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Nick's Long-Awaited Honeymoon
Sandra Steffen
Bachelor GulchThe (almost) Bachelor: Lawman Nick Colter. He wasn't in Jasper Gulch to find a wife–he already had one…and intended to keep her!The Bride: Pretty mother of one, Brittany Matthews. Equally determined to maintain her newfound independence…and her heart.Maybe they had married too young and never had a proper honeymoon. But Nick was not leaving his soon-to-be ex-wife in nowhere, South Dakota–surrounded by a bunch of overeager, unattached cowboys. So Nick formed a plan to woo back his wife, hoping Brittany would grant him a second chance…and a long-awaited honeymoon.Sandra SteffenBRINGS US THE BEST BACHELORS YET!


“How long are you going to make me wait?” Nick whispered. (#u6fd4fd43-0b18-5deb-affb-f670c1341985)Letter to Reader (#uae241743-7be1-5b24-bcd3-e60b1043a720)Title Page (#u76ce84ae-014d-5953-8b50-f5fe82f73121)Dedication (#u5773365c-ced5-57df-b61b-354d34e1fd51)SANDRA STEFFEN (#ua5c5baac-21d4-5874-8244-a975338cb8ad)Chapter One (#ue02918fb-30fc-5329-996c-0ba84b93d723)Chapter Two (#u22a47ab5-5a9f-561a-9eb2-6ed392dc0739)Chapter Three (#u59a9e77d-31bf-5e7a-973f-7a03f5bbb6f8)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“How long are you going to make me wait?” Nick whispered.
He heard her breath catch in her throat, saw her eyelashes flutter down. “As long as it takes.”
Nick had no idea what she meant. As far as he was concerned, making love to Brittany had always felt right. He knew she wanted him. She’d always wanted him. It was there in her eyes.
“As long as what takes?” he asked.
Brittany felt a smile coming on. And then, everything inside her went perfectly still. Her thoughts, her breathing, even her heart seemed to stop for one brief moment. She wasn’t certain that staying out of Nick’s bed was luring him any closer to love, but she was falling a little farther, a little harder, every day.
Dear Reader,
This month, Romance is chock-full of excitement. First, VIRGIN BRIDES continues with The Bride’s Second Thought, an emotionally compelling story by bestselling author Elizabeth August. When a virginal bride-to-be finds her fiancé with another woman, she flees to the mountains for refuge...only to be stranded with a gorgeous stranger who gives her second thoughts about a lot of things....
Next, Natalie Patrick offers up a delightful BUNDLES OF JOY with Boot Scootin’ Secret Baby. Bull rider Jacob “Cub” Goodacre returns to South Dakota for his rodeo hurrah, only to learn he’s still a married man...and father to a two-year-old heart tugger. BACHELOR GULCH, Sandra Steffen’s wonderful Western series, resumes with the story of an estranged couple who had wed for the sake of their child...but wonder if they can rekindle their love in Nick’s Long-Awaited Honeymoon.
Rising star Kristin Morgan delivers a tender, sexy tale about a woman whose biological clock is booming and the best friend who consents to being her Shotgun Groom. If you want a humorous—red-hot!—read. try Vivian Leiber’s The 6’2”, 200 lb. Challenge. The battle of the sexes doesn’t get any better! Finally, Lisa Kaye Laurel’s fairy-tale series, ROYAL WEDDINGS, draws to a close with The Irresistible Prince, where the woman hired to find the royal a wife realizes she is the perfect candidate!
In May, VIRGIN BRIDES resumes with Annette Broadrick, and future months feature titles by Suzanne Carey and Judy Christenberry, among others. So keep coming back to Romance, where you’re sure to find the classic tales you love, told in fresh, exciting ways.
Enjoy!


Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Nick’s Long-Awaited Honeymoon
Sandra Steffen


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my five “grown” nieces and nephew—
Karen, Kathie, Laurie, Jerry and Pattie. I married into this
family, and you were born into it. Was it fate or luck? It’s
hard to say. I only know that you’re all so easy to love,
and I’m proud to be your aunt.
SANDRA STEFFEN
Creating memorable characters is one of Sandra’s favorite aspects of writing. She’s always been a romantic and is thrilled to be able to spend her days doing what she loves—bringing her characters to life on her computer screen.
Sandra grew up in Michigan, the fourth of ten children, all of whom have taken the old adage “Go forth and multiply” quite literally. Add to this her husband, who is her real-life hero, their four school-age sons who keep their lives in constant motion, their gigantic cat, Percy, and her wonderful friends, in-laws and neighbors, and what do you get? Chaos, of course, but also a wonderful sense of belonging she wouldn’t trade for the world.


Chapter One
He wasn’t lost. Nick Colter had a sixth sense about direction. It came in handy in back alleys and bad situations. No, he wasn’t lost. Custer Street, on the other hand, was lost as hell. Street signs would have been nice. For some strange reason only half the streets in this town had them.
He inched his car to a corner and peered in every direction. Jasper Gulch, South Dakota, wasn’t much different from fifty other towns he’d passed on his way from Chicago. The houses were at least a hundred years old and looked as if they’d seen better days. Porch lights were on, but the dwellings themselves were dark. Nick shook his head. Might as well hang a sign out front for burglars: “House empty. Take your time. The good silver is in the pantry.”
“Careful, Colter,” he muttered under his breath. “One of these days somebody’s gonna accuse you of being cynical.”
His next turn landed him back on Main Street where he’d started. He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel and studied his surroundings. The street was lined with cars and pickup trucks, but not a single person was in sight. Spotting a lit building a block over, he parked his car in the first available space and headed inside.
He gave the room a sweeping glance the instant he set foot inside the door. A wedding reception was taking place, and if the volume of the boot-stomping music coming from the country-western band and the laughter and raised voices of the crowd were an accurate indication, the folks of Jasper Gulch were having a good time. Only a few of the wedding guests noticed his presence—a handful of kids who stopped their game of tag to stare at him, two teenaged girls who whispered behind their hands, and an old man whose thumbs were hooked through his suspenders.
“Can I help you, son?” the old cowboy asked.
Keeping his eyes and ears open, Nick said, “I don’t make a habit of crashing wedding receptions, but I can’t seem to find Custer Street.”
“You visiting,” the other man asked, scratching his craggy chin, “or just passing through?”
“Visiting, I suppose.”
The old man nodded. “Then you must be lookin’ for the boardin’ house. No sense goin’ there right now. The owner’s not home. I’m Cletus McCully. We ain’t much for standing on ceremony around here, so you might as well grab yerself a cup of that there punch and join the party.”
Nick tried to pass on the punch. Cletus would hear nothing of it. With a shake of his head and a snap of one suspender, the old man ambled away to get it himself. Nick put the minute of solitude to good use, systematically giving the town hall a more thorough once-over. White streamers trailed from the ceiling. A half-eaten wedding cake sat on a small table. The three-piece band was set up in one corner, a table piled high with gifts in another. Most of the men wore bolo ties and cowboy boots while the women wore calico dresses or Western skirts. So far he hadn’t seen a man with a sinister leer, a silver ponytail and a jagged scar.
“What’s going on, on the dance floor?” he asked as Cletus shoved a cup of punch into his hand.
“Follow me,” Cletus muttered. “Maybe we can get a better view from the other side.”
It wasn’t difficult to keep up with the old man’s bow-legged gait. Keeping up with his conversation was another matter. The man talked about people Nick couldn’t possibly know, telling him about the weddings that had taken place since the boys had decided to put an ad in the papers luring women to this-here neck of the woods. In a very short amount of time Nick had learned that someone named DoraLee had eloped with a local rancher named Boomer, Cletus’s grandson Wyatt had snagged one of the first gals to come to town, and his granddaughter, Melody, had married the “boy” she’d been in love with most of her life. Today’s bride was a Southern belle named Pamela Sue, the groom a mama’s boy named Grover.
“One by one the new gals who’ve moved to town are bitin’ the bullet,” Cletus declared. “I’m afraid none of the ones who’re left are makin’ it easy on the poor Jasper Gents. Crystal Galloway, the newest gal in town, is a looker, but she’s got a mouth on her that could scare the average sailor clean away.”
Other than nodding now and then when it was expected of him, Nick kept silent. Listening with only one ear, he made a sweeping perusal of every person in the room. The first glimpse of a shaggy, gray ponytail on the other side of the hall had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Homing in on a silver-haired man in the shadows, everything inside Nick went perfectly still.
“Then there’s our own Louetta Graham,” Cletus was saying, “but I’m afraid she’s so shy it’s almost hopeless. That only leaves the girls fresh out of school and the new gal who bought the boarding house. She’s a pretty little thing, that’s for sure, but she’s mighty stubborn, too.”
Nick flexed his fingers at his sides, squinting into the shadows across the room. The man was the right height, but the cowboy hat was deceiving. Nick checked the exits, gauging the most direct route to cover, just in case things took an ugly turn.
“I tried my darnedest to get that gal to reach for the bouquet...”
Nick was barely listening now, all his attention trained on the length of shaggy hair across the room.
“But she says since her divorce ain’t final, she ain’t really single. Like I told her, if that husband of hers was dim-witted enough to let her get away, a few weeks one way or the other won’t make any difference whatsoever. Says she don’t feel married. Problem is, I don’t think Brittany feels unmarried, either.”
The silver-haired man stepped out of the shadows at the same instant Cletus uttered the one name in all the world that could bring Nick to his knees. He was caught between two force fields. Danger. And need. Blood pounded in his head, and his lungs felt too large for his chest.
The silver-haired man turned, giving Nick a good look at his face. The guy was sixty years old if he was a day and sported a handlebar mustache and a hefty paunch. His face was deeply lined, but there was no jagged scar. It wasn’t his man.
It didn’t take long for the roaring din in Nick’s ears to quiet. The brick in his chest was going to be more difficult to eliminate.
“I’m hoping it’s only a matter of time before one of our shy-but-willin’ Jasper Gents catches Brittany’s eye and sweeps her off her feet, but I’m afraid it might be more complicated than that. She says it’s just semantics—whatever in tarnation that means—and has nothin’ to do with the fact that her soon-to-be ex-husband is paying her a little visit in a couple of days.”
The old man’s voice trailed away. Peering up at Nick through bushy white eyebrows, he said, “I don’t believe I caught your name, son.”
The crowd parted, and Nick had his first clear view of a slender, dark-haired woman who was trying to ward off the advances of one of the cowboys on the other side of the dance floor. The man brushed aside a lock of her chin-length hair and bent his head as if he wanted to whisper something in her ear. Instead, he planted a sloppy kiss on one corner of her mouth.
Nick’s fingers curled around the cup in his hand. Handing it back to Cletus, he said, “My name’s Nick Colter. That dim-witted husband you mentioned. You’ll have to excuse me. There’s a man I have to punch in the nose.”
“Now don’t be too hasty there...”
Nick moved with the same kind of purpose he used in the streets and alleys of Chicago, maneuvering around the people blocking his path so quickly they had to turn their heads to keep him in their line of vision. He stopped behind the cowboy and tapped him on the shoulder with enough force to leave no doubt that Nick meant business.
The man spun around so fast he teetered slightly. “What the—”
“Pardon me,” Nick ground between clenched teeth, “but I don’t appreciate watching another man kiss my wife.”
“Your wife?”
Brittany Matthews’s decision to step between the two men who were squaring off opposite each other wasn’t made consciously. Once she’d done it she wasn’t sure it had been wise. Now she had a half-drunken cowboy behind her and an angry man in front of her. She had no doubt which of the two was going to be more difficult to deal with.
“Nick.”
His eyes were narrowed, accenting sculpted cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose. His hair was dark and just wavy enough to be unruly. His mouth was set in a straight line, his chin squared in a manner that had always meant trouble. There were taller men in the room. But none were more intimidating. Nick’s striking blue eyes were his one feature that could be soft. Right now they were shooting daggers at the man behind her. “Step aside, Brittany. This won’t take long.”
Brittany heard the murmur going through the crowd. Swallowing, she was more aware of the murmur going through her. She’d spent the better part of the past week preparing herself to see Nick again. If he had arrived when he said he would, she might have been prepared. Or maybe nothing could prepare a woman for the sight of the man who had been her first lover, and her greatest heartache.
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, trying to get her emotions under control. Finally she shook her head and said, “You don’t have any reason to pick a fight with Forrest, Nick.”
Nick’s lip curled. “I think anytime a man’s wife is caught kissing another man is cause for a fight.”
“She told me she’s gettin’ a divorce,” the other man slurred.
Groaning out loud, Brittany snagged Nick’s hand and pulled him to a more-secluded spot on the floor. “I didn’t kiss him, you idiot.”
“You gonna give me a lesson on who puts what where?”
“Come on, Nick. Forrest is half-drunk.”
“Did you like it?”
“Did I—” She bristled. Nick Colter made her so mad.
“Well?” he prodded.
Oh, for heaven’s sakes. “Did it look like I liked it?”
“What the hell kind of answer is that?”
Brittany took a fortifying breath and willed herself to refrain from saying what she was thinking. Taking the utmost care to instill her voice with patience, she said, “What are you doing here tonight, Nick? I thought you said you weren’t coming until Monday.”
Nick ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the man with the silver ponytail and handlebar mustache. What was he doing here? There was a question. Turning his attention back to Brittany, he thought a better one would have been How did he ever let her go? Suddenly he felt very tired, and very alone.
Releasing a pent-up breath, he said, “I cleared up everything back home and took off a couple of days early. How are you, Brittany? And how’s Savannah?”
There was nothing Brittany could do to keep her heart from sliding into her stomach. Angry, Nick Colter was a force to be reckoned with. Nice, he was almost impossible to resist. Fighting valiantly to do just that, she gave in to a heartfelt sigh. “I’m fine, Nick. And so is Savannah. She fell asleep a little while ago. She’s going to be tickled to see you.”
Leading the way to a table on the far side of the room, she felt the eyes of half the people in town, yet she was more aware of Nick’s gaze following her every move. He’d always been able to undress her with his eyes. No matter what else had gone wrong between them, her husband had always been an earthy, virile man. Her soon-to-be ex-husband, she reminded herself. Training her eyes on her six-year-old daughter’s dark head nestled in the hollow of Crystal Galloway’s shoulder, Brittany hurried through the crowd.
“Well, well,” Crystal exclaimed, watching them advance. “Who have we here?”
Hoping her friend would attribute this sudden attack of breathlessness on her brisk trek across the room, Brittany said, “Crystal, this is Nick Colter. Savannah’s father.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nick said.
With delicate eyebrows arched knowingly, Crystal extended her right hand. Nick shook it, but strangely, his fingers didn’t linger.
Crystal smiled. “Charmed I’m sure.”
Brittany glanced up at Nick. She’d been wondering how he would react to Crystal. She wasn’t jealous. It just so happened that she thought the world of her new friend. But Crystal was gorgeous. And men always noticed, which made them easy targets for her flirtations. Nick’s attention had already shifted back to her as if seeing a buxom blonde with startling green eyes was no big deal. Brittany absolutely, positively forbade herself to melt.
“Taste this punch, Brittany,” Crystal said, holding up a paper cup.
Thankful to have something to do with her hands, Brittany lifted the cup to her lips. Two hours ago the punch had been sweet. Now, it warmed a path from her throat to her stomach where it curled outward in waves.
She glanced around the room, suddenly understanding the reason why the noise level was bordering on a dull roar. The punch was spiked. From the depth and heartiness of the men’s guffaws and the silliness of the women’s laughter, it had been that way for some time.
“Can you believe Isabell missed it?” Crystal asked, pointing to a gray-haired woman who bore an amazing likeness to the cartoon character Olive Oyl, and was twittering louder than anybody else.
Brittany smiled at the spectacle Isabell Pruitt and Opal Graham, two of the staunchest leaders of the Jasper Gulch Ladies Aid Society, were making from the center of the dance floor. “It looks like they’ve made up,” she said, thinking of all the months it had been since the former best friends had spoken. Cheeks flushed and chins bobbing, they moved their hands and shook their hips in a manner that looked very little like the dance they were trying to do.
“Isabell and Opal doing the Bunny Hop. Now there’s one for your history books, Brittany,” Crystal declared.
“Everybody’s getting sloshed,” Nick said, tossing the cup into a nearby trash can. “Reminds me of your senior prom. Somebody spiked the punch that night, too. Remember?”
Brittany didn’t intend to meet his eyes. Once she had, she couldn’t look away. He was gazing at her much as he had that night all those years ago. He’d been young and defiant then. He wasn’t much different now. Neither of them had touched a drop of alcohol that night. Brittany had felt intoxicated without it, drunk on whimsy and on love.
Nick had rented a tux for the prom, when she knew darn well he couldn’t afford it. Nick Colter had always been proud, had always been intent upon impressing her. What he’d never understood was that he didn’t have to try to impress her. She’d been a girl on the brink of womanhood. He’d been the first boy to kiss her with his tongue, the first boy to touch her breasts, the first boy to make her heart speed up and her breathing deepen. She could practically hear the rasp her dress zipper had made as he’d lowered it after the prom. She could practically feel that first touch of his hand on her naked skin. She’d been so certain he’d loved her, and so filled with the vehemence of youth. They’d managed to keep from going all the way that night. But they’d both known it was only a matter of time.
She came back to the present slowly. Nick was breathing through his mouth, a muscle working in one cheek much the way it had when he’d walked her to her door that night all those years ago. She still sighed when she thought about how reluctant she’d been to allow the night to end.
Crystal cleared her throat, reminding Brittany that she and Nick weren’t alone. “How old were you two when you met?” Crystal asked.
“Brittany was seventeen,” Nick answered. “I was two years older.”
“You went together for a long time, didn’t you? You must have known each other pretty well.”
Brittany didn’t know how to answer. She’d thought she’d known him. As the years had gone by, she’d begun to realize that knowing someone wasn’t always enough. Suddenly feeling as if she could use a stiff drink herself, she gave herself a mental shake and said, “I should take Savannah home.”
She reached for their child, but Nick beat her there. It required little effort to lift Savannah into his arms. She was petite like her mother, but he pretended to stagger beneath her weight. “She’s grown.”
Brittany nodded. “She just turned six.”
Nick knew how old his little girl was. He remembered every detail of the night she was born, just as he remembered every detail of the night she was conceived.
She stirred, smiling at him before her eyes had completely opened. “Daddy.”
“Hi, Savannah-banana.”
“Are you still mad at Mommy and me?” she asked.
Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. “I was angry, Savannah, but never at you or Mommy.”
He was almost glad when Brittany didn’t meet his gaze, not that she was fooling him with the way she pretended that all her attention was trained on getting Savannah into a small red coat. She was aware of the strong emotions between them, and so was he.
A helluva lot more people noticed Nick’s exit than had noticed his entry into the room. He could practically hear the speculation behind their stares. After all, he was leaving with a beautiful woman who happened to be his wife.
“Where’s your car?” he asked from the top step.
Brittany went down to the sidewalk before answering. “I came with Crystal.”
It was the end of March, and officially spring. A person couldn’t prove it by the snow clinging to the ground or the wind cutting through his clothing. Anxious to get Savannah and Brittany inside where it was safe and warm, Nick said, “Come on, my car’s over here.”
He made short work of the drive to Custer Street, thanks to Brittany’s simple directions. Her house was located in the middle of the block on one of the streets that didn’t have a sign. He’d driven past it earlier, just as he’d driven past every other house in town. While Brittany helped Savannah from the car, Nick reached into the back seat for his duffel bag and a battered old suitcase. With a case in each hand, he took a moment to study his surroundings. The house looked as old as all the other houses in town, but this one was larger than most and had a high roof, a long front porch and burgundy siding that set it apart from the others.
Brittany took a key from her purse and unlocked the front door. Eyeing the mechanism, Nick wondered why she bothered. The lock was old and could have been jimmied with a screw driver, a credit card, or a bent paper clip, for that matter.
“Mommy said you weren’t coming until Monday,” Savannah said, still holding her mother’s hand.
Nick’s gaze swept his daughter’s face. He knew before she batted her eyelashes that he was a goner. He could interrogate hardened criminals, yet one innocent statement from that little scrap of a girl had him scrambling for an explanation. He had planned to arrive on Monday. But he hadn’t planned on this driving need to get here sooner. Saying the only thing he could think of that was still the truth, he said, “I’ve missed you.”
“Are you going to stay, Daddy?”
He glanced up and found Brittany watching him. “For a while,” he said quietly, and left it at that.
All three of them walked inside, Brittany turning lights on as she went. “It’s past your bedtime, Savannah. Tell Daddy good-night.”
“But Daddy just got here.”
Nick almost smiled at the shrillness in Savannah’s voice. It was definitely an improvement on the nightmares followed by long stretches of silence she’d been having a year ago. Going down on his haunches, he said, “Mommy’s right. We’re all tired tonight. Tomorrow, when we’re rested, we’ll spend the whole day together.”
“Promise?”
His throat convulsed and all but closed. How many promises had he failed to keep these past seven years? “I promise, Savannah.”
Her smile finished the job to his throat, her arms winding shyly around his neck. “Good night, Daddy.”
He must have answered, because Savannah allowed her mother to lead her from the room without a struggle. Nick hovered in the doorway until they were out of sight. Then, testing the shakiness of his legs, he strode into the next room and the next. There was an old-fashioned kitchen with a monstrous antique stove and a round oak table, a bathroom with a claw-footed tub and green tile floor. A door led to the backyard via a laundry room. Another door led to the side yard off the kitchen. In fact, as far as he could tell, there were three exterior doors on the main floor. And enough low windows with faulty, or no, locks to make him shudder. The house had all the security of a chicken coop.
The floor creaked slightly, alerting him to Brittany’s presence behind him. “What are you doing, Nick?”
Trying for nonchalance, he crossed his arms and slowly turned around. “Is Savannah asleep?”
At her nod, he realized he’d been lost in thought longer than he’d realized. Shrugging, he said, “I guess I was snooping. This is quite a house.”
“It has seven bedrooms,” she answered. “That’s a lot of rooms to heat, believe me.”
Nick thought they were a lot of rooms for someone to hide in.
“Isn’t it incredible?” she asked, spreading her arms wide to encompass the entire house.
The light was on in the kitchen behind him and in the living room behind her, but not in the tiny alcove where they were both standing. As if she didn’t think it was wise to stay too long in a darkened room with him, she took a backward step, then deftly led the way through another door.
Nick followed as far as the doorway. Leaning one hip against the oak trim, he watched her switch on a low lamp.
“At one time this was used as a study,” she said. “It’s my favorite room. This house was one of the first to be built in Jasper Gulch and belonged to the first doctor to settle in this part of the territory.”
She strode to a low table where she turned on another lamp. The soft bulb cast shadows into the corners, delineating the curve of her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. She was talking about the history of the house, but Nick couldn’t stop thinking about the history between them. He took a step toward her, propelled by the need to be closer and something else he’d never fully understood.
Her hair looked even darker in the soft lamplight. Tendrils curled over the collar of her green dress and clung to her cheeks, accenting the delicate hollows below her cheekbones and the darkness of her eyes. She slanted him a look, then immediately started to speak, as if she thought talking would break the pull that had always been between them. He could have told her there was nothing she could do to accomplish that, but he didn’t want her to stop talking. Lord, he’d missed the clear, sultry sound of her voice.
“See those books?” she asked, gesturing to a tall bookcase. “Some of them are the very texts Doctor Avery used to treat patients. I think he used this room as an examination room when he first started his practice.” She moved again, this time to sweep a thick curtain aside. “Look at this. Fur traders and Indians and later gold seekers and cowboys could come right in without traipsing through the rest of the house.”
Nick stared at the narrow oak panels behind the curtain. Make that four doors leading directly to the outside.
“Nick, what is it?”
Nick heard the hesitation in her voice, saw it in her eyes. He didn’t know what to tell her, how much to tell her, if he should tell her at all. He waited a moment too long to come up with an answer, because she straightened, bristling.
“I was hoping you would try to keep an open mind.”
Ignoring the stiffness he’d acquired during his twelve-hour drive from Chicago, he tried to decide whether to be relieved or angry that she’d automatically jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Don’t I always keep an open mind?”
“Pu-lease.”
“What?”
She was staring at him, mouth gaping. “Since when have you been open-minded about anything?”
He started to speak, closed his mouth and tried again, only to repeat the process. By the time he’d thought of an answer, she was trying not to smile. He almost couldn’t speak all over again. “Well,” he finally said, “I didn’t punch Forrest in the nose when he kissed you tonight.”
“It was very big of you to refrain from hitting a man who was making an innocent pass at me in a crowded room, Nick.”
He stared at her silently, then took a step closer.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh. I was just thinking about the first time I saw you. It seems to me you were with another man that night, too.”
Brittany took careful note of Nick’s features and calmly crossed her arms. “I was not with another man tonight. And the night we met I was with a boy.”
“Your hair was long then,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “It hung straight and shimmery halfway down your back. Every time I looked at it I knew I had to wrap my hands in it. Never mind that you were too young, too innocent and way too good for a boy like me.”
Brittany knew she should put a stop to all this reminiscing. Just as she knew she had to put the past in perspective. And she would, as soon as she got her bearings and reminded herself of her resolve. That had always been hard to do with Nick. If he had walked directly to her, she could have put her hand up to ward off his advance. But he only took one slow, easy step at a time, and he kept talking in that same easy way he had, melting her resolve one degree at a time.
“Never mind that I had a bear of an exam to take at the police academy at 8:00 a.m. the next morning and my brother would have had my butt in a sling if I was late,” he said, his blue eyes now as soft and mellow as lamplight.
Brittany tried to swallow the hoarseness in her throat “We went out for burgers, Nick, and talked until midnight. But you never touched my hair that night.”
“I was imagining it the whole time, savoring the moment, enjoying the anticipation.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through the hair at her ear.
“It isn’t long anymore,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. And she knew he was savoring again. A muscle convulsed in his throat and his lips parted. And then, as if he’d had all the savoring he could stand, he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his.
His kiss was as familiar as the sound of her own name, his scent one that could never be bottled. She breathed it all the way to the bottom of her lungs, the scent of man and soap and cold winter air. Her own eyes drifted closed, her lips parting beneath his.
His mouth moved over hers like a man a long time denied. He’d always kissed her like this, even the first time. He’d swept her off her feet that night. And she’d let him. She didn’t blame him. And she didn’t blame herself. She’d been a lonely girl in another new town, and he’d been a dark, brooding nineteen-year-old with a bad-boy smile and an amazingly kind heart. She’d been hopelessly in love with him. Also hopelessly naive. She’d latched on to him for stability, when she should have been nurturing her own fledgling strength.
She was older now and wiser and, God help her, stronger. Strong enough to put an end to what was happening between them before it burned out of control.
He groaned what sounded like her name. Deepening the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her back, molding her to every hard inch of him. Even as she sighed his name she knew what she had to do. She shuddered, turning her face an inch and then two. Sucking in a ragged breath of air, she straightened her spine and let her arms fall away from his waist.
He kissed her cheek, her temple, the delicate ridge of her ear, moaning in protest when she shook her head.
“Nick. We can’t do this. Not anymore.”
Chapter Two
“Please, Nick. We have to stop.”
Nick heard Brittany’s hoarse whisper. He felt her stiffen, her arms going limp at her sides. His breathing was ragged, his body so taut with need he couldn’t see straight.
Stop?
He never wanted to stop. But Brittany was drawing away, pulling out of his embrace. And he had no choice but to let her go. Just as he’d had no choice six months ago when she’d told him she wanted to move to Jasper Gulch, South Dakota.
“That shouldn’t have happened, Nick.”
He could have argued. Heaven knew he was good at it. But the dull and troubled edge in her voice kept him silent.
“I don’t know how it happened,” she said quietly.
There was no controlling the sound he made deep in his throat. He knew exactly how it had happened. The same way it had always happened between them. They could be talking one minute, arguing, even, and the next thing either of them knew they were tangled up in sheets.
Tonight Brittany hadn’t let it get to that point. She was standing across from him in the narrow room, glancing from him to her watch and back again. “It’s late.”
Too late? he wanted to ask.
Her eyes pleaded with him not to, so he took a deep breath and made a feeble stab at idle conversation, instead. They exhausted the topic of the weather in about ten seconds. After that they talked about Savannah. Brittany seemed relieved, and latched on to the subject, rattling off the name of Savannah’s teacher and her new best friend. He’d spoken to Savannah on the telephone often, so he already knew her favorite subject was math, but he let Brittany tell him, anyway. Since they both loved their daughter to distraction, talking about her was safe. Or at least as safe as any subject was for them.
He followed Brittany into the kitchen where she brewed tea for herself. She didn’t have any beer, but she offered him a soda. They took their drinks to the living room and sat in the comfortable old furniture, he on the sofa, she with her feet curled underneath her on a matching overstuffed chair, her high-heeled shoes sitting crookedly on the carpet below. They could have been two friends talking late on a Saturday night. Except they’d always been more than friends.
When they ran out of things to say about their daughter, Brittany told him about some of the history she’d learned about Jasper Gulch. Every now and then the wind rattled a windowpane or a shutter. Nick was aware of every sound, but little by little the smooth cadence of Brittany’s voice worked over him. His soda grew warm as she spun tales of the man who’d founded this town and others who had come to help him. Few people had Brittany’s gift for bringing the past to life, describing the people of another time as if she’d lived there with them. She would have made a marvelous teacher. No doubt every little boy in her class would have had a crush on her.
Her eyes were so dark he couldn’t see the pupils from here, but there was no disguising the interest in their depths. “Jasper Carson arrived here from the Black Hills more than a hundred years ago with a widow he’d won in a poker game at his side and a little gold in his pocket,” she explained. “He married the woman and founded the town, but it was Abigail Carson who gave the town its name.”
Intrigued by the story, Nick settled himself more comfortably into the cushions, listening to her tale.
“Local legend paints Jasper as a rugged, handsome, exasperating man. If you ask any of the Carsons alive today they’ll claim they’ve inherited each and every one of those traits. According to Jasper’s journals, Abigail was none too happy with her fate. It seemed she wouldn’t give her new husband the time of day, if you know what I mean.”
Nick almost blurted out that only a woman could make such a statement so soon after being kissed so thoroughly, so completely by a man who knew every inch of her body, every nuance of her personality, the meaning behind every one of her sighs. Clearing his throat that had suddenly gone dry, he said, “Did she? Finally give him the time of day, I mean.”
Brittany smiled, warming to the tale. “Evidently he won on that point, but lost on the one about the town’s name. Abigail grew to love him, but she insisted they name the town after his first name, instead of his last. Thus, Jasper Gulch was born, followed in close succession by three Carson sons.”
“Then their marriage was built on give and take and survived in the midst of incredible odds.”
Her smile faded. “Nick.”
He sat forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his hands folded as if in prayer. “I know what you’re going to say, Brittany. I know we’ve been over this a thousand times. Believe me, I know. But I also know that what we shared in the doctor’s study twenty minutes ago was pretty damned incredible. I can’t just forget it. Can you?”
She jumped to her feet and paced to the other side of the room. “You’re right. We have been over this a thousand times. We’ve said it all a thousand different ways, with caution and confusion, in anger, in defiance, in disbelief and in tears.
You and I both know the attraction has always been explosive between us. But we also know our problems have a way of returning with the dawn.”
She came to a stop near the kitchen, her vehemence fading to a kind of acceptance Nick liked a lot less. He didn’t remember standing up, but as long as he was on his feet, he strode closer. As she watched him, her eyes grew round and wary. It hurt more than any insult she could have uttered, and stopped him in his tracks.
“I’ve missed you, you know.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I know. I’ve missed you, too. And so has Savannah.”
Nick ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to shout in frustration. And then he wanted to carry Brittany to the nearest bed and make love to her all night long. He wanted them to give their marriage another chance. He already knew what she would say if he whispered his wish out loud: “We’ve given our marriage another chance a hundred times.”
And they had.
The marriage counselor they’d seen had been quick to attribute their problems to their childhoods. Nick had already known who was to blame, and it wasn’t his mother. He was twenty-nine years old, and he’d spent most of the ten years he’d known Brittany trying to make things right.
“We’re hopeless, aren’t we?” she said quietly.
Nick shook his head. “I’m hopeless. You’re beautiful.”
He was vaguely aware of a sound in the foyer, but he couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from Brittany’s sad smile. The door opened before he came to his senses.
“Yoo-hoo, we’re home.”
Nick swung around and swore under his breath. He’d seen corpses with a better reaction time than his had been.
Home? he thought, recovering slightly. Exactly how many people lived here?
Crystal Galloway closed the door for a frail, little old lady. “We would have been here sooner,” she said, slipping an arm around the old lady’s shoulders, “but Mertyl wanted to do the chicken dance one more time.” Pointing to the back of Mertyl’s head, Crystal mouthed, “She’s sloshed.”
“Mertyl,” Brittany said, reacting to Crystal’s head gesture, “you must be exhausted.”
A cat meowed its way down the open stairway, landing in Mertyl’s arms with a thud that nearly toppled her. The old lady mumbled something Nick couldn’t make out. She listened for a moment before mumbling something else. He didn’t know who was keeping up the other end of the conversation, but even her overweight yellow cat looked at her strangely.
Mertyl couldn’t have weighed more than ninety-five pounds. Obviously she couldn’t hold her liquor. Her eyes were a little too bright, her smile crooked, her head nodding like those toy dogs people put in the back windows of their cars. She was a head shorter than Crystal and was getting shorter by the second. Nick made it to her side and had her back on her feet before her knees gave out.
“Beautiful bride, just beautiful,” Mertyl declared out of the blue. “Cake was a mite dry, but the punch was the best I ever tasted.”
“Come on, dear,” Crystal said from Mertyl’s other side. “Let’s get Daisy settled upstairs. Want me to show Nick to a room, too?” she asked Brittany.
Brittany felt Nick’s eyes on her, but her gaze was trained on Crystal. There was something exotic about the shape of Crystal’s green eyes and the way they peered out at the world beneath all that wavy blond hair. The two of them had become fast friends soon after Crystal had moved to Jasper Gulch three months ago. Soul sisters, Crystal called them. The woman could speak her mind one minute, bare her soul the next and put a person in his or her place without batting an eye. Right now, in her own straightforward way, she was offering Brittany a reprieve. That would allow Brittany to put a little distance between her and Nick, and she could put things back into perspective.
Feeling less shaky, Brittany looked at Nick. He stared back at her, a muscle working in one lean cheek. She’d missed him these past six months, but she hadn’t missed the upheaval he brought back into her life. It wasn’t anything he did. It was the way she felt when he was near. His kiss had left its mark on her senses, and on his. She knew what he wanted. It was there in the way he looked at her, in the way he held his shoulders and drew in a sharp breath. One word from her could make all the difference in the world. And no difference whatsoever.
They’d been down this road before, giving in to the physical aspect of their marriage time and time again. Six months apart had sharpened that need, but she didn’t see how it could have changed all the reasons they had for separating. And it certainly hadn’t changed the biggest reason of all.
Taking great care to tear her gaze away, she said, “Crystal, are you sure you don’t mind showing Nick and Mertyl to their rooms?”
Crystal smiled down at Mertyl. “If Nick would be kind enough to help Mertyl and me up those tricky old stairs, we can handle the rest, can’t we Mertyl?”
Mertyl continued to nod, but Nick ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached. The only room he wanted to be shown to, dammit, was Brittany’s. There happened to be two very good reasons. One had to do with desire, the other with her safety. She would scoff at his mention of those two things in the same breath. When had one ever had anything to do with the other?
From his position he could see two of the four doors on this floor. He glanced over his shoulder where the open stairway stretched toward a dark upper level. He wondered if he would hear an intruder from that far away. And if he did, could he get down here and into Brittany’s and Savannah’s rooms in time?
“Come on, Nick,” Crystal said shrewdly. “You’re starting to look as green around the gills as poor Mertyl. Up we go.”
Nick gave Brittany one last look, leaving her to make what she wanted of his dark expression. No matter what she thought, things weren’t over between them. They would talk again. Morning, noon and night if necessary. Maybe they had already tried to make their marriage work a hundred times. Somehow he had to convince her to try once more.
For now, he helped Crystal get the elderly lady into one of the bedrooms upstairs. The cat hissed at him for his trouble. Coming out of her stupor, Mertyl did the same, squinting up at him with distrust. “Who’s he?” she asked Crystal.
“This is Nick Colter,” Crystal said, turning back the blankets.
Clasping the lapels of her pink cardigan sweater tightly in one hand and holding her cat in the other, Mertyl still managed to point a shaking finger at Crystal. “I don’t entertain strange men in my room, Missy, and neither should you.”
Nick found himself backing from the room, Crystal right behind him. Laughing out loud, Crystal said, “Believe me, Mertyl, I’m with you.”
The old lady gave Crystal a feeble good-night, glared at Nick and closed the door with a firm click. Within seconds a lock ground into place.
“Why, Nicky, I don’t believe she trusts you.”
Nick scowled. Nobody had called him Nicky since the third grade.
“Which room do you want to sleep in tonight?” Crystal asked. “Perhaps I should rephrase the question. Which room upstairs? You can have your choice of the three that aren’t rented.”
Nick stopped at the first door he came to. “Rented?”
Dropping a stack of blankets and sheets she’d taken from a hall closet into his hands, Crystal said, “Yes, rented. By boarders.” At his blank expression, she said, “You might have noticed that motels aren’t exactly popping up all over town. In fact, this is the only boarding house in Jasper Gulch. Didn’t Brittany tell you she bought it?”
Now that Nick thought about it he remembered the old man at the wedding reception saying something about a boarding house on Custer Street. But no, Brittany hadn’t mentioned anything about the fact that she’d purchased it.
Suddenly the tedious twelve-hour drive from Chicago, the fear that came from looking over his shoulder and the seemingly impenetrable walls Brittany had erected converged into one huge knot between his shoulder blades. He really was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He needed a good night’s sleep. The bedroom next to Mertyl’s wasn’t his first choice of places to spend the night, not by a long shot, but at least it was near the top of the stairs and within hearing distance of the first floor. Dropping the sheets and blankets over the iron bed frame, he turned around. He expected to find Crystal hovering nearby, but a quick glance in the hall found it empty.
Kneading the knot at the back of his neck, he closed the door and looked at his surroundings. The room could have come straight out of an old Western movie. The walls and ceiling were covered with faded wallpaper. The floor was hardwood, a throw rug the only thing covering the marred and scuffed surface. A lamp was perched on a painted bedside table, the only other furniture in the room a mismatched dresser and the double bed. He’d slept in a lot worse places, and supposed that for now any bed would do.
He was in the process of stuffing a pillow into a case when a knock sounded on the door behind him. Hope that it might be Brittany sprang out of nowhere, only to die at his first glimpse of blond hair instead of brown. Crystal shouldered her way into the room and dropped his duffel bag and suitcase on the floor.
With one eyebrow raised, she said, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
The woman obviously read body language very well. Nick saw no sense in trying to explain, so he simply shrugged and said, “Thanks for bringing up my bags.”
She turned to go. “Nick?” she said over her shoulder.
He shook the sheet out. Holding it in midair, he waited for her to continue.
“Brittany says good night.”
His throat constricted and his eyes closed for a moment, the sheet falling to the bed. Crystal Galloway had a walk that could stop traffic, and probably had. She was unusual, to say the least. Instinct told him she would be a very loyal friend. He wasn’t surprised Brittany had chosen her. His wife had always had very good taste in friends. He couldn’t say the same for her taste in men.
“By the way,” Crystal added, “don’t be alarmed if you see a curtain flutter in the window across the street.”
Nick came to full attention. Crystal, however, didn’t appear to be the least bit concerned about being watched. Winking badly, she said, “Most of the old women in Jasper Gulch spend half the day on the phone and the other half spying on their neighbors. The eighty-one-year-old widow across the street is no exception. Mrs. Fergusson has a weak heart, so you’d better draw the shade. We wouldn’t want her to see more than she bargained for now, would we?”
His jaw dropped in mild amazement. “The old lady in the next room locks her door because she doesn’t trust me and the one across the street is a window peeper. It looks as if I’m going to have to be on my best behavior at every turn.”
Easing out the door an inch at a time, Crystal said, “Something tells me your best behavior could be very dangerous to a woman who isn’t immune. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. Don’t forget about your shade. Oh, and if it’ll make you feel any better to rattle Mertyl’s doorknob, be my guest.”
Nick stared at the closed door for a full five seconds after she’d gone. Picking up where he’d left off with the sheet, he had an uncustomary urge to grin.
“A watched pot never boils, Savannah,” Brittany whispered, turning on the tap at the kitchen sink.
Savannah held her position in the doorway where she had a clear view of the living room sofa. “I’m not watching a pot. I’m watching Daddy. He looks different when he’s sleeping.”
Brittany waited until the coffeepot was filled with water before allowing herself to turn around. Savannah always rose before the crack of dawn, and today was no exception. She was wearing her favorite flannel nightgown and the fluffy moose slippers that made her feet look huge. It was still dark outside, but the kitchen light stretched into the next room, falling across the sofa where Nick was sleeping.
Brittany supposed Savannah was right. Nick did look different while he was sleeping. He was lying on his back, his feet hanging over one end of the sofa, Mertyl’s cat sound asleep on his thighs. One of Nick’s hands rested on the floor, the other arm was flopped over his head. His eyes were closed, his chest moving up and down with his even breathing. He should have looked completely at ease, devoid of all worry and tension. Only Nick Colter could look intense even in repose.
In the early years of their marriage she’d loved to watch him sleep. In those days they’d had a one-bedroom apartment that did little to keep out the sounds of faulty mufflers and hissing brakes and honking horns on the street below. While Savannah slept in her crib in the corner, Brittany would memorize her new husband’s face. She used to smooth a fingertip over his brow, down the crease in one lean cheek and across the shallow cleft in his chin.
More often than not, he woke up. Finding her watching him, an entirely different intensity would enter his eyes.
She shook herself back to the present. Pouring the water into the coffee maker, she wondered when he’d crept down the stairs and crashed on her sofa. It must have been after she’d dropped off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Until then, she’d lain awake, thinking about the kiss he’d given her in the study and what had gone wrong in their marriage. She should have known by now that it was useless to try to pinpoint any one thing.
“When will he wake up?” Savannah asked.
“It’s hard to say Savannah-banana.”
The little girl giggled into her hand, a gesture she’d picked up from Haley Carson, one of the older girls she’d befriended at school. “That’s what Daddy calls me.”
When the coffee started dripping through the filter, Brittany set out a bowl, cup and spoon for Savannah’s breakfast. While Savannah ate, Brittany put the oatmeal on for Mertyl and made the juice. Savannah was a chatterbox, but this morning she chattered in whispers, so as not to wake her father. Brittany helped herself to a cup of coffee, answering in whispers of her own. Taking that first sip, she looked at her child over the rim. Savannah was happy. Crystal claimed the child glowed. Brittany knew she’d done the right thing by moving to Jasper Gulch, even though the realization always left her feeling sad for what might have been.
Today Savannah was a bubbly, happy little girl. But for a year and a half Brittany had been afraid that Savannah would never be happy again. Her child had always been a light sleeper. One night almost two years ago she’d awakened in the night and had run screaming into Brittany’s bed. Two burglars wearing ski masks had broken into their apartment. Nick had been on a stakeout, and for twenty terrifying minutes, Brittany hadn’t known whether she and Savannah would survive the night. The only thing that had kept her from falling to pieces had been fear for Savannah’s safety. The burglars finally left with eighty-three dollars in quarters Brittany had been saving, a radio and a ring that had belonged to her mother.
The marriage had been strained for a long time, but suddenly Savannah was afraid of her own shadow, and Nick blamed himself for not being there. As a cop, he’d always taken on the world’s troubles and had tried to protect Brittany and Savannah from all of it. Arguing was nothing new to them, but their arguments took on a new dimension. Accusations and recriminations were hurtled in anger and couldn’t be taken back. Savannah’s banshee screams became commonplace in the middle of the night. Nick had always been intense, but this was different. He looked at her with guilt, making her wonder if he’d ever really looked at her with love.
How many times had Brittany insisted that she could take care of herself? How many times had Nick shouted that she shouldn’t have to? They yelled about things that weren’t really the issue, and never once mentioned the one thing that was.
And then, one day while she’d been rocking Savannah back to sleep, she saw a magazine article about a little town in South Dakota that was steadily losing all its women to the lure of better job prospects in the cities. Brittany had scanned the portion of the article about men who were shy but willing, her eyes catching on a statement proclaiming that the biggest crimes in Jasper Gulch were gossip and jaywalking.
Such a place had sounded like heaven, and seemed like an answer to her prayers. She’d read the article over and over. A few days later she’d shown it to Nick. She would never forget the dull look in his eyes when she’d told him she wanted to take Savannah and go there. She’d expected him to rant and rave. She’d hoped he would beg her not to leave. Instead, he’d turned his back to her and sighed. To Brittany, it had sounded painfully like relief.
He’d uttered only one word. “When?”
Although she couldn’t answer, that was the moment she’d faced the fact that their marriage was finally over.
“Can I wake Daddy up?” Savannah asked, bringing Brittany back to the present.
Brittany looked into the shadows in the living room and slowly shook her head. “Let him sleep a little longer. If he hasn’t opened his eyes by the time you’re ready for church, you can wake him then.”
Nick didn’t know where he was. His neck was stiff, his back ached, and his legs were numb from the knees down. He opened his eyes and turned his head and found himself staring into a pixie face three inches from his.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Morning.” He raised his knees, which felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds apiece, and heard, more than saw, the big yellow cat plop to the couch and then to the floor, yowling at having his sleep interrupted. Within seconds the cat was curled into a ball, his eyes closed once again.
“Daisy snores,” Savannah said seriously.
Eyeing the overweight cat, Nick thought it was aptly named. It was obviously more potted plant than pet.
“You sleep funny.”
Nick sat up in a flash and grabbed Savannah by the waist, tickling her until she begged him to stop. When her shrieks died down, she reached a hand to his jaw. “And you need to shave.”
Pressing his face into her hand and rubbing like sandpaper, he said, “When did you get so bossy? And I thought you were six, not sixty.”
Savannah wrinkled her nose and giggled again. “That’s what Mommy says.”
“Where is your mommy?”
“I’m right here, Nick.”
Brittany stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Nick rose to his feet just as Crystal traipsed by in a ratty bathrobe and slippers. “What’s the matter?” the blonde asked. “Wasn’t your bed comfortable?”
She disappeared into the kitchen about the same time Mertyl appeared at the top of the stairs. In a feeble, frail little voice, she said, “I haven’t slept so well in years, but I must have a touch of the flu. Brittany, dear, where do you keep the aspirin?”
“They’re in a childproof bottle in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
“If you need help opening it,” Crystal called from the next room, “have Savannah help you.”
“You don’t have to yell, dear.”
Nick settled his hands to his hips and studied the old woman. If Mertyl Gentry had the flu, he would be a good candidate for the priesthood.
Savannah skipped into the kitchen, and suddenly Brittany didn’t appear to know where to look. Settling her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of his left shoulder, she said, “Savannah wanted to wake you, but I thought you needed your sleep. I’ve enrolled her in Miss Opal’s Sunday school class. It begins in half an hour.”
Nick rubbed the bleariness from his eyes. Last night he and Brittany had known a moment of passion, followed by a stretch of companionship, which had ended with a tense moment, during which she’d thrown up enough barriers to keep him firmly at bay. He’d spent a great deal of the night thinking about all three of those things, but his mind kept returning to the moment of passion.
He wanted to talk to her about their imminent divorce. Now he wondered if she was trying to make a statement with her black skirt and white sweater. Nothing had ever been black-and-white between them. Ever.
“You look nice,” he said quietly.
Brittany squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She knew what Nick was doing. It just so happened that she knew what she had to do, too. She would simply get back on even footing where he was concerned. She would be hospitable, friendly, ex-wifely. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say before falling asleep last night and again this morning while she’d been getting dressed for church.
Her plans hadn’t included training her eyes on Nick’s bare feet and slowly working her way higher.
When they’d been married, he’d slept in the nude. This morning he wore black sweat pants that clung in places ex-wives had no business looking. His wrinkled T-shirt had probably been black a hundred washings ago. It was stretched taut over his chest and shoulders, fitting him like a second skin. His jaw was dark with whisker stubble, his lips parted slightly.
“Guess I’d better hop in the shower, huh?” he asked.
His eyes delved into hers, leaving little doubt that the only place he was thinking about hopping into was bed. With her.
Savannah and Crystal were talking, their voices a low murmur in the next room. It reminded Brittany that she had to put a stop to this. She couldn’t harbor these fantasies every time he came to visit Savannah. And she wouldn’t. “Nick.”
“Hmm?” He took a step closer. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I decided to bunk down on the couch. I have no idea how anybody can call the country quiet. Honking horns and sirens are nothing compared to all the sighing of the wind, the rattling of the shutters and the creaking and groaning and shifting of this old house.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.”
He held up one hand. “Hey, I’m explaining, not complaining. Guess I’d better go see about that shower. And I’d better unpack my razor. Savannah thinks I’ll look better after I shave.”
That proved to Brittany that little girls and grown women had entirely different opinions about what constituted a good-looking man. Nick had disappeared up the stairs before Brittany had realized he’d done it again. He’d taken her mind off what she was supposed to tell him and made her think about things she wasn’t supposed to think about anymore.
She massaged her forehead, wondering if Mertyl had found the aspirin. She wasn’t prone to headaches, but she felt one the size of Mount Rushmore coming on.
Raising her chin, she stared at the place Nick had slept. On second thought, she didn’t need aspirin. All she needed was a brisk attitude and a firm resolve.
Brisk and firm, Brittany reminded herself, hurrying Savannah into her coat twenty minutes later. Brisk and firm.
Her decision to leave Nick six months ago hadn’t been made lightly. If he had beaten her or chased other women or been an ax murderer, leaving might have been easier. As it was, it had been the single most difficult thing she’d ever done. She and Nick were both to blame, she supposed, and they both had reasons for the things they’d done. She had Savannah to think about, her daughter’s happiness and well-being much more important than the loneliness that had a way of slipping past Brittany’s defenses when she least expected.
She should have anticipated the drowsy, hazy thoughts she was having, now that she’d seen Nick again. More than anything, she should have expected this yearning to see him smile—when she knew darn well that Nick Colter rarely smiled. Forewarned should have been forearmed, and might have been if he had arrived when he’d said he would. She supposed she should have expected that, too.
OK, he’d caught her off guard. But she’d recovered.
She didn’t know why he was fiddling with the lock on the front door, and she didn’t see any reason to ask. From now on she was going to keep a handle on her resolve. Brisk and firm.
“Hurry, Daddy,” Savannah said. “Get your coat.”
Nick’s salute earned a giggle from Savannah and a brittle smile from Brittany. Nick didn’t say a word as he retrieved his bomber jacket from the back of the sofa and followed them out the door, but he’d seen drill sergeants with less-intimidating posture than Brittany’s.
They took her car, Savannah keeping up a steady stream of prattle all the way. The church sat on the corner of First and Church Streets. Like every other building in town, it could have used a coat of paint. Maybe that was part of its charm. Stained-glass windows gleamed in the morning sunshine, that same sun glinting off a white steeple high on the roof.
A group of women who were huddled on the steps looked up as he, Brittany and Savannah approached. “Morning, Miss Opal,” Savannah called.
“Good morning,” a short lady with a double chin called. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she lowered her voice. “Some of the other children have already arrived. Why don’t you go in and say hello?”
The moment Savannah disappeared through the double doors, another woman, this one tall and wearing a pinched expression, said, “I don’t know whether you’re aware, Brittany, but something dreadful happened at the wedding reception last night.”
“Merciful heavens,” the woman with the double chin interrupted, “something dreadful indeed. Why, somebody spiked the punch, and not one of the fine members of the Ladies Aid Society caught it until it was too late.”
The four other gray-haired women standing on the steps nodded their heads. Grimacing at the sudden movement, they placed a hand to their foreheads. The tall, skinny one said, “We’re calling a special meeting this afternoon during which we’ll try to recount the events leading to such a dreadful act. Perhaps someone saw something or someone.”
Nick knew the moment he came under suspicion. The leader of the group narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Brittany made short work of the introductions. When she was finished, Isabell Pruitt, the tall, skinny one who bore a striking resemblance to Olive Oyl, gave Nick a critical squint and said, “And what time did you arrive at the reception, Mr. Colter?”
Nick lifted one foot to the bottom step and smiled up at the woman. “I’m afraid I got there just about the time you fine ladies decided to do the Bunny Hop.”
All six of the women exchanged pained looks.
“Isabell,” Brittany said quietly, “it’s good to see you and Opal speaking again.”
“Yes,” Isabell said, nodding carefully. “We’ve decided to let bygones be bygones. And I must say our united front couldn’t have come at a more crucial time.”
Nodding gravely, Opal said, “The meeting will begin at one, Brittany. You’re more than welcome to join us. Were you planning to help in my class again this morning?”
Nick shook his head before Brittany could open her mouth. “Sorry, but Brittany’s been itching to give me a piece of her mind ever since I arrived. First things first, you know?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Opal muttered. “By all means, first things first.”
Brittany didn’t have the presence of mind to clamp her mouth shut until after the six staunchest members of the Jasper Gulch Ladies Aid Society had gone inside. Even then she stared at Nick for a full five seconds before she had formed a coherent thought. “What on earth possessed you to tell them that?”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“So?”
“So,” he answered, looking far too sure of himself for her peace of mind, “go ahead. Tell me whatever it is you’re so hell-bent to say. But you might as well know right now that I intend to change your mind about the divorce.”
The church bell rang, another gong keeping perfect time inside Brittany’s head. When it was quiet again, she said, “What are you talking about?”
He placed his foot back on the sidewalk and turned to face her. His movements were fluid, the expression in his blue eyes far more serious than she’d expected. “I’m talking about you and me and the feelings that are still between us. I’m talking about in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. But wait, don’t let me do all the talking. There’s something you want to say. You might as well say it while we walk.”
“You want to take a walk?”
“Yeah. I want to take a walk. Better yet, I want to play hookey. When was the last time you played hookey, Brittany?”
Brittany might have been able to resist the invitation in the depths of Nick’s eyes, but she couldn’t resist the challenge in his voice as he said, “What’s the matter? Don’t you trust yourself to be alone with me for five minutes?”
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and hurried after him. “You’re something else, Nick Colter, do you know that?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“If you know, what makes you so sure I’ll walk with you?”
He was walking fast, and she was getting winded trying to keep up with him. He slowed down long enough to slip an arm around her back and steer her across the street. “Because I’m adorable?”
“You are not adorable.”
“Oh, really?” he asked quietly. “Why don’t you tell me how you’d describe me.”
Brittany removed her hands from her pockets and looked around. They had entered the alley that ran behind the stores on the east side of Main Street. Today was Sunday, and all the businesses were closed. Even the diner shut down one day a week, which meant that nobody was out and about. Except her and Nick.
Her heels clicked on the uneven, packed ground. Beside her, Nick’s footsteps were silent. The wind couldn’t reach them here in the alley. Without it the sun felt blessedly warm. It melted snow off rooftops, droplets of water clinging to the pointy tips of icicles before plopping into puddles like the first music of spring.
“Well?” Nick asked, their steps slowing, then stopping completely near the diner’s back door.
She wished she could blame the excitement inching through her veins on spring fever. But Nick wasn’t the only one who never lied. Unfortunately, there was more to the sighing of her heart than a change of seasons.
How would she describe him? she thought, staring up at him. This close he was very intimidating. And very handsome. He could torture her from now until eternity, but she’d never admit that out loud.
He moved without making a sound, his voice a husky baritone as he said, “What are you thinking?”
“I...never mind.”
He leaned toward her, his face inches from hers. “I think you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking. That a kiss would be heaven and a warm bed even better.”
“That isn’t what I was thinking. At least not exactly,” she whispered, her eyes on his as he drew closer.
“Then what, exactly?”
His mouth brushed the corner of her lips, his breath warm on her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed when his lips moved over half an inch. “You’re a bully,” she whispered.
He kissed the indentation above her upper lip. “And?”
“And you’re too good-looking for your own good.”
“Is that anything like being adorable?”
His mouth covered hers like it had countless times before. His breathing became ragged, his kiss insistent. He slipped his arms around her back and pulled her tight to him, letting her know how much he wanted her.
In the darkest recesses of her mind, Brittany knew this wasn’t what she’d come here to do. But it had been so long since she’d felt this way, so long since she’d been giddy with anticipation and excitement, drunk on dreams and on desire. She tried to remind herself of the problems they’d had during their six-and-a-half-year marriage, but it wasn’t easy to remember her quiet hopelessness when Nick was kissing her and touching her, when he felt so good and smelled so good.
Nick heard Brittany’s sigh, saw her smile, felt her shudder. Sweet heaven. That’s what she was, what she’d always been. She was slender and soft as only a woman could be, pliant and aggressive in a way that was uniquely her own. It was a potent combination, and had him needing, seeking...more.
He opened his eyes for but an instant, just long enough to catch a movement at the very edge of his peripheral vision. He swung around, all his senses on red alert.
Brittany gasped for air and staggered. She hadn’t heard any sound, but before she could blink there was a scuffle and a grunt as Nick pinned a man against the building in the alley.
The man groaned. “What the—”
“All right,” Nick ground out, his mouth mere inches from the other man’s ear. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Three
“Oh, my goodness! What are you doing? Let him go!”
Nick felt a series of tugs on his arm. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a woman with long, wavy brown hair and eyes gone huge with fear. “You know this man?”
She nodded, a blush creeping up her face. In a glance Nick noted that she was wearing a long bathrobe, its pale blue color in stark contrast to the embarrassment tingeing her neck. Beneath the blush he could see the marks a man’s whisker stubble had left on her sensitive skin.
The man he had pinned against the building had plenty of whisker stubble. Brown whisker stubble. Now that Nick took the time to notice, the color of the man’s hair was brown, too. Brown, not gray. Certainly not silver.
Damn. He’d overreacted.
He released the other man and instantly took a backward step. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins, frustration close on its heels. Since anger was the quickest way to vent it, Nick squeezed his hands into fists at his sides and sputtered, “Who are you? And what the hell are you doing here?”
The man pushed himself away from the building, his own hands curling into fists. “My name’s Burke Kincaid. I ran out of gas just outside of town last night, so I hiked in. Nobody was around except L—er, Miss Graham, so she helped me. Now who the hell are you?”
Everything had happened so fast Brittany was having difficulty taking it all in. One moment Nick had been kissing her, and the next thing she knew he had a man pressed up against a building. Although she’d never seen him before, she could tell from the integrity in his eyes that Burke Kincaid was an innocent man. He was also an angry man. Rightly so.
She happened to glance at Louetta Graham. An instant later Louetta met her gaze. Brittany had never seen Louetta with her hair down, and certainly never in slippers and a robe and not much else. Suddenly, everything she’d heard about Louetta flashed through her mind. The other woman was painfully shy, and very kind. Several months ago she’d gone to work for Melody Carson in the town’s only diner. With Melody due to have a baby soon, Louetta practically ran the place single-handedly. She still blushed every time one of the local boys made a pass at her, but the few times Brittany had heard Louetta laugh, she’d stopped and stared, because hers wasn’t the laughter a person would associate with a woman who’d been voted “The girl most likely not to” by her graduating class.
Evidently Louetta’s graduating class had been wrong.
Her hair was mussed, and her mouth had obviously been very thoroughly kissed recently. Brittany wet her own lips, thinking the same could be said for her. Which brought Brittany’s gaze back to Nick. She recognized the anger in his features and in the way he squeezed his fingers into fists at his sides. She also recognized the fear beneath the anger. That, she didn’t understand.
“I’m Nick Colter. Brittany’s husband.” He scooped the man’s cowboy hat off the ground and handed it over. “Sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”
The other man accepted the hat but not the apology. “It seems to me your hello could use a little work.”
Nick nodded, the small gesture an acknowledgment of fault and an admission to an error in judgment. He would have said more, but it was pretty difficult to make amends with a man who was wearing paint chips on one side of his face.
Burke Kincaid couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Nick, but something about the steadiness of his gaze reminded Nick of his father. “Now, Nicholas,” Joe Colter used to say. “Your mother and I aren’t raising any hotheads. Wild animals get mad. People get angry. If you’re angry, take it out on that stack of wood out back.”
Nick had split a lot of wood in his day.
Sometimes his mother had brought him out something cool to drink. More often than not she’d stuck around, stacking the wood he’d split, her hands work-roughened and chapped, her face bearing far too many lines for a woman her age.
“Everyone’s born with gifts,” Clarice would say, staring at the house with its peeling paint and sagging roof. “Money doesn’t happen to be one of ours. But pride is one of your greatest strengths, Nicholas, and so is brawn, neither of which amounts to a hill of beans unless you have the brains to back them up.”
Nick shook his head at the memory. Watching as Burke strode in the direction of the town’s only gas station and Louetta disappeared inside the door that led to the apartment over the diner, he wondered how many times he’d allowed anger to get in the way of his brain.
Patting the revolver underneath his coat, he took a deep breath, released it and took another before turning to face Brittany. Her arms were crossed, her shoulders set, her eyes wary. His rough handling hadn’t done any lasting damage to Burke Kincaid, but it had raised Brittany’s suspicion.
She stared at him, unblinking, the only sound that of droplets of water plopping into puddles on the ground. Finally she said, “Why did you come here, Nick?”
Brittany saw Nick take a step toward her, only to stop abruptly as if he’d thought better of coming any closer. His chest expanded with the deep breath he took, his fingers raking through his hair. “Everything I’ve told you is true. I want you and Savannah to move back to Chicago with me. If you won’t do that, I’d like you both to stay with my parents in Florida for a while.”
She took a moment to digest the information he’d given her. The man standing before her wasn’t an awkward cowboy wearing scuffed boots and a bolo tie. He was an intimidating man in jeans and a worn bomber jacket. He was five foot eleven and three-quarter inches tall. The lack of that last quarter inch had always rankled him. Some men would have considered it close enough and called themselves an even six feet. But not Nick.
Nicholas Colter was a lot of things. Egotistical, overbearing and stubborn to name a few. But he never lied. That didn’t mean he always told the complete truth. At least not until he had to.
Glancing at the footsteps Burke Kincaid had left in the snow when Nick had hauled him up against the building without warning, she said, “Why, Nick?”
He narrowed his eyes as if waiting for her to be a little more specific. That expression could raise her hackles faster than anything else. Today she wasn’t giving in to it, not until she had some answers.

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