang to mind, but she shrugged them away. Why indulge romantic fantasy when he could be about to tell her she had toilet paper trailing from her shoe? "You want me?" she said as she approached the chair he'd indicated and gripped it. Her voice sounded breathless and silly, her question a waste of words that could have been sensual and suggestive in the right tone. His deep gray eyes, surrounded by dark lashes, did something very primal and powerful to her sanity. "Yes, I do." "What's up?" Somehow she managed to sound more casual that time, though her brain was screaming, he wants me? "Well." He leaned on the bar, looking as if he'd been coached by a photographer for a Sexiest Bartender Alive segment. Biceps, triceps, pecs, oh baby, he had them all. And because he was wearing a black T-shirt instead of the uniform the other bartenders wore, she could really enjoy the view. "I have something to tell you." "Ye-e-es?" He stuck out his hand. "I'm Sam." "Oh?" Camilla took it; his palm was warm, his handshake firm. She was afraid hers was clammy from having just washed it. "That's what you wanted to tell me?" "No, that's an introduction." He quirked an eyebrow, still holding her hand. "Usually the other person responds with an introduction of her own. And you are…?" "Ca—" she caught herself, almost providing her real name. The Highgates were one of Wisconsin's wealthiest and most influential families, and after spending her dating life encountering either men who couldn't handle her wealth or men who wanted nothing more than to handle it, Camilla was determined to start new without that baggage. Having someone love her only for herself might be a cliché, but it was all she'd ever wanted. "I'm Carrie. Hughson." "Carrie." The way he spoke made her wish she'd given him her real name so she could hear his deep voice saying it that smoothly. "Nice to meet you." "Same here." She extracted her hand from his, feeling guilty for leaving poor Steve alone for so long but not having the willpower to move away from Sam. "What did you want to tell me?" "Have you been to Lakeside before?"

871

"No." She waited expectantly for him to say something else. "Was that it?" "Nope." He folded muscular arms across that magnificent chest. "You from Milwaukee?" "Born and raised. That it now?" "Not yet." He waved to someone down the bar who must have made some signal that caught his eye. Lord knew Camilla hadn't been paying the slightest attention to anything but Sam. He turned his attention back to her; by now she'd learned to expect the shock of those eyes. "What are you drinking?" "Chardonnay." She nodded in triumph. "That has to be it." "Not that either. Want another glass on the house?" "I'm about to leave, but thank you." She quirked an eyebrow, waiting him out. "Okay." He leaned toward her again, elbow resting on the bar this time. Camilla had a sudden strong desire to reach out and let her hand slide down the moguls of his shoulder and arm. The force of the urge unnerved her. Usually she took a while to be physically comfortable with a man. "I just thought you should know…" He looked one way then the other, as if expecting to be overheard. Camilla gave in and stepped right up to the bar, not sure which instinct she was following, the one that wanted to be sure to hear him or the…other one. "That guy you're with?" She started. Whatever she'd expected him to say, that wasn't it. "Steve?" "Yeah. Steve." He shook his head gravely. "Not the guy for you." She was a little alarmed. Marie Hewitt had assured her that all MilwaukeeDates clients were carefully checked out. But people could slip between the cracks, she supposed. "You know him?" "Nope." His eyes were brimming with amusement. "Never seen him before." "So…" She narrowed her gaze suspiciously, a smile tugging her lips. "What makes you think he's wrong for me?" "With the right man, a woman should shoot off sparks. She should look electrically charged." "With her hair standing on end?" "Yes." A grin transformed his masculine face into the disarming sweetness of a boy next door and it nearly dropped Camilla to her knees. She put her hands on her hips. "So what you're saying is that I look bland and have limp hair." "Ohh, no." He shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying. You just shouldn't be with that guy." A little tingle started somewhere in the pit of her belly. It took all her Highgate training not to let on that she was flustered. "And you're an expert because…" "Watching people is part of my job."

872

"As well as giving dating advice?" "No." He shook his head. "I'm doing that just for you." "Why?" The tingle threatened to become an out-and-out tremble. She found herself holding her breath. He shrugged. "Because I happened to notice you. And him." Camilla nodded, a little disappointed. She'd rather he'd said, because you speak to my very soul and I must have you for my own. But then, clearly she'd spent too much of her life alone, reading romance novels. "Well, that's…nice of you. Thank you." "Anytime. You dating a lot?" "Uh…" Was that any of his business? Her naturally private nature warred with a sudden uncharacteristic desire to bare everything—literally and figuratively—to this man. "Could be. I'm starting out. I signed up on MilwaukeeDates.com." "Tell you what." He looked over his shoulder at a new cluster of customers just arriving at the bar and took a step toward them, throwing her a wink. "Bring all your dates here, and I'll check them out for you." Camilla had no idea how to react to that offer. Coming from anyone else it was an intrusive, arrogant and bizarre thing to say. Out of that mouth, which tempted her nearly unbearably, she was nothing but intrigued. "And rating my dates should be your job, why?" "Because, Carrie—" he threw her another killer smile, sauntering backward toward the new customers "— that way I'm sure you'll come back to me."

Chapter Three Camilla couldn't decide if she was excited or mortified to be walking into Lakeside Bar and Restaurant on her second date set up by MilwaukeeDates.com a mere week after her first. Frank worked in a major law firm whose offices were located in downtown Milwaukee, not far from Lake Michigan. She'd practically dropped the phone when he suggested Lakeside as the place to meet. And yet…she'd said yes. Because how could she say no to a perfectly reasonable first-date choice? She couldn't. Well, maybe she could have, but she hadn't. So here she was, barely able to make herself glance over toward the bar where last week she'd met the sexiest bartender—heck, the sexiest man—she'd ever seen. In a surreal conversation, Sam had suggested she bring all her dates to Lakeside so he could look them over for her. Now he'd think she needed a complete stranger's judgment regarding her love life. Or that she'd come here just to see him again. Well, okay, she had. Sort of. Not that she wasn't open to falling madly in love with Frank if that seemed right. Frank had plenty of his own money, which he had been not at all shy to tell her about. But Sam was a bartender. What would her family's money look like to him? Would he be too proud to have a woman outearn him many times over just by being alive? Or would he itch to get his strong, nicely shaped fingers on it? Deep down she couldn't stop herself from hoping—as she couldn't stop herself hoping about every man she was attracted to—that Sam could be the man she was searching for. Someone for whom Camilla would be

873

the only consideration, not her name or her inheritance. Someone who, according to her mother, was nonexistent. "Carrie, hi." For the second time she'd been caught here, mooning over Sam, and hadn't heard a date calling out her alias, Carrie Hughson, the name she'd taken on to avoid gold diggers. At least this time she was able to recover without him noticing her blank stare. "Frank, hello." He'd grown a mustache and goatee since the very nice picture posted on MilwaukeeDates had been taken. She wasn't wild about facial hair. But of course that was personal prejudice, and had nothing to do with who Frank was on the inside. "Nice to meet you." "Same here. Let's sit and get to know one another." He escorted her over to a nice table by the window— directly across from the bar, which meant if Sam was working tonight, he'd have a front-row seat to their date. Groaning inside, Camilla walked tall, furiously trying to recognize the silhouettes of employees grabbing and pouring from bottles behind the counter. She'd be in an agony of suspense all evening. When would he see her? What would he do? Would she get another chance to talk to him? He wasn't there. Relief! Sort of. She and Frank ordered glasses of wine and started chatting. He was funny and charming, though strongly opinionated, and she found herself relaxing. She just wished he could turn her inside out with a glance the way— Camilla stiffened. Sam. He was here. She registered his presence in her peripheral vision as if he'd been strung with neon lights. Immediately the polite attention she'd been focusing on Frank for the past hour became fragmented. She shifted her chair so that her back was to the bar with the pretense of getting out of a nearby drinker's way. If she couldn't see Sam, she wouldn't think about him. As much. Maybe. Oh, dear. Fifteen painful minutes later, Frank excused himself to use the restroom. Ten seconds after he was out of sight, during which she had to use all her willpower not to turn around, Camilla felt someone behind her. "Carrie." She suppressed a gasp and put on her coolest smile. For a microsecond she considered pretending to look surprised, then decided she couldn't pull it off. "Hello, Sam." "It's good to see you again."

874

"Same here." He had no idea how good. Those deep gray eyes had only gotten more devastating in the week since she'd seen them last. "So you took my advice?" "Of course." She blinked sweetly. "I have no mind of my own and need someone to tell me what to do in all things." "Uh-huh." He grinned, that sudden boyish grin that transformed him. His hand rested on the back of her chair, putting her eyes about level with his collarbone. And giving her the opportunity to smell his sublimely spicy aftershave. Up close his muscle-packed T-shirt defined masculinity. But then, he could probably define masculinity in a tutu and pink ballet slippers. "Are you enjoying your evening?" he asked. "I'm—" "Wait, don't tell me." He studied her, making her blush. "You're having more fun than the other day, but he's still not The One." She was startled. How could he be that perceptive? "Am I right?" "Yes." She met his eyes full on, and the force of the contact nearly knocked her off her seat. How often had she read or heard about this type of powerful, instant connection and dismissed it as fantasy? Living it, she was completely unprepared for how to handle the attraction. What did it mean? Electricity? Chemistry? Hormones? Love at first sight? She didn't believe in that last one for a second. Love was based on full knowledge and acceptance of another person; it took time to evolve. So this had to be something else. Something that was… Incredible. "Sorry to hear that." "What?" She'd completely lost track of their conversation. "Sorry that you're not enamored of this one, either." "You are?" With horror she realized she sounded hopeful. What had happened to her Highgate cucumbercool? Sam had heated it to the point of evaporation. "Yes." His gaze grew more intense, and for a surreal and disorienting second, she thought he was going to bend and kiss her. And for a surreal and disorienting second, she desperately wanted him to. While she was on a date with another guy. Nice, Camilla. "Sorry." Frank took his seat hurriedly and gave first Sam, then Camilla a questioning look when they both turned and stared at him blankly. "What? What's happened?" Sam recovered first. "I was just saying to Carrie I hoped you were enjoying your evening." Frank's eyes narrowed. He glanced at Camilla, then pointedly back at Sam. "I was, yeah."

875

Beside her, Camilla felt Sam stiffen while she went hot with annoyance. Possessive jealousy on the first date? Premature. Not to mention, for all Frank knew, Sam was an old friend, or her cousin, or her brother. Though she was well aware she did not look at any of her friends or relatives the way she'd been looking at Sam. "Good to hear. You're a lucky man. See you later, Carrie." Sam walked away with easy grace. By some miracle Camilla restrained herself from staring longingly after him. "Did you two want to be alone?" "Frank…" She laughed, her brain urging her to yell, Yes, go away. "Don't be ridiculous." He bunched his mouth. "Ridiculous? I was ridiculous when I believed my ex-wife's lies about her male 'friend.' Then I was ridiculous. Not now." "I don't even know the guy, Frank." His tight mouth loosened into a pout. "Didn't seem that way to me." She wasn't sure how to answer him. Because he was probably right. She had never felt so connected to or safe with a stranger before as she did with Sam. "I'm sorry you don't believe me." Silence. Agonizing silence. "Well." He drained his wine sulkily. "I could be overreacting…" "You are." "But after what happened with my ex-wife, I told myself I'd trust my instinct, and right now it's saying this guy means more to you than I do." He stood coldly and gestured her off her chair. "Thanks for meeting me tonight. After you." Camilla opened her mouth to continue protesting, and then realized there was no point. Frank had made up his mind, and by now she wasn't interested in another date with him, anyway. She'd let it go. She reached for her coat and preceded him out of the bar and into the parking lot, where she turned, hand offered, hoping they could shake and part pleasantly. Or not. Frank made a beeline for his car, snorting and stamping like some bull-human hybrid. Camilla sighed, then on impulse glanced back at the bar entrance. Only to see, just inside the door, hands on his hips, looking for all the world as if he were watching out for her safety…Sam.

Chapter Four Sam Bradford wiped down the marble bar at his restaurant, Lakeside, thinking that if he had to stand here and watch Carrie with one more loser, he was going to break his ironclad rule about dating customers and sweep her off to a romantic dinner, maybe a sunset cruise out into the lake on his boat, and then… The rest of his fantasy wasn't exactly G-rated, but then all too few of his thoughts about Carrie Hughson belonged in that category. He'd succumbed to instant attraction a couple of times before with a couple of women, but nothing like this. She made it hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to…well just hard. He handed a mojito to a customer with a distracted smile, eyes flicking yet again to the table at which Carrie sat with her third date in as many weeks. The first guy had been a dork, the second a spoiled baby, but this

876

one gave Sam the creeps, big-time. He wanted to go over there right now and tell him to leave. The man was staring at Carrie as if she were a juicy steak and he'd been forced to be vegetarian for far too long. Not that Sam looked at her much differently. Tall, slender women turned him on; dark hair and blue eyes made him crazy; sweet, girl-next-door voices mixed with sensual movement nearly pushed him over the edge. Carrie had all of that, along with obvious intelligence and humor. The final blow? She didn't seem to have any idea how sexy she was. That was the killer, the utter lack of self-awareness or conscious use of her beauty and sex appeal to manipulate. Which made it all the more powerful a weapon. Sam had owned this bar with his older brother Charlie for five years. Before that they'd expanded their home-repair business into buying and renovating houses, then selling them at a profit. A big profit. From there they'd changed to commercial properties and finally hung on to this one, fulfilling Charlie's lifelong dream of owning his own restaurant. In all that time, Sam had encountered many attractive women and gotten quite a few offers. Homeowners, real estate agents, and yes, Lakeside customers. He'd been tempted before, but he'd stood steadfastly by a code of ethics. Only he'd never been tempted as badly as he was with Carrie. Now that same code seemed a foolish blockade to a woman who could change his life. Though he'd thought that about Megan, too. They'd dated a couple of months and he'd started to develop serious feelings for her, until he' discovered she'd never want him for a husband because she already had one. Add that to his mother's years-long affair that he'd found out about when he was seventeen, and he had some issues trusting women. And yet something about Carrie made him want to trust her, to believe they had a chance. The guy with Carrie put an enormous hand on her shoulder, and kept it there even as she leaned away in obvious distaste, which made his fingers slide down toward her breast. By the time Carrie had twisted to avoid his touch, Sam was on his way to their table contemplating creepicide. "Hi, there. Anything more I can get you two?" To his relief, Mr. Beefy took his hairy paw off Sam's woman. Sam's woman. She'd turned him into a caveman. An adolescent caveman, hormones and anger barely in control, one who hated that she was constantly meeting strangers. How did she know who these men were and what they were really after? The idea of her being hurt, emotionally or physically, made him a little crazy. He'd only been half-kidding when he'd suggested she bring her dates here for his review, and he'd been amused, encouraged and slightly tortured when she did. At least if they came to Lakeside he could see what was happening and didn't have to worry what was going on somewhere else. Listen to him. He'd never even kissed her and he was acting like a jealous lover. "We're fine, thanks." The smile on the creep's face was practically a sneer. From Sam's count, this guy had already had four martinis to Carrie's two glasses of wine, more than he'd seen her drink before. She was definitely not comfortable. "You okay here?" He gestured to her empty glass, hoping she'd understand his subtext. "Everything good?" "Yes." The guy was getting impatient. Sam ignored him. Carrie looked a little pale, unusually subdued. He wanted to take her in his arms and keep her there. "You're sure?" He was still talking to Carrie. She raised her beautiful eyes and nodded, but he saw her misery clearly. Beauty and the Beast, with minuscule odds there was a handsome prince inside this one. "Dude. She said she's fine." He laughed and shrugged at Carrie as if Sam were the joke.

877

"Just making sure. She's a special customer." He nodded briefly to Beast Boy before turning his attention back to Carrie. "I'm always watching out for her." Her eyes warmed, her lips curved in a small, brave smile, and that's all it took. He was going to be the next person she went out with, no matter how many rules it broke. "Thanks, Sam." "Uh, yeah, thanks, Sam." The Beast laughed unpleasantly. "I'm Clyde, nice to meet you and buh-bye." "If you need anything, let me know." He walked reluctantly away to take up his vigil at the bar. The next half-hour went by at an agonizing pace. Martini number five went down the ape's throat; his voice got louder; his hands bolder. At the moment when Sam was ready to toss Carrie behind the safety of the bar and punch him out, they stood. Carrie pointed to the restroom and shook his hand with a strained smile. Thank God, the date was over. She was safe. Sam mixed up a couple of Brandy Alexanders and handed them to a beaming couple out for their fourth anniversary, then noticed Beast standing by the bar entrance. Waiting for Carrie? Not good. She came out of the restroom and Sam beckoned her over, the same way he'd done it the first time he'd seen her, not even sure that day until he opened his mouth what he was going to say to her, only sure he had to make some contact to figure out what drew him so strongly. "Carrie, he's waiting for you up front." She blanched. "I said goodbye. I thought he'd leave." "He didn't. Are you comfortable going outside with him?" "He's not going to attack me, if that's what you mean." She laughed uncomfortably, then her forehead wrinkled in worry. "I hope." "I'll follow you." He caught one of his employees' eyes and gestured that he was going out. "Sam, that's really not necessary. You might get in trouble." "I'm not letting you out of my sight until he's gone. Wait, give me your cell." "Why?" She was already digging it out. It warmed him that she trusted him instinctively. "I'll give you my number." He punched it into her phone. "If you think he's following you when you drive away, call me." She laughed again, still anxious. "Geez, Sam, he's not going to—" "Humor me." She considered him solemnly, her beautiful eyes vulnerable; his heart started a slow, steady melt. "Why are you doing this for me?" "I don't know." His voice came out with unexpected passion. "It's like I can't help it."

878

"Oh." Her eyes widened, she caught her breath. He touched her; he couldn't stop himself. It was just his hand on her upper arm, but if he didn't touch her, he was going to kiss her in front of his staff and everyone else, and that was definitely not a good way to start abandoning his ethics. "Come on." He nudged her gently toward the door. "You get a head start. I'm right behind you." "Okay." She gave him a perplexed look and strode down the bar toward the exit, her steps faltering when she saw Clyde the Beast waiting. Sam gave her ten seconds, then followed her out into the parking lot. Carrie and Mr. Beast were standing a few feet apart, talking beside a black Hummer Sam would bet didn't belong to Carrie. She smiled and stepped away, started to head for her car. Just when Sam was ready to admit he'd overreacted, Clyde grabbed her and backed her up against his vehicle.

Chapter Five Camilla couldn't breathe. She had never been kissed without her permission, and she'd never been so revolted by the feel, smell and taste of a man. Her arms pushed against Clyde's bulk, and though she was strong from regular workouts, she was no match for a two-hundred-plus-pound drunk man, and she was at a big disadvantage trapped between him and his Hummer in the parking lot of Lakeside Restaurant, where they'd had their horrible date. Sam! The cry in her head was automatic, but as if she'd conjured him, he was there, a bartender from Lakeside, a man she barely knew, slamming into Clyde. The other man staggered back, letting go of the vice grip he'd had on Camilla's shoulders. Immediately her only worry was for how Clyde might retaliate. "Leave her alone." Sam was breathing heavily, eyes snapping anger, dark hair tousled. "Get the hell out of here. She doesn't want you." "We were doing fine until you showed up." "No, we absolutely weren't." She could have socked him, but it probably wouldn't have made the slightest difference. "You attacked me." "Leave." Sam pointed to Clyde's car. "Screw you." He lunged forward, fist drawn back. Camilla shrieked a warning Sam didn't need. She'd never seen anyone react so fast. In about three seconds, it was over, Clyde flat on the pavement, Sam without so much as a wrinkle in his black T-shirt. Camilla loathed violence, hated the testosterone that drove men to physical combat when a civilized conversation could solve everything, but…she'd never witnessed anything so hot in her life. His skill, his strength, his speed… The way he was standing over the defeated man like a victorious gladiator. Oh, my. "Get in your car and drive away. Now." Clyde got back up, glowering but moving without menace, not planning to invite more humiliation. "This isn't over, dude."

879

Sam hauled his cell out of the pocket of his black jeans. "Fifteen seconds and I call the police." With all the grace of a seasick buffalo, Clyde got into his Hummer and gunned the engine, screeching out of the parking lot like a rebellious teenager. "Sam. Thank you. That was so horrible. I'm—" Her voice broke. To her horror tears started forming. She was a Highgate, raised to be always in control of her emotions. In half a second she discovered Sam moved just as fast to help people as to subdue them. One second she was standing alone, trembling, chilly and wretched, and the next she was in his warm arms, pressed against his big, solid body, feeling cared about and for. By a man she'd only just met, and yet somehow felt she'd known her whole life. He held her while she cried, until the shakes eased their hold on her and she could relax. "You okay?" "Yes. Really." She started to draw back; he loosened his hold. "You are wonderful, thank you." "Just doing my job, ma'am." He tipped an imaginary hat, which made her laugh. "Let me drive you home." "My car is here." She couldn't even remember where she'd parked it. "It'll be fine overnight. Or I'll come back later and get it for you." "No, no, that's not necessary." Camilla indicated the restaurant with a nod. "You're working." "I'll let them know." He punched numbers into his cell and told whoever answered that he wouldn't be back for a while. "See? All set." "That easy?" Her eyebrows raised. The bar had been very busy tonight. "They must really like you." "They love me." He took her hand. "Come on. My car is this way." All her breeding shouted that she should insist on driving herself, shouldn't put him to this trouble, shouldn't admit she needed help, especially from a stranger. But the truth was, she didn't want to be alone. And for some reason, around this man she didn't mind admitting weakness. "I don't know how to thank you for—" "Not necessary. I'm sure if an ogre-woman was attacking me, you'd have taken her out, too." "I'd try." She laughed, still keyed up and brittle. "But I can't picture you needing rescue." "There are times I feel like I'm in danger, Carrie." Camilla. She wanted to confess right there who she really was. How she'd taken an alias to protect herself from men who were only after her wealth. To a complete stranger. What was wrong with her? Too much wine, too much fear, too much desire. "Oh, really?" she said. "When?" "Now." He met her gaze. "When you're looking at me like that. Like you want and maybe need me around." Camilla's tongue refused to form words; she could make very little sense from her whirling thoughts.

880

But one message had been hammered into her from the moment she could understand it—Highgates had to be independent, ready at all times to go it alone; they had to stay wary and on guard with everyone they met. Trust equaled vulnerability. "Here we are." He stopped by a navy sedan that had seen better days and unlocked the passenger side for her. "The Sam-mobile. She's taken me all over the country." Trust. Camilla was about to get into a car with a stranger who'd rescued her from the attack of another stranger. Yet her instinct had been firing off panic signals practically from the moment Clyde had sat opposite her. Around Sam? Only one signal: more. She had to proceed carefully. Her instinct could merely be blind, mute and deaf due to extreme lust. On the way to her house they chatted impersonally and she was able to relax a bit. As well as being a sexual god, Sam turned out to be well-traveled, with interesting observations about his trips, great stories about the people he'd met, and thoughtful questions about her life that she answered truthfully where she could. Camilla had plenty of experience with people who lived only in their own heads, including her parents. Especially her parents. This man lived out in the world. He was only exciting her more and more. They pulled up at her house, a modest bungalow in Shorewood that she'd insisted on buying, to her parents' eye-rolling incomprehension. He walked her to the front door and inside, where he searched to reassure himself—and her—that no monsters, human or otherwise, were hiding anywhere, ready to jump out. By the time he rejoined her in the front hall, Camilla was shaky again, but no longer from Clyde's attack. She was suddenly nervous about being home with a man she was falling for harder by the second. Way too much, way too soon. "All clear. Lock your door, have my number on speed dial and you'll be fine." "Yes." Her teeth were practically chattering. His brow furrowed. "Are you okay alone tonight?" "I…" What was he asking? Did he want to stay? The idea set her immediately on fire. She wanted him with a fierceness she'd never experienced before, and no matter how often Camilla told herself she'd be making a horrible mistake, she wasn't listening hard enough. Something of her panicked conflict must have shown in her face because his intense expression changed abruptly. "God, Carrie. No, I wasn't asking to… I mean, you are… That is, in other circumstances, I would definitely…" He broke off, groaning helplessly, then grinned that boyish, charmer's grin and hung his head, looking utterly irresistible. Which made Carrie Hughson do something Camilla Highgate had never done before, and would never do in a million years. She took the single step that brought her an inch away from Sam's warm, strong body and lifted her face. Kiss me.

Chapter Six Kiss me.

881

The words were as plain as if Carrie had spoken them, right there in her front hall, her beautiful face raised toward Sam's. His thoughts spun. She was vulnerable right now. He'd driven her home from his bar, Lakeside, after intervening when a blind date had turned aggressive. To kiss her, or do any of the other dozens of sensual and romantic things he'd been dreaming about since he first laid eyes on her three weeks earlier at Lakeside, would be the height of ungentlemanly conduct. And yet… While he hesitated, confusion poisoned the sweet offer in her blue eyes, confusion and vulnerability. She misunderstood his reluctance, thinking he didn't want to kiss her. She didn't understand he was trying to protect her. "Sam." She put a hand to his chest. He had to be the strong one here. She had to be still in shock— Carrie pressed soft, trembling lips to his chin. No, this was crazy. Another place, another time, but not now. Not when she'd been attacked mere hours before and might be reacting in ways she usually wouldn't. Her lips found the indentation under his lower lip. Sam let out a groan. He was hard already. This woman… "You don't want me?" Her whisper barely contained any tone, but the emotion was clear. Dismay. Humiliation. With another groan he gathered her to him so she could feel exactly how much he did want her. "You've had a shock tonight. You're in no shape to—" "I'm in great shape." She moved her pelvis suggestively against his. "And so are you." Sam closed his eyes. This was agony. He couldn't remember a single time in his life when he'd chosen nobility over sex. Except the night his ex-girlfriend Megan had told him she was married. Though even that wasn't so much nobility as rage over her betrayal and the refusal to share his woman with any other man. That was twisted… This was not twisted. Carrie was sweet, and vulnerable, and…she was making him question every ethic and standard he'd ever had. "Sam." She put her hands on either side of his head and brought his mouth down to hers. He could no longer resist. She tasted sweet and female, and whatever twigs of common sense he'd been desperately hanging on to slipped through his fingers, and he free-fell into her warmth and softness. Another kiss, less tender, then another, and their kissing turned hungry. Her hands fumbled at the hem of his T-shirt and climbed his bare skin with smooth exploring strokes that undid him further. If he put his brain under a microscope there would be no reason, no logic, just sexual synapses, firing wildly. He walked her backward to the couch, where he was hoping to catch his breath long enough to ask if she was sure this was what she wanted tonight. He'd offer to take it more slowly, ask her out for a real date, take her out for dinner, a movie, a concert, and then… Good plan. Never got a chance. She took his hand and led him up the stairs into her bedroom, where she got onto the bed and leisurely pulled her shirt up and over her head, revealing small, beautiful breasts rounded by white lace. Sam stood still, desperately trying to reconnect with sanity.

882

Failing. She pushed down her burgundy knit skirt, exposing the ivory smoothness of her hips, captured in matching white lace. Then long, strong legs emerged, which Sam immediately pictured wrapped tightly around his waist. Torture. The best kind. Still, he managed to hesitate. "Are you sure?" She held out her arms, lids half-closed, lips parted, and beckoned the same way he had the first time he'd seen her. Come here. Oh, man. He gave in, pulled off his clothes, lunged to lie next to her and drew her close, reveling in the feel of his skin against hers. Not enough skin. Even the bits of lace were too much interference. He undressed her, savoring her nakedness and then her taste—lips, breasts and the inner sweetness of her sex—with lingering strokes of his tongue, making her gasp, lift her hips, fist her hands helplessly on the bed. She was perfect. He was going to make her come right here. Again, she changed his plan. She sat up and with a strength he didn't expect, pushed him onto his back, holding him with a firm hand on his sternum. Her satiny hair brushed across his chest, his stomach, his abdomen, then down the length of his erection, and it was his turn to fist his hands and grit his teeth with pleasure as her warm mouth encircled his cock, rising and falling with expert, varying pressure. Carrie Hughson was the sexiest woman he'd ever known; she had an indefinable quality that went beyond her looks and her understanding of how to give pleasure. Sam wanted them to make love, face-to-face, climaxing together, more than he'd wanted that intimacy for as long as he could remember. She wouldn't interfere with his plan this time. He shifted their position, brought her onto her side and trailed his fingers down the inviting bumps of her spine, to the round, firm curves of her beautiful ass, then between them, carefully exploring, watching her flush rise, her lips part, her head and body move as if it was beyond her to stay still with so much desire inside her. Carrie. She was stunning, eyes bright blue under the neat dark shape of her brows. Sam's heart pounded; a nameless urge tore at him. Not just the urge to be inside her, he understood that one. Something else was building in him, demanding to be spilled, as if he was fighting for an emotional climax as well as a physical one. She moved away and produced a condom sheepishly from an unopened box in her nightstand. "I thought since I was dating…" "Very wise." She was adorable. He wanted to swallow her whole, make her a part of him so he could keep her safe and not let her go. Possessiveness wasn't his usual reaction to women; he prided himself on cherishing and respecting a woman's independence. What was this one doing to him? Why was she so different? Carrie…

883

Condom on, he rolled onto her, wanting to go slowly even though his body was on fire with need for her. He forced himself to wait, kissing her mouth thoroughly, tasting the skin at her temple, her throat, her collarbone, her rose-tipped breasts, until not being inside her started to hurt. "Are you still sure?" "Yes." She opened her eyes, startlingly bright and long-lashed. "Oh, yes." Her answer satisfied him. He held her gaze, her entrance gripping his erection as he slid inside her inch by inch, pushing, pulling out, pushing in farther, until they were entirely joined. So good. He began to move, sometimes circling his pelvis against her clitoris, wanting this to be good for her, having no doubt it would be good for him. She moaned and returned his movements, sensitive to his thrusts, answering them, her hands firm and warm on his back. His speed increased; he kept himself firmly under control until her face flushed, perspiration broke out on her straining body and he knew she was close. Yes. He let go, gathered her against him, pushed into her insistently; she cried out and he felt her contracting around his cock. His vision blurred, he tensed for the coming ecstasy, and from the depths of his body, along with the rush of his ejaculation, spilled the emotion he hadn't been able to get at or understand before. Carrie, I love you.

Chapter Seven I love you. Sam looked down into the sated, flushed face of Carrie Hughson, a woman he'd met three weeks ago, but had practically spent more time making love to than getting to know. Love? Where had that come from? The idea of his subconscious making decisions without his permission made him uneasy. To be sure of the depth of his feelings, he needed to find out what kind of person she was—using his brain. His body and instinct had obviously given her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but Sam had learned not to trust their judgment entirely. He rolled to the side, disposed of the condom and pulled her close once more. She snuggled against him— but was it his imagination or had her body stiffened briefly with reluctance? "Tell me about you. I want to know everything, Ms. Carrie Hughson." "Everything?" Her flinch made him frown. "Why not?" "I wasn't sure we had that much time." "Don't we?" She laughed nervously, adjusted her head on his shoulder. "What do you want to know?" "Let's see." He stroked her arm absently, unable to get enough of the feel of his fingers gliding smoothly over her skin. "What's your greatest passion?"

884

"Reading. Writing." She gave him an impish grin. "'rithmatic." He chuckled. "A word person, then." "You're not?" "I'm more visual. Spatial. I majored in civil engineering in college." She looked up in surprise. "Really." "Yes, why?" "I…sorry, I just… I'm sorry, it was a terrible thing to assume." He had no idea what she was talking about. "What was a terrible thing to assume?" She sat up, obviously distressed, face flushed to a beautiful pink. "I thought since you were a bartender…" "That I hadn't gone to college." "It was unforgivably snobbish of me." He cocked his head, not quite understanding why she was reacting so strongly, or why she seemed suddenly to close up. Even her tone of voice and vocabulary had changed. "Carrie, I own Lakeside with my brother. Among other properties in the city." Her jaw dropped. Her blush deepened. "I didn't know." "How would you?" He stared at her, really mystified now, and not sure he liked where this conversation was going. "Does it make a difference?" "No. That is—" She furrowed her brow as if trying to figure something out. "No, not really." He gazed at her, still trying to make sense of her reaction, but she avoided his eyes. Naturally a financially stable, educated woman would want the same qualities in a man. But he didn't get why she was so startled and confused finding out he had them. Did she have some fantasy of seducing a guy from the wrong side of the tracks? He couldn't believe that was all there was between them. "Hey." He touched her chin, lifting her face to look at him. "It's all good." She smiled distractedly and moved back into his arms, but he had to stroke her for several minutes before she again relaxed against him. "Tell me what kind of kid you were." "Hmm." She put a hand on his chest, curled her fingers under, then laid them flat again. "Isolated. Lonely." "You?" He couldn't imagine her as anything but surrounded by people trying to get closer to her. "Ugly duckling?" "No, just shy and a little…different from everyone." "Different how?"

885

"Oh." She moved restlessly, lifted her hand and dropped it back onto him. "I don't know, just…not the same as everybody…else." "Which would mean 'different.' Got it." He loved her laugh, which rolled out of her in a lilting crescendo. He didn't love the feeling that she was still putting up a wall. "I stayed home a lot, had a few friends I really trusted and not many others. My parents were very protective of me." "So you're busting loose now?" "I guess you could say…I'm freeing myself from who I used to be." She was definitely uncomfortable, choosing her words very carefully. Inspiration handed him a possible reason for her caution. Maybe he and Carrie had backgrounds in common. "I know what you mean about feeling different. I came from a low-income family, but got a full ride to private school. Delinquent-in-training, surrounded by privileged kids who had no idea what life is for real people." "Real people?" She was smiling, but anxiously. "People with money aren't real?" "Of course they are." He smoothed her forehead with his thumb. "They're just…not like us. Almost another species." "Ah." She dropped her eyes. "You're probably right." He didn't feel vindicated. Something about this conversation wasn't working. He couldn't bear to think that once again he'd been the fool rushing in. Not with this woman. "Do you want me to stay tonight or go home, Carrie?" Again, he felt that sharp little movement, as if she couldn't bear hearing him say her name. "I think it's better if you go. I'm…tired." Pain, a nice sharp stab. He wanted to point out that she was in bed, which was a pretty good place to be when you were tired. But she wanted him gone. So he'd go. He got up and pulled on his boxers and his jeans. Found his T-shirt where he'd flung it and pulled it somberly over his head. Carrie. She was watching his every move, agonized longing in her eyes. He'd seen that look before, on his exgirlfriend Megan, after she'd admitted she was married and realized from his reaction there was no way they could continue their relationship. "When will I see you again?" Fear made his voice rougher than he'd intended. "Soon." She took in a shaky breath, smiled firmly. "But…maybe as a friend next time." "A friend." He nodded, understanding intellectually that putting on the brakes was a good idea, but every other part of him wanted to shout that they'd exchanged a hell of a lot more than body fluids when they'd made love, and in his experience that didn't happen often. He should have trusted the instinct that had told him this was too much too soon. But it had felt so right.

886

"Tonight was…perfect." Her voice broke. "But we don't know each other well enough to keep up this pace." She was probably right. He put his shoes on, made himself slant her a mischievous glance. "You're not still going to bring dates to Lakeside?" "No." She laughed, sitting up again, holding the sheet to her chest as if he hadn't already seen every stunning inch of her. "I won't do that." "We can have dinner. Catch a movie. Casual fun." "…sure. " Her enthusiasm was decidedly missing. What had happened to take them from the incredible heat and closeness of making love to this chilly distance? Too much too soon, yes, maybe. But he suspected there was more to her change of mood. He couldn't stand a repeat of what had happened with Megan. "You want to tell me what's really going on, Carrie?" He faced her, hands on his hips. "I'd rather hear the worst than be lied to. I just went through that." She started; her face paled. "I…it's been a really long and confusing day, Sam. I know that sounds lame, but I need space to figure some things out." "Okay." He waited a beat, then, unable to stand the misery on her face, leaned over and kissed her lingeringly, hoping tonight would not be the last time he saw her, kissed her or made love to her. Because he was going to do whatever it took to find out why she wasn't telling him the truth.

Chapter Eight Just. Go. Inside. Camilla's head bonked down on the steering wheel of her Mercedes roadster. She was parked in the lot of Sam's bar, Lakeside, and she was an idiot. A person could no more divorce herself from who she was than unzip and step out of her own skin. The idea of taking an alias to ensure any man she dated would fall for her and not her inheritance worked well only in her twisted fantasy logic. The way she'd thought it could go? She'd meet a man, they'd start seeing each other casually, get to know each other slowly. When their relationship showed the slightest sign of becoming serious, Camilla would tell him she wasn't Carrie Hughson, but the only child of Walter and Lydia Highgate, one of Milwaukee's premiere families. He'd be surprised, but in the long run he would understand her reason for deception and love her all the more for her integrity in seeking love. Happy ever after, curtains close, audience applauds wildly. Right. The current reality? Camilla had fallen hard—zero to sixty in five-point-three seconds—for a man who believed people with money were completely out of touch. Not "real people." It had been on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the truth right then, but instinct had warned her that kind of decision needed to be made after a lot of thought, and at the time her brain had been sadly out of order. Sam had torn her own assumptions to shreds when he'd said he wasn't only a bartender at Lakeside, but the owner, along with several other properties throughout the city. How would it have looked if she'd come clean right after that? Now that I know you aren't an underling, you're worthy of my attention and trust, whereas before you were only good for lying to and playing around with in bed.

887

After the day she'd had—being attacked by her date, Clyde, made love to by Sam and sideswiped with the depth of her emotions for him—she'd been desperate for solitude in which to process her feelings. So she'd sent Sam away and angsted all night, barely sleeping. Ditto all day today, until finally, having refused Sam's sweet offer to help her retrieve her car because she didn't want him seeing her Mercedes, she'd had a friend drive her over here. Now she had only one choice: to face the consequences of her actions. Take responsibility for her mistake, and go from there. The alias plan had been ridiculous. Being ashamed of herself and her family was ridiculous. She needed to grow up and trust her own instinct instead of listening to her parents. Yes, some people would always respond to her money and not to her, but that wouldn't be true of everyone. She could only pray Sam would be one of the good guys. For the past twenty-six years, she'd been coddled and had her messes cleaned up for her; her parents even hired a bodyguard when a guy had stalked her. This time she was going to take charge and fix the problem herself. She wanted Sam—wanted to know him more, wanted to make love with him again, just plain wanted him. Not as Carrie Hughson, but as herself. And if he rejected her, okay, she'd crash and burn. Then she'd get up, brush herself off and move on as Camilla. But if she didn't come clean to him, she'd always be haunted by the power of their encounter and never know for sure what could have been. Except she couldn't seem to get up the nerve to leave her car. Oh, Camilla. A black Hummer swerved into the parking lot, slid right up to the restaurant entrance and screeched to a stop in front of the No Parking sign. Camilla froze in horror. Clyde? His last words came back to her, the words he'd spat at Sam yesterday just before he'd driven off: This isn't over, dude. Camilla pushed her car door out just as his opened, then launched herself onto the pavement as he staggered from his tank. She got a brief glimpse of a baseball bat before he shoved it under his coat and strode around the Hummer to the bar entrance. No. He had to be high out of his mind to do something so stupid and dangerous. She broke into a sprint, her only thought to warn Sam. Somehow to protect Sam. In whatever way a helpless little rich girl could. By the time she got inside, Clyde had barged past the hostess, who was glaring after him as he made a beeline for the bar. Behind that bar stood Sam, chatting with a customer. Camilla hurtled after Clyde, without any idea what she was going to do. She wanted to scream Sam's name, but instinct told her surprise was her only hope. If she shrieked, Clyde would turn around, see her, take her out in one blow and Sam in the next. As if she had called to him, Sam's head jerked toward her. The baseball bat came out of Clyde's jacket and he raised it over his head. Camilla didn't think; she launched herself at it, grabbed with both hands and hung on for dear life. When his huge shoulders heaved to bring the wood down on Sam's head, Clyde lifted her off her feet, slamming her into his back. That put him off balance, knocking the air out of her chest. Sam took care of the rest, vaulting over the bar as if he did it every day. "Let go, Carrie."

888

She let go, slid to the floor, gasping and clutching her stomach. Within a few seconds Sam had the baseball bat and Clyde was once again on the ground in humiliation, stunned employees and patrons rushing to help pin him down. This time someone called 911. The cops arrived and hauled Clyde away, promising that charges would be pressed. An hour later, after the excitement had died down and they'd given their statements to the police, Camilla and Sam stood in the parking lot. Again, Camilla was shaking in response to a traumatic event, but tonight instead of fear she felt a strong sense of triumph. She hadn't needed rescuing this time. "Carrie." Sam's voice was low and tender. He touched her cheek. "You saved my life. Or at least spared me brain damage." "Oh, gosh, Sam." She could barely get the words out. "I was terrified." "You didn't act it. You were incredible." "Thank you." She started to shake in earnest, teeth chattering. "Let me drive you home?" He lifted his brows. "Again?" "That would be nice, thank you." She nodded too many times. "But…" She had to tell him everything—now, before they went back to her house, where they'd made love. In case he didn't want any more to do with her. But how did she bring up a topic like this? Just blurt it out? Hey, Sam, by the way, I've been lying to you for weeks. Sorry about that! "Can we talk for a minute first?" she asked. "Here?" "Yes." She gazed down at her hands, clutching each other. "I don't know how to say this." "Why not just say it?" His voice had an edge, as if he knew what was coming, though she didn't see how. His expression was blank, his jaw set as hard as diamond. "Okay." She took a deep breath then made herself stand tall and look straight into his beautiful gray eyes. "I've been lying to you. I'm not Carrie Hughson. My name is Camilla Highgate."

Chapter Nine Sam stared at Carrie Hughson, the woman he was so sure he was falling in love with. The woman who had just told him she wasn't Carrie Hughson, but the daughter of the richest man in Wisconsin. "You're Camilla Highgate." It wasn't a question. He hadn't processed the information well enough to ask questions. On the contrary, his skull felt as if it were slowly filling with mud. Only one thought managed to penetrate the cerebral muck. She lied to me. Carrie had lied. Megan had lied. His mother had cheated on his father. Liar. Women lied.

889

Why hadn't he been on his guard? What about this woman had gotten past all his common sense and all his defenses? He'd trusted her instinctively. All this time while he'd been falling in love with her, she'd been toying with him. And now, once again, he got to pay the price for trusting someone with his heart. One or two warning bells had rung when he'd been with his ex-girlfriend Megan before he found out she was married—he'd never picked her up at her house, and the few times he had, she'd always been waiting outside when he drove up. Red flags with Carrie—Camilla? None, until the previous night, when she'd become uncomfortable over his flip assertion that rich people weren't "real." No wonder. "I'm sorry, Sam." She did look sorry, but politely so. Something about her had changed with her confession. She was…tougher somehow; she stood taller, her chin lifted. He remembered that moment in her room when she'd suddenly seemed harder, more formal, not the approachable, lively woman he knew. The woman he thought he knew. She was a Highgate. Her great-great-grandfather practically owned Milwaukee—beer, meat-packing, lumber, you name the industry, he'd been in it. Camilla had grown up with everything she wanted, sheltered, pampered, about as opposite from his experience as you could get. "I should have told you sooner." "Yeah." Sam wanted to shout at her, loathing her control. "How about three weeks ago, when I asked what your name was? That would have been a good time." "I had no idea we'd…get closer." Her features were calm and still; only her blue eyes looked troubled. He felt no mercy. Not much, anyway. Not enough. "When did you get the idea that we might be 'getting closer?' Last night when you came on to me? When we made love? Did that count?" She dropped her eyes. "Carrie—" He made a sound of disgust. That wasn't her name. "I don't even know who you are." "You do." She took in a breath, let it out slowly. "In all ways you do, except my name. I hid nothing else." "Your name has a hell of a lot of significance." One corner of her mouth twisted wryly. "Why do you think I wanted to get rid of it?" "So you could play around anonymously," he shot back at her without thinking, gratified in a completely twisted way when she flinched. "It wasn't like that!" A chilly breeze blew past them, ruffling the dark strands of her hair. Otherwise she was immovable, completely composed, while he was being torn apart. Then a thought came out of nowhere and ripped into him still further. "Is that why you were upset when you found out I had money, too? Did it spoil your rich-girl fantasy of crossing the tracks?" "No." She swallowed convulsively. "I did have a reason, but it wasn't that."

890

"Oh? Tell me." A couple passed near them, staring curiously. Sam made a sound of exasperation. "Not here. In my office." He strode toward the entrance to Lakeside without a backward glance, his stomach in knots, hating himself for treating her like this as much as he hated how she'd treated him. A few people lingered at the bar; his staff was busy getting ready to close. A bartender checked in to make sure he was okay after the unfortunate incident earlier in the evening—one of Carrie's dates had come back for revenge after he and Sam had fought in the parking lot of the bar. Instead, he'd gotten a ride to jail. Sam managed a reassuring smile for the considerate bartender and went into his office, dreading the conversation he was about to have with Camilla. No matter which way it went, the end result would be pain. Betrayal. Mistrust. All familiar, but sharper this time, deeper. As soon as she walked across the threshold of his office and closed the door, he gestured to a chair and perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded over his chest. "Start talking." She narrowed her beautiful eyes, but did not sit. "You're not going to make this easy, are you." "Any reason I should?" Camilla bit off a retort, stared at him haughtily then she sighed. "No. I don't blame you for being angry. I knew you would be." Sam shifted on the desk. It was easier to hold on to his anger and outrage when she was made of stone. And he needed to stay angry or he'd be in danger of sacrificing his pride to his heart. "Go on." "It's not complicated. All my life my mom warned me there would be men who loved me for my money, and men who'd hate me for it." Camilla shrugged. "She turned out to be right." "Which one did you think I'd be?" "I didn't think. You were completely unexpected." She was still speaking calmly, as if he were as unexpected as a monthly electric bill. "Should I have told you? In hindsight, yes. But as soon as we…got close, I did tell you." "As soon as we slept together." He hated that phrase, "getting close." "You didn't mention anything to me that night. Wouldn't you say that might have been a good time to mention that you were a liar? So I'd have a clear idea of who I was screwing?" Her lips parted. She inhaled sharply. Her spine straightened farther, which he would not have thought possible. "Screwing? Is that what it was?" "It couldn't have been much more than that if you didn't bother coming clean." She took a deep breath, and he realized he was pushing her deliberately, that he wanted her to snap, to scream at him, to drop this damn Highgate mask and turn back into the woman he loved. Still loved. Damn it. "I'm sorry you feel that way." Ice. She was an ice sculpture. He had to crank up the heat. "Did you get off on screwing a bartender? Bet that's not something Camilla's ever done. Was that why you were so taken aback when you found out I owned Lakeside and that I had money of my own? A waste of good quality slumming? Did it spoil the erotic rush?"

891

"Stop it." Camilla might still look as if her vertebrae had been fused, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes snapped furious passion. In spite of himself, Sam started getting turned on, which made him even angrier. Damn the power she had over him. "Do you use a different name for each guy?" She took a step toward him, jaw clenched. "I am not like that." "Yeah?" He stood. "Prove it." "Prove it?" He thought she'd retreat, admit defeat, spin around and walk out of his life, and in that second pain seared through him so hot he almost couldn't bear it. Instead she took the last step toward him and glared directly into his eyes, her own eyes anguished, her lips trembling, her chest heaving from emotion. It was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her, tell her she didn't have to prove anything. "I wasn't using you." Her voice was a low, tortured whisper. "I fell in love with you."

Chapter Ten I wasn't using you. I fell in love with you. Camilla's words seemed to echo through Sam's office at Lakeside Restaurant. She hadn't planned to say them, but now that they'd come through her lips, she knew they were true, and that somehow they were the only right thing to say. Yes, she'd lied to Sam in a way, ditching her heiress identity and introducing herself as Carrie Hughson instead of Camilla Highgate. Yes, she should have told him her real name before they'd made love the previous evening. But though hindsight made the should-haves clearer, hindsight couldn't fix them. She'd given him her real name tonight, not wanting to wait any longer. If she lost him, she lost him, but she couldn't go on deceiving him. God, she hoped she wouldn't lose him. "You fell in love with me," he echoed. His strong jaw was set, his gray eyes intense, unreadable. She felt nearly faint with the strain of waiting for his response. Her heart, her happiness—he held both right now, and she, who had been raised to play everything close to the chest, to give nothing away, was in the unfamiliar and painful position of opening herself completely to another person. And yet? For all the pain and fear, she wouldn't trade this moment for anything, or any of the moments she'd had with Sam. With him she felt more alive, more herself than she ever had. It wasn't the new name, it wasn't leaving the pressures and expectations of being a Highgate that freed her. It was Sam. "Yes." Her voice broke. She'd never been so terrified, so vulnerable…and so wonderfully and completely human. He passed his hand over his face, blinked. Then his expression started thawing from the icy mask he'd been wearing since she'd confessed her true name to the warm, handsome features of the man she loved. "Carrie, I—" He rolled his eyes. "Camilla. I am not getting that yet." "I know. I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It was one of those stupid it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time things. I never meant to hurt you or anyone. But I got in so deep so fast with you…"

892

He raised an eyebrow, showing a glimmer of humor, which nearly made her weep with relief. It might take him a while to forgive her, maybe he never would completely, but at least he was no longer shutting her out. "I think that was me." "You?" "Who got in very…deep." His voice had lowered, turned sexy and…tender. "Best night of my life, Camilla." Camilla. The first time he'd remembered to use her real name. Hope rose—a wild, soaring feeling in her chest. She allowed herself a smile after wondering if she'd ever smile again. "Mine, too." "I'm ready to listen now." He backed up and leaned against the desk, bringing her with him, settling her between his legs. "Tell me again." "Okay." She wasn't sure she could form words. His hands were at her waist, burrowing under the hem of her shirt. "Men have, um, always wanted me for my money…" "Or not wanted you for it. I got that part." He kissed her forehead, one cheek, then the other. "Tell me the other part." Camilla closed her eyes, nearly in tears of happiness. He understood. "That I didn't expect what happened between us?" "No." He raised her shirt to just below her breasts, lips pressing a line of kisses down the side of her neck. "Not that. I got that, too." "I don't… I'm not…" She sounded like an idiot and didn't care. He pulled up her bra, exposing her breasts to the air, making them extra sensitive so when he fastened his warm mouth over her nipple, she moaned and clutched his hair, forgetting where she was and who she was. She probably would have forgotten to breathe if it wasn't involuntary. "The part you said afterward." "That…I love you?" "Yes-s-s." He pulled down the waist of her pants and his fingers found the hungry place between her legs. "Sam." She pulled back weakly, not really wanting him to stop. "Someone might—" His finger slid under the elastic of her panties, explored boldly, and she no longer cared if anyone was watching. He or she could have a high-powered camera transmitting directly to the internet and she still wouldn't be able to pull away from what this man was doing to her body and to her heart. "It's my turn, Camilla." Camilla. "Your turn?" She tried to get her thoughts in order. "You want me to touch you? Tell me what you—" "No. My turn to say that finding out you lied to me was one of the most painful and horrible things I've ever been through, because—" "Sam." She was crushed. He hadn't forgiven her. "Because I love you, too."

893

"I didn't mean to—" She pulled her brain clear from its erotic fog and gaped at his beautiful gray eyes staring so tenderly into hers that her knees gave way and he had to support her. "You…love me?" He laughed and kissed her shocked, open mouth. "From the moment I saw you, Camilla. A cliché I never even believed in before I met you." "Back when you didn't know who I was." "Not a clue." "And now that you do…" She still couldn't quite grasp that this was real. "I still love you. I'm not interested in your money." He picked her up with a sudden burst of energy and brought her over to the couch under the window, laid her on it and sat next to her, stroking her body possessively, lovingly. "But I am interested in spending the rest of my life with you." She gasped, staring at him in shock for the second time. "You want to marry me?" "I know. It's crazy. It's too soon…" He looked away, and she could sense the tension in his body. "Yes. It most certainly is." She used her most prim and proper Highgate voice, pushing down a rising giggle when his gaze snapped back in horror. "But Sam, I want to marry you anyway." "Yeah?" The gruff joy in his voice and the love in his face was so remarkable, tears came into her eyes. "Maybe a long engagement?" "Ah, now there's my sensible, no-nonsense Highgate." "Hmm." She reached down and yanked off her shirt and bra, pulled off her panties and hurled them across the room, then lay back on the couch, arms over her head, legs spread wide. "But that's the only time I want to be sensible, at least for the rest of tonight." "Oh, man." Sam shed his clothes impatiently, then his warm body was on top of her, inside her. Her lover, her future husband—who'd made the world a place Camilla would never hide from again.

894

A Forever Mother By Laura Abbot Ten-year-old Henry Wright thought Whitefish, Montana, was the perfect place. It was small and safe and Henry could play all the sports he wanted. His coach, Maggie Flynn, was nice and pretty and she made Henry feel special. Maybe his dad, Eric, was a little sad sometimes, a little lonely. But Henry had a plan to change all of that. A plan to make Coach and his dad see that Whitefish, Montana, was the perfect place for them to be a family.

Chapter One Maggie, Maggie, she's our man, If she can't do it, no boy can! Her older brothers' childhood chant echoed in Maggie Flynn's memory as she reached the last leg of her run and headed toward her office in the Whitefish, Montana, recreation center. As the April sun slipped beneath the western horizon, she slowed, and with a smile, remembered that Jake, a Navy Seal, and Joe, a Border Patrol officer, had never let her off the hook. All or nothing—that was their motto. Her mother had died when Maggie was five, and as the only female in the household, Maggie naturally became the quintessential tomboy. Luckily, she liked it that way. Her truck sat by itself in the rec center lot. Although her five-mile run had been invigorating, a hot shower and a cup of cocoa sounded appealing right then. Nearing her vehicle, she spotted a stray dog that she'd noticed hanging around yesterday. She'd seen him from her office window, but by the time she got outside to help him, the dog was gone. But now he was back, and she had the chance to help the poor creature. It edged toward her then nudged her knee with its nose. She knelt beside the bedraggled golden retriever and stroked its matted fur. On the dog collar hanging loosely from his neck, she could just make out an address on the tag. "You hungry, fella?" She stood and opened the cab door to her truck. "Hop in and we'll get you home." Maggie was familiar with the address, which was on the same street as her friend Weezer McCann's house. Within minutes she'd pulled up to a modest A-frame set back from the road among a grove of pines and spruces. Wrapping her arm around the dog, she nuzzled him and then climbed out, beckoning him to follow. No sooner was he on the ground than he ran ahead of her, tail wagging vigorously. "Looks like you're home, buddy." Walking onto the deck, she knocked on the door. From within, she could hear a television announcer calling a baseball game. She knocked again. Almost immediately the door opened and the dog burst into the room, playfully knocking over a sandy-haired boy who engulfed him in a hug. "Sundance! You're home." When the boy stood up, an astonished grin spread over his face. "Coach Flynn, it's you!" Recognizing the boy as one of her after-school program charges, she grinned. "Oh, hi, Henry." Henry Wright was a ten-year-old who lived with his divorced father—Henry was small for his age and needed lots of encouragement, but he was a good kid. "Thanks for bringing Sundance home." He glanced toward the small kitchen. "Hey, I'm making some of those slice-and-bake cookies. Come have one. As a thank-you, you know." His eagerness made refusal impossible…and she had a soft spot for the kid. "Okay, but just for a minute." Passing through the living room, she was struck by the numbers of books and magazines spilling out of the bookcase and stacked beside a pair of well-worn recliners.

895

Henry led her into the kitchen, where Sundance bolted toward the dog dishes, filled with food and water. On the counter were several crisp sugar cookies. "Here's a napkin. Help yourself." He looked embarrassed. "Could you, like, wait here a minute? I gotta get my dad." Slowly munching on the cookie, Maggie glanced around the room. Spartan, but serviceable. "Dad, Dad, c'mon. Sundance is back. And you'll never guess who found him. Coach Flynn!" A tall, broad-shouldered man came to stand in the doorway, dressed in faded jeans and an untucked tan chamois shirt, his feet shod in moccasins. Maggie could hardly take him in. Brown curly hair, a light stubble of beard, piercing green eyes framed by laugh wrinkles. Cookie halfway to her mouth and uncharacteristically breathless, she admonished herself, Get a grip. He's just another man…. Henry's father grinned a killer grin and crossed the room, hand extended. "You're the Coach Flynn my son can't stop talking about? Somehow I had pictured you differently." He clasped her small hand in his, warming her to the tips of her toes. "As a man?" He grinned sheepishly. "Yes, sorry." His eyes lingered on hers before he dropped her hand and said, "Thanks for bringing Sundance home. By the way, I'm Eric Wright." He asked her to stay for coffee, but Maggie remained only long enough to finish her cookie and beat a retreat. The invitation had been innocent, but driving home, she still felt Eric Wright's presence, like a warm blanket, a feeling she couldn't explain and enjoyed far too much. But a man in her life? At this point? Not happening.

Chapter Two "I think she liked my cookies, don't you, Dad?" Eric glanced up from the manuscript he was editing. Henry sat curled in the smaller recliner, Sundance snoozing at his feet. The hopefulness in his son's voice tore at Eric's heart. It took so little to please him. There was no mistaking who the she was—there hadn't been a female in this house in a long time. "Yes, son. I noticed Coach Flynn ate two." "She's way cool, Dad. She knows how to do just about everything." Hero—or heroine—worship was apparent in Henry's expression. Eric laid aside the manuscript, his concentration shot. It was natural that his son would respond to Coach Flynn's interest in him. On the surface, Henry had seemed to adapt to being motherless, but Eric knew that deep down the boy longed to be like other kids whose mothers doted on them. "She has dogs, too. They're named Thelma and Louise and sometimes she brings them to the rec center. So I figure when she found Sundance, she could tell he was lonesome." Thelma and Louise? Eric recalled the movie by that name and wondered if Coach Flynn admired the wildly independent spirit of the women in it. "Dad, I betcha she'd wanna come over if you asked. You could fix your barbecue stuff." "Son, I'm glad you like her, but I'm sure she has lots of friends without us." Eric tried to ignore the disappointed sigh Henry heaved as he picked up his library book and muttered, "Whatever."

896

Whatever, indeed. The last thing Henry needed was another disappointment in his young life. Laying his head back and closing his eyes, Eric saw once again the heartbroken look on his four-year-old son's face when he'd had to tell him his mother wasn't coming back, hating having to repeat those words again and again until his son stopped asking, finally believing. Trisha had never wanted children. She had thrived on their adventures when they roamed the world, he as a successful travel magazine reporter and she as a photographer. When she'd discovered she was pregnant, she was upset. Parenthood hadn't been part of their plan, but Eric had been excited about the prospect. Maybe he'd pushed Trisha too hard, assuming in time she'd be as happy as he was. Eric opened his eyes, barely withholding a sardonic snort. Dumb him. If anything, Trisha only grew more unhappy as time went on. He'd tried everything to make life better for her and their family. Nothing had worked, and any love he'd had for her died with her abandonment of the tiny boy. And of him. The best thing Eric had done following the divorce was move to Whitefish, where the small-town atmosphere provided roots for his son. His neighbor Weezer McCann across the street had become a surrogate grandmother to Henry, and Eric's friend Chad Larraby had found him this house and been supportive through their relocation to Montana. He and Henry didn't need anyone rocking their boat. Best buddies, they were getting along fine. And yet…Eric couldn't help noticing the wistful gaze his son cast on women who paid attention to him, from grocery clerks to teachers. But if Henry wanted a mother, Eric was going to have to disappoint him. He'd been married once, and the resulting pain was enough to last a lifetime. His own loneliness was a small price to pay for peace. "Dad?" Henry scooted around in his chair to face Eric. "You liked her, didn't you?" A loaded question, for sure. "Yes, Henry, Coach Flynn was very nice." Eric groaned internally. If he was brutally honest, she was more than nice. She'd been in the house for just a few short moments, but she'd filled it with energy and life; and when she'd left, it was as if she'd taken something important with her. And against all logic, he couldn't stop picturing her twinkling brown eyes and thick, raven-black hair, her compact, athletic body and her warm, affectionate way with Henry. Yes, son, I liked her. And therein lies the problem.

Chapter Three Henry loved the ritual of Saturday morning breakfasts with his father at the Kodiak Café. Dad always had a big ole batch of eggs and bacon, but Henry preferred the marionberry pancakes oozing with butter and syrup. His dad drank lotsa coffee while he visited with guys he knew, like Chad Larraby, who had just scooted into their booth. "Weezer tells me you found Sundance," Uncle Chad said as he signaled the waitress for a coffee refill. Henry corrected him. "Not me, Coach Flynn." Uncle Chad said, "Great," but he was looking in a weird way at Henry's dad. "So, my friend, what did you think of our Maggie Flynn?" "So how are things at the shop?" Henry was confused. Was his father deaf? Hadn't he heard Uncle Chad's question?

897

Chad grinned. "Hey, Eric, buddy, I asked you a question first." His dad nodded at Henry, as if saying, "Not now," but Uncle Chad ignored him. "Well?" Nobody said anything while the waitress filled Uncle Chad's cup. "She seemed very nice," his dad said, sorta under his breath. "Nice?" Uncle Chad snorted. "She's one great gal. I'll never understand why you wouldn't go on that date with her I tried to set up." Henry choked on a bite of pancake. A date? His father? His dad glared at Uncle Chad. "I told you. I'm not in the market." "Eric, things change. It's been a long time, and—" "Drop it, okay?" Henry thought about it, and decided he liked the idea of his dad going on a date with Coach Flynn. His friend Max had talked about his mom dating and now Max had a new dad. "Dad, it'd be cool if you and Coach went on a date. You stay home an awful lot. See, I could stay with Weezer or Uncle Chad, and you and Coach could go to dinner and—" "Son, my dating days are over." "Maybe they shouldn't be," Henry said as he wriggled out of the booth, seized by an idea. "I'm gonna say hello to Weezer." He joined the silver-haired Native American woman at the register counter. "Hiya, Weezer. Do you know any spells?" "Henry Wright, what's going on in that head of yours?" "I think my dad should go out with Coach Flynn, but he says he doesn't wanna date. But I'm sure that's not true. He's bored a lot and sometimes gets this really sad look on his face. He's old, all right, but he's not too old to date, is he?" Smiling, Weezer put an arm around his shoulder. "No, son, he's not too old. I think you've got an idea there. Maggie Flynn would do your father a world of good. And he, her. But to answer your question…I don't cast spells, but I enjoy matchmaking." "Matchmaking?" "That's when other people try to get a man and a woman together when they believe they'd be a good pair." "Like Uncle Chad wanting to fix my dad up with Coach?" "Exactly. We could all be in cahoots." "Cool!" "And see who's just come in the door, Henry."

898

Henry glanced up. There was Coach Flynn! But she looked different. She had on a sweater and skirt and her hair wasn't in a ponytail but hanging down around her face. She was beautiful! Weezer turned him toward the booth where his father sat facing the door. "Watch." His father's hand paused with a forkful of hash browns midway to his mouth while he stared at Coach. Henry did a double take. He thought his dad was blushing. Henry grinned to himself. Cahoots. Yeah! "Weezer," he whispered, "can I be one of those…whaddya call 'em… matchmakers?"

Chapter Four Maggie scanned the breakfast crowd, then spotted Lois Jeter, a grade-school gym teacher and her friend since freshman year in high school, waving at her. Intent on joining Lois, she didn't see Henry Wright until he breezed past her, crying out, "Hi, Coach. You look pretty," as he climbed into the booth where his dad and Chad Larraby were sitting. Chad stood and gave her a hug. "Hi, gorgeous." Eric Wright extended his hand across the table, but he seemed tongue-tied, even boyishly awkward. "What's the occasion?" Chad asked, indicating her outfit. "Lois and I are going to Missoula for a performance at the university." She nodded in her friend's direction. "So if you'll excuse me, we need to eat one of Weezer's wonderful breakfasts before we leave." "Safe travels," Chad said. Bouncing in his seat, Henry waved. "Bye, Coach. See ya Monday." Maggie waved to Henry and made her way across the restaurant, trying to identify the empty feeling that had surfaced after she'd said goodbye to the trio. Surely it didn't arise from disappointment in Eric Wright's less-than-enthusiastic greeting. "Somebody's got his eye on you," Lois said with a smug grin as Maggie sat down. Ignoring the comment, Maggie made a show of studying the menu she'd been familiar with for years. "And his name is Eric Wright," her friend relentlessly continued. "Do you know him?" Maggie nodded, relieved from further discussion of the uncomfortable topic by the arrival of the waitress, then further relieved as she watched Eric and Henry leave the café. But if she thought she'd sidestepped the issue, she was mistaken. She'd almost finished her omelet when Chad and Weezer stopped by the table. "Mind if we join you for coffee?" Chad asked, already pulling out a chair for Weezer. "You two act as if you're on a mission," Lois said, looking from one to the other. "We are," Chad replied. "Mission Maggie. Lois, you can help." "Why does this feel suspiciously like an intervention?" Maggie joked, trying to keep the conversation light, even as she experienced a sense of foreboding.

899

"Because it is," Chad said. "I have an invitation for you. Dinner at our house next Friday." Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Weezer nod encouragingly. The invitation itself didn't concern Maggie, but the feeling that they were ganging up on her did. "What's the catch?" "Catch?" Chad was the picture of innocence. Weezer took hold of Maggie's hand. "There's no catch… Oh, and Eric Wright and his son will be there, too." Maggie stared at Lois, silently begging her to intervene. Instead, she beamed and said, "What a good idea!" Maggie felt her cheeks redden. "Look, all of you know I'm not keen on setups. I'm perfectly fine on my own and don't need any of you railroading me into an evening neither Eric Wright or I will enjoy." She glanced around helplessly. "I thought you were my friends." "Oh, little one, we are." Weezer squeezed her hand. "That's why we're asking you to say yes. It's just one evening. For way too long, you've been like a she-bear hibernating in your cave. But it's spring now. Come out. Smell the fresh pine. Play in the river. Take a risk." Maggie slumped back in her chair, studying the warm affection in the eyes of her friends. Then, unbidden, came the disturbing image of a lonely man, sacrificing so much to make a small boy happy. A handsome man…with a big heart. A man she'd spent more than a little time thinking about. Her thoughts were interrupted by Lois's soft voice. "Maggie, say yes. It's time." Maggie's chest tightened, and against all reason, she said, "Okay. One night. But that's all. Understood?"

Chapter Five Driving to the Larrabys on Friday night, Eric once again second-guessed his decision to attend the dinner party. Pressured by Chad and Henry at the Kodiak Café, Eric had caved in, persuaded by his son's enthusiasm. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed spending time with Maggie Flynn, but being with her in the fishbowl of Chad's home was definitely out of his comfort zone. When they pulled up to Chad's, Henry reached behind the seat of the SUV and pulled out a gym bag. "What's that?" The boy jumped out of the car, throwing the answer over his shoulder. "My stuff. I'm spending the night with Josh." "What?" Eric wanted to question Henry further, but he was already running toward the door. "You might've asked," he muttered. Eric realized he'd been snookered by Henry and Chad's son. What other surprises were in store this evening? As it happened, several, starting with his involuntary pleasure at seeing Maggie again. She turned slowly from her conversation with Chad's wife, Michelle, and smiled warmly, though whether at Henry or him, he couldn't tell. Her hair was pulled away from her face and caught in the back, making her dark eyes seem the size of saucers. He finally quit staring long enough to cross the room and greet Michelle. "Eric. I believe you and Maggie have met," she said, indicating Maggie beside her. "We have," he said, nodding at Maggie and groping for something intelligent or at least coherent to say. As a writer, Eric was rarely at a loss for words, but something about Maggie rendered him speechless. Uttering something he hoped was polite, he retreated to the patio where Chad was grilling steaks.

900

Despite the hosts' attempts to make the dinner conversation flow, it was stilted. Maggie focused on the kids, while Michelle delved into Eric's and Maggie's pasts, mining for common interests. She seized on their mutual love of the outdoors and preference for reading mysteries. As Michelle got up to get dessert, Eric was disarmed when Maggie caught his eye and gave him a conspiratorial grin as if to say, "Is this an obvious setup, or what?" Henry's enthusiasm and the Larrabys' nudging felt manipulative. If Eric wanted to ask Maggie out, he would, but this was a relationship better left untested. Yes, she was warm and confident and pretty. Yes, she was full of life and moved him in ways he'd nearly forgotten. But it was all too complicated. Too risky. When the evening blessedly ended, he thanked the Larrabys, hugged Henry goodbye and followed Maggie out into the spring night. As he walked her to her truck, he chuckled. "Well, that's over." "They were a bit obvious, weren't they?" she said, smiling up at him. "The good news? We survived the evening." She paused before getting into her vehicle. "I like you, Eric. You're a good father…a good man, but—" "I know. Just friends, right?" Was he mistaken, or did he catch a glimmer of regret in her expression? "That's best," she answered, climbing into the driver's seat. "I'm pretty self-sufficient, have been all my life, and I'm not sure that's compatible with a single father." He held the door, reluctant to close it. Friends. He should be relieved. So why was he disappointed? "I get it. Thanks again for your kindness to Henry. He thinks you're special. Good night." He shut her in and waited while she slowly drove away. For the first few miles, his route followed hers, so he was surprised minutes later when she pulled off to the side of the road and stopped. Car trouble? Something else? Concerned, he parked his car behind hers, got out and approached the truck. He tapped on the window. "Are you okay?" She rolled down the window, pocketing her cell phone. "Yes and no. I stopped to take a call from my neighbor. She hesitated. "I don't think I can go home." "What's happened?" "In spring the bears come down out of the mountains searching for food, and one of them is in my yard." "Well, you can't stay here." He took a deep breath then plunged in. "Follow me to my house. At least you'll be safe there until we can call the authorities in the morning." It probably wasn't how their friendly matchmakers had intended to get Eric and Maggie together, but, like it or not, he and Maggie were going to be spending a few hours alone under one roof.

Chapter Six Maggie wasn't afraid of much of anything. Hungry bears were an exception. Right up there with being alone with a man who made her reconsider the advantages of being single. At night, Eric's A-frame seemed even more secluded. He rounded her vehicle and took her hand. "Be careful. It's rocky here." His warm, steadying grasp helped, and she was disappointed in spite of herself when he dropped her hand to unlock the front door. A low lamp by the sofa cast soft light and a radio on the bookshelf was playing an old Beatles song. Sundance came to greet them as they walked through the door. Oddly, it felt like a homecoming.

901

Eric helped her out of her jacket then hung both coats in the hallway. "I usually have hot chocolate before bedtime. Would you like some?" "Sounds yummy." "Make yourself comfortable," he said, departing for the kitchen. She walked around the room, recognizing familiar titles from the bookshelf and flipping through the LPs stacked there. Only a true audiophile still collected LPs, including vintage Peggy Lee and Erroll Garner. So Eric was into jazz—amazingly that was one question Michelle hadn't asked them. "Do you have a turntable?" she asked when he entered the room carrying the hot chocolate. He chuckled as he handed her a mug and sat down at the other end of the sofa. "Hard to play LPs without one. My folks brought me up right. They're huge jazz fans." "Do they live nearby?" Against all reason, Maggie wanted to learn more about him. Much more. "In Tucson. But they get up here a couple of times a year. Your folks?" She found herself telling him about her mother's death, her competitive brothers and her father's insistence that she learn to take care of herself. Was she rattling on out of nervousness or was he just easy to talk to? "So you like being on your own?" he asked, setting down his empty mug. "I'm not a loner, if that's what you mean." "More like 'self-sufficient,' then. That's how you phrased it earlier." "When I'm in charge of me, I don't worry. Relationships can be…scary." "Tell me about it." Maggie glanced up, startled by his pained tone. "Henry's mother?" "It's not a pretty story. Trisha never wanted children. Her career was everything to her. I knew that but I pushed her into parenthood…I'd arrogantly believed that once we had Henry, her goals and priorities might change, as mine did." She found herself gripping his hand, her heart aching. "And they didn't?" "No. When Henry was four, Trisha got the break she'd been waiting for and her career took off. She was constantly in demand and traveled all over the world on shoots. It was her dream, but it was hard on all of us every time she had to leave. Eventually she came to the conclusion that it would be easier for everyone if she was never there at all. We don't see her anymore." A moment passed. Then Eric released Maggie's hand and stood. "Let's get you settled." They took the empty mugs to the kitchen before he led her down the hall to Henry's room. "If you don't mind sleeping with a dog at the foot of the bed, you should be comfortable. The sheets are clean." Her heart ached with that reminder of all the responsibilities Eric shouldered alone. "I'll be fine. I'm grateful for your hospitality." He flipped on the bedside lamp and paused uncertainly. "If you'd prefer my room—"

902

"No!" Maggie mentally kicked herself. She hadn't meant to be so vehement, and she found herself wanting to touch him, to reassure him that his kindness on her behalf was appreciated. There was tension between them, but the good kind—like waiting to jump from the high diving board for the first time. "Maggie, I—" he said at the same moment she laid a hand on his shoulder and uttered his name. Gently he removed her hand, holding it between both of his. In his eyes she read his struggle. "For the first time in ages, I feel like kissing someone." His voice thickened. "You." An ocean roared in her ears. "Is that wise?" "Wise? No." With a deep sigh, he ran a finger slowly down her cheek. "I'll see you in the morning. In Henry's bed later, cuddling his stuffed monkey and listening to Sundance's soft snores, Maggie replayed the scene again and again. Something was happening between her and Eric. Just before her eyes closed, she remembered Weezer's words. She'd pushed him away at first, but now… Perhaps more than one bear had risked coming out of the cave tonight.

Chapter Seven Sunlight streamed through the window and the smell of bacon tweaked her nose. Confused by the unfamiliar surroundings, Maggie sat up, orienting herself. Henry's bedroom. Eric's house. Then the memory of last night surfaced, along with the startling realization that she'd wanted Eric to kiss her. It scared her. In the bathroom, she found fresh towels laid out and a new toothbrush sitting by the vanity. Showering and dressing quickly, she hurried into the kitchen, where Eric stood by the counter, extending a cup of coffee to her. "Good morning, sleepyhead." "What time…?" "A little after nine." He turned to the stove and flipped two eggs. "Hungry?" "Ravenous." She took a sip of coffee, hot and strong. "Could I help?" "No way. I'm the chef. Have a seat." On the kitchen table were two plaid place mats with matching napkins. Eric brought a platter of eggs and bacon and a basket of wheat toast. "Enjoy." "I'm not used to being waited on," she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She rarely permitted anyone to serve her. Growing up, it had always been a question of pride that she and her brothers had been able to do things for themselves. But here, with Eric, it felt strangely good to be taken care of. Some of her anxiety seeped away. Eric spooned some eggs onto her plate. "Your bear is gone." "Really? How do you know?" "I've already talked with the animal control people. She dumped a few trash cans, but ended up stalking into the woods early this morning." "Thank you for calling. It was thoughtful of you."

903

He grinned crookedly. "We aim to please." To avoid his eyes, Maggie dug into the breakfast, feeling oddly giddy. "Eric, I don't want to pry, but how has Henry been affected by his mother's leaving?" "That's a nice way of putting it. I'd call it abandonment." Maggie winced. No wonder Eric was gun-shy with women. "But to answer your question, he was sad and confused, but too young to be angry, as I was. Now, it's more the issue that he has a void in his life that I can't fill. Short and simple, he wants a mother. But since that would require me marrying again, we're at an impasse." "She hurt you very badly, didn't she?" "Yes." He grimaced before moving to the counter to retrieve the coffeepot to refill their cups. Maggie knew she was probing, but she pressed on. "Not all women are Trisha." Eric sat back down. "I get that, but I don't want to give Henry false hope by dating casually. It will take someone special." With a jolt, Maggie realized she was open to being that "someone." But she'd defined herself for so long as one person, how could she so readily trade that in for the roles of wife and mother, roles she knew nothing about how to fill. And yet… Maybe her friends were right, maybe it was time she tried venturing a little farther from her cave. She toyed with her fork. "Could friends be a place to start?" She looked up to discover him staring at her quizzically. "Maggie, I, uh—" She rose hurriedly. "I'm sorry. That was out of line. I better go." He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You didn't let me finish what I was going to say." His ocean-green eyes bored into hers. "Friends is good. But what about you, Miss Independence?" "I'm a challenge. I'm pretty set in my ways. At least that's what other men have told me. But maybe that's not set in stone." "You know what? You're not Trisha and I'm not other men. What do you say? Slow, but steady. Shall we try?" In the shakiness of her knees and the pounding of her heart, she had her answer. "Bring it on, mister." And he did, but not with words—with the kiss he'd left her longing for last night, a kiss more than worth the wait. Lost in the comfort of his arms embracing her, his lips on hers, Maggie surfaced only when she heard a yip from Sundance. Jumping back, she smoothed her sweater just in time to see Henry coming in the front door bearing down on them, dragging his backpack. "Uncle Chad gave me a ride home," he said, entering the room. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at them. "Dad, what's Coach doing here?"

904

Chapter Eight "Dad, tell me again about the bear," Henry said as they drove to the baseball field that afternoon. "It was way cool that you saved Coach." Eric gripped the wheel tightly. Henry had been fixated on Maggie and her "sleepover" in his bed ever since his return from Chad's. "I didn't save anybody, son. I just provided a safe place for her to stay." "My room kinda smelled like flowers, you know?" Eric groaned. Yes, he knew. The clean, fresh scent of Maggie's hair lingered in his memory…as did the sweetness of her lips. They'd agreed to take it slow, but he was dangerously close to a serious entanglement. "The guys at the rec center said Coach is hot. That means pretty, right? Do you think she's hot?" "That kind of talk isn't very respectful." "Yeah, but, well, do you…think so?" Eric could tell his answer was important to his son. "Yes, Maggie Flynn is an attractive woman." The boy relaxed in his seat. "Good. Now maybe you'll go on a real date." Eric thought he was off the hook as he walked Henry across the field to his team. Wrong. Chad had delivered Josh, too, and was hurrying toward him. "Hey, buddy." Beaming, Chad threw an arm across Eric's shoulder. "Was that Coach's truck I noticed in front of your house when I brought Henry home?" Eric proceeded to relate the bear story. "What was a fellow to do?" he concluded, adopting what he hoped was an innocent expression. Chad dropped his arm and faced Eric. "You're into her." It wasn't a question. Eric gazed out across the playing field. He couldn't lie to his best friend. "It's obvious, huh?" "You couldn't keep your eyes off her last night. Why are you fighting this?" Eric shrugged. "Who's in charge of your life, anyway? A woman who turned her back on one of the finest men I know and a little boy who needed her?" Chad rocked up on his toes. "Get over it, man. Trisha was then. This is now, and you have a big-time chance to get on with your life. You didn't earn a reputation as a first-rate travel writer from avoiding danger or unfamiliar territory. What's the worst that could happen?" Eric considered the question. "Henry could be hurt all over again." "So could you. You think love comes without risk? Without hurt and disappointment? This isn't a perfect world. But it doesn't have to be a lonely one." Eric appreciated the concern and affection in Chad's honest words. He wanted to believe them, to believe in "happily ever after." And he and Maggie were giving things a chance…just a really slow chance. "I gotta go." Chad clapped his shoulder again. Before he walked off, he leaned closer. "Trust yourself, big guy. Trust Maggie."

905

A cool breeze swept over the field, and Eric turned up his jacket collar. He watched behind home plate as Henry, much smaller than most of the players, tried manfully to make a clean cut with the bat. He would do anything for his son. Henry's adoration of Maggie made things easier in one respect. He wouldn't have to worry about his son's approval. But what if he pursued the relationship and it didn't work out? With a sharp pang, he realized he wanted it to work. Wanted to stop being so cautious. Because, despite all his rationalizations, he was tired of being lonely. Being with Maggie had only reinforced that feeling. She had filled his home with sunshine and his heart with hope. It was time to man up and call her for a date. With a smile, he mentally answered his friend's earlier question. Yes, he was into Maggie Flynn. And he thought he could easily feel so much more for her.

Chapter Nine Henry's dad drew up in front of the dollar store. "Will you boys be okay if I let you out here while I go to the bank?" He handed Henry some money. Henry rolled his eyes. He wasn't a baby. "Sure." "Meet me in fifteen minutes at the Kodiak Café, and I'll buy you some ice cream." Josh grinned. "Cool." He and Josh had to get flashlight batteries and cans of beans for the rec center's father-son overnight camping trip this coming weekend. "Do you think it'll be warm enough to camp out? Sometimes they cancel it." Josh studied the display of batteries. "My dad said it's not supposed to snow." "I really, really want to go." Henry knew Coach would be there. Of course, so would his dad. They'd had two real dates in the past few days. Once he'd stayed at Josh's while they went to a movie in Kalispell, and when Coach invited his father to dinner, he'd stayed with Max. "Is this the kind we're supposed to get?" Josh held up a package of D batteries. "I think so." Henry wandered over to the canned goods and picked up four cans of beans. When he turned around, he couldn't find Josh. He walked up and down the aisles and finally spotted him by the greeting cards. "Whatcha doing?" "Dad said I should buy a card for Mom for Mother's Day." "Oh." A hollow place in Henry's stomach grew bigger. He'd never bought a Mother's Day card. Idly he chose one and read the sentiment—mushy stuff about all the things moms do for kids. He wouldn't know. His dad did everything. It was weird not even being able to say where his mom was. Was he such a bad kid that she couldn't stand being around him? He opened up another. This one had jokes about cleaning your room and eating too many cookies. He wished Josh would hurry up. He didn't like looking at these lacy, flowery cards and reading messages he'd never get to deliver. "C'mon, Josh. Dad's prob'ly waiting." Walking down the street, Josh kept talking about the camping trip and how fun it was going to be. But Henry wasn't paying attention. He was thinking. Maybe his dad could, like, fall in love with Coach. Maybe he'd ask Coach to marry him and she would say yes and he would have a mom like other kids. Even better than some guys' moms who didn't know squat about sports. And then—

906

"Hey, earth to Henry!" He looked up and realized he'd walked right past the Kodiak. "You're out of it, man," his friend said with a sorry shake of his head. Because it was midafternoon, the restaurant wasn't crowded. Josh went straight to the booth near the TV. Weezer was sitting on a counter stool folding napkins. Henry went over and perched next to her. "I got news," he said. Her eyebrows rose. "Yes?" "You remember cahoots?" She nodded. "It's working." "Really? How do you know?" "Dad said he told you about the bear and Coach spending the night, right?" "Yes, he said that's why you didn't come for your usual Saturday morning breakfast last week." "Well, they've had two real dates since then. I think they like each other. My dad sings happier songs in the shower and bought a new shirt to wear on his date. So if she likes him, too, I'm hoping that they'll fall in love or something, and—" Weezer set down a folded napkin and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Son, have you ever seen eggs in a bird nest?" What is she talking about? "The baby birds don't crack out of the shell until it's time. What do you suppose would happen if the mother pecked the shell open too soon?" He felt queasy. "They'd die?" "That's right. The relationship between your father and Maggie Flynn is like that. It can't be rushed." Henry thought about what she'd said. "What about the cahoots?" "Our job is done. Now it's up to them. We can't force anything. Let love do its work." "Okay, I guess." He slid from the stool, disappointed. It was taking too long to get a mother. Maybe the camping trip would help. He would watch his dad and Coach there. And maybe give the baby birds a little nudge….

Chapter Ten Eric looked out at the snow-capped mountains through a gap in the forest. Still sunny. It would cool off considerably after the sun set, but he and Chad had succeeded—with the boys' help—in getting their tent pitched and gear stowed, so they should be comfortable. In the distance, he spotted Maggie and the rec center staff moving logs to encircle a fire pit. Dressed in boots, worn jeans and a green fleece anorak, she personified the tomboy she claimed to be—a headier vision for him than any glamorous ball-goer. "C'mon, Dad. We gotta go help cook."

907

They gathered up their contributions to the common pot and joined the others for hotdogs, beans and applesauce. After dinner, they all roasted s'mores over the campfire. Now in the dark, flickering flames illuminated their faces. Henry's mouth was smeared with chocolate, and a dab of gooey marshmallow rested on his nose. "This is the best time I've ever had," he whispered as Eric settled on the log beside him. A hush fell over the group when Maggie appeared with a guitar. Henry sighed delightedly. "She plays?" Eric, too, was surprised when she began to strum then invited the group to join her in singing familiar camp songs. He relaxed, listening to her rich, low voice. After several numbers, Maggie left, replaced by a young man with a harmonica. Where had she gone? Eric didn't have to wait long for an answer. Maggie reappeared with something small cradled in her hands. The crowd quieted as she sat down again. The boy next to Henry nudged him. "She tells the best stories." She opened her hands and showed the boys an arrowhead, explaining what it was and then spinning a tale about a young warrior who had used one just like it. Along with everybody else, Eric was immediately captivated by her story. Her face, warmed by the fire, was flushed and her eyes were sparks in the night. Eric was as entranced as any boy. Watching her this afternoon and now seeing this, it was clear she loved her work and loved the kids. He glanced down at Henry, whose expression reflected pure adoration. Eric could relate. She was a special woman with many talents, and each time he was with her, he found himself increasingly drawn to her. Later, after settling the boys in their sleeping bags, Eric, wide awake, strolled to the edge of the campsite. The fire had died down, making the stars more brilliant. He drew a deep breath of the pine-scented air. "Not sleepy?" He turned, and there stood Maggie, hands stuffed in the pouch pocket of her anorak. She grinned. "Me, neither." He pulled her close, cradling her against his shoulder with one arm. "You should be. You've worked hard to give these guys a great experience." "It's not work for me. I love my job." "I can tell. That was some story. And the guitar? Where did that come from?" "I can't let you in on all my secrets at once. My brothers and I even had a garage band for a while." He nuzzled her forehead. "I'm looking forward to learning about those secrets." "Eric…I don't usually do this." "What? Have a relationship?" "Yes. I don't know why, but it's different with you. I'm different with you." "I'm glad." He pulled her into his arms and locked his hands behind her back. "I'll treat you with care." "I'm counting on it," she said, reaching her arms around his neck. "I'm a little scared." He chuckled. "The intrepid Maggie Flynn, scared?" "Yes, but…if you kiss me, I think I'll be all right."

908

There under the stars, he covered her mouth with his own, losing himself in the wonder of her, inhaling the smoky scent of her and not even caring that this bond between them was forming so quickly. He couldn't wait to discover what their future would hold.

Chapter Eleven Mists rolled over the tops of the mountains and the nearby stream gurgled with the spring thaw flow. Maggie hugged herself against the dawn cold, thinking about Eric. After years of being standoffish with men, she couldn't believe how important Eric had become to her in such a short time. Whether it was because he'd been fired in the crucible of hurt or something altogether different, he seemed sensitive to her needs, as if he cared more for her welfare than his own. But it was all so new. She'd never felt this way before, and she worried their connection would disappear just like the mountain mists as the sun melted them away. Walking back to the campsite, she picked up several logs to throw on the coals. In the dim light of early morning, she saw a small figure huddled near the fire, a sleeping bag slung over his shoulders. She deposited the logs, stirred the fire then approached the boy."Henry? Is that you? You're up early." "I couldn't sleep." She sat down beside him."Why is that?" He shrugged. "Something bothering you?" His answer was muffled."Mother's Day." Maggie's heart sank. She waited for him to continue. "All these guys got mothers. Mine hated me and I don't know why. What did I do?" His voice was raw with pain. Maggie put an arm around his shoulder."You didn't do anything, Henry. You're a very special boy." He raised his anguished face to her."Then why didn't she want me?" "I wish I could say, Henry. Sometimes adults don't have all the answers. Maybe she didn't so much turn away from you and your dad as go toward something else." "Her job," he muttered. "I know you want things to be different, but maybe you wouldn't really want them to be." "Huh?" "Your father is wonderful, and you two seem to have a special bond. Some of the other guys might envy you that." "Maybe." He seemed to mull over that idea."I never thought about that. But I still wish I had a mother."

909

Maggie was at a loss. The boy had carried this emptiness around for most of his young life. She hugged him to her."I understand completely. My mother died when I was five. My father and brothers were great, but they couldn't take the place of my mom. I miss her still." "I didn't know that." A spark flared from the coals and licks of flame began eating at the dry wood. Henry stared into the fire. Finally he spoke." I wish you were my mother. You wouldn't leave." "Oh, Henry." She hugged the boy to her. "Some things aren't that easy." Or were they? Maggie took a hard look at all the reasons she'd been holding Henry and Eric at arm's length. She'd prided herself on self-sufficiency, on not needing anyone. But had that been anything more than fear? Fear of risking everything, only to lose? Had her blind insistence on clutching to her independence merely served as a smoke screen to avoid taking risks? Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed movement. Glancing beyond Henry, she saw Eric standing a few feet away, swiping a forearm across his eyes. He caught her gaze, lifted his shoulders in resignation then walked off. How much had he heard? If Henry's remarks had touched her, how much more must they have ripped into Eric? What had she gotten herself into? She had lost her heart to both of them.

Chapter Twelve Maggie paused in the bike lane, waiting for Eric, who was unfamiliar with their route to Flathead Lake. Pulling alongside, he drank from his water bottle. "Boy, am I out of shape." "Winter can do that unless you're a cross-country skier." He laughed. "Like you?" She nodded. "Like me." "Henry and I ski. We've never tried cross-country, but we're willing to learn." "My brothers never let me wimp out of anything—white-water rafting, rock climbing, snowboarding. You name it." "Were you ever afraid?" "The danger made it all the more fun." She put her foot on the pedal. "C'mon. I can't wait to show you the view from our picnic spot." Over the next rise, the sparkling blue expanse of the lake came into view. When Eric had called to say the Larrabys were taking Henry to Missoula with their kids to see the latest 3D flick, it had freed them for this bike ride. It was fun sharing something she loved with Eric, who, despite his disclaimer, was keeping up with her, even on the hills. Shortly before noon they reached the overlook. Across the lake rose the craggy mountains of Glacier National Park. The area would soon be overrun with tourists, and tranquility would be compromised.

910

Parking their bikes, they plopped their backpacks on the picnic table. Maggie took out sandwiches, veggies and chips, while Eric added fruit and granola bars. He bit into an apple."This view is worth the trip." "I never tire of it. Dad brought me here when I was a little girl. I've always thought of it as my place." "With all the traveling I did before… " he paused, as if shaking off a bad memory "…I've never had a place I considered my own." She covered his hand. "I'll share." He leaned over and kissed her gently. In his arms, Maggie felt a peace that had eluded her. Eric didn't need to fill the silence with talk; and somehow, despite her tomboy ways, he made her feel feminine, desirable. After he finished his sandwich and folded up the wrapper, he gestured at the panorama before them."Ever climbed any of those mountains?" She cocked an eyebrow in mock dismay."Sir, the operative question is which ones haven't I climbed." He chuckled." I should've known. Are there others on your list?" "Let's see." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Rainier, Kilimanjaro, Mt. McKinley…" His eyes twinkled. "Will you stop with Everest?" "The sky's the limit." He moved closer and circled her with his arm."Are you that adventurous when it comes to love?" It was not an idle question. "I used to think I didn't need that kind of adventure. But now I realize it was the one area where I let my fear control me. Until you." She cradled his face in her hands. "Until you," she whispered, kissing him with all the joy in her liberated heart. All the love. He'd mentioned the word and it felt right. So right. They spent another half an hour quietly holding each other before they had to get back. Needing to be at home when Henry returned, Eric dropped her at her house after an early dinner at the Kodiak Café, where Weezer regarded them with the smugness of a well-fed cat. Before taking a shower, Maggie checked her messages, surprised to hear one from a friend in Colorado who ran a prestigious outdoor leadership training school there. "Hi, Maggie. Guess what? You know how we've been talking forever about getting you up here? I figured out a way to do it. One of my staff is moving to Australia, and you'd be the perfect replacement. You'll still have to apply and everything, but it would mostly just be a formality…." The message went on, but all Maggie could think was: her dream job! The goal she'd been working toward since she'd earned her college degree in outdoor recreation. More money. The opportunity to work with some of the best guides and youth leaders in the country. Even her brothers would acknowledge she'd accomplished something remarkable. She should be turning cartwheels, igniting fireworks, calling everyone. Instead, tears gathered in her eyes. She would be a fool to turn down such an offer. But it would mean leaving Eric and Henry. The choice would be her dream job versus another dream—a life with Eric.

911

Chapter Thirteen Sunday was a mild May day, warm enough to open windows and let a breeze freshen the house. Eric listened as Henry started in again about yesterday's movie. "You should've seen it, Dad. It was way cool. These aliens came right at me. I even ducked once, and—" Eric stifled a grin. If only the boy could be as enthusiastic about his studies. "Maybe we can rent the video when it comes out, but for now, homework's at the top of the list. How're you coming on the book you're reading for language arts?" Henry hung his head. "It's dumb." "I doubt it. Let's see what it is." Eric led his son to his bedroom. It turned out the book wasn't "dumb." The problem was that Henry hadn't started, even though he was supposed to have finished five chapters by the next day. "Well, buddy, I guess you'll be spending the afternoon in your room until you finish." That suited Eric. He'd neglected his writing since Maggie had become his priority. He'd negotiated a new deadline with his editor, but the article about the White Motor Company and their red touring buses in Glacier Park was far from polished. Yet when he sat down at the computer, all he could do was daydream about Maggie and the great time he'd had yesterday. Her infectious enthusiasm for life was a tonic, particularly after his hermitlike existence in the past few years. Yet he still needed to be cautious, for Henry's sake, if nothing else. Although Henry seldom talked about it, Eric was aware he'd always felt rejected by his mother. Nothing could be worse for Henry than for Eric to get even more serious with Maggie and then have the relationship go to pieces. Henry needed stability, not the fear of another disappointment. Although he didn't believe that would happen with Maggie, he hadn't thought it would happen with Trisha, either. At least not at first. They had been a good team, jetting to exotic places, he painting pictures with words, she with photographs. He'd known her career meant a lot to her—his had meant just as much—but he'd thought that they could still juggle their careers and a child. But as her career took off, the situation got more and more difficult, and Trisha had eventually decided she was hurting Henry more by her transient existence than if she wasn't in his life at all. Eric had disagreed, but Trisha had left and never come back. Even though they'd had no contact after the divorce, he occasionally saw her byline on photos in major news magazines. Maybe he should've shown them to Henry, but he'd never been willing to inflict that potential pain on the boy. Eric refocused on his work and an hour passed. He rose, checked on Henry, who had made it through Chapter Three, and went out on the deck to stretch. Weezer waved at him when she came home a little after three. What good fortune it had been for him to have such a helpful, caring neighbor. His thoughts turned once again to Maggie, suddenly realizing that her love of adventure rivaled Trisha's. The idea stunned him. Did Maggie also need total freedom? Before, his doubts about their relationship had been based on Henry and not wanting to hurt him. But this was a more immediate, personal concern. Was he stepping back into the same trap? What if she, like Trisha, wasn't ready to settle down? And another big question—could he give Maggie the space and freedom to be the adventurous woman with whom he was falling in love and still have her be part of their family the way he wanted her to be? This whole relationship wasn't nearly as cut and dried as it had seemed. Yesterday had been ideal, but he couldn't commit the rest of his life because of one perfect day.

912

Confused and frustrated, he found it nearly impossible to work productively when he returned to his office. No one had ever touched him the way Maggie did, but he was apparently not nearly the risk-taker she was. He shook off his demons and finally built up a head of steam on the article, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. Irritated by the intrusion, he shoved back his chair, strode to the door and flung it open. His stomach imploded when he saw who it was. Trisha. "Eric, it's been a while." The stylishly dressed woman seemed totally out of place on his rustic porch. Flushed with anger, he glared at her. "Trisha, what are you doing here?" "It's Mother's Day," she whispered. Then her voice gained strength. "I've come to see my son."

Chapter Fourteen Henry set down his book. It wasn't so bad after all, but he was hungry. He'd sneak into the kitchen and grab a handful of graham crackers even though his dad didn't like him snacking between meals. He opened his bedroom door quietly and, in stockinged feet, tiptoed into the kitchen. He had just reached into the cracker box when his dad went to the front door. Henry peeked around the corner. This lady stood there in a kind of safari outfit with a scarf that looked like a zebra. She had long blond hair that stuck out in wisps and she wore a chunk of that black goop on her eyes. He didn't hear what his dad said to her, but he sure heard the lady's next words: I've come to see my son. Her son? No. No. Dizzy with confusion and scarcely believing his ears, Henry crouched behind the kitchen island. The lady had to be fooling. No way could she be his mother. This felt like a bad movie. He could tell from the coiled muscles across his dad's back that he was angry. "This is totally inappropriate," he heard his father say in a raised voice. "But I guess I can't prevent you from talking to Henry." Henry's heart thudded in his chest. He didn't want to see her after so long. He didn't want to hear all her excuses about why she'd left. Why she didn't like her own son. He had to escape. He crept into his bedroom, quickly put on his shoes, grabbed a jacket and his allowance. Sneaking through the kitchen, he heard the adults still standing in the doorway arguing. Quickly, he ran past the utility room and out the back door. He raced down the street until the house was out of sight. The faster he ran, the madder he got. That woman didn't belong here. She'd punted him and his dad and had no right to show up suddenly. Yeah, he'd wondered about her, but now that she was here after all this time, he didn't want to talk to her. Not now. Not ever. Coach had been right. What he and his dad had was great, and he didn't want anything to change. It was a long walk into town, but he didn't care. Just let them try to find him! As long as that she was with his father, he would never go home. He loitered outside the Kodiak Café, hoping Weezer could help him hide. But reading the hours posted on the door, he realized the restaurant had already closed.

913

As the sun set, it got colder. He wished he'd thought to bring a hat and gloves. Streetlights came on. He was hungry. When a car came toward him, he ducked into a doorway. Down the street, he spied the dollar store. He pulled his money out of his pocket. He had $6.50. He could buy some chips and a drink, maybe. He went into the store and sauntered around, trying to warm up. Then he came to the rack of greeting cards. Mother's Day. "Son, you plannin' on buying anything?" The cashier eyed him as if he were about to steal something. "Uh, sure." He picked up peanut butter crackers and an orange soda. Then he wandered back to the cards. He'd seen one the day he and Josh were here. One that was perfect. And it was on sale. He paid for his items then found a bench outside the store to sit and eat. There were few cars now, and the moonless night offered little cheer as he walked aimlessly through a residential district. He was cold and his legs ached. Dad should never have let that lady in the house. Henry hoped they were worried. But he wasn't going home. So where was he going? He shivered. It was scary in the dark all by himself. His dad might see him if he went to Weezer's. He had to find another place. Looking around to get his bearings, he recognized where he was. In the same moment, he knew exactly where to go.

Chapter Fifteen "Trisha, for you to show up after all these years with no warning is wrong." He took hold of her elbow and ushered her onto the side deck, away from Henry's bedroom, barely able to contain his fury. "You have to leave. Now." "Will you at least let me talk to my son?" "You have no right to call him your son, nor any claim to him." She laid a conciliatory hand on his arm. "Please, just hear me out." He shook her off. "I can't imagine anything you could say to change my mind. You're the one who left. You're the one who never communicated anything except a signature on the divorce papers." Clenching his teeth, he bit back an oath. "There's only one criterion to apply in this situation—what is best for Henry." Trisha folded her arms across her chest and stared at her feet, as if submitting to the bludgeon of his words. "I've lived with regret, believe me. I can't explain to you exactly what was going on with me after Henry came along. All I know is that I was hurting everyone. I thought the best way to stop causing you and Henry pain was to leave." "Do you want me to thank you? It's been six years, Trisha, and here's a news flash—we have a new life, a happy, satisfying one. And it doesn't include you." "I was afraid you'd say that." She hesitated then looked him in the eye. "Does Henry ask about me? Wonder who I am?"

914

"Not really. It's pretty hard for anyone to understand, much less a four-year-old boy, how his mother could walk away and reject him. He has to wonder what he did or didn't do to cause it." "But it was me, not him. I made some mistakes, but some things have happened since…" She trailed off, biting her lip as if struggling for emotional control. "I, uh, was in a relationship up until last year. I had two miscarriages, the last resulting in a hysterectomy. I wanted those children, Eric. I can't get them back, but Henry…" Steeling himself, Eric said, "I'm sorry you've had a rough patch, but it's not Henry's responsibility to make it up to you." "I know that. I'm not here to intrude on his life or demand to become part of it. That would be up to him…and to you." "Then why are you here?" To his surprise, her eyes filled. "I need to see for myself. How he's grown, that he's okay, if we could talk occasionally." With a forefinger, she wiped away a teardrop. Then her expression stiffened. "I'd prefer not to resort to legal means." A cool gust of wind caused Eric to shudder. The specter of a legal battle overwhelmed him. Was it selfish to keep Henry's mother from him? Yet what psychological damage might a reunion do to his son? To him? Where was the line between what was best for Henry and his own vulnerability as a parent? As a man? "All right, Trisha. I won't keep you from seeing him. But at the very least, I need to prepare Henry. Come back this evening around eight." "Thank you. I promise not to make this any more difficult than it already is." After she left, Eric stood on the porch, frozen with the knowledge that in a few short moments everything would change. He prayed he could find the right words to prepare Henry. Finally, he went inside and reluctantly made his way to Henry's room. Opening the door, he stared in disbelief. The boy was gone! Eric ran to the living room. "Henry, where are you?" No answer. Back in Henry's room, he noticed the boy's jacket was missing, along with his allowance money. Henry must've overheard him and Trisha and run away. He bolted from the room, grabbed his car keys and ran from the house, calling the boy's name, dread building each time there was no answer. Exhausting the possibilities nearby, he drove slowly down the street, searching in vain for a small boy with a big problem.

Chapter Sixteen Maggie had spent most of the afternoon reflecting on the Colorado job offer. It should feel like the culmination of hard work; instead, it seemed anticlimactic. There was only one reason for that—Eric Wright. Yes, they enjoyed each other's company, but could she throw over a fabulous opportunity for the mere possibility that he might care as much for her as she did for him? Shortly after supper, she took Thelma and Louise for a long walk; she did her best thinking while walking. By the time they were back home and the dogs had curled up in front of the fire, Maggie knew what she was going to do, even if it might prove to be the riskiest decision she had ever made. Jobs were plentiful, but there was only one Eric.

915

She was just about to put the dogs out for their pre-bedtime romp when she heard a tentative knock at the door. It was after nine. Alarmed, she looked through the peep hole. Henry? Quickly she let him in. His face was raw from the cold and his hands were blocks of ice. "Henry, you're freezing." She pulled a chair closer to the fire. "Sit here and I'll get you some hot cocoa." Nuking the drink, she wondered what he was doing here—but before any questions could be asked, she needed to warm him up. He reached gratefully for the mug, wrapping his hands around it. "Is it okay I came?" Before she could answer, he went on. "I didn't know where else to go." "You're always welcome here." He didn't seem to want to meet her eyes. She waited while he sipped the cocoa. "Henry, has something happened? Does your father know where you are?" "Don't call him." His pleading look worried her. "I ran away." The enormity of his act stunned her. "Henry?" she coaxed, "tell me about it." His eyes glittered in the firelight. "It's her. She's come." Mystified, Maggie prompted him. "Who?" He spat out the words "My mother." He struggled for breath. "I hate her. She's not really my mother because if she was, she wouldn't have gone away. I don't want her here. I don't want to see her and—" Maggie stopped him with a "Shh" before he got more worked up. She took the mug from him and led him to the sofa, where she wrapped the two of them in a fleece throw. With her arm around him, she cuddled him close, sensing his rage and hurt. She knew she had to phone Eric, but right now Henry was her priority. "Would it be so bad to see her?" "Why should I? She might make me leave with her!" "No, she can't do that. Your father has legal custody." She hesitated, searching for words. "Aren't you the tiniest bit curious about her?" "No. She doesn't like me." "You don't know that." She ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. "Adults can do dumb things. Things they regret, and sometimes things they can't change." Even as she uttered this consolation, Maggie struggled with her anger at the woman who had just appeared out of the blue and shattered Henry's world. "My dad doesn't like her, either." "But he loves you. Your father must be very worried right now." By way of answer, Henry kicked the coffee table. "You know, the longer you put this off, the harder it will be. It takes a pretty grown-up guy to face risky situations. But your dad will be there, and you can trust him to help." "And you'll be there, too, right?" If Trisha was there, that could be awkward, but Maggie couldn't deny Henry. "I'll stay long enough to see that you're home safely." She hugged him to her. "I'll go call your dad and tell him I'll bring you home."

916

"Okay, I guess," he said, looking as dejected as she'd ever seen him. When Maggie returned from phoning a relieved Eric, Henry stood and slowly pulled a crumpled envelope from his jeans pocket. "For you," he said, holding it out to her. She withdrew a lacy greeting card from the envelope and only with steel control did she keep from bursting into tears. On the outside of the card in a flowery script were the words "For one who is like a mother to me." She couldn't speak. Only a hug would do.

Chapter Seventeen Huddled in the passenger seat, Henry didn't speak until they'd stopped in Eric's driveway. "I wish you were my mother." Maggie parked, then turned to the pale-faced boy. "Thank you. If I had a son, I'd want him to be just like you." "Do I hafta go in?" "You know the answer. Keep an open mind. She might surprise you." "Okay," he said, climbing from the cab. On the way up the walk, he slipped his hand into hers, a poignant plea for moral support. Eric threw open the door. Gathering Henry in his arms, he said, "Son, I've been so worried." Beyond the two of them, Maggie could see a tall, slender woman with fashion-model good looks standing with her hands clutched together. Maggie approached father and son. "I'll be going now." But before she could stoop to hug Henry, he uttered an explosive "No!" and wrapped his arms around her waist. "You can't go. You promised." Eric caught her eye with a helpless gaze. "Henry, I said I'd bring you home, but now—" He faced his father defiantly. "I'm not going in without Coach." Maggie wanted to run. She had no role in this unfolding drama, no experience to tell her what to say or how to act. "Eric, I'm sorry. I don't know where he got the idea that—" Eric shushed her. "It's okay. Maybe even better if you come in." "Please!" Henry embraced her again. He was trembling, and when she cupped his face in her hands, he felt feverish. Maggie closed her eyes, seeking clarity. She may have no experience, but she did have a lot of love for this little boy. Hopefully that would be enough to guide her. "Okay, Henry, I'll come in, but just for a few minutes." Eric put his arm on the boy's shoulder. "I'll be right here with you, buddy." The three of them entered the living room. "Trisha, this is my friend Maggie. And Henry." He gently shoved his son forward.

917

Maggie held her breath. Trisha crumpled onto the edge of the sofa. "Oh, Eric, he's so big." She held out her arms. "Henry, would you come sit with me?" It was then Maggie noticed that Henry had closed his eyes and was refusing to look at his mother. "Henry," Eric intervened. "Can't you say hello?" Like a wet dog emerging from a pond, Henry shook his head violently back and forth. Maggie watched helplessly. The three of them were frozen in tableau: Trisha, perched on the edge of her seat, tears rolling down her cheeks; Eric, staring at his son with a tortured expression; and Henry, his face scrunched up in denial. Trisha broke the silence. "I shouldn't have come. I thought…it might be different." "What? You thought I'd like you?" Henry's voice was strained as he struggled not to cry. "You didn't want me. So, guess what? I don't want you!" Eric seemed immobilized by his son's vehemence. Maggie wanted to help, but she was afraid she didn't fit in. Afraid she didn't belong. "I'm gonna throw up," Henry mumbled, holding his stomach. Maggie reached his side just as he staggered toward the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie caught Trisha's reaction—regret, helplessness. Supporting the boy, Maggie held him as he got sick. "Oh, Henry," she soothed, "let's get you cleaned up and into bed. You've had a rough day." Eric helped her settle Henry, promising him he didn't have to talk to his mother if he didn't want to. Eric kissed him good-night and left the room, but when Maggie tried to leave, Henry grabbed her hand. "Don't go, Coach." Maggie spoke to him in a calming tone. "Henry, didn't you see? Your mother isn't a monster. She's probably a very lonely woman who realizes she made a big mistake. You don't have to like her, but you might try forgiving her." Henry fixed soulful eyes on her. "She may need love a lot more than you do. It takes a pretty big person to lay anger and hatred aside." She paused to be sure she had his attention. "But I believe you can do that. Will you think about it?" He nodded then closed his eyes. After several minutes, she slipped from the room. Entering the living room, she saw that Eric and Trisha were deep in conversation. She paused briefly to say, "He's sleeping." Then she left. Reviewing the evening on the drive home, she reached an inevitable conclusion. In a matter of hours, everything had changed.

Chapter Eighteen After Maggie left, Eric checked on Henry before returning to settle things with Trisha. They couldn't put Henry through such turmoil again. Without Maggie's soothing presence, awkward as it was, the situation would've been even more difficult. Trisha waited, hands folded in her lap. Beneath her makeup, Eric saw a woman who was a lot less put together than she seemed. Eric selected a chair across the room, struggling to find something to say between the anger and the sympathy he felt toward her.

918

"I should've called." She fingered her scarf. "I'm sorry." He leaned forward. "What is it exactly you are hoping to accomplish here? If it's only curiosity, we're done. You've seen him. It's over." She avoided a direct answer. "Maybe I wasn't cut out for motherhood. I never dealt well with dirty diapers, spinach-covered bibs, tantrums. You were the calm one." She paused. "You've done a good job with him, Eric." It took great restraint to sit there and listen to his ex-wife give him an attaboy. "I'm not interested in the past." She returned to his question. "What do I want? My job's calmed down now, but I still can't be a regular part of his life." Her voice lowered. "Nor do I deserve to be. Maybe you could send pictures, keep me informed?" "I could do that, but any relationship with Henry has to be on his terms." "After tonight, I'm not hopeful about that." So be it. If he could, he'd undo this entire day for his son. Sensing a shift in the room, Eric turned around. Standing bare-footed in the hall was Henry. "Can I come in?" "Certainly." Amazingly, Henry walked over to Trisha and sat down beside her. "Why did you leave me? Didn't you want to be my mother?" Trisha angled herself toward the boy. "It was never about you. I loved you as much as I was capable then of loving anyone." "But you loved your job better'n me, right?" Like a trapped animal, Trisha looked to Eric for help. He said nothing. "I thought if I left it would be better for everyone." She struggled for the right words. "Do you know how hard it is for an eagle to be caged?" Henry stared at her in bafflement. "I guess. They need to be free." "Exactly. I was like a wild bird, needing to fly close to the sun and soar on thermals. Being in the nest wasn't part of my nature." She laid a hand on his knee. He didn't flinch, but looked up as if daring her to go on. "There weren't any easy solutions, but I hurt you then, Henry. I don't want to hurt you now…or ever. If we could, I'd like to phone you sometimes and talk to you. But I won't come see you again until you invite me." She held his gaze then glanced at Eric. "Okay?" "What do you think, Henry?" Eric was on pins and needles, trying to let his son decide what he wanted from his mother. Henry fiddled with a button on his pajama top. "I got something to say." In the tense silence, he turned to Trisha. "I don't know you at all. I don't like what you did to my dad and me. And we do fine without you." He worked his finger through the buttonhole." But I guess I wouldn't be here without you. I don't know if you're a good or bad person. Prob'ly kinda good or you wouldn't have come here. So…I guess I don't hate you. Coach says forgiving is important. I'm gonna think about it." "That's all I can ask," Trisha said. "Could I phone you sometimes?"

919

Henry shrugged. "If you want." "I do." She gathered her purse in her arms. "You're a fine young man, Henry. I know your father is very proud of you." She hesitated. "I am, too." She rose to her feet and faced Eric. "Thank you. I'll go now." At the door, she turned back to Henry. "I'll talk to you soon, Henry." Eric let her out then wrapped Henry in a bear hug. "I've never been prouder of you, son. This was a difficult day." "But Coach made it lots better." I can't agree more. Eric closed his eyes, inhaling the soapy, flannelly smell of his son. He and Henry could live without Trisha. But one thing was certain—they couldn't heal without Maggie.

Chapter Nineteen Bleary-eyed, Maggie tried to concentrate on the paperwork piled on her desk the morning after the debacle at Eric's. She'd lain awake most of the night replaying the scene. Henry had worked himself into an emotional frenzy, Eric had clearly been trapped in an impossible situation, and she herself had no business being any part of it. Above all, the image of the stylishly clad, artfully made up Trisha had haunted her thoughts. Obviously the woman was trying to reestablish a relationship with Eric and Henry. Poor Henry, who wanted a mother more than anything. Shoving aside the drafts of the rec center monthly calendar, she stared out the window at the gathering rain clouds. Henry's Mother's Day card had touched her to the core. Yet the sentiment had made her uncomfortable, especially in light of Trisha's appearance. Irrational as she knew it might be, she couldn't help comparing herself to Trisha. There was a world of difference between the woman's traveled, chic appearance and her own blue-jean-and-sweatshirt wardrobe. If Trisha had attracted Eric at one point, there was no way he could find an outdoor girl like her interesting. Besides, Henry needed time and space to reconnect with his mother. No matter how much she cared for Henry—and Eric—it didn't seem fair to put herself between them and a possible reconciliation with Trisha. And yet, was bowing out, running away, only her way of retreating behind her old defenses? The ring of her phone interrupted her thoughts. Checking the caller ID, she saw it was Eric. She let the call go to the answering machine. She couldn't face him until she got herself straightened out. When his voice filled the room, she gripped the arms of her chair. Maggie, I'm sorry you're not there. I wanted to thank you for helping with Henry last night. You were a godsend. He felt better this morning and even went to school. Any chance you'd be free after work? I need to talk to you. Call me. Her stomach churned. Undoubtedly he wanted to break it off with her. Whatever "it" was. She mentally kicked herself. Dumb, dumb, dumb. For a long time she'd succeeded in protecting herself from the trauma of romance. Now she was knee-deep in it, and it hurt. But that was the price of risking, and in the end, she wouldn't go back to the way she'd been living. On her laptop, she pulled up the website for the Colorado outdoor leadership school. Pristine mountains, rushing trout streams, Alpine flowers.

920

All night she had tried to talk herself into accepting the position there. Bottom line, she'd grown way too attached to Eric and Henry. Wouldn't the unselfish decision be to step back and let them work on bonding with Trisha? Maggie had often heard it said that when one door closes, you need a new door. And that "door" had been offered to her at exactly the right moment. But was going to Colorado her way of closing the door on a life with Eric and Henry? She realized that taking the job would be the easy way out. And she'd never been a coward. She picked up the phone to call her friend in Colorado. Later that afternoon she was in the gym setting up volleyball nets when Chad Larraby stopped by. "There's a rumor going around that you were talking about a job transfer. What's going on?" One of the joys of a small town—you could never keep anything a secret. "A friend offered me a very tempting job in Colorado and I was considering it—" "What? I'm stunned. You're such an important part of this community." He shook his head in disbelief. "Wow. Have you said anything to Eric?" "No, I couldn't phone him until I knew what was in my heart." And, Maggie realized, her heart had known what it wanted all along.

Chapter Twenty Eric glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time. Henry would be home from the rec center soon, and Maggie still hadn't returned his call. Was she avoiding him? Had something happened? Last night had made everything clearer. Trisha would never be the involved, day-to-day mother Henry needed. More important, he'd realized that Maggie was nothing like Trisha. Maggie had handled the situation with grace. He would never forget how tenderly she had cared for Henry, tucking him into bed with a kiss. Eric had wasted too much time being cautious with Maggie. Between her connection with Henry and the way she made him feel, he could do nothing less than pursue her with everything he had. Trisha had betrayed them; Maggie, above all things, was a woman he could trust. Sundance cocked his head and scurried to the front hall, anticipating Henry's arrival. The door burst open and Henry immediately started shouting, his voice panicky. "Dad, you gotta do something. She's leaving." "Who is?" "Coach. She's moving to Colorado." "What? Who told you this?" "Josh. He overheard Coach tell his dad." Eric leaned over, hands on his knees, scarcely able to breathe. "Dad, are you all right?" He straightened up. Henry tossed his backpack on the sofa then grabbed Eric's hand. "C'mon. We gotta stop her. You like her a lot, right?"

921

"Yes, I do." Like wasn't the right word. He was madly in love with the woman. "Then we gotta go to her house and ask her to marry us." Like a breath of cleansing air, the suggestion buoyed Eric. He grinned. "Son, that's exactly what we need to do." That evening, dressed in their Sunday best and bearing a huge bouquet of roses, father and son arrived at Maggie's, unannounced. Amid the yipping of her dogs, she answered the door wearing fuzzy slippers, flannel pajama bottoms and a ribbed T-shirt. "What are you doing here?" Henry beamed. "Bringing you flowers." She ushered them in, then sent the dogs out into the fenced yard. Flustered, she took the bouquet. "Henry, let's find a vase for the roses." While they were in the kitchen, Eric noticed a Mother's Day card lying on the coffee table. "For one who is like a mother to me," he read. Opening it and seeing Henry's scrawled signature, he knew beyond a doubt that he was doing the right thing to propose. Maggie was, indeed, like a mother to his son. Trailed by Henry, who was giving him a thumbs-up, she placed the flowers on the mantel then faced them. "I… I don't know what to say." "Dad does, don't you, Dad?" Summoning all his courage and love, Eric took her by the hand. "Henry and I would like to ask you to please marry us." He could feel her trembling. Before she could say anything, he went on. "We know about the Colorado job. We don't want you to go. Because…" he pulled her into an embrace "…because we need you, we love you. I love you." Maggie allowed herself to be held, then stepped back. "But what about Trisha?" "It's okay now," Henry said, looking up at Maggie. "We decided she'll be my sometimes mother. But you're my everyday mother." Tears pooled in Maggie's eyes. She knelt and took the boy in her arms. "I decided not to take the job. I would much rather take the position of mom." "Does that mean yes?" She stood and laid her palms on Eric's chest. "I can't live without you," she whispered for his ears alone. "Well?" Henry was literally dancing with suspense. Maggie looked from one to the other. "Who wants a silly old job in Colorado anyway? Not when I can have the two of you." "Forever, right?" Henry said, needing reassurance. "Forever," both Maggie and Eric said at the same time.

922

Henry pumped his fist in the air. "Cahoots!"

923

Soul Mates By Lisa Childs Is it possible to love someone so deeply that even death can't keep you apart? Susannah Quist-Carter had found her soul mate in Jordan Rogers when she was fifteen, but a tragic twist of fate had taken him from her. In the years since, she's done her best to move on, but somehow, in her heart, she can't forget Jordan. And then, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death, she meets a man who claims to have Jordan's reincarnated soul. He knows things only Jordan could know and she can't deny that she's drawn to him, but can she believe him? Can she trust him with her life, her heart…and her soul?

Chapter One Pain clutched Susannah Quist-Carter's heart. Twenty-five years had passed. Why did she still hurt so much? Maybe because it was exactly twenty-five years ago today. Her hand trembled as she reached for the keys in the ignition. She should start the car and drive away. Coming here had been a terrible idea. But it hadn't really been an idea; she hadn't thought about it at all, in fact. She'd just slid behind her steering wheel and started driving, as if by instinct. Or perhaps it had been more like a compulsion, like the Grand Haven shore had compelled her to come here today. Or had he? For the past twenty-five years, he had haunted her—a ghost in her heart and on her conscience. No matter how much her father and the psychologist he'd brought her to had tried to convince her that it hadn't been her fault, she had never stopped blaming herself. Her fingers dropped away from the keys. She owed it to him to honor the silver anniversary of his death. She reached now for the flowers that she had bought in the same way she'd driven the two hours west from her home in Lansing to the Lake Michigan shore: as if she'd been following hypnotic commands rather than her own free will. Only if she'd been hypnotized, it had happened twenty-five years ago when she'd stared into a boy's bright blue eyes and fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with him. Her heart still ached with that love…and regret. She had loved him too much, and the burden of those feelings had killed him. She glanced down at the flowers she held. Brown-eyed Susans. On their first date, he had picked the same kind of flowers, with their golden petals and deep brown centers, for her. But he couldn't bring them to her anymore. So she had to bring the flowers here…to him. Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped onto the asphalt. Sand gritted beneath the soles of her shoes. He had died here—in this parking lot, in this very spot. Even though twenty-five years had passed, she remembered in vivid detail how she'd found him. She'd been so young, just fifteen, and so excited that she had run up to the passenger's side door of his car and pulled it open before she'd noticed the blood on the windows. On all the windows…

924

Susannah shuddered. He'd died here. And his mother had spread his ashes in Lake Michigan, sprinkled off the very pier that she now stood in front of. The cool wind picked up, swirling sand across the asphalt. Spring had come late this year, the cold weather hanging on even into May, so the beach and the parking lot were deserted but for her. The cold didn't affect Susannah; she had already been chilled to the bone before she'd stepped out of her car. Her legs trembling, she crossed the boardwalk and climbed the couple of steps to the pier. The brilliant rays of the sun blinded her as it slid slowly from the sky to drop onto the shimmering surface of the water. She closed her eyes, welcoming the heat on her face. But it wasn't just the heat of the sun she felt…but of someone's loving gaze. He was here.

Chapter Two She was here. He'd hoped she would come to him, that the connection between them was as powerful as he had remembered. But it had been twenty-five years. She could have forgotten all about him, or blocked those painful memories from her mind. But here she was, standing before him with her face bathed in the glow of the setting sun. Twenty-five years ago she had been a cute girl with a sprinkle of freckles across her upturned nose. Now she was a woman of such beauty that she took his breath away. Her skin was golden and smooth. Her hair was also golden now, a darker blond than it had been years ago, the color richer and deeper. Instead of falling halfway down her back as it once had, it just skimmed her delicate shoulders as the wind sifted through it. Her eyes were closed, her lashes lying thick and dark against her cheeks. He needed to see into her eyes— into her soul. But she kept them shut, her face lifted to the sun. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to her. It had been so long since he had touched her. He skimmed his fingertips along the edge of her jaw. She gasped, but instead of pulling back she leaned closer, and her breath feathered across his lips. "I must be dreaming," she murmured. "This must be a dream…" His memories of her had always seemed like a dream. But maybe that had been because the memories really weren't his. But she was. It didn't matter how many years had passed since he'd seen her; his soul— his heart—would always know her. But would she know him once she opened her eyes? Would she realize that he was the boy she had once loved? He slid his thumb up over her chin and then across her bottom lip. On a shaky sigh, she parted her lips. But she didn't open her eyes. She just murmured a name. "Jordan…" It wasn't his name anymore. Not in this life… On the outside, he wasn't the man she had loved. She wouldn't recognize his face. But maybe she would recognize his touch. His kiss.

925

He leaned down and closed the distance between his mouth and hers. His hands still cupping her face, he tipped her chin up. Then he brushed his lips gently across hers in a whisper-soft kiss.

Chapter Three Susannah never wanted to awaken; she never wanted this dream to end. It was so real. She could actually feel the warmth of his breath as he sighed against her mouth before deepening the kiss. His lips pressed against hers, parting them. She could taste him—rich, minty and deeply masculine. Masculine? Jordan had tasted of sunshine and soda—like a boy, not a man. Confused, she stepped back, breaking the connection, and opened her eyes. To a stranger. Who the hell had she just kissed? He wasn't a figment from a dream. Or a ghost. Tall and muscular with dark hair and tanned skin, he was flesh and blood. And real. And oddly familiar to her. Somehow, even his kiss and his touch had felt familiar, even though she had never seen him before. He wasn't a boy, as Jordan had been. He wasn't anything like Jordan with his blond hair and twinkling blue eyes. She should have been afraid of this man; he was, after all, a stranger to her. But she was more afraid of her own reaction to him. What the hell had she done? Had she lost her mind? Heat rushed to her face, but it wasn't from the sun. It had already sunk beneath the surface of the lake. She stood now in the twilight, in the shadow of the dark-haired stranger. A stranger who'd touched her. Who'd kissed her. The heat of embarrassment turned to anger. "How dare you!" Not only had he taken advantage of her vulnerability, he'd destroyed the lovely dream she'd been having. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, but his lips curved into a slight grin despite the apology he uttered in a Southern drawl. Her anger increased, warming skin that the brisk wind had chilled. "Why— Why did you kiss me?" "Why did you kiss me back?" he challenged, his gaze intent on her face. "I thought you were someone else." Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away—just as she needed to push away the memories of Jordan again. So many times over the years she had tried to forget about him. She had attempted to move on, as her father had begged her to do. She'd put her poor single father through so much, even after she'd become an adult. Even still, here she was, twenty-five years later, bringing Jordan flowers and imagining him with her, waiting for her, kissing her. And she'd wound up making a fool of herself by kissing some strange man. Her anger faded to regret. She wanted to forget the momentary lapse in judgment had ever happened. But her lips tingled yet and she could still taste him. "I'm sorry." Putting more distance between them, she stepped back again and moved around the man. She wouldn't let whoever he was distract her from the reason she had come. But as she walked to the end of the pier, his footsteps echoed behind her. Was he following her?

926

Don't worry about him. Do what you came to do. The wind whipped around, tugging at her hair and the bouquet of flowers. One brown-eyed Susan wrestled free of her grasp and blew behind her. She didn't glance back. Instead she focused on the water below the pier. Leaning over the railing, she dropped the bouquet of flowers onto the dark surface. "Forgot one," a deep voice murmured. He dangled the lost Susan over her shoulder. Her fingers trembling, she reached for the flower but he held tight to the stem. "I kissed you," he said, "because you're my Susie Q. My own brown-eyed Susan." Jordan's words… They reached inside her, squeezing her heart tight in a painful clasp. How did this man know what she had shared with no one else? She turned toward him, fear squeezing her heart now, and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

Chapter Four He had wanted to see Susannah's eyes again but not like this. Not wide with fear. But there was anger, too, in her gaze and in her flushed skin. "What is your name?" she demanded. "Luke Devereaux." At least, that was his name now. Her brow furrowed as she tried to place him. His pulse quickened at the thought that she might have heard of him. But then, it was quite likely that she had; he was nationally renowned in his field and a bestselling author. But no sense of recognition eased the fear and suspicion in her eyes. "How do you know who I am?" she asked. "I didn't, not for sure," he admitted, "until you showed up here, on this date, with those flowers." He had waited all day for her. And as the hours had dragged on, his hope drained from him. He'd nearly accepted that she'd forgotten all about him. He'd decided to give her until after the sun set…and then she had appeared. Finally. "How do you know about the flowers, about this day?" Her brow furrowed again as she tried to figure out how he could have a dead man's secrets. "Are you a friend of my father?" A bitter laugh caught in his throat. "I was…acquainted with your father…a long time ago. But we were never friends." "Did he tell you about the flowers? Did he know about them?" she asked. "Judge Quist knew about everything." Specifically his only daughter's plan to run away with Jordan Rogers. She shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. My father's never mentioned you. And how would you have been acquaintances long ago? You're not very old." "I'm twenty-five. Today." She sucked in a breath. "Then there's no way you could know anything about…"

927

"The flowers? Your nickname?" It was because he had been born twenty-five years ago today that he did know everything. "Jordan Rogers gave you the flowers and the nickname." She gazed beyond him toward the parking lot and she shuddered. "He died twenty-five years ago today." Apparently she knew where he'd died but what about how? Or why? "Yes—here, in his car." "Are you a reporter or something?" He smiled. In a way, he'd approached his search like a journalist would. It had taken him a while, but he'd learned everything it was possible to learn about the boy who'd died so tragically. The girl had been harder to find. So he'd had to wait for her to come to him. "No, I'm not a reporter," he said. She shook her head, dismissing his claim. "Then how is it that you have so much information about Jordan? He died so long ago, and you were just born when he died. You couldn't know about the kind of flowers he brought me, or the nickname he called me." Her breath hitched. "There's no way you could know because I never told anyone. Not even my dad…" "There is one way I could know," he said. She stared up at him, her brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And what's that?" "Because I am Jordan Rogers." He'd no sooner uttered the claim than his head snapped back, his cheek stinging from the blow she'd delivered.

Chapter Five Susannah's fingers tingled, her palm numb from the force of the slap she'd dealt this stranger. This probably dangerously deranged stranger. But she was too mad to be frightened at the moment. Plus her instincts—the same ones that had drawn her to the pier today—assured Susannah that he wouldn't hurt her. At least not physically… "Stop it!" she yelled. "Stop lying!" "I'm not lying," he said, his voice calm and his dark eyes full of sincerity. Her palm itched to slap him again. "Stop playing this sick game with me!" "This is no game, Susie Q." "Don't call me that! You have no right to call me that. Only Jordan could use that nickname and you're not Jordan!" The boy she'd loved had died, and for this man to pretend to be him was just cruel. Especially today of all days. "I may not be Jordan in this life," he said. "But I was in my last life." Her head pounded with confusion. "That makes no sense." "It makes perfect sense," he insisted, "if you believe in reincarnation."

928

She hugged herself, chilled by the cold evening breeze and his words. "Reincarnation? That's nonsense." "Is it? You don't think it could be possible?" he asked, his Southern drawl evaporating with the intensity of his voice. "No. It goes against how I was raised." After her mother's death when Susannah was three, her father had raised her alone. As a judge, Clarence Quist believed strictly in right and wrong, black and white, what could be scientifically proven. He'd been an exact but loving father. "You mean it goes against how the judge raised you, by his beliefs," he said. "Then you do know my father," she said. But how? The two men obviously had nothing in common. Could her father have counseled Luke? Over the years he'd worked with wayward teenagers, guiding them to get their lives on track again. He shook his head. "I just have Jordan's memories of him." A muscle twitched along the man's jaw, which was darkening with stubble. He stepped closer. "Just like I have Jordan's memories of you." Susannah backed away, unable to accept what he was saying. She had been through too much today, too many emotions and old memories. And that kiss… His eyes glittered as if he was remembering that kiss, too. But that was his memory, Luke's, not Jordan's. She had been Jordan's. Not his. "I don't understand what you're saying…" "The day Jordan Rogers died, I was born," he said, "with his soul." "This is too much," she said as she began to shiver from the cold and the possibilities. "Too incredible." "You won't consider that I might be telling the truth?" "I can't…" She'd already lost Jordan once. Already mourned him for so long. No, she couldn't consider that he might have come back, because it meant she could lose him all over again. "I just can't deal with this…" Like she had before, she stepped around him. But he didn't let her pass him this time. He caught her arm, his fingers warm and strong. "And I can't let you go." Her heart thudded fast and hard with fear. Had her instincts been wrong? Was he dangerous? She glanced around the pier but it was still deserted, no cars but hers in the parking lot. How had he arrived if he'd not driven himself? No one walked the beach or the boardwalk. She was completely alone with him. "I've looked for you for years, Susie. Don't leave me now." "I'm sorry. But you have to let me go."

Chapter Six Luke had let Susannah go. He'd had no choice; he'd already scared her too much. Forcing her to stay with him, to listen to him, would never have convinced her that he spoke the truth. She would have never looked at him and seen the boy she loved; she would just have seen Luke Devereaux as a dangerous stranger.

929

So the only way to prove to her that he wasn't a threat had been to let her walk away. And she had, without hesitation. He should have known that, being raised as strictly as she had been by the judge, she would never believe that he had Jordan's reincarnated soul. She would never be able to accept that reincarnation was even a possibility. Maybe if she'd given him a chance to prove it… But she'd left him, even as his lips still tingled from that kiss and his guts were still knotted with longing. Seeing her, touching her, tasting her, had proven to him that he was right—even though she was still living their old life and he'd passed to the next, they were still soul mates. If he couldn't convince her of that in this life, he might have to wait for another…or another…to find her again. Luke clutched the glass he held, tempted to hurl it into the fireplace of the room he'd rented in a B&B in Grand Haven. "Hell, no!" No way in hell could he wait for her. Not after that kiss, not after knowing that passion still burned between them, its flame hotter and brighter than the fire crackling in the hearth. But what if she had moved on? She had lived twenty-five years after his death; she had probably married someone else. Maybe she even thought that man was her soul mate. But no, if she believed that, she wouldn't have come to the pier today, with those flowers. She wouldn't have honored the anniversary of Jordan's death if she had forgotten all about him. But if she had really loved Jordan, if she'd really believed he was her soul mate, why hadn't she met him the day that he'd died? How different things might have been for them if only Susannah had come…instead of the judge. Why hadn't she come? Luke should have asked her that. Instead he'd let her walk away. But he'd find her again. He knew the car she'd been driving and had committed the license number to memory. The plate had an emblem from a Michigan college on it. That might help him track her down. Maybe if he walked down to the police department and explained his story, someone might be willing to help him. He could bring a copy of his book and explain the situation…. It was a long shot, but he had to try. Excited now, he opened the door— To Susannah. She stood in the hall. Neither of her hands was raised to knock, both were clasped together as if she had actually stopped herself. He didn't care. She was here.

Chapter Seven What the hell was she doing here? This wasn't like her earlier drive to Grand Haven or when she'd purchased the flowers. It wasn't as if something had called her to him. It wasn't… Because then that might mean that there was something to his claim that he had the reincarnated soul of the love of her life, Jordan Rogers.

930

And that wasn't possible. He was lying, and she wanted to find out why. That was the reason she had returned to the pier after driving away, and why she'd followed him as he'd walked to the nearby bed-and-breakfast in an old Victorian house with clapboard siding and gingerbread trim. The inside of the inn was no less impressive, with its antiques and brocade furniture. Beyond Luke's broad shoulders and lean frame, she could see a fire casting a glow across a canopy bed. Why had he booked such a romantic place? Had he expected her to fall for his outrageous story? But why her? What would he want with her? "I can't believe you're here," he said, his dark eyes burning as hot and bright as the fire. "I thought you didn't believe me…" "I don't." He rubbed his hand along his jaw, which was even more shadowed with stubble now. "Then why are you here?" Anger bristled in her again, stealing away her common sense. She shouldn't have come to some stranger's room. But she had to know. So when he stepped back, she went inside and let him shut the door behind her—closing her in with the bed and the fire and him. She swallowed down the nerves that rose to her throat, threatening to choke her. "I want to know why you're lying." "I'm not," he replied so calmly and reasonably that he almost made her believe him. "But it's impossible…" "It would be impossible for me to know what I do about you if I didn't have Jordan's soul and his memories of you." Out on the pier he hadn't been as intimidating, hadn't seemed as big as he did inside the cozy room. Luke filled the space and her senses. She struggled to draw a deep breath. "He picked you those brown-eyed Susans the first time you went out. You met him in secret, sneaking out of the house behind your father's back because the judge thought you were too young to date." "I was." Too young for all the things she'd done with Jordan Rogers. Too young to fall hopelessly in love with him… "Maybe," he agreed. "He was too young to die." Tears stung her eyes. "Yes, he was. And he wouldn't have died had I not disobeyed my father." She'd broken her father's heart; things between them had never been the same after what had happened with Jordan, even though Dad had continued to be there for her, as he had always been. "But your feelings were too powerful to ignore," he reminded Susannah, as if he really had been there, as if he had really been Jordan.

931

"The feelings were powerful," she admitted. She had never experienced anything as powerful…until that kiss on the pier. "They still are," he said, as if he'd read her mind. "The feelings are still here." He touched his chest, rubbing a knuckle over his black sweater. Then he reached for her, touching a fingertip to her heart. It thudded against her ribs in reaction, and she sucked in a breath. She needed to step back. Needed to run for the door and leave. But common sense had truly deserted her. She stayed right where she was, with his hand on her heart.

Chapter Eight Luke's heart pounded hard and fast. She was so close to him. All he had to do was crook his finger into her sweater and tug her closer yet. Close enough to kiss. But as he lowered his head, she stepped back suddenly and broke the connection between them. "No. The only thing I feel for you is suspicion," she said. "I don't know how you're doing this…how you can be telling me things that only I and…" "Jordan would know," he finished for her when she trailed off, her brown eyes wide with wonder. His heart rate increased. Maybe she was beginning to believe him. "Did Jordan have a journal? Did you somehow get your hands on his things?" she asked. He couldn't lie to her even though it might destroy her still-tentative trust in him. "I did get some of his stuff from his mother," he admitted. She sucked in a breath. "But he didn't keep a journal. His mother laughed when I asked if he had." Susannah's generous lips curved into a slight smile. "He wasn't the type to write down his thoughts." Her smile faded. "But you must have found something in his things…something that would explain how you know so much about him. About us." Luke reached behind him and grabbed a book off the desk near the door. Then he held it out to her. She hesitated before taking it from him, as if she didn't trust that it was just a book. It wasn't just a book, though. It was the explanation to the truth she was struggling so hard to accept. She glanced down at the cover. "The Reality of Reincarnation by Dr. Luke Devereaux." Her throat rippled as she swallowed. "That's you?" She flipped to the title page. "This was published four years ago. How did you have your doctorate already?" "I graduated high school at fourteen, undergraduate at seventeen and had my doctorate by twenty." She lifted her eyebrows as if doubting him. "It's true. You'll read it in the foreword. I'm kind of brilliant." "But Jordan…" "Had barely been passing his high school classes. I got Jordan's soul, but my DNA came from my parents in this life. I explain it all in the book. Read it."

932

"I'll just take it and go, then." He stepped in front of her, blocking her escape. "No." He wasn't letting her walk away again. "Read it here." "I— I can't stay here." His doubts about whether she had another man in her life surfaced again. "Do you have to get back home? Is there someone waiting for you there?" She opened her mouth. "I should lie. I should tell you that I've already been missed and someone will be looking for me." "Or waiting up for you?" She shook her head. "I live alone. Now." Which meant she hadn't always…

Chapter Nine Susannah was alone. Sitting on Luke's bed, next to the warmth of his fire, reading his book. Even though he'd left her, she felt closer to him now than she had on the pier or when he'd touched her heart. Because she was seeing inside his heart now. In addition to writing this book, he was a professor like her. She taught statistics at Michigan State. He taught philosophy at a university in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, not far from where he'd been born. She read aloud from the foreword a quote from the midwife who'd helped deliver him. "Luke Devereaux came into this world two months early, impatient to finish whatever he'd left undone from his previous life." Her. He'd left her undone. The doorknob rattled and then the door opened. Luke juggled a tray in one hand while he pulled the door closed with his other hand. "There's a guest kitchen," he said. "The refrigerator was pretty well stocked. I made sandwiches and sliced up some fruit." Susannah's stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten at all that day. She'd been too consumed with grief to think about food. On the anniversary, her father would usually come over and make sure she'd eaten—taking care of her as he always had. He was probably going out of his mind wondering where she was. Or, being Dad, he undoubtedly already knew. Luke set the tray on the bed next to her; along with the sandwiches, there were also two glasses of pale wine. Her mouth suddenly dry, she picked up one of the glasses and sipped the tart wine. "I heard you reading Nana's quote," he said with a grin. "The midwife is your nana?" She reached now for the fruit, popping a piece of sliced kiwi into her mouth. The sweet juice squirted across her tongue. "Yes, my grandmother. She's a midwife and a witch," he replied matter-of-factly. "What?" She must have heard him wrong. Or the wine already had her ears buzzing.

933

"Nana Devereaux has special powers for healing and seeing," he said with obvious pride and complete acceptance. "She helped me figure out to whom my soul belonged." "Jordan." Luke settled onto the bed on the other side of the tray, but he was still too close. "You believe me now?" "I can't deny that you know things…" Things no one but she and Jordan had known. She hadn't ever talked to anyone about Jordan—not even the psychologist her father had brought her to. The memories had been too painful to relive, the loss still too fresh no matter how many years had passed since his senseless death. "But you never mention how he died." And if he really had Jordan's soul, wouldn't he remember that? Or had he blocked it out, just like she wished she could block it out? "He died a long time ago. I didn't want to open old wounds," he said. "I didn't want to hurt anyone." It was too late for that; Susannah hadn't stopped hurting since he died. "Then you do remember…" He lifted his fingers to his right temple and pushed back a lock of glossy black hair. A faint ridge puckered the flesh. "How— How did you get that?" The scar was in the exact same place that Jordan had pressed the barrel of a gun when he'd killed himself. "I brought it with me from Jordan's life. I was born with it. Nana mentions it in the book. It's how we found Jordan." "Oh, my God," she breathed as acceptance finally chased away the last of her doubts and suspicions. "You really have Jordan's soul." He leaned over the tray and cupped her cheek. "My soul actually belongs to you, Susannah."

Chapter Ten Didn't she feel it, too? The connection, the pull between them, was so strong that it took all of Luke's control not to throw the tray aside and make love to her. To just lay her back on the bed, strip off her clothes, bury himself deep inside her and claim what was his. Susannah was his. But her eyes were wide again—not with fear or suspicion but something far more frightening: concern. "How can you be so sure?" she asked. "I thought I convinced you—" She pressed her fingers over his lips. "You have. I believe that you lived before, that you were Jordan. But how can you be so sure of me?" His temple pounded now, right where that old scar tightened the skin. "You're Susannah Quist—" "Not of who I am, but what I meant to Jordan—to you. Why are you so sure I'm your soul mate?" "You and Jordan were deeply in love." So much so that his heart swelled with the emotion even now, aching with the intensity of it. "We were kids," she said with a sad smile. "We were too young to understand what love really is."

934

"If that wasn't love, what was it?" he pressed. "Infatuation. Puppy love. We would have eventually outgrown it and each other." "That's Judge Quist talking." Her face flushed, but he already knew it was true because her father had said the same words directly to Jordan. "He was right," she said, defending the only parent she remembered. "We were so young…" Was that why she had changed her mind about meeting him that day? Was that why she'd changed her mind about them? "If you were over Jordan, why did you come today?" he asked. "Because he was too young to die." She drew in a deep breath. "And because I feel responsible." "You didn't pull the trigger," he reminded her. She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block out the pain. "I might as well have put the gun in his hand…" His hand… Then she knew the truth of what had happened? And she'd chosen her father over Jordan? "Maybe you're right," he said, defeat bowing his shoulders. "Maybe you're not my soul mate." Susannah opened her eyes then and stared up at him in surprise, as if she hadn't expected him to give up so easily. He hadn't expected it himself. But she'd just answered the question that had haunted Luke since he'd recovered the memories of Jordan's tragically short life. "You didn't come that day," he said, "the day I died—the day we were supposed to run away together. You didn't come." And maybe because of that, he shouldn't have come back now…to her.

Chapter Eleven Tears of frustration and loss stung Susannah's eyes. "I did come to you that day. I was there," she said. His jaw clenched, he shook his head. "No, I ran to the pier…" With so much excitement and hope for their future. "To your car…" Tears shook her voice now. "But you were already gone." He studied her face and shuddered. "You saw…" She nodded. Then he was pushing aside the tray and pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry." "You didn't wait for me." She clutched at his shoulders, digging her fingers into his soft sweater. "I know I was late…"

935

Her father had locked her in her room. She'd had to crawl out the window on the second story, climb over the porch roof and down a trestle to the ground. "But you should have known I was coming," she continued. "You should have known…if we were truly soul mates." He leaned back and cupped her face in his palms, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "Susannah—" She smacked his shoulder with her hand. "Why didn't you wait for me?" "You think I left you on purpose?" he asked. "That I chose to leave you?" Her heart clutched. "You mean… You didn't kill yourself?" "Kill myself? Why would you think that I would do that?" he asked. "I had everything to live for. We'd made plans. We were going to run away. We were going to be together forever." If she'd had any doubts left that he had Jordan's soul, they would have been banished by his words. No one but she and Jordan had known about their plan. Sure, her father had suspected, but she'd never admitted anything to him. "That's what I believed, too," she said. "But by the time I got there, you were dead. And I thought that it had all been too much for you, that I had put too much pressure on you." "And I thought that was why you didn't show, that running away had been all my idea and you really didn't want to go along with it," he said, "that it was too much for you." "Finding you like that…" Her heart clutched with pain that still felt fresh even after all these years. "…that was too much for me." The grief and guilt had nearly stolen her sanity, probably would have had she not had another reason to hold herself together. Luke leaned closer. Pressing his forehead against hers, he stared deeply into her eyes. "I would never have chosen to leave you." Then he kissed her, his lips so gentle against hers. But the passion that still burned so hot between them ignited and the kiss deepened. She lost herself in sensation and desire for a moment before what he'd told her sank in. Reluctant to break their connection, even for a moment, she forced herself to pull back. She had to know the truth. "Are you saying that you didn't commit suicide?" "No." His dark eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I was murdered."

Chapter Twelve Susannah's gasp echoed in the room that was quiet but for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. "You were murdered?" Luke silently cursed himself for telling her that. But he couldn't let her continue believing that he'd chosen to leave her, or blame herself for putting too much pressure on him. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "But the police and the coroner ruled your death a suicide." "They shouldn't have," he said. Though he understood why they had; they'd been protecting a friend. "Forensically, the evidence didn't add up."

936

"What didn't add up?" she asked. "How did a left-handed kid shoot himself in the right temple?" Of course the coroner's report had been altered to say that Jordan had been right-handed. His mother had remarked about the discrepancy when she'd given Luke a copy of the report. She hadn't been able to look at the report after Jordan's death, and afterward she hadn't thought the error mattered. Susannah's face flushed. "Of course. Jordan was left-handed. I should have realized that that didn't make sense." "You were a kid," he reminded her. "And you must have been devastated by what you saw." Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. "I'll never get that image out of my head. There was so much blood…" "I see it, too," he confessed. "It was one of my earliest memories." Of hovering above his own dead body. He used to wake up screaming with that picture in his mind. If not for Nana's gifts, everyone might have thought he was crazy. "There were other things that didn't add up," he continued. "Like why a kid who had everything to live for would end it all." "Everything?" she asked, her eyes wide with hope. "You," he said simply. "You were everything." Her breath caught and she leaned into him, brushing her lips across his. "You were everything to me, too. Did you see who did it? Who took you from me?" she asked. Then her eyes clouded with confusion. "Who took Jordan from me?" He didn't want to hurt her, but he suspected that deep down she already knew who had pulled the trigger. Maybe she had always known. He couldn't keep it from her. "Think about it, Susannah. Who had the influence to cover up a murder?" he asked. "Who was it that never wanted you to be with Jordan?" "Wait, what are you saying?" She pulled back, but at that moment more than physical distance separated them. She understood exactly what he was saying. "Are you accusing my father of murder?" She stood up, but her legs trembled and she swayed on her feet. "My father would never kill anyone! You're a liar—just like I thought you were!" "You know I'm not lying," he said, his heart hurting that she could believe he would. "You know your father is the one who pulled that trigger. You just don't want to face it." "No!" She shook her head. "You're the one I can't face. I can't look at you. I can't be with you! I'm leaving!" As she walked past him, he caught her hand, trying to physically keep her with him. But she tugged free of his grasp and walked to the door. Years of searching, of hoping to reconnect with his soul mate, and she was about to slip away from him.

Chapter Thirteen "How can you just walk away?" Luke asked aloud the question echoing inside Susannah's mind and heart. "In our last life, I thought you'd chosen your father over me when you didn't show that day at the pier. I realize that wasn't true then, but what about now? You're choosing him over me in this life."

937

Susannah wasn't choosing anyone; she was just trying to keep her sanity. And to do that, she had to escape this room and these accusations. And this man. "I accept that you have Jordan's soul," she said, her fingers still tingling from the touch of his hand as he'd tried to hold her back. He'd let go, but she couldn't bring herself to take those last few steps to the door. Not yet. "But I didn't even know him for very long, not like I know my father." "Because your time with Jordan was cut short," he interrupted. She ignored his too-true comment. "You're a stranger to me. How do you expect me to believe you," she asked, her heart breaking with the possibility that he could be telling the truth, "over my father, who has stood beside me my whole life? He's a good man. An honest man. He gave up his job so that we could move away, so that I didn't have to be near the scene of the greatest tragedy of my life. He would never do anything to hurt anyone, especially not me." And losing Jordan had nearly destroyed her. "Are you sure that he quit his job and moved just for you? It wasn't maybe because he'd committed a crime and had covered it up? Consider it, Susannah. He didn't want to lose you," Luke said, his dark eyes filling with concern for her. "Somehow he figured out our plan to run away, and he had to stop it. He had to stop you from leaving him like your mother had." She flinched at the pain that stabbed her. Dad had often remarked that he couldn't live without her, and she had promised him that he never would. But if he'd really done this… A cry slipped through her lips. Luke jumped to his feet and reached out for her. "I'm so sorry." "No!" She pulled back before he could touch her and scramble her senses any more than he already had. "I can't believe this. Any of this." "I can show you the coroner's report—" "Not just the murder. You. Me. This whole soul mates thing." She shook her head. "It's not real. None of this can be real." She had to be dreaming, only dreaming. "I've been searching for you for years," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "And the minute you stepped out of your car in the parking lot near the pier, I knew I'd found you at last." A muscle twitched along his cheek. "I won't let anything keep us apart again." She reached up and skimmed her palm across his cheek, which was rough with stubble. Her skin tingled. "This is all too much. Couples who've known each other for years couldn't overcome all the things against us," she reasoned. The murder. Their age differences. Past lives and future lives. "And we've barely met." "People who fall in love at first sight don't know each other. It's their hearts and souls calling out to each other. You're my soul mate, Susannah. You can't deny that." He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. "You can't deny the passion that burns between us." No, she couldn't deny that. Nor did she want to. She lifted her arms to slide around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. She wouldn't fight the passion any longer.

938

Chapter Fourteen Luke had Jordan's memories of Susannah. Of making love with the girl who'd loved him so generously. But he hadn't actually lived those experiences. He hadn't felt her silky skin or the warmth of her breath and her body. So he savored those sensations now, as he caressed and kissed every inch of skin he exposed. Lifting her sweater, he pressed kisses against her rib cage, then lower on the soft swell of her abdomen. His lips skimmed over the ridge of an old scar and he stilled, his muscles tensing. "You were hurt?" Susannah stared down at Luke where he knelt in front of her. She shook her head. "It's a C-section scar." "You had a child?" Hell, she could have had several over the past twenty-five years. He shouldn't have been so naive and idealistic to think that she might have waited all this time for him. "I had our child," she said. He lurched to his feet, his head light with shock. "What?" Color flushed her face as she clarified, "Well, Jordan's child." Shock slammed his heart against his ribs. "But I thought… I thought you aborted the baby you were carrying." "Why would you think that? You knew how much I wanted our baby. It was why we needed to run away, so that my father wouldn't force me to…" He pushed a slightly trembling hand through his hair. "When you didn't show up that day, I assumed he had talked you into it. He told me he'd talked you into it." Right before he'd pulled the trigger. She flinched with pain over what her father had done. But had she really accepted it yet? Could she accept it and Luke? But at the moment he was burning with another question. "I—I have a child?" "She's not really yours." "She?" "She's Jordan's daughter." A smile curved her lips. "In nearly every way. I even named her Jordyn." "You had a baby girl." She sighed. "I almost lost her, too, that day that I found Jordan in the car. But she fought for her chance to live and she gave me a reason to carry on." "So the judge changed his mind about the abortion?" She shuddered. "Not really. But I gave him no choice." Her lips curved into a slight smile again. "And once she was born, he fell in love with her. He doted on her and spoiled her rotten." Probably out of guilt. Defending either her daughter or her father, Susannah added, "But she grew into a wonderful young woman."

939

"Tell me about her." About everything he had missed. "She's very athletic and energetic. She's a personal trainer and licensed dietician. She's just become engaged to a man from her running club." "She's getting married?" "Next year." If things had been different, he would have been walking her down the aisle to her groom. But instead he'd been murdered.

Chapter Fifteen At the thought of her daughter—just six months younger than Luke—Susannah realized what a fool she had been. To consider, even for a moment, that she and Luke could be together? Again… She had accepted Luke Devereaux had been her love in a previous life, but she couldn't expect anyone else to accept it. Especially not their daughter. "She's almost the same age you are," she reminded him. "She'll never understand. She'll never believe you…" "I convinced you." "I don't want to upset her." "We don't have to tell her now," he said. "But I'd like to get to know her. I don't have any kids." And if he really wanted her, he never would. "I can't have any more," she admitted. "There were complications when I had Jordyn." He cupped her face in his wide palms. "That doesn't matter." "It mattered to my ex." And a few other men over the years. "I couldn't give him a child of his own, and it ended our marriage." "Jordyn is my child," Luke said. A pang of guilt struck her heart. "I've never told her very much about her father. It was too hard for me to talk about, to relive." Her breath shuddered out. "That was selfish of me. She deserved to know everything about her father." "Maybe you couldn't tell her because you couldn't face everything you knew about him…like the truth of how he died?" She sucked in a breath of pain. "I'm not even sure now." How could she believe her father—who'd doted on her and Jordyn both—had killed the man she'd loved? Had killed Jordyn's father? "You just don't want to accept it," he said.

940

Another horrifying thought occurred to her. Did Luke intend to send her father to prison for a twenty-fiveyear-old murder? Watching her suffer after Jordan's death had aged him; he was already an old man. Prison would be a death sentence. "You're right, I can't accept any of this," she said. This time she headed toward the door without hesitation. "This—us—it's impossible." "Are you like my nana?" Luke asked. She turned back to him and studied him through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?" "Well, you must be psychic, since you're so convinced that we'd never work," he said as he closed the distance between them, "without even giving us a chance." "I can't…" "There's nothing we can't work through," he vowed, his deep voice vibrating with frustration. "The past doesn't matter." "It does," she said. If he thought she would let him send her father to prison… "You can't let it go, or you wouldn't be here." But was he here for her, or for justice? "I can't let you go," he said. She shook her head, unable to believe him. Unable to believe any of it. Her father couldn't be a killer. She refused to believe the man who'd raised her by himself, who'd given up so much for her, could have hurt her the most. It was easier to believe that Luke was the one hurting her. It was easier to leave him.

Chapter Sixteen Luke cursed himself for losing his patience and his common sense. He shouldn't have told Susannah that Judge Quist—her father—had shot Jordan Rogers to stop her from running away with him. Telling her what her father had done had instead made her run away from Luke. So what the hell was he still doing in Grand Haven? He should go home to Baton Rouge. She had run out of his room days ago, and he hadn't heard from her since. He didn't expect to. As she'd said, it was impossible—even more so now that she knew what her father had done. Not that she'd believed Luke. He had asked too much of her. It had been enough that she'd believed who he was—or, rather, who he had been. It had been pushing it to expect more, to expect her to forsake her father and the life she'd built over the past twenty-five years for him. As she'd said, they were strangers. She had loved Jordan Rogers; she didn't know or trust Luke Devereaux. He'd been too greedy, wanting all of her. Now he had none of her. It was time to go home. He'd packed the rental car and booked his flight. This was his last stop, here at the pier. He leaned over the railing to stare down into the water. The thick clouds roiling in the sky darkened the surface of the lake. None of the flowers she'd dropped into the water still floated on the surface; they'd all sunk down into the depths, like Jordan's ashes.

941

He had Jordan's soul and his memories. But she was right; Jordan was gone. Luke couldn't live out the life the kid would have had. Maybe it was time Luke started living his own life. It didn't matter that his soul called out for Susannah. It didn't matter that even his heart ached for her. She had run away from him. He needed to accept that she was never going to be his. He hadn't just lost his last life twenty-five years ago; he'd lost his soul mate. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the railing to head toward the parking lot where the rental had been parked alone. Except it wasn't alone anymore. And neither was he. Susannah stood in the middle of the pier, the cool breeze tousling her silky blond hair. And just like the last time they had met here, she walked right into his arms. But her eyes were open now, staring straight into his. She lifted her arms around his neck. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, pulling his head down for her kiss. He had to be dreaming….

Chapter Seventeen Luke had given up on her. Susannah had seen it on his face when he'd turned away from the railing and started toward the parking lot. She couldn't blame him, but she'd still been disappointed that he'd given up so easily. She'd also been relieved that she'd caught him before he'd left for good. And so she'd launched herself at him. His arms closed tight around her, holding her close against his madly pounding heart. He kissed her hungrily, as if it had been twenty-five years since last their lips had met instead of just days. But given what Susannah had been through in the past three days, it felt like it had been years. Years of shock and misery and loss. She trembled against him and he lifted his head, breaking the contact between their clinging lips. Panting for breath, he asked, "Are you all right?" "No," she admitted. "Are you cold?" he asked as the wind whipped around them. "We can go sit in the car." Wrapped up tight in his arms, she was warm physically. But she'd frozen her emotions out of selfpreservation—until now. Until she'd pressed her mouth to his. His kiss had thawed her emotions and they overwhelmed her with their intensity. She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears leaked out, streaming down her face. His hands, trembling slightly, cupped her cheeks. And his thumbs gently wiped away her tears. "What's wrong? Susannah, what's wrong?" "You checked out of the B&B. You were leaving," she said, her voice cracking as she choked on the tears she couldn't keep at bay anymore, "me…"

942

"I didn't think you were coming back," he said, his dark eyes full of wonder that she had. "I thought you were gone to me forever, that you would never accept what I had told you." "I already had." "You accepted that I was Jordan. But what I revealed about your father was too much of a burden to put on you. I shouldn't have told you. I didn't want to hurt you—" She pressed her fingers over his lips. "You did the right thing. You knew he was the one. And deep down inside, I think I knew, too. I just needed someone to push me to face it." His lips moved against her skin as he said, "I'm sorry." "Me, too," she murmured. "But we can all put it behind us now. He turned himself in." "He didn't have to do that," Luke assured her. "The investigation of Jordan's death never would have been reopened. No authorities would have believed I was an eyewitness to what happened." "No," she agreed. "But if you pointed out that a left-handed kid wouldn't have shot himself in the right temple, it might have been." "I won't say anything to anyone. He can come home." She shook her head, which ached from sleeplessness and stress and an exhaustion that was both mental and physical. The confrontation with her father had been emotional and the subsequent days of police and lawyers and reporters had drained her. Her legs weakened and folded beneath her. But Luke caught her, swinging her up in his strong arms.

Chapter Eighteen Was he dreaming? Even though he was awake, watching her sleep, he wondered. Could she really be in his bed, lying between his sheets, her head on his chest? She'd been so exhausted that she'd nearly fainted back on the pier. So he'd brought her to the inn, grateful that a new guest hadn't booked his room. He'd convinced her to lie down, that they would talk after she'd rested. Then he'd started a fire to warm her up. But she'd continued to tremble, even in her sleep, so he'd crawled between the covers, too, and pulled her into his arms. She'd curled against his chest. His every muscle tensed at her closeness, but his heart was too full of love and concern for his desires to matter. If the dark circles beneath her eyes were any evidence, she hadn't had much sleep since he'd seen her last. When he'd thought he'd seen her for the last time. Susannah had been right to be upset with him for almost leaving. He should have had more faith in her; he should have realized that she would come back to him, just as he had come back to her despite his murder. And she'd had another reason to be upset. Her father, the man she'd both worshipped and feared, wasn't who she'd always believed he was. He couldn't imagine the depth of her pain and betrayal. A soft fingertip pressed between his brows. "You're only twenty-five and you already have that stress line," she murmured sleepily. "You shouldn't worry so much."

943

"I worried that I'd never find you," he admitted. "And then that you would never accept who I was." "You worried for nothing," she assured him. "Now I'm worried about you." She ran her finger down the side of his face to his lips. "Don't be. I'm okay." "But your dad…" "Was relieved to finally admit the truth," she said with a soft sigh. "After I left you, I went home. He was waiting for me." Her voice cracked with emotion. "When he hadn't heard from me for a while, he became concerned. He does love me." Luke nodded. "I know." Judge Quist wasn't a bad man. He'd just done a bad thing so that he wouldn't lose what had mattered the most to him. Susannah. "And I used that love to get him to confess," she said, her brown eyes darkening with guilt. A gasp of surprise slipped through Luke's lips. "You did what?" "I made him realize that he had to turn himself in," she said. "He should go to prison for what he did to Jordan." "But…" "You were right to want justice, Luke," she said, her voice echoing hollowly in the bedroom. "And now you're getting justice." But at what cost? To have justice, would he lose Susannah to guilt and resentment? Would he lose what mattered most to him?

Chapter Nineteen Susannah studied Luke's handsome face, unable to read his emotions. He was entitled to triumph, even to joy, but he just looked stunned. "I didn't want this," he said. Then he shook his head. "Well, I did. I wanted justice. I wanted revenge. But I was willing to put all that aside for you. You're all that matters to me." And that was why she loved him. He cared more for her feelings than his own. And so had her father. "It's all right. He really was relieved to finally admit the truth," she said. "Like you, he thought I had always known. The guilt has been eating him alive for twenty-five years." "Do you need help with anything?" She shook her head. "He pled guilty at his arraignment. The judge, a friend of his, sentenced him to a secure facility so that he won't be in any danger from inmates he might have put away. And he'll have counseling available. It took a few days for his arraignment to be scheduled, that's why I took so long to return." "You always intended to come back?" She sighed and admitted, "No. I still thought it was impossible. But Jordyn convinced me that none of that craziness matters."

944

Her poor daughter had had so much to absorb when Susannah had told her about everything—her father and her grandfather. But Jordyn was wise beyond her years. Like Luke, she undoubtedly had an old soul, and she'd overcome the shock and strangeness and had accepted everything much faster than Susannah had. "The only thing that matters, to her and to me, is that I spend the rest of my life with my soul mate." His breath audibly caught. "You told her?" She smiled. "She actually had no problem believing it—believing in you. She knows she found her soul mate in her fiancé. She's glad that you found me again." But Susannah wasn't sure…did Luke still want her given the way she'd left him? She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. When it came, it left her no doubts that he wanted her. He kissed her with all that passion that burned between them. The pressure of his lips parted hers, and then his tongue slid across her bottom lip and into her mouth. Her heart pounded with desire and love. Denied each other for so long, they tugged at buttons and zippers, stripping each other of their clothes. Naked skin skimmed over naked skin as they entwined their bodies. His thigh slid between her legs, teasing her with an intimate caress. Then his hand replaced his leg, stroking the most secret part of her. His lips skimmed from her mouth, down her throat to the curve of her breasts. He lavished both with attention, kissing the mounds that heaved with her ragged breaths. She couldn't keep her hands off him, either, gliding her palms down his muscular arms and chest to his washboard abs. And then lower as she closed her hand around him. He groaned and warned, "Careful. Not so fast." "I've waited twenty-five years. I don't want to wait another second to be as close as we once were." He needed no further urging. He parted her legs and thrust inside her. Again and again. Pleasure spiraled through her and she screamed his name.

Chapter Twenty "Luke! Luke!" Susannah screamed his name. Not Jordan's. His heart filled with love, relief and a passion so intense that he lost all control. With a guttural groan of ecstasy, he filled her. She clutched him close, her arms wrapped tight around him. "That was…" "Like coming home," he murmured, rolling to his side with her clasped against his sweat-slick chest. She tensed as she reminded him, "You missed your flight to Louisiana." "Yes, I did." "You'll have to book another flight." He smiled. "I will, but next time I'll get two tickets. I'd like to take you home with me. I want you to meet my family." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "I'd like that, but I don't know when I can join you. I have to take care of some things for my father and help Jordyn with her wedding."

945

"What exactly do you mean by join me?" "Your life is in Baton Rouge," she said. "Your family. I don't expect you to give all that up for me." He laughed. "I would give up everything that I have—that I am—for you." "I don't want you to do that," she insisted. "I'll join you in Baton Rouge after I've taken care of everything in Lansing." "You have a life here, too," he said. "A career at the college. Jordyn…" "My life is wherever you are," she assured him. "Jordyn understands." "I want to meet her." "She wants to meet you, too." Her face flushed. "I was supposed to call her when I found you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, where her stress line left an indent between her brows. He couldn't imagine the stress she had endured the past twenty-five years. Alone. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll talk to her together, just like we're going to do everything else. I didn't spend twenty-five years looking for you to be apart from you for any reason." Her eyes brightened with hope and joy. "No?" "We'll handle your father together," he said. "And we'll both help Jordyn with her wedding. We're not just soul mates, Susannah. We're going to be partners in this life." That line eased, and a smile curved her generous lips. "So I'm not going to be able to get rid of you?" "No. We're spending this life—and all our future lives—together. And our daughter's wedding is not the only one I want to plan," he warned her. "I want you to become my wife, Susannah." He waited for her hesitation or for her to outright reject the idea, saying it was too soon, that they really didn't know each other very well. But she pressed her fingertip between his brows and a kiss on his lips. "Yes." "Yes?" "I know how short a life can be cut," she reminded him. "I don't want to waste any time that we could be spending together, either. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you." "I love you, too." It had taken twenty-five years and two lives for him, but they were finally together again. Forever.

946

The Perfect Girl By Alison Tyler If this happens again, I'm going to give you a spanking. A simple ultimatum…but it threw me into chaos. You see, I knew how to be the perfect girlfriend. The right clothes, the right hair, the right personality. And with Spencer, the honeymoon phase had lasted longer than usual. Until one night when I pushed him too far, and he'd said those words. Then the cracks in my well-crafted facade started to show, revealing parts of myself I hadn't even known existed. Revealing the real Veronica—the kinky girl. The girl who might want to be spanked. If I had the guts to break the rules….

Chapter One "They flee from me that sometime did me seek" —Sir Thomas Wyatt They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot stalking in my chamber I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change. Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise Twenty times better, but once in special, In thin array after a pleasant guise, When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall, And she caught me in her arms long and small; Therewith all sweetly did me kiss And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?" It was no dream: I lay broad waking. But all is turned through my gentleness Into a strange fashion of forsaking; And I have leave to go of her goodness, And she also, to use newfangleness. But since that I so kindly am served I would fain know what she hath deserved. *** If this happens again, I'm going to give you a spanking. When he'd said the words, I felt a key turn in my chest. A change took place. A door opened. Consider this your last warning. I did consider his words—my last warning. Then I started to think about how I might let him down, how I could let him start to see I wasn't the perfect girlfriend for him. We'd had our moments before, the type of minor, harmless disagreements any couple could expect after the golden bliss of "getting to know you" started to fade to chrome.

947

Truth? We were at that place where a decision was imminent. Would we last as a couple, or split and move on? More truth? I'd only made it past this place once before. I was ace at being the perfect girlfriend for the first two to three months of a relationship—and then, right at this cusp, I'd fail or I'd flee. I was like a climax that never came. The buildup was there, but no followthrough. Was there a reason to make this relationship work? Yes, there was. Simply put: I liked him. But that's an understatement. He was under my skin. I thought about him all the time. When I was at the office, I'd lose myself in daydreams of him while I stared at the computer screen, reading the same dull line of copy over and over without registering any of the words. My work could have been in hieroglyphics for all I cared. He was far more interesting. I'd think—and I'm confessing deep secrets here—about his hands. Hours of my fantasies were fueled by the way one of his hands could envelop an entire one of mine. I'd sit at my desk, and I would start to trace my own fingers, my right hand running over my left, imagining he was the one touching me, until one of my coworkers would stop by my cube and destroy my reverie. I thought about more than his hands, though. I thought about his eyes. At first glance, they were dark blue: indigo, unwashed denim, pure Levi's blue—I know the color of raw denim; I worked the jeans wall at the Gap in high school. If this happens again, I'm going to give you a spanking. And then sometimes, like when he'd said those words, sometimes his eyes looked black. Ink and darkness. Every fear, every dark desire I've ever had all wrapped into a single, solitary hue. You want to know what else? I thought about his cock. This was new for me. Sure, I enjoy sex. Always have. Maybe that's why I've clung to those two- to three-month honeymoon phases when fucking is the main event. But I never really cared about a man's dick before. If the equipment worked and the guy knew what he was doing, I was satisfied. But with Spencer, it was different. I spent hours picturing how he filled out his hard-worn 501s and a white Tshirt, imagining running my hand over his cock through the jeans. I'd never done this, but I even daydreamed about going down on my knees in front of him and working the hidden bulge of his cock with my mouth—licking him through the blue threads, as if I couldn't wait for him to pop the fly. Which I couldn't. So clearly the sex between us was great. He was patient. I adored his looks. So what was the problem—what was my problem? Why was I even considering ending the relationship? Well, aside from the fact that I get cold feet, that I'm jittery as a lightning bug, that I've never made it to the finish line, that I wasn't sure I was ready for commitment—although maybe I was fit to be committed—the simple reason was that's who I was. See, I could pull off the grace period. I could be the girlfriend of your dreams. But eventually the mask would crack and the real girl started to show through. The golden me? That girl was gracious, polite and properly attired. I looked damn fine in my high-heeled sandals, my whisper-soft sundresses, my hair glossy and straight, pulled off my heart-shaped face. The clean corners of my apartment were awash in sunlight and lemon scent. And I was always on time.

948

The real me? Yes, I have to keep up a fairly pristine presentation for my job. But on weekends I didn't swan around in girly dresses and high-heeled espadrilles. I defined shredded jeans and T-shirts, baby. The battered boots I've owned for years have no fear of being replaced. They knew they'd won my heart. I've got a dirty mouth when I talk on the phone with the friends I've known since high school. Sometimes dark kohl smudges ring my eyes because I've left my makeup on from the night before—and maybe even the night before that. My apartment, which seemed so clean at first glance, was a well-created facade. The dust ruffle hid magazines and laundry under the bed, a wreck of outdated outfits jockeyed for space in the closets, and yesterday's (oh, who are we kidding?) last month's newspapers were dying a slow death in the nonworking oven. Worst of all? Clocks and I, well, we didn't operate on a first-name basis. If this happens again, I'm going to give you a spanking. The honeymoon phase with Spencer had lasted longer than usual. The two to three months I'm generally capable of had stretched to four-and-a-half. Why? Because I liked him. But you can only put so much lipstick on a pig. It's still a pig. And I was a late pig. The one thing Spencer had told me was his biggest pet peeve. He'd let it go once or twice, but apparently three strikes and I was…well, how Spencer had put it was heartbreakingly simple. This time my tardiness had meant we'd missed the opening of the foreign film we were planning on seeing. When I finally got to his apartment, I'd drawn him to the couch and kissed him—my way of apologizing. I'd expected him to brush off my lateness. But instead he'd said those words. "If this happens again, I'm going to give you a spanking." "Excuse me?" "No." "What do you mean?" "Your behavior is inexcusable. You need to be taught a lesson." "You've got to be kidding." That's when his eyes did their magic trick and went from blue to black. "Try me." "How late was I?" I asked, thinking, perhaps, he was joking. Okay, no, I didn't really think he was joking. I could tell from the set of his jaw that he was dead serious. "This is about more than being late. It's about being disrespectful. And I will not tolerate disrespect. Not from my family. Not from my employees. But most importantly, not from you." He hesitated. "Veronica…" Then he stopped. "I'm starting to…" A deep breath. I was surprised by the look on his face. "I'm starting to fall hard for you," he continued, and I could see a smile somewhere in his eyes and that put me ever so slightly at ease. "So you're going to…" I could hardly say the words, "spank me?" Why did my pussy suddenly tighten as I said "spank"? "That…slipped out." He seemed to make a decision. "But yes, if you show this kind of behavior again." "What exactly do you mean by 'spanking'?" Maybe he was thinking a swat on the ass, something silly, something friendly. We'd laugh about it afterward over glasses of Guinness.

949

He pulled me over onto his lap, one strong arm behind me, and I could feel his power. I actually went slightly dizzy right then, and I closed my eyes as he brought his mouth to my ear and said, "I know you do research for a living, but do you need to hear me spell it out?" "Yes." I did, I really did. "Yes, Spencer." "Fine. Keep me waiting again, and wherever we are, I will take you home and spank you on your bare bottom." I swallowed over the lump in my throat, and I squirmed slightly on his lap. I silently thrilled to feel his hidden erection. So this was more than a threat for improper behavior. He was getting turned on as he was talking to me. My pussy responded automatically, and my heart started to race. I willed myself to slow down. Spencer was telling me something about himself, something important. I needed to pay attention. "You want the rest? Every detail?" I nodded. I did and I didn't. I was scared, aroused, incensed and indignant, all at once. The mixture of emotions was heady. I felt drunk on no alcohol, buzzed on no pot. "I'll put you over my lap, lift up your skirt, take down your panties and spank your naked ass over and over until my hand hurts. And, trust me, baby, I've got a strong fucking hand." I knew he did. I'd fantasized about those hands, hadn't I? Of course, I had not fantasized about him doing what he was threatening me with now. But now that he'd said it, I couldn't get the image out of my mind. "Do we have an understanding?" Spencer asked. I took a deep breath. I nodded. He moved me off his lap and stood me between his knees. His eyes were pure blue again. His face was relaxed. We went and saw a later movie. And when he fucked me that night, that's all it was. Fucking. Nothing kinky. Nothing different. Except for this… I came harder than I ever had before.

Chapter Two "He wants to what?" Honestly, I had no intention of saying the words again, but from the way my best friend, Lexi, was staring at me, the definition of incredulous in her dark hazel eyes, I knew I would have to repeat myself. But first, I herded her over to a corner booth. The maroon seat was dented and scarred. A tiny votive glowed in a red glass holder. I stared at the candle rather than at Lexi. That was easier, somehow, than meeting her eyes. "Spank me." I swear, as soon as I said the words, the man at the next booth looked over at me. My cheeks went hot. "Are you serious, Nica?" "Well, to be technical, he didn't say he wanted to, he said he would." "Is there a difference?"

950

I thought so, but I was treading in new waters here. I wasn't sure what I'd expected to get out of telling Lexi—reassurance? Condemnation? Encouragement?—but I needed to tell someone. Spencer's promise had echoed through my mind now for days. Sometimes, I decided to let him carry out the threat. In fact, I'd even considered daring him to do it. Like, "You want to spank me, Spence? Do it," offering him my naked ass when I got out of the shower. "Have you ever done anything like that before?" Lexi asked. She knew full well that I hadn't. We shared the most intimate details of our sex lives. I had complete knowledge of the cock sizes of all her ex-boyfriends, knew which ones had liked her on top, who'd wanted her to talk dirty and which one had worn her satin leopard-print knickers to work under his gabardine slacks. Dirty David. "But you want to. You want him to. Don't you?" I looked down into the bottom of my gin, as if the melting ice cubes held all the answers. "So you are considering it. Well, what are you waiting for? It's not as if he said he wanted to arrange a gang bang, or lend you out to his law partners, or fuck you naked on the Brooklyn Bridge. All he wants to do is spank you." "I know. But…" "Your body will tell you if you're really into it. You understand?" I nodded. "Kink is the new normal, kiddo. God, I look out my window at night with my binoculars—you wouldn't believe what my neighbors are doing." I couldn't decide if she was kidding or not. "He wants to spank you," she repeated. "My advice is to let him." *** But I didn't. And he didn't. Perhaps that's because I arrived on time. Every date, there I was, beyond ready and often waiting. He didn't bring up the threat again, and believe me, that was worse. Had I imagined what he'd said? Had I misheard? No. But I did notice a shift in our lovemaking…. "Hold your hands over your head." "Like this?" "Exactly." He undressed me while I stood before him and kept my hands as he'd instructed. He undid the zippers on my glossy black leather boots, slid off the shiny new Docs and set them neatly by the bed. My patterned stockings came next. One by one, he undid the tiny, opalescent mother-of-pearl buttons that ran the length of my cream-colored blouse. Then I moved my arms so that he could take my shirt off all the way. "Did I tell you to lower your arms?"

951

I froze. There was the tone again, the one he'd used when he'd said he'd give me a spanking. The one that sent a shiver of edgy anticipation through me. My arms were midway between up and down. I felt like a wine opener caught in the halfway position. Intoxication was out of my reach. I didn't know what to do. "I asked you a question." "No, Spencer. You didn't tell me to lower my arms." "Then why did you?" "I was trying to help." "Don't help." A new wave of nervous energy rushed through me. I was half-naked to the waist in the center of the room, my arms useless. I could hardly manage even to draw a breath. I waited to see what he'd do next, what he'd say, and I was shocked when he bent down so he was between my thighs and slid one finger up inside me. It was the last thing I'd imagined him doing. "You're wet." I was, but I didn't say a word; he hadn't asked me a question. I watched as he licked my juices off the tip of his finger. "Even though you don't listen, your body responds." I bit my lip, waiting. Spencer clearly knew what he wanted. And he wasn't playing games. I'd sensed he'd made a decision that night I'd been late for the movies. And now he was about to act on it. "Let's try this again. Hold your arms over your head. If you can't keep them up there, I'll bind you down. Do you understand?" There was a question—one I could answer. "Yes. Yes, I understand." But now I had a conundrum. He'd told me if I didn't do what he said, there'd be a consequence. But I wanted the consequence. I wanted to be bound down. As soon as he'd said the words, something awoke inside me. Why had I never realized that I'd find such a situation beyond sexy? Maybe because I'd never had the opportunity before. Spencer undid the clasp on my bra and pulled the flimsy fabric off my breasts. I kept my arms over my head. He bent and kissed my nipples, then gently bit them. I arched my hips, but I did not move my arms. The muscles began trembling. Holding my arms as he'd instructed was no easy feat. Try it yourself if you don't believe me. He reached into his pocket and removed something small. He concealed it in his palm so I couldn't tell what it was, couldn't even fathom a guess until he attached the first clamp to my right nipple. I sucked in my breath but managed not to say a word. He fastened the second clamp on my left nipple, and I felt the small, cold chain dangling between them. I closed my eyes. He hadn't told me not to—but he hadn't told me to, either. I was caught in a worried zone of surrender. Spencer walked around me. My arms were visibly shaking now. He stood behind me and tugged on the chain running between my nipples. He bent and pressed his mouth to my ear. "How long do you think you could stand like that?" I didn't know. I was trembling all over. "Could you stay like that—a living statue, with your hands over your head and your feet apart—while I made you come? Could you stay immobile while I licked your clit until the climax tore through you?"

952

These were questions. I ought to have been answering. But I felt as if I had concrete in my veins. I couldn't speak. "What if I oiled a butt plug and slid that between the cheeks of your ass? What if I used a vibrator right on your clit—so that you were filled and stroked at the same time? Could you behave?" Lexi had told me to let him spank me. She'd said kink was perfectly normal. She'd said my body would let me know if I was interested in what he had to offer. And right now my body was screaming out interest. But I was new to this, unsure of myself and the right way to respond Spencer moved around me and tilted my head up so I was looking into his eyes, dark blue and flickering. "Sometime we'll play a game," he said. "I'll tell you what to do. You'll behave or I'll punish you." Lower your arms, my mind screamed. Lower your arms and he'll do what he promised. But I couldn't. Spencer smiled. "Do you have anything to say, Veronica?" I nodded. I licked my lips—they were so dry. "Tell me more." "What do you want to know?" "Tell me what you'll do to me. How will you punish me? What constitutes misbehaviors, aside—" I pulled my chin out of his hand and looked at the floor instead of at him "—aside from being late." Spencer tugged on the chain again. I snuck a peek at his face. He looked pleased by my questions. In fact, he looked elated. "The girl wants a list," he said. "I like that." He went on his knees and he parted my pussy lips. "I'm going to watch you grow wetter while I talk," he said, and I started trembling even harder than I had before. "Let's see… You've already been warned that if you're late again, I'll spank that gorgeous ass of yours. But here are a few other rules. If you surf for porn, I'll put a clamp on your clit. I don't have a problem with porn, personally, but if you're going to be watching naughty movies and jacking off, I want to be watching you do it." He spread my nether lips even wider apart. "Oooh, look at that. You're all dewy." I moaned. Touch my clit, I thought. Touch it, please. But I didn't say a word. "If you wear a skirt shorter than three inches above your knee when I'm not with you as your escort, I will fuck your ass. If you go out of the house without panties and I find out, I will fuck you in public." Finally, he moved forward, brought his mouth to my pussy, began to lick me. I was awash in tremors, but my arms stayed above my head. Spencer stood and lowered my arms himself. He carried me to the bed and spread me out. He undid his slacks, positioned himself over my body and began to just tease me with the head of his cock. "So now you have several things to worry about," Spencer said in a low voice before thrusting all the way in. I was already too far gone to respond.

953

Chapter Three My boyfriend wants to spank me. 252 search results in 0.16 seconds. Strangely, my work entailed so much time spent on research that sliding online to look this up on Google felt entirely natural. But some of the responses to the search query weren't what I was looking for. I tried another search. He wants to spank me. Ah. That was better. 7,870 results in .23 seconds. Gotta love Google. I started clicking on the results. One woman's husband had wanted to spank her for many years. Apparently, he'd been repressing the urge and masturbating to online images whenever the yearning got out of hand. She wanted advice as to whether or not to give in. And did she ever get advice. The majority of the people commenting told her to go for it. Wow. Years. At least I could be glad that Spencer had been up front with me right away. Oh, wait. Here was a poll. Interesting. It was for girls who liked to be spanked, and asked how they liked to be spanked:

• • • • •

Over the knee? Clothed? Bare-bottomed? In front of others? Outdoors?

I'd never considered there might be a whole slew of ways Spencer could spank me. I started feeling nervous—and aroused. Did I want him to punish me over his knee? On my clothed bottom? On my naked bottom? Outdoors? Indoors? Upside down? I squirmed in my seat. Oooh, there was something about a spanking party. What the hell was that? It's not as if I'd never heard of spanking in bed before. Hell, Sex and the City had devoted an entire episode to one of Miranda's dates who'd craved a little spanking. Somehow a boy who wanted to be paddled had seemed cute. This was different. Hesitantly, as if someone were watching over my shoulder, I typed in, "I've never been spanked." Bingo. 380,000 results in .19 seconds. Who'd have thought so many sites and chat rooms and bulletin boards would come up. There were aficionados and judges, people for all sorts of paddling and those who insisted spanking was akin to abuse. That made me pause. What did I think? That's what Lexi had wanted to know. What did I think? That I over-think things, that's what I'd told her. Because every time I was with Spencer—and even when I wasn't with him, like now—I couldn't get the idea of him spanking me out of my head. Did I want him to? No, no, no, no, no, no, maybe.

954

That summed up the situation in a nutshell. And I was clearly the nut. *** "Who wants to spank you?" I'd thought it was strange that when I'd gone to the coffee machine for a refill, my coworker Brian seemed more interested in me than usual. He started by complimenting my outfit but soon enough worked right up to "Who wants to spank you?" "Excuse me?" "I saw your search query on Google." Served me right for not emptying my cache. "Why were you on my computer?" "Mine was frozen. I snagged yours when you went to get a cup of coffee earlier. I had no idea." "No idea about what?" "That you were…" "I was…" "Kinky." He seemed entirely too interested in the subject. "Oh, I am," I said, moving closer to him until Brian was pressed firmly against the wall. "I like spanking men. Hard. I use a belt or a crop and I whip them until they cry. It's what turns me on more than anything else." It had felt good to say it in the moment, but as I walked away I wondered how long that rumor would take to get around the office. *** After that, I resolved to surf for spanking sites only at home. But that was dangerous in a different way. One of Spencer's rules was that I wasn't supposed to look at porn without him. Despite the danger, I didn't bother to empty my computer's cache. I never thought Spencer would check. Wait, that was a lie. I hoped he would. I wasn't bold enough to let him catch me surfing, but I couldn't get his words out of my mind—the different punishments for various transgressions. Surfing for porn without him equaled a clamp on my clit. The next time Spencer was at my apartment I left him in the bedroom while I took a shower. I'd left the computer on. When I came out of the bathroom, he was standing in the doorway to my bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest. He checked.

955

I knew what clamps on my nipples felt like now. But no one had even talked about clamping my clit before. How strange was that realization? I'd had boyfriends, lovers, the occasional near-fiancé. But Spencer was the first to put sexual desires into words. It was incredibly more arousing. "Are you ready?" Even though I'd practically planned this—subconsciously, anyway—I shook my head. "Get ready." He led me to the bed, pulled off my towel, set me precisely how he wanted me, right in the center of the mattress. I watched as he pulled open the drawer to my bedside table. Clearly he'd thought ahead, because I don't keep sex toys in my bedside table. Out came an alligator clip. I rose up on my elbows. He pushed me right back down. "Spread your lips apart." My hands wouldn't work. I might as well have been bound down—the way he'd threatened he would. "Spread your lips apart," he said, firmer this time. I found the courage deep inside myself. I did what he said. He nudged my nether lips wider and captured my clit with the clamp. I moaned at the sensation—a guttural sound, like nothing I'd ever heard come from my own body before. "Maybe we should have another talk," he said. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but all I could think about was the pain radiating from the center of my being. The clamp was tight. My clit throbbed. "So I can explain what I need from a partner." This was the moment he'd decided to have the relationship talk—with a clamp on my clit and my mind spinning crazily out of control? The breath was hitching in my chest. Every ounce of my willpower was concentrated on lying still, not moving, not crying out. "I like to play," he said. The last four words I would have expected. He considered this play? What was work? "You don't know what I mean, do you?" I shook my head. "I tried to explain before," he said, "but I didn't go far enough. I wanted to be sure… But I think you're ready. That you want it. I like to tease the space between pleasure and pain. Like this." He took off the clamp. Suddenly, his mouth was on my clit, licking, sucking, making all the pain disappear and bringing forth a rush of pleasure so strong I thought for a moment I would come. I never had before. Not so quickly. Climaxes had always taken me time—plenty of foreplay, lots of lubing. But this was different. Spencer sucked hard on my clit, ran his tongue all around the ridge, and then I was gone. He sat up again, smiling at me, and said, "Are you ready to listen now?"

956

I was, but…wait, why did he have a blindfold in his hand? "This will help," he said as he slid the black velvet over my eyes. "Trust me." I did. I found that enlightening. I trusted him more than I had trusted anyone in years, more than I thought I could. But there was something undeniably frightening about not being able to see his face or what he was doing. I started getting wet again. "I don't start off strong," he said, and his fingers began to roam over my body. I shivered. The touch was light, deceptively so, almost tickling me. "I don't want to scare anyone. Have I scared you?" I shook my head. "But I've made you wonder. I read what you were surfing online." Searching for a spanking. I almost giggled. Nervous habit. I bit my lip to stop the sound. "That's a good thing," he said. "I want you to think about what you want and what I can give you. If you're not curious, then this—we—won't work." His fingertips had found my nipples and he pinched both of them hard at the same time. I squealed, and then bit my lip again, embarrassed. "The thing is," he said, and now he started kissing, kissing his way down my body, moving toward my split once more, "if you aren't honest with me, we can't play together. Be together. Because I need you to tell me where your lines are, what boundaries I can and cannot cross." He wet a finger in my pussy juices and slid his hand underneath me. I felt his fingertip circling my asshole. "I'm good," he said again, "but you have to be my guide." I sucked in my breath. He pushed in his finger. "So, before we go any further, you have to give me your safeword," he said as my second orgasm built. "I'll expect it the next time we meet." And then he sent me over the edge again.

Chapter Four "Nobody ever died from a spanking," Lexi said. "I know," I replied, but then I told her what I'd read online. In one chat room, an antispanking man had written: "What you're talking about is more dangerous than hang gliding." "Excuse me?" "Yeah, I thought it was bullshit, too. I had to sit on my hands not to type back, 'I'm sure we can easily find statistics for hang-gliding deaths. But exactly how many lovers have expired in the throes of a spanking?'" "So you're going for it, Nica?" I started twirling the ring on my middle finger. Another nervous habit. Lexi put her hand on mine to stop me. "You're such a squirrel." "What do you mean?"

957

"You twitch. You fidget. Your ears are always pricked for the first sign of danger." "You're thinking meerkat," I corrected her. "I saw a special on cable once." "You'd rather be a meerkat than a squirrel? Fine. Back to the issue at hand…so to speak. What's your problem? Here's a guy who not only likes you, I mean really likes you, he also wants to fuck you six ways 'til Sunday. He's on board with your slightly off-center personality. He told you himself that he's falling for you." "But that's just it," I corrected her. "He hasn't seen my slightly off-center personality. He's seen the Monday Morning me. Not the 2:00 a.m. on Saturday me." "I've never understood that," Lexi said, resting her chin in her hand. "Why do you put up a facade? You're great when you're real." "Like classic Coke?" "Nica, they're not all going to be Derek." I sighed. Derek was the closest I got. The closest I ever came to being who I truly am with a man. His ultimate rejection was what convinced me that in a relationship it was necessary to playact. I decided that if I didn't really care, I wouldn't get hurt. If I became someone else, the "perfect girl," that someone else might have a dark night of the soul, but she would never be me. Not again. Not after catching Derek with my roommate, thus ending the desire to ever live with someone—or be genuinely with someone again. "Trust me," Lexi said. I continued to spin the ring on my finger. "And then come home with me." I looked up. What was she suggesting? "There's something you're going to want to see." *** Lexi's place was so different from mine. Art crowded her walls, shoes were lined up in front of her nonworking fireplace. Knickknacks stood on every sill, dust lived in every corner. She didn't care. I loved that about her. Apparently, her fiancé did, too. He hadn't said a word when he first saw the clutter, and he had never attempted to change her. I loved that about him. "What time is it?" she asked. Lexi never wore a watch. I checked my wrist. "8:17." "We're late!" She scrambled to the love seat, shoved magazines onto the floor and reached under a blanket for a pair of binoculars. "Here, look," she said, patting a spot next to her on the tiny sofa. I took my seat and waited as she handed me her binoculars. I stared at her. I stared at the binoculars. She put them up to my face and pointed me in the right direction.

958

"I've been watching them for the past month," she said, "ever since he moved in. Before, she was fun to observe. She would lie in bed with her iPhone and touch herself. I couldn't see much, but I knew what she was doing. But now that he's arrived…" I focused the binoculars and the couple sprang into view. The man and the woman were in their dining room. Shades up. Lights on. He was fully dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt and a tie. No jacket. His sleeves were rolled up. The woman, a slim blonde, was bent over the table. She had on a white blouse and a short skirt that was folded up at the waist. "Jesus, Lexi. How'd you know they'd be doing something like this?" "Because that's what they do. After work, they have dinner, and then they fuck in some interestingly filthy way." If Lexi hadn't been right next to me I would have crossed my legs. As it was, I willed myself not to get aroused. Or more aroused. I couldn't do much about how wet I already was. "What sort of things do they do?" "Well, I discovered them because of one night in particular. It was hot. So hot I had the windows open. And I heard this noise. I couldn't place the sound at first. A low moan. Rough grumble. I stumbled out of bed and looked out the window. It must have been three in the morning. He had her out on the fire escape. Not nude, but in this sheer little nightgown. Her hands were up over her head, and she was moaning. I couldn't stop watching. I got my binoculars and locked on to them. Her face was so pretty. I've seen porn, you know. But I've never witnessed a woman look like that before. Not in real life. Not out in the world." "How'd you find out about their nightly ritual?" "I just started watching." "Why didn't you tell me before?" I glanced away from the binoculars long enough to catch her flush. "Come on, it's strange, right? I spend my nights, well, an hour or so a night, spying on other people making love. I thought you might laugh at me." I glanced at her again. "I'd never laugh." She shrugged, and I turned my attention back to the couple. The man had a paddle in his hand. He spun the toy. Red on one side, black on the other. I swallowed hard. I wished I could say to Lexi that I wanted to be alone. Alone with my two new lovers. But there was no way. I stared as he roughed up the woman's hair, stared as he lowered her panties, stared as he started to spank her. God, that was sexy. I moved the binoculars up and down, unable to decide whom I wanted to focus on the most. Didn't matter at all what the man looked like—the turn-on was how he looked. She couldn't see his face, but I could. His jaw was set. He was in the role—or perhaps this wasn't a role in their world. Maybe this was who he was. I moved the lenses down to the woman. She had tears streaking her face now but a satisfied smile on her face. I really wished I were by myself. I could have come in seconds if Lexi hadn't been right next to me. I wondered what thoughts were going through the woman's head. I know the thoughts that were going through mine. Fuck, this is sexy. He seemed so stern as he raised the paddle up in the air. I could easily imagine Spencer in that position, and me in hers. Was that why Lexi had shown me this couple? So I could see how I might feel if I mentally slid into their place?

959

I longed to be in the room with the couple, would have paid cold hard cash to hear the sound of the paddle connecting with her bare skin, the noises I imagined she would make, the hissed commands he would give her. "Do you want that?" Lexi asked, surprising me. For a moment, I'd forgotten she was there. I lowered the binoculars and I looked at her—full on. "Maybe."

Chapter Five "But you're so vanilla." William was clearly charmed by my most recent confession—that I was becoming increasingly convinced that I wanted to be spanked by my boyfriend. "See? Vanilla." He spoke with smug satisfaction as the waitress served my latte. "You always order the same drink. You always come the same way." I was shocked to hear him speak so candidly—and then I wasn't. Brian had given me the idea. Kinky. I wasn't kinky. But I knew someone who was. So I'd called an old beau. The naughtiest-minded boy I'd ever been out with. I could talk this over with him, couldn't I? William and I had gone out for three months. Three of the hottest months I'd ever had. We fucked in movie theaters, in back alleys, at his parents' house—in his parents' bed. There was no BDSM, but there was plenty of intrigue, of almost getting caught, of public playtime. William had widened my horizons while undoing my zippers. "You wouldn't even let me blindfold you and now you're going in for spanking?" I shrugged. "You're still in the honeymoon phase, aren't you, Veronica?" "How can you tell?" He touched my hair. I'd gotten a blowout on Friday evening. "I'll bet he thinks your apartment is clean, too." He snorted. Will was the only former boyfriend I'd kept in touch with. We made far better friends than we had romantic partners. Yes, the sex had been stellar, but the rest had been painful. Why? Simple. Will had been too much like me. Hiding his dirty clothes in his closet. Using the compost method of laundry—a pair of jeans that had been at the bottom of the pile long enough were considered clean by osmosis. When both our cracks had started to show, we'd faded as a couple. But genuine friendship had replaced the lust. I longed for him to find the girl who would accept him for who he was: a slacker with a heart of gold who had a fetish for fucking in public. He hoped that I would find a man who would hold my hand and keep me steady. But what if that man wanted to put a pair of cuffs around my wrists and a collar around my throat? "I have a friend who didn't know she was gay until she was forty-seven," William said. "Really?" "Maybe she had always realized it somewhere deep in herself, but it wasn't until she met her current girlfriend that the pieces all fell into place. She left her husband, explained the situation to her baffled family and moved in with Gracie. They've been together ever since. When I asked her how she knew, she said it had come to her suddenly. Like a flash. It all made sense."

960

I wondered why he was telling me this. "When he says he wants to spank you, do you feel something inside? Something different? Something excited?" His voice was low, he was leaning forward. I nodded. "Maybe you are kinky," he said. "Maybe you just never knew it because the offer wasn't out there. The item wasn't on the menu. But now…now you know." Did I? That was exactly what Spencer asked me later that night. *** "Did I say that keeping me waiting would earn you a spanking?" "Yes, Spencer." The words were practically tattooed across my brain by now. But I hadn't been late since…. "Did I tell you that if you surfed for porn, I'd put a clamp on your clit?" I nodded. That had been an amazing experience, actually…. "And if you walked around without panties I'd fuck you in public?" I nodded again. I didn't understand where he was going with this. "What do you think the consequence will be for seeing another man?" I started to defend myself—my coffee date with William hadn't been like that. It hadn't been a date date. But then I stopped. I wanted to know what would happen. If he'd spank my bare ass for being late, if he'd put a clamp on my clit for surfing for porn, what would he do if I hooked up with someone else? "You like me to spell things out, don't you? That's the kind of girl you are." I swallowed hard. I nodded once more. "If we were exclusive, you and me, if we were seeing only each other and you went behind my back, I would give you an option." "An option." My voice was so soft I couldn't tell if Spencer had even heard me. "We'd either break up…" Then I started to explain quickly. "He's just a friend now. I was only asking, you know, interviewing, trying—" "Or," Spencer continued, and I stopped the nonsensical rush of words, "I'd tie you down in the center of my bed and strap a ball gag on you. You've seen them, haven't you? In movies, at least?" "Yes, Spencer." There'd been one in that Tarantino flick. "When you were bound good and tight, I would punish you." I crossed my legs under the table. Why did the threat make me wet? Why did Spencer describing how he was going to discipline me make me want to sit

961

on the floor at his feet and gaze up at him like a love-struck puppy dog. Please do it, my eyes would beg. Please, Spencer. But he wasn't finished yet. "And then I would oil up your tight little asshole. Have you ever had your asshole fucked?" I shook my head. "Good. I'm looking forward to being the first. I'd lube you up, baby. I wouldn't be cruel. Don't worry. But I would fuck you there until you cried. Until you came. You've never felt anything like that before, have you?" I shook my head again. But this time he seemed to expect an answer. "No, Spencer." "Who was the man?" He didn't ask the question with any sort of malice. He was as calm as ever. But I sensed a chill, nonetheless. "An old beau." "Why did you meet him?" "I wanted a class." "A class?" I took a sip of my wine. "In Kinky 101." To my complete surprise, Spencer laughed. "Jesus, Veronica. You and your research. That's what you do all day, isn't it?" I nodded. "And what you do all night. You're trying to process this all too much, doll. You need to relax." Relaxing was so far from my current state of mind that I laughed, too. "What did you really want to know?" he asked. At his question, I did the thing that Lexi hates. I looked everywhere except at the person talking to me. Spencer grabbed my chin and made me face him. That didn't stop my thoughts from rocketing around in my skull. What had I wanted from William? To answer the unanswerable question. "I'm not sure," I finally said, honestly. "I wanted to tell him what was going on and see if he could find the missing puzzle pieces for me. I wanted—" Fucking hell. What? What did I want? "I guess I wanted to hear the way it all sounded, bounce everything off a guy I knew was dirtier than most." "Kinky 101," Spencer repeated matter-of-factly. "You don't have to go to someone else to teach you that lesson. You only have to ask me." The next sip I took was more of a gulp. Ask? I might want him to do all the different things he'd described to me, but I would never be able to get the words out. "In fact," he said, "I might make you ask me."

962

Shit. It was like he could read my mind sometimes, read the worry there. "Did you think of a safeword yet?" I had, but if I said the word out loud, I would be surrendering, taking what he was offering. Accepting a part of myself that I'd never even known existed. Accepting him. I couldn't say it. I shook my head. "I can't." He sighed. "I won't wait forever," Spencer said, and there was a finality in his tone. "I'll give you a week. If you can't tell me by then, I guess that'll be my answer."

Chapter Six I wasn't late for a week. Every date Spencer set, I was right on time. But my cracks were showing, nonetheless. I didn't make an appointment for my standard twice-a-week blowout. My waves started to return, and then a little bit of curl. On Saturday, I wore jeans instead of a dress. Not shredded jeans. Not ripped-in-the-seat jeans. These were newish, stylish trouser jeans, but still jeans. Here's the bizarre part—the part that Lexi could never comprehend: it wasn't that Spencer had ever told me he didn't like a girl in slacks. The whole concoction of who I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to act—well, I get that it was all in my head. At least, I get that now. But a part of me believed that if a man really got to know me—the really real me—there wouldn't be any reason for him to stay. So I had to be someone else. Call it low self-esteem. Call it being kicked to the curb one too many times. Call it the post-Derek total abject fear of commitment. Whatever you call it, it meant some pretty short-term relationships. And it wasn't only the men who didn't stay with me—half the time, I was the one to end things. Or forcing their hands to make them end things. Force their hands—that was the main difference in that next week with Spencer. Yeah, I was on time. But every night found me at home, touching myself and thinking about what he'd said. If this happens again, I'm going to give you a spanking. If you go behind my back, I will punish you. If you search for porn, I will put a clamp on your clit. He'd been brutally clear. This wasn't a joke. But that didn't mean I had to accept what he was saying. I could call him on the phone and break up. I could meet him in person and tell him he was being ridiculous, that grown men did not spank grown women, and how dare he blah blah blah? I could simply stop seeing him and disappear into the ether. I'd done that enough times to make the move my personal signature. Or I could do what I ultimately did to end all my relationships—become myself, stop playing the role of the perfect girl whom I'd never be. In the end, I waffled so much on what to do that eventually, finally, I was late again. I'll tell you the truth. When I realized I was going to keep him waiting, I considered not even showing up. He'd get the message. But how long would he wait? Would he let our five months curl up like ash in a fireplace and blow away, forgotten? Or would he call me? Track me down? Did I want him to? As usual, I didn't have a clue. But I did want to know what he'd do. I walked into the café. He wasn't staring at the door, didn't have his arms crossed over his chest, in fact he appeared as at ease as he always did. I, on the other hand, was a wreck. My hands were trembling. My hair—which he'd only seen straight—was curly, kinky, well past windblown. I had on my safety jeans—the ones I've had for a decade. Beyond the ability to patch, they'd become more like denim threads than jeans.

963

Spencer may not have seemed upset, but he didn't even let me sit down. He stood, put a few dollars on the table for his coffee and walked past me to the door. My heart—oh, my poor heart. I felt as if I'd just finished a 10K. Breathless, panting. Spencer held the door for me and gave me a look: piss or get off the fucking pot. I had a choice. I could have snagged a corner table, flagged down the waitron, ordered a shot in the dark, pretended I'd never met Spencer before and that I'd never see him again. Or… Or I could follow him out the door, walk at his side like a meek little puppy to his car, get inside the passenger seat and look forward to the consequence of breaking the rules. That's the choice I made, though I wasn't exactly calm about it. I was practically hyperventilating and tears wet the collar of my shirt. He hadn't even put me across his lap and I was crying as if I already had a well-tanned behind. Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he calm me down, shush me, assure me that everything was going to be okay? Because it wasn't. Because when we got back to my place, he was going to…he was going to… That's when my mind kind of stuttered. I could not comprehend what he was going to do, and yet…I wanted what he'd promised. Not a word. That was my man. Parking in front of my apartment, walking to my side to open the door— nothing. In comparison, I was a mess. A tousled, torn, shuddering mess. Spencer didn't take my hand to lead me inside. He seized my arm. I walked a half step behind him, wishing I'd worn a watch, wishing I'd been on time, wishing I'd put on a dress, flat-ironed my hair, scrubbed off last night's makeup and done my face up fresh. Wishing he'd hurry up. He took my keys and opened the door, pulled me through the living room, down the hall and to my bedroom. Not a word. We'd been in each other's company now for a good fifteen minutes and he hadn't spoken to me. That was strange, wasn't it? I was desperate for him to say something, anything. I didn't care if he was stern, if he told me how disappointed he was in me. I wanted to hear his voice. But then, when he did speak, I wished he hadn't. "I gave you the rules, didn't I?" I nodded. He held my chin in his hand and said, "I expect a verbal response when I ask you a question." "Yes, Spencer." "We're both on the same page here, aren't we?" "Yes, Spencer." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Then take down your pants and get over my lap." No, Spencer. My head was swimming, my knees were shaking. No, Spencer. No, wait, let's talk things over, let's take it from the beginning. I can be a good girl for you. I can be the perfect girl. I promise. I will always be on time. I'll clean the dust bunnies from under the bed. I'll give all my old clothes to Goodwill. I'll eat more fiber. I'll floss twice a day. I'll… "Don't make me repeat myself."

964

I lowered my jeans and then stood there, like an idiot, thinking of how I'd look if I tried to run out of the apartment, jeans at my knees, face swollen from crying. Spencer gripped me by my arm and pulled me across his lap. And then I woke up. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, slowly separating fantasy from reality. I hadn't called Spencer with my safeword. I hadn't seen him since the day I'd seen William in the café. I'd pulled my standard trick. Look away, and the perfect girl was gone.

Chapter Seven "What do you want, Veronica?" He stood at his door, staring at me. And it was me. For once. The real me. I was dressed in my favorite jeans, my battered Doc Martens, my concert tee from a million concerts ago. Long live Echo & the Bunnymen. I had my hair in a tumble, a riot, a rumble of curls. This was no dream. This was my fantasy come true. Or it would be if I could get the words out. "What do you want?" Did he not recognize me? I was the same girl—the same espadrille-wearing, gauzy-dress-clad girl. Well, perhaps I was her darker sister. The insomniac. The one who didn't always eat her eight fruits and vegetables a day, who would forgo jogging in favor of an old Twilight Zone episode, who was known to wear torn underwear—regardless of how many times her mother had warned her about the proverbial bus. (Who would honestly care what her knickers looked like after being flattened? Only mothers.) "I want you to…" I started, hoping he'd fill in the blank with the appropriate verb, like in that old game of Mad Libs, but he didn't. He continued to stare, those cold eyes freezing me, and I wrapped my arms around my body. A chill worked through me. "I want…" I said again, with the same small hope, but Spencer remained mute. Lexi had said to be unafraid, to step forward, head up, shoulders back and… Well, fuck Lexi. She had no idea how this felt, to stand on a stoop, waiting for salvation. I looked down at my feet. I was shivering visibly. I hadn't slept in more than two nights. Just spit it out! I want you to spank me, Spencer. Why was this so difficult for me? Because Spencer had seen something in me I hadn't known existed. Although…maybe I had. Maybe somewhere deep down inside myself I had known. But I hadn't possessed the words to describe the need. If you only go out with vanilla boys, if you dress like some Southern belle on a hot August day, if you blush and stammer whenever sex is discussed, then you might end up like me, too. But that wasn't the end of my story. That's the thing. I wanted a happily ever after, even if mine involved leather belts and wooden paddles, silken ties and chrome handcuffs, ball gags and bondage. "I want what you're offering," I finally said.

965

"The offer's closed." He started to shut the door. I panicked. I pushed hard past him and then was inside, in his foyer. The house smelled of pine and wood smoke. The floor was polished. I could see down the hall that the walls were painted different colors—deep red, cobalt blue—that art hung everywhere. None of that mattered. I went on my knees, looked up at him. "I understand," I said. "I get it. I'll obey. I'll keep my arms up when you tell me to keep my arms up. I'll bend over when you tell me to bend over. I'll open my mouth when you tell me to open my mouth." I got even lower on the floor. Thank God for yoga. "I'll give you my safeword." I would have kissed the tip of his boot then if he hadn't bent down and pulled me back up. "Sorry, Veronica. But I don't think you really need this." I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the sweat at the back of my shirt. I had to convince him. What a lunatic I'd been. Talking to Lexi rather than talking to Spencer. Interviewing William rather than explaining my worries. I was so accustomed to keeping up a polished performance that I'd forgotten about interacting with the pertinent players. "I do." "Prove it." Christ, what did he expect? Here I was, willing, desperate. Why were his eyes so cold? Prove it? How could I? If I were the dominant one, I could have bent him over and made him give me his belt— And with that thought I suddenly knew what to do. Without a word, I stripped. Boots off. Socks off. Jeans in a tattered mess. T-shirt discarded. Bra and panties next. I was naked, in his hallway. More naked than I'd ever been in my life. My mind was a rush, as if my thoughts couldn't keep up with my actions. Good. I didn't want thoughts right now. I only wanted… I reached for his belt. For a minute, I saw surprise in his eyes, and that gave me the confidence to keep going. Fingers fumbling on the cold metal buckle, leather pulling free with a whisper, like some haunting melody you can never get out of your head. "Use this," I said, and my voice was strong and deep, a tone I'd never heard before. "God, Spencer. Please, Spencer." He took the belt from my trembling hands, but he didn't make a move. Fucking hell. What did I have to do? "I'm sorry," I said next. "I know you've been patient. More than patient. You've watched me flail around, drowning on dry land." I pushed my curls out of my eyes. I wanted him to see me, to really see me. If he rejected me like this—the naked, stripped-bare me—then I wouldn't have failed for lack of trying. I was giving it my all, something I hadn't done in years. Something I hadn't done since Derek. "What do you want?" Had he not heard me? Was it not obvious?

966

"I want you to spank me," I said, and then the words began to spill. "I don't want to have to be late for you to spank me. I just want you to spank me. And I want you to tie me down. To your bed. To the floor. I don't care where. I want you to do all the different things you've talked about. Show me how. Take me there." "How do I know you mean this?" Oh, my God. Did I have to get the words branded on my body? I was naked, for fuck sake. Standing in his hallway, begging like I'd never begged before. But maybe that was it. He wanted more. This was a milestone for me, but he was forcing me to push myself. I swallowed hard. I walked past him, my hand on the polished brass doorknob. "I will go outside," I told him, "totally naked, and I will stand there and beg you." I saw a glimmer. For a second, his eyes did that trick—black to blue to black again. I opened the door. He took one step forward and pushed it closed. My heart throbbed. "Tell me again," he said. "Tell me everything you want." I turned to face him. We were so close, I could have wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss me. But I didn't want to be kissed. "I want," I said softly, "I want you to be the one." "The one," he repeated. "The only one," I said, my voice a beat stronger. "The only one to do those things to me. For you to come home after work and punish me with a wooden paddle. For you to put a ball gag in my mouth so that our neighbors won't hear my cries when you fuck my ass…. I want, Spencer. I'm all filled up with want." "Good," said Spencer, taking me by the wrist. "Because I've been waiting for you." I tripped along after him down the hall. "All my life for you," he added softly, and I knew right then that everything was going to be okay.

Chapter Eight We didn't need a tragedy to bring us together. I mean, I appreciated the movie Secretary, but does the dad have to wind up in the hospital for her to…never mind. There wasn't a rainstorm, or a dying relative, or any one of the many Hollywood plot points used to bring a hero and heroine back together. We only needed a dream. Reality, they say, is stranger than fiction. I'll add that reality is also stranger than fantasy—but better. When Spencer took me to his bedroom, my legs were shaking so badly I could hardly walk. "Then crawl," he said, reading me easily. I crawled after him down the hallway, noticing that the floor was spotless, wondering how Spencer would react when he finally saw my corners, when he peeked under my bed. His boots pounded out a steady rhythm down the hall. The sound made me think of what was about to happen—what I'd asked for, what I deserved. We entered his bedroom, me on the heels of his leather Engineer boots. He stood me up. He bent me over. I wondered in that second whether I could do this, whether I could be the girl he needed, and then he began with that belt I'd given him, meeting my skin at a rapid pace. I sucked in my breath, pressed my cheek to his blanket, felt the heat spread from my ass throughout my whole body. The leather licked at me. I know that sounds odd. But I felt almost as if he was kissing me with the length of his leather belt. I shut my eyes tight; I kept my body still.

967

"I know you," he said, dropping the belt and pressing against me so that I could feel how hard he was. Even through his black jeans, I could tell. I turned my head to look at him. My eyes were wet. My breathing was ragged. The pain that had so recently flared through me was transforming by the second. If I touched my pussy I was sure I'd be wetter than I'd ever been. "I've seen you," he said, and I kept my eyes locked on his, waiting. "You never noticed," he continued, and I watched as he went to his dresser and began to quietly remove item after item: a blindfold, a ball gag, a butt plug. My thighs clenched together, automatically. He was going to use all those tools on me. And I was going to like it. "Alexandra…Lexi introduced us at that party," he said, "and you were all dolled up—your hair so glossy it shone, that scarlet dress like the inside of a flower. Velvety. Making me ache to touch you." He came back to the bed and began to work, moving me into the center of the mattress on my stomach, bringing my wrists over my head and attaching them to a set of cuffs. I tensed and pulled, automatically, and he pressed his mouth to my ear and said, "You'll give me your safeword. But I don't think you'll need it." My legs were next. He spread me open, attached my ankles to the posts of his bed with leather thongs. I tensed once more, and he slapped my ass and laughed when I jumped. "I waited for you to realize we'd seen each other before," he continued as he pulled a crop out of a stand in the corner. How had I missed the weapons when I'd first entered the room? I suppose in the same way I'd missed him, because then Spencer said, "I hang out on Saturday mornings at Lucifer Street café, too." I turned to look at him, startled. "Yeah," he said, running the tip of the crop along the curve of my ass. "I've seen you. The real you. Not the pretty girl who tiptoes around in those high heels, but the kick-ass girl who doesn't give a fuck what she looks like. I waited for you to introduce me to her, but you never seemed able to. I have no desire to live in a make-believe world. You know who I am—I've been waiting to meet you." The crop struck hard, but I didn't cry out. I stared at Spencer, and I took the pain for him. He smiled, and that filled me with a kind of confidence I'd never felt before. "Good girl." He struck again. Harder. Why was my pussy so wet? "What do you get out of it?" he asked. "What do you mean?" I managed to whisper. "The facade? The two roles? What do you get out of hiding?" I would have shrugged, but he'd bound me down too tightly. I would have turned my head, but I didn't think Spencer would let me use that ploy. There was no more hiding. I was naked and tied down to his bed. I had to come clean. "I was tired of being burned," I said finally. "If I wasn't the real me, then there was no chance I'd get hurt." "You don't like being hurt?" He struck again. Confusion spiraled through me. I started to answer, stammered, lost my way. He hit again, and I told myself not to cry. To take it. To own the pain. "You don't like being hurt?" he asked again, and I lost the battle. There were the tears once more. "I didn't know," I said. "I just didn't know. I didn't want to be hurt the way…" "Derek," he said, and I remembered that he was friends with Lexi, too, and realized she must have explained.

968

"I didn't think I could handle another rejection like that." "I won't reject you." He was on the bed then, undoing the bindings—all of the bindings—flipping me face up and spreading my thighs apart. He had his pants open, his cock out, and he was in me—oh, Thank Fucking God—in me. "You be you," he hissed, his lips by my ear. "Let me in. All the way in. I'll never leave." His hands were all over me, under my ass touching the welts he'd left. Up to my wrists to soothe where I'd pulled on the metal. He kissed me, and I looked into his eyes and saw something I hadn't realized—we're all two-faced in a way, aren't we? His eyes could change—he would shift from dominant lover to man, a man who could be hurt the way I'd been hurt. We all want absolution—to be loved for who we are. Who we really are. For the places we keep the dust. For the spots where the sunlight doesn't reach. For the bruises and scars that won't ever quite heal. Spencer lifted me up so I was balanced on his thighs, and he was holding me so tight. "You want me?" He had to hear it. "Yes." "What's your safeword?" "Fortune," I said, my favorite poem echoing in my head. He smiled, then slid a hand between us and strummed his fingertips against my clit. I was coming as he did, coming with him, feeling as if I'd finished a marathon—as if we'd crossed the finish line together. I shuddered and sighed, pressed against his strong chest. He wrapped me in his arms and held me close to him. "I know you," he said, "you don't have to hide anymore. You don't have to run anyway. I know you. And I love you anyway. You're perfect." "Pinch me," I said. "Why?" "I want to make sure I'm not dreaming, so pinch me." Spencer grinned. His eyes were blue again. "With pleasure."

969

The Devil of Rancho Diablo By Tina Leonard Like the fabled Diablo mustangs, Jagger Knight had always been untamable. Erin Stewart had learned that the hard way. He'd promised her forever and then enlisted in the army, shipping out to some remote and dangerous location without even a word. Now it was Erin's turn to be wild—she was on the verge of buying a house and moving out of state. She was done with Diablo, and certainly done with Jagger Knight. Only Jagger wasn't done with Erin. And now that he was back in town and working at the Callahan ranch, he had the perfect chance to prove that even a devil may care. Introducing the Callahan Cowboys, six brothers who swore they'd always be bachelors…until their wily aunt delivers her ultimatum—the first Callahan to marry and have children wins the family ranch! Catch the first Callahan in The Cowboy's Triplets, available now, and the second bachelor brother in The Cowboy's Bonus Baby, available on Harlequin.com June 1!

Chapter One Erin Stewart led the small group of ghost-hunting history buffs into the salon of the Books 'n' Bingo Society's shop. As the group formed a circle around her, she smiled particularly brightly at the four elderly gentlemen and their paranormal-loving wives and continued her well-worn story. "Everyone has heard of the mythical Diablo mustangs, but rumor has it that the Callahan family made up that myth to raise their property value." She waved a hand to indicate black-and-white photos on the wall. "A few pictures of Rancho Diablo are on this wall, but the Diablos have never been photographed. Nor has the supposed ghost." "They just made up the story?" someone with a deep voice asked. "Are you calling the Callahans liars?" Erin realized a tall, hot guy had joined the group. He wore jeans and dark shades, and looked like he thought her story was bunk, which it pretty much was. She told herself he wasn't all that hot. If he took off the shades and the Stetson, he'd be a lot less appealing. More ordinary. Right now he had a bad boy edge to him, and she'd always been a sucker for a bad boy in boots. "I'm not saying anything of the sort," Erin said. "I merely put forth both sides of the legend. The guests can decide what they want to believe." She turned her back on the interloper and ushered her elderly guests into the tea room for a quick refresher, as per the schedule. It was best to keep the tour on its timetable. "Excuse me," she heard, and spinning around, she realized the stranger was addressing her once again. "Yes?" "I think the Callahans might take exception to you spreading those rumors." Erin shook her head. "The Callahans have been on my tour. Their aunt Fiona practically wrote my script. So if you don't mind—" He took off his shades and pushed back his Stetson. Erin felt her head go light. The past flooded over her with a wash of pain and yearning. "Hello, Jagger."

970

He grinned and her heart fell into her boots. She needed a defense, and, flustered, she decided to go the cool route. "I'd heard you were back in town," she said, as if it didn't matter to her at all. "Is there a reason you're trying to spoil my tour?" "Hi, Erin," Jagger Knight said, and she fought the urge to draw away from all the heat he radiated. Yes, this was the reason she was still unwed at thirty. Heartbreaker, all six foot four of him. "I see you're still a girl who loves tall tales." Erin frowned. "History is still my main interest, yes. And I see being mysterious is still yours." "Probably. You'd know better than anyone." He touched her hand, and she glanced up at him, wary already. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss against her skin. She waited, transfixed, stunned, telling herself she was relieved when he released her. Jagger nodded to the room at large, and with one last dark look her way, he left, leaving the bell on the door dancing and her heart jangling. "My," one of the ladies in her tour said, "that's one tall drink of water, Erin." She felt a blush steal up her neck. The same thought had just occurred to her, but as a student of history, she knew it was best to learn from one's past errors. And while Jagger the boy had been something of a daredevil and perhaps even a demon in Diablo, New Mexico—one she hadn't been able to resist trying to tame—she could tell Jagger the man was better left alone. *** Two hours later, Erin decided the best course of action to get Jagger out of her head was to focus on the new life she was planning. Just imagining living in the Fan district of Richmond, Virginia, just off Monument Avenue where she could enjoy pieces of history—real history, not mythical—made her smile. "You're thinking about him," Melody Cartwright said. "I can tell by the smile on your face." Erin put the signed offer she'd been perusing back in her briefcase and looked back at Melody, the town's only librarian and daughter of the sheriff. "I smiled because I was not thinking about him." Melody shook her head. "I've known you for too many years to believe that you can forget about your first love, Erin." Erin glanced around the old town library, her eyes sifting over the stacks of historical tomes she'd been largely responsible for bringing here. "I haven't forgotten him, but I haven't forgotten how he left me, either. Just up and joined the military without saying goodbye. Never wrote or called. Broke my heart…but then I moved on. The only question in my mind is why I felt anything but annoyed when he made a nuisance of himself in my tour group." Melody smiled. "You always loved a challenge. And admit it, Jagger always was a challenge." Erin picked up her briefcase and stood. "At the age of thirty, one grows more interested in other types of excitement. I plan on doing lots of sightseeing in Virginia, and Washington, D.C., Williamsburg, the Tidewater, even the Outer Banks of North Carolina. As far as I'm concerned, Jagger can sit out at the Callahan ranch and rot with the six Callahan bachelors." "So this time you'll be the one who runs away from what might be." Melody's tone was so offhand that Erin smiled at her friend's needling. "Won't work, dear friend. I'm off to have my real estate agent fax these papers for my new house."

971

Melody walked her to the door. "When are you going to tell your folks about your big adventure?" "That's a problem for another day." She hugged her friend and left, only to find Jagger lounging on the library steps against a concrete gargoyle. "Friend of yours?" she asked Jagger, moving past him. He followed her, as she knew he would. "Stalking something you learned in the military, Jagger?" When he put his hand through her arm to stop her, Erin slowed, determined to let him know once and for all that whatever he had in mind, there was no need for them to pretend that they were going to be friends. "Jagger, listen. I'll admit that you look great for a guy who spent a number of years in dangerous locations. But is there a reason you've suddenly decided to burst into my life? He stared down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I came back to Diablo for one reason, Erin." Erin tilted her head, regarding Jagger. "I heard. You missed home cooking, good friends and your family. You missed Diablo." Jagger nodded. "Yes, I did. But I also always regretted leaving you the way I did." His heart was tearing through his chest. He'd been home for a while, but it had taken him a few months to get his nerve up to talk to Erin. Clearly, she was long over him. But he had never gotten over her—not that she would want to hear that. Erin shook her head. "There's no need to go over this. You went into basic then deployed fast to the other side of the world, where there were no telephones and no rudimentary writing utensils. You didn't have time to say goodbye, not even for a woman you had promised your heart and the rest of your life to." He put his finger on her chin, rubbing her skin for a moment before letting his hand fall away. "I'd like to use those excuses, Erin. The truth is, I was beginning to want to stay here with you too much. I was two years out of high school and I felt like I was trapped between two worlds. I couldn't stand the thought of being stuck in Diablo for the rest of my life. Like most of our friends, I needed out. I didn't know what I wanted for myself, much less for the two of us." She stepped away a few paces, putting distance between them. "I understand better than you think I do. You don't have to apologize, Jagger. Diablo is happy to have you back. The Callahans need help at Rancho Diablo. You coming home works out for everyone. If you're searching for forgiveness from me, you have it. But nothing more than forgiveness," she said. "I hope you can understand the past is truly the past for me." This time when she walked away, Jagger let her go. He'd said his piece. She wasn't the shy, bookish redhead he'd fallen for in school. Confident, hot and sweet as hell— Sam Callahan clapped him on the back. "Checking out some reading material at the library? Or checking out the pretty legs on the town historian?" Jagger shook his head. "I should be doing neither." "It's a beautiful day in April. Woman watching is a man's rite of spring. So, make any progress?" "No," Jagger said, surprised at the morose tone of his voice. "She says she's forgiven me, but she hasn't. She never will." Sam clapped him once more on the shoulder. Jagger looked at the Callahan who'd encouraged him to apply for the foreman's job at Rancho Diablo.

972

"I meant, made any progress on fencing up the south end of the ranch near the canyons," Sam said, his gaze lit with laughter. "But keep me posted on the bookworm, too." Jagger waved as Sam walked away laughing. The Callahans were huge practical jokers. He didn't mind being joshed about his love life. Yet when it came to Erin, he just didn't feel like laughing. The moment he'd seen her again, touched her skin, lost himself in those deep brown eyes, he'd known he'd done the right thing by coming home. For him, the years away had done more than age him. He was proud of the medals he'd won for service and bravery, of all the communities he'd helped restore, damn proud of the lives he'd saved. But he'd never been proud of leaving Erin the way he had. He'd been a coward—and Jagger didn't want that brand to sit alongside the medals in his memories. Somehow he had to make it up to her.

Chapter Two "I'm afraid the sellers have accepted another offer," the real estate agent told Erin the next day. After concluding the call with hopes her agent would find another house near Monument Avenue, Erin hung up with a sense of sadness. The house had been perfect. Two-story, not quite gingerbread in the Key West sense but still locked in time. She'd fallen in love in an instant. Melody came over to commiserate. "You love this apartment, too," she said, glancing around Erin's clean, spare abode. "Lots of room for books. And I'd miss you if you moved away." "You'd visit often. We could search out the bookstores, and the stacks at the College of William & Mary in Williamsburg." But none of that was going to happen if she didn't have a place to live. And the perfect place had just slipped through her fingers. Erin was so disappointed she didn't know what to say. "Thanks for coming by with sweet tea, though. It's just what I need." "I considered a couple of longnecks until I saw that you have a night tour scheduled for this evening. Ghost hunting or a séance?" Erin laughed. Melody always cheered her up. "Night raiding the Callahan ranch for ghosts." "Ever thought about writing fiction?" She gazed out the window. "Or romance?" "Why would I write romance novels? I'd rather read them." "Maybe you'll experience a great love story you've just got to share." Melody went to the door and opened it. "Hello, Jagger. You're looking dark and devilish as always. Erin, it's Jagger. And he's brought a cactus. 'Bye, you two." Melody sailed out the door. Jagger walked into her small apartment, filling it up with his long, lean presence—and yes, darn it all, Melody was right: the man was gorgeous. She felt her heart give a thump of remembered longing. No. No, you don't, she told herself. Remember how much he hurt you. Don't fall for his charm! Jagger held out the plant, a small cactus dotted with a red flower ensconced in a sand-colored pot. Though she warned herself she'd be encouraging him, Erin took it.

973

"This wasn't necessary," she said to him. "But it's a lovely…cactus. Thank you." He glanced around her Santa Fe–style apartment. "Jonas Callahan told me you liked the cacti his aunt Fiona collects and grows." Erin shook her head. "I didn't know Fiona kept cacti." Jagger looked disappointed. "They get me every time." Erin smiled in spite of herself. "The Callahans get everyone every time. Never mind. This window needs a plant." She went to put the pot in the windowsill of her small kitchenette where it could enjoy unfiltered sunlight. "Erin," Jagger said, and she turned to him. "Yes?" He glanced around the apartment again before appearing to come to a decision. "Judah Callahan mentioned that you have a ghost-hunting tour tonight." She nodded, wondering why it mattered. "Care to have an ex–Green Beret along? Just in case you actually happen upon something paranormal." He smiled at her, his face almost hopeful, reminding her so much of the boy she'd fallen in love with. Some ghosts didn't lie easily, lingering long after their time. Jagger was a ghost of her love life long past, one that she simply couldn't put to rest. Jagger wasn't certain why he'd offered to go on Erin's ghost-hunting jag. He'd heard from the Callahans that these sorties of Erin's were a source of great amusement around Rancho Diablo. The "ghost" was part of the lore and legend of the huge ranch, and a few times a year—and always at Halloween—the Callahans let Erin book tours of the ranch to hunt the ghost. Or ghosts, depending on Erin's script. The tour was always sold out months in advance. He wondered what the diminutive redhead would do if she ever came across something from Ebenezer Scrooge's nightmares. Probably talk it into its eternal rest. "I think the services of a Green Beret are a little over the top for what I do," Erin said, her tone cool. "I know you could handle anything that turned up." He shrugged. "I remember that you could tell some pretty sweet tales. It sounds like a fun evening." Erin's lips pursed. "Whatever you're trying to say, I'm not getting it, Jagger." He smiled. "Just that you're a fascinating storyteller and I'm hoping to tag along." She gave her own version of his shrug. "It's your ticket. All the spots were sold out, but since the money from the tours goes to benefit the library, I think I can squeeze in one more person. Feel free to donate to the cause." "I will, then. Have you ever spotted the ghost on any of your tours?" She shook her head. "Spirits are notoriously private."

974

He laughed out loud. "As is a certain redhead I know." "Nothing private about me, Jagger. My life was singularly focused after you left. I got into Boston College, but decided to be a Lobo instead. I studied at the state university, got my degree, came home to keep an eye on my folks." The cool tone was back. "Nothing like what you were doing. We followed your exploits, here in Diablo. I heard you got a medal or two—your folks are proud. And there ends the story of two people who meant something to each other once and then moved on." Nodding sadly, he put his hat on. "I'll see you tonight at the ghost catch." As he headed for the door, he realized that Erin was as prickly as that cactus, and harder to get close to. She'd kept her posture so straight and standoffish as the sun beaming in her window had made her red hair shine. Yet the whole time he'd been in her apartment, he'd noticed her checking out his jeans, his chest, his face. She wouldn't come within a foot of him, but her gaze had been riveted to him. He took that as a good sign. "Jagger!" He turned. "Yes?" "Wear all black." He raised a brow. "Do spirits prefer black?" "I wouldn't know. But if I'm going to use you as a prop, you might as well look the part." She shut her door behind him. He hesitated, then laughed and walked away. A prop. In her staged tour. Oh, yes, the lady still loved her tall tales. It was the first time anyone had ever wanted to use him as a prop. But she wasn't the only one who had a few tricks up her sleeve. Jagger couldn't wait for the fun to begin.

Chapter Three Jagger met Erin at the Rancho Diablo entrance at nearly ten o'clock that night, dressed in what he hoped was her version of black: gray camo fatigues, sneaks, T-shirt. She checked him over and shrugged. "Oh, come on, I'm as scary looking as I know how to be," Jagger told her. "I'm irresistible. To the ghost, of course." She frowned. "Tonight, let's declare a truce." That stopped him. He sent a lingering gaze over her white sundress with yellow sunflowers and shiny canary-colored sandals. "I didn't realize we were at war." "We're not. But for the sake of the guests, no awkward or heated repartee between us, please." She looked so prim and proper he was struck by an urge to kiss her and wipe all the grimness off her face. "Whatever you say, tour lady. I'm just the silent prop." Her face said she wasn't certain she trusted him. He grinned, wanting to tell her how cute her red hair looked up in a bouncy ponytail, and how much he liked the little frosting of freckles on her nose. But that would make her retreat even further behind her defensive walls, so he said nothing at all for a moment.

975

He watched her tap her pencil nervously on her notepad—surely notes on how to entertain paranormal hunters—and realized how little he knew about her now. "You've changed," Jagger said, "and yet, not so much." "You've changed a lot." Erin swept a fast gaze over him. "I wouldn't have recognized you if I'd seen you in an airport." He resisted the urge to say he wouldn't mind getting to know her all over again. "Here comes your tour group." She went off to greet the visitors to Rancho Diablo as they got out of their white tour van. "Thank you all for coming! Now that everyone is here and we have our bodyguard—" She pointed to Jagger, who straightened and tried to look appropriately tough-guy, even though he didn't believe in ghosts and yesterday would have said the idea of a ghost safari was silly. "—I want to introduce you to our guest of honor." Jonas Callahan appeared out of the darkness. "Tonight you have the good fortune to meet the eldest Callahan," Erin said. "This is Jonas." The group murmured with appreciation, thrilled to meet one of the infamous Callahans. Jonas threw Jagger a surprised glance, and he shrugged. "I'm the prop," he told Jonas. "You look like Rambo. Keep an eye out for snakes," Jonas told him, eliciting a squeal from an elderly lady. "Could there really be snakes?" she asked, sounding properly horrified. Jonas tipped his hat with one finger. "It's always a possibility. But I'm sure you're in good hands with Jagger and Erin, ma'am." Erin's eyes shot to Jagger, as if she didn't want to hear their names together. Jagger grinned at her. Once upon a time, it had been Erin and Jagger. He hadn't forgotten—even if she was trying hard to forget. Maybe a little too hard? *** As the town historian—a position she'd taken over from her late grandfather after developing the annals of Diablo with him from the time she was a young girl—Erin knew every one of the supposed mystical legends of Rancho Diablo. She didn't believe all of them. Though it wasn't hard, at this moment, to imagine that there was some kind of magic at the Callahan ranch. Just looking at the six brothers, mounted and ready to lead the tour into the canyons, Erin felt her breath hitch with excitement, like she was watching Old West history come to life. Her eyes slipped to Jagger, sitting beside the Callahans' butler, Burke, who was driving the wagon transporting the guests. A shiver ran over her. Jagger didn't resemble any of the Callahans, with his closecut hair and serious demeanor. The years in the military had done that. Rafe Callahan had done military service, too, but it had been a shorter stint and not in the worst danger zones like where Jagger had been deployed. He met her gaze, raised the rifle Jonas had given him to show that he was ready to do his job—and the shivers multiplied. She'd been fibbing like mad when she'd told Jagger she'd let him come along merely as a prop to make the tour seem more spooky.

976

"We're ready whenever you are, Elvira," Jagger said, and Erin's daydreams disappeared. Honestly, the man was determined to devil her. She ignored Jagger's comment and got up next to her guests in the wagon. She handed each one a small flashlight from a bag Jonas Callahan brought over to her. "Everybody ready to see what we can find?" "I don't understand," an elderly lady said, "aren't ghosts usually associated with houses? Why are we going away from the house?" "The psychic phenomena that supposedly exists at Rancho Diablo seems to enjoy roaming," Pete Callahan said, smiling down at her. "Have you ever seen a ghost on your ranch, Mr. Callahan?" his guest asked. "No," Pete said, with a wink Erin's way. "But we hear from the lucky ones who have that he sets the ladies' hearts fluttering." "He?" one of the elderly gentlemen demanded. "Has the sex been identified?" Erin smiled, aware that the people on the tour and Pete were enjoying matching wits. She'd done several of these tours at Rancho Diablo, and all had ended without event. The unsuccessful ghost hunters were mollified after being taken into the Callahan "castle" and served snacks by Fiona. Everyone always came away impressed by the Callahan hospitality. "Actually," Creed Callahan said, "I think it's a pair of star-crossed lovers." Erin looked at Creed, blinking. "Really? When did that develop?" "Recently," Creed said, his tone mild, and the other Callahans chuckled. "Oh, very funny," Erin said, realizing they were gently needling her. Mortified, she glanced at Jagger, but he didn't seem to have heard. When the brothers rode away, Jagger gazed at her. And winked. Erin jumped. He'd heard every bit of the teasing. He'd merely acted as if he hadn't to spare her. But she was pretty certain he could read her mind, or her body language, or something that was telling him the one thing that she was trying desperately to hide…that she'd never completely gotten over him. Not even remotely. *** With her eight guests securely tucked into the wagon with her, Erin felt like the night would be a surefire success. Burke drove the wagon slowly so he wouldn't joggle the elderly patrons, and the brothers were spaced around the wagon—three riding ahead, and three in back—to give a sense of added security. Everything was going fine until Jonas, Rafe and Creed stopped about five hundred feet in front of the wagon. "Are we getting out here?" Erin asked Burke. The elderly Irishman shook his head. "Not usually part of the tour."

977

Jonas rode to the wagon. "See the dust cloud up ahead?" he asked Erin. "No," she said, craning her neck to get a glimpse of the dust kicking up. Certainly the wind had strengthened, but not enough to be uncomfortable. "Sit up here," Jagger told her, and she climbed over to sit on the higher seat between him and Burke. The second she plopped down between the two men, she wished she hadn't. Squeezed close enough now for their arms to brush, Erin was aware of how good Jagger smelled and how strong he was. She gulped and peered toward the dust. "Is it a dust devil?" She heard thundering, hard and pounding, and tried to shrink away from Jagger so he wouldn't hear her heart beating so loudly. Surely even the gentleman with the hearing aid could probably hear her heart running away. "Diablos," Jagger whispered. "I think it's the Diablos." "It can't be," she whispered back, leaning forward. "They're just a story the Callahans' aunt made up for them so they'd sleep at night." Jonas looked over at her with a grin. "I heard that." He laughed, ha-ha-ha-ing with abandon. "Well?" Erin asked, "can you tell the tour what it is that they're seeing?" "I don't see a thing," one of the ladies complained, "but I smell horse doo like it's right underneath the wagon." "It probably is," Jonas said, his tone amused, and rode back to join his brothers at the front as the dust cloud dissipated. Erin could hear him guffawing as he repeated her comment about the Callahans' bedtime story to them. "What was it?" she asked Jagger. "I don't know," he said, "but it got you up next to me, so I don't care if it was a Diablo or a dust devil." "Oh, that's so sweet," someone piped up from the back, and Erin sighed. "Now that the drama is over," she said, her tone librarian-correct, "I'll tell you the history of Rancho Diablo." "With this full moon, honey, you should be kissing, not talking." Erin recognized the voice as belonging to the gentleman with the hearing aid. Clearly, he had no trouble hearing much of anything, and she wished Jagger hadn't heard the suggestion, either. By the half-smile on his lean face, she knew he probably agreed with the visitor. Did he want to kiss her? Did she want him to? At the tour guest's comment, Jagger glanced at Erin, noting her worried expression. "Oh, all right," he said. "Just a quickie, though." He planted a soft smooch on Erin's lips, bringing cheers from the occupants of the wagon and a gasp from her. Her brown eyes widened.

978

"I'm getting down," she said. "Burke, can you stop the wagon, please?" He whoa'd the horses, and she jumped to the ground. "You're going to ruin those pretty sandals," the querulous Boston lady said, "especially if you step in one of those piles I smelled." "Walking's good for me," she said, and immediately tripped over something in the darkness. When Erin's yellow sundress rolled out of sight, Jagger leaped out of the wagon without a second thought.

Chapter Four Erin had probably stepped into a recently dug drainage ditch. Jagger had helped dig some of them himself and knew they weren't deep, so he waited for her to pop back up. Since she'd run off after his kiss, he figured it was best to wait for her to come to him. "Gracious," a lady said. "Where'd she go?" "Erin?" Jagger called, and when she didn't reply, he whistled for the brothers and started walking, carrying his rifle and flashlight with him. "Erin?" "Down here." He could hear her voice thinly in the darkness. "And I'm not happy about being down here, either. Can you continue the tour until I figure a way to get out?" Erin asked. She sounded flustered, maybe even scared. Jagger shone the flashlight around, trying to locate her. "Get out of where?" Sam Callahan asked, peering into the darkness with a flashlight. His five brothers did the same, sending circles of light in the direction of her voice. "This cave," Erin said, now sounding a little cranky to Jagger. "At least, I think it's a cave." "She's found a cave! Let's go see it!" Jagger realized their eight frail tour guests were trying to scramble down from the wagon. He didn't need all of them disappearing into a hole. "Maybe you should stay in the wagon," Jagger said. One of the guests said, "Not a chance. We paid for this tour, and we're not missing a thing!" The Callahans ignored this statement, so Jagger shrugged. "Erin, if we throw you a rope, would you be able to wrap it around you?" "I can," she said, "but I think I've sprained my shoulder." "I'll go in," Jagger said to Jonas, "and send her up to you." "Then how will you get out?" the gentleman who didn't plan on missing a thing asked. "You can come see me next year if I don't," Jagger said. "I'll be the ghost you missed this year." "That's a deal," his new friend said, and Jagger tied the rope Rafe gave him and rappelled into the hole. "Hello, Alice," he said, when he got down to Erin. He shone the flashlight on her, checking her condition. "If you were trying to get me alone, why didn't you just say so?"

979

Ignoring his comment, Erin pointed to her leg. "I didn't want to upset anybody, but I think I broke my ankle." He bent closer to her ankle, peering at it. "Hard to tell in this light. Are you in a lot of pain?" She gave him a brave smile but didn't reply. "We'll be as careful as we can getting you back up." "Thanks for coming down after me." He shrugged. "Done this kind of thing many times. No big deal." "You know," Erin said a little breathlessly, stopping Jagger in the act of trussing her in the rope. "If you're serious about kissing me, now is probably the time to do it." He raised a brow. "Why now?" "Well," Erin said, "we're below ground." "So no one would know—" "Right," she said, "and I'm feeling a little grateful right now—" "The prince effect. You're vulnerable, and I'm the rescuer." "I wouldn't go that far," she said crisply. "Let's just write my whim off to the full moon, all right?" Jagger smiled. "You don't really need any excuses to kiss me, do you?" "Look, soldier, one more second and you're not going to get a kiss at all," Erin said, annoyed. "I don't plan on being in a subterranean location again, where the prying eyes of Diablo will never know." Jagger didn't hesitate to take her in his arms. If he had one shot, he planned to make the most of it. He pressed his lips against hers, amazed by how much he remembered the feel of her in his arms. He'd missed her like crazy. It was an empty hole inside of him that had never been filled in all his time away. "You guys all right down there?" Jonas's voice bellowed into the cavern, and as he lifted his mouth from Erin's, Jagger wished he wasn't holding a rope in one hand with a Callahan on the other end. "We're fine," Jagger called back. Though he was thinking that he would gladly be stuck with Erin below the earth's surface for a week if that's what it took to keep her in his arms. She looked at him, her big eyes trusting, and he was surprised when she kissed him again. Her lips clung to his for a long moment then she pulled away, gazing up at him with those big brown melting eyes he could see in the light from the flashlight. "Don't tell anyone I'm hurt. Just put me in the wagon so I can finish the tour." Jagger hesitated. "They'll understand, Erin." "They paid good money for a tour and they came a long way. I want them to have the full experience."

980

"Whatever you say. You let me know if the pain gets to be too much, though, and I'll get you to the E.R." Jagger tugged the rope, picked up the flashlight and shoved it in his belt, then held her tight against him. Shouts above ground filtered down to them, and Erin clung to him as they began to rise out of the cave. Jagger kept his feet moving along the side of the hole, bouncing Erin away from the wall to protect her. "I thought about you a lot while you were gone," she said, and his heart jumped a little. Of course she would decide to make confessions when he was in no position to act on her softening heart. At least he hoped she was softening toward him. "Good things?" Jagger wanted to keep her mind off the slow progress as they dangled halfway to the top. "Not always." He laughed. He couldn't help it. She was going to fight their connection every step of the way. "But sometimes," she admitted, "I wished I could have gone with you." "Not where I was going, sweetheart. You wouldn't have wanted to be there." She leaned her head against his chest for support. "I put an offer on a house in Richmond." He didn't like the sound of that. "Richmond? Why?" "It's my turn to get away from Diablo, Jagger." "Seems as if your life is adventurous enough." "I didn't think you'd ever come back," Erin admitted, "and there was no reason to let you have all the fun." He grunted. The Callahans had said she hadn't dated much. It must have been lonely in Diablo for her. "I was an ass to go off like I did." "That's in the past," she reminded him. "I'm just telling you this now so you'll know later on that if I kiss you for rescuing me, you're not to get too serious about it." He laughed. He almost wished the Callahans weren't so strong; the six of them had just about lifted them out of the hole. "I won't get too serious. If you don't." "Not me," she said. "I'm going to find ghosts in other parts of the country." "You do that, sugar," he said, "right after we have a doctor put you back together." He knew first aid, but she'd sworn him to secrecy about her injuries. He'd keep her secrets. "So I'm getting more kisses?" he asked, as Jonas reached down to lift Erin gently from Jagger's arms. "Maybe," she said. "Kisses?" Jonas asked. "Was there kissing going on down there?" "Absolutely not," Erin said. "Why would you think such a thing?" Jagger laughed out loud. "Tall tales," he murmured just for Erin to hear.

981

Chapter Five

"So," Melody said as Erin lay propped on the patterned sofa in her living room, "I heard a rumor about kissing in a cave?" Erin groaned, and she put her ankle—not broken, just sprained, thankfully—higher on the pillow. "What happens below, should stay below." "This is a small town. The Books 'n' Bingo Society is ruled by Miss Fiona. She heard the Callahans ribbing Jagger about subterranean romancing, and Fiona shared the information with everyone." Melody looked at her, delighted with the news. "Too bad you weren't down there longer. Who knows what might have happened?" "Nothing," Erin said, and Melody grinned. "It's so romantic. I wish I knew someone to get trapped with." There were any number of eligible bachelors around Diablo who would jump at the chance to trap Melody anyplace she wished. "More importantly, the tour was a success. The guests loved getting to see the inside of Rancho Diablo." "Everyone does." A knock sounded on the door and Melody got up to open it. Erin could see her grinning at the visitor. "I appreciate you rescuing our town historian from the rabbit hole, Jagger. I always said you were a hero. 'Bye, Erin, I'll check in on you later." She smiled at Jagger. "She's a little vinegary today." "I can handle it. I think." Jagger filled her small living room with his big-shouldered presence. He handed her chocolates, which Erin took without hesitation. "Of all my visitors, only you brought chocolate," she told Jagger. "That's because I know you better than anyone else," he said with a wink, seating himself on the opposite end of the sofa. She had to shut down that line of familiarity fast. There would be no more kissing. She'd decided that she'd only kissed him in the first place because the fall had knocked her good sense clean out of her head. But it wouldn't happen again. She had a plan. Erin eyed Jagger, decided he was more handsome than any man had a right to be and popped a chocolate in her mouth. "I'm not sharing." He laughed. "I didn't figure you would. Luckily for you, I don't eat chocolate." "Quite abnormal, I'd say." She sniffed, culling her memory, which was sharp for all things historical. Yet when it came to Jagger, what she remembered best was long nights of him holding her, rocking on her parents' porch swing. Stars, lots of stars, seemed to light those romantic nights. "Did you never like chocolate?" "You don't remember?" She shrugged. "I remember you loved hamburgers."

982

"That's true, but no, I never liked chocolate." He grinned. "Although I will say drinking hot chocolate in London on a cold day is not a bad thing." She jumped at the reminder of travels. "I need to call my real estate agent. Are you staying long?" "This is the thanks I get for rescuing you?" His voice held laughter. "I just don't want to be rude and make a phone call while you're here." He shrugged. "I can go." "I didn't say I wanted you to leave, exactly," she said impatiently. "I was just asking if you plan to stay long. If you are, I'll just text my agent that I'll call her this afternoon." One brow slid up. "So you don't want me to leave?" Erin hesitated. "Part of me does, and part of me doesn't. How's that for an answer?" "More indecisive than you usually are. How's the foot and the shoulder?" "Sore, but not bad enough that a week won't cure them." She gave him a shy look. "Don't tell anyone, but I was scared down there." "I was, too." "You were not." Erin shot him a glare that said she didn't believe his tall tale. Jagger had been decorated for bravery. She doubted that he was ever afraid of anything. "Ask any man if they want to be trapped in a dark hole with a female who doesn't want to be there with him, and he'll tell you it's a frightening experience." Jagger grinned, relishing ribbing her, and Erin felt her heart flip over. "Oh," she said, wondering if the kiss had meant nothing to him at all. She'd barely been able to sleep last night—and it wasn't because of the pain. The feel of Jagger in her arms, remembering how his lips had felt on hers, had kept her up all night. "Jagger," Erin said, "I shouldn't have kissed you." "Well, you were plastered up against me," he said easily. "Put two sparks together and you likely get a fire." He grinned. "Besides, I couldn't say no." He threaded his fingers through hers even as he teased her. "You could have." He shook his head. "Not chivalrous. I could tell you were frightened." "So you kissed me because I was scared?" "Was there a better reason to let you kiss me?" Jagger asked. He was happy to let her stew in her own curiosity; Jagger loved getting Erin all wound up. In that regard, she hadn't changed much. He'd always enjoyed how her cheeks went pink and her eyes flashed. But when she didn't respond, he tried a different tack. "Everyone says they're really going to miss you when you leave." She threw him a suspicious glance but didn't take her fingers away from his. "What do you mean, everyone says they're going to miss me?"

983

"When you move," he said. "To Richmond, or wherever." "No one knows but you, unless you blabbed." He shook his head. "I didn't tell. But I think your real estate agent must have mentioned something. It's all over town." Erin shot up on the sofa. "My folks don't even know!" "I believe they do now. Sam heard your mother telling Fiona that she hoped I'd change your plans." She looked at him. "What would you have to do with changing my plans?" "Search me." He smiled, slow and teasing. "But apparently your mother said she wished I'd marry you and save you from going off on a wild goose chase." "It's not a wild goose chase!" Erin's brown eyes sparked at him, but Jagger noticed she still didn't pull her fingers from his. He took the opportunity to inch a little closer to her and her consort of pillows. "It's my dream to get away from Diablo, Jagger Knight. I wouldn't marry anyone who lives here!" He shrugged. "I didn't say I wanted to marry you." Her delicate coffee-colored brows slid together in an exasperated vee. "Well I didn't say I wanted to marry you, either." "Wasn't that what your mother meant?" he asked, trying to keep an innocent expression on his face. "My mother wouldn't go around town trying to fix me up with you." Erin slung herself back into the pillows. "Yes, she would," she said on a groan, "if she heard I was planning to move several states away." "I'd probably just be a prop then, too," Jagger said, his expression woeful. "Just a man with a bride for show." "Like you'd ever settle for anything less than the whole enchilada from a woman." He laughed. "You're right. Making love is too much fun not to do often." She stared at him. "This conversation is taking an inappropriate turn." "You brought up making love," he pointed out, his tone reasonable. "I didn't!" But her cheeks flushed pinker. "I believe you did," he told her, "and that's all right by me. I'd make love to you, Erin. Every night, if we were married. But only if we were married. You remember that, Erin Stewart." She pulled her fingers from his hand. "Not free 'n' easy? Isn't that supposed to be the bachelor's mantra?" He shrugged. "Probably. But not mine."

984

She didn't say anything. She looked like she was thinking through something, so he let her sit there and build her wall for a moment. Then she said, "It won't work, Jagger."

Chapter Six "What won't work, my sweet?" Jagger asked, picking up her hand again. "Us trying to resurrect the past. You're running from your ghosts, and I'm looking to find some," Erin said. Jagger reluctantly moved away from her and got up from the sofa. "I couldn't agree more, to be honest." He tipped his hat to her. "I'll be by tomorrow to check on you." She seemed surprised that he was making a sudden departure, and she looked like she had something else to say. But she also looked tired. Rest was probably better for her than sparring with him. Even though she was so cute when she tried to be all bossy and opinionated. "Jagger?" He turned at the door. "Hmm?" "Thanks again for getting me out of the cave." He smiled. "Anytime. Try to keep your feet on the ground in the future, Alice." She tossed a pillow at him, which he batted away with a grin. Then he opened the door, not surprised to see Mrs. Stewart on the porch. "Hi, Mrs. Stewart." Erin's mother beamed at him. "How nice to run into you here, Jagger. You're looking well." He'd always gotten along with the Stewarts and he was glad Erin's mother still seemed to have a soft spot for him. "Thank you. If you're looking for the princess—I mean patient—she's sitting on her tuffet spewing all kinds of sweet nothings." He opened the door enough for Erin to hear his remark, which drew the expected comment. "Mom, don't listen to a word Jagger says!" Mrs. Stewart smiled at him. "I see some things haven't changed." He grinned. "No, ma'am." "I don't suppose you'd care to stay for the picnic I brought my sweet and demure daughter?" Eileen Stewart asked, gesturing to a picnic basket she held. "Mom!" Jagger's eyes crinkled. "I'm sure you have plenty to talk about that doesn't require my presence." Eileen looked disappointed. "Pleasure to see you just the same, Jagger. Don't be a stranger. Erin talks like a tough bachelorette, but she'd just love to settle down and start a family." "I'll keep that in mind." He tipped his hat and went down the steps, grinning as he heard Erin's screech.

985

Eileen Stewart had definitely found out about her daughter's plans. But he knew Erin too well. Rushing her would be a big mistake. And he was beginning to wonder whether rekindling their past romance was even possible. He'd finally made his way back home and he wasn't going to leave. But she was. *** "Mom, you can't do that," Erin protested when her mother had seated herself beside her on the sofa. "You can't try to toss me into Jagger's life. He's just gotten back, and he's not looking for anything permanent from anyone, even if I was, which I'm not." Her mother's brows rose. "Did he say that? Because I heard he was definitely serious about putting down roots here for good. Rumor has it that he was out with Lacey MacIntyre two nights ago." Erin hadn't heard that. The piece of idle gossip definitely startled her. Nothing about Jagger had been about permanence before. "Lacey?" "Yes." Her mother nodded her well-coiffed hair. "If he went out with her, he must have intentions. As I recall, Jagger never had a loose hand with the ladies." He hadn't. Erin and Jagger had only been dating for a year—their senior year of high school—before he told her he wanted to marry her. They'd been together for two more years…and then he'd left. "I haven't seen him in years. I'm sure a lot has changed for him." "Well, Lacey's definitely looking for a man. She glommed on to Jagger the minute he showed up in town." "How do you hear all this?" Erin asked. "I work at the library. I'm usually up on gossip, and if I'm not, I hear it from Melody." "You've been so busy lately, and not really focused on matters at home, I think," her mother said. Erin sighed. "Okay, Mom. You're here because you heard I was leaving." "Yes, I am. Erin, how could you?" Eileen gave her big sad eyes. "Move away from your father and me in our golden years!" The doorbell rang, sparing Erin for the moment. "Come in!" She was almost relieved when Jagger popped his head inside the door. "I was wondering," he said, "I don't suppose you'd care to go for a drive, since you've been all cooped up?" "Cooped up?" Eileen said. "It hasn't been twenty-four hours since she—" "Yes." Erin hopped to her good foot, not even caring if he had ulterior motives for coming back. "I would love to go for a drive with you, Jagger." He gave her a wink that made her pulse start pounding. "I brought a carriage, Cinderella."

986

She went to the window and stared out at a real Western carriage. She turned to look at him. "It is a carriage!" He shrugged. "The Callahans are thinking about buying it for the ranch. You know Fiona Callahan. She wants everything to be romantic. Real, but romantic. And I know how much of a history buff you are, so I'll just tell you that this is a circa 1900—" "Mom, I'll be back in a bit," Erin said, hobbling to her crutches. "Don't mind me," Eileen said. "I'll just go make sure your father isn't in cardiac arrest from hearing that his only daughter is planning on moving far, far away." Jagger grinned at Erin as she ambled toward him. "I won't say I told you so, but I did warn you." Erin glared at him. Eileen passed them on her way out the door. "Try, Erin, dear, to consider a future where your head isn't always in books and stuffy museums. Jagger, maybe you can make her think realistically. Diablo is the best place on earth!" Jagger smiled at Erin. "Yes, ma'am," he said courteously. Erin was about to retort to stall Jagger from going into a sympathetic groove with her mother when he took her crutches from her and scooped her up in his strong arms. "What are you doing?" Erin asked. "Keeping you from doing further damage to yourself." "I'm not helpless," Erin said irritably and Jagger smiled. "No one says you are." He deposited her gently on the shotgun side of the carriage. Two beautiful black geldings waited patiently in front. "I'd offer to let you drive, but with your shoulder you'll have to be the map reader instead." Erin looked at him. "Jagger, are you spending so much time with me for a reason?" He grinned at her, admiring her red hair and dark eyes as she sat gazing at him with distrust. "I want to make up for not saying goodbye. Nothing else." She looked uncertain. "Unless you want there to be something else." She shook her head. "No." "In spite of your mom's preference for me." Erin scowled at him. "That's not fair." He laughed. "Okay. No, this is just a friendly drive. You can tell me about your plans to live in Richmond while I test this chariot." He slapped the reins and the horses began a slow trot. "I just need to seal the deal on a house. I'm excited about moving, Jagger."

987

"I would be, too, if I were you." "But it's strange," she said. "I feel like somehow things are getting complicated between us—" "They're not for me." "Now that my parents know," Erin said, "and everyone else, there's going to be a concerted effort to get me fixed up with someone." "And I'm the obvious candidate." Jagger shook his head. "I wouldn't like that at all." "You wouldn't?" "No. But I think we can be friends, can't we?" "I don't know," Erin said, and she didn't sound comfortable. "Friends don't kiss, do they?" "One kiss won't shift the friend dynamics." He grinned, and once again, he was the old devilish, mischievous man she remembered. "Of course, if we made love, that would be a different thing, wouldn't it?" She couldn't help thinking that it certainly would be different making love with Jagger—and yet, somehow the same in a bittersweet way. They had made love the night before he'd left—the last time they would, though she hadn't known it then. "Jagger," Erin said, "let's not get crazy." He laughed. "Rumor has it I was always a little crazy. Well, here we are," he said. "What do you think?" Erin blinked at the small house on the edge of Rancho Diablo land. "Think of what?" "My home," Jagger said proudly. "I just bought it from the last foreman who lived here." "Oh," Erin said, suddenly aware of a feeling of regret. She wasn't sure why. Jagger had been restless to leave Diablo once; she should be glad he'd bought a house that would be an anchor for him. She thought about the house she'd offered to buy in Richmond and wondered why all of a sudden it didn't seem as wonderful as this small house, solid and welcoming, on the dusty Rancho Diablo mesa.

Chapter Seven "It's a lovely house," Erin said finally. "I hope you'll be very happy in your new home, Jagger." "Want to take a look inside?" She really didn't. Everything was starting to close in on her a little. Talk of marriage—even though teasing— and old feelings were beginning to make her dream of things she knew would only bring pain. Like her and Jagger in this house. "No, thank you. And now that we've tested out this chariot of Fiona's, I probably better get back. Mom will be wondering." Jagger nodded. He let the horses pick up a canter, and Erin told herself she was relieved. Maybe not completely relieved, but she couldn't keep thinking about Jagger.

988

"You should be resting." Jagger looked at the Callahan mansion as they drove past. "I felt bad that you fell the other night. I should have realized that those trenches we'd dug were so close." "You couldn't have known that one had given way. And I should have been more careful about where I was walking." She'd jumped out of the wagon to avoid being with Jagger, which served her right because then she'd ended up in his arms. He was quiet for a while. Then he said, "Erin, I've never been proud of how I ended things between us. I left because I had to go. I was scared. Military life instead of going off to college or working in town was different from what most of our friends were doing." He shrugged big shoulders. "It doesn't matter now, but at the time, I didn't want to seem less in your eyes." Erin stared at Jagger. "What do you mean, less?" "I knew there were a lot of guys in town who wanted to date you. Remember Sammy Garvey? Ted Townsend?" She nodded. "But I never liked anybody but you, Jagger." "Still, when you're young, you compare yourself to others. At least I did. Sammy's family had money and Ted was going to be a doctor. We all knew he was smart and he was going off to get a big-time education at Columbia." Erin laughed. "Sammy's family still has money, but he's a minister. Ted became a rodeo bullfighter. Said he preferred action to studying, and that a nerd eventually had to test himself." "But I didn't know that at the time. Everyone else was going off to be something wonderful, and there I was, turning in my paperwork to be a grunt. I was afraid I'd see disappointment in your eyes when I told you I'd enlisted. So I decided not to tell you at all, and I ended up closing the door on the sweetest thing I ever had." He glanced over at her. "I just wanted you to know the truth." She blinked, taking in his earnest gaze. "What truth?" "That I never got over loving you." There—he'd said it. The words that had been eating at him for months. Jagger had wanted to come home and cleanse his soul, clear the past up with Erin. He owed her that much. It was tough laying his heart on the line, but Erin had to know how he felt if there was ever going to be a chance for them. Erin's face had gone a touch pale. He wondered if she was in pain. "Are you all right, Erin?" She nodded then turned her gaze away. "Thank you," she finally said, and his heart lifted. "I have always wondered why you never told me you were leaving, where you were going. It was so unlike you to just disappear. You were a lot of things, Jagger—crazy, devilish, the guy voted most likely to become a rescue pilot," she said, with a little smile he could hear in her voice, "but one thing you weren't was unkind or cruel. I think that's why it hurt so much when you left. It just didn't make sense." Jagger's heart seemed to crumple. "It's not going to make what I did any better, but believe me when I tell you that leaving you that night was like ripping out my own heart." Erin didn't say anything else, and Jagger figured he'd said enough for a week. Maybe a lifetime. She sounded like she might forgive him, though, and that was his goal. Wasn't it?

989

I'd be kidding myself if I didn't admit that I want more. I want Erin. I always did. "You know," he said, when they finally pulled up in front of Erin's house, "I learned something in the military." He stopped the horses and went around to help her from the carriage. "I'm sure military life teaches a person a lot of things," Erin said, sliding down his arms until her feet were on the ground. He could barely endure being so close to her, smelling her perfume, holding her. Jagger let his hands drop away from Erin's waist. "Yeah," he said, "I learned a lot, but one thing that always stuck with me more than anything else is how precious people are. That sounds dumb, doesn't it?" She shook her head, stared up into his eyes. "All that time away taught me that the people in your life matter more than anything," Jagger said. He'd hoped he was making headway with her, but he was astonished when Erin took his hand. "Can you come inside for a moment?" She wondered if he would accept, now that he'd cleared his conscience. Maybe that was all he'd wanted to do. Perhaps enough near-death experiences made a man look back on his past and decide to empty the closet of skeletons. "Sure," he said, shrugging in that devil-may-care way he'd always done. "I need to help you get to the door, at least." He handed her the crutches and kept an eye out for her as she made her way to her front door. Her mother opened the door, smiling at them like she was the happiest mother on earth. "I took the liberty of changing your sheets and tidying up a little, Erin," she said. "After I left, I realized you can't do any of that with your shoulder." She beamed at Jagger. "I'm not a busybody mother, I promise, but—" Jagger laughed and gave Eileen a hug. Erin remembered just how well he'd gotten along with her folks— and how much they, too, had been saddened by his sudden departure. It had been strange, waiting for updates about his life through his parents and the town grapevine. Erin felt like she'd held her breath for years, wondering about his safety…until she'd heard that he'd come back to town and picked up like he'd never gone away. "I know you're a wonderful mom, Eileen," Jagger said, hugging her close. "Goodness, look at me being a silly-billy," Eileen said, and Erin could see that her mother's eyes were misty as she moved to the front door. "Erin, I'll check on you tomorrow, dear. Call me if you need anything." "I will. Thanks, Mom." Erin closed the door as her mother departed. She turned, her eyes going wide. "Oh, wow." Her entire apartment had been vacuumed and straightened. Fresh flowers sat next to the cactus Jagger had given her, making the small room smell fresh and pretty. Erin blushed, realizing that although her mother had "tidied up" to help her out, she was also trying to help her daughter catch a man.

990

Jagger. "Your mother hasn't changed a bit," Jagger said. "She could always get more done in a day than most people do in a week." He didn't seem to notice that perhaps the cleaning and straightening was just a tad excessive, even for her mother. Only a mother attempting to impress a beau would try the flowers trick. "She stays busy," Erin said, hoping she sounded offhand. "Please, sit down, Jagger." He hesitated for a long moment then, with a glance toward the flowers, said, "Actually, I think I'd better be going."

Chapter Eight As much as he wanted to stay, Jagger knew he had to leave. "All right, if you have to go," Erin said. "Thanks for the ride in Fiona's carriage. It was fun." Jagger nodded. "I'll come by and check on you tomorrow," he said, and beat a hasty retreat. The look in Erin's brown eyes made him feel like a heel. It had been hugging Mrs. Stewart that had made him realize that there were feelings involved beyond his own. They'd always treated him like a son. He owed them more. "Whoa," Jonas Callahan said, "where's the fire?" Jagger hadn't realized Jonas was standing by the "chariot" and looking inside it when he'd got into the seat and clicked the reins. "Sorry," Jagger said. "I generally check to make sure there are no interested kids or tourists gawking at the carriage before I head off." "You all right?" Jonas asked. "I'm fine. Need a ride back?" "I'll ride with you a ways and check out the prospective wheels." Jonas got into Erin's seat. Jagger missed her smile already. "What do you think of the buggy?" Jonas asked. "It's sweet. It'll be great for Fiona and her endless parties and decorations." Jagger tried to smile, but his mind was on Erin. "Yeah," Jonas said easily, "we're thinking of loaning it out for weddings, too." Jagger blinked. "Weddings?" "Sure," the eldest Callahan said, "what a great rig for heading off to the airport in, huh?" "Airport?" Jagger was having trouble keeping up. His brain—and heart—was still on Erin and her family. Jonas laughed. "What happened back there? You sound like a parrot." "Sorry." Jagger shook his head. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

991

"So I hear," Jonas said. "I talked to Eileen as she was leaving. She said she thinks you might be falling in love with Erin all over again." He was too old and tough to blush, but he could feel heat crawling up his neck. "Eileen is a thing of wonder and amazement." Jonas laughed. "She certainly is. Reminds me of my aunt. Anyway, she said she hoped she'd one day be welcoming you into the family. And I had the sudden brainstorm that this carriage was a vehicle of romance—a carriage of desire and happy endings." Jonas shrugged. "I'm sounding like my aunt these days, but turning a profit is romance to me. You know what I mean?" Jagger stopped the carriage. "Not exactly, Jonas, but you Callahans are fairly inscrutable." He grinned at his friend and employer. "If you don't mind, can you find your way back to the ranch on your own?" "Sure," Jonas said. "Forget something?" Jagger shook his head. "Remembered something." And he turned the carriage around. *** Erin was disappointed when Jagger left. More like devastated all over again. He'd looked like a man who'd suddenly spotted a fire and needed a window to jump from. He'd wanted to get away from her. "I guess he'd said his piece and wanted to go," she told Melody, who'd rung to check on her. "He took off like he'd seen a ghost." "There's that ghost you're always chasing," Melody said, her voice bright with laughter. "Maybe it finally showed up." "What? The ghost of commitment past?" Erin was a little annoyed that Jagger thought he could unload his feelings, make her fall for him all over again, even wonder if maybe…and then pull the rug out from under her again. "It's sort of a relief that he hasn't changed. I always knew a dog couldn't change its spots." "Oh," Melody said, still giggling, "you mixed a few metaphors there. Which is a sure sign that my history- and education-loving little friend has her head all muddled. And the only thing that could do that is a man. Specifically, Jagger." Melody let out a peal of laughter, and Erin muttered, "Talk to you tomorrow, friend," and hung up. The doorbell rang, and she hobbled to the door. "If you're not bearing flowers or candy, you're probably going to get yelled at," she said to the visitor on the other side, and pulled the door open. Jagger stood on her porch, his hands outstretched and empty. "None of the above. Can I safely pass the surly princess at the gate?" She hesitated, not about to smile, then moved away from the door. "Did you forget something?" "Yes," Jagger said, and pulled her close for a breath-stealing kiss. "Wow," Erin said when Jagger finally let her come up for air a few moments later. "What was that for?"

992

"It wasn't for anything." Jagger's fingers stole along her chin then traced her lips. "Just what I should have done years ago. What I've been dying to do ever since I got home." Erin's heart jumped. "Not since you got home. You didn't come see me for months." "Would you believe men can get cold feet, too?" "Yes," she said, loving the feel of Jagger holding her. "You seem to get them often with me." "Not anymore," Jagger said, picking her up and carrying her outside to the carriage. "Another ride?" Erin asked, aware that people on the sidewalks were starting to stare. She knew most of them—all of them, actually. Jonas Callahan had a grin on his face the size of a quarter moon. "It's all right," she told everyone. "I hurt my ankle, and he's just helping me—" "I'm not helping her," Jagger said. "She's too independent for that. I'm proposing to her, and I'm the one who's probably going to need help." Cheers went up as Jagger set her back in the carriage seat. "I'd put you inside the carriage, but I want you beside me, always," he said. Erin's heart was practically flying out of her chest. She was rattled, so unlike her usual calm self. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard something about a proposal?" "You did." Jagger snapped the reins and pulled away from her apartment. "Would you like it now, or in a more romantic place?" "I've been waiting an awfully long time," Erin said, suddenly shy but totally delighted, "so if you don't mind, I'll take it now." He shocked her when he stopped the carriage and jumped down, coming around to get her. Helping her from her seat, Jagger then went down on one knee and put his hand over his heart, like a knight of old. Their audience had followed them, and now excited whispers broke out. "I was going to do this at the jeweler's," Jagger said, his eyes gleaming wickedly, "but since you can't wait for a romantic ride to the jewelry store—" "Hurry up, Jagger," Erin said, laughing. "You're giving me heart failure." He grinned and took her hand. "Erin Stewart," he said, "I've loved you all my life. I never thought I'd say that about anyone, but it's true. You're my heart and soul. I've waited for years to make you my wife. Although this isn't the way I'd envisioned it," Jagger said, glancing around at their happy-to-be-in-on-the-moment friends. "Go on," Erin said, "you're doing fine, sweetie." Jagger laughed. "I know you want to get away from Diablo, that you have a dream. All these people who've known you since you were in a baby carriage Eileen paraded through the streets will be sad to see you go, but I understand better than anyone how important it is to follow a dream. I'm hoping you'll take me with you, Erin. Will you be my wife and make me the happiest man in the world?" Erin gave a little hop and a squeal. "Yes, Jagger, I will. And I'm glad you didn't plan this," she said as their friends erupted into cheers, "because I love sharing this moment with our friends. And my mom and dad," she said, catching sight of Eileen and Doug in the crowd of well-wishers. She pulled him to his feet. "That was so romantic," she said. "Thank you, Jagger."

993

"Anything to make you happy, love," he said, waving at Jonas. "It was Jonas and his big mouth who made me realize that this carriage was meant for romance." He patted one of the horses on the rump. "I propose we take it to the jewelry store now. Seal the deal before you change your mind. Going my way?" "I'm sorry I spoiled your surprise," Erin said, smiling as he lifted her back up into the carriage. "I just couldn't wait." "I love spontaneity in my woman," Jagger said. He went around the carriage to get in the driver's seat. "I like living dangerously." "And I'm going to like living in your new house," Erin said, watching for his reaction. Jagger hesitated, staring at her. "Do you mean it?" She nodded. "I never really wanted to be anywhere but with you. When you left, I waited for you to come back. Only once you were home, you didn't come to see me, and I thought it was really over. After that it was just too hard to be in the same place as you and not be with you." She gazed into his eyes. "I'll be happy wherever you are." "Erin," he said, "I'll take you all around the world. You'll see everything." "I love you," she told Jagger. "You do realize that being married to a ghost-hunting historian is going to be a little less exciting than what you're used to?" Jagger laughed and gave her a kiss that lingered. "I love you, Erin Stewart. I don't know how much more excitement I can take than wondering when my wife will be bringing a ghost home to dinner." Erin smiled as the carriage rolled forward. Erin thought it was a good thing there was no such thing as ghosts—or at least any that were still in her and Jagger's past. It was all happily ever after now, forever and ever.

994