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Hers for the Holidays
Samantha Hunter


The Berringer Bodyguards File #2Name: Ely Berringer Trademarks: Clean-cut former marine who's all muscle…and all hotness! Biggest weakness: This good boy likes a bad, bad girl….Bodyguard Ely Berringer's job was simple: find the missing woman. But there's nothing simple about smokin'-hot tattoo artist Lydia Hamilton…or the fact that they once shared a wickedly sexy night together. And once he finds her in Montana, he realizes that one night with Lydia was definitely not enough!Lydia's been trying to sort out the sale of her childhood home and ranch. But lately there's been a rash of nasty incidents–break-ins, damaged property…just enough to convince Ely that he needs to stick around. And if that means some no-strings-attached naughty nights? Well, he's all hers…even if it is only for the holidays!







The Berringer Bodyguards File #2

Name: Ely Berringer

Trademarks: Clean-cut former marine who’s all muscle...and all hotness!

Biggest weakness: This good boy likes a bad, bad girl....

Bodyguard Ely Berringer’s job was simple: find the missing woman. But there’s nothing simple about smokin’-hot tattoo artist Lydia Hamilton...or the fact that they once shared a wickedly sexy night together. And once he finds her in Montana, he realizes that one night with Lydia was definitely not enough!

Lydia’s been trying to sort out the sale of her childhood home and ranch. But lately there’s been a rash of nasty incidents—break-ins, damaged property...just enough to convince Ely that he needs to stick around. And if that means some no-strings-attached naughty nights? Well, he’s all hers...even if it is only for the holidays!


This was about not thinking…

Walking to the window, Lydia looked down and saw Ely emerging from the garage. It was all the inspiration she needed as she tapped lightly on the cold glass. Then again, harder.

He paused, detecting the sound, and looked up.

Following her instincts, she dropped the towel, but left the sheer curtain drawn. His eyes seemed to stare right into hers, even through the curtain.

Slowly lifting her leg, she planted her toes on the bottom windowsill, a shiver running through her. She reached to get some of the spicy-scented lotion, bending forward to work it up her leg, over her thigh.

She let her head fall back as she applied lotion to her neck and throat, and then finally to her breasts, lingering there.

Then the slam of a door.

Something dropped to the floor.

Heavy boot steps on the stairs.

The next thing she knew, Ely was there, standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

His eyes were hot, watching her, hunger etched into every contour of his face.…


Dear Reader,

We have exciting news! Starting in January, the Harlequin Blaze books you know and love will be getting a brand-new look. And it’s hot!

But don’t worry—nothing else about the Blaze books has changed. You’ll still find those unforgettable love stories with intrepid heroines, hot, hunky heroes and a double dose of sizzle!

So be sure to check out our new supersexy covers. You’ll find these newly packaged Blaze editions on the shelves December 18th, 2012, wherever you buy your books.

In the meantime, check out this month’s red-hot reads.

LET IT SNOW by Leslie Kelly and Jennifer LaBrecque

(A Blazing Bedtime Stories Holiday Edition)

HIS FIRST NOELLE by Rhonda Nelson

(Men Out of Uniform)

ON A SNOWY CHRISTMAS NIGHT by Debbi Rawlins

(Made in Montana)

NICE & NAUGHTY by Tawny Weber

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

by Lori Wilde, Kathleen O’Reilly and Candace Havens

(A Sizzling Yuletide Anthology)

HERS FOR THE HOLIDAYS by Samantha Hunter

(The Berringers)

Happy holidays!

Brenda Chin

Senior Editor

Harlequin Blaze




Hers for the Holidays

Samantha Hunter







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


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Samantha Hunter lives in Syracuse, New York, where she writes full-time for Harlequin Books. When she’s not plotting her next story, Sam likes to work in her garden, quilt, cook, read and spend time with her husband and their dogs. Most days you can find Sam chatting on the Harlequin Blaze boards at Harlequin.com, or you can check out what’s new, enter contests or drop her a note at her website, www.samanthahunter.com (http://www.samanthahunter.com).

Books by Samantha Hunter

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

142—VIRTUALLY PERFECT

173—ABOUT LAST NIGHT…

224—FASCINATION*

229—FRICTION*

235—FLIRTATION*

267—HIDE & SEEK*

299—UNTOUCHED

343—PICK ME UP

365—TALKING IN YOUR SLEEP…

478—HARD TO RESIST**

498—CAUGHT IN THE ACT

542—MAKE YOUR MOVE

584—I’LL BE YOURS FOR CHRISTMAS

620—MINE UNTIL MORNING

659—STRAIGHT TO THE HEART

720—YOURS FOR THE NIGHT†

*The HotWires

**American Heroes

†The Berringers



To get the inside scoop on Harlequin Blaze and its talented writers, be sure to check out www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).

All backlist available in ebook. Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3


Many friends offered their support and good cheer during the writing of this book—many thanks to Selena Blake, Anne Calhoun, Donna Cummings, Cari Quinn, Serena Bell and Ruthie Knox, who all listened, read, critiqued and cheered me on.

And here I thought Ely would be the easy brother.

Also thanks to Jamie DeBree for her research info on Billings, MT, and tattoos, as well as for general cheering on.


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u8c038a47-9a68-5055-a7bd-c25f9f1a073e)

Chapter 2 (#u17f26204-2bf2-590e-8108-adfb56cc3309)

Chapter 3 (#u1315a0e9-dcce-5c0a-aa3d-19d2873299e5)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


1

ELY BERRINGER walked out of the shower into the room he rented over a restaurant in Clear River, Montana. A chill worked over his damp skin, and he eyed the thickening frost on the windows. A strand of Christmas lights attached to the outside of the building fell loose and now hung down in the center of the glass, still merry as they danced in the wind.

This was a long way from Antigua, that was for sure. He’d come home thinking that his sister-in-law, Tessa, had called him about some family trouble, but her concern had been about Lydia Hamilton, her best friend. That had given Ely a moment of pause; he and Lydia had some history he wasn’t sure he wanted to reopen. But he was a Marine, and he was a Berringer—helping was what he was trained to do.

Lydia had left suddenly, according to Tessa, canceling her appointments and closing her shop until further notice. She’d been acting strangely, being distant and uncommunicative. Like she was so warm and cuddly the rest of the time, Ely thought with a snort as he dried off and got dressed. The petite Goth hottie who ran the tattoo shop, Body Inc., next to Tessa’s soap shop was tough as nails. Though she could be soft as a kitten in bed, something he knew from personal experience.

Lydia told Tessa she’d be gone for a while, but had not answered her phone or responded to her email since. Tessa thought she could be in some kind of trouble, and she could be right.

Ely hadn’t known Lydia for long, but even he knew how she was all over the internet—she was constantly accessing her email and social media pages, and none of them showed any recent activity. She was also serious about her business. Closing up shop at one of the busiest retail times of the year was enough to trigger his concern, as well.

He got to work and used the resources available to him through Berringer Bodyguards—the family business—and through Tessa’s father, a U.S. Senator. It didn’t take long to track Lydia down. She’d left a trail of credit card purchases, including a rental car that she’d returned in Billings, Montana. That likely was her final destination, so now, here he was, freezing his ass off in Montana, three weeks before Christmas.

Ice and snow obscured any view out of the windows of his small room. Born in Philadelphia, he wasn’t any stranger to winter, but cold seemed to take on a new meaning out here. His flights had been delayed due to several strong weather systems crossing the U.S. At least he’d landed in Billings the day before, beating the worst of the weather. The Antiguan beach he had been standing on only a few days ago seemed a million miles away now.

As soon as he’d gotten into town, he’d asked around for Lydia and found people knew her—or her family. She wasn’t just a visitor, she’d grown up here. He’d found more in the public records at the local town hall.

He was still trying to get his head around the fact that Clear River, population 1,738, was her hometown. That wouldn’t be such a surprise if Lydia hadn’t told all of them that she didn’t have any family. Everyone thought she’d grown up in the east as a foster kid and then ran away, out on her own at seventeen.

Not according to what he’d found.

He’d looked up her birth records in the local government office. Only child, both parents gone. He found her yearbook at the local school library, and her parents’ obituaries in the newspaper. Her mother, Faye, had died less than a month ago. Obviously, that had been the trigger for the unusual behavior Tessa had noticed.

For some reason, Lydia didn’t want anyone knowing what she was doing here, or that her mother had died. Or that she had a family and a past at all. What could be so awful that Lydia would want to hide it from the people who were closest to her?

Her name wasn’t listed with that of her graduating class, and there were no pictures in the yearbook after her sophomore year. So maybe part of her story was true, that she had run away when she was sixteen or seventeen. Was there some horrible family secret that had caused her to flee? Ely frowned. He hated thinking she might have suffered like that in her past, but in the end, it was no one’s business but hers.

Ely had secrets, too, and he didn’t feel right prying into Lydia’s. Still, he planned to find out a little more before he left, just to make sure she really was okay. Dealing with the death of a parent was no small thing, and Ely suspected handling it all alone was not a great idea. Still, he could easily imagine Lydia running away to lick her wounds in private, not asking for help, and not wanting anyone to know.

She wasn’t one for getting too close, at least, not emotionally. They’d ended up in her bed only a few hours after they’d met. A classic one-night stand, but Lydia rocked his world and made him reconsider what he wanted in life—hence his own escape to Antigua. He’d lived there, solo on a beach for several weeks, clearing his head, thinking about his priorities, until Tessa had called.

Lydia had to be here now to settle her mother’s affairs. That morning, he’d waited down the road outside her family’s ranch and had watched her leave. He followed her on her errands for most of the afternoon. Lawyers, real estate, some other stores and offices.

It confirmed what he’d found so far. She didn’t seem to be in any trouble, and she looked fine. Better than fine, really. He’d call Tessa in the morning and let her know her friend was okay, and leave it at that. If the storms passed, he’d head home for Christmas, or maybe he’d go back to the beach. Ely had taken a new lease on life, and Lydia had been the cause of that.

He’d become more spontaneous and wanted to enjoy life more. Having spent more than a decade of his life surrendering to his sense of duty, joining the Marines when he was eighteen and doing nine years there before coming home three years ago, when he immediately took up work with his brothers. His focus for all of his adult life had been work, family, country.

But where was he in all of that? He’d never stopped to ask. He thought he knew what he wanted—work and a family of his own—to find someone, settle down, live a traditional kind of life. The things he was supposed to want, right?

But everything had been turned upside down when the woman he thought he could have that life with betrayed him and then he ended up in bed with the last woman he could imagine sleeping with. Lydia wasn’t someone he would have normally been attracted to, and she had expanded his sexual horizons far past his previous experience.

And he enjoyed it.

It was enough to make a guy seriously rethink his wants, needs and desires. For now, he was living day to day and trying to be more open. Experimenting. Not tying himself down. Why on earth had he been so anxious to marry after being tied to the military, then to his job? He fought for the freedom of others, but hadn’t experienced much of his own. Maybe he’d still settle down someday, but he had a lot of living to do first.

As soon as he finished this job.

He left the room and walked downstairs to get a beer and some dinner. Crossing the restaurant to find a seat at the bar, he took note of the other patrons conversing and enjoying an end-of-the-day brew.

Lydia was a city girl—polished and street-wise. If anyone had asked, he would have assumed the closest she’d ever been to a cow would have been pouring milk for her cereal in the morning. That was about as close as Ely had ever been to one, himself. Guns, he knew. Strategy, war, protection.

Cows, not so much.

Looking at the rough, hardworking men who sat at the bar, Ely took in the Christmas tree that stood in the corner, cheerfully decorated, giving a little sparkle to the soft light off the well-worn but comfortable tavern. He caught the eye of the bartender, who walked over.

“I’ll have a beer, a burger and some fries, if you’re still serving,” he said, with a glance at the clock.

“We are. Serve til nine,” the guy said. “Some of the best local beef you’ll ever taste. Visit a good one so far?”

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful place.”

“Business in town?”

“Not really. Just passing through to see a friend, then heading back home,” Ely said casually.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Lydia Hamilton. You know her?”

The bartender shook his head. “Nope. I knew Faye Hamilton, everyone did, but never met Lydia. She must be the daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard she took off years ago, before I bought this place, and I’ve had it for a while. You back from the war?”

“How could you tell?”

“I served, my father served in World War II, and my son is in Iraq. Marine?”

Ely nodded.

“Ooh-rah,” the older man said with a smile, and Ely shook the hand he offered. “My name’s Tom. You?”

“Ely.”

They talked for a while about their service, and Ely was glad for the diversion away from the topic of Lydia.

Ideally, she would never know he was here; he had a feeling she wouldn’t take kindly to the knowledge. He didn’t intend to tell Tessa anything other than that Lydia was fine. Lydia had a right to her privacy, and he didn’t want to mess up Tessa’s friendship with Lydia. If Lydia wanted to tell Tessa about her past, that was up to her.

He didn’t like lying to them, but it wasn’t really lying; it was keeping Lydia’s confidence. Ely had a lot of things he couldn’t tell anyone after his military years.

Tessa was a new bride, and she saw romance and happily-ever-after in everything these days. He figured she’d seen that with him and Lydia as well, and he didn’t want to encourage her. She’d pressed them both for details about what had happened that night, but she was bound for disappointment on that score. What had happened between Lydia and Ely hadn’t had anything to do with romance.

It had been raw, basic lust. And Lydia wasn’t the romantic type.

I don’t do relationships, she’d told him that night as she had undressed him. But I do a lot of other things.

Being with Lydia had been...liberating.

Unfortunately, they’d parted on somewhat awkward terms, and he had gone out of his way to avoid contact with her so that no one—namely Tessa—got any ideas. Also because he was messed up—he’d jumped from one woman’s bed to another, and had been pretty well turned around. Not his most shining hour.

They should have cleared the air sooner, agreed to be friends, at least, since there was no doubt they would see each other from time to time. Jonas was very fond of her, too, and Ely knew Lydia would be included in whatever family functions came along. He figured time would let it fade, and they’d be friends.

Ely’s attention snapped to as he realized he had completely zoned out on what the bartender was saying. He covered by nodding to the weather report playing on the TV above the bar.

“Looks like a big storm coming in.”

“We get a lot of those. Hope you’re not in a hurry to get out. Will be a few days before roads are clear and planes are on time again, most likely.”

“I’m in no hurry,” he fibbed with a smile. He’d hoped to be there no more than one more day, but the weather appeared to have something to say about that.

His dinner arrived and Ely dug into his burger—which really was excellent—and then froze midbite.

Lydia.

She stood inside the door, scanning for a place to sit. Ely turned away, hoping she didn’t see him. There’d be no way to explain his presence here other than the truth, and that wasn’t an option. When he looked back, she was finding her way to one of the faded orange vinyl booths that lined the far wall. She looked small and cold in a leather jacket that wouldn’t protect her well enough against this kind of weather. City girl, indeed.

She sure stood out among the locals. A few men followed her progress as she walked; the way her beautiful little backside was encased in tight jeans drew more than one appreciative gaze, the sexy piercing and her half-moon tat at the corner of her lip. It made Ely remember far too much.

He remembered biting her there, and that she’d liked it.

She’d nipped him back, and he’d liked that, too.

Lydia didn’t mind a little rough play and could hold her own on that score. He was suddenly, unexpectedly hard, and shifted in his seat, cursing under his breath. Obviously seeing her up close packed more of a punch than when he was following her around in the truck all day.

Damn, she was hot. He guessed they would need a lot more time to let the effects of that one night fade.

Her black hair was a little longer, flaxen, slightly curled at the edges as it danced around her pale skin, accentuating dark eyes and full lips. He knew that her skin, under the coat and sweater, was covered in ink...something he’d never found sexy on a woman before, but when he’d been with her, he hadn’t been able to get enough of looking at the sexy designs that covered most of her body. Running his hands over them, tracing them, tasting them.

Ely had one tattoo, the symbol penned on his shoulder that he shared with the guys in his squad. Other than that, there had never been anything meaningful enough to him that he would want to inscribe it permanently on his body.

He finished his food, but barely tasted anything as he peeked at her in between bites. Taking her coffee from the server with a smile, Lydia pulled a book from her bag, sitting there, alone, reading. Her apartment had been filled with books.

Ely suspected there was far more behind the ink than anyone knew. Maybe that’s why she covered herself in it, as well as the piercings that accented various points on her body—lip, ear, belly button, and one even lower that had totally surprised and turned him on.

But maybe, in some way, it was her armor. A way of hiding her secrets? Who she was, why she was here, and what was in her past that she was so intent on hiding. He knew, since he had his own. It had been necessary to survive in the war, and even when he’d come home. He ordered another beer, intending to call it a night and go back to his room before she spotted him. If he was going to be stuck here for a few days, he’d have to lay low.

Then a guy sauntered up to the booth and slid in on the opposite side from Lydia. She didn’t put her book down, but the cowboy didn’t take the hint. He smiled, leaning back and picked up a sugar packet from the bin on the table, playing with it between his fingers, appearing casual. Ely knew his look; the guy was obviously hoping to score that evening. Lydia peered over top of her reading and said something that made the guy’s smile widen.

Ely’s back stiffened, his body tightening as if for a fight. She’d probably been with others since him—why not? It was none of his business.

When he saw Lydia shake her head, smiling in a forced, false way as she brushed him off, Ely’s blood pressure lowered. Something primal emerged at the thought of another man’s hands on her—this guy, in particular—and didn’t settle until the cowboy rejoined his friends at the bar.

Ely nursed his beer and pretended to watch the news. Eventually, she closed her book, walked to the door. She wasn’t wearing the heavy eyeliner or makeup that she normally did. Still, there was something dramatic and sexy about her, making it hard to look away.

As she headed out, Ely saw the guy who had been talking to Lydia walk out the door behind her. With a buddy. The hair on the back of his neck went up. Putting the rest of his beer on the counter, he followed them outside.

* * *

LYDIA HAD HAD such a frustrating day. Heading back to the house alone had seemed unappealing after spending a good part of the afternoon waiting on her mother’s lawyer, who never did show up. The will was clear—she had inherited everything—but her mother mandated that for her to collect, Lydia had to stay home for a month. Obviously her mother had good intentions, always having insisted that Lydia had to face her past.

Lydia didn’t agree.

She needed to sell the ranch as quickly as possible—which meant staying the month, three more weeks—and then leave for good. But the world seemed to be working against her.

The house needed some necessary repairs, and she had tried to line up someone to do them sooner than later, unsuccessfully. Then, she’d looked into tracking down the one Realtor in Clear River. They were closed on Wednesdays. Of course. Strike three. It was Christmas in a small town. This was not going to be easy.

Many of the contractors were already booked or not scheduling new work until spring. She’d gotten some suggestions for businesses in the city, but that would add to the cost considerably.

On top of that, one of the cows was sick, and they’d had to call for the vet. Necessary and costly. The animal would be fine, thank goodness...Lydia had sat with her most of the night before, taking turns with Smitty, the ranch manager. He and one ranch hand, a sour guy named Kyle Jones, were the only two hires her mother had kept on.

She might have to see if she could take a loan against the house to make repairs and ask Smitty to talk to someone about selling the livestock. She’d forgotten how much she liked the cows. Peaceful creatures, mostly. She was glad her mother had reduced their herd to this small group of gentle dairy cows, but she had to make sure they found a good home, not some meat market.

It was all so overwhelming. Lydia felt trapped, her present life held hostage to her past, and she didn’t like it. She’d left her life here behind, and she wanted to keep it that way.

But if she just walked away, she would lose the property, and her chance to sell it. With money from a sale, she could expand her business back in Philadelphia, open a second location of Body Inc., which would also mean hiring a second artist. It was a dream she didn’t think she could attain for several years, but sale of her family home would make it possible.

Thinking about it made her crave the city, and she took in her surroundings as icy wind whipped her hair around her face, freezing her ears and nose.

The town was still pretty and well-kept, as it always had been. Twinkling lights decorated most of the buildings and were strung from streetlight to streetlight, their cheerfulness contrasting with the storm clouds that blotted out the stars. She’d heard they were expecting the first real snow overnight.

Most of the old, low-profile, Western-style buildings were still in place here, though there were a few new constructions. Across the street she saw an architects’ office and a new medical practice that looked pretty upscale for the small town. The street was repaved, the sidewalks new, with large wooden raised gardens placed intermittently along the main street. Where plants would grow in the summer, they were now covered with snow.

As a kid, she had often gone to the pizza shop down the road with her friends after football games and to the tack store with her father. Every year, she would bake dozens of cookies with her mother for the Fourth of July picnic that always accompanied fireworks at the edge of town. Clear River always had its own little holiday parades with their local bands and town officials, and all of the kids would do something creative to show off. The town itself was often more like an extended family, everyone knowing everyone else. It had been a nice way to grow up. Mostly.

She’d been the Fireworks Princess when she was thirteen—the girl with most spark—she remembered with a smile. She’d had a lot of good times here, before things had gone bad.

The same huge spruce grew in front of town hall, even bigger than it had been, and was decorated for the season. That would have been done Thanksgiving weekend, and the annual Winter Festival, a Clear River tradition, should be coming up soon, but Lydia didn’t see any announcement. Had it been canceled? If so, that was unfortunate. Snowman-building contests, craft booths, hot cocoa and treats...it was always the perfect build-up to Christmas.

Ah, well. Things changed. She sure had.

Hailey’s, the inn where she’d eaten, had always been a mainstay in the town, and was still mostly the same as she remembered. It was the only place in town that rented rooms, though she’d noticed some of the other ranches had taken to including tourism packages, probably to stay financially viable. Hailey’s had also always been a hangout for the local cowboys, one of whom had wanted to get friendlier than she wanted tonight.

She was no stranger to one-night stands—she preferred them, in fact—but not here, not now, and certainly not with some drunk ranch worker. Apparently he’d thought, because of her look or because she was there alone, that she might want some fun. She’d set him straight and fast.

The cold crept over her body as she stood there, and she decided she’d had enough walking down memory lane. Fat snowflakes began to fall as if on cue, sticking to her face and hair as she made her way to her car. This would be the first major storm of the season.

A slight shiver of excitement worked its way down her spine. She’d always liked the first big snowstorm. Unlike summer thunderstorms—which sometimes brought nightmarish tornadoes and dangerous lightning strikes that scared the wits out of her—the winter storms were relatively peaceful and soft, snow piling up like a secret overnight.

Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed anyone following her until she heard the footsteps, a man’s low chuckle. Lydia hadn’t lived on the street in some time, but she recognized the tightening of her stomach, the tingle at the base of her neck that signaled danger. She’d learned not to ignore such things and picked up her step, reaching into her bag to grab her keys, holding them firmly, sharp ends pointing out. She wished she had her mace, but hadn’t counted on needing it out here.

She pressed the button to open the doors of her rental, but wasn’t quite fast enough; they caught up with her as she opened the door of the car, the good ol’ boy from the roadhouse and a friend, slamming it shut before she could get inside.

“Hey, darlin’,” said the one who had joined her in her booth earlier. “Want some company on the dark ride home?”

“Told you already, I’m not interested,” she said rudely, making eye contact to let them know she wasn’t afraid.

She was though, and willed someone to drive down the damned street already. It would figure that every time she left her house she bumped into someone from her past, but now, when she wished someone would appear, everyone was inside, hunkering down before the storm.

“Well, you don’t know that, do you? You think you’re from the city, so you’re better than us? We can live pretty fast here, too,” he said.

The men closed in, and panic clawed her chest. She stepped backward, wondering if she made a run for it, toward the roadhouse, how far she’d get.

“Get lost. I will press charges, and I’ll make sure you don’t walk away from whatever you have in mind.” While she talked, she pressed the buttons on the key fob—this thing had to have some kind of car alarm she could set off.

Sure enough, as she pressed the buttons several times, the lights and horn suddenly started blaring in annoying rhythm, filling the street with sound. As the cowboy pulled back in surprise, survival adrenaline kicked in. Lydia brought her foot up, stomping the foot of the one closest to her and then kneed him in the family jewels, sending him howling to the snowy surface as she got inside of her car and locked the doors.

Gunning the engine, she noticed a few people emerging from the restaurant and a local drugstore to see what was happening, probably making sure it wasn’t their own car being broken into. The cowboys got out of the way as she did a quick U-turn in the center of the road, nearly running over the foot of the guy who had threatened her. He swore loudly after her as she raced away.

As she caught her breath and reassured herself that she was safe, she glanced to the side, and nearly hit the brakes as she caught a glimpse of a face she thought she recognized.

Ely?

His hood up, face shadowed, the man who sat in the dark cab of a truck looked like him, but...that wasn’t possible.

She watched as the truck lit up in her rearview and pulled away in the opposite direction, making her shake her head as she slowed down and got hold of herself. Great, now she was imagining things.

Her slamming heartbeat finally calmed as she drove, and she shook off the remnants of panic from the confrontation. She was fine. She had handled things herself, as she always did. If Lydia knew anything, it was how to take care of herself. She’d been doing it ever since she left home.

A momentary spark of worry had her checking her rearview for headlights, worried the cowboys might take after her—those guys wouldn’t enjoy being bested by a girl—but nothing was there. Most likely, they would go home, pass out and hope their wives or girlfriends didn’t get word of their bad behavior. There was nothing to worry about, she reassured herself.

Snowflakes picked up more density on the windshield, and she didn’t really relax until she made it back to the ranch. Smitty and Kyle were in the bunkhouses, if she needed them, anyway.

Ely’s face flashed again in her mind as she parked the car in the garage and sat there for a moment, thinking. The guy in the truck couldn’t possibly have been him, though she had felt the same keen sense of awareness she had felt the first moment she had ever seen him, in a hospital emergency room. She’d been there with Tessa, when Jonas’s vision had returned. She and Ely had gone for a cup of coffee. After that, they went to her place.

It was only one night, but she’d replayed it in her head about a thousand times, much to her annoyance.

Lydia had made sure he knew the rules—she didn’t do relationships. At the time, he’d just ended something bad with another woman, but he was cute and she took him home. That was all there was to it. Lydia preferred not to get too wrapped up in details—they made everything messy and complicated. Sex was fun, and she liked to keep it that way.

But she hadn’t ever felt a connection—physical and otherwise—with anyone like she had with Ely. It had rattled her hard enough to send her running in the other direction, and fast. He had, too.

As it turned out, though, he had probably regretted their night together more than she imagined. That had hurt a bit. She had remained friends with a couple of the guys she’d slept with, and Ely’s clear desire to have nothing to do with her after their night together had been, well, hurtful. It was like he was ashamed of being with her, which she supposed he might have been. She knew that she wasn’t his usual type; he was more into classy, professional, coiffed chicks.

Yes, she had looked up his ex on the internet. Sadly. Suffice it to say they didn’t run in the same circles at all.

She shook it off. Being here was making her moody. Dealing with losing her mother, her past, and all the complications of her inheritance were bad enough, and the holidays always messed with people’s heads. It was why she normally left and went to a beach somewhere over Christmas and ignored it all.

But the nagging feeling that something was lacking in her life wouldn’t quite go away. Being in Tessa’s wedding, and seeing how happy she and Jonas were, didn’t help matters any. It made Lydia think maybe she could find the same kind of real connection with someone, something that would last.

Crazy. She’d always enjoyed her freedom and her work had become her life. She’d never wanted anything else. She was happy as she was. If it wasn’t broken, don’t fix it. She had more than she ever imagined having, and needed to be content with that.

But even if she did ever find something permanent, it wouldn’t be with Ely Berringer, so she had to get him out of her head.

Easier said than done, apparently.


2

ELY LEFT HIS TRUCK about a hundred feet back on the road that led to Lydia’s ranch and walked the rest of the way toward the house so as not to be spotted. He’d followed her to make sure no one else did—namely, the guys who had cornered her by her car. He’d intended to step in, but she’d taken care of things pretty well on her own.

Lydia was one tough cookie, no doubt about it, he thought with a spark of admiration. Even so, Ely wanted to pound the guy who had tried to mess with her. He settled for calling in an anonymous tip to the local authorities before he drove away.

As she’d passed him on the road, he’d made the mistake of looking toward her car. For a split second, their eyes met—she’d seen him. He thought his goose was cooked, but she’d continued to drive and was clearly too panicked to have registered that it was him. His hood had been up, face obscured by the snow and the dark.

But it had been a close call.

He made his way to the edge of the trees in time to watch her pull her car into the detached garage. What was she doing? She sat for a while before she got out and walked around to the door of the huge ranch house. His hoodie wasn’t exactly the right gear for this kind of surveillance, but he hadn’t expected to be out in the woods that evening when he’d headed down for supper. He put it out of his mind, ignored the cold. Not important. He’d make sure she was safely tucked in, then he’d go back.

The area was very remote, rural. The next ranch was at least five miles away. An animal sound—a horse—came from one of the barns, breaking the temporary silence, and Ely shook his head.

None of it seemed like the Lydia he knew.

Then again, no one seemed to know her. Not really. Least of all him.

Unlike the cheerfulness of the town, the ranch was cold and dark except for some lights in a few of the outbuildings away from the house. No Christmas lights or such hung here. That was okay—it made it easier for him to move around undetected.

After she went inside, he watched the lights in the windows as she turned them on, moving through the house. The next thing he knew, he saw her slim form behind the shimmer of curtains upstairs.

Undressing.

He followed the movement of her silhouetted form as she lifted her sweater up over her head, her back forming a graceful arch as her arms rose, crossed and dispensed of the garment.

When she bent to shuck her jeans, he swallowed hard, taking in her profile, the slope of her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, curve of her hip. He told himself to look away, though he couldn’t seem to do it.

For a second, he wondered which Lydia was real. The leather-clad, tattooed temptress or the soft shadow of the woman hidden behind the curtains?

Was what had happened between them that night just another act, or had any of that been real? Ely shook his head hard, as if to break the spell. When he looked again, she’d moved away from the window. What was he doing here? Sometimes, there was a thin line between surveillance and Peeping Tom. Time to head out.

First, he walked back to the house, up to the porch. He didn’t have to worry about leaving a path. His footsteps were sure to be buried beneath several feet of snow by morning.

Walking up to the door, he tugged on it to make sure it was locked—it was. He walked around and did the same to the back, finding it locked securely, as well.

Good.

He ran back to his truck and climbed in, turning on the heat. However, as he put it in Reverse, the visibility out the back windows was minimal and he misjudged the distance to the drainage ditch that ran along the side of the road. The next thing he knew, the back passenger side of the vehicle lurched down the slope.

Cursing, he knew he’d have to call for a tow. And it would probably be a while before they could get to him in this weather. He tried some more, rocking the truck back and forth, spinning the tires, and knowing he was probably only literally digging himself in deeper.

And figuratively, as well, since his options were few.

He called his driving association, only to have his suspicions confirmed. It would be a few hours before they could come pull him out; by then, it might be morning. In this snow, the truck would be buried. He told them to never mind.

He muttered another curse, wondering if he should blow his cover with Lydia or walk back to town. Both had their dangers.

He returned to the house, looking up at the still-lit window, pondering his options. He really didn’t have any. Walking unfamiliar roads back to town, at night, in this weather, was not smart. Resigned to his fate, he started to move to the porch, his inner alarm sounding just a few seconds too late. He wasn’t alone.

He knew this primarily from the impression that a gun, very likely a double-barreled shotgun, was making against his spine.

“Enjoy standing around peeking in women’s windows, huh?” someone said, and Ely tensed as he felt a little extra push from the nozzle of the gun.

“I wasn’t making any trouble. I’m a friend of Lydia’s,” Ely said evenly. “I was coming over to check on her and make sure she was okay, but then my truck went off the road back near the entrance to the ranch.”

“Really? So why not call for help?”

“I did. Tow trucks are busy tonight.”

“You could have called Lydia. One of us would have come down with a winch, pulled you out. If you’re such a friend and all.”

Clearly the guy wasn’t going to put the gun down, and Ely didn’t blame him entirely.

“My name is Ely Berringer. I’m here from Philadelphia and I know Lydia from her shop, and she’s best friends with my sister-in-law, but she doesn’t know that I’m in town.”

“Yeah, well, let’s see what Lydia—or the sheriff—have to say about it.”

Ely blew out a breath, knowing there was no way he could convince the guy to change his mind. He marched toward the house, with his hands still up, prodded by the weapon pushed into his back. He could probably disarm the man, but it was risky. Better to just let Lydia clear up the misunderstanding.

Though she might tell the guy to shoot him, Ely thought sardonically.

As the man knocked sharply on the door, Ely found he was holding his breath again, wondering what Lydia’s reaction would be. His concern was short-lived as he heard her yell, and then a shotgun blast echoed through the night a few seconds later.

Ely ignored the push of the gun into his own back as he snapped around, easily disarming his captor with instincts and skill born of years of military training. The other man fell to the porch floor with a grunt, unharmed. Ely took the weapon for himself and ran around back of the house, his heart in his throat, unsure of what he’d find when he got there.

* * *

LYDIA COULDN’T SLEEP even after she was ready for bed, the events of the evening still replaying in her mind. There’d been a few problems since she’d gotten back into town, and maybe those cowboys coming after her was a coincidence, but something in her gut told her it wasn’t.

The vet’s report on the sick cow had been in the mail when she’d come home tonight—the animal had been poisoned. She was lucky it had only been one, and that the cow would be fine.

The night after she had arrived, she’d found that a message, Get Out, had been spray painted on her porch.”

None too subtle there.

Horses had been let out of the barn at night that they had to find before they froze to death, and she had been mysteriously locked inside the garage while looking for something of her father’s. Luckily she’d been able to call for help before she had to drive her car through the door to escape. Then, some fencing had been destroyed on the back acres of the fields, and Smitty had had to spend two days fixing it.

Kyle said someone was trying to warn her off—no kidding. But she couldn’t leave. She’d reported the incidents to a deputy who had dutifully written everything down, but said there was nothing he could do unless she caught someone in the act.

She wasn’t even convinced that all of the events were connected. Maybe Smitty or Kyle had accidentally locked her in the garage, not knowing she was there, or forgotten to lock the barn, and had just not wanted to own up to it. Sportsmen on ATVs or snowmobiles, or even elk, sometimes crashed through fences. The spray painting, and the cow poisoning, however, were no joke.

If someone wanted her gone, all she could do was make it clear as possible that she would be out of here—in a few weeks.

Tonight, however, had been a completely different thing. Those cowboys had nothing good on their mind, and for the first time since she’d come home, she’d really felt unsafe. Ranches picked up temporary labor all the time, men passing through, looking for work, but something about those two men had seemed off. Like they didn’t belong here.

She shook her head. How would she know? She didn’t belong here anymore, either.

She forced herself to stop thinking about it by emptying one of the upstairs closets. She didn’t want strangers going through her family’s things. Besides, a hard look at her past would be a good reminder why she didn’t belong here anymore, and why she could never belong to a guy like Ely.

It was a difficult enough task, physically and emotionally, to distract her somewhat from her troubles. In the middle of a box of photo albums, she pulled out her high school yearbook. Freshman year. Everything had been so different then, she thought. But so what? She’d had some bad breaks, but she’d recovered, right? Made something of herself. She had a good life, a new life, though somewhere down deep, she was never really sure if she deserved it.

Back then, she never would have questioned her future. She knew exactly what she’d wanted. To work the ranch, raise horses and have the same kind of life she’d known up until that point. She’d assumed she would marry one of the rodeo champs that she and her girlfriends had huge crushes on and have several pretty, well-behaved children. It was what most thirteen-year-old girls wanted. She turned to the back of the book, her eyes scanning the signatures until she found a familiar one.

Always be best of the best, Ginny.

Ginny had meant best of best friends. And they had been. Until that summer before their junior year when everything had changed. Life had changed, and all their pretty, perfect dreams had evaporated in one cruel slam of fate. But it hadn’t been fate—it had been Lydia’s fault. None of it would have happened if not for her.

Lydia sucked in a breath, closing the book sharply. She sat there on the side of her mother’s bed, looking around her at a lifetime’s collection of memories and...stuff. There was so much to go through. How was she supposed to do this by herself? She could barely get through one closet. But the idea of anyone else going through it was unbearable. Besides, there was no one else. She was on her own, like she’d been for a long time.

Putting the book down, she blocked out her worry and lay back on the bed. Tomorrow, she’d come up with a plan for dealing with it all. Right now, she was too overwhelmed and exhausted to think of anything.

Sleep crept over her before she had a chance to get back up, change or make her way to her own room. In her dreams, she was with Ginny, playing and laughing under broad, blue Montana skies.

That summer after their freshman year in high school had been perfect and full of promise. The pimages** ran through Lydia’s mind like an old slide presentation, but it all felt real, making her smile in her sleep.

Then abruptly there was noise, a rush of hooves and screams, and the eerie beeping of some machine by the side of Ginny’s hospital bed. Lydia sat with her friend, who, when she awakened, stared at Lydia accusingly.

“Why would you do this to me?” Ginny said, and then turned her face away, other angry voices chiming in. How could you do this? What were you thinking? You ruined her life forever, you selfish little bitch.

Guilt sliced Lydia to her bones, because she knew they were right. Footsteps pounded loud somewhere behind her; a nurse, or someone coming to tell her she had no right to be there. Not after what she’d done. Get out. If you’re smart, you’ll never come back.

Lydia awoke with a start, curled up on the bed, the light still on, tears coursing from her eyes.

Dammit.

The nightmares had stopped years ago, though she never really forgot. Being here brought it all back in stark, painful color.

So did the fear that followed her every time she went into town, worry that she would bump into one of Ginny’s family and have to face it all over again. The recrimination, the blame. Her mother said it was all in the past, and that Ginny was doing fine. That she had married, gotten on with her life.

Really? How fine could she be, paralyzed from the waist down, her dreams shattered?

Lydia was glad if Ginny had managed to find some happiness, but that didn’t make what she had done any more forgivable. It was why she had to get out of here as soon as she could wrap up her obligations. She didn’t like living with all these ghosts; this was all in the past and it had to be left there.

Looking at the clock through bleary eyes, she saw she had only dozed off for less than a half hour, and she was intent on doing more work. It had to be done if she was getting out of here.

She froze as a sound traveled up from the first floor.

Footsteps.

She’d heard them in her dream, too, but now she was awake. Had she imagined it? These were heavy, hard and making their way through the bottom floor.

Holding her breath, she walked carefully to the edge of the door and heard the squeak that came from the floorboard between the dining room and the kitchen.

She wasn’t imagining it. Someone was down there. She thought she heard some voices, as well. Male voices.

Smitty? Kyle? But why would they be in the house in the middle of the night? Had the cowboys who’d harassed her earlier followed her home, or found out where she lived? But she had locked the doors; made sure to do so. Suddenly Clear River was feeling a lot more dangerous than south Philly.

Another crash made her jump, and she knew she had to do something. Slipping from the room, she edged down the hall to the stairs. At the end of the hall was her father’s gun rack; his favorite shotgun was still there.

Holding her breath, she made it to the gun rack, and retrieved the weapon. Her intruder’s footsteps were only yards away, traversing the kitchen. Lydia held her breath and moved in that direction. Stopping just outside the kitchen, she swallowed with resolve and snapped the barrel of the gun into place. Silence.

“I have a gun, and if you’re not out of this house in two seconds, I’ll use it,” she warned, her voice more steady than she would have expected. She turned the corner of the kitchen just in time to see someone duck outside the back door.

She took chase, yelling after them. When she reached the back door, she fired up into the air, hoping to shock them, to perhaps see who it was.

But the shadowy intruder disappeared into the trees.

Or so she thought.

She tried to load the gun again, but no go—it had only had one shell.

No matter, it was yanked from her hands a second later as she stumbled back into the kitchen, trying to get away. She went sprawling. A sharp pain stabbed at her hand, but she ignored it as she scrambled to find another weapon, anything within reach.

“Lydia.”

She didn’t listen, panic frying her brain.

“Lydia, stop. It’s me, Ely.”

The words finally permeated her brain, and she stopped her frantic dash across the floor, as the lights flicked on.

“Lydia, are you okay? What happened?” Kyle.

Ely and Kyle, she mentally recited.

Was she still dreaming? Ely and Kyle seemed so surreal.

But it was real.

Ely held her shotgun and a second one. Handing both to Kyle, he bent down, picking her up from the floor like she weighed nothing.

“Lydia, it’s okay,” he said gently and pulled her in close.

A weak moment, she would tell herself later. Right now, Ely was the most solid thing she’d felt in days. Weeks. She allowed herself to curl into the safety and support he offered, just for a minute. God, he felt good.

Everyone was quiet until she looked down and saw the blood soaking into the material of his sweat jacket.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered.

Ely looked down, frowning, and then cursed, taking her arm in his hand.

“No, that would be you,” he said.

She looked down and saw he was right. Her hand was bleeding where she had cut it on something on the floor. She took in the sight of the wrecked kitchen, and her knees wavered a little.

“Sit,” Ely commanded, leading her to a chair.

Ely was quiet as he examined her hand.

“It’s not bad, just bleeding a lot. You have a first-aid kit around here anywhere?”

Kyle, still watching them closely, put the guns down and went to her kitchen cupboard, pulling out a small, white box.

Lydia shook her head. She wouldn’t have known that was there. Kyle knew her house better than she did. Well, he had been here all this time, and she had not been.

“I guess we had better call the sheriff, after all,” Ely said.

“I followed whoever it was out to the tree line before I came in, but he was gone,” Kyle muttered agreement.

“No, don’t call anyone,” Lydia interrupted.

Ely looked at her in surprise. “Someone broke into your house, wrecked the place. You need to report it.”

She shook her head. They wouldn’t do anything anyway, as she already knew.

“It would be a waste of time. I didn’t see who did it, and the authorities are probably busy with the storm. It’s probably just someone who thought the house was empty, or some kids out looking for excitement or something. They took off the minute I let them know I was here, so they didn’t mean me any harm,” she said, maybe a little desperately. Who was she trying to convince?

“Or whoever it was could be the one who’s been giving you trouble since you got here, and—”

Lydia cut Kyle off with a sharp look.

“Lydia—”

“Why are you here?” she whispered, interrupting him.

She knew everything was a wreck around her, and she couldn’t deal with that. Not just yet. So she focused on him.

“Tessa sent me. She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Lydia’s eyes closed, and she shook her head.

“When you came up the side of the house, I thought you were—”

“I know. I’m sorry. My truck is stuck back on the road, and Kyle caught me out front of the house. He thought I might be trouble. We were just sorting it out when we heard the gun go off. And who’s been giving you trouble?”

“Not sure, but they—”

“Kyle, we’re fine,” Lydia interrupted him again with a direct look. “Why don’t you head back down to the bunkhouse, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ely’s gaze narrowed on her, but he didn’t say a word.

Lydia’s pretty mouth flattened into a line of displeasure as she looked at Kyle.

“So I did see you earlier,” she said. “In town.”

He nodded.

“You do know each other? From back east?” Kyle asked, still not moving.

“That’s right.” Exhausted, her hand throbbing, Lydia felt a chill travel over her skin. She was clad only in the robe she had put on after undressing, having become distracted by her thoughts and cleaning out the closet. Pulling the fabric more tightly around herself, she was aware of being far too exposed, especially with Ely pressing against her leg as he bandaged her hand. She shivered.

“We’re...friends, yes. It’s okay, Kyle, really. Goodnight.”

Kyle nodded, grabbed his rifle and headed back out the door. Lydia shook her head as Ely packed up the small first-aid kit and returned it to the cabinet. She took the moment to test her legs and stood up, feeling steadier, as she glanced around.

“I can’t believe someone would do this,” she said, more to herself than to him. Bowls and dishes that had been on the counter were broken all over the floor—it was a miracle that she hadn’t cut herself when she had went running through the kitchen after her intruder.

“What’s been going on, Lydia? You just pick up and leave Philly, and now you’re being harassed, twice in one night?”

Something about his making demands quickly set her spine on edge. She turned, nailing him with a glare.

“I think you’re the one who has some explaining to do. How did you know where I lived, and how come you were here so late at night? Have you been following me?”

“I only got here yesterday, but it was enough time to check the town records, yes, and find out where you lived.”

“I don’t live here.”

“You did,” he challenged. “Why the big secret?”

She swallowed, overly aware of him as they stood facing each other, the slight swath of cotton that she wore hardly enough to make her feel adequately covered. He seemed to notice as well, his eyes taking her in briefly before returning to her face. He didn’t say anything, but she saw the flicker of memory, of desire. Her body responded as well, her chill wearing off as her blood heated a little. She ignored it.

“I have to get dressed and take care of this mess.”

“You’re really not going to report the break-in?”

She didn’t respond, walking out of the room, leaving Ely behind. Maybe he’d take the hint and leave.

Probably not. She heard a cupboard open and close, and it sounded like he was starting to clean up.

Great. The last thing she needed right now was Ely trying to be her white knight.

She took a few minutes to get her bearings and to get some clothes on. She also had to process the fact that Ely Berringer was down in her kitchen, as real as the day was long, all sexy, muscle-bound, six-foot-something of him. The universe sure did enjoy toying with her.

If she thought her life was complicated an hour ago, now that word had taken on an entirely new meaning.


3

ELY TOOK OFF HIS wet hoodie and boots, putting them out in the mudroom. He had picked up a good deal of the mess on the floor before wondering if Lydia was coming back. Maybe she fell back asleep. Did she hit her head when she’d fallen?

Concerned, he put down the broom and walked out into the hall, admiring the solid beams along the ceiling and hardwood floors. The wood was worn and aged in that way that only made it more attractive, and the place had a homey feeling about it. New construction was never this solid anymore. He went upstairs and saw the light shining from under a closed door. Knocking softly, he asked, “Lydia, are you okay?”

She mumbled something, but was definitely awake.

“Do you need help? Should I come in?”

“No,” she barked.

Okay, he thought, retreating from the door. That was clear enough.

Making his way back downstairs, he looked around, fully intending to go and check on her whether she liked it or not if she didn’t materialize in the next five minutes.

As he waited, he took the place in. Family pictures crowded the walls, which were covered with a bold William Morris wallpaper. An interesting choice. He only knew about the style because his mother was wild for anything from the Arts and Crafts movement. Their father had sharpened their interests in technology and sports, but their mother had insisted that her boys have some sense of art in the world.

She’d taken Ely and his brothers to museums and to every Arts and Crafts movement exhibit that came along. She’d even brought them on weekend trips to visit Falling Water, Oak Park and other Frank Lloyd Wright destinations.

He had to admit, the four of them hadn’t always been enthusiastic participants, but she’d made it fun and the experience had stayed with him as he reached adulthood. When he’d gotten his own place after coming home from the Middle East, he’d sought out many of the natural designs his mother also preferred, finding them soothing to his battle-weary spirit.

She would love this house, which had definite aspects of Prairie construction, though it was more of a mélange of different styles that all came together.

The rooms were large, with low ceilings and warm colors. Large windows allowed for a lot of light, but were also a challenge to the heating bill, he imagined. If you stood too close to a window, you could feel the chill.

The yellow kitchen was huge, more of a typical farmhouse style with a large, solid wood chopping block island near the sink, and a cool Formica table closer to the entry. The floor needed some work. Rather than wood, the floor in there was old linoleum, and as he walked through, he noticed some points where it was sinking. Probably needed supports in the basement.

There could be some foundation problems, as well. The house was warm, but there was a draft, and he noted that someone had put plastic over the kitchen windows. It wasn’t doing much good.

He busied himself by making mental notes of some less obvious wear-and-tear issues, things that would need to be repaired before Lydia could sell the place. He stopped as he encountered a wall in the dining room, one full of family pictures.

Lydia as a baby, Lydia on a horse, smiling a girlie grin that was missing one tooth—she couldn’t be more than six. Ely found himself smiling at the picture of a slightly older Lydia with her parents by the Christmas tree, and another dressed as a cheerleader—a cheerleader? Ely’s mind boggled.

She’d been cute—a smiling, happy young woman who showed hints of the sexy charm that would develop later. Her blue eyes were open and happy; unlike now, when she was often guarded and distant.

One picture of her as a teen was with another girl her age, their arms thrown around each other, a birthday cake bright with candles in front of them as they both threw kisses to the camera.

As he reached up to get a closer look at one of the photos, a hard case fell from the table to the floor. He picked it up, his eyebrows rising at the name of the artist on the cover of the CD.

Jack Johnson. He replaced it, noticing a few others, all soft rock, country or easy listening.

A lot different than the hard metal music that Lydia tended to play in the shop; that stuff gave him a headache. On the inside of one case, someone had written:

Our little secret. Happy Birthday, Tessa.

Another one was a birthday gift.

It all presented a confusing—but intriguing—image.

Lydia, the woman who was covered in ink, piercings, who wore leather and listened to thrash metal and enjoyed one-nighters that included an array of kinky sex toys, was also a wholesome country girl who had grown up on a farm with horses, cows and who enjoyed easy-listening music and reading?

“I see you’re making yourself at home,” she said from behind him.

He turned to find her leaning against a doorjamb, fully dressed again. Black jeans, black T-shirt with some symbol painted on the front. She looked more like herself—the self that he was familiar with—though she still wore no makeup. He liked it better that way, actually. She seemed even sexier than he remembered, and what he remembered was plenty sexy.

“I started cleaning up, but I was concerned when you didn’t come back down. Are you okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

The mask was back in place. She still looked pale, tired. Wary. Pissed off.

“It’s a beautiful old house,” he said, taking the room in again. “You grew up here.”

It was a statement, not a question. She didn’t answer.

“I was really sorry to find out about your mother, Lydia. Are you doing okay?”

She shrugged again, unwilling to give, and he was unsure what he was supposed to do, so he turned back to the wall.

“Who’s the other girl in this birthday photo?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said sharply.

There it was. Might as well get it over with now.

“If it wasn’t me, it would have been Tessa. She was worried sick about you.”

He saw the flash of guilt in her eyes, and she looked down at the floor as she responded. “I know. I meant to get in contact with her, but it’s been busy.”

“Too busy to let her know you were okay? Where you were? Or too worried that she’d find out everything you told her about your life before Philly was a lie?”

Straightening, Lydia took a step into the room. “I don’t need to explain any of this to you or to anyone, for that matter. You had no right to poke around in my life. My mother died. I’m here to settle everything, and that’s no one’s business but mine. Why would you care anyway? I thought you were off...somewhere.”

Ely took a step closer, too, feeling the draw. He figured if he’d come this far, he might as well go the rest of the way. As he moved in, he picked up the clean scent of her soap and shampoo and his body hummed with recognition.

“Why did you leave? You look happy, in these pictures. What happened?”

“Nothing. I just needed to get out. What are you going to tell Tessa?”

“I’m not sure yet. I need to let her know you’re okay, at least.”

Lydia frowned.

“Or you could do that yourself. I don’t need to tell her anything.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. It’s not your place.”

He nodded. She was right about that.

“What did Kyle mean about someone causing you trouble?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Kyle has an active imagination.”

“I don’t think so. What’s been going on?”

“I’m serious. Don’t go playing bodyguard on me, Ely. Nothing is going on.”

They stood, closer now, facing off, and Ely was getting tired of the verbal thrust and parry. He had to curl his fingers in to stop from touching her. Or shaking her. She was stubborn and seemed set against giving in. Or just intent to give him a hard time.

It wasn’t enough to make him want to let her off the hook. If she was in trouble, he wanted to know.

“I won’t leave until I know for sure, Lydia,” he said calmly and saw anger flicker in the depths of her eyes. It traveled down to her cheeks and blossomed there. When she licked her lips before speaking, his response was sharp and true, like a shot of adrenaline through his system.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, throwing her hands up and walking into the kitchen. He took a deep breath and followed.

She paused at the entry, taking in the room. “Thanks for cleaning up—you didn’t need to do all that.” She sounded surprised.

“I didn’t mind. It looked personal, if you want my opinion. Strangers might steal something, or look for valuables, but this was more like someone wants to scare you. Or send a message. So again, who would do this? Or at least, why?”

“Maybe it was those guys from earlier who followed me back here,” she said as she grabbed a teakettle from the stove.

Ely shook his head. “No one followed you back. I made sure.”

“How could you? Where is your truck?” she said, yet again avoiding his question.

“Down the road, in a ditch.”

“I didn’t see you following me,” she said, frowning.

“I’m really good at it.”

She paused. “You won’t be able to get to it now. The snow’s coming down too hard. There are two extra rooms upstairs, or you can have the couch.”

She came to the table with two glasses of hot, black tea, setting one down in front of him. Ely didn’t really care for tea, but he picked it up and took a sip anyway. Glancing down at the expanse of her ankle exposed when she crossed one leg over the other, he was distracted by both the fuzzy pink slippers that she wore and the tattooed vine that wound around her ankle and calf. He knew that it continued up the length of her smooth thigh, providing a path to the sweetest bit of sin he’d ever known.

“It’s not as bad as I thought. Whoever it was didn’t break any of the important stuff,” she said.

“Important stuff?”

“Yeah, like those yellowware bowls on the counter—they are probably close to one hundred years old. Or the antique glass in that cupboard. Those were my mother’s favorites, all Depression-Era, some very valuable. They ripped some random stuff out of the cupboards, the dinner plates we always use, even the dirty ones in the sink. Nothing valuable. Strange, but lucky, I guess.”

“They just wanted to make noise, shake you up.”

“Well, they succeeded, at least for a minute or two,” she said, blowing out a breath. “But I think you and Kyle are wrong. It was probably just teens out looking for a rush.”

“In this storm? In the middle of the week, way out here? The house has been empty for weeks, and just now they decide to come in and trash it?” Ely argued. “People know you are here—it’s a small town. I assume word spreads fast. So, what kind of trouble are you in?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

Lydia leveled a cool stare back at him.

“I don’t need to be rescued, Ely. Thanks, anyway.”

Ely set his cup down. He could be stubborn, too.

“Well, if someone is bothering you, this time they came inside your house, Lydia, while you were at home, sleeping. That’s not harmless teenage harassment, or some kind of coincidence. It means they’re willing to escalate the situation if you don’t do something to stop it.”

“I am going to do something about it. I’m going to leave, as soon as I can,” she said calmly, shaking her head as she indirectly admitted to him that there had been a problem.

Her hands betrayed her cool tone; they trembled slightly when she picked up her tea. She wasn’t as indifferent as she was pretending to be.

“You might as well hit the sack so you can get up early and have Kyle pull your truck out, so you can leave.”

Ely nearly smiled at her bluntness.

“Not until I know you’re okay. Tessa would have my head. Maybe I should stay here until you go back to Philly. Keep an eye on things.”

She stood, looking almost as panicked as she had earlier.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m technically still on vacation, and it’s a nice town. I’ve never been to Montana. Seems like as nice a place to spend Christmas as anywhere.”

“Why are you doing this? Just leave me alone,” she said tightly. “I don’t know if you have some fantasy about saving me, or thinking we’re going to continue what we had that night, but we’re not. It was a one-night thing, Ely, that’s it.”

Before she could turn away from him, pushing him away, he spun her around to face him. She was under a lot of stress at the moment, taking a lot of emotional hits at once. Ely knew that people reacted to grief differently, and Lydia apparently didn’t like accepting help from anyone under the best of circumstances, let alone in situations that made her especially vulnerable.

“It’s not about that. I know exactly what that was, don’t worry. You need someone, whether you’re too pigheaded to know it or not.”

“Well, I don’t need you,” she said, pushing away from him.

Her words hit him hard. “Really?”

The next thing he knew, he was kissing her.

She tasted so good, he lost himself almost immediately. At first she didn’t kiss him back, her hands planted against his chest. If she had resisted for one more second, he would have stopped.

But she didn’t. In the next minute her arms slid upward and she wound herself around him like the tattooed vine that wrapped itself around her exquisite body. She opened to him, letting him in.

Letting him close in this way, if not any other.

He’d take it. Her arms were tight around his neck as he plunged deeper, tasted more.

Lydia dug her nails into his shoulders, moaning against him, and Ely didn’t know anything else, only that it felt damned good.

* * *

APPARENTLY, ELY didn’t care for her brush-off. When he’d crowded her up against the counter, Lydia tried to push him back, but the minute her hands landed on his chest, her traitorous fingers had curled into the material of his damp shirt. He’d looked at her so strangely before he’d kissed her, his expression a mix of emotions she couldn’t identify as she wrestled with her own. He hadn’t liked her saying that she didn’t need him. Frustration, certainly. Stubbornness, and maybe even a slight hint of hurt.

He parted her lips wide with his own, giving her little choice in the matter as his tongue sliding over hers, tempting—no, daring—her to come out and play. Lydia reacted from sheer need and adrenaline, all of the desperate wanting she’d ignored for two months surging into the kiss as she dug her fingers into his hair, giving as good as she got. She might not need him, but she needed this—this blinding passion, the heat that erased everything but the kiss. Mouths mating violently, the intensity burned a clean path through her heart, leaving only Ely and her desire for him in its wake.

Desire, she could deal with. Desire was easy and uncomplicated.

He pulled back, only to bury his face at her throat, proceeding to drive her crazy with his tongue and teeth on her skin, his hands traveling under her shirt, closing over her breasts with a moan. She pressed into his touch, urging him on.

His arms slid to her back, banding around her as she tugged on his hair to bring his mouth back to her lips. They didn’t need air for quite some time as the kiss went on and on. This made more sense than any of their words did.

Hard against her hip, he ground into the soft, hot apex of her thighs, pushing her close to the edge. He was close, too. When she reached down, closing her hand over the steely ridge at the front of his jeans, he shuddered from head to toe.

She could take him upstairs. Sate herself and forget everything that was complicating her life for another night. It sounded like the best idea she’d had in days.

“Too many clothes,” she whispered, her voice shaking with need. He had her so close to coming, all it would take was a sweet bit of pressure in just the right spot and it would be all over.

Taking in his darkened eyes and ragged breathing, she knew that he was in the same shape. But Lydia had too much experience to mistake lust for anything more.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to do that,” he said, walking away from her to the other side of the kitchen, pushing his hands through his hair. He turned to meet her gaze with his own, still smoldering with banked desire.

Lydia blew out a breath, wondering what she had been thinking. Well, she hadn’t been. That had been a close call. Ely wasn’t the kind of guy who got involved casually, and that was all Lydia did. This would have been another mistake.

“You’re right. No apology needed.”

She had a feeling that he never meant for her to find out he was here. He’d been watching her and reporting back. The fact that they were here in her kitchen together was an accident that was never supposed to happen. She couldn’t let herself be fooled. No doubt he wanted to help; helping was his job.

And she had made a fool out of herself, almost taking him to bed, again.

He backed away as sanity returned in small bits to both of them. The distance was both a relief and...not.

“I don’t know what got into me, but you just...” He shook his head, and she wondered what he was about to say.

“I know. Me, too. It’s just been a crazy night, that’s all. Listen, why don’t we get some sleep, and then I can make you breakfast and the guys can help you get the truck out so you can be on your way. I’m okay here on my own, Ely. Seriously.”

“Make me breakfast? You cook?” he said lightly, teasingly, trying to lighten the mood between them.

“I like to cook, actually,” she said, trying to meet him halfway. To sound normal, as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t almost swallowed each other whole right here in the kitchen where she used to bake Christmas cookies as a girl.

“Yeah?”

“My mother taught me. We always had a garden, fresh foods. Beef and dairy, of course. I sometimes cook dinner at my place, invite all of my friends over.”

“Really?” he said softly, looking at her, the heat burning off, but still evident in his face and in the way he held his body. “And here I thought I was one of your friends.”

That set her back. Ely, a friend?

“Why would you think that?” she asked baldly, and saw the surprise register in his face. She wasn’t known for her subtlety, but that had been rude, even for her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, that one night aside, we really don’t know each other well. And it wasn’t like you hung around for long after the wedding.”

She sighed, looking outside where the snow whipped against the windows even harder than it had been before, and she shook her head. Her luck he couldn’t just leave now.

“You’re right. But maybe we could fix all that. Let me help, Lydia.”

“Don’t do this, Ely.”

“What?”

“Charm me. Seduce me. Wheedle your way through my defenses. Try to get what you want by working your way into my life somehow. Protect me. Whatever else you have in mind,” she said, turning to the sink to wash her hands. “You can stay tonight, and then you need to go home.”

“That sounds familiar,” he said, a little edge to his voice. “I just want to help with whatever trouble you’re having now. Be a friend. Is that so bad?”

She turned to face him, and he met her eyes.

“Really? That’s all?”

“I won’t lie. I’ve thought about that night a lot since it happened. You...that night we had, it inspired me to really think about my life and what I want out of it.”

She frowned. “How?”

“Well, for one, I think I dodged a bullet with Chloe, though I didn’t know it at the time. And meeting you, seeing how freely you enjoy life, how spontaneous and unfettered you are, it made me wonder why I’m so anxious to always tie myself down. I’ve been tied to something for my entire life—my family, the Marines, Berringer’s. Those things are important to me, but I need some...freedom, I guess. You showed me that.”

She was speechless. Stunned.

“I don’t understand. I thought that you were ashamed of being with me,” she blurted.

He looked clearly taken aback. “Whoa. Hold on a second there. I wasn’t ashamed of anything. Why would you think that?”

“You avoided me like the plague. You barely spoke to me, danced with everyone at Tessa and Jonas’s wedding but me,” she said hotly, then slapped a hand over her mouth, hating that she had let that hurtful bit slip.

Dammit. She was tired, and stretched to her last nerve, otherwise she never would have said that. Too late now.

“Hell, Lydia. I thought that was how you wanted it, for no one to know. I didn’t mean to hurt you. That wasn’t my intention. I guess I overdid it, trying to act like nothing had happened. I was pretty screwed up to start with, and afterward, I felt like a jerk for using Tessa’s best friend to forget my troubles for a night. You deserve better than that. So I kept my distance.”

Lydia pushed a hand through her hair. She’d never made an effort or tried to talk to him about it, either. They’d both made a mess of it.

“It shouldn’t matter—it doesn’t matter—but I just thought you didn’t want anyone to know that the big, brave Marine had gotten down and dirty with the Goth girl. I guess that got to me a little.”

He swore. “I didn’t mean it that way. I never thought that for a moment. I’m so sorry.”

Lydia wasn’t sure how to feel about his confession, but they’d aired it out and now she wanted to move past it.

“So now you’re a free agent? Not looking for the white picket fences anymore?” she asked.

He smiled. “Not anytime soon. I was trying too hard, rushing it. Why get tied down? At least, not in a relationship,” he said, the light in his eyes telling her that getting tied down in other ways was much more likely.

Lydia’s mind was spinning, and she turned to pick up something that had been left on the floor, needing a moment.

So what he had taken from their night together was that he wanted to be free to be with as many women as he felt like, do whatever he wanted, with no strings?

Why did that bother her so much? It was how she’d lived her life for the last twelve years. How she still lived her life.

Maybe it was because she knew he didn’t really mean it. Men like Ely didn’t change their stripes overnight. He believed in commitment, he’d been raised to believe in it, and he wanted it for himself. She’d seen it at the wedding, how he watched his parents with such open affection, and how happy he was for Jonas and Tessa. And because of how wrecked he’d been when he found out his ex had duped him.

It’s how he lived his life. Who he was to his core. He might be taking a little break from that, but ultimately, Ely was a long-term kind of guy.

“So what do you want now, Ely?”

“I want to help,” he said easily. “I know you need someone who can work on this place so you can sell it.”

She turned to look at him sharply. “And how do you know—ah, right, you were following me today.” He would have seen all of her failed attempts to find contractors to hire.

“If you want to unload this place, it needs some fixing up. I can help with that.”

She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Are you serious?”

“I am. If you want to pay for materials, the labor is free. No strings. And in case anything else happens, I’m close by.”

“That’s all?”

He stepped in closer. “I don’t know. Maybe we could stay open to anything else? No pressure and no expectations. But we’re good together.”

“No strings?”

“Nope.” He shook his head resolutely. “No rules, no commitments—except for being friends,” he said, reaching to push some hair back behind her ear. “That would be nice for when we both have to go back to Philly.”

Lydia chewed her lip, considering. She needed to unload this place, and the house needed work. He was the solution to her problem. It surprised her, really, how much she wanted to agree. And if he meant it, if it was just to help out, to be a friend, then maybe it could work.

“What happens when we go back to Philly?”

He shrugged. “We’ll be friends. We’ll go back to our lives, I guess. See each other when our paths cross.”

“What are you going to tell Tessa?”

“I’ll tell her I found you, you’re fine, and I’m stuck out here in the weather for a few days. The rest is yours to tell. Or not.”

Lydia felt enormous relief that he wasn’t going to tell Tessa about what he knew. If letting him stay here and help would prevent him from revealing her secrets to her friend, and help her get the house in shape, she’d be an idiot not to agree—and Lydia wasn’t an idiot.

It was an enormous temptation, as well, to give in to his other offer, but that could be risky—maybe even more so if he meant it, the no-strings bit. She wasn’t sure anymore if she could do that. Not when it came to Ely, and with her life so upside down.




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