Harlequin Shorts Online Part 04

137 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*

Outback Crisis The Setup Bedroom Window Voodoo Darkness Betrayed The Moments Mason's Kiss Demon Seduction Song of Marwey A Fool For Love Hooked Up A Season for Miracles Murder at Last Chance Ranch And a Dead Guy in a Pear Tree Dangerous Redemption Christmas Evie The Medici's Pregnant Mistress Road Taken An Enduring Love Million-Dollar Dad Street Life Billionaire's Baby Spring Fling Diamond Affairs The Diamond H.O.T. Mountain Grayson Prentiss's Seduction Hold the Date Marked by Evil Will of Her Own Catch of the Day Home on the Range Captured Hearts Making It To 25 The Italian MD's Secret Family Small-Town Romance

By Melanie Milburne By Jasmine Cresswell by Amanda Stevens by Maggie Shayne By P.C. Cast By Holly Jacobs By Sheri WhiteFeather By Pat White By Robin D. Owens By Susan Mallery By Nancy Warren By Cynthia Rutledge By B.J. Daniels By Leslie Kelly By Roxanne Rustand By Karen Templeton By Robyn Grady By Megan Hart By Jillian Hart By C.J. Carmichael By Rochelle Alers By Leanne Banks By Lenora Worth By Isabel Sharpe By Diane Gaston By Cindy Dees By Bronwyn Scott By Shirley Jump By Amanda Stevens By Darlene Gardner By Carla Cassidy By Elizabeth Bevarly By Kylie Brant By Janice Kay Johnson By Alison Roberts By Arlene James

2 21 38 68 88 117 139 164 190 212 223 243 275 298 330 356 377 396 418 441 470 510 534 563 586 613 635 666 685 705 732 753 772 795 818 844

37* 38* 39* 40* 41* 42* 43*

Finding Home Safe Harbor Winner Takes All Flash Storm At Midnight The Last Stand In a Cowboy's Arms

By Cindi Myers By Carla Cassidy By Joanne Rock By Jill Shalvis By Debra Webb By Brenda Novak By Marin Thomas

863 885 902 924 948 971 983

Till 179…

* eHarlequin,US

^eHarlequin, Aus

** others

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

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Outback Crisis by Melanie Milburne Newly qualified Dr. Alex MacDonald is thrilled to have received a 6 month contract in Australia’s Outback. Eager to start a new life, she can’t wait to get the clinic up and running. Imagine her surprise when she arrives to find the position already filled by Dr. Alex MacDonald—a very male, very handsome Dr. Alex MacDonald!

Chapter One Now isn’t that just typical, Alex thought as she drove into the Kingfisher Crossing Medical Clinic car park. There was one space marked “Doctor Only” but it was already taken, she presumed by a patient who hadn’t realized the new locum would be arriving today. She parked in the meager shade of a wilting peppercorn tree, the sweltering heat of the ground burning its way through her sandals with every step she took towards the weather-beaten building. There was a semidetached cottage on the left which she assumed from the documentation she had received was to be her residence. And just like the clinic, the paint was cracked and peeling in spots and the garden, for lack of a better word, looked as if it—like the rest of the arid landscape she had driven through to get here—could do with a shower or two of decent rain. All in all it was a particularly unwelcoming sight and even the floorboards on the wraparound veranda protested volubly as she moved across them to open the screen door to reception. “I’m afraid if you’ve come to see Dr MacDonald you’re two days early,” a woman in her late fifties said from behind the small reception counter. “Dr MacDonald isn’t seeing patients until Monday morning.” “I know,” Alex said with a smile. “I’m—” “That’s unless it’s an emergency of course,” the woman carried on as if Alex hadn’t spoken. “Mind you that’s just what we don’t need out here—another emergency. After what happened to Dr Carter we’ve been without a doctor for nearly three months. I don’t know how the town has survived it.” “How is Dr Carter?” Alex asked politely. “I heard he had a nasty car accident on the road between here and Marraburra.” The older woman gave her a grim look. “He won’t be coming back to Kingfisher Crossing,” she said, “or at least not to work as a GP. He’s decided to spend time with his family in Fremantle. To tell you the truth I don’t blame him. He’s done ten years out here, that’s more than some people get for armed robbery.” “Er…yes…” Alex said, momentarily stuck for a response. “No one wants to work in the outback these days,” the receptionist went on. “It’s too hot, it’s too isolated, it’s too everything.” “Yes,” Alex agreed. “I know it’s very difficult to fill outback posts but I thought—” “The thing is I can’t see why someone with Dr MacDonald’s qualifications would want to come way out here,” the woman cut Alex off again. “I mean there’s no money in it, is there?” “Um…no, but that’s not the reason I—” “Of course if you want to get away from someone back home this is the place to come to,” the receptionist said and giving a little laugh added, “I mean who would find you way out here?” “There is that, I suppose,” Alex said with an element of wryness in her tone. This short term post was exactly what she needed; it was her very own version of relationship rehab: Getting Away from Garry, Stage Two.

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“Anyway, I suppose you want to make an appointment with Dr MacDonald, right?” the older woman asked as she reached for the appointment book. “Er…no,” Alex said with slightly sheepish smile. “You see I am Dr Alex MacDonald.” The receptionist blinked at her in surprise. “But…but…you can’t be Dr MacDonald.” Alex frowned at the older woman’s expression. “Why can’t I be?” she asked. “Because Dr Alex MacDonald is already here,” the receptionist said. “He arrived three hours ago.”

Chapter Two “He?” Alex gasped. “Yes,” said a deep male voice from behind her. “I’m Dr Alexander MacDonald. How can I help you?” Alex spun around to see a tall dark haired man in his mid-thirties standing there, his eyes a piercing and somewhat steely grey-blue. “But I’m Alex MacDonald,” she said, still frowning. “I’ve been appointed to this position for six months. I’ve traveled all the way from Melbourne to get here in time.” “Then you’ve made some sort of mistake. You will have to turn around and go back,” he said curtly. “This town only needs one doctor and I am it.” Alex pulled back her shoulders and locked gazes with him. “I’m not leaving,” she said. “I’ve been appointed to this post—I have a letter to confirm it. You’re the one who’s made a mistake. You will have to leave.” His eyes hardened into chips of blue ice. “I have no intention of leaving,” he said. “It’s me who has a letter of appointment, and I can assure you I am who I say I am. And, I have already moved into the doctor’s cottage next door. There’s nowhere else to stay in town apart from the caravan park.” “Ahem,” the receptionist diplomatically cleared her throat. “Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

*** Mack looked down at Shirley Griffiths sitting behind the desk. “Shirley, I can only assume there’s been some sort of clerical error,” he explained. “By some quirk of fate it appears Dr MacDonald and I have both applied for and been given the same job.” Shirley rolled her eyes. “Now isn’t that just typical?” she mused. “We’ve had no doctor for nearly three months and now we’ve got two.” She tut-tutted and added, “I swear to God out here it never rains but it pours.” Mack looked back at the young blonde woman who was standing with her arms folded across her chest, her chin hitched up and her bottomless dark brown eyes holding his in a combative challenge. “Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t possibly stay. I meant what I said. This town isn’t big enough for both of us.” An insolent gleam came into her eyes as they warred with his. “So it’s to be pistols drawn at dawn is it?” she asked. “How incredibly quaint.”

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Mack felt a lightning bolt jolt of attraction go through him at her pert tone and demeanor. Her mouth kept drawing him like a magnet, the fullness of her lips with their glossy sheen of lip-gloss reminding him of how long it had been since he had felt the soft press of a woman’s kiss. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared her down. “I’ll speak to the town clerk when the office opens on Monday and have you reimbursed for any travel expenses,” he said. Her chin went up to a pugnacious level, her chocolate-brown eyes still locked on his. “I don’t think you heard me, Dr MacDonald. I didn’t travel all this way for nothing. I rented out my apartment for the next six months so even if I did turn around and go back I would have nowhere to live.” “I’ve got an absolutely brilliant idea,” Shirley piped up, her dark bird-like eyes beginning to sparkle. “It’s only for six months and we’ve been without medical assistance for so long. Why don’t you both stay?”

Chapter Three “You mean like job sharing?” Alex asked. “Yes,” Shirley answered. “My daughter lives in Darwin and that’s what she does with a friend. They both have children and don’t want to work full time so they share the one job.” “It is not up to us to make that decision,” Mack said folding his arms across his chest. “We’d have to submit a proposal to be approved by the town clerk and he’s away until Monday. And anyway the doctor’s cottage is barely big enough for one person let alone two.” Alex turned to face him. “Has it got two bedrooms?” she asked. “Yes but—” “I’m prepared to give it a try if you are,” she said. “As Shirley said it’s only for six months. We can both work part-time and then if there’s anything serious to handle we can help each other out.” Mack silently ground his teeth. The last thing he needed was a housemate, especially one as attractive as Alexandra MacDonald. Living with someone blurred the boundaries. He liked his own space, especially now. The court case over the death of Isaac Freeman had hit him hard. Coming out to Kingfisher Crossing was part of his personal rehabilitation program. He’d figured that this far out in the bush there would be no distractions so he could concentrate on getting himself back on track. But then job sharing might very well be the way to get some more time to himself, he thought. He could do some bushwalking, chill out a bit instead of thinking about work all the time. “I think it sounds like a good arrangement to me,” Shirley said, “Just lately there’ve been a couple of clinic break-ins between here and Marraburra. Having two doctors on sight will be much safer all round until the police catch the culprit. I’ll let Tony Hallum the town clerk know about it. I bet he’s the one who made the mistake about the appointment. He’s far too old for the job but what can you do?” “No,” Mack insisted. “I’ll speak to Mr Hallum myself on Monday. In the meantime Dr MacDonald can stay for the weekend until a formal decision is made.” “I guess it might be confusing for the patients though, mightn’t it?” Alex said. “I mean, we both have the same name.” “My name isn’t Alexandra,” he said with a little curl of his lip. Her chin went up even higher. “Nor is mine.” “What is it then?”

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“Alexandria,” she said. “But everyone calls me Alex.” “I’m Alexander but everyone calls me Mack,” he returned. Alex couldn’t help thinking he looked exactly like a Mack. It was an abrupt, matter-of-fact sort of name, no hint of softness about it. But then she suspected there was little softness in his personality. Even his features had a hard edge to them, his jaw though lean and chiseled and cleanly shaven had an unmistakable hint of intractableness about it. He was clearly a man used to getting his own way. His riveting grey-blue eyes had a gleam of cynicism in them and his mouth looked as if it found the task of smiling both tiresome and unnecessary. “So,” she said, giving him an arch look. “When do we start?”

Chapter Four The clinic door screeched in protest as it was opened in a hurry. “Has the new doctor arrived yet, Shirl?” a male voice asked. Alex swung around to see a man in his early forties with his right arm cradled against him, his face looking pinched with pain. “Yes,” Mack said stepping forward. “I’m Dr MacDonald.” Alex took a step forwards. “So am I.” The man ignored Alex and addressed Mack. “I’ve broken my arm,” he said. “If you can fix it for me here I won’t have to travel all the way to Geraldton. I can’t afford the time away from the farm right now.” “It will need to be X-rayed to see how bad the break is,” Mack said. “There’s a portable machine in my room.” “Did you drive here?” Alex asked keen to be involved. “Yes,” the man said frowning slightly. “Why?” “You’ll need to be sedated in order for me to set your arm,” Mack explained. “Is there someone you can call to drive you home?” “My wife’s at home with the kids, the youngest was having a nap but he should be ready to wake up soon,” he said. “But I don’t need sedating, Doc. I’ve had much worse than this, haven’t I, Shirl?” Shirley’s rolled eyes and weary sigh spoke volumes. “Mack, this is Dougal Mason. I swear to God he’s got more stitches in him than a hand-made quilt.” Dougal grinned. “No blood this time, Shirl, just a clean break. A log rolled off the back of my ute and onto my arm.” “I’ll give Ruby a call to tell her to come and get you,” Shirley said reaching for the phone. “You can organize the ute to be picked up in the morning.” “Come this way, Mr Mason,” Mack directed. “I’m Mack by the way.” Alex sent Mack a caustic glare. “Excuse me but aren’t we supposed to be sharing this job?” Dougal looked momentarily confused. “Are you a doctor as well?” he asked.

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“Yes,” Alex said with a stiff little smile in Mack’s direction. “I’m hoping to be here for six months. Dr MacDonald and I are considering sharing the position.” Dougal whistled through his teeth. “How about that, Shirl?” he said looking back at the receptionist with another boyish grin. “It’s raining cats and docs out here.”

Chapter Five Mack was still smiling at Dougal’s comment as he turned back to Alex. “Would you like to assist me?” he asked. Alex hadn’t realized until that moment how much a man’s face could be transformed by a smile. Her stomach gave a little flip-flop of surprise and it was a second or two before she could get her voice to work. “Um…yes…that would be good…” she said and followed him into the treatment room with the patient. She stood to one side as Mack set up the X-ray machine, positioning Dougal’s arm across the plate. “Hold that arm steady for a moment while I take the pictures,” Mack said as he joined Alex behind the radiation protection screen. A few minutes later he held up the X-ray to the illumination machine on the wall. “So what’s your diagnosis, Dr MacDonald?” he asked. Alex stared at the X-ray trying not to notice how close his broad shoulder was to hers. His light but tangy aftershave drifted towards her, the subtle grace notes reminding her of sun-warmed lemons. His left arm was still holding the X-ray to the board; the cuffs were rolled back past his wrists revealing lean but strong forearms, the deep tan of his skin and the pepper of dark masculine hair making her stomach give a little wobble of womanly reaction. “You have seen a broken wrist before haven’t you, Dr MacDonald?” he asked into the palpable silence. Alex swiveled her head to meet his sardonic look. “Yes of course,” she said, pulling her mouth tight. “That’s a classic Colles fracture, with about ten degrees of forward angulation.” His eyes went to her mouth and she felt her stomach shift sideways again. “Do you want to reduce it or administer the sedation?” he asked as his eyes came back to hers. Alex rolled her lips together to moisten them. “I’ll do the sedation.” “Right then, Dougal,” Mack said as he turned to where the patient was waiting. “What we’ve got here is a relatively simple fracture but 10mg IV midazolam will take the edge off the pain. Dr MacDonald will administer that to you while I straighten the fracture and set the arm in plaster. It will make you feel a bit sleepy for an hour or two so I don’t recommend you drive or operate machinery until tomorrow.” Alex applied the tourniquet, found a suitable vein and inserted a canula, and then administered the midazolam. Within seconds Dougal relaxed enough for Mack to pull on the arm and manipulate it back into line. Dougal’s wife Ruby arrived soon after Mack had plastered the arm and supported it in a sling. She was accompanied by three young children, one of them not much older than six months. After brief introductions Ruby said, “I’m so glad we’ve finally got a female doctor at Kingfisher Crossing. No offence to you, Dr Mack but what this place needs is a feminine perspective.” “It hasn’t yet been established whether or not Dr MacDonald will be staying any longer than the weekend,” Mack said sending Alex a challenging look.

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Alex managed to scowl at him and lift her chin at the same time. “I’m staying,” she said and added silently: you just try and stop me.

Chapter Six “And this is the kitchen,” Mack said half an hour later as he showed Alex around the small doctor’s cottage next door to the clinic. “It’s pretty basic as you can see.” Alex hoped her dismay wasn’t showing on her face. She hadn’t been expecting much in the way of modern appliances but preparing meals on a single hot plate and shoe-box sized toaster-oven was really going to stretch her capabilities. Hadn’t they heard of microwave ovens way out here? “We can share the cooking until things are finalized over whether you stay or not,” he said. “One of the locals brought some basics around earlier so at least we won’t starve over the weekend.” “Fine but I think I should tell you—” “By the way there are no fancy restaurants or posh delicatessens or off licenses out here,” he said as he led the way to the bathroom. Alex scowled at his broad back. “I wasn’t expecting any.” “Good,” he said as he opened the bathroom door. “Besides, I’m not out here to cook,” she said meeting his gaze again. “I’m out here to save lives.” Something moved behind his eyes, like a rippling shadow but he had turned away before she could make sense of it. “There are some lives that can’t be saved, Dr MacDonald,” he said. “This isn’t the city where specialist backup is just a suburb or two away. Out here the tyranny of distance is always going to be the biggest challenge.” “Yes I realize that, but that’s part of the reason I’m here. I want to prove to myself that I can work under any conditions, the tougher the better.” “So what did you do?” he asked with a smile that leant more towards a smirk. “Throw a dart at a map?” Alex pursed her mouth at him. “No, as a matter of fact I happened to go to Medical school with one of the doctors now stationed at Marraburra. She was a few years ahead of me but we became good friends after working on the same ward. She loves it out there and is getting married soon to one of the local cops. I was kind of at a loose end and decided it was time to do my bit for the bush.” A three beat silence passed. “So why did you come out here?” she asked. A shutter seemed to come down over his features as he shouldered open the sitting room door. “I was looking for some space and Kingfisher Crossing seemed to have plenty of it,” he answered. She wrinkled her brow at him. “Space for what?”

Chapter Seven Mack frowned as he thought about how he should answer. Alexandria was from Melbourne so she might not have heard of the Brisbane court case, although he knew for a fact the national press had run it for a couple of days. He hated the look people gave him when they finally realized who he was. “Oh that Dr MacDonald,”

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they would say. He wasn’t sure if it was pity or suspicion that lingered in their gaze, he didn’t usually hang around long enough to find out. The intrusion into his private life had been unbearable, the press had hounded him day in and day out in the lead up to the hearing. His deeply ingrained reserve had been invaded in such a way that he knew it would take many months, if not years to really trust anyone again. “Mack?” she prompted. He looked down at her upturned face, the creamy curves of her cheeks petal-smooth except for a tiny dusting of freckles over the bridge of her pert nose. “I felt a bit stifled in the city,” he said somewhat gruffly. “You know how it is, all work and no play.” He watched as her lips shifted with the weight of a sigh. “Yes I do know,” she said. “I hate to be the one to tell you this but it might be a whole lot worse out here.” “I am sure it will be no more than one well qualified doctor can handle. Her very white teeth snagged her bottom lip. “I guess when it comes down to it I’m probably not as experienced as you. I’ve only been qualified a few months…” He felt a frown pull his brows together. “You’re EMST-trained, aren’t you?” “Yes…” She gave him a little sideways smile. “It’s kind of weird about the mix up, don’t you think? I mean, how many Dr Alex MacDonalds are there out there in the world?” Mack felt his body tense all over. “I have no idea,” he said. “Now let me show you the rest of the house.” Alex was assigned the only other bedroom which was right beside Mack’s. She tried to ignore the sudden flutter in her belly at the thought of him sleeping so close by but she felt her colour begin to rise all the same. “Of course if you’d prefer the double room while you’re here I can always take this one,” he offered in what she felt sure was a grudging attempt at gallantry. “No it’s fine…really. I’m used to sleeping in a single bed,” she said, her cheeks firing up even more as his dark brows rose every so slightly. “Well that’s settled then,” he said. “I’ll leave you to unpack.” “Mack?” She waited until his eyes meshed with hers. “You didn’t tell me where you’re from.”

Chapter Eight “Queensland.” “What part of Queensland?” Mack drew in a shallow breath. “Brisbane. Riverside.” He waited for the penny to drop but she just gave him a small self-conscious smile as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I guess I should have a shower before dinner,” she said. “Um… Where will I find a towel?” Mack reached past her to open a cupboard and taking out a taupe-colored towel handed it to her, his fingers meeting hers in the briefest of touches.

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She stepped back as if he had burned her. “Thanks…” Mack’s fingers were still tingling when he heard her click and bolt the bathroom door a few moments later…

*** Alex grimaced as she saw her face in the speckled mirror above the green 1930’s pedestal basin. Her hair was sweaty and lank from the heat and her face looked drawn and tired from hours on the road. She slipped out of her dusty clothes and stood under the hit-and-miss spray of the shower, trying not to think of Mack’s tall, hard body standing in the same spot just hours before. Naked… She tugged herself away from her thoughts, more than a little shocked at her wantonness. But as her hand cupped the smooth creamy pearl of the soap to her wet body, her skin began to crawl with electrifying sensations as if those long, tanned fingers that had accidentally touched hers a few minutes ago were now exploring her in intimate detail… There was a short sharp rap at the door. “Alexandria?” Alex dropped the soap with a little thud. “Y-yes?” His voice was faintly muffled through the door but it still made all the fine hairs on her naked body lift to attention. “There’s a drought out here, remember? Go easy on the water.” “Oh…right…” she said, feeling foolish as she turned off the tap and reached for the towel. “I’m coming out now.”

*** Mack felt his nostrils begin to flare as soon as Alex walked into the kitchen where he was assembling a salad. The faint trace of wisteria—or was it honeysuckle?…toyed with his senses. So too did the sight of her dressed in a short sundress with tiny shoestring straps over her slim, lightly tanned shoulders. Her small but perfectly formed breasts were unrestrained; he could see their slight movement beneath the close-fitting cotton as she reached for a stool to perch on close to where he was working. Too close.

Chapter Nine “What can I do to help?” she asked. Mack kept his gaze focused on the Spanish onion he was peeling, but all he could think of was removing Alex’s clothes layer by layer. Not that she wearing that many. She probably only had a pair of tiny lacy knickers on under that dress… He gave himself a mental shake. Cool it. She’s not your type. “Do you like steak?” he asked glancing at her. Her face fell a little and her teeth sank into her bottom lip in a rather engaging way. “Steak?” He put the knife down beside the onion, his gaze steady on hers. “Yes, you know, as in red meat.”

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She pressed her lips together and gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t eat red meat,” she said. “In fact I don’t eat any meat. I tried to tell you earlier. I’m a vegetarian.” There, what did I tell you? She’s not your type, Mack thought as he resignedly put the T-bones one of the farmers had brought around earlier back in the fridge. “Well how about fish?” he asked, as he came back to the work bench. “I’ve got a couple of cans of tuna somewhere. Do you eat that? Some vegetarians do, others don’t.” She grimaced as if she knew he wasn’t going to like her answer. “I don’t.” “Well then,” he said, scraping a hand through his hair. “That certainly narrows it down a bit.” She watched as he washed his hands before going back to the salad. “Have you got something against vegetarians?” she asked. His grey-blue eyes met hers. “No, but you do realize this is cattle country, don’t you?” A flicker of uncertainty came and went in her eyes. “Um…” “Apart from mining out at Meekatharra this district is mostly pastoral,” he went on. “You’re going to have a hard time at barbeques turning up with tofu.” Alex sneaked a ring of cucumber from the bowl and took a tiny bite before she asked, “Do you think I’ll be able to buy tofu out here? I only saw one shop on the way in. It didn’t look tofu-friendly.” He gave her a grim look. “It’s not. It sells the basics. Fruit and vegetables are brought in twice weekly. Anything exotic you’ll have to order in specially and it might if you’re lucky arrive within a week or so.” “I’ll manage,” she said with an optimistic smile. “It’s only for six months, right? I’m sure I won’t starve.” Mack had to drag his eyes away from the temptation of her cleavage. His deep abdominals clenched as he thought about her bare nipples pushed up against the cotton of her dress. She was leaning forwards slightly, her body so close he could have reached out and touched her…

Chapter Ten The sound of his mobile ringing shattered the silence. “Dr MacDonald?” a young male voice asked. “We have an emergency. I know you’re not officially seeing patients till Monday but my brother came off his bike. Mum and Dad are with him now. We’re not game to move him in case…” Sitting so close Alex could hear the hitch pitch of panic in the young man’s voice and quickly found a pen and a piece of paper and pushed it towards Mack. He gave her a grateful glance and began to scrawl down the details of where the patient was located and any obvious injuries he had sustained. “Stay calm and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” he said to the young man as he ended the call. “Is it serious do you think?” Alex asked as they rushed out to Mack’s four wheel drive with their doctor’s bags. “I’m not sure,” he answered, pulling down his seatbelt and snapping it into place. “Hopefully it’s just concussion. There’s no external bleeding but that doesn’t mean he’s not bleeding internally.” Alex tried to keep calm and controlled as she ran back through the Primary Survey routine she had learned at her Early Management of Severe Trauma course. She had only ever been at the scene of one accident before but no one had been seriously injured. Bike accidents were notorious for blunt injuries and out in the bush where the use of helmets wasn’t too strict, severe head injuries were always a possibility.

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Mack tossed a local map in her lap. “Find Wattle Flat Road,” he said. “I think it’s near the turn off to Kingfisher Creek.” Alex fumbled with the map, her eyes blurring as she tried to read it while the car rocked over corrugations in the gravel road. A wave of car sickness assailed her but she fought it back down. “Have you found it yet?” he clipped out. “I’m still looking,” she said trying not to panic. What if she couldn’t find it? What if because of her pathetic attempt at navigation the young man died? He was probably bleeding out from his spleen right now, his blood pressure plummeting while she lamely struggled to identify one of the few streets out here. What if— “Come on, Alexandria,” he said with a brittle edge of impatience. “A ten year old child could read that map. There are hardly any streets out here.” Alex felt her hackles rising. “If you would stop jerking the car all over the road maybe I would be able to find it,” she snapped back. “Anyway, what if I wasn’t here? You’d have to find it yourself.” He snatched the map out of her hands and propped it against the steering wheel. Keeping one eye on the road he glanced down and located the turn off and the road he was looking for, gripping the spot between thumb and finger. “There it is,” he said handing the map back. “Keep me on track. We have to take a left turn soon into a property called Karoo. Keep a look out for it. There’s a sign above the cattle grid or so Nick Ellis said.” Alex glanced back at the map and looked up just in time to see the Karoo sign flash past on her left. “There it is!”

Chapter Eleven Mack slammed on the brakes. “Where?” She pointed behind them and grimaced. “Back there. I didn’t see it until it was too late.” He let out a short sharp curse and put the car into reverse, his left arm stretched out along the back of the seat close to the back of her neck. “Has anyone ever told you you’re absolutely hopeless at navigating?” he asked. She glared at him in affront. “Has anyone told you you’re a complete and utter bastard for pointing out such obvious inadequacies?” He suddenly smiled as if her rapid fire response had totally disarmed him. “It’s not such a great map,” he acceded. “And the sign is rusty.” Alex settled her ruffled feathers back down with a little shuffle of her shoulders. “It’s all right,” she mumbled. “I can’t read in a moving vehicle without getting car sick. You were lucky I didn’t upload my lunch all over your lap.” He frowned as he put the car into forward gear. “You should have told me.” Alex squinted as the sun hit her full on. “I think I can see something,” she said pointing to the left. “Is that them over there?” “Looks like it,” Mack said as he turned the car off the driveway towards the small cluster of people in the distance. There was a farm vehicle as well as two motorbikes, one of which was lying on its side next to a straggly gum tree.

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“Should we have called an ambulance or something?” she asked. He gave her an ironic glance. “This isn’t the city, Alexandria. If this guy is seriously injured we’ll have to fly him out. The nearest Flying Doctor base is at Meekatharra. I called and put them on standby while you were getting your doctor’s bag. If things turn out to be serious they could be here within an hour. No point calling them out unless it is warranted.” Alex looked yet again as if she had failed some sort of test. “I hope he’s not already dead,” she said. “I will never be able to forgive myself…” Mack felt his gut tighten. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He did his best to reassure her as well as himself. “He’s probably woken up by now and wondering what the fuss is all about.”

*** Mack was partially right, Alex decided a few moments later. Brad Ellis was now conscious but hyperventilating, and complaining of severe pain in the left upper quadrant of the abdomen. His parents and younger brother hovered close by, their faces ravaged with their worry. “I’ll run the assessment, Alex,” Mack said taking control as he examined the patient after quickly gloving up. “Airway’s fine, he’s talking, but he’s struggling to breathe. Steady his neck while I open my trauma bag.” Alex noted Mack’s trauma bag was a Thomas Pack, which opened out to reveal colour coded equipment for each component of the primary survey. He had obviously done his homework, which made her feel hopelessly ill-prepared for her stint in the bush given her bag was just a standard model. Mack reached for his stethoscope and listened to Brad’s chest. “Reduced air entry on the left,” he said, “and that side’s hyper-resonant to percussion.” “Pneumothorax,” Alex said, feeling for Brad’s trachea while holding his neck steady. “His trachea’s deviated to the right, it’s a tension pneumothorax.” Mack reached into the blue section of his bag and pulled out a 14 gauge IV canula. “Brad, you’ve probably cracked a rib and punctured a lung. I’m going to put a needle in your chest to help you breath, okay?” Brad panted shallow puffs of air, grunting agreement, his dusty face screwed up in pain as Mack began to cut away his T-shirt. Alex could feel the distress of the young man’s family; the hot thick dusty air seemed full of nothing but their anguish. Even the crows in the trees overhead, which moments ago had been cawing incessantly, had now grown eerily silent; their glossy black feathers seeming to Alex to be just like the somber dark suits of undertakers…

Chapter Twelve Alex looked at Mack, who was swabbing Brad’s upper left chest with alcohol before inserting the14g needle into the second intercostal space in the midclavicular line. A hiss of air escaped as the needle punctured the pleura and after a minute or so the young man’s breathing deepened and his respiratory distress abated. “Alex, put on this hard cervical collar,” Mack directed, handing her an adjustable cervical collar from the red section of his pack. “Then I’ll need to put in a chest tube. Can you take his pulse and BP and put in a large bore IV line?” “Of course,” Alex said and looking up at Brad’s father asked if he could help support his son’s head while she attended to the tasks Mack has assigned her. At least he had given her something to do, she thought, trying her best to put her resentment aside for the patient’s sake.

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Joe Ellis crouched down in the dust, his weather-beaten features looking haggard with fear, his throat moving up and down as if he was trying to swallow a boulder lodged there. “Is my son going to be all right?” he asked Mack, completely ignoring Alex. “We need to get him to hospital,” Mack said. “Once I’ve got this chest drain in I’ll call the Flying Doctor on the satellite phone. Is there anywhere on the property they can land?” “We’ve got a strip cleared near the homestead,” Joe informed him. “We’ve only used it once about ten years ago when one of the jackaroos came off one of our horses and broke his back. That’s why we shifted to bikes, not as dangerous, or so we thought…” “There’s danger in just about everything,” Mack said by way of comfort before addressing Alex. “I’m going to call for back up. Put in an IV line and run a liter of normal saline.” When he came back Alex reported tachycardia and hypotension, which was responding to IV fluids, but which indicated intra-abdominal bleeding. “It’s probably from his spleen,” she said. “We need to get him out of this blistering heat,” Mack said sweeping his gaze around for something suitable to use as a spinal board. His eyes narrowed as they settled on a flat sheet of roofing iron about fifty meters away near a water trough. Alex followed the line of his gaze, and keen to show him how innovative she could be, leapt to her feet. “You take over monitoring him while I get the sheet of tin.” The tin was partially covered with strips of eucalyptus bark and the red ochre dust of the outback and as she turned it over she leapt back in shock, her blood-curdling scream echoing across the shimmering-with-heat paddocks. “Snake!”

Chapter Thirteen The common brown snake was a meter and a half long and wasn’t too happy about being disturbed. It raised its small head and flicked its tongue a couple of times before uncoiling itself and slithering away into the scraggly bush. “Are you all right?” Mack asked as he quickly strode over. “Did it bite you?” Alex gave a shudder and shook her head. “No, but it easily could have. I had no idea it was there.” “I should have warned you,” he said frowning. “Snakes are attracted to water. He was probably hunting for mice under that tin.” “Mice?” She gave another shudder. “Ewww. I hate mice even more than snakes.” Mack’s mouth tilted in a sardonic smile as he kicked at the sheet of tin before picking it up. “You’re in the country, Dr MacDonald,” he reminded her as he led the way back to the patient. “You’d better get used to all creatures great and small or go home while you’ve still got the chance.” Alex scowled at him. “I’m not going home,” she said, but a few minutes later when the Flying Doctor plane landed she was sorely tempted to jump on board and never once look back.

*** The cottage was in darkness by the time they returned, but the heat of the day was still trapped inside. It came out in a hot thick wave as Mack opened the front door and wrapped around Alex like a heavy woolen blanket. She fanned her face and gave him a rueful look. “How on earth do the locals survive this climate? It’s positively stifling.”

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“It might be cooler out on the back veranda,” he suggested. “The sun’s been on this part of the house for most of the afternoon. Go out and sit down and I’ll bring a drink out in a couple of minutes. What would you like, white wine, beer or something soft?” “A glass of white wine sounds lovely.” It was more than lovely, Alex thought a short time later as she savoured the hints of gooseberry and passionfruit in the sauvignon blanc as she listened to the night music of crickets and frogs in the background. She couldn’t remember the last time she had heard nothing but the sounds of nature nor could she recall the last time she had seen the pin holes of so many stars in the dark blue blanket of the night sky above. The veranda rail creaked as Mack leaned his forearms on it beside her, the rattle of ice cubes in his glass tinkling like tiny bells. “You did a good job out at the Ellis’s,” he said turning his head to look at her. “From what you said about being newly qualified I wasn’t sure how you’d cope, but you did really well.” She sent him an arch glance. “So you don’t think I should pack my bags and go straight back to the city?” His gaze meshed with hers in the semi-darkness, holding her captive for endless seconds as the silence pulsed with erotic promise around them…

Chapter Fourteen Mack knew he should step back from the temptation of her mouth, but the urge to feel the soft whisper of Alex’s lips against his was too strong. He slowly closed the distance between them, touching her lips in a feather-light caress that should have been enough but somehow wasn’t. He lifted his head, and registering the flare of attraction in her chocolate-brown gaze, touched down again, firmer this time, his tongue stroking her lips apart to search for hers. Alex felt her whole body jolt in reaction as he deepened the kiss, her skin shivering with anticipation as his free hand moved from the veranda rail to cup the nape of her neck. She felt as if every fine hair located there rose to greet the warmth of his palm, her spine losing its wary stiffness as she melted further into his embrace. It was a kiss like nothing she’d ever experienced; it was electric and passionate, hard and soft, warm and tender and totally captivating. He pulled back from her after a breathless moment or two, his eyes still dark with desire as they held hers. “I really don’t know why I did that,” he said, grimacing ruefully. She arched her brows at him. “You don’t?” His eyes went back to her mouth. “Well yes I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.” “Have you got someone else waiting for you in Brisbane?” Alex asked. The sound of the frogs in the background made the silence all the more intense. Croak. Croak. Croak. Mack shifted his gaze from hers. “My fiancée called off our relationship six weeks before our wedding.” “Mack I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her hand resting on his arm next to hers on the railing.

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He looked down at her lightly tanned fingers against the deeper tone of his skin. “I should have known it was coming,” he said, absently running the point of his index finger over the back of her small hand. “The court case dragged on and on and she got tired of trying to pretend she agreed with my defense team.” “Court case?” Alex swallowed. “What were you accused of doing?” His grey-blue eyes turned to meet hers; the shifting shadows of the night making them appear dark and mysterious. “I was accused of being responsible for the death of a child.”

Chapter Fifteen “But you were cleared?” Alex asked, unconsciously holding her breath. He gave her a twisted smile but there was no humor in it. “Yes but not until I had my name and reputation ruined by the press.” “What happened?” He released a sigh. “A three year old boy was brought in to me with vomiting and hematuria. I found an abdominal mass and suspected a nephroblastoma, and wrote a referral to see a paediatric oncologist. I stressed to the parents the urgency and they seemed to understand. I made the appointment for them, even pulling a few strings to get them in as soon as possible. But apparently they decided to treat their son with alternative therapies instead. A letter never came back from the specialist, and after two weeks I tried to ring the parents, but they’d apparently moved, and left no forwarding address with anyone. I rang the specialist, but they had never turned up for their appointment. Six months later, after they had apparently tried a stack of pseudoscientific gobbledygook, the child died. The paternal grandparents decided to sue me for not ensuring the child was properly followed up and treated. They felt I should have done more to ensure the parents of the child followed my instructions.” “But that’s hardly your fault!” Alex insisted. “You followed the normal procedure. Doctors can’t chase up every single patient otherwise they’d never get through the normal workload. And besides, it sounds as though you went out of your way to expedite specialist care.” “Yes and that’s what the court finally decided. But you know what the press can do with these sorts of cases, and once mud starts getting thrown around, some of it sticks. It’s a litigious climate, Alex. Some people see a chance to make a small fortune out of an adverse outcome and they don’t care what it does to the professionals involved, or their families for that matter.” Alex chewed on her lip. “There are those few cases where there is real incompetence.” she said, thinking about a recent case in Mack’s home state involving a doctor whose surgical qualifications were not properly vetted, resulting in several patients dying from incompetent surgery before a courageous nurse went over the heads of hospital management to state authorities to expose him. “Mud sticks all right. Even after I was completely exonerated from any negligence, about a third of the patients dropped out of the practice. I even got hate mail. A lot of people just weren’t interested in the actual facts—they’d just heard that I was embroiled in a case involving the death of a child and concluded there must be something to it, and I was best avoided.” “So your fiancée broke off your engagement because of the case?” she asked with an incredulous frown. Mack suddenly realized he was still touching Alex”s hand and pulled his away. “Yes. She worked in the same city practice. But I think if I was to be honest with myself it wasn’t just about the case.” “What do you mean?”

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He let out a sigh and looked down at her again, the soft bow of her mouth and the melting warmth of her browner than brown eyes picking the lock on his hardened heart. “We had drifted into the relationship. I don’t even remember officially asking her to marry me. It was just something we assumed was going to happen but I realize now something was missing.” “What was missing?” she asked, her breath a soft caress dancing on his lips. “I think this is perhaps what was missing,” Mack said huskily and bending his head brought his mouth back to hers.

Chapter Sixteen Alex sighed with pleasure as Mack’s lips commandeered hers in an explosive kiss that sent tremors of reaction to every part of her body. Her spine tingled as he thrust through the soft barrier of her lips with his searching tongue; the action so erotically charged she felt her body prepare itself with the silk of desire. Her breasts were aching for his touch, the nipples tight against the thin cotton of her dress, her legs feeling as if the bones had turned to liquid. She pressed herself closer; wanting more of his touch, her need for him something she couldn’t explain. She wasn’t a one-night stand type of person. She had never been a casual dater. Even her relationship with Garry Harrison had been a relatively long term one until she finally realized she didn’t love him enough to continue their association and it had taken her the best part of a year to convince him it was over. But something about Mack made her feel things she had never felt before—instant combustible desire. She felt it inside and out, the thrumming pulse of need that craved assuagement from him and him only. Mack’s mouth left hers to kiss along the fragrant skin of her neck, his tongue tasting the satin smoothness of her collarbone before going lower. He slid the shoestring strap of her dress aside, his mouth burning to taste the pert curve of her breast he had exposed. He cupped the gentle weight of the creamy globe of her breast in his hand, his thumb passing back and forth over the dusky erect nipple, his body growing taut with need. She was so soft and warm and tempting, her body seeming to come to life under the touch of his hands and mouth. He wanted to explore her in detail, to taste her sexy saltiness, to feel her convulsing around him as he filled her with his life force. Alex snatched in a prickly breath as his mouth closed over her breast, the sucking action so intensely pleasurable she felt her knees begin to sag under the weight of her desire. She closed her eyes and sighed as he exposed her other breast, the slight rasp of his tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth setting her on fire. Shockwaves of exquisite feeling coursed through her body as he suckled on her, the sight of his silky black head pressed so intimately to her naked breasts making her legs tremble as she thought of him moving even lower to where her body secretly pulsed for his ultimate possession. His mouth came back to hers, subjecting it to a passionate onslaught that left her totally breathless. She quivered in his arms as he deepened the kiss, his unshaven jaw rasping against the softness of her face, reminding her of all that was different between them. He was male. She was female. They were intensely attracted to each other and they were totally alone…

Chapter Seventeen Alex pulled back from him with an effort, her chest still rising and falling as she shakily hitched her strap back over her shoulder, her eyes barely able to hold the glittering heat of his. “Sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. I’m not a sleep around sort of person. I don’t even kiss on the first date.”

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He brushed back his hair with the fingers of one hand. “No harm done,” he said with an attempt at a wry smile. “That is unless you’re involved with someone back home. I would hate to be stepping on anyone’s toes.” Alex compressed her lips but she could still taste him. “No, I’m not involved with anyone,” she said. “I know it sounds pathetic but my last official date was nearly a year ago.” “It doesn’t sound pathetic at all.” His grey-blue gaze softened. “Was it a nasty break up?” “No, not really,” she said. “Although it took a while to convince him I was serious about ending it. That’s sort of why I came out here. I wasn’t in love with him, far from it. At the start we went out occasionally, more for the sake of convenience. When we progressed to a physical relationship I realized I was deluding myself about our suitability.” “So there was no spark?” Alex felt her cheeks coloring. “No not even a flicker.” He turned back to look out at the sliver crescent of the moon on the horizon. “I don’t want to give you false hope,” he said. “That kiss—” he paused as if he was revisiting it in his mind, “—it was one of those things that probably shouldn’t have happened and wouldn’t have on a different day.” “Probably…” He swung his gaze to look at her again. “You can’t stay here, Alex, surely you can see that.” “I don’t see why not,” she argued. “You said it yourself—I handled things well out at the Ellis’s. I don’t see why we can’t share this job for six months.” Mack could think of some very good reasons they shouldn’t share anything, much less a house and a job. “You might not be here past the weekend,” he reminded her. “Tony Hallum might withdraw funding.” She leaned forwards on the railing, her slim arm brushing against his, every hair on his forearm lifting in response. He could smell her perfume; it was filling his senses, making him think of passion-filled nights with his body erotically entwined with hers. “Do you really think both of us staying here would be a problem?” she asked. “Being so isolated it would be safer as Shirley said, and we do work well together. You could help me build up my confidence a bit.” She smiled up at him and added, “And you could even give me map reading lessons.” “I don’t know,” he said looking back at her. “What do you think?”

Chapter Eighteen The trouble was, Alex couldn’t think when he looked at her like that. Those gorgeous grey-blue eyes did something to her insides every time they locked on hers. “I’m fine with it if you are,” she said. He looked at her for a suspended moment. “You’re not worried about the drop in income?” She shook her head and gave him a wry smile. “I wasn’t coming out here for the money and in any case, there are practically no shops. Besides, won’t we be saving heaps by sharing a house?” Mack turned to look at the moon again, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. “Have you ever lived with a man before?” he asked.

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“You mean as in a romantic relationship?” He turned to face her once again. “Yes.” Alex felt her cheeks turning pink. “No. That was one of the problems with my ex. He was keen to share my apartment but I could see myself being sucked into suburbia before I was ready.” She let a little breath escape before continuing, “They do it really tough out here in the outback. It doesn’t seem much to ask newly qualified doctors to come out and do a few months or even a couple of years, don’t you think?” Mack felt himself drowning in those big brown luminous eyes of hers. What was it about her that made him react in such a way? He couldn’t remember feeling anything like this level of attraction in all the months he had been involved with Deborah. But then he realized Alexandria MacDonald was everything Deborah Philips was not. Alex hadn’t thrown a tantrum about the mix up over their appointment; instead she had applied herself with great courage under trying circumstances. She was flexible and enthusiastic which were incredibly important qualities in a country-based doctor. And she was exquisitely beautiful. Her blonde hair and brown eyes were a heart-stopping combination, not to mention her slim, finely toned build. His palms could still feel where her nipples had poked against him, his fingers aching even now to cradle those tender curves so he could taste her sweetness all over again. Alex suddenly stiffened beside him. “Mack?” she whispered, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Did you hear that noise?” He looked down at her and frowned. “What noise?” he asked. She pressed a finger against her lips in a shushing gesture. “Listen.” Mack strained his ears for a lengthy moment and then he heard it. There was the unmistakable creak of a floorboard as someone moved inside the house behind them…

Chapter Nineteen “Stay here while I check it out,” Mack commanded softly. “Why don’t you call the police?” Alex whispered back, clutching at his arm. “Hasn’t anyone told you there’s no police officer stationed in Kingfisher Crossing? The nearest station is in Marraburra.” Her eyes went even wider and her fingers tightened their hold. “No police?” she gasped. “What if there’s a murderer in there or something?” Mack rolled his eyes and led her quietly but firmly off the veranda to the shelter of the water tank at the side of the house. “Stay here out of sight. It’s probably a possum looking for food. Did you leave your bedroom window open earlier?” Alex bit her lip. “Um…maybe…” He unpeeled her fingers from his arm and gave the back of her hand a little reassuring pat. “I won’t be long,” he said and melted away into the darkness. Alex leaned back against the cool corrugations of the tank and tried to get her heart rate to settle. The night sounds she had delighted in earlier now made her feel terribly isolated. Apart from the medical clinic next door, there wasn’t another house for at least half a block. When Mack had shown her around before they had been called out to the Ellis’s property, he had mentioned something about one or two of the neighbors

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moving to the coast to escape the heat and persistent drought. The small general store and service station were in the street behind them, but she knew neither would be open at this time of night. Alex peered around the side of the tank and looked for any signs of life but the only house she could see looked deserted, its windows like black eyes staring sightlessly into the night. An owl suddenly hooted in one of the trees nearby and Alex nearly choked on her heart as it leapt into her mouth. She shrank back against the water tank, her breathing shallow and erratic, and her legs feeling as if they were made of wet cotton wool instead of sinews, muscles and bones. She held her breath as she heard another sound of movement in the house, her senses on such high alert she felt light-headed from the adrenalin charging through her system. The suspense was killing her. Why hadn’t Mack come out if it was just a possum in there? And why hadn’t he turned on the lights for pity’s sake? With her back still pressed against the blessedly cool surface of the tank, Alex stealthily edged her way around to the other side, and came face to face with a man with a gun aimed straight at her.

Chapter Twenty Alex had seen hundreds of movies with exactly this sort of scene but she had never once considered how accurately the actors had portrayed the stomach-churning fear she was currently feeling. Her whole body froze as if sprayed with instant-setting concrete; she couldn’t even get her throat to open enough to scream, and her heart was threatening to pop out of her chest before the shadowed figure could fire a bullet into it. “Where are the drugs?” the man asked. Alex looked at the gleam of the gun and swallowed a tight knot of dread. “D-drugs?” “This is the doctor’s house, isn’t it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “I heard Dr MacDonald was arriving today. You’ve got narcotics in your bag, now where are they?” “My bag is…” Where is my bag? She wondered in rising panic. Had she brought it in from Mack’s car or— The man nudged her in the stomach with the gun, his eyes glazed with murderous rage. “Get me the bag. Now.” “B-but I’m not Dr Alexander MacDonald,” Alex said, mentally crossing her fingers that she could stall him long enough for Mack to come to the rescue. The man frowned. “Alexander MacDonald?” “Yes,” she said shakily. “Dr MacDonald is a he not a she.” “Then who the hell are you?” the man asked, absently lowering the gun. “I’m…er…” Alex suddenly saw Mack coming up behind the gunman, his movement so stealthy it was mere seconds before the man was restrained, and the gun safely out of reach. Mack marched the man to the house holding him up by the back of his shirt, the man’s feet barely touching the ground, and informed him the police weren’t far away. The Western Australian authorities had apparently been tailing him for a couple of days following a spate of medical clinic robberies along the coast and the outback.

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*** Within an hour, the two police officers from Marraburra had arrived and loaded the offender into the back of the police van, and took statements from both Alex and Mack. It was the first time Alex had met the sexy sergeant her friend Amy Tanner had fallen madly in love with and it made her realize love could find you in the remotest of places. When the police left, Mack took both of Alex’s still shaking hands in his. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his grey-blue gaze tender with concern. “Hey,” she said giving him a wobbly smile. “You just called me sweetheart.” He smiled crookedly and stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” “Did you have any particular reason for calling me that?” she asked with a flicker of hopefulness in her eyes. “Yes I do actually,” he said. “But you’re going to have to wait until the six months is up before I tell you.” Her eyes brightened even further. “You mean you want me to stay?” He kissed the tip of her upturned nose and smiled. “What do you think, Dr Alex MacDonald?”

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The Setup by Jasmine Cresswell An up and coming costume designer in L.A., Daisy can’t afford to take time away from her career. But when her grandmother is injured in an accident, Daisy has no choice but to return to Omaha—even though she knows Grandma Ruth is bound to have ulterior motives for summoning her: namely, to set Daisy up with another “perfect” future husband! Mr. Right aka financial planner Steve Greeley is one of Grandma Ruth’s better picks, but Daisy quickly realizes that appearances can be deceiving

Chapter One It started raining just as Daisy Vernon left Eppley Airfield, a torrential downpour more suited to monsoon season in India than September in Nebraska. Her plane had landed in Omaha three hours late and the car rental company had lost her reservation causing another half hour delay, so the storm simply made a rotten end to a miserable day. In fact, this entire trip to her grandmother’s house might have been designed to confirm Daisy’s suspicion that her stars had recently moved into such a malign orbit that the smart course of action for the next several days would be to go to bed and pull the covers over her head until the universe sorted out its problems. There was no good time for her grandmother to fall and break her ankle, of course, but the timing of Grandma Ruth’s accident couldn’t have been worse in terms of Daisy’s work schedule. The rainstorm was heavy enough to be intimidating, but Daisy had survived six years of Los Angeles traffic, so she decided she could cope with the worst Omaha had to offer. Setting the windshield wipers on high and her mood on defiantly optimistic, she headed toward her grandmother’s quiet, suburban neighborhood. At least at this late hour the streets were almost deserted. She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the outskirts of Elm Village, but between the darkness and the sheeting rain, her problems still weren’t over. In the moonless, leaf-blown bluster of the rainstorm, the road signs were invisible and the tidy, landscaped streets looked like so many clones of each other. Despite the fact that she’d practically grown up here, Daisy somehow managed to miss her turn. With a sigh of resignation, Daisy lowered the window and stuck her head out, craning for a closer look at the signs. Rain blew into her face with gleeful force, and the sleeve of her cream cotton sweater took no more than thirty seconds to absorb what felt like at least a pound of water. Her hair—the bane of her existence— turned from ash blond shoulder bob to wet yellow frizz in the blink of an eye. So much for returning home and dazzling everyone with her sleek, California sophistication, Daisy reflected, giving a rueful shove to her sopping curls. And judging by the sag in her sleeve, the super-expensive sweater she’d splurged on as a reward for working four 60-hour weeks back-to-back seemed likely to end up with one side stretched to accommodate a three hundred pound gorilla. At least she could now read the street signs, which was some small repayment for the ruined sweater and frizzy hair. Apparently she was at the intersection of Oak Lane and Bridge Street. That meant a quick U-turn would bring her to her grandmother’s house in less than a minute. Cheered by the prospect of soon seeing Grandma Ruth, her favorite relative in the world, she checked in her rearview mirror before making the turn. About to swing hard right, she realized a silver BMW sports coupe was pulling up behind her. The driver of the coupe stopped the car, leaving his headlights on. A man immediately got out of the car, walking toward her with a purposeful stride. He was tall, with an athletic build that was all too familiar. Daisy’s stomach sank as she recognized him. Matthew Beauregard.

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Good grief, what had she done to deserve an encounter with him, on top of every other disaster? Why in the world was he in Omaha, tonight of all nights? Talk about bad Karma. Clearly she had been an evil person in a previous existence and was now being punished for sins she wasn’t even aware of having committed. She contemplated putting her rented Chevy in gear and driving off full speed ahead, but since Matt had lived in Elm Village most of his life, he would know that she needed to turn around to get to her grandmother’s house. In the circumstances, staying put and being icily polite seemed a better choice than driving off and proving she was too chicken to talk to him. She had the family honor to think about, and her grandmother had been feuding with the Beauregard family for thirty years. The feud was no less intense for having been caused initially by a dispute over trash collection—a dispute that had been resolved approximately twentynine years and eleven months ago. Grandma Ruth would expect Daisy to hold her ground and fight, at least metaphorically. She might stand a scant five feet tall, and that was when she cheated by lifting her heels off the ground, but she pretty much defined the word feisty. Matt came alongside Daisy’s car and gave her a casual salute. The rain that had turned her into a sodden version of Little Orphan Annie hadn’t penetrated his leather jacket and he looked entirely at his ease. More rain streamed off his chiseled features, highlighting the Brad Pitt perfection of his profile. Daisy registered the impossible sexiness of him and tried to think of anyone in the world she would like to see less at this moment than Matt Beauregard. Short of a coked-out rapist, nobody came to mind. Matt gave her one of his trademark glances, cool and utterly self-possessed. He followed his inspection with a faint smile—the sort of smile indulgent uncles gave when confronted by a spoiled little niece who was likely to explode into a tiresome temper tantrum any minute. Daisy gritted her teeth and exercised huge amounts of self-control in order to avoid living down to his expectations. At moments like this, it was tough to avoid the conclusion that life truly sucked. “Hey, Daisy, I thought I recognized you.” Matt’s voice was deep and smooth. Daisy had been assured by all her girlfriends that he only had to speak a couple of sentences and they instantly imagined themselves naked in his bed. Daisy, however, reacted to his voice the same way she reacted to his smile and everything else about him: she developed an immediate and almost irresistible urge to run far, far away. “Hello, Matt.” Her throat was oddly dry, so her voice, far from sounding smooth like his, came out as a husky mumble. “What are you doing in Omaha?” “My grandmother sent for me. She’s planning to sell her house and apparently is in urgent need of my advice.” “Lucille is selling her house?” Daisy was astonished. How come her grandmother had made no mention of this momentous piece of news? Given that Ruth Plumrose and Lucille Beauregard had been in a state of war since before Daisy was born, the fact that Lucille planned to move must surely loom large on her grandmother’s horizon. Despite a childhood filled with stories about the wicked Beauregards, Daisy secretly rather liked Lucille. More to the point, she was afraid her grandmother would be lost without her favorite enemy to add spice to her days. “I hope Lucille isn’t ill?” she said. “No, she’s fine. In fact, for a woman of eighty-two, she’s in fantastic shape. Apparently, she just wants to spend less time keeping up her house and more time traveling before she’s too old to enjoy a vacation. But she’s from a generation that wouldn’t dream of making a big decision without a male relative to tell her it’s okay. So here I am.” Matt pushed his fingers through his short, cropped hair and rain drops scattered. “What’s up with you, Daisy? If you’re having trouble with your car, can I help?”

Chapter Two

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Daisy tried to mimic the cool sophistication of Matt’s smile, which wasn’t easy with rain dripping off her nose. She gave another useless swat to her hair. “No, thanks, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with the car. I missed my turn in the dark.” Matt didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, much less make any smart-ass remarks about her inability to find the house where she’d spent every summer of her life between middle school and college. Unfailing politeness was one of Matt Beauregard’s more annoying characteristics. He merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, already walking away. He knew as well as she did that they had nothing to say to each other once the basic courtesies were over. “I’ll back up my car so you can turn around,” he said, over his shoulder. “Thanks.” Daisy drew in a deep breath, aware that she couldn’t let him leave without at least mentioning his award at last week’s Emmys. Her personal history with Matt might be humiliating, but professional integrity required that Daisy acknowledge his huge achievement. “Congratulations on your Emmy, by the way.” She was too honest not to tell him the truth. “The writing on your show is terrific. You deserved the win.” He stopped and turned to look at her again. “Thanks.” His smile gleamed white in the light spilling from his car. “I spent so long telling everyone it was an honor just to be nominated that I haven’t quite absorbed yet that I actually won.” “Getting kissed by Jennifer Anniston can’t have been all bad, either.” He grinned, and this time it seemed to Daisy that his amusement was genuine. “The kiss was a definite bonus, although I was numb with shock so I didn’t get to appreciate it as much as I should have done.” “Next time you’ll be better prepared.” “Right now, the chances for another nomination seem remote, to say the least. I’m having to fight the network every damn week to prevent them from subverting my story lines.” Matt turned abruptly. “I’ll move my car so that you can make the turn,” he said again. Daisy wondered why on earth the network would want to meddle with a show that was successful enough to blow away the competition week after week. Matt was senior writer and co-producer for Orlando Nights, an innovative one-hour drama that had single-handedly changed conventional views of Orlando as a destination strictly for family vacations. The show revealed the glittering, tropical underbelly of a city that catered to thousands of conventioneers each year and also had enough foreign visitors to provide cover for every sort of international crime. The scripts were suspenseful and rich with dark humor. In addition, Matt always incorporated just enough heart-tugging emotion to hold the attention of both men and women. Reviewers and audiences alike lavished praise on the sharp, edgy dialogue and tightly woven plots, so it wasn’t stretching in the least to visualize another Emmy in Matthew Beauregard’s future. Still, his problems with the network were no concern of hers, even if she couldn’t help feeling a sneaking sympathy for his situation. It was well known in Hollywood that shows became successful because of cutting edge new approaches—at which point the networks usually became scared of protecting their new franchise and demanded that the writers scale back on all the elements that had made the show a standout in the first place. But Daisy wasn’t about to start sympathizing with Matt, not even about his work. She dismissed him from her mind as he passed her car, leaving the narrow road clear for her to make her turn. He belonged in her past and she had every intention of leaving him there. Buried somewhere very deep, where he retained no power to hurt her.

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Right now, she needed to stay focused on the task ahead which, she suspected, would involve a lot more than helping Grandma Ruth cope with a broken bone in her foot. Her grandmother would never invent an injury just to entice Daisy to Omaha. However, she was more than capable of using the broken foot as an excuse to achieve her real goal, which for the past several years had been to get Daisy married off, the sooner the better. If she’d arrived on time, the odds would have been excellent that a candidate for the role of Daisy’s husband would be waiting to greet her when she arrived at her grandmother’s home. Ruth Plumrose might be among Omaha’s more forward-looking seventy-eight year olds, but she had decidedly old-fashioned views on the question of marriage. She regularly reminded Daisy that human beings were always happier when involved in a committed, caring relationship and she made no secret of the fact that she looked forward to cuddling at least one great-grandbaby before she died. Since Daisy was her only grandchild, the duty of producing said baby rested squarely with Daisy. Not that Daisy was opposed either to getting married or to having babies. Not in the long term. But for right now, she was concentrating on her career as a costume designer for movies and television and the field was so cut-throat she still felt precariously perched on the lower rungs of her career ladder, despite six years on the job. She’d recently been promoted to the coveted position of assistant to Karen Karvitz, but keeping that job wasn’t going to be easy. Karen was the president of her own company and a major star in the Designers’ Guild, but she was the sort of demanding boss who made Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada look like a warm and fuzzy pushover. Daisy figured that if she could survive Karen for another six months, the world of costume design would be at her feet. After that, with her career established, she could start thinking about marriage and children. She was still only twenty-eight, for heaven’s sake! Her grandmother sometimes acted as if Daisy’s biological clock had already started ticking down the last few seconds to Doomsday. Daisy drew to a halt in her grandmother’s driveway. Maybe there was a silver lining to the storm cloud that had delayed her arrival, she reflected. She was so late getting here that Grandma Ruth’s latest candidate in the Find-Daisy-a-Husband contest would almost certainly have given up and gone home. She could only hope. Slinging her travel bag over her shoulders, Daisy ran through the pelting rain, seeking the shelter of the front porch. The door opened within seconds. Warmth and light radiated out, illuminating the stocky figure of an unknown, dark-haired man with handsome regular features. Daisy groaned, too tired and frustrated to choke off the sound. Even if she hadn’t been wetter than your average drowning victim, even if she hadn’t just spent ten hours traveling, even if she hadn’t just survived an encounter with Matt Beauregard, she was so totally not in the mood for coping with her grandmother’s latest offering in the Husband Sweepstakes. The unsuspecting potential bridegroom—at least she assumed he was unsuspecting—grasped her hand in a firm shake. ““Hi, you must be Daisy, Ruth’s granddaughter. I’m Steve Greeley. I’m new to Omaha and your grandmother has been such a good friend. Come on in, she’s waiting for you in the living room. I’m afraid the injury to her foot is making it difficult for her to move around.” He seemed like a nice enough guy and Daisy gave him the warmest smile she could muster to make up for the fact that she wished with all her heart that he wasn’t there. “It’s kind of you to wait this late, Steve. My plane was delayed—“ He nodded. “I was just about to leave when you called Ruth from the airport. Since it’s real hard for her to get up, I figured I should hang around for a while. It was no trouble, believe me. It’s always a kick talking to your grandma.” “She’s led an interesting life,” Daisy agreed. “Has she told you about her stint as a nurse with the army in Korea?” “Man, has she ever! What a spitfire she must have been. And so romantic meeting her husband when he was brought into her hospital tent on a stretcher.”

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Many people had said the same thing, although Daisy had never quite grasped what was so romantic about meeting your prospective life partner when he was suffering from an infected bullet wound to the groin. Still, despite this difference in viewpoint, Steve seemed to be one of her grandmother’s better picks as far as husbands went. He was a little on the stocky side for her taste, but his jeans fit just right, he was wearing a pleasant, woodsy cologne, and he had apparently been very kind to an elderly lady. She was willing to forgive him a lot in exchange for that.

Chapter Three Daisy gave Steve another smile as she walked past him into the living room, then promptly forgot all about him when she saw her grandmother seated in the Queen Anne chair next to the fire. A pair of crutches had been stacked against the arms, and Ruth’s right foot rested on a low stool. Daisy almost ran the few yards separating them, her breath catching when she realized how frail her grandmother looked. Ruth enveloped her in a talcum-scented hug. “Daisy, you poor child, you’re soaked. What can I get you to eat? I know they never feed you on planes these days. And it’s such a miserable night for a long journey!” Ruth reached for her crutches, beaming with pleasure at the sight of her only granddaughter. “No, don’t get up, Gran. You look so comfy. Besides, I’m not hungry. I ate at the airport while I was waiting for the rental company to find me a car.” Daisy kissed Ruth’s soft cheek before bending down to take a closer look at her grandmother’s ankle. There was an ugly gash visible above the splint, and several dark bruises as well. Her grandmother had clearly downplayed the severity of her injury. Daisy tried not to show her anxiety. “Are you in a lot of pain, Gran? Have you been able to get any sleep?” “Well, the doctor gave me plenty of pain pills, so it’s not too bad. Getting up and down stairs is a bit difficult, but otherwise, I’m fine.” Ruth smiled brightly. Translation: her injury hurt like hell. Daisy took her grandmother’s hand. “Next time you decide to walk downstairs in the middle of the night, will you please switch on the light?” “I promise,” Ruth said humbly. Only severe pain would account for such astonishing meekness, Daisy thought. “Are you following the doctor’s instructions, Gran? I mean all of them, not just the parts that happen to agree with what the ladies in your bridge club recommend.” “Do you think I’d be sitting here with my foot up and these dratted things getting in my way if I wasn’t doing just what the doctor ordered?” Ruth thumped the crutches on the floor for emphasis and then smiled. “Anyway, let’s not talk about my silly injury. Did you notice the lovely fire Steve lit for us? It’s my first this year, and that’s always a treat. Sit down next to me for a moment and enjoy the warmth while you dry off.” “The fire is lovely.” Daisy pulled up the ottoman and sat down close to her grandmother, extending her hands to the blaze. “The whole room smells of pine.” “I like to listen to the crackle. Somehow, those little sparks and splutters make the whole room feel alive.” Ruth gestured to Steve, who was hovering barely inside the doorway, apparently reluctant to intrude on the reunion. “Come on in, Steve, and join us.” Ruth beckoned in welcome. “I don’t want to butt in—“ “You’re not. On the contrary, I need you for back-up.” Ruth’s eyes twinkled. “I need you to tell my granddaughter how quiet and well-behaved I’ve been these past two days.”

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He laughed, taking a seat on the sofa across from them both. “I wouldn’t say quiet, Ruth, but I can reassure Daisy that you’ve been a model patient.” “I’m delighted to hear it.” Daisy pushed the ottoman a little further away from the fire. “How long will you have to keep the cast, Gran?” “Oh, a week, maybe a bit longer. I’ll be running around in no time.” Steve shook his head, quietly chiding. “I know you’re the Wonder Woman of the Senior Citizen circuit, Ruth, but you need to take the time to heal.” He got up to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then turned, speaking directly to Daisy. “The doctor said it was a stress fracture, not a complete break, but your grandmother’s bones are fragile and she could end up with a real problem if she doesn’t respect her limitations. It’s going to be a while before she can walk without crutches.” “Don’t worry, there’s nothing Daisy likes better than ordering me around.” The affectionate glow in Ruth’s eyes removed the sting from her words. “She’s a dictator at heart, you know.” “Then I’ll leave her to do some dictating,” Steve said, chuckling. “I have an early start tomorrow morning and I need to get going. Goodnight, Ruth. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon, just to get a progress report.” “Come to dinner,” Ruth said. “I owe you a home-cooked meal after all the attention you’ve given me these past two days and we’d love to have you join us. Daisy’s a wonderful cook.” “Movie star beautiful and she can cook, too!” Steve clasped his hand to his heart in a melodramatic gesture. “At last I’ve met the woman of my dreams!” Daisy rose to her feet, her anti-matchmaking antenna on full alert. “My grandmother is exaggerating. My major talent in the kitchen is pushing buttons on the microwave—“ “But you’ll come anyway, right, Steve?” Ruth’s smile was sweet, but there was no mistaking her steely determination to get Steve and Daisy seated together at the same dinner table. “Let’s eat early, shall we? How about six o’clock?” “I wish I could, but I’m working at the literacy center tomorrow night. I’ll take a rain check, though, if you’ll let me.” “Of course.” But Ruth looked disappointed at the failure of her plan. “You’re a teacher?” Daisy asked, escorting Steve to the front door. He shook his head. “I’m a certified financial planner, but I volunteer at the literacy center downtown. I’m tutoring a class of new immigrants, helping them to learn English. There are a couple of kids in the class who could break your heart, one from Afghanistan and the other from Kosovo. They’re great kids, both of them. Battle scarred, but determined to succeed.” Daisy was impressed by Steve’s commitment to such a worthy cause. He was certainly a major improvement over her grandmother’s last candidate for a husband, who had been a neurosurgeon and probably the most self-absorbed man Daisy had ever met. And that was saying something, given that she worked in Hollywood, surrounded by models and actors for whom self-absorption was the bedrock of their being. She said goodbye, and when Steve commented that he would look forward to seeing her again soon, she astonished herself by saying, “That would be great. I hope you can join us for dinner some time this week.” He grinned. “Now that you’ve asked, I’d love it. Have a good night, Daisy. I’m glad you’re here.”

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She grimaced. “You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.” He laughed. “You may be a lousy cook, but you’re even more beautiful than your photos.” He was gone before she could find a reply.

Chapter Four “I’ve decided to sell my house,” Ruth said, as she and Daisy were eating breakfast the next morning. “The Realtor’s coming around this afternoon so that I can sign the papers.” Daisy set down her glass of juice and stared open-mouthed at her grandmother. “But you’ve lived here for thirty years! You and Grandpa always loved this house.” “I still do. It’s full of happy memories. It’s also way too big for one person.” Ruth pushed aside the remainder of her toasted breakfast muffin. “I have to be practical, Daisy. The truth is, my knee joints aren’t what they used to be and I have trouble with the stairs even when I don’t have a broken ankle. The washing machine is located way down in the basement, there’s half an acre of yard I have to pay someone to take care of and there are three bedrooms nobody is sleeping in. This is a house for a young family, not for an old woman living alone.” Her grandmother’s logic was irrefutable, but Daisy was still shocked. “What brought on this sudden decision, Gran? Is this because of your fall?” Ruth shook her head. “I made the decision a while ago. My accident just confirmed to me that it was the right one.” Daisy searched her grandmother’s face. “Does the fact that Lucille Beauregard is selling her house have anything to do with your decision?” Ruth looked momentarily taken aback, then her eyes narrowed. “How do you know Lucille is planning to put her house on the market? Who told you?” “Matthew Beauregard. Her grandson,” she added, in case her grandmother didn’t remember the name. “I know who Matthew is.” Ruth sounded a little exasperated. “And if I’d forgotten, Lucille Beauregard would have made sure to remind me.” “I thought you and Lucille never spoke?” Ruth gave a little snort that somehow managed to sound entirely ladylike. “Lucille made an exception to the No Talking rule as soon as her grandson was nominated for an Emmy. You think that woman hasn’t told me and everyone else in the entire state of Nebraska that her grandson is the famous scriptwriter who’s coproducer of Orlando Nights?” “Well, I guess that’s something any grandmother would be proud of.” Daisy felt defensive of Matt’s professional achievements, perhaps because she also worked in the entertainment industry and recognized the months of hard work that lurked behind the glamorous moment of running up on stage and collecting a golden statue. “Winning an Emmy is a pretty big deal.” “I didn’t think you and Matthew ever saw each other even though you both live in L.A.,” Ruth said. “You hardly know each other, do you?” Daisy managed a casual shrug. “L.A. is a big place. It’s not surprising that we almost never run into each other.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. In the past two years, they’d encountered each other five times at various industry functions. The fact that they’d seen each other a lot more often when she first moved to California

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was irrelevant. The fact that they’d once been lovers was totally, utterly and completely irrelevant to everything. “So when did Matthew Beauregard tell you about Lucille putting her house on the market?” Ruth, unfortunately, was not a woman who lost track of where the conversation had been headed. “We met by chance last night and he mentioned that his grandmother was planning to move.” Daisy changed the subject, before Ruth could delve any deeper into the subject of Matt Beauregard. It was a measure of her desperation that she willingly introduced Steve Greeley’s name even though in other circumstances she would have worked hard to avoid talking about Ruth’s latest candidate for the role of grandson-in-law. “Steve Greeley seems like a nice guy,” Daisy said, taking another sip of juice. “How did you meet him, Gran?” Ruth slanted a satisfied glance in Daisy’s direction. “Hah! I wondered when you’d get around to mentioning Steve. You like him, then? “Based on the half dozen sentences we exchanged last night, he seems okay. More than okay, actually.” “Sometimes half a dozen sentences are all it takes. I knew I wanted to marry your grandfather from the first moment he opened his eyes on that stretcher and looked into mine.” Daisy reflected that her grandparents’ courtship had been getting shorter and more passionately romantic the further it receded into the past. When she first heard the story, her grandfather had been in rehab and physical therapy for almost two months before he asked her grandmother out on a date. Now, apparently, passion had flared within seconds. She hid a smile. “Does Steve work for your bank?” she asked, deciding not to express her doubts about the amazing shrinking courtship of her grandparents. “No, he’s an independent financial advisor who’s just moved here from New York.” Daisy frowned. “Don’t financial people usually try to move from Omaha to Manhattan, not the other way around? If they’re any good, that is.” “Steve says that with today’s technology, you can live anywhere. After all, it doesn’t take any longer to send e-mail from Omaha than it does from New York City.” “True, but I thought financial types liked to hang out together. Meet for lunch and give each other tips about hot stocks and so on.” “Steve already has a great network he can tap into. He’s really informed about the market and all the new ways there are to make money. He’s quite sure he can make a lot of money for me. He says banks and other institutions are so conservative they miss a lot of the best opportunities—“ Daisy felt a sharp twinge of alarm. “I don’t know, Gran. Isn’t it a bit risky to get involved with a financial planner who has no established corporation to back him up?” “If you can’t take risks at my age, when can you take them? What have I got to lose?” “Your life savings?” Daisy suggested. “Oh, my goodness, don’t be such a pessimist! Steve has recommended I should invest in this private partnership he’s promoting. He puts together associations of small investors and then leverages the capital to buy out private companies with neglected assets.” Ruth spoke as if she were repeating a lesson she’s

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learned by rote. “He’s shown me the prospectus and the success rates are amazing: people have been doubling their money every eighteen months or so.” It all sounded pretty hokey to Daisy, although she had to admit the sum total of her knowledge about capital markets could fit on one decent sized note card. “You should remember what Grandpa always used to say, Gran. If it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is. Making money isn’t easy, I guess, otherwise we’d all be millionaires. I’d be careful about trusting this Steve person too much.” “For heaven’s sake, Daisy, you can trust me to make good judgments about people. I’m not naïve, you know. By the time I was twenty, I was in Korea keeping half-dead soldiers alive long enough for a doctor to get them onto the operating table. I was married at twenty-three and giving birth to your mother ten months later—“ “I know, Gran.” Daisy grinned. “Real life started a lot earlier when you were young.” Ruth laughed, visibly relaxing. “All right, you’ve made your point. I know how annoying it is when old people climb on their hobby horses and start spouting off about how much better everything was back in the good old days. But Steve is absolutely right about one thing: you need money to make money. Part of the reason I’m selling my house is so that I’ll have enough money to give Steve—“ “That sounds like a seriously bad idea to me, Gran.” “Why?” Ruth didn’t wait for Daisy to list the dozens of reasons why handing over her life savings to a stranger might be considered the height of folly. “We’d finished paying off the mortgage before your grandfather died,” Ruth continued. “That means this house represents a wonderful nest egg—except right now it’s no use to me whatsoever! What’s the point of having thousands of dollars of capital if you can’t use it? I need to put my assets to work for me.” It seemed to Daisy that her grandmother was parroting Steve’s words without having fully digested the implications. “You don’t think you’d miss your garden if you sell? And all the neighbors you’ve known for so many years?” “There is that,” Ruth acknowledged. “But my best friends are all in my bridge club or my book club, and when it’s my turn to be the hostess, I expect they’ll be just as happy to meet in a spiffy new condo as they are to meet here.” Daisy suspected there was more to moving from the house where you’d lived for thirty-five years than notifying your bridge club that they would be convening in a new location. But her grandmother was a smart woman, showing not the slightest sign of losing her wits, and she had every right to put her house on the market if she wanted to. The truth was, Daisy thought ruefully, this house was her home—far more so than anything she’d ever shared with her parents, who were anthropologists perpetually flying off on academic safaris into the African desert or riding donkeys across the steppes of Inner Mongolia. Her reluctance to see this house sold probably had as much to do with her personal sense of loss as it did with her niggling worry that Ruth was placing a lot of trust in Steve Greeley, a man she barely knew. “Don’t look so alarmed,” Ruth said cheerfully. “I’ve investigated Steve’s background. I know exactly what I’m doing. Trust me, Daisy. This is all for the best.” Daisy wished she shared her grandmother’s confidence. Unfortunately, she was more cynical than Ruth and she was starting to wonder exactly why Steve Greeley had been so kind to her grandmother. She was afraid she might not like the true answer to that question one bit.

Chapter Five

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The phone rang a few minutes after the real estate agent arrived to consult with Ruth about listing the house for sale. “Could you get that, Daisy?” her grandmother called out. “Sure.” Daisy picked up the phone and almost dropped it again when she heard Matt Beauregard’s voice on the other end of the line. Two encounters with Matt within the space of eighteen hours were more than she was equipped to deal with. “Can your grandmother hear what you’re saying?” he asked as soon as she’d identified herself. Daisy moved out into the hall. “Not any more.” “Good. I have something I need to discuss with you. It concerns my grandmother and yours as well.” “This isn’t about their crazy feud, is it?” “No. Unfortunately, this is more serious than a feud that’s kept the pair of them happily entertained for thirty years. I’m afraid they’re both about to get ripped off by a fast-talking, so-called financial planner—“ “Would that financial planner be a man called Steve Greeley by any chance?” “Yes, that’s the guy. Have you heard about him, too?” “Not only have I heard about him, I actually met him last night,” Daisy said. “He’s charming when you meet him in person.” “I guess he wouldn’t be much good as a con man if he was a pain to have around.” “Do you really think that’s what Steve is—a con man?” “Seems that way from what I’ve managed to dig up this morning. Look, Daisy, I know you consider spending time with me about as much fun as checking an alligator for tooth cavities, but we need to talk. I’m parked two houses down from Ruth’s place. Would you come out and meet me?” There were very few things that would persuade Daisy to meet willingly with Matt Beauregard, but protecting her grandmother was one of them. “I was getting ready to go for a run,” she said. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be there.” She joined him wearing the sweats she’d planned to run in, topped by a loose sweater, since the weather remained gray and damp. She’d pulled her hair ruthlessly away from her face, partly so that it wouldn’t curl, and partly because she had no intention of primping for Matt Beauregard. When she’d found herself applying blush and eyeliner before going out, she’d been so annoyed that she tossed her makeup back in her purse without putting on even a dab of lipstick. Matt had his pick of Hollywood’s A-list beauties as she’d learned the hard way, and she had no intention of trying to compete. Not any more. Matt was already out of his car and looking his usual devastatingly attractive self. Daisy had no idea how he managed to exude sexual promise simply by leaning against the car door, but somehow he did. He smiled as soon as he caught sight of her, his gaze locking with hers. Her stupid, ridiculous heart performed a couple of back flips just to prove that it was still as unreliable as ever. Two years had passed since she and Matt broke up in a blaze of pain and anger. By now, for heaven’s sake, they surely ought to be able to meet without her body undergoing some weird chemical reaction that left her mind a jittery blank and her body a mass of zinging nerve endings. She greeted him curtly, more annoyed with herself than with him. She was so over the whole ridiculous mess of being in love with him. Why couldn’t her body at least try to cooperate with this entirely sensible decision?

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“It’s too cold to stand still,” she said. “Shall we head for the pond?” “Sounds good.” Matt straightened, falling into an easy stride alongside her. “Thanks for coming to meet me, Daisy. I appreciate it.” “You said you wanted to talk about our grandmothers.” She needed to keep this conversation tightly focused. Straying off into byways or wandering down memory lane was likely to lead them somewhere she didn’t want to go. She felt Matt’s gaze resting on her face, but she wasn’t going to fall into the trap of looking at him. She thought she heard him sigh before he spoke. “When my grandmother called last weekend and said she was planning to sell her house, it seemed straightforward enough. But the moment I arrived here, I knew she was hiding something. At first she stuck to the story she’d given me over the phone—“ “That her house is too big and she wants the freedom to take more vacations?” Matt nodded. “Yeah. Then, gradually, she admitted the real reason she’s selling is because she needs the money if she’s going to invest a quarter of a million dollars with this Steve Greeley person—“ “A quarter of a million!” Daisy squeaked. “Good grief, that’s a hefty chunk of change!” “It sure is, and she says your grandmother is planning to invest the same amount.” Houses in Omaha didn’t command anything like California-level prices, so handing Steve Greeley a quarter of a million dollars would probably wipe out everything Ruth and Lucille netted from selling their homes. No wonder Matt was worried. She was right there with him, she realized. “Gran is with a real estate agent right now, signing the papers to put her house on the market.” Daisy shook her head in bewilderment. “Why in the world would these two smart women suddenly decide to part with most of their life savings to a man they scarcely know!” “My grandmother feels she knows Steve quite well, that’s the problem.” Matt sounded as frustrated as Daisy felt. “She met him at church and he immediately volunteered to work on one of her committees. Next thing you know, almost before you could say con artist, he was bringing tubs of flowers for her front porch and she was baking him oatmeal cookies. He was clever enough not to mention financial planning or investments until he’d impressed her with his hard work on the committee—and the fact that he donated five hundred bucks to the homeless shelter, my grandmother’s cause.” “Five hundred dollars is a tiny investment if he’s going to walk away with half a million,” Daisy pointed out. “Yes, and when my grandmother voiced a few reservations, he sent her to his website. I checked it out this morning, and it’s really impressive. He has glowing references from dozens of satisfied investors who make him sound like the next Warren Buffet.” “But, of course, anyone can write whatever they please on a web site,” Daisy pointed out. “There’s no way to be sure any of those investors actually exists.” “Absolutely. I also wonder how many other lonely widows he has dangling on his hook,” Matt said. “There must be plenty of elderly women in Omaha who are a lot more vulnerable than Ruth and Lucille. I’m guessing Steve Greeley tries to find victims with no family to look out for them, in which case Lucille and Ruth might have appeared ideal targets. They’re both elderly widows, living alone. He’s probably furious that the two of us turned up just when he was about to close the deal.” “No wonder he was so anxious to behave perfectly last night.” Daisy had assumed Steve was being tactful when he hovered in the doorway to the living room, not saying a word. In hindsight, she wondered if he had actually been observing her relationship with her grandmother, silently assessing whether this newcomer was likely to be a danger to his plans.

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“You didn’t suspect anything was wrong?” Matt asked. “Even though men in their thirties don’t usually hang out with women who are almost eighty?” “I suspected the wrong thing,” Daisy admitted ruefully. “I assumed my grandmother had Steve lined up as the next candidate for my husband, so I never questioned why he was there with her, or why he was obviously so much at home in her house.” Matt’s voice deepened with wry amusement. “How lucky for Steve that Ruth is still determined to get you married off.” “Is your grandmother still equally enthusiastic about playing matchmaker?” “God, is she ever! Despite the amount of time we’ve spent discussing Steve Greeley, she’s already made it quite clear that she has three lovely girls she expects me to take out to dinner before I go back to L.A.” Daisy laughed. “Good luck dodging those bullets.” She was so sympathetic she looked straight Matt’s eyes, totally forgetting how dangerous that was.

Chapter Six Matt’s gaze met hers, the blue of his eyes more intense than usual in the misty afternoon light. The air between them thickened with tension. There was almost a foot of space separating them and he made no effort to close the gap, but Daisy felt his physical presence as powerfully as if he’d put his arms around her and dragged her against his body. “I missed you at the Emmys,” he said softly. “When I went on stage to collect my award, I wanted you to be there with me. I wanted it in the worst way.” His words wrapped around her in a seductive coil. Somehow, Daisy resisted the urge to melt into his arms and forget about the several excellent reasons why she hadn’t been at his side. “You had Zita Moralis as your date for the Emmys.” She hoped her voice sounded casual and faintly teasing. “What more could you want than the star of this summer’s hottest movie? You were the envy of fifteen million American males as they watched you escort Zita along the red carpet. The only thing that would have made them more envious is if she’d actually had the wardrobe malfunction her dress seemed to promise.” “Zita is a nice person and a talented actor, but she isn’t you.” His gaze still held hers, demanding and yet seeking at the same time. “Did you watch the entire broadcast, Daisy?” “Yes, I did.” She hated the husky, breathless sound of her voice but she could do nothing to control it. She shook her head, determined to break the spell. “I always watch the Emmys; they’re such a great spectacle. It’s one of my favorite nights of the year. Not to mention that it’s professionally important for me to see what everyone is wearing.” “Is that the only reason you watched? Because it’s professionally important?” It was a second or two before she found the courage to reply honestly. “No, it wasn’t the only reason.” She hesitated again then admitted the truth. “I wanted you to win.” Matt turned away, seemingly absorbed in watching a family of ducks that hadn’t yet flown south for the winter. A late flight to winter warmth and fresh food supplies was risky behavior for ducks, but no more risky, Daisy thought, than allowing herself to get involved in this conversation. “I was a fool two years ago,” Matt said finally. “A total and complete moron.” “Yes, you were. Do you expect me to disagree?”

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“No.” Her mouth felt dry and her stomach cramped at the hurtful memories. “You weren’t just a fool, Matt. You were cruel and you were unfaithful. You stood me up on my birthday so that you could take Jessica Portman to that movie director’s party, and then you made sure the betrayal was complete by having an affair with her that was so torrid the gossip columnists fed on it for weeks.” Matt had stopped watching the ducks, but his expression was now shuttered even though he turned to face her once again. “Does it make things any better if I tell you that Jessica and I never slept together? That our relationship was all a PR stunt?” “The pair of you seemed to be generating plenty of sparks for a supposedly business relationship.” “If we were generating sparks, it’s because we cordially disliked each other. We barely spoke unless there was a photographer somewhere in the vicinity.” Daisy turned away, since it was too painful to look at him. “No,” she said finally. “That doesn’t make it any better, Matt. It means you pushed me aside for a cheap publicity stunt instead of for hot sex with the latest “it” girl. How in the world is that supposed to make everything okay?” Even now, she couldn’t understand how Matt could have thrown away their relationship for something as trivial as a few weeks of tabloid publicity. The ache of his rejection squeezed her lungs making it hard to breathe. “I thought you loved me, Matt. I thought what we shared was the real, happily ever after kind of a thing.” She fought against the tears that clogged her throat. “It wasn’t much fun to discover that I was just the hometown stopgap until Hollywood’s power elite noticed you.” “You were never a stopgap,” Matt said, his voice low and fierce. “Daisy, you’re the woman I’ve loved ever since we were college kids sneaking out of our grandparents’ homes to meet in secret because of their crazy feud. I never stopped loving you. I still love you—“ Wincing, she held up her hand, warding off his words. The trouble was, she wanted to hear them too much. “No, don’t go there, Matt! It’s way too easy to claim that you loved me. If that’s true, what can love possibly mean to you? Nothing very important, that’s for sure.” “What does love mean to me?” He tilted his head to one side, giving her question careful consideration. “It means caring and trust and friendship. It means loyalty and having someone to share things with.” He gave a faint grin. “Happily, in our case, it also meant lots of incredibly wonderful sex.” “And you tossed all that aside for a PR stunt?” Daisy didn’t attempt to hide her scorn. “Yes, I did.” Matt’s smile became self-mocking. “I was crazy, okay? But it’s a heady experience writing for the number one new hit TV show and knowing that you have the power to keep twenty-six million viewers a week hooked on your story line. Success inflated my ego to the point where I couldn’t see around it. You were my anchor, but for a few crucial, insane moments I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anchored. So I lost my bearings and you along with it. Jessica Portman was a power trip, an excursion into fantasy land. It took me about a week to realize what I’d done to our relationship and by then it was too late. You wouldn’t see me, you wouldn’t answer my calls. You threatened to get a court order against me for harassment…” “What choice did you leave me? Don’t you see, Matt? I couldn’t trust you any more. And without trust, there was nothing worthwhile left of our relationship. You were harassing me…” She didn’t realize her tears had spilled over until she heard Matt’s sigh. “Ah, Jesus, Daisy, don’t cry. I was such a stupid prick. I’m sorry. You’ve no idea how sorry I am. I have my head on straight again now, I swear.”

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She felt his thumbs brush gently against her eyelids, and then she felt the wet of her own tears on his fingers. Dammit, she was through with crying over this man! She jerked away from him but he put his arms around her and pulled her hard against him. His head lowered and his mouth touched hers, softly at first and then with all the passion pent up during two years of separation. Daisy felt torn between a burst of anger and instant sensual response. The anger flared because she apparently still couldn’t resist Matt, and the sensual response flared because…because she was an idiot who had spent the past two years yearning to make love again with a man who couldn’t be trusted. Humiliatingly, it seemed he only needed to take her into his arms and her protective cover was blown away. How had she managed to trick herself into believing that her feelings for Matt were under control? She would never have been running away so frantically if she hadn’t suspected her defenses wouldn’t be strong enough to stand up to a meaningful encounter with him. Matt’s hands tangled in her hair, tugging it free from its band. She felt the soft strands twining around his fingers as his tongue searched deep in her mouth and his body pressed hard against hers. Doubts and questions vanished as the taste of him swept over her, transforming the last remnants of her anger into a desire that was all the more powerful for being edged with something darker. She forgot Matt’s betrayal and her own determination not to get involved with anyone again until her career was on track. She forgot everything but the heat and strength and passion of the man who was kissing her as if his life depended on her response. Her desire intensified as she felt the increasing urgency of Matt’s demands. Their bodies both burned, but she wasn’t sure who generated the heat. She wanted him, needed him, craved his touch—and she knew at some deep level that he experienced the same needs, the same wants, the same cravings. The hunger to be with him had never ceased during their time apart, had never been satisfied by anyone else. She had often wondered if he experienced the same harrowing sensation of perpetual emptiness. As he kissed her, she knew that he had. When they broke apart, there was no point in trying to pretend that nothing had happened. She had just provided irrefutable evidence of the fact that she was still physically attracted to him. She felt disoriented, and no doubt looked thoroughly aroused. She was hot, panting, her nipples were hard, and her skin felt on fire with sexual tension. If they hadn’t been in a public place, Daisy knew they would have ended up on the nearest available horizontal surface. She wasn’t sure whether to be devastated or relieved that they happened to be in Elm Village Park, where someone could walk past at any minute. Matt stepped away from her, breathing hard. “God, I knew I missed you, but I forced myself to forget how much. Let me back into your life, Daisy. This time, I promise not to mess up. Spend enough time with me to let me convince you we should get married.”

Chapter Seven Daisy had no idea how to answer him. The protective devices she’d developed over the past two years were at war with the reality of what had just happened between them. Everything was happening too fast, and she was in a state of utter confusion. In the end, she took refuge in evasion. “We can’t deal with our relationship right now. We have to deal with Steve Greeley and the risk to our grandmothers. Houses sell fast in this neighborhood and they’re both stubborn enough that they’ll hand over the cash proceeds unless we can provide proof that Steve can’t be trusted.” Matt wasn’t about to let her get away with that sort of equivocation. “Whether or not Steve Greeley is a thief has got nothing to do with whether or not you want to start seeing me again when we’re back in L.A.” He took her hands and lifted them to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “Don’t be scared, Daisy. We can take things as slowly as you want. I’m a lot smarter now than I was two years ago and I can wait for however long it takes.” Going out with Matt again would be a huge risk because he had more power to hurt her than anyone else she knew. But waking up each morning and getting out of bed involved risks, Daisy thought. That’s what life was about: measuring risks and then calculating which ones were worth taking. Dating Matt was definitely

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high risk, but the rewards could be correspondingly great. What was the point of settling for second, or third, or fourth best, when there was a chance that she and Matt could really make things work between them? Her body suddenly felt light, as if a two-year old straight-jacket had been ripped away and her emotions were once again free to soar. Laughing, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll go out with you again when we get back to L.A.” “Thank God!” Matt put his hands at her waist and swung her high. “Where’s a drum roll when you need it? And isn’t this a cue for the clouds to part and the sun to come out?” “Only on TV, I guess.” At that moment the clouds parted and a few watery rays of sunlight appeared. They both burst out laughing. “And no more sneaking around this time,” Daisy said, when Matt finally set her back on her feet. “It’s crazy that we never let our grandmothers know we were together. We should tell Ruth and Lucille the truth. They need to officially declare an end to that insane feud of theirs.” Matt rolled his eyes, tucking her hand through his arm as they walked back toward home. “Are you sure you understand what you’re suggesting? I agree our grandmothers ought to be told, but they’ve both been so determined to get us married off they won’t even care that we’ve crossed enemy lines to find a partner. Far from playing a tragic scene from Romeo and Juliet, it will take the pair of them about a minute and a half to declare the war over and start making plans for our wedding.” He was absolutely right, Daisy realized. And yet keeping her relationship with Matt a secret seemed flat out silly. Okay for college students, but not okay for a woman of twenty eight and a man already past thirty. “We’ll just have to stand firm and let them know that we’re seeing each other, but that’s as far as it goes for the moment, and they’re not to nag.” “Great plan,” Matt said. “Except that it doesn’t have a chance in hell of working. I figure we’ll have about twenty-four hours before Lucille and Ruth are comparing calendars and drawing up lists of wedding guests. In fact, as soon as we’ve told them the truth, we might as well go out and choose an engagement ring. And we should put in the order for our wedding rings while we’re in the store. Probably with a rush order on the engraving to meet our grandmothers’ accelerated wedding schedule.” Daisy laughed. “They’re two elderly ladies, Matt. You need to get some backbone. We can stand up to them.” “Hey, I’m a man of steel. I can stand up to anything the toughest sons-of-bitches in Hollywood can throw at me, but I’m smart enough to know when I’ve met my match. It takes everything atom of strength I’ve got to resist my own grandmother once she gets an idea into her head. With both of them campaigning for us to get married, we don’t stand a chance.” Daisy frowned. “What is it?” Matt asked. “I just had an idea,” she said. “Maybe we can strike a bargain with them. We’ll get married in Omaha and they can help plan the wedding on the condition that they don’t invest any money with Steve Greeley.” Matt looked at her strangely, the laughter fading from his face. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s the matter?” “Do you realize what you just said? Daisy, you just agreed to marry me.”

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Her eyes widened in shock. She stared at Matt, waiting for the panic to strike, waiting to be swept by the sensation of having made a huge mistake. Instead she felt a surge of utter and complete happiness. “I guess I just did,” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder. It turned out to be a perfect fit.

Chapter Eight Having left Matt to drive home and break the news to Lucille, Daisy hurried into the living room and found her grandmother seated in her favorite armchair with the latest issue of People magazine open on her lap. “Sorry to have been so long,” she said. “Can I get you anything, Gran? A snack? Something to drink?” “Nothing, thanks. I’ll be fine until dinner. Did you enjoy your jog?” “My jog? Oh, yes. It was fine. I…um…went to the pond.” “You seem nervous, my dear. Is something bothering you?” “Not exactly.” Daisy drew up the ottoman so that she could be close to her grandmother when she broke the news that Lucille Beauregard was about to pay them a visit. “I met Matt Beauregard when I was out,” she said. “You seem to be bumping into him rather frequently these days,” Ruth said. “I guess I am. The thing is, Gran, Matt is planning to bring his grandmother over here for a visit. He’d like to come more or less right now, if that’s okay with you.” “I’m sure I would never be impolite to a neighbor.” Ruth raised an eyebrow. “However, I can’t imagine why you would expect me to have anything to say to Lucille Beauregard and that arrogant grandson of hers.” “You don’t know Matt. He’s not in the least arrogant,” Daisy said. “In fact, he’s pretty neurotic and insecure when he’s trying to write.” Ruth’s other eyebrow lifted. “And you know all these details about Lucille Beauregard’s grandson…how?” Daisy swallowed and then swallowed again. “Actually, we’re seeing each other,” she said. “So you just mentioned—“ “No, not seeing each other as in accidental meetings. I mean we’re going out. We’re dating.” Daisy sucked in air. “Matt and I had been a couple for a while, and then we broke up, and now we’re back together other again.” “Is that so?” Ruth’s lips were drawn into an ominously tight and compressed line. The doorbell rang and Daisy heaved a sigh of relief as she ran to welcome reinforcements. “I’ll get that. It must be Matt and his grandmother.” She opened the door and discovered Lucille Beauregard standing on the doorstep, looking fierce. Matt stood behind his grandmother, looking harassed. Daisy suspected she looked pretty much the same as Matt. “Hello, Mrs. Beauregard. Would you please come in? My grandmother can’t get up because she’s broken a bone in her foot.”

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“So I’ve heard.” Lucille, all five feet two inches of her, swept past Daisy and headed straight for the living room. “She looks as if she’s on the warpath,” Daisy whispered to Matt. “Is she angry that we’re seeing each other?” He took her hand. “I haven’t a clue. She’s been behaving strangely ever since I told her about us.” They followed Lucille into the living room, where she stood in the middle of the room, hands crossed in front of her rather ample abdomen. “Well, Ruth, my grandson tells me that he plans to marry your granddaughter.” Ruth looked over her glasses at her old enemy. “Daisy indicated something along those same lines to me. Although she didn’t actually bring herself to utter the M-word.” “My grandson seems to believe that he can get her to the altar.” Ruth looked from Matt to Daisy and back again. “I should certainly hope so after all the trouble you and I have taken to get them together again.” “What?!” Matt and Daisy exclaimed in unison. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Matthew.” Lucille clicked her tongue impatiently. “Do you really think I’m so incompetent that I can’t decide whether or not to sell my own house without asking you for advice? Ruth and I have been watching the pair of you make a total and complete mess of your relationship for long enough. We decided it was time to put a stop to it.” Ruth nodded her agreement. “My broken foot just made it a little bit easier to get you here, Daisy. I must say it’s rather gratifying that you managed to get your acts together a little sooner than Lucille and I anticipated. We were both getting extremely tired of being polite to that wretched Steve Greeley person.” Daisy wondered if her mouth was really hanging open or if it only felt that way. “You mean, you aren’t planning to sell your homes and invest the proceeds with Steve?” “We’re planning to sell our homes,” Lucille said. “We just don’t plan to give the money to Steve.” “We’re going to buy a condo together,” Ruth added. “Naturally, neither one of us would be foolish enough to invest money with a man who has con artist written all over him.” “We’ve reported Steve Greeley to the police,” Lucille said. “They’ve started an investigation into his affairs and it seems he’s run this same sort of scam on elderly widows in several states.” Daisy and Matt exchanged harried glances and then burst out laughing. “Daisy and I are going out to buy an engagement ring,” Matt announced, taking her hand and tucking it through his arm. “When we get back, would you be kind enough to let us know the date we’re getting married?” “It will be our pleasure,” Ruth said. “Absolutely,” Lucille agreed. “I brought my calendar.”

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Bedroom Window by Amanda Stevens The Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes have been Chicago's version of the Hatfields and the McCoys for generations. So when Dylan O'Roarke, a member of a reformed crime family, and Kaitlin Gallagher, a cop's daughter, eloped, they soon learned that happily-ever-afters don't always come naturally. Anxious to prove himself to Kaitlin and her family, Dylan threw himself into his work as an attorney, but in the process, he's come close to losing the one person he loves most. Kaitlin is tired of being caught in the middle — between the family she loves and the husband she adores. Moving into a friend's apartment has opened up a whole new world for her, a world in which she has to learn to stand on her own, without Dylan. She enjoys the view from her borrowed bedroom, but soon learns that someone else may be enjoying the view in it even more….

Chapter One Kaitlin O'Roarke reclined against a stack of pillows and watched her cousin's reaction with amusement. "Well? What do you think?" "Quite the decadent little boudoir, isn't it?" Fiona Gallagher did a slow three-sixty, her expression ranging from shock and dismay to outright wonder. "Did you know about your friend's — shall we say — unusual tastes when you agreed to apartment-sit for her?" Kaitlin grinned. "No, but I like what she's done with the place." Fiona shot her a look. "You do not." "I do, too. And furthermore? If I decide to get my own apartment? I'm calling her decorator." "Where do you expect to find him? In the Yellow Pages under Fetishes R Us?" Fiona ran her hand along the telescope that was mounted on a tripod in front of a wall of windows framing the Chicago skyline. "Dollars to doughnuts she doesn't use this for stargazing." "Maybe she likes to watch the boats on the lake." "You can barely even see the lake from here. And stop trying to convince me you actually like this Kama Sutra nightmare. I know you too well. Down deep, you're still the same little Katie Gallagher who eloped with the first guy she ever slept with." "All right, I won't try to convince you." But in the week since Kaitlin had first moved into the apartment, she really had come to appreciate the lavish colors and sumptuous textures, the erotic beauty of the artwork displayed on walls and in niches. The décor was so far removed from the house she'd fled in the suburbs that Kaitlin had welcomed the change — any change — with open arms. What she hadn't been able to adjust to quite so easily, however, was the mirrored ceiling. She'd broken her foot that morning, and keeping it elevated meant that she had to spend a lot of time on her back. The woman who stared down at her from that mirror looked a little too lost and forlorn. A little too haunted by memories. Fiona bent to the eyepiece on the telescope. "Your friend is obviously into some naughty stuff here, Kaitlin. Voyeurism is the word that comes to mind." "Just because she collects erotic artwork and has a telescope in her bedroom doesn't mean she's...you know...kinky."

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"Doesn't mean she's not, either.... Hello. What have we here?" Fiona adjusted the focus ring. "Seriously hot naked guy at twelve o'clock." "Seriously?" "No, wait. He's wearing pants. Damn." She didn't seem to appreciate the irony of her disappointment as she left the telescope and came to stand by the bed. "And speaking of hot guys, I was a little surprised to find your hubby here." "Knowing how you feel about him, I'm a little surprised you'd admit that he's hot," Kaitlin said dryly. Fiona shrugged. "Other than the horns and the cloven hooves, he's not so bad." She was joking, but Kaitlin hadn't found anything remotely amusing about her family's feud with her husband's for a long time. The Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes had been enemies for generations, ever since William Gallagher and James O'Roarke had had a bitter falling out over a woman — Fiona and Kaitlin's grandmother, Colleen. William's sons and grandsons had followed him into the police department while James had gone on to found what would become one of the most notorious crime families in Chicago. The O'Roarkes had long since mended their ways, but there was still no love lost between the two families. And now with Fiona a prosecutor and Dylan a defense attorney, they'd carried the feud over into the courtroom. Which left Kaitlin, as usual, caught in the middle. "So what is he doing here?" Fiona persisted. Kaitlin tried not to sound defensive. "He found out about the accident and came to check on me." "And?" "And nothing." "Kaitlin, the man has set up a temporary office on the dining room table. He doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. That kind of defeats the purpose of a separation, doesn't it?" "He's just staying for a little while in case I need anything. And stop looking at me like that," Kaitlin grumbled. "It doesn't mean...what you think it means." "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. Look, we were married for seven years. We still care about each other. We just don't love each other anymore." "So that's why you walked out on me," Dylan said from the doorway. "Thanks for the explanation, Kaitlin, because I never was too clear on your reason."

Chapter Two Even after everything they'd been through, the sight of Dylan in the doorway, tall, lean and incredibly handsome, still had the power to jump-start Kaitlin's heart. No matter what else they'd lost, the attraction was still there, sometimes stronger than ever. Kaitlin suspected that was because her husband had once again become a stranger to her. A man she hardly knew. A forbidden lover for whom she'd once been willing to sacrifice her mind, body and soul.

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But no more. Kaitlin had awakened one morning to the realization that she could no longer go on the way they had been. The ugliness between the O'Roarkes and the Gallaghers had put a terrible strain on her and Dylan's relationship. Where once the hostility between their families had served to bring the two of them closer, now it was merely another broken stitch in a marriage that was fast coming apart at the seams. Sensing the sudden tension, Fiona gathered up her coat and purse. "I need to be shoving off, but I'll see you soon, okay? Oh, I almost forgot. A little something for the invalid." She handed Kaitlin a plastic shopping bag from a movie rental store. Kaitlin peeked inside. "Hitchcock! All my favorites, too. I can't believe you remembered." "What are cousins for?" She shrugged into her coat, then blew a kiss from the doorway. *** Dylan waited for the sound of Fiona's exit before he came slowly into the bedroom. He tried to keep his cool, but he felt as if he'd just been sucker-punched in the gut. "So we don't love each other anymore. When did you come to that conclusion?" Kaitlin lay back against the pillows. "I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm tired." Her cool dismissal made him so angry he had to wait a moment before he could speak. "And it's all about what you want, isn't it? You need some space. You need to find yourself. You need your independence. So you walk out on me and seven years of marriage without even once bothering to ask what I want." She glared up at him. "Don't play the martyr, Dylan. If Aunt Maggie hadn't called you about the accident, you probably wouldn't even have noticed I was gone." "Oh, I don't know. Coming home to find you packing your suitcases was a pretty big clue," he said with an edge of sarcasm. Kaitlin shoved back her hair. "Okay, so I exaggerated. But you know what I mean. You put all your time and energy, your every waking hour into your career. And on the rare occasions when you are home, you're either on the phone or sequestered in your office going over briefs or depositions. And that's fine if it makes you happy, but what am I supposed to do? Sit around waiting for the walls to close in on me?" "I didn't expect you to walk out." She sighed. "It can't have been that much of a surprise. Things haven't been right between us for a long time. We were nothing more than polite roommates leading two separate lives before I left. We didn't even share the same bedroom anymore." Because you made me feel as if I was no longer welcome in your bed, he thought defensively. "I started sleeping in the guest room because I didn't want to wake you up when I came in late." "Did it ever occur to you that I might want you to wake me up?" "Did it ever occur to you that by the time I got home, I might be too exhausted to cater to your every whim?" he shot back. "Cater to my —" Her eyes glittered with angry tears. "You think wanting to have a conversation with my husband is a whim? Wanting to share my day with him, wanting to share my life with him, is a whim?" "And do you think I enjoy spending fifteen and sixteen hours a day at the office? Damn it, Kaitlin, I do it because that's what it takes to become a senior partner at the firm. I'm trying to build something for us. Trying to provide for our future. I thought you understood that."

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"I do understand," Kaitlin said in a wounded tone. "But what good is providing for the future if we're miserable in the here and now?" Miserable? She'd been miserable? Dylan drew a long breath. "So what's the next step here, Kaitlin? Divorce?"

Chapter Three Divorce? The word was like an arrow straight through Kaitlin's heart. "I never said anything about a divorce." "Come on, Kaitlin. We both know where this is headed. A couple has to live separate and apart for a minimum of six months before a divorce can be granted on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. And that's only if neither spouse contests the petition. Don't tell me you didn't familiarize yourself with Illinois divorce laws before you moved in here." "I didn't." "Then what were you hoping to accomplish?" he asked with a frown. "Did you want me to come running after you? Beg you to come back to me? Promise to give up my career if it would make you happy? What is it you want from me, Kaitlin? Because I sure as hell don't know anymore." I want you to be my husband again, she silently cried. I want things to be the way they once were when you could look at me and make me melt. I want you to look at me that way again. I want you to hold me, kiss me, touch me the way you used to.... But instead, she said sadly, "I don't want anything from you, Dylan. You're not responsible for my happiness. I realize that now. I didn't move into this apartment to establish a separate residence from you. I moved in here because I need to prove to myself that I can stand on my own two feet. That I can be alone without falling to pieces. And that maybe, just maybe, I can be happy again someday." "Without me, you mean?" She closed her eyes briefly. "I don't know. I just know I can't go back to the way things were." He shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned to stare out the window. "You know what your problem is, Kaitlin? You still think our lives should be this great Romeo and Juliet love affair that defies all odds. But real life is more than just star-crossed lovers and fairy tales. It's mortgages and car payments and planning for a secure future." She sighed. "I know that. And you're a wonderful provider, Dylan. You always have been." He glanced over his shoulder. "Just a lousy husband, right?" "I didn't say that." "Actions speak louder than words, Kaitlin." The bitterness in his tone brought fresh tears to her eyes. She'd never meant to hurt him. But after seven years of marriage, this is what they'd come to. "Look, you really don't have to stay," she said. "I'm fine. You must have things you'd rather do." He came back over to the bed. "What'll you do about dinner?"

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"I'll fix a sandwich or order a pizza. I'm not completely helpless, you know. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and it's time we both realized that." "That's the difference between us, Kaitlin. I've always known it." Their gazes met in the falling darkness, and Kaitlin's heart constricted. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't what?" "Be nice to me." "It's too little too late anyway, isn't it?" He turned back to the window. Kaitlin cleared her throat. "If you insist on staying, maybe we should talk about something besides us." He shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions." She searched for something innocuous. "Tell me about work. You have a big case coming up, don't you?" "I don't much feel like talking about work." Kaitlin stared at him in shock. He lived and breathed work. "Okay, then. Tell me what you think of Jane's apartment." He took a moment to study some of the erotic artwork on the walls, and when he glanced at Kaitlin, she saw something dark and knowing in his eyes. Something that made her shiver. Something that made her remember a time in the not-too-distant past when they had shared the same bedroom. And so much more. "It's interesting. I'll say that for it." He leaned over to gaze through the telescope. "Do you ever use this thing?" "No, not much." She paused. "Dylan, why do you think Jane has a telescope in her bedroom? Do you think she's a voyeur?" He looked slightly taken aback by the question, as if surprised Kaitlin would even think such a thing. "I don't know. But if she had a habit of watching someone, I'd say the chances are pretty good that someone was watching her back."

Chapter Four Kaitlin cast an uneasy glance toward the windows. "Do you think someone could be watching us right now?" Dylan shrugged. "It's possible. I doubt your friend is the only one who uses these high-rises as her own personal peep show. And no blinds, I notice." "That bothered me, too, at first. But you could do a striptease in front of those windows and it wouldn't matter how many people saw you because none of them know you. You'll never see them in real life." Dylan looked simultaneously annoyed and intrigued by the notion. "Are you speaking from experience?" "No, but I've thought about it," she admitted. "Ever since we were married, I've felt as if I were being pulled in a thousand different directions. It's hard to be the perfect wife and the perfect daughter when your husband and your father hate each other. No matter what I do, I always end up hurting someone I love. But it's different here. No pressures. No expectations. No one even knows me. Anonymity can be a very liberating experience."

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"I never realized you felt so imprisoned by our marriage," Dylan said bitterly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you, but I'm trying to explain how I feel. Why I'm here. If there's any hope for us, we have to be honest with each other, don't we?" "Maybe. But right now, I think I've had all the honesty I can stomach for one night." He strode across the room to the door. "Dylan —" When he turned, Kaitlin bit her lip, not knowing what to say to him. "Where are you going?" "To get you some dinner." "You don't have to do that. I can —" "Take care of yourself. Yeah, I got that, Kaitlin, so relax. I'm not trying to put a ball and chain around your ankle, okay? I'm just ordering you a pizza." He slammed the door shut behind him, and Kaitlin lay in stunned silence. She'd never seen him so angry. Or hurt. Her first instinct was to go to him, but she knew that would be a mistake. He might get the wrong idea, and then she might lose her resolve. And they'd both end up back where they started. Reaching for her crutches, she got up and limped into the bathroom, taking great care to avoid the mirror over the sink as she washed up. She'd become adept at brushing her teeth, fixing her hair, even putting on makeup without ever really looking at her reflection. Without ever really seeing the unhappy woman who stared back at her. That was why she had such a problem with that mirrored ceiling. It made it hard to avoid the truth. Maneuvering back into the bedroom, she turned off the lamp, then stood at the bedroom window and studied the skyline. The view was breathtaking, the city lights so beautiful she could watch them forever. There was something at once isolating and intimate about all those windows. Gazing through the telescope, she shifted the tube until she found the apartment she wanted. The lens had been fixed on the window directly across from hers when she'd moved in, but Kaitlin had come to think that it must have been by accident. In the week since she'd been there, the apartment across the way had remained dark. The unit was either empty or the owner away on business or vacation. But to her surprise, a light was on tonight, and she could see a man inside. He was dressed all in black, and the way he paced back and forth reminded her of a caged animal. He had a phone to his ear, and suddenly he whirled and threw it against the wall with such force that Kaitlin could almost hear the crash. A shiver of unease crept up her backbone, but she couldn't turn away. She watched, mesmerized, as he stalked over to the window, and for a moment, he appeared to be staring at her. Even though it was dark in the bedroom, Kaitlin shrank back. He couldn't see her and he didn't know who she was, but gooseflesh prickled along her skin just the same. She bent to the eyepiece again and saw that he'd rescued the phone. He lifted it to his ear and, evidently hearing a dial tone, punched in a number.

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And then the phone in her bedroom started to ring.

Chapter Five The phone rang only twice before the answering machine kicked in. A dark, sensuous voice said on the tape, "Jane, if you're there, pick up. I have to talk to someone before I go crazy...." The anxiety in his voice sent another chill up Kaitlin's spine. She bent to the eyepiece, and sure enough, the man in the apartment directly across from hers was still on the phone. Still pacing back and forth. Kaitlin had no way of knowing if the voice on the answering machine belonged to him or not, but somehow she thought that it must. They seemed to fit. The timbre of the voice was deep and velvety. The man in the apartment was tall and sleek, with glossy black hair that brushed his shoulders and dark, smoldering eyes. He was the antithesis of Dylan. Her husband had light brown hair clipped very short and eyes that were as blue as an Irish sky. And Dylan would never lose control the way this man had. He would never sound so...desperate. Kaitlin could never imagine Dylan dressing all in black, either, let alone in a silky shirt opened at the neck and pants so tight they fit the man like a second skin. Fit him so well that she could see the definition of his sinewy muscles and his... "Jane, please pick up...." Dylan wore custom-made suits, starchy white shirts and silk ties knotted so perfectly they sometimes set Kaitlin's teeth on edge. That made her feel as if she needed to go back and start all over with her own appearance. "I need you...." Kaitlin watched him through the telescope. He was facing her now, and she could see his features as clearly as if he were standing in the same room with her. Tall, dark, and handsome... The cliché could have been written for him. And yet he wasn't perfect. Kaitlin sensed that he was flawed somehow, and that made him even more attractive. She wondered if he was an artist or a writer. There was something eccentric about the way he dressed, something exotic about his looks. Something blatantly sexual about the way he prowled the apartment. "If I don't talk to someone, I swear I'll go out of my mind." He lifted a hand to gracefully drag it through his dark hair, and Kaitlin's stomach quivered in awareness. "When I think about her with him, it kills me inside." There was so much emotion in his voice...so much passion.... What would it be like to have a man love you so desperately? Kaitlin wondered. A man who wanted you so badly? Dylan was upset and hurt at the moment, but deep down, Kaitlin suspected her leaving was more of an inconvenience to him than anything else. After he had time to get used to the idea, he might even be relieved.

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"Jane..." The voice on the answering machine lowered. "You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" The machine beeped. In the apartment across from her, the man lifted his gaze to the window. For the longest moment, they stared at one another, although he couldn't know for sure she was there. But somehow Kaitlin thought that he did. Somehow she could hear his silent appeal through the glass and distance that separated them. And for the space of a heartbeat it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Two needy souls reaching out in the darkness. And then Dylan said from the doorway behind her, "Kaitlin? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Chapter Six As Kaitlin spun to face Dylan, she lost her balance and her weight came down hard on her injured foot. Yelping in pain, she tried to compensate by shifting to the other leg, but it was too late. Her knees buckled and she tumbled to the floor, banging her head on the velvet chaise near the telescope. Dylan's heart leaped to his throat when he saw her collapse because he knew he couldn't get to her in time. It was like the slow disintegration of their marriage, he thought in a flash. He could see it coming, but he was powerless to stop it. He dropped to his knees beside her. "God, Kaitlin, are you okay?" "I think so." She winced as she struggled to sit up. He put his hand behind her back. "Here let me help you." "I can do it myself!" He sat back, wounded by her harshness. "Sorry." "No, I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just need to know that I can do this by myself. What if you hadn't been here?" "But I am here." "I know, but you won't always be." A knife twisted in his heart. "Can I ask you something?" "What is it?" She gritted her teeth as she reached for her crutches. "Do you consider me weak?" "Of course not, Dylan. We both know you're a rock. You can handle anything." He ignored the edge of resentment in her tone. "If I found myself in your position," he said slowly. "I'd want your help. Would that make me weak? Would that make me too reliant?"

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She slanted him a glance. "Look, I know what you're getting at, but I think the point here is, you would never find yourself in my position. You wouldn't have your head in the clouds and miss an icy patch on the sidewalk and embarrass yourself in front of half a dozen pedestrians." "Don't be too sure. Everyone slips now and then." "Not you, Dylan." He stared at her in surprise. "You don't remember the time I fell off a ladder at home? We thought my leg was broken. I couldn't put any weight on it. You practically had to drag me to the car and then you drove me to the emergency room. I couldn't have made it without you. Did that make me weak?" She sighed. "No." "Then why is it such a big deal to let me help you now?" "Because — "Look, Kaitlin." He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't pretend to understand everything that's going on with you, but all I want to do is help you back to bed. No hidden agenda." She bit her lip, then nodded. "Okay. I could use a hand." Dylan lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He half expected her to protest, to insist that he put her down, but instead she buried her face in his chest. And when he placed her gently on the bed, she clung to him, their lips only inches apart. And as she gazed up at him, something stirred inside Dylan. She looked so small and vulnerable on the bed. So beautiful and sexy and desirable. And so lost, somehow. He knew better than anyone what their marriage had cost her. In a very real sense, she'd lost her family because of him, and Dylan had made himself a promise on the day they'd eloped. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. He would take care of her, give her the kind of life she deserved, the kind of life he wanted her to have. But instead, he'd made her father's prophesy come true. He'd made her regret the day she'd ever met an O'Roarke. As if reading his mind, she put a hand to his face. "It breaks my heart when you look that way," she said tenderly. He cleared his throat. "What way?" "Like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders." He wanted to kiss her. At that moment, he wanted to kiss her more than he'd wanted anything in his life. And he could have sworn he saw the same hunger in her eyes. Their gazes held for the longest time, and then, as he lowered his head, the phone on the nightstand pealed loudly, a harsh intrusion that caused them both to jump.

Chapter Seven Kaitlin lurched for the phone, although she didn't know why she was so frantic to answer, why she didn't want Dylan to hear the stranger's voice on the machine. "Hello?"

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Nothing but silence. "Hello?" More silence. And then a deep, seductive voice said in her ear, "You're not Jane, are you?" The line went dead so abruptly Kaitlin started. And then it occurred to her that the stranger might not know who she was, but he knew who she wasn't. And he knew where she lived. "Wrong number?" Dylan asked, as he moved to the end of the bed. "Some guy calling for Jane." Kaitlin couldn't quite meet her husband's gaze. Why did she feel so guilty when she hadn't done anything wrong? "Whoever he was, I'm sure you gave him a thrill before he hung up," Dylan said unexpectedly. Her gaze shot to his. "What?" "Your voice is a real turn-on, Kaitlin. In fact, whoever that guy was, he's probably fantasizing right now about having phone sex with you." She gaped at him, speechless. "I used to fantasize about it myself," he said calmly. "You fantasized about...having phone sex...with me." Kaitlin found that revelation shocking on two levels. That Dylan had fantasies, and that she was in them. His gaze on her intensified, so much so that it drew a shiver up Kaitlin's spine. "Sometimes when I'd be in a meeting with the senior partners, discussing my future with the firm or an upcoming case, my mind would wander and I'd find myself daydreaming about taking a phone call from you. I would imagine myself acting perfectly natural in front of the partners as I listened to you describe in graphic detail what you were wearing, what you wanted to do to me, and what you would make me do to you in return." "Make you —" This man wasn't Dylan. This was some pod Dylan who'd done away with the real one. This Dylan was making Kaitlin's heart beat way too fast. "Are you telling me you not only fantasized about having phone sex with me, but having me..." How could she put this delicately? "Assume the dominate role?" "Why is that so surprising?" "Because you're always so in control, so strong. So...masterful in the bedroom. You're always the one —" "On top?" She cringed at that. "In a manner of speaking, yes." "Maybe that's because I'm the one who always had to initiate sex between us."

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"That's not true." "Yes, it is. Think about it, Kaitlin. When did you ever make the first move? When did you ever let me know that you wanted me? I was the one who always had to put myself out there for rejection. It's understandable, I guess. You were a virgin when we started dating so I thought I had to be the one in control. The one who had to take care of you. But now it seems like I'm being penalized for playing a role that we both cast me in. And I'm not just talking about our sex life." She couldn't believe he was speaking so candidly. Dylan had never been one to talk about his feelings. "Why are you telling me all this now?" He looked suddenly angry. "Because I think you're right. I think it's time for a little honesty between us. You no longer want to play the damsel in distress? Well, maybe I'm a little tired of playing the stoic hero." He turned then and left the room, and Kaitlin could do nothing but stare at the closed door in astonishment. Why had they not had this discussion weeks ago, months ago, years ago? Why now, when it just might be too late? Now, when they'd drifted so far apart, Kaitlin wasn't sure they could ever find their way back to each other? She wanted to go to him and try to make things right, but she knew that would be a mistake. She couldn't afford to rush into anything. She didn't want to act on an impulse that she might end up regretting tomorrow. Words were easy. Living by them was harder. When the phone rang a third time, she turned to stare at it, but she didn't answer. Somehow, she knew that if she lifted that phone to her ear, if she let the dark-haired stranger into her life, even from a distance, it could be the final blow that severed her relationship with Dylan. But Kaitlin couldn't seem to stop herself. She reached out and slowly lifted the receiver to her ear.

Chapter Eight There was nothing but silence at first. Then, after a moment, that velvety voice said in a near whisper, "You must be Kaitlin." She gasped. "How did —" "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to freak you out, but Jane told me you were coming to stay in her apartment while she's in Europe." A shiver ran up Kaitlin's spine. He not only knew where she lived, but he knew who she was. So much for anonymity. Hang up! a little voice commanded. Instead she gripped the phone tighter. "You have me at a disadvantage," she said a bit breathlessly. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are." "Yes, you do." Her gaze flew to the telescope. Did he know she'd been watching him? "We've met before," he said. "That's impossible. If we'd met before, I'm sure I would have remembered you."

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"How do you know?" "Because I —" Kaitlin's gaze was still on the telescope, and she closed her eyes, realizing she'd almost given herself away. "You have a very distinctive voice. I don't think I would have forgotten it." And suddenly something Dylan had said earlier came back to her. "In fact, whoever that guy was, he's probably fantasizing right now about having phone sex with you." Now she understood perfectly what he'd meant by that. The stranger's voice was doing odd things to her insides. She felt herself blush in the darkness. "I should go —" "No, wait. Don't hang up." The teasing quality left his voice as desperation crept in. "I know this may sound a little strange, but do you think...would it be possible for us to...just keep on talking for a little while? I'm finding myself a bit on edge tonight." Kaitlin imagined him in his apartment, pacing back and forth, dragging a hand through his dark, glossy hair.... "You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" And then she thought about all those long nights she'd waited on dinner for Dylan, only to find herself eating alone in front of the television set. She thought about all the anniversary and birthday plans they'd had to cancel because of an important case, all the vacations that had been put on hold because of a trial date. All the family celebrations she'd missed because she'd married an O'Roarke. Kaitlin knew about being on edge, that breathless, panicky feeling of having the walls close in on you. She knew about desperation and loneliness and needing to reach out to someone for a little understanding even if that someone was a stranger. "Are you still there?" he asked softly. "Yes." "Shall I tell you why I'm on edge tonight?" "Only if you tell me first where we've met before." "I don't think I can do that, Kaitlin." "Why not?" He gave a low, masculine laugh. "Because I need to keep you guessing for a while. It'll make things so much more interesting later on."

Chapter Nine A cold chill coursed through Kaitlin as she suddenly realized she might be playing with fire. "I'm really not in the mood for games," she said. "So if you're not going to tell me who you are or where we've met, I'm hanging up." "I saw you with Jane a few weeks ago," he said, "At a restaurant on Michigan Avenue. I was meeting her there for dinner, and when I came in, I saw you two talking in the bar. But you left before I made it through

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the crowd, so I confess, we haven't really met. But Jane told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you." Kaitlin knew the night he meant. She'd run into Jane, an old college friend, by accident at the restaurant, and the two of them had gotten to talking while they waited for their dinner partners. Jane had mentioned that she was going to Europe for several weeks and was looking for someone to apartment-sit for her. And before Kaitlin had quite known what she was doing, she'd volunteered. The separation had been building for months, but Dylan standing her up yet again that night had been the catalyst for her leaving. She remembered what Dylan had said to her earlier. "Then what were you hoping to accomplish? Did you want me to come running after you? Beg you to come back to me? Promise to give up my career if it would make you happy?" In all honesty, a part of her might have been hoping for all of those things. A part of her might have been hoping to shake him up enough that he would reevaluate his priorities. But another part of her had realized that she'd simply reached the end of her rope. "So how do you like the apartment?" the stranger asked her. Was that amusement in his voice? Kaitlin wondered. Had he been in Jane's apartment before? In her bedroom? Just exactly what was their relationship? "It's very comfortable," Kaitlin said. "What do you think of the view?" Her gaze went back to the telescope. "It's different from what I'm used to," she murmured. Then realizing the implication, she added quickly, "The city takes a little getting used to." "Not as quiet as the suburbs, is it?" How did he know she lived in the suburbs? "...Jane told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you." Kaitlin couldn't believe she'd let the conversation go on for as long as it had. "I really need to be going," she said. "I have...someone here." "Your husband?" Gooseflesh prickled along the back her neck. How had he known that? Okay, enough. Kaitlin put her finger on the off button, but before she could disconnect, that silken voice said in her ear, "Do you know what it's like to feel as if the walls are closing in on you, Kaitlin? To feel as if there is no one in the world who can understand what you're going through? To have people look at you and think, what a fortunate person she is. She has everything anyone could possibly want. A beautiful home. A loving husband. No good reason for her to be so unhappy. And yet...they can't see inside you, can they? They can't know what's going on in your mind and in your heart and in your soul. Do you know that feeling, Kaitlin?" Her hand tightened on the phone. Yes, she knew that feeling. But how had he known? "We're like kindred spirits, Kaitlin. Soul mates. That's why I understand you so well." The chill inside her deepened. "You don't even know me," she whispered. "I know you like to watch."

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Chapter Ten Kaitlin shivered at the stranger's tone, at his words. At his insight. And then she looked up to find Dylan watching her from the doorway. She had no idea how long he'd been there or how much he'd overheard. But all he said was, "The pizza's here. Shall I bring you in a tray?" "We're like kindred spirits, Kaitlin. Soul mates. That's why I understand you so well…. I know you like to watch." She shoved back her hair with a trembling hand. "Could you just put it in the oven? I'm really not hungry right now." Dylan came slowly into the room, his gaze never leaving hers. "Is anything wrong?" "No. Why?" "I don't know. I get the impression whoever was on the phone just now upset you." "It was just someone calling for Jane," she lied. "Same guy as before?" "I think so." "Kaitlin, if he's harassing you, you need to tell me about it." "Why?" she lashed out. "What could you do about it except turn off the phone? I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own. And besides, I thought you were tired of playing the stoic hero." "Then someone is harassing you." "No! Look, I'm just tired, okay? There's nothing wrong. No one's harassing me. I'm fine." "You're sure?" "Yes! Dylan, you have to stop doing this." "Stop what?" he asked angrily. "Stop caring about you?" "Stop fussing over me. Stop worrying about me. Stop —" "Being your husband?" "Stop putting words in my mouth, okay?" "Has it really come to this, Kaitlin? Can we not even have a civil conversation without you getting all defensive?" "Me? I'm not the one who —" Kaitlin stopped herself short. Dylan's gaze narrowed. "What were you about to say, Kaitlin?"

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She closed her eyes briefly. "Nothing." "Something is obviously on your mind. Why won't you tell me what it is?" "When have we ever been able to communicate?" she asked bitterly. "Are you blaming me for that, too?" She drew a long breath. "We're both to blame. We've let something precious slip away from us, Dylan. We've let too many things come between us. Your work. My family. Sometimes it just seems like nothing we can do will ever make it right again." He frowned down at her. "You've never been a defeatist before." "I don't think I've ever felt this tired before." A shadow flickered in his eyes, an emotion Kaitlin couldn't quite define. "They've finally gotten to you, haven't they?" "I don't know what you mean." "Your family. They've worn you down. They've finally accomplished what they've been after for the past seven years." "What are you talking about, Dylan?" His features hardened. "They've turned you against me. They've made me a villain in your eyes."

Chapter Eleven "That's not true." One brow lifted. "No? Not even when those two thugs broke into our house last year? Not even when your father did his best to convince the investigating officer that the perpetrators were somehow connected to my family? Not when he stood in my own living room and tried his damnedest to persuade you that you would never be safe as long as you were married to me? Are you telling me none of that had an effect on you, Kaitlin? None of that had anything to do with your decision to move out?" "Of course it didn't." "Are you sure? Because you were jumpy for weeks after the break-in. And I would see a certain look on your face at times when you didn't know I was watching you. I saw the doubt in your eyes." "That was your imagination," she said softly. "Was it? I don't think so. But you know what hurt me the most, Kaitlin? It wasn't just having your father imply that I was responsible for putting your life in danger. It was his accusation that I couldn't protect you. And he was right." His hands balled into fists at his side. "But if I'd caught those creeps that night, I swear I would have killed them with my bare hands." Kaitlin had never heard him talk that way before. She had the oddest feeling that she was no longer listening to her husband but to a stranger. A man capable of violence. And as he turned to face her, she caught her breath. In the dim light from the window, he no longer even looked like her husband. Dylan frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

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"Because of what you just said..." Kaitlin put a hand to her throat. "It didn't sound like you at all." "What do you mean?" "You still seem so angry. The break-in was months ago." His scowl deepened. "I'm not allowed to still be upset that a couple of street punks broke into our home and scared you half to death?" She shook her head, her gaze still on him. "It was the way you said it. Like you meant it. Like you really could have killed them. I don't think I've ever heard you talk that way before, Dylan. You're always so in control. It's like...you're a different person suddenly." "That's ridiculous. I'm the same man I've always been." But in the dim light, he didn't look the same at all. He'd removed his jacket and tie, and his shirt was open at the neck, his cuffs rolled back. Even his hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it in agitation. This was a Dylan she'd never seen before. A complex, driven man with deep emotions and dark secrets. A man who might very well fantasize about having phone sex with her. Who might even be willing to kill in order to protect her... "Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew you at all," she murmured. "What's that supposed to mean?" "You try so hard not to be an O'Roarke. Sometimes I wonder if you even know who you are." He sighed. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But I guess that's part of the problem, isn't it?" He turned back to the windows, staring into the night with a brooding frown. "Can I ask you something, Dylan?" He shrugged. "Go ahead." She bit her lip. "What first attracted you to me?" He gazed over his shoulder in disbelief. "Are you kidding? You see yourself in the mirror every day." She felt a tingle of pleasure at his words. "I'm not talking about physical attraction. I mean, what made you fall in love with me? What made you want to marry me so quickly? We eloped after we'd known each other for only a few weeks. What made you decide I was the one?" He gave her a long scrutiny. "What is it you're really asking, Kaitlin?" "Was the fact that I'm a Gallagher part of the attraction?" "Meaning?" "Come on, Dylan. My family has been out to get yours for years. My father was one of the cops who helped send your cousin Daniel to prison for a murder he didn't commit. He and my uncle even suppressed evidence in that case." Dylan's features tightened. "The evidence they suppressed wouldn't have cleared Daniel."

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"No. But it could have made my own brother a suspect," Kaitlin said. "When the truth came out, my father got little more than a reprimand for what he'd done, while your cousin sat on death row for years. Can you honestly say that a part of you, maybe a very small part, but a part of you, nonetheless, didn't marry me out of revenge? You had to know what it would do to my father." He walked slowly toward the bed, his eyes glittering angrily in the darkness. "If you believe that of me, then you're right. You never knew me at all."

Chapter Twelve Anger still gleamed in Dylan's eyes, but there was something else there, too. A terrible hurt that he'd buried so deep Kaitlin hadn't been able to see it until now. And suddenly she realized what their marriage had cost him. All those years of knowing that no matter what he did, what he accomplished, he would never measure up. He would never be trusted, and for one simple reason. Because of his name. After the break-in at their home, her father had made some terrible accusations. Kaitlin knew that a lot of it had been a result of his fear and frustration. He was a cop, but he hadn't been able to protect his own daughter. He'd had to lash out at someone, and the animosity between the Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes had made Dylan an easy target. It had been a difficult, emotional time for all of them. Things had been said that could never be taken back, hurtful allegations that had only widened the gulf between Kaitlin and her father. And between her and Dylan because neither of them had been able to talk about their feelings. To express to each other their own fears and frustrations. She gazed up at him now with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry for everything my father said to you that night. For the way he's treated you all these years." Dylan sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. "I can handle your father, Kaitlin, as long as you know that I would never intentionally put you in danger." "I do know that." He squeezed her hands. "I've done some things I'm not proud of. And God knows my family hasn't been innocent of every crime they've been accused of. But I'd sooner take my own life than cause you pain." A tear spilled over as she nodded. "I know that, too." "And as for why I was attracted to you...why I'm still attracted to you..." He lifted a hand and gently wiped away her tears. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. And I'm not just talking about physically, although you do take my breath away. You're beautiful inside, too, Kaitlin, and that was something I'd never known before. The moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew there could never be anyone else for me." Kaitlin drew a quivering breath. "Why have you never told me that before? You don't know how badly I've wanted to hear you say that to me." He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm not that great at expressing my feelings." "But if you'd just come to me..." Kaitlin trailed off. The time for placing blame had long since past. Especially considering that they were both guilty of keeping their true feelings suppressed. "Sometimes I wonder if the difficulties in a Gallagher and O'Roarke union are just too great to overcome." "Do you really believe that?"

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"I never used to. But the animosity from our families, especially from mine, has put a terrible strain on our relationship. I've always thought that was the main reason you've thrown yourself into your work the way you have. You've tried so hard to live down your family's reputation, to prove to my father that you aren't just another O'Roarke —" "You think I did that for him?" he asked with sudden anger. "I've never given a damn what your father or anyone else thinks about me. The only opinion I've ever cared about is yours." Kaitlin closed her eyes as a wave of emotion swept over her. She thought about what she'd told Fiona earlier. "...we were married for seven years. We still care about each other. We just don't love each other anymore." How could she ever have believed that? How could she ever have considered for even a moment that her love for Dylan had somehow faded away? Because at that moment, she'd never loved him more.

Chapter Thirteen Dylan gazed at her so tenderly, a painful lump rose in Kaitlin's throat. She put a hand to his face and gently stroked the masculine roughness of his beard. He turned his head and kissed her palm. "I've missed you so much," he whispered raggedly. "I've missed being with you. Holding you..." Kaitlin's breath quickened at the look in his eyes. In those blue depths, she could see the intimate secrets that they'd shared and the darker, more erotic mysteries that were still to come. She cupped her hand around his neck, drawing him to her, kissing him in a way that had him groaning against her mouth, that had both their hearts pounding when they finally broke apart. She ran her fingers through his hair. "We haven't kissed that way in years." "I'm not sure we've ever kissed that way." He seemed almost in awe of her as his gaze darkened. And then they were kissing again. Long, deep, soul-shattering kisses that made Kaitlin's heart flail against her chest like a trapped bird. That made every nerve ending in her body dance with fiery anticipation. She wanted Dylan as she'd never wanted him before. She couldn't figure out what was so different about him...about her...but something had changed between them. For one thing, her inhibitions were gone. Even after seven years of marriage, Kaitlin had still been a bit reserved in bed. Had still waited for Dylan to take the lead. But no more. In this apartment, away from their past, away from their family, away from all the hurt and disappointments and disillusionment, Kaitlin somehow felt free. Liberated.

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She quickly unfastened the buttons on Dylan's shirt and then shoved it down his arms. Shrugging out of the sleeves, he flung the garment aside, and then he was over her in a flash, bending to kiss her again. When she fumbled with the zipper of his pants, he put his hand over hers, helping her ease it open. Slowly, she slid down in bed, kissing his chest, his stomach, ringing his belly button with her tongue before sliding even lower.... Dylan gasped. "Kaitlin..." She kissed him again and again, touched him so intimately she knew he was about to lose control. She worked her way back up to his lips, and when they broke apart again, he stared down at her for the longest moment, trying to catch his breath. "What are you trying to do to me?" Her laugh was a soft, throaty sound that seemed to arouse him even more. He glanced toward the windows. "Maybe there's something to be said for all this anonymity after all." "Do you suppose anyone can see us?" she whispered. "The lights are out. I don't think so." He paused for a moment, his voice almost painfully hesitant. "Do you think we should stop?" She didn't answer, but instead began to unbutton her pajama top. When he tried to help, she pushed him away. "No," she murmured. "Just watch." And he did. He lay on his side, propped on his elbow as she rose to her knees and slid her top slowly down her shoulders. The bottoms came next and, because of her cast, less gracefully, but Dylan didn't seem to mind. His gaze on her was dark and hungry. "I've never seen you like this," he said reverently. "Really? Because you haven't seen anything yet." Slowly, Kaitlin looked up at the mirror. Dylan glanced up, too, and even though it was dark in the room, she could see his reflection. She knew that he was watching her, watching them both, as she moved over him. With his hands on her hips, he guided her exactly where she needed to be, and then with her head thrown back, she watched them, too.

Chapter Fourteen Keeping her cast dry while they showered was a bit tricky. Kaitlin wouldn't have been able to manage without Dylan. He'd been helpful in so many ways, she thought with a knowing smile as she watched him dress. He glanced up as he finished buttoning his shirt. "Are you sure you don't want me to spend the night?" Kaitlin wanted him to stay more than anything, but she didn't think it would be a good idea. It would be too easy to pretend all their problems had just magically disappeared after a night of great sex, but she knew from experience that come morning, very little would have changed. It some ways, sex only complicated the issues. "We've got a long way to go before we're okay again, Dylan. I think right now we could both use a little distance. Some time to think. It would be too easy to fall back into our old pattern, and I don't want that." "I don't want it, either." But he frowned as he sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. "I just don't like the idea of leaving you here alone."

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"I've been here by myself for almost a week," she pointed out. "I know, but you didn't have a broken foot until this morning," Dylan said. "I have my crutches. There's a pizza in the warming drawer. A Hitchcock movie in the VCR. I'll be fine." "Sounds nice and cozy," he said wistfully. "And here I have to drive all the way home, catch a few hours' sleep and then drive right back here first thing in the morning —" He broke off at the look on her face. "What's the matter? What'd I say?" She was gazing out the window. "Nothing. It's just...I guess I was thinking about how big our house is. How empty it seems sometimes." "Do you know what it's like to feel as if the walls are closing in on you, Kaitlin?" She shivered as the stranger's words came back to her. Dylan reached over and took her hand. "Don't." Kaitlin glanced at him. "Don't what?" "Don't look that way. As if you already have regrets." She squeezed his hand. "I don't." And she didn't. Not really. What she and Dylan had shared earlier had been...amazing. For a few moments at least, they'd never been closer, and Kaitlin suspected that was because, for the first time, they'd completely let down their guards. They'd been so open and trusting with one another that it was almost hard to imagine how far apart they'd drifted. But one night wasn't going to bridge that gap, no matter how much they both might wish it to be otherwise. Dylan finished putting on his shoes, then leaned over to kiss her. "We'll do it your way, okay? Maybe you're right. Maybe some time apart is exactly what we need to put things in perspective. I know it's made me do a lot of soul-searching about my priorities." "Me, too." He smiled down at her. "But I still hate leaving you alone. Will you call me if you need anything?" "Will you stop worrying about me?" she asked in exasperation. "Yes." He bent to kiss her again. "The very moment I draw my last breath." *** After Dylan had gone, Kaitlin found his cell phone on the dining room table, where he'd been working earlier, and she wondered if he'd left it there on purpose, to have a reason to come back. Such an obvious ploy didn't seem at all his style, but then, as she'd learned tonight, there were facets — intriguing facets — to her husband's personality that she'd yet to discover. After making several trips to and from the kitchen, Kaitlin finally had everything in place and then, swallowing her medication, she settled back against the pillows to eat her pizza and watch her favorite Hitchcock film. But the opening credits had barely begun to roll when the phone rang. Freezing the frame, Kaitlin reached for the phone, wondering if Dylan had stopped somewhere on the road to call her. She knew he hadn't had time to make it all the way home.

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"Hello?" There was silence at first and then that dark, silky voice whispered, "She has to die, Kaitlin."

Chapter Fifteen Icy fear shot through Kaitlin's veins as the phone went dead in her ear. "She has to die, Kaitlin." Who? she thought frantically. Who had to die? The woman he'd left the message about earlier? What had he said about her? "...when I think about her with him, it kills me inside…. You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" Okay, maybe he was just being overly dramatic, Kaitlin tried to reason. Or maybe she'd even misunderstood him. Maybe the painkiller she'd taken right before he called was already having an effect on her. The medication could be impairing her senses, making her hear things that hadn't really been said. Making her imagine things... She did feel a bit strange, Kaitlin realized. Her stomach was queasy, too. But what if it wasn't her imagination? Or the drugs? What if that man really was planning to kill someone? Shivering uncontrollably, Kaitlin turned her head to stare out the window. Was he out there in the darkness? Was he watching her? "She has to die, Kaitlin." What should she do? Call the police? And tell them what exactly? Kaitlin didn't even know who he was. The caller ID hadn't displayed his name or his number, which probably meant he was unlisted. Or he'd been calling from a cell phone. And she couldn't even be sure the apartment across the way belonged to him. Besides, he hadn't actually threatened anyone. Kaitlin was a cop's daughter. A cop's sister. She knew better than anyone the legal limitations in situations like this. There was nothing the police could do until he made an overt threat, and sometimes not even then. Sometimes they were powerless to act...until it was too late. Her heart pounding, Kaitlin struggled to her feet and reached for her crutches. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she waited for the room to stop spinning before she maneuvered over to the telescope. She bent to stare through the eyepiece, but the apartment across the street was pitch-black. She couldn't see anything. She watched for several more minutes, then lifted her gaze from the telescope to stare out into the night. So many lights...so many windows...so many invisible eyes watching from darkened apartments... Her thoughts were drifting toward paranoia, she realized, and when the phone behind her started to ring, she whipped around but made no move to answer it. She let the machine pick up, hoping again that it might be Dylan. "Kaitlin," that silky voice whispered. "I know you're there. I can see you."

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The hair at the back of her neck lifted as she glanced around the room. The lights were off. There was no way he could see her. He was just trying to get under her skin. He was one of those sickos who got off calling strangers. Fighting off a wave of vertigo, Kaitlin bent to the eyepiece and shifted the tube. His apartment was still dark, too. She couldn't see anything. "Kaitlin." His voice was a singsong on the answering machine. "Pick up. I need to talk to you. We're kindred spirits, remember? Soul mates. No one understands me the way you do. No one ever will." This had gone beyond creepy, Kaitlin thought with a shiver. This was downright scary. Terrifying... "Pick up the phone, Kaitlin. Let me tell you how I'm going to do it."

Chapter Sixteen A wave of nausea rose so strong in Kaitlin's throat that she barely made it to the bathroom before she became violently ill. She sank to the floor, hugging the sides of the toilet. But even after the nausea subsided, her heart continued to race, and the vertigo kept her on the floor. Leaning back against the tub, she pulled up her knees and buried her face in her arms. She kept telling herself that the voice on the phone was just playing with her. A cat and mouse game designed to terrify her. There were people like that. The world was full of sickos. But what if he meant it? What if he really planned to kill someone? And why was he telling Kaitlin about it...unless he wanted her to somehow stop him? "You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" Was that it? Were the phone calls a cry for help? First to Jane, and now to her? Kaitlin had no idea how long she sat there before she was finally able to lift her head without the dizziness. She glanced at her watch. Dylan hadn't had time to make it home yet, and she couldn't call him in the car since he'd left his cell phone. All she could do was leave a message on the recorder at home. Balancing herself with her crutches, she struggled up from the bathroom floor. And as she hobbled back into the bedroom, the phone started to ring. She hesitated, then picked it up, hoping that it was Dylan. "She's coming over tomorrow night. I'm going to do it then." Kaitlin gripped the phone. "Who are you?" she asked in desperation. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because I want you to watch, Kaitlin." She put a hand to her mouth as nausea rose inside her again. "Watch what?" He laughed softly. "I thought it would be Jane, but since she's gone, it has to be you." Kaitlin's heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. "What are you going to do?" "I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?"

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She closed her eyes. "Who is she?" "It doesn't matter who she is. What matters is that she betrayed me...just like all the others." The hatred in his voice sent another spasm of fear down Kaitlin's backbone. How had she ever thought his voice seductive? She drew a deep breath, trying to rein in her terror. "If you want me to watch, you have to tell me who she is." "Why? So you can warn her? So you can call the police? It won't do you any good. They won't believe you. It'll be just like in that movie. You know the one I mean. Rear Window. The police didn't believe Jimmy Stewart, either, remember?" Kaitlin spun toward the VCR, where a little while ago she'd put in the very movie he was talking about. But he couldn't know that. There was no way he could know that.... Unless he was watching her... When the phone had rung earlier, Kaitlin had frozen the frame rather than stopping the movie. It should have started playing again by now. But the TV screen was dark. Someone had turned it off. He'd been in the apartment while she'd been in the bathroom. He might still be inside, calling from a cell phone.... A scream rose in Kaitlin's throat, but she tried to swallow it back. She had to keep calm while she figured out what to do. "Tell me something, Kaitlin. Have you taken your medicine tonight?" The phone went dead, and Kaitlin dropped her gaze to the nightstand where she'd left her bottles of medication. She'd taken a painkiller and an antibiotic tablet earlier, right after Dylan left. And a little while later, she'd started to feel dizzy, then nauseous. Oh, my God.... Had he tampered with her medicine? Kaitlin grabbed up the painkillers, but her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn't work the childproof top. When the lid finally came off, the pills went flying. She watched as they scattered across the nightstand and some of them rolled onto the floor. Were they the same? She couldn't tell — A noise outside the bedroom drew her gaze to the door. As quietly as she could, she picked up the cordless phone and carried it with her into the bathroom. She locked the door and, with shaking hands, dialed 911.

Chapter Seventeen "No sign of a forced entry and nothing appears to be missing." Detective Doggett shrugged as he gazed around the bedroom. The two patrol officers who'd arrived on the scene first were still searching the rest of the apartment. "Not much to go on, I'm afraid."

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"But I'm telling you he was in this apartment," Kaitlin said desperately. "He tampered with my medication. Put something in one of the bottles that made me sick." Doggett walked over to examine the pills scattered across the nightstand. Then he read the label on the bottles. "Demerol," he muttered. "Some pretty strong stuff. Might make you imagine all sorts of things." "I didn't imagine anything." "So let me see if I understand you correctly then. You think he came into the apartment on two separate occasions tonight. He switched the pills while you were in the shower. Then he came back a second time while you were sick in the bathroom and turned off the TV." "And probably switched the pills back. Look, I know how all this sounds." Kaitlin tried to suppress the quiver in her voice. "But I'm telling you the truth. You have to believe me. He plans to kill someone tomorrow tonight." "And he wants you to watch." Doggett walked over to the telescope. "You watch him often, do you?" She gasped. "I don't watch him. I only saw him once." Doggett turned his laserlike gaze on her. "And then he started calling you. Telling you he plans to kill someone tomorrow night. A woman." "Yes." "But you don't know who this guy is or the name of his intended victim. You don't know what she looks like so you can't give us a description. You're not even sure the guy on the phone is the same guy you saw in the apartment across the street. Does that about sum it up?" "You're not going to do anything about this, are you?" "There's not a lot we can do, I'm afraid —" "Kaitlin!" Dylan suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Are you okay? What happened? My God, when I saw the police cars outside —" "What are you doing here?" Kaitlin asked in shock. "I left my phone and decided I'd better come back for it." He glanced up at Doggett. "What's going on here?" "Maybe you'd better tell me who you are first." "Dylan O'Roarke. I'm Kaitlin's husband." Doggett's brows lifted slightly. "The attorney? Your reputation precedes you." The two shook hands. "Could I have a word with you outside?" Dylan turned back to Kaitlin. "I'll be right back, okay?" When he came back a few minutes later, Kaitlin asked anxiously, "What did he say to you?" "Come and sit down. You need to get off that foot." Dylan pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Kaitlin, why didn't you tell me about these phone calls? I asked you earlier if someone was harassing you. You denied it."

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"He wasn't harassing me then. We were just talking —" "You've been carrying on phone conversations with a complete stranger," he said incredulously. "And Doggett said you've been watching this guy through the telescope." "For God's sake, don't look at me like that, Dylan. I'm not some weirdo." "But you've been acting differently ever since you moved into this apartment," he accused. "He said the police wouldn't believe me," she whispered. "But I never thought you'd turn on me." "Turn on you? What are you talking about, Kaitlin? I'm just trying to figure out what the hell is going on here." "You think I'm crazy. You think I imagined all this." "Just calm down —" But Kaitlin was becoming more worked up by the moment. More frantic. She knew she sounded crazy, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "A woman is going to be murdered tomorrow night, and no one believes me. No one is going to help me stop him." Dylan sat back and stared at her for a moment. Stared at her as if she were a stranger to him. Then he saw the pills scattered across the nightstand, and reached over to pick one up. After a moment, he said, "How many of these did you take tonight, Kaitlin?"

Chapter Eighteen "Kaitlin? Are you awake?" She tried to open her eyes, but the effort was too great. She sank back into sleep. "Kaitlin! Come on now. Rise and shine." The voice was annoyingly persistent. When Kaitlin finally managed to open her eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the windows was so bright, she had to squint. Someone was standing over her bed. "Honey, are you okay?" As her visitor's red hair and vivid blue eyes slowly came into focus, Kaitlin stared up in confusion. "Fiona? What are you doing here?" "Dylan had to be in court first thing this morning so he asked me to come by and check on you." Kaitlin pushed herself up on her elbows. "How'd you get in?" "Well, when you didn't answer my knock, I was all prepared to use my womanly wiles on the super. Or offer him a bribe. Whichever worked. But then I found this." Fiona held up a key. "Not too smart of your friend to leave this over the door." Kaitlin stared at the key as realization hit her. That's how he'd gotten in last night. He'd known about Jane's spare key. "Kaitlin, what's wrong? You look as if you've seen a ghost." She shook her head. "Nothing. What time is it?"

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"Just after nine. How about some coffee?" "I want to get dressed first." Kaitlin swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her crutches. "Aren't you supposed to keep that foot elevated?" "If I don't get out of this room, I'll go stir-crazy," Kaitlin grumbled. "Okay. I hear you," Fiona said. "But if Dylan says anything, this was your idea. You know how he feels about me." "Same way you feel about him," Kaitlin muttered. "Well, he is an —" "O'Roarke," Kaitlin said with a sigh. "I was going to say asshole in the courtroom, but yeah," Fiona agreed. She rummaged in the closet, then tossed Kaitlin a pair of black pants. "I think these are stretchy enough to fit over your cast." Kaitlin grabbed a sweater, underwear and socks and headed for the bathroom. By the time she'd washed up, brushed her teeth and struggled into her clothes, she felt as if she'd put in a full day's work. Exhausted, she came back into the bedroom to find Fiona peering through the telescope. "What did Dylan tell you when he called this morning?" Kaitlin asked. Fiona looked up from the eyepiece. "Only that you'd had a rough night. I assumed he meant you were in pain. But I'm getting the feeling now that something other than your foot was bothering you." Kaitlin glanced out the window. "See that apartment directly across from this one?" Fiona frowned. "Yeah. What about it?" "What if I told you that the man who lives there plans to kill someone tonight if I don't find a way to stop him?" *** Fiona glanced uneasily over her shoulder. "Tell me again why we thought this was a good idea." "Because we saw him leave the building carrying a briefcase," Kaitlin said. "He got into a cab. He'll probably be gone for hours. This may be our only chance." Getting inside the building across the street had been almost too easy. A man had been coming out, and he hadn't thought twice about holding the door for a tall, good-looking redhead and a blonde on crutches. Kaitlin counted the doors. "This is it," she said with a shiver. "This is his apartment." Fiona shivered, too. "Okay. We'll knock on a few of his neighbors' doors and see if we can find out who this guy is. And while we're at it, maybe we can learn the name of the chick he plans to off tonight." Kaitlin shot her a look. "I know you're just humoring me, but I appreciate your coming with me anyway." Fiona gave her a wry smile. "Who better to track down a psychopath than me, right?"

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But their plan didn't work out as they'd hoped. Only two people answered their doors, and neither of them was very helpful. One even threatened to call the police. "Obviously, we need to regroup here." Fiona glanced at her watch. "Unfortunately, I have a meeting.... Kaitlin, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Kaitlin lifted one of her crutches and ran it across the top of the doorframe. When a key fell to the carpet, they both stood staring at it for a long, tense moment.

Chapter Nineteen "We can be in and out in five minutes," Kaitlin said. "He's bound to have an address book or a photo. Something that will tell us who this woman is." "I can't go breaking into a man's apartment," Fiona said as she inserted the key into the lock. "I'm an officer of the court. Sworn to uphold the law." The door swung open. "Oh, dear. Look what happened." She stepped into the entryway, then stopped so abruptly, Kaitlin bumped into her. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. It's just...creepy being inside his apartment. Especially if this guy is as big a whack job as you seem to think." Fiona glanced around. "Shall we start in here?" Fiona was right, Kaitlin thought with a shudder. There was something creepy about the place. Something...evil. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she thought about the stranger pacing back and forth, in this very room, contemplating murder. How had she ever thought him sensuous and sexy? How had she ever compared him to Dylan? "Kaitlin." Fiona touched her arm. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. I guess I'm just getting a little freaked out myself." She tried to shake off her uneasiness. "You search in here, and I'll take the bedroom." "Okay, but make it quick. We have about three minutes by my watch." Kaitlin headed down the narrow hallway. The layout was similar to Jane's apartment, so she assumed the door at the end of the hallway was the bedroom. She entered slowly and turned on a light. It was some kind of study, all sleek and masculine with wood paneling and leather upholstery. Kaitlin started toward the desk, but the telescope at the window drew her gaze. She limped over and bent to the eyepiece. The lens was focused on her bedroom window as she'd somehow known it would be. He'd probably been watching her for days. "...Jane told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you…. We're like kindred spirits, Kaitlin. Soul mates. That's why I understand you so well…. I know you like to watch." Abruptly, she pulled away from the telescope and turned back to the door. And that's when she heard it.

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A whimper. A soft, terrified cry. It was coming from somewhere nearby, but Kaitlin couldn't quite pinpoint the sound. She maneuvered over to the door and called down the hallway to Fiona. "Hold on a sec," Fiona called back. "I may have found something." "Me, too," Kaitlin muttered as she listened for the sound again. She was beginning to think it had been her imagination, her nerves playing tricks on her, when she heard it again. It was coming from inside the wall. She pressed her ear to the paneling and called softly, "Is anyone there?" The whimper grew louder, more desperate. For a moment, Kaitlin thought it was a kitten that had somehow gotten trapped in the wall. And then she realized that a door had been so cunningly placed in the paneling as to be all but invisible. She ran her hands over the surface, searching for a latch or a catch — There! She felt it! She pressed the tiny button, and the door sprang back so abruptly she almost fell trying to get out of the way. Regaining her balance, she stepped up to the opening and glanced inside. She could see nothing but darkness at first. There were no windows, and when she felt along the wall, no light switch. Kaitlin knew she should wait for Fiona. But the whimpering was so loud now she couldn't ignore it. She limped inside, and as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw a woman lying on a narrow bed. She was bound and gagged, and as Kaitlin moved toward her, the woman's gaze rounded with terror. Her whimpers became even more frantic. "So," a dark voice said behind Kaitlin. "You came to watch in person."

Chapter Twenty Kaitlin spun. "Don't bother calling for your friend," he said. "She can't hear you." Fiona. Oh, God, Fiona... He grabbed Kaitlin then and dragged her back into the study. He shoved her roughly to the floor, and Kaitlin screamed in agony when she fell on her injured foot. She gazed up at him in terror. "Why are you doing this?" "Because it's so much more fun with an audience, Kaitlin. I learned that a long time ago."

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As he started toward her, Kaitlin grabbed one of her crutches and swung it with all her might, striking him at his knees. He went down hard, howling in pain. She scrambled toward the door, but he grabbed her cast and dragged her back. Kaitlin screamed, in pain and terror, as he rolled her over, pinning her arms at her sides with his knees. She saw then that he had a knife. His eyes gleamed with madness as he lifted it over her chest. The first bullet caught him dead center in the forehead. The second in the heart. He fell to the floor without a sound. Kaitlin turned and saw Dylan in the doorway. Slowly, he lowered the gun. *** As they walked out of police headquarters and stepped into the sunshine, Kaitlin drew a long breath. Dylan was beside her, holding on to her arm to help her down the steps. She paused at the bottom and glanced up at him. "Have you heard from the hospital?" He nodded. "Fiona's going to be fine. She has a mild concussion, and your aunt Maggie said she'll probably be released within twenty-four hours." "And the other woman?" "Physically, she'll be okay, too, but emotionally —" he broke off. "Who knows?" Kaitlin shuddered. Emotionally, it would take them all some time to get over this. "Why do you think he targeted me, Dylan?" He shrugged. "Who can really understand the motivations of a psychopath? I think he had probably been stalking Jane for months, and then when she left and you showed up, he simply improvised." "He knew so much about me," she whispered. "That's how they lure you in. It's a form of seduction. A game. Playing with the victim is half the pleasure. I have a feeling before this investigation is over, the police will find a string of dead women." Dylan closed his eyes briefly. "God, Kaitlin, when I think about what could have happened to you —" "But it didn't happen," she said softly. "Because you believed me." His blue eyes glittered with anguish. "I should have believed you from the first. I should have been with you instead of Fiona." "You were there when it counted the most," she said. "You've always been there when it counted the most." "If that were true, you never would have left me," he said grimly. "We've both made mistakes, Dylan. We're both to blame for what happened to our marriage." He gazed off into the distance for a moment. "Do you believe in second chances, Kaitlin?"

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"After what I've just been through, I believe passionately in second chances." She lifted her hand to his face. "But it won't be easy, Dylan. Let's not kid ourselves." "I know that. But if I've learned anything from your leaving, it's that all the success and partnerships and corner offices in the world don't mean a thing without you. I've loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you." "I love you, too, Dylan." Sometimes it left her breathless how much she loved him. He bent and kissed her again, kissed her so deeply that Kaitlin almost lost her balance and he had to catch her. They both laughed, and then he kissed her again. When he pulled away, Kaitlin said, "Can I ask you something, Dylan?" "Anything." "Where did you get the gun? Where did you learn to shoot like that?" "I'm an O'Roarke, Kaitlin. Do you really want answers to those questions?" She smiled ruefully. "No. Maybe not." "What do you want, Kaitlin?" he asked softly. "You," she whispered. "I want you." Now, and for always, she thought.

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Voodoo by Maggie Shayne Tessa and her sister Tricia are having the vacation of a lifetime in naughty New Orleans. They've partied on Bourbon Street until the wee hours; visited the famous cemeteries; wandered around the historic French Quarter; and visited the Voodoo Museum. They've even taken a tour of the haunted corners of the grand old city, led by a sexy, mustachioed guide in tall black boots. But when they learn that their elegant old hotel was once a house of ill repute, and was ravaged by fire more than 100 years ago, resulting in the death of several women, something in the steamy night air changes. Tessa, who is not one to let her imagination run away with her, feels a chill, and can't stop thinking about the mysterious tour guide. And when she peers out her window late one night, there he is...

Chapter One "Do you believe what that tour guide said about this hotel?" "About the complimentary continental breakfast?" Tessa asked smiling, knowing full well that wasn't what her sister meant at all. "I'd believe just about anything a man who looked that good said to me, to be honest. God, what he did for those black boots…" "I meant about this hotel being haunted? There really is a chill in here. Can't you feel it?" Tricia rubbed her outer arms, looking cautiously around their room. It was an incredible room in a small, three-story building in the French Quarter. It included an antique fireplace with scrolled hardwood mantel that must have been two centuries old, elegant hand-tooled woodwork, and tall narrow windows. French doors opened onto a balcony with wrought iron filigree railings and wicker furniture. "There is a chill. Don't you feel it?" "I think you took that Haunted Tour a little bit too seriously. And if you're feeling a chill, it's because you just stepped out of air the approximate temperature and consistency of boiling pea soup, and into one of the few rooms in New Orleans that comes with AC." Tricia shook herself. "AC and an antique oil lamp," she said looking at the lamp on the mantel. "But, no, that's not it." "Honey, does this place really look like it was once a whorehouse? Hmm? Or that it burned in a horrible fire, trapping some of the women inside?" Tessa parted the curtains, peering down into the narrow streets below, where people walked around drinking beer from plastic glasses and wearing Mardi Gras beads even at this ungodly hour. "They could have jumped from here and barely bruised themselves, and we're on the top floor." "So were they, according to the tour guide. They were supposedly trapped." "I think the tour guide was just giving us a little New Orleans scare to spice up our visit." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Though if he really wanted to spice up my visit, I could think of better ways." Tricia laughed, grabbing a pillow from the red velvet settee and throwing it at her sister. "Okay, fine, I'm overreacting," she said. "Maybe the cemeteries, the Voodoo Museum, and the Haunted Tour were a bit much all in one day. I'm gonna take a cool shower and go to bed." "I'm next. Gosh, it's three a.m. Time flies when you're doing Bourbon Street, huh?" Her sister nodded on her way into the bathroom. But once the door was closed, Tessa stopped smiling, and looked around the beautiful room. Something was off. Something…she couldn't put her finger on. And unlike her sister, she did not have a tendency to let her imagination run away with her. She took the camera from around her neck, and set it on the bedside stand. Then she wandered to the window again, parted the curtain to stare down at the street.

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He was standing there. His long black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and his moustache connected to the closely cropped black beard. Trimmed, neat. He was still completely in character, just as he had been when he'd walked their group through the French Quarter on that guided tour. He wore a long black coat with a tab collar, and his tight-fitting pants were tucked into tall black boots that whispered naughty suggestions into her mind. He was alone. Just walking along the dark street. And as she watched, he stopped, paused just a moment, then turned to look right at her. His eyes burned into hers, made her painfully aware of just how long she'd been without a man's touch. Then he smiled, very slightly, as if he could read exactly what she was thinking. She backed away from the window, letting the curtain fall, pressing a hand to her chest to still the hungry beat of her heart. Then, slowly, cautiously, she looked out again. But he was gone.

Chapter Two Tessa woke with a start. All night she'd been dreaming, but from the moment she opened her eyes she couldn't remember what she had dreamed about. Something intense. Something that left her skin damp and her heart palpitating. She took a second to ground herself back in the firm, solid world of reality, and finally slid out of bed and slipped into the bathroom. She ducked into the shower to start the day as she would inevitably end it — wet. It was perpetually hot and wet here in July. But already she felt as if she were getting used to it. When she came out of the bathroom she was dressed and ready for a full day of playing tourist. But as she glanced at her sister still in bed, she frowned. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. Daylight's burning." Tricia lowered the covers enough to squint at her sister. "Would you be totally bummed if I begged off this morning?" "Are you sick?" Tessa went to the bed, pressed her palm to her sister's forehead. "No, just drained. I'll just lie here and sleep till noon, then I'll be good to go. Promise." "You sure you don't mind staying here alone?" "Not during the day," she said. "Go on, go have beignets or something. Come back for me at lunchtime." "Okay, if you insist." She wasn't worried about Tricia — her sister had never been a morning person. Tessa grabbed her straw hat and matching bag, her sunglasses, and her camera, and headed out. The first thing she did when she got far enough from the hotel, was turn back to face it to take a photo of it, which she couldn't believe she hadn't thought to do before now. But when she depressed the shutter, nothing happened. Frowning, she turned the camera toward her, looking at it. Every shot had been used up. "Well the hell? I could have sworn.…" Then she shrugged, and headed into the small souvenir shop down the block. She dropped her film off there for two-hour developing, picked up a couple of fresh new rolls at tourist prices, and went on her way again. It was nine a.m. and already well above 90 degrees. Sweat beaded, but didn't evaporate. There was no such thing as a breeze on the streets. Only a few tourists were out and about this early. The horse-drawn carriages hadn't even begun carrying groups of them around the Quarter yet, and most of the shops were just opening for business. She walked. She loved to walk. She walked all the way from Rue Royale to Jackson Square as the sun beat down on her, and her clothes and skin grew damp. Café du Monde was open, and already many of the tables were filled. It was covered, for shade, but the place had no sides. A lone musician, a man in a white suit with dark skin, was setting up outside it, unpacking his saxophone lovingly from its case, setting up a

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display of his own CDs and tapes for sale. She chose the table closest to him, so she wouldn't miss a thing, dropping a bill into the saxophone case as she passed. "Well, thank you, pretty lady. Can I play something special for you this beautiful mornin'?" "Something heavy and mellow," she said. "Like the air here." He smiled as if understanding, put the horn to his lips, and began to play. Tessa ordered beignets and coffee, leaning back in her seat and letting the sweet music wash over her. Until something tingled on the nape of her neck, and she sat up again, turning and looking…and she saw him. The tour guide.

Chapter Three The mysterious tour guide stood outside a small gift shop staring at her. She stared back for a long moment, her body heating, melting, aching in a way that was completely foreign to her. Then he broke eye contact to pick up a book from a rack that stood outside the gift shop. He flipped through it, then put it back again, very carefully, very deliberately. Again, he looked at her, his eyes burning and intense, as if he were trying to tell her something. A large group of tourists passed between them then, blocking him from her view, and when they cleared, he was gone. Tessa left her table to run across the street to where he'd been standing. She looked up and down, but he was nowhere to be seen. And why was she so hoping to see him anyway? What was she planning to say if she did see him? How could she explain what happened to her every time she met his eyes? It was as if parts of her that had been dormant, came screaming to life. It was as if her insides melted and pooled low and deep inside her. Her skin tingled, her heart sped up, and she thought about things she never thought about. She supposed it was desire. She'd always been lukewarm to the advances of men until now, but for some reason, probably some inexplicable chemical attraction, she kept having the urge to rip her clothes off for this man she had barely met. Maybe it was the hot flavor of New Orleans bringing her inner vixen to life in her loins. Or maybe it was something about him. It was probably, she thought, those damned sinful boots he wore. Idly, she glanced at the rack of magazine-size tour books that stood outside the shop, trying to see which title he'd been perusing. She was certain he had picked one from the topmost slot. When she saw her own hotel on the cover of one of the books, and read the title, she felt her heart skip a beat. Haunted Inns of the French Quarter. Blinking she picked up the book, flipped through the pages, then stopped when she came upon the image of a nude woman who looked exactly like her. It was a photograph of a painting, and it was stunning. She read the caption. "Prostitute Marie St. Claire was a favorite model of New Orleans artists for a 10-year period during the mid1800s. The man who painted her most often was Marcus Lemieux, whose self-portrait appears on the next page," it read. When she could tear her gaze from the nude portrayal of herself, she flipped the page, and found herself staring at the very face of the tour guide. "Oh my God," she whispered. "My God, what can this mean?" "You wanna buy that book, cher?" a woman asked slowly.

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She had propped the shop door open and was smiling a welcome at Tessa. "Yes. Yes, here." She handed the woman a twenty, muttered "Keep the change," and hurried back across the street to the table where the waitress had already delivered her order.

Chapter Four Tessa ate the sweet beignets, dusting herself in powdered sugar, while reading the tragic story of Marie St. Claire. The tour guide had left out a lot of details. Yes, he'd spoken of the prostitutes who had died in the fire, trapped in the third-floor rooms, unable to escape. But then he'd veered into tales of hauntings, things tourists had reported and experienced in the hotel since. He had left out many of the details. The fact that Marie St. Claire had been a model, that one local artist, Marcus Lemieux, who could have been his own twin, had painted her more often than any other. Lemieux had attempted to rescue her from the fire, and become trapped himself. He had survived, but his hands had been burned so badly that he had never painted again. She closed the book, surprised to feel tears welling up in her eyes. Her chest hurt, and she found it hard to breathe. Leaving money on the table to pay her tab, she slid the book into her straw shoulder bag, wiped the sugar from her blouse, and left the place. She was going to talk to that tour guide if it was the last thing she did. The tour had left from one of the popular voodoo shops along Rampart Street, not far from the hotel. Tessa figured that was as good a place to begin as any. When she stepped inside, she was surprised at the blast of cool air filling the place. It was a small shop, very high ceilings, walls of darkened wood. Every inch of it was lined in shelves loaded down with items. Voodoo dolls, candles in varying shapes and colors, cigars, and books and carved wooden images of tribal gods and Catholic saints, all mingled together. The air smelled of cigar smoke and incense. She walked up to the counter, looked at the girl behind it. "I'm wondering if you can help me find someone." "If you want a reading, go through there," she said pointing to a doorway filled by beaded curtains. "Mamma Celia's in today. She's very good and she's free right now." Tessa shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm looking for someone specific. The tour guide, from the Haunted Tour that leaves from here?" "Which one? There are a dozen tour guides." "He had long dark hair, ponytail, mustache and beard." She drew the pattern of his whiskers on her own face. "He wore these boots...." "Oh, you mean Rudy. You don't know how many women used to come in here looking for him after a tour. But he don't work for us anymore. Hasn't in...oh, five years now." "That's impossible. He guided the group I was in just last night." The girl frowned over the glass counter at her until Tessa had to let her gaze fall. She found herself perusing the selection of tarot decks inside the case. "Do you know who did guide the nine-thirty tour group last night?" she asked. "Lemme just check." The girl opened a book. "That would be Victor Carre." "And do you know where I can find him?" she asked. "He's leading another group in a half hour. He'll be out front a few minutes before then." Tessa nodded her thanks and turned to go, but the rattling of the beaded curtains at the back of the room stopped her, and then a woman's voice said, "You, girl. Come. I need to read for you."

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Tessa turned, stared at one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen. The woman's brown eyes gleamed, and she reached for Tessa with a long, slender hand that bore rings on every finger and bracelets that jangled when she moved. She wore a silky turban of purple and blue. "I don't really want a reading," Tessa said. "No matter. You need one. Come." And she drew Tessa back through the beaded curtains into a tiny room that smelled of sandalwood smoke.

Chapter Five "Sit, pretty one. Relax. There is nothing to fear." The woman jingled as she moved around the small table in very cramped quarters, to sit in the chair on the other side. The table was draped in silk scarves in jewel colors. Candles lined the room, on the windowsill, and mounted in holders on the walls. There were at least a dozen of them burning, providing the only light in the place. Atop the scarves on the table, crystal stones were scattered about, and a deck of cards sat neatly stacked at the ready. Tessa sat down in the chair opposite the woman. "Your name…no wait, don't tell me. It's…" She closed her eyes, a slow smile spreading over her face. "It's Marie." Tessa's throat went dry. "It's Tessa. But I'm curious. What made you say Marie?" "It's what spirit calls you, child. I have no idea why, but you own the name. Give me your hand." Her cool brown hand clasped Tessa's wrist, drawing it across the silk, palm up. She bent over for a closer look, the fingers of her free hand whispering over the lines in Tessa's palm. "You've lived many lives. In this one, they collide." She lifted her head. "You've spent a great deal of time in New Orleans. This city is in your blood." "This is my first visit." The woman was so far off base Tessa wondered why her words were hitting her so hard, stirring up such odd feelings in her, making her want to nod and whisper, "Yes, yes, that's right" to everything she said. "Interesting." She continued staring at Tessa's hand, then lifted her head to meet her eyes. "Why am I seeing fire?" "Fire?" She nodded. "As if your home has burned, and you with it." Tessa jerked her hand away from the woman, jumping to her feet. "I have to go. I have to go now." "Don't be silly, child, we haven't even consulted the cards yet." "I have to go." She reached for her purse. "No charge. Go. He's waiting for you." She stared at the woman, but she was clearly finished with Tessa. She sat silently, contemplating a candle flame and idly shuffling her cards. Tessa hurried out through the beaded curtain, where the girl behind the counter smiled. "That was fast. Just as well, Victor's here." She nodded toward the doorway. Tessa saw him from behind, the black coat was the same. Stiffening her spine, she went to him.

Chapter Six

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Tessa stepped out of the shop, and into a wall made of hot liquid air. Her shoes hit the sidewalk, and the tour guide turned to face her, and her stomach clenched. But it wasn't him. This man was entirely different. Only the uniform was the same. He didn't even have the boots. "I take it you're Victor?" "I am. Are you here for the tour?" She shook her head, left then right. "No. Actually, I took the tour last night. I need to speak with the man who guided it, but according to the girl in the shop, he hasn't worked as a tour guide for five years." His eyebrows went up and he glanced quickly around, as if to determine who was within earshot. "According to the books, you guided the tour I took last night," Tessa went on. "Only…you didn't." The man gripped her upper arm, leading her a few steps farther from the open shop door. "Keep it down, okay? You're going to get me fired." "I don't have any intention of causing you trouble, Victor. But I need to know who he was. And where I can find him." He nodded quickly. "Look, he's a friend. He…was passing by when the tour group gathered, and all of the sudden he wanted to guide the tour." He shrugged. "I saw no harm in letting him take the group around for old times' sake. Hell, he knows the drill. I gave him 10 minutes to go change clothes, and then I let him have at it." She nodded slowly. "Has he ever asked to take one of your groups before, since he quit working here?" Victor shook his head slowly from side to side. "You're not going to turn me in, are you?" "Not if you tell me where he lives," she said. Victor looked her up and down, maybe trying to determine whether she could be any threat to his friend. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "I'll tell him you want to talk to him, see if it's okay with him for me to give out his number. Okay?" She thought about threatening to turn him in, but then thought better of it. It would still be an option later. Besides, she didn't want to seem like some kind of stalker. "All right. I'm staying at the Rose." She took a pen and a scrap of paper from her bag and scrawled her name and room number. When should I expect your call?" "Tonight, okay? I can't be more specific. He can be tough to reach." "Okay." She nodded firmly. "Okay." Then she turned and continued her walk back to the hotel, a thousand questions spinning and whirling through her mind. She walked right past the shop on the corner, before remembering her film, and did a quick about-face to go pick up her photos. She paid for them, tucked the envelope into her bag and hurried across the street and a block up to her hotel. She took the antiquated elevator with its decorative gates, rode it up to the third floor, then got out and walked down the hall to the corner room, which was hers. When she walked in, Tricia was just coming out of the bathroom, dressed in a white terry robe and toweling her hair. She met Tessa's eyes, and smiled. "Yes, I'm finally up. How was your morning?" "It was…weird." She tossed her hat and glasses onto the bed, then sat on the settee and tugged the photos out of her purse. "But I did get our pictures developed." She opened the envelope and began flipping through the shots while Tricia hurried to sit beside her to see.

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Tessa flipped past the cemetery shots, the ones they'd taken at the Voodoo Museum, and then her hands came to a sudden frozen stop on a photo that she could not have taken. It was of the two of them, sound asleep in the twin beds of this very room.

Chapter Seven "Oh, that's very funny, Tessa." Tessa's hands were shaking. She couldn't take her eyes off the picture even to look at her sister. "A good one. Really. You know I believe the stories about this place a little too much, so you have someone take pictures of us in bed sleeping. What am I supposed to think, that one of the ghosts did it?" "Tricia…" Tricia took the stack of photos from her sister's hands, going through them. "Oh, look there are more. This one was taken from the balcony, this one from over by the fireplace, and this one — oh, look at this one. From right beside your bed. Creepy, Tess." "Tricia, shut the hell up." Her sister stopped talking, and when Tessa looked at her she saw the smile die very slowly. "Come on, Tess, you're scaring me." "I'm sorry. I put the camera on the nightstand last night. I thought there were several unexposed shots left on the roll, but when I took it out this morning, they'd all been used up." "Tessa, this isn't funny." "I know it isn't." "Okay. Then…then someone's messing with us." Tricia swallowed hard. "I'm going to see the manager. If they think they can sneak around our rooms in the middle of the night just to perpetrate their ghost stories and increase business, they'd better think again." Tricia stomped back into the bathroom to put her clothes on. But Tessa could only sit and stare at the final photograph in the stack. There was a mirror behind the bed, and while the camera had been aimed at her, herself, asleep, that mirror had been captured in the shot as well. And in it was a vague image in the darkness. A woman's face, all white, pale, and luminescent. Thin and transparent. It looked like Tessa's own face, painted in pale mists on the darkness.

Chapter Eight The hotel management, naturally, denied any knowledge of the photos, or how they had come to be. Tricia said they had attempted to prove their case by showing her reams of videotape taken by the surveillance cameras in the third-floor hallway. No one had come in through the door all night. That only left the balcony. Tessa swallowed hard. "It's New Orleans. People party hard. Probably some kid decided to play a practical joke and climbed up the trellis or fire escape or something. I wouldn't worry about it." "Maybe we should go to another hotel."

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Tessa couldn't do that. She needed to be here, though she didn't know just why. "Everything's booked," she said softly. "I already checked." She realized that she had just done something she never, ever did. She had lied to her sister. She covered it quickly, plastering a smile onto her face. "Come on, let's go out. I want to take the trolley into the Garden District today, and explore. And at the end of the run there's a restaurant I want to try for dinner. Then we'll come back and go play at that karaoke bar on Bourbon Street, all right?" "You're going to make me drop from sheer exhaustion before we get back home, aren't you?" Tessa took her sister's hand. She really wished she could send her home, get her out of here. Something was going on, she could feel it right to her toes. She was coming alive inside, in ways she could not explain. They toured, and walked, and took the obligatory photos of Anne Rice's house. They visited shops and museums and spent more money than was probably wise. They visited Lafayette Cemetery without a tour guide, something they had been warned not to do. While there, Tessa suffered a dizzy spell that left her weak and queasy. But she recovered soon enough, and blamed it on the heat. They walked along the sidewalks of Canal Street, looking up at the Mardi Gras beads that dangled from every tree and power line in sight, even months after the party. When they found some hanging low enough to reach, Tricia insisted on snatching them from the tree as a souvenir. Beads tossed during the parade were way better than the ones you could buy in any shop in New Orleans, she insisted. They had dinner very late, and then rode back to the French Quarter, and did some drinking and bar hopping on Bourbon Street. When they finally returned to the hotel it was just after eleven, and the message light on the phone was blinking. Tricia didn't notice it as she headed straight for the shower. As soon as the water was running, Tessa picked up the phone and retrieved the message. Victor's tape-recorded voice played in her ear. "He says he'll meet you at midnight in the street below your balcony. That's the best I can do."

Chapter Nine She waited until her sister was sound asleep, then slipped out of the room as quietly as she could manage. She hated leaving Tricia, knowing how nervous the room made her. Especially given the odd photos that had been taken of them sleeping last night. But she left the balcony doors open. If anything happened to frighten Tricia, Tessa would be able to hear her. And she could be at her side within a few seconds. She tiptoed through the hall, took the stairs instead of the elevator, and then moved through the deserted lobby as soundlessly as if she were the ghost. When she opened the heavy, ornate wooden door, she could smell the night. She stepped out into its hot, sticky embrace, silently loving it. But there was no one in sight. Tessa walked a few steps along the sidewalk, looking in either direction, seeing no one. But then far in the distance, she heard the slow, steady clip-clop of hooves over stone. Straining her eyes to see, she stared down the street, unsure of the direction, because the sound seemed to echo from everywhere at once. But then an ebony horse seemed to emerge from the darkness, slowly taking shape as it came closer. The carriage was as black as the horse that pulled it, covered and closed, not open like the buggies she'd seen traversing the Quarter by day. This was different. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath as she stepped out of the street, up onto the sidewalk, and waited. It moved so slowly. As if the man in control was enjoying his power over her. Drawing her tension taut as a bowstring. Plucking it with every step of his horse's hooves. It was right in front of her now. The black horse stopped and shook its mane, tossing its head and blowing hot air from flared nostrils. The form sitting in the driver's seat, high above, was completely swathed in black. She couldn't even make him out. Then the carriage's door swung open, and a deep, hauntingly familiar voice said, "Get in." She looked into the darkness inside the carriage. She couldn't see him. "I can't. I can't leave my sister alone in that room." "It's not your sister the spirits want, Tessa. She'll sleep peacefully and undisturbed until you return." "How can you be sure of that?" She blinked rapidly. "And...and how do you know my name?"

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"I will answer all your questions if you will come with me." "But —" "Come." A gloved hand emerged from the inky darkness within the carriage, reached toward her and drew itself slowly back in. She felt as if it was pulling her along with it, and she obeyed, stepping into the carriage, into the heart of darkness. She got in, turning and sinking automatically into a soft velvet seat. The door slammed behind her, and the carriage lurched into motion as she looked up and straight into his eyes.

Chapter Ten "I have waited a very long time for this night." Swallowing her fear, Tessa held his piercing black gaze, unable to look away. He sat in the seat across from her, staring into her eyes. She felt him probing the depths of her mind, her soul, though she had no idea how. Why did just being near him make her tremble this way? Why? "H-how could you have been waiting? You only met me two nights ago." "We met more than a century ago." She shook her head in denial, not questioning what he meant by that, maybe because she was afraid of what his answers would be. "I saw you last night. Below the balcony." "And yet you didn't come to me. You wanted to. Why did you resist your own soul's yearnings, Tessa?" Her stomach clenched into a knot. "I… Someone was in my room last night. Someone took photographs…." "I know. I found a set of them in my bedroom this evening." She blinked. "How could that be?" "The spirits. The ghosts who haunt that hotel wanted me to find you. As if I wouldn't have known you from the moment I set eyes on you without their assistance." "I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered. "You will. Trust me, you will." He reached a hand across to her, touched her cheek with his gloved hand, gently brushing her hair aside, and as he did, his eyes fell closed and a sigh stuttered from his lips. "Will you do me the honor of sitting here beside me?" She blinked at him in the darkness, then at the seat he patted. "I mean you no harm, Tessa, I swear it on my soul. But if I can't touch you soon I think I may die." "T-touch me?" Her heart slammed her rib cage as if trying to break free. "Hold you. Close to me. That's all." He drew an unsteady breath. "Please?" She wanted nothing more than to feel him touching her. As the carriage rocked, she changed seats, joining him on the softness, sitting very close to his side. Her body stiffened in anticipation as he slid an arm around her shoulders, and then he sighed softly, leaning back, pulling her closer, so that she lay cradled in his arms, her head on his shoulder. With his free hand he stroked her hair. "Promise me something, ma cherie," he whispered. "Promise me you will hear the story I have to tell you, all of it, before you make a choice."

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"A choice?" His crooked finger came beneath her chin, lifting it, turning her face up to his. "Yes, there will be a choice. One that will alter your life forever. But not yet. Not yet." His lips were so close to hers she could feel the breath of each word. She wanted him to kiss her. She felt it suddenly, with everything in her. More than she wanted to draw another breath, she wanted to feel his lips on hers. As if he knew her every thought, he bent just a little closer.

Chapter Eleven His lips brushed across hers, and every nerve in her body came to life at the sweet, brief contact. But then the carriage came to a halt, and he drew away. "Come. We are here." "Where?" "Lafayette Cemetery. You were here today, but you didn't see what you came to see. I thought you might stumble upon it. Led, perhaps, by sheer instinct. But, no. Perhaps you were not ready." She remembered the dizzy, sick feeling that had swamped her when she'd visited this place before. He got to his feet and climbed out of the carriage, reaching back in for her. He took her hand, helped her down. She felt oddly out of place in her jeans and simple blouse. She felt as if she should be wearing a bustled gown with a matching hat. He led her through the opening in the wall that surrounded the cemetery. Every tomb was a small crypt. No one was buried here, she had read, because the water table was simply too high. Instead the graves were above ground, tiny cement tombs with peaked roofs, ornate with carved angels or crosses, names arching across the tops. Rows of them, like miniature villages. Villages of the dead. He led her between the rows, toward the very depths of the place, the center, and there he showed her a tall narrow crypt. The name across the top was "Lemieux." Underneath were two other names. Marcus and Marie. Tessa stared up at him, blinking, feeling a bit of the same dizziness she had felt here before. "The artist and the prostitute?" "Then you know something of them already." She felt a death chill, standing there staring at a cement crypt that held the remains of a woman who could have been her twin. "I picked up the book. The one you wanted me to pick up. I read about them." "The book only tells you part of the story." "But you're going to tell me the rest?" He nodded. "Marcus was an artist. His father was a French noble who was driven out of his country in shame, and came to live here because it reminded him of home. But he lived in constant fear of being shamed again." She looked at her tour guide, into his eyes. "What shamed him in France?" "He was cuckolded. His wife ran away with a commoner. It was the talk of Paris at the time. Quite the scandal. He was a proud man, too proud to live that way, so he came here, where he was treated almost as royalty."

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"And then his son fell in love with a prostitute." "The father forbade it, of course. Still, Marcus was a stubborn man. And he loved her deeply. Painted her often. He would sit for hours just staring at her image, when he couldn't be with her. Some said he was obsessed, others that she had bewitched him." "He was in love," Tessa whispered. "Madly in love. They were secretly wed. Marcus had only to collect his things, slip away with a horse and a carriage, and pick her up. They were to run away together that very night." "The night of the fire?" Tessa asked, her breath catching in her throat. Staring into her eyes, he nodded. "Marcus arrived to see the entire building engulfed in flames. He could hear his Maria's screams." He lowered his head, shuddering, and Tessa thought there were tears in his eyes.

Chapter Twelve "He went inside to try to get her out," Tessa said, filling in the parts of the heartbreaking story that she already knew. "Yes. But it was too late. He was nearly killed himself. Neighbors, firefighters, they came, pulled him out of the fire, doused him in water, saving his life. But he screamed, begged them to let him die with the woman he loved." Tessa's eyes were wet now, her throat tight. "Marie died." "Yes. But there was another woman there that night. The most powerful woman in New Orleans, watching, weeping. Marie St. Claire's mother had named her for this woman, because she had been unable to conceive a child until the elder Marie helped her." "The elder Marie?" He nodded, his eyes intense. "Yes. Marie LaVeau." Tessa blinked in shock, backing up a step. "This is getting very difficult to believe." "Why?" he asked. "It shouldn't. Helping barren women to conceive was a common request of voodoo practitioners. LaVeau was a queen, the best known, most in demand. And she was good at what she did. The woman had real power. Real power." "How do you know?" Tessa whispered. He met her eyes. "Because I'm here. And you're here. It's just as she told me it would be." Blinking, Tessa shook her head. "Marie LaVeau died long before you were born." He shook his head slowly. "She was there that night," he said. "And she shouted her curse and her blessing. She put her hands on Marcus, who was so distraught he was barely aware of the damage the fire had done to him, to his hands and arms." Tessa nodded. "I read that he could never paint again."

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"For a long time, he couldn't. And by the time he could, he no longer wanted to. His inspiration, his muse, had been consumed by fire." Tessa swallowed back her tears. "What was Marie LaVeau's curse?" "Whether it was curse or blessing remains to be seen," he said. "She raised up her hands, tipped back her head, and shouted above the roar of the flames and the cries of the dying, 'My namesake shall live again! And her lover will live as well, never to age, nor die, nor leave this city, until that time when she returns to him and they find the love that was stolen from them this cursed night!' Then she howled like the very voice of death." Tessa imagined she could hear the sound. There was wind, where there had been none before, and it seemed to carry that ghostly wail. "The younger Marie's cries stopped, dying with the witch's howl," Marcus said. "Most believe she died at that very moment, only able to release her hold on life once she had the promise that she would find her love again." He lowered his head. "Then LaVeau went to Marcus, embraced him, and whispered that he must be strong, that he must be patient. She told him the other women who had died in the fire would guard the place as sacred, and would see to it that he knew when his wife returned for him." He looked Tessa in the eyes. "That's why they took the photos, and brought them to me, you see. To let me know that you had finally come back."

Chapter Thirteen He was holding her hands in his, staring deeply into her eyes. A passing breeze gently dried the dampness from her skin and her cheeks. She said, "What are you talking about? I'm not Marie." "No, you are Tessa. But in that lifetime, you were Marie. My precious Marie." She blinked, not understanding. "You're talking about reincarnation?" "Yes. Of course." "Then you…you believe that you were reincarnated, too? That you were Marcus in that lifetime?" She knew the answer to the question before she asked it. Before he slowly shook his head left and then right. "I told you LaVeau's curse. That Marcus would live on, would never age, not until his Marie returned. And now you have." "Are you saying that you are Marcus? That you never died, that you've been living here waiting for me for more than a hundred years?" "One hundred fifty-one years, two months, fifteen days." He glanced at the watch he wore. "Seventeen and a half minutes." When he looked at her face again, his wore a slight smile, sad humor tingeing his eyes. But when he saw the doubt in hers, his smile died. "I can prove it to you, my love. Please, you must give me that chance." Shaking her head, stepping backward again, she said, "I think I've had enough for one night. I'd like to go back to the hotel now." He closed his eyes, lowered his head. "You're afraid of me now. You think me insane." "I'm sorry, I —" He held up a hand. "No. It's all right. I should have expected it. The story is far-fetched, particularly in this age when magic is seen as impossible superstition."

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"It's just that — at the voodoo shop they told me your name was Rudy." He nodded. "I have changed my name many times. I've had to leave here for years at a time, although thanks to Madame LaVeau's curse, I could never go far. But I would go into hiding and return years later, pretending to be another of my own relatives, taking up residence again in the family home, using another name." She blinked, her head spinning. "And what about the tomb? It has your name on it." "Look closer." He ran his hand over the woman's name, the dates carved beneath it. Born 1827, Died 1850. Then his own, or the name he claimed as his own. It had a date of birth, 1825, but there was no date of death chiseled into granite. Swallowing hard, she lifted her gaze to his face. "I'm sorry. Even with that, it's just too much to believe." "I know. But there is one more thing I can show you.…" Holding up his left hand, he slowly peeled off the glove that he wore to cover it. Clouds skittered away from the face of the moon, allowing its milky light to spill down on the badly scarred hand he held up before her. And even as she watched with her breath caught in her throat, he peeled off the other glove to reveal the right hand, which was even more damaged than the left.

Chapter Fourteen "Oh my God." She backed away from him, then turning, she ran through the darkness, along the row of tombs. She darted to the left, then right, running full speed, having no idea which way to turn. She couldn't see beyond a few concrete crypts in any direction. Only those dark shadowy peaks in the village of the dead. Finally, she stopped, breathless, panting, more light-headed than before. "I've frightened you." The words came from behind her, making her jump and spin around. "It's the last thing I wanted to do, Marie." "Tessa ! My name is Tessa." He closed his eyes, lowered his head. "I know, I'm sorry. Forgive me, I…" He pressed a hand, gloved again now, to his forehead, rubbing slow circles there. "To me you are one and the same." "But not to me." "I'll try to remember that." He lifted his gaze, met her eyes. "Come back to the carriage. I'll return you to the hotel." She hesitated, watching him, painfully aware of how alone she was here, how difficult it would be to summon help. There were houses nearby, yes. Wealthy homes so large and well built she doubted anyone within them would hear her cries for help even if she screamed with everything in her. And even if they did, how could help find her in this maze, in time to prevent — "You have nothing to fear from me, Tessa," he assured her yet again. "I would die for you. Nearly did, once. Would have if the others hadn't pulled me from the flames." She licked her lips, lowered her head. "You do realize that what you're saying is impossible. You would be nearly two hundred years old."

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"Nothing is impossible, Tessa. I've learned that over the years." She shook her head in denial. "You've been drawn to me since you first set eyes on me, when I saw you and took over the tour group that night. You couldn't explain why, but you couldn't get me out of your mind." She held his gaze, saying nothing. Finally, he sighed, lowering his head. "I'm pushing too hard, too soon." He looked up, past her left shoulder. "The carriage is that way. Come." Then he walked past her, easily locating the open part in the wall, beyond which that black carriage sat in the street, its shrouded driver sitting at the ready. Marcus, or whatever his name was, went to it, opened the door for her. "Good night, Tessa." "You're not riding along?" She stood between his body and the open door, staring into his eyes because she couldn't seem to do otherwise. "I've frightened you enough for one night. I would ask one promise of you, though I realize I have no right to ask anything at all." "What promise?" "Don't leave New Orleans without…at least saying goodbye." He had a card in his hand, which he tucked into her jeans pocket. She bit her lip, nodded. "I suppose…that's not so much to ask." "And…" "And?" "And this…" Leaning closer, he curled his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against him, and kissed her.

Chapter Fifteen Tessa's mind told her she should be deeply offended. She should feel violated. She should tear herself free of his embrace, slap him, upbraid him for the uninvited invasion. Why, then, was she kissing him instead? Why had her arms twisted around his neck, her fingers twined in his hair as her mouth made love to his? Why were there tears running down her cheeks while her entire body trembled? One salty tear reached her lips, and his, she thought, because he broke the kiss abruptly, blinking down at her, concern etched on his face. "Tessa?" he asked. Shaking her head violently, she climbed into the carriage and tugged the door closed behind her. The vehicle rocked into motion, and she buried her face in her hands, weeping softly all the way back to the hotel. She had no idea why being in his arms had felt like a long-awaited homecoming. She had no idea why it had nearly broken her heart to leave him there, alone, in the night. It wasn't as if she believed any part of his story. It was sad, heart-wrenching, and it touched her, but it wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

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She got out of the carriage as soon as it stopped, and it set into motion once more the moment her feet touched the street. She didn't bother looking after it. Instead she hurried inside, rubbing her tears from her face on her way up the stairs, and finally reached the haven of her room. She dug in a pocket for the key, but as she lifted it toward the lock, the door swung slowly open. Catching her breath, she looked up and saw her sister standing there. Only — it wasn't. Her face was pale, and her eyes — her eyes were the wrong color. They were jet black, with a soft glowing light coming from within them. "You must remember. You must," she said in a voice that was not her own. "Tricia?" "Unless you remember, it was all for nothing," Tricia went on in that strange voice. Then she reached up, her hands clasping Tessa's shoulders like claws. "Remember!" she shouted, shaking her violently, with surprising strength. "Remember, damn you!" "Tricia!" Tessa planted her palms flat on her sister's chest and shoved with everything in her. Tricia's grip was broken, and she staggered backward. "Remember," she whispered, and then she collapsed on the floor.

Chapter Sixteen Tessa rushed forward to help her possessed sister, falling to her knees beside her. "Tricia. Tricia, come on, wake up!" She lifted Tricia's upper body, patting her cheeks. "Come on, wake up." Tricia's eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at her sister. "What? What's wrong?" "You were…uh, sleepwalking. Or something." "I was?" Tricia sat up, looking around the room. "Wow, I ended up on the floor huh? Geez, that's odd. I never sleepwalk." "You don't…remember anything?" "No. Nothing." She smiled at her sister. "Hey, you're still dressed." "Couldn't sleep," she said. She wondered if her sister would notice the door standing open behind her and ask where she had been, but when she glanced at it with the thought, she saw that the door was closed. "Come on," Tessa said, helping her sister to her feet. "Let's get you back into bed." She shook off the feeling that someone else was in the room with them, or had been. She told herself she must have closed the door herself. But she knew right then what she had to do. She had to get the hell out of New Orleans. As soon as possible. This was no longer just affecting her, it was getting to her sister, and she would not allow that. She didn't sleep that night. She did put on a nightgown and slide into bed, but she never closed her eyes. She sat awake to protect her younger sister from whatever might be lingering in this place. There was something. God, it made no sense to her. She didn't believe in ghosts, but she could feel them with every cell in her body. She could almost hear them whispering to her. "Remember." In the morning, over breakfast in The Rose's dining room. She tried to put on a carefree expression as she told her sister, "Honey, how do you feel about expanding our vacation a little bit?"

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"Like — how?" Tricia asked. She seemed none the worse for wear. Her appetite was good, while Tessa found herself unable to choke down a bite of the luscious omelet or the delectable pastries. She could barely swallow the coffee and it was the best she had ever had. "Let's get out of New Orleans," she said. "Let's rent a car and go driving out into the countryside. We can tour some of the old plantations, take a look around the bayou, maybe visit some of the historic battlefields." Tricia frowned, tilting her head to one side. "But there's still so much we haven't seen right here," she said. "Honey, you're not getting all wigged out about the ghost stories in this place, are you? I mean, my sleepwalking last night probably had more to do with the spicy meals we've been eating than with any ghosts." Lowering her head, Tessa said, "I just don't like it here. I need to get out, Trish." Her sister frowned. "All right, if you feel that strongly about it." She tucked into her omelet with relish, and didn't bring the subject up again.

Chapter Seventeen Tessa hurried to make arrangements, using the phone in the room while her sister flipped through the pages of the entertainment guide. Trish looked up only when Tessa slammed the receiver down with an aggravated sigh. "What's wrong?" "It seems the entire universe is conspiring to keep us here." "Permanently?" Tricia asked, a mischievous eyebrow arching in question. "Every car rental place I called is booked. The earliest we can get a car is first thing tomorrow morning. And the innkeeper insists twenty-four hours' notice is required in order to check out early — if we leave today, we get billed for tonight anyway." Tricia shrugged. "Maybe we should stay then. Hell, Tess, one more night won't kill us." Tessa licked her lips. "Besides, look what's opening tonight at the Saenger Theatre." She handed to Tessa the paper she'd been reading, and Tess saw the half page ad. A production of The Phantom of the Opera. Oh, hell, it couldn't have been anything else. Her sister was a Phantom-nut. She had collectibles, CDs of the music, playbills from every production of the show she had seen, and that was no small number. "Come on, sis. Just one more night? We'll leave first thing in the morning." Tessa sighed. "I don't feel good about this, Trish." "Tess, this is my vacation, too. But if you feel that strongly, go ahead. You go on ahead without me. I'll see the show, spend one last night here, and meet you wherever you say in the morning. Okay?" Tessa looked up fast with wide eyes. "I can't leave you here alone!" Tricia frowned deeply. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?" She shook her head rapidly. "Fine, fine, you win. One more night. But we're out of here in the morning, all right?"

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"Okay." Tricia smiled. "Meanwhile, I've made us lunch reservations at Emeril's place. And there's a museum we haven't visited yet. They have a special exhibit featuring the work of Marcus Lemieux. I was reading about him in that book you bought yesterday. He's the artist who was involved with that prostitute who died in the fire here." Closing her eyes slowly, Tessa nodded, fingering the card she held in her pocket, racked with guilt for her intent to break her promise, and already having second thoughts.

Chapter Eighteen Tessa gritted her teeth with expectation when they went to see Marcus's display at the museum, but she was relieved that not one painting of that long-dead woman she so resembled was included in the exhibit. She wondered why, but then she knew. Marie's paintings were private. He had probably kept them. Maybe they still hung in the home of the beautiful Lemieux descendant who called himself Marcus. She knew, suddenly, that they did. That he spent hours staring at them, longing for the woman they depicted. No wonder he'd become obsessed to the point of delusion. The work on display touched her. A mother, holding the hand of a small child. Two lovers, on a bench beneath the moonlight, entwined in a gentle embrace. A church, with flowering wisteria creeping up its outer walls. She walked with her sister, admiring the work, then suddenly stopped and sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her chest as if to still her pounding heart. It was the self-portrait. For an instant she had thought she'd rounded the corner and come face-to-face with him. But she hadn't. It was only a portrait, life-size, and accurate to a fault. His eyes seemed to stare at her, so filled with sadness she nearly wept. "Hey, doesn't this look a lot like that tour guide you were so into the other night?" Tessa nodded, but found herself unable to speak. She couldn't tug her eyes from his. God, she couldn't leave without saying goodbye. She just couldn't. That night, after her sister left for the theater, Tessa pulled the card from her pocket, and with hands that shook violently, she picked up the telephone and dialed the number on the card. His voice when he answered was soft and deep, and achingly familiar. It caressed her ear when he whispered her name, knowing who was calling before she told him. "Tessa?" "Yes, it's me," she said. "I…I'm keeping my promise. To let you know before I left New Orleans." "You're leaving?" God, the pain contained in those two simple words. "I have to. I'm sorry." "When?" "In the morning." There was a long moment of silence. Then he said, "I'll come to you then. Tonight." "Marcus, I don't think that's such a good idea. This is already difficult enough, and I —"

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"God help me, Tessa, but I can't let you go without seeing you one more time. Please, say you'll see me tonight." She hesitated. "Please…" "All right." It made no sense, but she could hardly speak around the lump in her throat, and she was as desperate to see him again as he seemed to be to see her. "Outside the hotel, just as before?" "Yes. I'll wait beneath the balcony." "I'll come down," she said. "Is an hour too soon?" Did that sound as eager to his ears as it had to her own? "More likely too long," he told her. "I'll be there soon. And Tessa?" "Yes?" "I love you."

Chapter Nineteen Tessa told herself it was insane to fuss, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She chose a dress that was flowing and white and mostly sheer. It looked Grecian, and she'd always loved it. She took it into the bathroom with her, hung it on a rack while she stepped into the shower, and rinsed away the dust and sweat of a day's touring. And if her heart and her body tingled in anticipation, she couldn't help it. This thing had moved beyond her control. This was the last time she would see him. She was doing the right thing. Surely that was good enough to appease the practical, logical part of her mind. Surely she could at least enjoy this one, final encounter. Finished in the shower, she stepped out, toweled down, and pulled on the dress. It was soft on her skin. Then she leaned over the bathroom mirror to arrange her damp hair. She pinned it up loosely, letting tendrils fall around her face and tickle her neck and shoulders. Then she applied makeup. But almost as soon as she began, the light in the bathroom flickered out. Frowning, Tessa flipped it on and off several times, then tried the other lights in the room to no avail. Snatching up the phone, she dialed the front desk. "Just a brief outage," the manager promised her. "It happens from time to time. Feel free to use the oil lamp on the mantel until we get it fixed." She hung up, went to the oil lamp, found the matches beside it, and set the thing alight. By its light she glanced at her watch. Only minutes until he was due to arrive. She hurried back into the bathroom, taking the lamp with her, and put the finishing touches on her face. Then she carried the lamp back to the bedroom, set it on the mantel, and went to the French doors. Stepping out onto the balcony, she looked at the street below. He was there. He looked up at her, met her eyes, lifted a hand toward her in greeting. "I'll be right down," she called softly. And she knew he heard her, knew he would know she had taken pains to look beautiful for him, and she didn't care.

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She turned and walked back into the room. But when she had gone no more than four steps, the French doors slammed behind her. Tessa jumped in alarm, turning back to stare. "What in the world?" She went back, reached for the handles, tugged on them, but they wouldn't budge. Suddenly frightened, she crossed the room to the only other exit, the one that led into the hall. But when she tugged, that door wouldn't open either. Turning, facing the room's center, she looked around her. "What's going on? Please, just tell me what you want from me!" The oil lamp floated from the mantel to the center of the room, hovering there. "Remember!" a woman's voice demanded. Then the lamp was hurled by unseen hands. It exploded on the floor in a pool of yellow fire.

Chapter Twenty Tessa ran forward, yanking a blanket from the bed, and trying to use it to douse the fire. But the flames spread unnaturally, slowly surrounding her. She stumbled toward the French doors, reaching for them, but she couldn't get past the wall of fire, even to hurl herself through the glass. She shrieked in terror. And then, through the curtain of fire, she saw him on the street below, the horror in his face as he realized what was happening. She saw him racing toward the building to come for her, and suddenly it all returned. Everything. Her love for him. God, it was an all-consuming, all-powerful love. His father, yes. Yes, it was his father who had started the fire all those years ago. She'd seen him leaving, but it was too late. Already the flames had been licking around her bed. She'd tried so hard to escape. To get to Marcus. Tried so hard to cling to life, even as the fire seared her flesh. The flames raged higher, engulfing the room. The windows exploded. She screamed and screamed, and she no longer knew which parts of this night were happening now, and which were parts of her memory. But the pain was so great, so intense. Her hair was on fire, her dress blazing, her skin melting from the bones and yet she clung to life. For him. For Marcus. And then she heard a voice shouting from the streets far below. It was the voice of the woman who had read her palm in the little voodoo shop. And yet it was a voice she knew from another lifetime. The voice of Marie LaVeau. "My namesake shall live again! And her lover will live as well, never to age, nor die, nor leave this city, until that time when she returns to him and they find the love that was stolen from them this cursed night!" Then her cry echoed through Tessa's mind and she knew it was time to let go of the pain, to leave the agonizing prison of her body, to move on. And she could, but only because she knew she would come back again. She would return to Marcus one day. And he would be right there waiting when she did. She closed her eyes, and sank to the floor amid the flames. Two things woke her. The first was the feeling of water spraying her face, cool, blessed water. The second was the sound of the door being kicked in. Tessa opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor in the center of her room. The sprinklers in the ceiling were dousing her and the entire place with water. And then Marcus was there, on his knees beside her, cradling her in his arms. "I thought I saw flames. My God, are you all right?"

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Thought he saw flames? But the entire room had gone up… Sitting up, blinking, Tessa looked around. There was a small ring of black on the floor where the oil from the lamp had spread, and burned. But nothing else in the room was damaged. Not the curtains or the bedding. The windows were intact. Even the dress Tessa wore was perfectly unharmed. Marcus was stroking her damp hair away from her face. "Tell me you're all right, my love, please." "I'm all right," she whispered, staring up into his eyes, paying no attention to the others in the room, the hotel staff, and some firefighters who had just arrived. "More than that, Marcus, my beloved Marcus…I remember." He searched her face, her eyes, his own filling with moisture. "You remember?" "It's been so long, my love, so long. I love you. I love you, Marcus." He gathered her close, and kissed her as his tears of joy spilled over. And Tessa knew that she would never, ever be apart from him again. Neither in this lifetime, nor those to come.

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Darkness Betrayed by P.C. Cast Aine knows she was destined to take up the post of Healer at Guardian Castle. But she just can’t seem to get used to the stark place or its dreary people, and she longs for the beauty of Partholon. Her only companion in her new home is a centaur huntress, Maev, another outsider. But when Maev is involved in what the warriors call an accident, Aine begins to realize there may be evil forces at work in the castle! And when she is led by her Goddess to an injured winged man—one of the Fomorians Guardian Castle was built to protect against—Aine is forced to make a life-altering choice…

Chapter One Aine liked the irony of using a funeral urn to draw water for the herbs in her healer’s garden. It was a beautiful urn, large and graceful, with a ridged lip and a curved handle balanced off one side. The scene painted around it was framed in black, as was typical for Epona’s funeral urns, but it seemed to Aine that there was something especially lovely about this one. The Goddess’s Chosen reclined with her outstretched arm motioning regally to the line of supplicants that stretched around the urn before her. A riot of auburn hair cascaded like water down the priestess’s back. It was ridiculous that something so beautiful be relegated to the dreary job of pouring libations on graves, or worse, holding the ashes of the dead. So Aine had “rescued” it. Too bad there would be no one to rescue her from the dreary job she’d taken. “No,” Aine muttered. “It’s not the job that’s dreary. It’s the place.” She sat at the edge of the herb bed and looked around her. She’d been at Guardian Castle for a little over five full passings of the phases of the moon, but she still wasn’t used to the overwhelming grayness of everything. The castle was gray. The pass through the mountains the castle had been built within was gray. The autumn sky was gray. Aine sighed. “Epona’s shield! Even the people are gray.” She understood that the castle had been built for one specific purpose: to keep the pass between the Wastelands and Partholon guarded so that the demonic Fomorians who had been banished to those Wastelands would never enter Partholon again. Even though there hadn’t been a Fomorian sighted in generations, still their purpose was to be on guard. So beauty and color and the things that made the Partholon such a lovely goddess-blessed land weren’t exactly priorities here at the edge of the civilized world. Protection and defense was the focus. It was just so hard to get used to this stark place after four full seasons of studying the art of healing at the exquisite Temple of the Muse, where Aine had been surrounded by all the most talented, beautiful and brightest women of Partholon. Camenae, her mentor, had warned her against accepting the austere post, but Aine had known that Guardian Castle was where she belonged. Just as she had known that it was her destiny to be a Healer. But since Aine had arrived at Guardian Castle she’d felt so uneasy that she’d begun questioning that intuition, that knowing which had served her so well all her life. Restless, Aine picked at a few sprigs of mint, breathing deeply of the distinctive scent of the plant. She had to stop second guessing herself. It wasn’t her intuition that was the problem. The problem was the people here. They felt wrong. They were as colorless, inside and out, as the landscape surrounding them. Well, the human people that is. Aine had only made one friend since she’d taken up her position as Healer of Guardian Castle. She and the centaur Maev, who had only recently been posted as Huntress for the castle, had instantly clicked. “Probably because we’re the only bit of color hereabouts. Maybe that’s why I believed so strongly that I needed to come here—to spread some color around.” Aine picked up a raven-colored curl that had fallen over her shoulder. She smiled as the wan sunlight made her hair shine with flashes of mahogany and a

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black so dark it almost appeared blue. With her dark hair and startlingly sapphire eyes, and Maev’s blazing copper hair and shining roan equine coat, the two of them definitely stood out amongst the dish soap, milk toast complexions of the stone-faced warriors and their equally boring women. It was just so odd. She’d had no idea before she’d arrived how washed out everything—everyone would be. But then, why would the rest of Partholon know? Besides families of the warriors and a few traders, people rarely visited Guardian Castle. Aine couldn’t help but compare the people of Guardian Castle to sleepwalkers. Or worse—they were like the stories told to frighten children about people who had been led astray by darkness and who ended up wandering the earth as soulless husks eternally searching for but unable to ever find the light within them that had been bled away by… “Aine! There has been an accident. You’re needed!”

Chapter Two Aine startled at the appearance of the stern warrior she thought was called Edan, but she had been well trained and recovered quickly. She was on her feet and running for her Healer’s basket in an instant. Then instead of heading to the infirmary wing of the castle, the warrior called, “This way!” and began jogging towards the massive rear gate that opened to the Wastelands side of the pass. She stifled her questions, concentrating instead on keeping up with the silent warrior as they ran out the raised, iron-toothed gate. The instant Aine passed beyond the walls of the castle she felt the change. It was as if the air had solidified. It pressed down upon her, thick…heavy…cloying… Aine stumbled. Edan grabbed her arm to steady her. “We only have a short way to go.” He jogged down the narrow, slatecolored pass. Aine rushed after him. The path took a sharp turn. Not far ahead of them Aine could see a warrior standing in front of a pile of something that was lying in the middle of the pass. She caught the scent of fresh blood and centered herself so that she would be calm and able to think clearly in the whirlwind of emotion and activity that accompanied injuries as surely as blood and death accompanied them. The warrior turned to her and Aine looked beyond him to see— “Maev!” She gasped and dropped to her knees beside the centaur Huntress, instantly assessing the gaping slash wounds that appeared to cover her body. Her friend was unconscious. Her breath was shallow and her skin, that which was not covered with blood, was so pale it appeared colorless. “We found her like this. She was hunting wild boar today. One of the beasts must have attacked her,” said the Warrior, pointing at the centaur’s terrible wounds. Aine glanced up at him. “She’s been unconscious the whole time?” “Yes.” “She needs to be moved to the infirmary.” Aine snapped the order, the steadiness of her voice completely belying the tumult within her. “Get a stretcher and more men.” Aine was vaguely aware that Edan nodded and rushed off. All of her attention was focused on her fallen friend as she pulled linen strips from her basket. She had to stop the bleeding. But there were so many wounds…so much blood lost. Aine was leaning over the centaur’s torso, pressing a linen cloth to the ripped flesh of her neck and trying to staunch the flood of her friend’s lifeblood when Maev, eyes still closed, lips barely moving, whispered “Send him away.”

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Aine drew in a shocked breath, but before she could respond further, Maev’s strained whisper continued. “Do not betray me.” Used to relying on her instincts, especially during emergencies, Aine made her decision quickly. She turned to the warrior. She didn’t know his name, but she recognized his heavily lined face as one of the senior guards. “I’m going to have to close some of her wounds before we move her. I’ll need everything in my large black surgical box in the infirmary.” When the warrior didn’t move, Aine lifted her chin and said, “Now.” Expressionless, the warrior hesitated for only a moment more before he turned and sprinted down the path towards the castle. Maev’s eyes opened instantly. “Must listen to me.” The Huntress was growing weaker by the moment. She struggled to speak as the breath gurgled wetly in her throat. Aine wanted to sooth her friend—to tell her to save her strength, but she’d already seen the end written in the color of Maev’s skin and the copious amount of blood she’d lost. Even a centaur Huntress couldn’t survive such terrible wounds. “What is it Maev?” The centaur’s eyes widened and she coughed, raining scarlet down her chest. “It—it’s come here. The darkness…the claws and teeth in the darkness.” “Maev, I don’t understand.” The Huntress gripped Aine’s wrist. “Don’t let my pyre be built here, or inside the walls of that tainted castle. Send me to Epona from the forest of Partholon.” “You’re not going to die,” Aine lied. “Rest now.” “Promise me!” “Yes, of course, I promise.” She soothed. “What did this to you, Maev?” “The warriors know! They know.” “About what?” “Fomorians.” Maev spoke the name and then, as if the dreaded word had taken her soul with it, her eyes went wide and blank, and the Huntress died.

Chapter Three “You said a boar did this?” Numbly, Aine watched the warriors put Maev’s body on the stretcher and carry her back to the castle. Edan nodded. “Urien found the tracks of the beast not far down the pass. He said there were signs of a great battle between it and the Huntress.” Deep in thought, Aine followed the warriors and their bloody burden. Guardian Castle’s Lord and Chieftain of Clan Monro met them at the rear gate. “It is the Huntress,” he sighed wearily and shook his head. “She was too young and inexperienced to tangle with a wounded boar.”

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“Those gashes don’t look like any boar goring I’ve ever seen,” Aine heard herself saying. The Monro’s sharp eyes locked on her. “Aine, is it? Our new Healer?” She nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” Aine had been presented to the Chieftain when she’d arrived, but their paths had rarely crossed since. Actually, this was the first opportunity she’d had to study the Monro closely and she was surprised by how gaunt and unhealthy he appeared. A wasting sickness…The thought had her pitying him. Until he spoke again. “How many boar wounds have you tended?” His words were thick with sarcasm. “You couldn’t save the centaur, could you?” “No,” she said softly. “I couldn’t.” “It appears you’re as young and inexperienced as she was. See that you come to a better end. Perhaps you should begin by leaving the details of hunting and such to those who are older and wiser.” He turned his back on her and spoke to the warriors. “Send a runner to notify her herd, and then build a pyre near the burial mounds within the east wall. We will fire it on the morrow.” Aine drew a deep, fortifying breath and stepped in front of the Chieftain. “That’s not what she wanted.” The Monro raised his brows at her. “Indeed?” “Yes, my Lord, Maev asked that her pyre be built out there.” Aine pointed towards the distant forest that spread south of the castle and marked the beginning of Partholon. The Chieftain snorted. “Partholon is also within the walls of this castle.” “She was a Huntress. She deserves to be sent to Epona from the forest.” The Monro shrugged. “It matters naught to me, but if it means so much to you, Healer, then you see to it. I’ll not interfere.” *** It took the entire next day for Aine to prepare Maev’s pyre. The Monro had been true to his word. He hadn’t interfered with her. He also hadn’t ordered any of the warriors to help her. At least Edan had aided her in loading and then unloading the cart with boughs for the fire. He’d also gathered enough warriors to carry Maev’s body to the bier. They hadn’t liked that she’d picked a spot in the middle of a clearing that was quite a ways from the castle. Aine hadn’t cared. She’d known Maev would have wanted to be far enough away so that the gloomy walls wouldn’t be visible above the pines. It was almost dusk when everything was ready. Aine faced the south—the direction of Partholon and the Centaur Plains beyond. She was nervous. A Shaman should be doing this, but there was no Shaman living at Guardian Castle and the taciturn warriors who stood restlessly beside her certainly weren’t going to evoke the Goddess’s blessing. “Epona, centaur Huntress Maev of the Hagan Herd, was my friend. We laughed together a lot, even when things felt really grim. She died too soon and I’ll miss her. I ask that you welcome her to your verdant meadows so that her spirit will gallop free by your side for eternity.” She touched the torch to the pyre. With a whoosh the oil-soaked boughs caught fire. Well done, daughter.

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Aine jumped and gasped when the Goddess’s sweet voice drifted through her mind. And now prepare yourself, my child. I have need of you.

Chapter Four “Aine, won’t you return with us?” Edan asked, hanging back when the other warriors headed back to the castle almost immediately. “N-no,” she stuttered, running a shaky hand over her forehead. Had she really heard Epona’s voice? “I’m going to stay with Maev for a little while.” “It’s not safe in the forest after dark, so you don’t have much time. I’ll leave the horse and cart for you,” he said. Aine nodded absently, paying little attention when he left. All of her concentration was focused internally. “Epona?” she whispered, feeling foolish. Listen, daughter. One who needs you is near. Aine’s body trembled with excitement. The Goddess was speaking to her! Holding her breath, she listened. A low, painful moan seemed to drift on the cool night air, mixing with the scent of death and smoke and pine. Aine turned into the breeze and followed her Goddess’s urging. The panting sounds of pain weren’t hard to track. Aine was amazed that she and the warriors hadn’t heard them earlier. She’d walked only a few feet into the surrounding pines when she came to the gully. What she saw at the bottom of the trench in the earth had her freezing with shock and disbelief. The winged creature lay crumpled on the ground, its leg caught gruesomely in an iron trap so large it must have been set for the vicious brown bears that liked to lurk close to the castle. It is your choice, daughter, whether you aid him or not. “But he’s a Fomorian!” Aine said. Epona didn’t respond, and Aine could feel that the Goddess’s presence had left her. At the sound of her voice the creature’s head snapped up. With eyes glassy with shock and pain he stared at her. “Are you a goddess or a spirit?” His voice was a surprise. It was deep and beautiful, almost musical in quality. And he sounded frightened. “I’m neither,” she replied. Then she pressed her lips together, thinking that it was madness that she was speaking to him, to it, instead of running screaming for the warriors. “You look like a goddess,” he said. Then he smiled and even as Aine cringed back from his fangs that glistened in the dying light, she felt drawn to the unexpected gentleness in his eyes that so perfectly matched his expressive voice. “You’re a Fomorian,” Aine said, as if to remind herself. “And you’re a goddess.”

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“Fomorians are demons!” she blurted. “What could you know about goddesses?” “Some of us know of Epona. Some of us…” he trailed off, sucking in his breath as a spasm of pain shot through him. Responding automatically to his pain, Aine was halfway down the gully before she realized she’d moved. The Fomorian had closed his eyes to ride out the wave of agony. His forehead was pressed to the ground and he was breathing in shallow, panting gasps. Just like any man in terrible pain, she thought. Then his wings, which had been tucked along his back rustled in restless agitation and she stumbled to a halt mere feet from him, eyes riveted on those dark pinions. They weren’t made of feathers, but seemed to be a soft membrane, lighter on bottom than top. They were huge, and they proved what he was—what he must be. A demon. This was what killed Maev! The knowledge rushed through her mind and she stumbled back. “My name is Tegan.” At the sound of his voice she stopped. His eyes were open again, and even though his face was shadowed by pain he tried to smile at her once more. “What is your name, goddess?” “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “I meant no disrespect. I only—” “You killed Maev!” she interrupted.

Chapter Five “I have killed no one” he insisted. Making an involuntary beseeching gesture, his arm lifted and Aine saw the short sword sheathed at his waist. “I don’t believe you. How could I? You’re a Fomorian. A demon. My enemy.” Aine’s stomach knotted as she looked frantically around. “Where are the rest of your people?” “It’s only me. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have sneaked through, but I wanted to see it.” “It?” “Partholon,” Tegan spoke the word like a prayer. “But there are more of you?” “Of course. In the Wastelands.” Aine started backing away again. “I have to warn the Guardian Warriors. Your people have to be stopped.” “But it’s only me who is here,” he said. “No… you killed Maev.” Then the Huntress’s words lifted from her memory. The warriors know! They all know. What was happening? How could the Guardian Warriors know about the Fomorians? Then all of Partholon should know. Maev was dying. She’d been almost incoherent. Or things had been happening so

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quickly maybe Aine had misunderstood. Shaking her head she spoke more to herself than the fallen demon, “It doesn’t matter. I have to tell them.” “Please don’t leave me.” Even though she was well beyond his touch, he reached out for her and then moaned, crumpling to the ground again. It is your choice, daughter, whether you aid him or not. As if battling against Maev’s warning, Epona’s voice filled her mind. The Goddess had led her to this creature. Surely she had brought her to him so that Aine would return to the castle and tell the men. But then why had Epona said that there was one near who needed her? When she’d followed the moans Aine had had no doubt that she was supposed to help whoever had been injured. All right. Couldn’t she do both? She could dress his wounds and then go to the castle and warn them that Fomorians were near. Aine glanced down at Tegan’s trapped leg. He might be injured so badly that he’d still be here when she brought the warriors back. Was there rope in the cart? Perhaps she could tie him up. She drew a deep breath and looked from his wound to his eyes. “How do I know you won’t try to kill me if I help you?” “I’m not a killer,” was his instant response. “You’re a demon,” she said. He frowned. “Is it because I have wings that you keep calling me that?” “It’s because your people betrayed the good faith of my people and tried to slaughter them that I call you that.” “How long ago?” he asked quietly. “What?” “How long ago was the war between our people?” Aine moved her shoulders restlessly. “It’s talked about in our legends. The bards sing songs about how demonic and hideous your people are.” She closed her mouth, then all too aware that even though the winged man trapped so painfully on the ground in front of her might be a demon, he definitely wasn’t hideous. “Three hundred and twenty-five full passes of all four seasons have gone by since my people fought yours,” he said. Tegan paused to grimace in pain. After several short, panting breaths he continued. “So it is for something that happened between people long dead that you hate me.” “I don’t hate you,” Aine said automatically. “Then help me. Please, goddess,” he said.

Chapter Six “Stop calling me a goddess,” Aine said, beginning to walk slowly towards him. “I don’t know what else to call you,” Tegan said. “Aine. I’m a Healer,” she said briskly, kneeling beside his bloody leg.

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His sudden laugh surprised her. What especially surprised her was that the infectious sound of it caught her attention more than a second glimpse of his fangs. “A Healer! And I believed all luck had deserted me.” She frowned at him, thinking that luck was certainly a relative thing, and then fell into her normal pattern of distracting her patient through conversation. “How did this happen?” “I was foolish.” He paused sucking in his breath as she began her examination. Through gritted teeth he continued. “I know better than to step into a gully filled with leaves. My attention was elsewhere and I made a mistake.” “Your attention was on what?” Aine was intrigued by Tegan’s physiology. His leg appeared human, but it ended in a taloned foot that reminded her of the old stories she’d read about Partholon’s long extinct dragons. “My attention was on this.” Tegan gestured weakly at the pine forest surrounding them. “It’s so green and alive. Everything here is so much more beautiful than the Wastelands.” His eyes met hers. “Everything…” Clearing her throat, she broke eye contact with him and continued her assessment. The trap had closed just above his left ankle. There was a lot of blood on it and in the leaves, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. The odd-looking foot was already swelling, though, and his skin… she glanced up his body. His skin was paler than a human man’s, but it seemed to glow faintly, as if it had been lit from within by a mooncolored light. His body was very man-like. He was tall and muscular and well-formed. His hair was so silver blonde that it reminded her of the moon, too. His eyes were slightly slanted and an unusual light amber color. He was, she realized, exotic and odd-looking, but not an unattractive man. Aine shook herself mentally. Men didn’t have down-lined wings that tucked against their bodies. “I need to open this trap, but I’m worried about the bleeding that might happen once your leg is free.” He nodded. “I understand.” “I need something to…” she paused, considering. “The leather tie that holds your hair. I need it.” Tegan started to reach back, but the movement made him stiffen with pain. “I’ll get it.” Businesslike, Aine moved to his head. Forcing herself not to hesitate, she untied the thong. His silver hair was long and felt like silk against her fingers. She could see that his ears were surprisingly small for such a large being, and slightly pointed, as if the fairy people had touched him there. By the Goddess! Fairy people? This creature is a demon, not a harmless sprite. She moved back to his leg, glancing up but not meeting his eyes. “I’m going to tie a tourniquet above the wound, but hopefully you haven’t severed a major blood vessel.” “It can’t hurt much more than it does now.” Tegan tried to smile again, but only succeeded in a small grimace. “You’re wrong about that,” Aine said grimly, tying the tourniquet in place. Then she did meet his gaze. “Ready?” He dug his fingers into the ground and Aine thought she caught the flash of more talons. Then he nodded. “Ready.”

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Aine positioned her hands on the trap, drew a deep breath, and forced apart its fang-like jaws. Tegan screamed, but she hardly heard him. As if a dam had broken, his leg was spurting the scarlet of a severed artery. She grabbed a small piece of wood, twisting it into the tourniquet to attempt to slow the flow, but it made little difference. “It must be cauterized. That’s the only way,” Aine murmured to herself, wishing frantically that she was in her well-stocked surgery with a variety of metal irons already heated and awaiting her use. Her gaze lifted unerringly to the short sword sheathed at his waist. Aine ignored his wing, which fluttered weakly as she leaned over him and pulled the sword free. “I’ll be right back.” Tegan nodded, although he didn’t speak or open his eyes. Aine ran back to the hotly burning pyre. Shielding herself against the blaze with the edge of her cloak, she thrust the sword into the fire and then stepped back. “Hurry… hurry…” she whispered, as if the flames could hear her.

Chapter Seven Aine wrapped a piece of her cloak around the hilt of the glowing sword and pulled it free from the flaming pyre. Then she sprinted into the woods. Thankfully, Tegan wasn’t far away. It was almost fully dark and Aine would have hated to have to search for him in the thickness of the forest. Goddess, there was so much blood! Tegan was lying perfectly still in a growing pool of scarlet. She called his name, but he made no response. She dropped to her knees beside him and felt quickly with her fingers. He didn’t respond to her touch. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the hot blade of the sword flat against the severed blood vessel. Tegan’s body jerked in automatic response, although he didn’t regain consciousness. The smell of burnt flesh was nauseating, but when she pulled the sword away the fountain of blood had dried and blackened. Aine looked up at Tegan’s face. He was so still. She might have been too late. It took so little time to lose a life-threatening amount of blood when a major vessel was severed. Then shock set it. Often that killed as easily as blood loss. Shivering, Aine took off her cloak and covered him with it. Tegan was wearing a worn linen shirt and patched leather breeches—no coat or cloak. Did Fomorians feel the cold as humans do? She knew so little about them. Aine bent to rest her fingers against the side of his throat, feeling for the pulse that should throb there. She had to press hard before she found a slight flutter. He might be dying, and there was little more she could do to help him. Perhaps I shouldn’t have helped him at all. Epona had led her to him and given her a choice, and then the goddess had left. Had this all been a test, and had Aine’s choice made her fail it? Aine was pulling her hand from Tegan’s neck when his eyes opened. They glowed a terrible golden color. With a movement so fast that it blurred, he grabbed Aine’s wrist. She tried to twist away from him, but his other hand shot out and a vise-like grip closed behind her neck. “Stop! Let me go!” Aine choked and struggled against him, but he was amazingly strong. “Impossssible…” His deep, musical voice made the word a seductive hiss as he pulled her down to him. His lips touched the place where her neck sloped into shoulder before his teeth claimed her, and she shivered, only this time not

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from cold. His touch was a delicious poison, seeping cloyingly into her body. Then his teeth broke open her skin and she moaned. There was no pain. Only dark pleasure coursed into her body as Tegan sucked the blood from her. His lips and tongue teased her skin as his hands gentled on her, caressing where they had been bruising. “No…oh Goddess no…” Aine whispered, even as her own arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulder and she pressed herself more firmly against his hard body. As Aine’s vision began to gray, Tegan shifted, so that he was on top of her. Her last sight was of his massive wings rippling and then spreading erect over them as if he was a mighty bird of prey.

Chapter Eight Tegan came back to himself locked to Aine’s body, drinking her lifeblood. “No!” he cried, releasing her instantly and scrambling back. The pain in his leg jolted through him, but he gave it little notice. How much had he taken from her? In control again, he dragged himself to her, touching her face and neck, calling her name. “Aine! Aine you must awaken.” But he knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. He’d almost drained her. Already the healthy flush had faded from her cheeks. He could feel her heartbeat getting weaker by the moment. “You can’t die. I can’t bear it if I killed you.” Later he told himself he’d had no choice. That wasn’t the entire truth. Yes, what he did next he’d had to do to save her. But he’d only had to save her because he hadn’t sent her away or warned her about him. He’d foolishly thought he could control the urge to taste her. Instead, he had been wounded too deeply and the instinct to take that which would heal him had been too great. Tegan had known it, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself. Or to her. Tegan searched around in the leaves until he found his short sword. Then he ripped his shirt and with one quick slash, opened the skin over his left breast. Gently, he lifted Aine’s unresisting body and pressed her slack lips to the bleeding cut. “Drink, Aine. Save yourself.” At first blood trickled from her mouth, but as some of it washed down her throat, Aine swallowed. The change within her was instantaneous. Her eyes remained closed, but her arms lifted, encircling his torso so that she could press her lips more firmly against him. Tegan groaned in pleasure as her arms brushed the sensitive underside of his pulsing wings, and her tongue flicked across his skin. He’d known that the exchange of blood was an intensely erotic experience, something shared only by a mated couple because of the side effects of such intimacy, but he had no mate, nor had he ever expected to. As Aine drank from him, Tegan thought how inaccurate the dispassionate descriptions the elders had given for bloodlust had been. Then Aine’s eyes opened. With a terrible cry she lurched away from him. She was scrubbing the sleeve of her dress back and forth across her mouth, her eyes wide with disgust and horror. “Aine, wait. Let me explain.” He spoke softly, as if she was a frightened fawn. “There’s nothing to explain.” She got shakily to her feet. He made no move to stop her as she grabbed the sword from where he’d dropped it, holding it defensively in front of her, and backing away from him. “I tried to help you. You tried to kill me. That’s obvious.”

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“I’m sorry. I thought I could control myself, but I was dying.” “So you tried to kill me to save yourself?” “It’s true that I needed your blood to save myself, but I would never have killed you.” He passed a hand over his face. “That’s why you had to drink from me. You saved me, little Healer, and in return I restored you.” “Restored me? You used me!” Aine whirled around and started to run up the side of the gully. “Don’t go, Aine—” Tegan tried to stand, but his leg gave way and he crumpled to the ground. At the same instant Aine cried out and fell to the ground, too. Deathly pale, she stared wide-eyed at him. “I feel your pain. What have you done to me?”

Chapter Nine “We’ve shared blood,” Tegan said. “I know that, and while it’s disgusting it doesn’t make this understandable.” Aine pointed to her ankle where the pain that had spiked through it was fading, but still entirely too real to have been a hysterical hallucination. Tegan looked away from her, sighed, and then reluctantly met her gaze. “The sharing of blood is part of how my people mate. It binds us together.” “That is not possible.” “Listen with your heart and you will know the truth.” “Listen with my heart? That’s ridiculous.” But even as she spoke Tegan’s eyes seemed to trap her. Aine felt pulled within their amber depths. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d taken a couple steps towards him. She came to herself suddenly and stopped so abruptly it was as if she’d slammed into a glass wall. “This can’t happen.” Tegan cocked his head to the side, and gave her a sad, slight smile. “Do you find me so repulsive?” He hurried on. “I thought you a goddess when I first saw you.” “You’re a demon. If there’s a bond between us it’s an evil spell you’ve placed on me.” Tegan sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m too tired to place a spell on you. Evil or otherwise.” Her eyes narrowed. “So you admit you worship a dark god.” Aine thought she saw something flicker in his amber eyes. “I do not worship darkness.” “Why should I believe you? You did just try to kill me.” “I did not try to kill you. I’m sorry I drank from you uninvited, but my intention wasn’t to harm you—it was to save myself.” “At any cost.”

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“No. Not at the cost of your life. I stopped before I…” he trailed off, unwilling to continue. “Before you killed me. And then you did this to me!” “I’m sorry,” he said somberly. “But what I did can’t be undone.” “What! You mean I’ll always feel your pain?” He didn’t speak for a moment, and when he finally did that rich, musical tone was back in his deep voice. “It isn’t only my pain you can feel, Aine.” His voice…his eyes…they drew her. Aine took another step forward. And then another. “This bond we’ve forged,” he said. “It’s not so terrible. It’s how my people mate—how they love.” The attraction Aine felt for him was raw and strong. Even lying there, wounded and battered, she could see the powerful male creature he was and be drawn to the mystery of him. It’s because I drank his blood! Aine took a step back, shutting her mind to the fact that even before he’d forced her to drink from him she’d been intrigued enough by Tegan that she’d chosen to help him. “I’ve done all I can for you. Leave. Return to wherever you came from. Just hurry because as soon as I get back to the castle I’m going to send them after you.” Aine closed her mind and her heart. Resolutely, she turned her back on him and began to retrace the short path to Maev’s pyre. She’d taken up the reins of the cart and had pointed the horse’s head down the road to the castle when the first of the pains speared down her leg. Aine gritted her teeth and clucked the horse into a sluggish trot. The next pain made her gasp. He’d fallen. She could feel it. He was trying to walk and he couldn’t. Not by himself. “You shouldn’t care.” Aine told herself. But care or not, she was a Healer, and the suffering of others affected her—it always had. “Epona!” She called into the night. “Help me. What should I do? Did you lead me to him so that Partholon could be warned or so that he could be saved?” The silence of the night was her only answer. Aine closed her eyes. She did her best to shut out the phantom pain from Tegan. I need to follow my instinct. So what did her instinct tell her to do? The answer came at once with all subtly of a rampaging wild boar. Her heart, her soul, her body, all were screaming at her to return to Tegan. It was only her mind that called her a silly, stupid girl as she turned the cart around and urged the horse to take her back to him.

Chapter Ten Tegan wasn’t difficult to find. He stumbled into the clearing where Maev’s pyre still smoldered when Aine pulled the carthorse, who was suddenly acting uncharacteristically skittish, to a halt. He collapsed to the grass, not bothering to look up at her.

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“Were you trying to follow me?” Aine climbed from the cart and approached him warily, wishing the piercing pain in her leg would stop. He drew several gasping breaths before he answered her. “Not following you. Just trying to get back.” He did glance up then, motioning vaguely in the direction of the castle. “By the Goddess! To Guardian Castle?” His brow wrinkled and he gave her a look that clearly said he thought she might be soft in the head. “Of course not. My cave is in the Trier Mountains. I’ve stayed clear of the castle.” Then his gaze focused on the pyre and understanding widened his expressive eyes. “This is Maev. The woman you thought I killed.” “She was a centaur Huntress,” speaking slowly, Aine corrected him. Then the truth hit her. Tegan hadn’t killed Maev. She felt it just as surely as she felt the pain in his leg. “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I know.” She made her decision quickly. “Get in the cart. I’ll take you back to your cave.” “And then you’ll bring warriors there to kill me?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do about you,” she said truthfully. “If I touch you—help you into the cart—will you bite me?” The slight, sad smile touched his lips again. “Do you want me to?” “No.” Aine said firmly, rubbing at the bruised spot on her neck. “You are safe from me, little Healer. I lost control before only because I was on the brink of death. Your blood strengthened me. I am in no danger of dying, so you are in no danger of me drinking from you.” He paused before adding, “Unless you wish it.” “Then I’ll be safe from you forever,” she said under her breath as she went to him and offered him her hand. Moving slowly, Tegan let her help him to his feet. She sucked in her breath when he stood beside her. Goddess, he was tall! He loomed over her blotting out the darkening sky. His wings were at rest, tucked neatly against his back, but he still looked like a wild, masculine bird of prey. “You’re so small,” he said suddenly. “I’m afraid I’ll crush you if I lean on you. Maybe you should find me a branch I could use as a crutch. Or bring the cart closer and I’ll hobble to it.” They stood there staring nervously at each other while he balanced precariously on one foot. Finally, she had to stifle the urge to laugh—albeit a bit hysterically. Could he be as scared of her as she was of him? “I’m stronger than I look,” she said. Aine moved to his injured side and put her arm around his waist. His arm went instantly over her shoulders. She led him to the cart, careful not to go too fast. His body was warm and strong, and she could feel his wings behind her like a living mantle. She hadn’t noticed his scent before, but it came to her now. He smelled of the forest and sweat and man. He also smelled vaguely of blood—his and hers. Aine was disconcerted to realize that the she found the scent alluring. “I can only take you part of the way in this.” They’d managed to get him into the flat bed of the cart and she had started the horse down the castle road. “I’ll have to stop before the walls are in sight or the warriors might see us.”

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“So you’ve decided not to betray me?” Aine looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m betraying Partholon by keeping you a secret.” “No you’re not. I mean no harm to Partholon. I’m not dangerous to your people.” “Just rest while you can. You’ll need your strength to get yourself back to that cave.” Tegan closed his eyes and cradled his head in his arms. He hated lying to her.

Chapter Eleven “I can’t take you any farther. The castle is too close.” Aine pulled the carthorse to a halt. “I understand. If you can find a branch I can lean on I will be able to make it from here on my own,” Tegan said. Aine gave him a doubtful look, but hurried to the side of the dirt road, searching under the ancient pines until she found a sturdy branch. When she returned to him, Tegan was already standing beside the cart. She handed him the branch and readied herself for the pain they would share. “You can lessen it.” Meeting her questioning gaze he continued. “The pain—you don’t have to feel it with such intensity. Close yourself to it, much like you would close yourself to an annoying sound.” He paused, thinking, then his lips tilted up. “Like a screeching blue jay. Ignore it. Tell yourself it’s not there, and soon it will fade from your consciousness. Also, it won’t be so strong when we aren’t together. Our nearness intensifies the bond.” Aine grinned at him. “Yes, I’ll think of you as an annoying bird.” “Not me. The pain in my leg.” He touched her cheek. “You should smile more.” She should have pulled away from him, but his hand was warm and it felt so right against her skin. Her body liked his nearness and she found it difficult not to lean into him. “Thank you for saving my life,” Tegan said. “You’re welcome,” she managed. “I shouldn’t ask anything more of you, but I must. Give me a chance to prove that I mean you no harm. Let me earn your trust.” “I don’t know how you could do that.” He framed her face with both of his hands. “You know I didn’t kill your centaur friend, don’t you?” “Yes.” “I can earn your trust in the same way. Our bond will strengthen and you will be able to tell beyond any doubt if I lie or if I tell the truth in all things.” “I don’t—” Aine began but his thumb pressing gently against her lips stopped her words.

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“I am alone in Partholon. No other Fomorians are with me. Listen with your heart. Do you believe me?” Aine stared up into his eyes. It was full dark by then, but Tegan seemed to be illuminated with a light of his own. She could see into him and she knew that he wasn’t lying to her. He was truly alone in Partholon. “I believe you.” He let loose his breath in a rush of relief. Impulsively, he pulled her into his arms. “Thank you, my little healer.” Just for a moment Aine let him hold her. It felt good to be in his arms—too good. Clearing her throat, she began disentangling herself from him. He let her go, but only to an arm’s length. “Say you will come to me tomorrow.” “I don’t know if I can.” “You must. My leg will need your care. I have no herbs or potions for healing in my cave.” Aine frowned, looking down at his offending leg. It was torn, swollen, and blackened from the cauterization. It was a miracle that he was standing at all. A man would have been completely disabled by such an injury. Clearly, Tegan was stronger than a man, but would he be able to recover if it festered? Or would he suffer and die slowly, with Aine feeling every bit of it? “How do I find you?” His smile was so joyous that Aine hardly noticed the sharpness of his fangs. “I could find you anywhere, but it would be easiest for me if you would walk to the west, as near the mountains as you can and think of me.” “On the Wastelands side or the Partholon side of the mountains?” Tegan’s expression sobered. “Never on the Wastelands side. It’s too dangerous. The weather changes instantly. Instead of sweet deer and fat sheep there are wild boar and mountain lynx.” Aine felt a shiver of foreboding at his warning. She sensed that there were things he wasn’t telling her. It was on the Wastelands side of the pass that Maev had been killed… “You have nothing to fear from me. I will never drink from you against your will again, and I will protect you against anything,” he said. She wanted to question him further, but his head snapped up. He scented the air. “Men from the castle approach!”

Chapter Twelve “Go! Now!” Aine pulled away from him and climbed up on the cart seat. “I’ll meet the warriors and keep them away from here.” “Tomorrow, Aine. Come to me tomorrow!” Tegan called after her. Aine didn’t take even a moment to look back or respond. She urged the horse into a brisk trot, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Tegan before the warriors found her.

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Edan was the first of the warriors to reach her. He galloped up to the cart, looking irritated and sounding worried. She noticed the other four men just seemed bored and annoyed. “Aine, why have you not returned to the castle?” She blinked several times, putting on innocent surprise. “But I am returning to the castle.” “It has been hours, and it is fully dark,” he said, now sounding more irritated than worried. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to leave Maev.” “Maev is dead. Nothing more can happen to her, unlike you,” Edan said severely. “I’m sorry,” Aine repeated sheepishly. One of the warriors who she didn’t know made a scoffing sound and told Edan, “You see? The Monro said she didn’t need a watchdog.” For the rest of the way to the castle none of them spoke and Aine focused on thinking of the pain in her leg as an annoying bird—her not thinking of it. Even though she didn’t consider Guardian Castle her home, Aine felt a very real sense of relief when the cart passed under the iron front gates and entered the square courtyard. It was almost not dreary with all the torches lit and the scent of food coming from the Great Hall. “Developing a liking for the forest, Healer?” The Monro stepped out of the shadows. Reeking of strong spirits, he blocked her way back to her chamber adjoining the infirmary. Caught off guard, she wasn’t sure what to say to him. Then her promise to meet Tegan the next day jolted through her. “Yes. I, uh, I’m homesick and the forest reminds me of the Temple of the Muse. The pine trees are the same,” she finished inanely. “A word of warning—this isn’t the neutered forest that surrounds the Temple of the Muse. Ask Maev.” The Chieftain’s words were slightly slurred and his smile was cruel. “I’m mistaken. You can’t ask her. She’s dead.” Chuckling to himself, he walked away. *** Tegan collapsed on the floor of his cave. He needed rest. He needed blood. He needed Aine. He closed his eyes, concentrating on slowing his breathing and controlling the pain in his leg. She could feel it, and he didn’t want to cause her any more pain than he’d have to. He hadn’t planned on meeting Aine—he hadn’t planned on meeting any Partholonians. He’d only wanted to escape what was coming and live out his life in peace. The loneliness of it had been inconsequential. The alternative was so much worse. Until Aine—she had changed everything. He must warn her—ready her. But how? She didn’t trust him. If he told her the truth now, she would turn from him. And he couldn’t bear that—not after being bonded to her.

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He shook his head, amazed anew at what had happened between them. Tegan had given up the idea of ever mating years ago. Aine was a miracle—his miracle, and he wouldn’t lose her. Their blood bond drew her to him, but Tegan knew that were it not for that exchange of blood she would have run from him, probably betrayed him to her people. So he must win her trust. Perhaps her love would come later. He would have to act quickly. That time was running out was one thing of which Tegan was certain.

Chapter Thirteen With Epona’s urn clutched in her arms, Aine walked through the front gate. “Healer, where are you off to?” Aine sighed at the sound of Edan’s all too familiar voice. Carefully, she covered the open top of the urn with an edge of her cloak. Her face a mask of polite neutrality, she turned to look up at where the warrior called down at her from the gate watch station. “I’m going to Maev’s pyre to collect some of her ashes. Her Herdsmaster will most likely send for them, and it would be respectful to keep them ready for him.” “You’re probably right.” He glanced up at the morning sky. “At least you have plenty of time until dusk. Be sure you’re back by then. I’m hunting in Maev’s place today. I won’t have time to come fetch you.” Edan smiled, showing that he was no longer annoyed with her. Aine nodded, smiled, and called “Happy hunting” to him before turning away. Edan’s newfound attention was ill-timed. Until he’d taken notice of her no one, outside the few minor injuries and illnesses she’d dealt with, had had much to do with Aine. The men ignored her; the women made no friendly overtures towards her. Actually, the women were particularly odd. Instead of loosening up and accepting her, they seemed to do the opposite. The longer she’d been there, the less she’d seen of the women. That was yet another reason why she and Maev had become such good friends so quickly. Maev…she felt terribly guilty about using her as an excuse. I will collect her ashes she promised herself as she stepped off the road and entered the forest. Circling around until she was out of sight of the castle, Aine left the forest and headed to the edge of the austere Trier Mountains. Aine thought of Tegan. It was easy to think of him. She’d done little else since leaving him. She should have been terrified of Tegan, or at least disgusted by him. Aine was neither. Of course it was because of the blood they’d exchanged that she felt like this. Aine’s stomach fluttered as she remembered his lips and teeth against her skin and the erotic pull of him drinking from her. Her mind insisted she was only going to him to treat his wounds. Her body had a different agenda. The pain in her leg had just become impossible to ignore when he spoke. “Aine! Over here my little Healer.” Tegan’s voice led her into the rocky recesses formed at the base of the mountain range. He appeared before her like something out of a dark dream—mysterious and tantalizing. He held out a hand, beckoning her deeper into the shadows. Aine hesitated, struggling to sort through the wash of emotions that seeing him again filled her with. “I can not come out there to you. Direct sunlight is harmful to my people, and in my weakened state it would cause me much pain.” His lips tilted up in that alluring half smile she remembered so well. “It would cause us much pain, and I would rather spare you that.”

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She joined him in the shadows. They stared at each other. Aine was more than a little shaken by how badly she wanted to touch him. “Have you lost the ability to speak?” he asked softly. “No! I—I see that your leg is better,” she blurted, even though her eyes had not left his face. “I brought medicines.” Aine nervously held up the urn. Tegan didn’t even glance at it. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” “I had to.” “To heal me?” “Yes.” And to touch you and be with you and see you smile again. “Come, my cave is close.” Tegan led her through a crevasse that cut deeply into the slate colored mountains. He moved slowly, heavily favoring his injury. Because of the narrowness of the path she couldn’t walk beside him, but followed close behind. His wings mesmerized her. They were huge…dark. She’d never imagined anything like them. She had only brushed against them briefly last night and she wondered what it would be like to touch them on purpose—to stroke them. She almost ran into Tegan when he stopped abruptly. He looked over his shoulder at her. She felt a breathless thrill at the passion reflected in his amber eyes. “I can feel your desire. It’s making it very difficult for me not to take you in my arms.”

Chapter Fourteen Aine forgot to breathe. “Your wings are beautiful.” She watched them shiver, as if her words had been a caress. Surprised, she took an involuntary step back. “Please don’t fear me. We are bound, you and I. I would tear these wings from my body before I harmed you.” “Could you do that?” She stared at his wings. “They seem so much a part of you.” “To my people wings are the seat of our soul. Destroy my wings and you will probably destroy me.” He’d given her the gift of his vulnerability and it frightened her terribly. Not for herself, but for him. What would have happened if the bear trap had closed around one of his wings and ripped it off? It made her sick just thinking about it. “Aine, are you worried for me?” She pulled her gaze from his wings and met his eyes. “It’s just that they’re so…out there. If your wings are that important you’d think they’d be better protected.” Tegan laughed. “You’d be surprised. I’m not usually this helpless.” Still chuckling to himself, he continued down the narrow path. They hadn’t gone much farther when Tegan told her, “You’ll have to bend down to enter the cave, but it widens soon.”

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She watched him crouch and then disappear into what looked to be nothing more than an ordinary niche in the side of the mountain base. She ducked and went after him. After only a few feet the entrance spilled into a large, oblong room. There was a round opening in the ceiling, but it only let in a weak, indirect light. Mostly it served as an escape for the smoke from the well-banked fire that gave soft light and ample heat. She heard falling water and saw that the rear wall was wet with a steady waterfall which ran out through a crack in the rock floor. Along another wall were strips of smoked meat interspersed with drying herbs. The cave smelled pleasantly of pine smoke and spice. “How long have you been here?” she asked as she began to unload the urn. Tegan was gingerly lowering himself onto a pallet of furs. “Two full passes of the seasons.” She blinked in surprise. “And no one knows?” “Only you. I rarely go out into the Partholon forest, and was only there yesterday because winter is coming and the hunting there is better than the Wastelands side of the mountains.” Aine began examining his leg. “So there are really no other Fomorians here with you.” “You said you believed me yesterday.” “I did. I do. It’s just that this is all so incredible.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she poured a cleansing solution over his wound. Aine grimaced, but didn’t pause until the leg was clean and dressed. Then she sat back, breathing as heavily as Tegan. She studied him with Healer’s eyes. His wound was better today, but he looked worse. There were bruised shadows under his eyes and his skin had lost much of the luster it had the previous day. “I’ll be better now that you are here.” She frowned at him. “Stop reading my mind.” “I’m reading your face, not your mind.” Tegan smiled. “Sit beside me and tell me about yourself.” Aine sat, noticing that the tip of his wing was almost touching her knee. “I’m a Healer,” she said, trying to keep her attention from his wing. “I grew up at Laragon Keep. The women in my family have been Healers for generations.” “A legacy of kindness and strength.” Tegan covered her hand with his as if was a completely natural thing to do. “I have been given such an amazing gift in you.” Aine was going to pull her hand away, but then she felt it. His pulse against her skin. And in that pulse she also felt the beat of his need for her. “You want to drink from me again.” Aine’s voice trembled. “I do. I will always want you.” “Your need is especially intense now because of your injury.” She concentrated on him, staring into his eyes. “It would help you heal, wouldn’t it?” “Your blood has the power to heal me, body and soul.” She did pull her hand from him then, rubbing at the spot that was still warm from his touch.

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“Aine, I gave you my word I would not drink from you against your will.” “What if it isn’t against my will?”

Chapter Fifteen “I want you to drink from me and be healed. Then I want you to return to your people,” Aine said. “You want…” Tegan began, trying to reason through the haze of desire her words had caused to pulse through his body. Then all of what she’d said broke past his need. “No. I won’t leave you.” “You have to. It’s only a matter of time before the Guardian Warriors find you. They’ll kill you. They won’t care that you’re not a monster—a monster is all they’ll see.” He touched her cheek. “Then I am not a monster to you?” “How can you be? You’re in my blood. I feel what you feel. I’d know if you were a demon, and you’re not.” Aine pulled a small knife from within the urn. Without looking at Tegan she drew the blade down the inside of her forearm. Then she turned to the winged creature beside her, offering him her arm. “Drink.” “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” Tegan’s voice was rough, but he cradled her bleeding arm gently in his hands. “I do. I can feel it, too.” With a moan of ecstasy, Tegan leaned forward to touch his tongue to the narrow slash in her skin. At the first taste of her, his wings shivered. “So beautiful…” Aine breathed the words. She ran her fingers along the soft down that covered the underside of them. He gasped her name. Pressing his mouth against her arm he sucked and licked, causing pleasure to ripple through her body. She lost herself in sensation, thrilled by the power in the wings that were unfurling over her. Tegan continued to drink from her as he pulled at her clothing. Dizzy with need—both his and hers— Aine helped him, until she was naked. Tegan took his lips from her arm. Reverently, his hands glided over her body, pausing to cup the fullness of her breasts. “I’ve never known such sweet softness.” He touched his tongue to the pink tips of her nipples. As Aine moaned with pleasure he sucked the delicate buds into his mouth, gently grazing them with his teeth. “Tegan, please.” Aine’s hips lifted to rub herself against the hardness sheathed in his pants. Tegan pulled away from her so that he could look into her eyes. “I can stop now. I will if you wish it. You must know that if we do this—if we join—then we will be fully mated, and I will not, can not leave you.” Aine tried to think, but all she could do was feel. She felt his passion and need, along with the heat of her own desire. Then she realized that she could feel something more than raw lust. Aine could feel Tegan’s kindness, and along with it she sensed a soul deep sadness born of loneliness and isolation. “How long had he been alone?” “Longer than you’ve been alive.”

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“No more,” she whispered. She felt his despair before she saw it reflected in his eyes. He pulled out of her arms and turned away from her. “You don’t see me as a demon, but that does not mean it is your wish to be mated with me.” “You misunderstand.” Aine sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him back to her while the tips of her fingers splayed across the inside of his wings. “I meant that you will be alone no more.” Tegan kissed her with such fierce joy that it made her cry out. He released her instantly. “Did I harm you?” He smoothed her hair back, peering anxiously into her eyes. “No, love. Always remember, I’m stronger than I look.” She smiled as she worked the ties of his breeches, finally pulling the throbbing heat of him free. Aine stroked him with her hands, marveling at the thick stiffness and length of him. He moaned her name and she straddled him, slowing impaling herself. Aine closed her eyes and arched back, taking him fully within her. With a snarl, Tegan wrapped his arms around her and shifted their bodies so that he was on top of her. Aine bared her throat to him, pulling his mouth down so that he could drink from her as her hips thrust up to meet his again and again. With wings spread erect and pulsing over them, Tegan claimed Aine as his mate and spilled his seed deep within her.

Chapter Sixteen “Don’t go,” Tegan said sleepily. Aine looked up from lacing her dress. “If I don’t return the warriors will come looking for me. They may be able to track me to you.” “Then we’ll find a new place—deeper in the mountains. Just don’t go.” Aine stroked the downy underside of his wing. It quivered, causing Tegan to close his eyes and moan softly. “I will come back to you.” She kissed him. “Tomorrow?” “I’ll try. Rest and finish healing. I have a plan.” He raised a brow. “A plan?” “I’m going to tell the Lord of Guardian Castle that I’m not happy there. They’ll have to find a new Healer. It won’t surprise any of them. Maev was my only friend, and now that she’s gone there’s really nothing for me there.” “Then you will come to live with me?” Tegan rolled a dark lock of her hair around his finger. “Yes.” She was unable to keep the sadness from her voice.

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“Why does the thought of being with me sadden you?” “My family is going to have to believe I’m dead. That’s what makes me sad.” Tegan didn’t speak. There was no other way. With what was coming no one would accept their love—Aine wouldn’t even accept it if she knew. That was why he had to get her away from here—before what they had was destroyed by an evil he couldn’t stop. “Perhaps you and I will begin a new family.” She looked startled. “Can we?” He smiled and shrugged. “After the miracle of you, I believe anything is possible.” Tegan thought she looked a little dazed as Aine wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. He stood up, flexing his leg, pleased at how good it felt. “It’s much better,” she said. “Because of you.” Even when they couldn’t walk beside one another, Aine and Tegan made sure their bodies touched. She brushed his wing with her fingertips. He stopped often to pull her into his arms. By the time they came to the edge of the mountains, dusk was near. “I have to hurry.” Tegan kissed her once more, long and possessively. “Come to me tomorrow.” “I’ll try,” she assured him. He watched until he could see her no longer. *** “Healer! Where have you been?” The Monro’s gruff voice accosted Aine as she slipped quietly inside the front gates, thinking she was well hidden in the deepening shadows of dusk. “I went to—” Aine paused. She’d left the funeral urn in Tegan’s cave! Thinking quickly, Aine glanced around them. They were alone with no Edan nearby to contradict her. If she was lucky, he’d been hunting all day and hadn’t even spoken to the Chieftain. “I went to Maev’s pyre and offered more prayers for her.” “You should have been here. You’ve been needed.” “What is it?” Aine frowned. The Monro’s words weren’t slurring, but he smelled like a pub. How could the Chieftain of a Clan, and Lord of Guardian Castle be a drunk? “The warrior Edan was wounded while he was hunting. It was that same Goddess-be-damned boar.” “Edan! Is he in the infirmary?” Monro’s drunkenness forgotten, Aine began hurrying through the castle grounds.

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“No. We thought it best not to move him. His spine may be broken. You’ll have to go to him. He’s not far outside the rear gate.” “Oh, Goddess! I’ll need my surgical box and a board to brace his back.” “Those things already await you.” Aine jogged beside the Chieftain down the path that emptied into the Wastelands side of the pass, feeling a terrible sinking in her stomach. The air was thick, oppressive. This was too much like what had happened to Maev. Then she noticed that Monro was wheezing and dropping behind her. He stumbled and almost fell. Aine paused, but he brushed off her aid. “Go on.” He motioned feebly down the path. “Take the first right hand fork. Edan and the rest of them are waiting. I’ll catch up.” Aine nodded and jogged away from him. Pathetic. Before I join Tegan I’ll get a message to the Muse. Guardian Castle needs a change in leadership. When she came to the fork in the road, she sprinted to the right, finding her second wind. In the thickening darkness she almost fell over Edan. He was lying in the middle of the path—alone. He had been disemboweled and his throat had been ripped out.

Chapter Seventeen Aine sank to her knees beside Edan. She didn’t have to touch him to know he was dead. Her surgeon’s box was sitting neatly beside the body, just as the Monro had said it would be. There was no back brace, though. “He doesn’t need it,” she whispered numbly. “Ahhhhh, there you are Healer.” Aine looked up into the eyes of evil. A Fomorian stood before her. Several other creatures were behind him, carrying torches. The flickering light slicked off Edan’s blood, which covered the leader’s hands and face. He smiled and his dark wings rustled. There was blood in his fangs. “I have need of a Healer,” the Fomorian said. “Who are you?” “You may call me Nuada…or master.” His laughter was horrible. The creatures behind him echoed it, making the sound bounce eerily off the walls of the pass. Aine sprang to her feet and ran. Nuada opened his wings, gliding easily to cut off her retreat. He grabbed her arms, sinking his claws into her cruelly. “I need your services, but that does not mean that you must remain completely undamaged.” He bared his fangs at her and bent down, but he didn’t complete the attack. As he got near her skin his almost colorless eyes widened. He seemed to consider, and then pushed her so that she stumbled back towards Edan’s body. “Take her to the camp, but treat her carefully. We wouldn’t want our Healer broken.” His laughter followed Aine as the others grabbed her and dragged her along the pass.

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Aine studied the Fomorians as they traveled. She forced herself to be dispassionate and use medical logic to assess them. Physically, they were similar to Tegan. They were the same species. That was obvious. But these males were different. They looked more insectile. They were taller, thinner, and their claws were more prominent. Some of their fangs were visible even when their mouths weren’t open. Their leader, Nuada, was the most grotesque of the group. He was larger and stronger than the others. That they feared him was obvious. Her Tegan was not like these creatures. These were the beasts of nightmare stories—what she had accused him of being. Instead of rejecting her mate, she understood what it was that had driven him into lonely exile. He didn’t belong with these demons any more than she did. *** The Fomorian camp was laughably close to the castle at the bottom of a ravine. Maev’s dying words came back to her, The warriors know! They know! Fomorians had killed the centaur, and the warriors of Guardian Castle knew they were here. Not Edan, though. Aine knew in her heart that he had not been corrupted. That was why they had killed him. Nuada grabbed her arm and dragged her to a tented structure that was guarded by several Fomorians. “Healer, I expect you to make sure they live for at least as long as it takes the young to be brought forth.” He shoved her inside the tent, throwing her surgical box in after her. Aine blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the sudden brightness. The opulently decorated tent was lit by hundreds of candles. Women lounged on cushions, sipping wine and eating pastries. She recognized several of them as women who had ignored her when she had first arrived at Guardian Castle. They were all pregnant. “Oh, good. You’re finally here.” A blonde with a bulging abdomen motioned regally at Aine. “I’m having some discomfort and the wine is not dulling it. I need you to give me something to relieve the pain.” Aine stared at her, swallowing down her fear and revulsion. Those creatures out there were not Tegan, just as she was not these women. “You’re pregnant with a Fomorian’s child.” “Of course.” “Why?” Aine said, not hiding her disgust. The blonde’s eyes went cold and mean. “That is not your concern. You’re here for us.” “We’re bringing a new species into this world,” a plump redhead said dreamily. “An army that will worship us and our beautiful, three-faced god.” Aine felt sick. They worshipped evil; they reveled in it. “Quiet! She’s only here to stop our pain.” The blonde gave Aine a cruel look. “Now, do you brew us something or do I call Nuada and tell him we don’t need you after all?” Aine pulled opiates from her surgical box while she concentrated her mind on one thing, over and over: Tegan, be wary, but come to me…

Chapter Eighteen Tegan arrived with the next dusk.

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His sword slicing through the rear of the canvas tent made a distinctive sound. He held open the flap and offered his hand to her. Aine looked at the women she’d drugged one last time before taking his hand and turning her back on them. They didn’t speak until they were well beyond the Fomorian camp. “Did you know about them?” Aine was facing him, arms wrapped around herself as if anticipating a physical blow. “I knew my people had given in to evil. I knew they were planning an attack on Partholon. I did not know about the women.” “They’re dead,” Aine said in an emotionless voice. “The women?” “I killed them. They were all completely mad. I gave them an easy death before they could bring more demons into this world.” Tegan’s head shook back and forth over and over. “You shouldn’t have killed. The darkness taints you like that.” “And what should I have done?” Aine was weeping openly. “Run away? Hide?” She rounded on him, shoving hard against his chest. Tegan made no move to defend himself against her. “You’re not like them! You’re not a demon, but you did less than nothing. You didn’t stay and fight. You let evil win.” His voice was hollow. “If I’d have stayed I would have become what they are. The darkness infected them. I left because I wanted to live without darkness.” “You left and let darkness rule. What did you think would happen to Partholon if you stayed silent? What did you think would happen to us?” “I wasn’t thinking about Partholon when I exiled myself. I just wanted to be free of evil and death. I didn’t expect to meet you. I didn’t expect to love you.” Mocking applause sounded from the darkness. Nuada stepped out of the shadows. “What a moving speech, brother.” Tegan stepped between Nuada and Aine. “We’re not brothers anymore,” he said. “We still share the same blood.” Nuada’s smile was feral as he looked beyond Tegan to Aine. “I see more blood that I’d like to share with you.” “You’ll have to kill me first.” “As you wish.” The shadows behind Nuada stirred. Aine saw at least a dozen Fomorians awaiting their master’s command. Then Tegan changed before her eyes. His wings unfurled. His fingers became talons. His eyes blazed with anger. “Run and live! I will find you.” He told her in a voice magnified by power before he leaped forward to meet Nuada’s attack. Aine ran, but only until she understood no one was following her. She doubled back, creeping quietly along the mountain paths until she heard an odd sound. It was out of place in the night, and it reminded her of something. She almost didn’t identify it, but just before the screaming started she realized that it sounded much like Tegan’s sword slicing through the canvas tent.

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With the first scream the pain hit her, driving her to her knees. *** Aine didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious. She woke up in the gloaming of predawn with a single thought: find Tegan. Her body felt heavy and off balance as she stumbled, drawn forward by a relentless invisible thread. When she found him it was too terrible for her mind to fully comprehend. She could only stand there, immobilized by despair and loss. They’d cut his wings from his body. That sound she’d heard had been metal slicing through the flesh of his soul. Then Tegan moaned and the Healer in her took over. She ignored everything: the raging pain that seared through her body in tandem with his and his pleading to let him die. Aine worked methodically. She pulled him into the shadows. Calling on strength she didn’t know she had, the Healer half-dragged, half-carried Tegan to his cave. Then she went to work with his sword, trimming the ragged edges of his eviscerated wings. She used the same sword to sear the flesh that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Finally, she filled Epona’s funeral urn and bathed his body, mixing cool mountain water with her tears. His eyes opened when it was all over. “You should have let me die.” “I couldn’t,” she said. “He took my soul.” “No, love, he couldn’t. Your soul is safe with me.” Tegan closed his eyes against the tears that streamed down his pale cheeks. Aine did the only thing left to her. She prayed.

Chapter Nineteen Aine used Epona’s urn to pour a libation circle around her. Then she knelt in the middle of the cave under the round opening that showed a night sky filled with the brilliance of a full moon. The Healer spread her arms wide and lifted her face to the heavens. “Gracious Goddess Epona, please hear me. I have nowhere left to go. No one else to turn to. Forgive me. I killed those women. I love a Fomorian and I’m too weak to leave him, even after I’ve seen what he could become. Goddess, I’ve felt you throughout my life, even before I heard your voice. I used to believe I only knew your presence when I healed someone, but I’ve come to understand that you were always closest to me when I failed. I don’t deserve your love or your help, but I’m asking for both. And I’m asking for Tegan, too.” The sky above Aine shifted. The stars that littered the night began to whirl wildly, funneling into a shimmering cone that rained light through the roof of the cave. Aine heard Tegan’s gasp of shock as the figure of a woman materialized in the air above them. Aine’s eyes stung with the effort it took to gaze upon the Goddess. With a gentle smile, Epona passed a hand before her visage, and her divinity dimmed and became bearable. Aine felt the raging pain as Tegan struggled to lift himself so that he could bow before Epona. She started to move to help him, but the Goddess was there before her.

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Epona knelt. She took Tegan’s face between her hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. The phantom pain in Aine’s back instantly cooled. “My Goddess!” Tegan cried. His body was trembling, but his eyes were no longer haunted with pain and grief. “Forgive me for not being stronger.” “Tegan, my son, your strength is a deep, quiet well that rests within you. It nourishes without drowning your judgment. And when it’s needed, you pour and pour from it. I am well pleased by you.” Then Epona turned to Aine. The healer began to kneel, but the Goddess’s hand on her arm stayed her. “Not long ago I gave you a choice, my daughter,” the Goddess said. “As with the mate of your soul, I am well pleased by you.” “I killed those women.” Aine’s voice was choked. “You did. Again, you had a difficult decision to make and you followed your heart. Would it help you to know that the people of Guardian Castle made their own decisions, and because they invited darkness into their midst they have been corrupted by evil. For many years to come they will pay the consequences of their choices. The ones whose spirits you set free are lucky. Their death was painless. Others will not be.” “So you forgive me for it?” “You had my forgiveness before you asked it.” The Goddess smiled. “Your life has been short, but you have a strong spirit and you are ready for the journey ahead of you. So Aine, Healer and daughter, I give you one last choice.” Epona took Aine’s hand and led her over to where Tegan sat looking strong and whole again, though he no longer had his beautiful expanse of wings. The Goddess joined their hands before she continued. “I give you the choice of your destiny. You may warn Partholon of the coming Fomorians or you may escape from this world into one where technology rules and the beings here are merely stories of myth and magic. If you stay in Partholon you will not be safe and your love will not be accepted. If you escape to the world of technology, you will begin new lives and grow old together. Know before you choose that I will bless your decision either way. I give all of my people free will—even my champions.” Aine met Tegan’s eyes. She didn’t need to ask him. Their bond told her that his choice was the same as hers. She didn’t blame him for it. It was who he was in the deepest well of his soul. She should know —she held that soul safe for him. Aine looked into her Goddess’s eyes. “We choose Partholon.”

Chapter Twenty Epona’s smile was blinding in its brilliance. “Well done daughter! You have passed my final test. And now you will need this. It is your destiny to keep it safe until the day Partholon has need of it.” The Goddess made a graceful gesture with her hand and the funeral urn floated to Aine. Startled, the Healer reached for it, but it slipped through her hands to clang against the floor of the cave. Chagrined, Aine hastily picked it up, horrified to see that a hairline crack had appeared in its base. “Forgive me Goddess!” Aine cried. Epona laughed joyously. “Little Healer, you couldn’t be more perfect. I want you to remember this urn. The next time you see it you will know that the time of your destiny is near.” “I don’t understand,” Aine said miserably.

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“You will. Just remember that this urn must return here with its likeness, and you and Tegan will be the ones to ensure that happens.” Before Aine could ask any of the many questions swarming through her mind, the Goddess placed one hand on her forehead and one on Tegan’s. “Go with my eternal blessing.” Aine, Tegan, and Epona’s urn disappeared. *** Fifty years later. Northwest Oklahoma not far outside the town of Locus Grove. The enormous mansion was a sprawling Victorian, as out of place in the Oklahoma countryside as it would have been on top of a slate-colored mountain range. It was once beautiful, but age had cracked and crinkled it until it reminded some people of an old smoker’s skin. The ancient couple who had lived there loved it. “Do we really have to leave this place?” the old man asked his wife. “I hate to see all of our things auctioned off like this.” “It’s better this way—easier,” she said. “Besides, our job here is almost over. Look, it’s already happening.” She motioned for her husband to join her at the window. Together, the two watched the scene in the backyard unfold. “My God! What the bloody hell is this?” a man with an accent cried, placing the item haphazardly back on the table. Another man picked it up and blanched in horror as he, too, saw the hairline crack in the urn’s base. “Sir, you are correct. Please accept my apologies for this damaged merchandise. Your bill will be corrected immediately.” The old woman smiled as she watched a beautiful girl with wild red hair approach the man and speak with pretended nonchalance. “Excuse me, but what will happen to the pot now?” “It will be re-auctioned, as is, of course,” the man said. The couple continued to eavesdrop on the events of the auction, but only until the redhead bought the urn and drove off their grounds with it tucked into the seat beside her. “She did look amazingly like the Incarnate on the urn,” the old man said. “That’s because she is the Incarnate on the urn, or at least she will be very soon.” “Hard to believe someone so—” he paused, trying to decide on the right word “—modern is going to stop the Fomorian invasion.” The old woman laughed. “At first she’s going to believe that she’s divine by mistake. As if Epona makes mistakes!” “The Goddess’s ways are not always clear,” he said. “No, but they are always interesting,” she said. “Shall we finish this, love?”

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Instead of answering her, he approached his wife. Facing her, he took both her hands in his own. “It has been a long, full life, hasn’t it Aine?” “It has been, just as our Goddess promised.” “Because through her will we were able to escape and save Partholon,” Tegan said. Not only through my will, but also through your strength and willingness to sacrifice yourselves to defeat evil. Epona’s voice filled the room with ripples of magic and love. Now, my children, it is time you came home. Still grasping hands, the old couple’s bodies began to shimmer, and then their crooked, wrinkled forms fell away, leaving a beautiful dark haired woman with eyes the color of a spring sky, and a tall, lean man whose wings unfurled majestically as he threw back his head and laughed with absolute joy. Tegan took Aine into his arms and kissed her passionately as they faded from the modern world to reappear in their Goddess’s verdant meadows, where she welcomed them with song and laughter and love.

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The Moments by Holly Jacobs Olivia Conway’s mother always told her that life is made up of the small moments, punctuated by the big ones. But “Livie” has no doubt that one day, she’ll have a fairy tale wedding that will be the biggest, grandest moment of them all. She’s had the whole thing planned since she was a little girl. Now all grown up, all that remains for Livie is to find the perfect groom to share her dreams with. But life has a way of turning out differently—and sometimes better—than we ever could have imagined…

Chapter One “My mother always said life was made up of the small moments and it was punctuated by the big ones.” ~Livie Conway in The House on Briar Hill Road “Livie, I don’t wanna be the bridesmaid, I wanna be the bride this time.” Livie Conway looked at her best friend, Delia Walker. Delia had just moved in three doors down, right next to Livie’s Nana’s house. They’d been playing Barbies all summer, but Delia still didn’t get the rules. “Delia, the wedding dress is mine, so I’m the bride.” “My mom says you’ve gotta share when you play with friends.” Delia got that stubborn look on her face that Livie was starting to recognize. “I share,” Livie insisted patiently. “I let you ride my bike, and I always let you go first on the tire swing, ‘cause you’re company and Mom says it’s polite, but Delia, it’s my wedding dress. Everyone knows you don’t share wedding dresses.” Her friend looked as if she was going to continue the argument, so Livie added, “But I’ll let you use my black sparkly dress if you like.” “Really?” Delia didn’t look as if she quite believed Livie. Livie sighed. It was hard to be a good friend. She didn’t want to share the black dress, either. Nana had bought for her last year when she’d turned eight. It was long and sparkly and came with a matching cape. She only let her Barbie wear when it was a real, real special thing. But keeping a friend was real special, she guessed. “Sure, I mean it. She can even wear the cape.” “Thanks, Livie.” “You’re welcome. Let’s get them dressed and play.” Sometimes when they played Barbies, they had a hard time figuring out the game. But playing wedding was always easy. There was nothing to figure out. Livie Conway knew just what she wanted for her Barbie’s wedding, and for her own someday in the far away future. “Malibu Ken’s wearing his bathing suit and a shirt, but when I get married, my husband will wear a tux, just like my daddy did when he married my mommy.” Delia had heard this story before, so she said, “You’re so lucky. I didn’t go to my mom and dad’s wedding.” “Yep, I was real lucky that Mommy and Daddy waited ‘til I got big to get married, that way I got to come and sit with Nana and watch it. Oh, Del, I wish you lived here then and you coulda come, too. It was so pretty. And my husband will wear a tux just like Daddy did. And I’ll have a dress just like my Barbie’s and Mommy’s. Big and white and froofy. I’ll get married at the biggest church in Pittsburgh, you can be my bridesmaid and

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everyone will be there. Even the Mayor.” Her daddy worked with the mayor, so Livie knew he was a very important man. “Why would the Mayor come to your wedding?” Delia asked. “’Cause I’m gonna be famous.” Livie finished snapping the wedding dress onto Malibu Barbie. “Famous for what?” Delia finished putting on the black sparkly cape and Livie tried not to be annoyed. “A famous singer.” Delia snorted. It wasn’t a very friendly thing to do. To make it worse, she said, “Livie, I’ve heard you sing, and I don’t know—” “Do you want me to take back my black dress?” Oh, yeah, Livie wanted to take the black dress back. People who snorted about her being a famous singer shouldn’t get to put it on their Barbies. Delia looked at her Barbie in the beautiful sparkly dress and sighed. “No. You can be a famous singer.” “Thanks. With a rock and roll band. You can be in it,” she offered. “Can I be the drummer?” “Sure.” “Cool. I can’t wait for your wedding.” Delia looked longingly at Livie’s Barbie. “Me, either.” Livie knew one day she’d get married to the most wonderful boy in the biggest church and everyone important would be there, even the mayor. Ten Years Later “Del, did you get in?” Livie waved her class schedule at her friend. Delia grinned. “Yeah.” Livie’s senior schedule was crammed. She had calculus, physics, anatomy, English lit, French four, senior humanities. All were guaranteed to keep her at her homework long after she’d like. But there was a silver lining. A big one. “I was so afraid we wouldn’t get into Marriage Encounter.” “Me, too.” Marriage Encounter was a one term class, open only to seniors. It taught things like budgets and shopping, there was even a section on having a family. But it was the final project for the class that Livie couldn’t wait for. Planning a wedding. She was going to plan a dream wedding, with everything from the menu to the flowers. Oh, she’d have to come up with a budget and there were other academic parts to the project, but Livie was finally going to plan her wedding. “Go on, tell me again,” Del said in the manner of all good friends who’ve heard a particular story a thousand times, but realize their friend needs to tell it a thousand and one times.

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“It’s still going to be in the St. Paul’s Cathedral—” “The biggest church in Pittsburgh,” Del supplied. “How about the famous singer part?” She laughed as she asked. Livie offered her a rueful grin. “I sort of gave up on that.” Del laughed even harder. “And the world is glad.” “But you’ll be there—” “Dressed in a sparkly black bridesmaid’s dress?” “In whatever kind of dress you want. I’ve decided my attendants should wear whatever they’re comfortable in. No one size fits all pastel dresses for me, well, for you. You pick whatever you want.” “Thanks,” Del said, then prompted. “And your groom?” “Will be wearing a tux, just like my dad did. He’ll be a quiet man who loves me more than anything. We’ll never argue or fight. He’ll bring me roses and jewelry. We’ll go on a fabulous honeymoon afterward. Somewhere exotic. Maybe Africa.” “Good luck with your budget in Ms. Roger’s class.” Del snorted. Livie had grown used to her friend’s snorts over the years and didn’t take offense. “I’ll make it work. I’ll eat macaroni and cheese for a year in order to get the wedding of my dreams.” Del suddenly got serious. “When I told my mom I was taking this class, she said I should worry less about a wedding, and more about the marriage.” Livie’s enthusiasm dimmed. “I know that it’s the marriage that matters most.” Livie knew it better than most. Last year, she’d been afraid her parents going to divorce. They’d been through a bad time after… No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Her parents were fine now. Their marriage rock was solid again. She didn’t have to worry about them anymore, which meant all she had to do was concentrate on this class. She’d waited to take it since her freshman year. “The marriage matters most, but mine will be perfect, because my husband will never fight with me. He’ll be quiet and he’ll listen when I talk. He’ll think I’m the most beautiful woman ever.” Del snorted. “Remember when I tried to talk you down from your singer aspirations? Well, Livie, you’re very pretty, I mean, boys like your red hair and all, but I’m not sure you’ll ever be the most beautiful woman ever.” “It won’t matter that I’m not. I said he’ll think I am.” He’d think she was beautiful, and she’d think he was the nicest man in the whole world, next to her father. Someday, Livie was going to have the most perfect wedding, the most perfect husband and the most perfect marriage. She was sure of it.

Chapter Two Five Years Later

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“What on earth did you do?” Livie Conway charged towards the big dark-haired man who looked more like a linebacker than a physician as he stood at lounging near the nurse’s station flirting with Sharon, one of the sweetest nurses on staff. “I just came from Aubrey Kelly’s room. She said you turned off her IV fluids.” The new intern looked annoyed, but his annoyance couldn’t even begin to touch Livie’s. She was known throughout the Philadelphia Children’s Hospital as a pitbull when it came to her patients. It was a reputation she was proud of, one that she didn’t hesitate to reinforce when the occasion warranted it. And this occasion definitely did. Sharon, the object of his flirting, beat a hasty retreat. “I’ll call you later,” Dr. Palmer called after her, before turning to Livie, superiority evident in his expression. “Nurse, I’m not in the habit of being spoken to in that manner. Either get yourself under control, or just leave.” “Dr. Palmer,” she said in her calmest voice between gritted teeth. “Yes, Nurse?” he asked with saccharine sweetness. “You could at least learn our names. You’ve been on the floor two weeks. I could give you a list of all our names. Maybe that would help? For instance, the woman you were flirting with was Sharon. I’m Olivia. And while I’d be happy to help you learn our names so you’ll stop calling out nurse in that obnoxious fashion you so often use, first we need to discuss the fact that you just turned off Aubrey’s IV fluids. They were connected to her Picc Line, and you didn’t clamp it off.” He nodded. “I knew she was Sharon, and it’s nice of you to introduce yourself, and yes I turned off Aubrey’s IV fluids. She didn’t need it any longer.” “Did it ever occur to you to consult me first?” “Nurse…” he paused and added, “Olivia, I don’t mean to be condescending, but I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.” “Listen, you—” she cut herself off, since the list of adjectives she’d like to use to describe him weren’t overly professional. “Doctor, I was flushing out Aubrey’s line. She’s just finished a round of chemo and you turned off the IV fluids before the flush finished.” A Picc line was very much like an IV line. It was set in a patient’s shoulder and ran into a major vein. It allowed the doctors to deliver medicine, and even take blood, without sticking the patient. This was particularly important on a pediatric floor where needle sticks were just another medical trauma the kids had to go through. Shutting off the IV fluids that were connected to a Picc line wasn’t normally a problem, unless the line itself hadn’t been flushed properly and still had the medicine in it. Then the line was prone to clotting—especially if the IV machine had been turned off, and everything else was left connected—making the line useless for future procedures. “She was eating and drinking. I didn’t think—” “Yes, you did. You thought you knew what you were doing. But even though you’re an intern, this is your first rotation. I’ve been here two years. If you’d condescended to ask me, I’d have told you what the saline was for. I just spent the last two hours working on it, but the line’s occluded. Nothing’s moving through it.” “Did you try TPA?” TPA was a drug that busted up clots. They used the medication on stroke victims to dissolve the clots that caused so much damage, and it could sometimes dissolve the clot that occluded a Picc line. “Yes. Nothing worked. Aubrey will need a new line.”

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“Then you’ll have to get it put in.” He took a step, as if he’d settled the matter in his mind and was ready to get on with his day. Livie stepped in front of him, blocking his means of escape. “I don’t think so. You ruined this line, you put the new one in.” “Nurse—” “Aubrey’s only six,” she said softly. “She’s desperately afraid of needles. Desperately. Even my working on her line, which didn’t cause her any pain, has left her a wreck. I’m going to sit with her and hold her hand, and you can put the new line in. Maybe if you see what happens when you’re careless, you’ll think twice and ask questions next time.” She paused, then added, “And if you don’t think that’s going to happen, let me call your resident. Regan will set this to rights.” From Dr. Palmer’s expression it was clear he’d already gotten a taste of Regan’s acid tongue. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.” Livie should have felt victorious, but really all she could think of was her patient. She’d been there when they’d put the first line in and knew how hard this was going to be on the little girl. She looked at the big doctor. If he was going to be any kind of a physician at all, the experience was going to be hard on him as well.

*** Lou had only inserted a Picc line once before, but it had been on an adult. Working on Aubrey was harder, even with Olivia’s coaching. The little girl’s veins were much smaller. He could have coped with that. But her crying—that’s what ripped him apart, piece by piece. Olivia had been right. If he’d only stopped to ask, Aubrey wouldn’t have spent ten minutes squeezing Olivia’s hand, while tears streamed down her little freckled face yesterday. The memory had weighed on him all last night, which is why he stopped in the little girl’s room as soon as he got on the floor. “Hey, Aubrey.” She eyed him warily. “Hi, Dr. Lou.” “I brought you something.” He handed her a doll he’d stopped and picked up on his way home from work last night. “I found her all alone. I asked where she belonged, but she said she hadn’t found her home yet. I was hoping maybe you’d look after her for me.” “Dolls don’t talk,” the little girl said with certainty. “This one does.” He pulled over a chair and sat right next to Aubrey’s bed. “If you’re very, very quiet and listen, maybe you can hear her. She’s a good listener. I was telling her how bad I felt about making you cry yesterday, and I felt better after I talked to her, but I’m still very sorry, Aubrey.” She shook her head. “Livie says that the doctors and nurses only want to make me better, that it hurts them when I hurt.” “Livie’s right. I’m so sorry for yesterday.” “That’s okay.” She beckoned to him with her little hand. He leaned closer and she kissed his cheek. “Thank you for the doll. I know she doesn’t talk, but she does make me feel better.” “I’m glad.” He opened the door and found Olivia standing just outside it, blatantly eavesdropping. “That was nice.”

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“I assume Livie’s short for Olivia?” he asked. “My friends call me Livie, the rest of the world calls me Olivia.” She looked him and added, “You get to call me Olivia.” “Then I’ll have to live in hope that someday you’ll allow me to call you Livie, Olivia.” She snorted in a way that would have made Del proud. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.” She started into the room, but he took her hand and pulled her back into the hall. He merely meant to tell her thank you. She’d taught him a very important lesson yesterday, one that would impact his career for the better. That’s what he meant to do. What he did instead was kiss her. It wasn’t a lingering sort of kiss, just a firm buss on the mouth. When he released her, he started, “How about dinner tonight so I can thank you properly—” but didn’t get any further. “I’d rather eat with my brother, Doctor. Beck doesn’t chew his food, he inhales it. But his lack of table manners would be preferable to your lack of manners all together.” And with that she stormed into the room. He watched from the door as her entire demeanor changed. “Hi, Aubrey. Who do you have there?” He gently shut the door. Maybe he could convince Olivia to let him take her out for that thank-you-dinner. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to kiss her like that, but he didn’t regret it at all. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to do it again. And maybe if he was really lucky, she’d let him call her Livie.

Chapter Three Two Years Later Livie had always known that there was something magic about the house on Briar Hill Road. Her grandmother had lived there years ago, and now her parents did. Of all the places in the world, it was the one that said home to her. She’d missed home enough that she’d only stayed in Philadelphia long enough to finish her graduate courses. As soon as she had her degree in hand, she started applying for jobs back in Pittsburgh. She didn’t mention it to her parents. She wanted to surprise them. And because she hadn’t mentioned it made the fact she got the job at the same hospital her mother worked at even sweeter. She knew she’d gotten it on her own merit, that her mom hadn’t pulled any strings. When she showed up on their doorstep of her parents’ house four months ago, bags in hand, her surprise had been as perfect as she’d hoped. She was working as the nurse practioner on St. Bartholomew’s pediatric cancer floor. When she was in school, she’d known she’d wanted to work with cancer patients. She’d planned on working with breast cancer patients, but she’d found herself drawn to pediatrics. For her, the kids were everything. For four months, she’d looked for her own apartment, but her parents had told her again and again not to hurry. They loved having her back on Briar Hill Road, and truth be told, she loved being back in her old room that still had posters on the walls and her case of Barbies in the closet. She’d met Del for lunch more than once, and their friendship felt as if there had never been years they were apart. Yes, everything was perfect in Olivia Kathleen-Rose Conway’s life. Everything but…

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She eyed Dr. Lou Palmer down the hall, flirting with one of the nurses and was rewarded with a sense of deja vu. Been here. Done that. Got the T-shirt. She’d heard they were getting a new doctor on the floor to replace Dr. Squelia, but she hadn’t expected him. She’d avoided him so far. Three days—well, really just one if you counted her days off. But that was one day of not having to deal with the arrogant, opinionated, annoying doctor who seemed to feel kissing nurses was an acceptable business relationship. But her lucky streak was at an end. He wasn’t just orienting, he was working today, which meant she had to deal with him. She knew it wasn’t Joannie’s fault that the most annoying doctor in the universe was working at St. Bart’s, so she pasted a smile on her face as she entered the seventeen-year-old’s room. “Hey, Joannie, what’s new?” “Well, the last of my hair is gone. I’m liking the look, what about you?” She gave Livie a cheesy, supermodel smile. “I’ve heard skin is in this year.” “Me, too.” Joking aside Joannie added, “I thought about using a wig. There’s some organization that offered me one. But I said no.” “Why?” Livie asked as she checked Joannie’s Picc line. “Because I’m fighting a battle, and I’ll be darned if the leukemia’s going to win. When guys go into combat, they wear special clothes, uniforms that say, ‘I’m ready to fight.’ Well, I refuse to think of hospital gowns as my uniform. They’re too ugly. But my bald head…well, every time I look in the mirror, it reminds me I’m fighting a battle, and I’m going to win.” Livie had been working as a nurse for three years and as a nurse practioner for the last four months. She knew every one of her patients was special. She tried to treat them as such. But every once in a while one came along who took up residence in her heart. Joannie was one of those. “You know I’m here, fighting right beside you.” “You and Dr. Lou. He’s taking over my case and came in to introduce himself yesterday. I like him.” Livie worked very hard to maintain her smile as she said, “I’m glad you like him.” “Did I hear my name?” boomed a voice. Abrasive, annoying, argumentative…and those were just the A’s. She could probably manage to use the whole alphabet to describe Dr. Lou Palmer if she had to. She sighed. She’d known she couldn’t avoid him forever, but a girl could hope. Yet there comes a time when reality must be faced, and reality was standing right behind her, so she turned and faced this particularly unpleasant reality head on. “Doctor,” she said, stretching her lips into the best imitation of a smile that she could muster.

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“Nurse.” For a moment, she was just another nurse to him, but she could see the moment recognition set in. “You.” “Me,” she assured him. “Olivia,” he said, stressing her name, “I though you were in Philly.” “Doctor, I could say the same about you. And I could express my sincerest regret that you’re not.” He had the audacity to laugh. “Ah, so I see bygones are not necessarily bygones.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor. I assume you want to check over Joannie?” “I sure do. How’s my favorite patient today? Is the new medication helping with your nausea?” “I ate two crackers and a banana this morning.” Joannie grinned, as if this was a huge accomplishment, and given her recent inability to keep anything down, it was.” “That’s my girl. I brought you something.” He pulled a book out of the shoulder satchel he carried. “Stephan King’s newest. It’s huge. I haven’t had time to read it yet, but my sister’s a big fan and she’s bugging me. I though if you read it, you could give me enough of a hint about it that I can fib and tell her I read it.” “I love his stuff.” “I remember seeing a couple of his books on the nightstand, so I figured. You don’t mind being my crib sheet?” Her whole face crinkled in delight. “I think I can manage.” “And if I were to bring you a shake this afternoon, do you think you could manage that? You have to keep your weight up.” “I’ll try for you, Dr. Lou.” “What flavor?” “Chocolate. Is there any other flavor?” He smiled. “I’ll be back after rounds with it.” “Thanks. I’ll start on this right away.” He walked out of the room and gave Livie a regal nod she recognized as a command to follow. “I’ll be back in just a bit, Joannie.” “Take your time, I’ve got reading.” Joannie sank back in her pillow and opened the book. Livie found him waiting in the hall. “I guess there are cases when your impressive flirting abilities do have their uses,” she opened with. He ignored her version of a salutation, and instead simply said, “I wasn’t really surprised to find you here. I’d heard you were working here.” “Oh?” “Yes. As a matter of fact, I heard—” “Dr. Palmer, 403. Stat.” He let the sentence drop and started running down the hall. He called back over his shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

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“Not if I see you first,” Livie muttered. Yes, everything had seemed perfect since she moved home… Dr. Lou Palmer put an end to that.

Chapter Four “Livie, dinner,” she heard her mom call up the stairs. She’d had the day off, but hadn’t spent any time relaxing. She’d run around the greater Pittsburgh area looking at apartments again. She thought she’d found the perfect one in Southside. It had an open floor plan for the living areas, but a separate bedroom. It was on the fourth floor and had a balcony that overlooked the city. But the selling feature, in her opinion, was the massive bathroom with an old-fashioned clawfoot tub. As a bonus, it was just a ten minute commute to work. She’d miss seeing her parents every day, but she was close enough to be underfoot a lot. And though they’d made her feel welcome, she was starting to itch to be back on her own. “Livie,” her mom called again, “come on. We’ve got company.” “Coming, Mom.” Her mother never seemed to change, she thought as she followed her into the dining room. Her hair was still dark brown without a hint of gray. Livie wasn’t sure if that was nature or Clairol, and didn’t ask. Her father showed his age more readily. His hair used to be brown streaked with grey, but now it was grey streaked with brown. As she looked at both of them, she was struck again by how glad she was to be home with them. Even when she moved out of the house on Briar Hill Road, she knew it would always be home. “Where’s Becker?” she asked as she walked into the dining room. She’d been almost college age when her brother had been born. Other than the first few summers she’d been home, they’d never really shared a house. It seemed Beck was making up for lost time. He’d shortsheeted her bed, hidden her car keys, and insisted on eating the breakfast cereal he knew she liked. It should have driven her crazy, but instead, he amused her, which was not his intent. “Your brother’s spending the night at Keith’s.” “When’s our guest arriving?” “Right here,” said a voice from behind her. A voice she recognized. A voice attached to a man she’d tried to avoid at work, and never imagined she’d have to try and avoid at home. “Livie,” her mom said. “I don’t know if you’ve met yet, but this is our new doctor, Lou Palmer. Lou, my daughter, Livie.” She turned and said, “Doctor,” by way of a greeting. “Olivia,” he countered. Her parents seemed oblivious to the tension, which seemed odd to Livie, since she thought it was thick enough to cut with a knife. “Let’s sit down everyone,” her father said. “Lou, do you want to open the wine?”

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Her mom had set a casual table, the kind that said, ‘I just know we’re going to be great friends.’ But her mom didn’t know Lou Palmer the way Livie did. The month long rotation he’d spent on her floor in Philly had started bad and ended worse. He seemed to derive some twisted pleasure out of needling her. Once her mom got to know how overbearing and power-tripping he was, she’d change her tune and Dr. Lou Palmer wouldn’t be invited back, Livie was sure. “You two have met?” her mom asked. “Yes.” Livie knew her mother would frown on her being rude to a guest, so she vowed to keep her responses as monosyllabic as possible for the evening. “Actually, Olivia and I met in Philadelphia,” Lou said smoothly as he started pouring the wine in the four glasses her mom got out, “when I was on my pediatric rotation.” “Livie, you never mentioned you knew Lou.” “Just in passing.” She shot him eye daggers, daring him to disagree. “Hardly worth mentioning.” Lou could see that Livie wasn’t happy about him coming to dinner. He’d tried to warn her yesterday, but he’d been called away. And after that, she’d done a great job avoiding him the rest of the shift. Then she was off today. So it wasn’t entirely his fault his arrival was a surprise. He’d hoped that spending a casual evening together would soften her attitude toward him, but given her expression, he wasn’t holding out much hope. “Yes, I worked with Olivia for a few weeks. Your daughter made a huge impact on my career.” “As her father, I might be biased, but she does tend to leave an impression.” “Mom, can I have the salad over this way? I’m starved.” Lou knew that Livie thought to deflect him from talking about Philly, but since he didn’t have anything to lose if she got annoyed, he planned on talking about it here, and hopefully later in private. Maybe, if he told her just how she’d affected him, she’d soften towards him. “Pediatrics was my first rotation. I’ll confess, I still had a lot to learn. Olivia taught me how important it was to treat patient care as a team effort. To consult the nurses about the patients. And I’ve learned to listen to the parents as well. After all, they know their children better than anyone.” Livie—he though of her as Livie even though he would never call her that name until she invited him to— frowned in his direction. Her mother, Hayden, smiled at him. “You know, all the nurses have been talking about how easy you are to work with. You seek them out and get their assessments and opinions on patient care. You’ve made an impression.” “You can tell them that Olivia’s the reason.” ”Good for you, sweetie,” said Brian, wearing the look of a proud father.” Let’s have a toast, to new friends and my very smart daughter.” Lou raised his glass along with Livie’s parents. With all three of them staring at her, she didn’t have a choice but to follow suit. After the toasting was finished and the meal started in earnest, he changed the topic to golf. “Do you golf?” Lou asked.

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“I’m rather new to the sport,” Brian admitted. “Which means, he’s not very good,” Hayden teased. “Maybe we could play sometime? I could give you some pointers.” “Dad, I’d take Dr. Palmer up on his offer. After all he’s rumored to be an expert at everything.” “I know it seems that way, Olivia. It’s a curse I’ve learned to live with, but I’m not an expert on everything. However, golf I can help your dad out with. I went through college on a golf scholarship, so I may be able to give him a few pointers.” “That would be great,” Brian said. “I’d really appreciate it. Name the day and time, and I’ll be there.” “I’m off this weekend. What about Saturday morning?” “Sounds great.” He had a date with Livie’s father. And while that was all well and good, Brian Conway wasn’t who he hoped to date. He watched Livie, and couldn’t figure out just why he was attracted to her. She was pretty, but had a temper that matched her red hair. And it was obvious that she held a grudge. But she was wonderful with the kids, knew her stuff, and as the meal progressed, every now and then she’d forget she didn’t like him and laugh. At those moments there was no doubt in his mind that she was the one. After dinner he visited a little longer then glanced at his watch. “I’d better go. I’ve got to be at the hospital early.” “I’m so glad you came,” Hayden said. Brian nodded his agreement. “I’ll see you Saturday. Livie, why don’t you show our guest out while I help your mother with the dishes?” She looked as if she’d like to argue, but it was clear she respected her parents too much to actually do it. “Fine,” was all she said. She walked silently next to him to the door. “Thanks for coming to dinner.” He knew it was just good manners on her part, not a genuine pleasure over sharing a meal with him. “Olivia, would it make any difference if I said I was sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize to me.” “Maybe not. But I do have to thank you. I meant what I said at the table, meeting you and Aubrey changed me…for the better, I hope.” “You remember her name.” She seemed to soften. “Really, I’m glad. Medicine shouldn’t be about a pecking order, about who’s the boss. It should be a team effort to serve the best needs of the patient. Sometimes everyone forgets that. I’m sorry if I’ve been a little…” she paused. “Testy?” He smiled. “This is where I get to play the gallant and say I never even noticed.” She offered him a reluctant smile. “That’s very kind of you.” They stood a moment in silence. “I guess I should go.”

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“You have to be at the hospital early. “ “Right.” He opened the door and started out, then stopped and turned around. “Listen, after I golf with your dad on Saturday, maybe we could go out to dinner.” “I’m sure mom and dad would like that. Mom’s quite taken with you.” “No, not them,” he clarified. “You and me.” “I don’t think that would be wise.” “No, but it could be fun. Say yes, Olivia. Let me show you I’m not the man you think I am.” “Almost every other available woman at the hospital would jump at that invitation and more than a few of the unavailable ones as well. Why ask me?” “Because, maybe I can convince you to let me call you Livie.” She blushed. “You remember that, too?” “I remember everything about you.” “I’m sure you don’t.” “Come out with me Saturday night and let me prove it.” “Fine. Just to prove I don’t hold a grudge.” “Great. Saturday then.”

Chapter Five “So, where are we going?” Livie asked. Lou had never felt so nervous about a date. He wasn’t sure what it was about Olivia Conway. She was the prickliest woman he’d ever met. But there was another side of her, one that he’d only seen when she was with her patients. Kind, empathetic, sweet. When she smiled at her kids they smiled back, no matter what treatment they were going through. He wanted her to smile like that at him. He wanted her to invite him, after all this time, to call her Livie. He wanted her. “I thought about wining and dining you at one of Pittsburgh’s finest restaurants,” he said as he wound through the not-quite familiar streets. Livie caught his wording. “You thought about it, but from the sound of it, that’s not what you decided on.” “No. You see, I tried impressing you once with my masterful doctoring and ended up making a complete fool of myself. I figured I'd get to one of those fancy places and spill the wine on myself, or worse on you. So I came up with a safer, albeit simpler, plan.” “Which is?” she asked.

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“I’m cooking for you.” “Oh.” She paused, then asked, “Do you cook?” “Wait and see for yourself. You tell me.” “This isn’t some nefarious scheme to get me to your apartment?” She laughed. Lou’s spirits rose at the sound. “No. If there’s a nefarious element at all, it’s that I’m hoping you’ll finally forgive me for being an ass back in Philadelphia and invite me to call you Livie.” “You can—” He cut her off. “No. I don’t want any charity, Livie. I want you to want me to call you Livie.” As he glanced across the car, she was looking at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very strange man?” “A very strange man who’s going to make you dinner tonight.”

*** Livie looked around Lou’s apartment. Aesthetics weren’t his primary concern—that much was evident. His living room was Spartan to say the least. A couch, a coffee table and a television. They say you can tell a lot about a person by what they read, but all Lou had on his coffee table were medical journals. Some were dog-eared, some folded back to one article or another. But other than the journals, there was no other reading material. There was no clutter in the room whatsoever. Lou came back out of his kitchen. “Come out to the balcony.” She followed him out and found a small table with a lamp and table settings there. “I thought you might enjoy the view. Everything’s ready.” The view from his Mount Washington apartment was every bit as stunning as her new apartment’s. He had a table set there, complete with spaghetti, salads, a bottle of wine and a loaf of Italian bread. “You went to a lot of trouble.” “Not so much. My grandmother taught me to cook, and I’ll confess, I don’t do it often, but I do enjoy it.” They ate dinner and talked. Not about anything big and monumental. They talked about their families, about the hospital, about patients who’d touched them. When they’d finished eating, she helped do the dishes, over his objections. “I can’t cook to save my life. But I can dry a plate,” she argued. “I could teach you to cook, at least a few simple recipes.” She stopped drying, mid-dish. “That would mean we’d have to do this again.” “I’m willing, if you are.” “I guess I am, on one condition.” “What?” he asked.

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“You call me Livie.” “I thought you’d never ask.” He took the half-dried plate from her hand, leaned down and gently placed a kiss on her cheek. It was sweet, but suddenly Livie wanted more than sweet. She turned her head sharply, bringing her lips to his and kissed him back. Not some platonic little buss, but a full-out kiss. “Wow,” he murmured when they broke apart. “Wow, what?” She gave him the look her mother used to give her when she wanted her to remember her manners. “Wow, Livie?” She laughed. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time she’d met a man who gave her a sense of possibilities.

Chapter Six “Livie, I want to talk to you…” Lou stopped and looked at himself in his office’s bathroom mirror. This was absolutely ridiculous. He was a grown man. It wasn’t as if he was asking Livie to marry him. Hell, he didn’t know what he was asking. He just knew he wanted more than their very casual dating. If he were still in high school, he’d be asking her to go steady and handing her his class ring. If he were in a better mood, he’d have smiled at the thought. But he wasn’t. What he wanted was some clarification. They’d been dating for three months, and Livie seemed bound and determined to keep him at arm’s length. “Livie, we have to talk…” he tried again. Pathetic. He was pathetic. Furious with himself for being such a putz, he stormed out of the bathroom and almost ran Livie down. She smiled. “I was looking for you. Are we still getting something to eat? I’m famished.” “I don’t know what we’re doing, Livie. I guess that’s the problem.” He was pretty sure it didn’t take any form of ESP to see that he was angry. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he was angry with Livie, or angry with himself. Her happy smile faded. “Come on, Lou, not again.” “Give me something, Livie. Something more than an occasional meal and haphazard phone calls. Let’s go away for a weekend. Just you and me.” “If you want a weekend of wild sex, we can—” “You think that’s what I want? Sex?” A nurse walked by and he forced himself to lower his voice. “Livie, sex is easy for us. What I want is for you to let me in.” “I don’t understand why you can’t just keep this casual. I don’t fuss if you don’t call. I don’t complain if you run late. I don’t breathe down your neck and try to make us one of those couples who no longer have their own identities. I don’t want to be Livie-and-Lou. I like being Livie and Lou. Two separate people who like spending time together now and again. I don’t need grand gestures and baring of souls.” “Maybe I do. Maybe I need some sort of indication that this relationship is going somewhere other than the bedroom and an occasional date.”

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“What if I say I’m not sure I can promise you that?” “Then maybe it’s time we both rethink what we’re doing.” He turned and stormed down the hall.

*** “Well, no problem, then. I’ll just starve,” Livie muttered to herself as she went back down the hall. What was a problem was what to do about him. She enjoyed his company. He was fun and she was surprised to find that he was sweet…well, except when he wasn’t. Or maybe it was that she wasn’t sweet. Either way, they did tend to raise each other’s hackles from time to time. But not like this. Their first major fight was over football. She of course, cheered for the Steelers and he was all about the Eagles. The Eagles? Livie found it hard to swallow that she could be dating, even casually, a man who liked the Eagles. What started off as some friendly kidding got a bit heated. Then there was the now notorious door-incident. Livie claimed she didn’t need any man opening doors for her. She was more than capable. Lou claimed his mother brought him up right, and was she implying his mother didn’t? Round and round. Theirs was not an easy—she searched for a word to describe what they had. Relationship? The word made her stomach clench. But whatever they had, it wasn’t easy. Maybe that’s why Livie held back. At least that’s what Lou kept saying she was doing. He claimed she only let him come so far then she pushed him back. That’s what this today’s fight was about, she was sure. She didn’t admit it out loud, but she realized he was probably right. Her parents had a great relationship now, but there was a time when she thought she’d be a child of divorce. A period when they’d all been broken. Her mother and father hadn’t had the loud rows she had with Lou, but rather they’d quietly shut each other out. And they’d shut her out in the process. In her head, she knew it was a stupid excuse for holding back from Lou. But her head didn’t carry much weight with her heart. She should probably go apologize and promise to try harder. She didn’t want to lose him, but she wasn’t sure how much more she could give him. “Hey, Sarah, have you seen Dr. Palmer?” she called to a coworker. “I think he’s in with Joannie.” Livie started down the hall towards Joannie’s room. The girl was between rounds of chemo, and should be home right now, not stuck in the hospital. She’d come in with a fever a week ago. But they seemed to have the infection under control. Her fever had finally come down to 98.6—right on the money. But Joannie hadn’t finished her course of antibiotics, so she was still here. Still stuck in the hospital instead of at her prom. Livie wondered what she could do to make the night easier on Joannie. She was still pondering the question when she walked in the room. She didn’t see the girl, just her mom. “Hi, Sylvia,” she said to Joannie’s mom, who looked to be in uncharacteristic high spirits. “I was looking for Dr. Palmer. Is he with Joannie?” The gray-haired woman pretty much radiated happiness. “Dr. Lou said he had to go to the doctor’s lounge for a surprise and Joannie’s in the bathroom changing.” As if on cue, the bathroom door opened and Joannie came out wearing a beautiful dark blue prom dress. “Oh, Joannie, you look lovely. But how…?” “Dr. Palmer’s discharging me, just for the night. Well, until my next dose of antibiotics at midnight.” She twirled around, sending the full-skirt billowing. Joannie was even more excited than her mom. “I’m just like

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Cinderella. I have to be back here by the stroke of midnight. But Livie, at least I’ll have gone to the ball.” Livie gave the girl a hug. “I’m so glad, Joannie. Really.” In her excitement, Joannie kept talking, a mile a minute. “And, Dr. Lou’s coming to chaperone, just in case I get sick. Isn’t he the greatest? I have to wear a stupid mask, and Mom ran out to buy a wrap so I can cover where the Picc line is. Despite it all, I’m going to my prom. And I swear I’m graduating with my class. Dr. Palmer’s the greatest,” she said again. At that moment, Livie realized he was. All her worries, all her nagging fears about drawing too close were stupid. Lou Palmer was the greatest, and she’d be a fool to let her fear stand in their way. Emotions she’d tethered for so long burst loose, and she managed to squeeze out the words, “Yes, the greatest.” “Can you go find him?” Joannie asked. “Joey will be here soon.” Joey was all Joannie talked about. The boy spent as much time as he could visiting her. He didn’t seem put off by Joannie’s lack of hair, or by her illness. He genuinely loved her. Maybe it was just a puppy love, or maybe, despite their ages, it was something deeper that would last. The quiet romantic in Livie hoped it would. She realized Joannie was waiting for an answer. “Yes, let me go find Dr. Lou.” She hurried down to the lounge and opened the door to find Lou hunched over one of the tables, a couple bottles next to him, and a blue square in front of him. He was muttering to himself. “Problems?” she asked. He turned and offered her a tentative smile as he saw her approach. “You know, I didn’t become a surgeon for a reason. I don’t have the hands for it. And it turns out I don’t have a hand for hot glue, ribbons and glitter either.” And that’s when she saw what he was doing. Gluing ribbons and glitter onto the hospital mask. Something huge that she’d started to let go when she realized what Lou was doing for Joannie, welled up in her chest, growing even bigger. She just stood there looking at this man who looked more like a linebacker than a doctor. A man who felt she couldn’t open her own car door, a man who rooted for the wrong team. A man…she loved. Looking at him, more glitter covering his lab coat than the mask, she wondered how she’d missed the fact that she was absolutely crazy about Lou Palmer. How had she thought she could keep him at arm’s length, when all she wanted to do was hug him? “I know. It’s stupid,” he said. “I just thought she should have something beautiful to go with her dress.” He reached for the mask, as if he was going to crinkle it up. Livie reached out and stopped him, her hand holding his lightly. “Don’t. It’s wonderful.” “It is?” “We can fix this,” she said. Years of scrapbooking made her an almost pro. With Lou’s help, they soon had a mask that looked better. “There. It’s still a mask, but it’s a pretty mask at least.” “Thanks, I’d never have managed it without you. About the fight. I’m sorry. I try not to push. I promise myself over and over again I’ll give you time. It’s only been months. But Livie—” “Stop. Lou. I came in here because I heard you were going to the prom?”

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He looked unsure. “Yes. Joannie’s just getting over the infection and I want to keep an eye on her and I figure they can always use another chaperone.” “Then, Dr. Palmer, since you stood me up for our dinner date, I was wondering if you’d go to the prom with me? Or rather, could I go to the prom with you, unless you’ve already asked some other girl?” “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go with.” He took her hand. “We’ve got a mask to deliver.” “To our Cinderella?” “Cinderella?” He looked confused. “Going to the ball, in by midnight for her dose of antibiotics, Cinderella.” He smiled. “Yes, I guess she is.” As they walked down the hall, Livie wondered if she was going to be able to manage not blurting out, I love you. The words practically begged to be said. But she wanted to wait until they were at the prom, dancing under a disco ball—oh, how she hoped there was a disco ball. She wanted to whisper the words in his ear and maybe kiss him. She told him she didn’t need any grand gestures, but maybe Lou did. Maybe he needed something to show him that she really cared. Yes, she’d hold onto them a bit longer, but a bit was all she could manage. They got back to Joannie’s room and Lou stopped before going in. “Why don’t you give it to her.” Livie could sense his embarrassment. “Your idea, you do it.” He sighed the sigh of a man who was uncomfortable with the sweetness of the gesture, but he smiled when he saw Joannie, still prancing around in her dress. “I feel like a princess,” she told them both. “I know a mask isn’t going to be the look you were going for, but I…” Lou just shoved the mask toward her. “Dr. Lou thought a prettier mask might make wearing it more bearable,” Livie added. “Oh, man, it’s great. Well, as great as a hospital mask can be.” Joannie held it up to the deep blue of her gown, then snatched up the silk wrap her mother brought. “Look, it matches the wrap and really coordinates with the gown.” “The glue’s still a little tacky, but it should be dry before Joey arrives,” Livie told her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to clock out and run home and change.” “Hot date tonight?” Joannie asked. “It seems I’m going to the prom with Dr. Palmer.” Joannie launched herself into Livie’s arms and hugged her. “You’re coming to watch out for me, too? You guys are the best.” Livie hugged the girl. “No, sweetie, you are.” She started out the door, still feeling uncharacteristically choked up.

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“Livie?” Sylvia called. “Yes.” And Sylvia, who’d held together better than any parent with a sick child should, broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in Livie’s arms. “Thank you both for making this happen.” “It’s Dr. Palmer. I wouldn’t have the authority to sign her out.” “But you’re going along, too. I won’t have a thing to worry about.” Livie looked at the big man, patiently letting Joannie bubble her excitement all over him. “It’s okay. You see, Dr. Palmer owes me a dance.” And she had three little words to whisper in his ear.

Chapter Seven Five Months Later, Halloween “I have a present for you.” Lou handed Livie a Target bag. Once upon a time she’d dreamt her perfect man would bring her roses and jewelry. Lou did bring her gifts, but nothing like that. She wondered what this gift would be. “I love the wrap job this time,” she teased as she opened it. “Oh, Lou, they’re perfect.” She held the pair of orange scrubs with little white ghosts all over them and examined them. “Just perfect. I’m going to go change.” Before she did, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him. “I love Halloween, and I love you, too.” “I noticed Halloween took first place.” “Well, I have loved Halloween longer than you—” She kissed him again. “But not more.” “I can’t fault your logic,” he said with a laugh. “Go change. Can you meet me in the lounge at two?” “Sure. Coffee at two with Lou. I can remember that.” She started to leave but stopped, turned around, kissed him again, then hurried out of the room calling, “See you at two,” over her shoulder. Lou smiled as he watched Livie run from the room. He had to change as well. And there was a whole host of other things to attend to. Livie had told him so many of her family stories, sharing moments that meant so much to her parents and herself. There was a story about a Halloween in particular… Well, he was hoping today rivaled that one in her memory someday. Right now, he had things to do.

*** Livie changed into her new scrubs. Given her red hair, orange wasn’t normally her best color. Some redheads complained about their hair color, but Livie never did. She’d inherited her hair color from her grandmother, and every time she looked in the mirror it was a reminder of Kathleen Conway. So she never

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wished it away, and today, she didn’t care if the orange scrubs clashed with her hair. They were a gift from Lou, and he’d think she looked beautiful in them. That was enough for her. She knew some women held out for the expensive gifts, but personally, a gift from the heart meant so much more to her and that’s just what this was. She’d known she loved Lou Palmer the night of Joannie’s prom. It had been a big moment, a memorable one. But dating Lou wasn’t filled with those milestone moments, but rather little ones. A pair of hospital scrubs. A trip to the zoo. Or, the day they drove up to Erie and he took her to Presque Isle. She’d told him about her family’s one very special vacation on the lakeshore in Southampton, Ontario, and since neither of them had enough time off to make that long trip, he thought the two hour jaunt to Erie might be the next best thing. She’d whispered, it’s even better then she’d kissed him. And it was better, because he’d been with her. No, she didn’t need grand gestures or big moments. For her, it was the little ones, a spaghetti dinner he cooked himself, the time he’d pulled over at the side of the road to pick her daisies in a field, just because she’d exclaimed that they looked beautiful. Livie took one last look in the mirror. Yes, spaghetti, daisies and orange scrubs were the moments she treasured most. Her mom was coming into work at noon. Maybe she’d ask her to stop and pick up some donuts. Lou had a sweet tooth, and glazed twists were his favorites. Oh, and apple cider. It was the perfect treat for Halloween. It wasn’t quite the same as ghostly scrubs, but she was pretty sure he’d be pleased. She made the call, and after securing her mother’s promise, she started her rounds. It was going to be a great day. She loved Halloween. It was just before two when her mother found Livie coming out of Becky Watson’s room. “Hey, sweetie. Love the scrubs.” Livie did an exaggerated pirouette. “They’re from Lou. The donuts are my thank you. Want to come in and join us?” “I don’t mind if I do. Are you coming over tonight?” “You couldn’t keep me away. Handing out the candy isn’t quite the same as trick-or-treating, but Lou’s coming with me, and with you and Dad there, well, it will be fun.” Handing out Halloween candy on Briar Hill Road—it was another sweet moment to savor. The lounge’s door was shut. When Livie twisted the handle, she found it was also locked. “What the heck?” She knocked. Joannie opened the door. “Livie, you’re here.” Joannie’s blond hair had grown back. It was still short and baby-fuzzy, but the style gave her an elfish cuteness. “Yes, I’m here. I work here. You’re not back… ?” Her heart sank at the thought of Joannie’s cancer returning. Joannie laughed. “No, I’m fine. Just visiting my favorite nurse and…” She threw the door open. The lounge looked as if someone had bought out a Halloween supply store: jack-o-lanterns, orange and black streamers with little ghosts dangling from them, and an assortment of witches and black cats filled the room. “What on earth… ?”

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That’s when she saw him. Lou. He looked as if he’d just left his outlaw biker gang. Black jeans and a black vest that was a bit too snug, over a black t-shirt. “Livie, come on in. We’re having a party.” “I can see that. For what?” She spotted her father in the corner. He grinned and gave her a little wave. Her father? Joannie? “What’s going on?” “Olivia Kathleen-Rose Conway,” Lou sank to one knee in front of her. “Will you marry me?” She flung herself at Lou, who given her precarious position on one knee, toppled. She didn’t care. She just fell over with him, then kissed him hard and long. “Is that a yes?” he asked as they broke apart and sat back up. “I mean, I didn’t even get a chance to show you the ring. You might hate it and not want to marry me after all.” “It was a yes, and although I’d love to see the ring, nothing would make me change my mind.” She’d been wrong. This wasn’t another quiet little moment to store away. It was a big one, and though she didn’t need those all the time, she’d take this one. Just in case he had any doubt, she said it again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She’d found her perfect man. When she was young, she’d thought she’d never fight with Mr. Perfect, but as an adult she realized how unrealistic that was. She and Lou did fight, but he listened to her side, and she tried to listen to his, so she did get that part right. They’d even come to terms with each of them rooting for the “wrong” team. And he thought she was beautiful, which was good because she thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, though if she were telling him that he’d probably take offense at the word beautiful. She’d have to substitute the word handsome, but it wouldn’t be enough. Lou was beautiful to her. Suddenly it hit her… not only was she engaged to the most perfect man of her dreams, now she’d get to plan the most perfect wedding ever. The kind of perfect wedding she’d dreamed about as a little girl. She couldn’t wait to start. But first, she tried on her ring and kissed him again. The wedding planning could wait a while longer.

Chapter Eight They planned a spring wedding. Or rather Livie planned it. Lou was content to let her have her way in everything. Livie had dreamed of this day since she was a little girl playing Barbies with Del. Oh, she’d changed a lot of those childhood plans, but she was sure that this was absolutely the wedding of her dreams. She glanced down at her dress and smiled. She’d wanted a dress just like her mom had worn. That had been the easiest part of the wedding to plan. She’d simply worn the same dress her mother had worn so many years ago. She remembered playing Barbies with Del and telling her that people didn’t share wedding dresses. Turns out, shared dresses were the best, at least in her case. “Are you ready?” her father asked. She kissed his cheek. “Yes.” Yes, she was ready to start her life with Lou.

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Del, wearing a sparkly black bridesmaid’s dress was her only attendant. Her friend threw open the chapel door and walked down. Her father, in a tux so like the one he’d worn to his own wedding, took Livie’s arm in his as they walked into the chapel and down the aisle. Just like she’d dreamed, the most important people in Pittsburgh were in attendance. Not the mayor, but the children she and Lou spent so much time with. Because rather than the big Cathedral in Pittsburgh, they’d held the wedding in the hospital chapel so their kids could attend. Rather than Sunday best, most of the guests were dressed in hospital gowns or scrubs. Some were wearing masks, some had no hair… and they all looked beautiful. She saw her mother standing in front of the first pew, with tears in her eyes. Beck stood next to her, looking uncomfortable in his suit. Yes, the most important people were at her wedding, despite the fact she’d never become a famous rock star, just as Del had predicted, and she hadn’t even dreamed of inviting the mayor. She reached Lou, and he took her hand in his, and the Reverend started. “Dearly beloved…” Yes, this was the perfect wedding to the most perfect man ever. After they’d been pronounced husband and wife, they went to the reception in the hospital cafeteria. Livie was pretty sure she’d hugged the Chief of Staff three times, but he didn’t seem to mind. She’d hugged everyone. Joannie had brought her iPod and Joey had rigged them up to speakers, so there was even dancing. As she tripped the light fantastic with her husband—she loved the sound of that—Lou whispered, “I love you, Mrs. Palmer.” “I love you, too.” And that’s when his beeper went off. “Stay, I’ll be back.” Livie found a quiet corner but Del came and found her. “Where’s Lou?” “He had a page, but he’ll be back.” “This isn’t the wedding you planned,” her friend said, sympathetically. “Are you disappointed?” “This is exactly the wedding I always planned,” Livie argued. “After all, you’re here, wearing a dress of your choosing. We’re surrounded by the most important people in Pittsburgh, our friends and family. I’ve even got the perfect dress. But most importantly, I’ve found the perfect groom.” “I thought the perfect one would never argue with you?” Del, who’d witnessed more than one of her tiffs with Lou, teased. “I might have been wrong about that one little part, but otherwise, this is just how I planned it.” Del laughed. “Yes, I guess you’re right. This is the wedding you always dreamed of. So, what about the honeymoon?”

*** Lou hurried back to the reception, which was winding down. “Are you ready?” he asked his wife. Livie smiled at him and nodded. “Should we change?” “No. Maybe we’ll change somewhere on the way, but let’s just enjoy being the bride and groom a bit longer. Rumor has it you’ve planned for the day for a very long time.”

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“By rumor, I’m sure you mean Del.” She laughed. “But she was right, and I would like it to last a little longer. Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” Lou had let Livie plan the wedding, but asked to be allowed to surprise her by planning the honeymoon. He knew that when she was younger, she’d dreamed about a honeymoon at some exotic location, but after listening to her stories, and consulting with her parents, he thought he’d found the perfect surprise. “I’ve rented us a cottage in Southampton for a week.” He knew the lakeside town in Ontario held a special place in her family’s hearts. Tears glistened in her eyes and he was afraid he’d made a mistake. “Livie, if you’d rather, we can go somewhere else. I didn’t want—” She threw herself into his arms. “You are the most perfect man. The most perfect groom and the most perfect husband.” “No one’s perfect.” “Okay, you’re almost perfect. After all, as an Eagle fan, there is no true perfection possible for you.” After they got settled in the car and he started up I-79, Livie started planning their honeymoon. “You’ll love it there, Lou. I swear, you can almost hear the sun hit the water some nights. And every evening we’ll walk from the cottage into town. I’ll get a root beer at the store and you’ll get?” “Last time I was in Canada, I had the most amazing cream soda. Think they’ll have it there?” Livie melted all over again. “I’m sure they will.” Livie’s mother used to say that life was punctuated by big moments, but made up of the smaller ones. Today had been a big one, but she was looking forward to the root beer and cream soda moments in Southampton. To waking up next to this man every morning for the rest of her life. To glittered masks and Halloween scrubs. To a lifetime of moments…a lifetime of love.

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Mason's Kiss by Sheri WhiteFeather Beverly Clark has a secret...one she must keep at all costs. So she’s thrown for a loop when an accident on a desolate country road throws her together with handsome winemaker-in-training, Mason Sheppard, who has returned home to Napa Valley from France to visit with his family. Mason can’t deny the attraction he feels for the mysterious Beverly, but she knows she can’t give in to temptation- not if she wants to keep her secret safe! Can Beverly follow her heart and keep the truth hidden?

Stunned, Beverly sat behind the wheel. She’d just rammed her Karmann Ghia into the side of a truck. And on a wine-country road, no less. A lush, hilly grade in Napa Valley, California. Her hideaway. Her sudden nightmare. She knew the collision was her fault. Her mind had been wandering and she’d taken the right-of-way at a four-way stop. But she should have yielded to the other driver. He climbed out of his vehicle, a big, black Dodge. He stood tall, over six feet, with rebellious blond hair, frayed jeans and scuffed boots. He was about her age, she guessed. Twenty-five, give or take a year. She prayed that he wouldn’t insist on filing an accident report, because that would mean calling the highway patrol. And flashing her counterfeit ID to an officer of the law. What if her license didn’t pass the test? What if she was hauled in for questioning? Beverly glanced up, and the other driver appeared at her window. She gathered her wits and rolled down the glass. He leaned forward, giving her an unobstructed view of his face. His eyes were an electric shade of blue, and although stubble darkened a rough-hewn jaw, the rest of his features held a boyish appeal. She suspected that his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. Of course he wasn’t smiling now. “Are you okay?” he asked. She merely nodded. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” She reached for the door handle, and he stepped back, allowing her to exit the car. She needed to prove that she was fine, even if her knees threatened to buckle. “I’m so sorry. After you get an estimate, I’ll pay for the damage to your truck. In cash,” she added, discouraging him from contacting his insurance company. She had plenty of money tucked away, even if she was careful not to flaunt it. Together, they walked over to the point of impact. Both vehicles had gotten by with just a couple of dents. Beverly breathed a sigh of relief. She had expected the front of her yellow Ghia to look like a squashed daisy. Taking care of business, they exchanged information. He said his name was Mason Lucas Sheppard and that he lived on an estate called The Vines. “My family owns Lauret Vineyard,” he explained. “It’s here in the Valley, but I spend most of my time in France, traveling and studying. I’m a winemaker-in-training.” He smiled, and her prediction came true. He

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had dimples. “It’s the best job in the world.” He moved closer to her. “But don’t tell anyone that I get homesick once in a while. It’ll kill my international image.” He was very forthcoming with details, she thought, especially considering she had just smashed into his truck. She tried to return his smile, but she couldn’t find the strength to put on a show. She could feel him gazing into her eyes, searching with concern. He placed his hand on her shoulder, lightly, gently, nearly stilling the breeze that fluttered between them. “Are you sure you’re all right? That you aren’t hurt?” His touch, his compassion, went straight to her heart. She’d been hurt more times than he could possibly know. “It’s just been a crummy day.” He caught her gaze again, and she realized they were standing in the middle of a vacant road, staring at each other. She imagined how pale she must look, her dyed black hair accentuating the lightness of her skin. He, on the other hand, looked big and strong and secure. “Will you let me take you to dinner?” he asked. “Something to make up for a crummy day?” Oh, God. She teetered on her feet. He was inviting her on a date. Her. Beverly fraudulent Clark. She wanted to go out with him, to dream, to pretend that a handsome stranger could change her life. But she shook her head, instead, declining his offer. Keeping herself under lock and key. Mason studied his companion. He wished she hadn’t turned him down. He wasn’t ready to let Beverly Clark go. Everything about her intrigued him. Her unconventional beauty struck him like a match to flint, like an instant flame. She wore a long black skirt, a gauzy blouse and a denim jacket. Around her neck, a scarf, the color of a full-bodied merlot, fluttered like a veil. Her hair, cropped short and fringed with bangs, was too dark for the fairness of her skin. It made her seem ghostly, gothic. But her eyes captivated him the most, with a hint of mystery. Mason had only been home from France for a day. One breathtaking Napa Valley day. He loved the wine country and all its glory. Trees, grass, vineyards... Grapes, he thought. Jewels of the earth. He gazed at Beverly again, wondering how long she’d lived in the Valley. And then a thought hit him. “Did I just step on another man’s toes?” he asked. “A boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?” “No.” She closed her jacket, buttoning herself into it. “I’m not involved with anyone.” “Then why won’t you have dinner with me?” he asked before he could stop himself. A second later, he winced at his own persistence, hoping he didn’t seem like a total idiot. “Sorry. That was pushy.” She actually smiled. A barely there smile, but a positive reaction just the same. “You’re aggressive,” she agreed, “but I think you mean well.” He let out the breath he’d been holding, touched by the softness he saw in her eyes. “It’s a habit, I guess. My parents spoil the loving hell out of me. Sometimes my brothers and sisters cater to me, too.” “You must be the baby.” He nodded, reminded of the simplicity of his roots compared to those of his brothers and sisters. His halfsiblings carried the notorious Ashton name- a curse, as far as Mason was concerned. He was glad he didn’t

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have Ashton blood running through his veins. “They’ll vouch for me. Talk me up. Tell you I’m capable of changing your life.” The wind blew, rustling her scarf, making it billow. “Would they really say that?” “The females in my family probably would.” He decided that she was an only child. That she must not have any brothers or sisters to believe in her. “But they’re biased.” When they both fell silent, Mason shifted his stance. There was something hauntingly familiar about Beverly, something he couldn’t quite name. Was it the sound of her voice? The way she moved? The shape of her mouth? The colorless lip gloss she wore? “Do you speak French?” she asked. He nodded. “Do you?” “A little,” she admitted. “But not very well.” When she took a step, one heart-thundering step toward him, Mason hoped that she would decide to have dinner with him, to explore the chemistry he was feeling between them. To him, their accident seemed like fate. And Beverly Clark, with her gothic beauty and merlot scarf, seemed like part of his future. A woman he was destined to meet. Beverly soaked in the tub, then rummaged through her closet and chose an Edwardian dress, a soft linen garment trimmed in textured embroidery and a hint of lace. She could have skipped the citrus-scented bath and worn the same clothes she’d had on earlier, but she wanted to feel fresh, to look old-fashioned and feminine. Not that she had any business going on a date. When she’d altered her appearance and changed her name, she’d promised herself that she would avoid getting close to anyone. That she would live in seclusion until Darby Quinn faded from the limelight. But that was before she’d met Mason Sheppard. Before he’d charmed her, intrigued her. Anxious, she glanced at her watch. Too late to cancel. He would be there any minute. Unsure of what else to do, she fluffed the decorative pillows on the couch, smoothing the tassels. She lived in a cottage that was tucked away in the hills, a gingerbread-style house that Darby’s cosmetic surgeon had helped her find. A knock sounded on the door. Beverly took a deep breath and answered the summons. There stood Mason, tall and blond, with his jaw cleanly shaven and his blue eyes twinkling. She invited him inside, and he handed her a bouquet of lilac roses. For a long, drawn-out moment, she froze, unable to move. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “No.” She struggled to regain her composure. Did he know what giving lilac roses to a woman meant? What the color symbolized? “These are my favorite flowers.” “They are? Then I got lucky, I guess. I just thought they were pretty.” “I’ll put them in water.” She went into the kitchen, and he followed her. She could hear his footsteps on the ceramic tile. She found a clear glass vase and arranged the de-thorned roses, placing them on the dinette set.

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“You look beautiful, Beverly.” She turned and saw him watching her. “Thank you.” She motioned to the flowers, grateful that he wasn’t aware of what they indicated. That he wasn’t making a deliberate statement. “For the bouquet, too.” He smiled, and she pictured him living in France, learning his craft, traveling to different wineries, eating at quaint cafés, enjoying the company of beautiful women. “How long are you going to be in Napa Valley?” she asked. “Two weeks.” He reached out to touch her high-neck collar, fingering the lace, appreciating the delicate finery. “Why? Are you going to miss me when I’m gone?” Yes, she thought, her skin tingling at his closeness. She would miss the Prince Charming spell he’d begun to cast, the uncharacteristic way he affected her. Darby had taught her not to believe in fairy tales, but Beverly couldn’t help the way Mason already made her feel. “I barely know you.” “That doesn’t mean you won’t miss me.” He walked over to the table, snapped the stem of one of the roses and tucked the flower behind her ear, brushing the petals against her cheek. “Or that I won’t miss you.” Suddenly, Beverly couldn’t think straight. When he lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes, her heart struck her chest. Lilac roses: love at first sight. Mason took Beverly to a restaurant that showcased wines from local vintners. They sat at a rustic table with a nighttime view. A fat white candle flickered between them, the flame dancing on air. He watched the wax melt, wishing his heart wasn’t moving so damn fast. As he sat across from Beverly, Mason wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and devour her with a kiss that would leave them both breathless. “You were right.” She sipped an award-winning cabernet sauvignon from his family’s boutique winery. “This is perfect with pan-grilled steak.” Mason didn’t respond. The beef was seasoned with sprigs of rosemary, enhancing the herbal qualities of the wine. But that hardly mattered. He hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol, yet he was lightheaded. For the first time in his life, he was getting drunk on a woman. Madly, strangely, stupidly drunk. She cut into her steak again, taking another bite. Was she calmer now? he wondered. Had the rich red cabernet soothed her nerves? Earlier she’d seemed edgy, unearthed by the flower he’d tucked behind her ear. The lilac rose she still wore. “Tell me about your family,” she said. “The folks who spoil me?” “Yes.” She scooted to the edge of her seat, seeming genuinely interested in what he had to say. “I have two half sisters and two half brothers,” he told her. “They’re my mother’s children from a previous marriage. Mom’s first husband was a bastard. He forced her into relinquishing her estate. And after he screwed her over in the divorce, he deserted their children.”

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“That’s awful.” Her voice went hollow, distant. “There’s so much cruelty in the world. So much pain.” Mason gauged her response. Had someone hurt her? Someone like the man who’d wounded his family? “My mom bounced back, and so did my brothers and sisters.” “How?” “By meeting my dad. He married Mom and raised her children as his own. He was their salvation- exactly what they needed.” She looked up from her plate. “And then you were born? The little brother? The baby?” “Yes.” He was still wondering about her, anxious to unlock her mystery. “Sometimes they forget that I’m not a kid anymore. But it’s only because they love me.” “That must be a comforting feeling.” “It is.” Mason glanced at the candle. The flame was still dancing, still burning bright. He knew how lucky he was. “I’ve never had to think twice about it.” “What are your brothers’ and sisters’ names?” Beverly asked, prodding him for more information. “Eli, Cole, Mercedes and Jillian.” He lifted his knife and cut into an asparagus spear. “Their father has other grown children. But my brothers and sisters don’t have anything to do with them.” “Do his other kids live close by?” He nodded. “They were raised in the estate he stole from my mom.” “How unfair.” She buttered her bread, paused, and then made a curious expression. “And complicated.” “A lot of people’s lives are.” But his wasn’t. At least, not until today, not until he’d met her. “Now I want to know about you, Beverly.” He leaned forward. “I want to know who you are.” Mason stared at Beverly expectantly, waiting for her to speak. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Although she tried for a casual air, an unaffected shrug, her effort fell short. She was giving the worst performance of her life. Yet this was supposed to be her skill, her forte. Somewhere deep down she wanted to be honest. But Darby wouldn’t let her. She could hear Darby’s voice in her head, warning her to be careful, to not reveal too much. Mason searched her gaze, probably seeing the indecision in her eyes. Could he see the outline of her contact lenses, too? The opaque tint that changed her natural blue eyes to brown? “Tell me something. Anything.” He stopped eating, pushing away his plate, clanking his silverware. “How long you’ve lived in the Valley. What kind of work you do.”

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“I’ve been here for a month.” She’d arrived after the scars on her face had healed, after the postsurgery bruises had faded. “And I ended my career. I left it behind.” He blinked at her, waiting for more. When she didn’t offer anything else, he prodded. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” “Yes.” She couldn’t bear to lie to him, to recite a phony background, to deceive him any more than she already had. Nor could she discuss her work with him. Not without betraying Darby. He ran his hand over his jaw. Candlelight flickered across his skin, shadowing the angles of his face, making him look even more handsome. When a strand of his hair fell forward, it slashed across his brow, razor straight and surfer blond. She thought about the beach house where she used to live, the Malibu sun, the scatter of seashells glistening on the sand, the childhood memories that always crashed with the shore. “What about your family?” he asked. “At least tell me about them.” “My father is dead.” “And your mother?” She fell silent. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her mom. Or about the man who’d hurt two innocent little girls. “I assume you don’t have any brothers or sisters,” he said. Her youth assaulted her, making her memories even more painful. His assumption was wrong, but she kept quiet, letting him believe that she was an only child. Mason tilted his head, observing her reactions. “You’re so complicated.” Beverly wasn’t about to argue. She didn’t know how to behave like an everyday person. But Darby had been lousy at that, too. Of course, Darby hadn’t lived an ordinary life. “Maybe you should take me home.” “And call it a night?” He made an empty gesture. “Just like that?” “We’re both done with our meals,” she pointed out. “I think we should finish the date,” he said. She removed the flower from behind her ear, setting it on the table. “Why? What’s left?” She indicated the pastry cart in the corner, where éclairs, cream puffs and chocolate delicacies beckoned. “Dessert? Coffee?” “Yes. But there’s more. Maybe a moonlit walk...and a kiss,” he all but whispered, making her breath catch. “A romantic way to say goodnight.” After dessert and coffee, Mason drove Beverly to her cottage, taking the winding stretch of asphalt ribbon in silence. She looked out the window at the scenery that passed by. The pitch of night shrouded the forested hillside and dappled the road. To her, the area seemed enchanted. And so did the man beside her. She’d never met anyone like him. Tall, strong, idyllic Mason. She was anticipating his kiss, thinking about his lips on hers.

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By the time they reached her cozy little rental, her heart tumbled to her throat. He parked in the graveled driveway, and they turned to look at each other. “I like complicated women,” he said. In the darkness of his truck, his eyes seemed gray, the bright blue color difficult to discern. But the honesty in them was raw, real, something Beverly wasn’t accustomed to. Her world had never been true. Lies, deceits and falsehoods had followed her like a pack of fang-bearing wolves. She itched to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair. He wore it long in front, letting it fall in natural disarray. “I feel like I never know what to say to you.” “Because you’re keeping secrets.” He touched her hair, instead, tousling the choppy layers. “At first you reminded me of a beautiful ghost; a gothic creature who could haunt a guy’s dreams. But now that I’ve seen where you live, I think maybe you’re a wood nymph.” She knew what a wood nymph was: a beautiful maiden, a Dryad in Greek mythology, who inhabited ancient trees. “I am hiding from my past... I have to.” “I know. And at some point, you’ll tell me why.” He made it sound so easy. But if the press uncovered her true identity, her life would be a living hell, the way it had been before. “I can’t make any promises.” “I can. I’m good at keeping my word.” He grazed her cheek with his calloused fingertips. The passionate winemaker, she thought, as the roughness of his skin abraded her. She envisioned him pruning plants in the winter, training the vines, harvesting his beloved grapes by hand. He leaned into her, slowly, slanting his mouth over hers. When their lips made contact, she latched on to him, drinking him in, sampling the rich masculine flavor. His tongue sought hers, and she shuddered in his arms. Warmth spread through her belly, and the truck seemed to be spinning in rapid arcs, taking her pulse with it. She never wanted it to end. The moonlight he’d mentioned during dinner appeared like a dream, drifting through the windows, creating a lunar glow. They kissed, over and over again, a man and a woman seized in a mindless moment. Finally, when they required air, they stopped, breathing like marathon runners. “Damn,” he said. “Double damn,” she parroted, making him smile. They left the confinement of his truck, and he walked her to her door. As they stood on her stone porch, she feared he was an illusion- magic that was sure to slip away. “You better go inside,” he said reluctantly, as he tugged on her shawl. “It’s cold out here.” Beverly didn’t care if the wind was whipping through her bones. Her feelings for this man were hitting her...hard. She didn’t want to lose him, to watch him drive off into the night. But then what should she do? she asked herself. Invite him to stay? To spend the night with her?

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Beverly stood on the porch and weighed her options. Mason was going back to France in two weeks, and she was hiding from the world. The odds weren’t in their favour. But she wanted him. God help her, she did. As he released her shawl, the fringe at the bottom of it fluttered. “You should go inside,” he said, warning her once again that she wasn’t dressed for the weather. “Not yet,” she told him. He removed his sport coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “What am I going to do with you, Beverly?” She gave him a shaky smile, her heart fighting an irrational beat. “I was wondering the same thing about you.” She couldn’t pretend that sleeping with him would change her life. Yet being in his arms felt so good, so right. “Will you hold me?” she asked, still wanting him, still battling her emotions. “You know I will.” He embraced her, and she nearly melted against him. She could feel his muscles bunching beneath his shirt. The power of who he was, of his strength. He backed her into a corner of the porch, sheltering both of them from the wind. But as close as they were, she noticed he was careful not to rub against her, to take advantage, to entice her into bed. The thought made her laugh. Confused, he stepped back. “What’s so funny?” She looked up at him. His hair was falling over his forehead, getting in his eyes. “You. Me. I was debating on whether I should invite you to spend the night, and you’re trying to be so good.” He blinked, pushed his hair back. “Now you’ve got me aroused.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing again. “You were already aroused.” “Yeah, but now it’s worse.” “Go home, Mason.” She returned his jacket. “I can tell that you were born to be a gentleman. You’ve got to be the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.” “Sweet?” He made a sour face. “I’m no Boy Scout.” No, she thought. He was a gorgeous, hot-blooded American male. And he’d probably had sex with half the women in France. “Will you come back tomorrow?” “What for?” He cracked a smart-aleck smile. “Cookies and milk?” “Breakfast,” she countered. “Pancakes.” “Fine.” He roamed his gaze over her. “But I’m bringing condoms.” Was he joking? Teasing her? At this point, she couldn’t tell. Self-conscious, she closed her shawl, wrapping the crocheted cover-up around her virginal dress.

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“Bring some orange juice, too,” she told him, trying to sound as cavalier as he looked. He tossed his jacket at her. “Your teeth are chattering.” And her nipples were hard, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She caught the sport coat. The fabric smelled like his cologne. Erotic. Woodsy. “I don’t need to keep warm. I’m going inside.” “Keep it anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch, heading for his truck. But he didn’t leave right away. He waited for her to unlock her front door, to enter her cottage, to disappear into the shelter of her home. Once she was alone, she flopped onto the sofa and pressed his jacket against her body, anxious for morning to come. Mason awakened at the crack of dawn, thinking about his surroundings, the place where he grew up. The Vines was a French country-style home constructed of rustic gray and white stone, a dark slate roof and steeple-like peaks. Aside from the main house, the grounds held a winery, a carriage house, a guest cottage, stables and a small man-made lake. Even as a boy, he’d appreciated the Old World charm. Ready to start the day, to see Beverly, he took a shower and got dressed, choosing comfortable jeans and a blue sweater. He combed his hair straight back and splashed on some cologne. He glanced at the bedside clock in his room and realized Beverly hadn’t specified what time he was supposed to go over. Which meant what? That he could show up at his leisure? He slipped on a pair of distressed-leather boots. Mason liked casual clothes with a stylish edge. He liked pretty girls in vintage dresses, too. A moment later, he grabbed a fistful of condoms and shoved them in his front pocket. With an anxious breath, he went downstairs to boost his system with caffeine. He entered the kitchen and discovered that his brothers were at the stove, preparing some sort of massive omelet. “Where were you?” Eli asked. Mason gave him a dumbfounded stare. “In bed.” “He means last night.” This came from Cole, a man with short dark hair and the Ashtons’ green eyes- a trait possessed by all the siblings. “You missed a family dinner.” Mason poured himself a cup of coffee. “I had a date.” “That’s what we figured.” Cole grated a mound of cheese. At 36-years-old, he was a year younger than Eli and eleven years older than Mason. “Anyone we know?” Mason shook his head. He wasn’t prepared to talk about Beverly, not with a handful of condoms burning a hole in his pocket. “Are you going to see her again?” “Maybe.”

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“Maybe?” Cole moved closer and grabbed the neckline of his sweater, stretching it for a quick sniff. Mason tried to pull away, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Fancy cologne,” Cole confirmed. “Our boy has another date.” “I wonder if we should tell him about the birds and the bees,” Eli said, chuckling at his own wit. A rarity, considering his serious nature. Mason rolled his eyes. His brothers were in fine form this morning. “As if either of you have room to talk. At least I’m not a candidate for Viagra.” “Smart ass.” Cole made an overzealous attempt to swat him with a dish towel, missed and hit the salt and pepper shakers, spilling them onto the counter. Eli went into his caveman mode and tried to protect the grub he was cooking while Mason abandoned his coffee and seized a towel of his own, twirling it, getting ready to snap it at Cole. “Good morning, boys.” Their mother’s voice stilled the horseplay. Caroline Sheppard entered the kitchen, looking warm and graceful. Although she carried a few extra pounds, she never seemed to notice or care. When she flashed a sweet smile, Mason knew she enjoyed having her sons close by, behaving like the kids they used to be. She peered at the overstuffed omelet and made a curious face. “Is that supposed to be for all of us?” “Not me.” Mason replaced his towel, folding it neatly in the drawer. “I’m having breakfast somewhere else.” He remembered the orange juice Beverly had requested and removed an unopened carton from the fridge. “Can I take this?” “Of course you can.” His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek, then recited the same words she’d been saying to him since he was in high school. “Stay out of trouble.” “I will,” he repeated automatically, knowing damn well that he was headed for the worst kind of trouble. Falling in love. As Beverly busied herself with the pancake batter, she could feel Mason watching everything she did. He sat at the dinette set, observing her with what seemed like appreciation. Of course, Beverly had been admired before. No, she thought. That wasn’t true. Darby was the one who’d attracted attention. The angelic-looking blonde had been revered by strangers. But most of those people had turned on her later. Last week, the tabloids had reported that Darby Quinn was dead. That she’d committed suicide, even though her body hadn’t been found. This week, she’d been spotted on a beach in Cancun. Beverly cracked an egg into the bowl, wondering if Elvis had been sighted there, too. Darby had always identified with Elvis. Not because of his fame, but because he had a twin brother who’d died at birth. Dead or alive, a twin was a twin- part of yourself that stayed with you forever. Darby knew that better than anyone. “Are you focusing on the pancakes?” Mason asked. She looked up at him. “What?” “You seem so intense.” He left his seat and walked toward her, stopping when he was only inches away. She tried to relax, but his sudden proximity was creating topsy-turvy sensations. “You’ve been staring at me.”

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He remained close, much too close. “I can’t help it. I’m obsessed with you.” The way the public was obsessed with celebrities? She gazed into his eyes, praying that he understood the consequences, the ache that came with obsession. “That’s not a safe word, Mason.” “I know, but there’s nothing safe about the way I feel.” She struggled for an appropriate response. She’d never experienced anyone like him. “You’re so honest all the time.” “What’s there to lie about? I’m an open book.” So was Darby. Literally, she thought. Only the bestselling biography had been a deception, a horrible, painful facade. But worse yet was the author of the book. The woman who’d penned all those damaging words. “I won’t pressure you, Beverly.” She sucked in a barely controlled breath. “About what?” “About your secrets.” “Thank you,” she said, even though she knew that his patience would only take him so far. Clearing her mind, she glanced at the half-stirred batter. “I need to finish this.” Twenty minutes later, the pancakes were done, along with a side of fried eggs and ham. Mason set the table, where the lilac roses he’d given her created a centerpiece. When he discovered her ancient plates, he tilted his head. “Is everything you have old?” She watched him examine the slightly chipped china. “I like things that survive the test of time. Antiques, collectibles, thrift-store treasures.” “Like your car. It’s vintage, too.” She brought the food to the table. “Speaking of cars, when are you going to get an estimate?” “Soon, but I don’t want you to pay for it.” He filled their glasses with juice. “I’ll take care of it myself.” “But I hit you. I damaged your truck.” “I know.” He held out her chair for her. “But that accident changed something inside me.” She took the proffered seat, felt her heart stumble. “Because of us?” He nodded. “Because we’re going to be together.” He dug into his pocket and removed a glittering array of condoms, scattering them around the flowers. “Or I hope we are.” Beverly gazed at the foil packets. Last night she’d wondered if Mason had been teasing her. But now she knew he wasn’t. This was his way of asking her to make love with him. They ate breakfast with the condoms on the table. Eggs, pancakes and prophylactics. It was, Mason thought, strange, sexy and surreal. Silence engulfed them, but it hardly mattered. He was too busy watching her eat. He liked the way she poured the syrup, the way she drenched her food. Every time she licked her lips, his zipper turned tight.

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He imagined her using that gorgeous mouth on him. “You’re making me nervous,” she said. “Sorry.” He grabbed his orange juice and took a thirst-quenching swallow. He wanted to use his mouth on her, too. She lifted her napkin and blotted her lips. He struggled to sit still, to keep himself from pulling her onto his lap, from kissing her senseless. She wore a caftan, a loose-fitting tunic that reminded him of his international travels. He’d been to a Moroccan wedding where the bride had worn a similar garment, fancier, but the same style. He’d attended a French wedding, too. In that ceremony, the groom had escorted the bride to the chapel while children stretched white ribbon across the road. Why was he thinking about that, he wondered. He wasn’t looking for a wife. At least, he hadn’t been. “Have you ever been in a committed relationship?” he asked. She shook her head. “No. Have you?” “No.” He paused, frowned a little. “I date a lot. Play the field, I guess. But when I go back to France, it’s going to feel strange doing that again.” She toyed with her ham. “Because of me?” He nodded. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? Getting attached to someone this soon?” “Sex is going to make it even more difficult.” She glanced at the foil packets. “For both of us. You live abroad, and I’m struggling with issues from my past. I’m not even sure how long I’ll stay in Napa Valley. I might decide to disappear, to go somewhere else.” He fought the ache of what losing her would do to him. He’d assumed she would remain in her cottage. That he could visit her whenever he returned. “We’ll have to think of this as a once-in-a-lifetime affair. We’ll have to accept it for what it is.” She looked at him, deeply, tenderly, and he wished he knew her secrets. She was as elusive as the wood nymph she reminded him of, as a fabled goddess. “Which one is your favorite?” she asked, running her fingers over the condoms, scattering them even more. He gave her an anxious smile. “I’m okay with all of them.” He’d just grabbed a bunch from a variety pack. She reached for a shiny blue packet, teasing him with it. “This one says extended pleasure. Is that true?” Unable to hold back any longer, he leaned over to kiss her, to slip his tongue into her mouth. She returned his kiss, and he dragged her onto his lap, just the way he’d imagined. He didn’t care if they made love on the kitchen table. He was willing to do it anywhere. But, instead, she took his hand and led him to her room, where he found her bed was unmade, with fluffy white sheets and an antique quilt. Soft, he thought. Delicate. An invitation that humbled him. And made him want her even more. Beverly closed her eyes. Mason’s touch felt so warm, so seductive. He removed her caftan, and she released the condom in her hand, letting it drop to the floor. He skimmed his fingers along the sides of her

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body, sending sweet chills up her spine. She opened her eyes and saw him gazing back at her. She stood before him in her panties and bra, in white lace and simple cotton. He unhooked her bra and took down the straps, sliding them off her arms, and then began to rub his thumbs over her nipples. When he smiled, she pitched forward a little. She couldn’t have dreamed this moment if she tried. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Her panties came next. He discarded them, then dropped to his knees, leaving her completely naked and vulnerable to his seduction. His lips. His tongue. He kissed her there, between her legs, taking what he wanted, making the room spin. He sipped her, the way he would taste nectar from the vine, a silky pinot noir, a rich merlot, an herbal cabernet sauvignon- the wines he created. She tunneled her hands through his hair. Her Mason. Her lover. He was still fully clothed, still wearing his sweater, his jeans, his boots. Unable to stop herself, she rocked against his mouth. Intimate foreplay. Dangerous heat. Sensation slammed into sensation, deep and slick and carnal. He licked; he laved; he drove her half mad. He looked up at her, and her knees went weak. The fear of falling in love hit her like a long-lost pain. She’d never let herself get this close to anyone, not emotionally, not where it counted. As her heart reacted, her body followed, creating a dizzying effect, a crashing motion. She climaxed, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer. When it ended, when her vision stopped blurring, he rose to his full height and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, dragging her into another mind-altering sensation. By the time they separated, she needed air, a gust of soul-scorching oxygen. She breathed deeply and grappled with his clothes, yanking his sweater over his head, baring his chest. They stumbled to the bed, falling onto rumpled sheets. He kicked off his boots which landed on the floor with a thud. Beverly opened his zipper, nearly breaking the metal teeth. He wasn’t wearing underwear. No boxers, no briefs. “Mason.” She said his name, and he rolled over, pinning her beneath him, cuffing her wrists with his hands. Making her his prisoner. Mason gazed into Beverly’s eyes. His fantasy, he thought. She looked so beautiful, so pure and real. He liked the fairness of her complexion. Its milky whiteness made her nipples stand out. The lines of her body captivated him, too- the column of her neck, the curve of her hips. She was everything he craved, everything he wanted. But he didn’t do anything but keep her pinned to the bed. He wanted to remember this moment, the prelude to lovemaking. She glanced down at his fly, at his open zipper, and heat spread through his loins. He was already hard, already imagining all the positions they were going to engage in, all the slick, sultry sex.

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Finally, he leaned forward to inhale her skin, her soap, her powder, her perfume. Then he rubbed against her, arousing himself even more. His jeans rustled, the denim chafing her skin. She arched, bending her body like an acrobat, then she broke free of his bonds. In the instant that followed, they rolled over the bed, tugging at his jeans, taking them all the way off. She stroked him, tracing the shape, making his heart bang against his chest. Still exploring him, she lowered her head, getting ready to do what he’d done to her. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I want to,” she countered, darting her tongue, taking catlike licks. If she purred, he was going to lose his mind. He toyed with her hair, waiting for her to go deeper, to take him in her mouth. But she didn’t. She kept teasing him, making him suffer. He watched her, wondering how he was going to survive. She caressed every inch, circling the head of his penis, tasting the glistening beads of moisture. Every stroke, every naughty little lick made him groan. He grabbed on to the brass rails of the headboard and lifted his hips. And then she did it. She sucked him, hot and hard and deep. Over and over, creating friction. Finally, before he lost control, he pulled her up, desperate to be with her. “Where’s the condom?” he asked, his pulse still pounding between his legs. She peered over the side of the bed. “I dropped it.” They tore apart the clothes they’d left on the floor, looking for the foil packet. Mason found it under her panties. While he ripped it open and battled the latex, she touched him, running her hand along his thigh. He fought his next breath. All he wanted to do was thrust inside her, to make the ache go away. They made love in every position he’d imagined, until he was on top, looking into her eyes. He couldn’t get enough of her. The more he took, the more she gave, the more he wanted. She attacked his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh. He welcomed the lust-driven pain, the turbulent thrills, the heart-surging adrenaline. She was his goddess, his nymph, the lady clawing at his sanity. He slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed that sweet, sensitive little spot. “Don’t stop,” she said. “I won’t.” Not yet, he thought. She quivered beneath him, on the verge of a climax. He could feel it rising like a wave. And when it happened, he kissed her, holding her close, absorbing every breathy pant, every orgasmic shudder. Then he closed his eyes and let himself fall, as far and deep as he could, unable to deny what he’d been afraid of all along. That he was falling in love with her. Mason went to Beverly’s bathroom to dispose of the condom. Afterward, he gazed in the mirror. Frustrated, he splashed water on his face, thinking he was an idiot.

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He’d only known her two days. Two days. Yet it wasn’t a mistake, an error in his mind, a glitch in his heart. He was falling in love, damn it. He knew he was. He returned to her room. She was sitting up in bed, with the sheet loosely draped, concealing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, the parts of her body he wanted to touch and kiss all over again. She met his gaze, and he grabbed his jeans and put them on. Being naked around her wasn’t a good idea. Not now. Not while he was cursing his stupidity. She tilted her head. “Do you do that all the time?” He zipped his pants. “Do what?” “Not wear underwear.” He fumbled with the snap. “Why? Do you think it’s strange?” “No. I think it’s sexy.” She smiled, making him weak. Her lips seemed memorable, as though he’d seen her smile a thousand times before. Her eyes haunted him, too- they were a familiar shape, but the wrong color. “Do you mind if I light some incense?” she asked. “Go ahead.” He glanced at the brass burner on her nightstand. Aromatherapy was an ancient practice, used by healers, gurus, priests and wizards. Why not a mysterious woman, too? As scented smoke filled the air, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching it curl, drift and dance. “Making love with you was incredible,” she said. Unable to resist, he reached out to skim her cheek, to absorb the texture of her skin. “For me, too.” Their gazes locked, and he searched her eyes, trying to see if she wore contact lenses. She did. He caught a glimpse of their edges. But that didn’t unravel her mystery. Her familiarity went beyond the surface, beyond the changes she’d obviously made to her appearance. Somewhere in the back of his heart, he felt as if he’d loved her before. “I should get dressed.” She broke eye contact and leaned forward. The sheet fell, exposing her nakedness. Mason watched her slip the caftan over her head. No bra, no panties. She remained bare underneath, like him. She adjusted the flowing tunic. “Should we finish breakfast? I can reheat our plates. We can eat in bed.” “Sure. That sounds nice.” Cozy. Romantic. The kind of sexual aftermath she probably needed, and Mason wasn’t about to deny her. “But let me help.” They went into the kitchen together and prepared a tray. She tossed a few condoms on it. “For later,” she told him. Blood rushed straight to his groin. “I like the way you think.” He noticed the Sunday paper sitting on the counter and placed it on the tray, as well. To him, sharing the newspaper seemed like something a couple should do. He’d seen his parents divide the Napa Valley Register a zillion times.

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They returned to her room, sat on the bed and ate their leftover meals. Mason thought it tasted even better the second time around. While they lingered over coffee, he unfolded the paper. “Do you have a preference?” “How about the front page?” He gave her the news section and he went to the community pages. When he came across familiar faces, he frowned. Spencer Ashton and his current wife were hosting an upcoming charity event, making themselves look like the duke and duchess of the Valley. “He’s such a phony.” “Who?” He pointed to the black-and-white photograph. “The bastard who abandoned my brothers and sisters.” She glanced at the picture. “He’s their father?” She gave Mason an accusatory look. “Why didn’t you tell me that your family was connected to him?” “I just did,” he responded, confused by her reaction. “Besides, why does it matter? You don’t even know Spencer.” He stalled, examined her gaze. “Do you?” Mason stared expectantly at Beverly, waiting for her to reply. She shook head. “No. I don’t know Spencer Ashton, not personally.” “Then what’s the big deal? Why are you acting so strange?” Because your connection to one of the most prominent families in the country could put my identity in danger, she thought. Aloud, she said, “I read about Spencer in Fortune magazine. He runs a highly successful investmentbanking firm in San Francisco, and on top of that, his Napa Valley vineyard makes a bundle.” She glanced at the older man’s picture. “People flock for tours of his winery and couples clamor to get married on his estate.” “So he’s mega rich. So what?” “He’s not just rich, he’s famous. He stirs the press.” She lifted the Register. “He makes the papers. His wife is a socialite. She thrives on being celebrated.” “Lilah?” He said the woman’s name with distain. “She’s nobody, Beverly. She used to be Spencer’s secretary. He cheated on my mom with her.” “Maybe so, but she carved a niche for herself among high society. The haut monde,” she added, using her limited French. “And what does any of this have to do with you?” He shifted on the bed. “Are you a runaway socialite?” “No.” But if the media discovered that she was sleeping with a man associated with the Ashtons, they’d have a field day. Mason’s life, and hers, would never be the same. He realized he would get nothing more from her on the subject.

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Nervous, she lifted the breakfast tray with their empty dishes and put it on the nightstand. Incense still burned, filling the room with patchouli-scented smoke. She breathed in the mossy fragrance, the deep, earthy aroma. “You seem familiar to me,” he said, making her heart nearly stop. He moved closer to her, reaching out to touch her face. “Maybe we’re reincarnated lovers. Maybe we knew each other in a past life.” His romantic speculation made her ache. He was grasping at supernatural straws, trying to make sense of something he didn’t understand. He traced the outline of her jaw. “You seem the same yet different. Your eyes, your lips, the way you smile. It’s as though you’re someone who once mattered to me.” She fought the urge to cry. She didn’t want her old self to matter to him. She didn’t want the woman she used to be to come between them. “What you’re feeling isn’t real. It’s an illusion, Mason.” Her past coming back to haunt her, she thought. “We weren’t lovers in another life. And in this life, we only met two days ago.” He followed the fullness of her lips, using the tip of his finger like a pencil, as though he were drawing her in his mind. “Then why are you so familiar?” he asked. “Why are you haunting me?” “I don’t know,” she lied, even though she suspected the reason. “I’m falling in love with you, Beverly. I know it sounds crazy, but I am.” The tears she’d been trying to hold back misted her eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed about.” The man stealing her soul. “But you’re mixing me up with someone else.” “That doesn’t make sense.” Yes, it does. To her, it made perfect, painful sense. A riddle she didn’t want him to solve. Mason sat on the dock at The Vines, gazing at the lake, analyzing his situation. A week had passed. Seven days of an affair, of making love day and night, of spending countless hours with Beverly in her enchanted little cottage. Of wondering who she was. Of wishing he could piece together the puzzle. “Are you okay?” He turned to the sound of Jillian’s voice. His 32-year-old sister gazed at him. She was tall and slender, with light brown hair and the Ashton’s signature green eyes. Cultured and well spoken, she was the senior wine educator at Lauret Vineyards. She was also a widow. Her husband, Jason Bennedict, had died two years ago. Prior to that, they’d been married for five years. Not that Jillian ever confided in Mason about her marriage. Her private life had always been a bit of a mystery to him. A lot like Beverly. “I’m fine,” he said, shrugging off his solemn mood. He and his sisters had agreed to have coffee on the dock, to spend a little time together. “Where’s Mercedes?”

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“She’ll be here soon. She’s bringing the cappuccino.” Jillian sat next to him. The wind stirred her chin-length hair, fluttering the soft strands around her face. She wore jeans, an oxford-style blouse and a camel-colored jacket- casual clothes that looked classy on her. “Cole told me you’re dating someone.” He tried for a nonchalant air. “I’m young. I’m supposed to have a social life.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Playing around, are you?” “I always have.” He wasn’t about to tell his sister that he’d fallen in love. What would he say if she questioned him about the woman he loved? That she refused to talk about her past? Ten minutes later, footsteps sounded on the dock. They both turned. Mercedes approached, carrying an oversize thermos, three plastic cups and a leather purse. She was just as pretty as Jillian, with the same green eyes. Her curly brown hair was pinned up, exposing the angles of her face. She was part of the family business, too. She worked as the director of marketing and public relations. “It’s about time you showed up,” Mason said. Mercedes didn’t live at The Vines anymore. She had her own place, her independence. He supposed they had that in common. “Keep it up and I’ll leave.” “Not with the cappuccino, you won’t.” She sat on the other side of him. “Brat.” He knew she was kidding. He grinned and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. He’d barely seen her during this trip. “Hey,” Jillian complained. “Sorry.” He laughed and kissed her, too. After that, the three of them drank the mocha blend, sipping lazily and gazing at the water. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Mercedes reached into her purse. “I brought this for you.” She handed Mason a magazine. “There’s an article about Darby Quinn. I remember how much you adored her. Your first crush.” She leaned against his shoulder. “It’s sad, isn’t it? What a disaster her life turned out to be.” A sudden chill sliced his spine. “What do you mean? What happened to her?” Mercedes shook her head, as if he’d been living on the moon. But he figured France was close enough. He didn’t pay attention to American movie stars, not anymore. “She disappeared,” Mercedes finally said. “She got caught up in a scandal and that was it. No one has seen her since.” He flipped through the magazine and came to Darby’s picture. The actress’s smile, the tilt of her lips, nearly knocked him off his chair. It was Beverly’s smile, the smile that had been haunting him. “Did you know she had a twin sister?” Mercedes asked. He shook his head, his pulse racing out of control. He didn’t know anything about Darby’s family. Not until now.

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Beverly opened the door and saw Mason staring at her. Just staring, as though he were looking at a ghost. Anxiety gripped her hard and fast. Had he figured it out? Did he know who she was? “Hi,” she said, making a lame attempt to break the tension, to survive the awkward moment. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” She stepped back so he could enter the cottage. He moved forward, and she could almost hear his heart thumping against his chest. Or was that her heart? She noticed that he was dressed for the January weather. He wore varying textures of denim, and his jacket, belt and boots were the color of the earth, the soil that grew vintner’s grapes. His hair fell across his forehead, and his eyes were a forceful shade of blue. Like the sky on a tremulous day. She wished he would smile. She wanted to see his dimples, the boyishness that had first drawn her to him. Suddenly, she glanced down and caught sight of the magazine rolled up in his hand. It wasn’t a tabloid, but that didn’t mean Darby wasn’t featured in it. Legitimate publications printed exposés about her, too. “Say something, Mason.” He handed her the magazine. “Mercedes gave this to me.” She didn’t open it. She kept it curled, the way he had done. “Why?” she asked. “Why did she give it to you?” “Because she thought the article about Darby Quinn might interest me. I used to have a crush on Darby. I spent a portion of my youth watching her on TV and going to see movies she was in.” He paused to take a breath. “She always seemed a little lost to me. Soft. Angelic. A girl I wanted to protect.” Another pause. Another breath. “Like you.” She prayed that he hadn’t told his sister about her. “Are you upset?” “No. But I’m confused. I don’t know how much of the article is true.” “Neither do I- I haven’t read it, and I don’t want to.” She tossed the publication onto her coffee table, where the pages fluttered like a geisha girl’s fan. “I need answers,” he said. She nodded, knowing she couldn’t deny him the truth. Not that she had ever denied anyone the truth. She’d told her side of the story to the media, but they’d sensationalized the lies instead. The book- The Ingénue. “I’d prefer to talk outside.” The walls of the cottage were starting to close in, making her claustrophobic. “Let me get a coat and shoes.” He agreed, and she went into her bedroom and removed a leather jacket from her closet. Next she chose lace-up boots, similar to the ones Mason was wearing. The forest that surrounded the cottage was hilly, with dirt paths and indigenous foliage.

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She returned to the living room, where Mason waited. For a moment, their gazes locked, and she wanted to take refuge in his arms, to pretend that he could sweep her into a fantasy world where the paparazzi didn’t exist. But she knew better. She had to cope with her own problems, with living in the here and now, with hiding from the press. “Ready?” he asked. “Yes.” She sensed that he wanted to touch her, too. But he was wary, cautious not to get too close, to jumble his emotions even more. They went outside and walked among the trees, the wind jostling leaves to the ground. And then Mason turned toward Beverly, stopping her in her tracks. “Are you Darby Quinn?” he asked. “Or are you her sister?” While Mason waited for Beverly to answer his question, he thought about Darby Quinn’s sister. Her name was Tracy- a girl he didn’t know existed until today. But he hadn’t spent his youth gathering facts about Darby. His affection for her hadn’t taken him that far. “My sister died a long time ago,” she said. “When we were nine years old, she dashed across the street and got hit by a car. I was on the other side, waiting for her to cross.” He could see the pain in her eyes, the raw memory of watching her sister die. But that still didn’t explain who she was. “In the article I read, it said that some people think it was actually the twin named Darby who died and that you, Tracy, took her place. That you became her. Fooling everyone, even your own mother.” It sounded absurd to him, but at this point, he didn’t know what to believe. She shook her head. “It was Tracy who died. We were dressed alike that day. We always were. And when our mother heard the squeal of brakes and came out of the house, she was too shaken to know which daughter was lying in the road. I had to tell her it was Tracy.” She paused, looked into his eyes. “I didn’t steal my sister’s identity. I’m Darby. And now I’m Beverly, the woman who’s been trying to disassociate herself from Darby. But I’m not, nor have I ever been Tracy.” He moved closer. The wind tortured her dyed black hair, scattering the short, choppy layers. Darby used to be an ethereal blonde. He remembered wanting to touch her hair, to feel it. His crush on her had started when he was going through puberty, when he was struggling to grow up. “How did that rumor get started? Who came up with the scenario that you’d assumed Tracy’s identity?” “I don’t know, but that story started surfacing after my mother’s book was released.” He wasn’t surprised that she’d mentioned The Ingénue. According to the magazine article, her mother had written an unauthorized biography about Darby. “Do you think that book perpetuated those rumors?” “Probably. Mom claimed that I dominated my sister. That Tracy was unnaturally attached to me.” As far as Mason was concerned, the author of The Ingénue had betrayed both of her daughters, the living and the dead. “I’m sorry, Beverly.” “So am I.” She walked over to a tree and sat beneath it. As the wind kicked up again, the fringe on her vintage jacket rippled. “Tracy was an actress, too. We started appearing in commercials when we were babies. But we never got our own show when we were small, not like the different sets of twins who played Tabitha in Bewitched. Or later on like the Olsen twins. We never had that kind of success. Not together.” He sat next to her, with leaves falling like intermittent snow. “But both of you kept trying?”

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“Our mom drilled it into our heads. It was all we knew. It was the focus of our childhoods.” “But it didn’t happen. Not for Tracy.” “No, it didn’t.” Her voice turned soft, sad, lonely. “And it didn’t happen for me until I was twelve, until I landed a role in a primetime series.” Nostalgic memories floated through his mind, drifting like fog, creating familiar images. “I used to watch that show every Tuesday night.” And now he understood why Darby’s vulnerability had struck him, why he’d longed to protect her. She’d been missing her sister- the little girl who was supposed to share her fame. “I adored you. You were everyone’s angel.” “Not everyone’s,” Beverly said. “Not my mom’s...and not Alan’s.” Mason frowned. That name had been mentioned in the magazine article. “Alan Gray?” “Yes,” she told him, shuddering at the sound of his name. “The man who caused so much pain for Tracy and I.” “He hurt you?” Mason asked, putting his hand on her knee. “Isn’t he your mother’s husband?” “Yes. But he was our manager, too. He managed our careers, mine and Tracy’s, even before he married Mom.” She was grateful that Mason was sitting next to her, touching her, giving her the kind of support only a trusted friend could give. “Alan was- and still is- a major force in Hollywood. Mom thought that having him in our corner was better than winning the lottery. She was in awe of him. To her, he could do no wrong.” “A man who could walk on water?” “Exactly. But in the beginning, he didn’t make much of a difference in our careers. We weren’t getting any prime roles. Alan blamed us for that. He convinced Mom that it was our fault. That we weren’t trying hard enough. We weren’t driven the way we should be.” He shook his head, anger vibrating his voice. “You were just children.” “But we were supposed to be reaching for the stars, to become the most beloved children in Hollywood.” “What happened?” he asked. “What did that bastard do to you?” “He started hurting Tracy first. She was gentler, easier to manipulate.” Beverly picked up a fallen leaf, holding the fragile foliage in her hand. “If he didn’t think we performed well at an audition, he punished her afterward. He pulled her hair. He twisted her arms back. But then it got worse. He did all sorts of things that made her cry.” Mason was watching the leaf, too. “Where was your mother during all of this?” “At work. She trusted Alan to be alone with us, to take us on our auditions. And later she married him, so he was around all the time.” He dug his heels into the ground, unearthing a ripple of dirt, scattering it beneath his boots. “Was there sexual abuse?” “No, but after Mom married him, sometimes he came to our room at night to inflict his punishment, to hurt Tracy. I tried to protect her. I did everything I could to keep him away from her. As sisters, we had an incredible bond, but this brought us even closer. I was all she had.”

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“Did you tell your mother?” “No. Tracy begged me not to. Alan threatened us to keep quiet, the way dangerous adults do. Besides, we were afraid Mom wouldn’t believe us. Alan never left marks on Tracy’s skin, so there was no proof.” Mason asked another question, his gaze locked on hers. “When did he start hurting you?” “He was always threatening me, but he didn’t actually start to hurt me until after my sister died. I was distraught, overrun with grief, so I guess he thought I was an easy target by then. But I found a psychological way to fight back. I decided that I would try even harder to become a star. And when I got rich and famous, I would fire Alan, cast him out of my life.” She placed the leaf on the ground, careful not to crush it. She remembered how Tracy had loved playing in the forest, at the park. “I would prove that I was more powerful than him.” “Did you fire him?” “Yes. I let him go on my eighteenth birthday. Alan played the wounded hero, and my mother called me a traitor. At that point, I’d had enough. I told her what Alan had done to Tracy and me.” “But she didn’t believe you, did she?” “No. And she insisted that my career was going to falter without Alan. Which it did. I had a tough time making the transition from child star to adult actress. I had to prove myself all over again.” She heaved an emotional sigh. “Alan and my mother ignored me after that. They thought I was washed up. That I’d never be successful again.” Mason’s hair blew across his forehead. “You didn’t tell the press what he did?” “Not then. I told them later, after Mom wrote that book, but by then it was too late. Most people didn’t believe me. They thought I was lashing out to get back at my mother.” “Why did she write The Ingénue?” he asked. “You were already estranged from her. What was the point? What was she trying to accomplish?” “I think she did it out of spite. I’d just gotten my career back on track and she was jealous that I’d done it without her and Alan.” Beverly felt her chest turn tight, clenching with a pain that remained fresh, a betrayal that had broken her heart. “That book destroyed me. She twisted everything. She made me look like a bad seed; a girl who tried to ruin her mother’s marriage, who was spoiled and difficult and tainted by her fame. After that, the paparazzi swarmed like killer bees. No matter where I went or what I did, someone was taking my picture, making up trashy stories about me.” She frowned, preparing to recite the worst part. “Remember the movie Mommy Dearest? Well, The Ingénue is going to be made into a movie, too. And they’re actually considering calling it Daughter Dearest.” He reached for her hand. “Why did you decide to change your appearance? To become someone new?” She linked her fingers with his. “I needed some peace. I needed to live a normal life. To escape the insanity.” “I understand, Beverly. I do. But how long can you keep hiding? Running like a fugitive? What you’re experiencing isn’t a normal life.” “Yes, it is. For me, it is.” “No, it isn’t,” he countered. “Come home with me. Meet my family. Be part of something real.”

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She blinked back a flood of tears. Decent, kindhearted Mason. She could see how much he cared. But his suggestion wouldn’t work. “Don’t you realize the damage that could cause? For your family? For you? For me?” “Why would it?” he pressed. “No one knows who you are.” “You figured it out. And if I’m seen with a prominent family, someone else is bound to figure it out, too.” She held his hand a little tighter. “The Ashtons, the Sheppards and Darby Quinn. That’s a media frenzy waiting to happen.” It was the worst scenario she could imagine. Mason didn’t look happy about her decision, but Beverly couldn’t bear to involve his family. Dragging the people he loved into her mess didn’t seem fair. His brothers and sisters had been wounded enough; they’d been abandoned by their prominent father. They didn’t need her complicating their lives, drawing the media to their door. “Has it been difficult to disassociate yourself from Darby?” he asked. “Sometimes. But I try to think of her as a separate person. Someone I used to know. Someone whose life has influenced mine.” “It’s strange to look at you and know you used to be her. The girl I had boyhood fantasies about.” He studied the changes in her, as though he were searching for her scars. “But it’s Beverly I fell in love with.” “What you felt for Darby wasn’t real.” “Not in a tangible sense. But it was real in the sense that she was part of my youth. That I admired her from afar.” Her eyes misted, tears of longing, of wishing she and Mason could be together forever. But she knew better. She knew there was no simple solution. “I’m sorry I’m making things so difficult for you.” “You’re not doing it on purpose. You’re not trying to hurt me.” “No, I’m not. I love you, Mason. What I feel for you is just as strong as what you feel for me.” He smiled at her. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” For all the good it did, she thought. They were still going to lose each other. “Who altered your face?” he asked. “Who made you look different?” “His name is Dr. Forester. He’s a well-known Beverly Hills cosmetic surgeon, but he has a dangerous reputation. People say that he helped a mobster disappear.” “And that’s why you went to him?” “Yes. I was desperate. I didn’t know where else to turn.” She looked into Mason’s eyes, into the deep blue color. “Dr. Forester wasn’t nearly as dangerous as his reputation. He told me that the rumor about the mobster wasn’t true. But he was capable of helping me disappear, of becoming someone new.” She paused, releasing a soundless breath. “Not only did he alter my appearance, he obtained counterfeit documents for me. A birth certificate, a social security card, a driver’s license, a passport in case I needed to leave the country. He helped me find a place to live, too.”

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“Your enchanted hideaway.” He glanced in the direction of her cottage. “I don’t know of any public figure who’s taken such drastic measures and disappeared the way Darby did.” “John Kennedy, Jr. wanted to,” she said. “Not that I ever knew him. But I heard that he used to talk about changing his face, running away, living a normal life. He got so tired of being in the public eye. Of being followed everywhere he went. When his plane was missing, one of his friends thought that maybe he’d actually done it. That he’d disappeared on purpose.” She glanced up, at tree branches climbing toward the sky. “But that isn’t what happened.” Mason glanced up, too. Then he shifted his gaze, looking directly at her. “I don’t want to go back to France. Not without you. Come with me, Beverly. You’re not famous there. You’ll blend in. Your chances of anonymity are better there. You can get your own apartment. We can be discreet.” Her heart turned tight, an ache she feared would never go away. “What about your friends and family here?” she asked, making him consider the sacrifice, the obstacles. “Can you continue to keep me a secret from your parents? Your brothers and sisters? High school buddies you grew up with? Can you lie to the people you love? Come home every holiday by yourself? Pretend to be single when you’re in a committed relationship with a woman hidden away in France?” For a long, drawn-out moment, he just stared at her, leaving her questions unanswered. Then he responded, his voice much too raw. “I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know.” After dark, Mason arrived at Beverly’s cottage with a bottle of wine. He never failed to surprise her. Once again, he’d showed up unannounced. But she was more than happy to see him. By now, a five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw. He looked strong and lawless, and she considered leading him to her bed, making their affair- their beautiful, torrid affair- last as long as they both could endure. He handed her the wine. “This is Lauret Vineyard’s new chardonnay.” “Are we going to get drunk?” Drown their ache with a young vintage? “No, we’re going to celebrate you going to France with me. Well, not with me exactly. We’ll book separate flights.” His lips tilted into a boyish smile. “Or we’ll take the same plane and pretend we don’t know each other. That’d be kind of sexy, don’t you think?” He went into the kitchen and she followed him, her heart beating triple time. He removed glasses from her cabinet, retrieved a corkscrew from her cluttered utensils drawer, then opened the bottle and poured. “It’s slightly chilled, the way a California chardonnay should be.” He handed her a glass. “You’re supposed to take the time to notice how it evolves.” She sipped slowly, even if she wanted to down the contents as quickly as she could, to find a way to still her rapid pulse. “You’re not going to tell your friends and family about me?” “No, I’m keeping our relationship a secret. My brothers and sisters know I’ve been dating someone, but I led them to believe that I’m just playing around. They’ll never suspect I’m taking you to France. And neither will my parents. I haven’t talked to them about you.” She fought to keep her knees from buckling. “Can you really do this, Mason? Can you live a lie?” “It’s not a lie. It’s justice. I’m going to make your mother choke on that damn book.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m going to help you find a way to prove what Alan did to you and Tracy. To make him pay for hurting two little girls.” She wanted to fall into his arms, to cry for the sister she’d buried, for the pain they’d suffered. “You don’t know how much I love you for saying that. But there’s no proof. It’s just not possible.”

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“Anything is possible, Beverly. Anything and everything. I doubt you’re the only kids he hurt. He managed other child actors, didn’t he?” “Yes, but no one came forward when I told the media my side of the story. No one accused him of anything but me.” “Maybe they were afraid to speak up. They saw what going public did to you, to your career. But I’ll find a way to solve this. I’ll come back to the States as often as I can. I’ll conduct a private investigation.” “That could take years.” “I don’t care. You’re worth it.” He set his glass on the counter. “And someday, when this is over, you can meet my family. We can tell them everything. Then we face the rest of the world. You can restore your reputation. Your career, if you want to.” This time, she let her tears flow. “I don’t want to be an actress anymore. I just want a normal life- with you. With the man I love.” “And that’s what you’re going to have. Of course, I’ll have to do a bit of acting.” He dried her tears and made her smile. “I’ll have to seem like I’m still playing the field in France.” He tipped her chin up, studying her features, tapping the end of her nose. “Maybe you can wear different disguises. You can be a blonde one week, a redhead the next.” She laughed. “That’s kinky, Mason. But it’s a brilliant idea.” He kissed her, deep and warm and slow. “Of course it is. No one will be the wiser. But we’ll both know there’s only one woman in my life. The lady I hope will marry me someday. ” She held him, welcoming the sensation, the rhythm of his heart beating against hers. He’d just asked her to be his wife. Mason Sheppard. Her champion. Her knight. The secret love of her life.

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Demon Seduction by Pat White Ash Demon Marcus has been dispatched from the dark realms to find and seduce Elizabeth Burke. He is to learn what she knows about PCell, a top secret division of the British Secret Service intent upon eliminating creatures of the paranormal—and use that information to destroy PCell! But Marcus has felt a connection to Elizabeth for a long time, ever since he rescued her from being ravaged by his cousin ten years ago! Can he go through with a plan that calls for him to do essentially the same thing—without falling in love with her?

Chapter One The explosion slammed Marcus's mortal body against the riverbank before he could fly to safety. His enemy was on the hunt, firing his blaster at random, hoping to make his para kill for the night. Instead, the PCell agent discharged his weapon into the ground, sending shockwaves across the English countryside. Marcus could have been destroyed because he'd been distracted by a pretty face. That pretty face. Was his intense attraction to her a side effect of the conversion from his Ash Demon form to human flesh and bones? It had to be. It wasn't like Elizabeth Burke was breathtakingly beautiful. He'd seen prettier. "Are you off your trolley? You could have gotten yourself killed." The not-so-pretty Elizabeth, with her red-streaked hair damp from the rain, stood over him, pinning him with her golden eyes. "Come on, then. We've got to get you out of here. You walked into a bloody mess." In a helpful gesture, she grabbed his arm and Marcus fought back his resentment. He was Ash Demon, a race superior to mortals. He hadn't been physically wounded and didn't need assistance from this petite creature. Standing, he wavered, struggling to regain his strength. The conversion had weakened him more so than usual. Or had a salt bullet from the agent's blaster actually grazed his skin? Elizabeth led him away from the river that weaved through the lush, rolling countryside, away from certain annihilation if he'd been caught by a PCell assassin. Correction: not caught, executed. PCell's sole purpose was to destroy paras of all kinds, without thought, without reason. "What's your name?" she asked. She seemed awfully trusting, but then they'd met before, even if she didn't consciously remember the encounter. They'd met, he'd defended her, and he'd held her in his mortal arms until she'd fallen soundly asleep. She'd been the only woman he'd held that way, and back then she was just a girl, terrified by Marcus's demon cousin who'd wanted to slake his need with a human virgin. "My name is Marcus." Even his voice sounded weak. "Easy then, Marcus. My auto is just beyond those trees. I'll give you a lift out of here. I was finishing up when I heard the blast. What were you doing anyway? The enchanted forest is dangerous for people like us." People like us? The girl had no idea she was walking beside an Ash Demon, a creature from the dark realm sent to find her, seduce her, and use her knowledge to destroy PCell. A mission he did not relish, yet would fulfill in order to save his kind: paras of the dark realm.

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She didn't realize the danger of being in Marcus's presence because Ash was the most highly evolved of the demon race. Having been created from human ash of the Great Fire of Rome, Ash could assume human form better than any other creature of the dark realm. But the mortal seed running through them also made Ash more susceptible to the horrific emotions of compassion and love, two vulnerabilities that could strip an Ash Demon of his identity if he succumbed to their charms. "It's lovely out this evening," he said, his voice returning. "I decided to take a stroll and lost my way." "Ah," she winked. "Must be having girl trouble." She had no idea. His mission was to fill her with his demon seed against her will, the very act he'd defended her from when she was but sixteen. No, he was nothing like his cousin. Marcus would make her want him, make her feel loved before he took her. "Hold it!" a male voice ordered. Elizabeth turned, but didn't raise her hands. "Aw, Mickey, I should have guessed that was your blaster destroying my eardrums." Marcus turned and faced off with a PCell agent, blaster in hand. Agents were recruited by the British Security Service to destroy any and all paras, no questions asked. Marcus automatically raised his hands in surrender. "Put your hands down, he's not going to shoot you," Elizabeth scoffed. "Bloody hell, Lizzy." The agent stormed up to the girl. "You've got to stay out of our business or you're going to get yourself killed. Who's your friend?" The agent eyed Marcus, who struggled to look harmless and innocent. But then in Marcus's present form the agent wouldn't be able to identify his origin by sight. "This is my friend, Marcus. Leave him alone," the girl said. "What did you find tonight? Any good…" she paused, "leads?" Her eyes brightened. Marcus sensed her enthusiasm about the paras of the enchanted forest. "It's top secret business," Mickey said. Marcus wondered why the bloke didn't use the long-barreled clicking device to check the area for paras, or at least use it on Marcus. Did he believe the girl's story that Marcus was her friend? "So this is where you bring your dates then?" the agent said. "On your stalking expeditions?" "I'm not stalking you." "What would you call it? I've got a job to do, Lizzy, a dangerous job and I don't need daft little girls interfering." "I'm twenty-seven, you bloody twit." Marcus sensed her frustration. He'd sensed a lot about her since he'd been in her presence, including her inquisitive nature and gentleness of spirit. A shame he'd have to strip that gentleness in order to achieve his goal. "I'm going to save your life one day, and you're going to eat those words," she said.

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"Yeah, and how are you going to do that, by rescuing gents like him? No, I'm putting an end to this right now. Give me the backpack." "I will not." The agent reached out to grab her pack and Marcus stepped between them. "You'd best be minding your own business, mate." With a smile, he shoved the butt of his blaster into Marcus's stomach. The wind knocked from his body, Marcus fell to his knees. "Mickey, you wanker, what'd you do that for?" Elizabeth kneeled beside Marcus and stroked his back. "Breathe, that's it." Then she was jerked away as the agent ripped off her pack. Struggling to fill his lungs, Marcus couldn't do much more than glare at the bastard. "You're done, Lizzy, hear me?" The agent threw the pack to the ground and pulled out a handgun. "I can't be wasting good salt ammunition on this, now can I?" He fired multiple shots into the bag. The girl shrieked and wrapped her arms around Marcus. He'd been here before, only he'd been the one with protective arms around her. The shooting ceased. "All done," the agent smirked. "Now stop trying to follow in your father's footsteps. You're not a part of this. Go find yourself a husband to take care of you." The agent marched off into the glen. Elizabeth sat back on bent knees and searched Marcus's eyes. "You all right?" She didn't seem frightened, yet Marcus' heart was pounding. Probably because he feared Mickey would discover his identity and blast him to pieces. "My ears are ringing," Marcus said. "It'll pass. Let's get you home." "What about your backpack?" She glanced at it and sighed. "Doesn't look good, does it? Bastards, they're afraid to let women join their group. Like we'll contaminate it or something. I'll go through what's left of my equipment when I get home. Can you stand?" She helped him to his feet. "I suppose you're wondering what this is all about?" "I am a bit curious." She grabbed what was left of her backpack. "I can't tell you specifics because it will put you in danger. Just know that there are other forces, dark forces out here that agents like Mickey protect us from. My advice to you is to forget this whole affair." "Sounds like you should as well," he offered. They approached a small beat up car. She tossed what was left of her pack into the trunk and unlocked his door. "I want to do my part in the fight against evil, but they all think I'm some kind of weakling who can't take care of herself."

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He could see why they'd think that. He'd thought that very thing ten years ago when he'd held her in his arms. "You don't think I can either, do you?" She was staring at him. "I'm sorry?" "Hey, I saved your arse tonight, that's got to count for something." "And I appreciate it, tremendously. I'm a bit addled is all. This is a lot of excitement for me." "Right, sorry. You don't need to be dragged into my melodrama. Let's get you home." They settled in the car and she drove off, down the dirt road that led to his remote cottage fifty miles southwest of London. "Down about two kilometers and turn by the broken oak tree," he directed. "Must have been serious girl trouble for you to wander so far," she offered. "No, no girl trouble." Not yet anyway. She chatted away, talking about the countryside, the mechanical issues with her car, even about the unseasonably warm weather. She seemed so bloody trusting and fearless. "What did that bloke mean, about your father?" Marcus asked. "Oh, that was just a below the belt." "I'm sorry?" She gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I'm trying to make father proud is all." Proud? No, there was something more behind her words. "What's he about, your father?" Marcus pushed. "If you don't mind me asking." "He's a brilliant man, a consultant who developed specialized weaponry for…" she paused as if catching herself, "for the military. I've invented a device that's even better at tracking the enemy, yet the service ignores me. I'm a big joke." "I can hardly believe that." She smiled. "Thanks. Nothing like compliments from a stranger." She hesitated. "But then you have to say nice things because I saved your life. A good thing I was out tonight." Yes, a very good thing. And an even better thing that he knew exactly where to find her. Elizabeth Burke had remained on Marcus's radar since their first encounter more than ten years ago. He kept this fact a secret so it wouldn't be misinterpreted by Grigori, the rulers of the dark realm. He didn't want them thinking he'd grown fond of her or had assigned himself her personal protector. Staying apprised of her activities was simply a way to keep track of her father's work against paras. They turned down the dirt drive and headed for the cottage, invisible in its present state. He'd have to release the spell to make the structure visible, lure her inside and finish his mission. A part of him wished they were meeting for a different reason. Remember your goal: seduce her and learn what she knows about PCell so you can destroy them.

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"Let me off here," he directed. "I'd like to walk the rest of the way." "You sure you're up to it?" "Quite." He had to get far enough ahead to cast a visibility spell without her witnessing it. He opened his door, a plan forming in his mind. "Thanks again. Good night," he said. He started up the path and staggered, putting on a good show. "You all right?" she called from the car. He waved her off and stepped behind the weeping willow. He cast the spell to bring the cottage back into view. "Bloody hell!" he called out. He went to the cottage and leaned against the front door. "What? What is it?" She raced up to him and placed a comforting hand against his back. Odd how every time she touched him a sharp pain lanced through his chest. Must be the physical connection to a mortal. "A bit woozy," he muttered. "I'm fine." "You are not fine, and it's my fault. Mickey socked you too hard because you were defending me. Come on, let's get you settled." He handed her the key and she opened the door. Perfect. She'd be drawn to his vulnerability, not sensing the threat of seduction. He knew once he got her inside, she'd be defenseless against his charms. With any luck he could finish his assignment in one night, one very full night of seduction, passion and mating.

Chapter Two Elizabeth didn’t feel threatened exactly, yet her nerves skittered as she stepped into the quaint cottage. She helped Marcus to the couch and glanced around the room. A hearty fire crackled in the fireplace and she wondered who’d tended it while he was on his walk about. Glancing at the walls, she noticed worn classic novels lining wooden bookshelves and an oil painting on the opposite wall. Created with warm, red tones it featured a naked man and woman in the throes of passion, the woman’s head tipped back as her lover brushed his lips against her neck. Elizabeth’s skin warmed. “I’m sorry, it embarrasses you?” Marcus said. She ripped her attention from the painting. “Of course not.” He didn’t have to know how utterly prudish she was, how innocent and naïve. She was rather inexperienced because typical blokes didn’t appreciate her qualities of focus and determination, nor did they fancy a girl who dressed in baggy jeans, a knee-length slicker and combat boots, with a fifty-pound pack of equipment strapped across her shoulders. Elizabeth didn’t fool herself. She wasn’t sexy or alluring, and that was fine by her. There was work to be done in the fight against creatures of the dark realm. “Please, sit,” he offered. “I could warm water for tea,” she said.

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“That would be lovely.” He smiled. Her stomach did a back flip. She snapped her attention from those fascinating blue-green eyes of his and went to put the water on. Truth was, she hadn’t taken the time to properly size up his looks, what with all the excitement of paras in the woods and Mickey’s confrontation. She sighed. The destruction of her equipment wouldn’t stop her. She kept back-up materials at her flat in London. Later, she’d think about that, after she eased her conscience and tended to Marcus, the innocent bystander. She glanced over her shoulder to get a proper look at her host. He was striking, with high cheekbones and an angular face. Yet he had a friendly look about him as well. Curious. Maybe that’s why she didn’t feel threatened. No, it was something else that put her at ease. He ambled to the fireplace. “You’re feeling better?” she asked, placing a pot of water on the stove. “Much. Just being home puts it all right.” She took off her slicker. “How long have you lived here?” “The cottage has been in my family for centuries.” She grabbed a kitchen towel and squeezed the moisture from her hair. “Elizabeth?” he questioned. She glanced up. “I have a confession to make.” His gaze drifted to the mantle where his fingers stroked a statue of a scantily dressed faerie with long, wavy hair and soft wings sprouting from her back. Back and forth, his thumb brushed the faerie’s hair, down to her hip, to her naked thigh. Elizabeth’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “What confession?” she whispered, because right now her thoughts were heading in a rather inappropriate direction. “I’m not who I pretended to be, out there in the forest.” “I’m sorry?” As she watched him trail his thumb up the faerie’s torso, to her chest and lips, Elizabeth suddenly itched to feel this man’s hand on her skin, stroking her, setting her body afire— “I lied,” he announced. “I didn’t just happen to wander into the forest. I knew it was there. I knew it was dangerous.” He snapped his hand from the statue. Elizabeth took a step back, catching her breath. “You knew it was dangerous?” she questioned. “But you went out there anyway?” “Yes, I’m looking for someone, someone I lost years ago in the forest.” “Your true love,” she whispered. She didn’t know why she’d said it, but it made sense.

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He glanced at the fire. “It’s not like that,” he paused, “exactly.” She suspected it was. “Why did you come out tonight?” she asked. “The full moon. Legend has it that ten years would pass and on the full moon she would be released into the forest where I could rescue her.” “How did she end up in the dark realm to begin with?” “She was taken by a para, a demon, I think.” Elizabeth leaned against the solid stone wall to ground herself. “Poor girl.” He blinked and glanced away. Did he blame himself? “I thought I could save her by offering to exchange information about PCell to the creature that held her captive.” She stood straight. “You know about PCell? And you were going to betray your country?” “No, I was going to lie. Make something up.” He shrugged. “A demon would know you were lying. He’d kill you on the spot.” “I had to risk it.” “Yes, I guess you would.” Elizabeth wished a man had cared so much about her that he’d risk everything to love her. “But now,” he hesitated. “I’ve lost my chance. When I saw you in the forest, I thought maybe you could help me find her with your instruments. But the PCell agent ruined that possibility when he destroyed your equipment. I must accept that it’s over.” Marcus ambled to the sofa and collapsed, staring into the burning embers. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand that a bloody demon had taken this man’s true love. Her mobile rang, jarring her from her sympathies. “I’m sorry, excuse me.” She ripped the phone from her belt. “Burke here.” “Elizabeth, I cannot believe you defied me and went hunting again.” “Hello, father.” “You have no business wandering about the countryside. It’s a good thing Mickey stopped you before you did real damage.” “He did all the damage. He killed my equipment.” “Good, now you can forget your foolish pranks, return to London and get back to work at the plant. That’s more your speed.”

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She cringed at the thought of her boring job at father’s printing plant, one of his many businesses. She’d failed out of university thanks to sleepless nights tracking paranormal activity. “I was trying to help the cause,” she explained. Silence, then, “Lizzy, you will never be one of us and that’s final.” The line went dead. His words rang hollow in her chest. She’d never be a favored Burke, but didn’t know why, didn’t know what she’d done to be cast aside as the frivolous, unimportant daughter. Her younger brothers, Thomas and James, were given family responsibilities and encouraged to reach their full potential. But not Elizabeth. She’d had her chance at university and mucked it up. If she didn’t get back to London immediately her father would take her job as well. “Trouble?” Marcus queried. She appreciated the furrow of his brow and concern in his voice. “Father’s upset again.” “Because he knows you’re with a strange man?” He smiled. “Because I was out hunting. He’s ordered me to come back to London and forget this nonsense.” He moved to her side, placing his hand on her shoulder. Warmth spread down her back. “Do you want to go?” he asked. The intensity of his eyes caught her off guard. She couldn’t break the connection. “No. I need to prove I have something to contribute.” “Of course.” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips and she automatically closed her eyes. What in God’s name was happening to her? “I have an idea,” he offered. So did she. And it had nothing to do with tracking paras. Back off, Lizzy. This bloke’s taken. She opened her eyes and he was smiling at her. “I’ll help you,” he said. “What do you need to prove your worth to your father?” “I can’t involve you.” “You saved my life tonight. I could have been blasted by that Mickey character.” “He would have figured out you weren’t a para and sent you on your way.”

***

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But Marcus knew differently. If Mickey had pointed that tracking device at him, Marcus wouldn’t be standing here, safe in his cottage near the enchanted forest, chatting with this beguiling creature. She’d developed into a fascinating young woman. He struggled not to be distracted by her charms. “I’ll repeat my question. What must you do to prove yourself?” He trailed a strand of auburn hair from her cheek. He noticed her pulse speed up at his touch. Take it slow, earn her trust. Then she will give herself to you willingly. “Demons are the most dangerous,” she started. “PCell has been trying to discover their crossing over point, something called a traiectus. I think it means passageway in Latin.” “If they find this spot?” he asked, but knew the answer. “They will destroy the demons as they come through, before they can hurt us.” “What will this mean for you?” She turned and paced the cottage, her excitement making him hard, making him want her. “I’ll finally earn their respect,” she said. “I’ll be the hero and I’ll have saved innocent lives, and PCell will have to accept me and father will…” Her voice trailed off. “Your father will?” “Respect me.” She glanced at the worn floorboards. Marcus knew she didn’t crave his respect as much as she ached for his love. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her you can’t force someone to love you; she would never love Marcus, thanks to their differences. Yet that part of him, the mortal blood that raced through his veins had always felt something akin to love for this girl ever since he’d held her in his arms. “Do we know each other?” She studied his eyes and he warmed under her scrutiny. “Why do you ask?” “There’s something familiar about you. I’m sorry. It’s silly. This whole plan is silly. I can’t find that portal any more than my father can stop me from wanting to save the world.” “But I think I know where it is.” Her eyes sparkled with renewed interest and desire rushed through his body. “Just before I was knocked to the ground I noticed an orange glow coming from the forest,” he said. “I believe that could be the passageway you’re looking for.” “Thank you!” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Sweet Elizabeth,” he whispered against her ear. She released her hold on him, but didn’t move away. He reached out and stroked her cheek. She turned into his palm he pulled her against him so she would feel his need. “I shouldn’t be letting you touch me this way,” she breathed. “You, you’re heart is spoken for.”

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He leaned forward, his cheek brushing against hers. “It’s not like that. I feel responsible for her, but it’s been years since I’ve wanted to touch a woman like this.” He kissed her and to his surprise she parted her lips as if wanting to take him inside of her. Satan’s tears, she tasted sweet, like vanilla tea. “You are too beautiful to be out chasing spies and ghosts,” he said. “Hmmm,” she moaned against him. With one hand framing her cheek, he trailed his other down her arm to the front where he could graze her breast with this thumb. Even through her thick T-shirt he felt her nipple peak with wanting. A moan vibrated against her throat, tickling his tongue. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily against her cheek. “You are such an amazing creature,” he said. “Once we achieve our goal, they will be ashamed they never believed in you.” “I will be the hero.” She started unbuttoning his shirt. “When we find the passageway you should call agents to be ready with their blasters.” He kissed her cheek, then down, to her neck. “Yes, I’ll call them.” And an army of Ash Demon would be waiting, would encircle and ambush the murdering PCell agents before they could discharge their weapons. “I suppose we should go find the passageway,” she whispered. “Daylight is best.” He reached between them and pulled her shirt from the waistband of her jeans. He slipped it up and over her head and tossed it to a nearby chair. She spread his shirt wide and layered kisses against his chest. Bloody hell, he was a fool to think he was completely in charge. He’d only tasted female demons, never mortals, for fear he’s lose himself completely. And now he realized how right he’d been. But this was an assignment directly from Grigori. Find the girl, mate with her, control her. She kissed his nipple, then licked it with her hot, wanting tongue. His hands tightened around her upper arms. Who was controlling whom? “Elizabeth,” he said. “I’m not, this isn’t like me…usually,” she confessed, nuzzling his chest. “I’m usually a good girl.” Yet now she was bad, very bad because she was going to have sex with a stranger. She was going to give herself to Marcus, not because she cared about him, but because a mortal female could not resist an Ash Demon. Marcus realized he was no better than his cousin.

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He gripped her shoulders and gently held her away from him. Glancing up, her golden eyes were filled with desire, yet tinted with confusion. “Elizabeth, we shouldn’t do this.” Her eyes darkened with shame. She nodded and wrenched free, grabbing her shirt from the wood floor. She put it on, then searched the room. “Time to get some air.” She put on her coat but still hadn’t looked at him. “Elizabeth?” “The tea, the water should be boiled. I’ll take English Breakfast if you’ve got some. I just want to, I mean, need to—“ She rushed past him out the front door and slammed it behind her. What was the matter with him? He should have taken her. It would have been the best screw of her life. It’s what she wanted. And he wanted to complete this torturous assignment. He marched to the door, ripped it open and heard a woman scream just as a bullet hit him in the shoulder.

Chapter Three Marcus fell to his knees, clutching his wound. Thank the devil it hadn’t been a salt bullet or he’d be dead in minutes. Which meant his attacker didn’t think him a demon. “What is the matter with you, Mickey!” Elizabeth cried, rushing to Marcus and stroking his hairline. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” Mickey pulled her to her feet. “Leave him alone. You’re coming with me.” “You can’t leave Marcus like that.” “I’ll radio for an ambulance. Your father ordered me to bring you in so you’ll stop interfering in government business.” “Let me go.” She struggled against him as he dragged her to the truck. “Marcus is helping me find the spot where demons cross.” Stumbling back into the cottage and leaning against the sofa, Marcus struggled to remain conscious against the pain. He could do little but watch the events outside. “What, that wanker? He couldn’t find his own fly to take a piss if he had to. Look at him.” “That’s because you shot him, you idiot.” “Shut up and get in the truck.” “No!” She stomped on his foot. Swearing, he spun her around, cuffed her wrists and tossed her into the truck. She screamed in protest. Mickey climbed in and, Marcus guessed, shoved something into her mouth because she stopped screaming.

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After Mickey got back in the cab, the truck groaned up the dirt drive. Marcus pushed to his feet and staggered to the kitchen. He turned off the boiling water and reached for a sharp knife. He could heal from a mortal wound but only if he removed the bullet from his flesh. Blinking back the pain, he dipped the instrument into the water then edged the knife tip into his skin. “Argh!” he groaned as he dug out the bullet. Within minutes he’d put a healing agent on his wound, bandaged it and was redressed…for battle. He wore a tight fitting, lightweight jacket in case he had to fly and didn’t want excess material to slow him. He slipped into boots for kicking the hell out of Mickey if it came to that. The image of Mickey tossing Elizabeth into the truck like a bag of garbage made his insides burn. How could he be so heartless? Oh, not like Marcus, who had just tried to seduce her in order to make her help him destroy her own kind. Assignment aside, Marcus had to help the girl. That would earn him more trust. And wasn’t that his objective?

*** Elizabeth was going to choke to death, all because her domineering father had ordered a PCell goon to drag her away from her frivolous activity and bring her back to London. She struggled to breathe, her eyes watering against the panic attack brewing in her throat. When her eyes watered, her sinuses filled, making it nearly impossible to breathe through her nose. She had to calm herself, talk herself down. But the image of a wounded Marcus ripped at her conscience. Mickey had no intention of calling emergency, and that innocent man would probably die in his family’s cottage. A man she was intrinsically drawn to for no sensible reason. What had she done? The back door of the truck flung open, followed by a rush of cool night air. How could that be? They hadn’t stopped. The handsome, angular face of Mysterious Marcus filled her vision. He slipped the rag from her mouth and she coughed. He put his finger to his lips, encouraging her to be quiet. But she couldn’t stop coughing. He placed a silver flask to her lips. “It will soothe your throat.” She took a sip, believing in his warm blue-green eyes. She leaned back and he cradled her head in his hand. “How did you get here?” she said, then her eyes caught on the blood staining his shirt beneath his jacket. “My God, you’re bleeding.” “I’ll be fine. But we’ve got to get out of here.” He sat her up and she burst into another coughing fit. The truck stopped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He put his index finger to his lips and faded into the shadows. She lay back down, feigning unconsciousness.

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“What in the bloody hell happened here?” Mickey accused. He grabbed her foot and dragged her out, leaning her against the truck. “Well?” “How do I know?” “Where’s the gag?” “I spit it out. You twit, I could have choked to death. I have asthma.” “Ah, stop your talking.” He pulled off a glove and balled it up. “Mickey, please don’t, I’m serious. I can’t breathe with something in my mouth.” “I’m tired of listening to ya’.” “No!” she squirmed, trying to evade the gag. He shoved it into her mouth anyway. Her eyes watered and she struggled for air. Mickey cocked his head to the side as if he heard something inside the truck. He pulled out his handgun and took a few steps to investigate. Elizabeth grew light-headed. “Come out of there!” Mickey ordered. Elizabeth’s legs weakened. Breathe, have to breathe. Her legs gave way and she slid to the ground. Gunfire rang in her ears; the ground trembled. Stars danced across her vision. She was dying. But instead of angels floating on clouds, she saw that handsome face again. Marcus removed the glove from her mouth. “You’re safe.” Chills shot across her shoulders at his familiar words. He helped her to her feet and unlocked the handcuffs. “You son of a bitch, what did you do to Mickey?” cried a second PCell agent. He must have been in the truck all along. He fired at them and Marcus shoved Elizabeth to the ground, out of harm’s way. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her ear. “But I can’t let them hurt you.” In one quick movement, he cast a lightening bolt to the ground and the PCell agent catapulted backwards. Suddenly Marcus and Elizabeth were floating above the truck, away from danger. Floating? More like flying. Mortals didn’t fly, paras did and only one type of demon could shoot lightening from his fingertips: an Ash Demon. And she’d just been both rescued and manipulated by one. “No! Take me down!” She couldn’t stand being held by him, touched by him. To think she’d nearly… No. That wasn’t her, it was a demon spell he’d cast on her mind. They landed near the edge of the forest and she took off, back towards the truck. “Elizabeth, they will hurt you again,” he called. She ignored him, couldn’t stand the thought that she’d almost been with a demon, one of the very creatures she’d sworn to destroy so she could make father proud. She spotted Mickey in the distance. “Help me!” she cried.

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Instead, he pointed his gun, his salt gun, at her. And fired. Marcus plucked her from the earth and flew away from the PCell agents. Another bullet soared past her. She heard a third shot and Marcus jerked at the sound. They landed in the rich, green forest and took cover beneath a weeping willow. Marcus held her against his chest as she shivered with fear. He was demon, a bad guy, yet the good guys were shooting at her. She couldn’t make sense of it, nor could she make sense of the fact that she felt safe in his arms. “I saw them drop over here,” Mickey said in the distance. “You’re a bad shot,” his partner accused. “I won’t miss next time. Aim for the girl. The demon seems to be protecting her.” “Shoot the old man’s daughter? He won’t like that.” “Ah, if I were him I’d be relieved to be rid of her,” Mickey said. The truth of his words pierced Elizabeth’s heart. Father probably wouldn’t care if she was accidentally killed because… …father didn’t love her. There, she finally admitted it. She whimpered against the demon’s jacket. “Shhh. They can’t see us,” he assured her. She wasn’t worried about the PCell goons finding them. She struggled with the painful truth in Mickey’s words. No, she’d prove him wrong, she’d prove that deep down father cared for her, he just didn’t know how to show it. Was it too much to ask to be loved? “Face it, we’ve lost them, Mickey. That creature’s probably taken her to Scotland by now.” “No, they’re out there.” “C’mon. We’ve got to report back.” Elizabeth peeked beyond her captor and saw Mickey and his partner get into the truck, hesitate, then drive off. In the far distance she could make out the demon’s cottage, smoke drifting up from the chimney. “What do you want from me?” She pushed away from Marcus and his body went limp. He fell back against the soft earth. “Demon?” she said, poking at his chest. He coughed and gasped for breath. He must have been hit by one of Mickey’s salt bullets. Was he dying? No, demons didn’t die, did they? They just recycled or something. They weren’t like human beings, they didn’t even feel compassion or love. Love? She had a thought. What better way to earn her father’s love than to present him with a captured demon?

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She pulled out her mobile and pressed the speed dial. Marcus tore at his shirt, as if trying to get air. Why didn’t he teleport, or whatever they did, to the dark realm? Surely back in the dark realm in his demon form he wouldn’t die, right? “Lizzy? Is that you?” her father’s voice squawked over her mobile. “Father?” she said. “I’m here. I’ve captured a demon for you. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Chapter Four “Nonsense! Have you gone mad?” her father accused. Sure, she had to be mad because in father’s mind there was no way she was bright enough to capture a demon on her own. “I’m quite sane, father. I’ve caught a demon for you. Little Lizzy, all by herself.” That wasn’t the complete truth. She’d caught him by accident, because the demon Marcus had been trying to save her life. Why? Her gaze caught on the medallion around his neck and she gasped. It was the same symbol she’d embroidered on her backpack for luck in tracking paras. She’d designed it herself. Hadn’t she? “Give me your location and I’ll send a team,” her father ordered. She barely heard him. She couldn’t rip her attention away from the medallion. It hit her like an express train at full speed: she’d first seen the Celtic-like symbol years ago when she was a teenager. She’d been terrified and alone, calling out for her father, for someone to rescue her, as the monster stood over her bed with those hideous eyes. But no one came to help. Not her father, anyway. Just as the creature was about to do unspeakable things to Elizabeth someone shoved him aside and made him disappear. She had closed her eyes, her body shaking uncontrollably. Then she heard his calming voice, felt the strong, warm arms embrace her. “You are safe,” the man had consoled. “Focus on my medallion. It represents peace.” She’d stared at the metal charm and dug her fingers into the thick material of his jacket. As she steadied her breathing she felt a cocoon of strength wrap around her shoulders. She’d never felt more safe or more loved. “Who are you?” she whispered, as she watched Marcus clutch his shirt with desperate fingers. “Lizzy! Answer me!” her father ordered over the phone. Instead, she ended the call and shoved the cell phone into her pocket. She eyed Marcus. “This can’t be. Demons are evil. You want to destroy humans.” “No,” he gasped. “Want to protect…our kind just as you…want to protect yours. Is that,” he swallowed. “Wrong?” She had no answer. She’d been so focused on becoming a PCell agent, on hunting and destroying paras, especially demons, that she hadn’t given much thought to the fairness of the situation. Marcus coughed and writhed in pain. He looked more human, acted with more integrity than the PCell agents she had so admired. She went to him and stroked his forehead. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “Go,” he wheezed. “Get away before they…find you.”

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He was more concerned about her safety than his own? “I won’t abandon you, Marcus.” Especially when she had so many unanswered questions. “Tell me how to help you.” “Go, just go…and be safe.” “What’s all this?” a woman’s voice asked. Elizabeth jumped back, shielding Marcus’s body with her own, fearing what a mortal would do to this wounded demon. “I’m Edwina.” The woman smiled. “What’s happened to your friend?” “He’s been shot, I think.” The woman wore a long, beige tunic, and colorful beads around her neck and wrists. She didn’t seem at all shocked by the situation. “Maybe I can help.” Edwina kneeled beside Marcus. “Are you a doctor?” “I’m a healer. I live in an estate just north of here.” She pulled out a round, clear stone and slowly ran it up his torso to his forehead. Her brow furrowed. “We need to get him to the healing pond. Quickly.” She helped Marcus into a sitting position and encouraged Elizabeth to grab his other arm. They helped him up and took a few steps. “Can’t…” he groaned and wavered. “He’s got minutes before he’s gone,” Edwina said. He’d die, or disappear, or whatever happened to a demon because he’d put himself in danger trying to save Elizabeth. “Come on, Marcus. Don’t give up,” she said, guiding him forward. “Just a little further. I know you can do it.” He took another few steps. “That’s it. We’re almost there,” she encouraged. “Eliza-beth,” he gasped. With a burst of adrenaline, she was able to get him to the edge of the water. He collapsed and Elizabeth made him comfortable by placing her rolled up jacket beneath his head. The healer dipped her hand into the green, murky water and it glowed like a firefly. “My God,” Elizabeth said. “Take off his shirt so I can access the wound.” Elizabeth did as ordered and noticed a wound on his upper right arm. The skin burned as if doused with acid. “It just grazed him,” Edwina said. “There’s still hope.”

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Elizabeth found herself hoping with her whole heart that they could save this creature. It felt like the right thing to do. At least if he was pursued by PCell, Marcus would have a fighting chance of defending himself. The healer chanted in an unfamiliar language, then splashed water onto his wound. “Argh!” Marcus cried, and went still. Elizabeth grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips. She’d caused him pain and brought him near death because she’d been trying to prove something to her father, trying to earn his respect by hunting and helping to destroy demons. Marcus didn’t seem like a vile, dangerous creature. If he was so ruthless why did he continue to protect her? Because they had a connection. She’d felt it the moment she’d spotted him sprawled across the riverbank. “It may take five or six hours before he’s completely healed,” Edwina said. “You’re not afraid of him?” Elizabeth blurted out. “Afraid? Why, because he’s different? I’m different. Do I frighten you?” “No, but he’s demon.” “And someone told you demons are horrific creatures, I suppose?” Elizabeth nodded. The healer smiled. “Life is a curious experience. One thing is certain, when you act from a place of fear, you’ll never see the truth.” She stood. “Keep him quiet until he’s able to fly. That’s the true test that he’s completely recovered.” She turned to walk away. “You’re leaving?” Elizabeth said. “I’m sorry, but I must.” “I don’t even know where I am.” “You’re in the enchanted forest of St. Yve Wood. Paras are everywhere, but they won’t bother you if you as long as you stay beside your demon friend.” She smiled and disappeared into the forest. “Thank you,” Elizabeth called after her. Marcus squeezed her hand. “Elizabeth.” His blue-green eyes blinked open. “You’re still here,” he said, as if he’d expected her to abandon him. She’d nearly done something far worse than that. She’d nearly turned him over to his enemies in this vulnerable state. That wasn’t like her. She wasn’t naturally cruel. Then again, she was a Burke. “The cottage,” he whispered. “You’re not strong enough.” “If you wander off…you could get lost and…I could not protect you…” his voice trailed off and he passed out.

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Once again, Elizabeth struggled with the paradox that it was more important for Marcus to protect her than heal himself. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips. “I have no intention of leaving you.”

*** Marcus surfaced to consciousness and inhaled crisp, fresh air. He could breathe again. His lungs had opened; he must be on the mend. He remembered being hit by a salt bullet, touching down in the forest, holding Elizabeth in his arms. I know you can do it. Her voice echoed in his mind. He opened his eyes and was staring up at the lush green foliage of St. Yve Wood. Something pressed against his chest, a woman. He eyed the top of Elizabeth’s auburn hair. She nuzzled his chest, her steady breath warming his skin all the way to his fingertips. She felt so exquisite against him. Yet she was his assignment, a means to an end. No, not anymore. Something had shifted. Although he’d been sent to mastermind a way to destroy PCell by using the sweet Elizabeth, his integrity couldn’t rationalize being so cruel. Not to Elizabeth…his love. He closed his eyes. Devil save him, he’d fallen into the mortal abyss called love. He hadn’t a choice in the matter and realized only now it had started ten years ago when he’d held her, comforted her, and left a piece of himself with the girl. She moaned and stroked his chest. He ached for her. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Marcus?” She sat up and looked at him. “How are you feeling?” “Better. Are you…?” He wanted to ask if she was appalled at waking up beside a half-naked demon, but by the way she’d been touching him he suspected not. “I’m fine. Confused, but fine.” “We need to get back to the cottage.” She reached out to help him up, but Marcus stood easily, brushing off his trousers and plucking his shirt from a nearby tree branch. “Flying frightened you before, but it’s the quickest way.” He tucked in his shirt and reached for her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and they took off, soaring above the enchanted forest as dawn was breaking over the English countryside. In seconds they were back at the cottage. When they got inside, the magical fire was still burning, taking the chill out of the air. “You must be hungry,” he said. “Why do you do that?” She pinned him with those golden eyes of hers. “Do what?”

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“Care about my needs.” “Why wouldn’t I care?” “You’re demon. You’re supposed to be manipulative and cruel.” “I’m Ash Demon.” “Meaning what?” She stepped closer, studying him as if he was a bug under a microscope. “As an Ash Demon I am vulnerable to certain mortal traits, like compassion.” He glanced at the fire. “And love.” “Is that why you saved me, repeatedly?” His gaze snapped up to study her. Did she remember? “That was you, wasn’t it? You held me all night. You chased away the,” she paused, “demon.” “He was foolish and arrogant.” “He was going to have sex with me.” “Yes.” “You protected me. Why?” “I have no answer.” “I do.” She kissed him on the cheek. He gripped her arm, his control crumbling. “Elizabeth.” “In your arms,” she whispered. “I felt safe and…loved.” “This cannot happen. We are from two different worlds.” “Different doesn’t mean bad.” “Your mortal friends will hunt us down and kill us.” “Then I will create a device to warn of their approach.” She gazed into his eyes and he swallowed hard. This was like no spell he’d ever experienced. “I am smart, regardless of what father thinks,” she said. “And I’m sensible. I know what’s right and it’s not right to hunt and destroy something simply because we don’t understand it.” “You’re so…enchanting.” “Kiss me,” she said. “I,” he hesitated. “We shouldn’t.”

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“Because your heart is taken?” Her pleading eyes searched his. “No, there is no other woman. I lied about that.” He looked into her eyes. “The truth is, I was sent to seduce you and use your knowledge to help my kind destroy PCell. I’ve been using you, Elizabeth.” “What were you using me for ten years ago when you protected me?” He went to the window, looking out onto the evening mist. “I don’t know what compelled me to do that.” She came up behind him, ran her hands across his shoulders and brought them around front to hold onto him. That knifing pain in his chest grew to an unbearable ache. “I have never loved a man because I think my heart always belonged to you,” she said. He turned abruptly, breaking her hold. “Do you hear what you’re saying? I’m demon. I’m meant to fight my tendency to feel love and compassion, not embrace it.” “But your mortal side is honorable. That’s what made you protect me ten years ago.” “And my demon side demands I do this.” He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. Hard. She squeaked, but didn’t push away. She pressed her body against him, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders, her hips shoving into him as if she were trying to mount him. He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. He no longer recognized the girl he’d first seen as a teenager. The woman in his arms was a sorceress igniting a desire he’d never felt with a female of his own race. How could this be? “I need you inside of me.” She breathed against his neck and unbuttoned his shirt, then his trousers. “Elizabeth, are you sure?” He did not want her because she couldn’t resist his Ash Demon charm. But then what other reason could there be? “You are too polite to be a demon,” she teased, pushing him against the sofa. She nibbled at his neck, then lower, her tongue setting off an explosion in his chest. He grew hard with the heat of her breath against his skin. He had to get control, regain his senses. Weaving his fingers into her hair, he guided her lips up to meet his own. But the kiss wasn’t rough and desperate. There was tenderness about it, a need that blanketed his demon heart with warmth. She shoved his trousers and shorts down and off his hips, his heat desperate to take her. Marcus floated their bodies above the sofa and turned them so he was on top, he was in control. He held her close as they drifted back down into the soft cushions, their lips not breaking contact. He undid her blouse, then her front-clasping bra. He cradled her breasts and a surged of heat rushed through her mouth into his. As he massaged and stroked the wanting peaks, she unsnapped her jeans and slid them off, along with her panties, leaving nothing between them. He slid one hand down her side, around front to touch the spot that would send her flying without help from a demon. She broke the kiss, struggling for breath. “Bloody hell, just do it already.”

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The sound of her voice, the feel of her hands gripping his buttocks and pulling him close, destroyed all sense of thought and reason. He pulled her against him and joined their bodies, her warmth opening to him, enticing his need with such heat he thought they might burn to ash. “Marcus!” she cried, thrusting, gripping, then kissing. He gave her what she begged for and lost himself inside of her. For one brief second, he wished to be human. He wished he could know the love of a mortal’s heart.

*** It must have been hours later when Elizabeth awakened, snuggled against her lover’s chest. Her demon lover. When you act from a place of fear, you’ll never see the truth. The healer’s words haunted Elizabeth. Up to this point she’d been motivated by fear: fear of paras, fear of not earning father’s respect, fear of never being loved. From this vantage point it was perfectly clear that her father was motivated by fear and power. If that was what being a Burke meant, she’d just as soon change her name. She didn’t know what the future held for her and Marcus, but she knew they were meant to be together. She’d known this since that night ten years ago when he’d saved her. She’d suppressed that memory to keep from reliving the horror, but she was no longer afraid, not with Marcus by her side. She had to get started on designing the protective device to keep Marcus safe. She edged out from beneath the wool blanket, got dressed and went to her car where she kept extra supplies in case her equipment broke in the field. Although her backpack of instruments had been completely destroyed, she found bits of fuses, wire and crystals in her trunk that she’d use to create a warning transmitter that would alert Marcus when a blaster was being aimed at him. “Well, hello, lovely.” She turned just as Mickey shoved her to the ground. “Don’t suppose you want to tell us where your friend is hiding?” “What friend?” He crouched down and smiled. “Now she plays dumb.” She glanced over his shoulder. The cottage had disappeared. What in the blazes was that about? “Elizabeth Burke!” her father called. Mickey stood. “Over here, sir.” Father marched up to her, his eyes flaring. “Well? Where is the demon?” He didn’t ask if she’d been hurt, or traumatized. “I’m…I’m not sure,” she said. With his typical disapproving frown he said, “silly girl.”

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“Oh, don’t worry, sir, he’ll turn up.” With a firm grip to her upper arm, Mickey pulled Elizabeth to her feet. “He has a thing for your daughter.” “Let go of her,” Marcus said, appearing out of the mist. “Bastard.” Mickey aimed his salt blaster at Marcus. Elizabeth had but a millisecond to save her lover’s life. She shoved Mickey as the blaster went off. “Don’t be a fool,” she cried. “Father, think of what you can learn from studying this demon, his vulnerabilities and his weaknesses.” She didn’t dare look at Marcus for fear he would believe her lies. Gripping the lapel of her father’s suit coat she said, “I can control him. You can take him back to the lab for research. This is even better than destroying him.” Father’s eyes glowed with delight. “My child, you’ve finally proven your worth. You can control him?” “Yes.” “Show me.”

Chapter Five Marcus finally understood why his kind was taught from the first day of existence to reject their mortal tendencies. The emotion called love would not allow him to fight back. This girl had forever dreamed of earning her father’s love, and Marcus could grant her wish by surrendering himself. Elizabeth approached him, her eyes pleading. He would not resist her. How could he? She’d captured his heart; she owned his soul. “Marcus.” She walked up to him, placing her hand to his cheek. Heat lightening shot across his body. “You need to come with us.” She leaned close. “Get away, fly out of here. Now,” she whispered. But he could not leave, could not deny her the love of her father. He looked at Edmund Burke. “I am your prisoner.” “Marcus?” Elizabeth asked, confused. He ignored her. “I will come willingly.” He walked toward her father. The man took a step back. “If you’re sincere, you won’t mind wearing this armband against your skin.” “What is it?” she questioned. “Something I’ve created that neutralizes creatures of the dark realm,” her father said. “You don’t need to use that,” Elizabeth argued. “I admire your confidence, Elizabeth, but I’m a realist.”

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“I will wear it,” Marcus agreed. He rolled up his sleeve and her father placed it against his skin. “Put him in the truck,” he ordered Mickey. Marcus glanced at Elizabeth and smiled. She shook her head in her silent plea for him to escape. But he’d made his choice. He was led to the truck and shoved inside. His vision started to blur. “Why don’t we shoot him and be done with it?” Mickey asked. “No, don’t you hurt him,” Elizabeth said. Marcus took comfort in the fact that she cared, that maybe his wasn’t a wasted death. He’d shown her what it felt like to be loved, and now she finally had the respect and love of her father. “Calm yourself, child,” her father consoled with an arm around her shoulder. “Father’s in charge now. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed the top of her head as Mickey closed the truck door. “Goodbye, my love,” Marcus whispered, and drifted into the abyss. He knew the armband would kill him, yet what mattered was that he’d given Elizabeth the gift she’d wanted most: her father’s love.

*** “Marcus, can you hear me?” The soft voice cut through the fog and touched his heart. “Elizabeth?” Did he speak or simply think her name? Was he…nonexistent? Warm, moist lips brushed against his own and he ached, only this time he ached for what he’d given up. “You need to open your eyes, Marcus,” she whispered. “Open your eyes so we can get out of here.” He blinked and found himself staring into his love’s sparkling, golden eyes. “Elizabeth, but…” “Father’s gone. We need to get out of here.” “You will betray your father, give up his love?” “Marcus.” She stroked his forehead. “If the only way to earn his love is to go against what I believe in, well, I don’t want any part of conditional love like that. Besides, your love is what’s most important. Come on, we have to go.” “The armband…“ “I replaced it two days ago with one of my own, complete with a healing compound.” She smiled, and he instantly felt better. But not strong enough to fly. Not yet. “Elizabeth?” Her father stood in the doorway, flanked by two guards. Elizabeth turned to him. Marcus was completely helpless to defend her.

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“Hello, Father.” “What are you doing?” “We’re leaving.” “I should have anticipated this.” He motioned to his guards. They started toward her and Elizabeth aimed a four-inch, metal tube at them that emitted a low hum. They guards froze. “Get them,” Burke ordered. “Can’t move,” one of the guards said. “What do you mean?” Burke took a step forward, and then he, too, was frozen. “What is this?” “Your silly daughter has created a device to temporarily paralyze the enemy so we can leave without incident. I don’t want to hurt you, Father.” “Hurt me? You disappoint me so, child. How could you betray me like this?” Marcus felt her blood pressure spike through the touch she had on his arm. “You betrayed me my entire life, Father. You never loved me.” “I did my best to love you, considering you were spawned by demon seed.” “What?” she gasped. “One of these hideous creatures,” her father motioned to Marcus, “visited your mother while I was away. She was easily seduced by his charm as, I see, you have been.” “That’s why you never loved me,” she said. Marcus touched her shoulder, wishing he could ease her pain. “And this creature, you think he loves you?” Burke said. “If you believe that, you’re a complete fool.” “No.” She looked at Marcus, then back at her father. “I’ve been a fool to want your love so desperately that I’d betray my own integrity. Demons, paras, are different but they’re not all bad. But then—” she hesitated as they passed him. “You’ll never understand that because you’re motivated by fear. I’m sorry for you, Father. I’m out of your life now. You no longer have to worry about me.” She shoved the paralyzing device into a holster on her belt. “We have two minutes before they’re mobile. I don’t suppose you can fly?” she said as they climbed the cellar stairs. “Not quite, my love.” “No problem.” She led him outside onto the Burke Estate grounds. Was she devastated by the news of a demon being her real father? “Elizabeth, about your father…” Marcus said.

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“It makes sense, actually.” She glanced at him. “I always felt different. But then, different is okay.” He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but there was no time. “Over there.” She pointed to a machine in the distance. “Flying helicopters is a hobby of mine. Wait a second, if my true father was a demon, can I fly?” “Powers are only passed to male children.” “Well, that’s sexist, isn’t it?” He admired the strength of this woman to be able to quip at a time like this, when her life had been rattled to the core. As she grabbed his hand and urged him forward, he felt his balance and strength return. The poison must be completely out of his system. Or was it the love surging through her touch that fueled him? “Your father will not stop until he destroys us.” “His choice. I’ve made mine.” She smiled. The slicing pain in his chest eased, as if something had healed inside. They strapped themselves into the flying machine and took off, hovering above the property. Her father and the guards raced out onto the grounds below. “Good bye,” she hesitated. “Father.” Suddenly the machine rocked with the assault of a PCell weapon. “Bugger, Mickey got us!” she cried, flying away from the estate, the machine sputtering in protest. Another blast jarred the helicopter. “Mickey’s not giving up!” Neither was Marcus. “Turn around and aim for the bastard!” “What? Are you mad?” He placed his hand to hers as she gripped the steering device. “Trust me.” She nodded, and started back toward Mickey. The PCell agent was reloading his weapon. Marcus unbuckled his seatbelt and Elizabeth’s. “What are you doing?” she cried. Mickey snapped around and aimed his weapon. Marcus grabbed Elizabeth by the waist, kicked open his door and flew away from the machine as it exploded into pieces. He aimed for St. Yve Wood and spotted his cottage in the distance. Elizabeth wrapped herself around him, her breath warming his neck, making him want her. He descended near the cottage, but suddenly weakened. They dropped to the moist earth beside the riverbank where they had met only days ago. “A little rough on the landing, wouldn’t you say?” she said, sitting up.

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“Are you hurt?” He touched her cheek. “On the contrary.” She winked and shot him a smile that lit his demon heart. “Are you flirting with me?” he said. “If that’s what it takes.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “It won’t take much, Elizabeth. My heart is yours. And so is my cottage.” She sighed. “I’ve always wanted to live in the country.” And she kissed him.

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Song of Marwey by Robin D. Owens From the moment she sees Pascal Raston, Marwey Famil feels the Song between them and knows their connection is unlike any other she will experience. A Castle Soldier, Pascal is determined to fulfill his dreams and become a Marshall — but he never planned on the possibility of meeting someone like Marwey. As dangerous monsters invade the land, threatening lives and freedom, these two young people must choose between love and the careful plans they have made for their lives. Will Pascal give in to the bond they share, or is his dedication to his sword more powerful than Marwey suspects?

Chapter One She saw him, and she wanted him. Marwey Famil looked down from the fifth story tower window into the paved castle courtyard, focusing on the younger of the two men who conversed. His personal Song resonated straight to her core — without touch, without even a meeting of gazes. She gasped and pressed a hand against her suddenly thumping heart. Such a connection wasn't common. No, it was extraordinary, and her life had always been ordinary. Marwey leaned against the thick wall framing the window and stared at the Castle Soldier. He was young, his features handsome though ruddy with winter cold. She could see that his body was well built, even through the shabby cloak that was draped over his uniform. He held himself proudly and she sensed the seed of greatness within him — greatness and ambition. She narrowed her eyes. His hair didn't show the mark of magical Power — streaks of silver at his left or right temple — that she expected from a man with such a potent Song. Streaks she herself had at both temples. His hair was coal black. Still, his face, his body, his movement, stirred her, flooded her with an aching warmth. Her soul Song sought him, curled around him. At once she knew all her own careful life plans — to become the Chief of Staff of the preeminent Marshalls' Castle — must be reconsidered. If he was a Castle Soldier, he aspired to be more, perhaps a warrior Marshall himself. Marshalls always fought in Pairs. She sucked in a breath. She'd never desired to become a Marshall, to fight the hideous monsters invading Lladrana, her land — but she wanted him. Enough to alter her path? If the Song between them was strong enough. If she was strong enough to turn from a nurturer to a warrior. She nibbled her lip as she saw him tug at his cloak. Polish some of those rough edges and they'd go far together. One of the strong threads that resonated between them was determination. Marwey usually got what she set her mind to. She'd wanted to leave her comfortable, slow-paced noble home for the Castle and more excitement and here she was, companion to her great aunt Thealia Germaine who was herself a prominent Marshall. "Marwey," Thealia called from the bedroom. "Please come help me remove my chain mail." She hurried to Thealia. Though bespelled for lightness and flexibility, the chain mail was still bulky enough to be awkward. When Marwey freed Thealia from it, the older woman sighed in relief. It had been a long flight for them by winged horse from the oracle's home — the Singer's Abbey — to the Castle. At the Abbey Thealia had sought advice on how to save Lladrana from the invading monsters. Thealia rolled her shoulders. "It will be difficult convincing the other Marshalls to Summon an exotique from another world to help us." Thealia stretched. "But the oracle said an exotique could discover how to create

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the magical fenceposts required to keep the horrors out. The old fenceposts are falling." Her lips thinned to a line. "An exotique? We haven't had one of those for…for ages." The idea of a stranger strong in Power coming from another world intrigued and excited. Scowling, Thealia said, "Almost a century, and he didn't stay. This will be a battle of words and wills — especially with the Lord Marshall." She glanced at the bow windows of the bedroom and rubbed her hands. "But I've prevailed against him before. He didn't want me to install these bow windows." They looked a little odd in the round tower, but Marwey only nodded. Thealia sighed. "It's a dangerous business, Summoning an exotique, draining of our Power — and Marshalls have died. There are too few of us." She shook her head. "I can't convince the others by myself. I want my husband." Her face softened. "He's so much better with people than me." Thealia tilted her head, testing her mental connection with her husband, then smiled slightly. "He's awaiting me in the Map Room." She glanced at Marwey, brows lowered. "If you're staying in the Castle, working with the Marshalls, you'd best learn what we're fighting." Marwey gulped. Her parents' estate was in far south Lladrana. She'd never seen any of the monsters that invaded from the north — none had reached her home. "Why do they invade?" With a shrug, Thealia said, "They are from the frozen north. Lladrana is fertile and beautiful. You're sure you want to be here?" Lifting her chin, Marwey met Thealia's measuring gaze. Marwey had wanted to put her skills that her mother and grandmother had taught her to use — how to run a large household, how to make a serene home. But she'd yearned to be respected for who she was, not just because she was the fifth daughter of a wealthy noble. She'd needed more excitement. And now she'd found a man who spoke to her heart. "I'm sure," Marwey said. "Then I thank you for coming to make a home for us." Thealia looked around. "We Marshalls will be living centralized here instead of at our own estates for a long time." She donned her malachite-patterned green cloak. Marwey took her cape from the window seat in the sitting room and put it on. Gesturing to the view of Temple Ward courtyard out the window where the man who'd caught her heart still stood, Marwey forced herself to be casual. "Who's that?" Thealia came and glanced out. "That's Luthan Vauxveau and a young man he's sponsoring as a Castle Soldier and perhaps for the next Chevalier class — Pascal Raston, I believe." Her brows dipped and she glanced at Marwey. "It's been a while since you've seen Luthan, hasn't it? Hmm, he's a little old for you, but it would be a very good match." Then she shook her head, reconsidering. "You are both too serious." Heartbeat fast, Marwey nodded agreement. She wanted Pascal Raston. Marwey and Thealia left the tower and hurried across the cold courtyard, too far from Pascal for Marwey to catch his eye. Then she and her aunt entered the cloister walk and went to the Map Room. Marwey hesitated on the threshold. Even here she could see the large animated map with the northern magical fenceposts and boundary that held back the horrors. Three of the fenceposts were down. That part of the border showed black clumps of monsters moving into Lladrana. Red stained the map where

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Chevaliers had recently died defending the land. Now her heart pounded with fear — for Pascal who would train as a Chevalier to fight, for herself if she Paired with him. Chevaliers usually fought in Pairs. Marshalls were always Paired. Thealia grabbed her short, round husband and kissed him. He flapped his hand at Marwey to go and she gratefully retreated into the walkway. Through the arches she saw Luthan leave Pascal. She ran to a far opening of the cloister, stepped into the courtyard and hurried back, huddled into her cape to stay warm, ducked her head and bumped right into Pascal. He reached out to steady her, his hands grasping her upper arms. Colors swirled before her eyes at his touch. He caught her close for an instant. Low words tore from him. "By the Song!" An achingly beautiful melody crashed through her, dimming her hearing, making her body soften against his, igniting a spark in her core. She knew she was where she should always be — with him. Dazedly, she lifted her face to his, saw his widened deep brown eyes. Pascal looked as if he was trying to shake off bemusement. "Incredible," he muttered. He stepped back and a cold wind whipped between them. Marwey gathered her wits and offered her hand. "Salutations. I'm Marwey Famil. I just arrived with my great aunt, Swordmarshall Thealia Germaine. I'll be working here at the Castle." She glanced around the vast yard, gazed at the great white circular Temple. "It's a very fine place, isn't it?" He bowed more elegantly than she expected and took her hand. Heat pulsed from his fingers to her insides and she liked it, wanted more. Wanted him. He dropped her hand. "Very fine. I'm Pascal Raston, Castle Soldier, Level One." He glanced up at the clock affixed to the outside wall of the Noble Apartments. "My shift at the Main Gate approaches." He hesitated. "Welcome to the Castle." He stared at her, then smiled slowly and the warm flutters inside her spread liquid heat. "Perhaps I'll see you later," he said. He bowed again and strode down the yard to the gatehouse and the Lower Ward courtyard, a touch of swagger in his step. "Yes," she murmured. "You will definitely see me later."

Chapter Two Marwey's brief conversation with Pascal had been the high point of her day. The rest of the day had spiraled into tense arguments as her great-aunt Thealia met with other Marshalls, revealing what the oracle had prophesized to save their land. They must Summon a person from another world. Dangerous magic that would drain them — and could kill them. Hot words were exchanged and the atmosphere thickened with anger and the heaviness of an ominous fate. Later, Marwey descended the stairs to the Castle baths to prepare herself for Pascal. Excitement fizzed through her at the thought of meeting him again. Standing under a drying vent, she mentally reached for Pascal to locate him. Their earlier quick touch of hands had twined a small tune between them. So unusual for such an emotional bond to happen…but so sweet. After dressing in thick leggings and a long gown and cloak, she followed the tug of her heart to Pascal and to the stables where winged horses, called volarans, were kept. He was stroking the nose of an older volaran. The place was warm and smelled of hay, oats and the musk of volarans. Marwey had brought with her a piece of fruit, which she gave to the winged horse she'd ridden to the Castle that morning.

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Pascal moved down the aisle with one of his slow smiles. "Hello, Marwey." Marwey sensed she hadn't fooled him a bit. "Hello, Pascal." "I knew you were coming and I lingered." He grasped her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed the back. Again the rush of color, of Song, of passion, whirled through her. Heat spread through her body. Pascal squeezed her hand and released it. "I wondered if I'd really felt that punch of desire, or had just imagined there was a link between us. We must decide if we want to pursue this." She didn't want to think. "Why decide?" She was surprised she could speak with such fire storming through her. He looked impatient, scanned the stalls, patted the winged horse she'd ridden, then curled his fingers over the stall door. "We're not the same class, and I'm sure we have different plans. I want to be the best. I'll be a Marshall someday," he said with complete confidence. "That Castle volaran has been assigned for me to learn to fly." Marwey's stomach tightened. A Marshall — she'd been afraid of that. "I could be a Marshall." Her voice cracked. He sighed. "Anyone can see that you're a lady who'll want a serene life and children. Marshalls shouldn't have children." "All the twelve current Marshalls have children." She argued to convince him — and herself. "All their children are grown, older than we are." He tensed. "And that was before the fenceposts began to fail, when Lladrana was safe with only one or two dark horrors a year penetrating the magical boundary. Times have changed." His expression went hard. "We're at war for the foreseeable future. Just as in the ancient days before the fenceposts and border were made. It's not the time for Marshalls to have families." Marwey wet her lips, put her hand atop his, gloried in the mingling of their songs. Along with the yearning of her heart came a low ache. "As a Marshall, you will be Paired with someone, a Shield for defense." She swallowed. "Every Marshall Pair is blood-bonded." I could bond with you, she thought. He withdrew his hand. "The Lord Marshall is Paired with his brother. I thought to ask mine." But he looked unsure, as if he still had not made up his mind. "I am at the beginning of my career." His mouth twisted. "I'm the son of a very minor, poor noble. We have no volarans. A person must have land and three battle-trained volarans before they can test to be a Marshall. I'm not even a Chevalier." "Yet." She met his eyes steadily. "I feel the greatness in you." Raising his brows, he said, "Is that your magical Power — evaluating people?" "No, I'm a strong mind-merger." "A womanly talent. My Power is battle foresight. I anticipate my opponent's moves." Now she could feel the strong Power enveloping him, though he had no silver hair. "I dyed my hair." He grumbled. "It wouldn't do for the third son of a poor, petty noble to be arrogant. Soon I'll have a streak of silver, here." He tapped his right temple and winked. "Wider than yours." Marwey tossed her head. "But I have two."

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He chuckled. Battle foresight. She bit her lip. There was no way he'd forsake being a Marshall. She hated thinking about fighting, talking about it. "War sometimes…accelerates careers." "Yes. A person can win more than glory on the battlefield. But it's a risky life." He curved his hand near her face, as if he wanted to touch. Marwey leaned into it and felt the tips of his fingers brush her cheek. A long, low note resonated between them. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. "You're not a woman for battle, but a lady to make a comfortable hearth and home." "I can be anything I want." "I'd hate to see you as a fighter." She sniffed. "Sometimes choices must be made." Didn't he know how deeply the Song ran between them already? "I want you," she said. He shook, and she liked that. But then he inhaled and met her gaze. "I don't intend to Pair for a long time. Not until after I earn my Chevalier reins, not until I have enough zhiv to buy land or enough luck to win it, or give enough loyalty to some Lord or Lady to receive an estate as a gift." She stepped so close his scent enveloped her, and she pressed her hands to his chest. His heart thundered as much as hers and she smiled. Until he brought his lips to hers, traced them with his tongue, and insinuated it into her mouth. He tasted of winter mint. She hung on. With a rough moan that echoed in her mouth, vibrated to her very bones, he pulled her to him. He was young and strong and very, very hard. He broke away, eyes glittering. "I sleep in the Main Gate barracks. I don't have a private room to talk in — or to do anything else." "I have a room in the southeast keep tower." He stepped back. "The Germaine Marshalls' Tower?" "Yes, come with me." "This is madness. This sudden attraction —" The heat of desire turned to embarrassment, crept up her cheeks at what she'd offered and he was denying. She shifted feet, wishing she was in his arms, surrendering to hot delight, not talking. Not thinking. "Everyone knows that sometimes personal Songs merge quickly." Laughing harshly, he shook his head. "It's unusual." "But it's happening to us!" Pascal's lips narrowed. "Come with me — to talk, learn each other better," Marwey pressed. "Your chamber is under your aunt's!" "So?"

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He shook his head. "I'm new to the Castle, the Marshalls don't know me, even the Captain of the Soldiers doesn't know me well. It would look bad." "So what?" Raking a hand through his hair, he said, "So you come from a rich, noble family, with the highest of connections and the day you arrive — young, naive — I sneak off to your room with you. It appears as if I'm a dishonorable man, using you to get ahead in my profession." "I know my own mind. I'm not that young or naive." Pascal snorted. "And I want to know you better. We could talk here," she said. "You are naive if you believe that — staying here in the warmth, in the dark. We wouldn't talk and I'm not having sex with you under volaran eyes." He stepped back. "They won't tell." He flung up his hands. "How do you know, have you ever linked with one?" "Of course, I'm a mind-merge." She nodded to the old volaran assigned to him. "He's the dominant volaran here, and he likes you. He'll tell the others to keep quiet." Pascal swallowed. "I want to stay, but I've rarely been able to do what I want." His gaze traveled down her, pausing at breasts and hips, firing her blood. "I think you have usually received what you want." He moved to the stable door, hesitated. "We are ill matched in status, in life plans." She opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped by his raised hand. "Don't tell me that you could become a fighter. I'd wager you never had a thought of that until this sudden Song between us, am I right?" Marwey was silent. "Ill matched," Pascal repeated and left. Rejection speared through her. She swallowed, then set her chin in determination. She'd be a fool to let love go without a fight.

Chapter Three During the next few days, great-aunt Thealia kept Marwey busy, learning her duties as a companion to a Marshall and working with other staffs. She enjoyed the work, the excitement humming through the Castle, far from the boredom of her parents' wealthy home. People saw her, Marwey Famil, instead of the fifth Famil daughter of minor nobility. They respected her skills. She knew she could have achieved her old goal of being the Castle Chief of Staff. But fate had intervened with a sudden, incredible bond with the Soldier, Pascal. Instead, Marwey now contemplated joining him as a Chevalier, then as a warrior Marshall — who fought in Pairs.

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Her nights were haunted by dreams of his body next to hers in the warm dark, his sword-roughened hands moving over her, every touch delicious, every caress binding them together in pleasure, in passion, in Pairing. She awoke aching and only hoped that he felt the same. It didn't matter that Pascal thought they were too different in status, lifestyles and goals. She knew she could become a fighter, too. Finally, she arranged a free morning and went to find him. Previously, she'd discovered some old, goodquality uniforms and had altered them for him. She easily followed his soul tune through the Castle courtyards to a disused corridor and room. There was no doorharp, so she knocked and waited. Nothing. But then she heard shouts, thuds from inside. She pressed the door latch and ran in, dropping the stack of clothes. Pascal was fighting for his life! She choked on terror as three monsters attacked him — a render, a slayer and a soul-sucker. The huge black-furred render dropped from the ceiling, slavering, wicked claws raking. The yellow slayer bounded forward, spines on its head and back raised, ready to shoot Pascal. The soulsucker whipped out four suckered tentacles. Pascal's swords flashed — he killed the render, danced away from the soul-sucker, loosed an offensive spell that flung the slayer headfirst into a wall. The energy shoved Marwey against the doorjamb. She fumbled for the dagger she wore but used only for household tasks and threw it. It clattered to the floor. He pivoted with raised swords, then whispered. "Stop." The training spells ended, the monsters turned into leather dummies painted to appear like the horrors invading Lladrana. Marwey gulped ragged breaths. She'd never seen the monsters in anything but lorebooks. Her mouth dried as she realized this practice could become all too real on a battlefield, and would be what she faced, too, if she Paired with Pascal. Fear and love ripped at her. He looked down at her fallen dagger. His mouth twitched. "Nice try." He sheathed his swords. She stared at him as he stood, chest bare and sweaty, a small silver medallion around his neck. If she valued her heart, she'd leave. She stepped toward him. "What are you doing here?" He seemed embarrassed. The triangular room held little resemblance to the fighting salles she knew. The wooden floor, though scarred, was well kept, the walls were stained and faded, the windows grimy. Unable to take her eyes off his body, she moved back toward the doorway and picked up the clothes. "What are those?" he asked. Words failed her. All she could see was the wiry strength of him; all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears; all she could smell was his vitality and the after tang of magical Power. He reached for the clothes and her hands twisted, fingers claiming his. The whole world stopped. The tune that had spun between them from their first meeting rushed into a string of notes, poured into a full melody. "I want you," she said. Pascal's gaze slid to the apex of the room and an old feather mattress. He fisted his hands, reddened. "I practice here to learn more quickly, and so my mistakes aren't seen by all. I rest here, as well. I like the privacy." He was trying to distract them both.

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"Why do we talk?" she whispered, throbbing with the need to feel him. "You are not a woman for a fast tumble in the hay," his voice rasped. "Niece to a Marshall Pair, the highest of the high." She scowled, stepped toward him. "You're of noble blood, too." "Very minor, very poor. My sponsor, Luthan Vauxveau, is a man of sterling honor, and he would not approve of me using you for sexual release." Narrowing her eyes, she said. "You know there's much more between us than just sex. We have a Song linking us. Sudden, but beautiful. Admit that, at least." He looked away from her, down at the clothes. "This Song between us is too potent to treat casually, you are right." She let out a breath. At least talking was a start. Pascal pointed to the clothes she'd brought. "What are those?" he asked again. "Every Castle has storerooms. I found these and think they're your size. They're out-of-date, but sturdy." "I don't need clothes," he said stiffly. "Mine will do fine." "The cloak is triple-lined," she said. He'd take the clothes, she was sure, but when he made no move she thought perhaps she could please him with her other news. "I've used my mind-merge Power to speak to the winged horse assigned to you. The volaran knew you were new to flying, but he will try and link with you in the future. If you can form a connection, you will learn how to fly and maneuver in battle all the faster." "You spoke to the volaran?" he asked. "His name is Mountain Wind. You want to be in the next class of Chevaliers, don't you? I thought this would help." The faster he achieved his goal, the sooner he'd consider a real relationship. He reached out to get a better look at the clothes she held. Their fingers brushed, linked as they straightened. She felt his desire, his determination to treat her with honor. The love that caused both. Her pulse beat fast with desire, with surrender. His mind brushed hers. His memories infused her with images of his childhood, struggling to help his father keep his family fed and clothed. The silver medallion Pascal wore was their one treasure, kept in case of an emergency. A golden Marshall's baton symbolized his determination to reach that goal. Then she saw herself, beautiful and gentle and noble. She fell into his arms. His mouth was on hers, and she opened to him, pulling his taste into her. She pressed against him, savoring the heat, the tightening of her nipples, the readying of her body. The alarm siren shrieked. All the bells of the Castle rang. Pascal was away from her and pulling on his shirt before Marwey understood what was happening. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, face all serious angles. "An influx of horrors must have invaded. The Chevaliers and Marshalls fly to fight. I'll be needed to guard." He reached for his old cloak, hesitated. It was ill made. The one she'd brought him was longer, warmer. "My younger sister made my cloak," Pascal said.

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"Take the cloak and keep the one your sister made, for sentiment." He frowned, but drew on the new cloak, took the other. He looked at Marwey. "Pretty Marwey, so competent in homemaking. How can you think you'd be a good fighter?" She narrowed her eyes. "I can match you." "This shouldn't happen again," he said roughly. "It will. The Song between us is too strong." He grunted, acknowledging but still unwilling to accept. "I've felt nothing like it." He opened the door and the alarm pulsed louder. "Someday I'll fly to fight monsters. Think hard if you want to do the same." Volaran harness rang. "The Marshalls depart. Your great-aunt is gone. She'll want to return to the comfort you'll make in her suite." Her heart squeezed fearfully. Thealia had left and might not come back. The knowledge that her aunt battled against the horrors had been in her head, but this was all too solid reality. Pascal was only a Castle Soldier, but by the summer he could be a Chevalier, summoned by the alarm to fight — perhaps to die. Did she have the courage to watch him leave? Did she have the fortitude to Pair with him and join him in the battles? They could be great. Marwey had never wanted greatness, only a comfortable life. If they lived that long.

Chapter Four None of the Marshalls or Chevaliers returned to the Castle that night from the battlefield. Worry about her great-aunt kept Marwey awake. Her family connection with Thealia wasn't strong enough to know if the Swordmarshall lived or died, or if her Shieldmarshall husband survived. Finally, in the small hours of the morning, Marwey ran across the freezing courtyard to the Map Room. The dim light brightened when she walked in and she stared at the animated map. A horrible red blotch signified many deaths at the northern border where the magical boundary was failing. A draft from the door opening behind her made her shiver and wrap her arms around herself. The intense emotional Song reverberating between them told Marwey it was Pascal, the Castle Soldier. The man she wanted. "Marwey?" he asked softly. "I was on patrol and saw you leave the keep. You shouldn't wander alone." She shrugged, gazing at the map. "Not one rowdy Chevalier's here. They're all north. My aunt says the horrors invade because Lladrana is fertile and beautiful." Pascal shrugged. "So everyone believes." Marwey's voice choked as she pointed to the red stain. "The map shows banners of fallen Chevaliers, but I don't see any Marshalls' batons. Marshalls' batons would be there, too, if my aunt or her husband had died, right?" Pascal glanced at the map. His face tensed. When he spoke his voice was flat. "Yes, we lost three Chevalier Pairs and four singles and the fighting continues. Rare to have so many horrors invading and a night battle."

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He took her upper arm and she felt the connection with him even through their clothes, and his emotions — understanding, regret. "Come away, Marwey. They will be back tomorrow. Watching the map only makes you fret." So she let his body heat encompass her, and tried not to see an additional finger of black horrors move to the northern border, monsters ready to invade. "I'll walk you to your room. You're so pretty and sheltered — I see even more that you weren't made for this life." His voice was quiet. He shook his head with the realization of what had to be done. "I'm going to be a Chevalier, so you'd best snip that thready tune between us." She sniffed, glad he had her arm, because tears blurred her vision as they crossed the courtyard and climbed the tower stairs. "It's not a thready tune. It's a full, interwoven Song." But she shuddered at the thought of fighting. "I suppose you are right." "I can't see you on a battlefield," he repeated what he'd said in the stables. "Drown the melody between us with another, stronger Song." "Why don't you?" she asked, wiping her eyes. "I'm not that strong." He paused. "One last kiss, to remember," he said. He pressed his body against hers. Heated yearning flooded her, making her ache for completion. She grasped his neck and pulled his lips down to yield to him, to the need for him that tightened her nipples, made her throb. His tongue swept into her mouth, his taste exploding through her. She surrendered to passion, angled her body to set the center of herself against his hard length. Her breath released on a moan of pure desire. Then he stepped back, face harsh. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm on duty and fighters are battling for our land. How you make me forget." He opened the door to her room, then stepped back and closed the door between them. Her body ached and her mind fretted through the night. She thought of her ambition to become the Castle Chief of Staff, her change of plans when she'd seen Pascal and heard his Song. Perhaps, he was right and she was wrong, blinded by lust, by wanting to believe in a special love. Hours later, Thealia and her husband returned. They and their winged horses drooped with exhaustion. Marwey hugged her aunt and saw fearsome memories from Thealia's mind — chunks of monsters' flesh littering ichor-soaked ground. Worse — bloody bodies of Chevaliers, wounded, gasping and moaning. Dead eyes staring. She ran to the washbasin and was sick. That afternoon Thealia, sitting at her desk, said, "Some more Marshalls visited the oracle of the Singer and received the same news I did — we must Summon an exotique from another world who will discover how to mend the magical boundary." She consulted a list. "Furthermore, we must schedule the next training class for Chevaliers sooner. We have twelve applicants, and six additional sponsored people. We need them trained and in the field as soon as possible." A shiver trembled through Marwey. She didn't know how Thealia could send others to their deaths; think on how death had made the Chevalier ranks so thin. She had to step back from Pascal, who'd enter the Chevalier class. No matter how wonderfully their Songs mixed, she could not face blood and death daily. So she slowed the flow of soul notes from her to Pascal to a trickle. When she received a throb of sadness back from him, she knew he understood they wouldn't be together again.

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There was one last thing she could do for him, however. He'd been patrolling the courtyards in the last frigid dregs of winter, so she asked Thealia's husband if he could arrange a better duty for Pascal. For the next three nights, fevered dreams tormented her as she delayed breaking their emotional bond completely. She should snap it soon, before it strengthened, she knew — for then the hurt could debilitate them both. Was she, Marwey Famil, so cowardly that she'd deny a truly exceptional love because she was afraid of her fate with Pascal — or the pain of losing him? She yearned for him with more than her body — her heart, her Song wanted him to complement her. If she stayed in the Castle, each time he went to battle her heart would wrench and she'd count the breaths until he returned. So even her previous ambition to become the Castle Chief of Staff was worthless. She agonized through another alarm and fighting the next day and was waiting at the Landing Field for Thealia and her husband, who looked tired but satisfied. Pascal arrived at the Landing Field just as several Chevaliers on winged horses alit. Luthan Vauxveau, Pascal's sponsor, dismounted and walked to Pascal, throwing an arm around his shoulder, saying something. Bad news. A pulse of anguish throbbed through the thin link between Pascal and her. He'd lost a friend in battle. She wanted to go to him. Instead, she matched steps with Thealia, and saw him nod briefly to Luthan, then walk away, steps slow. Pascal's hand touched his shirt, to the silver medallion he wore under it. He glanced at her and they held gazes for a long moment. That evening she was on her way to the baths with Thealia, when she saw Pascal coming down the corridor. She sensed it was as planned as her meetings had been. His face was white with strain. As they passed, he murmured a greeting to Thealia. Then the lightest whisper came to her ears. "I need you." Their fingers brushed and he passed her a note and continued walking. Marwey's heart gave one hard thump. In the main bath, she unfolded the note. You have not cut the bond between us. Can you accept me and my life? Can we love? I will wait in my practice room. I need you. Pascal. He needed her. Everything within her clenched. Were any other words so powerful from a strong man? But he was determined to be a Chevalier, rise to become a Marshall — go to battle daily, if necessary. She hadn't thought she was such a physical coward, but it appeared so. He had a friend die. He needed her. She must decide. "Marwey, the water is wonderful, are you coming in?" called Thealia. Marwey looked up and froze as she saw the scars on the older woman's body that spoke of agony. She looked down at her own unmarked body, cleared her throat. "No, I've enjoyed the steam. I'm tired, I think I'll retire." Thealia's face softened. "You've been an excellent companion, providing a comfortable home for me and my husband. Thank you." Marwey nodded, but felt false to the core. Thealia and the other Marshalls defended their land from the invading monsters. They were the ones doing the most valuable work. And if Marwey truly thought so, couldn't she fight, too?

Chapter Five

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As she walked to the Castle training room where Pascal waited, Marwey faced her future. She could Pair with Pascal and fight battles with him defending their land and die. Or they both could fight and die. Or he could fight and die. That would be the worst. She gulped, her steps hesitated, her palms dampened. She went on. The best was simply loving the man. She carried a box with the unused chain mail she'd requested from her parents. Her sharpened dagger was in her belt. When she reached the place, she heard him practicing inside — against magically animated models of the horrors that invaded their country that he'd face. They'd face. She'd need armor, too. Marwey set the box aside. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. A soul-sucker leapt at her, another had two tentacles wrapped around Pascal while a third jumped him. Fear froze her for an eternal instant, then she whipped out her dagger and shot forward, plunging it into the soul-sucker. Power ran down her arm and the monster exploded. She sprang to the second horror and cut off a tentacle. "Stop spell." Pascal stared at her. "You fought." He looked at the shattered dummy. "You destroyed the enemy with Power." "To protect myself and you." She lifted her chin to belie the trembling in her knees, the quivering in her belly. "To save you and myself, I can face and combat anything." He stood there, tenderness and hope mixed with the surprise in his dark eyes. Bare-chested, sweat gleamed on his muscles. "I didn't think you'd come." His voice was hoarse, his breathing ragged. "I want to be with you," she said. He looked so good. She held back tears. "I can't be without you." She'd tried and the hurt had scoured her until she felt hollow with pain. "The pain of being without you overcame all my fears." He started to speak, but she pressed her fingers over his mouth. "No, don't say that I can make a home for you and wait. I can't. Marshalls are always Paired, and if you're going to be a Marshall, I want to be Paired with you." She'd be frantic every time he went to battle and left her behind. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you," he said under her fingers, his voice shaky. "I feel the same, so we must Pair and go to battle together to keep each other safe." It was the heart's logic. Better to be with him, to fight for him, than to wait and do nothing. His lips curved and he nibbled her fingers. Everything except being with him fell away. Their Song surged, with heated desire, spinning passionate notes into her blood until it sizzled. Her body readied for him. Yearning, passion, urgency reverberated between them until she couldn't take a breath without aching to feel him on her. Finally, in her. Blinded with desire, hearing nothing but their ragged breathing, her thundering pulse, she swayed to him. Their bodies clung together, his hot and hard, his hands desperate. He gathered her into his arms and pulled her to the mattress. They tumbled to it, rolled. The fire racing between them was too hot for thought. Clothes were flung away, heated skin slid against heated skin. She gave. He took. He gave. She greedily enveloped him. They rode together into shattering climax.

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For moments, they lay in silence. She was snuggled in his arms when he spoke again, softly. "My sponsor, Luthan, gave me news of your great-aunt Thealia," he said, holding her tighter. "He said she has convinced the other Marshalls to Summon a person from another world to fix the magical boundary, as the oracle counseled. Things might change, then." "Yes." "Wait a while before you start weapons and fighter training," Pascal whispered in her ear as he stroked her. Her sensitized skin warmed under his touch. Her mind fogged. But she'd heard the dark, shadowy chord behind his words. He was committed to becoming a Chevalier, and the time ahead would be dangerous. He could die and he'd prefer that she live comfortably rather than as a warrior. "Don't you understand?" she asked fiercely. "I'm with you now. Your path is mine." "Please wait," he said. "With your Power to mind-merge, you can learn quickly." He nuzzled her. "Since I've mentally linked with the winged horse, I'm learning to fly faster than I ever expected." "I've never had any warrior training, though. I should start soon." His eyes grew stormy. Marwey said, "Very well, next year." She could concentrate on fulfilling other requirements of a Marshall, learning offensive and defensive spells and strategies, perhaps wheedling a winged horse from her parents. She watched him dress, eyes drawn to the silver medallion, which was his only treasure, then to his wide chest. She appreciated his body, the smooth flexing of muscle and sinew, and sighed at a renewed aching for him. He glanced down at the box with the chain mail. "What's this, more goodies?" Marwey hopped from the mattress and busied herself dressing. "Just some old armor." "Which you found?" "Yes." His fists clenched, then he bent down and lifted the mail. It unrolled with soft clinks, but it was obvious the tunic was whole and of the best steel. Yearning lit his eyes. "No one has used it in a long time," Marwey said quietly. "You can see tiny flecks of rust. You'll have to tend it." "I'm not a pauper." But she knew he couldn't afford anything better than the standard Soldier's mail and would have none once he became a Chevalier. "I promise you that no one will miss that armor. It will cost you if it must be altered, so it is not entirely free. Take the gift, Pascal." A struggle showed in his eyes, but he stroked the overlapping metal rings as carefully as he had her. "All right." He set the armor on a scarred table near the end of the bed, then walked to the door.

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"There's something else," he said with a rough note in his voice. "The Captain of the Castle Soldiers ordered me to start patrolling inside the buildings instead of the courtyards. That's Second Level Soldier work and I'm only First Level. I think you arranged this, didn't you?" She didn't say anything, but felt her own cheeks heat. "Yes." "I didn't ask you to." "No, and you're angry with me. Well, I am irritated with you, too, so we are even." "What?" "Why must we always meet in secret? You barely speak to me in public! Our link is strong, and will be evident to others soon." This was a little hurt that could grow into a wicked thorn in her heart. He shifted. "Will you come to my bed tonight?" She ached not only to make love to him, but to snuggle and sleep with him. "No." Marwey flushed with anger. "I know you're off duty until the morning and free to spend the night where you please." "I don't want gossip about you or for people to say I'm using you and your connections for my own advantage." "But we both know better, and when we become a couple —" "I'm not ready." His eyes were gentle. She went to him and kissed him, letting her body soften against him. "Very well." He sighed. "I'll walk you to your room. You were wrong about me having tonight free. I have guard duty at midnight every night now, since I'm patrolling buildings instead of the courtyards." "Why didn't you just say so?" "Because I still wouldn't have come to you, and you should understand that." He kissed her deeply, hands caressing her. Her thighs loosened. When he broke the kiss, their breaths were ragged. He stepped back. "I'm going to be uncomfortable for a time, but the other midnight guards will envy me." He winked, then his expression sobered and he curved a hand around her face. "This bond between us is so strong and sudden, I wonder what it will cost." She hugged him hard, reassuring him and herself. "Love doesn't cost." "You're wrong, pretty Marwey." He glanced at the dummy monster she'd destroyed. His jaw clenched as he used his Power and the pieces flew back together. When he turned back to her, he smiled sadly and stroked her cheek. "Love exacts the most terrible of costs."

Chapter Six

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During the next week Marwey alternated between giddy delight at loving Pascal and dreading her new future as a warrior Marshall. For the moment, she'd settled into her niche at the Castle, ensuring her great-aunt Thealia and her husband had a serene retreat after the fighting — battlefield fighting as well as political maneuvering with the Marshalls. Swordmarshall Thealia kept up the pressure to follow the oracle's advice and Summon a stranger from another world to fix the failing magical boundary that kept out invading monsters. Marwey had started defensive magic studies with a retired female Chevalier. As Marwey linked with the woman to practice the spells, she experienced battle-memories. Finally, she became accustomed to the terrors and awful sights of war and learned to work through them. She'd be Paired and fighting with Pascal, handling their defense, and that motivated her to work hard. Every moment she could spare, she went to Pascal. If he was training publicly with Soldiers, Chevaliers or even Marshalls, she would watch. His grace on the winged horse filled her with pride until her eyes stung. He looked as if he'd been flying for years, not weeks. Nights were spent with him igniting her body wildly until she twisted and arched against him, shattered in ecstasy and lay limp and damp next to him. He continued to want secrecy. The Song between them doubled and redoubled with chords and harmonies. Her need to be with him often and openly grew with each passing day. One day the Castle's information board showed the names of those in the next Chevalier's class. Pascal's wasn't among them, and Marwey couldn't stand the wait for him to start Chevalier training. The sooner he rose in his career, the sooner they could Pair. She made her plans and sought him out. He was practicing in his scruffy little room. She slipped in and waited while he killed the animated dummies — three soul-suckers this time. Twelve tentacles went flying as Pascal hacked them off. She swallowed as the sight made her stomach twinge, but knew she could — would learn — to fight them, too. "Stop!" ordered Pascal, and the spell ended. The dummies returned to stuffed leather. He sheathed his sword and wiped his head with his arm, grinning. "I need to bathe, but I don't dare go to the public baths with you." Marwey grinned back. Though she wished her affair with him to be common knowledge, the baths were definitely not the place to announce it. She didn't want to embarrass him. They bathed — and loved — together only when they could find the baths empty. She ogled his chest before he pulled on an old shirt, covering it and the silver medallion he wore. Then she said, "Good news! You can get in the next Chevalier training class and a volaran is coming for you from the Germaine stables. I spoke to Thealia —" He strode to her with a scowl. "You spoke to Thealia." His hands clamped around her upper arms and lifted her to her toes. Power sizzled from him. "You planned. You spoke to Thealia. Did it ever occur to you that a man might have his own plans, his own pace?" "No. I mean, you're ready —" His face turned ruddy. "No, I am not ready for the Chevalier class. I can barely ride a volaran and have just started my offensive magics. You think I want to appear to all those richer noble sons and daughters like a country bumpkin? To fumble in first steps where they are proficient?" He dropped her with a thud. Stalked away from her. Paced back, raking his hands through his hair. She said, "You ride very well. You are quickly becoming proficient in flying and your offensive magics are strong."

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He just glared at her. "I did it for us," she whispered, insides growing cold. "Your plan for us. Ever since we met, you've been arranging my life. What about my plan for us? What about our plan for us? Don't I get to plan for myself, for us? Don't I get to decide what is best for us, for me? You asked, Thealia, as if I can't ask her for myself, should I have cared to. As if I don't have the courage to speak to her. Did it occur to you that I like to plan my own future?" "I…I…" She didn't know what to say. She'd hurt his pride. "I have the contacts." Pascal glared at her, fingers fisting and releasing. "Have you no respect for me at all, that you fight my battles? Did you stop to consider what it will cost me, cost us —" his tone took on a sneer "— for this favor from the great Swordmarshall Thealia Germaine?" Marwey lifted her chin. "It won't cost anything. She's my great-aunt. I'm family." "I'm not." He snorted. "And I'm not as green as you think. I've done plenty of trading and one thing I know for sure. Nothing comes free. Someday the favor will be recalled." His lips twisted. "And the more you ask, and the higher the status of the person, the more you pay." "It's not like that. You sound as if you've been listening to those disaffected Chevaliers about the Marshalls." He stood stolidly, looking at her, as if he were a great noble, not a poor Castle Soldier. "I listen to whom I please. I chart my own course. I do things when I am ready, at my own pace. That includes signing up for Chevalier training. It includes taking a lover." He stared at her hard. "It includes making the decision to bond with a mate. I'm not ready for that, either." Her heart caught in her throat, her vision hazed. "Obviously not," she managed, letting some of her own hurt out. "Since we've been sneaking around and you haven't spent a night in my bed." "I've taken your gifts of clothing and armor," he ground out. "But they were small in the scheme of things. Arranging my career without my leave isn't small. And I don't need your help. That's not why I'm sleeping with you." "I never believed it was!" "This makes me feel as if I've been bought. I didn't earn it." "You will." He waved that aside. "I haven't earned it yet. I can't live with a woman who's going to run my life for me. A Pairing is about partnership. There's been little partnership between us. You arrange my life." "A partner must also be willing to take his partner's help," she said desperately. Her breath was coming short. "They should discuss the cost, first." He shook his head. "We've never done that. I haven't been a partner, either. I haven't let myself believe we belong together enough to let us be seen as a couple. Pairs, especially battle Pairs, can't work that way. Neither of us has acted as a partner. I don't think we can." He strode to the door. "Wait, we can talk now."

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He just stared at her. "How can we fix this without looking like fools or cowards? And who would let a fool or a coward be a Chevalier, a Marshall? We don't see life the same way. This Song between us is not enough to overcome that, all the differences between us. I wonder, now, why I thought it could." He left. She was stunned. Everything inside her twisted. Her heart told her he was wrong, but her head echoed his words. They were not in tune, and that could be fatal in the future.

Chapter Seven After Pascal broke off their affair, Marwey walked around the Castle heart-wounded, soul tune thready for days, trying to act normally. She couldn't eat. She could barely breathe. The joy of life, of love, had drained from her. She couldn't think of words that could convince him they belonged together. Didn't believe she could convince him. She doubted her judgment and herself. Her great-aunt, Thealia, was preoccupied with convincing the other Marshalls to Summon the person from another world, and clashing with the Lord Marshall. She only mentioned that Marwey looked a little pale. Pascal spent most of his time in the Lower Ward of the Castle and the town below, while Marwey stayed in Temple Ward and the keep. Now and then she'd unexpectedly glimpse him in his Castle Soldier's uniform and hurt would arrow into her so deeply she thought no physical wound she might ever have gotten as a fighter could be worse. She heard that Pascal's sponsor, Luthan Vauxveau, had winged horses flown in from his brother Bastien's estate and had asked Pascal to exercise one. That had closed her throat further. Pascal hadn't needed her help with his career. He did better on his own. Everyone knew Bastien's volarans were the best. No doubt Luthan would recommend Pascal for Chevalier training when the time came, too. But those occasional sights of Pascal showed that he'd lost weight, and his skin had taken on a pallor. One morning Thealia burst into the suite after the Marshalls' council meeting, eyes gleaming and rubbing her hands. "It's finally done. I won! The vote was with me." For an instant, Marwey was pulled from apathy. "I thought Marshall votes had to be unanimous." "True, but it looks very bad if only one person disagrees, especially if it's the Lord Marshall and he's dissented every step of the way. Then the group begins to think of having a Vote of Confidence and replacing him." Thealia swept from the sitting room into the bedroom and smiled in satisfaction at the gleaming bow windows — signs of a previous triumph against the Lord Marshall. Marwey followed. Thealia swirled off her malachite-patterned cape and handed it to Marwey, who hung it in the wardrobe. "The end of winter is near. Our world of Amee grows closer to the Exotique Land. Soon we can Summon the one who will restore the magical fenceposts that will stop the invading monsters." Then she turned, her gaze glowing with determination. "This is the right thing to do to save our land. I knew it, and I made it happen." She pointed a finger at Marwey. "And I haven't been blind to your affair with Pascal Raston and that it ended. You are as determined a person as I am, Marwey. You and he belong together, your Songs harmonize. So go make it happen." Thealia gestured toward the door of the suite. "He's at the Chevalier's inn called Nom de Nom in Castleton. Go." Marwey's mouth opened and closed. "I pushed him too hard and broke our Song."

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"So fix it." Thealia chuckled. "You think I never overwhelmed my husband, made mistakes with him? But he's strong and stood up to me. We fight together, now. Go get your man." The shock of joy at the thought of being with Pascal convinced Marwey. Her pulse quickened. How could she truly live without him? Exist, yes, perhaps recover enough to love another, but she was sure any future love could only be bland and commonplace. What she and Pascal had was extraordinary and she should fight for that love. She hurried to her room and pulled on her light cloak, then ran from the keep tower and through the Castle courtyards. The sun shone and the day was warm. Yes, winter was ending, and she intended that this hard winter in her heart would end, too. She checked the Song between herself and Pascal. He hadn't cut it, like he could have. She hadn't, either. So it lilted. When she sang a bit of it, it surged. With every step she took down to Castleton, her heart lifted. He'd been right about many things, but he was wrong when he said they didn't belong together. The guards at Castleton gate smiled at her and she waved as she entered the town, then slowed. Admitting her faults to Pascal and apologizing was going to be hard, especially in public. Her stomach tightened. She lifted her chin. She could do it. The moment she walked into the Nom de Nom, she spotted Pascal sitting in a booth. His head jerked up, nostrils flaring as if he physically sensed her as well as through their bond. Ignoring invitations and comments from Chevaliers, Marwey strode to his booth, then stopped as she realized Luthan Vauxveau and his brother Bastien were also there. "Hello, pretty lady," Bastien said, eyes gleaming. "She's not for you," Pascal snapped. "She came to me." Luthan raised his eyebrows. "Mistress Famil?" She dipped her head at Bastien and Luthan, but gazed at Pascal. He looked so good! Strong, intelligent, handsome. Her heart thumped hard. Bastien sighed and Luthan cleared his throat, but she continued to look at Pascal. She wet her lips. "I've come to apologize. You were right —" "Excuse me," Luthan said, slipping out and around her. "Let's go, Bastien. We'll talk later, Pascal." Bastien winked as he left. Instead of taking the bench the men had vacated, Marwey slid in next to Pascal. "You were right that I acted without consulting you. I'm sorry. I knew what you wanted, and that we belong together…but I was impatient." He tapped his fingers against his ale mug. "I've never been able to afford impatience, and hurrying won't get me named a Chevalier or any further along my career flight any sooner." "I promise to discuss my plans with you before trying to smooth your career." She covered his hand with hers, sent a flood of loving to him, felt a rush of powerful feeling back. Enough to make her dizzy and tie her tongue for a moment. Then determination sluiced through her. "Can you deny what's between us?" she challenged, loudly and clearly.

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A man snickered. Pascal reddened, nudged her. "This is no place to talk of our private affairs." Marwey grasped the table to keep him from sliding her off the bench. "I'm not going anywhere until we finish this discussion." "Arranging my life, again?" Heat flushed her face, but she kept her voice steady. "We must talk. I'm serious about my apology, about us. I've said I was sorry, but you were wrong to walk away." An older, female Chevalier grunted. "Boy's a fool. Everyone in here can hear the Song between you." There was a chorus of laughter. "Let's get out of here." Pascal threw coins on the table, and gripped her upper arm. Longing whipped through her. Hope dizzied her. Desire took her breath. They walked fast to the Castle, his hand tight around her fingers. "I was wrong to walk away from you — I'm sorry. Over these last few days I've realized just how much I need you," Pascal said. "More than just your body." "I need you, too." She loved him, but feared if she said so, he'd think she was manipulating him. His gaze filled with passion; he stared down at her. "I can't deny what's between us. Shall we try this affair again?"

Chapter Eight Marwey had said yes to Pascal and they'd mended their relationship — with mouths and hands exploring and tasting each other; with bodies slickly coming together; and with spirits rising in merged Song as they'd loved. Days later Marwey's great-aunt, Swordmarshall Thealia, called her into her study and waved Marwey to a seat. The older woman studied her. "You know we Marshalls are Summoning a stranger from another world to help save our land by fixing the magical boundary to keep the horrors from invading," she said. Marwey's mouth dried. The idea was so exciting. "Yes." "Most past exotiques who were Summoned did not speak our language. We need someone to communicate with the stranger. Your mind-merge Power is strong; your mind is young and open, able to handle the exotique's otherworldly images. You'll gain our gratitude and a battle-trained winged horse for the task." Thealia continued speaking, but Marwey barely heard her. Her mind was dizzy with ideas; her heart beat faster. The payment being offered for her assistance staggered her — a volaran. With that asset, she and Pascal could truly plan their lives together. When Thealia finished, Marwey said, "I agree." She soberly walked from the suite, then ran, bubbling with pleasure, down the tower stairs. She met Pascal's sponsor, Luthan Vauxveau, who no doubt would some day be the most important man in Lladrana — the head of the Marshalls. He already had a great estate and wealth.

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"Salutations, Marwey Famil." His smile lightened his severe face. "I see you've heard that Pascal Raston has been accepted into Chevalier training and is now titled 'Chevalier.' He's already moved into his own room in Training Hall. Just follow your shared Song." Luthan winked. She hadn't heard, but she lifted her chin. "Pascal will be the best of that Chevalier class!" "I —" Luthan's eyes unfocused. With an uneasy pitch of her stomach Marwey recalled that Luthan was wealthy with other things — such as a small gift of prophecy. His voice resonant, Luthan said, "Yes, he will…and you will both have long love and lives…and have many children?" He shook his head and strode away. She stared after him, then joy surged through her. Three bits of good news today! Pascal being accepted into Chevalier training, Marwey herself participating in the Summoning and a wonderful prophecy of long life, love and children! She was sure in her bones that a glorious future awaited. Nothing would stop them. Marwey danced into Pascal's tiny chamber. He looked up and smiled. "The sunlight isn't as pretty and bright as you." She ran and kissed him hard. When his blood fired so she could feel it through their bond and he reached for her, she slipped away. "I've been chosen to help when the Marshalls Summon the exotique!" She laughed, flung her arms wide and pirouetted. "What?" He strode to her and grabbed her arms. She saw him swallow hard. "The Summoning will be dangerous. I don't want you near there." You don't want." She matched him scowl for scowl. "All this time you've been irritated because I arranged your life. Well, now I want to see the action." She tossed her head. "This is a big chance for u — me. I made a decision for my life." He gazed at her steadily, dropped his hands, crossed to the small bed and sat. "Yes, you followed your path. But if I'd given that gift to you, would you have treasured it as much?" Marwey went and sat next to him. "No. I liked earning it myself. You were always correct that my interference was wrong. But something else is bothering you." She wanted to lean against him, feel him all along her, but needed to see his eyes. He scooped her onto his lap. "The Summoning will be dangerous." "As being a Chevalier will be dangerous, which you will be. And which I'll start training for someday." He rubbed his chin on her head. "You didn't consult with me about this decision." Her insides tightened. "You're right. I didn't act as a Pair, but as a single person. We must talk about whether or not I can do this." "Do what?" "Mind-merge with the exotique, to help the stranger understand why she was Summoned. My Power is strong; I am the youngest, the most flexible, and I'm a woman. The newest prophecy foretells that our exotique will be a woman. I have the best chance of communicating with her." "Let's discuss this —"

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" —as partners. I care for you, Pascal. I'll work on compromise." "I must work on that, too. I didn't consult you." He gestured widely. "I chose this room, where I hope you'll spend many moments with me, because it's close to the stables and the Chevaliers' Horseshoe Hall. And you know I don't care to sleep with you in a chamber just below your aunt's bedroom." She eyed the room, sniffed. "It's very near the stables. There is a smell." He chuckled. "Yes, there is." "And it's about as far from Thealia's tower as a room in Training Hall can be. It's quite inconvenient for me." "True." He kissed her softly, fell back on the bed with her. "Do you forgive me?" "Yes, and I accept that I'll be walking a long way to you. I accept that you will rarely spend the night with me." "I won't spend the night with you." "You will rarely spend the night with me — perhaps, once a week." He grumbled. "Once a week, then. A Castle Soldier loving a Swordmarshall's niece right under the Marshall's — two Marshalls' — noses." He shook his head. "You'll be the one who'll have to explain your screams of pleasure." Marwey turned onto her side and he did the same, so they faced each other. She wiggled her lower body close to his, and licks of sweet fire started inside her. Hooking her leg over his hip, she felt his hard arousal. It almost sent the words she needed to say from her mind — words she hoped she'd hear in return. "I accept that I love you." He froze. His hands went to her backside and he squeezed her, pulled her to him. His eyes blazed, his hips moved against her. "I accept that I will be spending nights with you. I accept that you will be at the Summoning. I accept that…I want you with me always." The words sounded rough, ripped from his heart, thrilling her. Then they discarded their clothes, stroked each other. He came into her powerfully, filling her with himself and with the overwhelming song of love that reverberated between them. Only the intensity of this love mattered. He moved and they soared together, as they would always fly, entwined. And they exploded, their climaxes drumming between them, matching the pounding of their hearts, the throbbing of their blood. Much later she became aware of herself as separate from him. She opened her eyes. He touched her face. "I love you." Since he said it when they weren't making love, it meant all the more. "It will be very hard, being with me. I haven't won my volaran reins yet. It could take years before we have land of our own where we can live together as husband and wife. But until we can Pair, I want you to have this." He took the silver medallion, his family's only treasure, from around his neck, put it on her and kissed her. Then he drew her into the curve of his body. She knew nothing would convince him to Pair with her before they had land. He didn't believe they could gain their goals quickly — together. But at least he understood their lives were linked. His breathing went soft as he slipped into sleep. "You'll see," Marwey whispered. "When the new exotique comes, everything will change. We'll get our chance then."

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Her hand closed around the medallion. No matter what else happened, Pascal and she were together. She had what she wanted.

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A Fool For Love by Susan Mallery Chapter One "And the last bachelor up for bids is…" Alex tuned out the auctioneer's voice and wondered for the millionth time how he'd gotten roped into this. A bachelor auction was definitely not his style—even on Valentine's Day. But, he reminded himself, this was for a good cause. Tugging at the collar of his uniform, he shifted uneasily as the auctioneer continued his sales pitch. Should he smile? Pose? He just didn't feel comfortable up on stage with a blinding spotlight shining on him. He hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt. The auctioneer was driving up the bids—but all Alex could hear was the roar of the crowd as women yelled out numbers and cheered each other on. Squinting into the lights, he tried to make out who was bidding on him, but to no avail. Then, before he knew it, the gavel sounded. He'd been sold! But to whom…? He’d given Deena specific instructions to outbid anyone else, but with the Parker deal about to reach critical mass, she could have been on the cell phone arranging a last meeting. His efficient assistant might be capable of keeping his chaotic business affairs in order, but even she couldn’t arrange his schedule and bid at the same time. “Congratulations,” the auctioneer said with a grin. “You went for the most money. Things got pretty heated there at the end.” The older man glanced at Alex’s dark blue jacket. “Women have a thing for men in uniform.” Alex didn’t want to think about the scratchy nineteenth-century British naval officer costume he’d been forced to wear. A bachelor auction hadn’t been enough for the charity organizers. Instead they’d offered a chance to bid on “Military Men through Time.” He consoled himself with the thought that a heavy jacket and too-tight pants were far better than the toga he’d seen one poor guy in earlier. Alex stepped off the stage and into the crowd of women. He ignored them as he searched for a petite redhead with a cell phone in one hand and a PalmPilot in the other. He found her by the side of the stage. As he approached, she tore off a check and handed it to the woman in charge. He grinned in relief. “I thought you might be on the cell setting up the Parker meeting and miss the auction.” Deena accepted the receipt and tucked it into her large shoulder briefcase. “I took that call while we worked our way through Christopher Columbus and Henry the Eighth. You’re flying out to see John Parker first thing Monday morning. I’ve arranged for Legal to review the initial offer and I’ve put off the press conference until Tuesday. If the meeting goes well, we’ll have it. If not, there’s plenty of time to cancel it.” She rattled off the rest of the arrangements she’d made while he’d been busy preparing to be sold to the highest bidder. As always, her efficiency impressed him. When his assistant of ten years had retired nearly nine months ago to spend more time with her husband and grandchildren, he’d doubted she could be replaced. But Amanda Smith’s last act had been to find him Deena. At first he’d balked at the idea of a pretty woman in her twenties sitting in the office next to his. His assistant had to travel with him, be available seven days a week and generally keep his life in order. Foolish young women only interested in the latest fashions or finding a man need not apply.

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But despite his misgivings, Deena had proved herself to be even better than he’d thought possible. Without her keeping his life running smoothly, Thornton Industries would not be on the verge of closing a multibilliondollar deal. He glanced at the well-dressed crowd. “Let’s get out of here before they rope us into staying for lunch.” Deena nodded and led the way to the waiting limo. As she walked, she stuffed her PalmPilot and cell phone into her briefcase. She was shaking so much that she thought she might drop them. What had seemed like a really cool idea at the time had instead turned into a nightmare. Knowing she only had herself to blame for the situation didn’t make the knot in her stomach go away. She could still get out of it, she told herself. All she had to do was tell Alex that she’d used her own money instead of the company’s and all would be made right. He would reimburse her and life would go on as before. Except then she might never get a chance at what she really wanted—to be seen as a person by the only man she’d ever loved. Alex held open the rear door of the limo, then climbed in after her. “How much did you have to pay?” he asked as he began to unbutton his costume jacket. “Eight thousand dollars.” Money that had just about cleaned out her savings account. He raised his dark eyebrows. “Eight thousand for twenty-four hours? Not a bad living.” He shrugged out of the jacket. As he moved, his muscles clenched and released. Tall, lean and strong, Alex played as hard as he worked. Three mornings a week he spent an hour in the company gym. Deena knew, because she was usually there with him, going through her own exercise routine, with a small tape recorder tucked in her pocket. She took verbal notes, sometimes breathlessly, depending on her level of exercise and whether or not Alex took off his shirt. “Set up a brunch with the lawyers for Sunday,” he said. Nine months and fourteen days after she’d walked into his office for her initial interview and had been struck by lightning, Deena was finally prepared to do something about her completely foolish, completely inappropriate feelings. Because she couldn’t go on like this anymore. Because she had to know if there was chance. Better to find out the truth, even if it was bad, than spend the rest of her life wondering. “No,” she said quietly. “And then you can—” Alex stared at her. “What did you say?” She squared her shoulders. “No. You won’t be having brunch with the lawyers on Sunday. You’ll be with me. I didn’t use the company check you gave me, Alex. I used my own money and bought you myself. Starting Saturday at noon, you’re mine for twenty-four hours.” Chapter Two Alex couldn’t have been more surprised if the limo had spoken. “You what?” Deena’s steady gaze never left his face. “I bought you myself. You’re mine. I can schedule the brunch for Saturday, if you’d prefer.” She reached for her cell phone. Saturday would work, he thought, then mentally stumbled. Deena had bought him? “Why?” he asked.

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He’d seen his assistant go without sleep when helping him close a big deal. She’d worked with the flu, through holidays and during an earthquake. He’d shown up at her apartment in the middle of the night, where she’d accepted the invasion with good grace and an offer of coffee. But he’d never seen her blush or look away. “You don’t have a life,” she said. “There is nothing for you but Thornton Industries. You have no family, no social life. I want to show you that there’s a whole world out there you need to acquaint yourself with.” He had a life. A good life. Yes, work consumed him, but what else was there? “A nice thought,” he said, “but not necessary. I’ll reimburse you for the money.” “No.” No argument, no persuasion, just a simple refusal. He’d known Deena long enough to understand that when she dug in her heels, she couldn’t be budged. That was one of the things he liked about her. She wasn’t afraid to push back when she thought he was wrong. “Deena, this is a busy time for me.” “It’s always busy. That’s how you like it. It’s just twenty-four hours, Alex. It’s the weekend, and the markets are closed. Everyone else is going to be taking it easy, so you don’t have to worry about the business.” “What if I promise to take a vacation in a few months?” She shook her head. “We both know you’d be lying. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon. Dress casual.” Los Angeles was home to enough of the rich and famous that nearly everything amazing was available to rent. Which was why Deena pulled up in front of Alex’s building with her own—for the weekend anyway— sleek silver BMW convertible. She’d moved from simply shaking to feeling nauseous—definitely not an improvement. Her Aunt Amanda might applaud Deena’s tactics, but she would take her to task for lying. “But I couldn’t tell him the real reason I bid on him,” Deena murmured as she waved at the doorman and made her way to the elevator. “Alex sees me as a piece of office furniture, not a woman. Telling him I care about him would be as interesting to him as if the fax machine declared its affection. Telling him I’m doing this for his own good is better. Really.” Had Aunt Amanda been there, the old woman would have looked disappointed, even though she wouldn’t have said anything. Her aunt was a firm believer in unconditional love. Deena exited the elevator on the top floor and made her way to Alex’s penthouse. She was still rationalizing the decision to keep her feelings to herself as she pushed the bell. She half expected him not to be there. After all, he’d grumbled under his breath the entire previous afternoon, complaining about all the work he would be missing. But he’d never actually refused. She tried to tell herself that was a good thing. When the door opened, she braced herself for more complaints. Then she was glad she was braced because while Alex in a suit made her heart beat faster and Alex in workout clothes made her want to throw herself in front of him, Alex in jeans and a snug-fitting polo shirt took her breath away. Soft worn denim hugged strong thighs and narrow hips, while the deep red shirt emphasized broad shoulders. Her gaze rose to the set of his square jaw, to his firm mouth that smiled ever so slightly. Finally

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she looked at his eyes—dark, mesmerizing and today filled with questions. As usual, his dark hair was short and layered, with a single lock drifting onto his forehead. How many times had she wanted to lean close and push that wayward strand back into place? How many times had they worked late, pouring over schedules, planning meetings, all the while sitting shoulder to shoulder, his masc uline scent invading her body and making it nearly impossible to stay rational? “Right on time,” he said. “You told me casual. Does this work?” He lightly brushed the front of his shirt. She nodded because speaking was more than she could manage. She’d been planning this day since Alex had walked into her office and tossed the charity request for the bachelor auction on her desk and announced his intention of having her buy him so he could be charitable but not lose time. So much rode on these few hours. If Alex could finally see her as a person rather than a machine—as a woman—then maybe there was a chance. If not she would have to find a way to collect the bits of her broken heart and move on. “So what’s the plan?” he asked as he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. “I’ve been thinking about this and figured you’d want to get back at me for all the nights I made you work late. Are you going to have me wax your car? Paint your living room?” She thought of the elegant and expensive day and evening she’d arranged. “Not exactly.” Not exactly was right, Alex thought as they pulled up at the marina and Deena led the way to a beautiful seventy-foot yacht. On board the captain greeted them. The boat was theirs for the next five hours. Where would they like to go? “How about cruising up the coast?” Deena asked. “All right with you?” As she spoke, a crewman opened a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass. Alex took in the luxurious cabin, the elegant furniture and the tray of hors d’oeuvres beside the champagne and frowned. As he’d already told Deena, he’d expected her to force him into hard labor for their twenty-four hours together. He’d never thought she would come up with something like this. “Alex? The cruise?” “Whatever you’d like.” He accepted the glass of champagne then followed Deena onto deck where they watched the crew cast off. It might be winter everywhere else, but Los Angeles was balmy and clear. While their yacht moved through the maze of boats at Marina del Rey, Alex found himself more interested in the woman standing next to him than in the spectacular view. She looked different. For once her long hair was loose, rather than up or in a braid. She wore tailored cream slacks and a matching blazer, while her silky shirt exactly matched her dark-green eyes. Had she been anyone else, he would have done the math. One yacht, one bottle of champagne and an entire night together. It equaled seduction to him. But that wasn’t Deena’s style…was it? He realized he knew nothing about her personal life. Nothing about her, save the fact that she made his world rotate smoothly. If she had seduction in mind, did he want to participate?

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She turned and caught him staring at her. One corner of her mouth curved up in a smile. “What?” she asked. “You’re a surprise,” he said. “You mean the boat and everything.” “No. I mean you.” Chapter Three Alex’s voice rubbed against her like warm velvet. Deena had to consciously hold in a shiver, while she attempted a cool, sophisticated expression. “I’m who I’ve always been,” she told him. His dark gaze never left her face. “Funny, I didn’t notice.” Hardly news. “I’m like one of those multifunctional printers. Except I do more than print, copy and scan.” Sad but true. He chuckled. “If you’re trying to make me forget work, you’re doing a great job. All right, Deena, now that you have me here, what do you plan to do with me?” She hated that her mind instantly flashed to the large master suite she’d seen when she’d toured the yacht before reserving it. The bed was large, and the amenities impressive enough to dazzle a prince…or a tycoon. But she’d never been one to make the first move, and buying Alex for the day had used up all her moxy. “I plan to show you a good time.” “What does that involve?” “A few hours here on the water. You told me once you used to crew on sailboats in the summer and that you missed it.” He frowned. “How could you remember that?” Because she remembered everything he said, everything he did. He was her world. Either she evened the score and became his world, too, or she had to make a clean break and start her life over. That was the other reason she’d carefully planned their time together. If it wasn’t going to work with Alex, then this was goodbye. “You painted such a vivid description of racing on those boats,” she said instead, leaning against the railing. “So that’s our afternoon. Tonight we’re having dinner at a very exclusive restaurant in Malibu. We have reservations for a surf-side table, followed by dancing at a club in Santa Monica. Tomorrow—” He threw her off by moving close and resting his free hand on top of hers. There was the cool brass railing beneath her fingers and his warm skin on top. “What about after dinner and dancing?” he asked. “Where will I spend the night?”

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Her mind chose that moment to seize up. Fortunately fate was smiling, and she was saved from answering by the appearance of a pod of gray whales directly in front of the boat. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she murmured as one whale blew water into the air. Alex leaned close. “If you’re not going to tell me, you’re going to have to show me eventually.” *** They settled on chairs on the warm deck. Alex stretched out his legs and studied Deena. What kind of a woman arranged for an afternoon like this, then blushed when he asked where he would spend the night? Two days ago, if someone had asked him what he knew about his assistant, he would have claimed complete knowledge of every part of her. Now he realized he knew nothing. “Tell me about your family,” he said. She sipped her champagne. “There’s not much to tell. I have an older sister, Jenny. My parents died when I was sixteen.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. What happened afterwards? Did you go to live with your sister?” “My aunt. Her children were already grown. She used to say she and my uncle rattled around in their big house, and that having me around kept them young.” Her mouth softened into a tender smile. “She’s the best.” “What about your sister?” “She was already in college. She graduated with a nursing degree, then got married. Now she has two little girls and another baby on the way.” “Everyone close?” She looked surprised by the question. “Of course.” No doubt in her world, families stayed together, cared about one another. His world was very different. “How old are you?” he asked. “Twenty-seven.” “Why aren’t you married?” Humor darkened her eyes. “Perversity. The one I wanted to ask didn’t, and the one I didn’t want to ask did.” Which made him want to know who had been refused and who had been foolish enough not to inquire. The boat docked at five-thirty. As Deena unlocked the sleek convertible, she glanced at him across the low cloth top. “I had your tux dry-cleaned last week,” she said. “It’s hanging in your closet.” “Will I need it for the restaurant?” “Yes. Dinner will be formal.”

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“What will you be wearing?” “A dress.” “Long?” She nodded. “Low-cut?” She swallowed, then nodded a second time. He couldn’t wait. She’d said dinner followed by dancing. He had a feeling there was going to be a change in plans. After dinner he would take her for a walk along the beach. It would be quiet, romantic and private. There under the stars, he would get to know the very intriguing young woman who had suddenly appeared in his world. Or had she been there all along, and had he simply not noticed? She slide onto the driver’s seat, then inserted the key. But before she started the engine, her cell phone rang. She reached for her bag. “Hello?” Alex watched the play of light and shadows on her face. Before today he’d never taken the time to notice the creamy perfection of her skin, or the dozen or so freckles across her nose. He liked the tiny line that formed between her eyebrows as she spoke and the fullness of her lips. How had he never seen any of this before? How had— He realized Deena had tensed as she spoke. Her eyes widened with what he would have sworn was panic. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice low and strained. She listened before responding. “Of course. No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be right there.” She hung up and turned to him. “My sister has gone into labor about four weeks early. My aunt and uncle are out of town on vacation, and she doesn’t have anyone else to look after her two girls. I’m sorry, but I need to take you home right away, then get to her house so they can leave for the hospital.” He took in her pinched mouth and the white knuckles where she gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Drive to your sister’s. I’ll find my own way from there.” Chapter Four Worry dogged Deena for the entire drive to her sister’s house. She barely remembered to put on the parking brake before jumping out of the car and racing up to the front door. “Jenny? Are you all right?” she called as she stepped inside. She found her sister leaning against the wall by the stairs and panting heavily. The twins huddled close; John, their father, crouched beside them. Jenny looked up and waved slightly, even as she winced, then sighed. “That one was strong. Look, girls, Auntie Deena is here.”

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The twins smiled, but didn’t let go of their father. It took the promise of baking cookies, along with two Disney movies to get them to loosen their grip. “I’ll be fine,” Jenny said as she briefly hugged Deena. “Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it.” Deena clung to her for a second. Her sister might be calm on the inside, but Deena felt her worry as if it were her own. “Have John call me as soon as you know something.” “I promise.” Jenny waddled toward the door. She paused when she saw Alex. “Okay, I’m sure there’s a story here, but it’s going to have to wait.” Alex watched the very pregnant woman being gently escorted out to the car by her husband, then he turned back to look at Deena sitting on the bottom step. She had a child on either side. The young girls were small, red-haired with big, blue eyes. They were identical, right down to the brown-and-red stains on the front of their kitten-covered T-shirts. “Who are you?” one of the girls asked. Deena smiled at him. “Sorry. I haven’t done introductions. Alex, these are my nieces, Kari and Lucy.” She touched each child’s head as she said her name, but he knew there was no way he was going to keep them straight. The girl on the left eyed him. “You’ve very tall,” she said. Not sure if that was a compliment or a complaint, he shoved his hands into his jeans and decided not to answer. “I’m going to be stuck here for a while,” Deena said. “I’ll get in touch with my aunt and uncle, but they won’t be able to get home for a couple of days. Until then, the twins only have me.” She tried to smile, but it wobbled a bit at the corners. “I guess this means you’re off the hook. For our date, I mean.” She was saying he could go. “Aunt Deena, are we really gonna make cookies?” one of the girls asked. “You bet. We’ll make the batter and let it get cold overnight. In the morning we’ll cut the cookies into shapes. When they’re finished baking, we’re going to decorate them. You’ll have a good time.” She turned her attention back to him. “I can’t fit the girls into the convertible. It doesn’t have a back seat. So I can’t drive you home. Would you mind calling a cab?” He didn’t know much about children. He’d been one once, but he did his best to forget those days. He didn’t know much about pregnancy, either, but he could read the worry in Deena’s eyes. She’d said Jenny had gone into labor a few weeks early. Did that mean something could go wrong? “You paid for twenty-four hours,” he said, pulling his hands from him pockets and rolling up the sleeves. “So you’re stuck with me. Besides, I’ve never made cookies. Maybe you could teach me.” He addressed that last bit to the two girls. They both grinned at him. “Makin’ cookies is really fun,” one of them told him. “You gonna like it.” ***

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Making cookies wasn’t just fun, it was also messy. By the time they’d made the batter and wrapped it in plastic so it could refrigerate overnight, there was enough flour, sugar and butter smeared over the kitchen to qualify it for demolition. Deena’s cheeks were streaked with the mixture, as were the twins’, and Alex didn’t want to know what he looked like. After cookies, they’d settled in to watch two cartoon movies, by the end of which both girls had fallen asleep. Somehow having a small warm child draped across his chest and shoulder did something odd to his heart, he thought as he picked up Lucy and followed Deena upstairs. She carried Kari and led the way into the twins’ bedroom. “I’m not going to bother putting them in their pj’s,” she said quietly. “There’s no point in waking them up just to change their clothes.” Alex put Lucy in her bed, while Deena took care of her sister. She’d barely pulled up the blanket when the phone rang. As Deena raced down the hall, Alex stayed in the girls’ room. He checked that the night-light was on and then glanced around at the toys, books and clothes covering every surface. It was little more than controlled chaos, but homey. He could feel the love that filled this house. He’d never thought of having a family. His goals had all been about business. For the first time, he wondered if he’d been missing something. He heard Deena in the hallway and went out to greet her. “That was John,” she said as she sagged against the wall. “Jenny’s fine. They had a boy and he’s doing really well. His lungs are working; he’s okay. They’re all okay.” She looked at him, smiled, covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Started, Alex moved toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Isn’t this what you wanted to hear?” She nodded. “I’m happy,” she said between sobs. “I l-love my s-sister, and I was so w-worried. It’s just everything else is ruined.” He pulled her close, meaning to offer comfort. So he didn’t let himself notice the heat of her body or how good she felt in his arms. “What’s ruined?” “Our day. I wanted to go to d-dinner with you and be beautiful. I wanted you to see me as a w-woman, not just a piece of office equipment. I spent all my savings on the boat and the dress and b-buying you at the auction, and now it’s all ruined.” “What happened to you buying me because I needed a break from work?” She dropped her hands to her sides and looked at him. Tears dampened her lashes and ran down her cheeks. She sniffed. “I lied.” “Then you will have to be dealt with most severely.” Her breath caught, but before she could speak, he lowered his head and kissed her. Chapter Five

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Deena couldn’t believe it. Alex was kissing her. His warm, tender lips teased hers with a sensual gentleness that made her want to melt against him. He tilted his head slightly, then brushed her lower lip with his tongue. Instantly she parted for him. He claimed her—passionately. There was no mistaking his need, or his desire. He wanted her. “You want me?” she asked when he drew back. He gave her a smile that spoke of male confidence. “Yes, and I mean to have you.” She supposed she should have bristled at his assumption, but she’d waited too long to be anything but happy. “Only not tonight,” he said, rubbing her lower lip with his thumb. “We have other priorities.” He glanced toward the twins’ bedroom. “But soon.” He put his arm around her and led her downstairs. When they were settled on the sofa, he pulled her close. Her head was spinning. This was all happening too fast. “I don’t understand,” she said. “When did you figure out I was more than just office equipment?” He shrugged. “I think I’ve always known, but I never allowed myself to acknowledge the information. It would have interfered with business.” “And now?” He grinned. “Business be damned.” His smile faded. “I’m not like you, Deena,” he said as he took her hand in his. “I didn’t grow up surrounded by a loving family. I never knew my father. My mother…” He dropped her hand. “She preferred partying with her friends to taking care of a child.” Her heart tightened as she sensed his pain. “Oh, Alex.” He looked at her. “I was taken away by the State when I was eight. Maybe it was better. My foster parents believed in education and hard work. They taught me about goals. There wasn’t a lot of affection, but I didn’t care about that—or so I told myself. They had a small business, which I bought from them when I turned twenty.” She knew the rest of the story. “You grew it into Thornton Industries.” He nodded. “There wasn’t much time for anything but work. I was engaged once, but I found out she was only in it for the money.” She ached for him. “I’m sorry.” “I’m not. She reinforced my belief that women don’t care enough to stay.” Deena filled in the rest of the pieces: That he didn’t matter enough to make them want to stay. “You matter to me,” she said. “More than you can imagine.” “I know.” He leaned close. “Did you really empty out your savings just to arrange for our day together?”

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“I have about eight dollars left.” “You didn’t have to impress me. You could have simply told me the truth.” “When? Where? At the office between our international sales meeting and the regional summit? You would have thought I was crazy.” Alex considered her words, then nodded. “You’re right. I needed to get out of the office to really see you.” The phone rang. Deena jumped up. “That will be Aunt Amanda. John said he was going to phone her next.” “Amanda?” He considered the possibility, then dismissed it. Too coincidental. But Deena knew him well. Perhaps too well. She grinned. “Yes, that Amanda. Your former assistant. When she decided to retire, she suggested I apply for her job. She said we would be well matched. Funny, at the time I thought she was talking about a working relationship, but now I have a feeling she meant something else entirely.” He followed Deena to the phone and waited until she’d spoken with her aunt. Once they’d discussed Jenny and the new baby, he took the phone. “It’s Alex,” he said. “Hello, dear. John told me you were with Deena.” He heard the humor and pleasure in her voice. “You planned this all along,” he said. “You wanted me to fall for your niece.” “I had high hopes. I knew you were perfectly matched, but I also knew how focused you were on your work. I wasn’t sure Deena would be able to get through.” He glanced at the beautiful woman standing next to him. “I would have been a fool not to see her.” “It has taken you over nine months to notice, Alex. That doesn’t make you clever.” He laughed and returned the phone to Deena. Later, when they had talked for hours and kissed and talked some more, Alex stared into her eyes. “Your aunt is right. I was a fool.” “Not anymore.” “I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “I don’t want to be lost.” She kissed him. “I’m not leaving, Alex. I’m right where I belong.”

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Hooked Up by Nancy Warren Shy country vet Suzanne Belton is wonderful with all animals, except the human male. The only place she comes alive socially is online. As TopFanGirl, president of NASCAR driver Dylan Hargreaves' fan site, Suzanne is able to let her true personality shine. But when she finds herself attracted to Jim Sargent, owner of her latest patient, she's at a loss about how to pursue him. She just can't flirt with a man IRL like she can online with The Lone Rancher, a fellow NASCAR fan…or can she?

Chapter One “Does anyone have a voice left after that amazing finish this afternoon?” Suzanne Belton paused with her hands over the keyboard. Her TV set was still tuned to the post-NASCAR race program where three commentators in easy chairs dissected Dylan Hargreave’s win at Indianapolis in a heart-pounding, mouthdrying squeaker. She was excited. Thrilled. Almost a hundred crazed Hargreave fans were online celebrating and she knew more would show up in the next couple of hours as they hashed over the race and particularly their fave driver’s win. Sunday was Suzanne’s only day off and the day she allowed herself to relax into the online persona that was so different from her usual self. Beside her screen name, “TopFanGirl,” the curser blinked. Waiting. But what could she, as president of the Dylan Hargreave online fan club, offer that much smarter commentators weren’t saying right now? She imagined TopFanGirl, the woman she could be from the safety of her screen. What would TopFanGirl say? “I was screaming like a maniac, jumping up and down. I swear, when he came around that last turn my heart was banging so hard I thought I’d burst right out of my bra!” Not that anyone would notice if she did. Her modest chest size was just one of the many unremarkable things about Suzanne in person. But TopFanGirl? She was bigger than life in every way. Dy’sGuy posted immediately. “Our guy brought home the bacon. I’m popping one of his sponsor’s beers. Anybody going to join me? I’m toasting Hargreave here.” “Toast Kendall, too” she immediately typed. “He doesn’t win without his woman’s kisses.” She’d started the fan site when she watched down-to-earth actuary Kendall Clarke and wild man driver Dylan Hargreave fall deeper in love from Sunday to Sunday. The whole love story made Hargreave the romantic spinster’s driver of choice, definitely. She was about to type a response when the doorbell rang. Odd—it never rang. If any of her all-male family dropped by, they let themselves in, and her friends were the kind who phoned first. Puzzled, she set Antonio, the injured tabby cat she was treating, down on the floor, careful of the cast on his paw, and walked to the front door, brushing cat hair off her jeans as best she could. Through the wavy glass on the front door she could see a man’s silhouette holding a small animal and she grit her teeth. She only got one day off. Could people not respect that? She pulled open the door trying to look stern and forbidding. Her office hours were clearly posted. “Yes?” She immediately had to raise her gaze. The man before her was tall. And big. He looked to be 6’4” and was built like a linebacker. He had a craggy, weathered face and two deep grooves down his cheeks that would be dimples if he were smiling. Dark hair and eyes the color of an autumn leaf: a mix of green, brown, cinnamon and flecks of gold. He looked determined, but not panicked as he would if it was an emergency. She wanted to tell him to go away and come back tomorrow. But then she saw the black and white bundle of fur in his big arms—a Border Collie puppy. The pup was trembling so hard its ears where flapping.

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And her heart turned over in her chest.

Chapter Two “I’m looking for Dr. Belton,” the guy said, his voice as rich as Columbian coffee. “You found her.” His eyebrows rose in surprise but she was used to that reaction. When she’d bought the country vet practice and the house from an older male veterinarian who wanted to retire, she’d come across plenty of skeptical expressions. And words. But she liked to think she’d proven herself in the last year. She might only be twenty-nine and on the slight side, but she was good at what she did and was a lot stronger than she looked. She’d lost a couple of clients, but gained more when word got around that she could heal animals. “I thought you’d be older.” What on earth was she supposed to say to that? “What’s wrong with your dog?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just got him. I took him out with the herd and he had some kind of fit.” She reached out a hand and touched the trembling head of the puppy. “What kind of fit?” He stood there and she thought he was trying to decide whether to waste his time with her or not. Frankly, she didn’t care, except that she wanted to help the dog. It was her biggest weakness. She’d never been able to turn away an animal in distress. She’d had a gift for getting along with animals ever since she could remember. It extended to every animal she’d ever come across except the human male. The human male on her doorstep shrugged large shoulders. “I don’t know. He went rigid and made weird noises and then he started shaking like this.” She bit back a smile. “Do you mind if I take a look at him?” “That’s why I came. I hope you don’t mind me bothering you on a Sunday, but I was worried about him. None of my other dogs have ever done anything like this.” She reached out for the dog. As the big man passed him over, she slipped her hand under the animal’s chest. Its heart was racing and along with the trembling, he was panting. “I don’t want to frighten him by taking him to my clinic. We’ll take him into the house.” Antonio limped by and glared, but the dog in her arms was either blind or pretending he hadn’t seen the cat. She talked softly to him, her hand soothing him as she carried him into her kitchen where the light was best. She settled herself in the big old rocker by the stove and swung slowly back and forth, still talking softly. She felt his rigid muscles relax and his heart slowed. Soon he was asleep on her lap. The Marlboro Man look-alike stood staring down at her, unimpressed. “Aren’t you going to examine him?” “I’m pretty sure I know what’s wrong with him. Mr.?” “Sorry. The name’s Sargent. Jim Sargent. Call me Jim.”

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“Well, Jim, there’s nothing much wrong with your dog. I think something scared him.” She looked up at him, and wondered how he was going to take her diagnosis. “I’m pretty sure your dog had an anxiety attack.”

Chapter Three “An anxiety attack?” Jim looked down at the girl sitting in the oversized, creaky rocker with his puppy flopped out and snoozing in her lap. He knew she was a woman but the way she sat there, looking up at him with her long black hair in a ponytail, no makeup he could see and big apprehensive-looking blue eyes, she looked a lot more girl than woman. She also seemed, with her soft voice and shy demeanor, more timid than that damn fool dog. She nodded, apparently failing to notice the sharpness in his tone. “Dr. Belton,”—and how could a woman so young possibly be a doctor unless she’d bought her diploma off the Internet?—“What do you think provoked this attack?” “It’s difficult to say, really.” The puppy stirred in its sleep and made snuffling sounds. She smiled down at the animal. “Where did you get him?” “From the same breeder I always use. He’s nine weeks old and I did the same thing I always do. Took him down with the others so he could watch the older dogs herding my sheep and get the hang of it.” He scratched his head. “This is my fourth collie and I’ve never seen anything like that.” “He’s been separated from his family, don’t forget. Everything’s new to him.” She looked down at the dog and said, “Sometimes a dog ends up in a home where there’s too much going on. Too much noise, boisterous conduct, loud voices,” she shrugged, “and he feels like he doesn’t fit in.” As he watched her, he saw pink creep into her cheeks and she glanced up swiftly. “Sorry. I get a little carried away with psychology sometimes.” He pulled a chair over and sat in front of her so he didn’t feel like he was towering above her and she wouldn’t have to look up. “Sounded to me like you weren’t talking about dogs just then, but about people.” She chuckled. “I grew up in a house of rowdy men. My mother died when I was young and I was left with a father who didn’t know what to do with a girl and four older brothers. I think they all decided that if they treated me like another brother, everything would be fine.” She shrugged. “I guess I have some sympathy for this little guy.” He had no idea how to respond to the sad story of her life, so he gestured to the dog. “Can you help him?” She locked gazes with him and he saw a surprising hint of toughness in her. “That depends on you.”

Chapter Four “You want me to fix the dog?” Jim wondered why he’d bothered driving all the way out here. “I’ll need your help.” “Dr. Belton—” He stopped. He felt ridiculous calling this wide-eyed, slip of a thing a doctor but she didn’t correct him or offer her first name. Must be an attempt to appear older and more authoritative. He was about

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to tell her he was wasting both their time when he saw the useless dog snuggle deeper into her lap and begin to snore gently. He shook his head. “That’s the first time that dog’s slept since I got him three days ago. He howls all night, won’t eat, and then today he had that fit. I should probably return him to the breeder.” In fact, he wondered now why he hadn’t done that first instead of running up here worried his new dog was sick. Because you’re soft in the head, that’s why. The dog was so little and helpless. He didn’t want it to be a failure so early in life. She didn’t look at all surprised. “Those are all symptoms of anxiety.” “Okay. What do I do?” “I’m going to lend you a book I want you to read. I’ll keep him here overnight and watch him. Tomorrow, we can talk further.” He had a million things to do tomorrow. There was fencing to mend, a meeting with his banker and all the sunup to sundown jobs of a lone rancher. And now he had to read a book. Suzanne shifted so she could stand, carefully lifting the sleeping dog and replacing it on the rocker. The pup stirred but didn’t wake. “I’ll get you that book.” While she was gone, he looked around the kitchen, a big, cozy space that didn’t look like a lot of cooking went on in it. He’d seen no sign of any family and if anything the kitchen seemed to be a workspace. A computer hummed on the kitchen table. He glanced at it idly and noticed the word “NASCAR.” As a southern boy he’d always followed stock car racing, but lately he’d been too busy. He wondered who’d won today and found himself scanning the screen, only to realize this wasn’t an official site, but a fan site. Intrigued, he read a few of the comments and gathered that Hargreave had won today. Always good news. Hargreave was one of the drivers Jim admired. He worked hard, didn’t whine when things went wrong, shared glory with his team. He was a good guy. Seemed he had some passionate fans out there in cyberland. Jim cracked a smile when he read the postings by somebody calling herself “TopFanGirl.” She sounded like a ball of fire. Instead of a photograph of herself, she’d posted a picture of Hargreave kissing his girlfriend right before a race. One of his trademark moves. He wondered whether Dr. Belton ever posted to the site… With a little glance toward the door she’d exited a moment before, Jim took her mouse and scrolled through the posts on the screen. He whistled under his breath at some of the comments made by TopFanGirl—especially the last one. As he finished reading to the bottom of the screen, he noticed the blinking cursor and glanced at the screen name beside it. He blinked and looked again. TopFanGirl? Meek and mild Dr. Belton was TopFanGirl? He tried to superimpose the persona he’d just read onto the body of the doctor—imagined her screaming and jumping in excitement, busting out of her bra…

Chapter Five Suzanne really needed to organize her library she realized as she searched for the book on nervous dogs. An avid reader, she’d never been much of a librarian. Romance novels bumped against veterinary textbooks, which sidled up to mysteries and mingled with biographies and history. The only sports books she owned were a few NASCAR books and her childhood favorites were represented by her well-loved old collection of Nancy Drews. Ah, there it was, behind an old cook book. The Nervous Dog, written by a renowned British dog trainer. She ran back to the kitchen with the book. “Sorry to keep you waiting. It took me a while to find.”

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Jim Sargent was standing straight and tall beside her kitchen table. A glance at the puppy showed he was still sleeping peacefully. Exhausted from over-stimulation and panic, poor little guy. The dog’s owner seemed larger than before somehow. Maybe because he was focusing on her this time instead of the dog. His chest seemed broader, his legs longer. And there was an expression in his eyes that stalled her steps. It was the same expression bulls got during mating season. If he’d flared his nostrils and pawed the ground she’d hardly have been surprised. For a moment Suzanne stood there transfixed, her heart suddenly jumping in her chest, their gazes locked. She felt herself starting to blush, which was ridiculous. She was a medical professional, not a shy girl. She pulled herself together and dropped her gaze to the book in her hand. “Um…If you get time to read the first three chapters, that would be great. I think they will explain what’s wrong with your dog.” He reached and took the book from her. Turned it over in his hands. “Thanks.” It came out strangely highpitched—he cleared his throat and said in a deeper voice: “I will.” “Here’s my card. I’ll bring him by your place tomorrow and take a look at how he interacts with your animals.” “Sure. I’ll write down the directions.” As he walked past the chair, he dropped a hand and ruffled the sleeping puppy’s head. His boots echoed down the hardwood floors leading to the front door. As he reached it she said, “I forgot to ask. What’s his name?” Jim Sargent turned. “Whose name?” “The dog’s?” “Oh.” He looked completely blank as though he hadn’t bothered naming his dog, then he grinned at her, looking like a particularly clever plan had just blossomed in his head. “It’s Dy.” “Die?” What a terrible name for a nervous dog. “No. Dy. Like Dylan Hargreave. The NASCAR driver?” She couldn’t believe it. “You named your dog after Dylan Hargreave?” “I’m sure you know that a one syllable name is best for working dogs. They get to know their names and it’s easier to tell all the dogs apart that way. And I picked Dy because Hargreave’s a solid, nose-to-thegrindstone driver. That’s what I’m looking for in a ranch dog.” “Oh.” He opened the door and then turned back. “You follow racing at all?” “Yes. I’m a big fan.” “Really. Whose your driver?” She swallowed. “Dylan Hargreave.” His smile was probably the most charming thing about him. It lit up his whole face. “Really. Now there’s a coincidence.”

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Chapter Six Jim didn't start laughing until he was inside his truck and pulling out of her long drive. He'd been about to admit he didn't have a name for the dog yet, when the name Dy had flipped into his brain. The look on her face had been perfect when he'd told her he'd named his dog after her favorite NASCAR driver. Wide eyed and stunned. And interested. The way a woman looks at a man she finds fascinating. Then, as he turned off to the highway, he stopped laughing abruptly. What was he doing? Trying to flirt with his dog's vet? And what would he do if she became interested in him? He had no idea, but for some reason, he wanted to find out. Dr. Suzanne Belton, her card read. At first glance, Dr. Suzanne Belton was easy to overlook. But now he knew her secret. Inside the meek young vet lived a fun-loving woman called TopFanGirl. The combination intrigued him. When he pulled into his own drive, he wished he'd thought to leave some lights on. The place looked deserted. Unoccupied. Lonely. His family and friends all thought he was crazy to move out here from Texas, where he'd worked in a big city, at a big company job making good money, and where he'd thought he had his life all figured out. He was going to marry Lorraine, the marketing director in the company where he was vice president of engineering. They'd been together almost four years and he had felt the urge to settle down, to move to the next level. When he'd asked her to marry him, he'd talked about his dream to one day move back to a small town and a quieter life. Lorraine had pretty much freaked. Her idea of the future was a fancy house in town and all the culture, travel, shopping and good restaurants she could cram into one life. Maybe what they'd had was love, but if so it wasn't strong enough to withstand their different dreams. After they broke up, going to work was hell for both of them. And he started to wonder, if his dream was to live in a more rural setting, what he was doing in Dallas? So he quit. Took the money he'd been stocking away for the wedding and house they were planning to buy, sold his condo, and bought this spread out in North Carolina. He loved the countryside, the people, and the quiet. Though lately, he'd begun to wonder if it was a little too quiet. It hadn't helped that his sister had dubbed him "The Lone Rancher." But when he got out of his truck he remembered all the reasons why he loved it out here. He could smell the earth. Hear the contented sound of his sheep. And no sooner had the echo of his truck door slamming reverberated than three dogs came streaking toward him. Sly, his first Border Collie reached him first, and he gave her an affectionate pat. "Your little buddy's okay," he told her. "Just scared. Oh, and he has a name. Dy." The dogs seemed to accept the news, and trotted along beside him as he made his rounds for the night. Inside the house, he flipped on the lights and booted up his computer. Thanks to the Internet, he was able to maintain friendships and stay in contact with people all over. He'd never done much socializing around racing, though. He tapped away at keys until the Dylan Hargreave fan site appeared. Couldn't hurt to check it out… He wondered if TopFanGirl was online.

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Chapter Seven The crying woke her. Suzanne was awake immediately, already out of bed and heading for the corner where she'd set up little Dy's sleeping area. She'd put an old, warm blanket down, a hot water bottle and a clock to mimic the beating of a heart. She'd also put in some chew toys. But Dy wasn't fooled. A cooling water bottle and a clock wasn't his mom, and chewing rawhide wasn't going to make him happy. She got on the floor with him and crooned. "It's okay. You're safe here." He whined softly and crawled into her lap. "Let me tell you a story," she said, "about the man you're named for." A small pink tongue licked at her hand and she took that as agreement that he wanted to hear about Dylan Hargreave. "One day, a brave but lonely NASCAR driver met a woman who was completely different from him. She was quiet where he was bold. Cautious where he was wild. And sensible where he was crazy." She sighed and cuddled the pup closer. "Before every race, he would kiss her. At first I'm pretty sure it was a publicity stunt. Or she was simply the closest woman around. But the darndest thing happened. He started winning races. He went from a string of mechanical failures and bad luck to pretty much the opposite. People got to calling Kendall Clarke his lucky charm." She sighed, and she could have sworn little Dy sighed along with her. "I used to watch them every Sunday and you could see when the kisses started to get more real. Now I hear they're planning to get married." The old farmhouse creaked around her and the baby in her arms shifted to find a more comfortable position. "I think that's the best way to fall in love. With someone unexpected. The way I see it, neither Dylan nor Kendall is as good alone as they are good together. They're a team. Just like you and the other herding dogs will be when we get you trained up." While her hands stroked the silky coat, her mind wandered to Dy's owner. Big, strong and confident, he was certainly the opposite of her. But she thought there'd been a moment that could definitely be a case of opposites attracting, that second when she'd come back into the room with the book and he'd looked at her for the first time as a woman instead of a girl trying to do a grown vet's job. She had no idea what had caused him to look at her anew, but it had been a thrilling moment. It didn't take the puppy long to fall back to sleep, but it took Suzanne hours. At about two a.m. and the hundredth time she'd replayed meeting the man who'd brought her his dog because it was having an anxiety attack, she realized the truth. She was attracted to him. And had no idea what to do about it.

Chapter Eight Suzanne had worried a little that a puppy would aggravate the splinted cat - but in fact, Dy was afraid of the Tabby, and Antonio was too haughty to pay any attention to a barely weaned puppy. So her morning was peaceful enough. She had some paperwork to catch up on and then her rounds. Being a country vet meant that often she had to go to her patients. She kept office hours for the smaller animals. But she also needed to find some time to work with Dy and his new owner to turn this bundle of nerves into a confident herder. The thought of the pup-currently trying to crawl inside an old fur-lined boot in the hall closet-bossing around sheep and cows made her smile. But she knew his instincts were strong. In fact, as the day wore on she began to think the dog would be a great herder-he spent most of the morning trying to herd her. If she left the kitchen, he woke from his nap and followed her, his baby claws clicking along behind her. It was as though there were an invisible leash connecting the two of them. She always tried not to get too attached to her patients, but this little guy was really tugging at her heartstrings. She had planned to leave Dy behind when she was called out to deliver a foal on a nearby ranch, but the dog whined so piteously that she ended up taking him with her, grabbing her old boot in case Dy got lonely. When she got out to the ranch, the mare was in good shape, straining a little and sweating, but the foal was well-positioned and for a first-time mother, the horse seemed calm and resigned. The mare would be doing

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most of the work, so there was little for Suzanne to do but wait. But there was another animal that needed more attention… "I've got a puppy I'm trying to acclimatize to large animals," she said to Bill Mailer, who was standing over the laboring horse like an expectant father. "Do you mind if I bring him in?" He shrugged. "No. I guess not." When she got back to her truck, Dy acted like he'd been abandoned for weeks, squealing and licking at her hands. "Come on, then, you can come with me." It was three more hours before she was able to drive the pup back to Jim Sargent's. She found Jim stacking bales of hay in his barn. There were sweat patches on his plaid shirt and some pieces of straw clung to his jeans. He straightened slowly and smiled, bringing a warmth that spread over her limbs like the dawn. "I thought maybe you'd kidnapped my dog."

Chapter Nine Suzanne shook her head. "Dy's fine. He's sleeping, that's all." Jim's lazy interest sharpened to alarm. "Are you hurt?" He stepped closer, and with his long legs it didn't take much time for him to be standing beside her, pointing to her knee. "You're bleeding." She glanced down at herself, a little embarrassed. "Oh, that's not blood. It's afterbirth." It was such a small patch of fluid she hadn't even noticed. "Bill Mailer's mare just foaled." "You birthed a horse?" he looked impressed. "Believe me, the horse did most of the work." She couldn't think what she'd planned to say next. He was standing so close to her she could smell him, the leather and sweat and body heat of a working rancher. Dust motes hung lazily in the air before settling on the yellow bales. She thought she and Jim might have stayed that way forever had the silence not shattered with barking and snuffling as a pack of dogs invaded the space. She laughed, greeting them all as they pushed up against her, sniffing and wagging. She caught Jim grinning at her. "Do all animals like you?" "Pretty much. It's why I became a vet." "Hmm. So, how's my pup?" "He's shy. Did you read the chapters in that book?" "Sure did." "What do you think?" "Honestly? I'm not sure I've got time for all that conditioning." "I think that Dy is very intelligent and he wants to please. But he needs calmness, he needs you to be clear about your intention, he needs gentle persuasion, and he needs lots of love."

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Jim scratched his jaw. "And then he'll stop being scared of sheep and start herding them?" She wasn't going to lie. She never misled to her clients. "I don't know." "Where is he now?" "Sleeping in my truck. He did very well during the foaling, but he picked up on the stress. He's exhausted." In fact, he'd stayed well back from the entire proceedings, staying close to her boot. Then, after the foal was born, as it tottered to its shaky legs, the puppy had stuffed himself as far inside the shoe as he could get. It looked like the leather boot had sprouted a black and white tail. Jim walked with her to her truck, the pack of dogs trotting along beside them. On the passenger seat all she could see was her old leather boot, and sticking out of the top of it was the back end of a sleeping puppy. "I was planning to start acclimatizing him to your sheep, but he's had a pretty stressful day. Maybe tomorrow would be better." "Sure." "What time should we come by?" "I'll be here all day." "Okay. I'll come after my office hours." He smiled down at her. "It's a date." Her gaze snapped up to meet his. Her stomach did a funny flipping thing. A date?

Chapter Ten A date. As if, Suzanne reminded herself. She hadn't had a date in six months, and that was with one of her friend's husband's buddies who was in from out of town and they'd invited her along to even up the numbers. The trouble with being a country vet was that most people who lived out here were already married or a lot older than she was. And for the rest, it was hard to have romantic feelings for the woman who birthed your horses and vaccinated your cows. Even Jim Sargent, who seemed to be single, had looked a little taken aback when she'd shown up with afterbirth on her blue jeans. Which made it much more likely that he'd used the word "date" as a synonym for appointment. As she headed down her dusty drive, she wondered if she should have come home to shower and put on a little make-up before heading to Jim Sargent's. But the idea was ridiculous-she'd never dressed up for a ranch visit before. She changed her jeans and grabbed a quick shower before heading to her clinic hours. The vet who'd built the practice before her had converted an old barn into a modern veterinary clinic. She loved the space. It was modern and clean. Equipped for X-rays, surgery, and overnight stays. Today was a slow day. Antonio's family came to pick him up and solemnly accepted the strict instructions for his care. He'd be back in a few weeks to get the cast off, but she bid him an affectionate good-bye. He acted like he had more important places to be. She dealt with a rooster that had somehow mangled its wing, a dog who'd had part of his ear chewed off in a fight and finally an old farm dog who walked in with a baleful expression and a snoutful of porcupine quills.

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After she and Dy ate dinner, she went to her computer. This was her usual time to check in with the fan club. Maybe it was silly, but she enjoyed her online social life, and she'd become quite fond of her fellow DyHard Fans. As the president of the fan club, it was her job to screen each new fan club applicant. Today there were two new ones. A woman called Daisy, which might or might not be her real name, and a guy calling himself "The Lone Rancher." She smiled at that one. After approving both applications, she sent out welcome messages and then logged onto the site. Mondays were often quiet, the big race was over and the drivers usually took the day off. Fans often did too, gearing up later in the week for the next race. She liked to keep things light and fun so she'd instituted her Monday Question for those who showed up. The question was more a way for the Hargreave fans to get to know each other. This wasn't the most serious site out there. She tried to think of a good question. For some reason, she kept thinking, not about yesterday's race, but about how Dylan and Kendall seemed so happy. Maybe kisses really could perform magic. Oh, what the heck. It was her site, after all. She'd ask whatever question she pleased. "Okay, DyHards, here's tonight's question: If rumors are true, and Dylan and Kendall get married, do you think the kissing magic will continue? Will she still be his lucky charm? I gotta tell you, if a guy's kisses can bring me good luck, I'll hang him around my neck. So to speak." She watched TopFanGirl's words appear and wished she'd asked something else. Then, almost immediately, she got her first reply. From The Lone Rancher.

Chapter Eleven “I think the right kiss from the right woman is always going to bring good luck. Course, I’m not married. As for hanging around TopFanGirl’s neck—maybe I’d better not go there on my first day on the site.” She watched the words appear and couldn’t help smiling. Not too many of the guys on the site admitted to being romantics, but The Lone Rancher seemed comfortable with the idea of kissing and racing going together. He was even flirting a little, not that she encouraged that sort of thing. Exactly. She typed back. “So, you don’t think—like some of the guys on here (waving to Dy’s Guy) that Dy’s career success has everything to do with a great team and some lucky breaks and nothing to do with his relationship with Kendall?” Dy’s Guy popped in. “TopFan, you are such a grrrrl. Hey, Rancher.” Lone Rancher: “I think if a man’s honest, he’s looking for a woman who sees him as he really is and still wants him. Sure, Dy’s got a great team and it’s pulling together. He was always a great driver, but he’s improved, his team’s got faster and smoother. Maybe Kendall has nothing to do with that, maybe the kisses are just a publicity thing. But maybe she makes him better, not by kissing him but by loving him.”

*** As his words hit the screen, Jim wondered what was wrong with him. Even though his real identity was hidden, he was asking to get hammered by the men on this site. What had made him type such sentimental crap?

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Then he read those words and realized he’d written them to Suzanne. He’d been thinking about her when he’d read that dog training book she’d lent him. And when he’d seen her today he’d realized that where he saw a puppy so scared of its own shadow it was useless, she’d seen the dog inside. Where his former girlfriend had been perfectly happy with him so long as he’d worked at the right job and seemed to want the same stuff she did, when he’d revealed his dreams, she’d been shocked. He supposed he’d been just as floored to discover she had no interest in small town life and running a ranch. Maybe he was still adjusting to being a rancher, but he knew he was more himself here than he’d ever been. As he’d read TopFanGirl’s question on the site tonight, he’d wondered: what did she see when she looked at Jim Sargent? And what did he see when he really looked at Suzanne Belton? He saw past the vet pretty fast, though that was part of her. He thought of the odd moment in his barn when she’d been all woman instead of pure professional and he’d liked the fleeting vulnerability in her gaze. Then she’d blushed as he’d called their meeting tomorrow a date. He’d only thrown out the word as an offhanded, partly teasing remark. Although… A date with Suzanne could be interesting. Something about her warned him that he’d need to take it slowly, though. She was cautious around him in a way she wasn’t when she handled animals. Trust. Like the book said. It was all about trust. He needed to earn hers. He’d go slowly, all right, but he couldn’t be blamed for talking to her online alter-ego about the joys of kissing—especially when she was the one who’d raised the subject.

Chapter Twelve “How’s Truman feeling today?” Suzanne asked. The question was for both the horse and his owner, though the horse was telling her through his gums (pink, excellent) and his belly (no longer distended) and his temperature (normal) that he was feeling much better. Harland Corbett answered by saying, “He seems a lot better. No more pawing the ground or rolling around.” “Excellent. Colic makes them miserable. Is he drinking?” “Still not as much as usual.” “Try a little applesauce in his drinking water. He needs to be tempted.” She patted her patient and then bent to repack her bag. “So, I was wondering,” said Harland, sounding hesitant. “Do you play poker?” She glanced up in surprise. She’d been his vet ever since she took over the practice and this was the first time he’d asked anything remotely personal. “I do, yes.” In fact, poker nights had been a regular Friday routine growing up. “I have a little group that meets once in a while to play. Doc Greene, your predecessor, used to come. We play tomorrow night and I thought you might like to give it a try.” “Thanks. I’d like to.” She guessed this was a kind of acceptance ritual—once more she was going to have to get used to being one of the boys. Harland, a man of about sixty who’d inherited his farm from his father and hoped to pass the place on to his own sons, walked her to her truck. “This your new helper?” he asked when he saw Dy curled up in his accustomed spot on the passenger seat. His chin resting on the boot.

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“I’m trying to get him used to farm animals.” “Truman’s good with pups. He’s as gentle as they come and too lazy to put up a fuss.” “Perfect.” She wasn’t sure what kind of horses Jim Sargent owned, so to be able to start with a gentle one was perfect. “Come on, Dy,” she said, opening his door. “Let’s make a new friend.” The rumble of a truck coming down the drive had them all turning to look. To her surprise, it was Jim Sargent. He looked equally taken aback when he saw her. “Afternoon, Suzanne. Just dropping off the skill saw I borrowed,” he said to Harland. “Your timing is perfect,” she told him. “We’re going to introduce Dy to nice, gentle Truman the horse.” She lifted Dy out and put him on the ground. His tail wagged and he happily greeted Jim then sniffed his way along behind Suzanne toward the field where the recovering invalid stood placidly. Suddenly, Dy stopped dead in his tracks. He raised his head toward the massive gelding and then simply sat down refusing to budge. “Come on,” Suzanne crooned. “You’ll like Truman. He’s a nice horse.” She picked him up and as she walked slowly forward, the puppy began to shake. His heart was racing and he was trying to crawl inside her jacket. She stopped about five feet away. Truman turned to look at them. “What do you think? Isn’t Truman a nice horse?” Dy’s answer was more eloquent than words. He peed on her.

Chapter Thirteen Suzanne jumped back, but the damage was done. She was wet from her belly to her knees. Harland tilted back the ball cap he wore against the sunshine and scratched his bald head. Dy licked her hand in apology. And Suzanne said, “Good thing I always carry a change of clothes.” “Can you wait till you get to my place? You can shower and change there,” Jim said. “Thanks.” She was grateful not to have to enter Harland’s house in her current state. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked Dy once they were back in her truck as she followed Jim to his place. “You’re a wonderful companion, quiet, clean—” she glanced down at her wet shirt “—most of the time. You’re a good listener. But what’s with you and horses? And where’s your herding instinct? You can’t only herd me.” Dy wagged his tail. When they reached Jim’s place, the rancher stood waiting. He opened her door for her and she hopped out and grabbed her bag from the back. After debating for a second, Dy followed. Jim led her inside his one-level home which struck her as clean and comfortable but definitely lacking a woman’s touch. He led her through the kitchen, which had been modernized to include sleek granite counters, stainless steel appliances including an espresso machine, hardwood floors and maple cabinets. The living room was dominated by a flat-screen TV built on the same large lines as its owner. The furniture was the comfy kind, made for flopping on after a hard day.

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He kept going, down a hallway. “Here’s the guest room. There are clean towels in the bathroom.” “Thanks.” She showered, trying not to think of how oddly intimate it was to be in his tub. She dried and swiftly dressed in the old jeans and T-shirt from her bag and emerged to find Dy waiting for her in the hallway. “I’m brewing a cappuccino, you want one?” Jim called from the kitchen. “Sure.” She and Dy followed barista-like sounds to the kitchen where Jim handed her a thick blue mug, the top covered with a cloud of foam. “Mmm. Usually I have to drive fifteen miles into town for one of these.” “Now, you can just come here,” he said, giving her one of his teasing smiles that set off fireworks in her stomach. He finished brewing his coffee and then said, “So, what are we going to do about Dy the wonder dog?” Business, right, that’s why I’m here, Suzanne reminded herself. “I was planning to start getting him near the sheep, but now I’m not so sure.” “I think I’m going to have to change his name. No way Dylan Hargreave should be insulted that way.” “Dy’s a wonderful dog,” she protested. “He’s smart and loyal, excellent company and a good watch dog.” “Sounds like he’d make a good pet.” She bit her lip. It was early days yet but she had a sneaking suspicion Jim was right. She couldn’t bear to think of Dy being sent back to the breeder, though, like a failure. “Let’s give him a chance. Relationships take time.” He shot her an odd look. “I agree. Take it slowly. Be clear about my intentions. Give lots of affection.” She nodded, impressed that he’d remembered her instructions so clearly.

Chapter Fourteen When Suzanne arrived at Harland’s place the following evening for poker night, she suffered two shocks. First, she wasn’t the only woman in the room. Harland’s wife, Vivian, was sitting at the table with four other ranchers, counting out chips. Second, Jim Sargent was standing across the room. When he caught sight of her he sent her one of his slow smiles and walked over. “How you doing?” “Fine, thanks.” “Has my dog had any more accidents on you?” “Your dog’s fine.” She continued to stare at him. A beat passed. Her gaze didn’t waver. In fact, she narrowed her eyes slightly as realization dawned. “What?” “Does my sudden invitation out of the blue to join this poker game have anything to do with you?”

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He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We were short a player and I might have mentioned your name.” “How did you know I play?” He shrugged. “You mentioned growing up in a house of guys, seemed like something you’d have picked up.” Wow. He’d not only listened to her, but he’d retained the information she’d shared. She was impressed. And the fact that he’d wanted her in his poker game suggested that he liked her. Of course, he also believed she could turn Dy into a herder. A possibility that grew dimmer with every passing day. “Why didn’t you ask me yourself?” “Not my game. It was Harland’s decision.” “Good thing I cured his horse.” “I hope you’ll still think it’s good if you get your butt kicked in poker.” She smiled what she hoped was an innocent, guileless smile. What Jim didn’t know was that while she’d learned to play poker with her dad and uncles and brothers, none of them would play with her anymore. Said they couldn’t afford it. Two hours later, Harland was good-naturedly saying the same thing. “You’re cleaning me out, girl.” He glanced at Jim. “You didn’t tell me she could play Texas Hold’em.” “Must be beginner’s luck,” Suzanne said. “Beginner’s luck my ass. You’re a cold-hearted, calculating woman with a mind like a steel trap.” Harland sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You fooled me because you’re such a soft touch with the animals.” His words were severe, but the twinkle in his eye told her he’d liked being surprised by her skill. She laughed, delighted that she’d won him over. Now that Harland had folded, the game was down to her and Jim, who she quickly discovered was her greatest competition. His face remained impassive to whatever happened, and nothing caused him to change the rhythm of his game. The quiet in the room grew intense. They might all be amateur players, but they’d fallen into the spirit of the growing competition between Suzanne and Jim. She thumbed the corners of her two down cards. Fish hooks. Her pair of jacks, along with the extra jack on the board gave her a set. Was it enough with the possible straight developing on the board? It was impossible to tell from Jim’s face. He had no nervous gestures, no ‘tells’ she could spot. He could be holding the TV Guide in front of him for all the emotion he showed. He looked at her for a long moment then called her bet. He flipped over his hole cards. Suited connectors. Not just the straight. The straight flush. She shook her head as her victory flipped to defeat. “Rivered.” He grinned at her as he collected his winnings. “Maybe you’re my lucky charm.” She shot him a sharp glance. How weird that he would call her a lucky charm; she’d just been talking about that very thing online. Luck—and kisses.

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Jim didn’t seem to notice her look, though, as he scooped up his winnings and got up from the table. The others took his cue and started to head for the door. “Glad to have another girl around,” Vivian Corbett said as Suzanne was leaving. “I hope you’ll come back. We get together about once a month.” “Thanks. I’d like that.” They all left together and it seemed natural that Jim should walk her to her truck. “What are you going to do with your winnings?” she teased him. “The 48 bucks? I think I’ll probably use it to show a girl a good time.” She laughed lightly, but for some reason her heartbeat kicked up a notch. He was looking at her as though she were the girl he wanted to show a good time. “Want to watch the race on Sunday?”

Chapter Fifteen Jim watched Suzanne’s face in the dim light. Around them, trucks started up and the other poker players headed out with final laughing comments and waves. Suzanne pondered his invitation with the same seriousness she turned to everything, whether working with an animal or choosing her discards. “Where would we watch the race?” “My place. I’ve got the biggest screen TV around. I’ll spend my winnings on dinner fixings.” The only other place to watch the race was the noisy sports bar in town and he didn’t think that was the place for a first date with Suzanne. He wanted to get to know her better, not fight to be heard above the noise of a bar and the boisterous opinions of a bunch of other amateur gear heads. He was surprised at the relief he felt when she nodded and said, “Sure, I’d like that.” “Come early and I’ll show you around my land. We’ll saddle up a couple of horses and take a ride.” “All right. I’ll bring Dy. It’ll be good for him.” “You do that.” He opened her door for her and watched her climb in. He liked the way she moved. Slim and compact, she wasn’t lushly built—but she was shaped like a woman and she moved like one. He waited until she’d pulled out before getting into his own truck. He headed home in a hurry to get to his computer. He wondered if TopFanGirl would mention her adventures of the evening. The poker game she’d almost won. She didn’t. But Suzanne was more effervescent than usual in her online persona. “How did you become a fan?” he found himself asking TopFanGirl. “My dad was a big fan. When I was little, Sundays meant Sunday school and then running straight home to watch the race. It was a family thing. I loved the speed, the noise, the action. Still do. You?” All the online DyHards jumped in with their stories of how they became fans. He waited, wondering if she was watching for his response as eagerly as he’d awaited hers.

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Chapter Sixteen Suzanne was tapping away on her computer. Her house was quiet and Dy was sleeping happily in the corner. She had a mug of raspberry lemon tea at her side and a handful of racing pals hooked up electronically. All close friends she’d never in her life met. They talked sometimes of trying to get together for a race, but so far it hadn’t happened. She suspected most of them were quite happy to keep the distance between them. Probably every one of the DyHards would be different in real life than they presented themselves on screen. She was a perfect example. She wondered what The Lone Rancher would be like. There was something about him that drew her in. Maybe because he seemed more interested in her than in the general racing forum she ran. She waited to find out how he’d become a fan and wasn’t very surprised to hear he’d grown up in the south, too, and it had been a family affair. His grandpa used to drive stock cars in the fifties, she discovered. Then the talk online turned to the upcoming race. With his recent win behind him, Dylan Hargreave was getting a lot of press. Which, naturally, gave the DyHards lots to talk about. “I can hardly wait for Sunday,” The Lone Rancher said. Immediately her own excitement raved up. Sunday. When she’d be watching the race with Jim. Who was cooking her dinner. He’d acted pretty casual about the whole thing, but a day that included a trail ride, race watching and dinner had date written all over it. “I can hardly wait, either,” she typed back. She started when the snoozing Dy in the corner of her kitchen let out a growl and then his head jerked up out of sleep and he let out a volley of barks. The yippee kind from a puppy who’s trying to sound like a fierce, grown-up version of himself. “It’s okay,” she soothed him. ”Probably just a skunk.” Dy was not convinced. He scrambled across the hardwood kitchen floor, his barks growing increasingly hysterical. Suzanne wasn’t a nervous woman, but she lived alone. She grabbed the baseball bat she kept in the kitchen closet just in case. In the tiny gaps between hysterical barking, she heard a sound that was not made by any animal. It was the sound of human footsteps crunching on gravel. Probably just an animal owner with an emergency, she told herself even as her grip tightened on the bat. The front door flew open.

Chapter Seventeen “Where’s my baby sister?” a voice bellowed from the front hall. Then, in a slightly lower tone, “Who are you? And could you quit your damn fool barking?” “Dy, stop it now,” she commanded. “And Tucker, could you once in your life knock?” Suzanne asked, heading down the hall to greet her brother. Her big, blond, scruffy brother pulled her to him for a rib-crushing hug. Then looked down at her and grinned, showing the front tooth he’d chipped years ago during a football game. Somehow the imperfection added to his appeal.

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“You getting in some batting practice?” She glanced down, realizing she was still gripping the bat. “I thought you were an intruder. In fact, you are.” “Hey, I’m family. Family doesn’t knock.” “I’m a 29-year-old single woman. What if I was—” she tried to think of something crazy she might do that would shock Tucker, and immediately channeled TopFanGirl. She opened her mouth to say exactly what she could be doing, but he’d already turned to stick his head out her open front door, yelling: “Sherry, honey, hurry up and come meet my sister.” “It’s eleven-o’clock at night and you brought guests?” “Just one. We’re passing through. Had to stop and say hey.” Only now did she notice the duffel at his feet. She heard more footsteps on the gravel and in walked a woman who looked like one of the new country and western singers. Masses of loose golden ringlets, big blue eyes, hourglass figure and jeans so tight they’d need to be surgically removed. Her shoes were tall and the open toes showcased grape colored nails. “Hiya,” she said. “You don’t look a bit like your brother.” “No, he got all the looks in the family.” “But you got the brains,” he reminded her of their standing family credo, where everybody’s skills and talents somehow balanced out. “I think you’re plenty pretty enough,” the blonde bombshell said. “You could be a knockout if you made more of your looks.” Not knowing what to say to that, Suzanne invited them in. “I just made some tea, do you want some?” “Sure, I’ll have some with my fried eggs and ham,” her brother said, making her laugh. She’d never known him when he wasn’t hungry. “I’m on my way to a new job,” he said when she asked where he was going. “You’re looking at the new VP of IT for an upstart high tech firm in Charlotte.” “Congratulations!” He credited her with the brains, but Tucker had plenty. He was one of the smartest computer guys she knew. Which gave her an idea. “While I’m cooking you breakfast at almost midnight, can you find me the real name and location of someone I met on the Internet?”

Chapter Eighteen “Sure,” Tucker said. “Nothing easier. What’s the name of the dude you want to find?” He sat at her computer the way a virtuoso would sit in front of a piano. She walked over and pointed to her screen. “I want you to find out who The Lone Rancher is.” Tucker started typing while Sherry accepted a cup of herbal tea and promptly sat on the floor and played with Dy. “You Internet dating now?” Tucker asked his sister. “No. Not exactly.”

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She had no idea why she’d asked him to check out her screen buddy, except for an odd intuition in her gut. Which was probably crazy—but she’d saved more than a few animals’ lives by listening to her instincts. The ham was sizzling, the smell of toasting bread filled the air and she was about to break farm fresh eggs into the pan when Tucker said, “The guy’s a neighbor of yours, did you know that?” She cracked the egg too hard and yellow yolk spattered everywhere. “What’s his real name?” “He’s a rancher all right. His name’s Jim Sargent.” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to giggle, pump her fists in the air and shout “Yes!” or hide in her bedroom. “He the guy you’re ‘not exactly’ dating?” She blushed and grabbed for a wash rag. Then she grinned. Somehow she’d known it was him. He’d been flirting with her online. Playing games. Now he’d asked her to watch the race with him. “Maybe.” “If you’re planning on Internet dating—or any dating,” Sherry said, “I could help you fix yourself up a little. Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re a lot prettier than you’re letting on.” “Most times he’s seen me I’ve been working.” Her brother explained to Sherry. “When she’s working she gets pretty messy. If it comes out of an animal, it usually ends up all over Suzanne.” “I don’t even want to know.” “You should listen to Sherry,” Tucker said to Suzanne. “She’s a modeling scout for a big agency. She knows about looking good.” The idea of being a small-town Cinderella had absolutely no appeal. None. She looked at Sherry, so confident in her looks, and looked down at her own jeans and flannel shirt. Well, maybe the idea of being a small-town Cinderella caused her a tiny flicker of interest. So, Jim was the Lone Rancher. It was one of those surprises that wasn’t a surprise. A shock that makes perfect sense when you think about it. She’d been online when he’d brought the puppy to her, and she’d left him alone for a while when she’d gone to find the dog training book. She remembered having trouble finding it so he was probably alone in the kitchen for several minutes. Certainly long enough to check out what was on her computer screen. And The Lone Rancher had shown up a day or two later. She looked forward to her online chats with Rancher almost as much as she’d begun to look forward to her real life encounters with Jim. The fact that they were one and the same man was…exciting. “When are you seeing this guy?” “Sunday,” she admitted. “We have a date.” “Well, we’ve got a couple of days built into the schedule, right, Tuck? Tomorrow, honey, you and me are going shopping.”

Chapter Nineteen Suzanne wasn’t much of a shopper. She never knew where to go or what looked good on her. But shopping with Sherry was like being with a personal shopper, big sister and fashion bully all in one.

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“First, we are going to buy you jeans that fit. Those baggy ones do nothin’ for your figure. Second, we are getting you some decent shirts that have color in them that flatters you. Third, I am going to teach you some simple make-up techniques. That nature girl look is fine, but even nature needs a little help now and then.” “Please don’t tell me I have to get a perm. I got one once and I looked awful.” “Of course it did, silly, your hair is perfect. Long and straight and shiny. Models are killing for that look. We don’t mess with perfection.” “Oh.” Wow. She was doing something right. Who knew? She’d been terrified she’d end up looking like a bad imitation of a country and western singer, but to her delight, Sherry seemed to understand her needs and stayed within her comfort zone. They bought two new pairs of jeans, tighter than any Suzanne had ever owned, but not lie-on-the-floor-and-suck-in-your-gut-toget-them-on tight. And they were flattering, she had to admit. The new shirts were feminine, but still looked like her. And the makeup was so easy to apply even Suzanne could manage it in less than ten minutes. When she looked at herself in the mirror on her way to Jim’s house on Sunday, she thought she looked exactly like herself. Only somehow better. Still, she was ridiculously nervous as she drove to the ranch; she got off at the wrong exit and flicked on the wipers by accident—twice. But Jim didn’t do anything embarrassing like not recognize her when she got to his place, so she relaxed. If his eyes were a little warmer when he looked at her she put it down to pre-race excitement. They rode around his land and she watched the sheep munching contentedly, watched the hawks circling, and forded a bubbling stream. Dy had made it no closer to the sheep and, in view of her new wardrobe, Suzanne didn’t feel like pushing it. So, he waited for them in Jim’s house, with her fur-lined boot to keep him company. They were back in time for the pre-race highlights, sandwiches and cold drinks. They sat companionably watching the race. Sometimes on the edge of their seats yelling encouragement, sometimes chatting during cautions and breaks. Suddenly he said, “I have a confession.” “Something awful? A deep dark secret no one else in the world knows?” He shifted uncomfortably. “Pretty much.” He shifted again as though the couch were made of thumbtacks. “I saw your computer that first day. You had the DyHards fan site up. I know you’re TopFanGirl.” He looked more sheepish than Dy the puppy did after an accident. “I’m The Lone Rancher.” She did her best to look horrified, then broke into a grin. “I have a confession of my own. I have a brother who’s a computer whiz. Since I own the site, he was able to track down your real identity.” “You mean, all that time you’ve been flirting with me online, you knew it was me?” “The last few days, yeah.” “Huh. Kind of takes the fun out of it now we both know.” “I guess so.” There was a pause. She was shy Suzanne but she was also TopFanGirl, she reminded herself. So she looked at Jim from under her mascara-darkened eyelashes. “Maybe we could try flirting in person.”

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Chapter Twenty Their gazes locked. Jim leaned over and kissed her slowly. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into the wonderful feel of his mouth moving on hers. He drew back and looked at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “What?” she asked. “I’m letting you know my intentions.” “Oh.” The memory of his kiss tingled against her lips. He picked up her hand and toyed with her fingers. “When you gave me all that advice for Dy, I couldn’t help thinking it might work on a woman too. I have to tell you, Dr. Belton, your training techniques are very successful.” She was so shocked her mouth fell open. “You used dog training techniques on me?” “Take it slow, be clear about my intentions, show lots of affection. So, I moved slowly, and now I’m being clear about my intentions: I’m interested in getting to know you. Personally.” He shot her a sideways glance, “And I was just showing you affection.” She chuckled. “I noticed.” She bit her lip. “I have to tell you, though, those training techniques may be working on me but I’m not sure they’re working on the dog. Jim, I can’t lie to you. I don’t think little Dy is ever going to be a herder. Dogs are like people. All of them are born with certain talents and characteristics. He’s a wonderful dog, but I don’t think I can make him the dog you want. I’m sorry.” Jim didn’t look very disappointed. In fact, his eyes crinkled around the edges as his smile deepened. “I’ve rarely seen two creatures fall in love as fast and as completely as you and that foolish pup. I think he’s found his home. It’s not with me. It’s with you.” She hadn’t had a pet of her own since the old family lab died back in high school. Somehow, she was always so busy with other people’s animals, she hadn’t had time for her own. She’d had so much fun with the dog, had enjoyed the company and was already dreading the prospect of having to give him up. “You mean it?” “Take him. He’s yours.” On the floor, the dog snuffled in his sleep as though in full agreement with the plan for his future. “Thank you.” She hooked her free arm around Jim’s neck. “You know, affection is a two way street,” she said, pulling him down to her and bringing her mouth on his. This time they kissed for a long, long time. Something was happening on the TV screen. She could hear the excited blare of the race commentators, but just at this moment racing wasn’t the most important thing on her mind. When they pulled apart their breathing was ragged and his eyes were slightly unfocused. “In case you were wondering about my intentions,” she said, “I’m interested, too.”

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A Season for Miracles by Cynthia Rutledge Shannon O'Connor has never met a man as perfect as Jake Kinkaid. He's handsome, intelligent, and considerate. There's only one problem: He's dating her twin sister, Erin. But when Erin makes plans to go out of town with another man, Shannon reluctantly agrees to pose as her sister and spend the weekend with Jake so he won't find out. It's Christmastime, and in this season for miracles, Shannon will discover that God works in mysterious ways. And that sometimes, when you least expect it, dreams really do come true.

Chapter One "I won't do it." Shannon O'Connor painted the last toenail and lifted her head to gaze at her twin. "I'm surprised you'd even ask." Erin took a sip of her diet soda and met her sister's gaze. Her green eyes narrowed. "Well, that makes us even. I'm surprised you're saying no." "I'm not going to go away with your boyfriend for the weekend and pretend to be you. You're the one who promised to go to that wedding with him, not me." Shannon twisted the cap on the pale pink polish with unnecessary force. "We're 26, not 16. Impersonating each other is kids' stuff. Besides, Jake doesn't deserve that kind of treatment." "You like the guy." Erin's lips curved up in a satisfied smile. "Of course I do," Shannon said, the image of the tall, broad-shouldered man with an easy smile flashing before her. "Who wouldn't?" Her sister had started dating Jake Kinkaid three months ago. Though Shannon hadn't seen a lot of Erin's new boyfriend, she knew he was intelligent, considerate, and treated Erin like a princess. The handsome architect had been a refreshing change from the superficial men Erin usually favored. Which made it hard to understand why her sister was willing to take a chance on throwing it all away. Especially for the likes of Dillon Clark. "If Jake finds out I'm going to Aspen with Dillon, it'll be over." "So don't go." Shannon couldn't keep the exasperation from her voice. "You and Dillon haven't been together since last summer and now, all of a sudden, you have to go away with him? I don't understand." "He says he's missed me." Erin lowered her gaze and picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of her cashmere sweater. "And I've missed him." "Last I heard he was an overbearing jerk who you never wanted to see again." "You know me. Sometimes I exaggerate a little," Erin said with a wry grin.

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"A little?" Shannon couldn't help but laugh. Though she loved her sister dearly, she wasn't blind to her sister's faults. Erin could be difficult. If growing up in the same household hadn't instilled that in her, the four years they'd shared an apartment since college had more than made that clear. "And I'm not stupid," Erin said. "I know that getting back together with Dillon is a long shot. But Jake's a great guy. I'd like to still have him around in case things don't work out with Dillon." "But that's not fair to Jake." "Oh Shannon, can't you see?" Erin leaned forward, her voice pleading. "What isn't fair is for me to date Jake, not knowing how I feel about Dillon. Can't you help me out? Just this once?" Shannon pushed the thin wire-rimmed glasses up on her nose and shook her head. "You promised Jake over a month ago you'd go with him to this wedding. You're just going to have to reschedule with Dillon. Tell him something came up and you're not free this weekend, after all." "I can't," Erin said. "Can't?" Shannon raised an eyebrow. "All right, I could but I don't want to." Erin flopped back in the overstuffed leather chair. "I'm just going to tell Jake the truth. If he wants to break it off, that's his choice." Shannon thought quickly. She hated to see her sister throw away a great guy for one she'd probably hate before the weekend was over. Shannon abhorred deceit. On the other hand, she couldn't bear the thought of her sister losing Jake over a foolish whim. "I don't like it. But if it's just for the weekend, I guess —" Erin squealed, jumped up, and crossed the room to give Shannon a quick hug. "I knew I could count on you." The doorbell rang and Erin headed toward the door. "That'll be Jake now. You won't regret saying yes." Shannon smiled weakly. She already regretted it. In only moments, Erin was back, her arm wrapped around the sleeve of the man at her side. "Hello, Shannon." With his wavy dark hair cut conservatively short and his brilliant blue eyes, Jake Kinkaid could have been a GQ model instead of a successful St. Louis architect. An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. Shannon's heart picked up speed. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

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Chapter Two Shannon desperately wished she'd had time to change out of her sweatpants and do something with her hair before Jake had shown up. After all, she hated to look like a frump in front of such a good-looking guy. About six feet tall with broad shoulders and a lean muscular build, Jake was the perfect size. The first time Erin had brought him home, Shannon had told her sister that he had to be one of the handsomest men she'd ever seen. Erin had only laughed and said he wasn't really her type, but she guessed he'd do. Erin usually preferred big guys with thick necks and broad chests. Guys like Dillon Clark who'd played football in college and who still bragged about how much they could bench-press. "It's been a while." Jake's gaze shifted from Shannon back to Erin. "I swear you two look less alike every time I see you together." Shannon felt the heat rise up her neck. Though she could tell by his expression he didn't mean anything derogatory, the words still stung. Erin laughed. "It's just those silly glasses Shannon insists on wearing that make us look different." But Shannon knew it was more than the glasses. She'd let her hair grow long while Erin's short bob barely made it past her ears. And the honey-colored highlights her sister had added had changed her back to the blond of their youth, while Shannon's color hovered somewhere between a light to medium brown. Shannon's gaze shifted to her sister. The physical differences were manageable. But what had ever made her think she could pretend to be her sister for a whole weekend? Erin could wrap a man around her finger without even trying. She was confident, witty and fun. The more Shannon thought about it, the more she realized that for this masquerade to succeed, they were going to need a miracle. *** Twenty-four hours later, Shannon stared in the mirror and the image of her sister stared back. Except Erin wasn't here. She was hundreds of miles away in Aspen, partying with Dillon and his friends. Her fingers reached up and touched the wisps of blond hair. Though it had taken her a long time to grow her hair out, she didn't really miss it now that it was gone. She smiled at her reflection. Erin had been right: A haircut, some highlights, and contacts were all it took to make them identical again. A car door slammed outside and Shannon's heart clenched. This would be the real test. She crossed the room, reaching the door just as the bell rang. Counting to 20, she took a deep breath and pulled it open. "Jake, hello."

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"You look fabulous." His gaze slid to her rust-colored leather miniskirt. "Have I seen that before?" Shannon shook her head. The skirt was from her sister. Erin had called it a gift. Shannon had called it a bribe. "It's new." "I like it." His admiring gaze lingered on her legs. "Thank you." "These are for you." He thrust a bouquet of roses into Shannon's hands. "I realize it doesn't make sense to bring flowers when we'll be out of town all weekend, but I wanted you to know how much I appreciated you coming with me." Shannon smiled and lowered her face to the roses, inhaling their sweet fragrance. It had been eons since she'd been on a date. Eons since she'd received flowers from a man. But she reminded herself she hadn't received these, Erin had. "They're lovely." He smiled and waited expectantly. It only took Shannon an instant to realize what he was waiting for. Erin had always been effusive in her affections and at the very least would have rewarded such thoughtfulness with a kiss. But he was her sister's boyfriend and therefore strictly off-limits. But she was supposed to be her sister. How was she ever supposed to pull this off?

Chapter Three Shannon laid the bouquet on the side table and took a step closer to Jake, her hand rising to rest on his shoulder. She leaned forward and lightly brushed his cheek with her lips. "Thank you so much." She started to step back when his arms tightened around her. He pulled her close and he molded her tightly against his lean muscular body. Her heart picked up speed. The delicious fragrance of his cologne enveloped her and Shannon drank it in, drowning in unfamiliar sensations. But when his lips lowered, Shannon slipped from his arms and forced a bright smile. She headed toward the stairs, her heart racing, her brain pure mush. "Hey, where are you going?" Jake called out. "Upstairs," Shannon said. "Come with me." Jake stared. Was she asking what he thought she was?

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He hoped not. It wasn't that he didn't like Erin. He wouldn't have asked her to his cousin's wedding in Kansas City if he didn't. But they'd only been dating casually for a few months and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take her up on this invitation. Not yet anyway. "Jake?" His gaze shifted to the stairs. Still, she was so beautiful.… "Aren't you going to help me with my bag?" "Your bag?" "My overnight bag. In my bedroom." She shifted from one foot to the other. "I know we're only going for the weekend, but it's kind of heavy." "That's why you wanted me to come to your bedroom?" he asked. "To carry your bag?" "Why else?" Her green eyes widened. He didn't know whether to feel insulted or relieved. But her innocent expression didn't fool him. She was playing with him. Though he didn't know what she was up to, Jake decided to play, too. He chuckled. "I thought maybe you wanted to get an early start. You know this will be our first weekend trip together." Shannon's breath caught in her throat. She'd never once considered what expectations Jake might have for the next two days. Could he have really thought by agreeing to come, she'd agreed to sleep with him? Erin had never gone into detail about her physical relationship with Jake, other than to say he was a pretty good kisser. Surely her sister would have told her if they had been more intimate. But it didn't matter what Erin had agreed to or what she had done in the past; Shannon wasn't taking one step out the door until the misunderstanding was cleared up. "I agreed to go to a wedding with you, nothing more." "You invited me upstairs." "To-get-my-bag." Shannon spoke clearly and emphasized every word. "Nothing more." "So, you don't want to sleep with me?" "No, I don't." "Not even a little bit?" His boyish smile caught her off guard and she had to smile. He reached over and took her hand, planting a kiss in her palm. "Okay, we'll play it your way this weekend. No sex. Just lots of kissing."

Chapter Four

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The drive to Kansas City was a long one. But Shannon didn't mind. She and Jake talked the entire way and by the time they reached KC, she felt as if she'd known him forever. He had a sense of humor in sync with her own and, as they talked, she realized they shared common attitudes on everything from religion to politics. The prenuptial dinner and wedding were a blur. The perfect host, Jake stayed close to her side the entire time. Shannon only wished her sister had warned her that Jake was an affectionate guy. If he wasn't taking her hand to pull her over to meet someone, he was leaning over to whisper something in her ear. By the wedding reception, she'd grown comfortable with his attentiveness. She liked having him take her arm or put his hand against the small of her back when they made their way through the crowded hall. And it seemed so natural to reciprocate; to lean into him when they stood talking to his cousins or to grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor. They danced until Shannon's head spun. She wasn't sure if it was from the champagne or Jake's closeness. "Are you ready to take a break?" Jake had removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie earlier, but the room was hot and little beads of sweat still dotted his brow. Though he'd shaved that morning his cheeks wore a faint shadow. He looked, Shannon thought, simply magnificent. "Sounds good to me." She smiled and pushed back a strand of hair that fell across her forehead. "Since we'll be sitting anyway, how about we go talk to my grandfather for a few minutes? He had hip surgery last month, and he's still not very steady on his feet." "Have I met him?" Shannon had met so many people, it was hard to keep them all straight. "I don't think so," Jake said. "He wasn't at the dinner last night." "I've really enjoyed meeting your relatives." "I wasn't sure you would. I know you don't normally like these kinds of things." Jake squeezed her shoulder. "But you've been such a good sport about all this and I really appreciate it. I promise, when we get back to St. Louis I'll make it up to you." "Don't worry about it," Shannon waved a hand. "I'm having fun just being with you." It was the polite thing to say, but Shannon really meant it. The wedding had been beautiful and even though he'd talked about "lots of kissing" when they'd left St. Louis, he'd been a perfect gentleman. This weekend just confirmed her belief that he was a great guy and her sister was lucky to have him. They strolled across the hall hand in hand, stopping finally in front of an older gentleman sitting in a wheelchair. The white-haired man had a glass of champagne in one hand, an unlit cigar in the other.

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"Grandpa Al, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This is —" "Introductions can wait." The old man waved a dismissive hand. Shannon slanted a look at Jake. "Grandpa —" "The mistletoe, boy." Grandpa Al pointed with the hand holding the cigar to a sprig hanging above Shannon. "Don't tell me young people nowadays don't know what that means." Jake shifted his gaze to Shannon and she could see in his eyes that he planned on kissing her. Her insides twisted into knots. How could she refuse? In the eyes of his grandfather she was Erin, Jake's girlfriend. And in Jake's eyes, too. Did a mistletoe kiss really count anyway? Wouldn't it be like a kiss between friends on New Year's Eve? It didn't mean you liked the guy, or wanted him for your own. Did it?

Chapter Five Shannon smiled and Jake took a step forward. Using his left hand, he pushed Shannon's hair gently back from her face and lowered his lips to hers. With one soft touch all the feelings Shannon had held inside surged to the surface. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, losing herself in the lightning bolt of emotion that ripped through her. Jake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, molding his body to hers. He kissed her hard, crushing his mouth to hers, catching her by surprise. For a moment in his arms, Shannon forgot he belonged to her sister. It was Jake that finally pulled back. He studied her with a puzzled expression. For a moment Shannon just stood there, trying to get her bearings, her chest heaving. "Now that's what I call a kiss." His grandfather cackled. "Come on over here and let me meet this friend of yours." Jake took a deep breath and Shannon realized that though he might outwardly appear composed, he was as shaken as she was by the electricity between them. But he took her hand and smiled confidently at his grandfather. "Grandfather, this is Erin O'Connor. Erin, this is my grandfather, Alfred Kinkaid." "Pleased to meet you, Miss.

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"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Kinkaid." The polite words flowed from Shannon's mouth automatically even as her mind whirled and skidded. What had gotten into her, kissing Jake like that? "Have you enjoyed your weekend with my grandson?" Though he had to be close to 80, Alfred Kinkaid's eyes were bright and Shannon had the feeling he missed very little. "Very much," Shannon said, glad she could answer honestly. "Everyone has been so nice." "From what I've heard, you've made quite a hit with the Kinkaid clan. And we're a difficult bunch to please." Grandpa Al shifted his gaze to Jake. "I hope you're planning to come to our big Christmas get-together. It'll be in St. Louis. I live there, you know." Shannon nodded. Jake had already explained that his family was pretty evenly split between St. Louis and Kansas City, so the fact that his grandfather lived in St. Louis wasn't a surprise. And she'd already heard all about the plans for Christmas Day from one of Jake's aunts. Apparently everyone would attend church in the morning together, then head over to Grandpa Al's for his famous Christmas brunch. In the evening it would be eggnog and spice cake in front of the fireplace. Though Shannon thought it sounded lovely, she knew her sister would probably turn up her nose at the invitation. "So will you come?" Grandpa Al met her gaze. "I don't know…." "We'll have lots of mistletoe. I promise." The old man wiggled one eyebrow. Shannon smiled even as her face warmed. "It's very kind of you to invite me," she said. "But that sounds like a family celebration and I wouldn't want to intrude." "I'd love to have you come with me," Jake said. "We'll see." Shannon gave a noncommittal smile. Of course, if it were up to her she'd say yes in a heartbeat. But it wasn't up to her. It was up to Erin.

Chapter Six Shannon glanced out the parlor window of the Parkside Bed-and-Breakfast Sunday morning. The snow that had started out as flurries the night before now blanketed the ground. The latest weather reports warned areas west of Kansas City to expect heavy snow, up to a foot or more in some places. The storm was then supposed to veer north, leaving areas east of KC with only minimal precipitation. She sighed. That meant that she and Jake should be able to make the drive home to St. Louis with only a light dusting of snow on the road. She should be happy. Her weekend masquerade

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was almost over. Tonight her life would return to normal. Erin would have Jake and she would have her memories. "I wondered where you were." Shannon hurriedly brushed a tear from her eye and pasted on a smile. "I was so tired last night, I thought I'd sleep forever. Unfortunately my internal alarm didn't get the message. It went off right on time." "You should have knocked on my door." "Why would I do that?" Shannon said lightly. "You were sleeping." She shifted her gaze back to the window. "It's snowing outside." "I see that." He came up behind her and his arms slid around her waist. How had the smell of his cologne and the feel of his arms become so familiar? Shannon leaned back against him, wishing this moment could last forever. Jake's arms tightened around her. "Penny for your thoughts." "I can't believe this weekend is almost over." She stared at the bleak landscape and her heart filled with despair. "I know." He sighed. "It's gone so fast." "Too fast." Something in her tone must have alerted him because he turned her in his arms and tipped her face up with his hand. Concern filled his gaze. "You've been crying. Tell me what's wrong." "Nothing." Shannon blinked back her tears. "Something has to be wrong. You never cry. Is it something I said?" His brow furrowed. "Or something I did? Tell me —" "It's not you." She shook her head. "It's me. I don't want to go back to the real world." I don't want to go back to a life without you. "But the real world isn't all that bad." His arms closed around her in a comforting embrace and he laid his head against hers. "We live in the same town. I know we haven't seen each other much lately, but that's going to change. I wasn't being polite last night. I really want you to spend Christmas with my family. If your sister doesn't have plans, maybe she can join us. I'd like to get to know her better.…" "Jake —" She pulled away but he pressed her head back against his chest.

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"Shh, just hear me out. There's no reason to be sad. Don't you see? This weekend isn't the end, it's just the beginning." Shannon swallowed a sob. She'd always believed things happened for a reason. And usually she could see why something happened the way it did. But not this time. After all, falling in love with your sister's boyfriend made no sense. No sense at all.

Chapter Seven "Miss O'Connor?" Shannon raised her head from the comforting warmth of Jake's shoulder. "Yes?" Mrs. Graham, Parkside's proprietor, held out a cordless telephone. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have a call." Shannon took the phone, her palms suddenly clammy. Only Erin knew where she was staying. But why would she be calling? Unless something was wrong? Shannon offered Mrs. Graham a tiny smile and pressed the receiver to her ear. "This is…Erin." Though she tried to act calm and nonchalant, Jake must have sensed her trepidation because he moved to her side, his eyes filled with concern. "Hey Shanny, how's KC?" Shannon could tell by her sister's tone that everything was okay. Releasing the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, Shannon covered the receiver with her hand and turned to Jake. "It's just my sister checking up on us." To her horror, Jake reached for the phone. "Let me talk to her." She fought an instinctive urge to step back and hug the receiver tightly to her chest. Instead, she lifted it to her lips. "Shannon, Jake wants to say hello." She handed him the phone. "Hello, Shannon…."

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Shannon heard him ask her sister about her weekend. He laughed and they talked for a few moments longer. Between the roaring in her ears and the pounding of her heart, Shannon heard little of the conversation. "Here, she wants to talk to you." Jake shoved the phone into her hand. His lips brushed Shannon's cheek. "I'm going to check the weather." She waited until he'd left the room before lifting the receiver to her ear. "It's me." "He certainly seems in a good mood." Erin's voice was light and teasing. "You must be doing a good job impersonating me." Shannon wanted to tell her sister that she'd done nothing more than be herself this weekend, but instead she gave a weak laugh. "Just doing what you asked, dear sister." "And I appreciate it. I know you didn't want to do this." Erin's voice turned serious. "And I feel terrible about wasting your time." "Wasting my time?" Shannon said slowly. "I don't understand." "I mean it may have all been for nothing." Erin's voice lowered. "Oh, Shannon. I'm having the most fabulous time. Dillon is so wonderful. I like him so much, I can't imagine dating anyone else." "What are you saying? You don't want Jake, after all?" Shannon couldn't stop a surge of excitement from racing through her body. Last night she'd been so sure he could never be hers. Could she have been wrong? "Dillon loves me," Erin said. "He told me so last night." "The question is, do you love him?" Though Shannon wanted Jake, she couldn't, in good conscience, push Erin toward a man that in the past had only caused her sister heartache. "Yes." Erin spoke so softly that even with the receiver pressed tight against her ear, Shannon could barely hear. "I think I do." "So, where does that leave Jake?" "Available," Erin said with a laugh. "He'll find someone else. Even though he and I never clicked, he's a great guy." "I agree," Shannon said. "I think there are any number of women who would love to have a guy like Jake." "Well, as far as I'm concerned, they're welcome to him." "You really mean that?" Shannon's heart picked up speed. "Absolutely." But did she really mean anyone?

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Chapter Eight Shannon clicked off the phone, her thoughts whirling. As the weekend had progressed Shannon had found herself wishing Jake were free, though she'd never thought it would really happen. But then again she'd never believed her sister would fall in love with Dillon Clark. But Erin was in love. Shannon could hear it in her voice. She could only hope and pray that this time around, her sister and Dillon were mature enough to make the relationship work. Now, all that was left was for Shannon to square things with Jake. But how? And what was he going to say when she told him the truth? Would he tell her he couldn't abide liars and that he never wanted to see her again? Shannon's gaze drifted out the window. Two or three inches of snow now covered Jake's Jeep and the snow continued to fall. Shannon wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "Is everything okay with your sister?" Shannon jumped. She'd been so focused on imagining the worst she hadn't heard Jake return. "Of course." Shannon pasted a smile on her face. "Why do you ask?" "You looked so solemn. Not like your usual perky self." His hand lightly touched her arm. "Come here. Let me give you a hug." He opened his arms and she stepped forward, burying her head against his chest, slipping her hands around his waist. The scent of soap mixed with the tantalizing fragrance of his cologne. His hand reached up and stroked her hair. He could have said a thousand words but none would have been as comforting as his touch. Shannon didn't know how long they stood there. All she knew was that the icy coldness that filled her after the troubling phone call was replaced by growing warmth. Sometime, she wasn't quite sure when, she became conscious of his breath against her neck, of the beating of his heart against her breast, of the hardness of his body pressed against hers. A strange aching started deep inside and she couldn't help but remember the feel of his lips against hers and wish that there were mistletoe hanging above them so she would have an excuse to kiss him. As if Jake could read her thoughts, he took a step back and his hand moved upward to cup her face. His eyes searched hers. Though she knew she should look away and not let him see her naked longing, she met his gaze. "You are so beautiful." His gaze slid over her, lingering at the hollow of her neck, her breasts, passing down to her hips, then returning to her eyes. Her palms grew damp and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. It was all the invitation he needed.

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His head dipped and his lips brushed hers. They were soft and warm, slightly parted, barely touching. He continued to tease her with his mouth, planting little kisses along her jaw line and down her neck. It was torture, sweet delicious torture. Her senses swirled. She wanted more and she went up on tiptoe, slanting her mouth across his and deepening the kiss. She caught a flash of surprise in his eyes before his tongue met hers, and the world exploded in a wave of heat and passion. Footsteps sounded in the distance, but Shannon paid no attention. She reached up, raking her fingers through his thick dark hair, pulling him closer still. Now that she had him, she wasn't ever going to let him go.

Chapter Nine "I'm sorry to interrupt." Like two guilty teenagers, Jake and Shannon jerked apart. Running her fingers through her disheveled curls, Shannon turned and lifted her chin. Mrs. Graham stood in the doorway to the parlor. Though the proprietor's smile was apologetic, amusement filled her gaze. "They've revised the weather forecast and I thought you'd be interested to know we're now in a winter storm warning. The police are saying the roads both in the metro area and outside the city are extremely hazardous and are urging everyone to stay put. The report also said I-70 west just closed." Shannon widened her gaze. "But the radio said there was only going to be a dusting west of here." Mrs. Graham laughed. "You know what they say about weather forecasters. They're only right about 50 percent of the time." Jake chuckled. "But what are we going to do?" Shannon's voice rose and her gaze shifted to Jake. "I know we were supposed to check out today," Jake said, flashing the innkeeper that devastating smile that always made Shannon go weak in the knees. "But would it be possible to extend our stay a day or two?" Mrs. Graham paused. "Normally in bad weather we have some cancellations and letting you keep your rooms wouldn't be a problem. But several of the guests who had reservations for tonight have already arrived." "Are you saying there are no rooms available?" Shannon asked.

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"Not at all," Mrs. Graham said. "But I can only give you one room. So, if you're willing to share, you're in luck. Shannon cast a sideways glance at Jake. Jake met her gaze. "It's up to you." Shannon didn't have to think long. The curious excitement that surged at the thought of spending the night with him was enough to send up a warning flag. Shannon had long ago resolved that the only man she would make love with would be her husband. So she'd made it a practice to steer clear of situations that could get her into trouble. Spending the night in the same room with Jake would be the height of foolishness. "This can't be our only option." Shannon said. "There have to be some motels nearby that would have two rooms available." "I can give you a list and some numbers." Mrs. Graham's gaze shifted from Jake to Shannon. "But I think you'll find they're in the same boat we are." "We'd still like to check," Shannon said. "I can hold the room for a half hour. But I'll have to know by then if you want it or not," Mrs. Graham said apologetically. "I have others calling." "I understand," Shannon said. She knew the room situation would be tight, but she couldn't believe there weren't two rooms available in the whole area. Twenty-five minutes and a dozen phone calls later, Shannon conceded defeat. Lead me not into temptation…. Shoving the thought aside, Shannon clicked off the phone and turned to Jake. "I guess you and I are going to have to be roomies, after all."

Chapter Ten "Do you want to share a room?" Jake's gaze searched hers. "I mean, is that okay with you?" Shannon looked into his handsome face and her heart fluttered. No, it wasn't okay with her. The thought of spending the night in the same room with Jake was way too appealing to be okay. "I don't think we have a choice." Shannon sighed. "Between the two of us, we've called every place in a 20 mile radius and they're all full." "There is one other option," Jake said quietly. "You could take the room and I could see if Mrs. Graham would let me sleep in the parlor." Some guys might have made the offer just for the show, but the look in Jake's eyes told her he was dead serious.

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"No way." Shannon shook her head. If the parlor had a foldout couch it would have been one thing, but the delicate antique Victorian furniture made crashing on the sofa impossible. "We're two responsible adults. Just because we sleep in the same room together doesn't mean we have to let things get out of control." "You're right. That's a choice, not a given." Jake's gaze lingered on her face and her heart flipflopped. "I'll go tell Mrs. Graham we'll take the room." Shannon's gaze followed him out into the hall. He looked so cute in his jeans and navy sweater. His dark hair glimmered in the light and the color of the sweater made his eyes look even bluer. Several female guests standing in the foyer cast interested glances his way, but he passed by with only a smile. All weekend he'd scarcely glanced at another woman. She'd had his full attention. It was still hard for her to believe that this handsome, kind, wonderful man was really hers. Until he found out who she was. And how she had lied. *** Jake looked up from the black-and-red checkerboard and flashed Erin a triumphant smile. "King me." She groaned. "This game is rigged." "You've still got a chance." "I don't think so. You have five kings and I have none." She pushed back from the table in the parlor and walked to the window. With one hand she slipped open the lace curtains. With her lean lithe body, Erin made a beautiful silhouette in the firelight. Jake let his gaze linger. He couldn't believe she was his. Though they'd been dating for almost three months, he hadn't really known her. Oh, they'd had fun, but they'd never really connected. For a time he'd even wondered if there was another guy in the picture. But ever since he'd picked her up on Friday, she'd been different, more open, nicer. Her blond hair shimmered in the firelight. If someone would have told him, he'd fall in love this weekend, he would have said they were crazy. Now he was the crazy one, crazy in love with Erin. Jake moved to her side. The blowing snow coupled with the ice on the window made it difficult to see much past the front porch. "It's still coming down," she said almost to herself. "We may be here awhile." "I thought you wanted to delay your return to the real world," Jake teased. "I do," she said. "But this same-room thing still bothers me."

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"I don't snore," Jake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, "or leave the toilet seat up, or scatter my shaving stuff all over the bathroom. So you have absolutely nothing to worry about." Jake felt himself grow warm at the contact between them. Nothing to worry about? Erin wouldn't, but as for him — he wasn't so sure.

Chapter Eleven "How long has it been since you built a snowman?" Jake asked as if sensing Shannon's reluctance to go upstairs. "It's dark outside." Shannon took another sip of her cappuccino and shifted her gaze out the window. "There's a streetlight at the end of the driveway." Jake pushed his chair back and stood, holding out a hand. "More than enough light for what we'll be doing." The old Victorian home was cozy and warm and Shannon knew that though the wind had quit blowing, it would be cold outside. She knew Erin wouldn't have considered it for a moment. The only time Erin was willing to brave the snow was on a pair of skis. But Erin wasn't here this weekend, Shannon was, and Jake's expression was so hopeful, Shannon didn't have the heart to say no. "Okay, but I'll have to go upstairs and change first." He gazed admiringly at her formfitting black pants and sweater. "Need any help?" Shannon laughed at his silly leer. "I think I can manage just fine." "Remember your stuff is in my room now." She paused. The thought of sharing a room with Jake was still unsettling. Putting her lotion next to his razor had been way too intimate. But they had no choice. At least they had a place to stay. And they were warm and dry, at least for the moment. Shannon glanced longingly at the fire. "Sure you want to go outside?" "If you don't want to…" Though his smile never dimmed, the light in his eyes faded. "We can skip it." Tempted though she was, Shannon thought of all the nice things he'd done for her this weekend. "No. Let's do it," she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "It'll be fun." Forty-five minutes later, Shannon plopped back in the snow, chilled to the bone, but determined to not go inside until she'd made her snow angel. She flapped her arms and legs outward, moving the snow aside.

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"You look beautiful lying there." Jake gazed down at her, his cheeks red from the cold. "I'm sure," Shannon scoffed. "My nose is as bright as Rudolph's and if I don't get out of the snow right this minute, I'm going to be as frozen solid as Frosty." "We can't have that." Jake smiled and reached down, pulling her up and dusting her off. "No more snow." Shannon glanced down at the angel. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" His gaze never left Shannon's face. "Yes, she is." Shannon licked her dry lips, heat spreading throughout her body at the look in his eyes. "I had a great time tonight." He lowered his head and brushed her lips. "Thank you." "You're very welcome." Her gloved finger traced a line down his cheek and his eyes darkened. But before he could kiss her again, Shannon stepped back from his arms and headed for the house. She welcomed the arctic blast of air that hit her face. It had gotten entirely too warm for her outside.

Chapter Twelve "Honey, I'm home." Shannon laughed and opened the door. "You look like you've had a hard day at the office." Jake had hung his coat up downstairs but their time in the snow had taken its toll. His jeans were wet and his hair stuck up in dark tufts. He looked, Shannon thought, magnificent. "It was rough," he said with a grin. "But now that I'm home I'm sure you can make it all better. Even when he didn't try he was charming. But when he did… Shannon steeled her resolve. "Jake, let's sit and talk for a minute." "Before or after I get undressed?" Her head jerked up, but when she saw his teasing smile she had to grin. "Before would probably be best. I wouldn't want to be distracted." His eyes lit up and he rose and crossed the room. "Distractions can be fun." She placed her hand flat against his chest and pushed him back. "Rule number one. While we're in the bedroom, we keep our hands to ourselves." "That doesn't sound like much fun."

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"You're right. It doesn't." Shannon sat on the edge of the bed and twisted the edge of her sweatshirt. "I mean we've dated for three months…." "And most people have slept together by then," he added. "But you and I both wanted to wait until we knew each other better." Shannon exhaled the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Though she hadn't thought Erin had slept with him, until this moment she hadn't been positive. She smiled in relief. "That's right." "But I'd say we know each other quite well now." He sat beside her on the bed and his gaze met hers. "And I love you, Erin O'Connor. With all my heart." Shannon could only stare. Jake loved Erin. Of course he did. After all, her sister was the one he'd dated for the past three months. Shannon was just the fill-in for the weekend. She'd been foolish to think there had been anything special between her and Jake. The whole time he'd held her, kissed her, teased her, he'd been seeing Erin. Shame mixed with despair. What should she do now? Tell him who she really was? Or play this out as Erin and no one would ever be the wiser? "Erin," Jake took her hand. "I just wanted you to know how I felt. If you don't feel the same, I understand." This was her opportunity to let him down gently and tell him she was getting back with her old boyfriend. If she didn't do it now, then Erin would have to do it when they got back to St. Louis. And Erin might not be as kind. Still, Shannon couldn't bring herself to say the words. "I'm so confused." The look of pain in his eyes broke her heart. "I don't know what I feel —" "Shh." His fingers closed her lips. "There's no need to talk about that now. We have more important things to decide." "We do?" she asked. "Such as?" "Such as —" his lips quirked upward "— do you want the right side of the bed? Or the left?" Which side of the bed? Shannon groaned. Her gaze shifted to the floor. She eyed the oval rug in front of the fireplace. Though she knew hardwood floors could be cold, maybe he'd be warm enough if she gave him the comforter off the bed. A knock sounded at the door. "Could someone open the door, please?"

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Recognizing Mrs. Graham's voice, Shannon opened the door. The woman held out a stack of blankets. "These are for you." "Thank you." Shannon took the bundle and set them on the bed. "I thought you could use some extra blankets and I found an old air mattress." The landlady's gaze shifted from Jake to Shannon. "Of course, if you don't want it…" "Actually —" Jake began. "Actually we were just about to discuss who would get the floor," Shannon said. "So you couldn't have come at a better time." "Sleep tight," Mrs. Graham whispered as she shut the door. "Sleep tight? On the floor?" Jake muttered. "Not on the floor." Shannon smiled. "On the air mattress."

Chapter Thirteen Shannon jerked upright in bed, her body drenched in sweat, her heart pounding. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Her chest hurt and she could barely catch her breath. She hadn't felt this bad since she'd been 10 and Erin had fallen from the parallel bars and had gotten the air knocked out of her. Something is wrong with Erin. Shannon tried to reassure herself that Erin was perfectly safe with Dillon in Colorado. But once the thought hit her, it wouldn't let go. After a half hour of trying to convince herself she was being silly, Shannon eased herself out of the bed and padded silently across the cold hardwood floor in her bare feet. Her sweatpants and sweatshirt were warm but Shannon found herself shivering as she dialed the number of Dillon's condo in Aspen. On the 10th ring she hung up and dialed her parents. "Hello." Even though it was three in the morning her mother sounded wide-awake, almost as if she'd been expecting a call. "Mom, this is Shannon." Shannon spoke in a low tone and cast a quick glance at the floor, reassured that Jake hadn't moved at all. "I didn't mean to wake you. But I have the most awful feeling —" "I'm so glad you called." Her mother's voice sounded odd, as if she was coming down with a cold. "I knew you were in Kansas City, but I'd lost your number —"

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"Mom," Shannon interrupted. "I'm worried about Erin. I just need to know if you've talked to her? I had the most awful feeling and I need to know she's okay." "The doctors think she'll be fine. Of course, they can't say for sure.…" Her mother's voice broke. "Think she'll be fine? What's wrong with her?" Though a fire burned in the fireplace and Shannon was dressed warmly in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, she shivered. "Shannon, this is Dad —" Shannon forced herself to stay calm. Her mother often overreacted. Her father had always been the calm, logical one. "Dad. Tell me what's going on with Erin. Is she okay?" "Honey, Erin was in a skiing accident yesterday. She broke a bone in her leg and hit her head pretty hard." "But she's okay? I mean people break their legs every day." Her father hesitated. "At first she was doing fine. But then she…she took a turn for the worse. She started having trouble breathing.…" Shannon's hand dropped to her side, the phone dangling loosely in her grasp. The sweatshirt and sweatpants couldn't assuage the icy chill that raced through her body. For a second Shannon thought she would faint. She sat down, her knees too weak to hold her. Tears spilled from her lids and a sob rose from the depths of her soul. Suddenly Jake was at her side, taking the phone from her hand. "This is Jake Kinkaid. Who am I speaking with?" His troubled gaze lingered on Erin. When he'd awakened to find her on the phone, he'd thought he was dreaming. Until he'd heard her cry out. "This is Mike O'Connor. Is my daughter okay?" "She's very upset," Jake said. "Can you tell me what's going on?" "I was just telling her that Erin broke her leg in a skiing accident in Colorado. When Dillon first called with the news, we didn't think much of it. After all, people break their legs all the time. But she had a concussion and they kept her for observation. Then —" the older man paused and took a breath "— she developed trouble breathing. They think a blood clot went to her lung." "Is she okay?" "They've got her on blood thinners. The first 24 hours are most critical. Helen and I have a six a.m. flight to Denver." Jake took down all the pertinent information and hung up the phone. Though Mike O'Connor seemed fairly together, Jake knew he must be more distraught than he seemed. In the course of their brief conversation he'd gotten Erin's and Shannon's names mixed up several times. "Is my sister dead?"

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Jake looked up to find Erin's tear-filled gaze staring at him. "Oh, honey, no. She's not dead." He sat beside her on the bed and took her in his arms. "She's in the hospital and they're taking good care of her. She'll be just fine." "She couldn't breathe." Her hand rose to her throat. "A blood clot went to her lung." Jake tried to keep his voice matter-of-fact, as if a pulmonary embolism were just a minor inconvenience and not a life-threatening event. "But your father said they're treating her with some kind of blood thinners and they expect her to make a full recovery." "My mother was crying." "She was upset," he acknowledged. "But your father said he thought she'd be fine once she saw your sister was okay." "My dad will take good care of her." "That's right, he will." Jake brushed the hair back from her face with one hand. "And I'll take good care of you. Because that's what you do when you love someone."

Chapter Fourteen Though Shannon wanted nothing more than to remain cosseted in Jake's loving arms, her sister came first. "I can't stay here. I have to go to Erin. She needs me." "Erin?" Jake's brows drew together. Shannon stared at him, realizing what she'd just said. The confusion in his gaze cleared. His jaw tensed. "You're not Erin. You're Shannon." The hurt and anger in his eyes tore at her heart. Last night she'd had several opportunities to tell the truth, to explain what had happened. Why hadn't she told him when she'd had the chance? She'd never wanted him to find out this way. Shannon swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. "I never meant to hurt you." "Don't give me that." He stood abruptly and strode to the window. He leaned forward, his hands on the windowsill for a long moment before shifting his gaze back to Shannon. "Jake —" "So, there couldn't have been a conflict. The only reason I can think of is that she got a better offer. Is that it, Shannon? Did Erin get a better offer?" Shannon lowered her gaze. "Dillon." Jake snapped his fingers. "Your father said something about Dillon calling with the news. That was Erin's old boyfriend's name, wasn't it?"

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Shannon's heart clenched at the pain in his voice. "I'll take your silence as a yes." Jake raked his fingers through his hair. "I've been such a fool. I even thought I was in love with you. But I don't even know who you are." He shook his head and turned back to the window. Shannon knew there was nothing she could say that would ease his pain. She didn't want to leave him like this, but she didn't have a choice. She had to go to Erin. She grabbed her bag and in a matter of minutes she was fully packed. Jake still stood with his back to her. "It's quit snowing." "I'm going to the airport." Shannon said. "I'll take you." "I can call a cab." Jake turned. "It'll be faster if I take you." Shannon hesitated. She knew he was right. Still, she was exhausted and the last thing she wanted was to argue all the way to the airport. "Don't worry. It'll be fine. We don't need to talk." His voice was matter-of-fact instead of angry and it was almost as if he could read her mind. "After all, there's really nothing more to say." *** They'd barely spoken since they'd left the bed-and-breakfast. Jake preferred it that way. After all, he certainly wasn't in the mood for small talk and as he'd said, what was there left to say? She'd lied and played him for a fool. He'd found out. He didn't want anything more to do with her. Still, on the way to the airport, his gaze kept drifting sideways. Her blond hair stuck out in little spikes and her green eyes were rimmed with red, but she still was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She'd kept her gaze focused straight ahead for most of the drive, but now her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were closed. He wondered for a moment if she had fallen asleep, but then he saw her lips move and realized she wasn't sleeping, she was praying. For a moment his heart softened. Until he reminded himself she had a lot to pray about. And she'd better hope God would forgive her, because he sure wasn't going to.

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Chapter Fifteen A week later, Shannon sat across from her sister in their apartment living room and breathed a prayer of thanks. Erin had recovered quickly from her blood clot and the cast on her leg barely slowed her down at all. From the time she'd left the hospital and returned to St. Louis, Erin and Dillon had been inseparable. Tonight at dinner, they'd made the big announcement. "I can't believe you're engaged." Shannon stared at the huge diamond on her sister's finger. "Being with Dillon again made me realize that he was the man for me." A little smile hovered at the corners of Erin's lips. "I'm so glad I went to Aspen." "I'm happy for you, Erin. I really am." "So what about you and Jake?" Erin took a sip of iced tea and peered at Shannon over the top of the glass. "You've barely said 10 words about the guy since we got home." "There's not much to say." Shannon kept her tone light and gave her sister a brief summary of her and Jake's time together, starting with the drive and ending with Jake discovering the truth. "He knows you chose Dillon. And he was okay with that decision." "That was nice of him to send the flowers to the hospital." "He's a thoughtful guy," Shannon said past the sudden lump in her throat. "And the most handsome man you've ever seen." Erin's lips twitched. "I still remember when you told me that. I knew right then that you should have been the one with him, not me." "But you were the one he chose," Shannon pointed out. "Not me." "That's because he didn't know any better." Erin laughed. "I mean, he's a great guy but he never was my type. And I'm really not his." Erin's gaze narrowed. "But you, you were just his type. And you liked him. Don't try to tell me you didn't." "I didn't want to like him," Shannon said. "But I did. And I feel guilty about that. I mean, he was your guy." "We can't help what we feel," Erin said, her voice uncharacteristically soft and gentle. "We can only help what we do about it. I might want a necklace in Tiffany's window, but there's no crime unless I snatch it out of the case and run out of the store." "I kissed him, Erin." Shannon's heart twisted. "He was your boyfriend and I kissed him." "Big deal. You and I both know if I had wanted Jake, regardless of how much you loved him, you would have let me have him. So there's no crime and absolutely nothing to forgive." Erin's tone was so confident Shannon couldn't help but believe her. "You're sure?" "Positive." Erin put her ring under the light. "Hey, did I tell you Kellie called today to ask how I was doing and she mentioned that Jake's grandfather was in the hospital?"

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"What's the matter with him?" "I didn't ask." Erin held out her hand, the diamond glittering in the bright light. "Isn't this the most beautiful ring you've ever seen?" "Did they say what hospital he was in?" "Who?" "Jake's grandfather." "I don't know." Erin set her glass on the table. "I didn't really pay much attention. I've never been much for old people. Plus, I don't even know the guy." But I do, Shannon thought. Alfred Kinkaid was a sweet old man who'd gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable. Would it be wrong to stop by and say hello? "I think I might call around," Shannon said in an offhand tone. "Find out where he's at." "Why would you want to do that?" Erin couldn't have looked more shocked if Shannon had told her she'd decided to dye her hair green. "Because I like the guy. Because it's the week before Christmas and he might be lonely," Shannon said. "Because it's the right thing to do." "Good for you," Erin said, glancing down at her ring again. "Tell Gramps hello for me. And, if you see Jake, give him a kiss from me, will you?" Shannon paused. She'd forgotten that Jake might be there. She almost reconsidered her decision to go, until she remembered he'd told her that he played handball on Thursday nights. She grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

Chapter Sixteen "Erin, my dear." Alfred Kinkaid stretched out his bony arms in welcome. "How good of you to come by. And on such a snowy night, too." Despite the IV tubing taped to one arm, Jake's grandfather looked remarkably healthy. "Hello, Mr. Kinkaid." Shannon crossed the room and gave him a quick hug being careful to avoid the tubing. "And before we go any further, I'm Shannon. Somehow the names got mixed up when we were introduced before. Erin is my twin sister's name." Shannon didn't want to cause Jake any embarrassment, so she didn't go into detail, but she was through pretending to be anyone but herself. "Shannon." Jake's grandfather rolled the name around on his tongue. "I like it. Shannon it is. And you can call me Grandpa Al."

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The request tore at her heartstrings. If things had turned out differently, he might one day have been her grandfather. "I'm glad you stopped." His pale blue eyes gleamed. "I've been asking Jake to bring you by." Shannon kept her expression impassive, but she couldn't help but wonder why the old man had made the request. He had to know the odds of his grandson bringing his ex-girlfriend along weren't good. Unless, Shannon thought, Grandpa Al still thought she and Jake were together. "It's been a long week." Grandpa Al sighed. "I've been poked and prodded so much I feel like a pincushion." Suddenly Shannon understood why Jake hadn't told him. The older gentleman had enough on his mind without worrying about his grandson's love life. "Are you going to have to be here much longer?" Shannon asked. "Tomorrow is D day," the old man said holding up one hand with his fingers crossed. "D day?" Shannon widened her eyes. She'd worked in a nursing home in high school and thought she knew most medical acronyms but this was one she hadn't heard before. "Dismissal Day." A broad smile split Grandpa Al's face, making him look 10 years younger. Shannon impulsively gave him another hug. "I'm so glad." "You're a sweet girl, Shannon." Grandpa Al's gaze lingered on her face. "By the way, just so you know, there's been a change in plans. Christmas brunch won't be at my house this year." "Why not?" Though she wasn't planning on going, had never planned on going, from what Jake had told her, Christmas was always held at his grandfather's home. Concern welled up inside her. She hoped this change in plans didn't mean that Grandpa Al's condition was more tenuous than it appeared. "Because I'm under strict orders to take it easy. I'll be staying with Jake until I'm back on my feet. The doctors didn't want me going home alone and I certainly wasn't going to any nursing home." Though the nursing home she'd once worked at had been very nice, Shannon knew many elderly people had fears about such facilities. Unfortunately, most didn't have another option. Not many had family able to step in and help. Or willing. Shannon's heart clenched. Jake was such a good guy. "Sounds like it all worked out for you." Shannon smiled. "I'm so glad." "He's got a nice house, don't you think?" Grandpa Al's gaze lingered speculatively on Shannon. Shannon took a seat in the turquoise vinyl chair next to the bed and forced a nonchalant air. "Actually, I've never seen it."

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"Really?" Grandpa Al raised an eyebrow. "It's nice. Large two story in Wildwood. All the place needs is a woman's touch and a couple of kids." The older man's penetrating gaze met hers. "My church is in Wildwood. Over on Clayton." Flustered, Shannon rattled on about the congregation, hoping his grandfather would take the hint and change the subject. But the minute she paused to take a breath, Grandpa Al jumped into the conversation. "I know you and my grandson had some kind of falling out. But I know he loves you." Alfred smiled. "You just stop by the house, real casual-like. I'll bring the mistletoe. This season is the perfect time for kissing and making up." As much as Shannon wished it could be that simple, she knew it would never work. And anyway, it would be wrong. And Shannon was through doing the wrong thing. Even for the right reason.

Chapter Seventeen Jake decided to stop by the hospital on the way home from the gym. Though he'd dropped by for a short time after work, he knew his grandfather got lonely. Jake knew how that felt. He'd had the same feeling since returning from Kansas City. Jake shoved the maudlin thoughts aside. Shannon was in the past. Out of his life. Thank goodness he didn't have to see or think about her ever again. Pushing open the hospital door, he forced a cheery smile. "How's it going this evening?" "You just missed Shannon," Grandpa Al said. "Looking prettier than ever, I might add." "Really?" Jake smiled and kept his tone nonchalant. "What was she doing here?" "She came to visit me," Grandpa Al said. "Said she'd heard I was in the hospital and wanted to make sure I was okay. She's a wonderful girl." Jake ignored the comment. "How's she doing?" "Why don't you ask her yourself?" "We don't talk much anymore." "I gathered as much." His grandfather's eyes narrowed. "You two had a spat, didn't you?" Jake shifted his gaze out the window. "Don't tell me this is about the name thing?" Al chuckled. "So she gave you the wrong name. Your grandma told me she was born in '26. I didn't find out until years later, she was born in '24."

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"It's not that simple." Jake knew his grandfather wouldn't give up until he knew the whole story. "I'd been dating Erin O'Connor casually for a couple of months. She'd promised to attend the wedding with me but instead, she sent her twin sister, Shannon, in her place." "And you couldn't tell?" Grandpa Al's tone was clearly disbelieving. Jake shifted in his chair. He knew it made no sense. How could he have dated a woman for three months and not been able to tell the difference between her and her sister? Though they might be identical on the outside, inside they weren't the same. Not at all. Their discussion in the car on the way to KC had been his first clue. They'd talked about things that really mattered, instead of what new concerts were coming to the area or what the hottest new vacation spots were. But he'd told himself she must have finally decided to open up, to let him get to know her. And then there was the reception. He'd expected her to be bored stiff. After all, there had been a lot of elderly relatives present and Erin had told him more than once she wasn't into old people. But instead of begging to cut out early, she'd been charming and gracious and had actually seemed to enjoy his relatives and the evening. But the biggest clue had been the way she kissed. She kissed him as if she really cared. As if she…loved him. Jake's chest tightened. "I told her I loved her." Jake shook his head and gave a humorless laugh. "I was going to ask her to marry me." "Sounds serious." "But it was all a joke," Jake said. "Don't you understand? She was just filling in for her sister. I didn't mean anything to her." "Son, I've been on this earth for 80 years and I saw the way she looked at you." Grandpa Al paused. "If you can't see that she loves you, then all I can say is your eyesight must be worse than mine." Jake stared at his grandfather, the first faint stirrings of hope coursing through his veins. Could the older man be right? Could it be that Shannon really did love him? As mad as he'd been at first, now he understood. And he'd had a wonderful weekend. If he was in love with her, maybe it was time he did something about it and not let his pride stand in the way.

Chapter Eighteen "C'mon, Shannon. Don't be a poop. Come with us to church." Erin lined her lips with a cinnamoncolored stick before lifting her gaze from the dressing table mirror. "It's Christmas Eve. You don't want to go alone." Of course she didn't want to go alone. But Shannon didn't want to be a fifth wheel, either. Normally she could have gone with her parents, but her brother's newest baby had arrived earlier than expected and her parents had left for Texas two days ago. So she was on her own this year.

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"I don't mind." Shannon forced a casual shrug. "And I like to go to my own church on Christmas Eve." "Let me talk to Dillon." Erin rose with a fluid grace her sister had always envied. "We can go with his family another time." Shannon grabbed her arm as she reached for the phone. "Erin, no. Go with Dillon. There will be plenty of people I know at church. Aunt Janice even asked if I'd save her a seat." Of course, that was before her elderly aunt had come down with a migraine this afternoon. "Are you sure?" Relief warred with the suspicion in Erin's gaze. "Positive." Shannon hugged her sister. "I'll be just fine." *** The last thing Jake wanted to do was put up mistletoe. "A little to the right." Grandpa Al leaned forward in the wheelchair, his gaze narrowing. "It's not centered in the doorway." Jake bit back a sharp retort. It wasn't his grandfather's fault that the mistletoe made him think of a certain green-eyed blonde. The mere touch of the tiny sprig brought back the memory of that night at the reception hall, the softness of her hair, the sweetness of her kiss. Though it was crazy, after his talk with his grandfather, he'd kept thinking about Shannon, wondering if he should give her a call. "Are you going to hang it or stand there looking at it all day?" The abrupt tone jerked Jake back to reality. He moved the mistletoe a half-inch to the right. "How's this?" "Perfect." Grandpa Al nodded approvingly. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jake secured the sprig. "What time will we be leaving for church?" "I thought we might skip services tonight." With this whole thing about Shannon still up in the air, Jake couldn't muster up much of the Christmas spirit. He knew it was wrong, but he shoved aside his guilt. "You've had a long day. We'll be going with the family tomorrow, anyway." "But it's Christmas Eve. I haven't missed a Christmas Eve service in 50 years." The older man's jaw jutted out, but it was the distress in his voice that tugged at Jake's heart. "The roads are icy." "We don't have to go far. Someone told me about a little church not too far from here. Over on Clayton. We can go there."

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An hour later, Jake sat with his grandfather in the back pew of a church he'd only driven past before. The roads had been as icy as he'd feared, but he'd snagged a close parking space and the parking lot had been well salted. The church was packed. Jack scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering on all the families. The little boys in their shirts and ties, the little girls in their velvet dresses. It was hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago, such a life had seemed within his reach. "I was such a fool," Jake muttered. "What did you say?" Grandpa Al's eyes were bright with curiosity. "Nothing." Jake shifted his gaze to the front of the church. "Look at all those poinsettias." "So beautiful," his grandfather murmured, but the old man's gaze wasn't on the plants. It was on a blonde who'd just walked through the door. Jake froze in his seat. What was she doing here?

Chapter Nineteen "Shannon. Over here." Shannon turned in the direction of the voice and stopped dead in her tracks. For a moment she was tempted to pretend she hadn't seen Alfred Kinkaid. But she'd been taught to respect her elders and she couldn't ignore him. Or the dark-haired man sitting at his side. God give me strength. Shannon made her way through the crowd, and by the time she reached the end of the long pew, her heart had slowed back to a normal rhythm. "Mr. Kinkaid, what a surprise. I never expected to see you this evening." "God works in mysterious ways." The old man's grin was so infectious Shannon couldn't help but smile. "Jake's church is way across town and with the roads being bad, we decided to go somewhere close." "I'm glad you did," Shannon said. "I can't imagine not being in church on Christmas Eve." "That's exactly what I told Jake." Grandpa Al's eyes twinkled. "You remember my grandson, don't you?" "Of course." Shannon forced a smile. She'd spent the day telling herself that everything worked out for the best. After all, Erin had Dillon and seemed blissfully happy. But it wasn't as easy now, seeing Jake and realizing she'd never have the man she loved. "Merry Christmas, Jake." "Merry Christmas." Jake's gaze lingered. "Where's your family this evening?"

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"My brother just had a new baby and my parents went to Texas to be with him," Shannon said. "My sister and her fiancé are attending services this evening with his family." Jake looked up at the word "fiancé" and she realized he didn't know Erin was engaged. But, of course, how could he? They hadn't talked since Kansas City. "So you're alone this evening?" Grandpa Al said in a conversational tone. "Yes, but —" "Miss, we're about to start," the usher whispered. "Could you take your seat?" "We've got a spot for you." Grandpa Al patted the space next to him on the end. "Right here." Shannon glanced around the church. During the time she'd spent talking, the sanctuary had filled up and she couldn't see one empty seat except for the one in front of her. Shannon gave a resigned sigh. At least Jake was on the other side of his grandfather. But when Shannon started to sit, the old man slid to the end of the pew, opening a space between him and Jake. "I like to sit on the outside." Grandpa Al shot her an apologetic smile. "You don't mind sitting in the middle, do you?" The old man's innocent expression didn't fool Shannon in the least. She sat down and smoothed the skirt of her dress, telling herself that they were all adults and if she just focused on the service she'd be fine. But with Jake's leg pressed against hers and the familiar scent of his cologne wafting about her, Shannon found it difficult enough just to breathe, much less concentrate. Halfway through the service she realized she was staring at him and he was staring back. She licked her dry lips. His own lips parted as if he were about to say something but then forgot what it was. She reached for the hymnal and his fingers closed around it, brushing hers. She felt the blood surge from her fingertips all the way to her toes. His gaze slowly swept down her body, studying her, inch by inch. Though the church was well heated, her skin turned to gooseflesh. It was crazy. She felt languid and tense at the same time. He held her gaze and his eyes seemed to glitter, suddenly looking more green and brown than blue. Her heart hammered against her ribs, drowning out the sound of the familiar Christmas hymn. Her eyes locked with his and their breathing came in unison.

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"We need to talk," he said, his lips barely moving.

Chapter Twenty "Come to my house after church," Jake said softly. "We can talk there." "But it's Christmas Eve," she said in a low tone. "We need to talk," he repeated, meeting her gaze. "I don't want to wait any longer, do you?" Shannon shook her head. The rest of the service passed in a blur. It seemed only a matter of minutes before Shannon found herself walking through the front door of Jake's home. The minute they got inside, Grandpa Al started complaining about his hip. But when he headed to his room, Shannon noticed he wasn't limping at all and he barely used his four-pronged cane. "I'm going to go to my room and lie down." Grandpa Al smiled at Shannon and gave his grandson a wink. "You two kids have fun." "He seems to be walking okay," Shannon said, after she'd heard a door shut down the hall. "Do you think his hip is really bothering him?" "With him, who really knows," Jake said with a smile. "If I had to bet, I'd say no. I think he wanted to give us some time alone together." "He's really a sweet man." "Yes, he is," Jake said. "But we're not here to talk about him. We're here to talk about us." "Before you say anything, I just want to say again that I'm sorry." Shannon met his gaze. "I never meant to hurt you. I'm not the kind of person that normally lies. Erin wanted to see if there was still something there with Dillon. I didn't want her to lose you. That's why I agreed to do it. But it was wrong." "You know I believe," he said, taking her hand in his, "that things happen for a reason." "You do?" Shannon drew a shaky breath. "I never really knew Erin," he said. "If you wouldn't have come with me that weekend we might never have gotten to know each other." Hope grew inside her. Could this be what God had planned all along? Erin had gotten the man she loved. Could it happen to her, too? "You know how in church the minister talked about this being a time of beginnings?" Shannon pushed a strand of hair back with her hand. "Actually, I was so preoccupied I didn't catch much of the sermon."

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Jake smiled. "I didn't get it all, either. But I liked the part about beginnings. I found myself thinking we could start over. Pretend we just met and go from there. What do you think?" "I think it could work." Shannon's smile widened. "When do you want to start?" "No time like the present." Jake extended his hand. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Jake Kinkaid." Shannon took his hand. A shiver traveled up her spine at his touch. "Shannon O'Connor." "Shannon." He kept hold of her hand and his gaze flickered for a moment, down to her mouth. "Do you believe in kissing on the first date?" "Not usually." Her gaze shifted pointedly to the mistletoe overhead. "But in this case I might be willing to make an excep —" Jake tugged her toward him and stopped her words by covering her mouth with his own. She quivered at the sweet tenderness of his kiss. "Marry me," Jake whispered in her hair. Shannon's heart fluttered wildly in her breast. "We just met." Jake stepped back and held her at arm's length. "I feel like I've known you forever." His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. "I love you, Shannon." Shannon stared into Jake's eyes for a long second as his words seemed to echo in the room. I love you, Shannon. He loved her. Jake loved her. Not her sister, but her. "And I love you." Tears of happiness stung her eyes and as she brushed them aside, her gaze drifted to the mistletoe. Grandpa Al, the matchmaker. Now that he'd succeeded in bringing them together, she knew they'd never hear the end of it. Her lips curved upward. "You know what this means, don't you?" "I know exactly what it means." Jake's gaze never left her face. "It means I've got the right twin. And I'm never going to let her go."

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Murder at Last Chance Ranch by B.J. Daniels When Teddi MacLane’s no-account, soon-to-be-ex-husband turns up dead—in Teddi’s house, with Teddi’s gun lying near by, just days after she threatened to kill him—it’s up to her high school sweetheart, Sheriff Jake Rawlins, to clear her name!

Chapter One Teddi MacLane reined in her horse as she spotted the old blue pickup parked in front of the ranch house. She’d warned Vance not to come around again. What was it going to take to put that man behind her? Swinging down from the saddle, she fought the urge to charge straight up to the house and confront him. But the sun had set. It would be dark soon and she wanted to take care of her horse before she saw Vance. She knew she was just giving herself time to calm down. The last time she’d had a run-in with him was still fresh in her mind. At least this time it wouldn’t be in front of the entire town. Cursing the man under her breath, she unsaddled her horse, imagining Vance sprawled in her rocker on the porch, his boots resting on the railing and that smirk on his face, the one that said he’d brought trouble with him. As usual. Vance Sheridan was her second worst mistake, one that she had more than lived to regret. Her horse and tack put away, she walked toward the house, fighting to rope in her temper. She kicked a dirt clod with the toe of her boot as she rounded the corner of the house, shoving back her western hat, ready for a fight. Vance wasn’t on the porch. She shot a look toward his pickup; half expecting to find him slumped behind the wheel sleeping off an afternoon at the Roundup Bar. But the pickup was empty. She felt her anger simmer to a boil as she mounted the steps and saw that her front door was partially ajar. Vance had gone too far this time. She’d have his sorry behind thrown in jail. Or not, she thought, reminding herself who was sheriff. No, she would take care of this herself. She’d been running this ranch by herself since her father died. She should be able to get rid of a no-good skunk like Vance Sheridan without any help. Especially since the man didn’t have the sense God gave a goose. Vance hadn’t even turned on a light, which meant he was probably asleep on her couch and had been for some time. She stormed into the dark living room, fighting mad and caught a boot toe. Before she knew what was happening, she went sprawling face first onto the wood floor. Stunned, she sat up, suddenly aware that the floor was wet, her hands sticky with something dark. She caught a whiff of a smell she knew and felt her heart take off at a gallop. As she glanced toward the open doorway, she saw what she’d tripped over. Crab-crawling back to the wall she struggled to her feet and fumbling, found the light switch. The overhead lights flashed on. Vance Sheridan lie sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood. Beside him was her .45. And as she gazed down at her hands, she saw that she was now covered with his blood.

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But she knew as bad as things looked, they were about to get worse as she staggered to the phone and called Sheriff Jake Rawlins—the last man on earth she wanted to see—especially with her soon-to-be exhusband dead on her living room floor.

Chapter Two Teddi MacLane was sitting on the porch in the dark when Sheriff Jake Rawlins pulled into the ranch yard. The patrol car’s headlights swept across the front of the ranch house illuminating her huddled form in the rocker. He parked off to one side of Vance Sheridan’s pickup, got out and, turning on his flashlight, trailed the beam across the yard and up the steps. In the distance he heard the call of a coyote from the dense pines etched black against the midnight blue sky. Only a sliver of moon and a few stars hovered over the ranch in the chilly silence that followed. Teddi didn’t glance up as he crossed the porch and stopped in front of her, his flashlight beam pointed at the porch floor. In the diffused light he could see that she was shivering, her hands clenched together around her knees. It wasn’t until she looked up that he saw how pale she was, how scared. It was so out of character for Teddi that his first instinct was to gather her in his arms. For just an instant he forgot this was the woman who’d broken his heart. The memory roped in any inclination he had to comfort her. That and the fact that he was the sheriff and from what he could see, Teddi MacLane was his number one suspect. Their eyes locked. Something flickered in all that blue. Regret? Or was it only fear? He tried not to read anything into it. Just as he tried not to imagine how different things would have been if she hadn’t run off with Vance Sheridan. Jake had gotten over the shock. But he was still dealing with the hurt and anger. Seeing her now made him realize he needed to keep working on both. “Took you long enough to get here,” she said, going on the offensive. That was Teddi—always coming out fightin’. Not that she had the right. If anyone should be angry here it was him—not the other way around. She’d made her choice. And lived with it—for a few months anyway. Jake had heard that she’d kicked Vance out and filed for divorce, but that didn’t mean she still hadn’t loved the damned fool cowboy. Nor did it mean she hadn’t killed him, Jake thought hoping with all his heart this didn’t turn out to be a crime of passion. With Teddi, he’d never known what to expect. It was why he’d fallen in love with her. But it was probably also why he’d let her get away. “I was on the other side of the county,” he said trying to hide his irritation as he pulled out his notebook and pen. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here.” “I have no idea what happened. I came back from a horseback ride to find his pickup in my yard and him dead on my living room floor.” “You touch anything?” She gave him a withering look and held up her blood-encrusted hands. “I fell over him. Does that answer your question?”

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He gave her a long hard look, then made a few notes before he asked, “You see or hear anyone leave as you were returning?” She shook her head and he thought he saw tears. She had to know how bad this looked for her given that she’d threatened to kill Vance last week in front of a dozen witnesses—himself included. “Anything you want to tell me before I take a look at the body?” he asked. Her defiant gaze came up to meet his. “Why don’t you just ask me straight out, Jake, if I killed him?” “Did you?” “No.” “If Vance came out here to threaten you…” He knew he was offering her a way out while at the same time praying she didn’t take it. “It wasn’t self defense,” she said irritably. “I didn’t shoot him. I wanted to. But I didn’t.” He nodded, not convinced. At one time, he’d thought he knew her but he was no longer sure about that. He could feel the distance between them, wide as the Montana wilderness. “There is one thing you should know,” she said and seemed to hesitate. “Whoever shot him used my gun so there’s a good chance my prints will be on the murder weapon.” Great. That explained the fear. “Where did you keep the gun?” “Where it always is. On top of the cabinet by the door.” “Loaded?” “Wouldn’t be much good if it wasn’t.” “What about Vance? Did he know where it was?” “I’m sure he did,” she said, her gaze locking with his. “I believe I took it down the day I asked Vance to leave.” “You threatened him with it?” Jake asked with a groan. “I believe it was more like a promise.” “Anyone else know about the gun?” “Everyone knew. Even you as I recall.” He watched her hug her knees tighter to her chest to hide the fact that she was trembling. “Stay here,” he said, then softening, he took off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, but drew the jacket around her. “Thanks.” He nodded and stepped towards the door, his boot soles echoing across the porch. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling out onto the worn boards.

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With a gloved finger, he pushed the door all the way open. Vance Sheridan lay on his back on the floor, with what appeared to be three distinct bullet holes in his chest. Past the body, Jake could see where Teddi had fallen and slid through the blood pool. There were tracks to the wall, a smear on the light switch plate and more blood nearby on the phone. He carefully stepped around the body. The .45 was lying a few feet away where it had apparently been dropped. Too far away to have been a suicide. Not that Vance would have shot himself once let alone three times. If Teddi had killed Vance, would she have just left the gun lying on the floor next to the body? She would have been upset and anyone who watched TV knew the slugs could be traced back to the gun, so maybe she would have. Jake turned at a sound behind him. Teddi was standing in the doorway, his coat draped over her shoulders. He should have known she wouldn’t do what he’d told her to. She’d quit listening to him a long time ago. She still looked pale but her back was steel-rod straight, that angry defiant look on her face. He was glad to see that she wasn’t going to fall apart on him. But then he would have expected nothing less from her. Behind her, the flashing lights of the coroner’s van appeared on the road along with the lonely wail of the siren. “You do realize that whoever killed him is hoping I take the fall, don’t you?” she asked. It definitely looked that way. That is, if you believed that Teddi hadn’t killed her almost ex-husband, which was exactly what Jake wanted to believe. But if someone was framing her, she’d certainly done a good job of making it easy for them after threatening to kill Vance in front of a bunch of witnesses. He kept this thought to himself though. He didn’t need to tell Teddi that she was in a world of trouble. Unless he could find a person with a better motive and opportunity than hers, she could be facing murder charges. “Was Vance living here?” he asked. She mugged a face at him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that I’d thrown him out and filed for divorce.” “I’m just doing my job. I have to ask.” Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. “It must have made your day when you heard,” she said, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to see you unhappy.” She smiled at that, her gaze challenging. He’d had his chance to marry her but he’d dragged his feet and this is what it had gotten him. Gotten them both. He looked down at his notebook. “Did you invite Vance out to the ranch, maybe to discuss something?” “There was nothing to discuss,” she said. “He knew better than to come out here. I’d told him if I caught him out here, I’d shoot him.” He looked up from his notebook. “Oh for cryin’ out loud,” she snapped. “It’s just an expression.”

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“What was Vance doing here?” “I have no idea.” “Any idea who might have wanted him dead?” “Besides most anyone who knew him?” He felt himself getting even more irritated with her. He’d thought it would be good for them to date other people, to make sure before their relationship went any farther. After all, they’d been dating since they were in high school. She was the one who’d decided to get married out of the blue. And to Vance Sheridan. Like it was his fault it hadn’t worked out. “What about the door? Was it locked?” She gave him another impatient look. “Who do you know in this part of Montana who locks his doors? Anyway, if someone needs something I own bad enough, I’d prefer they not break a window to get it.” “So your front door wasn’t locked?” he repeated, pen poised over his notebook. “What do you think?” “Dang it, Teddi. Just answer the darned question.” “What’s the point? You’re just looking for something that will get me sent to prison. It’s what I deserve, right? I was stupid enough to marry Vance.” He looked off the end of the porch to the mountains and the tall silky green pines for a moment before turning back to her. The night air was cool, the breeze stirred the loose hair at her temple. She had a smudge of dirt on one cheek and smelled of horse leather. She couldn’t have looked more beautiful. “I’m trying to find out who killed Vance but I need your help,” he said. “I know you’re not telling me everything.” She got that stubborn look on her face that he knew too well. “I don’t know who killed him. I didn’t invite him out here.” He knew she was holding something back. But getting it out of her was another matter. “When was the last time you saw him?” “Last week. Wednesday.” Her eyes were on him again. “You should recall. You were at the Roundup when I threatened to kill him.” “That’s the last time you saw him?” She nodded. The coroner’s van pulled up in the ranch yard, the whine of the siren dying away into the night. “I’m going to need you to come down to the office and make a statement,” he said. “We’ll also be checking for any gunpowder residue.” “Fine. Just get him out of my house.” “You can’t stay here tonight, Teddi. This is a crime scene.”

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“I’m not leaving the ranch and unless you plan to arrest me—” Jake groaned. “You can stay in the bunkhouse. I’ll have a deputy camp out nearby to protect the crime scene.”

*** Teddi moved down the porch as the coroner and two assistants got out of his van. Like a lot of coroners in the small towns across Montana, A.J. Hanover was also the local doctor. He climbed the steps, tipping his hat to her, brows furrowed. She didn’t doubt that word had traveled like wildfire through the county about Vance’s murder. She’d bet the cowboys at the Roundup Bar and Grill were taking bets as to whether or not she killed him. Anyone who knew Vance knew she had motive. She stayed out of the way as the sheriff went to his patrol car for his camera. She tried not to watch what was happening inside her house, ignoring the occasional flash as photos were taken. Each time, she was reminded of the scene she’d tripped over. Vance dead. She could believe that someone would want to kill him. It was harder for her to accept her lack of reaction to his death—other than fear that Jake believed she’d killed him. Standing in the cool darkness of the porch, she looked up at the stars. Dozens had come out. She used to try to count them when she was a girl. A sliver of moon hung just over the mountains. The scene looked surreal as if she hadn’t stood on this very spot and looked out at this landscape all her life. But she’d never had a dead body lying in her living room before. “Cause of death appears to be a gunshot to the heart,” she heard the coroner tell the sheriff. “The gunpowder and burns on his shirt would indicate he was shot at close range.” “You think he knew his killer?” Jake asked quietly. She didn’t need to hear the answer. She’d seen enough to know how much trouble she was in— especially with Sheriff Jake Rawlins investigating the murder. What had Vance been doing here? Waiting for her? No, he would know she’d gone for a horseback ride. She was a creature of habit and even Vance knew that much about her. Was it possible he had planned to meet someone at her house, knowing she would be gone? Another patrol car came up the road. Two deputies she knew got out, tipped their hats to her and went inside. Jake came out but said nothing. She watched him walk down to her barn. Of course he would check out her story. The sheriff no longer trusted her. A few minutes later, the coroner and deputies brought out the body, clad in a black bag on a stretcher. She saw Jake come back from the barn and studied his expression as he climbed the porch stairs. He’d found her horse and tack. It would still be damp from her long ride earlier. At least this, he would believe. Unfortunately it didn’t give her an alibi. She could have come back earlier than she said and killed Vance, then called the sheriff. She could even have staged falling over him. But what fool would use her own gun and leave it on the floor next to the body? Someone smart, she thought. Someone much smarter than her.

***

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Jake had brought Teddi back from town after getting her sworn statement and checking her clothing and skin for gunpowder residue. Small amounts had been found, but could be accounted for when she fell over the body. Teddi hadn’t said anything on the drive out to the ranch or when they’d arrived. She’d gone straight to the bunkhouse, leaving him with the deputy and the crime scene. He couldn’t do much until tomorrow, but he was too restless to go home. He turned at the sound of a vehicle coming up the ranch road way too fast. With a groan, he recognized the rig. “Where is she?” Molly Price demanded after coming to a dust-boiling stop in the front yard. Jake could have reminded her that this was a crime scene but he knew he would be wasting his breath. “She’s staying in the bunkhouse.” “Don’t even try to stop me from seeing her,” she said as she got out of her pickup. He wouldn’t dream of it. Especially since he knew Teddi needed her best friend right now. “If you think she killed Vance you’re even dumber than I thought.” Jake knew only too well what Molly thought. She wasn’t one to hold back her feelings. She and Teddi had that in common. But he hadn’t needed Molly to tell him what a fool he’d been to let Teddi go. “The evidence will decide who killed Vance,” he said, hating how pompous he sounded. Molly snorted and said something under her breath he was glad he didn’t catch as she headed for the bunkhouse.

*** Teddi was relieved to open the door and find Molly on the steps. “This stinks,” Molly said and hugged her. That pretty much covered it, Teddi thought as Molly stepped back from the hug to study her. “You all right?” Teddi nodded. “I heard you found Vance.” Amazing how quickly news traveled in small-town Montana. “He was killed with my gun,” Teddi said as they stepped inside to sit down. Molly groaned. “The one you kept by the door. Everyone knew about that gun, including Vance.” “But I’m not sure he knew it was loaded,” Teddi said. “When I threatened him with it, he didn’t take it very seriously.” Molly laughed. “That was Vance. Not real bright.”

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“I was the one who wasn’t real bright marrying him. What was I thinking?” “You were thinking it would make Jake Rawlins come to his senses.” Teddi looked at her friend. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” “Isn’t it though.” “I’ve made so many mistakes,” Teddi said with a sigh. “It’s not your fault. It’s that Jake Rawlins. If he was half a man—.” Molly stopped abruptly as Teddi burst into laughter. “What’s so funny?” “That you’re sitting here blaming Jake.” “He let you marry Vance.” “As if he could have stopped me.” Teddi shook her head. “I’m the one who hurt Jake, not the other way around.” “Jake didn’t even put up a decent fight for you,” Molly declared with a snort. “I could kick his backside from here to North Dakota.” Teddi laughed again. “I’m so glad you’re here. I am a little surprised though that Jake let you through.” “Like he could stop me, either.” Jake could have stopped her but he hadn’t. Had he known how much she needed her best friend? “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?” Teddi didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. She couldn’t hide her true heart from her friend. “I hurt him.” “Jake hurt you. He’s the one who should have asked you to marry him. He had his chance. He blew it.” “He wasn’t ready to get married.” She got up and walked to the window. The lights were on in the house, Jake’s patrol car parked outside alongside the deputy’s. That little voice in her head whispered the words she’d feared, words that made her chest ache so badly she could barely breathe. Jake hadn’t loved her enough. Not enough to marry her. Not enough to keep her from marrying Vance. Just plain not enough. The thought pierced her heart like the tip of a blade. Molly rose and joined her at the window. “Feet of clay,” she said muttered as Jake came out of the ranch house. “He hates himself for losing you, you know. That’s what makes him so irascible.” Teddi smiled, loving her friend for trying to make her feel better. But Teddi knew Jake. His pride would never let him forgive her. She’d destroyed any chance they had. She’d done it as intentionally as whoever had shot Vance three times in the chest at close range.

Chapter Three Vance Sheridan had been staying at a rundown motel on the edge of town since he and Teddi had split up.

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As Jake drove out to the motel the next morning, he recalled the day he’d heard about the breakup and impending divorce. Teddi was right, as much as he hated to admit it, he’d been glad. He’d wanted her marriage to fail. He’d wanted her to realize how wrong she’d been to marry Vance. It gave him little satisfaction to know how petty and bitter he’d been. How petty and bitter he could still be. The owner of the motel was waiting for him in front of unit number eight. “Not much to see,” Carl Brainerd said as he unlocked the room. Brainerd was right. Vance didn’t have much to show for his twenty-nine years on earth let alone his sixmonth marriage to Teddi. All of his belongings apparently fit into two large suitcases. Both were lying open on the floor next to his bed in the corner of the motel room. Jake looked through both suitcases, checked the bathroom medicine cabinet for anything of interest and then dug through dirty takeout containers and empty beer cans piled on the nightstands. He found the receipt under the cardboard of an empty six-pack of beer. Apparently Vance had purchased a dozen red roses the morning before he died. Had Vance thought he could get Teddi back with a dozen roses? Jake scoffed at the idea. For starters, she would have preferred a surprise moonlight horseback ride or an impromptu picnic by the creek. At least the woman Jake thought he’d known would have. He tried to remember if he’d seen any flowers at the murder scene. But then he hadn’t been looking for any. He found another receipt in the cluttered motel room. This one was from a jewelry store and also from the morning of Vance Sheridan’s death. Jake started with the flower shop. Mabel Harper remembered selling Vance the dozen roses. “He stood over there and wrote something on a card, put it in one of the envelopes then said he’d be taking the flowers with him. And no, I didn’t see what he wrote.” “How did he pay for the roses?” A dozen roses weren’t cheap and word around town was that Vance was broke, it was one reason he was trying to get Teddi to take him back. “Credit card,” Mabel said one eyebrow arching up. “Who’s name was on the card?” “Vance Sheridan. But I suspected something was wrong even though the card went through so I called Teddi.” Jake knew what was coming. “Teddi had no idea Mr. Sheridan had gotten a card using her good credit—and had it billed to her.” “Let me guess,” Jake said. “Teddi threw a fit.” Mabel nodded. “I don’t blame her a bit for shooting the man.” “We don’t know who shot him,” Jake said with an inward groan. “The murder is still under investigation.” “Still, I think it was in her right to shoot him.”

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He figured Mabel wasn’t alone in believing that Teddi killed Vance. As he left, he wondered if Teddi had realized right away that the marriage was a mistake but just hadn’t been able to admit it. At the jewelry store, he got the same story. Vance had bought a pair of diamond earrings, paid with the same credit card which apparently Teddi hadn’t been able to cancel yet. The clerk had called Teddi with the same results. It angered him that Vance thought he could get Teddi back with diamond earrings. Didn’t the man know that Teddi would have preferred a new western hat or a pair of fancy boots? Obviously not. Upon inquiry, Jake learned that Vance had left the jewelry store and gone across the street to the Roundup Bar and Grill. It wasn’t surprising to hear that Vance had been drinking before he was killed. Jake walked over to the Roundup. Several of the regulars Vance drank with were sitting at the bar. “Were any of you here yesterday when Vance came in?” One of the guys, Al Knox, nodded. “Can you tell me how long he was here?” Knox shrugged. “He had a few beers then left after the second phone call.” “Phone call?” The men exchanged glances. “Teddi called him. I could hear her yelling. Vance was laughing. Seems he’d used her credit card to buy a few things and she found out.” Jake could feel the evidence against Teddi piling up like a snowbank in winter. “And the second call?” “She called back. Couldn’t hear her that time.” “How do you know the second call was from Teddi?” Al shrugged again. “Vance said it was her when he hung up. Said she needed to see him. Planned to settle up with him. Vance was pretty happy since he was into Leroy Barrows for quite a lot of money from a poker game the night before.” Was this what Teddi had been holding back? Or was there even more incriminating evidence he was going to find? As he drove out toward her ranch, he couldn’t help but be angry with her for not telling him about the credit card and the call to Vance at the Roundup. And where were the roses and diamond earrings Vance had bought her? Since they weren’t found in Vance’s truck or his motel room, Teddi must still have them. The diamond earrings would incriminate her since Vance had bought them that morning. If Teddi had the earrings, then she had seen Vance yesterday —the day he died. It would mean she’d lied about that, he thought with a curse. And probably lied about killing Vance as well.

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Teddi came out of the bunkhouse as he parked and got out of his rig. She wore jeans, boots and a pale blue western shirt with silver snaps. Her blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, her western straw hat pulled low to block the sun. Or to hide her expressive blue eyes from him? “Sheriff,” she said by way of greeting. “Mrs. Sheridan.” She bristled, just as he knew she would. “I hope we can keep this short. I have a ranch to run.” Teddi had been single-handedly running the ranch since her father had died and was as independent as any woman he’d ever known. As much as he’d loved her, he’d never felt as if she’d needed him. Another reason he hadn’t married her when he’d had the chance? “You won’t have a ranch to worry about much longer if you don’t start telling me the truth,” he said unable to hide his anger. “Why didn’t you tell me Vance used a credit card yesterday morning that was billed to you? Also that you threatened to kill him when you heard?” “It seemed repetitious since I’ve threatened that so many times, don’t you think?” she asked sarcastically. “Have you come out here to arrest me?” “Why didn’t you tell me that you called Vance at the bar yesterday?” She shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important.” “I have a witness who says you invited Vance out to the ranch.” “That’s not true.” “You didn’t call him back after the first call and say you would settle with him?” She laughed. “What do you think?” she asked cocking her head to one side to grin at him. “Like I could have given him a dime. Over his dead body.” “That’s exactly what worries me. You didn’t get him out here?” “I just told you I didn’t,” she snapped. He glanced toward the house where the yellow crime scene tape was still baring the front door. “I need to know what happened to the gifts he gave you.” When she didn’t answer, he shifted his gaze back to her and saw the high color in her cheeks, the shine of anger and pain in her eyes, and realized what a damned fool he was. While he’d been taking satisfaction in the fact that he knew Teddi better than her husband, he’d completely missed it. “He didn’t give you the gifts.” Jake swore under his breath. He wouldn’t have blamed Teddi for killing Vance at that moment. “Do you have any idea who—” “No,” she said turning away. “I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to be footing the bill for him to romance some other woman.”

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Did she really not care? Jake had been a sheriff long enough to know that for a woman to shoot a man three times at close range she cared. She cared way too much. To make matters worse, it appeared Vance had known his killer well enough to let the person get very close—and with a loaded gun. All the evidence pointed to a woman—and a crime of passion. All the evidence pointed to Teddi.

*** Teddi had known Jake would find out. Her face flamed with embarrassment as she watched him drive away. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d married a penniless rodeo cowboy but she’d wed a no-account cheating one who was going to get her sent to prison for his murder. And to think she’d actually thought marrying Vance was the safe thing to do. She’d known he could never break her heart. He could hurt her. He’d proven that. But as for heartbreak, well Vance hadn’t had what it took—unlike Jake. She grabbed her purse and keys. It was high time she did something to help herself. As it stood, her life was in Jake Rawlins’ hands. The one man who she feared would love to see her go to prison. “Who was Vance seeing?” Teddi asked a few minutes later as she slid onto a stool at the Roundup Bar. Molly glanced up from cutting slices of lemon and grimaced. “Honey, you don’t want to do this.” “No, I don’t. But someone was angry enough at Vance to kill him. I’m putting my money on some woman he wronged.” Molly nodded solemnly. “I just know what I hear.” The curse of a bar owner. Her friend seemed to brace herself as if Teddi wasn’t going to like it. “Lana Morgan.” Teddi didn’t think she was capable of feeling anything but numb after everything that had happened. But she was wrong. The name hit her like a punch in the stomach. Lana Morgan. “Ouch.” “You want me to go with you?” “No,” she said sliding off the bar stool. “My humiliation doesn’t need an audience, but thanks for the offer.” “With the way Lana feels about you, you might want a backup,” Molly said. “I can still throw a nasty left hook.” Teddi laughed, remembering how it had always been Teddi and Molly against Lana and her group of popular girls in high school. “It could get ugly,” Molly said. Teddi couldn’t imagine things getting any uglier than they already were as she drove out to Lana’s place, an old farmhouse, just down the road from her own. She parked when she saw Lana’s SUV parked out front. Bracing herself for what she knew wouldn’t be pretty, she got out. She’d known Lana since grade school. They’d competed against each other for grades, rodeo prizes, scholarships and boys. One of those boys had been Jake.

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Teddi hadn’t taken a step away from her car when she heard a vehicle pull up and turned as a patrol car roared up. Sheriff Jake Rawlins scowled at her from behind the wheel. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Visiting a sick friend,” she shot back. The woman had to be sick if she thought going after Vance was going to hurt Teddi. Jake pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his thick hair. “If I was smart, I’d throw you in jail for your own protection.” “I didn’t know it was against the law to visit my not-quite-ex-husband’s girlfriend,” she said standing her ground. “This is a murder investigation, Teddi.” “I’m more than aware of that,” she snapped back. They both turned at the sound of a door opening. “I wish someone had told me there was going to be a party,” Lana said from the porch. “I would have dressed up.” She wore jeans and an over-sized man’s shirt—one of Vance’s that Teddi had bought him, Teddi noted. “Teddi was just leaving,” Jake said. “Sorry,” Teddi said, “But I need to talk to Lana. So unless you plan to arrest me…” Lana had stepped to the edge of the porch and was watching with obvious amusement. “You two going to fight over me? This ought to be good.” “You are only hurting your case by being here, don’t you know that?” Jake whispered. “I’m not sitting back and going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit, Sheriff,” she hissed back. “Arrest me or leave me alone.” The radio in his patrol car squawked. He cursed under his breath and reached to answer the call. He listened for an instant before turning to Teddi. “I’ll be back. Don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.” With that, he drove off, his tires throwing up a cloud of dust. “You really have a way with men,” Lana commented. “What do you want?” Teddi walked over to the porch. “I came about Vance.” “What about him?” Lana asked with a smirk. “For starters,” she said as she stepped past the woman onto the porch and through the doorway into the living room, “where are the gifts he gave you?” “Hey!” Lana hollered behind her. “Get out of my house.” Teddi sniffed the air, expecting the strong sweet fragrance of a dozen roses. She turned, frowning, to look at Lana who stood in the doorway. “You were so mad at him you didn’t even keep the roses? You must have been furious enough to kill him.” “I don’t know what you’re—”

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But Teddi didn’t catch the rest of it. She pushed past, descending the porch steps and making a beeline to the trash container waiting on the curb. “I’m calling the sheriff!” Lana yelled after her as Teddi lifted the lid. Blood red rose petals and broken stems were crushed into the trash. Teddi turned to look back at Lana Morgan, who stood on the porch with her cell phone in her hand and a stricken look on her face. “Don’t bother to call Jake,” Teddi said as she looked up to see a familiar patrol car headed their way again. “Here he comes now.”

*** “I told you, I don’t know anything about any diamond earrings,” Lana said irritably. Once Jake had seen the destroyed roses, Teddi had demanded to know what Lana had done with the other gift and with just the mention of diamond earrings, it had become clear from Lana’s angry reaction that she hadn’t been the recipient. Jake had insisted Teddi leave and he took the now furious Lana inside to question her. “If Vance didn’t give you the other gift and he didn’t give them to Teddi…” “I could care less what happened to them,” Lana said scowling at him. “Apparently, he gave them to someone else. And no, I wouldn’t know who that would be.” Jake thought he saw a slight change in her expression. “A name come to mind?” Lana wet her lips. “I saw him talking to a woman one night outside the Roundup. It was too dark to see who and they were both gone when I drove back past.” She realized she’d given herself away. “I was curious, all right?” Or she was already starting to get suspicious of Vance. And angry like she was now. “You ask him about it?” Jake knew she had. “He said he couldn’t remember, then said it was probably Molly. He said she was giving him a hard time about Teddi.” Molly? Jake didn’t like the sound of that, especially given how protective Molly was of Teddi. “Why don’t you tell me about the roses?” he said. “What’s to tell? Vance said he was going back to his wife—that Teddi was taking him back.” Jake noticed the discrepancy. Teddi was taking him back? Al Knox had said she was settling with him. “He told you this where?” “I ran into him as he was leaving the bar.” Checking up on Vance again, Jake wondered. “He told me Teddi had called and was taking him back.” “And the roses?” Jake asked.

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“Apparently they were a consolation prize.” She met his gaze. “I never did like taking second place.” Jake couldn’t have missed her meaning. He’d made the mistake of taking Lana out after Teddi had married Vance. He’d known Teddi would hear about it. When he hadn’t called Lana again, he’d gotten a sample of her anger. So how mad would she have been if she’d found out that she wasn’t even second, or even maybe third or fourth? And what if she’d known about the earrings? Found out that while she got roses, some other woman was getting diamonds? Of course there was always the chance that Vance decided to give the earrings to Teddi as a peace offering, only someone killed him and took the diamond earrings before Teddi returned to the ranch house. A long shot at best. What if Lana had followed Vance? “You must have been pretty mad at Vance.” “If you think you can use me to get Teddi off, think again. I wouldn’t have wasted a bullet on Vance. Let alone three.” “Who told you he’d been shot three times?” Jake asked. Lana laughed. “Everyone in town knows. They also know who killed him. Teddi MacLane.” “Where were you yesterday afternoon?” he asked. “Here. Alone.” “Did anyone see you? Anyone call who can verify that?” She shook her head. “I didn’t know I was going to need an alibi.” He recalled seeing the empty quart container of chocolate mint ice cream in the trash as well several empty boxes of chocolates and dozens of used tissues mixed in with the demolished roses. He had a pretty good idea of how Lana had spent her afternoon. But had she sat here wallowing in self pity until she was so angry she could kill Vance? Her place was only a short distance from Teddi’s ranch. She could even have gone there by horseback. “I’d like to see the clothing you were wearing yesterday,” he said. “Sorry, I threw it in the wash this morning. I didn’t know you’d be interested.” Right. “I don’t have to tell you not to leave town, do I?” he asked. She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*** “Vance was seeing someone else,” Teddi told Molly as they talked quietly at the end of the bar. The place was pretty quiet this afternoon. Some of the regulars were at the other end of the bar and a young couple was playing pool while a country western song played on the jukebox. Why did every country western song remind her of Jake?

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“I have no idea who else it might have been, seriously,” Molly said. “It was no secret he was seeing Lana. But if there was someone else, he sure didn’t let on, which is strange. He liked to brag to the guys.” Teddi just bet he did. Vance was as subtle as a bulldozer. So why keep this other woman a secret?

*** Hap Ryerson’s pickup wasn’t parked outside the Roundup Bar and Grill, something that surprised the sheriff as he drove on down the road to find Hap at home. Hap Ryerson was a rancher’s son who’d never done much ranching. After his father had turned over the place to him, Hap had sold off most of the land, leased the rest and become a regular at the Roundup Bar— something that hadn’t pleased Hap’s wife, Sarah. And at the Roundup, Hap was considered Vance Sheridan’s closest drinking buddy. As Jake parked and went to the door, he thought about two weeks ago when he had to come out here on a domestic disturbance call. Hap had a bad habit of getting drunk and coming home looking for trouble. Unfortunately, his wife Sarah would never press charges. When Hap opened the door to Jake’s knock, he didn’t look any happier to see him this time than last. “What brings you out this way, Sheriff?” Hap asked, blocking the doorway. Jake pulled off his hat. “Mind if I come in, Hap? I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Hap was big and blond. He’d been a lady killer in high school when he’d been a star on the football team. “About what?” Sarah Ryerson appeared in the hallway behind Hap. She was as dark haired as Hap was blond. The two had been high school sweethearts. “I need to talk to you about Vance Sheridan’s murder,” Jake said and caught Sarah’s worried expression since Hap still hadn’t moved. “I could come back with a warrant if you like.” “Can’t imagine how I can help you but come on in,” Hap said with obvious reluctance. “Hello, Sarah,” Jake said. “Sheriff. If the two of you will excuse me, I have to see to my baking in the kitchen.” She scurried off, but not before Jake had seen the black eye she’d tried to hide under a ton of makeup. Hap led him into the living room. Jake caught a whiff of what smelled like brownies baking in the kitchen. He would have loved to have arrested Hap on domestic abuse but Sarah had insisted the single call was a mistake. No way would she have pressed charges. And there hadn’t been another call since. Jake knew if he asked her about her eye, she would lie. He’d seen enough of these kinds of cases to know that wives often covered for their husbands – just as they covered up their injuries. “When was the last time you saw Vance?” Jake asked, taking out his notebook and pen. “The day he died,” Hap said. “I was sitting right next to him at the bar when he got the calls. Teddi called yelling at him, then must have calmed down some because she called right back.” “You’re sure it was Teddi who called the second time?”

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“Vance ought to know his own wife’s voice, don’t you think? Why would he lie?” Probably for the same reason Vance would cheat on Teddi. The man was a fool. “Tell me what you heard of the phone call.” Hap shrugged. “I had to go to the john but when I came back Vance was all smiles. Said Teddi had finally come around. She was going to settle up with him and that he was going out to get what he deserved.” Pretty much what Al Knox had told Jake. “Were you at the card game the night before?” Jake asked. “I heard Vance lost to Leroy Barrows.” Hap nodded. “Vance planned to pay Leroy when he settled with Teddi.” “Vance couldn’t have expected to get much given that he and Teddi were only married six months.” Hap shrugged. “All I know is that Vance needed that money. He was into Leroy pretty deep.” Motive. Leroy had to know that he’d never see that money. Jake felt like he’d gotten his first possible break in the case.

*** Jake found Teddi sitting on the bunkhouse steps, staring up at the clouds. Without a word he sat down beside her. The afternoon was warm. A faint breeze carried the sweet earthy scent of pine down from the mountains around them. “I was scared of marriage,” he said. She glanced over him. “I realized what a fool I’d been the moment I heard about you and Vance but by then…” “It was too late,” she finished for him. “I’d run off and married Vance.” “I’m sorry.” “Me too,” she said quietly next to him and went back to staring up at the clouds. He studied her. Her face was lit from the sun and an inner light that never seemed to dim. Just the sight of her filled him with so much regret he ached. He cleared his throat. “If you’re worried about going to prison for Vance’s murder…” She brushed that off with a wave of her hand. “I know you’d never let me go to prison for a crime I didn’t commit.” He chuckled at that. She glanced over at him, her blue eyes large and liquid. “You’re just not that kind of man.”

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What kind of man was he that he’d let this woman slip through his fingers? He could hear the crickets chirping in the nearby bushes, feel the sun warm his face, smell the rich scent of freshly cut hay. He rose to his feet. “I’ll find Vance’s killer.” She smiled up at him. “I never doubted it.” He grinned, knowing that was a lie. He left her sitting there. As the sun dipped behind the mountains, an owl hooted from its roost by the barn. It was the loneliest sound he’d ever heard.

Chapter Four Jake got the call as he was heading back to town. “Thought you’d want to know right away. Your victim had gunpowder burns on his hands.” “Which would indicate that he shot himself?” “Or that he struggled with his killer for the gun.” Jake rubbed a hand over his face and swore under his breath. He’d been under the assumption that Vance was killed by a woman. But Vance was big and strong. It would have taken a man to wrestle the gun away from Vance and pump three shots into him. Unfortunately, Leroy Barrows, the man Vance owed money to, was a slight man. He couldn’t have put up much of a fight against Vance Sheridan. “Which means I’ve been going at this all wrong,” Jake said to himself as he hung up. Vance had used a credit card billed to Teddi to buy diamond earrings. If Teddi hadn’t called him and offered to settle, then Vance would know after the first phone call at the bar that she’d cancelled the card. He needed money. Was it possible he had planned to give Teddi the diamond earrings as a peace offering but realizing that wasn’t going to work, wouldn’t he try to turn them into cash? It seemed like a reasonable assumption. There wasn’t a pawn shop in town, but there were two in shops in the next largest town. Jake stopped by the jewelry store to borrow a pair of earrings comparable to the ones Vance had purchased. No luck at the first pawn shop and Jake was beginning to question his theory when the owner of the second pawn shop recognized the diamond earrings. “They weren’t pawned,” the elderly owner informed him. “Sold them outright. You’d think they were blood diamonds the way she wanted to get rid of them,” he said with a chuckle that told Jake the pawn shop owner had gotten a deal on them. “She?” “A pretty little thing. Long dark hair, big brown eyes. Cute as she could be. I just assumed she wanted the money so she could leave the guy who gave her the shiner,” the pawnbroker said. Jake swore under his breath. He could see where the pawn shop owner might jump to that assumption but the sheriff knew that wasn’t the case.

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Sarah Ryerson had gotten rid of the diamond earrings to protect her husband.

*** Teddi was too restless to sit still. Earlier, she’d come home and done chores, feeling frustrated and helpless. She had no idea who else Vance might have been seeing. But it kept her mind off thinking about Jake and what he’d said when he’d come out to see her. Grabbing her hat, she headed for the barn. The only thing that would settle her down was a ride. She had just started to saddle her horse when she heard a vehicle pull in the ranch yard. Had Jake come back? She put down the saddle and started toward the door of the barn. But before she could reach it, the doorway filled with the dark silhouette of a man. This man was stockier, thicker at the middle. Not Jake. She stopped, sensing something wrong. “Hap?” Teddi said as Hap Ryerson stepped into the light. She knew the man although she didn’t think they’d spoken more than a dozen words to each other over the years. He’d been two years ahead of her in school, popular, a football star and dated the prettiest most popular girl—Sarah Collins. Sarah and Lana Morgan had been best friends. Since then, Teddi knew that Hap had become a regular at the Roundup Bar and even more recently, he’d become Vance’s best buddy. Molly didn’t have much regard for Hap and from what Teddi had heard through the grapevine, neither did anyone else in town. Pine Creek was a working community and Hap didn’t work. “Something I can help you with?” she asked trying to imagine what Hap was doing here. Something in the way he was just standing though put her on guard. “If this is about Vance…” she said feeling her unease grow as Hap stepped deeper into the barn. But it wasn’t until Hap moved closer and she saw the expression on his face that her fear spiked and she knew she was in terrible trouble.

*** Hap Ryerson’s pickup wasn’t at the Roundup Bar. Nor was it parked in front of the house as Jake got out of his patrol car. All the color drained from Sarah Ryerson’s face as she opened the door to him. Her black eye was now turning yellow at one corner under her makeup. “Sheriff,” she said but didn’t invite him in. “We need to talk about Vance Sheridan.”

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Sarah Ryerson seemed to shrink before his eyes. He glanced around as if after someone might hear. “Come in.” The house was cool and dim. She dropped in a chair across from him, her head down. “You have the wrong idea.” “Why don’t you straighten me out then.” “We weren’t having an affair.” “But Hap thought you were.” She nodded miserably. “It’s all my fault. I was flattered by the attention and Hap—“ She waved a hand through the air. And Hap was at the bar all the time, coming home drunk and mean. Jake got that part. “Vance gave you diamond earrings.” “They were just a present. He knew I wasn’t happy and he thought…” She looked up at Jake, tears in her eyes. “He was kind to me. It wasn’t as if he expected anything in return.” Jake wondered if the woman was really that naïve. “Hap found out?” “He doesn’t know about the earrings, I got rid of them, but he came home early from the Roundup and saw Vance driving off.” “That’s when he gave you the black eye.” She touched the corner of her eye, ducking her head again. “Hap was sorry.” They always were. Until the next time. “Where is your husband now?” “He said he was going by the Roundup to have a drink.” Jake called the Roundup Bar as soon as he reached his car. “Have you seen Hap Ryerson?” he asked when Molly answered. “He was in earlier, throwing down drinks like there was no tomorrow. I was about to cut him off when he just up and left.” “Any idea where he went?” “Nope, but he was upset about something. He left a full beer on the bar. That’s not like Hap,” Molly said. Jake hung up and called Teddi’s number. The phone rang four times before voice mail picked up. He left a message. “Call me when you get this. It’s important.” Where was she? And more to the point, where was Hap? Jake turned his patrol car toward the Last Chance Ranch, hoping to hell he was wrong.

***

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“Hap, what’s going on?” Teddi asked, even though it was pretty clear. She could see the fury in his expression and smell the alcohol on him. “This mess…” he said, slurring his words. She backed up, banging into the stall door, her mind racing for a way out of this. “…it’s all your fault,” Hap said. Did he think she’d killed Vance? “If you’d been the kind of wife Vance needed he would have left my Sarah alone.” Sarah? Teddi could have argued that Vance’s behavior had nothing to do with her, but she could tell that wasn’t what Hap wanted to hear right now. She considered her chances of trying to get past Hap in the narrow aisle between the stalls and thought better of it. “Sarah loves you,” she said, grasping at straws. “She wasn’t interested in Vance.” But even as she said it, she knew the kind of charming web that Vance could weave. Any woman could find herself susceptible to Vance—at least for a while. “If you hadn’t married Vance Sheridan none of this would have happened,” Hap said. “Vance would have gone back on the rodeo circuit. He would have left town.” He had no idea how much she’d wished she’d done just that. Unfortunately, Vance wouldn’t have left town, though. He had nowhere to go. “Hap, that’s not true. Vance was washed up in rodeo,” she said. “He’d burned too many bridges.” She’d found this all out, of course, after she’d married him. “It doesn’t matter,” Hap slurred. “Nothing matters.” He grabbed a shovel from the front of the last stall where she’d been working earlier. Her pulse jumped as he lifted the shovel and moved clumsily toward her. He had her trapped and even full of alcohol she knew he wasn’t going to miss with something the size of a shovel blade. “Hap, you don’t want to do this.” She stepped back as he closed the distance between them. “This is crazy.” The pitchfork she’d used earlier was stuck in a bail of hay behind her and to her right. She edged away from Hap and toward the pitchfork, hoping she could reach it before Hap got within shovel-swinging distance. “Vance told me you were taking him back, but I knew better,” Hap said as he stumbled toward her, the shovel handle clutched in his meaty fists. “I knew you. You weren’t taking him back. Nor were you settling with him. Vance was lying. Lying to me. His best friend. I knew then that he was going to Sarah.” Teddi kept backing up, slowly so he wouldn’t realize where she was headed. Just a little farther. “I’d suspected it. Sarah got all sparkly-eyed around Vance. I knew that look.” Meanness closed over his features like a mask. “I followed him from the bar but he must have spotted me because he turned toward your ranch.”

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Vance had known she wouldn’t be home because she always went for a long horseback ride when she was upset. And he had sure as the devil upset her earlier that day and he knew it since she’d called him at the bar, furious. She stumbled into the hay bail. Hap was still coming toward mumbling about Vance denying everything. She knew Vance would have tried to bluff his way out of it when confronted. He would have gone into the house, pretending he thought she was in there waiting for him. “It was self-defense,” Teddi said making Hap stop. He blinked at her as if he’d been lost in memory. “He pulled the gun down and threatened you, right?” “I took the gun away from him. I was so angry…” His gaze focused on her again. Even Hap as loaded as he was knew that shooting a man three times at point blank range would be a hard self-defense argument before a jury. Especially given Hap’s size. “Think of Sarah,” Teddi said. “Think what this will do to her.” She said the words more to herself than to Hap. Once she grabbed the pitchfork behind her, there would be no turning back. “Sarah?” Hap let out a laugh. “She would have left me, run off with him. She’s the one who called Vance that second time at the bar. I could tell by the way he talked to her. I knew.” He raised the shovel, now within striking distance. “I thought once Vance was dead we could go back to the way it was.” He shook his head. “You should have kept your husband at home.” As Teddi dodged to one side, she reached behind her, grabbed the pitchfork and swung around with all her strength. The shovel deflected her strike. A loud clatter filled the air. Her arms chattered with the vibration. She slipped to one side as Hap raised the shovel again and swung.

*** Jake’s heart dropped when he saw Hap’s pickup parked in front of Teddi’s house. He roared up into the yard, leaping out of the patrol car and running toward the house. But he quickly found out she wasn’t inside. As he raced back outside, he heard the scream and tore off across the yard toward the barn. His gun was out of the holster as he burst into the barn. “Drop it, Hap!” he yelled. “Drop it or I’ll shoot.” Hap froze for just an instant, the scene branded in Jake’s mind forever. Teddi caught in the corner against a stack of hay bales. Hap with a pitchfork stuck in him holding a shovel as if about to take a swing at a slow pitch. “Drop the shovel and turn around!” Jake ordered. “Don’t make me shoot you.” Hap didn’t turn. The muscles in his back bunched as he swung through with the shovel. Jake aimed and fired two quick shots, both centered at heart level. Teddi threw herself to one side as the shovel hit the wall with a clang and Hap Ryerson stumbled forward, driving the tines of the pitchfork the rest of the way through him. Jake didn’t remember covering the ground to Teddi any more than he recalled grabbing her up into his arms or her burying her face in his neck as he dropped to the floor with her, rocking her and saying all the things that he thought he’d waited too long to say.

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Something had happened in that instant when he’d seen Teddi trapped at the back of the barn and Hap Ryerson standing over her with the shovel. Jake had realized how much he needed Teddi in his life, the past be damned. And he realized that Teddi needed him. For just an instant, Jake Rawlins had seen the future without Teddi MacLane in his life. “Marry me,” he’d said as he carried her outside into the evening light. A few stars had popped out over head in the vast clear deepening blue. She had her arms around his neck, her eyes wide and shimmering. When he looked into those eyes he saw the two of them at their fiftieth anniversary surrounded by their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. “Marry me, Teddi MacLane. I can’t live another day without you.” He was afraid she’d say no. Their eyes locked for a long moment then she touched her lips to his and mouthed yes against his mouth. The kiss was pure bliss. He hugged her to him, thanking his lucky stars that he’d been given a second chance.

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And a Dead Guy in a Pear Tree by Leslie Kelly Holly Cavanaugh has one chance to prove to the travel show Weekend Getaway that her struggling B&B is a perfect destination. So she decks the halls, winds the garland, hangs the mistletoe, unwraps the Christmas tree and—finds a body. At that moment, a reporter arrives. And it’s none other than her ex, Zach Weldon, looking sexier than ever. Thinking he’s with the travel show, she’s forced to distract Zach by any means necessary while her maid and grandparents can hide the body. Only Zach is actually a newspaper reporter on the trail of two diamond thieves. And one of them is unusually interested in Holly’s tree….

Chapter One With a crew from a Chicago-area travel show arriving in mere hours to do a story on Holly Cavanaugh’s struggling B&B, the last thing she wanted to see was a dead guy on her living room floor. Well, maybe not the very last thing. An eviction notice on the door—that would be awful. Or, the expression on her grandfather’s face if they lost his family home. That’d be worse. But a stiff on the floor was pretty damn close. “Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?” Regina Bates, Holly’s maid asked. Her heavily shadowed eyes had grown to the size of Frisbees. “If you’re thinking it’s a corpse, then yes.” Holly couldn’t believe the calmness of her tone, especially because her heart was cart-wheeling in her chest. Other than it, the Hollyberry Inn looked postcard-perfect. From the laurel wreath on the door, to the loops of greenery festooning the foyer, to the sheen on the freshly-polished oak floors, the whole place exuded warmth and holiday cheer. Each immaculate room invited people to visit—now. Well, each room except this one—the room where the dead guy had just fallen out of the Christmas tree. “Are we, like, on some practical-joke TV show?” “I don’t think so.” Too bad. When they’d cut the tight, plastic binding off the huge fir and a body had fallen from its branches, their expressions had probably been Emmy-worthy. But a TV crew couldn’t have set this up. They couldn’t have known her grandfather would come in here last night and—against express orders—jack up the radiator so it fried Holly’s perfectly decorated Christmas tree, leaving needles in a thick moat around it. Nor could they have known she’d dash to the nearest tree lot and buy a replacement without even looking at it. She’d been so panicked, she’d just demanded the tallest one they had, not even wasting a few precious minutes to have them unbind it. And they couldn’t have counted on her and Regina dragging the monstrous tree inside, putting it in the stand and then cutting off the binding so Mr. Corpse could tumble down, crashing against the nativity set, sending a heavenly angel flying and Baby Jesus spinning. Baby Jesus was okay, thank God. But that was more than she could say for the man sprawled at her feet.

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“Are you sure he’s dead?” Regina asked. Holly didn’t exactly consider herself an expert, but judging by the stiffness of the guy and his wide-open eyes, she felt pretty confident. The short-statured man’s skin was bluish, but otherwise there wasn’t a mark on him. “He’s dead,” Holly confirmed. “Do you think he fell into that tree binding machine?” Regina asked. Her face paled even beneath her Goth makeup. “My boyfriend worked at a tree lot last year and he and his buddies used to dare each other to dive through one.” Having met said boyfriend, she was impressed that he’d had the brains to refuse. “They never died or nothin’.” Scratch that. “I’d better go call 911,” Holly murmured, though a big part of her recoiled at the idea. Calling 911 would mean police and ambulances and inquiries. All her work would be destroyed by crime scene tape and the swarm of law enforcement who would inevitably follow. It was a scene out of CSI—not the featured story on the Weekend Getaways show, the special that was supposed to save them all. Turning her grandfather’s century-old, historic mansion into a bed and breakfast had been Holly’s idea. It was supposed to help them hold onto it, but they’d had to mortgage heavily. If they didn’t get some serious business coming in, the bank would foreclose on that mortgage. Her grandparents would be homeless. So, with no bookings at the busiest travel time of the year, Holly cold-called the travel show and got her first break. They’d scheduled the taping and Holly had believed that her luck was turning—until the dead guy fell out of the tree. No TV crew would film around cops, rescue vehicles and corpses. And even if she could get the producer to reschedule, it would be too late. Her grandparents would lose everything. And it would be entirely Holly’s fault.

Chapter Two Zach Weldon was, of course, not the only reporter covering the robbery of millions in loose stones from a Chicago diamond importer—but he was the only one with an advantage. A detective friend had tipped him to the last known address of one of the suspects, knowing Zach had once lived in that same town. Naturally, it was pure quid pro quo. Zach would have to call in right away if he actually found anything. His friend said that the Chicago PD had ruled out the connection, but Zach figured a lead was a lead—which was why he was currently in Wheaton, Illinois, the dinky town he’d lived in during high school. His father had died shortly after he’d left for college and his mother had remarried and moved away. The one other reason he’d had for returning to visit had dumped him. So he’d never gone back. He sometimes wondered what had happened to her…that one reason. Considering Holly Cavanaugh had punched him the last time he saw her, he doubted she’d be up for a reunion. God, how could he have been stupid enough to let her get away? Enough. He had a story to cover. Though he’d never have dreamed it possible, he hit pay dirt almost immediately. Spying an elderly man unloading fresh trees at a temporary Christmas tree lot, he’d shown him a photo of Fred Kipling, a “person of interest” in the robbery. And was stunned by the response. “Yessir, that looks like it could be him. Surly fella. Had a gun on him.”

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“He pulled a gun on you?” “No, I held a gun on him. I came here late last night and found him inside the lot, wrestling with one of the twelve footers, trying to steal it.” Zach had a hard time picturing a pair of wanted robbers stopping to pick out a nice Douglas fir. “Was he alone?” He grabbed another picture, a mug-shot of Kipling’s partner, Leo “Teenie” Meaney, who was half Kipling’s size…and had twice his temper. “Was this guy with him?” The old man glanced at the photo, shook his head and hacked a phlegmy cough. “Nope. Feller was alone. ’Tween me and my shotgun, we let him know what we think of thieves around here.” He wondered what the old man would say if he learned he’d confronted a pretty ruthless one. “He said he’d pay for it, but didn’t have enough cash so he was coming back today with the rest. Problem was, when he came back for the tree, it’d been sold.” “He was already here?” Nodding, the man hacked again, then spat on the ground. My, how Zach missed these small town niceties. “My grandson’s a good, strong boy, but don’t he have a head like a rock? He didn’t see the red ribbon that meant the tree’d been reserved and he let somebody else have it.” “Where did he go?” “Probably hunting up some breakfast. He’s a healthy eater, that boy….” “I meant the angry man,” Zach snapped. “Dunno. Said he had to have that tree and wanted to know who bought it.” “You didn’t tell him!” The man shook his head, causing Zach to sigh in relief. It sounded as though Kipling had hidden something in the tree. The diamonds perhaps? And if so, whoever had ended up with it could be standing between a dangerous criminal and his loot. “But my grandson did. Like I said—noggin like a boulder.” Zach managed to hide his frustration, though his jaw was clenched hard enough to break his teeth. “Who did buy the tree?” he bit out. The man smiled. “Nice lady. Runs the new inn out on Mill Road, on the north shore of the lake. She’s…” Zach didn’t wait for the man to finish. He was already hurrying to his car, concerned about the “nice lady” who might be getting a visit from a murderous criminal. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

*** “Oh my God, someone’s at the door!”

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Holly Cavanaugh wondered if she looked as terrified as her maid, Regina, did. They were, after all, standing above a dead body that had fallen out of a Christmas tree. A TV crew from the Chicago show Weekend Getaways would be arriving in two hours. And now they had an unexpected visitor. “Get rid of whoever it is while I…” Stash the stiff? Call the police? Run and hide? When the maid came back, she looked even more panicked. “It’s them!” “Who?” “The TV people! They’re early! I answered the door and this dude says he’s a reporter….” This couldn’t be happening. “Where is he?” “I shut the door and came to warn you.” Oh joy—a great first impression for the critics. She had to think quickly. Call the police? Or save the inn? It was a no-brainer. “I’ll keep the reporter busy. You go get Manny. He’s working on the furnace. Have him help you move this guy into the storage shed.” Swallowing hard as she realized what she intended to do, she added, “We’ll call the police the minute they leave.” She was going to burn in hell for this. Or go to jail. Somehow though, she managed to paste a calm expression on her face. At least until she opened the front door and saw the tall, dark-haired man on her front porch. Then she did exactly what her erstwhile maid had done. She slammed the door right in Zach Weldon’s face.

Chapter Three Zach Weldon had been more than a little surprised when a heavily pierced, pale-faced brunette wearing all black had slammed the door to the Hollyberry Inn in his face. But when a sweet-faced redhead did exactly the same thing one minute later, he was stunned. Because he recognized that sweet-faced redhead. “Holly?” He knocked on the door, hard, wondering if his heart was racing because it was her—the only girl he’d ever regretted losing—or because he was worried that an armed jewel thief was already inside the house. A hostage situation might explain the door slamming. But then, so could the fact she thought he was a cheating dog. “Open the door, Holly!” After a long pause, she did, peering around the corner of the oak door and studying him head to toe. “It’s you.” “Yeah.” She looked good. Incredibly good. Her strawberry-blond hair had darkened to near auburn and it hung in a silky curtain around her shoulders. Her green eyes were so wide that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in the iris. And though more mature, her face still had the slightly upturned nose and a smattering of freckles across her high cheekbones.

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The one thing missing was that brilliant smile, the one thing that had reduced his usual smooth-talking teenage self into the verbal equivalent of a foreign exchange student. Now, it was conspicuous in its absence. “This is your grandparents’ house, isn’t it,” Zach said, not really asking since he knew it was true. Holly had brought him out here to meet them a couple of times when they were dating, but today, he’d been so preoccupied with finding out if a dangerous jewel thief was around, he hadn’t even registered the location or even looked at the building until she’d answered the door. “Yes,” she murmured. “Now it’s an inn. Are you really…my maid said you’re a reporter?” He nodded. “I am.” “What did I do to deserve this?” Nibbling her lip, she half-lowered her lashes and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Other than that." Before he could ask what she meant, Holly slipped outside onto the porch. She tugged the door shut behind her, having to move close since he blocked her path. Only a few inches of cold, winter air separated them. If he were a gentleman, he’d step back, giving her more space. But he wasn’t. And if Holly Cavanaugh couldn’t stand the heat, she shouldn’t have stepped so close and turned his entire body into a blazing furnace. “Of all people, why in God’s name did it have to be you?" “You’re not happy to see me. I’m crushed,” he murmured, unable to prevent a tiny smile. The Holly he remembered had always been cheerful—except that last night when she’d found him passed out at a buddy’s house. With his ex-girlfriend lying beside him. On that occasion, sweet little Holly had been a kick-ass, violent tornado. “You’re early.” He quirked a confused brow. “I mean, we’re not quite ready yet.” He glanced at the closed door, wondering what was behind her odd behavior. An inn not ready to greet guests? Or a desperate, armed criminal trying to find the loot he’d stashed in a Christmas tree? “I think you’d better let me inside.”

*** The last thing Holly wanted to do was spend one minute with Zach Weldon, the first guy—the only guy—she’d ever really loved. But if he was here to do the story on the inn, she had no choice. Considering the number of tears she’d shed over Zach, inviting him back into her life would be downright stupid. But foreclosure? That would be worse. “Let’s tour the grounds first. Where’s the rest of your crew?” “My crew?” “Oh, is that why you’re early? To get the lay of the land first? If so, let’s start outside…it’s, uh, a beautiful day.”

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It was a flipping brutal day, so cold her fingertips were already numb and her nipples had turned into two rock-hard spikes against her thin sweater. Only the cold. Her body’s reaction had nothing to do with his nearness. If only she could convince herself of that. Because, while Zach had once been a teenage heartthrob with his lean build, longish brown hair and devilish smile, he’d turned into an absolutely mouthwatering man. He was still lean, especially in the hips, but broader in the shoulder and the chest. His dark eyes were no longer dreamy, they were piercing. His face had been youthful and soft then, but was rugged and strong now, with slashing cheekbones, a strong, resolute jaw and a sensually curved mouth. In short, he was to die for. Die. That reminded her. Hello? Dead guy in the living room. She grabbed his arm, forcing herself to ignore the resulting spark of heated awareness. “Shall we walk around?” He didn’t budge. Instead, Zach stared down at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. Finally he murmured, “No. I don’t think so. I want to see what’s going on inside.”

Chapter Four Zach was going inside, whether Holly Cavanaugh liked it or not. She was trying to keep him from entering the inn and the first reason that came to mind was that an armed thug was inside holding someone hostage. Damn, he should have called the police before heading up here. He’d just taken off, worried about the unknown lady who’d bought a Christmas tree possibly containing stolen diamonds pursued by at least one dangerous criminal. What would he have done if he’d known that woman was Holly Cavanaugh? Driven faster. He lifted his hand as if coughing, shielding his mouth from view of the window. “Is something going on?” Her face blanched—all the proof he needed. “Call 911,” he barked, tossing her his phone. Then he pushed the door open and strode inside to find— Nothing. Not a soul was in sight. The cheery foyer looked warm and welcoming, ready to greet holiday visitors, though judging by the empty parking lot and silence in the building, there were none. “What the hell are you doing?” Holly had followed him inside, and she looked…hot. Not just sexy hot, but ticked-off hot. He remembered that she really didn’t like any macho crap. Playing protector maybe hadn’t been the best way to win her cooperation. “I’m sorry. I thought… Has a tall, beefy man been here today?” She shook her head a little too quickly. “Nope. No tall, big guy. Now, listen, I might have to deal with you professionally, but just because we had a few sessions of grope-and-grab in the back seat of your rusted Chevy in the old days doesn’t give you the right to manhandle me now.” “Grope-and-grab?” Zach murmured, his voice throaty. He stepped closer, unable to help it, drawn to the fire in her eyes and the flame of her hair. “I think it was more than that.” They had, after all, dated for nearly two years during their senior year of high school and freshman year of college. Eight years ago. Could it really have been that long since he’d seen her, touched her, breathed her in?

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Zach lifted a hand to her cheek, running the tip of one finger over it, feeling the coldness of her skin. Cupping her face in his hand, he moved closer so their legs brushed and their chests met. Even through his coat he felt her heat. Gazing down, he noted the creaminess of her skin, revealed by the deep V of her sweater. And the fullness of her breasts, punctuated by her hard nipples thrusting against the soft fabric. “Don’t stand so close.” Her voice held no conviction. Holly’s breath was raspy, her lips parted. When she moistened them with her tongue, he groaned and bent toward her, knowing she’d probably punch him again but needing to kiss her too badly to care. A breath away from her lips, he was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the room to the right. “What the…” He couldn’t finish the question—Holly’s hands had come up and tangled in his hair. She pressed her mouth to his in a deep, hungry kiss that made Zach forget all about the noise, the diamonds, the robbery. There was only her.

*** Being in Zach’s arms again for the first time in eight years would have been enough to drive just about anything out of Holly’s head. Anything except the dead guy on her living room floor. Although she’d grabbed Zach and planted a kiss on his surprised mouth to prevent him from going into the room and finding the corpse, she quickly realized she liked it. Oh, did she like it. He felt so good, the curve of his lips matching perfectly the bow of her own. Beginning to forget why she’d started this, Holly let her mouth open a little, enticing him to deepen the intimacy. He accepted the invitation with a slow stroke of his tongue against hers. Whimpering low in her throat, Holly tilted her head, wanting even more—and Zach obliged. He’d always been an incredible kisser, but she could recognize the sheer artistry of the man now that she was no longer a silly virgin determined to keep her hymen. When Holly had been dating Zach, her mother had been on her third marriage and her sixth suspiciously muscular gardener, while her father had just become engaged to his pregnant secretary. Sex seemed casual, selfish and often crude, leaving Holly determined that she would not play the same games or be another shoot on the Infidelity Tree. Of course, she grew up and realized the problem wasn’t sex but her parents’ own self-centeredness. But by then, Zach had been well out of her life. Holly had a few regrets, but she never dwelled on them. The only one she’d held onto was her sadness that her first lover had not been Zach—the only guy she’d ever really loved—rather than a frat boy she’d met when she’d transferred to a college in North Carolina. If she’d lost her virginity to Zach, she suspected she would like sex more. Judging by this deep, slow, sweet kiss, a lot more. Which left her wondering—since he’d come back into her life so unexpectedly, could she take him now the way she’d been too naive to do eight years ago?

Chapter Five Zach was fully aware that Holly was kissing him only to distract him, but for the first minute of that kiss he didn’t care. She tasted the same—sweet and warm. But the last time she’d been in his arms she’d had an air of innocence.

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Now she exuded sensuality. She melted against him, meeting every thrust of his tongue, sighs of pleasure emerging from her throat. Zach’s body reacted strongly and she obviously noticed. Holly rose on tiptoe to rub against his rock-hard erection, quivering with sensation. He dropped his hands to the shapely curves of her ass, lifting her, increasing the heat. “Oh God, yes,” she whispered against his lips. He didn’t know which turned him on more—the feel of her or that wondrous tone in her voice. He knew from experience that she was incredibly responsive, that he could bring her to a shattering peak of pleasure with a few touches. He’d love to do it, knowing now there would be no stopping afterward, no hand job in the back seat of his Chevy before they both returned—unfulfilled—to their dorms. He’d make her come, then find the nearest soft surface and do what he’d wanted to do to her on those long, frustrating college nights. But another loud thump finally pierced through the lust-drenched cells of his brain. He pulled his hands off her and stepped back. Back toward reality and the present, where a dangerous situation could be going on in that unknown room. “Holly, tell me what’s happening,” he demanded. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just been a long time, and I’ve just…wondered.” That wasn’t what he’d been asking, but he knew what she meant. He’d wondered, too. Wondered why she hadn’t even given him a chance to explain that last night at the end of their freshman year when she’d found him lying near an old girlfriend. They’d dated for two years and she’d honestly believed he’d cheated on her after she said “no” one too many times. He’d wanted to tell her the truth. But he’d been furious and offended that she hadn’t even asked. And before he’d had a chance to get over that anger, Holly had left. Transferred, never to return. “It didn’t mean anything,” she insisted. Before he could rebut that, the brunette he’d seen earlier peeked out of the next room. Her eyes widened when she saw him and Holly and he imagined the sexual tension between them was thick enough to stick a fork in. If the woman dropped her gaze three feet, she’d definitely see his physical response. He didn’t know how his zipper was managing the strain. The girl grinned. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” “You aren’t, Reggie,” Holly insisted. “I was just going to give Za—Mr. Weldon—a tour.” “Perfect,” Zach replied, feeling better about the situation given the amusement dancing in Reggie’s eyes. But not completely reassured yet, he strode to the now-open door. “We’ll start in here.” He heard Holly yelp, but remained undeterred. Striding into the room, he quickly looked around. The room was huge, once probably a ballroom in the old, historic mansion. Tasteful furniture was positioned to provide small conversation areas and holiday decorations graced many of the surfaces. In one corner stood an enormous, half-decorated evergreen. This must be it. He stared at the tree, wondering what secrets it held. Why would a diamond thief want it so desperately…and did it still conceal something within the tightness of its branches? “Good morning.” An elderly woman that Zach recognized as Holly’s grandmother was seated at a small desk, a hot-glue gun in her hand.

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From over the top of a high-backed, antique sofa, he saw a nearly bald head and a bright pair of twinkling eyes. Holly’s grandfather had turned in his seat to greet him. “Hi there.” “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Zach murmured. “We’re just sitting here watching Reggie do all the work. These old bones can’t handle climbing ladders,” the old man explained. “Even stringing popcorn’s gotten to be too much for uh…Ernie here. He’s taking his morning nap.” Zach hadn’t noticed the top of another head, barely visible above the back of the sofa. Must be a pretty short guy…. “I remember you,” the grandmother interrupted. “You’re Zach. You used to live in town. You and Holly were friends.” Friends? Yes, he supposed they had been. And so much more. “Yes. A long time ago.” “How nice. You go along and show him around, Holly,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said, smiling as she glued together some crystal ornaments. “By the time you’re finished, I’m sure Reggie will have the tree done.” Then she looked at Zach. “We had a bit of a tree disaster this morning but we’re working as fast as we can to get everything in tip-top shape.” A tree disaster. That explained why Holly had tried to prevent him from entering the room. But it didn’t explain everything. Like why Holly Cavanaugh was slack-jawed and wide-eyed, looking like she’d just seen a ghost.

Chapter Six Her grandfather was cozying up to a corpse. Holly stared in horror at the scene in her living room. When she’d left twenty minutes ago, there had been a short, skinny man lying dead on the floor. Now that man was sitting on her couch, beside her irascible grandfather. Stringing popcorn. Oh, Grandpa, what are you doing? As if seeing Holly’s rising panic, her grandmother rose. “Holly, dear, there’s no point in trying to hide our crisis from your old friend, even if he is now a TV gentleman.” Dressed in one of her typical chiffon dressing gowns, Nana appeared elegant and serene. No one who didn’t know her would imagine her capable of playing hide-and-seek with a body. Holly, however, knew her. Just as she knew her grandfather. The two of them were the wiliest pair of octogenarians in Illinois. “TV gentleman?” Zach sounded confused, probably because he sensed the panic in the room. Even if it emanated only from Holly. “I can’t tell you how happy we are that you’ve decided to feature our home on your show. My granddaughter has worked so hard to make a success of it.” Nana looked as pleased as a little girl at show-and-tell. A secretly bloodthirsty little girl. “You must go with Holly, let her show you everything, from top to bottom."

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The twinkle in the old woman’s eye, and the suggestiveness in her words, told Holly that Nana had picked up on the tension between her and Zach. Of course, she would—Holly might have been living with her father in town, but during high school, her grandmother had been the one she’d confided in. Just the heat in Holly’s cheeks probably announced that they’d been gobbling each other’s faces off two minutes ago. She was still almost shaking with the need for more. She wanted him top to bottom and wanted to give herself to him the same way. But that was a bad idea. Really bad. Given the choice between dealing with the dead guy or dealing with her own shockingly weak inhibitions to the guy who’d broken her heart, she’d choose the stiff. Though she’d wondered what it might be like to give in to her desire for Zach, she now knew that was impossible. Taking him once would not remove the temptation borne of wondering. Instead, like a kid raiding the cookie jar, it would only whet her appetite for more. Unfortunately, judging by the glitter in his eyes and the half-smile on those well-kissed lips, the bloody man knew it.

*** Zach began to put everything together. Holly’s comments when he’d first arrived about his “crew” and what her grandmother said about his “TV show” added up to a new explanation for Holly’s odd reaction to his arrival. They thought he was some kind of TV travel reporter. The slamming doors, the reluctant welcome—they’d had everything to do with a news story and nothing to do with him, his past, his relationship with Holly. Plus, hopefully, nothing to do with a diamond thief. “All right, I’ll take you around the house,” Holly mumbled, sounding anything but pleased. She cast a quick glance at her grandmother. “Do you think you’ll have everything taken care of in, say, an hour?” The old woman waved an unconcerned hand. “Oh, of course. Everything will be in perfect condition, especially that…tree. Not a hair—I mean, branch—out of place.” “Good.” Holly turned on her heel and left the room, shutting the door firmly the moment Zach joined her in the foyer. “Let’s get this over with.” “I think we need to talk….” She put a hand up, palm out. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid kiss and I’m sorry it happened.” Zach wasn’t. But he sensed she wouldn’t want to hear that. “I have to deal with you professionally, since the story on the inn is so important. Other than that, we have nothing to say to one another.” “You’re still angry at me for some crap that happened when we were kids?” He couldn’t believe it, especially because he hadn’t been as guilty as she’d thought. “Of course not. It’s history. You’re here to do a job and I’m here to convince you that this inn deserves a lot of attention. That’s it.”

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So she thought. Zach suddenly suspected that if Holly found out he was not doing the feature on the inn, she’d use that same cool tone to invite him to get the hell out of her life. Maybe that would be the smart thing to do. But there were two reasons he wasn’t going to. First, there could be a criminal out there who wanted something he thought Holly had. And second—he couldn’t walk away from her after that kiss.

Chapter Seven For the next hour, Holly led Zach around the Hollyberry Inn, critically eyeing every room, silently praying that he’d see past the few kinks to the jewel just waiting to be exposed to the world—before it was foreclosed on and put out of business. The importance of the story Zach was doing was the only thing that could have kept her focused on anything except his nearness—on the reality that she was, once again, alone with the guy who’d introduced her to all her most interesting body parts. If not for that, it would be much too easy to think of the wicked things they’d done during their steamy teenage nights. She and Zach had walked hand in hand toward the sexual cliff, all the way to the very precipice. Only when she’d refused to leap off it, Zach had gone out and had sex with the nearest willing bimbo. That memory helped keep her shoulders stiff and her mood aloof. Well, that and the knowledge that her elderly grandparents and her maid were downstairs trying to hide the body that had fallen out of the Christmas tree. “You’ve put a lot of work into this place. And it shows.” “Thanks.” “How long have you been running it as an inn?” Finally, they were getting down to it. “We opened for business three months ago after six months worth of construction and remodeling.” “So you’ve been back in Illinois for almost a year. I have to admit, Hol, that’s pretty surprising considering how eager you were to leave and run off to North Carolina.” He was the reason she’d left school so quickly and he damn well knew it. When she realized that she didn’t have much to stay for she’d made the decision to go live with her flighty mother rather than finish school with him. Not liking that he flustered her, she lifted a nervous hand to her hair, willing her fingers not to shake. “My grandfather was ill and couldn’t keep up with the place.” She did not add that the roof needed to be replaced and the foundation reinforced. Or that the only way she’d had to accomplish those things had been to take out a huge loan—which Holly had intended to pay back out of the profit once the inn got up and running. It was up. And it was running. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to realize it. But they will. “So is it just you, your grandparents and that…Reggie?” “And Manny, a part-time maintenance guy.” “Other than that, you’re out here, completely alone, pretty far from town?” His tone was subdued, a frown tugging at his handsome brow.

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“We do have guests,” she shot back, not appreciating his pointing out just how empty they were only one week before Christmas. God, she hoped he didn’t mention that on the air. “But most people make their holiday plans long in advance. We weren’t even open for business until Labor Day.” Zach stopped, though they were halfway down the staircase leading from the second to the first floor. “I didn’t mean that…I mean, damn it, Holly, it’s remote out here. What would you do in case of an emergency?” He was worried about her? The realization caused a flash of warmth—she shoved it down, grabbing the handrail to keep from nervously touching her hair again. “Don’t be ridiculous. What could happen?” Uh…except dead guys in trees. That, however, had to have been just a freak accident. Like Reggie had said, the guy had been playing a game of dive-through-the-tree-binder and had gotten tangled up in the plastic. How he’d ended up in a tree, she didn’t know. Nor was she ready to dwell on it. She’d leave that for the police…when she called them. She would. She’d call. Soon. And hopefully she would not go to jail for waiting two hours to report it. Or for moving the corpse. “Is that Manny?” Zach asked. “He a drinker or something?” Holly glanced down the remaining steps, following Zach’s puzzled stare. She’d been so focused on Zach’s completely unexpected protective streak that she hadn’t noticed the living room door was standing open. Or that three people had apparently just walked through it. The trio made an odd procession as they headed down the short corridor that led to the kitchen and the private wing of the house. Holly could only shake her head in disbelief as she watched the three of them disappear behind another swinging door. Because they weren’t hard to recognize—one was her grandfather, one Reggie. And the third, whose feet hadn’t exactly been moving as they’d disappeared from view, was the dead guy.

Chapter Eight “What are they doing?" she murmured, watching her maid, her grandfather and the dead man disappear down a first-floor hallway. “Looks like they’re just helping your grandfather’s friend.” Why she should find it so surprising, Zach didn’t know. The only thing he knew for sure after their tour through Holly’s family inn was this: she was desperate to make this place a success. With every step they’d taken, Zach had grown more aware of Holly’s anxiety. She had grown so pale she looked like she’d been doused with powder. And she kept reaching up to shove her hair back—a nervous habit she clearly hadn’t outgrown. And he was pretty sure that her mood had nothing to do with him. Too bad. Because his tension was primarily due to her. To her nearness and the sweet, cinnamon scent of her hair. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d felt pressed tightly against his body, the way her mouth had tasted, the brush of her soft skin against his rough cheek. Every thought was colored with memory, shaded with the thoughts of the past. To the way she’d blown him away with her smile that first time they’d met, and how his heart had broken for her when she’d had to deal with her screwed-up parents and the problems they’d dumped on her since she was a little kid. He’d wanted to take care of her, to make her happy. And she’d been the same way—keeping him sane when his dad had died suddenly while Zach was away at college.

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Holly had made him believe in all that love-and-happily-ever-after stuff that girls had always seemed to talk about and guys had always seemed to laugh at. At nineteen, she’d made him believe in it. No one else had. Not before. Not since. “Holly,” he whispered, leaning closer, “This…we…” He didn’t finish, he didn’t know how to finish. God, he’d been back in her company for less than two hours and he ached to touch her. Maybe that wasn’t too surprising. He didn’t think there had been a time in the past eight years since they’d broken up that he hadn’t wanted her. He’d never imagined he’d get another chance to feel the silk of her skin against his—until today, when he’d knocked on the door to a country inn and seen her open it. “I, uh, I guess that’s about it,” she mumbled. “You should know enough to tell your crew what to shoot.” This TV spotlight had to be critical to her—which meant she was going to be extremely pissed when she found out he wasn’t here to do it. But she wouldn’t be half as mad as he would be at himself if he left and anything happened to her. If a desperate thief who’d killed a guard to escape thought Holly was in his way, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her. And there was no way Zach would let that happen. So he didn’t tell her who he really was. Not yet. When this TV crew showed up and there were plenty of people around, he’d slip away and call Mark Santori, his detective friend from Chicago, tipping him to Fred Kipling’s possible presence here. And try to find out if there was any word on Kipling’s partner, Leo “Teenie” Meaney. Because if Kipling was here, where was Teenie? And what was so important about Holly’s tree? There was only one way to find out. “Maybe they’re finished with the tree.” “I hope so. I couldn’t believe it when I came downstairs this morning and realized the first one was ruined.” “What happened?” he asked as they reached the first floor and turned toward the living room. “The only corner big enough for it is by the radiator, which we normally turn off. But Grandpa apparently forgot last night and when I came down this morning, the thing had lost most of its needles like a dog shaking off water after a bath.” He chuckled. “So you went out this morning and bought another one?” Stopping in front of the now-decorated tree, she nodded, focusing on the new evergreen. It looked beautiful—not at all thrown-together. “Yes. Reggie stayed here and undecorated the old one while I ran down to town and bought the first big tree I could find.” He glanced at the pretty bows, the red and gold ornaments and tiny crystal ones reflecting the twinkling lights. “You were lucky to find such a nice one this close to Christmas.” “I didn’t even look at it, just asked the guy at the lot if he had any freshly cut twelve footers left and handed him cash as soon as he said yes.” Her voice trailed away as she reached up to carefully shift a tiny angel. “It’s okay,” she added, low, almost to herself. “Everything’s going to be okay. We just have to get through another few hours.” He hated the sound of her desperation. “Things are really bad with the inn, aren’t they?”

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She opened her mouth, her eyes flashed, and he knew Holly was about to make a vehement denial. But when she noticed the compassion he made no effort to hide, she admitted, “yes, they are. This story you’re doing is our last shot at making this place work. We stand to lose my grandfather’s house.” That weariness—the slump in her shoulders and the fatalistic tone in her voice—hit Zach harder than any two tons of guilt ever had. He suddenly found himself unable to continue the deception. Holly deserved to know the truth, at the very least so she could prepare for the arrival of the real news crew. “Holly, I have to tell you something.” The words were there, on his lips, but before he could utter them, a loud sound interrupted them. It came from somewhere else in the house. And it sounded very much like a scream.

Chapter Nine Holly didn’t hesitate. As soon as she heard her grandmother’s scream coming from the direction of the inn’s kitchen, she took off running, Zach hot on her heels. It was only after she skidded to a stop at the entrance to that room at the back of the house that she realized why her grandmother might have been screaming. It very likely had something to do with the dead guy who’d fallen out of the Christmas tree. The one reporter Zach Weldon couldn’t find out about. “Maybe you should wait here,” she said to him. His disbelieving expression was his only answer to that suggestion. Not knowing how to forcibly keep him away, Holly carefully pushed open the swinging door, trying to peek around it. Zach, however, was having none of that. He pushed it all the way in and burst inside, his gaze darting around the large, country kitchen, peering suspiciously into every corner. Fortunately, there was no corpse laid out on the table, or hidden behind a trellis of house plants by the window. No sight of the dead guy at all. “Everything okay?” Holly asked. “Why, of course it is,” Grandfather said, his lips twitching in amusement. He would, of course, find this whole thing incredibly funny. Given his background as an Army medic and Nana’s as a nurse, they were probably the last people who’d be shocked by a corpse floating around the inn. Besides, their favorite movie was Weekend at Bernie’s, followed in close second by the film version of Clue. So she had no doubt they were enjoying the hell out of this. Even though the tension had Holly ready to either scream or throw up. Her grandparents sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea, looking completely at ease. Beside the stove, stirring a large pot of fragrant apple cider, was Regina. “Who screamed?” Zach asked in blunt concern. “Screamed? What are you talking about?” Regina wasn’t a very good actress. Fortunately, her black-ringed eyes looked very small from across the room. Hopefully Zach couldn’t see the way they were frantically shifting, as if she wanted to find the closest exit and go.

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“Somebody screamed,” he insisted. Nana cleared her throat, smiling sheepishly. “I am afraid I may have…yelped a bit.” Yelped. Riiiigght. “I was just startled, you see, when I opened the door to the old pantry.” The elderly woman gave Holly a look of warning. “There was a big mouse in there.” Oh God. They’d put the corpse in the pantry. Right now, a dead guy was cozying up to Mr. Clean and inhaling Clorox. The dead don’t inhale, stupid. She was losing it. Just out and out losing it. But there was one silver lining. Thankfully, they used the old pantry as a cleaning closet and it contained only household supplies. If there’d been any food in there, Holly would be looking at a big run to the dump. And a huge bill at the market. Her grandmother was so angelic looking, the classic, textbook little old lady. Anybody would fall for that delicate smile, that kindly expression. Anybody except Zach Weldon. Because the guy who’d already proven himself intuitive enough to realize Holly still wanted him now showed he could spot a phony. Holding Nana’s stare for one long moment, he suddenly swung around and stalked across the kitchen to the pantry door. “No!” Four voices shrieked in unison. But he ignored them and yanked open the door.

Chapter Ten Something odd was going on with Holly’s elderly grandparents and that kooky maid, but Zach had pretty much given up on the idea that a dangerous criminal was hiding out here, waiting to retrieve whatever he’d hidden in the Christmas tree Holly had brought home this morning. So when he opened the door to the pantry in Holly Cavanaugh’s Inn, he didn’t really expect to see one of them. Boy was he wrong. “Oh my God,” he said, immediately recognizing the man from the photos splattered all over the news recently. If he’d thought he was about to come face to face with a dangerous jewel thief, he’d have at least grabbed something to use as a weapon. Fortunately, though, the guy in the pantry—who he knew was Leo “Teenie” Meaney—didn’t appear armed or particularly dangerous. In fact, he didn’t look particularly… “Holy shit. He’s dead.” “I can explain,” said Holly, coming to stand with him in the pantry, half-closing the door behind her. Zach couldn’t take his eyes off the body lying on the floor of the pantry, tucked neatly between a mop-laden bucket and an industrial-sized bottle of floor wax. “They did come up here after the tree,” he whispered.

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Holly tilted her head in confusion. “What?” Shaking his head slowly, trying to clear his brain of the image of the dead little thug in the closet, Zach finally managed to look away. Holly’s pale face, wide eyes and quivering mouth caused something to twist deep inside him. He reacted instinctively, reaching for her, pulling her close. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, then melted against him, letting him support her. He suspected—just like when they’d been together—she rarely had anyone else to do it. “What happened, Holly?” Zach murmured, whispering into her hair as he continued holding her. The door of the pantry blocked them from the view of the others in the kitchen and he kept his voice low. “Did you…have to defend yourself?” The very thought of it made him shake with fury, but he maintained his calm, knowing somebody had to in this crazy house. He’d finally realized just how insane it was. Now he knew who had been sitting beside Holly’s grandfather in the living room. And who that grandfather and the maid had been supporting as they’d walked here to the kitchen. They’d been playing a game of hide-and-seek with a body since the moment he’d arrived. “No, it was nothing like that,” she said. Holly pulled back a little, rubbing a weary hand over her eyes. “He was dead when he got here.” Hmm. FedEx’d corpse? Holly explained, leaving the pantry as she spoke, as if unable to stand the sight of the dead man. When he learned that Leo Meaney had tumbled from her enormous, bound evergreen like some kind of sick present straight out of The Nightmare Before Christmas, he didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. One thing quickly became clear, though—Kipling, Meaney’s partner, hadn’t gone back to the tree lot looking for the diamonds they’d stolen together. He’d returned for the partner he’d obviously killed. “Why didn’t you call the police immediately?” Her wide eyes, so tired and confused as she’d told him about her morning, suddenly shifted. Her hands twisting in front of her and her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth, she softly admitted, “I’m going to. After you and your crew finish the story on the inn.” Zach simply stared, his jaw falling open. Holly tilted her head, her chin up, almost defiant as she dared him to criticize her. Glancing toward her elderly grandparents, both watching with trepidation and anxiety, he remembered just how much this family had at stake today. From the sound of it, if they didn’t get some publicity—the good kind, not some involving dead bodies—they could very well lose this home. The home Holly’s grandfather had lived in his entire life. Catch twenty-two. Damn. He knew enough about law enforcement to know they should call the police right now, this very second. But could he do that to Holly’s grandparents? To her?

Chapter Eleven “All right. I’ll help you,” Zach Weldon said. “But only until after the crew leaves. Then we call the police immediately."

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Holly couldn’t believe it. She’d been prepared for Zach’s anger when she told him she’d been hiding a dead body. And though she’d seen all those emotions on Zach’s handsome face, he was now offering to do something crazy—illegal even. He was going to help her. “Are you serious?” “I’ll probably regret it,” he admitted, “but yes, I’m serious.” The college freshman who’d broken her heart probably would have done exactly what he wanted to do—call the police—no matter who it hurt. Just as he’d done what he wanted the night they had split up and slept with the first girl who’d give it up to him. But she could tell that this Zach was different. The warm, sympathetic expression on his face when he gazed at her near-homeless grandparents said how much he’d changed. He’d been a sexy, cute, charming guy the first time she’d fallen in love with him. Now he was a blazingly sexy, handsome, thoughtful man who was willing to, uh, bend the law in order to help her. Zach’s unexpected kindness didn’t just make her melt a little—it made the quietly banked inferno of desire inside her erupt until she was nearly engulfed by the flames. She’d wanted him from the moment he’d shown up at her door. Now Holly knew she was going to take him. “Thank you, Zach.” Unable to resist, Holly lifted her arms to encircle his broad shoulders and pressed against him in a quick, grateful hug. Only, it wasn’t exactly quick. He dropped his hands to her hips, holding her against him. For a long, heady moment, she forgot about the others in the room—or the corpse in the pantry—and enjoyed being in his arms again. The embrace he’d offered when he’d discovered the body had been one of comfort and concern. This was different. Though to the others it might appear to be strictly gratitude, both she and Zach knew it was more. He had to feel the way her heart was pounding out of her chest, had to hear her choppy breaths near his ear. Had to know that she was not only grateful, she was also very attracted to him. Just as she’d always been. And judging by the ridge of heat she could feel against her thighs, he felt the same way. When her grandfather cleared his throat, Holly finally remembered where they were and who was watching. She let Zach go, but didn’t step away. Instead, she turned around, blocking most of his body from view. Considering the guy was hard for her and her grandmother had eyes like a hawk, it was the least she could do.

*** With Holly in his arms, the soft curves of her body pressing against his, Zach had almost been able to forget they weren’t alone. His cock certainly had. His brain, however, kicked back into gear, noting the way Holly provided a visible barrier between his tented pants and the others in the room. “Okay, we can do this,” Holly said, her voice shaky.

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“But nobody touches the body again.” Thrusting a frustrated hand through his hair, Zach added, “Who knows how much evidence you have already destroyed….” Holly swung back around. “Evidence?” “Yeah. The police are going to be looking for evidence to solve his murder.” Her shocked gasp told him she hadn’t considered that. “What, did you think he just had a heart attack and fell into the nearest Christmas tree?” Her cheeks went pink. “Not exactly. We figured it was more of a…a…” “An industrial accident,” offered the maid. Industrial accident. Sure. Given the identity of the victim, the only work-related death he could experience was being shot by the police during a robbery. But Holly and her family couldn’t know that. So it was time for him to reveal exactly who was lying on the floor of their pantry and why he was there. And who might be looking for him. There was also one additional matter he had to clear up. She still thought he was the reporter doing the innsaving story for the travel show. He only hoped she’d understand when he told her why he’d kept the truth from her. “Holly, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Chapter Twelve Zach’s tone told Holly she wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell her. Well, she hadn’t liked much about her day. Since this morning, she’d gone from nervousness, to worry, to shock. And when Zach had held her in his arms, to flat-out lust. What could he possibly say that would be worse than what she’d just told him—that she and her family had been hiding a body? “I’m not who you think I am.” “We dated for a long time,” she replied. “I think I’d recognize a Zach-imposter, even if we haven’t seen each other in eight years.” Given the way her entire body reacted around Zach, she felt sure she could recognize him after eighty. “I told you I was a reporter…I didn’t tell you I am a newspaper reporter.” Not following, Holly waited for the rest. “I’m a writer working the crime beat. I don’t work for any TV station or travel show.” Holly gasped. Everything they’d done today—thinking he was here to do the feature on the inn had been for nothing? Seeing her expression, he raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t even realize for a while that you thought I was a TV reporter here to do a story on this place.”

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“And when you did realize it?” she asked, her tone icy. “By then,” he replied, “I’d decided I wasn’t leaving until there were other people around. I thought a dangerous criminal might be headed this way.” “Did he say dangerous?” Nana asked, sounding more titillated than frightened. Zach glanced at the elderly couple seated at the table and at the maid standing by the sink. Then, finally, back at Holly. “The dead guy in your pantry is a thug named Leo Meaney. He and his partner, Fred Kipling, are wanted armed robbers and are on the run. I’m following the story.” Feeling the strength leave her legs, Holly sagged against the counter. “The owner of that tree lot caught Kipling there last night and chased him off with a shotgun. I had assumed he’d hidden something in the tree.” “He had,” Holly whispered. “His accomplice.” “Exactly. I bet they were meeting up to divide the take, had some kind of disagreement and Kipling killed him. When the owner of the tree lot showed up armed, Kipling did the first thing he could think of.” “Shoved his little buddy in a twelve-footer and put the whole thing through the tree binder.” “Exactly. When he found out you’d bought the tree, he must have panicked.” Zach stepped closer, reaching up and brushing a strand of Holly’s hair off her face. The warmth of his fingers reassured her in a way all of his words had not. “I’d originally worried he’d follow his stolen goods up here…and that you might be in danger.” Oh God. A killer might be coming after them. Stunned, Holly slowly began to quiver. “You can’t be serious.” Zach reached for her, both hands comforting, strong and confident on her shoulders. Lending support—and making a promise. You’re going to be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. Releasing her, he murmured, “that’s why I didn’t tell you the truth right away.” Though she knew she should be angry at him for his deception, Holly couldn’t be. She, after all, had been hiding much more than that from him. Namely, a body. “Do you think…” She cast a quick look at her grandparents, wanting them out of the inn. “Regina, maybe you could take Nana and Grandpa down into town….” “Absolutely not!” Holly’s grandfather replied. “A Cavanaugh would never run.” Her grandmother nodded so hard in agreement that her blue-tinged hair came down from its tight bun. She should have known. These two would probably love the chance to take a frying pan to the head of an attacker. “Actually,” Zach said, “I suspect things aren’t as dangerous as I’d thought. Stolen jewels would be worth Fred Kipling’s time and effort and that’s what I figured was in the tree. But a dead accomplice whose body he has to figure has already been discovered, probably would not.” Feeling hopeful for the first time all day, Holly nibbled her lip. “You really think so?” “I do. When Kipling went back to the lot and realized the tree where he’d stashed the body was gone, I’m sure he took off. I’ll bet he’s a few states away by now.”

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Holly certainly hoped so. Especially because, right at that moment, someone knocked on the front door. Everyone in the room flinched, but a quick glance out the side window confirmed the presence of a TV news van. Perfect. The travel show crew had finally arrived.

Chapter Thirteen For the next hour, Zach kept his promise to Holly. He guarded her secret—the dead guy in the pantry—while a crew from the show Weekend Getaways scoured the inn. Damn, he hoped Holly hadn’t been exaggerating about how critical this interview was. Because every instinct was telling him he should have picked up the phone and called his buddy, Detective Mark Santori. He could already picture the conversation…dead criminals didn’t fall out of Christmas trees every day. “You didn’t let on that you’re not a paying guest, did you?” Holly’s grandmother asked as Zach walked into the kitchen. She sat alone, repairing more of those crystal ornaments. He’d allowed the old woman to talk him into playing the part of guest for the cameras. In truth, that was only a slight exaggeration—he wasn’t planning on leaving this place until he was sure Holly was safe. And until he’d helped her out of the mess she’d created with the authorities by not reporting the body right away. And until after he’d figured out if the feelings he was experiencing for her were reciprocated. He had known from the second she’d answered the door that he still wanted her. He’d known from the second she’d kissed him that she wanted him, too. But until that moment in the kitchen when Holly had melted against him for support, he hadn’t realized that he still felt so much more than simple lust. But did she? “It sucks that we don’t have any guests here, talking up the place.” Aside from the incongruity of the word “sucks” coming out of an elderly woman’s mouth, Zach couldn’t help agreeing. “Or at least lying around, making the rooms look occupied.” The old woman sounded a little too self-satisfied during that last bit. As if she had something up her sleeve. “What are you up to?” “Oh, nothing,” she said. “You go on, keep playing a satisfied visitor. Reading a book by the fire in the study would be a nice touch.” She was trying to get rid of him again. He’d been sticking close to the body, both to ensure that the TV people didn’t stumble across it and to make sure no one else touched the corpse. But he’d let himself be talked into saying a few words to the reporter, a perky blonde named Candy, leaving Holly’s grandparents alone briefly. Now, her grandfather had disappeared and Nana looked about as innocent as one of the robbers. His palms started to sweat. “What did you do?” She shrugged but didn’t look up.

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Zach glanced toward the pantry. He almost knew before he strode over and yanked the door open that it would be empty. Well, except for plenty of cleaning supplies. Just no dead Leo Meaney.

*** Somehow, Holly managed not to shriek when she walked out onto the sunporch and saw the room was occupied. She swallowed the sound, wondering how the dead burglar, last seen in her pantry, had gotten out here. He was lying on the chaise lounge, a blanket tucked around him. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes and he looked like a vacationer enjoying an afternoon nap—as long as one didn’t notice the stiffness of his form or the slightly blue tinge to his skin. “Whoops,” she whispered, grabbing the perky reporter, Candy, by the arm. “A guest is napping. He’s, uh, been ill and we shouldn’t disturb him.” “Really? I thought I just saw him snoozing in a room upstairs. He must move pretty quickly for someone who’s sick.” Oh Lord, that must have been when Holly had been posing for some pictures in the lobby. Candy had gone wandering—and her grandparents had obviously been doing some, uh, redecorating. “He looks so peaceful, maybe we could get one shot—” “No!” That came from Zach, who’d followed them onto the porch. He met her eyes, silently offering his support. “The man said he wished to maintain his privacy. He wouldn’t sign a release to be photographed.” Candy shrugged. “Too bad. But I do understand.” Offering Holly a huge smile, the reporter followed Holly back inside then added, “well, I think we’re finished. I have to tell you, The Hollyberry Inn is absolutely delightful. “Thank you so much,” Holly replied. “This means the world to us.” As she led the woman out, warming under even more compliments, Holly could only think of what would happen as soon as the news van pulled away. Zach had promised to help guard the body until after the interview. But now the interview was over. It was time to call the police. And face the music.

Chapter Fourteen “Look, Mark, I know you’re mad, but I swear to you, Holly and her family never had any intention of not reporting this. They were just…delaying a little while.” Detective Mark Santori, who Zach had befriended shortly after he’d begun covering the crime beat in Chicago, continued to scowl. He’d had that expression on his face since the minute he’d arrived a half-hour ago, having come down from Chicago after Zach’s call. Zach was just glad he’d come, not only because the local cops were inexperienced in dealing with murder, but also because he knew Mark to be a reasonable, laid-back kind of guy. As laid back as a Chicago detective could be, of course. “Is there any particular reason the body was moved after it—” he consulted his notes, “—fell out of the Christmas tree?”

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Zach and Holly exchanged a glance and he saw the question in her eyes. How much detail should they go into? Would a potential foreclosure on the inn and a single chance to save it with a story on a popular travel show make any difference to an angry cop? In this instance, knowing the angry cop was a decent man, Zach thought yes. So he told Mark the whole story, stressing the very real possibility that Holly’s elderly grandparents could lose the home that had been in her family for a century. And that the Cavanaughs had genuinely believed the guy in the tree had died in some kind of freak accident—they’d never imagined he’d been murdered. Sighing heavily, Mark ran a hand through his dark hair and then shook his head. “Okay. I guess it wouldn’t be too obvious to a civilian that Meaney had been suffocated.” Grinning wryly, he added, “Though I’d really like to know what kind of town this is if guys routinely do stupid stuff like diving through tree binders.” “Thank you,” Holly murmured. “I really am sorry for the trouble we caused.” Mark shook his head once. “Meaney and Kipling caused the trouble. You just got sucked into it. I’ll try to smooth things over with the department.” He smiled broadly. “The local guys are already laughing about it. I guess you’re well-liked.” Mark Santori was the kind of guy women typically melted over, but Zach happened to know he was very happily married and expecting his first child. Good thing. Because if he thought his friend was trying to hit on Holly, he might seriously have to belt him. True to his word, over the next couple of hours, Mark got the police’s attention off the game of body-mover and onto the crime itself. The tree lot owner had verified Fred Kipling’s preoccupation with Holly’s Christmas tree and there was a lot of circumstantial evidence. When they found Kipling—and the diamonds—they should have enough to nail him for all his crimes. And, hopefully, any potential evidence lost because of the body’s travels wouldn’t matter. Hopefully. By 5:00 p.m., the body had been taken away and all the officers had left except Detective Santori. After he’d been persuaded to pause for a cup of Nana’s famous cider and ginger cookies, Zach and Holly walked him out. Though they’d invited him to stay for dinner, he said, “Sorry, I’ve got to swing by a tux shop and get fitted. My brother Nick’s getting married in a couple of weeks.” A tender look appeared on his face. “Plus, I don’t like to leave Noelle alone at night, now that she’s seven months along.” Thanking him again, Zach and Holly watched Mark pull away. Zach couldn’t help thinking for a moment about how much his friend had changed in two years. From a determined bachelor to a married father-to-be, he seemed entirely happy. All because he’d met the right woman. Well, Zach had met the right woman once, too. But he’d been stupid enough to let her believe the worst of him and get away. Now that he had Holly Cavanaugh back in his life, however, he wasn’t about to make the same mistake. It was time to confront their past.

Chapter Fifteen Though everything had been taken care of and the danger was over, Zach didn’t leave. Holly kept waiting for him to—knowing there was no reason for him to stay. Unless, like her, he was wondering what their unexpected reunion meant. He’d loved her once and she’d loved him. They’d just been too immature to deal with it. She’d been nineteen and determined not to let sex ruin their relationship, hoping to avoid the inevitable heartbreak her parents always seemed to be going through. He’d been an oversexed almost-twenty-year old who got tired of hearing no.

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But now she was no longer a virgin and there wasn’t a woman on the planet who’d say no to this man. “What a day,” her grandfather said after they’d all finished dinner. Nana nodded in agreement. “Time for bed, I think.” It was only eight o’clock, but since Reggie had left an hour ago, Nana had been not-so-discreetly trying to get Holly and Zach alone together. Holly didn’t argue. After the elderly couple left, Zach said, “Let’s go into the living room. I’d like to see that tree by firelight.” That sounded…romantic. Holly gulped, not sure she wanted romance with Zach. Sex? Oh, yes, she’d decided that hours ago. She wanted to take him, have him, savor him in all the ways she hadn’t eight years ago. Her body she’d share. But she didn’t want to risk her heart. Because while she’d gotten over her certainty that sex equaled problems—and she was certainly no longer an innocent girl—she still came from a pair of extremely selfish, self-absorbed, commitment-phobic people. And Zach had already cheated on her once when she’d thought he loved her. A sweet, tender evening in front of the Christmas tree sounded emotional. She only wanted physical. “I don’t think so.” Zach’s eyes widened in surprise. But she didn’t let him argue. Instead, she grabbed the front of his shirt, pushing him until he was backed against the refrigerator. His mouth opened and Holly leaned up to cover it with hers. She thrust her tongue against his lips, demanding entrance, and he gave it to her with not a moment’s hesitation. The kiss deepened, insistent and hot and was so good she wondered how she’d survived for eight years without his lips. Zach’s strong arms encircled her body, tugging her up closer. Every inch of her was pressed against him and Holly writhed, loving the heat, the intensity, the friction. As they continued to kiss—wet and deep—Holly reached for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it free from his jeans. Hissing against her mouth, he let go of her long enough to help. Holly trailed her fingers over his rippled stomach and broad chest. She’d noted the changes in his body earlier, but until now, as she watched him tug the shirt over his head, she hadn’t dwelled on just how wide his shoulders had become, nor had she realized that the smooth, boyish chest was now thickly roped with muscle and sprinkled with sexy dark hair. She tangled her fingers in it, reaching to brush the tips of her fingers over his dark, flat nipples. Touching wasn’t enough, so she replaced her hands with her mouth. “Holly,” he groaned as she tasted him. “God, it seems like I’ve wanted you forever.” “Me, too,” she said, reaching for his belt buckle. Her fingers almost shook as she unfastened it and then unbuttoned his pants, strained tight against his erection. For her. All for her. Holly could hardly wait to see all of him. She and Zach had shared many intimacies. She’d never taken him into her body, but they had definitely explored other sensual delights. Now that she’d seen other men, she was dying to find out if her memories of him—his breadth, his power—were true, or merely a product of her heated dreams of something that had never been. Before she could satisfy her curiosity, though, Zach pushed her hands away as if he couldn’t take much more. She liked that she had power over him, but she had to admit that he had just as much over her. When he touched her, every cell in her body surged up to accept the pleasure.

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Zach tugged her sweater off then deftly unfastened her bra. Groaning as her breasts were freed, he cupped them, tweaking her nipples, making her quiver. Murmuring something sweet and sultry, he bent down to taste her, sucking gently. She groaned and twined her hands in his hair, giving her the deeper caress she needed. “Where’s your bedroom?” Zach whispered against her skin. She shook her head. “No. Here. I want you to take me right now.” “You’re sure?” She’d never been more sure of anything. She’d take him wildly—satisfy the lust that had been banked for years but never fully satisfied. And leave her heart entirely out of the equation. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, reaching into her pocket and grabbing a condom she’d tucked in there an hour ago. “I am definitely sure.”

Chapter Sixteen In the years since he’d lost Holly, Zach had pictured getting her back, seducing her, making love to her in a way that would show her how much he’d always cared. He’d never imagined anything as exciting as this. The red-haired beauty standing in front of him was practically begging him to take her, right here in the kitchen of her family-owned inn. With her swollen lips, her beautiful bared breasts and the luscious nipples he’d just sucked into hard, jutting peaks, she was the textbook example of an erotic woman. And she was his. “Please, Zach,” she whimpered, grinding against him, reaching for his jeans again. This time he didn’t stop her. Instead, he helped, pushing the rest of his clothes off and kicking them away. Her gaze smoldering, Holly reaching out to cup him in her soft, pale hand, her touch was incendiary against his rock-hard cock. She whispered something that sounded like, “I wasn’t imagining it,” as she stroked him, squeezing, caressing, driving him out of his mind. Finally she lifted the condom packet and tore it open with her teeth as if she couldn’t wait one more second. She looked desperate. Wild. Reaching for her pants, he quickly got rid of them, too, pausing for one moment to appreciate the soft curves of her body, the line of her hip, the length of her slender legs. Needing to touch her or die, he kissed her again, sliding his hand down her, pausing to tweak her sensitive breast and stroke her soft belly. When he went lower, tangling his fingers in those pretty strawberry curls, Holly cried out, “Oh, yes.” Zach teased her for a moment, then dipped his fingers further, groaning at how hot, slick and ready she was. When she was almost panting in his arms, he moved to her clit, stroking her, remembering exactly what she liked—how much pressure, how much intensity, how much everything. “Please, Zach, don’t make me wait.”

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The thick whisper shattered the last remnants of his restraint. Taking the condom from her, he sheathed himself then turned them around until she was the one backed against the counter. “I can’t believe this is finally happening,” he muttered as he lifted her, holding her thighs in his hands. Her skin was so soft…. Holly arched toward him, wetting him with the slickness of her sex and Zach lost all restraint. He plunged up into her, both of them throwing their heads back at the shocking pleasure of it. She was tight and so damn hot that for a long second he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He could only savor. Soon, though, the sensations took control. Holly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips and met his every thrust. They kissed between helpless cries of delight. Until finally, when her jagged pants and cries told him she’d come, he let himself go, too, his body lost to heated orgasm. And, he suspected, his heart was once again lost to the woman in his arms.

*** Zach spent the night in her bed. After the incredible sex they’d had in the kitchen, she’d been too sated and lethargic to even remember that she’d wanted fast, raucous sex—and nothing else. The next morning, when she woke early and gazed at his handsome, sleeping face in the bed beside her, she realized she’d gotten a whole lot more than she’d been looking for. She could love this man. She really could. Memories of their past crept into her psyche—moments like those of yesterday when he’d helped her and her grandparents. Who couldn’t love him? Stupid. He’s already proved he’s not the stay-around kind. And now that he’d gotten what he’d been after before, he surely wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed for long. She had to let him go. Correction—she had to make him go. Now, before she got in any deeper. Holly cleared her throat. “Zach, it is 7 a.m.” He didn’t even open his eyes, but smiled lazily. With his lightly stubbled cheeks, his tousled hair, that incredible bare chest, he looked sexier than any man had the right to be. “Good. Time for more,” he replied, his voice throaty. Oh, she wished. But she couldn’t back down now, not when she’d made the decision to end things before they went any further. “No.” She swallowed hard as his eyes slowly opened. Though it was difficult, she managed to continue despite that warm, sultry green-eyed stare. “I have to get back to work….” To reality. Though her heart ached, she added, “I want you to leave.”

Chapter Seventeen Needing to meet the deadline for the robbery story update, a little confused by Holly’s mood and not having any of his stuff with him, Zach hadn’t argued when Holly had asked him to leave the other morning. He’d noticed she was quiet, withdrawn. Maybe wondering if they’d made a mistake. Making love to her—twice—that night had been no mistake. In fact, it had been perfect.

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Suspecting she needed time to process, Zach had kissed her and promised to see her soon. So far it hadn’t happened. In the three days since he’d slipped out of her bed, dressed and quietly left the house before Holly’s grandparents got up, he hadn’t heard a word from her. She hadn’t returned his calls, hadn’t indicated she was interested in seeing him again. A less secure guy might be feeling used. Of course, there were worse things that could happen to a guy than being used for great sex by a beautiful woman. But he knew that wasn’t what had happened. Holly might have wanted to use him. In fact, he’d bet her demand to have sex now, immediately, here against the refrigerator had been about her trying to convince herself that what they had was just physical. She’d wanted him but didn’t think she could trust him not to hurt her again. Remembering all the awful crap she’d seen her mother and father do to one another, he didn’t entirely blame her for not trusting her heart. He needed to convince her to give him a chance to prove her wrong. Which was why on Friday he left work early and drove the one hour back to Wheaton. He got to the inn at around five-thirty. The day was crisp and cold, darkness descending quickly here in the country, far from the city’s lights. There was no snow yet, but the forecasters said there might be a few flakes by Christmas. For the first time in years, Zach looked forward to the holiday because he hoped he’d have someone to share it with. Smiling at the possibility, he parked in the empty lot outside the inn. The quiet feel of the place said they were still suffering from the slump that had driven Holly to such desperate measures this week. Hiding a body to ensure a positive story from the travel show had been pretty extreme. He only hoped it paid off. It wasn’t until he was almost at the porch that he noticed the place wasn’t entirely deserted. He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, seeing someone creeping in the shadows along the side of the house near the kitchen door. It could only be one person. His heart thudding, Zach knew it had to be the murderous jewel thief he’d thought was long gone. But Fred Kipling wasn’t gone. He was here. Now. Breaking into Holly Cavanaugh’s home.

*** When Holly first felt the gun stuck into her ribs, her first thought was of her grandparents. God, please don’t let them come downstairs. Her second was of Zach. Why, oh why had she been avoiding his calls, staying away from him when all she wanted was to ask him to come back? Pride. Fear. Habit. None of those things mattered now, though. Not when she was looking into the dark eyes of a big, roughlooking guy with Cro-Magnon features and a big-ass weapon. She had no doubt who he was. “The body’s not here. The police took it away.” “I don’t care about that,” Fred Kipling snapped. “Where are they?” “Where are who?”

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“Don’t play stupid with me, bitch. My contact in the Chicago P.D. said they weren’t on the body, which means you found them and kept them.” He pushed the gun harder into her ribs until Holly gasped in pain and terror, then he said, “tell me where the stones are or I’ll put a hole in you the size of Cleveland.” The stones? The truth dawned. “The diamonds you stole? Why would they be here?” “Teenie double-crossed me. I’d been hiding out in town and he came to meet up. But he got lippy with me and I had to…take care of him.” The night they were in the tree lot, no doubt. “I had to hide him quick, so I stuck him in the tree. Only when I got back to my place, I realized he’d already snuck in there before our meeting, found my stash and helped himself to a lot more than his fair share. He had to have them on him when he died. Which means you’ve got them now.” Glowering as he pushed the gun harder against her, he growled, “now, give me what’s mine, lady. Unless you want to die.”

Chapter Eighteen Zach dialed 911 as he ran around the side of the old inn, demanding the local police but knowing he wouldn’t wait for them. Not while Holly was in danger. Damn, how could he have left her alone, so sure that Fred Kipling had skipped town? His stupidity could cost Holly her life. Reaching the back door that led into the kitchen, he peered through the window, straining to see through the slit between the silky sheer curtains. What he saw was enough to stop his heart. The ruthless criminal stood inside, a gun in his hand. And it was pointed directly at Holly Cavanaugh, the woman Zach now realized he had never stopped loving. Through the cracks in the old door, he was able to hear some of their conversation. Enough to realize that he’d been wrong about what Fred Kipling wanted with the Christmas tree Holly had bought three days ago. Kipling didn’t care about his late partner’s body being discovered—he’d wanted the diamonds he thought had been in Leo Meaney’s possession. He wanted to crash through the door, but the gun made him hesitate. If Kipling was startled, he might shoot first and think later. And Holly was in the line of fire. Looking frantically around, he spotted Holly’s grandfather’s cane, propped beside the back door. It was a heavy, wicked looking thing, with a thick, silver wolf’s head for a handle. Good enough. Grabbing it, Zach began easing the door open, praying it wouldn’t squeak. Thankfully, luck was with him and he managed to get inside without the killer hearing any noise. But he must have felt something—maybe a sudden cold draft from the outside. Because Kipling began to swing around. Zach didn’t hesitate. “Holly, go!” he yelled. Not even letting himself think about the gun in the other man’s hand, he swung the cane with all his might, striking Fred Kipling on the side of his head. The blow was hard enough to leave the imprint of a wolf on the other man’s temple. And to drop him right to the floor.

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*** Maybe it was a good thing they didn’t have any guests staying at the inn, Holly decided a short time later. Because for the second time this week the police were combing the house. They’d arrived about five minutes after Zach had taken down the horrible man who’d threatened to kill her. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the crack of her grandfather’s cane against Kipling’s skull, knowing the sound was still better than if she’d heard the explosion of gun fire. The thief’s head had been shaped like a large boulder and considering he’d already regained consciousness by the time the ambulance workers were taking him away—with a police escort—Kipling’s skull must really have been made out of rock. “You’re sure you don’t want to be seen by anyone?” Detective Santori asked. Though he was, again, out of his jurisdiction, the local department didn’t seem to mind his presence since he was the lead investigator into the diamond robbery. “I’m fine,” Holly insisted, just as she had said to the first officer who’d thought she might be in shock. She wasn’t. She was shaken up but okay. As long as Zach remained by her side, his fingers twined in hers and his arm lying gently across her shoulders, she could handle anything. Absolutely anything. She’d been crazy to send him away and just as silly to avoid his calls. Thinking that she could have him for one wild, sensual night and then forget about him forever had been a fool’s plan. Holly was no fool. She loved Zach Weldon, she always had. She might have been too young and immature to know what to do about that love eight years ago, but now she was a woman. Her grandparents were certainly proof that wonderful relationships could exist in her family. And Holly was not like either of her parents in any other respect—from looks to drive to loyalty. So why on earth should she be like them when it came to emotional commitment? Besides, looking back on her relationship with Zach through adult eyes, she knew she had to share some of the blame. Not for doing what she’d thought was right at the time—even if it was a little naïve—but for never confronting Zach, never giving him a chance to explain. She’d assumed the worse that night when she’d found him passed out beside his ex. Now, given what she’d come to see of the man over the past few days, she began to wonder if she’d known the real Zach at all. Because a man who’d try so hard to protect her home, who’d risk his life to save hers, was a man with honor. Could he truly have been guilty of what she’d thought he’d done? She had to know the truth. Had he betrayed her? Could she forgive him? And where did they go from here?

Chapter Nineteen By nine o’clock Friday night, Zach and Holly were alone in the living room of the inn. The police were gone, her grandparents in bed. Silence had descended except for Bing Crosby crooning softly in the background. They sat on the sofa, close—but not touching and had not spoken a word for several moments. No more talk about the robbers or where the diamonds might have ended up—Santori’s guess was that Leo Meaney had hidden them somewhere before meeting his partner at the tree lot.

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There was no more chatter from Holly’s maid or her grandparents. Just them. Zach and Holly. With no barriers, other than the ones they had erected over the years. Zach was going to surmount them no matter what it took. “You haven’t been returning my calls,” he murmured, pulling his attention off the flames flickering in the fireplace. Between their glow and the twinkle of lights on the Christmas tree across the room, he could see well enough to notice Holly’s eyes shift, her lashes lowering over them. “No, I haven’t.” She said nothing else for a second and Zach’s heart stopped. Was she trying to find the words to thank him for his help and then ask him to get out of her life again? “I was wrong.” His heart resumed beating again and his world started turning again. “I think I understood why you didn’t.” “You do?” Moving closer, he stretched his long legs out beside hers so that they touched, ever-so-lightly. “You wanted the sex we never had—with no repercussions and none of the heartbreak.” She gasped. “How did you…” “I did go to school on an academic scholarship,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not stupid. Do you think I don’t know you’ve spent the past eight years thinking I was a cheating dog who couldn’t be trusted?” “Not all of the past eight years.” “No?” She shook her head. “No. I began wondering if I was wrong on Tuesday when you agreed to do whatever you could to help my grandparents save their home.” “And your home,” he murmured. “Then today, when you could have waited for the police, you came inside, risking your life.” “Did you think I’d just watch that bastard shoot you?” “A cheating dog might have.” Sitting up straight and dropping his elbows onto his knees, Zach stared into the flames. “I’m not. I never was.” “I’m beginning to realize that,” she admitted. “What really happened?” Hardly recognizing himself in the dumb college kid he’d been, he said, “I went to my friend’s, pissed off, horny. My ex was there, flirting, offering to make it all better.” “I’ll bet.”

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“I don’t know, maybe I let her flirt with me out of hurt pride. I’d had a lot to drink.” He finally turned his head, meeting her stare. “But I never had any intention of doing anything. And nothing happened. I fell asleep on the floor and she crashed next to me. I never touched her. Then the next morning you showed up, and everything went to hell.” Holly nodded, leaning closer, until their hips touched and her arm brushed his. The sweet, cinnamon-scent of her hair filled his head as she leaned close to press a soft, gentle kiss on his mouth. It ended quickly though the sensations continued. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t even give you a chance to explain.” “I don’t know if I would have. I was mad, Holly. Immature, angry, wanting more from a relationship than you were ready to give. Maybe I intentionally sabotaged us.” “And maybe that was the right thing to do.” It was his turn to stare in surprise. “We were at different places in our life. Nineteen and twenty-year-olds, nowhere near ready to commit to anyone or even understand what a genuine commitment meant.” “And now?” She smiled, her beautiful face cast in light and shadow from the flames. “Now…maybe we’re ready.” “You’re sure?” Nodding, she said, “I sent you away because I was sure I would fall in love with you again if you stayed.” “I know.” “I was afraid of that. But I’m not afraid of it anymore.” Reaching for her, Zach cupped her cheek. “I’ll never give you reason to be.” Wrapping his arms around her, he caught her mouth in a deep, breathless kiss that said all the other words he hadn’t yet gotten around to saying. Sweet words. Tender words. Heartfelt words. Holly shifted on the couch, sliding across his lap to straddle him. The emotional moment shifted, changed, becoming heated and sultry as she stared down at him. “I want you, Zach. Make love to me.”

Chapter Twenty If Holly had been twenty and unsure of herself, she might not have believed Zach when he told her what had happened the night they broke up. But she was no longer a girl. She was a woman who’d experienced life and sex, truth and lies. She knew he was telling the truth. “Make love to me,” she repeated. Zach’s hungry expression was all the answer she needed. They made love in front of the fire, bathed in the amber light of the flames and in the twinkle of the sparkly lights of the Christmas tree.

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And this time, after they’d exploded in pleasure, Holly didn’t immediately start wondering how to make him go. Because she only wanted him to stay. “I do love you,” she whispered. Still sprawled naked on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, the flames sending shadow and light dancing across his golden skin, he smiled. “I love you, too, Holly.”

*** On Tuesday, Christmas Eve, Holly woke up blissfully happy. Not only because Zach had spent another night in her bed—in her arms—but because this was also the day Weekend Getaway was supposed to air the story on the inn. She paced anxiously until it started, then held her breath as the opening credits rolled, her hand clenched in Zach’s. Her grandparents watched just as avidly. Until finally, it was there, on the screen, their beautiful home all decked out in its holiday best. Holly groaned when she saw herself onscreen. “Oh God, look at my hair.” “Well, you had been wrestling a corpse all day,” Zach said. She playfully socked him in the upper arm and then shushed him, hanging on every word the reporter uttered. Candy described her visit as the pictures changed and every word she said made Holly’s smile grow. “The Hollyberry Inn is one of the most delightful treasures to be found anywhere near Chicago,” Candy concluded as the video from the inn ended and the image returned to the studio. Holly wanted to dance for joy. At least until the final moments of the show, when the studio hostess spoke. “You know,” she said to Candy, “I’ve been following an interesting story about those diamond thieves from Chicago. Weren’t they found in the same town where this little inn is located, and one of them had killed the other? I don’t suppose you ran into them on your visit?” Her grandmother gasped. Zach leaned forward on the couch. And Holly froze. Smiling at her colleague, Candy then turned to look at the camera. She seemed to be staring directly at Holly and her eyes twinkled under the lights. “How exciting, seeing a jewel thief at the Hollyberry Inn.” She laughed softly, but didn’t look away. “Why, just imagine, one of them could have been lounging right there on the sunporch, sleeping as peacefully as…the dead.” Holly didn’t move an inch, not until the show ended and her grandfather clicked the TV off. Then she realized Zach was shaking with laughter, as were her grandparents. “That Candy,” Nana said, “she’s a good egg.”

*** Zach had been so terrified of Holly’s close call on Friday that he hadn’t wanted to leave her side. But he’d managed to slip away for a few hours on Tuesday, long enough to visit a jewelry store to buy her something special. When she opened the tiny package late that night and slipped the solitaire onto her left ring finger, he knew her answer.

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They were still celebrating their surprise engagement on Christmas morning when Holly’s grandparents came downstairs. Zach found himself included in the family celebration, watching as Holly found a dozen reasons to wave her new ring around. “It’s awfully pretty—and almost as big as those pretty ones on the tree,” her grandmother said. Holly raised a quizzical brow as Zach glanced toward the Christmas tree. The lights were on, twinkling merrily, and for the first time, he noticed the way they reflected off a number of tiny, crystal ornaments that sent out shards of color in all directions. “Where did those come from?” Holly asked. “I’m sorry, dear, the strand must have broken in the rush to take down the old tree. I found all the beads on the floor, but these eyes are old. I couldn’t see the holes in them to string them back together,” her Nana said. “So I just glued ‘em all onto holders and put them up. Aren’t they pretty? So sparkly.” Holly rose. Seeing the color fall out of her face, Zach got up, too and followed her to the evergreen. When she reached for one of the tiny ornaments hanging like jewels from a bough, he suddenly began to suspect the truth. “Jewels…” “Oh my God,” she murmured. Their eyes met, both of them giggling softly as they realized exactly where the stolen diamonds had ended up. “Do you think we should tell her?” Holly whispered. “Not yet. It’s Christmas. Besides, I don’t want to interrupt Mark’s holiday. We’ll call him tomorrow.” Nodding in agreement, Holly leaned close and wrapped her arms around Zach’s neck. Rising on tiptoe, she pointed to the ceiling. “Mistletoe.” Looking up and seeing the tiny green spray, he smiled and lowered his mouth toward hers. “I love you, Zach,” she whispered right before their lips touched. “Merry Christmas, Holly.”

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Dangerous Redemption by Roxanne Rustand Sara Carson has given up everything for her law career in Chicago. She has no personal entanglements, she rarely speaks with her father and she has long since stopped going to church. Then her father suddenly dies and Sara must return to her hometown to put his affairs in order. But she quickly learns of a stalker that plagued her father just before he died—a stalker that has now turned his attention to Sara! At the top of her list of suspects is her former high school crush and town bad boy, Brett Langley, who has suddenly taken a keen interest in her father’s house—and her….

Chapter One Sara Carson held back as the older woman marched up the steps of the imposing entryway, trying to ignore the sudden tension in her stomach. She'd never been prone to silly fears or foolish thoughts—so why did entering her late father's house fill her with such a sense of foreboding? "He was a fine, fine man," said Grace Dooley, unlocking the front door of the two-story brick house and handing Sara the key. Grace had been her father’s legal secretary for as long as Sara could remember, and her familiar presence was a comfort. She held on to Sara’s hand as she gave her the key, adding: "I know this must be…difficult for you." Sara nodded, a good measure of remorse weighing heavily in her chest. Grace had clearly known Meade Carson better than Sara had and the brief hesitation in her voice served as silent rebuke over that fact. I should have come back more often. I should have called. But Meade, a widower for the past twenty years, had been a stern, taciturn man. He'd been adamant about Sara focusing on top grades at Northwestern and then her career at a prestigious legal firm in Chicago. He certainly hadn't welcomed her home for visits beyond those at Christmas and Easter, and even then, he'd been cold and distant. And he'd never said a word about having serious health problems. So when he’d collapsed and died of an apparent heart attack in this house a month ago, he'd left Sara to deal with guilt as well as her grief. I should have known he was sick. Shaking off her thoughts, Sara dredged up a smile for the woman who had been her father’s legal secretary for the past forty years. Grace’s faded blue eyes hinted at her own grief over Meade Carson's unexpected death. Sara had long suspected that Grace cared for her boss on a personal level, but Meade had sworn that he'd never look at another woman after his wife's death. How sad, to love someone who would never return it. Not that Sara had done any better in the relationship department. After three years of handling divorce cases before switching to corporate law, she knew romance was highly overrated, way too expensive and definitely not her cup of tea. So she'd immersed herself in her career and had met every one of her goals, right on time. Perhaps her father would've even been proud…if he'd ever cared enough to ask. Forcing herself to focus on the present, she turned to Grace. "Would you like to come in, just for old-times' sake?" "Yes…no…" Flustered, Grace flapped a hand. "I…"

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"You're welcome to, really." Sara pushed the door open and ushered her inside. "Were you here often?" "Just a few times. A Christmas party once, and I dropped off documents whenever your father was ill and wanted to work from home. It’s a beautiful place. By the way, Mr. Hollister has been very careful with the property since you left after the funeral," she added. "He even had new locks installed and asked the sheriff to cruise past several times each night." Hollister was the other lawyer in town and had helped with some details of the estate. Following any death, property could appear vulnerable to local troublemakers and his concern was probably well-founded. But new locks and twenty-four-hour surveillance hardly seemed warranted. Grace apparently caught Sara's doubtful expression because she gave Sara an odd look tinged with surprise and even a touch of pity. "You didn't know? There’s good reason for the extra security. Your father was being stalked, my dear." "What?" Wolf Creek was just a small town in the shadows of the Wyoming Rockies, where everyone knew everyone else and where her father had been a highly respected man. "That can't be." "For months," Grace added. "There's no telling what the guy was after, but he was relentless. Meade received at least a dozen anonymous letters—hate mail, really. I begged him to turn it all over to the sheriff, but I think he saved just a couple and shredded the rest. The whole situation made him angry. He said the letters were an empty threat." Sara took a deep breath. "So the 'stalking' was just those letters?" "Goodness, no! Later there were a couple of nasty phone calls. Then someone broke into his office." Grace shuddered at the memory. "And shortly before he died, Meade told me that someone had followed his car every night that week, but stayed back too far for him to identify the vehicle." "He never hinted at who it could be?" "I honestly don't think he knew, but I still wonder if…if whoever it was had a hand in your father's death." Sara suddenly felt faint. Disoriented. "But—it was a heart attack. The death certificate says so." Grace lifted an eyebrow. "Does it? He was in perfect health, so did something trigger it? I can certainly think of some old clients who could stir up trouble. Big, big trouble." The back of Sara's neck prickled with the sudden sensation that they were no longer alone. She turned to look back at the open front door—and found a tall, dark-haired man staring at her through the screen. And she realized that she hadn’t locked it.

Chapter Two Grace drew in a sharp breath, her face white. "Meade was suspicious of several people in the area, and that man was one of them," she whispered. "He moved back to town just weeks before Meade's death, but I've seen him around here at other times over the years." The man on the other side of the screen door rapped on the frame. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

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He was silhouetted by the setting sun, but there was something oddly familiar about the deep timbre of his voice. Sara rested a hand on the cell phone clipped to her waist as she moved a few feet closer and tried to make out his features. "Who are you?" Someone stepped out from behind him—a short, stocky woman with close-cropped hair and a clipboard cradled in her arms. "Kay Winslow," she said briskly, pulling open the screen door. "Real Estate Agent." She thrust out a hand. "And this is my client, Brett Langley. I talked to Hollister this afternoon and he said you'd be here. I assume its all right to take a quick tour?" "I—I—guess so," Sara said faintly, shooting a glance at Grace. "Though I won't be listing it until at least October." The man's name suddenly registered and a flood of high school memories rushed back. He'd come from the wrong side of the tracks with a mother well-known for too many men and too much booze. He'd run with the rough crowd in school and was known for his defiant attitude, skipping school and wild parties out at the quarry. Yet Sara had always been drawn to him. Apart from the attraction of the James-Dean-rebel air he exuded, she’d sensed a keen intellect in him, though he'd tried to hide it beneath a shell of sarcasm and indifference. She’d been captivated by his tall, muscular good looks and she’d even had an unrequited crush on him throughout high school…though he'd been several years older and probably hadn't ever noticed that she even existed. But his old bad-boy image didn't begin to mesh with the man towering over her now. He wore a Ralph Lauren polo, crisp Dockers and what might be a Rolex. Still, Sara couldn’t help but wonder if his apparent money came from less-than-reputable business deals. Or maybe appearing as a potential buyer with money to burn was just a pretext for a thief casing his next job. From the sardonic look in his eyes he probably knew exactly what she was thinking but didn't care what anyone thought. He gave his agent a bored glance. "Kay?" "He's an absolutely qualified buyer," she gushed. "No problem whatsoever. So if you don't mind, we'll take a quick run through and be out of your way. Brett?" Without waiting for an answer, she whisked him off down the hall, popping into one room after another, chattering non-stop. After a quick tour of the second floor she took him downstairs. They left by the back door—ostensibly to view the backyard—though given Grace's snort of disbelief and the way she hurried to peer through the curtains, she probably thought he was checking out easy access for a break-in later. Five minutes later, Kay hurried back inside without knocking and thrust her business card into Sara's hand. "He wants it," she said breathlessly. "The sooner, the better. I'll be in touch." And then she was gone. "Mark my words: he comes from trouble, and that's what he is," Grace announced grimly after the door slammed. "He came into the law office the day before Meade died and those two had a big argument." Sara turned and stared at her. "About what?" "Meade didn't tell me and he didn't leave any notes in his planner. Far as I know, the sherriff never followed up after I told him what happened. The fool should've retired ten years ago. " Sara didn’t know what to do. An unexpected heart attack was bad enough. But murder?

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She tightened her jaw. Maybe Grace was imagining things, maybe not. Was it possible that in this quiet little one-horse mountain town a murderer had gone free? Her father’s murderer? Someone who was responsible for the huge, empty place in her heart over all the words that had been left unsaid—over all of the years ahead when she'd never again be able to call him or come home for Christmas. Someone who had taken all that remained of her family and left her all alone. She couldn’t let it stand. She couldn’t let him go free. Settling her father's estate would take months, so she would have perfect access to this town and its people…and Sara wasn't leaving Wyoming until she knew the truth…. And her investigation was starting with Brett.

Chapter Three "You mentioned a stalker and said Brett argued with my dad." Sara studied Grace's expression carefully. "Could they be the same person?" "I—I don't know." "But until now, there's been no mention of anything unusual about the cause of death! Not in the hospital records or on the death certificate. No one mentioned even a hint of suspicion at the funeral or visitation." "No one else knew. Meade never had any real proof that someone was after him. He told the sheriff that someone broke into his office files, but Brownley insisted on keeping it quiet. He figured it would be easier to catch the guy if he got careless." "My father had no idea who it was?" Grace's expression grew troubled. "He didn't—or wouldn't—say. But after a twenty-year career as District Attorney and almost twenty more years in private practice, I know he made plenty of enemies. Brett Langley and his mother, June, were just two of many." "What kind of vendetta would Brett and his mother have?" "She had a lot of legal trouble while he was growing up. Got evicted a few times from the Haskins Trailer Court, wrote some bad checks. Fought the electric company when her power was shut off. When Meade was the DA, she even served some time once—maybe thirty days." "Is she still having problems?" "Nothing I've heard about. Maybe she finally has someone to pay the bills after all the losers she consorted with. I almost never see her around town." With Grace’s troubling information buzzing in her head, Sara searched the room for comfort. But the dusty chandelier suspended over the two-storey foyer offered only dim light that didn't quite penetrate the shadows. "It…seems so empty, doesn't it?" Sara took a fortifying breath and stepped farther into the entryway. "But of course it would. I'm just being silly, really—" Grace gasped and fell back against the door with a heavy thud. Hearing the sound, Sara spun around and saw it, too: a dark figure looming in the shadows at the end of the hall. And for one heart-stopping moment, she thought she saw her father there, scowling and impatient.

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She blinked and looked again—it was just her father’s 1960's pork pie hat atop a hall tree and his wool topcoat on a hanger, its padded shoulders still shaped by years of draping his stooped shoulders. Grace gave a nervous laugh. "That was unexpected." "Yeah. No kidding." Chastising herself for her foolish imagination, Sara forced herself to focus on business, though it still took her a moment to find her voice. "You're welcome to walk through the place, if you’d like. Maybe you'll see a memento of some kind that you'd like to keep." "Oh, but I couldn't!" Sara stepped further into the wide foyer and looked up the open staircase to the second floor. "Most of the things here will be sold at the estate auction anyway, after I sort through it." "But why?" Grace said, a hand fluttering at her throat. "Surely all of the memories…" "I'll keep sentimental items, of course, but the rest won't fit in my condo. I'd like for some things to go to people who cared about my father." "Are you really giving up this lovely house as well?" Grace blinked. "You aren't taking over your father's practice?" "My career is in Chicago, but I'll stay here as long as I can. I want to update the house so it can go on the market." Glancing around, Sara suppressed a shudder. Before her mother had fallen ill, there'd been laughter in this place. Happiness. Now, with Brett and his agent gone it seemed particularly dark and deathly quiet, with a heavy, musty scent in the air. The thought of living here for a few months, surrounded by the past filled her with inestimable sadness and dread. Grace glanced at the faded wallpaper and the worn carpet. "Maybe it could use just a bit of freshening," she murmured. "The will specified that I have to keep the house for at least six months, so that will give me plenty of time." Grace nodded and rambled off into the parlor. Sara went to her father's main floor office at the back and flipped on the lights. A chill slithered down her spine when she stepped inside. This is where he had died—or had been murdered….

Chapter Four Dad had died at his desk alone and hadn't been found until three days later when Grace grew worried and called the police. The phone had been off the hook and was lying on the carpet as if he'd tried to call 911 but hadn't made it in time. Even now, that image filled Sara with sadness and an escalating doubt about what really happened. Grace appeared in the doorway, breaking into Sara’s thoughts. "This is such a fine photograph of Meade," she murmured, reverently running her fingertips over a gilt frame she held in her hands. "W-would it be all right if I took this?" She blushed. "I'm sorry. Of course you'd want to keep everything of so personal a nature. Forgive me." Sara smiled. "Please—take it. I have a copy back home."

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Her face wreathed in a grateful smile, Grace touched the glass of the frame. "It will be a nice keepsake after all the years I worked for him.” She looked up at Sara. “By the way, Mr. Hollister says a neighbor will stop by today with the item they've been keeping for you. I have no idea what it is—do you?" "It's probably just a plant." At a sharp knock on the door, Sara flinched then managed a smile. "But I think I'm about to find out." Meade's will stated that the house and its contents could be sold six months after his death, but that a mysterious object was to stay in Sara's possession or the estate would be transferred to a local charity. Furthermore, she was supposed to keep this thing alive—whatever it was—a very disconcerting thought. Since Meade had always abhorred finned, furred and feathered pets, it had to be one of his beloved rare houseplants, maybe a treasure from his travels in Africa or South America. But with Sara's black thumb and history of inadvertently killing anything green, it wasn't going to be easy. Had he become too eccentric or confused to remember her complete lack of nurturing skills? Why in the world had he entrusted this thing to her care? She hurried to the front door and glanced through the vertical full-length window next to it. A wrinkled face peered back at her, clearly unabashed at being caught trying to see inside the house. Neva Wallace, the next-door neighbor, stood holding a large, battered box tied with twine and from her awkward stance, the box appeared to be moving. The moment Sara opened the door Neva thrust the box into Sara's arms and scurried back down the sidewalk. "Wait!" Sara called after her. But the woman kept walking and the load inside the box suddenly lurched to one side. It was all Sara could do to stagger over to the antique bench in the entryway and set it down. An unearthly wail pierced the dismal silence of the house. Something scrabbled madly inside the box, clawing at the cardboard. Her heart in her throat, Sara took a step back, her gaze riveted to the top of the box. A huge paw thrust through the interlocked, folded flaps of the lid, razor sharp claws extended. It patted the outside of the box tentatively. Tested it. Then furiously attacked the cardboard. A second later, a massive feline head with a single malevolent, golden eye plunged upward through the flaps, and then suddenly the entire beast was free, its ragged plume of a tail lashing in anger. "Uh…Grace?" The older woman had wandered into the parlor, but now she reappeared in the arched doorway, her eyes rounded in surprise. With a growl worthy of a Bengal tiger, the cat launched off the table and rocketed to the top of the stairs. "This is definitely not a plant. It has to be a mistake." Grace shook her head, eyeing the animal warily as she backed toward the front door. "The will said Mrs. Wallace had to deliver that box—your father's directions were explicit." "B-but he hated cats. With a passion. Did he really own this cat? Is this a joke? Grace’s nose wrinkled with distaste. "I don't know."

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"Maybe you could take it," Sara tried to rein in the pleading note in her voice. "I can't even keep a zucchini plant alive." "That wouldn’t be in compliance with your father's will, my dear…you would lose everything." "But—" "And I'm allergic to cats.” Grace shuddered as she gave the animal another wary glance. "They give me the most unbearable hives." Grace turned and practically fled out the door, leaving Sara alone—with a nearly-rabid feline.

Chapter Five After a quick run to the store for cat litter and other supplies, Sara fitted her key in the lock of the front door—but it pushed open with ease. A sense of unease prickled up her spine. I must have left it ajar, she reasoned. But she could have sworn she had locked it. Unease quickly turning to terror, Sara cautiously prodded the door open a few inches and peered through the narrow crack before opening it all the way. Could she really have been so careless to leave the door open? Like a sphinx, the cat still sat at the top of the stairs, its fierce yellow eye glowed in the shadows. It was perched so perfectly still that it didn’t look as if it had moved a whisker. But the table nestled in the curve of the staircase told a very different story. It was bare, an antique Chinese vase—one that had been a good twenty inches tall and over four hundred years old—lay shattered on the floor. The unopened mail that had been stacked on top of the table was now scattered down the hall. "Did you do this?" she looked up the stairs. The cat looked back, unconcerned. "Did you?" At a loss for the cat’s name, she dropped her shopping bags on the floor and bent over the battered cardboard box still lying next to the door. She hoped some sort of message was in there to explain the animal. The neighbor would be no help—Neva had apparently dropped off the box on her way to visit a daughter in California and wouldn't be back for weeks. At the bottom of the box she found an old bath towel. Beneath it was a manila envelope. Her heart caught at the sight of her father's familiar scrawl. The letter inside was like a voice from the grave. And typical of her father, it was terse, without sentiment and straight to the point: Sara, follow through with this or my property will indeed go to charity. The deal is iron-clad. Call him Puff. Meade Sara glanced at the destruction around her feet then stared up at the cat. Puff? With one ear torn and drooping, a missing eye and that intense, make-my-day air, Terminator seemed like a far better name. Already, he'd destroyed a vase worth well over a thousand dollars and… She looked down and felt her heart stumble. The mail wasn't just scattered. Some of it had been opened, the envelopes neatly sliced—with a razor blade? The contents had been carefully unfolded, as if the perpetrator had been searching for something and had taken exquisite care removing the letters and reading the contents.

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And even a cat with a vendetta couldn't have done that. Had someone been watching the house? Saw her leave then managed to break in during that brief hour that she was gone? The chilling evidence of her vulnerability lay at her feet. And now, the suffocating, heavy silence of the house seemed to close in on her, stealing the breath from her lungs. And what if the intruder was still here? What if she’d come home a little too soon and caught him without an escape route? Or worse—what if he'd hidden in the house, waiting for his chance to attack when she least expected it? Grabbing her cell phone, she started dialing 911 as she spun around and raced for the door. She flung it open and vaulted off the front porch. And almost ran straight into Brett Langley. Who didn’t seem at all surprised to see her.

Chapter Six "W-what are you doing here?" she demanded, scooping her hair away from her face. "And how long have you been out here?" "That's what I love about small towns,” he replied with just a bit of a sarcastic edge. “Friendly neighbors. Pleasant visits over the back fence." A faint smile played at the corner of his mouth, deepening the faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. "Frank suspicion at every turn." Across the street, an elderly man in Bermuda shorts appeared to be enjoying the evening on his porch swing. A half-block down, a mom was loading her brood of children into her minivan. Their presence gave her courage. "I mean it. I was gone for less than an hour." "And I just stopped over to say hello." He frowned. "Was that wrong?" "I—" she glanced over her shoulder at the front door of her house, a chill of uneasiness sliding through her midsection. There was only frank curiosity in Brett’s eyes and that arresting touch of humor in his voice. Hardly the hallmarks of someone who had just broke into her house and gone through her mail. Yet Grace had been so sure that he spelled trouble. Sara riveted her gaze on his, watching for his reaction. "I came home just minutes ago and discovered that someone was in my father's house while I was gone. Someone who went through my mail, in fact." He shrugged, tilted his head toward the small stucco house three doors down and across the street. "I'm renting that house over there and I didn't see anything. But…" he cleared his throat. "I wasn't exactly honest a moment ago. I didn't just stop to say hello." Again, she caught a faint twinkle in his eyes. "Oh?" "I came to discuss the house. If it's a matter of money…" "It's a matter of my late father's will, which specifies that it can't be sold for six months. In the meantime, I'm planning to telecommute to my Chicago law office, and will be doing some updates on the place so it will show better come October."

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"What price range are we talking?" She named the price her own real estate agent had suggested, thankful that she'd thought to start researching the process early on. "What if I made you an agreeable offer now, gave you a substantial down payment and we just held off on the paperwork until later?" "I don't think that's quite what my father intended. But there are other houses in town, I'm sure. Some that are probably in better shape." "It has to be this one," he said with a weary sigh. "Believe me, I personally wouldn't care, but…well…" "But what? I don't understand." "It's…uh…for my mother. A surprise, I hope." "You're kidding." "Not at all. She used to live in an old trailer about the size of this porch, so when I started making money I was determined to get her into something better. She’s been living in a nice place just outside of town, but it’s a bit cramped and I think she'd love this one." He lifted an eyebrow. "It could make your life easier, knowing the matter is settled. Maybe I could even suggest some of the colors and so on." She blinked, warmed by this thoughtful side of Brett that she'd never imagined he possessed. "Or," he added with a wink, "you could save yourself the trouble of redecorating and just drop the price." Sara shook her head. "This is the last thing my father ever asked of me and I need to follow through with his wishes. I'm sorry." And he looked so crestfallen that she really was. "Look, once I finish updating the place, I'll have it reappraised and I'll set a fair final price. You'll have first dibs. Okay?" "Unless I can win you over a little sooner?" Again, that engaging smile—one that had probably helped change many a female heart. "Don't count on it." But despite her words, she found herself hoping she might run into him again…and she wasn’t as sure Grace Dooley’s judgment of Brett and his mother was right.

Chapter Seven After Brett left, Sara called the police. It took two hours for a deputy named Joe Paulson to show up and it wasn't worth the wait. After asking a few questions, he glanced at the front and back doors, jotted a few notes on his clipboard, then he took a quick tour of the house with Sara at his heels. "No sign of forcible entry?" he said when they were back out on the front porch. "Nothing that I could see." "So you left the house unlocked?" "I don't think so. But when I got home, the front door was ajar." "And you didn't notice that anything was taken?"

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"It doesn't look like it." Sarah sighed. "But someone rifled through the mail and opened some of it. Has anyone else had problems in the area?" The man had the gall to laugh. "In Wolf Creek? I don't even remember the last major crime." He frowned and rubbed his chin. "Maybe the breeze sorta blew that door open and scattered your mail?" "I really doubt it. As I said, some of it had been opened." Sara was having a hard time keeping her rising anger out of her voice. The deputy didn’t seem to notice. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and turned to her. “Well, we’ll look into it. Have a good night.” Sara kept replaying their conversation in her head, long after she settled into the guest room for the night. She was no longer surprised her father hadn't reported the stalker to the local authorities. The deputy had been amused by her concerns and Grace had told her about the lackadaisical approach of the sheriff, who was pushing seventy and in poor health. How much help would either of them be? In fact Grace's primary suspect, Brett Langley, would probably be a better bet if Sara needed help in a hurry. The thought returned long after midnight when she heard the sound of breaking glass somewhere on the main floor of the house—followed by an unearthly, heart-stopping howl. She grabbed the phone from the bedside table and called 911. The operator told her to remain where she was until the authorities came, but Sara changed into sweatpants, a sweatshirt and running shoes just in case she had to make a break for it. But there was only silence. Still she didn’t move. The prospect of coming face to face with an intruder kept her behind her locked bedroom door with her heart pounding and her thoughts racing. Alone with her fear, Sara started to pray. God, I know I don't talk to you often enough. But please, watch over me, and keep me from harm. Her pulse unsteady and her hands clammy with fear, she said the prayer over and over, wondering if God would even listen. Why would He, when she spoke to Him so rarely? When she was barely even part of His flock? Yet soon a gentle feeling of calm spread through her, a feeling of blessed reassurance that slowed her galloping heart. The sheriff himself and a deputy showed up twenty minutes later. The garish swirl of blood-red lights sweeping through the bedroom window was the most welcome sight she'd seen in days. And this time there was no question of the intruder simply being a destructive cat or a capricious breeze. A window pane had been shattered by the back door. A muddy, man-sized footprint was smeared just inside the now-empty frame. But it didn’t look like he had gone beyond the kitchen. Tiny drops of blood trailed partway across the center of the kitchen and stopped. A chair was tipped over, but nothing else on the main floor was disarrayed. When she'd heard the intruder's entry she’d been paralyzed by fear. But now, seeing the splinters of glass and that footprint and the blood—her pulse ratcheted up and shock waves of nausea crashed through her stomach. What if this guy had kept coming? What if he'd found my bedroom door? Kicked it in? Threatened me…or worse? A flicker of movement brought Sara’s attention to Puff, glaring down at them from atop the refrigerator with one narrowed eye, his claws flexing, his expression almost…smug. Sara looked at him again. Could he…? Don’t be silly, Sara. With the exception of his initial leap out of his cardboard prison, she'd never actually seen him move. He just…appeared.

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Brownley interrupted her thoughts with a jingle of the change in his pocket. "The intruder must've gotten cut on broken glass," the sheriff said needlessly, eyeing the blood. "Find someone with lacerations, and we've got your man." He turned to her. “Got any enemies?” Sara sighed. "I just came to town, Sheriff. But my father may have had some from his days as the District Attorney and his private practice." "So we've got possible revenge here." "But why now? After he's gone?" "Criminals aren't necessarily smart. Or maybe it's someone who's been outta the area a long time and just got back." Someone like Brett Langley?

Chapter Eight Sara stared at the sheriff, trying to reconcile the Brett Langley she'd known as a teen with the man he was today. Could he really be the one who was harassing her? Oblivious to her thoughts, the sheriff continued: "Maybe it’s someone who has been in prison," he theorized. "Someone your father put behind bars when he was the D.A. A guy doing hard time has way too much time to think. If it is someone dangerous like that, maybe you oughta get yourself a good dog." "A dog?" Puff already made her life complicated. A dog would have to go inside and outside, couldn't be left for long. And once she got back to Chicago… "Folks in these parts mostly have rifles, and they have dogs. Sorta like having an alarm system and back-up if it don't work." She laughed, but the sound was reedy and tense even to her own ears. "You make it sound like the Old West." "Oh, it ain't like that. There’s almost no crime to speak of. Ranchers have rifles for varmints and the dogs for company and herding livestock. But it all works double-duty, and I just think a dog would help scare away any prowlers. A good loud ruckus draws too much attention." The deputy strolled back into the kitchen. "No sign of anyone—I went through the entire house and checked the yard. And I made sure all the windows and doors were locked." Sara looked across the kitchen to the glittering glass shards near the back door. "But someone could come back. He could reach through that broken window again and let himself inside." Brownley smiled and canted his head toward the street. "I doubt he'll be back tonight. He's surely seen us here, and the neighbors are now way too curious. Word will spread and everyone will be watching this place a little closer." At a light rap on the back door, the three of them turned and the deputy went to open it. Brett stepped inside, carefully skirting the broken glass. He looked genuinely shocked and concerned with the scene—or he was a great actor. "I saw the lights. Is everyone all right over here?" "Break-in," Brownley said, eyeing him with considerable interest. "You're the Langely boy."

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"Brett." "You've been back what, a few days?" "A week." Brett's voice was cold and a muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. "I'll be here for three more, probably. You have a problem with that, Sheriff?" Brownley splayed his hands in a passive gesture and smiled. "None yet." "Good. Because I'm not here to cause problems. You won't even know I'm here." He nodded at Sara and handed her a business card. "If you need anything, this lists my cell phone number." Then he turned on his heel and left. After his footsteps faded away, Brownley turned to Sara with a fatherly smile. "You won't want to be calling him," he said gently. "If there’s trouble around here, he's probably the guy who caused it."

Chapter Nine Sara decided to take the sheriff’s advice, though it went against her instincts. No commitments, no ties had been Sara's mantra since she'd left college. She'd always traveled light and that philosophy had served her well during her frequent moves and spur-of the-moment trips. Now she'd been back in her father's house for a week and she was responsible for substantial real estate, a fifteen-pound cat with an attitude and a dog with ADD. Jack hadn't appeared to be attention deficit at the animal shelter. He'd watched her with wise, calm eyes, forgoing the desperate antics of the other inmates who were begging her for a home. He was a masterful actor. The moment the Irish setter-border collie mix hit the front door, he'd ricocheted off the walls at light speed until she was dizzy and breathless from catching lamps and photo arrangements and her late-mother's decorative whimsies that still graced most of the flat surfaces in the house. He was also heartbreakingly attached to her from the first moment he'd seen his new home—repeatedly returning to her at the same light-speed velocity he attacked the furniture with, sometimes launching himself from half a room away into her arms so he could melt against her chest and shower her with wet kisses as she staggered backward into the nearest chair. But even if whiplash and back strain were in her immediate future, he did show a pleasing propensity for barking if anyone dared knock on the door. An admirable trait to be sure, because since someone had broken in through the back door, there'd been four heavy-breather hang-up calls late at night, and each one had sent a shiver of dread down her spine. Was it the same guy? Was he trying to find a time when no one was at home? The police were useless. Apparently, he was using public telephones, which were untraceable. So she’d installed an early warning system so at least the creep couldn't break in again unannounced. Which would—hopefully—give her time to go through all of her father's old cases and find out who this guy could be. The harsh ring of the old-fashioned phone on her father's desk slashed through the silence. She froze, her blood pounding through her veins. It's probably just a neighbor. That eager real estate agent. A recorded message from a political candidate.

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But even before she lifted the receiver with shaking fingers, she knew what she would hear. Nothing. The too-familiar fear gnawed at her stomach.

*** The watcher lounged against the heavy trunk of an oak tree in the backyard, staring through the bare windows of the fine old brick house. There'd always been particular pleasure in this view. Watching, unseen, as Meade walked from room to room, he appeared so confident in his power and his untouchable status. So unaware of the perfect, tempting target he offered. But waiting too long had eliminated the chance for perfect revenge against him and now Meade's daughter had moved into the house—as if she deserved so rich a prize. No, the job wasn't done. It wouldn't take much to get rid of that noisy excuse for a dog. And after that, Sara would be easy enough to frighten away—the edge of fear in her voice over that simple phone call had been clear. If she didn't take the hint pretty soon, a more permanent solution would be the next step. And then, the coast would be clear. That house held secrets no one could be allowed to discover…and items that would only begin to repay the debt Meade owed. Smiling, the watcher withdrew into the shadows, and decided it was time to up the stakes.

Chapter Ten At Sara's request, Grace stopped by the house the following day—but only after Sara promised to lock Puff and Jack in the laundry room before she arrived. Still, she walked gingerly down the hall to Meade's office, her face wrinkled in an expression of distaste. "You've found some files of people that might hold a grudge?" "Fifteen so far. I hoped you might remember something about these cases. I've been trying to figure out who might've had reason to wage a vendetta against my father." Sara smiled ruefully. "I'm coming to think it'd be easier to eliminate the people who don't." "He was an excellent District Attorney," Grace retorted. "One of the best." "Which meant he sent a lot of criminals to prison. Ex-cons who could want revenge." "Well…of course." Sara waved her to the executive chair behind Meade's desk and pushed a stack of thick files toward her. "These are the ones I thought were the most likely suspects. What do you think?" Grace pursed her lips as she opened one file after another, skimmed the pages, then set it aside. "Hagerty—no. Baker—no. Anderson…" she frowned, contemplating a coffee stained folder. "Maybe. And here’s another maybe: Reed Miller. He abused his family for years according to his wife's testimony. After he beat her within an inch of her life, Meade got him sent away for fifteen-to-twenty. Reed was livid.” Stifling a sneeze, she sifted through several more. "Ahhh. Geoff Nelson—embezzler. The obscenities he shouted across the courtroom at your father would've made your ears burn.” She opened another file. “And Fred Howell—he robbed some vacationers up in the mountains. Shot one. He maintained his innocence even as he was being dragged away in shackles. Swore everyone in the court was going to be sorry, which of course didn't help his appeal any. Still, he got released early on a technicality.” Grace flicked open the next folder. “Vance Walker is a maybe. He did Federal time on a drug conviction."

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She thumbed through the rest, setting three others aside and then stood abruptly. "But you're overlooking the one who is right under your nose." "Brett? I haven't found a file on him." Grace sniffed. "He was a juvenile, so those records were expunged. As I remember, he was arrested a couple of times for underage drinking and criminal mischief with those rowdy friends of his. Four of them were in a car involved in a serious accident that sent a nice older couple to the hospital, in fact. The husband nearly died." Sara felt faint. "Brett was driving drunk?" "He was in the car with the rest of those boys, but he refused to testify against them in court. His mother…well, for a small town woman with a reputation like hers, she certainty showed no respect. None. She had the audacity to say the charges against her son were completely untrue then she and Meade got into quite a shouting match because she would not back down." Grace harrumphed. "Of course, Meade had all the proof he needed, anyway." So when Brett's mother ended up in court later on during her own legal difficulties, had her father exacted just a bit of revenge? Meade had always been a bulldog in court, and he'd never tolerated people willing to go toe-to-toe with him on any issue. Sara was beginning to see a picture that made her stomach twist. "What happened to the boys?" "The driver was tried as an adult, but his daddy hired a good lawyer and he served just ninety days, plus two years of probation. Meade filed multiple charges against the other boys, but they just got a slap on the wrist with two hundred hours of community service at the hospital emergency room in Salt Creek." Grace shook her head in obvious disgust. "Trouble begets trouble, I always say. And that Langley family has had plenty of it. Do you see now why you should be suspicious of that boy? He has the most history with your father—and living just down the road he has plenty of opportunity to harass you. Be careful of him, Sara."

Chapter Eleven Even with Jack curled up at the foot of her bed and the oddly peaceful presence of Puff, who still acted like an aloof, surly old warrior, Sara couldn't stop the names from spinning through her thoughts. These were the ones that Grace had singled out, but that didn't mean there couldn't be a hundred other possibilities. And even after several hours on the Internet before going to bed, Sara had only managed to find information on two of them: Miller was still incarcerated with no hope of getting out soon and Walker had been released last winter. By dawn, she was still tossing and turning and the dog was watching her with weary patience. He finally jumped off the bed and whined at the door, so she took him downstairs and let him out into the fenced backyard while she made a pot of strong coffee to help her face the morning. In an effort to put aside the disturbing events of the last couple of days, she’d scheduled some workers to come and appraise the upgrades she wanted to do on the house. A painting contractor was due at eight, a handyman at nine, both planning to write up bids. She was halfway up the stairs to get dressed when she realized just how quiet and peaceful the early morning hours were. Unusually quiet, really, because when Jack went outside, he deemed every bird and every beetle a trespasser and everything was cause for barking. His amazing ability to bark ceaselessly, without apparent need to pause for a breath, meant she never dared leave him outside for very long. But now she could hear nothing.

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Uneasiness crawled through her as she hurried for the back door and raced out onto the porch, calling Jack’s name. But the minute she scanned the back yard, she had her answer. The locked side gate facing the street was wide open. The heavy, padlocked chain had been cut. And Jack was gone. Sara pulled on her jeans, a T-shirt and tennis shoes and raced outside calling Jack's name. She went up one street and down the next until her shoes were soaked with dew and her lungs and throat were raw from calling Jack's name. Sara could barely see the ground in front of her. Low-lying fog swirled through town and to the west the Rockies were shrouded in heavy clouds. It was an ethereal morning with house lights glowing through the mist—but the soft beauty of it all could easily hide an injured dog lying a heartbeat away. She prayed Jack hadn’t been hit by a car or truck…. How far could one goofy dog go? Main Street—all five blocks of it—dipped into a rocky hollow, crossed a mountain stream then meandered up into the foothills. But she found no sign of Jack. She resolutely continued on. But as she trudged further from town, she found it increasingly difficult to suppress the thought that Jack hadn’t just been let out of her yard—he’d been taken. Stolen by someone who wanted to take away all of her protection. Or maybe simply to lure her out of the house… Suddenly a tall, dark, broad-shouldered form seemed to coalesce out of the heavy mist of the hollow. The huge mass was right in front of her but she couldn’t see any features. It was faceless. Looming over her, the thing was threatening, just by its size. She bit back a cry and stumbled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs, her muscles turning to jelly. She gauged the distance back to the convenience store. A hundred yards? More? Please, Lord, it's me again and I really, really need your help. And then she ran for her life.

Chapter Twelve "It's me, Sara," a voice called out as she started to run. "Brett." She blinked and pulled to a stop. "I run every morning," he said, jogging to catch up with her. "Peaceful, isn't it?" "Not if you're on the verge of a heart attack." Her heart pounding, she took a deep, steadying breath. Sure enough, he was wearing running shoes, a windbreaker and disreputable old sweatpants. But had he really just come out for exercise or had he also seized an opportunity to scare her? After seeing the open gate and broken chain, she'd immediately started sorting through possible suspects. Grace was convinced that Brett was a troublemaker, and her own father had apparently agreed. She had to admit that he was the most likely culprit. And he certainly wanted Meade's house. His interest had seemed sweet and sincere before but after everything that had happened, she couldn’t help but be suspicious. What better way to get the house more quickly than to harass Sara and convince her to leave town?

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But one look up into his compelling, dark-chocolate eyes and gentle expression and that scenario seemed as far-fetched as blaming the man on the moon. Still, could her own father have been so wrong about this man's character? Brett frowned. "You look worried about something. Can I help?" "Jack is gone." She bit her lower lip. "Someone cut the chain on the gate and stole him—I think.” Had she told him too much? Sara wanted to trust Brett with her fears, with all the frightening things that had been happening to her, but her doubts still lingered. No, she couldn’t tell him anything. “Who would want to steal him? It seems preposterous. He's a mutt and he barks incessantly when he's outside. A thief could go after any number of the fancy purebred dogs around town." "You've found no sign of him at all?" "I've been up and down every street. I think I woke up the whole town, calling for him. He always comes like a rocket at home." The damp, chill mist had soaked her shoes and jeans and now she started to shake. Brett took off his windbreaker and offered it to her, insisting when she hesitated to let him give up his own comfort. The jacket smelled of pine trees and fresh air and a faint hint of Brett's woodsy aftershave. When she put it on she could still feel his warmth in the fabric and it enveloped her like a comforting hug. "There are only two highways running through town," he said. "On foot, it would take all day. How about you and I go back for our cars, then you take one road and I take the other? Once the sun burns off this mist, we'll be able to check the ditches, in case he's been hit." Surprised and grateful for the offer, she nodded somberly. "I can't imagine that he'd just run off and not come back." "It happens. Dog sees a rabbit, forgets everything else. But…" Brett's voice grew troubled. "There's another possibility." Their eyes met, and she realized she didn’t have to make the connection for him between recent events and Jack’s sudden disappearance. He didn’t know all of it—the first intruder who had rifled through her mail, the anonymous phone calls—but he’d seen the second break-in where the window had been shattered. Since then, she'd often had an uneasy sensation of being watched, though she had no proof of that. And if Jack's disappearance was tied to those escalating threats, what could happen next?

Chapter Thirteen Two hours of driving isolated mountain roads yielded no sign of Jack. Brett had found no traces of him either and had reluctantly gone home. After returning to her house, Sara checked with the sheriff's office but they hadn't received any reports of dogs hit on the highway, nor had they received any calls about suspicious persons lurking in town. A deputy—who barely looked old enough to shave—did stop by the house after lunch to take a look at the padlock and chain. "Vandalism," he announced with a shrug. "Probably some teenagers wandering around and looking for trouble. Over on Maple, Mrs. Potter found two flat tires on her car last night." "I don’t think this was random," Sara said quietly. "I'm seeing an escalating pattern, which falls under your state's statues for stalking, breaking and entering and now destruction of property, which is a misdemeanor. Further, my dog is missing and I'll bet that falls under theft, not a simple disappearance."

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The young deputy took a wary look at her then studied the chain in his hand. "I'll notify the sheriff and the other two deputies. We stopped our nightly drive-bys as soon as the house was occupied, but we'll keep a closer eye on it now." "Thanks." He looked up at her intently. "Though do understand—there's too few of us to cover this whole county, so I can't guarantee that one of us will be by every night." "I understand. Any chance you could run the prints on that padlock?" A faint blush crept up his neck when his gaze dropped back to the chain—which he'd handled without gloves, a clear sign of his inexperience and initial lack of concern. "I—I can sure try. I didn't touch the padlock and it does have a good flat surface." After the deputy left, Sara paced through the house, feeling its emptiness and an even greater hole in her heart without Jack barreling into her knees or looking at up her with absolute love in his eyes. She imagined her father here all alone, his solitary footsteps echoing down the halls. So this is how you lived all those years after Mom died, in this big old mausoleum. Without even something like Jack or Puff to keep you company. She glanced over her shoulder and found the cat watching her from the back of a sofa in the parlor, his single golden eye glittering, his tail slowly flicking in a sinuous rhythm. Suddenly she realized that she'd become the image of Meade in so many ways: in her absolute dedication to her career, her solitary lifestyle, her basic distrust of almost everyone she met because of her clients who tended to shade the truth on even the most trivial of matters. And she'd drifted away from her faith, just as he had. He'd always been "too busy" for church. While her mother took Sara to Sunday School and church, he'd typically stayed behind at his desk, laboring over one legal matter after another, never really catching up, putting his career above everything else. But even when he’d achieved status as one of the best lawyers in town and then become renowned across the state as a judge, he'd never seemed happy, had never seemed fulfilled. And now, sitting alone in his house Sara understood just how he'd felt.

Chapter Fourteen Sara lifted a small, framed photo of herself from an end table. Her Confirmation Day, when she'd innocently believed that her future would hold everything she wanted: joy, love, success. A family of her own, maybe. And certainly a beautiful palomino horse with four white stockings, like the Breyers horse on the shelf in her bedroom. She’d had continuing, childlike faith. Out of all of those, she'd achieved one out of six—the career success—which wasn't exactly batting a thousand. Maybe it was time to make some changes. Through the window, she saw Brett striding up the walk to the front door and her heart lifted. No matter what Grace said, every time she’d been in trouble he’d gone out of his way to help her. And he was still one of the more friendly people in town. Maybe he did have an agenda to sweet talk her into selling the house before October, but now she had one, too. She was going to prove he had nothing to do with the harassment of her father, his death or her own recent terrors. She met him at the door and stepped out onto the porch, feeling an odd little flutter in her stomach at just seeing him again. She smiled, trying to seem casual. "What's up?”

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He didn't smile in return. "I just thought you should know. Four other dogs disappeared last night. All on this side of town." "Oh, no." Instantly, that butterfly of anticipation dissipated as she imagined the grim possibilities. "Not wolves or coyotes." "It's potentially worse." He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, his expression grim. "The sheriff did some checking. There've been similar reports in some other rural towns around here. It's possibly the work of 'bunchers'—guys who collect dogs and sell them for research. It's legal if they buy the animals from shelters, but some figure it’s easier money to just steal whatever they can find." Now she felt physically ill. "Not Jack. Not all those beloved pets. Just think of the kids or the old folks who have no one else." He rested his warm hands on her shoulders, his touch sending a flood of sensation through her. "No one knows for sure. It could just be a coincidence, but the county sheriffs have all received bulletins and are on the lookout." "This is why I've never had pets. You love something and what happens? In the blink of an eye it’s gone and it leaves a big, painful hole in your heart." He bent his knees a little to look straight into her eyes. "I get the feeling this isn’t just about your dog." She shrugged, unwilling to say. But it was about the dog. And now the loss of both of her parents. It was about her career and her choice to be alone and concentrate only on the job because that had been the one way to her father's heart. And now that she was back home, every time she drove past the Wolf Creek Community Church it was a subtle reminder of her faltering faith, something she'd largely ignored since she'd moved away. She had a rising career. A beautiful condo. An enviable investment portfolio. She'd once thought she had everything that mattered most. But maybe she was missing the most important thing of all.

Chapter Fifteen Brett cleared his throat, pulling Sara out of her thoughts. "We have another three hours of daylight. Do you want to go back out and look for Jack with me?" Surprised, Sara looked up at Brett and saw only genuine concern in his eyes. "That's nice of you, but you've already spent hours on this. I don't expect you to keep at it." He shrugged. "Hey, if it was my dog, I'd appreciate all the help I could get. And if you run into the wrong sort of people, it might be better to have someone along." Given that he had to be a good six-foot-two, he had a point. And now that she had decided he was not the one behind the recent incidents she could enjoy his company. "I'd appreciate that." "Let's take my SUV, so you won't be alone when it starts getting dark." A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I promise I won't spend the time trying to convince you to sell me your house early. Scout's honor." After calling all of the vet clinics in the county as well as the three animal shelters, she climbed into Brett's vehicle and they circled the perimeter of the town then slowly drove up and down the streets. Still they saw nothing. "I really don't think he's anywhere in town, Sara. We've looked everywhere."

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"Not the alleys." He gave her a patient smile. "Even if he was roaming the alleys, he would have heard you calling his name." "Maybe he's hurt and lying somewhere and he wasn't stolen after all. And I'd like to check the park again, just to be sure." She knew she probably sounded like a stubborn child, but Jack had to be somewhere close by. The alternative was just too frightening. She refused to even entertain the thought he’d been taken by profit-hungry thieves—or a person with a more sinister and personal purpose. "You've been wonderful, Brett, but I think I should go and get my own car. You probably have other things to do, and—" "No, it's no problem at all. Believe me." He resolutely headed for the little park on the edge of town. But the park was empty. Brett drove back towards the center of town, slowing down to a crawl at every alley, but there was still no sign of Jack. Disheartened, Sara stared glumly out the window. They turned onto a small side street and she could see into the yards of a long row of houses. "I never thought I'd get so attached to such a silly dog. Maybe someone did steal him. I just hoped—" Something red and silver caught her eye. Sara sat up. She twisted in her seat to look back. "Wait—what was that? Go back!" "I didn't see anything." Still, Brett dutifully stopped and put the SUV into reverse. "But if you think so…" She jumped out and ran to the fence to take a look, her stomach already starting to tie itself in a knot. Sure enough, there it was on a picnic table in the backyard. A bright red collar with reflective stripes and a shiny new rabies tag. Jack's collar. Then Sara looked to the house. Her stomach clenched as she recognized the all-too-familiar stucco frame. She turned to look at Brett, her heart sinking and the fear returning. How could she have been so totally wrong about him? “This is your yard, Brett. What did you do with my dog?"

Chapter Sixteen Sara's eyes burned as she stared at the dog collar in her hands. "Why was this here—in your yard! Where is Jack?" Brett's expression hardened. "You honestly think I did something to harm your dog? Why on earth would I do that?" A dozen reasons came to mind, and none of them were good. "You tell me." “Well there’s the house, but given that you’ve probably been talking to your father’s secretary, you might figure that I've been seeking revenge." His voice grew cold. "Your father tried to convict me for a tragedy that wasn’t my fault. When he couldn’t, he verbally attacked my mother's character in court. He made sure the court levied fines and costs that she couldn't begin to pay, which dominoed into a whole new chain of problems. We were ultimately evicted, Sara. But you know all of that. You were there. In the audience, hanging on to your father's every word as if he were a movie star." Her blood chilled at the precise intensity of his memory, even after all these years. "I—I don't remember that case. I never connected any of them with you. Your mother must have had a different name." But she did remember shadowing her father. She'd sat in the courtroom for countless hours as a teenager, watching her father at work. She'd been proud of him. Excited about following in his footsteps.

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She’d never considered the other side of what happened after those cases were over. What the consequences were for people like Brett’s mother. She’d given so little thought to the defendants she hadn’t even recognized Brett’s mother. Her case had probably seemed inconsequential—even boring—compared to the more thrilling cases involving robbery or assault. But looking at it now from their point of view, Sara’s avid interest in the proceedings had probably felt like salt on the wounds of the defendants who lost everything to her father's courtroom skills. Brett wasn’t finished. "Or maybe you do think it’s about the house. That I've been busy all this time trying to find ways to drive you out of town so you'll decide to cut your losses and leave early. Buying your house faster would certainly suit my purpose, right?" She shifted uneasily at his harsh indictment of her. Yet there was a grain of truth in what he said. She had doubted his intentions. Spoken aloud, her uncertainties sounded baseless and mean-spirited, especially after his willingness to help her and the obvious concern she'd seen in his eyes. "I'm aware of the local opinion about me. I just didn't think you were like the others," he added with a disparaging glance. "I—I'm not. Really." He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I assure you that I've had nothing to do with the incidents at your house, with your dog or anything else. I only came back to town to buy a new home for my mother. Despite how people used to treat her, she refuses to move away from this town and she used to talk about how much she loved walking by your father's house. When I heard about his death, I thought I could make her dream come true by buying it for her." "But you still can—in October." "Quite honestly, I'm not sure I want to anymore." He looked down at the collar still clutched in Sara’s hands. "Anyone could’ve put this collar here, Sara. You might want to think about who—and why—because it definitely wasn't me.” He took his car keys out of his pocket.” Your house is just down the street. Forgive me for not driving you home. See you around." She watched him get into his car and drive around the corner to the front of his house, feeling a deep sense of loss. She'd doubted him once, but now she'd come to realize that he was a warm, caring man despite all of his early hardships. He had gone out of his way to help her several times. And she'd repaid him by accusing him of something he simply couldn't have done. Numbly she walked back to her own house, fumbling for her keys. She blindly fiddled with the front door lock and let herself in, still berating herself. It wasn't until she was halfway to the kitchen that she realized she wasn't alone.

Chapter Seventeen It was a noise—so out of place now without Jack—that put her on high alert. The house felt so cold recently, so empty without Jack bounding over to see her. Sara saw no sign of Puff, though he usually seemed to appear in whatever room she was in and watched her every move with bored disinterest. He still didn't deign to let her stroke him and he'd never jumped on her lap, but at least he was company and she suddenly missed him very much. Had he made that faint noise she'd heard just a moment ago?

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"Puff? Kitty-kitty-kitty?" She listened and glanced around, but he didn't appear, even though it was past time for his cat food. When served, he usually put on his snooty royalty act, passing by his dish with his nose in the air. She'd never actually seen him eat, but he was never late for his performance and the food always disappeared as soon as she was out of sight. So where was he now? "Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!" Maybe he was asleep, curled up on top of the refrigerator where it was warm. But then what had made that noise? Sara stood glued to the ground, the back of her neck prickling, her senses on high alert. The floor creaked and she whirled around, staring at the darkened parlor through the open archway. The shadows in the parlor seemed to darken, coalesce and then loom higher. Sara tried to calm herself. It must be her imagination. There wasn't anyone there. There couldn't be. The front door had been securely locked. And yet… She took a step backward toward the kitchen, her hand at her throat, knowing instinctively that racing for the front door would be a grave mistake—that would take her right past the open mouth of the parlor where anything or anyone could be lurking in the shadows. Maybe she could make it through the kitchen and out the back door. She took another step in that direction. Then she felt a brush of cold air against her neck. Heard…something behind her. The harsh sound of something breathing? Or was that her own straining lungs, her own pounding heart? "You shouldn't have come back to Wolf Creek," a voice whispered harshly near her ear. "It was a very, very stupid mistake." Fear lanced through her like a dagger of ice, freezing her to the spot for a split second. The door—I've got to get to the door. She started to run, but a hand caught her collar and tightened sharply, robbing her of breath. Then her captor closed both hands around her neck. She clawed helplessly at those hands but the pressure grew tighter, tighter, until the room started to tilt and color seemed to explode beneath her eyelids. And then everything went black.

Chapter Eighteen She was floating on a midnight sea under a starless sky. Silent. Cold. Black. So frigid that her body could no longer shiver and she let herself drift down; down into the welcoming embrace of the depths where the pain no longer mattered. Her throat was raw and her wrists were on fire. Her feet had been bound so tight she couldn’t feel them. She tried to cry out but her mouth wouldn't open. Her panic escalated as bile rose in her throat. She could so easily choke to death—if she allowed that to happen. Dear Lord, please help me. She stopped struggling frantically and forced herself to go limp and draw in a slow, steady breath through her nose. Easy. One breath…and another…stay calm… But where was she?

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Every muscle was bruised and aching. Thin wire cut into the flesh of her ankles and her wrists which were bound in front of her. A blindfold was tied tightly around her head. The lower edges drew against her nostrils with each breath, threatening to suffocate her. If the cloth slipped any lower… God? I seem to be praying to you more and more and it's just when I'm in trouble. Please, help me out of this. I have so much to do, so much I want to change in my life. Please, let me have a second chance. Something rough scraped against her cheek and she swallowed a scream, desperately wanting to cry out for help. But as her senses sharpened she felt cold, rough cement beneath her. She was breathing damp, chilly air and could detect a faint scent of fabric softener. She was in the basement! From the increasing pain throbbing throughout her body, she guessed she'd probably been pushed down that long, steep flight of wooden stairs. That she was still alive filled her with a sense of calm, as if God had wrapped his arms around her, protecting her. And with that came a sense of power. Again there was a rough scrape against her cheek—only this time, it was followed by a brush of something soft as down and a low, rusty purr. Puff? A brief flash of humor hit her, but the tight band of tape across her mouth made it hurt to smile. In the old Lassie movies, the dog always went for help. But what could one lazy, disgruntled cat do? She could hardly write a note and affix it to his nonexistent collar and send him to the sheriff. If only she hadn't doubted Brett. If only she'd trusted him, trusted her heart, maybe he would have come in the house to talk. But as always, she'd managed to drive away yet another person from her personal life. And doing so might have just cost Sara her own life. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. She tentatively scraped her cheek against the rough concrete, hoping to loosen the duct tape. She tried again and again until her cheek was raw and burning and something warm and slick dampened the floor. She smelled the metallic scent of blood. But the tape was finally looser. But still not enough to yell for help. Help me know what to do. Please, Lord, help me. An idea hit her like a lightning bolt. Rolling over, she wriggled across the floor until she reached one of the vertical support beams. She struggled until she was able to rise to her knees and then prayed hard as she edged painfully, slowly against it. Sara rubbed her shoulder against the wood until she found something— the head of a nail protruding from the wood just an inch. Just enough. Time slowed as she worked at the blindfold, trying to catch the edge of it against the nail. And then, suddenly, the blindfold slid down to her neck. Bolstered by her success, she focused on the tape covering her mouth. The duct tape, loosened by her efforts and slick with blood, finally snagged on the nail and ripped painfully free, leaving her lips raw and bleeding, but giving her a blessed chance to draw in a deep breath of air. Thank you, God—thank you. The basement was dark, but a shaft of moonlight shone through a window on the other side of the basement, spotlighting a small portion of the room. She needed that light to help her figure out how to untie her wrists and ankles. Gauging the distance, she drew in another deep breath. Then she slowly edged over there, an inch at a time, the wire cutting into the soft flesh of her ankles and wrists with each movement. Finally. She closed her eyes, said another prayer and lowered herself to her knees. Unable to break her fall, she tripped and fell hard against the cement. Dizzying stars exploded in her head, but she'd made it. Her wrists were bound but her fingertips were free, and with that faint illumination to guide her, she could work at the wire around her ankles.

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And then, maybe she could make her escape. It was a good plan—until the basement light suddenly blazed on and she heard the first footstep coming down the stairs.

Chapter Nineteen Sara frantically glanced around the basement, looking for a place to hide. But she knew there wasn’t one— her attacker could just follow the drips of blood. She looked for some sort of weapon. But given her bound hands, she couldn’t hold anything let alone swing it with enough force. Another step came down the stairs. Another. She looked wildly about her, then struggled toward the washer and dryer against the wall behind the stairs. She fell against the washer, sending pain rocketing through her bruised ribs. Blinking away tears of agony, she bent over a plastic pail on the floor and awkwardly pried off the plastic lid. "You can't hide, you know. There's no place to run." Again, that eerie, singsong voice, a caricature of one she knew all too well. "It's a shame that you were too foolish to leave when you had the chance because this really is an inconvenience." One of the stairs creaked and she looked over her shoulder. Someone was partway down the stairs. She could see the glint of a rifle barrel next to her attacker's legs and a pair of serviceable shoes. Her heart lodged in her throat. A rifle meant that her would-be murderer could shoot her from a greater distance. She looked desperately at the pail at her feet—it would be no help against a rifle. In a few minutes, she was going to die. Please Lord, welcome me home. I trust in you and know you are my savior, but if it's Your will, please help me. Her attacker reached the bottom of the stairs and slowly scanned the basement, focusing on the shadowed corners. "Well, well—aren't you the resourceful one. But then, Meade always bragged about you. Said how you would reach far greater heights than he ever did. I didn't mind. I knew he would come to realize that I was the one who loved him, the one who had always been by his side. But he never did." The figure turned and fixed her faded blue eyes on Sara and lifted the rifle. "When I typed his will, I knew it was over. He'd never loved me and he left me nothing. Funny thing, he died that week." "Grace? You did it?" Sara stared over her shoulder at the woman in disbelief, her fear ratcheting up another notch. From somewhere outside, she heard a car door slam and the faint sound of someone knocking on the front door. Keep her talking…. Sara lowered her voice and infused it with sympathy. "But of course you did. He used you all those years. Strung you along. How could he do that?" Grace came a few yards closer, raising the rifle to her shoulder. "I was a ranch girl, you know. Spent a lot of years using this rifle to chase off the varmints that were after our calves. It was a hard life and I deserved so much more—"

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A huge shape launched off the edge of the steps above Grace's head, landing on her with outstretched claws. The rifle fired with a deafening explosion that reverberated within the cement confines of the basement, then clattered to the floor. Grace screamed and grabbed wildly at her neck, but the cat nimbly leaped away from her and disappeared. Puff, bless him, had given Sara a few extra moments to live. Grace sneezed heavily. But she quickly bent and picked up the rifle, riveting her gaze on Sara, her eyes wild and filled with hatred. "I think," she said slowly, "that it's time to see you suffer." The knocking became pounding and finally Sara heard the front door crash open. "Sara? Sara!" Grace glanced up at the ceiling and listened as footsteps ran to the kitchen, then thundered up the steps to the second floor. "How sweet. It's Brett, but he's going to be too late…and now, he'll also have to die."

Chapter Twenty Grace was close enough, now…just close enough. There'd only be one chance. Sara closed her eyes, prayed, then spun around and threw the cup of detergent at Grace's face. The older woman screamed then began to cough and gag on the bitter, acidic powder. She scratched blindly at her eyes. From somewhere above them, Brett called Sara's name. She croaked out a response, hoping he would hear her. A heartbeat later, he thundered down the basement steps, his face white. It took him a split-second to assess the situation and a second longer to grab the rifle and start punching 911 into his cell phone. This time, the sheriff showed up within minutes. "I was already in Wolf Creek on a domestic disturbance call," he announced as he handcuffed Grace. "Your lucky day." "Not exactly," Brett shot back, wrapping an arm around Sara's shoulders. "Sara could've been killed." And him as well, though Sara just smiled, her gratitude welling up in her chest until it was almost hard to breathe. "Actually, it was my lucky day. I prayed so hard. And God was truly here with me, every step of the way. Who would've thought my father's old cat would've come to my rescue? Or you, Brett—even after what I said." He winced. "I shouldn't have reacted that way. Of course you would've had doubts." "But you came back." Sara said. "Why?" "First to return something and also to apologize," he said ruefully. "Someone knocked on my door right after I got home and brought over something that belongs to you. I knew you were home, and when you didn't come to the door, I got worried. Then I heard the gunshot and I stopped thinking. I'm afraid I kicked your door off its hinges." They followed Grace and the sheriff upstairs, then Brett went with them out to the patrol car. When he came back into the house, he looked down at Sara, his eyes warm with concern and something more. When he opened his arms, she walked into his embrace, feeling as if she had just come home to the place where she'd always belonged.

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He held her tight, his chin on her head, while she savored the warmth of his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart and she wished she'd never have to let go. After a moment, he held her at arm's length. “I almost forgot what I came her to bring back to you!” Then she heard the eager scrabble of paws against the kitchen door. "Jack?" Brett grinned, stepped away and went to open the door. The dog shot down the hall and leaped up into her arms to frantically kiss her face, wiggling with joy. "He had about six feet of rope tied to his collar and the end had been chewed clear through." Sara collapsed on the sofa and Jack wiggled against her all the more, his tail waving madly. Then he jumped out of her arms and rocketed through the house at light speed. “Grace must have had him tied up at her place and he escaped.” She paused, thinking about the secretary. “I just don’t understand what she wanted. The house and possessions were all going to be sold. And I told her she could have anything she wanted." "I guess she thought she deserved everything." "And all along she's been trying to shift suspicion onto you." Sara's eyes widened. "Maybe she embezzled money from Dad and was afraid I'd find incriminating evidence in his files. Or she just wanted to steal whatever she could. She probably hoped for uninterrupted access to the house once I ran scared." "We'll find out soon enough. I have a feeling she'll be telling that sheriff everything before long." A sudden thought hit Sara and she laughed aloud. "I once thought that Dad left me Puff to make me open up my heart to something besides my career. What if he'd started to suspect Grace but had no real proof—and figured her allergies would keep her away?" "Or at least he knew you'd hear her sneezing if she started snooping around." The brief glimmer of humor in Brett's eyes faded. "So…what about you, will you be leaving? I know that none of this has been easy." She shook her head. "I still have to meet the stipulations in the will." She locked her gaze on his, praying that he felt the same way that she did. "But there are other, much better reasons for me to stay." She caught a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and felt her heart sink. "I want you to know that I was never the boy your father thought I was," Brett said, his voice somber. She tried to still her trembling hands. "I know. I think I've always known, Brett." "I need to get this out in the open, though. I did run with a bad crowd for a while, back when I was a teenager. I rebelled against both God and my mother. I felt so angry and helpless in the face of the things she went through in this town. The gossipers were wrong about her, you know. She's a woman of faith who endured too many tough breaks in life. She had a lot of struggles as a single mom, but she never lost sight of who—and what—was most important. Family and God." He smiled ruefully. "Guess I didn't get to that place in my life until I was much older." And there it was. A simple declaration of faith that reminded Sara of everything she had been missing in her own life all these years. That empty place in her heart that had never been filled by her successes in school or her career, no matter how hard she worked. Coming back to Wolf Creek and seeing her childhood church again had stirred her longing for something deeper in her life. Facing death had driven that point home. "I understand," she said quietly. "I know that God has been working in my life all these years, but I let myself drift away. That isn't how I plan to live the rest of my life, believe me."

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"So you're staying here, then?" At the unmistakable note of hope in his voice, she smiled. "I need to fix this place up and meet the stipulations of my father's will, so I'll be staying until October. Are you still interested in buying the house for your mother?" "I am." He lifted her chin and brushed a gentle kiss against her lips. "But there's something else I'm even more interested in. I'd like a lot more time with you…." Joy exploded like beautiful fireworks within her, filled with the radiance of God's blessings and abundance as she realized everything she'd ever wanted was standing before her. "I would love that, Brett." And when Brett kissed her again, she could feel all the love in his heart. And this time, she returned it in full measure.

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Christmas Evie by Karen Templeton It might be the week before Christmas, but the last thing Nolan Clarke expects to see in the Albuquerque Airport is an elf. A very familiar elf. And Evie Gallagher—stuck in the stupid elf costume because her trade show gig ran too late for her to change and still make her plane—needs no more reminders of just how much her life currently sucks. Especially not in the form of the old college flame she left behind for the bright lights of Hollywood nearly ten years before. And certainly not when he looks just as good as he ever did. As they begin to spend time together again, they realize the feelings they had for each other are still very much alive. But can Nolan uproot his life for a woman who is always chasing a distant star? Can Evie choose between her dreams and her love?

Chapter One “Dad?” Eyes shut, slouched in the most uncomfortable airport waiting-room seat ever, Nolan Clarke “hmm’d?” at his six-year-old son. He had nothing against Albuquerque, but getting stuck there the week before Christmas because the airplane that was supposed to take them to Dallas had decided to take a sick day didn’t exactly top his list. “That elf just said a bad word.” Nolan cracked open one eye. “Elf?” “Over there,” Casey said, pointing toward check-in. Hoisting open his other eye, Nolan looked. His son hadn’t lied. There, groaning at the big “DELAYED” sign on the board, stood one seriously pissed green-haired elf in a red top, green shorts (with suspenders), candy-cane striped stockings and kick-ass Nike running shoes. Then the elf turned and Nolan was the one doing the swearing. “Dad!” Casey said, scandalized, as Nolan’s heart lunged for his throat. The elf took a cautious step closer, squinting. Then her jaw dropped. “Nolan?” “Evie?” “You know a real live elf?” Casey gasped, but Nolan was already rising to meet Evie—and time-warping back to another Christmas encounter ten years ago, that one absolutely rife with bad words. And tears and raised voices, slammed doors and broken hearts. Nolan’s chest tightened around the scar tissue. Color tinged Evie’s face before her gaze dipped to Casey. “He’s yours?” she said, wonder in her voice, as though the Decade Without Evie had never happened. “Yes,” Nolan said through a thick throat. “This is Casey.” “You’re married,” she said, not looking up.

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“Was married. I’m a widower.” Her Caribbean-blue eyes flashed to his and he registered the stunned pity within them. “You have green hair,” he said, pre-empting her questions. She smirked. “It washes out.” “Aw, you’re not a real elf at all, are ya?” Casey said. Hands on striped knees, Evie crouched in front of Casey, whispering, “I’m just pretending to be an elf ‘cause it’s Christmas.” Then she bestowed upon his unsuspecting son the same bright smile that had once been Nolan’s reason for living. “I’m really an old friend of your dad—" Friend, fiancée, love of my life…. But why quibble over semantics? “—but let’s not spoil it for the other kids, okay?” Evie said. “’Kay,” Casey said, grinning, instantly head over heels. Like father, like son. Evie straightened, hitching her carry-on onto her shoulder. “Well,” she blew out a little too brightly. “Is this weird or what?”

*** Don’t get sucked in, don’t get— Too late, Evie thought as Nolan’s calm, steady, Godiva gaze did just that. For ten years she’d fought to forget those extraordinary eyes, always twinkling behind his glasses. That smile. The laughter. The deep, down-home voice. That spine-tingling thing he used to do with— Don’t. “So…” Nolan cleared his throat. He nervously eyed the stranded passengers milling around them, reading, sleeping, bitching. Bored, Casey clambered back up onto his seat, swinging his legs. “You’re going home?” Nolan asked. “Yeah. You?” He nodded. Coughed. “What’re the odds we’d be stranded in the same airport? At the same gate?” “I know,” she said. “Crazy, huh?” They both sort of laughed. Nolan gestured that they should sit. So they did, Nolan pulling Casey onto his lap. “And you’re dressed like an elf because…?” Evie sighed, something at which she’d become extremely adept lately. “Gig I was doing at a kids hospital ran overtime and the taxi got hung up in traffic on the way to LAX, so I basically threw my bag at the checkin chick and ran for the plane.” She shrugged. “No time to change.” “So you’re still in L.A., then?” “Of course,” she said brightly, melting into those chocolate eyes. “You still in Denver?” she asked, trying to ignore how good he smelled and not to think about how cute Casey was, cuddled against his father’s chest…. Or about how much she loved kids and how feeble her prospects were for having her own. That it

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was getting harder and harder to convince herself she hadn’t been a fool to break it off with this espressoeyed, velvet-voiced, delicious-smelling man sitting next to her. “I am,” he said, smiling. “I’m the assistant principal in one of the high schools there.” Kiss me, she thought, then flinched at her lack of control. “Happy?” she said, smiling. “Yeah,” Nolan said, on a genuinely contented sigh. The kind one rarely heard in L.A. Evie wanted to grab that sound and cram it into her purse, along with the tissues and Tampax and Tylenol, so she could take it out and lift her spirits like applying her favorite lipstick. “And what are you up to?” “Oh, still plugging away,” she said—still smiling. “You know.” Suddenly she was very self-conscious of the ridiculous red and green getup. “Are you happy?” he asked. “Absolutely.” “I’m glad,” Nolan said, like he wasn’t glad at all. “I just can’t believe…” “What?” “That it’s you,” he said, letting his gaze slide right into hers, and she had to fight the urge to grab him by the front of his Broncos jacket and— “I gotta go,” Casey announced. Nolan’s attention swung to his son. “Again?” The kid shrugged and Nolan sighed. “Mind holding the fort? I fought off two old ladies for these seats.” “Sure,” Evie said, determined to stay upbeat and cheerful as she watched the pair walk to the other end of the terminal. “Miss Elf?” Startled, Evie blinked at the sudden appearance of a tiny Asian girl in front of her, hugging a dilapidated bunny. Despite feeling as though she’d had rusty nails for lunch, Evie’s heart melted. “Yes?” “Do you know any Christmas songs?” “Uh, yeah…but…where’s your family? You’re not alone, are you?” “Uh-uh, I’m with them,” the sprite said, dismissively gesturing to a family with many loud, older boys. Just then, a uniformed man at the counter announced they were bringing in another plane from Minneapolis, urging passengers to be patient and to hang on, that they’d be in the air in about an hour. At the chorus of moans in response, Evie glanced around the waiting area, noting the tired whines and the antsy little limbs climbing over everything. Lots of kids about to blow. Lots of parents about to self-destruct. She looked back at the little girl. “And what kind of sorry elf would I be if I didn’t know Christmas songs?” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “Hey, kids!” she called out, pulling her elf hat out of her bag and cramming it over her spiked, lime-hued hair. “Who’s up for singing Rudolph?”

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*** The plane had barely leveled off before the drone of the engines lulled Casey to sleep, his head heavy against Nolan’s arm. Several rows ahead of them sat the woman responsible for preserving the sanity of all the adults during that last, interminable hour before they finally boarded. Not only had Evie led the kids in every holiday song known to man, she’d even staged an impromptu production of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, thanks to one little tyke who’d brought the book with him. Evie played the Grinch, of course, her antics and rubber face putting Jim Carrey to shame. It was no surprise that her captive audience was eating out of her hand. Nolan couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. Or when Casey had, Nolan thought, shifting so his son could snuggle more comfortably. Nolan smiled, remembering the waves of giggles bubbling up from someplace deep inside his oh-so-serious little boy. And the sparkle in Evie’s eyes as she unerringly found her spotlight, even in a crowded airport terminal. Ahead of him, Nolan caught a glimpse of a striped leg and jiggling Nike shoe twenty feet up the aisle. Nothing’s changed. The realization was an anvil weighting the balloon of his earlier good mood. Evie Gallagher was only happy when she was in the spotlight, as if there was simply too much of her to be contained within an ordinary body, an ordinary life. She still pulsed with excess energy, with the need to give of herself, to spread the joy to everyone she met. Falling in love with her had been a no-brainer. Even if, ironically, the very qualities he’d been helpless to resist ultimately broke them apart. Nolan let his head drop back against the airplane seat, his breath rushing from his lungs. They’d been so young when they’d met—Evie, a college sophomore, double-majoring in elementary education and theater, Nolan, a first-year grad student in secondary education. They’d been at a lame Texas A&M mixer, but had broken away early and stayed up late. Very late. She’d never been shy, she’d told him that first night. Whereas other little kids had to be coaxed to sing a ditty for Aunt Susie or recite a poem for Grandma and Grandpa, at three Evie was already lining ‘em all up in the living room and belting out “Tomorrow” from Annie like there wasn’t one. She lived to entertain. But to placate her conservative, middle-class parents, she’d planned on becoming an elementary school teacher. A perfectly acceptable alternative, she’d said, for someone who loved kids as much as she did. For awhile she did a good job of convincing herself it was the life she wanted, too. Just as she’d made Nolan believe that she’d really wanted to marry him, have his kids, live the suburban middle class dream. They’d been each other’s first great love and best friend. She’d been his light, just as he’d been her ballast, the one person she swore she could always count on when things got crazy. So for three years Nolan had simply ignored the tiny, constant flame of yearning in Evie’s eyes that flared into brilliance whenever she had an audience. A flame that their love, all by itself, could never douse. The wedding was barely eight weeks away when she tearfully admitted she wasn’t ready to settle down. To settle, period. Not until she at least took a decent shot at a film career. He could still hear her begging for his understanding…. Please, please understand why I need to do this. And just like that it was over. He hadn’t even entertained the possibility of moving with her to L.A. He’d just landed a good teaching position in Denver and he’d hated every second of the few times he’d been to L.A. But really it was because Evie had thrown him a curveball, a ball that had slammed into him and exploded everything he had known to be true. How many times over the next week had he hurled the same arguments at her, that this wasn’t the

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life they’d talked about, wasn’t what he’d signed on for when he’d asked her to marry him? Suddenly it was all about her, her chance, her career. And where would that leave him? He’d been…stubborn? Short-sighted? Selfish? Take your pick, he thought, sighing. They’d never contacted each other afterwards. No phone calls, no e-mail, nothing. God, he’d wanted to die. To even consider falling in love with someone else…impossible. Nolan glanced down at his sleeping son, his heart flooding with an odd mix of emotions as he recognized some of Carole’s features in Casey. Amazingly, Carole had made him laugh, too. Like Evie, she had also been his best friend. But she had been the wife Evie never could have been…the wife he’d loved with all his heart—at least the parts that were still his to give. Still, Nolan had been startled when her death, shortly before Casey’s first birthday, hadn’t ripped a new hole in that heart as much as it simply enlarged the one already there. Movement in the aisle ahead of him brought Nolan back to the present. He watched Evie get up, the mild turbulence making her wobble slightly on her way to the front toilets. Once there, she grimaced, then turned to stagger toward the back. Her smile, when she passed, was fake enough to warrant a Made In China sign. A second later, she and her fake smile were gone, leaving Nolan frowning. Because he knew that look, that “everything’s fine, of course it is,” smile. And once upon a time he would have said, “cut the crap and tell me what’s wrong,” not giving up until she did. But what would—could—he do now? Nothing. She belongs in the past, he told himself. Nolan resolved to think about something else for the remainder of the flight. Even when Evie lurched back down the aisle, briefly bouncing off Nolan’s seatback on the way.

*** “We’re starting our descent into Dallas, folks,” the pilot’s blurred voice announced over the intercom. “Please observe the fasten-seat belt sign….” Beside him, Casey stirred and yawned, then sat up, blinking toward the tiny square of dark looking outside. “Oh, wow…is that Santa?” The middle-aged man sitting next to them smiled. “Those lights over there— see?” “Could be,” Nolan said, watching the blinking red lights on the single engine plane in the distance. “But where’s Rudolph?” “Maybe the sleigh’s facing away from us, so you can’t see him.” “Oh.” Casey sat back in his seat, satisfied. Only to then say, “Can we see Evie again?” Nolan started. “See Evie again?” So much for leaving her in the past. Large, hopeful eyes met his. “Yeah. While we’re in Dallas. ‘Cause she’s cool. An’ you two are friends, right?” Were friends, Nolan thought as the plane banked, sending Casey’s hands to his stomach and a “I think I’m gonna be sick!" groan from his mouth. You and me both, buddy, Nolan thought, grabbing the barf bag, just in case. Maybe after his less-than-noble stubborn/selfish/short-sighted act all those years ago, he owed it to the woman whose smile had once lit up his life to make sure she was okay.

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*** Please, please, please, Evie thought frantically as she scooted down the jetway, just let me get out of here before— “Evie!” —they see me. Still scooting, she twisted around as Casey scampered to catch up with her, beaming. Cute kid. Missing front tooth. Looked exactly like his father, which she decided not to hold against him. “I saw Santa out the window right before we landed,” the kid said, bouncing more than walking. “An’ then the plane turned sideways and I almost barfed. An’ Dad says he’s not sure you’re really friends anymore, ‘cause it’s been so long since you’ve seen each other, but you still are, huh?” Oh, Lord. Evie turned to catch Nolan’s apologetic smile and her heart, already in shreds, flapped limply inside her chest. Fortunately, they didn’t dare stop or they’d get trampled by the hordes. It had been the longest short flight on record, flooded with memories and regrets and guilt and more regrets. And to look at Nolan now you’d never know how horribly things had ended between them you’d only see what had once been. What could never be again. Because she had plans, baby. Big Plans. And nothin’ or nobody was gonna stop her— “What Casey’s trying to say,” Nolan said, looking as sane and calm and steady as ever, damn him, “is that we wondered if we could get together sometime while we’re both in town.” “You’re kidding?” Evie said, coming to a dead stop. Nolan yanked her to safety moments before they got creamed by the family with all those boys. “We barely got a chance to talk,” Nolan said, meaningfully. Evie stared at him, trying with a weighted look to telegraph: I know—there’s a reason for that, with all her might. At least that’s what she meant to do—before she looked into his eyes and melted. Like a Popsicle on a Dallas sidewalk in July. Then Casey grabbed her hand. Her gaze dropped to his and she realized turning the kid down was going to be even harder than rejecting his father had been. Would be. Especially since it had been a long time since she’d had anything even remotely resembling sane and calm and steady in her life. A booster shot of Nolan probably wouldn’t hurt, immunizing her against the next ten years of frustration and heartbreak and—dare she admit it?—loneliness. “Okay,” Evie said, sighing, rummaging in her purse for her wallet as she admitted she was…curious. At least, that’s what she was going with. “Here’s my card, call my cell whenever. You’re at your parents’ place?” “Yeah,” Nolan said, fingering the card. The movement triggered very distinct memories of how he used to finger…other things, and she zipped right past melting to out-and-out evaporation. Nolan’s eyes lifted. “You sure?” “Hell, no,” she muttered, moments before she heard her Daddy yell, “Good God, Evangeline Marie—what on earth are you wearing?”

***

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“Oh, now, honey,” Marie Gallagher said, slipping a second piece of pecan pie onto Evie’s plate, “it’s the holidays—you can go back on whatever diet you Hollywood types are into these days after you leave. But while you’re here—” Mama’s round cheeks swallowed her eyes when she smiled “—you can eat like a normal person! After all, you gotta build up your strength for all those classes and auditions and things, right?” Less than twenty-four hours after her arrival, Evie was torn between a desperate desire to escape and an equally desperate desire to crawl underneath the big, fat comforter in her old room and let her mother feed her until she exploded. Love was a constant in Evie’s family, just like the same set of decorations that appeared every year—the molded Santa on the front porch, the plastic holly wreath on the front door that warbled “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and the mantle arrangement of fake pine boughs, red pillar candles and glittered cones. That love was a cord not easily broken, though—just like those ornaments—it did get a bit frayed around the edges from time to time. As long as she didn’t ask for money, her family gave their grudging acceptance of her career choice. Not that they understood how anybody could keep at something for so long for so little return, but then these days Evie wasn’t really sure she understood it, either. In her sister’s arms at the other end of the table, the newest baby squawked. Evie was the oldest child and the only one not married, a fact everyone’s pitying glance reinforced at every opportunity. As did the inevitable, “So…you got a part lined up in a movie or TV show or somethin’ yet? Somethin’ I might actually see, I mean?” The memory of Nolan’s kind, calm gaze in the airport popped into her head. Evie immediately popped it back out, neatly replacing it with the image of his shocked, censorious, hurt face that she’d carried with her for a decade. After all, she reminded herself, when she had needed his understanding, Nolan hadn’t been any more supportive of her following her dream than her family, had he? Just as she didn’t think he’d be particularly sympathetic about her ever-increasing doubts. They weren’t her constant companions—yet—but in the past year they’d started showing up more often, like stray cats. Especially the one that hissed, “Thirty-two years old and what, exactly, do you have to show for your life, huh?” She really hated that one. A lot. Dinner over, Evie wandered into her parents’ living room and collapsed on the plaid early-American sofa. She stared at the fake, pre-lit, eight-foot tree laden with every ornament Evie and her siblings had ever made and the inevitable assortment of sweaters, pajamas, toiletries and earrings that lay underneath its plastic boughs with her name on the tags. Ho-hum, they seemed to say, another year gone…. “Wow. Who died?” Me, Evie thought as she forced a smile for her next youngest sister, Margie, contently nursing the baby across from her. The only one who hadn’t had apoplexy when Evie moved to L.A. “You’ve never had a moment’s doubt about your choices, have you?” she asked her sister. “Hey. I have three kids. I ask myself what I was thinking every hour, on the hour. Don’t I, sweet pea?” Margie said to the baby, who gurgled at her. She looked back at Evie, frowning. “So what brought that on?” Evie made a face. Shrugged. “Things not going well?” Margie said sympathetically. “Not really,” she said. “But if you tell Mom and Dad, I’ll have to kill you.” “Then you’d get my kids. And Harold. So you might want to rethink that. But don’t you dare even think about giving up, Evie. You’re far too talented. You just haven’t gotten your break yet, that’s all.”

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And how long, Evie wondered, could she hold on to that belief? “Guess who I ran into in the Albuquerque airport?” she said, in a pathetic attempt to change the subject. “Nolan.” “Nolan? As in, the man-who-was-so-hopelessly-in-love-with-you-that-I-had-to-buy-a-hideous-bridesmaiddress-I-never-got-to-wear, Nolan?” “The very one,” Evie said over assorted pangs and twinges. “He’s in town for Christmas.” She paused. “With his little boy. He’s a widower,” she added at her sister’s raised brows. “And…?” “And…he asked if we could see each other.” “Get out.” Evie sighed. “I know. I would’ve expected him to scream and run in the other direction, too. But no.” Margie leaned over as far as she could with a baby attached to her breast. “I’ve still got the dress,” she whispered. “Although whether it still fits is another issue entirely—” “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t…I couldn’t…he wouldn’t….” Evie shut her eyes and shook her head. “No.” “But…?” “But…I feel bad. About how things ended. And here he is, like I’ve been given this chance to…to…make it better. Or something.” “Then why are you still on that couch?”

*** Nolan leaned against his parents’ balcony railing, gazing out at the moonlit golf course and thinking vague thoughts about the value of standing outside, at night, in the dead of winter, freezing his buns off. Jerry and Eileen Clarke had lived in the condo so long Nolan almost thought of it as home. Except this wasn’t his home, his home was in Denver, in the cozy two-story Colonial he shared with his son. The son who’d been talking nonstop about Evie from the moment they left the airport. Nolan shoved one hand into his jacket pocket, tugging out Evie’s card to thumb the slightly raised print of her cell number, the tiny photo of her grinning face underneath a spray of blond hair. Behind him, the patio door whispered open—he barely stuffed the card back before his mother linked her arm through his. “Casey’s in his pj’s,” she said, “but I think it’s going to take a tranquilizer dart to get him to sleep.” Nolan smiled. “You think it’s bad now, just wait until Christmas Eve.” “Somehow, I get the feeling it’s more than Christmas that’s got him so excited,” she said, and Nolan braced himself. “He certainly seems taken with Evie.” “All kids are taken with Evie. She loves them, they love her back.” “So are you going to call her?” When he glared at her, she laughed, holding up her hands in mock defense. “It’s not pushing if it was your idea to begin with.”

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“Actually, it was Casey’s idea—” “Oh, Nolan,” Mom said, chuckling. “Who do you think you’re fooling?” When he didn’t answer, she squeezed his arm and said, “you know we loved Carole. What was not to love? She was a wonderful young woman. But Evie…we were crazy about her.“ She paused. “So were you.” “That was ten years ago.” “And it’s been about that long since I’ve seen that look on your face.” “Utter confusion?” “It’s certainly utter something.” Nolan sighed out a breath into the damp, chilly night. “It’s nuts, Mom, but when I saw her again…” He shook his head. “How can I feel so strongly about somebody I haven’t even heard from in more than a decade?” “Because it’s not ‘somebody,’ sweetie. It’s Evie.” He looked down into her amused, light-brown eyes. “Aren’t mothers supposed to worry about their children’s hearts getting broken?” “No sense worrying about something we can’t prevent. Anyway, I think it’s safe to say that’s one tough heart you’ve got in there,” she said, patting his chest. “You’ve lived through it twice already. I imagine you’re strong enough to weather it again.” “Gee, thanks.” “Anytime,” Mom said, smiling. Nolan turned to lean his elbows on the balcony railing. “But even if I did call her…” Another sigh. “I may be older and—God willing—a little wiser, but we’re still the same people we were when we split up. Our goals didn’t mesh then and I sincerely doubt they do now.” “You don’t know that. And you’re wrong about being the same person you were then. Oh, you’re still the same Nolan at the core, I don’t mean that, but time and experience change everyone. Wears down their hard edges, makes them more willing to remove their blinders.” She forked a long-fingered hand through her graying, shoulder-length hair. “And to compromise.” “But—” “Somehow, I imagine they needed teachers in L.A., too. Probably still do. And Evie wasn’t with you when you visited L.A. before. That young woman could make Siberia fun. You didn’t really try to hang on to her, did you?” That she was only echoing his own thoughts didn’t make hearing them any easier. “So why didn’t you say something then?” Nolan said, his mood darkening. “I did! You didn’t listen to me any more than you did to Evie—” “Gran! Dad!” came Casey’s muffled voice through the closed patio door. His feet braced, the kid shoved it open, his eyes like saucers. “You’ll never, ever guess in a gazillion years who’s here!” “Evie!” his mother sang out, practically shoving her grandson aside in order to smother a very startled—and Nolan noted, no longer spinach-haired—Evie in her embrace.

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*** Huffing like The Little Engine That Could, Evie trotted to keep up with Nolan’s much-longer legs as they marched through avenues of twinkling balconies and glowing doorways positively reeking of Christmas cheer. One overly optimistic soul had even crammed a ten-foot-tall inflatable Frosty onto a nine-foot-tall balcony. Frosty’s hat was a little smushed, but his grin never wavered. Unlike Nolan, who was clearly not feeling the joy. “You know, your parents seemed a lot happier to see me than you do,” Evie threw to his back as she trotted. She’d forgotten how much she’d liked Nolan’s parents, as solid and placid and predictable as their son. The fact that she enjoyed those traits in them was a little weird, considering how much she’d rebelled against placidity and predictability. Against normal. Against dull. His hands knotted in his Broncos jacket, Nolan tossed a glare over his shoulder as they walked, one of those spark-laden glares that made good girls redefine a few things and she thought, strike dull. “Hey!” Evie smacked his arm, stumbling a little when he wheeled on her, still glaring. “Seeing each other again was your idea! But if you want me to leave, just say the word—” “What are you doing?” He’d grabbed her hand and hauled her into a secluded spot tucked between two buildings. Before she could blink he’d cupped her jaw and brought his mouth down on hers. Oh, hmm, okay, she thought and opened to him, rapacious, tasting what she hadn’t tasted in way too long, making those little mmrph sounds in her throat that used to drive him crazy and just like that, ten years went buh-bye. “I take it that’s a ‘no’ to me leaving?” she said some minutes later, when blood returned to the speech center in her brain. After several more seconds, Nolan said, unsteadily, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was actually hoping there’d be…nothing.” “Yeah. Me too,” Evie said, belatedly remembering her mission. Unless she was sorely mistaken, this didn’t fix anything. “So much for that.” Nolan gathered her close, burying his face in her hair and she breathed in his familiar scent and heard the same strong heart beat against her ear and felt everything click neatly into place the way it always had. Fine, so now you know, nothing’s changed, she said to herself, silently whimpering because that was the exactly the problem, wasn’t it? She tried to pull away. Nolan wouldn’t let her. But she didn’t exactly fight. In fact, she clung to him, as if to absorb all that solidity and stability and sanity, enough to tide her over for awhile. Like the rest of her life. “And isn’t this stupid?” she said. “Yeah,” he said, kissing her temple. Holding her tight. “It’s been too long,” Evie said, fervently, still clinging. “We’ve moved on, made our choices, there’s no recapturing who we used to be.” “So…maybe this isn’t about recapturing anything.” Evie arched, looking up at him, trying to read his expression in the dark. “Then what is this about? Besides the obvious we’re-still-combustible-together thing.”

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She thought he might have smiled. Even if it did seem a bit pained. “Maybe…this is simply about two old friends catching up?” “I see. And just how, exactly, are we defining ‘catching up’?” “Any way you like,” he said. What would she like? Oh hell, she thought and snuggled close again. Who knew when she’d have another opportunity? “I’m leaving on New Year’s.” “So are we.” Her head tilted up again, searching his face. “Would that be enough for you?” A moment’s silence preceded, “It’ll have to be, won’t it?”

*** Glowering, Nolan watched Evie and Casey, a four-legged, two-headed ball of energy in matching red hoodies and blue jeans, huddled together in front of one of the windows overlooking the zoo’s gorilla exhibition. “Hey, Case!” Every bit as jazzed as the six-year-old leaning against her, Evie pointed, a streak of sunlight glancing off a trio of tiny studs marching up her ear. “Look at that big dude over there on the rock! Scary, huh?” “I’m not afraid of him!” Casey said, with all the bravado of a first-grader who wouldn’t recognize caution if it was wearing a name tag. “Wow, you’re sure braver than I am,” Evie said, hugging him and Nolan wanted to say, For God’s sake, don’t encourage him. Don’t let him fall in love with you. It had been Evie’s idea to ease into whatever this was, to keep things light. Casual. So for the last couple of days that’s what they’d done: pizza-and-movie, football-in-the-park, take-the-kid-with-us casual. Naturally, Nolan had carefully explained to Casey that Evie was only a friend and that they were just hanging out for the week. And Casey had nodded like a bobblehead and said, “Yeah, I get it.” Except whenever he saw Evie, he was all over her, clearly the only kid of a single parent in the country who wasn’t the least bit concerned about adding a third party to the mix. As long as the third party was Evie. Now, watching them fuse like two drops of water, Nolan wondered why on earth he hadn’t let her go in the airport. Or when she’d tried to pull away after the kiss. Why he’d kissed her at all, resurrecting feelings he had no business resurrecting. What was this about? Some lame attempt to revisit his youth, reclaim the past? Stroke his ego by proving to himself that Evie still wanted him? “What’s next, Dad?” Casey said, a blur of unbridled joy in front of him and Nolan’s gaze slipped from his son’s eager brown eyes to Evie’s cautious blue ones. Good question. “Let’s just keep walking and see, okay?” “’Kay,” Casey said, taking Evie’s hand. He grinned adoringly up at her as she grinned every bit as adoringly at him. Nolan sighed. What this was about was seeing her in that ridiculous getup in the airport and not being able to catch his breath. What this was about was feeling her molded to him again, her mouth warm and eager

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under his and realizing he’d missed her far more than he’d ever admitted. It was about not wanting to say goodbye every time they’d seen each other. That—just shoot him now—he wanted her back. “I see you guys haven’t gotten very far,” his mother said. She and Nolan’s tall, grinning father materialized in front of them. Dad not being a dawdler, he and Mom had drifted ahead. And now, apparently, they’d drifted back with definite purpose alight in their eyes. Mom sidled up to Nolan, whispering, “Why don’t Jerry and I take Case to see the penguins—give you and Evie a chance to be alone?” There was a concept. Alone, as in, maybe having a chance to actually talk. To figure out what was really going on between them. Which was not going to happen with Mini Motor Mouth around. Still…“Good luck with prying those two apart,” he said. Mom squeezed his arm, then called, “Casey! Let’s go see the penguins!” “Evie! Come on—” “We’ll catch up with Evie and your father later,” Mom said, taking his hand. “I promise,” she added when the little boy cast torn eyes in his new best buddy’s direction. Nolan watched Evie as she followed Casey’s benign abduction, her hair warm honey in the sunlight. Her longing was palpable, as though something vital was leaking out of her. Nolan had the sneaking suspicion his expression probably looked a lot like hers. “Were we just set up?” she asked. “Yep,” he said, entwining their fingers, setting off in the opposite direction. This close to Christmas, the zoo wasn’t hugely crowded. But there were just enough other visitors to keep things…casual. “That’s one terrific kid you got there.” “Thanks. I think I’ll keep ‘im.” Evie laughed softly, tucking a hunk of hair behind that thrice-studded ear. “He says he doesn’t remember his mother.” “He was only a year old when Carole died. So, no. He wouldn’t.” “Right, I forgot.” She squeezed his hand. He’d already told her about the accident, how Casey’s car seat had saved his life, how Carole had hung on for nearly a week before the doctors had said there really wasn’t any point in keeping her on life support. “It can’t be easy, being a single father.” “Is anything?” “No,” she said on a breath. “I guess not. But you’ve done an incredible job, you really have.” “Thanks,” Nolan said quietly, his chest tight. They passed a gaggle of foreign tourists and a family with four kids. From his stroller, a toddler waved at them. Evie waved back, chuckling when he clapped his hands. Then she sighed. “Life rarely works out the way we expect, does it?”

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And there it was, the crack in her Happy-Happy veneer. “Want to talk about it?” “It?” “Whatever’s making you unhappy.” When she stiffened, he said, “Evie. This is me you’re talking to.” “I’m a big girl now,” she said quietly, looking straight ahead again. “Big girls figure out stuff on their own.” “Who says?” When she snorted, Nolan tugged her around to face him. “I know we always thought we were such good friends, but looking back… In a lot of ways, I let you down. We talked, yes, but I wasn’t really listening. Well, I’m listening now. If I can’t give you anything else, I can give you that. So…” His brows dipped. “Define stuff.”

*** For a long time, Evie searched those steady brown eyes, self-preservation warring with a sudden, overwhelming need to open up to somebody about her feelings. But to Nolan? That was a path beset with all manner of snarling beasties. Still, she couldn’t talk to her so-called friends about any of this, or her family, nor could she afford to pay somebody for the privilege— Oh, what the hell? “Pretty much everything, actually,” she said, figuring she’d deal with the beasties later. “Well, good, that narrows it down.” She smiled at his joke before she resumed walking—and her train of thought. “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you’d done things differently?” “Sure. Who doesn’t?” Not what she’d expected. Not from Nolan. “But you always seemed so single-minded about what you wanted.” “I didn’t say I regretted my choices, Evie. Which wasn’t what you asked.” “So…you’re content?” “I didn’t say that, either,” Nolan said carefully. Softly. “I love my work, sure. And Casey’s incredible. When he’s not driving me nuts,” he added, grinning. “I have a lot to be grateful for. But I’d ditch the ‘single’ part of my life in a heartbeat. Under the right circumstances.” Then he added, with even more care, “You were pretty single-minded about what you wanted, too.” “Yeah. I know.” Evie let go of his hand to slip hers into her hoodie pocket as the beasties closed in, baring their nasty, yellow, razor-sharp teeth. “There’s a large part of me that doesn’t want to talk about this. Actually, there’s a large part of me that wishes we’d never seen each other in the airport.” “Tell me about it.” A sigh swallowed her laugh. “I was confused enough before I saw you again. Now I feel like my head’s going to explode.” “So why are you here?”

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“Because…” She stopped, looking up at him, forcing the words to the surface. “Because I hate the way things ended between us. So maybe… I don’t know, maybe this is fate’s way of giving me a chance to make up for that. At least a little. Don’t get me wrong—what I wanted then, I still want. But it was never supposed to be an either/or thing. I desperately wanted you to come with me.” “I know you did, Evie, but—“ “But as much as I still love L.A., I know you would have been miserable there.” Reaching for his hand again, Evie leaned against his arm. “And I would have been just as wretched if I hadn’t gone. Hadn’t tried.” Nolan dropped her hand to swing an arm around her shoulders and she got all shivery, like a thirteen-yearold with her first boyfriend. Especially when his thumb started lightly, tenderly, stroking her jaw. “And I’m assuming if you keep talking this will eventually make sense?” “I wouldn’t count on it,” she said with another dry laugh. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, trying to break into films. I just didn’t fully realize how hard it would be. Or how little I’d have to show for it after ten years. So, yeah. Life’s not exactly a bed of roses right now. And yet—” “You’re not ready to give up.” “It’s insane, I know. But it’s more than that. It’s—” On a groan, she pulled away to drop onto a nearby bench. Her elbows gouging her knees, she scrubbed her face, her shoulders heaving with her short, hard breaths. Nolan sat beside her. “If this is about what your folks will think—” “No,” she said, letting her hands fall, “it’s about what I think. How I’d feel about myself if I threw in the towel too soon. Of course, the irony is that I’ve barely had a chance to do my thing the whole time I’ve been in L.A. Unless you count the occasional trade show or commercial. The pilots that never air, the bit parts that get cut… Oh, I was a singing waitress for a while. Until the owner decided my boobs weren’t big enough.” “Shows how much he knows,” Nolan said and she choked out a little laugh. “But hope springs eternal, you know? I’ve got a trade show lined up for February that will pay enough to keep me afloat for another few months. And there’s actually a decent audition coming up, for a ‘small but important role’ in a major studio film. My agent swears I’m perfect for the part.” “That’s great,” Nolan said, almost as though he meant it. “Yeah,” Evie said, almost as if she did. “But here’s the thing.” She looked up at him, tortured. “Whenever I see somebody with a baby, I get these…pangs. That I’m missing out on that front, too. I come home to all my nieces and nephews and I see you and Casey and I think: I gave that up. I gave you up,” she said softly, the back of her throat scratchy, “for something that may not even happen, no matter how much I want it.” She swiped at her cheek. “I know I’d hate being just a soccer mom. And yet there are nights when I lie awake thinking I’d kill for exactly that.” “Well,” Nolan said, carefully taking her hand. Kissing her knuckles. “I could…I could give you that. If you ever change your mind, I mean.” Her throat clogged. “After everything…you still feel the same? After all this time?” “Yes. After all this time,” he said, with a calmness that bordered on scary. “You were married,” she said, clutching at straws.

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“And I never once thought of Carole as a substitute for you, I swear. And if we’d met again while I was still married, this—” he pointed back and forth between them, “—would not be happening. But it is. And I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.” When she opened her mouth to say…something, he slipped his palm to the back of her neck and kissed her, right out in public, a gentle kiss that hinted of a hell of a lot more and everything started sizzling all over again. Which only further confused her. “What I wanted then,” Nolan whispered, their foreheads touching, “I still want, too.” “So why can’t I just accept that?” she said, bereft, burrowing against his chest. “Why can’t I simply say, Okay, I’ve tried the film career thing, it didn’t work…next? Why am I so hell-bent on wanting what I can’t have?” Nolan held her close, his cheek in her hair. “I have no idea, honey. But I know exactly how you feel.”

*** Evie arrived back at her mother’s house to the smell of fresh-baked sugar cookies, distant giggling and Bing Crosby crooning from an ancient album of Christmas favorites. Next up was Alvin and the Chipmunks, she thought. Or maybe the Boston Pops. In full-out, boss-elf mode, Mama was in the kitchen, surrounded by umpteen trays of cookies in various stages of production and nearly as many grandchildren in various stages of sugar overload. “Aunt Evie!” they all screamed, rushing her. Her eyes burned as a half-dozen eager beavers pelted her with "come-see-what-I-mades", dragging her willingly into the fray to "ooh" and "ahh" and help. But suddenly the whole afternoon boiled over inside her—all those confessions and admissions and a realization or two tossed in for good measure—and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t keep her lower lip from trembling. Mama took one look at her, shoved a plate of warm, over-decorated cookies into somebody’s hands and said, “Go find Grampa. Yes, all of you, scoot…” and they scooted. Evie swiped what might have been either an angel or a Santa off another plate and tried to scoot, too. Except Mama said, “You get yourself right back here, young lady,” so Evie morosely trudged back to the counter and hauled herself up onto a barstool. “Here,” Mama said, plopping an open, filled tin under her nose, this one redolent with the pungent aroma of ginger and molasses. “Ginger snaps!” Evie cried, reaching out, only to have Mama snatch back the tin, looking fierce. “Not until you tell me what the Sam Hill is going on with you.” Evie folded her arms, glaring at the cookies held hostage under her mother’s bosom. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Not if you don’t explain it to me. Although I’m guessing your bad mood has something to do with Nolan?” “Yes. And no. Can I have a cookie now?” “You’ll have to do a lot better than that, missy,” Mama said, waving the open tin close enough for the fumes to make Evie crumble like one of those cookies in milk. Ten minutes, a half dozen tissues and untold devoured ginger snaps later, Mama heaved out a sigh. “I knew no good would come of you taking up with Nolan again.” Snuffling, Evie reached for another cookie. “I’ve hardly ‘taken up’ with him. And anyway, I thought you and Daddy liked him?”

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“Shoot, there were times we liked him better than some of our own kids. Including you, Miss Fame’s-MoreImportant-Than-Love.” Evie’s mouth fell open. “Fame? What fame? I just told you—” “That things haven’t exactly worked out the way you’d hoped they would. I know. But isn’t that why you went out to L.A.? Why you’re still there? Why you walked away from one of the best young men who ever lived?” “No!” Evie said, startled. “It wasn’t about…about becoming famous! It was just about doing what I loved! About being me, Mama.“ Her mother’s nostrils flared. “There’s nothing wrong with being a wife and mother, you know.” “I never said there was! And I do want a home and kids, the whole nine yards. I just don’t want only that. Why is that so hard for you to accept?” “Honey,” her mother sighed, clearly exasperated, “all your father and I have ever wanted for any of you kids was for you to be happy. But being happy isn’t only about what you want.” “You think I don’t know that?” Trapped in her mother’s unwavering gray gaze, Evie said around a cookie, “Why do you think I’m so conflicted? I still love Nolan,” she said, tears burning her eyes at the admission. “And Casey…oh, God, Casey’s just wrapped himself around my heart. But he deserves someone who’s completely committed to being his mother. So you tell me how I’m supposed to reconcile these two parts of myself without hurting somebody in the process.” “You don’t,” Mama said, in a tone that somehow managed to be sympathetic and hard as ice. “What you do is end it. Before that happens.” The oven timer dinged. “Tell the kids to come on back,” she said gently, manning her potholders. “We’ll talk more later if you want.” Yeah, like that last conversation had gone so well. Evie walked out of the kitchen, munching on one last ginger snap while she delivered her mother’s message to her nieces and nephews. Just as she was wiping the last crumbs from her fingers, Nolan called her cell. “Are you free tonight?” he said, his voice low…dangerous. Evie’s skin prickled. “Uh…yeah, I suppose—” “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven. Bring an overnight bag.” The prickles turned to needles. “Excuse me?” “It’s nearing the end of our week…” His breath hitched. “One night together, honey. All by ourselves.” He paused. “To say goodbye.” Her eyes burning, Evie held the cell to her chest. Somehow, Evie didn’t think this was what her mother had meant by ending it—she doubted Nolan was thinking of “goodbye” in terms of polite conversation over a game of Scrabble. But then, she’d always thought Scrabble was overrated.

*** Nolan glanced at the frowning woman beside him in his father’s classic T-Bird as they left the city limits, heading north toward his parents’ lake house. “You could have said ‘no,’ you know.”

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Evie’s gaze flicked to his, then away. “But you knew I wouldn’t.” “Hoped. Not knew.” She nodded, then settled into a silence that was in all likelihood more about finding her center, of recharging, than shutting him out. She’d always said he was one of the few people who didn’t take it personally when she simply didn’t feel like talking. So he was surprised when, not long after, she suddenly said, “Why didn’t you just break it off over the phone?” “Why didn’t you?” More silence. Then: “According to my mother, I’m a self-involved fool who doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it.” “I take it I’m the ‘good thing’?” he said, smiling despite the heaviness crushing his chest. “Don’t let it go to your head.” “Going after what you want doesn’t make you self-involved,” he said quietly. “And after watching you with Casey…no. I have nothing but respect for your mother, but she’s definitely got the wrong end of the stick there.” “What about the fool part?” He smiled over at her. “Now, there, I just might have to agree with her.” “Yeah,” she sighed. “Me, too.” A moment later: “So. Talk to me.” “About?” “Whatever you’ve taken such great pains to avoid over the past few days.” She glanced at him. “Carole, especially.” “You don’t—” “Yes, I do,” she said gently. “I’ve unloaded to you plenty. Your turn.” So he did. And as the miles passed, Nolan was amazed to discover that the more he talked about his wife, the smaller that hole in his heart became. When he spoke about Casey, though… “Sorry,” he said when his throat tightened. “It’s just…Case and I haven’t spent a night apart since his mother died.” Evie let out a soft moan then unlatched her seat belt to slide across the bench. She fastened the middle seatbelt and leaned against him, her hand lightly clasping his knee. “I’m honored,” she said quietly. Several more miles passed before she said, “I don’t suppose there’s a fireplace in this house?” “As a matter of fact, there is. Why? Are you cold?” Scooching closer, she inched her hand up his thigh. “No,” she said, sounding like the daring, sparkly-eyed Evie of old and Nolan bit his tongue to keep from making some lame comment about their going out with a bang.

***

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Evie watched the shadows play across Nolan’s bare back as he stoked the waning fire. They’d had goodbye sex before, of course—sex pulsing with anger and sorrow and frustration. This time, though… The frustration was still there, she supposed, but the last hour had been more about the unexpected thrill of running into an old friend. She gave a short laugh. “What’s so funny?” Nolan said, pivoting toward her, unconcerned as ever about his nakedness. And let it be hereby noted that the intervening years had been extraordinarily kind to him. Lying on her stomach atop the comforter they’d dragged off the queen-size bed, Evie smiled at him. “We are, I suppose. Being so civilized about this and all.” Nolan stretched out beside her, his head planted in his palm as his fingers rippled down her spine. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not feeling terribly civilized right now.” “This was your idea,” Evie said, in one motion pushing him onto his back and straddling him, shivering in anticipation of his touch. He smiled when her nipples beaded and he bent forward to take one in his mouth. He knew exactly how hard to tug, to suck, to tease. And maybe it was sappy, but it was true—there’d never been anyone like him, no one who even bothered to remember from one time to the next what she liked, let alone after ten years. “I know,” he murmured, lifting her off, laying her on her back. She shivered again, opening to him, smiling at the gentle puffs of warmth on her skin as he traced old, familiar paths with his mouth, his tongue. “But I’d forgotten how good you feel…and taste…how good you make me feel—” “Don’t spoil it,” she said, tears crowding her eyes. “Not to worry,” he said, tonguing her until she climaxed so hard she thought she’d have a stroke. She’d barely caught her breath before he spread her knees and sank deep inside her, deeper than anyone else, ever. Maybe living in the burbs wouldn’t be so bad if I had this to look forward to on a regular basis, she thought. Then all thought was banished by another explosion of heat and light and love, this one even more spectacular than the first. Afterwards they clung to each other, silent and still, as the fire burned down, leaving nothing but ash and a weird, unfamiliar sensation in the center of Evie’s chest. Her forehead crimped and she rummaged around in her brain until finally, she figured out what it was. Contentment. Nolan held her until she was all cried out.

*** He found Evie outside the next morning, wearing his Broncos jacket over her turtleneck and jeans, watching the sun come up over the still, cold lake. Barefoot, his corduroy shirt half unbuttoned, he threaded his arms around her waist from behind and she leaned into his embrace. A good sign, he thought. “I can’t tell you the last time I made love four times in one night,” he mumbled into her hair and she laughed softly. “But I’m pretty sure it was with you.” “Same here.” She paused, then said, “Funny how I’d assumed—” “What?” “That…before, it was just because it was still so new. That we were so new.” “The young and the horny?”

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“Something like that, yes.” She turned in his arms, honesty raw in her eyes. “That wasn’t it, was it?” “Apparently not.” Curling into his chest, Evie tucked her head under his chin. “I was wrong. There’s nothing even remotely civilized about this.” Nolan shut his eyes against the pain of the truth of their circumstances. Her breath warm against his neck, she said, “You didn’t bring me here to say goodbye. You were hoping I’d change my mind.” Half smiling, he pressed a kiss into her hair. “Can you blame me for trying?” She reared back to give him a sad smile. “Since it almost worked…no.” Nolan’s heart jolted. “Almost?” Evie lowered her eyes to his chest. “It really is like we just picked up where we left off. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but…” She lifted her gaze. “But then, it never was about a lack of love.” His shirt front clutched in her hands, she shook her head, tears brimming over her lashes. “And it still isn’t.” Nolan lightly kissed her mouth then let her go, turning to face the lake, barely aware of the chilly breeze. Fingers shoved into his pockets, he said, “I’d never try talking you out of doing whatever you need to do. But it just seems to me…” He turned back. “Sweetheart, trying to be yourself shouldn’t mean losing yourself in the process.” At her wide eyes, he plowed ahead. “You’re not really doing what you want to do—you’re doing what you think you’re supposed to be doing in order to get there. Wherever there is.” “Nolan—” “I’m not finished. I really do want you to be happy, Evie. Sure, in a perfect world, that’d be with me and Casey. But if that’s not to be…” He sucked in a breath. “I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is knowing that you’re not happy. If you’re half as lonely as I am, I know how much you’re suffering. And I just want you to be really sure what you’re putting yourself through is worth that.” She couldn’t have looked more hurt if he’d actually smacked her and he felt like dirt. But if he had to let her go—again—the least he could do was be up-front with her. It may not have been the gift she’d expected, but it was the only one he had.

*** The next couple of days were a flurry of last minute shopping and cooking and clandestine wrapping, keeping Evie busy enough to ignore the constant thrum of regret following her last night with Nolan. And it kept her mother too busy to ask questions about the same thing. Still, Nolan’s words churned relentlessly in her brain, as though if she just thought about them long enough and hard enough, some magic solution would eventually work its way to the surface. But here it was Christmas Eve, the night of miracles, and the only thing churning was Mama, all aflutter about the church’s annual Children’s Pageant, even though she’d been in charge of the thing for at least a hundred years. “Where the Sam Hill are the angel wings?” She now muttered as she zipped past Evie in the church hall, crawling with all manner of very excited shepherds, angels and stable critters. “You mean these?” Evie said, holding up the pitiful conglomeration of chicken wire, construction paper and glitter she’d worn herself more than twenty years ago.

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“Land, yes,” Mama said, snatching them out of Evie’s hands and zooming to the other side of the room where a bell undoubtedly tinkled soon thereafter. “Is Miz G. okay, Miss Evie?” A tiny blond lamb asked, tugging at the sparkly Christmas sweater Mama had thrown at Evie earlier with a barked, “wear this!” Smiling, Evie squatted in front of the child, straightening out crooked lamb’s ears as she willed the child’s innocence to soothe her tattered soul. “Yeah, she’s fine,” Evie said, wrinkling her nose. “She just wants everything to be perfect, ‘cause it’s Christmas Eve and all.” “Me, too,” the little girl said seriously. Evie laughed and gave the kid a quick hug, thinking how seeing the world through children’s eyes always renewed her spirit. Casey, in particular, had such a quiet sense of wonder about him. And the thought tickled…wouldn’t working with kids be great—? “Evie! Thank goodness!” She stood as the choir director bore down on her, robe and jowls flapping. “Krissy Stevenson’s got the flu! Please tell me you can sing ‘O Holy Night’!” “Oh! Um, sure. As long as Florence lowers it by a third—” “Bless you!” The man’s bony body sagged in relief. “Here,” he said, shoving the royal blue robe into her hands before flying off again. Around her, she heard the murmurs build and swarm—Evie Gallagher was going to sing, wasn’t that wonderful, it had been so long…. She looked up and saw Mama looking pleased enough to burst. And it hit her, with an almost blinding flash, what had really been missing from her life these past ten years. The solution was so obvious, so right. Her heart pounding, she scurried into the ladies’ room, digging her cell phone out of her pocket while simultaneously fighting her way into the blue robe. But before it could ring, Mama stuck her head inside and yelled, “What the Sam Hill are you doing? They need you in the sanctuary, now!”

*** “But I thought you said we weren’t gonna see Evie again?” Casey said from the backseat as Nolan careened through the Vegas-worthy streets, trusting that the Gallaghers hadn’t given up on a tradition of forty years. “I didn’t think we were,” Nolan said distractedly as he pulled into the church’s parking lot, finally finding a space in a galaxy, far, far away. He swung open Casey’s door and hauled him into his arms to hotfoot it across the lot. “But then I remembered her family’s here every Christmas Eve, and I thought you might like it. I don’t actually know if we’ll see Evie—” “But you hope so, huh?” Nolan smiled at his son. From the moment the revelation of what he had to do hit him not a half hour before, he’d felt as though fireworks were going off in his chest. “Yeah. I do,” he whispered as they slipped into a pew near the back of the sanctuary. “Look, Dad—Evie’s gonna sing!” He’d forgotten how incredible it was to watch her in all of her glory. Her voice was deeper, richer, than he remembered. He noticed how…tranquil she seemed. At peace. With her decision? He wondered. Well, good, he thought, bolstered. That should only make things easier, right? The minute the service was over Nolan grabbed Casey again and made tracks for the church hall—which was packed with people. And Evie was short. Suddenly, though, the seas parted, and there she was, staring at him, shocked. He saw her mouth his name, then burst into the brightest smile he’d ever seen. A minute later, they’d forged toward each other through the chattering, laughing crowd to meet in the middle of the room, where they both started talking at once.

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“No, no, listen,” Evie said, beaming, her hand tight in his. “I tried to call you earlier but then I had to fill in for the soloist and—” She waggled her free hand. “Never mind. You were right—I had lost myself! I’ve been going about this the wrong way completely! And if we hadn’t run into each other…if you hadn’t had the courage to say all that…” Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “It was never about being famous,” she said into his eyes. “It was about doing what I loved. About being appreciated. And I can do that anywhere, right? Even…” Her smile broadened. “Even in Denver. In fact, maybe I can start my own theater one day! One with an awesome children’s program,” she said, ruffling Casey’s hair. Her gaze swung back to Nolan’s. “So I’m calling my agent first thing after Christmas, telling him I’m not coming back.” Then she frowned. “Why are you laughing?” Nolan slipped an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, “Because I’d just decided to look for teaching posts in L.A. Because I can teach anywhere, too.” Evie pulled back, her eyes popping. “You’d do that for me?” “I’d do anything for you,” he said, and her eyes got all shiny. “Even…marry me?” she said. “Done,” and then he kissed her— “Hey,” Casey said, yanking on his hand. “What’s going on?” His heart about to burst, Nolan smiled into Evie’s eyes. “I think I just got you a new mom for Christmas.” “Yes!!! This is the best Christmas ever!” Casey cried, loud enough to turn heads in a twenty-foot radius. Laughing, Nolan yanked Evie close, making her squeal. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. She threw her arms around his neck. “You, too,” she said, peace and joy and love shining in her eyes, a promise that they’d never let each other go ever again. The best Christmas ever, indeed.

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The Medici's Pregnant Mistress by Robyn Grady Erin Gates has been the mistress of tycoon Christo Medicci for two passionate years. But recently, she’s become tired of not being recognized by his family or business clients. She sees happy couples with baby carriages everywhere and she wants to move things to the next level: marriage, family. She wants it all—or nothing. What she doesn’t know is that Christo has sworn to his father that he won’t marry or have a child. If he does, he will never become CEO of the company he has put his soul into. And Christo’s reasons go beyond business—the truth of his family’s sordid past has shattered his belief in “happily ever after.” But Erin has a secret that will change both of their lives. Can it change Christo’s heart?

Chapter One Erin Gates gripped the handrail at her back and defied her lover’s seductive gaze. “Christo, don’t look at me like that. What I need to say is important.” No, not merely important. Life changing. And heaven knew the words wouldn’t come easily. All around, Sydney Harbor danced with reflections from her city’s spectacular nightlights. Colorful, shimmering, vibrant. In a way, the water’s surface mirrored her love affair with this man. But what lay beneath—a priceless treasure or a cool, dark chasm? After two glorious years, Erin still wasn’t sure, but now she needed to find out. The enigmatic Christo Medici would soon learn she would no longer be a rich man’s mistress. At ease in a crisp tuxedo on board his family’s hundred-foot yacht, Christo frowned and cupped her cheek. “You look flushed. If you’re unwell, we’ll go.” His onyx eyes warmed not only with concern but also latent desire. Skin brushed bronze by Mediterranean ancestry, a small scar nicking the corner of one eye, hair worn longer than the typical business tycoon—in another time Christo might have been a high-seas pirate. He got what he wanted, any way that worked. Not tonight. “We can’t leave.” From their quiet corner, she indicated black-tie guests dancing cheek-to-cheek on the timber deck, others chatting over champagne flutes. “Your father must have spent a fortune organizing this party.” Christo’s masculine scent and heat moved nearer. A delicious shiver chased over her skin as his lips grazed her temple. “One guess how I’d rather spend my birthday. You look beautiful.” Erin’s heart melted at that deep, dark-chocolate voice and lingering kiss on her brow. Surely he would agree with her. Then, at last, they could move forward. When they were together it always felt so right. “Uncle Christo!” About to succumb to the lure of his lips, Erin caught herself and drew away. She skimmed a palm down one side of her silver-sequined gown then spied Christo’s four-year-old niece, dressed in the cutest sailor’s suit, tugging her uncle’s pant leg. Hunkering down, he twirled the girl’s ponytail. “What can I do for you, little Anabelle?”

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“It’s cake time and Grandpa says you gotta come now.” Her blue eyes flashed. “Right now.” Erin glanced over and an icy shudder trickled down her spine. Beneath the upper deck arch, Medici senior’s glare pierced her like a cold steel lance. Straightening to his full imposing height, Christo rolled back one broad shoulder. Gaze sliding from his father back to Erin, he smoothed his niece’s sable crown. “Tell Grandpa I’ll be there soon.” Erin watched Anabelle skip off and she felt the now-familiar tidal wave of emotion crash over her. She had to talk to Christo tonight—now. She could no longer stand the awkward introductions to his clients, the stilted conversations with his family, the musical laughter of his little nieces and nephews without knowing. Erin centered herself and found the words…the confession…the plea. “Christo,” she swallowed deeply, “I want a family.” He blinked twice before his high brow furrowed and a muscle leapt in the shadowed angle of his jaw. Concentrating, he rubbed that scar as the harbor lights glistening in his eyes seemed to fade. “We’re young, cara. Plenty of time yet.” She warmed at his endearment—cara…darling—even as frustration and hurt closed in. Wherever she went, pregnant women pushed prams. Everywhere she looked, someone carried a baby. Her career-driven mother was based in Melbourne; her twin sister and young family lived on the other side of Australia. Sure she had friends, colleagues. But recently a mighty and unshakable need had gripped her. She longed to feel connected…wanted to love, and be loved. With all her heart she craved a family—a beautiful safe harbor all her own. Christo held her hands and gently squeezed. “Having a family might sound romantic, but at this point it wouldn’t be fair. You know the company’s problems since that fire. Medici Yachts lost most of its moulds, many of the boats under construction and close to all our materials. Insurance doesn’t cover disgruntled clients from the wealthiest countries in the world. What time I have after hours, I want to spend with you,” his gaze caressed her lips, “only you.” Her pulse rate climbed. Good, but not good enough. Heart thudding low in her chest, she searched his eyes. “I love you, Christo. Don’t you love me too?” The chiseled planes of his face hardened before one corner of his mouth slanted up. “You’re after a proposal.” He kissed the sensitive back of each wrist in turn. “Why the hurry?” Her cheeks flamed. “Because you seem to be in no hurry at all.” Today Christo was thirty-two; she was twenty-nine, almost thirty. The time was right. The time was now. Determined, cornered, she found the words. “I don’t want to be a pastime who fits between the pages of your schedule.” Eyes beseeching, she brought a pair of their laced hands to her cheek. “I want to be your wife.” There. It was out. All or nothing. His gaze searched her face for a long heartening moment before his voice lowered to a rumbling, rich embrace. “With marriage comes children.” She nodded quickly. “Yes, Christo. Children.” His hands eased from hers. “Right now that’s impossible.”

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A cannon ball of emotion struck her stomach and Erin’s breath rushed out. But he hadn’t said no, simply ‘not now’. She lifted her shoulders. “Then when?” A clutch of people called over. They wanted cake and were urging him on. Turning toward them, Christo smiled and held up a hand. He blindly looped an arm around her waist. “We’ll talk later.” “In the bedroom?” Digging in her heels, she crossed her arms. “No.” Whenever they made love, he had the advantage. A vortex of explosive sensations and so little time meant the hours disappeared. Deeper conversation was left to another day, another night. She hadn’t meant to tackle this question mid-party, but now she ached to know—even with Medici senior over there, scowling and tapping his watch. Inching behind Christo’s shadow, Erin gnawed her lip. “Is it your father? Is that why you push me away?” His dark eyes simmered. “I decide who I see, not my father.” The salty breeze ruffled his hair as a line divided his brows. “Not in the way you’re suggesting anyway.” As the band kicked off Happy Birthday, Erin briefly closed her eyes. For one cowardly moment she wished she’d never brought this subject up. But she needed to know. And she was certain that he cared and even loved her. Her fingers reached for his. “Christo?” “If you need an answer now, tonight…” Before the approaching crowd swept him away, Christo set his jaw and shook his head. “No, Erin, I can’t marry you.”

Chapter Two Erin’s heart seized then dropped, smashing at her feet. Christo Medici had never intended to marry her. She was beneath him, good enough to warm his sheets, nothing more. Or was this rejection even simpler than that? As the crowd singing "Happy Birthday" ushered Christo toward a tiered cake, Erin held back—her presence and her tears. The harbor glistened, speeches were made and scores of guests applauded, yet she’d never felt more bereft or alone in her life. She settled her palm on her queasy stomach. I can’t marry you. He’d left her, humiliated, with nowhere to hide. What could she do? Skulk away into the night like a thief, never to be heard from again? Or say: “It’s been nice,” then salute bon voyage? No, first another question must be asked and answered properly, damn it. So she waited. At eleven thirty, Christo bid his last guest goodnight and walked with her from the pier to his car. After he’d removed his jacket and sat buckled in his Alpha Romeo, she pushed aside nausea to dredge up the courage. “Do you have another woman?” Her voice was shaky, threadbare. “Do you hide her away, as well?”

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Large bronzed hands wrung the steering wheel as he glared straight ahead. “I do not cheat, Erin.” Throwing the shift into reverse, he barely checked over a shoulder before swerving out. “I thought you knew me better than that.” Erin pressed her lips together. Actually she knew very little. By the time the car slid into the street, a hot tear had rolled down her cheek and his attitude softened. Reaching over, he squeezed her thigh and electric warmth seeped through to her skin. “Besides,” he grinned, “why browse when I already have the best?” The compliment didn’t soothe her. The earlier wound had cut too deep. She shifted her gaze from the weaving traffic and neon signs to Christo’s classic profile. Strong, determined. Unattainable. She studied him as the car hummed and gently rocked. “Do you ever want to marry?” His bottom lip jutted. He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror, shifted down a gear with more force than was strictly necessary, then blew out a confessor’s breath. “Do you want the truth? Really? I’ll tell you everything, but don’t forget you asked for this.” He paused, and for a moment Erin thought that he had changed his mind. “My father had a business agreement drawn up. Nicholas and I signed it last month.” All ears, she adjusted her gown as she faced him. “Nicholas. Your cousin.” “It’s not common knowledge, but Nicholas is in fact my half-brother. He was born out of wedlock around the time my parents married. Although Nicholas has always known his background, I was only told after my mother’s death two years ago.” Erin felt a chill freeze her blood. She hadn’t met Nicholas until tonight. The aquiline nose was similar, but their eyes were polar opposites. While Christo’s were dark, mysterious and warm, Nicholas’s eyes shone bright blue, like Anabelle’s, but without the spark of innocence. Christo explained, “The agreement states if one of us marries before three years has passed, the other takes control of Medici Enterprises.” Including Medici Yachts, the part of the business that Christo was most proud of. “But why would your father make you sign something like that?” It didn’t make sense. “If either of us gets married,” he said, “chances are we’ll soon have a child.” She was more confused than ever. “Your younger brother Gabriel has three children.” Including beautiful Anabelle. “I’d have thought your father would want more.” Although, sadly, that wasn’t the case with Erin’s own parent. When her twin, Tori, had fallen pregnant soon after marrying, their mother had exclaimed she was far too young and too busy for grandchildren. No surprise there. The sisters’ childhood had been a revolving door of nannies, followed by rushed Mommy kisses every morning and night. Erin had always wanted to have a family in her twenties and be a stay-athome mother. Yet reality had her hitting thirty and seeing a workaholic. Christo pulled onto the expressway. “It’s just good business. Our first priority has to be to lift this company out of the red. My father believes a young family would be a huge distraction.” His head cocked. “I agree. So the choice is a clear one.”

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Was that a ridiculous or a valid argument? She and Tori had been nothing but distractions in their mother’s fast-paced life. The sense of abandonment lingered even now. She had to admit that it made sense to put off having a family until a person was ready to devote their full attention to it. But where did that leave them? One hand on the wheel, Christo loosened his tie. “My father hasn’t forgotten when the market plummeted thirty years ago and money dried up. He barely had time to sleep—let alone pay attention to us—until Medici’s was sailing smoothly again. Father wants to make sure that in our current time of crisis, my brother and I have no other distractions. So should I marry or have children before my thirty-fifth birthday, I would forfeit the reins to Nicholas, the bachelor who can give every minute of his time to the business, just like my father.” His jaw tightened. “I will not surrender control of the company I’ve put my heart, soul and sweat into for so long. I’d sooner die. So I signed the agreement.” He blinked several times, the clamp on his jaw loosened then he glanced over. “Do you see, cara? For the moment my hands are tied.” Erin shivered as hot then cold flashes prickled over her flesh. Fighting the impulse to punch the window button and swallow gulps of air, she forced words past lips that had turned to rubber. “Please…drop me home.” His voice was the firm caress she normally adored. “We always stay at my place. We’ll have breakfast at the café you like around the corner.” Not tonight. Oh God, never again. Her mind flew for an excuse. “I don’t feel well. Maybe something I ate at the party. Or something I caught at work—three people were off with the flu last week.” She held her throat. “I need to lie down. I want to go home.” Looking only halfway convinced, he increased his speed. Soon he was helping her up the path to her modest single-storey home. More than once he’d offered to set her up in an apartment; each time she’d declined. Luxury was not what she wanted from Christo. She unlocked the door and wove around it to stand behind the frame. Forearm high on the jamb, black tie hanging, he leaned across the threshold. “I’m coming in.” Erin bit the inside of her cheek. She needed distance, time to think. She pushed on the door. “Not tonight.” The wood bounced off his polished black shoe. His scar creased as his eyes narrowed. “You sure you’ll be okay?” “I just need some rest.” He could read into that whatever he chose. He considered her for a long tense moment before he nodded. “All right. But I’ll take a chance you’re not as sick as you claim and say goodnight properly.” As his hand curled around her nape and his mouth covered hers, tingles fizzed along her skin and seeped like an elixir through her blood. Helpless not to respond, she held his dress shirt pleats and dissolved as he moved to deepen the kiss. When her palms splayed, she felt a disc beneath the fabric—the gold medallion unique to Christo. Lying beside him at night, she’d often run her fingers over his chest and found this heirloom, threaded on its shiny link chain. She would miss its warm gleam in the mornings. Miss his hot scent, that blistering passion…the hope and excitement she’d known in her handsome pirate’s arms.

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But if he had made his choice, so had she. When he drew away, her head was swimming. His chest breathed in and out as one dark brow arched. “I’ll tuck you in.” How easy would it be to surrender? But circumstances had changed. Emotion clogging her throat, she closed the door. “Goodnight, Christo.” Goodbye. She leaned against the solid frame then sank to her knees. If he married or became a father now he would lose more than control of a company—Christo would lose his soul and ultimately blame her. If there was another way, she couldn’t see it. For now—and at least until he had fulfilled the terms of the agreement— she mustn’t see him or let him know. She was already pregnant with his child.

Chapter Three Six days and unsettling nights later, Christo swung out from his car and stormed up the path to Erin Gates’s house. She hadn’t taken his calls since last Saturday. Instead she’d left return messages on his business line that confirmed she was recovering but needed more rest. His more reasonable side said she had indeed caught a bug. The travel agency where she worked hadn’t seen her all week and admittedly, she hadn’t looked well when he’d dropped her off. But intuition told him more lay behind Erin’s sudden low profile. This afternoon he meant to find out. His fist banged on the door three times. Inside, he heard the muted volume of talk radio turn down. A buzz of relief filtered through his system. Good, she was home. He spoke loud enough to be heard through the door. “Erin? I’m worried. Let me in.” Flexing both hands, he resisted the urge to knock again. Eventually the door cracked open. What he saw both appeased and disturbed him. Without invitation he pushed the door wider and stepped inside to cup her face. Half his anxiety fell away. “Your cheeks are pink.” In fact, rather than ill she looked radiant, even with her green eyes gone wide, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She looped a wave of glossy, chestnut hair behind an ear and held it there. “I didn’t expect you.” “If you’re disappointed, I’ll leave,” he said with an edge to his voice. But when her gaze slid away, he became truly worried. “You haven’t been sick. Tell me what’s going on.” Her brow creased as if she were warring with herself over which answer to give. “Christo…” Her tortured gaze scanned his face, as if trying to memorize it. “I can’t see you anymore.” “Because of the agreement I signed.” It wasn’t a question. He’d more than suspected his father’s contract had been behind her…unavailability. He was armed and ready for the debate.

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The creamy column of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I understand the reasons. From a business point of view I suppose they make perfect sense and you have every right to lead your life the way you want.” She turned and crossed to the center of the room. “So do I.” He followed, the reasoning in his mind crystal clear. “Nothing needs to be different. Your feelings toward me haven’t changed.” Standing behind her, his hands smoothed down her bare arms. When he heard her sigh, felt her quiver, his mouth brushed her temple and his reflexes kicked in. “I sure as hell feel the same about you.” “How do you feel about me, Christo?” When his arms would have gathered her in, she broke free and spun around. “Like a rich man feels about his ever-willing mistress?” A bolt of annoyance stiffened his spine. “I’ve never thought of you that way.” “If that’s true, why didn’t we discuss this contract together? You simply made your decision, signed the document, and expected me to smile and go along.” Moisture edged her eyes as she backed away. “Well, I can’t.” “Until last week, I didn’t know marriage was this important to you. I thought we were happy.” He certainly was—happier than he’d ever been. But the fact remained: the company needed him. He had a job to do and an obligation to his family. Nothing could come before that. Besides he wasn’t a fan of marriage. For one, while Gabriel clearly enjoyed being a father, when a man came home to three children under five, the honeymoon was long over. He liked their relationship the way it was—exciting, intense. Passionate. Was wanting to preserve that status quo selfish or simply self-aware? “I was happy, Christo. But after two years, of course I’d hoped for more.” She shrugged her slim shoulders and avoided his gaze. “I probably shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t notice. You’re always so busy at the office or factory or marina or with clients. Whenever we come together it’s like…” She searched for the right words. “Jumping into a blast of steam—hot and blinding.” He focused on her moving lips; soft, ripe crescents he wanted so badly to taste. He wasn’t ready to have Erin walk from his life, but neither could he give her what she asked for. Maybe a compromise—delivered with a helping of seductive persuasion. Moving toward her, something caught his eye. Senses on alert, he detoured and headed for the adjoining bedroom. “You’re going somewhere?” As questions bombarded his brain and his gut twisted into a fist, he collected one of two suitcases halfway hidden behind the partly closed door. The high color drained from her cheeks. “My sister asked me to visit.” Her chin lifted, defiant. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” He dropped the suitcase and with three strides consumed the space dividing them. Catching the curve of her waist, he brought her in against his body to let her know how much he’d missed her. Each word was low and deliberate: “You can’t go. We need to work this out.” As his blood pounded with raw physical need, he slanted his head over hers and gave her the best reason he had to stay. Her positive response spread like a pulsating, addictive drug through his veins. No, she didn’t want him to leave. Hand supporting her nape, his thumb stroked the hollow of her throat as his mouth reluctantly released hers.

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Her parted lips glistened as if begging for more, but her brows fell together and she shook her head. “I’m leaving for my sister’s tomorrow. Her little girl is sick. Tori needs me.” A snapshot of his own niece, laid up in a hospital bed flashed to his mind. He took half a step back. “How sick?” Does she need a specialist?” Over the years he’d made some notable connections. Her beautiful green eyes softened. “It’s a bad case of croup, but she has a good doctor, thank you.” He let out that breath. “You’ll be back within a week then. No more than two.” His fingers sifted through fragrant chestnut hair. Though it wouldn’t be easy, he could wait until then. Face pained, she clenched her fists then moved to the door. “For once, please listen to me. It’s over between us.” He growled at a spike of irritation. Too many nights had already passed without having her pressed naked and wanting beneath him. This fire-ice act was driving him mad—which was no doubt her intention. Was Erin truly ill, or was this story another ploy to draw out his suffering and perhaps change his mind? One hand low on his hip, he ironed back the hair that had fallen on his brow. “If your visit to Perth is some kind of game, Erin, you can stop playing. Nothing will change the terms of that agreement. I can’t marry you or anyone else.” “No games. I accept your decision.” Her mouth very nearly trembled. “Please leave.” He studied her, thinking, then grabbed a buoy. “Three years isn’t an eternity.” He lifted one shoulder. “Maybe if you still feel the same, perhaps we could talk about it then.” Her slim nostrils flared and her eyes turned cold. “I want you to go.” She indicated the door. He didn’t like it—not one bit—but he knew when to fall back and formulate new strategies. Halfway down the path he stopped and grinned. Hell, the solution was obvious. Tomorrow she might be on a plane to Perth, however tonight would be a different, mutually-satisfying story. He strode to his car, whistling. Arrangements needed to be made.

Chapter Four Later that evening, Erin stepped from the stretch limo knowing she was walking into a trap. Thirty minutes after he had left her house that afternoon, Christo had phoned, asking her to drop by this evening. Nothing special — just a simple parting gift. He would send his driver. Clutching her purse now, she thanked the chauffeur and having straightened her simple white dress, ascended the stone steps that led to Christo’s towering front doors. Perhaps she should have refused the invitation, but it seemed wiser to get this battle out of the way. Tonight would be his last ditch, pull-out-allthe-stops effort to persuade her to continue their affair. Her former lover would be certain of his techniques, no doubt confident of a win. However, he didn’t hold all the facts. Just as he had no choice, neither did she. Her options were cut and dried; leave now and reenter his life in three years, whatever that entailed, or stay and have his ruin—and ire—fall upon her head. Accidents happened. Her condition was living proof, yet she could never view the new life she carried in those terms. Unfortunately, Christo would.

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Her breathing shallow and palms damp, Erin rang the bell. The door arced open. From the edge of a grand vestibule, Christo loomed over her, his white collared shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a vee of dark hair, the gold medallion at its center. With a lopsided smile, he held up a long-stemmed glass and waved her through. “Care for one?” She knew what he was offering and it wasn’t white wine. Bolstering her inner strength, she shook her head and stepped inside. His furnace-hot palm at the small of her back, Christo guided her down the hall and she willed her heart to stop racing. “I know why I’m here,” she said, a defiant tilt to her head. “You plan to seduce me.” “And you came.” Dark eyes gleaming, he raised the glass to his lips. “Should I jump to conclusions?” As he sipped, a knee-melting thrill spun a dizzy circle then dropped to the pit of her belly. But she bit down, determined to conquer her impulse reactions. This afternoon Christo had confirmed that, regardless of his father’s arrangements, he preferred that their relationship remain casual, uncomplicated. “Maybe we can talk about it then…” Her decision to keep this pregnancy private was doubly justified. Clearly he wasn’t interested in wedding vows and she had no wish to have him feel obliged. One day, when the time was right, he would know about his child. She had to believe he would accept his son or daughter, and as importantly, the decision she had felt compelled to make. In the meantime she’d carry on with her life, which would include the baby she’d longed for, but without the bonus of two wedding rings. For secrecy, as well has her own sanity, she must do that as far away from Christo as possible. He led her to his study, a spacious room decorated in mahogany and maroon leather. Leaving her in the center of the room he crossed to his desk, set down his glass then removed a crafted timber box from the top drawer. Erin’s heart jumped. It measured the size of his hand. What on earth lay inside? Joining her again, he held the box at waist level, but his focus was solely on her. He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “You look wonderful.” His big chest expanded. “Smell wonderful too.” Fighting not to hold her fluttering stomach, she drew back and dealt him a cool, it-won’t-work look. “You said you had something you wanted me to have.” His gaze rippled over her, as meaningful and sultry as a lover’s touch, before he lifted the box. “Something to remember me by.” Her hand barely shook as she accepted the gift. She lifted the top from the wooden box and discovered…a miniature treasure chest encrusted with jewels! Bright emeralds and sparkling rubies set among swirls of black velvet. When he took the larger box away, she did what was expected, she opened the treasure chest’s small jeweled lid and… Bit her lip against a silly stab of disappointment. It was empty. Just more black velvet. She hadn’t expected a ring. Not really. And the gift truly was exquisite. “It’s beautiful.” As she closed the lid, her finger ran over the central emerald and she offered an intrigued smile. “Looks like it might be a hundred years old.”

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He cocked a brow. “A little older than that. My family owns many heirlooms.” Turning, he moved toward the wet bar. “This was my mother’s.” As he crossed back, her mind froze, overwhelmed by the significance of his gift. And his enthralling presence, the fact that this was goodbye… Really goodbye… When the chill of his glass slid over the back of her hand, she didn’t move. Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at the box, helpless not to watch the glittering jewels smudge as her eyes filled. His rich voice rolled over her. “I wish you’d change your mind, Erin, but I’ll understand if you can’t.” She held herself tight as he took the jeweled heirloom from her hands and he placed it and the glass on a nearby table. “I’m thankful for the time we had. These two years have been incredible.” Gaze fixed on his medallion now, breaking piece by piece inside, she nodded once. “Yes…they have been.” Incredible. His knuckle gently curled her cheek and melting, her eyes drifted shut. “I won’t tell you to stay. But I was hoping…” His thumb grazed her lips. “This one last night?” Her smoldering center compressed tighter, deeper. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Christo’s hand found hers, placed it on his shirt and pressed her palm against his booming heart. “One last memory. One last kiss. Then I’ll let you go.” As his words vibrated through Erin’s hand, an echoing pulse began to beat in her bloodstream, straight to her core. His chin stroked a circle at her temple. “Cara, did you say no?” She burned all over. Dear heaven, she wanted him so badly. Loved him so much. A crooked finger nudged her chin higher. Chest aching, she dared to gaze into the dark eyes that owned her heart. He spoke into her lips. “Yes…or no?”

Chapter Five Christo waited, heartbeat throbbing in his ears, uncertain of what her answer to his simple question would be. Yes or no? But he recognized the stark need in her eyes, felt her willpower rapidly sliding. Perhaps another less direct tactic. While his grasp on her hip held her snug to his belt, his head tilted and his gaze dropped away. “I see this is a waste of time.” That strangled noise didn’t make it past her lips. When he looked again, the shadows lurking in her eyes had lightened. “No,” she whispered. He held that breath and frowned. “No?”

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She blinked. “This isn’t…a waste of time.” As bursts of adrenaline leapt from the gate, he didn’t hesitate stealing a penetrating kiss of sweet victory. About to sweep her up off her feet, she held his arms to stop him. “I had no intention…but like you said…” Her anxious gaze searched his face. “One last time?” Bringing her close, he dotted slow, reassuring kisses along her brow, around her cheek and jaw. As she sighed in her throat, his groin begged him to hurry, but his conscience told him to wait and give her time. “This doesn’t have to be the end,” he murmured. “I understand you weren’t expecting that news. But there’s every chance the problems with Medici’s will be sorted out long before the terms of that agreement suggest.” True and correct. Although he wouldn’t mention, for obvious reasons, whatever happened with Medici’s, his mind was still made. All his married life, his father had kept a mistress. If Christo’s mother had known, she hadn’t let on, but the knowledge had left her oldest son angry, bitter and ultimately resigned. Blood was blood and Christo knew such damaging traits could be inherited. Gabriel seemed content going home to his wife every night, but Christo enjoyed the excitement of stealing time to be with his lover. But Christo was not his father; he abhorred the idea of two-timing liaisons and secret babies consummated outside of a marriage bed. No need to take the risk. He would simply stay single and childless. His pulse missed a beat, but he pushed Erin’s hope to start a family aside. Life was complicated enough. They would continue to be happy. He’d make certain of it. She would see…tonight was their new beginning. He smiled and her limbs melted to hot wax. He gathered her up in his arms and crossed to an adjoining room where the lights were low, the blinds drawn and a spare bed happened to be turned down. Her eyes twinkled with stirrings of happiness, but also more doubt. “Does this mean you do want to get married?” Hiding a wince, he laid her well back on the bed. He sat beside her, an arm over her waist compelling her to lie flat. He claimed her lips, hoping by the time he had peeled that adorable dress from her limbs she’d have forgotten her question. Mouth still on hers, he’d half shrugged from his shirt when she gripped his shoulders and, moving beneath him, broke the kiss. Her breathing was deep, her tone insistent. “Christo, do you love me?” As she spoke, he slipped the light dress over her head. Caressing one firm breast, he circled his tongue around its ripe, tight bead. He gently blew against the wet then asked, “Do I act like a man in love?” When his teeth grazed the tip, she sighed and arched into him. “That wasn’t my question.” “Answer me this first.” Soaking up the heavenly vision of her near-naked body, he pushed to his feet and maneuvered out of his trousers. “If this was the last day of your life,” he said, joining her again, “how would you spend it?” His flesh shivered as her nails left sensuous trails down his ribs. She smiled. “I’d spend it with you.” Nibbling her bottom lip, he slid his hand beneath her panties. “If I had only hours, no one could pry me away from you.”

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*** Were they talking about hours or the rest of their lives? The question drifted like swirling stardust from her mind as Erin closed her eyes and allowed herself to be carried away. The following hours might, in fact, have resembled her last—every second felt desperate, intense. Hypersensitive. Their lovemaking was soul-lifting and ultimately exhausting. As the first rays of dawn slanted in through the blinds, Erin studied Christo’s sleeping form. With her cheek on his hot, hard chest, she felt more charged than at any time in her life. More certain and alive. Last night had changed her mind. Her baby deserved more than a mother running like a scared rabbit. Christo had the right to know that together they’d created a life. And given that agreement wasn’t nearly as concrete as first thought… She’d finished planning how best to break the news when, shattering the sunrise silence, the bedside extension rang. Christo stretched out and smiled as he became aware of her body sloped against him. When he rolled and lovingly kissed her brow, she knew in her heart what she’d planned was only right. His hand smacked down on the phone as he bundled her in against his body. “Whoever it is, they can leave a message.” “Christo.” His father’s terse tone boomed from the speaker. “Meet me and Nicholas at the office at nine.” Groaning, Christo swept the covers over their heads. She might have giggled but his father wasn’t one to be laughed at, even behind his back. That voice boomed again. “Nicholas is getting married. I want you here and this CEO problem sorted out once and for all.” As a sick, tight ball formed in Erin’s stomach, Christo flipped back the covers and glared at the phone. “And if you’re with that piece of work,” his father growled, “don’t forget my earlier warning. Get rid of her or, so help me, I’ll tell her what you don’t have the guts to.”

Chapter Six Erin went numb as the blood seemed to drain from her head. Holding the sheet under her arms, she sat up and studied Christo’s stony face. What had his father meant? She frowned. “Tell me what?” Growling, he shoved the covers completely away and, with his broad, bronzed back to her, brought one fist down onto the phone. The disconnected tone snapped off. “Nothing.” His message was clear. Leave it alone.

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She blinked into space, wondering what she’d ever done to his father, that horrible old man. “He really does despise me.” The obvious reason came to mind and she grunted. “If I were the daughter of one of your obscenely wealthy clients, he wouldn’t want to be rid of me so fast.” As Christo ploughed a hand through his thick dark hair then pushed to his feet, a perverse but totally plausible notion struck. “In fact,” she slanted her head, “I wonder if that attitude isn’t what’s really behind that no-nuptials agreement you and Nicholas signed.” He swept his pants off the floor. Speaking to the far wall, he drove one foot inside a leg. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And yet suddenly she knew that she was finally in tune and very much on track. Seeing the jigsaw form in her mind, she slotted in another piece. “Your company suffered a big blow with that fire, but you admitted Medici’s isn’t about to cough and go belly up. Still, the threat of a company’s collapse makes a convincing smokescreen to dissuade anyone your father thinks unworthy of carrying the Medici name.” Gabriel was married, but he’d married well. His wife, who Erin had met the other night, came from “oldmoney”, a characteristic of which Christo’s pragmatic father would no doubt approve. Apparently unmoved, Christo zipped his pants. Although the shifting sinew along his strong arms warned of his tightly-reined anger, she wouldn’t be put off the trail. “That agreement was also aimed at a woman Nicholas must have been keeping from your father too, the woman he’s decided to marry regardless.” She’d felt uncomfortable around Nicholas when they’d spoken briefly on the yacht, yet now she wanted to applaud him. “You’re totally off track,” Christo tossed over a shoulder as long fluid strides swept him into the adjoining room. By the time he returned, Erin’s theory had crystallized. While he fell into a chair next to a credenza and checked his cell messages, she drew up her legs and hugged them. “Tell me…was your father expected to give up the woman he preferred in order to marry your mother?” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to take them back. Her dislike for Christo’s father didn’t give her a right to smear his mother’s memory. And yet, as she thought of that beautiful but empty tiny treasure chest, Erin felt a connection. A certain…tug. Christo’s lethal gaze lifted from his phone to her eyes. “Don’t go there. My mother was an angel from a very fine family.” “And so would have come with a healthy dowry, too,” she realized, sitting straighter. “Maybe enough to get your father out of that jam thirty years ago.” Cords strained in his neck before he smacked down the phone and shot to his feet. “We’ll discuss this later.” Was she that close to the truth?

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“Is that what your grandfather expected of his oldest son, and your father in turn expects of you—approved, suitable, beneficial marriages?” Her pressure valve began to steam. “Far better to incorporate fine breeding and a heavy purse than acquire…a piece of work.” Nothing but darkness swam in his eyes—not even the anger he’d shown earlier and she was beginning to feel herself. He passed through a doorway into the hall. “I’ve got to go to the office.” His words echoed out to her. “What time is your plane? I’ll organize a driver.” But Medici senior’s words echoed back, too… I’ll tell her what you don’t have the guts to. And the sordid truth was suddenly clear. The sheet came with her as she scrambled off the bed. “That’s what your father is threatening to tell me, isn’t it? He had you sign that agreement, and on top of that told you to get rid of me. But you said there was no need to break things off because you had no intention of us ever marrying.” As all hope disappeared, the reality caught painfully in her chest. The doubt had been in her heart all along. He’d never once said I love you. What more proof did she need? She gasped when he reappeared and gripped her arms. His face, distorted through her tears, looked darker and more dangerous than she’d ever seen. “Erin,” he ground out, “leave this alone.” The back of her throat constricted but she met his steely gaze with one of her own. “I wish I could.” Without warning, he brought her in and his mouth came crashing down. The kiss was hard, almost brutal. When he released her, although some warped, desperate part of her had rejoiced, she also wanted to wipe his taste from her lips. “You have a plane to board.” His grip intensified before his hands dropped to his sides. “And I have a meeting. We’ll talk in a week.” Getting her thoughts together, she took a leveling breath. “Yes, we will—in your office, in front of your father.” Half turned from her, his expression twisted as he rotated back and searched her eyes. “Just what do you think you’re threatening me with?” She wanted to slap him and at the same wretched time beg him to hold her again. Instead she rolled back her shoulders. “No threats, Christo. Only promises.”

Chapter Seven One week after that almighty clash with Erin in his house, Christo flexed both hands, inhaled deeply then flicked open Medici Enterprises’ boardroom door. Returned from Perth, Erin stood before him, chestnut hair smoothed back in a chignon, white skirt suit immaculate, full lips glossed peach—lovelier than he’d ever seen her.

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Clearing his throat, he gestured her through. “How’s your niece?” Head held high, she breezed past. “Better, thank you.” He smiled, genuinely pleased. “Good.” One brow arched, she searched around. “Where’s your father? Does he know I’m here?” Should he lie? They moved to the long oak table that dominated the center of the room. He motioned she should take the seat he’d retracted. “My father…is busy.” That lush mouth compressed into a thin line. To be fair, he well understood her reaction. But had she really expected him to invite his father? Folding into the chair, she placed her slender hands in her lap. “I think he’ll be sorry he missed hearing the news firsthand.” News. An allusion to her “promises, not threats”? Refraining from shaking his head, he lowered into the top end chair. After their first real quarrel, her melodramatic shoot-out tactics had put them in the same room, so he shouldn’t complain. But before the hour was through, they’d have reached an understanding. Regardless of the recent bumps, what they had together was too good to throw away. She obviously agreed or, frankly, she wouldn’t be here. He’d happily make the first move. Sitting alongside her, he leaned forward, palms flat on the polished wood grain. “Erin, I’m sorry we argued.” A wry grin hooked her mouth. “You’re only sorry I finally saw through your screen.” Brows nudging together, he drummed his fingertips on the table. As he suspected, no way around the obstacle. Time he came clean. He adored her and wanted to take care of her, however, he did not want to marry—her or anyone else. She would either accept that truth along with what he wanted to share—a life of passion, intensity and companionship—or she would walk away. Was he too sure of himself? Perhaps. But if he was taking a chance, it was one he no longer wished to avoid or deny. He’d start at the beginning. “It’s obvious my father doesn’t approve of you. That’s his problem. Not ours.” She blinked and opened her mouth, but he held up a silencing hand. “You had your say the other morning, now I’ll have mine.” Wariness narrowed her bright green eyes but she nodded. “Go ahead.” “To bring you up to date, Nicholas didn’t show at the meeting that morning. In fact, he hasn’t contacted us all week except to deliver invitations to his wedding.” She looked smug. “Good for Nicholas.” “Indeed.” Pushing up out of his chair, he moved to the wall-to-wall window and its view of the sparkling harbor. Legs braced, he crossed his arms over his suit jacket. “I’ve been made CEO of Medici Enterprises.” Her face was expressionless, her voice flat. “Congratulations.”

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His jaw clenched. Seeing her so ambivalent made him want to lock the door, sweep her close and incite the response he knew she secretly longed to share. But there was time enough for that. First… “I have an admission to make.” “Something I haven’t already guessed?” He unraveled his arms to rub the corner of one eye. “Actually, no. The other morning you were pretty spot on.” Her eyes flared as if she’d been struck in the chest. “I’d like to be flippant and say it was women’s intuition. But the truth was obvious once I looked beneath the surface.” She stood. “Now, if you don’t mind I’ll tell you what I’ve come to say, then I’ll—” “I’m not finished yet.” Cautioning himself not to hurry and seem overeager, he sat in the chair next to her. He was close enough to soak up her fragrance, near enough for every cell to harden and groan for her touch. As she looked at him, eyes simmering with mistrust, pain and a fiery hint of what he recognized as desire, he placed his hands in his pockets and pressed on. “It suited me to sign that agreement. I’ve always wanted the top job. I knew Nicholas was seeing someone seriously.” “And we weren’t serious?” He wouldn’t be led. Instead he…accidentally brushed her hand with his and hid a smile when sensual awareness flickered in her eyes. His voice lowered to the timbre which had so often inspired her. “I love sharing time with you, spoiling you, laughing and making love with you. But, cara, I’m not a man who will marry. I know that means we won’t have a family. I honestly hate to disappoint you but I’m not unique in such thinking, and I need to make clear that my feelings on this matter are set. I’ll share my reasons, but first let me say there are many couples who enjoy each other without all the complications and trappings associated with—” He stopped in the middle of his rehearsed speech and frowned, completely baffled. She’d started to laugh, quietly at first then louder. Her eyes were wet. “That’s the most arrogant, hilarious and tragic thing I’ve ever heard.” Scrubbing his chin several times, he watched her hold her belly as if it ached from her amusement. He inclined his head, hoping another angle might help him understand. “I assume that doesn’t mean you agree.” “It means you’re about to walk a giant plank.” His jaw tightened and he gripped the arms of the chair. “This isn’t a laughing matter.” After blowing out a spent sigh, she found a calmer expression. “Christo, you don’t know how right you are.” While he tried to fathom which move to make next, she moved forward in her chair, their knees touching, and gently pressed her palm to his chest. An avalanche of relief fell through him. She had come around. He’d known that she would—but so quickly? He smiled and held her hand against his fast-beating heart.

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She smiled back. “May I speak now?” His hand squeezed hers. “Of course.” “I honestly hate to disappoint you…but I’m pregnant with your child. And just in case you ever come to your stupid, selfish senses, the answer is, no, Christo, I won’t marry you. After your confession, I wish I never had to see you again.”

Chapter Eight As Erin rose and strode out through Medici Enterprises’ boardroom door, Christo collapsed back into his chair. Had he heard correctly? His lover, the woman he’d just now admitted he would never marry, was carrying his child? A prickling, tingling chill swept from the back of his skull over his scalp then through every particle of his body. His brain sat stunned even as his heart hammered like a pounding gavel. Only two realities shone through the fog. One, Erin was telling the truth. Two, he must acknowledge this child—his child. The invisible band at his throat cut off his air. Their child. His father might not be the best role model, but at least Gabriel had known and lived with him. When Christo had been let into the secret and was told of his “cousin’s” true origins, he had begun to understand Nicholas’s stabbing looks growing up, as well as the over-competitiveness at the office in later years. Still his father refused to acknowledge Nicholas in the only real way that counted—by openly embracing him as a son and Nicholas had finally got out from beneath his “uncle’s” superior-minded double-standards to live his own life. Was he, Christo, any better than his father? He’d kept Erin at a distance, in a glass bowl. Not because he was ashamed, but rather because he was afraid of hurting her—and their children—if they married and his eye strayed as his father’s had. He could never live with himself if he ever caused her pain that way. She deserved one man’s entire love and devotion, and so he’d convinced himself it was best not to get too close. But as he sat there, he realized that the frightening, wonderful truth was that to his very soul he wanted to be that man. How could he ever need anyone but her? Hell, if he wanted to be totally honest, he’d known that almost from the start. And he’d been too focused on the past, too cowardly, too stupid and full of pride to bestow upon himself the honor of becoming her husband. Or admit that he, too, wanted a family. He shot out of the chair, hand instantly reaching for his chest—to the medallion his mother had asked him to cherish. Could Erin ever forgive him? If he was lucky, he had one chance.

*** “Mind if I join you?” Erin instantly recognized that rich, dark-chocolate voice. She flinched at the stab of pleasure and pain, then swung her gaze away from the harbor to meet the intensity of Christo’s onyx eyes. It had taken him only a day to insult her by showing up, believing, as he would, that he could change her mind.

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“You’re wasting your time. I’m not the gullible starry-eyed woman I used to be.” Her eyes returned to the water. “I have someone else’s best interests to worry about now.” “The very reason I’m here.” “You want to acknowledge your child?” Although unbidden tears prickled, she scoffed. “Are you certain you can withstand your father’s deep frown of disapproval?” He took a moment to answer. “I deserve that. But, as you’ve just suggested, our child deserves more.” Without invitation, he sat beside her on the sand. Grudgingly she asked, “How did you find me?” She flicked a glance over. His eyes were focused on the sunset. “This is your place to come and think things through when you’re upset.” She dashed a tear away. This was getting them nowhere, but now that he was here, she might as well let him know, “You can see the baby whenever you wish.” With an elbow on one raised knee, he drove a hand back through his hair and groaned as if in pain. “I was wrong, Erin.” She closed her eyes and blocked her ears. “Don’t, Christo. I heard enough yesterday to know that whatever you say now is only more manipulation. I wasn’t good enough to marry, you didn’t want the complications.” A wife. A family. He hung his head and repeated, “I was wrong. And you were right. My father sacrificed a life with the woman he loved in order to marry my mother and her family.” He shrugged as if clueless. “He cheated on her. For years I knew, yet he wouldn’t acknowledge the child his mistress, the woman he preferred, had given him. I don’t expect you to understand, but somehow ‘right and wrong’ and ‘that-will-never-happen-to-me’ got all confused.” Absorbed but unconvinced, Erin slowly shook her head. “I don’t believe you.” He looked into her eyes and she saw his heart there, bleeding. Pleading. His smile was almost sad. “I think you do.” He breathed in deeply and placed in front of her, crooked in the sand, that tiny jeweled treasure chest. “This is yours. She’d want you to have it too.” “Your mother?” He nodded. “I’m certain she’d also like you to have what’s inside.” Erin was about to say it was empty, but from the compelling look on Christo’s face, clearly that was no longer true. He tipped his chin. “Open it.” A spiraling giddy feeling fell through her. Her eyes drifted closed. Oh God, she didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to feel this way—not again. “I’d rather you left. We’ll talk another time—” “Erin. Please open it.”

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Holding herself tight, hating herself but unable to refuse, she collected the chest and lifted the lid. Inside, two gold rings shone from the black velvet bottom. Her breath hitched as she swallowed a gasp. Simple, shiny and smooth, they reminded her of something a pirate might wear in one ear. But, of course they weren’t earrings…. He said it for her. “Two wedding bands.” His warm hand brushed hers as he extracted one. “I’ve held onto the past for too long. I won’t let it go completely but I want to move on. We need to move on—together.” Warm tears trickled down her cheeks. How could he keep doing this to her? Why did she let him? “Why should I believe…” She swallowed against the emotion that was lodged high in her throat. “How can I believe you? How do I know what you say is real?” He took her hand and placed it on his chest. Her eyes widened and she held her breath. ”You’re not wearing your medallion.” A second later, it came to her. She gazed at the rings. He collected the second one then placed them both in her palm. “I had it melted down. I couldn’t think of a truer way to say I love you. It’s just that simple. I’ve loved you for so long and I should have trusted myself enough to accept it and tell you. Please trust me now, Erin. Be my bride. Say we’ll be a family.” She bit her lip as salty streams flowed from the corners of her eyes. This was too unbelievable, too incredible to be true. “What about Medici Enterprises? Your position there? Your father?” “I spoke to my father yesterday—and resigned. Then I called Nicholas.” He grinned. “We talked about starting up our own company. Then he made me promise that I’d bring you to his wedding.” While his answers swirled through her mind, propped on one arm, he leaned closer. “I want to live every day as if it’s my last…with you and our child. When all the gloss and hype is taken away, that’s all I care about. All I want to know.” As her heart melted and vision blurred, he searched her face. “So now you know how I feel. What I need to know is…Erin, do you love me?” Gazing into his dark but open gaze… Yes. Finally she was sure. She murmured, “I love you too.” He smiled, gathered her close and kissed her with a new and special kind of meaning. With the colors of the sunset sparkling across the water, her hand closed around their gold rings. At last—long last—she held all her life’s treasures.

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Road Taken by Megan Hart The road trip. For Molly, it means freedom. The freedom to be the person she wants to be. The freedom to make her own choices. The ability to appreciate the things that are to her tastes. There are no restrictions. No rules. There is only possibility. Chance. Fantasy. So when a big, rough-around-the-edges man strides by her like he owns the world, she can allow her desire to be revved up as hot and powerful as the engine of his Impala. And she can act on that desire in any— every—way she wants.

Chapter One A midnight-blue Impala had parked in the spot next to her practical, beige, four-door sedan. Her car was old, but this car was vintage. Big. Long, sleek lines begged her hand to run along them. It had a trunk big enough to hide a bunch of horny teenagers sneaking into the drive-in and a hood that went on for miles. Without popping the hood she couldn’t tell what sort of engine it had, but she bet it was at least a three-fifty—big enough to set that baby running at top speed before her dinky little putt-putt of a car could get into second gear. As she got closer, she noticed a few spots of rust speckled the bumper and a glance inside revealed the interior wasn’t pristine, either. Still, that car was a diamond that made hers look like a hunk of glass. She consoled herself with thinking about how much gas a car like that used, of how it probably lacked the modern conveniences of power windows and a good stereo. Little comfort when she knew it would start with the roar of a lion—hers was more like a playing card stuck in the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Ah, well. Her car, if not pretty, was paid off, and it would get her where she needed to go. That was all that mattered. Still admiring the Impala, she got into her car and slid her keys into the ignition. She told herself it was only imagination that they felt lighter in her hand. Laden with a rabbit’s foot, a miniflashlight and a slew of novelty key-rings she’d picked up over the years, there was no way the loss of one single key could have made any difference. But it did. Her car started right away, if not remarkably, and she tried not to feel its inadequacy next to the Impala. But just then her gaze was torn from the Impala by something just as impressive straight in front of her. “Well, hello,” she murmured involuntarily. The man crossing the parking lot toward her walked like he owned the earth beneath his battered brownleather boots. Long legs cased in faded jeans strode without hesitation towards her. His jacket matched his boots: worn and creased and beaten and sexy as all hell. The rest of him wasn’t bad either, she thought, watching him toss a handful of trash into the can with one hand as he brought a cup of coffee to his mouth with the other. He had lean, clean features, each line of nose and cheek and jaw fitting together as perfectly as a puzzle. The faint hint of stubble on his chin was slightly darker than the sandy hair he wore cropped short and spiked a little in the front. Stubble scratches, she thought with a shiver that had nothing to do with the early fall chill.

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In profile, his mouth, pursed to sip from the cup, looked taut, even a little unyielding, but as he crossed in front of her car and turned slightly to face her, she saw his lips were anything but firm. He had a mouth made to kiss for hours—if a woman could hold off that long before she demanded he use it in other places. And green eyes, she realized as he stared straight through her windshield, his head turning to keep her in his gaze as he stopped. Molly swallowed hard, caught. Heat flamed into her face, though it wasn’t quite embarrassment. He smiled, eyes flashing—and he resumed his swagger past her car, his hand reaching into the pocket of his jacket for his keys. He unlocked the Impala and slid behind the wheel. He closed the door with a creak and a squeak that she could hear even through her glass and metal cocoon. She had been right—he started the car and the Impala did rumble and roar and growl. She watched him twist, one arm on the back of his seat, to look out his rear window as he backed out of the spot. She should’ve missed the look he gave her just before he pulled away. She shouldn’t have been looking in her rear view mirror, hoping for one more glance at him. She should have completely missed the smile he shot her way. And the little wave. But she didn’t.

Chapter Two For the last twenty miles, the road had stretched out empty in front of and behind Molly. She was almost at the Pennsylvania border. Molly glanced out her window, taking in the breathtaking view. The sky was so bright and blue and clear it looked as though she could reach through her window and grab a handful. Every time she rounded a corner she expected to catch up to some traffic, but so far nothing. The radio was giving off little more than static, but her iPod had a nifty little transmitter that allowed her to listen to it through her stereo speakers, so she had plenty of music. If only she could find something she wanted to listen to. She hadn’t thought to make a special play list before she packed everything she owned and left Cincinnati. Missing You by John Waite wasn’t going to work. Neither was You’re Beautiful by James Blunt. Molly was so intent on finding something that didn’t make her want to cry or throw the iPod out the window that she didn’t notice she was no longer alone on the road—until she saw the flash of sunlight on chrome in the rear-view mirror. It was a big, hulking blue car, but it was too far behind her for her to be sure it was the Impala she’d seen earlier. Hell, who was she kidding? Her heart had started thumping the second she spotted it. Her hands convulsively grabbed the wheel as she stared at the reflection rapidly approaching. It was him. He was going to pass her, of that she had no doubt. Already her foot had eased up on the gas, like her body wasn’t going to wait for her brain to take charge. The wind whipping at her hair from her open window brought her the low growl of the Impala as it gained ground. It brought something else, too. The thought of a faint, steady rock beat—a song trying hard to be familiar. Something with a lot of guitar, some screeching lyrics. A song that made her want to bang her head, to

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dance and dance and dance…. A song that made her want to bust into sweaty exhaustion. Not the song she’d thought she was looking for, yet her fingers scrolled right to it without much effort. It was perfect. The Impala, windows open, pulled up alongside her. The man inside turned his head to stare at her through dark sunglasses. His grin shot liquid heat straight to her gut, where it quickly trickled lower down. The song Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace pounded out from her speakers, and she couldn’t stop herself from beating out the rhythm on her steering wheel. She shifted in her seat, knowing she ought to look straight ahead, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking over. This time, she was the one who waved.

Chapter Three It reminded her of being at a high school dance with her friends, scoping out that cute boy from math class. Catching a glimpse of him in the corner, bumping into him at the refreshment stand, searching desperately for him among the couples pairing off on the dance floor. And finally, at last, feeling a tap on her shoulder and turning to find him asking her if she’d like to dance to the last song of the night. It had always been Stairway to Heaven. She’d been playing tag with the man in the Impala for the past thirty miles. He’d speed up and pass her, then she’d catch up and do the same. Sometimes they drove side by side for a minute or two. It was a race without a finish line. Driving, Molly could only snatch brief glimpses of him. He got more beautiful every time she looked. The hair, the grin, the stubble, the sunglasses. The brown leather jacket. The sexy muscle car. He was perfection wrapped up in a leather package, and her fantasies got bigger and sweatier every time she looked. He had large hands. That wasn’t a fantasy; she could see them clearly as he gripped the wheel. Hands that big could easily ensnare both of hers—and a man like that would do it, too. He’d push her up against a wall, a knee between her legs, and pin her arms above her head. His stubble would scratch the sensitive skin of her neck as he used his mouth there. His teeth would press her skin just hard enough to make her gasp. He’d fuck her up against that wall as easily as if they were on a bed, one hand beneath her ass to hold her while her legs wrapped around his waist. She’d be able to look right in his eyes, too, and feel his breath on her face when he panted out her name. The image faded as a cluster of traffic appeared ahead and forced them both to slow. The Impala drifted back, leaving plenty of distance between it and the cars in front of them. In the mirror, she could see him drumming out a beat on his steering wheel, but he’d rolled up his window so she couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t stop herself from looking over at him as she passed on the left. As soon as he had room, he merged into the left lane and got behind her. Behind her. She loved it that way. In her head she was on her hands and knees, his cock filling her from behind while his hand slid along her throbbing clit. Her fingers would grip the sheets into crumpled wrinkles and she’d rock back against him, forcing him to go harder into her. Deeper. He’d fuck far inside her as his fingers stroked her until she came. “God,” she muttered aloud. The sound shattered the scene in her head, and she forced herself to focus on the road. But she couldn’t quite banish the thought…. “I bet he fucks like a jackhammer.” Saying it aloud brought heat to her face—as well as other parts—but she wasn’t going to pretend she wasn’t thinking it. It had been too long since she’d let herself even notice another man. She’d been too afraid. If she admitted, even to herself, that she was looking for something new, then she’d have had to admit that she wasn’t happy with what she did have.

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What she’d had. Well, now she didn’t have it any more. No more Peter, no more house, no more wedding plans. No more honeymoon to the Bahamas. No more job. All she had was this car, with the trunk and backseat stuffed full of her every worldly possession and enough cash to get her back to Philadelphia where she may or may not have a job and an apartment waiting for her. Well, she thought as her car took the turn and the Impala passed her again, that wasn’t all she had. Now she had a fantasy, too. And it was about time she acted out a fantasy….

Chapter Four This stretch of road had always seemed interminable with no rest stops and nothing much to see but fields on both sides. Not this time, though. The miles were actually speeding by too fast, each marker she passed reminding her that eventually the man in the blue Impala would pull off at an exit and be gone forever…or she would. They’d played tag for the past hour until finally he’d pulled far ahead of her and stayed there. She might have caught up if she put her foot to the floor, but with her car so overloaded, she didn’t want to risk overheating her engine. Or getting a ticket she couldn’t afford, Molly reminded herself with regret as the Impala got further and further ahead of her. It had been nice while it lasted, anyway. She grinned as the songs on her iPod cycled through again and Animal I Have Become pounded out of her speakers. She’d never hear this song again without thinking about her nameless stranger with the cocky grin and the perfect jeans. Damn, it felt good to want something again. She’d spent most of this past year trying to convince herself that being happy to have someone was the same as being happy. She’d done her best to force away any hint of dissatisfaction, not wanting to hurt the man who’d spent three months’ salary on a ring for her but who never really listened to anything she had to say. Well he’d certainly heard the words “I’m leaving.” He’d accused her of running away. Called her names she couldn’t blame him for. She hadn’t been able to explain she wasn’t just running away from something. She was running toward something, too. A dream. A life. A chance. For the first time in more than a year, since she’d said yes to Peter’s proposal because she wasn’t quite sure how to say no, Molly’s life felt like this road ahead of her: vast, winding and full of surprises. She intended to make the most of it. Starting, maybe, with not being afraid to pursue her…opportunities. But if she really had the chance to have hot, sweaty and anonymous sex with a beautiful stranger, would she do it? Where was the line between opportunity and fantasy? Molly scanned the road ahead for signs of the Impala, but it had gone. Another chance wasted…just like the night she’d met Peter. Molly had been at a nightclub with some friends, drinking and flirting. A man approached her, asked her to dance. They’d spent the next half-hour practically fucking on the dance floor, hip to hip, skin to skin. It had been the sexiest thirty minutes of her life…until he suggested they go someplace and finish what they’d started. She’d wanted to. But she hadn’t done it. Ten minutes after she watched her dance partner walk away, Peter had bumped into her. The rest was two years of sad and unsatisfactory history. Not that anything bad had ever happened. He didn’t stay out late drinking with his buddies or spend all his money on booze and bitches. Peter even remembered to put the seat down. He paid the bills on time and made sure her car had gas in it. And he brought her lilies, the only flower on earth she truly hated. He

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cooked her steaks well-done when she preferred them rare. He chose the blue sweater when she’d have picked the violet, the political thriller when she’d have liked the romantic comedy. Peter never listened to her. He claimed he loved her, but he never, ever listened. Or maybe he listened, she thought, but simply never heard. She’d often wondered what would have happened had she gone with that stranger and given in to her need to be a little wild. She would never know how her life might have changed if she had. But she wasn’t that woman anymore. She’d left her behind in Cincinnati. So if the man in the Impala presented an opportunity, it was a chance that this Molly would not let pass her by.

Chapter Five Molly’s stomach rumbled again. Putting a hand on it did nothing to quell the emptiness inside, but as she reached for the grocery bag of snacks on the seat next to her, she knew nothing in there was going to satisfy. She needed real food, not a cereal bar or a bag of chips. There wasn’t a rest stop for miles, which meant she’d have to find a good diner if she was lucky or a burger joint if she wasn’t. At this point, her empty stomach and her bursting bladder weren’t going to be picky. She pulled off at the next exit and followed the signs to the aptly named Roadside Diner. The parking lot teemed with trucks and cars, which she took to be a good sign. If the truckers stopped here, the food must be good. She saw something else, too—a familiar blue Impala at the lot’s far end. Her stomach hit her toes as she got out of her car and stretched. She looked around but saw no sign of the Impala’s owner. He was inside, then. Maybe eating a burger, juice dripping down his hand. He’d lick it off and give her a grin, maybe offer her a bite. She’d lean across the table and open her mouth for him…. Yeah, she’d open her mouth for him, all right. Molly shook herself and grabbed her purse. She’d better get herself under control before she went inside. She gave the Impala another glance and headed up the brick steps to the diner. Inside, her stomach rumbled and she coughed at the mingled miasma of grease and cigarette smoke. Ah, the pure, unadulterated scent of a diner. She decided to order breakfast even though it was time for dinner. Molly tried not to make her search of the restaurant obvious as she followed the hostess to a booth at the back. She sat with her back to the wall so she could look out over the other tables, though at first she kept her eyes fixed studiously on the menu in front of her. She’d already decided what she wanted, but looking at the menu gave her a reason to keep her eyes down instead of up, so she could take her time in discovering if he was here. He was probably just finishing anyway. Maybe she’d get the chance to ogle his ass while he paid at the register. Then, all at once, Molly wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him. So they’d played a game of road-tag. So he had excellent taste in music—and cars. And clothes. So what if he looked good enough to lick? The only reason she noticed him at all was because he was hot. She’d be willing to bet she’d also passed four or five of the truckers in here the same number of times as she had that blue sex-car, she just hadn’t paid attention. There wasn’t any more significance to him deciding to stop here than any of the others. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t fate.

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It wasn’t even luck. “Hi,” said a low, deep voice like the purr and rumble of an engine. Molly looked up. It was him.

Chapter Six Fuck it. This was her chance and she was going to take it. He smiled. She smiled. He’d thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket and didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere. “They have good pie,” he said matter-of-factly. “Cherry’s my favorite.” “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll buy you a piece.” The offer leaped from her lips and heat crept up Molly’s cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m Jake.” He slid into the booth across from her and offered his hand over the table. She shook it. “Molly.” He rapped his knuckles on the table top before folding his hands together. “Pretty name.” “Thanks.” After that there didn’t seem much to do but smile. Jake was very good at smiling. The waitress came and took their orders and went away again, leaving Molly to sit and stare across the table. She waited to feel awkward, but all that rose within her was the steady, pulsing throb of desire. She’d seen good-looking men before. Peter, for all he lacked in the ability to push her buttons, had often turned heads. Sitting this close, Molly could see Jake wasn’t as picture-perfect as he’d been with the shield of sunglasses and a hot car to make him prettier. Oh sure, he had striking, hazel-green eyes and when he grinned, it was filled with the promise that he knew exactly how to use those full, perfectly curved lips. Yet his features didn’t align with cover-model perfection. That sexy smile was crooked and wrinkles feathered the corners of his eyes. If beauty came from symmetry, Jake missed that standard courtesy of uneven brows and a nose that had once been broken. He wasn’t perfect, but he looked real. A little rough, too—though maybe that was explained by too many hours behind the wheel, causing the faint circles under his eyes. “Where are you headed?” he asked as the waitress brought the food and Jake pulled the plate of pie toward him with his fork. “Philadelphia,” she said as she cut into her pancakes. “That sounds like a good place to end up.” He flashed her another smile and licked cherry pie filling from the tines of his fork. Molly watched his tongue caress the metal then swipe across his lips and she lost her train of thought. His mouth stopped smiling and she tore her gaze from his lips to look into his eyes. “What’s in Philly?” he asked.

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She thought about how to answer that. Superstitious about jinxing herself, Molly decided not to tell him. “Nothing,” she told him honestly. “At least, not yet.” “Good,” said Jake. “Then it doesn’t matter how long it takes you to get there, huh?” She laughed softly. “Not really. I’d like to get there before I run out of money, though.” Jake stabbed a bite of cherry pie and lifted it toward his mouth but didn’t eat it right away. Golden crust and a plump cherry nestled in crimson gel, oozing between the tines. “Mind me asking why you’re going to Philly if there’s nothing there?” he asked. And bit down. Molly watched his mouth close over the pie. If she kissed him now, he’d taste tart and sweet, a combination she’d always adored. She looked away from his mouth and back into those hazel eyes. “I broke off my engagement and needed to get away to someplace new. Start clean.” “Good.” He grinned again and she realized it was lucky there was a table between them—otherwise he’d have found himself with two hands and a lap full of Molly. “Clean is good.” he said. “Dirty’s better.”

Chapter Seven “Nice car.” Molly ran a hand along the sleek lines of the Impala’s hood. She felt Jake close behind her. Not touching—not yet. She glanced at him. “Sixty-six, right?” “Yeah.” Jake sounded impressed. “How’d you know?’ There were scant inches between him and the car, but Molly slid past him anyway to get to the trunk. Her shoulder and hip brushed him and his breath ruffled her hair as she passed. She gestured to the rear. “The tail-lights. They changed in sixty-five.” “You know cars?” She shook her head. “Not really. Just Impalas. And Chevelles, which are basically a smaller Impala.” “Most women—” She stopped him with a laugh and a hand held up. “Yeah. I know. I learned from my dad. He worked on classic cars. All kinds. But there’s something special about these, isn’t there?” He nodded. “Yeah. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.” “No. They don’t.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the car. He put one leg over the other. The classic James Dean pose. It worked for him. Then again, Molly thought, not much wouldn’t. “My dad,” she said after a second, “he had a garage. He sold it to his partner, Vinnie, before he passed away.” She paused. “A couple of weeks ago, Vinnie’s son called me to say his father had died. Turns out, Vinnie’s son isn’t interested in running the garage. But I think I might be.”

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Jake tilted his head. “Get out of here. Really?” Molly shrugged. “I need a job. You asked me what was in Philly. That might be it.” Molly didn’t want to dwell on why she’d suddenly chosen to tell him all of that when a short time before she hadn’t dared. She let her fingers trail along the car as she moved closer to him. Jake didn’t move, didn’t shift. That was fine with her. This close she had to tip her head back just a bit to look up into his face. This close she could smell him, a spicy cologne she didn’t know. Dusk had fallen while they lingered over pie and pancakes. The parking lot bustled with activity all around them as the trucks came and went. The lamps flickered, not quite ready to come on. Her body followed the trail of her finger along the car’s skin until the hem of his leather jacket brushed the thigh of her jeans. Still he didn’t shift or uncross his arms. His gaze stayed unwavering on hers, the mouth that had so tempted her from first glance no longer smiling. His lips had parted the tiniest bit, but not enough for her to see his teeth or tongue. She hesitated, thinking he meant to speak, but Jake said nothing. The tension tightened. A breeze came up and blew her hair back from her face. The grumble of the closest big rig tried to catch her attention, as did the slamming of doors and good-natured shouts of the truckers as they left the diner and headed off into parts unknown. Molly let none of that distract her. It would be so simple to let this moment pass, or to pretend it meant nothing. She could back away, get into her own car. Drive away. Leave. She didn’t want to. She had never done something like this before. And that mattered. It mattered, too, that she wanted to do this. She’d spent her life doing the right thing, making the right choices, being the good girl. It had gotten her a dead-end job and a dead-end life…until now. If this were a movie, he’d take her in his arms and push her up against the car. He’d crush her with a kiss, pry open her lips with his tongue, plunder her mouth as his hands roamed over her body. At the thought of his hands on her body, her nipples tightened and her pulse throbbed between her legs. The seam of her jeans rubbed with slow precision against her. But this wasn’t a movie, and Jake didn’t move. So Molly did.

Chapter Eight If he’d resisted she wouldn’t have been able to do it. But Jake didn’t resist. Not when she put her hands on the front of his jacket and not when she leaned up to take his mouth with hers. Instead, he immediately uncrossed his arms, then his legs. For balance, she thought, before he started kissing her back and there was no more room for coherent thought. He did taste like pie—and something else purely masculine and sexual. His mouth opened and Molly didn’t wait. She stroked her tongue along his as she withdrew just enough to catch her breath before she kissed him again. Jake’s arms went around her, one between her shoulder blades and the other comfortably cradling her ass. Her hands moved up the slippery leather arms of his jacket and linked behind his neck as she pulled him closer so she wouldn’t have to stand on tip-toe. Their belt buckles clattered against each other. He walked like he owned the world and he kissed the same way—at least until they heard the wolf whistle. Another of the truckers catcalled and Jake tensed. The lips that had been moving against hers stilled.

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Again she felt the subtle shift and tense of his muscles and the soft hiss of his breath as it gusted over her face. He hesitated and pulled away to look into her face for a second before his eyes swept back and forth over the lot behind them. When he looked back at her, his brow had furrowed the tiniest bit. “Molly—” She searched his eyes with hers. “Jake.” His hands moved restlessly over her back. He didn’t push her away. Not quite. She glanced around as two trucks pulled out of the parking lot, leaving them alone for the moment. Inside the diner she could see people eating and talking. On the street in front of the lot, cars passed without stopping. Farther away the wink and glitter of headlights flared from the highway. He’d parked in the far end of the lot, away from most of the other cars. Several of the long slots for eighteenwheelers that had been filled when she pulled in were now empty. The glow from the streetlamps cast orange circles onto the pavement and the light from the diner spilled out in golden squares striped with shadow. But where Molly and Jake stood the parking lot was mostly dark. No one would see. “Get in the car,” she murmured against his mouth. For a second she thought for sure he was going to shake his head and send her on her way. This wasn’t a movie, after all. His fingers twitched on her back and then he was reaching behind him to pull open the car door with a creak that sent shivers of pleasure trickling down her spine. Like the roar of its engine, that creak spoke of pure sex. Molly pushed the driver’s seat forward and crawled in. The backseat of the Impala was as big as some of the beds she’d slept in. She slid along the cream-colored vinyl until her back hit the opposite door. The window glass was chilly and the window crank jabbed her in the back, but she didn’t move. Her breath hitched in her chest and her heart pounded as she waited for Jake to get in. He didn’t—at first. She couldn’t see his face, but the body framed by the open door made her lick her lips. His hip cocked for a moment as he shifted his weight. He rapped lightly on the roof. Then, finally, he got inside.

Chapter Nine Jake closed the door behind him but sat facing forward on his own side of the backseat. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead for a very long minute. Molly didn’t move toward him. The sound of their breathing filled the inside of the car and began forming mist on the windows. At last he looked at her. “I haven’t been in the back seat of my car with a woman in years.” She laughed. “Me neither.” Jake rubbed his hands on his denim-clad thighs and half-turned toward her. “So what are we doing, here, exactly?” That question had a lot of answers, but something rose up inside her and tumbled out of her mouth—and it had nothing to do with common sense or doing the right thing. “I’ll show you.”

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It took her two seconds to scoot across the seat and just one more to take his face in her hands. His jaw tensed beneath her palms, the stubble faintly scratching. What would that feel like on her belly? On her thighs? The small sound slipped from Molly’s lips before she could stop it. She blinked fast, feeling suddenly dizzy, but Jake anchored her. She might go down, she thought, but she wasn’t going to fall. It took her another second to realize something else. “Are you…?” “Shaking? Yes.” Though her palms cradled his face, Jake ducked his head for a moment. “This isn’t some sort of setup, is it?” “Hidden camera, that sort of thing?” she said, tipping his face back up so he had to look at her. Then she let him go so he could pull away if he wanted. She shook her head. “No, Jake. Just me and you.” His breath stuttered as he drew it in. He closed his eyes briefly then opened them. He didn’t pull away. “Stuff like this…it just doesn’t happen.” “Apparently, it does.” “Not to me, it doesn’t.” He laughed, endearingly self-conscious. Molly moved closer, getting up on one leg so she could make the move to straddle him. “Do you go on a lot of road trips?” “No.” Another sigh hissed out of him when she settled herself onto his lap. Her knees dug into the back of the seat. His hands came up immediately to cup her ass and press her groin to his. Molly dipped her face into the hollow of his neck and shoulder and found his skin with her teeth, nipping just a little. Under her, his cock swelled. Her clit rubbed without mercy against her panties. This was going too fast and not fast enough. It should have felt wrong, but instead it felt more right than anything she’d ever done. “This is my first road trip,” she whispered in his ear just before she nibbled the tender skin just below it. Jake groaned. His hands skimmed over her back. Molly used her chin to tip his head up so she could get at his throat. His scent filled her nostrils. He tasted good there, too. He jumped a little when she bit down. “Sorry,” she murmured, smiling, and licked the spot she’d nipped. Jake’s hands came up to grip her hair at the base of her neck. He didn’t pull hard, but she let him tug her away so their mouths could meet again. He kissed her—hard, hungry. His hands skated under the hem of her T-shirt and onto her bare skin. She moaned, low, into his open mouth. His tongue stroked hers as his hands moved higher. She arched her back, waiting to feel his hands cupping her breasts. She wanted them there—on her nipples—which were already tight and aching for his touch. Suddenly she found herself on her back, sliding on the slick vinyl. Jake followed her down, a heavy weight between her legs, pressing. Molly pulled his shirt from his waistband and found the heat of his belly. His mouth grazed down her jaw and throat while she encouraged him with a barely audible “yes.”

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That’s when someone knocked on the window.

Chapter Ten The white circle of light filled the window. A flashlight tapped on the glass. Jake pulled back, shielding Molly with his body as he stretched to roll the window down. “Are you all right, ma’am?” The trooper peering in the window ducked his head to stare inside. “Fine,” Molly said, suddenly aware of how the glass inside the car had completely fogged over. Jake was doing his best to block her even as the cop shone his light inside. Molly tucked her shirt in quickly, trying to check if anything else was noticeably out of place. She had the insane desire to giggle. “Step out of the car, please.” “What?” Molly looked up, startled, but Jake was already pushing the front seat forward so he could open the door. “Jake, wait a minute. Ask to see his badge or something.” The trooper gave a dismissive snort but shone the light on his badge, pinned just above his breast pocket. He also waved the light toward the black-and-white she’d have noticed earlier if she hadn’t been bleary-eyed with lust. “Out of the car, buddy.” Jake glanced over his shoulder with a grin and got out. “You too, ma’am.” He wasn’t even calling her miss, which showed the trooper knew as well as Molly did that she was too old to be caught necking in the backseat of a car. Molly got out and stood next to Jake, who wasn’t posturing or defensive, but who didn’t look ashamed, either. The trooper shone his light into both of their faces. Molly winced away from the light, but bit her lip against the flurry of giggles struggling to escape. Heat still rose up her throat into her face. She and Jake stood shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, but she didn’t dare look at him. She’d lost what little composure she had. “This is a public parking lot,” the cop said as he put his flashlight away. He settled his hands on his hips. He looked younger than Molly, but she still felt like a naughty teenager. “I suggest you move along. Find a motel.” With a nod he turned on his heel and headed back to his car. When he drove away, Molly let out the breath she’d been holding and sagged against the Impala in a breathless heap of laughter. Jake looked at her, amusement twitching his lips. “You’d get in the backseat of a car with me, but you didn’t trust a cop?” Molly’s laughter tapered off. She leaned against the car again at his side, comfortably close. “He could have been a serial killer.” “I could be a serial killer, Molly.” She shot him a glance. “Unless you’re planning on killing me with the sexy, I doubt it.”

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Jake laughed and ducked his head as he scraped a hand over his hair. “You’re really something else.” This sobered her a little. Molly straightened. She hadn’t noticed the chill before, but now she shivered in the night breeze. She licked her mouth and tasted him on her lips. “Yeah, I guess I am.” She patted his arm, squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She shot him a smile. “Well. What now?” Again, Jake scrubbed his hand through his hair, rumpling it. He looked up at the night sky. At the highway beyond. At the diner. At his car. He looked everywhere but at Molly. She didn’t have to see the red tinge on his cheeks to know he was blushing. He ran his hand over his head and down to rest at the back of his neck and finally ventured a glance to her. “The cop was sort of a mood killer, huh?” It hadn’t killed her mood, but she nodded after a second. Jake’s smile came across at only half-voltage. “Let me walk you to your car, okay?” The earth fell out from beneath her. He was rejecting her—ouch. She couldn’t be sure Jake had been blushing, but now an inferno raged in her cheeks. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “I’ll walk myself. See you, Jake.” She turned and walked away.

Chapter Eleven She’d been sure he wouldn’t pursue her. When he did, she didn’t know if she was relieved or irritated. He caught up to her when she got to her car. She’d parked under a streetlamp and the orange glow fell down over him, highlighting the lines and planes of his face but casting his eyes into shadow. Her keys bit into her palm, the metal slick from her suddenly sweaty skin. She tilted her head to look at him. Jake shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. His t-shirt was still untucked. Her fingers twitched at the memory of how his skin had felt. She blew out a low, soft breath. “Don’t say anything,” she told him. “Just don’t, okay?” He said her name anyway, in a voice gone low and sweet, like hot syrup. Too bad he ruined it by saying more. “I’m sorry.” Sorry, sorry. She didn’t want this to be about sorry. She held up a hand and forced a smile. “Jake. Don’t. I mean it.” Don’t ruin this, is what she wanted to say. Don’t make me feel like a fool for taking a chance. An expression she couldn’t identify drifted across his face, over his mouth. If she’d been able to see his eyes she might have guessed at it. Instead, she simply turned away. Time stretched like taffy, only it wasn’t sweet. She waited for his hand on her shoulder, but he didn’t touch her and she couldn’t force herself to look at him again. She hadn’t been embarrassed before with him, and she’d be damned if she let herself feel shame, now.

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And what was there to say? To do? She’d taken a chance and failed. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. And that was a good thing. Disappointing and a little bit mortifying, but it was okay. Still, it was different than it had been before, when the possibilities had stretched out before her as endless as the highway. Now she felt the weight of his gaze, even though she refused to look at him. None of her fantasies had ended like this. Real life had intruded. And that would have to be okay, too. “Have a safe trip,” she told him. Without waiting for another word, Molly got in her car. She put her key in the ignition and started the engine, all while he stood outside her door and looked at her through the window. “You too,” Jake said. He stepped away from the car as she pulled out of the spot. She didn’t want to look in the rearview mirror and watch him as she drove away. So she didn’t.

Chapter Twelve Somewhere along the way it had begun to rain. The sort of dull, sullen downpour that made people contemplate slitting their wrists. Darkness hadn’t made it any better—her wipers kept up their steady swishswish but the road still blurred no matter how many times she blinked. At last, Molly admitted defeat. There’d be no more driving for her tonight, even if it meant a delay in her selfimposed schedule. She wasn’t exhausted, but she was weary. Through the rain, she could just make out the sign that heralded her stop for the night: Bedford, Town of Motels. She’d been in towns that had less to boast about. She didn’t waste time comparison shopping, pulling into the first motel she came across. Sitting in the parking lot, she stared through the rain at the long, low building. It was a true old-fashioned motel—not some newfangled chain offering free Hi-Fi and stale muffins for breakfast, but the kind that gave serial killers wet dreams. “Fuck.” The word sounded particularly harsh with the spatter of rain drumming on the roof. She’d be lucky if she didn’t get slaughtered in her bed. Molly grabbed her purse and her overnight bag from the backseat and ran to the motel office with an old map flung haphazardly over her head. It didn’t do much good and by the time she got inside she was soaked. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the clerk didn’t appear to be a Norman Bates wannabe. He handed her the key to an end unit and directed her toward the ice and vending machines, then turned back with disinterest to the low hum of his reality show. The room itself was a pleasant surprise. The décor—if not up-to-date—was at least clean. A queen bed took up most of the space, but the TV was new and nothing smelled too bad. The bed beckoned, but Molly needed a shower first. She wouldn’t be able to ignore what had happened once she got under the water, but that was okay. She’d shed a few tears. It had been that kind of day. Hell, that kind of week, month, year. She was no woman scorned, no jilted lover. She’d been the one to walk away from Peter, someone many other women would have given their right arms for. The problem was, she thought as she stepped into the blessedly hot and fierce spray, she wasn’t willing to give up anything for what she’d had. The tears she’d expected didn’t come. Maybe she really was the cold-hearted bitch Peter had accused her of being.

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Eyes closed, Molly leaned into the water and willed it to wash away all the doubts. Had she made a mistake, had she ruined her life, had she thrown away everything that had mattered to try and satisfy some desire so vague and fluid she hadn’t been able to name it? No—she couldn’t think that way, couldn’t forget the reasons she’d had to walk away. Every day with Peter, she’d died a little inside. Every night she slept next to him in the bed he’d chosen, on the sheets he preferred, in the house he’d bought, Molly had dreamed of people and places she’d never seen. But she’d pushed those down; they were fantasies everyone have but never acts on. But those dreams had stopped seeming ridiculous the last day she’d tried on her wedding gown. It wouldn’t fit, no matter how often the seamstress hemmed and pinned or fussed. The sleeves pinched her and the lace at her throat threatened to throttle. Worst of all, Molly hadn’t recognized the woman in the mirror. She had laugh lines but no laughter. The crevices around her mouth had settled, gone deep. She looked in the mirror and saw a woman who hadn’t smiled in a long, long time. She hated that woman. So she’d taken off the dress, handed it to the seamstress, and gone straight home. She’d packed up the few belongings she’d brought with her to Peter’s house and told him she was leaving. It hadn’t been pretty. Thinking of it now, Molly tried to regret hurting him. He’d been as good to her as he’d known how. It wasn’t his fault nothing he’d ever done could have been enough for her. “You expect me to read your mind!” Peter accused, finally, as she was walking out the door. “You want me to just know whatever you want!” She’d stopped at that comment. Halfway out the door, her suitcase had banged the doorframe as she turned. “No, Peter,” she’d said as gently as she could. “I don’t expect you to read my mind. But I do expect you to know me.” He hadn’t had an answer for that. She hadn’t expected one, really. How could he know her when she barely knew herself? But now she had that chance, that opportunity to create the person she wanted to be. Even someone who steamed up the back seat of a sexy stranger’s Impala. Standing in the shower, her skin was still super-sensitive—even to her own touch—and her nipples tightened as her fingers slid over her breasts, her hands slick with soap. She remembered all too well how hot Jake’s palm had been on her belly and how she’d arched, urging him to move it up and over her body. She’d have fucked him in the back of that car, even after the interruption, but he’d walked away. What sort of guy did that? A smart one, she thought with a frown. Out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, Molly promised herself a candy bar and a soda from the vending machine and a pay-per-view blockbuster before bed. She’d just thumbed the power button on the remote when the knock came at the door. She wasn’t entirely stupid; she looked through the peephole first. The rain was still pouring, and the motel lights cast weird shadows. The person on the other side of the door had stepped to one side so all she could see was a shoulder, but Molly didn’t really need to see more because she had an unobstructed view of the parking lot. She could see the car.

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Chapter Thirteen She almost didn’t answer. But then the next discreet rap vibrated the door under her palms. She’d been pressed against it, eye to the peephole. Now she stepped back, undid the chain and cracked open the door. Jake, hair wet and water dripping from his earlobes and chin, whirled to face the door. “Molly?” Excruciatingly aware she wore only a skimpy motel towel and hadn’t reapplied her makeup, Molly nodded. She didn’t open the door any further. Nor did she speak. Jake held out his hands for a second before shoving them both into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m not stalking you.” She raised a brow. “Are you sure?” His one-sided grin should have been a smirk—smug, the sort of look she could dismiss. Instead it made her want to throw open the door, toss off her towel and have her wicked way with him. Jake hunched his shoulders as a gust of rain-sodden wind blew crossways over him. “I’m an asshole,” he said. This surprised her. “You are?” “I shouldn’t have let you drive away. I shouldn’t have—shit,” Jake said. “Can I come in?” Her fingers tightened on the knob, but she didn’t pull the door toward her. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” Endlessly, they stared at each other. Molly’s heart pounded the inside of her ribs. Another swirl of cold, wet air battered them both. She shivered, even though she was suddenly so hot not even the North Wind could have frozen her. “You sure you want to?” The words came out somber, sober, nothing like the kicky, flirty tone she’d tried for. All of this seemed more important and serious than it had when they were eyefucking each other from the passing lane. She held her breath, waiting. Jake nodded. He didn’t speak. Molly opened the door all the way for him, backing up as he came through it. He kicked it shut behind him without even looking, his eyes focused on hers. And then, oh, yes, fuck yes, he was step-stepping her back toward the bed, his hands around her back and his mouth consuming hers.

Chapter Fourteen She’d pulled his jacket off his shoulders by the time they hit the bed. As it hit the floor, she started tugging his shirt upward. Her towel, miraculously, hadn’t done more than shift a little. Jake pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground. Molly’s hands were already on his belt buckle—it refused to budge, forcing her to jerk it so hard that it moved his entire body. He closed his hand over hers, helping, and in the next minute he was pushing down his jeans. She’d pulled down the comforter earlier, so when she lay back on the bed, her skin slid along the smooth sheets. Her towel had opened but wasn’t entirely free, and she clasped it with one hand as she propped herself on her elbow to watch Jake strip. He looked damn fine while he did it, too. First the boots then the jeans got tossed into the same careless pile. His fingers hooked into the sides of his black boxers—but he hesitated. Instead of taking them off, he crawled up the bed and over her.

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Molly’s wet hair fanned out around her head as Jake’s kiss pushed her down. She let go of the towel and pulled him to her. Their bare skin met, skidding and sticking from the moisture left from her shower. Jake held himself just above her, denting the bed on either side. His mouth opened when hers did. Tongues stroked. Lips pressed. Their teeth clashed and he broke the kiss to search her gaze. It was just for a moment, though, before he dipped his head to scrape his teeth along the soft skin of her throat and to the hollow of her shoulder. His tongue followed the same path, sparks rocketing along her skin. He slid a hand beneath her lower back and lifted her enough to get rid of the towel. It landed on the floor with a soft thump. Molly ran her hands through his hair. Cold droplets flickered from the ends of her fingertips. She was surprised they didn’t sizzle like her skin was a griddle. Through the sheer curtains a white shock of lightning flared and thunder rumbled. The lights flickered and went out. A rat-a-tat of rain spattered the glass as Jake and Molly both froze. From outside, the glow of the parking lot lights came back on, but their room remained dark. Jake sat up, silhouetted. She could make out his features and the lines of his body, though darkness clung to them. The heat of his hand weighted her hip. The sound of their breathing had become very loud. Another flash of lightning lit his face, but thunder drowned out the words she saw his mouth shaping. “Shh,” Molly said when the thunder had passed. “Don’t say anything.” And this time, he didn’t.

Chapter Fifteen It was like shadow gave him permission to be silent. She had asked him not to speak and he didn’t. At least, not with his voice. Every motion, every sigh, was an entire conversation. He praised her skin with his mouth and hands as he moved down her body. He suckled gently at her nipples while his fingers traced patterns on her hips and thighs. When Molly gasped a little louder than she had the moment before, he paused and blew a warm stream of air over her wet skin. She waited, muscles tense, for the next place his mouth would land. His lips skidded over her ribs and the curve of her belly to the small hollow of her navel. One of her hands curled into the sheets. The other found the sweet dampness of his hair. She lost her fingers in it, twining, trying not to pull too hard. When Jake’s lips found her hipbone and his teeth pressed her skin there, she forgot to be careful. His muffled noise reminded her to loosen her grip, but when she did he put his hand over hers. His fingers closed hers again into his hair. She cried out when he moved between her legs, his mouth drifting over the inside of her thighs. He kissed her clitoris and her entire body jerked. He stilled. His breath gusted, hot on her skin as he paused. Then he licked her and she let out the breath she’d been holding in a long, soft moan. Jake didn’t hesitate after that. His tongue circled Molly’s clit slowly, then a little faster when she lifted her hips. His hands slid beneath her ass, holding her while he feasted, but not keeping her in place. He rocked her body against his mouth until at last the pleasure sweeping through her made it impossible for her to remain still. She broke the quiet with a loud, wordless cry. He placed another kiss on her clit. Her orgasm surged, ready to be released, but held back when his mouth merely hovered, a scorching breath away. Her inner thighs trembled, but Molly didn’t move. She drew breath after half-strangled breath, trying to keep her body locked in position. The slightest twitch and she’d tip over into coming. It was the finest sort of torture to hold off.

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When he withdrew, settling her back onto the bed, Molly opened her eyes. Jake stood and pushed his briefs down. Her heart thudded. In the pale sheen of light from outside she could only glimpse at his erection as he moved toward her again. His cock slid along the outside of her leg and rested finally at her hip. Jake kissed her mouth as his hand moved between her legs to cup her. The heel of his palm pressed her clit. Molly tensed, but again the pleasure hung suspended without exploding. He kissed her for a long time as his hand played between her legs. Pleasure built—only to subside when he shifted his fingers. Each time she got close to climax, Jake eased the pressure, until her breath came in shuddering sobs and she dug her nails into his shoulders. Only then did he pull his mouth from hers. He waited, his cock grown thicker and harder against her side. She wanted to see it. Touch it. Most of all, she wanted it inside her. But there was one thing to be done first. She’d refused to think about her reasons for buying the condoms stashed in her makeup case. Now she didn’t care if having them meant she’d planned something like this, or if that meant she was the cold-hearted bitch Peter had called her. She let Jake know with a kiss and a stroke she would be right back and she padded in the darkness to the bathroom without even stubbing a toe—the gods of anonymous motel sex must have approved. She found her case and the box of square foil packets and snagged a handful. From the bathroom door she could see the bed, lit by the light from the windows. The patter of rain had faded and the lightning no longer flashed, but the thunder still rumbled faintly and from far away. Jake had rolled onto his back, an arm behind his head. This was her chance to stop, even if she could never go back. This was her chance to keep the fantasy unsullied by reality. But it was also her chance to have something she wanted. This was her chance…and Molly took it.

Chapter Sixteen She knelt on the bed beside him. Selfishness kept her from putting the condom on right away. Jake had a gorgeous body, tight and lean—and Molly wanted to take the time to explore it. Her hair had dried and hung at the sides of her face as she bent to kiss him. This was a dance with nowfamiliar steps. She knew how his lips and tongue moved. He moved his head to kiss her, but she angled her mouth away. When he shifted his head to try again, she moved further back. They stayed still for a moment only, their mouths close but not touching. She put a hand on his chest, thrilling to the way his heart pounded under her palm. He lay back obediently when she pushed him onto the pillows. She kissed his chest, feeling his hand come up to smooth over her hair. Molly sucked and licked at his nipples, making him groan—but he still didn’t speak. Her insistence on silence had also been out of selfishness—she didn’t want words to ruin the fantasy. Now, though, the thought of hearing Jake say her name sent her hand between her legs. Molly kissed her way down his body as she circled her clit with her fingertip, keeping herself on the edge. She wanted him to groan her name. No. To shout it as he thrust inside her, coming. She wanted him to be unable to help himself. She slid his cock past the soft barrier of her lips, and suddenly this was no longer about being selfish. This was about giving, not just taking. Molly sucked Jake’s prick gently, then a little harder. She curled her fingers over his shaft, moving her hand in tandem with her mouth. He gave a hoarse cry when she left his prick and ran her tongue down the seam of his balls. His body jerked. His cock throbbed in her fist. Still, he hadn’t said

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her name. She did it again, adding a stroke to his cock. Jake hissed in a breath and his hips lifted, but he obeyed her earlier command to not say a word. Molly couldn’t wait any longer. She tore open the package and sheathed Jake with the slightest hesitation borne of being out of practice. She moved up his body to find his mouth, desperate for his kiss as she straddled him. Tiny muscles in her inner thighs jumped as she did. She reached between them to poise his cock at her entrance, but now that the moment had arrived, Molly couldn’t make herself move. Every muscle tensed with her desire to have him inside her. The heat of passion had blurred her vision and brought the salt-taste of sweat to her upper lip. She put her hands on Jake’s shoulders. His found her hips. Her demand for silence seemed silly to her now, but when she opened her mouth to speak she found desire had stolen her voice. Her fingers curled a bit on his skin as the tip of his cock nudged her opening. The sound of laughter and a flare of music from outside did nothing to help. The moment had frozen in time. There was no going back, and she couldn’t seem to make herself go forward. She realized she’d drawn a sharp breath and it had sounded suspiciously like a sob. She wasn’t crying but in the darkness Jake couldn’t know. His hand came up to caress her cheek, then to pull her down to him. His mouth sought evidence of tears on her cheeks, and she almost did want to cry at his quiet concern. Jake kissed her softly and gave her what she wanted. Needed. “Molly…” He said her name and she swallowed his groan with her kiss as she slid his cock all the way inside her.

Chapter Seventeen What words were murmured then she would never remember. Molly only knew she spoke and Jake answered. It didn’t matter what they said. She left the deliciousness of his mouth so she could sit up, her hands curved around his ribs for support. She rocked, helped by Jake’s hands on her hips. He thrust up as she slid down. He filled her completely. She’d been dancing on the edge of orgasm for hours, fueled by their flirtation and the kissing in the back seat of his car. What Jake had done to her body with his mouth and hands had only primed her further. Now Molly gave herself up completely to the pleasure filling her. She rode him. The wet slap of their bodies colliding forced a sharp gasp from her echoed by Jake as she ground herself onto his cock. Molly had never wanted anything in her life so much as she wanted to come just then. Her orgasm rose inside her, huge and relentless. She wanted to weep with it. Her body moved, no longer under her control but battered by the storm of desire overtaking her. She let her head tip back so her hair hung down her back, tickling her skin with every one of Jake’s thrusts. He worked his hand between them so each time she slid down his shaft her clit brushed his knuckles. It was almost too much, too strong, but in a second the waves of pleasure crested higher. Molly cried Jake’s name. Her fingers dug into his sides and he grunted and thrust harder. At last her orgasm crashed over her, stealing her breath and sent the roar and rush of blood ringing in her ears. It lasted forever and ended too soon. She leaned to find his mouth again, desperate to kiss him—and Jake moaned inside her mouth. This aural evidence of his impending orgasm triggered another for her—smaller, but no less intense. She gasped into his ear, surprised. Jake thrust harder now. Molly licked his neck and tasted sweat. She felt his pulse throbbing beneath her lips. She sucked at his skin.

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Her name trailed off into a groan as he thrust inside her one last time. Then the only sound was their mingled breathing. Even the thunder had gone. She wanted a drink of cold water. She wanted a soft pillow and a warm blanket. She wanted to lie down and never get up unless it was to fuck like that again. “Wow,” Jake said in a low voice. Molly moved from her snuggly spot in the curve of his shoulder and kissed his mouth. “Yeah.” Jake’s hand cupped her rear, holding her to him, while the other slid to the back of her neck. His strong fingers massaged the base of her skull and tangled in her hair. “Molly. I should tell you—”

Chapter Eighteen It wasn’t that she was embarrassed about her body or what they’d done. It was the look on Jake’s face and how he’d stopped speaking so abruptly when darkness no longer sheltered them. Molly kissed him quickly, feigning a la-ti-da attitude she definitely didn’t feel—and got out of bed. She took her time walking to the bathroom and turning on the shower. She drew a plastic cup full of cold water from the tap and drank it down while steam filled the room. She wanted to give him the chance to leave if he was going to. He didn’t. When she came out of the bathroom wrapped in another towel, Molly found Jake sitting on the edge of the bed. He’d dressed in his jeans and T-shirt. At the sight of his bare feet below the somewhat ragged hem of his jeans, her stomach tightened. He’d slung his jacket over the back of the chair and had his boots close by, but he looked up when she crossed to the suitcase on the dresser to pull out some clothes. She didn’t want to do this naked. “Molly.” She knew he wanted her to turn, to face him, but all at once she could not. She refused to allow this to become a mistake. She had no more room for regrets in her heart, not now. Hopefully, not ever. “Hmmm?” He didn’t say anything. She concentrated very hard on the meager contents of her suitcase. She pulled on panties, pajama bottoms, a T-shirt she’d had since high school. She found an elastic and pulled her hair on top of her head. She didn’t look at him. If humming a cheery ditty would have added to her attempt at acting as though she hadn’t a care in the world, she’d have done that, too. The bed creaked. She heard the whippet-snap of him tying his laces. She saw his shadow move in the mirror and she kept her eyes downcast so she wouldn’t accidentally look up and find his gaze on her. “Molly,” Jake said again, this time in a lower voice. She had to turn. Had to look. Anything else would only have made her blasé attitude an obvious lie. “Yes?” He picked up his jacket, but didn’t put it on. His hair had dried, deliciously rumpled. She wanted to smooth it. Fuck that, she wanted to mess it up more. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, then slung the jacket over his shoulder. He showed her the card, though she couldn’t read it from so far away. He put it on the table next to the telephone and the notepad with the motel’s name on it.

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His smile held only a shadow of the man who’d walked like he owned the world. It made him more real to her than the flirting. More real than the sex. When he crossed to her and kissed her, she didn’t stop him— and not because she still wanted to pretend none of this mattered. She didn’t stop him because she knew somehow, all of it did. “I went to every motel in this town before I found you,” Jake said. “I just wanted you to know that.” He kissed her again, but before she could say anything else, he walked out the door.

Chapter Nineteen It was three months before she looked him up. The name and address on the card was in one of Philly’s more affluent neighborhoods. It wasn’t the one she lived in, that was for sure. Not that she was complaining. The garage and the apartment above it were both small, but they were hers. Vinnie’s son had gladly sold her the business for an amount she convinced the bank she could afford. She ate a lot of Ramen noodles and had bought most of her furniture from the Salvation Army…but she was home and it was hers. Molly parked her car along the street and looked up at the house matching the number on the card Jake had left her. Brick, ivy-strewn and worth at least half a million bucks. No sign of the Impala, but in a neighborhood like this, he’d have to keep it garaged. All she had to do was go up the sidewalk to the front porch. Knock on his door. And say— What the hell, exactly, would she say? Fuck—she’d just have to wing it. Before she could think about it she rushed up the steps and rapped on the door. “Hello,” she said when the door opened, but she spoke to empty air. She lowered her gaze by a few feet to see the upturned face of a smiling boy about eight years old. “Um…hi.” “Hi.” She recognized that grin. Her heart sank. This could only be Jake’s son. “Is your dad home?” “Daaaaaad!” The boy shouted over his shoulder before looking at her again. “He’s in the kitchen.” “Who is it, Matt?” Jake stopped in the doorway when he saw her. For one awful moment, Molly knew she’d made a mistake. She should turn and walk away before he could say anything. She should have left it a fantasy. She never should have come. “Molly. Hi.” Matt looked at them, back and forth, before shrugging and heading off into the house. Jake stood in the doorway, staring, until Molly gave an awkward laugh. “Bad timing?” she asked. “No. Absolutely not.” He held the door open wider. “Come in.” Inside the house was immaculate. Beautifully furnished, exquisitely clean. From somewhere she couldn’t see, the sound of cartoons blared. Jake took her into a gorgeously appointed kitchen where she took a seat at a polished marble counter and he served her sparkling water.

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A woman had decorated this house, but none lived here now. There was a sterility to it that spoke of housekeepers and take-out food, not the touch of a wife and mother. Molly sipped the water and watched Jake fiddle with the cap of the bottle. “Why did you give me your card?” she finally asked—the question that had brought her here. Jake looked up at her and set the bottle down firmly on the counter. “I don’t know.” “Fair enough.” She swallowed more water. “Why did you come?” “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the past three months.” There seemed little point in not being honest now that she was here. And really, hadn’t she always been honest with him? Jake’s grin flowed over his mouth and made him once again the man who owned the world. “Good. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either.”

Chapter Twenty “She died when Matt was three.” Jake put the small, framed picture of the smiling woman back on the counter. “Car accident.” “I’m sorry.” She was, too. Jake rumpled his hair and gave her a sideways glance. “The trip in the Impala was the first time I’ve left Matty for more than a day or two. I went out to Ohio to spend a week with my brother.” She studied him. Jake in a button-down Oxford and jeans was a little different than the Jake in the leather jacket had been. But only a little. And wasn’t she different, too? No longer a woman fleeing, but one who’d found a place to start fresh? She felt the need to explain that to him. “After my dad died,” she said quietly, “my mom and I didn’t get along very well. She wanted a life. I don’t blame her, now, but then…I was just a teenager, you know? And my dad and I had been close. I moved to Chicago to go to school. I wanted to get as far away as I could from anything that reminded me of him. But it didn’t work. Everything reminded me of him.” Jake nodded. “And now?” She smiled. “I decided being reminded of my dad wasn’t such a bad thing. So here I am.” “And the rest of it?” He didn’t spell it out, but she knew what he meant. Molly lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “I thought my dad would want me to settle down. But now I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted me to settle. There’s a difference.” “A big one,” Jake said. They shared another smile. “I didn’t want you to think I did stuff like that all the time. That’s why I gave you the card,” Jake told her. “I figured if you came around again…I could show you.” “And if I didn’t?”

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He laughed. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She liked the way he rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows, and the way he refilled her glass, and the way he got his son a snack when Matt wandered into and out of the kitchen. “But you did,” Jake said. “Yes,” Molly agreed. “I did.” Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t awkward. She had the sudden urge to giggle and put her hand over her mouth to stop it. Jake gave her a curious look. “What?” “Nothing. It’s just…” Molly shrugged as the laugh bubbled out of her. “It’s just this whole thing is so…” “Strange?” Jake leaned on the counter across from her. “Awkward? Weird?” “No.” She shook her head as her laugh faded into a smile. “No, Jake. It’s not any of those things, actually.” Jake reached for her hand and held it between his. His thumbs rubbed the back of her hand. “Would you like to have dinner with me? With us, I guess I should say, since I was planning on ordering a pizza.” “Tonight? Right now?” Molly didn’t pull her hand away. Jake looked into her eyes. “Sure.” Her tongue slid across her lips as she thought how to answer. Jake’s gaze went there, and she didn’t mistake the flare of desire she saw in his eyes. He looked up into her eyes, serious. “Dinner,” he said. “To start.” Molly nodded and turned her hand palm up so she could squeeze his hands. “Dinner sounds great.” His smile sent rivers of liquid honey oozing through her, but that would come later, she thought as she watched him pick up the phone and order the food. There was plenty of time for all of that, if they wanted it. She was pretty sure she did, or at least sure she wanted to give whatever this was a chance. Because she was no longer a woman running away from something—or toward something else. For the first time in a long while, Molly was a woman content to stand right where she was and take all the roads that opened before her.

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An Enduring Love by Jillian Hart Angel Falls, Montana Territory, 1882 Time changes many things. Once, Lanna Gibson was a privileged girl—she had pretty dresses and kid slippers, she never worried about where the rent came from and she was wholly and sweetly in love with Joe Wolf. But Joe moved away and broke her heart. Then illness swept through her family, leaving them penniless and forcing Lanna to work as a maid to support her family—for Joe’s mother Geneva. In fact she is scouring Geneva’s floor when she suddenly hears a familiar, beloved voice. Joe has returned. But how has time changed him? Has his love endured as Lanna’s has?

Chapter One Angel Falls, Montana Territory, 1882 "What have you been doing? Lazing about when I have guests coming? My New Year's Eve ball is not about to wait on you." Lanna Gibson tightened her hold on the scrub brush and crept forward on her knees. Water swished over the inlaid wood floor. Soap bubbled. It was best to ignore her boss's tirade—she had learned that from hard experience. She kept her head down and hoped Mrs. Geneva Wolf, one of Angel Fall's most prominent citizens, would hurry and finish her criticizing and leave her in peace. But Geneva wasn’t done with her. "Explain to me why this room is not finished?" Geneva's sharp demand echoed in the dining room's coved ceilings. Lanna tucked her pride away and kept scrubbing. She needed this job. "I am almost done." "You should have been done hours ago." Fancy-heeled shoes rapped across the damp floor, leaving tracks. "This is unacceptable. The kitchen help needs to set up this room and here you are, taking your time like a laze-a-bout! I've warned you before, Lanna." "Yes ma'am." She held her tongue. Exhaustion burned in her muscles from washing all day long but she kept at it, scouring the perfectly clean floor with deliberate strokes. "I'll just have to dock your pay. Again." Geneva’s shoes hammered across the room as she stalked in fury toward the window, still continuing her tirade. "This is intolerable, Lanna. I ought to let you go." Ignore her. She dunked the brush into the bucket and dowsed it well. She stole a glance at Geneva—was she done blustering? The older woman was glaring out the large Palladian windows toward the carriage house. Lanna silently thanked heaven for the kindness of distracting Geneva. It was enough time for Lanna to draw in a steadying breath, remind herself that she had rent to pay and that jobs were scarce in these hard times and reapply herself to the floor. This will all be over soon, she thought and kept scrubbing. She had done a good, fast job, even if Geneva did not think so.

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It was not easy being a maid for the Wolf family. Lanna tried not to look at the wall, where she knew several expensive photographs of the family hung. It was hard knowing that better times and the chance for love were behind her. Lanna ignored the burn of wood against her knees and inched forward, scouring hard with both hands. She heard Geneva suddenly let out a gasp. "Oh! This is a surprise!" Geneva had the knack of sounding harsh even when she was happy. Lanna looked up, only to see Geneva bearing down on her. "I must go see to my visitor. And you. You make sure to finish this by the time I return or it will be your job, I'll promise you that. I shall give you no more chances, Lanna. Now take my advice and earn your pay for a change, girl." Lanna squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the hurt like a kick. Thankfully the other woman was already heading out the doorway, heels knelling her path. Lanna sent a prayer of thanks heavenward and crept forward, swiping the brush in hard, wide circles, working fast. She thought of her mother and stepfather and pushed herself harder. Yes, she needed this job. Then she heard a different, heavier set of footsteps just down the hall. Her brush stilled. Tingles inched down her nape. She recognized that measured, confident gait. Even before she heard his low, rumbling baritone, her heart was already squeezing in painful memory. Joe. Why was Joe home? "Hello Mother! I wanted to come and wish you Happy New Year in person." The air stopped in Lanna’s lungs, and she realized that her brush had stilled. She could not make it move. All of her had frozen: her muscles, her thoughts, her heart. Especially her heart. And all of this from simply hearing his voice. "It's good to see you, dear boy." Geneva sounded surprisingly strained. "Although I did not expect you home until after your summer trip. Had I known you were coming, I would have made, uh, certain arrangements." As in sending me home early, thought Lanna. Six years ago she had been sweetly and wholly in love with Joe Wolf. Life had been perfect then. Seeing Joe every day in school. Stealing moments to be with him and share secrets and hold hands. He had been courting her and she had been blissfully happy. Until his father had been elected territorial governor and moved the family to Helena. She’d had to say goodbye—the hardest thing she had ever done. And now, here he was, just on the other side of the wall. Close enough that she could hear that soft, warm chuckle of his—it still sounded like home and full of character, although his voice was deeper, manlier. More mature. Every fiber of her being strained to hear more of it. "Mother, I told you I wasn’t going on that trip. I have no need for your kind of ‘culture.’ Traveling abroad would be a waste of time. I'm done with school and I wanted to come home." His voice still had that smile in it. That cozy cadence that made her want to lean closer, just to hear what he would say next. A sigh escaped her as time spun backward to sweeter memories, when life had been kinder and full of possibilities. What kind of man had he grown into? How had time changed him? Surely life had been good to him. Though Lanna had worked in his mother’s house, Geneva had taken care to say little about Joe. His steps stopped just outside the door. "What I am interested in is the kitchen. I'm half-starved."

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"No! Not through there. The maid has not finished with the floor, the lazy thing. You had best come this way to the kitchen." "Mother, that is no way to talk." His voice was reproachful now, the smile gone. She glanced over her shoulder. There was Joe, facing his mother. Geneva was barring the door. Lanna’s pulse skidded to a halt. All he had to do was to look up and he would see her. So much time had passed he probably didn't even remember her. But what if he could? She did not want him to see her on her hands and knees, no longer the girl she once was. Now nothing more than a wash woman. Her fingers tightened on the brush. He won't notice me, she thought as she bent to her work. Please, Lord, don't let him recognize me. She took care to inch around so that she was facing away from the door. If by chance he glanced past his mother into the dining room, then he would only see the back of a hired girl in a blue dress and a white apron and cap, kneeling at her work. That was all. "All right, Mother, if you insist. I'll use the other kitchen door," Joe was saying, although she was trying not to hear. It was that voice of his, so deep and strong and masculine that if the great Rocky Mountains had a voice, his would be it. She could still hear his heart in that captivating baritone, rich with kindness. Maybe that was what she had always loved about Joe Wolf—his strength, his goodness and his kindness. It sure sounded as if time and his fancy education away from the simple Montana life had not changed him. Longing crept into her soul, but she clamped her jaw and ignored it. She tried not to listen to Geneva’s footsteps padding away and to the whispers of all her lost dreams. Dreams that had to stay forgotten. She scrubbed harder. Tiny soap bubbles lifted into the air. They vanished with rapid little pops, just like her longkept dreams. "Lanna? Is that you?" His baritone rumbled like far-off thunder through the stillness. She started. The brush slipped out of her hand and skidded halfway across the drying floor to stop in front of his boots. She stared at those boots, her pulse echoing in her ears. So, he did recognize her. It took all her strength to draw in a deep breath and pull herself to her feet. Her skirts, damp from her work, twirled around her ankles and she wiped her hands on her apron folds. She lifted her gaze slowly, fighting for what dignity she could. Joe. She saw his tailored black suit and rugged build and recognized the manly look of him. He'd grown taller and broader. His kind brown eyes still reminded her of cinnamon. "Lanna. I—I didn't expect to see you here of all places. And working for my mother." "Y—yes." She swallowed hard, finding her voice unnaturally thick and her mouth as dry as a summer draught. "It's good to see you again, Joe." Is that all she could say to him now? The last time she had seen him, she'd dissolved in heartbreak and tears. She had known Joe the schoolboy so well, but this man, wide of shoulder and radiating a sense of accomplishment, may as well have been a stranger to her. The past was truly gone. She forced her feet forward, bringing her closer into the light where he could see how time had changed her. Her face was not soft with youth. Her blond curls had grown darker. She no longer wore velveteen dresses and pearls. He knelt and handed her the brush. "You have never looked lovelier," he said.

Chapter Two

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Lanna stared at the man standing in the doorway, feet braced like a western hero in fine, black wool. Somehow she found her voice. "You have turned into quite a charming gentleman, Joe Wolf. And, I'm afraid, a terrible fibber." "Me, tell a fib? Never. You'll have to accept the compliment, Lanna, for I meant it. It's good to see you." His eyes warmed to a friendly deep brown and the smile that had been in his voice softened the rugged edges of his face. "You are still the loveliest woman to me." "Right now I am the only woman around, so there's not much to compare me with, I'm afraid," she quipped. Lanna fought to keep her tone light, but her spirit felt as heavy as a blacksmith's anvil, carrying the weight of life's disappointments. She was no longer that carefree, ringlet-haired girl—but wasn't that just like Joe, always seeing the best in everything? Lanna touched the side of her face, severe, because of the tight bun she wore in accordance with Geneva's requirements. Her boxy dress and starched apron were about as complimentary as a burlap sack. He bent down to pick up the brush from the floor and she ached a little, knowing he must be trying not to notice her worn shoes and once-soft hands, now red and horribly chapped from hard work. No, she was far from lovely. He held out the brush to her but she merely stared at it, afraid to come closer. She had not guessed that seeing him again would pain her like a badly healed bone in mid-winter. Somehow she was going to have to take back the brush. She had the floor to finish or it would cost her the best paying job she had been able to find. She thought of her ma and stepfather at home, probably bundled up by the stove and took another step closer to him. To Joe. To the man whom she had been praying not to see since she'd taken this job last August. "How is it that you're working here? Mother hasn't said a word." "No, I doubt that she would. I'm a maid, Joe. Somehow I don’t think you talk about the household help." "That’s true," he laughed. She was close enough to feel the force of his smile. It was like a sun break through winter snow, just like she had remembered. Her chest gave a funny quiver, as if her heart was getting ready to tumble. She reached out for the brush, keeping her gaze down. Snowflakes were melting on the sleeves of Joe’s wool coat, and his hands were still big and strong. City life had not changed that. But surely it had changed him? She reached out to take the end of the brush, avoiding his fingers, but he moved to place the flat of the wooden handle against her palm and his touch whispered against her skin. She trembled. Like a dam breaking, old memories rushed unstoppable to the surface: the warmth of his laughter, the tenderness of his baritone as they talked in the schoolyard, the bright joy that lit her up whenever they were together. That joy sputtered to life within her now, forcing light into places that had known too much defeat. Shaking, she took the brush and stepped back. "I—I'm glad life has been good to you, Joe. You look well." "Now how do you know that? You have yet to look me full in the eye." His baritone dipped gently, laced with tenderness. "What has happened to you?" This was what she had been dreading and why she was always grateful that Geneva had given her leave over the Christmas holiday when Joe had been in town. She was not ashamed of who she was—she lived honestly and worked hard at her life and at her faith. But the fall from happiness was hardest when she was reminded of all that she had lost—and what she could never have hope of again. She had always known Joe would come back to Angel Falls when his schooling was done. But she was no longer the kind of girl who would fit into his life. No longer a woman he would want.

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There was no point in sugarcoating her situation. "My stepfather came down with a hard case of scarlet fever," she said simply, turning her back and swirling away. "He refused to listen to the doctor, went back to work too soon and fell sick again. His heart was greatly weakened and he never fully recovered after he was fired." "I'm sorry to hear that, Lanna. You must have been afraid of losing him." "We nearly did." She squeezed off memories of that dark time. "My mother had fallen ill too and then me as well. With none of us able to earn any money, we lost the house. We lost everything." "And now you are supporting them?" "Yes." That she was proud of. But she didn't expect Joe to understand that. Even if God had spoken to her at the time of her stepfather's illness and gave her a choice, she would have chosen this path. She loved her family—she would choose love. That was her life. That was her value. Although the loss of what could have been still stung from time to time. Like now. She blinked hard and knelt back on the floor. She dipped the brush in the water and began scrubbing. "It was good seeing you again, Joe. Excuse me, but I must get this finished for your mother." "Yes, I understand, Lanna." He sounded so sad. "But you still didn't even look at me." His words were like an arrow piercing deep and she grimaced at the pain of it. How could she tell him that she was afraid? Afraid of the damage he had already done by bringing to life those forgotten places within her that now glowed like a faint star in the dead of night. Just that one touch had done that. A touch of tenderness. If she had needed proof that her love had endured all this time, this was it. Her love, but surely not his. With effort, she kept her head down, his retreating steps striking like nails through her heart.

*** Joe found his mother in the kitchen hovering over the cook's helper who was preparing a tray. "Why didn't you tell me about Lanna?" he demanded. "Why, you were in the middle of courting Adrianna Beauchamp. I did not think you would care." Geneva bustled away, the teacups on the tray clattering. "Now come have a snack. Cook made you a nice roast beef sandwich." Wasn’t that just like his mother? Joe huffed out a sigh, trailing after her. "And why are you taking this to the day room?" "I thought you would be more comfortable here,” said Geneva, entering the room. “There's a fire going quite nicely and we should not be disturbed in here. Shame on you for surprising me like this. I don't have a single thing ready for you." He took the tray from her and set it on the small table next to the sofa. "The fact that Lanna Gibson is now farther down the hall has nothing to do with your room choice?" "Why would it?" Joe’s mother cast him an innocent look. She truly believed it—he could see that plain as day. He shrugged out of his coat. "You know very well that I'm not—nor have I been—beauing Adrianna Beauchamp." "But your uncle said she was quite smitten with you." "I was not smitten with her." He said it firmly, so his dear mother would understand—if she decided to actually listen. He could only pray she would this time. There had been only one woman for him, and ever

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would be. He had lost her once when his family and pressured him to move. He had only been seventeen and had little choice. But the years had passed and he never forgot Lanna. He had grown to manhood, went to college, studied law and had the chance to beau beautiful women, but none of them had ever held his interest. The moment he had spotted Lanna kneeling at her work, he knew why. His heart and his soul had been waiting for her. "All right, son, I shall refrain from commenting further, although now I will have to cancel my invitation. I had asked Miss Beauchamp and her aunt to come and visit us in late January." "Mother…" He dropped onto the much-too-fancy sofa. "I'll find my own bride in good time, don't you worry." "Tonight might be the perfect occasion. My annual New Year's Eve ball. Surely you haven't forgotten." Geneva lit up like the sun at full zenith. "I've invited the finest families in the county. The Worthingtons will be there. And the Bells." How did he tell his mother that he hardly cared about some fancy party? He couldn't seem to get his mind off of seeing Lanna again. A year and a half ago his family had moved back to Angel Falls after his father's term as governor was over. He had remained at school, but every time he visited he had dreaded the moment when he would see Lanna again. She had never returned his letters. She hadn't cared enough to keep in contact. Hadn't he wanted their romance to continue? What was distance compared to the deep love he'd once had for her? He told her years ago that he intended to come back for her. She knew that. He had his degree now and the means to offer her all that she deserved. Why hadn't she wanted to wait for him? Or maybe, he thought, glancing at his mother, there had been another reason why. Maybe he ought to find out. A movement in blue and white caught his attention. There, outside the window, was Lanna, rinsing out her wash buckets at the outside pump. She was bent over her work, scrubbing and washing away, still tall and dainty, the way he remembered her. Warmth flooded his heart along with emotions too vulnerable to name. Time had changed her, just as it had changed him. Quick, easy smiles no longer softened her face. Happiness no longer twinkled in her jewel-blue eyes. That saddened him. But it was more than sympathy that warmed his heart. More than caring for an old friend. Strange that his old feelings had come back to life after seeing her just once. Sweet memories had also been revived—the exhilaration of taking her on a sleigh ride and being swept across the snow while at her side. The sweetness of her voice, the way she smiled up at him as if he were her dream. The way they talked about everything and nothing at all. She made him feel ten feet tall. He had been endlessly devoted to her—and that devotion had never died. He remembered the night he had fallen in love with her. She had been wearing a yellow gown and looked as delicate as a yellow rose in wintertime. He had asked her to dance, and when he took her hand, she had taken his heart. Oh Joe, she had laughed at something he'd said. I could laugh forever with you. You make me feel like I'm waltzing even when we are standing still. Me, too, he'd said, too full of love for her to say more. Could he love her still? Or was it too late? It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let it be. Joe shot off the couch and out the room, not even taking a second to look over his shoulder when he told his mother he’d be back. He was already out in the hallway toward the back door before his mother had a chance to stop him. "Joe? Your tea will get cold. Where are you going—"

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The outside door slammed shut, cutting her off. He floated down the steps, not feeling the blast of the frigid wind or the bite of snowflakes against his face. "Lanna!" "Joe!" She whirled from her work. "What are you doing out in this cold without a coat?" "Good question." Getting his jacket hadn't occurred to him. "I have to ask you something before I lose my nerve. Come to the party tonight." "Y—your mother's ball?" "Yes. With me." He watched the surprise fade from her heart-shaped face. She had the biggest eyes, so wide and expressive. His pulse gave a nervous skitter as he watched shadows creep into her eyes. "I can't. You know I can't." "Why? I'm asking you to come with me, Lanna—" He heard his mother bellowing at the doorstep, calling him in. If she came out here, then Lanna was sure to say no. He had better convince her fast. "Please come. For old time's sake. For my sake." "I—" The shadows changed into something more vulnerable. Hurt crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I can't say no to you, Joe." He smiled. "I know. And I'm using it against you." He could hear his mother coming closer, scolding him about his coat. "I'll be waiting for you. Please, don't let me down." He saw the tiniest trace of a smile on Lanna’s face. It was enough to give him hope. An arctic blast of wind hit him like a freight train and he shivered, hurrying back to the house. He prayed it wasn’t too late for a second chance with her. Maybe too much time had passed, but he had to find out. Real love, the kind they had shared, only came around once in a lifetime. Now that he was wise enough to know that, he would do everything in his power not to lose her again.

Chapter Three Lanna held up her skirts as she picked her way down the walk behind Clarissa Bell and her older sister. The two fashionable girls had chosen not to turn around and say hello, but ambled proudly ahead, talking loudly of their dresses—the latest French style, the finest imported silks and the fashionable hoops that made their skirts hover an inch above the ground like royalty. I really should turn back. She hesitated at the bottom step. The grand, double-door entrance towered above her, offering a view of the marble and cherry-wood foyer. The butler was at the door along with a brigade of servants taking coats and mufflers and expensive furs from the fine guests. She looked down at her dress, the nicest one she had, kept from better days when she had too many frilly frocks to count, and remembered Joe's words. I'll be waiting for you. Please, don't let me down. Oh, Joe, I wish I could. Her heart tugged at the kind, honest plea that had been in his eyes—his beautiful eyes. No. Don’t get carried away. She had to remind herself that tonight was for old time's sake, two old friends coming together to reminisce and exchange news. That was all. Her heart was not in jeopardy. She set her chin and tucked away her feelings. Now, a quick prayer for courage— "Lanna!" Joe emerged through the doorway, framed by light and graced by the night. Relief showed on his chiseled face as he breezed right by the Bell sisters as if they were invisible. "I had almost begun to think you had let me down."

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"How could I do that?" Seeing him made all her doubts slip away and all the romantic hopes that she’d just tried to quash surge up with the force of a tidal wave. She smiled. "This is the night for auld lang syne. For good old times." "So it is." He towered on the steps above her and held out his hand. She placed her gloved fingers on his palm and the connection was like the sweet moonlight, silvered and rich. "My parents send their good wishes," she said. "I hope you send them mine as well." He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her up the stairs. "They were always good to me. I wish I could have been here to have helped them when they needed it." "There was little anyone could do." She concentrated on taking each step at a time in her last pair of kid slippers. She didn’t want to talk about how hard that time had been. This was a night for celebration, and she and Joe were no longer close. He had his life, worlds apart from what hers had become. "A good lawyer could have helped them. And I suspect they’re not the only ones who could use legal advice." Joe led her through the arched doorway and protected her from the crush of people. "It only proves that I've made the right decision about my chosen profession." "You will make a good lawyer, Joe." "I surely hope so. I plan to start looking for a building Monday morning." He leaned close. "Let me help you with your cloak." Her mind jolted to a stop. He was staying in town. That meant he would be living in this house where she worked six out of seven days. Panic gripped her. How was she going to face that, knowing how he affected her? Knowing that he could never be hers to love again? Like she had faced everything else: with dignity and faith. Somehow, she had to believe God would work this out. Maybe Joe would be marrying soon and would buy his own house. Or maybe Geneva would fire her, since she had always ensured that Lanna's work hours did not overlap with Joe's scheduled visits home. Still, that did not stop the sting of regret that pierced her heart. She loosened her cloak. "That's what you always said you would do. Come back and practice law here in Angel Falls. Though, I imagine it was tempting to stay back East." "Boston was nice enough, but it's not Montana." His fingers brushed her nape as he helped her out of the garment. She felt dizzy—surely the heat and the crush of people. Not Joe's closeness. "It's my opinion that small town life is more…fulfilling." He handed off her cloak to one of the hired servants. "Everything I've ever loved is in this town. What is Boston and some fancy practice compared to that?" Surely he was speaking of his family. She had to quiet a sudden wistful pang. It was not right. It was not welcome. "Your mother must be thrilled. She is ready to plan the wedding, you know—" "The wedding?" "Yes…. You look stunned." Poor Joe. Weddings seemed to be hardest on the grooms. Lanna held her heart perfectly still. She would always adore him, always want the very best for him. His happiness was what mattered. "I gather Geneva has not kept you informed of her plans. I only know she wants the house scrubbed top to bottom again for the end of January. She's mentioned hopes for a February wedding." "That will be mighty hard to do seeing as I'm not even engaged."

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"You're not?" A vine of hope managed to find a crack through the walls around her heart. "Is that what she told you?" "Y—yes." "To Adrianna Beauchamp?" He fisted his hands. "Mother is the one who wants such a marriage. I do not. Adrianna is the daughter of my uncle's business partner. We were forced to spend time together on Sunday dinners." "You don't have to explain to me, Joe. We broke up. We have been apart for years. Of course you would beau other girls." "I've never beaued anyone but you. Adrianna was no more interested in me than I was in her. It was our families' hopes, never ours." His throat worked and he swallowed hard. His chest felt all tangled up with a confusing array of emotions: anger at his mother, sadness at ever having lost Lanna. But also happiness when he looked into her eyes and saw the joy that his words had brought. "Has my mother told you something like this before?" She shielded her eyes, bowing her head. Soft golden tendrils tumbled across her face, but nothing could hide her heart from him. How could his mother interfere like this? She was headstrong and loved him, but that was no justification. But gazing at Lanna’s face, he could not hold onto any negative feelings—all his anger and hurt was washed away by his affection for her. He cleared his throat, but the emotion remained, stalwart and true. "Believe me, Lanna. I am not courting anyone." "You d—don't have to tell me this." "The only lady I have ever courted was you." "I remember those wonderful times." She looked up at him, daring to meet his gaze. "So do I." He offered her his arm. "Let's go into the ballroom. The music has started." Lanna couldn't hear a thing. Not the string orchestra, not the clamor of the guests surrounding her, not even the pad of her slippers on the perfectly polished floor. There was nothing but the rush of bliss in her heart. Joe was not getting married. Joe was not courting anyone. You’re being foolhardy again, Lanna, the logical side of her said. Just because he was unattached did not mean anything. He had asked her here out of old friendship. And if those old dreams began to whisper with hope, then that was simply foolish. If she listened to those whispers, then she was bound to be disappointed and worse, hurt. She was no longer the kind of woman that Joe, the former governor's son, would court. She had to be sensible. But with her hand tucked in the crook of Joe's arm, it was terribly difficult to be sensible. With each step she took, she felt as if she were floating on a fluffy white cloud. That's what it was like to be with Joe and at his side. "Remember the last night we were here together?" His baritone was a low, familiar rumble. "It was New Year's Eve then too." "It was right before your family was set to leave for the capitol." "Yes. It was also the last time we saw each other." Sweetness filled her at the memory—and at the way he took her by the hand with pride and led her into the crowded ballroom. A stately sonata lifted from the strings of the violin and cello in the far corner of the grand room.

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Some things had not changed. The skip of joy in her veins, the buoyancy of being on his arm, the feeling of being alive again and young. It was as if she'd left her worries and hardships at the door. Her love for Joe returned as strong as ever, as if time had stood still. "Look at everyone staring." His voice rumbled against her ear. "We've surprised them." "I would say so." But all Lanna could see was Joe, breathtaking in his formal black suit and tails. "May I have this dance?" He took her hand and claimed her heart.

Chapter Four How could she say no? The lilting strains of a waltz shimmered in the air and the light of hundreds of candles reflecting off the crystal teardrops of the high chandeliers made her remember another time in this same ballroom. "I would love to waltz with you." That made him smile and he led her to the edge of the dance floor. Stately couples had already started the slow, graceful three-step. Nerves twinkled in her stomach as she placed her hand on Joe's iron shoulder. When his hand rested at the small of her back and she gazed up into his dark eyes, the floor tilted. "This reminds me of old times." He shuffled a step, bringing her gently with him. "Do you remember that night?" "How could I forget?" She had been a farmer's daughter, even if her stepfather had been well-landed, and she had never seen such a lavish place as this ballroom. She had worn a gown of yellow silk adorned with pearls and French lace. The cost of the dress could have fed them all for a year these days, but how she had adored that gown. But it wasn’t her feelings for the dress that she remembered most about that magical evening. That had been the night they had fallen in love. Gently. Sweetly. Like the quiet notes of a sonata lifting into the brilliant winter's night. All he had done was take her hand and asked her to dance, but it had been like grace coming to her soul. She no longer heard the music and the presence of the other dancers faded away. It was as if they had been alone, lost in each other. After they had danced, he led her out onto the terrace, giving her his jacket to keep her warm—and they had watched the star-strewn sky. They had kissed—their first and only—and he had told her he intended to marry her one day. He had promised to love her forever—but surely he did not remember that after all these years. Too much time had passed. Some promises, no matter how sincere, were not meant to be kept. Or were they? Anything seemed possible when she was in his arms. There she went, being nonsensical. She did not know how Joe felt. Yet, she couldn’t help but hold on to a tiny flicker of hope that he still cared, just a little. He remembered their last ball—at least, perhaps it was special to him, too…. "You know, that night I felt like a fairy-tale princess who had caught the charming prince." "You made me feel like one." He turned her in a slow, elegant swirl. His response encouraged her heart—but then he changed the subject with another question: "Tell me how you came to be a maid for my mother."

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She sighed. "I started working three evenings a week cleaning for the Angel Falls Hotel, but it wasn't enough. Still, when I heard your parents had moved back in town and were hiring, I did not even think of applying." "I believe you." He winced. "You could not have been eager to come face to face with my mother again." "It wasn't your mother but memories of you." Joe almost stopped when he heard that. "Did remembering me bring you that much pain?" He winced at the thought. Here she was in his arms and his heart was filling with more emotions than he could count—all of them tender and all of them for her—and she was hurting. He had to stop that. He had to fix it. Somehow he prayed he could make everything right. "I want you to remember the good times, Lanna. How happy we were together." "But I do remember! We were always laughing." "Yes, we were." His voice was rough, vulnerable, as memories swept over him. Like the spring they had gone berry-picking near the river. He could still hear her voice…. "Ouch! I can't believe I got stung again." "Let me come chase off the bees first, then pick the berries." He had put down his pail and lifted her hands from the vines. Her soft, slim fingers had been stained with berry juice and two welts were rising where the bees had stung her. "Let me make these better," he'd said and gently kissed each one. Memories. He shook them away, bringing his mind back to the present—back to her. Gazing into her lovely face, he could still see the Lanna he had fallen for. Time could not change that. She continued, oblivious to his thoughts. "But after you left, there was little to laugh about. My job at the hotel couldn’t support the three of us. So last summer, when word spread that your mother was hiring another maid, I had to at least try for the job. I'm told ten other women applied for the one opening your mother had. She did me the favor of hiring me." "Ah, Lanna. You are still as generous as ever." He shook his head. "You know why my mother chose you." "To prove a point, I expect, but it was still a benefit to my family, so I'm grateful." He shook his head, wishing his mother’s intentions were as pure as Lanna’s heart. "She was thrilled when my father became governor, not only for the social position but because it separated us." "I know." While Geneva had not protested, she had made her displeasure known throughout their courtship. "You broke my heart when you left, Joe." "Mine broke, too." He fell silent, but there was more in his eyes, more that he chose not to say. Just as Lanna chose silence. For self-protection. To shore up the pieces of her heart. It all seemed too good to be true, waltzing in Joe's arms. Yet, all songs came to an end, and this one was no different. The final notes rang bitter-sweetly through the ballroom. She took a step back and curtsied. Joe bowed. Their dance was over. She felt a tap on her shoulder. There, towering behind her was a man she did not recognize. Perhaps a connection to the Wolf family from their political days? "Miss, may I have the next free dance on your card?" The gentlemen asked courteously.

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Her jaw dropped. Why would he ask her? She bit her lip before the question could slip out. "Oh, no you don't, Chance Bell." Joe chuckled. "Lanna isn't about to keep company with the likes of you." Chance Bell? Lanna did not recognize him—then again, he'd been several years ahead of them in school. He'd grown much taller and had a pirate's grin, one that spelled trouble. Next to him, Joe's rugged, confident maturity looked even more admirable. Not that she should be noticing. But she couldn't seem to stop herself. "Sorry, Chance. I don't have a dance card. I only came by to say hello to Joe." Chance raised one eyebrow. "Seems like that waltz was more than a simple hello. I should have known I didn't have a shot." He is only being polite and charming, Lanna told herself as Chance winked at her and walked away. Surely Joe could see that, too. Although that did not explain why he had drawn himself up like a gorilla. "Joe? Are you all right?" "Oh yes, fine. You didn't want to waltz with him, did you?" "Absolutely not." "That's a relief." He blew out a little air, looking a little more like himself. "Chance is a wily sort. Not the kind of gentleman you might feel comfortable with." "Oh, and I feel comfortable with you?" That made him laugh, though it had not entirely been a joke. Perhaps he had not guessed the truth. After all, he made her uncomfortable because of her feelings for him. Lanna reminded herself that she still did not know what he felt for her. The music's tempo had quickened into a lively schottische. Not exactly the kind of dance she liked. But she didn't need to say a word to Joe—he was already leading the way toward the long rows of cloth-covered tables set up discreetly at the back. Crystal, china and silver sparkled as they displayed rich treats, desserts and beverages. Just like that night years ago. She wished the past could come to life again. "For you." Joe slipped a cup of lemonade into her hands. "Still your favorite?" "Yes, and yours?" "I haven't changed all that much.” He paused, his voice lowered. “I missed you, Lanna." And there went her heart, falling a little bit more in love with Joe Wolf. She steadied her hands, tried to settle her feelings and took a small sip. The lemonade was refreshingly cold and more sweet than sour. "I missed you, too, Joe." "That's mighty good to hear." He led the way past a crowd of Geneva's friends toward a long row of Palladian windows. The night was radiant; moonlight polished the long reaches of snowy ground and the world glowed like a black opal, rich and rare. Lanna took it as a sign that this last night of the year would bring transformation. "You know, I thought I would come home to hear about how you were a wife and mother, happy with your life." Joe looked hard at the night instead of at her. "How come you never married?"

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The lemonade turned bitter on her tongue. How did she tell him the truth? How did she tell him that deep down she had been secretly waiting all this time? For him to come back to her. For him to love her again. For the chance to love him. She steeled her spine—there was nothing to tell him but the truth. "No man managed to catch my fancy." "I imagine a few tried." His smile was infectious and made her feel valued. "There were a few," she admitted. But they were not you. She held the words back. Too much truth. Too much vulnerability. She did not want to get hurt. What were his feelings for her? Caring was one thing, but she could not mistake the fondness in his manner for anything more. But was it more? She could not assume that it was. She shrugged one shoulder. "Romance for me simply never happened—and then my stepfather fell ill and our lives changed." He nodded, as if he were considering what she'd said. She took a sip of the lemonade, savoring the sweetness. Her blood thundered in her ears, but somehow she dared to ask the one question she needed to. "Why aren't you married, Joe?" "Because deep down, part of me was hoping to come home to you."

Chapter Five Lanna felt the floor tilt and the cup slip from her fingers. Joe's firm grip curled around the glass cup and cradled her hand. His words echoed within her. Because deep down part of me was hoping to come home to you. It seemed impossible. Unreal. Too good to be true. And yet this was no dream. This moment was real. His touch was as tangible as the cool crystal against her. Suddenly, possibility glittered like the frosted snow outside. Joe had come home to her. "I know a lot of time has passed." Joe lifted the cup from her trembling hands and set it on the windowsill. "We've grown up, you and I. We're both different than we once were. We should be strangers." "Yes, we should be. Yet we aren't." She knew exactly what he was trying to say. "When we're together, it is as if time forgot to pass us by." "Yes!" But then Joe’s excitement seemed to dim, and he turned to look hard at the night, instead of at her. "I wrote you. You didn't answer my letters." "I was a farmer's daughter, Joe. You were the new governor's son." "I don't see how that mattered." No, she could see he didn't. That was her Joe, so sincere and true, always seeing people for what they were. Except, maybe, for his mother. She could still hear Geneva's voice, sharp and confident as ever, on Lanna’s first day of work for her. Joe will forget you entirely, you'll see. He has his choice of some of the finest young ladies our territory has to offer. He's actually currently quite smitten with a general's daughter. She had only been sixteen. She hadn't been able to understand that Geneva may have been lying to her— that she may have been feeding on a schoolgirl's most vulnerable fears. But how did she tell Joe about how vicious his mother had been? She tried to explain why she had not written in another way. "You had many new opportunities, first in Helena and then away at school."

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"And you thought I wouldn't be interested in a country girl like you?" "Maybe. I was afraid of what would happen. Of how busy you must have been, and that there would be more and more time between your letters. That one day you would forget to write at all. I decided it was better to lose you all at once than one day at a time." It was hard to read his reaction. His was a strong face with the proud, high cheekbones and a granite jaw of his heritage. His nose was a straight blade that was almost hawk-like, and his generous-cut mouth was bracketed by two dimples that flashed whenever he smiled. On another man his features would have been severe, but the twinkle in Joe’s eyes and his quick grin gentled his face and revealed his emotions, tender and true. He nodded slowly. Then he turned to face her again, taking her hands earnestly in his. “None of that matters now. We have another chance.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Is there a possibility," he asked, "that you would allow me to court you?" "Every possibility in the world," Lanna replied, as joy uplifted her. It felt right to stand beside him. She felt hope creep back into her soul. Being with him made her spirit shimmer like the thousands of sparkles on the dark snow. She wanted to gather up her dreams like those sparkles and hold them so she never lost them again.

*** As the sonata came to an end, Lanna took the last step of their last waltz together. "I have to go home." "But it's not even nine o'clock. We've had only three dances together and a cup of lemonade." "I wish I could stay." The thought of having the chance to twirl to the music just one more time—or even the chance to simply talk with Joe—sounded like an answered prayer. But she was the main provider for her family and she had to earn the money they needed to survive. "I have work in the morning. You know how strict your mother is about tardiness. She is unforgiving." "You're working here tomorrow?" He took a step back. "Of course. To clean up after this party." "It's extra hours for this paycheck and we will be particularly grateful this week, as tomorrow our rent is due. My parents depend on me." "They are blessed to have a daughter like you. Someone they can always count on." Joe stopped, fearing he was about to say too much. So much about Lanna had not changed. Her sense of goodness, her sense of duty and her devotion to those she loved. He had been one of that treasured few once. There was nothing more on this earth he wanted more than to have her love again. "Are you mad?" Lanna asked, searching his face for any signs of it. "I know the party has hardly started." "Have I ever been mad at you?" Joe thought back through their time together, sifting through one memory after another. He could almost feel the soft press of her body beside him on all of those sleighs and buggies and hay rides. Picking berries with her and talking at ice cream socials and church picnics. There had been nothing but the easy way they always shared—even when they disagreed they had laughed about it. He brushed a stray silken curl from her face. "I could never be truly angry at you." "It feels as if nothing has changed between us, but I have to remind myself that we aren't in school any more,” she said. “There is much that has not stayed the same. We aren’t the same.”

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"But what matters is still the same." He could feel the truth in his heart as surely as the floor at his feet—Joe wanted to do more than court her. He wanted to laugh with her again. He wanted to devote the rest of his days to her. He wanted to make her his wife. All he needed was the opportunity to convince her. "Let me take you home." Lanna suddenly looked down at her hands. "It's cold outside. You should stay here where it's warm.” "I'm tough. I can handle the cold." "I know, but—" Lanna thought of her tiny home in town. What would Joe think if he saw it? Then she realized this was Joe. Still, she found she couldn’t face him when she explained her situation. "I'm afraid the grand ranch house is long gone, just like the thousands of acres of land and cattle." "Those things do no matter to me, Lanna. You do." At that, she looked up at him and Joe reached out to brush a curl from her eyes. It was a tender gesture and matched the solemn emotion in his voice. "I'll send word to have the carriage readied." "No, please don't go to so much bother." Lanna thought of the fancy carriage and pedigreed horses and the driver. "It's not far." "I see." Realization passed across his face. "Then let me walk you home." Joe took her hand and led her across the room. He kept her at his side, protecting her from the other dancers and sheepherding her safely through the crush of people. Lanna didn’t even see them. Happiness filled her. It was almost too much—she was afraid that she would wake up, open her eyes and find out that this had all been a lovely dream. But Joe's hand on her shoulder, firm and possessive, was far more real than any dream. Joe wanted to court her. Every breath she took made the love in her heart glow more brightly. She wanted more than anything to have the chance to win Joe's heart again. To share conversation and laughter and emotional connection with him. To fall in love with him a little more deeply with every coming day. To know he was falling in love with her the same way. Before they reached the door, Chance Bell stepped out of the crowd. "Lanna, are you sure you won't reconsider?" "I'm sure, but thank you." She could not think what had overcome the rakish Mr. Bell. Surely he was only being magnanimous because of the festive evening. "I'm afraid you've crushed poor Chance." Joe guided her through the arched doorway. "Crushed him? That's impossible. He was hardly serious." She glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure. But it wasn’t Chance Bell that she saw. There was Geneva, regal in glittering jewels and a gown of crimson silk—staring at her in horror. Lanna felt reality hit her like a falling boulder. What if Joe's family objected? The Wolfs placed a lot of importance on their social standing. Everyone in town knew that. No, Joe’s parents would certainly not give their blessing to the courtship. "Here."Joe was back, wearing a wool coat and holding her cloak for her. Always a gentleman, he helped her into it with care. "It's gotten colder out there. It looks as if it's trying to snow." "Are you sure you want to go out in such weather?"

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"Beyond all doubt." How did he do that, she wondered? With a few words, with his character and strength, he made her worries flee like shadows at dawn. Her slippers padded lightly against the foyer's marble floor as they rushed out into the night. "Where do you think you're going, young man?" A thunderous baritone boomed out on the steps behind them. It was Joe's father—and he was not happy. Not one bit.

Chapter Six Joe took in his father's stern glare and froze. The bite of the freezing air was warmer than that look. He swallowed, digging in his heels. "I'm seeing Lanna home." A muscle jumped along Father's jaw. "You cannot leave our guests. Or, will you do them all the same courtesy of seeing them home tonight?" It was impossible to miss the disapproval or the quick flick of a glance behind him to where Lanna stood, patiently waiting. Joe felt his hackles rise at his father’s dismissive look. Father had always been far too concerned with appearances. "I am not the host of this party," he said simply. "I'll leave the carriage in case you wish to see any other guests home." "Joe—" His father’s harsh utterance echoed through the foyer, but Joe had already turned and guided Lanna down the icy steps. As they reached the walkway, Lanna twirled to face him. "Perhaps you had better not go," Lanna said softly. "He sounds angry." "Angry is my father's usual manner, you know that." He had learned long ago not to take it too personally. Besides, it didn’t matter what his father thought or how angry he was. Joe knew what he wanted now. "Don't let it trouble you." "But—" Lanna fell silent. The concern gentle on her lovely face said everything. "Think of it this way,” Joe said with a little grin. “You're doing me a favor." "Ah, yes. I remember." Her laughter was a gentle, musical trill. “You still don't like fancy dinner parties and balls, do you?" "No, and you're giving me an excellent excuse to escape." Joe took her hand and led her along the parked rows of carriages and buggies lining the lane. "I guess I owe you something for this favor." "Oh, and what might that be?" "Perhaps you would allow me to take you on a sleigh ride on Sunday after church." He was fairly sure she wouldn't turn him down, but his pulse gave a lurch as she hesitated. "I would love to go with you, Joe, but only if you'll agree to stay for supper afterwards."

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Then she smiled prettily at him and he thought she was even more beautiful graced by moonlight and shadowed by the silvered snow. A certainty settled over his soul and he ached with tenderness. He knew beyond all doubt that God had led him back to Angel Falls for a reason. For her. "Our table wouldn't be anything like what you're used to," she continued, brushing a fragile curl out of her face with her gloved hand—moving, as always, with grace and elegance. "But I'm sure my parents would like to see you." "I would like to see them." He had always liked Lanna's parents. They were good, solid people who knew what mattered and did not worry about reputation or what others thought about them. They were regular, friendly folk and he'd always felt comfortable with them. Although the thought of what he needed to ask did make him pause. "It would give me a chance to speak with your stepfather." "You will surprise him, I'm sure." She looked down at the snow at their feet. Her creamy complexion darkened with a blush. Love filled him, strong and pure and endless. He had prayed that it was not too late for their love. He had hoped that time had not changed what lay in her heart. It had for him—the years had made his love for her greater and deeper. "I want his permission to court you, Lanna. I want him to know that I'm serious." His pulse skipped like a stone on a pond. This was big, but he was sure. He'd had six long years to think about what he wanted from life—and about what he'd left behind. "I hope you're happy about that." She quickly bobbed her head in answer. She felt the same way that he did—that was a relief. It was a blessing just to be walking with her, as their shoes crunched together in the freezing snow and a few flakes drizzled into the air only to flutter lonesome to the ground. The snow clouds overhead blotted out much of the starlight and haloed the waning moon. "But… Do you think we can start up where we left off?" Lanna asked. Her hand tightened in his. "This between us doesn't feel different. I thought it would, but it's not. This is all happening so fast." "Like it's too good to be true?" "Exactly." "Only something this good can be true." "You sound so sure." Her footsteps slowed to a stop. He halted, too. He was sure—beyond all doubt. "Sometimes you have to open your heart and accept the blessings God brings your way, whether you expect them or not. Whether you are ready for them or not. That's what I'm going to do. Will you do that with me?" "It scares me a little." The moonlight vanished, casting her in darkness. "But I'm scared in a good way. You were so much to lose once, Joe." "So were you." It surprised him how fast and how strong his love for her had come back. It was like a strong winter storm blowing in to blanket the land with thick snow, transforming everything.

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He thought of the years spent in Helena and back east studying hard. He'd known some measure of contentment, but not happiness. No. That rare blessing had not entered his heart until he had spotted Lanna scrubbing his mother's floor. Protective feelings surged through him. He wanted to do so much for her. To take care of her, to make her happy, to make sure she had a reason to smile every day for the rest of her life. "If I can help it, neither of us will feel the hurt of separation like that again. I don’t want you to feel any pain." "There are so many reasons why this can't work." "Funny, I can't think of one. I see only the reasons why it can." There were so many of those, and they increased every time he looked at her. "Love is like faith. When it's true, it's strong enough to hold you up, come what may." Finally, she looked into his face, hope shimmering in her eyes. “You make me believe in dreams again, Joe." "Good. Because that's what you do for me, too." "I do?" So much earnestness on her pretty face. Her lovely, heart-shaped face. Even in the darkest shadows, he could make out her wide, almond eyes and the porcelain delicacy of her cheekbones and chin. He loved the cute slope of her nose and her soft, expressive mouth that used to always smile. How could she not know how she made him feel? "All this time," he explained, "I have been searching for what has been here all along. My dream always has been and always will be the same. You." They came to a stop. He realized that she had led him to the door of a small, narrow house. The windows were dark, the steps tilted to the left. He didn’t spare it a second glance. He only had eyes for her. He leaned close and closer still, watching her light eyes follow his. Joe’s pulse slowed and the world stopped. He brushed a kiss against the side of her cheek, feeling his emotions take one long last tumble in love with her. "Goodnight, Lanna." "Goodnight, Joe." All he wanted was forever with her. He took a step back and something brushed his cheek. It had started to snow. Perfect, heavenly flakes fell all around them like heaven's blessing. With a wobbly smile and a bob of a curtsey, she slipped through the door and out of his sight. But never again out of his heart.

Chapter Seven The next morning, Lanna headed off to work, though she felt as if her feet didn’t even touch the ground. Snow had fallen heavily through the night, frosting the world. Everywhere Lanna looked, it was flawless and perfect. Inches of white icing glimmered silently beneath the rising sun. But she didn't mind the below-zero cold or the deep snow she was struggling through—not one bit, for she was carrying the happiness of last night with her like a treasure.

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My dream always has been and always will be the same. You. His words felt embedded in her soul, her deepest wish come true. Joy brightened within her like the sun in the aqua-blue sky and seemed equally as endless. Joe hadn't said the words, but she had felt them in his sweet kiss. He loved her as she loved him. She felt as if she were still waltzing in her best slippers instead of wearing her sensible winter boots. As she passed houses with gray smoke curling from their chimneys, she relived the events of last night for the hundredth time. Every step of their waltzes. Every word of their talks. Every promise. Love is like faith, he'd said. When it's true, it's strong enough to hold you up, come what may. That is exactly how it felt, she thought, as she trailed up the back walk to the servant's entrance. The Wolf home looked quiet this morning. Everyone inside was probably recovering from a very late night. She stopped outside the door. She knocked the snow from the hem of her skirt, cloak and boots, still thinking of Joe. Would she see him today? Her spirit brightened at the possibility. Maybe, with any luck, he could walk her home in the afternoon. They would have time to talk some more, maybe this time of more personal things and of their future. She turned the door handle and shivered into the entrance hall. "Lanna. There you are." Geneva marched into view, arms crossed, imposing. "You're late." "Late? I don't start until seven o'clock." "I expected you at six." Her mouth compressed into a thin, displeased line. "This is unacceptable." "I—I—" She stammered, glancing around. Was it possible she had made a mistake? Was everyone else on the cleaning staff already here? She shrugged out of her cloak and quickly went to hang it up—and realized the closet was bare. There wasn't a single jacket or muffler or glove inside. No one else was here. Take a deep breath, Lanna. She filled her lungs and deliberately hung up her cloak. Remember how important this job is to your family. You need to keep her happy. "I am sorry for the confusion. I'm here now and ready to work." "Hmm." Geneva did not budge. "After yesterday's dismal performance, you and I need to talk. We must come to terms, Lanna." "Terms?" She swallowed hard, bracing herself for a lecture. "Termination terms." Geneva strutted closer and held out a small envelope. "Your final wages, less the hours I docked from yesterday's inadequate work." Inadequate? Lanna bit her tongue against the rising anger within her. The real problem had been with Geneva. Had she been left alone to do her work, the floor would have been finished an hour ahead of schedule. But what good would arguing do? Geneva might no longer be her employer, but she was Joe's mother. "Here, take your pay and go." Geneva thrust the envelope in Lanna's direction. She took it, and as her hand closed over the packet, the consequences of it hit her. She had been fired. Her family had lost their income. She didn't know how she was going to explain this to her parents. They were depending on her. They would understand, but understanding did not pay the rent. With a trembling hand, she slipped the envelope in her skirt pocket and reached back into the closet for her cloak. This was devastating and unfair.

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She turned to face Geneva, lifting her chin, determined to hold onto her dignity. "Goodbye, Geneva." "A word of advice before you go." There was a smile on her face, but it was cold and cruel. Lanna’s instincts told her to walk out the door quickly, but she hesitated. She knew whatever Geneva would say would be about Joe—and after last night she had to know. "My son is a very fine catch for a girl like you. Your family connections may have been…adequate before, but now? Ours have improved by far and yours, why, they are abysmal. Don't get your hopes up, girl. Joe will not court you. I assure you, Lanna, there is no way I will allow Joe to associate our family name with you people." Lanna’s heart sank. Her hopes shattered. So, Geneva was going to try and break them apart. But Joe had been clear about his feelings last night. Surely those feelings wouldn’t change because of his parents? She kept her head up and walked toward the door. Her hand quaked as she reached for the handle. She kept Joe's sweetness last night close to her heart. She could not let Geneva take that from her with a few harsh words. But Geneva wasn’t finished. "Let's agree on one thing, Lanna." Geneva's footsteps knelled closer. "You are not worthy of my son. When he learns of my feelings, you are going to be the loser. Do you think he will choose a penniless cleaning woman? No, I will make sure he does not. My son is a good man and he honors his parents. Do you understand me?" Those hard words were like bullets to her heart. Geneva was going to fight this? The sweetness she held onto began to slip away. She stumbled forward, her lungs tightening. She couldn't breathe. She had to get air. She felt as if she were drowning in sorrow. Letting Joe go had been the hardest thing she had ever done. If she stood up to Geneva now and lost, she would have to go through that pain again. How could she let her hopes get any higher and give more of her heart only to lose Joe in the end? She wanted to discount Geneva's tirade, but reasonably she could not. She wanted to be able to ignore her heartless words and stride out the door. But she could not bring herself to twist the doorknob. Geneva would win. Family was the one thing that mattered most to Joe. That was why he had left her in the first place, to follow his parents and help his father with his new job. "You know I'm right, Lanna, don't you?" Geneva's harshness faded, leaving the bitter notes of pity. "I'm sorry for your situation, but family comes first. My son is my highest priority. I cannot allow him to marry someone so far beneath him. You have my word on that." The conviction in Geneva's voice was colder than the frigid morning air. Finally, Lanna opened the door and, head down, stepped out into the cruel wind. Then she stopped, remembering how Geneva had manipulated her before. Well she wasn’t a naïve girl anymore. She steeled her spine and whirled to face the older woman. "You told me Joe would marry someone better once and that didn't happen. It won't happen. I know Joe." "Yes, but he didn't marry you, did he? And believe me, it will not happen now. Miss Beauchamp and her aunt will be visiting soon. My son will have a February wedding and it won't be to you. I am his mother. Do you really think he would risk losing me over a little thing like you?" She hesitated. She thought of the letters she never wrote, believing Geneva. But then she thought of all that Geneva could do to keep them apart. She took a step back, her hopes taking a hard fall. There was nothing left for her to say. Her dreams felt as broken as the ice cracking beneath her boots. She would lose Joe. The moment Geneva delivered her ultimatum—Lanna or his family—it would be over for good, forever.

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But her own love would burn on, unstoppable and pure. Pain cut through her like tiny, razor-sharp shards. She blinked against the too-bright sun. Tears stung her eyes. She held tight to the handrail, blindly stumbling down the icy steps. Joe had chosen family over love— over her—before. Of course he would do so again. How had she ever let herself believe? How had she let Joe open her heart and think that it was safe to dream? "Lanna!" It was Joe's voice this time. She turned toward him without thought and against all reason. Had he heard his mother's words? He filled the doorway, stoic and stalwart and as distant as the faraway mountains. There was pity on his face and an unmistakable apology. Her heart stopped beating. Her soul dimmed. She knew without him saying a word. Their romance was over.

Chapter Eight "Lanna, please don't go." His words followed her into the silent morning. What was he going to do? Explain how he was going to break her heart? No, that was the one thing she could not hear, not without breaking into tears. She fisted her hands, refusing to turn around as she stumbled blindly down the walkway. Geneva would make Joe choose between his love for her and for his family. She could not put him in that position. And she could not face losing him when he made the only decision he could. Still, it would not stop the love in her heart. No, nothing was powerful enough to do that. "Lanna! Wait." She did not want to see the pity on his face. The look that said he was sorry. Once had been enough. The path in front of her blurred, but she kept going. She blinked hard, determined to make it home before the tears started flowing. She'd been right from the beginning. Why hadn't she listened to reason? Loving Joe had only led to sorrow. She should have kept her expectations low. Time changed everything and, she feared, everyone. Then she heard his voice cut through the air. "I'm sorry, Mother, but excuse me." Lanna stopped and turned around. She stared in disbelief as Joe pushed past his mother and hurried down the stairs toward her. He wore no coat, nothing to keep him warm over his wool shirt and denims, but he hardly seemed to notice the cold against his skin or the ice beneath his boots. "Joe, get back here." Geneva commanded from the doorway. "Don't you go after her!" He looked over his shoulder at his mother. "Sorry, Mother. I'm very sorry for you.” He kept coming toward Lanna, the pity on his face slipping away as his gaze focused on her. His brown eyes warmed to cinnamon. "I am not about to let you get away a second time, Lanna Gibson. What kind of fool do you think I am?”

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She could only stare at him. Her brain had stopped working. Every thought and her ability to reason stalled at the sight of him striding down the walk after her, heedless to the cold and snow, his gaze fixed on her. Was this real, or was she dreaming? "I was a fool the last time I let you go. But I learn from my mistakes." He stopped before her and brought his hands up to cradle her face. His touch was tender and reverent. Definitely real and no dream. "You aren't letting me go?" "Never again, sweetheart. Do you know what I did last night before I went to sleep? I prayed." He had? Happiness surged through her, buoying her up so that she felt like she was floating. "I prayed that you and I would not waste any more time." Joe looked so serious, so true. "The Lord knows we have let too much time pass us by already. Last night I prayed that you and I would be happy together. I prayed that your hard times would be over. I prayed that you would love me as endlessly as I love you." He loved her? She leaned against the strength of his hands, savoring his gentle touch. She was thankful, infinitely thankful. "That's one prayer the Lord doesn't need to answer. I do love you endlessly, Joe. There is no reason or rhyme to it, it just is. Every moment I'm with you, I love you even more." "Real love endures through all things. Against time, class and even misguided families. What you and I have is real love, Lanna. The kind that lasts forever. I hope last night meant to you what it did to me. That we can start where we left off. Our love never died. It is right here alive in our hearts. All I want is you, Lanna. I want to be with you forever.” "But your mother—" "She'll get used to the idea of us getting married." His dimples flashed and he looked as happy as she felt. Her dear Joe. Love was like a miracle in the heart, and the power of it could change everything into something wonderful. She laid her hands against his face, too. "Mister, you are making a very big assumption." "I am?" He arched one brow, his dimples deepening. "It's huge. Enormous." He was right, she realized, love was strong enough. You just had to believe. "Someone has not properly proposed to me." "I wondered when you were going to get to that." Joe laughed, rich and deep, and the sound tugged at all the happy strings of her heart. "I wanted to do it right with flowers and at a special moment, maybe in the moonlight and not with my mother glowering at us from the steps." "She doesn't like me, Joe. She doesn't think I'm good enough for you." She said the words gently. "I don't want to come between you and your family." "You are my family now. My parents will have to learn to respect that. It may take awhile, but maybe a grandchild might soften their hearts—" "A grandchild?" Now there wasn't something she had thought about. But as their gazes locked and she saw all of him, his heart and soul and his boundless love for her, she saw their future too. A happy wedding and a happier marriage. Their first home. Children one day—maybe two boys and two girls. So many more dreams to come true.

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"Marry me, Lanna." Joe went down on both knees in the snow, beaming with hope. "Please do me the honor of becoming my wife." "Yes, I will marry you, but the honor is mine." Since her knees were wobbling anyway and her vision blurring with tears, she sank to the snow, too, full of joy and dreams. Their kiss was perfection and full of promise, like the first crisp morning of the New Year. It was the right time for beginnings. Lanna thanked the Lord for bringing her here, to perfect peace and an enduring love, blessed by His grace.

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Million-Dollar Dad by C.J. Carmichael Hearing that you’ve just inherited one-million dollars would be cause for celebration for anyone—except Daniel Adams. After a year, he is beginning to move on after his wife’s death. But then a too-attractive lawyer from Boston swoops into the little town of Squam Lake and shatters his beliefs about his wife and their relationship. Daniel isn’t the only one to be shaken. Lawyer Sandy Darby is touched by Daniel’s integrity and love for his wife. And as she spends more time in the town and with him, she begins to reevaluate her life and her priorities. But can these two scarred souls discover the true value of loving another person?

Chapter One Sandy Darby smiled as the server brought her the slice of chocolate cake and the large latte she’d just ordered. It wasn’t everyday she got to tell someone they’d inherited a million dollars. She intended to enjoy the moment. She sank her fork into the moist, dark chocolate then took her first bite. Mmmm…yummy. The man she’d driven all this way to meet wasn’t due for another ten minutes, so she sipped her latte leisurely and glanced out the window at the lake. The water was so still that the surrounding trees were reflected in a perfect mirror image. Strange to think that all this natural beauty was just a little over a hundred miles from her home in Boston. Right now her apartment felt like it was on another world. As did the legal firm where she worked—and more importantly—Colin Sawyer, the most recent addition to her list of ex-boyfriends. Sandy wrinkled her nose, thinking of their fight last Sunday. Yet again Colin had backed out at the last minute from their vacation plans due to his work commitments. She had an important job, too, but she’d never do that to him. She’d told him it was time to choose. His career or her. He’d chosen the career. Their break-up was a big part of the reason she’d decided to drive to Squam Lake today rather than handle this business over the phone. She needed time away from the office and a diversion to take her mind off of the pathetic state of her love life. And this place offered a very impressive diversion. The lake was tranquil and picturesque and the little town bordering it was small and charming. All the residents she’d met so far—during her stop for gas, then here for the meeting—had been friendly and welcoming. She wondered if Zoey Wheeler’s husband would fit the mold. It had been a year since his wife’s untimely death. Would he still be grieving? Or would he be ready to move on? In either case, the news that he was now one million dollars richer would definitely come as a shock. It was going to be fun to give him that surprise in person. Through the window, Sandy saw a dark gray truck pull into the café parking-lot. A male in his early thirties stepped out and took stock of his surroundings. Sandy watched, fascinated. He was about the right age to be the guy she was waiting for. Only according to her file, Daniel Adams was a teacher. And this man looked more like a cowboy than someone who spent his days in a classroom. He had bronzed skin, tousled hair and a tall, broad-shouldered physique. He was dressed for physical labor in a dark denim shirt and sturdy work boots. And those well-fitting jeans were definitely faded from many cycles in a washing machine, not from some factory in China.

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Sadly, she did not often see men like this in the financial district of Boston. She watched as he pocketed his keys then headed for the café with long, confident strides. Once inside, he glanced around, searching. His eyes snagged hers, widened and one side of his mouth hooked up in a semi-smile. Sandy knew the look and gave him a guarded one in reply. Being a blonde with blue eyes and smooth skin, she was used to attracting that sort of attention. But the moment passed and the man kept scanning the patrons. After he’d gone over every face in the café, his attention returned to her. He stepped up to her table. “You wouldn’t be Sandy Darby from Boston?” His voice was deep and rough without any trace of a Boston accent. “I am. Please, call me Sandy.“ Why did he seem so surprised? What had he been expecting? A man, maybe—Sandy was one of those names that could go either way and their meeting had been arranged by a male assistant from her office. This was the first time they’d spoken to each other. “Which must make you Daniel Adams,” she continued in the bright voice she used for introductions. She stood to shake his hand. His grip was firm enough that she could feel his calluses digging in to her citysmooth skin. He was a lot more…rugged…than she had expected. She invited him to sit down. He eyed her half-eaten cake and the fancy coffee then ordered black coffee for himself. “So, you’re the lawyer, huh?” She’d dressed down for this trip—she wore a skirt and sandals rather than her usual suit. Perhaps that had been a mistake. “Yes, I work for Prescott and Taylor. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.” “No problem. But can we make it quick? I’m on my lunch break.” “Don’t teachers get the summers off?” “I have a friend with a construction company. In July and August Tyler can always use an extra pair of hands and I can use the money.” Not anymore, she thought, with the smugness of someone sitting on an exciting secret. He looked at her with frank curiosity. “So what’s this about?” “I’m here to talk to you about your wife’s estate.” Immediately the light seeped out of his eyes. “That was settled months ago. Zoey passed away last summer.” “I’m sorry for your loss.” She had the details in her file. Zoey Wheeler had been born with a congenital heart defect and her heart had finally given out at the age of twenty-eight. “She was very young. Had you been married long?” “Eight years.” He spoke with a genuine and deep sadness, and Sandy was surprised at the hollow ache that rose up from inside of her. Zoey Wheeler had been very unlucky with her health, but it seemed that when it came to love, she’d struck it rich. What would it be like to be loved so completely by a man like this? A virile, attractive man, whose eyes still misted over a year after your death?

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She forced her attention back to the contents of her briefcase, pulling out papers and stacking them in front of her. It was none of her business how this man had felt about his wife. Her job was to disperse assets. That was all. “Did you know much about Zoey’s family?” She took a sip from her mug, preparing herself for the big announcement. “Only that she’d grown up on a farm and that her parents were both dead by the time we met.” Sandy was so startled she spilled some of the latte. She set down the over-sized mug and studied Daniel’s face. He certainly seemed sincere. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Your wife grew up in Boston. And her parents aren’t dead. Do you ever read the Boston Globe?” “Sometimes I do. And what do you mean Zoey grew up in Boston? You must have the wrong person.” She searched for a piece of paper with Zoey’s social security number on it. When she found it, she slid it across the table for Daniel to see. After a quick study he nodded, then frowned. “If you read the Globe, even occasionally, then you’ve probably heard about Zoey’s father. You may have seen pictures of her parents on the society page.” She had some clippings with her and she pulled out a recent one of Everett and Rose Wheeler attending a gala supporting heart research. She and Colin had been at the same event, though they hadn’t made the paper. Daniel snatched up the photocopied page and studied the picture closely. “Oh my God. This woman… She looks just like—” He put down the paper and stared off in the distance. “I can’t believe this. Why would Zoey have lied to me about her family?” “She and her parents were estranged. Maybe she found her past too painful to talk about.” “Zoey and I didn’t lie to each other. We didn’t keep secrets.” He sounded so sure about that and again Sandy felt a little envious of the relationship he’d had with his wife. Though clearly it hadn’t been quite as close as he’d thought. “People do crazy things when they’re angry. Trust me, as a lawyer I’ve seen some really screwed up families.” When Daniel glanced at her sharply, she added, “Not that I’m saying Zoey was screwed up. Just that sometimes parents, well, their intentions may be good, but—" Shut up, Sandy! What was the matter with her? Why was she babbling like this? She knew the answer. It was because her news had just robbed Daniel Adams of some of his illusions about his dead wife and she wanted to make him feel better. Well, making Daniel Adams feel better wasn’t her job, either. “Why are you showing up now? Zoey died a long time ago.” “Yes, but her parents didn’t find out until recently. Family friends were vacationing in New Hampshire, renting a fishing cottage and happened to go through a stack of old newspapers. They saw Zoey’s obituary and recognized the picture you put in.”

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“Unbelievable.” “Well. Yes, I suppose it is a long shot that they just happened to come across the issue—“ “How could you let your relationship with your child deteriorate to the point that she wouldn’t even want to talk to you when she knew she was dying?” She had no answer to that. “Can you imagine being on your deathbed and not wanting to call your parents, Sandy?” “No. But—“ “These Wheelers. They must be something else.” Daniel planted his elbows on the table then plowed his fingers through his hair. His eyes had gone wide and his mouth was slightly agape—he looked totally overwhelmed. “Hell, Zoey,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sandy lowered her gaze and blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes, as she reminded herself again that she was just the lawyer here. “Anyway,” she forced her voice out bright and polished. “There is some good news amid all of this.” Daniel looked at her as if she was the crazy one now. “Because Zoey and her parents were estranged, she’d been cut off from the family business. However there were some investments in Zoey’s name, bequeathed to her directly from her maternal grandmother.” “What are you trying to say?” “I’m saying that since you were listed in Zoey’s will as her sole beneficiary, you have inherited a million dollars.”

Chapter Two “You’re telling me Zoey had a million dollars in investments? And I’m her legal beneficiary?” Daniel Adams felt stunned. “That’s right. It’s a lot of money, but we should be able to transfer everything to your name—“ “Wait a minute. What makes you think I want that money?” He’d come to this meeting not expecting much of anything. So far he’d had nothing but surprises. First, the lawyer wasn’t the guy he’d spoken to on the phone. She was a woman—and a very pretty one at that. Then he’d found out his wife had a family she’d never told him about. And now this. A million dollars. He couldn’t believe it. He’d thought he knew everything about Zoey but he hadn’t known the first thing. The woman sitting in front of him—this lawyer from Boston with the strikingly expressive eyes—knew more about Zoey than he did. “Why was she estranged from her parents?” he asked.

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Sandy Darby looked surprised that he had asked this. “I don’t know.” “Come on. The Wheelers are your clients. I assume they’re important ones and that they’ve been with your firm for awhile?” “Yes. A long time.” “There must have been talk. There’s always talk.” “Well…some. Yes. From what I gather, Rose and Everett weren’t really hands on sorts of parents, if you know what I mean.” She pulled some more papers out of her briefcase. “Now about your inheritance…” Daniel could tell that his questions were making her uncomfortable. He didn’t care. He needed information and right now Sandy Darby was the only source he had. “Am I to infer that Zoey was raised by nannies and babysitters?” “From what I gather, though, I heard she was close to her maternal grandmother. But she died when Zoey turned nineteen. I believe that was around the time that Zoey ran away from home.” She pushed the papers a few inches closer to him, but he ignored them. “Ran away. She ran away?” He still couldn’t get any of this through his head. All of Zoey’s stories about the family ranch, the pet dog she’d had growing up, the Sunday dinners and family sing-a-longs…had she made all that up? “She was an adult—so technically she didn’t run away. But she didn’t tell anyone where she was going. And she never contacted her parents again.” “Zoey didn’t move far from Boston. Surely if the Wheelers are that rich and connected they could have found her if they’d wanted to.” “I don’t know what efforts they made. I also don’t know how hard Zoey worked at trying to hide from them.” She tapped the papers. “You’ll want to read this before you sign and then we can go about transferring the funds—“ “I’m not signing those papers.” “But in order to get the money—” Speaking slowly and carefully, he said, “I don’t want the money.” “Of course you want the money. We’re talking about a million dollars." The look she gave him told him that based on what she saw, he could use the money. He set his jaw. “You just told me that the woman I loved and married was someone I don’t even know. This rich family from Boston—they’re strangers. Their money doesn’t belong to me.” “It belonged to your wife.” He could tell Sandy Darby was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him. Checking out her ring finger, he found it bare. “You’re not married, are you?” “No. Why?”

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“You haven’t experienced it, so you don’t know. But when a man and a woman really love one another and are connected in a deep way, that stuff in the vows…it’s real. Two people become one." He and Zoey had had a bond like that. Or so he’d thought. For the first time, the lawyer seemed to have run out of words. Her cheeks had turned pink, her eyes were huge and gleaming. She was staring at him as if he’d just said the most amazing thing. And it occurred to him that maybe there was something wrong with him. How else could he have been so wrong about his own wife? Why hadn’t she confided in him? Why keep her family history such a deep, dark secret? He pushed the papers back at the lawyer then dropped some coins on the table to cover his coffee. He had to get out of there. His head felt like it was a balloon ready to burst. “Daniel, please don’t leave. We haven’t finished our business.” “As far as I’m concerned, we have. You say this money belonged to my wife. But I’m not so sure I even had a wife anymore.”

*** Lucky, lucky Zoey. As Sandy watched Daniel leave the café, get into his truck and drive away, his parting words still rang in her ears. She couldn’t believe a guy who looked so tough and masculine could be such a romantic. The love he’d had for his wife filled her with wonder. What would it be like to be loved like that? None of the men she’d dated had even come close. She packed up her papers and went to the front to pay her bill. She asked the friendly lady who had seated her earlier if she lived in Squam Lake, hoping to learn more about Daniel Adams. “All my life.” Her voice was filled with pride, too. “The man I had coffee with—do you know him?” “Daniel Adams? Sure I do. He taught science to all three of my boys.” “He forgot something when he left.” It was sort of true. He’d forgotten to sign her papers and she wasn’t returning to Boston until he had. Daniel Adams deserved that million dollars a lot more than Everett and Rose Wheeler did. “Could you tell me where he lives so I can drop it off for him?” “Sure, honey.” The lady gave her directions, writing them on the back of a sheet from her order pad to be sure Sandy didn’t get lost. During the time Sandy had spent in the café, her car had grown stifling hot. She opened all the windows then adjusted the air conditioning. While she waited for her car to cool down, she watched as a motorboat zoomed by on the lake. The kid being pulled behind it did a 360 on his wakeboard. She smiled,

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remembering the fun she’d had waterskiing as a kid on summer vacations in upper New York State. When was the last time she’d relaxed and had fun like that? She sighed, remembering that she was here on business. But that didn’t mean that all of her time had to be spent on the case, did it? She wasn’t sure what time Daniel got off work but she probably had a couple more hours since he’d said he was on his lunch break, so she decided to browse the shops on Main Street. She drove around the bend in the road and found a good parking space. The resort town lost none of its points for charm on closer inspection. She especially loved a shop called “The Perfect Thing”. It was filled with an eclectic mixture of home décor articles including art, pottery, rugs and lamps. If she owned a cottage, she’d love to fill it with stuff like this. “May I help you?” asked a woman about her age. She looked more fashionable than Sandy expected from someone who worked in a small resort town. Sandy particularly admired her sandals, certain she’d seen some just like them in the window at Saks last week. “I’m just browsing. This rug is fabulous.” It was hand hooked in beautiful autumn tones. She was tempted to buy it, but it wouldn’t suit her modern city apartment at all. “That was made locally.” The woman gave her a card from the artisan then answered all of Sandy’s questions about the other items that had caught her eye. “Wow, you know your stuff. Have you worked here long?” “This used to be my grandmother’s store, so technically pretty much all my life.” “You grew up in this town? Lucky you. Squam Lake reminds me of the place we went for summer holidays when I was a kid.” She didn’t take those kinds of vacations anymore. Now when she booked holidays it was either to an exciting city like London or Paris, or a tropical island for an all-inclusive getaway. “Where do you live?” “Boston. I’m a lawyer here on business, settling an estate.” The woman looked curious, but Sandy didn’t elaborate. In a small town like this it was probably difficult to keep your affairs private, but she was sure that would be Daniel’s preference. “Several people from Boston own vacation properties around here. I’m Allison Bennett, by the way.” “Nice to meet you Allison. I’m Sandy Darby.” She liked this store and she liked Allison Bennett, too. So far she hadn’t seen anything in Squam Lake that she didn’t like. Suddenly, an image of Daniel Adams getting out of his truck came to mind. Her first reaction to seeing him had been one of immediate attraction. Now that she wasn’t discussing business with him, she could finally admit it to herself. She wondered if he’d even thought of another woman since his wife had died. There were probably women in this town who had thought of him…. Perhaps, even, the woman in front of her. Allison had stepped discreetly to one side where she was folding table linens. Then Sandy noticed a diamond sparkle on her left hand. “You’re engaged.” Allison looked up at her and smiled. “Yes. Actually Tyler, my fiancé, is a real estate developer, speaking of properties. He’s trying to get approval for a new condominium complex with lake access.” Tyler… Wasn’t that the name of the man Daniel said he was working for? “I’d like to take look at those plans.”

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“You’re interested in buying?” Sandy surprised herself by saying, “Maybe.” Being in this town had brought back a yearning for something she hadn’t even realized was missing in her life. Something she’d had as a child but had somehow lost in the mad rush of law school and then the demands of building her career. “I could certainly get the information for you. The upkeep on condos is nice and easy, if you’re looking for a weekend place.” “I’m not a big fan of condos,” she admitted. “But I’ve fallen in love with your town and this lake.” The other woman smiled again. “I know what you mean about condos. Tyler’s got some great plans in mind, but personally, if I was looking for a vacation property, I’d want my own cottage on the lake.” Yes! That was exactly right. “Are there any for sale right now?” “They don’t come on the market often.” Allison hesitated. She was eyeing Sandy carefully, as if trying to make up her mind about something. Finally she said, “But I do know of one place. One of my older customers has been finding the upkeep at her cottage to be too much since her husband passed away.” The last thing Sandy had planned to do today was buy a cottage. But she knew this was a lead she had to follow. “Would you mind giving me her name and number?” “Sure. But I should warn you first. Mrs. Fitzgerald has turned away several prospective buyers. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but she won’t sell to just anyone.” Interesting… Now Sandy was really looking forward to meeting this woman. She thanked Allison for the tip then picked up the rug she’d thought she had no place for. “I’d like to buy this, please.” As she placed it on the counter, her cell phone rang. She took a look at the number on call-display and wished she hadn’t.

Chapter Three Sandy had worked for the Wheelers for years but she rarely dealt with the family members in person. Usually her assignments were passed down to her by one of the firm’s senior partners. So seeing the name “Everett Wheeler” on her cell phone now made her slightly nauseous. She excused herself from the owner of “The Perfect Thing” and went outside to conduct her call. “Sandy Darby here.” “Sandy, this is Everett Wheeler.” He spoke in the smooth, assured voice of the very rich and powerful. “I’m told you’re handling the inheritance issue. Have you met with Adams yet? Has he signed off on the million dollars?” “We met about an hour ago. But I’m afraid he wouldn’t sign the papers. I think he was in shock. He had no idea that his wife came from a wealthy family.” “Ah, and now that he does know, no way will he settle for a lousy million. Is that it?” “Actually, no. He didn’t even—“ “How much do you think he’ll want?” “Mr. Wheeler, he didn’t seem to want any money.”

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There was a long pause. “Preposterous,” said Everett Wheeler finally. “It wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” she agreed. “But Mr. Adams seems to have loved your daughter very much. It turns out she deceived him about her background and he’s very upset by that.” “No doubt he’s thinking of all those years of poverty when he could have been living the high life.” “I don’t think Daniel Adams is poor." Everett Wheeler didn’t seem to hear her. “When are you meeting with him again?” “I’m hoping to catch him at home tonight.” “Well, make sure that you do. Call me as soon as you have his signature. I don’t care how late it is. Rose and I, we want this settled with no loose ends. Understood?” Oh, brother. Was this the way he’d dealt with his daughter, too? If so, she was beginning to understand why she’d wanted to escape. Sandy sighed. “Understood.”

*** Daniel had trouble concentrating on the job after his meeting with Sandy Darby. He’d been working at laying marble slabs in the bathroom of the showroom for one of Tyler’s new projects. The marble slabs were expensive and he couldn’t afford to make mistakes. So after his second wrong cut, he told Tyler he needed to take the rest of the afternoon off. He went out into the woods for a walk. When he found a small stream, he sat on a rock to ponder everything Sandy Darby had told him. It was going to take a while to get used to the idea that Zoey’s parents were still alive and living in Boston, while the ranching family his wife had described so often and so fondly had simply been figments of her imagination. His first reaction to the news had been of anger and betrayal. He hated the fact that Zoey had lied to him. But as he mulled it over, he realized he was wrong to take Zoey’s secrets so personally. Zoey had been sweet and funny but easily crushed by criticism of any kind. He’d always figured that her emotional fragility was somehow linked to her poor health. But knowing what he did now, cold, uncaring parents seemed a more apt explanation. The mythical ranching family Zoey had invented…that had probably been more for her sake rather than any attempt to deceive him. Like that lawyer had said, some things were just too painful. But one thing was clear to him. For Zoey to have cut herself off from the Wheelers so completely, they must be a pretty hard-nosed, cruel bunch. Not the sort of people Zoey had needed in her life. And not the sort their daughter needed, either. He wondered if they knew about Ruth. Would they even care that they had a granddaughter they’d never met? Given the way they’d treated their daughter, probably not. As for the lawyer…she was an interesting contradiction. Sandy Darby talked like a steel-backed negotiator, yet her eyes were filled with kindness and compassion. He wondered if she had any idea how they gave her away. Not that he cared that the Wheeler’s lawyer was actually a softie. He was a single father with a daughter who needed him. Besides, he’d never see Sandy Darby again. She was probably back in Boston already.

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*** After her phone call from Everett Wheeler, Sandy went back into “The Perfect Thing” to pick up her rug. Allison handed her a card with her purchase. “Sandy, I wrote Mrs. Fitzgerald’s number on the back. Good luck!” She thanked Allison and went back to her car. She sat there for a moment looking at the phone number. Oh, what the hell. In a rush, she picked up her cell phone and dialed. Half an hour later, she was sitting on the back porch of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s cottage sipping iced tea as the elderly lady filled her in on her family history. Naturally the conversation shifted to Sandy and her own family. Mrs. Fitzgerald seemed fascinated by Sandy’s stories of her childhood vacations. “It sounds like you were close to your parents,” she said approvingly. “I still am. They would love it here.” “What about your boyfriend?” Sandy had felt close to the older woman instantly and had told her about Colin and their recent troubles. “He’d be bored in one hour. Not that it matters. We won’t be getting back together.” “That’s good. He doesn’t sound like the right man for you.” She picked up the pitcher of iced tea and refilled Sandy’s glass. Sandy settled back into her chair. This place felt like home. She could imagine relaxing on the dock reading and sun-tanning. Cooking homemade meals in the kitchen. Going for long walks in the surrounding woods and kayaking on the lake. She earned a good salary, plus she had an inheritance from a favorite uncle. She could afford this place…. “If you’re serious about selling, Mrs. Fitzgerald, I’m serious about putting in an offer.” The older woman smiled and half an hour later it was settled. Sometimes it was very handy being a lawyer. As she drove away from the property, Sandy couldn’t believe what she’d done. There were some decisions you probably shouldn’t make on impulse and buying real estate was one of them. But she felt so happy about being the new owner of the Fitzgerald cottage she knew it was the right decision. The rug she’d bought from The Perfect Thing was going to look marvelous in the front entrance. But first there was some business that needed to be resolved.

*** Fifteen minutes later Sandy pulled her car to the side of the road in front of an A-frame home settled into a grove of trees. Daniel Adams had a pretty piece of property with a tire swing out front and a small bike with training wheels on the front step. Wait—a tire swing and a bike? There’d been nothing in the file about children. As she pondered the potential ramifications of this, a little girl opened the front door of Daniel’s home. She was wearing denim overalls and a yellow T-shirt. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders and her bangs were cut in a straight line above big, wistful eyes.

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Sandy got out of the car to talk to her. As she neared, the little girl kept hold of the front door handle. Worried the girl might be nervous of strangers, Sandy stopped several feet short of the front step. “Hi, I’m Sandy Darby. I have some business to talk about with Daniel Adams. Is he your daddy?” “Yes, but he’s at work right now. He should be home soon.” Her serious tone was undermined by a cute lisp. The little girl looked like she was only five or six years old. “Are you alone?” “Mrs. Winnie is looking after me. But she fell asleep.” She lowered her voice. “She’s really old.” “Old” could be anything from thirty to one-hundred-and-three to this little girl. “I’m not supposed to go outside when Mrs. Winnie is napping. And I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. But you could sit over there and wait for my dad.” She pointed to a hammock, hardly visible in the trees beyond the tire swing. “I could make you some iced tea if you’re thirsty.” Sandy had some young cousins to judge by and this little girl sounded very mature for her age. “Thank you, that would be very nice.” Just as the little girl had disappeared inside, her father drove up, parking his pick-up right behind Sandy’s car. Daniel looked a little more tired and dusty than he had at lunch, but she felt the same stirring of attraction at the sight of him. She doubted he had the same reaction to seeing her. In fact, he looked rather annoyed.

Chapter Four “I thought you’d be back in Boston by now.” Daniel’s eyes swept over Sandy, and though his glance was brief, she felt like he saw right through her in that short second. It took some effort to keep her voice light. “I figured I might as well hang around. In case you changed your mind.” He was about to reply when his daughter came out of their house with the promised glass of iced tea. She immediately passed the glass to Sandy. For the first time Sandy was able to see what happiness looked like on Daniel Adams’s face as he quickened his steps toward his little girl then swept her up and gave her a hug. “I didn’t tell the stranger my name, Daddy,” she was quick to explain. “Even though she looks really nice.” A dimple popped up in one of Daniel’s cheeks. “Good girl, Ruth. Let me introduce you so she isn’t a stranger anymore.” “She already told me her name,” Ruth said before turning to Sandy and earnestly holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Darby.” Sandy took the little hand in hers. “You can call me Sandy, Ruth. And thank you very much for the iced tea. It’s delicious.” “I gather Mrs. Winnie is sleeping?” Daniel said. His daughter nodded. “Go see if you can wake her, okay? We’ll just be a minute out here.”

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Sandy felt oddly disappointed that he wasn’t inviting her inside. He waited until the front door was closed before giving her his attention. All the happiness and kindness left his face, along with the charming dimple. “Nothing personal, Ms. Darby, but our business is concluded. I didn’t expect to see you again.” He was right. This wasn’t personal. So why did his rejection feel that way to her? “Sandy,” she corrected. “I realize my news came as a shock to you. I thought once you had a chance to think the situation over, you might change your mind.” “I’m a reasonable person…Sandy.” He fairly choked on her name before continuing. “I’m open to new facts and sometimes, when I hear them, I do change my mind. But nothing you say is going to change my mind about this. I don’t want any of the Wheeler’s money. Not now. Not ever.” “Maybe I should come by tomorrow, after you’ve had an opportunity to think this through.” Annoyance flashed over his face. “Why are you so anxious for me to take this money?” “My clients would like to see this matter settled. That’s all.” She wondered what he would say if she told him the Wheelers were afraid he might come after them for more. He’d really be angry then. “Have you spoken to the Wheelers since our meeting at noon?” “Yes,” she admitted. “I spoke briefly to Everett Wheeler.” “Everett Wheeler,” he repeated softly. “So that would be Zoey’s dad?” “Yes.” “He must have had lots of questions about Zoey. He’s probably wondering how long she was ill and whether she suffered. And I’m sure he must have been concerned about his granddaughter.” The sardonic edge in Daniel’s voice told Sandy that he knew Everett Wheeler hadn’t had any of these questions or concerns. All he’d cared about was the money. It occurred to her that she ought to say something in defense of her client. “I don’t think he knows about Ruth.” “And whose fault is that?” Daniel took a step toward her. Up close he seemed taller, his chest and arms more muscled than she’d realized. Daniel Adams did not have the body of a teacher, that was for sure. “How can you work for a man like that?” he asked. “Are you that sort of person, too, Sandy Darby? Someone who only cares about dollars and cents?”

*** Daniel’s question put Sandy on the defensive. “My association with the Wheeler family is purely business,” she said stiffly. A little breeze stirred then, undermining her professional tone by rustling her skirt and drawing his eyes to her legs. He forced his gaze upwards, only to notice the smooth skin of her face. He suddenly felt a long-forgotten urge. The urge to kiss a woman.

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The feeling made him cranky. He did not want to feel attraction—on any level—for the Wheeler’s lawyer. “So it doesn’t bother you that part of your paycheck comes from a man who lost interest in his own child because she wasn’t perfect,” he said. “Because she was born with a defective heart?” “You don’t know that’s what happened,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You think I’m wrong?” “I have no idea.” And neither did he. But it seemed like a fairly good guess to him. In his experience, people like the Wheelers thought money solved everything. When they came up against something that couldn’t be fixed that way— like Zoey’s heart—they didn’t know what to do. “Look, Mr. Adams, we don’t subject our clients to a morality test before we handle their legal affairs—” “Obviously.” Daniel backed away from the big-city lawyer. He had to keep reminding himself that that was what she was, because she sure didn’t look the part. Her flirty skirt, frou-frou sandals and scooped neck blouse kept screaming pretty lady. And he was trying hard not to listen. Since Zoey’s death he hadn’t had these feelings for any woman. But after a year, he told himself it was natural that his libido would return. Zoey herself would have been the last person to deny him happiness after she was gone. But not with this woman. He had a young daughter. A home and a job in Squam Lake. Sandy Darby from Boston just didn’t fit into the picture. “You’re rather judgmental for a guy who’s being offered a lot of money with no strings attached,” Sandy said. “You think?” He glanced toward his house to make sure Ruth wasn’t near any open windows. Deliberately keeping his voice quiet he said, “Let me guess why Everett Wheeler called you this afternoon. He’s worried I’m going to get greedy and want a bigger piece of the family pie.” He could tell right away that he’d guessed correctly. Did this woman have no idea how badly her eyes gave her away? “Maybe so,” she acknowledged. “But can you blame him? Most people in your situation would want exactly that.” “I presume you’re speaking from experience? If those are the sorts of people you meet in your business, maybe it’s time you found a different career.” She stared right back at him with no comment. “At any rate, you can tell the Wheelers that their money is safe. I’ve got my daughter, a comfortable home and a job that allows me to make a useful contribution to society. I’m not interested in a penny of theirs.” She sighed. “I can accept that you don’t want the money for yourself. But have you thought about Ruth? A million dollars could pay for a first-rate education.” “Even Harvard doesn’t cost a million dollars. And you may be surprised to hear this, but I’m already saving for Ruth’s education. Zoey and I opened a special account the year she was born.” She threw up her hands. “Nothing I say is going to change your mind, is it?”

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“You’ve got it. Now, you’d better start driving if you want to make Boston before dark.” “I’m not going to Boston.” “Sandy,” he said, using the particularly patient tone he resorted to with students who just couldn’t get it. “I’m not signing those papers.” “I understand. That’s not why I’m staying.” “Oh?” “I really like it here. So I decided to buy a cottage. Tomorrow I’m helping Mrs. Fitzgerald with her packing. She’s says I can have possession by the end of the week.”

Chapter Five “You bought a cottage? Here in Squam Lake?” Daniel wondered if the long-legged lawyer from Boston was crazy. She’d only arrived in town that morning, for a business meeting with him, and eight hours later she’d purchased a major piece of real estate? Talk about impulsive. “Do you know the Fitzgerald place?” she asked. “It’s a nice piece of land,” he conceded. “And they just put a new roof on the cottage a few years ago.” He’d talked to Lillian Fitzgerald just the other week. She’d told him she was selling, but just hadn’t found the right buyer. The upkeep had been daunting for her since her husband died and she didn’t use the place much now that her daughter was grown and living in L.A. “Do you think it’s a good investment?” “Probably. Waterfront property is almost always a safe buy if you can afford it. But do you always make important decisions like this at the drop of a hat?” She could have at least taken one night to think about it. “I don’t know. This is the first major purchase I’ve ever made.” “Your car?” He looked pointedly at the bright green PT Cruiser. It wasn’t a cheap model. “Technically not mine. I lease. And I live in an apartment, so I’ve never bought a home.” She shivered, whether from nerves or excitement, he couldn’t tell. It couldn’t be the cold. Though the sun had begun to set, the summer air was still very warm. “There’s no one from home that you’d have liked to inspect the place? Maybe your father…or boyfriend?” “My dad lives in Florida. And there is no boyfriend. Not as of last weekend.” So… Sandy Darby was available. The knowledge made his mouth go dry and his palms sweat. Plus, she was moving to Squam Lake. Or, at least she’d be spending some holidays here. And he’d just finished telling himself that he was never going to see her again. That there was no way she could possibly fit into his life. So he shouldn’t care that she was available, living close by and had a smile that made his heart skip a beat—or two. “It’s a big step, I know, but it feels so right. I loved this town as soon as I stepped foot here. Plus, everyone’s so friendly.”

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“Everyone? How many people could you possibly have met in a single day?” She listed a bunch of names including Tyler’s fiancé, Allison and Cliff from the gas station. “Without exception, every person I’ve met has been so friendly. Well.” She hesitated and looked at him uncertainly. “Almost everyone.” He realized she was talking about him. Maybe he had been a little hard on her. Like blaming her for having clients like the Wheelers. That had been rather unfair. “And someone did inspect the property,” she continued. “Me. I even climbed up the ladder to take a look at the new roof.” “You climbed a ladder in that outfit?” He wished he’d been there to see it. Then again, it was better he hadn’t. His imagination needed no encouragement where Sandy Darby’s legs were concerned. “As far as I could tell, everything is in wonderful shape except for the carpets.” She wrinkled her nose. “They will have to go. And soon.” “What do you want to replace them with?” “Tiles make the most practical choice for a home next to water and sand. Don’t you think?” He agreed it made sense, but her question made him uncomfortable. Clearly she had seen the back of his truck full of the marble slabs he’d been laying for Tyler and was hoping he would offer to do her job, too. But spending more time than necessary with this woman was clearly dangerous. She’d probably keep badgering him about that damned million dollars. And is that the only temptation you’re afraid of? Of course it wasn’t. Sandy was too attractive for any man’s peace of mind, let alone one who had suddenly found himself filling the role of single father. Maybe if Ruth was older he could afford distractions like flirty dresses and long, slender legs, but his baby girl was only five. And he was all she had now. She frowned, sensing his reluctance. “Mrs. Fitzgerald thought you might be able to do the job for me. But maybe Tyler has you booked for the entire summer?” “No,” he admitted. “I should be finished with his show home by the end of the week.” The excited smile returned to her face. “So you could start Monday? That would be perfect!” Wait a minute…he hadn’t agreed to help her out. “We’ll need to pick out tiles. I was thinking terra-cotta.” She seemed so jubilant. Did he really need to turn her down? She’d probably be back in Boston by the time he started the work, anyway. “Terra-cotta’s a good choice. That’s what we used in our kitchen. I have some samples in my office.” “Oh, that’s great.” She hesitated. “Could I see them? If it’s not an imposition, that is. I just want to start as soon as possible.” He shrugged. Why not get it over with? Once she’d selected the tile she wanted, he’d be able to do the job without any further contact with her. As he opened the front door, he almost ran into Minnie on her way out. Or had she been eavesdropping on their conversation? If so, she didn’t let on that she’d heard a word.

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“I didn’t know you were having company, Daniel. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to start your dinner.” She never did on those afternoons when she took a nap, which seemed to be happening more frequently lately. “Don’t worry about dinner. Ruth and I can manage. And Ms. Darby isn’t company. She’s hiring me to install tile flooring in her new cottage.” Minnie looked from Sandy back to him and spying the matchmaking gleam in the babysitter’s eyes, he quickly ushered her out the door before she had a chance to say anything else. Once she was gone, he turned back to Sandy, who was examining the tiles in the hallway. “You might as well take a look in the kitchen, too. It’s that way.” He pointed. When she began to slip off her sandals, he shook his head. “Keep them on.” He was a little embarrassed—he hadn’t swept in awhile and he tracked in a lot of dust and dirt from the construction site. He could see that the kitchen counter was a mess, too. Minnie hadn’t washed up the dishes from lunch. Now he was really sorry he’d invited Sandy inside. Maybe he should take her to his office instead. At least that was one room that was guaranteed to be tidy. But Sandy had already found Ruth in the kitchen. “That was awesome iced tea. Thank you.” Sandy set her empty glass on the counter with the other dirty dishes. “You’re welcome.” Ruth was standing on a step ladder so she could reach the cupboard where they stored dry goods. She looked over at him as he entered the room. “Daddy, can we have pasta for dinner?” “Sure.” It was what they usually had when Minnie didn’t prepare anything else. He supposed he should make more of an effort with their meals. But Ruth loved pasta. And it was easy. “This is a beautiful kitchen,” Sandy said as she looked around. He looked, too, trying to see the place from her point of view. Would she notice the warm colors he and Zoey had chosen for the walls? The craftsmanship of the maple cabinets? Or would her eyes be drawn to the clutter on the kitchen table? The dust on the Tiffany light-fixture Zoey had picked out from a rough and tumble garage sale? But when he turned his gaze back to Sandy, he found that her focus was now preoccupied by Ruth. “I found the ones that look like bow ties, Daddy.” Ruth set the pasta box on the counter then turned to climb down the ladder while Sandy held it steady. “You sure know your way around the kitchen, Ruth. Do you always help your Daddy with the cooking?” She nodded. “We’re a team.” Daniel brushed the top of her head, affectionately. “That’s right. Nothing we can’t handle together, right, Ruth?” Sandy didn’t seem like she was in a big hurry to talk about the tiles and he wanted to get dinner going for Ruth, so he reached over his daughter’s head to snag the big pot. After filling it with water and a dash of salt, he put it on the rear burner to boil. Meanwhile, Sandy was examining the finer points of his tiling job. “I love the pattern you made in the corners.”

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With dinner started, he turned his mind back towards their business. “Why don’t I grab those samples. If you see something you like, I could place the order tomorrow and hopefully get the product for Monday.” “That sounds good.” He went to the office to get his sample box. When he returned Ruth was showing Sandy her rock collection. Seeing their two heads bent over the table, Daniel was suddenly loath to interrupt them. So he placed the box of tiles at Sandy’s feet and went to add the pasta to the water. After a couple of minutes, he told Ruth to put away the rocks and wash her hands. Sandy picked up the tiles from the ground as Ruth skipped away. Daniel grabbed a bag of carrots from the fridge and arranged some in a bowl. He was returning the bag to the crisper when Ruth rushed back into the kitchen. “Daddy, I have a great idea! Can Sandy stay for dinner?” she asked breathlessly. Before he could answer, Sandy said, “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Ruth looked so disappointed, he was about to insist that it wouldn’t be an intrusion, until it occurred to him that Sandy probably wasn’t just being polite. The house was a mess and the meal was basic at best. No doubt she was thinking she’d fare better at one of the downtown restaurants. He bristled. Maybe his home and his dinner weren’t up to Sandy’s usual standards, but he and Ruth were doing okay. He smoothed his palm over Ruth’s downcast head, then asked the lawyer, “Found any tiles you like, yet?” “This one.” She handed him a tile almost exactly like the ones at their feet. She glanced from him to Ruth, then frowned and checked her watch. “Getting late, isn’t it? If you leave me your number I’ll let you know if I can get the tiles by Monday.” She passed him her card and then, since their business was clearly concluded, he walked her to the door. It was hard not to notice the crushed look in Ruth’s eyes as Sandy said goodbye to her. At the door, Sandy paused. “Your house is charming and so is your daughter. You must be proud.” “Thanks,” he said, shortly, feeling certain that she was being condescending. After he’d closed the door behind her, he told himself that he was not disappointed that she’d clearly been in such a rush to leave. He just felt badly for Ruth’s sake. That was all.

*** Sandy didn’t want to leave Daniel Adams’s home and she didn’t think Ruth wanted her to, either. But she’d promised Everett Wheeler she would get back to him tonight and she was anxious to get the conversation over with. She didn’t expect it would go well. She waited until she was in her car to place the call. Everett answered on the first ring. “Well?” The man had a lot to learn when it came to telephone etiquette. “Mr. Wheeler, this is Sandy Darby. I just finished speaking with Daniel Adams.”

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“Good. Did you get his signature?” “I had hoped that given a few hours to think things over he would change his mind. But I’m sorry to say, he hasn’t. He still doesn’t want the money.” “That’s not acceptable.” “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t force him to take the money. I did my best to persuade him. I even tried to appeal to his fatherly instincts.” “Fatherly instincts? What do you mean?” “I pointed out that while he might not want the money for himself, he might want it for his daughter. For her education.” “Did you say ‘daughter’?” She’d wondered if the Wheelers knew about Ruth. Obviously not. “Yes. Daniel and Zoey had a little girl. She’s about five years old.” “Is she healthy?” It seemed like a caring question—until Sandy realized what he was really asking. Does she have a heart defect….like her mother? “She seems very healthy.” “A daughter. This changes things. Hold on a minute.” She heard muffled sounds over a pause of several minutes. Finally he returned to the line. “Rose and I want you to offer that man ten-million dollars.” “What?” “Ten-million dollars. In exchange his daughter comes to Boston to live and go to school. We don’t care about Adams. He can come with his daughter or not. His choice.” The prospect of going to Daniel with this offer filled her with dismay. “Mr. Adams will never go for that, Mr. Wheeler.” “You think he’d turn down ten million? How greedy is he?” “It’s not about the money. That’s not the way he thinks.” If she went to Daniel with this proposal, she would only be confirming every awful thing he thought about the Wheelers. But she could hardly tell that to one of her firm’s most important clients. “He won’t want to leave Squam Lake. And he definitely won’t be parted from his daughter.” “While I’m sure you’re an excellent judge of character, Sandy, please do your job and make the offer as instructed. You may find that ten million dollars is a better motivator than you think.”

Chapter Six Daniel Adams wouldn’t put his daughter in the clutches of his dead wife’s rich family in Boston for any sum of money. She’d only just met the man, but Sandy knew this. She knew it as clearly as she knew that her grandmother’s turkey platter, which her mother used for every holiday dinner, would one day be on her own dining room table.

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Presenting Daniel with Everett Wheeler’s offer would be tantamount to insulting him. And that was the last thing she wanted to do. She drove from Daniel and Ruth’s house to the inn where she’d booked a room for the night. At the front desk she asked if she could extend her stay, then went upstairs and left a message on her boss’s phone explaining that she was going to be taking some holiday time. First, she’d help Mrs. Fitzgerald pack up her belongings. Then she was going to transform that cute little cottage into the perfect weekend retreat. From now on, rather than date disappointing men, she was going to spend her free time here, surrounded by nature, in peace and quiet. And Daniel? No. Why had she even thought that? Daniel Adams had nothing to do with her decision to buy property here. She needed a change, that was all. And if it turned out that she hated country living, well, no harm done. As Daniel had admitted, you couldn’t go wrong buying lakefront property. She’d sell the cottage, pocket her profit, and move on.

*** Daniel couldn’t sleep that night. The revelation about Zoey’s family being alive and rich and living in Boston was one thing. But what haunted him even more was that damned lawyer from Boston…he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Remembering the way her skirt had swirled in the wind. Her smooth skin. Full, kissable lips… He couldn’t believe she’d bought a cottage so impulsively. There were lots of lakes in New England. Why did she have to pick Squam Lake? And why had he offered to install tiles for her? It was her enthusiasm that had reeled him in. The sparkle in her eyes and her infectious smile. After Zoey’s long illness and a year of grieving, he simply hadn’t been able to resist her happiness. It didn’t mean anything more than that, he assured himself as he headed for work after breakfast. He decided to stop by the Fitzgerald cottage to get some measurements—after all, it was practically on the way to Tyler’s show home. He followed a curve in the road and spotted the steeply-pitched roof of the Fitzgerald’s cottage through the trees. And the bright green of Sandy’s PT Cruiser. She was here early. He hesitated, then turned into the lane and parked a few yards behind her car. After he’d turned off the ignition, Sandy emerged from the cabin carrying a big box. She paused when she saw his truck and he climbed out of the cab. “Hey.” “Daniel?” She looked casual today in jeans and a tank top. And no, he hadn’t over-estimated how pretty she was. For a second he couldn’t find the words to speak. Finally, he managed to put together a simple question. “Can I help with that?” “I’m piling the stuff Mrs. Fitzgerald doesn’t want over there.” She pointed to some boxes and black garbage bags by the garage. “We have a truck booked to take this to a Goodwill Center tomorrow.” He took the box from her and stacked it with the others. When he was done, Sandy was still standing there, head tilted to one side. “I phoned about that tile you liked,” he said quickly. “They have it in stock. I thought I’d take a few measurements right now so I’d know how many to order.”

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“Oh.” She seemed surprised, as if she’d expected him to say something else. “That shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll ask Mrs. Fitzgerald to make sure she doesn’t mind.” He waited a moment while she went back into the house. Soon she was back, nodding. “Come on in.” It didn’t take him long to get the measurements he needed. He was impressed with the shape of the cottage and told Mrs. Fitzgerald she should have driven a harder bargain. The older lady chuckled. “What’s money to a woman my age? It’s more important to me that the house belongs to someone who loves it. A young person who can imprint her own history on the place.” She glanced from Sandy to him, then back again. “Children are the heart of any home. I’m sure you both know that.” Then she excused herself, returning to her packing in the master bedroom. Sandy smiled. She seemed a little embarrassed. “That was a little obvious.” “Yeah. But she has a point—I feel that way about Ruth, anyway.” “Did you ever consider having more children?” “I wanted to. So did Zoey. But her first pregnancy put a terrible strain on her heart. We didn’t dare risk another.“ Actually, Zoey had wanted to and he’d talked her out of it. There had been times he’d wondered if Zoey would still be alive today if he hadn’t agreed to their first child, either. There was no way to know the answer. At any rate, he couldn’t regret the way things had turned out. Ruth had been such a blessing to both of them. “That must make you even more grateful to have Ruth.” “It does,” he agreed. “What about you? Do you plan on having a family?” She laughed. “I’d have to meet the right guy first.” Sandy wandered out of the house to the porch. He followed, closing the door behind himself. Two wicker chairs were positioned to take advantage of the view and she sank into one of them. She looked good there. Like she belonged. He felt a yearning that was so powerful it frightened him. Why did he have these feelings for this woman? She belonged in Boston. Not here. Just because she’d bought a cottage didn’t change a thing about that. “It’s good that you came when you did,” she said. “I could tell Mrs. Fitzgerald needed a minute to herself. Packing up this place is hard for her.” He wasn’t surprised that Sandy would be concerned about an elderly woman’s feelings. He’d already guessed she had a soft heart. “Sorry about last night,” he said gruffly. “Ruth putting you on the spot and inviting you to dinner. I’m sure you found something much better in town.” “Are you kidding? I would have loved to stay. But I had a call I had to make.” What call was that, he almost asked. But he didn’t want to know. There’d been a wistful look on her face when she’d said she would have loved to stay. And that dreamy sheen in her eyes was his undoing.

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He closed the gap between them and held out his hand. Without hesitation she put hers into it. He pulled and she stood. Face to face, he searched for answers in her eyes. Did she feel it, too? This crazy, inexplicable attraction? It was something he hadn’t expected to experience again. Not after Zoey. But it was happening and he couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard he tried. He studied her face. The sweep of her lashes, the light pink of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. She sighed. Lowered her eyes. Ran her tongue along the line of her luscious lips. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why didn’t you go back to Boston, damn you?” For an answer, she tilted her face towards his. Slowly he lowered his head until their lips met. Pleasure gripped him like a bolt from the sky. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her skin, then held her tighter. Her lips parted with his, and their kiss turned deeper, hotter. Oh God, he’d forgotten about this, how good it could feel. Sandy was a strong, healthy, passionate woman. Desire ran through his veins like wildfire, inflaming his whole body. He struggled for control. With effort, he loosened his hold on her. Transferred his kisses from her mouth, to her cheek, then to the lobe of her ear. “That right guy you were talking about. What’s he like, Sandy?” She swallowed. Her gaze lowered to his lips, then back to meet his eyes. “He’d be kind. But also strong.” “Would he have to be rich?” “I don’t care about that. I just want someone who will be there for me. His number one priority couldn’t be his mother, or his hobby or his job.” He assumed she was referring to her exes with that list. But it still hit him hard. Not that he blamed her for wanting to be number one with the man she loved. But for him, number one had to be Ruth. Slowly he released his hands from her waist. He could see a question forming in her eyes, but a thump from inside the house pried them apart. “Sandy?” Mrs. Fitzgerald’s voice carried through the screen door. “I finished with another box.” Sandy’s smile was a little shaky. “I’ll be right there,” she promised. Then she turned back to him. “Are we still on for Monday?” “Count on it,” he said. But he wished he could ask her to count on a lot more.

Chapter Seven By the end of the week, Mrs. Fitzgerald was all moved out of the cottage and happily en route to visit her daughter in L.A. Sandy had the weekend to strip out the old carpet in preparation for the new tiles. But on Saturday the already-warm temperatures spiked even higher. After a morning of hard work, she decided to take the afternoon off and head to town. Anxious to pick up some new things for her cottage, she headed for “The Perfect Thing.” Though Allison only worked every other weekend, she happened to be in the shop. Sandy was excited to tell her about buying the cottage and her plans for decorating. Allison liked her plans and contributed several inspired ideas for updating the place. But Sandy could tell something was bothering her. After a few minutes she noticed Alison wasn’t wearing her ring. “Did something happen between you and Tyler?”

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Allison nodded and her eyes teared. “I broke off the engagement.” “I’m so sorry!” “Everyone’s furious at me. Our friends. My father. And Tyler. But as the wedding date grew closer, I was getting so nervous. I finally realized that I just couldn’t go through with it.” “You poor thing. You want to grab an ice cream and talk?” Allison looked grateful for the suggestion and the employee she had helping her gave an enthusiastic endorsement to the plan. Sandy and Allison ended up spending the rest of the day together. Sandy listened to the entire story of Allison and Tyler’s relationship. She reassured Allison that she’d done the right thing. “You wouldn’t want to walk down the aisle feeling like you might be making a mistake.” They ended up at Sandy’s new cottage where they shared dinner and a bottle of wine. By the end of the evening Sandy felt as if she had a new friend. On Sunday, she woke up early so she could finish removing the rest of the carpet before the day became too warm. A couple of times her cell phone rang but she didn’t answer it. Everett Wheeler had been trying to reach her for days now. She knew he wanted feedback on his latest offer to Daniel. But she hadn’t found the nerve to tell Daniel about the ten-million-dollar proposal. Since their kiss the other day, she hadn’t heard a word from him and she didn’t want to be the first to initiate contact. Not after the way he’d pulled away from her. When she’d said she wanted to be number one, she hadn’t meant to the exclusion of children. But she’d seen in his eyes, in his withdrawal—that was how he’d interpreted her. As he’d told her the other day, he and his daughter were a team. There was no room, apparently, for anyone else.

*** Monday morning Sandy’s phone rang before eight-o’clock. She assumed it was Mr. Wheeler again and almost didn’t answer. But on the third ring, she stole a look at the call display and saw Daniel’s name. She turned it on. “Hello?” “Hey, Sandy, I’m glad I caught you. I’ve got a little problem here. Minnie can’t make it to work today, so I have no one to look after Ruth.” “No problem—bring her with you.” She checked the thermometer in the hall. Seventy-seven degrees already. From the looks of the sun outside, they were in for another relentless scorcher. “Tell her to bring her bathing suit. I don’t have air conditioning.” He hesitated a moment. “Maybe I’ll bring mine, too. In case you give me time for breaks.” She could hear the teasing smile in his voice. “I’ll think about it,” she said, before hanging up.

*** Ruth and Daniel arrived about twenty minutes later. Ruth had a backpack full of extra clothing, puzzles, books and crafts. Daniel laid out a blanket for her under a tree near the side yard where he planned to cut the tiles.

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Within minutes Ruth had pulled out a coloring book and crayons and was earnestly at work. “Don’t worry. She won’t get in your way,” Daniel said. “She’s used to amusing herself.” “I wasn’t worried.” Sandy had decided to clean the screens in the front porch. That way, she and Daniel wouldn’t be tripping over each other inside the cottage. She worked for an hour then stopped to offer Daniel a cold drink and to check on Ruth. The little girl had moved on to making necklaces. She had a jar filled with beads and lots of yarn to string them on. “That’s pretty. Do you have enough beads to make one for me?” Ruth’s face lit up. “I’ve made lots for Daddy, but he only wears them for a little while then takes them off and puts them in a drawer.” “Beads aren’t really a guy’s thing, are they?” Sandy sat cross-legged on the blanket next to the little girl. “What’s your favorite color?” “Green.” “I’ll use lots of those.” Ruth had excellent hand-eye coordination and soon had a long line of beads on the yarn. When she was done, Sandy put the string of beads on her ankle and asked Ruth if she’d like a tour of the cottage. They finished their tour in the kitchen so Sandy could make a snack. She could see Daniel keeping an eye on them from a distance. Ruth went back to her crafts under the tree and Daniel caught Sandy alone in the kitchen. He was dusty now and there were damp patches of sweat on his gray T-shirt. His gaze slid down her body. She would have sworn he was checking her out. And liking what he saw. But he frowned as he spotted the anklet Ruth had made her. “You don’t need to entertain her, you know.” “We’re having fun.” Ruth had such a serious demeanor about her. Much too mature for a five-year-old. Sandy had taken it as a personal challenge to hear her giggle before the day was through. Come to think of it, a little giggling wouldn’t hurt Daniel, either. “It’s about time we jumped into the lake. Are you up for it?” “Not a good time to stop right now. Maybe later.” He turned to walk out the door and this time she let her gaze slide down his body. “The jeans look good. But you must be hot.” Heat sparked in his eyes. The kind of heat that had nothing to do with solar radiation. “Can’t wear shorts when you’re laying tile, Sandy.” He opened the screen, taking a last, long look at her legs before heading back to work. She really needed to cool off now. “Ruth?” she called out the open window. “Let’s put on our bathing suits. It’s time to hit the lake.” She heard a squeal of excitement then the banging of the screen door as Ruth raced inside. Five minutes later they were both on the dock in their bathing suits. Sandy felt a little self-conscious about her white skin. Little Ruth was as brown as a roasted peanut.

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“I’m a good swimmer,” she told Sandy. Then she jumped off the end of the dock to prove it. Sandy went right in after her. The water wasn’t over her head here, but it would be over Ruth’s. She need not have worried though. Ruth popped up in the water like a duck and started treading water. “Wow, where did you learn to swim like that?” “Daddy taught me.” They took turns jumping off the dock and then held a mock diving competition, which Ruth won hands down. In her head, Sandy was compiling a list of water toys she would buy the next time she was in town. A beach ball, a pair of flippers, some sort of floating toy, or maybe a rubber dingy. They would come in handy when her cousins from Boston came to visit. And hopefully, Ruth and Daniel would stop by now and then, too…. The next thing she knew there was a great splash in the water just a few feet away from her. “What?” She cleared her eyes, frantically looking for Ruth. The little girl was floating on her back, right where she’d been five seconds ago, laughing. “Daddy, you made Sandy all wet.” Daniel shot out of the water and for a second Sandy caught a glimpse of his muscled chest and long, lean torso. Then he was under the water, nipping at Ruth’s toes and making her giggle. It was a wonderful sound. Though serious, Ruth truly was a happy little girl, Sandy realized, even though she’d lost her mother so young. She had to give Daniel credit for that. He really was unlike any other man she’d met…. He was also an exceptional swimmer and seemed to lose his reserved demeanor in the water. They all played in the water until Sandy, exhausted, hauled herself up onto the dock. She grabbed one of towels she’d brought out from the house and spread it over the weathered wood. The warm sun felt heavenly on her chilled skin as she settled down. Daniel and Ruth were still cavorting in the lake. To Sandy their voices and laughter were like happy music. She smiled as she recalled times she’d spent at play with her own parents. Sandy must have dozed because the next thing she knew, something was tickling her arm. She opened her eyes to find Daniel sprawled on a towel next to hers. “Where’s Ruth?” she asked. “She was hungry so I gave her a sandwich. She’s sitting under the tree. Don’t worry. I can see her from here. I think we wore her out because she asked if she could look at her books for awhile.” “You guys certainly wore me out.” She sat up and checked her skin to make sure the sunscreen she and Ruth had put on in the house was still doing its job. Daniel, she noticed, was even more tanned than his daughter. He had beautiful, smooth skin and just the right amount of soft, tufted brown hair on his chest. “Checking out my washboard abs?” She laughed, uneasily. “I feel so sickly pale compared to you and Ruth.” “You’ll get tanned soon enough if you spend your holidays and weekends out here.” He sat up, too and reached over to touch the anklet. His fingers brushed her skin, the contact just enough to make her long for more.

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“But I have to say,” he continued. “Your skin looks just fine the way it is.” Their gazes connected and she felt the same powerful need for him that she’d experienced the other day when he’d kissed her. But he couldn’t kiss her now. Not with his daughter in sight. She cleared her throat nervously, trying to think of a safe subject to discuss. “Did you hear about Allison and Tyler?” He drew back a little then nodded. “Yes. The wedding is off. Tyler’s pretty upset. I haven’t spoken to Allison, but I gather she’s the one who called it quits.” “I saw her at the store on Saturday. She’s pretty shaken up, too.” She tilted her head, trying to see Daniel’s eyes. “Did they make a good couple?” “Sure. But you can never tell from the outside looking in. It’s hard to find the right person. But when you do, you know it.” Sandy realized too late that she’d brought up the wrong subject. A minute ago Daniel had been smiling, they’d been having fun. Now she was pretty sure he was thinking of Zoey. Would he ever be able to move on? Or had he loved his wife too much? She was working up her courage to ask him about her, when a vehicle drove up in the lane. “Is that a Porsche?” Daniel asked. Oh no. She had a bad feeling about this. She turned to look then groaned as a well-dressed couple stepped out of the car. Everett and Rose Wheeler had decided to take matters into their own hands.

Chapter Eight “Is that who I think it is?” Daniel asked. He eyed the parked Porsche and the formally-dressed couple in their fifties standing beside it. “I’m afraid so.” Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were conversing animatedly, undoubtedly trying to decide how to deal with the situation. They probably hadn’t expected to find their lawyer cavorting with the enemy like this. Sandy tied her towel around her waist, wishing she had a cover-up for her bathing suit close at hand. Damn it, why hadn’t she told Daniel about Everett’s last offer? She’d never guessed the Wheelers would actually show up like this, out of the blue. Maybe avoiding those phone calls hadn’t been the smartest plan. They must have asked her boss where she was. “I guess I’d better go get rid of them.” Daniel pulled his T-shirt over his head and straightened his shoulders as he mentally prepared to meet the parents of his deceased wife for the first time. “Wait a minute.” She took hold of his arm. She couldn’t let him go in cold—she had to warn him. “The last time Everett Wheeler called me, he had a new offer for you. I didn’t tell you about it because I was certain you’d be insulted.” His eyes went hard and focused. “What was the offer?” “Ten million,” she said bluntly. Daniel cringed. “And in exchange?” “They want Ruth to move to Boston. Either with you, or not.”

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Daniel’s complexion faded to a ghostly gray. “They actually think I’d sell my daughter to them?” “They wouldn’t put it that way, but I agree, that’s what it amounts to. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the offer. Why I couldn’t tell you.” “I wish you had. At least then I’d be prepared.” He eyed the Wheelers distrustfully. It appeared they had just noticed Ruth, still sitting under the tree, watching them curiously. As Rose moved tentatively toward her granddaughter, Daniel’s jaw tightened. Sandy could feel the anger radiating off him. “I’m sorry, Daniel. You’re right. I should have said something.” He nodded without looking at her then strode up the path toward his in-laws.

*** “Everett and Rose Wheeler? I’m Daniel Adams. I was Zoey’s husband. And this is our daughter, Ruth.” He’d gone straight to his daughter and now had his hand protectively on her head as she faced her grandparents for the first time. He had no doubt that these were indeed Zoey’s parents. He recognized Zoey’s eyes in her father’s face and her delicate features had been just like her mother’s. Both Everett and Rose shook his hand. As Rose bent to speak to Ruth, Daniel fixed his gaze on Everett. “We need to talk.” Everett eyed him a moment then nodded. Daniel led him up the road so Ruth wouldn’t overhear. “Sandy told me about your offer.” The other man’s face didn’t reveal emotion of any kind. “And…?” “I’m not selling my daughter for any price.” “That isn’t what we meant—“ “Bull. Since the moment you found out Zoey had died and that she’d had a husband, all you could think about was how to pay me off. Then you discovered Zoey had a daughter and now you want to buy your rights to her.” Everett shook his head, but Daniel wasn’t prepared to let the man argue with him. “It’s all about money to you, isn’t it? Well, Zoey wasn’t like that. She just wanted someone to love her. I gave her that, in case you’re interested.” Guilt flashed over Everett’s face. He cleared his throat. “Her mother and I tried—” “Stop. I’m not interested in your excuses for the way things turned out. The fact is Zoey walked away from your money. She didn’t want it. And if she’d didn’t want it, then neither do I. Not now. Not ever.” “You may change your mind one day. That money could do a lot for Ruth.” “Ruth has everything she needs. Except grandparents. If you’re interested in doing something about that, then I suggest you invest something other than your money.”

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*** Rose Wheeler’s attempts to talk to her granddaughter were so awkward, Sandy felt compelled to smooth things over by suggesting Ruth make the older woman an anklet like hers. Rose swallowed hard at the idea, but eventually nodded. Now, as Daniel and Everett rejoined the group, Sandy noticed Everett’s gaze drop to the sight of the yarn and glass-bead anklet next to his wife’s classic Manolo Blahnik sandal. A smile flickered briefly on his wooden face. Sandy took that as a good sign. Nervously, she checked Daniel’s expression. His jaw was still set firmly, but he didn’t seem as angry as before. She kept her eyes on him, hoping he would look her way, but he seemed determined not to do that. They’d been getting along so well just minutes ago. Had she spoiled everything by not telling him about Everett’s proposal? She longed for a few minutes alone with him. But first she had to deal with the Wheelers. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. “May I offer anyone some iced tea?” The relief on everyone’s face made it clear she’d done the right thing. She invited them to the porch where she set out a pitcher of iced tea and glasses. She opened a box of biscuits and set them on a plate, too, as well as a bowl of fresh grapes. Conversation was stilted for a while, but finally Daniel took charge of the situation. “Ruth, I know this is going to come as a big surprise, but Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were your mom’s parents.” Ruth processed that for several long seconds. Then her eyes widened. “So they are my grandma and grandpa?” Both Wheelers seemed choked by her words. Rose managed a smile and said quietly, “Yes. Something else you may not know: Zoey named you for my mother, her grandmother, Ruth.” Sandy could tell this was news to Daniel, too. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked from his daughter to his new-found mother-in-law. The discovery that she had grandparents seemed to loosen something in Ruth. She began to chat gregariously and both Everett and Rose were absorbed by everything she had to say. When the pitcher of iced tea ran dry, Sandy went to the kitchen to refill it. Daniel followed. He watched her mix up the new batch of tea with his arms crossed over his chest. It took her several moments to work up the courage, but finally she asked, “How did things go between you and Everett?” “He offered me the money and I told him again that I wasn’t interested. That I would never be interested in his cold, hard cash. If he wanted a relationship with his granddaughter, though, that was something I was prepared to encourage.” She set down the pitcher and looked deeply into his eyes. He knew who he was and what was important. And he never wavered. He truly was a remarkable man. She knew then that she’d fallen hard and fast for him. “Daniel—“ But before she could say anything else, Ruth skipped into the room. “Is the iced tea ready, yet? My grandpa is really thirsty.”

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*** The sun had set by nine-o’clock, but the air was still heavy and hot. After such a crazy, busy, emotional day, Daniel figured he ought to be exhausted. But he’d never felt less like sleeping. The Wheelers had left an hour ago after an impromptu picnic dinner. Ruth had just fallen asleep, curled up next to Sandy on the blanket. He was a little surprised, but pleased at how quickly Ruth and Sandy had bonded. Maybe his little girl missed a mother in her life more than he had guessed. He reached out, thinking he was going to brush his hand over Ruth’s cheek. Instead his fingers grazed the top of Sandy’s head. Drying in the sun had turned her blond waves into a mass of little-girl ringlets. He pulled on one of them and watched it lengthen, then spring back into shape. She opened her eyes, gently easing into a sitting position so as to not disturb Ruth. “Sorry. I must have dozed off.” She used a corner of the blanket to cover Ruth’s shoulders. She had natural motherly instincts. Unlike Rose Wheeler. Though she’d tried hard with Ruth, it had been clear to him that nurturing young children was not her forte. “You were great today,” Sandy said. “You totally outmaneuvered Everett Wheeler. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before.” “It’s easy when you know your own bottom line.” “And it would have been easier still if I’d warned you ahead of time what they were up to.” “Hey. It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. You guessed what my reaction would be and you were right.” “So you’re not upset with me?” He laughed, but softly so he wouldn’t wake Ruth. “Hardly. You were pretty great yourself, you know. You’re so good with my daughter. It’s fun to watch you together.” “I hope you don’t think I’ve been trying to replace her mother. I’ve always enjoyed children—I have a ton of younger cousins—and Ruth is an easy child to love.” “Thank you. She had so much fun today. Making that anklet with you, then playing in the water and running around. She and Zoey were close, but they were never able to share that sort of physical activity.” It would be new for him, too. To have a partner who wasn’t a virtual invalid. One who was full of energy and ideas. But also kindness and compassion. “The other day, when I kissed you…” He’d been about to ask her if it had meant to her what it had meant to him. But she was looking at him with eyes so open and trusting, he already had his answer. He leaned in to her and when she closed her eyes, he kissed her again. It was little more than a sweet taste, but it was also a promise for something more, later, when they were truly alone. “I think I fell for you the first time I saw you,” he admitted. She caught her breath. “Me, too. Oh, Daniel, me, too. But what about Zoey? Is it too soon?” “I was devoted to my wife. And I’ll always be sad she died too young. But my future, I hope, belongs to you.”

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He didn’t know how to tell her that just being around her made him feel like he was filled with the most brilliant light. But maybe some of that light spilled out of his eyes when he looked at her. He felt that it must. He touched her hair again. “How do I convince you to leave Boston and move here with us, full-time?” “Make me an offer.” Her voice was teasing, playful. “You proved today that you have remarkable negotiating skills.” What had he just said? It’s easy when you know your own bottom line. And he knew hers. She’d bared her soul the other day but he hadn’t been ready to see what was so obvious now. “You’ll always be my number one, Sandy. You and Ruth. That’s really all I have to offer.” Her answering smile was brilliant. “You have a deal, Daniel. That’s everything I need.”

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Street Life by Rochelle Alers Myles Ellison is tall, built and powerful. He’s intelligent, sexy and likes to give expensive presents. But Adina Jenkins doesn’t care. Because she isn’t going to fall in love with him. She’s going to rob him. Adina is a hustler. She seduces her targets, gets them to reveal all of their secrets and then sets them up to be taken for all that they’re worth. She feels no guilt or compunction—they’re not saints and she does what has to do. Their money is her only way out of the street life.

Chapter One “Open the door. It’s the phone!” Adina Jenkins flung open the bedroom door to find her daughter holding the cordless phone in one hand and the television remote in the other. “Who is it, Jameeka?” “I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Glaring at the fourteen-year-old, she rested her hands on her hips. “It’s ‘I don’t know,’” Adina corrected, “and didn’t I tell you always ask who is calling?” “I forgot.” “Why is it you don’t forget to turn on the TV?” Jameeka pushed out her lower lip. “Nana said I can watch TV.” Adina wasn’t about to get into a verbal confrontation with her grandmother. After all, it was Dora Jenkins who’d assumed the responsibility of caring for all of them. Adina had given birth to Jameeka when she was fourteen, but her mother, Bernice, had passed the child off as her own. Not long after, Bernice had disappeared without a trace, leaving Dora to hold the bag. Adina closed the door, reaching for the receiver, though she didn’t have time to talk to anyone. She had to concentrate on what she had to do later that evening. Whenever she began a new hustle she had to mentally psych herself up for the task. Cradling the receiver between her chin and shoulder, she picked up a brush and began pulling rubber-tipped bristles through her long hair. “Hello?” “What you up to?” It was Adina’s best friend, LaKeisha Robinson. “I’ve got to make a run tonight,” she told LaKeisha. “A run where?” “It’s a private party.” That’s all she intended to tell her friend. No one, other than Payne, knew what she did for a living. “Can you bring a guest?”

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“No, La, not this time. It’s by invitation only. I’ll hit you back later on in the week. I have a driver waiting downstairs to pick me up.” “Maybe we’ll hook up next weekend,” LaKeisha suggested. “I’ll call you to let you know.” “Have fun, Adina.” “Thanks.” Adina had lied to LaKeisha. There was no car service waiting for her. She would flag down a passing car to take her to a LaGuardia Airport boutique hotel. Lying came as easily to her as breathing. After all, in her line of work—as a hustler—she had to not only think quickly, but also react quickly. She’d been only seventeen when her pimp, Payne, had found her sitting on a bench outside her building, her tears mingling with the driving rain. When he’d stopped to talk to her she told him about her mother. That she hadn’t seen Bernice or heard from her in more than two months, fearing she lay dead somewhere. Sensing her vulnerability, Payne had seen her as prey, talking her into working for him to set up men who were involved in criminal activities. She’d taken to hustling like a duck to water, and over the years she’d set up more men than she could remember for her pimp to rob. And it always began with a text on her PDA—exactly like the one she’d received this morning. The text from Payne outlined the information she needed to crash a private birthday party. Staring at the full-length mirror on the closet door, Adina secured her hair with an elastic band covered by a wide black satin ribbon and studied her reflection. A black body-hugging stretch top, matching cuffed slacks and a pair of three-inch suede pumps completed her casual look. Crossing her bedroom, she picked up the all-weather, threequarter swing coat off the bed and slipped into it. She took one last glance at Payne’s text message: Assignment: Time — Sat. 3/10 — 10 p.m. — Victoria Hotel — LaGuardia Airport — Room — 612 — Myles Ellison — BK number banker — Objective: Base of Operation Deleting the message, she put the PDA into the drawer of the bedside table, then gathered a small shoulder purse and checked its contents. Adina always traveled light: keys, lip gloss, cash, a tiny tin of mints and condoms. She lived by five rules: no gambling, drugs, alcohol, cell phone and she always used her own condoms. As the illegitimate daughter of an alcoholic, substance-abusing prostitute, Adina knew she’d hustled longer than a lot of women, and because her options for surviving the street life were limited, she’d prepared for the day when she would eventually quit the game. She’d recently celebrated her tenth anniversary on the job and had made a solemn vow that this year would be her last. Hidden on a shelf in the back of her bedroom closet was a knapsack with close to twenty thousand dollars in cash, an official birth certificate and a hardearned GED certificate. Turning off the light, she walked out of the bedroom and into the living room where Jameeka and Dora sat totally engrossed in a sitcom rerun. “Mama, I’m going to make a quick run.” Her grandmother waved, but didn’t turn around. Adina took the stairwell down four flights of the high-rise building in the public housing development, walked a half-dozen blocks and flagged down a passing livery car. She gave the driver her destination, then sat back to watch the passing landscape as the Town Car left Brooklyn for Queens. The driver maneuvered up to the front of the Victoria Hotel and she got out, paying him with a generous tip. Strolling confidently across the hotel lobby, Adina walked into the elevator, punching the button for the twelfth floor. The car rose quickly, silently, the doors opening at her designated floor. There was a small crowd that had gathered outside the suite waiting for bouncers to validate their invitations.

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“I need to see your invite, Miss,” the bouncer informed Adina when it came to her turn. She stared up at the tall muscular man through her lashes, totally aware of the flirtatious gesture. “I lost it,” she lied smoothly. “Let Myles know that Adina Jenkins is here. Please,” she added when he gave her a long, penetrating stare. She didn’t have too long to wait as he passed along her request. Within minutes Myles Ellison came to the door, an expression of surprise freezing his features. He stared at Adina’s petite figure, his gaze lingering on her raven-black wavy hair that she’d pulled off her exotic face. Then he focused on her face, mesmerized by her large hazel eyes, small straight nose and full pouting mouth. His black eyebrows lifted on his dark, solemn face. “I never expected to see you here.” Adina winked at the number banker. “That’s because I’m your birthday surprise.” Myles flashed a rare smile. “That you are.” He extended his hand, his smile widening when she placed her tiny hand on his palm. “Please, come in.”

Chapter Two Myles Ellison led Adina into the suite by the hand, ignoring the curious stares directed at them. He’d obviously spared no expense hosting the celebration for what had become a milestone year for him. Unlike many of her targets, Adina knew Myles Ellison, though mostly by reputation. For more than half of his forty years of living, he’d provided the residents of several Brooklyn neighborhoods with the means of making some spare change without the knowledge of the IRS. Instead of selling nickel and dime bags of weed like most of his friends, he’d followed in his father’s footsteps and entered the world of illegel number gambling. Like his father, he started off as a runner, collecting money from people playing the numbers. But unlike his father who’d spent all of his life as a runner, Myles had risen to the rank of banker and now the runners worked for him. To ensure their loyalty when the numbers came out he gave the runners a good percentage of the take, as well as year-end bonuses. He also gave back to the community by donating turkey dinners with all the fixings to needy families at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and frequently hosted block parties. Adina had actually come face-to-face with Myles at two of those block parties. The first time they’d only exchanged a smile, but the second time Myles had come over to introduce himself. They’d talked for a while and eventually he’d offered to give her his cell number, but Adina had refused. She had an unwritten agreement with Payne that she wouldn’t get involved with any man he hadn’t arranged for her to meet. But tonight, her earlier rejection didn’t appear to be interfering with her objective as Myles pulled her against his body. Leaning down from his towering height, he pressed his mouth to Adina’s ear. “Do you mind if we go somewhere and talk where we don’t have to shout to be heard?” The sound of pumping baseline beats and voices raised in gaiety had reached ear-shattering decibels. Tilting her chin, Adina smiled and nodded. Everything was going according to plan. She’d managed to gain access to the private party and it was Myles who’d suggested he wanted to be alone with her. Most of her success had come from not telling men what she wanted from them, but from what men telling her what they wanted to do for her. When Adina had begun working for Payne, she’d found this game exciting; the risk of being caught gave her a rush akin to free-fall. But that wasn’t really why she did it. Each one had become the man who’d fathered her—a nameless, faceless man who’d slept with her drug-addicted mother for money, gotten her pregnant, then walked away after he’d gotten what he wanted from her—sex. And she told herself it was for the common good. Payne only targeted those who made their living off the backs of people whose daily existence was mired in survival. He was an ex-con who had made himself into a modern-day ghetto Robin Hood. He only stole from those who dealt in drugs, prostitution and bookmaking.

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But now, after ten years, she was tired. Tired of fawning over men, who under another set of circumstances, she never would’ve spoken to. Tired of lying and the pretense and thoroughly repulsed by those who tried to get her into their beds. Sex was always a last resort, something she avoided at all costs. It had actually been after the last time she’d had to sleep with her target that she made the decision to stop working for Payne. “We’ll talk in here,” Myles said, opening the door to an adjoining suite. The illumination from table lamps bathed the space in a warm golden glow. He closed the door behind them and then turned to face Adina. “May I take your coat?” She handed him her jacket and he went completely still as his eyes traced the outline of her petite, curvy body in the tight black outfit. His gaze moved slowly over her face, down to the velvety smoothness of her neck and shoulders and still lower to the fullness of her breasts. “Very nice,” he crooned. Lowering her lashes, Adina smiled demurely, but inwardly she cringed. “Thank you, Myles.” Still clutching her coat in one hand, Myles ran the other over his shaved head. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” she said, trying to get him to look at her face. He raised his gaze. “Remember you? I was entranced the first time I saw you in the crowd at the Bed-Sty party. At first I thought I’d conjured you up until I saw you again the following summer in East Flatbush. I had to find out who you were, so I waited until you were alone to ask if you were enjoying yourself. I also clearly remember offering you my number but you refused because you ‘don’t date’.” He smiled, showing that he hadn’t taken it too personally. “But since you’re here now, I’ll be a good host and ignore that slight. Would you like something to drink?” Adina placed her handbag on a side table. “I’ll have a ginger ale.” “Are you sure you don’t want something stronger? After all, we are celebrating my birthday.” Adina stared at the tall, dark-skinned, handsome man wearing a suit that had not come off a department store rack. “I don’t drink.” Myles shivered slightly. It was not cold in the suite—Adina was quite familiar with men’s reaction to the low, throaty sound of her voice, the sultry timbre totally incongruent to her fragile appearance. “How about weed and blow?” he asked. “I don’t do drugs either.” Growing up she’d seen her mother high and drunk so often that it’d turned her off drugs and alcohol. “Do you have any vices?” Adina gave Myles a direct stare. “I have a few,” she admitted, smiling. “I do cuss.” Walking across the room, Myles hung up her coat in a closet. “Cussin’ doesn’t count. Nowadays even little kids cuss a blue streak. Do you mind if I drink?” “No, I don’t.” Adina made her way over to a round table in a sitting area with two pull-up chairs and sat down, watching as Myles opened a wet bar. He took out chilled bottles of ginger ale and champagne. Her eyes widened appreciably when he removed his suit jacket and placed it over the back of the chair at the glass-topped

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desk. The jacket had artfully concealed a pair of broad shoulders and a muscular upper body that verified he was in peak condition. Myles made two trips to the sitting area, setting the bottles on the table along with a flute and tumbler filled with ice. He filled both glasses, waiting for Adina to take hers. She held up her glass. “I wish you a very happy birthday and many, many more.” Myles, putting the flute to his mouth, drained it in one swallow, his gaze meeting and fusing with hers. “You claim you don’t date, so exactly what is it you want from me, Adina Jenkins?

Chapter Three Adina’s expression did not change. “I should be the one asking what it is you want from me, Myles Ellison. You were the one who came over to introduce yourself to me. And you were the one who wanted to give me your number.” For a moment, Myles studied Adina with curious intent. “True that,” he admitted. “But, what I want to know is why did it take you so long to come to me?” She stared at his long, slender, manicured fingers caressing the stem of the flute. “Perhaps it took me this long to realize that I’d been dealing with the wrong men.” “What makes you believe I’m any better than the others you’ve been dealing with?” Myles asked. She looked up, her eyes widening when she saw a hint of a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. Myles Ellison didn’t look like a person who smiled often or easily, and for the second time in less than an hour Adina had gotten him to smile not once, but twice. “You’re the first man I’ve turned down who didn’t call me a bitch.” Reaching across the table, Myles placed a hand over hers. “That’s because I don’t regard women as bitches. But there has to be another reason for why you came looking for me.” Adina rested her free hand atop his, staring at the contrast of color in their skin tones. “Are you always so suspicious whenever a woman expresses an interest in you?” “Not usually, Adina, though you have to admit it’s a bit strange. Still, there’s something about you that intrigues me.” Removing her hand, she picked up her glass and took a sip of the cool, sparkling soft drink. “What is it?” “You claim you don’t date.” “I don’t…” Her words trailed off when Myles held up a hand. “I don’t care what you call it. I don’t even care why you’ve suddenly changed your mind. You’re here, and you’re offering something that I want. But if you’re going to deal with me, then you’ll have to agree to play by my rules.” Within seconds, Adina knew the man sitting across the table from her was different from the others she’d dealt with in the past. All she’d had to do was smile and they’d fallen over themselves to please her. Myles was not only older than the others she’d hustled, he was also more intelligent. She had to be careful—very careful—not to let him see through her ruse to get close to him. Her goal was to get Myles to trust her enough to disclose where he operated his bookmaking business. His territory covered the communities of Brownsville, Bedford-Stuyvesant and a portion of East Flatbush, and it could be anywhere within those boundaries.

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She flashed an attractive moue, bringing his gaze to linger on her lips. “I can’t agree to anything until you tell me the rules.” “As long as you’re with me you won’t fuck another man, or I’ll kill you both.” The natural color drained from Adina’s face, leaving it a ghastly sallow shade. It wasn’t what Myles said that stunned her as much as his tone. “Who says that I’m going to fuck you?” she whispered. “Did I say I wanted to fuck you?” Myles countered. “No, you didn’t. But your eyes betray you, Myles Ellison.” “How, Adina Jenkins?” “They told me that you want me in your bed.” A swollen silence followed her pronouncement as Adina and Myles stared at each other in a stalemate—a battle of wills. Myles was the first to break the impasse. “You’re right. I wanted you the moment I saw you. I wanted you then, and I want you now.” “I didn’t come here to be just some piece of ass. I thought you were different. But you’re not. You know nothing about me other than my name, but that doesn’t matter because all you want is to sleep with me.” “We can get to know one another after we sleep together.” Adina shook her head. “I don’t roll like that. I may be a few things, but ho isn’t one of them. I like to get to know who I’m dealing with before I open my legs. And, that’s my rule.” Leaning back in his chair, his expression changing from lust to respect, Myles eyed Adina critically. “I like your rule, Adina.” Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “You do?” He nodded. “Yes. It means that I don’t have to have you followed.” Pushing back her chair, Adina stood up and headed toward the closet to get her coat. She hadn’t figured on hooking up with a psychopath. She hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when she found her upper arm caught in viselike grip. “Let me go.” Myles swung her around with minimum effort, pulling her up close to his chest. He shook his head. “I can’t, Adina.” The initial fright she’d felt when he had mentioned having her followed disappeared as a glint of humor filled his gaze. “Don’t play with me, Myles,” she warned between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, baby, but I had to see how far I could go with you.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You went too far.” Easing her to stand between his legs, Myles lowered his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “I promise—” “I don’t want your promises,” Adina countered angrily, cutting him off. “What do you want?”

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Inwardly, Adina smiled. Her hot-and-cold routine had put the situation exactly where she wanted it—in her control. She needed this job. If she was successful, she could expect to earn enough to put her savings over the twenty thousand dollar mark. Her goal was thirty by the end of the year. If she reached it, she would be able to quit hustling altogether. She recalled a verse from Randy Crawford’s “Street Life.” I play the street life because there’s no place I can go. Street life it’s the only life I know. Street life, there’s a thousand cards to play. Street life, until you play your life away. She didn’t intend to play her life away with nothing more than memories of who she’d been or what she had to do to help out at home. Though her grandmother’s social security and the social service check for Jameeka covered rent and food, it wasn’t enough for dinner at an upscale restaurant or an occasional Broadway play or concert. The money she gave Dora from her hustling eased her cash flow, affording them a more comfortable lifestyle. But she couldn’t do it for much longer. She smiled up at Myles, answering his question with a question. “What are you willing to offer me?”

Chapter Four Myles winked at Adina. “More fun than you ever had in your life.” She had him. Basking in the power of her feminine wiles, Adina went on tiptoe and looped her arms around Myles’ neck. “Thank you.” With her body crushed to his, she could feel the effect she was having on him—the rush of his pulse, the hardening of his groin. Reaching up, Myles removed her arms from his neck, putting some space between them. “Come with me to Atlantic City next weekend.” His breath was coming in short gasps. But Adina’s heart felt like a stone in her chest when she heard Atlantic City. She’d gone there much too often with high rollers to whom she’d become eye candy. “I…I can’t Myles.” Lacing his fingers together, Myles grabbed his forehead. “What the hell is up with you?” “I…I don’t have anything to wear.” It was the only excuse she could come up with—there was no way she was going to tell him about the other men she’d hustled. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Myles pulled out a monogrammed sterling money clip, counting out ten one hundred dollar bills. He handed them to her. Smiling, he said, “Make certain you buy something a little naughty.” She’d lied—yet again. If there was one thing she didn’t need it was more clothes. Her closet was filled with skirts, slacks, blouses and dresses with designer labels. The men she’d been with always wanted her to look nice, so they either gave her money, most of which she saved or gave to her grandmother, or paid for the outfits they liked. Adina pushed the money into the pocket of her slacks, thinking of how much closer this would put her to her goal. Forcing a smile, she asked, “When are we leaving?” “Friday night. Why?” “I have to be back in time to go to church with my grandmother Sunday morning.” “If that’s the case, then we’ll come back Saturday.” Adina gave him a demure smile. She was still a little stunned that most men would rather believe a lie than accept the truth. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

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Going completely still, Myles stared at Adina under lowered lids like a hawk eyeing prey. “It’s only the beginning.” She took a step, went on tiptoe and pressed her parted lips to his. Within seconds she’d deepened the kiss, inhaling and tasting champagne on his tongue and forcing herself not to pull away when she detected his erection. “I’ve monopolized you long enough,” she said, breaking apart from him. “I’m certain your guests are wondering where you are.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, Myles picked up Adina and carried her over to a king-size bed. He placed her on the mattress, his body following hers down. “Let them wonder,” he said seconds before his mouth covered hers in a demanding kiss that robbed Adina of her breath. The crushing weight of his body and the bite of his teeth at the base of her throat sent waves of panic through Adina. But instead of fighting, she went completely still. Eyes closed, her hands curled into tight fists, and she waited for him to grasp that she was not responding to his crude lovemaking. Even if she enjoyed sex, which she didn’t, Myles Ellison would not score high on her list of competent lovers. Suddenly Myles realized Adina wasn’t kissing him back. His head came up, and he stared at her. “What’s the matter, baby?” Adina bit down on her lower lip to stop its trembling. “You’re crushing me.” Myles rolled over to lie beside her. “I’m sorry. I forgot how tiny you were.” Adina knew that her size was one of her greatest assets in her profession. There was something about being small that appealed to a man’s masculinity and prompted him to want to take care of her. Her body, voice and face made her the total package. She knew how to be sexy, though she appeared totally oblivious to her overt sensuality. But she knew that it was her ability to have intelligent conversations that made her even more alluring. Reaching for Myles’s hand, Adina laced her fingers through his. Although his hand was large, his palm broad, it was as soft as a woman’s. She turned her head to stare at his strong profile. Myles Ellison claimed classical good looks with balanced masculine features. “Are you married?” She knew her question had caught him off-guard because his fingers tightened slightly on hers before relaxing. “I was. But that was a long time ago.” “What happened?” Her throaty voice had dropped an octave. “We split after I caught her with one of my friends.” Now she knew where his distrust of women came from. “Do you have any children?” Myles shook his head. “No. We didn’t stay together long enough to have kids.” “So, you’re not a baby daddy?” Shifting on his side, Myles peered intently at Adina. “If I am, then I wouldn’t know it. No woman has ever come to me saying that I’d gotten her pregnant.”

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“Do you want children?” He shook his head again. “Not at forty. How about you?” Adina focused her gaze on his mouth. “No. I’m not the maternal type.” As they lay in each other’s arms, a comfortable silence descended until Myles broke it. “I’ll need your address so I can pick you up Friday night.” She gave him the cross streets several blocks from her housing development. “I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll have dinner around nine, take in a show, and then if you’re up to it we’ll do a little gambling.” “That sounds like fun,” she said, disentangling herself from Myles’s arms and getting up. She’d established a connection with him and set up another meeting. It was a good start. But it was time to go. She walked slowly to the closet to get her coat, well aware of Myles watching behind her. This time he didn’t stop her as she left. After all, he thought he had what he wanted. But in the end, Adina was the one who always came out on top.

Chapter Five Myles came to meet Adina as she approached the car he’d reserved to take them to Atlantic City. Folding his arms over his chest, he angled his head as he took in the sight of her. Tonight she wore a slim, black leather skirt that ended at her knees. His gaze widened as he appreciated her very sexy walk that mimicked a fashion model’s runway strut. A cold, stiff wind coming off the East River lifted her hair off her shoulders. She’d decided not to tie her hair back in a ponytail. Adina smiled at Myles, handing him her overnight bag before she kissed his cheek. “How are you?” He kissed her hair, his free arm going around her waist. “All I say is that life’s good. You know, you’ve become my good luck charm. I’ve played the same number heavily for the past three years and then two days after my birthday it came out—straight. I gave a little more than half to my mother to put away for me, and the rest is for this weekend.” The driver got out and opened the rear door for Adina. He took her bag and placed it in the trunk with Myles’s luggage. Minutes later, he maneuvered away from the curb, heading toward the Verrazano Narrows Bridge to New Jersey and the Garden State Parkway. Adina removed her coat and settled back on the leather seat. She hadn’t missed the furtive glance Myles cast in her direction when she revealed the sheer white man-tailored blouse she wore over a delicate white lace camisole. She’d thought about wearing boots, but opted for sheer black hose and her comfortable suede pumps. If she had to be on her feet for any appreciable length of time, then the heels would double with comfort and style. Inching closer to Myles, she rested her head on his shoulder. They may have gotten off to a rocky start, but she felt sure enough now with him to pretend affection. He was casually dressed in a dark gray tailored suit and a black mock-turtle cashmere sweater. His Italian slip-ons cost more than most people in her neighborhood earned in a week. Reaching across his body, Myles stroked Adina’s silky long hair. “Are you hungry, baby?” She shook her head. “No, I’m good.” The heat coming from the sedan’s vents, the soft sound of jazz coming through speakers and the security of Myles’s strong arm around her shoulders coaxed her into a state of total relaxation and she let herself go.

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They talked about the quirky people who lived in their neighborhoods, kids they’d grown up with who had gone to or were still in prison and the gentrification of many Brooklyn neighborhoods. They arrived in the Jersey gambling city at nine and, to Adina’s delight, checked into the Borgata Hotel Casino and Spa. It was a luxury casino resort located far enough from the others along the Boardwalk that she probably wouldn’t run into the regulars who’d made Atlantic City their weekend playground. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until Myles sat opposite her in the twenty-four-hour café—the Metropolitan, reading the menu. “What do you want?” Myles asked after he’d perused the menu. “I’ll have crab cakes, spicy buffalo wings and a Caesar salad as starters and prime rib as an entrée.” Myles’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Adina gave him a saucy grin. “Of course I’m kidding. I’ll have the chicken Milanese with jasmine lemon rice and creamed spinach.” He winked at her. “I’m partial to the prime rib with potatoes. Will you share half a carafe of wine with…” His words trailed off when he recalled Adina didn’t drink. “I’ll have a virgin bloody Mary.” Myles shook his head, and was still shaking it when the waiter came to take their drink and dinner selections. She could tell that he was still a bit uncertain of her motives, but she had piqued his interest enough to keep him wanting more.

*** Adina left Myles at the blackjack table. He’d given her five-hundred dollars in cash with which to gamble. Because she didn’t gamble, the money went into her purse. She spent two hours watching others drop coins into ravenous slot machines and place bets on black or red numbers of the roulette wheel. To her poker was poker, but the Borgata’s table games included four-card, three-card, Pai Gow, Texas Hold ‘em and Caribbean stud poker. She found her way back to the blackjack table and Myles. Stacks of various colored chips were stacked near his right hand. “Hey,” she whispered close to his ear. “How are you doing?” Myles didn’t look up at her at first. Instead he watched the stunned reaction of the other men toward her. Then he smiled up at her. “Real good,” he said, sotto voce. “How did you do?” he asked, this time in a normal tone. Adina frowned. “Between the slots and roulette wheel I lost everything.” Shifting on his chair, he took out his money clip and peeled off three hundreds. “Stay away from the roulette wheel. The odds always favor the house.” He patted her affectionately on her behind. “Go and have fun.” Adina pressed her mouth to his ear, then turned on her heels and walked away. It was the quickest eight hundred dollars she’d ever made. She wandered around the resort, stopping in one of the smaller restaurants to order a café mocha. It was after 1 a.m. when she returned to Myles, telling him that she was tired and wanted to return to their suite. He handed her the card key. “Did you win anything?”

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Her gaze met a pair so dark that it wasn’t possible to see their depths. “I was down to my last dollar when I won sixty.” Myles’s left hand caressed her back over the delicate fabric of her blouse. “At least you won’t go home a loser.” “Even if I lost every penny, I’d still be a winner,” she crooned before brushing her parted lips over his. “I’ll see you later.” She left him to the game and the stack of chips beside his hands.

Chapter Six Adina opened the door to the penthouse, closed it, then pressed her back to the door. The suite—one of the most opulent she’d ever been in—was an oasis from the clatter of the roulette wheels, incessant dinging from slot machines and the groans and screams of losers and winners. She’d come to detest casinos with a passion bordering on loathing. She sucked in a breath, closed her eyes and then let it out slowly. Casinos weren’t the only thing she found abhorrent—she despised what she did for a living. She wasn’t certain when it had happened, when her love affair with hustling had soured. She told herself it was the last time she’d had to sleep with one of her targets more than six months ago now. Just looking at him made her feel dirty and uneasy. But in her heart she knew it had happened a long time before that. Her outlook had begun to change when she’d asked herself who she was really hurting. The men she’d set up for Payne to rob may temporarily lose their money or goods, but within days they were back selling drugs, pimping hookers or running illegal numbers. Maniacal, ex-con Payne Jefferson’s personal vendetta to take out criminals was just that— personal. Adina had had her own personal reasons to do what she did. But setting up men to be robbed of their worldly goods to punish her nameless, faceless father had lost its appeal. She had come to realize that she wasn’t really evening the score with the opposite sex, she was becoming her mother. Bernice Jenkins had seduced men to get money for drugs. Adina seduced men for money and revenge. But it was the same thing. She had to get out before she found herself in prison, or worse—in the morgue. She opened her eyes and made her way to the closet where she’d hung her clothes. Retrieving her overnight bag, she took the money from her purse and put it in a hidden compartment in the bag. Every dollar she saved put her closer to her goal and to the day when she would tell Payne that she was out. After returning the bag to the closet, she prepared herself for bed. Adina locked the door to one of the two bathrooms in the penthouse and went through the ritual of cleaning the makeup from her face, brushing her teeth and braiding her hair into a single plait before slipping out of her clothes and leaving them on the upholstered bench in the bathroom’s dressing area. She didn’t linger long in the shower. She wasn’t certain when Myles would return. She didn’t relish the idea of him finding her naked. If she could, she would avoid having sex with him. She’d honed her seduction skills to a level where she was often able to get what she wanted from a man without having to share her body. Adina prayed it would be the same with Myles Ellison.

*** Myles cashed in his chips, pocketed his winnings and made his way to the elevator. He’d gambled and drank heavily, but he’d also won handsomely. When he got to the suite, it took several attempts before he was able to open the penthouse door with the card key, berating himself for ordering the snifter of brandy.

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He’d overindulged on wine during dinner, then too many scotch and sodas while playing blackjack. But it had been the splash of premium French brandy to celebrate his good fortune that had done him in. He wobbled unsteadily through the entryway, living room and into the expansive bedroom. A light in the area between the bath and bedroom provided enough illumination for him to make out the figure on the California king bed. He smiled, thinking of the body beneath the covers. Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the stack of bills, leaving them on the mahogany and rose-inlaid table. “Adina.” Her name came out in a hoarse whisper. How had he forgotten about her? But he knew the answer even before the query formed in his mind. He liked women, but not more than gambling. When Myles was engaged in a game of chance everything else ceased to exist. Winning was as vital to him as breathing. That was why he’d decided running numbers was a more secure enterprise than selling drugs. People may not have the money to support their one or two-hundred-dollar-a-day habit, but they always had a quarter or dollar to put on a digit. The odds of winning when playing a number were better than the casinos or Wall Street. And there was the added bonus that you didn’t have to hand over a portion of your winnings to the tax man. Tonight Myles Ellison was a winner—at the tables and with Adina Jenkins. He undressed, leaving his clothes on the table and on the carpeted floor. Walking on unsteady legs, he managed to make his way to the bed without falling. He knew he was drunk, but it felt good. Reaching between his legs, he grabbed his penis, his fingers tightening until a rush of blood made it erect. Now it was time he collected the rest of his winnings.

*** Adina felt heat before she registered the hard body pressed against hers. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and nearly gagged from the odor wafting in her nostrils. It was a sickeningly familiar smell that made her clamp one hand over her mouth to keep from retching. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Myles’s deep voice reverberated in the room as Adina scrambled off the bed. Lowering her hand, Adina glared at Myles. She was too enraged to see the beauty in his naked male body. “I’m going to sleep in the other bedroom. You smell like you just crawled out of a dumpster.” His breath reeked like hot garbage. Myles lunged at her across the bed, landing heavily on the floor, the impact leaving him temporarily dazed. Adina heard the thud and waited for Myles to get up, praying he hadn’t broken his neck or seriously injured himself. How could she explain to hotel personnel or the local police what she was doing with a man she knew nothing about other than his name?

Chapter Seven Adina’s imagination ran away from her as she envisioned the newspaper headlines: “Hooker linked to dead high-roller.” Inching closer to the bed, she crawled over the mattress and took a furtive glance on the other side. Myles lay on his back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling heavily. She exhaled an audible sigh. He was alive!

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Scrambling off the bed, Adina went to her knees beside Myles’s prostrate body. She hadn’t realized how much her hands were trembling until she touched his face. Apprehension became fear—stark and wild— when he grabbed her, his fingers digging into the tender flesh on her upper arms. “You bitch!” Myles snarled. His lips were drawn back over his teeth and spittle formed in the corners of his mouth. Something inside Adina snapped like the fragility of a taut, delicate thread. Lowering her head, she sank her teeth into the back of Myles’s left hand. He bellowed loudly, releasing her. She raced over to one of the telephones and punched a button. “I’d like to arrange a car to take me to New—” The receiver was snatched from her grasp. “Cancel that request,” Myles barked into the mouthpiece. “Mrs. Ellison and I were just having a disagreement.” He ended the call by slamming down the receiver, rummy-rimmed eyes fixed on Adina. It was as if he saw her for the first time. Instead of a revealing nightgown, she’d chosen to wear a pair of pale blue pajama pants with a matching tank top. He chanced a glance at the back of his hand. The indentation from her teeth was clearly visible. “You bit me.” Adina’s eyes were pinpoints of green and gold fire. “And you called me a bitch.” Myles shook his head then winced. “I didn’t mean to say it, baby.” “Yeah, you did,” she countered. “What happened to your ‘I don’t regard women as bitches’ speech? Here I thought you were different. But you’re full of shit like all of the rest of the men in this fuckin’ world.” Throwing up her hands, Adina headed for the bathroom. Myles followed her. “What is it you want?” he asked softly. She rounded on him. “I don’t ever want you to call me a bitch again, or I’ll wait until you’re asleep then cut your heart out of your chest.” Although she was bluffing, Adina knew she’d gotten through to Myles. He nodded meekly. “And I don’t ever want you to come to me drunk or without taking a shower. I went through enough of that bullshit with my mother.” Her voice shook and she collapsed into a chair. “She’d come home from whoring either high or drunk or both, stinking from sex and stale weed then get into the bed with me. My options were sleeping on the floor or in the bathtub, but if she found that I wasn’t in bed with her she beat my ass. Is that what you were going to do?” Adina taunted, looking up at him. “Were you going to hit me?” “No, Adina, I wasn’t going to hit you,” he said softly, kneeling at her feet. “It just got to me, that’s all. The good luck that you’ve brought me. And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this. Knowing you were in bed waiting for me…I felt like a young boy who had just gotten his first piece of ass. But I don’t believe in hitting women.” “You also told me that you don’t call women bitches, yet you did.” “And I said I was sorry.” “Sorry is not going to cut it with me.” Adina knew if she gave in too easily Myles would treat her like the girls she knew who stayed in relationships with abusive men because that’s the best they thought they could do. Myles moaned suddenly. “I’m going to be sick,” he croaked, getting up and stumbling toward the toilet.

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Adina stood outside the bathroom, listening in disgust to the sound of violent retching that sounded as if Myles was going to cough up a lung. It stopped and a lengthy silence ensued. She couldn’t leave him like this. She sighed and peered into the bathroom before stepping inside. Myles sat on the tiled floor, his head resting against the porcelain bowl. Wrinkling her nose in revulsion, she flushed the toilet and turned on the water in the shower stall. She had to get Myles into the shower to clean him up before getting him into bed. Bending, she caught him under his shoulder in an attempt to lift him off the floor. She couldn’t budge him. “Myles,” Adina said softly. “That’s it, darling. Open your eyes.” He complied, staring blankly at her. “You’re going to have to help me. I can’t lift you.” “What…what is it?” he slurred. “Stand up!” Her command must have registered, because he managed to come to his knees before pushing himself into a standing position. It took Adina more than five minutes to guide Myles into the shower and ease him down to the floor. Cool water rained down on both of them as she soaped his body with a liquid soap, rinsed him, and then repeated it. Her pajamas were pasted to her like second skin when she led him over to the bench where she’d left his clothes and dried him off. She didn’t know if he had any pajamas, and she wasn’t going to put him back into his stinking clothes. So she left him naked. She’d heard women talk about men being hung like a horse, and Myles Ellison was the perfect example of the adage. But it didn’t matter to her if his penis was four inches or fourteen inches because she found sex abhorrent. She’d never experienced an orgasm, but she’d become such an accomplished actress that her partners never knew she’d faked every moan, groan and move to make them believe they were the best lovers she’d ever had. The good news was that Myles was in no condition for her to have to resort to that tonight. “Do you think you can brush your teeth by yourself?” she asked Myles. “Yeah,” he whispered. Myles waited while Adina squeezed toothpaste on a brush and handed it to him along with a cup of water. He thanked her again when she dabbed his mouth with a towel. “I’m going to help you get into bed before I change my clothes.” Myles nodded again. Adina managed to get him into bed without a mishap, covering him with a sheet and lightweight blanket. Then she changed out of her soaking pajamas. Myles was snoring loudly when she finally got into bed with him. Turning her back, she closed her eyes, joining him as he slept.

Chapter Eight Adina woke at dawn and went into the bathroom to wash her face, brush her teeth and hair. One of Myles’s shirts played double-duty as her nightshirt, the hem of the custom-made garment ending below her knees. She returned to the bedroom and saw the table littered with fifty and one hundred dollar bills. She counted them. There was enough for her to make her goal of thirty thousand dollars. Picking up Myles’s suit jacket, she pushed the money into the breast pocket. Seconds later she detected movement behind her. Turning slowly, she saw Myles scowling at her. He wore a plush velour robe bearing the hotel’s logo. He’d managed to get out of bed without making a sound. “What are you doing?” His voice was soft, threatening. She held his gaze. “I thought it best to put your money away before I call room service.” He had underestimated her if he thought she was going to steal from him. Although she set men up to be hustled,

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she wasn’t a thief. Payne Jefferson was a pimp and a thief. Besides, she would never steal directly from Myles. It would put her family in danger, and it wasn’t enough money for her to risk her own life hiding out from the number banker’s thugs. His frown vanished with her explanation. “Thank you. I want to apologize for—” “Forget it,” she said, cutting off his apology. “It’s over and done with.” Taking three long strides, Myles closed the distance between them. “It’s not over, Adina.” Her hands came up to cradle his stubbly cheeks. “I say it is. Let’s go back to bed.” Her voice was low, sensual, and she flashed him a warm smile. She had Myles Ellison exactly where she wanted him: guiltridden, contrite and apologetic. “What do you want for breakfast?” she asked after they lay in bed together. Myles ran a hand over his face. “I need a pot of black coffee.” “You need more than coffee, Myles Ellison.” His expression changed, softening. “Now, you sound like a wife.” Adina forced a smile she didn’t quite feel. “I don’t think so.” There were two things she hadn’t wanted to be— wife and mother. She’d become the latter because she hadn’t known she was pregnant until a doctor informed her that she was in labor. Myles folded his arms behind his head. “I think you do. You know, the last woman I sat in bed talking to was my wife. I married her because she’d been intelligent and articulate enough to hold my interest.” He paused. “How old are you, Adina?” “Twenty-seven.” “Have you ever been married?” “No.” “Do you want to get married?” Her professionally waxed eyebrows lifted. “Why? Are you proposing?” There was a pause and then Myles said, “No, I’m not.” Adina smiled. “That’s good.” “Why?” “I’m not the marrying kind.” She could tell that her statement had shocked Myles. He probably thought all women wanted to be married. “Why would you say that?” he asked. “I don’t want to have to answer to any man.” “My mother used to say that a woman must either cater to a man or a job.”

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“I’ll take the job, thank you. What do you want for breakfast?” “Soft scrambled eggs. I doubt my stomach will be able to tolerate anything else this morning.” Reaching for the telephone on her side of the bed, Adina rang the twenty-four-hour restaurant and placed an order for breakfast, while Myles rolled up the cuffs to his shirt above her wrists. “I give you money to buy something sexy, and you end up wearing my shirt,” he accused with a wide grin. “You told me to buy something naughty, not sexy.” “My shirt is hardly naughty or sexy.” Sitting up straighter, Adina adjusted the pillows cradling her back. “I bought the outfit I had on last night with the money you gave me,” she lied smoothly. She’d selected the leather skirt and silk blouse because she’d never worn them before. “And, I paid more than two hundred for my lingerie.” She’d worn a LaPerla ensemble that had been a gift from a drug dealer who’d wanted her to model the lacy demi-bra and matching bikini panties for him. Myles wound several strands of Adina’s hair around his forefinger, bringing it to his nose and inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo. “How come I didn’t get to see your lingerie?” Adina gave him a sidelong glance. “You would’ve if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in your card game.” “I was on a winning streak, and I didn’t want to send Lady Luck home as long as she was hanging out with me.” Adina stuck out her lower lip, pouting. “Please don’t tell me I have to compete with Lady Luck for your attention.” Reaching over, Myles eased Adina down to the mattress, treating her like a fragile piece of glass. “I promise you won’t have to compete with Lady Luck or any other woman as long as we’re together.” “No promises, Myles,” Adina whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t promise me anything, and I’ll do the same.” “You don’t want marriage or children?” She shook her head. “What do you want, then?” A cynical smile twisted her mouth. “I want what no one can give me. I know there are no do-overs in life, but I want my childhood back.”

Chapter Nine Adina didn’t know why LaKeisha Robinson preferred Manhattan restaurants when the ones in Brooklyn were just as upscale but less crowded. And she found it difficult navigating the crowded sidewalks or successfully hailing a taxi to take her back to Brooklyn. But it was their girls’ night out and it was LaKeisha’s turn to select the restaurant. “Please let me out here,” she told the driver of the car service who’d driven her from Brooklyn. She paid her fare, waiting until he came around to open the rear door for her, oblivious to the admiring glances directed at her from businessmen clutching bouquets of flowers and leather cases. Late winter temperatures flirted with the upper fifties during the day and dropped to low forties at night, so she’d decided to wear a hooded ranch mink bomber jacket with a pair of chocolate brown wool gabardine

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slacks and a cream colored cashmere turtleneck sweater. Adina had brushed her hair off her face and tied it with a brown grosgrain ribbon. Leopard-spotted suede pumps added three inches to her five-two height. A smile parted her lips when she spotted LaKeisha racing down the block in an opossum-lined raincoat. Adina found it ironic that LaKeisha, a bank officer, took public transportation, while she who’d never held a traditional job used car services. Of course, LaKeisha didn’t know what she did for a living. Adina had a pat answer for anyone who asked: she worked off the books totaling receipts for a Brooklyn-based restaurateur. It was a lie she’d repeated time and again until it rolled fluidly off her tongue. LaKeisha, on the other hand, was exactly what she looked like. She was every inch the bank executive in a navy-blue tailored suit, white silk blouse and her favored Prada pumps. She’d pulled her look together with a single strand of pearls and matching studs, while her braided hair was secured in a chignon on the nape of her neck. Whenever they went to parties or clubs, the braids came down, large gold hoops replaced the pearl studs and the subtle makeup was replaced with dramatic eye shadow and lipstick. “Sorry I’m late,” LaKeisha said, as she pressed her cheek to Adina’s. “You’re not late. I just got here,” Adina admitted. “You look great.” Her friend’s round, dark brown face shimmered with good health. “Thanks. So do you, Dina. But when don’t you look good?” “Girl, you don’t want to see me in the morning,” Adina drawled. “Talk about a dog’s mess.” “Hel-lo, Adina. You don’t have to downplay your looks. This is your girl you’re talking to—not somebody who’s hatin’.” Adina nodded. She was right. LaKeisha wasn’t like most of the girls in their housing project who made snide remarks about Adina’s hair and complexion because of her exotic appearance. Some were downright cruel just because they’d heard other people refer to her as the daughter of a crackhead ho. But it was the truth— she was the daughter of an addict who’d “gone for a run” ten years ago and was never heard from again. Although she and LaKeisha knew each other from back in the day, they’d just begun hanging out together a year before. She liked LaKeisha because although she was a young, educated, professional black woman, she could also flip the script and get ghetto with the best of them. The two women thanked the young man who opened the door for them. LaKeisha gave the maitre d’ her name and within minutes they’d checked their coats and were escorted to their table. It was a Friday night and the bar area was two deep with young men and women who looked as if they’d come directly from work to kick back at the end of the work week, or see who they could hook up with to start the weekend. “Remember, La, I’m treating tonight,” Adina said after they were given menus. LaKeisha flashed her perfectly aligned teeth—the result of three years of braces. “Sorry, Dina, but I’m paying.” Eyes narrowing, Adina leaned across the table. “Why do we go through this shit every time we go out together? We decided the last time I’d pick up the check.” A mysterious smile parted LaKeisha’s lips. “I know that. But I’m treating because I’m celebrating.” The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of Adina’s mouth. “What are you celebrating?” “Guess.”

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Adina wrinkled her nose. “You just got a promotion?” LaKeisha shook her head. “You met someone?” Another toss of the head. “You’re pregnant?” Rolling her eyes while sucking her teeth, LaKeisha said, “Oh, hell no! I’m not about to get swole up and not be married.” “I give up,” Adina said, conceding. LaKeisha’s dark eyes glittered like polished onyx. “This afternoon I closed on a condo in a Park Slop town house.” “Why didn’t you say you were buying property?” “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want anyone to jinx me.” It was Adina’s turn to roll her eyes. Her best friend was superstitious and paranoid. “Did you at least tell your parents?” Like Adina, LaKeisha still lived with her parents in the projects. “No. I’ll tell them tonight. I—” “Excuse me ladies,” their waiter reappeared at the table, interrupting their conversation. “The gentlemen over there would like you to have drinks on them.” He pointed to two young men with spiked hair, sparkling blue eyes and power ties. “Tell them thank you,” Adina said, smiling. “What are you doing?” asked LaKeisha after they’d given the waiter their beverage order. “You know they’re not my flavor.” “They’re not mine either. But my motto is: take all that you can from them, then move on.” “But that’s using them.” “And they don’t use us, La? How many women do you know that are single mothers?” The waiter returned with their drinks with business cards from the two men. Adina and LaKeisha raised their glasses in acknowledgment, then turned their attention to the menus in front of them with the intent of enjoying their girls’ night together.

Chapter Ten Adina checked her PDA and found a text from Payne: Grand Central Station — Mon. 3/17 — 5 PM. The PDA belonged to Payne and it was her only connection to him. He never called her home and she never called him, though she knew where he lived. Although Payne was in his late thirties, he still lived with his mother in a nearby building. She knew Payne wanted to meet tonight to give her a percentage from the robbery of a drug dealer. Adina didn’t expect much. She’d told Payne that the man’s operation wasn’t as large as he’d originally thought, but he’d told her to set him up anyway. It hadn’t mattered to Payne Jefferson whether his targets were high or low-level criminals. His only intent was to rob them. Adina saw Payne standing near the Information Booth. He could’ve passed for a commuter, but she knew differently. He was nothing more than an ex-con with a personal vendetta borne of being a physical and social outcast. As a child, the neighborhood kids had intimidated and ostracized Payne until he’d leveled the playing field with an aluminum baseball bat.

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Adina wound her way through the increasing rush-hour crowd. He turned quickly when she came within three feet of him. Adina didn’t know how he did it; it was as if he had an internal radar that alerted him whenever someone got too close. She attributed it to the years he’d spent in prison, going in when he was only sixteen. “Hello Payne. You have something for me?” He just stared at her. Maybe he was disappointed that she had come without makeup, dressed in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and running shoes—the complete opposite of the seductive femme fatale who got men to reveal their deepest secrets. Secrets he used when he directed his cadre of professional thieves to rip them off. “Let’s go somewhere and get something to eat.” A slight frown appeared between Adina’s eyes. “I’m not hungry.” Payne’s fingers snaked around her upper arm. “Well I am. Let’s go.” Rather than make a scene, Adina followed him out of the historic building. Adina gave Payne a sidelong glance. He was no taller than she was, wearing a baseball cap to cover his shaved head and baggy clothes that made him look like a little boy wearing his father’s or big brother’s clothes. “Where are we going?” she asked when they stopped at the corner of Forty-Second Street and Third Avenue. “There’s a coffee shop that’s not far from here that serves pretty good food.” Adina told him again she didn’t want to eat, but knew she had to go along if she wanted her money. Lately, Payne had begun playing cat and mouse with her cheddar. If she hadn’t had a goal of thirty thousand dollars she would’ve told him a long time ago where to go and to kiss her ass. But she needed him for a little while longer, long enough to map out a plan to start over. She wanted to move her daughter and grandmother out of Brooklyn and public housing. She also planned to secure legitimate employment, pay taxes and perhaps even go to college to improve her life. She had to get off the street and out of the hustling game before it was too late. The coffee shop was ten blocks away from Grand Central Station. Adina regarded the food as barely palatable. Dora Jenkins’s cooking was very good, and because her grandmother had taught her, Adina was also a good cook. In comparison, the diner’s meatloaf was dry, the mashed potatoes stiff and tasteless and the au jus gravy was bland. And that was the advertised special. She quickly pushed her plate away and averted her gaze as Payne shoveled potatoes mixed with green peas into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “Somethin’ wrong wit the food?” Payne asked, chewing with his mouth open and displaying a glob of meat and vegetables. He swallowed then added more ketchup onto the grayish meat. “I told you I wasn’t hungry.” “Suit yourself.” Gritting her teeth in frustration, Adina picked at the food on her plate. She didn’t want to spend any more time with Payne than necessary. There was something about his face that was totally incongruent to his line of work. Payne Jefferson looked like a woman—a very attractive woman. He had large doe eyes and delicate features in a smooth face the color of café au lait. It made most men take a second look before they heard

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his voice. She’d heard rumors that Payne had been passed around the inmates in prison like a whore on the stroll. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “How’s it going wit Ellison?” “Okay.” “Just okay?” “I’ve seen him twice, so that’s definitely not enough time for him to bare his soul.” “Make it quick. I’ll probably have something lined up by the beginning of next month.” “What is it?” Adina asked. Payne gave her a long, penetrating look. He’d had other women working for him, but none were as provocative or intelligent—or successful—as Adina. Finally he said, “I’ll let you know when I have all the facts.” “I’m not going to commit to anything until you pay me for my last job.” Reaching under his jacket, Payne took out a small white envelope, pushing it across the table. “It’s not much. Your cut is only two.” Adina tucked the envelope into her purse. “I told you he wasn’t worth my time.” “It’s two thousand more than you had before,” he shot back. She glared at him then slid off the booth and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving her pimp staring at her retreating back.

Chapter Eleven Adina was still fuming when she stomped into her apartment, slamming the door behind her. She’d walked away from Payne before saying something she would regret. She wasn’t going to allow him to derail her future plans. She’d expected to find her grandmother or Jameeka in the living room watching television or in the kitchen cooking, but apparently they’d gone out. Checking the answering machine, she discovered someone had left a message. Pressing a button, Adina listened to what was now a familiar male voice. Myles Ellison had left her message, asking that she return his call. She dialed the number and he answered after the first ring. “What’s up, beautiful?” She smiled. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m returning your call, handsome.” “Are you busy?” “No. Why?” “I’d like to take you shopping.”

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Adina’s eyebrows lifted. “What’s the occasion?” “It’s a surprise birthday party.” “Is it for a man or a woman?” There was a pause before Myles said, “It’s for a man.” “Where’s the party?” “It’s in a private room at a restaurant in Sheepshead Bay. Now that I’ve answered your question will you go shopping with me, Miss Jenkins?” Adina sat down on a high stool. “When’s the party?” “Tonight.” “Tonight!” she repeated. “It’s after eight, Myles.” “I know what time it is, Adina.” “But the stores will be closed.” “I have a friend who owns a boutique. She’s willing to do me a favor and stay open late. I can pick you up in half an hour and—” “I gotta go, Myles, so I can take a shower.” “Pack a bag.” “Why…” Her words trailed off when Adina realized Myles had hung up on her. She returned the phone to its cradle. Walking out of the kitchen and into her bedroom, she counted out the money Payne had given her and put it in the knapsack. Her craving to quit the street life was now stronger than ever. She’d skinned and grinned for almost two months for a small-time wannabe street hood for a measly two thousand dollars. If she continued to accept the hustles Payne set up for her she would never have a different life. She would have been able to get out sooner, but Adina had to subsidize her grandmother as well as pay for her daughter’s private school education. Dora had sacrificed to give Adina a church school education, and Adina wanted the same for Jameeka. She’d also given Dora extra money to put away for Jameeka to go to college. There were times when she believed Payne cheated her, but there was no way for her to find out how much he got from his heists. She knew he had other people working for him—heavily armed men who surprised their victims whenever they raided their homes or businesses. Most times, they were in and out before anyone could identify them. They received the lion’s share of the proceeds, while Payne gave her what he deemed equitable for the information she gathered for him. She’d saved twenty thousand dollars within the span of ten years, had a closet filled with furs, designer clothes, shoes and a jewelry box with earrings, bracelets, rings and neckpieces set with precious and semiprecious stones. All she had to show for ten years of hustling was what she referred to as material shit. She sighed and prepared herself for the night with her current target.

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*** “You should wear that dress,” the boutique owner suggested when Adina walked from behind the dressing area. “What do you think, Myles?” Adina saw Myles swallow several times. Finally he was able to croak out a verdict: “Incredible.” She met Myles’s gaze—the man for whom she would be eye candy for the evening. And that was all she intended to be. If he wanted more than her company, then he’d have to wait. She glanced down at the chocolate brown silk dress. The garment’s simplicity had won her over. Long, offthe-shoulder sleeves and a scooped neckline flattered her body as if it had been designed expressly for her. “I like it.” Myles nodded to the owner of the boutique. “We’ll take it. She’s going to need shoes and underwear.” The woman beckoned to Adina. “Please come with me and I’ll show you what I have.” It took another quarter of an hour for Adina to select lingerie that was an exact match for the dress. She stared at her reflection in a full-length mirror. Thigh-high ultra-sheer brown stockings, lacy thong and a matching demi-bra made her look like a miniature version of a Victoria’s Secret model. The caress of fine silk against her skin was sexy and sensual. She slipped into the dress again, put on a pair of silk-covered sling-back heels, then sat at a dressing table to make up her face and style her hair. “You’re going to need a wrap,” said a low voice from behind her. Adina saw his reflection in the mirror as Myles walked into the dressing room with a fur shawl draped over the sleeve of his suit jacket. Lowering her gaze demurely, she stared up at him through her lashes. “Shame on you, Myles, you’re spoiling me.” He moved closer, leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of her scented neck. “That’s my intent. It’s my way of repaying you for what you did for me.” Her expression registered confusion. “What are you talking about?” “You took care of me in Atlantic City.” Rising from the tufted chair, Adina placed her fingertips over his mouth. “We’re not going to talk about that. We’re going to pretend that never happened,” she whispered, brushing her mouth over his. “By the way, I like the mustache and goatee.” The facial hair that Myles had grown since the last time they were together enhanced his masculine good looks. Myles smiled. “Thank you. I like the way you look, too. And I intend to show you just how much I like you later.” Fear seized her, but somehow she managed to smile and allow Myles to lead her out of the boutique and into a waiting car.

Chapter Twelve Adina thought about Myles’s statement during the short drive from the boutique to the Sheepshead Bay restaurant. Myles had purchased her clothes for the party but also a more casual outfit for the following day. His driver maneuvered up to the curb, then got out and came around to assist her. She waited for her date as he talked quietly to his chauffeur.

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She wished she could tell Myles that she didn’t need clothes, but cash. Now she knew how her mother, Bernice, had felt when she craved her drugs and alcohol. Her mother would go into a rage, screaming that she was coming out of her skin. It was no different for Adina. Her inner voice was crying out because she wanted out—she wanted to stop lying and pretending she liked her marks because her performance would yield the money she needed to sustain her when she reinvented herself. She was only twenty-seven, young enough to start over, and she didn’t have a criminal record that would have made it more difficult. Many girls Adina knew who’d lived the street life were either locked up, dead or battling HIV and AIDS. Drug-abusing, alcoholic and prostituting Bernice had become the best example for Adina and how not live her life. When she was younger she’d prayed she wouldn’t have to acknowledge Bernice as her mother. Her prayers were answered when Bernice went out and never came back. But her joy was short-lived as the days, weeks and months passed without a word from her mother. As horrible as life with Bernice had been at times, she missed her mother, and a small part of her loved the woman who didn’t know how to love anyone, including herself. Her mother had also taught Adina how important it was not to let a man get over on her. One man had gotten her pregnant, and she’d vowed it would never happen again. Initially she viewed setting up men to be robbed as a challenge, as a way to get even with the sex that always seemed to have the upper hand. She didn’t like how they used and treated women, bragged about getting over and how many babies they’d made but had no intention of supporting. They claimed they loved their baby mamas, but how could they mistreat and abuse someone they loved? Adina realized that men couldn’t be trusted. And that included Payne Jefferson. She was angry with Payne because he took her for granted and therefore was taking advantage of her. At the beginning of her relationship with Payne, she’d hustled two or three men a year and her share of the payouts were substantial. For the first four years everything she earned she gave to her grandmother. But the year she turned twenty-one, she earned her GED and realized hustling wasn’t listed as a career choice, so she’d begun saving a portion of her earnings. She’d grown up watching pretty young hookers ply their trade on the streets, and decades later they were still on the stroll, their faces and bodies worn out from too many late nights, too many men, and at times too many beatings from their pimps. She would not be like them. She gave Myles a winning smile when he came over to her. He took her hand and cradled it in his elbow. “Sorry about that, but I had to let my driver know our plans for tonight.” Adina angled her head. “There’s no need to apologize, Myles. I’m not that needy.” “That’s one of the reasons I like you, Adina. You’re confident and independent. I take you out, show you a good time, then I have to call you for another date.” She wanted to tell him that if spending hours at a gaming table then getting pissy drunk was a good time then she wanted no part of what he’d consider a bad time. “Is there something wrong with that?” Adina asked instead. She knew the answer to her query before Myles answered her. Myles had given her cash and he expected her to hold her hand out for more. She’d get her money from Myles Ellison, but in a way he could never imagine. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said. “It’s nice not having a woman pleading poverty every time I see her.” She made an attractive moue, causing his gaze to linger on her full, vermilion-colored lips. “I never ask a man for anything because I don’t want him to think that he owns me.” “I’d never treat you like a possession, Adina.”

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She decided to accept that and asked another question. “What’s another reason you like me?” she asked. He pressed a kiss to her hair that she’d pinned up on her neck in a loose chignon. “You’re sexy as hell.” “So are you, Myles Ellison,” she said truthfully. And he was. Myles would’ve been perfect if he didn’t gamble or drink. But she would never see him as her lover. For one, she didn’t enjoy sex. And for another, though she liked Myles, she would never fall in love with him. The closest she’d ever come to loving someone was her grandmother. Dora Jenkins had put a roof over her head, provided her with stability and had protected her as best she could. Jameeka was Jameeka—someone she’d carried inside her but didn’t know existed until hours before she was to be born. “Are you ready to go in?” Myles said softly. Adina nodded. “Yes, I am. Where’s your birthday gift?” Myles patted his chest with his free hand. “It’s in my pocket.” A short, stocky, dark-suited young man opened the door to reveal a dimly-lit restaurant. Candles flickered on dozens of tables covered with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, though there were no diners. “They’re upstairs, Mr. Ellison,” the man said, offering Myles his hand. Myles shook his hand, the man surreptitiously palming the bill pressed to his palm. “Thank you, Dominic.” Adina slipped her hand into Myles’s as he led her down a long, narrow hallway to a stairway off the restaurant. They made their way up the metal steps and walked into a large space enclosed entirely by glass walls. Live potted plants and softly playing pre-recorded music set the scene for men in business suits and their female counterparts in their ubiquitous little black dresses sipping champagne and talking or laughing loudly. A man who could’ve passed for a young Robert DeNiro came over to greet Myles with a wide grin and a kiss on each cheek. “I’m glad you could make it.” His gaze shifted to Adina and he went completely still. “Madre dolce di Dio, you look exactly like my cousin Angela. But she was killed in a hit-and-run last year.”

Chapter Thirteen Adina found herself temporarily at a loss for words. All she heard was Angela was killed. The dead woman’s name was close enough to her own to elicit a shiver of panic, wondering whether it was a premonition, or whether she was just being paranoid. Too often she’d speculated how her own life would end. What if someone uncovered her motive for hooking up with him, or would her name come up once too often in conversations between those who’d been ripped off? Forcing a smile, she said, “I heard that everyone has a double.” The explanation sounded glib, even to Adina. She was certain Myles felt her shaking when his arm went around her waist. “Adina, this is Ritchie Zargona. Ritchie, this is my lady, Adina Jenkins.” She extended her hand, dropping her gaze demurely when Ritchie brought it to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman, especially when she looks like my favorite cousin.” He winked at Adina. “Give me a call if you ever get tired of hanging out with this guy.” Tilting her chin, Adina smiled up at Myles, meeting his questioning gaze. “Thank you, but I intend to hang out with this guy for a very long time.” Myles put his arm around Adina’s waist, pulling her closer to his side. “When are you going to give up trying to hit on my women, Ritchie?”

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“Not women, just one woman, brother,” Ritchie drawled, flashing a sensual grin. “I’m forgetting my manners. Can I get you something to drink?” “I’m going to introduce Adina to your uncle, then I’ll be back for that drink.” Adina slipped off the fur shawl, draping it over her arm. When Ritchie mentioned getting Myles a drink she prayed tonight wouldn’t be a repeat of their Atlantic City encounter. Most of the men she’d dealt with either smoked weed or snorted coke, but never in her presence. The ones who drank did it in moderation. Unfortunately, Myles Ellison had become the exception. For the second time in a matter of minutes Adina felt a shiver of apprehension when she was introduced to Ritchie’s uncle, who was also named Richard, but everyone referred to him as Rico. The elder Zargona claimed a full head of shimmering silver hair that was the perfect contrast to his deeply tanned olive coloring. Brilliant topaz-blue eyes took in everything about her in one sweeping glance. Beckoning to Adina with large diamond pinky rings on each hand, Rico said, “Come closer, so I can take a good look at you.” She took several steps, bringing her within inches of the man sitting in a leather armchair. “Ritchie said I look like Angela.” Pushing to his feet, Rico curved a hand under her chin and tilted her face. “Non lo credo. I don’t believe it,” he whispered, translating the Italian. “You look enough like Angela to be her twin. Are you Italian?” “I wouldn’t know, sir.” Rico’s thick black eyebrows lifted. “You don’t know your father.” His query was a statement. “No,” she answered truthfully. “My mother had a substance abuse problem that led her to sleep with a lot of men. When I asked about the man who’d gotten her pregnant she said she couldn’t remember.” Attractive lines fanned out around Rico’s brilliant blue eyes. “I’ve never cheated on my wife, so I know you’re not my daughter. But, I do have a brother who does like the ladies—” “I doubt if we’re related,” Adina said, cutting him off. Rico held up a hand. “Everyone in the human race is related—that is if you believe in Creation—and tonight I’m claiming you as my niece.” Adina heard the longing in his voice. He’d lost someone he loved, a part of himself, and he was reaching out to her to fill the emptiness. She knew how he felt—it was something she’d experienced every day of her life not knowing the man that had fathered her. She took a step, went on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Rico’s smooth-shaven cheek. “I’m honored to be a part of your family.” Rico folded Adina to his chest, reliving the times when he’d held his daughter to his heart, believing he would walk her down the aisle to give her away in marriage and spoil the grandchildren she and her fiancé planned to have. But everything he’d planned for Angela’s future ended when she was killed. “My godson is a very lucky man. Come with me, nipote, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Adina endured hugs and kisses from men named Frankie, Anthony, Paulie, Peter and two Salvatores. The women were more restrained, less effusive, when Rico introduced her as his niece.

***

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Myles stood apart from the other celebrants, watching Adina. She’d surprised him at his fortieth birthday gathering and now she was charming the pants off his boss for his fiftieth celebration. She was stunning in that brown silk dress, the color adding a glow to her flawless honey-gold skin. He’d been truthful with Adina when he told her about some of the women with whom he’d been involved who sought to take advantage of his generosity. But she was different—very different. She didn’t chase him and she hadn’t asked for anything and because of that he was ready to give her whatever she wanted. Myles liked everything about Adina Jenkins—her voice, body and incredibly sexy walk. But he also liked something else—her intelligence. Not only did he want to sleep with her but he also wanted to talk to her. The women he’d been with after the split with his wife had been mere receptacles for his lust. It wasn’t often that he’d become involved with a woman who was as articulate as Adina. What she didn’t know was that he was testing her, and if she passed the test then he would consider a more permanent arrangement. Although the fact that she didn’t smoke, drink or gamble presented a problem to what he intended to propose to her. Walking over to the bar, he stood next to Ritchie. “What do you think of her?” Ritchie trained his gaze on the woman smiling up at his uncle. “Like I told the lady, if you don’t want her, then I’ll take her.” Myles smiled. “Oh, I want her.”

Chapter Fourteen Adina huddled closer to Myles on the rear seat of the Town Car as the driver took the parkway, heading in the direction of LaGuardia Airport. He had made reservations for them to spend the night at the Victoria Hotel. “I’m glad you invited me to go along with you tonight,” she said. Pressing his mouth to her hair, Myles dropped a kiss on the fragrant silky strands. “I’m glad you came, too. What time do you have to be up in the morning?” “I can sleep in late. I don’t have to go to work until later in the afternoon.” “What do you do?” Myles asked. “I work off the books totaling restaurant receipts.” Again, the lie slipped fluidly from her lips. “How’s the pay?” Adina smiled. “Let’s just say the collection agencies aren’t blowing up my phone.” “How much do you earn?” She quoted the first figure that came to her head. “I bring home about three hundred a week.” “That’s fifteen-six a year, or about eighteen thousand before taxes,” Myles said, computing the numbers quickly in his head. “How would you like to make twice that much?” “Doing what?” His arm tightened around her shoulders. “I want you to work for me.”

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Adina straightened, putting space between them. Myles was asking the impossible. There was no way she could work for him and still work for Payne. And Payne would never let her leave him for Myles. “I can’t.” “Why not, baby?” Adina stared through the partition separating them from the driver. “I’ve been working for this guy for the past ten years and—” “And, he’s cheating you. Even if you worked on the books there’s not much you can do with eighteen or even twenty thousand a year.” “I don’t have my own place.” “Who do you live with?” Myles questioned again. “I share an apartment with my grandmother and sister.” “But don’t you want your own place?” There came a beat as Adina pretended to weigh her options. There was no way she was going to exchange one street hustler for another. If and when she changed her life she wanted it to be a complete change. No more hustling or working off someone’s books. She had a social security number, but had never paid into the fund. Even her grandmother, who had worked in a school cafeteria, collected a social security check each month. “As much as I would like to move, I really don’t need my own place.” It took several seconds for Myles to process what Adina had just revealed. “Where do you want to move? I hope it’s not out of state, or even out of Brooklyn.” “I want to live anywhere but in public housing.” “What about Brooklyn?” “What about it?” she asked. “Do you still want to live in Brooklyn?” “It wouldn’t matter to me where I live, but my grandmother doesn’t want to leave the borough.” Reaching for Adina, Myles cradled her to his chest. “Brooklyn is changing. Rents are going up and with each passing day it’s going to become more and more difficult to find affordable housing.” Adina rested her palm on Myles’s jaw, feeling the stubble of an emerging beard under her fingertips. “I don’t know what you do—” “I run numbers,” Myles admitted. “You run numbers?” she repeated. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I don’t personally run numbers. I have people working for me.” “And you want me to run numbers for you?”

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Myles shifted Adina to sit across his thighs. “No, baby, I’d never want you working on the street. If you decide to work for me, then what you’d be doing isn’t very different from what you’re doing now. You’ll be adding up the runners’ slips.” Looping her arms around Myles’s neck, Adina tried to ignore the growing hardness pressing up against her buttocks. Sitting on his lap had aroused him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything to do with that kind of numbers,” she admitted. “My grandmother used to send me to play them before she got saved.” “Is that the reason you don’t gamble? Because your grandmother is born-again?” “My grandmother has nothing to do with it. I just don’t like taking risks with my money.” “That’s because you don’t have enough with which to take risks,” Myles countered. “Tru dat,” Adina crooned, lapsing into dialect. Myles angled his head and kissed her. “You’ve got to learn to let go, baby, and take more risks.” Like an accomplished actress, Adina was able to cry on cue, and that was what she did, shocking Myles as moisture trickled down the side of his face. “What’s the matter, Adina?” She sniffled loudly. “Nothing, I’m just PMSing.” Myles froze. “You’re on your period?” “Yes.” When she saw the blood before leaving the restaurant, she knew she had the perfect excuse for not having sex with Myles. “I’m sorry if I ruined your plans.” He kissed her again, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. “It’s all right.” Adina knew there would be other times where she would have to find some excuse, but there was no way she was going to permit Myles Ellison to stick nine inches of his hard flesh into her. Still, she had to keep him interested in her until she completed her assignment. She stuck the tip of her tongue into his ear. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m going to take care of you tonight.”

Chapter Fifteen The suite at the Victoria was more opulent than the one where Adina had spent her first night with Myles. There were two queen-sized beds, two bathrooms, a living and dining area and a utility kitchen. Myles tipped the bellhop who’d placed their bags on luggage racks in the entryway, then turned and locked the door behind him. Myles’s gaze followed Adina as she threw the fur wrap over the back of a loveseat, sat down and kicked off her heels. She tried, but couldn’t conceal the yawn she hid behind her hand. “Tired, baby?” She smiled around another yawn. “Just a little.” Reaching up, she began removing the large hairpins from her hair. Raven waves fell down around her shoulders and spilled down her back. Adina looked at Myles as she did it, watching him become transfixed by her movements. She knew how to make the simple act of letting down her hair become akin to a slow, seductive striptease. He moaned softly and she could see that he was becoming hard. “Do you want me to order anything from room service?” she asked innocently.

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“We just came from a huge Italian dinner, though I noticed that you barely touched the plate I prepared for you at the restaurant. You just picked at the antipasto and I think you only took two bites of that expertly prepared veal cutlet. You said that your stomach was bothering you, but are you hungry now?” Adina offered him a half-smile. “I’m not hungry, so you can stop worrying about me.” Crossing the room, Myles sat beside her. “I want to worry about you, Adina. Will you let me to do that?” Combing her fingers through her hair, Adina pushed it off her face and stared at the man she was going to set up to be robbed. “All I ask is that you respect me.” “I do respect you, baby. I only had one drink tonight.” “I don’t mind you drinking, Myles. What I can’t put up with is you getting drunk.” He touched her hair. “You’ll never see me drunk again.” Shifting, Adina presented him with her back. “Please unzip me.” Myles unzipped the dress and reached around Adina’s back and covered her breasts. For a tiny woman she had firm, full breasts women usually underwent surgical procedures to achieve. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he murmured as he placed light kisses over her bared, scented back and shoulders. Adina closed her eyes, steeling herself not to be repulsed by Myles’s seduction. She always preferred to be the one coming onto a man because it put her in control. She didn’t ever want to not be in control with men. “Are you ready to take a shower?” she whispered. Myles went completely still. “Together?” “Yes, together. After all, I did promise to take care of you.” The last time he and Adina had shared a shower he’d been too drunk to enjoy the experience. But tonight was different. He was sober and she planned to make some of his fantasies come true. “If you’re going to take care of me, then you can begin by undressing me.” Adina turned slowly and straddled Myles’s thighs, the hem of her dress inching up until the lacy tops of her thigh-highs were exposed. She took her time undoing his tie, removing his suit jacket, then the shirt and lizard-skin belt. Placing a hand on his bare chest, she eased him back until he lay half-on and half-off the loveseat. There was only the sound of breathing and the whisper of fabric until Myles lay naked under her amused gaze. “Now, what do we have here?” she teased, reaching for his erection. Myles groaned and closed his eyes when her fingers tightened around his rigid flesh. “Oh baby, what are you doing to me?” “I’m trying to make you feel good.” Grimacing, he bit down hard on his lower lip. “You don’t have to try, Adina. You are.” Adina alternated squeezing and releasing her grip on Myles’s penis, while monitoring the rate of his breathing. She’d planned to jerk him off in the shower, not here on the loveseat. “Let’s go into the bathroom.”

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Needing no further urging, Myles swung Adina up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. Within seconds she was also completely nude, water beating down on their heads and bodies. His erection, which had gone down slightly, returned when her talented hands resumed their magic. Adina became a sculptor, molding Myles into whatever shape or form that pleased her. She’d become his drug of choice, assuaging his craving slowly, deliberately, until the itch eased just enough to relieve the pain. It was a rush of power that made her feel invincible, on top of the world. Myles Ellison was hers. He was under her control. He’d fallen under her spell—she could get him to do or say anything she wanted. Sinking to the floor of the stall, Adina knelt between Myles’s outstretched legs and gripped the root and head of his penis in her hands pulling and pushing in opposite directions. She felt him grow longer and larger with each motion. She’d masturbated enough men to be able to gauge when they were about to ejaculate, and what she wanted was to prolong his release until the last possible moment. The longer she delayed his coming, the more intense his release. Myles pressed the back of his head against the wall, gritting his teeth as pleasure akin to intense pain held him in its savage grip. His breath was coming quickly in short pants. “Suck me off, baby. Suck that dick, suck that fuckin’ dick!” he chanted over and over between his teeth, becoming a litany. But it was too late. Within seconds semen squirted everywhere. Exhausted, spent, he sank down to the floor, holding onto Adina as if his very life was in her hands. And, at that moment it was. “I love you, baby,” he whispered, almost unconscious. Adina’s smile was one of supreme triumph. Myles Ellison was hers. All she had to do was to wait for the right time to spring the trap.

Chapter Sixteen Adina picked up the PDA and read the text Payne sent her: You have no more than three weeks to complete assignment. Thumbs moving quickly over the keys, she returned his text: You have to stop clockin’ me I am not clockin’ you Yes you are Am setting up another assignment. Need you available first week in May Things are going well with ME. Payout should be worth extra time I don’t have time Make time if you want what ME has Don’t tell me what to do. Remember I am the boss

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You don’t have to remind me of that Then do what I tell you to do Rather than reply to Payne, Adina turned off the PDA, tossing it at the foot of her bed. “You bitchy little cretin!” she screamed into her pillow. She hated Payne Jefferson. She despised everything about him, and if she’d had ties with some of the crackheads who lived in her housing development she would pay them to kick his ass. But since his release from prison more than a decade ago, Payne managed to keep a low profile. He still lived with his mother, but he was rarely seen hanging around the projects. Whenever she met with him it was usually somewhere in Manhattan, either the waiting area of Grand Central Station, the Long Island Railroad Station or Columbus Circle. A few times he’d surprised her and asked to meet in front of Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s. Rolling over on her back, Adina stared up at her bedroom ceiling. She didn’t want to dwell on Payne—she had to prepare for a dinner date with Myles. After she’d jerked him off in the hotel shower, he’d asked her to do it again. He’d tried to put his penis in her mouth so she could give him a blowjob, but she gagged and nearly lost the contents of her stomach. Adina had locked herself in the hotel bathroom, refusing to come out until he promised never to do it again. She knew she was risking their fragile relationship by refusing to have sex with him, but Adina wasn’t overly worried. Myles had told her things in the throes of passion that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. He’d said that he loved her. Slipping off the bed, she went into the bathroom to prepare for her date.

*** Adina knew she’d hit the jackpot when Myles took her to an apartment in Bushwick rather than out to a restaurant. He told her that the apartment belonged to his cousin, who was now living with his baby mama. She now knew where Myles lived. The one-bedroom apartment was in a renovated four-storey building along a block undergoing gentrification. Although sparsely furnished, it was definitely a bachelor’s crib. Adina sat on a stool in the kitchen watching Myles as he put up a pot of water on for spaghetti. He looked incredibly masculine in a shirt and casual slacks, stirring a pot of homemade sauce. “That smells wonderful.” “I’ll let Rico’s wife know you approve.” She knew the Zargonas were involved in illegal activities and Myles’s bookmaking business was tied to them, but her involvement with Myles wouldn’t last long enough for her interact with them again. Myles put down a wooden spoon and turned to look at her. “I couldn’t have imagined a month ago that my life could change so drastically. Adina Jenkins, you are everything I want in a woman and more.” He came to stand behind beside her. “I want to give you something,” he said close to her ear. Adina gave him a sidelong glance. Every time she went out with Myles he had given her something. The first time he’d handed her money to buy something naughty. Then it was the dark ranch mink shawl trimmed with dyed fox tails. On the last two dates he’d given her jewelry: a pair of diamond studs and a diamond pendant.

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Jewelry always made her wary because she didn’t know whether the pieces were stolen. If she’d accompanied him to a jewelry store to select her own gift, then she’d know for certain they weren’t stolen. Then, after wearing them a couple of times she’d take them to a local pawn shop to get whatever she could for them. She touched the diamond studs in her ears before pressing her fingertips to his mouth. “You don’t have to give me anything else, Myles.” “It’s not what you think.” With wide eyes, she said, “What is it?” Reaching into a pocket of his slacks, he held out a cell phone on his broad palm. “I don’t like calling and leaving messages on your house phone. I’ve programmed in my numbers, so you’ll always be able to reach me.” Adina looked at the phone as if it were a venomous reptile. “I don’t use cell phones. I’ve heard they cause brain cancer.” Myles flipped open the tiny instrument. “You don’t have to call me.” “How do I get in touch with you, then?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “You can text me. Let me show you how it’s done.” He demonstrated the technique for sending and accessing text messages, pleased when Adina caught on quickly. He closed her fingers over the phone. “If you need me for anything—and I mean anything—then I want you to text me. I always keep my phones on, so I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” “What if I text you at two in the morning?” she teased. He kissed her forehead. “Then I’ll text you back at two in the morning.” Wrapping her arms around his waist, Adina rested her head on Myles’s broad shoulder, inhaling the seductive fragrance of his cologne mingling with his natural masculine scent. He didn’t know it, but their time together was about to end.

Chapter Seventeen Adina pressed her mouth to the column of Myles’s neck. “Let me help you with something.” He shook his head. “No. I promised to cook for you, and that means I will do the cooking.” Pulling back, she stared at his mouth. “You’re getting a few grays in your mustache and goatee.” Myles’s expressive black eyebrows lifted. “That’s why I shave my head.” “I didn’t think you’d be that vain, Myles Ellison.” “I’m not vain. Would you have talked to me if I had a head filled with gray hair?” “Of course I would. I happen to like older men.” “Oh! Now I’m old?”

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“No, Myles. You’re not old. In fact, you’re not even old enough to be my father.” “Yes, I am,” he admitted. “I’m thirteen years older than you, and by thirteen I was jerking off every day. I’d wake up with a hard on, not knowing what to do with it. One morning I woke up in the most excruciating pain that I began rubbing my dick. The more I rubbed it the harder I got, and then it happened. The next thing I knew, cum was all over my legs and sheet.” Myles stopped, peering closer at Adina. “Are you blushing?” She shook her head. “Yes, you are. Does my talking about sex make you uncomfortable?” “No. Of course not.” “Why won’t you let me go inside you, Adina?” There was a beat of silence. “I’m afraid you’re going to hurt me. Do you have any idea how big you are? The first man I went to bed with was built like you. I knew it would hurt the first time, but not every time we had sex. When I went to a gynecologist he told me that I had to be very selective in choosing a sexual partner or I’d end up with bruising or tearing. I want to enjoy making love with a man, not experience pain or discomfort days after.” Putting his arms around her body, Myles held Adina close to his heart. “It’s all right. I enjoy you jerking me off.” She smiled. “And I enjoy doing it.” “But this isn’t only about me, baby. What about you?” he asked. “What about me, Myles?” “What if I eat you out? There’s no reason why you can’t enjoy it, too.” Adina didn’t want him to put his face between her legs, but she couldn’t tell him that. “That’s perverted, Myles.” His expression mirrored shock. “I can’t believe my girlfriend is a prude.” She smiled. “I suppose it comes from having a parochial school education. Listening to lectures about the weakness of the flesh and the hell-and-damnation sermons are hard to erase when it’s drilled into you day after day, year after year.” “Don’t sweat it baby. What we have is not about what we share in bed, but out of it.” “That’s not the only thing you’re right about.” Myles angled his head, his dark eyes boring into hers. “What else am I right about?” “I’ve decided to get my own place where I can invite my boyfriend over for dinner and…” “And…” “And,” she began again, “perhaps if I’m very convincing then he’ll agree to spend the night.” “It won’t take much convincing, Adina. Have you found a place?” “I have, but I don’t know how long it’s going to be available.” “Is it out of your price range?”

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“No. I can afford the rent, but…I don’t have the broker’s fee.” “How much do you need?” She told him. Myles released Adina and went over to the stove to turn off the pot of boiling water. “How are you going to afford to pay your rent when you bring home such a piddly amount? What about utilities or food and other incidentals?” “The utilities are included in the rent, along with cable. I usually take my meals at the diner, so that rules out food. I plan to ask my boss for a raise and hopefully that’ll take care of incidentals.” “You know, my offer is still open. If you want you can work for me. I’ll pay you a grand a week.” A frown furrowed Adina’s smooth forehead. “No, Myles. I won’t work and sleep with you. What if we have a falling out? If or when we part I want it to be a clean break with no regrets.” “What would we have to break up over?” Adina hardened her features. “You broke up with your wife.” “That’s because I found out she was fuckin’ another man,” Myles countered angrily. “What if I decide to fuck another man,” Adina spat out. “You won’t,” he said confidently. “How can you be certain?” “If you don’t let me fuck you, then I doubt I’ll have to worry about you being with other men.” You arrogant, pompous son-of-a-bitch, she thought. Did Myles really believe he knew Adina Jenkins that well? Well, he was going to be in for the surprise of his life when she turned the tables on him. Only it wouldn’t be with another man. “You’re right,” she said sweetly. Easing her off the stool, Myles grasped her hand. “Come with me.” Adina followed him out of the kitchen and into a bedroom with a king-size bed that took up most of the floor space. She watched as Myles went to his knees and pulled a large strongbox from under the bed. Her heart sped up when she saw the contents. It was filled with cash. She watched as he counted out fifty and one hundred dollars bills totaling four thousand dollars. “There’s enough here for your first and last month’s rent and the broker’s fee.” She had the information Payne needed. She knew where Myles kept his money. Adina took the cash, but surprisingly she felt no joy. Now, it was only a matter of time when Payne would alert his people to break into the apartment and take the strongbox.

Chapter Eighteen Adina turned on the PDA to text Payne the information he needed on Myles. She’d deliberately waited a week before forwarding the location of Myles’s money because Payne had been pressuring her. It was her way of clawing back some control in their relationship.

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She typed in the address, making certain he knew it was in Bushwick. Give me at least two weeks to break up with ME before you go in. He’s no punk—he has ties to a powerful organized crime family. Once everything is in place let me know when it’s going down so I won’t be around. Then she sent Myles a text to set up a date. What he thought would be a date, anyway. It would actually be the beginning of the end, starting with returning the four grand he’d given her. Not long after, the cell phone chimed a distinctive ring indicating she’d just received a text message. Picking it up, she read the message: I can see you at 10 tonight. Take a cab to my place and I will be downstairs waiting for you. She typed back: See you at 10. True to his word, Myles was waiting in front of his apartment when the driver maneuvered up to the curb. He paid the driver and helped Adina out. A slight smile curved his mouth when he noticed that she was carrying an oversized leather handbag. He probably thought it meant she planned to spend the night. He led her up the staircase to the apartment, then into the bedroom. The nighttime temperatures were warm enough for her to wear a lightweight jacket over her T-shirt and jeans. He pulled her against his body, murmuring into her ear, “It’s been a week since I’ve seen you—it felt like forever the way the days seemed to drag by.” Then he undressed Adina before undressing himself. It wasn’t until they lay in bed together that he asked why her text message had been marked URGENT. “What’s been going on, baby?” Adina pressed her breasts to his chest. “I have to give you back your money.” He went still. “Why?” “I’m not moving.” “I thought you wanted your own place?” “I do, but it can’t happen. Not now.” “Why not, Adina?” He let out a small laugh. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that you’d signed the lease. It sounds kind of silly, but I was actually looking forward to going with you when you went shopping for the new place. What happened?” “My grandmother had a mini-stroke earlier in the week,” she lied. “She hadn’t been taking her blood pressure medication, so when she couldn’t get out of bed by herself I called the paramedics who took her to the emergency room. The doctors managed to stabilize her pressure. They kept her for a couple of days, then released her with a stern warning to me that she has to be monitored closely. I can’t leave her now, Myles. I called the broker and told her that I won’t be taking the apartment. I have your money in my bag.” “Hold onto it, baby.” “I can’t, Myles. Maybe if I need it again…’ll let you know. There’s something else you should know.” Adina purposefully put a catch in her voice so that Myles would think her close to tears. “What is it?” “I can’t see you as much I’d like to. I can’t leave my grandmother alone for long periods of time. I have to be home with her during the morning hours when she has to take her medication. I’ll stay with her until my sister comes home from school, then I’ll go to work. I’ve called my boss and told him that I have to rearrange

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my work hours, and he’s okay with that. But…no more spending the nights out with you, or taking long weekends.” Then she did cry, her tears falling on his shoulder. His hands made soothing motions over her back. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m not going anywhere. As soon as your grandmother is better we’ll take up where we left off. And I insist you keep the money—you might need it for your grandmother.” Adina sniffled dramatically for effect. “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure. I know how close you are to your grandmother.” “She’s all I have,” Adina said truthfully. When Bernice had been out whoring, Dora was there for Adina. When Bernice had stumbled home after days of shooting up or smoking crack, Dora was there for her. When Bernice had run out of money or johns, Dora had been there for her granddaughter. And when Bernice Jenkins went for a run and never came back, Dora was there not only for her granddaughter, but also her great-granddaughter. When Adina moved from the projects Dora and Jameeka would come with her. The only way she would leave them behind was if her life was at risk and she didn’t want them involved. “I can only stay for a few hours, then I have to go back home to check on her.” “Do you want me to come with you?” “No, Myles. But thanks for asking.” “Has your grandmother ever met any of your boyfriends?” Adina shook her head. “No.” “Why not?” “Most of them weren’t worth bringing home. And, if I were really being truthful, I’d say you’re really my first serious boyfriend. I hung out with the others because it was better than sitting home watching television.” “Do you have any girlfriends?” “I have one friend who grew up in the projects with me, but we never hung out when we were younger. We hooked up last year and she’s the closest I’ve ever had to a real friend.” “I take it the other ones were haters.” “Yeah, though I don’t know why. We all live in the PJs, so what’s up with that?” “It’s not always about where you live or what you have, but it’s about what they don’t have and aren’t willing to work for. You and I don’t have traditional nine-to-fives, but we still work for what we get and want, while the predators wait around and jack you for your shit. I try to keep a low profile, but if anyone ever comes after me, then they’ll have to deal with the Zargonas. I pay them a lot to protect my operation. And I can assure you that they’re not to be played with.”

Chapter Nineteen The Zargonas are not to be played with. Adina lost count of the number of times Myles’s warning played over and over in her head. Well, it was too late. Payne had already dispatched his crew to the Bushwick apartment.

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They’d donned gas masks, ordered everyone out at gunpoint then turned on the kitchen stove. The thieves took several strongboxes while waiting for the apartment to fill with gas. As they left, one of them lit a match. The explosion was heard from two blocks away and shattered all the windows, allowing the fire to spread rapidly. Fortunately no one was killed, but witnesses had identified four men in masks running from the building, although none of them were reported to be carrying anything. To anyone outside of Payne’s circle, it looked like vandalism, not robbery. Adina sent Myles a text, telling him she saw news footage of the fire and that he should contact her to let her know that he was alright. It was all part of the ploy, of course. She knew he hadn’t been in the apartment during the break-in. She sent him several texts a day: Saw the news about the fire in your building Text me back and let me know you’re okay Worried about you Please get in touch Myles, please, please let me know if you are alive Not eating or sleeping—worried about you Thinking of contacting Rico Zargona to ask about you Myles—wherever you are—I love you

*** It was the last text that finally got through to Myles. Losing his money in the fire paled when he realized Adina hadn’t been there with him. He’d gone to Atlantic City for the weekend when he got the call that the apartment where he’d been staying no longer existed. All he’d heard was gas leak and he cashed in his chips and arranged for a car to bring him back to New York. Everything in the apartment had been destroyed. He questioned the fire marshal about fireproof strongboxes containing his personal papers and documents. The marshal told him that they hadn’t found any evidence of the boxes. He didn’t want to believe them, but when he saw that the intense heat had buckled steel beams in the building’s foundation he relinquished his suspicion that someone had burglarized the apartment before setting fire to it. For the next two weeks, he’d been obsessed with getting his operation back on track, borrowing money from Rico to get it going. He hadn’t had time to call Adina back. But now she’d said she loved him. Instead of returning her text message, he called her at her home. A young girl answered the phone, asking politely if he would give her his name. He did, smiling for the first time in weeks. “Myles?”

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The sound of Adina’s husky voice sent a shiver of wanting throughout his body. “Yes, baby, it’s me.” “Where have you been? Why did you wait so long to get in touch with me?” “I had things to take care of.” “You could’ve called or sent a text before now to let me know you were still alive. I’ll have you know that I went to Bushwick to try and find out something—anything—that wasn’t reported on the news.” “I can assure you that I’m alright.” “Where were you when the fire broke out?” “I was in Atlantic City.” Her sensual laugh came through the earpiece. “I’ll never complain about you gambling ever again.” It was Myles’s turn to laugh. “That’s good to hear. How’s your grandmother?” he asked, changing the topic. Her laughter faded. “She’s coming along. Her recovery is a lot slower than what the doctors originally predicted. “When am I going to see you?” “I don’t know, Adina.” “Please, Myles. I need to see you.” He exhaled an audible breath. “Okay. When are you free?” “What about Saturday night?” “Okay. I’ll send a car for you. Is eleven too late?” “No, no, that’s fine.” “Wait at the usual spot.” “I’ll be there.”

*** Adina tapped on the door to the suite at the Victoria Hotel, waiting for Myles to come to the door. When it opened she was visibly shocked by his appearance. He hadn’t bothered to shave his head and a halo of gray stubble appeared on his pate. He’d lost weight and he looked much older than forty. She fell into his embrace, her arms tightening around his waist. She knew it was her last performance, her swan song, but what bothered her was that it was the first time she’d felt genuine sorrow about setting up someone to be robbed. “I’ve missed you so much.” Myles picked her up and carried her to the bed. “I’ve missed you, too, but I’ve had a lot of things on my mind lately.”

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Threading her fingers through his, Adina squeezed his hand. “I know. I wanted to see you to make certain you’re really okay. And I’ve come to return your money. For sure this time. I can’t move out and leave my grandmother. Wherever I go I have to make certain I have enough room for her. My sister will be in college in another four years, so I have time to plan what I have to do.” Shifting on the large bed, she stared at the deep grooves in his lean face. “Where are you staying?” “I’m living with my mother until I find something in Brooklyn. She has a house in East Elmhurst.” “I hope your mom is a good cook, because you need to eat. How much weight have you lost?” “Did I ever tell you that you sound like a wife?” “Yeah, you did. And I told you that I’m not the marrying kind. Even if I were in love.” He sighed, running a hand over the fine hair on his head. “Look, Adina, I saw your message but—“ She stopped him with a hand over his mouth. “Shh. You don’t have to say it. Neither of us have the time or energy to put into a relationship. We had fun, let’s leave it at that.” He nodded. “Thank you for understanding.” Adina spent another hour with Myles. Enough to know he didn’t suspect her and that he saw their breakup as his idea—a neat ending to a perfect hustle. She walked out of the suite, leaving an envelope on the table with a cell phone and four thousand dollars in large bills behind.

Chapter Twenty Adina didn’t have time to beat herself up for giving Myles back his money. She was already rehearsing in earnest for another role—this time her mark was a jewel thief. Retrieving the PDA, she read Payne’s text message: Assignment: Time — Friday, May 3rd — 11 PM — Club Chez Tangerine — Private Party for TY — Paroled Jewel Thief — Objective: Missing uncut diamonds appraised for 5 Mil It was about to begin again. Now she knew why Payne wanted her finish up with Myles Ellison. He wanted her available for TY’s party. Although she’d never been to Chez Tangerine she’d heard that it was one of the better spots in which to party. It’d been open six months and so far there hadn’t been reports of shootings, stabbings or violations for underage drinking. She asked Payne for more particulars on TY. He texted back, telling her that the thief had been given a sentence of fifteen-to twenty for robbing and viciously assaulting an elderly diamond merchant. She knew she had to be very careful with TY since he’d done a bid. If he survived life in prison, then there was no doubt he was more than apt to take care of himself on the street. So far, she had survived ten years without being assaulted, and now that she was quitting the game she wanted to get out unscathed. Picking up the telephone, she dialed LaKeisha’s cell. “Hey girl,” she said when she heard her friend’s greeting. “I’m going out tonight. Do you want to roll with me?” “Where are you going?” “Chez Tangerine.”

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“Is that the new club over on—” “Yeah, that’s the one,” she said, interrupting LaKeisha. “Count me in. What time do you want to get there?” “Eleven sounds good. I’ll pick you up around ten-thirty.” “I’ll be ready. I’ve got to go. I have an appointment to get my hair braided.” “Are you sure you’re going to be ready at ten-thirty, La?” “If I get off the phone with you I’ll be ready.” “Later, La.” “Later, Dina.” Ending the call, she walked over to her closet to select something to wear. Hanging out at a club meant wearing next to nothing while attempting not to appear too hoochie. Skirts, tops, slacks, shoes and underwear were piled atop her bed when she finally decided on a green silk halter top with a built-in bra that matched the pinpoints of green in her eyes and a black stretch knit skirt that barely covered her snatch. It was an outfit designed to get attention. And that was exactly her intent. She wanted attention—lots of attention—from the guest of honor. A black lace thong panty and four-inch black strappy stilettos completed her clubbing outfit. She’d keep her hair down, just like LaKeisha probably would. She thought of her friend at the salon getting her hair braided and cut. Adina had thought about cutting her own hair and then changed her mind. She would wait—wait until the day she celebrated leaving the street life. Outfit and hair decided on, Adina made her way into the bathroom and filled the bathtub with water, adding a capful of bubble bath. Stripping off her clothes, Adina sank down into the bubbles and let out an audible sigh. She’d returned the money Myles had given her, but she’d got more than enough from the take. She’d put away a thousand in her backpack and purchased money orders from various check cashing businesses and the U.S. Post Office. She set aside four thousand to cover Jameeka’s tuition for the upcoming school year. Adina was determined that Jameeka would have all of the advantages that she was denied. Jameeka didn’t know her father and would probably never know him, but at least she wouldn’t be exposed to drugs, alcohol and sex before she was ready for them. Myles had asked her what he could give her and she’d said she wanted to relive her childhood. If she’d been given the opportunity to live her life over she would not be who she was or what she’d become. She’d successfully ended one hustle only to begin another. But she knew she was nearing the end. It no longer mattered how much she’d saved. The difference between twenty and thirty thousand wasn’t that great. Adina closed her eyes and did what she hadn’t done in a very long time. She prayed. She prayed that if she survived the next assignment she would get off the streets—for good.

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Billionaire's Baby by Leanne Banks Garrett Winslow wants a woman to love him for himself, not for his family's money. So when he meets Haley Turner while on vacation in Mexico, he keeps his real name a secret. A family crisis abruptly ends their spring fling, and Garrett heads home, never knowing the night he spent with Haley has changed both of their lives forever….

Chapter One "That's mine!" a voice echoing with feminine distress called out, making Garrett lift his head from the waters of Chankanaab Park in Cozumel. An orange bathing suit top floated to his side in the turquoise waters. Garrett had taken a day to snorkel, and he'd expected to see plenty of tropical fish, but not this. A parrot fish nudged the orange triangles to check for edibility, then swam away. "Could you — please!" Garrett turned his head to catch sight of a young woman with strawberry blond hair slicked back from her forehead, her mask on top of her head, and her eyes wide with embarrassment. The parrot fish was dead wrong. This woman was definitely edible. "The current carried it away," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you could just send it over here." "I don't know. Haven't you heard? Finders keepers," he said unable to resist the urge to tease her just a little. Kicking her fins to keep herself afloat, she gave a long-suffering sigh. "Aw c'mon. Orange isn't your color." "Maybe not," he mused thoughtfully as he held the top out of the water. Looked like the cups would take just a little bit more than a mouthful. "What's the reward for the top?" he asked, looking at her again. She lifted her chin. "A gentleman wouldn't ask for a reward." "I never said I was a gentleman. On the flip side, a lady would give a token of her gratitude." "What'd you have in mind?" "Dinner tonight," he said, meeting her gaze dead-on. "If you can deliver the top of that bathing suit and keep your eyes on my eyes — with no detours lower," she emphasized, "I'll meet you for dinner in town." "Deal," he said, though he knew the effort would cost him. He wouldn't be a man if he didn't want to see her naked, and the clear water would have made the viewing oh, so easy.

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"Since you've already said you're not much of a gentleman, I imagine I'll be eating dinner with my friends," she said in a cool voice, keeping her eyes trained on his as she moved closer. He made damn sure his gaze never wavered, never dipped. He had an odd feeling in his gut about this woman. His eyes fastened on hers, he pressed the suit top into her outstretched hand. "Thanks," she said, surprise shimmering in her gaze. "Turn around," he told her, his voice a little rough around the edges. She did then fidgeted with the clasp. She made a sound of frustration. "I can't make it stay." "Wait a minute. I've got a rubber band on my wrist," he told her, treading closer. "You want me to try it?" "Please." Garrett made a makeshift fastener and looped the two ends of the suit together. He gave it a slight tug. "Okay?" She nodded and turned around. "Thanks. Really." She paused then, as if on impulse, she leaned toward him and brushed her lips over his. "A token of gratitude," she said. Garrett licked the combination of salt sweetness from his lips and felt a slow burn. "Alberto's at seven. What's your name and where are you staying?" "Haley. Haley Turner. I'm at Plaza Las Glorias. And you are?" He opened his mouth to tell her his name, but thought better of it. The temptation to give in to the freedom of anonymity was too much. He'd been burned so many times by women who had wanted him for his family name, money or both. He'd always wanted to know if a woman could want him for himself instead of all the trappings associated with being a Winslow. He felt a twinge of conscience but pushed it aside. If things worked out, he would tell her the truth later. "Rick Williams," he said. *** Four days later, he was totally entranced. While the sun set in downtown Cozumel, Garrett Winslow watched Haley snap a photo of two Mexican children selling marionettes on the busy street corner. The children smiled for Haley. From what Garrett had observed, everyone smiled for Haley. With her strawberry blond hair and easy laugh, she had an unpretentious air that was like pure oxygen for Garrett. He couldn't get enough of her. At odd moments, he envisioned their relationship extending past their time in Cozumel. She made him feel content and ravenous for her at the same time. He had wanted her in his bed since the first minute he'd seen her. Maybe by the end of the night, he thought. He could feel the

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crackle of expectancy sizzling between them. He wanted to tell her his real name, but the delicious appeal of attracting her purely on a personal basis stopped him. Within months, he would take on the role for which he'd been born and bred. Vice-president-intraining for Winslow Corporation, the company his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had built and nurtured. He would graduate from law school in weeks. His roommate had persuaded him to go to Mexico for spring break for one last hurrah. And what a hurrah, he thought, mesmerized by the sway of her hips beneath the skirt that skimmed just above the knee to reveal long shapely legs. Haley glanced around at him and, with a grin, shook her head. She waggled her finger. "You're staring again." "You've got a lot worth staring at," he told her, catching her hand in his and dragging her against him for a quick kiss. Her slightly sunburned cheeks turned even pinker, but she didn't stiffen or pull back as she had the first couple of days he'd cajoled her into spending time with him. "Are you trying to take my breath away?" "Turnabout's fair play," he said, staring into her green eyes. Her gaze deepened with a sliver of doubt. "Bet you say that to all the girls at Yale." "Don't bet the farm," he told her, unable to resist skimming his finger down a strand of her redgold hair. "What's so different about me, other than the fact that I lost my bathing suit top in the ocean and you rescued it for me?" she asked with a catch of laughter in her throat. "You're real." Haley felt her stomach flip at the look in Rick's eyes. Ever since the first time they'd met, she'd been intrigued by him. She'd been cautious at first, but now she was very curious and very attracted. Haley was a good, sensible girl who attended a women's college on scholarship in Texas, but she didn't feel at all sensible when she was with Rick. She felt beautiful, interesting and sexy. He made her heart go pitter-patter, and all kinds of other places buzz. She took a quick breath and tried to cling to sanity. Mexico was no place for a girl to lose her head. "Everyone's real." He shook his head. "Not like you. I want to dance with you tonight." "Carlos 'n Charlie's?" she asked. The wild, rowdy bar was the most popular spot with the spring break crowd. He shook his head. "Too loud."

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"Then where?" "A store owner told me about a place that plays blues and jazz." "Sounds nice," she said, feeling a reckless anticipation bubbling inside her. Two hours later, after a dinner of fajitas and two margaritas, she was swaying to sultry music in Rick's arms. She probably shouldn't have had that second margarita, but Haley felt as if she'd been sensible her entire life. She wanted to cut loose and enjoy herself for once. She stumbled slightly, and Rick drew her body flush against his. "Sorry," she said, breathless. "A little dizzy." "After just two margaritas?" he gently teased. "It doesn't take much for me, but I don't think it's just the tequila." She looked into his eyes and felt her stomach dip and sway. "Then what is it?" The alcohol loosened her tongue. "You." He lowered his lips to her ear. "I don't believe you. You've been hard-to-get since we first met." She shook her head. "There's a difference between hard-to-get and shy. And careful." She searched his face. She had felt the oddest, strangest connection with him right from the start. His dark eyes darkened further with arousal and he lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips in a French kiss that made the room spin. He slid his leg between hers, and she felt the hard evidence of his desire against her. She instinctively moved against him, and he groaned. "You're going to drive me totally crazy, aren't you?" he muttered against her lips. Her heart pounding a mile a minute, she shook her head. "Not me. I don't have that kind of power." "You greatly underestimate yourself," he said in a wry voice and pulled back with a sigh. "I need some air. Let's go for a walk on the beach." They left the sexy sounds of the jazz club and grabbed a cab to his hotel, which boasted the most walkable portion of the beach. That didn't say much, considering much of Cozumel's beach was rocky. They arrived at a good time, however, and ended up walking the narrow strip of sand several times. "It's very strange," she said, allowing him to tug her down beside him on the beach. "I feel like I know you and don't know you at all." He shrugged. "There's not much to know. I'm a simple guy."

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"Liar," she said, playfully tossing a handful of sand on his leg. She wasn't an idiot. She could tell he was a complicated man. He'd let her see parts of him, but she was convinced he kept some parts secret. The more she knew about him, the more she wanted to know. He chuckled. "Okay. What do you want to know?" "That's easy. What do you want more than anything?" His gaze grew serious, and he laced his fingers between hers. "Right now? Right this very minute?"

Chapter Two Haley couldn't have breathed if her life had depended on it. She bit her lip at the rush of emotions that rolled through her. She forced herself to look away from Rick's dark gaze to regain her equilibrium. "Before you came to Mexico, what did you want?" He lifted her hand to his lips, and she closed her eyes at the tenderness in the gesture. "To meet a woman like you." It should have sounded like a line, but it didn't. And the same feeling resonated inside her. She had always wanted to meet a man like Rick. Fun but intelligent. Sexy, with heart. "Hey, what happened?" he asked, his hand touching her foot. Haley glanced down and saw a trickle of bright red blood on her toe. "I must've stepped on something, maybe a rock." She shrugged. "It doesn't hurt. It's no big deal." "Band-Aid and antibiotic ointment," he said firmly, pulling her to her feet. "There's no need to make a fuss," she protested. "If you end up with an infection, you'll really be fussing. C'mon. I've got the supplies in my room. It won't take but a minute." As they took the elevator to his room, in some corner of her mind, it occurred to Haley that it might not be prudent to be anywhere near a bed with Rick. The temptation to do more and go further had been simmering between them for days, and tonight it was stronger than ever. But she knew Rick wouldn't force her into anything. This was just a first-aid mission, not a seduction scene. He motioned her toward the sofa as soon as he unlocked the door, then flicked on a light and opened the door to the balcony before he disappeared into the adjoining bedroom. He returned with a washcloth, a tube of ointment and an adhesive bandage. Haley extended her hand to take the supplies from him. He shook his head. "I'll do it." "I can put on my own Band-Aid." "Don't deprive me of a legitimate reason to touch your feet."

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She smiled as he cleaned the sand from her foot. "You don't have a foot fetish, do you?" "No, but you have very cute feet." She curled her toes. "They're long." "Like your legs," he said, his voice laced with rough approval. "I always thought I was too skinny in high school." Wrapping the toe in a bandage, he gave her body an appreciative glance. "Baby, you have filled out very well." He made her feel as if she'd kept her nose stuck in the books entirely too long. What had she missed by focusing almost exclusively on her studies? Her college buddies had insisted she take this trip to Mexico for some fun, to hook up with a guy and be spontaneous for once. Everyone close to her knew she worked hard to keep her grades up so her scholarship wouldn't be threatened. She was the first in her family to get a college education and she never forgot how lucky she was to get to study photojournalism. She hadn't allowed herself to get distracted. She couldn't, but something inside her was pushing her toward Rick. The push was so strong it felt like a storm surge. Haley didn't know whether to fight it or let it take her…. "Thanks for the complimentary medical treatment," she said with a smile that she hoped covered her mixed emotions. "Are you sure you're not a med student?" Chuckling, he helped her to her feet. "No chance of that. Take a look from the balcony. It's a nice view even at night." Following him out to the balcony, she drew in a breath mixed with sea air and the subtle scent of his aftershave and looked at the reflection of the stars on the ocean. "It looks like magic." He looked back at her. "Magic," he echoed. "I don't think it's the ocean. I think it's you." He dipped his head and took her mouth in a kiss that made her feel things she'd never felt, heat and need so intense she trembled with it. He pulled back slightly. "You're shaking. Are you cold?" "No," she said, swallowing over the lump in her throat. "I don't want this time with you to end." He nodded slowly and slid his hands through her hair. "I feel the same way. I can't get close enough to you." In the warm, strong circle of his arms, she felt the heavy beat of his heart and the urgent evidence of his need pressed against her. Her own need surged inside her, overriding years of good sense and restraint. She had never felt like this about a man before. She didn't want to miss him, to miss being with him. Something inside her broke free and she arched against him. "How close do you want to be?" she whispered.

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Time stopped between them, and Haley had the odd sensation of being in the eye of a hurricane. Rick slid his hand to the small of her back to guide her more intimately against him. "As close as we can get," he murmured, then took her mouth again. Heat roared through her. She loved the taste of him, and he touched her as if he knew exactly what would take her breath away and make her heart pound. She felt the strings of her sundress slip to her shoulders. Rick's mouth traveled down her throat to her chest, then he took her nipple into his warm, avid mouth. A delicious combination of shock and desire coursed through her. She didn't have time to react before he skimmed one of his hands up her leg to her panties. She could have stopped him. If she'd wanted to stop him. His fingers slid into her secret, damp swollen place, and he groaned. "I want all of you, Haley." Her heart hammered in her throat. She knew she was at the point of no return. "I don't have any —" She swallowed. "I don't have any protec —" He cut her off with one finger pressed to her lips. "I'll take care of you." And she knew by the look in his eyes that he would. In every way a man can intimately care for the woman he wants. She closed her eyes for a second, scared, yet full of wanting, then opened her eyes and met his gaze. "I want you." His eyes lit with dark fire, and he took her mouth, took her body and took her heart. He made love to her with fierce gentleness, seducing her response. He kissed her mouth and throat, caressed her breasts to turgid points of desire. Then lower still, he pressed his open mouth to her belly and thighs, then between her thighs. When he thrust inside her, she felt the melding of minds, bodies, souls. Even afterward, she clung to him, shaken by the power of their joining. As if he couldn't get enough of her, he made love to her again and again…. They finally slept wrapped in each other's arms. Hours later, the jarring ringing of the phone abruptly awakened Haley. She sat bolt upright in bed, disoriented by her unfamiliar surroundings. "Yes, yes, it's me," Rick said, sliding to sit on the edge of the bed. He stopped midmovement. "Oh my God! How bad is he?" Haley's stomach clenched at the shock in his voice. She glanced at the alarm clock and bit her lip. Good news never came at two a.m. "The jet's already on the way? I'll go to the airport right away." Rick paused. "If he regains consciousness, tell him I love him and I'm on my way." He hung up the phone, his body taut with desperation. He took a deep breath then shook his head as if to clear it. "What is it?" Haley asked. Standing, Rick looked at her. "I have to leave. It's my father. He's had a heart attack."

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Her heart ached for him. "That's terrible!" He nodded, pulling out dresser drawers and throwing clothes into a suitcase. "I always thought he was as strong as an ox. I never thought he would —" He broke off, his voice catching. She wrapped the sheet around herself and rushed to put her arms around him. "I'm really sorry. What can I do?" Distracted and rightfully so, he shook his head. "Nothing. I just really need to go. I'm sorry. I'll be in touch with you. Okay?" Haley tamped down a flood of insecurities. Now wasn't the time for her to ask for reassurance or declarations. "Okay," she made herself say. "I hope he'll be okay." Ten minutes later, she watched him walk out the door and hoped with all her heart that it wasn't the last time she would see him.

Chapter Three Four years later… "It's nice of them to let us see the executioner before they send us to the guillotine," Susan Cooper said to Haley as the two of them walked toward the outdoor company courtyard to meet the new owner. "Do you have to call him the executioner?" Haley asked, fighting her own nerves about the prospect of losing her job. Susan Cooper shrugged. "That's how Garrett Winslow operates. He buys and takes over little companies like ours, then cuts away the fat, so to speak —" she glanced down at her plump abdomen and sucked it in "— of the employee workforce." She tossed Haley a mock scowl. "You don't have to worry. You're superslim." "I'm in advertising. That can be farmed out or taken over by one of his other companies." "But you take great photos and write great copy," Susan protested. "I appreciate your loyalty, but I take photographs of computer components. I'm replaceable." Her stomach twisted with nerves. "I really don't want to lose this job. The day care center is right across the street. I can visit Jake just about every day for lunch and if there's a problem I can be there in less than two minutes." Susan patted her shoulder in sympathy. "You'll be fine whatever happens. You've got your degree. You've got a great kid. And if you'll just cooperate, I could get you ten marriage proposals in no time." Susan had been the best friend Haley could ever have since moving to Tremont, Texas, two years ago. A mother of two married for fifteen years to a terrific husband, Susan worked as the assistant in Haley's department and had opened her heart and home to Haley and Jake right from the start.

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"I don't need a husband. I just need things to stay the same," Haley said. "Hmm. Well, I can guarantee that won't happen. C'mon, let's get a look at the executioner. He may hand us our pink slips, but I hear he's a hunk. He's a bachelor," she added with emphasis, then sighed. "But I also heard he has a beautiful blond assistant who's angling for another position and making some progress in that direction." Haley couldn't help smiling at Susan's ability to get the personal scoop on the new owner. "How do you get all this info?" "I keep my ear to the ground and my nose to the wind." "Sounds like a recipe for a crick in the neck." "Aren't you cute?" Susan said with a chuckle. "That's what you keep saying," Haley playfully retorted as they approached the double glass doors, which led to the courtyard. "You go first." "Age before beauty," Susan said with a sniff, then walked outside. Haley's stomach twisted and turned as she hung near the back of the large crowd of employees of E-Z Computer Corporation. She wondered if the company would keep its name or become Winslow Computers. That would really mess up the marketing plans. Her mind turned to her son, Jake. She wondered how he would adjust to a move if she lost her job. She feared the transition could be difficult. She had chosen the job at E-Z Computers because the management had offered flexibility, a great health benefits package, reasonable job security, and Tremont, Texas, was the perfect place to raise a son. Now, it appeared that her job security would be threatened. Hearing a flurry of activity behind her, she moved to the side as a small entourage of people walked through the doorway. Haley identified the president and vice president of E-Z Computers, a beautiful blond woman she pegged as Winslow's assistant and a tall, dark handsome man who looked entirely familiar. Her heart stopped. It was Rick Williams. The father of her child. *** Garrett Winslow climbed the steps to the small platform as the president of E-Z Computers introduced him. Looking out over the crowd, he saw a mixture of curiosity and apprehension on the faces of the employees. Both were understandable. In the past five years, Winslow Corporation had gained a reputation of taking over companies and making them lean and mean. After his father's death, Garrett had been thrown into a battle to keep the control of the company in a Winslow's hands. He'd had to prove himself by showing healthy profits from the word go.

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He had succeeded and won the respect of every member on the board. If he'd sacrificed his personal life, then that was just a necessary loss. Maybe someday he would be able to have a life and family outside the confines of Winslow Corporation. But not now. The employees applauded, signaling him to step up to the microphone. "Good afternoon. Thank you for coming. I can't tell you how excited Winslow Corporation is to bring E-Z Computers into our family. E-Z has produced a superior product and marketed it in a highly inventive and effective fashion. We want to take E-Z to the next level." He automatically scanned the crowd as he spoke, and his gaze hung on the way the sun glinted on a woman's strawberry blond hair in the back of the crowd. He paused. His heart hesitated. His mind traveled backward, to what now seemed eons ago, to a time when his life had been simpler. A sweet time when he hadn't shouldered the burden of his father's death and his subsequent struggle to take the reins of Winslow. A time when a woman had wanted him just for him, and not the Winslow name and fortune. He blinked. It couldn't be her. In lonely moments, he'd thought of her but never called. When his father had died on his return to the States, Garrett's life had changed in an instant. There'd been no time for dancing and laughing. There'd been no time for love. He remembered the bitter guilt he'd felt. While he'd been playing in Cozumel, his father had been dying. Even though, logically, he'd known he couldn't have prevented his father's death, he'd punished himself by turning away from thoughts of Haley and drowning himself in work. As time passed, however, he knew he'd let something precious slip away, and losing Haley had become his greatest regret. He continued speaking, but his gaze returned to the woman in the back of the crowd. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder, and he got an odd feeling in his gut. If he could look into her eyes, he would know. He wrapped up his speech and nodded at the applause, then turned to Bob Stevens, E-Z's president. "Bob, do you know if you have an employee by the name of Haley —" "Haley Turner," Bob said with a broad smile. "Great employee. She's a great photographer, works in advertising. Everybody loves her." "I often like to talk with a few of the employees during these visits. I'd like you to put her on the list for this afternoon." Garrett felt his pulse race but tried to remain outwardly calm. He wondered if he would find the words to explain. He wondered how she would respond to him. He wondered if there was a remote possibility that he could have her in his life again.

Chapter Four "Mr. Winslow wants to see you." The words echoed inside Haley's brain as she walked down the hall to see Garrett Winslow. Her heart pounded a mile a minute. Had he recognized her? Was he going to fire her personally? Why her? Why not someone else? Of all the ways she'd fantasized seeing Rick again…Garrett, she mentally corrected. Of all the ways she'd fantasized Garrett coming into her life again, this hadn't been one of them. Taking a shaky breath, she opened the door to face her past.

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The sight of her made Garrett's heart stop. Haley's face was pale, her eyes didn't quite meet his, and when he reached to take her hand, she hesitated then briefly pressed her cold palm against his. "Take a seat, Haley," he said, leaning back against the desk. "Mr. Winslow," she said with a short nod. If he hadn't noticed her pale complexion and slight jitteriness, then he almost would believe that she'd forgotten him. His gut twisted at the notion, but that was what he deserved. "You like it here at E-Z Computers?" "Yes, I do. I've enjoyed the family atmosphere of the company. I hope that won't get lost in the transition." "Family atmosphere is fine as long as it doesn't hold the company back. Change is necessary to get ahead." "That would be your area of expertise. Getting ahead," she said in a neutral tone. She still didn't quite look at him, and that bothered the hell out of him. He missed her warmth. He had missed it for years, but now standing in front of her as she sealed herself off from him like a cold vault, he missed it even more. "You're afraid of losing your job?" "Of course. Everyone is," she said, lacing her fingers together. He could almost remember how her hands had felt on him. "Your reputation precedes you." He narrowed his eyes at her words. "What do you mean 'my reputation'?" She hesitated, emanating discomfort. "Just some talk I've heard." "I'd like to know what the talk is." "I'm not sure you really want to know," she said, finally looking at him. "I do." "You're called the executioner." Remembering all the jobs he'd cut during the past couple of years, he nodded wryly. "I can see that. It's not the only thing I do, though." When she didn't respond, he found himself impatient for the way she had responded to him all those years ago. Ridiculous but true. Her legs were still long enough to give him hot fantasies, her hair sleek and strawberry blond, and her body held a few more curves than he remembered. He wondered how many men had passed through her life and felt a surprising stab of jealousy. "Are you married?" he asked. She paused a half beat. "No." "Will you join me for dinner?"

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Her eyes widened in surprise. "No," she said with breathless speed. He leaned toward her. "I need to explain. I need to apologize for never call —" She held up her hand. "I don't want explanations or excuses. I'm not interested." Frustration coursed through him. He'd handled a dozen difficult situations better than he was handling this one. "But we had something special, and there's too much you don't know. You're acting as if this is the first time you've met me." Her eyes flashed with anger, the first warmth he'd glimpsed since she'd walked into the room. "I can honestly say that this is the first time in my life that I've ever met Garrett Winslow." He opened his mouth to disagree then remembered he had never told her his name. Ouch. "I should have told you my real name, but that trip was supposed to be my last escape from everything associated with my family name. I can't tell you how important it was for me to have you interested in me as a man, not a Winslow." "I'm sure you had your reasons for deceiving me," she said, not mincing words. He couldn't blame her for her anger. He would have felt the same way. It frustrated him that he didn't remember much about that last night he'd shared with her except making love to her over and over again. "My father died that night." She bit her lip and her expression softened a fraction. "I'm sorry. I'm sure it was difficult to lose him." "In more ways than one. I remember making love with you that night, but —" She sprang to her feet, her back ramrod straight. "I really don't want to talk about that." "I don't remember anything after I got the call about my father." She took a careful breath and dipped her head as if she'd traveled her own path of pain since then, and had no intention of returning. "That's probably best." "Why?" he asked, moving toward her. "Did you forget me so easily?" "You have a lot of nerve asking me that. At least you knew my real name." Frustrated at his inability to reach her, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I missed you more than you could know. Please — I need the chance to explain." Haley shook her head. "This is too much, too hard for me to take in. If you hadn't taken over E-Z, then we never would have seen each other again. I don't want to go back to what we had in Cozumel, even for a few minutes. I can't." "Why? You're not married."

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"No. But I'm committed. If you'll excuse me, I must go," she said, and left him smelling the faint sweetness of her perfume. He inhaled deeply. He had the gnawing sensation of wanting more. If he listened to her, then he would leave her alone and let her go. She clearly had no interest in him. Seeing her again stirred up long-buried needs and wishes. His chest ached with regret. He'd been forced to focus entirely on taking over Winslow when his father had died, and he had known he couldn't bring Haley into that kind of crisis situation. It wouldn't have been fair. By the time the worst of the crisis had passed, he was a changed man and he hadn't been sure she would want him. But now he couldn't avoid the gut-wrenching loss. Was there anyway he could get her to listen to him? Should he even try? Garrett knew that nothing good came easy. He silently vowed not to give up. *** After his last appointment, Garrett joined Bob Stevens for a drink in the hotel lounge. "You've done an amazing job," Garrett said, lifting his glass in a toast. "You built it from the ground up." Bob shrugged and took a sip of his bourbon. "I just hope you won't cut too many of my employees. They're the reason the company has succeeded." "I told you we'll try to let retirements and resignations take up any slack we might find. But you've run a tight ship. You shouldn't be worrying. You should be celebrating," Garrett said, patting Bob on the back. "You've just successfully negotiated the deal of your life." Bob grinned. "I guess I have." He took another sip of his bourbon. "What did you learn during your employee interviews?" "What you already know. They love you and they're concerned about losing their jobs." He paused, seizing the opportunity to get more information about Haley. "Especially Haley Turner." Bob nodded. "She's got a lot of responsibility on those slim shoulders." "What do you mean?" "I mean she's young. Single mother." Garrett blinked. His gut clenched. "Mother?" "Yeah, and she takes both jobs seriously, motherhood and her job at E-Z. The men call her noman's land." He chuckled. "Mostly because she won't go out with any of them." "So she doesn't have a significant man in her life?" Bob cracked a grin. "It depends on whether or not you count a three-year-old son." A son. Haley had given birth to a son while he'd been busy proving himself to all the doubters at Winslow Corporation. He couldn't help feeling another punch of loss. He also couldn't prevent his mind from doing the math. He had shared one amazing night with Haley four years ago. One amazing night where they'd been careful. The child couldn't be his. Could it?

Chapter Five

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Haley's heart was still racing when she climbed into her car and fastened her seat belt. Turning on the ignition and backing out of her parking space, she struggled with a dozen emotions. He had recognized her and he still wanted to see her. Oh, heaven help her. Even though she was furious, looking at Garrett had brought back a longing she'd been certain was dead. Even though she had walked, practically ran, from the office, part of her had wanted to stay and hear his explanation. It had taken so little to fan embers she'd thought were cold. She couldn't help wondering how his life must have turned upside down when his father died. She wished she could have been there for him, comforted him. Life could have been so much easier if they'd had each other for the good times and the bad. She shook her head in disgust at herself as she pulled into the daycare parking lot. It still shouldn't have taken him four years to contact her. She strode through the doors of the childcare center and caught sight of Jake. A surge of anger raced through her. For so long, she'd hoped and dreamed Garrett would come to her. She'd given up that foolish dream when Jake had taken his first steps. She couldn't allow herself to go back to that pain and uncertainty. After driving home and closing the door of their small house behind her and Jake, Haley squeezed her son's little body. Her mind continued to race. Her instinct was to take Jake far, far away and hide. She'd worked so hard to build a good life for the two of them that she didn't want any disruptive intrusions. Plus, she knew that if Garrett ever saw Jake, he would want him. He wouldn't be able to resist the child that bore such a strong resemblance to him. And Haley didn't have the money to fight a custody battle. Jake giggled and squirmed. "Mommy, that tickles." Still trying not to panic, Haley took a deep breath and smiled. "Tickles? You think that tickles? What about this?" she asked, and lightly worked her fingers over his rib cage. Jake laughed uncontrollably, and the sound of it soothed her fears. Haley had learned long ago that Jake's laughter had great medicinal qualities. In fact, she'd call it magic. She stopped tickling him and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Do you want to walk Sparky before or after dinner?" "Before," he said, his eyes lighting like firecrackers. "And after." She laughed and ruffled his hair. "Okay, let me change my clothes." The doorbell rang, and she automatically turned to open the door. Garrett stood on her front porch. Her heart fell to her feet. She closed the door partway, but felt Jake wrapping his arms around her legs to crane his neck to see. "Who is it, Mommy? Who is it?" "Someone from my office," she murmured, her panic returning full force. "Go to your room." "But Mo-om," he protested. "Go to your room," she said in a voice that brooked no defiance. She bit her lip at the hurt expression in his eyes, but she couldn't let Garrett see him. After Jake shuffled to his room, she stepped out onto the front porch.

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Her heart hadn't stopped racing since she'd seen him in the courtyard. She'd dreamed of this for years, constructed wild fantasies and excuses for why he'd never called her. Amnesia or a kidnapping had been her two favorites. But after Jake had been born, she'd gradually snuffed out the embers of those dreams, and she didn't want Garrett stirring them again. "I can't talk with you now. I'm busy," she said. "We have to talk," he said, emanating a determination that made her want to run and hide. "There's too much that's been left unspoken for too long." "That wasn't because of me." "I know," he said, sighing. "It was because of me and my situation. I think we would both feel better if I had a chance to really explain." Her stomach tightened and she shook her head. "I can't talk right now. I have other commitments." "Your son," he said. Haley's heart stopped. It took a full moment for her vocal cords to work. "How did you know?" "Bob Stevens mentioned that you had a young son, that you're not married, and you don't date," he added meaningfully as if he were referring to their previous conversation. Haley swallowed over a lump of fear. "Then you understand why I can't —" She broke off when she heard the sound of Jake's racing footsteps and the click of canine paws on the hardwood floor behind her just before the door swung open. "Mommy, Mommy, Sparky needs to tinkle!" Jake tugged at the hem of her dress. Haley felt herself turn to ice. She saw Garrett drink in the sight of his son and knew in that moment that her life and Jake's would be forever changed. And not necessarily in a way that she would like. "Take him to the backyard, sweetie," she managed to say, then watched Jake drag Sparky to the rear of the house. Her heart hammering in her head, she fidgeted with her hair. "As you can see, we're kind of busy, so —" "He has your eyes," Garrett said, stepping toward her. "He has your green eyes." She couldn't produce a word with him so close, so she nodded. He tentatively lifted his fingers to a strand of her hair. "But not your hair." "Right," she said in a voice she wished weren't so shaky. "He won't be called carrottop in school." He gave a half grin, then his eyes turned serious. "Where's the father?" Right here, she thought and fought a stab of hysteria. "He didn't want to hang around." She crossed her arms over her chest. "But we're fine without him."

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Garrett nodded, his intense gaze belying his smooth tone and casual stance. "When was your son born?" "He's almost three-and-a-half years old," she reluctantly admitted, knowing she couldn't hedge. She was desperate to end the conversation and the terrible awkwardness between them. "I really need to —" "Is he mine?" Haley's heart stopped. She'd wanted to avoid those three words more than anything. She forced herself to breathe. He stood there, so strong, so confident. What she wouldn't have given to have his shoulder to lean on during just a moment or two of the most lonely times in her life. But she'd been forced to handle it alone, and she and Jake had survived just fine. "He is mine. I went through nine months of pregnancy, childbirth and weeks of colic by myself. Jake is mine." "But someone is his father, Haley." She shook her head. "No. I can't talk with you right now. You lied to me about who you were, had a one-night stand with me —" "It wasn't a one-night stand," he said, his jaw tightening with anger. "How many nights was it?" she asked sarcastically, hearing her voice crack at her remembered shame. "One. You promised me you would call me and you never did." She bit her lip, fighting tears. "My little boy wants to take the dog for a walk, and I don't want to have to explain why Mommy is upset, so you need to go." Garrett's gaze held a world of pain and confusion. Some crazy part of her wanted to comfort him despite what she'd been through because of him. Haley had to collect herself and have time to think. It had taken her a long time to stop wishing that Garrett would magically reappear in her life. Now that he had, she was shaken clear to her bones. "I'll go," he said, and the lethal determination she read on his face frightened her. "But I'll be back."

Chapter Six Garrett was more nervous than he'd been in years. He'd persuaded Haley, or more accurately speaking, twisted her arm, to meet with him at a local diner. It took three phone calls for Haley to speak to him for more than thirty seconds. Garrett admitted that showing up at her house had been a mistake. He hadn't intended to upset Jake, but he'd been knocked sideways by seeing Haley again and learning he had fathered her child. He promised neutral territory, but he had to see her. They had to talk.

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He'd suggested cocktails in the evening. She'd countered with coffee on Saturday morning. He couldn't remember a takeover that had involved more dicey negotiations. He couldn't remember a meeting that had been more important to him. She breezed through the door of the diner dressed in jeans that faithfully followed her curves and a T-shirt that failed to hide the slight bounce of her breasts, with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She may have dressed not to impress, but Garrett couldn't stop looking at her. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her. She tossed a quick smile at the waitress then searched the room. As her gaze met his, her smile fell, and he felt the pinch of loss. There had been a time when her face lit up whenever she saw him. He stood when she arrived at the table. "Where's Jake?" he asked. "Susan, a friend from the office, is watching him. She adores him." She smiled. "Everyone adores him." "Including you," he said. Her smile grew. "I'm the worst." "Or in his case, the best," he countered. She thought about that a moment. "Maybe." The waitress took an order for coffee and left. Silence hung between them. He cleared his throat. "An apology would be so inadequate that it would be ridiculous." She looked down and laced her fingers together on the table. "An apology for what?" "For not telling you my real name and for not calling you." He paused while the waitress delivered their coffee. "Growing up as a Winslow, I never knew if a woman wanted me for my family name. I didn't know if I could trust you. You were almost too good to be true. By the time I realized you offered me the real thing, it was too late. I stayed up all night last night trying to think of a way to make it right for you." "And you can't," she said, lifting her gaze to his. "You can't change that you lied to me about who you were. And you can't change that you never called me." He so wanted to capture her hands in his and hold her. "What did you do when you found out you were pregnant?" "I panicked. I tried to find you, but you didn't exist. I had wild fantasies that you would reappear," she said, smiling sheepishly. "How wild?" "You had amnesia and had forgotten my name, but in my dream, you suddenly remembered and couldn't live without me."

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He chuckled but felt a stab of sadness at how close she had come to the truth. "I felt stupid and foolish. I knew better than to get involved with someone during a trip to Mexico. When I found out I was pregnant, I was so scared." She blinked her eyes at memories he wished he could take away. "I was afraid I would lose my scholarship," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't, did you?" She shook her head. "My grades suffered a little one semester, but I did okay." She took a sip of coffee. "It was hard realizing that the time you and I shared meant so much more to me than it had to you, but that's water under —" "That's where you're wrong," Garrett said, unable to allow her to continue thinking that. "It may look that way because I didn't call, but I thought about you. I just didn't feel like I could drag you into my situation. When my father died, there was a fight for power in the company, and people were counting on me to come through. I was dragged through the mud and every day was a new crisis. By the time it was all over, I wanted to call you but figured too much time had passed." He shrugged. "I thought you'd moved on, and I wasn't the same man who walked the beach with you in Cozumel. I didn't know if you would feel the same way about me. But I never forgot about you. Never." She bit her lip. "It looks like you did come through for the corporation," she said. "But not for you. Or me. Or Jake." "I don't mean to be unkind, but we've done okay without you." "Maybe," he conceded. "But I'm realizing I haven't done so well without you." Her eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a quick electrical awareness come and go between them. She bit her lip. "Our chance is over. Too much has happened." His gut tightened. Something inside him wouldn't accept her words, but he knew now was not the time to fight her. "But what about Jake?" She shot him a guarded glance. "What about him?" "Are you going to deny that I'm his father?" "I won't deny that you made a deposit, then left," she said crisply. "Don't you think there will come a time when he will want to know his father? I'm sure you're a fabulous mother, but even you must know that he would need a father." She sighed. "Jake is a great kid, and he deserves the very best. That's why I don't go out very much. I want to find the very best man possible for him." Garrett struggled with his pride. "What about his natural father?" he demanded. She looked at him and shook her head helplessly. "I don't know how to say this nicely, but I'm not sure you're good father material. You may be loaded, great-looking and good in the sack, but you

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haven't always told the truth. You haven't kept some important promises, and you're a workaholic. I want somebody who is interested in Little League, soccer, telling bedtime stories and willing to trade cocktail parties for Disney movies. You, on the other hand, are obsessed with building the Winslow empire to new heights, no matter what the personal cost is, and are known as the executioner." He felt the slow burn of challenge. "Are you telling me I'm not qualified to be Jake's father?" "Yes. That's what I'm telling you. A great sperm count is not an indication of character or parenting potential." Her cell phone rang, and she frowned, pulling it out of her tiny purse. "Hi. What's up?" She listened for a moment, her eyebrow puckering. "Oh, no. Okay. I'll be right there." She looked at him and stood. "Sorry, I have to go." "What is it?" "Chicken pox." He stood, not pausing a beat. "I'd like to help." She cast him a look of doubt. "I appreciate the thought, but this is really not your area." "Maybe it needs to be if I'm gonna become father material," he said meeting her gaze head-on. "I didn't have nine months to get ready, but I'd like a chance to be the man Jake needs as a father." And a chance to be the man you'd have as a husband, he silently added.

Chapter Seven Four days into his son's chicken pox, Garrett began to realize that watching the Disney channel hadn't adequately prepared him for parenting. Although Jake was adorable, he was justifiably cranky, and Haley wasn't much better. She might not have the pox herself, but she was tired from being up half the night with Jake because she refused to allow Garrett to stay at her house. Jake had initially been shy but curious with Garrett. But Haley had raised a loving, friendly boy and Jake was becoming more outgoing every time Garrett visited. Jake was beginning to trust him. It might be wishful thinking, but Garrett sensed Jake wanted a father figure in his life. He could tell Haley was nervous about how easily Jake had trusted Garrett, but he would prove she had nothing to fear. Meanwhile, he and Haley had reached a truce of sorts. He longed for the easiness they'd shared, but she seemed determined to keep him at a distance. And he couldn't blame her. That didn't mean he was giving up. Each hour he spent in her presence reminded him of all the time he'd missed with her, and he didn't want to miss any more. He heard her laugh with Jake, and the sound alternately lifted his spirits and twisted his gut because he knew she didn't feel free to laugh that way with him.

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Susan called and tried to persuade Haley to join her for dinner. Haley looked at her miserable son and gestured for Garrett to stop Jake from scratching. "I'd better not, Susan. Jake's at the superitchy stage." She paused. "Yes, I know I have a baby-sitter, but he's not experienced and — " She broke off when her gaze tangled with Garrett's. "I can do it," he told her, walking toward her. "You're well-stocked with Benadryl and calamine lotion." She looked at him doubtfully. "Yes, but…" He saw a faint, grudging glimmer of trust and attraction in her eyes. "I hear you, Susan. I'm not being an overprotective mother." She frowned at the phone. "Okay, I'll come, but I'm not staying for more than two hours." She hung up the phone and looked at Garrett. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Never been more sure," he said, knowing this was his opportunity to prove himself to her. "I'm not sure this is a good idea." "It will help you to get out. You won't feel so…cooped up and cranky." She gave a double take. "I haven't been cranky." "Did I say cranky? I meant cooped up and tense." "I haven't been cranky," she insisted then left him biting his tongue. When she returned from her bedroom, dressed in a skirt that revealed her pretty legs and a top that clung to her skin, reminding him of intimacies they'd shared, she reviewed medication dosages and procedures. "Jake knows my cell phone number in case you forget," she said sweetly. "Forget?" he echoed, his pride roaring to the surface. "I wouldn't forget your cell phone." "Well, y'know, you did forget my other number a few years back." "Very cute," he said. "But I didn't — 254-555-6238." Her eyes widened in surprise. "I dialed it a hundred times in my brain," he told her. A combination of vulnerability and something that almost looked like passion deepened her eyes for a moment. "I — uh, didn't know." "There's a lot we haven't had the opportunity to learn about each other." She nodded. He could see she was processing the new information. She cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I should go."

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"We'll be fine. I know your cell." "I guess you do," she said, her lips twitching. She walked to the door then turned around. "Have I really been cranky?" "Do you want the diplomatic answer?" "No." "You've acted like a worried mother who wants her son to feel better and be well." "I thought I said I didn't want the diplomatic answer." She chuckled, and the sound filled him with sunshine. "Never mind. I'll be back in two hours." Within ten minutes, Jake began to itch and scratch. Evening was the worst time for the little guy, and no matter how often Garrett reminded him not to scratch, Jake couldn't seem to help it. He began to cry. The sound wrenched at Garrett's heart. He scooped up the child and put him in a lukewarm bath with baking soda. The water provided some relief, but upon closer inspection, Garrett learned that Jake's mouth was filled with blisters. That was why he hadn't eaten earlier. Garrett heard his cell phone ringing while Jake was in the bath, but ignored it. He knew it was his assistant calling about the negotiations he'd originally scheduled for this week but shelved at the last minute. It was a tricky situation, and he could lose the deal. His cell rang again, and he looked into his son's miserable gaze and let the damn thing ring. Jake's well-being was the only thing on his mind. He took Jake out of the tub and tried to dress him, but the boy fussed. Garrett decided clothes were overrated anyway. He carried him into the den, set up a fan so that a constant breeze blew over Jake and pulled out a half-dozen books. Haley arrived home to a house that was eerily quiet except for an odd beeping noise. For a moment, she feared something terrible had happened. She rushed through the foyer to the den and stopped short at the sight of Jake sleeping, his head resting on Garrett's chest, while Garrett, too, slept. Her little boy was buck naked and generously coated with calamine lotion, but he was resting more comfortably than he had the past three nights. She saw a discarded stack of bedtime books and three Popsicle sticks. "Popsicles for the blisters in his mouth," she murmured in surprise, wishing she had thought of it, wondering how the executioner could have thought of such a thing. Maybe because he wasn't really an executioner. Maybe because he wasn't the egotistical villain she'd tried to paint him in her mind. Garrett still took her breath away. She thought she'd buried her feelings for him, but being with him so much reminded her how much she'd missed him. The way he looked at her made her feel like someone had lit a firecracker inside her. She had concealed her attraction to him so far, but she wasn't certain how she could continue the charade. His determination to know Jake chipped away at her defenses. His gentle humor with her and the light in his eyes made her heart stutter.

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Despite her best efforts, their camaraderie was coming back; the magic between them still simmered. She looked at the two dark heads so close together and felt her heart squeeze tight. She was looking at her secret dream, a dream so secret she hadn't wanted to admit it even to herself. What if Garrett could be a good father to Jake? What if she and Garrett could find what had brought them together in the first place? The forbidden questions terrified her. The annoying beeping sound continued, and she walked toward it, finding Garrett's cell phone on the sofa. Business, she thought and wondered if it was urgent. She wondered if he would leave again. A knot formed in her throat at the thought. More dangerous thoughts. She shouldn't rely on him. She couldn't rely on him. "Garrett," she said, awkwardly touching his shoulder. "Garrett." His eyes blinked, and he took a moment to focus. "Hi, Haley." Her heart thumped at the way he said her name. She liked the way he rolled it around in his mouth as if he wanted to savor it. Silly thought, she scolded herself. "Your cell phone's beeping. I'll put Jake to bed." "The fan's the key," he told her as she lifted Jake from his chest. Jake stirred. "Hi, Mommy. Garrett gave me Popsicles to make my mouth feel better." "I know. That was brilliant." "They tasted good, too," Jake said, making her laugh. She put him to bed and returned to find Garrett on the sofa, raking his hand through his hair. "Bad news?" He nodded. "I'm going to lose this deal if I don't get back to Houston tomorrow."

Chapter Eight Garrett was silent for a long moment, lost in thought. He didn't want to go to Houston at all. He didn't want to miss a minute with Haley and Jake. He chuckled to himself at the change in him. His job just didn't seem that important to him anymore compared to being with Haley and Jake. This was where he wanted and needed to be. He'd spent the past four years without Haley and he didn't want to go another moment without her. "You should go," Haley said, wishing her chest didn't feel so tight and achy. "It sounds important. I can handle Jake." "I'm not going," he said, pushing down the antenna to his cell phone and flipping it shut. She laced and unlaced her fingers. "But what if you lose the deal? This was a nice idea to try to be here during Jake's chicken pox, and you've done much better than I expected, but you're the big chief of Winslow Corporation. Thousands of employees are counting on you to do your thing."

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Nodding silently, he stood and walked toward her. He touched a strand of her hair and lowered his mouth, surprising the stuffing out of her when he kissed her. His lips were tender and searching. Her knees lost their starch, and she tried to stiffen them. Startled, she blinked when he pulled away. "Nice try, Haley, but I'm sticking it out until the last scab falls." "What happens after that?" The tell-tale question popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She wasn't supposed to care what Garrett did, period. He cocked his head to one side and gave her a slow, sexy smile that ruffled nerve endings she had thought were deader than a doornail. "I think it depends on what kind of evaluation you give me." She frowned in confusion. "Evaluation? What do you mean?" "I mean it's customary for the supervisor to evaluate the trainee after a special project." Haley nearly laughed aloud at the implication that she could supervise Garrett the executioner in any area. "And the results of my evaluation will do what?" she asked, playing along. "You'll tell me if I'm ready for a promotion," he said, sliding his gaze over her and heating her from head to toe. "I'm not staying just for Jake, Haley. I've missed you for four years. I don't want to miss you anymore." He lifted his thumb to touch her chin. "G'night. Call me if you need me." Haley watched him walk out the door and struggled not to drop her jaw in astonishment. She shook her head. It wasn't possible that Garrett would give up the chance to take over another company to add to the Winslow empire. He wouldn't trade that to stay with Jake while he had chicken pox. It wasn't possible, she told herself. He would be gone in less than twenty-four hours. She darn well better not expect him to be hanging around her house when he could be pulling down a multibillion-dollar deal. The cold reality chilled her, but she forced herself to face it. *** But the following morning, Garrett showed up at her door, and he did so every day until Jake no longer itched and his last scab fell off. Haley fought her attraction to him during those days, but her heart wasn't nearly as sensible as it should be. Her heart should have learned not to count on Garrett. Her heart should have given up hope a long time ago, but somewhere buried deep inside, that darned little seed of hope pushed through the ground, as if it had been waiting for a spring thaw. It was hard to stay cold when she heard Garrett make tugboat noises as he read a book to Jake. It was hard to remain untouched when she saw Jake make Garrett laugh. It was hard not to long for that special something she and Garrett had shared in Mexico. After she tucked Jake into bed, Garrett waited for her outside the door. Her heart raced at the look on his face. She wondered if he was going to leave. The thought of it hurt so much it took her breath.

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He laced her fingers in his, and she allowed it. She would have to consider why later. He led her to the sofa and took both her hands in his. "I want a promotion." She bit her lip. "To what?" "Anything above the slug who left you alone and pregnant would be an improvement," he said wryly. His gaze turned serious. "But I want more." "You're Jake's father. I won't keep you from that. I can't. It wouldn't be fair to him." He nodded. "That's important. I want that, but I want more," he told her. "I want you, Haley, like we were in Mexico." She felt her eyes sting with the threat of tears. "We really can't go back." "But you're still everything I've ever wanted in a woman. When I'm with you, I still feel that click inside me that tells me everything's okay. I want you. I want to know you as much as any human being can know another. I love you and I want the chance to love the woman you're going to become." Haley's heart felt as if it were going to burst. She swallowed over the hard lump of emotion in her throat. "What if you change your mind?" "I won't. I never did. I just didn't think I could drag you into the mess my father left behind." He lifted his hand to her chin. "It's okay if you don't quite believe me. I just want the chance to prove it. If it takes a year, two, three or more, I'll be here until you see we really were meant to be." "But what about your position at Winslow?" "I've made arrangements to scale back on my workload. It's time for me to delegate more deals to my executive team while I take care of the important stuff. You, me and Jake. I can stand to lose a lot, but I never want to lose you again. And maybe when you're ready, we can revisit Cozumel. But this time, we'll come back together." Haley's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what to say." "You don't have to say anything. Just let me prove my love to you. I love you, Haley." "And I love you," she whispered, and it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. Epilogue There must have been something in the Cozumel water. They went to Mexico for their honeymoon, and Haley got pregnant again. But this time when she delivered their baby daughter with the wisp of strawberry blond hair and Daddy's brown eyes, Garrett was with her the whole time. While Haley caught a few winks of sleep, he kissed her on the forehead then took his daughter down the hall to meet her big brother. Garrett's heart was so full he wondered if it would burst. There was nothing more valuable than what he and Haley shared, and she'd just given him one more priceless little miracle of love.

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Spring Fling by Lenora Worth Gena Malone had everything a girl could want growing up: money, beautiful homes, a life of leisure — everything, that is, except a loving, happy family. And when her plans to wed a shallow blue blood blow up in her face, her distant father and overbearing mother offer no moral support. The warm welcome she receives at the Chocolate Café — a local coffee shop that draws an eclectic crowd of lost souls — goes a long way toward healing her heart. And she soon finds herself wanting to get to know the owner, handsome preacher Hugh Bishop, a lot better. Hugh Bishop is a man who has found peace. Once the minister of a prominent congregation, he now ministers to the beach crowd as the owner of the Chocolate Café. When he meets Gena Malone, a beautiful socialite whose privileged life has just fallen apart, he is drawn to her in his position as a man of God. Can he help her without losing his heart in the process?

Chapter One It wasn't every day a man found a bride sitting on the beach at sunrise. Hugh Bishop blinked, stared hard, then slowed down from a fast run to a jog as he passed the pretty woman sitting on the rustic white wooden swing in front of a charming blue Victorian beach house. Hugh stopped, his hands on his knees as he bent over to catch his breath. The chilly waves of the Gulf of Mexico lapped at his feet while cawing seagulls hoping to find a crumb of bread for breakfast swept down on him from the azure sky. Hugh ignored the waves and the seagulls. But he couldn't ignore the dark-haired woman sitting in that swing. She was staring out at the ocean, her short, clipped curls lifting in the cool morning breeze. The woman was barefoot, a pair of white satin slim-heeled sandals discarded at her feet. She'd pulled the puffy skirt of her sleeveless bridal gown up around her knees, so she could push off on the moist sand with her pink-painted toes. In one hand, she clutched a long, trailing bride's veil. The piece of gossamer netting lifted out like a torn, broken sail each time she rocked the swing back and forth. "Hey, you're blocking my view," she called to Hugh, the expression on her face mutinous. Lifting his hands off his knees, he realized he'd been staring. So he walked up the dunes toward her, wondering why she was here. Maybe she needed a ride to the church. "Are you okay?" he asked as he approached her, his running shoes kicking up wet sand. The woman kept on swinging and staring. "Want me to leave you alone?" "I want the whole world to leave me alone," she responded. "And I want you to move over so I can see the ocean."

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Thinking the vast view was surely wider than his body, Hugh shifted to the side, but strolled closer in spite of his better judgment. "Last minute jitters?" She gave him a steady, appraising stare, allowing him a chance to take in her olive skin and rich dark brown eyes. "The groom had other plans." "You got left at the altar?" She nodded, sniffed, then glinted her gaze back toward the constantly crashing surf. "We were supposed to get married at sunrise, right here in front of the house." Hugh nodded, let that tidbit soak in. This particular house, with its three-storied tiers, wide circular porches and lacy white scrollwork trim, had always reminded him of a wedding cake. It would have been the perfect location for a wedding. "Your place?" he asked, inclining his head up toward the rambling house. "My father's," the woman replied. "He didn't bother to show up either." Then she managed a crooked smile. "I think I'm finally done with men." Warning bells clanged inside Hugh's head like the sound of a buoy bobbing in the water, telling him to just quietly back away. After all, he'd come down to Gulf Shores, Alabama, to find some peace. Some quiet. Some hope. And to be alone. He certainly didn't need a brown-eyed, barefoot bride complicating his self-imposed exile. Even if she did make a very pretty picture sitting there with her defiant doe eyes and creamy gathered skirts. Yes, sir, something told Hugh to keep running. But something else entirely told him to stay.

Chapter Two Gena Malone couldn't take her eyes off the man standing in front of her. He'd come jogging up, unasked and uninvited, and now he continued to block her view of the ocean. He wasn't so bad to look at, however. He was tall and athletic, with clipped brownish-blond sun-streaked hair. His face held the etched lines of someone who'd stayed outside for hours on end. His eyes held the same distant blue of the ocean. And were just as unforgettable and unfathomable. He was handsome in a rugged, diamond-in-the-rough beach-bum way. Her mother wouldn't approve of him at all. That made Gena smile in spite of her broken heart. He crossed his tanned arms over his bare chest. "Is something funny?" Gena shifted on the swing. "No, no. I'm not laughing. I was trying to smile." "You have a nice smile." Then he started jogging in place. "Well, if you're sure you're okay —"

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"Don't rush off," Gena said, wishing she had the heart and energy to really flirt with this handsome stranger. Instead, she opted for honesty, something she hadn't tried in a long time. "I mean — it's good to have someone to talk to." "I take it you've had a rough morning." "I've had better." She pushed at her annoying spiky bangs, then lifted a hand. "I'm Gena Malone — jilted bride and all around self-defeating woman of the year." He shook her hand, then glanced around as if he were looking for an escape route. "I'm Hugh Bishop." "Are you visiting here, Hugh Bishop?" "No. I live here — have for a couple of years now. Down the beach, near the public pier. I jog most mornings." "That explains why you're in such great shape." She sent him an appreciative stare and was rewarded when he lifted a dark brow. "For someone who just got left at the altar, you sure don't seem too torn up." Gena lifted her wedding dress out of the way, then patted the paint-chipped swing. "Sit down, Hugh Bishop." "I'll stand, thanks. And it's just Hugh." "All right, Just Hugh. You want to hear the whole sad story?" He shrugged, dusted sand off one broad shoulder. "I don't have to be anywhere for a couple of hours yet." "Good, then." Gena bunched the layers of cloying tulle against her knees. "Me, I don't have to be anywhere again, ever." Then she looked back at him, swallowed the lump in her throat. "I guess I've finally done it." Hugh's blue eyes went soft. "Done what?" "I've embarrassed my mother, alienated my father, lost the man of my dreams, and basically made a mess of everything in my life." Handsome Just Hugh surprised her by plopping down on the sand at her feet. "Sounds as if we have a lot in common, Gena Malone." "Just Gena," she said, mimicking him. He chuckled, shook his head, looked ready to run at the first sign of trouble or temptation. Gena sized him up again, and decided she liked him. Hugh looked like a piece of driftwood, all craggy and weathered, but inviting. His eyes held a steady gaze that spoke of trust and security.

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And Gena did feel an instant trust in this handsome, intriguing stranger. Which really scared her, considering she didn't really trust anyone anymore. She should just get up and go up to the house to face her mother's wrath. But then, Hugh was sitting there, patiently waiting to hear her story. And Gena needed that on this beautiful spring morning. Someone to listen. Just listen. Maybe God had sent Hugh for that very purpose.

Chapter Three Gena decided to be blunt. That way, if Hugh Bishop did want to run on down the beach while he had the chance, she wouldn't chase after him. The way she'd chased after the dream of a big wedding and marriage to a prominent businessman. "As you already know," she told the man sitting in the sand at her feet, "I was supposed to get married this morning, here at Blue House —" "Blue House?" Hugh interrupted, a grin splitting his face. "Is that what it's actually called?" Gena nodded. "It's blue and it's a house. My father is a real estate developer. He had this house built for my demanding mother. She wanted to call it something fancy like Malone's Blue Mansion or The Biggest Blue House on the Gulf Shore." She shrugged, held her crushed wedding veil against her dress. "I call it Malone's Misery." "Why's that?" Gena looked out over the crashing waves. The satin wedding gown clung to her, making her feel suffocated. "My parents don't get along very well. Mother stays at the house and Father travels a lot. An even trade, except my mother makes both his life and mine…rather unbearable." "Why'd you want to get married here?" "I grew up here," she tried to explain. "Spring break, summer vacations. It's my escape. Even with my mother breathing down my neck. We compromised on the wedding. I wanted a simple ceremony on the beach — but Mother invited a couple hundred 'intimate friends.' We were supposed to go back into town to the country club for the reception." She watched Hugh while she talked. He said he jogged up the beach every morning. It sure gave a girl a good reason to get up early. And a reason to be glad she'd just been jilted by a complete jerk. "Bud — my groom — wasn't happy with this arrangement, even though we'd all agreed on it. I found out this morning that my dad couldn't make it — he's stuck in Singapore on business. Then when Bud and I had a major fight — he thought I was being childish about my dad not coming to my wedding — Bud admitted that he really didn't love me anyway. He left. I told my mother the wedding was off and…I stayed down here while she went about sending all the guests home." "So here you sit," Hugh replied. Gena hated the sympathy in his eyes.

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"Yes. And after I finally convinced her Bud isn't coming back, my mother went to the country club to pay off the caterers." "Where's the wonderful and sensitive Bud now?" "Off to Paris with the woman he really loves." "Are you going to sit here all day, or do you want to go have a cup of coffee with me?" Gena looked down at him. A stranger. An apparent beach bum. A major temptation. "Are you married or in love with anyone in Paris?" "No." "Will you promise to take me away from all of this?" "Against my better judgment," Hugh said, pushing off the sand to stand in front of her, "but yes, I can take you away from all of this." He brushed the sand off his shorts, then held out a hand to her. "Let's go." "I should change." He shook his head. "Don't. I like you the way you are." Gena hated the tears pricking at her eyes. "That's the first time anyone's ever said that to me." "You just need a friend. I'm a good listener." Was that a warning or a promise? She grabbed her shoes and veil. "Where are we going?" Hugh's eyes turned a dark, rich blue. "How 'bout my place?"

Chapter Four Gena followed Hugh along the beach, her wedding gown gathered up with one hand and her veil and shoes in the other. Cold waves rushing at her toes, she wondered if it was a good idea to go to Hugh's house, since she'd only known the man about 30 minutes. "How far?" she asked, hurrying to keep up with him. "Right by the pier." He tugged her up on the water-washed sand cliffs left from last night's tide, then pointed to a small brown building with a wraparound deck. Gena squinted at the white sign. "The Chocolate Café?" Then she blinked. "That's your place?" "I own it." He stepped over the washed remains of a sandcastle. "And live up in the loft." Gena shrugged. "Chocolate — that's what I need." "We serve coffee, too."

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"I knew I liked you for some reason. Two of my worst vices — chocolate and coffee and you're offering up both." He grinned, showing her white teeth and that killer smile. "When I came down here I wanted to do something fun and profitable, so I came up with this idea. Besides, the view is incredible." "A romantic, too?" Hugh put his hands on his hips. "No, a realist. I needed to make a living. It seemed right at the time." Gena tilted her head. "What brought you to the beach, Just Hugh?" "A divorce," he said simply, slowly. His blue eyes looked like a faraway ocean. "I have a 10-yearold son." "Oh." It was all that would come out of Gena's mouth. But she'd always been one to ask questions, so she immediately found her voice. "Where is your son now?" "With his mom in Birmingham. He'll be here for spring break next week." They started walking again. "Are you close...with your son?" Hugh smiled, a soft flash across his full lips. "Yes. Corey and I will always be close, I hope." "Well, that's good. My mother and I try. I give her a hard time and she rides me, but she does love me." "And your father?" Gena looked at the sand on her pink-polished toes. "The jury is still out there. He gives me things — cars, jewelry, credit cards. But he's never once just sat with me. I used to sit in that swing and wait for him. I dreamed of him sitting there with me, barefoot, laughing, looking at the ocean. But he rarely comes to Blue House. Never comes to see me." "I'm not going to let that happen with Corey." She saw the conviction in his eyes. Heard the pride in his words. And knew right then, Hugh Bishop was different. "I'm sorry — about your divorce." "Me, too. I thought I'd made a lifetime commitment. You know, that's what the good book tells us — a man and woman join for life. But...I've struggled with the decision to end things. Struggled and lost. And I lost a lot more than just a marriage." A little trickle, like a warm tide, moved through her heart. "Is that why you ran away to the beach?" "Yes." Hugh stared up at the busy café, watching as the breakfast crowd spilled out onto the deck. "I used to be a minister in a big, thriving church. Now I'm a minister to the beach crowd." Gena lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "You used to be a preacher?"

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"I still am." Then he took her by the hand and tugged her toward the steps of the Chocolate Café.

Chapter Five Gena viewed the eclectic crowd mingling on the big deck of the Chocolate Café with the same curiosity they showed her. After all, she was wearing a bridal gown. Walking up the beach in the early morning sunshine, with a handsome, barely dressed man wouldn't be her mother's idea of proper. But then, Gena always did the opposite of what her mother expected. Come to think of it, her mother had pushed Bud Carlton toward Gena from the beginning. Had Gena agreed to this marriage because she loved Bud, or to somehow finally please her mother? Pushing that particular twist in the continuing saga of her messed-up life to the back of her mind, Gena smiled prettily to an older couple staring openly as she walked up the damp planked steps to the deck. "Hi. I'm Gena Malone and I just got jilted by my bridegroom. But Hugh here came to my rescue. He's going to buy me a cup of coffee and feed me something chocolate and decadent." The woman, a robust redhead wearing a floral bathing suit and baggy white clamdigger pants, gave Hugh a once over then winked at Gena. "Honey, I'd take Preacher Hugh over some stupid bridegroom any old day." Her husband, gray-haired and chubby, tapped her on the arm. "Harriet, remember me? The man you married 35 years ago?" Harriet lifted her gaze away from Hugh, then grinned at her husband. "Of course I do, darling. Preacher Hugh reminds me so much of you — that's why I want him to find a good woman and settle down. He was born to love a woman. And since I'm already taken..." Her words trailed off as she beamed at her husband and offered him a bite of her pancakes. Then as if remembering Gena was still standing there, she looked up. "Go on now, girl. Let the preacher take care of you. He has a way of mending the worst hurts." "Thanks, I think," Gena murmured before casting a wary gaze at Hugh. He just stood there with his arms across that wonderfully tanned chest. "You have a fan," Gena whispered. "And I need coffee." "Belly up to the bar," Hugh said. Then he waved to a blond waitress wearing a brown apron with an white coffee cup and the words The Chocolate Café emblazoned across the bib. "Marsha, could you help my friend here while I go wash up?" "Sure," the blonde replied, smiling broadly at Gena. "Nice dress." Gena liked the girl immediately. "It was. My mother paid a pretty penny for the thing and now I think it's permanently ruined. Oh, and I'll have a double white chocolate mocha." While she waited, Gena tried to wipe some of the wet sand off the lacy hem of her dress. Permanently ruined. Just like me, she thought. Then she felt a strong hand on hers and looked down to find Hugh kneeling at her feet with a clean wet towel. He pushed her hands away then gently wiped at the hem of her dress.

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Yes, this one was definitely different.

Chapter Six Gena's attitude toward men had improved. The quirky gang hanging out at the Chocolate Café made her feel safe and anonymous. But she was still trying to figure out how Preacher Hugh made her feel. Just knowing she'd hooked up with a preacher gave Gena a shaking spell. She was not preacher material. But then, Hugh Bishop wasn't like any other preacher she'd ever encountered. And it wasn't as if they'd decided to go steady. The man was just being kind — that was certainly a preacherly trait. He probably brought lots of strays here for redemption. And coffee. Caffeine and Christ — that was a new combination. As was the beautiful Irish music playing softly in the background and the lovely pictures of seascapes and distant mountains lining the walls right along with some Picasso and Dali prints — not your typical beach hangout. And yet, the rustic charm of the place warmed Gena's cold, tired soul. Marsha, the perky blond waitress with the big smile, brought the white chocolate mocha and two large chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. "Here, breakfast on the house. The oatmeal is good for you and the chocolate never hurts." "Thanks," Gena replied before taking a long satisfying drink of the creamy coffee. "I've been dieting for months just to fit into this dress." Marsha shook her head, her silver hoop earrings dangling. "And all for nothing. That's a bummer." "It's okay, really," Gena said between bites of the yummy cookie. "I was upset around dawn, but…things are looking up." And she was avoiding going back to that big rambling house and her mother's wrath. "I'd say." Marsha indicated her head toward Hugh as he came barreling down the stairs from what Gena assumed was the private loft where he lived. "If you've got Preacher Hugh on your side, that's half the battle." Gena glanced up to find Hugh looking down at her. He'd changed into a clean white T-shirt with a Jimmy Buffet song lyric and a grinning parrot painted across the front. And he looked great, all shower fresh and tan-skinned. Preacher Hugh. Just Hugh. "How is it so far?" he asked, his brows lifting with the question. "So far, so good." She saluted him with her cup. "You make a mean mocha, Preacher." "I have good help." "So where's the…uh…church?" "Out there." He pointed to the beach. "We hold a service down on the sand every Sunday morning." "For strays like me?"

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"For anyone who wants to join in. Saints and sinners alike." "Praying and praising? That's different. I haven't exactly been faithful in that area. I usually just sleep in on Sundays." "Then you're missing out on a lot of things." "I think so. I think there is a whole other world out there that I've never experienced." He smiled, poured himself a cup of coffee and left it black. "Gena, no one here is going to pressure you. Do you want me to walk you home?" "What if I'm not ready to go back yet?" "You're welcome here for as long as you need. I'll even loan you some shorts and a T-shirt. But you might have to wait tables to pay me back." "Another new concept — me actually doing manual labor." Gena took another sip of her coffee, then wondered what kind of world she'd stumbled into. She rarely came this far down the beach, tended to stay close to home. When she did go for walks, she always headed west toward the sunset. Maybe it was time for her to set out in a new direction.

Chapter Seven Gena stood at the walnut counter, waiting for a tray of chocolate cappuccinos and two cheesecake brownies. Over the course of a few hours she'd gone from bride-left-at-the-beach to waitress at the Chocolate Café. Preacher Hugh was very persuasive. "Try it. You might like it." That's all he'd said. "I pay minimum wage and if you're nice to the customers, you make tip money." "You're offering me a job?" Gena's shock had surely shown on her face. Here she'd had visions of kisses and candy with this intriguing man, and that, shamefully just hours after the man she'd supposedly loved had dumped her at the altar. But Hugh Bishop was just being Hugh. A preacher, a saver of lost souls, a nice man who felt sorry for her. "I'm offering you some time." "Why do I need time?" "To clear your head. To think about your future." "So I'm your charity case for the week?" "Not that." Then he'd surprised her yet again. "You know, you are a very pretty woman. When you smile. I'd like to see that smile again." "I'm smiling." She'd demonstrated by stretching her lips wide.

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"That's not real. I want to see it in your eyes." Frustrated, she'd snapped. "Look, I appreciate the coffee and...everything, but I can handle this. I'm used to taking care of myself." She'd almost escaped. But he'd tugged her back, his big hand grabbing at her trailing veil as she tried to gather her soggy skirts. "Hold your horses." She'd turned to find his eyes — those ocean blue eyes — centered on her lips. "What if...I told you I want you to stay. What if I told you I find you very attractive and...I'd like to get to know you better?" "Where can I change?" Why had she taken the bait? She'd deliberately challenged him by staying. She'd been flirting. Just teasing. But somewhere between the blueberry muffins and the espresso machine, she'd become a working girl. With a huge crush on a preacher she'd just met on the beach. Mother wouldn't approve. And Daddy wouldn't care. Defiance won over. She was going to make this work. *** Hugh watched Gena as Marsha showed her the ropes. She was bright, a quick study. Her long tan legs looked great in Marsha's borrowed khaki shorts. The white tee with the Chocolate Café emblem showed off her tanned arms and nice figure. After two hours, she was laughing and talking with the regulars as if she'd known them all her life. And that laugh, that smile, kept hitting him in the gut each time he heard it. What was wrong with him, anyway? He didn't even need another waitress. And he surely didn't need another woman in his life. But this woman, this lost bride, had touched his soul for some reason. He liked watching Gena, liked her spiky curling hair and her big brown eyes. Liked the way she pushed her hand through her bangs, only to have them fall with precision right back over her face. And he loved her lips. They were big, wide and pouty. And when she smiled… "Hey, boss, are you woolgathering, or ogling the new help?" He looked around at Marsha, sheepish. "A little of both, I suppose." "You really like her, don't you?" "Does it show?" Marsha nodded. "You never talk about things, you know. But we all understand that your divorce hurt you badly. Made you sour on women. It's just good to see you...interested again." Hugh looked down at the shiny counter. "I never thought I'd be interested again. But Gena is…different. Maybe too different."

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"Or just right," Marsha replied with a saucy grin.

Chapter Eight "This is just right." "Glad you approve," Gena told the grandfather sitting at the counter with two adorable children. She'd suggested the iced mocha for him and two milkshakes for the kids. Along with Marsha's favorite oatmeal cookies, of course. "You're really getting into this," Marsha said as Gena passed by. "Are you sure you've never worked in a restaurant before?" "Never," Gena admitted. "But...I've always loved to cook and putter around in the kitchen. My mother has a large, sunny kitchen in our house down the beach, but she rarely cooks." "You live on the beach?" "Yes, in the big blue house —" Marsha slapped at her arm. "No way? You live in the Blue House?" "Yes," Gena said, wishing she hadn't mentioned it. She liked fitting in here, liked being one of the crowd. She didn't want Marsha to know about her parents' vast wealth. It might change everything. "I love that house — everyone does. The tourists are always asking questions about who owns it, taking pictures of it. And to think, you actually live there. I sure do envy you." "Don't," Gena said, looking down at the Flavor of the Day sign nestled by the counter. "It's just a house. Big and pretty, but lonely at times." "Yeah, right." Marsha scoffed, rolled her baby blues, then headed off to clean up a table near the door. Which left Gena standing with Hugh. He'd been staring at her all afternoon. "What?" she finally said, frustrated with this little dance between them. "Don't you think you should call your mother?" "Are you being a friend or my parent?" He winced. "I'm not that much older than you. I just think you should call her. You've been gone since dawn. Surely she's worried." "I doubt that. She's probably still at the country club soaking up sympathy from all the other society dames."

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"Call your mother," he said, handing her the cordless phone. When she resisted, he touched a hand to hers. A warm, comforting hand. "You need to do this, Gena. Then you can decide whether you're going home tonight or not." Home. That word only reminded her that she didn't feel like going back to the Blue House. It might be the biggest, prettiest house on the Gulf Shores Beach, but right now, Gena wanted to stay away from it. She wasn't ready to face the empty rooms or her empty future. "Oh, all right!" She pivoted away from Hugh to punch numbers. But he leaned close, then turned her toward the stairs. "Go up to my place — more private." Distracted by the ringing coming from the other end of the line, Gena headed up the stairs and into the loft apartment. Big mistake. At about the same time she heard her mother's shrill "Hello?" Gena realized she was standing in the middle of Hugh Bishop's cozy den. He had a perfect view of the ocean below. And based on the photos of his adorable son, the many books lining one wall, and the soft chenille comforter thrown across the long leather couch, she had a perfect picture of what kind of man Hugh was. His little house by the seashore looked a whole lot more like home than that big wedding cake– styled house down the beach. A whole lot more. Gena suddenly wanted to know all about Hugh. Just Hugh.

Chapter Nine "Where are you?" Her mother's shout came through the phone lines. Her eyes on the roaring waves below, Gena counted to 10 and sighed. "I'm fine, Mother. And…I'm sorry I stayed away all day." "In your designer wedding gown, at that. Gena, honestly, you could have changed at least. Do you know how much it will cost to have that thing cleaned?" "Gee, no, I hadn't really thought about that, considering Bud dumped me 10 minutes before the ceremony and my father didn't even bother showing up to give me away." Just to get back at her mother, she added, "But I can pay for the dry cleaning bill, Mother. I have a job now." "A job?" The horror of that echoed straight from her mother's mouth into her ear. "What on earth is wrong with you? You need to come home so we can talk. I'm sure you can win Bud back — you shouldn't have made him so angry. Now I've been thinking — we can just have a small wedding here…. I'll have the caterers plan something simple —" Gena felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she gritted her teeth. "Mother, there isn't going to be another wedding. Bud and I are finished." "You can't be serious."

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"I am very serious. After he left, I sat and thought about things and you know what — I realized I didn't love him either. I was only marrying him because I thought it was the right thing to do. It would have been a huge mistake." "Well, I never." Judith Malone was speechless, a rare occurrence. It gave Gena hope. "I'll be home in a little while, Mother." Gena hung up before her mother could protest. She turned to find Hugh standing in the arched doorway leading from the tiny entrance foyer. "How'd it go?" Gena whirled, afraid she'd burst into tears if he offered her any sympathy. "It went. Downhill. She wants me to patch things up with Bud. I didn't have the heart to tell her he's off to Paris with his one true love." Hugh came to stand by her, both of them staring at the ocean. Gena could see where the horizon and the sea met. Such a beautiful, tranquil sight. Inside, she raged against herself, like the night tide pounding on the shore. "I need to go," she said. "You don't have to leave." "I can't stay." "Why not?" Gena turned, tears in her eyes. "You've been very kind, Hugh. And I enjoyed helping out in the café. But...it's been a long day." "And you've been running on empty." "I feel...drained, shocked, confused." He reached out to her, his hand touching on her cheek. "Don't," she said, trying to pull away. "It's too soon...for us." Hugh backed away. "You're right, of course. It's just that you make me feel things...things I'd forgotten about." "Such as?" He put some space between them by going out onto the small balcony. The roar of the ocean sounded on the sweep of balmy wind whispering around the room. Gena followed him. To the west, the setting sun turned everything into a golden rich tapestry of wind and water and light. Hugh's blue eyes were tipped with fire. "Such as...my heart going crazy, my mind losing focus. I want to know you. I don't understand it, but since I found you sitting on that swing this morning, I...just want, period."

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She touched a finger to his chin. "Maybe you just want a fling."

Chapter Ten Hugh looked down at the woman standing on his balcony. "I don't do flings." Gena lifted her dark brows, her big brown eyes full of doubt. "Yeah, sure." Hugh knew this was crazy. This day had started out normal, but it had gone to surreal in a matter of hours. He should have kept on running when he'd seen Gena sitting in that swing, but he'd stopped. To help. Now he wanted to do more than help. He wanted to get to know her as a woman. "I was married once," he said, trying to explain. "I thought I'd made a lifetime commitment. But my wife thought otherwise." Running a hand down his chin, he looked out over the ocean. The tide was getting rougher, stronger. A storm was coming in. "The divorce almost destroyed me, so believe me, Gena, when I tell you I don't believe in casual dalliances." "A dalliance? Is that what this is?" "I'm not sure what this is." She whirled to go back inside. "Look, it's no big deal. You were being nice — isn't that what preachers do? Help the suffering, the needy?" Shrugging, she headed for the hallway. "I'm fine, Hugh. Really. And I think it's time for me to go home and face the music." He didn't want her to have to go back there by herself. He knew how it felt to have to face your greatest fears. At least he could offer her friendship, if she'd let him. "I'll walk with you." "I can manage." He shut the door then followed her. "I said, I'll walk you home." "Are you always this stubborn?" "Not stubborn, but determined. You've had a rough day. And since I dragged you here, it's up to me to see you safely back down the beach." "A preacher and a gentleman." They headed downstairs to the crowded café. Glad that business was picking up after the slow winter months, Hugh told the second shift supervisor he'd be back in a little while. He waited while Gena told Marsha goodbye. "I'm serious," he heard her say. "You're welcome anytime, Marsha. You were very kind and patient with me today, letting me help out. And...I could use a friend. Come by and see me sometime." Marsha grinned at Hugh. "I get a private tour of the Blue House."

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Hugh nodded, his eyes on Gena. She was too cute for words with her full mouth and gorgeous head of dark curls. Too cute for the likes of a burned-out preacher who was still searching for answers himself. And...she was too cute to resist. But he had promised to see her safely home, at least. So he took her by the hand and led her down to the beach.

Chapter Eleven "This is some house," Hugh said, glancing up at the imposing three-story beach house. Gena followed his gaze. "I was around nine when my parents had it built. I thought surely I was a princess and this was my seaside castle. See those steps leading to the round porch? I used to sweep down them in my pink satin gown and cape, complete with a tiara." "You'd look great in a tiara." She shook her head, flipped her fringed bangs back as the wind picked up. In the distance, thunder boomed. "My tiara has long since become tarnished." Then she glanced out over the ocean. "You'd better head back. That looks like a nasty rain moving in." "I've got a while yet." He didn't really want to leave. "Aren't you afraid of lightning?" He grinned, touched a hand to a spray of curls clinging to her lips. "I think lightning struck me early this morning, right here in this very spot. Can't happen twice in one day." "Me?" she said, jabbing at her chest. "I didn't mean to ruin your Saturday morning jog." Hugh held his hand to her face. "I had to stop. You looked so lost, so lovely sitting there in that swing. You know, Gena, you really did look like a princess." "Stop," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I told you — I'm no princess. I grew up today. I know I'm spoiled, pampered, useless, really. But this morning when I watched Bud walk away, I knew it was time for a change. And then you came along." "I came along. Just in time." "Or maybe too late." "Hey, now. Don't cry. You've been so brave all day." Her tears hit at about the same time as the rain. And because Hugh couldn't take either, he pulled her close. "It's okay." "Will it ever be okay again?" she asked over the roar of rain pelting them. "I've really messed things up this time."

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"Bud is a jerk." "I'm not crying about Bud. I'm crying...because...I feel so alone." "Then I won't leave you." "But...you can't stay here." "Yes, I can." He took her by the hand. "C'mon. I've always wanted to see the inside of the Blue House." When she hesitated, he said, "I've heard rumors a princess has been trapped in there. I think it's time someone rescued her and set her free." She was still crying, but she managed a smile. "Okay, but I have to warn you. The wicked queen will be sorely riled." "I can handle the wicked queen, if you'll just get me in out of this storm." "Who's doing the rescuing now, preacher?" Who, indeed, Hugh had to wonder. He knew if he went inside there, to the kind of world he'd left behind, he might change his life forever. It scared him, but it also gave him hope. Maybe he didn't deserve true happiness. But he sure wanted to find it again. "Are you coming?" Gena asked, her hair plastered to her head as she called out to him. Hugh nodded. "I'm right behind you, princess." Together, they ran through the rain up to the house.

Chapter Twelve Gena moved around the big wide room, trying to imagine how this place must look to Hugh. She'd brought him in out of the rain, into the big house that sat facing the angry ocean. Now, she wasn't' so sure that had been a good idea. Well, he had helped her through a rough day, so she owed him a safe haven at least. "Coffee?" she said, her tone teasing as she attempted to light a fire in the marble-encased fireplace lining the back wall of the gleaming white den. "I'll pass on that," Hugh shot back. "Let me help with the fire." "Okay. And I'll go up and find my mother." Then she whirled to face him, a hand going to her mouth. "I forgot my wedding dress. I left it at the café." "It's not there," Hugh told her over his shoulder while he threw kindling wood into the fireplace and watched it spark to life. Panic hit Gena in the stomach. "What did you do with it?"

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He got up to face her, his blue eyes tender. "I sent it out to be cleaned. They'll deliver it in a couple of days, good as new." "You sent my dress to the cleaners?" He looked alarmed. "I hope you don't mind." Gena pushed at the damp hair clinging to her face. "Mind? Hugh, that was so...thoughtful." He shrugged. "I'm that kind of guy — thoughtful." Chilled in the wet shorts and T-shirt, Gena felt her teeth beginning to chatter. But she thought it was more from what Hugh was doing to her than the storm. "You are that kind of guy. And I want to know more about how you became that kind of guy. Let me go up and change first." He nodded. "That storm is mean. I might be stuck here a while. Think your mother will mind?" "That I brought home a stranger after being jilted?" She was already heading up the curved staircase, but she stopped at the landing to lean over and stare down at him. "She'll get over that, too, I suppose." Hugh heard her calling out. "Mother? The runaway bride has returned. Mother?" Left alone, he surveyed the huge central room of the house. He'd seen glimpses of this room from the beach at night. There was a mural of the sea on the wall above the big fireplace — rocks and fish shimmering blue and yellow against the stark white wood and stone. The furniture was lush and expensive, almost untouchable. I should leave, Hugh told himself. I should run out into that storm and head back down the beach. I'm safe in my little café, safe among friends who don't ask questions and strangers who ask only the right questions. He was just about to bolt when he heard footsteps padding down the stairs. Gena reappeared, wearing a long flowing yellow linen dress and a white crocheted sweater, her wet curls spraying out around her face. She looked like a breath of spring. So he stayed. And accepted that he had indeed stepped into a new world. Gena's world. Maybe she needed him to stay right now. Maybe she did indeed need to be rescued from this ivory tower. And maybe he needed to be rescued from the storm.

Chapter Thirteen Hugh couldn't take his eyes off the woman standing by the soft-hissing fire. He'd brought Gena home, thinking to do a good deed. Now, he was here in the Blue House with her, torn between going or staying. He didn't know whether he wanted to meet her mother tonight or not. Maybe he just wanted to be alone with Gena instead. "Did you find your mother?"

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Gena shook her head, her eyes dark with regret. "She went into town to spend the night with friends. Said she needed some quiet time. In other words, I've embarrassed her into a selfimposed seclusion." Hugh's heart went out to her. "Seems like she'd be secluded enough in this place." "But she knew I'd be back," Gena said, her voice so low he had to move close to hear. "She didn't want to face me — I'm such a disappointment, you see." "You are not a disappointment," he said, taking her by the hand to pull her over to the white leather couch. "Sit. I'm going to find you something to eat." She laughed, a bitter tinkling melody. "You don't have to pamper me, Hugh. I'll be fine. Want me to call you a cab?" "I want you to sit by the fire and relax," he said, wishing she didn't look so sweet and tempting. Then because he was wet and cold and confused himself, he asked, "Do you want me to leave?" She shook her head. "Is it my turn to loan you some clothes?" "Do you keep men's clothes in this...hotel?" "I'm sure my father left a robe or some shorts around here as he hurried out the door. We could throw your clothes in the dryer." "I'll just sit by the fire." To keep my distance, he told himself. "All right." He hated the confusion in her eyes. So he decided to do what he did best. He'd get her talking so he could listen. "Are you going to be all right?" She moved her head, a slight inclination. "I think I am. I feel free, relieved but scared. Isn't that horrible? What if I had gotten married this morning? I don't think it would have lasted." "Some do. Some don't." "Tell me about you," she said. "What happened to your marriage, preacher?" Hugh settled down on the marble box-seat running the length of the fireplace, the heat from the flames warming his wet shirt. "My wife got tired of being married to a preacher." "So you didn't want the divorce?" "No." He closed his eyes, rubbed a hand down his face. "I wanted to make it work, but she didn't. She left me." "Do you still love her?"

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"I guess I'll always love her. But...so much happened after she left. My life changed forever. I had to let go or risk losing my son." "What did happen?" He looked up to find Gena studying his face, her eyes full of compassion. He was a listener. He didn't like to talk about his own problems. Looking away, he said, "It's not pretty, Gena. Maybe we'd better stick to small talk." "I want to know. I want to know how you wound up on the beach."

Chapter Fourteen The fire crackled and flared. Outside, the storm and the ocean merged into a wall of crashing whitecaps. Gena stared at the man she'd brought to the Blue House, fascinated by the lines and crevices in his windswept face, enchanted by his vivid blue eyes. She longed to know Hugh Bishop, really know him. Which was silly since she'd only met him this morning. But it had been such a very long day. "Talk to me, preacher." "I don't do the talking," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "I mostly just listen." "Well, I rescued you this time, remember? And I'd really like to know more about you." He got up, his masculine presence in this overdecorated room making Gena think of long strolls on the beach in the moonlight, kisses on the swing down on the sand, hand-holding by the fire. Things she shouldn't be thinking of, considering she'd been left at the altar this morning. "I was a minister at a big church near Birmingham. Things were going great. I was blessed with a beautiful wife and a great son. God had been so good to me. My congregation was growing by leaps and bounds. I thought I had it all." He looked into the fire, his back to Gena, his hands in the pockets of his damp denim shorts. "And then?" "And then my wife asked me for a divorce. Just like that, out of the blue. The pressure of being a minister's wife finally got to her." "Is that tough, being married to a preacher?" He turned, nodding, a warning look glimmering in the blue of his eyes. "Very tough. You have to always be 'on' — meetings, committees, sick and dying people to visit, responsibilities, so many responsibilities. You live in a fish bowl, with everyone judging, suggesting, trying to second-guess you." "You're not just talking about your ex-wife now, are you?" "No. It got to me sometimes, too. But I was doing God's work. So I tried to ease the burden for Constance. I promised her we'd cut back, take a long vacation together. It wasn't enough. She was just so miserable."

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"So you had to let her go?" He nodded, stared into the flames. Gena could see the hurt and disappointment in the set of his broad shoulders. "I failed." Jumping up, she rushed to him. "You didn't fail. You're only human, Hugh. And...I'm not much of an authority when it comes to church, but I can certainly understand the stress of trying to live up to what others expect of you — we all know that feeling." He turned then, his eyes as wild and washed as the raging ocean. "I tried to keep at it, even after she left. But...some of the longstanding church members looked down on divorce. Things got ugly and before I knew it, I was asked to step down." "They threw you out?" "They asked me to leave." Gena felt such a strong sense of rage and injustice, she had to reach out to him. She couldn't take the hurt she saw in his eyes. "Hugh..." He pushed her away. "Don't feel sorry for me. I can't take that. And besides, I've found the real church, right here on this beach. I've found people who really need me." People like me, lost on the beach, Gena thought. "I need you," she said. "And I'm so glad you found me, because I think you need someone, too." Then she surprised both of them as she leaned up and kissed him.

Chapter Fifteen Hugh held Gena away, wonder coursing through his heart. She'd just kissed him, here in her beach house, in front of the fire. And outside, the storm continued to rage. There was a storm brewing inside Hugh's heart, too. "You don't want to do that again," he said as he backed away. She stalked toward him, her dark eyes flashing like heat lightning. "Why? Is it a sin to kiss a preacher?" "No. The Lord wants us to love one another." He shot her a wry smile. "But...you're just acting out of frustration — your groom left you." Gena ran a hand over her spiky curls. "No, I was acting out of need. It's kind of crazy, but I've wanted to kiss you all day." "Because you're upset. You're on the rebound. Tomorrow things will look different." "No, tomorrow things will be better. Because tonight I found a decent man."

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"I'm not that decent." "You most certainly are." She forced him around to face her. "Preacher, you're a fine one to talk. You say you help people, listen to their troubles, minister to their needs. But what about you? What about Just Hugh, Preacher Hugh, who tried to be the man God called him to be?" "And failed." "No, you got caught in a bad situation. And those so-called churchgoers, well, they made a big mistake in letting you go." His smile seered a permanent imprint in her heart. "They were confused, embarrassed. They thought I was being a hypocrite." "Because your wife decided to leave you? What did they expect? That you'd force the woman to stay with you, no matter what?" "I tried," he said. "We went to counseling, talked for hours on end, prayed about it. She just couldn't stay. She was so very tired." Gena could tell he was tired, too. It broke her heart. "You know something? I've been wallowing in self-pity all day long. Poor little me, left at the altar. But I have nothing to complain about. Bud did me a big favor by leaving me now. I don't think I could go through what you've been through." "It's rough." "Yes, I can see that. But I've learned something today. You've shown me how to be strong. You gave me shelter and a shoulder to cry on. You even gave me a job for the day, just to help me through the long hours. You didn't pass judgment on me. That is what preaching is all about. You did exactly as Jesus would have done." "For someone who claims to know little about the church, you sure do know a lot about being a Christian." "My point exactly," she said. "And I owe this new attitude to you." "So I've really helped you?" "More than you'll ever know." She put her arms around his neck and grinned. "So…now that you've managed to get through to my rotten soul, do you suppose we could have one more kiss…to celebrate?"

Chapter Sixteen Hugh shook his head, more to clear it than to deny Gena another kiss. But he couldn't kiss her again. "I don't think that's such a good idea." "And why not? I sure enjoyed our first kiss. Besides, not many women can say they got jilted in the morning and were kissing a new man by midnight."

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Hugh lifted her arms away from his neck and stepped back. "My point exactly. You...we need some time with this. I don't —" "I know, I know. You don't do casual flings. I can respect that." She gave him a sideways glance. "It's just a kiss, preacher." "I don't want it to become more." "Why not?" "Because I think you're still reacting to what happened this morning." Gena let out an exaggerated sigh. "Gee, I thought I was reacting to you." Glancing around the opulent room, Hugh felt her frustration. "You might think that now, but you're gonna need some time...to accept that your life has changed." "I'll say." She advanced toward him. "Hey, can I keep my job at the Chocolate Café? I enjoyed the work and I love the food and fellowship." She stopped, her dark eyes filling with regret. "You know something? I went to college, worked for my father for a while, then came back here to prepare for my marriage. But I never took any of it very seriously. Those few hours today, though. Well, I took that very seriously." "You were still in shock. It wasn't fair of me to make you work." "Yes, it was. It was very fair. I needed the distraction. And I needed you." "You think you need me," Hugh said, hoping to make her see that she'd regret getting involved with him. "I only wanted to help you. You looked so lost and sad." "So I'm a pity case?" He saw the fire in her big eyes. "You know it's not that. I was also very interested in you." "But not interested enough to kiss me again?" "I'd love to kiss you again," he admitted, careful to keep his hands to himself. "But it would be wrong." "Why? You think I'm just being impulsive? You think you aren't ready for a bored socialite with a bruised heart?" He edged toward the open doors leading out onto the round porch. "I think it's time for me to leave." "You'd go? Just like that?" "I need to go. Gena, I'm a good listener. That's what I do. I don't want you to confuse that with something else."

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"Well, I am confused. Very confused. You're pushing me away." "No, I'm asking you to stop and think, take some time." She followed him out onto the porch. The rainstorm had passed and now a soft drizzle made a sweet melody on the planked steps leading to the beach. "Hey, preacher," she said, her hand touching on his arm. Hugh turned around, praying she wouldn't see the truth in his eyes. "What?" "You're a good listener and I'm a good kisser. Neither require words, right? How 'bout you hush up and let me kiss you again?"

Chapter Seventeen Hugh did let Gena kiss him again. Several times. Then he touched his forehead to hers. "I really need to go." "Are we over?" He saw the teasing light in her eyes. She was such a breath of fresh air. Gena made no pretense of things. She laid it all on the line. He wished he could be so brave. "No, we're not over," he said. "We can be friends." "Friends?" She fluttered away, her long skirt falling softly around her legs as she looked out at the midnight ocean. The tide had settled down now. But the rain continued. "Well, I guess if that's what you want, then I'll have to live with it. And you're probably right. I'm probably just flirting with you to make myself feel better. I mean, Bud left me. My mother is hiding away in shame, and...my father hasn't even bothered to call. Having to tell 300 guests the wedding reception has been canceled makes a girl do crazy things, like kiss a preacher she just met." Hugh's heart hurt for her. She hid her pain behind the snappy zingers and an amused flirtation. But he liked her...and her kisses. A lot. "Well, crazy or not, I did enjoy...being with you today." "Does that mean I'm welcome back at the café?" "Anytime. And...if you really need the job —" "I do," she said. It was almost like a plea. "I need the job. Just for a while." Then she grinned at him. "But don't worry, preacher. I won't flirt and I won't kiss you again. Next time, you have to be the one to make the first move." He nodded, leaning over the whitewashed porch railing. "Will you come to our worship service tomorrow?" "Down on the beach?" "Right. If the weather's bad, we'll get together up on the deck." "Still trying to win me over to the Lord, or is this your standard pickup line?"

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"I don't have a pickup line." "Right. And you don't do casual flings." She wagged a finger in the air. "You know, I think even my mother would approve of you." "No, she wouldn't. I don't have much money and I'm no longer a member of any country clubs." Gena inched around, a new awareness glowing in her eyes. "But you once had those things, right?" He looked away. "Yes." "Oh, I get it now," she said, leaning back against an ornate column. "You're pushing me away because I'm rich." He didn't speak, didn't try to deny it. "You...had this kind of life up at the big church?" "Yes." "And you're afraid of being lured back into it?" "Maybe." "So I'm not really rescuing you at all. More like, I'm leading you into a trap?" "That's not exactly how I see it," he said, moving across the porch. Then he leaned close, whispering. "Gena, I can't go back there. I can't become caught up in that materialistic world again." She stared up at him, her eyes misty and confused. "I don't expect you to do that." He touched a hand to her neck. "Then what do you expect from me?"

Chapter Eighteen Gena searched Hugh's eyes. He looked so vulnerable, standing there, the mist damping his hair all over again. She would do anything to wash that hurt out of his eyes, his heart. "I don't expect anything from you," she said. "But I am counting on you." "I don't know if you should count on me either, for anything other than friendship." He still held a hand on her neck, so she lifted her head, loving the strength in his touch. "I can accept friendship. I need a friend right now. All day long, you've been just that. You did listen to me. But you also left me to work things through in my head." His hand went up to her hair. "I want you to know…I will help you through this."

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"As a preacher or as a friend?" "Both." "And...you promise to be my friend, even if I try to kiss you again?" She got a smile for that one. "But you said I'd have to be the one to initiate the next kiss." Gena stood there, the feel of his hand on her hair making her want to break that promise of no more kisses. She had to be strong. She liked him so much, she didn't want to scare him away. "You will be. And I can wait. I was just messing with you, preacher." "You've been messing with me since morning." "A never-ending day with Gena Malone. That's one to tell your congregation." "It's a day I'll always remember, that's for sure." Gena waited for him to back away again. But he stood there, holding her, a certain longing in his eyes. She knew he felt exactly as she did. Something was brewing here, like a tide moving across the ocean. And that something was going to come crashing over them, one way or another. She was impatient, always had been. But the preacher was teaching her a lesson in patience. "I'll always remember today, too. It was supposed to be my wedding day, the happiest day of my life." "I'm sorry it didn't work out." She held her hands to the railing behind her, letting the damp mist flow over her, while his hand held her steady. "Me, too. But, Hugh, I'm not sorry about meeting you. And I'm not sorry I flirted with you. And I'm certainly not sorry I kissed you." "Me, either," he told her. And then he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers. It was gentle, like the flutter of a seagull passing by. It was calm, like floating on still water. It ended all too soon. Then he lifted his head and said, "I hope I see you on the beach in the morning." To hide the myriad sensations crashing inside her heart, she said, "Should I wear the white dress?" He grinned then skipped down the steps, his eyes still on her. "Save that dress, Gena. I have a feeling you'll be wearing it again one day." Gena had a flash of a dream. She was on the beach, wearing the white dress. Hugh was walking toward her. That could never happen, and she wasn't even sure she wanted that to happen. So she watched him walk out of sight, then turned to go back into the Blue House. Alone.

Chapter Nineteen

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Gena strolled down the beach, tugging at her straw hat and sunshades, her short dress hitting her knees. She was nervous, afraid, unsure. But she kept walking. Then she saw him in the middle of the crowd. Hugh. The preacher. He held an acoustic guitar. And he was singing. As she drew closer, she felt his gaze on her. He had a lovely voice, rich and vibrant. And that's how he made her feel. She'd thought about this most of the night. Gena knew she was impulsive. And that usually got her into trouble. But not this time. This time, she had a new attitude. She wanted to get to know the preacher. She needed him in her life. "Hi," he said as she came into the small group. "Everyone, this is Gena." The eclectic crowd said hellos, some waving. There was a mixture of young and old here, some in bathing suits and cover-ups, some in shorts and T-shirts. But they were all smiling. And waiting for Hugh to speak. For a long time, he didn't say anything. Then he talked about a new day, about sunshine after storms, about keeping the faith even when it seemed as if the ship was going to sink. And the whole time he talked, he glanced at Gena. He made her feel welcome, special. He made her feel as if she did have a purpose, after all. "Nice sermon," she told him later, after they'd sang a few more songs and the crowd had headed up to the café for breakfast. "It wasn't a sermon," he replied. Then he indicated a piece of driftwood where they could sit. "I gave up on sermons long ago." "At the same time you gave up on material things and the country club?" "Just about that time, yeah." "Do you ever miss the good life, preacher?" "I have the good life, right here." She could understand that. And because she wanted to be a part of his life, she decided to let him listen. To her heart. "I talked to my father last night." "Oh, yeah? Did you call him?" "No, he called me," she said, the surprise of that still making her smile. "He said he'd wanted to be here for the wedding. At first, I brushed his excuses away, but then he told me he was sorry that things hadn't worked out with Bud and me. Apparently, my mother had called him."

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"Sounds as if he's trying." She nodded, took her hat off. "Then when I explained how it was probably a good thing Bud and I hadn't gotten married, my father opened up to me. He told me he never really trusted Bud anyway." Hugh chuckled. "I'd have to agree with him." "Anyway, we talked for almost an hour. He's coming home soon. And he promised we'd sit in the swing and talk." "Good. And your mother?" "She called this morning. She's better today. She wants to take me on a cruise, to help me get over Bud." He grinned at that. "I have to meet your mother someday." Gena plopped her hat back on. "I'd like that. Someday." "Want a white chocolate mocha?" "I thought you'd never ask."

Chapter Twenty

"I'm so glad you'll be working here," Marsha said later that day. "Girl, won't we have fun! You can give me that makeover." "I'd love that," Gena replied, her gaze following Hugh. "This job will do me good. Until I decide what happens next." "I'm thinking preacher man is what's happening next." "He wants to take things slow — as in, just friends." "Don't fret — he's crazy about you," Marsha said with a wink. "Want another apple muffin?" Gena shook her head. "Gotta go. I want to get some things done before I start tomorrow. Such as...breaking the news to my mother." She left quietly, something new for her. It was a perfect Sunday morning, warm and windy, with soft waves touching on the shore in a never-ending rhythm. "Hey, leaving so soon?" Gena looked around at Hugh. "I was afraid I'd eat another muffin." Or try to kiss a preacher again.

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"Want me to walk you home?" She turned, her sunglasses hiding her eyes. Hugh Bishop was a handsome man, no doubt. But Gena knew the real man. The one with flaws and failures, the human being who'd tried so hard to do the right thing. Just as he was doing now. "I can find my way." "Are you mad...about us?" "No, I just...thought you might need some time alone." "Okay." It wasn't okay. Gena pivoted, a hand on her hip. "I want to get to know you, preacher. I like you. I think we might be on to something." Surprise and then a nice smile. "Okay." "So here's the deal," she said, taking her heart into her hands. "Spend this week with your son. Have fun, relax, but remember, you have a friend down the beach — at the Blue House." He came closer, like the ocean, taking her by surprise. "All right." "And I promise I won't rush you into anything — not the lifestyle you left behind, nor a fling that will leave both of us hurting again. So...I guess that's about it. I'll work at the café, and come to church on the beach. And I'll be your friend." "And?" Gena prayed she could do this. "And...when you're ready to take things further, I'll be sitting in the swing. Waiting." *** A week later, as the sun was setting in mauve and yellow hues, Gena sat thinking about the past week. She had instantly adored Hugh's son, after meeting him in the café. Which was good, considering she'd already fallen for the preacher. Getting to know Hugh as a friend this week had only reinforced that. But would he ever feel the same about her? Gena looked up and saw Hugh coming toward her, the ocean cresting behind him. He nodded toward the space beside her. "Is this seat taken?" "It is now," she said, peace settling around her heart. Hugh sat down, pulled her close. "I think I owe you a kiss." "Only if you kiss me like you mean it."

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He kissed her once, twice, several times. "I mean it. Let's have a fling." "Really?" "Yeah. Maybe it'll turn into the kind that lasts a lifetime." Gena hugged him, tears in her eyes. "Amen to that, preacher."

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Diamond Affairs by Isabel Sharpe Elizabeth Montclair finds herself attracted to the mind of reclusive billionaire Aidan Conley, and to the body of his bodyguard—unaware that they are the same man. Of course, she's not who she appears to be either!

Chapter One Corey Rockford adjusted his sunglasses, pulled his red baseball cap down so the brim sat low over his eyes, and rang the front bell at Danworth. The enormous Georgian mansion just outside Princeton, New Jersey, had recently been purchased by his boyhood friend Aidan Conley — the infamous paranoid delusional recluse billionaire. Rock, as he was known to his friends, and Aidan had grown up together. Now that he was back teaching English at the university, they were neighbors again. "May I help you, sir?" Reeves answered the door, nose so high in the air he couldn't see who was there. Reeves was a native Jersey guy who'd taken on the airs and accent of a proper English butler at his employer's request. "Hi, Reeves," Rock said. "It's me." The butler lowered his nose, caught sight of Rock under the hat, and relaxed. "Hey, how ya doin'? Come on in, the coast is clear. Boss is in rare form." Rock followed Reeves into the sumptuous hallway and up the curving staircase into the elaborately decorated study. Conley, however, was the room's masterpiece. He sat pitifully hunched in a wheelchair under a pink-and-blue flowered afghan. A bushy beard covered most of his face; his trademark oversize dark glasses rested crookedly on his nose; his hair stuck out in all directions. "Aidan Conley, as I live and breathe. How are you doing now so many years after the extremely wellreported horrible accident that left you with a mind-altering brain injury?" A mischievous smile erupted behind the beard. Aidan stood up out of the wheelchair and tossed the prissy afghan aside to reveal khakis and a dark green polo shirt identical to Rock's. "Much better now that you're here, Professor. Thanks for agreeing to a switch on such short notice." "I'm ahead of schedule on my latest book for a change, so I allowed myself a break." Rock shook the hand of his perfectly sane and healthy friend, who had devised this imaginative and effective method of keeping away false friends, fortune hunters, and paparazzi drawn by his looks, money, and celebrity aura. "Where's the escape to this time?" "A Norwegian cruise." Aidan tore off the wig, beard, and glasses, uncovering coloring and features similar to Rock's. "Escape this heat, take in a little scenery, good food, some history...and with any luck, a beautiful woman." "The usual." Rock beat back a twinge of envy. Unlike Aidan, he'd given up the chase. At age 32 as a respected author and professor, he focused on finding a woman to stimulate his mind, not just his testosterone. "Anything I should know while you're gone?" "You'll be interviewing new housekeepers." Aidan handed over pieces of his disguise. Rock eyed the wig and beard distastefully, painfully familiar with their hot, scratchy textures from the other times he'd stood in for Aidan. "The security cameras picked up some woman snooping around the property for the third time this month. If she shows up again you can pretend to be your own detective hero and spout poetry at her."

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"No problem." Rock smiled. His detective, Dirk, could handle sonnets and heavy weaponry with equal ease, making him appeal to both genders and making Rock something of a surprise sensation — to him at least. "Anything I need to know in the land of venture capital?" "Not a thing. I'll be in touch and of course Reeves is briefed, bless him. I think I'd go genuinely crazy without his help in this charade, or yours for that matter." Aidan opened a massive walk-in closet and pulled out two suitcases. "Is your car still out front?" "Yes." Rock took off his baseball hat and jammed it on his friend's head. "Have a good time." "I damn well will." Aidan paused at the door and grinned. "Have fun being me." "Thanks, I won't." Rock headed resignedly for the wheelchair and pulled the odious wig over his head. "I never do."

*** Elizabeth Montclair buttoned her navy suit, blissfully enjoying the air conditioning Conley had installed in her family's house. Mr. Conley might think of it as his, but she couldn't seem to. Her father's family had built this house in the 18th century, lived here for generations before Conley kicked them out and ruined her father, causing the heart attack that killed him. She wrinkled her nose. Okay, so Conley had bought the house well above market value so her parents could settle their substantial debt and buy a small home outside of Princeton. And okay, her father had been on the way to ruining himself when Conley pulled his company's capital out of her dad's final venture. And okay, maybe Dad was killing himself with drink and his penchant for high-everything food and smoking and all-night trips to gamble in Atlantic City. But the house. The study Conley had her cooling her heels in used to be Elizabeth's bedroom. She could see the place on the wooden sill where she'd carved the heart with her initials and Tom Cruise's, remember the hours spent curled up on the window seat reading stacks of romance novels she'd snuck by her parents. Right now, however, she was on a mission to become his housekeeper. She'd gained nothing but wasted time prowling the edge of the property, hoping she'd figure out how to get into the house without risking prosecution. A few weeks ago, she'd been clearing out her ailing mom's attic in anticipation of the horrible moment when she'd have to move her into a nursing home, and came across a diary kept by her great-great-grandmother, Lucinda Montclair. Among the yellowing pages filled with delicate looping writing was an entry Elizabeth had read so many times she'd memorized it. It was told to me today by my dear mother just before her death, that Montclair family heirlooms, including the Andias diamond, were hidden from the British in a secret room in the Montclair mansion by Augustus Montclair during the great American Revolution. I have not yet found such a room, but confess to great excitement amidst the grief. Her mom shrugged off the legend as romantic fancy — but with a wistful gleam in her tired, sunken eyes. At that moment, Elizabeth determined that she owed it to her mother to find out if the jewels were there. If Elizabeth could get her hands on some serious treasure — legally of course — she could afford a full-time nurse for her mom and spare her the indignity of her final years in an institution. And maybe, Elizabeth could finally fulfill her lifelong dream of going to England, land of King Arthur, chivalry, and her beloved Shakespeare.

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"Mr. Conley will be in shortly, madame." The almost comically snobby butler popped his enormous nose-inthe-air into the room. "Thank you." She rose, clutching her résumé, not at all sure what to expect from the man so many people whispered about. Brilliant, promising, genius, loved by the media and populace alike, then the terrible mysterious accident that left his intelligence intact, but ruined his social skills, scarred his face and body, and made him a bitter, rambling recluse, driven only by the need to make money. Whatever she expected, the parody of a mad scientist rolling toward her in a wheelchair wasn't it. She had a terrible fear she was going to laugh, which turned into a sudden fierce twinge of sympathy. What a horrible comedown from the man she used to read about in the paper. "Mr. Conley, hello. I'm Elizabeth de Rocher." She used her mother's maiden name to avoid any sticky recollections of dealings with the Montclair family. "I've come about the housekeeper position." The eyes behind the crooked dark glasses stared at her, his mouth open, head going slowly up and down as if he were making a careful inspection of her body. She gritted her teeth. Men never seemed to be able to see past her breasts, no matter how sedately she dressed. "Uh, Mr. Conley?" "Excuse me." His voice was a raspy painful gasp that made her battle another surge of sympathy. He used to be a gifted athlete. Now even talking was an effort. "I was just admiring your necklace." Right. Elizabeth clutched the gold locket her father brought back from one of his trips to London — the trips he kept promising to take her on and never did. "It's actually a book, a miniature volume of Shakespeare sonnets." "Ah, Shakespeare." One dark brow quirked up above his glasses. "'If I could write the beauty of your eyes/And in fresh numbers number all your graces,/The age to come would say, "This poet lies:/Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces."' From sonnet number —" "Seventeen," Elizabeth whispered. Never in a million years had she expected Mr. Ex-Playboy to be a devotee of her beloved Bill. "Have you been to Stratford-on-Avon? Seen his theater? I've always dreamed of going there. To stand on that ground where he must have stood and recite —" Elizabeth snapped her mouth shut. What the heck was she doing? Telling a total stranger her innermost desires? "I'm sorry. You must want to interview me." "Oh, yes. I want to interview you, Elizabeth." Warmth rose up into her cheeks and ricocheted down through her body. Oh my goodness. Something about the way he said that made her…furious. She took the seat he indicated, trying not to stare at the hand that emerged from under his afghan to reach toward his desk. You could tell a lot about a man by his hands. Aidan was strong, graceful, clean, and…large. "So." His strong graceful clean large hand picked up a gold pen and pad. "What experience have you had as a housekeeper?" None. "Well, I grew up in a large house and I've cared for my mom for several —" "No experience," he said as he wrote. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. She had to get this job. Her mom deserved a comfortable happy old age and Elizabeth could picture herself in England. Who knew? Maybe she could meet someone else who could quote Shakespeare sonnets off the top —

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"You're an English teacher at Princeton Day School." Aidan folded his arms across his chest. "I suppose you plan to hold both jobs in the fall?" "Yes, sir." For some inexplicable reason, Elizabeth started getting flustered and fidgety under Aidan's unwavering silent stare. Even from behind the glasses she could feel its intensity. No wonder women had swarmed all over him before the accident. She could feel the beginnings of a swarming instinct in herself, and she wasn't remotely the swarming type. A discreet knock sounded at the door; the pompous butler came in and whispered something in his boss's ear. For a second Aidan Conley had his face turned to the side and Elizabeth got a glimpse of clear dark eyes and long dark lashes. She swallowed and set herself firmly. This was not the time to develop a weakness for wounded geeks. "Thank you, Reeves." He turned back to her, face once more shrouded behind the beard, glasses, and ridiculous frizzed-out hair. "Mr. Conley, I have my references —" "No need for that." "What?" She'd been disqualified already? "If you'd just let me —" "I said there's no need. You can go now." He backed up the wheelchair and gestured to the door of the room. "I'll expect you here by nine tomorrow." At the shocked look on her face he continued. "You're hired."

Chapter Two "What?" Elizabeth stared down at the absurd figure of chair-bound Aidan Conley, wondering if his brain really had been as damaged by the accident as the rumors had it. "I said, you're hired." He wheeled his chair over behind his desk and began sorting through his papers. "You can start tomorrow morning." "Don't you want to check my —" "I've checked them." He glanced up. "They're perfect." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. As far as she could tell, all he'd checked were her measurements. She could be glad to get the job this easily, considering high school English teachers didn't have a lot of training as housekeepers. She could grab the land-in-her-lap opportunity to check out the legend she uncovered and see if there really were heirlooms belonging to her family hidden in a secret room in this house, representing wealth she desperately needed to care for her ailing mom, and desperately wanted to fulfill her dream of going to England. But not if the land-in-her-lap opportunity extended to her lap landing in Aidan Conley's. "I'd like one thing clear, sir." "Yes?" He picked up a stack of papers and started sorting it into smaller piles. "I'll be a housekeeper here, nothing else."

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"Of course, what did you —" He looked up from his work; his nicely shaped mouth spread into a wistful smile in the center of his overgrown beard. "Ah, Ms. de Rocher. You flatter me. Unfortunately, you don't need to worry on that score." "I…I don't?" Elizabeth braced herself, her outrage fading. Every feminine instinct told her she'd trodden somewhere she had no business treading and this was going to get ugly and embarrassing in about three seconds. One...two... "You see, the accident left me impotent."

*** "You told her I was what?" Aidan Conley's voice crackled on the overseas line. Rock grinned, enjoying his friend's discomfort. Especially because Elizabeth had looked alluringly dewyeyed when Rock quoted her a Shakespeare sonnet, and it occurred to him he might be unwittingly setting up Aidan's next conquest — with a woman Rock would like to know better himself. "I told her you had a little…levitation problem." "Why the hell did you tell her that?" "Because she thought I — that is, you — needed a female bed warmer. The woman has zero qualifications, aside from a great pair of…references, and I hired her on the spot." "You hired me breasts for a housekeeper?" "Reeves recognized her as the woman your cameras caught snooping around. This makes it easy to keep a close eye on her." Rock glanced at his watch, wondering if there were any circumstances under which it wouldn't be easy to keep a close eye on Elizabeth de Rocher. The woman had done more for his drooling idiot act than she had any right to know about. He had to remind himself over and over to be interested in her mind — until she showed her passion for Shakespeare, shared her fantasy of going to England, and touched something deep in his academic soul. It might be simpler if he just lusted after her amazing body. "I better get dressed as the insane billionaire. She's due to arrive soon. Don't forget to come back. I can only stand playing social leper for so long." "Oh? Any reason having to do with a certain great pair of references? Maybe I'll come home early. I've found nothing but ice in these fjords so far." Rock felt that unfamiliar emotion again, jealousy at the thought of Aidan returning to his own identity with Elizabeth traipsing around his house with a brain full of sonnets, looking like the perfect fantasy combination of Playboy centerfold and schoolmarm innocence. "Suit yourself. I've got to go." He wandered over to the windows to see if her car had arrived. Not yet. He traced a small heart in the wooden sill with the initials E.M. plus T.C., carved no doubt by some overly romantic fool. Of course he wasn't far from behaving like one himself. Ms. de Rocher had gotten into his brain, no question. He recognized the usual signs, not that they were terribly hard to spot. There was the can't-stop-thinking-about-her sign, and the endless-sexual-fantasies sign, those he was used to. But then there was a gentler, more noble curiosity about her. What she was like; what she thought about; what she wanted from her life. And of course why she'd been so obviously trying to worm her way into Aidan Conley's mansion. He raised his arms and rested them against the window frame. So what was wrong with that? This kind of deeper interest was exactly what he'd decided to give up more shallow intimacies for. The quest for shared

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intellectual pursuits, the exchange of ideas and evolving personal philosophy, the chance for lifelong debate on the nature of man and his universe, the…the… Elizabeth's navy Mazda drove up the estate's long driveway and parked. Long legs emerged from the driver's side. Long legs wearing shorts. Then long honey-blond hair pulled back into a thick braid, then a torso with those fabulous…references in a sleeveless white gauzy scoop-necked thing that if he edged forward just a little, he might — She snapped her head up as if she could read his dirty little mind. An instant before she spotted him he jumped back, appalled at his carelessness, appalled at how deeply those shallow hunting instincts were rooted. No more. He'd fight the good fight. Keep his thoughts trained on intellectual philosophical universetype debates and…so on. He heard Reeves open the front door, greet Elizabeth, and start her on the route upstairs. Rock flew across the room, pulled on the beard, wig, and glasses and fell into the wheelchair just as the knock sounded on the study door. "Come in." He wheeled himself behind the desk, steeling himself to be unaffected by his new housekeeper. "Ms. de Rocher reporting for duty, sir." Reeves opened his eyes wide with his back to her and mouthed words Rock couldn't decipher. Elizabeth brushed past him and came into the middle of the room, lighting it up with her freshness as if she'd turned on one of the Tiffany lamps. She glanced at Rock — briefly, but enough to send a jolt of involuntary electricity through him — then swept the room with a gaze that only returned to him after it had finished its errand. "Good morning, Elizabeth." He croaked out the words in his best unstable genius voice, stroked the fake beard, and tried not to think about how incredibly perfect she looked, and what a lift she'd given to his day…in more ways than one. "Looking for something?" "Oh, just curious." She gave another glance behind her then fastened her endlessly deep eyes on him. "Who was the man I saw standing at the window?"

Chapter Three "Who was the man I saw standing at the window?" Elizabeth repeated the question since Aidan Conley had either gone into shock or off to sleep. She could see her reflection in the huge crooked dark glasses below the wild mop of stringy-looking hair and the out-ofcontrol beard. What would this guy look like with a haircut and a shave? "Oh, him?" Aidan's voice seemed even more croaky than usual. "You must have seen my…bodyguard, Corey Rockford — Rock to his friends. He, uh, had to go." "Oh." She frowned. She'd grown up in this house. The only way to leave would have been past her. "He's staying on the third floor." Aidan's sudden dynamite smile took her completely aback. "You'll probably get to see a lot of him, Elizabeth. He's a great, great guy. A former track star. Those stairs would have been nothing to him. That's why he could take them so fast." "I see." Whatever. The only thing she hated more than cocky athletes was the way they treated her. She'd experienced it too often in high school and college, before she got smart. Hockey goalies requiring multiple slap shots, basketball stars committing too many personal fouls, tight ends trying to run it into her end zone.…

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Elizabeth finally vowed only to date men she could beat up. Except that she still had this fantasy of broad shoulders, powerful arms, masculinity enough to — "Maybe he could take you to lunch today, to celebrate you coming to work for me." Elizabeth blinked, then shook her head. He was playing matchmaker for his bodyguard? "No thanks, sir. I'm sure I'll be too busy. Perhaps another time." "'Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,/He of tall building and of goodly pride:/Then if he thrive, and I be cast away,/The worst was this: my love was my decay.' Shakespeare, sonnet number —" "Eighty." Elizabeth stopped breathing. One of her favorites, the song of a wretched soul afraid to lose his beloved to a better man. Could Aidan be trying to — "Elizabeth." He said her name in that low husky tone he'd used yesterday, and that same shivery warmth swept over her. She could probably beat up Aidan Conley.… "Yes, sir?" She tried to remember her real reason for being here. It was not to fall for a guy who looked like Rip Van Winkle and was personal-hygiene challenged. Not to mention impotent. He rolled the wheelchair closer and she got a tiny whiff of a very, very nice aftershave before a strange musty odor that was probably unwashed hair took over. "Call me Aidan." "Yes, sir — Aidan," she whispered. What the hell was the matter with her? This was taking geek love to new depths. "Good." He wheeled his chair back to the huge mahogany desk that stood where her four-poster eyelet canopy bed used to be. "Reeves can show you the ropes." She bowed her head demurely and marched out of the room to find Reeves. After the tour, she armed herself with cleaning tools and patted the measuring tape in her pocket. All she needed to do to find the secret room was measure the walls until she found one out of whack. The secret room had to be behind there. She smiled in satisfaction and started off to the front living room to begin her work. With the master confined to his study and the staff hard at work, she could find the jewels, get her mom the best, most luxurious medical care money could buy, and see about booking a trip to England, to immerse herself in the world of her beloved bard, all in a matter of days. As long as this Rock person kept to himself.

*** Rock walked into the living room after following the thumps and bumps "his" new housekeeper was making, intent on ignoring his screaming primal attraction and enhancing the connection he'd already established with her, disguised as Aidan. Two steps into the room, he froze. Elizabeth. Bending over. Head stuck way into the fireplace. Facing away from him. Temptation herself, in jeans that fit like — Stop. Think poetry. Think casual chat. Think anything but what he was thinking. "Did you lose something?" She gasped and jerked up. There was a dull thud as her skull made contact with the marble fireplace. Rock rushed forward and reached to guide her head out safely. Soft skin. Soft hair. Stop. "Are you okay? What were you doing in there?"

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"I'm fine. I wanted to see, uh, if the…chimney needed cleaning." She rubbed her head and looked at him expectantly. Rock took a deep breath. Okay. Here it was. His chance to dazzle her with intellect. "Uh…I'm Rock." "I'm Elizabeth." "I know." He stood there, feeling as tongue-tied and ridiculous as when his father provided a "lady escort" to initiate him when he was 16 and started him down an addictive highway he'd only recently managed to exit. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rock." She frowned and he realized he'd been staring. No. Gaping. Stop. "Was there something you wanted?" Inspiration hit suddenly. She was the woman Conley's security cameras had caught snooping on the property earlier in the month. He could try to find out why she'd been poking around Aidan's house, most recently with her head in the fireplace. "Are you from Princeton?" "I grew up here." Her lips tightened into a sad smile. "I live with my mom in Pennington now." "You go to the high school?" He examined a fingernail to make the questions seem casual and grinned when she nodded. "College?" "Princeton." "Impressive." He took a quick step forward, to unnerve her, the way his fictional detective hero, Dirk, unnerved his suspects, surprised when she took a step back and sent him a wary look. "So why become a housekeeper?" "I need the money. Why all the questions?" "Just curious." Time to back off; she was getting skittish. "So what do you think of our employer?" "He seems gentle. And kind." She blushed. "Not the monster the press makes him out to be." "Well, well. You seem quite taken with him." Terrific. He made her blush as an impotent shut-in and could barely get a smile out of her as himself. "He's a gentleman." A wistful look crept into her eyes. "He seems to know a lot of poetry. I majored in English at Princeton — mostly Shakespeare." "I love Shakespeare, too." "You do." She eyed him doubtfully. He gulped. This was not going well. More quotes from the bard were out. A little too coincidental if the master of the house and his bodyguard could cough up sonnet lines at the drop of a hat. But what other poets' work did he know that well? To create that fabulous softening of her eyes and features, that dreamy look of a hungry soul? "'Cold in the earth — and the deep snow piled above thee,/Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave.'" He cleared his throat. Judging from the ice forming on her face, that wasn't quite the romantic tone he wanted to set. What else, what else? "That was Brontë. How about Browning? 'I left thee last, a child at heart,/A woman scarce in years:/I come to thee, a solemn corpse…'"

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She looked at him as if he'd made an impolite body noise. Rock sighed and glanced around for something to bang his head on. Damn Aidan and his cooked-up invalid scheme. Damn himself for agreeing to trade places. Damn Elizabeth for putting him in the absurd position of being wildly jealous of himself. Elizabeth half turned away so her fabulous silhouette was silhouetted even more fabulously. He broke out in a sweat. She was incredible. He wanted her. He was losing it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rock." She brandished a feather duster like a weapon. "I need to get back to my work." "Can I help?" "No." "Can I watch?" "No." "Can I press you up against the wall and kiss you until you're breathless?" He froze, horrified. The words had spilled automatically, out of frustrated carelessness, in habitual response to his desire and the bantering tone of their exchange. For one unbelievable second, her face flushed, her breath rushed in between parted lips, and her eyes melted into his. But just for that one unbelievable second. Then her face paled, her lips tightened, and her eyes froze up solid. "And you wonder why I think that man upstairs is such a gentleman." She shoved the feather duster in his hand and stalked out of the room, leaving him embarrassed, bewitched, ashamed, and definitely, definitely aroused. To hell with intellect. Any two people with similar interests could share that connection. He and Elizabeth already had, though she didn't know it yet. But for that one moment Elizabeth had responded to him purely physically. As a woman, not a Shakespearean goddess. Passion burned within her for things entirely of the body. And however much she might deny it, she wanted Rock to give them to her. Not Aidan. He grinned. Poor Elizabeth. All of a sudden Aidan wasn't going to be quite as charming as she was used to. No, indeed. And after giving her a few more chances to experience this response to him, Rock would try something new. He wasn't just going to talk about pressing her to the wall and kissing her breathless. He was going to do it.

Chapter Four South wall of the library — 25 feet. Elizabeth snapped her tape measure shut. Three days into her search for her family heirloom and she was dead on her feet. The cleaning wasn't so bad, since the rooms were barely used by the mysterious new owner — a far cry from the mess her family had left it in every night. Supervising the staff was a breeze, since the staff consisted of a cook, gardener, butler, and chauffeur, all very nice people who knew exactly what to do and when. But combining her duties with the real reason she was here — to find the secret room holding her family's heirlooms without being caught by either the intriguing master of the house, Aidan Conley or that horrible snooping pain in her duster who kept popping up out of nowhere, Corey "Rock" Rockford — all that was enough to wipe out a marathoner.

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So far, no luck. All the measurements of all the rooms meshed neatly, no discrepancies that would indicate a concealed space of any kind. She'd worked her way through the rooms on the first floor and up to the library here on the second floor. She'd have to be extra cautious on the third floor — Rock's room was up there. She'd cleaned it once, not that it needed much. He definitely went against type for the cocky jock. She'd expected dirty underwear and crusty tissues, not neatly folded clothes and a bookmarked volume of the new translation of The Odyssey on his bedside table. Go figure. He was certainly attractive; she'd give him that. But that's all she'd give him. Well, and he seemed fairly intelligent. She could give him that, too. But that was it. Oh, and a kind of overly obvious charm, sure. He could have that. Major sex appeal, too, uh-huh. But — Enough! She'd been seduced and abandoned by men like him too many times. Deep brown eyes that got inside you and made you feel like an undercooked egg; solid body that induced in you a thrilling combination of danger and safety; enough charisma to coax supreme court justices out of their latest opinion; a deep voice that could make you — Someone coughed behind her. She whirled around, and blushing, hoped Aidan Conley wasn't a mind reader. "Hello, Elizabeth," he wheezed. "How is the job going?" "Fine. Fine." She nodded too many times and stopped her head. No question, the man affected her. Why she would find someone who was weird and smelly attractive she had no idea. Maybe because of his impotency problem, she knew he wasn't going to try to drag her off to his cave. Very refreshing. Maybe his tragic story intrigued her — the gorgeous guy he used to be before the accident, who he must still be under all the trappings. Maybe it was just that fabulous aftershave, she couldn't tell, but she was never quite herself around him. Such an intelligent man. She admitted openly to lusting after his mind. In fact, he hadn't been around for the past few days and she was shocked to discover she missed their discussions. "Reeves has nothing but praise for your work." He raised his head and coughed loudly without covering his mouth. "And Rock tells me he's met you. A few times. He seemed totally charmed." Elizabeth's smile froze solid on her face. "I see." Aidan twirled a finger through his hair in a strange affected gesture she hadn't noticed before. "Apparently, however, you got off on a rough start." "You might say that." She kept a sneer off her face with considerable effort. "Rock is… He's actually quite nervous around some women." Elizabeth suppressed a snort. "No disrespect meant, but he doesn't strike me as nervous." Aidan pulled a strand of hair down over his forehead, directed his breath up to blow it away, then chuckled as if he thought the trick extremely clever and did it again. "Does he come on a little too strong?" "Uh…like a bulldozer." Where was her magnetic Shakespeare scholar today? He nodded and wheeled closer, close enough that she caught another practically erotic whiff of his aftershave, mixed in with that strange moldering smell that wasn't quite so enticing. "You must make him very nervous, Elizabeth." He said the words slowly, quietly, almost whispering, in that funny old-man gravelly voice, drawing out the syllables of her name and just about making her melt onto the Oriental carpet under her feet, except he did another one of those openmouthed coughs, which made his face turn red and the veins stick out in his neck.

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"Just…give him another chance. He's worth getting to know, I promise." He drew his arm out from the flowery afghan he hid under, found her hand, gave it a squeeze and held it, his fingers warm and strong, his eyes staring up at her, obscured by the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Elizabeth's mouth dropped; her breath caught in her throat; another blush swept over her face. "Yes. Okay." The words were barely out of her mouth before she realized her softness for one man was in effect propelling her into the greedy drooling…well, hardness of another. A man who sent a giant sign flashing into her brain: Caution: Proceed at Your Own Risk. "So, Elizabeth," Aidan dropped her hand and wiped his across his nose, "do you find Rock attractive?" "Uh…" Her swallow was an audible gurgle of confession. "He's…well, you know, he's — I mean, if you like that…tall, dark, major hunk thing." His eyebrows rose so high they peeked over the top of his sunglasses. "You don't?" "In my experience, jocks can't think about anything but scoring." She surreptitiously wiped the hand he'd been holding on her jeans. "I prefer guys whose brain is the most used part of their anatomy." "Rock is a professor at Princeton." His right cheek twitched; he jerked his head a few times. "Did he tell you that?" "He's a…at Princeton?" She clamped her sputtering mouth shut, so stunned she stopped being afraid Aidan was going to have a seizure. He was a professor? That...that Rock person? "He's also..." Aidan cleared his throat as if he was trying to bring his insides out for some air. "He's also Daniel Alexander who writes the Dirk Davis mysteries." Elizabeth's face, which had been preparing to scrunch in revulsion stretched out into new shock instead. Rock was Daniel Alexander? The man who wrote those brilliant, sexy detective stories she loved so much? "I'm so sorry," she gasped out. "I guess I was a little sexist. It's just that...when you look at him, brain isn't the first thing you think." Aidan removed a finger that had been exploring places polite people don't. "What is?" Sex. "Why are you so interested in what I think of Rock?" she asked instead. "Because last night he was a mess over you." She put down her rag and turned back. "He was?" "I've never seen him like that…sort of like a wounded puppy." Aidan lifted one arm and gave its pit a long, apparently satisfying scratch. "Pretty pathetic, in fact." "Oh." A strange melty tenderness in the area of her heart made it possible for her to ignore this latest breach of etiquette. "I can't quite picture that." "Elizabeth." She braced herself against the weird thrill whenever he said her name, but it didn't seem to want to come this time. "I don't think this is just about sex appeal for him. "

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He rolled away, leaving her standing there with her mouth hanging wide open. Rock had real feelings for her? How on earth could he believe that after a couple of awkward conversations where he seemed to spend the entire time trying not to drool over her and failing? She shoved a traitorous warmth firmly back under an emotional rock where it belonged and rooted through her bag until she found her sketch of the house. She was not going to think about Rock anymore. So, he was sex personified, big deal. And a gifted author she'd admired passionately for years, so what? He'd turn out like all the others and then where would she be? "Twenty-five feet." She penciled in the measurement and frowned, all sexy and consuming nonthoughts of Rock suddenly replaced by an eerie excitement. Had she made a mistake? She calculated again. No mistake. Even allowing for the width of the fireplace in the inner wall, the back of the library should only measure 21 feet. Elizabeth fell into an overstuffed chair and stared at the sketch in her suddenly shaking hand. She'd found the secret room.

Chapter Five She'd found the secret room. Elizabeth jumped out of the striped overstuffed chair and paced the length of the library's inner wall. How many times had she been in this room as a girl never knowing she'd been so close to the Montclair family heirlooms. Or so they'd been described in her great-great-grandmother's diary. Including the Andias diamond. In Elizabeth's imagination, it was a jewel of about eight carats that would sell for enough money to keep her mom out of the nursing home by hiring a private nurse, buy them a nicer house in the heart of Princeton, and let Elizabeth visit England, to revel in her love of Shakespeare, any time she felt like it. So where to look? And how to do so and remain inconspicuous? How many times could she clean the library before someone started asking questions? Rock, the unbelievably sexy jock pig who turned out to be a professor and one of her favorite authors, had already been asking too many for her comfort. Aidan Conley, strange and mysterious master of the house, had just left the room in his wheelchair; he'd probably stay away for now anyway. She reached for and grabbed a book. In the movies, concealed doors were always activated by moving a book. But it would take her hours to check each one. Or…her eyes lit on a bust of Beethoven. In the Batman TV show, the Caped Crusader had always flipped a switch in a statue's head to gain access to the Batcave. Maybe she could start there. The marble of the bust was cool and smooth under her fingers. She shifted the statue, explored along its surface, checking for hinges or cracks or — "Lucky Beethoven." Elizabeth stiffened and clenched her hands into fists. Rock always managed to have the worst timing. She unclenched her fists and forced herself to smile at him, wishing he didn't look quite so clean and strong and male and sexually available. Fifteen minutes ago she'd listened in disbelief as Aidan announced Rock had fallen for her, and under pressure she'd promised to give Rock a second chance.

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Deciding to uphold her part of the agreement she smiled her very best smile at him. If he was remotely worthwhile as a human being he'd prove right now that he could let a second go by without a come-on line. "I'm checking him for dust." "I think I might be dusty, too. Would you check me?" Her smile faded. Okay, that was enough of a second chance. She turned to the bookshelf, hoping her back would be stiff and discouraging enough to make him leave. To her horror he came up close behind her. Close enough that she could almost feel the heat from his body — or at least close enough that she started imagining it pretty strongly. Why weren't gentle geeks ever this sexy and confident? "I'm sorry, Elizabeth." His voice was deep and sincere behind her. The warmth of his body became so vivid in her imagination that she had to steel herself to keep from leaning back into it. "The lines are just a habit. A stupid autopilot habit I'm trying to break. Born out of spending too much time with beautiful women who bore me to death. But you excite me. That is, your mind excites me." He sighed. "Okay, your body excites me too — I'm only human." She turned around and put her hands on her hips, not surprised when he glanced down at her breasts. "My mind excites you?" He turned brown eyes that took her aback with their sincere intensity up to hers. This guy was good. He made David Jensen look like an amateur. David had proposed marriage, complete with diamond solitaire, during senior year in high school. He'd taken her virginity and then asked for his mother's ring back. His mother was alive and well and wondering where the heck her ring was. Of course the incident was partly Elizabeth's fault. If she wasn't such a romantic, wasn't so dying to believe in love at first sight with Mr. Macho Perfection… She shook off the memories. "As I recall we've had one or two brief conversations, which consisted primarily of me answering questions about my schooling and trying to fend you off. How boring were those women?" For one incredible second he looked trapped. Ha! She wouldn't have expected it to be this easy. Maybe now he'd leave her alone so she could continue her search. Leave her alone so she could stop wanting to find out if his body was as smooth and hard as it looked. She winced and censored her own thoughts. When would she ever stop lusting after macho pinups and settle down with the gentle soul who could make her happy? But gentle souls never quite seemed to push her over the edge into wanting forever after. "You like this room?" He backed off and ambled casually along the walls, running his hands along the shelves of books. She blinked. "Yes." "You planning to spend a lot of time here poking around?" He shot her a keen glance, measuring her reaction. Elizabeth stiffened. What was this? "I thought I could make myself useful in here. You know, cleaning the books, making sure they're in good shape. Even organizing them if Aidan…Mr. Conley wants me to." "Aidan?" He stopped in front of her, too close for comfort even a few paces away. "You really like this guy?" "I…well, I thought I did." Her tongue thickened impossibly and that strange tenderness invaded the region of her heart, but this time not for Aidan. "Are you really Daniel Alexander?"

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"Yes." Rock took a step toward her; she jumped back. His eyes narrowed. "What's the matter, do I make you nervous?" "A…little." But only enough that she had her back pressed against a shelf of books and was shaking in every muscle group. "I really love your books. You manage to work in so much character depth and…and wonderful literary references that give them —" "Does Aidan make you nervous like this?" He took another step forward. Elizabeth shook her head, finding it suddenly difficult to take deep breaths. "I...understand you're also a professor. At the university. How —" "Do you ever want him to kiss you?" "Look." She stopped for a gulp of air. Her voice didn't have even a quarter of the outrage she was supposed to be feeling. His body was massive and warm even without using her imagination. And his eyes were doing that undercooked egg thing to her insides. "I don't think this is appropriate." He bent forward until his mouth was only about an inch from hers. "Do you ever want me to kiss you, Elizabeth?" And then he was kissing her and the only sound of protest she managed to make was a sigh of longing, which wasn't at all an effective deterrent. Kissing Rock was heaven. Absolute, unadulterated heaven, if it was proper to refer to heaven when every sense was on fire with pagan lust. He tasted good, he felt good, he smelled — Elizabeth opened her eyes, then narrowed them to furious slits. She broke off the kiss and tilted her head back. "Go to hell, Corey Rockford. Go directly to hell. Do not pass go. Do not collect —" "What the —" She pushed him back with all her strength and caught a glimpse of the same glazed-with-passion shock that she was sure had been on her face a minute ago...until she smelled the tantalizing smell of Aidan Conley's aftershave and realized she'd been duped again. Aidan Conley and Corey "Rock" Rockford were the same man.

Chapter Six Go to hell? What in the world had happened to the warm, beautiful, passionate woman he had been kissing, Rock wondered as Elizabeth stormed out of the room. He'd been kissing Elizabeth because, unless he was getting signals from an alternate life-form, she'd desperately wanted him to. God knew he'd been desperate to from the second he first saw her. Then bang! He was outta there. But not the usual I've-come-to-my-senses or How-dare-you female outrage. She'd been furious. Livid. "Psst." Reeves's head poked around the door. He sighed and nodded to Reeves. "What is it?"

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"The master is home. Got in late last night. Apparently he had a miserable time, then caught some bug so he figured he'd be just as badly off back here." Rock's stomach sank. Great. The only way Elizabeth responded warmly to him was when he was disguised as Aidan's mad billionaire alter ego. And he doubted Aidan would go for the snorting and twitching routine Rock had adopted to make the invalid character less appealing. "He wants to see you, catch up on what's been going on." "Sure." Rock went to the study. "Hey, Aidan. Nice to see you back. You look like hell." Aidan rolled his eyes, still the kind that felled women with a single wink, even above dark circles. "I felt worse yesterday. What's been happening here?" Rock almost laughed. "Not much." "Reeves has a different story." Aidan lifted his eyebrows. "Have you found out what that housekeeper was snooping around for?" "Not yet." "You been…spending a lot of time in surveillance?" "She thinks I'm a pig." He jammed his hands in his pockets and started whistling, forgetting how well Aidan knew him. "Uh-oh." Aidan crossed his arms over his chest and gave Rock a penetrating stare. "You've got it bad, Professor." Rock spun around and went to the window. "It gets worse." "How much worse?" Rock pulled back the curtain, remembering how she'd looked coming out of the car that first day and how hard he'd fought his attraction. Irrational jealousy twisted inside him. "She's falling in love with you." "I haven't been here. She fell in love with you, you idiot." "No." He shook his head. "Your supposed tragedy, your lost health, your brilliant command of Shakespeare… I'm the dumb jock. What's worse, she rattles me so badly I behave like a dumb jock. Except when I'm you." "Oh, boy." Aidan wiped the smile off his face. "You've definitely gotten in deep." Rock nodded. Way deep. Kissing her had been like being reborn into something noble and powerful. Like Super Rockman, only painfully human and mortal and definitely vulnerable. His feelings for Elizabeth had nothing to do with his umpteenth time scoring and had everything to do with his first time falling in love. But he couldn't face any more duplicity. Even if she never forgave him, he had to tell her the why and wherefore of the disguise, that he and the Aidan she knew were the same person. It was the only way if he wanted any shot at a real and forever kind of relationship with her. He grinned weakly. "Aidan, old buddy, it's true confession time."

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With any luck, he'd emerge with his pride and his body parts still intact — and have a chance to explore something deep and real with the woman who'd invaded his heart.

*** Elizabeth paced back and forth on the carpet in the first-floor salon, wondering how long before she wore a threadbare path. The arrogant jerk. Playing with her emotions, making her first want him as a brilliant helpless invalid and then as a sexy, virile…side of beef. What fun this all must have been for him. Gee, Elizabeth, Rock is such a nice guy. You should really drop your pants next time you see him. Grrrrr. For all the defenses she'd erected around herself, the males of the species had found a new and inventive way around them. Elizabeth Montclair wanted revenge and she wanted it bad. Which left her muttering over and over the phrase evil plotters and crafty planners, including Dr. Seuss's Grinch, had been using for centuries: But how? She wanted to trap Rock into confessing that he'd been masquerading as Aidan Conley. Make the stupid disguise patently obvious, so he'd know he could fool some of the women some of the time, maybe even most of the women most of the time, but not all of them all the time. And not this one ever again. She pictured him in his chair, under that stupid afghan, pretending to be ill, mad, impotent.… Perfect! She had the perfect revenge. She undid her braid and shook her hair out into loose waves. Next, the shirt buttons were undone. Tie the shirttails in a loose easy-to-slip midriff-baring half-hitch under her breasts. Cuff the shorts way up to expose maximum leg. And the final touch — The vacuum cleaner. Ten minutes later, she knocked on the door to the study. "Yes." The feeble voice came through the door and she smiled a vicious triumphant smile. For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;/Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. "I'd like to come in and clean, sir?" She kept her voice honey sweet to hide the venom trying to come through. "Come in." She licked her lips to make them moist, stuck them out for the pouty sexpot look, took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and sauntered in. "Mind if I suck your dust?" A gasp came out from behind the fake beard that would have alarmed her if she hadn't known he was in perfect health. She bit her lip to stop her grin. The son of a you-know-what had it coming. He'd probably even forget to scratch. She bent over in best Playboy bunny style to plug in the vacuum, very aware he'd have an excellent view of anything he might care to see, which, judging by the faint strangled gurgle coming from the chair behind her, was everything. She turned the motor on and began vacuuming in slow passes, making sure her body undulated sensually with every stroke.

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Take that! She pushed the vacuum closer to his chair, vacuuming more vigorously so the shirttails gradually loosened and flapped open, exposing her lacy bra. Now for the final attack. She put the dusting attachment on the end of the hose. "Excuse me." She leaned across his desk and played the vacuum over the dark mahogany, making sure her breasts were at his eye level. At the triumphant crowning moment, she'd sweep the afghan off his lap to expose the hoped-for lack of impotence, then rip the disguise off to expose his mortification. One…two…three…. Sweep. Ha! There it was. A regular Washington Monument. Rip.… Elizabeth screamed. The vacuum cleaner motor died behind her. Silence. An awful, awful chilling silence. "Well, well, Elizabeth." She turned around and encountered Rock, vacuum cord dangling from his fingers, hands on his hips. He glanced between her and the Washington Monument. "Looks like you've got yourself between a Rock and a hard place." "You…you…" She sputtered furiously. It had been him under the beard before. She'd smelled that same aftershave. Somehow he'd figured out she was going to try and trap him and pulled another switch. The stranger in the wheelchair snatched back the afghan to cover himself. "Rock, I didn't touch her." Elizabeth grabbed her shirttails together and gestured at the handsome man in the wheelchair. The real Aidan Conley. She'd know that face anywhere. "You're not scarred, not sick. Not —" She gestured in the vague direction of his crotch. "It's a miracle! How can I ever thank you?" Aidan stood up and grabbed her hand, pumping it enthusiastically. Then his eyes narrowed. "Hey, I know you. You're a Montclair. I bought this house from your family." "I…I…" She stood in helpless mortification wondering what else could go wrong. "How interesting." Rock came forward, grabbed her hand and pulled her not very gently to the door. "Excuse us, won't you, Aidan?" He dragged her out of the room, into the library, turned and grabbed her shoulders to make her look at him. "Mind telling me what's going on Ms. Montclair-not-de Rocher and snoop extraordinaire?" "Maybe you should start, Mr. Just-pretend-I'm-Aidan-Conley." She didn't know whether to feel furious or hurt or ashamed, so she felt all three. "I don't know how you pulled that fast one, but the guy behind the beard before today was you." "I had good reasons." He pressed her back against the bookshelves. "More honest than yours, I bet." "I wouldn't count on it." She pushed her head back to gain some badly needed distance from his overwhelming presence. Her head hit and pressed against a hard rounded protuberance. In a surreal slowmotion moment, the entire bookcase shifted behind them.

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"What the —" "Oh my gosh!" Elizabeth gripped Rock's arms, head spinning from a strange combination of lingering vengeful bloodlust, intense sexual attraction, and triumph. The secret room did exist.…

Chapter Seven "What the hell is this?" Rock stared behind Elizabeth's head at the bookcase, which had somehow moved to one side exposing what looked like a secret corridor. "The bookcase is on some kind of track. The whole thing slides to the left." Elizabeth crouched to the ground, examining the machinery, her heart beating furiously as she realized she was about to find the Montclair family heirlooms. Rich! She was going to be rich! Once she got the door open all the way, that is. Thank goodness Rock had been so furious with her for trying to seduce him while he was disguised as the impotent Aidan, who, it turned out, wasn't Rock and clearly wasn't impotent. If all that weirdness hadn't transpired, then it might have taken her weeks to find the secret door. Luckily her head had found it all by itself when she cracked it on the release knob. Ouch. "Let me help." Rock braced his shoulder against the door and pushed. With a groaning creak, the bookcase swung back and slid slowly to the left. When there was a passage large enough to slip through, Elizabeth stopped him. "Wide enough; I'm going in. I still can't believe I found it." "Found what?" Rock caught her arm, turned her to face him, eyebrows drawn into a dark frown. "You know what's back there." She nodded. Lies didn't come easily to her, and she was sick of the ones she'd had to tell him already. "Yes, I know." "This whole housekeeper charade was a ploy to get into Aidan's house." "Hold the stone throwing." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Your whole Shakespearean wheelchair charade was a ploy to get into my pants." "No offense, but if I just wanted to get into pants I would have picked pants without the deadbolt, chain, burglar alarm, and Do Not Enter sign." "I'm sure you —" "Pants that don't lie their way into someone's house and try to steal —" He gestured back into the dark opening behind her. "— whatever." "I'm not stealing. I would have told Aid — Mr. Conley." She sighed, suddenly tired of her deceptions. "What's back there are Montclair family heirlooms, which have belonged to my family for centuries. If Mr. Conley wants to stop me, I probably haven't a leg to stand on legally. But I would hope he'd —" "If they're from your family you should have them." Aidan came into the room, tall, handsome, and so much like Rock they could have been brothers. He winked. "And call me Aidan. Any woman who can cure impotence with a vacuum is okay by me."

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Rock's grip tightened painfully on Elizabeth's arm. "Did something happen back there before I came in?" Aidan let out an exasperated sigh. "I was kidding. Let her go look for her heirlooms." Elizabeth sent Aidan a grateful look and dared a pleading glance at Rock. He let go grudgingly, obviously relieved no erotic vacuuming had gone on, but still not particularly pleased with her, which pretty much mirrored her own state of mind about him. She turned toward the dark opening in the library wall and took a deep breath. By finding these jewels she could restore part of the family fortune and make sure her mom spent her remaining years in comfort, plus she'd finally be able to visit England to explore her passion for the country and its long-ago famous inhabitants. She'd deal with her feelings for Rock later. When she had several weeks to try to figure them all out. She made her way into the short dusty passage, wondering if they should have pushed the door farther open for more light. Rock's big body followed closely behind her, enticing and intimate in the tiny shadowy space. Okay, she'd deal with most of her feelings for him later. The passage opened out into a tiny rough room, with a table, chair, and…a wooden trunk in the middle of the floor. She stopped at the sight of it, overcome by emotion. Rock whistled softly. "Open it, Elizabeth." She knelt next to the trunk, caressed its worn top, undid the leather straps and opened it. Inside was a handstitched, carefully folded quilt. She lifted it and froze when she saw what lay underneath. Looms. A stack of them. Probably six. One with a geometric pattern woven into the threads. "What the heck is that?" Rock's voice put into sound what she was feeling. Disbelief, incredulity, and potential misery. Elizabeth lifted the loom with the geometric pattern; it was wooden and strangely heavy with letters on the side in graceful script: Ayre Co., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. "Oh my God." She stared at the weaving and realized with horrifying clarity that the pattern was made of diamonds. "I think I'm going to be sick." Rock moved forward. She shook her head, crushed by disappointment. "Figuratively, I mean." "What is it, a joke?" "No. A misunderstanding." She held the clunky object up and gave a miserable chuckle, her dreams of helping her mom sloshing gently down the commode along with her trip. "Behold. The Montclair family Ayre looms." Her words, dead and muffled in the tiny room, were immediately followed by the grating sound of the bookcase door sliding shut, leaving them trapped in total blackness.…

Chapter Eight

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Elizabeth screamed as the door to the secret room slid shut behind them. Being trapped in a tiny pitch-dark room with Rock, the most desirable man on the planet, was...was...well, actually, it had definite possibilities. But first she had to trust him completely, make sure he wasn't just after a quick roll on the dusty planks. She was tired of having her heart trashed by macho jerks, and he could trash it like no one had ever tr — "Aidan." Rock had jumped to his feet and judging by the booming sounds, was pounding on the door into the library that had just slid shut. "This isn't funny. Open the damn door." "Not until you guys quit fighting and make up." Aidan's voice came faintly through the door, muffled, but unmistakably amused. "I'll give you two hours." "For God's sake, Aidan, what are we going to do in here for —" There was a long pause. "Okay, see you in two." He came back along the passage toward her; she stepped away, nervous and excited, until her back touched cool plaster. "Elizabeth." He drew out the syllables, the way he said her name when he was pretending to be Aidan. The way that got her juices...juicing. "Where are you?" "I'm..." She cleared her throat. "I'm here." His firm step sounded as though it was coming toward her, making one plank creak, another groan. "This is perfect." "Why?" Her voice came out breathless and shivery. "Because you can't see me. Because you can't judge me by anything but what I say...." He took another step. "And how you feel." "Oh." More breathlessness. More shivers. "How do you feel?" She stopped breathing, started shaking in earnest. Could she summon the nerve to tell him? He was, after all, the gentle man in the wheelchair with whom she had had so many fabulous discussions, and who had so touched her heart; he was also the brilliant author whose words she'd admired for so many years; and he was the strong, sexy guy who made it hard for her to see or think straight. Putting the parts of the puzzle together made him the perfect combination of everything she'd always wanted. "Elizabeth?" There it was again, Eliiizzzabeth. Even without the sexy voice he affected her more deeply than any man ever had. But she couldn't quite bring herself to trust that this wasn't all about her body. That buried in that fine mind opposite her might be merely the primal male urge to make it with anything sporting a D-cup. So she had a simple choice. Either she could protect herself by staying on the sidelines, or risk heartbreak by jumping in, as she'd done too many times in her naive youth. Possibly this time she could find real joy. Possibly this time she could find real love. But... "I'm sorry about the deception, Elizabeth, about not coming clean that I was disguised as Aidan. But you responded so much better to him." His voice came out low and husky in the darkness; he cleared his throat. "I hated being around you as myself and feeling like the loser."

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She took a deep breath. Honesty was a good place to start. "I didn't make it easy for you. I didn't even give you a chance until I discovered who you were underneath the pickup lines and the attitude. That's why I was so attracted to Aidan — at least until the twitching started." He chuckled and came closer so she could sense his warmth in the darkness, hear his breath, steady but fast. She tensed, waited for his hands to be all over her. Instead he kissed her on the mouth without putting his hands on her, over and over, gentle soft kisses that gradually increased in intensity and pressure until she was clinging to him, weak and gasping, overcome by desire so strong she felt she could reasonably die of it. He broke away over her murmur of protest and she sensed he'd knelt in front of her. "Rock?" "I'm spreading the quilt." She stood in the darkness, trembling. He was taking it for granted they'd make love. Was that what she wanted? Her body certainly did. But her mind? Her heart? Could she take this kind of risk? "There." She cocked her head in the darkness. A shuffling sound now, as if he were still on his knees and — Strong arms clasped her waist, brought her gently down to the floor to lie with him on the colonial quilt. He slid his warm hands under her shirt, unhooked her bra and stroked her back, stroked up and over her shoulders, then down to her breasts. "Oh, Elizabeth..." She stiffened, as much as she told herself not to. But this was when men, even the most honorable, wellintentioned ones, lost their minds and used words like "fabulous hooters." "I love you." She gasped, a joyous surprised sound, and then she melted. Absolutely melted. Melted against him, melted out of her clothes, melted out of her mind. All she knew was that he loved her, and his hands on her body were making her feel not like an exhibit at Ripley's Believe It or Not, but powerful and glorious and invincibly female. Then he was naked, too, rolling on top of her and they joined in an unbearable agony of pleasure, moving together to make the darkness seem like their own version of heaven. With a rush of emotion and sensation like nothing she'd ever felt, she climaxed and said his name at the same time he whispered hers. And when it was over and they came down together, she knew he'd been making love to her, not just to her body, and she almost exploded with the joy of it. "I love you, too, Rock." He rolled to one side and pulled her against him, kissed her with passion and tenderness, then drew a gentle finger across her lips. "Let me treat you to England, Elizabeth. I'm renting a flat in London for August. I'll show you everything. We can live Shakespeare together." Elizabeth bit her lip, her sudden rush of euphoria just as suddenly deflated under a picture of reality. He was the fabulously successful author and scholar; she was a struggling teacher with a mom to care for. He loved her, yes, but wanted to take her to England, pay her plane ticket, her rent, her meals — and all her giving would take place in the bedroom. She squeezed her eyes shut against tears of frustration. If only the family heirlooms had amounted to more than a joke, she wouldn't have to feel so...kept. Maybe it was just her Montclair pride, maybe lingering

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paranoia, but she needed to feel more equal. "Rock, thank you. But — I wouldn't feel right having you pay my way. And I can't leave my mom." "I can arrange care for her. She wouldn't want you to stay home on her account. And money is totally meaningless." "Except when you don't have any." She found his face in the darkness and sadly traced the firm line of his jaw. "I'm sorry, Rock. I'd love to go to England with you someday, but it would have to be on my own —" A sudden pounding jolted her. "Time's up. What's the verdict?" Aidan's voice came through the wall in the library. Rock got up and pulled his shirt out from under her body. "We're coming." "Oh, sorry. I'll wait until you're done." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, sat up, rehooked her bra and fumbled around for her jeans and panties, feeling elated and despondent all at once. The man of her dreams loved her. She had every right to be floating on air. But the facts of their relationship wouldn't leave her alone. Those damn jewels were supposed to be her salvation. "Let me know when you're ready," Rock whispered. She found her clothes and pulled them on, though she wasn't entirely sure everything had gone on quite right. "Okay." "We're ready," Rock called. She heard his footsteps going toward the door, then a bang and a crunch, a curse, and a funny scattering sound, like pebbles being dropped on a hard floor. At the same time the door swung open, light poured into the room and made Elizabeth blink. "What was that noise?" She squinted down at the floor. The Ayre loom with the diamond pattern on it lay broken on the floor from the pressure of Rock's weight. And scattered around it in a glistening array, were — "Diamonds." Elizabeth gasped the word out, barely able to comprehend what had happened. Her mom's medical care. Her family honor. Her trip to England. Rock. "Oh my god, diamonds." Rock whistled, crouched down, and held up a pear-cut stone the size of a prune. "Would you look at this?" "The Andias." She knelt next to him and stared in awe at the sheer size of the stone. Rock picked up her left hand and balanced the huge diamond on her fourth finger. "What do you think, would it catch on things?" A heady charge of electricity swept over her. Was he — Did he mean — "Rock?" "It certainly is." He grinned, then his eyes grew serious, tender, and slightly vulnerable. "Would you like to marry me in England next summer, Elizabeth? Would you like to use some of the trip next month to plan the wedding, now that you have your diamond heirlooms?" "Oh. Yes. Yes." Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She did have her heirlooms — and something much more important. "'For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart/Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.'" She sniffed. "Sonnet number —"

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"One hundred thirty-one." He drew her to him and kissed her hard and long with increasing passion, pressing her body close against his obviously rearoused one. "Mmm. Want to go back into hiding, Mrs. Shakespeare?" She laughed and pulled back to send him a teasing glare. "I thought you loved me for my mind." He smiled, his eyes promising the happy ever after she'd never quite been able to stop believing in. "I love you for you, Elizabeth. Just for you." "Now that —" she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, unable to believe how much happiness had come into her life in such a short time and how sure she was it would last "— is sheer poetry."

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The Diamond by Diane Gaston After learning the Earl of Greythorne is no gentleman, Miss Amanda Reynolds — "the Diamond" of the London Season — has refused his offer of marriage. So it is with great dismay that she learns the condition of her late father's will: to receive her fortune, Amanda must marry before her 21st birthday, a mere four weeks away! In her haste to claim a suitable husband, Amanda soon finds herself in a compromising position with the one man immune to her charms: the dashing but disdainful Captain Christian Ramsford!

Chapter One London, 1816 Amanda Reynolds spied Captain Christian Ramsford across the ballroom. Dark and brooding, he looked as if he'd prefer a battlefield to Lady Catsworth's society ball. Amanda was the Season's darling, a "diamond of the first water," emulated by the ton's young ladies and admired by its gentlemen — except for one handsome cavalry captain. It stung that he disliked her. The captain's vicar father had unexpectedly inherited a viscountcy, and it made Amanda sad that the Ramsfords still seemed on the fringe of the ton. If only the captain would accept her attempts at friendship, she could help him and his family take their rightful place in society. Amanda could introduce his mother to influential ladies. Take his sister to a fashionable modiste. Show the captain how to smile. But he had no use for her. He caught her watching him and, to her surprise, nodded to her. Giddily gratified, she forced her attention back to the flock of men toiling to entertain her, but they suddenly backed away. The Earl of Greythorne, the man everyone expected her to marry, strode toward her. "I would speak with you, Miss Reynolds." Greythorne's voice seethed with anger. Her admirers fled. She was alone. Greythorne seemed the perfect ton gentleman with his impeccable manners, superb tailoring, title and fortune, but lately Amanda's friend Lord Devlin had informed her that Greythorne was a devotee of the Marquis de Sade. Amanda's cheeks still burned from learning how some men derived pleasure from inflicting pain. She'd nearly recoiled when Greythorne approached her earlier that evening. She'd made known to him then her change of heart. "I have nothing more to say to you, sir," she told him now. She tried to push past him. He grabbed her, his fingers digging into her flesh. "We will find someplace private." Suddenly, a man's hand seized Greythorne's arm. Captain Ramsford! Amanda went weak with relief. He, of all men, had come to her rescue. "Miss Reynolds gave this dance to me, I believe," Ramsford lied in a deep and dangerous voice. Greythorne glared at him. "I have need of her." Ramsford merely increased the pressure on Greythorne's arm until the man winced in pain and released her.

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"This is not the end of it, my dear," Greythorne snapped. "Not by any means." He gave her a curt bow and spun on his heel. Amanda gazed up at Ramsford, speechless in her gratitude. He frowned as the musicians began to play a waltz. "I suspect we must dance." Only after he escorted her onto the dance floor did she find her tongue. "I must thank you, Captain." He peered into her eyes. "Did he injure you?" She felt unable to breathe. "No…no…" They circled the floor before she spoke again. "You must wonder at that unfortunate incident." "It is none of my affair." His tone was dry. But Amanda wanted to tell him. She'd confided in no one else. "I…I refused his offer, you see. And he is quite angry." His step faltered, and his warm brown eyes bore into her. "You refused him?" When he remembered to move, they again fell into the pattern of the dance, silent now, but Amanda had never felt so secure in a man's arms. Amanda knew she would be safe from Greythorne the rest of the night. The captain would be looking out for her. When the music ended, all too soon for Amanda, Ramsford delivered her to her aunt, made his bow, and walked away. Her Aunt Ellen quickly drew her aside. "Lord Greythorne told me you refused his offer." Amanda, casting a longing glance back at Ramsford, tried to sound casual. "That is so." Ellen shook her. "You fool! Your birthday is but a month away." Amanda blinked. "Of what consequence is my birthday?" Her aunt gave her an agonized look. "If you do not marry before your twenty-first birthday, you will forfeit your entire inheritance. You will be penniless."

Chapter Two Amanda spent a sleepless night, thinking about the part of her father's will that had been kept from her. Apparently, Amanda's father feared she would become as independent as her mother had been, unless she married young enough. Amanda's come-out had been planned at age eighteen, but her mother died in a carriage accident that year. Then, after properly mourning her mother, her father took sick and died. So this was her first Season in Town. Her guardians — men from the Bank of England whom Amanda had never met — had sent Aunt Ellen to act as her chaperone, though Amanda had only seen the woman once or twice before. Amanda had hardly known her parents, either. Her beautiful and stylish mother had always dashed to one society event or another, while her father followed the races or the hunt. At his death, the only home Amanda had known had gone to a distant cousin, but Amanda had been left a great deal of wealth — or so she had thought.

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"I was certain you would marry Greythorne," Ellen explained after the previous night's ball. "Your guardians agreed there was no need to inform you." How could Amanda find a husband in four weeks' time when the Season was almost at an end? Ellen joined Amanda in the breakfast parlor, dark circles under her eyes rivaling Amanda's own. They spoke briefly of traveling to Brighton with Lady Catsworth later that day. Ellen begged off going with her. The butler entered. "Lord Greythorne to see you, Miss Reynolds." Ellen gave her a pleading look. "If he offers, you must accept him this time, Amanda. I beg you." Never. No matter if she became a pauper on the street. No matter if she had to become a…a… She glanced at Ellen, who was entirely dependent upon Amanda for financial support. Amanda's fate would also be Ellen's. Amanda need not marry Greythorne, but she must marry someone. Captain Ramsford, her handsome hero of the previous evening, flashed through her mind. She shook her head sadly. The captain may have rescued her from Greythorne, but he did not like her. He had not approached her again at the ball. He'd never before spoken to her without being in the company of his fellow soldier, Lord Devlin — Devlin! Amanda suddenly thought. Devlin liked her well enough. He needed to marry. Devlin could marry her. Cheered, Amanda stood. "I will see Greythorne." Greythorne, pristinely groomed as always, waited for her in the drawing room. "Amanda, I demand to know why you refused me." He seized her arm as he had done the night before. She stared at his hand. "You have no permission to use my Christian name, nor to touch me." He glared. "You will not make a fool of me." "I will not be manhandled." She stared into his reptilian eyes, determined not to back down. Tense seconds ticked by. He released her, feigning anguish. "Forgive me. I am mad with desire for you." "Posh." Amanda did not believe a word of it. Had their match occurred, it would merely have been mutually advantageous. She crossed to the door. "I owe you no explanation. Accept my decision and do not press yourself upon me again." Amanda opened the door and the butler stood there. "Another gentleman to see you, Miss." Captain Ramsford stepped forward and bowed. "Good morning, Miss Reynolds." "Captain." She could not believe her eyes. He turned to Greythorne. "I thought I recognized your equipage out front, Greythorne." Greythorne snapped, "What the devil are you doing here?"

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The captain arched one brow. "Why, I am keeping an engagement." Engagement? Amanda's eyes widened. "Lord Greythorne was just leaving." Greythorne strode out of the room. Two spots of color rose on Ramsford's cheeks. "I saw his phaeton. Otherwise I would not have presumed…" Her pulse raced with excitement. "I am grateful once more, Captain. Do sit. I will ring for tea." He shook his head. "I must not stay." "You would break our engagement?" She gave him a teasing look. He averted his gaze. "You know very well that was a ruse." "Yes, but why?" she asked in a breathless voice. "I thought you required assistance." She could depend upon him, she thought. "You would help me?" A muscle in his face flexed. "I am at your service." She gave voice to an outrageous plan. "Give me a moment to dress and to pen a message —" He looked puzzled. "— then take me to Lord Devlin."

Chapter Three Christian Ramsford glanced at Miss Reynolds's distraught face as they stepped away from Lord Devlin's doorway. Devlin had not been home. Instead, at his residence they had met a dark-haired beauty and her young daughter, apparently Devlin's mistress and love-child. Ram had been as shocked as Miss Reynolds. "Did you know of them?" she asked after they were seated in his curricle and his tiger, Walter, handed him the reins. Walter hopped on the back, and Ram signaled the horses to start. "I did not know of them." Miss Reynolds appeared broken-hearted. "Why did you wish to see Devlin?" Her brow furrowed. "To ask him to marry me." This was a greater shock. It made no sense for the Diamond to have thrown off marriage to the Earl of Greythorne for Devlin, the untitled younger son of a marquess, even if Devlin were the better man. Ram told himself he cared nothing about it. She quickly put on a bright smile. "I…I've a great desire to be married before the Season is out. I thought Devlin might oblige me." This was absurd, the sort of frivolous notion he detested in young ladies of the ton. "Is it so important to marry before the Season is out?"

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"If one's Season is to be considered a success," she responded. Success in society. He would not waste his sympathy on her. He kept silent as he negotiated the busy London streets. She suddenly asked, "Where might one go to hire a post chaise, Captain?" He nearly dropped the ribbons. "A post chaise?" "Yes. Before we left this morning, I sent word to Lady Catsworth that I would not go to Brighton with her. She has departed, I am certain, but I do believe I shall hire a post chaise and go to Brighton after all." "Does your aunt accompany you?" "No. I shall go alone." Had her wits gone begging? A young beautiful unmarried lady would be at risk traveling alone. She appeared unconcerned. "Lady Catsworth and I sent our trunks ahead yesterday. I am certain she will still welcome me, even if I arrive a bit late." "You would go with no protection?" He did not give her an opportunity to respond. "I think not. I will take you back to your aunt." Her expression turned a bit desperate, but she did not argue with him. "Why do you wish to go to Brighton?" he asked. "Everyone of fashion will be there," she answered gaily. More frivolity. She was indeed a creature of the beau monde, the same society that had virtually shunned his family in the past and even now only reluctantly accepted them. Ram's grandfather had taken a woman of common birth to be his second wife. Ram's father had been born of that love match, but his half brother, Ram's uncle, had resented having the family blood tainted with inferiority. Ram's uncle had been a man of fashion. "Is it so important to you to be among the fashionable people?" Ram asked. "Of course it is!" she answered brightly. "Is it not important to you?" He urged the horses into more speed. "I would not be in London except for my father inheriting the title and my mother's misguided notion to give my sister a Season." "Will I see your mother and sister in Brighton?" she asked. "Of course you will not." He gaped at her. "Do not tell me you still mean to go." She set her chin. "I do, indeed." He could not believe this folly. "Miss Reynolds, I will not hear of you traveling to Brighton unescorted." Her rose-colored lips parted, and she gazed upon him with such gratitude his breath caught. "Captain Ramsford, do you offer me your escort? I will be forever in your debt."

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This was even greater folly. Riding with him, even in an open curricle with his tiger, Walter, as chaperone, would scarcely be less damaging to her reputation. But if he did not take her, he'd feel responsible if anything happened to her. Ram snapped the ribbons. "I will take you to Brighton."

Chapter Four Walter, Ram's tiger, gave an audible "harrumph" when Ram agreed to take Miss Reynolds to Brighton. Ram sent a message to his mother to explain his whereabouts, but Miss Reynolds insisted her aunt already thought her bound for Brighton. Off they went, leaving the city behind and heading into the countryside where the air was clear and the undulating hills were lush and green. In spite of himself Ram relaxed, savoring the warm sun and the pleasure of sitting next to the beautiful Diamond. The blond hair peeking out of her white straw bonnet was like spun sunshine, and her eyes were as green as the fields. The fresh air put a bloom in her cheeks, and Ram thought he had never seen her so radiant. Any man would be affected by her beauty, he told himself, even if she prized what he most disdained. Fashion. Popularity. Social success. Her values were the same as his uncle's had been, the uncle Ram had hated. He'd given Ram's father the vicarage at Bidenscourt, but little else, only as much as would avoid society's censure. "It is lovely here," Miss Reynolds said in the same tone she used in drawing rooms. He saw no need to respond. She continued, "Have you been to Brighton, Captain?" "Yes," he replied. Her verdant eyes widened. "You have?" He did not tell her it was to perform in full regimentals for the Prince Regent's entertainment. She sighed. "I have never been there. Is it lovely?" "Some would say so." He kept his eyes on the road, adding with sarcasm, "I suppose you go there in search of a husband." "Indeed," she admitted in a tight voice. Frivolous. He congratulated himself again for not falling under her spell, as so many others had done. Imagine marrying merely to be fashionable. A moment passed, and he laughed out loud. "What amuses you?" she asked. He stole a glance at her, trying to control his outburst. "Nothing of consequence." He could not tell her he'd suddenly realized just how thoroughly she had bewitched him. It was he, was it not, driving her to Brighton? Not some other besotted fool. She sighed. "Tell me about Brighton."

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Because he could not think of any other way to pass the time, he obliged her, talking about the blueness of the sea, the serenity of the Steyne, the opulence of the Marine Pavilion. She listened, asking questions more perceptive than he would have guessed of her. She smiled at him and held on to her bonnet with one hand, her shoulder bumping against his arm as the curricle swayed. Ram discovered he was quite enjoying himself, almost as if he escorted a sweetheart, instead of the Diamond of the ton. The road curved, a copse of trees obscuring the view ahead. Ram heard the horn and rumble of an approaching coach and slowed his horses. As he rounded the bend, a mail coach headed straight toward them, a young buck at the reins, a current fashion for foolish young men. Ram frantically pulled his team to the far left, keeping the ribbons taut to control the horses' panic. The curricle's wheels left the road, slipping on loose dirt. As the coach whizzed by, its back wheel clipped the edge of the curricle, tipping it nearly on its side. Amanda, her bonnet flying from her head, fell from her seat and tumbled down the embankment, rolling until she came to an abrupt stop at the bottom. Lifeless.

Chapter Five "God, no!" Ram pulled the horses to a halt. His tiger had already jumped from the curricle. "Take their heads." Ram scrambled down the slope, pebbles avalanching behind him. He slid to his knees at Amanda's side. "God, no." Let her be alive. Please, God, let her be alive. His hands trembled as he pulled off his gloves. Gingerly, his fingers probed her neck while his heart pounded in his chest. Damn that buck on the mail coach. If he crossed paths with that bloody fool he would kill him. A small pulse in her neck beat against his fingertips. "Thank God," Ram whispered. He ran his hand down her spine and felt for the bones in her arms and legs. Assured that her spine was undamaged and her limbs unbroken, he cupped his hand against her cheek. Her face was pale, her lips almost colorless. Beautiful Amanda. What had he done to her? "Is she alive?" Walter called. "Yes." He'd forgotten his tiger. "She's unconscious." Ram gathered her limp form into his arms and raced up the slope. "Drive, Walter," he yelled. "We must get her to a doctor." Ram held Amanda on his lap while Walter raced the curricle to the next village. Walter pulled to a stop at the inn, and Ram yelled to a posting boy to fetch the doctor. He carried Amanda inside, and the innkeeper quickly showed him to a room two flights above stairs. Only then did Ram release her, gently laying her on the bed. The innkeeper's wife bustled in. "Merciful heaven!" exclaimed the round-faced, matronly woman. "What mishap befell her?" "Curricle accident. She hit her head." Ram carefully removed Amanda's gloves. "Poor lamb." The woman clucked her tongue in sympathy. "The doctor will be here soon, I am sure. Your wife will be in good hands. "

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His wife? He would allow them to assume he was her husband, and provide them with false names. No one would question his right to decide her care. The innkeeper's wife smiled reassuringly. "Let us remove her clothes, shall we? Make the lamb more comfortable." Undress the Diamond? "Yes. Yes. Of course," he mumbled, hesitating a moment before easing Amanda's arms out of her spencer, while the woman removed her shoes and stockings. Ram unlaced her dress, lifting her so that the woman could pull it over her head. He then removed the corselet she wore underneath, leaving her only in her shift. "Let's put your poor lamb under the covers, shall we?" the woman said. "She is a fine beauty, she is." Ram picked her up again, so that the covers could be turned down. He tried not to think of how she felt in his arms, so soft, so delicate. As he tucked the covers around her, his wrist grazed her breast, the deep pink of her nipple visible through the thin fabric. "I'll fetch some fresh water," the innkeeper's wife said. She left the room. Ram gazed down at Amanda. Please, God, he pleaded silently. Do not let her die. As if in answer to his prayer, she moaned and her eyes fluttered open, fixing on him. The ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. "Christian," she whispered. "I am here, Amanda." He clutched her small, delicate hand in his larger one. "I will not leave you."

Chapter Six "Keep her quiet and sedated." The doctor pressed a vial of laudanum into Ram's hand, coughed, and tottered out the door, the odor of gin and sweat wafting behind him. Ram put the laudanum in his pocket. The doctor had examined Amanda in a most cursory manner, merely checking her pulse with his dirty hand. Thank God she'd been barely conscious or he'd have given her a fright. Keep her sedated, indeed. Ram had no intention of listening to that charlatan. In Spain one of his men had been knocked unconscious. When the man roused, the surgeon who'd tended him had said, "Fall asleep, you'll never wake up. March and survive." The man marched and survived, and so would Amanda. Ram would make certain of it. He returned to her bedside. "Wake up, Amanda!" Her eyelids fluttered. "No," she whimpered. He sat next to her on the bed and gently lifted her to a sitting position, using the tone he'd often taken with his sisters. "Wake, love. Do not sleep longer. Come, come now." She turned her face to him and opened her eyes. After staring for several seconds, she spoke in a slurred voice. "What are you doing in my bedchamber, Captain?" He brushed the hair off her forehead with his fingers. "I am not in your bedchamber. We are at an inn." "An inn?" She squeezed her eyes shut. "My head hurts."

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"Indeed," he murmured. "You had a nasty fall." She made no effort to move away. "I do not remember it." "That is fortunate." Some of her hairpins slipped out, and he removed the rest, freeing her shimmering blond locks to tumble down her back. Amanda leaned against him, her curves soft and warm under his touch. "My poor darling," he murmured. A knock sounded, and Ram quickly stood. The innkeeper's wife entered, carrying a tray laden with food, tea and wine. "A bit of refreshment for your lady and yerself, m'lord." She deposited the tray on a table next to the bed. Ram smiled at her kindness. "Thank you. I wonder if I might trouble you to stay with…to stay for a few moments? I would like to speak to my man." He needed to tell Walter she would recover. He also needed to warn him that his employer had suddenly acquired a new name…and a wife. "You are leaving?" cried Amanda. He squeezed her hand. "Only for a moment."

*** In the taproom, a place filled with smoke, noise and the scent of strong ale, one man nudged his companion. "There 'e is." He inclined his head toward Captain Ramsford, who'd crossed the room to speak with his tiger. The men obscured their faces with their hands. "His lordship ain't going to like it by half. If the chit is in one piece, this fellow's going to bed her." The man took a swig of ale. "Tempting piece. I'd bed her myself, I would." "Dolt!" His stout friend swatted him across the head. "Greythorne will strike you with that whip of his, for talk like that." The captain crossed the room again, and the two men dipped their heads. The thin man checked under his coat where he'd stuffed a woman's battered white straw bonnet.

Chapter Seven Amanda lay with her eyes closed, feeling as if a score of hammers had pummeled on every muscle and bone in her body. The hammers had settled in her head, which throbbed with pain. Her thoughts would not remain in order, but Christian Ramsford seemed to fill them. She had the delicious notion that he'd sat next to her on her bed, nonsensical as it was. She smiled, and rolled to her side, drifting away from the pain. "Amanda!" She opened her eyes. Ramsford sat inches from her face, his expression stern. She must have done some new thing of which he disapproved. How she wished he could like her a little. "Stay awake, Amanda." She blinked her eyes, but shafts of pain cut through her temples. "Do excuse me, Captain. I seem to have a headache."

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She heard a soft chuckle, and his arms encircled her, lifting her up so that she sat against the pillows again. She did not wish him to let go. "Open your eyes, Amanda." She opened her eyelids a narrow slit. Two Captain Ramsfords sat before her, each holding forth a cup. "Drink some tea." She gave a polite smile as the two focused into one. "Thank you very much, but I do not care for tea at present." "Drink it." He put the cup to her lips and she discovered she could drink the tea and keep her eyes closed at the same time. She might even be able to drift back to glorious sleep…. "Stay awake." She blinked several times. He sat with her on the bed, holding the cup to her lips. The rest of the room, still blurry, was unfamiliar. "Captain, I do not perfectly understand where we are." He smiled at her. Kindly, she thought. "We are at an inn. The curricle had a mishap and you tumbled out." Memory suddenly returned. Her need to marry. Greythorne's visit. Ramsford's unexpected arrival. Her visit to Devlin and, biggest folly of all, her insistence upon going to Brighton. Now she was alone with a single man in as compromising a situation as one could imagine. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Where is my dress?" The captain moved off the bed. He spoke stiffly. "It was soiled by your fall. It is being laundered." She clutched at her head and found her hair loose about her. "My hair is down!" Ram straightened. "I assure you, Miss Reynolds, my intentions and my behavior have been honorable." Amanda glanced at him, though it hurt to look up far enough to reach his face. His expression was flinty. She needed him to smile at her again, to murmur kind words to her. Otherwise, she would feel entirely alone. He went on. "Nothing will come of this. I have provided false names, and no one besides the innkeeper, his wife and the doctor have seen you." Amanda tried to compose herself. She most feared he would leave her again. Tears stung her eyes and she dragged her fingers through her hair, frantically trying to tame it. He came to her side again, but his gaze had turned soft. He took a strand of her hair in his fingers. "Would you like me to put your hair in a braid?" Overcome by the effect of his nearness, she could only nod. He sat next to her again, and her nostrils filled with the intoxicating scent of him. His fingers carefully worked at the tangles in her hair. He gently caressed her scalp, and a wave of pleasure shot through her.

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"Oh," she exclaimed. He stilled. "Did I hurt you?" "No," she said, her voice breathy. "You did not hurt me."

Chapter Eight Her tresses felt like silk as they slipped through Ram's fingers. She'd let the covers slip from her body, and he was too aware that only the thinnest layer of muslin lay between his fingers and her bare skin. He proceeded to plait her hair. She sighed. "You braid well. Did you wear a pigtail like the Hussars?" "Not that." Ram made an effort to sound unaffected by her. "I had many sisters and not enough servants." "How many sisters?" she asked. "Four. All younger." She sighed again. "I had no sisters or brothers. I can hardly imagine it. I suppose one might never have to be alone." "Exactly so. One is rarely alone." He finished the braid. "I need something to tie this, or we'll soon be back where we started." "There's a ribbon on my shift." She pulled at it. "I cannot get it off." The ribbon decorated the front of her shift and was certainly long enough to tie up her hair. Ram handed her the braid and took a small penknife from his pocket. When he grasped the front of her shift, he inadvertently exposed her naked breasts to his view. With trembling fingers, he cut the threads holding the ribbon, hoping she would not see the evidence of how she affected him. He quickly tied the ribbon around her braid, wrapping it around twice and pulling it tight. As he let go, she slid back under the covers. "I shall sleep now." "No sleep, Amanda." He lifted her up again. With his hands on both her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. "You must stay awake. Do you understand?" She nodded and closed her eyes. Her chin dropped to her chest. "Damn." He lifted her off the bed and placed her feet on the floor. "We march, love." "No," she whimpered, but he felt her begin to support herself. "That's the way, love," he whispered. But instead of walking, her hands slid up his chest and encircled his neck. Ram, surging with desire, grabbed her waist and pressed her against him. Reason was in flight. Primitive urges prevailed. "Remove your boots," she murmured.

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"My boots?" "Otherwise you will disturb the poor people below stairs with your clomping about." He laughed at his folly, thinking she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He removed his boots and put his arm around her for support. "Time to walk, Amanda." The room was very small. He could take only about five or six paces from wall to wall. Ram made a semicircular path around the bed and back again, but her eyes turned glassy and he feared she'd fallen asleep. "Talk to me," he commanded. "Very well," she murmured sleepily. They took several paces before she spoke. "We had lovely weather this day, did we not?" "Yes." Ram felt a trifle more in control. "So much nicer than the rain of late, don't you agree?" "Much nicer," he agreed. "I believe it has been a cold spring. Perhaps summer will be so as well." They turned and started in the next direction. "Amanda?" "Yes, Christian?" His heart turned a somersault at her use of his given name. "Have you a great deal more to say about the weather?" Her step faltered. "Why do you ask?" He made her continue to walk. "Because you are putting me to sleep." She laughed, the sound as musical as his sisters' fingers on the pianoforte. "Then perhaps we ought to sleep together."

Chapter Nine Blood surged through his veins, though reason told him Amanda merely wanted to sleep, not sleep with him. He made her walk some more. "Do you not have town gossip to talk of?" he asked her. She frowned. "I detest gossip. One does not mind so much sharing good news, but would you not dislike your misfortunes being someone else's entertainment?" He glanced at her, almost wishing she'd not revealed this more complex side of herself. It made her that much harder to resist. He continued walking her around the room, while she asked him questions about himself. About growing up with sisters. About attending school. About the war. "A soldier's life is not a fit topic for a lady," he said.

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"Was it very bad?" Her face tilted to his, sympathy glistening in her eyes. With her finger she reached up and traced the scar on his temple. "How did you get this?" He stared into her beautiful eyes, trying to use them to block the memory. "A French chasseur slashed me with his sabre." Her lips parted. Her finger touched the scar again. Ram kept his hands on her waist, but, with effort, held her at a careful distance. "We must walk," he said, guiding her back to their path. "And talk of other things." Somehow, she got him talking about his family, about his uncle's lack of generosity, about how his mother and sisters so often went without new dresses, how his uncle sent him to school, but never with enough funds so that he often went hungry. He told her how his father, a good man, forgave his uncle, though Ram never would. He told her how he would rather remain a soldier than accept his uncle's life, though he owed it to his sisters to make sure the estate prospered. So he would give up soldiering and make certain his sisters were launched successfully and his parents cared for. But he intended to never set foot in town, if he could help it. He'd given her his coat to keep her warm as the night's chill found its way through cracks in the windows. The fire died down, and he left her side to tend it. When he turned back to her, she had collapsed in the chair. "Oh, no, you don't." Ramsford pulled her upright. She put her hand to her forehead. "Truly, I am a little fatigued. Must we walk?" He brought his own hand to cover hers at her brow. "Is your head still aching?" She gave a wan smile. "The pain is not so bad." He cupped her cheek, wishing he could remove all her pain. "Perhaps you might eat a little." They had not touched the food. She sat on the bed and he on the chair, the table between them. It was so companionable he'd forgotten she was the glittering Diamond of London ballrooms. Here in this inn, she was soft and warm and belonged to him alone. He pulled the cork from the bottle of wine and drank, hoping to dampen his raging desire for her. When they finished eating, he said, "Time to walk again." He pulled her to her feet, but she collapsed against him. "I'm sorry, Captain. My legs do not seem to operate properly." "Back to the bed, then, but you must remain awake." He lifted her onto the bed. She immediately burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes. "Oh, no," he said. "Sit up and talk to me." He joined her on the bed so that he could jostle her awake if she dozed. She nestled against him. "Tell me of your sisters." So he talked of his sisters, until his eyes grew heavy and he had to force them open again. He told her every funny thing they'd ever done, all the silly things they'd said. She laughed, sounding more like a little girl herself.

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But, as she leaned against him, he was reminded of just how much woman she was, and of how much he liked having her all to himself. Dawn could not be more than an hour or two away. He'd soon be forced to part from her, to watch her again across crowded ballrooms amidst admiring gentlemen, like a diamond on velvet.

Chapter Ten When Amanda woke, the first rays of the sun were peeking into the chilly room. The fire had burned down to embers, but she did not feel the cold. Ramsford nearly covered her with his body, warming her in a manner she'd never before experienced. One of his hands cupped her breast and she could feel his warm moist breath against the sensitive skin of her neck. Most alarming, however, was the male part of him, hard and erect underneath his buckskins, pressing firm against her thigh. She stifled a giggle. It was scandalous, she knew, but it felt oh so lovely to have him next to her. Her head still pained her, but she could not regret any of this. As terrible as it had started out, the previous day had been the very best of her whole life. The captain — Christian, she smiled to herself — had cosseted her more than any other person, except possibly Nanny, but Nanny had died so long ago. He'd held her and braided her hair and worried about her and talked to her, telling her all about his life, actually sharing it with her. It was quite the nicest gift anyone had ever given her. When he talked about his sisters, Amanda felt as if she actually knew them. How she wished she had grown up with them. How lovely it would have been to always have someone around one could talk to without fear of being corrected or instructed on how one ought to behave. She sighed, and he shifted, nestling his head on her chest. She dared to move her hand so that she could touch the soft hair on his head, as straight and severe as he had been during the day, now tousled like a small boy's. What a good man he was. So honorable. So devoted to his family. So clearly loving his sisters. She marveled at how unselfish he was, to give up his wish to remain in the cavalry, as nonsensical as that seemed to her, in order to ensure his sisters were cared for. She'd never imagined such love existed — to give up one's greatest desire for someone else. She sighed again. This time he groaned and pressed his lips against her neck. She felt his tongue tease her nerves. "Mmm," he murmured, as if enjoying the taste. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her breast, and even through the fabric of her shift, she could feel his palm scraping her nipple. An ache grew from deep within her. Not like the aching in her head, but a delicious, torturous ache, one that made her yearn for more. Almost involuntarily she tightened her arms around him and arched her back. To her surprise, he moved over her, still kissing her neck, her ear, her cheek. As he settled over her, it seemed natural for her to part her legs, although it allowed that hard male part of him access to her most private place. As he pressed against her, her ache grew stronger, more exquisite. She arched her back again and pulled up her shift so that there were fewer layers of cloth separating them. He pressed against her and released, pressed and released, in a rhythm that built something glorious inside her, something that seemed almost within reach. She moaned with the pleasure of it all. He stilled. "My God!" He pushed off her and slid from the bed, barely righting himself on the cold floor. "My God, Amanda."

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Ram cursed himself. What insanity had befallen him? He'd been in bed with her, halfway to gratifying his lust. In his sleep, no less. He had fallen asleep, allowed her to fall asleep. "Amanda." He spun around, terrified he might find her unconscious. She sat staring wide-eyed at him. Her braid had come undone and her golden hair fell over her shoulders in tangled curls. Her full breasts rose with each rapid breath, straining against the cloth of her shift, breasts that had felt round and firm under his fingers. He longed to explore them again, to taste them, to lose himself inside her. Ram's erection pressed painfully against his buckskins, well visible to her eye. He turned away. What kind of scoundrel was he? What kind of reprobate? He was supposed to have kept her awake, not ravish her, not rut her like some animal. He could not even speak an apology. What words could be said for what he had done? She took a ragged breath. He glanced back at her. "Does your head pain you?" "It is bearable." She sat hugging her knees, looking small and vulnerable. "Can you travel?" he asked. She nodded. "Very well." He strung his neckcloth around his neck and retrieved his waistcoat from the chair. Buttoning it, he looked around for his boots and shoved his feet into them. Grabbing his coat, he walked to the door. "I shall send the innkeeper's wife with your dress." He strode out of the room and finished dressing in the hallway before going below stairs to find the innkeeper's wife. An hour passed, enough time to find Walter and tell him to see to the curricle, even enough time to eat a little, washing the food down with two tankards of ale. Enough time to compose himself so he could face her again. The innkeeper's wife passed him as he left the taproom. "Your wife is all dressed and waiting for you, poor lamb." He murmured some cordiality and trudged up the stairs. When he opened the door of the room, Amanda was seated on the bed. The tray of food he'd sent up looked untouched, and she barely turned her eyes toward him. He felt his shame flood back. "Are you certain you are fit to travel?" She nodded. "I want to go home." "Not to Brighton?" he asked. "Home." She looked as if she might dissolve into tears any minute, and why should she not? She'd placed her trust in him and he had treated her abominably.

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His heart beat painfully in his chest as he walked over to the window and back again to face her. "Miss Reynolds, I…I will not ask your forgiveness for my appalling behavior. It was unforgivable." She averted her face. He stiffened his back. "I have compromised you most thoroughly, and honor demands I make amends." She appeared even more beautiful than when she'd graced London's ballrooms, he thought. He wanted nothing more than to hold her again, to kiss away the distress he'd caused her, to never allow anything or anyone to hurt her again. He would make amends to her, he vowed it. He would devote his life to making amends to her. "I will marry you," he said. Her head snapped around, and she stared at him, looking as if she'd been slapped in the face.

Chapter Twelve Amanda's throat constricted. The captain — she could not call him Christian now, not when he addressed her as Miss Reynolds — was handing her a way out of her difficulties. If she married him there would be no blemish to her reputation. No loss of fortune. Money to support Aunt Ellen. There were countless advantages. All she need do was accept his proposal of marriage. He turned away from her. "If…if you see fit to accept, I have enough wealth to keep you in comfort. The title I come into is a respectable one. It will not elevate you in society, but neither will it debase you." His voice was so stiff, so formal, so unlike the man who had comforted her and held her in his arms. He was being good, she realized. Doing what he ought, not what he wanted for himself. Changing his life as he had done for his sisters when he gave up the cavalry to accept his eventual inheritance of a title and property. He turned back to her, not quite meeting her gaze. "You do not speak, Miss Reynolds." She was filled with love for him, a man so determined to do what was right in spite of his own desires, though she felt her heart breaking with the knowledge that she'd become another duty for him. Her lip trembled and she hoped he did not see. "It does you credit to make the offer, sir. I am very sensible of the honor you do me, but it is unnecessary." His glance captured hers. "It is necessary. My behavior this morning…" It was she who looked away. "We shall not think of that." Although she would never forget the feeling of his lips upon her skin, her own shocking wantonness, the sensations he created inside her. She took a breath. "You have said no one knows we are here. I am persuaded there shall be no harm done if you simply take me home." "You refuse me, then?" His voice was low. "I free you, Captain." She glanced back at him, but his back was turned to her and she could not see the effect of her words upon him. "As you wish." He faced her again, but his expression gave away no emotion. "The curricle is likely ready if you are prepared to leave."

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She rose from the bed, feeling dizzy from the emotions swirling inside. The aching of her head was only part of her pain, but she refused to complain. The sooner she got the captain away from here, the better were the chances they would not be recognized and he forced to marry her, after all. He gave her his arm, as stiff as his manner toward her, as he escorted her down the stairs. The innkeeper's wife met them at the door of the inn. "Now don't you look better, lamb," she clucked. Amanda gave her a wan smile. "I thank you again for your kindness." Ramsford opened the door, but the innkeeper's wife stopped them. "Where is your bonnet, lamb? The sun is bright today." Amanda looked to Ramsford. He merely shook his head. "I will fetch you one of mine." The woman hurried away. They waited a few tense moments in the more public area of the inn's entrance for the innkeeper's wife to return. She brought a simple straw bonnet, which she placed on Amanda's head, tying the ribbons under her chin. After another goodbye, Amanda and Ramsford walked outside to where the curricle was waiting, Ramsford's tiger holding the horses. He was conversing with two men, who walked away as they approached. Without meeting her gaze, Ramsford lifted Amanda onto the curricle, his hands spanning her waist, reminding her of his more intimate touch. A moment later they were on their way, and Ramsford had still not spoken a word to her.

Chapter Thirteen Lord Greythorne tapped the glistening steel dagger he used as a letter opener against the edge of the gold and black lacquer desk. He raised one eyebrow and surveyed the two commonly dressed men standing in front of him. "I lost him, m'lord," the stout man stammered, turning his hat nervously in his hands. "He drove back to his house, but he didn't stay. Afore I knew it, he rushed out. Got a horse from the stable and rode off. Lost him in St. James." Greythorne scowled. "What of the girl?" "She's not budged from her house," the other man said. "Yer not to worry, m'lord. We have men watching her place and his." His lordship leaned back in the chair, slapping the blade of the steel dagger against his open palm. "It does not sound as if a betrothal is in the air." He gave a dry laugh, no longer taking notice of the two men. "I'll wager she has spurned him. He compromised her, and she spurned him, nonetheless." The two men shifted in their places. Greythorne waved his hand in dismissal. "Find Ramsford. Watch them both." He cast a malevolent look at the two uneasy men. "Do not fail this time." They backed out of the room, bowing as they went. Greythorne examined the point of the dagger, testing it with his finger. He grinned. It appeared the Diamond had rejected Ramsford. It was not too late for Greythorne to renew his offer. This time she would not refuse. He would see to it. And he would also see she was properly punished for daring to refuse him in the first place.

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"One must do violence to the object of one's desire," Greythorne spoke aloud, quoting de Sade. "When it surrenders, the pleasure is greater."

*** Amanda closeted herself in her room for two days trying to sleep away her headache and the heartache that was its companion. By the third day when she woke, all that remained was a dull throb. She rose from her bed, reached for her dressing gown, and thought of Ramsford. It would have been so easy to accept his offer of marriage and solve all her problems, but she had learned from his example and done the right thing by him. So why did she feel so miserable? She took a step toward her dressing table and put her fingers to her mouth as a wave of nausea washed over her. Perhaps she ought to have eaten more than a bite or two of the food brought in on trays and later removed scarcely touched. The door opened quietly and her maid entered. "Oh, miss, you are awake. Mrs. Reynolds is asking for you." "Very well. Help me dress then," she responded. She almost felt presentable when she descended the stairs to the breakfast parlor where her aunt waited for her, worry and confusion on her face. In between bites of toast and sips of tea, Amanda told her the whole story of traveling to Brighton, the accident, the night at the inn. She left out the name of her escort and neglected to mention how intimately he'd cared for her, how he had shared her bed, how he had proposed marriage to her. "What will you do now?" Aunt Ellen asked, her voice tinged with tension. Amanda turned her thoughts away from a warm-eyed, dark-haired cavalry captain whose arms had held her and whose words had comforted her. "I will find someone to marry me," she replied.

Chapter Fourteen Amanda sorted through the invitation cards. The pink of the ton would return from Brighton on the morrow and the London entertainments would resume. Which of the various routs and balls and musicales would afford her the best chance to find a husband? She threw down the cards. The very idea made her ill. Everything had changed since being at the inn with Ramsford. The butler appeared in the doorway. "Lord Greythorne requests a moment of your time." The last person she ever wished to see. "Tell him I am not at home." Greythorne stepped into the room behind the butler, who glanced in alarm toward Amanda. "Come, my dear, you would not refuse to see me, surely?" Greythorne gave her an elegant bow. Amanda directed her gaze at the butler. "It is all right. I shall see him, but remain nearby, please."

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The man nodded and backed out of the room. Greythorne closed the door behind him. Amanda faced him, her chin high. "I resent this intrusion, sir. I thought I'd made myself clear. I do not wish to see you or speak to you." "Amanda." Greythorne made her name sound like a word not fit for a lady's ears. She glared at him. "Do not speak to me in so familiar a way." His thin lips curled into a smile. "You will wish to hear what I have to say." She took a deep breath. "Then say it and take your leave." He laughed, a dry sound. Without invitation from her, he sat down, crossing his legs and casually swinging his foot. His voice was mild but malevolent. "I shall place the announcement of our engagement in tomorrow's papers." "Do not be absurd," she snapped. "You do not agree?" He flicked an imaginary piece of fluff from his well-cut jacket. "If not an announcement of our betrothal, then a scandalous on-dit, perhaps." Amanda managed a bored expression. "I despise gossip." He laughed again and rose from the chair, approaching her with a predatory step. She stood her ground. He leaned to her ear. "A certain Lord G and this Season's Diamond spent an intimate night together at a certain inn on the road to Brighton." The blood drained from Amanda's face. "That is a lie." "Not entirely so." His eyes gleamed in triumph. "You may disclose the truth to the ton. An easy matter, surely." From inside his coat he produced her bonnet, battered and dirty. Amanda's heart thudded in her chest. Did he know Captain Ramsford had spent the night with her? If so, he knew she could only prove his lie by exposing Ramsford as her companion that night. She must either try to save her reputation by marrying Greythorne or by marrying Ramsford. And Greythorne was betting she would choose him. Even if he printed the lie about the inn, she would be pressured to marry him. The ton would approve of marriage to Lord Greythorne. His place in society was inestimable. In fact, she would be thought very clever for securing the union with an indiscreet liaison. But what if she exposed Ramsford as her companion at the inn? His place in society was not at all secure. He would have to marry her, and even then the scandal might damage him and his hopes for his sisters. After what he had done for her she owed it to him to protect his good name. Greythorne waited for her reply, his expression smug. "I care not what you print," she bluffed, making herself yawn. "You bore me, Greythorne. You may leave now." Greythorne's eyes flashed angrily. He turned to her before walking out the door. "You will lose this contest, Amanda, and it will be my pleasure to extract payment from your defeat."

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After he left, she collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Fifteen At the breakfast table the next morning, Aunt Ellen shoved The Morning Post into Amanda's hands. "Did you see this? It was Greythorne you spent the night with. Why in God's name did you do it, if you meant to refuse him? This will be your ruin. You must marry him now." Amanda located the damning words on the page. "I did not stay at an inn with Greythorne." She faced her aunt calmly. "It is a lie." "A lie?" Ellen cried. "Who would tell such a lie?" "Greythorne." Amanda dropped the paper onto the table. "He would do no such thing," Ellen retorted. "Greythorne is a gentleman." Amanda gaped at her aunt. Her refusal to believe Amanda stung, but she tried to maintain a patient demeanor. "He is no gentleman, Aunt. He is trying to force me to marry him." "Of course you must marry him." Ellen poked the newspaper with her finger. "After this you will be cut by everyone." Amanda's old governess used to speak to her in the same bullying tone. When she'd been a child she'd learned to give the appearance of compliance and she fell back on that old habit. This time, however, she would not do as she was told. This time she would outwit Greythorne. Somehow, she would salvage her reputation and her fortune. And she would do it all without damaging Ramsford. At least, that is what she hoped. And she hoped she might devise this course of action by the evening, when she and Aunt Ellen attended Lady Rawley's ball.

*** Ram brushed the dust from his jacket before he walked through the door of what he still thought of as his uncle's London town house. He'd gone in search of Devlin, finding him in Kent at his brother's estate. To Ram's surprise, Devlin was about to marry his beautiful mistress. Ironically, Devlin charged him with looking out for the Diamond. Devlin told him what he'd discovered about Greythorne, his predilection to the practices of the Marquis de Sade. Now it made sense for Amanda to have refused Greythorne, but it still pained Ramsford that she refused his offer of marriage, especially since it had been so important to her to marry before the end of the Season. He supposed he was not lofty enough for her. Ram could not avoid her now. Devlin had made it Ram's duty to make certain Greythorne stayed away from her. He must watch over her until she found the society husband she was so determined to catch. The butler met him in the foyer and took his hat and gloves. Legs stiff from the ride, Ram trudged slowly up the staircase. He peeked into the parlor. His sister reclined on the settee, reading the newspaper. "No morning calls, Mary?" Startled, she glanced up. A smile lit her face. "Christian, you are back! I thought perhaps you would return in time for the ball."

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He would rather face an icy rain in the wilds of Spain than attend Lady Rawley's ball. "I would not disappoint you." She giggled. "I would not wish to miss it. There is the most delicious scandal afoot. Have you read the morning papers?" He was reminded of Amanda's dislike of gossip. "No, I've been riding all day." She rose and handed him the newspaper, pointing to a certain item. He read and the blood drained from his face. "Is it not shocking?" Mary said. He returned the paper to her. "I just remembered an errand I must run." "You'll be back in time for the ball?" she called to his back as he rushed down the stairs. Ram hurried on foot to the Diamond's town house, but her aunt sent him away, saying Miss Reynolds was not receiving callers. Was it that Amanda would not see him, or anyone? He could not convince her aunt to have his presence announced. "Tell me, Mrs. Reynolds, do you and your niece plan to attend Lady Rawley's ball tonight?" he bluntly asked. She blinked as if uncertain what to tell him. "She…she has planned to attend." "Then I will not trouble you further." Ram bid her good day and left. He must confront her at the ball, then.

Chapter Sixteen When Lord Rawley's butler announced Amanda, the ballroom turned quiet as a tomb. Amanda held her head high as she walked to where Lord and Lady Rawley stood receiving their guests. Neither met her eye as she greeted them. Their son, Mr. David Sloane, a handsome young man about her age, gave her a sympathetic look as if in apology for his parents' chill. The buzzing of the gossips sounded like bees around her head, and more than one elegantly attired personage gave her the cut direct. She would survive this evening, she vowed, or at least appear as if she had. Appearances were everything. She'd planned hers very carefully, dressing in pale pink, adorning her hair with only a simple ribbon. The effect was innocently ethereal — and virginal. "Perhaps we should sit in the chairs," Aunt Ellen whispered, gesturing to a corner of the room half hidden by huge jardinieres of flowers. "Certainly, do be seated, Aunt," Amanda replied in a calm voice. "I shall first say hello to some friends." Her aunt retreated to the corner. Amanda approached a group of ladies and gentlemen who would have fawned all over her two days before. They scattered, like beads falling from a broken necklace. Amanda stood conspicuous to the whole room. She doubted she had ever felt so alone, except perhaps when Ramsford left the bed they'd shared. A lump caught in her throat, but she swallowed and made herself gaze about serenely.

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A moment later Greythorne entered the ballroom, coming to a stunned halt at spying her. She smiled inwardly. He'd thought she would hide herself in shame. They all did. But she refused to feel ashamed for the time she'd spent with Ramsford. Greythorne appeared to collect himself. He strolled into the room, speaking to one or two gentlemen of his acquaintance, some who smirked knowingly at him. As soon as Greythorne came close enough, Amanda walked up to him. All eyes were now riveted on her, she knew. "Good evening, Lord Greythorne," she said in a clear voice calculated to be overheard. "I hope you are well, especially after that shocking piece of gossip in the Post this morning." He faced her openmouthed. "What a nasty trick," she went on, adopting an indignant expression. "Do you have any idea who might have done it? I declare it could be our ruin, not that anyone would believe such a tale. No one will believe it, will they?" Greythorne turned beet red. His eyes flashed with anger. Amanda pretended to frown. "Do you suppose someone is trying to force us to marry? Who could want such a thing?" Because the crowd had fallen silent enough to hear a pin drop, Amanda was reasonably certain her voice had carried well. "Most unfortunate," Greythorne mumbled. He bowed and quickly walked away. The crowd buzzed. Amanda's knees felt suddenly weak. Appearances, she thought. She'd given the appearance of innocence and hoped that the ton would believe in it as readily as they believed the appearance of wrongdoing. She took a deep breath. It should be safe now to go to Aunt Ellen's side. Then she saw Ramsford, tall and elegant in his evening attire. He walked directly toward her.

Chapter Seventeen Ramsford had spied Amanda as soon as he'd entered the room. She'd stood alone, looking as fragile as Dresden porcelain. Then as if turned to steel, she'd approached Greythorne, and her clear, musical voice penetrated the sudden silence. Brave girl, he thought as Greythorne marched away. Her eyes met his, and the power of her beauty struck him once more. He left his mother and sister, too busy whispering with the other ladies to notice, and walked directly toward her. The music began for the first set. Ram extended his hand and led her to the dance floor. When the set of the country dance brought them together, she whispered, "You should not have approached me." They broke apart again. His cheeks felt hot, as if she'd slapped him. She still did not want him. "I read the newspaper. Did you doubt I would seek you out?" he said when the dance coupled them again. She quickly whispered, "People might talk." He nearly laughed aloud. People were talking of nothing but her. They came back together. "Save me the supper dance."

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He did not speak with her again. When the dance ended, he escorted her to her aunt, who gave him a suspicious look. He bowed to them both and found a place to stand where he could keep her in view. A known reprobate approached her, making himself disagreeable. Ram poised to come to her aid, but she managed to rid herself of the man herself. After that, other men, fortune hunters and dandies who would never have dared approach her before asked her to dance. When the supper dance was announced, Ram was glad it was a waltz. He took her in his arms and led her into the dance. "Who placed the ad, Amanda?" he asked as soon as he could. "Greythorne." She spoke in a voice that seemed determined to sound composed. "He knew about the inn. I do not know how. He thought he could make me marry him." Ram glanced over to where Greythorne danced with the daughter of a marquess. Curse the man. Ram wished he could challenge Greythorne to a duel-swords, so he could draw the man's blood — but that would hardly help Amanda. It took some time for Ram to calm himself. They danced by men who leered at Amanda and by ladies who whispered behind their fans. In spite of her bravado, it seemed the ton would not so easily forego the enjoyment of seeing a Diamond shatter like glass. Ram frowned. "It is not going well for you, Amanda." "I shall come about, I am certain," she answered with forced cheerfulness. "If you are worried about your reputation, you should not have asked me to dance." He looked down at her. "I am mindful of being the cause of your disgrace." She raised her eyes, and he swore he could see through them to the pain in her soul. "No, I alone am the cause of my disgrace." Ram twirled her around the floor, unable to speak for the emotion she aroused in him. It mattered not that he was an unworthy match for her, nor that she did not wish to be attached to him. He would turn over heaven and hell to ensure her well-being. Greythorne would not marry her and bring torture into her bed. Nor would any other man have her. "We must speak in private," He danced her to the doorway and led her through the hallway into a small parlor, dimly lit with a branch of candles. After checking to make certain they were alone, he shut the door and grabbed her shoulders. "You must marry me. It is the only way out of this." She sought his gaze. "You do not wish to marry me." He glanced away, lest she see the raw desire that hummed through him. "I do wish to marry you. I must." She tried to pull away, but he drew her closer, leaning down and making her look at him. "You will not survive this scandal unless you marry, Amanda. I trust I am more acceptable than those men dancing attendance upon you this evening. You must marry me." She seemed to search his face, tears glistening in her emerald eyes. "Very well, Captain," she whispered, her lips mere inches from his. "I will marry you."

Chapter Eighteen

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All eyes were upon them when they reentered the ballroom, but Amanda could think only of the feel of Ramsford's arm beneath her hand. She knew she was being selfish for accepting him, for making him pay for her folly, but she was simply not strong enough to refuse him a second time. He escorted her over to her Aunt Ellen. Amanda lifted her chin when she saw Greythorne standing next to her aunt. Her aunt looked puzzled as they approached. She glanced nervously toward Lord Greythorne. Amanda ignored him. "Aunt Ellen," she said. "Wish me happy. I am betrothed." "Betrothed!" Greythorne cried, his voice loud enough to cause heads to swivel in their direction. The whispering resumed in earnest, moving through the room, louder and louder, like a wave crashing to shore. Aunt Ellen's jaw dropped. Amanda suddenly felt giddy with happiness, a happiness she certainly did not deserve. She gave a light laugh. "I am betrothed to Captain Ramsford." He stepped forward and bowed to her aunt. "I am honored your niece accepted me." Ellen blinked. "Well, I…I do wish you happy." Greythorne's face was red with anger. He stormed away. "Will…will you marry within the month?" Ellen asked. Amanda should have known her penniless aunt's concern had been confined to the money that ensured her support. Amanda would not blame her for it. Ramsford looked puzzled, but he answered, "We shall marry whenever your niece wishes." Ellen looked relieved. Amanda suddenly wished to be anywhere else but at her aunt's side. She turned to Ramsford. "Shall we tell your mother as well?" He glanced around the ballroom, abuzz with this new on-dit about the Diamond. "I fear she may know already." The shock and dismay on Lady Biden's face as they approached confirmed his fear, but Amanda did not expect Lady Biden to rejoice about her son marrying a woman whose name had been made scandalous. Ramsford, however, presented her to his mother and sister as if she were a prize catch. His mother was gracious, if palpably uncomfortable, and his sister could barely look at her. Supper was announced and Ramsford escorted them all to a table, inviting Amanda's aunt as well, so they all could be ill-at-ease together. While his mother made stilted conversation with her aunt and his sister remained sullen, Amanda followed Ramsford to the table to fill plates with the various treats set out for the guests. "I am sorry, Christian," she said, lapsing into the familiar address of their time at the inn. His brow furrowed. "You may cry off if you wish." She blinked in surprise. "I did not mean that." Besides, she could never cry off. That would make him the object of even more talk and speculation. "I meant, your family cannot want me."

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"We will invite you and your aunt to dinner tomorrow, unless there is another invitation you wish to accept." She thought his mother would not like this at all. "Nothing would be so important, but your mother —" He interrupted her. "My mother will agree." Amanda was about to protest further, but she was distracted by a glimpse of Greythorne, shooting daggers at her with his eyes. Ramsford noticed the direction of her gaze. "I will deal with him," he said.

Chapter Nineteen The next morning, Ram left a protesting mother and sister to their planning of a last-minute dinner party, and called upon Amanda's guardians. Amanda needed their permission to marry. Having heard the scandal, they acquiesced immediately, adding cryptically that he would certainly want to marry her before she turned twenty-one, at which time they could discuss settlements. He then proceeded to Doctor's Commons, to the office of the Archbishop of Canterbury, for a special license so that they would not have to wait upon banns and could be married right away. His last stop brought him to White's Club, a place that reminded him too much of his uncle for him to feel comfortable. But it was there he located Greythorne, sitting alone at a table nursing a glass of brandy. "May I sit?" Ram asked. Greythorne glared at him, but because others in the room were casting curious glances, he reluctantly nodded. Greythorne lifted the glass to his lips. "To what do I owe this…honor?" Ram kept his composure with difficulty. "A warning." He leaned toward Greythorne, giving him a lethal look. "I am betrothed to Miss Reynolds and I will marry her. You will neither approach her again, nor attempt to ruin her." Greythorne gave a dry laugh. "What? Or you will challenge me to a duel?" Ram kept his gaze steady. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to kill you, but I will not risk a hanging for one of your ilk. I will, however, expose to the ton your attempt to blackmail Miss Reynolds…as well as your more sordid predilections." Greythorne blanched. "I do not know what you mean." "You know precisely what I mean. I assure you I have proof of your perversions, as do others, so I suggest you give up such practices, as well, before they become more widely known." Ram then relayed some of the more specific details Devlin had told him. He was bluffing about proof, for Devlin had not confided the source of his information. Greythorne sipped his brandy, but his hand shook noticeably. "Do we understand each other?" Ram asked when he finished. Greythorne was still a long time, but eventually he nodded. That afternoon, Ram took Amanda for a turn in Hyde Park. Their presence sparked more whispering among the fashionable people, who also drove through the park to see and be seen. It was a good sign that no one

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cut them. That evening, they experienced a somewhat stilted dinner. Amanda was all that could be desired, trying to put his mother at ease, draw his sister into conversation, including her aunt in the discussion. Ram was intensely proud of her. He managed to get her alone for a turn in the garden, a tiny plot of green behind the town house. "The license should be ready tomorrow," he told her, suddenly feeling as awkward in her presence as he used to feel when calling upon her with Devlin. "We can marry wherever you wish, but if you have no preference, I would desire my father to perform the ceremony." She glanced at him. "Are you certain he would wish to?" "I do not see why he would not. I assume you are not in so big a hurry to be married you could not wait until we travel to Bidenscourt." Ram wanted to remove her from London before some other hurt befell her. He trusted that if they were out of sight, they would soon be out of the ton's mind. "Not so great a hurry," she responded.

*** Three days later Ram waited in the church where he'd grown up. His father beamed happily from his familiar position as officiate, and the pews were filled with villagers all come to witness their beloved vicar's son marry. Ram felt a thickness in his throat as he glanced around, seeing familiar faces smiling at him. The welcome he received touched him deeply. The door of the church opened and his mother and sisters filed in. Ram craned his neck, worried lest Amanda had changed her mind, but, glittering like the Diamond London had once deemed her, she was there on the squire's arm. In a few moments Amanda would be his wife.

Chapter Twenty The wedding ceremony had been like a blur. Amanda could only remember how handsome Ramsford appeared, how warmly he looked upon her when he took her to be his wife. Love and good wishes were in abundance, during the ceremony at the church, and during the wedding breakfast at Bidenscourt to which the whole village had been invited. Amanda knew none of it was meant for her. The devotion was meant for Ramsford and his family. All were wary of her. Ram's father alone had embraced her like a daughter, but Amanda suspected the dear man embraced everyone. Ram's mother and sisters were nervous around her. The villagers treated her as if she were as distant as royalty. In contrast, they acted as if Ramsford were a lamb returning to the fold. Experiencing the love surrounding Ramsford made Amanda's emptiness more acute. There was no one here for her. Even Ellen had not come, preferring instead to return to her cottage in Surrey. Amanda was alone. It should not disturb her so, but tears suddenly stung her eyes. She rushed out of the room lest anyone see. Retreating to the bedchamber she would share that night with Ramsford, she grasped the bedpost and leaned her cheek against it, squeezing her eyes shut so she would not cry. The door opened and she felt Ramsford's arms around her. "What is it, Amanda?" "It is nothing," she cried, but she could not help burying her face against the comfort of his chest. "Do…do you regret —" His voice caught.

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"No…no…" She clutched at him. "Although you must. I…I was selfish to marry you, but I wanted to so much —" He drew her away from him and looked her in the eye. "You wanted to marry me?" She blinked rapidly against her tears. "Yes. I…I know it was wrong of me, and I tried to refuse you, but when you asked me the second time, I could not." "Amanda!" He gaped at her. "I am so sorry, Christian." She turned her face away. He laughed. "You wanted to marry me?" The tears spilled over. She nodded. He took her chin in his fingers and turned her face up to his. To her surprise, he touched his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. She inhaled in surprise, taking his breath into her own mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His lips became more demanding, and his tongue touched against hers. A moment later he kissed her neck, her ears, the skin above the neckline of her dress. He murmured, "And I wished to marry you, Amanda, although I had no hope you would want me. I had convinced myself that you were frivolous — saying you wanted to be married by the end of the Season and such —" "I needed to marry," she said. "My inheritance — Aunt Ellen's support — depended upon my marrying by my birthday." She explained the stipulation of her father's will. His eyes were earnest. "Then it is I who am sorry, Amanda, for misjudging you." He kissed her again, and her senses came alive in a way that had been new to her until their night at the inn. He lifted her onto the bed and soon they were entwined, her body aching for some release, something she knew would come when their marriage was consummated. She was disappointed when he released her and sat up. He rubbed his face. "We are expected below stairs. To toast our health and happiness." She rose to kiss him once more. "There will be time together later." He looked into her eyes, his gaze smoldering like fire. "I love you, Amanda." The tears filled her eyes again. Tears of happiness this time. She touched his face. "And I love you, Christian." They stood and laughed as they straightened their clothing. When they left the room arm in arm, Amanda sighed. "I wish we could return to the inn for our wedding night." He halted, smiling at her. "Why not? We could reach the inn within three hours." "You cannot mean it." She gazed at him in wonder. "You would do this for me?" He put his arms around her again and kissed her soundly. "Mrs. Ramsford, I am at your service."

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H.O.T. Mountain by Cindy Dees Lucy McFadden is desperate to get a closer look at the volcano, the Heart of Timbalo, or H.O.T. Mountain. But she runs into a serious roadblock—albeit a very sexy one—in the form of reclusive billionaire Carson Gray. Carson is desperate himself. He has worked for years on a secret project that is now under a dangerous threat. He doesn’t believe that Lucy’s sudden appearance is coincidental, which means he must keep a very close eye on her and employ all the dirty tricks he knows to find out just who she is. But the beautiful Lucy McFadden is not without her own tricks—or secrets….

Chapter One Lucy McFadden swiped at the perspiration stinging her eyes. Whoever said “women don’t sweat, they glow,” had obviously never tromped around a tropical jungle on Timbalo, an island situated in the southern Caribbean, surveying a volcano. Pushing through the thick undergrowth, she batted aside a palmetto frond and stopped short as a six-foot tall chain-link fence loomed in front of her. She scowled at the barrier. That darned fence again. Carson Gray’s fence. The recluse billionaire owned the entire western half of Timbalo, from its pristine beaches to the towering peak of Mount Timbalo, the massive volcano responsible for the island’s existence. It was commonly called the Heart of Timbalo, or if someone wanted to be cute, H.O.T. Mountain. She’d been sent here to determine whether the volcano lived up to its name and was still hot, or if it was, in fact, extinct. An important job, damn it. But Carson Gray had flatly refused to allow Lucy to conduct her geologic exploration on his property. She’d even been polite and sent the guy a letter asking permission. And he’d sent her back an equally polite letter telling her in no uncertain terms to buzz off. But if she couldn’t look at half of the volcano, there was no way to tell whether it was still active. She had to have a look at the mountain from the other side of that fence! She gazed at the barrier speculatively. Carson Gray owned thousands of acres, most of it undeveloped. What could a little hike in his jungle hurt? He’d never know. She tossed her backpack over fence, then shimmied up the chain links and threw her leg over the top. She dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch beside her gear. She hefted her bag, turned around—and ran smack dab into something hard. And tall. And unyielding. Her hands went out to steady herself and she felt soft cotton that clung to a muscular chest most guys would die to have and most girls would kill to touch. She tried to push herself away but stumbled, and strong hands reached out to grab her by both shoulders, steadying—and restraining her. Chagrined, she looked up into the scowling visage of one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen. But as he let her go and stood glaring at her, his gray eyes were dark with irritation and disapproval oozed from every pore of his being. How was she going to get herself out of this? “Look, handsome—” Ohmygosh. Did she just say that aloud? Mortification broiled her face into a lobster-red blush. He scowled harder.

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She took a step backward, and the big man followed her—stalked her, more like, his steps silent and powerful. She bumped into a tree trunk, brought up short by its rough solidity at her back. But the man kept coming, not stopping until his right hand braced on the tree trunk by her left ear. Yowza. If she leaned forward just a little bit, and tilted her chin just so, she could— Stop! Just because the man had raw sex appeal pouring off him in waves didn’t mean he could pull her to him like a paper clip to a magnet! He stared down at her until her pulse ran light and fast, jumping in her throat. If he was a panther, then she was a rabbit about to be eaten alive…by him. Yup, definitely raw sex appeal. Her gaze dropped to his lips. She could so kiss this guy. She caught herself swaying forward and checked the movement in horror. Her captor growled in a sexy undertone, “Who in the hell are you?”

Chapter Two Lucy stammered, “Wh…who are y…you?” The stranger’s scowl deepened. “I asked first.” Regaining a little bravado, she replied, “Yeah, well, I asked more nicely.” “You’re trespassing,” the hunk announced. He gave her elbow a firm tug she didn’t bother resisting. It was obvious at a glance that this guy could toss her over his shoulder and simply carry her off the premises if he felt like it. She was toast. Carson Gray was going to kill her when he heard about this. Not to mention her boss. But maybe if she could talk to him face-to-face, she might be able to bring him around…. “Where are we going?” She asked more cheerfully than she felt. “To the front gate. I’m throwing you off the property.” “Gee, won’t Mr. Gray want to chastise me in person?” She replied glibly, “The way I hear it, he’s quite the grouch.” The man’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “What else do you hear about him?” “Well,” she said brightly, “I hear he forces all his security guards to become eunuchs and perform show tunes for him.” The guy snorted with laughter before he collected himself enough to say, “Seeing as how Mr. Gray has all trespassers flogged, you’d better tell me your name before I decide to hand you over to him.” “Flogged!“ she gasped, suddenly not amused at all. “He wouldn’t.” The guy raised a sardonic eyebrow and merely guided her firmly down the hill until they emerged onto a sandy road. She was never going to get this stupid mountain surveyed at this rate. “Look. Can’t you just let me take a peek at the volcano? A couple of hours and I’ll be out of here. You can even go with me.” He merely dragged her forward. A magnificent mansion came into view, a white Colonial dressed with pillars and porches and plantation shutters. “What’s this?” she asked in alarm.

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“Around here we call it the Big House.” “How appropriate,” she muttered. “Going for the flogging, huh?” “Nah, I’m hungry. Thought I’d steal the boss’s lunch.” His eyes sparkled devilishly and a hint of smile softened his chiseled features. Wow—this guy just kept redefining the word hot. He pushed open the front door cautiously, took a peek inside, and then motioned her to follow. Bemused, she trailed him into the magnificent foyer. He led her quickly, furtively, through the house and onto a terrace overlooking a manicured lawn. Her companion grinned wickedly at her, sat down at a white linen-covered table and unfolded a linen napkin, spreading it deliberately in his lap. She gasped at him. It was one thing to wander around Carson Gray’s woods taking seismic readings on the sly. But it was another thing entirely to invade his house, his very table. This went way beyond trespassing! “Are you nuts?” she whispered frantically at her companion as he casually dug into the food laid out before him. He swallowed and gestured with his fork at the seat across from him. “Sit.” A frowning butler strode up to them just then, and she tugged desperately on her escort’s arm, stuttering, “I…we…so sorry…leave now…” The butler asked her companion dryly, “Will the lady be joining you for lunch, Mr. Gray?”

Chapter Three Carson watched in amusement as pink climbed his lovely guest’s fair cheeks. “You… You… You’re…Carson Gray?” “You really should do something about that speech impediment,” he commented blandly. “And you don’t follow instructions very well, either. Sit.” She all but fell into the seat the butler held for her but didn’t touch the food. He continued to eat alone. “You’re really Carson Gray?” she finally asked. “Guilty as charged. And you still haven’t told me your name.” “Lucy. Lucy McFadden.” “Ahh. The volcanologist who wrote to me. I thought I was pretty clear in my letter that you were not allowed on my property.” “But don’t you want to know if all of this—“ she waved at his yard, “—could be blown to kingdom come someday?” “I’ll take my chances.” Particularly as he was almost positive she was using the geologist bit as a cover for casing his house. The thieves who’d been pillaging his estate for archaeological artifacts had become shockingly bold recently. Was she part of the gang who were robbing him blind…or at least trying to? “What about everyone else on the island?” she demanded. He smiled lazily. “Most of them work for me. They’ll take their chances, too.”

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“And what is it exactly that you do, Mr. Gray?” Abrupt discomfort warmed his face. That wasn’t something he discussed. Ever. “I live uselessly off my inherited wealth, of course,” he replied lightly. “Mmm hmm,” she responded skeptically. Alarm bells clanged in his head. Just how much did she know? He had to know what she wanted—and how badly. He replied, all business. “If I let you look at my mountain, what are you prepared to offer me?” She flashed him a pair of dimples that tied his gut in knots. “I’ll have lunch with you. And I promise to be an utterly charming and accommodating guest.” Accommodating, huh? How accommodating? He gulped at the possibilities. Belatedly, he replied, “A nature hike around the property in return for lunch?” She leaned forward intently. His gaze dipped to her tank top and jerked back to her face. “Yes… But what I’d really like to do,” she purred, “is see the caves.” He all but leapt out of his seat. She was one of the thieves. “Oh?” he said noncommittally, his mind racing. He had to keep her here. Make her talk. She nodded, all eager energy. Damned sexy energy. “A crater volcano like Timbalo creates magma chambers and vents. I guarantee there’s an extensive network of tunnels and caves beneath H.O.T. Mountain.” Panic crept up his spine. “I’m sorry. Exploring caves is out of the question.” She sat back. “Too bad. I’ll just have to find a way in from the other end…outside your property line.” He winced. So. The thieves had located it. He’d long suspected there was another entrance to the caves elsewhere, but he’d never found it in the miles of tunnels and caves below their feet. Maybe if he took her below she’d show it to him…before she led him into a death trap. It was a risk he was willing to take. His gaze narrowed. “The caves, huh?” “Yup.” “Those’ll cost you, Lucy McFadden.” “Name your price,” she declared resolutely. He shouldn’t take advantage of her. It wasn’t chivalrous in the least. But if she was one of the thieves, chivalry wasn’t really a concern. And with this woman, he positively couldn’t resist. “I’m afraid that if you want to see the caves, you’ll have to spend the night.”

Chapter Four “Whaaat?” Lucy squawked. She planted her hands on her hips indignantly. “Carson Gray. That’s coldhearted blackmail.” “Take it or leave it. If you want to see the caves, you’ll have to spend the night.” Just what did he have in mind? An innocent night as his house guest or something more…intimate? Butterflies abruptly fluttered in her stomach. He was gorgeous. Unfortunately, her job description didn’t

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include sleeping with property owners to gain their cooperation. A little voice in the back of her head whispered that it might not be a bad fringe benefit, however. He folded his napkin and stood up, moving around behind her seat. His fingertips brushed her bare shoulders and a shiver of something undefined rushed through her, hot and daring. “Do we have a deal?” he murmured. It was insanity. No way should she even consider it. “I accept.” “Excellent. A woman who likes to live dangerously.” She stood up when he held her chair for her, and she was surprised to notice her legs felt wobbly. “Come with me,” he ordered briskly. She followed him inside and to a store room where he unlocked a heavy metal cabinet. She recoiled when he pulled out a thick, ugly sub-machine gun and slung it over his shoulder. He pulled out a compact pistol, flipping it in mid-air and catching it by the barrel. He offered it to her butt-first. “What in the world are those for?” she asked in alarm. “It’s not like there are poisonous snakes on Timbalo.” He shrugged. “Snakes come in many shapes and sizes. Take it.” Reluctantly, she took the pistol and tucked it in the waistband of her shorts. He didn’t need to know that a specially designed pocket for just such an accessory was already sewn into the khaki shorts. But obviously the things he wasn’t telling her were quite a bit bigger than a little pocket. Suddenly their casual hike had taken on an entirely different tone. She asked quietly, “Have you got any enemies I ought to know about?” He briefly made eye contact with her. His gaze was grim. “Pretty ladies like you shouldn’t wander around unprotected. You never know who’s out there.” He was lying. He knew exactly who was out there. She was sure of it. It was no surprise when two of his security guards joined them, nor that they were heavily armed. Their hike up the mountain was uneventful, but she was still jumpy as she made her various measurements. Mount Timbalo showed every sign of settling gracefully into extinction. But she wouldn’t know for sure until she got a look at the volcano’s innards. They’d just turned to head back to the house when a loud bang destroyed the afternoon’s lazy silence. Oh my god! A gunshot! Carson moved faster than she believed possible, and before she knew what was happening, she was flat on her back with him plastered protectively on top of her. She was suddenly— vividly—aware of every muscular, hard, masculine, sexy inch of him pressing into her, from toes, to thighs, to belly, to chest. Whoa. "Are you hit?" he bit out.

Chapter Five Lucy took stock quickly. Nope, she wasn’t shot. “I’m fine. But what about you? Any sucking chest wounds I should know about?” “No bullet holes, I’m sorry to report.” She smiled up at him in relief. “Thank goodness. I’d hate to have a heavy guy like you die on top of me.”

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He pressed up and away from her with alacrity. “Sorry,” he mumbled. But she was the one who was sorry. He’d felt incredible right where he was. Her and her big mouth. “No worries,” she mumbled back. “Let’s get a move on,” Carson said grimly. He and his men hustled her back to the house practically at a run. After the attack, she didn’t blame them. But no more shots were fired at them, and they burst into the mansion as sunset streaked the sky. Cool and collected, Carson said, “My butler will show you to a room. We keep spare clothing and toiletries on hand for…impromptu guests. He’ll fix you right up. Dinner’s at eight.” Getting rid of her, huh? She’d lay odds he and his men were headed back out to track whoever had shot at them. She’d love to go with them, but her volcanologist cover didn’t exactly recommend her for a reconnaissance mission. She sighed and followed the butler upstairs. He showed her to a closet full of women’s clothing in assorted sizes and styles. She shook her head—the guy must really be a lady killer. She picked out a cocktail dress and matching shoes for dinner, turned on the shower and used the noise to mask a phone call. Time to report in. “Mr. Cornell, it’s me,” she said. Cornell, her boss, was brilliant, efficient and intimidating—an outstanding combination in their line of work. “Go ahead, Agent McFadden.” “What can you tell me about any recent attempts on Carson Gray’s life?” “What?” Cornell’s surprised exclamation sounded genuine, so she could rule out her employer as the afternoon’s shooter, then. Relief flooded her. “We have no threats on file for Gray. What happened?” “Someone shot at us—at him—to kill.” “Arrange to stay there if you can. I need you to investigate this further.” “Already on it, sir. I’m having dinner with him in about an hour. And speaking of which, I’ve got to go get ready.” “Oh really?” Cornell was clearly startled beneath his bland reply. “I’ll be spending the night, too.” She added hastily, “Don’t ask.” “Fine, but exercise caution with Gray. And report in after dinner. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that Carson Gray has a reputation as a deadly ladies’ man.” She laughed. “Yeah, I noticed. Never fear. I can handle myself around him. He won’t get the best of me.” She ended the call and stared apprehensively at her phone. At least she hoped he wouldn’t get the best of her. But the memory of his hard body pressing against hers loomed in her mind, setting her skin atingle and stealing her breath. Dang. She was going to have to be careful around this guy. Very, very careful.

Chapter Six

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It was a race, but Carson made it back to the house in time to fly through a shower and throw on clean clothes before his dinner date with Lucy. He and his men had found no trace of the shooter—which worried him a whole lot more than if they had found something. The complete lack of tracks meant the guy was a pro. And a serious assassin on his heels was a complication Carson didn’t need just now. His project was at a critical juncture, and he was within a few weeks of taking it public. Any disruption now could prove disastrous. They could ruin years worth of work. But the question was, how did Lucy fit into all this? He had to find out. Carson quickly made his way down to the formal dining room where two place settings were laid intimately close at the head of the long table. Dozens of candles lent warm illumination to the space and fresh flowers scented the room with frangipani and sweet honeysuckle. The butler had outdone himself creating a cozy and romantic mood in the cavernously formal room. At the stroke of eight precisely, Carson spied a pair of long, slender legs coming down the sweep of the main staircase. He undid another button on his shirt, overheated all of a sudden. He savored the slender column of her neck as she tilted her head back to gaze at the hand-painted frescos overhead. She commented, “Wow. Nice ceiling.” “My grandfather built this place. He paid for it with the proceeds of his smuggling operation.” He watched her reaction to the smuggling reference—nothing. Interesting. Lucy slid into the seat beside him, a faint scent of coconuts and lime verbena drifting from her dewy skin. She smelled entirely edible. “What did Gramps smuggle?” He shrugged. “Slaves mostly.” She recoiled at the mention of slaves and he added hastily, “Let the record show he smuggled slaves out of the United States and Cuba.” “And he made enough money to build all this?” she exclaimed in surprise. “Nah. He ran rum and tobacco to finance his social conscience.” Her gaze flickered at the mention of a social conscience. With instincts honed over a lifetime, he pounced. “And what weighs heavy on your conscience tonight?” She glanced up at him, startled. “I, uhh, feel bad for trespassing earlier.” She was lying. “And?” he added quietly. She blinked rapidly. “And nothing.” “What are you hiding from me, Lucy?” He reached out and twined his fingers through hers. “I promise not to have you flogged if you come clean.” She jerked at that, but didn’t disengage her warm, slender fingers from his. “I… Oh heck. You caught me.” He waited grimly for her to continue. “My boss…he’s a land developer. He wanted me to survey your land and see if I could convince you to sell a chunk of it to him. Maybe down by the beach. There’s some prime real estate down by the water—” “I’m not interested,” he replied shortly.

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Another lie. Damn. She still wasn’t confessing to being part of the robbery ring. He needed her to tell him what was going on. He could only assume her presence here was an indication that the thieves were about to pull off something major. But what?

Chapter Seven Lucy was worried. She knew that look in Carson’s piercing gaze. He wasn’t buying her secondary cover story. She dared not do any more to try to convince him though, or else he’d know for sure she was lying. She briefly considered telling him the truth, but there was no way would he believe it. Better to stick with the transparent lie. Despite the secrets between them, Lucy found herself enjoying the delicious food, though she dared not drink on this job. Each time he got up to serve her the next course she quickly emptied her wine glass into the gardenias that comprised the table’s centerpiece. It was a shame to only sip at the excellent wines he was serving her, but frankly, she didn’t trust him an inch. Even forewarned about his charms with the ladies, it was hard to resist his easy smile and fascinating conversation. He was educated on a broad variety of topics and had a knack for putting her at ease. If she’d actually been drinking all the wine he was serving her, she’d be well on her way to drunk and infatuated— and to climbing into his bed. Although, she didn’t need to be smashed to find that idea alluring. He took her elbow solicitously as they left the dinner table, supporting her more than was necessary, as if he knew she’d be tipsy. “How are you feeling?” he asked, a strangely significant tone in his voice. She frowned. There was definitely a hidden message within that seemingly innocent question. “I feel fine. Why?” He guided her into what looked like a billiards room and deposited her on a tufted leather sofa. Now that she thought about it, she was a little dizzy. He came back from the wet bar and pressed yet another glass into her hand. “Here. Have a drink. You’ll love this champagne.” Champagne was the last thing she needed. She was already verging on drunk—but how could that be? She’d only sipped at the wine. A few teaspoons in all. No way had she imbibed enough to make the room spin like this! Unless… He wouldn’t drug her…would he? She studied the contents of her glass, but the golden bubbles gave up no answers. “Is there a restroom nearby?” “Of course. Over there.” He pointed out a carved wooden door. She made a point of tottering a little on her borrowed high heels as she crossed the thick carpet. Once locked in the bathroom, she flushed the champagne and splashed her face with cold water. So. He’d slipped her a mickey, had he? Two could play that game. She opened the bathroom door and wove across the billiard room, slurring slightly, “I think I’m a little bit tipsy. I need to lie down.” “Let me take you upstairs.” He swept her off her feet with shocking ease and carried her swiftly up the grand staircase. If she wasn’t spitting mad at him, she’d have felt very much like Scarlett O’Hara. But as it was, beneath her syrupy smile she had mostly murder on her mind. She was surprised, however, when he carried her not to his suite, but to her room. Furthermore, he merely laid her down on her bed and spread a quilt over her. She blinked drowsily and did her best imitation of nearly passing out. He sat beside her, studying her intently. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

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She mumbled back inarticulately. She was so not answering those questions! He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but I drugged your wine. You’ll sleep deeply all night and feel none the worse for it in the morning. You see, I had to get you out of the way. I have something to take care of tonight.”

Chapter Eight Lucy tried not to gape up at Carson. He had drugged her to get her out of the way? Not to take advantage of her? She didn’t know whether to be mightily relieved or mortally offended. The moment he left, she leapt up and made a beeline for her gear. She slipped the borrowed pistol into her bra and grabbed her purse, which was loaded with all sorts of handy gadgets for just this sort of emergency. She changed shoes quickly. Tennis shoes might look weird with a cocktail dress, but she was not about to sneak around in stilettos. She opened the hallway door and peered out. Luckily she caught a flicker of movement as Carson emerged from his suite. Uh-huh. She thought so. He was dressed from head to foot in black and wore a well-stocked utility belt sporting a pair of pistols. He moved away from her swiftly, and she slipped into the dim corridor. The house’s plush carpet runners made following him a breeze, and she glided down a back staircase, down, down past the ground floor and into the basement. Odd. What could be so secret and dangerous in his basement? She eased down the steps, taking care not to make any noise. She reached the bottom of the stairs and risked a peek around the corner. She just glimpsed at Carson’s black-clad form disappearing through a doorway across the dimly lit space. She raced to the door and stopped to examine it. It appeared to be made of reinforced steel, with heavy hinges and a massive padlock. Thankfully, the ancient lock was fairly simple in design. A few quick wiggles of her handy-dandy lock picks, and it popped open. She gave the door a tug. It inched open. A whiff of cool, damp air whispered through the crack. She pulled harder, widening a gap into a tunnel of rough-hewn stone. Volcanic obsidian, she observed. Old rock. Probably deposited several hundred thousand years ago by Mount Timbalo. She’d have to carbondate a few core samples to be sure. But first, she had to find a man in black. A light bulb maybe fifty feet in front of her threw off just enough light so the place wasn’t consumed in total darkness. She moved quickly down the tunnel, doing her best not to sound like a herd of elephants. The tunnel opened out into an intersection and she winced. How was she to follow Carson down here and not get lost? Worse, how was she supposed to find Carson and figure out what in the world he was up to? She stopped in the middle of the intersection. She had no earthly idea which direction to go. She held her breath and listened carefully. The silence was oppressive. And absolute. Drat. She examined the walls and noted several fresh-looking chalk scrawls on the tunnel to her left. What the heck. It was as good a tunnel as any. She headed down the chalk-marked passage. She thought she heard something up ahead. Her steps slowed. If she didn’t miss her guess, those rustlings were man-made. She froze. What on earth was Carson up to down here?

Chapter Nine Carson crouched in the darkness, coiled to spring. Someone was behind him—one of the thieves no doubt. He and the robber were about to have a little conversation. A shadowed figure glided past Carson’s hiding place, moving furtively. He smiled grimly. Time to find out once and for all what these robbers were up to and why they’d sent a beautiful distraction into his very home to spy on him. He let the figure move a few more steps forward, just past the side tunnel concealing his position. And then Carson pounced.

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He leapt out, slapping his hand over the robber’s mouth and pressing a wicked blade to the guy’s throat. The intruder froze. Smart boy. “Turn to your left and head up the tunnel,” Carson breathed into his prisoner’s ear. “You and I are going to take a little walk.” He goose stepped the prisoner into the darkness and quiet of an isolated tunnel, a side vent carved eons before by hot lava through the native sandstone. “That’s far enough,” Carson murmured. The prisoner twisted and attacked. Carson was ready for the move, but still he was taken by surprise by the speed and violence of the guy’s attack. The smaller man managed to turn around in Carson’s grasp and get a hand up between them. Thumbs jabbed for Carson’s eyes and it wasn’t until he rushed the bandit and tackled him to the ground that the guy’s thrashing finally subsided. “Geez, Carson,” the intruder complained. “Do you always have to squish me?” He stared down in shock. “Lucy?” She glared up at him in chagrin. “I thought you were out cold in your bed. What are you doing down here?” “Still squished, here,” she groused. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna stay squished until you tell me what you’re doing and how you got here.” “Duh. I followed you.” He scowled. “Yeah, I got that part. Why?” “To find out what the heck you were up to and—you drugged me!” she exclaimed. “What’s up with that?” “Keep your voice down,” he ordered. “I don’t need all of your friends to join us until I’m done talking with you. I want some answers.” “My friends?” she asked in an appropriately alarmed whisper. “Yeah. Your compatriots. Co-workers. Partners-in-crime.” “With all due respect, Carson, what in bloody hell are you talking about?” He stared at her long and hard. “Are you telling me you don’t work with the gang of thieves down here?” “Gang…thieves…” she sputtered, “No! What thieves?” “Then who—“ He broke off. Was it possible? Had he made a terrible mistake? Was she really a volcanologist after all? A moment’s sharp hope shot through him. He frowned. “I’ve got to take you back. It’s too dangerous down here for you.” “But I want to stay and help you.” He froze when Lucy’s arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes went limpid and sexy. “Pretty please?” she murmured. And then her mouth closed on his.

Chapter Ten

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For a moment, Carson held out against the kiss. But then he sank into it with a gusto that sent Lucy’s head reeling. She’d just meant to distract him, but his ardent response took her by surprise. Wow! His mouth was hot and demanding on hers, his body moving restlessly, his muscular thigh intruding boldly between hers. Her back arched of its own volition, pulling her body taut against his. “Oh, man, you feel good,” she muttered against his mouth. “You taste better,” he muttered back. She captured his tongue with her lips, sucking it deeper into her mouth. Wrapping her fingers in his hair, she tugged him closer, her hips writhing beneath his, seeking his throbbing male heat. She didn’t know whether it was the hint of drugs he’d slipped her or simple lust that made the darkness spin around them like a carnival ride, but she rode it with abandon, throwing herself heart and soul into the kiss. “You’re killing me,” he groaned. “Ain’t it a grand way to go?” she mumbled back. Half laughing, he levered himself up over her. In mild panic, she clutched at him, pulling him back down. He settled again, this time with his face cleavage high and his leg rubbing blatantly against the heat at her core. Driving lust pounded through her, building toward an explosion that promised to be spectacular. She needed his hands on her. His mouth. Heck, all of him. Naked and sweaty. He breathed, “I want to eat you alive.” She grinned in commiseration. She knew the feeling. “Say that again when this dress is off of me.” He tugged at the halter ties behind her neck. The entire top of the dress sagged away from her, leaving her black lace bra clinging to her pale, heaving flesh. “Nice jewelry,” he murmured, plucking the pistol she’d stashed in her cleavage out of her bra and setting it aside. “Sexy.” Crap. She’d forgotten about the gun. Maybe he wouldn’t question it—after all he had told her to carry one earlier. Just laugh it off. “Gee, I’ll pack a gun more often if it leads to this.” “Why does a volcanologist need to carry a pistol, again?” Double crap. So much for that hope. Play it cool, Lucy. She shrugged. “You never know when you might end up flirting with a reclusive billionaire who sneaks around dressed like a ninja.” He said nothing, but secrets swam in his gaze, unwillingly revealed to her. His mouth lowered toward hers once more. But it was no good. She sensed that his focus had changed. Shifted. If he kissed her now, it would be with the intent to extract information from her, not to drive her out of her mind with need for him. She placed a light hand on his chest, and to his credit, he froze, the desire draining reluctantly from his gaze. His eyes closed for a pained moment. Okay, so he hadn’t entirely put aside all of his lust. That was good news. She’d be seriously depressed if he could just turn off his desire for her at the drop of a hat. He stared down at her, his expression even more grim than when he’d been shot at earlier. “Who are you, Lucy? And what do you want from me?” She opened her mouth to answer, but the lie wouldn’t come. They were body to body, only a few scraps of clothing away from being naked in each other’s arms. She wanted to make love to him worse than she

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wanted to take her next breath…and she just couldn’t bring herself to be dishonest with him. She owed him the real answer. The question was, would he believe her?

Chapter Eleven Carson braced himself for the worst. He didn’t want to know who she was, but he had no choice. Too much rode on the next few weeks to take any chances, even if those chances came in the shape of the sexiest woman who’d crossed his path in a very long time. She had a pistol in her bra, for Christ’s sake. How was a guy supposed to resist black lace and blue steel? He stared down at her, waiting for her answer. A struggle waged war on her face. She wanted to tell him the truth. Of that he had no doubt. But would she? Did she trust him enough—or want him enough—to spill her guts? He waited in an agony of need and apprehension. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she murmured. Not an answer, but not a lie, either. He could work with that. “Try me.” “I’m— “ Bang! He flattened himself on top of her instinctively, covering her body with his. Dammit! The thieves were here— and they had heard them. “Stay down. And stay put,” he bit out as he rolled off of Lucy and drew his sidearm all in one fast move. Bang! Another muzzle-flash down the tunnel located his target for him. He squeezed off a cluster of shots at the flashpoint, then leapt to his feet to charge the intruders. He heard footsteps running away from him and raced down the tunnel after them. But the bastards seemed to know they were running for their lives and moved so quickly that he couldn’t make up ground on them. They also seemed to know their way through the maze of tunnels down here, which chilled him to the bone. His prey turned into one of the main tunnels, and dismay rolled through him. Crap. They were headed straight for the main treasure trove. If the ring of thieves had found that… Grim determination to protect his find surged through him and he lengthened his stride, putting on a furious burst of speed. He slid to a halt as the tunnel ended. No sense blasting into an ambush and getting splattered all over the walls. Crouching low, he peered around the corner into the giant cavern ahead. It could easily house a football field, and its ceiling soared nearly a hundred feet overhead. Lucy had been exactly right. Long ago, this had been the main magma chamber of Mount Timbalo and had housed millions of cubic feet of whitehot magma, which had carved out this massive space. But it was the ancient temple in the middle of the massive space that interested him. If his archaeological findings were correct, an incredibly advanced Neolithic people had discovered this cavern and built a sacred temple to Mother Earth within it. Because it was dry and completely protected from wind or sun or rain, the hexagonal, pillared temple was absolutely pristine. It was a priceless find. “Holy cow!” a voice breathed behind him, startling him badly. Lucy. “I thought I told you to stay put,” he whispered irritably.

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“Sorry, but like you said, I don’t follow instructions well. Plus, I thought you could use the back-up if it comes to a shoot out. And if you ask me, it looks like it will.”

Chapter Twelve “What the hell do you know about covering my back in a gunfight?” Carson growled under his breath at Lucy. “I just do, okay? Trust me.” Right. Trust her. “With my life?” he snapped. “Yeah. We’re partners in this—whatever this is. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.” He didn’t like it. But he damned well didn’t have time to argue with her about it. “Do you know any military hand signals?” he asked. “Yes. And standard field-of-fire control procedures.” He blinked in surprise. Cops and soldiers were routinely trained to think about where their bullets were going in order not to shoot their comrades in the chaos of a gunfight. But it wasn’t something the average civilian knew squat about. Who was she? Ping. A chip of stone flew past his head and he flinched. They’d been spotted. He ducked back around the corner. Lucy crouched behind him, her pistol held low in front of her in both hands. She looked like she had some idea what to do with the weapon. No time to quiz her on it, though. “I’m going to break left and run about thirty feet into the room. There’s a low wall I can take cover behind. Give me covering fire until I get there, and then I’ll lay down covering fire until you join me.” She nodded briskly. “Number and location of hostiles?” “Three, I think. Clustered behind the temple. They’re firing at us around its far left side.” She snorted. “Amateurs. Let’s split up, then. I’ll go right around the structure and you go left. Let’s bag these suckers and find out who we’ve got.” His jaw sagged. Who in the bloody hell was Lucy McFadden? “One more thing,” he murmured. “At all costs, don’t hit the temple.” “Excuse me?” “It’s a priceless archaeological find. We can’t damage it.” “Sorry, big guy, but if it comes down to a choice between your life and dinging the gazebo, I’m choosing you.” “But—“ She interrupted gently. “I’m a crack shot. I’ll be careful of your temple.”

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He nodded grimly. “On my count… One.” “I’m still saving your ungrateful neck before the building, though.” She muttered. He grinned. And held up two fingers. She nodded her readiness and he nodded back. He held up three fingers. And then he ran for it. A hail of bullets flew, the noise deafening as the explosion of sound echoed wildly around the cavern. But then a steady set of popping noises came from behind him. They were unhurried. Methodical. And with every shot, the shadowed figures in front of him were forced back behind the temple. A crack shot indeed. Lucy McFadden was a freaking expert markswoman! If they got out of this mess alive, he was going to do more than kiss her senseless. He was damn well going to find out exactly who and what she was.

Chapter Thirteen Lucy watched Carson dive behind the wall and nod to her. She took a deep breath and took off running to her right. She zig-zagged back and forth and dived, breathless, behind the opposite wall to the one Carson was using for cover. She glanced over at him and he gave her an encouraging grin. Lord, that man was gorgeous when he smiled. He gave several hand signs indicating that they should advance on his signal, and she flashed back her understanding. They took off running together, circling around the temple and firing as they went. The aggressive move—not to mention two shooters instead of one—seemed to take the bad guys by surprise. As she rounded the far corner of the giant stone structure, the trio broke and ran for the far end of the cave in a chaotic retreat. Carson outdistanced her and closed on the third bad guy. He made a running tackle and the two men went down in a rolling tangle. A gunshot exploded between the two men and she screamed, “Noooo!” One of the other bad guys turned around. In a red haze of rage and panic, and still moving at a dead run, she fired at him. He took one look at her and—smart man—turned tail and ran. She fell to her knees beside Carson and the other man. “Carson!” she cried. “Are you hurt?” Sprawled in a fast-spreading pool of blood beneath the crook’s still form, he groaned. “Help get this guy off of me.” She grabbed the man and tugged while Carson shoved from below. His inert form rolled off of Carson. A black, wet stain spread across the guy’s chest. “Dammit,” Carson muttered. “I wanted him alive.” It appeared that a bullet had pierced the thief’s aorta, and in a matter of seconds he had bled out. “Are you all right?” she repeated to Carson. “Yeah, I’m fine. Where are the other shooters?” “They headed down that small tunnel over there.” She pointed at the opening. He grimaced as she tugged him to his feet. Their palms met and electricity spontaneously exploded between them. Awareness zinged through Lucy that this vital, strong, confident man wanted her as bad as she wanted him. It was a heady realization.

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“Thanks,” he said soberly. “You saved my life.” Heat climbed her cheeks. “Nah. You had those guys under control on your own. I just provided a little extra confusion.” He stepped forward and raised his arms as if to embrace her, but a surprised expression of pain crossed his face and he stopped. She closed the distance between them in quick concern. “Where does it hurt?” “My back. Just above my left shoulder blade.” “Let me see. Take off your shirt.” She helped him shrug out of the blood-soaked garment. A furrow as long as her index finger was gouged out of his upper back. She examined it quickly. “You got creased, but the bullet didn’t enter your body. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged. Let’s get you back to the house and I’ll take care of it.” “No time right now. As long as I’m not dying, I’m following those guys. I’ve got to see where they’ve gone and what they’re up to.” She scowled darkly, but it was clear there was no way she was going to change his mind. “Fine. Then I’m going with you.”

Chapter Fourteen Carson scowled. “No way are you going with me. These guys are dangerous.” Lucy snorted back at him. “Yeah, I noticed.” “I don’t want you to get hurt.” “Well, I don’t want you to get any more hurt!” He sighed in frustration. “Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?” She looked up at him blankly. He continued: “I like you, Lucy. I want you to live through this so I can get to know you better.” “Oh.” Her eyes went wide with surprise. “Oh!” As he drew her close, she melted against him and he closed his eyes to savor the feel of her warm body against his. “That’s a nice sentiment, but it’s not going to mean squat if you don’t live through this, too. Carson, I want to be there to look out for you and make sure you’re okay. Besides, you need me. You’re outnumbered and outgunned.” He needed her all right, but it had nothing to do with pursuing criminals. His need pounded through his lower belly, heavy and hard. He swore under his breath. No time for that just now. She stepped away from him and he bit back a protest. “C’mon, tough guy. Let’s go get the pirates so you and I can get on with getting to know each other.” He smiled wryly at her. “That’s a deal. But I’ll go first.” She nodded and they headed out down the long tunnel. He’d been down this one briefly before and didn’t recall it going anywhere in particular. Since the bad guys had chosen it for their escape, he assumed it must lead to some kind of exterior exit from the tunnels. His back burned like fire but there was nothing to do about it right now.

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He hated to admit it, but there was something comforting about having Lucy with him, even if he still didn’t know who she was. She was level-headed and good with a gun, but it was more than that. It was nice for a change not to feel alone. For two years, he’d worked down here in secret, mapping and photographing the temple and carefully cataloguing the artifacts inside it. He’d almost been ready to announce the discovery publicly so he could find a museum willing to let him build a wing and move the temple treasures into it for all the world to see. But then he’d started to notice that things were going missing, small at first, and then larger. Things that made him suspect a knowledgable group of antiquities thieves had also found the temple. He’d done his best to protect the site and root out the robbers, but he’d never been able to find them in the maze of tunnels. When they’d shot at him earlier that day, Carson realized they were getting desperate and it became even more important to locate them. So he’d come down here tonight, back into the dark tunnels that he’d practically lived in for the past two years. Working in these caves had brought into stark relief just how isolated and reclusive he’d become. He wanted to change, but it was nearly impossible to make real friends, given how wealthy he was. It was his fault, really. He was a distrustful bastard who thought the worst of people—like that they were all after his money. Except Lucy. She’d assumed he was a security guard and had already been obviously attracted to him long before she found out who he really was. A grin flitted across his face as he remembered her shock when she’d realized he was Carson Gray. A sound up ahead drew his attention sharply. He held up a closed fist to signal a halt. He felt Lucy’s presence close behind him like a sweet, springtime sigh on his skin. He crept forward cautiously. The tunnel ended on a ledge, high on the wall of another large cave, not the size of the main magma chamber, but the size of a warehouse. Flat on his belly, he eased forward. He started when he realized Lucy was low-crawling silently along beside him. They peeked down into the room and he gaped in shock.

Chapter Fifteen Lucy stared, stunned. Below her stretched what looked like a commercial import-export warehouse. A dozen truck-sized shipping containers stood in two rows and a forklift moved between them, carrying containers toward a massive dock that opened out onto the dark ocean. A faint sound of waves slapping rock drifted up to her. She counted ten men clustered at the far end of the space, conversing urgently. No doubt the guys she and Carson had chased were reporting in on their encounter with two shooters back in the tunnels. She put her mouth practically on Carson’s ear. “We need reinforcements,” she breathed. A shiver rippled through him that was pure sex, but when he whispered back, his voice was all business. “No time. They’re loading up that container ship out there, and it’s big enough to hold all of these boxes.” “We can’t stop them by ourselves. I’m low on ammo and you have to be, too.” He frowned. “If we can get outside where my cell phone works, I can call in the Navy to stop the ship.” Their odds of making their way unseen all the way across the warehouse were slim…but not zero. If they stuck to the edges of the room and worked their way from shadow to shadow behind the containers, they might just pull it off. Still, it was risky. “It’ll take them an hour or more to load all this stuff,” she argued. “We’ve got time to go back to the house and get your men and call the police or whoever.”

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He shook his head in the negative. “I can’t take any chances on these guys getting away. They’ve been looting my property, this temple—there’s no telling what they’ve stolen or what they’re planning on doing with it. They’ve got to be stopped.” She put her hand urgently on his shoulder. “It’s just old rocks and carvings. Stuff, Carson. It’s not worth losing your life over.” “Yes, it is. This is a really significant find. Down there is evidence of an entire Neolithic people that nobody knew about until now. And they’re stealing all of it!” “We can get the stuff back some other way. Don’t you want to live long enough to share your discovery with the world?” He rolled his eyes. “No one will believe me if these thieves get away with all the proof. I’ve got to stop these guys from robbing me blind.” “You’re worth billions. Let these guys rob you. You can afford it.” Fury shot through his gaze. He gritted through clenched teeth, “It isn’t about the money. It’s about making a great archaeological discovery. Contributing something of significance to the world, dammit.” She rolled her eyes back at him. “Staying alive still wins.” He shrugged. “I don’t have a death wish. But I am having a look in those boxes, and then I’m calling in the Navy to nab these guys.” She sighed her frustration. Stubborn man! “If you’re determined to do this, at least let me cover you.” “No. You stay here. I can’t sneak around and look out for you at the same time.” “I sneak very well, thank you very much,” she retorted in an indignant whisper. “You’re staying here, or I’m conking you on the head and tying you up. Got it?”

Chapter Sixteen Carson bit back a grin at the furious look Lucy shot him. He’d take that as an acknowledgement that she understood—and believed—his threat. “Here. You’ll need these.” She pressed something small and thin and hard, wrapped in cloth, into his hand. He slipped it in his pocket without unwrapping it. Before she could change her mind and insist on coming along, he eased to the edge of the ledge and lowered himself onto the rough staircase crudely carved into the cliff wall. He’d bet it was a recent addition by these pirates. Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, he made his way down to the floor below. A man’s voice sounded nearby and he spun fast behind a big metal container. He crouched in the semidark, holding his breath. That had been close. Too close. He squeezed along behind the container, but it was slow going as he tried not to bang into the metal box. He crawled along the margins of the steep stone outcroppings without kicking loose any scree that might give away his presence. Finally, he came to a shipping container with a door facing him and enough room to actually open it a foot or so. He crept up to the lock and had a look at it. A padlock held it closed. If only…

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He frowned. Carson pulled out the cloth-wrapped package Lucy had given him. Quickly, he unwrapped the contents and grinned down at the set of lock picks lying in his fist. He could really learn to love that girl. He went to work on the lock, but it was a double-action deadbolt, and with a basic set of picks and rakes, opening it was slow going. He heard the forklift working steadily, loading container after container onto the ship outside. Before too much longer, this container would be lifted away from him and his hiding place revealed. But finally, the pick clicked open in his hand. Exhaling hard in relief, he eased the door open. It creaked loudly and he froze. He stood up far enough to see Lucy up on the ledge above, and she flashed him an allclear signal. Thank God. He eased the door a few more inches open, far enough to slip inside the black space. He flinched at the faint outlines stacked before him. Wooden packing crates. The exact kind museums used to pack and ship rare and fragile art. He lifted down the smallest crate and set it on the floor before him. Using the barrel of his pistol as a makeshift crowbar, he forced it under the edge of the lid. He managed to pry the lid open a few inches. Long confetti strips of packing material poked out. Damn! More evidence of fragile items packed for transport. He tore the lid the rest of the way off, cringing when the nails gave a loud groan of protest. But the forklift was rolling nearby and hopefully the sound of its motor drowned the noise he’d made. He plunged his hands into the packing material, nearly up to the elbows before his fingers encountered a hard, cold object. He grasped it and lifted it out. Before it was even clear of the packing material, he already recognized the bullet shape of one of the temple carvings, a figurine of some sort of demigod or maybe an effigy of a sacrifice made to a long-forgotten god or goddess. Sudden light spilled into the crate and he whirled around, the small statue still in hand. Crap. “Hey Joe! I think we bagged us a rat!” a male voice called loudly.

Chapter Seventeen Lucy closed her eyes in dismay as she watched Carson get hauled out of the shipping container. She scooted backward on the ledge. Somehow, she had to find her way back to the house and call in the cavalry. Now. But then something cold and hard pressed into the back of her neck and she froze. Damn. Damn, damn damn! “Get up,” a male voice growled above her. “Slowly.” She complied, holding her hands well away from her body and not resisting when the pistol was roughly yanked out of her hands. She was surprised, though, when the man at her back yanked her around and forced her back down the tunnel toward the temple chamber. Her mind raced. She had to get back to Carson. If they were together, they had a chance. But apart, they were both up a creek without a paddle. “How come you’re not tossing me into the ocean for the sharks to eat?” she asked conversationally. “Shut up!” A smack to the back of her head—by a fist or maybe a pistol barrel—made her grunt in pain. She said nothing more as the robber forced her to sit down on a low wall in the back corner of the temple chamber itself and a second man efficiently tied up her hands and feet. The bad news was the guy knew his business and yanked the ropes cruelly tight. She wasn’t getting loose any time soon. The good news was they hadn’t just put a gun to her head and shot her. Why not—she had no idea, but she wasn’t looking that gift horse in the mouth too hard at the moment.

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A third man made his way over to her, carrying a big black duffel bag. He knelt at her feet and pulled out a dull gray brick of some kind and a roll of wire. That was C-4! What the hell was this guy doing with explosives at her feet? A terrible thought occurred to her and it quickly became reality as the man wired her into a living bomb. She watched very closely as he wired the detonator circuit. Either the yellow or the black wire would interrupt the circuit harmlessly. Not that knowing that helped a bit. The guy slipped a pressure pad underneath her rear end. If she stood up or leaned over to grab for the wires, she’d blow herself up. Without bothering to explain any of that to her, the explosives man moved off and began efficiently wiring the entire temple to blow. It was a simple daisy chain of bricks of C-4, but that didn’t make it any less deadly. A commotion down the tunnel she’d just come from drew her attention. Three men wrestled a fourth man into the dimly lit chamber. Carson. Abject relief shot through her. At least he was still alive—although at the moment, he sagged unconscious between a pair of his captors. She watched in dismay as he was dragged to the opposite corner of the huge room and dumped on the floor, hands tied behind his back. But to her vast relief he was not wired with explosives. A man who seemed to be in charge of the smugglers watched as a timer of some kind was set on the temple bomb, and then a similar timer started at her feet. Three minutes. The head honcho tersely ordered everyone to leave the room. If her limited Portuguese was accurate, he’d just told his men to get to the boat before the whole place blew sky high. The men disappeared back down the tunnel. “Carson!” she called urgently. “Carson! Wake up!”

Chapter Eighteen Carson blinked slowly, a persistent noise irritating him into rousing sluggishly. By concentrating hard, he made sense of the sound…his name being called over and over—frantically. He opened his eyes. His skull throbbed and his shoulders were wrenched uncomfortably behind his back. He lay on something hard and cold and gritty. “Carson! Wake. UP!” He groaned. A sob of relief came from somewhere across the room. “Carson! They’ve wired the temple to blow up, and I’m tied up and sitting on a second bomb. You’ve got to wake up. We’ve only got a minute left!” That caused him to bolt upright. Awkwardly, he struggled to his feet. His shoulders screamed in protest, but the urgency of Lucy’s sobs across the room drove him past the pain. He stumbled toward the sound of her cries, taking in the horrifying scene. A ring of wires circled the temple, joining a half-dozen of blocks of C-4 into a deadly chain. Beyond the temple, Lucy sat on a low wall, another block of C-4 at her feet connected to wires disappearing behind her. The sons of bitches. He took off at a lurching run. As he raced across the enormous chamber, he spied an electronic count-down timer mounted on the side of the temple. Red numbers proclaimed: thirty-four…thirty-three… Lucy cried, “The daisy chain is wired counter-clockwise from the detonator. Pull out the right-hand wire and you should be able to stop the explosion.” “Are you wired to a timer?” “Yes,” she sobbed.

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The temple or Lucy? He’d only have time to get to her or to the temple, but not both. He didn’t even have to think about his choice. He took off running, sprinting for all he was worth toward Lucy. “The temple!” she screamed. “You first!” he bellowed back as her tore toward her. “Which wire?” he shouted as he mentally ticked off the seconds in his head on the timer behind him. Twelve…eleven… Damn, this room was big. Almost there. Eight…Seven… “The yellow one or the black one!” she cried. He dived for the bomb at her feet, sliding head first in a move a professional baseball player would have been proud of. He rolled so that his tied hands faced the bomb and yanked out the wires before he’d even slid to a full stop. He leapt up and plowed into her, flinging them both behind the very wall she’d just been sitting on. Three…two…. Panicked, he dived on top of her. “Are you nuts?” she gasped. “The temple. It’ll be destroyed!” “Screw the temple!” “But—“ Ka-BOOM!

Chapter Nineteen Carson grunted as the force of the explosion slammed into him with the impact of a freight train. The noise was unbelievable, reverberating through him in physical pain. He covered Lucy more fully as rubble and dust rained down around them, some of it boulders of killing size. For just an instant a thought flickered through his mind…the temple… destroyed…and then all thought of it was erased as Lucy moaned beneath him. “Lucy, are you all right? Where does it hurt?” He levered himself up off of her, still sheltering her body from falling debris with his back. She moaned again. Then in a small voice, she said, “Oww.” Awkwardly, he worked a small flashlight out of his back pocket and turned it on. In its dim light he looked her over frantically, looking for blood or broken bones or some other obvious sign of injury. “Talk to me, honey.” She griped, “Can you get these ropes off of me? They’re killing my shoulders and they do nothing for this dress.” He laughed in relief. “That’s my girl. If you’ll roll on your side, I’ll lie down with my back to yours and we can work on each other’s knots.” He took a good look at the knots securing her wrists, fixed a picture of them in his mind, and then laid down beside her. In less than a minute, the hemp ropes fell away beneath his fingers. Lucy sat up, groaning in relief and pain as she stretched her shoulders. He rolled onto his belly and she went to work on his knots. The ropes were just beginning to loosen around his wrists when, without warning, Lucy flung herself on top of him and whispered urgently. “Someone’s coming.” He froze beneath her and clicked the flashlight off. He breathed, “Can you finish untying me?”

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She worked urgently between their bodies, and as she did, he indeed heard footsteps pounding down a tunnel toward them. But it sounded like they were coming from the opposite direction of the pirates’ cave. What the— Bright beams of light slashed the dark over their heads. A terse voice ordered in English, “Clear the room. O’Reilly, Manny, go left. Rick and Harris, go right. The rest of you fan out around that pile of rubble.” Carson frowned. Americans? And they sounded like soldiers. What on God’s green earth was the U.S. military doing down here? He poked his head up cautiously and had a peek. Commandos in full battle gear—green fatigues, helmets, night-vision goggles, and sub-machine guns at the ready. He raised his hands over his head and lifted himself higher. “Good evening, gentlemen, and may I say I’m delighted to see you.” His first words caused all the soldiers to lurch, swinging their lights and weapons in his direction in surprise. The leader snapped, “Identify yourself.” “I’m Carson Gray.” The other men visibly relaxed at that announcement. “Do you know the whereabouts of Agent Lucy McFadden?” one of the soldiers bit out. “She failed to check in earlier this evening and was last reported in your company.” Agent McFadden? Carson’s eyebrows shot up practically past his hairline. He glanced down at her, lying on the ground beside him, still behind the wall. She smiled weakly in chagrin. “She’s right here, beside me. Why don’t you sit up and wave at the nice soldiers, Agent McFadden.”

Chapter Twenty Lucy flinched at the heavy sarcasm in Carson’s voice. “Did I forget to mention to you that I’m a CIA agent?” she said. His jaw dropped, but she had to give him credit. He recovered fast. “Yeah, you left out that little detail,” he retorted. She winced. “Sorry.” Thankfully he laughed ruefully. “Well, that certainly explains a lot. And it’s a lot better than being one of the thieves.” Lucy turned her attention to the platoon leader in sudden recollection. “A dozen or so pirates fled down that tunnel several minutes ago. They’re armed and extremely dangerous…they may have already left on a good-sized freighter or by smaller boats.” The soldier who seemed to be in charge nodded. “We’re on it.” He spoke briefly into a radio clipped to his shirt collar. “Two navy cutters are off-shore—they have an unregistered vessel on radar just pulling away from the island.” “Stop that ship!” Carson exclaimed. “And for God’s sake, don’t harm the containers aboard her. They’re carrying priceless archaeological artifacts!” Lucy grimaced—they were even more priceless now that the temple had been blown to kingdom come. She gazed up at Carson in dismay. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry about the temple. Thanks for saving my neck, but the loss…it’s irreplaceable—”

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He laid a gentle finger across her lips. “Like you said. At the end of the day, it was just a fancy gazebo. A pile of rocks.” He added wryly, “A very nice pile of rocks, but rocks nonetheless. Thankfully, I saved the only truly priceless thing in this cave tonight.” A blush started low on her neck and rapidly climbed the column of her neck until her entire face felt like it was flaming scarlet. He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth and looped his arm around her shoulders as most of the military guys moved off down the tunnel toward the smugglers’ hideout. Two stayed behind to escort Lucy and Carson back up the tunnel toward the house. Hallelujah. She wasn’t normally claustrophobic, but she’d had enough caves and tunnels and explosions for one night. “Care to tell me what a CIA agent was doing snooping around my property?” Carson asked as they strolled up the tunnel. The answer was classified, but after saving her life and sacrificing his beautiful temple, she figured he deserved the truth. “I was sent here to scout out a site for an underground facility the United States government wants to build in the Caribbean. We had no idea this was such a hotbed of activity.” “What kind of facility?” “It will serve as a surveillance and monitoring base for covert operations in the Caribbean, Central, and South America.” He digested that for a moment. Maybe there was a way that they could both get what they wanted…. “Since the thieves are gone and the temple’s been reduced to rubble, would these tunnels suit your purpose?” She stopped in her tracks. “Really? You’d let Uncle Sam move into your caves?” “I would if you were in charge of doing all the site surveys and supervising the construction.” She gasped as he continued, “I figure that might take four, maybe five years to complete. I’d say that’s just about enough time for us to get to know each other better, wouldn’t you?” A slow smile started way down deep inside her. “I’d say that’s just about the perfect amount of time.” He stopped and she turned to face him, her entire being radiant with joy. And right there, deep in the heart of H.O.T. Mountain, they kissed to seal the deal.

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Grayson Prentiss's Seduction by Bronwyn Scott Spring, 1831, Spain Elena di Duero is desperate for a husband. But not just anyone—she needs to find her husband, the man given up for dead almost a year ago. If she doesn’t bring Alejandro home alive within the next month, she will be forced to marry cruel Don Alicante and cede all of her land to him. Then the lone survivor of a shipwreck washes up on shore with no memory of who he is or where he came from. And he looks remarkably like Alejandro. Elena knows he is not her husband, but he could be. She needs him to be. She just has to put it to him the right way, with the right…incentive. And so begins the seduction.

Chapter One Grayson Prentiss had minutes left to live. He had no illusions about how long he’d survive in the frigid, churning waves of the Atlantic if the ship sank. So—futile though it might be—he threw all his muscle into turning the great wheel of the ship in a last attempt to counter the fierce storm winds, relentlessly driving the Bluehawk off course. Above him, thunder boomed over the cacophony of waves. Jagged lightning slashed a brief illumination of the ship’s ragged rigging and revealed the few men left to man the sails. In that moment, Grayson knew it wouldn’t be long before the ship gave way completely to the destruction of the storm. The storm had overtaken them two days ago despite the captain’s best efforts to outrun the foul weather. When the captain’s strength gave out, Grayson had taken over at the helm, struggling to keep the ship on course. But his skills and the sturdy build of the Bluehawk had not been enough. Nor had it been enough to save the ship’s precious cargo, the financial salvation of his family waiting in England. None of them, let alone the valuable cargo of cotton and indigo from the Southern States, would see the fair shores of England again. The ship keeled hard to the right and Grayson’s feet slipped. Only his strong grip and the rope he’d knotted to his waist and tied to the ship’s wheel-well prevented him from slamming into the ship’s sides. A crewman screamed as he slid past Grayson, catapulting over the edge into the roiling seas even as Grayson reached out a hand to seize him. Breathing hard, alternately cursing and praying between hard-won gulps of air, Grayson righted himself and reclaimed the wheel. He shouted encouragement to the men remaining on deck, though the words were useless, swallowed by the wind and inevitability. Around him lay shattered pieces of wood, parts of the ship that had already succumbed to the weather. Above him, a snapping sound drowned out the storm and grabbed his attention. Lightning struck and Grayson saw the mast nearly split through, teetering in its downward descent. Grayson dodged to the right as the massive post crashed onto deck, destroying the ship’s final hope of outlasting the storm. Flame from a toppled lantern burst into the night. Fire spread on the deck in spite of the wet weather. Grayson slipped and felt the heat of flames as he collided with the starboard wall. Heat surrounded him. Below him the cold Atlantic mawed. The rope that had so recently been a source of safety now dangled him in a perilous purgatory. Grayson fumbled at his waist for the knife strapped to his belt and used the sharp blade to saw through the rope. To stay meant he would burn. To choose the sea kept him alive, even if it only prolonged the inevitable. Grayson chose life. He made a final slice through the coarse hemp. For the sake of the nearly bankrupt viscountcy, for the sake of his two brothers, for the sake of his cousin Julia, Grayson took his chances with the sea.

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Chapter Two The clang of bells woke Elena di Duero with a start. The Costa da Morte, the Coast of Death, had claimed another ship. In the past, the sound of midnight bells would call Elena and the villagers of Camarinas to dutifully search for survivors. But over the last year, the sound of the bells represented more than duty for her. They were simultaneously a call to hope and fear. Elena dressed quickly in warm, serviceable clothing and joined her household and the villagers on the beach, lanterns bobbing in their hands, rain drenching them entirely, goaded on by the sharp-cutting wind. It reminded Elena of the night nearly a year ago that her husband’s ship had foundered so close to home, the lighthouse beacon failing to bring the men safe to port. Her husband’s body had not been found among the wreckage that lined the beaches the following morning or in the weeks afterwards. She had mourned her husband, but she had not been overwrought at his demise. Their marriage had been arranged, orchestrated by their parents and marked with indifference. She had not become truly alarmed over his disappearance until Don Alicante swooped in and made it clear that unless he reappeared, she stood to lose the pazo and all that went with it—including her. So she’d struck her devil’s deal with Senor Alicante. Elena shivered, not from the cold but from the remembrance of that awful day. In her mind’s eye, Senor Alicante’s “offer” was plainly etched. He’d had the audacity to stand in her front parlor just one month after Alejandro’s ship had gone down and put forward his proposal. As a woman, she had no rights to the property except through her husband or other male relative. So without a male heir, Alejandro’s property was for sale. Without the property or means of support, she would become a destitute widow. Or she could marry him. She’d pleaded with the don that her husband wasn’t dead, merely missing. She’d argued it was too soon to decide the fate of his estate. Senor Alicante had given her a year’s reprieve to produce her husband from the watery depths, alive. But Elena would not countenance such a bald attempt at coercion. She knew that he had had two wives already who had met with untimely fates, and rumors from his villa had not painted him as a generous husband. She’d had a taste of freedom without Alejandro and she was not willing to relinquish it. While the work on the pazo was difficult and time-consuming, it was a price she was more than willing to pay for the freedom and little luxuries she enjoyed. Without the pazo, she had nowhere to go and no source of income. She needed the pazo regardless of her relish for the demanding work. Without it, she was nothing. Still, if she had to chose, she’d want life with Alejandro over the life she’d lead with Don Alicante. That was why every time the bells rang, desperate hope rose for Elena. Perhaps the bells rang to signal Alejandro’s return. But each time she’d risen to answer the bells, there had only been disappointment; another wrecked ship, more lost crewmen, one more dashed hope. And time was running out. She had only one month left before Senor Alicante would press his claim. Elena joined a group fanning out along the beach looking for survivors. It was not impossible as this ship had met its fate not far from shore. She could even see flames from a fire on deck. If the sea were calmer, a fisherman’s boat could reach it. But for tonight, the storm made such a journey too risky. Beside her, an older woman muttered prayers to Santa Carmen, the patron Saint of sailors. There was a loud exclamation a short way ahead of her. Elena looked up, shading her eyes against the slant of the rain. “Senora! Senora! Come quickly!” A woman ran up to her, grabbing her hand. “There’s a man. He’s alive but barely.”

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Elena followed her, tripping over rocks. She pushed her way through the little crowd and held her lantern high to illuminate the form. For a moment in the darkness the lantern highlighted his features and she’d thought wildly the man was Alejandro. But as she steadied the light, she realized the man was a stranger. She bit back her own disappointment and said nothing. Whether or not the man was Alejandro, he was in need of attention. The seas had shredded much of his clothing, giving her a substantial glimpse of a muscled physique. Long dark hair lay plastered against a well-sculpted face. It would be a shame to lose such a splendid specimen of a man in his prime; he was too young to die. He groaned and Elena swiftly knelt at his side, reaching automatically for his hand. She chafed it in her own, feeling the extreme cold of his skin. She spoke soft words, encouraging him to speak again but no sound came. Elena looked up at the villagers and called out instructions. “We must get him warm.” She pointed to four men in the group. “Carry him to my house. It’s closest.” She tried to rise as men came to lift him but the stranger’s hand clenched around hers and refused to relinquish it, showing an incredible amount of strength. They made an awkward entourage as they carried the man up the hill toward the pazo—four fisherman with a man slung between them and the senora walking alongside, her hand caught firmly in the unconscious man’s grip. Even before they’d arrived at the pazo gates, the speculations started. Elena could catch snatches from those who crowded close to them, eager to see the stranger:“Even unconscious he grasps her hand like he knows her…with the devotion of a husband. He’s got dark hair…Alejandro had hair like that, wore it long too like this man. Alejandro had wide shoulders.” Elena was glad when the iron gates of the pazo swung shut behind her. The man wasn’t Alejandro, though he looked remarkably like him. But she was hesitant to deny the villagers' hopes. The whole village knew of her situation with Don Alicante. His superior attitude hadn’t made him a favorite with the townspeople and no one was in a particular hurry to have him acquire the Duero property. She instructed the men to take their burden up to her room on the second floor. The other rooms weren’t made up and she didn’t want time wasted. This man needed help and comfort immediately. Servants came running at the sight of her and she gave them tasks. The pazo became a flurry of activity. There was water to draw and warm. After a bath, the man would need clothes and blankets and eventually hot food. Elena motioned for two of the women to follow her up to the chambers. Once he was deposited on the bed, Elena and one of the women began the process of undressing him, stripping the cold rags from his body. The other woman built up a fire and laid out blankets from a trunk at the foot of the bed. “He’s freezing,” Elena exclaimed, finally succeeding in disengaging her hand long enough to tear away the remains of his shirt. A worrying blue tinge was visible about his lips now that there was light to see by. “We need those blankets!” “Here’s a blanket.” The woman, Anna, shook out a blanket and passed it to Elena. “But it’s a shame to cover up such a gem—don’t see a fine healthy male like that just any day.” Elena felt her cheeks flame. She was embarrassed to admit that she’d noticed the defined muscles of his torso, the lean curve of his hip, the long lines of his thighs and what lay between them. The cold hadn’t appeared to do too much damage to the member that lay snuggled against his leg in a nest of dark hair. Quickly, she snapped the blanket over him and chided herself for such unruly thoughts about a man in need.

Chapter Three Servants came and went from the room, building up fires, bringing water and hot broth. Through it all, Elena stayed at the stranger’s side, distracting her thoughts with the task of warming him. Eventually, the activity in the room ebbed. The room darkened from the absence of lanterns and lights the servants brought with them. Quiet fell. Anna, the last to go, squeezed her shoulder. “There’s nothing more to do, Senora. Get some sleep. We’ll see what the morning brings.”

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“I’ll stay with him,” Elena said resolutely, but she heard the underlying message—everyone had done what they could. They’d sought their beds because there was nothing more to be done. The man hadn’t warmed. The blue tinge still flirted about his lips. No one thought he would live. He had been unconscious with a low temperature for a prolonged amount of time. Elena had looked earlier for a bump on the head that might indicate an injury. There’d been none, confirming the worst: he was unconscious because his body hadn’t the strength left for consciousness. His life was slipping away. “I’ll stay in case he speaks,” Elena said. “We might learn his name.” We might learn who he was and who to write to in case he doesn’t survive. Anna clucked. “Suit yourself. You’re far too good, wasting yourself on a stranger who won’t wake up. Pity that.” She shot Elena a sly look. “He looked an awful lot like Alejandro.” “People often see what they want to see,” Elena replied, taking the stranger’s hand again, feeling it flex about her own in reassurance that he was still alive, although the grip was weaker than it had been. “Yes they do,” Anna said cryptically, softly shutting the door behind her. Elena pushed a strand of hair back from the stranger’s face. Cleaned up and bathed, he was beautiful to look at. Long black lashes shuttered his eyes. “If you wake up, I can see what color your eyes are,” Elena murmured. It was all nonsense—what did it matter what she said to him? “You could tell me your name,” she cajoled in soft tones. “Gray—” a hoarse sound came from his elegant lips. “Gray,” Elena repeated, surprised to hear anything from him at all. The hand she held squeezed as if in affirmation. “Is that the color of your eyes?” Elena asked. It took a moment for it to register that he’d spoken English. But there was no answer, no pressure from his hand. Elena had heard of those close to death rousing themselves one last time. She felt for his pulse and panicked. It was weaker now, slow and faint, his skin still like ice. “No!” Elena cried. She could think of nothing more to do. The fire had made the room uncomfortably warm, all to no avail for him—yet her own skin burned with the heat, sweat beading on her brow. If only she could give the stranger some of the heat that burned in her…. Elena rapidly shed the blouse and skirt she wore, her hands flying as she bent down to pull off the half boots she’d worn to the beach. Wholly naked and without a thought for her own modesty, Elena slipped beneath the covers and took the stranger into her arms.

Chapter Four Ah, that was better. He moaned, responding somewhere in the deep recesses of his unconsciousness. The treasure of warmth had teased him for what seemed an eternity, lingering on the fringes of his skin but never completely penetrating the bone-deep chill. Now the warmth was all around him, enveloping him in its lifegiving sanctuary. He was starting to thaw. Out of the warm darkness a voice called to him out, soft and inviting with its gentle mantra: “stay with me.” Perhaps he’d been too quick in thinking the heat meant life. Maybe the voice belonged to an angel that had come to lead him to heaven. At least he was out of the sea, although he couldn’t remember why he’d been in it in the first place. There was a disturbingly empty void where knowledge should have been. Not that it mattered. Not any more. He was on his way to the afterlife. Well, that was alright with him as long as it contained this pleasant warmth.

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Whatever he didn’t know, he knew there was definitely an angel. A pair of hands went with the voice. He could feel them move on his body now, gentle and assessing. Then he felt the whole of the angel replace the skimming hands. The angel drew him into a full embrace, her front to his chest. His angel was definitely a her. The weight of full, bare breasts met the cold skin of his torso. Long legs matched against his. The angel didn’t let any part of his body go without her heat. Her arms pressed against his back, her head found a resting place against his shoulder. He could smell the cleanliness of her hair. Grayson wished he could open his eyes and see its color. It felt like silk and smelled like roses. But there wasn’t enough strength in him for that yet. Grayson felt calmness claim him. His mind began to free itself from the trappings of unconsciousness, finally able to embrace a true sleep. Beside him, the angel shifted slightly. Warmth and peace suffused him. He welcomed the tranquility. Grayson slipped into sleep thinking if this was death, then let it come. Oh yes, let it come. *** He squinted against the brilliant rays of sunlight piercing the room, giving into the temptation to close his eyes again. He wasn’t dead. The startling realization was evidenced by the extraordinary soreness of his body and extreme hardness of his cock. He was alive and for some reason that was a cause for celebration. Had there been a chance of death? He felt as if that was a distinct possibility. But something was terribly wrong. He didn’t know where he was. The room didn’t seem familiar. Surely he should recognize the bed he lay in. Worse, he couldn’t remember who he was. A gaping emptiness swamped his mind. Don’t panic, he told himself. Something had obviously happened and he was merely disoriented. If he laid still and concentrated, everything would come back in a moment. But a few minutes later, all he could recall was an angel. He remembered an angel bringing warmth with a soft voice and gentle hands, an angel taking him against her body until he’d been surrounded by peace and warmth. He risked the agony of turning his head sideways and cracking his eyes open against the light, wanting to validate the presence of the pleasant weight nestled against him. No, he was most assuredly not dead nor was he alone. The woman lying with him explained the angel and his substantial erection. He wished he could raise himself up on one arm to see her better. But even if he had the strength to do so, such a feat would dislodge her from the pillow of his shoulder. He had to content himself with an awkward view of her from his prone position. Still, he could see that she was beautiful in her repose. Inky hair fanned his chest, curling slightly into waves at the ends. A neatly trimmed hand lay in the center of his torso, rising and falling with each breath. His blankets had become tangled in the night, leaving a long expanse of her leg bare to the morning air where it mingled intimately with his own limbs. He’d been right. His angel was entirely naked. The realization did nothing to alleviate the ache of his arousal. Before he could do anything further, the door to the bedroom opened and someone from the group crowding into the room shouted too loudly for his head, “Senor Alejandro! Madre di Dios! It’s you! You’re alive and well and back where you belong, in your wife’s bed.”

Chapter Five

An odd sense of relief filled him. He had a name. Alejandro. He wished he could say it sounded familiar but it didn’t. Still, it was a start. He had not caught the rest of what had been said in a rush of voices that

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drowned each other out. He only knew that he recognized the language spoken by those clamoring at his bedroom door, at least in part. And the “wife” part had certainly gotten his attention. Determined to get a better look at his surroundings, Alejandro momentarily forgot the pains of his sore body and levered himself up to see the source of the commotion. He winced as his body reminded him of the effort such a movement took. The woman beside him stirred, dislodged from the hollow of his shoulder. Reflexively, Alejandro twitched a blanket over her for modesty. But it hardly mattered. The doorway was crowded with onlookers and they’d seen enough to know both of the room’s occupants were stark naked. The woman was fully awake now, sitting up and hugging a blanket to her, speaking to the group in a rapid torrent of Spanish he couldn’t completely follow in spite of his easy recognition. With a broad grin, a woman ushered them from the door, shutting it firmly behind her. Alejandro fell back against the pillows, partly in relief and partly out of his own exhaustion. The woman climbed out of bed and began dressing, not at all self-conscious about the fact that he was watching her. How could he not? She was exquisitely made. Should he know her? Such a display of intimacy suggested he should as did the gleeful yelling at the door. But his mind registered nothing in the way of recognition. Perhaps he’d misunderstood the shouts. She said nothing as she dressed. Alejandro was happy enough to watch his angel in silence, appreciating the curves of her hips, the fullness of her breasts. She had a seductive lushness about her that suggested she had come into the prime of her mature beauty. The innocence of a young girl had given way to the earthy beauty of a woman who knew her worth. She finished dressing and turned back to the bed, smoothing the blankets to make a space to sit on the edge. She smiled, reaching up to twist her long hair into a simple bun. The movement pronounced her breasts although Alejandro did not think the action was intentional. She smiled. “You are alive. That is good. We did not think you would make it last night.” “We? Who is ‘we’? Where exactly am I? How did I get here?” Questions rolled hoarsely off his tongue in English. The roughness of his voice horrified him. Then he realized he’d understood one language and spoken another in the span of five minutes. Which one was native to him? His angel reached for his hand in a gesture of comfort. He found her touch soothing to his alarmed nerves. “Do you remember nothing about last night?” Her dark eyes searched his face. Alejandro felt helpless, completely unmanned by his inability to recall the events that led to his current circumstances. “No, I don’t.” He paused. “I didn’t even remember my name. I would not know it now if it hadn’t been for the people in the doorway shouting it.” He admitted the last part begrudgingly, aware of the panic rising in his hoarse voice. Her thumb traced a line over and over across the back of his hand. Her face took on a look of contemplation at his news. She was silent for a bit, apparently considering the import of what he’d shared. At last she spoke. “You suffered a great tragedy last night,” she said slowly, weighing each word. “The ship you were on went down not far from the coast and you washed up on shore fairly quickly. I can only surmise that you abandoned the ship under your own power and deliberately struck out for the beach before your strength gave out or before you risked an injury from staying on the ship too long.” Alejandro closed his eyes in dismay. Her description triggered nothing. Such an event should have been dominant in his mind. Who wouldn’t remember such an ordeal? She stood up. He felt her weight leave the bed. “Don’t worry. It will come back.” She reassured him, apparently reading his mind, what there was of it. “Rest, I’ll fetch you some hot food and we can talk some more.” He let his lovely rescuer get to the door before he asked one more question. “What did those people this morning say? They seemed very glad to see me although I didn’t recognize them.”

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Elena gave him a coy smile and a delightful laugh. “They said it was good to see you back in your wife’s bed.”

Chapter Six Elena shut the door swiftly behind her to forestall the flood of questions that statement would bring. She had heard the servants’ comments and now she hurried to the kitchens to discover their source. She could hear the kitchen noise before she entered it but everyone fell silent upon her arrival. Elena placed her hands on her hips and fixed everyone with a firm stare. “Who spread the news that the man upstairs is Alejandro?” She already had a fair idea who it was. Only two women had been with her last night and would have had a long time to study the man they’d dragged from the sea. Only one of them had the nerve to take such a drastic step with such claims. Anna stepped forward, wiping her floury hands on an apron. “I did, Senora. Such good news is meant to be shared. We’ve all been praying for it." Elena nodded. “I thank everyone for their efforts,” she said carefully. She was not yet ready to share the truth—that would limit her options before she knew what they were. Best to play it neutral. “There is much to be done today. The fields won’t wait. Let’s be about our business as if this were an ordinary day.” General relief swept the group and workers soon deserted the kitchen for their various jobs. Elena was left with Anna, who had turned her attention back to the daily task of baking bread. “He’s not Alejandro,” Elena said quietly, tying on an apron and grabbing a chunk of unbaked dough to knead. Anna shrugged. “He could be. You need him to be.” “He used an English word with me last night after everyone left and when he spoke to me this morning, he had an English accent,” Elena said, surprisingly deflated by this obvious flaw in the plan. Anna gave a negligent shrug. “Alejandro has been gone for nearly a year. Who’s to say he hasn’t spent that year in Britain or among Englishmen? It’s not uncommon for our sailors to pick up strange ways in different ports. It’s happened before.” Elena punched the dough. “What you’re suggesting is impersonation. It’s fraud. It’s illegal to say nothing of immoral.” “Those are such big words for an uneducated woman like me or for any of us living here in this tiny village by the sea, Senora. I don’t see how a little mistake could be something as evil as a crime.” Elena snorted. Anna might not lay claim to traditional education but she was quite smart in the ways of people. Elena knew precisely what the woman was suggesting. If they were caught in their deception to pass the stranger off as Alejandro, how could anyone prove the act had been pre-meditated? And really, who would care enough to question it in the first place when so many wanted to believe it? They were a small village on the coast of Galicia. They lived a remote and isolated life. The nearest town of significant size, Santiago de Compostela, was three days away. But Elena knew one person who would definitely be suspicious. “Senor Alicante would question it. It’s too convenient that my husband would return in the nick of time,” she said. Anna shoved the bread into the massive brick oven. “If he’s the only one smelling a rat, he won’t get very far.” She turned back to Elena. “No one wants to see Senor Alicante get his hands on this property or on

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you. But there’s nothing to stop him except the return of your husband. You’ve got four weeks left and you’re out of time. Now this man who could pass for Alejandro appears. Seems like a miracle to me. All you have to do is put it to him in just the right way.” Elena’s hands stopped their kneading. “That won’t be difficult. He doesn’t remember anything.” She said the last in hushed tones—the temptation of Anna’s suggestion already niggling at her, eating away at the ethical barriers that said she should not even consider the outrageous plan. “Ah.” Anna’s eyes gleamed. “It seems as if the angels have intervened on your behalf, Senora. One does not get a clearer sign than that.” Elena drew a deep breath. “What if his memory returns?” “You saved his life,” Anna said easily. “He owes you. Besides, even if his memory does return, I can’t imagine he’d mind too much. I got an eyeful of that cockstand he was sporting beneath the sheets this morning. You can seduce him if you have to.” Anna winked. “We don’t know who he is. What if he’s someone important and someone comes looking for him?” Other thoughts ran unspoken through her head. What if he had a wife somewhere else? Children? How many sins would she be committing if she seduced him into her plot? What if he turned out to be a criminal? “You will have to decide soon, Senora,” Anna humphed, bustling to another task. “Word will reach the village soon enough and Don Alicante has ears everywhere.” Elena nodded silently and began preparing a tray of broth, tea and bread. “I’ll think about it.” But she knew Anna was right. She had very little time to think. Word would leak out—it always did in a small village where any variation in the day was looked upon with excitement and speculation. By supper tonight, everyone would know Alejandro di Duero had been cast up by the sea and spent his first night home in bed with his wife. In the taverna, his old friends may even talk about the explicit details of the morning, how Elena and Alejandro had both been naked and tangled in the sheets. As in the past, they would think nothing of sparing Elena’s modesty with their ribald comments. Elena picked up the tray and started the trip back upstairs. In some ways the decision had already been made for her. There would be a scandal later if her duplicity was discovered. But in truth, there would be a scandal now if she denounced the man. How could she explain her naked presence in a man’s bed who wasn’t her husband? All of her household had seen them. The idea of saying ‘I threw off all my clothes because I thought it could save his life’ sounded ridiculous even to her, despite the fact that it had worked. Such a scandal would not help her keep her lands when Senor Alicante pressed his suit. In fact, the scandal would destroy her entirely and Senor Alicante would not hesitate to brand her as a loose woman. She could just hear his accusations: how could such a woman who was irresponsible with her affections be trusted with the responsibility of a pazo the size and merit of the Duero holding? Elena knew already how such a case would play out. In this rugged coastal land, women were necessary but secondary citizens. By the time Elena reached the top of the stairs, she knew what she had to do. There had never truly been a choice. Anna’s plan was audacious but the woman’s quick thinking had no doubt saved Elena from ruinous gossip. Elena didn’t like that events had been set in motion without her approval or control but there was nothing to be done now, nothing except opening the bedroom door and seducing the man beyond it into compliance.

Chapter Seven Elena pushed the door open with her hip, balancing the tray carefully. She’d been prepared to keep up a stream of chatter but all thought of easy small talk faded at the sight that greeted her.

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The man had gotten out of bed. He stood at the window, his back to her, bare and magnificently muscled. He’d wrapped a sheet around his waist and his dark hair hung to his shoulders. He looked strong and uncontrollable. “I’ve brought you some hot broth. It will feel good to your throat,” she managed to say, finding herself somewhat dumbstruck by his physical beauty. But Alejandro had been a handsome man, too, and in the end, it had accounted for nothing. She must exercise caution. He turned at the sound of her voice. “Here, let me take that. The tray looks heavy.” He was a gentleman in spite of whatever aches and sore muscles she knew he must possess after last night. He deftly relieved her of the tray and set it on a small table in the room. “Will you sit with me while I eat?” he asked. Elena smiled and sat down, wondering how to begin her deception. She needn’t have worried. He picked their conversation up right where she’d left it. “So, my name is Alejandro. We are married? This is my home?” he asked. Elena hesitated only a fraction before she gave the nod that would commit her fully to the deception and to this nameless man. “Yes, you are my husband, Alejandro di Duero, and I am your wife, Elena. I had given up hope of ever finding you alive again.” And if it hadn’t been for Don Alicante’s awful ultimatum, I’d have done my mourning and moved on with no desire to look back. His dark brows furrowed. “Why is that?” “Last year, you left on a ship to see about a cargo of Madeira but your ship went down in a storm off our coast, not unlike last night. The ship was destroyed before it could make it home. No survivors were found. Many bodies washed up on shore but not yours.” Elena cast her eyes down, though the story was true. Alejandro’s body hadn’t been found. And as a man of means, he would have come home to his wealthy pazo if he was still alive. “The villagers will think your return nothing short of a divine miracle.” Alejandro huffed at that. “They’ll want to know why it took me so long. A man does not willingly forsake a beautiful wife without a word to anyone.” He reached for her hand across the table, startling her with the gesture. Elena scolded herself. She had to remember she had a part to play too. A wife would not jump at such a gesture. “Do you love me, Elena?” “I have waited all year in hopes of your return.” Again, it was the truth—his return was the only way she had to stop Don Alicante. Life with Alejandro’s indifference could be borne. She’d already proved that. She doubted she could say the same for a life lived under Don Alicante’s harsh rule. He was studying her with intense gray eyes. Elena swallowed hard, her fears and something else— something warm and exciting, welling up inside her. “That proves you’re dutiful. Do you love me?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. The morning, with all its light, had never seemed as intimate to her as it did now. “Why do you ask?” Elena parried. “I think we are perhaps estranged, that maybe things were not as right between us as they should have been when I left. There are no signs of my clothing or personal effects in your room. With the exception of last night, I don’t think we shared a chamber.” “You have your own chamber. I can show you.” Elena tried to rise, glad for something to do. When he didn’t release her hand, she was forced to sit back down. “I can see it later. I am more concerned with my relationship with my wife at the present.” He caressed her hand, his gaze intent on her fingers. “She jumps at my merest touch. I regret that I don’t recall you or the

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state of our marriage. If I did, I would know what amends I need to make. For I am certain I would not have had a marriage that involved separate beds or any kind of hesitation between husband and wife.” In that moment, she was sure of it too. The hard set of jaw, the unbridled power of his physique shouted that this was not a man who failed at anything he did. Alejandro stood up and Elena rose with him, conscious of the presence of his hand in hers. He moved around the little table and drew her to him, his eyes glistening with a wolfish, feral danger that made Elena’s pulse race in anticipation. Anticipation of what? With sudden realization, she knew. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to do more than kiss her. Her eyes must have betrayed her desires. A triumphant smile flicked across his lips before his mouth captured hers. He held her full against him with one hand at the back of her head, guiding and caressing, until she was overwhelmed with the sensation of a kiss that was both gentle and primal in its message. She could feel the power of his erection through the thin sheet. He was hungry for her. His other hand found one of her breasts. He slid his open palm over her nipple where it rested beneath the fabric of her blouse. Elena heard herself moan at the exquisite friction his touch and the fabric created. She wanted to be naked with him, wanted to make love with him in a way entirely foreign to the relationship she’d had with Alejandro. He felt it too and he pulled back, desire plainly evident in his eyes. “It may be that I did not leave you on the best of terms, but clearly, it was not always that way between us. Tonight, I will come to you and we will begin to make our marriage whole again. I want everyone to know that Alejandro di Duero is home and he claims his wife fully.”

Chapter Eight He’d unnerved her. There was no doubting it, Alejandro mused hours later, sitting in the chambers that apparently belonged to him. Looking over his personal things had not helped him recall anything specific. But it had helped him understand and re-learn certain things about himself. His affects supported the idea that he was a man of comfortable wealth, at least by rural standards. There were several outfits of clothing in the large, carved wardrobe that stood in a corner of the chamber. Among his practical clothes designed for riding and everyday wear were a couple of fine suits for more formal events. He must have need of them on occasion. Other items included books of history and poetry that must be some of his favorites. All of them were written in Spanish. Yet he spoke two languages as did his wife. They had spoken in both English and later in Spanish that morning. It meant he was a man of education and likely some travel due to his work. He’d gleaned from Elena’s comments that he traveled for business, at least on occasion, like the Madeira cargo she’d mentioned. But at heart, he was a farmer. He’d known it when he’d looked out the window in Elena’s room and seen the acres of land spreading before him. Of all the things he’d been told today, being a merchant-farmer was the only one that resonated. It didn’t conjure up any memories of his past, but at least it seemed natural to him. It was more than he could say about his marriage to Elena. His marriage felt both natural and unnatural. Her incongruous reactions to him in the morning had left him confused. The woman who had lain naked against him throughout the night and unabashedly dressed in front of him was a woman used to the presence of a man. But the woman who had been startled by the simple press of his hand over the breakfast tray sent a different message. She’d been skittish and uncertain. Then he had kissed her and she’d become fluid passion in his arms. It had taken all his restraint not to claim her right then. She was his wife—he didn’t have to show restraint—but he’d felt that he must, that somehow,

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regardless of her willingness in the moment, she wasn’t quite ready to accept that her husband had returned after a year long absence. Alejandro idly ran a hand over the items on the dresser, turning over all he knew, weighing the information against what he didn’t know. One thing was certain: he didn’t need a memory to recognize a mystery when he found one.

Chapter Nine Elena stared at the open doors of her wardrobe, but her mind was not truly focused on the gowns. Instead, her thoughts were consumed by the handsome stranger down the hall. She had to take the upper hand, and quickly. Her nerves had nearly been her undoing that morning. She’d felt it and so had Alejandro. She had to be careful. It was too late to back out. The game was firmly in motion. A messenger from Don Alicante’s pazo in the hills had already come to ask for an audience. She’d hoped for a little more time, but word must have traveled swiftly indeed if it had already reached him. Now, she could not delay—it would look unnatural to be reluctant to meet. Two days was all the time she could buy—two days to subtly fill in the gaps of Alejandro’s memory. She was just starting to realize the depth of the risk she took. Elena reached for a gown at the back of the wardrobe and held it against her, shaking out the wrinkles it had acquired with lack of use. The deep-blue silk felt smooth beneath her hands. She had not worn this gown for nine years, not since the early days of her marriage to Alejandro when she’d thought they could build a life together. The neckline was cut low, the bodice tapered to a tight waist and a full skirt. She’d loved this gown. She’d purchased it in Santiago de Compostela when she’d bought her trousseau, but there’d been little cause to wear it in the following years. Tonight it seemed there was cause again. Her body reacted of its own accord at the thought of what was to come. Heat pooled in her belly at memories of the morning, of the feeling of his hands on her. She had thought to make this his seduction but it had proven to be the opposite. This was not a man to be led. She would have to be cautious. But her body didn’t want to be careful. Her body wanted to capitulate entirely. Outside the window of her chambers, the sun was beginning its descent. The moment was drawing near. Elena washed and dressed quickly, allowing Anna to help her with the gown’s fastenings and to pull up her heavy hair into a becoming style that left her neck exposed. Then Elena left her room for the pazo’s dining room, a room that had seen little use since Alejandro had left a year ago. Tonight, the room shone with candlelight and the little luxuries of the pazo were displayed at their best. The table was arranged with her grandmother’s china placed on the lace-trimmed tablecloth. Two goblets of prized, colored Venetian glass sat at each place. Candles glowed from heavy silver candelabras, the ones she used only at Christmas and other special occasions. Elena sighed. The servants had outdone themselves. The sight of the room was a potent reminder of all the hopes pinned on the stranger, on the man they believed to be Alejandro. “My lady,” Alejandro emerged from the shadows of the big room and came to stand before her dressed in black formal clothing. He looked magnificent in the candlelight. The short jacket he wore emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. The trousers encased long legs. His dark hair was pulled back with a silk ribbon, looking sleek and clean. He came to her and took her hand, bending over it gallantly and lifting her knuckles to his lips for a kiss as if she were a grand lady. Indeed, he was all courtly grace, holding out her chair and waiting for her to be seated before taking his own place at the table. He gestured to the two footmen to remove the covers and begin serving. Then, when their plates were full, he dismissed them just as easily. Ah, this one had plenty of manners, Elena noted, sipping wine from her glass. Clearly he was no common sailor washed up on shore—he was a man of some gentle breeding. Yet not so much, she noticed, that he was put off by the hearty nature of the meal.

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Unlike Don Alicante, she did not give herself airs and serve course after course of luxurious dishes prepared by a trained chef. Her table was graced with paella full of fresh shrimp and bacalao sold in the village fish market that day. Crusty brown loaves of bread lay sliced on a pewter tray with pale butter made in the pazo’s creamery. “I saw my chambers today,” he said, refilling her glass. He shook his head. “I didn’t remember anything. Nothing seemed familiar.” Elena was swamped with guilt. Of course he wouldn’t. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll tour the estate. That might help your memory come back.” She had to play along with his attempts to recall his memories, make it seem as if her suggestions were made in order to help him, but in reality they were only helping her. Touring the estate would give her a chance to explain Alejandro’s past to him, to give him a false identity and to fill in the gaps left by his real identity. “I would like that. Have things gone well? How have you managed? I expect it has been difficult.” Elena nodded. “We’ve done well enough. I don’t think you’ll have any complaints.” She launched into a recitation of the harvests and the vineyards. After awhile, he smiled. “We’ve done better than ‘well enough,’ it seems." Elena basked in his praise. Her husband would never have admitted as much. To his thinking a woman hadn’t the mind for the business of running a pazo. But she’d shouldered the enormous burden without question, unwilling to let the estate falter in Alejandro’s absence. It was all she had. But suddenly she realized that she didn’t have it anymore. “I suppose you’ll want the reins of the estate back soon enough,” Elena said hesitantly. In the beginning, she hadn’t thought beyond thwarting Don Alicante. But now, as she listed the accomplishments of the past year, she was struck with a new worry. This man would want to assume control of the pazo. He would assume it was his right to do so and she would be unable to stop him. It was a husband’s prerogative to control property, just as it was a husband’s right to control his wife. Running the pazo took considerable energy and while it might not be something she thoroughly enjoyed, she’d come to take pride in the fact that she could do it. Truth be told, she’d come to enjoy being an independent woman. She liked the power that came with her freedom, from answering to no man. If the hard work of running the pazo was the price for that heady elixir, she would gladly pay. But when she stared at the handsome man across the table, that equation started to shift. No matter how hard she worked now, he would have the power over the pazo—and over her. Elena took a large swallow of wine. Would she really be willing to put the pazo and her own freedom in this man’s hands? In her gamble to win her freedom from Don Alicante, she’d hastily chained herself to an unknown man and given him an identity that gave him extraordinary power over her, if he chose to use it. Her only hope lay in convincing him not to. The servants had left them alone for the meal, but now they reappeared to clear the dishes. One of them brought in a decanter of clear liquid and a tiny glass along with two slices of fruit tart. Alone again, Elena gestured to the decanter. “Will you have some orujo? It used to be your favorite.” He smiled and gave a short laugh. “Thank you for the prompt. I regret that there is so much that I’ve forgotten. It strikes me as the height of irony that I can remember to pull a lady’s chair out for her but I can’t remember my favorite foods or my own name.” He poured some of the liquid into the tiny glass, tossed it back and immediately sputtered, reaching for his napkin. “Good lord, I can’t believe I like that stuff!” he ground out once he recovered from the shock. Elena stifled a laugh. “It’s made from anis.”

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“It’s horrible, is what it is.” He laughed with Elena. “Perhaps it’s an acquired taste and I shall have to reacquaint myself with it. But not tonight.” He put his napkin aside and rose from the table. “Tonight, I only want to reacquaint myself with my wife.” He held out a hand to her, “If you’re willing, of course. A year apart is a long time. Perhaps you need time to get used to me again?” This was the moment of truth. Elena did not hesitate. She put her hand in his and said, “I am willing.”

Chapter Ten It was all the encouragement he needed. Alejandro led her upstairs to her chamber with a surety of direction that suggested he knew every inch of the pazo. One would not guess he hadn’t even seen the building until that day. He lit two lamps in her room and pulled the draperies shut. Everything he did had an air of mastery to it and Elena couldn’t help but wonder if that extended to the art of lovemaking as well. He stopped by a chair and began to shrug out of his jacket. “No, allow me.” She went to him swiftly. A wife would show no hesitation in helping her husband undress. She pushed the jacket back from his shoulders, reveling in the flex of his muscles beneath the cloth of his shirt. Jacket discarded, her hands went to his neck cloth and she deftly undid the simple knot. She pulled his shirt tails from the waistband of his trousers and lifted the garment up over his head, baring his torso. Tanned and sculpted from a sailor’s work, his chest was a delight to look at. He was staring at her, watching for her next move, but self-consciousness threatened to overcome her. “Touch me,” he encouraged softly. Her mouth went dry. He reached for her hand and gently guided it to the bulge in his trousers. “Touch me here. Feel how much I want you.” He was huge and hot beneath his trousers. She traced the length of his shaft through the cloth, amazed that she could conjure such an intense reaction from a man she hardly knew when she’d failed to do so with her husband. His hands went to the low shoulders of her gown and he shoved them down. It was his turn to undress her and he made quick work of the fastenings in the back. The gown slid into a pile. “I did not think you could look more beautiful than you did in that gown. But now I think you lovelier out of it,” he whispered close to her, kissing a delicate spot on her neck. She shivered in response. He swept her into his arms and laid her down on the bed, stepping back to remove his trousers and to study her with a long, searing look. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Elena. I want to bury myself inside you and stay there.” He laid beside her then, his weight heavy on the bed. His hand caressed one of her breasts reverently. “I have thought of nothing else all day—I have simply marveled that I was able to leave you at all in the first place.” His hand moved lower, skimming the curve of her hip, until it came to rest on the private juncture of her thighs. He probed and tested, the gentle pressure of his hand sending red hot desire to the furthest reaches of her body. She was wanton to desire this man so completely, to want him to ravish her so thoroughly—and not just because such an act would bind him to her, but because she simply craved him. He moved over her and she took him between her legs, her thighs parted wide, ready for him. He kissed her full on the mouth as he moved over her. She could feel his breath catch with excitement as he entered her— tentatively at first—cautious of her sensitivity, and then firmly sheathed himself deep inside her. Her body welcomed him. He filled her completely and still it was not enough. Instinctively, Elena wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, holding him tighter. He began to move inside her, creating a delicious purgatory of pleasure and anticipation. She urged him onward with her hips

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and hands as he took her on a journey of pure ecstasy that brought her to a cataclysmic release. She cried out as he shuddered deep inside her. He collapsed beside her, careful to not make her take the brunt of his weight, his breathing ragged in the wake of his exertion. “Elena…” He whispered her name in almost reverent tones, his awe over what had transpired evident in that one word. He’d been as moved as she had. He reached for her, settling her in the crook of his arm. Her head found the hollow of his shoulder like it had the prior night and Elena wondered at the ease with which they’d assumed such intimate patterns. It had never been like this with Alejandro, not even in the beginning. Elena sighed, letting her hand drift over the contours of his chest. She must not dwell on comparisons. “I’ll have my things moved into your room tomorrow,” he murmured. “It seems quite foolish to keep two rooms when it’s clear we’ll only make use of one.” The woman in her was thrilled with the quiet announcement. She could get used to the pleasure of such a capable man in her bed. But the plotter in her wavered. This was dangerous. It would be too easy to lose her heart to a man who had no name and no history except that which she gave him. She’d only wanted him to act as an unwitting bulwark between her and Don Alicante. Now it seemed there would be a price for her choice, above and beyond the risk she ran with her deception. But she would not think about that tonight, not now when she lay sated in his arms, drowsy with contentment and a strange sense of fulfillment. *** Alejandro lay awake long after he felt Elena drift off to sleep. Their lovemaking had been an incredible experience, one that he’d felt profoundly. His cock stirred in agreement beneath the sheets, ready again. But for all the rightness he’d felt in the ultimate moment of their joining, something escaped him, some small last shard of fulfillment. He supposed such a feeling had to do with his lack of memory—the oddness of being with a wife he both knew and didn’t. She’d shown no reserve in their bed, none of the earlier hesitation. Their bodies had been made for each other. But still, it was beyond odd to think they’d no doubt made love together countless times in the past and he could not recall the power of those moments. He had only this night. Beside him, Elena stirred gently in his arms. His wife was a saint—she’d been patient with him today, tolerant of his memory loss. She’d left him alone to sort through his feelings. She’d not peppered him with questions that he couldn’t answer—like why he’d not sent word of his safety, or why he’d been gone for so long. Alejandro doubted many women would have shown such restraint. Still, he didn’t like the feeling of being a man full grown with fewer memories than a babe in arms. Elena deserved more than that. She deserved a man who was complete in all ways. Tomorrow, Elena had promised to show him around the estate. Tomorrow, he would start rebuilding his history, one experience at a time.

Chapter Eleven The pazo was a rambling collection of buildings contained inside a large area enclosed by a high stone wall. Alejandro was impressed with the self-sufficiency of the place—his wife had done splendidly in his absence. He’d toured the main house of the pazo yesterday but he hadn’t been outside since his arrival. The fresh air was sharp and bracing, adding to his acute awareness that he was alive. He’d woken that morning feeling almost giddy with elation for no apparent reason except that he was filled with vigor. The soreness of his muscles had lessened considerably overnight. He had made love with Elena in the light of the new day, proving that the intensity of last night’s coupling had not been an anomaly.

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Alejandro shot a sideways glance at the woman walking beside him. The quiet gray of her plain everyday gown did nothing to diminish her incredible beauty. Her hair was pulled back with a single ribbon, leaving the soft curve of her cheek exposed. He reached for her hand as they walked, lacing his fingers between hers, unwilling to be physically separated from her. She noted the gesture and gave him a gentle smile. It was no secret to him why he’d married her. Everything inside the walls was built around a square like a little town. Elena took him past the low, singlestorey building that housed the servants and then to the stable, a small structure full of light that was neatly kept for the four horses that lived there. “This horse is yours.” Elena led him to the stall occupied by a dark-coated stallion who tossed his head at Alejandro’s approach. Alejandro put his hand out, palm side up. “There, boy. Take it easy. It’s just me, home at last,” he coaxed, but the stallion remained skittish. “He’ll come around,” Elena offered when it appeared the stallion wasn’t going to be friendly. “It’s been nearly a year, after all. He’ll get used to you again. He always was high-strung.” Alejandro gave a tight-lipped smile. He was getting tired of not knowing silly little things about his life. He looked around the stable and told himself not to panic. His memory would come back soon enough and in the meantime Elena would fill in the gaps. He turned to exit the stables and suddenly an image flitted through his mind. Mentally, he grabbed for it, held onto it briefly—but couldn’t quite keep it. Alejandro frowned. Something was missing from the stable. “Where’s the carriage?” Elena looked at him sharply. “The carriage? We don’t have one. We’ve never kept one. Fishing villages aren’t the most practical of places for carriage driving.” His hopes plummeted. “For a moment, I thought I remembered something.” Great, now he was making up a history out of whole cloth. Elena tugged at him. “Let me show you the other buildings.” She showed him the long, four-legged horrero where the grain was kept and the little stone chapel with its altar and gold crucifix. “Our one true luxury.” She hesitated for a moment. “You were loathe to buy that crucifix for me when the merchant ship came into port a few years ago, but I insisted.” She studied him, probably waiting for his reaction. Alejandro couldn’t believe he’d deny his wife anything. Well, better sense prevailed in the end, thankfully,” Alejandro said easily. “I’m home now and I’ll buy you anything you want.” Elena’s eyes danced. “So you think we’re rich?” she teased, and he took joy in the simple flirting. “Aren’t we?” Alejandro queried. “We’re not wealthy like Don Alicante, whose villa is up in the hills above the town. But it’s true, we’re better off than most. No one else can claim as much land as we have, and there are those that envy us that….” Elena disengaged her hand and walked to one of the six pews in the chapel. She pleated the fabric of her skirt and Alejandro could tell something worried her. “What is it, Elena? Is it money? Is there something you haven’t told me?” “No, yes. In a way,” Elena said incoherently. Her large dark eyes found his and held his gaze. “Alejandro, I need to tell you about Don Alicante,” she began slowly. Alejandro felt fear grip his belly. Oh God, she was going to tell him she’d taken a lover while he’d been missing. Or worse, that she’d fallen in love with the rich don from the hills. It was all understandable—she

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was here alone and thinking he was likely dead. He could not blame her entirely. He’d given her no reason to think otherwise. “Alejandro, when your ship was lost and no survivors were found, Don Alicante came to me and offered to buy the pazo. When I refused, he turned nasty. He said that since the pazo belonged to you and not to me, it was not legally mine, not even in the case of your death. I begged for a year of grace from him, saying that we had no confirmation that you were dead.” Alejandro nodded, his sanity slowly returning. Don Alicante was not her lover, but her enemy. His fear was now replaced by a primal fury. Someone had dared to threaten his wife. He saw Don Alicante’s plan quite clearly. “Bastard!” Alejandro swore, pacing the length of the altar. “He was going to throw you out of your own home?” Elena bit her lip. “Unless I married him. He was determined to have this land either way. It’s much better for farming than his hills.” Alejandro was filled with rage now. “When was the year up?” “In four weeks…” Elena said nervously. “But now that you’re home, you have thwarted his scheme,” she said quickly. “I’ve already had a messenger from him. He’s coming to meet you tomorrow. I suppose he’s coming to assure himself that you are really you.” “I will handle him. He will not bother us again. I’ll make my position very clear,” Alejandro all but growled. The man would be sorry he’d ever tried to coerce the wife of Alejandro di Duero. “I haven’t told anyone about your lack of memories. I didn’t think it wise, knowing how angry Don Alicante will be. He’ll want to test you.” Alejandro held out his hand and pulled Elena to her feet, drawing her close enough to kiss. He could feel the tension in her start to ease. “This is what we will do. We’ll get a picnic lunch from the kitchens and we will eat lunch under a big tree and you’ll tell me everything I need to know—who my friends are, how I’ll recognize them. What I like, what I don’t like. You’ll see, by tomorrow, I’ll be entirely myself—with your help, of course.” Alejandro bent to kiss her, gathering her form full against him. It was a kiss of sweetness, tenderness, and afterwards, he continued to hold her close. “Elena, here in the sanctity of the chapel, I pledge to you that I will never leave you, that I will keep you safe with all the means at my disposal, with my very body if needed. I am home and you will never need to fear again.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “Do you believe me?” “Yes, I believe you,” Elena whispered, her eyes glistening with tears.

Chapter Twelve They were as ready as they’d ever be to face Don Alicante, Elena concluded slightly before three o’clock the next afternoon. She stood in front of the long mirror and gave a final pat to the deep maroon skirt of her best receiving gown, a well-tailored merino wool trimmed at the neck and wrists with a dainty cotton lace made in the village. Alejandro lounged on the bed behind her, less careful of his clothing than she. “You look lovely. That color is very becoming on you,” he offered. The bed coverings rustled and he came up behind her, his hands warm and strong on her shoulders. He bent his lips to her neck and kissed her. “I would enjoy taking this dress off you, querida, if we didn’t have other matters demanding our attention,” Alejandro whispered huskily. His gaze found hers in the mirror.

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Elena’s breath caught. His masculine beauty was breathtaking. The set of his jaw implied strength. His graysilver eyes were windows to a sincerity that overwhelmed her. The straight set of his shoulders suggested not only strength but confidence in his own sense of rightness. She wished he was for real. Oh, he was a real man alright—in bed that was quite obvious. But he wasn’t really her husband. She’d dressed him up in Alejandro’s clothes and taught him Alejandro’s life. He even believed it and accepted it. But then he’d had no choice in the matter, and when it came right down to it, neither had she. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t racked with guilt about perpetuating his belief that he was Alejandro di Duero. She was deliberately entangling him in a plot without his knowledge or consent. What would he do if she told him the truth? Staring in the mirror at him, she contemplated it for a moment. No, such a man had strictly defined ideas about right and wrong. He would not be forgiving. “Don’t worry. We have nothing to fear from this man.” He kissed her neck again, sending delicious tremors to her stomach. We. They. After a year of I and me her vocabulary had shifted quite drastically in the last few days. There was an enormous sense of relief that she was no longer in this alone. Someone else fought beside her. She gave him a tremulous smile in the mirror. It would be easy, too easy, to love him. Not simply because he shared her burden but because of who he was, a man of strength and honor.

*** They would receive Don Alicante in the front room of the pazo. It was the most formal room of the house, less given to the rustic needs of the seaside and more imbued with the luxuries of city living. Alejandro watched the gentle curve of Elena’s neck as she calmly plied her needle to some delicate embroidery. Her placid demeanor belied none of the nerves he knew she possessed over this meeting. Such calmness was not for him. He was anxious to meet this man who’d dared to threaten his wife, to prey on someone in a weaker state for the sake of personal advantage. Alejandro paced the length of the big room, studying its details. Long deep-gold curtains hung at the windows. A large, aging but well-kept carpet dominated the center of the room. At one end, a carved oak mantle set off the fireplace and around it gathered the room’s furniture— a dark blue brocaded sofa and two chairs. A couple of mediocre oil paintings of the Spanish coast decorated the cream walls. Alejandro thought it was a pleasant room, not too ostentatious yet it spoke of the secure financial status of its owner. That was him of course—he was the owner. This was his room, his house. But such a claim still resonated oddly with him. He was familiar with the home’s layout and style. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a stranger here. Nothing in the house felt right. But he assured himself for the millionth time that such familiarity would come when his memory returned. In the meantime, he had Elena. His wife had filled in the gaps in his memory admirably yesterday. Thanks to her, he knew the names of his friends in the village. He knew about Don Alicante. He knew about his childhood spent in the village and of all the myriad things one should know about oneself, even the less pleasant aspects of one’s nature. He had been stung to learn of his own failings. He’d had a regrettable tendency to be selfish, wishing to pursue his own pleasures instead of his wife’s. He’d apologized to Elena several times, but she’d brushed those apologies aside saying it had been his right to choose as he had. Alejandro disagreed. Such choices hadn’t felt right at all. He didn’t want to believe he had been capable of putting himself first so thoroughly. Which was why he was so determined now to ease Elena’s worries over Alicante and banish him from their lives for good. He tamped down his frustrated anger at his amnesia—Elena needed his focus. Don Alicante arrived promptly at three o’clock. Alejandro rose to meet him, crossing the room and confidently extending his hand. Elena had given him a thorough briefing on the man. Even so, Alejandro

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would have known the type of man he was immediately—cold and haughty with a deeply entrenched belief in his own superiority and power. Don Alicante was a man in his mid-forties, used to prosperity and his own way. He was fit and well turned out from his neatly trimmed beard and gray-flecked dark hair to the shiny polish of his riding boots. In between hair and boots, he was impeccably dressed in expensive city-tailored riding clothes. “Buenos dias, Senor di Duero. It is a rare occasion to welcome home a lost soul.” His words were polite. But while there was nothing to doubt on the surface, Alejandro heard the cynicism beneath them. This man would not readily accept that he was Alejandro. “Thank you. I am beyond pleased to be restored to my wife and to find her well,” Alejandro said, gesturing to Elena who had hung back while the two men greeted one another. Now, she swept forward to stand beside him. “I’ll have Anna bring tea and perhaps something stronger for you gentlemen. Excuse me.” Alejandro watched her go, his eyes riveted to her back and the soft sway of her hips. He noticed the don's were too. “Come and sit, Don Alicante. We can discuss business while my wife is away. Business is men’s domain, after all,” Alejandro said with a touch of steel. He wanted Alicante to know he thought only a coward would put a business proposition to anyone the way Alicante had. Alicante sat. “Ah, your wife has told you of our arrangement?” Alejandro wanted to strangle the man. It was beyond the pale for him to sit there and discuss his attempt at coercion in terms of an “arrangement,” as if it had been an amicable agreement of convenience. “Yes,” Alejandro said tersely, though he held his anger in check. The less said the better. He wanted to let Alicante do the talking. Alicante crossed his legs. “Surely you understand that I offered out of a sense of duty for her welfare.” He shook his head ruefully. “A woman on a pazo alone invites all types of misfortune.” He waved a hand to include the room. “It would be a shame to see all this go to waste. One cannot expect a woman to bear the day-to-day burdens of an estate on her own.” Alejandro folded his arms and quirked an eyebrow. “Her welfare? No, I didn’t understand the proposition in quite those terms,” he said coldly. Don Alicante’s eyes narrowed. “Women can be hysterical. She has misunderstood my intentions. After all, I gave her a year. I was in no hurry to press my suit.” Liar. The word hung unspoken between them, diffused only by Elena’s return to the room, followed by Anna with a tray. Tea was poured for Elena while the men opted for port. Don Alicante reached for a scone and buttered it. “Senora, you must be greatly relieved that your husband has returned so fortuitously,” he said in a harmless tone, but Alejandro saw the calculation in his eyes. To her credit, Elena set her teacup in its saucer and met him evenly. “I am greatly relieved he has returned to me at all, fortuitously or not.” “Forgive me for mentioning it, but your year of grace was nearly up before the pazo became mine. I’d assumed Senor di Duero for dead months ago.” “But I had not,” Elena said in a crisp tone.

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Don Alicante gave a thin smile. “No, you had not. I must beg your forgiveness again, but I find it a bit too coincidental that your husband, who has done nothing to contact you for nearly twelve months when he knew you must be worried to death about him, is suddenly washed ashore in the nick of time to save your holdings.” He took a sip of port and speared Elena with a sharp gaze. “I find that highly suspect, to say nothing of the odds that Alejandro, who abhorred sea travel and engaged in it as little as possible, would find himself on two ships that sink within a year of each other. The odds are boggling and frankly, quite unconvincing.” Elena opened her mouth to retort, but Alejandro stayed her with a hand on her arm. This was a man’s fight. No woman should have to defend her own honor. “What are you saying, Senor?” Alejandro asked in a barely masked growl. “I am saying that you, whoever you are, and the lovely Senora have concocted a scheme to pass you off as Alejandro di Duero, a man who is quite dead.” “Are you calling my wife a liar?” Don Alicante gave a dry laugh. “Your wife? I don’t know your wife or if you even have one. This woman here, however, is most definitely a piece of devil’s work if ever there was one. What has she promised you in exchange for playing the part of her returned husband? A romp in her bed? Unending access to her bountiful charms?” Alejandro rose to his feet and grabbed the older man by the collar, hauling him up too. “Get out of my house and stay away from my wife. If I hear any of your malicious insinuations circulating in the village, I will personally call you out and you will die.” Alejandro let go of the man, gratified to see that the intensity of his anger had made an impression on the haughty man. The man straightened his collar and prepared to leave. But intimidated was not the same as convinced. At the door, regrettably out of reach of Alejandro’s fists, he turned back. He shot a malevolent glare at Elena and then at Alejandro. “You may look like Alejandro di Duero. You may fool the villagers and those friends who want to believe he’s returned from the dead. But you don’t fool me. You are not Alejandro di Duero and I will devote myself to disproving it.”

Chapter Thirteen From his dining room chair, Alejandro watched Elena dance around the long dining room, her color high, the pale green skirts of her gown billowing around her as she danced to an unheard tune. She was beautiful in her elation. He decided he would slay a thousand dragons to see her so free. She had insisted that they dress up and celebrate tonight, and her current exuberance was proof of how heavily Don Alicante’s threats had weighed on her. Perhaps he’d call the bastard out anyway for the worry Elena had suffered. No one had the right to crease the brow of his wife. Elena twirled towards him, setting down two finely wrought glass flutes on the table in front of him. “You were magnificent, Alejandro!” she laughed. “We shall have cava and celebrate!” She grabbed his hands and dragged him to his feet. “Dance with me.” “There is no music,” Alejandro protested, but he knew it was a feeble attempt. In her happiness, there would be no gainsaying Elena tonight. So undone was he by her charm that he knew he could deny her nothing. Now was not the time to remind her that Alicante had threatened to make life very difficult for them. “We don’t need music, my love,” she whispered temptingly, her head titled up to meet his eyes. He went hard immediately, undone by the flirting tilt of her head. Automatically, he moved his hands around her waist, positioning her for a waltz but his mind was on other things, like how much he wanted to lay her

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down on the empty length of the table and take her. Would she mind? Had they done something like that before? Alejandro swung her into the opening steps of a waltz. She fit against him well and he made no attempt to hide his aroused state. She was his wife after all. She knew him intimately. He executed a tight turn and she gave a breathless laugh of joy. She came up against him hard, her skirts flat between them. There was awe in her eyes. “You want me?” “Badly,” Alejandro confessed. “I’ll tell you a secret.” She stood on her tiptoes to reach him. “I want you too. Right now.” She kissed him full on the mouth, her teeth catching his bottom lip in a playful nip. She deepened the kiss, her hands finding their way beneath his carefully laundered white shirt. Her thumbs ran over his nipples until they hardened and he groaned his pleasure into her mouth. Her hand wandered to the waist of his trousers and his breath caught. She reached for him, finding him jutting against the cloth. Her hand cupped the tip of his member, her thumb playing over the fabric. God, her thumbs were tortuous! Alejandro was quickly approaching his limits. She seemed to sense it and pushed him backwards, closing the half step behind them to the table. “I want you here,” she said, making short work of the fastenings on his trousers. Within moments, Alejandro’s cock strained against her bare hand. He didn’t think he’d ever been as completely seduced as he was right then. She stood between his open thighs, her mouth on his, her hand on his rigid member, expertly stroking. Alejandro could not wait any longer—he gathered her to him and rolled them both onto the table. He needed to be inside her with an insistent desperation. And she needed it too. Her breaths came in excited gasps. Her dark eyes were wide with need. She was on top of him, her skirts high around her hips. He steadied her, helped her to mount him, finding her slick and ready. Then he let her ride. Passion made them wild. She slid up and down his length, finding her own pleasure, her own rhythm. As his own climax drew closer, he bucked hard against her, lifting his hips and pumping his seed deep into her. She fell against him, sated. They were both panting, breathless from the intensity of their exertions. He gladly took her weight. They lay together that way for a long time in their recovery; she atop him, he still inside her. Alejandro was reluctant to move even though the wood of the table was uncomfortable against his back. He had never felt this way with anyone, ever. He didn’t need memories to know that what he had with Elena was rare. But he wanted them nonetheless.

Chapter Fourteen Alejandro had not anticipated such vivid images would haunt his sleep after the evening he’d spent with Elena. They’d made love again on the table, this time without their clothes. Elena had been beautiful dressed in nothing but candlelight and elation. They’d finally gotten around to drinking the cava from the delicate goblets Elena had set out earlier. They’d toasted his return and her freedom from the nagging fear

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of Alicante’s coercive offer. He’d carried her upstairs to their bedroom and they’d made love once more, this time a sweet, slow love redolent of the tranquility descending on them both. After such activities, a deep untroubled sleep should have been his. But Alejandro woke in a sweat, his pulse hammering from the images. He took deep breaths to steady himself, careful not to wake Elena. Unlike the fleeting image of the carriage when they’d visited the stables, these scenes lasted. He could recall them. There had been green fields, softly rolling hills and a stone house, not dissimilar to this one. But it wasn’t this one. The surroundings were different, less rough. The image in his mind was less rustic, more refined. There had been laughter and light and people. Two young men and an uncommonly pretty cinnamon-haired girl had been with him. Elena had been there too, the only familiar presence in the warm picture. Those pleasant images had faded then, replaced by a raging storm. He’d been on a ship, surrounded by screams and faceless men. There’d been fire and then a wet, numbing coldness. That was when he’d woken up. The second part of his dream was easier to cope with. It might have been a real memory of his last moments on the ship or it might have been his mind creating an image of what Elena had told him about that night. But he had no idea what the first part meant. He didn’t know the people or the place—only that it wasn’t here. The people met none of the descriptions Elena had given him of his friends in the village. But Elena had been there, providing an anchor for his mind. Perhaps it had been somewhere they had once visited. “What is it?” Elena stirred beside him and raised herself up on one arm. She pushed a strand of hair back from his face and absently stroked his brow. “I had a dream. It was of a place I didn’t recognize and people I didn’t know—except you. Then I dreamed about the ship, I think, the night it went down.” Elena’s stroking stopped for a moment and then resumed. “It was just a dream,” she said softly in the dark, curling up against him. “We’re both safe now and that’s all that matters. The past is not as important as you think.” Alejandro welcomed the warmth of her body. He could feel her slipping back into sleep. They would wake up together tomorrow in the same manner they’d awakened his first morning home: naked and in each other’s arms. In and of itself that was a rare gift indeed, to be married to someone you loved so completely. Perhaps Elena was right. Perhaps what mattered most wasn’t the past they’d had together but the present and the future they would build together.

*** Elena spent the morning on her knees in the chapel. Her prayer was a short, fervent one: “please don’t let him remember, not yet.” This was followed by rush of penance: “Please forgive me for my deception. There was no other way.” Everything had gone so well with Don Alicante in spite of his parting threats. Alejandro had been spectacular in her defense, so virile and protective. No champion of old could have done better. She’d been worried when Don Alicante had accused her of trying to defraud him. But Alejandro had been quick in his righteous anger to silence the man’s suspicions. But it was that righteousness that was at the crux of her guilt this morning. He’d stood up for her because he’d believed she was the wronged party. She was, but not in the way he thought. And she was far from innocent. She’d taken advantage of a man who didn’t know who he was and had filled his head with a false identity by roping him into playing a false role without his consent. Worse, she had done this to a man who loved her, or thought he loved her.

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His feelings for her were another tangle. She’d told him he was her husband and she’d given him husbandly rights. But did he love her because he thought he should? Would he have loved her anyway without the trappings of the make-believe world she’d given him? For her part, Elena knew it would be so easy to love him. It would be easy to pretend their marriage was real. What would it be like to be married to such a man, a man who was devoted to her as a fierce protector, a passionate lover, a partner in the practicalities of life? Even now he was protecting her, visiting friends in the village and letting everyone know he was home so that Don Alicante couldn’t let unfounded gossip loose in the village. Elena rose, conscious that she should be more careful with her prayers. After all, she’d gotten what she prayed for—deliverance from Don Alicante. But that deliverance had come with a price she’d not anticipated: her own emotions. She was falling in love with the man she’d deceived into playing her husband. And after his dreams last night, she was certain his memory was going to return. And when it did, his righteous anger was going to be turned on her. And then who would protect her? Elena was not fool enough to think the past had been defeated so easily. Alejandro might not have reason to take Don Alicante’s threats seriously, but she did. Now she was fighting on two fronts. She had to fend off Alicante’s impending investigation and she had to prepare herself for a time when Alejandro’s memory returned. She was keenly reminded of the old war adage—win the battle, lose the war. It was clear that she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Chapter Fifteen At times, she couldn’t decide what was worse: facing the next potential obstacle immediately, head on, or the waiting and wondering if the threat would ever materialize. Alejandro continued to dream at night, but so far the dreams had not led to his retrieval of any memories. She hadn’t had any word from Don Alicante, but she knew the vengeful don had made at least one trip into Santiago de Compostela and had men scour the coastal villages looking for clues. He was building his case, looking for evidence. All she could do was pray he didn’t find any. Meanwhile, their lives fell into a pleasant routine and Elena found it increasingly easier to push away the dark clouds that hovered on the rim of their paradise. She could almost forget that it hadn’t been any other way. Days became weeks. April became May and then June. Her guilt over what she’d done to keep the pazo safe from Don Alicante weighed less heavily on her mind. Watching Alejandro embrace his life, she could almost justify her decision. He was happy. Alejandro became absorbed in his life a pazo owner. He reacquainted himself with friends in the village, although he said he found them too self-centered for him these days. He enjoyed his work and he was highly competent at it. The fields were growing. The buildings were in good repair. The grapes were thriving on the vine. Their relationship was thriving as well. The eagerness of his lovemaking had not faded with familiarity but instead had grown as their comfort with each other had increased. She would never tire of waking up beside him to begin her day or falling asleep next to him, safe in his arms, as the day ended. She’d fallen shamelessly in love with him as she had feared she might. But loving him was dangerous, as she couldn’t predict the future. Just how mad would he be when he remembered who he really was? Would he understand her motives and forgive her? Would he walk away and never look back? She supposed she could tell him the truth now. But that would mean destroying the little bit of paradise she’d managed to eke out for herself. She’d never been as happy as she was in his arms. Telling him would destroy that and endanger the very security that she’d deceived him to protect. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet. She was entitled to her peace. And so she waited, opting to treasure each day of happiness while it lasted.

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*** Alejandro reined in his stallion near a row of grapes in the vineyard. He bent to check a cluster, turning it all around, looking for any damage. The cluster looked healthy, but a dry summer would ensure a good harvest this fall and several barrels of the regional white wine in the bodega beneath the house. Alejandro turned his horse around and caught a look at the exquisite vista of the village and sea below him. The pazo’s vineyards were located on a hillside and the view below him was breathtaking. He steadied his horse and took a moment to appreciate what he saw. An assortment of fishing boats bobbed at their moorings. The town square looked colorful and busy. The little white stone church gleamed in the sunlight. On a cliff across the village, the lighthouse stood tall and ready to warn sailors away from the deceptive coastline full of hidden dangers. Everything looked so peaceful today, it was hard to believe the lighthouse was needed. But he knew firsthand how quickly the weather along the coast changed. Alejandro ran a hand through his long hair. He wished he remembered that night. He’d had more dreams over the last month, all of them featuring the dark night his ship had gone down. But despite the frequency of his dreams, he still could not remember. It was the only blight on his horizon. It was a selfish wish. But if he had his memory he might know why he’d left Elena and not done anything to let her know he was well and safe after the first ship had gone down. She seemed reluctant to talk about their marriage and he was so happy with their relationship at present, he didn’t want to risk marring it by dredging up trouble. Perhaps such a choice was cowardly—but he was a man desperately in love with his wife and a boat can only be rocked so much before it finally tips over. Regardless of what was the right choice to make, tonight would not be the night to bring up bygones. Tonight, he was escorting Elena to the celebration of St. Isidore, the patron saint of farmers. In the village, there would be dancing and feasting. Elena had been excited over the prospect. Out in the little harbor, a ship was coming in around the headlands. No doubt it held people coming from a neighboring village for the celebrations. With a farmer’s concern, Alejandro lifted his face to the sky. It was clear and blue today with only the most useful and pleasant of breezes. The evening would be perfect for dancing with one’s wife beneath the stars and celebrating the bounty of life. Oh how he wanted to celebrate that! His life was the fullest a man could ask for: an adoring wife, the gratification of turning his hand to the soil for the success of his estate, the means to live comfortably doing what he loved. Sure, some of the pieces didn’t fit perfectly, some pieces of his life were forced and other pieces were obscured by his frustrating memory loss. But really, no one’s life was perfect. He knew no man should ask for more.

Chapter Sixteen The festivities were well under way by the time Alejandro and Elena arrived. The village square was lit with colorful paper lanterns and a large wooden platform had been set up for dancing. Long tables for food were set up outside the taverna. Everyone was dressed in their best and in high spirits. Tonight was a night for merriment, a chance to forget about the troubles of daily life for a few magical hours. “It’s beautiful,” Elena exclaimed. “It seems like ages since I’ve come to a festival in town.” Alejandro studied her for an awkward moment. “Didn’t we come in the past?” he asked quietly. There was relatively little to do in the way of social life in the village and even less if you were slightly isolated like they were, living a bit beyond the villages and self-contained on the pazo. He couldn’t imagine not participating with the other locals whenever they could. Elena shook her head. “No, not after the first couple years we were married.” She rushed on. "But you were busy. There was business to look after and you were often gone to Santiago di Compostela. Making

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business connections and building our little fortune was important to you. It took a lot of your time. There is no sin in hard work.” “But it is a sin to neglect my wife.” Alejandro felt the familiar twinge of regret. He’d not been the best husband and he still didn’t know why. Still, he couldn’t have been the worst husband. She had saved his life, after all, and had seemed glad to have him back. Certainly, she’d welcomed the passion they shared. Those were not the behaviors of a woman who had hoped her husband was dead. “It will not happen again, Elena.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. He spoke his thoughts out loud. “Maybe it was an honest, well-meant mistake to put the pursuit of money over our marriage. But it was a mistake, nonetheless. Perhaps my brush with death has realigned my priorities into the correct order this time.” She favored him with a tentative smile, a shadow in her eyes where her delight over the evening had been. “I am sorry, Elena. I’ve made you sad. I didn’t mean to.” “You could never make me sad. You’re all I’ve ever hoped for,” she said in a quiet voice just for him. Alejandro suddenly wished they were alone—back at the pazo, back in their bed—the very same bed that had delayed their arrival at the party. Desire surged within him. He was hungry for her again. Already. But there was no question of leaving when they’d barely arrived and several of their acquaintances in town had noticed them. So Alejandro did the next best thing—if he couldn’t make love to her, he’d dance with her. Alejandro drew her onto the wooden platform and swung Elena into a rowdy country dance. They whirled through dance after dance, giddy with the excitement of the evening and the brilliance of their love. Elena was all spirit and fire in his arms, her cheeks flushed, her hair loose, her body warm where it met his. When they were old, he wanted to remember this moment, this night, Elena beautiful and free in his arms. And he wanted to remember how powerful he felt because this woman loved him. Their enjoyment had not gone unnoticed. At one point, the platform had cleared and they’d danced alone, a fiery tango that pleased the villagers—Elena’s performance especially. They received raucous applause from the onlookers and an impromptu toast. “To Alejandro and Elena!” a cry resonated throughout the square. Alejandro helped Elena down from the platform. They wound their way towards the refreshment tables, feted by the crowd. Men slapped him on the back, congratulating him. Whatever had happened in the privacy of his marriage, he was a well-liked figure among the village men. It felt good to be welcomed home, as if this was the final seal of approval he needed to be fully accepted back into the life he’d abandoned, accidentally or not. He bent to steal a kiss from Elena but a loud voice caught his attention. He looked up to find the source of the commotion—it was Don Alicante. His shouts cut above the din of the crowd. “There he is. That’s the man who claims to be Alejandro di Duero.” Don Alicante pushed through the crowd, followed by a stocky man dressed plainly in sturdy traveling clothes. Alejandro felt Elena’s grip on his arm tighten. Instinctively he moved her behind him. He squared his shoulders and planted his feet, arms folded across his chest. “What do you want?” The crowd was silent now, eagerly watching the unfolding drama. They circled the three men, waiting. Whatever Don Alicante thought he was going to do, Alejandro thought he must be quite sure of himself to do it so publicly. Alejandro mentally prepared himself. Whatever Don Alicante might reveal, he must be careful not to accept it as truth. Alicante was motivated solely out of revenge; whatever came from his mouth would be designed to hurt and destroy. Alejandro would not let that happen. He’d failed to protect Elena from this man once before. He would not fail to do so again.

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“This man claims to know you under another name,” Alicante boldly asserted, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. Quiet whispers rippled through the crowd. The stocky man had come up to stand next to Alicante. Alejandro noted the man wore an expression of wariness, of caution. He didn’t trust Alicante any more than Alejandro did. Good. Alejandro could work with that. “I am looking for a man who bears some resemblance to you,” the man said cautiously. “I am Patrick Flaherty from London.” Alejandro held the man’s gaze, assessing him. He sensed the man held something back. He had not mentioned the name of whoever he sought. But the mention of London was enough to put Alejandro on full alert and perhaps the man had meant it that way—as a subtle clue. Alejandro had recognized early in his recovery that the sound of his voice was different than that of the other villagers. Elena had not been concerned about it, explaining that he may have spent time with Englishmen during his absence. At the time such an answer seemed plausible. Now, it seemed doubly so if a man from London was looking for him. Alejandro decided to play the expansive host. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of hospitality. “Do I have a long lost brother?” The crowd laughed and the tension Don Alicante had created receded. Excellent. He wanted to separate this Patrick Flaherty from the crowd. He wanted to get him alone where the man could reveal his message in private. Alejandro stepped up to the man and put a friendly arm around the stranger’s shoulders. “You are tired and have traveled far. Come with me and my wife. Our pazo is a short walk. We will give you a room for the night and you can tell me about the Englishman who is looking for me.” He started to steer the Englishman away from the crowd, Elena on his other arm. Fifty more feet and they’d be on the perimeter of the crowd, heading up the gravel path to the pazo. But at the last moment, Don Alicante seemed to realize Alejandro’s strategy and the fact that he would shortly be outmaneuvered. “The Englishman is looking for a man who goes by the name of Grayson Prentiss. He claims you are that man, the only survivor from the wreck of the Bluehawk.” Alejandro stopped in his tracks and turned. The man beside him murmured apologies. “It was not my intention to have it announced so publicly,” he said. Elena gasped as Don Alicante raised his hand and waved a jagged piece of ruined wood with the word “Bluehawk” barely readable in black paint. Alejandro retraced his steps toward Don Alicante, every fiber of his body radiating menace. “What is this?” he growled, jerking a hand towards the battered wood. “It is proof that you are an imposter,” Don Alicante sneered, although Alejandro was gratified that Don took an involuntary step backwards. “Proof?” Alejandro queried. “This is nothing more than a piece of wood that washed up on shore. There’s been more than one wreck this spring. This is not proof. This is revenge.” Adrenaline was fueling him now. Alejandro looked past Don into the faces of expectant villagers. He lifted his voice. “Friends, this man tried to force my wife into marriage. He tried to threaten her with taking her home, the only source of income and shelter she had. He nearly succeeded. He has behaved abominably and without honor. Now, he seeks to discredit me because he is jealous of my return, because he covets my wife and my land.” Heads nodded in solemn agreement. “I am Alejandro di Duero and no one takes what is mine!” Alejandro swung hard and planted the don with a long-deserved hook to the jaw. The don fell to the ground with a thud and the villagers roared their approval.

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But Alejandro could hear none of it. His breath was coming in pants now, his heart pumping ferociously. But not because of his efforts—because Don Alicante had spoken the truth. Flaherty had come looking for Grayson Prentiss and he’d found him. The locks on the door of his memory burst like weakened dams. So much information in such a short time made him reel. Somehow, the three of them got themselves on the path up to the pazo and began the walk home, Alejandro—Grayson—in the lead, Flaherty and Elena behind. He could hear them murmuring: “He had no recollection of himself,” Elena was saying softly. “We had no idea who he was. The ship had sunk entirely—what was left of it after the fire. A piece must have finally washed up on shore.” Her voice held tell-tale sounds of weeping but he could not go to her. He could not offer her comfort right now. He was frantically trying to sort through the memories as fast as he could, trying to figure out what everything meant. He had no doubt this Patrick Flaherty would tell him what it meant. But he didn’t want someone else telling him what to think, what to know. Elena had already done that. It was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep walking, to keep thinking. If he stopped to dwell on any one thought for too long, he was certain his mind would snap with the realization that the best two months of his life had been nothing but fiction.

Chapter Seventeen Elena’s hand trembled as she lit the last lamp in the parlor. A tea tray sat on the low table by the sofa. A fire had been stoked in the grate. Everything looked as if this were a normal evening visit with company. But such normalcy seemed entirely out of place—to her, Patrick Flaherty’s visit felt more like a funeral, a funeral for her dreams. Grayson’s memories had returned and with them had come the cold anger she’d feared. Elena blew out the match, hesitating before she turned around. She’d have to see his face when she turned around. She’d have to see the disdain in his gray eyes. So, gray hadn’t just been the color of his eyes but his name as well. Grayson Prentiss. A beautiful name that suited him perfectly. She loved him no matter what his name, but that didn’t matter now. Flaherty had given him his memories back. Flaherty was taking him away from her. Now, there was no place for her in his life except as someone to hate. And there was no reason not to. She’d blatantly deceived him. She’d told him he was someone else when she’d known otherwise. Elena gathered her courage and took a seat on the sofa. The men occupied each of the chairs. “Shall I pour out?” she offered although tea was probably the last thing on any of their minds. Flaherty wanted a cup, but Alejandro—Grayson—shook his head, his eyes flat and hard when he looked at her. She was glad to have something to do. She fussed over Flaherty’s cup of tea and decided to fix herself one too although she had no plans to drink it. Flaherty took the cup and saucer and sipped. He turned to Grayson, “I am told you had no recollections after the accident with the ship.” Grayson’s voice was flat. “I didn’t know my own name, my home, or even what I had been doing on the ship.” The handle of Elena’s tea cup snapped and the cup fell, shattering on the table, hot liquid spilling over her hands. She heard the confused condemnation in his voice. She’d known more than she’d told him, his voice accused.

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A sob escaped her lips and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Of course she had known it would come to this. But a silly part of her had hoped that their love would be enough—that even if he realized he wasn’t Alejandro he would still love her anyway. The reality was far more devastating than she’d ever thought possible. Flaherty passed her a napkin, looking uncomfortably between her and Grayson. “I am sorry to distress you, ma’am.” He drew out a sealed letter. "This is a letter of introduction from the Earl of Dursley, Peyton Ramsden, on behalf of his brother, Paine. He vouches for who I am and my mission. Paine Ramsden has charged me with the job of ascertaining the life or death of a Grayson Prentiss in association with the missing ship, the Bluehawk.” He passed the document to Grayson. Elena sucked in her breath, trying to control her sobs. All of her worst nightmares were coming true. Grayson was someone important. An earl was looking for him. “I do not know the earl of Dursley,” Grayson’s voice carried an edge. Flaherty gave a short laugh. “I should have thought of that. So much has happened since you left. Miss Julia Prentiss is being courted by Dursley’s youngest brother, Paine. As a token of his affections, he wants to give her peace of mind. She’s been dreadfully worried about you.” Flaherty shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I think Paine worries about what to do with Miss Prentiss’s family in your absence. Their financial situation is quite precarious, as I am sure you know.” Grayson nodded. “I was to bring back the cargo that would save us.” His eyes sparked momentarily. Even now, when he’d been delivered such personally devastating news, he was thinking of others. What would the family do without his cargo? What could he do to alleviate their debt? The man she’d claimed as a husband was noble to a fault. Apparently Flaherty read his thoughts too. “Paine Ramsden is a good man. He’ll not let Julia suffer or the family. He may not like them, but he loves her to distraction.” Grayson nodded and was silent for a moment. “So, I am to return with you?” he asked. “Yes, that would be best.” Flaherty hazarded a look in her direction. “Unless, you’d rather send a letter explaining your circumstances,” he amended quickly. Flaherty rose, clearly eager to be away from the tension rising in the room. “I’ll leave you to sort out your details. I’ll take a room at the taverna.” “No!” Elena and Grayson said at the same time. Grayson shot her a quelling look. “Please, stay with us. There’s plenty of room and with the celebration going on it will be quieter here. Besides, I’d like to keep this situation to ourselves for awhile,” Grayson said, rising to show Flaherty to an upstairs room. “I’m sorry. I had hoped this would be happy news,” Flaherty said to Grayson but he was looking at her. She wished she could gather her composure, wished she could stop sobbing into the napkin. Grayson escorted Flaherty up the stairs and Elena took the opportunity to martial her resources. There had to be a chance to fight for him—for them.

Chapter Eighteen

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Grayson trudged down the stairs. He had to deal with Elena now. His emotions roiled. He didn’t know how to feel. Betrayed? Used? Abused perhaps? What about what they’d shared? Was any of that real? If it was, what did it mean? Clearly she was devastated by the news. Elena, who was the most capable of women, who’d demonstrated an incredible amount of strength by running the pazo alone, had broken down in the parlor. He should be angry at her. He should leave tomorrow and never look back. There was a preponderance of reasons for doing so. She’d deliberately lied to him. She’d filled his blank memories with faulty ones. She’d led him to believe he’d abandoned her with no word for the better part of a year. The list was quite long. Yet, when he entered the parlor and saw her dark head bent, her shoulders heaving with her sobs, his heart spoke a different message than his mind. He didn’t see a conniving woman. Instead, he saw a woman he’d come to love with every inch of his being. She looked up, finally aware of his presence in the room. Grayson leaned against the doorframe. “Why did you do it?” The question was practically rhetorical. He knew why she’d done it and he couldn’t blame her. He’d taken every chance aboard the failing ship to save his life. Why should she be any different? “I had nothing left to lose,” she said sullenly. “If I did nothing, Don Alicante would take the pazo. I could not live in a marriage like the one he offered. Then there was the scandal to avert. I was found naked in bed with you by multiple witnesses. The rumors had already started. That night on the beach, several people commented that you resembled Alejandro.” Elena shrugged. “I had to try.” “You had to know my memories would likely return.” Grayson pushed off the door frame and walked to the sofa. His anger was slowly subsiding and it felt good to have rational thought flowing again. “Yes,” she said simply. “But I hoped….” She broke off, her eyes searching his face, pleading. “What did you hope for?” Grayson asked, a hope of his own springing to life in his chest, a hope born out of the desire to believe that there had been some truth in the fiction of the last few months. “I hoped you might save me anyway.” It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear but it was something to start with. “Save you?”

“That you might not betray me to the village, to Don Alicante.” Elena tossed her hair back and met him squarely, looking more like her old self. She was challenging him. He’d deserved that. He’d set himself up to be used by her yet again. His retort was acerbic. “And what should I do? Sign a document that gives you control over the pazo? One that Don Alicante cannot challenge? Shall I simply slip back into the sea and conveniently ‘die’ in a far off country? No one would believe my luck if my ship foundered again.” “If that’s what you feel is best,” Elena said with quiet steel. “It would work. Such a document could be obtained in Santiago di Compostela.” She rose and walked to the window, looking out at the dark night.

Grayson’s anger surged. How could she be so damned acquiescent? How dare she act like this was suddenly his plan? He went to her and grabbed her by the forearms, spinning her around. “Look at me, damn you. You’ve used me. You’ve set me up to be someone I’m not. Now you think to cast me off and wrap up your loose ends. Tell me, Elena, was there no truth between us?” She stared at him, her dark eyes wide with a mix of fear and wonder. He waited, his heart beating as if his very being hinged on her answer. And it did. If she said she loved him it would change everything.

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Chapter Nineteen “Would it change anything?” Elena whispered in a choked voice. “Do you have to ask if there was anything real between us? Grayson, it is not in me to play the whore. I could not have…” Elena paused, looking for a word. “Seduced me?” Grayson supplied. She exhaled heavily, “yes, seduced you without feeling anything for you. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you but I was lost before any of this began, before I’d heard the rumors.” Was she convincing him? She searched his face for signs but there were none. “When you were washed up on the beach, you grabbed my hand and held onto it with all the strength you possessed. You wouldn’t let go. Then, when you started to slip away, you squeezed my hand one more time and I couldn’t bear the thought of you not opening those eyes.” Elena’s tears started again, running slowly down her cheeks. “That’s why you were in bed with me?” “I didn’t know what else to do! I just wanted to give you my heat.” The words poured out in a rush, her courage returning. This was her chance, her only chance. “Then you woke up and you were more than I dared hope for.” “A memory-less man waiting to be filled with your stories?” “No, don’t play the cynic, Grayson, it wasn’t all like that. You were strong and sincere in a way Alejandro never was. Our marriage was arranged and when I turned out to be barren Alejandro ignored me except for the most basic of courtesies. But you cared for me. You showed me every regard. That day in the chapel when you promised me so many things, I knew I’d lost my heart to you. “Grayson, my affection for you, my passion for you—was never feigned. You are the husband of my heart, no matter what you choose to do. You have my confession and my life is entirely in your hands.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You need time alone, Grayson. We’ll talk in the morning.” Grayson watched her go and took a chair near the fire. When he’d looked out over the harbor that afternoon and seen the ship arrive, he’d not guessed it carried such a life changing passenger. Patrick Flaherty had completely destroyed his little paradise. Only it had never been real. Now it made sense why the pieces of his life hadn’t fit seamlessly but why he had felt comfortable in the role of a gentleman landowner. He was the heir to an English viscount with a small holding. But he wasn’t, never had been, a Spanish pazo owner. No wonder the stallion had been so skittish. The horse had known the truth. When he’d first heard the news of his identity and guessed the deceit Elena had perpetrated, he’d been fearful of who else had been implicated. Had there been a wife? Children? For a moment when it had all been fresh, he’d feared the cinnamon-haired girl in his dreams had been his wife. He knew he loved her but not with the passion Elena woke in him. As his memories became more sorted, he’d realized the girl was his cousin, Julia. It explained her presence in his dreams. The others had been his brothers. Now he had the answers to so many of the questions that had plagued him, even to the estrangement between Elena and Alejandro. He was starting to think ignorance was bliss. Grayson laughed out loud to the empty room. For months he’d been cursing his lack of knowledge and now part of him wished for his ignorant paradise back. Pictures of his life with Elena flashed through his mind: Elena lying in bed with him, her hair spilling across his chest, Elena dancing in his arms tonight, Elena crying out in passion as they made love.

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She had saved him in more ways than giving him back his physical life. She’d connected to his very soul and there was no way he’d survive letting her go. Grayson pushed out of the chair. His decision was made.

Chapter Twenty Elena woke to the press of his weight on the mattress. The room was still dark—not more than a few hours had passed. She was amazed she’d slept at all, though there had been peace in having the truth—all of it— laid out in the open. “Grayson?” she whispered uncertainly in the darkness. “Elena, it’s me.” He drew her into his arms and she felt his strength surround her. She’d not thought to feel it again. “Everything’s alright.” He kissed the top of her head. He was naked. “Tell me what that means,” Elena said breathlessly. Did she dare hope he’d seen the truth of her confession? “It means I love you, Elena. It means I understand why you did what you did. And in the end, we built our own truths together. I don’t want to turn my back on those.” Elena squeezed her eyes shut, tears of a different sort than the ones she cried earlier leaking out the corners. “Are you crying?” Grayson asked. “Why?” “Because I am so happy. I don’t deserve it, Grayson.” “Yes you do.” He pulled her hair aside and nuzzled her neck. “I want to marry you, in the chapel here at the pazo tomorrow. But I also have a duty to my family. I have to go back to England—I want to take you with me. But if you want to fight for the pazo, I’ll help you. If you want to sell it to Don Alicante, we’ll do it. Just tell me what you want.” Elena sighed. Grayson was hers. The pazo, the village, had not been the happiest of places for her. She’d hung onto the estate because it had been the only thing she had to support herself. But now with Grayson by her side… Her decision was easy. “We’ll sell. My home is with you, always.” It was the truth. In the past months, being with Grayson had taught her the most important of lessons: home wasn’t necessarily a place but a person. She’d gone looking for an imposter but she’d found true love instead. She turned in his arms and kissed him full on the mouth. But that was merely a prelude to other things. *** Three weeks later, Mr. and Mrs. Grayson Prentiss sailed up the mouth of the Thames to the Pool of London, with Patrick Flaherty beside them at the rail of the boat. Spain and the pazo were now far behind them, though they had made sure that the pazo was in good hands. Unwilling to work for Don Alicante, the servants had pooled their savings and bought the pazo— thanks to some quick work between Paine Ramsden’s banking connections in Santiago de Compostela and London. It felt good to know that right now a modest sum was sitting in the Bank of London to help Elena and Grayson start their life in England. Such a prospect filled Elena with nervous excitement. She would step off the boat as the wife of an heir to a viscountcy, though they would not be wealthy. Grayson had told her it might be years before his plan to restore the nearly bankrupt family estate paid off. Even now, they were not dressed in the height of fashion one might expect for a viscount’s heir. The money from the sale of the pazo would be used for other things in the coming months.

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Elena did not care. She had not been overly wealthy before. Life would be much the same as it had been in Spain with one telling exception. She squeezed Grayson’s hand and exchanged a secret look with him. As if the fates had blessed their union, she’d conceived on their wedding night. But with a man like Grayson Prentiss in her bed, she should have expected nothing else. He laughed down at her. “Thinking of the babe?” She gave him a sly grin. “I was thinking what we’d tell him or her when they ask how we met.” “And?” he played along. She tossed her head up at him, letting the breeze catch her curls. “I will say, ‘let me tell you the story of the seduction of Grayson Prentiss’.” Grayson tapped her on the nose. “That, my dear, is a story still in progress. Promise me it will never end.”

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Hold the Date by Shirley Jump They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder…but for Monica Carson it’s made her feet get colder! Monica knew she was in love with Ben Wagner before their first date was over. That love sustained her through four lonely years while Ben was deployed in the Persian Gulf with the Navy, and why she accepted his proposal just over a year ago without any second thoughts. But now with the wedding just a month away and Ben returning for good, Monica’s having major doubts that their fiery relationship can stand up to something as serious as a marriage. So she calls off the wedding and tells Ben it’s over. But Ben isn’t about to let the woman he loves just walk away. He’s going to do everything in his power— including enlisting advice from some very unlikely sources—to get his fiancée to hold the date!

Chapter One Four words, like bricks thrown against Ben Wagner’s heart: “I can’t marry you.” The Brookline Park should have been the perfect location for a reunion. They were surrounded by the fresh bloom of new tulips with friendly pastel faces, waving like happy children in the spring breeze. Birds sang, dogs barked, other people milled about the park or picnicked in pairs on the wide grassy fields just a few yards away. An unseasonably bright April sun cast almost summer-like warmth over the verdant grounds. Ben couldn’t have painted a more perfect day if he’d been Michelangelo. It was exactly the setting he had wanted to reunite with Monica after an agonizingly long separation. Perfect. Ben had imagined seeing Monica’s sweet face for months. Thought of nothing but her during his long deployment overseas on the USS Abraham Lincoln. Her e-mails, her letters and her pictures had been Ben’s sustenance while he’d been stationed in the Persian Gulf. That—and the dream of marrying her. Being with her forever. But now she’d just turned that dream upside down with those four words: I can’t marry you. All he could do was stare at her—stunned, sure this was some weird test or strange joke. “You can’t marry me? Or just can’t marry me next month?” he asked, a slight joke in his voice. The kind that said tell me you’re kidding, you don’t mean a word of it. Monica hesitated, and in that second Ben held hope like a fragile bird. He must have heard her wrong. She was going to say she hadn’t meant what she’d said. “I can’t marry you…at all.” And just like that, it was over. The dream ripped out from beneath him—with no warning, no yellow light. There was no misinterpreting her resolve in that “at all.” “Ever?” he asked, sounding like the village idiot. But right now he felt like an idiot. All those letters, all those e-mails, he’d never picked up a single clue that something like this was coming. Up until five minutes ago, Ben thought everything had been fine.

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Well…pretty much fine. In the last couple of weeks, Monica’s communications had slowed. But Ben had attributed that to the wedding plans, work—other things. He’d never suspected she’d cut back because she was planning on dropping a bombshell like this. Never in the four years that he’d known Monica Carson had she ever floored him like this. Four years. Four years since he’d first seen her in the diner where she worked. It had been three weeks after he’d enlisted in the Navy, in that golden period before he was shipped off to basic training. He’d convinced her to eat with him, and he’d known by the time the meal was over that he was in love with her. He would have married her right then, but Ben had wanted to wait until his enlistment was up so that he could be home in Boston for good. He’d seen too many marriages break up during long military deployments and hadn’t wanted his relationship with Monica to suffer like that. He’d thought they were the perfect couple. Sure they had spats, but that’s what kept things vibrant, it certainly wasn’t an issue. He’d just gone along—in typical guy style—believing that if he didn’t see any problems, none existed. But clearly he’d missed something, or he wouldn’t be standing in this idyllic setting listening to the woman he loved break his heart. “I’m sorry,” she said, her emerald eyes filling with unshed tears. Ben’s heart broke. Of all the things he’d expected Monica to say when he came home, this hadn’t even made it to the list. What had gone wrong? What had he missed? “Why are you doing this? You can’t be serious, Monica.” Ben reached for his fiancée’s hand, his thumb skimming over the marquis-cut diamond he’d slipped onto her left hand just over a year ago in this very place. He searched her face, but found no clues, no explanation he could read. “I’m sure it’s just cold feet. We’ve been apart for thirteen months. That can be hard on a relationship. But all we need to do is spend some time together and everything will go back to normal.” Then a horrifying thought occurred to him. The kind that hit more men on the ship than he liked to think about. “Is it…someone else?” “No, no, not at all.” Thank God. “Then whatever’s wrong, Monica, we can fix it. Talk out the problem.” Monica shook her head. Her long brown hair, held back by a clip, escaped the fastener in little tendrils. “No, we can’t fix this one with a conversation. We simply…aren’t right for each other. I should have figured it out sooner.” “Is it…” He paused before broaching the difficult subject, then forged ahead. Saving their relationship jumped to Ben’s top priority, beyond sensitivity about touching on painful events. “Is it the loss of your grandmother? Is that what has you so upset?” Tears shimmered in Monica’s gaze, a clear indicator that she still deeply grieved the death of Eloise Carson, who had passed away in her sleep just two weeks ago. She’d been more mother than grandmother to Monica, and someone Ben had loved as much as his own grandmother. He’d tried to get home for the funeral, but since Eloise wasn’t a blood relative the Navy hadn’t been keen on dismissing him from a war zone. Regret filled Ben again, not just for missing the funeral, but for not being there in person for Monica. But he was here now, if only Monica would let him be. Why was she pushing him away? Calling things off? What had gone wrong? Monica looked down—as if she’d find the answers she sought on the cobblestone path beneath her feet. She drew in a breath then let it out again. “No, Ben, this is about us. For four years, we’ve been trying to hold our relationship together by long-distance strings. But they’re just too thin.” Her heart-shaped face filled

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with sorrow. “I don’t think there’s enough glue to build a marriage on, and we’d only be making a mistake.” She pulled her hand out of his. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” “Mistake?” He kept his gaze locked on her green eyes, dumbfounded. He hadn’t been away for their entire relationship. A good portion of his time had been spent right here in Boston while the ship was in dry dock. Didn’t she remember those months? They’d had so much fun—laughing, dancing. Never in a million years would he have thought Monica was unhappy. What was going on? And why couldn’t he fix this? “Monica, nothing between us was ever a mistake. Give me a chance and I’ll prove that to you.” But she just shook her head, tears clogging her throat. She pushed something hard into his palm and fled. He opened his hand—the diamond ring. The jeweled promise twinkled in Ben’s palm, mocking everything he’d thought he knew for sure. And clearly, it turned out, didn’t know at all.

Chapter Two Monica Carson tucked her wedding dress into the back of the bedroom closet, shut the door and tried her best not to cry. She’d done the right thing today. She knew she had. But if that was true, why did she feel so bad? “You know you’re crazy.” Behind her, the voice of disagreement—Sherri Linwood, her best friend and maid of honor, or supposed to be maid of honor. Now, there wasn’t going to be a wedding, so there was no longer a need for a maid of anything. Monica sighed. “It’s for the best.” “For who? Me, because I don’t have to wear a dress?” Sherri grinned, then plopped onto Monica’s bed. As always, Sherri was wearing jeans, sneakers and a Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. “If you’d been any kind of friend at all, you would have let me wear this,” she plucked at the red shirt, “to walk down the aisle with you.” Monica laughed. “Hey, when it’s your wedding, get married in cowboy boots for all I care.” “Flip-flops, baby. That’s the way to go.” Sherri winked. Then she sobered, leaned forward and studied Monica. “So, what gives? Why would you do something as insane as break up with Ben?” “I told you. There’s no way we had enough depth in our relationship to make it as a married couple.” “Since when? You’ve known Ben for four years.” Monica tucked the matching lacy shoes back into the box and shoved them onto the top shelf of her closet. “And been apart more than we’ve been together.” “So? When you were together it was amazing. And you two wrote letters, e-mails and talked on the phone all the time. Monica, there are people who meet on the bus, hop off at the next stop and get married.” “There are not!” “Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but you know I have a point.” Sherri wagged a blue garter in Monica’s direction for emphasis.

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Monica plucked the garter out of Sherri’s grasp and shoved it into a dresser drawer, burying it deep under her socks. “And so do I. I won’t marry Ben just because we’ve been together for four years. Or just because I have a dress and a date. That’s crazy.” “What about love?” Monica looked away. “Overrated.” “Are you delusional? What happened to you?” “Nothing.” She sank onto the bed beside Sherri and traced the outline of the quilt’s floral pattern, wishing life were as easy as the simple pink flowers Grandma Eloise had sewn onto the blanket five years ago. “I just got…realistic. Marrying Ben when I don’t feel the same as I used to wouldn’t be fair—not to him and not to me. In a year, maybe two, we’d just become another statistic.” “I don’t believe you. You loved this guy. You’ve talked about nothing but the wedding. The dress. The plans.” “Exactly!” Monica ran a hand through her hair and faced the facts that she’d ignored for far too long. “Getting married isn’t about the wedding.” “Uh…okay. But isn’t it the point of a wedding? You know, stand before the preacher, pledge eternity, all that. What more were you looking for?” Sherri asked. “A relationship, not a layer cake,” Monica said. “I want to make sure there’s enough frosting in there to hold us together down the road.” Sherri waved a hand in dismissal. “You’ve been watching way too many of those advice shows.” Monica rose, crossed to the window and looked out at the spring beauty, the blooms of flowers poking their happy faces out of the garden her grandmother had tended for so many years. Who would tend them this year? Who would pull the weeds? Who would decide if pansies or impatiens would ring the beds? “No, I’ve just been thinking about the people I knew who had truly happy marriages. About what their relationships were like. And theirs were nothing like mine and Ben’s.” “Am I missing something? What was wrong with you and Ben?” Monica turned and a smile crossed her face, but it didn’t stay. “We were all fluff and no substance. What did we really have? A relationship that was based on fun. And we fought all the time. That’s not a sign of a stable relationship. Ben keeps thinking everything was just fine, but all I saw was trouble ahead.” Sherri sighed. “You guys did fight a lot, but you know that’s normal. I mean, you can’t expect everything to be perfect twenty-four/seven. No one is like that, except on TV.” “Not perfect,” Monica said, pushing the curtain back into place and closing off the view that had become painful, “but at least something that is half as good as what my grandparents had.” Her gaze drifted to the portrait of her grandmother Eloise and her grandfather Gerald. Sixty years, they’d been married. Sixty years of kisses, considerations and happiness. Even in their last pose, a picture taken two years ago, they sat together, sweet smiles matched on their countenances. That was what she wanted. That peaceful, easygoing marriage where one finished the other’s sentence. Where her husband knew she wanted a cup of tea before her throat became parched. Not the fiery rollercoaster she’d had with Ben, where she’d had to work to be heard, understood, and to do the same with him. “I’m letting Ben go,” she whispered, “because each of us deserves to find something special.”

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Even if doing so broke her heart.

Chapter Three The day after Monica called off their wedding, Ben sank deeper into a pit of misery. He’d spent the night at his parents’ house, waiting for Monica to return his repeated phone calls, thinking she’d have second thoughts, but she didn’t. Now, he had decided to share his misery with a six-pack of beer and a six-pack of his buddies. He sat in the living room of Matt Wingate’s apartment, in front of a TV he wasn’t watching, while some game played that he didn’t care one bit about. None of it had made the situation any better or given him any clue of how to change Monica’s mind. So what was he still doing here? “Guys, I gotta go.” Ben sprang out of the leather recliner, put his beer on the end table and got to his feet. “Are you kidding me?” Matt said, leaning his head over the other recliner. The other guys barely looked up from the game. They were all married and had been through this kind of thing before. Their advice had been to wait, let everything blow over, then buy Monica something expensive. Not exactly the kind of advice Ben figured was going to work. For one, Monica had seemed dead serious. For another, she wasn’t the kind that was won over with a necklace or a dozen roses. This was a desperate situation and he needed to take drastic measures. Only he had no idea what those were. “You need to get good and drunk, Ben, my man,” Matt said. “She broke your heart. Stay here and let us fill your head with lots of reminders about why staying single is a good idea.” “I don’t want to stay single.” Matt shook his head. “That, my friend, is exactly why you need another beer.” Ben chuckled. “Thanks for the support, but I’m really leaving.” Matt scrambled out of his chair and over to the door, putting a hand on the oak surface before Ben could exit. “Ben.” “What?” “I’m your best friend, and your best man. And I’m telling you this as a friend.” His eyes met Ben’s. “Let her cool down for a while. Don’t try to talk to Monica yet. She’ll come around, just give her a couple days.” “I don’t have a couple days, Matt. The wedding is only a month away. She’s probably calling the wedding planners and the church, canceling the whole thing while I’m sitting here watching the Red Sox lose the first game of the season.” Matt shook his head. “You’re worse off than I thought. You’re right, you should go.” “What are you talking about?” Matt took his hand off the door and pulled it open. “Dude, we’re watching track and field.”

*** A plan. He needed a plan.

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Not just any plan, either. A really good one. As an Operations Specialist on the USS Abraham Lincoln, Ben had excelled at logistics, planning and organizing. Operations Specialist wasn’t just Ben’s rank, it had been his area of expertise—at least at sea. But on dry land… Well, he seemed to lose his touch. Either way, the best course Ben knew was to confront the issue head-on. Deviating from the path, or trying to evade the enemy would do nothing but let it grow stronger, and in the end, he’d definitely lose Monica. And that, quite simply, was not an option. He had to stay on course. So the first thing he did after leaving Matt’s apartment was call The Wedding Belles, the company in charge of planning their wedding. “Ben!” exclaimed the owner of the company, Belle Mackenzie, when she answered the phone. Her warm manner extended across the telephone lines, as if she was sending a cellular hug. “How are you? Are you back in the States, safe and sound as a new piano?” “Yes, ma’am.” He exchanged a minimum of small talk about his time overseas, then cleared his throat and got to the point. “I don’t know if Monica called you already…” “She did. And I’m awfully sorry to hear about the two of you. I thought you made the best couple I’ve seen since Rhett and Scarlett.” Ben didn’t mention that those two characters hadn’t exactly ended up in happily-ever-after land. “I wonder if you could do me a favor.” “Certainly, just name it.” “Hold the date for us. Don’t call off the wedding.” “Why, Ben, you’re as optimistic as a gardener planting sunflowers in a teacup.” Belle chuckled. “Of course I’ll hold the date for you. Just between you and me, I never crossed it off my calendar.” “You didn’t?” “Brides do this all the time, Ben. Some, yes, should be running from the church like their house is on fire. But others…” Belle paused. “Others just get a case of champagne jitters.” “Champagne jitters?” He’d heard of cold feet, but this was a new one. “You know when you’re about ready to open a bottle of champagne, just before you pop that cork, you get nervous because you don’t know if it’s going to go kaboom in your face or just ease off with a nice, soft and easy fizz?” Ben murmured something that sounded like agreement. “How many of us hand the bottle off to someone else because we’re just too scared about that kaboom? But we don’t pass it along just because we fear getting hit in the face with a cork—we’re frightened because we don’t know if we will,” Belle said. “That’s what it’s like with some people getting married. They don’t know if the whole thing’s going to blow up on them or if it’ll go off without a hitch and they’ll still be celebrating fifty years down the road.” “What do you think, Belle?” “I think the two of you have just the right mix. You got a bit of kaboom between the two of you, but there’s a nice easiness, too, that most people would give their seven-tier wedding cake to have. Don’t let that girl get

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away, Ben,” Belle advised. “And in the meantime, that wedding date will wait for you. I have a feeling you’re going to be there, tux and bride in hand.” He thanked Belle then hung up, glad someone was feeling more optimistic than he was. Next he drove across town to the Crock & Ladle, the trendy Government Center diner in Boston where Monica had worked ever since high school. Ben found a parking space and got out of his car—but he didn’t go into the diner. Instead he leaned against a stone pillar and watched Monica through the plate glass window. Waves of human activity rolled past him, their conversations a hurried blur of business calls and office gossip. Boston traffic continued its steady pattern of honk, stop and go, with the occasional police siren exclamation point. Above, the sun smiled serene spring warmth, calling pigeons to the sidewalk, eager to fatten their bellies after a long, lean winter. But Ben saw nothing but Monica—her tall, curvy figure, her wide smile, the way she gestured when she talked, the pen threatening to leave her fingers with every wave of her hands. Heck, ever since he’d met Monica, everything in his peripheral vision had ceased to exist, ceased to matter. Seeing her, his heart filled then threatened to crack. He couldn’t lose this woman. He pushed off from the pillar and went into the diner. He still didn’t have a plan, but he did have the sure knowledge that he wouldn’t leave this place without some kind of answer other than “no.” He took the “Please Seat Yourself” sign literally and slipped into one of the booths in Monica’s area while her attention was diverted at the coffee station. A moment later, she pivoted, two carafes in her hands—and started heading toward her tables, a ready smile on her face. Seeing Ben erased the smile. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Ordering clam chowder.” He folded his hands on the table. “Extra oyster crackers. And a glass of ice water, no lemon.” Ben smiled up at her. “Please.” “Ben, I told you it was over between us.” “I know you did. That kind of news makes a man hungry.” She pitched a fist on her hip. “Are you taking me at all seriously?” “Of course I am, Monica.” All was fair in love and war, they said. Ben decided lying figured into that equation. She let out a gust of air. “I’m going to ask Rosie to take over your table.” Ben looked over at the other side of the diner and smiled. He leaned back in the cushioned bench seat and draped an arm over the back. “Looks like Rosie’s got three tables of her own to wait on, one of which is a party of eight. She’s up to her eyeballs in customers.” Monica glanced over her shoulder at the older waitress. Rosie was hurrying off to the kitchen, her silver hair escaping its neat bun. “Okay. I’ll wait on you, but that won’t change anything.” Monica turned to go. “Monica?”

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She whirled around. “Bring me two bowls, will you? And a cup of green tea.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head, the argument already forming on her lips. “Ben…” “I know your schedule better than I know my own, and your lunch break is in—” he flicked out his wrist.”— Five minutes. You have to eat somewhere. What better place than right here, with me?” “My mind is made up, Ben.” “Of course it is. I would never try to change it.” And as she stood there, his plan began to formulate. “This is a farewell lunch. An…ending. Closure.” “Closure. Over clam chowder.” She gave him a dubious look. “Is there any other way?” He grinned, and when a slight smile lifted one corner of her mouth, Ben knew he might not have won the war, but in this battle… A tiny victory.

Chapter Four A bowl of soup didn’t mean a thing. Yeah, right. Then why was Monica checking her lipstick and fixing her hair before grabbing the two mugs of chowder and joining Ben in the booth? Especially after she had called off their wedding and decided that they were over less than twenty-four hours ago? She dropped her lipstick back into her purse without applying it, then ran a hand through her hair, mussing her bangs. Then she grabbed the tray of chowders from the kitchen and headed over to the table, all the while telling herself this was a crazy idea. She should just sever the ties with Ben. Make it easier on both of them by just cutting everything off at the pass—before he tempted her and she fell into the same patterns as before. Ben saw her coming back to his booth and he tossed her that grin she knew as well as her own hand. Damn, even from clear across the diner just seeing him caused familiar warmth to rise within her like steam, hot and fast. She was definitely tempted by him. Very tempted. Could she still love him? No. She just missed him. It was merely hormones making her blood race and her desire surge in her veins, beating an insistent song. A song that had been an a capella solo for so many months when Ben had been at sea. Monica shook off the thoughts. Missing him, wanting him—all those things weren’t enough to build a lifetime together on. They needed more, they needed depth. And as much as she wished she and Ben had had that kind of relationship… They didn’t. She’d have lunch with Ben. But she’d use that time to make it abundantly clear that she was resolved to this decision—regardless of what her body was saying—and then he’d move on and she could do the same. That was the best option for both of them.

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She placed the meal and drinks on the table, laid the tray in the corner behind the seat and then slid into the booth opposite him. “I only have fifteen minutes.” He nodded. “I’ll take what I can get.” She placed her hands on either side of her bowl of clam chowder, noting Ben hadn’t so much as picked up his spoon, either. “I’m not surprised you’re here.” “I care about you, Monica. I care about us. You hit me with a left hook yesterday. I wasn’t about to just walk away and let you go.” She nodded. “I understand that, and don’t blame you one bit. But…” “But you aren’t going to change your mind,” Ben finished when she didn’t. “Yes.” The word slipped out of her, and for a crazy moment, Monica wanted to take it back. No. She’d made this decision, and it hadn’t been easy. She hadn’t expected sticking to it would be any simpler. But reversing course like a yo-yo would only make things worse. She kept her mouth closed and watched Ben digest her word while he toyed with the package of oyster crackers. Finally he looked up. “Fine. But you owe me more than just a few sentences of explanation.” He had her there. After all these years together, dumping and running had been cowardly. Monica dropped her gaze to her soup. Her reflection bloomed in the spoon, a puffed, monster version of her face. She felt like a monster saying these words to him. But he deserved to know why. “The closer we got to the date, the more I realized I was wrapped up in the wedding, and not thinking about the marriage.” “Okay, forgive me for being a guy here, but aren’t those the same thing?” Monica lifted her gaze to Ben’s. For a moment, she was so tempted, so very tempted, to just get lost in his deep blue eyes. But she stiffened her resolve and kept to the subject at hand. “No. The wedding is about the details. The dress. The flowers. The cake. The fun stuff. I was so excited, that’s all I thought about. But I lost track of what would come after we said, ‘I do.’” “The honeymoon.” A grin curved up his face and then he sobered. “I know, bad joke. But you mean the forever and ever part.” “Right. We weren’t thinking, Ben, about the big stuff. Like what kind of marriage are we going to have?” “The kind built on happiness…” His voice trailed off and he stared at her, clearly lost. “What am I missing?” “The question is: what were we missing?” She ran a hand through her hair, searching for the words that would make Ben understand. Even Monica wasn’t quite sure she had put her finger on the exact missing ingredient in their relationship. “We were like a bowl of chowder, like a recipe you taste and know intrinsically whether it’s right—or not. And we weren’t right. We had something missing. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel that it’s not there.” “What? What’s not there? Because I don’t feel a thing missing, Monica.” He reached for her, but she moved her hands away. Monica slipped out of the booth. This had been a mistake. “I don’t know, Ben. All I know is that getting married to you suddenly felt like the wrong decision. I’m sorry.” Then she spun away and headed into the kitchen, leaving her lunch behind, the soup getting cold. She could only hope Ben’s persistence would do the same.

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*** Ben waited about three seconds before he slid out of the seat and followed Monica. Missing ingredients? They were like a clam chowder? He had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but he knew one way to get to the root of the issue. The swinging door’s backward kick came close to taking out his nose, but Ben caught it with his palm and pushed it inward again, marching into the kitchen as if he owned the place. Immediately, he was greeted with a hundred tantalizing scents—warm bread, simmering chicken soup, steaming vegetables—and the frustrated, shocked countenance of his former fiancée. “What are you doing back here?” she said, her voice a low, annoyed whisper. “You’re going to get me fired.” “You keep walking off just when the conversation gets good.” “You won’t listen to me, Ben. It’s over. We can’t make this work, not when only one of us wants to. Please, let me go.” “No. Not until you prove to me that we’re done. That you can just walk away from what we had and never look back.” “I’ve done that—twice,” Monica said. “You missed a detail.” Ben narrowed the gap between them. The kitchen’s warmth seemed to increase dramatically. He reached up a hand, cupping Monica’s jaw. She opened her mouth to protest, but not a sound escaped her. His thumb traced the delicate lines of her face, lines he had memorized in his sleep. His gaze locked with her deep green eyes, and he waited for a heartbeat. Two. “I didn’t forget anything,” she said, but the words came out as weak as watered-down tea. “Then maybe I need to remind you.” With that, Ben Wagner leaned forward and kissed the woman he loved. Hoping like hell it would be enough to make her remember that she loved him back.

Chapter Five Heaven. Being kissed by Ben Wagner approached hitting the outer stratospheres of the sky, where the stars circled the moon. From the first time his lips had met hers four years ago, it was as if Ben had been born to kiss her. As always, he started slow, easy, tender, like she was a present he was delighted to find—his hands holding her head, fingers tangling in her hair. Then, as his mouth and tongue stoke the fire inside her, his kiss deepened, his touch began to range down from her head to her shoulders, then to her back, pulling her closer, fitting her against him as if she were the last missing puzzle piece he needed. Monica responded—clutching his shirt, the desire that had been building since she’d seen him enter the diner flooding her senses. The practical side of her insisted she pull away, to stop this before it went too far. But the side of her that had missed Ben all these months said: just a little longer, just one more second, and then I’ll stop. But it was Ben that was the first to pull back. He traced a finger along her lip, then let his touch drop away. “I think you overlooked that little detail.” “We…” she paused to catch her breath, “we can’t build a marriage on sex, Ben.”

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“It’s a start.” He gave her that grin again. Behind them, the chef and the sous chef let out a low whistle of appreciation for the public display of affection. “Now there’s a tip,” Jerry, the chef, said. “What’d you do, Monica, bring him extra napkins?” The sous chef chuckled. Monica colored and stepped back, out of Ben’s arms. She ignored the chefs and focused on Ben. “You are not taking me seriously. What, do you think I’m joking? That I’ll change my mind just because of one kiss?” “Monica, we were together for four years. You don’t have that kind of longevity based on nothing.” He was right—they had been together for a long time. She'd met Ben just after he'd enlisted in the Navy, when they'd both been nineteen. She'd been starry-eyed and infatuated from the second he'd entered the diner in Government Center where she worked—the same one they were in now. He ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches, insisting she join him, just as he'd done today. "You look like you could stand to put your feet up for a while," he'd said, and she had—for so long, she'd almost gotten fired. He'd made her laugh, about everything from the quirky customers she'd had that day to the rainy Boston weather. For Monica, who had been orphaned at ten and employed since high school, laughter had been a precious commodity. She saw in Ben the same generous, fun spirit she treasured in the grandparents who raised her, as well as an escape from a life that had been far too serious for far too long. They'd had a whirlwind two months together before he'd headed off to basic training. But that hadn’t been the end. They’d made the most of the time he was in port and while he was deployed they’d done everything they could to stay close. Her heart had grown fonder in all that absence, but lately she had begun to wonder if it was an artificial fondness—built on a dream that grew out of distance, not reality. “But Ben,” she said, trying to make him understand what she had struggled to face herself in the last few weeks, “how much of that time did we actually spend in person together?” “I don’t know. A year, year and a half? Off and on? What does that matter?” “It matters a lot. We fooled ourselves into thinking we had a real relationship because we created one on paper, in e-mails, in phone calls.” Monica sighed. “And we didn’t.” “You forget in between all those letters and emails, I came home on leave all the time. And when we were together, it was fabulous. Fun.” “Exactly.” He put up his hands. “What’s wrong with that?” “Don’t you get it? Fun is what you have in high school, Ben, or college. It’s not what you do before something as serious as getting married.” “Nothing wrong with a little fun,” Jerry, the chef, called out. “Keeps things interesting, if you ask me.” “I didn’t, Jerry,” Monica said. “Jerry’s got a point,” Ben said. “A little fun is a good thing. What were you expecting us to do on our dates? Sit around and discuss world peace every night?”

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“No, not exactly, but…” Monica rubbed at her temples, wishing she could find the words to put everything tumbling in her mind into sentences Ben would understand. “Look at your parents, Ben. They’ve been married for more than thirty years. They have a lot more in common than ‘fun.’” “Do you really think my father gave getting married this kind of deep thought?” Okay, maybe Ben’s father was a bad example. His dad was a welder and the kind of guy who took each day as it came and never seemed to fret about anything. He simply trusted that the right answer would come along in good time. Ben pounced on her hesitation. “Come on, Monica, you’re just scared.” “No, Ben, this isn’t fear, it’s me trying to protect us. From making a huge mistake. I want…” She bit her lip. “I want the kind of love I saw between my grandparents. The kind that is as comfortable as old slippers. The kind where you know today, tomorrow, and ten years down the road that this is the right thing.” “You want an iron-clad guarantee.” “Yes!” Finally, he seemed to understand what she was getting at. “Relationships don’t come with warranties, Monica. Things change, circumstances change, people change.” “Then why can’t you understand that I’ve changed since you went away?” “Because when I kissed you, you kissed me back!” To Ben, it was as simple as that. But to Monica, the issues were so much more complicated. She needed him to hear her and he just wasn’t listening. She tried again: “I know I did and I shouldn’t have,” Monica said. “I didn’t mean to send you mixed messages.” She suddenly realized that the kitchen was a lot quieter than usual. The crew went on cooking—pots sizzling, knives chopping—but all the while, they were eavesdropping and making no secret of their nosiness. Monica tugged Ben into the alcove of the kitchen where the staff answered the phone and took the carryout orders. Ben didn’t seem to notice one way or the other. “Mixed messages, Monica, is sending me letters for months on end telling me how you can’t wait to marry me and then dropping a Dear John bomb the minute I come home. This,” he gestured between them, “is just evidence that you aren’t as sure as you think you are that we’re through.” “I’m sure, Ben. As sure as I’ve been of anything. You’re the one who keeps insisting you can change my mind.” “Because you’re wrong.” She put a fist on her hip. “Ben, a good marriage is built on a relationship where the couple gets along all the time. Where they don’t have these fireworks, these arguments. Where they have depth, emotions. Where they open up to each other. Take the relationship seriously.” “I do all that. And we have the perfect kind of fireworks.” He winnowed the gap between them again, wrapping an arm around her waist, igniting the very sparks he’d just spoken about. “Didn’t I prove that a second ago?” She wrestled away from him and let out a frustrated sigh. “No. You’re not listening. You’re being…Ben.” Ben scowled. “Before yesterday, you loved that about me. What’s changed?”

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“You don’t take this, or us, seriously. You don’t take anything seriously. And if there’s one event in life that you have to sit down and talk out—instead of grin and joke your way through—it’s marriage.” His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me. You’re breaking up with me, calling off our wedding, ending four years of a relationship, because I smile too much?” “No. Yes. No!” Monica ran a hand through her hair again. “Because you can’t have a serious conversation about us, Ben. Everything is a joke to you. This is a huge deal. And I need a man who realizes that—who sees that we’re talking the rest of our lives here. This isn’t an event that you can deliver with a one-liner.” Jerry poked his head around the corner, interrupting them. “Monica, are you working or playing ‘The Dating Game?’I got steaks that are turning into fossils over here.” “Sorry, Jer. I’m coming.” She turned back to Ben. “I have to go back to work. Goodbye, Ben.” Then she turned and left him. For the third time in two days. At some point, Ben would get the hint and it would finally be over.

Chapter Six So much for having a plan. Ben went back to his parents’ house after trying to win Monica back with what he had to admit wasn’t exactly the granddaddy of woman-wooing ideas. But as he drove through Boston and back to his parents’ house in Newton, he began to replay his conversation with Monica in his head, and he realized no plan, even if it was executed by the Navy SEALs—was going to win his fiancée’s heart again. Because the problems they needed to fix weren’t surface issues. They ran deeper, leagues into the ocean of their relationship. Ben wasn’t sure how to fix this one. She’d accused him of treating their relationship like a joke. Of always having a one-liner, a smile for every serious conversation. She had a point, even if he didn’t want to admit it, to Monica or himself. “Ben, back so soon?” his father stopped sanding the paint off his small wooden fishing boat, placing the orbital sander on bench seat. “I thought you were going to see Monica.” Ben scowled. “I did.” Paul Wagner nodded knowingly. “I recognize that tone. It didn’t go so well, huh?” “I sank like a stone. Didn’t even make it past the buoys.” His father chuckled, then draped an arm around his son’s shoulders and began walking with Ben up to the house. “Come on inside. We’ll grab a couple of sodas, sit out on the deck, and I’ll tell you the secret to winning a woman’s heart.” Ben figured his father’s advice had to be better than his friend Matt’s—which had been have another beer and stay single—so he followed his father into the kitchen, then out the back door. They sank into the Adirondack chairs that faced the half-acre wooded lot where Ben had lived all his life. “Do you remember the summer I made these chairs?” his father asked. “Yeah. It was the year I joined the Navy.”

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“Do you know why I made these chairs?” “Mom wanted patio furniture?” Ben guessed. What this conversation had to do with Monica, Ben had no idea, but he went along with it. He took a sip of the soda. “Nope. Because she was madder than a hornet at me. You had just enlisted in the Navy and she blamed me.” “You? Why? I signed up for the military all on my own.” “It was easier to be mad at me than you. She figured I should have talked you out of it, but you were nineteen, almost twenty. If you don’t know what you were doing by then…” Paul ran his thumb around the rim of his soda can. “Well, then I didn’t do much of a job as a dad.” “You did a fine job, Dad.” “If I did, you’d know how to fix a car.” Ben chuckled. “So I didn’t inherit the mechanically inclined gene. I didn’t turn out so bad, did I?” His father leaned over and ruffled his hair. “Not so bad, no.” Then he took in a breath, let it out again. “Your mother was worried, and instead of talking about it, we argued about patio furniture. That’s what you do when you’re married, you know. You don’t always talk stuff out. You don’t always get serious and down to the nitty-gritty. You fight about taking the trash out, or buying a new sofa—but your real worry is whether you can pay the mortgage or…” His gaze softened as he studied his son. “Or letting your only child go off to a war zone.” “Dad…” Paul shrugged. “That’s just what happens when you’re married. I don’t know if that’s what’s going on with you and Monica, but I do know you, and I know you’re a lot like me. You don’t talk about the heavy stuff, or to the woman you love when she’s hurting. I did the same with your mother. I knew she was worried about you, but I kept on doing my thing, going to work, hiding my head in the sand, or in my case, the garage, because…well, frankly, it’s easier than doing the emotional thing.” He shrugged. “Hey, we’re guys. Since when do we like to talk about anything besides the chances of the Patriots having another perfect season?” Ben laughed. “I see what you’re saying. I get it. Thanks, Dad.” “Anyway, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth,” his dad said, getting to his feet. He laid a hand of support on his son’s shoulder. Then he disappeared into the house, but returned a moment later. “I almost forgot. This came for you today. I, uh, knew you’d want it. Eloise was a good woman, Ben. I know you miss her.” His father handed Ben a small package, marked with several stamps that traced its multi-country journey, as it had been forwarded through the snail’s pace of the military postal service from Ben’s ship to his parents’ house. But it was the name on the return address that socked Ben in the stomach—Eloise Carson, Monica’s grandmother, who had passed away two weeks ago. What could she possibly have sent Ben just before she died? He tore open the package. A bubble-wrapped white box dropped into his lap, followed by a letter. Ben read the letter first, written in Eloise’s distinctive precise handwriting, a little shakier in her old age, but still clear and legible. When he was done, he opened the box, marveled at the gift inside, then got to his feet and smiled. Who’d have thought a solution to his problem would come from beyond the grave?

***

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Monica had put it off long enough. She opened the door to her grandmother’s room, stepped inside, and immediately felt tears well in her eyes. She dreaded this task, but knew she had to face the awful chore of packing up Grandma Eloise’s belongings. Tonight, she’d start simply, with just a few dresser drawers. Take the process one small step at a time. In the first drawer, she found a collection of photographs, snapshots of Grandma Eloise and Grandpa Gerald together over the years. There were so many, as if the two of them wanted to capture every moment they could before his death last year, the two of them smiling, holding hands, always cozied up together, looking like the picture-perfect image of a happily married couple. From the early days of their marriage to those last few weeks before a stroke had claimed his life, they’d had this glow about them, as if their union had been magical. After Gerald had died, Eloise had never quite been the same, probably because she’d missed the other half of her life so much. Monica boxed up the photos, wiped away her tears, then started on the next drawer. This one held Grandma’s jewelry, all neatly contained in white boxes lined with velvet, carefully arranged in the drawer like books. Grandma had never owned anything worth thousands of dollars, but she treated every piece like it was the Hope Diamond. Monica moved several of the boxes aside until she reached the one she knew Grandma had wanted her to have and wear on her wedding day—the same amethyst and diamond earrings Grandma Eloise had worn on her wedding day, given to her by Grandpa Gerald. Monica’s throat thickened, the lump nearly choking her as she picked up the small box and opened it. Instead of finding just the earrings, though, she found a note tucked inside with her name written across the front in her grandmother’s handwriting. Monica smiled. That was Grandma Eloise to a T, always sure to leave her with a bit of advice, even after she had passed away. Monica reached for the note, about to read it, when the doorbell rang. She crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain— And saw Ben’s car in the driveway. He wasn’t going to give up easily. But her resolve wasn’t going to be swayed, either. Monica released the curtain, then laid the box down and headed out of the bedroom. As she walked past the dresser, she caught a glimpse of her grandparents’ portrait. If only she and Ben could— But wishing hadn’t brought her any closer to her dream, and the sooner she accepted reality, the sooner her heart could mend.

Chapter Seven “I know what you’re going to say,” Ben said as soon as Monica opened the door. He’d told himself a hundred times over on the drive to Monica’s house that he was fighting an upward battle. But fight it he would, because he wasn’t about to let his fiancée call off their wedding. He had told the wedding planners to hold the date—and he was determined to make sure he and Monica made it the church. “Ben,” Monica began, the protests already forming. He held up a hand. “Don’t start with the same argument about how we aren’t meant to be together, how being married will never work out. I heard your side, and you heard mine. But there’s a voice you haven’t heard. Someone else who had an opinion about us.” She gave him a curious look, but didn’t open the door any wider. “What are you talking about?”

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“Your grandmother wanted to add her two cents.” Ben held up the necklace. The heart-shaped amethyst turned in the sun, catching the light, casting tiny glints onto Monica’s features. “How did you get my grandmother’s necklace?” “She sent it to me along with a letter just before she died.” Ben reached forward, took Monica’s palm and dropped the necklace into her hand, then closed her fingers over the purple stone. He held onto her, the feel of her touch against his almost a balm for his soul, one he needed so badly. When Monica didn’t pull back right away, Ben took that as a good sign. A sign that not all was dead between them. That there was still a chance. If he could plot just the right course, navigate the choppy waters ahead with the finesse of a seasoned admiral, then maybe, just maybe, he’d convince Monica that their love had a better chance of survival than she thought. “How could she know?” Monica whispered. Tears welled in her deep green eyes. “I was just in her room today, looking through her things, and I found…” she swallowed, “found the matching earrings she wanted me to wear on my wedding day, along with a note for me, too. Oh God, Ben, I miss her so much.” The tears spilled over, trickling a slow river down her cheeks. With his thumb, Ben reached up and captured her sorrow, wishing he could take the pain from her heart just as easily. “Oh, Monica, I’m so sorry. Sorry that you lost your grandmother, sorry you had to go through all that alone. But most of all, sorry that I wasn’t here for you. I should have been. I should have moved heaven and earth.” A weak smile struggled to stay in place on her lips. “And the US Navy?” “Even them.” He whisked away another tear, then leaned forward and brushed a tender kiss over her lips. He realized then part of what had gone wrong between them, part of what had triggered this distance: “You needed me, and I was on the other side of the world.” “It wasn’t your fault.” “I could have done more,” Ben said, knowing now as he saw the depths of grief in her eyes that she had held so much inside, been so strong all alone and he hadn’t even known. No wonder she had accused him of treating their relationship too lightly, of not hearing her, of not being serious enough. Monica had been serious enough for ten of him. “Here I thought you were holding up so well, and all you were doing was holding on for dear life.” “I’m fine,” she said. But her voice trembled like a sapling in a thunderstorm. He didn’t care if they were over. He didn’t care if Monica had given him back her engagement ring. He didn’t care if tomorrow she told him she never wanted to see him again. Right now, Monica needed someone to lean on. She needed a friend who understood, who had loved her grandmother as much as she had. Ben stepped forward and gathered her in his arms, drawing Monica into an embrace that did nothing but give comfort, support. She held back for a moment then sagged into him, as if she’d waited all this time for him to come home so she could finally stop being the strong one. They stood there like that for a long, long time. Monica’s tears soaked into Ben’s shirt. He kept holding her, one hand stroking her hair, the other her back, while he whispered soothing nothings against her forehead and peppered her skin with light kisses.

*** The long cry had done Monica a lot of good, but it had also cracked a fissure in the wall she had worked so hard to build between herself and Ben in the last few days. She stepped out of his embrace, swiping at her face, trying to pretend his kindness, his support, his acknowledgement of all she’d been through, hadn’t

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softened her heart. She was supposed to be breaking up with him, but every time she saw him, she wanted to do the opposite. “Thank you.” He grinned, that smile she could have drawn in her sleep. “Anytime. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. I’ll never do that again.” “You didn’t have a choice, Ben.” He cupped her jaw, and despite her resolve, she leaned into the touch. “There’s always a choice, Monica. And I kept making the wrong ones. You needed to talk…and I wasn’t there to listen.” “You were on a ship in the Persian Gulf fighting a war, for Pete’s sake.” His grin was a weak version of his regular smile. “No excuse. I could have found a way, if I’d wanted to. You were right; I wasn’t taking things as seriously as I should have. It was easier to avoid than confront.” He let her go, but didn’t move away. “But you, Monica, are doing the same thing.” “What are you talking about?” “You’re running away instead of confronting what’s scaring you.” “Nothing’s scaring me.” “Oh yeah?” He dug in his pocket and came up with the diamond he had given her over a year ago. “I disagree. There’s always another choice, and right now, I’m choosing to marry you.” She jerked back, away from him and the ring. “What? But I said—“ “I know what you said. And I’m choosing not to listen.” He grinned again. “Your grandmother told me to do that.” “My grandmother…what?” Ben put the ring back in his pocket and pulled a piece of paper. Monica knew the stationary, had seen a similar blue sheet inside the box for the earrings. “You know I loved your grandmother as if she was my own,” he said. “And I trusted her opinions.” Monica nodded. “Me too. She was the wisest person I’ve ever known.” “I thought you’d say that.” He pressed the paper into her hands. “Keep that in mind when you read this.” He turned to go, heading down the first few stairs of her porch. “Where are you going?” “I’ve got an errand to run.” He pivoted back and shaded his eyes against the sun, giving Monica a smile that seemed to reflect those very same rays right into her heart. “After you read the letter, meet me in the park.” “Why?” His grin widened. “I have a question to ask you, Monica Carson.”

Chapter Eight

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Monica sat across from Belle Mackenzie, the owner of The Wedding Belles, the planners Monica had hired for the wedding. But the heavy weight of the choices in front of Monica sat on her own shoulders. “So, darlin’, have you decided what you want to do?” Belle asked. “He told you to hold the date?” Monica asked again, still surprised Ben had overridden her decision. She fingered the sample bouquet the florist, Callie, had designed. The pale white roses were punctuated by a few purple orchids, designed to pick up the color of the amethyst stones in her grandmother’s jewelry. “He did. Seems to me that boy Ben still wants to marry you. I think he’s in love.” Belle smiled. Three days ago, Monica thought she had this all figured out. She had called off her wedding, broken up with Ben and cemented her decision in her mind. It was over—she was done. But then she’d received the letter from her grandmother, and Ben had dropped off the one he’d received, and she’d begun to wonder if breaking up with Ben would mean making the biggest mistake of her life. Then she’d gone to The Wedding Belles offices on Newberry Street to return the sample bouquet, and she’d found out Ben had kept the wedding plans in place. Because he had hoped that she would change her mind? Or because he refused to accept the inevitable? “You know, I’ve been married a few times myself,” Belle said, reaching a hand across the table to give Monica’s a pat. “And every time, I was as scared as a mouse in a chicken coop of walking down that aisle. I think it’s the forever and ever thing that did me in. But I tell you, once I reached that church and looked into the eyes of my intended, I knew I was doing the right thing. Love isn’t easy, but it sure does make the hard parts easier to work through.” Monica thanked Belle and left her office. It wasn’t until she reached her car that she realized she still had her sample bouquet in her hand. She hadn’t given it back after all. Was that a sign? Her grandmother would have thought so. Monica slipped behind the wheel and pulled out the two letters. They were very similar, as if Grandma Eloise had known that Monica and Ben needed nearly the same advice. Geez, she was getting advice from every angle this week. She read her grandmother’s words again: Love is not the smooth ride you expect. It’s like a car with one bad tire. You’re always having to hold onto the wheel to keep that car on the right road, to keep it from driving you both into the ditch. I know you think your grandfather and I had the perfect marriage, that we were as matched as two socks. But what you saw was the result of sixty years of holding on to that wheel—with two pairs of hands. One person isn’t strong enough to do it, although there will be days when you’ll feel like you’re the only one steering that car. Trust in Ben, Monica. Trust in your love. And trust that during the tough days ahead—and there will be tough days, just as there will be days so wonderful you will think you have kissed the edge of heaven—trust that the other three wheels will carry you.” Monica tucked the letters into her purse then turned on the engine and put her real car in gear. She pulled into traffic then stopped at the intersection. To the right was the road that led to the Brookline Park. To the left was the road that led away from Ben. Monica flipped on her indicator and made the turn, the choice that decided the rest of her life.

*** Ben couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. Even the first time he’d asked Monica to marry him, he’d been pretty damned confident in her answer, so the few flutters he’d had in his gut had come mostly from the worry that he might flub the four-word question.

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He paced the cobblestone path, not even noticing the natural beauty surrounding him. He was only looking for one beauty, and she had yet to arrive. Then he saw a familiar figure cresting the hill, her strides long and purposeful, heading toward him. His heart soared, then reason tamped down the joy. He was still a long way from a yes. “You came,” he said to Monica when she reached him. “You said you had a question for me.” A smile curved across her face, and once again, Ben dared to hope. “First, I have something to say.” He drew in a breath. “You were right. I didn’t take things seriously enough. When I saw how deeply your grandmother’s death had affected you, I realized how much I’d hurt you by not being there for you, emotionally, mentally.” He shook his head at how long it had taken him to get this vital information into his brain. “I know, I know, but I’m a guy. Sometimes it takes a little longer for me to get the point. I thought by always being the fun one that I’d cheer you up, take your mind off things. Instead, I should have paid more attention to what you really needed.” “It’s not all your fault. I should have told you, too.” She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers between his. “After my grandmother died, I got scared. Scared that…” He cupped her jaw, lifting her chin until her gaze met his, finally looking deep enough into her eyes to read her fears. “That you could lose me, too.” She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes. “How did you know?” “Oh, Monica, I know you so well. It just took me a little longer to put the pieces together.” “I guess I thought that if I ended it now, I could save us both the pain of a divorce down the road.” She stepped into his arms, pressed her cheek to his chest. “I thought great marriages like my grandparents had started out that way from day one, but now I understand that you have to build them, one day at a time.” “With both hands on the wheel,” Ben added, echoing the words that had been in his letter, too. She nodded, and her arms went around Ben’s waist, telling him she was back. “I never stopped loving you.” “I love you, too, Monica.” He bent down and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss. Then he drew back and held out the ring. The stone glistened in the sun, like it was winking at them. “Will you still marry me?” A smile curved across her face and joy exploded in Ben’s chest. “Yes, Ben. Yes, I’ll marry you.” She put out her hand, and he slid the ring on her finger, closing his hand around hers, as if cementing that bond forever. Happiness bloomed in Ben, the feeling so enormous, he was sure it radiated as wide as the sun’s rays. He held his fiancée for a long time, treasuring the gift in his arms. “There’s one more thing,” Ben said. He turned and grabbed a bottle of champagne from the bench behind him. “We need to celebrate.” He undid the outer wrappings then placed his thumb against the cork. “What do you think it’s going to do? Explode and go flying, or just release with a nice, soft fizz?” “I don’t know,” Monica said. “It could turn out either way. That’s part of the fun of champagne, isn’t it? The not knowing.” Ben grinned and kissed the woman he loved. “I couldn’t agree more.” Then they popped the cork. It careened away, pinging off a nearby tree. But Ben and Monica didn’t see any of that happen. They were too busy getting started on forever and ever.

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Marked by Evil by Amanda Stevens Sixteen-year-old Rachel DeLaune seems to have it all—she’s smart, beautiful, favored by her father and envied by her sister. But none of that can protect her from the shadows she sees lurking around the house, the threats that seem to come from everywhere and the strange footsteps that she hears following her. Fear becomes her constant companion as she tries to keep herself and her family safe. But who can she turn to when she can trust no one? When evil seems to lurk in everyone—including her own family….

Chapter One Someone was out there. Rachel DeLaune had sensed his presence for weeks now, but she had no idea who he was. Or why he was watching her. Two nights ago, she’d caught a brief glimpse of him, lurking in the trees. She’d tried to tell herself she was seeing things, that it was just an over-active imagination that gave form to an ambiguous shape in the dark and set shadows in motion at the edge of the yard. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t dislodge a nagging premonition that something bad was about to happen. It was as if she could feel a warning in the chill wind that blew through her open bedroom window. She could hear it in the distant peal of the cemetery bells, see it in the storm clouds that hung heavy in the eastern sky. The signs were everywhere. Rachel’s gaze dropped to the circle of bruises around her wrist and she shivered. If there was one thing she’d learned in her sixteen years, it was that evil always left a mark. Hugging herself tightly, she couldn’t help peering into the darkness, probing the shadows, searching for movement, looking for yet another sign that would justify her unease. You’re just tired from being sick, she told herself. A bout of flu the previous week had left her with trembling limbs and a light head. Plus the pressure from trying to catch up at school—from trying to be the perfect daughter—was taking a toll. Maybe that’s it—I’m losing it. She was coming unhinged after years and years of secret-keeping. Maybe the first manifestation of impending insanity was paranoia. The fear that someone was out there in the dark watching her. A knock sounded on her bedroom door and she jumped. Her eyes squeezed closed as a terrible dread washed over. Dear God, please. Not tonight…

Chapter Two Rachel let out a relieved sigh as she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Just after ten. It was too early. She had hours yet. “Hey, open the door,” her thirteen-year-old sister called from the hallway. “I know you’re still up. I can see the light under the door.”

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Rachel winced. She could hear the anger in Sarah’s voice and knew that a confrontation was inevitable. These days, all they ever did was fight. Sarah seemed to be in a constant state of simmering rage and it never took much to set her off. Rachel drew back the door and Sarah came in—a thin, wiry girl with straight black hair and eyes as dark as a midnight shadow. The sisters couldn’t have been more unalike in either appearance or temperament. Sometimes Rachel wondered how they could have been born to the same parents. By nature and necessity, Rachel tended to keep everything hidden behind a smile, while the chip on Sarah’s shoulder was a permanent and very visible weight. Considering the way their father treated Sarah, her sister’s dark moods were justified. James DeLaune made no bones about the fact that Rachel was his favorite. Which was why Rachel often took the brunt of Sarah’s frustrations. Sarah would do anything to win their father’s attention, even if it meant acting out in ways that were sure to land her in trouble. But the irony was Rachel would have given anything to trade places with her sister. “You told him, didn’t you?” Sarah demanded. “Told who what?” “Don’t give me that crap! You know what I’m talking about,” she said in disgust. “You told Dad about Gabriel ripping your stupid dress and now he says I have to get rid of him. It’s all your fault!” Tears brimmed in Sarah’s eyes, but she furiously fought them back. “I didn’t tell him, Sarah, I swear. He must have seen Esme mending my dress.” “Liar! Esme would never rat Gabriel out like that.” Sarah was right about that. Esme Floyd had worked for the family for years, since before Rachel was even born. She lived with her grandson, Curtis in a little cottage behind the house. She was protective of both sisters, but especially Sarah. They had a bond that Rachel sometimes envied, especially now that Mama had become so withdrawn. “You’ve been trying to find a way to get rid of him ever since I found him,” Sarah accused. “No, I haven’t.” Although secretly, Rachel did think the mutt was nothing but a royal pain. Not only had he ruined Rachel’s new dress for the winter formal, he’d chewed up her favorite pair of shoes in the bargain. But even though she’d been upset by the destruction, she would never have run to their father. “You have everything!” A tear spilled over and ran down Sarah’s cheek. “Why couldn’t you let me have Gabriel? Why couldn’t you just leave us the hell alone?” “Sarah—” Rachel tried to touch her sister’s arm, but she flinched away. Sarah drew a shaky breath as she struggled to get her emotions under control. “If I lose my dog because of you, you’re gonna be sorry. You hear me? I’ll make damn sure you lose something, too.” The coldness in her voice…that dark promise in her eyes sent a shiver up Rachel’s spine. And for a split second, she actually felt afraid of her sister.

***

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It was late by the time Rachel finally turned in that night. She’d been dozing for only a short while when the soft knock on her door awakened her. She opened her eyes, staring with dread into the darkness. The knock came again. Still, she didn’t answer. The knob rattled, but the lock held. Then all was silent. After a moment, Rachel heard the muffled sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Chapter Three Sarah was in the kitchen with Esme the next morning when Rachel came downstairs. The moment she opened the door, Sarah swung around with blazing eyes. “I hope you’re happy,” she said bitterly. “Why? What happened?” Esme cast a worried glance toward Sarah. “The dog’s gone. The child’s been out in the cold since dawn looking for him.” “You mean he got out?” A winter storm had swept in a few days ago, and Sarah had been keeping the dog in an old shed behind the house at night. Rachel could sometimes hear him howling out there at all hours. The sound gave her chills. She’d felt better with the dog roaming the grounds—though Gabriel wasn’t much of a watchdog. He was too eager for a kind word or a pat on the head to be wary of strangers. “He didn’t get out,” Sarah said. “Someone took him.” “How do you know?” “Because his leash is gone. And don’t you dare stand there and try to look all innocent.” She shoved a dark lock of hair from her face. “Not after the fit you threw about that dumb dress. You wanted him gone and now he is. You always get your way around here, and I’m sick of it. I‘m sick of you.” “Child, you hush that kind of talk,” Esme scolded. “You know you don’t mean it.” “I do, too, mean it! I hate her, Esme. And I hate him. I swear to God I do. And one of these days, he’ll be sorry he ever messed with my dog.” Sarah stormed out of the kitchen. Esme called after her: “Sarah June, where do you think you’re going? You’ll catch your death out in that cold without a coat!” The only answer was a slammed door. In the wake of Sarah’s anger, the sudden silence in the kitchen seemed ominous. Rachel glanced at Esme, searching her dark eyes for the same accusatory gleam she’d seen in Sarah’s. But Esme just shook her grizzled head and turned back to the sink. “I swear to my time, I don’t know what gets into that girl. It’s like the Old Devil himself is prodding her.” “Maybe I should talk to her…”

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“That’s apt to set her off even more. Leave her be. Can’t no one reason with Sarah June when she gets like that. You go on upstairs and get ready for school. Go on now. That flu already set you back. No need you falling behind any more that you already are.” “Yes, ma’am. Oh, by the way, I have to stay late this afternoon to take a makeup test.” “I’ll tell your mama so she won’t worry.” “She hasn’t come down yet?” Rachel grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter, although she wasn’t really hungry. She hadn’t been hungry in days. She couldn’t seem to shake the lingering queasiness in her stomach. “I reckon she caught the same thing you had last week.” Esme, perceptive as always, gave Rachel a long appraisal as concern furrowed her brow. “Maybe you still got that old bug yourself,” she muttered, pressing the back of her hand to Rachel’s forehead. “You look a little green around the gills, you ask me.” Rachel pulled away. “I’m fine. Don’t forget to tell Mama where I’ll be this afternoon.” She left the kitchen, but the ugly scene with Sarah stayed with her. She knew that her sister’s anger masked a deep hurt. Sarah loved that dog. He’d been her constant companion ever since she’d brought him home. And even though none of this had been Rachel’s doing, she couldn’t help feeling guilty. She couldn’t go off to school without first finding out what had happened to Gabriel. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get him back. So instead of going upstairs for her books, she crossed the foyer and knocked hesitantly on her father’s study door. He was a county judge with an office in the courthouse in El Dorado, but he did a lot of his reading and paperwork at home. Everyone knew to leave him alone when he was holed up in his study, and Rachel hated to disturb him. She rarely sought him out of her own accord—but this wasn’t about her. “Yes?” “It’s me, Daddy. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you before I go to school.” “Come in, then.” Rachel took a tentative step inside. She hated this room. Hated coming in here. The scent of old leather and cigar smoke made her stomach churn. The heavy furniture and thick drapery were depressing, and Rachel’s first inclination was always to open the curtains and let in the light. But the dark, oppressive room suited her father. He was seated behind his desk, his head slightly bowed as he watched her. The skin at the back of Rachel’s neck prickled unpleasantly at the way he looked at her. As if…he owned her. He sat back in his chair, a hint of a smile curling his thin lips. “Good morning,” he said softly. “How’s my princess?”

Chapter Four James DeLaune was a tall, distinguished-looking man with piercing eyes and hard, angular features. He was a lot older than Rachel’s mother. Anna had only been twenty when they married, and Rachel often wondered how someone as kind and gentle as her mother could have been attracted to a man as darkly controlling as her father. She wondered that now as she stood before his granite countenance.

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“Well?” he prompted. She’d let her mind wander—a trick she often used in his presence. But now his gruff voice pulled her back, and she tried to mentally brace herself. Just say it fast and get it over with. “Did you get rid of Sarah’s dog?” she blurted. He stared at her in silence, his expression inscrutable. Then he shrugged. “That mangy mutt was nothing but a damn nuisance. He cost me a fortune in chewed-up shoes. Not to mention that he acted like he wanted to take my leg off every time I came home. And after what he did to that fancy party dress of yours…” He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze never leaving Rachel’s face. “I’m surprised you aren’t happy to see the last of him.” “I was upset about the gown, but I didn’t want you to get rid of him,” Rachel said. “Sarah loves that dog. And now she blames me.” “She’ll get over it. And Sarah ought to be damned glad I didn’t send her away, too.” His off-handed tone shocked Rachel as much as his words. How could he say such a thing about his own daughter, his own flesh and blood? “What do you mean?” “I’ve been looking into boarding schools for Sarah. Right now I’m leaning toward St. Stephen’s.” “But that’s a school for juvenile delinquents!” Rachel protested. “Sarah’s not like that.” “No? What would you call her then? She lies, cheats, deliberately destroys private property. She doesn’t have an ounce of respect for authority, and I won’t have that kind of insolent behavior in my household. And frankly…” He gave her a stern glare. “Your own behavior of late hardly makes you the best advocate for your sister’s case.” He got up and came around the desk to lean against the edge. He stood too close, but Rachel knew better than to retreat. Her heart started to hammer when he reached out and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. She wanted more than anything to pull away, but she didn’t dare. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” he murmured. She lifted her chin. “No, sir,” she said, with a tiny edge of defiance. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Don’t you lie to me, girl. I’ve seen you with him.” Rachel tried to hold his stare, but after a split second, her gaze dropped to the floor. So he knew about Curtis. She should have known he’d find out sooner or later. “Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the boy personally. And I’d hate like hell for any of this to come back on Esme. Lord knows, that old woman’s had enough grief in her lifetime. But this thing with Curtis…I can’t have it. If I have to choose between your future and Esme Floyd’s financial security, I’ll pick my own daughter every time. You understand that, don’t you?” Rachel’s gaze lifted as a cold fist tightened around her heart. She understood him all right. His threat was loud and clear. If she didn’t do as he said, Esme would pay the price. And so would Sarah. “I understand,” she whispered.

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“Good girl. Now go on and get ready for school. And stop worrying about that damn dog.” Rachel started to leave the room, but he called her name just before she got to the door. Reluctantly, she turned to face him. “I noticed you haven’t been wearing the earrings I gave you for Christmas,” he said. “They’re too expensive. I’m afraid I’ll lose them.” “I didn’t spend all that money on real diamonds just to have you stick them in a drawer and forget about them. Next time you come into this office, I expect you to be wearing them. Hear?” “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “Yes, sir.” “Yes, what?” “Yes, Daddy.”

Chapter Five The school day dragged. When the last bell sounded at three, Rachel longingly watched everyone else dash for the exits. Today she had a makeup calculus test and tomorrow, world history. She allowed herself a moment of daydreaming as she stared out the window before turning her attention back to the exam. The teacher, Mrs. Furley, had had to leave early, putting Rachel on the honor system. She took her time with the problems, and when she finally finished, the hallways were deserted. The empty school building always gave her the creeps, but especially these days. As she walked toward her locker, she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling, she searched the dim corridor, but no one was there. It’s just your imagination. The same way she’d been imagining everything else lately. She turned back to her locker. The footsteps sounded again. Thump…thump…thump… The sound was odd. Not like regular footsteps. Fearfully, Rachel glanced over her shoulder. The hallway was still empty. Then where… Her gaze lifted. The stairway. Thump…thump…thump… Someone was coming down the steps slowly and deliberately, as if they knew she was there. Her heart pounding, Rachel slammed her locker closed and sprinted for the nearest exit. By the time she circled the building to the parking lot, she was out of breath, her knees weak and trembling. Those footsteps…what were they? Rachel shuddered as she glanced back at the building, then hurried toward her car. The winter sun had started to fade, and long shadows fell across the pavement before her.

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That was why Rachel didn’t notice him at first. Dressed all in black, he faded into the deep shade that enveloped her car. Rachel was almost upon him before she saw him. Then she started—his appearance still took her by surprise. She’d grown up with Derrick Fears and they’d attended the same school since kindergarten. She’d never paid much attention to him until their freshmen year when he’d had a crush on her and began following her around. After months of stalking, he’d finally given up, but even now, Rachel occasionally caught him watching her from across a classroom or from the other side of a crowded hallway. During the summer before their junior year, he’d turned Goth. Now he had his own little band of groupies that followed him around. They wore the same pale makeup and black clothing, and there were rampant rumors in town that they practiced witchcraft and Satanism. But Rachel figured most of that was just talk. People always mocked what they didn’t understand. Derrick Fears was harmless. She reminded herself of that now as she approached him. He leaned against her car, his eyes dark and mysterious against the corpse-like makeup that covered his face. “What are you doing here?” she asked. His grin mocked her. “My car won’t start. If you’re heading downtown, I was hoping to catch a ride.” “Sorry, but I’m not going that way.” Downtown was only a few blocks away and he could easily walk it. Besides, Rachel had a feeling he had something else on his mind, and she didn’t want to encourage him. She moved toward the door, but he stepped in front of her. For the first time, she felt a prickle of fear. Maybe he wasn’t quite as harmless as she’d always thought. “Get out of my way, Derrick.” “I will…just as soon as I give you a little piece of advice.” He leaned toward her, and the dying light caught the silver crucifix he wore upside down on a chain around his neck. Rachel shot a nervous glance toward the building. No one was about. The parking lot was empty except for her car. Derrick’s was nowhere to be seen. He’d been waiting for her. Somehow he’d known she would be staying late today. Rachel thought about the odd footsteps she’d heard inside. Could it have been Derrick? By the time she’d circled the building to the parking lot, Derrick could have easily gone out another way and beat her to her car. Had he also been the one she’d seen standing at the trees at the edge of her yard the other night? Had he started following her again? I should have told someone what I saw. But who could she tell? Her father? He’d blame Curtis. And her mother would only worry herself sick. Rachel tried to fight her apprehension as Derrick continued to block her path. “Advice about what?” she managed to ask calmly. “Your sister.” “Sarah?” she asked in surprise. “What about her?” “She’s been hanging around the old Duncan farmhouse lately. That’s our place. She’s got some crazy notion we’ll take her in, but she’s a little on the young side for our needs. You, on the other hand…” His gaze dropped, giving Rachel a long appraisal. “You’re the kind of fresh blood we’ve been looking for.”

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Chapter Six “What’s going on?” said a voice behind Rachel. She glanced over her shoulder in relief as Curtis Floyd strode across the parking lot toward them—tall, graceful and so handsome he took Rachel’s breath away. “Just trying to bum a ride downtown,” Derrick said with a shrug. His dark gaze moved back and forth between Curtis and Rachel, and he smirked. “She’s got no time for me, but I bet she wouldn’t mind taking you for a spin.” The innuendo wasn’t lost on Curtis and he took a warning step toward Derrick. Rachel caught his arm to stop him. Derrick winked at Rachel. “See you around, princess.” Then he took off across the parking lot and disappeared down the street. Curtis scowled after him. “What was that all about?” “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” “It matters to me. What did he say to you?” Rachel sighed. “Just let it go, Curtis.” “If it was nothing, why are you so upset?” “I’m not upset. I just want to go home.” He lifted a hand and tucked back her hair. “I was hoping we could spend some time together. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.” “How did you know I was staying late today?” He smiled. “I have my ways.” Meaning, he’d probably overheard Esme talking to Rachel’s mother. He leaned down to kiss her, but Rachel moved away from him. “Don’t.” He drew back, hurt. “Why not?” “You know why not.” He said nothing, but Rachel could sense his anger. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. He looked out over the street. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? As long as that bastard is still alive.” Rachel blinked back sudden tears. “I don’t want to talk about that now.” She turned to the car. “I have to get home. Do you want a ride?” “Are you sure that’s allowed?” he asked sarcastically. “Please, Curtis. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

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He said nothing and they both climbed into the car. Curtis was silent all the way home, but when she pulled into the drive, he turned to her, his green eyes shadowed with an emotion that made Rachel shiver. “Do you ever think about killing him?” Rachel gasped. “What? No!” He stared out the windshield. “I do. Sometimes I lie in bed at night and think about how I’d do it. My grandmother has a gun. It belonged to my old man before he got sent to the pen. Sometimes I imagine myself getting up out of bed, taking that gun and walking down the path to your house. I go in the back door, climb the stairs, open the bedroom door and see him lying there. And then I lift the gun and start firing. I don’t stop until every last bullet is buried in his chest.” Rachel’s heart flailed so hard against her ribcage she could barely speak. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t even think it,” she whispered. She got out of the car and would have run away if Curtis hadn’t caught up to her. He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, staring for a long moment into her eyes. “I can’t help thinking it,” he said furiously. “I want to get you away from him. All you have to do is say the word.” “Stop it! Curtis, you’re scaring me!” “I don’t mean to scare you. I just want to take you away from here. Tonight, tomorrow. Any time you want. Just say when.” For one brief moment Rachel allowed herself to consider the tantalizing possibility of freedom. Of a life with the only man she would ever love. “What about your scholarship?” she asked breathlessly. “I don’t give a damn about that scholarship,” he said with a careless shrug. But he was lying. Rachel could see it in his eyes. “I care. You’ve always wanted to be a doctor. I won’t let you throw away your dream because of me. I’d never be able to live with myself.” His grip tightened on her arms. “And how do you think I can live with myself knowing what I know? And not doing a damn thing to stop it?” “It’s not what you think. He’s not a bad man. He’s—” Curtis made a disgusted sound. “I know what he is. You can pretend all you want, but I know.” Rachel closed her eyes as he lifted a hand and stroked his fingers through her hair. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. “Then let me go,” she said. “It’s over.” “Because he said so?” “Because that’s the way it has to be.” “You’re wrong.” Curtis’s eyes burned into hers. “It’s not over. It’ll never be over. I won’t let it be.” He backed away from her then, and his gaze lifted to the house. Rachel turned and glanced up to see what had caught his attention.

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Her father stood at her bedroom window and was staring down at them.

Chapter Seven James DeLaune insisted that dinner always be served precisely at six o’clock—not a minute before or after—and everyone was expected to dress appropriately. No jeans or tennis shoes at his table. So when Sarah showed up in a ratty old sweater and ripped pants, Rachel knew they were in for a long, uncomfortable evening. But to her surprise, her father said nothing about Sarah’s clothes all through the meal. It wasn’t until after her mother had gone into the kitchen for the dessert that he laid aside his fork and said in a deceptively calm voice, “I don’t know about you two, but I had quite an interesting day. I had an appointment in Little Rock after lunch and I took the opportunity to stop by St. Stephen’s.” He blotted his mouth with his napkin. “It’s a boarding school, Sarah.” Even though he addressed her sister, Rachel knew without looking up that his eyes were on her. She could feel his condemnation. His warning. He’d seen her with Curtis that afternoon. The mention of St. Stephen’s was as much for her benefit as Sarah’s. “I know what it is,” Sarah said gloomily. “It’s a nuthouse.” “It’s nothing of the kind,” James said. “It’s a school for troubled adolescents and teenagers. Like you, Sarah.” “I’m not troubled.” She toyed with her knife and fork, clanging them together in a way that made their father scowl. “No? Then what would you call a girl who lies to her parents? Sneaks out of the house at all hours? Has no respect for her elders? I’d call a girl like that someone heading for trouble, wouldn’t you?” Sarah eyed him suspiciously. “You want to send me there, don’t you? Well, I won’t go.” A strand of dark hair fell across her forehead and she angrily shoved it back. “I’m afraid it’s not up to you.” Rachel did glance up then only to find his eyes still on her. She dared to glare back at him for a moment before dropping her gaze back down to her plate. Sarah jumped to her feet, toppling her chair in her haste. The loud bang caused Rachel to jump. “I won’t go! And you can’t make me, either. I’ll run away before I get shipped off to some loony bin.” She whirled and rushed from the table without waiting to be excused. Rachel braced herself for her father’s explosion, but instead, he seemed unperturbed by Sarah’s outburst. And that wasn’t like him. He was up to something. “What on earth is going on in here?” Anna DeLaune asked from the kitchen doorway. Slowly she walked back into the room, her gaze going to the overturned chair. Her delicate face looked pale and drawn. She was still lovely—the most beautiful woman Rachel had ever seen—but tonight she looked older than her thirty-six years. “Where’s Sarah?” “I expect she’s up in her room by now.” “What did you say to her?” Her voice turned cold and accusing.

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Did she know? Rachel wondered. Did she have any idea the kind of man her husband was? It was a question Rachel had asked herself a million times, but one she would never allow herself to answer. She loved her mother, and she’d convinced herself that Anna’s gentle soul could never comprehend the true darkness of the man she’d married. “I told Sarah about my visit to St. Stephen’s today,” her father was saying. Anna gasped. “James, you didn’t! Why would you do such a thing without discussing it with me first? You know how I feel about that place.” “And you know how I feel about Sarah.” He leaned toward her. “She’s out of control. You know it as well as I do. You just don’t want to admit it.” “James, please…” Rachel rose on shaky legs. “May I be excused, Daddy? I have a lot of homework to do.” “Of course, princess.” Her mother gave her a worried smile. “Are you feeling okay? You still look a little pale. Maybe you went back to school too soon.” “I’m fine, Mama. Just a little tired, is all. I think I’ll turn in early tonight.” “That’s probably a good idea,” her father agreed. Rachel could feel his questioning gaze on her, but she refused to look at him as she turned and left the room.

Chapter Eight When Rachel got to the top of the stairs, she saw that her sister’s door was open, and suddenly Derrick Fears’s warning came back to her. Had Sarah been hanging out at the old Duncan Farmhouse? Did she really want to join Derrick’s group? That would really push their father over the edge. He was an educated man, but he had an unsophisticated and intolerant mindset when it came to people he deemed “weirdoes.” She had to warn her sister. Rachel walked over to the open doorway. “Sarah?” She took a tentative step inside her sister’s room and called out her name again, but Sarah wasn’t there. Rachel took the opportunity to glance around. Sometimes she felt as if she barely knew her sister. She remembered a few months ago when Sarah had got it in her head that she wanted an all-black room. Their father had thought it was a ridiculous idea and refused to buy the paint. Sarah had retaliated by covering every square inch of her cheery yellow walls with posters of hardcore bands and movies. A light was on at the desk and Rachel could see that Sarah had been sketching. She was an amazingly talented portrait artist, but when she drew the people she knew, she added something unpleasant. A hint of something macabre. Rachel found her sister’s artwork creepy and disturbing, but that was Sarah. She loved to shock. At first Rachel thought the drawing on Sarah’s desk was of Derrick Fears. The subject had the same corpselike face and kohl-rimmed eyes. But when she really looked at it, she realized the sketch was of a boy she’d never seen before. She would have remembered those eyes. They were so chilling and oddly compelling.

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“What do you think you’re doing? That’s private property.” Sarah strode across the room and snatched the sketchpad from Rachel’s fingers. “Who is that?” she asked and nodded toward the drawing. “None of your business,” Sarah snapped. “Is it someone you know?” “What’s it to you?” “Because I’ve never seen him before. What’s his name?” Sarah hesitated, then shrugged. “His name’s Ashe Cain.” “Where does he live? Where does he come from?” “Jeez, Louise,” Sarah said sullenly. “Like I have to answer to you.” “No, you don’t have to answer to me,” Rachel agreed. “But whoever this guy is, he looks like the type of person you shouldn’t be hanging out with. That’s what I came in here to talk to you about. I heard something at school today that worried me. Have you been sneaking out to the old Duncan farmhouse at night? Is that where you know this Ashe Cain person from?” “Why? Are you going to run and tattle on me?” Rachel sighed. “Of course not. But, Sarah, there’s a rumor going around town that all those Goth kids practice Satanism out there.” Sarah laughed. “So?” “What if Daddy finds out you’ve been hanging out with those kids? If you don’t want to get shipped off to St. Stephens, you’d better stay away from them and stop going out to that old house. And that goes for this Ashe guy, too. He looks too old for you anyway.” As an answer, Sarah stuck out her tongue. “Oh, that’s real mature, Sarah. I’m trying to help you. Don’t give Daddy another reason to send you away.” “Like you’d care if he did.” “I would care.” Rachel hesitated, then softened her voice. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’d miss you if you were gone.” “Whatever,” Sarah muttered as she went over to the window and peered into the darkness. Then she slid up the sash and leaned out into the cold night air. Rachel shivered, remembering the shadow she’d seen at the edge of the yard. Had Sarah seen it, too? “What are you looking for?” “Shush. Listen.” Rachel frowned. “To what? I don’t hear anything.”

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“The cemetery bells.” Sarah turned from the window, her eyes lit with a strange excitement. “Ashe says when you hear them at night, it means death is coming.” Rachel’s chill deepened, but she tried not to show her sudden apprehension. Who was this Ashe person? “That’s just a legend. Like the devil’s footprints.” According to the old tale, Thomas Duncan had awakened one night to find his rooftop and yard covered with cloven footprints. No explanation for the tracks had ever been found, but some of the townspeople believed that a newly drilled oil well in Thomas’s cotton field had allowed the devil to escape from hell and run rampant over the countryside. Every once in a while, usually after a death, someone would still claim to have seen those same cloven marks. “What makes you think the footprints aren’t real?” Sarah asked slyly. “I’ve never seen them. Have you?” “Ashe says just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not real.” Sarah closed the window and turned. “What else does this Ashe have to say?” Rachel asked worriedly. Her sister seemed to have a strange fixation with him. “Lots of things. You’d be surprised,” Sarah said mysteriously. She picked up a yellow porcelain bird form her dresser and cradled it in her palm as if it were alive. “That belonged to Grandmother, didn’t it?” Rachel said. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “I know—she gave it to you before she died. But do you know the story behind it?” Sarah shrugged, pretending disinterest, but Rachel could see that she was listening intently. “Granddaddy was a spy during World War II. He was caught behind enemy lines once and everyone thought he was dead. Then a package came for Grandmother one day. Inside was that yellow bird. It was Granddaddy’s way of letting her know he was still alive. That little bird was her most prized possession. And she gave it to you. Do you know why?” Sarah shrugged again. “Because you were her favorite.” Rachel walked to the door and turned. “Please remember what I said about staying away from Derrick Fears and that old farmhouse.” “And remember what I said about minding your own business,” Sarah snapped. But her eyes were suspiciously bright.

Chapter Nine The bells awakened Rachel that night. She listened for a moment, wondering if she was still dreaming. The sound was too loud to be coming from the old cemetery. Most nights you couldn’t even hear the bells, unless the wind was blowing just right.

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But Rachel was wide awake now and she could still hear the bells as clearly as if they were right outside her window. It was freezing in her room. She snuggled under the covers and watched the moon hovering over the treetops. The cold, pale light spilled through the glass and cast an earthly glow inside her room. And then she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. Her window had been slid open a crack and something had been placed on the sill. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Icy fingers stroked along her spine as she pulled on her robe and crossed to the window. She knelt and put out a hand, then recoiled. It was a dead bird. Someone had been inside her room while she was sleeping and had left it there for her to find. Placed on the sill as a warning. And as a cold wind swept through the room, Rachel heard the bells louder than ever before. As she moved closer to the window, she realized why—someone had hung them in the tree outside her window. Ashe says when you hear the bells at night, death is coming. Trembling, Rachel slid up the sash and shoved the bird over the ledge. Her gaze went to the backyard and she searched as she always did through the shadows. Something moved at the edge of the yard. She was sure of it this time. Someone was out there. Heart pounding, Rachel watched as a form emerged from the shadows. Sarah! Her sister moved out of the trees and onto the path that led down to Esme’s cottage. She turned once, her gaze lifting as if she were expecting to find someone watching her from one of the windows. Rachel couldn’t tell if Sarah had seen her or not. The girl paused only for an instant before she turned and hurried off into the darkness.

Chapter Ten Rachel dressed quickly. The darkness frightened her, but she had to go out. Whatever Sarah was up to, she had to be stopped before she got herself into serious trouble. Rachel was certain it had been her sister that had put the bells in the tree and left the dead bird on her window sill. It was her way of getting back at Rachel for Gabriel, but this time she’d gone too far. This time her retaliation wasn’t just annoying, it was downright scary. And Rachel had a terrible feeling that someone was leading Sarah down a dark and terrible path. Ashe Cain. Was he real? Or had Sarah made him up?

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It wouldn’t be the first time she’d used an imaginary friend as a scapegoat. But those eyes… I wouldn’t want to see those eyes in the dark, she thought with a shiver as she slipped out the back door and ran down the porch steps. She spotted Sarah up ahead on the path. For a moment, Rachel let herself hope that she was headed for Esme’s, but before her sister reached the cottage, she veered from the trail and disappeared into the old pear orchard. Rachel lost sight of Sarah then, but it didn’t matter. She knew where her sister was headed. As she emerged from the orchard, she felt the wind pick up and she could hear the cemetery bells tolling in the distance. Before her lay a barren cotton field. The same field, according to legend, that had been desecrated one snowy morning by hundreds of cloven footprints. The old wooden oil-derrick in Thomas Duncan’s field had perished years ago, but Rachel could imagine how it must have looked that night, rising up into the dark sky like the gateway to hell. The legend of the devil’s footprints had persisted for decades, but Rachel had never been particularly bothered by it until now—as she thought about her sister inside the old farmhouse where seventy years ago Thomas Duncan had been awakened by the sound of cloven hooves on his rooftop. Thump…thump…thump… Just like the footsteps she’d heard on the stairs at her school. Rachel couldn’t get the memory of that sound out of her head as she walked through the tall weeds to the crumbling house. The place was evil, people said. Haunted. Cursed. And now her sister had come here in the middle of the night—for what dark purpose Rachel dreaded to learn. The wind swept through the trees, stirring the bells, and candlelight flickered from the front windows. A voice inside her head warned her away and she stopped just before the porch. Rachel wanted to heed that warning. She wanted to turn and run back home, lock herself in her room and never come out. But more than that, she wanted Curtis to take her away from this place—this town, because the gnawing premonition of danger that had been tormenting her for weeks was stronger than ever before. But the thought of Sarah, alone, kept her where she was. She couldn’t leave Sarah. There was no one else to protect her. Certainly not their father. Not even their mother. There was no one but Rachel. The floorboards creaked as she stepped upon the porch and a chill seeped down into her soul. Drawing a breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. A circle of candles had been placed in the middle of the floor. The flames danced in the draft, casting eerie shadows over the walls and ceiling. “Sarah?” No answer. “I know you’re here. I saw you leave the house.”

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All was silent. And then Rachel heard the strange footsteps. Not on the tin roof, but on the floor directly above her. Thump…thump…thump… “Sarah, where are you?” she called out desperately. “Answer me, damn it!” The house was dark even with the candlelight, but Rachel could see a door hanging open on the other side of the room. She could barely make out a narrow staircase beyond. Crossing the creaking floor, she slowly started up the steps. Halfway to the top, she paused to listen. The footsteps had stopped, but she could sense a presence. “Sarah,” she whispered. Her gaze lifted. Someone stood at the top of the steep steps, staring down at her. A hand lifted and Rachel saw the gleam of a knife blade in the moonlight.

Chapter Eleven Sarah was annoyed with herself. The wind was a lot colder than she’d anticipated, and halfway to the farmhouse she’d had to go back for her gloves and a heavier coat. And now she was worried that Ashe might not have waited for her. Sometimes he didn’t. As she hurried through the frigid darkness, she thought about her sister’s earlier interrogation. Why was Rachel so curious about Ashe? She’d acted as if she thought Sarah had made him up. Where does he live? Where did he come from? Like Rachel was the only one who could have friends, Sarah thought peevishly. Sarah’s steps faltered. She could hear the cemetery bells now, and the sound drew a shiver down her spine. Secretly she had to admit that sometimes she wondered about Ashe, too. He’d come into her life so suddenly and already he was her best friend. No one had ever made her feel special the way he did. But lately… Lately things had been changing with Ashe. She would never say it aloud, but he was starting to scare her a little. He was just so mysterious. And he refused to tell her where he lived, where he came from. Why he had sought her out. Not that any of that mattered. He was the only real friend she’d ever had. And at first the things he’d done to the people at school who called her names had amused her. Lost car keys. Missing homework. Stupid stuff like that, but it had served all those jerks right for being so mean to her. But now Ashe had begun to talk about Rachel. And about her father. And about how the best way to punish someone was to take that which meant the most to them. Like Gabriel. Anger surged every time Sarah thought of her father taking away her dog, and she still blamed Rachel for throwing such a fit about that stupid dress. But Ashe’s talk about making them pay bothered her. Yeah,

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she’d said some pretty mean things herself, but she hadn’t meant them. Once she’d had time to cool down, she’d been sorry and more than a little ashamed for the way she’d acted—especially toward Rachel. But what if Ashe really did mean the things he’d said? That was one of the reasons Sarah needed to see him tonight. She had to make sure he understood. Suddenly, the farmhouse appeared out of the darkness in front of her, and as Sarah cut across the yard she saw candlelight flickering in the front windows. She breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Ashe had waited for her. She opened the door and stepped inside. A strange odor greeted her. It smelled like the sulphur dip the vet had given her for Gabriel’s mange. The scent made her gag. Drawing her coat up over her nose, Sarah started across the room, but her feet slid out from under her and she fell with a hard thud to her knees. Something wet and slippery had been spilled on the floor. Slowly, she lifted her hand. There was red on her fingers. Blood. Her heart thudded in terror. She tried to get up, but panic disoriented her, took away her coordination. She kept slipping and sliding until she, too, was covered in blood. And then she saw Rachel on the floor. She lay so still and silent… No. Please, no. Sarah scrambled across the wet floor on hands and knees to her sister’s side. Oh, thank God! She was still alive. Her eyes were open and she put out a trembling hand to Sarah. “It’ll be all right,” Sarah whispered, gripping her sister’s hand in her own. “I’ll go for help.” Oh, God. What had happened? Rachel was covered in blood. She clutched at Sarah’s wrist, trying to tug her closer. Sarah leaned over her. “He’s still here,” Rachel whispered. “Where?” Her sister’s eyes widened in terror. Sarah whirled. But no one was there. When she turned back to her sister, Rachel’s eyes were still open—but they were empty now, the fingers that Sarah gripped had gone lifeless and cold.

Chapter Twelve Sarah stumbled along the side of the road, not knowing where she was going, unable to remember where she’d been. All she knew was that she had to find Rachel.

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At the thought of her sister, pain shot through Sarah’s heart and for a moment, she could hardly breathe. She had to find Rachel, had to tell her she was sorry for being so mean and for being a bad sister. Too late, a voice said inside her. No! It couldn’t be too late. Rachel would understand. She would forgive her. She always forgave Sarah no matter how mean she treated her. “I want my sister,” she whispered into the wind. Too late, said the voice inside her head. Sarah blinked as headlights caught her in the eyes. But the sound of the car engine barely registered as the vehicle pulled off the road and stopped. The doors slammed. A man’s voice said, “My God, she’s got blood all over her! There must have been an accident.” “How badly is she hurt?” the woman with him said worriedly. “I can’t tell.” He took Sarah’s arm, but she flinched away. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “We just want to help you. Can you tell us what happened?” Sarah opened her mouth, but no sound came out. That was so strange. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t talk. Why she couldn’t remember. She didn’t understand why she needed to find Rachel so badly. “She’s in shock,” the man said. “We’d better get her to the hospital.” “My God, Carl…that’s Judge DeLaune’s girl! What do you reckon happened to her?” “I don’t know,” the man said uneasily. “But her house is just down the road. Maybe we should take her home.” The woman came over to stand beside the man. They both stared at Sarah in the glare of the headlights. The woman said softly, “Come on, honey. You want to go home?” “I want my sister,” Sarah whispered.

Chapter Thirteen Sarah crept out of her bedroom to the top of the stairs. She could hear her father and the sheriff talking below in the foyer. Sheriff Clay was leaving. He’d been there for a long time, but now he was on his way to arrest Derrick Fears for Rachel’s murder. “Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later,” she heard him mutter. “Them damn freaks running around town looking like ghouls. I chased them out of the old Duncan farmhouse not two nights ago. High as a kite, every last one of ‘em. You should’ve seen what they did to that place. Pentagrams, upsidedown crosses, every damn obscenity you can imagine scrawled all over the walls. And candles all over the place. It’s a wonder they didn’t burn it down.” “Now you listen to me.” James DeLaune’s voice broke, but the steely undertone sent a shiver up Sarah’s spine. “You bring Fears in and you get a confession. I want an airtight case against that son of a bitch.” “Don’t you worry. If it takes me the rest of my days, I’ll see that boy fry for what he did.”

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Sarah hugged her knees. She couldn’t stop trembling. It had been hours since she’d been found and brought home, but she still could remember very little of what had transpired that night. When she’d mumbled something incoherent about the farmhouse, her father had gone over there to search the place— and he’d found Rachel. A shudder ripped up Sarah’s spine and she hugged her knees even tighter. Her sister was dead. It didn’t seem possible, but it was true. Sarah had seen her father carry home the body. The doctor had been summoned but he was too late. No one could help Rachel. No one could bring her back. < your all it’s> Sarah squeezed her eyes closed as a terrible guilt washed over. She’d been at the farmhouse tonight, too. Why couldn’t she remember what had happened there? Traumatic amnesia, the doctor had told her mother. “When the child’s ready, she’ll remember. Until then…do everything you can to make her feel safe and secure. She’s been through a terrible ordeal. One few of us can even comprehend.” He’d left then, and Esme and Mama had cleaned Sarah up and put her to bed. She’d tried to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and make it all go away, but instead, she’d lain wide awake in the dark, fear and guilt an iron fist around her heart. This was her doing. She was to blame for her sister’s death. In the foyer, the sheriff was still speaking in low tones. His gaze lifted to the stairs and Sarah pushed herself back into the shadows. “Has she said anything else?” “Just that one name. Ashe Cain.” The sheriff shook his head. “I gotta tell you, James, I know everyone in this county, old and young alike. I never heard tell of anyone by that name. I even asked my boy about him. Lukas never heard of him, either. You think it’s possible she made it up?” “When it comes to Sarah, anything’s possible.” Her father’s voice was edged with disgust and suspicion. He’d always hated her and she’d never known why. “She’s headstrong and spiteful, and I’ve learned not to believe half of what comes out of her mouth.” “James, she was at that farmhouse tonight. She had Rachel’s blood all over her. Are you sure…” His voice lowered and Sarah couldn’t make out what he said. Her father’s voice hardened. “Leave Sarah to me. You go get Derrick Fears and you make damn sure that bastard talks. I don’t care what you have to do, you hear me?” “Oh, he’ll talk. I’ll have him singing like a canary before sunup. In the meantime, I’d think about finding a good shrink for that girl. She knows something. Maybe she saw something she doesn’t even know she saw. We’ll get a confession one way or another out of Fears, but an eye witness would put that little freak on death row a whole lot faster.” Her father followed him outside, and Sarah went back to her room. They seemed convinced that Derrick Fears had murdered Rachel, and Sarah couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t. But in her gut, she believed— feared—that Ashe Cain was the one. He’d killed Rachel…for her.

Chapter Fourteen Sarah sat shivering in her room with her back against the door.

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Why, why had she befriended Ashe Cain? Why had she trusted him, told him things she should never have told anyone? Even if she went to her father, he’d never believe her. Like Sheriff Clay had said, neither he nor his son had ever heard of Ashe Cain. No one had seen or talked to him except Sarah. It was as if he’d sprung from her imagination to serve her darkest needs, and now that her sister was dead, he’d vanished. Sarah got up and walked down the quiet hallway to her parents’ room. She wanted to knock on the door, but she could hear her mother crying inside. She didn’t want to face her at that moment. Sarah couldn’t look into her mother’s eyes, knowing that she might have brought Rachel’s murderer into their lives. She returned to her room and gently lifted the yellow porcelain bird from her dresser. Then she went into Rachel’s room and stood in the dark, summoning old memories, trying to soak in the essence of who her sister had been. They’d never been close. They were just too different, and Sarah had always been jealous of her sister’s beauty and popularity. Not that she placed much value on those things herself, but she often thought that maybe if she’d been prettier or smarter, her father might have loved her more. Gently, Sarah placed the porcelain bird on Rachel’s pillow, and then stood for a moment longer, tears stinging her eyes and grief clogging her throat. As she turned to leave, she heard the sound of bells outside her sister’s window. She crossed the room in the dark and slid open the window, listening. Death is coming, the wind seemed to whisper. Ashe must have tied those bells in the tree as a warning, she realized now. And as her eyes searched the empty darkness, she shivered in dread. He was gone for now, but she knew he’d be back. Whether real or imagined, Ashe Cain would some day return. And he would be coming for Sarah.

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Will of Her Own by Darlene Gardner Sexy Will Sandusky has earned his reputation as a ladies' man. So when Shea Sullivan, the "older woman" he had a crush on in high school, moves back to town just before Thanksgiving, he wastes no time in asking her out. But Will is no home wrecker, and quickly backs off when he learns Shea is pregnant with another man's child. But Will doesn't know that Shea recently made good on a promise to herself to be artificially inseminated if she wasn't in a relationship by the time she turned thirty. Yet while this mom-to-be is still very single, she's not about to get involved with a player like Will the Thrill.…

Chapter One Shea Sullivan might have interpreted the goose bumps skipping down her arms as a sign of attraction rather than a warning if Will Sandusky's reputation hadn't preceded him. Will expertly pointed out the attributes of the three-bedroom colonial they were walking through in a confident, low-throated voice. Exactly like the good Realtor he was. He also smoothly took every opportunity to chip away at her personal space. Precisely like the player he was. This wasn't the first house Shea had looked to buy in McIntosh, but it was the first Will had shown her. He was in business with his almost-as-charming uncle, whom she'd dealt with previously, in the small Ohio town at the aptly named Sandusky Real Estate. Will sidled up beside her when she stopped to admire the railing at the foot of the wooden staircase. He was so close that she could almost feel the warmth of his skin. She could smell him: a hint of soap, the outdoors and man. "See this scrollwork on the wood." One of his nicely shaped, long-fingered hands stroked the railing with the same care as he might caress a woman. "You won't see any finer. The previous owner commissioned a local carpenter, name of Jim James, who's a genius in his field." His breath smelled fresh, which she wouldn't have noticed if he'd been standing more than a few inches away. Heeding the dancing goose bumps, she climbed the first two steps to put some distance between them. "The carpenter's name is really Jim James?" "Jim-Jim for short." Will grinned, his white teeth flashing and blue eyes sparkling against his tanned skin. He had strong features — a broad forehead, angled cheekbones, a long nose and a square chin. They were set off by a flattop that might have looked severe on another man. On Will, the hairstyle appeared sexy. But then the man had a body that would make a sculptor drool, a fact evident despite the khakis and knit sweater he wore in deference to the early November chill. Shea had no difficulty understanding why the girls at McIntosh High had nicknamed him Will the Thrill. "I remember you from high school," he announced. Her brows raised. "Somehow, I doubt that. I graduated twelve years ago." "You used to wear your hair long, straight and parted in the middle." He climbed a single step so they were at eye level. "Sometimes you'd pull the front strands back in two braids to keep them out of your eyes. Not thick braids, but tiny ones that you'd pin at the back of your head. In the cafeteria your senior year, you sat at the table nearest the door. And you ate with the same crowd. That girl who always had the lead in the school plays and some guys who ran track. Bobby Blake was one of them. Am I right?"

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She nodded, stunned that he'd remembered any of that. "One lunch early in your senior year, the two biggest jerks in school, who also happened to be the largest, deliberately tripped one of the band kids. You helped him clean up, invited him to sit with you and gave those two creeps a talking to. For the rest of the school year, I tried to get up the courage to ask you out." The goose bumps popped up again. "Why didn't you?" "Are you kidding? I was a freshman. You were a beautiful, gutsy senior. I was afraid you'd laugh me out of school." "It's hard to imagine you ever lacking confidence." "Where you were concerned, believe me, I lacked it." She didn't believe a word he said. Even though he'd proved he had a remarkable memory, she could hardly believe he was hitting on her. Considering the circumstances. "Don't you know who my sister is?" She didn't wait for his reply. "Jessie Sullivan. Remember her?" "Sure do." The wattage of his smile didn't dim. "How is Jessie?" "She's fine, now that she's over the broken heart you gave her."

Chapter Two Shea gaped at Will as he threw back his head and laughed, a soft rumble as appealing as his low voice. Annoyed both at him and at herself for noticing he had a likeable laugh, she snapped, "There's nothing funny about you having broken my sister's heart." He held up a hand. "Whoa. I'm laughing because you've got it wrong. Jessie and I went out a couple times in high school, but I didn't break her heart. That's not my style. I can't believe she'd say that." Shea thought back to what Jessie had told her. Because Shea was three years older than both Will and her sister, she'd heard about the romance via telephone while at Ohio State. She didn't precisely recall Jessie mentioning a broken heart, but she remembered the aftermath almost to the word. He was dating Rachel until Sally found out. Would you believe they're mad at each other and not at him? You should have seen the blonde he brought to the prom. She looked like she'd come straight from Hugh Hefner's mansion. He's going to Michigan State on a football scholarship. Somebody should warn the coeds that he plays at more than football. "Seems to me I heard Jessie got married," Will said. "She's living in Dayton, right?" "That's right," Shea said. Jessie had met her future husband during her first year in college. They'd been happily married for the past four years; her sister hadn't mentioned Will Sandusky in maybe twice that long. "When you talk to her, tell her I said hello," Will said. She nodded before she walked up the stairs, squashing an urge to smooth her skirt against the backs of her legs. Will Sandusky didn't have to peer up skirts to get a look at female flesh. She was sure plenty of women

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bared themselves voluntarily. Despite his denial about breaking hearts, he'd been a player in high school who'd had years to perfect his craft. "There are three bedrooms up here," he said when he joined her on the second floor. "But if you don't mind my saying, it seems like an awful lot of house for one person." "I don't mind you saying," she said evasively. She entered the first room, careful to clear the doorway by a wide margin so Will's body wouldn't make contact with hers. From its size, it was obviously the master bedroom. She wandered through the room, stopping at the window to admire the view. Beyond the spacious backyard, a row of evergreens made her think of Christmas. "What happened to you, Shea?" Will asked softly from behind her. "Where have you been all these years?" She swallowed. "New York City." "Oh, yeah? Doing what?" "Public relations," she said. "I was director at an all-service firm in downtown Manhattan." "And now you're moving back to McIntosh for good?" "That's right. I'm going to do consulting work from home." "Let me be the first to welcome you back." He moved closer and his voice lowered. "Let me take you out to dinner, celebrate your return." Surprised that she was tempted to accept, she stiffened her resolve. "That's not a good idea." "Why not?" He traced the line of her jaw with a fingertip. She stepped out of touching range. "I haven't told you why I need such a big house." That made him pause. "Why?" She pressed her lips together. She hadn't meant to tell anyone the reason before informing her family, but these were special circumstances. "The house isn't only for me." She put her ringless hand on her still-flat stomach, then said the one truth designed to send him running for the McIntosh hills. "I'm moving back to McIntosh because I'm having a baby."

Chapter Three Will banged through the door at Sandusky Real Estate, yanked out a chair and sat down heavily at his desk. His head jerked up when he heard his uncle approaching from the back of the office. Everybody said that Will was his spitting image, but Will didn't see it. Their coloring was similar, although Uncle Johnny's sideburns had turned gray. But Will's uncle was a little shorter, a little heavier and a lot louder. "How'd it go with Shea Sullivan?" he bellowed. "Not so great," Will answered.

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When he'd seen her again, all his long-ago fantasies had come rushing back along with the startling realization of why he'd always preferred long-limbed brunettes with dark eyes. Shea, once the unattainable older woman, was his prototype. Grasping that the age difference was no longer an obstacle now that he was twenty-seven and Shea thirty, he'd seized the moment and asked her out. Her pregnancy, however, rendered her as unattainable as ever. Uncle Johnny scratched his head. "Shea didn't like that house? I could have sworn she'd go for it." Too late, Will realized his mistake and brazenly tried to cover. "She did like it. I'm writing up an offer right now." "Then what…" His uncle's voice trailed off, and a smile creased his still-handsome face. "She shut you down, didn't she? Will the Thrill, the hound dog of McIntosh, struck out." "You're the one they call the hound dog of McIntosh," Will said grumpily. "And you're way off base. Shea's pregnant." "You're kidding. I'm in a golf league with her dad, and he never said anything about that. Where's her husband?" "I don't know. Maybe she's not married," Will said. Shea hadn't been wearing a ring, but that didn't mean much nowadays. Besides, even if there was no husband, her baby had a father. "That's a surprise, with a family as conservative as hers. If Shea went and got herself preg —" "Uncle Johnny, I'm working here," Will interrupted. "It's almost six o'clock. Don't you have a date or something?" "Always," Uncle Johnny said. A lifelong bachelor, he'd moved from dating the single girls of McIntosh to the divorcées and widows. His uncle wasn't the only one with a date. After presenting Shea's offer and giving the seller twenty-four hours to respond, Will took the hour-long drive to Columbus to hook up with a woman named Bunny he'd met the week before at a Columbus nightclub. Though undeniably attractive, Bunny no longer held the same allure. A scant hour into the date, he made up a fib about not feeling well and cut short an interlude that surely would have ended in her bed. To soften his abrupt departure, he suggested she drop in on him if she was ever in McIntosh. Then he spent the drive home unfavorably comparing Bunny's clinging clothes and aggressive sexuality to the unattainable, pregnant Shea Sullivan's understated class.

Chapter Four "The inspector said he can meet you at the house this afternoon." Will's deep voice rumbled over the phone line, but it felt to Shea like it reverberated inside her. "We can have the closing as soon as tomorrow at noon." "Tomorrow at noon's fine," Shea said. "It was great of you to arrange everything so quickly. You're very good at your job." "Thank you," he said simply.

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She wondered if he would have silkily informed her that he was also good at other things had he not known she was pregnant. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Will." Shea rang off, then noticed her mother standing at the kitchen sink. Marie Sullivan had put on weight recently and her hair had started to gray, but she'd still be an attractive woman if not for the frown marring her features. "Why didn't you tell me your Realtor was Will Sandusky?" "I didn't think it was important. Why? Don't you like him?" "Everybody likes Will. What I don't like is him hanging around another one of my daughters." "He's my Realtor, Mom. That hardly qualifies as hanging around me. Besides, he's not interested in me that way." "Will's interested in every female that way." "You don't have to worry about Will making a play for me." Her mother put her hands on her rounded hips. "Why not?" Shea squared her shoulders. She'd been living in her parents' house for a week but hadn't yet mustered the courage to reveal the real reason she'd returned to McIntosh. She supposed it was past time. "I'm three months pregnant, Mom."

*** Marie Sullivan felt her blood rush south and her head grow light. She sank into a kitchen chair and placed both hands to her head. Although part of her thrilled at the thought of a grandchild, her instinct was to ensure Shea's well-being. "If you're pregnant," she said, "you have to get married." Shea started shaking her head before Marie finished her sentence. "I came back to McIntosh because this is a great place to raise a child, which I'm going to do. Alone." "But what about the father? What does he say about this?" "My baby doesn't have a father." She paused, and Marie braced herself. "I was artificially inseminated." The bottom of Marie's stomach seemed to thud to the floor. "Why would you do such a thing?" "Because I've always wanted to be a mother. You know that, Mom. I started babysitting when I was twelve." "When you were twelve, you also drew pictures of the dress you'd wear at your wedding." "I'd get married in a heartbeat if I found somebody as perfect for me as dad is for you." Shea's voice pleaded for understanding. "But it would have to be a sure thing. In the meantime, I won't let motherhood pass me by." Marie could have shot down her daughter's notion of a sure thing, but they had more pressing things to discuss. "What about your baby? Don't you think your baby needs a father?"

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"Not necessarily. I know plenty of single mothers doing bang-up jobs. And plenty of women in bad marriages whose children would be better off if they were single moms. I'm emotionally secure, financially stable and buying a house in McIntosh. What more do I need?” She needed a husband. Doubtless there were wonderful single mothers everywhere, but it was best for a child to live with two parents. Marie could understand why Shea hadn't married any of those big-city men she'd dated. The chances that they shared the old-fashioned values that went hand-in-hand with a smalltown upbringing were slim. The men of McIntosh were a different matter altogether. Shea was a beautiful woman who'd never lacked for dates when she was a teenager. Once the local men heard she was in the market for a husband, they'd come calling. Shea could break it to them later that she also needed a father for her baby. Marie had a call of her own to make. To Edie Markowitz, a waitress at the local Italian restaurant and the biggest gossip in all of McIntosh.

Chapter Five Every morning on his way to work, Will swung into a 7-Eleven that proclaimed itself the "luckiest place in Ohio." The slogan must be working, because Will had never been in the store without seeing someone play the lottery. After his buddy Tony Donatelli's stepmother Sofia had struck it rich with a one-dollar ticket she'd bought at the very counter where Will now stood, the consensus seemed to be that history would repeat itself. "Morning, Miss Billie Jean." Will smiled at the tiny, gray-haired woman at the cash register. "That new haircut makes you look even prettier than usual." "Anyone ever tell you you're a silver-tongued devil?" Billie Jean asked, but her blush told him she'd appreciated the compliment. "I see you got the usual." "One black coffee," he said while he removed his wallet from his back pocket. He occasionally tried his luck at the lottery, but he came to the 7-Eleven for the caffeine fix. "You look more awake this morning than usual," Billie Jean observed. "No date last night?" "Nope. Got a closing this morning." "It's not for Dan and Marie Sullivan's girl Shea, is it?" Will became even more alert. "How'd you know that?" "Everybody knows Shea's buying that place over on Locust Lane that's been sitting empty since the Langleys got divorced." Billie Jean leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. "I also hear she's back in McIntosh to find a husband." Will let out a disbelieving snort. "She is not." "Sure is. Heard it from two people already this morning. The men in New York were too big-city for her. She wants a husband with small-town values, same as hers."

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He shook his head wordlessly. As soon as he got Shea alone, he'd tell her about the rumor so she could put a stop to it. Although he'd yet to meet the father of Shea's baby, the man was out there somewhere. Billie Jean reached over the counter and patted his hand. "Don't look so worried, Will. With the way you cat around, Shea would be crazy to look your way when she's husband hunting."

*** The longer the closing lasted, the more Shea understood how Will Sandusky had thrilled the females of McIntosh. His allure had less to do with his undeniable physical appeal than his uncanny understanding of how women liked to be treated. He opened doors, pulled back chairs and dispensed extravagant compliments that somehow sounded sincere. But, most of all, he gave his undivided attention, as though nothing was more important than what a woman had to say. "Of course I understand how hard it is for you to leave McIntosh," he told Betsy Langley, the seller of the house Shea was buying. "The town won't be the same without you." Betsy, who was easily twice as old as Will, blushed. Shea decided on the spot not to linger after the closing. Being around Will was too dangerous. Clutching the keys to her new house in a right hand cramped from signing so many papers, she'd almost reached the door when Will's voice called her back. "Shea, can you spare a moment?" She slowly turned, coming face to handsome face with him. He placed a hand under her elbow and gently steered her away from the door. His eyes fastened on hers, and she understood what magnetism was. "I don't know how to say this, so I'll come right out with it. There's a rumor going around town that you're searching for a husband." Shea's mouth dropped open. "That's ridiculous." He put up a hand. "That's what I said. Knowing the kind of family you come from, if you did get married, you'd marry your baby's father." She thought of the unknown donor who'd held a cup and supplied a specimen. "I'd never do that," she blurted out. "Why not?" He looked so puzzled that there was only one answer he'd understand: the truth. Incredibly, she wanted to share it. "Because I was artificially inseminated." He didn't say anything for a long moment, then smiled. "In that case, will you have that dinner with me?"

Chapter Six Shea shook her head in wonder. Just when she thought she had Will Sandusky figured out, he surprised her again. "Didn't you hear what I said? I was artificially inseminated." "Loud and clear," he said. "Listening between the lines, I also heard you're not involved with anybody. So there's no reason you shouldn't have dinner with me."

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"But why do you want to go out with me? Aren't you afraid what you heard is true? That I really am back in McIntosh to find a husband?" "You said it wasn't true." His grin was patently charming, drawing her in. "So how about that date?" Her pulse jumped, her breathing grew shallow and her very blood seemed to heat, all obvious signs of an attraction she tried hard to fight. He gently stroked the side of her face, heightening her reactions. "Don't even think about saying no." She slapped his hand away. "No. Going out with somebody like you at a time like this is a bad idea." "I fail to see why." "Because if I got involved with anyone right now, it would be someone who was the marrying type." "But you claim you're not looking for a husband." "I'm also not looking for a short fling, which I hear is your specialty." "You're making a lot of assumptions," he said. "If it's because of your sister, that's not fair. That was all the way back in high school. And we parted on good terms." "Jessie's not the only one who warned me about you. Mention your name in McIntosh and somebody will talk about what a player you are." He stared at her, his eyes stricken. "I thought people liked me." "They do like you." She touched his freshly shaven cheek and said gently, "They just know not to take you seriously." Before he could utter a smoothly worded protest that might tempt her to change her mind about dating him, Shea turned and walked out of the real estate office.

*** "Have you gone crazy, Will?" Will had been so focused on persuading Shea to date him that he hadn't realized his uncle was still in the office. Johnny reclined in a chair at a desk not ten feet from where Shea had rejected Will, obviously having eavesdropped on the entire exchange. "You heard what she said," Johnny continued. "You're a player. Why would you want to date a pregnant woman looking for a husband?" Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Shea's not looking for a husband. And if she was, why would I be such a bad choice?" Johnny threw back his head and laughed. "You're serious, huh? Okay. Let me take a shot at the answer. Because you like the freedom of doing whatever you want when you want with whoever you want. Just like me." "That may be true," Will said slowly, "but you're a confirmed bachelor. I'm open to marriage and family if the right woman comes along."

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Johnny's laugh deepened, further irritating Will. "Yeah, right," Johnny said.

Chapter Seven "I don't understand why you're calling me for advice." Tony Donatelli's voice was so clear, it sounded to Will as though he was across town rather than in a distant state to celebrate Thanksgiving. "Are you joking? After what you went through last summer with your stepmother winning the lottery and all those women claiming to be her birth daughter, you're the perfect person to give advice." "On life, maybe. But women are your specialty." "Then maybe I shouldn't have started out by telling you about Shea, because this is more about me." Will took a deep breath, released it slowly. "You know me better than anybody else. Tell me something, do you take me seriously?" The pause at the other end of the line was telling. "As seriously as you take yourself. Don't take this the wrong way, buddy, because we've been through a lot together. But most of the time, you're all about having a good time. So I understand why a pregnant woman, who's entering a whole different phase of life than you're in, thinks dating a guy like you is a bad idea." Will ran a hand over his face, finding Tony's portrayal of him hard to accept. "I don't want to be that guy, Tony." "Hey, I like that guy. That guy's my best friend." "The first woman I've ever thought I could get serious about won't give that guy a chance." "Then turn on that charm of yours and get her to change her mind about going out with you. Once she gets to know you better, she'll see that you have a different side." Will stroked his chin, thinking that wasn't a bad plan. "Maybe I'll send her flowers. Not something obvious, like roses. But something more thoughtful, more seasonal. Like poinsettias." "Sounds good to me," Tony said. "In my experience, you can't go wrong with flowers."

*** The poinsettias arrived at the house on Locust Lane barely an hour after the movers left, with showy red flowers that reminded Shea Christmas was a month away. "Just tell me where to put them." The freckled teenage boy making the delivery stood on the doorstep, one of the plants tucked under each arm. "Shea, who's that at the door?" Her mother appeared from the kitchen, where she'd been helping Shea unpack boxes of dishes. She took one look at the plants and gasped. "Is this somebody's idea of a joke?" "I'm sure whoever sent them doesn't know I'm allergic, Mom," Shea said, then explained to the boy. "I'll get a rash if my skin comes in contact with them." "Gosh, that's too bad. Will really thought you'd like 'em. I got four more in the truck." "Those poinsettias are from Will Sandusky?" Her mother sounded horrified.

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"He helped me buy the house," Shea pointed out. "It's not unusual for Realtors to send gifts after the deal is done." "Realtors send bottles of champagne or plants or a single bouquet of flowers. They do not send a half-dozen poinsettias. I was right before. He's making a play for you." The delivery boy snorted. "It's Will Sandusky. What do you expect?" Shea smiled sweetly at the teenager, asked him to please take the flowers back to the store and closed the door. At about the same time, her father, who had been busy hooking up her television, came to see what the commotion was about. "Isn't that interesting?" he said after his wife filled him in. He stroked his chin, then remarked to his wife, "Guess that rumor you've been spreading around town about Shea needing a husband hasn't reached Will yet." "It was you." Shea turned horrified eyes to her mother. "Why would you do something like that?" "To keep the Will Sanduskys of the world away from you, for one thing," she answered. Since Shea knew for a fact that Will was aware of the rumor, the question was: Why wasn't it working?

Chapter Eight Shea spent the next few days unpacking, dodging Will Sandusky's phone calls and arriving at the realization that she could use a part-time job. Money wasn't the issue. She could get along quite nicely on her savings and the long-distance public relations jobs she'd lined up. But spending her time chained to a computer and phone wouldn't help her get reintegrated into the community. The ideal solution occurred to her as she passed the McIntosh Weekly after buying groceries in town. She impulsively swung into a parking spot in front of the newspaper office, got out of the car and froze when a tall, familiar figure emerged from the building. "Just the woman I've been wanting to see." The November day was bright. The smile creasing Will's face was brighter. "I've been meaning to give you a call." "You call me all the time," Shea pointed out. "Yeah, but this time I've been meaning for you to answer the phone." He said it so good-naturedly that she couldn't help smiling back. She liked him, she realized. "I've been thinking that someone as fair-minded as you must have decided by now to throw out your preconceived notions about me," Will continued. "The only way to do that is to date me so you can form new opinions." "Nice try," Shea said, even as her conscience twinged. Nearly every belief she had about Will was, in fact, based on hearsay. "But I'm still not going out with you." The wind gusted, blowing a strand of hair into her face. He tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips gently brushing her skin. "We're both going to live in McIntosh a long time. Any time you change your mind, just let me know."

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He smiled and left her there, so gracious in the face of her continued rejection that she was already tempted to reverse her decision. Trying to put him out of her mind, she entered the spartan headquarters of the McIntosh Weekly. The small newsroom was deserted except for the sole man who occupied the glass-enclosed office behind the empty reception desk. Charlie Marinovich, the newspaper editor who had been a grade behind her in high school. He glanced up from his computer screen, smiling when he recognized her. Gangly and studious, with sharp features, tiny wire-rimmed glasses and a shock of dark hair, he'd always looked to Shea as though he would have been at home in the nineteenth century. He stood up. "Shea Sullivan, I heard you'd moved back to McIntosh. It's good to see you." "You, too, Charlie. How have you been?" she asked, exchanging pleasantries with him until he suddenly proclaimed that he was dating somebody. "That's nice," she replied slowly, then sighed when she realized the reason for his abrupt announcement. "If you've heard I'm looking for a husband, it's not true. I came here because I'm looking for a job. I'd love to write some stories for you." "A job. Of course," he said, as though he'd known as much all along. But the flush staining his face told her otherwise. He listened while she explained how much writing was involved in public relations work and how she'd occasionally sold a freelance story to one of the New York newspapers. After spelling out her qualifications, she asked, "What do you say?" "Sounds good. I could use somebody like you, but understand I can't just hand you a job. Tell you what. I'll assign you a story and if I'm satisfied with what you write, we have a deal." "Fair enough," she said. "What's the story?" "I just heard a real-estate firm in town is sponsoring a Christmas toy and food drive. They'll give the local food bank ten dollars for every toy donated at their office between now and Christmas. I'd love to put the story in the next edition." "Then I'm your reporter. Which firm?" she asked, but suspected she already knew the answer from the way her heart rate sped up. "Sandusky Real Estate. Your contact there is Will Sandusky. It was his idea."

Chapter Nine Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings at his sister Susan's made Will appreciate how good he'd had it all these years when his parents had been the holiday hosts. Susan was a better cook than their mother, but she dished Will up a hard time in addition to homemade cornbread stuffing, succulent turkey and delicious pecan pie. "You know I love you, little brother," she said, looking up at him as he helped her clear the table. "But what were you thinking when you asked Shea Sullivan out?" "Uncle Johnny shouldn't have made my social life dinner conversation. And where are Johnny and Paul, anyway?" he asked, referring to Susan's husband of seven years. From the living room, he heard the sounds of a TV football game. "I'm the only man in the family who's helping."

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"I'm he'ping, Uncle Will." Paul Jr., his five-year-old nephew, removed an empty glass from the table and tromped into the kitchen on his short legs. "Good going, sport," Will said, looking wildly about for an ally old enough to stick up for him. His mother always supported him, but she and his father were wintering in Florida to be near his younger sister's newborn twins. "Uncle Johnny told me that Shea's pregnant, Will. I already heard the rumor that she's looking for a husband. You'd be doing her a huge favor to stay away from her." "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." He managed to smile even though her comment stung. "I'm starting to think nobody in this family loves me anymore." He felt little fingers tug at his pants leg and looked down to find Paul Jr. gazing up at him with adoring, brown eyes. "I love you, Uncle Will." "Not half as much as I love you." Will bent down, swooped his nephew into his arms and tossed him in the air. The little boy's giggles filled the air, reminding Will of one of the things well worth giving thanks for. Will managed to avoid talking to Susan about Shea through a marathon session of football watching and nibbling on leftovers, but feared his sister had called to continue the one-sided conversation when his phone rang later that night. The number that appeared on his caller ID wasn't familiar, but he recognized Shea's melodic, apologetic voice before she identified herself. "No need to apologize for calling on Thanksgiving," he said. Forcing himself not to jump to conclusions about why she was calling, he asked about her holiday. Pleased with his patience, he finally got to the point. "What's on your mind?" "It's the most ironic thing. Remember when we ran into each other yesterday at the newspaper office?" How could he forget telling her to let him know if she ever changed her mind about dating him? "Sure do." "I was on my way to ask Charlie if he'd give me occasional freelance work," she said. "He assigned me to write about the Christmas project you'd just told him about." He swallowed his disappointment and tried to be pleased for her. "Congratulations. I'm happy you got the job." "I didn't get it yet. I have to write the story, and Charlie has to like it. So can we come up with a time to talk?" Will hesitated, then decided to give blackmail a shot. "What if I told you I wouldn't talk unless you agreed to go out with me?" "I'd say you're bluffing. It's a charitable cause. You want the information published as much as I want to write about it." "You got me," he said, the mental wheels still turning. "Okay, then, how about if we talk about the story tomorrow night at Nunzio's? I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." "Will Sandusky, that sounds suspiciously like a date," she said, her voice sounding more teasing than angry. "Your word," he said. "Not mine."

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Her musical laugh filled his ear. "You win. I'll see you tomorrow at Nunzio's."

Chapter Ten Shea thought the only thing better than the mouth-watering lasagna at Nunzio's was the company. "So I'm telling my client about the house while we're driving over to see it, hitting all the high points and explaining how it's a good buy. We go over a rise and the house comes into view, sitting on three acres, pretty as a picture. And the client says, 'I'll take it.'" Will took a breath and leaned toward her to finish the story, his open features filled with good humor. "I say, 'Whoa. You haven't seen the interior yet.' The client says, ‘That's not necessary; the vibe is right,’ and buys the house. And that story explains why I like real estate." His eyes twinkled. "You never know who's going to walk through the front door." He threw back his head and laughed, his even white teeth flashing. She laughed with him, enjoying his stories, enjoying him. "Was this client male or female?" she asked. "Male." He tilted his head. "Why?" "I knew females couldn't resist you. Just wondering if males were susceptible, too." "You can't resist me?" He grinned. "That's great news." "Females in general, big guy. Not me, specifically. Considering my condition, I'm more cautious than most." His expression grew serious. "Speaking of that, what made you do it?" He lowered his voice. "Why would you deliberately arrange it so your baby doesn't have a father?" Shea frowned. "That's not what I did. I decided on in vitro after not meeting anybody I wanted as a husband." "But why now? You're only thirty years old. You have lots of time to meet someone." "Meeting someone isn't a priority. Having a baby and becoming a mother is. I'm not a romantic, Will. I may never be a wife, but I won't let that stop me from being a mother." He covered her hand with his. "You'll be a great mother." She smiled into his eyes and the moment lengthened until it felt like they were alone in the restaurant. "You watch yourself with this one, Shea." Edie Markowitz, Nunzio's longtime waitress, broke the spell by depositing the check in front of Will. "He's with a different woman every time I see him." Will placed one large hand over his chest. "But you know my heart belongs to you, Edie." "Rascal," she said, but she chuckled as she walked away. Shea reached into her purse and took out her wallet. "How much is my share?" "Oh, no. This is my treat. I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you pay."

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"But this is a business dinner, not a date." She wrinkled her nose. "Which reminds me that we need to get around to business. We've talked about everything but the story." "There's plenty of time for that." He threw down some bills, stood up and offered her his hand. "The night's still young." "Said the spider to the fly," she said, but went with him.

Chapter Eleven Will kept her hand firmly in his as they left the restaurant, which chased away some of the November night chill. He steered her not toward his car, but down the street. "Mind telling me where we're going?" she asked. "It's a surprise," he said, his breath frosty against the night air. "Besides, you'll figure it out soon enough." "How could I…" She lost her train of thought when a multicolored glow emanating from the grassy square in the center of town caught her eye. Of course. The Christmas tree. She should have remembered the McIntosh tradition to display a lighted tree starting the day after Thanksgiving. Will squeezed her hand. "What do you think?" "I think the mayor's missing an opportunity." They were nearer now. The tree was a beauty, at least twentyfive feet tall with strings of brightly colored lights. "There should be a tree-lighting ceremony with a speech, the high school band playing Christmas carols, a fat man dressed up as Santa Claus." He chuckled. "Spoken like a true PR person. You should stop by City Hall and propose a festival for next year." "I think I will. It would bring people into the downtown, which could only be good for the economy." They crossed the street to the square and Shea gaped at the tree. "Beautiful." "Yes," he said, his eyes on her and not the tree. "You are." The compliment traveled through her like a swallow of hot chocolate, probably the effect he was shooting for. "Oh, no, you don't. You've distracted me all night." She dug into her purse, pulled out a tape recorder and switched it on. "This time I mean business. So you might as well start telling me about your Christmas project." "I meant to," he said. "I was simply setting the scene." "Uh huh," she said, not entirely believing him even though the foot of the tree was the ideal location. "So talk, starting with where the idea came from." "Not until we're comfortable." He captured her hand again, tugged and led her to a park bench. Then he talked, telling her about the disadvantaged family Sandusky Real Estate had sponsored the year before. "You should have seen how happy those little kids were to get the bikes we bought them. It made me realize that Christmas was really about the children, and I tried to think of a way we could help more of them." He'd slipped his arm around her while he was talking, but the warmth of it felt so good around her shoulders that she let it stay there.

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"You're a good man, Will Sandusky," she told him after she'd shut off the tape recorder. He smiled at the compliment, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to lift her lips when he dipped his head to kiss her. His lips felt cool, but his breath was warm, fueling something inside her that had been dormant. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of him, luxuriating in the feel of him and recognizing the restraint it took him not to deepen the kiss when it was obviously what they both wanted. She also dimly realized she was doing exactly what she promised herself she wouldn't — falling under the potent Will Sandusky spell. He lifted his head at the exact moment she would have jerked backward. His hand gently stroked her nowwarm cheek. "Will you go out with me for real next time?" She took a deep breath, gathered her resolve and gave the only answer she could: "No."

Chapter Twelve Will spent the drive back to Shea's house on Locust Lane in uncharacteristic silence, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. "I don't get it," he said as he walked her up the sidewalk to the porch, where a light shone. "The date went great, so why won't you go out with me again?" "Same reason," she said. "I'm pregnant. I'm hardly showing now, but I will be in another month or so. How will you feel about me then?" "I'll feel that you're the most gorgeous pregnant woman I've ever seen." She put her hands on her hips, her exasperation evident. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. I'll be in real trouble if I start believing the things you say. I need to protect myself from you." "But why? Everything I tell you is the truth." "You live in the moment, Will. But the moment changes. What's true today won't be true tomorrow. I wish I'd run into you a few years ago when I didn't need to think too seriously about the future. Then I wouldn't have had a reason to resist you." "You don't have a reason now. I'm not the guy everybody says I am, Shea." He must have read her disbelief, because he paused. "Okay, maybe I am. But since I've met you again, I'm changing. I can feel it." "Maybe you are changing, but I can't risk it." He let out a breath of pure frustration. "The gutsy girl I fell for in high school would have risked it." "She wasn't pregnant," Shea retorted, but then her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Will." Rising on tiptoes, she kissed him gently on the lips. The magic hummed, the same as it had at the town square. The contact was brief, but they were both breathing hard when it ended. He grabbed her hand and placed it over his wildly beating heart. Then he took their conjoined hands and covered her heart, which thrummed just as quickly. "How are you going to resist that?" he asked softly. "I don't know," she said. "But I'll find a way, because I have to."

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She pulled her hand from his and ran lightly up the porch steps before she disappeared into the house, leaving him in the dark. He got in his car, pulled out his phone and dialed his friend Tony's cell number. "I have a problem. I'm nuts about a woman who doesn't want anything to do with me," he said when his friend answered. Tony's sigh was long-suffering. "Women have dumped you before, Will. Let her go. You'll get over it. You always do." After Tony rang off, Will sat in the darkness, thinking that his friend's advice was wrong. He couldn't let Shea go. She was different from all the other women who'd passed through his life. For the very first time, he felt as though he'd met a woman he wanted to hang on to. He decided on the spot to prove to Shea and everyone else in town that they were wrong about him. Once he convinced Shea to date him, he'd prove that he wasn't any more of a risk than the next guy.

Chapter Thirteen "Suppose you explain why Will the Thrill called me last night." Shea scrambled to a sitting position in bed, her head fuzzy. The time on the bedside alarm read eight o'clock. In the morning. On a Saturday. "Jessie. Is that you? What are you talking about?" "Will Sandusky, the thriller of McIntosh High," her sister answered. "He called me last night, quite late I might add, to ask about you." "Why would he do that?" Shea's voice sounded rusty from sleep, even to her own ears. "That's what I'm asking you. Why would he want to know if you're allergic to anything besides poinsettias? And whether you have any favorite hobbies or favorite foods?" Shea closed her eyes, not quite able to prevent a little thrill from traveling up her spine. "I'm sorry he annoyed you." "Annoyed me? I didn't say he annoyed me. It was actually nice to talk to him again. He's always a lot of fun." "Then he didn't break your heart?" "Where'd you get that idea? I was too smart, even in high school, to let a guy like Will break my heart. Which is why I'm wondering what you're doing with him." Her sister paused. "Will's not the father of your baby, is he?" "You know I was artificially inseminated, Jessie." "I know that's what you claim. But maybe it's a cover story so we won't know you were gullible enough to get involved with Will the Thrill." "It's not a cover story. Before I moved back to McIntosh, I hadn't seen Will since high school. Have you?" "Only once or twice when I was in McIntosh for a visit." "Then how do you know Will hasn't changed?" Jessie's laugh was instantaneous. "Men like Will are like leopards. They don't lose their spots. If you don't believe me, look at his uncle. They're exactly alike. Just be careful, Shea. Don't let Will get past your defenses."

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"I guess that means you didn't tell him what any of my favorite things were?" "Are you kidding? You know how irresistible Will is. I told him everything he wanted to know. That's why I'm warning you."

*** Shea sat with her laptop in the sunny living room of her new house, putting the finishing touches on her story for the McIntosh Weekly. The story was heartwarming, as was the man who had told it to her. At the sound of a vehicle pulling into her driveway, she went to the window and looked out to see the florist delivery van, which she'd been half expecting since Jessie's call. Smiling to herself, she walked to the door and opened it. She'd expected the carnations, too. She didn't anticipate that the delivery man would be Will Sandusky, looking all the more masculine because of the flowers he carried. "Since when do you work for McIntosh Florist?" she asked him. "Since I convinced the owner to let me deliver bouquets of your favorite flower, which I have on good authority you're not allergic to." "Jessie's your authority. She called me this morning." "Did she confirm I didn't break her heart?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I thought so. Can I come in?" He entered the house, depositing a vase full of red carnations on her kitchen table and another vase of pink ones in her living room. "Wait right here," he said, then made three more trips to the van and back until carnations in white, pink, red, orange, yellow and purple covered nearly all the available surfaces in her house. Her insides started to melt, but she tried to fight the sensation. "You're nuts, you know that?" "Nuts about you," he said. "Will, I —" "I know, I know," he said. "I'm going." "You are?" She heard the surprise in her voice. "But I thought you were trying to be irresistible." "You think I'm hard to resist now? Wait 'til you see what I have in store for you." He winked and left her there, surrounded by carnations and, despite herself, filled with anticipation of what he'd do next.

Chapter Fourteen "Tell me again why I'm helping you." Bobby Blake leaned against the counter in the country kitchen of his four-bedroom ranch house, a beer in hand while Will tried to decipher a recipe for chicken cordon bleu. Flatten chicken breasts, the directions said. O-kay. "You got a hammer, Bobby?"

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Bobby raised his pale eyebrows, moved with the grace of a longtime runner to a utility drawer a few feet away, took out a hammer and handed it to Will. "Thanks." Will ran hot water over the metal hammer head before answering Bobby's question. "You're helping because you and Shea were friends in high school and you want what's best for her." "Then why am I helping you?" Another doubter, Will thought in frustration. But without this one's cooperation, he couldn't go through with his plan. "Don't forget the great deal I got you on this house. And the way I keep you company on those long runs you take." "You peel off at my halfway point," Bobby accused. Will ignored the comment, which was true. But the halfway point for Bobby was five miles. Will had already spread the boneless breasts on a cutting board. He reared back the hammer. "You've told me a hundred times to let you know if I ever needed anything," he pointed out as he pounded. "Geez, do you have to hit 'em so hard?" Bobby asked. "And are you sure you're supposed to use a hammer?" "I can't roll up the ham and swiss cheese until these babies look like pancakes. Besides, what else would I use?" Chicken juice sprayed on the counter. The once-spotless kitchen was a mess, with various pots and pans, measuring cups and ingredients strewn over the various surfaces. "Fran is going to kill me for talking her into letting you use the kitchen," Bobby said, referring to his wife. "And Shea is going to kill me for inviting her over to dinner without telling her you'll be here." "Leave it up to me and you'll live through the night," Will said while he wondered how much more pounding the chicken could stand. "Men aren't the only ones who like to eat. I happen to think you can get to a woman's heart through her stomach, too."

*** If Shea was the murderous type, she'd have a hard time deciding on a primary target. Bobby, for luring her to dinner under false circumstances. Jessie, for giving Will ammunition in the form of her favorite foods. Or Will, for being harder and harder to resist. He'd overcooked a dinner of her favorites — chicken cordon bleu, oven-roasted red potatoes and summer squash — and then followed it up with a barely edible chocolate mousse. "That was quite an, er, interesting meal," Fran said when the four of them had finished. A petite blonde with a robust laugh, she'd immediately endeared herself to Shea. "Yes." Shea searched for something nice to say about the meal. "I've never had chicken breasts this thin before." Will took a healthy drink of apple juice, Shea's favorite nonalcoholic drink, possibly to drown out the taste of the meal. "That had to be one of the worst meals I've ever eaten." Shea looked from Will to Bobby to Fran before all four of them simultaneously broke into laughter. "I wasn't sure you'd noticed how bad the food was," Bobby said. "I've got taste buds," Will said.

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"I thought it was sweet," Fran said. "Not many men would go to all this trouble to impress a woman. If he asks you out, Shea, you should say yes." "Well," Shea said later when she and Will were leaving the Blakes after an enjoyable evening of conversation and laughter, "Aren't you going to ask me out again?" They'd reached her car and stood beside it. As usual, he was standing too close. The lamplight illuminated his strong features and sinfully sensuous mouth. He dipped his head, and her heart skipped a beat while she waited for his kiss. "Nah," he said, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "Jessie told me you don't like being pressured. So I'll pretend patience is one of my virtues."

Chapter Fifteen "The grand, romantic gesture has always worked for me in the past, but I'm not getting anywhere with Shea," Will told his companion after he parked curbside at the edge of the park. "I'll admit the dinner I cooked last weekend was lousy, but I should get points for trying, don't you think, bud?" His nephew reached across the seat, patted him on the cheek and said, "Can we play now?" Will laughed, ruffled the boy's hair and hit the button that automatically unlocked the passenger-side door. "Let's go." Once they were out of the car, the boy ran ahead to the playground, comically swinging his elbows in a pumping motion. Will was coming off a frustrating week in which he'd dealt with impossible-to-please clients, a seller trying to back out of selling and no word from Shea. Last night, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he'd stayed home on a Friday. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since he'd probably need extra energy after promising his sister he'd babysit today. Paul had reached the playground. A toddler swing hung suspended from the bar on the swing set, impossible for the little guy to reach without a lift. He practically danced as he waited, calling in a highpitched, excited voice, "Hurry up, Uncle Will." The day was unseasonably warm for November, probably in the low fifties. Paul needed to make the most of this playground opportunity before the cold weather arrived in earnest. That was Will's motto, too: make the most of the opportunities life presented. Forgetting his troubles, he broke into a trot, yelling, "Wait up, sport. Your uncle's coming to the rescue."

*** Shea stamped down hard on the car brakes, fortunate there was no traffic behind her. She blinked, but there was no mistaking Will Sandusky's tall, strong form as he pushed a little boy in a toddler swing. The boy's legs kicked gleefully back and forth. Shea hesitated only slightly before parking and walking toward the park, reassuring herself that it wasn't a case of the moth being attracted to the flame. She'd yet to thank Will for the boxes of coconut clusters, her favorite candy, which had arrived a few days ago. And to tell him to stop sending her things. The boy's giggles and the man's answering laugh carried on the slight breeze as she walked, warming her. "Higher, Uncle Will," the boy demanded in a breathless voice. "Higher."

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So the boy was Will's nephew. Catching sight of her, Will's smile broadened and he waved. "Say hello to Miss Shea," he told the boy. "She's the pretty lady coming toward us." "Hello, Miss Shea," the boy said between giggles. "This is my buddy Paul," Will said. "He's my sister's son." She greeted Paul, who was a cutie, all chubby cheeks and windblown hair. He also bore a striking resemblance to his uncle in both coloring and the shape of his features. Shea imagined Will would have looked much the same when he was a child, innocence and impishness mixed in one delightful package. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Will asked as he continued to propel the laughing boy higher and higher. "I wanted to thank you for the chocolates and ask you to stop sending me things." "The chocolates were partly in appreciation for the good job you did on the article. We've gotten lots more donations since the story ran. But why are you thanking me in person? You usually wait until you're pretty sure I won't be home and leave a message on my answering machine." She grimaced. "Is it that obvious?" "Yeah." His voice didn't have any bite, but then Will was almost always in good spirits. "So why seek me out now?" "I guess I stopped because I was shocked to see you in the park. I was curious to find out what you were doing." "Babysitting. My sister and her husband drove to Pittsburgh for a friend's wedding." He said it matter-offactly, pleasure in the task evident on his face and in his voice. Before she consciously realized what she was going to say, she'd said it. "I'm not doing anything special today. Want some help?"

Chapter Sixteen Will collapsed next to Shea on the sofa in his sister's living room and leaned his head back against the cushions. "I think Paul's down for the night, but I thought the same thing before that last glass of water, so don't count on it." "He's a spitfire, that's for sure," Shea said. "It's amazing how much energy he has." After leaving the park, they'd taken in a matinee movie featuring dancing cartoon emus, played tag in Will's sister's backyard, munched on a dinner of burgers and fries at the McIntosh deli and finished up the evening with hide and seek and bedtime stories. Paul hadn't seemed to notice his parents were gone, not even after they called halfway through the day and asked Will if he'd mind if they stayed overnight in Pittsburgh. "He adores you, you know," Shea commented. Will turned his head, a small smile playing about his lips. "Not half as much as I adore him. But right now, the kid's cramping my style. I finally have you alone and I can't even kiss you because Paul might come running into the living room." "What makes you think I'd let you kiss me?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as though the point was in doubt. It wasn't. Her defenses had been crumbling all day as she watched him with his nephew. When he'd put Paul's needs above his own wants just now, they'd shattered. He'd make a great father.

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"I'm nothing if not optimistic." Will brushed her hair back from her face, leaving tendrils of sensation wherever his fingers touched. "And have I mentioned patient? Very patient. I'm not even going to ask you out again, just to show how patient I am." She could resist a man who sent her flowers and chocolates. A man who was wonderful with children, she couldn't resist. "That's too bad, because the answer would be yes." "Then I take it back," he said with alacrity. "Will you go out with me?" She laughed. "When? Where?" "My sources tell me you like to bowl so how about tomorrow night at seven at McIntosh Lanes?" "I'll be there." She ran her fingers across his jaw, which felt faintly bristly. "As for now, are you sure about that kiss? Paul must be asleep by now." "Uncle Will." The very awake boy stood at the mouth of the room. "I have to go to the baffroom."

*** Will wasn't sure why Shea had changed her mind about dating him, but he was too busy enjoying his good fortune to analyze the reason. It was enough that she was here, at a bowling alley empty of everyone except himself. He'd even convinced the manager, one of his teammates in the local men's basketball league, to trust him to lock up when they were done. "Don't tell me you rented the entire alley," she said after she came through the swinging glass door in blue jeans, a pale-pink shirt and a ponytail. If not for the hint of roundness around her belly, she would have looked like a pretty, young girl. "Jessie said you liked privacy. So I got you some." Shea shook her head, but seemed amused. "Somehow I doubt you can bowl as well as you can charm, but let's give it a shot." Will was more of an athlete than a bowler. He didn't embarrass himself but had no real chance of winning against an opponent whose norm was a strike or a spare. "I'm glad you're not a sore loser," she said after she'd won the third game in a row. He took her hand, pulled her to her feet, gazed into her eyes and said, "I don't feel like a loser. I feel like I just won the lottery." Her reaction wasn't what he expected. She shook her head, released a long breath and said, "What are you doing, Will?" "Excuse me?" "This was great fun. You're great fun. But after I accepted this date with you, I started having second thoughts. I need to know what you want from me before this goes any further. Because everything we talked about before still applies. I'm pregnant. I can't afford to have you string me along, only to drop me when I'm heavily pregnant or the baby's born." "I wouldn't do that," Will said.

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"How can you be so sure?" She gazed at him, her eyes troubled, and he finally realized what was happening to him. It had probably started happening back in high school when she'd stood up to those bullies, but he'd been too young to recognize it for what it was. He took a deep breath and blurted out the truth buried in his heart. "Because I'm in love with you."

Chapter Seventeen She gaped at him, an open-mouthed, slack-jawed expression of utter disbelief. With his reputation, Will couldn't blame her for being suspicious. But now that he'd owned up to his feelings, Will had no doubt. He loved her. "I bet you say that to all your women," she said, but sounded anything but flippant. "I've never said it to any woman before, because it's never been true before." He touched her cheek. "I love you, Shea. Only you." Her lower lip trembled as she gazed up at him, some unnamed emotion playing about her face. "I wish I could trust you, Will. But you've got a terrible track record." She covered her stomach with one hand. "And I have somebody besides myself to think about. I can't take a gamble on you, not when I don't know what the future will bring." "Then live with me. I know you just bought a house. I did, too. Last year. We'll decide which one we like the best and rent the other." She shook her head. "I won't be another in the long string of women you've lived with." "You'll be the first," Will said, staring deep into her eyes. "And the only." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing pressure until she moaned into his mouth. Finally he lifted his head. "At least say you'll think about it." "I'll think about it," she said softly.

*** Shea could think of nothing over the next few days except Will's declaration of love and his suggestion that they live together. The part of her containing her heart wanted to accept but was at odds with the part housing her brain. By midweek, she couldn't stand being alone with her thoughts for another day and coaxed her mother into a Christmas shopping trip to Columbus. Gesturing to a tie covered with golf balls, she asked, "What do you think, Mom? Would Dad like this?" Her mother gazed at her blankly. "Did you say something?" Shea put a hand on her arm, the tie forgotten. "You've been awfully quiet today. Is it because your friend at the bowling alley told you I was there with Will?" "I'm not happy about that, but you're old enough to make your own mistakes," she said. "Then what is it?" Shea prodded. "Nothing to worry about," her mother said, waving her off. When Shea continued to stare at her, she added. "Just a tiff your dad and I had this morning. I must be brooding about it."

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Shea was stunned. "But you and Dad never argue." Her mother let out a short breath. "We never argue in front of you and Jessie, but we've argued plenty over the years. Before you were born, we had such a hard time settling our differences that we separated and almost divorced." Shea gasped. "Why did I never know this? I always thought you and Dad had the perfect relationship." "There is no such thing, honey," her mother said. "There are only couples who take a chance on building something lasting because they love each other. That's what your father and I did." She smiled. "Even if he's not perfect." Like Will, who'd dated so many women he probably couldn't remember their names. A peace settled over her. She'd been giving herself a headache for days, trying to figure out whether to accept Will's offer. And now, with her mother's unwitting help, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Chapter Eighteen Will needed to get rid of the woman in his bed fast, before Shea or any of the other townspeople realized she'd spent the night. He sat up on his sofa amidst the rumpled sheets, futilely wishing he'd set up a guest room. Then he swung his legs to the floor and kneaded his brow. He supposed he could always use the truth as a defense, but with his reputation, nobody would believe him. He had to admit the story sounded suspicious. Half-drunk woman from Columbus named Bunny shows up at his door with a partially empty wine bottle, reminding him of his offer to visit if she's ever in McIntosh. She's in no shape to drive and proceeds to get even more sloshed until he's forced to offer his bed so she can sleep it off. He checked the time. Eight o'clock. A fine time to wake Bunny and get her out of his house and his life. She proved to be as stubborn as she was troublesome, resisting his efforts to get her up and going, then insisting on a shower and breakfast before finally heading to her car. "You're no fun, Will," she complained as he followed her to the driveway. She wore her clothes from the night before, a short black skirt, stacked heels and a leather bomber jacket. "I wouldn't have driven all this way if I'd known you wouldn't party with me." "I tried to tell you, darlin'. Between the time I met you and now, I fell in love." He opened the car door for her, the way his father had taught him. In minutes, he'd be rid of her. But instead of climbing into the car, she snaked her arms around his neck and pressed her ample curves against him. "Just so you know what you're missing," she breathed against his mouth and kissed him. It took Will a moment to recover from his surprise, another moment to push her gently away and yet another to realize he'd felt absolutely nothing. She gave him a sassy grin, got in the car and finally drove away. Only then did he notice the car that had just pulled up to the curb and the ashen pallor of the driver's face. The driver was Shea.

***

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Every warning Shea had been issued about Will Sandusky came echoing back at her. He's a player, a ladies' man. Getting involved with him would be hazardous to your heart. Stay away. Far, far away. The evidence that she shouldn't trust him had played out in front of her eyes. Will sprinted from the driveway to her car, looking as though he assumed she'd concluded the worst. "I can explain," he said when she rolled her window down. His hair looked like a woman had run her fingers through it, but his eyes pleaded his innocence. "It's not how it looked. I met her months ago, before you. I didn't expect her to drive down here. Or to be drunk. Understand, I couldn't let her leave, but nothing happened. I swear it." "I believe you," Shea said. "She kissed me. I didn't…" His voice trailed off. His head cocked. "Did you just say you believed me?" She nodded. It was the truth. The tableau in front of her had surprised her but hadn't had the power to hurt, because she'd known there was an explanation. But before relief could overtake him, there was something else she had to say. "I also can't see you anymore."

Chapter Nineteen "I don't understand." Will shook his head. "If you believe me, why can't you see me anymore?" She bit her trembling bottom lip as the realization of what she had to do struck her. The backs of her eyes burned with her effort to hold back tears. It seemed surreal that she was having one of the most important discussions of her life through her car window. "Because loving you is too big of a risk," she explained. "You resisted temptation this time, but what about next time? I'd always be afraid you'd go back to your old ways. Maybe not this year, but next. After the baby's born and grows to love you." "That's not fair. How can I defend myself against something that hasn't happened? What am I supposed to do to get you to trust me?" "Why should I trust you when you don't even trust yourself?" she retorted. "You asked me to live with you, not to marry you. That way, after the baby comes, you'll have an easy out. If you don't like having a baby in the house, you can just move out." From the tortured look on his face, she saw that she'd hurt him. A car passed, swinging wide to go around him. "This is the wrong place to discuss this. Come inside, Shea, so we can work this out." She shook her head. If she went inside, her resolve would dissolve. A tear escaped her eye and ran unchecked down her face. "I can't, Will. You have to accept that it's over." He didn't say anything for a moment, then asked softly, "Where's the gutsy girl I fell in love with?" "We've been over this before, Will. She's protecting herself." She placed a hand over her stomach. "And she's protecting her baby." Not opening herself to second guesses, she rolled up the car window and drove away.

***

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Nunzio's signature lasagna, made from a recipe concocted by Sofia Donatelli, sat untouched on the plate in front of Shea. It was hardly past noon, her blood pressure was rocketing and she was starting to think lunch with her mother and two of her friends had been a very bad idea. "Your mother told me you dumped Will Sandusky," said Mrs. Ferguson, a stern-faced woman who had been her Sunday school teacher growing up. "What I'm wondering is why you ever got involved with him in the first place." Mrs. Papadakis, the local dry cleaner, nodded. "He's such a ladies' man, that Will." "Shea's well rid of him," added Shea's mother with a pleased air. "He's not the right kind of young man." Shea had had enough. She put down her fork with a clank and glared at her mother and her friends. "How dare you talk about him that way. Will is decent and caring and one of the finest men I have ever met." "We all know that, honey." Mrs. Ferguson reached across the table to pat her hand. "Everybody 'round here adores Will to pieces, but he's not somebody a woman should get serious about." "No offense meant, Mrs. Ferguson, but you don't know what you're talking about," Shea retorted with heat. "A woman would be privileged to have Will in her life any way she could get him. Did you know that the Christmas project Sandusky Real Estate is running was his idea? And have you ever seen how great he is with his nephew? Or how considerate he is with everyone else? He's the best man I know." "But his past —" her mother began. "Is over," Shea finished. "The only thing that's important is the present, and Will's done nothing since I met him to make me doubt him." Her mother narrowed her eyes, peering at her with interest. "It sounds to me like you're in love with him." Shea got ready to deny her mother's statement, then realized she couldn't. "Maybe I am," she said. "If that's the case, and if he's that great of a guy," her mother continued, "why in the world did you dump him?" Why, indeed? Shea put her hands to her suddenly hot face. What on earth had she done?

Chapter Twenty Will hadn't had a drop of alcohol in weeks, but had been sleeping so poorly he felt like he was hungover when he went into the office Monday morning. He stopped short at the sight of his uncle, who looked even worse than Will felt. "Whoa," Will said. "What happened to you this weekend?" "A woman named Marlene." Uncle Johnny scratched his head. "Or maybe it was Charlene. I can't remember exactly. We partied until so late that I stayed over and drove back from Cincinnati this morning." "Don't you ever get tired of being a bachelor?" "It's all I know. Why would I get tired of it?" Will pulled up a chair next to his uncle, feeling as though he was seeing him clearly for the first time. Johnny looked old, tired and not entirely happy. "Tell me something, Uncle Johnny. Have you ever been in love?"

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His uncle's eyes got a faraway look, and he didn't say anything for a moment. "Once. A long time ago. But I never told her. And I sure as hell never proposed. I didn't trust myself. How did I know I wouldn't love the next woman or the next?" Was that what was going on with him? Will wondered. Had he asked Shea to live with him instead of marry him because he'd started to believe his reputation that he was a bad bet to marry any woman? "Do you ever regret not proposing?" he asked his uncle. "Every day of my life," he said. He wouldn't have the same regret, Will decided. His impulse was to rush to Shea, but he squashed it. Getting her to marry him would take some major convincing. He needed a plan, complete with a romantic setting and the right words. He needed to think. "Funny thing happened right before you walked in. A potential client called and wants to meet you at ten o'clock at that house that just went up for sale over on Wayside Drive," Johnny said, bringing Will's attention back to the business day. "What's the client's name?" Will asked. "That's what's funny about it. She wouldn't give her name." A little later, as Will drove over to the four-bedroom Cape Cod house to meet the mysterious client, he hoped her name was anything but Bunny. He'd had enough encounters with women like Bunny to last a lifetime. Keys in hand, he jogged up the sidewalk, his mind turning over ways in which he could propose to Shea. He was so lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize that the door was unlocked. Frowning, he walked into the house and saw candles. Dozens of them, on every available surface. He heard a noise from the kitchen that sounded like the clink of glasses. Puzzled, he followed the sound. And stopped short. Shea stood at the island holding two glasses, one filled with red wine and the other with milk. Her eyes were filled with apprehension. "If you'll forgive me for being such an idiot," she said, "I was hoping we could drink to moving in together." Her palms, she realized, were damp. Her heart pounded so hard she thought he might see it moving under her shirt. Her nerves propelled her to keep talking. "My mother knows the couple selling this house. That's how I got the key. It's bigger than my house and much bigger than yours. If you think my house is too small for the three of us, I thought we could move into this one and rent the other two." He started shaking his head before she finished her sentence. He hadn't made any move to take the glass of wine. Her throat hurt when she swallowed. "You've changed your mind about living together, haven't you?" He nodded. She put down the glasses, trying to hide the sudden, shooting pain. Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes. "I think we should get married," he announced. For the first time since she met him, he looked unsure of himself. "That is, if you'll have me." Joy replaced the pain. "Of course I will," she said before rushing across the room and into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like a woman who never intended to let him go. But his eyes were serious when he finally drew back. "Are you sure you want to risk marriage to me?"

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"It isn't much of a risk," she said. "I was wrong about what I said before. Your past doesn't matter to me. Only the future does." "You were right, too. I asked you to live with me to give both of us an out. But I'm in love with you, Shea. And I already love the baby growing inside you. I'll be a good husband and a good father, because you're all I've ever wanted. Please believe me." "I do believe you," she said as happiness bubbled up in her. Will, however, was frowning. "What's wrong?" she asked. "This isn't the way I wanted to ask you to marry me. I wanted to be the one to make the grand, romantic gesture." "Silly man. I don't need grand gestures. All I need is you," she said and pulled his mouth down to hers.

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Catch of the Day by Carla Cassidy Description: Ever since he lost his wife to it, JoshSinclair has feared the sea. That is, until the night he sees a beautiful mermaid on the beach...

Chapter 1: The sand beneath Josh Sinclair still retained the heat of the day and he stretched out against the warmth and closed his eyes. The rhythmic sound of surf to sand soothed and the brine-scented air filled his senses. Tragedy had driven him from this beach house over a year ago, but now as he sat up to watch the sun slowly sinking over the azure ocean, he wondered how he'd ever managed to stay away for so long. He would never again venture into the waters that had taken his heart, his soul, but he had finally found the peace to be able to enjoy the majestic sight of the ocean without thinking of loss. It had been a year ago that he'd lost his wife in a boating accident, a year of pain, loneliness, and regrets. Finally, he felt ready to put the past behind him and move on with his life. Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, he once again stretched out on his back and closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled by the sensory pleasure of the beach at dusk. The singing woke him. The sweet, clear, feminine voice rang above the sound of the surf, caressing the notes of a familiar country and western song about lonely nights and rainy days. He sat up, groggy, but intrigued, drawn to the sweet siren song that rode the evening breeze. This stretch of beach was fairly isolated. The nearest house belonged to an older man who he rarely saw outside. Was it possible that in the year he'd been away Walt Cooper had left and a woman with the voice of an angel had moved in? Trying to find the source of the voice, he stood and looked around. It seemed to be coming from a rocky outcropping nearby. A bit unsteady on his feet from the deep sleep he'd been in, he took several steps around a large boulder at the water's edge, then stopped in his tracks.

She was there…perched on the rocks. Her long hair shone like fool's gold in the waning sunlight. She had her eyes closed, her face raised to the setting sun as she sang. He couldn't see all of her, but he could see enough to realize that it appeared she was naked, her bare breasts hidden by the glorious length of her hair that spilled over her shoulders. "Hello?" he called out.

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Her head snapped around and her eyes flew open. The greenest eyes he'd ever seen stared at him in stunned surprise. She turned away from him and in an instant he knew she intended to flee. "Wait!" he said, wanting to tell her how much he'd enjoyed the sound of her voice, wanting to find out who she was, where she'd come from. She didn't wait. She dove into the water, but not before Josh saw the green iridescent shine of scales and the perfectly formed tail where legs should be. He stared at the water where she'd disappeared. Was he still asleep on the beach and in the middle of a dream? Or had he just seen a real, living, breathing beautiful mermaid? He'd seen her! Christina thought, trying not to panic. She dove deep...deep...deeper still, frantic as she thought of that moment when she'd opened her eyes and had seen the handsome man standing so near. Her father had told her the man who owned the house next to his was no longer in residence, that she would be safe on the stretch of isolated beach. She had spent her entire life being so careful, knowing the dangers of ever letting a human see her in her natural state. She had grown up knowing the importance of keeping her existence, and that of others like her, a myth to the land world above the sea. She swam for miles, joined by a friendly dolphin that circled and danced around her as if pleased by her company. Everywhere she looked, beauty greeted her. She loved the underwater world, but she'd also come to love the land world as well. Although she'd been encouraged to spend her life in the sea, for the past several years she had been spending more and more time on land, fascinated and drawn to the complexities and drama of human life. She should have been more careful. She never should have taken the chance of being seen. She could only hope the man on the beach had been a vagrant...hopefully an inebriated vagrant who wouldn't remember what he'd seen when he sobered up. She circled back to the area of beach in front of her father's house. This time before leaving the water, she looked around, making sure nobody else was anywhere in sight. With a thrust of her powerful tail, she pulled herself up on the sandy shore and waited impatiently for her transformation from mermaid to woman. It usually took five minutes or so for her tail to change into legs. As she waited, she thought of the man she had seen. Vagrant or not, he'd definitely been a hunk. He'd been tall, at least six feet. His tanned chest had been broad, with well-defined muscles and jean shorts that had ridden low on his lean hips. Unruly dark hair had complemented his chiseled facial features.

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She expelled a deep sigh of longing. Someday she would find a man like that...a man who physically made her weak in the knees, a man who was kind and good and loved her with all his heart and soul. Loved her for everything she was. However, at the moment finding love with the perfect man was not only totally out of the question, but would also prove to be absolutely devastating. It was that fact that had brought her back here to the small coastal town of Seaside Landing from her home in Los Angeles. Her father had called her a week after finding a letter her mother had written many years ago before her death, a letter filled with a heart-wrenching warning for the daughter she loved. Sinclair Private Investigation Inc. The black lettering filled the window of the strip mall store. Christina Cooper stared at the lettering for a long moment...hoping...praying whomever worked here would be able to help her. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. A bell tinkled, announcing her arrival, but there was nobody seated at the reception desk. "Come on in," a deep male voice called from somewhere in the back. Christina spied the doorway that apparently led into a back room where the voice had come from. She walked through the doorway and into a private office where a man stood behind a wooden desk arranging the items on bookshelves. He turned and she froze. She recognized him instantly and her heart crashed nervously against her rib cage. He was the man from last night on the beach...the man who had seen her in her natural state. She didn't know whether to speak or turn and run. "Hi." He leaned across the desk and extended a hand to her. "Josh Sinclair. Can I help you?" No recognition flickered in the depths of his gorgeous blue eyes and she felt herself relax a bit. "Hi, I'm Christina Cooper." His hand was warm and strong around hers. He released it then gestured her into the chair opposite the desk. "What can I do for you, Christina Cooper?" She sat and tried to ignore how handsome he was. In the brief moment she'd seen him the night before, she'd been instantly struck by his masculine appeal, and that appeal was just as potent this morning. She felt it like an electric coil of heat in the pit of her stomach. Even with a suit jacket on, it was impossible to ignore the width of his shoulders and his dark, slightly unruly hair was a perfect foil for the bright blue of his eyes. But, she wasn't here to admire the physical attributes Josh Sinclair had to offer; she desperately needed his professional services. "I would like to hire you to find somebody for me," she said.

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"Let me guess, an old flame that you've discovered you can't live without?" He flashed her a smile that increased the warmth inside her tummy. She was surprised to feel her cheeks warm with a blush. "No, it's nothing like that," she protested and tried to formulate exactly what she intended to tell him. It would be so easy if she could just tell him the truth. Mr. Sinclair, I’m a mermaid. I’ve been cursed by a sea witch and I need you to find the witch so I can convince her to release me from the curse that will keep me from finding my true love. No, that wouldn’t do at all, Christina thought. "So, who is it you want me to find for you?" Josh leaned back in his chair and studied the woman across from him. She was definitely a looker. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bun, exposing her long graceful neck and emphasizing her delicate features. Her eyes were blue, matching the dress that she wore. It had been a long time since Josh had felt the stir of attraction for any woman, but something about this woman made him think of hot kisses and slow caresses, of tangled sheets and summer breezes. "I need to find a woman," she said. "Her name is Ann Mitchell. She used to live here in Seaside Landing, but moved away several years ago." "Before you tell me about her, I need you to fill out some paperwork," Josh replied. He pulled several forms from his desk drawer and leaned over the desk to hand them to her. As she reached out to take them from him, the scent of her washed over him. It was the scent of sunshine and sweet wildflowers and so utterly feminine that he felt a heady tension well up inside him. Stay focused, he admonished himself. You’re a professional PI for God’s sake. Act like one. He cleared his throat and handed her a pen. "Just fill those out, then we can discuss exactly what you want me to do for you." He watched as she filled out the client forms. Despite his desire to keep their relationship professional, he had to admit that his gut reaction to Christina Cooper was a definite sign that his wounds had healed and he was finally ready to face the rest of his life without Nancy.

Chapter 2: She finished with the forms and handed them back to him. He gazed at them, then shot her a look of surprise. "It appears we're neighbors." He thought of what he'd believed he'd seen last night on the beach and looked at her more closely. Her hair was the same color, but her eyes weren't. Besides, he'd already decided that he was half-asleep when he'd spied the singing mermaid and the vision had simply been a crazy image from his dreams, the fanciful imaginings of a lonely man. "Actually, that's my parent's address. I…uh…arrived there this morning from my home in Los Angeles." Her gaze didn't quite meet his and for some reason his gut told him she was lying. But why would she lie about something as innocuous as when she had arrived in town?

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"Why don't you tell me about this woman you'd like me to find for you?" he said. He would do his best to help her find Ann Mitchell, but at the same time he intended to do a little background check into Christina Cooper. The woman had mystery written all over her and there was nothing Josh liked better than unraveling a good mystery. "There has to be a picture of Ann in here," Christina said as she pulled a box out of the closet. "Josh said he'd like to have a picture of her…even if it's old." She looked at her aunt Zelda, who sat on the sofa. Zelda had arrived at Christina's father's home the day before for one of her regular land visits. "I'll be surprised if you find one. When your mother and Ann had their fight, your mother ripped up every photo she had of Ann." Christina sat down on the floor and opened the box, then looked at her aunt. When Christina's mother had died when she was five, it had been Zelda Pritchard who had raised the motherless mermaid. She'd been a loving surrogate mother who had encouraged Christina to live her life entirely in the water. Now Christina understood her aunt's desire to keep her off land. "You're mad at me," Zelda said, sadness radiating from her green eyes. "No," Christina protested and smiled. "You know I've never been able to stay angry with you. But you should have told me about the curse." "You're right," Zelda agreed. "But I thought I could convince you to stay in the ocean, to live your life as a mer and marry another mer. As long as you did, the curse had no power to hurt you." Zelda sighed. "But in this past couple of years you've become so enamored of humans." Christina grinned, knowing her aunt much preferred mer people to humans. "You're a snob at heart when it comes to the human race." Zelda grinned. "Perhaps." Her smile faded. "I'm still sorry that I didn't tell you rather than having your father read it in an old letter and contact you." Christina got up, then sat next to her aunt. "Why did Ann curse me? What did she and my mother fight about?" "It all happened a long time ago, before you were born. Ann was always jealous of your mother. Ann fancied herself in love with your father when your mother began to date him. Even after they married, I think she hoped to break them apart. When she realized your parents were happy and your mother was pregnant, she became enraged." "And so to hurt my mother she cursed me in a way that would hurt me most…with a curse of the heart," Christina said. "Only if you fall in love with a human man," Zelda reminded her. "You know what they say, pearls are the teardrops of mermaids who have fallen in love with mortal men." "I don't care," Christina replied. "It should be my choice who I fall in love with. My decision shouldn't be guided by the curse of a sea witch." "But, if you don't find Ann, then you must choose wisely or you'll be forever bound to the sea and unable to ever again walk on the land."

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"I know," Christina replied. In recent years, her father had embraced land life and rarely ventured into the sea. Christina's younger sister had done the same, marrying a mortal and having a family. If Christina made the mistake of falling in love with a mortal before the curse was broken, she would not only lose her ability to live on the land, but she would also eventually lose touch with those she cared about. She stood and returned to the box, trying not to think of the curse that now hung heavily over her head…her heart. Josh sat on his deck facing the ocean. The sun hadn't yet sunk below the horizon, but was a ball of fire suspended in midair. He'd eaten his dinner and had intended to do some paperwork inside, but the ocean had called and so he sat staring at it, as if in anticipation. It had been about this time yesterday evening that he'd thought he'd seen a mermaid. All day long he'd told himself he was crazy…dreaming…that what he'd thought he'd seen hadn't really been there. So, what was he doing out on his deck watching the water for any sign of a golden haired, green-eyed singing mermaid? He sat up in his chair as he saw a female figure in the distance. It wasn't a mermaid, but it was Christina Cooper. He recognized the golden shine of her hair and the lush curves that had captured his attention earlier in the day. She walked along the shore and appeared to be deep in thought. He hadn't done anything that day to check into her background or start the search for Ann Mitchell. After a year’s absence from his job, he'd spent most of the day updating files. Suddenly he wanted to be on the beach, too. He got up and hurried down the stairs that led to the sand. It took him only moments to catch up to her. "Mr. Sinclair," she said in greeting. "Ms. Cooper," he replied, "and please, make it Josh." She smiled and a flame flickered to life inside him at her beauty. "Then, by all means call me Christina." "Mind if I walk a little bit with you, Christina?" "Not at all. It's lovely out here this time of evening. Do you swim, Josh?" Josh looked at the ocean, able to admire the beauty, but unable to ignore the fear it now inspired inside him. "No, I don't swim. I lost my wife in a boating accident fourteen months ago and I haven't been back in the water since." He didn't tell her that for months he'd dreamed of drowning, of being pulled beneath the surface of the water and unable to draw breath. He knew the dreams were in part due to the guilt he'd felt that he hadn't been with Nancy on the boat when the accident occurred.

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"Oh, I'm so sorry." She reached out and touched his arm. His skin tingled pleasantly at the comforting touch and he was disappointed when she quickly pulled her hand away. "So, what do you do back in L.A.?" he asked as they walked slowly through the sand. "I work at a place called The Edge. It's a popular nightclub." "Are you a waitress?" he asked. She shrugged and looked away from him. "I do a little of this, a little of that." The answer sounded evasive and Josh made a mental note to do some checking into Christina Cooper first thing in the morning. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he had to know more about her. She smiled at him and for just a moment he thought her eyes appeared more green than blue. "How long have you been a private investigator?" Christina asked as they continued to walk at a leisurely pace. The sun had begun to sink, painting the sky in pink and purple hues. "I opened the doors seven years ago when I was twenty-one." "I wouldn't think there would be too much business in a town the size of Seaside Landing," Christina observed. She wished she couldn't smell him, a clean male scent that not only stirred her on a physical level but sent her thoughts swirling as well. He grinned, a sexy smile that sent her pulse racing. "You'd be surprised how much goes on in a small town. I recently took a year's absence and am just now getting back to working full-time." "By the way, I found a picture of Ann, although it's quite old." "Good. Why don't you drop it by my office sometime tomorrow?" he suggested. She nodded. "So, is there a prospective Mr. Cooper in the picture?" he asked. "Not at all," she said. "The last thing I'd want to do at this time in my life is fall in love." "Why is that?" Those beautiful blue eyes of his gazed at her curiously. She frowned, sorry she'd even brought it up. "Let's just say it's a long story." Josh’s gaze held hers intently. "I don't have anything else on my agenda for the night." She forced a burst of light laughter. "Trust me, you'd find it all very boring. Let's just say I'm not in the market for a relationship at the moment." "I was a confirmed bachelor until I married my wife. She showed me how special it is to share your life with somebody," he said. "You must miss her very much." "I do.” He paused for a moment. “But she wouldn't have wanted me to grieve forever."

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They walked until the sun had disappeared and the moon caressed the waves with silvery fingers of light. They spoke of inconsequential things, the weather, new movies, favorite foods. Christina enjoyed his company. He was witty and sexy and obviously passionate about many things. He spoke briefly about his wife and it was obvious he'd loved her very much. Surely a man who’d loved deeply once could do so again…Christina banished the thought almost as soon as it crossed her mind. Christina hoped that when she fell in love it would be with a man like Josh. But, she didn't dare entertain any feelings of love for any man until she found Ann Mitchell and managed to get the curse lifted. Of course, she wasn't worried about having any feelings for Josh Sinclair despite the fact that he was charming and sexy. He was simply a man she'd hired, a man who hated the water. All she wanted from him was to find the sea witch who had cursed her so that someday she might love and live happily-ever-after.

Chapter 3: Christina arrived at the office just before noon with the picture of Ann Mitchell. To Josh, she seemed to fill the stark interior of his office with life and breath and color. It surprised him how pleased he was to see her. "I was just about to head out for some lunch," he said after she'd given him the photo. "Why don't you join me?" He saw her hesitation. "There's a new little Mexican restaurant down the street that I thought I'd try." He remembered her telling him the night before that Mexican food was her favorite. "All right," she agreed and pleasure washed over him. Fifteen minutes later they were seated at a table in the dimly lit restaurant and Josh told her what his cursory morning search had yielded. "I did a general search this morning on the Internet for Ann Mitchell." "Did you find her?" Christina asked eagerly, her lovely eyes glittering with the light of the candle that flickered in the center of their table. "I found several Ann Mitchells in coastal towns along the West Coast, but what I need from you is more information." Again today Christina's hair was confined and neatly coiled around her head. Josh's fingers itched to release it from its confines, to wrap his fingers in the strands that he knew would be so soft and silky. "What kind of information?" she asked. "You told me her approximate age, but it would help if you could tell me what kinds of things she likes to do, what sort of interests she has, what organizations she might belong to." What he really wanted to know was how Christina's lips would taste. If she would utter sweet little sighs and breathless moans as she made love. But first, he wanted to know more about her.

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His research on her background had yielded more questions than answers. He now knew exactly where she lived in L.A. but the super of her apartment building had indicated that she was often gone for weeks...months at a time. She looked at him helplessly. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't personally know Ann. She was an acquaintance of my mother's." "Can you ask your mother?" "My mom died when I was five." Her eyes darkened. "I'm so sorry," Josh said. So, they had both suffered the loss of a loved one. "But I was lucky. I was raised by a loving aunt. She knew Ann years ago. Maybe she'll know something that can help us." "And you're positive she would be living in a coastal community?" "Positive. She needs to be near the water." An odd choice of words, Josh thought. Most people would say she likes the water, or enjoys the beach, not she needs the water. Christina reached across the table and took his hand. In her grip he felt an urgency. "You must find her," she said, her eyes burning with intensity. "Please. My entire future depends on you finding her." Christina withdrew her hand from his, aware that she'd startled him with her fervor. How could she explain to Josh the need to find Ann without telling him who...what she was? Every mermaid who was ever born knew the danger of exposing themselves to humans. The implication of capture and exploitation was enormous. She was grateful that at that moment the waitress arrived with their meals. "So, what happens now that you've found several Ann Mitchells?" she asked as they began to eat. "I'll weed out the ones that are too young or too old, then attempt to contact each one and see if she's originally from Seaside Landing. It's possible I'll need to take a road trip and make personto-person contact." "If you do need to make a road trip, would it be possible for me to come with you?" Again he looked at her in surprise. "Sure." A warm smile curved his lips. "In fact, I'd enjoy your company." He picked up his fork, then looked at her once again. "I've spent too much time in my own company lately." "It must be hard coping with the death of a loved one," she said softly. "The first couple of months after Nancy's death were the hardest." The blue of his eyes darkened. "I felt so guilty." "Guilty? Why?"

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"I was supposed to be with her that day. Friends of ours had invited us to spend the day on their boat, but that morning I woke up with the flu and ended up staying home. Late afternoon a storm blew up and I learned later that the boat capsized. Apparently Nancy hit her head and was unconscious when she went into the water." He paused to take a sip of his soda and her heart ached for him. He set his glass down and continued. "Anyway, for months I kept thinking if only I'd gone with them I might have been able to save her. But I managed to get past the guilt. What nobody tells you about is the loneliness that's left behind." "You must have loved her very much." He smiled, a soft smile that Christina found far too appealing. "I did, and there will always be a part of me that continues to love her. But Nancy would have wanted me to go on, to find a new relationship." Without warning he reached out and swiped a finger at the corner of her mouth. "Enchilada sauce," he said. She laughed with embarrassment and quickly used her napkin to wipe her mouth. Her laughter died, replaced by a sudden sweeping fear. She'd liked the feel of Josh's finger against her skin. In fact, she liked him...a lot. So much it was dangerous… She'd been avoiding him. For the past three days Josh hadn’t seen Christina, although he’d spoken to her several times on the phone. Twice he'd called her with questions that he needed answered to aid him in his search. The third time he called her it was to ask her to join him for dinner. She'd declined. He'd been surprised by the depth of his disappointment. He liked her and wanted to spend more time with her. It wasn't just her beauty that drew him. He was also drawn by the gentle spirit he sensed inside her, the sense of humor she'd displayed on occasion, and the hint of passion that sometimes sparked in her eyes. It was after midnight and still sleep remained elusive to him as his head whirled with thoughts of Christina. Finally, giving up trying to sleep, he got out of bed and moved to the window to stare out at the ocean. He'd never been a fan of the water but since Nancy's death his dislike had become a living, breathing fear inside him. Of course, the drowning nightmares he suffered didn't help. He was just about to turn away from the window when he saw movement on the beach below. Christina. What was she doing out there in the middle of the night? Maybe she was suffering from insomnia, too, he thought as he quickly pulled on a pair of shorts and left his house by the back door. He raced down the beach to the area where he'd seen her from his window, but she wasn't there. The moon was bright overhead, illuminating the beach with a silvery light. For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined her presence. Then he spied her on the rocky outcropping, in the exact same place he'd thought he'd seen a magical, mythical creature nights before.

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Although he knew it was crazy, his gaze shot first to her lower half. Legs. She had long, shapely, gorgeous legs. He inwardly scoffed at himself. Of course she had legs. What was he expecting? A tail? It was obvious she'd been swimming -- her long hair was loose and wet and she was clad in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit that confirmed the curves that full clothing had merely suggested. She didn't appear to be aware of his presence and for a moment he simply stood and stared at her, drinking in her moon-kissed beauty. "Hi," he finally said. She jumped off the rock, stark terror shining from her eyes as she looked at him. "What are you doing here?" She tensed, as if prepared to run. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." "Have you been watching me? How long have you been there?" Josh stared at her curiously, wondering why on earth she looked so afraid and why he got the feeling she was definitely hiding something. Had he seen her? Panic swept through Christina. She'd waited until the middle of the night to enjoy an hour of her underwater world. She shouldn’t have taken the chance knowing that Josh lived nearby. "How long have you been out here?" she asked. "Only a minute or two," he replied, his gaze focused intently on her. "Why?" She relaxed as she realized he hadn't seen her as a mer, that he'd seen her only after she'd returned to human form. "I thought I was alone." "If you want to be alone, I'll leave," he offered. "No, you don't have to." She wrapped her towel around her waist and once again sat back down on the rocks. Her pulse accelerated as he joined her, sitting so close she could smell the scent of him, feel his body heat. It had been thoughts of this man that had kept sleep elusive and had made her decide to chance a midnight swim. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked him. "I must have known you'd be out here and that's why I couldn't sleep," he replied. In the glow of the moonlight his eyes held a teasing glint. The glint faded as he continued to gaze at her. "Isn't it dangerous for you to be out here swimming alone in the middle of the night?" "Not really," she replied. "I'm a strong swimmer and the ocean doesn't frighten me." He looked out at the waves and when he looked back at her his eyes were dark as night skies. "I'm so sorry that you lost her," she said, believing that he must be thinking of his wife. "Thanks, but I was thinking about how sorry I'd be if something happened to you."

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His words created a spark of heat inside her and before she could anticipate his intent, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. His mouth plied hers with a heat that nearly stole her breath away and even though she knew she should pull away, she didn't.

Chapter 4: He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss by swirling his tongue against hers. She felt naked in his arms, with only her skimpy bathing suit top separating his chest from her breasts. His strong arms made her feel safe and warm. In the back of her mind a warning went off. She ignored it. She was twenty-five years old. She had certainly kissed men before and had held on to her heart. Surely she could kiss Josh and spend time in his company and not risk Ann's curse. He broke the kiss and smiled at her, his eyes lit with flames that ignited a responding fire inside her. "That's the nicest thing I've done in over a year," he whispered and stroked a finger down her cheek. "And I wouldn't mind repeating the pleasure another hundred times or so." Again warning buzzed in Christina's head. This time she heeded it and moved away from him. She, too, wouldn't mind repeating the pleasure of kissing him again…. And the thought of what that meant terrified her. "What are your plans for the day?" Zelda asked. It was early morning and she sat at the table in Christina's father's house. The three of them had shared a cup of coffee before Christina's father had wandered outside to work in his garden. "Josh and I are driving up the coast to a little town called Coral Heights. He's certain Ann is there." Zelda raised an eyebrow. "I saw you on the beach night before last with that man. The two of you were kissing." Christina felt her cheeks warm with a blush. "I'm over twenty-one." "And playing a dangerous game," Zelda said. "What are you talking about?" Christina poured herself another cup of coffee. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! Spending time with that man, kissing him.... What do you think will happen if you lose your heart to him? You will never again have legs to walk on the land. You will be forever banished to the sea and your tears will litter the ocean floor. Is that what you want to happen?" "Of course not, and I don't intend for that to happen," Christina retorted. "I'm in control and I don't intend to lose my heart to Josh." "Foolish words. When it comes to love, nobody is in control."

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"But I like him, Aunt Zelda," Christina said softly. "And besides, I have to go with him today. If he finds Ann, she won't reveal herself to him. I have to be there to talk to her, to plead with her to lift the curse." She returned to the table and sat next to her aunt. Zelda reached out and grabbed her hand in a tight grasp. "I'm afraid for you. I have a bad feeling about this. Hearts are fickle things, and love can happen in the blink of an eye." "I just can't allow that to happen," Christina replied. She leaned forward and kissed her aunt's forehead. "I know what I'm doing." Zelda released Christina's hand and shook her head ruefully. "You know what happens to the mermaids who are unhappily banished to the sea? They eventually become bitter and miserable Lorelei who sing siren songs to lure men to their death. I promised your mother before her death that I would raise you with love and keep you safe." "And you've done that, Aunt Zelda." Zelda stared at her for a long moment, her green eyes filled with a depth of anxiety Christina had never seen there before. "Yes, I've done that up until now. But I can't protect you from yourself, Christina, and I can't protect your heart from love." "Aunt Zelda, you are making far too much out of a few stolen kisses in the moonlight," Christina exclaimed with a forced lightness. "I hope so," the older woman said fervently. "If you're right, then all you lose is a little time listening to an old woman's rambling. But, if I'm right, then you lose the life -- and the man -- that you've come to love on the land." Zelda's words still echoed in Christina's head as she got into the passenger side of Josh's car. But it was difficult to hold herself distant as they took off driving. The coastal scenery was beautiful, the weather was perfect, Josh was an entertaining companion, and within minutes Christina found herself relaxing and forgetting her conversation with her aunt. Although he was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt, he looked achingly handsome and his smile warmed her from the inside out. Looking at him she couldn't help but remember the heart-stopping kisses they'd shared on the beach, nor could she forget how much she'd wanted at that moment for the kisses to go on forever. That night she'd wanted more than just his kisses.... She'd wanted him to make love to her. She shoved these disturbing thoughts out of her mind. He'd told her the day before it was a two-hour drive to Coral Heights. "Do you have any other family, Christina?" he asked after they'd been traveling for a little while. "You've mentioned your aunt and your father. Any brothers or sisters?" "A sister," she replied. "Laura is two years younger than me and lives with her husband and two children in Denver." "Are the two of you close?"

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"Very. I try to fly out to visit her as often as possible." She tried not to think about how devastating it would be if Ann's curse somehow got hold of her and she'd never be able to fly to visit her sister again. "What about you? Do you have any family?" "Unfortunately no. Both my parents are dead and I was an only child." "What about in-laws?" she asked. He shook his head. "Nancy was an only child, too. Her parents were divorced and her mother passed away the year before we were married. She and her father had lost touch years ago." "That's too bad...I mean that you didn't have family to help you deal with your wife's death." He smiled and again she felt the force of his wonderful smile in the pit of her stomach. "I managed. You know what they say, something about that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger." A chill raced up Christina's spine as she thought of the curse. It wouldn't kill her, but it definitely wouldn't make her stronger, either. "What makes you think the Ann Mitchell in Coral Heights is the woman I'm looking for?" "She's the right age. You told me that it was possible she would be involved in some sort of ocean study or charity and this woman is the director of an educational aquatic museum." Christina's heart quickened at thoughts of facing the sea witch who'd cursed her. Surely she would be able to convince Ann to lift the curse delivered so long ago. As she gazed at Josh, a feeling of urgency whipped through her...along with more than a little bit of fear. It had taken Josh months to recognize he'd fallen in love with Nancy. He'd known Christina only a week but already he felt a sense of wonder, an anticipatory thrill that told him he was on the verge of falling hard for her. He told himself he was crazy, that it was far too soon for him to be feeling the way that he did, but he couldn't stop the waves of attraction that drew him to her, couldn't halt the emotions that filled his heart when he looked at her. "You've suddenly grown very quiet," she said. He smiled. "Just thinking." "A penny for those thoughts?" "Ah, sweet Christina, they're worth much, much more than a penny," he teased. She laughed and he loved the sound of her laughter. Yes, he was falling hard. Coral Heights was a small town and it took Josh only minutes to find the Museum of Aquatic Delights in a building on a floating dock. As they got out of the car in the parking lot, Josh wondered why it was so important to Christina to find Ann Mitchell. He hadn't asked Christina, knew that it was none of his business. He’d been hired to find Ann, nothing more. And yet, he wanted to make everything about her his business. In

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the brief time he'd known her, she'd captivated his heart. Something about her touched him as no woman had ever done before. As they walked toward the entrance of the museum she practically vibrated with nervous energy. On impulse, he reached out and grabbed her hand in his. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure this is the woman you're looking for, but if for some reason I'm mistaken, I won't give up until I find the right one." She smiled gratefully, her eyes once again a curious mix of blue and green that instantly evoked thoughts of the mysterious, mythical mermaid he thought he'd seen almost a week before. "I know this is the right Ann. I feel it in my bones. She's the right age and my aunt said she would be doing something to educate people about aquatic life. I know this is the woman I'm looking for." They entered the museum by the front door. Aquariums of all shapes and sizes filled the walls, displaying a variety of fish and sea creatures. "Good afternoon." A young man greeted them with a friendly smile. Josh nodded as Christina murmured a hello. "We're here to see Ann Mitchell. Is she available?" Christina asked. The young man's smile instantly left his face and was replaced by a look of sadness. "Are you a friend of hers?" "No...but I need to speak with her," Christina replied. Josh could hear the desperation in her voice and as he looked at the young man's expression, a bad feeling welled up inside of him. "I'm afraid that's not possible," he said. "Ms. Mitchell passed away a couple of weeks ago." "No..." the word whispered from Christina like a pain-filled sigh as she stumbled backward. She looked positively stricken. Josh reached out to steady her, but before he could grab her she whirled around and ran out of the museum. She ran blindly...out of the museum and down the beach, tears burning as they cascaded from her eyes. Dead. Ann Mitchell was dead and could no longer rescind the curse. She hadn't realized how much she'd believed that she would find Ann and make everything all right until this moment, when any hope of doing so was lost.

Chapter 5: "Christina!" She stopped running as she heard Josh's frantic cry coming from someplace behind her. In an instant he had her wrapped in his arms and she leaned weakly into him, sobbing in despair. "Talk to me, Christina," he said as his hands rubbed her back, stroked her hair in an effort to soothe. "Tell me why you're crying." She shook her head, knowing that what he asked was impossible. She couldn't tell him about the curse without telling him what she was.

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"Please...just take me home," she finally managed to say. He kept his arm around her as they walked back to his car. Neither of them spoke as he pulled away from the museum and got back on the freeway that would carry them back to Seaside Landing. Christina was numb...in shock from the realization that Ann was dead and there was no way to get the curse lifted. She would never be able to fall in love with a man, marry, and live a life of normalcy on the land she’d come to love as much as the sea. She looked at Josh and the ache that filled her seemed all encompassing, too huge to bear. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back and tried to ignore the pain of dashed hope. Josh turned on the radio and the easy-listening soft rock soothed her a bit. For nearly an hour they drove in silence, the only sound the music that filled the car. She finally opened her eyes and gazed at him. As if he felt her gaze he turned his head and smiled at her. "You okay?" "I guess," she replied softly, aware that he was more than a little bit curious. "Want to talk about it?" She hesitated a moment, knowing there was no way she could tell him the truth and yet feeling as if she owed him some sort of an explanation. "I needed to talk to Ann, I needed to ask her some questions about my mother," she said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy his curiosity. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes caressing her with a warmth that both comforted and disturbed her. She looked away from him and focused her attention out the window. Soon they would be home and she would leave Seaside Landing and return to her life in L.A. She knew at that moment that she must never see Josh again. If she wanted to continue to maintain a life shared between the water and the land, then she would have to make certain she never got close to any mortal man...especially the one seated next to her. They were less than a mile from her father's house and a feeling of dread pressed heavily in Josh's chest. His official reason for being with Christina was over. He'd found Ann Mitchell and even though the outcome hadn't been what Christina had wanted, his job was finished. However, he didn't want to be through with her. He didn't want to just let her walk out of his life...out of his heart. He was just about to reach out and turn off the radio when she began to hum with the tune playing. He froze and a second later he heard the sound of her softly singing. He knew the voice. In the past week that sweet, clear voice had haunted his dreams. He careened the car off to the side of the road and braked hard. She gasped in surprise as he threw the car into park, then turned to stare at her. "It was you."

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She licked her lips and he could see a pulse throbbing wildly in the base of her throat. "What was me?" "That night...the night before you came into my office. I saw you on the beach. I saw you on the rocks." It was crazy...it was insane. What he'd seen had been a mermaid and mermaids didn't exist. Yet he couldn’t deny what he’d seen. "I...I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. He heard the lie in her voice, saw it in the way her eyes shifted from left to right, focusing on anything but him. He reached out and gripped her hand. "Christina, look at me." Her eyes were huge, filled with emotions he couldn't begin to guess. "Please..." she murmured, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. "Please, don't." She wrenched his hand from his grip, unbuckled her seat belt and flew out of the car. Josh quickly followed after her, running down the sandy beach toward the shoreline, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He caught up with her at the water's edge, where she'd stopped, attempting to catch her breath. "Christina...talk to me," he said gently. "You should know I would never do anything to hurt you." She turned to face him and he wondered how he’d ever thought her eyes were blue. At the moment they were as green and mysterious as the water that lapped near their feet. He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, felt the trembling beneath her warm skin. "Tell me it was you I saw that night, tell me I'm not crazy." "Josh...I..." He pulled her closer...closer still, until he could feel the frantic beat of her heart against his own. "You have to trust me, Christina. I promise I would never do anything to hurt you. I couldn't...because I'm in love with you." Without giving her an opportunity to reply, he did what he'd wanted to do all day long. He captured her lips with his, hoping that in his kiss she would taste the depth of his love for her. Christina knew the last thing she should be doing was kissing Josh, but she told herself this kiss was a gift to herself...the last kiss she would ever share with him. As his lips possessed hers, tears slipped from her eyes as she realized this was a pleasure she would never again experience. His arms tightened around her. How easy it would be to lose herself in him, how much she wanted to do just that. At this thought, she gasped and stumbled back away from him. She recognized that remaining in his arms, tasting the sweet heat of his kiss for another second was dangerous. "Christina." His voice was filled with a plea. "Forget what you saw on the beach that night," she finally said.

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"But, I saw you.... You were a...a..." "Josh, please," she interrupted. How could she trust him with the secret she'd been taught from birth to protect? And yet, as she looked into his caring blue eyes, how could she not trust him? He reached out and took her hands in his. "I'm not crazy, am I? I saw what I saw." His eyes beseeched her for the truth and she realized she couldn't deny him that. "No, you aren't crazy," she whispered. He squeezed her hands, his expression one of wonder. She pulled her hands from his, afraid of the warmth he evoked in her. She turned and faced the ocean, her back to him. "Go home, Josh. Go home and forget what you saw on the beach that night, forget you met me." "I can't do that. I'm in love with you." His words shot a combination of joy and horror through her. "Don't love me. Please, just leave me alone." With tears once again filling her eyes, she turned and ran, ignoring his cries for her to stop. He loved her. Josh loved her. That night as she slipped into the ocean for one last swim before returning to L.A. the next day, her head, her heart, was filled with the knowledge that Josh loved her. Of course she didn't love him, she told herself as she swam beneath the surface of the water. He had been a pleasant diversion, a wonderful companion, but nothing more. Swimming for the shore, she looked at his house in the distance. He loved her, but she couldn't love him. She had to leave in the morning, she needed to put as much distance between herself and Josh as possible. She pulled herself up on the land and waited for the transformation back to human form to take place. As she waited, her thoughts remained on Josh...Josh, whose kisses had filled her with fire, whose strong arms had made her feel safe. She frowned, realizing enough time had passed to make the transformation, but nothing had happened. Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Too many minutes and still she had no legs. Horror swept over her. She'd told herself she didn't love Josh, but the curse knew what was in her heart. She loved Josh Sinclair and with that love in her heart, the curse had befallen her.

Josh dreamed of drowning and woke up gasping for air. He was on one of his deck chairs. The night sky overhead was angry. Lightning flashed in the distance and thunder rumbled. As sleep fell away, Christina came to his mind. He was in love with a mermaid. His mind couldn't quite wrap around it. And yet, it didn't matter to him what she was...all that mattered was that he loved her and for the past two days he'd been unable to locate her.

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He'd gone to her father's house and had been told by her aunt that she had gone back to L.A., but her apartment building manager had told him that she hadn't returned there. He'd gone back to her house and Zelda had told him to go home and forget about Christina. As she'd spoken, her gaze had gone to the ocean. Since that time, he'd been sitting on his deck, watching for any sign of the woman he loved. In Zelda's glance to the sea and deep in his gut, Josh believed Christina was out there somewhere. He couldn't believe she would stay away from him.

Chapter 6: He wasn't sure what had made her run from him, but he was certain that it had been love he'd tasted in her kiss, seen in her eyes. And so, he'd been watching the sea...hoping, praying that she'd return to land. As the storm grew closer, the wind picked up. He was just about to give up for the night when, in the glare of a lightning flash, he watched a dolphin jump amid the waves, and next to the dolphin he saw Christina. He was up and on the beach in a flash. "Christina!" he cried into the wind that frothed the waves at his feet. Frantically he searched the water, seeking any sign of the woman who owned his heart. "Christina!" he yelled again. His heart beat frantically as he spied her in the distance. Her hair was wet, slicked back from her beautiful face but as the thunder roared overhead and lightning flashed in the sky, their gazes met and held. For a moment neither of them moved, then she raised a hand and pointed to a wooden pier in the distance. She met him there, at the end of the dock. As she looked up at him from the water in her sea green eyes he saw love for him radiating there and it swelled inside him. "I told you to forget me." She yelled to be heard above the storm. "I can't. I love you." He backed away from the edge of the dock as the waves leaped up to splash his feet. "There's no future with me, Josh." Her expression held an agony that ripped through him. "Forget me." Before he could reply, she slipped beneath the surface of the water and disappeared from sight. "No! Christina!" He stared at the angry water, fear welling up in his throat as if to suffocate him. He'd lost one woman to the sea. He couldn't lose another. Drawing a deep breath, he dove into the raging waters below. Christina felt Josh’s presence the moment he entered the water. Fear for his safety washed over her. Even the strongest of swimmers would find it difficult to survive in these storm-tossed seas. She knew his fear, and the fact that he'd entered the water for her filled her with overwhelming love and an equally overwhelming sense of despair.

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With a powerful thrust of her tail, she swam to where he was desperately working to keep his head above the waves. "Go back to the pier, Josh," she cried. "Not without you. We have to talk." He disappeared as a wave swept over his head. "Josh," she screamed, then sobbed in relief as he once again appeared. He already knew she was a mermaid. He deserved to know the rest of the story. He deserved to know so he could go on with his life without her. She grabbed one of his hands and together they swam toward the pier. He pulled himself up on shore beneath the wooden structure, as did she. Sheltered from the passing storm, she watched his gaze sweep the length of her, lingering on her tail. "You are so beautiful," he said. "Both like this and in human form." He reached out as if to draw her into his arms, but she pushed him away, unable to bear being held by him knowing there was no hope for any future for the two of them. In halting words, with a breaking heart, she told him of the island beneath the sea where she'd been born. Pacifica existed in an air bubble where mers were safe both on land and in the sea. It was there she would now live out the remainder of her life. Then she told him of the curse. When she'd finished, he took her hands in his. "And so you can no longer walk on the land because you're in love with me?" She nodded, tears tumbling down her cheeks. "I wanted to find Ann to see if she would lift the curse." "But she's dead," he said flatly. His features radiated anger and a fierce determination. "There must be something we can do. I can't lose you. I won't lose you!" His voice railed above the fading thunder as he pulled her into his arms. He wanted to rage at the heavens, curse the fates for bringing love back into his life then cruelly snatching it away. "There must be something we can do," he repeated fervently. "There is nothing," she replied, her voice utterly void of hope. He thought of his fear of the water, the nightmares of drowning that had plagued him. Then he thought of his life without her. "There is one thing you could do," he said. "What?" For the first time a spark of hope flickered in her eyes. "Take me to Pacifica." Christina thought she couldn't love him any more than she already did, but as he spoke those words and she recognized the ultimate sacrifice he was willing to make, her heart filled with joy. But the joy was short-lived.

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"Josh, even if I take you to Pacifica with me, we still couldn't be a couple. I will always be a sea creature and you will always be a land creature. We will never have children...we can never make love." He hesitated only a moment. "I don't care. I just want to be with you." Again love swelled inside her, a love that ached with a pain she'd never known before. "I can't take you with me, Josh. I won't." She wouldn't subject him to a half life with her. He deserved to have a woman, a real woman that he could hold in his arms, cuddle with in bed, make love to in the dark of night. His eyes darkened with pain and this time when he took her into his arms, she allowed herself to be held tight against his beating heart. "I love you, Christina." "And I love you." Their lips met in a searing kiss that spoke of their desire, their intense love. As the kiss lingered, Christina felt a familiar tingling in her lower extremities. "Kiss me again, Josh," she exclaimed when he started to break the kiss. He captured her lips once again and as his tongue swirled with hers, she realized the transformation was taking place. She broke the kiss with a gasp of excitement. "Josh...look." She pointed down her body, where her tail had transformed into legs. His eyes reflected her own sense of confusion mingled with joy. There beneath the pier, he stood and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. "The curse has been broken." Awe filled his voice as he cupped her face with his hands. "I...I don't understand it. Maybe the curse couldn't sustain itself because of Ann's death." His beautiful blue eyes caressed her and he smiled. "I prefer to think that like all wonderful fairy tales, the pure power of love overwhelmed the power of hate -- the power of the curse." She smiled at him. "I definitely like your version better than mine." "Then marry me," he said. "Marry me and be my wife, teach me about Pacifica and share my life with me." "Yes, oh yes," she replied. Once again their lips met in a kiss that sealed their future. They might never know what really caused the curse to be broken, but the fact that she had two legs to walk upon assured her that, indeed, she was no longer under the spell of the dreadful curse. Together they walked out from beneath the pier to see that the storm had passed and brilliant stars filled the velvet night skies overhead. To Christina, the beauty felt like a promise of her future with Josh and as he took her in his arms once again, she realized it didn't matter if she were on land or in the sea. As long as Josh was by her side, she was home.

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Home on the Range by Elizabeth Bevarly Description: When her divorce becomes final, Megan Lavery leaves her L.A. lifestyle behind and heads off to the Flying Aces Ranch to visit with her Fortune cousins. She's certain a week of R&R is just what she needs to get her mind off the reality she knows as life. But when a local woman goes missing, Megan joins the search party and finds herself paired with Nash Ridley, a handsome young cowboy…and relaxing is the last thing she can do.

Chapter 1: Megan Lavery stepped out the back door of the Flying Aces Ranch and into the mild, late summer morning. For as far as she could see, nothing stirred. But it was a deceptive stillness because days started before dawn on a working ranch, and many of the hands were already out and about, seeing to the morning chores. The sky was dark lavender, touched with pink in anticipation of the sun's arrival, and the breeze was that odd mix of warm and cool that signaled the melding of night and day. She wrapped her worn wool cardigan more snugly around herself and sighed. Back home in L.A., she would have been leaving for work at this time, with a full hour of battling traffic ahead before she could pull her shiny black Jaguar into her reserved parking space at LA Mode Advertising. She smiled at the realization, thinking it barely took ten minutes to drive across Red Rock, a few miles up the road from the Flying Aces. Looking at the day this way, though, before anyone had gotten around to using it, Megan wondered why she hadn't taken this vacation a lot sooner. Because she hadn't needed it, she thought. Her cousin Violet Fortune had called a week earlier from her home in New York City, knowing that was the day Megan's divorce became final and thinking her cousin might need a shoulder to cry on -- as if, Megan couldn't help thinking now. Violet had thrown out a wild, off-the-cuff suggestion that she visit Violet's brothers' ranch in Texas for a week of R & R. Megan had been surprised to hear herself accept the challenge, but quickly realized what a good idea it was. She'd had some vacation time coming, and had just wrapped up a big project for the agency. She'd deserved a week of escape. And she hadn't visited Red Rock for years. It would be fun to see her Fortune cousins again. But Megan's body didn't seem ready to wind down -- she'd woken early as ever, even after staying up late to get caught up with her cousins. The life of a rancher could be every bit as hectic as that of a senior VP for LA Mode, Megan was learning. She wondered where ranchers went for R & R. She folded her body down to sit on the back stoop, the cool damp of the wooden step seeping through her pajama bottoms, which were spattered with images of cartoon breakfast foods. Her red cardigan didn't exactly match, nor the Lakers T-shirt she wore -- but she didn't care. She didn't have anyone to impress. Because, in case she hadn't mentioned it, she was on vacation. And also celebrating. It had now been one week, two days, nineteen hours, thirty-eight minutes and -- she glanced through the screen door behind her at the dilapidated clock hanging on the wall of the dimly lit mudroom -- forty-two seconds since her divorce became final. And it had been that, plus a year, since her two-timing husband had left her for one of his undergraduate students. He was forty years old, and he'd decided a woman half his age would make him happier. What was it about men approaching midlife that they felt so threatened by women their own age?

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Good riddance to bad garbage, Megan thought. That's 180 pounds I never should have gained in the first place. And then she put her ex-husband -- what was his name again? -- right out of her mind. She was an independent woman again. Legally, emotionally, financially -- in every way that counted. And thirty-five was certainly young enough to start over. Starting right here, right now, she would live life only for herself. She would do what she wanted to do, be what she wanted to be, feel what she wanted to feel, the rest of the world be damned. She was going to have an adventure while she was in Red Rock this week, she thought, a total escape from her normal reality. Yes, she was a Los Angeleno, born and bred, through and through, and made no apology for her city slickness. But Violet's suggestion had been serendipitous. Something about the Lone Star state called out to a newly independent person like Megan. People did things the way they wanted to do them in Texas. It was a land of selfsufficiency, of independence, of in-your-face, gonna-do-it-my-way behavior. It was exactly the kind of place she wanted - needed -- to be right now. Funnily, her Texas cousins were city slickers, born and bred, too. But not through and through. No, all three of the Fortune triplets had left their hearts in Texas when they'd first visited as children, and one by one, they'd all moved out here. Steven, Clyde and Miles owned the Flying Aces Ranch together, but Steven, recently engaged, was building his own spread in nearby San Antonio that he and his future wife, Amy, would soon call their own. Still, as much as Megan felt the pull from this place for the moment, she was surprised her Fortune cousins had stayed here. There was no way she could live in a place like this permanently,she thought as she scanned the horizon for a sign -- some sign, any sign -- gimme a sign -- of life…and found none. By the time her week in Red Rock was over, she'd be ready to go home to her beloved L.A. Back to sunny streets lined with lush palms and posh people. Back to the strobe lights and thumpa-thumpa-thumpa of her favorite dance clubs. Back to swanky Rodeo Drive, where she could drop thousands of her hard-earned dollars in a solitary afternoon. She smiled again, trying to imagine spending thousands of dollars during a full week in Red Rock. Nope, couldn't do it. She'd have to work hard to spend even a hundred dollars here. Not that she'd come here to buy anything. She'd come for a little slice of adventure. A little fun. A little escape. And those were things she could have for free. If she could find them. As if cued by the thought, she heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the long drive of the Flying Aces that led to the county road a good half mile away. Even from a distance, she could tell it was one of those monstrous, impractical pickup trucks used less for ranch work than for proving the size of the masculine mettle -- among other things -- of the owner. But it was coming awfully fast for such a mellow morning, and it was much too early for visitors. Curious, Megan rose from the stoop to walk around to the front of the house. No sooner had she cleared the corner than she saw the source of the racket: a massive black pickup truck elevated on oversize wheels. Its rack of halogen lights blared on top and she raised her arm to shield her eyes from the glare. She heard music now, too -- the pickin' of a guitar behind the twangy yodel of some guy who was blue-oo-oo for his lady true-oo-oo. Who on earth… she thought. The truck was still speeding toward the house, but whoever was driving cut the wheel at the spot where the driveway branched into two lanes. Instead of heading toward the back of the house, though, where the barn and outbuildings were, he veered to the left, which took him in front of the main house. He slowed long enough for someone in the passenger seat to dump a big bag of

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something heavy out the door onto the drive, then screeched out a U-turn and roared off, leaving nothing but dust and exhaust -- and whatever was in that bag --in his wake. Megan was so befuddled by the quickness and weirdness of the event that she didn't move at first. Then she made herself walk forward. She was still a good twenty feet from the bag that had been tossed from the truck when she realized it wasn't a bag. It was a man. And judging by his crumpled, motionless body, he was dead. Chapter Two Nash Ridley's first clue that he was indeed dead was the bona fide angel staring down at him when he opened his eyes. Never mind that she didn't have wings. And never mind that she was wearing a ratty sweater and had her breakfast spilled all over her pants. Nobody with a face like hers could be anything but an angel. Even though heaven didn't have any more light to it than a summer sunrise, he could make out her features clearly. Pale eyes, probably blue, but maybe green, and a riot of ash-brown curls spilling over one shoulder. And a full, luscious mouth that was anything but angelic, the kind that made a man want to commit an easy majority of the seven deadly sins. Some of them more than once. Preferably while naked. And that was when it hit Nash that he couldn't be dead. Because after the night he'd just spent, and the thoughts this angel was stirring inside his bleary brain, there was no way he'd be allowed into heaven at the moment. So if he wasn't in heaven, where he didn't belong, and he wasn't in hell, where she didn't belong, then where was he? For some reason, his brain couldn't seem to form an answer to that question. It was probably too soaked with whiskey, because he'd been…Hmm. He couldn't quite remember now what he'd been doing. Celebrating something, he recalled vaguely. Celebrating…Oh, yeah. His twenty-fifth birthday. It was all coming back to him now that his afterlife had flashed before his eyes. "Are you all right?" the angel asked. She stooped down and cupped her hand over his forehead, brushing back what he was sure must be some pretty chaotic black hair. "Oh, my God, you're bleeding," she added as she withdrew fingers smudged with blood. Well, hell, Nash thought. That dunking in the toilet the Dorfman brothers had given his head should've cleaned all that off. He started to assure the angel that he was fine, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words. Fortunately, she was joined then by Miles Fortune, one of his bosses -- though he wasn't sure how much longer that was going to be the case -- who took one look at him and just about busted a gut laughing. "Miles!" the angel cried in horror at the other man's reaction. Miles managed to curb his delight at seeing Nash in such a state long enough to say "What?" Then he started laughing again. "How can you laugh at this poor man?" she demanded. "I thought he was dead when I first saw him." "Dead drunk maybe," Miles managed to say between guffaws.

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Now Nash took exception to that. He was not dead drunk. He hadn't been dead drunk for hours. What he was at the moment was brutally hungover without the benefit of sleep. There was a big difference. "But he's bleeding," the angel said. "Which means he's still alive, Megan," Miles replied. Megan. Nash echoed the angel's name in his head. But he didn't have time for much contemplation because Miles bent over and grabbed him by the shoulders. The world jumped around for a few seconds. Nash wasn't sure, but he thought maybe he got turned inside out at one point, but he eventually landed on his feet -- kind of -- and was able to see again -- sort of. "Dorfman brothers gave you a swirly again, did they?" Miles asked him. Nash managed to nod. "Suits you," his employer said. Well, it had sobered him, Nash thought. Some. "Sorry, boss," he said, both satisfied and amazed that he remembered how to talk. "Won't happen again." Miles chuckled again. "Yeah, well, it's not every day a man turns twenty-five. It's not like you make a habit of something like this. And it's Saturday -- your day off. Guess I know how you plan to spend it." For some reason, the comment made Nash turn to look at the angel again. But the saintly concern had been replaced by faint condemnation, and that delectable, made-for-sin mouth was flattened by annoyance. Call him crazy, but the plan he'd started to make about seeing her naked at some point during the day was looking iffy.

Chapter 2: Fortunately, before he had a chance to ask her about it -- well, it never hurt to make sure -- his boss cuffed him around the neck and pulled him toward the front door. "Coffee," Miles said. "That's what you need right now, Nash. And lots of it. Lucky for you, Clyde's in there brewing a fresh pot." Drunk, Megan thought with distaste as she followed Miles and the limp cowboy into the kitchen. She'd been terrified he was fatally injured. Of course, had she experienced something like this back in L. A., the person tossed out of a moving vehicle undoubtedly would have been fatally injured. Here in Red Rock, though, it was evidently just an amusing pastime. She watched as Miles dumped Nash into a chair at the kitchen table at the same time Clyde pushed a cup of coffee in front of the man; the action was so well orchestrated that she suspected the arrival of a drunk must be a regular occurrence here at the Flying Aces. Still, according to what Miles had said, this young cowboy Nash wasn't a usual suspect for such a thing. Not that that made his behavior any more acceptable. She smiled her gratitude when Clyde brought her a cup of coffee, too, then greeted Steven, the

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third -- and middle -- of the triplets when he entered the kitchen. Even though they were family and Megan had grown up with them, it still gave her pause when she saw the three dark-haired, identical men in one room. But they were totally different in the personality department. Clyde was the dark, sedate one, Steven was the no-nonsense, responsible one and Miles was the flirtatious, funny one. She turned her attention back to Nash, who seemed to be sitting up on his own now. He sipped his coffee carefully, his eyes closed. Now that Megan got a better look at him, she saw that he was actually kind of handsome, in a rugged, barroom-brawling, thrown-from-a-moving-vehicle kind of way. Miles had said he was twenty-five, but Megan didn't think he looked it. Even shaggy and unshaven as he was, she would have pegged his age at a few years younger. There was something boyish about him, even with the cut on his forehead and an abraded cheek. "Must have been some birthday party." She didn't realize she'd spoken the observation aloud until Nash opened his eyes, met her gaze and said, "Well, the greased pig was probably overkill -- especially coming on the heels of the scantily clad dancing girls -- but all in all, it wasn't too bad. Even with the Dorfman brothers crashing." But Megan didn't hear much of what he said after the word, well,because she was too busy drowning in the midnight-blue of his eyes. Nor did she hear what her cousin Clyde said in reply, or what Miles added that made everyone laugh. She didn't even much register the sound of the phone ringing, or notice Steven answering it. Because Nash smiled at whatever Miles had said, and the change that came over his face when he did was just…extraordinary. She realized that handsome was an adjective that in no way did him justice. Even hungover and beaten up, the man was staggeringly…something else. Splendid. Beautiful. Glorious. Magnificent. Sublime. All of the above. She gave herself a good mental shake to chase away her errant thoughts. Honestly. She really did need to get more sleep tonight. She obviously wasn't thinking straight if she found some battered kid sublime. But as Nash continued to look at her, full on and unashamedly, Megan wrapped her sweater snugly around herself, gathering it tightly at the collar even though she was in no way cold. On the contrary, an odd sort of heat wound through her unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She tried to tell herself it was because of Clyde's strong coffee, but somehow, she suspected it was something else entirely. Nash opened his mouth to say something -- to her, Megan knew -- but whatever it was got cut off by the announcement Steven made as he settled the phone back into its charger. "That was the sheriff," he said to the room at large. But he was looking at Nash when he spoke, Megan noted. And he wasn't looking happy. "One of those scantily clad dancing girls didn't make it home last night, according to her sister. And the sheriff says the witnesses inside the bar all report that the last time anyone saw her, she was heading through the door with one Nash Ridley." Chapter Three Nash ducked his head under the spray of the shower and held it there, hoping the hot rush of water would wash away the last of the haziness that lingered at the frayed edges of his brain. He couldn't believe he'd been implicated in the disappearance of a dancing girl, when all he'd done was walk Brandi Norris to her car to make sure she got off safely, because by then, some of the guys were getting rowdy.

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Fortunately, there had been witnesses outside the bar, too, and they'd all vouched for the fact that Brandi had driven off alone and Nash had returned to the bar, where he'd stayed until the Dorfman brothers had hauled him up for a trip to the men's, um, spa. But hours after the sheriff's phone call to the Flying Aces, Brandi was still missing, so the sheriff was asking for volunteers to help look for her. Steven Fortune put out a call for all available bodies from the Flying Aces to join the search party, so Nash had naturally offered his own services. And after another dose of Clyde's coffee and a shower, he was in a state to be of some use. He dressed in his usual workday uniform of battered blue jeans, battered chambray work shirt and battered cowboy boots, then settled his battered straw cowboy hat on his head. As he moseyed back to the big house from the outbuilding where all the ranch hands slept, he saw the group Steven Fortune had assembled preparing for the search. Some were on horseback, some stood near trucks, so apparently they were going to cast a pretty wide net for Brandi. Nash joined the group just as Steven started going over his instructions, so he caught the important stuff. "Now you all know what Brandi Norris looks like," Steven was saying when Nash came to a halt near a handful of his co-workers. Which was true, Nash thought, because when Brandi wasn't a scantily clad dancing girl, she was a waitress at Emma Mirabeau's cafe, where just about everybody in Red Rock dined from time to time. Steven continued, "She stopped and tanked up at Ed Bartlett's Amoco station just after eleven o'clock, and Ed said she came in to use the money machine while she was there. She also bought a ham sandwich and a bottle of grape Nehi, and Ed said it looked like she had a few hundred dollars on her when she paid with the cash she got out of the machine." "So then she could have been a robbery victim?" one of the other ranch hands asked. "Doesn't sound like she could have run out of gas somewhere." "Maybe," Steven said. "But that's just speculation. Look, Brandi's probably fine," he quickly added. "There's been nothing to suggest foul play. But what with that body that washed up out at Lake Mongo not too long ago, and the murder still unsolved, it's making everybody a little wiggy. So we're all gonna do our best to help find Brandi, because that's the way things work in Red Rock. Somebody gets into a bind, we all pitch in to help out." Which Nash was perfectly willing to do. But there was something about Brandi's actions of the night before that bothered him. For one thing, he wouldn't have thought she even had a few hundred dollars to withdraw from the bank. For another, he couldn't think of one single thing in Red Rock that would require her to have that much cash on hand. "Now, I know it looks like rain," Steven continued as he glanced up at the dark gray clouds that had formed over the past two hours, "but I think it'll hold off for a bit yet. But let's everybody not waste time, all right?" He started assigning partners for the search then, scattering Nash's thoughts. But what really fried his brain -- not to mention heated up some of his other body parts -- was when his employer said, "Nash, why don't you and Megan join forces? You know the area, and we don't want her getting lost."

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Nash hadn't even realized Megan was among the group, but then he saw her standing off to the side, near Miles Fortune. He started to smile at her, but stopped when he realized she was still scowling at him with that same face she'd had earlier in the morning. Still, he would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't happy about being coupled with her -- so to speak. Which, he had to admit, was nuts for a lot of reasons. Number one, she was only visiting the Flying Aces and would be leaving soon. Number two, she was a relative of Nash's employers, and he had no business trying to cozy up to a Fortune. Number three, she was an urban type from Los Angeles, which meant the two of them had nothing in common. Number four, she probably didn't know the difference between a working ranch and ranch dressing. And number five, she was old enough to be his…Well. His older sister. In fact, she was probably five or six years older than his older sister. And Nash's big sister had always bugged the hell out of him while he was growing up. In spite of his trying to convince himself of the contrary, he had to admit there was something about the Fortune cousin that was fiercely attractive. And not just the huge eyes -- which he'd realized by now were pale green -- or the bury-your-fingers-in-me hair that she'd pulled away from her face in a loose ponytail that fell to the middle of her back. Nor was it the curvy body that her blue jeans and sleeveless, white cotton blouse did nothing to hide. It was something more. Something in her expression that pulled at something inside Nash. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what. The group began to disperse, all the people moving to team up with their partners, and Nash waited until nearly everyone had wandered off before joining Megan. She waited to join him, too, but where he was hesitating for the sake of convenience, she, he could tell, was hesitating for the sake of reluctance. As in, she was reluctant to get too close to him. Having witnessed him at his worst that morning, she was probably having trouble thinking anything good about him. Obviously, he had his work cut out for him if he wanted to change her mind about his…worthiness. And just what, he wondered, did he want to be worthy of, anyway? Why was it so important to him that she saw him at his best? He ought to be grateful she didn't like him. Because even having just met her a few hours ago and talking only superficially over breakfast, he'd discovered he liked her an awful lot. And nothing, but nothing, could come of it. He pushed the thought away as he strode toward her, stopping when a good foot of dirt still lay between them. "Considering our introduction this morning," he said, "maybe it would be best if we started over again." He lifted a hand to the back of his neck to rub it nervously. "I'm real sorry about the state I was in earlier. I don't usually come home in that condition, but last night was kind of a special occasion, and I just celebrated a little too much." She nodded curtly and said, "No harm done." Well, not exactly, Nash thought. His cheek still throbbed where Luther Dorfman had slugged him in retaliation for Nash's planting his fist in the other man's gut. But what was Nash supposed to have done when Luther grabbed Colleen Myers -- another one of the scantily clad dancing girls -who had made it clear she did not want to be grabbed? Luther didn't listen to anyone unless they spoke with their fists. In spite of that Nash echoed, "No harm done." He braved a smile and extended his hand. "Nash Ridley," he said by way of an introduction. "I work for the Fortunes."

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This time, Megan smiled back. It wasn't a big smile, but it wasn't bad. It was something they could work on, Nash decided. "Megan Lavery," she said, taking his hand and shaking it once…but not releasing it. Of course, that could have been because Nash wasn't letting her hand go, either. She added, "I'm the Fortunes' city-slicker cousin from L.A." Nash was opening his mouth to say something else -- though, seeing that smile had made his brain wobble to the point where he wasn't even sure what would come out next -- when a loud popping sound made him stop. He knew the sound of gunfire when he heard it. What he didn't know was who was shooting at whom. Or why.

Chapter 3: Megan instinctively lurched forward at the sound of gunfire…then realized belatedly that the only place to land was against Nash Ridley's broad chest. Worse -- oh, all right, maybe better -- the moment she made contact, he instinctively wrapped his sturdy arms around her. Strangely, though, when he did that, all the fear she'd felt dissolved completely. Because she was too busy noticing instead the firm, masculine flesh beneath her fingertips, and the warm breath stirring the hair at her temples and the sudden pounding of her heart. She glanced up to find Nash gazing down at her, and he looked as surprised as she felt -- though whether that was because of the sudden gunshot or, like Megan, the sudden zinging of the strings of his heart, she couldn't have said. She only knew that the way he was looking at her, and the way she was feeling about him, changed a lot in that instant. Then, at the far fringes of her mind, she heard the sound of laughter, and it dawned on her that maybe what she had heard hadn't been a gunshot at all. Or that there was a reason for it that everyone else understood but she and Nash had missed. Or maybe everyone was laughing at her and Nash, and the cowardly way she'd reacted to what must have been a harmless sound. Glancing up, she saw everyone looking at another ranch hand who was holding a dead rabbit, his rifle propped proudly against his shoulder. "Got yer dinner for ya, Clyde!" the man called out as everyone's laughter doubled. "I'll see if I can't find a couple more for Steven and Miles, too!" Megan felt a momentary rush of relief, but when she realized she was still in Nash Ridley's arms - and that neither of them was doing anything to change that -- she tensed again. But it wasn't the kind of tension that came with anxiety and fear. It was the kind that came with anticipation and excitement…and not a little pleasure. "Looks like rabbit's on the menu for dinner at the big house tonight." Nash murmured the observation in a very quiet voice very close to Megan's ear, and she felt an involuntary shudder wind through her body. She told herself it was due to the sight of the dead animal dangling from the cowboy's hand. But she knew that wasn't it. There was a ripple of pleasure mixed with it, and that could only be because of Nash's nearness, and the gentle way he was touching her. His fingers raked lightly over her bare arms, as if he were trying to soothe her fears. But there was too much intimacy in the touch for it to be simply reassuring. And there was something else, too, something she'd probably be better off not thinking about. Because she was only going to be in Red Rock for a week, and Nash was ten

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years younger than she, and they had nothing in common, and it felt much too good, having this stranger so close. "Not for me," she said. And for a minute, she couldn't remember what she was talking about, what it was that wasn't for her. Besides Nash Ridley, she meant. Then she remembered the cowboy holding the dead rabbit, and she shivered again. She looked back at Nash, whose warm fingers still stroked up and down her bare arms, and who she couldn't quite bring herself to tell "Stop that." Instead, she told him, "I don't want to eat anything I've personally seen murdered. You can have my share." He shook his head. "No thanks," he said. "I'm a vegetarian." Megan would have been less surprised if he'd told her he was wearing women's underwear. "Are you serious?" she said before she could stop herself. He smiled curiously. "What? You never heard of a vegetarian cowboy?" "Well, no," she said. "I thought red meat was a staple for you guys. I mean there are all those wide-open range, sweeping Aaron Copeland score, manly man commercials for beef." He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. And continued to brush his fingers along her very sensitive flesh. "That's just a stereotype perpetuated by shortsighted advertising executives who can't come up with an original idea." Megan felt herself coloring at that, but had no idea what to say. "What?" he asked, his smile growing broader. "You never heard of someone whose job is to convince people to give up their hard-earned dollars in exchange for some idealized state of mind that only exists on a television screen or the pages of a glossy magazine?" Megan made herself smile back at him, but knew it was sheepishly. "Um, yeah," she said. "Me." Nash's smile fell. "What?" "What you just described is what I do for a living," she told him, realizing the comment held more than a grain of truth. The campaigns she created for LA Mode were pretty much designed to do exactly what he said -- make people buy into an image that she and her colleagues fabricated. "I'm the creative director of an advertising company in Los Angeles." This time Nash was the one whose face colored. "Oh." Somehow, though, Megan couldn't find it in herself to get angry. He was essentially right, after all. And neither his tone of voice nor he himself had been condemning or accusatory when he offered his assessment of her profession. He'd simply been voicing an observation he'd made. And between that and the vegetarian thing, she realized he was in no way the stereotypical cowboy that she'd decided he must be -- the stereotypical cowboy she might very well have used in a campaign. How very interesting. She also realized that the two of them were still standing with their arms around each other -mostly because she heard Miles call out with a laugh, "Knock off the kissy face, you two, and get to work!" She made herself drop her hands back to her sides and take a few steps in retreat. Immediately, she felt uncomfortable, a reaction she told herself was crazy. She barely knew this

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guy. She should have been uncomfortable before, standing so close to him while his warm fingers drifted over her bare skin. But that hadn't been the case at all. "We better saddle up," Nash said, "and get a move on. Everyone else is on their way." "Saddle up?" Megan said, confused. "I thought we'd be driving." Nash looked past her and shook his head. "All the trucks are either gone or have people in them. You and I are going to be on horse patrol." Horse patrol? Megan repeated to herself. Why would Steven put her on a horse? He knew she didn't like to ride. He knew that when they were kids, she'd done just about anything to avoid riding. But there was a good reason for that, Megan knew, even if she'd never told any of her cousins about it. Megan was terrified of horses. Terrified. Terr. I. Fied. And now Nash Ridley was going to make her climb on top of one. Chapter Five Nash stood in the Fortunes' main barn looking at Megan, certain he must have misunderstood what she'd just told him. But then, he couldn't mishear something like I'm terrified of horses. Terrified. Terr. I. Fied. vIt was kind of hard to miss her point. "How can you be scared of a horse?" he asked. Hell, it made more sense to be scared of a lace tablecloth. After all, you could spill something on a lace tablecloth and get yelled at by your stepmom. He should know. To this day, he was in no way comfortable around tatting of any kind. "Horses are harmless." "They're big," Megan said. "And they have teeth. Big teeth. And they bite." "They only bite people who are asking for it," Nash said. "A nice lady like you, you won't have any problem." "Hah," Megan scoffed. "And again, I say, hah. And in case I didn't mention it, hah." Nash shook his head. Not only was Misty, the old gray mare Steven had told him to put Megan on, the gentlest creature to ever come down the pike, but Nash wasn't even sure how many teeth the animal still had. He'd certainly never known the horse to bite anyone. Even people who deserved it. "Misty is the sweetest horse you'll ever meet," he told Megan. "Trust me." She eyed him dubiously and reiterated, "Hah." "Steven told me you know how to ride," Nash said, taking another tack. "He said you used to ride all the time when y'all were kids." "I do know how to ride," Megan assured him. "I just don't want to. Ever again. For the rest of my natural life." Well, that was pretty specific, Nash thought. And then, suddenly, he understood. The only reason people who'd ridden as kids stopped riding for the rest of their natural lives was because they had a bad experience at some point that made them wary of ever getting back on a horse again.

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"It's got nothing to do with big teeth and biting," he said. "You got thrown real bad once, didn't you?" Her mouth flattened into a tight line, but she nodded. "Darlin', that happens to even the most experienced riders every now and then. It's nothing to be ashamed of." "It didn't make me ashamed," she said quickly -- and, he had to admit, without an ounce of shame. "It made me terrified. Terrified. Terr. I. Fied." "So you've said." "Well, if you heard me say it, then why do you keep carping on it?" "Because it's stupid, that's why," he told her. "Now come here." She thrust out her lower lip mutinously, and Nash nearly laughed out loud. "Please," he qualified belatedly. "Come here." She stuffed her hands into her back pockets defiantly, but took enough steps forward to be standing beside Nash in front of Misty's stall. "Megan Lavery," he said, "I'd like you to meet Misty, uh, Gray. Misty Gray, meet Megan Lavery." The horse, at least, had some sense of courtesy, because she ambled over to the stall door and softly whinnied a greeting. Megan, at least, didn't bolt in the opposite direction, which Nash had halfway expected. But neither did she extend a hand to the animal, as polite manners dictated. Nash reached out his own hand and wrapped his fingers lightly around hers. Then, noting only a small reluctance on her part to withdraw it when she realized his intention, he began to guide it toward the horse's head. "I don't--" she began. But she never finished whatever she'd intended to say -- which was just as well, because Nash wasn't listening, anyway, on account of his body starting to malfunction the second he touched her. Heat fizzled through him as if he'd suffered a short circuit in his wiring, and his brain went completely on the fritz. But that was nothing compared to the buzzing that erupted in his ears, or the shock wave that shuddered through his entire system. Damn, he thought. If that was what happened just touching her hand, what would it do to him if he touched He halted the thought right there. Somehow, he knew even thinking about touching some other body part than the ones that were readily accessible would make him spontaneously combust. Forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand…Uh, what was it again… Oh, yeah. Getting Megan comfortable with Misty. Forcing himself to focus on that, he guided her hand to the mare's velvety muzzle and cupped her fingers over it. The horse whinnied softly again, bumping her nose lightly against Megan's fingers. Nash grinned when he saw Megan's smile. "See there?" he said. "She's gentle as a lamb." "Silence of the Lambs, maybe," Megan muttered.

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But he could see she was softening toward the creature. He let her get comfortable with the mare, listened while she talked to Misty. Even leaned forward to nuzzle noses with her, until she finally relented and agreed that okay, if she had to, she could probably get on a horse again and ride, even though it had been years, and Nash better not laugh at her or else she'd kick him in the shins. He laughed as she complained, and bantered playfully with her, thinking he hadn't had this much fun with a woman for a long time. Together, they led Misty out to the corral, and together they saddled her up. Megan commented that riding a horse was like riding a bicycle -- you never really forgot how -- then mounted the mare like an expert.

Chapter 4: "How long did you say it's been since you rode?" he asked as she adjusted herself on the saddle, getting her balance. "Oh, gosh, probably twenty years or so," she said. "Not since before I learned to drive." Nash was reminded of how much older she was than him, but he'd be damned if he felt a single one of the years between them. He'd been on his own since he left home at sixteen after his father had taken off with wife number four, something that had matured him pretty quickly. And Megan had a playful streak in her that shaved quite a bit off her own age. All in all, he figured they pretty well met somewhere in the middle. He wondered what would happen if they met somewhere else. That hot feeling started simmering in his midsection again, so he pushed the thought away and led Misty and Megan around the corral for a few minutes. Then he let Megan take over on her own while he saddled his own horse, a gelding named Buck he'd bought himself for his twentyfirst birthday. He was about to lift the saddle onto Buck's back when he heard a sound everyone in this part of Texas recognized, but which no one ever wanted to hear: the shake, clatter and roll of a rattlesnake. And it was way too close for comfort. "Um, Nash?" He knew before he even turned around that Megan had heard it, too, but it was only when he'd completed the rotation that he realized she also saw it. Because he saw it then, too, coiled up in a patch of sunlight near the fence -- less than a foot away from where Misty, who'd also obviously seen it now, came to a halt. Before Nash or Megan could do anything, the horse took matters into her own hands. With a toss of her head and an unholy shriek, she rose on her hind legs and pawed violently at the air. Then she came down on all fours again and bolted. As fast as she could. Right through the open gate of the corral. Jerking her reins from Megan's hands. Who, Nash could see as she disappeared, was clinging to the animal's mane for dear life. Chapter Six As the wind screeched through Megan's hair and the horse beneath her bucked and shimmied, one thought and one alone circled through her head: Gentle as a lamb my aunt Fanny.

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In less than a nanosecond, Misty had gone from mild thing to wild thang, and Megan had no idea what to do -- short of panicking. She'd been so surprised by the appearance of the snake and Misty's violent reaction to it that she hadn't been prepared when the animal lurched and bolted, and the reins had been stripped right out of her hands. At the moment, they were flapping in the wind too far from her reach, so she gripped Misty's mane with both fists and held on. Think, Megan, think,she instructed herself. And, just like that, she went into executive mode. Which meant no panicking allowed. Which meant reasoning this thing out. She wrapped Misty's mane around her fingers, clenched her legs tight around the horse's middle and reminded herself that she'd ridden bareback before, when she was very young, even if it hadn't been at great speed. And Misty was eating up ground faster than Megan drove on the 405. Of course, the 405 was generally clogged with traffic, but that was beside the point. The point was that if Megan didn't do something quickly, she -- and Misty -- would be back in L.A. a lot sooner than she'd planned. And strangely, in spite of her current situation, she realized she didn't want to return to L.A. just yet. No, she wanted to stay in Red Rock long enough to… Wow, she marveled when she realized where the thought was going. Long enough to get to know Nash Ridley a little -- no, a lot -- better, which she wouldn't be able to do unless she did something to stop Misty's mad dash. Forcing herself to remain calm, she tried everything she could think of to slow the horse's speed, but Misty would not be slowed. She was a spry little thing for her age, and evidently had rattlesnake issues even worse than Megan's horse issues. So Megan clung to the beast with her fists and her knees as well as she could and waited for Misty to tire. She had no idea how long or far the mare had been running when Nash finally drew up alongside both of them on his big, buff-colored horse, but their arrival calmed Misty down immediately. vShe slowed enough that Nash was able to pass her, then gently guide her to slowing even more. Eventually, she trotted to a stop, shaking her head, gasping for breath and making frightened little horsey sounds. Megan immediately leaped to the ground. Nash followed, gathering both horses' reins in one hand before striding over to where she stood, bent with her hands braced on her knees, reacting much like Misty, save the horsey sounds. Although, her breathing did sound a little off…. "Guess the old gray mare just ain't what she used to be, huh?" Nash asked with a grin. Miraculously, Megan controlled the urge to smack him upside the head. Instead, she said between breaths, "As God is my witness…I will never…get on a horse…ever again…for the rest of my…natural…life." v"I dunno," Nash said. "You did awfully well for someone who's terr-i-fied of horses. I'm thinkin' maybe they don't scare you as much as you thought. I'm thinkin' maybe you'd do all right, if, say…you had to work on a ranch or something." She narrowed her eyes at him, but for some reason found herself reluctant to disagree. She told herself it was because she didn't want to argue with him. Somehow, though, she didn't think that was quite it. "Well, then, I'm not getting on a horse again today," she qualified. "Okay," he said. "But that's gonna make the trip back to the Flying Aces a little longer than it needs to be. I think ol' Misty here covered a good mile or two before we got her stopped." "No…problem," Megan said. "It's a…good day…for walking."

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He looked up at the cloudy sky overhead. "Actually, it's not." "The rain'll hold off for a little longer," she assured him, echoing Steven's earlier words. But Nash had started shaking his head before Megan even finished talking. "Actually, I don't think it will," he told her. She glanced up, too, and as if cued by his comment, a single, cold drop of rain splashed onto her face. Followed by another. Then another. And another. "Dammit," she said. He looked at her and smiled. "So then you're not one of those girls who likes pina coladas and gettin' caught in the rain, huh?" "On the contrary. I could really go for a pina colada right now. Or, better still, a nice big shot of tequila." He chuckled at that, then graduated to full-blown laughter as the skies opened up and let loose with a downpour. "Dammit," Megan said again, with more feeling this time. Nash extended Misty's reins toward her silently, but Megan shook her head. She was not getting back on that horse for a while. Once burned, twice shy and all that. Twice burned and, well…Suffice it to say she was having uncharitable thoughts about a glue factory. "I'll walk," she stated adamantly. Nash shrugged. "Suit yourself." And with that, he released both sets of reins and whistled out a command, and both horses took off at a trot in the direction of the Flying Aces. Obviously, he intended to walk with her. Obviously, she didn't mind. She smiled at him through the rain, and he smiled back, and suddenly, she rather did like the thought of getting caught in the rain. "You sure they'll be able to find their way back?" He nodded. "Better than we will, probably." "What do you mean?" she asked. "Don't you know where we are?" "Pretty much," he told her. "Pretty much?" she echoed. "Well, I got a little frantic when Misty took off with you, and I didn't pay much attention to which way she headed -- I just took off after her. And she zigged and zagged a lot, and since the sun's not out, and there are no trees out here to look for moss on…" "Is that really true?" Megan asked, interrupting. "That you can figure out directions by looking at moss on a tree? I thought that was a myth." He eyed her in silence for a minute, then reached out to run his fingers over her head, as if checking for bumps. "You sure you didn't take a spill at some point during that ride?" he asked. "You're not making much sense."

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She started to duck out from under his hand, but something made her stop. Mostly the fact that she kind of liked the way it felt to have him touching her. So she only met his gaze levelly and said, "I'm fine. Just a little rattled." Nash said nothing, just continued to stroke his hand gently over her now wet hair. But his gaze never left hers, and hers never left his, and for a minute, they only stood there in the rain staring at each other while he touched her and she wanted desperately to touch him. Finally, when she couldn't stand it, anymore, Megan lifted a hand and, after only a small hesitation, moved her fingers to his mouth and ran them gently over his lower lip. He closed his eyes for a minute, and when he opened them again, his pupils were huge and dark and hungry. "Rattled, huh?" he said softly. The hand on her hair moved back to her neck, and he closed his fingers around her warm nape. "Well, darlin', that makes two of us." And before Megan realized what was happening, he was lowering his head to hers. Chapter Seven It was a spectacular kiss. A mix of his warm mouth covering hers in the cold rain, of his rough, calloused fingertips curling over her smooth, sensitive neck, of his hard body pressing into her softer one. Vaguely, Megan registered all those opposites and wondered at how amazing it was that they complemented each other so well. Then she lost herself to the sensations and gave herself over to the kiss, to Nash, to the warm, wondrous sensations winding through her body. Never in her life had she felt quite like this, at once excited and composed, peaceful and agitated, unhurried and impatient. The way Nash made her feel…. She sighed as he moved his hands down over her shoulders, her bare arms, the damp fabric of her shirt, to the center of her back. Gently, he urged her body closer still, roping his arms around her waist and slanting his mouth over hers more resolutely. And then all she could think was Oh. Oh, my. Oh, Nash… A strapping clap of thunder shook the air around them, and Megan jumped, jerking her mouth from his. But Nash quickly recaptured her lips and kissed her again, and she once more melted into him. She lifted her hands to his wet hair, loving the way it clung to her fingers as she wove them through it, then cupped a palm over his rough, damp jaw. She wanted to learn more about his body, about him, but something, some last vestige of rational thought, reminded her this wasn't the place. With great reluctance, she pulled her mouth from his, ducking her head almost shyly beneath his chin. He dipped his head, too, clearly intent on kissing her again, but she shook her head. "We should get back," she said softly. "Right," he said quietly after a moment's hesitation. But his voice was rough and hoarsesounding, as if he were having trouble forming a response. In silence, they began walking in the direction the horses had followed, and almost shyly, Nash reached for her hand and wove his fingers through hers. Megan smiled up at him when he did, and he smiled back, and something warm and fluid and fine seeped into her belly.

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Chapter 5: What a day, she thought. Barely twenty-four hours ago, she'd been leaving work in L.A. to head to the airport for a weeklong vacation to celebrate her newly won independence. Now, she could barely remember what her life in Los Angeles was like. Nor did she care. Because her head was too full of questions about Nash, and her heart was too full of feelings for Nash, and all she wanted at the moment was to spend every waking moment with Nash, learning more about him and exploring whatever it was the two of them seemed to have ignited together. Was it possible, she wondered, to fall in love with someone within hours of meeting him? Or would it take the full week? She smiled at the thought, realizing she was already giving herself over to him. First things first, she thought. And what came first, she told herself decisively, was that they had to find their way home. Or, rather, back to the ranch. But when she looked around, she realized she had no idea which way the ranch was. She did, however, think it wasn't the way they were headed. Granted, she'd had her mind on other things while Misty was streaking across the countryside, but this still didn't feel right. And she wasn't sure, but she thought she and Nash had veered from the path the horses had taken. "Are we going the right way?" she asked. "Yep," he told her. "Are you sure?" "Yep," he repeated. "Because, you know, I don't remember coming this way on Misty." "This is a shortcut," he told her. "Are you sure?" "Yep." She reminded herself that Nash knew the Flying Aces better than she did, but as they continued walking, she grew more and more convinced that they were headed in the wrong direction. The rain never let up, though it never got worse, but the sky, she noticed, was starting to go from gray to ashen. If they didn't arrive back at the house soon, it was going to get dark on them. "Nash?" she finally asked. "This isn't the way back to the Flying Aces, is it?" He stopped walking, turned to look in the direction from which they'd come, then back into the direction they'd been walking. Then he looked left, and then right, and then back at Megan. "No," he told her. "You're right. This isn't the way back to the Flying Aces." She expelled a discouraging sound. "So then what you're saying," she said, swallowing back the fear she felt threatening, "is that we're lost. Hopelessly, completely lost." Chapter Eight Nash smiled at Megan. "We're not lost, darlin'. I know exactly where we are. We're home."

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She narrowed her eyes at him, looking so suspicious, he almost laughed out loud. "We're in the middle of nowhere," she said. "There's nothing here for as far as the eye can see." "Well, now that just depends on who's looking," he said. "Because me, I can see all kinds of things." He turned her around, then pointed over her left shoulder, toward a slight bump on the horizon. "Right there, about a half mile from where we are now, will be the main house," he said. He drove his hand to the right a little, and added, "And over there will be the barn. And past that will be the corral." He dropped his hand to his side again as he added, "I'm not sure yet where I'm going to house all the hands, since I probably won't be able to hire any for a while. But I do see a lot over there, Megan." He smiled. "I see home. My home." He watched her as she scanned the horizon, looking for all the things he'd just described, and he wondered if she could see them as well as he could. When she finally turned to look at him, she was smiling, and he realized she understood. Her view of the place was just as good as his was. What was funny was how relieved he was to realize that. "This is your land?" she said, still smiling. He nodded. "Only a few hundred acres for now. But I've got plans to buy more, soon as I start turning a profit. Your cousins will be my neighbors." And maybe, he thought further, just maybe, they'd someday be Megan's, too. "Wow," she said. "You're pretty ambitious." "I am," he agreed. "Not bad for a twenty-five-year-old ranch hand." "You're as young as you feel, Megan." She grinned at that, too. "Yeah, you are," she said. "Or as old as you feel." "True enough." "Then again, what's age got to do with anything?" "Got me." Her grin went absolutely incandescent at that, but all she said was, "You've got a nice place here, Nash." He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. And then, going for broke, he added, "I dunno. Could use a woman's touch." "Maybe," she said. But nothing more. He decided not to push his luck any further than he had, so he tilted his head to the left. "Come on," he said. "Flying Aces is over that way. I figure another hour's walk ought to do it. We'll be home before dark." And with a decisive nod, she agreed, "Yeah. We sure will." By the time they crested the hill that offered them their first view of the Flying Aces ranch, the rain

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had stopped and daylight was just beginning to dissolve into night. The sky was once again stained a mix of purple and pink and orange that Megan had so enjoyed this morning. She marveled again at how little time had passed, but how much had changed. It had been a hell of a day, she thought. But she couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. You came here for an adventure, she reminded herself. She looked over at Nash again, and a warm, fuzzy, wonderful sensation wound through her. Funny how she'd found so much more. "Good to be back," Nash said. But Megan wasn't sure she could agree. Because now that they'd found their way back to the ranch, they were going to have to join the company of others. And while a few hours ago she'd wanted nothing more than to be at the ranch, she suddenly wanted to turn around and head back onto the wide-open range with Nash. "I bet Misty found her way here a long time ago," Megan said. "With Buck at her side, no doubt," he concurred. "Now I know where the term horse sense comes from," she told him. Nash nodded. "Yep. You'll notice no one's ever used the term people sense before." "I did notice that," she said with a smile. As if they were both thinking the same thing, they each reached for the other's hand at the same time, tangling their fingers together. Hand in hand, they strode toward the softly glowing lights of the main house, and were met by the aroma of Clyde's strong coffee when they were still a good hundred feet away. Voices drifted from the kitchen as they drew nearer, and Megan recognized most of them as those of her cousins. They still sounded anxious, though, so she guessed Brandi Norris still hadn't been found. The screen door squeaked as Nash pushed it open, then slammed shut behind them as they crossed the threshold. Before they even made it to the kitchen, however, they were surrounded by the triplets and a half-dozen of the ranch hands, all of whom were exclaiming loudly and happily that she had been found. Oh, no, wait. Not Brandi. They were exclaiming happily that Nash and Megan had been found. "Found?" Megan echoed when she realized what they were saying. "But we were never lost." "Yeah, we always knew exactly where we were," Nash said. "Well, we sure the hell didn't," Miles said. "We were about to organize a second search party for you two! It really took the shine off the success we had finding Brandi." "You found Brandi?" Nash asked. "As usual, Miles is making himself out to sound more important than he really is," Clyde said with a smile. "Brandi was never missing. At least, not to her way of thinking." "She's in Las Vegas," Steven said. "She called her sister a little while ago to tell her she'd arrived

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safely, and not to worry, but she wanted to try her hand at becoming a showgirl. She apologized for not telling anyone where she was going, but she hadn't wanted a lecture from Julie -- that's the sister," Steven clarified for Megan. "Seems she made the decision on the spur of the moment, at Nash's birthday party, because she thought she did such a bang-up job with the revue they put together for him." "She was very good," Nash said. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone do the splits better than Brandi." "Anyway," Steven said, "Julie's fit to be tied, but Brandi's just fine. Sheriff called off the search around supper time, but when the horses came back and you two didn't, and then it started to get dark, everyone got worried all over again." He looked at Nash and hooked his hands on his hips. "Just what the hell happened to you two today, anyway?" he asked. Oh, boy, Megan thought. What a loaded question. But she could only answer for herself. And what had happened to her was that she had discovered, much to her surprise, that maybe her life in L.A. wasn't the life she really wanted to lead. Mere hours in Nash Ridley's presence had made her feel more things, more deeply, than she'd felt in twelve years in California. She'd found more happiness and satisfaction just walking hand in hand with him than she ever had at her job doing…how had he put it? Oh, yeah. Manufacturing ad campaigns designed to convince people they needed to give up their hard-earned dollars for some idealized state of mind that only existed on a television screen or the pages of some glossy magazine. As arduous as the day had been, she'd enjoyed every second of it. She'd liked being with Nash. Liked the way he made her feel. And she wanted to hang around Red Rock for a while longer than originally planned, to see if the feeling lasted. She turned to look at him, and saw him looking back at her. And somehow, she knew that, whatever she was feeling, she was going to feel it for a long, long time. Maybe even forever. "What happened," she said to Steven, "is-" "None of your business," Nash finished for her, smiling. "But it's something that Megan and I need to explore a little further." She smiled back and nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. Then she turned to look at her Fortune cousins and asked, "So do you guys think you'd mind me staying on a little longer than a week?" One by one, Steven, Miles and Clyde all smiled back. But it was Miles who asked, "How much longer?" Megan wrapped her arm around Nash's waist at the same time he roped his around hers and pulled her close. She turned to him and he dipped his head to hers, pressing his forehead affectionately against her own. "I'm not sure," she said. "But you know, I'm starting to feel kind of at home here on the range." Nash grinned at her, then nuzzled her temple with his nose before pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot. "Lucky for you, darlin'," he said, "I just so happen to be building one of those myself. And there will be plenty of room for two."

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Captured Hearts by Kylie Brant Description: She went to bed alone — and woke up handcuffed to a sexy stranger! When Bailey Reed woke up handcuffed to a stranger, she knew that trouble had found her — namely in the form of dangerous and sexy Luke Sutton. The private investigator had been hired by Senator Lloyd Parker to bring her back to Washington, D.C. But if Luke did his job Bailey knew she would be dead... Could she convince Luke to help her?

Chapter 1: Bailey Reed woke from a dreamless sleep to find herself in the middle of a nightmare. The impersonal motel room was still dark, but she was no longer alone in it. The man stretched out on top of her was evidence of that. It was the weight of him, the heat, that had awakened her. For a frozen slice of an instant she stared into the stranger's eyes, immobile. A moment later comprehension flooded through her with a dizzying rush, fueled in equal parts by terror and rage. She heaved beneath him, her limbs a flurry of defensive moves. He was ready for her. A hand clapped over her mouth even as she filled her lungs, and he easily dodged her sharply raised knee. He wasn't as fortunate at evading her swift right jab. She landed a smart clip to his nose that had him muttering an inventive curse. "Geez, lady, give it a rest, will you?" She had no intentions of obeying. Even as he spoke, she was sinking her teeth into the hand covering her mouth and clamping down with vicious satisfaction. This time his invective was a bit more imaginative and a lot more vehement. He wrested his hand free and used it to yank hers above her head. "Go ahead and scream the place down," he growled, even as she prepared to do just that. "You'll just bring in security, who'll call the police. You want to do things that way, it's okay by me. But the senator wanted to give you a chance to handle this quietly." Her screams tangled on her tongue, before sliding silently down her throat. She went still. "The senator?" "Senator Lloyd Parker." She might not be able to see the stranger's features clearly, but there was no missing the mockery in his tone. "You remember him, don't you? Your employer for the past five years?" Bailey moistened lips that had gone suddenly dry. Her earlier fears that the man was a rapist, or worse, were no less intense than the panic spiking inside her now. "Who are you?" "The name's Luke Sutton. I'm a private investigator Parker hired to find you and haul you back to D.C."

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"Parker hired you?" She whispered the words, wished she didn't believe them. Wished she hadn't suspected all along that the senator had to be behind the chain of events that had sent her fleeing from the city. The last fragile thread of hope she'd been harboring snapped. "That's right. Lucky for you that he wants to keep this whole mess under wraps. But I suppose you were counting on that, weren't you? Your kind always figures all the odds before going for the big score." She let the inaccuracy of his statement slide. There was a much more important point to clarify. "I'm not going anywhere with you." "You know, I thought you might say that. That's why I came prepared." He raised his left wrist in the air, and puppetlike, her right wrist rose, as well. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you come back with me." She stared, dumbfounded. Even in the shadows blanketing the room there was no mistaking the dull gleam of the metal chain, nor the bracelets at either end. In disbelief she tried to tug free, only to find it impossible. Bailey was handcuffed to the stranger… "Are you deranged?" Bailey demanded. It was obvious from the lethal quiet of her voice that she'd recovered from her momentary speechlessness at being handcuffed to him. Luke awkwardly twisted his body to reach across the bed with his free hand and switched on the lamp beside the bed. "Nope. Just determined to track down one Bailey Reed and deliver her to Senator Parker." He blinked a little in the sudden glare of the lamp and adjusted it to a softer glow before turning back to her. "Don't know what kind of name Bailey is for a woman. Sounds more like a man's..." The rest of his sentence formed a hard ball in his throat and lodged. It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, possible to mistake this female for a man. A riot of honey-blond hair tangled around her shoulders. She was glaring at him from narrowed eyes the color of freshly mown grass. Lust punched through his system, startling him with its intensity. It took more effort than it should have to shove it aside. Her appearance shouldn't be a surprise after all. The senator had given him pictures of her. Luke had noted her attractiveness in the photos, but in a purely detached way. Seeing her in the flesh was something else entirely. And right now there was an interesting amount of flesh to be seen. As if noting the direction his gaze had taken, Bailey snatched the sheet to pull it back up to her shoulders, bare but for the thin straps of her nightgown. "You can't just break into people's motel rooms and kidnap them! That's illegal." The irony of her words was almost amusing. "Yeah, well, so's blackmail, honey. But that didn't stop you from the little scheme you tried to pull on Parker, did it?" Her jaw dropped. "Blackmail?" Luke had to give her credit for her acting ability, although Parker had warned him about that. She'd managed to deceive the senator for five years, and a wilier politician couldn't be found in

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Washington. Word was Parker was next in line for the chair of the powerful Appropriations Committee. Positions like that weren't granted to fools. "You can drop the innocent act. I know what you did, and so do the police. If it weren't for Parker's long friendship with your family, there would have been an APB out on you the moment you left his office." "I never tried to blackmail anybody. And my family lives in Des Moines! They've never even met the senator!" His shrug was as casual as his tone. "You can work out the whole thing with the senator. My job is just to get you back to the capital. It's your call. You can either come with me quietly, or I can turn you over to the cops." There were too many emotions flitting across Bailey's expressive face for Luke to identify any one of them. But it was certainly no hardship to try. She pushed the heavy fall of hair back from her face, and his gaze tracked the movement, lingered. "You're bluffing." Her words were flat, delivered like a dare. "Senator Parker couldn't have gone to the police because there was nothing to report." Luke cocked a brow. "Need proof? I've got it in my bag, so you're going to have to cooperate a bit." He sat up, tugging at the handcuffs to emphasize his meaning. She gathered the sheet around herself in a belated attempt at modesty, before they moved in uncoordinated tandem across the room. Kneeling in front of his bag, Luke withdrew a manila envelope, and shook out the piece of paper inside. When she gave a single strangled gasp, he gave the paper another glance. The photos of her at the top weren't the most flattering, but that shouldn't have come as any great surprise. Police mug shots rarely were…. "I can't believe this." The shock Bailey felt sounded in her voice. "That's not... I've never..."

"Apparently it is, and you have." Luke read the wording beneath the pictures. "Arrested three different times for shoplifting, twice for public intoxication, and, my personal favorite, once for solicitation." When her body tensed with indignation he raised his free hand warningly. "I wouldn't advise hitting me again. Next time I won't be nearly as forgiving." Bailey clenched her teeth and uncurled her fist. No, Luke Sutton didn't seem like the forgiving sort. He didn't seem like a man given to any softer feelings. In his faded jeans, scuffed boots, and long-sleeved black shirt, he looked disreputable and more than a little dangerous. His hair was a couple weeks past needing a trim, its rich brown given to a hint of a wave. The hard line of his jaw was stubbled, angling to a stubborn chin. Regrettably, his straight blade of a nose showed no signs of permanent damage from the blow she'd landed earlier. "You've got to believe me. This —" she reached for the paper and shook it for emphasis "— is fake. I've never done anything criminal. I don't have a record." His piercing gray eyes were filled with derision. "Parker told me the only reason you haven't ever spent jail time is because he's come to your rescue. But you overstepped this time, sweetheart. Even an indulgent friend of the family isn't going to stand still for a blackmail attempt."

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Her mouth went dry. She'd like to believe it was from frustration, but there was panic clawing at her throat. "He must have used some of my ID photos to have this sheet printed. If you'd bothered to double-check, you'd have discovered that it's phony." "Really? Then I suppose you'll be surprised to hear that I had a friend of mine in the D.C. police department run your name through its database." His smile was completely lacking in humor. "He came up with the exact same information. Am I supposed to believe he's lying, too?" She sank to the floor in a boneless heap, still clutching the paper. He squatted beside her. "Give it up, Bailey." He was feeling something uncomfortably close to sympathy. "You screwed up, and you're going to have to go back and face the consequences. Who knows? Maybe you and the senator will reach some sort of compromise." She shook her head. "Whatever Parker is paying you, I'll double it if you'll let me go. I've got some money with me, and more in savings. What will it take?" "I figure you've got approximately $800 left from the grand you withdrew before skipping town." Luke found a flicker of satisfaction at her stupefied expression. "And since that withdrawal depleted your savings, you wouldn't have money to pay me off even if I was interested. Which I'm not." If anything, her face grew paler. Her hand began to shake. "I should have over $5,000 left in my account!" "Yeah, and I should have a million in my piggy bank. Face it. Your game's over." Her eyes glittered with something he desperately hoped wasn't tears. This wasn't the woman who had fought him so fiercely just minutes ago. Right now she looked...defenseless. Defeated. Not unusual under the circumstances. What was odd was his reaction. He had to restrain an urge to haul her into his arms and comfort her, and that would be the dumbest move he could make. Because he had a feeling that if he ever got Bailey in his arms, comfort would be the last thing on his mind….

If Bailey had had any doubts about the lengths Parker would go to to find her, they were shattered now. Changing bank records and having a criminal record manufactured for her were the actions of a very determined man. One who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

She slanted a glance at Luke. The question remaining was what kind of man had the senator hired? The private investigator exuded an aura of toughness and latent danger, qualities she'd rather have allied with her than against her. She didn't doubt he would be fully capable of handling the situation she was immersed in. Unfortunately, he hadn't responded to bribery. A seduction attempt, even if she had the experience to pull it off, would probably fail just as miserably.

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The fact that the idea even occurred proved just how thoroughly her life had been upended. Things like this didn't happen to her. She was a secretary, for heaven's sake. And while she'd been enthusiastic about her job, there was very little in her life that anyone else would deem exciting. The events of the past few days seemed more like scenes from a bad action movie than from her placid existence. But they'd taught her one valuable lesson — she could rely on no one but herself. "All right." Her voice was meek by design. "I'll go back with you, if only to clear my name." She started to rise, hesitated until he moved with her. "But I want a shower first." For the first time she saw a flicker of uncertainty cross his hard face. "Okay," he replied after a brief hesitation. "It'll be dawn soon. We can leave then." He tugged her in the direction of the bathroom, turned on the light and looked around. Scooping up her overnight bag in his free hand, he tossed it behind him. His callous disregard for her belongings burned, but now was not the time to take him to task for it. "The key?" He dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out a handful of change, a small key and — her gaze suddenly fixed — a condom. Bailey could feel the flush crawl up her cheeks, and she hastily looked away. She didn't need mental pictures of this blatantly masculine man using the protection branded on her brain. The images crept in anyway, sly as thieves. "Reach in there and get it." Her gaze flashed to his. "Pardon me?" He shook his hand impatiently. "The key. Pick it out so I can put all this back in my pocket and release you. Unless you've changed your mind about that shower." Changed her mind? Not likely. She complied, and when he released the handcuff, she barely managed to resist the urge to rub her wrist. Waiting for him to leave, she stared, aghast, when he merely lounged against the sink. "What do you think you're doing?" The glint in his eye belied his matter-of-fact tone. "Waiting while you take your shower. You might be free for the moment, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you out of my sight."

Chapter 2: Bailey seemed speechless for an instant as she considered the fact that Luke was going to stay in the bathroom as she showered. Luke had the feeling the experience was an unusual one for her. "What are you afraid of?" she finally said when she recovered her voice. "That you'll be assaulted with a wet towel, or that I'll escape through the heat duct?" She had a point, Luke conceded silently. There was no window in the room, nor could he see anything that would serve as a weapon if she got the misguided idea to try overpowering him.

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And truth be known, he was rapidly reconsidering his decision. Even with his eyes gentlemanly averted, his other senses would be unnaturally heightened. The whisper of silk as her nightgown slid over her skin would seem abnormally loud. The fragrance of shampoo and woman would be inescapable. He figured he had as much self-control as the next guy, but he'd never claimed to be a saint. "You're right." He surged to his feet, suddenly anxious to vacate the room. "Hey!" Ignoring her indignant protest, he rifled through the bag. He removed her curling iron, but could find no other potential weapons. He headed for the other room. "The door stays open." He was a man who knew when it was wise to be selectively deaf, so he pretended not to hear the words she muttered under her breath. Once the shower started Luke didn't waste a moment. He strode to her purse, and began going through it. He wasn't about to go anywhere with the woman without making sure she had no unpleasant surprises for him. The people he encountered in his line of work hadn't exactly elevated his opinion of human nature. He'd refined his ability to maintain a certain distance in his professional life. And if that detachment had carried over to his personal affairs, too...well, it had successfully kept him free of the stickier emotional entanglements that he was eager to avoid. While he expertly searched her bags, he considered how different Bailey seemed from the usual deadbeats he was hired to trace. Just because she was more attractively packaged than most of the cons he'd met, however, didn't make her any more trustworthy — only more dangerous. She couldn't — wouldn't — be allowed to affect his judgment in this case. By the time Bailey had dried her hair, dressed, and rejoined him, Luke was sitting innocently across the room. He thought she aimed a suspicious look his way when she glanced at her suitcase, but she said nothing. She dragged a hairbrush through her hair, then picked up a can of hairspray. "I'm going to need my curling iron." "Sorry." His voice sounded anything but. "You'll have to do without the primping today." "Are you telling me that a big tough guy like you is afraid of a little piece of plastic and metal?" He knew when he was being baited. "Let's just say, I thought it wise to keep your options to a minimum. Get packed. The cuffs go back on before we leave." But she seemed in no hurry to comply. Strolling over to the door, she eyed the chain that still secured it. "How did you get in here last night?" "Taking notes for next time? I bribed a maid to take a look at your picture, then rented the room two doors down. Crawled across the terraces and jimmied your sliding glass door." Her shoulders tensed. He expected a sarcastic remark. Maybe even to have the brush come flying across the room. What he didn't expect was for her to drop the brush, unlatch the door, pull it open, and dart into the hallway.

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As fast as she was, he was faster. He had her by the shirt, hauling her back into the room before she'd taken three steps outside it. But he had no time to congratulate himself on his quick reflexes, because she twisted in his arms, took aim, and gave him a faceful of hairspray. Bailey felt a surge of satisfaction when Luke cursed, then ducked. She sent a sharp elbow into his ribs and swung the can at his head. As a weapon it wasn't much, but the multiple assault had him loosening his hold. Taking immediate advantage, she tore away, ran through the doorway and down the hall. Her hand was inches from the handle of the exit door when her feet abruptly left the ground. "Oomph!" Bailey found herself spun around and pinned against the wall, held there by 200 pounds of unyielding muscle. Luke shoved his face close to hers and snarled, "Keep pushing, sweetheart. You could always make the trip back bound and gagged in the trunk of my car." His temper torched her own. "Don't threaten me, you cretinous thug! You don't have the faintest idea what's at stake here." She heard a noise to her side, and from the corner of her eye saw another guest's door open. Ready to seize the opportunity, she opened her mouth, only to have Luke cover it with his own. Her initial shock was replaced almost immediately by overwhelming sensation. A frisson of guilty pleasure rippled through her. His lips moved over hers with a practiced skill that was all heat and banked emotion. Her heart did a slow lazy spin in her chest. He was awfully good at this, she thought dimly, reaching for scattered thoughts. Knowing his motive for the kiss didn't stop her nerve endings from sparking and sizzling. Reason had never been more difficult to summon. Beneath the pleasure that was spreading flames of wildfire through her veins, was a flicker of sanity. Any moment the person who'd come out of the room would be gone. She'd lose her chance to slip out during the commotion she'd intended to raise. The realization gave her the strength to drag her mouth from his. He followed it, claimed her lips again. His teeth scored her bottom lip, and her pulse spiked. His tongue met hers in a slow velvet glide and flicked over the sensitive roof of her mouth, eliciting a shiver. And when the oxygen had been leeched from her lungs, he raised his mouth a fraction. "Don't go, baby. She didn't mean anything to me." The words were spoken between quick stinging kisses he strewed along her jawline, across her lips. "You're the only one I want." Dazed, Bailey opened her eyes. The sight of Luke so close, his face stamped with arousal, was as difficult to comprehend as his words. Then the ground dropped from beneath her feet as he scooped her up in his arms, his mouth sealing hers again as he strode across the hallway. Reality doused her in an icy splash. Her chance of escape was rapidly disappearing. She began to struggle, desperation flaring when he closed the door behind them. Desperation was followed closely by fury. She sank her teeth into his bottom lip.

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"Ow! Damn!" Luke dropped her to her feet and glared at her. She scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth, wishing it were as easy to erase his taste. "Your little scene was all for nothing. That man probably went for Security." She wished she felt even half as confident of her words as she sounded. His eyes glinted. "I doubt it. Once he got the idea he'd interrupted a lovers' spat, he couldn't get out of there fast enough." Muscles bunched in frustration, Bailey longed to throw something at his arrogant head. "Your lip is bleeding," she said, without a hint of regret. He touched a finger to his mouth, discovered she was correct, and scowled. "Satisfied now?" Bailey stared at him mutely. Satisfied? Not even close. She wouldn't be satisfied until she paid him back for every excruciating moment of humiliation he'd put her through a few minutes ago. The most mortifying of which were the seconds when she'd forgotten he'd been pretending and kissed him back. The handcuffs connecting her to Luke gave Bailey little choice but to follow him across the room, where he picked up the phone. "What are you doing?" she demanded, still angry at herself for responding to his kiss.

"What I should have done an hour ago. Call Parker and let him know that I've found you." She didn't think, just reacted. Diving forward, she found the cord at the end of the phone and pulled. Divining her intention, Luke dropped the receiver and made a grab for her, but not before she'd disconnected the phone from its jack. The look he turned on her then would have cowed a lesser person. She swallowed hard, recognizing her position. "I'll tell you the whole story about the senator and me. Just give me five minutes. You owe me that much at least." "Yeah, I owe you all right." The grim inflection he gave the words left no doubt to his meaning. "What can it hurt?" Words, she was discovering, came easily when pleading for your life. "Afterward, if you still want to make that call..." her eyes fixed on his, she forced the lie out "…then I won't try to stop you." "That's big of you." His tone was no less sarcastic, but he wasn't trying to reconnect the phone. Encouraged, she said, "You already know I worked as Senator Parker's secretary for the past five years." "Yeah." Luke leaned against the dresser with a long-suffering air. "I ran his office, scheduled his appointments, vetted his visitors, and did whatever else he asked of me. One of those things was taking care of the videotapes." She saw the interest flicker across his face and knew she'd caught his attention.

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"What videotapes?" "He had a security camera set to scan his inner office. He always said that someone in his position couldn't be too careful. One of my jobs was to start the camera whenever he came in for the day, and switch it off before I left that evening. The next morning I'd put in a fresh tape, write the date on the one from the previous day, and leave it on his desk." "What happened to the used tapes?" "Every month or so he'd leave a pile on my desk to be reused." She watched him for a reaction, but his expression was inscrutable. "Go on." "For the last few weeks I'd been doing some extra work for his reelection campaign. I'd view old footage and make notes of spots I thought would be appropriate for use in a campaign ad. The man at work, that sort of thing. So I'd been taking stacks of tapes home with me at night, and bringing them back during the day. "That's when I discovered that I must have made a mistake the week before. A current tape had somehow gotten in the stack I was taking home and I labeled the wrong one to put back on Parker's desk. The one I'd taken by mistake had some footage that...ah...I don't think was meant to be filmed." Luke's gaze narrowed. "Like what?" Bailey released a breath. "Like an interlude between Parker and a woman who was definitely not his wife." Luke gazed steadily at Bailey. "You're saying you saw a tape of Senator Parker committing adultery?"

She nodded miserably. "Senator Parker," he repeated. "The leading conservative of the Senate, who bases his campaigns on family values." "Believe me, I was just as shocked as you are. I'm supposed to turn the camera off before I leave, but I'd been super busy that day setting up a visit with some foreign diplomats. I must have forgotten to switch it off." Luke considered the information. He didn't know why he was surprised. Parker wouldn't be the first politician to be proven a hypocrite. And the story fit just a little too neatly with what the senator had left unsaid at their initial interview. "So that's when you decided to blackmail him." Her eyes heated. "No! I never tried to blackmail him. I told you that." "Then why did you run?"

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She jammed her free hand through her hair, the action fraught with frustration. "Because it wasn't safe for me to stay in D.C. Several days earlier someone had broken into my apartment and trashed the place. The next day my car was broken into. I'd thought I was having a run of bad luck until I saw that tape. "Then I began to wonder if the events were related. I'd finally decided to slip it back in the senator's pile and not say anything. But when I got to my apartment three nights ago..." She paused, the memory still powerful enough to chill her blood. "Someone was already there." "Parker?" Bailey shook her head. "No, it was a stranger. The door was locked so he must have come in one of the windows. He grabbed me as soon as I was inside the door and put a gun to my head." Luke went completely still, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Someone broke into your place and threatened you?" "He wanted the tape. I said I'd get it for him, and...and then I swung my purse at his head." "Those three rolls of quarters you had in the bottom of it must have done some damage." She started to nod, then stopped to glare at him. "You searched my purse?" "So sue me. I don't like surprises. Go on. You knocked the guy out with your bag...." "No," she corrected. "I stunned him with my bag. He didn't lose consciousness until I hit him with a lamp." His mouth quirked. "Considering the possibilities, I guess I should count myself lucky that I only got a little hairspray in the face." She ignored his comment. "I didn't know what to do with the tape, so I had it in my purse. I couldn't think of anyone who'd be after it except for Parker. Since I couldn't predict what he'd do next, I stashed the tape and ran." Looking at Luke anxiously, Bailey asked, "You believe me, don't you?"

Chapter 3: Luke supposed Bailey's story was plausible if he was willing to put her word above that of a United States senator. He wasn't naive. He was well aware that politics could be a sleazy business. "Well?" She shook the links connecting their wrists impatiently. "Do you believe me?" "Partly," he responded, and watched, with a flicker of male appreciation when her eyes gleamed with anger. "Partly? What does that mean?" "It means there were holes in Parker's story, and maybe you filled in some of them. He'd said you'd made up some wild tales that you threatened to take public. When he tried to get you some

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help, you took off." He held up a hand to stem her protest. "I'm willing to believe that you didn't have to make anything up. The tape would make handy blackmail material." "Didn't you hear a word I said?" Her voice was edged with frustration. His temples were beginning to throb. "I heard everything. The fact remains that you ran, apparently without returning the tape. Flight implies guilt. I'm still going to take you back to D.C." "Even if doing so may get me killed?" "I'm not going to let anything happen to you." With a sinking feeling, he realized he spoke the truth. "I won't leave you until this whole thing is cleared up." He could tell by the slump of her shoulders that he'd failed to convince her. "Your gullibility will be of great comfort to me when I'm six feet under." Calling on a patience he hadn't dreamed he possessed, Luke said only, "You can listen in on my call to the senator, if it'll make you feel better." She positioned herself between Luke and the phone. "If anything sounds off, anything at all, you have to promise to let me go." He considered her soberly. "It'd take about five minutes to find you again. You left a trail that any fool could follow." Insulted, she tossed her head. "I was careful!" "Careful people don't use credit cards. The receipts led me right to you." Her lips pressed together. "Well, excuse me if I missed the course in Fugitive 101. I never realized I'd need those particular skills." He was finding he preferred her sarcasm over the desperation that had occasionally leaked into her voice while she told her story. He was uneasily aware that the distance he was careful to maintain in his assignments had been spanned. "Letting you go is out of the question. But I'm also not going to turn you over to Parker until I'm satisfied that I know the whole story. You'll have to settle for that." He reached for the cord, and with some difficulty, managed to reconnect it to the phone jack. He risked a glance at Bailey's face as he picked up the receiver and hesitated. Her look of utter desolation tugged at a sympathy he'd be better off denying. "It's going to be all right. Trust me." Her gaze lifted to his, as bitter as her voice. "I trusted Senator Parker. Look where that got me." There didn't seem to be an answer Luke could give that would pacify Bailey, so he didn't try. But he was uncomfortably aware that this job had moved out of the assignment category and into something unfamiliar. He'd never been a man to appreciate the unfamiliar.

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Snatching the phone off the cradle, he dialed the number the senator had given him. The phone was answered on the second ring. Luke kept his eyes on Bailey as he spoke. "Yeah, it's Sutton. I've found her." "You have?" The voice at the other end of the line was jovial. "That's excellent. You've certainly lived up to your reputation. Where are you?" Luke skirted the question. "Senator, after speaking to Bailey Reed, I have a few concerns about this case." He heard the other man sigh. "I'm sure she's given you an earful. I warned you that she was pathological. I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have, but right now I'm in the middle of something pressing." Was it Luke's imagination that the man's laugh was a little too hearty? "If you can just sit tight for a couple hours and then call me back, I should be free. Then we can clear up any questions you might have." Replacing the receiver a moment later, Luke caught Bailey's accusing gaze. "Don't even start. That doesn't prove anything other than the fact that the senator has more to worry about than you." "It's proof enough for me. How do we know the senator didn't have that call traced? There could be someone heading here as we speak." Paranoia must be catching, because the thought had already occurred to Luke. He felt foolish, but there was also a knot low in his belly that warned him there was something afoot here that he hadn't reckoned on. He'd learned long ago not to ignore the feeling. "We'll wait in my room until it's time to call again." When he said nothing else, she demanded, "That's it? That's your plan? What makes you think they won't find your room as easily as you found mine?" "Please." He gave her a superior look. "Credit me with a little intelligence." Before she could find the insult in his words, he pulled her in the direction of their bags. As they worked together to zip them he said, "You realize that if you alert one of the other guests on the way to my room, the cops will be summoned. I can't imagine they would be nearly as careful as I'm being to check out all the angles before delivering you to Parker." Luke made the mistake of looking at her then, caught the slight tremble of her lips before she carefully firmed them. There was a pang of something in his chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. The unusual sensation disturbed him. His much vaunted objectivity was beginning to slip. Bailey was a job, nothing more. He'd be wise to remember that. The fact that he needed such a reminder was the most disturbing thing of all. "What time is it?"

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Luke didn't bother opening his eyes. "About five minutes after the last time you asked." Bailey blew out a breath. "Are you going to spend the next couple hours sleeping?" "Apparently not." Lying on a bed next to Bailey was most assuredly not a way guaranteed to summon slumber. For one thing, there was the very real likelihood that if he fell asleep she'd try to smother him with a pillow. And secondly, well...he was lying on the bed next to Bailey. He knew what her body would feel like stretched out beneath his own, could summon the memory of it at will. Her scent was already familiar, although she wasn't wearing perfume. She smelled of soap, shampoo, and female. The simple combination shouldn't have been so alluring. Pulling a deep breath into tortured lungs, he reminded himself that she was most probably a felon. A thief. A liar. And if her rap sheet was to be believed, even something a bit more risqué. Problem was, he was starting to question that rap sheet. He was starting to question his client. And when the questions became more troublesome than the answers, he knew he was in serious trouble. Digging in his pocket, he found the key and unhooked the cuff encompassing his wrist. Ignoring the hopeful expression on Bailey's face, he placed the manacle around a rung in the headboard and snapped it shut. "What are you doing?" "All your wild talk has gotten me jittery." He was annoyed with himself, but incapable of shaking the nerves. He crossed swiftly to his bag and pulled out the Beretta that he always carried on assignment. He headed to the door, and her panicked voice followed him. "Wait! Where are you going?" He turned back to look at her. "I'm going back to wait in your room. It's probably a waste of time, but you've got me paranoid." As he reached for the doorknob he heard the handcuffs rattle. "You're not going to leave me here like this. Do you hear me, Sutton? Sutton!" He didn't make the mistake of looking at her again before he left the room. He was only a man, after all. And the sight of Bailey lying on the bed handcuffed to the headboard made him all too aware of it… There was something about being handcuffed to a bed that gave a woman entirely too much time to think. Bailey's thoughts didn't make particularly comfortable companions. In her family she'd always been known as the fearless one. The one who decided what she wanted and went after it. That trait had given her the strength to leave Iowa for Washington, D.C. Had helped her acquire a job in a junior representative's office, and then later one with Senator Parker. But she'd spent the last few days in an unfamiliar state of indecision, layered with shock. Her quiet orderly life had been irrevocably shattered when a stranger had broken into her apartment and held a gun to her head.

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She couldn't help the hurt disillusionment that accompanied the realization that the man she'd dedicated herself to for the past five years was dirty. There was anger, yes, at the senator, but at herself, too, for being duped by the senator's cultivated persona. Her experience with Parker should come as a valuable lesson to not put her faith in someone too easily, or too blindly. Which didn't explain at all the desire she had to trust the man who'd left her locked to the headboard. *** Luke sat in Bailey's room, feeling like a fool. She'd suckered him, he thought in disgust. Her wild tales and dramatic predictions had sideswiped his normally pragmatic logic. He'd never been a guy to let his hormones do his thinking, but he had to admit they'd certainly hazed his judgment in this case. He could think of no other reason for him to have spent the past hour and a half sitting in an empty room, all the while trying to wipe that last sight of Bailey from his mind. It burned to admit how close he'd come to believing her. He should have known better. An objective mind and a healthy skepticism had served him well in his line of work. The knowledge that she'd circumvented both was a well-placed kick to the ego. Frustrated, he surged to his feet. He'd wasted enough time already. It was time to call Parker back, and past time to see the last of Bailey Reed. He crossed to the sliding glass door, then froze when a knock sounded. Silently he went to the door and checked the peek hole. He saw no one. Silently he flattened himself against the wall next to the door. He'd no sooner drawn his gun than the knob began to turn. The armed figure was halfway into the room when Luke kicked the door, slamming it into the man entering. He'd had the element of surprise, but the stranger recovered quickly. He launched himself at Luke, his head catching him low in the belly. They went down, and their guns went flying. The two of them hit the floor with a crash, and rolled. Luke took a punch to the jaw that had his head snapping back, before plowing his fist into the man's belly. When the man lunged upward, trying to throttle him, Luke twisted away, placed his knee on the stranger's windpipe. The other man landed a couple of kidney punches before lack of oxygen began to take the fight out of him. Luke ended the battle by slamming the stranger's head against the floor, and the man went abruptly still. Luke rose, staggered a little. He retrieved his weapon, then crossed back over to the man crumpled on the floor. Holding the gun on him, he went through the stranger's pockets, searching for identification. When he failed to find any, Luke looked for the gun the man had dropped. He gave a silent whistle as he examined it. A 9 mm Glock, it was big, mean, and deadly. And the silencer attached to its barrel was a grim testament of its owner's intentions…

Chapter 4:

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When Bailey heard Luke at the sliding glass doors, every ounce of impatience and frustration she felt sounded in her voice. "Damn you, Sutton! Do you know how long you've been...." Her voice faltered when she got a look at him. "You're hurt. What happened?" His hair was disheveled and there was a mark on his jaw that promised to bloom later. "I just tangled with a guy who came to your room for a visit." He moved to her, unlocked the cuffs. "I'd love to discuss it with you, but it's entirely possible he didn't come alone. We're getting out of here." The thought of him being injured because of her did odd things to her stomach. "I told you that Parker was dangerous." She wished, desperately, that she'd been wrong. "Save your I told you sos for later," he advised grimly. "Right now we need to concentrate on getting out of here alive." It wasn't until she was ensconced in Luke's nondescript sedan and they were pulling out of the parking lot that Bailey began to breathe easily. She noted the way his gaze kept going to the rearview mirror, and she turned, scanning the area uneasily. "Do you think we'll be followed?" "That depends on whether your visitor brought reinforcements." His voice was terse, and she regarded him carefully. He hadn't handcuffed her again when they'd snuck out of the hotel or after they'd gotten in the car. That tiny measure of trust would have thrilled her even three hours ago. Now it merely weighted her conscience. His faith hadn't been won without a risk to his life. And as long as they remained together, the danger would only increase. With that thought in mind she said, "This isn't your mess, Luke. We should split up." "If you think you can handle this on your own, you're kidding yourself." He drove deftly, cutting in and out of the heavy traffic. "From the looks of things, the senator is getting desperate. Besides..." He speared a look at her. "I tend to take it kind of personally when someone tries to kill me. Whether you like it or not, we just became partners." If the warm glow spreading inside her was any indication, she liked the idea a little too much. But that only made her more determined. "Once the senator finds out that you're helping me, he'll ruin your life. Believe me, I know…." His words cut her off as his gaze went to the mirror again. "We don't have time to argue about it right now. We've got a far bigger concern. Like the car that's been following us for the past five minutes...." "Don't turn around," Luke ordered, as Bailey was about to twist in her seat. "I don't want them to know they've been spotted." "How many of them in the car?" To her credit, her words were steady. "Two. Wait. Three. I think there's one in the backseat." "What are we going to do?"

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He was surprised she needed to ask. "Lose them, of course. Sit tight." Before Bailey could respond he punched down the accelerator and barreled through a red light. The blare of horns and screech of brakes told of the chaos they left in their wake. She gulped, and checked the mirror. "They're still behind us." His silence didn't fool her. "Listen, Sutton. If you're getting some perverted thrill out of playing Mario Andretti, you apparently don't grasp the seriousness of the situation." Luke couldn't prevent a grin. "Oh, I'm serious, all right. I'm about to get deadly serious. Hang on." He wheeled hard to the right, taking the corner on two wheels, and zipped down a wide boulevard. While Bailey was catching her breath, there was a small ping heard outside their car. And then another. "Son of a... They're shooting at us. Get down!" Luke reached over, shoved Bailey's head toward the seat. She struggled away from him. "Where's the gun?" "What?" "Your gun!" She popped up again. "I'll shoot while you drive." The horror her words elicited had to have shown on his face. "Are you crazy? Do you even know how to handle a gun?" "Can you think of a better time to learn?" There was another small sound of a bullet hitting metal. An expletive burst from Luke's lips. "Brace yourself." The exit ramp leading toward the freeway was approaching. Without a backward glance, he sped down it, carefully gauging his timing. When he hit the interstate he crossed the lanes, bounced over the grassy median that separated the lanes of oncoming traffic and pulled a hard left. The car fishtailed, and he wrestled for control. A moment later, he was speeding in the opposite direction. It wasn't until he was certain he'd lost the pursuit car completely that reason overcame reaction. He waited for the hammering of his pulse to slow. He understood adrenaline, instinct, but this surge of protectiveness was new. It was also hazardous. Bailey wasn't the kind of woman who would be comfortable with the revolving door of his relationships. If there was ever a "strings attached" kind of female, it was her. She almost made him reconsider his aversions to strings. And therein lay a far greater danger than any he'd ever faced before.... "We're going back to D.C.?" Bailey stared at Luke in disbelief. "Are you kidding? We'd be playing right into Parker's hands."

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"I don't think so. At any rate, we don't have a lot of choice." He turned off the freeway, onto a county road marked with a sign welcoming them to West Virginia. "We have to retrieve that tape, Bailey. We've got no leverage at all if the senator's men get to it first." "They won't find it." She pressed a palm to her stomach where nerves seemed to be churning. She wanted to scream her protests, but the simple truth was, she had no other suggestions to make. As if sensing the nosedive her mood had taken, Luke reached over, took her hand. "Hey, chin up. We'll figure a way out of this. They haven't caught us yet, have they?" His reassurance soothed her and she curled her fingers in his. It was odd how such a simple gesture from him could give her hope. They turned off the county blacktop onto a less well-maintained country road. Catching her quizzical look, Luke explained, "If the senator hasn't already released descriptions of our cars to the area State Police, you can bet it's just a matter of time. We need to ditch this one." "I'm almost afraid to ask, but...how do you expect us to get to D.C.?" "Simple. We're going to find an isolated home somewhere around here and steal a car." "Steal a car." She nodded, as if the suggestion was commonplace. "Wonderful. Grand theft auto should really spice up my rap sheet." A corner of his mouth lifted. "We can refer to it as trading if it'll make you feel better. Mine will have to be left behind. We can't take the chance of getting pulled over." She considered his words as he drove. She'd been taking chances ever since she'd discovered that tape. But of all the events in the last several days, the riskiest chance she'd taken to date was deciding to trust Luke Sutton. Bailey sat cross-legged on the ground next to the old jeep, eyeing it distrustfully. "We'll be lucky if this thing makes it to the end of the driveway, much less to D.C." Luke merely grunted at her words and continued fumbling with wires beneath the dash. There were some skills that never left a man, and he was hoping this was one of them. When the engine finally coughed and misfired, he sent her a triumphant grin. "Talents gained in a misspent youth are never wasted, sweetheart. Now admit it. I'm handy to have around." "I'm not going to praise your unlawful talents, Sutton. Your ego doesn't appear to need stroking, at any rate." The smile she was trying to suppress broke out then, achingly lovely. He stared at her, staggered. He'd seen her angry, defiant, and scared. But the winsome charm of her smile unlocked something in him, something he would have denied existed. Emotion overcame common sense. He straightened in one fluid motion and hauled her into his arms. Covering her mouth with his, he dove into sensation. Her flavor was a mixture of sweetness and heat, tantalizing and addictive. That first taste of her at the motel had fired a hunger that had simmered ever since, just below the surface. And when she kissed him back, lips as avid as his, need rose quickly, edgy and fierce.

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He wasn't a man given to impulse, and the risks he took were calculated. But there was no way to calculate the gut-wrenching pleasure of holding her, tasting her. His tongue went in search of hers and he heard the small moan that sounded in her throat. It elicited an answering savage emotion. This demand that fired through his system was too brutal, too overwhelming to deny. He cupped her breast, his thumb finding her nipple, and her body arched into his. Primal desire had his blood pounding. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to lay her back on the grass, cover her body with his, and ride out this pleasure to its peak. And there was never a less appropriate time to consider doing so. Logic battled with lust, and regrettably, logic won. Luke buried his face at Bailey's throat, inhaled her scent, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest, the twist of her fingers in his hair. And because the combination tempted him to devour her again, he pulled away. "Look..." His voice was raw, so he cleared it. "Bad timing for this." "The worst." Her agreement would have helped his resolve if her voice hadn't sounded so dazed. As it was, it just made his control shakier. He crooked a finger, tipped her chin up so her gaze met his. "But when this is over, Bailey. When it's over..." She moistened her lips. "We'll deal with it then." Satisfied that she understood, he turned his attention to the jalopy and tried to ignore the vicious ache riding low in his belly. "You can count on it."

Chapter 5: Luke felt a surge of admiration for the woman at his side. He could think of no other women in his acquaintance and damn few men who could have dealt with her situation with half the guts Bailey had shown. But he was going to have to help her work on her subterfuge. Standing in the middle of her darkened apartment he muttered, "You couldn't have thought of a less risky place to hide the tape?" "Don't worry." Her whisper matched his as she moved surely through the darkness. "Parker's men didn't find it either time they were here. I'm sure it's safe." Luke was less concerned right now about the safety of the tape than he was about the possibility that her apartment was being staked out. After reaching D.C. he'd insisted on waiting until dark before undertaking their mission, but even with that precaution his instincts were screaming that they were in danger. He followed her to the bathroom, and watched as she hoisted herself up on the washing machine and shimmied into the thin space between it and the wall. "You've got to be kidding me."

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"Nope." Her voice was muffled as she bent down. "You can't believe how many times I've dropped clothes down here and had to fish them out. I thought of it right away when I needed a place to leave the tape." Getting out of the tight area required more dexterity than getting in had. Luke assisted her, and then she jumped down nimbly from the washer, tucking the tape into her purse. It was almost too easy. They made their way through the near silent apartment house and slipped outside the back door. Across the courtyard, around a corner, and they were on the street. Luke relaxed, just a fraction. Taking Bailey's elbow in his hand, they walked quickly in the direction of the nearest bus stop. "Luke." He didn't need Bailey's hissed warning. He'd already seen the two men in dark trench coats appear from the shadows and fall into step behind them. He dropped back a bit, placing himself between the strangers and Bailey. Reaching into his jacket slowly, he drew the Beretta. Urging Bailey to a faster pace, they turned the corner at a near jog and saw a police cruiser pulling to a stop 20 feet ahead of them. Bailey's gaze swung from the two men gaining on them to the police car. "Now what do we do?" "Now we run like hell." "Boy, you P.I.s really know how to impress the ladies." Bailey scanned the motel room with distaste. Although clean, the room's decor was Early American tacky. The green shag carpeting matched the faded bedspread and drapes. Since it was the sort of place that rented rooms by the hour, Bailey had no doubt that the bed was the kind that took quarters. It was the honeymoon suite, the ferret-faced clerk had informed them. And for a mere $25 extra, it was the only room that boasted a VCR. "Consider yourself lucky," Luke informed her. They sat on the edge of the bed while he watched the tape. "It beats a jail cell or the morgue." Recalling how easily they could have ended up in either one, Bailey felt a bit more grateful. Her heart still hadn't recovered from their wild marathon across yards, alleys, and traffic-filled streets. She wasn't sure when they'd lost the police officers, but the two thugs trailing them had veered away shortly after the cruiser had showed up. "Parker must still have his men watching my apartment. But how do you explain the police showing up the way they did?" "One of Parker's men must have paid off one of your neighbors to watch for you." His arm looped around her waist, and with only a little pressure he urged her closer. Smiling a little, she allowed her head to rest for a moment on his shoulder. It would be tempting — all too tempting — to forget about the seriousness of their situation and greedily hoard stolen moments like these, for the times when memories were all she had left. The thought was more than a little bittersweet.

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"Wait a minute. Who are these guys?" Reluctantly, her gaze followed his to the screen. Then she straightened, leaned forward. "I recognize them. They represent Hansen International." Luke turned up the volume and they watched in silence while the tape played out. When only static filled the screen, Luke looked at her. "You never saw this part before?" Stunned, she shook her head. "I figured when I got to the part with the senator and his lady friend, I'd seen enough. I had no idea there was anything else on this tape." There was an answering amazement in his voice. "The footage of him with another woman would have crippled his career, but this is guaranteed to destroy it. Do you realize we've got proof that the senator is accepting bribes from one of the country's largest military contractors? The Appropriations Committee chairmanship must be considered a sure thing for him to be able to demand this kind of money." "The question is, what do we do about it? Could we release it to the media?" He considered her suggestion for a moment before shaking his head regretfully. "Chances are it would never reach the public eye. Parker has destroyed your credibility. No self-respecting newspaper or television station would touch anything you gave them." There was a boulder-size lump in the back of her throat. "So Parker's won." Even as she spoke the words, a wave of desolation crashed over her, so swift and turbulent that she had to turn away to hide her reaction. "We can't go public, and we can't go to the police. I shouldn't have come back here. And I never should have let you get involved." His hands went to her shoulders and drew her back against his chest. For a moment, just for a moment, she let herself lean on him, as if she could absorb his strength. When Luke's mouth went to her ear, a shudder worked down her spine. "I became involved, sweetheart, the minute I laid eyes on you. And the senator hasn't beaten us. Not by a long shot." It was difficult to concentrate on his words with his breath caressing her throat, the feel of his hard body against hers weakening her knees. "I don't have a clue what to do now. I'm not cut out for this kind of intrigue." She heard his smile in his voice. "Fortunately, I am." Dawn's soft pastels painted the sky outside Senator Lloyd Parker's study window. He stood before his desk, impeccably groomed in his discreetly pinstriped suit. "You've caused me a great deal of trouble, Bailey." The room in his opulent Great Falls home was a shrine to his career. There were pictures of him with former presidents, prime ministers, and movie stars. An ornately worked plaque proclaimed him the hardest-working member of Congress. Once, Bailey had believed the same. That time seemed a million years ago. "I want my life back. When Luke called, you promised that you'd call off your dogs if I turned over the tape."

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"And I'm a man of my word. Where is it?" "We've got it." Luke stepped between them, his protective stance unmistakable. "But first you're going to call the police department and clear those phony charges you trumped up against her." The senator inclined his head. "Her record will cease to exist once she gives me the tape." "I checked the papers. You haven't been appointed chairman yet." Parker stiffened at Bailey's words. "It's just a matter of time." "I wonder what the House Ethics Committee would think about you taking bribes from the biggest military contractor in the nation." "Don't waste my time, Bailey." His tone was impatient. "You and I both know how easily I could discredit your testimony. You had access to all my videotapes and expertise with them. It would have been easy for you to splice some scenes together to come up with something that looked incriminating. If, indeed, the tape ever made it to a hearing." It was the truth in his words that had brought them to Senator Parker. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew the videotape. The senator took it from her and crossed to a VCR to verify it. Then he turned back to them. "How do I know you haven't made copies?" Luke snorted. "You've already shown us what we'd be up against should we ever try to make that tape public. All we want is our lives back. You've got what you want. Now give us what we want." Parker arched his eyebrows. "Of course. I promised, didn't I?" His gaze rested on Bailey and an unidentifiable expression flickered in his eyes. "You disappointed me, Bailey. I made the mistake of trusting you too much." "And I made the mistake of trusting you." She returned his gaze steadily. "Tell me, did your price go up because you're the next chair of Appropriations?" He looked down at her regally. "The representatives from Hansen were quite generous, in return for certain favors." When she pressed her lips together, looked away, he laughed out loud. "Come, Bailey, surely you're aware of the reality of politics these days. It's not as if my promises to Hansen will affect the national security one way or another. And their donation for my friendship will go a long way toward getting me reelected." "And pay for this house, no doubt." His expression grew wintry. "It will pay for a great many things, including witnesses who will swear that the pair of you broke into my home, and threatened me with a gun." His smile was hard. "You really didn't think I was just going to let you walk out of here, did you?" Bailey regarded him almost sadly, aware that she'd never really known the man at all. "No, as a matter of fact. We didn't."

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At that moment three men in dark suits burst through the doorway. Parker's face became guarded. "Sutton, are these thugs yours?" "In a manner of speaking," Luke murmured. One man stepped forward, flipped open a small leather case to reveal a shield. "Special Agent Ronald Payton, Justice Department." He signaled to the other men, who came forward to flank the senator as he continued, "I'm placing you under arrest, sir, for bribery and conspiracy." Tyler went apoplectic. "What? You can't just break in here! Do you know who I am?" "Thanks to Bailey," Luke said, with no small measure of satisfaction, "the entire country is soon going to know exactly what you are, as well." A warm masculine hand smoothed its way over her bare shoulder to cup her breast. Bailey smiled, eyes still closed, and arched into Luke's touch. The hours they'd spent together in the aftermath of Parker's arrest had blurred seamlessly into one erotic dream after another. Half reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Her heart kicked a faster beat to see Luke, gloriously nude, press his mouth to the pulse at the base of her throat. "Was that the phone I heard a while ago?" She felt him go still against her, and had the impression that he shifted away, not physically, but emotionally. "About an hour ago, yeah." She smiled, slow and languorous and turned in his arms. "I must have fallen asleep for a bit." "Actually, the call was for you." This time there was no mistaking the distance in his voice. He coupled it in the next moment by rolling away, sitting up in bed. "I gave the number to the agents and they must have passed it on. Guy said he was Don Hegel." The name was a splash of cold reality. Bailey sat up, as well. "Speaker of the House Hegel? What on earth did he want?" Luke seemed to find something fascinating on the opposite wall. "Said something about a job with the ambassador to Britain. He wants to talk to you about it." Bailey received the news silently, wondering at her lack of excitement. A week ago the prospect would have had her over the moon. But now she could summon no enthusiasm for the possibility. And especially not for the idea of traveling overseas. "Guess that's a big step for you, huh?" At Luke's careless words, she looked at him, her heart sinking a little at his expressionless face. He couldn't have said better with words how little her going would affect him. A vise squeezed her chest. "It seems odd to be discussing career changes after the last couple days we've been through." Luke nodded, his gaze still stubbornly avoiding hers. "About that...the danger and all...it can be a powerful aphrodisiac." His fist curled on the blanket between them. "It's been documented, I

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guess. People can feel things — strong things — that they mistake for something else. Something lasting." Pain lanced through her as his meaning became clear. "Yes. I guess I've read that." She wondered if it was possible for him to hear her heart shattering. "The thing is...I've been in treacherous situations before — plenty of times. Can't say that they've ever affected me like this." Her chin lifted slowly. The light in his eyes when he met her gaze sent a cautious ribbon of hope unfurling inside her. "There's something between us, Bailey, and I'm not walking away from it. Damned if I can walk away from you." He seemed to note her misty eyes then and his expression eased. "Don't especially like the idea of having to chase you onto another continent, but I think I've proved that you can't run away from me for long." Her voice was almost steady when she responded. "I'm through running." The kiss they shared then was rife with the promise of new beginnings, with an underlying shimmer of familiar heat. In the next moment she found herself beneath him again, with him grinning down at her. Bailey slid a lazy hand into his hair. "You seem to spend an awful lot of time in this position, Sutton." His eyes gleamed as his mouth lowered to hover a fraction above hers. Against her lips he whispered, "Oh, I intend to. I certainly intend to."

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Making It To 25 by Janice Kay Johnson Description: Ann Gordon and her husband, Jack, made it through 24 years of marriage, only to discover there was just one thing keeping them together: their love for their children. As the couple begins the emotional task of separating their lives, they are reunited once more to face every parent's greatest fear: One of their children has been taken hostage….

Chapter 1: Ann Gordon picked up one of the photos spread across her coffee table and smiled at the sight of her oldest daughter Dani, dressed as the Mad Hatter for Alice in Wonderland. Just yesterday, it seemed, but actually seven years ago. Dani was a senior in college this year, no longer a fifteenyear-old who dreamed of becoming a Broadway star. Oh, and there was Jessie, caked with mud but grinning triumphantly as she ran from a soccer field. Ann set that one down and reached for another, and another. All gripped her heart. Letting go was so hard. Letting go of her children, and of her husband. She was engaged in one of the world's saddest tasks. The official separation of lives: family photos divided in half, so she and Jack could each treasure the memory of their daughters' childhoods. She was plucking out the best photos to make copies so that she could put together an album for him. She hadn't gotten very far, because each picture brought back a flood of memories...memories she found herself drowning in. The hardest was looking at ones that included him, gray eyes narrowed in amusement, dark hair rumpled, a toddler on his back or a teenager encircled by his arm. He had been so handsome. Was so handsome, she admitted to herself, even with a touch of silver in his hair. The phone rang, and Ann was grateful for the interruption. Somehow she wasn't at all surprised to find the caller was Jessie. Her youngest had always had a gift for reading her mind. "Sweetie! What's up?" "Nothing," her daughter said. "Mara went home for the weekend, and I guess I had a pang of homesickness. What are you doing?" "Going through boxes of pictures. I promised your father I'd make him an album of photos of you guys." "Really?" Jessie sounded alarmed. "That sounds so..." "So?" Ann nudged, when her nineteen-year-old daughter hesitated.

Chapter 2: "Permanent." She bit her lip. "Honey...I'm afraid it is. I haven't even talked to your dad in months. We email once in a while..."

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"He came up last week. He had business, I guess, and he took me to dinner." How did he look? caught on her tongue. How pathetic that would sound. "That's nice," she said instead. "I always thought you two were happy!" Jessie wailed. Ann had thought they were, too. Maybe they had been, while they had the girls to glue the family together. She and Jack had chattered during the four-hour drive home from Portland after they left Jessie in the dorm room with the strange girl who would become her new best friend. What would Jessie end up majoring in? they had speculated. Would she leave big assignments until the last minute, like she'd always tended to do? They had chuckled at the image of the dorm room, knee-deep in clutter on Jessie's half, neat as a pin on her roommate's. Perhaps it was natural that they talked only about the girls on such a momentous day, when they'd opened their hands to let their youngest go free. It wasn't until the next day, and the day after, that the silences began to develop. Silences both a little sad and yet restful at first. "The house is so quiet," one of them would say. They were quiet, too, because they didn't have a thing to say to each other. How long had it been since the two of them had spent any real time together? Ann felt as if, working the long hours he did, Jack had made a choice many years ago: be a real father, or a husband. He'd chosen to be a father. Their children knew him. She didn't. She wanted him to be a great father to their children; she just didn't understand why he couldn't have saved a sliver of himself for her. But he hadn't.

Chapter 3: All they'd talked about in private times was family, she realized in those months after they left Jessie at college. In the early years, he'd told her about his cases, but he hadn't in so long, she couldn't remember the last time. He'd never seemed interested in what she did at the art gallery, once she went back to work; never had time to attend openings or meet her new colleagues and friends. They weren't friends anymore. Not the way a husband and wife should be. Four months after they left their daughter waving outside the dorm, Jack had looked across the breakfast table and said, "I feel like I'm living with a stranger." "It's only taken you fifteen years to notice," Ann had said. They had both been weirdly distant, agreeing that they'd drifted apart. He packed and left that day, coming back only once after he'd rented an apartment for the official dividing of possessions, during which they continued to be terribly polite. That was when she promised to divide the photos, too. It had taken her almost a year to keep the promise. "I think we were happy," she told her daughter now. "We didn't notice how much we'd grown apart until you and Dani were both gone. It happens, honey." "I don't want it to happen to my mom and dad!" "I'm sorry," was all she could say. "What made you start going through pictures?" Jessie demanded. Because this week would have been their anniversary. Because she was dreading the day, and

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needed to feel as if she were taking charge of her life before it came. "I'm just...starting to clean things out." Hearing what she didn't say, her daughter gasped. "You wouldn't move!" "I haven't made any decisions. Right now, I'm just trying to get rid of things, cut down on clutter." "It's home!" Jessie declared, tears in her voice. "You can't sell the house."

Chapter 4: Ann soothed and reassured without making any promises, eventually ending the call with a promise to come for a visit herself in a few weeks. After hanging up, she decided to leave the latest box of photos for another day and go to bed. Turning out lights, heading upstairs, she felt the quiet, empty rooms around her. Selling would be hard. She and Jack had bought the generous two-story, white clapboard house with hardwood floors and a big yard on Mercer Island when she was pregnant with Jessie. Even Dani didn't remember living anywhere else. The house was so full of memories: the dent beside the garage door where she had backed into the house on her very first solo drive; the faint lines on the wall in the upstairs hall where Ann had marked their growth spurts; Dani's room, still so girly, the shelves filled with stuffed animals and favorite childhood books; Jessie's room almost boyish with sports trophies and posters of rock stars. How can I leave the home where I raised my children? The trouble was, Jack was ever-present in this house, too. His place at the table, his chair in the living room, the closed door to his home office. His side of the bed, his closet in the master bedroom - empty. The ghost of his laugh. The house was filled with him, and Ann could hardly bear it. She knew, practically, the house was too big for her. Neither girl was likely to come home for more than another summer or two. It was absurd for her to rattle around in a 3,500-square-foot house. Ann was still conflicted, but in her heart she knew the time was coming. That was why she'd started cleaning out closets, finishing tasks long left undone, planning for the day when she or Jack filed for divorce.

Chapter 5: Over the next few days, still resolved, she left a pile of negatives at the grocery store to have prints made and went to the craft store to choose a couple of albums. Each day, she would go home to the big empty house, eat dinner alone in the silence, and finish sorting boxes - working her way back through basketball camps and ballet rehearsals, birthday parties and Christmas morning gift opening. The following Thursday, she was in her office at the art gallery she co-owned and managed when her assistant buzzed. "Someone from Clackamas College on line one."

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On a squeeze of alarm, Ann reached for the phone. "Ann Gordon speaking." "Mrs. Gordon, this is Nelson Shields. I'm the president of Clackamas College." Her pulse bounced, then raced. The president of the college? Why would the president be calling her? "Is something wrong?" Her throat clogged. "Jessie... Is Jessie all right?" His hesitation terrified her. "We believe she's okay right now, but...Mrs. Gordon, I'm afraid I have frightening news." He took a breath. "Jessie has been taken hostage, along with several other students, by a disgruntled former employee of the college. He has a bomb, and is threatening to kill the students." "Hostage?" she whispered. "Kill...Jessie?" The moment Jack's car pulled into the driveway, Ann flew out the front door. He met her halfway to the porch, his arms open. She flung herself into them, grateful to be held. She hadn't cried yet, but was suddenly torn by a sob. "I'm so scared." "Me, too," he murmured, his cheek against her hair. "Our Jessie." He let her cry, and when they finally separated, she saw that his eyes were red, too. Either her not-yet-ex-husband had aged in the nine months since she'd seen him, or her call with the terrifying news had carved those lines in his face. Jessie, taken hostage with other students at the college, by an angry ex-employee with a bomb. How much scarier could it get than that?

Chapter 6: Jack studied her, too, and she knew he would see similar changes in her. The strain alone made her feel as if she'd shatter if someone tapped her shoulder. The tears would have made her blotchy and puffy. She didn't care. "Did you pack a bag?" he asked. She nodded. "I'll go get it and lock up." They'd decided to fly to Portland to shave a couple of hours off the trip. A small voice in Ann's head whispered, What difference does it make if you're there, outside the building where Jessie is held? You can't do anything. But she refused to listen. She had to believe that once they were there, they'd think of something. Jessie needed them and they were coming. During the drive to the SeaTac airport, she repeated everything the college president had told her, as closely as she could remember. Jack interjected with a few terse questions. She saw that his knuckles were white, his fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. He drove with near-reckless speed, and she leaned forward against her seatbelt, wanting him to go faster. He parked at the airport and they raced in, barely making it through security in time to join the tail end of the line to board their flight. The time before the plane began to inch away from the gate was agonizing for Ann. She heard a small, muffled sound, and realized a whimper had

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escaped her. Jack's big hand closed over hers, and she returned his clasp as the plane slowly taxied to the runway. Faster. Please, faster. "How long since we've held hands?" he asked, unexpectedly. Torn from her silent effort to will the pilot to take off, Ann looked down at their entwined hands. "I..." She shook her head. "I don't know. A long time." She felt self-conscious suddenly, but didn't withdraw her hand. Nor did Jack let go of hers. "Maybe if we'd held hands more often..."

Chapter 7: "How could we? You were never around." The moment the acid words were out, she regretted them. This was no time for recriminations. They couldn't change the past. For Jessie, they needed to be able to depend on each other. "I'm sorry," she said. Jack shook his head. "No, you're right." "We've said everything. There's no point in repeating ourselves." He looked at her, eyes grave. "Did we say everything? It seems to me the problem was that we quit talking." "I guess we just didn't care enough to bother." Pain squeezed her heart. "Jack, can we not do this? Not now?" His eyes closed for a moment, and then he nodded. "You're right. My turn to be sorry, Ann." "It's okay," she whispered. He searched her face for another minute, and she wondered what he was thinking. But he said only, "Thank God, we're taking off." The plane began its rush forward, followed by the improbable moment of becoming airborne. During the steep climb, Ann let go of Jack's hand to grip her armrests. Hold on, Jessie. We're coming. They had leveled off and the flight attendant had begun to serve drinks before Jack said, "I saw her last week." "I know. She called a couple of nights ago. I was thinking about her, and the phone rang." Ann smiled with difficulty. "She's always had a gift that way." "I remember. No letter from her at summer camp, and you were ready to go charging up there." "And the phone rang." Ann laughed, but tears also stung her eyes. "She said, 'Mom, I can feel you worrying. Quit, already!'" "She knows you too well."

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Ann shook her head. "Dani does, too, but she doesn't sense things...at least not like Jessie does." He was silent for a moment, his forehead furrowed. "Do you think she knows we're on our way?" "Oh, yes." She had no doubt. "Mommy and Daddy to the rescue."

Chapter 8: Both shook their head when the flight attendant paused to ask what they'd like to drink. "Nothing, thank you," Jack said. She turned to the passengers seated across the aisle. "She called me Daddy the other day." Jack's voice was gravelly. "It...got to me. I realized neither of the girls have called me that in a long time." "No." Ann was the one, this time, to reach for his hand. "I haven't heard Mommy in years." His grip hurt, it was so tight, but she didn't mind. When was the last time he'd needed anything from her, even so minor as a reassuring hand to hold? "I didn't even think about it, but...did you call Dani?" Their oldest went to school in southern California. "No. I thought, what's the point? If we have to..." She stopped, unable to go on. Jack swore. "We won't have to. Not the way you're thinking. I won't let that bastard hurt my little girl." The girls had always believed their daddy walked on water. Right this minute, Jessie might be thinking, Once Daddy is here... But what could Jack do? Desperation ran cold through her. What could she do? She and Jack hadn't even been able to save their marriage! Twenty-four years, and they'd given up. They hadn't even been able to make it to their silver wedding anniversary. Didn't that prove they weren't Supermom and dad? "Will you call?" she said suddenly. "Find out if..." Her throat closed. If anything had changed. If Jessie was still "okay." Jack nodded and reached for the air phone provided by the airline. She took the number from her purse that the college president had given her, then sat rigid while he dialed and had a brief conversation. At the end, he shook his head at her. "Still a standoff." Tears wet her face. "Oh, Jack. I want..." She didn't have to finish. "I want, too," he said roughly.

Chapter 9:

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For Jessie to be safe. No, more than that: to go back to a time when their family was together and safe, before the house had gotten so quiet. Jack had declined the college president's offer to have them met at the airport. He rented a car and they drove straight to the administrative building. The last time I was here, Ann thought in a daze, I was dropping Jessie off for fall semester. Not with her husband, the way she had the year before, but alone, a single mother. Now...now, her daughter was being held hostage by a crazy ex-college employee who wanted to make some kind of point she didn't understand. And after they'd agreed to separate after twentyfour years of marriage, Ann was seeing Jack for the first time in nine months because their youngest daughter needed them. They went straight to the student union, where the standoff was taking place. Jack parked a couple of blocks away, well back from the police cordon, and they walked. The sight of a dozen police cars, SWAT team members dressed in black and heavily armed, and even - oh God! what she knew must be a sniper atop the science building shook Ann to her core. Jack's arm closed around her and he said a profanity she'd never heard him use. She understood. She'd been frightened, but in her heart had thought they could do something. But this scene was out of a television drama. How could it be real? Nineteen-year-old Jessie inside, held by a man with a bomb? They spotted Nelson Shields, the lanky college president with blond hair turning to silver, talking to a group of people. When they saw him begin to walk away, they hurried to catch up. Ann remembered thinking he was almost too smooth. Now the ragged edges showed. After they introduced themselves, he began, "A negotiator has opened talks with Lansky." "Who is this man?" Jack asked.

Chapter 10: "A janitor. He was caught going through a student's drawers in her dorm room, and, of course, we fired him." He shook his head. "You never expect anything like this." "What is it he wants?" Ann was trembling. "He has yet to make any demands." Jack was staring past him at the low, stuccoed building. "How is he guarding the whole student union building?" The president turned, too. "He isn't. He's got the post office." He pointed, and Ann remembered that the student union was actually four wings surrounding a courtyard. "There's no access from inside the other wings," the college president continued. "Only from the street side and the courtyard. The windows are few and tiny. Unfortunately," he sounded thoughtful, "the building is ideal for holding the SWAT team off." That first fall, Ann had gone with her when Jessie collected the combination for her mail box. Now she pictured the long, skinny front room, little more than a corridor lined by old-fashioned mailboxes, interrupted by one door where students asked for packages too big to fit in their boxes.

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It was apparently in that back area where the enraged ex-janitor held the students. "We think he has them locked in the small room at the end where supplies are stored and packages kept secure. No windows. He claims he has a bomb rigged to go off. He says he has a gun, too." For the first time, Ann saw the cluster of other couples, the women crying, the men embracing their wives. Other parents. "How many students are in there?" she whispered. "We believe he holds eleven. It was just bad luck, bad timing for the students who were picking up mail." "Oh, no." Ann pressed her hand to her mouth. "I sent her a care package." Jack's arm tightened around her. "It's not your fault." "No, but if I hadn't..."

Chapter 11: He swung her to face him. "Ann, you sent her a package out of love. Don't think for a second you're to blame. Maybe the damn thing hasn't even come! Maybe Jessie just walked a friend over to check her box." Ann drew a ragged breath. "Yes. You're right. Maybe it hasn't come. I didn't mail it until Monday." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then drew back. "We can't do anything, can we?" he asked the president. "It's in the hands of the negotiator. If you want to join the other parents over there -" he nodded toward the tableau on the lawn, well back from the cordon "-the lieutenant is giving regular updates." Jack nodded abruptly and, hand on Ann's back, guided her toward the group of other parents. The college had set up chairs in small groups and a long table - the kind they used for parent weekend lunches - held a coffee urn, tubs full of sodas and water bottles, and even food that looked untouched. A few other parents greeted them. No one, it seemed, knew any more than Jack and Ann did. She counted, and realized that not every hostage's parents had yet arrived. Langdon College was a nationally ranked liberal arts school, with students from virtually every state. Imagine if she'd lived in Boston when she got that morning's call. "How can we do nothing but wait?" Jack asked, as soon as they were alone. Staring at the student union, Ann said, "It's almost worse here, isn't it?" He nodded. "Somehow I spent the morning focused on getting here. I had a goal." "That's exactly it," she agreed, grateful to have her despair put into words. "As long as there was something to do..."

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"We could hold on." He moved his shoulders in a way she recognized as his attempt to ease unbearable tension. "Do you want a cup of coffee?"

Chapter 12: "Coffee?" How mundane that sounded! Ann shook her head no. "Maybe later. It's nice of them to provide it." "Nice?" Jack's voice was savage. "We pay them $40,000 a year to keep our daughter safe, remember?" "That's not fair," she said. "That's not what we pay them for." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You're right. Funny, I didn't like it when Jessie looked at Columbia. New York City. She'd get mugged, she'd get..." He broke off. "I was so relieved when she chose Clackamas." Ann touched his hand. "We can't keep them safe forever, Jack. No matter how hard we try." His face was ravaged. "But that's my job!" "No. Your job was to love the girls, and you did." She could say that without reservation; he'd been a wonderful father. Just not a wonderful husband. "Something's happening," he said suddenly. He was right. There was a stir in the police lines, raised voices. Another hostage's mother gasped. Ann reached for Jack even as he reached for her. From the crowd on the other side of the cordon, a SWAT team member glanced toward the parents, then began to come forward, face grim. "Somehow he caught sight of the sniper on the roof," the police lieutenant told the gathered parents. "He's threatening to kill a student if we don't pull him off." "You're doing as he asks, aren't you?" someone begged. "We've had some dispute, but...yes. We don't believe he really wants to kill anyone. We're just going to wait him out." Ann listened with disbelief. Somehow she'd wandered into a television drama, only this was real. Despite the nine months since they'd separated, it felt natural to be standing close to Jack, to feel his hand resting on her lower back. A high-powered attorney, somehow he'd never found time for her once they had children, but she'd always known that in other ways she could depend on him.

Chapter 13: The lieutenant went back to the police line and the parents of the student hostages huddled to discuss, with an edge of hysteria, whether the police were competent and how irresponsible the college had been not to recognize such a border-line personality in one of their own employees.

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They were scared, just as Ann and Jack were. Eventually the group drifted apart, and the two of them found lawn chairs set up by the school under the shade of an enormous old maple tree. It was just one of the trees that made the campus so beautiful, along with the hundred-year-old clock tower and the ivy-covered brick buildings. "Aren't they replacing the student union building?" Jack asked. Ann nodded. "This one is way too small. It doesn't fit architecturally, either. They've actually broken ground, over beyond the tennis courts." If the new SUB had been open this fall, she couldn't help thinking, this janitor - Lansky, was that his name? - might not have been able to hold so many students so readily. He couldn't have barricaded himself in the way he had here. Jack appeared lost in his thoughts. Perhaps fifteen minutes went by before he said, "Their births, Jessie's and Dani's, were two of the most amazing days of my life." Her eyes stung. "Mine, too." "I remember thinking, we did this. You and I." She'd thought the same, not knowing that the extraordinary feat of having two beautiful, smart, funny, affectionate daughters would also spell the end of the closeness that she and Jack had shared. But she couldn't say, What went wrong? We were so in love. They'd already given up, she and Jack. They couldn't stay in love, but they could continue to be the parents they'd always been. "I thought I was scared when Jessie took the header off her bike that time. Remember?" How could she forget. "That neighbor boy came screaming up the driveway. She was unconscious on the sidewalk."

Chapter 14: "I blamed myself for taking the training wheels off too soon," Jack said. Ann stared at him. "I didn't know that. I was wailing, and you just took charge. Like always." His mouth twisted. "I can't stand not to be in control. You know that. But that doesn't mean I'm not afraid...freaking out underneath." "You've always been so strong." He grunted, his gaze on the police line and the low, white building beyond. "All pretence. God, Ann - how could you of all people not know how scared I was underneath?" Shaken, she asked, "How could I know, if you never told me? I always thought..." She shook her head. "I think I fell in love with you in the first place because you were so sure of your values and what you wanted out of life. You never got rattled!" A small laugh choked her. "Except when I told you on the way to the hospital that I thought Jessie was coming right that minute." His head turned, and his blue eyes met hers. "I've never driven so fast in my life." Ann frowned, hearing what she'd just said. "Is that why you never admitted to being as vulnerable

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as the rest of us? Because you thought that's why I loved you?" "You just said as much. It is why you loved me." "It's one of a million reasons why I loved you! And honestly..." She paused. What an odd time to be telling each other such truths. "I admired your self-control, but sometimes I wanted so much to see it shatter. I hated being so emotional in comparison. And then sometimes I wondered..." She stopped. His narrowed gaze fixed intently on her face. "You wondered?" he prodded. "Whether you loved me as much as I did you." Oh, Lord, she thought in shock. That's why she hadn't been more surprised by his gradual withdrawal from their former closeness after the girls were born. Maybe, deep inside, she'd always believed she wouldn't be able to hold on to him forever.

Chapter 15: "Oh, I loved you as much." His voice was husky. "So much, I was a coward. You could admit to being vulnerable. I never could." "Why are you telling me this now?" she asked, straight out. He grimaced, tiredness around his eyes. "This," he said simply, gesturing toward the police cordon. "For once, I'm too damned scared to pretend." "Oh, Jack," Ann whispered. "What if...?" "No what-ifs!" he said, gritting his teeth. "These negotiators are good at what they do. They'll talk this guy out." "If he gives her half a chance, Jessie will talk him into surrendering." Some of the strain on Jack's lean face lightened. "You know she's talking." Saying Jessie never quit talking was an old family joke. She'd been an incredible chatterbox as a preschooler, and into her teenage years had even talked in her sleep. "And she has such a kind heart." Ann looked toward the building, where her daughter was in danger. "She undoubtedly feels sorry for him, despite everything." "She probably does, doesn't she?" Jack's hand came out to grip hers with bruising strength. "God, Ann. How will we survive if things go wrong?" We? They hadn't survived, not as a unit. How would she survive? How would he? She didn't know. She didn't let either her voice or gaze falter. "You're the one who said no what-ifs, remember? We have to have faith." His eyes were red-rimmed. "I lost my faith when I lost you fifteen years ago." Stunned, she said, "What are you talking about?"

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"Isn't that when you quit giving a damn?" They stared at each other. "I thought," she said carefully, "that's when you quit giving a damn." Jack and Ann sat on white plastic chairs in the dappled shade under a maple tree, waiting while a police negotiator tried to persuade the crazed ex-employee of the college to release their daughter.

Chapter 16: Only fear could have gotten them talking like this. Could have made Jack Gordon talk about feelings he'd buried for fifteen years or more. "You changed, Ann. You shut me out," he insisted. Her mouth actually fell open. "I shut you out! How could I shut out someone who was never home?" "Do you know how tough it was to walk out of the office because Jessie had a T-ball game? To pick up Dani from jazz dance? I was afraid I was sacrificing the chance to make partner, but you all of you - were more important." Wondering what alternate universe she'd wandered into, Ann retorted, "I've never said you weren't a great dad. You were. Are. But all of your free time was for the girls. Sure, you could take a couple of hours off to referee a basketball game. You just couldn't manage it so we could have an evening out by ourselves. Most of the time, you got home after I'd gone to bed and left before I was up. The only way I could see you was to schedule another activity for Dani or Jessie!" His voice rose. "I couldn't do both! You made it pretty damn clear that their events weren't optional." "I made it clear?" She sounded like an idiot, echoing him again, but she was too stupefied to do anything else. Now everything was her fault? "They were always counting on their daddy being there. You'd be sure I knew that." He was agitated enough to stand, walk a couple of steps away, turn back to face her. He'd left his suit jacket in the car and had now tugged his tie loose and unbuttoned the throat of his white dress shirt. Her dark-haired, blue-eyed husband had never looked handsomer than he did now, jaw muscles knotted, mouth compressed. "Geez, Ann! If I couldn't make it, I'd know I wasn't measuring up in your eyes."

Chapter 17: "What are you talking about? I knew you couldn't get away sometimes. I never expected you to say, 'Your Honor, can we recess at two o'clock this afternoon? My five-year-old has a school play.' That's why I stayed home for so many years!" Jack's expression softened. "You were a great mother. I just got the distinct impression that my only worth in your eyes was as the breadwinner and father. I wanted to matter with you, Ann, even if that was the only way I could do it." They both knew they were revisiting arguments they'd already had. It all seemed so petty, when

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their nineteen-year-old daughter's life was threatened by a nut with a bomb, but Ann could no more have stopped herself from arguing than she could have stayed home in Mercer Island instead of flying down here to be as close to Jessie as she could be. Ann said hotly, "I'm not the one who could never seem to make an anniversary dinner. The one who shut himself in his den every night the minute the girls went to bed." Jack shoved his hands in his pants pockets, perhaps to hide the fact they were fisted. "Those first years in the firm were killers. We both knew they would be. But we wanted financial success. And we didn't want to have to wait to have a family. How the hell did you think I could do everything?" "I didn't ask for everything! Just a little piece of you. I wanted you to talk about your day. Tell me you thought I was beautiful, like you used to." His eyes burned into Ann's. "I never quit wanting you. You know that." Okay, she did; their sex life had stayed active until those last months, when the silence between them made reaching for each other awkward. After a moment, Jack rubbed a hand over his face, then swung away. "Damn it. I'm going to go find out what's happening."

Chapter 18: He strode away before she could respond, and she was glad to see him go. She needed a minute to...well, process what he'd said. And what he'd implied. Besides, she, too, was painfully aware that over an hour had passed since the SWAT team lieutenant had last come to update the parents who waited a safe distance back from the police cordon. "We'll wait him out," he'd said the last time, but for how long? Ann didn't know which was worse: to continue to wait, the suspense excruciating, or to see the SWAT team prepare for an assault that might scare the guy into triggering the bomb. Another father stood and followed Jack. Ann realized the other parents hadn't huddled the way she might have expected; instead, like Jack and Ann, they had separated into couples that clung together. The effort of talking to strangers was too much. Ann wondered if any of the others were divorced, or even separated, like she and Jack were. And yet, of course, there was no one else she'd want beside her right now, while they waited to learn Jessie's fate. When he came back with the other man, Jack spoke with the habit of authority, his raised voice carrying to every anxious mother and father. "They're talking with the guy. He's fluctuating between threats and remorse or just fear of what he's gotten himself into, the negotiator isn't sure. He's encouraging the remorse, soothing him when he threatens." "What if he doesn't have a bomb at all?" someone asked. Jack's voice roughened. "They secured a search warrant for his house. They found components and feel sure he did construct one." Another father, balding, bearded and skinny, stood. "Do these guys even know for sure that our kids are alive?"

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"Half an hour ago, they got him to hold the phone up and they heard muffled yells, so they think they're okay."

Chapter 19: "You mean, some of them are okay," the balding man said. He'd said only what they were all thinking. In the silence that followed, everyone seemed to shrink back into themselves, the momentary cohesion dissolving. Jack rejoined Ann. "I need to say one final thing. About us. Our marriage," she said. He waited, standing in front of her, his expression closed. She lifted her chin. "I never cared that much about financial success. I would have rather had more of you and less money." "You never knew what it was like to have less money." Jack's voice was harsh. "I did." "So at least be honest. It was you who wanted that more than you wanted to spend time with me or Jessie and Dani." He made a strangled sound of frustration. "Don't you get it, Ann? I didn't give a damn about myself! I just didn't want you ending up like my mother." "You gave up our life together so I wouldn't end up a poor widow?" In disbelief, Ann shook her head. "My father died of a heart attack when he was forty-eight. You know that. Did it ever occur to you my health - hereditarily speaking - may not be so hot?" "I... You eat right." Her voice was thin, thready. "Your cholesterol has always been fine. And your blood pressure." "He had no warning, either. My mother had to work two jobs to finish raising us kids. She'd hide it from us, but once in a while her exhaustion and despair showed. Being sure you were okay, the girls were okay, even if I dropped dead... Of course that mattered." She stood slowly. "Jack, why didn't you ever say?" "Oh, I said. You just didn't listen." "Jack," she whispered. "Water under the bridge." His voice had become distant again. "You were right. This isn't the time or place." "But..." "We've got to eat. I'll get us sandwiches." He walked away, leaving her shocked and, once again, silenced.

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But, oh, in such a different way. Maybe this wasn't the ideal time or place. But somehow, they'd never found either, not even when they were still living together. The grounds of the college could be their only place; Jessie's hours of peril their only time. Hour dragged into hour. Ann went no farther than the nearby science building to use the bathroom. She had to be there, outside the college student union building, to be as close to Jessie as possible. Most of the activity took place in the van where the negotiator huddled with a telephone and spoke to the enraged ex-employee. How do you negotiate with someone like that? she wondered. Did you lie, tell him he could walk out and go back to his life? Or would even that not be incentive, when that life had been wretched enough to drive him to this terrible act? As many as fifty to hundred college students stood outside the perimeter and stared, too including Jessie's roommate, who approached Ann and Jack. Dark-haired Mara, from Hawaii, rushed to give Ann a hug. Her brown eyes filled with tears. "I'm so scared!" "We are, too," Ann whispered. "I didn't know... I was afraid you were in there, too." The nineteen-year-old shook her head. "I was in class. I didn't even hear about this for a couple of hours!" She sat and talked with them for a while about Jessie - what she'd been doing, thinking, reading, studying. "I don't know how she's ever going to decide what to major in. She loves her calculus class and her American lit class. Nobody, like nobody, loves both!" Ann laughed, in a watery way. "I sure didn't love calculus." "She never gets tired. Did you know she's playing rugby this fall?" In surprise, Jack said, "What about soccer?" "Rugby is only intramural so far," Ann said. "She just wanted to try it. Somehow, she's managed to do both."

Chapter 21: Managed. That sounded so terribly past tense. But she didn't want to correct herself, to remind Jack and Mara that Jessie might never get to manage anything again. "The rugby teams really get into it." Mara sounded awed. "But she's, like, fearless." Involuntarily, all three looked toward the long, low building where Jessie was now held hostage, threatened by a man with his finger on the trigger of a bomb. Their golden girl, who'd always skated through life, cheerful, gifted and popular, had to be afraid, to have discovered she wasn't immune from disaster. Ann wished she'd never had to discover any such thing. After Mara left, Ann said, "She's a nice girl. Jessie was lucky to get her as a roommate."

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Please, please, let Jessie be lucky again. Jack read her mind. "Jessie has always floated above every potential swamp. It sure made Dani mad." Ann gave another of those laughs that felt as if it could become a sob so easily. "Dani always claimed Jessie was going to grow up and become a con artist, because she never got caught in her lies." A grin pulled at Jack's mouth. "She did have a gift." His smile died. "Does. Does have a gift." Now he was doing it, too. "Jessie's okay." Ann didn't know if she believed herself, but she wanted to. "She's strong." "Yeah. She's an amazing kid." He met Ann's eyes. "She's a lot like her mother." Warmth in her chest, she said, "And her father. Maybe more like you, so sure of herself. I always thought she'd end up an attorney like you." "We've already established that I'm not that sure of myself," he reminded her. "I guess I'm having a little trouble believing that." She gave him a tremulous smile. "I was so astonished that you ever even looked at me. I suppose I never quite understood why you fell in love with me."

Chapter 22: "In the first place, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." His own smile was wry. "A cliché, but true. And then I found out you were also smart and empathetic. And your art! You shouldn't have quit painting, Ann." She shook her head. "I wasn't good enough to make it." "There you go again, undervaluing yourself. You could sketch a face and tell me more about that person than I ever would have seen with my own eyes. You're extraordinarily perceptive, Ann, in a world of people more interested in themselves than in anyone else." His compliment brought equal measures of pleasure and grief. "Perceptive?" she said. "When apparently I never understood you at all?" He turned his head away and stared toward the SUB. "Maybe I was a little afraid you'd see too much," he said quietly. "Maybe I was hiding." She shifted in her chair to look directly at him. "What were you hiding?" His voice wasn't his own; low and halting, he sounded younger, uncertain. "The fact that I was afraid I'd fail. That I'd be like my father and let you down, like he let my mother and us kids down." "But...you've told me wonderful stories about your dad," Ann said in perplexity. "About building go-karts and rock-hounding and coaching girls' softball for your sister's teams." Jack shrugged. "Through a kid's eyes, he was a perfect father. But, you know, he wasn't ambitious enough to ever rise in the hierarchy anywhere he worked. And then he got laid off a

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few months before his heart attack." Ann stared at him. "Jack, we all have strengths and weaknesses. Do you really believe that everything wonderful about him was negated because he wasn't hugely successful in the working world? Because he wasn't ambitious?" He turned to look at her, his expression troubled. "I think Mom grew to hate him. He died and left us poor. That's all she remembered."

Chapter 23: Ann liked his mother, but she was hearing about a far more bitter woman than the one she knew the one who had benefited from Jack's financial success. "Had he kept her from developing a career of her own?" "Well, women weren't as likely to have a career in those days. It was assumed she'd raise the kids, he'd bring home the paycheck." "My aunt Regina retired as an executive from GE." Aunt Reggie and Uncle Charlie had raised three kids, as well. "What are you saying?" Jack demanded. "That it was Mom's fault she didn't make enough money?" "I'm saying maybe it wasn't fair for her to put that burden of blame on your dad - to the point where you grew up believing your only significant role in life was to make enough money so your widow and children would be well off after you were gone." He shoved his fingers into his dark hair, wildly disheveling it. "God. When you put it that way..." "Maybe we're all programmed by our parents, by family stories, in ways we don't understand." "What about you?" Jack asked. "Why did you have trouble believing I could love you?" Astonished, she realized she didn't know. Why had she always felt so sure Jack would discover someday that she wasn't worthy of him? She'd just opened her mouth to speak when a bustle of activity on the police line brought both their heads around. "Oh, God," she whispered. "What's happening?" Warm and strong, Jack's hand closed on hers. "Maybe something good." The lieutenant, looking far more careworn than he had this morning, walked over to the parents, who all slowly stood, stiff and frightened. "We've had a break," he announced. "Our guy has agreed to release one student who can verify that they're all fine." Jack's hand almost crushed hers. Ann quit breathing. One student? Only one? She looked around and saw on the other faces the same wild hope she felt. Please. Let that one student be my child.

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Chapter 24: The man with the bomb was going to release only one of the eleven kids he held hostage in the student union building of the college. One. To speak for all the others - perhaps to be the only survivor of this horrific ordeal. Ann so desperately wanted Jessie to be that one, and yet she felt guilty for the depths of her prayers. If Jessie walked out, every other parent here would have equally powerful hopes crushed. As if caught in a dream, or a nightmare, they all followed the lieutenant to stand behind a police car with several SWAT team members dressed in black, wearing bullet-proof vests. Voices murmured and police radios crackled. "...out the back door." Another mother said, "The student's coming out on the other side of the building! I'm going there." She turned blindly. They all started behind her. Then, from one of the radios a man said, "No, wait! He thinks we've set a trap. They're coming out the front." As stupidly as sheep being herded by the snapping teeth of a dog, the parents all swung around again. Jack wrapped Ann in his arms, and she closed hers around his waist. They stood close, both their bodies twisted so they could see the door to the post office wing of the student union building. Nothing happened. The voices gradually died away until all that was left was the most awful hush. Everyone waited, stared, hoped and dreaded. Ann began to think she couldn't bear another minute. Another second. She heard a stifled sob, then felt as much as heard Jack's sharp intake of breath when the door opened a crack. There was another pause. No one so much as moved. Abruptly, the door swung open and a girl stumbled out and fell to her hands and knees. The door slammed shut and police swarmed forward, enveloping her and carrying her back to safety.

Chapter 25: Two of the parents gasped and rushed forward. Ann stood frozen, trying to reconcile the picture in her head of her Jessie - tall, athletic, blonde and pony-tailed, perhaps stumbling as she came out, but then running to her mother and father - with the snapshot her eyes had taken in of a petite girl with dark hair, short and spiky, and face blank with terror. "Not Jessie," Jack murmured, and Ann realized that once again they'd been thinking in sync. He, too, was having trouble accepting that another child was safe, not theirs. They waited until the lieutenant waved them over, at which point all the parents gathered around the sobbing girl, held in her father's arms. One of the police officers handed her a cloth and she mopped her face, then tried to compose herself. "Everyone is okay. He said to say that, and it's true. He hasn't hurt anyone. We were just so scared!" Names were called out. Bridget. Kirk. Aaron. Camille. She kept nodding her head yes. Everyone

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was fine. She didn't know all their names, but Kirk, he'd given her a drink from his water bottle, and Maureen had shared this bag of potato chips she'd just bought in the SUB cafe before checking her mail. "Jessie," Ann finally said, softly. Jack's arm tightened. The girl's face relaxed. "Jessie is awesome! She's been, like, talking to this guy?" Her voice rose as if it were a question. "Telling him the administration was mean to him, and we students would back him. You could tell he listened to her." A police officer said, "I thought you students were locked in the back room. How were you talking to him?" "He opened the door sometimes. At first he'd just rant. I think he wanted someone to talk to. You know? And then sometimes he'd stand right outside the door and talk to us through it." Finally, she was led away, tucked between her mom and dad. Like all the other parents, Jack and Ann were left standing there, side by side.

Chapter 26: "Jessie's okay," he said. "You heard her." "Why couldn't she be quiet?" Ann asked him. Begged. "Stay out of sight?" Sounding resigned, he said, "Because that wouldn't be Jessie. She's never let events control her." No, of course she couldn't do that, not their take-charge daughter. "This would be worse, in a way, if it were Dani," Jack added. Yes, it would, Ann realized. Not that she loved Jessie less or Dani more, but their older daughter had always been more timid. Jessie, if she walked out safe and sound - when she walked out would be less scarred, more able to regain her confidence. Dani's was more fragile to start with. Ann nodded and let him lead her back toward the two white plastic chairs that sat under the maple tree. "It's getting dark," he observed. Startled, she looked around. He was right. Dusk was settling, purple-gray. Within half an hour, darkness would cloak the campus. Ann and Jack sat and waited in silence. Evening brought a chill that raised goose bumps on her bare arms. Jack went to the car and returned with his suit jacket and a sweater she'd brought. The police set up floodlights, creating a shockingly white light that made the darkness beyond its edge seem denser. Ann could scarcely see Jack when she said, "My sister was Dad's favorite." "What?" His head turned toward her, although she couldn't make out his expression.

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"I think that's why I didn't believe someone as wonderful as you could possibly love me above everyone else. Because I always knew I was second best." "You've said that, and he did seem closer to Marjorie." Jack sounded thoughtful. "But you and he seem to have an okay relationship." "Oh, we do. Better, I think, once I was an adult, when I didn't need his approval so much. And it wasn't that he was mean or anything. It was more subtle than that. But I always knew. And Mom didn't have favorites, so I had nothing to balance it."

Chapter 27: "Thus you've always had good friendships with other women, but men were another story." The answer was so simple. How absurd that she'd never seen it before. On some Freudian level, Jack had stood in for her father. At last, miraculously, she'd been the favorite. She just hadn't believed it would last. "So you saw my long hours as waning interest," he continued, his familiar, well-loved voice close beside her in the darkness. "Yes." "Meantime, I was working so damned hard not to be my father, I didn't notice." They really hadn't known each other at all, Ann saw. Twenty-four years and two children together, and they'd misunderstood so much. His hand found hers. "We've been a pair of idiots, haven't we?" Despite the ache of fear under her breastbone, Ann felt a stirring of hope. Could she trust it? Trust Jack and herself? Especially if... No! She wouldn't think it. If she believed with all her heart that tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, she would be able to hold her youngest daughter in her arms again, then it must come true. She wouldn't think about how hard it would be for her and Jack to overcome that kind of tragedy. "I guess we have," she admitted. "And it took this to make us realize it." They both looked at the closed door, stark under the bright white lights. "Come out, come out," Jack murmured, with the sing-song intonation of the childhood game. Ann shivered. The police convinced all of the parents to go to hotel rooms the college had reserved for them to get some rest. The hostage-taker in the student union building apparently wanted to sleep. "He said he won't talk to us until morning, and he's going to sleep with his hand on the trigger." The SWAT team lieutenant looked weary.

Chapter 28:

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They all nodded, zombie-like, and allowed themselves to be steered to their cars. Jack drove in silence. When the room key was handed to him, he stared stupidly at it for a minute. "They only gave us one room. Do you want me to ask for a second room?" She shook her head. "I'd rather have you close if..." Her throat closed. He nodded. She didn't have to finish. If they call. If something happens. "Something," of course, was to remain undefined. The room had only one queen-sized bed. Ann didn't care. She brushed her teeth and loosely braided her hair but decided to sleep in her clothes. "In case," she said. Jack nodded again and removed only his shoes before he lay down on the bed beside her. "This has been one hell of a day, hasn't it?" She had to laugh, in a shaky way. "That's an understatement! I don't know if I can take another one like it." He rolled onto his side so he could see her. "You'll take as many as you have to. I bet you'd storm the building if you could. You've always been amazingly fierce when it came to protecting the kids." "But in the end, I can't do anything to save Jessie." Her eyes filled with tears for the first time in many hours. She hadn't even cried when another student was released instead of their Jessie. He reached for her, and as naturally as if they hadn't been separated for nine months, Ann went into his arms, her head finding its place on his broad shoulder. Mouth against her hair, he murmured, "Let yourself cry, love." "I want Jessie here!" she wailed, clutching his shirt front. "Not...not..." Tears poured out, hot and salty. He kept smoothing her hair back from her face, wiping her wet cheeks, saying soft words that were exactly what she needed to hear. In the end, worn down, she lay limp against him. "Crying without you was hard," she whispered. "I mean, when you left."

Chapter 29: "I don't know what I was thinking." His arms tightened. "Ann...can we try again?" She drew back, knowing her eyes were puffy and her face a mess but not caring. "Can you forgive me for pushing you away?" "Is that what you did?" "I think..." Ann bit her lip. "I think I used the kids to hold on to you. I thought you wouldn't leave me if you were involved enough in their lives." A spasm of pain crossed his face. "Didn't we ever talk, even in the beginning?" "Maybe." She tried to smile. "Maybe we did talk, and just didn't listen."

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He made a rough sound in his throat and kissed her. Not with passion, although she knew he felt it for her, but with thanksgiving. "I love you, Ann. I never stopped." "Me, either." Her eyes welled with tears she had thought were spent. "We can go back to the beginning, and start again." They kissed some more, and whispered to each other until Ann abruptly fell asleep, midword. When she awakened as suddenly and heard the deep, even breathing of someone else, she tensed, then remembered everything. Jack, her love. Jessie. Oh, God, Jessie. Her eyes focused on the clock. It was 6:30 a.m. Gray light filtered around the window drapes. She moved, and Jack woke instantly. "Did someone call?" "No." "Let's clean up and go see what's happening." They parked again, seeing a scene virtually unchanged from the day before: a picturesque college campus marred by the police cordon surrounding the SUB. College officials had brought coffee and a continental breakfast. After hearing that the negotiator hadn't yet spoken to the man inside, Ann let Jack persuade her into nibbling on a muffin. She seemed unable to taste, but knew she had to eat to stay strong. The other parents filtered back, gathering around the coffee urn. Ann listened to snatches of conversation. "Have you heard anything?"

Chapter 30: "I dreamed the students overwhelmed him. I saw it clear as day, this swarm of them enveloping him." They all heard a phone ring and turned in unison. It was in the SWAT team van. Through the open door, they could see the negotiator, a tall man with graying hair, talk on the phone. The conversation was brief. He hung up, spoke to the officers with him, and a buzz seemed to pass along the line of police officers. A coffee cup dropped from one mother's hand onto the lawn. No one reacted. The lieutenant came toward them, his face telling them he had good news. "He says none of this is the students' fault, and he's coming out." They all broke into speech at once. He held up his hand. "That's all we know." The babble of voices broke off when the door behind which their sons and daughters had been held hostage for nearly twenty-four hours opened. Guns were leveled, but the first person out was

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a young woman. Behind her crowded other students. Ann searched for Jessie's bright blond head and saw her, right in the middle - next to the dumpy man with stubble on his jaw who had to be their captor. The police rushed forward, and for a moment the students stood their ground, protecting the former janitor who had taken them captive. Then they parted, the police handcuffed the small, frightened man who looked incapable of inciting so much fear, and hustled him away. The students' heads turned. "Mom?" one of them said. "Mom, Dad!" another cried. They raced to their parents. "Jessie!" Ann met her halfway, more tears flowing. Jack's arms came around both of them, and they stood locked together, mother and daughter crying. No, Ann saw with a peek, all crying. Even Jack. "You're here!" their nineteen-year-old daughter sniffed at last. "Both of you. I knew you would be." "We've been so scared," Ann said.

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The Italian MD's Secret Family by Alison Roberts One night of passion can have great consequences. Four years ago, Belinda Smith met an Italian doctor and was instantly enchanted by the fairy-tale he offered. But the next day, circumstances kept them apart and she was forced to return to England alone—and pregnant. Mario Antonelli has been trying to forget the beautiful English nurse for the last four years, attempting to bury the hurt and mistrust she caused him—not to mention the passion they shared. But that becomes impossible when a terrible bus crash brings them face-to-face and brings everything back: the pain, the anger, the deceit—and the desire….

Chapter One “Noooo!” A horrified whisper, but it had been loud enough to be heard because a small, trusting face turned up towards Belinda’s. “Mummy?” But there was not enough time to do anything more than gather her small daughter, Gemma, more firmly into her arms and to lean forward and brace herself against the seat in front the way they told you to for an aircraft emergency. Belinda registered the horror in the face of her best friend, Lizzy, who sat beside her with Gemma’s twin brother on her lap. “Brace yourself,” Belinda ordered tersely. As Belinda ducked her head to wedge her body sideways and shield as much of three-year-old Gemma as she could, she caught a glimpse of the white-faced driver fighting for control of the huge bus. Someone behind her screamed as the bus began to tip. Belinda had actually seen this nightmare coming. She’d watched as another car came towards them on the narrow Italian mountain road, felt the wheels of the bus bite into the soft ground of the shoulder as the driver made extra room. Had the heavy rain they’d experienced yesterday driving north from Rome affected the stability of the road surface? Or was a large bus full of vacationers simply too much weight? Not that it mattered why—the bus was about to go over the side of the cliff. “Hold tight, darling!” “Mummeeee!” “It’s all right.” The reassurance was automatic—you couldn’t be involved in emergency medicine like Belinda Smith was without developing an ability to dispense comfort irrespective of how afraid you might be of the outcome yourself. Yes, the bus was sliding down the side of a mountain, tipping into a slow roll—but they couldn’t be about to die.

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Not now, surely? Not when the decision to make this journey had been so hard. A journey that was all about bringing her precious children to visit the country that represented half of their heritage. To come this far only to lose them? No! It wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t! The sound of screams, screeching metal and luggage crashing reached a crescendo that seemed caught in time but probably only lasted seconds. It gave way to an eerie silence. “Lizzy? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” “I…think so. My ankle’s a bit sore, that’s all.” “Stef? Are you okay, darling?” “I’m…squashed. Auntie Lizzy’s squashing me, Mummy.” “Gemma? It’s all right, honey. Don’t cry.” “Are you all right, Belinda?” asked her friend Lizzy. “Yes.” Belinda pulled her feet from under the seat in front and rolled carefully onto her knees. She loosened the hold she had on her daughter only to feel the small arms tighten around her neck. “Mummy!” “I’m not going anywhere, darling. I just want to stand up so I can see what’s happening and make sure you’re not hurt. Is anything sore?” “Nooo.”

“Everything’s almost upside down, Mummy. Look! We’re standing on a window!” Stefano had demonstrated a scientific interest in the world around him ever since he could talk and Belinda had often wondered if his father had been like that. What would Mario think right now? If he knew she had placed his children in danger?

If he knew his children existed? It was strange that any thought of the twins’ father would surface at such an inappropriate time. Or was it? The guilt was never far away. Thoughts of Mario were never far away, either, and it had been impossible not to think of him more now that they were here in his country. For once, however, it was easy to dismiss such thinking. Other people were starting to move around them. “Help!” someone groaned. “Please…help me!” Helping people was something Belinda could do. The worst had happened and the people she loved most were safe. It was time to help others.

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Chapter Two The bright orange helicopter hovered over the scene, though it was a late arrival amongst the impressive deployment of police, fire and ambulance. The tall man beside the pilot wore the same orange boiler suit of the paramedics in the back of the aircraft but the fluorescent label on his uniform bore the insignia of “Dottore” and his designated backpack contained equipment and drugs a step above those carried by even the most advanced paramedics. It was unusual for an emergency department consultant to be aboard a rescue helicopter, but Dr. Mario Antonelli was different. As the medical director of the air rescue division of the ambulance service, this was precisely the kind of frontline medicine he was interested in. Passionate about, in fact. He’d done his time years ago, flying into treacherous scenes to pioneer improved methods to save lives. Now, as the director, he didn’t often fly to the scene, but this job had been so serious it warranted a call-out. A whole busload of English tourists had careened off the road and rolled at least half a mile down the side of a cliff. Mario closed his eyes for a brief moment as the helicopter landed on the road. He was sending a silent plea to any higher powers that no children had been involved. He would deal with it if he had to, of course—he’d learned long ago to cope with that kind of heartbreak. He’d just prefer not to ever have to do it again. The scene commander was waiting to brief Mario as soon as he straightened from his stooped stride from beneath the still-turning helicopter rotors. “Current situation?” “Everyone on the bus has been accounted for. Two status two patients already evacuated. Woman trapped by a seat in the back of the bus. Injuries look serious. Leg appears to be crushed or broken. Fire service is setting up cutting gear to free her.” “Dio!” Mario was forced then to turn his attention to getting down the steep cliff, glad of the ropes someone had snaked down the incline to ease the descent of the rescue workers. At the bottom, Mario turned to survey the devastation of the bus crash. Shards of glass were everywhere and the bus now rested on its side, the metal bent and twisted and the tires in shreds. But Mario didn’t care about the bus—his job was to save the woman trapped inside it. “I hope they know not to shift anything until I can assess the patient. Who’s with her now?” “A paramedic. And an English nurse who’s apparently part of a specialized rescue squad in London. Belinda someone.” An English nurse called Belinda? It had to be a coincidence. Not that it mattered anyway, he told himself ruthlessly. How could it, when it was just a memory and there were things in the present that required his urgent attention. Work was always the best distraction. A large window on the side of the bus must have been the emergency exit that most of the passengers had escaped from. Mario passed his backpack up and then climbed into the bus through the window. The front of the long vehicle was relatively unscathed but the rest was twisted around a tree. Seats were bent and

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hanging from their moorings in places, a sea of personal belongings cluttered the floor space and a clear area was slippery with blood. The trapped patient was in a corner at the back, completely obscured by the rescue workers. Even as the fire service officers cutting through crumpled metal stepped aside for Mario, he could see nothing due to the heavy plastic sheet protecting the injured woman and the emergency workers from debris. A paramedic appeared first as the sheet was removed. Judging by the awed expression on the young man’s face, he recognized Mario. Not that he was remotely interested in being famous right now. “What’s the situation?” he asked the medic. But it was the nurse who spoke—in English. “GCS is dropping. Margaret? Can you hear me?” Mario responded automatically in the same language. “Vital signs?” “She’s tachycardiac. Heart rate is one hundred and forty. Tachypnoeic. Respiration rate thirty-six. Blood pressure’s dropping. We’ve given her two litres of saline already.” The nurse hadn’t turned around because she was clearly pressing on an unseen wound beneath the twisted metal, trying to control blood loss by pressure. But she didn’t need to turn around for Mario to recognize her. If that tumble of auburn hair that gleamed with copper lights even in this dim light hadn’t been enough, that soft voice was unmistakable. It was impossible to stop the single, shocked word from escaping—“Bella!”

Chapter Three Bella. Only one person had ever transformed her name like that. Turned something that was round and plain and ordinary into something special. Something beautiful. Belinda fought the urge to turn around. Her arm was at full stretch through a small gap of tangled metal, her hand holding a gauze pad that was pressing on a bleed that had been life-threatening and still wasn’t well controlled. She dared not move. Not even twitch. And did she really want to? If she turned, she would see those dark eyes and spiky black hair—and the lines on his face etched by laughter and concern for others. A combination of beauty, power and warmth that she knew she would still find irresistible. “Belinda,” she said curtly, without moving a muscle. Would it make things easier to pretend she had no idea who was crouched behind her? “Belinda Smith. I’m a nurse with a flying squad in London.” Carlos, the paramedic whose English was excellent and who had welcomed Belinda’s assistance, spoke up. “This is Dr. Mario Antonelli, Belinda. He’s the—how do you say it? The ‘top dog’ for our emergency rescue service.” “Oh?” It was easy to sound like she had no idea who he was. It was the first time she had heard his surname, after all. From long experience, she had developed the ability to segment her focus so that she could care for her patient and still be able to process something entirely different—like Mario. Like the memory of a time when

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she had been desperate to know that surname. To have some way of tracing the man who had just become a father. And she could still hear him whispering that deliciously foreign, unique version of her name into her ear. Bella. That had been the spark, hadn’t it? The moment that had captured Belinda in that first chance encounter. The first tick of the clock that had measured such a brief time in her life—less than a whole day—but a day that could never be forgotten because for that stretch of time, more than just her name had been perfect. Life had been perfect. A romantic fairy-tale that had no hope of a happy ending. But she’d been stupid enough to dream. Mario’s voice brought her full attention back to the patient. He spoke curtly without using her name. “What can you tell me about the injuries?” “Not enough. It was bleeding too fast to see much. Deep laceration and possible fracture. I can feel either bone or a foreign object on the side of the wound and that’s what’s making it difficult to stop the bleeding completely.” “Lower limb baselines?” A very reasonable query. You couldn’t know how severe an injury to a limb was without assessing the vascular and neurological supply beyond the trauma. “Not accessible.” Her response was as clipped as his question. Would he criticize her care? Even if she had been able to see past the obstruction of the crumpled seat, the priority had been to control blood loss. Mario moved closer and the beam of his powerful flashlight became stronger. Then he turned and rapid-fire conversations in Italian began that Belinda couldn’t hope to follow. But she also couldn’t help waiting for each burst of Mario’s voice. He was still so close to her. Almost close enough to be touching. How could her awareness of his proximity still be so strong after all this time? The aura that she’d felt the moment they met was still there—an awareness of him that gained intensity the closer he was. A feeling that simmered and sparked and became white-hot when physical touch was involved. Like right now, when his hand touched her bare arm. And something inside Belinda simply melted.

Chapter Four Dio! That single touch was enough to drag Mario back in time. Her skin felt like no other’s. There was a life to it. A spark. It was disturbing that he could be so aware of it. But to be this aware of her in these circumstances was unacceptable. “Don’t move yet,” he commanded Belinda. “We are going to cut the seat away from the other side.” Now that a decision was made about how to rescue the injured woman, it was easier to repress the effects of Belinda’s touch and focus on getting the woman out of the bus and to the hospital. As the so-called “jaws of life” began to rip open the bus, the noise became deafening and the rescue workers had to shout to be heard.

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The English nurse became a silent assistant, albeit a useful one. She knew to keep pressure on the wound no matter what else was happening and she managed to help the doctor and paramedics as they delivered more pain relief and fluids, adjusted the oxygen being administered and splinted a badly damaged leg as best they could given that it was impaled by a metal rod—part of which had to be left in place. And when the patient regained consciousness, Belinda was able to speak to her in her native language. Her words of reassurance were enough to calm the woman and they lifted her clear of the wreckage and rushed her towards the waiting helicopter. Mario knew that those words were as effective as any drug could be— lowering heart and breathing rates was critical to slow internal bleeding. “Stay with me,” the woman begged. “Please, Belinda! You’re the only person I know." “They’ll take good care of you, Margaret. You’re going to be fine.” The team of medics had reached the road now. They passed the group of stranded, uninjured bus passengers. Then they approached an ambulance where a blond woman was sitting on the back step, her ankle being splinted. On each side of her sat a small child and Mario found himself staring at them. “Are they hurt?” he called to a paramedic. “The children?” “No,” the reply came. “Just their mother. Maybe a fracture.” Belinda Smith was also staring. “Lizzy? Are you okay?” “My ankle hurts but I’m sure it’s just a sprain. These guys think I need an x-ray.” “Belinda?” Margaret’s hand was gripping the nurse’s. “Stay with me? Please?” “I… My friend is hurt….” Belinda’s head was still turned towards the blond woman and the children. The little girl was crying but the boy was watching them. Looking straight at Mario. He forced himself to tear his gaze away and back to his patient who was becoming distressed, her breathing ragged. “You must come,” he ordered Belinda. “Your presence will help Margaret. Staying calm will help prevent further blood loss.” She looked at him directly for the first time. Golden brown eyes he remembered all too clearly. But now they were filled with a plea that looked almost desperate. “But Lizzy! The children!” “They will follow us to the hospital with their mother on the ambulance.” Mario shouted an instruction to the ambulance crew. “They will come to my hospital.” He held her gaze. “You have a duty to your patient, no?” “I… Just let me tell Lizzy what’s happening.” She bent close to the stretcher. “I’ll be right back, Margaret. I’ll come with you, I promise.” They loaded the stretcher into the helicopter. Carlos attached monitor leads and secured the bags of IV fluids. Mario glanced over his shoulder more than once. He watched Belinda hug her friend. He saw her hold the little girl for a moment and then reach out to touch the curls on the head of the boy. The children were so dark. So unlike their mother. They were unhurt, thank God—so why did the sight of them tug so painfully at Mario’s heart? He couldn’t help one last, lingering glance, past the figure of Belinda stooping, hand to her face—as she ran towards the helicopter. They were such beautiful children.

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Chapter Five Tears threatened to blind Belinda as she ran towards the open hatch at the back of the helicopter, stooping in response to the hand signal from a paramedic. She almost couldn’t get on the chopper—how could she leave her children behind? But Lizzy had urged her to go. Margaret had been so kind to all of them on this trip and the older woman needed her help. “The twins are safe,” Lizzy had assured Belinda. “You know you can trust me to look after them.” Of course she could. Lizzy had been their second mother all along. A colleague who had been the best friend anyone could ever have. Lizzy had seen Belinda through losing her beloved mother, coping with an unexpected pregnancy and then single parenthood juggled with a part-time career. Lizzy had more than filled the gap left by her babies not having a father. They were a family. A family that was suddenly under threat. Belinda felt that threat intensify as she climbed into the helicopter and received a look from Mario that she could only interpret as hostile. She was doing what he had requested, wasn’t she? Why was he angry? He must realize how inappropriate it would have been to acknowledge the fact they knew each other. She was here purely as support for his critically injured patient. Perhaps his demeanor was a reflection of his own concern for Margaret. “Sit here,” Mario instructed. “Put this harness on.” It was an unfamiliar piece of safety gear and Belinda fumbled with the straps and clasp. The helicopter lurched into the air and Mario reached to finish fastening the harness, his face grim. When he finished securing the harness, he turned back to Margaret and the angry lines softened as he focused on her. So he was angry at Belinda. “Belinda?” asked Margaret. “I’m right here.” Even if it wasn’t something Mario was happy with. “It’s all right, Margaret. Everything’s going to be all right.” Which in the case of Margaret’s medical care was true—Belinda couldn’t fault the treatment and monitoring provided on the short flight. Or the expertise of the team that met them at the large hospital in Milan. She was impressed with the speed with which Margaret was assessed and then transferred to the OR. And disconcerted—it was only a very short space of time before Belinda would be left alone in a strange emergency department with nothing to do but wait for the ambulance carrying Lizzy and her children to arrive. Only she wasn’t left alone. Dr. Antonelli did not go into the OR with his patient. He turned to Belinda as Margaret’s trolley was wheeled away. “I wish to talk to you after the transfer to the OR staff,” he said coldly. “I will be in my office in ten minutes. Go through the double doors, turn right and continue along the corridor. My name is on the door.” Belinda didn’t want to talk to Mario in his office. What would he do if he knew the children were hers? If he knew they were his own? He could demand the children stay in Italy. Without her. She had promised the twins that one day she would try and find their “lost” father and they would be able to meet him. But that was one day in the future. When she felt ready to deal with the emotional fallout of contact with Mario.

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But that day had arrived uninvited, shaking Belinda’s world to the core. She was on a roller coaster ride she wasn’t at all sure she could handle. Talking to Mario would be dangerous. He posed a very real threat to her happy family. Being in the same room with him would be terrifying. She should just stay here. So why wasn’t her body cooperating? Why did her feet feel such an urge to walk through those double doors and turn right? To keep moving until they stood in front of the door with the label “Mario Antonelli”? She knew why. Because despite the damage he could do, Mario was irresistible. Belinda tapped on the door, turned the knob and stepped inside.

Chapter Six What had he been thinking? He should have walked away. Gone to his office after handing his patient over to the OR staff, shut the door and put the chance meeting with the English nurse right out of his mind. There was no reason to see her or her friend again. Or those beautiful children. No reason—apart from the fact that Mario Antonelli was angry. More than angry. He was furious. Seeing her, hearing her voice, touching her skin, had brought everything back with a vengeance and he wanted to punish this woman. How dare she just reappear in his life like this, looking as beautiful as ever? No—more beautiful. The years had added maturity. Confidence. A sense that life—without him—was wonderful. And that rankled, dammit! Granted she couldn’t know that Mario had fallen so hard for her that he had never been able to regain his footing. But clearly she hadn’t felt the same way. He would have understood that—they’d only had a matter of hours together. But to dump him with no explanation? To leave him waiting at that café with every minute deepening his sense of loss? And then to go on and be so happy in her life? He had to at least tell her how rude that had been. How hurtful. He couldn’t blame her entirely for the disaster his life had been in the wake of their encounter. But maybe, if he had the answer to just one question, he could put the whole distressing memory behind him. Bury it once and for all and get on with his life. Fate had handed him this unexpected opportunity and he had to seize it. Funny how the only other time Mario had been so impulsive had been the moment he’d met Belinda Smith. But perhaps it was appropriate—a full turn of the circle. Closure. He was ready. The question was on his lips as she entered his office and came to stand in front of his desk, looking disarmingly tentative. “Why?” he snapped. “That is all I wish to ask you. Why did you break your promise to meet me that day?” “What? I didn’t!”

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“Scusi?” Outrage pushed Mario to his feet. “I was at the café. You weren’t.” “I was! I waited for you and you were late.” “Pff!” A single step took him to the edge of the desk. Another and he was on the same side as Belinda. “By five minutes at the most. You knew what I had to do before meeting you—you knew it was never going to be easy. The…discussion took a little longer than I’d anticipated. And you couldn’t wait a couple of extra minutes.” This was starting to sound like a rant but Mario couldn’t help it. Having started, it was pouring out. “So I was a few minutes late? That was all it took for you to change your mind? Maybe it was just as well. It proved you were not the woman I thought you were.” She looked stricken. Her eyes widened and he could see a glint that suggested tears were not far away. Good. He wanted to make her cry. For her to feel just a hint of the pain he’d had to deal with for so long himself. But then her chin rose and that glint became a sparkle of defiance. Every muscle in Mario’s body felt rigid, waiting for her to respond. Was there anything she could say that would allow him to forgive what she’d done? No. But he knew what it meant to be polite. He would give her the chance to say what she wanted to say.

Chapter Seven “I couldn’t wait!” Belinda said. “While I was sitting in that café waiting for you I got a call from my friend Lizzy. She was on duty in Emergency and my mother had just been taken in to the hospital. It looked like she’d had a massive stroke and could die at any minute.” Mario had the feeling that he’d just walked into a brick wall. “I couldn’t even leave a message,” Belinda continued. “I didn’t have a telephone number. I didn’t even know your last name! I looked for you in the crowd as I flagged a cab but you weren’t there and it was already after the time we’d arranged to meet.” She was catching her breath in little gasps now. Swallowing a tiny squeak of sound that could have been an embryonic sob. “I knew you were meeting a woman who was pregnant with your child. Who wanted you to marry her. We’d had one night together, Mario. It was absurd to think you really intended to show up. That I could compete with—what was her name? Juliana?” “Compete?” She had remembered the name of his ex-girlfriend? “There was no question of competition.” “What do you mean?” He’d moved closer without realizing. He was standing so close he could feel her heat. Close enough to see her eyes darken with the emotion and the memories—close enough to watch a tear form in her eyes and escape to fall down the side of her nose. “This…” Mario’s voice was raw. He pulled Belinda into his arms. “This is what I meant.” He held her closer. He could feel her heart beating against his own. He tilted her head with the hand buried in a tumble of curls and surrendered to the astonishing desire he had to kiss this woman.

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But she pulled clear of his embrace instantly, as though she was trying to avoid someone hitting her, looking as shocked as Mario felt. For a moment he thought he could see a flash of something in her eyes that suggested she was just as aware as he was of the magnetic pull that still existed between them. But then it morphed into something else. Fear? Surely not! He’d never done anything to harm this woman. He never would. He watched her struggle to swallow, to find her voice. And judging by her words, he was sure that she intended her words to come out far more sure and strong than they did. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mario raised his hands in a kind of shrug. But the gesture was far more casual than he felt. He had acted under a force he hadn’t been able to resist. That never happened to him. Had he really been prepared to fall under this woman’s spell for a second time? Make himself vulnerable all over again? Never! The rational thing to do here was to simply apologize. To usher her out of his office and out of his life. It might be rational. It was what his head was telling him to do. But part of him—his heart?—was fighting. Refusing to comply. Maybe it was that wobble in her voice that had been his undoing—that made him crave her. If he sent her away now he might never see her again. He needed a little longer. Time to clear his head and his heart.

Chapter Eight Instinct had made Belinda jerk back as automatically as she would have pulled away from a naked flame. The power Mario had to burn her—to hurt her—was as palpable as the incredible ability this man still possessed to attract her. Heart thumping, the only defense she could summon was to move—to try and step back far enough to diminish the intensity of that magnetic pull. Except it wasn’t enough. Belinda sucked in a steadying breath and tried to regain control. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her tone wavered, making her outrage unconvincing. Mario was frowning. He raised his hands, palms upwards, in an almost helpless gesture that suggested the question was unanswerable. Then his gaze became more focused. Almost calculating. “You were crying,” he said. “Most women desire comfort when they cry.” Automatically, Belinda put her hand to her cheek. It was damp. “I’m not crying.” She gave her face a hasty scrub to reinforce her declaration. “And I need to go back to the emergency room. Lizzy might be here by now. She’ll need my help with…the children.” “I’ll come with you.” “No need.” That was the last thing Belinda wanted. She couldn’t have Mario see her with the children. He’d only need to hear one of them call her “Mummy” to guess the truth. And if that happened, she knew that all hell would break loose.

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She had to tell him, of course. There was no way she could take Mario’s children back to England with him still not knowing he had two children. But she needed time to think. To talk to Lizzy and consider the implications. The life she had built for herself and her precious children was being threatened and the result could be devastating for everybody involved. “There’s every need for me to stay with you,” Mario said calmly. “You do not speak the language or know how this hospital runs. Your holiday has been interrupted and you may need assistance with accommodation and travel arrangements. You may not desire my company but I suspect your friend Lizzy and those children might actually appreciate it.” He was holding the door of his office open. “Come.” Mario was being so reasonable. So considerate. There was no reason to feel so afraid. There had to be a way of dealing with this. Maybe if she stood close enough to Lizzy, it could disguise which of them actually owned the label of “Mummy” when the children were talking. Plus it was getting late in the day. A glance at her watch showed Belinda it wasn’t unreasonable to expect that Mario would finish his working day before long. He probably had a wife and more than one child to get home to by now. That was, after all, one of the reasons she’d never told him about the twins. “I wouldn’t want you to stay late on our account,” she told him. “I’m sure you want to get home to your family for the evening.” She had started to move toward the door, obeying yet another command from Mario, so by the time he responded to her words she was much closer to him. But the tone of his response stopped her in her tracks. “My family?”

Chapter Nine The edge to Mario’s words was unmistakable. As though the word “family” was foreign and incomprehensible. Distasteful, even. And maybe it was. She remembered vividly the words he had spoken in disgust years ago: “Pregnancy is the worst kind of blackmail. What kind of woman would deliberately use an innocent baby to get what she wants from a man?” His words and tone had stayed with Belinda all these years. It had cut so deep she had almost been thankful she’d had no way of tracing the man who had fathered her children. Not that she’d lied about being on the pill as Juliana had—he’d known it was Belinda’s first time. Afterwards they’d laughed that the passion had taken them so far so fast that they’d forgotten about the condom, any alarm dismissed in the heat of the moment. He’d joked that no man could be unlucky enough to get two women pregnant within the span of three months. But ultimately it had been Belinda that had been left with the responsibility. Mario had no idea. Belinda embraced the flash of resentment she felt. She could deal with resentment far more easily than fear. In fact, feeding that resentment was probably a very good idea. “Yes,” she said curtly, holding Mario’s gaze. “Your family. You did marry Juliana, didn’t you?” He was silent for a heartbeat and Belinda was surprised to find herself holding her breath. She tried to tell herself that his answer wasn’t that important. “Si.”

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As pain stabbed her she realized it had been important and it hurt badly to hear that he had married Juliana. If Belinda had been that special to him, he could have tried to track her down in London. But no, he’d gone back to Juliana. Maybe he’d gone to that meeting at the café to tell Belinda that he was staying with Juliana. It wouldn’t surprise her—she’d seen a picture in a magazine of the gorgeous Italian model not long after returning to England. That had been painful at the time, too, but not as bad as this. Belinda let her breath out slowly, struggling to regain control. Why did it hurt so much? It was what she’d always assumed had happened. Part of her justification for not trying hard to find Mario was because she didn’t want to undermine his chance of a happy life with the family he had chosen—Juliana and their baby. “And your child? He would be…four years old?” Only a few months older than the twins. A half-sibling that Belinda had no right to exclude from their lives. Why had that never occurred to her? She shut her eyes. This was getting more complicated by the second. The tone of Mario’s voice made her eyes open very smartly, however. “I have no child,” he said, the words devoid of expression. “My daughter died from meningitis when she was three months old.”

Chapter Ten It was the last thing Belinda had expected Mario to say. But even though his tone was deceptively even, there could be no hiding the kind of pain those words must encompass. Distancing himself had probably been a coping mechanism. Like the way he was looking somewhere over the top of Belinda’s head right now. Avoiding eye contact. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “It was a long time ago.” The silence was too heavy but they both seemed frozen and Belinda had to find something else to say. In a panic she said the first thing on her mind. “And you didn’t…have any more children?” “No.” The word was harsh. Chillingly final. Belinda bit her lip, cringing inside. It had been a horribly insensitive question to ask. As if you could simply replace one baby with another. She was relieved when Mario cut off their conversation and turned abruptly, leading the way into the emergency room. But her mind was racing at a million miles an hour. The twins were Mario’s only children. Had he been so devastated by the death of his baby that the thought of trying again had been something to be feared? Belinda could understand that kind of devastation, the empty void it would leave in one’s life. The thought of losing one of her own children was unthinkable. Another thought occurred to her—perhaps the twins could have helped him in his grief. Not as any kind of replacement, but they could have forced Mario to look to the future and not dwell on a bleak present. She had denied him that relief. He could justifiably hate her for that.

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Belinda didn’t want Mario to hate her. She wanted— “The marriage didn’t last.” Mario cut into her wild train of thought. “It was as good as over before Bella was born.” “Bella?” A new wave of shock rippled through Belinda. “You named your baby Bella?” After her? “I liked the name.” Mario was ahead of her, almost at the double doors. “And she was beautiful. Here.” He pushed the doors open and his tone announced that the conversation was over. “We will find your friend.” But Lizzy was nowhere to be seen. With the kind of efficiency the emergency department had demonstrated, she had already been whisked away for an x-ray. “Where are the children?” Belinda couldn’t help sounding desperate. “I have to find them!” Mario talked to an older nurse who began smiling and making the kind of cooing sounds people made to babies. Belinda caught the words “bambino” and “bellissimo”. “It seems there was some competition,” Mario relayed to Belinda. “Several staff members wished to have the treat of taking the children to the cafeteria to buy them an ice cream. They will be back shortly. Stay here.” He left her in a curtained cubicle to go talk to another doctor at the end of the corridor. Belinda kept her eyes peeled for any sign of Lizzy or the children—Lizzy arrived back first. In tears. “It’s broken,” she sobbed as Belinda hugged her. “They say I need surgery.” “Oh, no!” Belinda caught a flurry of activity down the hall where Mario was still talking to his colleague. A matronly nurse was coming towards Belinda and Lizzy, a small child attached to each hand. As they got close to Belinda, Gemma held up a dripping ice cream cone. “Mummy!” she cried happily. “Look!”

Chapter Eleven As Belinda let go of Lizzy and crouched to hug the twins, she got a good dollop of ice cream in her hair. “It’s chocolate,” Stefano informed her. The nurse with the kind face made tutting sounds, pulled tissues from a box and motioned for Belinda to come to the hand basin. She lifted Gemma and Stefano and sat them both on the single chair in the cubicle. She told them to stay still with their ice cream cones, but her tone was so tolerant that a matching pair of grins appeared on the twins’ chocolate-smeared faces. Then the nurse took care of Belinda, mopping the ice cream from her hair and neck. Behind her, she heard that Mario had returned and he was translating what the orthopedic surgeon was telling Lizzy. Thankfully, it seemed he hadn't heard Gemma's exclamation. “It’s not a major pinning procedure but it does need to be done under general anesthetic. External fixation is going to be best and you’ll need to stay here for a day or two at least. We will, of course, give you crutches and make arrangements for you to travel back to England.” “But I can’t stay in the hospital! What about Belinda? And the children?”

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Mario turned to look over his shoulder, taking in the chair that easily accommodated the two small bodies. The twins were still enjoying their ice cream cones and had managed to spread chocolate even further. Gemma had a smear on her forehead beneath her wispy black curls. Mario stared at them and the twins gazed solemnly back. “The children will be taken care of,” he told Lizzy. “Do not worry. I will see to the arrangements myself.” “And Belinda?” “Of course.” With another glance at the twins, Mario left. Belinda caught Lizzy’s gaze. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “We’ll find a hotel nearby so we can visit you and we’ll all go home together.” Lizzy beckoned Belinda to the bed. She had to lean close to hear. “That other doctor said his name was Mario,” Lizzy whispered urgently. “It’s not…?” She was watching Belinda’s face. “Oh, my god, it is, isn’t it?” Belinda gave a single nod. “Does he know?” She shook her head. Lizzy seemed to have forgotten the pain of her broken ankle. Her expression was one of alarm mixed with concern. “What are you going to do?” “I don’t know.” “Will you tell him?” “I’ll have to.” “When?” “I don’t know. It’ll have to be soon, I guess.” Both women looked towards the curtain of the cubicle as if expecting Mario to appear. Lizzy’s smile was wry. “Maybe it’s just as well I’ll be here for a day or two.” “You mean you did this for me?” Belinda managed a real smile. “I owe you one, hon.” The morphine Lizzy had been given was finally taking effect. Her friend’s eyelids were drooping drowsily and her smile was almost pleased. “It’ll work out, you’ll see. You know, I never really believed you when you told me how gorgeous he was.” For a woman under the soporific influence of narcotic drugs, Lizzy’s voice had surprising strength. And it was at that unfortunate moment that Mario Antonelli chose to return.

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Chapter Twelve Mario wouldn’t have thought a redhead could improve her looks by blushing ferociously but that’s exactly what Belinda managed to achieve. Dio, but the woman was beautiful! She’d been talking about him to her friend, and clearly not for the first time. Beneath the embarrassment scorching her face, Mario could detect an underlying truth. So, the attraction was still mutual and as alive as it had been four years ago. A curl of satisfaction settled in his gut. He hadn’t been wrong to go with the impulsive decisions he had just made. This was, simply, meant to be. Fate had taken over his life and that was why he’d been feeling out of control. But not anymore. Arrangements were in place and Mario knew exactly what he was doing. And why. “A car will be here shortly,” he informed Belinda. “It will transfer you to the accommodation I have arranged.” “A hotel?” “A private lodge.” He tried to make it sound as though it was an ordinary place and she seemed to believe that it was an acceptable alternative to a hotel. “Is it close?” “Close enough. I can also arrange for someone to care for the children if you would like to stay with Lizzy. She will be taken upstairs very soon and it shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours until she goes to the ward.” He could see she was torn. Concern for both her friend and the children was deeply etched on her face. “I’ll be fine,” Lizzy murmured. “You stay with the twins.” “The children are happy,” Mario pointed out. They glanced over to the washbasin where the twins were having ice cream washed off their hands and faces. Angelina, one of the most senior ER nurses, was wielding a wash cloth between pauses for the kind of cuddles and smiles that cut across any language barriers. Mario had known Angelina forever—since he had been a new doctor grappling with the stress of working in the ER of a major city hospital. She’d also been the one who had cared for baby Bella when she had been admitted with that dreadful disease. She had been with Mario when his precious daughter had died in his arms. So Mario knew he could trust her with the children now. Mario spoke quietly to her. “I know this English nurse. She is…a friend.” If Angelina was surprised, she gave no sign of it. A sage nod was her only response. “I have made arrangements for her and the children to be taken care of at my estate.” The older woman did look startled now. Her gaze held Mario’s for a moment, moved to the tiny children beside her and then went back to the doctor. Something in her expression softened and Mario frowned, trying to tell her from his expression that this was merely a matter of convenience. The children meant nothing to him.

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“My housekeeper is expecting them,” he continued aloud, crisply. “And my driver will be here shortly. Until then, since the children are happy with you, would you consider traveling with them and helping them get settled?” Angelina smiled and nodded readily. Mario turned back to the two English women a moment later and spoke in their language. “As you can see, the children are perfectly happy to be cared for by Angelina. It is her pleasure to go with them and see that they are settled.” Belinda was watching the children as they competed for Angelina’s cuddles. The little girl never stopped giggling. They were happy children. Loving and open and trusting—as all children should be. Trusting and trustworthy. Mario suppressed a sigh. It was a shame that didn’t apply to many adults—and virtually every woman alive. Belinda had not released her friend’s hands but she was still looking at the twins. “You have my word that they will be safe,” he assured her. “More than that. I will wait here myself and take you to be with them as soon as Lizzy’s surgery is over.” He caught her gaze and used it to communicate his desire. Your friend needs you, he implored silently. You have a duty. The children will be fine. Trust me. Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. Mario had to suppress any hint of a satisfied smile but that curl inside him grew stronger. It wasn’t that he was getting what he wanted. This was happening because it was meant to be.

Chapter Thirteen He’d made it too easy. Too easy to shelve the issue that had to be confronted. But this was not the place. Mario would hate that. He would have put two and two together in a heartbeat if Belinda had said that her first priority lay with the children. And the fact that those children were also his was not something he should learn in a public place. In front of his colleagues. Lizzy’s squeeze on her hand conveyed sympathy, understanding and encouragement. It was also a tangible reminder of the bond Belinda had with this woman and how much she owed her. Right now, Belinda needed to be there for her friend. Lizzy was about to undergo a general anesthetic—and since they were both nurses, they knew it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Angelina was ready to take the children to the lodging Mario had organized, so Belinda cuddled the twins and spoke to them quietly, making sure they were all right with the situation. They thought it was a game and whispered back: “Yes, Mummy. We want Angelina to look after us. She’s nice.” So, in the end, it was as though the decisions were all made for her. Nearly three hours later, Belinda sat on a chair in a two-bed room in the orthopedic ward. Lizzy slept peacefully in one, Margaret in the other. The surgeon was delighted with how the procedures had gone on both women.

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But now that the danger and the stress was gone, Belinda realized how incredibly tired she was. The emotional roller coaster of the day had drained her utterly—the scare of the bus crash, fearing for the lives of the people she loved most. The shock of seeing Mario again. Having to tear herself away from Gemma and Stefano to go with Margaret. The realization that her attraction to Mario had not lessened over the years. And the tension of seeing her closest friend being wheeled into an operating room and fearfully waiting for her safe return. It was all too much. She felt nothing but a curious numbness when Mario finally walked into the room to take her away from the hospital. “Are you ready?” he enquired. “Shall I take you to where you and the children are staying?” Even her legs felt numb as Belinda stood up. She leaned close to brush some strands of blond hair from Lizzy’s forehead. “You’re fine,” she said once more. “Everything went well and the nurses here are lovely. I’ll be back in the morning.” “Mmm.” Lizzy half opened her eyes. “Yeah. You go and play with Mario.” She closed her eyes again. “Enjoy.” No chance of that, Belinda thought, her steps wooden as she headed to the door where Mario stood waiting, thankful that Lizzy’s sleepy murmur would not have been overheard by him this time. She was too tired to play with anyone. Too bone weary to feel even the slightest attraction. Mario put his hand out as she came within his range. He touched her arm. A courteous gesture, really, intended to indicate the direction they were about to take along the quiet, dimly lit corridor. But that touch, bare fingers on her naked upper arm, was a brand. Belinda could feel the fire from each separate fingertip burning into her skin. Into her blood. Traveling through her entire body, sweeping sensation into cells that had been numb. Bringing her body back to life with painful intensity. “You will come,” Mario commanded. “With me.” Belinda had to suck in a steadying breath as her brain teased her with a rather different interpretation of his words. A different command, maybe, but one that she would be powerless not to obey.

Chapter Fourteen “We’ve been driving for a very long time.” Too long for Belinda’s comfort. Tucked into the soft seat of the low-slung sports car, the smell of leather only seemed to make her more aware of the scent of potent masculinity emanating from the driver’s side. “The—ah—lodge is just out of the city limits,” he replied. “But that’s miles away from the hospital.” Belinda tried to sit up straighter but it was impossible—the seat was designed to make you sit back and relax. To lull you into a false sense of security. “How will I get in to visit Lizzy? Does public transport go that far?”

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“No need. A car and driver will be at your disposal.” Belinda shook her head sharply. “I’m not happy about this, Mario. I would rather be more central.” “This is better for the children. There are big gardens. A river. Fresh air.” Belinda made another futile attempt to straighten and assert herself. “It sounds like some kind of country estate. An expensive place to stay.” Mario took his eyes off the road for a moment. “Money is a problem for you, Bella?” “No!” Belinda flushed, but the heat came only partly from the embarrassment of discussing such a personal subject. It was more the use of that name. How could one word transport her back in time so instantly? Make her want things that could never be part of her life? She didn’t need this man. Her life was wonderful as it was. She had her children. Her best friend. A home and a career. She had been—no, she was— perfectly happy. But her attempt to convince herself of that was completely undermined when Mario’s hand brushed her thigh. He changed gears at the same time, leaving the expressway they had been on to take a new road. Belinda actually had to stifle a tiny groan that tried to escape her lips. “I’m not poor,” she said stiffly, trying to distract herself from that touch. “I inherited my mother’s house and I still work part-time.” She didn’t want him to get the idea that she couldn’t afford to raise the children and give them the best of everything. “I manage just fine—but that doesn’t mean I can throw money away by staying in some exclusive resort.” “You work only part-time? Why is that?” Belinda ignored the dangerous question. Luckily, the powerful engine of the car helped her out just then by roaring as it decelerated to turn towards huge iron gates, beyond which lay a dark, tree-lined driveway. “Where are we? I don’t see any sign for a lodge.” Mario had stopped the car. “I told you. This is a private residence.” “Whose residence?” Belinda stared at him and his silence answered her query. “Oh my god! Is this where you live?” “Si.” “And you brought the children here?” Fear made her heart trip and then race—had he already guessed the truth? Was this the first move to try and claim her babies? “I have brought you here, Bella. And I suspect you know why.”

Chapter Fifteen Mario had brought her to his home. She might not have expected this but yes, she knew why he had brought her here. Belinda had to look away from his intense, dark gaze. She couldn’t afford to keep eye contact with Mario— he would see the feeling that was threatening to consume her. The shaft of pure desire that was coiled inside her, waiting, begging for release.

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They had unfinished business, she and Mario. It was undeniable. The iron gates swung open silently and then closed behind them as they drove onto what had to be an enormous estate. Belinda tried to shake off the sensation of being trapped, caught in a current she couldn’t fight. Belinda reminded herself how strong she was when she needed to be—she could still make the choices that needed to be made. There was no way would she allow herself to be seduced if there was any question it would put her children at risk. Even by Mario Antonelli. She stared through the windshield as the headlights illuminated an imposing old house with creepers growing up pale plaster walls and hard edges softened by time and neatly trimmed lavender hedging. A woman Mario introduced as his housekeeper, Louisa, greeted them. She took Belinda away from the vast entrance watched over by marble statues and through a central courtyard into a side wing of the amazing house. The guest bedroom and ensuite bathroom were decorated in cool shades of pale, moss green and cream in an elegant arrangement that could have graced a luxury hotel. But the most appealing feature was the door that led to an adjoining room where the twins lay sound asleep, cuddled together in the middle of another huge bed. “Angelo,” Louisa smiled. “Bellissimo!” Then, with the odd word of English and some excellent mime, she invited Belinda to shower and gave her a soft, towelling robe. Louisa took Belinda’s clothes which would be freshly laundered for the morning. Food would be ready when she was refreshed. Belinda knew the twins would sleep until morning. Nothing short of a bomb could wake them when they were recovering from the kind of energy they expended daily. So she took the time to relax, clear her head and gather strength. By the time she was in the soft robe and had finished combing her wet curls, Belinda was more than ready to answer the knock on her door. The hot shower and gorgeous products that had left the scent of lavender on her skin and hair continued to soothe her and that tray of food Louisa had promised would be very welcome. Except when she opened the door, it was Mario who stood there. Also freshly showered, his damp curls of black hair clung to his temples and his aftershave smelled of green forest and sunlight and…and Mario. Belinda had smelled that cologne once before—the night Mario had taken her hand and led her on a journey of discovery that had been like a fairy-tale. And here he was again, holding out his hand. Not smiling but with a depth of emotion in his eyes that was almost a plea. He was inviting her to step back in time. Wanting her. It was a look any woman would drown in, and Belinda was not immune to the current. She needed something to hang onto. Mario’s hand was perfect.

Chapter Sixteen The totally enclosed courtyard had to be the most romantic setting for an alfresco meal Belinda had ever seen. Fairy lights were strewn through the silvery leaves of the olive trees. Ornate, wrought-iron holders held glowing candles that gave off a subtle hint of vanilla. Water trickled musically out of a small fountain at the

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head of a rectangular pool. At the other end of the pool, a raft of floating candles shaped like flowers made the water sparkle. The meal was as perfect as the setting. A rustic wooden table was laden with the kind of food you could eat without cutlery: soft ciabatta bread and cheeses, fruit and olives and spicy morsels of meat. Belinda had no doubt that the bottle protruding from a white, linen napkin covering the ice-bucket belonged to a vintage champagne. All part of the fairy-tale she had stepped back into so effortlessly. Never mind that she was wearing a dressing gown rather than a gorgeous dress or that her make-up had been washed away and her hair hung in damp ringlets. Concern for her appearance—like the rest of her familiar world—was banished. Like the best of dreams, part of Belinda’s brain was aware that everything in the real world was all right—her children were safe with Louisa and her friend was well-cared for in the hospital. So she could embrace the dream and believe that any consequences were irrelevant. When she woke up reality would be reinstated, but for now she could enjoy this lovely fantasy—especially the man at its center. As the star in a dream that was becoming increasingly erotic, Mario was playing his role to perfection. He murmured phrases in Italian that could only be words of appreciation. Love. Handing her a glass of champagne and then touching her arm, trailing his fingers along her skin to her neck. Along her jaw line. So softly across her parted lips. Feeding her tiny portions of food he thought she would enjoy like soft cheese and ham wrapped in a shred of fresh bread, a salty olive and a ripe, red strawberry. The meal was a kind of foreplay that was more delicious than any food could ever be. When Mario finally stood and came to Belinda, she rose without hesitation. She lifted her face for his kiss as his hands cupped her hips. Her arms lifted to wrap around his neck and she leaned in to him, her whole body desperate for his touch. His head bent and his lips came so close to hers that Belinda could feel a curious buzzing sensation. It took a second to tune into the words. “Tonight, carissima,” he whispered. “You will be mine. Si?” As if she could refuse. As if she could think of any reason not to have this one night. This was a dream, wasn’t it? A fairy-tale. “Yes,” she whispered. And then her feet were swept from beneath her. She clung to Mario, only dimly aware of being carried from the candlelight and trickling fountain into a room as masculine as the powerful arms that held her. Rich maroon drapes shut them away from the world, echoing the tones of the antique Persian rugs scattered on the tiled floor. The mahogany of the sleigh bed gleamed in the soft lighting. That bed was the only place Belinda wanted to be. She wanted to be thrown in its center, to lose her gown and rediscover the fiery passion she knew this man was capable of sharing with her. More than want. It was need. She’d been missing this from her life. Her whole life—both before and after that blink of time she’d shared with Mario. A tiny whimper of that need escaped. Belinda could see it affected Mario as his eyes darkened to black pools and a shudder went through his body, revealing the strain on his control. But he regained his mastery quickly. Every move, every touch, every kiss and every lick was deliberate. Slow. So heartbreakingly tender Belinda wanted to cry. To find the words that would convey the depth of her emotion. That would express how much she loved this man.

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Their lovemaking was a dance of give and take—of touch and taste. The pain of tension was unbearable pleasure and tipped over the edge where it was simply not possible to control anything—where passion ignited and consumed them both. It might have lasted minutes. Hours. They were in a place where time had no meaning. Belinda lay in Mario’s arms, aware of nothing but his heartbeat. The puff of his ragged breath on her neck. Her name being repeated over and over. Bella…

Chapter Seventeen “Mummy! Wake up!” It was an effort to drag her eyes open after virtually no sleep and now, in the early light of a new day, Belinda had two excited children standing beside her bed. Thank goodness she had eventually returned to her own room last night. She noticed Louisa standing near the door, a tray in her hands and an approving smile on her face. Gemma had her arms full of her mother’s clean clothes and beside Stefano was a huge, shaggy brown dog. “His name’s Bruno,” Stefano announced. “It means ‘brown’ in Italian and he is brown, Mummy, see?” “He is, darling.” “He’s big,” Gemma added, dumping the clothes on the end of the bed and climbing up beside Belinda. “Bigger than me!” “Mmm.” Belinda eyed the dog cautiously. Bruno thumped his tail and grinned at her. Louisa set the breakfast tray on the bedside table and the aroma of hot coffee, fresh croissants and strawberry jam woke Belinda up properly. She sat up—pulling the robe she had slept in around a body that already felt deliciously replete. Stefano joined his sister on the bed, eyeing the croissants. Louisa started to leave but then turned, pulling a note from her pocket that she handed to Belinda. It was from Mario. He had gone to work already, it said, but his driver would be available to bring her to visit Lizzy as soon as she was ready. It finished by saying simply, “Grazie, Bella.” He was thanking her for last night? Belinda sank back against her pillows. “Why are you smiling, Mummy?” Gemma asked. “Because I love you,” she said happily. “Come here and give me a big cuddle.” “Me, too!” Stefano demanded. “Of course you, too.” “And Bruno.”

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“Possibly,” Belinda laughed. “After breakfast.” She pulled her children close, reveling in the touch of their small bodies. The way four little arms nearly strangled her and her face got plastered with wet kisses. So much love. So different from the kind of loving she had received last night but part of the same landscape. A family. For just a little while longer, Belinda could hang onto that fairy-tale perfection. An ideal that was even better than the first time she’d been with Mario because now the children existed and she could imagine having it all. It couldn’t last, of course. Today was the day Belinda would have to tell Mario the truth. But she’d been right to wait, hadn’t she? They were close again, she and Mario. As close as it was possible for a man and woman to be. Surely that would provide a foundation for forgiveness? For a way forward that could mean forging some kind of a family? She would find him after she visited Lizzy. She would leave the children in the ward and go to Mario’s office and talk to him. Tell him everything. When she got to the hospital, she told Lizzy her plan. “Yes,” Lizzy agreed. “That’s exactly what you need to do. Go now.” “Are you sure? Can you cope?” “I’m fine. There’s almost no pain now. I think they’re going to let me try standing up with crutches later today.” “What about you, Margaret?” Belinda raised her voice as she turned to the other bed. “Do you feel well enough to have these two in here for a bit?” “I’m good,” Margaret smiled, “and it’s nice to hear people speaking English.” Belinda nodded and took a deep breath. She could do this. But she didn’t even get as far as the door—someone blocked her path. Mario. “I came to see how you are.” He smiled at Lizzy. “To make sure you are not worried about the care of the children.” “I’m doing very well, thank you,” Lizzy replied. “I also wish to talk to Bella.” Mario was still smiling. “Could I take you away for a few minutes?” Belinda nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. She moved toward the door. “Mummy!” Gemma called. “Where are you going?” Mario was still smiling. “Mummy’s not going anywhere. See?” He pointed to Lizzy. “You can stay here with her.” Gemma stared. Her bottom lip wobbled ominously. “But that’s Auntie Lizzy,” she said. She pointed a small finger straight at Belinda. “She’s my mummy.”

Chapter Eighteen

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The silence hung like storm clouds, heavy and black. All it needed was one lightning bolt to release the fury of the storm. He saw the truth in Bella’s eyes in that stunned moment when she was identified as the child’s mother. He didn’t need to know exact dates. Perhaps at some instinctive level he’d known all along. From that first glimpse at the accident scene when he’d been so struck by those children, the bond was already there. A bond he didn’t want. He didn’t want to deal with this. The fear and pain that was the dark side of parenthood was behind him and he had never intended for it to enter his life again. But he’d also sworn that he’d never give any woman power over him again, and look what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He had been brought back to a point where he was ready to do whatever was necessary to keep the woman he loved in his life. A woman who couldn’t be trusted any more than Juliana had been. Mario was in a war for his survival now and he knew who the enemy was. He turned on his heel and the left the room without a word. What he needed to say could not be said in front of the children or anybody else. This was between himself and Belinda. He needed time to make the necessary arrangements. As the afternoon progressed, things fell into place rather neatly. The luggage from the bus wreck had been delivered, as requested, to his villa, and Belinda and the children had been taken back there. His driver had instructions not to transfer them to a hotel until Mario came home. He had to have a conversation with Belinda, and he wanted it to be on his own ground. A place where he was in complete control and would not be interrupted. He returned to his villa at dusk and went straight to his library. It was the perfect location for him to make his stand. The passage of a few hours had also allowed him to contain his anger, and he was able to look calm and collected when he asked the housekeeper to summon Belinda—the woman who had just rocked his world to its breaking point. But he couldn’t hide the rage from Belinda Smith. She came into the library and stood in front of his desk, ramrod straight—as tense as he was. Yet she had the nerve to speak first. To try and excuse herself! “I was going to tell you,” she said quietly. “I was on my way to your office.” “You expect me to believe that?” His words dripped ice. “You’ve had four years! Then when we’re finally reunited, you let your child do the telling?” He made a disgusted sound. “Or am I wrong in assuming the children are mine?” He knew he wasn’t, of course—it was a deliberate slur on her morality. Belinda held his gaze. “You knew there was no one else in my life. Before and after I met you.” And after? There was no one who had stepped in to be a father to those children? The satisfaction in hearing that was easy to dismiss. “Did I? I knew only what you’d told me,” Mario said smoothly. “But I made the error of trusting you, didn’t I?” He had to stand up to move or else the anger would take over. “I didn’t believe you’d leave me sitting alone in that café when I’d just done something that went totally against my moral duty—when I’d just told the woman who was pregnant with my child that I could not marry her because I loved someone else.” He stepped closer. “Someone I thought was different.” His words were almost a snarl. “But you were just the same as Juliana, weren’t you? Did you expect to trap me yourself by becoming pregnant?” Her hand was raised so fast, Mario didn’t see it coming and for the first time in his life, he had his face slapped by a woman. Hard.

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Chapter Nineteen Belinda couldn’t believe what she’d just done. But the evidence was right in front of her eyes in the deepening red mark on Mario’s cheek. And then she remembered why she had done it. “You’re a bastard, Mario,” she told him. “And what’s more, you’re a stupid one. If I had wanted to trap you by getting pregnant, don’t you think I would have found a way of tracking you down?” His frown suggested that he could see the truth in this but he wasn’t prepared to accept it. He shrugged it off. “Perhaps you were biding your time. Waiting to find out if I was wealthy enough?” Belinda gasped. First he’d suggested she might have been sleeping with someone else at the time she’d spent the night with him and now he was branding her a gold digger. Her strength was ebbing and—to her horror—she knew tears were not far away. “I don’t believe this.” Her inward breath was shaky and Belinda gave up a fight she had no hope of winning. “Do you really want to know why I didn’t make much of an effort to find you, Mario?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I was stupid enough to have fallen in love with you, that’s why.” He’d said the same thing, hadn’t he? He hadn’t meant it, though. You wouldn’t say such cruel things to someone you loved. “I didn’t want you to think less of me—the way you did of Juliana, or think that I was low enough to use an innocent baby to get what I wanted from a man.” She saw that he recognized his own words being thrown back at him. His frown suggested confusion rather than anger this time but still Belinda didn’t give him an opportunity to speak. “I actually wanted to give you the chance to be happy,” she continued, her anger resurfacing as she realized what a waste her sacrifice had been. “I took full responsibility for raising our children by myself. To love them with all my heart.” An incredulous huff of laughter escaped. “This holiday…do you know why I brought the children here? Because they know that their ‘lost’ father is Italian. That part of their heritage is in this country and that…” Belinda’s words trailed into a peculiar silence that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Mario was staring over her shoulder through the library window into the central courtyard of the palazzo. She could hear frantic barking that had to be coming from Bruno. Turning, she saw Stefano climbing over the low stone wall surrounding the pool. She could see the fear on his small face and hear the desperate quality of the dog’s barking. And Gemma was nowhere to be seen. “Christo!” Mario breathed. Belinda followed him as he ran into the courtyard. Bruno was in the pool, nudging the tiny body that floated face down. Belinda grabbed Stefano as Mario leaped into the water and scooped up Gemma. She held her son as close as she could, hiding his face in her shoulder but unable to look away herself as Mario crouched in the stone courtyard, the limp body of his daughter in his arms.

Chapter Twenty Had he really thought the pain of his past had taught him distance? How to step outside of any emotional involvement, creating a virtual out-of-body experience as he used his skills to do what had to be done?

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This was his daughter and something inside Mario was ripping apart. He couldn’t let his child die again. He wouldn’t. Somehow he had to gather the strength to save Gemma. To watch himself from somewhere else, as a participant in an unfolding drama. He dealt with this kind of scenario all the time. He knew exactly what to do. He sealed his mouth over Gemma’s. He breathed life-giving oxygen into her tiny body, keeping his fingers on her pulse. It was strong enough to suggest she’d only just stopped breathing before he’d hauled her from the water. He was relieved when she finally drew a ragged breath. He even felt tears in his eyes—but he realized it must be the kind of empathy he would have shared with all his patients and their parents. He could not lose himself again. He must seal over whatever part deep within him that had begun to tear. He turned to Belinda. “I will tell the housekeeper to get your things together. You and the twins have to leave.” She offered no resistance as she scooped Gemma out of his arms and held her tightly. Not long after, he watched from the library window as Belinda walked out to the car packed with their luggage, a child attached to each hand. Gemma had been given dry clothes and looked comforted, if still a little shell-shocked. Mario had arranged for the ER staff to give her a checkup, but tomorrow they would all return to England, along with Lizzy. Could he return to his normal life then? His usual control? A dangerous part of him wanted them to stay. Well they would be back. Mario had spoken briefly to Belinda about joint custody. Told her his lawyer would be in touch. She had paled, but simply nodded. Belinda still looked a little ashen as she paused in front of the car. Then she turned, looking back at the house. The children turned to see what she was looking at. They were all looking at him. Pulling him in. Dragging his soul from that protected space and leaving it exposed. Raw. He’d almost lost his child all over again. He was losing his children, and the only woman he had ever truly loved. The truth hammered into Mario—Bella had never broken his trust. She never would. She had said she had fallen in love with him. Last night her body had told him she still was. Mario had to move.

*** The roller coaster ride had become wild enough to be terrifying and all Belinda wanted to do was escape. To hide. She needed a haven for both herself and her children and while it was going to be temporary, going home to her old life was all that mattered. She couldn’t help one last look backwards, however. To where Mario was. One day she would be able to thank him properly for saving their daughter but this wasn’t the time. He wasn’t ready to be part of their family. To love any of them. But at least now he knew the truth. At least she didn’t have to feel guilty because of that. Belinda was still staring at the house when she saw the figure emerge from the front door. Running. It was Mario. He was panting by the time he faced her. “You can’t go,” Mario said.

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“Why not?” “Because…” He held her gaze. Belinda could feel the hand of each of their children holding one of hers and the weight of Mario’s gaze felt like another physical touch. “Because you belong here,” he said softly. “With me.” He knelt on the driveway in front of Belinda and reached out to touch the head of each of his children. “You all belong here.” “Do we, Mummy?” Stefano asked with interest. Belinda couldn’t look away from what she could see in Mario’s eyes. The pain of someone who thought he was about to lose what he loved most. “Yes,” she managed. “This is where we belong.” “With Bruno?” Gemma sounded pleased. “I love Bruno.” “Yes.” Belinda smiled through her tears of joy. “And with your father.” They needed to know, to have the chance to love him as much as she did. Mario stood, picking up a child with each arm. Somehow, he managed to fit his arms around Belinda as well, drawing her into the circle. Completing it. Completing their family.

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Small-Town Romance by Arlene James Welcome to Eden, OK, a small town in middle America where everyone knows everyone else, and a happy face is never far away. But Becca Inman isn’t happy. Restricted by an infirm grandmother and overwhelming shyness, she feels like her life is passing her by. Until Pastor Davis Latimer sweeps her into his whirlwind of faith—in her. Davis is awed by Becca’s Godgiven musical abilities and won’t take any excuses why she shouldn’t be the pianist in his new church. Only he soon realizes that his intentions aren’t entirely ecclesiastical….

Chapter One Music filled the darkened sanctuary, the tones of the old upright piano flowing in continuous harmony. Becca Inman sat in the circle of light emanating from the cylindrical lamp affixed to the top of the music desk, thinking that the petite grand at home produced a rounder, cleaner quality of note. As the keys moved beneath her nimble fingers, however, she acknowledged that nothing quite stirred the soul like playing musical praise in God’s house. Perhaps if she could remember that she could get through the worship service on Sunday morning. It was indicative of Becca’s life that she should be sitting here—alone—on Valentine’s Day night practicing to be a stand-in for her sister, Bethany, as the pianist of the First Church of Eden, Oklahoma. An ice storm had paralyzed the region the week before, and Bethany’s husband, Stark, thought that she needed to be whisked away to Mexico for a break from the cold and gloom. Stark owned his own business and Bethany worked part-time for their father so the couple could pick up and go pretty much as they pleased. Becca, on the other hand, had the care of their disabled maternal grandmother Dorothy Taylor, as well as her job as assistant librarian and choral teacher at Eden Memorial High School, to tie her down. Somehow, at thirty-three, life seemed to have passed Becca by while her twenty-seven-year-old baby sister, adored by her husband, sunned herself on a beach on a whim. Then again, Becca would have been too shy to leave her hotel room. She’d have worried that the streaks of premature silver in her curly pale-blond hair would stand out like laser beams in broad daylight, or that her baby pink skin would instantly burn to an ashy crisp beneath the Mexican sun. She’d have imagined that everyone was staring at her skinny, too-long legs and were whispering that her bathing suit revealed a less womanly shape than that of an eleven-year-old boy. A five-foot-nine-inch tall eleven-year-old boy, at that. Not that it mattered. She could not have gone swimming in the ocean anyway. Who knew what the salt spray would do to her glasses or contact lenses? Grandpa Inman liked to say that God made us all for a purpose, and it seemed entirely evident that Becca’s purpose was to live meekly in the shadows. Thankfully, those shadows offered a measure of respite for a woman too shy to bask in the light. At the moment, she was happy that those shadows cloaked the pews. Just thinking about them being filled to capacity on Sunday made her fingers fumble the notes. To get herself back on track, she began to sing the familiar words of the hymn. Gladness lifted her heart as her voice rose, and she let the words swell and roll with all the power of the love that she bore for her music and her God. There in that darkened sanctuary she poured that love at the Savior’s feet, taking solace in the Lord Who did not care what she looked like or how inadequate she felt. As the last mellow note floated heavenward, she sighed in contentment. Then applause erupted out of the darkness and she jerked back in panicked shock.

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For one insane instant, Becca wondered if she had dreamed her solitude. Perhaps in her debilitating fear of performing before an audience she had merely convinced herself that the pews sat empty and the darkness did not hide staring eyes and listening ears. The next second, the voice of Grover Waller, her pastor, came to her. “The angels must rejoice when you sing and play! If I were a less principled man, I’d have told my brother pastor here that I didn’t know another soul who could play the piano besides our own Bethany. Ah, well,” he sighed, stepping into the aura of light around the piano. “That’s what comes of sharing a ministry.” As usual, Becca sat like a deer caught in headlights, knowing she should thank the man for his complimentary words but at a complete loss as to how to go about it. Her mind was stuck on those two words: “brother pastor.” Sure enough, just as the phrase suggested, a second man appeared at Grover’s elbow. Reaching beyond her, Pastor Waller turned the brass cover on the piano lamp, directing the light upward and casting back the shadows well enough to allow Becca to see her listeners. Middle age had thinned Grover’s ash brown hair and softened his kindly face. Diabetes had rounded his body, making him appear shorter than she knew him to be. The flat-front pants and bulky sweater that he wore beneath a puffy downfilled jacket only added to the illusion. The younger man looked like a classical Greek sculpture by comparison—despite the dark slacks and full-length black wool coat that he wore. With the prominent jut of his squared chin, hair like dark chocolate and eyes of the lightest, most electric blue, he seemed almost otherworldly. Becca began to tremble even before he extended his long, square-palmed hand. “Becca, this is Davis Latimer,” Grover said, “the new pastor of our satellite church over on Magnolia Avenue. Davis, Rebecca Inman.” She briefly pressed her damp palm to his. “I’ve never heard better,” the young pastor said in a low, deep voice that skated across Becca’s nerve endings like a hot wind over a frozen pond. “Ah, I— I teach.” Duh. As if that had anything to do with his compliment. And were words of thanks foreign to her vocabulary? “Your students must count themselves blessed,” he said, easing back a step. You’d never know it, Becca thought. Her choral students, most of whom were looking for an easy A, counted themselves free to talk, smack gum, throw things and generally ignore her. The piano students tended to be more cooperative, but she worked with them on a one-to-one basis. “We’re going to put it to you plainly, Becca,” Grover said, leaning a shoulder against the end of the console cabinet. “The Magnolia church needs a pianist.” Becca began shaking her head, hiding her quivering hands in the loose, ankle-length skirt of her simple, long-sleeved, gray-knit sack dress. “One of my sisters has been filling in since the first of the year,” Davis Latimer explained, “but she’s pledged herself to the mission field and expects an assignment any day now. We’re a small congregation as yet, without a large talent pool to pull from. We were hoping you might consider the position.” Becca felt the heavy, messy bun at the nape of her neck wobble precariously and croaked out, “Oh, I really don’t think I should try.” “You’ll probably want to pray about it first, of course,” Grover pronounced, just as if she hadn’t spoken.

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“Let us both pray about it,” Davis suggested gently, placing his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice the slight jerk his touch evoked as he smoothly went on. “Then in a couple days we can meet and discuss it. Would Saturday morning suit you?” Saturday would not suit her grandmother, Becca knew. Grandma Dorothy hated being stuck alone in her little house all day while Becca worked. The only thing she hated worse was actually going somewhere. Getting her wheelchair through the door, down the narrow ramp and into Becca’s minivan was an ordeal, but Grandma only made it worse by gasping in alarm every other second. Becca, of course, said none of that, so naturally Davis Latimer took her silence as acquiescence. “Shall we say about eleven o’clock then? I’ll just meet you in the church parking lot there at the intersection of Magnolia Avenue and Iris Street.” Becca opened her mouth to say that she didn’t think she could, but his warm hand lightly squeezed her shoulder, strangling the words in her throat. “I look forward to it,” he said, bending low so that his softly spoken baritone filled her ear. “God has blessed you with a tremendous talent.” Nodding his thanks at Grover, he strode into the murky darkness. Grover, meanwhile, turned the shade on the lamp once more, saying, “I wish I could stay and listen, but I have a special Valentine’s supper waiting for me. Do you know there are some very fine sugarless chocolates now?” He smiled and hurried away, leaving Becca sitting spotlighted behind the tall piano. Even Grover and his wife are celebrating Valentine’s Day, Becca thought morosely. An unexpected image of Davis Latimer sitting across a candlelit table popped into her head and she felt her cheeks flush. Suddenly, of all the problems the meeting on Saturday would cause her, one inane thought struck her hardest. Even in February, eleven o’clock in the morning came with full daylight. He could not fail to see it. She put a hand to her wildly disobedient, silver-streaked hair and wondered if she had the courage to dye it. But what would Grandma say? Not to mention her parents and the other teachers and her students and… She wished with all her heart that she was sitting on a beach in Mexico. Well, in a Mexican hotel room, anyway. It doesn’t matter, anyway, she reminded herself. Not in the least. A man like Davis Latimer could never be interested in her. Bowing her head, she told first herself and then God just how stupid she was to worry about a foolish thing like a little gray in her hair when she somehow had to fight her way through the music of a popular Sunday worship service without throwing up on her sheet music. Provided, of course, that she didn’t die of mortification on a bright Saturday morning in the parking lot of Magnolia Christian Church at the intersection of Magnolia and Iris, beneath the pale blue gaze of the most handsome man she’d ever met.

Chapter Two The problem with living in a small town, Davis Latimer told himself as he waited inside his car on that cold Saturday morning after Valentine’s, was the lack of resources. Were he back in Kansas City, he would simply apply to the local seminary for a pianist for his fledgling pastorate, Magnolia Christian Church. The music majors there would jump at the chance to earn a few extra bucks plying the keyboard two or three times a week. But he was quite sure that none of them could come anywhere near what he had heard the night before last in the darkened sanctuary of the First Church of Eden, Oklahoma. He had thought at first that he must be listening to a recording, a piece of perfection engineered in a sound booth. The tonal purity, strength and fluid range of that rich soprano would be the envy of an operatic diva. And her playing! He had heard renowned concert pianists whose music had moved him less. Enraptured,

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he’d stood there in the darkness, imagining the musician—an ultimate artistic creature, she would be a ravishing beauty of inspirational power. But what had he found sitting there at that piano in a halo of light? A timid, slender waif of a woman who hid her gentle prettiness behind a pair of large glasses. Becca Inman couldn’t have looked more terrified if he and Pastor Waller had come out of the darkness with guns blazing instead of applauding. Davis had elected to take a less bluff approach with her than Grover, but he knew that he had bullied Becca into today’s meeting nonetheless. He had little experience with timorous women. The women of the Latimer family tended toward the headstrong, outspoken variety. He adored them all, including the twenty-one-year-old twins who had accompanied him to Eden for his first senior pastorate some six weeks ago. Caylie and Carlie had been of invaluable help to him, setting his house to rights, organizing the women’s activities, charming his congregants and providing the music for Sunday services. But both were due to leave shortly—Caylie was getting married and Carlie was off to the missions—leaving him in urgent need of a pianist. He knew that Becca Inman would fill that need perfectly, playing his grandmother’s lovely old baby grand with skill and passion. But first, however, he had to convince her to do it. Davis checked his watch, hunching his shoulders inside his black wool coat. Eleven o’clock. Where was she? Moments later, a battered minivan equipped with a wheelchair lift turned into the parking lot, swung a wide arc around his late-model sports coupe and came to a rocking halt in front of the cream brick facade of the sanctuary. Delighted to see Becca emerge from the vehicle, Davis sent up a quick prayer of thanks before getting out of his shiny black car to greet her. She was taller than he’d realized and looked as slender as a reed beneath that voluminous broomstick skirt with a matching plum-colored jacket worn over a simple white blouse. Her pale, glimmering hair had been partially tamed, the tiny corkscrews brushed ruthlessly into twin rolls clipped together at the back of her head, the ends spilling into a platinum and silver froth that covered her shoulder blades. Behind the lenses of her glasses, thick platinum lashes rimmed wide, almond-shaped eyes of a soft, greenish gray. After one swift glance in his direction, she lifted a hand to the clasp at the nape of her neck. Something about that delighted him—did it demonstrate a desire, perhaps, to impress? Davis thought of the striking contrast she presented to his own appearance, her light against his dark…. With a start, he realized that he now stood within a foot of her. Close enough to note the fine pores of her creamy pink skin, the indentations that her heavy glasses pressed into the almost-nonexistent bridge of her button nose, and the plump, rose perfection of her lips. He was shocked to find that his heartbeat had accelerated. Prudently, he stepped back. To cover his own agitation, he opened the passenger door of his coupe and swept her a bow. “Allow me.” She blinked. “What? Uh, a-aren’t we going into your office?” “Unfortunately my office is in the parsonage,” he told her, nodding toward the small white house tucked into the corner of the lot. “I thought we’d find someplace warm and public to talk.” After several seconds of wide-eyed contemplation, she gave her pointy little chin a nod. In one long, fluid motion, she slipped around the opened car door and down into the bucket seat, tucking her skirt beneath her. He hurried around to drop behind the steering wheel. Only as they drove toward downtown did he release the breath that he had been holding.

***

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“Where are we going?” Becca asked. He drove a bit fast, manipulating the gears of the sleek car with practiced ease, but that was not why she stared straight ahead. She dared not look at him. He was that handsome—mesmerizing almost—with refined features in a rectangular face of strong, square planes and the lightest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Oddly, those ice blue eyes were anything but cold. They seemed backlit with an inner fire that drew her like a moth to a flame. “We’re already here,” he announced, slowing to turn left across the oncoming traffic lane and into a parking space in front of the Garden of Eden Café. The diner happened to be one of Becca’s favorite places, but she rarely enjoyed its eccentric ambience because of her grandmother. In order to accommodate the wheelchair, they had to move tables and create a general fuss that embarrassed both Becca and her grandmother. But her grandmother wasn’t with her today, so she was delighted that Davis had brought her here. She allowed him to help her out of the car and usher her inside, where red tabletops and the speckled, white vinyl seats of black steel chairs combined with knotty pine walls, a black concrete floor and an old-fashioned soda bar to charm and beckon. The proprietor, Lola Mae Hanover, nodded to them from the back corner table as she poured coffee from a steel pot into the cups of the Jefford brothers, Holt and Ryan. Ryan was the assistant principal at the high school where Becca taught. She blushed, recalling that he’d had to step in to calm her rowdy class the day before. That last class of a Friday afternoon could always be counted on to act up, and she could never seem to control them. Both men nodded in greeting as Davis steered her toward a table across the room, where he pulled out a chair for her. “Any idea what you’d like to eat?” he asked, shrugging out of his coat. She clasped her hands together beneath the table. “I’m not particular.” He took a seat across from her. “I’m fond of the chili myself, but then I have a cast iron stomach, as my mother would say. I’ve met your mother, by the way, and your father.” “Oh?” Then she thought of her father’s pharmacy across the street. “You must have seen her in the pharmacy. She’s been working more the last week, with my sister on vacation.” Davis smiled. “Ah, yes, the sunny climes of Mexico. How glad I am that she’s there and not you.” Becca blushed to the roots of her hair. Thankfully, Ryan chose that moment to stop by the table. “Hello, pastor. Becca, I’m surprised to see you out and about on a Saturday. I know how your grandmother hates to be left alone when you’re not working.” A big, authoritative man with an easy manner and kind smile, Ryan winked at Davis. “Takes a man with clout to get her out and away from Grandma Taylor.” He turned for the door, grinning. “Enjoy,” he called over his shoulder. Davis laughed and leaned his elbows on the table, bright eyes glowing. “I must have more influence in heavenly realms than I know, but I’m not sure I’ve met this formidable Grandma Taylor of yours.” “Grandma was paralyzed from the waist down in a car wreck that killed my grandfather,” Becca explained. Davis leaned closer. “I’m so sorry.” Her heart fluttering, Becca dropped her gaze. “It was a long time ago.”

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Lola came, then, and they ordered. Before the food arrived, they discussed a variety of topics: the town, books, her job. Davis easily carried the conversation, his manner intent but relaxed, and he seemed to understand what she didn’t say, as well as what little she did. But Becca hadn’t realized how at ease she’d felt around him until they bowed their heads over the meal. Usually she felt terribly conspicuous praying in a restaurant, but it somehow seemed completely natural today. Everything seemed natural and easy—until he asked a question that stung. “Forgive me for asking, but how old are you, Becca?” “I’m thirty-three,” she said. “And you?” “Twenty-eight.” Five years. She was five years too old. Half a decade. Becca felt the crushing blow of disappointment. Then she chided herself. Had she really thought there might be a chance that the two of them would...? The unfinished thought hung like a pall over the remainder of the meal, clouding everything. They were back at the church before she realized that he hadn’t broached the subject of the pianist’s position. Of course, she would have to decline. She hated to perform, and her grandmother would not gladly part with her company more than she already did. “A-about the position,” she began. “Mmm, still praying about it,” he said, handing her up into her van. “Shall we meet next Saturday to discuss it in detail? Your grandmother can spare you for another hour, can’t she?” Becca opened her mouth to tell him no, but what came out was, “If it’s early enough.” “How’s eight?” After a long moment while she tried to make herself do otherwise, Becca nodded. “It’s a date, then. Goodbye, Becca.” He closed the door. “Goodbye, pastor.” “Davis,” he corrected through the window. “My name is Davis. Please, use it?” They both laughed, and that’s when she knew just how much trouble she was in.

Chapter Three He had made Becca Inman his business over the past week, confirming her painful shyness and devotion to her grandmother, whom Becca had cared for since high school and through college, driving the fifty-plus miles each way every day to the college in Lawton in order to remain at her grandmother’s side as much as possible. The Becca he had come to know would never accept the position of pianist. Yet the Becca he had come to know privately—the gentle, talented, sweetly pretty, caring woman—simply filled every one of his needs. His interest in her went beyond the professional or even the pastoral level. From the moment he’d met her, his interest had been highly personal, and so he would press the position upon her, if only to provide himself access to her. He was a selfish, selfish man. His twin sisters, Caylie and Carlie, each with dark glossy hair cascading to her slender shoulders, split a look between them.

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“Not at all,” Carlie assured him, slouching over his kitchen table as she dispensed perfect twenty-one-yearold logic. “You’re doing her a favor.” “God wouldn’t have given her such astounding musical talents if He didn’t mean for her to use them,” Caylie insisted, sitting primly, her back ramrod straight. Davis knew that was true, but he also knew that he had ulterior motives. Despite hours of prayer during which he had surrendered himself repeatedly to God’s will, he knew that ultimately he would use the pianist’s position to keep Becca close to him in hopes of working his way past her timidity and into her good graces. The sound of a car door jump-started his heart and recalled him to the skillet warming atop the stove. “She’s here. Make yourselves useful.”

*** After a moment of indecision, Becca drove her minivan across the church parking lot to the parsonage and parked it beside the pastor’s shiny black coupe, intending to meet him in his private residence. He had said that his office was there, and it really would take no time to refuse him and be on her way. After last Sunday’s fiasco in church when she had butchered the offertory hymn, she knew without a shred of doubt that she could not accept the position of pianist at Davis’s church. Filling in as the pianist for her sister last Sunday had been her worst nightmare realized. Her mistake had been glancing out across the congregation to check how the collection was progressing. At that point, she had realized that all eyes were upon her, and suddenly her mind had blanked and her fingers had frozen. Unable to find her place in the music again, she had been forced to start over. All the while she’d wanted to crawl under the piano and hide. So clearly there was no way she could be the regular pianist for the Magnolia church. And that’s exactly what she would tell Davis. Really, she should not be inside more than ten minutes. She had hardly set her foot upon the porch step, however, when two identical young women with the same glossy dark chocolate hair as the pastor emerged from the house. Both wore jeans, one with a purple sweater and matching socks, the other with a rumpled T-shirt and bare feet. They smiled in tandem. “You must be Becca!” exclaimed one. “How put together you are for so early on a Saturday morning!” exclaimed the other. Becca barely had time to glance down at her corduroy jacket and pleated, khaki slacks before they reached out eager arms and whisked her inside. Their eyes, she noted, were a light blue like Davis’s, but without the warm glow that his seemed to possess. “We’re Caylie and Carlie,” said the purple sweater, not bothering to differentiate who was which. “Davis is making breakfast,” said the other. “He says you play and sing like a professional.” “And he would know,” remarked the first. “My, yes, given the musical genes in our family DNA.” “All of my family has remarkable talent but me,” declared the object of their discourse. Standing with spatula in-hand in the open archway between the small, sparsely furnished living room and an old-fashioned eat-in kitchen, he welcomed her with a smile. Clad in jeans and a dark blue knit pullover with long sleeves pushed

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up to the elbows, his face cleanly shaven, he quite literally took Becca’s breath away—which meant that she stood there like a dummy, as per usual. “My inability to carry a tune,” he went on cheerfully, “no doubt accounts for my winding up in the church. I had to do something.” The twins pooh-poohed that as they trundled her into the kitchen, parked her at the square oak table, served her coffee and inquired how she preferred her eggs. “Oh, I’m not particular.” “Over easy it is,” Davis decided, standing at the stove, his back to her. The twins groaned. Becca quickly recanted. “Scrambled, perhaps?” With the twins clamoring approval, he turned a look over his shoulder, his electric ice-blue eyes dancing. “I like your hair down.” She tried not to gasp, one hand touching the recalcitrant curls. In deference to the early hour, she’d originally caught the lot of it at her nape, but the clip had burst open on the drive over and now lay hidden under one of the seats. Cheeks blazing, she ducked her head in embarrassment as Davis and the twins went about preparing the remainder of their breakfast. Soon the table had been laid with napkins and flatware, as well as platters of crisp bacon and toast and tubs of butter and jelly. Davis turned to the table, four plates in hand. “Scrambled, for the ladies,” he said, handing off the appropriate plates before placing his own before the empty chair to Becca’s left. “And over easy for the man of the house.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows at Becca. “It takes a real man to eat half-cooked eggs.” She recognized with a shock her own laughter among the “eww” and “yuck” of the twins. Then they linked hands around the table and bowed their heads. “Father God, I praise You,” Davis prayed. “Thank You for Your many blessings, among them this town, the church, my sisters and Becca. Bless this food from Your bounty to the nourishment of our bodies, and forgive me for pressuring this dear lady to take the position of pianist to satisfy my own selfish ends.” He squeezed her hand and leaned so close that their heads nearly touched. “You will, won’t you?” The refusal that she’d painstakingly practiced fled her tongue. What could she say? Taking a deep breath, she looked up into those luminescent blue eyes. “I’ll try my best.” “We’ll pray you through it,” he promised, holding her hand so tightly it seemed welded to his. “Amen!” The twins began to eat amid much chatter. “We’re so glad! Honestly, he’s helpless on his own. Mother says Joshua is even worse, which is why he’s married already.” “Our brother,” Davis clarified, using a fork to smash his eggs into a runny pulp. “He’s twenty-five.” “The same as my Barry,” Caylie announced happily. “I think twenty-five is a good age for a man to marry, don’t you?” “So is twenty-eight,” Davis said with a shrug, “or thirty-three or fifty. The only bad age to marry is too young.” “But I’m not too young!” Caylie argued. “Even Mother says so, and she was nearly forty.” “She was thirty-five,” Carlie said.

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“Thirty-four,” Davis corrected, then he left them to their bickering, turning those azure eyes fully on Becca, who had somehow managed to actually eat. “Would a trial period be more to your liking?” he asked softly. “A month, perhaps, to decide if it will work out for you?” A rush of warm affection flooded her. “Thank you, yes.” Somehow it helped to think that she had obligated herself only temporarily. And somehow it did not. “Good. I feel better now. When might you start?” Becca thought rapidly. “Well, my sister’s back, but I still have the winter concert this Friday evening to get through, so the first Sunday in March?” “Lovely. It’s settled then, a week from tomorrow.” Becca took a deep breath before confirming, “A week from tomorrow, yes.” “And don’t worry,” he told her. “Our congregation is still small in number, but they will be large in gratitude, I promise.” They discussed the pay, which she found surprisingly adequate, and then he casually asked, “Friday, that would be, what, Leap Year day?” “Yes, I thought it appropriate.” “How so?” She ran a fingertip around the rim of her coffee cup. “Let’s just say I’ll be taking a huge leap of faith that night.” “I imagine it’s a daunting prospect,” he said, “a choral concert with reluctant high-schoolers.” “You’ve no idea.” “Will it help to know that I’ll be praying for you?” “Yes.” Surprisingly she really thought it would. He smiled and polished up his breakfast plate. She was on her way home a half hour later before she finally allowed herself to consider the significance of one important fact: Davis Latimer’s mother had married at the age of thirty-four. Perhaps it was not too late, after all. Thirty-three did not seem so terribly old when she considered that Mrs. Latimer had borne at least four children after the age of thirty-four. At the same time, judging by those children—the three whom she knew, anyway—the woman must be a courageous, forthright, Amazon of a figure. No doubt she had delayed marriage because she’d been off seeing the world and accomplishing great things. Music was bred in their genes, according to the twins. Perhaps their mother had been a great musical prodigy and thrown it all away for love. There she went letting her fanciful dreams carry her away. The last thing she should be doing is building castles in the air just because some nice man had said he liked her hair. “Oh, dear Jesus, help me,” she prayed.

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Not only had she agreed to do the thing for which she was least suited in this world, she had done so for all the wrong reasons. Besides, she could never leave her grandmother alone or expect anyone else to put up with her, certainly not a man like Davis Latimer, minister or not.

*** “I am selfish,” Davis reiterated, enjoying the last of the bacon while his sisters shared a sink full of dirty dishes. “If she’s as talented as you say,” Caylie qualified, “it would be selfish of her not to share her gifts.” “And you gave her an out,” Carlie insisted. “Which I won’t let her take,” Davis confessed, “if there’s any way I can prevent it.” “You know you’re just asking God to stop you,” Carlie said. “No, I’m asking God not to stop me,” Davis admitted. “Well, then,” the twins said in unison. “He will or He won’t,” Carlie finished for them. “Either way, it’s up to God.” Davis nodded and silently prayed that God’s will would coincide with his own.

Chapter Four “Becca, you have company.” Company? Becca looked up from the folder of sheet music that she was going over in her head. Now? Here? She glanced around at the collapsible risers arrayed in a semicircle before the conductor’s music stand and felt the heavy crimson curtain at her back sway. Turning, she saw Davis Latimer push past Ryan Jefford, the assistant principal. She stared stupidly while Davis, elegant in a coal black suit and white shirt with a pale blue tie, thanked Ryan and moved toward her. “How are you?” he asked. “Nervous? Nauseous?” She hadn’t even thought of being sick until that moment, but now she gulped down a doughy lump in her throat and nodded. “You look marvelous,” he told her, touching a wispy ringlet that had escaped her chignon to spring from her temple. “The green of your dress brings out the green tint in your eyes.” “School color,” she muttered. Technically the velvet empire-style gown with its long, fitted sleeves was many shades too dark to qualify as the official school color but she liked the simplicity of it and her sister thought it would look good against the black her students would be wearing without standing out too much. At the moment, however, Becca had other thoughts in her head. “Wh-what are you doing here?” His pale blue eyes glowed with sympathy. “I thought it might help if we prayed together. Would you mind?” Mind? She’d been praying since she’d awakened that morning. Oh Lord, don’t let me cry. Oh Lord, don’t let me faint. Oh Lord, don’t let me mess up. Oh Lord, make the kids behave and pay attention. Oh Lord, get me out of this!

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The young pastor bowed his head, and Becca followed suit, one hand unconsciously splayed atop her sheet music, the other gripping the white baton that her parents had given her as a graduation gift. To her shock, Davis slid an arm about her shoulders. “Father God,” he whispered, “how I praise You for the magnificent gifts You have given this beautiful woman. Let no one leave this place tonight without understanding what a blessing the ability to make music is. Inspire Becca as never before, Father, to Your glory, and as she loses herself in the beauty of the music, let the rest of us follow so that we may know some iota of Your magnificence. You have made her for this, Lord God, and so we trust Your Holy Spirit to guide and strengthen her as she fulfills this moment in her destiny. In the name of Your Holy Son we pray. Amen.” He hugged her tight against his side for a moment longer, saying, “Becca, this will be a momentous night. I feel it in my soul. And I will be right behind you. My sisters are saving me a seat in the front row.” Releasing her, he smiled and walked away, sliding out from behind the curtain just as several students clomped onto the stage. Suddenly Becca became aware of the sounds and movements around her. The auditorium was filling. Her students were arriving from the warm-up in the practice room. Their accompaniment—piano, drums, violins and a clarinet—were tuning. Becca lifted a finger to her lips in an automatic command for quietness, and the clomps became tiptoes as the singers moved into place. But she barely noticed as her thoughts whirled around Davis’s prayer. Beautiful woman…magnificent gifts…this moment in her destiny…made for this…loses herself in the music…beautiful woman… A calm unlike anything Becca had ever known settled over her. She smiled at the students filling the risers and saw their blinks and tilted heads as they recognized her serenity. It felt oddly like confidence. She remembered past performances, some lackluster, some quite good, some both. None had ever been disasters. But tonight’s performance, she sensed, would be in a different class altogether. Stepping out from behind her music stand, she began to direct the preparations with gestures and whispers, moving the vocalists in closer, turning faces to her, focusing gazes. She led them through a series of deep breathing exercises while Ryan Jefford welcomed their guests. Before she moved back behind her music stand, Becca leaned forward and said softly, “Let’s knock them out of their seats.” She got several grins. Moving into place, she lifted her baton. As the stage curtain slid open, she winked, and then she gave the cue. A wall of harmony washed over the audience and the performance really began. Six measures later, the drums came in with a low roll, followed beats later by the violins, the piano and finally the clarinet. They hadn’t gotten that sequence right one time in weeks of practice, but tonight it was perfect, as the applause afterward indicated. As the evening progressed, Becca kept her back to the audience, as usual, while Mr. Jefford played host. Even still, she could feel Davis Latimer in that front row behind her, and in her mind’s eye she saw the wonder and appreciation on his face. In what felt like the blink of an eye it was over. She put down her conductor’s baton on the music stand and smiled at her students. “You’re wonderful,” she told them. She told them that every year, but this time she really meant it, and they knew it. Then she turned to take her bow, her gaze going unerringly to Davis. Like the rest of the audience, he was on his feet and clapping, his grin as wide as his face. Becca saw one of the twins wipe tears from her eyes. The other stepped forward and offered a small bouquet of long-stemmed roses to her. Becca suddenly realized that she had become the focus of all eyes, and her innate shyness reasserted itself. Blushing, she clutched the roses to her and hurried into the wings while Mr. Jefford made sure that the accompanists received appropriate recognition. He dismissed the assembly with such words as “best ever, outdone

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themselves,” and “this year’s remarkably gifted choir.” As the curtain swung closed for the final time and the student singers began to scatter, Becca felt a presence at her side and turned to find that Davis Latimer and his sisters had made it backstage. The girls gushed over the performance, keeping Becca turning this way and that, until her parents and Grandpa Inman arrived. Her grandfather engulfed her in a sturdy hug while her mother pressed her hands together in the center of her chest and her father rocked back on his heels, pushing his already prominent belly forward, a look of surprised delight on his face. “Well, well,” he kept saying. Davis addressed her family with easy familiarity, calling them by their first names and introducing his sisters to them. “Justus, Howard, Ramona, these are my sisters Caylie and Carlie. You must be bursting at the seams. The only thing better would have been for Becca herself to sing.” “Proud day, proud day,” her father, Howard Inman said, while her mother commented on what a talented choral group Becca had to work with this year. “You’ve heard my granddaughter sing, have you?” Justus commented, a speculative look in his eye. A crusty old rancher, tonight he’d eschewed his usual jeans for his Sunday best. “I have. Becca has agreed to play for us at Magnolia Christian.” A tide of well-wishers forestalled further comment. As students, parents and faculty offered congratulatory thanks, Davis remained at her side, staying even after his sisters and her family left and the building emptied. Ryan stuck his head backstage to announce that he was turning out the lights, and Davis said that he would walk Becca to her car. He helped her into her coat, retrieved his own, and together they strolled through the silent building to the nearly empty parking lot. “I’m sorry there aren’t more roses,” he said. “The florist’s shop only had a decent half-dozen on hand.” “You are responsible for these?” “It’s an old tradition.” He slung his coat about his shoulders like a cape, saying, “I noticed that your grandmother wasn’t here tonight.” “Grandma never leaves her house anymore.” “Never? Not even for church?” “I’m afraid not. It’s just too difficult with the wheelchair.” “We have a lovely wide ramp and a covered portico at Magnolia Christian,” he pointed out. “You might mention it.” “I’ll tell her.” Becca wrinkled her nose. “But she still won’t come.” “Hmm.” His shoes scraped the pavement as he moved a little closer, looking down into her face, his dark head haloed by the glare of a vapor light atop a pole at the corner of the building. “Becca, I’d like to call on you,” he said. “Would next Friday evening be all right?” Thinking that he meant to convince her grandmother to attend church, she hesitated, but then he ducked his head. “Please say yes.”

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“Yes.” It was out before she even knew she’d spoken. How, Becca wondered, was she going to explain this to her grandmother? Davis smiled. “I look forward to it. But first I’ll see you Sunday morning at church. Come early. We’ll pray together and go over a minor change in the bulletin. All right?” Becca nodded. “Good night, and congratulations,” he said, turning away. Becca yearned to call him back, to prolong this night of wonders, and suddenly she just did. “Davis!” He spun on his heel. “Yes?” Shocked at herself, she floundered for a moment. Then she caught her breath, and the perfume of roses filled her nostrils. Proffering them awkwardly, she said the only words she could think of. Fortunately, they were heartfelt. “Thank you.” Davis smiled. “My pleasure.” As he walked away, he whistled. Becca smiled to herself. What he’d said last Saturday about being the only member of his family lacking musical talent was undoubtedly true. The poor man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But he could—and did—carry her heart. Thank Heaven he would never know.

Chapter Five “It was my grandmother’s,” Davis told Becca proudly, running a hand over the top of the lovely old baby grand piano that meant so much to him. “My grandfather Davis gave it to me when I accepted the call here.” Becca sat down on the tapestry-covered bench and lifted the keyboard cover, running her fingers lightly over the yellowed ivory. “Wonderful tone.” She put a foot forward to work the pedals, playing a familiar hymn from memory. “Is Davis your mother’s maiden name?” “It is. May I sit beside you? I used to sit on this bench with my grandmother.” Becca nodded. Smiling, he lowered himself to the end of the bench. “She was not as good as you,” he said, “but she loved to play, and my grandfather loved her. He bought her this piano for their twentieth wedding anniversary. After she died, it moved with him into my mother’s house, and now it’s come to my church. As will he, I’m sure. He’s nearly ninety, but he can still preach the rafters down, as my mother would say.” “He must be proud of you,” Becca said softly. Davis felt a warm glow inside his chest. “He’s proud of all seven of his grandchildren. He will delight in hearing you play this old piano.” She abruptly stopped, her hands falling to her lap. “Isn’t there a change to the service we should be discussing?” Davis pulled a folded bulletin from his coat pocket and pointed to a certain hymn. “All three verses instead of two, if you don’t mind.”

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She made a note on her own copy of the bulletin, after which he covered her hands with his and, as he had the night of the concert, prayed for her. She didn’t seem as comforted as she had before, and he fought the urge to take her into his arms for a hug. “Just keep your eye on me,” he said, pointing toward the pulpit and the chair behind it. “You’ll do fine.” Nodding, she took in a deep breath. Davis left Becca then to go prepare for the service, praying that he was doing the right thing. And it all started out well. The opening music provided no problem for her, as people were busy finding seats and visiting in hushed tones. Likewise, she accomplished the hymns with relative ease. Davis realized that as long as the congregation focused on something other than her playing, Becca was fine. It was only when they came to the offertory that Becca faltered—the moment when everyone’s attention was truly focused on her. Even before she began to play, Davis saw that her hands trembled as she spread out the music for the piece she had chosen, and he sent up a silent prayer. She made the first few bars, though the notes sounded stilted and hesitant to his ears. Then she fumbled, and he felt her panic. Instinctively, he repositioned his chair, moving slightly to his right and placing himself squarely within her sightline. As he hoped, her gaze zipped up, locking on his. He smiled, asking God to fill her with His peace, and her fingers moved smoothly into the next passage. After a moment, she looked down again and soon lost herself in the music. It poured out of the grand seamlessly, like an audible painting. Awed and humbled, Davis silently thanked God and began to ponder the coming Friday night.

*** He arrived with a stack of board games. Grandma Dorothy frowned, disliking this development even more than she’d disliked the idea of him calling to “scold” her into returning to church, though Becca had assured her that Pastor Latimer would do nothing so crass as scold. Becca let him into the tiny living room, where the petite grand and Grandma’s wheelchair crowded the other furniture into corners. He smiled at the piecrust coffee table with its abundance of knickknacks then greeted her grandmother warmly, bending to bring himself to her eye level. Holding up the board games, he suggested that they get comfortable around the dining table. “This is almost exactly like the parsonage,” he said, leading the way. “My sisters and I find it crowded for three. I’ve asked the elders for permission to buy my own residence. Do you know the Galter home on Dogwood?” “Of course,” Becca said, envisioning the stately home with its dark red brick and wide verandas, “but aren’t your sisters leaving soon?” “They are, yes.” But he glossed over this and returned to his excited description of the house. “It’s in excellent shape. I’m told Mr. Galter was a carpenter. I love the wide hallways and doors and high ceilings.” “Benny Galter was a friend of my husband’s,” Dorothy said mournfully, nodding her frizzy gray head. “Benny went last year from stroke. I’m surprised Edna is selling.” “Mmm. She’s gone into a retirement home near her daughter, I hear.” “Shameful things, retirement homes,” Grandma grumbled. “Warehouses for the old and infirm. In my day we took care of our own and were glad to do it.”

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“I’m sure you were, ma’am.” He laid the board games on the table, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Which shall it be?” Grandma Dorothy frowned, her gray eyes narrowing, a dangerous sign. Becca rushed to choose before her grandmother could refuse. “This one.” Davis smiled. “Excellent. Who will be the banker?” He looked from Becca to her grandmother. “Me, then.” He sent a direct look to Becca. The twinkle in his eyes made her smile, as if they shared a secret. “I’ll get the refreshments,” Becca said. Davis began laying out the board and playing pieces, while Grandma quizzed him. Where was he from? Who were his people? How old was he? Where did he go to school? How many siblings? He answered patiently, a smile in his voice, speaking at length about his brother and sisters, father and mother and grandfather. “We’re a musical tribe,” he said. “All but me. But what I lack in ability, I make up for in appreciation.” He smiled at Becca and there it was again, that shared confidence, a natural sort of intimacy. Her hands trembled as she placed the soda and cookies on the table. “Mmm, chocolate chip,” he said, “my favorite.” She thought her heart would stop at the look in his eye. “Are we going to play or not?” Grandma groused. He left several hours later, leaving the cookie plate clean and Grandma Dorothy almost mollified. Grandma liked to win, and Davis played with surprisingly casual interest. Becca never won at these things; she always felt compelled to go out of her way to spare her opponents. But Davis seemed equally determined that she should receive her fair share of small triumphs. Meanwhile, Grandma took advantage of them both. Becca was used to it, but he didn’t seem to mind, either. More often than not, when Grandma crowed over some new acquisition or clever play, he shared an indulgent look with Becca. It left her feeling breathless and pathetic at the same time. She didn’t know what to think when he stopped at the door as they were seeing him out and said, “What a fine evening. Next Friday?” Becca opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. He promptly turned his attention to Dorothy. “You don’t mind, do you, ma’am?” Grandma, of course, had to say that next Friday would be fine though how he could miss the dryness of her tone, Becca didn’t know. Miss it he did, however. Beaming he exclaimed, “Excellent!” He winked at Becca then, and she felt a thrill all the way to the soles of her feet. How desperate was she to feel such excitement over so mundane and meaningless a gesture? She did not need her grandmother to point out sourly that he was too young and good-looking for her. “Don’t go getting ideas about that one, girl,” Dorothy counseled. “I won’t,” Becca mumbled automatically. “Thinks he’s clever, but he’s not too bright if he thinks a silly game will get me into his church.” Becca cleared her mind with a deep breath. “Right now,” she said briskly, “we have to get you out of that chair and into bed.”

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Dorothy sighed. “Whatever would I do without you, child?” And that, thought Becca, was the problem.

*** The midweek service that first week went much more easily than Becca expected, but the congregation seemed to grow every Sunday afterward. By mid-March the building sanctuary seemed almost full. As usual, Becca focused on Davis before she began the offertory. In truth, she played it just for him, and then sat silently asking for forgiveness during the sermon. An offertory hymn should be played for God alone, not a man whose personal interest in her was limited to her musical talents and the challenge of getting her grandmother into church, as Grandma insisted. Yet, he had been paying Becca a great deal of attention. They’d spent every Friday night together, and a good deal of other time, as well. After the service, a number of folks came by to express their appreciation, which she accepted with as much grace as flaming cheeks would allow. She was closing the piano when Davis strode back from shaking hands at the door to present her with a handwritten copy of next week’s bulletin. They discussed the song selections, and then Davis smiled down at her. “You did well today, Becca. Impressed our guests. We had three new families visit.” “That’s good.” “About this Friday,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of buying two tickets to the symphony.” “Symphony? What symphony?” “The Dallas Symphony Orchestra. They’re playing Stravinsky’s “Firebird Suite,” one of my favorites. We’ll need to leave by four. Can you get away from the school that early?” Dumbfounded, Becca could only gape at him. “I— I can’t—” “Don’t worry about your grandmother,” he interrupted. “My sisters will stay with her.” “But I—” “The green dress you wore for the concert will do nicely, I think, and I happen to own an understated tuxedo. Weddings, you know.” She finally got a sentence out. “You want me to go to the Dallas symphony with you?” “Who else would appreciate the music as I do?” “But it’s a three hour drive!” “Yes, exactly. I’ll speak to Ryan. We really must be away by four, and don’t worry about getting back late. I have no trouble driving at night, and my sisters are a pair of night owls.” Becca gaped. The Dallas Symphony Orchestra. Stravinsky’s “Firebird Suite.” Her whirling mind seized on one seemingly pertinent fact: “You’ve already bought the tickets?” “You won’t believe what I had to go through to get them,” he confirmed with a laugh. She didn’t know what to think or say. She did know that her grandmother was going to be very unhappy.

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But for the first time, that seemed a surprisingly minor consideration. The symphony! With Davis.

Chapter Six On Friday, Becca posted a sign on her classroom door directing all choral students to study hall—and Ryan Jefford promised he would make certain none of them skipped—leaving Becca free to leave school early and prepare for her “meeting” with Davis. She refused to think of it as a date and resolved to pay for her own ticket to the symphony, going so far as to declare to her disgruntled grandmother that this outing signified nothing more than the pastor’s desire to thank her for playing the piano for worship services at the Magnolia church. Grandma harrumphed about that and complained bitterly about being left in the care of twenty-oneyear-old “infants.” Becca did not point out that she had only been eighteen when she’d become her grandmother’s caregiver. She did, however, dress to go out in the green velvet that she’d worn for the choral concert, twisting up her hair to leave tendrils curling about her face and neck, and even went so far as to trade her glasses for the contact lenses that she rarely bothered to wear. Grandma Dorothy’s worried expression became querulous when Davis’s sleek black coupe pulled up at the side of the street, followed by an older sedan driven by one of the twins. She complained that his coupe looked too fast and the sedan too unreliable. The twins she deemed “flighty” before they even reached the door. Becca ignored it all. Caylie and Carlie breezed in with their usual exuberant humor, and Becca found herself whisked out on the charming assurances of their brother. “You look spectacular,” he said, handing her down into his car. Becca blushed and smiled for the next hour, while he rattled on about one thing or another. Eventually, however, they fell into a comfortable silence. He pulled over in Bowie to pick up a fast-food dinner for them, which they ate in the car. “I apologize for this,” he said, folding back the wrapper of his hamburger, “but there isn’t time for more.” “Oh, no, this is fine,” she protested. “I just wish you’d allow me to pay for mine.” He chuckled at that. “Now what kind of date would I be if I allowed you to pay your own way?” “Date?” “What else?” Becca gulped and blurted, “But I’m older than you!” He lifted both eyebrows at that, swallowing a bite of French fries. “Yes. And?” “A-and I’m older than you!” she repeated, confused. “By five years.” “Doesn’t seem so very much to me,” he said with a shrug. “My mother, after all, is eight years my father’s senior.” Becca gaped, frozen, until he gently pointed out that she was about to drop mustard all over that lovely gown. Glancing down, she managed to catch the bright yellow glob with her napkin, despite the confused, excited whirl of her thoughts.

***

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Davis smiled to himself. Poor darling. She really had no notion of how adorable she was or of how thoroughly besotted he found himself. He felt the same calm assurance about her as he did about his calling, and for that he praised God. Surely God would not allow her shyness or her grandmother’s fears to stand in their way. He supposed the meeting of the church elders tomorrow would settle at least the latter issue and prayed that he had not misjudged Becca’s own feelings. Meanwhile, the symphony lay ahead. They accomplished the remainder of the drive in conversation borne of simple observance. Yet, he learned much. She liked a house with a red roof, but her favorite color was periwinkle blue. She’d never learned to drive a stick shift or ride a horse, and she longed for a less cluttered style of home than her grandmother kept. She envied her younger sister. “But you’re much prettier,” he insisted, “and more talented, though she’s a very nice lady, I’m sure.” Becca stared at him as if he’d grown a third eye in the center of his forehead before she frowned and said, “But Bethany is much more outgoing.” He considered that and decided, “I suppose I don’t need another outgoing woman in my life. My family is full of them.” Again, she stared, as if he were some sort of creature she’d never seen before. Uneasy, he sent up a silent prayer. The Dallas traffic required all of his attention until they at last reached their destination. With only minutes to spare, they dashed into the impressive symphony center and found their seats. In the dark of the hall, they sat in silence as the concert began. The music enraptured them. So much so that Davis didn’t realize that he had been holding Becca’s hand until they stood up to applaud. He found he liked the sensation, and decided to casually drape his arm about her slender shoulders as they exited the theatre. They visited the gift shop and purchased a CD, then strolled arm-in-arm back to the car. “I always have to praise God when I hear such incredible music,” Becca sighed. “Now you know how I feel when I hear you sing,” Davis told her, pleased to see her eyes widen in response to his words. He popped the CD into the player on the drive home, letting the music negate any need for conversation. By the time the CD ended, they were only a half hour or so from Eden. He looked over and smiled when he found that Becca had drifted off into a peaceful slumber. It was late when he pulled up beside her grandmother’s little house, but he sat for several minutes letting the engine idle as he watched her sleep, her head tucked into the corner between the headrest and the side window. Please, Father, he silently prayed, I have only ever sought Your will, but I ask You to please make this sweet, gentle woman mine. Make me a joy and a blessing to her. Always.

*** Becca woke to whispered words and the warm, oddly familiar touch of a man’s hands cupping her face. “We’re here, my darling. Our lovely evening is almost at an end.” Memory flooded her. The glorious music, Davis holding her hand, his arm about her shoulders, telling her that the age difference meant nothing, that he valued best the very thing she had most decried about herself. She opened her eyes and then closed them again as his dark head bent toward hers and his lips tenderly sought her own. A moment later he pulled her into his arms, bending her head back with the pressure of his kiss and thrilling her to the very depth of her being. That kiss carried her through their walk to her door, his sisters’ whispered report on their evening, their eventual parting and into the sweetest of dreams. It carried her even through her grandmother’s sullen

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complaints the next morning, all the way up to the moment when Davis arrived, unannounced, just after breakfast, to insist that they were all going on an outing. “I won’t take no for an answer,” he said calmly, when Grandma objected. Pushing her chair to the door, he told a flustered Becca that they would of course have to take her van. Grandma griped the whole way, from the door, down the ramp, onto the lift, into the locks in the floorboard of the van. Davis just winked at Becca, smiling broadly. To her own surprise, she asked only, “Where are we going?” “Uh-uh. It’s a surprise, which means that I will need to drive.” She handed over her keys and got into the passenger seat. Five minutes later the van turned into the drive of the Galter house. Even Grandma shut up, settling for a disapproving glower as Davis pushed her chair up the ramp at the back of the place and into the now empty house. The twins rushed to greet them. “Oh, Davis, it’s perfect!” one of them exclaimed. “And,” Davis said, rolling Grandma’s chair forward through the roomy kitchen and into the dining room, “every door is wide enough.” He proved this by taking them all on a whirlwind tour of every big, elegant room. They wound up in the conservatory, a room with one entire wall of windows. “Imagine the plants you can put in here,” one of the twins said. “You could literally bring the outdoors inside.” She bent to Grandma Dorothy and asked, “Wouldn’t you like that?” Grandma’s chin began to tremble, and Becca feared an outburst, but before she could speak, Davis walked around Grandma’s chair and addressed her. “Well, what do you think?” He glanced at Becca, adding, “She deserves better, of course, but it will make a grand home, won’t it?” To Becca’s horror and confusion, Grandma began to cry. “I am not just to visit, am I?” “Oh, no, no,” he said solemnly. “I’m counting on you to empty your house and help furnish the place.” He straightened, saying, “Although Becca, of course, will have the final word on all of it.” The twins clapped, bouncing on their toes and beaming. “Isn’t it wonderful?” one of them exclaimed. “You and your grandmother will be so much more comfortable here.” Becca could only shake her head and look to Davis, asking in astonishment, “Are you giving us this house?” He took both of her hands in his. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am,” he said. “I just need you to answer one question for me. Will you marry me, Becca?” She gaped. She could do nothing else. Shock drove an inarticulate sound from her. “Would it help,” he asked, “to know that I love you most shamelessly?” Becca gasped, and then she did the very last thing she expected herself to do: She threw herself, laughing, into the arms of the man of her dreams. Becca knew then, in her heart of hearts, that she would never again fear performing in public, for she would always play and sing in gratitude to a sublimely good and generous God, with the full support of her loving husband.

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Finding Home by Cindi Myers Paul Redhorse can’t wait to come home to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. After a year in boot camp, he’s looking forward to reconnecting with his family, his people and the woman he’s been crazy about since he was twelve—Rita Sierra. But Rita can’t wait to leave the Rez. With her parents dead and her brother throwing his life away on drugs and alcohol, she believes there is no future for her on the reservation—which means there can be no future for her and Paul. With only days left before Paul has to report for duty in Colorado Springs, he has precious little time to prove Rita wrong and convince her that he can change things, especially where it counts the most—in her heart.

Chapter One October, 2002 “Do you think it’s possible that Paul Redhorse is even better looking than he was when he left the Rez five months ago?” Rita Sierra shifted to avoid her friend Norma’s nudge, keeping her expression impassive as her gaze remained fixed on the basketball court outside the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation Rec Center. Three men— two Native American, one white—jostled for control of a basketball, their shouts and laughter reverberating across the parking lot. Paul had removed his shirt, revealing an expanse of muscular back and shoulders—and the sight made Rita a little light-headed. She was sure Paul hadn’t been quite so buff when he last held her, five months before. His hair was cut military short, drawing that much more attention to his fine cheekbones and lively dark eyes. “Sure you aren’t having second thoughts about breaking up with him?” Norma asked, nudging Rita again. “No, I’m sure,” Rita said. “Paul is a great guy, but as soon as he gets out of the service, he plans to come back here to the Rez to stay. I’m leaving as soon as I can.” If she never came back to Pine Ridge, South Dakota, that would be fine with her. “He’s got at least three more years in the military,” Norma said. “A lot could happen to change his mind in that time. Or to change yours.” Rita shook her head. There was nothing here for her but bad memories—the sooner she left those behind, the better. The basketball sailed through the hoop and the game ended with a shout. Before Rita could move, the three men were loping toward her, long legs covering ground quickly. “Hey,” Paul said. He might have been addressing both women, but his gaze was fixed on Rita with an intensity that unsettled her. “Hey,” she replied cautiously. She had known Paul all her life, but they’d only dated a few times before he left for Army boot camp—so she’d been a little taken aback when he’d asked her to write to him while he was away. His letters had surprised her even more, revealing a side of him she’d never known: thoughtful, witty and passionate about returning to the reservation to work to improve the lives of their people, the Lakota Sioux.

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“This is my buddy from boot camp, Matt Evans.” Paul introduced Norma and Rita to his friend. “It’s nice to meet you, Rita,” Matt said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Rita glanced at Paul. What had he been saying about her? “We’d better head back to the house,” Jeremy said. “Can we give you a ride, Norma?” “That’d be great.” Norma looked at Rita. “Rita can ride with me.” Paul pulled on his T-shirt then settled his arm around her shoulders. His embrace was warm and strong. Protective. The problem was she didn’t need to be protected from anyone—except him. His heated looks, toned muscles and general sexiness were a serious threat to her resolve to do the right thing. To tell him there was no future for them, no matter how much his letters and smile and strong arms made her want to believe differently.

Chapter Two “I stopped by your grandparents’ place last night but you weren’t there,” Paul said when he and Rita were alone in his truck, headed toward her grandparents’ trailer house. “I had a late class in Chadron.” She was halfway through her training to become a dental hygienist. “I couldn’t have stayed more than a few minutes, anyway. Every relative in three states is coming in for the big party my parents are throwing for me and Jeremy tomorrow night. You’ll be there, won’t you?” She nodded. Everyone they knew would be at the Redhorses’ tomorrow night. If she didn’t show up, it would only cause talk. “You look great,” he said. “I like your hair like this.” “You do?” She put a hand to her short locks. Her grandmother had wept and her grandfather had cursed when she’d cut off the long braids she’d worn since she was a girl. Despite other modern innovations, short hair—especially on women—wasn’t common on the Rez. “It suits you,” he said. “Shows off those pretty eyes.” She blushed in spite of herself. “You look great, too,” she said. “Army life agrees with you.” “Good chow and all that training.” He laughed. “Besides, I was the only Indian in my unit—I had a rep to keep up.” That was Paul—so proud of his heritage, but never in-your-face about it. “What’s the story with Matt?” she asked. “Why is he here instead of home with his folks?” “His folks are missionaries in Russia or something, so he really didn’t have anywhere to go. He wanted to see life on the Rez, so I brought him along.” “Is he shocked?” Outsiders usually were. The desolate country, run-down houses and general poverty of the reservation contrasted sharply with much of the rest of the country.

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“Probably, but he hasn’t said anything. He’s a cool guy.” He pulled the truck to the side of the road just beyond her grandparents’ place and shut off the engine. “But I don’t want to talk about him right now. I’ve really missed you. I kept all your letters.” She’d kept his, too, though she couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t want him to think they had a future together. “I never knew you were such a good writer,” she said instead. He made a face. “I guess sometimes it’s easier to say something on paper than it is to say it face to face.” Yes, it is, she thought. Which was probably why some women broke up with guys by sending Dear John letters. But that seemed like such a cowardly thing to do. “Paul, there’s something I need to tell you.” “In a little bit.” He leaned toward her, his dark eyes gazing into hers with such heat and longing. “There’s something I need to do first.” Without thought or hesitation she lifted her face to his. His lips were firm and warm against hers, gentle yet coaxing, tender yet holding the promise of barely restrained passion. This was nothing like the brief kiss they’d shared when he’d left for boot camp. That had been an exchange between casual friends. This was the kiss of lovers—or two people who would be lovers very soon. She trembled as the tip of his tongue caressed her scarcely parted lips and she opened her mouth to explain why they shouldn’t be doing this. But all her protests were silenced as he deepened the kiss and she melted against him, her arms tightening around him, her body determined to hold onto him— even as her mind told her to push him away. But he was the one to move away first, his eyes glowing with a heat that burned right through her. She looked away and folded her arms over her stomach, trying to regain control of her whirling emotions. He stroked the back of her head, his fingers twining in her hair. “You wanted to tell me something?” he said.

Chapter Three Rita took a deep breath, trying to clear her head, but that only made her more aware of the heady scents of sun-warmed cotton, clean male sweat and the sage Mary Redhorse would have burned to welcome her son home. Home to the Rez. The place where Rita did not want to be. There was no easy way to do this. “I’m going away,” she blurted. “After I graduate from dental hygiene school. I want to get a job in a city. Maybe even in another state.” “It’s not a bad idea to get experience somewhere else before you come back here,” he said. “People respect that kind of thing.” She forced herself to meet his eyes, to not lose her resolve. “I don’t plan on coming back,” she said. “Ever.” His expression remained impassive. “You don’t think you’ll miss this place? This is where your people are. Your home.” “You see it that way. To me, it’s the place where my dad drank himself to death—just like dozens of other men and women I could name. It’s where my mom died of complications from diabetes—a disease that’s plaguing over eighty percent of the adults on the reservation. Most of the people I went to school with don’t have jobs. There’s no future for me here.” The lines around his mouth tightened. “What about Ruben?” She winced at the mention of her younger brother. When they were growing up, Ruben was so smart and funny, nicknamed Coyote for his penchant for playing tricks on everyone. “Ruben is lost to me,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

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Paul put his hand under her chin and turned her face toward him. “What’s he done this time?” She’d written to Paul about Ruben’s brushes with tribal law—mostly petty theft and vandalism, though once he’d stolen an old car and wrecked it in a ravine. He drank and smoked pot and seldom bothered to go to school anymore. But it had become much worse recently. “He’s started huffing,” she said, her voice cracking. Inhalant abuse—sniffing paint thinner, glue and other toxic substances to get high—was common on the reservation because the inhalants were easy to get and cheap. “I’ll talk to him,” Paul said. “Talking isn’t going to help,” she snapped. “There’s nothing anyone can do. This place is cursed.” “There are a lot of problems here, I won’t deny it. But it’s up to people like us, young and educated, to make a difference.” She shook her head. “It’s too hard. One person can’t make a difference.” “You’re wrong about that. You’ve made a difference to me.” “Paul—” “Shhh.” He put a finger to her lips. “Let me finish. My whole life I’ve watched you and thought you were special, even when the only way I knew how to show you was by pulling your pigtails and running away.” She felt a catch in her throat as she recalled the skinny little boy who had teased her mercilessly—and how even then she’d thought he was the cutest, smartest boy she knew. “We grew up and I still thought you were special, but I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continued. “When we started dating before I left, I was over the moon, but afraid to show it. Then when I was going away, I figured I had nothing to lose, so I asked you to write to me. And finally, through those letters, I felt we really got to know each other.” He traced the curve of her cheek with his forefinger, as if stroking some precious object. “You don’t know how much I looked forward to every one of your letters.” Her heart had leapt, too, every time she saw an envelope in his handwriting in her mailbox. But there was no sense thinking about that now. “I can’t stay here,” she said. “And in almost every letter you wrote, you talked about how much you wanted to come back to the Rez to help people. That this was the only home you could ever imagine having.” “For the last couple of months, I’ve been imagining that home with you in it.” “No.” She shook her head and reached blindly for the door handle. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” She stumbled out of the truck and started toward the house, sure her grandmother—and all their neighbors—were watching this drama unfold. “Go ahead and leave,” Paul called after her. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet. And that kiss told me you aren’t done with me.”

Chapter Four Ed and Mary Redhorse invited the entire community to help them celebrate the return of their sons Paul and Jeremy from military boot camp—Paul from the Army, and Jeremy from the Marines. Aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors and friends crowded into the four-room cinderblock house, bringing platters of food and coolers to

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drink. Recorded traditional chanting and drumming at one end of the house competed with Native hip-hop at the other. Rita and Norma squeezed through the front door and deposited their own contributions on folding tables that had been set up in the front room. Rita spotted Paul on the other side of the room, standing with a group of preteens. Cousins, she thought. One of them said something and he laughed, teeth flashing white against his brown skin. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest at the memory of the kiss they’d shared. He was the best looking man in the room and he was smart, funny and strong—everything a woman could want. A woman who was content to spend the rest of her life on the reservation, that is. And she wasn’t that woman. Before he saw her, she left Norma talking to one of her neighbors and moved into a bedroom where all the furniture had been pushed against the walls. Teenagers and younger kids were piled onto the beds and chairs, watching two boys in the center of the room demonstrate wrestling holds. Ruben was there, slumped on a daybed in the corner, a tall can of beer balanced on his stomach. Rita pushed her way over to him. “What’s up?” she asked, scowling at the young woman who sprawled next to him. The woman—a girl, really—got up and made room for Rita. “Hey, Sister,” Ruben said with a sleepy smile. Rita checked his eyes. They weren’t bloodshot and he didn’t smell of paint fumes—two tell-tale signs of a huffer. But it was obvious he’d had more than a few beers. “Where’ve you been the past two days?” she asked. “Grandmother is worried.” “Around.” He raised the beer can to his lips. “Did you go to school at all this week?” “What do you think?” “I think a lot of things. Did you go to class or not?” “Not.” She would have grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him if she believed it would do any good. “What are you going to do with your life if you don’t get an education?” she asked instead. “I’m doing it.” He grinned, an insolent, challenging grimace. She raised her hand to slap him, but someone caught her by the wrist. She looked up and found Paul looming over them. “Hey, Ruben,” he said, nodding to the younger man. Ruben sat up straighter and offered his hand. “Hey, Paul. How’s it feel to be a soldier boy?” Paul had to let go of Rita in order to shake Ruben’s hand. “It feels good,” he said. “Better you than me.” Ruben held up the beer. “You want one of these?” “Not right now. How’ve you been?” Ruben shrugged, and his face took on a shuttered expression. “You know how it is.” He shoved off the bed. “I’m going for a refill. See you around.” He didn’t look at Rita as he shambled away.

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She glared at Paul. “Who asked you to butt in?” “All you would have done if you’d slapped him was made him mad. And maybe hurt yourself.” He took her hand in his and smoothed his fingers across her palm, sending a fluttery feeling through her. She jerked her hand away. “This is none of your business,” she said. “Ruben is a good kid at heart, he said. “He’s smart. He just needs someone to set him straight.” “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” His eyes met hers. “Maybe he needs a man.” Maybe I need a man, echoed in her head. And not just any man, but this one—who was so calm in the face of her agitation, so certain when she was so full of doubts. So able to make her forget all her resolve to not let herself get involved with someone who was so wrong for her. “Stay out of this,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do.” She stood and fled from the room, though she could still feel the heat of his gaze on her all the way out of the house.

Chapter Five “Where do you think you’re going, bro?” Jeremy stopped Paul as he started out the front door after Rita. Paul frowned at his brother’s hand on his arm. “Let me go,” he said. “No way.” But he loosened his grip and his voice took on a teasing tone. “Why do you want to go chasing after a woman, when you can have anyone you want right here?” He motioned around the room where several pairs of dark eyes watched them. The Redhorse brothers’ time in boot camp certainly hadn’t made them less attractive to the opposite sex. Except the only woman Paul wanted was Rita. He pulled his arm from Jeremy’s grip. “Some of us are choosier than others,” he said. “Doesn’t look like she’s choosing you, though.” He gave Paul a thoughtful look. “What’s the deal with her, anyway? I thought the two of you only went out a few times before you left.” “We wrote a lot while I was away.” He’d held back nothing in those letters, pouring out every hope, dream and frustration on the page, and she’d responded in kind. He’d discovered Rita was as beautiful inside as he knew her to be on the outside. She’d endured a lot of pain in her life, but she remained hopeful with big plans for her future. A future he’d hoped would include him. “A few letters aren’t the same as a real relationship,” Jeremy said. “Why would you want to get involved with anyone right now, anyway? In another week you’ll be gone, and who knows how long it would be before you’d see each other again.” “Maybe he thinks it would be nice to have someone waiting for him when he does come home.” Matt joined them, a beer in one hand and a plate of fry bread in the other. “I know I think about that.” “If we come home.” Jeremy stole a piece of fry bread from Matt’s plate and dipped it in the blueberry wojape puddled alongside. “When the war starts in Iraq, we could all end up over there being shot at.”

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“Speak for yourself,” Matt said. “I intend to come home, and I wouldn’t mind having a wife waiting for me.” “Is that what you think?” Jeremy looked at Paul. “That you’re ready to get married and settle down?” “If I found the right woman.” He avoided his brother’s gaze. Jeremy had always been able to read him too well. “I remember now,” Jeremy said. He nudged Paul in the side. “When he was twelve years old, he told me he was going to marry Rita Sierra because she never told the teacher on him when he pulled her braids.” Paul flushed. He’d forgotten that declaration, though he couldn’t deny that even then he’d been attracted to the quiet, beautiful girl who sat one table over from his in the lunchroom. “Now she won’t even stay in the same room with you,” Jeremy said. “She’s upset about her brother.” “Which one is her brother?” Matt asked, looking around the room. “His name’s Ruben. Big, good-looking kid.” Jeremy grinned. “I’d point him out to you, but you know how all us Indians look alike to you whities.” “That’s right.” Matt returned the grin. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you and your brother apart if you weren’t two inches taller.” “Not tell us apart?” Jeremy pretended to be shocked. “Ask anyone around here. I’m the good-looking one.” “Then Paul must be the smart one,” Matt said. “That’s me,” Paul said. But if he was so smart, where had he gone wrong with Rita?

Chapter Six The morning after Paul and Jeremy’s homecoming party, Rita was driving to Chadron to attend class when her car began to overheat. “Noooo,” she wailed, as she stared at the red warning light on the dash. She steered the vehicle to the side of the road and shut off the engine. She didn’t have a cell phone—there was little to no service on the Rez anyway, so what was the point? She’d have to wait here until someone came along to give her a ride. Hot wind kicked up swirls of dust from the side of the road, and she raised one hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun. Several minutes passed before she heard the comforting sound of a vehicle approaching. Soon, she could make out the silhouette of an older model pickup. The truck pulled up behind her car and the driver’s door opened. “Something wrong?” Paul asked. Rita stifled a groan. Was the man following her? “The car overheated,” she said. “Pop the hood and let me take a look.” She did as he asked and he spent some time wiggling wires and tugging at various car parts. “Looks like the fan belt,” he said. “I can take you to the auto parts in Chadron to get a new one, then come back here and put it in for you.”

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“I don’t have time for that. I’m on my way to class.” If she left now, she would barely make it in time. Paul lowered the hood. “I’ll give you a ride, go get the part, fix the car, and pick you up when your class is over.” She hesitated. She hated being in his debt, but what choice did she have? “All right.” His radio was tuned to KILI, the reservation radio station, which was broadcasting a recording of a tribal council meeting. Paul turned down the volume as he pulled away from her car. “I’ve been thinking about what I should study when I get out of the Army,” he said. Though Paul had joined the Army in the wake of 9-11, he’d told Rita in one of his first letters that his primary motivation had been the chance to have a college education paid for. “What have you decided?” she asked. “What do you think about teaching?” “What would you teach?” “I’m not sure. But I’m speaking at an assembly at the high school tomorrow evening and I’m really looking forward to connecting with the kids.” “I could see you as a teacher,” she said. “Young people look up to you.” She remembered the young cousins who had gathered around him at the party. “Must be my good looks.” He winked at her, sending a jolt of heat through her. “They look up to you because they know you really care,” she said. “Yeah. I do care. Maybe it would be easier if I didn’t, but I look at all this—” He motioned to the barren landscape, strewn with junk cars, trash, run-down houses and rusting trailers. “It looks hopeless to most people, but it’s still a place I love, and there are people here I love. I have to try to help.” “I guess I’m not as noble as you are. All I can do is try to help myself, and that means leaving and making a better life somewhere else.” He glanced at her. “So you’re serious about never coming back here to live?” “I am. And you’re convinced you could never live anywhere else?” “I am.” She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. When he pulled into the parking lot of the vocational school a few minutes later, she opened the door before he’d shut off the engine. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “What time should I pick you up?” “That’s okay. I’ll get a ride from a friend.” Too late—she realized how that must have sounded. Paul was certainly more than a friend to her, but she needed to put more distance between them. The more they were together, the harder it was going to be to say goodbye.

Chapter Seven As he waited the next evening to address the audience gathered at Red Cloud High School, Paul fought a bad case of nerves. In his dress uniform and short military haircut, he felt far removed from the boy who’d sat in those very seats only a short time ago.

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As he looked out over the crowd of restless students, parents and teachers, he was surprised to see Ruben Sierra with a bunch of other young toughs at the back of the room. He caught the boy’s eye and nodded. Ruben looked away, then back, and returned the nod. Paul’s aunt, Wilma Blue Legs, had been chosen to introduce him. She’d taught him when he was in third grade, and had shown no mercy simply because he was her nephew. But now she made him sound like a saint, announcing that he was carrying on the proud warrior tradition of the Lakota. Wilma finished her introduction and he stood and walked to the podium. The door at the back of the gym creaked loudly as it opened, and he was startled to see Rita enter. She took a seat at the back and the last of his nervousness melted away. She’d come to hear him speak. Maybe even to support him. That had to mean something. He hadn’t prepared a speech, merely made notes on points he wanted to cover. He started out talking about his decision to join the Army and his experiences in boot camp. The students laughed at his jokes and seemed really interested in what he was saying. Before he knew it, it was time to wrap things up. “Some people join the service because they want to leave home and see the world,” he said. “I joined because I wanted to learn things I could bring back here to benefit my friends and family. “Too often, people look at Pine Ridge and see only the bad things—the poverty and unemployment and problems with drugs and alcohol and disease. But we don’t have to accept those things as our lot in life. We—you and me and all of us—have the power to make things better. It may mean leaving for a while to learn new skills and other ways of doing things. But we can take what we’ve learned and put it to use here. I want to challenge each of you to think of one thing you can do to make life here better—for yourself, and for all of those around you.” When he stepped back from the podium, the audience awarded him with a standing ovation. He looked toward the back of the room, wanting to share this moment of triumph with Rita. But her seat was empty, and she was nowhere in sight.

Chapter Eight Rita slipped into the hallway with the applause for Paul still ringing in her ears. She’d been momentarily breathless when she first saw him standing on stage in his uniform. He looked so mature and strong and handsome. The kind of man a woman could depend on. She shook her head and started toward the parking lot. True to his word, he’d repaired her car for her and had even driven it to her grandparents’ trailer and left it. She would have to thank him, but not now. Her decision to end their budding relationship had been an easy one when they were thousands of miles apart, but she hadn’t counted on the ability of his physical presence to weaken her resolve. As she neared her car, she was surprised to find Ruben leaning against the side of it. “Give me a ride,” he said, opening the passenger door and sliding into the seat. “You should come home with me,” she said. She got in the car, but didn’t start it. The night was warm and she’d left the windows open—through them she could hear the distant hum of conversation from the school. “I just came to hear Paul,” he said. “Oh? What did you think?” Ruben shrugged. “All that stuff about bettering ourselves and making a difference—he makes it sound as simple as making up your mind to do something. But if you don’t have money or a job or anything like that, it’s not so easy.”

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Part of her agreed with him, but another part rebelled at the idea that a young man who was barely sixteen would see things as so hopeless. “You’re smart,” she said. “You were always one of the smartest people in your class.” “Smart enough to know there’s no sense working hard for nothing.” He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Take me over to White Clay, will you?” “No. I know you’re only going there to buy beer—or worse.” “Suit yourself. I’ll get someone else to take me.” He opened the car door. “Ruben, no!” She grabbed him by the arm. “Why are you doing this?” “Doing what?” “Drinking. Getting high. Wasting your life?” The look he gave her was filled with simmering anger and a dull despair that made her want to cry out. “What else am I supposed to do? There’s nothing for me here.” He pulled away from her, climbed out of the car and shambled across the parking lot, his feet crunching on the gravel. She stared after him, an angry cry lodged in her throat. There’s nothing for me here. How often had she said those very words? She’d taken them as a kind of cry of independence, but was she all that different from Ruben? They’d chosen different avenues of escape, but in the end, they were both running away from problems they couldn’t bear to face.

Chapter Nine Rita was still sitting in her car, staring after Ruben, when Paul approached her car. “You okay?” he asked, leaning down to peer in the driver’s side window. “Fine,” she said automatically. She fumbled in her purse for her keys, then realized they were already in the ignition. “Is your car running okay now?” he asked. “Oh. Yes. Thank you for repairing it.” She offered a weak smile. “I really appreciate it.” “Thanks for coming to hear me speak,” he said. “You did a good job.” “I saw Ruben in the audience.” At the mention of her brother, her lower lip began to tremble. “Hey! What is it? Has something happened?” She shook her head, mute, willing the tears not to fall. The next thing she knew, he’d come around the car and climbed into the passenger seat. He slid across to her and gathered her close. The feel of his arms around her, so strong and stable, broke down her last reserve. To her shame, she began to sob.

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“It’s okay.” He smoothed her hair in slow, soothing strokes. “What happened to upset you like this?” “Nothing. Everything.” She swallowed, struggling to regain control of her emotions. “It’s just…I had such hopes for Ruben. He was always so smart. And talented. He could fix anything, and knew all about computers and science and…and everything. I thought he’d grow up to be a doctor or a scientist, or a great mechanic. That he’d be the exception to the rule here—the young man who got away and made something of himself. Instead, he’s doing exactly what too many others have done. What our own father did—he’s drinking and drugging his life away.” She raised her head. “It’s one reason I have to leave. I can’t stay here and watch him slowing destroying himself.” Paul didn’t try to deny any of it, tell her things would be better or that he would help. Instead, he traced the trail of tears down her cheeks with his thumbs. “I know it hurts,” he said. “You love him and you want to help him.” She nodded, relief washing over her that he understood. How many times in her letters had she unburdened herself to him, craving the quiet strength and sympathy that he always conveyed in his replies? Having him here now was even better. She felt able to let go a little of the burden of responsibility, to let him help carry that weight. “Kiss me,” she said. He didn’t hesitate but did as she asked. This time when their lips touched, she didn’t fight the rush of heat and need that swept over her. She tightened her hold on him and gave herself up to the dizzying sensation of being carried away by long-suppressed desire. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” she said, when they finally broke apart. “Are you sure?” She nodded. “I’m sure. Tonight I just want to forget for awhile. About everything but being with you.”

Chapter Ten Rita drove away from town to a deserted pull-off at the end of a dirt road. Before them lay an expanse of moon-drenched prairie, the red rock cliffs and buttes washed colorless in the light of an almost-full moon. When she switched off the car engine the only sound was the ever-present wind and the pounding of her heart. “Look at me,” Paul said. She did as he asked. His eyes were in deep shadow, but she felt the weight of his gaze. He stroked her shoulder. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he said. She nodded. Paul would never intentionally hurt her, though the very fact that she trusted him so much gave him the power to cause her pain without him meaning to. But tonight she refused to think of that. Tonight she only wanted to be with him, to ease her loneliness, to feel complete and cherished in his arms. “Don’t talk,” she whispered, putting her arms around him. “Make love to me.” He kissed her—not just her mouth, but her eyelids and the side of her nose, the soft flesh below her ears and the sensitive spot at the edge of her jaw. His hands caressed and stroked as she did the same for him. They helped each other out of their clothes, exploring with eyes and hands and mouths. He was beautifully made, bronze skin taut over hard muscle, broad shoulders, narrow waist and lean thighs. His skin tasted faintly of salt and, surprisingly, of herbs from the soap his mother made.

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“I used to fall asleep at night thinking of you.” He smoothed his knuckles down one cheek. “I used to imagine what you’d look like naked.” He smiled. “My imagination didn’t do you justice.” Basking in the glow of his admiration, she felt more beautiful than she ever had. More feminine and powerful. “You talk too much,” she said, drawing him to her. “I’d prefer your mouth to be doing other things.” He laid her back along the seat with such tenderness tears pricked at her eyes, but the heat of her desire for him soon burned them away. She welcomed him into her with the sense that they were fulfilling a promise made with the first meeting of their eyes upon his return home. Now that she would admit it, their lovemaking seemed as inevitable as the sunrise. And what they shared was indeed making love. Before, she had always seen sex as a kind of taking—each person deriving pleasure for themselves, accepting what the other person offered and giving what they could. But now, in Paul’s arms, she knew what it was to make love—to create a whole bigger than their two individual halves. She felt both emptied and filled by him. While they were joined, it seemed the most wonderful sensation in the world. But when at last they drew apart and each began to dress once more, she felt a moment of panic, as if she was being sucked into a deep hole from which there was no escape. Her feelings for Paul were stronger than she’d ever imagined they could be—she’d have to fight to keep them from overwhelming her resolve to do what she knew was right for her.

Chapter Eleven Paul had never imagined he could be so close to a woman one moment, and so distant the next. When he and Rita were making love, he felt as if he knew her as he had never known anyone else—that their hearts and minds were perfectly in tune. And then, when they’d moved apart and begun to dress, he’d felt that closeness slipping away. She refused to look at him, and all but turned her back to him as she buttoned her blouse. “Are you okay?” he asked. She nodded, mute, her hair falling forward, shielding her expression from him. He continued to watch her, wanting to touch her but sensed her resistance. “I wish we had more time,” he said. “I’d take you away for a few days to a nice hotel. I never imagined our first time would be in the front seat of a car like a couple of teenagers.” She shrugged. “That’s how it is on the Rez. Every house is crowded with people. There’s no such thing as privacy.” Her voice held the dull resignation it always did when she spoke of the reservation. How could he get past her determination to focus on all the bad things here and help her see that there was good in this life, too? “A couple of kids came up to me after my talk this evening and told me they really appreciated what I told them,” he said. “It was a good talk,” she said, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Very inspiring.” Her voice was flat, cold. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She glanced at him, then looked away. “Nothing’s wrong.” “Something is. One minute we’re so close, really in synch. The next minute you’re shutting me out.” “I just have a lot on my mind,” she said. “I’m worried about Ruben.”

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“I’ll have a talk with him. Maybe he’ll listen to me.” “Sure. Maybe it will help.” “If there’s anything else I can do, just say the word.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how to. “I want to make things better for you,” he said. “I love you.” “Don’t say that.” “That I love you? Why not? It’s true.” “What happened tonight doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about staying here and waiting for you to come home,” she said. “I won’t do that. I can’t.” Disappointment and frustration gnawed at him. After what they’d just shared, he’d dared to hope he mattered more to her than where she lived. “You don’t have to stay here,” he said. “You can go wherever you want. You could even come to Colorado Springs, where I’m going next. Wherever you end up, I’m hoping you will wait for me.” She shook her head. “It’s no use. I won’t come back here with you when you get out of the Army, so why draw things out?” “You don’t think time would change your mind about that? That I could change your mind?” “No. My mind’s made up.” “Do you really hate this place more than you love me?” “Don’t ask me to answer that. I don’t want to hurt you.” You already have. But he had too much pride to say the words out loud. And he was far too stubborn to give up on her yet.

Chapter Twelve “You came in late last night, child.” Rita’s grandmother studied her across the breakfast table. “Not so late.” Rita stirred her oatmeal. “Wilma Blue Legs said she saw you leaving the school with her nephew, Paul.” Rita didn’t bother to confirm or deny this. “He’s a good young man,” Grandmother observed. “He’ll make a good husband.” Rita winced. “I’m not planning on marrying anyone anytime soon,” she said. “Sometimes things happen in spite of what we plan, not because of them.” Rita remained silent. There was no point in arguing with Grandmother. “I want you to go with me to the Inipi tonight. The Redhorses are hosting it in honor of their sons.”

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Rita shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be in a sweat lodge with Paul and his entire family. “I can’t,” she said. “I…I have other things I need to do.” “I need you to drive me.” Grandmother’s black eyes fixed on her. Diabetes had dulled her vision, but Rita had no doubt the old woman saw through her granddaughter’s excuses. “And it’s been too long since you’ve had a good sweat. It will do you good to go and say prayers for the young soldiers’ safety.” “Yes, Grandmother.” Rita bowed her head, though the only thing she was praying for now was the strength to get through the next five days until Paul left for Colorado Springs. Grandmother smiled and patted her hand. “I know it’s hard, knowing he’s leaving,” she said. “I remember when your grandfather and I were courting. He got word he’d been drafted to go and fight overseas. I was sick at heart, afraid he’d either find someone else while he was away, or be killed in the fighting. I moped around so much my mother threatened to send me away to stay with my aunt who had moved to Oregon.” “Why didn’t you go?” Rita asked. The opportunity to go and live in Oregon sounded too good to pass up. Grandmother’s eyes widened. “I heard it rains all the time out there. And she lived in the city. Cities are too crowded. I could never live like that.” “So what did you do?” “I went to your grandfather and told him we had to get married. We went before the elders and told them what we wanted to do, and they agreed it was the best. We had the wedding, and a week later he shipped out.” “Weren’t you worried about making a mistake, acting so suddenly?” “I knew my heart. I knew we belonged together. When you love someone, that’s the way it is.” Rita looked away. She loved Paul—after last night, she could no longer deny that. But that didn’t seem to be enough. “Paul wants to come back here to live when he gets out of the Army,” she said. “I want to go somewhere where there’s more opportunity. I want my children to have a better life.” She looked at her grandmother, at the lined, weathered face that had guided Rita through much of her life. “If he really loved me, why wouldn’t he follow me, instead of expecting me to give in and do what he wants?”

Chapter Thirteen The question hung in the air between Rita and her grandmother. She wished she could take the words back—she’d never meant to reveal so much of her feelings for Paul. “He doesn’t mean to bring you pain,” Grandmother said finally. “But you’re asking him to deny a part of himself, like cutting off an arm. And you’re trying to deny a part of yourself as well. You can physically leave the reservation, but part of your spirit will always be here.” “I’d come back to visit,” Rita said. At least until her grandparents were gone. After that, what would be left for her here? “Who will look after your brother when your grandfather and I are gone and you’ve moved away?” Ruben. Pain squeezed her heart as she remembered him shuffling across the parking lot, away from her. Where had he spent last night? With friends, or passed out on the side of the road? He could be dead right now and they had no way of knowing. She pushed away the thought—the pain too great to bear. “Ruben doesn’t listen to me,” she said. “And I don’t want to stay and watch him continue to destroy himself.” “He’s still young. With youth, there is hope.”

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“What hope? Grandmother, there are no jobs here. No money for schooling. And too much cheap alcohol and drugs. It’s not just Ruben—there are dozens of others like him, who’ve given up. All they care about now is escaping the only way they know how.” “Excuses.” Grandmother spat the word. ”You didn’t give up that way. Paul and his brother didn’t give up. There are plenty of young people here who heard the words Paul spoke last night about making a difference and took them into their hearts. They still find reason to believe in better times. Ruben is a smart boy. I won’t give up on him yet, and neither should you.” Rita shook her head. She wanted better things for Ruben, but she’d been disappointed too often to indulge in optimism anymore. Better to be realistic and prepare for the worst. “It would probably be a good thing for you to spend some time in other places,” Grandmother said. “Some people have wandering spirits that need to get away for a while before they come back home. It’s why young people in the old times used to be sent on Spirit Quests. You go away to learn what you need to know about yourself, then you come back home.” “I want to make a new home, in another place,” Rita said. “And if you’re there all alone while the people you love are here—while the man you love is here—will it really be worth it?” She pushed herself up from the table. “Come to the Inipi tonight with me. Pray with me that you will be guided to make the right decision.”

Chapter Fourteen Rita and her grandmother were the last of the invited guests to arrive at the sweat lodge. “Welcome!” Mary Redhorse said, embracing them both. “I’m so glad you could both be with us.” Grandmother handed over the roast chicken they had brought as their contribution to the evening and Mary set it aside with the other food offerings. While Grandmother visited with Paul’s aunt and other female relatives, Rita hung back. Dressed in a traditional red and blue skirt that reached to just above her ankles and a loose-fitting embroidered blouse, she felt self-conscious—though her usual jeans would have been out of place at the sweat. Paul stood near the entrance to the lodge with Jeremy and Matt, all three of them wearing cut-off jeans and no shirts. Matt’s chest looked very pale in contrast to the men around him. Jeremy and Paul also wore small leather pouches on leather thongs around their necks—medicine pouches an older relative would have made and given to them. Each pouch would contain herbs and other items designed to bless and protect the wearer. Paul saw her and nodded but did not approach. On the altar in front of the lodge itself sat Paul and Jeremy’s military hats, as well as pouches of tobacco, a buffalo skull and other small items people had brought to be blessed. Paul’s father called for them to gather around. He was the pourer, in charge of the evening’s ceremony. “It is time,” he said, and held back the canvas flap of the lodge. They were just about to enter when someone shouted for them to wait. Rita looked back and saw Ruben coming toward them. He wore sandals, old jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out. As he drew closer, she could see that his eyes were bloodshot and wild, and he smelled of beer and gasoline. Paul’s father walked out to meet him. “Go home, son,” he said. “You can’t come in here.” Ruben glanced at the lodge and the men and women gathered there. “I need to sweat,” he said. “I need to be purified.”

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“If you try to sweat in your condition you’ll only get sick,” Ed said. He laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Go home. Get some rest. We will welcome you some other time.” Ruben looked at Rita, his eyes pleading. For what? Understanding? Help? She started toward him, but her grandmother gripped her arm, stopping her. “Go home, Ruben,” Grandmother called. “Go to sleep and when you wake up, I’ll cook a meal for you.” Mute, the boy nodded and turned away. Rita felt sick to her stomach, filled with shame and embarrassment and dread at the thought of what might become of her brother. “Let us go in,” Ed said. The older women entered first, crawling on their hands and knees counter-clockwise around the low, circular lodge. As the youngest woman present, Rita entered last, and sat cross-legged near the door. Next, hot stones—the grandfathers—were brought from a fire outside and placed in a pit in the center of the lodge. The men followed, oldest to youngest. Paul’s father came in last, shutting the door flap behind him. One of the elders said a prayer in Lakota, the soft consonants and slightly nasal vowels dissolving into a soothing chant. Rita only understood about half the words—having never studied her native language in school or hearing it spoken by anyone but older members of the tribe. Mary scattered herbs on the rocks and Ed ladled water over them, creating clouds of fragrant steam. Someone began to sing and others joined in, humming if they didn’t know the words. Rita began to sweat in the oppressive heat and steam, trying to relax. But she was distracted by the knowledge that Paul sat only a few feet from her. When he was so near, calmness was impossible. She closed her eyes, trying to follow her grandmother’s advice to pray and ask for guidance.

Chapter Fifteen Paul tried to focus on the prayers being offered, but his attention kept straying to the young woman by the door. Through the rising steam he could see her, face shiny with sweat, eyes closed, swaying in time to the chanting and songs. What was she thinking? Did he dare hope he had a place in her thoughts? The first session ended and the door was opened, letting in cooler outside air. Water was offered, but everyone refused—even Matt, who was already looking a little worse for wear. But when Paul caught his eye, he smiled and gave a thumbs-up sign. The flap closed again, and Paul’s uncle passed the sacred pipe to him. It was his turn to offer a prayer. He held the pipe in front of him and recited the words he’d memorized, his tongue stumbling over the difficult pronunciations. His father and uncle had insisted he learn the Lakota language when he was a boy, but he was out of practice speaking it. The purpose of the Inipi was to purify and cleanse—both the body and the spirit. It was the traditional preparation for warriors about to go into battle, which Paul and Jeremy were likely to be doing soon. Jeremy was headed for Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, while Paul was assigned to Fort Carson in Colorado Springs—but neither expected to be at those places long. Once the war officially started they’d be headed for Iraq for who knew how long. By the time the third session ended, Matt was looking faint. Paul nudged him and indicated they should go outside for fresh air. He accepted the ladle of water his mother offered, then passed the water to Matt, who drank greedily. “Only one more session,” Paul whispered as they made their way back into the lodge. “You’re doing great.” Matt nodded.

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Rita had left the lodge also and returned after them, sweat making her clothes stick to her, calling attention to her curves. Paul was pretty sure the elders would frown on lustful thoughts in the midst of a purification ceremony, but he couldn’t avoid them when he was with Rita—especially after last night. More prayers and songs and herbal offerings, and at last the Inipi was over. In silence, everyone crawled out of the lodge into a clear, moonlit night. The men and women took turns changing clothes in the nearby lodge house, then gathered at picnic tables to eat the food offerings everyone had brought. Paul sat next to Rita, knowing she wouldn’t make a scene and ask him to leave. She’d changed into jeans and a tank top, her shoulders sleek in the moonlight, her black hair shining. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away. But she didn’t look at him.

Chapter Sixteen “Thanks for coming tonight,” Paul said. “It meant a lot to me to have you here.” “My grandmother thought it would be good for me. She worries that I don’t participate in enough Native traditions.” “I think the traditions are important. They’re one of the things that make us different.” “Don’t you get tired of being different sometimes?” He remembered his first weeks of boot camp. Several other recruits had started calling him “Redskin” and “Injun Joe.” But they had only made him more determined to prove himself. “I guess I never wanted to be like everyone else,” he said. “There’s something to that.” She laid down her fork and pushed her plate away. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good company right now. I’m worried about Ruben.” “He looked pretty wasted.” “I hardly ever see him in any other condition these days.” “But he came here. He said he needed to be purified. Maybe that was a cry for help.” “Maybe… I wish I knew some way to help him, but every time I try, he pushes me away.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about something else. What are your plans for the rest of the week?” Only five more days. He’d hoped to spend them with her, but wasn’t going to ask only to hear her turn him down again. “Jeremy and Matt and I are going with Dad and some of the uncles to hunt antelope out toward Kyle.” “Think you’ll get anything?” “I’d better. I have to prove that sharpshooter’s medal wasn’t bogus.” Not wanting her to think he was bragging, he added, “If we get anything, I’ll send some of the meat to your grandmother.” “Thank you. She’d like that.” “Move over, Paul, and let me sit down.”

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He looked up and saw a pretty young woman with long braids and a slight overbite smiling at him. He recognized her as his cousin Betty’s neighbor. She was a couple of years older than him—what was her name? He scooted over, bumping up against Rita in the process, something he didn’t mind at all. “Hi Rita,” the newcomer said. “What’s up with Ruben? He didn’t look so good when he came by earlier.” “Nothing to concern you, Trish,” Rita said coldly. Daggers shot from Rita’s eyes, and Paul forced himself to resist leaning back out of the line of fire. Oblivious, Trish put her hand on Paul’s arm. “It’s so good to see you again,” she gushed. “I’m brokenhearted that you’re leaving so soon.” “Yeah, well, I don’t have much choice in the matter.” “Maybe we could get together tomorrow.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “My uncle has horses. We could go riding. I know some really beautiful, private places.” “I’d better go.” Rita stood so suddenly she jarred the table. Paul reached out to steady it. “Don’t leave yet,” he said. “I’d better. I…I have to go check on Ruben.” Before he could stop her, she was striding away. She stopped and said something to her grandmother, then continued toward the parking area. Paul debated going after her. He could offer to help her look for her brother…. “She doesn’t want any company now.” Trish pulled on his arm. “Sit down and talk to me. I want to hear all about life in California.” He sat. Not because he wanted to talk to Trish, but because he didn’t know how to break through the barrier Rita was determined to erect between them. Maybe the best thing to do was to enjoy the few days he had left here on the Rez, then go to Colorado Springs and try to forget about her.

Chapter Seventeen Ruben did not return home that night or the next. He often stayed away overnight, but by the third day when she had not seen or heard from him, Rita was increasingly worried. After her dental hygiene classes, she drove for miles around the reservation, searching for some sight of him. She asked his friends about him, but they either hadn’t seen him or weren’t saying. In fact, no one else seemed too concerned about Ruben. They all had problems of their own, and no one offered to help her. Of course, there was one person who had offered help—repeatedly. Paul. She hated the thought of being indebted to him for anything, but she was desperate and she knew she could depend on him to do his best to locate Ruben and bring him back to her. She started driving toward Paul’s parents’ house, trying to think of how to ask him for help. But when she arrived at the house, he wasn’t there. “We haven’t seen him in a couple of days,” Jeremy said. “He didn’t go hunting with us,” Matt added, standing behind Jeremy. “He said he had something else he needed to take care of.” That was strange. Paul had been really looking forward to the hunting trip. It would have been his last opportunity to spend time with his father and uncles before he left for Colorado Springs. “He didn’t say where he was going or what he was doing?” she asked.

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“No.” Jeremy studied her, his dark stare as intent as Paul’s. “What do you care? I thought you’d blown him off.” She flushed. Jeremy made her sound so callous. “I care about Paul,” she said. “But I won’t lead him on when I can’t see any future for us.” Matt shook his head. “He’s in love with you, you know,” he said. Hearing this from a man who was practically a stranger to her was jarring. “Love isn’t enough if we both want different things in life,” she said carefully. “I don’t think it’s so much that you want different things,” Jeremy said. “Paul knows what he wants and you don’t.” “Is he upset about me? Is that why he left?” “I don’t know.” Jeremy said. “If I see Paul, I’ll tell him you stopped by.” He started to close the door. “Wait.” She put up her hand. “I’m looking for my brother. Have you seen him?” “Not since the Inipi.” She walked slowly back to her car, emotions in turmoil. Had Paul gone off somewhere to be alone because he was heartbroken over her? The thought of him hurting because of something she’d said or done made her feel sick. Or was he doing his best to forget her in the company of Trish or some other woman? The idea burned a hole in her gut. Why did he have to be so set on returning to Pine Ridge? Jeremy had been right when he’d said Rita didn’t know what she wanted, but she knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to continue to live in a place that had taken away her mother and father and had now stolen her brother as well.

Chapter Eighteen Rita spent the rest of the day searching the reservation and nearby towns, with no sign of her brother or Paul. When she returned home that evening, her grandmother met her at the door. “Sam Whirlwind came by a little while ago with a message from Ruben,” she said. Like many on the reservation, the Sierras didn’t have a telephone. Sam Whirlwind and other families with phone service often relayed messages to their neighbors. “What did he say?” Rita asked as she followed her grandmother into the house. “Where is he? Is he okay?” “He’s good. He’s in Sioux Falls. In a treatment center.” “A treatment center?” Rita’s heart pounded. “You mean a hospital?” “A special hospital. One for people with drug and alcohol addiction. He’ll be there for six weeks, then in a day program for a while. He says he’s going to go back to school and make things right.” The old woman’s face shone with happiness. “He’s going to be all right.” Rita sank onto the worn sofa, stunned. “I don’t understand. How did this happen?” “What does it matter?” Grandmother sat beside her and patted her knee. “The important thing is we don’t have to worry about him anymore.” “But how did he get to Sioux Falls? And how did he find a program? And who’s paying for it?”

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“Ruben’s a smart boy. And there are places that offer funding for that kind of thing.” She’d heard of people who were arrested and ordered into rehab in lieu of jail time, but wouldn’t that take more than a few days? “I can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s more than I ever dared hope for.” “Maybe while he was out there wandering around in the dark he had a spirit vision that set him straight.” “I want to see him,” she said. “I have all the information, but maybe you should wait until he’s settled in.” “No. I have to see him now.” She wouldn’t believe this miracle was real until she saw it for herself. “You shouldn’t drive all that way by yourself,” her grandmother said. Sioux Falls was almost four-hundred miles from Pine Ridge. “Ask Paul Redhorse to go with you.” “He isn’t home,” Rita said. “I stopped by his house to see if he knew anything about Ruben, and his brother said he hadn’t been around for a couple of days.” Grandmother clucked her tongue. “It’s not like Paul to leave his family when he only has a few more days to spend with them.” “No, it’s not. But maybe he had business he had to take care of before he left.” She couldn’t worry about Paul right now, though—not when she was still trying to absorb the good news about Ruben. “I can go to Sioux Falls by myself,” she said. “Unless you want to come?” Grandmother shook her head. “It’s too far. And I don’t like cities.” Rita nodded, understanding. Compared to the barren isolation of the reservation, the noise, traffic and crowds of even a small city like Sioux Falls could be overwhelming. How had Ruben ever ended up there? He had been searching for something—that was obvious. If he’d found his answer, was it possible she could find hers?

Chapter Nineteen The next afternoon, Rita sat in a small, sterile visiting room across from her brother. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear and he smelled of herbal shampoo and soap. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and the white plastic bracelet on his wrist was the only indication that he was a patient here and not just another visitor. “You look great,” she said, refraining from the urge to hug him again. At sixteen, he bristled at such public displays of affection. “And this looks like a good place.” “It’s pretty good. The program is really strict, but I guess that’s what I need.” “I’m really happy for you. But how did all this happen?” He looked at her quizzically. “You don’t know?” She shook her head. “I had no idea where you were until Grandmother told me about your call.” “Paul brought me here.”

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She stopped breathing for a moment, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Paul? I don’t understand….” “He picked me up in White Clay and we drove around, just talking. I was pretty messed up and just wanted to go sleep it off, but he refused to let me out of his truck until I talked to him.” “So he…kidnapped you?” Ruben laughed—a sound that made her spirits lift. It had been a long time since he’d sounded this happy. “I guess you could say that. We must have driven around for hours and hours. He made me really think about what I was doing—and what I wanted to do instead. Then he brought me here and helped me with all the paperwork to get checked in.” “Who’s paying for this?” she asked. Paul didn’t have the money for something like this, did he? “He knew someone who knew someone who provides funding for this kind of thing,” Ruben said. “I don’t know how it all works, but it’s going to be okay.” She shook her head, still disbelieving. “Why would Paul do all that?” she asked. “Don’t you get it? He really does care.” Ruben leaned toward her. “It’s not all talk with him. He made me want to be a better person. If I don’t like something I should work to change it, instead of accepting that it’s bad and not worth changing.” They were interrupted by a tap on the door. A pleasant-faced older woman leaned into the room. “Ruben, it’s almost time for your next counseling session,” she said. “I’d better go.” Rita stood and kissed Ruben on the cheek. “I’ll visit again soon.” “I’m going to be okay, I promise.” On the drive home she replayed Ruben’s words over and over in her head. For the first time in a long time, she really believed he would be all right. Paul had done an amazing thing in saving her brother. And he had given Rita herself a great gift—he’d given her hope. Hope that the future was not as bleak as she’d feared. Hope that people could change. That she could change.

Chapter Twenty The basketball made a hollow, thudding sound each time it hit the concrete. Paul faked left then lunged to the right, dodging Jeremy’s outstretched arms and sending the ball sailing toward the net. It hit the backboard and plunged through the net. “You’re not fast enough, bro,” he crowed. The sound of applause startled him and he whirled to see Rita standing on the edge of the court. “Nice shot,” she said. Paul passed the ball to Matt and walked over to Rita. There was something different about her appearance today. She was dressed in jeans and a turquoise-colored top with silver jewelry, but that wasn’t it. As he drew closer, his eyes met hers and he realized what the difference was. Today, Rita looked happy. “What’s up?” he asked, stopping in front of her. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.

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He nodded and moved away from the court. She fell into step beside him. “I saw Ruben this afternoon,” she said. “He’s doing really well.” “That’s good.” She put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “He told me what you did for him. Thank you doesn’t really seem like enough.” So that’s what this was about. He tried to hide his disappointment. “You don’t need to thank me. All he needed was someone to steer him in the right direction.” “Not just anyone,” she said. “You. He looks up to you. And he knows you care.” She stepped in front of him, facing him. “I know you care.” He was afraid to speak, fearful of breaking whatever spell made her look at him with such shining eyes. “I was wrong,” she said. “I love you, and I know you love me. I was wrong to try to deny the power of those feelings. I want to be with you, and I’ll wait for you to come home again.” He gripped her hand, struggling to reign in his emotions. “Instead of waiting, why don’t you marry me?” She blinked. “Now? But you leave in two days.” “You could come with me to Colorado Springs. Or at least, join me in a few weeks.” Her smile warmed places inside him he hadn’t even realized were cold. “All right,” she said. “You know if there’s a war I’ll have to go.” “I’ll wait for you. I’ll use the time to do what you said—I’ll learn things that I can bring back here.” “So when I’ve finished with the Army and come back to the Rez, you’re okay with that?” She nodded. “Yes. You’ve shown me I was wrong. One person can make a difference.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “You made a difference to my brother. And you’ve made a difference to me.” She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him—her lips warm and soft. “Wherever we’re together will be home,” she said softly. “Wherever that is, together we’ll make it a good place. The only place I ever want to be.”

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Safe Harbor by Carla Cassidy In Raven’s Cliff, Maine, nothing is what it seems. With the almost-constant dense fog and drizzle, some even say it’s cursed. But for Maggie Halstead, it’s heaven. She feels like she’s finally found the place where she can stop running, stop looking over her shoulder for her monstrous, abusive ex-husband who wants nothing more but to see her dead. Where she can just be “Sally” the waitress at Hank’s Café. Then Cameron Walker saunters into the café. He’s charming, sexy—and he knows her real name. Has he been hired by her ex-husband to kill her? Should she run again? Find another town, another name? Or can Cameron be the key to Maggie finally finding her safe harbor?

Chapter One “Order up, Sally.” The male voice pulled Maggie Halstead from her daydreaming and reminded her of the alias she had been forced to assume when she arrived in the town. “Thanks, Hank,” she said to the cook, and hurried to get the plate that held the Tuesday special to the fisherman who sat alone at table three. “Here you go,” she said as she set the plate down in front of Roger McNabb, captain of the fishing vessel The Lobster Pot. “Thanks, Sally,” he said as he offered her a tired smile. “Weather going to let you get out in the morning?” she asked.

“Who knows? Lately it seems like if it isn’t foggy then it’s pouring down rain. I can’t remember a spring where the weather has been this nasty,” he said. “Hang in there, Roger. It can only get better.” Maggie smiled and returned to the counter of the small café. All the locals had been complaining about the unusual weather lately. It was as if a heavy gray cloud had sat on top of the small fishing village of Raven’s Cliff, Maine. She swiped down the slick surface of the counter in preparation of closing. Hank’s Café opened early and closed late, catering to the fishermen who were out on the water at dawn and in bed just after dusk. As she wiped, she looked out the window to the boats docked for the night and in the distance to the fire-damaged Beacon Manor Lighthouse that had become the stuff of legend through the years. The structure had an odd lure for her, and on Maggie’s days off she often wandered the rocky shoreline and explored the lighthouse itself. Just seeing the lighthouse now through the window reminded her of how lucky she was to be in Raven’s Cliff. She’d lived in the small town now for three months and it was starting to feel like home. More importantly, it was beginning to feel safe. She just had to remember that she wasn’t Maggie Halstead anymore. Brown-haired, mousy Maggie had died the night she’d fled Kansas City, running from a man who had promised to bury her and dance on her grave. That night, she’d had no destination and no place to go. She just knew she either ran or died. She’d wound up in the coastal fishing community by accident, as Raven’s Cliff was scarcely a dot on a map. It just so

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happened that the cheap car she’d bought with the cash from pawning a pair of diamond earrings had bit the dust in the center of the town square. The car had been junked, and it had been fate that the first person she’d met was Hank Rogers. He not only offered her a job as a waitress in his busy café, but also a room where she could stay in the back of the building. Best of all, he’d asked no questions. The tinkle of the bell over the café door interrupted her thoughts. Her breath caught slightly at the sight of the tall, dark-haired man who entered. Hot, was her first thought. Even though the last thing she wanted was a relationship of any kind, she could certainly appreciate an attractive man. And this man was more than attractive. Rugged but with lean, well-defined features, there was a hint of danger in his whisker-shadowed jaw, in the sharpness of his gaze. He shrugged out of a navy windbreaker before sliding into a booth. Broad shoulders filled out the white dress shirt he wore and his black slacks clung to long legs. He picked up the menu and opened it in front of him. Maggie grabbed her order pad, a little rattled to find her heartbeat pattering a bit faster than usual as she approached the booth. “Good evening,” she said, pleased that her voice betrayed none of the slight breathlessness she felt as she looked at him. “I’m afraid the grill is already shut down for the night so you can only order a cold sandwich.” He gazed up at her, his blue eyes studying her with an intensity that brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks. She could fall into those eyes—if she wasn’t in hiding…. If she really was Sally the waitress with nothing on her mind but getting out of this town. “What do you recommend?” His voice was low and husky and held none of the Northeastern accent she’d grown accustomed to hearing every day. “The tuna salad is okay, the ham salad is better,” she replied. His gaze seemed to pierce her, as if attempting to look in places where there could be no welcome. “Then I’ll have the ham salad and a cup of coffee.” He closed the menu and looked pointedly at her plastic nametag. “Thanks, Sally.” “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She left the booth, aware of his gaze on her even with her back to him. Stop it, she told herself as she handed the order to Hank, then grabbed the coffee pot. It was ridiculous to be so acutely conscious of a man who’d wandered in for a hot cup of coffee and something to eat. Her heart still banged just a slightly abnormal rhythm as she once again approached his booth. “Looks like business is slow,” he said as she poured the coffee into the awaiting cup. “You just made it under the wire. We close in fifteen minutes.” She couldn’t help but notice that he smelled good. She was accustomed to serving men who smelled of sun and wind and fish, but this handsome stranger smelled of minty soap and spicy cologne. “Then I guess I’m lucky that I came in when I did,” he replied. She smiled. “We’ll see if you feel lucky or not after you eat your sandwich. We’ve also got several kinds of pie if you want to finish up with some dessert.” Again his gaze remained on her face, as if he were searching for some answer that wasn’t quite visible. She might have thought it rude if she didn’t find it quite so provocative.

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“What kind of pie?” She had the crazy feeling he didn’t care what kind of pie they served but that he was just keeping the conversation going. “Apple, cherry and Hank makes a mean chocolate cream.” Maybe he’s just lonely, she thought. Passing through and spending a little time chit-chatting with the local waitress. She had plenty of customers who liked a big dose of small-talk with their meal. “You aren’t from Maine,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He smiled, but she noticed the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t hear an accent in your voice.” “Actually, I’m from a little town not far from here.” The lie tripped lightly off her tongue. “I’ve worked hard to lose the accent.” She flipped a strand of her bleached-blond hair behind her shoulder. “Thought I was going to be an actress at one time and took a bunch of diction lessons, but the acting thing didn’t work out for me.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, I think maybe the acting thing is working out very well for you, Maggie.”

Chapter Two Cameron Walker watched her pretty features for a reaction, but she merely smiled and tapped a finger against her plastic name tag. “It’s Sally,” she said. “You called me Maggie. Is that an old girlfriend or something?” “Or something,” he replied. He’d been so sure. He’d been watching her all day, and had been relatively certain she was the woman he’d been hired to find. Was she lying? If so she was very good at it—she was cool as a cucumber. As a cop turned private investigator, Cameron had seen plenty of liars before, but she had none of the telltale signs. She met his gaze with hers as if she had nothing in the world to hide. “Your sandwich should be ready in just a few minutes,” she said and turned to leave his booth. He watched her walk away, unable to help noticing the sexy sway of her butt in her worn jeans. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, trying to form a new plan. He wouldn’t contact Greg Griffen—the man who had hired him—until he was absolutely sure “Sally” really was Maggie Halstead. Although he’d told Greg that he was headed to Raven’s Cliff and was fairly certain his ex-wife was living there, there was nothing Cameron hated more than being wrong. A few minutes later, she returned to the booth with his sandwich and a bright smile that warmed the chill that had possessed him ever since he’d arrived in Raven’s Cliff. It was a strange little town, with an underlying eeriness that had immediately set him on edge. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been in town for two days and had yet to see the sun. She offered no small talk, simply delivered the plate then turned away to say goodbye to a man leaving one of the tables. Cameron ate and watched her as she busied herself with the task of cleaning up. He thought of the photo he had in his pocket. Greg had told him the picture of Maggie was five years old, but it depicted a brunette with slightly slumped shoulders and eyes that held no sparkle, no life. For the past month she’d been his obsession. He’d tried to think like her, to anticipate what she might have done, where she might have gone when she’d left Kansas City behind. He’d been the hunter and she’d been his prey. He hadn’t expected to find her so attractive in person—if Sally was Maggie, if he wasn’t wrong.

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He watched as she walked to the front door and flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed.” As she started back toward the counter he motioned for more coffee, once again studying her intently. If she was Maggie, then it was obvious the blond hair was fake. And she’d gained weight—her face was fuller, softer. As she poured him another cup of coffee he caught a whiff of her scent—a delicious floral fragrance that charged through him. Annoyed, he reminded himself that the last thing he wanted or needed was to be attracted to her. Yet in the back of his mind he recognized that getting close to her might be the only way to know for sure if she was the woman he’d been paid to find. “Good coffee,” he said. “It’s better when it’s fresh,” she replied. “Anything else I can do for you?” She looked pointedly at the “Closed” sign on the door. “Maybe a piece of that apple pie.” He knew she was probably ready to get out of the café—to head back to the room where she was living. But he wasn’t ready to tell her goodbye yet. Just a few more minutes and maybe he could trip her up—confirm that she was indeed Maggie Halstead. He wished he could be certain just by looking at her, but he couldn’t. The physical similarities between Sally the waitress and the photo in his pocket were astonishing, but could be just a coincidence. They said everyone had a twin somewhere. When she returned with a generous slice of pie he offered her a warm, friendly smile. “You were right about the ham salad, it was excellent.” “The pie is even better.” He gestured toward the seat across from him. “Since you don’t have anyone else to wait on, want to join me for a cup of coffee?” She hesitated a moment, then slid into the booth across from him. “Sure, why not?” She poured herself a cup of the coffee then set the carafe down on the table between them. “You visiting one of the locals or just passing through town?” “Just passing through, although I think I’ll hang out for a couple of days and see some of the local attractions. What about you?” he asked. “What brought you to Raven’s Cliff from wherever you’re from?” “I left my little hometown and went to New York for six months.” She flipped a strand of her hair and he was surprised to feel an itch in his palm, a desire to reach out and touch the pale strands. “You know, the acting thing,” she continued. “Anyway, when I found myself broke I decided to head back here to Maine, but I didn’t want to go home with my tail between my legs, so I came here to Raven’s Cliff.” She smiled and again he felt an unexpected heat fill him. “I figured, I’m twenty-five years old. It’s time to put these silly acting dreams behind me and settle down.” Maggie Halstead was twenty-nine years old. Short of asking to see Sally’s driver’s license, there was no way for him to confirm the identity of the woman. He had to keep her talking. “Maybe you’d like to take me around and show me some of the sights,” he suggested. “And why would I want to do that, Mister?”

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“Cameron, Cameron Walker. And you’d like to do that because you’d be a good ambassador for Raven’s Cliff.” She laughed, a pleasant, musical sound. “Unless you like fishing boats and cold misty weather, there isn’t much here in Raven’s Cliff. Besides, I stay busy working here.” “Surely you get a day off,” he replied. “Or maybe there’s a Mr. Sally at home?” “No, nothing like that. I’m just not the type to pick up a handsome stranger who waltzes through the front door,” she replied. “Then what type of woman are you?” he asked, consciously flirting with her. She slid out of the booth and dropped his tab ticket on the edge of the table. “The kind who likes a twentypercent tip from all of her customers.” As she returned to the counter, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and got up to leave. Clearly she wasn't going to give up her identity with a bit of idle chatter over pie. Which meant there was only one way to be certain that the sexy waitress was the woman he sought. Greg Griffen had told him that his ex-wife, Maggie, had a scar on her left breast. Now all Cameron had to do was figure out a way to get Sally out of her blouse.

Chapter Three Stay or run? Maggie stood at the window in the back room she called home and stared at the silhouette of the Beacon Manor Lighthouse against the night sky. As usual, a layer of fog was moving in fast, threatening to obscure the tower from the base up. Cameron Walker—he was all she’d been able to think about since he’d left the café an hour ago. Had she fooled him? She couldn’t be sure. There had been such confidence in his sexy blue eyes when he’d first said her real name, but by the time she’d finished talking to him she’d seen doubt there. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d been hired by Greg to hunt her down like a dog. What she didn’t know was if Cameron Walker had already contacted Greg to let him know where she was staying. She’d spent the first six months immediately following the divorce on the run, never staying anywhere for longer than a week or two, slowing making her way across the country to find a safe harbor. She’d thought she’d found it here. She’d believed she could be Sally Kendall and never think about the abused woman named Maggie again. She’d tried to be so careful, tried to cover her tracks along the way. But apparently she’d made a mistake somewhere, for like a bloodhound following the scent, Cameron had sniffed her out. Stay or run? The choice she needed to make created an ache in her skull. After suffering through five years of marriage to Greg Griffin, she’d hoped to finally gain some happiness. But she should have known he’d never give up, that he wouldn’t be happy until she was dead. He’d warned her a million times that if she left him, the only peace she’d ever know was when he put her in her grave. But she so was tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder, wondering when, not if Greg would finally find her. If she ran she’d have to start all over someplace else. Besides, if she ran then Cameron would know he’d been right about her. She hoped that the uncertainty she’d seen in Cameron’s gaze the night before was an indication that he hadn’t yet told Greg she’d been

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found. If she stayed, perhaps she could make Cameron believe she really was Sally and he would continue on his search. And she could live here without fear. She could convince Cameron. She would convince him. She would stay. Decision made, she began to form a strategy. Maggie could think of only one way to keep her enemy close and off-balance—she would agree to show him around town. By spending more time with him, she could convince him that she really was Sally Kendall, born and raised in Maine, a waitress with big dreams and no talent. But as a precaution, before she got into bed she pulled out the gun she’d bought months before and placed it on her nightstand. She knew how to use the weapon and wouldn’t hesitate if it became necessary. She didn’t have to worry about not seeing Cameron again. Just after nine he walked into the café, bringing with him a sexual energy that charged her. Clad in a pair of worn jeans, a black T-shirt and a windbreaker, the sexy smile he directed at her forced a wave of unexpected heat through her. How could she be so attracted to a man who might be bringing death to her doorstep? “Good morning, Cameron,” she said to him as she poured him a cup of coffee. “What can I get for you?” “The breakfast special looks good and so do you, by the way. You should always wear pink.” A blush warmed her cheeks as she self-consciously touched the collar of her pink blouse. She’d chosen the blouse that morning because she knew it looked good on her. Of course, she told herself it had nothing to do with Cameron Walker. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a big flirt in here,” she replied. It was crazy how he made her heart beat so rapidly. Surely it was fear of him that quickened her heartbeat. And yet she knew it was something more than that, something far more complicated. “Last time I checked, flirting was free,” he replied easily. Flirting with this man was definitely dangerous, she thought, and yet she remembered her mission and returned his smile with a bright one of her own. “Free and fun,” she replied. Maggie have never have flirted with a stranger, although she’d been beaten for the offense once when she and Greg had gotten home after having dinner out. “How do you want your eggs?” “Scrambled. How do you like your men?” he countered. “Not scrambled,” she replied with a laugh. “And there you go again trying to turn a simple woman’s head with your flirty ways.” Those sharp blue eyes of his narrowed slightly. “Oh, I have a feeling you definitely aren’t a simple woman.” “You have a wife at home, Mr. Walker? Somebody who sits at home and waits for you to get back and sweet talk her with your smooth lines?” He laughed. “No wife, no girlfriend. I prefer to travel light through life. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like women. I especially like sassy blond waitresses named Sally.”

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This man was dangerous in more ways than one, she thought. He attracted her like she hadn’t been attracted to a man in a very long time. There was a strange anticipation in the air, an electricity that she couldn’t deny. But what she wanted to do more than anything was keep him off balance. She recognized that her very life might depend on it. “You still need somebody to show you around town?” she asked. His dark brows shot up in surprise, then that sexy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Definitely, are you offering?” “I wouldn’t want to be a bad ambassador for Raven’s Cliff,” she replied. “Tomorrow is my day off and I’d be happy to give you a tourist’s view.” She saw the touch of confusion in his eyes and sighed inwardly in relief. Her plan was working. The friendlier she was with him, the less he’d believe that she was Maggie. “Why don’t we meet here around this time in the morning and I’ll show you the sights.” He reached out and lightly touched the back of her hand. “I look forward to it,” he replied. The electricity of his touch stunned her and remained with her as she left the booth to get his breakfast order. She wondered if she’d just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life. Did Cameron know that the man he was working for had promised to kill her? Was Cameron merely the forerunner to death? Or was it possible he was death itself—a hired killer?

Chapter Four Maggie had made a lot of mistakes in her life, but only two big ones: marrying Greg and staying with him as long as she had. But now she feared that she was about to make yet another huge error in judgment by meeting Cameron and spending the day with him. At eight forty-five the next morning she left her room and went out into the main area of the café. Cameron wasn’t there yet and she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat on a stool at the counter. “You love this place so much you come here to hang out on your day off?” Julie Samuels, a fellow waitress leaned against the counter and looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Actually, I’m meeting somebody here,” Maggie replied. “Must be of the male variety. You’re wearing lipstick and that new coat you bought last week.” Maggie touched the collar of her coat self-consciously. It was true, she’d taken special pains to look attractive. But she told herself it was all for the cause. “Actually, it’s a customer who’s staying in town for a couple of days.” Julie’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t sound very smart. What do you know about this guy?” “Don’t worry, I’m just showing him around town. Besides, I know how to take care of myself.” She thought of the gun tucked inside her purse, a weapon she wouldn’t hesitate to use if it meant saving her own life. At that moment Cameron came in the door. That slow, sexy smile curved his lips as he saw her and she felt a burn begin at her toes and work its way up to her cheeks. “That’s my date,” she murmured to Julie. Julie released a low whistle. “You go, girl.” Maggie got up to greet him, her heart doing a crazy dance in her chest. She didn’t know if it was because it was so imperative that she fool him into believing she was Sally Kendall, or if it was because of the insane attraction she felt toward him.

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“Sally.” He greeted her with a look in his eyes that made her feel as if she were the most important person in the world. It made her breathless and wary at the same time. “Good morning, Cameron. Are you looking forward to taking in the sights of Raven’s Cliff?” “Almost as much as I’ve looked forward to spending the day in your company,” he replied. She summoned up her Sally personality and gave him a playful slap on the arm. “I can tell I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, Mr. Flirt.” He grinned and together they left the café. “Where to first?” he asked and pulled his collar up against the cool wind. “The docks? There’s always interesting characters and fishing boats to watch.” “Sounds good to me,” he agreed. “Although it’s not a great day to be outside.” He looked up at the gray clouds that hung low in the sky and cast a pall over the village. “Lately, this is about as good as it gets in Raven’s Cliff,” she replied. “Everyone has been talking about the terrible weather. I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun shine. It’s supposed to be part of the curse.” He raised a dark eyebrow with wry amusement. “A curse?” She nodded and pointed in the distance to the Beacon Manor lighthouse. “I don’t remember the whole story but it had to do with a captain who lost his family at sea years ago. He made it to shore and built the lighthouse and then the town of Raven’s Cliff. He promised the town prosperity as long as on the anniversary of his family’s death the lighthouse shone on the place where his ship had gone down.” He smiled, his eyes a warm blue that banished the chill in the air. “Let me guess, somebody didn’t do their job and a curse was born.” “You’ve got it. Somehow the lighthouse caught fire and people say since then Raven’s Cliff has been cursed.” “Hmm. You seem to know a lot about this curse, but you said you’re not from Raven’s Cliff, right? Where was it you said you were from?” Instantly the chill returned, sliding down Maggie’s back with a whisper of danger. She’d need to remember whatever she told him if she was going to convince him that she wasn’t Maggie Halstead. “Kettle Point,” she replied. “It’s about thirty miles down the coast from here.” She prayed that her lies were convincing enough that he wouldn’t think to check on that fact. “What about you? I don’t think you’ve mentioned where you’re from.” The easiest way to give the smallest amount of information was to ask questions, she thought. “Kansas City. Ever been there?” He watched her closely. She shook her head. “The only time I ventured out of Maine was when I went to New York.” “Ever thought about living anyplace else?” he asked. “Not really. My father was a fisherman and even though I don’t want to follow in his footsteps and reel in fish and lobsters, the sea is definitely in my blood.” All lies, of course. Survival had turned her into an accomplished liar.

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But it was impossible not to be acutely aware of him on a physical level no matter what lies she told. With his tall, buff body next to her and the heated way he looked at her, she felt more feminine and pretty than she ever had in her life. Over and over again she cautioned herself not to let her guard down—reminding herself that Cameron would never, could never mean anything to her but disaster. Still, it was a wonderful day. She introduced him to people at the docks and they wandered through the quaint little shops the town had to offer. Despite the tension she felt, he made her laugh. They ended up at a charming little restaurant for dinner where he asked her more questions about her past, questions that required more lies. With each lie she told she felt safer, seeing more doubt in his eyes. But doubt wasn’t the only thing in his gorgeous blue gaze. There was a banked fire there, a fire that warmed her as no other had. “We didn’t make it to the lighthouse today,” he said as they walked around the back of Hank’s Café where she lived. “Maybe next time?” “You’re staying in town?” she asked in surprise. “I can’t leave until you show me the source of the curse,” he said, his eyes glowing in the twilight. She pulled her key out of her purse and he leaned closer to her. “You feel it, don’t you?” he whispered close to her ear as she unlocked her door. “The chemistry between us?” She’d have to be dead not to feel it. She turned to face him. “I’ll admit, I find you attractive,” she conceded. “But you’re just passing through.” “Sometimes short and sweet is the best kind of relationship to have.” He leaned forward and reached out to caress a strand of her hair. “I like you, Sally. I’m a man accustomed to getting what I want, and I want you.” Her breath caught in her chest. “It’s good for the soul to not always get what you want,” she replied, but the tease came out unconvincing and breathless as she realized he was going to kiss her. She saw the intention in his eyes as he stepped closer. She fought between the desire to offer him her mouth or turn and run inside and lock the door….

Chapter Five Cameron still wasn’t sure if she was Maggie Halstead or not, but he was positive he wanted to kiss her. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to kiss a woman as much. She turned to look at him and her eyes widened slightly, as if she knew his intention. He didn’t give her a chance to pull away but instead stepped closer and took her in his arms. Her chocolate-brown eyes widened more but she didn’t fight to get away, instead she melted against him, as if she’d wanted him to hold her for a lifetime. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said as desire fired through him. “Okay,” she said with a tremulous sigh. He lowered his head to take her lips with his. Hot and sweet, her mouth opened to him, allowing him to kiss her deeply, passionately. But he wanted more of her. His goal when he’d started out this morning had been to seduce her and find out if she had the scar that would positively identify her as Maggie Halstead.

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But right now he didn’t give a damn about the scar or if she was Sally or Maggie. All he cared about was that her tongue danced with his as her hands tangled in his hair. All he could think about was that her body fit perfectly against his. He moved his hands from her back to her hair, stroking the soft strands as he’d wanted to do all day. He was overwhelmed by his swift, visceral physical reaction to her. When the kiss finally ended he looked at her and for just a split second he saw a rich, deep vulnerability in her eyes—a vulnerability coupled with fear. And in that moment he knew. She was Maggie Halstead. The woman in the photo he carried in his pocket had that exact same expression in her eyes. He wanted to ask her where that fear came from, why she was pretending to be somebody she wasn’t. Greg said he just wanted her found because there was some important paperwork that needed to be signed, papers that had somehow been overlooked during their divorce proceeding six months ago. But then why was she so afraid? Cameron couldn’t just hand her over to Greg without knowing what had really happened. But before he could figure out how to ask her, she recovered from the kiss, giving him a little shove in the chest. “You’d better get out of here, Cameron Walker. You’re the devil’s temptation and I’m not the kind of woman to have a short and sweet kind of thing.” He touched her cheek, her skin smooth and cool. “So, what kind of a girl are you, Sally Kendall? Are you the kind who’s waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you away from all this?” She pushed his hand away and stared off in the distance. “I lost my belief in Prince Charming a long time ago.” She looked back at him and there was such sadness in her eyes that he wanted to fix her world, do whatever it took to bring the light of laughter to those brown depths. “You’re just a man passing through and as attractive as I find you, I’m not available for anything more than that kiss we just shared.” She released a deep, weary sigh. “It’s getting late, Cameron. I’ve got to be up and at work before dawn.” “Maybe tomorrow night after you get off work you can show me the lighthouse?” “You don’t give up, do you?” “I can’t leave town without seeing what caused the curse of Raven’s Cliff. Show it to me, Sally. Tomorrow evening.” “Maybe,” she replied, but he could tell by the tone of her voice she had no intention to do so. “Sally, I might not be Prince Charming, but I’m a stand-up guy. If you’re in trouble, if you need to talk, I’m a good listener.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “I don’t know what would make you think such a thing. The only trouble I’ve got is with picky customers who order something one way and want it another.” She shivered, as if the chill of the night had crept into her soul. “Goodnight, Cameron.” She didn’t give him an opportunity to say anything else, but turned and went into her room and closed the door behind her. Cameron stared at the closed door for a long moment then shoved his hands in his pocket. He turned around and gazed in the distance where the top of the Beacon Manor Lighthouse was just barely visible above the fog that had moved in.

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Maybe the town was cursed, and maybe he’d become a part of that curse. There was no other way to explain all the crazy emotions that rushed through him. He should just walk away from this. All he had to do was call Greg, tell him where Maggie was and Cameron’s job here was done. He pulled out his cell phone and gripped it tightly in his hand. He opened the phone, but in the luminous face he saw that momentary fear in Maggie’s eyes. He closed the phone and shoved it back in his pocket. He couldn’t walk away from this yet. Something wasn’t right. She affected him, touched him in a way no woman ever had before. He couldn’t walk away from her—but he had a feeling she intended to run from him. As a successful private investigator, Cameron relied heavily on his instincts, and right now they were telling him that when the café opened in the morning, Maggie wouldn’t be there serving coffee. If she intended to sneak out like a thief in the night, then Cameron would be waiting for her. He sank down on the ground just outside her door and pulled the collar of his coat up against the night air. He was accustomed to going for days on little sleep, doing surveillance from uncomfortable places. The only thing different with this particular assignment was that he found himself emotionally involved, something that had never happened before. Night deepened and the fog grew thicker. Cameron dozed off and on with his back against the building near her door. It was just after midnight when he heard the faint click of the door unlocking, then creaking open. He slid to a standing position just to the side of the door where she couldn’t see him. He kept silent as she placed two suitcases just outside the door, then stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. “Hello, Maggie. Going somewhere?” he asked in a low voice. She gasped and whirled around to face him. Then it was his turn to gasp when he saw the gun she leveled at him.

Chapter Six Maggie’s heart nearly exploded out of her chest as she faced Cameron. She clutched the gun tightly, unsure if she would be able to use it against him. “Whoa,” he exclaimed and took a step backward with both his arms raised. “For God’s sake, Maggie, put that thing away before somebody gets hurt.” “What are you doing here? Have you come to kill me?” There was no use in pretending anymore. He knew the truth of her identity—otherwise he wouldn’t be standing here now. “Kill you?” He repeated the words in an incredulous tone. “Why would I want to kill you?” “Because you work for Greg, because he wants me dead.” She tried to steady the hand that held the gun, but couldn’t control the trembling that swept through her.

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She wanted to weep, feeling the raw emotion crawling up inside her. She’d thought she could escape, she’d believed that finally she’d found safety in Raven’s Cliff. “Greg hired me to find you, nothing more,” he said softly. “Put the gun away and talk to me, Maggie.” “Have you told him that you found me? Is he on his way here now?” Fear ripped at her heart as she thought of facing the man who had once been her husband. “No, I haven’t called him.” He lowered his arms to his sides. “Greg said he needed to find you to sign some paperwork that wasn’t done at the time of your divorce.” “The only paperwork he wants to have signed is my death certificate,” she replied bitterly. “Talk to me, tell me what this is all about. Maybe I can help.” She released a sardonic laugh. “Nobody can help. Just let me leave here.” “And do what? Set up in another small town, become a redheaded waitress in a burger joint? If you keep running, if you continue to pretend to be somebody other than who you are, eventually you’ll lose yourself altogether.” “Better lost than dead,” she replied. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested. He took a step toward her. “It’s obvious I don’t know the full story, and I’d like to know. I need to know.” Maybe she should talk to him. He’d almost believed her lies—maybe he’d believe the truth. And if she could convince him not to call Greg then maybe she could stay here and continue living her life of lies. She lowered the gun, defeat weighing heavily on her shoulders. Ten minutes later the two of them sat at a booth inside the café. She’d made coffee and the only illumination came from the security light drifting in from the kitchen area. “When I married Greg I was a naïve twenty-three year old. He was already a prosecuting attorney and the strongest, most centered man I’d ever met.” She paused to take a sip of coffee, hoping the warmth of the drink would banish the icy chill that always took hold of her when she thought of Greg. “My father left when I was three,” she continued. “And my mother was an alcoholic. I was working part-time and going to school. Life was tough—until I met Greg. He was my Prince Charming who swept me off my feet and into marriage so quickly my head spun.” “But there was no happily-ever-after,” Cameron said softly. “I mistook his control for strength. I believed his domination was caring. It was typical of abusive relationships—he isolated me, tore down my self-esteem. And then the physical abuse started.” Cameron’s eyes darkened. “Did you report it?” “Greg is the prosecuting attorney in Kansas City. As you know, he’s a powerful man and I was nothing more than the daughter of a raging alcoholic. I didn’t know who to tell, where to turn. I had no friends, no family.” Cameron reached out and placed his big, warm hand over hers. “So, how did you manage to get away?”

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She wanted him to keep his hand on hers forever. The heat of his touch seeped through her hand and up her arm, warming the cold core inside her. “I was used to him slapping and kicking me, though he was always careful not to mark my face. But one night he burned me with a cigar and I saw something in his eyes…. It made me realize he could kill me. I knew I had to run.” He tightened his grip around her hand and she wished she’d met him in another place, another time. But she’d given up on any happily-ever-after in her life. Greg had beaten the trust out of her. “Where did you go?” he asked. “To a shelter. I immediately filed for divorce and my lawyer pushed it through as quickly as possible.” “Greg didn’t fight the divorce?” He pulled his hand back from hers and picked up his coffee cup. “No, and that surprised me, but I was relieved. I thought it was finally over. Then the day the divorce became final I got a call on my cell phone. It was him. He told me that I had humiliated him with the divorce and the penalty for humiliation was death. He told me he didn’t care how long it took or how much money it cost him, he’d find me and dance on my grave. I left Kansas City the next morning.” “And here we are,” he said. She nodded, a lump in her throat so big she couldn’t talk for a minute. She finally swallowed around it. “All I wanted was to find a safe place. I thought I’d found it here, but I guess I was wrong.” “Greg doesn’t know for sure that you’re here,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to run again. Unpack your bags. I won’t let him know where you are.” She stared at him, wanting to believe him but so afraid. Was he merely offering her a false sense of security in order to give Greg an opportunity to clear his calendar and get from Kansas City to Maine? “Trust me, Maggie. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” Trust him? She’d known him less than forty-eight hours. She had absolutely no reason to trust anything he said. And yet, something in his eyes, something in the kiss they’d shared made her desperately want to believe him. And she didn’t want to run again, hated the idea of finding another town, another identity to hide behind. Cameron Walker had made her want more. For just a moment as he’d held her in his arms she’d wanted to believe a happy ending was possible for her. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “The last time I trusted a man it didn’t turn out so well. I think the best thing to do is to disappear again.” Once again Cameron covered her hand with his. “I’m not Greg, and aren’t you tired of running? Unpack your bags, Maggie. You don’t have to go anywhere.” She stared into the depths of his eyes and saw only warmth—and hope. She was tired of running. So tired. “I’ll stay, at least for now,” she finally said. She prayed he wasn’t lying to her, for she had just placed her very life in his hands.

Chapter Seven Cameron half-expected not to see her the next morning when he walked into the café just after eight. A pair of killer, tight jeans displayed the shapely length of her legs, and the coral-colored blouse deepened the brown of her eyes.

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The idea that any man had hurt her filled him with a simmering rage. But it was the tired smile she offered as she approached his booth that broke his heart. It made him want to get back to Kansas City so he could beat the hell out of Greg. “I’m glad to see you this morning,” he said as she poured him a cup of coffee. “I might be a fool for believing you. I guess time will tell,” she replied. “I’m planning on taking off tomorrow. I was hoping I could talk you into a tour of the lighthouse before I go.” He watched the play of emotions on her face, a combination of fear and want that made his heart clench. Somehow she’d managed to get under his skin, dig a path to his heart. It was crazy, but there—a caring he’d never felt for another woman. She would haunt him for a long time to come. “Okay,” she agreed. “I get off work at six. Meet me here and we’ll go look at the lighthouse, and then I’ll say goodbye to you.” There was a wistfulness in her voice, as if she wished there could be a different ending for the two of them. But that was impossible. His life and work was in Kansas City and she would never return to the city where her ex-husband lived and wielded power. He ate breakfast and left the café, returning at six o’clock that evening. “Just give me a few minutes to freshen up and grab my jacket,” she said and disappeared into the back room. She returned a moment later and they left the café. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said as they got into his car to drive to the rocky shoreline where the lighthouse rose up like an ancient artifact.

“I’m glad you did. I wanted more time with you before I have to leave.” A crazy regret filled him, the regret of the right woman at the wrong time. “I wish I could fix things for you.” She smiled. “My world is okay as long as Greg doesn’t know where I am.” “I’d like to give you better than okay,” he replied. “But that can’t be,” she replied with a finality and a sadness that pierced his heart. “Let’s just enjoy tonight. The lighthouse is one of my favorite places.” She looked up at the sky where dark, angry clouds began to form. “I just hope the storm holds off until we finish our tour.” He parked the car and they got out. From here they would have to walk. He grabbed her hand as they headed toward the tall tower. An unexpected wind gust nearly blew them off their feet and Maggie leaned closer to him as they navigated the rocky shoreline to the door. Once they were inside Cameron looked around with interest. “I’ve never been in a lighthouse before.” “There’s not much to see on this level. Come on.” She motioned him to the iron stairs that wound upward. He didn’t really care about the lighthouse. All he wanted to do was hold her and kiss her—but that would be nothing but foolishness. It would only make things more difficult when it came time to tell her goodbye. For the next thirty minutes she showed him the points of interest in the lighthouse: the old storage cabinets in the watch room where supplies were kept and the fire-scarred lantern room that had once housed the powerful light that kept sailors from crashing into the jutting rocks below. When they returned to the bottom floor, she leaned against the stairs. “Tell me something about yourself, Cameron. Tell me about your life.” There was a hunger in her eyes that he understood. He wanted to know everything that had ever happened in her life, too, every dream she’d ever had and every hope that had ever filled her heart.

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“I have two younger sisters that I adore and their mission in life is to drive me crazy. My parents have been married for forty years and still look at each other as if they’re newlyweds.” “That’s nice.” “What about you? Is your mother still alive?” “No, she died six months after I married Greg. She was thrilled that I’d found a man who could give me all the things I’d never had growing up. But that didn’t stop her from drinking herself to death.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago and we were never really close. Why aren’t you married?” she asked. “I’ve spent most of the last five years working on building my business.” “Your business as a private investigator?” He nodded. “Mostly I work freelance for insurance companies, but things were slow when Greg contacted me, so I decided to chase you down.” He smiled at her. “Of course I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” She returned his smile with a warmth that nearly stole his breath away. “I’m glad it was you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, fighting the impulse to reach out to her, to hold her in his arms just one last time. “Just my luck, I finally find a woman who could rock my world and she wants to stay hidden in a town that’s cursed.” The smile fell from her lips and she pushed herself off the stairs. “Take me back to the café, Cameron. This is crazy. There’s no point in us spending any more time together. It will only make saying goodbye harder.” There was a shine in her eyes, as if she was fighting back tears. He nodded, knowing she was right. Together they walked outside where the wind howled like a banshee and the sky boiled angrily. A flash of lightning rent the clouds, followed closely by a boom of thunder. She started for the passenger side of the car and he realized this was his last chance. He stopped her by grabbing her arm. “I can’t let you go without kissing you one last time,” he said. She hesitated a moment then came willingly into his arms and he kissed her with all the tenderness she deserved and all the desire he felt for her. Suddenly he heard the pop of gunfire and the car window exploded inches from where they stood. Maggie spun out of his arms. “What have you done? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. You’ve led him right to me!” With a sob of terror, she turned and ran and disappeared into the lighthouse.

Chapter Eight Maggie ran up the winding iron stairs, terror screaming through her as she fumbled in her purse for her gun. She’d trusted Cameron and he’d lied. It had been his idea to come here tonight. And that kiss… It had been meant as a kiss of death. Half-blinded by tears, her feet slammed up the stairs until she was in the lantern room with no place else to run. She gripped her gun firmly in her hand as she heard footsteps ringing on the stairs. Was it the man who

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had pretended to care for her, or the one who had once proclaimed his love for and then spent every day of their marriage making her life hell? “Maggie!” Cameron yelled. “If you come up here I’ll shoot you,” she cried. She crouched down, the trembling of her legs making it impossible for her to stand. She swiped at her tears and stared at the doorway. “Maggie, I didn’t bring him here. I didn’t know he was here. I didn’t set you up, I swear!” A deep rumble of thunder punctuated his words. “That bullet could have just as easily killed me as you,” he shouted. “I’m coming up and the only way you’re going to be able to stop me is to shoot me.” She flipped the safety off and placed her finger on the trigger. But as he appeared in the doorway, she couldn’t shoot. With a deep, wrenching sob, she dropped the gun and curled up in the corner. What good was a gun if you couldn’t pull the trigger? He ran to her and crouched down next to her, his features barely discernible in the approaching dark. “Maggie, listen to me. I’m not going to let him hurt you. I didn’t know he was here in town. He must have followed us from the café.” He stood and looked around, his body tense. “He must have gotten suspicious when I didn’t call him back. He knew I was headed for Raven’s Cliff the last time I talked to him.” He pulled a gun from an ankle holster. “We’re in a corner up here,” he said more to himself than to her. “There’s only one way out and that’s back down the stairs and he’ll shoot us the minute we stick our heads out.” Maggie looked toward the observation deck that ran around the outside of the lantern room. “There’s another way out. I’d rather throw myself into the sea than face Greg again.” She stood and stared out the window where she knew the sea would be a turbulent mass of whitecaps. “There’s a third option,” he said, his eyes glowing as he stepped closer to her. “We work as a team and maybe we can get out of this mess. He’ll know that I have a gun, but he won’t know that you do.” A sliver of hope welled up inside her. “So, what do we do now?” “We wait and see what his next move is.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against his side. She leaned into him. “Maybe somebody heard the shot. Maybe help is coming right now.” “Don’t count on it. This place is isolated and with the storm I doubt that anyone heard the shot.” “I was looking for a safe harbor. I thought I’d found it here.” She looked at him. “You could probably get away. He’d let you go,” she said. “I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you because of me.” He smiled down at her. “I’m not going anywhere. He’ll have to come through me to get to you.” Her heart swelled at his words. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago. If something happens and we don’t get out of this, I just want to thank you for two of the best days of my life.” He rubbed a thumb against her cheek. “Don’t write us off yet. I’m an optimist at heart.” “Walker!” Maggie stiffened at the commanding, familiar voice. Cameron tightened his arm around her. “He’s down one level,” he whispered to her. “Greg, what’s going on?” he yelled. “You could have killed me out there.”

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“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. I don’t know what lies she’s told you, but you don’t want to get into the middle of this. Throw down your gun and come on down and you can go home,” Greg said. “Why don’t you come up here and talk to me,” Cameron replied. Maggie’s heart beat so hard, so fast, she felt as if she were about to have a heart attack. “He won’t shoot me on sight,” she said. “He won’t kill me until he’s had a chance to gloat. That’s the kind of monster he is.” “How sure are you of that?” Cameron asked with a new urgency. “Are you willing to bet your life?” She wanted to laugh. What life? Unless they were given some sort of miracle, the odds were good that they would both die up here. “Why? Do you have a plan?” He told her his thoughts and her blood ran cold. It was a huge risk. If she’d miscalculated Greg’s need to torture her, then it would never work. But it was the only chance they had. So when Cameron finished, she nodded. “Let’s do it.” She took her position and he took his, then he called to Greg. “I’m throwing down my gun, Greg. You can come on up and we’ll talk.” Cameron stepped out of the doorway and tossed his gun. It clattered on the stairs. He then pressed himself against the wall just inside the door. Maggie clutched her gun behind her back and stood facing the doorway, terror slicing through her. Greg appeared in the door, a gun in his hand. “My runaway bride,” he exclaimed and took three steps toward her. Cameron attacked him from behind, hitting him so hard both of them fell. Greg’s gun slid across the floor, out of both of their reach. Maggie was frozen in terror as the two men struggled. It was only when Greg managed to get free from Cameron and grabbed the gun once again that her inertia broke. As if in a nightmare she watched Greg start to lift the gun in Cameron’s direction. Without thinking, she raised her gun and shot Greg. He stared at her in stunned surprise then fell to the floor. She hadn’t been able to shoot to save herself, but she couldn’t let him kill Cameron. She dropped the gun as a deep trembling overtook her. Cameron was by her side in an instant. He pulled her into his arms. “It’s over,” he said. “It’s finally over, Maggie. We’ll call the authorities and there will be an investigation, but when that’s finished you’ll be free to go wherever you want. You won’t have to hide anymore.” She leaned her head against his solid chest as he tightened his arms around her. “You can go anywhere…. But I’m hoping you’ll come back to Kansas City with me,” he said. “I’ve grown quite fond of a waitress named Sally, but I could be head-over-heels for a woman named Maggie.” She raised her head to look at him and in the warm shine of his eyes she knew that she’d found her safe harbor—with Cameron.

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Winner Takes All by Joanne Rock Jenna Highland has always been the talk of the thoroughbred racing circuit. It used to be because of her outrageous animal rights protests—now it’s about her sudden appearance in Saratoga Springs with a new wardrobe and a new, more conciliatory attitude. It’s all a façade of course. She isn’t selling out; she just has to convince racing’s elite that she’s one of them for a little while so that she can get what she needs to survive. But Thomas Preston isn’t convinced. After one glorious day when better sense flew out the window, he knows what she looks like without any…pretensions. She may have walked away from him that day, but now that she’s back, he will stop at nothing to find out why she’s returned—and what will make her stay.

Chapter One Saratoga, New York, 1971 High heels and goofy hats didn’t agree with her. Never had. Never would. Still, here she was, horse owner Jenna Highland, readjusting the brim of her ivory, wide-brimmed confection-of-a-hat for the millionth time and teetering on much-reviled sling-back heels. As she picked her way through the gravel parking lot of one of the country’s premier racetracks shortly past dawn, she cursed the wardrobe she’d chosen. She’d forgotten how cold mornings could be in Saratoga Springs—her Kentucky heritage fooling her into thinking a short-sleeved suit would be warm enough for a spring morning. The thin linen proved as poor a choice as the silly chapeau and frivolous footwear she wore—a far cry from her usual tastes that were more flower child than socialite. But the entire ridiculous outfit was necessary in order for her to pull off this charade—it was the façade she needed to wear to prove to the horse racing elite that she was just like them, that she’d changed her rabble-rousing ways and could conduct business with this refined group of potential horse buyers. You’re a chip off the old block, darlin’. She could practically hear her father chuckling over her plan in the Great Beyond, having a good laugh watching his unconventional daughter tricked out like a prize filly on race day. Too bad this whole mess was his fault. Upon his death eight months ago, Edgar Highland had left his only heir with crippling gambling debts that had eaten up nearly every asset of Highland Farms save one racehorse—a retired champion worth only as much as Jenna could wrangle from this crowd. Her heels fell more comfortably as she walked onto an artificial turf carpet that lead to the clubhouse porch where a sunrise breakfast was being served trackside. It was a social event she’d previously made it a point not to attend as part of her commitment to bring attention to the plight of racehorses that were driven into an early grave in order to produce the much sought-after champion—insider dirty laundry that many in the racing world didn’t appreciate her airing. But someone had to speak for the horses backed by less reputable breeders and trainers. Until the honest racing community banned those entrants in their lucrative races, Jenna would continue to lobby for her cause. Just not this week. She wasn’t selling out. It was a matter of survival. Just as she had to survive events like this breakfast if she was ever going to sell her horse for the amount of money she needed. The eagle-eyed matrons who presided over the breakfast didn’t miss a thing as Jenna walked among them. She knew that news of her entrance was spreading from table to table faster than it took for her to walk through the clubhouse porch and into the white canvas pavilion that held the most elite breakfast guests— their family crests stitched into the crisp, bleached tablecloths. The hostess led her toward an empty table in the back of the pavilion. But in order to get there, they had to walk past a slew of family tables packed with her father’s old colleagues and—gulp—creditors.

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She didn’t need to seek out the Preston emblem to feel the presence of the institution that owned the sport’s finest thoroughbreds. But then, she had an uncanny ability to detect the presence of one particular member of that family. A knack that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with feminine awareness. Undeniable chemistry. A perverse conspiracy of her hormones against sound judgment. She felt that awareness right now, an electric charge firing its way through her nervous system—sending neurons into hyperactivity as the message of his presence traveled from one end of her slightly shaking body to the other. Peachy. As if she didn’t look ridiculous enough in the lady-of-the-manor hat, now she had goose bumps and jitters to add to the whole charming display. As she made her way to the empty seat the hostess indicated, a sea of pearls, pastel hats and linen suits stared back at her, contrasting with the starker clothes of the men who also attended the event. Jenna refused to acknowledge any of them, hoping fervently she’d misinterpreted the prickly sensation along her spine that usually coincided with Thomas Preston—the only man who would see through her ruse in a second. The one man who’d been given a rather…ah…intimate glimpse of the sole heir to Highland Farms. She usually saved her wild woman ways for speaking out against cruelty to animals or any other number of causes dear to her heart, but she’d let her emotions run away with her one day in Thomas’s arms—a man wholly inappropriate for her given his family’s uptight, old money ways. Of course, she’d banished him from her life the moment she came to her senses. There could be no future between a man immersed in the traditions of the racing world and a woman committed to changing it. Especially when their fathers had constantly been at loggerheads over Edgar Highland’s refusal to repay an old betting loan from Hugh Preston. “Is that young Jenna Highland I see?” A stern feminine voice bristled at a table nearby before Jenna could drop into her seat. She’d been spotted. And heaven help her, the voice seemed to be emanating from the huge table full of Prestons where her excellent sixth sense and backstabbing hormones told her Thomas sat. Not trusting her shoes, her feet or her tongue to carry her through an awkward episode, she chose to simply smile politely as she turned to face her father’s long-time archenemies. And, among them, one of the most compelling and infuriating men she’d ever met.

Chapter Two Thomas Preston loosened his tie before he choked on his damn chick-food omelet. Because holy hell, the subject of his recurring fantasies stood two feet away from him. And damned if the Kentucky-bred hellion who could shoot an apple off a tree while riding full speed wasn’t wearing a wide-brimmed hat swathed in some kind of netting that made her look classier than Jackie O. She even wore pearls and high heels that showed off her long, incredible legs. Though what she looked like today paled in comparison to the last time he’d seen her, stretched out in a meadow wearing little more than flowers in her hair…. It had been almost a year ago. He’d been home on leave before his second tour of duty in Vietnam, and Jenna Highland had been the only person who took him away from thoughts of war or family obligations. That glorious afternoon had been one of the few times in his life he’d allowed himself to get carried away. “You remember Jenna, don’t you, dear?” Thomas’s mother’s voice could pummel a man’s wandering imagination into obedience even if she no longer used a wooden kitchen spoon to back it up. “Of course.” He stood, a lifetime of instruction in good manners asserting itself. “A pleasure to see you again, Jenna.”

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He maintained the façade of polite strangers that Jenna had insisted on after that day, remembering all too well her parting dictate when she’d forced him to promise they would never speak of the day they’d almost gone too far. He’d resented that promise on many occasions since then, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate any reminders of it now when his whole clan was listening. “I’m sorry about your father.” Pilfering an empty chair from a nearby table, he hoped she knew his words were sincere despite the elder Highland’s fondness for crossing swords with other owners. Especially Preston owners. “Thank you.” Her words were automatic and polite, but she didn’t meet his gaze as he positioned a chair for her at the table beside his mother. A brush off? Standing closer to her now, he could see the goose bumps on her arm from the chill in the air. Every now and then the ground beneath the tables trembled with the reverberation of thoroughbreds cantering past, and they could see the horses’ breath as they ran close to the rail. He wanted to offer her his jacket, but somehow he knew she’d rather be cold than accept an offer from him. At least, that’s what he guessed from her current refusal to look at him and her cool replies to the couple of letters he’d mailed to the States before his Army commitment was finished. Silently, he held the chair for her, unwilling to ignore his duty as a gentleman despite her obvious wish to maintain a great deal of distance. Another softly murmured “thank you” was as much as he got out of her for the next hour while his mother raked her over the coals about her reasons for attending the Saratoga racing season and her plans for Highland Farms. True, Thomas was interested in those things too since the racing world had speculated Jenna would simply sell off the assets and be done with the place after the rumors of her father’s debts. But Thomas couldn’t force himself to indulge his curiosity since he knew Jenna would probably rather be anywhere but here. No way could one year have changed this woman so much that she would think sipping OJ out of a champagne glass was a rocking good time. He helped himself to a biscuit from the bread basket while his mother acted as Grand Inquisitor. Jenna looked extremely uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to break in on her behalf—it gave Thomas the time to study her up close and consider how to handle the very interesting development of her arrival. He spent the rest of the breakfast surveying how she’d changed—her auburn hair was longer and darker than the sun-streaked strawberry blond he recalled. He also observed how she’d stayed the same, her green eyes as sharp and assessing as ever. Her figure remained lean and long, reminding him of how she’d been disappointed when a growth spurt at twelve had ruled out her becoming a jockey like she’d dreamed. He only had sporadic memories of her when she’d summered in Saratoga with her widower father. Thomas had been four years older, and that had seemed like a world of difference when she was ten and he was fourteen. But in later years when he’d gone out to her family’s Kentucky farm on business…oh, he definitely had vivid memories of her then. “I’m afraid I’ve taken up too much of your time.” Jenna’s sudden movement scraping her chair back from the table snapped Thomas out of his reverie and into action. He might have been content to keep his peace around her when they had an audience, but once he had her to himself, he wouldn’t be bound by any promise he’d made about keeping their tryst under wraps. He hadn’t appreciated being booted from her life, though he recognized that they didn’t make sense together. She thrived on drama and conflict. She lived to raise awareness for her animal rights causes and saving the world, one thoroughbred at a time, while he had to be the conservative, responsible heir that his family required him to be. He knew the reasons their relationship couldn’t work. But that didn’t mean it chafed any less.

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Jenna stood as his mother made polite and insincere statements about wishing her luck at the track. Thomas shoved aside his plate and got up, too. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to the backstretch, Jenna.” He moved closer to where she stood in all her pink-suited glory, a far cry from the jean cut-offs and halter tops he remembered her wearing. “I assume you’ll want to pay a visit to your horses’ accommodations?” It was an age-old tradition no owner would ignore in this genteel world. “Of course.” Her green eyes finally snapped up to meet his and nearly bowled him over with their laser-beam force of animosity. “How thoughtful of you to suggest it.” Now this Jenna he recognized. He couldn’t hide his smile as he reached to slide her arm through his. It was the first time he could remember good manners being the least bit useful. Loosening his tie even further, he drew Jenna through the thinning crowd. He took the fastest detour out of the pavilion area so he could ask the question that had been on his mind all morning. “So, change your mind about never wanting to see me again, Jenna?”

Chapter Three “I refuse to talk to you until you unhand me, Thomas.” He kept her arm snugly linked through his. “You can’t possibly be suggesting I’m holding you against your will right now.” “Then you’ve grown terribly lax in your facility with the English language.” She tugged her arm until they reached a path where all pedestrian traffic had to stop for horses walking to and from the track. But as soon as a shiny black filly passed, she started wriggling again. “So do you mean to tell me you’d rather be sitting back there with my mother, having your motives painstakingly interrogated through hours of barely-veiled social chitchat?” As they neared the small train of carts that led the public on tours through the backstretch, Thomas slowed his step. There were less people here, as the next crowd taking the tour was lining up. Thomas and Jenna hung back. “No.” She succeeded in freeing her arm and Thomas released her with regret. “But I’d escaped from your mother when you maneuvered me into walking with you.” “You could have said no.” Not that he would have taken no for an answer. But he remained very interested in her reason for saying yes. “Not without a lot of hoopla and polite insistence on your part, I’m sure.” Her level look told him she knew as well as he did that he wouldn’t have let her slip away easily. “But I don’t need to remind you that you’ve always thrived on hoopla, Jenna.” He smiled at the memory of a handbill she’d printed up one year in a campaign for better vet care for race horses. She’d drawn a cartoon of a frazzled looking nag with a thermometer in its mouth. Definitely not an image thoroughbred owners appreciated. “Not anymore.” She patted her hat awkwardly, as if reassuring herself it was still there and hadn’t flown off on wings of white netting. The gesture might appear self-conscious on another woman, but Jenna looked vaguely irritated to have to keep track of her headgear at all. “Let me get this straight. You’re no longer a rabble-rouser. You—who once hijacked the track’s public address booth to make an announcement about the harmful effects of overbreeding on horses. You’ve given

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that up completely and have now turned to Brooks Brothers clothes after a lifetime in jeans. On top of all this, you came to Saratoga even though you had to know we’d run into each other here and you practically swore you’d never see me again. So I’ve got one question for you. What gives?” Her green eyes widened somewhere during his speech, as if she was surprised he’d noticed she’d walked back into his life a completely different woman than the one he’d left behind last summer. She took a deep breath, licking lips that he remembered being exquisitely soft. Her gaze darted around the track grounds, as if looking for a quick escape. Thomas reached for her hand in an automatic need to keep at least that much of her prisoner until he had answers. “And keep in mind, Jenna,” he continued, “I haven’t asked you for much, and I’ve given you the silence you demanded of me for a long time now. You must know I can keep a secret.” “I’d rather not talk about that.” Her eyes no longer glanced around the grounds, but settled on him. He could feel her pulse thrum through the veins in her hand, her heartbeat pounding just under his fingertips in the softness of her palm. “I’ve kept the secret from the whole rest of the world, but I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen when it’s just me and you.” After that afternoon, he’d wanted to see her again, wanted to explore the attraction between them, but she’d cut him off at the knees, telling him she had no intentions of trying to fit into his world where tradition and family reigned supreme. And now she seemed to have moved on without him. Or tried to. But as far as he was concerned, her being in his path this week meant a second chance to explore the undeniable chemistry between them. “Fine, we won’t pretend,” she said, oblivious to his train of thought. “But I’d rather not discuss my need to be in town this year.” “Then we’ll discuss something else.” He slid his arm around her waist to guide her toward the train of carts loading up with passengers for the backstretch tour. “Lucky for you, I’ve got all day to enjoy the track before the races and I’d like nothing better than to show off the interrogative skills I learned from my mom. Actually, I think I have an even stronger knack for finagling answers—” Her hands lifted in surrender to cut him off. “Enough. You win.” She shook her head, setting her hat in motion and sending the veiling around the brim into a tizzy. “Quit the psychological warfare and let’s find a place for a sit-down because I have a lot of things to do today and none of them involve taking a grand tour of the backstretch.” Having enough sense of sportsmanship to know there was no cause to gloat, he went about finding a place to take Jenna where they could talk. In private.

*** The stately marble fountain surrounding one of the famous Saratoga springs wasn’t completely private since it sprayed and gurgled inside the racing grounds, but the picturesque spot wasn’t well visited in the hours between sunrise breakfast and the start of the official racing day. Jenna settled into a wrought iron bench near the fountain, hoping the noise from the bubbling spring would help muffle their conversation from any early-bird tourists who wanted to take pictures in front of the small landmark. She watched Thomas out of the corner of her eye, taking in the perfect cut of his dark suit that could only be tailor-made as he scoped out the location he’d chosen for their discussion. He seemed more chiseled since she’d seen him last—from his jaw to the outline of his arms within the confines of his jacket—every aspect of him seemed more sharply defined. The close-cropped brown hair and piercing blue eyes remained just the same however. And Jenna couldn’t help but think if she looked into those eyes of his for too long she could be back in that meadow in Kentucky, where a simple kiss had once flamed out of control.

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Clearing her throat, she dashed that picture and decided to sew up her conversation with him as quickly as possible. She couldn’t afford to linger in this town for long on her shoestring budget. And as much as she hated to confide in Thomas about her near-bankruptcy emergency, she didn’t think she had a choice. She knew enough about him to understand he wouldn’t let the matter rest until he’d shaken the story out of her. “Honestly, as much as I wish I didn’t have to—I’m here to sell a horse.”

Chapter Four “You’re selling Intuition?” Thomas lowered his tall, athletic frame onto the bench beside her. “Yes.” She was gratified he remembered, but she was a little irritated to see the hint of sympathy in his eyes before he gave a quick nod. She didn’t know how she’d expected him to react to her financial predicament, but she didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. Jenna had a lucrative prospect to sell. She could—she would—survive on her own. She wouldn’t even be sharing something so personal with him if she hadn’t been afraid he’d call her out for a fraud somehow. Or worse, think that she ended her self-imposed exile from Saratoga because of some desire to see him. Still, now that he knew her situation, she somehow felt she could trust him to keep her secret. “And you thought you needed a hat to sell your horse?” Reaching toward her, he plucked the hated piece of silk and straw from her head. “This is Saratoga, and I’m trying to look like a wealthy horse owner. Obviously, I either needed a healthy dose of Burberry accessories or a hat. I opted for the hat since plaid isn’t my thing.” “Hats aren’t your thing, either.” He whipped the head covering to the end of the bench with a flick of his wrist. “And if you ask me, I think you’re trying to hide under there.” “Don’t be ridiculous. I need to make my presence known so I can spread the word about Intuition.” “Then why didn’t you say anything to my mother while you had a table full of Prestons at your feet?” “I didn’t figure it would be very socially graceful to mention that my horse was for sale the first time I’ve seen your family in a year.” She swallowed down her last memory of meeting Thomas’s father. He’d launched into a tirade about her lack of respect for elders and for racing—basically her lack of respect for everything Hugh Preston enjoyed in life. Being more opinionated than prudent at that time, Jenna had promptly reminded the Preston patriarch that she respected horses’ rights a great deal. Her run-in with Hugh had come shortly before her ill-advised evening with Thomas—yet another reason she’d known his family would never welcome her with open arms. “Bottom line, you’re here to assure the world you’re not in dire financial straits so you can sell your horse, and you hoped to make everyone forget about your past tendency to rabble-rouse by cloaking yourself in the accepted uniform of upper class wealth and privilege.” He pivoted on the bench, suddenly facing her. Putting her neatly on the spot with his icy gaze. Dear Lord, the quickly warming sun must be scrambling her brains if she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. “Um…” Who could think when subjected to the full onslaught of Thomas’s attention? She was grateful she hadn’t been standing lest her knees might very well have wobbled. “I guess that sums it up, yes. Nothing nefarious in my plans at all. So you see, this whole question and answer period was really unnecessary.” She gathered her purse and told her legs to stand so she could escape his proximity before she did something foolish like smooth her hand down his crisp white shirt-front. She knew better than to try and fit

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into Thomas’s world for long. She’d never blend into the glittering racing world any better than her father had. A year ago, that knowledge had prompted her to swallow down any feelings she might have had for Thomas in order to spare them both heartache. Jenna reminded herself that nothing had changed. “Wait.” Thomas put a restraining hand on her arm as she rose, effectively drawing her back down to the bench. “You’re going to need help.” “I don’t think so.” She stiffened at the suggestion, sensitive to accepting help of any kind after her father’s habit of taking financial assistance from friends and acquaintances. Heck, her father had “borrowed” money from her allowance more times than she could remember to fund a day at the local track. “I’m committed to accomplishing this on my own and the only thing I’d ask of you is to keep quiet that I’m…” she peered around to make sure no one had ventured close. “…broke.” “You know you don’t have to ask.” His eyes chided her, the sudden heat in his gaze reminding her precisely what secret he’d kept of hers in the past. Jenna found herself wishing she hadn’t mentioned it, since her suit suddenly seemed to itch and constrain. Suddenly, all she wanted was to fight her way out of these conservative clothes. But that was the old Jenna. Impulsive Jenna. She knew better now. “I guess I didn’t have to ask.” Her cheeks heated as she realized how long she’d delayed in responding. This—awkwardness—was precisely the reason she’d promised herself not to spend any time along with this man ever again. “But please know that I appreciate your discretion.”

*** Thomas wasn’t sure whether she was thanking him for his silence now or for the last year. The former he didn’t mind giving—clearly, she needed his help if she was going to sell her horse for a fair price. But the latter…that he minded very much. Never had he regretted a decision more than his promise to Jenna not to revisit that day. Not that they ever could have made a relationship work given their diametrically opposed natures and vastly different goals in life. But walking away from her had filled him with a sense of loss. Her friendship—sporadic as it had been over the years they’d grown up in a shared small world—had left his life starker. Hell, he’d missed her appearances this past year at racing events. He’d always enjoyed seeing what she’d cooked up to draw attention to the plight of the small percentage of racehorses that weren’t cared for to the degree his family’s farm—Quest Stables—cared for their animals. He didn’t have any intention of letting her slip away from him again. “You can’t pull this off on your own.” He understood her reluctance to take help. Admired it, even. But she’d get nowhere in the racing world without a heavy hitter to clear the way for her. “Even now, my mother is spreading the word to her friends to ice you out of the social scene. And if she gets the women in her pocket, you’re not going to get anywhere with the men. If you can’t get into the parties and events, you’re not going to have any way to sell your horse.” “Would your mother really do that?” She frowned, her pink rosebud mouth drawing into a tight pout as she apparently realized the likelihood of his words. Thomas tried not to think about tasting those lips of hers while he wondered if she could be that naïve about her effect on his world. Then again, she must be, since he’d never known Jenna to be anything but open and honest aside from her small charade today. In fact, she’d usually run into trouble in the past because she found it difficult to keep her opinions to herself. “Yes, my mother really would do that.” Thomas adored his mother, but she was protective of her family and the racing world they claimed as their own. “Your only hope to carry off this ruse of yours is if you latch on to somebody whose connections can override my mother’s, or at least balance them out.”

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Suddenly, a plan began to form in Thomas’s mind, a way to make her spend time with him and make her see they couldn’t walk away from each other again.

Chapter Five “I can’t possibly find anyone to vouch for me who would carry as much weight…” Her green eyes widened as her words trailed off. “You’re not suggesting that I—that you—” “I can give you the edge you need to get Intuition in front of potential buyers with deep pockets.” And his position as the future Preston patriarch would offset his mother’s opinion. Not to mention that his time in the rain-soaked trenches of ‘Nam ensured he didn’t give up on a campaign. “You’d do that for me?” Her gaze narrowed. “And just how do you propose to make all of Saratoga Springs think you have any reason to support the social status of a woman who has irritated every last member of the racing community at one time or another?” “It’s simple.” The plan made perfect sense—and it would ensure that they spent plenty of time together. “All we have to do is tell everyone we’re dating.” “No.” Crossing her legs, she shook her head without even taking time to consider his idea. “You’d actually be doing me a favor—I’m being pressed from all sides to follow the trend of the last two centuries of Prestons and get married before I turn thirty.” No sense owning up to the fact that he actually wanted to get back together with her. She’d only run. Besides, it was true enough that his mother had made it a personal mission to see him marry soon. She’d thrown Macy Blackwell in his face more times than he could count. “Poor you.” Rolling her eyes, Jenna looked doubtful. “You realize your family might have a collective conniption if they thought you were dating someone as hideously unsuitable as me.” “You let me worry about them. This isn’t one of your causes where you can shout your point of view through a megaphone or print out a pamphlet to persuade people to listen.” He looked earnestly into her eyes. Was she convinced? She had to accept this plan—his sense of honor wouldn’t allow her to go back to Kentucky without the financial safety net of selling the horse. How could her father have left her in that kind of predicament? He pressed on. “There are only a handful of potential buyers for that animal, Jenna, and none of them are going to do business with you between your history of protesting racing’s treatment of horses and my mother’s inevitable campaign to give you the cold shoulder.” She shifted on the bench beside him, her finger hitching into the strand of pearls around her neck and tugging gently. “Maybe I’m dating someone else.” “Are you?” He didn’t want to analyze the churn of his gut at the thought. “No, but that’s not the point.” She twisted and untwisted the necklace while sunlight warmed their spot and shone through the falling drops of water from the fountain to create a prism effect. “What exactly did you have in mind if I agreed to this plan of yours? Not that I have yet, I might remind you.” Thomas’s tension eased. He was winning her over. “There’s a polo match tomorrow.” The polo field was the second favorite stomping ground for horse lovers during racing season. “There will be tailgating all afternoon before the match and cocktails under the stars afterward. It’s a good forum to introduce you to some friends who can spread the word about your horse.”

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“While we pretend we’re dating.” She seemed very stuck on that aspect of the plan. “It’s not like we need to lock lips to prove the point or anything.” Although if an opportunity presented itself, Thomas wouldn’t mind reacquainting himself with her taste. “Maybe pretending for a day wouldn’t hurt.” Jenna bit her lip as if she regretted the words the moment they fell from her mouth. But then she nodded, as if she’d fully made up her mind. “I’ve got to sell Intuition soon, so I appreciate the offer as long as we can respect the ground rules.” “What ground rules?” he wondered aloud as she tucked her purse strap over her shoulder. “Maybe we can figure those out on our way to the polo field tomorrow.” Cramming her hat back on her head, she adjusted the brim at an angle. “Considering my colorful past and my tendency to speak my mind, I’m sure you’ll want to set a few rules for this adventure as much as I do.” Actually, he was more interested in seeing hints of the old Jenna peeking through the mask of the more restrained woman she was wearing, but he knew better than to push his luck. “It’s a deal.” Extending his hand, he enveloped her fingers in his palm and wished he could have sealed the bargain with a kiss instead. With Jenna Highland back in town, Thomas had the feeling his life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Chapter Six The next day, Jenna went over her game plan for her almost-visceral attraction to Thomas—deny, deny, deny. If she didn’t acknowledge the sparks she still felt around him, they didn’t really exist. Kind of like the sound of a tree falling in the woods and all that. Or so she fervently hoped. She didn’t want to fall for Thomas all over again after she’d just barely scraped her heart back together after forcing herself to walk away last time. Back then, he’d been getting ready to go to war—an obligation she respected too much to drag him into a relationship at the last second and risk messing with his focus. She hadn’t wanted to be another responsibility on his already loaded shoulders. So she had thought it would be easier to shut him out of her life. But even now that his commitment to the Army was finished, she knew better than to think she could make such a traditional man happy. Like it or not, she’d inherited more than a little of her dad’s outspoken ways. But today at the polo match she’d have to keep that part of herself hidden. She scoped out her wardrobe, looking for something appropriate. Although she’d shopped for a few conservative clothes before coming to town the day before, she still had more jean cutoffs than cute dresses. Ugh. She hated all this pretending. But having grown up on the fringes of the racing world, she knew she had to make nice with these people to bring top dollar for her horse. Though it wasn’t just about the money—as desperately as she would need it if she ever wanted to go to college—Jenna wanted to sell Intuition to the kind of owner who had excellent stables and a staff veterinarian. Her studies into animal rights assured her that those thoroughbred owners frequented Saratoga. She’d only spread her animal rights message to this crowd in the past because they had the social influence and financial resources to make changes in racing at every level—like at the less genteel tracks where horses were treated with much less care. But did Thomas understand that, or did he think she was selling out for the money? As she thumbed through her skirt choices, Jenna wondered why he’d made it a priority to assist her with her re-entry into a society where she’d never fit in. Did he think he owed her anything after what they’d shared? She’d certainly worked hard after their interlude to reassure him they’d merely fallen victim to the moment.

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Maybe he’d only offered to help her so that she’d get out of Saratoga as quickly as possible and not cause any upheaval in his well-ordered world of privilege and wealth. Her protests about animal rights probably hadn’t been good for the Preston family business. Whatever his reasons, Jenna knew his desire to help her hadn’t been rooted in any sort of male-female affection. Because she’d made sure that any feelings he’d harbored for her evaporated on the cool morning breeze after one very heated evening together.

*** Getting up from a buffet table set up under the stars, Thomas watched Jenna croon over a polo pony prancing beside its rider after the day’s match. Crickets chirped in the woods nearby, a soft hum he would have missed in the growing noise of the afterparty if he hadn’t slipped into the fringes of the event to observe Jenna in action. She’d always been a sight to behold. For years, he’d been secretly intrigued by her bold embrace of life, her utter fearlessness when it came to social consequences. Particularly since he could never afford that kind of abandon as a Preston. Now, dressed in a long navy skirt and sunny yellow blouse bearing the Highland Farms logo on the pocket, she appeared right at home among this crowd of wealthy horse lovers. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” Jenna called to Thomas, her voice loud enough to turn heads. He strode through the celebrants toward where she stood with an Argentinean polo player who studied Jenna as though he’d like to swallow her whole. Thomas decided their dating charade required him to slide an arm around her waist. “They’re impeccably trained,” Thomas agreed, taking more pleasure than he should from the feel of the warm skin of her back through her lightweight blouse. She tensed at his touch, but she recovered quickly. The polo player nodded to Thomas, taking a step back as he re-assessed Jenna’s availability. Wise man. “I’d better take him home now.” The player backed the polo pony away from the small cocktail party that often followed the later matches. “He deserves the oats after the way he played this afternoon.” He reached to shake Jenna’s hand. “Thank you, Phillipe. And congratulations on your win.” Jenna squeezed his hand and Thomas was surprised at the sudden primal desire he had to break the contact. The desire to be the only man she touched. He hadn’t expected his unruly feelings for her to resurface with such intensity, especially when his mother had spoken to him again about his responsibility to Quest Stables to take the helm. His younger brother David had lit out for parts unknown in Australia to find his own way, leaving Thomas in a position to manage the family’s Kentucky operation founded by their father. Thomas had been groomed for the position, had worked hard his whole life to be worthy of directing the family fortune. But he hadn’t anticipated his obligations to extend into his personal life, calling for him to marry someone whose family connections would further the Preston ambition to be the premier U.S. racing family. A qualification Jenna could never fulfill, even if their families hadn’t been enemies in the past. But knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to spend time with her. He would deal with his family when the time arose. The Argentinean and his horse strode across the field to the few remaining trucks and trailers in the players’ parking section. Only in Saratoga were the horses as welcome at the cocktail parties as the people, a fact someone like Jenna ought to appreciate. Thomas leaned down to Jenna, speaking directly into her ear. “Can I get you a drink?”

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Gratified by her slight shiver at his voice, Thomas reminded himself he shouldn’t be enjoying her company so much. Probably shouldn’t be touching her with so much frequency if he wanted to maintain sanity. “Sure.” She nodded, allowing him to lead her through the white tents toward a small bar. “But do you think we should be trying to meet with anyone about Intuition while we’re here?” She’d made it clear earlier that day that she hoped to return to Kentucky within the week, but he didn’t think she could rush a sale that soon. Besides, now that he’d found her again, he was in no hurry to watch her go. He didn’t know what he expected from their renewed acquaintance, but as long as she was back in town he planned to explore the attraction still simmering between them, hot as ever. No, he wasn’t going to let her go that easily.

Chapter Seven “I wouldn’t recommend discussing Intuition with anyone yet,” Thomas suggested as he handed her the drink the bartender offered and led her away from the bar. “Play the crowd for a few days, don’t let anyone think you’re in a hurry to liquidate assets, and once our relationship is common knowledge we’ll pass the word discreetly.” Jenna wrapped her arms around herself, suppressing a shiver in the growing chill of the night air. Sometimes the summer temperatures could be brutal, but most weeks the days stayed warm and the nights cooled off in a hurry. Thomas noticed her shiver and slid out of his jacket. “You’re not in Kentucky anymore.” He dropped it on her shoulders the way he’d wanted to at breakfast yesterday. “You’d better carry a sweater until you acclimate to New York weather.” “I just want to sell him soon,” she confided in a whisper, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen this bold woman. “Patience is important in obtaining a good offer.” Thomas waved off a waitress who paused beside them with a tray full of champagne. “Unless, of course, you’d like to sell Intuition to me.” The idea rose to his brain like an afterthought that should have been obvious as soon as she’d expressed a desire to sell. Of course, buying her horse might end the intriguing relationship they were developing. But he couldn’t indulge those selfish impulses if she genuinely needed the cash in a hurry. “You’d buy him?” She didn’t look pleased as much as shocked. No doubt she probably wondered why he hadn’t mentioned an interest yesterday. “We’re always buying new prospects.” His father, a gambler by nature, had invested in far worse horses than Intuition’s bloodlines promised. “I could make you an excellent offer.” “Absolutely not.” She shook her head, green eyes flashing with a hint of anger apparent even in the glow from the torches ringing the outdoor party. “I don’t need a Preston handout. I just want a fair price for a solid prospect from someone who will actually develop him.” He’d touched a nerve. Her old man had had no use for pride, and clearly Jenna had inherited a double dose to make up for it. “O-kay.” He glanced around the party and spotted a couple of his family’s friends closing in on them along with a young woman his mother had mentioned numerous times as potential wife material. Not now, please. Reaching for Jenna’s hand, he pulled her in the other direction. They’d met plenty of good contacts for Jenna earlier in the day without tangling with this particular group. “I think we’ve accomplished enough here today, don’t you?”

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Thomas tossed a few goodnights around as he wove his way through the party, wanting to hoard Jenna to himself. He’d been a gentleman all day, damn it. He’d reached his limit for sharing her with the rest of the world. “Thomas?” He wouldn’t have slowed at anyone’s request, but her call was accompanied by a tug on his hand that made her tough to ignore. “What?” He pivoted on his heel even though he’d had his car in sight. “Someone wants to talk to you.” She pointed out the trio chasing them down, neck-in-neck as if they were battling it out for the inside lane in the homestretch. The group consisted of two of his family’s friends who ran a law firm downtown. Flanking them was Macy Blackwell. “Selective hearing,” he muttered for her ears alone before raising his voice to greet the newcomers. “We were just heading out.” “We were stalking you, actually.” Steve, the senior partner of the law firm, stepped toward Jenna. “Steven Sanderson, Esquire, at your service.” He took her hand as if he would plant a kiss on it. Thomas tugged it right back, securing her fingers inside his. “This is Jenna Highland. She’s with me.” He saw Macy stiffen at the comment. He hadn’t thought he’d hurt her with that statement—he’d had the impression she felt as maneuvered as he had by their matchmaking parents. “Jenna, this is Dave Whitney and Macy Blackwell.” “Nice to meet you.” She nodded but said no more, at odds with her usual more outgoing self. “The notorious Jenna Highland?” Macy grinned, anticipation firing her dark eyes as she gave Jenna a onceover. “You don’t look like one of those strident bra-burner types, but your animal-lover reputation very much precedes you.” Thomas half expected Jenna to pluck an appetizer from a nearby platter and lob it at Macy’s pristine white skirt, but apparently Jenna remained committed to her conservative charade because she merely smiled serenely. “I’m so pleased to be a spokesperson for a species that can’t be catty. So to speak.” Dave choked on his champagne while Macy looked ready to go for the appetizers herself. Time to intervene. “On that note, we’d better say goodnight.” Thomas slid his arm around Jenna and propelled her toward the parking lot. “I was perfectly ready to handle her,” Jenna observed as she slid into the Triumph Spitfire Thomas preferred to the showier vehicles his father crammed into the overflowing family garage. “She’s got her sights set on you, I take it?” Thomas shrugged, never having put much thought into what Macy wanted since she wasn’t his type. Too bold. But not in a Jenna way. Macy was ostentatious in order to get attention for herself, whereas Jenna was only bold on behalf of her altruistic beliefs. For those who weren’t catty. God, she was a handful. “Why are you smiling?” Jenna sounded less than pleased as he slipped into the seat beside her and turned on the ignition.

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He inhaled the soft scent of Jenna, her soft floral fragrance only obvious now that he sat mere inches from her. He cast a sideways glance at her and caught her profile in the dashboard lights, her windblown hair tumbling around her shoulders. To hell with restraint tonight. He wanted her. “Just admiring the self-control you showed back there.” He pulled out of the gravel parking lot slowly—as the field was not well lit in order to preserve the natural setting. “What makes you think Macy’s after me?” “Women don’t launch into snippy comments like that without cause.” Jenna leaned back, her posture relaxing beside him as they sped off on dark back roads. “Since she’s never met me, I can only think her hostility stems from being a little sensitive about seeing me wear your jacket.” Kind of like how he’d felt about the polo player making eyes at Jenna. Or Steve Sanderson trying to kiss Jenna’s hand. Damn. All of which only proved he needed to explore this attraction to Jenna, to prove to her they had something worth fighting for. And to do that, he planned to kiss her as soon as humanly possible.

Chapter Eight “You missed the turn for my motel.” Jenna peered over her shoulder at the quiet country road that would have led them south of Saratoga. Despite the lack of streetlights, she was certain Thomas had just cruised by the road that would bring her home. The route back toward peace of mind and rational thought. Because the longer she remained within touching distance of the enigmatic man who would one day head up the most important family in U.S. racing, the more she wanted to see if she’d exaggerated the mind-drugging effects of his caress. Ever since one kiss a year ago had led to losing their minds and most of their clothes, Jenna had wondered if her active imagination had run away with her that night or if this man’s kiss was truly as devastating as she recalled. “I’ll backtrack,” he assured her, wheeling the Spitfire into a tight about-face. “But do you mind if I ask you something first?” He pulled the car off the shoulder and in the beam of headlights she recognized a small look-out area beside the road. She didn’t know what view the spot afforded, but there was a gravel space large enough for three cars. The Spitfire remained the only car in sight as he cut the engine. Her heart picked up the pace as he flipped the headlights off and left the glow of parking lights on. “Do you think that’s such a good idea when we’re so—alone out here?” “I don’t want to make you nervous.” He reached for the key in the ignition. “We can talk outside your hotel, I just thought that—” “It’s fine.” She reached to intercept his hand on the key, her fingers tingling from the brush of warm skin. “You don’t make me nervous.” Much, she amended silently. But how could she explain that while she wasn’t afraid of him taking advantage of her, she was very concerned that she might throw herself over the stick shift and wrap herself around him? “Good.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. “Because I’ve had something on my mind that I’ve been meaning to ask for a long time.”

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Turning in the driver seat, he faced her, one arm sprawled over the backrest behind her neck. If he moved an inch he’d be touching her hair. A tremor shivered over her skin at the thought. Or maybe it was the intimacy of no cars and no lights around them for miles. “What?” She tried to meet his gaze and quickly realized she’d overestimated her immunity to him. Even in the soft glow from the dashboard she could see the heat in his dark blue eyes. The magnetic draw of a powerful personality behind a quiet exterior. “Where do you think we’d be now if we had crossed the line a year ago?” “I—“ Her mouth dried up. “I don’t think I can answer that question. And for that matter, I don’t think it’s a question you should ask.” He nodded, quiet for a moment. And then his eyes fixed on hers in the dim light. “Fine. Then I’ll tell you where I think we would be.” He leaned forward in his seat. Closer to her. “I don’t—” “We would be married. Living in the main house at Quest Stables. I wouldn’t be trying to evade Macy Blackwell because there would be no talk of an alliance between her family and mine. You wouldn’t be trying to sell Intuition because you’d already have a home for him. Our home.” She couldn’t deny her stomach did a little flip at the notion of sharing a home, a name, a future with this man. But she’d never once let her proximity to wealth and privilege turn her head. Her father had shown her that no amount of money or the security it brought could lead to happiness. Of course, he’d had a hard time believing that himself since he’d gambled every chance he got. But Jenna had seen how his wins hadn’t brought them anything more than a few weeks of presents she didn’t need. She knew the pretty picture Thomas painted certainly seemed easier, but it didn’t mean she would have been any happier now. “But since we would have arrived in that house based on the most impulsive moment of our lives, who’s to say we would have ever been happy?” Right now that was a tough argument to make as the air between them crackled with so much electricity she could hardly take a breath. “You don’t strike me as a man who’d follow something as nebulous as raw instinct, and I think you’d regret allowing those impulses to make your decisions for you.” “That’s exactly what I thought a year ago, despite a very big temptation to ignore the voice of cool reason. But you know what?” He reached to twine a strand of her hair around his finger, a rare act of tenderness. “I’ve come to regret my return to reason plenty of times over the past few months.” “You can’t be serious.” How could a Preston with his responsibilities possibly look back and wish he’d done things any differently? Although, as his thigh nudged against hers and he reached to pull her closer, she quickly began to believe him. “It’s been a year and I still want you so much I can’t see straight.” He smoothed his thumb along her lower lip, awakening a response from points far and wide inside her. “So that takes this kiss out of the realm of impulse into the firm terrain of an excellent decision.”

Chapter Nine Thomas had planned the kiss with care. And not just the subtle nuances—like the way Jenna’s neck fit perfectly in the crook of his elbow or the way her knee had nudged free of her long skirt to give him the smallest feel of silky thigh.

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No, he’d planned the place and the time to ensure that whatever he felt, things couldn’t get as far out of hand as last time. The logistics of getting past first base in a Triumph Spitfire were just too daunting. But then perhaps he’d forgotten the level of desperation a man might be driven to while on the receiving end of Jenna Highland’s kisses. Her lips were sweeter than any vintage his father’s lauded wine cellar had ever produced. Urging them apart, he took a deeper taste and held her still against him. The slightest move of her slender form against him and he might find a way to get around the car’s design. Pulling his mouth from hers, he thought he’d found a way to break the spell but ended up kissing a trail down the warm column of her neck, pausing over the thrumming pulse of her throat where her delicate scent grew more intense. His heart fired with the need to match hers beat for beat. “This is insane,” she whispered, her fingers threading through his hair. Her back arching closer. “I know,” he breathed the words into her skin and he steeled himself to release her. “But it feels so amazing,” she murmured, tugging him back to the hollow at the base of her throat. He’d never been so powerless. So completely at the mercy of another human being. He wanted everything she wanted and only what she wanted. The realization went deeper than his need to see if her kiss was as potent as he remembered. Because suddenly, the power of a kiss wasn’t about sex at all. It was about deep, human connection. And that was more than either of them could handle. “We’d better go.” He bolted upright—knowing the only way to stop was to rip the connection all at once and to plaster himself to his own seat. “I can’t—I don’t want to hurt you.” He turned the key in the ignition and switched on the radio, desperate for outside stimuli to draw his senses away from Jenna. He rolled down the window to let the cool night air clear out his head before he pushed her too far, too fast. He knew what he wanted, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake of pressing her too soon this time. “You’d never hurt me.” Jenna’s soft words, full of confidence, surprised him. He wasn’t sure he appreciated her total faith in him. Especially not when that’s exactly the kind of thing that could get her hurt in the first place. “Did you hear what I said tonight about what would happen if you and I…took this heat between us to its natural conclusion?” He could hardly say the words—and he sure as hell couldn’t look at her or he’d pull the car over and make them a reality, consequences be damned. He hungered for her in the way he’d never wanted another woman. “This might be the seventies and the rest of America might be spouting off about the sexual revolution, but we’re from traditional families and we’ve been friends a long time. If we take this all the way, there will be a ring on your finger in the morning, Jenna. And that’s how I could hurt you—forcing a marriage on you that would only make you feel caged in.” He didn’t know where he drudged up that notion since he’d never consciously thought through the idea of a lasting relationship with Jenna. Even after last summer, he’d shoved it all out of his head out of deference to her wishes and to the kind of future he knew his family expected for him. But he must have visualized the outcome somehow, someway, because the vision he’d painted of them getting hitched sounded just about right. But he knew his staunch, conservative family and the Quest Stables legacy would eat away at Jenna’s independent spirit and her free-spirited ways.

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“Well there you go,” she shot back, folding her arms as she stared out the passenger-side window. “You’re protecting me whether I want to be protected or not. I knew you’d never hurt me.” Thomas gritted his teeth, cornered by slippery feminine wisdom and his own thwarted hunger. Then again, maybe the frustrated heat rolling off him in waves had far more to do with the latter than the former. Shoving aside all thoughts of how seemingly unflustered Jenna had been by the mention of sex—let alone his frank guarantee of where it would lead them—Thomas focused on getting her back safely to her motel. He’d think about how to handle her tomorrow when reason returned. But one thing remained clear—he couldn’t afford to indulge in any more kisses. He wanted her too badly to tempt himself that way. The best thing for all parties concerned was to help her sell that damn horse as soon as possible. And if she wouldn’t sell it to him, maybe he could arrange for a third party buyer to help him out. He was so deep in thought with his plans that he almost missed another turn. “It’s right here.” Jenna pointed out a simple motel sign on the left of Route 9, well south of the city. “My room is in the second building.” He made the turn just in time, but as he drove into the parking lot, he was far from pleased to return her to the place. Old pickup trucks lined the lot, the tailgates down on several as a bunch of riff-raff sat in the backs drinking beer and playing music way too loud for any time of day let alone ten o’clock at night. “This is where you’re staying?” There was no way he was letting Jenna out of his car in front of this crew. Shotguns hung on racks in the back windows of those trucks. A few dogs ran around wild. And where the hell was the manager of this place? This group looked like a bunch of college-age kids in search of a good time, the tie-dye shirts and hippie music not exactly inspiring confidence. “Yes.” Jenna pointed on the other side of the trucks. “12A. It’s just over there.” Right on ground level where she’d never get any sleep. Where she’d be vulnerable to a break-in. “You can’t stay here.” As much as he needed to part ways with the too-tempting Jenna, he could never put her safety at risk. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jenna huffed, sounding oddly offended. “I paid in advance.” He drove around the trucks and parked in front of 12A, but he left the car running and her door locked. “I’m getting your bag. You’re coming home with me.”

Chapter Ten “I shouldn’t be here,” Jenna protested for the millionth time, though he was encouraged to note it didn’t have the heat of her earlier arguments against coming home with him. But as she stared out over Saratoga Lake from the guest bungalow of his family’s summer home, there was something about this particular soft denial that breached his defenses far more than any indignant outcry. They stood inside the dim living area, overlooking the moonlit patio and shimmering water beyond the green manicured lawns. His family didn’t have homes at every stop on the thoroughbred racing circuit, but Saratoga was special enough to warrant a more permanent Preston presence. Thomas’s mother had grown up nearby and her family’s wealth had contributed to the elegant Victorian home and grounds that were so different from the newer property in Kentucky that his father had built himself.

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The Saratoga home was more elaborate and formal, staid and serene with numerous gardens and walking paths that wound among many outbuildings. Thomas had given Jenna the best bungalow for the night—or for however long she planned to stay in town. “Yes, you should be staying here.” Thomas restrained himself from going to her, knowing if he touched her again he might not stop. “It makes no sense for you to pay for a room surrounded by drunken lowlifes where you won’t get any sleep and could be in danger. I have plenty of space here.” “It’s generous of you, don’t get me wrong.” She looked up from the view to smile at him. “I just think we might be tempting fate.” He didn’t have to ask how. The heat between them sparked and crackled with life all the way across the room. He shrugged, unwilling to reveal how important it had become to him that she remain under his roof. “You told me I’d never hurt you, so I’m going to trust your instincts on that.” “We both know what we’re thinking about right now wouldn’t hurt.” The vehemence behind the words floored him. “In fact, it seems like all we can think about is how damn incredible it would feel.” He hadn’t expected her to be so forthright. For that matter, he never anticipated that she would still be recalling their kiss in his car an hour ago. And he never thought that he would find the idea so impossible to walk away from.

*** Jenna peered at Thomas, studying his impassive face for any hint of what he was thinking. She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. The only reason he held back was an antiquated notion that having sex meant they had to get married—an end result that wasn’t possible, especially with his family already lining up a sensible fiancée for him. Thomas straightened—his whole body visibly tense after her honest admission about her desires. But damn it, she’d never been the kind of woman to live by the rules. To make nice in social situations or keep her opinions to herself just because other people wouldn’t approve of them. “That’s not the way it’s going to be for us this time,” he said, not moving an inch. “I’ll send someone over to the motel to pick up your car tomorrow so you have it here.” He turned to leave. The rejection stung, even though she knew she didn’t belong here anymore than she belonged in any other facet of his world—except his arms. His bed. Even the mere thought of those things caused her cheeks to heat and her skin to tingle in a full body flush. But he’d planted those thoughts. Made her think about them again after she’d put them out of her head a year ago. Why should she have to pretend they didn’t exist? And when it was just the two of them, why should she have to play by social rules that had never constrained her in the past? She was only seeking this town’s approval now in order to secure a buyer for Intuition, a façade she’d dropped with Thomas early on. Why should she pretend some uptight, virginal reticence she didn’t feel with him in private? “Thomas?” She reached for his hand and pulled him back toward her, unwilling to let him stifle everything she was feeling because of some old-fashioned notions about what was right. She wanted to experience the

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taste of paradise that his kiss, his touch, his body could give—before she had to go back home to sell off her father’s every possession and start her life over. “What?” He faced her again, watching her every move in the moonlit living area. He allowed her to take his hand, but took no other action—he wasn’t going to make this easier for her by wrapping her in his arms and showing her what to do next. So she’d follow what she’d listened to her whole life—her heart. “I want you to kiss me,” she confided, though her trembling belied the confidence of her words. She bent to place a kiss in the center of his palm, molding his fingers to her cheek as she imagined his touch roving all over. Everywhere. “You don’t want that.” His powerful body vibrated with the tension of holding back. She could feel it in his muscles everywhere her body touched him. “Jen, I won’t be able to stop next time.” The hoarse plea in his voice might have scared off another woman. But for Jenna, the threat only sent her senses reeling. “I’m counting on it.”

Chapter Eleven He didn’t need any more encouragement. Thomas swept Jenna into his arms and carried her up the narrow staircase to a small loft where the bedrooms were. He’d warned her. Been clear about the consequences. And damn it, he’d held back every time before. But no more. Not when he’d only restrained himself for her sake. Not when he’d wanted her every day for the last year. Kicking the door to the bedroom open, Thomas tightened his hold on her. He lifted her higher against his chest and kissed her, giving free rein to the hunger he’d barely contained all night. “I want this,” Jenna murmured beneath the onslaught of his mouth, her soft reassurances only firing his appetite. He steered through the room toward the bed, ducking under the angled gable on the sleeping nook. Moonlight spilled through the window onto the white spread, casting everything in a ghostly, surreal hue. He’d imagined this moment for so long that it felt like a dream. But Jenna’s hands on his body were real. Her fingers raked over his shirt and up underneath the hem, her touch anchoring him in the moment. She twisted and sighed beneath him as he stretched out over her. Covering her. “I’m crazy about you, Jenna,” he whispered, hoping she knew, praying she understood how much this meant to him. He didn’t want her to fall into a relationship with him without her eyes wide open. “Look at me.” Her lashes fluttered until she met his gaze, her breath ragged against his cheek while she held herself still. “Show me everything,” she demanded, her eyes flashing with determination. Heat. And just like that, he lost control of the moment. Fire raged through his blood, answering her incendiary call. He didn’t miss the flash of a small smile before he quickly undid the buttons of her blouse and peeled it away from her. The bra she wore beneath it had already slipped off one shoulder. The pale lace and satin cupping

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her small breasts invited him to take a taste. Bending, he placed a kiss on the delicate curve, inhaling the soft scent of her skin. “I thought about you so much while I was away.” He licked a patch of bare skin, his tongue dipping beneath the lace. She arched beneath him, her hands roaming over his back, tugging off his shirt. Pulling awkwardly at his belt. The feel of her hands nudging his sex, even in the most accidental way, drove him crazy. He drew on the tight bud of her nipple, eliciting a moan. Her hands stilled as if she couldn’t concentrate on what she was doing and what she was feeling at the same time. That was fine with him because he didn’t think he could handle the impact of this woman at full speed right now. Not when he was hanging by a thread himself, wanting to make sure her first time was special. Perfect. Sliding his hands around her silky back, he unfastened her bra and freed her breasts. She watched him in the moonlight, her mouth slightly open and her hair tousled from his hands. With slow deliberation, he unfastened her skirt and slid it down her long legs. Everything about her was delicately made, at odds with her strong personality that fought for the underdog. The need to take care of her fired his every touch. He stood to remove the rest of his clothes, his eyes never leaving her mostly naked form. Only tiny bikini panties covered her, her thighs still slightly parted from where he’d been lying only moments ago. Possessiveness swamped him, sending him to his knees beside the bed. He kissed her breasts and her belly, suddenly realizing he had one night to make her want him for the rest of time. She cried out when he kissed the tiny silk triangle between her legs and he loved it that he had surprised her. For all her bold demands that he show her everything, his innocent Jenna hadn’t been expecting that. Still, she didn’t push him away, her whole body trembling as her breathing rasped faster in the quiet room. He moved his kisses lower, finding the hot center of her until she gasped in surprise. Delight. An orgasm pulsed through her so fast he barely had time to get her naked. Stretching out over her again, he swiped the thin fabric of her panties to one side and entered her, her body still pulsing from aftershocks. She cried out and he held her, hoping he’d eased any hurt by taking her this way. He kissed her and held still. Waited for her body to adjust to his. Tension stiffened every square inch of him, the need to hold back spiking his pulse off the damn charts. Still, he held her. Kissed her. Soothed her. Until at last she moved carefully under him, her hips testing the connection between them. Heat roared through him at that tentative movement. His hips retreated and she hissed between her teeth, her fingers gripping his shoulders in a fierce response. He kissed her as he surged deep inside her once more, their mouths syncing to the rhythm of slow, sweet sex. Thomas let the feelings build all over again, easily sensing when Jenna was ready for more. Her personality in bed was as passionate as her activism and she made her wants known as soon as she understood them herself. He allowed her to guide him, giving her all she could handle until he felt that hitch in her breath again, the twitch of her hips that preceded glory…. He came with her this time, his body incapable of holding back another second. The lush spasms of her feminine muscles stroked him to completion, his world narrowing to this moment. This woman. Heat flooded over him. Through him. She damn well took his breath away as she moaned at the explosive feeling. His arms tightened around her, holding her close to make sure she understood what this meant to him. To them.

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“I love you, Jenna,” he managed between breaths as his heartbeat struggled to find some normal rhythm again. “Marry me.”

*** Jenna’s pulse pounded so hard through her temples that she feared the deafening swoosh of her heartbeat had masked the sound of whatever it was that Thomas had said. Because he surely couldn’t have just pitched out a marriage proposal as the conclusion of her first sexual experience. “Excuse me?” She didn’t mean to sound so formal. Especially not with her legs still wrapped tightly around the man. In fact, now that her senses were starting to return, it felt just a smidge embarrassing to be locked in such a passionate clinch with a man whose family wanted him to marry a well-mannered socialite instead of an upstart animal activist on the verge of bankruptcy. Meeting Thomas’s gaze in the moonlight, Jenna watched his sculpted mouth repeat what he’d said. The very words she’d feared hearing. “Marry me, Jenna Highland.”

Chapter Twelve The telephone trilled on the bedside table but Thomas ignored it. His eyes never leaving hers. Anger bubbled inside her at his assumption. At his need to be noble after all they’d already been through together. “I would never marry for the sake of salvaging some kind of good girl reputation I’ve never even had.” The feelings she’d always had for him made this new slight sting all the more. “Who said anything about saving your reputation?” He raised his voice over the ringing phone. “I made you an honest offer, the same way I made you an honest offer for Intuition and you won’t even consider it.” The phone quieted and she tried to process his frustration. They fumed silently for a moment until the phone rang again. This time, he picked up the handset from its cradle. “Hello?” His eyebrows knit as he listened to whoever was on the other end. “Yes, it’s me. I brought a friend here who needed a place to stay. It’s Jenna Highland.” Jenna tensed at his free admission to her presence in the Prestons’ guest cottage. What would his parents think of her, shacking up in this tiny bungalow with their son, the heir apparent to a racing legacy worth millions? “Goodnight, Mom.” Thomas hung up the phone, looking completely unconcerned at the awkward position he’d just put her in. “How could you tell your family that I’m here?” She hadn’t been concerned about her reputation until he purposely tried to sabotage it. Tears built in her eyes as she realized she needed to return to Kentucky and take her horse with her—now. “Because I love you and want to marry you, damn it. Haven’t you been listening?”

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Some of the anger hissed out of her, deflating all that righteous indignation. He loved her? She almost couldn’t believe it, except that he looked like a man who meant every word. For that matter, he’d asked her to marry him. Had he only said the one because he felt honor-bound to offer the other? “You don’t have to marry me just because of what we did.” This was the decade of the sexual revolution. Everyone said so. “Why should we tie ourselves to each other forever because of one night together?” She looked around the bed for her blouse while she pulled her bra into place, trying to scavenge up some pride before she did something ridiculous like allow his talk of love to sway her heart already filled to the brim with raw emotions for him. “It wasn’t one night. There was a night last year that you wanted to forget about. Only I didn’t forget it at all, and I don’t think you did either.” He handed her the blouse and she buttoned it with shaking hands. “Okay, so two nights together.” She tugged her panties back into place and felt a trace of sticky blood between her thighs. A discovery she attempted to hide before he could get all wound up about her former virginal status. “What about all the nights in between?” He grabbed her wrists and held her still when she would have darted off the bed to find her skirt. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t think about me while I was overseas?” Her heart hurt at the thought of him fighting an impossible war in desperate conditions. She’d read about the lonely reception too many veterans had received and hated to think of him being ostracized that way in spite of his sacrifices to his country. The thought renewed a stab of old guilt about her decision to keep her responses to his letters succinct. Distant. She’d only meant to spare him the heartache of a distracting relationship while he was fighting a war. But maybe she’d only made it worse by maintaining that distance. Skirt forgotten, she wound her arms around him. He pulled her onto his lap. “I thought about you.” With her cheek pressed to his chest, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him. Warm, musky and male. “But I never imagined you would be serious about someone—so unsuitable.” Gently, he tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “Someone with a heart big enough to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves? Someone who doesn’t let social pressure dictate her conscience?” He shook his head. “How could I be serious about anyone else but you? Jenna, I just fought in the most rugged, untamed territory you can imagine. A place where the social graces and thoroughbreds don’t matter much next to the life-and-death consequences people faced everyday. After what I’ve been through, do you honestly think I’d ever be able to marry someone who was only concerned with how good my name looks next to hers in the social register?” The truth of his words hit her with all the subtlety of pepper spray lobbed into the crowd at an activist rally. “You mean it.” She didn’t know why she’d fought against her feelings for so long when all this time, Thomas had been accepting his. “Hell yes, I mean it.” His arm tightened around her waist, inciting a fresh batch of sweet shivers over her skin. “I can give you some time to think about, Jenna. But not too much. I’ve been waiting for a year already.” “I—” She struggled to make sense of what he was saying, her emotions tangled up. “When you came home in March and never made any effort to see me, I just assumed you had decided I was right and that we didn’t belong together.”

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He shook his head. “I didn’t want to confuse the issue so close to your father’s death.” Leaning in, he kissed her forehead. “But I would have shown up on your step eventually, ready to show you that we deserved a second chance.” “Thomas Preston courting me? The hippie chick with the megaphone crusading for animal rights?” She shook her head, realizing the idea didn’t faze him in the least. “What will your mother ever say? She’s already busy spreading the word that the crazy activist is back in town.” She couldn’t compromise her principles for the sake of love. Would Thomas be able to deal with her need to speak out for injustice—even if it caused some ripples for his family? Thomas tipped his forehead to meet hers. “Then I guess she’ll have to backpedal quite a bit when she introduces you as her new daughter-in-law. But trust me, my mom can handle it. In fact, if you sit down with my old man for an hour or two, you’ll probably win over the biggest future supporter for your animal causes. My father came over from Ireland with nothing more than his love of horses and racing. I don’t think he’s as much a part of the genteel racing world as you seem to think.” Jenna remembered the way the older man has blustered and shook his finger at her for approaching her cause all wrong. And it occurred to her that maybe Thomas’s father was simply a passionate person who spoke his mind. Not unlike Jenna. “Do you really think so?” Hope built that maybe she could convert another ally inside the Preston clan, a man with the right clout to draw all kinds of attention to the plight of those racehorses who were pushed too hard to set new records and win sky-high purses. Thomas smiled. “Once you convert him, you won’t find a fiercer defender in social circles. Except for me, of course.” Jenna’s heart filled to overflowing at how much thought he’d already put into making sure she’d be accepted. With her father gone, the idea of a family touched her. “I don’t know what to say.” The tears that had been building spilled over now—happy tears this time. She’d hardly allowed herself to dream about Thomas after the passion they’d discovered the summer before. She’d locked down her feelings tight, determined not to make a fool out of herself for him. And yet, here she was, wrapped in his arms and bawling. “Say yes,” he whispered, swiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Say that you don’t care what anyone else thinks and that you want to come back to Kentucky with me for a big family wedding this fall.” “Yes.” She laughed through the tears, love crowding out any worries she might have about old gripes between their families or anyone’s opinion of her. “Yes I’ll marry you. I’ve loved you since I was ten.” To be with him now, after how many times she’d told herself he was an impossible dream, felt an awful lot like her very own fairy-tale. And with Thomas by her side, she was willing to bet that a happily ever after was a sure thing.

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Flash Storm by Jill Shalvis Sam Reed is a firefighter by day, and volunteers for Search And Rescue on the side. He’s the definition of fit: sculpted muscles, hard abs and the ability to stride into any blaze hose swinging. But today, he’s about to walk into a fire that even he might not be able to put out. And its name is Sara. Sara, his ex-girlfriend. The Sara he’d proposed to one day only to find out the next that she’d bailed and moved to Paris. Without a word. The Sara he’s been trying to get over for the past five years. And now she’s back. And on their mountain. Heading for their spot. But without a guide and in the middle of a wicked storm, she’s headed for disaster. Unless he can rescue her. Rescue them both. Let the sparks fly….

Chapter One Naked and still exhausted, Sam Reed laid on his back in his bed staring at the ceiling and considered the irony that as a firefighter, his life was on the line—daily—and yet he’d nearly been taken out by a cold. Freaking pathetic. Thank God today he was feeling much better. He tested himself by raising his head, which didn’t fall off. Progress. He’d been off work for four straight days, and the sleep medication had helped. His fever was gone. Better yet, when he sat up then staggered to his feet, he didn’t want to die from the movement. Nice. He took a shower, dressed, and drove himself to the nearest drive-thru for his first real meal in days. He parked at the beach to eat his breakfast of champions while watching the rough winds and gathering storm churn up perfect five foot California surf that he wished he was out in. Halfway through his bag of cholesterol, he got a text from Search and Rescue where he put in extra hours every month—they had a female hiker reported lost up in Big Falls Canyon. And a bad storm brewing, too. Shit. Big Falls was the mountain range just outside of Santa Rey, and though the trailhead was only several miles from civilization, once someone stepped on the trail and started hiking and surrounding themselves in the centuries old, several hundred feet high thick conifers and pines, it was incredibly easy to get lost in the wilderness. It happened all the time—which was why Search And Rescue kept so busy. But during a storm, getting lost could mean getting dead. He set aside the rest of the food, slurped in half of the orange juice for the sugar rush, and headed to S&R headquarters—the ranger station at the base of Big Falls. But the station was locked—as it often was early on a weekday morning during the off-season. Huh. He eyed the envelope sticking out the corner of the door. It had his name on it, as did the note inside. The small, neat, female writing was oddly familiar, and once he started reading, the words snagged him by throat and squeezed. Dear Sam, Yes, I’m back. I’m sorry to bring you up here on false pretenses, but I knew it was the only way you’d agree to talk to me.

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Besides, it’s not really entirely false pretenses. I’m up the trail waiting for you, heading toward the spot where we used to go. I’m probably already lost looking for it. Please don’t leave me up here by myself. It’s been five years and believe me, I’ll need you. Yours, Sara Sara. Just her name brought it all back. Being young and wild and stupid in love with her in high school. Being young and wild and stupid in love with her while he’d gone through the fire academy, and she to design school. Being young and wild and stupid in love with her until the day she’d left him for Paris and the fashion world. Without a word. But that had been five years ago and he’d gotten over her. So over her. So why was his gut twisted up like a pretzel? Lifting his head, he took in the increasingly darkening sky, then the trailhead—which disappeared up the mountain in a series of twists and turns. She’d asked if he remembered their spot. He remembered. And if she was heading toward it, she’d have an unwelcome surprise. There was no longer a trail all the way to that old abandoned ranger station, and she could indeed get lost—quite easily. He considered turning around. But he’d never turned his back on a stranger, so he couldn’t very well do it to someone who wasn’t a stranger at all, much as he wanted to. Instead, he swore to himself and began heading up the damn trail.

Chapter Two Was she doing the right thing? Sara wished she knew, but the truth was, she’d lost her trust in her instincts long ago. Or maybe she’d just lost her trust in her own decisions, specifically the one she’d made to leave California for Paris. When she thought about what she’d given up in order to go off and find herself, her heart physically hurt. It had hurt the whole five years she’d been gone. She’d played at design, flitted around, all under the guise of growing up, but the truth had been far less flattering. She’d been running. And when she’d realized that painful truth, she had to face the rest. That the running had to stop. That she had to learn to deal with and face her emotions, no matter how scary. So she’d come back to California with some definite goals—starting with finding happiness. To do that, she had to makes amends, right all her wrongs. Her biggest wrong? Walking away from Sam and the best relationship she’d ever had.

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But she knew he would never have talked to her if she’d just called him up and asked. Which meant she had to concoct this crazy scheme to get him up here. After at least a half a mile of walking straight up the narrow trail, she came to a fork where she could go straight, or veer off on another trail to the left, neither of which looked familiar. “Damn.” It was far colder up here than she remembered, and her lightweight blouse and cargos—while perfectly designed and sewn by hers truly—were no protection from the wind. It whipped up around her, tossing her hair, stinging her cheeks, making her wonder if she was doing the right thing by forcing a reunion with the man who in all likelihood hated her. But she had to try. She’d have no inner peace until she did. “So the question is,” she asked herself, “left or straight?” “Right.” Oh, God. At the low, sexy, unbearably familiar voice, everything within her quivered, and as she turned, she put a hand to her heart because it felt like the organ was going to burst right out of her chest. There he was—Sam Reed, just over six feet of tall, lean, rugged, sexy man. He had short dark hair and dark eyes to match, the gorgeous coloring he’d gotten from his Latin mother. He wore baggy Levi’s low on his hips and a dark blue T-shirt with the words Search And Rescue—Santa Rey Division on a pec. He wasn’t smiling, but she happened to know that when he did smile, it came off a little sweet, some charming, and had a whole lot of wicked naughtiness to go with it. Not that he’d smile at her, not now, maybe not ever again. Everything within her wanted to run and throw herself at him—just hold on tight and never let go. But he clearly wasn’t feeling any such need, and she tampered the urge, reminding herself that she’d put that look of anger on his face. “Hey,” she said softly. “So we go right, then, to get to the spot?” “We?” He slid his hands into his front pockets. “There’s no we, Sara. Not anymore.”

Chapter Three She looked different, Sam thought, his heart going off like a jackhammer. She was still hauntingly beautiful, but no longer coltish and unsure. No, the petite blonde in front of him had a new confidence. It was in her clothes that spoke of an easy elegance, in the way she wore flawless makeup, and in her blond hair—once long and wavy, now short to her chin and artfully tousled—adding to the overall air of sophistication. And as he looked at her—and looked—he told himself he felt nothing. A big fat lie. A sudden lightning strobe pierced the gloomy sky. Sara jumped even before the rumble of thunder followed, her eyes wide, and her mouth opening in a little oh! of shock. In his pockets, Sam’s hands fisted. She was afraid of thunder and lightning, always had been. There’d been a time when he’d wished for a violent storm so that she’d leap right into his arms and he could comfort her. But those days were long over. She got a hold of herself and looked back at him. “I was hoping we could talk,” she said. “Okay.” He nodded. “Talk.” “Not here. I wanted to go to our spot.”

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Once, she’d been able to ask anything of him, and he’d have done it for her. Anything. But now… “Please?” Her eyes were pewter gray and as mesmerizing as ever, and as the thunder rumbled across the mountain and through the trees, her lips, so carefully glossed, trembled. Ah, hell. “What’s wrong with right here?” he stalled. “You won’t hear me here.” And with that, she walked off the path, heading to the right. He watched her go, enjoying how sweet her ass still looked in spite of himself. “You’re going to mess up those fancy sandals.” Either she didn’t hear him over the next crack of lightning, or she didn’t care—though she did cringe when the thunder followed, booming louder and far closer now. Then she tripped over a manzanita bush and hissed out a breath, bending to look at her shin. Then she kept going. “Sara.” “The station, Sam.” Technically, they were already closer to the abandoned building than to the trailhead, but still. The less time he spent with her the better. “Why can’t you tell me whatever it is you have to tell me here? Before we get all the way up there?” She didn’t answer. She used to be fond of talking. Very fond. Her silence now was both welcome and disturbing. Walk away, he told himself. While he entertained doing just that, she stopped, clearly unsure of the direction. Hell. If he walked away and left her, she’d get lost. “Come on, Sara, let’s just turn around.” “I’m going to the ranger station,” she said without looking at him, her voice soft but steely. “I want you to come. I need you to come. But if you can’t, or won’t, well I understand that too.” And then she kept walking, much more tentatively now, heading into the thick dark woods. Just watching her, it was all coming back to him, how well he’d known that body, how well he’d known her, and she’d known him, how much he’d cared about her, their connection—and then how she’d broken it. “Sara, Goddammit. Why? Why now after all this time?” She went still, then turned. Slowly, she came back up to him. “Because of this.” With that, she fisted her hands in his T-shirt and gently pushed him back against the closest tree, holding him there while she went up on tip-toe and covered his mouth with hers.

Chapter Four Sara opened her mouth on Sam’s, shocked and relieved when he did the same. Oh, God, kissing him. There’d never been anything like kissing Sam Reed. Above them, lightning flashed, and despite her childhood fear, she didn’t flinch. The impending storm seemed very far away with Sam’s mouth on hers. With him, she was safe. She always had been. And now to feel him pressed up against her, to have him kissing her, his tongue stroking hers…she nearly drowned in the sensation. Then suddenly his hands came up to grip her arms.

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He was going to push her away. Unable to face that, she pressed into him—pinning his big, hard, hot bod against the tree. She didn’t have a chance in hell of really holding him against his will, of course, but she needed to reach him. Needed him to feel what they’d shared, what they still shared. His hands tightened on her, but instead of pushing her away, he hauled her up against him. It was a purely physical response, as was the low, rough, helpless sound that rumbled from deep in his chest. She thrilled to it, rocking against him, diving into the deep, hot, wet kiss. God, it felt amazing to be back in the arms of the only man who’d ever made her happy, even if being with him reminded her of all she’d lost. Most importantly—him. It’d been her own doing, too, which didn’t help much. She could tell the both of them that it was her upbringing, her lack of any positive experiences with loving, lasting relationships, but he already knew that. And she was done with excuses. She’d spent five years away and had discovered a lot about herself, things she wanted to tell him so that he would understand. And then maybe he would want to see her again. But then his hands slid up her arms to cup her face. He changed the angle of the kiss, deepening it, and she was lost. Lost in the feel of him against her, in the taste of him, in the memories…lost in everything about him. They fit against each other so perfectly, his broad chest and shoulders blocking out the darkening sky, his chiseled belly to her soft one, his thighs against hers. And in between…God, in between. He was hard, gloriously hard, and she reveled in feeling it against her liquefied bones. How could she have ever walked away from this? How could she even try to make him understand when even she herself knew it had been wrong? He felt so good. She couldn’t stop touching him, his shoulders, his chest, his arms…. And his hands were just as busy, stroking the small of her back, gliding down to cup her bottom, squeezing, a rough groan tumbling from his throat. The sound had her smoking and smoldering from the inside out, and she slipped her hands beneath his shirt. He did the same, and for a brief second they broke off the kiss to stare at each other. Time stopped and seemed to rewind, and then they were lunging at each other. Somehow her hands were on his jeans, fumbling to get them open. His were fighting her bra, which he tugged aside. She got his Levi’s open. He had his mouth latched onto her throat and was touching her bare breasts, his thumbs skimming back and forth over the hardened tips, making her knees wobble. “Sam,” she gasped. At the sound of his name on her lips, he went still, then lifted his head and stared into her eyes, his own hot and smoldering and sleepy. And then those beautiful dark eyes cleared. “Jesus.” He pulled his hands from beneath her shirt and set her away from him. “Jesus,” he breathed again and turned away. “Sam—“ “Don’t,” he said shakily, shoving his fingers into his hair. “Don’t.” And then he walked away from her. Just as she’d once done to him.

Chapter Five

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Sam walked blindly. A drop of rain fell and practically sizzled on his overheated skin. The temperature had fallen drastically in the past few minutes, not that he’d noticed. Another raindrop hit him on the nose. He kept walking, needing a bloody minute. The ground was rough going. No one had traveled this way in some time. For all he knew, he and Sara had been the last ones to come this way. Another drop, and then another, faster now. And colder. He could hear her behind him, following him. Dammit. Sam couldn’t deal with her now. He needed to work off some steam before facing her and getting her to go back to the trailhead. “Sam.” And then there was his boner. He might need a little more than a minute to get rid of that. “Sam.” Especially if she kept talking. “Listen,” she said breathlessly, trying to keep up. “I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to remind you of what we had, and—“ “What we had. Past tense.” It’d been five years and he’d gotten over it. Over her. He had a healthy dating life. He had a great family—two parents who ran an art gallery in town, and two sisters. He had a great job— two of them, firefighting and the S&R, and he was happy. Fulfilled. Or he had been until about a half hour ago. “That kiss didn’t feel so past tense,” she said. No. No, it hadn’t. But he refused to think that meant anything. “Old habit.” “Come on, Sam.” She was gasping for breath, but he didn’t slow down. He needed to keep moving. And he needed her to stop talking. But he realized that the longer he walked, the closer to the abandoned ranger station they got. Maybe, deep down, that’s what he wanted in spite of himself. Five years ago she’d denied him closure, and here she was giving him that chance. But did he want it? He really had no idea. They went a little while with no words. “That kiss was more than habit,” she finally said softly, about a half a mile later. “That was an instant reconnect proving that we still have something.” He said nothing. “You’re still angry at me.” Hell—if he said yes, it implied that he still cared enough to be angry. And if he said no, it’d be a lie. “Please, Sam. I just want to talk—“ She broke off with a soft cry, followed by a thud.

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Sam whipped around in time to see her sprawled on the ground. Ah, crap. He ran back and crouched at her side. “I’m fine.” She pushed up on her hands and knees and sent him a rueful smile. “Really.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, but if I’d known that’s all it’d take to slow you down, I’d have fallen sooner.” He tried not to notice her smile as she stood up and brushed herself off, the way she flashed a small dimple on her left side and how her eyes were warm—the warmest, most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. She looked upward as the rain started to hit them with a new intensity. “Uh-oh.” She shoved her hair out of her face, leaving a streak of dirt across one jaw. She had another across her chest, and a hole over one knee. She no longer looked quite as perfect and untouchable. She was looking more like the Sara he’d once known, warm and approachable and sweet—and something inside his chest tightened. Not. Good. He went to turn away but she put her hands flat on his chest. With dirt on her jaw and hair having fallen over her eyes she looked earnestly into his face. “Sam, please. We really do need to talk—I need to talk. To you.” The skies opened up and dumped on them.

Chapter Six The rain actually felt like it was slicing her skin, and tipping her head up, Sara realized why. It was freezing rain. Even as she thought it, Sam grabbed her hand. “We’ve got to go back,” he yelled over the next shuddering boom of thunder that nearly had her leaping out of her skin now that he was no longer touching her, kissing her as if his life depended on it. “Come on!” “The ranger station is closer!” “Sara—“ “Please.” She gripped his shirt, feeling the heat of his body radiating from beneath, the hard play of his muscles. They were already drenched, and his shirt clung to him like a second skin. Her blouse did the same to her. It was cold and getting shockingly colder, and she instinctively took a step to close the gap between them, unconsciously wanting to hug up to some of his body heat. But she nearly collapsed to the ground at the unexpected pain that shot through her ankle when she put weight on it. He caught her and stared down into her face accusatorily. “Bloody hell, you are hurt.” “No, I—“ “Sit.” Urging her down to a rock, he once again crouched at her side and ran his hand down her leg and when he got to her ankle, she sucked in a breath. He lifted his head, water running in rivulets down his face. “Dammit.” In spite of the gruff tone, his hands were very gentle as he pulled up her pants leg to take a look.

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“It’s okay,” she said. “Liar.” His jaw tightened at the already mottling skin. He let her pants leg drop and sat back on his heels, shaking water out of his face. “Goddammit.” “Really. I’m fine.” “Really?” he repeated a bit roughly. “You’re fine? You can walk all the way back to the trailhead?” She was shivering. Shaking with cold, but also so much more. She looked into his beautiful, taut face, and at those intense eyes. She was hurting him, and she’d done enough of that for a lifetime. But she needed to get through to him, and not just with her body. She needed to make her past right if there was ever going to be a future for them. Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that came so loud, the ground shook beneath them, rumbling like an earthquake. She shrank back, nearly falling off the rock. “Okay, you win,” he said grimly, watching her not just with anger, but also concern. “We have to get out of this storm.” He turned his back and for a minute she thought he was walking away, but then he said, “Hop up.” He was going to give her a piggy-back ride. She wrapped herself around him, taking in the wonderful feeling of his broad, sleek back plastered up against her torso. “Let’s hope the storm is over soon,” he said tightly. It was selfish of her but she hoped for the opposite, knowing the longer it lasted, the more time she had with him. He hadn’t walked away…. She set her head on his shoulder, knowing she should have realized he’d never walk away from her. He wasn’t the type of man to walk away from anyone. “I was afraid you’d never forgive me.” “I’ve forgiven you,” he said wearily, heading further into the woods. “I just haven’t forgotten.”

Chapter Seven “Sam? Are you sure the station is this way?” Sara whispered in his ear. “None of this looks familiar.” “I’m sure.” He tried not to think about the brush of her lips on his earlobe, or how it made his heart race. At the firehouse, he was known for his calm, easy cool, his ability to stay unruffled in any circumstance. Give him a fire and people in danger, and he was the man to get to them. Give him any damn emergency, and he could handle it. But give him Sara, a willowy little thing, just a woman, and he lost his cool. He’d lost it the moment he’d set eyes on her again. She clung to his back as he walked, her legs wrapped around him, tucked into his arms which were supporting her. He felt as if he could feel her breasts boring into his back, feel her belly rising and falling with each breath. And then there was the way her legs were spread around his hips…. “Hey, the rain is slowing,” she said in relief as she shivered.

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It seemed incredible to him that not too long ago he’d been blessedly asleep. And warm. And now, crazy as it was, they were actually in danger. “Because it’s going to change to snow.” Even as he said it, it happened. A rarity here, but snowflakes were floating down now, much lighter and easier than the rain before had been, but a bigger problem because they were already as wet as could be. They needed to get out of this. Correction, he needed to get them out of this. “I can walk,” she said, reading his mind. “Uh-huh. But I can walk faster.” He’d get her to the station, where they’d wait out the storm, and then he’d be done with her. “At least the thunder and lightning are gone,” she whispered, then paused. “You remembered.” “Remembered what?” “That I was afraid of the lightning.” He said nothing to that. Truth was, he remembered everything. “I remember things about you, too. What we meant to each other. How you asked me to marry you.” “You left me the next day,” he said before he could stop himself. She went quiet so long he didn’t think she’d respond. “I was afraid of what you made me feel.” She sighed in his ear. “Of how much I loved you.” Ah, hell. He didn’t want to go there, he really didn’t. “We need to conserve our energy. By not talking.” But she didn’t listen. “I had no experience with it. No reference point. And those are just excuses, I know that now.” Not just excuses. She’d grown up in foster care, had been abused several times before being unceremoniously ousted from the childcare system at age eighteen and sent out on her own. She’d not had a single successful relationship in her life except for him and he knew it, and remembering that had his heart turning over and exposing its underbelly. “I know, Sara.” “I panicked.” And then ran. He got it. He even understood. But it didn’t change anything. She sighed and adjusted her grip around his neck, her soft breath against his jaw. “I really think the station’s that way….” If they went that way, they’d get lost. And that was not on his agenda for the day. But then again, she hadn’t been either.

Chapter Eight “I know where the station is,” Sam said cooly. Sara listened to his even, unruffled voice as he trod through the snow, now coming down heavily enough to crust over the both of them.

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She was wrapped around his back like a pretzel as he carried her piggy-back style up the mountain. He had his hands on her legs in a way that was required for this type of hold. It shouldn’t be turning her on. But it was. He was. And then there’d been that kiss. Holy smokes alive, that kiss. No matter what he said, or what he claimed, they still had chemistry. In spades. It gave her hope that she could still get through to him. That they still had a chance. She was still quivering from the taste of him—from having his hands all over her, and she was still breathless, though she wasn’t even walking. But Sam’s breathing hadn’t changed even though he was carrying her. “Sam?” He didn’t answer. He’d rather be anywhere else. She got that, loud and clear. She even deserved that. But he deserved better than how she’d treated him five years ago, and until she told him so and apologized, until she faced all her wrong turns she’d taken in her life—and there had been many—she couldn’t go on and make the right turns. That’s what Sam represented to her, a chance to make the right turn for once. All she had to do was get him to listen, to understand, to forgive. To believe in them—in her—again. Once she had that, she was good. She believed it. She had to. “There.” Breathing only slightly elevated now, Sam stopped and she opened her eyes. Through the slashing snow, she saw the abandoned ranger station in front of them. It hadn’t been used in its professional capacity in fifty years or more, and the decay of the small wooden hut revealed that. Once upon a time, in the not so distant past, it’d been used in a very unprofessional capacity. It was here where Sam had made love to her for the first time. Her first time ever. And as such, it looked like a castle to her. Sam was letting go of her legs. She slid down, extremely aware of his hard, tough body, and concentrating on that, she set her foot down wrong and ended up on the ground. With an exclamation of surprise and apology, Sam turned and crouched down, reaching for her. She reached for him at the same time, seeped in the memories from all those years ago, their first time here, when she’d been so eager for him she couldn’t stand it. Back then, he’d laughed with her, in delight, in affection, in heat. And she held her breath, needing him to laugh again now.

Chapter Nine Sam stared down at Sara. They were on the ground, the wet ground, with snow falling down over the top of them. He was soaked to the skin, had an ex-girlfriend holding him to her, in fact was smiling up at him with dreamy eyes, reminding him of all those other times she’d looked at him like that, just before he’d stripped her naked.

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But she’d walked away from him. She’d stayed away. And now, after five years, she was back, stirring up a bunch of messy feelings he did not have time for. She stroked a cold finger over his chin. “You didn’t shave this morning,” she murmured. “Probably not yesterday morning either, huh? He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. There were specks of dark blue dancing in her gray eyes. She was flashing her dimple, which he had the most ridiculous urge to kiss, and then there was that faint scar on her chin from the time one of her foster brothers had tossed her across a room. His stomach clenched. She’d had such a rotten childhood, which had left her thinking that she was incapable of trusting and opening up, incapable of having a real relationship—but he’d proven her wrong on all accounts. And then she’d bailed on him. “I’ve been sick,” he said. “Are you okay now?” “Define okay.” “I’m sorry.” She flashed a small smile. Her hand was touching his jaw, stroking back and forth. “But I like it. I used to love how it felt on my skin.” The words made him insta-hard. “Sara—” “The way you used to touch me…I never really thought about how good it was, other than to marvel at it. I figured everyone felt like this when they were with someone.” If that had been true, he’d have found someone else by now to let back into his heart. But though he’d dated plenty, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d put his heart into firefighting, and told himself that what they’d shared had been simply a fluke of youth. “But that wasn’t how it was,” she whispered. “No one ever made me feel the way you do.” “Panicked?” “Before that. You made me feel special, Sam. You made me feel beautiful. You pushed me to be the best I could be, and you believed in me when no one—” Her voice went even softer. “When no one had ever believed in me. I felt safe with you, and even more than that, I laughed with you. I miss that, Sam, most of all. The laughing.” His throat felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper. He’d always known what he meant to her. That’s why he’d never seen it coming when she’d walked away without a word. But she wasn’t walking now. Nope, she lay beneath him, looking up at him like he was her entire world, and in spite of the snow falling over him, he melted. Dammit. “Did you miss anything about me?” she whispered. Yeah. Everything.

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Chapter Ten Sara looked up at Sam as he lay over her in the snow, waiting for a response. Instead he shifted as if to move off of her, but she put her hands to his arms. He was a hero, putting his life on the line every day as a firefighter, but he didn’t look so strong and sure at the moment. Instead, he looked befuddled and confused, and quite sexy because of it. All her hopes rested on that look— if he was confused, that meant he still had feelings for her. She just needed to get him to realize it. Now, before he pulled away again. “We’re wet,” he said. “Freezing. You’re hurt—“ “It’s just my ankle. Come on, Sam.” “Come on what exactly?” Forgive me, let me in….That’s why she’d done this today, brought him here. To apologize. To ask for forgiveness. To feel laughter and joy and hope again. To see if he would truly let her come home. But maybe she had to start smaller, with something far easier for him to feel. Passion. Yeah—now that particular emotion had always been one thing they’d never had to strain for. So she drew in a quick breath of courage and sank her fingers into his wet hair. “Meet me halfway…” she whispered against his mouth. And then he did, and they were kissing. At the low, rough groan that produced from deep in his throat, she knew she’d done the right thing. She might be having a hell of a time apologizing to him, or making him understand why she’d walked away and come back, but she had no trouble at all with this form of communication. Not with him. Their mouths remembered each other. Remembered and clung, their tongues doing the age-old slow glide and dance that she wanted their bodies to do. His body wanted it, too, if the erection behind his button fly was any indication. God, she’d missed this, missed him, and she arched up, wrapping her legs around his hips, opening herself up to him so that he could rock against her. And he did, sliding one hand down the length of her thigh, adjusting it so that she was even more open to him, allowing him to slowly thrust against her. She gasped with sheer pleasure and clutched at him, and he went still. “Okay what the hell is this?” he muttered, and dropped his forehead to hers. “Our bodies remembering each other. Wanting each other.” “I don’t.” She arched up against his hard-on. “I beg to differ.” He slowly shook his head, his eyes dark with hunger and desire and confusion. “Okay, so I don’t want to want you.”

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She had one hand still in his hair, the other at the small of his smooth, sleek back, and unable to help herself, she skimmed her fingers beneath his shirt knowing he loved to be touched. A low sound of pleasure escaped him as his gaze met hers. “My body knows yours, Sam. Yours knows mine.” “It’s been five years.” “Which means we need more than a minute to reconnect. Let’s go inside, Sam, and talk.” He closed his eyes. “Sara.” “What are you afraid of?” she asked when he hesitated. “That I’ll have my merry way with you in there?” At that, he out-and-out laughed, the sound warming her heart, and for that one moment in time, they smiled at each other, both remembering the times that they had had their merry way with each other, just inside that door.

Chapter Eleven Sam found himself drowning in Sara’s sweet, laughing eyes. He couldn’t believe he had her in his arms and he was smiling. Or that her fingers were stroking his back and he was letting her. He should pull away. Get off of her. Tell her off. Something. Instead he lay over the top of her, bracing his weight on his forearms, which were resting in the snow— snow!—and he wasn’t feeling the chill. Instead, a heat was working its way through him, starting at his toes and ending with parts that had no business getting all warm and toasty. Irritated with himself, he pushed to his feet and turned away from her to hide the fact that their little tussle hadn’t been all annoyance on his behalf. He was still hard. He decided to attribute that to the fact that it’d been a few months since he’d last had sex. Uh-huh, and he also believed in the Tooth Fairy. Dammit, he knew it was Sara. Her turning him on, her driving him mad with those memories of them together—the ones he’d shoved deep down to keep him from hurting. And now she’d returned. Bringing them back to the surface. Well, too bad. He didn’t need her back in his life, screwing with his head.

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And his heart. No thank you. Been there, bought the T-shirt. He knew this road, and even though she’d said she’d changed, he wasn’t sure he could risk her veering off the track and leaving him in the dust a second time. “We should just go back.” “It’d be so much easier to wait out the storm here.” Yeah. Smarter, too. He knew this because he was normally a smart man. But not today. Tense, he reached down a hand to help her up, noticing that she was careful to keep her weight off her ankle. She was shivering now, her teeth chattering together, and now that they weren’t warming each other up, he wasn’t all that far behind her. Not good. “We’ve really got to get out of this.” “I agree.” She drew a tremulous smile. “So let’s go inside.” Where they’d once made love in wild, sweet abandon on the ranger’s desk. He remembered everything about that day, how they’d been hiking and stumbled onto this place, how he’d pulled her clothes off one piece at a time, nibbling every inch of skin he revealed, taking them both to heaven and back. “We’re only going in there to wait out the storm and dry off. That’s it.” She offered him a sweet smile through chattering teeth and blue lips. Dammit. So not good. With a sigh, he turned to the door.

Chapter Twelve Sara was hugging herself, trying to keep smiling, determined to remain positive, but her spirits were lagging. She’d gotten Sam alone, gotten him up here in the mountains and then to the deserted ranger station. Where they’d first made love. She’d hoped doing so would make him remember their good times and forget that five years ago she’d walked away from him without a word. Yeah, she really needed to make him forget that part. Or at least ask him if he’d meant it when he’d said he’d forgiven her. Because if he really had forgiven her, maybe they still had a shot. All she had to do was ask, but it stuck in her throat. Fear stuck it in her throat. Because what if he didn’t? Or what if he couldn’t ever forget and always doubted that she could do long-term? Don’t be a coward, a little voice whispered in her head. You need to do this, you need it to go on and forge a real life for yourself, with real relationships. She wanted that so badly. “Sam—” she began.

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Instead of answering, he put his hands on the door. It was locked, as it had been all that time ago. He tested it, then put his broad-as-a-mountain shoulder to it and pushed. As it had all those years ago, it gave way. And something within her did, too. God, she loved to watch him be the hero. She always had. He was so…fierce. Determined. Protective. At the sound that escaped her, he glanced over at her. He was drenched, his T-shirt clinging to his torso, outlining his every hard muscle, of which he had many. His pants, baggy, heavy with the rain, were low on his hips, low enough to reveal quite a bit of navy-blue knit boxers, and she was having a hard time not staring at him. His face was wet, his eyes dark and unreadable on hers. “What?” “Nothing.” Except just watching you breathe is a turn on. “It’s something,” he insisted. “Okay, it is something. You’re something. Which is why I need to talk to you—” “Stop it.” He shook his head and shoved open the door, looking inside before stepping back and gesturing her in ahead of him. Always the gentleman. As she limped over the threshold, she felt his hand—big and surprisingly warm—on the small of her back, guiding her, and she pretended it was him wanting to comfort her rather than making sure she didn’t fall again and cause him even more trouble. Together they viewed the small one room structure. The desk was still there, right in the middle. The elephant in the room. As she stared at it, her body heated from the inside out, remembering the day he’d laid her back on it, naked, exploring her body in a way that still made her knees wobble whenever she thought about it. Obviously not remembering the same thing, he turned to her with his hands on his hips. “Talk quick,” he said. “Because the minute it stops coming down, we’re out of here.”

Chapter Thirteen Sam was well aware of the fact that he was being an ass, a really big ass, but he was at the end of his rope. Hell, he’d slipped off the rope and begun to drown. Metaphorically speaking. In reality, he stood in an abandoned ranger station with the storm blowing outside, the hauntingly beautiful Sara standing before him, water dripping off her in rivulets as she shivered so hard he thought her teeth might just rattle out of her head. His instinct was to protect. To fix the problem. To haul her gorgeous ass close and warm her with his own body heat. Yeah. He was definitely drowning.

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But none of that was going to happen. It couldn’t happen. He’d been down that road once before with her and all he’d gotten from the trip had been a bad heartache. She’d made him love her and then she’d dumped him, and while he’d forgiven her—hell he even understood her, he hadn’t forgotten. Didn’t know if he ever could. Maybe if she could prove to him that she’d changed, that she was capable of sticking around and fighting for what she wanted, that would change. Thing is, he had no idea what she wanted now, particularly from him. Watching him, silent, she began to unbutton her blouse. His heart stuttered. “What are you doing?” “You’re a firefighter. You know the first-aid basics. We have to get out of our wet things in order to have any hope of warming up.” Mesmerized, held into place by her every movement, he watched as she shrugged out of her blouse and set it over the back of the lone chair in the room. Her bra was white, cut dangerously low, and thanks to its wet state, utterly sheer. Yeah. He was in trouble. “Sara—“ “You’d better strip, too, Sam. Your lips are turning blue.” Funny, but as she unbuttoned her pants, he was feeling anything but cold. “Don’t—“ Too late. She let the wet pants drop, leaving her in a matching set of white bikini panties. Also sheer. He swallowed hard and actually began to sweat, if that was even possible. “Sara—“ But he broke off with a strangled breath when she turned from him to add her pants to the back of the chair, revealing a world-class ass—and the fact that the panties weren’t bikini cut at all, but a thong. God. “Sara.” She turned back with a questioning smile and he lost every single word in his brain. Complicating matters was the fact that she was still shaking, almost violently now, and when she stepped toward him, he found himself opening his arms and letting her press up against him. All those wet, soft, beautiful curves. And since he was no saint, not even close, he groaned, and when she went seeking his mouth, he bent his head and kissed her.

Chapter Fourteen They were both drenched to the skin, but at the touch of Sam’s warm mouth on hers, Sara trembled from an inner heat, not the cold. She couldn’t help it. Having him hold her was more than she’d dared wish for these past five years. He ran his hands up and down her bare, goose-pebbled arms, and then, with his mouth still on hers, stepped back only far enough to tug up his wet shirt.

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They had to take their mouths off each other to get the shirt over his head but then they were back to the kissing. And oh God, the kissing. Kissing Sam was like kissing no other. His mouth was firm, generous, and he knew how to use it. Oh, did he know how to use it. And then there was the delicious, heart-stopping fact that she was now bare skin to bare skin with the most beautiful male torso she’d ever had the pleasure of touching. She couldn’t stop herself from running her hands over him—his chest, his shoulders, those flat, ridged abs that she suddenly wanted her mouth on. When her fingers played in the waistband of his dripping wet jeans, he sucked in a breath and she slid her hands inside. He was fully erect, straining for release, and she nearly collapsed to the floor at the hot, velvety feel of him in her hands. “Sara.” His voice was low and rough. And filled with something she wasn’t ready to hear. Regret. He was going to stop. No. No, she couldn’t bear it. She needed him as naked and vulnerable as she felt, because then, maybe then, she could remind him of what they’d had, and he’d be more able to listen and understand. And forgive. So she began popping open the buttons on his Levi’s. With a groan, he backed her to the desk until her butt hit it. Then, still kissing her, he lifted her up to it, pushed her legs open, and stepped between, all while still kissing her. Which worked for her. She couldn’t seem to get enough of his mouth. And her hands couldn’t get enough of his body, running up and down, all over him. The only bad thing was his cold, wet jeans. They were bothering her, so she shoved them past his hips. He nudged her bra straps off her shoulders and tugged her bra down, then let out a raw sound of sheer pleasure at the sight of her wet breasts. Urging her down onto the desk, he spread her out so that she was sprawled before him. She watched his wet head make its way down her body, taking a breast into his mouth as his fingers hooked into her panties. Yanked. Leaving her completely nude. Lifting his head from her breast with an audible loss-of-suction sound, he lowered his blazing gaze to take in all that he’d unwrapped, surveying the picture she must have made, laid out for his perusal. She’d spent most of her life hiding from being seen. But now, with him, there was no hiding. And she didn’t want to, not from him, not ever again.

Chapter Fifteen Sam took in the sight of Sara lying there for him, all glorious creamy skin and warm, soft curves. It’d been five years but he knew every inch, every nuance, every dip and angle of her, and it all came back to him and he leaned over to taste.

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“Sam,” she gasped, slipping her fingers into his wet hair and tightening her grip when he licked a nipple, then nibbled his way down her quivering belly to a thigh, which he kissed. And then the other. And then, wanting to drive her as out of his mind as he was, between. With another gasp, she tightened her fingers even more. She was going to make him bald before his time and he didn’t care. He nibbled at her, licked her like a lollipop, just light, grazing teases until she was panting beneath him, out of her head. Perfect. And when he had her that way, poised on the very edge, he slowly, purposefully, sucked her into his mouth. She bucked and came for him, in a glorious explosion of breathless cries, her hips mindlessly rocking, her hands slipping out of his hair to fall weakly at her sides. Straightening, he was trembling too, but not from the cold. He wasn’t sure what came next, if she’d want him inside her, if he wanted inside her— Hell, scratch that. He definitely wanted inside her. But even he wasn’t a big enough asshole to assume it, and for once, she’d fallen quiet. He started to pull away but she sat up and reached for him, wrapping her fingers around him, stroking, then guided him home— And then he was inside her. God. Inside her. And she was wrapping her arms and legs around him and he was moving, thrusting in and out of her as if he hadn’t been with anyone in years. And it felt that way. It felt like this was his first time in five years, and that he was home. Home. “Sam,” she whispered in a voice thick with hunger and passion. “God, Sam.” Yeah. He knew. Being buried deep inside her body, her breasts plastered to his chest, not even a fraction of an inch of space between them, was both heaven and hell. Heaven because he never thought he’d ever feel this way again, and hell, because after this, he wouldn’t. But that thought threatened to have reality intruding, so he shoved it away and let himself get lost in the feeling of her, how she was contracting around him, milking him, making his toes curl. She pulled his head back to hers and took his mouth. Yeah. Hell, yeah. He kissed her long and wet and hard as he moved within her, absorbing her cries, his own low, helpless moan—creating a body heat that might have been generated from fifteen-thousand BTUs but instead came from their own chemistry. “Ohmigod, Sam. I’m going to— Again—“ Yeah. Him too. It was like a freight train, he could have stopped it but it might have killed him in the process, so he buried his face in her hair and let himself fly off the edge with her.

Chapter Sixteen

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Sara came back to earth with a slow, dazed smile. That. That was what had been missing from her world— Sam deep inside her. She was flat on her back on the desk with his welcome weight still overtop of her. She could hear his ragged breathing, feel the way his heart still hammered in his chest. Unable to stop herself, she hugged him tight, loving the feel of his warm, hard body, loving that he hadn’t quite caught his breath yet. So he could climb a mountain in a storm, carrying her no less, and not get breathless, but when he made love to her, he did. Her smile turned into a dopey grin, and she felt ridiculously happy, an emotion that had been in scarce supply for far too long, she thought as she kissed his shoulder. And then, because she apparently couldn’t help herself, she bit the spot. When he sucked in a breath, she let out a low laugh and licked it, trying to soothe the ache. He went still, and then lifted only his head. Uh-oh. She saw the sanity returning to his eyes and knew. He was going to withdraw, both physically and mentally. He was going to go back to the cool-headed Sam, the man who looked at her from inscrutable eyes and didn’t give anything of himself away. Which, after leaving him without a word five years ago, was pretty much what she deserved—but it wouldn’t make it any easier to take. He let out a low sound that might have been a groan or a laugh, and tried to withdraw but she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on. “Not yet. Oh, please don’t go away yet.” “I’m not going away, there’s nowhere to go.” “I meant mentally. You were going to retreat mentally, which I understand, but I wish you wouldn’t.” Turning her head from his shoulder, she put her mouth on his throat. He sucked in a breath and bowed his head, returning the favor, kissing her jaw, trailing more kisses up to her ear. It was more than she could have hoped for. He was more than she could have hoped for, and her eyes fluttered closed as she gave him all the access he needed. “I just wanted to say that I came inside you,” he murmured. “Is that a problem?” She was on the pill, if only because she liked what it did for her skin. She’d always thought it was a silly reason, but right now, she’d never been happier about her decision. “Not a problem,” she whispered, and rocked her hips. Inside her, he began to get hard again with a groan. “Sara—“ “I don’t think our bodies are finished with each other.” “No?” Testing that theory, he pressed his pelvis to hers, showing he was already fully erect again. “See?” she whispered triumphantly.

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“Sara…” She reached for him, and he met her willingly, even forcefully, and just like that she was lost in him again. Lost, even as with him, only with him, she was found.

Chapter Seventeen Sam lay on the floor on his back staring up at the ceiling of the old abandoned ranger station. There was no window but he could still hear the wind. And he had a soft, curvy naked female curled up against his side, sound asleep. Yeah. Probably, he should never have gotten out of his bed that morning. But if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have made love with Sara. Twice. He wouldn’t be feeling his heart crack open and reveal itself for the death blow. Again. She stirred, and then her face appeared over him, her beautiful face, and she gave him a tentative smile that said she was ready to talk. “Hey.” He braced himself. “Hey.” “About why I texted you.” “Sara—” Coming up on an elbow, she put a gentle finger to his mouth. “Please,” she whispered. “It’s important to me. It’s why I brought you here.” “I was thinking maybe it was to fu—” With a shocked laugh, she covered his mouth with her entire hand, tightening it to muffle the rest of that sentence. “It wasn’t for that, though I can admit that was a fairly nice perk.” “Fairly nice?” Light, he told himself. Keep it light. “That was some of my best work.” She laughed and pressed a sweet kiss to his jaw. “Sorry. You’re right. Fairly nice wasn’t even close. How about mind-blowingly perfect?” “Okay then.” She grinned, and damn if he didn’t feel a smile tug at his mouth as well. “It was better than all of my memories of you combined,” she said. “And those memories are pretty damn spectacular.” He stared into her warm eyes, remembering what she was remembering, and felt his smile fade. “Why are you here?” Her smile faded too. “I’m here to right my wrongs, Sam.”

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“Wrongs? You rob a bank?” She rolled her eyes. “No.” “You forget to pay your taxes?” “No. You know what I did.” She looked down at his chest. “I left you.” “Which was unfortunate for me, but not necessarily a wrong.” She dropped her head to his chest, let out a shuddering breath, and lifted her face again. I came back because while Paris was great and fun for awhile, it wasn’t home. And I realize that I have no clue what a real home is, but I know that the closest I ever got to it was with you.” His heart kicked hard. “I’m not blaming my past. Those growing up years…well,” she said with an easy shrug that broke his heart. “They were what they were and they made me who I am, but I didn’t learn a lot about relationships.” He’d loved who she was. He’d loved her with all his aching heart. “You turned out amazing,” he whispered through a rough throat. “In spite of all the odds.” “No. Not then. Then, I was a coward.” Her gaze was steady but shimmered with regret. “What we had scared me, Sam. So damned much.” Ah, hell. He stroked a finger over her temple, drawing a loose strand of hair back out of her face. “I would never have hurt you, Sara.” “I knew that, deep down I knew that, but fear isn’t always logical.” And he knew that, too. “I just wanted…” She sighed. “I needed to tell you how sorry I am, for how I left, for staying gone, for not contacting you, all of it. I ran away, Sam, and I’m so damned sorry.” He wished she hadn’t. There was no denying that. But…he needed to know that it would be different this time. It wasn’t enough to be sorry. “It was a long time ago. You had a crappy childhood, and looking back, running away to Paris made perfect sense.” “I’m just so sorry…. I…“ Sorry again. Not “I’ve changed.” Not “I want you, Sam.” Not “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work this time.” And he realized that there could be nothing between them without those words. He sighed. “It’s okay, Sara. Honestly. You can stop apologizing. I’m fine, I’ve moved on.” And until today, he’d actually believed it. He hoped she believed it, too.

Chapter Eighteen He’d moved on. Dammit. This wasn’t going to work. He didn’t want her back in his life. Sara felt her eyes sting, her throat burn. She never cried, ever. “Don’t make this easy for me.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself, looking over at her icy, wet clothes. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

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“Yes, you do.” He put a hand on her back. “Everyone deserves that much. Sara.” She closed her eyes. With a groan, he sat up as well, and reached for her, but she tugged free to reach for her underwear and bra, icy and wet or not. “I need clothes for this,” she muttered. “Why, to hide?” She went still but didn’t look at him. She heard him sigh and he handed over her blouse, then jammed his legs into his wet Levi’s with a wince. He stood there in just the unbuttoned jeans, looking good enough to eat, eyeing her far too intently for her comfort. “You’re good at hiding,” he murmured. “I guess some things don’t change.” “I have changed,” she whispered, wanting it to be true. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I might be a late learner but I have learned. I know I can’t have a future until I face my past. That’s what I’m doing.” She grabbed her pants. “Trying to right my biggest wrong.” “And I was really your biggest wrong?” “Walking away from you was.” Looking staggered, he just stared at her, looking like he was waiting for something more. Her clothes clung to her and made her shiver again. She turned away from him. He pulled her back around. “Seriously. It’s okay, Sara. I’m over it. You can strike me off your list.” He really was over her. God, she didn’t know his rejection would hurt this much. “Okay, then. That’s…” Heartbreaking. “Good.” She could barely talk, though she managed a smile. “I just…wanted to make sure we were okay because I’m going to be in town, and—“ “And you didn’t want it to be awkward.” He shook his head. “It won’t be.” Okay then. Look at them, being all mature. “So there’s no residual anger?” “None.” “You were mad at me,” she said through a thick throat. “Earlier. When you first saw me.” “Okay, yeah. Maybe. Seeing you brought back a whole shit load of emotions I didn’t want to face, emotions I was pretty damn sure I’d left behind.” He pulled on his shirt and shuddered at the iciness of it. “But it was your right to go. I just wish you’d have told me you were going. I thought I did something, that I chased you away. I blamed myself.” “It was never your fault,” she whispered. “I just had some growing up to do. Some exploring.” “And, as it turns out, so did I.” He opened the door and looked out. “The snow’s letting up. We should go.” It was over. She said she’d come to make amends, and she’d done that. The end. Too bad it wasn’t the end she really wanted.

Chapter Nineteen

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Sam hated the look on Sara’s face, hated knowing that he’d hurt her this time, but truth was truth. She might still be the beautiful, funny, smart woman who’d once lit up his life, but he couldn’t go there with her. Not again. Still, when she shivered, he pulled her in close. With a sigh, she snuggled in. He let her, bending his head to hers. Then she opened her mouth on his throat and his heart kicked. “Sara?” “If this is goodbye, then let’s make it the goodbye I cheated us out of five years ago.” He should have pulled back, should have been strong enough to understand that this would only make it all that much harder to truly walk away, but as was already established, when it came to her, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But he was the hardest. She knew it, too, as she rubbed up against him, letting out a soft murmur of pleasure at the feel of him. He kissed her. She kissed him back—their hands fighting to get their wet clothes back off. He tugged her blouse from her shoulders and then her bra. She did the same to his jeans, and before he knew it, they were once again at the desk. This time he backed to it and she straddled him, and oh yeah, he was inside her, holding on as she rode him straight to heaven. Afterwards, they sagged to the floor to catch their breath, which took Sam a lot longer than he would have liked. But this was it, their goodbye, and he knew it. And given the look on Sara’s face, she knew it too. They dressed in silence, and when he got ready to carry her out—piggy-back style in deference to her now badly swollen ankle—she set her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about a lot of things,” she said very softly. “But not today.” Yeah. Him too. “Maybe—“ she started, and his heart took a hard kick. Come on, Sara, say it. He wanted her to push for them. Wanted her to want it as much as he was coming to understand he still did. But that had always been their problem, him pushing, him wanting, and her simply going along with it. She needed to make the next move. But she never finished the thought. So he carried her out.

Chapter Twenty One week later. Sara entered the fire station where Sam worked, nerves dancing in her belly like freshly hatched butterflies. She’d thought about him nonstop, about that day in Big Falls Canyon. She’d come to Santa Rey to make amends so that maybe he could forget what she’d done and, she hoped, invite her back into his life, his arms.

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Only he’d been so dead-set on the fact that he’d moved on, it’d thrown her. But in the week since Big Falls, she’d realized something. He’d never said he didn’t want to see her. Only that it wouldn’t be awkward if they did. Maybe…maybe he’d been waiting on her. After all, she’d left him, so the move was in her court. If she wanted to see him again, that is. And she did. So damn much, she did. She held a plate of brownies. Sam loved home-made brownies. Or at least he used to. Inside, a tall, handsome man came toward her with a nice smile. “Can I help you?” “Is Sam here?” “He’s in the kitchen. Go on through.” With a deep breath, she walked into the kitchen and found Sam standing in front of the stovetop, flipping pancakes. He wore a dark blue T-shirt with his firefighters’ association logo on a pec and his uniform pants, and he looked…hot. Take-her-breath-away, melt-her-brain cells, soften-her-heart hot. He looked up and stared. “Hey.” “Hey.” So nervous she could barely speak, she set the plate of brownies on the counter. “Hope you still love a soft and gooey center.” He set down his spatula and turned off the flame, then came around the stovetop to stand in front of her. “I love a soft and gooey center, especially when the outside is tough and stubborn and beautiful.” Oh, God. The way he was looking at her. It gave her such hope it almost hurt. “About that stubbornness.” She swallowed hard. “I think I’ve gotten a handle on it now.” “Really?” “Yeah. And I have this new policy about the tough part as well.” “What’s that?” He leaned a hip against the counter, willing to listen. “See, I no longer walk away when I want something.” She swallowed hard against the nerves. “I stand and fight for it.” “Good to know.” He cocked his head, his eyes warm but guarded. “What are you fighting for?” “You.” She stepped close and reached for his hands. “I intend to stand tough and stubborn and fight for you, Sam, for what we had, only better—with trust added in. And no fear.” She hesitated. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in something like that.” “Very.” And to seal the deal, he bent his head and met her halfway.

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At Midnight by Debra Webb Rookie cop Sarah Cook's investigation has led her down a dark alleyway — and face-to-face with the most gorgeous man she's ever seen.

Chapter 1: An ice-cold shiver raced up Sarah Cook's spine as she stepped into the dimly lit alley. She told herself again that she wasn't afraid. Her weapon nestled snugly against the small of her back offering its own kind of comfort. Her training was more than adequate. There was no reason for her to be afraid. Then why the hell are you shaking inside? Sarah gritted her teeth and refused to acknowledge the question or the little voice niggling at her. Every instinct warned her that this was most likely a setup, but she would not be deterred. Not even by what her father called cop sense. Former Detective Sam Cook firmly believed that all real cops had a sixth sense — cop sense. And right now Sarah's cop sense was humming like crazy. The alley between the old warehouses stood nearly dark save for the three-quarter moon and the one security light that tried valiantly to stave off the night. But since that one light was halfway down the rows of dilapidated buildings, it didn't offer much help where Sarah waited impatiently for her contact to show. In fact, she doubted it served any real security purpose at all. She hugged herself against the chill of the March night. Any time now her man would show. He'd refused to give his name, her first indication that this little tête-à-tête was not on the up-and-up. She glanced at her watch; five minutes to midnight. The time and location did little to lend credibility to the supposed informant, either. But Sarah was desperate. Desperate to prove her father was the man she'd always believed he was. Desperate to clear his good name. Sam Cook had spent the better part of his life as a homicide detective for Chicago PD. He had been a highly decorated, fiercely loyal servant for nearly three decades to the city he loved. Then, two years ago a case went south and Sam Cook was stripped of everything. Sarah had watched her father's health, physical as well as emotional, decline ever since. She knew he was innocent. He'd been framed — no two ways about it. But proving it was another story. Her father had quickly given up. Hoping to save his family the disgrace and humiliation of a public investigation, he had resigned, throwing away the retirement he'd worked half a lifetime for and all but confessing to a crime he didn't commit. It was Sarah's turn now. She'd worked hard these past eighteen months to get where she was. She'd graduated from the police academy at the top of her class. Though she was only a rookie, she finally had access to Chicago PD's inner sanctum. Now all she had to do was find a way to prove her father's innocence. Shortly after she started dropping hints around the locker room that she hoped to prove her father was framed, she got a call. She glanced at her watch again. Midnight. She would soon know if her anonymous caller was friend or foe. If she was really lucky she'd live to chastise herself later for the risk she was taking now. A soft thud echoed from the other end of the alley. Sarah straightened, reaching automatically for her weapon. Adrenaline sent her senses to the next level. She squinted at the darkness beyond the reach of the waning light. Nothing moved as far as she could see. The sound of soft-soled shoes whispered across the expanse of cobblestone. Fabric rustled somewhere closer.

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Just beyond the Dumpster. Her gaze jerked in that direction. Sarah stiffened her spine, her weapon at the ready, her entire being poised in a battle-ready stance. She strained to see any sign of movement. Where there was sound there had to be movement. She saw nothing. An eerie silence filled the air. Cautiously, soundlessly, she eased a few steps toward the Dumpster…toward the fringes of the pale glow of light. The silence thickened. Her respiration picked up an extra twenty beats per minutes. She struggled to ignore the hammering in her chest, focusing hard to hear even the slightest noise. Nothing. Realization dawned. Whoever was there knew he wasn't alone. Had she inadvertently made a sound? She eased deeper into the shadows, taking care not to allow the fabric of her jeans and sweatshirt to brush against the brick building. No. She'd been too careful. Not a single sound accompanied her stealthy movements. Her training was too good…her skills honed by months of practice on unsuspecting targets when she was off duty. Whoever was out there hadn't heard her, he'd sensed her. That could mean he was a cop, too. For about one second she considered calling out. He, if it was a he, could be her contact, after all. But what if he wasn't? What if this was a setup as she suspected? Another five or so seconds ticked by as she held as still as stone. Surely if the guy was her contact, and his intentions were good, he'd call out to her. He, at least, knew her name. More time crawled by. Nothing, not even traffic in the distance broke the pulse-pounding hush that had settled over the alley. This was going nowhere. She had to make a move, break the standoff. If this guy wanted her dead, she might as well get in the first strike. The element of surprise was always an ally. Taking a deep, bolstering breath, Sarah made a dash for the stack of garbage bags next to the Dumpster. She'd still have the darkness and cover on her side, but the move would be impossible to miss. The instant she reached her new position she flattened against the wall. Listening, watching. She fought to slow and quiet her breathing. He moved. He took up a position on the other side of the Dumpster, only steps away. She needed a decoy. Something that would divert his attention from her position. She reached for one of the garbage bags. "Who the hell are you?"

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The deep, male voice startled her. Sarah clutched the bag awkwardly as she considered the voice. Definitely not her contact. Of course, he could have been using something to distort his voice when they spoke on the phone. She wanted to call out to him, to demand who he was, but she needed to retain the element of surprise. She damn sure didn't want to give him any ammunition. If he wasn't her contact he didn't know she was a woman, which could be taken as weakness. "I arrived at midnight just like we agreed," the voice went on after several beats of silence. "Why the cloak and dagger routine?" Sarah shivered. Whether from the cold or the voice, she couldn't be sure. Maybe this guy was her contact. Then again, why didn't he call her by name? Her contact knew her name. A new jolt of determination obliterated the effect of the man's voice. With all her might she drew back her right arm and threw the bag right into the center of the golden circle made by the security light. His reaction was instantaneous and fearless. He scrambled toward the presumed threat. Sarah bounded up the small mountain of garbage bags and across the top of the closed Dumpster. He whipped around, weapon drawn, but he wasn't fast enough. Already airborne, she landed not three feet away, her weapon aimed directly at him. They stood in the pool of light, each with a lethal bead on the other. "The way I see it," Sarah told him, "we can both shoot and both die right here. Or you can tell me who the hell you are." He lifted one tawny eyebrow. "And what's to keep you from shooting me while I'm busy telling you my name?" Sarah looked at the man, really looked at him, for the first time. He was far too handsome for comfort and there was something about the self-assured grin now stretched across that sinful mouth that made her furious. She cocked her weapon, the sound reverberating around them. "Absolutely nothing." When he'd first realized that his attacker was a woman, William Quinn had relaxed a fraction. He could handle a woman. He was bigger, stronger. But now, staring past the black barrel of her cocked weapon and into those fiercely determined brown eyes, he wasn't so sure. "I hope you have a permit to carry that weapon," he said by way of making conversation and in hopes of defusing the razor sharp tension. His own weapon was still leveled center torso. If she planned to rob him, he hoped like hell she'd get on with it. Unexpected company was the last thing his informant would want. Any minute now the guy would show up, see this woman and the guns, and that would be the end of their scheduled appointment. "Who are you?" she demanded. Though undeniably feminine, her voice was laced with steel. Those dark eyes were equally hard but he'd have to have been blind not to notice the exotic shape and extra long lashes. "You go first," Quinn suggested in a tone he hoped came across as charming. "Ladies first and all that," he added with a hint at a smile. Her gaze only grew colder and her trigger finger tightened just the slightest bit. "This is not a game."

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Okay, so charm didn't work. The lady was serious. Very serious. "All right. I'll lower my weapon, if you lower yours. My wallet is in my right hip pocket. Take it and get outta here and we'll forget the whole thing happened." He mentally ticked off all the items he'd have to replace. His driver's license, credit card, student ID. Geez, this was going to be fun. He'd lived his whole life in Chicago and never once been mugged. Her expression turned stricken. "You think I'm going to rob you?" Her tone matched her expression. He shrugged one shoulder. "What am I supposed to think?" Fury streaked across that pretty face. He watched in morbid fascination as the graceful line of her jaw hardened. That full mouth flattened into a grim line. She was a looker. Too bad she was a thief. "Last chance, buster," she growled. "Who the hell are you?" She was tenacious. He had to give her that. "William Quinn," he said flatly. This little game had grown tiresome. He had a meeting. Quinn quickly glanced from side to side. Any second now his guy would show. She was going to ruin everything. A line of concentration furrowed its way across her elegant brow. She was running his name through her memory banks to see if it rang a bell. He tried to tell himself that he needed to study her, to remember every detail. But the path of his gaze had nothing to do with memorizing a perpetrator. She was far too gorgeous for a criminal. Her thick mane of chestnut-colored hair was pulled back into a youthful ponytail. He imagined it would feel silky between his fingers. He had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to reach out and run his fingers through it. But the desire to live outweighed that particular urge — just barely. "What're you doing here, Mr. Quinn?" Her tone had turned all business, brisk and devoid of emotion, anger, or otherwise. Since her weapon was still pointed in his direction, he chose to keep his bead on the lovely lady as well. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name." "You don't need to know my name," she retorted, impatience slipping back into her voice. "What're you doing in this alley at this time of night?" "I could ask you the same, you know." A flare of impatience lit those brown eyes. He tensed when she reached beneath her sweatshirt. "Officer Sarah Cook," she told him pointedly as she shoved her ID in the general direction of his face, right next to her weapon, the ultimate reminder that she still considered herself in charge of the situation. Quinn studied the ID for about two seconds. "You're a cop?" It wasn't until he said the words out loud that the reality struck him. She was a cop. "Gee, you're a fast learner," she mused sardonically as she tucked the ID back into the waistband of her jeans. "Now, what the hell are you doing here, Quinn?" Knowing the move could very well prove to be a mistake, he lowered his weapon. "I'm here for a meeting with an informant. And you?" He tried to think of one legitimate reason for a cop, an out-of-uniform beat cop at that, to be in this alley at this time of night. She wasn't Vice or Homicide. He looked her over again. Considering the way she was dressed, he supposed she could have been out for a run. Some people preferred to do their physical training at night. But then, why the cloak and dagger routine when they first stumbled upon each other in this alley? One dark eyebrow arched as she promptly ignored his question. "I know you aren't a cop, not local anyway. If you're a PI, you're the one who'd better have a permit to carry a concealed weapon."

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She hadn't relaxed her battle-ready posture. As a former cop himself, he knew firsthand that her training would never allow her to surrender control easily. He still had trouble with that himself. Judging by her age, really young, twenty-two maybe, she had to be a rookie. In that case, she might just be a little trigger happy as well. No point risking his life to prove anything. "I have a permit," he assured her. "It's in my wallet along with my ID. I'm a law student and I'm working on a special case for one of my professors." "Give me your weapon," she ordered, simultaneously reaching out her left hand. "And then I want to see your ID." "Look, Officer Cook, I don't know what your beef is, but I'd feel at a little disadvantage if I handed over my weapon. How about I tuck it away, keep my hands in plain sight and you check out my ID? Fair enough?" Her eyes searched his for several beats before she relented. "One wrong move, and it'll be your last," she warned.

Chapter 2: "I have no doubt." Quinn tucked the weapon into his jeans, raised his hands above his head, then turned his back to her so that she could retrieve his wallet. When she'd removed his wallet he turned around to face her. Officer Cook, Sarah, he recalled from her ID, glanced at his ID and then offered the wallet back to him. "What kind of class brings a student into a place like this in the middle of the night?" "Can I put my hands down?" He couldn't help the grin that inched across his mouth. She looked completely flustered now. "Not yet." She glanced left then right. "I asked you to explain your presence here." "I selected an unsolved murder case involving a former Chicago PD detective." An epiphany slammed into Quinn's head. Detective Sam Cook. Her name was Sarah Cook. Quinn didn't believe in coincidences and he damn sure didn't like the irony of the moment. Not at all. Her posture moved to a new level of attention. "What's the detective's name?" she demanded, her knuckles going white where she gripped her weapon. Quinn swallowed tightly. This conversation was going downhill fast. "Cook. Sam Cook." Confusion, fear, and another emotion he couldn't quite identify danced across her face. "Give me one good reason I should believe you." He wasn't sure he had a reason she would consider a good one. "I'm —" A burst of gunfire from the far end of the alley interrupted his explanation. Instinctively he threw himself at Sarah, forcing her down to the rough cobblestone. A bullet whizzed by his head. "Roll!" Sarah commanded. Quinn obeyed without hesitation. They rolled, a tangle of arms and legs, into the concealing darkness. More bullets sprayed past them. The only thing they had on their side at the moment was that the shooter didn't

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want to be seen. To that end he was forced to fire at an odd angle from his meager position of cover, making him a poor shot at best. "Keep moving," Quinn muttered against her ear. In spite of or maybe because of the situation, she shivered. It couldn't be Quinn. She forced her attention back to staying alive as they crawled through the darkness as quickly as they dared. Any sound, no matter how muffled, would give away their position. Even a bad shot could garner a deadly hit if he had enough opportunities. "There's my car." Quinn was behind her, ushering her toward a nondescript sedan on the opposite end of the alley from where she'd parked her own. The shooter was stationed not twenty feet from her parked vehicle. She didn't even want to think what kind of condition her car would be in come morning after a night in this part of town. While she moved toward the sedan Quinn had indicated, he sent the shooter into cower mode with a rapid succession of shots from the nine-millimeter he'd whipped from the waistband of his jeans. Out of the line of fire now, Sarah pushed to her feet and raced to the car. She jerked the door open and dived behind the wheel of the car intent on getting the hell out of Dodge. No keys. She hissed a curse. Quinn dropped into the passenger seat. "You wouldn't leave a guy in the lurch, now would you?" She hated that grin. Sarah snatched the dangling keys from his hand and started the engine. She slammed her foot against the accelerator just as the shooter, who'd obviously realized they were getting away, pulled off another round in their direction. She ducked her head between her hunched shoulders and prayed his aim hadn't improved. Glass shattered. Quinn swore loudly, hotly. When they were a safe distance from the alley and the shooter, who'd chosen not to pursue on foot, no longer loomed in the rearview mirror, Sarah blew out a breath of relief. The shattering glass must have been a taillight, because the rear window was intact. She glanced at Quinn. He didn't appear to be hit. "Where're we going?" She clenched her jaw against the little flutter the sound of his voice elicited low in her belly. "My place." "Any reason I should object?" he wanted to know. That was another thing she didn't like about him — that self-assured, cocky male attitude. Just because he was inordinately handsome and built like a male model, he didn't have to be so sure of himself. She tossed a glare in his direction. "I guess we'll know when we get there." Thankfully he remained quiet the rest of the trip across town. She'd parked his car in her drive and was preparing to unlock her front door before he spoke again.

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"Nice place," he noted. Her acknowledgment might have passed for a grunt, but nothing more. She didn't need him to tell her she had a nice place, she knew she did. She'd inherited the little house from her grandmother. It was tiny but in great shape and the neighborhood was terrific. She felt at home here. Something she didn't feel anymore in the house where she'd grown up. She couldn't bear to watch her father waste away. Her every emotion from the night's activities suddenly channeled into anger. She turned on Quinn. "Just what the hell are you doing investigating my father?" He held out his hands stop sign fashion. "Whoa." He shook his head. "I don't know what happened tonight, but I am not the enemy. I had an appointment with a guy who promised to give me information on what really happened two years ago." Her heart rate kicked into overdrive. "What information?" Quinn dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. "I don't know. When I got to the appointed destination I found you. What were you doing there?" She considered lying, but then thought better of it. What did she have to lose? Maybe he was telling the truth. "The same thing. My contact was supposed to meet me in the alley at midnight." She glowered at Quinn. "That definitely didn't happen." He looked incredulous. "And that's my fault? I'm telling you lady, we were almost killed tonight and it has something to do with your father." She lifted her chin a notch and met those glittering blue eyes. "Who was your contact?" Quinn shrugged again. "He wouldn't give me a name." Sounded far too familiar. "And how did you find him?" "I didn't. He found me. It wasn't a secret I was looking into the case. I'd asked a lot of questions. Interviewed several people." "Then I guess we were stood up by the same guy," she suggested. A bad feeling had taken hold of her gut. "Maybe we weren't stood up at all," Quinn offered, voicing her own fear. The idea that the shooter was her contact as well as Quinn's and that he'd arranged to have them in the alley at the same time so he could kill them both had her swaying on her feet. This was too much. Quinn grabbed her by the shoulders. "You okay?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "No, I'm not okay." She pulled free of his touch. "The one person who appeared able to help me prove my father's innocence just tried to kill me. I'm definitely not all right." She blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes. She did not want to cry. Especially not in front of him. Before she could back away, he had her in his arms. He held her close. Held her even tighter when she struggled to get away. "It's okay," he murmured against her hair. "We're both safe now." "It's not me I'm worried about," she muttered. God she hated to cry, but she just couldn't help it. Quinn's strong arms didn't help her resolve. How long had it been since she'd been held like this? She squeezed her eyes shut and relaxed against his muscular chest. She'd been too busy trying to save her father to worry about herself. She had no social life at all, hadn't had one in months. She was pathetic.

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Quinn didn't say anything for a long while. He just held her in those big, strong arms. He smelled so good. Felt so good. And, unlike most men, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Finally he drew back just far enough to look into her eyes. She trembled at the reminder that he didn't just feel good, he looked damn good, too. "How long have you been working on your father's old case?" She wanted to be angry at his question, to jerk away from his touch, but she couldn't. There was no way to deny the sincerity in those caring blue eyes. Who was this guy? "A couple of months." She swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands and cursed herself again for being so weak. She never cried. Quinn nodded. "I started a few weeks ago." He guided her to the couch where they both sat down. "The whole situation around the case intrigued me. The murder is still listed as unsolved, yet your father was forced into retirement almost as if he were the perp." Sarah took a deep breath. "They made him feel that way. It was his own partner's report that did him in." "Danberry," Quinn agreed, the disdain in his voice unmistakable. "You know him?" Quinn stood, giving Sarah a great view of his lean, athletic frame. She shook herself. Concentrate, girl. This is not the time to think about sex — no matter how long it's been. "Oh, I know him all right." Quinn looked down at Sarah. "I don't trust him." Maybe it was the receding adrenaline or maybe it was the proximity to Quinn, but Sarah felt suddenly more confused than ever. "How do you know him that well?" That piercing blue gaze connected with hers. "I used to be a cop." Sarah felt her mouth drop open, but quickly snapped it shut. "I don't understand." Before he could answer, glass shattered on the other side of the room. "Get down!" Quinn shouted. They both hit the floor. The squeal of tires told them that whomever had broken the window was in a hurry to get away. Careful to keep their heads low, Sarah and Quinn crawled toward the brick that lay amid the shards of glass on her living room carpet. A note attached to the brick read: "If you want to live stop looking into the past." "You have to take this warning seriously, Sarah." She ignored him, feigning all-consuming interest in cleaning up the broken glass. Quinn wanted to shake her. But what good would it do? None. She was too determined. Too stubborn. He surveyed his handiwork where he'd nailed a couple of boards over the broken window. It was only a temporary solution. Just like their current situation. For the past couple of hours they had acted as partners, working to save each other's lives. Quinn had a hunch that was all about to come to a screeching halt. Sarah Cook didn't want his help or his interference. She didn't have to say the words. He could read the message loud and clear in her body language…in what she didn't say.

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He knelt in front of her and lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Listen to me, Sarah. These guys, whoever they are, mean business. You could end up dead. I don't think your father would want that." She jerked away from his touch. "Don't tell me what to do. You don't know anything about my father or me." Quinn stilled her hands with his own when she would have continued her task. "I know if he loves you he wouldn't want to see you hurt. No man who cared about a woman would want that." She stared directly into his eyes then, trying to read him. He pushed to his feet, silently chastising himself for saying too much. He'd only known her a couple of hours. He wasn't supposed to feel this way already. He kept telling himself that it was simply a matter of protective instincts. She was the weaker sex, it was his job to protect her. It was the cop in him, he added when mere chivalry didn't quite cover it. But the truth was, he didn't know what he was feeling. He only understood with complete certainty that he couldn't let anything happen to this woman. Sarah stood then, drawing his attention back to those deep brown eyes…that pretty face. Tendrils of silky hair had worked their way loose and were hugging the delicate column of her throat. His chest constricted. He wanted to touch her there…wanted to know how her skin tasted. "I appreciate your concern," she said softly and to his complete surprise. "I really do believe you want to help. But I don't see how you can." She shook her head and looked away. "He's my father. It's my problem. I don't want to risk anyone else." Quinn laughed, a humorless sound. "Too late, Officer Cook. I'm already involved. Remember this is my class project. I'm not about to back off. I have too much time invested." He took her by the hands and waited until she looked at him again. "I don't give up so easily." "The way I see it," she said, withdrawing from him and quickly folding her arms over her chest protectively, "we only have one choice then. We have to work as partners until we figure this out. You share what you find and I'll do the same." Quinn's gut told him she had no intention of sharing. She still didn't trust him. "I have a better idea. Why don't we just work together and then we'll each know what the other knows." She started to argue. He saw it in her eyes, but common sense prevailed. She knew he was right. "Fine." He splayed his hands, palms up. "So what's your plan, partner?" "I assume you've read the case file and the newspaper reports." He nodded. "I've even performed a few interviews of my own. The whole scenario doesn't quite add up. Something's missing…out of place." He shook his head. "I can't put my finger on it just yet, but there are definitely missing pieces."

Chapter 3: "I agree." Wow, that had been easier than he'd expected. She was impressed. Her eyes gave away her every emotion. Or maybe she just allowed him to see what she wanted him to see. She was a second-generation cop. "We need to see the working files. Does your father have any files on the case?" She sighed. "Nope. They took everything from him within hours of Internal Affairs's involvement." She slumped. "Even if they hadn't, he wouldn't cooperate. He doesn't want me digging around."

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Quinn tapped the note now folded and tucked away in his shirt pocket. "I can understand why he'd feel that way." Her cheeks flushed with anger, an emotion she obviously used as a shield. "We have to look at Danberry's private case files." "Yeah, right." He braced his hands on his hips and glared down at the woman now staring angrily up at him. "Which judge do you think is going to grant us a search warrant?" He smacked himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "What am I thinking? We don't need a search warrant, we'll just break into his office." A smile that tied Quinn's insides into knots slid across her face. "Precisely." *** Thirty minutes later Quinn was still telling himself she couldn't be serious, and yet they stood right outside Danberry's office. The sign on the door's glass window read: Burt Danberry, Chief of Homicide. This was completely nuts. "We should rethink this, Sarah," he whispered, his gaze roving constantly from one end of the deserted corridor to the other. "This is not a smart idea." She was doing the credit card thing on the locked door. "No one said you had to participate. Go wait in the car if you have a problem with this." He muttered a curse. Like he could just let her do this on her own. She was going to get herself killed and maybe him, too. Not to mention she'd lose her job and he'd likely be kicked out of law school if they were caught. "I can't get it," she huffed. He was going to regret this. "Get out of the way," he growled. She obliged. Less than ten seconds later he had the door open. He'd learned a few tricks during his time in the field. "Don't ask," he admonished at her look of surprise. Inside, Quinn kept lookout while Sarah rummaged through Danberry's desk and file cabinets. Luckily nothing inside the office was locked. Keeping the room in darkness, she used a flashlight to skim through the folders. "Make it snappy," he tossed over his shoulder. "I'm liking this less and less." "Shut up, Quinn," she muttered. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to monitoring the corridor outside the office. Something was definitely wrong with him. He was too young to be going through a midlife crisis. Then again, he had shucked his badge and uniform to go back to school. But he'd had good reason, he reminded himself. He wanted to change the way justice was levied. He wanted to make the kind of difference he couldn't make as a policeman. "Dammit." He glanced at Sarah where she knelt in front of the credenza. "What'd you find?" She muttered another curse. "Nothing." She opened the folder for him to see. "There's nothing in here."

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The rasp of rubber soles on the polished tile jerked Quinn's attention back to the corridor. He swore. "Someone's coming." Sarah pushed the folder back into place, clicked off the flashlight and silently closed the drawer. She and Quinn took cover behind Danberry's desk. His heart thundered in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Quinn's mind raced for a reasonable explanation for what they were doing in Danberry's office in the event the guard came inside and caught them. The footsteps halted right outside the door. Quinn braced himself for the worst. Sarah held her breath until the guard had moved down the corridor and out of earshot. The air hissed out of her lungs then. Relief flooded her, making her weak. "We have to get out of here." Quinn snagged her by the arm and practically dragged her toward the door. "Wait." She dug in her heels. Despite the layers of clothing the feel of his long fingers sent a zing of electricity straight to her core. She fought the effect of that simple touch. This was crazy. She'd never been affected by a man, a stranger at that, in such a primal way. Even in the sparse light spilling through the half-closed blinds she could see the hard set of his chiseled jaw…the ferocity in those blue eyes. "Wait?" he snapped. "Wait for what? The guard to come back and find us? Or maybe we'll just hang around until Danberry shows up." He laughed dryly. "There's what we need. The man himself, so we can question him face-to-face." Sarah's own anxiety level was peaking off the chart; apparently Quinn's had already gone beyond that point. "Take a breath, Quinn. We haven't murdered anyone. We've only broken a couple of little laws." He released her as abruptly as he'd taken hold of her and plowed his fingers through his hair. "You don't get it, do you?" Okay, she was right. He'd lost it. "Look, Quinn, if you can't handle the pressure —" Taking her by the shoulders, he gave her a firm shake. "This isn't some game, Sarah. This is real life. If Danberry finds out what you're up to, assuming he hasn't already, you could be in big trouble. The kind of trouble you don't walk away from. If he had anything to do with that murder he's not going to let some punk rookie ruin everything for him. He's too smart for that." She jerked away from his hold. "You're either with me or against me." Reaching for the doorknob she shot him a scathing look. "I'm out of here." Sarah was halfway down the corridor before Quinn followed. She refused to acknowledge just how thankful she was that he didn't walk the other way. She'd started this alone, she could finish it alone. She didn't need him. Then why had she felt suddenly lost without him? She couldn't analyze that right now. Exiting the building without rousing suspicion was top priority. If she made a wrong move and lost her job, where would she be then? No place she wanted to consider. Besides the burning desire to help her father, she loved being a cop. It was more than a job…it was who she was.

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Sarah listened in the deserted stairwell for several seconds before starting her descent. She didn't want to run into any of her fellow officers working the graveyard shift. She kept her ears open as she and Quinn hurried down the four flights of stairs. One glance over her shoulder told her he was doing the same. He'd been a cop once, too, he'd said. She couldn't help wondering what had made him give it up. It couldn't have been in his blood the way it was in hers. No way he'd have been able to give it up. Bursting out into the night air from the east exit sent another wave of relief flooding through Sarah. All that risk for nothing. A savage stab of disappointment quickly dammed the feeling of relief. But she'd had to check it out, hadn't she? "I'll drive," Quinn stated, his tone brooking no arguments. He paused at the driver's side of the car. "Don't even think about giving me a hard time." She tossed the keys at him and went for nonchalant. What she felt was closer to outrage. Outrage at his cockiness. Outrage at her own vulnerability to anyone, much less him. She was too used to being on her own. She didn't like this feeling of vulnerability. Quinn pulled out into the street headed in the direction of her house. She steeled herself for what would likely be his response to the suggestion she was about to make. But she saw no other option. "Turn left at the next intersection," she ordered coolly. He glanced at her as he braked to obey her instructions. "Afraid to go back to your place?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm not afraid of anything, Quinn. We're going to Danberry's." "Now that's a good one." He snorted a laugh. "When hell freezes over." "If you're not game, then let me out at the next corner and I'll do it on my own." The car screeched to an abrupt halt. The shoulder belt was all that kept Sarah from being flung forward with the force. "What the hell are you doing, Quinn?" He barreled out of the vehicle and around the hood before Sarah could fathom his intent. He jerked her door open. "Get out," he roared. She glanced around the dark, quiet neighborhood where he'd chosen to play out this little temper tantrum. He'd been so cool and collected all this time. Who would have thought he could go off like this? Sarah swallowed tightly. This was the sort of thing that happened when one cavorted with strangers. "Look, Quinn, there's no need to cause a scene. It's three o'clock in the morning. People are trying to sleep." "I said, get out of the car." The expression on his face was murderous. With a put-upon sigh, Sarah pushed out of her seat and stared up at him. "Okay, what now, partner," she reminded none too gently. "You have obviously lost your mind," he ranted in a stage whisper. "Someone tried to kill us in that alley. If Danberry is involved in this — which is the most likely scenario — then he was behind the attempt. And now you want to break into his house?" He flung his arms heavenward. "You are crazy." She lifted her chin and glared at him. Their gazes locked in battle beneath the streetlight. "Yeah, maybe I am crazy. My father worked his entire life to keep this city safe. He loved being a cop. And someone took that away from him. I know that someone is Danberry and no one's going to do anything about it. It has to be me." She punctuated the statement by hooking a thumb at her chest. "There is no one else. I have to help him. I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand how that feels."

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He jammed his hands at his waist. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I've come this far with you. I just don't have the same death wish you do." "It means, Mr. Know-It-All, that you gave up being a cop. You can't know how important the work is to someone who really loves being a cop. So just forget it. Go home. I can take it from here." Sarah tried to push past him, but he stopped her. "Just because I gave up being a cop doesn't mean I didn't love it." She blew out a breath of frustration. "Whatever you say." "I gave it up so I could do more. By becoming an attorney, eventually a district attorney or judge, maybe I can stop some of these repeat offenders." Fury whipped across his handsome face. "Do you know how much I despised busting these guys only to see some hot shot mouthpiece put them out on the street again?" His struggle to rein in his emotions was painful to watch. "I want to make a difference." It was true. The honesty in those blue eyes and the emotion tightening the features of his face were far too real. "Then you have to know how I feel," she urged. "You have to know that I can't not square this for my dad." He touched her cheek. The feel of his fingertips gliding along the line of her jaw sent heat searing through her. He stared at her mouth, somehow closer than he'd been, but she hadn't been aware either of them had moved. At that moment she wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted to take her next breath. "All right." He drew back and blinked the haze of lust from his eyes. Sarah staggered with the effort of regaining her composure. She moistened her lips and fought to catch her breath. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest and he hadn't even kissed her. She shook her head and focused on his words. Did they mean what she hoped they did? "We'll do what we have to," he surrendered. Her gaze collided with his. "Does that mean you'll go to Danberry's with me?" She could hardly believe he meant it. She'd fully expected him to bow out at this point. "If I don't you'll just go on your own and I…" He seemed at a loss for words. He sighed and gestured to the car. "Come on, let's just go before I say something I'll regret." Relief and gratitude bubbling up inside her, before she could think about what she was doing, she'd tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Quinn." Danberry's small, neat house sat amid a cluster of huge live oaks. The street was quiet and dark save for two streetlights, both of which were too far from Danberry's house to make any real difference. Quinn parked the car across the street and a couple houses down just to be safe. "He's not home," Sarah said with certainty. Quinn scanned the house in question once more. "How can you be so sure?" "His Porsche isn't home and I happen to know it's the only vehicle he owns." Quinn knew the history on Danberry. He lived far above his means, but no one paid any attention since his wife had died about five years back and he claimed she'd left a very large insurance policy. Quinn had his own ideas. He figured that five years ago was when old Danberry decided to ensure a better retirement. There had been a rumor or two indicating that Danberry was dirty. But no one wanted to point fingers — not

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really anyway. The guy had made chief of homicide after his partner's forced retirement. Quinn frowned. He couldn't help wondering about Sarah's father. Sam Cook never once tried to exonerate himself. "Did your father ever mention any suspicions where Danberry was concerned?"

Chapter 4: Sarah studied him for a long time before answering. "No." She inclined her head and searched his eyes even closer. "My father wasn't a dirty cop. He might be guilty of foolish loyalty, but that's all." Quinn knew Sam Cook's reputation. He'd been a good cop. The whole deal with the murder case went down just as Quinn was leaving the force, so he hadn't been privy to the rumor mill gossip at that point. Danberry had to have something on Cook to keep him quiet. Finding out what that was would go a long way in solving this mystery. "I'm going in." Sarah reached for the door. "Wait." Quinn held her back when she would have bounded out of the car. He worked hard not to be distracted by his traitorous body's reaction to merely touching her. His cheek still burned from that little kiss. "You're sure he's not in there?" "I'm sure." She placed her hand on his, ratcheting up the tension. "I've watched his house before. It's not unusual for him to be out at odd hours." Another strike against Danberry. Quinn nodded. "All right. Let's roll." Sarah stayed right on Quinn's heels as he moved silently through the inky darkness. The last thing either of them needed was to be seen in the vicinity of what was about to become a crime scene. He forced the phrase breaking and entering from his mind. Going along with Sarah was the only way to keep her safe. At the back door Quinn reached for the knob, his credit card in hand. "Wait." This time it was Sarah who hesitated. He tried to see her eyes in the darkness but it was impossible. "What?" "What if he has an alarm? I didn't even think of that." Quinn had. He'd also considered whether or not the guy had a pet. "If he does then we run like hell." He heard Sarah's sigh. "Good plan." Quinn couldn't help a grin. "It works when all else fails." A couple of twists and wiggles later and the door swung inward. If there was an alarm, it was a silent one. No dog barked. No cat hissed. A light in the hallway beyond the kitchen cast a dim glow in their direction. "Looks like the coast is clear." Flashlight in hand, Sarah moved in beside him. "He's bound to have an office or study around here somewhere."

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Quinn closed the door and locked it. "No splitting up. We stick together." She nodded her agreement, then led the way. The long hallway led from the small kitchen to the living room, which was also dimly lit. They passed a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom along the way, but nothing that looked like an office. In the living room, on the far side of the room, another door stood open. The carpet beneath their feet kept their steps silent. Quinn was pretty sure, however, that nothing could silence the thundering in his chest. If they were caught… "Pay dirt." Sarah switched on the lamp on a desk that sat in the center of the small room beyond the living room. Most of the walls were covered with bookcases and file cabinets. One narrow window that led to the side yard was squeezed between two file cabinets. Quinn quickly pulled the drapes. "Put things back the way you find them," he warned. "We don't want to make him suspicious." Assuming we get out of here alive, Quinn didn't add. "Keep your ears open. He could come home at any time." "Stop talking and start looking," Sarah ordered. A smile tugged at Quinn's lips. He decided then and there that he'd met his match in Sarah Cook. Thirty minutes passed like three and still they hadn't found anything. Quinn grew more nervous with each passing moment. "Why don't you go ahead and wait outside while I continue looking," he suggested. "No way." "I just want —" "I know what you want," she interrupted, "and I can take care of myself." Frustration tightened his chest. There was no way to protect this woman from herself. He thumbed to the next folder and read the label. Anticipation spiked. "Found it." Sarah crouched next to him behind the desk. "Let's see." Quinn opened the file and together they pored through the contents, once, twice. Nothing. The file contained absolutely nothing incriminating. Every interview, every step the detective took was neatly outlined, carefully backed up with references. "There has to be some evidence somewhere," Sarah said disgustedly. Quinn replaced the file, closed the door and looked at her. "Maybe not. If he's half as smart as we think, he probably destroyed all the physical evidence long ago." Sarah sat back on her heels and scrubbed her hands over her face. "This is useless. I'm never going to be able —" The sound of the back door opening halted her words. Quinn's tension rocketed into hyper mode. Instantly he reached up and switched off the lamp. He ushered Sarah to the front of the desk. The desk faced the wall opposite the door. It was the safest place for them at the moment. There was no time to make a run for it. They huddled together, both struggling to quiet their breathing.

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Heavy footfalls echoed in the long hall with its wood floor, then grew muffled on the living room carpet. Quinn reached for his weapon. He sure as hell didn't want to have to shoot the man in his own house, but if — A cellular telephone rang. The footsteps halted. "Yeah." It was Danberry's voice. He'd stopped in the middle of the living room to take the call. A heavy thud told Quinn he'd dropped on the couch. Sarah trembled and Quinn held her more tightly against his side. "I don't care what it takes," Danberry roared. "The meet goes down tonight no matter what." The meet. Quinn's thoughts whirled at the implications. They might not be able to produce any evidence against Danberry for his past crimes, but if he was into something now, maybe they could bring him down that way. "You do whatever you have to. I want Sarah Cook and her new friend dead. Comprende?" Sarah stiffened in Quinn's hold. He didn't have to see to know that stark fear had claimed her features. Danberry knew what they were up to all right. And he wanted them dead. Nearly an hour passed before Danberry went into one of the bedrooms and slammed the door shut. Another hour crept by before Sarah and Quinn dared to move. Sarah turned on the flashlight and gestured to the window. Quinn nodded. While she listened for the slightest sound and held the light where Quinn could see, he eased the drapes aside. After unlocking the window, he eased it upward one tiny fraction of an inch at a time. The screen had long since been removed, which was a major plus. Then came the hard part, getting out without making a sound. Danberry was probably a light sleeper. Quinn motioned for Sarah to go first. She handed him the light and slung one leg over the ledge. She ducked her head under the raised sash and slid out, then dropped noiselessly to the ground. Quinn waited for a few seconds just to make sure Danberry hadn't roused, before climbing out himself. He pulled the sash back into place and turned to follow Sarah through the damp-with-dew grass. A quick dash down the street and they were back in the security of Quinn's car. Sarah sank into the upholstery and thanked God again for their safe escape. Luck had certainly been on their side so far tonight. Danberry and his minions had definitely been out looking for them. And though she and Quinn hadn't found any evidence, they now had a chance to take Danberry down. Quinn drove to the end of the street without turning on his headlights. "This time we're going to my place," he said firmly. "As long as I can have a hot bath and some sleep, I don't care where we go," Sarah mused, her body already anticipating the hot water and soft bed. Quinn's bed.

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Her eyes popped open and she tensed. Now where had that thought come from? Just because he'd helped her out, made her feel safe — almost kissed her — it didn't mean anything. Right? Wrong. It meant a lot. She turned to Quinn, reveling in his gorgeous profile, remembering how it felt to be held in those strong arms. She'd never felt this way about any man before, much less one she'd known less than twenty-four hours. "Quinn." He glanced at her. "Yeah." She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't know how to thank you. I couldn't have done this without you. For the first time I have a real chance at exonerating my father." He kept his attention on the road before them. "It was nothing," he insisted in typical male fashion. "After all, I have a stake in this, too. I plan to get an A in this class." Sarah laughed for the first time in too long to remember. Quinn laughed, too. He glanced at her again and something flickered in those beautiful blue eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like affection. He liked her. And she was glad because she really liked him. They rode in silence for a time. Sarah basked in the feeling of success. She wanted desperately to call her father and tell him what she'd discovered so far. But she couldn't. Not until she was certain. "Heads up," Quinn said abruptly. "We've got a tail." Sarah twisted around in her seat. Sure enough, there was a car shadowing them. She squinted to make out the model as the vehicle passed under a streetlight. A sports car, a Camaro maybe. "How long has he been following us?" It wasn't Danberry's car, but it could very well be one of his henchmen. "Three, four minutes." Quinn sped up. "Can you lose him?" Sarah's heart rate kicked into high gear. "It would be my pleasure." Quinn took a hard right. Sarah was grateful she'd remembered to buckle up. An abrupt left and then another hard right. Quinn seemed to go faster with each turn. Tires squealed. The engine roared as he gunned it between every turn. The tail stayed with them. "I don't think he wants to give up." Sarah held on to the seat with both hands while she watched the vehicle behind them racing to keep up. "Maybe I'll give him a little incentive." Sarah didn't even want to know what that meant.

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Quinn gunned the engine. The car lunged forward. He moved through the next two intersections without even stopping. The only thing that felt as if it had stopped during those few seconds was her heart. They took a right on two wheels and rocketed forward again. "We lost him," Quinn announced, male pride brimming in his tone. "Does that mean we can slow down now?" The landscape whizzing by was playing havoc with her ability to keep last night's hasty dinner down. Quinn took another left, then a fast right. He turned to Sarah finally. "Absolutely." She gulped in a lungful of air. "Good." She slowly relaxed into her seat. She knew taxi drivers who were more conservative than Quinn. Of course, she had asked him to lose the tail. Quinn's place was a town house in an upscale neighborhood. Something else she hadn't expected. "Home sweet home," he said jovially as he opened the front door. Unlike Danberry, Quinn had a security system. He quickly punched in the code to disarm the system. He walked straight to the hall table and punched the retrieve button on his answering machine. "Make yourself at home," he said. He gestured to the staircase. "You can have my room. I think you'll love the tub." Sarah hurried up the stairs. She figured the sooner she put some distance between them the better off they'd both be. She was wrong. Quinn's bedroom screamed of masculinity. Everything held his scent. As water filled the huge whirlpool tub, she wondered what he did besides attend law school. Maybe his parents were rich. She quickly undressed, swaddled herself in his robe and inhaled deeply of his scent. A light tap on the door startled Sarah from her carnal thoughts. "Yes." She forced images of a naked Quinn from her mind. "Come in." He stuck his head inside. "Thought you might need this." He pushed the door inward a little farther and offered her a cup of steaming hot cocoa. Sarah wanted to weep. It smelled heavenly. "Thank you so much." She took the mug in both hands and savored the delicious scent. "You've got a great place." "Well, it's only mine eleven months out of the year," Quinn explained. When she frowned her confusion, he continued. "I house-sit for a friend of mine. So, technically, it's not mine. He uses it for a vacation place. Grew up here." That explained a lot. Though she hadn't really suspected him of anything, she had to admit she was relieved. He turned to go, but hesitated. "Oh, I called a friend of mine who's going to lend us some equipment." Sarah's eyebrows knitted in question. "What kind of equipment?" "Listening and recording devices, night photography, you know the like." He grinned, then gave her a little salute. "Have a nice bath."

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"Quinn, wait." Sarah sat her cocoa on the vanity's marble top. She hurried to the door where he waited. She shrugged. "Thanks." It seemed a pitiful gesture, but it was all she could think to say. Especially with him looking at her that way…like he wanted to kiss her. God, she really did want to kiss him. That little peck on the cheek just hadn't been enough. For three tension-filled beats she was sure he would leave without kissing her. When he leaned forward, those blue eyes riveted to hers, she gasped. His lips brushed against hers and her eyes closed of their own volition. He kissed her sweetly, deeply. She wanted to touch him, but didn't dare. This was too perfect…too wonderful. It was the most wonderful, sweet, perfect kiss she'd ever had. And it ended all too soon.

Chapter 5: "Good night, Sarah," he murmured. He kissed the tip of her nose and then he disappeared, leaving her swooning in his wake. Sarah sighed as she slipped off the robe and into the deep, welcoming water. If they only survived the coming day and the night to follow, there might just be hope for something more. Tailing Danberry without his spotting them and keeping his henchman off their tail proved a bit of a challenge, but Quinn had everything under control. Everything but his libido, that is. He glanced at Sarah, who sat silently in the passenger seat studying some of the equipment they would use for tonight's little midnight sting. She'd gotten way, way under his skin. That kiss in the bathroom had almost undone him. He'd wanted to make love to her more than he'd wanted to see the sun rise this morning. But he couldn't let that happen. Not until this was over. He didn't want to take advantage of her feelings during the heat of the moment. But when this was over he intended to pursue the feelings he had for Sarah. He was pretty sure she felt something for him as well. She'd been a little distant today, but he decided that had more to do with worrying about solving her father's case than with her feelings, or lack thereof, for Quinn. "He's slowing down," Sarah said, jerking Quinn back to the here and now. "I'm driving on past." Just to make sure Danberry didn't get suspicious, Quinn drove past his parked car. He continued for a block with Sarah watching Danberry through the camera's zoom lens. "He went inside," she reported. Quinn parked between two panel trucks, effective camouflage. Their movements fast and efficient, as if they'd worked together a lifetime, Quinn and Sarah gathered their equipment and headed toward ground zero. Stealth was tonight's watchword. If Danberry was up to no good as they suspected, tonight would be his downfall. Inside the looming warehouse, they found a maze of rooms. The place was laid out like office space rather than bulk storage. After moving cautiously through several deserted rooms, they heard Danberry's voice. Quinn paused outside the room where Danberry was conducting his meeting. Quinn pointed to the door and shook his head. There was no way they could go through that door not knowing what was on the other side. If the room was anything like the others, they'd be open targets. Sarah pointed upward. Quinn followed her gesture. Since the building was a warehouse, the office walls, which were the temporary kind and only about eight feet high, didn't reach the two-story ceiling.

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Quinn nodded. He understood that up and over would be their best plan of action. But now they needed a way to get up there. In an adjacent office a row of file cabinets offered the perfect solution. Careful not to make any noise, Quinn helped Sarah onto the file cabinets. Using the credenza as a step, he joined her. Danberry stood with his back to their position. Three other men sat at a conference table, their gazes focused on the man speaking. For the next thirty minutes Danberry incriminated himself completely in a drug ring that involved planned assassinations and exploitation of government funding and property. The whole thing was incredible. Anticipation strummed inside Quinn. Sarah didn't look so pleased. She knew none of this would help her father. But at least it would get Danberry off the streets — well, if they lived to see their plan to fruition anyway, Quinn amended. The door to the conference room suddenly burst open. Sarah jumped, almost banging her recording device into the wall. Quinn steadied her, then quickly refocused his attention through the camera lens. Another man had joined the meeting. Quinn went deadly still when the new man ushered Danberry to the back of the room, not a dozen feet from their position. Neither Quinn nor Sarah dared to even breathe. "I lost them." Danberry's face glowed red with fury, his words came out in a lethal mix between a growl and a whisper. "I thought I told you to make sure those two were taken out of the picture." "I know how to get them," the other man hastened to assure him. "You have to let me do this my way." The hair on the back of Quinn's neck stood on end. This was going to be bad. "Let me use old man Cook to reel them in," the new guy suggested smugly. "The girl loves her old man, she'll do whatever I tell her if I work the old man." Quinn felt Sarah tense next to him. His chest filled with pride at her ability to keep doing the job in spite of what was happening. She was a real cop. "Do whatever you have to, Gifford," Danberry demanded. "I should have killed Cook two years ago and we wouldn't be having this problem right now. That was a mistake. I should have known that threatening to kill his daughter would never be enough to keep the lid on what he knew. She's turning out to be more of a pain than her old man." "I'll take care of it, boss," Gifford assured, anticipation filling his tone. Danberry returned to his meeting while Gifford hurried from the room. Sarah sent a worried look in Quinn's direction. He knew what she was thinking. She feared the man might get to her father before they could tie things up here. A thud echoed in the corridor right outside the door to the office where Quinn and Sarah were located. Quinn swiped his finger across his throat in the universal "cut" gesture. They were out of here. "What the hell was that?" one of the men seated at the conference table demanded, his voice carrying in the enormous space above the wall enclosures. "I'm sure it's nothing," Danberry insisted impatiently. "We have plans to finalize."

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All Quinn and Sarah needed at this point was to get out of the building with the tape and film. To hell with the equipment. His friend could take it out of Quinn's hide. When he had pocketed both the tape and film, he took Sarah's hand and hurried to the door. As they emerged into the deserted corridor a tall, stocky man, his dark hair graying and his brown eyes too familiar, stepped from the office opposite theirs. "Dad?" Sarah looked as shocked as Quinn felt. Sam Cook glared at the two of them with the kind of annoyed expression of impatience only a father could properly pull off. "Get out of here now!" His glower focused more fully on Quinn. "Keep her —" The rest of what he would have said was interrupted when Danberry and party spilled into the corridor, weapons drawn. All hell broke loose. The blast of weapons firing and the echo of hot curses filled the air. Quinn didn't have time to analyze what the hell Sam Cook was doing here. Danberry propelled himself toward Sarah. Quinn lunged forward, throwing himself between them, taking Danberry down in the process. They struggled. Danberry's gun fired, but missed its intended target. Sarah screamed. Fear for her doubled Quinn's strength; he landed a blow that rendered Danberry motionless. He rolled him off and jumped to his feet. Before he could reach Sarah, another guy plowed into him. Quinn quickly dispatched with him. Sarah had gotten the upper hand in her scuffle by the time Quinn reached her. He finished the guy off and pulled her to her feet. "You okay?" She nodded, then pushed past him to check on her father. Sam Cook had wrestled the final assailant to the floor and come out on top, but the struggle had taken a toll on the older man. He managed to get to his feet with his daughter's assistance. "What are you doing here, Dad?" Sarah demanded, clearly furious now that the immediate danger had passed. Her father picked up the weapon he'd obviously lost in the struggle and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. "I could ask you the same, young lady," he groused. "I told you to stay out of my business with Danberry." Quinn decided it was time for him to call this in and get some uniforms on the scene. He noted the motionless body of the guy, Gifford, just inside the door of the room Sam Cook had exited as he and Sarah had entered the corridor. The thud they'd heard had apparently been Sarah's father taking care of Gifford. Quinn snagged Danberry's cellular phone from his jacket pocket. Where he was going he wouldn't need it. Quinn punched in the necessary numbers while Sarah and her father argued. "You've had someone following me?" Sarah echoed in disbelief of her father's words. "I had to do something," Cook insisted. "You were going to get yourself killed. I even had one of my old squad buddies toss that warning through your window. Still you wouldn't give up! How the hell was I supposed to keep you safe from Danberry when you wouldn't listen to reason? When I learned that you and your friend here —" he tossed a glare at Quinn "— had broken into Danberry's house, I knew it was up to me to stop you. All I had to do was catch up with you." Another irritated glance was sent in Quinn's direction. Quinn shrugged as he listened for the call to go through on the other end. "I thought the tail was one of Danberry's men."

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Sarah held up her hands. "It doesn't matter now. All that matters is that we have the proof to clear you." She looked up at her father with emotion shining in those dark eyes. Quinn's heart lurched. What he would give for her to look at him that way... The 911 operator interrupted his musings. He gave their location and said, "We need backup and —" Danberry was suddenly on his feet. He reached around Sam and snagged the weapon in his waistband then held it to his head. "I should have done this two years ago," he roared, his back to Quinn. Standing opposite her father, Sarah froze, her expression horrified. "You know," Cook said casually, "I've been wanting to ask you that for a long time now. Why didn't you just kill me instead of torturing me the way you have…threatening my daughter's life...ruining my career?" Danberry laughed and pressed the barrel of his weapon more firmly into Cook's temple. "I wish I could say that it was just for the fun of watching you squirm and suffer all this time, but that would be a lie. Killing you back then would have drawn attention to me. I needed you alive — you were my patsy. But now you've outlived your usefulness." Danberry glanced at Sarah. "Say good night to Daddy," he taunted. Quinn had one chance here since Danberry had apparently forgotten about him. But if Quinn missed…he pushed the thought away and took aim. He wouldn't. Danberry's finger tightened on the trigger of his weapon. The shot exploded in the silence of the corridor. Danberry's fingers relaxed from the weapon's grip. The nine-millimeter fell to the floor. Danberry dropped next to it. Sam Cook immediately kicked the weapon out of reach though Quinn doubted there was much chance Danberry would be attempting to use it again. Sarah's stricken gaze flew from her father to Danberry, then to Quinn. She blinked, snapped from the trance of fear and moved toward Quinn. He slowly lowered his weapon and lifted the cell phone back to his ear. "Send an ambulance, too," he said to the operator who was shouting on the other end of the line. He closed the phone and tossed it aside. Sarah stopped directly in front of him. "You saved my father's life," she said softly, respect and some other emotion he couldn't readily identify in her eyes. "Saved mine." Quinn managed a smile for her sake. "I think you can take some of the credit for that last part." He blinked, tried to shake the heaviness in his chest. He'd never shot a man before. He suddenly hoped, despite his wrongdoing, that Danberry lived. The possibility of having taken a life sat like a stone in his gut. He didn't want to get used to that feeling. Sarah hugged him. Hugged him hard, as if realizing how he felt and knowing that he needed that kind of human touch right then. "We did it," she whispered, then drew back and looked up at him. "We cleared my father's name." She hugged him again, even more tightly. His arms went automatically around her. For just one moment Quinn blocked out all else and simply enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. Her happiness suddenly felt like all that mattered. Some part of him was vaguely aware that Sam was collecting the weapons scattered on the floor and securing the bad guys. Yes. They had done it…together. Sarah abruptly drew away. "Do you have plans tonight?"

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Quinn searched those dark eyes, didn't miss the new look of mischief there. "Plans?" Did she mean besides having almost gotten themselves killed and solving a case that had slipped through the cracks of the system? Or did she mean personal plans? He shook his head, still uncertain. "No. I don't have any plans." She tiptoed and planted a hot little kiss right on his lips. "I thought maybe you'd let me borrow that tub of yours again," she said seductively. Quinn smiled down at her, every part of him reacting to the image his mind conjured. "Only if I can scrub your back." She snuggled closer to him. "You've got a deal." A few feet away, Sam Cook cleared his throat and shot Quinn a quelling look. "I certainly hope your intentions toward my daughter are honorable, young man." Quinn met that protective glare with a reassuring one of his own. "You have my word on it, sir." He turned his attention back to Sarah. "And so do you." He pressed his lips to hers, sealing the deal he was certain would last a lot longer than just tonight.

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The Last Stand by Brenda Novak It’s 3 a.m. when the phone wakes Skye Kellerman. She answers it, but all she can hear is a frightened whisper: “He’s here…” Skye recognizes the voice as Dahlia Studebaker, a young woman she met in her victim support group. Dahlia is being terrorized by a stalker—and Skye knows his attacks have been escalating. Has he broken into Dahlia’s house? Is he trying to kill her? A victim of violence herself, Skye knows the sound of true fear and rushes to her friend. But as the night deepens, Skye’s own fear mounts…. Can Dahlia be trusted? Is there any hope that she can save the other woman—or herself?

Chapter One “You begin saving the world by saving one person at a time…” —Charles Bukowski, American short story writer, poet and novelist Sacramento, California The jangling of the telephone woke Skye Kellerman in the middle of the night. Fumbling to stop the noise, she brought the handset to her ear and managed a groggy, “Hello?” The person who answered spoke in a barely audible whisper. “He’s here!” At first, Skye wasn’t coherent enough to identify the voice. But she recognized sheer panic when she heard it. Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, she maneuvered herself into a sitting position—and a name came to her: Dahlia Studebaker. It was the twenty-three-year-old woman from her victims’ support group, an ultrathin girl who looked more like a teenager. Once Skye placed Dahlia, there was no need for an explanation. She’d heard enough about the young woman’s situation to guess who “he” was. Dahlia’s co-worker, thirty-eight-year-old Rex Rickman, had been leaving threatening notes, vandalizing Dahlia’s car and house and frightening her with heavy-breathing phone calls for nine months, ever since Christmas. Heart pounding, Skye shoved her tangled blond hair out of her face. “How do you know?” “I saw something, or someone, outside the window. God, I’m scared. He’s going to kill me. I know he’s going to kill me.” The tremor in her friend’s voice brought back the night Skye had awakened to find a man in her own bedroom—a man wielding a knife. It’d been two years since she’d had to fight for her life. Oliver Burke’s trial was over and they’d put him away. But, like the scar that Burke—a well-respected dentist—had left on her face, the fear would never go away. This is different. It might be nothing, Skye told herself, but the mere possibility made her break into a cold sweat. “Have you called the police?” “I don’t dare.” “Why not?”

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“Because the last two times they came out here, they couldn’t find any trace of him. They think I’m crazy, Skye. And it’s because he’s so damn smart. He’s watching me…always.” Dahlia was getting paranoid. But after so many months, it was understandable. “Where’s your husband?” Skye asked, climbing out of bed. “In L.A. I’ve called him, but what can he do from there?” Christian Studebaker worked for a software company that required him to travel. Rickman knew Dahlia spent time alone each week—they’d been friends before she’d refused his advances. “Call the police.” Dahlia broke into tears. “It won’t do any good. It never does. Why can’t he just leave me alone? I never did anything to encourage him. What does he have against me?” “Who knows what he’s imagined. Just get the police out there again. The appearance of a squad car might scare him off.” “It’s all so useless,” she said and hung up. Skye stared at the phone. She’d managed to dress while holding the handset to her ear with her shoulder, but she wasn’t sure what to do next. Was this another false alarm? The product of nerves and imagination? Maybe, but she couldn’t risk the alternative, so she called the police herself. The man who answered told her they’d already been notified and had sent a squad car. She breathed easier after that, almost considered going back to bed and letting the police handle it—until she tried reaching Dahlia and got no answer.

Chapter Two There were two squad cars parked in front of Dahlia’s gray and white tract house in Citrus Heights, and the door stood open despite the cool September air. A distorted rectangle of light fell across the stoop, and more light gleamed around the blinds at the kitchen window, but the rest of the houses on the street remained dark. It was three in the morning, and Skye knew from experience that a violent, life-and-death struggle didn’t necessarily wake the neighbors. She parked across the street from the cruisers and took a deep breath as she got out. The fact that she couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t hear anything, made her uneasy. She conjured up the image of the police arriving to find Dahlia lying in her own blood, and felt nauseous as she approached the house. She wished she’d called Sheridan Kohl or Jasmine Stratford. They would’ve met her here. Part of the same victims’ support group through which she’d met Dahlia, Sheridan and Jasmine were her closest friends. “Hello?” she called from the front step. There was no answer, but she could hear voices inside, male voices. She prayed the situation wasn’t what she feared. “Dahlia?” A policeman, probably in his fifties, with a round face and an even rounder paunch, strode around the corner. “Who’re you?” he demanded, hooking his thumbs in his belt. Skye hugged herself for strength as well as warmth. In her hurry, she’d left the house without a coat and it was colder outside than she’d expected. “A friend of Dahlia’s. She-she called me when she thought she might be in trouble. Is everything…okay?” “How well do you know Ms. Studebaker?”

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He hadn’t answered her question. Skye rubbed the gooseflesh that prickled her arms. “We met a few months ago, when she joined the victims’ support group I’m in. Why?” “Would you say she’s…credible?” Skye nearly sagged in relief. Dahlia was alive or he wouldn’t be asking this question. “Absolutely. She’s being terrorized, and it’s been going on for months.” “But we can’t find any evidence of a stalker. No footprints in the planter boxes, no cigarette butts, no witnesses, no corroboration from other folks on the street…ever. And there’re plenty of people who say Rex Rickman wouldn’t bother a soul.” “He broke the window of her car and slashed her tires while it was parked at the defense contractor where they both work,” Skye said. “How do you know it was Rickman? Did anybody see him? Were there any fingerprints?” Skye had never asked. She’d just listened as Dahlia told her frightening story. “There’ve also been threatening notes.” His lips compressed into a line, his expression full of skepticism. “Created on a computer. Anyone could’ve put them in her purse or under her doormat or in her car.” “What are you saying?” she asked. He lowered his voice. “Listen, I don’t mean to disparage your friend. But there are…certain people who enjoy this sort of attention. You don’t think there’s any possibility—” “That she could be making it up?” Skye shook her head. “No! None at all. She’s not like that.” “You’re positive? Because this is the tenth time we’ve been out here, and it’s another false alarm. Surely, by now we would’ve seen some proof that she isn’t doing this to herself.” Skye wanted to rush to Dahlia’s defense. But she hadn’t known Dahlia all that long. Was her own past making her too gullible? She’d participated in a few group sessions with Dahlia, and they’d gone out for drinks twice. But it wasn’t as if Skye had spent as much time with her as she did Sheridan and Jasmine, who were in their early thirties and closer to her own age. “Keep looking,” she said, sounding more confident than she suddenly felt. He sighed. “We will.” Skye glanced beyond him, straining to hear Dahlia’s voice. “Can I see her?” Stepping back, he waved her inside. “She’s in the master bedroom.” She skirted past him, but stopped when she spotted a rifle leaning against the coffee table. “She has a gun?” “That’s not what it looks like,” the cop said. “It only shoots BBs.” Two other officers emerged from the hall, one tall and lanky, the other about 5’8”. “Her nephew left that behind when she was babysitting him earlier,” the shorter of the two explained. “She was huddled under the bed with it when we arrived.”

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Obviously, Dahlia felt desperate enough to use any weapon she could. Skye nodded at the officers, telling herself she’d made the right choice in claiming Dahlia was credible. Trusting a lying Dahlia would waste taxpayers’ money. Doubting a truthful Dahlia might cost the woman her life….

Chapter Three Skye found Dahlia sitting in a chair next to her bed, alone now that the officers had gone out to canvass the yard and the neighborhood again. Her big brown eyes were wet with tears, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Skye hated it, but the initial police officer’s words had put a question in her mind: Was Dahlia seeking attention? “Hi,” she said, forcing a smile. “How ya doin’?” Dahlia shook her head, causing the beads at the end of her braids to clack, and fresh tears to well up. “You’re going to be fine. They tell me they don’t see any prowlers or evidence that there ever was one.” “Of course not. Like I’ve told you before, he’s too smart. But he was here,” she whispered. “I know he was here.” Crouching at her feet, Skye took her hands, which were ice-cold. If she was lying about Rex Rickman, she was a damn good actress. “They’re checking again. Maybe…this time…” She let her words trail off. “No. It’s a game to him. He’s toying with me and with them. Once they stop believing me, once they respond a little more slowly or stop looking so closely…he’ll be waiting.” She shuddered, and Skye squeezed her hands. “It won’t come to that.” Dahlia didn’t answer. “Have you ever considered quitting your job? Getting away from Loren International and all the people associated with it?” “I can’t.” A tear dripped off her chin and she swiped impatiently at her cheeks. “I just found out I’m pregnant, Skye. I need my job. And I love it. I mean…I’ve already transferred to a different division, we’ve moved twice in the past six months, and Christian’s been traveling less. Now he only goes every other week, but he has to cover his territory or he’ll lose his job. Nothing we do makes any difference.” The day Dahlia had started her job at the new division was the day Rex had supposedly broken her car window and slashed her tires. Skye remembered hearing about it at the support meeting. But before she could say anything, the first police officer came back in. “No one’s outside or skulking about the neighborhood,” he said from the doorway. “And the 2002 beige Acura you describe as Rickman’s is parked in his drive. I had another unit go by to make sure. They just called me.” Briefly closing her eyes, Dahlia sank into herself in surrender. “Thanks,” she murmured. Compassion softened the hard edges of the cop’s face. “You gonna be okay?” “I’ll stay with her,” Skye said. He nodded, advised them to call if anything changed and left.

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The house fell silent except for the sounds of the door closing and two engines flaring to life. By the time Skye stood to peer through the blinds, both squad cars were gone. As far as she could tell, her Volvo, glowing eerily beneath the streetlight, was the only thing that didn’t belong. Turning back to Dahlia, she offered a smile of encouragement. “Do you have to work in the morning?” “Yes. At eight,” she said, her eyes glassy, hands limp in her lap. “Then you should get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me.” Dahlia didn’t get up. She massaged her temples as if battling a terrible headache. “You don’t have to stay.” “I don’t mind. Really.” Skye had to work in the morning, too, but as a carpet saleswoman focusing on commercial accounts, she didn’t have to go in until ten. And if she was too tired to sell as much as her boss expected, she didn’t care if he fired her. Ever since the attempted rape, and the long difficult trial that had followed, she’d lost her love for a lot of the activities she’d enjoyed before. Nothing was the same, especially her. That was the reason she’d joined the victims’ group in the first place. David had recommended it. David…. She knew better than to think of the detective who’d handled her case by his first name. She’d recently learned that he’d gone back to his wife. “A man from my church is coming over,” Dahlia said. “If…if you’ll just hang out until he arrives, I’ll be fine.” “You called someone from your church?” Skye asked. “No, my husband did. He was worried, so he convinced a friend to come over and spend the night.” That was a welcome relief. Skye hated the thought of being all that stood between Dahlia and disaster should Rickman actually appear. She’d been taking self-defense classes but hadn’t learned how to use a gun, although she was considering it. “Sounds good. I’ll wait for him in the living room so you can have a few minutes to pull yourself together.” Dahlia caught her hand before she could leave. “Skye?” Skye turned. “Yes?” “Do you think I’m crazy or…or that I’m imagining a threat that doesn’t exist?” Skye considered the other woman’s red, swollen eyes and knew, in an instant of clarity, that Dahlia wasn’t making it up. That kind of fear couldn’t be faked. “No. I think Rickman must be dangerous,” she said, relieved to have established some trust again. A faint smile curved her friend’s lips. “Thanks. I’m glad I joined the support group and met you and Sheridan and Jasmine. Who else wouldn’t mind receiving a call like this in the middle of the night?” She attempted a laugh, and Skye gave her a quick hug. “You can call me anytime.” The doorbell rang. “There’s your husband’s friend,” she said. “I’ll let him in.”

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Chapter Four Skye instantly liked Taylor Hinshaw, the man from Dahlia’s church. In his mid-twenties, with brown eyes and hair buzzed almost to the scalp, he had the looks and polite manner of a Marine. The sweat suit he wore highlighted his impressive physique, and his attitude inspired confidence. “I’ve got it from here,” he said, showing Skye a mouthful of large, straight teeth when he smiled. “Great, thanks.” Exhausted, she rubbed her face. “Dahlia’s in back. She’ll be out in a minute to say hello. As for me, I’m heading home.” He picked up the gun Skye had seen by the coffee table earlier. “What’s this?” “A BB gun.” “Lotta help that’d be,” he said with a laugh, placing it behind the couch. “I guess it’s better than nothing.” She knew how helpless Dahlia had felt. The night she’d been forced to fight off Oliver Burke, she’d had to resort to a pair of scissors. “’Night.” He waited on the front stoop to make sure she got off safely. Once she’d locked herself in her car, she waved and he closed the door. She drove home almost on autopilot. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the garage of her Orangevale condo. But when she went to grab her purse, it was gone. With a sinking feeling, she realized she must’ve left it at Dahlia’s. “No way!” The last thing she wanted was to go back to Citrus Heights tonight, but she couldn’t put it off until morning. Dahlia’s church friend would be gone and Dahlia would be at work by the time Skye dragged herself out of bed. Her purse contained her cell phone, ID, credit cards, everything. She needed it. “I can’t believe this.” With a curse, she got behind the wheel and drove back. But as she entered Dahlia’s neighborhood, she saw something that made her put her foot on the brake: a beige Acura sedan. She had no idea of the year, but it hadn’t been there when she’d passed twenty minutes earlier. The police had mentioned that Rex Rickman drove a beige 2002 Acura. A tingle of anxiety traveled up her spine as she pulled to the curb in front of it. She walked back to look inside, but she didn’t have a flashlight and she couldn’t distinguish much, certainly nothing that would reveal the owner or the owner’s intent. She put her hand on the hood to see if it had been driven lately. It was cool to the touch. Was twenty minutes in fifty-degree weather long enough for an engine to cool completely? She had no idea, but she figured she was probably making a big deal out of nothing. It was possible that the Acura had been there when she’d passed before and she simply hadn’t noticed. In any case, Dahlia had a damn strong protector. Rickman wouldn’t strike tonight.

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Returning to her car, Skye drove the last two blocks. She cruised down the street just to be safe, didn’t see anything and parked where she’d left her car before. The porch light on Dahlia’s house cut through the black night like a beacon, but the rest of the house and the neighborhood looked as dark and quiet as before. “Bed, soon,” she promised herself, hurrying across the street and up the walkway. But she froze on the front step. Somehow, Taylor Hinshaw had been stupid enough to leave the door ajar. It was open only an inch or so, which is why she hadn’t spotted it before, but it definitely wasn’t secure. What was going on? Lifting her hand, she swung the door open a little wider. She was about to call out to Dahlia when her eyes landed on something lying in the entryway, and she covered her mouth instead. Taylor Hinshaw was no longer on guard. He had a knife in his chest.

Chapter Five Skye’s mind raced as she bent to feel for a pulse. It took several seconds to find the faint flutter of a heartbeat. He was alive, but barely. Had Rickman already gotten to Dahlia, too? Tempted to run next door for help, she pivoted. But then she heard a whimper from the bedroom, and she knew there wasn’t time. She’d never be able to rouse the neighbors and convince them to call the police before Rickman finished whatever he had planned for Dahlia. By the time a squad car could arrive, it would be too late, anyway. All Skye had on her side was the element of surprise. She hadn’t done anything yet to give her presence away. But she didn’t even have a weapon. Another whimper made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Was she hearing Dahlia’s final seconds? The terror of Burke’s attack two years ago flooded through Skye, stripping her of strength and resolve. She felt helpless, frozen in a pool of Taylor’s blood. It was as if she’d been placed right back in the situation she’d survived only by a small miracle. And yet she had to do something. She was Dahlia’s—and possibly Taylor’s—last hope. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she crept inside, cautiously feeling her way around the inert body of the man she’d met less than an hour before. If Rickman and Dahlia were in the bedroom, maybe she could get a knife from the kitchen—there was no way she was touching the one in Taylor’s chest. But the thought of trying to wield any kind of blade against another human being made her shake so violently she doubted she’d be able to control her movements enough to make use of it. She had to come up with an alternative…a bat or…or a heavy vase or… She thought of the BB gun Taylor had slipped behind the couch. It was a realistic-looking rifle. If she brandished it, would Rickman believe she could kill him? She had to take that chance. If she brought a knife into the room, he’d only wrench it away and kill them both. Saying a silent prayer for strength and clarity, she crept toward the couch, where she located the gun. She could hear words now—Dahlia begging Rickman to spare her life. “Why? Why are you doing this? I’ve never done anything to you….”

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“You’re the one who turned me in. Don’t lie to me. You went to Garcia and tried to get me fired! Didn’t you!” No response. “Didn’t you?” he demanded. Skye got the impression Dahlia couldn’t answer. Was it because Rickman had his hands around her throat? Oh, God… The thought made her knees turn to water, but panicking wasn’t going to help. Skye fought to steady her nerves. She had to do this right; she’d only have one chance. There was a loud thump and then a gasp and a scream that was suddenly cut off. Dahlia was putting up a fight. That’s the way, Dahlia. Keep it up. I’m coming. With a BB gun. When her mind added that, Skye tried to ignore it. He’d believe she had the power to stop him if she believed it, unless he knew a lot about guns. Rounding the corner, she stuck the muzzle into the room. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot!” she shouted and flipped on the light. Her first glimpse was of a shocked man with a medium build and balding pate. He was straddling Dahlia and, just as she’d expected, he was choking her but not with his hands. He had a rope. “Get off her or I’ll kill you.” Skye heard the quaver in her voice but hoped he was too shaken up to notice. “Who are you?” he asked. He looked like an average middle-aged engineer-type, not someone she’d expect to be dangerous. But Skye recognized the glint of intent in those dark eyes. She’d seen it before—in Oliver Burke. “Someone who’ll kill you if you don’t do as I say now!” She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he didn’t move. The moment she shot him, he’d know she didn’t have a weapon capable of threatening him. He had to fall for her bluff, had to buy the act…. Lifting his hands, he slowly climbed off Dahlia but Skye could tell he was sifting through options, searching for a way out. “You don’t want to pull the trigger,” he said. “This isn’t what it looks like.” “I suppose what I saw in the entry isn’t what it appears to be, either?” “What are you, a cop?” Dahlia remained on the ground, rolling around and gasping for breath. She’d been deprived of oxygen so long she obviously wasn’t thinking straight or she would’ve found her feet and made a run for it. “Dahlia,” Skye said, hoping to get through to her. Her friend didn’t answer. “Dahlia, get out of here and call the cops.”

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“So you’re not a cop.” He smiled, growing more confident. “I would’ve guessed not.” Skye didn’t answer. Dahlia’s breathing was still hoarse but she’d started crawling for the door, and he hadn’t stopped her. He was too focused on Skye. Go…hurry. “A cop wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf.” He laughed. “Anyway, I’m not afraid of no weak-ass woman.” Skye’s stomach churned with acid. She was losing her advantage. “Don’t underestimate me,” she warned. His gaze lowered to the gun, and then he laughed louder. “Oh, my God! You don’t even have a real gun! What are you planning to do with that? Put my eye out?” Dahlia was almost at the doorway. With one hand, Skye grabbed a handful of her T-shirt and pulled her through the opening, into the hall. Then she turned to follow her out. If they could get outside—where they could reach a neighbor’s house or wake someone with their screams—they might have a chance. But Rickman was on them before they could go five feet. Skye blocked him with her body, giving Dahlia time to get away, but then Dahlia must’ve stumbled into her friend, because she started screaming hysterically as Rickman dragged Skye back by the hair. Twisting as she fell, Skye squeezed the trigger, but there weren’t any BBs in the gun. It clicked without discharging anything, and Rickman changed his grasp to include the rifle as well as her hair. He yanked her into the entryway, where he tossed the gun aside and pulled the knife from Taylor’s chest. He was just lifting it when Dahlia grabbed the BB gun and swung it like a bat, cracking Rickman on the head. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a stone. But Skye knew he wouldn’t stay out for long. And she was right. He came to almost the second he hit the floor and shook his head to clear away the resulting confusion. “Run!” Skye screamed. She shoved Dahlia out of the house but she didn’t have time to escape herself. Rickman was already lunging for her, and he had the knife in his hand. The blade flashed in the light that spilled into the house from the porch. All she could do was raise her arms to protect her head. But the blow never landed. Taylor Hinshaw had grabbed his foot and knocked him off balance. Rex Rickman cried out and dropped the knife as he fell. It clattered toward Skye. Her mind screamed for her to pick it up and stab him. But she couldn’t make herself touch it. The memories of the attack two years ago were crowding too close. Anything but a knife—she couldn’t manage a knife. Fortunately, she didn’t have to. Taylor got to it first. She kicked Rickman in the face and he fell back. Then, with a groan of pain, Taylor shoved himself into a sitting position and buried the knife in Rickman’s throat. Using the wall to help her stay on her feet, Skye turned on the light. Dahlia sat, dumbfounded on the porch, her mouth hanging open and tears streaking down her face, as she stared at the blood that was everywhere. Skye wasn’t sure if it was Taylor’s blood or Rickman’s, probably both. But neither man was dead. Taylor had slumped onto his side, his chest rising and falling in a jerky, shallow manner. And Rickman stared at her with such loathing, she couldn’t help smiling. “You lose,” she said.

Chapter Six

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Skye stood with Jasmine and Sheridan in the empty offices on Watt Avenue. The real estate agent, who’d met them after they’d called the number posted on the rental sign out front, held the keys as he stood at the entrance. “What do you think?” Skye asked her friends as they milled around. Sheridan and Jasmine glanced surreptitiously at each other, then at her. It was perfect, of course. Skye knew it, too. But they couldn’t reveal the level of their interest. They still had to negotiate the rent and other terms of the lease, and they didn’t have a lot of money. They were starting this victims’ charity with more drive and determination than resources. If not for the seed money donated by Loren International, the defense contractor Dahlia worked for, they wouldn’t even be able to get a start. “I think it could work,” Jasmine said, feigning uncertainty. Skye attempted to hide her smile. “If we decide to take it, how soon could we get in?” she asked the agent. “As soon as the tenant improvements are done.” “How much will that cost?” “The landlord will pay up to $15.00 a square foot.” “That should cover what we need,” Skye murmured. “He’s very motivated,” the agent volunteered. “He’s also offering three months’ free rent with a three-year lease.” Three years was quite a commitment for a new charity. Did they have what it took to stay in business that long? Could they build The Last Stand into what they envisioned? Skye nudged Jasmine. Half East Indian, Jasmine was small with olive skin and startling blue eyes. Her sister had been abducted when she was twelve, while Jasmine was babysitting, and had never been seen again. Jasmine was as driven as Skye to make a difference to others who’d suffered from such random acts. “We can do it,” Jasmine said. “Sheridan?” Skye raised her eyebrows in question. Sheridan’s fair coloring, deep blue eyes and dark hair drew attention wherever she went, but she wasn’t as serene as a woman with her beauty might appear. She had yet to get over the mysterious shooting that’d cost the life of a male friend—and had nearly cost her own life back when she was in high school. They all had their scars, their unanswered questions. But they were determined not to let the past get the better of them. They were going to heal by fighting back. “So…should I make the owner an offer?” the real estate agent asked. Skye felt her heart pound in her chest. Rickman was awaiting trial. She’d stopped him from killing Dahlia and saved Taylor Hinshaw, as well. If she hadn’t done what she’d done, they’d both be dead. That experience had given her a small taste of the relief and happiness that winning against violence could bring. She wanted to help more people. “Will he give it to us for a buck a foot?” The agent pursed his lips. “That’s twenty-five cents less than he’s asking.” “But this is for a good cause,” she said. “What’s the cause?”

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“It’s a victims’ charity.” “You mean a support group?” “No. We’ll be different things to different people,” Sheridan said. “If someone needs a lab to re-examine evidence, or a lawyer, or an investigator, or counseling, or self-defense classes—” “Or a safe house, or a bodyguard,” Jasmine chimed in. “They can come to us,” Skye finished. “We’ll be here to fill the gaps in the system.” He frowned in confusion. “So…this is for battered women?” “It’s for anyone who needs it.” “How will you get your funding?” “From outreach to private parties. But we have enough to get started.” Skye pulled Loren International’s $20,000 check from her purse and showed it to him. “Will you work with us?” “I’ll see what I can do.” He smiled. “What are you going to call the place?” “The Last Stand,” Skye said, “Where victims fight back.”

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In a Cowboy's Arms by Marin Thomas At eighteen, all Sandi Drake wanted was out. Out of the little Texas town that suffocated her. Out of her father's ranch that didn't appeal to her bookish interests. And out of the influence of the sexy and irresistible Travis Moretti, the one thing she regretted leaving behind. Twelve years later, her father's death brings her back to the Broken T ranch. Back to Travis. Back to the sparks and to the fire that she could never deny—and in her heart of hearts could never forget. Travis hasn't forgotten either. Not the way she made him laugh, and not the way she hurt him when she left. Now that she's returned, they have a second chance. But is it a second chance at love, or another opportunity for her to break his heart?

Chapter One "Look what the cat dragged home," Travis Moretti muttered from his horse's saddle when he spied the vehicle speeding along the gravel road leading to the Broken T Ranch. He spurred the horse forward, cutting across an open field. Caesar loved to run. "Here's your chance, boy." He loosened his hold on the reins, a signal the stallion responded to. Hooves pounded the Texas terrain, eating up the sun-baked rocky ground and the distance between them and the car. Veering left, the stallion cut through a cluster of live oaks and burst onto the road fifty yards in front of the vehicle. Caesar reared, pawing the air, and it was all Travis could do to remain in the saddle. The driver hit the brakes, sending the shiny silver Mercedes fishtailing and into a three-sixty spin before skidding to a complete stop twenty feet from the horse and man. "Good boy," Travis assured the stallion, who'd stood his ground. If there was one thing in his life he could depend on, it was Caesar. The horse never let him down—unlike the woman fuming behind the car's steering wheel. The driver-side door flew open. One calf, encased in a sleek black high-heeled boot, appeared beneath the door. Then the other. Then a blond head popped into view. Sunglasses concealed her eyes but not her pursed pink mouth. He didn't need to see the bright blue orbs behind the shades to know Sandi Drake was pissed. "Nice stop, brat," he complimented her, using her teenage nickname. There wasn't an ounce of country girl left in the thirty-year-old woman. Her expertly applied makeup camouflaged her freckles, and her long blond hair had been shorn into a sleek bob—jelled and sprayed to Cover Girl perfection. Shoulders stiff, back ramrod straight, she marched forward, her stride shortened by a tight, above-the-knee black skirt. The strong wind plastered her cream-colored silk blouse to her breasts—breasts he remembered all too well…their size, shape and softness. The corporate getup was a far cry from typical ranch attire— jeans and T-shirts. Boot heels plunged deep into the gravel, spitting bits of stone into the air. She wobbled once, her ankle rolling when the ball of her foot landed on a large rock, but she managed to keep upright by flinging her arms out to the side. He'd always admired her spunk, and for some stupid reason beyond his comprehension, he was glad corporate life hadn't subdued her fiery spirit. She halted in front of his horse, raising her pink-tipped fingers for a sniff. "How's my Caesar?" she cooed, then rubbed the white blaze across the animal's nose. Her Caesar? It was his damn horse! The way the stallion snorted and snuffled, you'd believe Sandi had been the one to spend hours and hours training the animal. Then she lifted her head and slid her glasses down her nose, where they balanced precariously on the tip. Blue—the color of the clear March sky above— glared. "You haven't changed much," she accused, a hint of humor in her voice.

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"What's that supposed to mean?" "Still like a good race." Her words propelled him back fourteen years to the day they'd raced the ranch trucks along this very road. He hadn't expected her to be so fearless. In her determination to win, she'd nearly lost control and had driven into the ditch. His heart had stalled and he'd lifted his foot from the accelerator, allowing her to edge him out across the finish line. That day he'd realized he was falling hard for the boss's daughter. He forced his face to remain impassive—refusing to hand this woman a reason to assume he'd pined away for her all these years. Because he hadn't pined. Hadn't given Sandi Drake more than a two-second thought for the past twelve years—never mind that those thoughts occurred at regular intervals seven days a week. Month after month. Angry that she'd riled him, he snapped, "Took your time coming home." Her gaze shifted north to the gently sloping terrain. "I was out of the country—you know that." Yeah, he did. He'd been the one to track her halfway around the globe, only to have to leave a message with the desk clerk at the Ritz London informing Sandi that her father had died of a heart attack. Three days later, when she'd finally returned Travis's call, Ben Drake was already six feet under. "If you had told me you were heading this way, I'd have set up an appointment with your dad's lawyer. I'll phone him in the morning so you can sign the papers." The sooner she left the better. Sandi had a way of making a man think things and do things he had no business thinking and doing—like right now, sitting here wondering if her skin felt as soft as he remembered. She swung her gaze back to his face and propped her fists on her hips. "What papers?" Her perplexed expression made him pause. Ben Drake had left half the ranch to Travis and half to Sandi—if she wanted it. Travis figured she was here to sell out. "The papers allowing me to buy your half of the property." "You're assuming I want nothing to do with the ranch." The quiet statement sent a cold chill trotting down his spine. She couldn't mean… For as long as he'd known Sandi, she'd preferred to spend her time with her nose buried in books or her face glued to a computer screen, not outside in the fresh air, herding cows. Emotions still riding high from the shock of coming face-toface with her after more than a decade, he sucked in a deep breath and willed his twitchy nerves to settle. "Not an unreasonable conclusion, seeing how you've avoided the ranch—" and me "—all these years." Her eyes blazed a path across his face, down his neck and over his chest before making eye contact. "Maybe I've had a change of heart." For a moment, he believed she was referring to him and not the ranch. Crazy fool. He'd rather take his chances with stampeding cattle than allow this woman the opportunity to break his heart a second time. She pushed the sunglasses up her nose, concealing her eyes. "I promised my father that if anything ever happened to him, I'd permit the homestead more than a passing thought before I walked away from it for good." He wondered if she'd given him more than a passing thought after all these years. "As soon as you figure out what you want, let me know. Just stay out of my way until you do." He tapped a finger against the brim of his hat, and then tugged the reins. Caesar took off, flying across the rolling hills that were dotted with cypress trees and scrub brush. Not until the horse crested a small butte a quarter mile away did Travis breathe a sigh of relief. He'd barely survived the encounter with Sandi. There had been other women through the years—a couple he'd thought might be The One. But the relationships had never panned out. Until a moment ago, he'd never

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considered why. Now he wondered if the reason he'd never been able to fully commit to a woman was that he'd never been able to fully forget Sandi. If he knew what was good for him, he'd stomp those thoughts into the dirt. Sandi Drake had returned to Salt Creek, Texas, because of a promise she'd made to her father. Not because of him—Travis Moretti—the man she'd walked away from after he'd asked for her hand in marriage.

*** My. My. My. Time had matured Travis Moretti into the quintessential cowboy—cocky attitude, broad shoulders, chiseled jaw and measured stare. If she wasn't careful around him, she'd lose herself in his bottomless brown eyes. Squinting into the March sun, Sandi watched Travis and his horse race across the landscape until the horizon swallowed them whole. Darn his soulful brown eyes—they dared her to venture near and discover the secrets hidden behind the dark gaze. Secrets that had once made her pause but now intrigued her. Years ago Travis had shared nothing of his past with her, not even when they'd taken their friendship to the next level and he'd taken her virginity. And when he'd asked her to marry him, she hadn't been sure who'd been more surprised—she or Travis. She'd hurt his feelings and had turned him down. At eighteen she'd had her entire life before her and had intended to explore the world—never mind that Travis had argued the world wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Even though he'd been only twenty at the time, he'd seemed much older, and she'd been intimidated by the seriousness with which he'd viewed life. Now a more mature and worldly Sandi had returned home—having achieved her goals, only to find herself at loose ends. For all intents and purposes, she'd walked away from any claim to the homestead or Travis after graduating from high school and enrolling at the University of Texas in Austin. But a girl could have a change of heart, couldn't she—especially about a man? She'd missed Travis over the years. They'd been friends before lovers, and she hated that she'd sacrificed their friendship in the pursuit of her dreams. Her confrontation with him moments ago proved he wasn't the same eighteen-year-old who'd shown up at the ranch looking for work with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a laundry sack of possessions. Her father had offered him a bed in the bunkhouse and a job mucking out stalls. From that day forward, he'd worked harder than any cowboy on her father's payroll. He'd lived and breathed cattle, fresh air and wide-open spaces. Sandi lived and breathed computers. Her job with Delcor, designing information systems for Fortune Five Hundred companies, sent her all over the world. For a girl who'd grown up on a secluded ranch and had attended a small country school, the opportunity to travel had been a dream come true. The past several years she believed she held life by the tail—and now the news of her father's death knocked her off the merry-go-round. Death had a way of forcing a person to take inventory of their life. At thirty years of age, her only valued possessions were her job, her automobile and the ostrich leather Louis Vuitton Vienna Minimalisa boots on her feet. She had no husband. No significant other. No family—her mother had walked out on her and her father when Sandi had been a toddler. And no close friendships—traveling didn't allow for extracurricular activities. While she acknowledged she enjoyed her job, her life the past few years had become less than fulfilling. She hadn't lied to Travis when she'd said that she'd promised her father she'd consider the ranch carefully. It was the least she could do since he'd allowed her to pursue her dream of a corporate career and hadn’t insisted she follow in his footsteps as a cattle rancher. She and her father had never been close—no heartto-heart talks or spontaneous hugs, save for the traditional birthday or holiday squeeze. Various housekeepers had assumed the role of mother and had taught her things young girls needed to know about their bodies, boys and sex. Had her father lectured her about the birds and the bees, she might have been able to resist Travis's charm her senior summer of high school. On the other hand, she doubted anyone or anything could have kept her from falling into the arms of the young cowboy with the soulful brown eyes.

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If his prickly welcome was any indication, Travis no longer harbored tender memories of their past relationship. The thought made her sad, because she'd never forgotten him. Whenever she'd hit a rough patch over the years, all she'd had to do was recall the fun times she'd shared with Travis and her spirits had lifted. With a heartfelt sigh, she headed back to the car. Even though she and Travis were different people who lived different lives, that didn't mean they couldn't get along. First things first. She'd visit the family burial plot and pay her respects to her father, then she’d drive to the main house. Tomorrow would be soon enough to bug Travis into showing her around the property. Today she planned to spend alone, reminiscing and wading through her father's things. There wasn't much she wanted, except for the photo albums and the belt buckle he'd won in a rodeo umpteen years ago—unless he'd already passed on the buckle to Travis. The two men had become close over the years—like father and son. Sandi didn't begrudge her father and Travis's relationship. She was glad Travis had stuck around all these years to look after her father, since she hadn't been able to. Travis. A warm sensation spread through her chest as his image flashed before her eyes. He'd never married. He might have someone special in his life. If he didn't…? Then her stay would prove interesting…. Very interesting, indeed.

Chapter Two The sun had barely peeked over the horizon Friday morning when Sandi left the house and marched toward the corral where Travis exercised a horse using a lunge line connected to the animal's halter. The filly trotted in circles, adjusting her gait to the clicking sound Travis made with his tongue. Sandi halted several feet away, wanting to soak up the beauty of the moment—a handsome cowboy framed against the backdrop of a Texas sunrise. Travis had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her during her stay. She refused to be ignored. Sidling up to the corral, she propped a boot on the bottom slat. "How about a tour of the ranch?" No sense wasting words. His dark gaze latched onto hers. The intensity of his stare shoved the air from her lungs in an audible whoosh, leaving her light-headed. The last time he'd looked at her that way he'd…kissed her. Returning his attention to the horse, he groused, "I'm busy." For a moment, she watched man and beast rotate in circles. A quiet sigh of appreciation escaped her mouth. Travis was all lean muscle, and years of working in the sun and wind had stamped crow’s-feet around his eyes and left his skin the color of the longhorns grazing in the pasture. The cowboy was as rugged as the land around him. "What's her name?" Sandi called. "She doesn't have one yet." "How old is she?" "A year next month."

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White splotches marred the black hide, and all four legs were white from the knee joint down. "If she were mine, I'd call her Princess." The horse carried her nose high, as if she descended from royalty. At Travis's command, the animal slowed to a stop. He led her over to Sandi. "Let her catch your scent first," he cautioned. Delighted, Sandi stood still as the horse sniffed. When the animal blew in her hair, she giggled. "Yep, she acts like a princess." "Then Princess is yours." The quiet pronouncement caught Sandi off guard, as did the solemn expression on Travis's face. "But—" "If you don't want her…" He made a move to walk off. "Stop." Why was he offering her the animal? He knew she lived in Austin—that she traveled with her job. When would she ever find time to return to the Broken T and ride Princess? Maybe he's hoping you'll make the time. Maybe she would. "Has she been ridden yet?" "No. You'll have to work with her until she'll accept a saddle." After a deliberate pause, he muttered, "Might as well start now." He tossed her the rope. "Put her up in the barn. And change her water and feed." "Then what?" "Then I'll show you around," Travis declared, his brown eyes promising more than a tour of the ranch. Much more.

*** He was screwed. Travis's plan to avoid Sandi had taken a nosedive when he'd temporarily lost his sanity and given her Princess—a piece of prime horse flesh worth ten thousand dollars. Princess. Talk about a stupid name for a cow horse. He stood inside the corral, watching her lead the filly to the barn. Halfway there, Sandi dropped the reins. Princess continued on as if she didn't need anyone to show her where to go. Females. The horse and her new mistress had more in common than he realized—Sandi hadn't needed him, either. She'd known the road home all these years. Her father's death—not Travis—had brought her back. If he was honest with himself—which he avoided at all costs—he'd admit he'd presented her the horse on a whim. The expression on Sandi's face as she'd gazed at Princess had stirred a desire inside him to please her. He'd remembered how good it had been between them once, and without thinking, he'd gifted her with the animal, hoping to tie her not to him but to the ranch. He should realize that after thirty-two years no one, save Ben Drake, had ever made a long-term commitment to him. Because no matter what he did, he'd never measured up in anyone's eyes. Ben believed in me. The rancher had given Travis a chance when others had refused. Sandi's father hadn't turned his back on the eighteen-year-old who'd understood zilch about ranching when he'd wandered in from the highway hungry, tired and looking for work. Travis owed Ben big-time and he was determined that the rancher would rest in eternal peace knowing his land and cattle were in good hands—Travis's hands—at least for the time being. Time would tell what plans Sandi had up her sleeve.

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Sandi. More than a rancher's daughter—a college-educated career woman who traveled the world. Smart, savvy, beautiful. He supposed he could dream, but no way in hell would a woman like her hang her hat on his bedpost—not these days, anyway. He had nothing to offer her—that he hadn't already offered years ago. If he had his way, she'd never learn that the twenty-year-old who'd made love to her had possessed the soul of a much older man. By the time he'd met Sandi, he'd seen and done things he wasn't proud of. Maybe that was why he'd fallen so hard for her. She'd made him feel his age—young and carefree. And she'd allowed him to believe that despite his past he remained worthy. What if she can make you feel that way again? No. The days of running wild together—racing trucks, swimming nude at the water hole, kissing in the hayloft—were gone. Long gone. Besides, he didn't want carefree and young anymore. He wanted steadfast and devoted. A woman who would stand by his side. Share his life. Love him despite his faults. Good luck with that one, buddy.

*** Sandi cast a sideways glance across the front seat of the truck as the vehicle bounced along the main ranch road that led to the south pasture and the horse barns. Riding with Travis brought back memories of days gone by. When Travis had shown up at the ranch, looking for work, Sandi had been surprised to learn he was eighteen. His reserved demeanor had made him seem much older. Her father had warned her away from Travis, but Sandi had been unable to ignore the loneliness she'd detected in his fathomless brown eyes. So she'd trailed around after him, teasing and cajoling until he caved in and began talking to her—a word or two. Sometimes a grunt. Then one day he'd smiled. The next he'd laughed, flashing a bright white smile and a dimple in his left cheek. He'd made her heart stumble. The truck swerved, sending her shoulder into the door. "Ouch." "Sorry," Travis muttered, pointing through the windshield. A calf had gotten caught in the fence line. "Oh, dear." "Stay here," he instructed, then shifted into Park and hopped out. Yeah, right. She followed him to the bawling calf, whose mother grazed a few yards away, apparently unconcerned about her baby. Sandi kept her distance, not wanting to excite the calf, which was bleeding in several places. Poor baby. Travis wiggled his fingers into a pair of leather work gloves and began clipping the barbs off the wire. "What can I do?" "Stay away from the fence in case a wire breaks free." "I am away from the fence," she protested. "Then cajole the cow." "Hey, sweet baby. Got yourself into quite a fix, huh?" She didn't expect the animal to respond, but was surprised when its head swung in her direction and its big brown eyes studied her. "Hold still. He'll save you." She shifted her gaze from calf to cowboy and found a different pair of brown eyes on her. Heat shot up her spine, but before she could make sense of her body's reaction, he instructed Sandi. "When I clip this wire, it's going to snap. Grab the calf's ears and tug toward you, away from the fence."

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"Gotcha." She grasped the animal's downy lobes. "I'm ready." A few seconds later…"Now!" Sandi pulled. The calf bawled again but moved forward. One step. Then two. "That's good," Travis said. "Everything's going to be okay, baby," she cooed as Travis worked the broken wire back into the post. When he shifted his stance, she noticed the rip in his shirtsleeve. "You're hurt." "Just a scratch." He inspected the calf's injuries. "There's a first-aid kit under the bench seat in the truck. Mind getting it for me?" "Sure." She retrieved the medical supplies, then waited patiently for him to clean the animal's wounds. Finished, he swatted the fat rump and the calf trotted over to its mama. "Your turn." Sandi grasped his arm. "Double ouch." The scratch wasn't deep enough to require stitches, but it needed to be cleaned to prevent infection. "Hold steady." She dribbled the antiseptic over the oozing mess, then blotted the blood with a clean tissue. After applying antibiotic cream, she rolled a gauze strip around his arm. "You'll live," she pronounced, then ceased drawing air into her lungs when their eyes met. That look…. The same look he'd always gotten right before he… Don't do it. Travis leaned forward until Sandi's scent wafted under his nose. Her smell, a heap more pleasant than the calf he'd freed from the fence. Perfume—something elegant. Sultry. Full of promise. The country girl's tastes had matured from fresh outdoors to urban sophistication. He wondered if she'd dabbed the fragrance behind her ears…at the base of her throat… She wore no makeup to hide the dusting of freckles across her nose. He remembered counting, then kissing, every single one that afternoon at the swimming hole. Today her hair had been left un-styled, and his fingers itched to test its softness and texture. He expected her to run the other way. He wanted her to run. Needed her to run. She stood her ground. Blue eyes boldly daring him to back down first. He would…in a minute. First he wanted a sample—just a touch. A brief kiss to prove once and for all that he was over her. That any feelings her presence brought back were purely nostalgic. And if she backed down first or pushed him away, then he'd know she was over him. He inched closer, and to his amazement, she met him halfway. Their lips brushed. Barely a touch—then she opened her mouth and slid her tongue along his lower lip. Startled, he broke away. Blue eyes widened. "That's it?" He shrugged, not trusting his voice. "Well, that sucked." She marched back to the truck. Travis stared at her retreating back, stunned that Sandi wasn't opposed to his kiss. Dared he hope she wasn't opposed to him, either?

Chapter Three Sunday afternoon, Sandi curled up in a leather chair in her father's study and perused photo albums—two to be exact. Her father hadn't bothered with a camera over the years, but various housekeepers had managed

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to snap photos of Sandi on birthdays and holidays. There was even a wedding picture of her mother and father outside a chapel in Las Vegas. "She looks like you." Startled, Sandi jumped, sending the album sliding off her lap and onto the floor. She glanced up and saw Travis standing behind her chair looking over her shoulder. Two days had passed since he'd sort of kissed her. An almost kiss that had stirred up memories of the past—and for Sandi a yearning to return to those carefree days as a teenager when all she cared to do was spend time with Travis. They never did make it to the horse barns Friday morning after helping the injured calf. Travis had sputtered an excuse about needing to speak to a ranch hand and had dropped her off at the house. He'd been avoiding her, and she suspected the reason was that he regretted their kiss—if you considered bumping lips a kiss. "Who looks like me?" She retrieved the album from the floor, ignoring her body's sudden increase in temperature at his proximity. "The woman in the wedding dress." Hat in hand, he moved around her chair and sat in the matching one near the desk. Intrigued that Travis had gone from avoiding her to paying her a social call, she asked, "Care for some iced tea?" He shook his head, eyes glued to the photo album as if he was genuinely interested in learning more about her mother. "Her name was Margaret," Sandi said. "Dad called her Maggie." "What happened to her? Ben never brought your mother up in conversation." Come to think of it, Sandi realized Travis had never asked her about Maggie, either. Back then she'd believed he hadn't wanted to pry, but now she wondered if he'd been afraid of the intimacy that resulted in learning everything about another person. The one time she'd posed a question about his family he'd clammed up and stalked off. That was twelve years ago. Maybe it was time she and Travis finally got to know each other. "Maggie was passing through Salt Creek when she met my father. She'd taken a job at the Gas Depot to earn enough money to get her to the next town. My father fell head-over-heels in love and convinced her to stick around awhile. She got pregnant with me, so they tied the knot in Vegas. I had just turned two when my father found me napping alone in the house. Maggie had left. The note said she couldn't stand staying in one place very long." "Your mother abandoned you, too." That it was a statement, not a question, gave Sandi pause. Before she responded, he asked, "Did Maggie keep in touch with you over the years?" "I don't even remember her." "It doesn’t bother you that she took off and never came back?" His relaxed posture didn't fool Sandi. More than curiosity drove the question from him and she had a hunch her answer mattered—a lot. "It's difficult to have feelings for someone you don't recall." She honestly didn't harbor any resentment toward her mother. She'd decided long ago that life was too short to waste her emotions on a woman she couldn't recollect. "I was fortunate that I grew up around female housekeepers and that my grandmother was a part of my life until she died after my tenth birthday." Sandi waved a hand in the air. "I lived in a nice home and had a nice father. More than a lot of kids."

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"You're right." He stared at the window across the room as though in a trance. "Some kids have it worse." Then he blinked and the glazed look in his eyes vanished. "Is your mother's abandonment the reason you don't want anything to do with the ranch?” "I never said I didn't like the ranch." Although Sandi suspected she'd inherited her mother's urge to travel and explore new places. After a lengthy stare-down, he cleared his throat. "Was I the reason you never came home?" Her mind flashed back to the day Travis had proposed to her. They'd ridden to the swimming hole. He'd dropped to one knee and had asked her to marry him, then had slid a silver band with a tiny diamond chip over her ring finger. Part of her had yearned to accept his proposal. There had been no doubt in her mind that she loved him. But her desire to travel and find her place in the world had been stronger than her need to remain by his side. Her attempts to make Travis understand had only angered and hurt him. "At first I stayed away because I believed I'd hurt your feelings when I declined your proposal." She'd hoped a little distance would do them both good. "As time passed, I realized I didn't really know you." At his frown, she rushed on. "I knew your name. That your favorite cake was chocolate. Your favorite chore was tending to the horses. And that you hated watermelon. But I knew nothing about where you came from or who your family was. Your past was a mystery." She smiled to cover the hurt caused by the knowledge that Travis hadn’t cared to share those intimate details with her. Instead of filling in the blanks now, he remained persistently silent, and Sandi's eyes stung with her hurt. "After college I landed a job with Delcor and concentrated on climbing the proverbial corporate ladder," she went on to explain. "Each promotion meant more hours. More travel." Another excuse to avoid the Broken T. By then, her feelings for Travis had grown nostalgic. She'd believed visiting the ranch would be awkward for both of them, so she'd settled into a routine of phoning her father on the first Sunday of every month. Over the years he'd driven to Austin and spent Christmas Day at her condo. "The years flew by and I assumed we'd both moved on with our lives." "Was it that easy for you—to move on?" His voice was steady, but his cheeks turned dusky. "Never mind. I didn't ask that." He stood. Sandi popped out of the chair and blocked the exit. He searched for an alternative escape route. "No, Travis, it wasn't easy." When he made no move to pass by her, she explained, "I wanted to find myself." Right then, gazing into his brown eyes, she saw what she hadn't seen all those years ago. "You couldn't understand that, could you?" At only eighteen, Sandi suspected the day Travis had shown up at the ranch that he'd already gone through the process of finding himself. "The moment your father offered me a bed and a job punching cows, I believed I'd finally found the place I belonged," he admitted. A lump formed in her throat at his admission. "After all this time, I still don't know who you are, Travis, or where you arrived from the day you wandered in off the road." "From places you couldn't even imagine," he answered. "I promised you a tour of the barns." He bolted for the door. "Meet me at the truck in ten minutes." And then he was gone, leaving Sandi with a slew of questions, no answers and a yearning she hadn't felt in years.

*** "So you're the one who broke his heart." Sandi whirled at the sound of the feminine voice. A woman, dressed like a man, marched through the barn. When she stopped a few feet away, Sandi sucked in a quiet breath. Tall, slim, with a jet-black braid ending

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in the middle of her back and high cheekbones that hinted at a Native-American heritage, the woman was stunning. "Name's Hannah. I'm in charge of the barns." Sandi finally found her tongue. "I'm—" "Ben's daughter." Hannah removed her cowboy hat, and the sun streaking through the barn door landed on her hair, creating a bluish-black glow around her head. "I'm sorry about your father. I was hired on six months go and I'm afraid I didn't have the chance to get to know him very well." Sandi motioned to the stalls along both sides of the barn. "I wasn't aware that my father had started up a horse operation." "The horses belong to Travis." Hannah pushed her hat back. "He asked me to show you around while he takes a phone call in the office." She walked off and Sandi had to hustle to catch up. Outside the barn, Hannah veered toward the nearest paddock, where she pointed to the miniature cowboy riding a horse inside the ring. "That's Dale. He's mine." The boy appeared to be twelve or thirteen and had deep auburn hair. "It's just the two of us. Dale's daddy isn't in the picture anymore." Did that mean Hannah was on the hunt for a new daddy for Dale? Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "Are you and Travis a…couple?" Hannah's mouth tilted in a wry smile. "Unfortunately, no. He's not interested in me." She studied Sandi. "I suspect you're the reason. I saw the way he watched you earlier." "Bubba's looking good, Dale." Travis hollered as he closed in on the paddock. Under the bright midday sun Travis's face appeared leaner, more angular. "Hey, Mr. Moretti!" Dale waved an arm. When Travis stopped at Sandi's side, she said, "Dad never told me you raised cutting horses." Not that she'd pestered her father for details about Travis over the years. No sense clinging to the past when they'd both matured and had moved on—or so she'd thought. "I'd best get back to work," Hannah announced, then nodded to Sandi. "Don't be a stranger." Once Hannah disappeared inside the barn, Sandi asked, "Who named the horse Bubba?" Travis flashed a white grin that sent Sandi's heart into a backward flip. "The horse wouldn't respond to any of the names we tried. Then one afternoon Dale wandered up to the training ring and called, 'Hey, Bubba!' The horse trotted right over to the kid. Found out the boy had been sneaking into the barn at night to spend time with the gelding.” "Will Dale be upset when you sell Bubba?" "I won't sell the horse. If Hannah sticks around long enough, the kid will need a good mount for roundup." The affection in Travis's voice convinced Sandi he'd make a great father someday. Never mind that Hannah insisted Travis wasn't interested in her, Sandi felt a jealous zap at the idea that with time Travis might change his mind about the woman and her son.

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"Before my father died, did you ever consider leaving the Broken T and starting up your own ranch?" "Nope." His gaze roamed her from head to toe before settling on her face. "Everything I've ever wanted is right here."

Chapter Four The Broken T Ranch was home to Travis and always would be. He couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Nor did he want to. He hefted another bale from the corner of the hayloft and dropped it over the edge, where it landed with a smack against the concrete floor below. What was he going to do if Sandi decided to hang up her corporate career and run the ranch with him? You wish. Sandi would never exchange her high-end salary and jet-setting ways for a herd of cows. Twelve years ago, she'd been eighteen and eager to explore the world. Fourteen years ago, he'd been eighteen and had already explored the world more than he'd cared to. He'd landed at the ranch, looking for a place to hole up. Somewhere to hide from all the ugliness he'd seen. He'd never expected to stay. To want to stay. But he had and he did and the rest was history. Maybe she's experienced enough of the world and is ready to come home. The Sandi who'd arrived last week was different from the one who'd left after high school. She'd lost the restlessness she'd possessed when he'd first met her. She was more settled, more sure of what she wanted out of life—years ago she'd been young and eager to try new things. Sandi had definitely changed. The problem was he hadn't. He was still the same old Travis. A man she knew little about. "Shut up," he muttered to the voice in his head, attempting to block out the thoughts. An hour ago he'd left Sandi at the corral with Princess and he had escaped to the hayloft with the excuse that he needed to move bales. In reality he'd needed breathing room—enough space to take a deep breath without traces of Sandi's perfume and feminine scent filtering up his nostrils, short-circuiting his brain and spawning nonstop memories of their past together. With renewed energy—mostly derived from an endless supply of frustration that had been intensifying the past few days, he muscled his way through another twenty-five hay bales, when the creak of the ladder caught his attention. "You look thirsty." Carrying a water bottle, Sandi stepped up into the loft. Her eyes went straight to the corner—the same corner where they'd exchanged their first kiss. She remembers… Instead of acknowledging the momentous moment from their past, she stated, "I'd forgotten how hot it gets up here." Hot… No kidding. He was ready to explode. She handed him the drink, then moved in front of the open loft doors, where a gentle breeze ruffled her hair. Travis waited for her to break the awkward silence. When she didn't, he asked, "How'd the saddle work on Princess?" Horses were a safe topic. Sandi's smile zapped him in the chest. "Hartley gave me a few pointers." About the only thing Hartley could do around the ranch these days was offer his two cents. The prehistoric hand suffered from crippling arthritis. He'd worked on the Broken T almost forty years, and at eighty the

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geezer barely managed to fill the feed buckets and change the water in the horse troughs each day. But like Travis, Hartley was a loner and had nowhere to go. As far as Travis was concerned, the old man was welcome to live out the rest of his days in the room at the back of the barn. Sandi edged away from the window, step by step closing the gap between them. He wanted to demand she backpedal far enough that he wouldn't be tempted to kiss her, but the words clogged in this throat. She stopped a few feet away. "I was wondering if you wanted anything in town. I have an errand to run." Town? It consisted of a U.S. government mailbox sitting outside the Salt Creek Gas Depot; Maria's Mexican Cantina, run out of the back of Maria’s home; the Antique Shed, stuffed with junk from the Spencer's barn and Billy's Auto Repair, which doubled as a Cowboy Church on Sunday mornings. He glanced at his watch—two o'clock. "Have you eaten lunch?" She shook her head. "Why?" Because he intended to tag along and see for himself the errand Sandi had to do. He fussed with another bale. "I'll drive you in and we can stop at Maria's for lunch." "The place is still open for business? I love her chicken enchiladas." He recalled taking Sandi there the night before she'd left for college. A sudden awkwardness had sprung up between them when he'd asked how soon before she'd return home for a visit. She'd assured him “not long.” Had he known she'd meant twelve years, he'd have tried harder to convince her not to go. "Meet me at the truck in twenty minutes." Twenty minutes—enough time to wash up and change his shirt, but not nearly enough time to prepare for the memories of that long ago evening.

*** An hour later, Travis and Sandi entered Maria's Cantina through a side door. The savory scents of Mexican cooking transported Sandi back to a time in her life when all she'd dreamed about was leaving this onehorse town. Back then she'd been sure there was more to life than what she'd seen thus far. Double sure that her happily-ever-after lay far away from the Broken T and Salt Creek, Texas. "Oh, my gracious, look at you, Señorita Drake!" Maria rushed from the kitchen, arms open wide. Sandi exchanged hugs with the woman, noting that Maria's hair was completely gray now and she had put on several pounds. But her face hadn't changed—kind brown eyes and a warm smile. "I've missed you, Maria." The truth of Sandi's statement hit her like a sucker punch. Her mind raced to recall the name of one acquaintance or friend in Austin she'd feel this way about if she relocated from the city for good. None came to mind. She'd fled home to find herself—and she had—but she'd done it alone. The long-time widow fluffed Sandi's short locks. "I'm sorry about your papa. He was a good man, God rest his soul." Maria made the sign of the cross. "I'll miss him," Sandi admitted. And she would. Since his death there were a million questions she wished she'd asked her father over the years. Things she hadn't cared to know until now—what he loved most about being a rancher. Why he never took off after her mother. Why he never remarried. Questions that would go unanswered forever. Maria patted Travis's face. "Sit by the window. A handsome man like you is good for business." Grinning at the red staining Travis cheeks, Sandi followed Maria to the table. "Don’t bother with a menu," she insisted. “I'll have your famous chicken enchiladas."

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"Make that two orders," Travis agreed. "I get the sangria." Maria scurried into the kitchen. At this hour of the day Sandi and Travis were the only patrons dining. "What errand did you need to run?" he asked, fiddling with the silverware resting on his napkin. "It's not really an errand," she confessed. "More of a fact-finding mission." At his frown of perplexity, she hedged, "It's difficult to explain." "Try." Brown eyes narrowed and she resisted the urge to squirm. Right then Maria appeared with their drinks and chips and salsa. Sandi waited until the older woman retreated to the kitchen, then said, "I wanted to walk around town to determine if it felt the same as it did all those years ago." "How did Salt Creek feel back then?" "Suffocating. Like a wet blanket thrown over me." He shook his head, clearly confused. "You were surrounded by hundreds of miles of ranch land and open space." "Exactly." She slapped her palm on the tabletop. "It's all I'd ever known. I wanted to travel the world and meet people other than ranchers." "You've done all that. Now what?" Travis had always possessed an uncanny ability to see into the very core of her being. "And now," she insisted, "I'm beginning to feel I've explored enough." She sipped her drink. "In some ways my job has become smothering." "Tell me about your work. What's a typical day like for you?" Sandi failed to recall the last time she'd talked about her job with anyone but her father. That Travis appeared genuinely interested flattered her. "Up at 5:00 a.m. Check e-mails. Shower. Check e-mails again before I call on clients. The remainder of the work day is spent setting up information systems for businesses. Then it's back to the hotel or the airport. Email again. Dinner. E-mail. Bed." Her day was a lot more involved than that, but most people weren't interested in detailed information on computer engineering, systems analysis or database administration. "Doesn't leave much room for relaxing or enjoying yourself." "I did the tourist routine when I began working for Delcor. But I've traveled to the same countries so many times that the urge to sightsee isn't there anymore." She dipped the end of a chip into Maria's salsa. "What about you? Do you like to travel?" "I'd done all the traveling I cared to by the time I was hired on at the ranch." Sandi was about to ask where he'd been, but he immediately directed the conversation back to her. "What do you do for fun when you're in Austin?"

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She laughed, the sound lacking humor. "I do the same thing in Austin that I do on the road—work. I attend management meetings. Schedule client visits. If I'm lucky, I'll catch up on sleep." She blushed. “Seems boring, doesn't it?" "Appears as if you accomplished what you set out to do. I admire you for that. Not many people can testify to setting a goal and achieving it." When he clammed up, she pestered. "But…?" "But I'm wondering if maybe your goals have something to do with the ranch." Darn, he was good. "The ranch has been on my mind more and more the past couple of years. Dad's death opened my eyes to the truth." "And what truth is that?" "That I want more from life than just a good job." "Ben said you'd gotten engaged once." Travis didn't make eye contact with her, but she sensed he was curious about her past relationship. "Steven operated the London office for Delcor. I assumed the relationship would work. We both understood the demands of our jobs." "What happened?" "He strayed." Right under her nose. He'd been carrying on an affair for almost a year when Sandi had discovered the French-cut lace panties in the laundry basket in his apartment. "Did you love him?" She hadn't expected Travis to voice that question. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he blurted, "I'm sorry. It's none of my business." "I thought I did," she answered honestly. "But I think what I was really in love with was the idea that I'd found a man who fit into my life." She finished off her sangria. "I admit, his affair took me by surprise and made me question whether it was possible to really know someone." Travis dropped his gaze to the tabletop and Sandi wondered if he'd believed her comment had been directed at him. In a way it had—Travis's past remained a mystery. "Is there anything about your life you're not tired of?" he asked. "My paychecks." She wrinkled her nose. "I pull down a salary most men would envy." And all she'd had time to do with her money was put it in an investment portfolio. "And you're ready to trade in that kind of salary?" The kitchen door swung open. Before Maria delivered their meals, Sandi whispered, "It all depends on what I get in trade for it." And they both understood she wasn't referring to her share of the ranch.

Chapter Five He couldn't avoid her forever.

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Travis stood on the foreman's porch, eyeing the setting sun as it cast a shadow over the main ranch house. Since yesterday's lunch in town with Sandi, he'd made himself scarce. She'd blown him away when she'd all but admitted she'd trade in her career and her high-end salary for a second chance with him. He wasn't worthy of her love, and feared that if she knew the truth about him, she'd change her mind. But if they were going to have a real second chance, then there could be no secrets between them. He'd contemplated the risks—mainly to his heart—if Sandi moved back home. Not only had she matured over the years, but he had, too. This time he wasn't a rough-around-the edges youth who believed he had all the answers to life—mostly the bad parts. Dared he believe Sandi was ready to settle for a man like him—a man with a past? He wasn't college-educated. In fact, he'd barely gotten a GED. But he'd busted his backside to forge himself a place on the ranch. He might not have been born a cowboy, but under Ben Drake's watchful eye and tutelage he'd grown into one. A damn fine one, if he said so himself. Travis was proud of the man he'd become. The question remained whether Sandi would feel the same way once he spilled his guts. The only thing he was certain of right now was that he loved her. He hoped to hell that would be enough for her. With determined strides he marched down the road to the main house. As he drew close, he spotted Sandi in the rocking chair on the porch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. When he hesitated at the bottom of the steps, she motioned to the empty rocker next to her. "Take a load off." Like a man headed to the gallows, he climbed the steps, the wood planks creaking ominously beneath his weight. He bypassed the chair, and instead leaned against the porch rail. Hair mussed and no makeup on, she appeared vulnerable huddled beneath the blanket. He had to remind himself that she was a strong, capable woman. "There's something you should know about me…something that might make a difference." "A difference?" He kept his gaze on her face, surprised at the amount of effort it required. "On whether you stay or go." He gripped the handrail until his fingers ached, and struggled to organize his thoughts—to conceal how much he yearned for her understanding. "It's okay, Travis. You can tell me anything." Her quiet voice soothed his unsettled nerves and gave him the courage to forge ahead. "I grew up on the south side of Fort Worth, in seedy neighborhoods overtaken by gangs. My mother floated from job to job. We spent just as much time on public assistance as we did off." "Where was your father?" "He was never in the picture." Travis swallowed hard. No matter how many years went by, discussing the past never got easier. "School was difficult for me. I had trouble in almost every subject and spent more time in detention than in the classroom." Being angry at the world made it easier to survive the kind of life he'd lived—emotionally, that is. "The teachers passed me from one grade to the next. Nobody wanted to deal with a troublemaker." Sandi left her chair and stood before him. She cupped his cheek, her blue eyes wide. "Something bad happened, didn't it?" He nodded, soaking up her warm concern, wishing her touch were enough to erase the past. "When I was fourteen, I robbed an all-night liquor store." Her stunned expression told him that his confession had caught her off-guard.

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"I don't know why I tried to rob the place—a stupid teenager with too much time on his hands." And too little supervision. His mom never kept track of him. He could have been gone for days on end and she wouldn't have noticed. "What happened?" Sandi dropped her hand from his cheek. He threaded his fingers through hers and dragged in a deep breath. "I didn’t even make it out the door. An off-duty cop walked in, sized up the situation and took me down before I even knew what hit me. Then the cop and the manager laughed when they discovered I'd used my finger as a gun." "You had a rough life, Travis." She rested her cheek against his chest. He nuzzled his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo and soaking up her strength. "The judge intended to give me probation because it was my first offense and I hadn't dropped out of school yet. But my mom put on a big crying show and begged the judge to send me away to teach me a lesson. She spouted a bunch of crap about tough love and claimed she couldn’t handle me anymore." Travis ignored Sandi's gasp. "I found out later that my mom had hooked up with a guy who'd wanted me out of the picture." A tear escaped Sandi's eye and Travis had to force himself to finish the story. "I ended up in the Texas Youth Facility at Gainesville. I was released when I turned eighteen." "They kept you in there for four years? That's insane!" Her outrage calmed his tortured soul. He'd been a model prisoner the first year, until he'd been told that they couldn't locate his mother to release him to. Until he'd understood his mother had literally abandoned him. Then… "I acted up. Didn't follow the rules." "Oh, Travis." She sniffled against his shirt. "Where did you go when you got out?" That Sandi hadn't run inside and locked the door amazed Travis. "I returned to the only place I knew—the old neighborhood." When he paused, she touched his face again. "Then what happened?" Damn. She wanted to gut him—find out every last detail. "It's difficult to explain, but the gangs, the poverty, all the run-down apartments and homes felt overpowering. I couldn’t breathe. I just knew I had to leave. So I hitchhiked south, working odd jobs for food and shelter along the way." "How did you end up at our ranch?" "A trucker dropped me off. I remember thinking I had a lot in common with the Broken T." He shifted his gaze to the far end of the porch. "Broken Travis," he uttered, embarrassed when his voice cracked. "You weren't broken. Just bruised," she protested, her arms tightening around him. "After two years of wandering, I was tired, hungry and desperate enough to do anything for a place to rest for more than a night or two." "My father never told me any of this," Sandi confessed. "He never asked where I'd come from or about my past, and I didn’t say anything for fear he'd make me leave." Ben had been the first person to lend a down-on-his-luck kid a chance and Travis had been determined not to disappoint the rancher.

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He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I never planned on staying more than a few weeks. But I learned to like the ranch, the wide-open space, the horses and cattle." He paused, hoping she'd believe he wasn't exaggerating. "And I fell in love with you." He searched her eyes for a signal that she returned his feelings, but with her face in the shadows her expression was impossible to discern. After several seconds passed and she hadn't responded to his declaration, he slipped from her hold and crossed the porch to the stairs, where he paused, his back now to her. "I wanted you to know the kind of man you'd be dealing with if you decided to stay." Damn it, Sandi, say something. "I figure a woman like you can do a hell of a lot better than me." He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "But if you should decide to take on this cowboy, I guarantee you won't find another man on earth who'll love you the way I will." The way I already do.

*** "Wait!" Sandi called to Travis's retreating back. "You can't just walk away after dropping a bomb like that." He froze at the bottom of the porch steps. In turmoil, Sandi struggled to comprehend everything he'd confessed. Flashes from their past whizzed in and out of her brain, leaving her light-headed and off-balance. But things were becoming clearer by the minute…. Travis's interest in how she'd handled her mother's abandonment. How his attempt to rob a store had been a cry for attention by a young boy who'd desperately needed his mother to care about him. "I'm more hurt than angry or shocked that you never told me these things until now," she confessed. "I didn't want you to be afraid of me." His quiet confession tweaked her heart. "I could never be afraid of you, Travis." She descended the steps, tears welling in her eyes. "When you love someone, you share everything with them." "I'm worried you'll believe the reason I said I loved you is that I'm afraid of losing the ranch." Until Travis had posed the question, Sandi hadn't realized that in the back of her mind that uncertainty floated around. He didn't permit her an opportunity to dwell on it. "The Broken T is the only place that's ever felt like home to me. The only place I've ever felt that I belonged." He met her at the bottom of the steps. "But I understand now that the reason I stayed on all these years is that I kept hoping you'd come back. To me." Oh, Travis. "Damn it, Sandi," he cursed, his voice hoarse. "I'd give up my horses and my share of the ranch in a heartbeat just to have you." "Since we're being honest with each other, I have a confession of my own to make." With a soft smile, she said, "I love you, Travis. And I want us to be together. After all these years we deserve our own happilyever-after. But I'm afraid, too." He clasped her hand. "Of what?" "That I won't be content living on the ranch." She raised her hand when he opened his mouth to protest. "You love this land. It's where you belong. But I'm worried that after a while I'll grow restless again. I enjoy spending time with Princess and I don't mind mucking out a stall every now and then, but I need the intellectual stimulation my job offers."

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Travis's expression softened as he threaded his fingers through her hair. "I've always admired your intelligence, Sandi." The callused pad of his thumb stroked the sensitive skin across her cheekbone. "I know what it's like to feel penned in and I’d never wish that for you." "So you'd be okay if I began a consulting business of my own?" she asked. "Honey, the only thing I would not be okay with is you not loving me anymore." He leaned in and she met him halfway. The kiss was like none they'd ever shared. It held forgiveness, the healing of old wounds. Love. A new beginning. When they broke apart, she whispered tearfully, "How can I take away the pain of your past?" "Leave the past where it belongs. All that matters is the future." His brown eyes smiled. "I think Ben would be happy for us." Sandi smiled. “I know Dad would happy that I found true love in a cowboy's arms."

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