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Father and Child Reunion
Christine Flynn


Rio Redtree had never recovered from his teenage sweetheart's betrayal. Eve Stuart had left him without a word of explanation, and through six years had passed, the fire still burned within him.Now suddenly Eve was back - along with her five year old daughter, Molly who jet black hair spoke of her Native American Heritage. His daughter Rio would lay down his life for her - and for Eve, try as he might to deny it. But that was what his enemies were counting on. And soon Rio's love was put to to ultimate test..







As a devastating summer storm hits Grand Springs, Colorado, the next thirty-six hours will change the town and its residents forever….

Eve Stuart thought a trip home for her brother Hal’s wedding would be fun—and short enough that she’d avoid seeing Rio Redtree. But that was before a storm cut power all over town, her brother’s bride went missing and Eve’s mother, Olivia, was tragically killed.

Now Rio, an investigative reporter, is the only one with a lead on her mother’s case. Eve’s willing to answer his questions, as long as they don’t involve her daughter Molly. Six years ago, Rio made it clear he never wanted a child. How can Eve trust him to do the right thing if he finds out the truth about Molly?

Book 6 of the 36 Hours series. Don’t miss Book 7: A fugitive from mysterious gunmen—and her own wedding—Randi Howell starts over in Texas in The Rancher and the Runaway Bride by New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery.




Father and Child Reunion

Christine Flynn







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Prologue (#uaeea87fc-4550-5634-b9d8-4caa9f893d48)

Chapter One (#u8a7c8ecb-69b6-5f42-96a3-eeef08ee98c6)

Chapter Two (#u021d76c3-623e-5fa0-8fb1-ea85422b795b)

Chapter Three (#u1b4559d0-37c2-5822-a479-78e1baa2482b)

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)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


June 8

It was only a nightmare. An awful, impossible dream. Any minute, Eve Stuart was sure she would wake up in her own bed and the horror would be over. Since it was Sunday, she’d settle Molly, her five-year-old, in front of the television with a bowl of cereal to watch cartoons. Then she’d call her mom, as she did every Sunday morning, and they would chat for an hour about what was going on in their respective worlds.

She knew exactly how the conversation would go. Her mom would ask if she had any new clients at the interior design studio, while sounds of coffee being poured filtered from each end of the line. After that, she’d want to know what Molly had done in preschool that week. Since Olivia Stuart was mayor of Grand Springs, Colorado, and on the board of nearly every charity in town, Eve would then get an update on the latest fund-raiser, along with an earful about how the city council was trying to railroad this issue or that cause. Grand Springs was more than a thousand miles from Santa Barbara, but she and her mom had never let the distance interfere. They had always been close.

Eve leaned her forehead against the window, too numb to notice the sunlight dancing off the puddles left by the storm. She’d been nervous about coming back, and her reasons had nothing to do with her family. But assuming she wouldn’t be here long, she’d come to attend her brother’s wedding and to spend the weekend with her mom. Instead, the wedding had been called off because the bride disappeared, massive mud slides and a blackout had thrown the town into utter chaos, and she had spent yesterday in the chapel and this morning on a park bench across from Vanderbilt Memorial hospital trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all.

Her mother had collapsed on Friday night. A heart attack, Dr. Jennings had told her. But that was impossible. Her mother had never had anything more serious than a cold. Now she was dead.

“The lady says I’m suppose’ to watch TV and let you take a nap. Can’t I be in here with you, Mommy?”

At the sound of the soft little voice, Eve wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Her pixie-faced little girl stood in the doorway of the bedroom. The pink bow of one long black pigtail drooped listlessly, and Ted, her battered blue teddy bear, dangled from her small fist as if he were hanging on for dear life. The lady Molly referred to was Millicent, the next-door neighbor who’d sat with her all night and most of yesterday.

Molly cocked her head, her little brow furrowing.

“Are you sad?”

Eve sank into the maple rocking chair behind her and opened her arms. Leave it to a child to reduce a myriad of emotions to their simplest term.

“Yes,” she whispered when Molly climbed into her lap. “Yes, I am.” The little girl smelled of bubble bath and orange juice, scents that seemed so impossibly normal. “I need to tell you something, honey. About Grandma.”

Searching for the words she didn’t want to voice, Eve smoothed back Molly’s dark bangs. Her little girl was so small, so innocent, and every instinct Eve possessed screamed to protect her baby from such a harsh reality. But Molly would start asking questions soon. Lately, it seemed all she did was ask questions.

“Do you remember when they took Grandma to the hospital in the ambulance, and I told you she was very sick?”

With her chin on Ted’s head, Molly gave a sober nod.

“Well, the doctors did everything they could to make her better…but they couldn’t.” Eve swallowed past the knot in her throat. “She died.”

A frown swept Molly’s delicate features.

“Do you know what that means?”

“I think so.”

“You do?”

“Angela Abramson had a fish that died.”

Angela was her little friend from preschool. Eve had forgotten about the fish. “Then, you understand that when someone…or something…dies, it can’t come back again.”

Innocent blue eyes turned troubled. “Did they flush Grandma down the toilet?”

“Oh, no, honey,” Eve assured, hugging her close. “It’s different with people than it is with fish.”

“Then, where is she?”

“Well,” Eve began, wondering how to explained something so complicated. “The part of her that we can see is still at the hospital. But the part of her that made her the person we knew…her spirit…is in heaven.”

“Can we go see her spirit?”

“Heaven is where the angels are, Molly. People…living people…can’t go there. You remember me reading to you about angels, don’t you?”

Eve felt Molly nod and curl closer. Her daughter was familiar with angels from bedtime stories, and with the angel that crowned their tree at Christmas. What she knew about “real” angels, though, was that she couldn’t see them. So Eve explained that her grandma was just like those angels now. Even though they couldn’t see her, she would always be with them.

It was hard for Eve to know if her little girl could grasp such a concept. Though she tried desperately to find some comfort in it herself, intangibles provided little solace at the moment. The only thing that helped the ache in her chest was holding Molly. With her child’s warm little body snuggled securely in her arms, she slowly began to rock.

“Mommy?”

“What, honey?”

“Is your daddy an angel, too?”

Eve had never known her father, and her mom had rarely mentioned him. He’d died so long ago that she had no mental image of him at all. “I suppose he is.”

“So Grandma won’t be lonesome up there?”

“No, honey. She won’t be lonesome.”

“Mommy?”

“Hmm?”

“How come I don’t have a daddy?”

“You do have a daddy,” Eve replied, numbness buffering the jolt she might have otherwise felt at the question. “Everyone does. Some of us just don’t live with them.”

“Oh.” Molly wiggled in tighter. “We live with just us, huh?”

“Just us,” she repeated, and let herself be grateful that her little girl hadn’t pressed for more.

Eve had always known Molly would ask about her father someday, but the child didn’t need anything else to shake her little world just now. And, just now, Rio Redtree was the last person on earth Eve wanted to think about. Not that she’d been able to avoid thoughts of him. Ever since she’d decided to come home, the enigmatic man who’d once stolen her heart had been very much on her mind.

It had been six years since Eve had seen him. Six years that seemed like a lifetime. Rio was an investigative reporter for the Grand Springs Herald now. According to her mother, the most relentless reporter the paper had ever hired. Only her mother had known how close she and Rio had once been. And only her mother had known that he was the father of Eve’s child.

But Rio didn’t even know Molly existed.




Chapter One


July 15

Eve stopped in the doorway of her mom’s bedroom, packing boxes in hand and a knot in her throat. She wouldn’t think about what she had to do. She’d just do it.

The resolution made, she dropped the boxes by the lace-covered four-poster bed, whipped back the curtains overlooking the flower garden and opened the doors of a tall cherry armoire. The cubicles at eye level were filled with neatly folded sweaters. Cardigans and lightweights on one side, jacket-types and bulky knits on the other. Without letting herself recall the last time she’d seen her mother wearing any one of them, Eve put the lot in a box designated for the women’s shelter. She set the small floral sachet she found tucked behind them in a smaller box for mementos she would save for Molly.

Keeping her mind carefully blank, she turned next to the narrow drawer beneath the now empty shelves. It held scarves. Soft squares of soft periwinkle, rose and yellow lay next to lengths of poppy red, royal blue and emerald green. Patterns were separated from solids. Pastels from primaries. Each color group was separated further by size.

She’d known her mother was efficient, even admired her innate sense of order. But had she ever realized she was this organized?

At the thought, Eve’s resolve faltered. She wasn’t a strong person. A little stubborn, maybe. Independent, definitely. And that, out of necessity as much as training. But she really wasn’t strong enough to divorce herself from the ache in her chest. It was just that, after packing up most of the closet yesterday, blocking her mind to what she was doing had seemed the only way to get through the rest of the room without dehydrating herself.

She hesitantly touched a square of indigo blue. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home in Santa Barbara. Back in her sunny apartment with the tulips she and Molly had planted struggling to grow on their tiny patio. Back at work, arguing with jerky Geoff Englebright about whether or not she could handle major accounts on her own. Back in the familiar world of shuttling Molly to preschool and day care and to T-ball or tumbling class on Saturday, and spending evenings with the sketches she hoped would someday be good enough to sell.

What did she know about filing for probate and liquidating assets and whatever else the attorney had said she needed to do? She knew color and texture and space. She knew how to design interiors that were functional, appealing, stunning. Whatever the client wanted. She knew “Disney princesses” and how to make cupcakes with smiley faces. But she still didn’t know what she was supposed to do with all the things her mother had loved.

Squares of fabric turned into a kaleidoscope of color as the scarves blurred.

Blinking furiously, Eve pulled a breath and picked up a stack of silk. Her mother’s possessions wouldn’t pack themselves, so she’d best get on with it. After all, taking care of her mother’s belongings was part of the reason she’d come back.

Shortly after the funeral, she had returned to Santa Barbara to finish what design projects she could, then turned over the rest to her boss and begged for a leave of absence from her job. She’d been so busy, she could scarcely think. But the numbness that had protected her during that time had vanished the moment she’d walked back through the door of the spacious, two-story house, Molly and suitcases in tow. Though she’d been gone for almost a month, and she’d had a two-day, thousand-mile drive in which to prepare herself for her return, she’d felt just as rocky when she arrived as she had the day they’d left. Nothing had changed. In the days following her mother’s death, the unimaginable—the unthinkable—had become the reality.

Eve still couldn’t believe what the police had told her. Her mother hadn’t just had a heart attack. She’d been murdered.

“A lethal injection of potassium” was how the detective had so calmly described what the killer had used for a weapon. “Someone definitely knew what he was doing.”

The last of the scarves went into the box. The senselessness of her mother’s death only compounded the ache in Eve’s chest. Or maybe, she thought, it was some sort of unacknowledged rage at whoever could have done such a thing that made it so hard to breathe whenever she thought of why her mother was no longer there. It didn’t help that the police had yet to come up with a solid suspect; that whoever had robbed her and her brother of their mom, Molly of her grandmother and the entire town of a decent, caring human being was still running free. At least, she hadn’t heard that the authorities had any leads. Her brother, Hal, who was the acting mayor and in a much better position than she to get that sort of information, wasn’t speaking to her much these days.

The refined, two-tone chime of the doorbell cut off any consideration Eve might have given that disturbing development. As shaky as she was feeling, she could only handle one problem at a time, anyway.

The doorbell sounded again, the notes drifting through the house like a musical ghost.

One of the first things Eve had done when she’d returned a few days ago was enroll Molly in St. Veronica’s summer day camp. That meant her little girl wasn’t there to peek around the Priscillas in the living room and holler out a description of whoever was leaning on the bell.

For one totally indulgent moment, Eve considered not answering. Only the thought that Molly might be returning early had her shoving her fingers through her hair and heading for the stairs.

It wasn’t Molly. By the time Eve reached the bottom step of the wide, carved oak staircase, she could see a shape visible through the pattern of beveled glass on the front door. It was definitely adult. Big adult. The top of Molly’s head wouldn’t have even reached the casing of the oval window.

She headed across the wide foyer, thinking it was probably Millicent from next door or, perhaps, someone from one of the many organizations to which her mom had belonged. That thought, belated though it was, had her wishing she’d checked herself out in the dresser mirror. Her mom certainly would have. Appearances were important, after all. And Eve, the prodigal daughter, wanted very much to avoid reflecting badly on her mother.

Her hand brushed the collar of her pink oxford shirt, then flattened over the single pearl on her necklace. Her white slacks were cotton and casual, but her attire should stand up to scrutiny. It was the rest of her that needed work. Her blue eyes were probably rimmed in red, and her short blond hair would have been more presentable had she not shoved her fingers through it, but it was too late to undo the damage now. Her caller could see her approaching through the door’s window.

And she could see him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dark. The impressions registered a millisecond before her heart bumped her ribs and her steps faltered to a stop.

Rio.

Her heart jerked again, her thoughts scrambling. She’d known she’d have to see him. Considering his work and her obligations, avoiding him for the next couple of months would be nearly impossible. She knew, too, that she had to tell him about Molly before he found out on his own. But she had no idea how to do that. Or what he would say when she did.

A thread of panic tangled with the other emotions knotting her stomach. She’d known she would see him. But she’d never thought he’d appear on her mother’s doorstep.

Brass clicked when she pressed the latch. Pulling open the door, she glanced past the narrow band of a collarless white shirt to a jaw that looked chiseled from stone. A heartbeat later, she met eyes the color of midnight.

The scent of impending rain blew in with the breeze. Or maybe it was the man dwarfing her in the doorway that suddenly made the air feel charged. Rio seemed bigger to her, his lean body more powerful. His neatly trimmed black hair was combed straight back from his face, accentuating the bronze and beautifully honed features that spoke clearly of his Native American ancestry. But those features betrayed nothing.

His mouth, sculpted and blatantly sensual, formed a hard line when his glance moved from her pale features to the scarf in her hand, then locked on her face once more. Knowing she would see him didn’t mean she’d been prepared. She realized that the moment she encountered the piercing ebony eyes that had always seen so much, and revealed so little.

“Hello, Eve.”

“Rio.” His name was little more than a whisper. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I don’t imagine you did. May I come in?”

Another jolt of panic sliced through her at the question, her glance darting to her watch. Realizing that Molly wasn’t due to return for half an hour, her next breath came a little easier. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She pushed open the screen, than backed to the center of the large maroon-and-blue Aubusson rug when he stepped in and closed the door. In the space of seconds, he’d scanned the high-ceilinged foyer, the perimeter of polished wood floor and the mirror reflecting the matching Ming-style vases on the long entry table.

“I’m working on a story for the Herald about your mother’s murder.” His voice, smoky and deep, held a cool edge of professionalism as he studied his surroundings. He clearly had a purpose. Yet, he didn’t seem interested in knowing why she’d disappeared from his life without a word. Or why she’d refused to return his calls. When he turned to face her again, six years of silence screaming between them, he was all business. The look in his eyes as he noted the redness in hers seemed no less impersonal.

“I’m interviewing everyone who may have had any contact with her that last day,” he added, making it clear he hadn’t singled her out. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you. Just so you know, I’m not willing to jeopardize finding whoever’s guilty for the sake of a story. Anything you tell me stays confidential until the police investigation breaks.”

He was here because of his job. Not because of their past. Eve slowly expelled the breath that had locked itself in her lungs. She knew she should feel relieved. Yet, even though she’d always known that he had mattered far more to her than she had to him, she didn’t know what to make of his indifference.

Preferring it to the questions he could have asked, her glance fell to the length of crimson silk wadded in her fist. “I don’t know what I could possibly tell you. I have no idea who would have wanted to kill my mother. Or why.” She paused, her voice losing its steadiness as she drew the scarf through her fingers and held it up. Red had always been her mother’s favorite color. “I was packing Mom’s things. You wouldn’t think cleaning out drawers would be that hard, would you?”

She tried to smile. Pretty sure the effort didn’t match the result, she turned away, heading into the living room with its dark, polished woods and rich blue-and-burgundy fabrics. She could feel him watching her, assessing the way she moved, the tilt of her head. Yet, were she to face him, she doubted his expression would reveal anything that he didn’t want her to see.

Given the way she was feeling just then, a little lost, a lot uncertain, she’d barter everything short of her soul for that ability.

She could hear him moving behind her, his footfall slow and measured. There was caution in the sound. Or maybe it was reluctance. When he stopped beside a navy barrel chair, that hesitation had entered his voice.

“I’m really sorry about your mother, Eve. Considering how close you were, I’m sure you must miss her.”

She was right. Though some of the coolness had left his voice, his expression was still guarded.

“Thank you,” she returned. “I do miss her. Sometimes so much that I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it. But I’m getting by.” She managed the smile this time, even though it was a little shaky at the edges. “A lot of other people miss her, too. I think half the town attended her funeral.”

“I’m sure more would have been there if some of the roads hadn’t still been blocked.” His glance skimmed her face, but the unwilling concern in his eyes vanished as he looked away. “I was on an assignment on the other side of town, or I’d have been there myself.”

He couldn’t possibly know how relieved she was that he hadn’t been. The entire city had been affected by the mud slides that had taken out electrical power, roads and water lines. Though utilities had been restored for the most part and the roads cleared, like aftershocks of an earthquake, the effects of that fateful storm were still being felt. It was one that would go down in the history books. Which, she reminded herself, was the only reason Rio was here now.

“This investigation you’re doing,” she said, hurrying past the silence suddenly straining their conversation. “Have you found out anything yet?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Looking very much as if there was something else he wanted to say, he took a step closer. He must have changed his mind about whatever it was. That same step brought him right back to business.

“Nothing that leads anywhere specific. Since your brother is the council’s liaison with the police, he has an inside line to what’s going on. I’m sure you have as much information as I do. Maybe more.”

“Actually,” she replied, the hope he might know something fading to disappointment, “I know very little.”

That didn’t seem to be the response he’d hoped for. A frown slashed his forehead.

“So what has Hal told you?”

“Only that they’re working on it. He said he’d let me know if anything comes up.”

“That’s all?”

“We really don’t talk that much. Hal’s been awfully busy since he took over Mom’s mayoral duties.” The explanation sounded like an excuse. She knew that, but it was the truth, as far as it went. “I’ve talked to one of the detectives a couple of times, and he’s mentioned one theory they’re following. Something about strip miners and some lease renewal Mom was opposed to. But I hate to keep bugging him.” The hope sprang back, refusing to die. “If there’s anything you know…”

“Why isn’t Hal talking to you?”

His eyes searching hers, he moved closer still. He was a reporter, Eve reminded herself. He wanted a story. Yet, even though she knew that, even though Rio couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he was there only because he had to be, the edge in his voice had softened. Something that sounded suspiciously like the concern she’d so briefly glimpsed moments ago had stripped it away.

It made no sense at all to Eve, but if he suddenly turned nice on her, she didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it.

She drew a quick, steadying breath. At least, to Rio, it seemed she was seeking some sort of control just then. All he really knew was that he hadn’t expected to see her this way. More than that, he hadn’t expected her to matter.

Not anymore.

He had stopped an arm’s length from her, forcing her to tip her head back to look up at him. He could tell she’d been crying. Or trying to avoid it. Yet, even with the telltale pink tinting her sky blue eyes, there was no denying how lovely she had become. She was no longer the girl he remembered, but she was still as small and slight as a fawn. Her pale blond hair looked shot with sunlight, and though the stylish, sophisticated cut was far too short for his taste, it framed a face of fragile beauty; a face that revealed far more than he wanted to see.

Between the grief she so bravely held in check and her obvious hunger for anything she could learn about her mother’s murderer, she looked desperately in need of a pair of arms. Realizing that he was actually thinking about easing her into his, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Even if he could get past what she’d done to him, his touch could well be unwelcome.

“Are we on the record, or off?”

“None of what you say to me is going anywhere right now. I already told you that.”

“But this doesn’t have anything to do with your story.”

“This isn’t about the story. It’s about why your brother has cut you out of the loop.”

His words seemed to magnify the distress in her eyes. She already looked far too vulnerable. Far too alone.

Balling his hands into fists, Rio took a mental step back, regrouping, reassessing. Any investigative reporter worth his byline knew how important it was to remain objective. And he had been so sure his objectivity was in place where Eve was concerned. Obviously, he’d overestimated himself. With anyone else under such circumstances, he would never have barged in with the steamroller routine. But with her, all he’d wanted to do was get in, get the information he wanted, and get out. All the way across town, he’d reminded himself that whatever it was they’d once shared had ceased to matter the day she’d run off without so much as a goodbye, good luck or go to hell. The visit today was strictly business.

He reminded himself of that again, wanting to believe it this time, and watched her cross her arms. The bright slash of red scarf tangled from elbow to wrist.

“Eve,” he said, his tone quiet. “Why isn’t he talking to you?”

He spoke her name the same way she remembered his saying it when he knew something was on her mind. As if he was prepared to patiently drag it out of her if he had to.

He’d never had to try very hard.

“He’s upset because Mom named me the executor of her estate instead of him. We haven’t agreed on much of anything since we found her will.” She paused, just short of adding that she thought Hal’s feelings were hurt.

“So he’s punishing you by not giving you information?”

It sounded so juvenile when he put it that way.

“Grief affects people in many different ways,” she said defensively, thinking that someone who covered the trials and traumas of life for a living should certainly know that. Her older brother’s pain was as deep as her own. “But it’s not like Mom cut Hal out of the will. All she did was change her executor.”

“When did she do this?”

“Just a few months ago. Her attorney said he was talking to her about some other matters and she brought it up, almost as an afterthought.”

“She never hinted she was thinking about it?”

“She never said a word to me. I keep thinking that she planned to mention it and just didn’t get the chance. There was always so much going on with her, and with Hal’s wedding and everything, it just wasn’t a priority.”

She pushed her hand through her hair, the motion as unsteady as she looked. “She left so much undone, Rio. Every time I turn around, I find some other project she was in the middle of. If it’s not something for the Children’s Center, it’s the women’s shelter. And I’m trying to tie up all those loose ends by guessing how she would have wanted things handled. In the meantime, I’m on the fringes as far as the investigation is concerned. It’s hard not knowing anything.”

It shouldn’t have been so easy to admit all that to him. Nor should it have seemed so natural to stand there letting him see the frustrations she was so careful to shield from everyone else. But then, no one else had ever known her like he had. Even when she hadn’t felt like talking, he’d always been able to draw her out. And he’d always listened.

The knowledge was not only seductive, it was dangerous. And she had to be seriously addled to be going on as she was with Molly en route even as they spoke. Her little girl would be barreling up the steps in a matter of minutes.

“You know, Eve, it’s possible that you know more than you realize.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Are you willing to talk to me to find out?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do whatever I can to find out who did this to Mom. And I’ll answer your questions.” Praying the bus wouldn’t be early, she glanced nervously toward the door. “I just can’t do it now.”

“Are you expecting someone?”

The man was observant to a fault.

She told him she was and started across the room. “This isn’t a good time to talk.”

“Then, I’ll come by later. Just give me a time.”

“No! No,” she repeated, more quietly. “I’ll meet you tomorrow. In the morning. Is that okay?”

More curious about her reaction than about whoever she was expecting, he lifted his shoulder in a deceptively casual shrug. “Sure. When?”

“Is nine all right?”

She was already at the door. Rio was right behind her, wondering what had put the sudden tension in her slender shoulders. She was definitely more agitated than she’d been a moment ago, and far more evasive. He’d already noticed how she tended to avoid his eyes. But he wanted to think that was only because she was feeling a little guilty about the way she’d dumped him. Anxious as she was to get rid of him now, however, he couldn’t help thinking she was hiding something.

Whatever it was, he told himself, unless it had to do with Olivia Stuart’s murder, he didn’t care about it.

She opened the door, standing back so he could pass. He didn’t move, though. The doorway was blocked.

“You have company,” he quietly said, and watched with interest as the color drained from her face in the instant before she whirled around.

“You’d think the incompetents at the Herald would hire people with a decent aim, wouldn’t you?” A large woman with a headful of silver waves, silver-rimmed glasses and wearing a peacock blue pantsuit, held out a newspaper. “Yours was in the arborvitae. I found ours in my rosebushes. Yesterday, he missed the fountain by an inch.”

“Millicent,” Eve murmured, her hand leaving her throat to open the screen and reach for the paper the sprinkler had soaked. “Come in.”

“I can’t, dear.” She cast a pleasant smile toward the darkly attractive man by Eve’s shoulder, but just as she opened her mouth to continue, she recognized the reporter who’d interviewed most of the neighbors following Olivia’s death. “Well, Mr. Redtree. I didn’t realize you were here. How nice to see you again.”

A surprisingly easy smile deepened the masculine creases in Rio’s cheeks. “Mrs. Atwell,” he replied, acknowledging her with a nod.

The light in his eyes had color creeping up Millicent’s neck. “Oh, my. What I said about the paper, that doesn’t reflect on you, of course. About the incompetents, I mean. I was talking about the kids who deliver the paper. But you must know that.” Jeweled rings glittering, she waved the matter off, her curiosity overruling embarrassment. “Did I interrupt an interview?”

“I was just leaving.”

“Well, I still won’t keep you.” She turned to Eve. “I’m on my way to a hair appointment and I’m already late. I just wanted to let you know that the cleaning service I use can do the house for you if you’d like. I know your mother wasn’t very happy with the one she’d been using, so you might have better luck with this new company. Should I have someone come over to give you an estimate?”

Looking rushed, yet trying not to, Eve cast a cautious glance toward Rio. He seemed in no rush at all.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Eve told the woman, wishing Millicent had waited thirty seconds more to show up. That was all the time she and Rio needed to settle where they’d meet and he could leave. “But I’m going to take care of the house myself. If you know of anyone who does exterior windows, though, I’d appreciate their name.”

It was apparent from the slow arch of Millicent’s carefully plucked eyebrows that she regarded Eve’s decision to clean the house herself as somewhat extraordinary. In their social circle, it probably was. But Eve didn’t offer an explanation about why she couldn’t leave the task to strangers. Nor did she mention that she’d done her own cleaning for years. She simply waited for Millicent to tell her she would be happy to give her the name of a man she could call while the knots in her stomach cloned themselves.

“I really must go,” the woman finally said, casting one more glance at the man watching Eve. “I don’t want to lose my appointment.”

Eve didn’t want her to, either. As good a neighbor as Millicent had always been to her family and as kind as she’d been to her and Molly lately, Eve just wanted her to leave. So she thanked her again, then watched the sides of her blue silk jacket flutter behind her as she hurried down the steps.

Rio paid little attention to her departing neighbor. Trying to do the same with Eve, he pulled his keys from his pocket, then skimmed a glance over the delicate contours of her face. She looked tired. And edgy. He could appreciate the latter. Standing close enough to breathe the decidedly provocative perfume she wore had tightened every single muscle in his body.

“Nine’s fine,” he told her, taking up where they’d been interrupted. “Where?”

Eve didn’t miss a beat. “The miner’s memorial in Vanderbilt Park?”

He gave her nod as tight as the muscle in his jaw and trotted down the steps, his long, powerful strides carrying him to the black Durango at the curb. He didn’t care where they met so long as he got what he was after. If he was anything like he used to be, all he cared about was reaching his goal.

Eve was trembling when she stepped out onto the porch behind him and watched him pull away. The relief she felt that the bus hadn’t yet arrived was enormous. But she didn’t feel any sense of reprieve. As she lifted her face to the warm breeze and tried to calm her mind, she felt only a growing sense of apprehension—and a vague sense of loss that made no sense at all, considering how long it had been since she’d seen him. But then, her relationship with Rio Redtree hadn’t been based on common sense, anyway.

She had no trouble at all recalling the very first time she’d laid eyes on him, and she still couldn’t help but think that he never should have noticed her at all. She’d been a lowly freshman with a nose for art books and an outstanding ability to blend in with the scenery. Ever since she’d skipped fifth grade, she’d been the youngest kid in her class, and the smallest. That first day at Grand Springs University, among all the older college students, she’d felt totally out of place. But whether or not a heart-stoppingly handsome, slightly dangerous-looking upperclassman with a long black ponytail should have noticed her, Rio had singled her out of a hundred Spanish class students and sat down behind her. She could still remember the hair on her neck standing straight up when he’d leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

His voice had mesmerized her as surely as his words. Low, husky and as soothing as the sound of wind deep in a forest, his voice had seemed to flow over her, through her. He’d told her to not look so scared, that the first week was always the hardest. She would be fine.

She’d turned around and met his beautiful black eyes. He hadn’t smiled at her. He’d merely given her a nod to affirm what he’d said and slid back in his chair. Rio had somehow known exactly what she’d needed to hear that day. He’d seemed to possess some indefinable sixth sense for knowing when someone was feeling lost, or when they were vulnerable, or when they needed help. But she’d soon discovered a reticence about him that held him back from those very situations. It was as if he didn’t want to get involved at all. Yet, when no else did what needed to be done, he always stepped in.

That he’d so selflessly put her at ease was what had drawn her to him from that very first day. In a matter of weeks, she’d been drawn by other things as well. His patience. His insights. His persistence. He could always get her to open up, even when she didn’t think she wanted to. Once she started talking, he listened as if every word she said actually mattered to him.

As isolated as she’d felt at that time, having someone she could share her thoughts and feelings with had meant the world to her. The kids her own age had still been in high school, and because she had looked as young as she was and still lived at home, she never meshed with the college crowd. She hadn’t fit in much of anywhere that year. When she told Rio that, he told her he didn’t fit anywhere, either.

She never understood why he felt that way. When she asked him, he changed the subject and never answered. What he would talk about, though, was what was going on around them, because he was curious about everything, and about his dreams, his plans. By the end of that term, not a school day passed that they weren’t together. He had become her friend, her confidant. He’d even been the first person she’d wanted to tell when one of her drawings had placed in a school competition. She remembered running all the way across campus in the pouring rain, and when she’d flung herself into his arms, laughing, his eyes had gone from smiling to smoldering in the time it took him to lower her to the ground. He’d kissed her then. That first time. And after he’d done it again, he asked her if she had any idea what she did to him and what would happen if they didn’t stop.

She’d already been in love with him. Madly. And she still remembered exactly what she’d said. She told him she thought she did, but since she wasn’t positive, he’d have to teach her.

So he had. But not until she discovered she was pregnant did she realize that, at seventeen, she wasn’t ready for a commitment he wouldn’t want, anyway. By then, she’d learned that his plans didn’t include children. Ever. But not until she tried to contact him after Molly was born did she realize how much she didn’t know about him.

A bright white bus turned the corner, its windows reflecting patterns of sunlight and trees on its way to where she stood on the sidewalk. As it stopped in front of her to open its doors with a whoosh of air, she didn’t know which unnerved her more. The fact that she had known so little about Rio when she’d left six years ago. Or that she knew so much less about him now.




Chapter Two


Vanderbilt Park was a rectangular oasis of evergreens and rustling aspens, meandering paths and flowering gardens. The hospital complex fronted it on one side. Businesses, the courthouse and a chain of parked cars lined the rest of it.

Rio wedged his SUV between a city waterworks barricade and a landscaper’s pickup truck, did a slam dunk with the last of his coffee, then pitched the plastic cup through his window into a green City of Grand Springs trash barrel. Seconds later, with the bang of a door that had birds scattering, he was on his way to the miners memorial. It was five minutes to nine, and probably the first time in a month that he’d been on time for anything.

He could see the huge bronze of a battered miner leading a mule well before he reached it. The bench near it was empty. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he glanced past the small mountain of fir branches and uprooted trees one of the local organizations had collected during the ongoing storm cleanup, and checked out the path leading in the opposite direction.

It took him all of ten seconds to decide nothing of interest was taking place among the teenagers near the fountain, or the young mothers watching their children in the play area. He wasn’t looking for diversion, anyway. He wasn’t even looking for a story. Between his regular police and fire beats, a staff meeting and follow-ups on yesterday’s stories, he had plenty to keep himself out of trouble today. Any spare time he could scrape up, he’d spend on the cabin he was building near Two Falls Lake. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t missed Eve. She was the final name on his list of people known to have been in contact with Olivia Stuart that last day. If he couldn’t get a lead out of her, he had no idea where to go.

Stifling his frustration on that score, he scowled at his watch. After the hurry Eve had been in to get rid of him yesterday, he had to wonder if she’d show up at all. Just because she’d seemed willing to talk didn’t mean anything. He’d misjudged her before. He’d once believed she was different from the other people he’d let himself care about. He’d believed that he could trust her, count on her. But he’d never been more wrong.

He hadn’t been wrong about her reaction when she’d opened the door to him yesterday, though. There hadn’t been a hint of welcome in her expression. Not that he’d expected it. He’d seen caution. He’d sensed wariness. He’d even caught a fairly satisfying jolt of anxiety. What he would liked to have seen was regret.

One must never wish for another, what he would not wish twofold for himself.

Unexpected, unwanted, the elders’ ancient teaching reared from the depths of his memory. Rio gave a snort, dismissing it, then closed his eyes against the automatic rebellion. He’d abandoned so many of the old teachings over the years that tossing out one more shouldn’t matter.

The thought had scarcely nudged his conscience when his head came up. Eve was there. He knew it even before he saw her walking toward him. Though the reminder wasn’t particularly welcome, he’d always had an odd, almost feral awareness where she was concerned.

The gentle morning breeze lifted her hair away from her face, the bright sunlight turning pale gold to platinum. Small gold earrings flashed with the turn of her head. Another discreet flash caught her watch when she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The motion drew the short, sleeveless shift she wore higher, drawing attention to her slender legs, until she lowered her hand and his glance moved upward once again. The crisp white fabric that skimmed her hips and small breasts didn’t define her shape. Rather, it gave subtle, intriguing hints of the enticing, feminine curves hidden beneath.

Sweetness and seduction, he thought, pushing his hands into his pockets as he watched her move closer. Innocence and sophistication. The combination was as appealing as it was dangerous.

She stopped an arm’s length away. Eyes the clear, hypnotic blue of a summer sky met his.

“Before you say anything,” she said, “I need to apologize. I’m sorry I was such a basket case yesterday. You caught me at a bad time.”

He’d been well aware of that. He’d also spent half the night trying to forget everything else he’d noticed about her after he’d made it past the wariness and anxiety. The sadness in her eyes. Her bewilderment. The brave little smile that had caught him like a punch in the gut.

The way she’d practically pushed him out the door.

“Don’t worry about it.”

There was a hint of nerves behind the expression, but she smiled now at the reassurance. “So,” she began, sounding as if she were determined to get things off to a better start this time. “When did you go to work for the Herald?”

“Checking my credentials?”

Her slender shoulder lifted in a tight little shrug. “Curious. I thought you would have moved to a bigger city. You always talked about working for a big paper.”

“Still plan to.” Determined to be objective, he motioned toward the gray concrete bench and pulled a small digital recorder from his pocket. “Do you mind if I record this?”

She wasn’t interested in him or his plans. He was sure of that. She was just trying to be civil by making conversation. All he wanted was to get this over with.

She got the hint. Her smile dying, she pulled her glance from his.

“You can record it if you want,” she told him, leaving three feet of space between them when she sat down. “But I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the police. And that wasn’t very much. I wasn’t there when it happened.”

He knew that. He’d read her statements.

He punched a button on the small silver recorder he’d set between them and angled himself to face her. He would remain objective if it killed him. “Some of this might be hard for you,” he told her, refusing to deny her the understanding he would give anyone else under the circumstances. “We can stop anytime. Okay?”

That seemed to make her relax a little. “Okay.”

“Just tell me when you last saw your mother.”

The wind had blown a bit of twig onto the bench. He watched her pick it up, her attention following the motions of her fingers as she drew a deep breath, then quietly told him that the last time she’d seen her had been about an hour before her brother’s wedding had been scheduled to start.

“We’d gone ahead to Squaw Creek,” she explained, speaking of the ski lodge where her brother’s wedding was to have been held. “I hadn’t seen Hal yet and I wanted to wish him well before the ceremony. But Mom couldn’t find one of the earrings she wanted to wear. She told us to go on and that she’d be right behind us.”

“Who’s us?” Rio watched Eve’s hands, wondering if she had any idea how they gave her away. Though she appeared outwardly calm, when she was nervous or upset she couldn’t keep her hands still. Yesterday, it had been the scarf she’d pulled, twisted and strangled. Now it was the twig. The motions were small, barely noticeable, but she was methodically annihilating the bit of broken branch. “You and your daughter?”

He saw those lovely hands go still.

“Several people mentioned her being with you,” he explained, since she seemed surprised by his knowledge of the child. Darling girl, one of them had said. So exotic, claimed another. And tiny, like her mother. Poor thing was scared to death when the lights went out. “Is that who you mean?”

Eve cleared her throat. “Yes, it is.”

“What’s her name?”

“Molly. But she doesn’t know anything that would be of help,” she added hurriedly. “She was with me the whole time.”

“How old is she?”

The question was automatic. Person at scene. Get name, age, occupation. The presence of Eve’s daughter had just been one of those extraneous details he’d picked up during his interviews, along with dozens of others. Like the fact that the woman in charge of catering at the lodge was the minister’s cousin. And that Eve didn’t have a husband.

Not caring to consider why that latter detail should matter to him, he dismissed it. What he couldn’t dismiss was how Eve pushed past the subject.

“She’s too young to be interviewed,” she replied, sounding as if she figured that was what he was after. “Really, Rio, she won’t be any help at all. What else did you want to know about that night?”

He might have thought she was just being protective. Mothers of small children tended to be that way, after all. But there was something about the way Eve’s glance faltered before she started in again on the twig that seemed vaguely familiar. She almost seemed as uneasy now as she had yesterday when she’d been in such a rush to get rid of him.

Or maybe, he considered, she was just in a rush to get this over with. That being the case, he reiterated that she’d last seen Olivia at home, then asked when Eve had realized something had happened to her.

Not until she’d returned to the house, she told him, still seeming tense. Since it had been storming so badly and the streets were such a mess, it had taken them a while to get back to the house. The ambulance had been pulling out as they arrived. Confirming what he’d already learned from 911 dispatch, she told him Josie Reynolds had called it.

There didn’t seem to be much she remembered after that. In the quiet tones of someone who has told the story before and learned to numb herself to the memories, she went on to explain that Millicent had taken Molly home with her. Eve had then gotten back in her car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. The rest of that night was apparently a blur. She had no answer for any other questions he asked about the evening. Though she tried, she couldn’t recall seeing anyone acting suspicious. Nor did she remember anyone who’d seemed out of place. Once her daughter had been taken care of, her sole focus had been her mother.

Rio rested his elbow on the back of the bench. With his thumb hooked under his chin, he absently rubbed the cleft in his top lip while he studied Eve’s profile. She wanted to help. More than that, she seemed to need to help, something he understood far better than he wanted to admit. But not a word she’d said had done him any good at all.

Still looking for suspect and motive, he tried a different tack and asked if there had been a man in the picture. Other than for business, no one could recall seeing Olivia in a man’s company. But just because her personal life had seemed nonexistent, that didn’t mean it had been. Or so Rio was thinking before the slow but certain shake of Eve’s head cut off that particular avenue.

“Mom’s life was this town. She didn’t have time to have a boyfriend. We used to talk to each other on the phone every Sunday about what had gone on during the week. If there had been a man in her life, she’d have said something about him.”

Faced with that dead end, he tried another route and asked about disagreements, or if she knew of anyone her mother had upset in any way. Eve’s response didn’t promise any more hope there, either—until she mentioned that Olivia had been getting a ton of grief from the miners union and the mining company about her position on a mining operation. When Eve had expressed concern about it, her mom had said that sort of disagreement came with the territory and reminded her that a person in political office couldn’t possibly please everyone.

Rio’s glance sharpened. It was common knowledge that Olivia’s environmentalist leanings adversely affected renewal of the mine’s land lease. It was no secret, either, that the last word to leave her dying lips had been “coal.”

“Did she mention any names? Any person in particular she was arguing with?”

“If she did, I don’t remember.”

“Did she say if anyone from the union ever threatened her physically?”

“Never.” Eve finally looked up from her twig. “Do you think someone from the union did it?”

“I’m not implying that.”

“The police asked me these same questions, Rio. You know something, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not. My deal with the police is that I keep what information I have between them and me until this thing breaks.”

Holding his glance, her eyes narrowed.

“So that means everybody knows more than I do. Hal. The police. Now you. It’s their investigation. They’re his contacts. It’s your story. Damn it, Rio. She was my mother.”

For a moment, Rio said nothing. She hadn’t raised her voice. But her tone echoed what flashed in her eyes. Not annoyance. It was something far more subtle. Yet potentially more volatile. It was more like fury that had been refined and suppressed. Or, more likely, quietly denied.

Rio understood why it was there. He even knew how it felt, though her reasons for fighting the suffocating feelings were far more tangible than his own. She was an unacknowledged victim of a murder, a survivor with no answers, struggling to deal with her grief.

That her brother was keeping her in the dark surprised Rio. That he wanted to go for her brother’s throat because of it, surprised him, too.

He glanced at the recorder, then decided to leave it running.

“The union keeps coming up,” he finally admitted, though he kept the confidential aspects of that fact to himself. “A couple of potential suspects have been identified in its membership, but the police haven’t been able to get anything specific on them. That’s why it could be important for you to recall anything she said to you about anyone connected with the lease renewal.”

He could see her frustration slowly give way as she processed what he’d told her. It made no difference that he didn’t want to consider how overwhelmed she might feel by all that had taken place. He was beginning to sense an inner strength in Eve that the girl he’d known hadn’t yet grown to possess. That strength had been evident even yesterday, despite her bewilderment over her mother’s decisions and the stresses straining her relationship with her brother. She was doing what needed to be done and expecting no one to come to her rescue.

He had to admire that. He’d met too many people who expected others to bail them out when life got rough, or who took out their pain and frustration on everyone around them when something went wrong. Yet, despite her willingness to fight her own battles, to deal with her own pain, there was a vulnerability about her that was playing havoc with his more protective instincts.

His protective instincts weren’t the ones he was concerned about at the moment, however. What he felt when Eve tipped her head back and blew out a breath was considerably more basic.

Already more aware of her than he wanted to be, he let his glance slide down the long line of her throat, along her delicate collarbone and over the gentle swell of her breasts. They were fuller than he remembered, and he couldn’t help wondering how they would fill his hands.

At the thought, heat spiked through his gut. He knew how it felt to lie with her. How perfectly she had once fit his harder, tougher body. She had been a virgin the first time they’d made love, totally inexperienced, but so trusting. So innocently willing. With no effort at all, he could recall far more about that night than was wanted or wise, and since seeing her yesterday, he could swear nearly every detail of that first afternoon had been resurrected. She’d had news she’d wanted to share, and she’d come to his apartment. It had been raining and she’d been laughing, and when she’d launched herself into his arms, the feel of her soft, supple body pressed to his had nearly brought him to his knees.

The muscles in his jaw jerked as he sought to banish the memory. What he needed to remember about Eve Stuart was that she had left without a word. Somewhere along the line, she’d gone on to another man, made love with him as they had done, borne a child. The past was over and done with. At least, it was about to be.

“I honestly can’t think of anything else, Rio.”

“Then, answer one last question.” He’d told himself he didn’t need to know. That her reasons couldn’t possibly matter now. No longer willing to lie to himself, he turned off the recorder with a quiet click and looked up to meet her eyes. “Why did you leave without talking to me?”

Rio’s glance never wavered. He simply sat there, solid and unyielding as granite while the color drained from her face.

He knew she hadn’t expected the question. Not then. Not while she was dealing with the too-fresh memories of the night her mother had been killed. Not while she was struggling to remember something, anything, that would help the police.

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Seems to me it’s as good a time as any.”

“Because you decided so? I tried to talk to you about something other than this investigation a few minutes ago but you didn’t want any part of it. And yesterday, you acted as if we’d never known each other at all.”

He wasn’t swayed by her logic. “It’s been six years, Eve. How much longer do you need?”

Far more than you’re giving me, she thought, catching the adversarial glint in his eyes. She honestly didn’t think he would want anything to do with Molly. But if he did, she needed to know the man he had become, and what sort of influence he would be in her daughter’s life. In her own life. She had so little to go on now.

Rio didn’t seem to expect an answer. Despite the faint edge in his words, his deep voice remained as cool and matter-of-fact as his expression.

“Did you know that I tried for weeks to find out where you’d gone, Eve? Weeks,” he repeated, the edge hardening. “But all I could find out was that you’d decided to finish school in California and that you were staying with relatives. Your mother refused to tell me anything else. So I went to the registrar’s office at the college. I thought I could find out where your records had been sent. But they wouldn’t give me a thing, so I tried your mom again. Only that time I asked her if she’d sent you away because of me.”

“Rio—”

“She claimed it hadn’t been her idea for you to leave,” he said, cutting her off. “Apparently, you were the one who didn’t want me to know where you were. But she said she’d ask you to call me. Did she ever ask you that, Eve?”

More than once. They’d even argued about it. “Yes,” she quietly replied.

That wasn’t the response Rio wanted. He’d wanted Eve to deny that Olivia ever gave her his message. He’d wanted her to tell him that her disappearance had been her mother’s idea all along, and that Olivia really hadn’t been as accepting of him as she’d seemed to be. It would have salved his pride enormously to know that Eve had been coerced into leaving. But all she’d done was confirm that it had, indeed, been her decision to leave without a word of explanation.

He slipped the recorder into his pocket, then leaned forward to let his clasped hands dangle between his knees. For so many years, none of this had mattered. He’d gone on, done what he’d wanted to do. Forgotten. Or so he’d thought. He’d forgotten nothing. He’d simply buried the feelings of hurt, confusion and anger along with a sense of loss that had stunned him. Seeing her again had been like entering a forbidden burial ground. All manner of ghosts had risen up to haunt him.

“Just tell me what I’d done that you couldn’t at least talk to me before you took off.”

“It wasn’t like that, Rio. It wasn’t a matter of who did what to whom. It was the circumstances.”

“Like the circumstance that you’re white and you decided you didn’t want to be involved with an Indian? Was that it?”

Eve’s startled “No!” was little more than a gasp as she grabbed his arm to keep him from moving away. Race had never been an issue. Not for her.

She wasn’t sure Rio believed that. Seeing his dark eyes turn to flint, jarred by the unexpected accusation, she wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. It was incomprehensible that her leaving so long ago would matter to him now. Just as unfathomable was how deeply he’d dug looking for the reason she’d gone. As for his heritage, he’d scarcely mentioned his family at all when they’d been together, and it was never a factor in their relationship.

The tension in the hard muscles beneath Eve’s hand finally registered. Reaching for him had been instinctive. But touching him had been a mistake.

His glance fell to her hand, pale and slender against his darker skin. In the space of a heartbeat, it moved to her lips, lingering long enough to seal the air in her lungs before shifting to meet her eyes once more.

He was a beautiful man. Solid as the earth. As mysterious as the craggy mountains rising all around them. She’d always thought him so. But there was an edge to him now, a kind of raw energy that surrounded him, an invisible force field that made him even more unreachable than he’d once been.

That thought caused a ball of nerves to knot in her stomach. Or maybe what she felt was the heat of his glance pooling the warmth low in her belly. He was a much harder man than she remembered. So much more cynical.

And so very…male.

Totally unnerved, her hand slipped from his arm. As it did, the rising cry of an ambulance siren sliced through the heavy silence. The sound had just started its downward arc when it was joined by an electronic beep.

Rio swore. With his jaw clenched tightly enough to crush bone, he reached for his phone on his belt and looked at an incoming text message. “I’ve got to go.”

Eve couldn’t hide her relief at the reprieve. Still, desperate to keep the lines of communication open between them, for Molly’s sake, she started to reach for him again.

Like a child who’s just remembered the burner was hot, she pulled back and curled her fingers into her palm. “I don’t want us to be like this, Rio. Please. We don’t have to be enemies.”

Rio was already on his feet, towering over where she remained seated on the bench. With her head tipped back as she looked up at him, she reminded him of a frightened doe with her throat exposed to a predator. She wasn’t even trying to protect herself.

The phone beeped again, the sound as impatient as he was beginning to feel. “We’ll have to talk later.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

Her reluctant question caught him as he turned. Not at all sure what to make of her, he told her to suit herself and cut across the grass to where he’d left his Durango parked at the curb.

The ambulance that had just left the hospital went screaming by as he called the news desk. Thirty seconds later, he pulled onto the tree-lined street and was on his way to the other end of town to cover an accident involving a semi and a motorcycle. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which vehicle had lost. He just wished whatever was going on with Eve was as obvious.

She clearly didn’t want to talk about why she’d left. Yet she wasn’t making any effort to avoid him, either. That alone made him curious. He hated unanswered questions.

He was even less enthralled with the unexpected feelings that had crawled out of nowhere.

He could usually separate his feelings from a situation, act only on those that were necessary. As a child, he’d been taught that judgment was impaired when the mind was not clear. Man must rule emotion, not the other way around. As a reporter, the talent was invaluable. As a man, he found it protective. So all he had to do was clear his mind. Focus. And put the entire encounter with Eve into perspective.

The task took a block and a half. Following the ambulance through a red light, he told himself he’d be a fool to let injured pride stand in the way of an investigation. Eve was a valuable source. If she’d talked to Olivia as often as she’d indicated, she probably knew more than anyone realized. He could use her to corroborate information and pick her brain about possible suspects. The rest, he would ignore. After all, he had no problem with balancing acts. Having walked the line between rebellion and conformity for as long as he could remember, he was actually pretty good at it by now.

The ambulance rolled to a stop mid-intersection, blocking the blinking lights of a patrol car. After pulling past a no-parking zone so he wouldn’t be in the way of the paramedics, Rio headed at a trot toward the man who appeared to be the driver of the semi. Even as he mentally winced at the teenager sprawled near the mangled motorcycle, he reminded himself to ask Eve if Olivia had kept any sort of a diary.

* * *

The pages of the calendar her mom kept by the phone in her study reminded Eve of her own. Notes, phone numbers and artistic doodles showing a flair for spirals and curves lined the margins. Most of the grids were filled in with birthdays or anniversaries of friends and professional commitments of one sort or another.

Eve was on the phone, adding a few doodles of her own while making arrangements to cover one of those commitments when three and a half feet of nightgowned and pigtailed little girl came tearing into the comfortable, book-lined room.

“Mommy,” she whispered loudly, as if whispering didn’t count as an interruption. “There’s a man at the door. A big one. I didn’t open it,” she added, well versed in the perils of “stranger-danger,” “but I saw him through the window. I waved.”

Excusing herself to Betty Dodd, the intimidatingly efficient executive chairperson of the Children’s Center, Eve put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Is it Uncle Hal?”

Molly gave an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know who he is. Want me to ask?”

Eve had already changed into her nightclothes. Buttoning the long white cotton robe she’d thrown on over her chemise, she told her little girl that she’d take care of it and to go back to her movie, then told the woman who’d asked her to speak in Olivia’s place at a charity luncheon that she’d have to call her back. Eve wasn’t expecting anyone this evening. Especially not at this hour. It was after nine o’clock.

The robe was fastened from mid-thigh to lace yoke when she hurried through the foyer. Passing the wide archway to the living room, she saw Molly sprawled in front of the television once more, watching Aladdin for the hundred and umpteenth time. Hoping the child would stay put, and pretty certain she would since her favorite part of the DVD was coming up, Eve glanced through the pattern of leaded glass on the door.

Rio stood in the blue-white glow of the porch light.

She opened the door but not the ornate metal screen.

A frown of uncertainty slashed Rio’s chiseled features when his appraising glance slid from her neck to her knees. “You weren’t in bed, were you?”

“Not yet.” Watching his frown settle between her breasts, she reached for the button at her throat. “I was on the phone.”

“I know,” he muttered. “Your line’s been busy all evening.”

She meant to keep him on the porch. Overriding her intention to join him out there, he pulled open the screen the moment she unlatched it. Or maybe, she thought, seeing his mouth pinch when she shivered, it was the fact that she was getting cold that made him decide to step inside.

His rationale made no difference. Either way, Eve had to back up to avoid getting run over, but she refused to move any farther than the entry table. She wasn’t concerned about how Rio’s presence dominated the space, or even about his purely male interest when his glance strayed again to the sheer lace exposing glimpses of skin above her breasts. He could strip her naked for all she cared at the moment. What left her so unnerved was the fact that he was here, and so was Molly.

Exercising the only control he’d left her, short of pushing him back out the door, she turned her back to the wide oak staircase so he wouldn’t be facing the living room.

“This isn’t a good time, Rio. I know we need to talk, but maybe we could do it tomorrow. You can come back in the morning. Or I’ll meet you.”

“Relax, Eve. This isn’t about us.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, his sigh heavy. “I just want to know if Olivia kept any sort of a diary here.”

Relaxing was impossible. Not with him standing thirty feet from the daughter he didn’t know he had. Seeing him frown at her crossed arms, she did what she could to accommodate him and let them fall to her sides. “I don’t know that she kept one at all. At least, I haven’t come across one. I’ll look again and let you know.”

And ask you later why you want it, she added to herself as she started for the door.

He wasn’t going to be dismissed that easily.

“What about a personal phone book? The kind that has family friends in it. Is that here, or did the police take it?”

“It’s here. So is her personal calendar,” she conceded, but she didn’t get a chance to ask if his questions could wait. The chatter of animated voices drifting from the living room had given way to the strains of violins. Right on cue, Molly’s clear, sweet voice joined the cartoon characters on the screen serenading the world from a magic carpet. Dynamite couldn’t blast her away from this part of the show.

A bubble of panic lodged in Eve’s chest when she saw Rio’s dark head turn to the living room.

Molly was sitting up now, her back to them as she sang along with her favorite song. The child definitely had his attention, but with Molly glued to the television, all he could see of her was the back of her pink nightgown and two long, dark pigtails.

“That’s your daughter?” he asked, without taking his eyes from the slender little back.

Protectiveness joined panic. “Yes. And she doesn’t know anything that would be of any help.”

His eyebrow arched at the easy way she’d read him. “People tend to underestimate kids. You never know what a child sees.”

Had it not felt so imperative to put some distance between him and that particular child, Eve might have wondered how someone who’d wanted so little to do with children had come by such an insight. But with her nerves stretched thinner by the second, and unprepared for him to discover exactly who Molly was, creating that distance between father and child was her only interest.

“Mom’s address book is in the study,” she said, snagging his attention once more. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll get it.”

With one last glance toward the little girl now holding her arms wide as she belted out an amazingly clear high C, Rio stifled a smile and followed Eve down the hall.

“How long have you been divorced?” he asked from behind her.

Her heart gave an unhealthy jerk. “I’m not divorced.”

That gave him pause. Or maybe, Eve thought, he was just silent because they’d entered the study and he was looking around. At her mother’s collection of law books, perhaps. Or the prints of wildflowers that saved the space from being too masculine. She honestly didn’t know what he was doing when she headed for the antique mahogany desk that bisected the narrow room. Nor did she care. She just wanted him out of there.

“Are you widowed?” he asked, a little more quietly.

Just as quietly, she responded with a soft “No.”

Another moment passed. Eve could have sworn she heard wheels turning.

“I heard that you didn’t have a husband.”

With her attention on the drawer she opened, she murmured, “It’s nice to know the local grapevine is so accurate.” She held up the small brown address book, determined to keep his focus on his investigation for now. “What do you want with this?”

Rio had come to a halt near the hunter green wing chair. His frown matched hers, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he now knew she’d never been married, or because she was holding what he wanted and she didn’t appear willing to give it up.

“I’m looking for names of people Olivia knew so I can talk to them. Until you came back, I couldn’t get to any of her personal things.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what made him think he could have access now. But that was her independence asserting itself. She couldn’t afford to irritate him. For a number of reasons.

“Look,” he began, seeming to realize he’d assumed more than he should. “Your mother routinely confided in you. And you said yourself that you aren’t getting much information out of your brother. If you’ll help me with my investigation, I’ll see that you don’t have to rely on him to keep up with what’s going on, or worry about bothering the detectives. I’ll tell my contact at the department that we have an arrangement, and keep you informed about anything that develops myself.”

Eve felt the faintest trace of tension ease from her shoulders. She already knew she’d do whatever she could to help find her mother’s killer, and to have access to the investigation through Rio would be a godsend. Not only would she know what was going on, she also would have the chance she needed to get to know him.

“I need some of the numbers in here,” she said, thinking that he hadn’t changed in at least one respect. He still seemed as driven as ever. She knew he’d been working since at least nine o’clock this morning. Twelve hours later, he was still at it. “The police made a copy of this and her calendar. I’ll make photocopies of them and bring them by your office. Maybe I could buy you lunch?”

She didn’t know if he was interested in her offer. Only that he was either surprised or intrigued by it. His eyebrow had barely arched when his attention was diverted by the little girl whose curiosity about their visitor had kicked in the moment her song was over.




Chapter Three


Molly stood in the study doorway, her long pink nightgown falling off one shoulder and puddling on the tops of her bare toes. Ted, her battered, blue teddy bear, dangled from one hand.

Eve didn’t move. She wasn’t sure she even breathed.

The address book had lost Rio’s attention. Turning to the door, an easy, wholly unexpected smile stole over his face.

“Well, hi there,” he said, that same smile entering his deep voice. “Is your show over?”

“The good part is.” Molly’s eyes, blue like her mother’s, moved up his frame. As small as she was, he must have looked like a mountain to her. “I’m Molly Stuart. Who are you?”

“Rio Redtree.” Yanking at the knees of his khakis, he crouched down in front of the curious child and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Molly.”

Molly grinned and, doing what she thought people did when they went through this routine, laid her small hand in his broad palm.

As long as her mom was around, no person was a stranger. So it wasn’t her daughter’s behavior that gave Eve pause—even when Molly screwed up her nose at his last name and said she didn’t know people could be named after colored trees. It was Rio’s manner that was so unexpected.

It had been her experience that men, unless they were already familiar with children, tended to treat any human in the three-feet-tall range with either ambivalence, suspicion or a combination of both. Certainly, she’d never suspected Rio would seem so comfortable around a child. Not given how certain he’d been about never wanting any of his own.

Confusion joined trepidation as Molly, noticing the ring he wore, took his hand in both of hers and turned it over. Rio didn’t seem to mind her interest. Nor did he seem in any particular hurry to get back to what he’d been so interested in just moments ago. As he explained the shapes etched in the heavy silver of the ring, Rio seemed as intent on the child as the child was on him.

“The symbol here is Cheyenne. And this one is Arapaho. The feather is important for lots of reasons, and the three blue circles,” he explained, scanning her delicate features after he’d pointed out what he was talking about, “are a symbol of the Arapaho people.”

“What’s Cheyenne and Rapa…what is it?”

“Arapaho. They’re the Indian tribes of my parents.” His glance moved over her pigtails, taking in her hair’s deep sable color. “Arapaho men used to tattoo the circles on their chests, and the women would tattoo a single circle right there.” He touched his index finger to the center of her forehead.

Molly giggled. “What’s a tattoo?”

“Come on, Molly,” Eve cut in, curving a protective hand over one small shoulder. “You know who’s here now, so go back to your movie.”

The little girl looked up at her mom, her head tipping backward. “But I want to know what a tattoo is.”

“It’s like a drawing on your skin,” Rio continued, never taking his glance from the little girl.

“Mommy won’t let me draw on myself.”

The way Molly’s cupid’s bow mouth drew up in one corner when she frowned made Rio smile again. He couldn’t help it. The kid was a charmer.

He sat back on his haunches, watching the child’s somber expression turn animated once more when he agreed that moms could sometimes ruin the really fun stuff. The women at the wedding had been right. Eve’s daughter was, indeed, a tiny little thing. Delicate, dainty. Dainty, that was, except for the chokehold she had on her cyanotic stuffed bear. She had her mother’s azure eyes and the same engaging smile. But there was a familiarity to the rest of her features that had him feeling as if something heavy was sitting on his chest.

That familiarity wasn’t there because of her mother. As Eve was so fair, he didn’t think it likely that Molly’s dusky skin and nearly black hair had come from her gene pool. He had no idea what Eve’s father had looked like, but the surname Stuart did not conjure up an image of a swarthy man. As for Olivia, the woman had been pale as milk. If it weren’t for all the time Eve’s brother, Hal, had spent on the slopes last winter and by his pool this summer perfecting his tan, he would have looked the same. What Rio recognized in the apple-cheeked child was the resemblance she bore to his youngest nieces. And to him. She had the same defined cleft above her upper lip and dimple in her chin.

He was thinking she might as well have a sky blue circle tattooed on her forehead when Eve finally snagged the little girl’s attention long enough to tell her she needed to say good-night to him and finish her movie.

“Don’t sit too close to the television,” Eve called as Molly, having done what she was told with little more than an exaggerated sigh, disappeared around the corner.

Casting a furtive glance in Rio’s direction, Eve hoped to heaven she wouldn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

“Once she starts with questions, it’s hard to get her stopped. You wouldn’t believe the questions she was asking the gardener yesterday. Now, where were we? Oh, yes,” she said, hurrying on, easing the death grip she had on the address book. “I’ll bring a copy of this to you tomorrow. Okay?”

She was speaking to stone. Rio’s attention was still fixed on the doorway, his stance rigid. Though she could see only his profile, it didn’t appear that what she’d said registered at all.

“Will that be all right?” she asked, trying again.

Seconds passed with the tick of the clock on the desk. Muffled music filtered down the hall from the television. When he finally turned to face her, his eyes settled hard on hers.

“She’s a cute kid.”

Ambivalence sliced through her. “Yes. She is.”

“I don’t suppose you adopted her.”

The statement wasn’t unreasonable. Not given the disparity in looks between mother and daughter. It was Rio’s phrasing that made Eve’s heart kick her ribs. To anyone else, the question might have sounded like simple curiosity. To Eve, it sounded like a process of elimination.

“No,” she quietly returned. “I didn’t.”

“Did you have another Indian boyfriend?”

“No.”

“How old is she?”

“Rio, we need…”

“It’s a simple question.” His tone was mild. Deceptively so. “How old is she?”

The edge of the address book bit into her palm. “Five.”

A muscle in his jaw constricted, tightening the cords in his strong neck and turning his tone utterly flat.

“I was careful, Eve. We always used protection. Always,” he repeated, as if she were going to dispute the fact.

Eve had no intention of doing any such thing. She had no intention, either, of pointing out that protection obviously didn’t always work. Rio was doing a fine job of drawing his own conclusions.

“She’s mine, isn’t she.”

She wished she could read him. She wished something about that frustratingly impenetrable facade would let her know what was going on inside his head. But he kept his thoughts too hidden. Just as he always had.

The Fates, she decided, were truly perverse. Of all the things that had changed in the past six weeks—the past six years, for that matter—Rio’s ability to suppress his reactions seemed the one thing that had remained the same.

“Yes,” she admitted, not sure if she should be relieved or worried by his apparent calm. “She is.”

“How much longer before she goes to bed?”

“She should be there now. Why?”

It was hard enough to gauge his reaction with him facing her; it was impossible for her to comprehend what she was up against when he turned to the night-blackened window.

“Go take care of her. I’ll wait.”

* * *

Molly’s movie wasn’t over, but it really was past her bedtime and she had day camp in the morning. Since Molly loved camp, she offered only a token protest, then, on the way to the stairs, reminded Eve of her promise to leave on the hall light so the monster under her bed wouldn’t get her.

The monster nightmare was new. Hating the thought of her little girl being scared, Eve promised not only to leave the light on, but that she would personally check to make sure the only things under the bed were dust bunnies. When that didn’t completely alleviate Molly’s fear, Eve caved in and tucked the child into her own bed.

Her little girl’s eyes were already closing when, prayers, hugs and kisses dispensed, Eve left the room, leaving the light on as promised.

Rio was right where she’d left him in the study.

He still stood in front of the window, his hands on his hips and his shoulders rigid. Eve didn’t know what he saw beyond the dark glass. Or even if he noticed anything at all. In the reflection, it looked as if his eyes were closed.

Feeling as if she were shutting the gate on a cage, she closed the door behind her with a quiet click and leaned against it.

He didn’t move. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t? Was someone physically restraining you?”

“Of course not. What I meant—”

“What you meant,” he interrupted, wheeling around, “is you wouldn’t.” He kept his voice deliberately low. “All you had to do was say, Rio, I’m pregnant.”

He made it sound as simple as commenting on the weather.

“And what would you have done?” she demanded, regarding his attitude as highly unfair. “Helped me put her up for adoption? Paid for an abortion? You didn’t want children,” she pointed out as something fierce flashed in his eyes. “You told me so yourself when you talked about what you wanted to do with your life. Even if you had wanted them, it’s not as if marriage had been an option. I didn’t know that much about you. Until you mentioned it to Molly a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know what tribes you came from.”

“There’d have been no abortion.”

There was as much possessiveness as moral conviction in his curt pronouncement. She should have found that telling. All she considered was that he’d responded to the only thing that had never been an issue.

“I never even considered one,” she muttered, amazed by how he’d completely missed the point.

Determined to be reasonable, she reiterated what he’d conveniently overlooked. “You didn’t want children,” she repeated. “I asked you once how you felt about them and you made it perfectly clear that they were fine for other people, but not for you. Kids hold a person back, you said, and nothing was going to stop you from getting where you were going. You were positively driven, Rio. You had to graduate and get a job on a paper and work your way up to the city desk. For all I knew, you had plans for a Pulitzer and a move to the New York Times. If it didn’t have to do with your career, it wasn’t in the equation.”

Rio didn’t deny a word she said. As implacable as ever, he planted his hands on his hips and stared at the nap in the carpet while he wore down the enamel on his back teeth. She’d never known him to let anything stand in his way. From the moment she’d met him, he’d known exactly what he was going to do, and when; what he wanted for himself—and what he didn’t want. That confidence was one of the things she’d admired most about him. Especially when back then, she’d had so little confidence in herself.

When she’d first met him, she’d been a slightly overwhelmed, seventeen-year-old college freshman. Rio had already finished three years of college in two and was cramming his senior year into six months. She didn’t doubt he’d finished right on his schedule, either. According to her mom, he’d been the youngest intern ever hired onto the Herald’s staff.

“You knew what you wanted,” she repeated, thinking of how quickly a person could learn to stand on her own when she had to. “But I didn’t. I was seventeen, Rio. I hardly knew what I wanted to major in, much less what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The way I saw it, we were in a situation that wouldn’t work for any of us. It was best to go away and give the baby up for adoption.”

She’d been seventeen.

Rio wasn’t sure why that made him wince. Grappling with the knowledge that he had a child, he didn’t try to figure it out. He was a reasonable man. He prided himself on his objectivity, his ability to see both sides of a story—and he knew for a fact that he’d done everything in his power to remain objective about Eve. But any sense of perspective he’d had was forever gone. She hadn’t believed he would do right by her. She’d doubted his integrity. Rather than trust him to work the problem out with her, she’d chosen to run away from him. At the moment, her distrust and deceit were all he could think about.

Tension vibrated from him like sound waves from a tuning fork.

“That’s very compelling, Eve. Except you didn’t give her up.”

“I didn’t plan to keep her. I didn’t,” she repeated, because he so clearly didn’t believe her. “But when I saw her, I couldn’t bear to part with her.” She didn’t know how to describe to him what she’d felt. Or even if it would matter. “I even thought you might change your mind about children if you saw her yourself.”

Had there been any room for Eve to back up, she would have done so by then. As it was, with her back pressed to the door, there was nowhere for her to go. Hating the position she found herself in, resenting him for putting her there, she deliberately tipped up her chin.

She didn’t understand the accusation in his eyes, or the anger he held so tightly in check. Those were things a man who’d felt cheated would feel. She would have understood if he’d been indifferent to what he’d just discovered. Or if he’d felt threatened or skeptical. She wouldn’t have been surprised had he told her he wanted nothing to do with their little girl. Or if he’d become wary and wanted to know what she expected from him. But she’d never expected him to act as if she’d betrayed him by keeping the child from him.

Unable to bear his accusation any longer, she hugged her arms to her chest and moved to pace between the desk and the door.

“I tried to call you after she was born,” she said, her voice strained. “You have no idea how much courage it took to finally make that call. I think I picked up the phone twenty times before I actually pressed all the numbers.

“It had been between semesters,” she recalled, wanting him to know this even if it didn’t matter to him. Now that he knew about Molly, she wanted everything out in the open. It was the only way they could get over the past and do what was best for Molly. “I’d tried to call you at your apartment, but after a couple of days of getting no answer, I figured you’d gone home for the break.”

She hadn’t been sure where “home” was exactly, other than on the reservation northwest of Grand Springs, but she finally got a number for his mother. Only, when she had asked for him and his mother had asked who she was, any thought Eve had of sharing the news of their daughter died right there.

“Your mom said she didn’t want me to talk to you anymore. It seemed you had a new girlfriend.”

I must ask you to leave my son alone, Eve Stuart. You are not of our people, and Rio knows his obligations. My son has a nice Indian girlfriend now.

Hesitation washed over Rio’s expression. Jaw working, he pulled a deep breath. Seconds later, his thoughts seeming dark and distant, his displeasure expanded. “She never told me you called.”

That didn’t surprise Eve. What did, was that she could still remember how hurt she’d been. Focusing on the bookshelf, she told herself she’d had no business feeling that way. She had left him. He’d had every right to move on to someone else. But the fact that Rio hadn’t denied the truth to what his mother had said somehow made the hurt seem fresh all over again.

That made no sense at all, she told herself, and concentrated on what had been truly important about her conversation with Rio’s mother, for it had revealed an obstacle she hadn’t even realized existed.

“I didn’t think she had,” she quietly concluded. “But what your mother said made it pretty obvious she wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of a half-breed for a granddaughter. It seemed to me that if you understood the obligations she mentioned, you might not have been too thrilled, either.”

Eve hugged herself tighter. “I remember picking up Molly after I’d hung up the phone and trying to pretend I’d never seen her before. I knew she was darker than I was, but to me, she was just my precious baby and everything about her was beautiful. I hadn’t thought about the color of her eyes or her hair or her skin. All that had mattered was that she had ten fingers and ten toes and she was healthy.”

She’d been blind to so much, she thought, aware of his shadow covering her. Too much. “Your mother made me realize that you probably wouldn’t have seen her the way I did, and that you had responsibilities to what she’d called ‘your people.’ That was when I realized how little I truly knew about you.”

He’d come up behind her. She could feel him. But she wasn’t prepared for the feel of his hand on her shoulder, or the heat in his eyes when he turned her to face him.

“My mother was out of line saying what she did. And she had no business keeping your call from me. But you never should have left to begin with. You knew all that mattered.” Defense marked his tone. Bridled anger etched his features. “My heritage is important to me. So is my family. But I decided a long time ago that neither the tribe nor my family was going to dictate my life.”

“You never told me that. You rarely talked about your family, and you never mentioned your heritage at all. How was I supposed to know how you felt if you never told me?”

“You knew how I felt,” he insisted. “I cared about you.” His heated glance swept her face, the source of his anger eluding her completely. “I don’t know how I could have made that any clearer.”

Nothing she said was getting through to him. Upset as she was, that was her only thought before she felt his hands clench her shoulders. His thumb swept downward, edging lightly along her collarbone, and his hard gaze dropped to her mouth.

He was close enough that she could feel the heat and tension radiating from him. Close enough that she could almost feel his body pressing against hers. But it was the motion of his thumbs that destroyed her attempt to make him understand, and left her feeling completely exposed.

He’d once had the habit of tracing her collarbone when he’d been about to kiss her. He’d be trying to make a point, or telling her about something that had happened that day, and his thumbs would do what they were doing now. Inevitably, his hands would slide up into her hair and he’d settle his mouth over hers, turning her knees weak and her blood to steam. He would kiss her hard. Or sometimes he was so gentle she’d want to cry. But, always, she never wanted him to stop.

The memory shouldn’t have tugged so deeply. The weight of his hands shouldn’t have felt so familiar. But what should have been bore scant resemblance to what was.

“I think we both need some time,” she said, not caring how unsteady she sounded. “This is…” Dangerous. Foolish. Irrational.

“Yeah,” Rio muttered, seeming to understand what she couldn’t articulate. “This isn’t good.”

He stepped back, disquiet etched in his angular features as his hands slipped away. He pushed one through his hair, backing up another step. “I think I’d better go. We’ll talk about this…about Molly,” he amended, “later.”

Eve started toward the door.

Not trusting himself around her any longer, Rio held up his hand. As jarred as he felt, he was surprised it wasn’t shaking. “I can find my way out.”

He didn’t remember what Eve said, or if she said anything at all before he walked through the brightly lit foyer, past the long entry table with its matching vases and out the front door. He wasn’t sure he recalled getting in his Durango and starting it, either—though he’d obviously done both because, within the minute, he was driving into darkness, heading nowhere in particular except away from the Stuart house.

He felt as if he’d just taken a gut punch. Only, at the moment, he wasn’t sure which was more accountable for the sensation. The white heat he’d felt rip through him at the thought of kissing her, the fact that he’d almost done something like kiss her in anger, or the realization that he had a child.

A child.

He was a father.

The night air rushing in his open window smelled of pine and dew. He sucked in a lungful of it, seeking to calm the thoughts careening through his mind. But calm wasn’t going to come easily to him. It never did. Had it been daylight, he’d have headed for his lot and exhausted himself hauling wood or hammering a few pounds of nails. But it wasn’t light, and though he would have preferred physical activity for the escape it offered, he’d have to settle for being still.

He found himself heading for his lot, anyway, seeking solace in the only place he ever found it anymore.

Two Falls Lake was fifteen minutes out of town and a million miles from civilization. There were several lakes in the area, but this one was too small and too inaccessible to be popular. At night, even Rio didn’t attempt the hike down to it, so he left his SUV in the clearing near the skeletal frame of his cabin and made his way to the outcropping of rock overlooking the still, black water.

The moon trailed a wide band of light across the glassy surface of the lake. Walls of enormous firs rose up like solemn black sentinels, dwarfing everything below them. There was nothing to be heard here but the sigh of the wind, the occasional yelp of coyotes and the inner voices a man couldn’t silence.

He shoved his fingers through his hair, too agitated to appreciate the stillness. Any other time, he could have forced himself to concentrate on the night sounds. Not now. All he could think about now was that Eve had been pregnant when she’d left years ago.

The thought that had made him wince earlier came rushing back to him. The fact that the protection they’d used had failed was a moot point. So was his mother’s interference. Indulging his anger with her would only dredge up resentments he never allowed himself to think about, anyway. There was no changing what was done. Yet, what bothered him most was that Eve hadn’t only been pregnant—she’d been seventeen and pregnant. Had he ever given any thought to her age when he’d known her?

He couldn’t have, Rio decided, or he’d have considered just how dangerous sleeping with her could be. To him, she’d just been Eve; the person who’d never questioned his goals, who’d looked up to him. The one person who had finally allowed him to believe in himself. Looking back now, he’d been light-years older than she was—even though he’d only been nineteen at the time. But, then, Stone Richardson, his detective friend, had once told him he’d probably been born old.

Rio drew his hand down his face and blew out a breath. Dear God, he thought, she’d been jailbait. On top of that, her mother had been the mayor, as close to “society” as people came in Grand Springs. His home once had been a trailer on the reservation, and he’d possessed nothing but a determination to escape the specter of his father and a fire in his belly for a dream no one wanted him to pursue. It was a miracle Olivia hadn’t had his sorry hide thrown in jail.

There were spirits to be thanked for that, he was sure. He just wasn’t sure which ones handled that sort of thing. Anyway, he was more concerned with what had happened than with what hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted a child. Not then. Not now. The problem was figuring out what to do about the daughter he’d just discovered he had.

* * *

It was late afternoon the next day before Eve heard from Rio. As it was, she didn’t actually talk to him. She was at the women’s shelter dropping off boxes of clothing when he called, but he’d left a message on her mom’s answering machine. It was the only message on the recording.

“Eve, it’s Rio. I’m tied up for the next few days. If you wouldn’t mind dropping the photocopies of your mom’s address book and calendar off at the newspaper, I’d appreciate it. Stick them in an envelope with my name on it and leave it at the desk inside the main door.” There was a pause, a long one that seemed to indicate there was something else he needed to add. Something about his daughter, perhaps. But “Thanks” was all he finally said.

Eve listened to the message again and glanced at the photocopies and the address book she’d just placed beside the photo of Molly that Olivia kept on the corner of her desk. Eve and Molly had made the copies while they’d been out.

He’d be tied up for a few days, he’d said.

If she were to give him the benefit of the doubt, she had to admit he might need a little time to come to grips with what he’d learned last night. Anyone would. A man didn’t wake up one morning realizing he was the father of a child he’d known nothing about without feeling a little shell-shocked. But his message hadn’t said a word about Molly….

Eve pulled a manila envelope from the desk drawer and wrote Rio’s name on it. It was obvious what his priority was.

Hers was to forget what she’d felt when he touched her.

* * *

By the following Monday, any uneasiness Eve felt about her reaction to Rio was buried under a healthy dose of frustration with her brother. Hal had come up with every excuse short of having to do his nails to avoid checking over the inventory she’d prepared for the attorney. He seemed to be avoiding everything that had anything to do with settling their mother’s affairs, and that was making her tasks as executor far harder than they needed to be.

She was hoping Rio wasn’t going to follow suit when she walked into Clancy’s Grill, the publike restaurant where he’d asked her to meet him, and saw him slide from the booth at the back of the long, uncrowded room. Well-worn jeans hugged his lean hips, and the sleeves of his chambray shirt were rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, sinewy forearms. The wide silver band of his watch caught the light as he planted his hands on his hips, his dark head dipping in a tight, acknowledging nod at her approach.

He looked impatient and rugged and far more sure of himself than she felt at the moment. Seeing him, all she wanted to do was turn around and walk right back out.

“I’d have called sooner,” he prefaced the moment she reached him. “But I just got back in town last night. I was in Denver,” he added, reseating himself across from her when she slid into the high-backed booth, “so I spent the weekend looking up the people in the Denver area who were listed in Olivia’s address book. Those I hadn’t already talked to from the wedding, I mean. By the way, thanks for the photocopies.”

If it was his intention to throw her off balance, he succeeded beautifully. She hadn’t considered that the reason she hadn’t heard from him was because he’d been away. She’d thought his silence meant he was either trying to figure out what he wanted to do about Molly, or that he had already decided and was ignoring them both.

With an ease that was becoming all too familiar, the source of her anxiety immediately switched focus. “Did you learn anything?”

“Nothing that helps.”

Giving her a look that said “that’s the way it goes,” he pulled a menu from between a napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers and held it out to her. As he did, a young girl in a tight Clancy’s T-shirt and even tighter jeans set glasses of water in front of them.

Rio ordered a hamburger. Eve didn’t care what she ate, so she ordered the same. She doubted she’d taste it, anyway. The issues that had been raised the other night sat between them like an invisible time bomb, ticking away as surely as if the timer had been tripped and killing any trace of an appetite. By the time the waitress returned with their iced tea and departed again, Eve was wondering why she’d ordered at all.

“Have you said anything to Molly?” he asked, just when Eve had decided to put herself out of her misery and bring up the issue herself. “About who I am?”

She bit back a sigh. He really hadn’t understood what she’d said the other night. “I don’t know who you are, Rio. I meant that when I said it. There was so much I didn’t know about you six years ago. I know you even less now.” Her lack of knowledge about him was as much her fault as his, she supposed. She’d never asked about his family, his home, what it was that had shaped him. But then, she hadn’t thought of him as being any different from herself. How incredibly naive she’d been. How incredibly innocent. “After all this time, we might as well be strangers. That’s what makes this all so awkward.”

He didn’t seem to share her concern with how disconcerting she found their situation. His relief was almost as tangible as the tension tightening his jaw. “Then you didn’t tell her.”

“I didn’t think that would be fair,” she explained, unconsciously rolling the corner of her napkin under her knife and fork. “To her or to you. And I do want to be fair to you, Rio. But Molly is my first concern. Until you’ve decided how involved you want to be with her, or if you want to be involved with her at all, I think it would be better if nothing was said. I don’t want her hurt.”

Velvet over steel. Rio had heard the expression before, but he’d never realized how impressive the combination was until that moment. Her voice was as gentle as spring rain, but the determination in her impossibly angelic features was unmistakable.




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