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Love - From His Point Of View!: Meeting at Midnight
Maureen Child

Eileen Wilks

Anne Marie Winston


Meeting at Midnight by Eileen Wilks Seely Jones had secrets, hidden talents and a shadowed past. In Ben's arms she wasn't the elusive earth mother she seemed, but a fiery temptress he was determined to keep in his bed and in his life forever. Lost in Sensation by Maureen Child Sam Holden's isolation was shaken by sexy whirlwind Tricia Wright. And when the proposed sleeping arrangements turned intimate, it was only a matter of time before his resolve to keep the world at a distance melted.For Services Rendered by Anne Marie Winston They'd worked together for years, but security expert Sam Deering never knew what was beneath his plain-Jane employees baggy clothing. Then, on the night of Delilah Smith's twenty-ninth birthday, Sam no longer had to wonder as virginal Del announced she was ready.








Get inside a gorgeous man’s head…




LOVE—FROM HIS

POINT OF VIEW!


Three red-hot, exhilarating romances from three beloved Mills & Boon authors



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The Prince’s Bride by Lois Faye Dyer The Marriage Act by Elissa Ambrose The Homecoming by Gina Wilkins

Love—from His Point of View!

Featuring

Meeting at Midnight by Eileen Wilks Lost in Sensation by Maureen Child For Services Rendered by Anne Marie Winston




LOVE—FROM HIS

POINT OF VIEW!

EILEEN WILKS

MAUREEN CHILD

ANNE MARIE WINSTON











MEETING AT

MIDNIGHT

BY

EILEEN WILKS

LOST IN

SENSATION

BY

MAUREEN CHILD

FOR SERVICES

RENDERED

BY

ANNE MARIE WINSTON





MILLS & BOON




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




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u843d66d9-96dd-5954-a221-f38c6d102240)

Excerpt (#u75fb5e51-8226-5cd6-9b13-8c51e76ea828)

Other Books By (#u7555c7d8-601d-53a2-972d-19a73a76c6d4)

Love—from His Point of View! (#u04b75eca-39ef-5642-a461-dd021ed79262)

Meeting At Midnight (#u2dbdfc4f-580b-5513-b39b-748caf63986c)

About the Author (#u2e0be0b1-88a9-5078-be73-2836bf95ee3b)

Dedication (#u1a83e129-bc08-5cf9-9c20-d58ea0654e79)

Chapter 1 (#uf7c9859f-153c-5e77-a719-d317c5f1f4b1)

Chapter 2 (#u5b645fdf-f20c-5804-8969-4aff9f9ab312)

Chapter 3 (#u1b8e68cd-e9e8-5b04-b40c-b05f0f20967b)

Chapter 4 (#u4e454795-cf41-5873-b02a-495a55f4a3d0)

Chapter 5 (#u8c924ef4-8ff7-5498-ba04-ddb3e7c6a0f1)

Chapter 6 (#ua76a15e7-786a-55b4-ae9b-24d1bf465f29)

Chapter 7 (#ufaa32f2a-9a74-5f89-ba97-23cefd5138ca)

Chapter 8 (#ud9fd18df-5b55-54dc-beb6-9c433f0ffbf8)

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)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Lost In Sensation (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

For Services Rendered (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)



MEETING AT MIDNIGHT


Eileen Wilks is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us, the War Between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage, raising two kids and innumerable dogs and cats along the way. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.

Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she’s tried everything from draughting to a brief stint as a ranch hand. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to her at PO Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612, USA.


This book is dedicated to my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, who is as extraordinary in her own way as the story’s heroine. At its best, the writer-editor relationship is a partnership that deepens over time, resulting in stronger, richer stories. I’ve been lucky. I’ve worked with the best.




One


I wasn’t thinking about dying. I wasn’t thinking much at all, this being one of those nights when a man didn’t want to listen to the noise in his head. I’d turned the radio up loud in an effort to drown out any stray thoughts, but that may have been a mistake.

Damned country music. Every other song was about loving and losing. So why did I keep listening to it?

I grimaced and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. The wipers were slapping sleet along with rain from the wind-shield, and the wind was blowing hard. But I knew this road almost as well as I knew my own street. And I’d lived there all my life.

All my life…forty years now. Most of those years I hadn’t lived in the big old house alone, but I was alone there now. Forty years old and alone.

And getting dumber instead of smarter, apparently. I scowled at the strip of highway pinned by my truck’s headlights. Why had I let Sorenson talk me into hanging around for a drink after we shook on the deal? I wasn’t a complete idiot, though. Despite Sorenson’s good-ol’-boy bonhomie, I’d limited myself to a single drink.

“Come on, have another one,” the resort owner had urged. “On the house.” He’d tried to make out that the weather wasn’t a problem. We hadn’t even had a freeze yet.

Yet being the operative word. I’d held on to tact by the skin of my teeth—the man was a jerk, but he was the jerk who’d just agreed to use my company for a major renovation job.

“Hey, a man your size ought to be able to handle his liquor. You don’t want me to think you’re a wimp, right? Might start wondering if you’re man enough for the job.”

I’d just looked at him, bored beyond courtesy. “Anyone who has to drink to prove he’s a man isn’t one.”

I snorted, remembering that conversation. Yeah, I was some kind of man, all right. The stupid kind. The temperature was hovering just above freezing, visibility sucked, I had to be at a site at seven-thirty tomorrow morning and here I was, winding my way down a mountain road at ten minutes before midnight.

A sharp turn loomed. No shoulder along here. I took my foot off the accelerator and tapped the brakes. I intended to creep around that turn like an old man with palsy—an attitude reinforced when I saw the sign about guard-rail damage.

I hit ice halfway through.

My wheels were cut to the left, but me and half a ton of pickup kept sliding forward. The tops of a couple of pines whipped around in the wind behind the guard rails. Their roots would be thirty or forty feet below the parts I could see and beyond their roots would be a whole lot more down. I turned into the skid, then almost immediately straightened the wheel.

It worked. The rear end skated around a bit, but I’d reclaimed control. I rounded the treacherous curve, safe and sound. And through the murk of rain and sleet saw a long black whip snapping through the air. Straight at me.

A power cable. Live.

If I’d had time to think, I might have risked it. Or maybe not. The truck was grounded, but the cable might have busted my windshield and smacked me in the face with 13,600 volts. But there wasn’t time then for thought, or even fear. Just action. I jerked the wheel left and hit the brakes.

Big mistake.

The truck began to spin, slick as greased Teflon. I yanked my foot off the brakes. The power cable reached the end of its arc a foot short of my bumper. I steered into the spin, more than willing to turn all the way around and head back the way I’d come.

The damned truck just kept sliding sideways.

The guard rails. I hadn’t seen any damage. Maybe—

The rear of the truck thudded up against them. And stopped. The front slewed around. Jolted. And kept on going.

Even then I didn’t think about dying. Didn’t think at all, just flung the door open, responding to the screaming need to get out of there. But it was too late, too late to do anything but topple with the truck as it went over the edge and flipped.

Metal screeched. I turned into an object trying to bounce off the crumpling trap of the truck’s cab. It was as if the darkness itself pummeled me with a giant’s fist, and then a hard blow on my head—then silence. Stillness. I lay beneath a whole mountain of hurt listening to someone moan.

That irritated me. What business did this bozo have moaning when I was the one with the mountain on me? I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up. The moaning stopped.

Something in that cause-and-effect sequence woke a few brain cells. That had been me moaning, and I was…I was…in my truck. Only I was hanging at a funny angle.

I blinked. My right eyelid felt gummy. Slowly I put together the pressure across my pelvis and chest, the glow of the dash lights and the stillness. The nose of the truck was pointed down, but the pitch wasn’t too steep.

I was alive. And I was hurt.

How bad? I couldn’t tell. The pain itself addled me, made it hard to think. But my head…yeah, I remembered getting hit there. Instinctively I lifted my hand to see what touch could tell me. My shoulder exploded. Pain nearly sucked me down. I lay draped over my seat belt and shoulder harness and panted.

Okay, obviously my shoulder was hurt, too. Pretty bad.

Over the soft sound of rain I heard a creaking sound. A prickle of alarm made me lift my head. And rap it against something.

It didn’t take long for me to run out of breath for cursing. Or to figure out the problem: the roof of the truck was caved in. I couldn’t straighten my head.

My breath came faster. Slowly I turned my head to the right. Shards of glass glittered on the seat beside me. I couldn’t see outside because light turned the starred surface of the glass opaque.

How about that. The headlights were still on. I looked to the left.

The door was bashed in.

Deep breaths, I told myself. Panic won’t help. I wiggled the fingers on my left hand, then cautiously moved that arm. All right so far. With equal care I shifted my legs. Okay, good. I had three out of four limbs operational. I’d survived a tumble down a mountain and I was hurt, but I was alive, dammit. And I wasn’t trapped. I could get out.

Getting out was a bitch.

The buckle to the seat belt was slippery and wet, but I got it undone, then needed to get my breath. Which was ridiculous, of course, but…my jeans were soaked. My jacket, too. And beneath the jacket my shirt stuck to me, warm and wet.

An awful lot of my blood was outside of me instead of inside.

That scared me. I reached for the door handle. My first tug didn’t do a damned thing.

Fear hit, sweeping everything else out of the way. Pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting out. I jerked on the handle as hard as I could, throwing my weight against it.

Metal shrieked. The door swung open and I fell out. I managed to thrust one leg out to catch myself, but the jolt as my foot hit the ground set off a charge in my shoulder that toppled my whole system.

I didn’t black out. Quite. But for a while there was nothing but a red, roaring monster eating my thoughts before they could form. Eventually I noticed how cold and wet the ground was. It was a lot colder out here than in the truck. Wetter, too. Maybe getting out hadn’t been such a great move, but I was here now. What came next?

The road. I had to get to the road. Not much traffic this time of night, but sooner or later that downed power line would attract attention.

Dragging myself to a sitting position left me clammy, but I made it and looked up the way the truck and I had come. Only I couldn’t see the road. Too dark, and the rain didn’t help. How far had I fallen?

I fought back a wave of despair. I knew where the road was—up. So that’s where I would go.

First I used my left hand to tuck my right one into the pocket of my jacket. There were trees, mostly pines. Not much in the way of underbrush, and the truck’s passage had cleared a path through what did exist. Good. In a battle between me and a clump of weeds right then, the weeds would win.

Standing was out, so hand-and-knees it was. I started moving.

Gwen had once told me that women forget how much childbirth hurts. She made a joke of it, saying that was how nature tricked them into a repeat performance. I didn’t understand then. I’d heard women swapping war stories, and it seemed to me they remembered labor pretty well.

Now I know what she meant. I remember that I hurt. Every inch up that slope equaled a yard or two of pain. But the pain itself isn’t there anymore, just the imprint it left behind.

When you hurt enough, you lose hold of past and future. Like a baby or a beast, all you have is right now. I lost the knack of connecting all those nows in the usual way, like beads on a string. So some beads got lost. Others stayed stuck inside me, like a splinter the flesh has grown up around.

One of the beads that got stuck was the moment my truck finished falling.

I hadn’t thought about what halted the truck’s fall. Maybe that knowledge had squirmed around underneath, and that’s why the creaking sound had alarmed me, why I’d been so frantic to get out. The second I heard that sharp, wooden crack, I knew what it meant. I craned my head to look behind me.

Branches snapped. Glass broke, and the headlights went out at last. A tangled mass of truck and tree, their shapes merged by darkness and disaster, toppled slowly, then crashed its way down the mountain. I blinked, swaying on my knees and one good hand like a suspension bridge in the wind.

That had been a damned fine truck.

I didn’t mourn for long, though. I wasn’t holding on to thoughts too well by then—they blew through my mind like smoke. But I had a good grip on purpose.

Up. I had to keep going up.

I remember being racked with shudders as the cold worked its way inside. At some point the shuddering stopped, but by then I was too far gone to realize what a bad sign that was. I remember thinking about Zach, but that isn’t tied to any one moment. Thoughts of my son are woven through all the memory bits, like the rocks. They were everywhere, too.

I remember the angel.

That part has a beginning, a middle and an end, beads lined up neatly in order. It was the warmth that called me back. It wormed its way deep inside and tugged at me, made me notice it. And with that noticing came a thought, sluggish but complete: the warmth was real. I knew that because I started shivering again, and shivering—any movement—hurt.

I blinked open my eyes.

It wasn’t her face that gave me the idea she was an angel. She was beautiful, but more exotic than angelic with her flat, wide cheekbones and tilty eyes. Her mouth was downright lush. But she had to be an angel. She was glowing.

Deeply disappointed, I croaked, “I’m dead, then.”

Those full lips twitched. “No, not at all.” She had a smooth sort of voice, sweet and thick like honey. And a Southern accent, which struck me as odd for an angel. “You’re going to be fine.”

That seemed unlikely, but even less likely things were happening right before my eyes. “You’re glowing.”

“I have a flashlight.”

“No, it’s you.”

“You’re imagining things. In fact, I suspect you imagined this whole conversation.” She touched my forehead. The delicate bracelet on her wrist brushed my skin, its tiny jewels winking at me. “Now, don’t be wasting all I’ve spent on you. Go back to sleep.”

I wanted to argue, but my eyes obeyed her instead of me and drifted shut. I floated away on a warm tide.

“Color’s bad. Rapid respiration.”

Male voices. Hands messing with me. Where was my angel?

“Nail beds are white, but it’s damned cold and he’s been here awhile.”

“Distal pulse?”

“Can’t find it.”

I knew that voice. “Pete,” I said, or thought I did. It came out a groan. I made a huge effort and opened my eyes. Pete Aguilar’s face hovered over mine. Pete used to raise hell with my brother Charlie, but that was a long time ago. High school stuff. These days he…I blinked, trying to think of why Pete would be holding my hand.

“You with us?” He squeezed my shoulder—the left one, thank God. “Hang in there, buddy.”

Oh, yeah. “Paramedic.”

“That’s right. Me and Joe are going to take care of you. Where do you hurt?”

Everywhere. I felt sick, dizzy, scared. “Where is she?”

“I need to know where you hurt, Ben.”

“Shoulder. Head. I want…” I tried to sit up, but didn’t accomplish much.

“Whoa. Stay still, or you’ll open up that shoulder again.”

“Dammit, I want to know—”

“I’m right here.” That was her voice—close, but not as close as she had been. “Lie still and let them help you.”

It’s not as if I had a choice. Pete or the other man tipped me on my side. I would have belted him if I’d been able to move. As it was, I barely had the breath to curse them once they settled me on my back again.

There was something between me and the mud now. A stretcher, I guess.

“You’re a lucky man,” Pete told me cheerfully.

Damned idiot always had been too happy for good sense. Just like Charlie. “Not lucky…fall off mountain.”

“But if you’re going to fall off one, it’s nice to do it just before someone with paramedic training happens along. She kept you going until we got here.”

Not an angel. A paramedic. No, wait—paramedics don’t glow.

A thought slipped in amidst my confusion. “Tell them…power line down. Dangerous.”

“One of Highpoint’s finest is keeping on eye on things until a crew arrives. Now, we’ve got to get you up to the ambulance where we can give you some oxygen, get a drip going. You’ll feel better then.”

The other man had been busy with straps. The one he fastened around my chest pulled on my shoulder. I was just getting my breath back when Pete said, “Ready? On the count of three. One…two—”

They lifted. I guess there was no way to do that without jarring me. I managed to hang on to the ragged edge of consciousness—mainly out of fear, I’ll admit. I wasn’t sure I’d wake up again.

I weigh about 220. They couldn’t just carry me and the stretcher. They had to let the front end roll where it could, lifting it only when they had no choice. The downhill end, though, had to be lifted pretty much all the time. Pete took that end. He was a husky man, nearly as big as me, but that slope defeated him. After a few nearly vertical yards he tripped or slipped and set his end down suddenly. And hard.

I heard myself cry out. It took everything I had to fight off the black, greasy wave. Then I heard her voice. She was arguing with them.

She won the argument. While I was busy breathing, she took over at the head of the stretcher, leaving the downhill end to the two men. Not that I figured this out at the time. Then, I was only aware of pain. The need to stay conscious. And that she was near enough to touch me again, because she did.

“Stubborn man,” she whispered. Her hand was warm on my cheek, so warm. Almost hot. That heat seemed to push me right out of myself. I lost my grip on consciousness and tumbled off into the darkness.




Two


I knew where I was before I opened my eyes. The emergency room at Fleetwood Memorial Hospital was a place of bad smells, beeping monitors and people who wouldn’t listen to me.

“Deep puncture wound in the clavicular portion of the right pectoralis major,” someone was saying rapidly. “Some involvement of the deltoid. Patient complained of head pain earlier.”

“He was conscious? Responsive?”

“At the scene, yes. He passed out when we carried him to the ambulance. After administering Ringer’s…BP holding steady. Pulse…”

The voices were fading in and out. My head ached and my shoulder was one huge, monstrous throb, but I didn’t feel as sick and dizzy as I had before. Weak, though. And tired. It was hard to pay attention, tempting to let myself drift off again. But if I did, other people would be making the decisions for me. I didn’t like that.

“You didn’t use a neck brace.” That was a prissy male voice. “The neck is to be supported in all vehicular accidents.”

“He crawled more than fifty yards up a mountain,” Pete retorted. “I don’t think his neck is broken.”

“Come on—get him on the table.”

That meant they were going to move me again. I blinked gummy lids and was immediately blinded by the overhead light. “Where…” The oxygen mask muffled my voice. I turned my head and tried to dislodge it.

“Mr. McClain.” A man’s face hovered over mine briefly, haloed by the too-bright light. I couldn’t make out his features. “I’m Dr. Meckle. You’ve been in an accident, and you’re at the emergency room.”

Well, dammit, I knew that. “Get this off me,” I said, but even to me the words were unintelligible.

“You must be still. We’re going to move you now.”

They did. I had to pay attention to my breathing again. While I was working on that, the prissy doctor was tossing out orders like General Sherman reviewing the troops. “Get his clothes cut off. Draw some blood and get it typed and cross-matched. Aguilar, is this the only wound you found?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doesn’t add up,” he muttered. “This dressing is almost clean.”

Someone jabbed my good arm with a needle and I realized that it wasn’t strapped down anymore. Good. As soon as she pulled the needle out, I reached up and shoved the oxygen mask down. “Where is she? The woman. Paramedic.”

“The paramedics who brought you in are both men,” the doctor said. There was something irritating about his voice. And familiar. “Now, sir, please cooperate. You’ve lost a good deal of blood. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

Pete spoke up. “I think he’s talking about the woman who found him. The officer at the scene was going to send her here. Exposure or something like that.”

“What? What’s wrong with her?” I needed to sit up.

“Aguilar,” the doctor snapped, planting a hand firmly on my good shoulder, “if you’re determined to clutter up my examination room, at least do so silently. Mr. McClain, I will promise to check on this mystery woman once I’m satisfied with your condition. Be still.”

I subsided, unable to do much else. What had happened to her? Exposure…had she put her coat over me, and suffered for it? I couldn’t remember. The officer at the scene…oh, God. Duncan. Duncan worked nights. He would hear about my accident on the police radio, and think I was dead or something. “I need—”

“What you need, Mr. McClain, is medical attention. Which I am attempting to give you. If you won’t hold still, I will have you strapped down. Roberts, get that mask back on him.”

The world was taking on that sick spin again, which was the fault of that prissy doctor. I wouldn’t be so wiped out if he’d quit arguing and cooperate. As it was, the nurse defeated me easily, fitting the mask over my face. I decided to suck down some of the oxygen they were determined to give me, get my strength back and try again.

“Not enough blood,” he muttered as he snipped at whatever was holding my shoulder together. “The man’s in shock, there should be…what the hell?”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“What is it?” one of the medical crowd asked.

“Look at this. There, see?” He pointed at my shoulder, not quite touching it. I couldn’t see a thing. His hands were in the way. “That’s newly formed flesh. And this section is scabbed over. That’s not right. It’s…” He looked at me accusingly. “Mr. McClain. This is an old injury, isn’t it? Several days old, at least.”

Idiot. I stared at him stonily over the top of the oxygen mask.

He sighed and pulled the mask down. “Did you injure your shoulder a few days ago?”

“No. I think a tree limb punched through the window and pierced it when my truck rolled. I—”

“Impossible.”

Obviously not, since it had happened. But arguing with idiots is a waste of breath, and I didn’t have breath to spare. “I need to call my brother—Officer Duncan McClain.”

“You did not lose any substantial amount of blood from this wound tonight.”

I gave up and turned my head. “Pete, I need to call Duncan.”

Pete looked at me helplessly. “I imagine someone has already called him. He’ll be here soon.”

“No!” I’d had enough of lying flat while everyone ignored me. I struggled up onto one elbow. Things spun for a second and my forehead turned clammy, but I made it.

“Lie down, Mr. McClain.”

“Why? You decided maybe I am hurt, after all? Pete, I need to call Duncan myself. Don’t want him worried. I—”

“This man creating a disturbance?” said a voice from the doorway.

“I tried to stop him, Doctor,” said a harried female. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Relief hit like a slap in the face, puncturing my anger. My strength drained right out with it, so I let the nurse ease me back down. “I’m okay, Duncan.”

“Yeah?” The man who cut through the medical crowd to stand by my bed was shorter and lighter than I am. Better looking, too, with smoother features and eyes as pale as mine are dark. We have the same hair, though. Dark brown and board straight.

Duncan had on his blank face, the one that makes him a good cop and annoys the hell out of me. Never have been able to read the boy when he doesn’t want to be read. He put a hand on my good shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I can see that you are.”

“I am,” I insisted. But I was sure tired, and the pain wasn’t coming in waves anymore. It was this huge, steady presence, almost solid. I felt as if I’d bounced myself off that solid mass of pain a few times too many and rattled my brains. “Truck’s a mess, though.”

One side of Duncan’s mouth quirked up. “You’ve looked better yourself.”

“Yeah, well…I tried to call you, but this stupid—”

“Now, now,” he said.

“Belligerence is not uncommon with those in shock,” the doctor said, all pompous and tolerant. “I’m afraid your brother’s attitude is impeding his treatment, however. Normally I would not allow a family member to be present at this point, but if you can persuade him to cooperate, Officer, you may remain.”

As if he could stop Duncan. I snorted.

“Belligerent, is he?” For some reason that made Duncan smile. He squeezed my good shoulder again. Anxiety nestled in the corners of his eyes, keeping the smile out, but I could read him now.

I relaxed. If Duncan didn’t need his blank face, he wasn’t too upset.

“You heard the man, Ben. Play nice.”

“Man’s an idiot,” I muttered, but someone had tied weights on my eyelids. They were closing in spite of me. It was all right, though. Duncan would keep an eye on the idiot. He’d take care of things. “You’ll tell Zach…make it so he doesn’t worry.”

“I will.”

Good. That was good. The darkness beckoned, no longer threatening. “And the angel,” I murmured as I let myself go. “You’ll find her for me.”

Doctors and nurses are not reasonable people.

No question about who was in charge, and it wasn’t me. Admittedly, I wasn’t in any shape to go home right away. After they’d finished poking and stitching and X-raying me, pumping me full of antibiotics and O-negative, they finally strapped me into a fancy sling and put me in a room where I could get some sleep. Then, of course, they kept waking me up.

In spite of this, I felt a lot better by late afternoon. But no one was interested in my opinion of my condition. Mostly they seemed irritated that it wasn’t worse. At least that prissy E.R. doctor was out of the picture now.

I’d finally remembered where I knew him from. Twentysome years ago, Harold Meckle, M.D., had been a couple of grades behind me in school. Harry had been a certified brain back then, so he was probably a competent doctor now. But it would take a personality transplant to turn him into a competent human being.

Harry had a real bee in his bonnet about my shoulder. At one point he’d actually wanted to do surgery in order to find out why I didn’t need surgery. He was convinced I had to have some internal injury that was bleeding like a mother to account for all the blood I’d lost.

Fortunately, my own doctor had arrived by then. Dr. Miller didn’t see any point in cutting me open to satisfy Harry’s curiosity. Or, as he put it, he preferred a conservative approach, which meant keeping me under observation. Which meant keeping me in the hospital.

I’m a reasonable man. I could see that they needed to hold on to me awhile. I had a concussion, among other things. That’s why they’d woken me up every blasted hour on the hour, until I finally stayed awake in self-defense.

I knew all that. I just didn’t like it.

Shortly before supper a skinny little blonde showed up carrying a plastic sack from a department store. Her pink sweater was big enough for two of her, hiding what I knew to be a curvy bottom. She’d cut her hair again, I noticed. For some reason she liked it short. Long or short, I enjoyed looking at her hair. It was a pale, shiny blond, like sunshine on freshly cut pine.

Her name was Gwen. She was my son’s mother and—as of three months ago—my brother’s wife.

“I’ve got a book on Samuel Adams I hope you haven’t read,” she said, bustling up to my bed, where she deposited a peck on my cheek and the sack on my bed. “Also two magazines, a crossword puzzle book and some pajamas so you don’t have to wear that hospital gown. You’re looking better, I must say, though your bruises are coming out nicely. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry. Where’s Duncan? With Zach?” I used my good arm to dig through the sack. The pajamas were new, of course, since I didn’t own any. I wondered how much of a fuss she’d make when I paid her back for them.

“Duncan is getting something else I understand you asked for. Zach is with Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“How’s he taking all this? He’s not too upset?”

She smiled. “We may have overdone the reassuring. He wanted to know if you’d still take him camping this weekend.”

“We” meant her and Duncan. I was getting used to that. I grimaced. “We’re likely to have had our first snow by the time all the dings in my carcass have healed enough for me to take him.”

“Probably. He’ll survive waiting until next spring. Oh, I talked to Edie. She wants you to let her know if there’s anything she can do.”

She might try leaving me alone. One date is not a lifetime commitment. Couldn’t say that, though. The woman was a friend of Gwen’s. “What about Annie? Did Duncan ever get hold of her?” I knew Duncan had called Charlie, my youngest brother, but Annie was harder to get hold of.

My little sister was currently in a tiny village in Guatemala with her husband, Jack, a construction engineer who works for a nonprofit organization. ICA builds schools and hospitals and such in developing countries. Right now, Jack was putting up a clinic while Annie taught the kids in a one-room, dirt-floor hut.

I still hadn’t gotten used to her being so far away most of the time.

“Oh, yes. Sorry—I forgot to mention that. I talked to her after lunch. She’s worried, naturally, but I persuaded her to hold off on buying a plane ticket.”

I would have liked to see her…but that was selfish. She was needed where she was. I pulled out the book Gwen had brought. “I’ve been wanting to read this one. Thanks. But you forgot something.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“My clothes.”

“If I bring you clothes, you’ll put them on. Duncan spoke to your doctor, Ben, so don’t think you can put one over on us. You are staying here at least two more days.”

I was patient with her. “I’m not planning to leave the hospital without Dr. Miller’s okay. He’s a sensible man, unlike the idiot in the E.R. I just want to have the option of leaving.”

“You get the clothes when Dr. Miller releases you, and not a minute before.”

“Dammit, Gwen, I’m not a two-year-old!”

“You’re as stubborn as one! You’ve got a concussion, a banged-up knee, a big hole in your shoulder and a broken clavicle. You’re not going anywhere right away, and when they do discharge you, you’ll be coming home with me and Duncan.”

No way in hell was that going to happen. “You live on the second floor. I’m not up to handling stairs yet.”

“You’re not discharged yet, either.” She fussed with the flowers and stuff on the table by my bed, making room for the things she’d brought. “And once you are, you can lie around on the couch like a sultan and order everyone around. That should suit you.”

Gwen had adapted well to being my sister-in-law. She sounded more like my sister all the time. Snippy. “I thought I was too banged up for Zach to see. That’s why you didn’t want to sneak him in here.” That, and the fact that, being an attorney, Gwen has a thing about rules, and the hospital didn’t allow kids under ten to visit.

“I’m sure you’ll look better by the time you’re released.” She quit messing with the flowers and faced me. “You are not going home to an empty house in your condition, Ben. Forget that idea.”

That hit too close to home. When I heard the snick of the door opening I turned to face it, relieved. Someone probably wanted more of my blood, or to see how “we” were doing, but that was okay. Better than looking at the concern in Gwen’s eyes.

“You up for some visitors?” Duncan asked.

Even better. I smiled. “You’re not a visitor, you’re a…” My voice trailed off. I forgot what I was going to say.

He’d found her. Duncan had found my angel.

Only she wasn’t, of course. Not mine, and certainly not an angel. A Valkyrie, maybe. Or an amazon. The top of her head was level with my brother’s, and Duncan hits a fraction over six feet.

Her sweatshirt was blue and sloppy beneath a worn yellow parka, but couldn’t disguise beautiful, half-moon breasts. Faded denim stretched tight over a couple miles of legs—firm, rounded, muscular legs. Her hair was a messy riot of brown curls tumbling well below her shoulders. She was built long and lush, strong and stacked, every inch of her pure woman.

It was a body that made quite an impact on a man. I blinked a few times before I got my gaze back to her face. That looked the same as I remembered…except, of course, she wasn’t glowing.

“I don’t think you two were ever introduced,” Duncan said. “Ben, this is Seely Jones. Seely, this is my brother Ben—Benjamin McClain—and my wife, Gwen.”

I had no idea what to say. I hadn’t thought beyond finding her, seeing her again. I cleared my throat. “Unusual name.”

“My mother is an unusual woman.” She turned her smile on Gwen. “You have a very persistent husband. Nice, but persistent.”

Gwen and Duncan exchanged one of those private smiles. “Yes, I do. I hope his persistence hasn’t inconvenienced you too much. I’m very glad to meet you.”

“You’re okay, aren’t you?” I said. “I heard you were treated and released, but no one would tell me what you’d been treated for.”

“Oh, that. I’m afraid I scared the police officer who was taking my statement by fainting, so they felt obliged to bring me in.”

I’d never seen a woman who looked less likely to faint in my life.

My expression must have given my thoughts away, for she laughed. “Absurd, isn’t it? I’ve done it all my life, though. Not often, thank goodness, and no, it is not a symptom of some dreadful underlying health problem—though I did have some trouble persuading the E.R. doctor of that. You seem to be doing well.”

“Thanks to you. I, uh…that’s what I wanted. To thank you.”

She smiled that slow, sweet smile I remembered. “Daisy says everything happens for a reason, but I never thought I’d be grateful to Vic.”

“Vic?” I frowned. “You don’t mean Victor Sorenson.”

“Don’t I?” Her eyebrows went up in elaborate surprise. “I thought I did.” She ambled up to my bed, click-click-click.

I glanced down. She was wearing high heels. My own eyebrows went up. Got to respect the moxie of a tall woman who chooses to wear three-inch heels. “Sorenson’s a worm,” I mentioned, in case she hadn’t noticed.

“I’ll agree with you there.” She spoke the way she moved—slow and easy, as if she’d never hurried in her life and didn’t intend to start. “He fired me last night. That’s why I left the resort so late and ended up finding you. Which is a roundabout sort of gratitude, but there you go. Roundabout is probably the only kind of appreciation Vic’s likely to get.”

“I didn’t know Vic kept a paramedic on staff.”

“I was working as a waitress, not a paramedic.” Her voice didn’t change but her eyes did—as if she’d closed a door, gently but firmly, on that subject. “Vic and I disagreed about the fringe benefits of the job. He thought he was one of them. I didn’t.”

The thought of Vic putting his hands on this woman made me furious. “I’ll talk to him,” I promised grimly.

Duncan gave me a level look. “Don’t do anything I’d have to arrest you for.”

“You should consider filing suit against him,” Gwen said seriously. “Sexual harassment is wrong, and firing you for failing to agree to his demands—well, it sounds like you’d have a good case.”

“Oh, he didn’t fire me because I wouldn’t go to bed with him. I think it was the cannelloni,” Seely said thoughtfully. “It didn’t go with his suit. Or maybe it was the chicken-fried steak. There was all that cream gravy, you see. He was not happy about the gravy.”

A laugh took me by surprise. It hurt, so I stopped. “Dumped a tray on him, did you?”

Her mouth stayed solemn, but her eyes laughed along with me. Extraordinary eyes. Not the color—they were blue, pretty enough, but nothing unusual. Maybe it was their shape, sort of elongated, with a flirty tilt at the corners. Or the way they seemed to offer confidences, as if she and I were old friends who didn’t need to put everything into words.

“I found Miss Jones at the bus station,” Duncan said. “She was buying a ticket to Denver.”

A frown snapped down. “You’re leaving town?”

“Why not? I lost my job.”

“But you have a car. What were you doing at the bus station?”

She pulled a face. “The stupid thing decided to die on me. The mechanic says it’s either some gasket or the whole motor, and he can’t say which without taking everything apart, which will cost a fortune. You’d think he could tell the difference, wouldn’t you?”

“Head gasket, sounds like,” I said, my brain clicking away on an idea. “Or the heads themselves. You must have lost compression.”

“You do speak the lingo,” she said admiringly.

Duncan asked her who she’d taken the car to, then assured her that Ron was a good mechanic. Gwen was looking fidgety.

“But your things!” she burst out. “I can understand leaving your car if it wasn’t worth repairing, but surely you couldn’t take everything with you on the bus. Even if you didn’t have furniture, there’s clothes, dishes, bedding…oh.” An embarrassed flush sped over her cheeks. “It isn’t any of my business, is it?”

Seely turned that lazy smile Gwen’s way. “Probably not, but we can’t help being curious about people, can we? I don’t have much stuff, being more of a wanderer than a nester. No dishes or bedding. A few keepsakes and some clothes, yes, but not that many. Susan seemed happy to accept what I didn’t want to take with me.”

“Susan?” I said, only half my brain on what she was saying.

“Another waitress at the resort. I’d been rooming with her, but I don’t think she minded my sudden departure. She’s had her eye on Vic for a while. Well.” She shrugged, a graceful movement that did lovely things to her breasts. “No accounting for tastes, is there?”

Things were falling into place. “You decided to leave more or less on impulse, then?”

“I do a lot of things on impulse.”

“Then there’s nothing waiting for you in Denver? No reason you need to be there right away?”

She used her eyebrows to ask where I was going with all this.

“My brother and sister-in-law think I’m going to need some help after I leave the hospital tomorrow.”

Gwen interrupted. “Not tomorrow, Ben.”

“They can’t do anything more for me here. Besides, hospitals are unhealthy. People get staph infections in hospitals. Now, Gwen and Duncan might be right about me needing a little help—”

Duncan snorted.

“So I was thinking maybe you’d be interested. You need a job, right? And a place to stay while your car gets fixed.”

“I…” For the first time, her composure was shaken. “Weren’t you listening? I wasn’t planning to fix my car.”

I brushed that aside. “Look, if you’re worried about staying with a man you don’t know, I’m not in any shape to give you a hard time.” Gwen muttered something about my being able to give people a hard time on my deathbed. I ignored that. “Not that I would hassle you, anyway, but you couldn’t know that.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

“What’s the problem, then?” I used my left elbow to prop myself up.

Everything went gray. The next thing I knew, Seely was depositing me efficiently back on my pillows. I’m not sure how she got there before Duncan, who isn’t exactly slow off the mark, but she did.

“There’s a line between stubborn and stupid,” she said, looking down at me. “Something tells me you cross it now and then.”

Duncan grinned. Gwen giggled. I scowled. “I moved too fast, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Seely said. “I can see you’ll undo everyone’s work, given half a chance. All right. I’ll take the job.”

Hot damn. “Good. That’s good.”

“On two conditions. First, you stay in the hospital until the doctor releases you. Second, you’ll do as I tell you while you’re under my care.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“He agrees,” Duncan said firmly. “Don’t you, Ben?”

Seely’s lips twitched, but she looked at me steadily, waiting. With a sigh, I nodded. “Within reason.”

Gwen spoke. “I hate to put a stick in the spokes, but you really should tell her about Doofus.”

Seely did that question-thing with her eyebrows. “Zach’s dog,” I explained. “My son. He lives with me. Doofus, I mean.” Relief had hit, followed by a wave of exhaustion. It was hard to get words lined up right. “Zach’s in kindergarten. He comes over after school some days.”

“My point is that Doofus is a puppy, not a dog,” Gwen said. “You should be aware you’re not just taking on one large, slightly snarly man. The man is at least housetrained. Doofus isn’t.”

“Thanks a lot, Gwen.”

Seely’s lips tipped up. “I think I can handle a puppy, as long as Ben can handle being bossed around.”

“Within reason,” I repeated. When she nodded, I breathed a sigh of relief. “All right, then. We’ve got a deal.”

Duncan was amused, Gwen was relieved, and Seely…I couldn’t tell. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth smiling, but her eyes seemed distracted, like she was taking a serious look inward.

And me? I was satisfied…for now. “Don’t you want to know how much the job will pay?”

“Money’s not a big issue for me.”

“Uh—you aren’t rich or something, are you?”

Gwen made a choked sound that she turned into clearing her throat. Seely laughed and tucked her hair back from her face. “I’ve been accused of a number of oddities, but rich isn’t one of them.”

The movement drew my attention to the long dangles of multicolored glass hanging from her ears. They reminded me…I glanced at her wrist.

Yes. That was the bracelet I remembered. “Pretty bracelet.”

Her eyebrows lifted gently. “Thanks. The stones represent the chakras. I’m guessing by the look on your face that you know what chakras are?”

“I read.” Bunch of New Age nonsense, but I wouldn’t say that to the woman who’d saved my life.

Everyone wanted me to rest then. I was willing to let them have their way as soon as I’d passed on some instructions for Manny, who was going to have to run things at McClain Construction for awhile. They were right—I was tired.

And I’d gotten what I wanted.

I’d stay here one more night, then I was going home. Not to an empty house, either. Seely would be there. I didn’t think Dr. Miller would give me grief over leaving the hospital once he knew I’d have trained medical help around. And I wouldn’t have to come up with any more reasons not to stay with Duncan while I was recovering.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my brother. Unfortunately, I also love his wife.




Three


Outside, the birds were making a fuss about morning. It was a familiar sound, even this late in the year. There were always a few who wintered over. But usually I didn’t listen to their chatter from a hospital bed in the den.

I sat on the edge of that bed and glared at my knee.

I had no idea how it had gotten hurt, no memory of it bothering me during my crawl up the mountain, but it was swollen to twice its size. Soft-tissue damage, according to the doctor. The swelling should go down in a few days. I was to stay off it as much as possible.

The downstairs bathroom was two rooms and half a hallway away.

All the bedrooms in the house were on the second floor, which is why they’d parked me in the den when I came home yesterday. The den was an addition, tacked on at the very back of the house. The bathroom was opposite the laundry room.

I’d put up with using a plastic basin to brush my teeth, but I was damned if I was going to pee in the stupid urinal they’d sent me home with.

Besides, I wanted more coffee. And something to do. There was a TV in here, but I wasn’t much for television. I like to read, but not all day. The table by my bed held sickroom paraphernalia—water, a glass, pain pills, the stuff Gwen had brought me in the hospital. My laptop, though I’d practically had to sign an oath in blood that I wouldn’t use it to work yet. A little bell I was supposed to ring if I needed anything.

I grimaced at that bell. Last night I’d barely managed one game of solitaire on my laptop. Seely had come in to refill my water and see how I was doing. I’d fallen asleep so fast I wasn’t sure I’d answered her.

I’d done nothing but sleep yesterday. I was sick of it.

On the floor next to the bed, Doofus was growling. He’d sunk his sharp little baby teeth into a dangling corner of my blanket and was killing it. In the kitchen, the radio was playing softly. I could hear quiet, moving-around noises, too…water running at the sink. The refrigerator door opening and closing.

That would be Seely, clearing up after breakfast. She’d brought me eggs and toast in bed.

Damned if I know why people consider breakfast in bed a treat. Even with a bed you can crank to a sitting position, it’s a pain. Besides, I’d had enough of beds. I wanted to shave. I wanted a shower and real clothes, not wrinkled pajamas. I needed to talk to Manny, and my loving family had persuaded Seely not to leave the phone by my bed.

First things first. I stood slowly, having learned that I got dizzy if I tried to move too fast. It was nice, I decided, to hear a woman puttering around in the kitchen. I wondered how much of a squawk Seely would make when I joined her there. A grin tugged at my mouth.

Funny. I was in a pretty good mood, considering I’d smashed my truck and put some major dents in several body parts. But it was good to be home…good to have survived to come home.

I started across the room. Contrary to my family’s fondly held opinion, I know my limits. I’d lost a lot of blood, which meant I was going to be weak, sometimes dizzy. Combine that with a knee not inclined to take much weight, a shoulder that kept me from using crutches and a body that was stiff and sore everywhere but my left big toe, and falling was a real possibility. Especially with that fool puppy running circles around my feet.

I took it slow and careful. I wanted to make a point. I also wanted coffee and conversation, maybe some answers. I limped into the dining room, frowning.

In any contest between memory and logic, logic ought to win. Women don’t glow. I knew that. I’d been in bad shape when Seely found me, my perceptions skewed by a system on the verge of shutting down. I couldn’t trust my memory.

Yet that one memory bead remained so clear…the curves of her face as she smiled at me, the tilt of her eyes, the way her breath had puffed out, ghostly in the cold air. And the gentle luminescence of her skin, like moonlight on snow. Not at all like a flashlight. Just as clearly I remember the warmth, a heat that had sunk itself into me instead of sitting around on the surface.

I had questions, and I couldn’t let them go.

I managed to avoid tripping over Doofus as I left the bathroom, but had to pause in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand on the jamb to steady myself. The sling supported my shoulder, so it wasn’t hurting too much. Unlike my knee.

Seely was wiping down the counter, humming along with the radio. She wore jeans and a blue sweater today, and her denim-clad hips were swaying to the music in a cute little be-bop that yanked my attention away from my sore knee.

Then I noticed what was playing on the radio: Kenny Chesney singing “How forever feels.” The song Gwen and I had danced to five years ago, on the night we’d ended up in bed together.

The night before I left her.

All the fizz drained out of the day. I took a deep breath and limped on into the room. Doofus yelped happily, announcing our arrival.

Seely spun around, her eyes wide. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Doofus had found his water dish and was thrilled by the discovery, lapping away as if he’d been in the desert for days. I’d have to put him out soon. Or ask Seely to, dammit. I didn’t like depending on others for every little thing.

“Sneak up on me when you can barely walk,” she said.

“No shoes.” I decided to rest a bit before making for the oak table in the center of the room. “I came out for a cup of coffee.”

“I would have brought you coffee. That’s what that little bell by your bed is for.”

“I didn’t want to drink it in bed. Besides, I thought it would help if you could see that I’m able to move around some now.”

“Help what?”

“I don’t want to sleep all day today.”

One of her eyebrows lifted. The woman had the most talkative eyebrows I’d ever seen. “Okay. You thought I needed to be notified of this?”

Yesterday I’d dozed off every time she checked on me. That had to be coincidence…didn’t it? “We have a deal. I do what you say, within reason. I wanted to show you that it wouldn’t be reasonable to keep me in bed all day.”

Her mouth kicked up on one side. “Well, since you’re already here, you may as well sit down and have that coffee. No, wait—I’d rather you didn’t go splat on the floor. Let me get on your good side first.”

I didn’t have much choice. She reached me before I’d taken more than a couple of halting steps and slid an arm around my waist. The warm strength of her body felt good. “How can you move so fast without seeming to hurry?”

“Long legs. It helps when my target is crippled and can’t escape.”

My mouth twitched. The top of her head was only a few inches below mine. If I’d turned my head, it would have tickled my nose. Her hair smelled nice—a green smell, like herbs.

We made for the table at a half lurch, and I had to admit it was easier with her help. More pleasant, too. My body started entertaining ideas I could have sworn it wasn’t ready to consider yet. I sure couldn’t do anything about those ideas, even if I’d been free to.

Which I wasn’t. She was an employee, off-limits.

We reached the table. I spoke abruptly. “The first time I saw you, you were glowing.”

“Amazing the sort of thing a mind in shock can conjure, isn’t it?”

“Is that what it was?”

She let me go as I lowered myself carefully into a chair, then looked me square in the eye. Her eyebrows were expressing skepticism. “I don’t know. Do you often see people glow when you aren’t in shock?”

“Hardly ever.” Common wisdom holds that people won’t look you in the eye if they’re lying. This is stupid. Since everyone knows this, someone who intends to lie to you will be sure to meet your eyes. I guess people who expect liars to look shifty haven’t been around teenagers much. “That E.R. doctor was sure baffled by my shoulder.”

She laughed and headed for the coffeepot. “The one you kept calling an idiot?”

“Yeah. Harry Meckle. I knew him in school.” Was she dodging the subject? Or was I being given a chance to avoid looking like a fool? I drummed my fingers on the table. “I want you to tell Gwen it’s okay for Zach to come over after school today.”

“Uh-uh.” She set a steaming mug in front of me. The multicolored stones in her bracelet glittered.

“Do you wear that all the time?”

“Hmm? Oh.” She sat down, keeping another mug for herself. “The bracelet. Yes, pretty much.”

“So why won’t you talk to Gwen for me?”

“I never step between dueling exes.”

“Gwen and I aren’t dueling. We aren’t even exes. We were never married.” I held myself ready for the questions that were sure to come. People were invariably nosy about me, Gwen, Zach and Duncan.

Seely shrugged. “So? You’re obviously ex-somethings.”

I’d never thought of it that way. For some reason the notion settled me, as if some little wandering piece had finally found its spot. I took a sip of coffee. “This is good.”

“Thanks.”

“The thing is, Zach has had enough uncertainty in his life. I think it will be good for him to see that, yeah, I’m banged up but I’m basically okay.”

“I won’t argue with that, but can’t you just tell Gwen yourself?”

I grimaced. “My family has some funny ideas. They think I don’t know my own limitations.”

She sipped her coffee, her eyes laughing at me over the rim. “Maybe you’ve given them some teensie-weensie reason to think that?”

“No.” I was certain about that. “Couldn’t have. I’ve never been really hurt before. A few stitches here and there, yeah, but nothing they kept me for overnight. Never been in any kind of auto accident.”

“Never? Not even a fender-bender?”

I shook my head and thought sadly about my truck.

“I imagine you scared them, then. They probably don’t realize it, but deep down I’ll bet they think you’re invulnerable.”

“They’re annoying sometimes, but they aren’t stupid.”

“Feelings don’t always follow logic, do they? They probably needed you to be invulnerable when they were younger. You were all they had.”

I scowled. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, it came up in different ways. While you were napping yesterday, you had visitors. Manny Holstedder—I gather he works for you?—and two of your neighbors, and of course Duncan. And phone calls. I made a list you can look at later, but I do recall that your sister Annie called, and another brother. Charlie, I think? And Edie Snelling called twice.” She put just enough lift at the end of that to make it almost a question.

“A friend of Gwen’s,” I muttered. There are worse things than an ex-lover who’s determined to fix you up. Falling off a mountain, for example. But dammit, I wished Gwen would quit trying to slide women under my door.

“Mmm. Anyway, your friends, family and neighbors all wanted me to know I was taking care of someone special. You’re something of a hero, you know.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—”

“No, really. They all think you’re pretty grand. Several of them told me about the way you took over raising your sister and brothers after your folks were killed.”

Mortified, I nearly burned my tongue on the coffee. I set the mug down and cleared my throat. “To get back to the subject—I thought you could assure Gwen that I’m up to having Zach come over. That is…I never asked. Are you okay with having a five-year-old around?”

“Sure. I like kids.”

“I guess you don’t have any of your own. You said you weren’t a nester.”

She tipped her head to one side. Her curls were semitamed today, caught back in a stretchy blue thing at her nape. A few strands had wiggled free. “Are you really curious, or just paying me back for having learned so much about you when you were helpless?”

That surprised a chuckle out of me.

Oddly, she shivered. It was a delicate little thing, but I caught it. “Are you cold? We can turn up the heat.”

“No,” she said absently, rubbing her left palm as if it itched. “You do have a deep voice, don’t you? It sounds as if it’s rolling up from the bottom of a well. Oh, look—Doofus is actually at the door, asking to go out. I’d better reward that.”

She liked the sound of my voice. That’s what that little shiver had meant. I enjoyed that notion about as much as I did watching her as she ambled for the back door. The way those long legs carried her along put a nice little sway in her hips. Those legs…

She opened the back door and Doofus scampered out. “How did you pick Doofus?”

“The name or the dog?”

“Both, I guess. A bit of unique, isn’t he?”

“That’s one way to put it. No, leave the door open. He panics if you close it, then forgets what he went outside to do.” A man could die happy with those legs wrapped around him—whoa. A little sexual buzz was okay, but I couldn’t let myself get carried away. “I got him from the pound for Zach’s fifth birthday. The vet says he’s a basset mix, emphasis on the mix.”

She glanced out the door. “The ears do look have the look of a basset hound. Zach comes over to play with him fairly often, I take it?”

“Two or three days a week. A neighbor’s teenage daughter walks him here from the school when the weather is decent. Sometimes to Mrs. Bradshaw’s, if I can’t be home at that hour.”

“That’s your neighbor, right? She stopped by yesterday to see how you were doing.”

“She keeps kids.” That still didn’t sit too well with me. I didn’t want Zach raised by anyone other than family. But Mrs. Bradshaw was a good woman, and he liked it there. As Gwen often pointed out, at Mrs. Bradshaw’s he had other kids to play with, most notably a set of twins. “You never did answer my question.”

“Your…oh. About children.” Doofus scampered back in, the whole back half of his body wagging with delight over his performance. She shut the door and knelt to praise and pat. “Nope, no kids of my own. No stepchildren, nieces or nephews, either. I’ve never been married, and I was an only child.”

So was Gwen. Putting the two women together in my mind made me uncomfortable. I shifted, stretching out my bad leg. “I guess that would be lonely, being an only child.”

“I had my fantasies about having a brother or sister when I was growing up. But a lot of people from big families fantasize about being an only, I think. Didn’t you?”

“No more than four or five times a day. Especially when Charlie and Annie were teenagers. Not that Annie got into any real trouble, but she was a girl. There’s so much stuff about being a girl at that age…” I shook my head. “I wanted to lock her up or send her to a convent. Raising girls is scary.”

“She’s quite a bit younger than you, I gather.”

“Eleven years, yeah. She’s the youngest.” I hadn’t done right by Annie. For years she’d had a kind of phobia about leaving Highpoint, and I hadn’t even realized it—probably because I’d liked having her around too much to question why she’d moved back home and stayed. Jack had known, though. He’d married her and taken her off to see the world, one dirtpoor village at a time. And she loved it. I frowned at my coffee cup.

“More coffee?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. Ah…jeans probably won’t work with this stupid knee. There ought to be a pair of sweats in the bottom left drawer of my dresser, though. If you’d get them, I can have my shower in the downstairs bathroom, then get dressed.”

“You are not—” she started, then stopped, shaking her head. “Who’d have thought you’d be so devious?”

I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m supposed to fuss at you, remind you of what the doctor said, et cetera. In the end, you’ll give up on the shower, and I’m supposed to concede that you can get dressed. Which is what you really want.”

“Are you sure you don’t have brothers?”

She chuckled. “Nary a one.”

Yet she obviously knew men. Well, she’d probably had plenty of opportunity to observe my half of the species. That showgirl’s body would get any man’s attention. Then he’d get hooked by that slow smile, or the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, laughing all by themselves. “You aren’t giving me a hard time about getting dressed,” I observed.

“Not much point. I knew you’d be champing at the bit today. You do realize I’ll have to help you, don’t you?”

“Like hell you will.”

She just looked at me. For once, even her eyebrows didn’t comment.

At last I sighed. “The shirt. I’ll need help with that. And the sling.”

“I could give you a sponge bath first.”

A visceral flash hit me—her hands running a warm, soapy washcloth along my arm to my shoulder, then down my chest…she’d be bending over me, bringing those magnificent breasts close enough to…“No, you can’t.”

Like I said, I know my limits.




Four


I couldn’t reach my left foot. I glared at my knee, washcloth in hand.

I was sitting on the toilet with the lid down. I’d managed a spit bath of sorts, pulled on my shorts and sweatpants…and one sock. I couldn’t get my left sock on. And I couldn’t wash my own damned foot.

Everything throbbed—head, shoulder, knee. My feet were cold. I was going to have to ask for help.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” I growled.

“Thought you might be ready for a cup of coffee,” Seely said through the door. “And an extra hand. As I recall, I had the devil of a time with shoes and socks when my wrist was broken.”

I sighed. “It’s unlocked. How did you break your wrist?”

The door swung open. “I wasn’t a very coordinated child. Fell from the monkey bars when I was seven. Daisy had to do everything for me at first, which sorely offended my dignity. Here.” She held out a tall walking stick. “Duncan dug this up in the attic yesterday. He thought you might be able to use it.”

I put down the washcloth and took the stick. It was made of walnut, a dark, burled wood that felt smooth and cool to my fingers. “How about that.” I smiled, bemused. “I’d forgotten all about this thing. Funny. I must have seen my father use it a hundred times, but the one time that floated into my head just now…”

“Yes?” She set the mug on the tiny bit of counter next to the sink.

“We were in Crete. Me and my dad, that is. Annie was only a month old, so my mom wasn’t able to go with my dad that year.” I leaned the stick against the wall. There wasn’t really room for it in this little scrap of a bathroom, but it made me feel good to have it near. “We’d climbed this little rise overlooking the dig, and he was using his stick to point out a city that didn’t exist anymore. All I saw was this reddish maze of crumbling walls in the section that had been excavated. He saw so much more—the granary, the wide, dusty street leading to the temple. Maybe even the people on that street.”

“He had vision. It sounds like a good memory.”

“Yeah.” I thought about how excited I’d been to go with him. How hard I’d tried to see what he did…and failed. “It was the first time I’d gone with him. I guess that’s why that memory sticks out.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven. It was summer, of course. I remember—hey!”

She’d knelt and was reaching for my foot. “Must have been hot.”

“Blazing. You don’t have to do that.” I tried to retrieve my foot without creating a tug-of-war.

“Quit that or I’ll tickle you.” She ran the washcloth over my sole. “I’ll admit I’m not a real nurse, but I’m pretty sure this sort of thing is part of the job.”

I scowled. This was every bit as embarrassing as I’d thought it would be. “No, you’re a paramedic. So why aren’t you working as one?”

“Because I couldn’t hack it.” She grabbed the towel. “So why is your brother married to your son’s mother instead of you?”

Sucker-punched. I hadn’t seen that one coming, and for a second couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She dried my foot carefully, giving me the top of her head to look at instead of her face. Even with her hair pulled back, her hair was all crinkly, like a shallow stream wiggling over rocks.

Or like Doofus wiggling all over even when he was trying to stand still. I sighed. I felt as if I’d just kicked a puppy—and gotten bitten for it. “Don’t apologize. I asked for it. I jabbed at you because I don’t like needing help for every little thing. Can’t complain if you jab back.”

“Okay. Hand me your socks, will you?”

I did, and she pulled a sock on my left foot. It felt weird to sit there while she did that. “I’m surprised none of the busybodies you talked to yesterday filled you in about me and Gwen.”

Seely looked up then, her face all smoothed out. “I really am sorry. I’m not usually such a bitch.”

That annoyed me. “You’re not a bitch at all.”

“I can be, when my temper’s up.”

“I have a temper, too, but no one calls me a bitch.”

She laughed. “I have a feeling no one calls you anything but ‘sir’ when you’re mad.”

“You haven’t been around my family.” I liked that I’d made her laugh. It was a good sound.

“You’re obviously close.” She tossed the washcloth in the sink. “Um…Gwen did say that you’d only known Zach for a few months. She said that was her fault.”

“It was my fault as much as hers.” I didn’t like talking about it…but I didn’t like her thinking I was the kind of bastard who’d ignore his son, either. “I didn’t know about Zach’s existence until last March. Gwen and I met when I was on vacation a few years ago. It didn’t work out—at least, I decided it wouldn’t work out. She has money, you see. Family money. A lot of it. I didn’t deal with that well when I found out. She, uh, threw away my address when I left, so by the time she realized she was pregnant, she didn’t know how to find me.”

“How did you learn about Zach, then?”

“She hired a detective. That was after she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer.” I added firmly, so she’d know the subject was closed, “She’s okay now. Anyway, she brought Zach here for a visit, and while Zach and I were getting acquainted, she and Duncan fell for each other.”

They’d fought it. In hindsight I could see that it must have been hell for both of them. They’d known I’d wanted to marry Gwen, and Duncan at least had accepted that I had a prior claim. But at the time I hadn’t been able to see anything except how betrayed I’d felt when I found out, how thoroughly my dreams had been destroyed.

Seely rested her hand on my knee. “I’m glad you told me. If Zach is going to be here often, I wouldn’t want to say or do the wrong thing.”

That was a good reason for having shot off my mouth. Not the real reason, maybe, but while we were on the subject…. “You should probably know something else. If Zach starts talking about the bad man and the policeman who shot him—well, that really happened. Maybe someone filled you in on that?”

They hadn’t. Useless bunch of busybodies. Why hadn’t they told her the stuff that mattered, so I wouldn’t have to? I didn’t like thinking about that night. The strobing red of the cop car lights, the hard white light inside the store, where a crazy bastard had held Gwen and my son at gunpoint…the fear, raw and jagged like a gutful of broken glass.

I’d failed them. No matter how often I told myself there was nothing I could have done to protect them, the bitterness of my failure didn’t go away.

But Seely would need to know the basics, so I told her about the holdup of a convenience store last April, and how Gwen and Zach had been among the hostages taken by a not-too-bright gunman. And how Duncan had saved them.

“My God, Ben. You said something about Zach having had a lot of uncertainty in his life, but I never imagined anything like this.”

“He seems to be doing okay. Gwen took him to this guy who does play therapy. That’s where kids tell their stories with toys,” I explained, “and the therapist sort of plays with them, only in a way that helps them work through things.”

“What about you?”

“I wasn’t part of it.”

“That’s what I mean. There’s nothing worse than being helpless when someone you love is hurting or in danger.”

Uncomfortable, I said, “I don’t usually blather on so much. I just thought you ought to know.”

She chuckled. “You call that blathering? I don’t think anything you said even qualifies as a secret. And I do know a few. It’s amazing what people will say to a paramedic. I suppose doctors and nurses experience that, too.”

Was that why I felt like there was something between us—because she’d saved my life? Turning the idea over in my mind, I decided it made sense.

She stood. “Seems to me you could use some play therapy yourself, but for now we’ll settle for getting you dressed. C’mon, up with you. I’ll take that sling off.”

The moment I stood, the room shrank. Seely was standing very close, and the soft herbal scent of her hair seemed stronger. I pretended I didn’t notice. “I can get this strap in front.”

“Okay. Turn a bit…there.” The sling came loose, and she slipped it off. “Of course, I don’t know half the secrets Daisy does. If you ever met her, you’d find yourself telling her your life story in no time. People do.”

My shoulder ached more without the sling’s support, so I supported that arm with my other hand. “Who’s Daisy? A friend?”

“That, yes. Also my mother.”

“You call your mother by her first name?”

“Sure. Can you get those buttons, or do you need some help?”

I thought about letting her unbutton my pajama shirt. Her knuckles would brush against my skin…better to let my right arm dangle and fumble the buttons out left-handed. “I can do it. You did say your mother was unusual.”

She chuckled again. A man could get hooked on that sound. “Unusual, yes. She used to be a flower child. The real thing, Haight-Ashbury and all that. In some ways she still is, though she’s doing pretty well as an artist these days. I tease her that she’s lost in the sixties. Here, we’ll do the difficult arm first.”

She eased the pajama shirt off my shoulder. It fit snugly over the bandages, so she had to take her time. It was ridiculous to get turned on by that, under the circumstances. But it was a good thing the sweatpants were baggy. “An artist, huh? What kind?”

“Sculpture. She’s into what she calls found art these days. Some people call it junk—” her grin flashed “—but she’s had two showings at a prestigious gallery in Taos. She scavenges for things people throw away, then paints this or that, puts the objects together and ends up with some pretty interesting pieces.”

“Real modern stuff, I take it.”

“Well, one critic called it ‘an entrancing collision between the primitive and the twenty-first century,’ but yes. I have a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be your type of art.” She tossed the pajama shirt on the back of the toilet, then picked up the flannel shirt she’d brought down earlier.

“What about your father? What does he do?”

“Who knows? He came down with a bad case of respectability a few years after I was born. Poor man. I don’t think he ever recovered. Here, hold out your arm.”

She didn’t say anything else while I eased my right arm slowly into a sleeve, then my left. This gave me plenty of time to kick myself. She’d mentioned her mother several times, her father not at all. That should have clued me in.

“I know your shoulder is hurting,” she said cheerily. “Turn around and let me do up the buttons. That way you can support that arm until we get the sling back on.”

I did turn, but ignored the rest of her instructions. “Sometimes I don’t watch where I’m putting my big feet. I stepped in the wrong place. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, surprised. Then a wry smile tipped her lips. “Ben, you’re supposed to pretend there’s nothing beneath my flip attitude but more flip.”

“I’m not much good at pretending.”

“No, you aren’t,” she said so gently she seemed to be touching on some great secret. “I think I like that about you.”

She liked my voice, too. And I liked all sorts of things about her. My gaze drifted to her mouth. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up with so little family. I’m used to a crowd.”

“But you were a lot older than the others, weren’t you? You said Duncan is the closest to you in age, and he’s five years younger. That’s not a big difference now, but it would have been when you were growing up. You wouldn’t have played together, or gone on double dates when you were teens, or—oh, all the things an only child thinks siblings are for.”

“No, but that’s not…they mattered. I mean, it mattered that they were around, that…hell. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Maybe that they were a huge part of your life? And you love them.”

I nodded, relieved that she understood. “I’m not great with words.”

“I think you do pretty well.” She paused, then went on quietly, “I haven’t seen or spoken to my father since I was eight. Um…he and Daisy weren’t married.”

I felt privileged, as if she’d handed me a private little piece of herself that she didn’t leave lying around where just anyone might see it. “He missed a lot, then. Practically everything that matters.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Her smile slid back in place. “More than me, because I had Daisy.”

“The two of you are close?”

She nodded, then just stood there looking up at me, curiosity and something else in those incredible eyes.

It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have to bend far to taste her smile.

My heartbeat picked up. I could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, too. Maybe she was having the same thoughts I was. Maybe she wanted me to kiss her. That sweet notion had my head dipping toward hers.

Had I lost my ever-loving mind?

Reality snapped back in place. So did my head. Panicked, trying to cover up the moment, I fumbled for the buttons of my shirt.

I forgot that I couldn’t use my right arm.

“Oh, damn—sit!” She enforced the order with a shove.

I sat. I didn’t have enough breath to curse, much less protest.

“You are not going to pass out on me,” she informed me.

“Of course not.” The first hard smack of pain had passed, but my forehead felt clammy. I cleared my throat. “I should probably get the sling back on so I don’t forget and try to use that arm again.”

“Probably,” she said dryly, and retrieved the sling. Our conversation after that consisted of her instructions to me—turn, hold your arm out, that sort of thing. Did she know I’d been about to kiss her? I couldn’t tell.

I fastened the straps myself. “I need to call Manny. He’s good, but he’s not used to overseeing everything.”

She studied my face a moment. “Sure. As long as you call him from bed.”

I scowled. “The couch in the living room—”

The doorbell rang. It must have woken Doofus; I heard his excited yips and the scrabble of his claws on the floor outside the bathroom as he skidded around the corner, heading for the entry hall.

Seely glanced over her shoulder, then back at me. “Stay put. I’ll be back to help you in a minute.” She left the bathroom.

I considered the ethics of my situation. I was supposed to do what she said, but there was that “within reason” clause I’d stuck on. She hadn’t stayed around to hear my reasons for not staying put.

One, I wasn’t dizzy anymore. Two, the foyer was just the other side of the bathroom. Three, I wanted to see who was here.

I reached for the walking stick.

It was slow and awkward, but the cane did help. Seely was just shutting the front door when I got there, holding Doofus back with her foot so the little idiot didn’t scamper out and get into the street. She turned around, tossing a set of keys up and catching them one-handed. Temper sparked in her eyes.

I had a good guess who’d been at the door.

All of a sudden she said, “Here!” And tossed the keys at me.

To catch them, I’d have to drop the walking stick. I let them sail on past. They landed with a rattle on the hardwood floor. Doofus trotted over to investigate them. “Did you miss me on purpose, or was that a happy accident?”

She looked at me like I was something the cat had hacked up on the rug. “The mechanic I took my car to just left.”

I nodded, having figured out that much. “All fixed, I take it.”

“Against my explicit instructions—yes!” Those sparks turned into big, blazing fires. “That man—that weaselly, lowlife scum I’d thought was an honest mechanic—he wouldn’t even tell me what the repairs had cost. Just winked at me, handed me the keys and said it was all taken care of. He practically patted my hand and told me not to worry my pretty little head!”

“Well, then. Looks like you can stop worrying.”

She growled. Honest to God, that’s what it sounded like. “This is not worry. This is fury.” She stalked closer, tilting her face to snarl up at me, “You paid for it. You went behind my back and paid for the whole thing.”

“I wasn’t going to let you lose your car. You saved my life.”

“You had no right! No right at all! You didn’t even ask me!”

“If I’d asked,” I pointed out, “you probably would have argued. I’m sure that wouldn’t be good for me, weak as I am right now.”

“It wouldn’t be good for you if I were to trip you, either. Or poison your coffee. Or—or—dammit, if you don’t stop grinning at me in that obnoxious way, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret!”

I was grinning, wasn’t I? Once she’d called attention to that, my grin widened. I was enjoying myself. A lot. Seely in a temper was something to see—eyes hot, cheeks flushed, those volatile eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. So, like the daredevil I’d never been, I plunged off the next cliff. “You are cute as hell when you’re mad, you know that?”

Her mouth dropped open. It closed and opened a couple more times before she got some words out. “That knock on the head did more damage than the doctor realized.”

“A lot like a kitten—hissing, scratching, growling. Cute.”

“I am five feet, ten and a half inches tall in my stocking feet. I am not cute. And you are obviously mentally as well as physically handicapped, so I suppose I shouldn’t hit you too hard.”

“Well, if you’re already planning on hitting me…” I said that, so on some level I must have known what I was about to do. But the thought never got up to the top of my brain where I could squash it. Something else was pulling my strings, as if some part of me I’d never known existed was suddenly in charge.

I let the walking stick clatter to the floor, cupped the back of her head and kissed her.

Her lips were soft. That wasn’t a surprise. She went rigid the second my mouth touched hers. No surprise there, either. But the kick of pleasure went deeper than I’d expected. The taste of her shot straight to the primitive part of my brain the way smells do, bypassing reason. I couldn’t have known that would happen. And there’s no way I could have predicted the funny little sound she made just before she melted up against me.

One of us was still thinking, I guess, because she was careful of my shoulder, sliding one arm around me and letting her other hand rest on my waist. I hummed my approval against those soft lips, threaded my fingers through her hair and tilted her head so I could deepen the kiss. And she opened for me.

Automatically I widened my stance so I could snug her up closer. The stupid sling was in the way and my knee protested, but the way her fingers kneaded my waist mattered a lot more.

So did the warm, living feel of her beneath my hand. I loved the fact that I didn’t have to bend over much to explore the flavors inside her mouth, and the way she stroked her tongue along mine. The long muscles of her back invited me to sample the dip at her waist, the smooth curve of her bottom.

She liked my body, too. Her hand left my waist to range up beneath my shirt and over my chest. Delight slid into need without a bump to mark the change.

I slid my right leg between hers and pressed up. She shivered. I needed more, needed her skin, her sighs, the little bud of her nipple in my mouth…where? Where could I take her? The living room was close, and the couch there was long and roomy. I started easing us both that way without taking my mouth from hers.

My foot slid out from under me.

I yelled. Doofus yipped. Seely’s arm tightened around me, and somehow I managed not to fall on my stupid ass.

Not literally, anyway. Appalled by my behavior, I yanked my hand away and stepped back. My heartbeat was doing the hundred-yard dash, my knee hurt, my shoulder hurt, and my foot was…wet. I glanced down.

“Oh,” Seely said, one hand rising to her mouth to smother a giggle. She crouched to pet the droopy-eared puppy. “Oh, Doofus. You did try to go out, didn’t you, boy?”

Saved from my own worst self by a puppy’s bladder. Mortified, I said stiffly, “I apologize. I said you wouldn’t have to deal with, uh, grabby hands, and then…all I can do is apologize, and promise it won’t happen again.”

Her gaze took a lazy trip up me while she fondled the puppy’s ears. She made a tch-ing sound, shook her head and stood. “Didn’t your sister ever tell you? Never apologize to a woman for kissing her—not if she kissed you back.”

My ears felt hot. The rest of me was sore, aroused, exhausted and bewildered. “The last employer who made a pass at you ended up wearing someone else’s dinner.”

“Ben.” Her smile started in her eyes and glowed its way down to her mouth. She patted my cheek. “You’re not Vic, are you?”

She turned away, picked up my walking stick and handed it to me. “What you should be apologizing for is interfering in my arrangements with the mechanic. I suppose your intentions were good, but it was intolerably high-handed. How much did the repairs cost?”

“I don’t know yet, and it doesn’t matter.”

“Probably not,” she agreed easily, turning away. “Since I doubt I’d be able to repay you. I’d better get something to clean up that puddle.”

“You don’t have to repay me. I don’t want you to.”

She headed for the kitchen. “As far as I’m concerned, the car is yours now. I’ll get the title switched over as soon as possible.”

I frowned. Her threat about the car was annoying, but not a real problem. If she put it in my name, I’d just put it back in hers. A much bigger worry was my own behavior.

My sister, Annie, has accused me of seeing everything in black-and-white. Maybe I do. But right and wrong have never seemed all that complicated, and if a man knows what’s right, that’s what he should do. Even when it’s hard. Maybe especially then.

Kissing Seely was wrong. I knew that, even if she didn’t. She was an employee. She was also a warm, giving sort of woman who deserved better than hand-me-downs from a man in love with another woman.

I knew that. So why had I kissed her?

No answers floated up. I stood there, aware of a number of places that hurt, and the lingering hum of arousal that defied the pain. After a moment I sighed and limped for the bathroom.

There was one bright spot. I’d stepped in the blasted puddle with my right foot, not my left. At least I could wash it myself.




Five


“Does it hurt a lot?” Zach asked.

“Not anymore.”

“How much does it hurt? This much?” He used his thumb and forefinger to take a tiny pinch of air. “Or this much?” He held out both hands broadly.

“About like this.” I measured a couple of inches between my finger and thumb. “More at bedtime, because I’m tired.”

He nodded seriously. “When I’m sick I hurt more at bedtime. How does this thing go on?” He pointed at my sling.

We were sitting on the rear deck, enjoying what was probably one of the last warm afternoons of the year. Zach was perched on my right thigh. My left foot was propped up on a little table to keep the knee elevated. That had been Seely’s idea, keeping the knee elevated, and I guess it did help. The swelling had gone down some. Doofus lay nearby, panting hopefully.

I showed Zach how my sling fastened, undoing one of the Velcro tapes and letting him restick it a few times. Velcro was one of Zach’s favorite things. He wanted to know if he could have the sling to play with after I was all better.

I smiled. “Sure.” God only knew what he planned to do with it. That didn’t matter. The important thing was that he’d accepted I would be “all better” eventually.

He told me Doofus was lonely and clambered down to play with his pup. I handed him his magnifying glass—another of his favorite things—and pup and boy ran off to look for bugs. My throat closed up as I watched them. I’d come so close to never having an afternoon like this again.

On the other side of the sliding glass doors behind me, Seely was chopping things in the kitchen and talking to Gwen. The two of them seemed to have really hit it off. That was undoubtedly a good thing, but it made me uncomfortable. Women tell each other the damnedest things sometimes.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Not that I thought about it every second. I had plenty of other things on my mind, like reassuring Zach, trying to set up the remodel job at the resort without leaving the house, and problems on the Pearson site.

But the memory of that kiss kept ambushing me.

I’d been eating lunch—Seely had made cheeseburgers—and all of a sudden I’d noticed her hands, the long fingers and short nails, and I’d remembered how she’d dug those fingers into my back. When Doofus tried to trip me on the way to the bathroom, I thought about how he’d nearly caused another accident.

Shoot, in the middle of a crossword puzzle the word erupt made me think of volcanoes, lava and heat, and I was right back with that kiss. All day long, it kept popping out at me like a jack-in-the-box with a broken lid.

I didn’t like it. It’s not that I expect to control my thoughts a hundred percent of the time, but I don’t like being pushed around by them, either.

Maybe hiring Seely hadn’t been such a great idea. I was stuck with the decision, though. It wouldn’t be fair to change my mind now. I’d just have to get myself up to par as quickly as possible so I could let her go.

And then she wouldn’t be off-limits anymore.

That sneaky thought annoyed me. I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair. Once Seely’s employment with me was over, she probably wouldn’t be in Highpoint anymore, either. Duncan had found her at the bus station, for God’s sake. And I wasn’t interested in trying to persuade a reluctant woman to stay. I’d failed miserably the last time.

My chest tightened. That twitchy, brittle feeling climbed over me, the one that had ridden me too often lately, as if I were wearing my skin backward. One wrong move could split it, spilling all sorts of messy, inner bits out on the dirty ground. Yet I craved motion, action.

I was scared.

I’d wanted Gwen, wanted her for keeps. I’d gone at getting her to marry me the way I go after any important goal, giving it everything I had. And I’d flopped, big-time. She’d fallen for my brother.

Plenty of times in the last few months I’d told myself I needed to start looking for a woman to share my life. And hadn’t done it. I’d begun to wonder what was wrong with me, if maybe I was too old to marry for the first time. Maybe my standards were too high, or there was something missing in me. Maybe I’d missed my chance for a family of my own.

For a long, still moment, I sat there in my wicker chair on the deck I’d built and faced a truth I’d been dodging. Deep down, I wasn’t sure I could handle failing again.

The late-afternoon sunshine hit the yard at a strong slant, dragging long shadows from the poplars along the back fence that striped the yard in plump diagonals. I hadn’t mowed the grass in three weeks. It was still green but had stopped growing. The leaves on the oak showed more gold than green in the autumn sun.

By the back gate, Zach and Doofus were digging industriously. I smiled, wondering what he was digging for. Gold? Diamonds? Or the sheer joy of making a nice, big hole in the ground?

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I never managed to pull off the wife-and-family bit. I had Zach. I didn’t have him every day, but lots of fathers were in that position these days. Didn’t they say that happiness lay in being content with what you have, instead of yearning for more?

My fingers started drumming again. To hell with that. Sounded like giving up to me.

The doors behind me slid open, and a wonderful aroma drifted out.

“Thought you might like some sweet tea,” Seely said. “It’s a Southern tradition.”

“Sure. Thanks.” I accepted the glass she held out, willing to try one of her traditions. “I don’t need that jacket, Gwen.”

Seely took the old rocker. Gwen sat in the wicker chair that matched mine, laying my jacket across her knees. “If you say so. You know me—I’m always cold.” She studied my face a moment. “You’re right, Seely. He does look better. Hard to believe he’s actually been behaving.”

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m incapable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a few years now.” I took a sip of tea. “This is good. So, I guess the two of you have been, uh, getting acquainted?”

Gwen shook her head, grinning. “The look on your face, Ben! It’s easy to see you think the two of us had nothing better to talk about than you. Shame on you.”

“You’ve been talking for over an hour. In my experience, that’s enough time for two women to exchange their life histories and get started on everyone else’s.”

Seely laughed. The rocker creaked as she leaned forward to pat my knee. “Don’t worry. She didn’t spill the beans about your misspent youth.”

Gwen frowned. “I don’t think Ben had a misspent youth. Or much of a youth at all, with the way he had to give up everything when…” Her voice trailed off. Maybe because of the look on my face.

The rocking chair creaked again as Seely leaned back. “Actually, we talked about your house more than you. I love old houses.”

“Yeah?” I relaxed, pleased. “This one isn’t all that old compared to some back east. But around here, homes over fifty years old aren’t common.”

“When was it built?”

“In 1935, but my grandfather used salvaged pieces from older houses where he could. That’s fashionable now, but not too many people were doing it back then. The wainscoting in the entry and the mantel in the living room are about 120 years old. Came from an old bawdy house.”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s wonderful! And the staircase? That looks old.”

“The newel post is over a hundred years old.”

“It’s a grand old house.” She rocked gently a moment. “A pity it’s neglected, but I suppose that’s like the cobbler’s children going barefoot. You’re probably too busy building other people’s homes to have time for your own.”

I sat up straight. “What the hell are you talking about? Everything’s in great shape!”

“I’m sure it is. Maybe neglected was the wrong word. It just doesn’t look like anything has changed much in twenty years.”

I had my mouth open, ready to blast her, when Zach came running up, chanting his mom-mom-mom mantra.

“Good grief, you’re dirty,” Gwen said.

“Yeah. Come see the bug me an’ Doofus found. You, too, Seely,” he said, politely including her in the treat. He and she had settled it earlier that he was to use her first name. “It’s tre-men-duz.”

Lots of things were tre-men-duzlately. I reached for my stick.

Seely stood, put her hand on my good shoulder and asked, with one lifted eyebrow, if I was sure I ought to get up. I scowled at her, but stayed put. “The steps from the deck are tricky for me,” I told Zach. “I’ll sit this bug out.”

Everyone else headed across the yard. Over by the rear gate, Doofus was barking at the pile of dirt he and Zach had created. I assume the bug was there. Seely grinned at Zach and said something I couldn’t make out. Zach giggled. Gwen smiled at him, then tilted her head to speak to Seely.

Seen side by side, the two women couldn’t have looked more different. Gwen was a tidy little thing, her short hair pale and shiny in the sunlight. Seely was at least a head taller. More robust. Brighter, somehow.

I frowned. More irritating, too. What was so great about changing stuff around, anyway? Everything worked. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t done anything to the place for twenty years. The couch and area rug in the living room were only five years old. Of course, it was Annie who’d nagged me into replacing them, but so what? And maybe they sat in exactly the same spot as the old ones had, but they looked good there.

The deck I was sitting on—I’d added that myself.

Fifteen years ago.

Doofus suddenly tried to catch his tail, and Seely laughed. She had a husky laugh. It made me think of a messy bed, with the sheets dripping to the floor and Seely rising above me, throwing her hair back and laughing just like that…

Whoa. That was weird, fantasizing about Seely with Gwen right next to her. But guilt was stupid. I owed Gwen family loyalty, and that was all. I was allowed to look at other women. In fact, I’d damned well better start looking.

First, though, I had to finish healing. Right now I couldn’t even pick a woman up to take her to dinner. I sighed, thinking of my truck. I needed to find out what kind of hoops the insurance company wanted me to jump through before they’d issue a check.

The phone was sitting on the table beside me. I’d brought it out because I’d been talking to Manny earlier. I’d input dozens of numbers into the directory when I bought the phone a few months ago.

Not everything around here was old, dammit.

Bah. I punched up the directory. Time to put my brain to some kind of productive use.

Gwen slid Zach’s arm into a jacket he didn’t really need. “Seely, it was a pleasure meeting you. No, Ben, sit down. Don’t walk to the car with us.”

I shook my head sadly as I used the walking stick to lever myself upright. “What is it about me being injured that turns everyone into tyrant wannabes?”

Seely chuckled, Gwen grimaced, and Zach wanted to know why he couldn’t take his bug home. To prove I could compromise, I limped to the door with them instead of going all the way to the car. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday, kid.” I ruffled the top of Zach’s head.

He looked puzzled. “Are you goin’, too?”

“Oh, Lord.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. Duncan was going to when he stopped by yesterday, but you were sleeping.”

“Tell me what?”

“Zach was terribly disappointed about missing out on his camping trip with you. Duncan managed to get some time off so he could take him.”

The knife slid in so fast I couldn’t guard against it. I was supposed to be the one who took Zach camping and hiking. I was the one who’d taught Duncan, dammit. Not to mention Charlie and Annie. Our parents hadn’t much cared about that sort of thing, but I did. I always had.

My brother had everything else—why did he have to grab this, too?

“Dad?” Zach sounded uncertain.

So I smiled. “Just feeling sorry for myself because I have to miss this one. But you can tell me all about it when you get back, right?”

“Right!”

I didn’t watch them drive away. I never do. That’s a rule. Every time Zach leaves—especially when Gwen picks him up—I get hit with a load of might-have-beens. No point in taking a chance on Zach guessing how I felt. Kids often blame themselves when the adults in their lives are screwing up.

But I did wait to shut the door until they were both in Gwen’s car.

Seely was standing behind me. “That was hard,” she said. “You handled it well.”

I grunted, annoyed with her for seeing too much, and hobbled toward the living room. “Not that hard. My knee’s doing better.”

“I wasn’t talking about your knee. But I think you know that and are trying delicately to hint me away from the subject. Unfortunately,” she said sadly, “I am almost immune to hints.”

A quick snort of laughter snuck out before I could stop it. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me delicate. I hear blunt, rude, pigheaded and tactless from time to time, but not delicate.”

“There you go. We have a lot in common. I figure you’ll understand how hard it is for a basically direct person to tiptoe around a subject. Much easier to just say what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“Gets you in trouble sometimes,” I said. I’d reached the couch and sat down, suppressing a sigh of relief. Stupid knee. My shoulder wasn’t feeling too great, either.

“Trouble can be interesting. Here, let me help you get that leg up.”

“I can do it.”

“Now how did I know you were going to say that?” She ignored my scowl, putting her hands under my calf and helping me lift the leg onto the couch. “I must be psychic.”

“That makes sense. It’s not like I’m predictable.”

She laughed and settled on the other end, curling one leg up beneath her. That surprised me. She’d mostly stayed away this afternoon unless I needed something…which I figured was my fault. Because of that kiss. With my leg stretched out between us, I couldn’t jump her. That’s probably what she was thinking.

And I was not thinking about that kiss again. I was just wondering if she was.

“I liked watching you and Zach together,” she said. “Gave me the idea that you’re crazy about him.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I am. Any man…“My voice trailed off as I remembered that her father hadn’t acted like he was crazy about her. I cleared my throat. “Of course, some men are jerks.”

“I can agree with that.”

The bitter note in her voice surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. She had a right to be bitter. “Do you hate him?” I asked abruptly. “Your father, I mean.”

She blinked. “I…oh, damn, I wanted to say no, that he doesn’t matter enough to hate. And that’s almost true. But sometimes…”

She shrugged and looked away, but not before I’d seen the unhappiness in her eyes. “It’s like having a trick knee. You go along fine for days, weeks, even months. Then all of a sudden you put your weight on it, and it doesn’t hold. Every now and then I still get angry. Dumb, isn’t it?” Her mouth twisted. “I’m thirty-two years old. I should be over it by now.”

“I don’t see what ‘should’ has to do with it. Seems to me we can control our actions, but thoughts and feelings don’t pay much attention to rules.” Or I wouldn’t be thinking about that blasted kiss again.

She looked startled, then smiled. “I suspect a lot of people underestimate you.”

That was probably a compliment. I studied her a moment. Though her body was easy, relaxed, I thought shadows lingered in her eyes. I decided to steer us into less painful territory. “So, what would you change in here?”

“Me?”

“You said things hadn’t been changed in a long time. You must have had something in mind.”

“I’d paint the walls,” she said promptly.

I looked around critically. “Nothing wrong with the paint.”

“It’s white, Ben.”

“So?”

“So the room could use some color. Red would be great.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Green would be good, too—a rich green, nothing wimpy. But this couch is a lovely, warm brown. I think red would be great with it. And maybe some molding over the fireplace to match the crown moldings. That would make the mantel really pop.”

I eyed her dubiously. “You sound like an upscale decorator.”

She laughed. “I’ll admit to being hooked on those shows on cable.”

“They have decorating shows?”

“Don’t watch much TV, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Well, there’s a whole network devoted to it. Shows about gardening and all kinds of decorating—window treatments, kitchen remodels, painting techniques, all that sort of thing.” She grinned. “A friend of mine calls it female porn. We can look and drool, but we can’t touch.”

“Sounds about right.” I gave a thoughtful nod. “Green, maybe. I could see a pale green in here. Or purple.”

“Uh…purple?”

“Sure. Put a little gilding on the crown moldings, too. It would really dress the place up.”

She caught on. “Gilding the moldings! I never would have thought of that. But then, you really must use red for the walls. Chinese red. And maybe a little pagoda in the corner?”

We spent the next few minutes turning my living room into a Chinese emperor’s nightmare, complete with bamboo, lacquered screens and dragons, all in the most garish cast of colors possible. Somehow that evolved into a discussion of building styles, remodeling and how to honor the architectural integrity of a building when creating an addition.

Now, all this was right up my alley. I don’t often swing a hammer or hang drywall myself these days, but I’ve done it enough in the past. A good builder has to know a little about everything, from the right temperature to pour concrete to the current craze for paint glazes to how to shore up a damaged load-bearing wall. So it might seem like I was enjoying some shop talk and Seely was humoring me, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t about me at all. I would have talked about blueberry muffin recipes if that’s what got her this excited, just so I could watch her glow.

This slow-moving woman came alive when she talked houses. Which was downright peculiar for a woman with no nesting urges.

“Your den is an addition, isn’t it?” she said. She was snuggled into the corner of the couch, her shoes off and her feet tucked up. A strand of hair had worked loose to wiggle along her temple and cheekbone like a hyperactive question mark.

I grimaced. “Sticks out like a sore thumb, doesn’t it? I’ve always meant to redo it. The roofline messes up the rear and side elevations. My father had it done, and I don’t think he gave a thought to how it fit with the rest of the house’s style.”

“He wasn’t interested in construction and architecture himself, then?”

“Sure, if it took place two or three thousand years ago.”

“I’ve wondered about that,” she said slowly. “I would have thought there would be exotic mementos scattered around from all the time he spent abroad. Pot shards, maybe, or a scarab or two.”

“I’ve got a pretty little Egyptian lady in my bedroom, on the dresser. Most of that stuff is boxed up, though. Never really knew what to do with it. Now what,” I demanded, “did I say to put that polite look on your face?”

“Who, me? Polite?”

“Like you’re thinking something you’re too nice to say.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “And here I’m trying to be tactful…it just seems like you have some issues with your parents. Maybe with the way they died and left you to raise the family they’d started.”

My good mood evaporated. “I did what had to be done. That’s all.”

“And that was a less-than-delicate hint to close the subject. Good enough.” She said that with perfect good humor, but rose to her feet. “I’d better go check on the roast.”

“Don’t rush off. I didn’t mean to…dammit, you can’t get offended every time I’m an ass, or we won’t be able to talk at all.”

She patted my shoulder. “No offense taken. I don’t blame you for getting testy when people make a fuss about the way you took on the responsibility for your brothers and sisters. It must seem sometimes as if you’re defined by what happened twenty years ago. As if nothing you’ve done since then matters, compared to that.”

Having leveled me with a few words, she swayed gently toward the door. “Supper should be ready soon. You want to eat on a tray in here?”

I must have answered, because she left the room. God only knows what I said. I don’t know how long I sat staring at the wall and seeing nothing, either.

Eventually sheer physical discomfort roused me. My shoulder this time. I mushed some pillows around to create more support for it, leaned back and waited for the fire to die down.

The blasted woman had a bad habit of saying outrageous things, then wandering off, leaving me no one to argue with but myself. That would stop, I promised myself. If she was going to drop bombshells, she could damned well hang around and deal with the debris.

But Seely wasn’t in the habit of hanging around.

Never mind. People could change, right? She was big on changing walls and furniture. She could just get used to the idea of changing a couple of habits, too.

It was a helluva thing, but somewhere between Chinesered walls and that irritating pat on my shoulder, my gut had made a decision without consulting the rest of me. For the next few days, I’d be such a good patient my family would worry about me.

Because I had to get well and fire Seely. Soon. I was going to have that woman out of my employ—and in my bed.




Six


The next day, Manny came over for lunch. He dropped off the paint we’d chosen and some painting equipment, then helped Seely move the furniture out of the living room.

I can’t explain how I came to agree to this. Slippery, that’s what she is. She started out by acting as if I’d already agreed. I recognized this trick, since Annie used to pull it. She’d get me to agree that music is important, mention that she wanted to spend the night with a friend, then pretend that meant I’d agreed to let her go to a concert in Denver with that friend.

When I explained Annie’s teenage tricks to Seely, she looked thoughtful and said she really needed to meet my sister. The next thing I knew we were discussing paint colors.

I did protest. She wasn’t being paid to paint my house, for God’s sake. And I couldn’t help her. She wouldn’t have let me, for one thing. I couldn’t pretend it would be unreasonable to forbid me to paint the living room, so I was bound by our agreement.

But that did not make it reasonable for her to do it, either. I asked if she’d ever done any painting.

“Not a lick,” she’d said cheerfully. “We’ll pull the couch into the middle of the room. You can lie there and supervise.”

Sage green. That’s the color we ended up with.

I sat on the couch with my bad leg stretched out, and scowled as Manny and Seely carried the last of the chairs into the dining room. Supervising didn’t suit me nearly as well as everyone seemed to think.

“You sure you don’t want me to help with the prep?” Manny was asking her as they rejoined me. “Or move the rest of the junk out?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in my direction.

“I’m sure I can work around the couch.”

“Wasn’t talking about the couch.”

Seely’s lips twitched.

“Manny thinks he’s a wit,” I mentioned. “You might not be able to tell, since his face muscles atrophied years ago. That’s the only expression he’s got.”

Manny has an evil chuckle, like a machine gun misfiring. He employed it as he headed for the front door, advising Seely in between bursts not to let me give her a hard time. He paused in the arched entry. “Meant to tell you—that doctor called this morning.”

“What doctor?”

“The one that put you back together in the E.R.”

“Oh,” Gwen said. “The idiot.”

Manny fired another couple of bursts. “That’s the one. He seemed to think you’d hurt your shoulder a few days ago instead of when you drove off a mountain. Wanted me to confirm that.” He shook his head. “Weird guy.”

“Yeah.” I frowned as Seely walked Manny to the door. Harry Meckle was weird, but he wasn’t really an idiot. Just the opposite.

The doorbell rang. I heard them talking to someone else at the door and reached for my walking stick.

“Stay put,” Seely called. “It’s just a delivery.”

I sighed and put the stick down. A moment later I heard the door shut, then she came back into the room carrying a box. “I like Manny. I wish you’d told me, though. I’m afraid I stared at first.”

“What? Oh. That’s right—you hadn’t met him in person.” In addition to being a pain in the butt, a master electrician and the best foreman I’ve ever had, Manny is a dwarf. “I didn’t think about it. To me he’s just Manny.”

She handed me the box, treating me to that slow smile. “Not ‘Manny the dwarf.’ Just Manny.”

“Well, yeah.” The logo was printed in the corner, so I knew what it held. I didn’t want to open it now. “You know how it is. Once you know someone, you don’t see them the same way.” I decided to give her a hint. “There should be a screwdriver in the toolbox. You’ll want to remove the switch plates first.”

“I was hoping for a tool belt.” She bent and rummaged through the toolbox. “I’m sure I’d feel more competent with a tool belt.”

My lips twitched. Picturing a tool belt slung around those thoroughly female hips didn’t make me think of competence.

Seely ambled over to the entry and began unfastening the switch plate there. “You like to read, don’t you? I noticed that your bookshelves are heavy on history.”

It turned out that Seely enjoyed history, too, though she was a slow reader. A mild case of dyslexia, she said, made a book a major investment of time for her. She considered herself lucky, since she’d been diagnosed early, and talked about a teacher who’d helped her. When I asked, she claimed paramedic training hadn’t been too hard. It might take her a while to read something, but, as with many dyslexics, she had an excellent memory.

Though she usually leaned more toward historical fiction than the straight stuff, she asked if I could recommend something on American history “without too many battles,” since she was more interested in people than military action.

I did, of course, and invited her to borrow my copy. By then she’d finished taping off the woodwork and was prying open the paint. She poured it into the pan. “Oh, look! Isn’t that luscious?”

I looked. She’d taken the drapes down already, so light from the two tall windows flooded the room. The old pair of painter’s coveralls I’d found for her completely obscured that glorious figure; her exuberant hair was braided tightly away from her face.

Which glowed. Not in an unearthly way, though. With pure delight. “Luscious,” I agreed.

Maybe I did know how I’d ended up agreeing to let her paint the room, after all.

As she spread great, sweeping strokes of sage green across my walls, I found myself telling her how I’d come to enjoy reading so much. I didn’t miss the architectural career I might have had; the hands-on business of construction suited me. But abandoning college before I could get my degree had nagged at me, as if I’d drawn most of a circle and never finished that last arc. So I’d started reading the kinds of things I thought would complete my education. In the process, I discovered a taste for history.

“It’s full of great stories,” she agreed, stepping back to survey her work. The roller work was almost done; next came the nit-picky brush work. “Daisy says we have to know where we come from to understand where we are.”

“Your mother sounds like a bright woman. You missed a spot up by the ceiling in the west corner,” I pointed out politely.

She glanced at me over her shoulder. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Who’d have thought it?” I shook my head in amazement. “I never tried sitting around watching someone else work. I like it.” Especially when she bent over and the coveralls stretched tight across her round, lovely bottom.

She’d ordered me to stay on the couch. I doubt she was thinking about me making a quick tackle, then rolling her onto her back on the drop cloth. I was, though. Never mind that I’d probably have passed out if I’d tried. It was just as well that our agreement kept me from pitting common sense against the irrational optimism of lust.

Seely got the spot I’d pointed out, then stretched…an inspiring sight. “So what do you think? Will it need a second coat?”

I made myself take a good look at the walls. “Hey,” I said slowly. “This looks good. Really good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She put her hands on her hips, surveying her work. The streak of green paint along her jaw curled up at one end, as smug as her smile. “Though I still say red would have worked, the green looks great. Refreshing.”

She’d brought me some paint chips to choose from that morning. I’d held out for a lighter, warmer shade than she wanted, being more familiar with translating the way a color looked on a tiny chip to an entire room. “You were right about the room needing color.”

“Well!” Her eyebrows rose. “A man who can admit he was wrong. Color me amazed.”

“You have brothers,” I muttered. “Or used to. You probably murdered them and buried the bodies.”

She let out a peal of laughter. “Watch it, or you’ll end up with a green nose.”

“To match yours?”

She lifted a hand to her nose. The bracelet she never removed slid down her arm. “It isn’t…”

“It is now.”

“I must look like a little girl who’s been finger painting.”

“No,” I said slowly. “You look like an uncommonly beautiful woman. Only slightly green.”

The smile she turned on me was different. Hesitant.

“Why have you never married, Seely?”

Her smile faded, as if it were on a dimmer switch and I’d just turned it down. “You’re changing the rules on me. Feeling safe, are you, over there on the couch?”

My heart began to pound. I didn’t have to figure out what she meant. “Not safe at all. You?”

She shook her head and bent to get the narrow brush I’d told her to use around the baseboards. She took the brush and the paint tray over to the window and settled on the floor, giving me plenty of time to wonder why I’d suddenly taken us both into the deep end.

Because I wanted her to know, I decided. I didn’t want her to have any doubts that I was interested, even if I couldn’t do anything about it yet. I wanted her aware of me the way I was aware of her.

I wanted an answer to my question, too.

For a while, it didn’t look as though I was going to get it. She seemed totally focused on the strip of wall she was painting next to the baseboard. At last, not looking up, she said, “I lived with a man for several years. His name was Steven. Steven Francis Blois.”

I chewed over that for a moment, then offered, “There was a king of England named Stephen Blois. William the Conqueror’s grandson.”

She snorted. “Oh, yes. Every time Steven was introduced to someone he’d say, ‘no relation.’ When they looked confused or asked what he meant, he’d grin and add, ‘to the former king of England, that is.’”

She bent and dipped her brush in the paint. “It was cute the first dozen or so times I heard it.”

Sounded like she wasn’t hung up on the man anymore. Encouraged, I said, “Stephen wasn’t much of a king. Weak. The country was torn apart during his reign—barons chewing on other barons, eventually civil war.”

“I don’t think Steven knew or cared what kind of a king his namesake had been. He wasn’t interested in history.” She chuckled. “Actually, he was an accountant.”

“An accountant.” That sounded safe and dull. Of course, a builder might sound pretty dull, too. “Doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Do we have types?” She studied her handiwork, then shifted to touch up another section. “I thought he had an open, inquiring mind. He was very New Age, you see. Into meditation, drumming, psychic stuff.”

Had he given her that chakra bracelet? I frowned. “Doesn’t sound like any accountants I know.”

“But he was still looking for rules, you see. Pigeonholes instead of answers. He didn’t think outside the box—he just used a different set of boxes.”

“So you’re not still stuck on him?”

Now she looked up. “I told you about Steven because you asked why I’m not married. While we were together, I took that commitment very seriously. We were involved for six years, and lived together for five. But it ended with a fizzle, not a bang. That was over two years ago.”

Steven Francis Blois must be a fool, to have had this woman for six years without marrying her. But maybe he’d wanted to get married. Maybe, for all her talk about taking the commitment seriously, she hadn’t been interested in taking that last step. “So, was it you or him who thought living together was a good idea?”

Her lips twitched. “Something tells me you don’t think much of living together without marriage.”

“It isn’t a moral thing for me. I just, ah…” Couldn’t think of a tactful way to put it. Well, I’d warned her I was blunt. “It’s always struck me as half-assed.”

She didn’t seem offended. “I take it you’ve never lived with anyone. What about marriage? Why have you never taken the plunge?”

“Uh…”

Her eyes lit with amusement. “Ben. You did open the subject for discussion, you know.”

I guess I had, though that hadn’t occurred to me when I blurted out my question. “I was serious about someone in college. Didn’t work out. After that…well, for several years I was too blasted busy. Felt as if I had to set a good example—couldn’t very well tell Charlie and Duncan how to act if I wasn’t being responsible myself. And Annie. Lord.” I shook my head. “I don’t know how single parents do it. I didn’t have time for much of a social life. Or the energy.”

She made a listening sort of sound, and resumed painting. “Annie’s the youngest, right? She’s been an adult for a while now.”

“I wasn’t in a hurry to get tied down right away, once Annie went off to college. I guess I got out of the habit of thinking about marriage. It seemed like there was plenty of time.”

“I imagine you were due a spell of blissful freedom. You’d been shortchanged on that when you were younger.”

“By the time I started looking around…” I shrugged my good shoulder. “It’s been suggested that I’m too picky.”

She paused in her painting. Her eyes were serious when they met mine. The blue seemed darker, subdued, like a pond shadowed by trees, hiding what lay at the bottom. I wondered if she was thinking about Gwen and the child we shared. “And are you looking now? Is marriage what you want, Ben?”

“I’m forty years old.”

She waited, letting her silence point out that I hadn’t really answered the question.

I grimaced. I had opened the subject. “I want marriage, yeah. Kids to fill this old house with noise, skateboards, dolls, friends. Younger brothers or sisters to give their big brother a hard time. And a woman to share those kids with me.” Someone who’d clutter the bathroom with female paraphernalia, and sleep beside me at night. Someone who would stay.

Her smile flashed, but somehow it seemed off. “Those skateboarding kids will turn into teenagers, you know. Your experience with your brothers and sisters didn’t put you off?”

“It wasn’t so bad. And maybe I learned a few things.” I’d had about all the serious talk I could take. “What kind of teenager were you? Wild or studious? Not shy,” I said definitely.

She chuckled and dipped her brush again. “Not studious, either. Though I wouldn’t say I was wild, exactly—I couldn’t bear to worry Daisy, so I didn’t go too far. But I didn’t have much sense. Is there anyone in the world as sure of themselves as eighteen-year-olds?”

We traded stories of our teenage days for a while. It looked as if she’d be able to finish up today, which wasn’t bad for someone who’d never painted a room before. Of course, I’d helped a little. It didn’t hurt my shoulder or my knee for me to sit on the floor and paint the strip next to the baseboards. Seely had argued some about that, but eventually she’d seen reason.

She was on the stepladder tackling the section next to the crown moldings by the time I figured out what was nagging at me.

Seely seemed open and outgoing. She swapped funny stories about growing up and spoke cheerfully about her eccentric mother. She’d told me about Steven, who I guess had been the one big love of her life.

But she’d never said which of them had preferred living together to marriage. She hadn’t said anything about why she’d moved out, either, just that it happened two years ago. Yesterday she’d admitted to being angry with her father, but hadn’t told me the man’s name, or anything else about him. And she’d implied that anything weird I’d seen that night on the mountain must have been the product of shock.

Slippery.

Seely Jones was a much more private woman than she seemed. I could respect that, and yet…I glanced uneasily at the unopened box beside the couch.

Last year I’d gone wireless when I got a new laptop. It didn’t have to be hooked up to anything to connect to the Internet. So, on my first night home from the hospital I’d ordered several books on-line, paying to have them overnighted. I probably could have gotten them, or something similar, from the bookstore on Fremont Street. Susannah would have boxed up my order and dropped them off, if I’d asked.

Or I could have gotten books from the library for nothing. I’d known the head librarian since I was five. Muriel would have looked up my card number, checked the books out to me and brought them by.

But anyone who knew me would have been startled by my current choice of reading material. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want anyone speculating about my sanity, either. I was doing enough of that.

Finding myself in the company of Harold Meckle, M.D., was a nasty shock, but like I said, he wasn’t really an idiot. Just a jerk. Some of the things that happened on that mountain didn’t add up, not using any of the normal ways of calculating reality.

“That bracelet you wear,” I mentioned as I finished the last bit I could reach. “Did Blois give it to you?”

She didn’t turn around. “Why do you ask?”

“You said the little stones were for, uh, chakras. And that Blois was into New Age stuff.”

“Daisy gave it to me—her version of a ‘sweet sixteen’ present.”

“She’s into chakras?”

“Among other things.”

I decided not to press for more. Not now. I’d gotten one solid answer—Blois hadn’t given her the bracelet she never seemed to remove. That was something. Far from all I needed to know, though. Maybe I’m too stubborn for my own good. I’ve been told that more than once.

I wondered what Duncan would say about the request I planned to make the next time I saw him.




Seven


“Look, if you don’t want to do it, just say so.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

I sighed.

Duncan and I were sitting at the kitchen table with some of Seely’s excellent coffee. She was upstairs getting ready.

Not that she needed to. We were just going to drop by the office—though I hadn’t mentioned that part yet—then head to the building-supply center. And she already looked great. She always did.

But women have rules for that sort of thing. Not the same rules, mind—they vary from one woman to the next in some sort of changeable code. It seems to make sense to other women.

Setting has something to do with it. When Annie was doing handyman work, she’d run all over town in paint-splattered jeans or coveralls, her face bare of makeup and her hair tucked up in a cap. Dealing with clients or stopping at the gas station dressed that way was okay; going to the grocery store was not. I know this because she used to kick up a fuss if I asked her to pick up something while she was out. “I can’t go to the grocery store looking like this!” she’d say, even though plenty of people had seen her looking like that already.

Apparently, building-supply centers belonged in the “get fixed up first” category for Seely. I didn’t try to understand it.

I collected my walking stick and mug and lifted my left foot off the extra chair. My knee was a lot better, but I still kept that leg propped up much of the time. I limped over to the coffeepot. “Want some more?”

Duncan shook his head. He was looking tired, I thought. Night shifts didn’t agree with him. Then, too, he’d pulled a double in order to free up time for the camping trip with Zach—a trip the weather had cut short. We’d had our first good freeze Saturday night, accompanied by a light dusting of snow.

Duncan’s gaze held steady on me as I refilled my mug. “Maybe you should tell me why you asked. If you suspect Seely has a criminal background—”

“Nothing like that,” I said quickly. “There’s something she’s not telling me, that’s all.”

His mouth crooked up. “More than one thing, probably. Women have been failing to tell men everything for a few thousand years. Police departments don’t generally consider that a good reason to run a background check.”

He made my curiosity sound like a man-woman thing, not employer-employee. Which was accurate but annoying. “I didn’t want you to do it as a cop.”

“Well, as your brother I’m advising you to drop the idea.” He put the mug down. “Nosing around will just get you in trouble. Though if you really have to know something, you could hire a P.I.”

No way. I’d thought maybe Duncan could find out a few things discreetly. Her father’s name, for example. Some hint of why she was working at jobs way below her skill level. But I didn’t want some stranger snooping around in her life. “Never mind.”

“You know, this is weird.”

“What?”

“You. You’re acting different.” He nodded toward the front of the house. “The living room. It’s always been white.”

“You don’t like it green?”

“It looks fine. Felt weird when I walked in and saw it, though.” One corner of his mouth kicked up, as if he were reluctantly amused. “Sort of like a kid who goes away to college, comes home and finds out mom and dad redecorated without telling him.”

Dammit, I should have thought about how he’d feel. Charlie and Annie, too. This house was their heritage every bit as much as it was mine. “I ought to have said something. It’s your house, too, and you—”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Of course it is. Mom and Dad left it to all of us.”

“Twenty years ago, yes. But you’re the one who has lived here all these years, taken care of the place. This is your home.” He took a deep breath. “Gwen and I have talked about this. We want to deed my share of the house over to you.”

I slammed my mug down, ignoring the coffee that slopped over the rim. “Forget it.”

“There might be some tax liability for you, but she thinks we can minimize that.”

“Aren’t you listening?” I demanded. “Just because your wife could buy and sell this house ten times over doesn’t oblige me to accept a handout.”

Duncan shoved to his feet. “This has nothing to do with Gwen’s money! Dammit, you hard-headed son of a bitch, will you listen a minute?”

“I’m not hearing anything worth listening to. If you don’t—”

“Whoa!”

That came from Seely. Startled, I looked at the doorway.

She stood there, shaking her head. “Good grief. I can’t be accused of eavesdropping with Ben bellowing like a wounded moose. I heard him from the stairs. Ben.” She fixed me with a firm stare. “Do you really think Duncan offered to give you his share of this house because he enjoys flinging Gwen’s money around?”

I flushed. “No. But—”

“Not your turn.” She sauntered on into the kitchen, stopping in front of Duncan. “And did you really think Ben would take your inheritance from you?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“It is to him.” She put her hands on her hips and looked from one to the other of us. “This is none of my business, of course. But it seems pretty simple. Ben lives here. Duncan doesn’t. Ben, I don’t know how you’re fixed financially, but could you buy Duncan’s share?”

“Sure.” I turned some numbers over in my head. The business had done well the past few years, and I wasn’t exactly extravagant. “We’ll need to get the place appraised, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of its current market value.”

Duncan shook his head. “We don’t want to use the current market value. It’s worth three times what it was twenty years ago, and none of us are going to make a profit off you. Charlie suggested—”

“You talked to Charlie about this? What is this, some kind of conspiracy?”

“Exactly. Annie, too. The plan was to wait until we could all be home at the same time and tackle you together. I, uh, jumped the gun.”

Seely chuckled. “Safety in numbers. A legitimate military tactic.”

I glanced at her. Did she know that Duncan had been in the Army until a few months ago? Probably. If Duncan hadn’t mentioned it, Gwen would have. People told her things.

“If you’re all in this together,” I told my brother, “you need to drop this notion of giving up your shares in the house for little or nothing. Charlie won’t take a fair price for his share if you and Annie don’t. The two of you may not need the money, but he does.” He’d just sunk every cent he had or could borrow into a partnership in a landscaping business. I’d already tried to give him a loan. Twice.

Duncan frowned. I decided to let him chew on that a while and turned to Seely. “Looks like you’re ready to go.”

She looked a damned sight better than “ready to go.” All that gorgeous hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, and I could tell she’d fussed with makeup, turning her eyes sultry and her lips scarlet. She wore dark jeans and a sweater with geometric shapes in red, purple and yellow.

That sweater fit more snugly than anything I’d seen her wear before. My body took notice of this. Of course, my body had been on yellow alert almost constantly for the past three days.

“Just let me get my jacket and purse,” she said, and headed for the hall.

“I’d better be going, too,” Duncan said, carrying his mug over to the sink. “What are you getting at the building supply store?”

“We’re going to put up some shelves in my office here.” “I take it the ‘we’ means you’re supervising?” “All right, she’s going to put them up. I’m not taking advantage of her. She’s keen on all this home fixup and decorating stuff.”

“Hmm.” He stuck his mug in the dishwasher. “I owe Seely a thank-you.”

“I’ll tell her you enjoyed the coffee.” He slanted me an amused glance. “I didn’t mean for the coffee.”

It felt weird to sit in the passenger seat of my own car.

The Chevy was backup transportation, nearly ten years old but in good shape. Power windows, doors and steering; bench seats and a big back seat…big enough to give me some impractical ideas. Sexual frustration was bringing out the adolescent in me.

Seely drove with the same unrushed efficiency she did everything else. “I still don’t know how I let you talk me into taking you by the office. You aren’t supposed to be working yet.”

I pointed out that I hadn’t worked—I’d just checked on the work others were doing. I hadn’t even insisted on going to the Pearson site.

She grinned. “I suppose you think you get Brownie points for that.”

“I ought to.” If sexual frustration was robbing her of sleep and nudging stupid ideas into her head, it didn’t show.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I like looking at you.”

The faintest flush mounted her cheeks. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d been careful not to since letting her know my intentions. That was the right thing to do. Sexual innuendos were out of place while she was working for me. Besides, self-preservation called for restraint. I had to keep my eye on the line I’d drawn, or I’d find myself tumbling off another edge.

But I liked seeing that flush.

I’d spent too much time the past three days trying to figure out what was going on in her head. We had something strong and hot flowing between us. I knew that much because I’d caught her looking at me a few times, too. At twenty, I’d have assumed that meant she agreed with me, that she wanted to have an affair as soon as the employer-employee thing was out of the way.

At forty, I knew better.

At least she hadn’t told me to forget it. I figured she was still making up her mind about me. I didn’t say anything else until she’d shut off the engine, hoping she’d spend the time thinking about the heat between us.

I pushed open my door. “You sure you want to tackle this? Putting up shelves isn’t easy. Goes a lot better with two people, and I won’t be able to help much.”

“You won’t be helping at all,” she retorted, coming around the car.

I made a noncommittal noise. No point in mentioning that there would be parts of the job where two pairs of hands would be necessary.

She matched her pace to mine—which was slow. I didn’t limp anymore as long as I didn’t try to outrace a snail. “This is my chance to learn from an expert,” she said. “I’m not about to pass that up.”

“Well, the expert suggests we get red oak. It’s not easy to work with, but it should look great.” I paused, considering the state of my office. “Eventually.”

“It is a bit of a mess in there.”

I grunted. The doors opened for us and I crept along to the left, where the lumber was stacked. I’d pick out the wood myself, that being the reason for this trip. Well, that and a bad case of cabin fever. We wouldn’t be able to take it home today, obviously, since I didn’t have a truck.

And we wouldn’t be able to do much with the wood until we’d cleared the place out. The room I used for a home office used to be a bedroom—my parents’ bedroom, actually. I’d taken their bed out about a month after they died, unable to stand seeing it there, all made up and waiting for them. Eventually Annie had claimed their dresser. Somehow I’d never gotten around to clearing everything else out, though.

My two favorite spots in the store were the tool aisles and the lumber section. Tools are always interesting, and being surrounded by all that wood hits me viscerally. I think it’s the smell—cut wood, sawdust, a whiff of sap.

Ed noticed my sling and the walking stick, so of course he had to hear the whole story, then felt obligated to spend some time assuring me I was lucky to be alive before he could put my order together. I arranged to have it picked up in a couple days. “That will give me a chance to clear the room out,” I told Seely as we headed for the front of the store with the ticket. Our slow speed wasn’t just due to my pace this time—she kept stopping to look at paint chips and light fixtures.

“Us,” she said. “It’s not as if I have much else to do. And we don’t have to remove everything. You have some good pieces in there, like that occasional table with the Queen Anne legs.”

“Yeah?” I smiled, pleased. “I made that when I was sixteen.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Shop class. It was a Christmas gift for my mom. I was trying to copy a picture I found in a magazine. Put in a lot of extra hours on it…had a lot of help, too.” As I spoke I saw Mr. Nelson’s face. He’d been the soul of patience, often staying late so I could work in the shop. “Lord, I hadn’t thought of Mr. Nelson in years.”

“Your teacher?”

“Yeah. He retired while I was away at college, moved to Albuquerque to be near his sister. He was an old bachelor, you see. I stopped in to see him once when I was there on business…” My voice trailed away as I remembered that visit. How sorry I’d felt for the old man, living alone, no one but a sister nearby. All of a sudden I could see my own future, and it didn’t look much different.

I had Zach, I reminded myself. Some of the time, at least.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” We’d reached the front of the store. I headed for the nearest checkout. “I’m amazed that you let me get up here without buying anything else. Why is someone who calls herself a wanderer so interested in everything to do with houses?”

She shrugged. “The fascination of the exotic, perhaps. I’ve never rooted anywhere long enough to do much in the way of home improvement, so it seems novel and exciting. Does your interest in construction go back to that woodworking class?”

“Partly. Do you do that on purpose?”

“What?”

“Turn the conversation away from yourself and back on me. Annie tells me that all a woman has to do to appear fascinating to a man is to get him to talk about himself. Maybe that’s true. But I’d like to hear about you sometimes.”

A flush climbed the crest of her cheekbones. She gave me a teasing smile. “Does that mean it’s working? You think I’m fascinating?”

I’d have enjoyed her flirting a lot more if I hadn’t thought she was using it to duck the question. “Look, I don’t know—what is it?”

She’d gone dead pale. She was staring over my shoulder. I turned.

Someone was staring back. An old woman, every inch as tall as Seely but skinnier, like a dried-out string bean, had stopped a few feet away. She had a real lost-in-the-fifties look going, right down to the low heels and pearls. Her coat was dark-blue wool. Her gray hair had been permed, teased and sprayed into submission.

And her expression was venomous. “You! What are you doing here?”

“Buying lumber.” Seely’s voice was steady. Her face was blank and much too pale. “Why? What are you doing here?”

“Don’t you smart off to me! You’re not supposed to be here! You said you were leaving. You don’t belong here. We don’t want you here. Don’t think you’ll get a penny from me, whatever tricks you pull!”

“I don’t want your money. I never did.” Seely started to turn away.

“Nasty baggage! You’ll listen when I talk to you.” The woman started after her. “I won’t have you confusing John, making him miserable again—”

“Mrs. Lake,” I said loudly. “Do you realize how worried your daughter has been?”

She jolted. I don’t think she’d noticed me until that second, which says a lot about how focused she’d been on Seely. I’m not easy to overlook. Faded-blue eyes blinked behind her bifocals. “What? I’m not—”

“I know,” I said soothingly, and switched my walking stick to my right hand so I could take her arm. My shoulder twinged. “Not yourself these days, are you? But if you’d take your medication you’d feel better. You have to stop wandering off this way. Poor Melly is frantic.”

She stared up at me as if I were mad. “If you don’t take your hand off me this instant I will have you arrested.”

I leaned closer and muttered, “You’ve drawn quite a crowd. Maybe you like scenes. If so, go right ahead and screech some more.”

She looked around. People were staring, all right. The clerk had stopped ringing up her customer.

Color flooded the old woman’s scrawny neck.

Seely spoke from behind me. “I can handle this, Ben.”

“So? You don’t have to.”

The old woman drew herself up. “You’ll be sorry you interfered. I’ll tell the judge, and he’ll see to it. As for you…” She leaned around me, her eyes glittered with malice. “Devil child! You stay away from me and mine.”

She jerked her arm out of my grip and turned away with surprising dignity. I watched just long enough to make sure that she was really leaving, then looked at Seely.

Her lips were tight. There was a lost look about her eyes I didn’t like. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I didn’t expect to see her at a place like this. I wouldn’t have subjected you to that scene if I’d had any idea she might…” Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“Yeah, I’m all torn up about it.” I gripped her elbow and started for the doors. “Come on.”

“But—the wood! You can’t…Ben?”

“Give her the ticket.” I nodded at the clerk as we passed the checkout. The others in the line glared at me. “McClain Construction,” I told the clerk. “Charge it, save it, toss it, whatever. I’ll call.”

We went through the automatic doors at a better pace than I’d managed since falling off the mountain. No doubt my knee would complain later. I didn’t care. Seely needed to get out, away from all those curious eyes.

She didn’t mention my knee or my shoulder, either out loud or with her eyebrows. Which just confirmed how upset she was. She did say something about me being high-handed.

“You need to scream, cry or throw things. You don’t want to do that here, so we’re going home.”

“I am not going to cry.”

“Yeah, I figured you were more a thrower than a crier. Here we are.” I released her arm and opened the passenger door.

“Wait a minute. I’m driving.”

“No, you aren’t.” I headed around the front of the car. “Power steering, power brakes and my right leg and left arm work fine. I don’t know why I let you talk me into the passenger seat in the first place.”

“I’ve got the keys. You are not driving, Ben.”

“You’ve got a set of keys.” I used the ones in my hand to open my door, tossed my walking stick in the back seat, and lowered myself carefully behind the wheel. Damn. I’d been right about my knee. “You coming?”

She came. She slammed the door, but she came.




Eight


Seely didn’t say a thing for several blocks, just sat there hugging her elbows tight to her body, as if they might get away from her otherwise.

Making her mad hadn’t worked, except as a temporary fix. She’d fallen right back into whatever unhappy thoughts held her prisoner. I was hunting for another strategy when she broke the silence. “What was that bit about Melly?”

“I made that up. Got the old biddy’s attention.”

“It did do that,” she said dryly.

“So who is she? Looked like someone freeze-dried June Cleaver’s mother.”

Her laugh broke out. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her arms loosen. “Don’t surprise me like that! I nearly choked. Her name is Helen Burns. Mrs. Randall Burns, to be precise.”

“Who’s the judge she threatened me with?”

“Her husband. Who hasn’t sat on the bench in twenty years, but she isn’t about to let anyone forget that he used to.”

“Hmm.” I’d heard of the judge, of course. Didn’t think I’d ever met the man.

I turned onto Oak. My street was one of the oldest in town, more level than recent construction, which has to crowd its way up the slopes that cradle Highpoint. The houses here have a settled look; some are large, some smaller, but all have good-size yards. For a short stretch, trees from both sides of the road clasped hands over the street.

We emerged from the tree tunnel onto my block. Smoke puffed from the Berringtons’ chimney. Jack Robert’s truck was in the driveway. Looked like he still hadn’t found another position after being laid off two months ago. The Frasers were out front, old Walt cleaning out a gutter while Shirley steadied the ladder.

I knew the houses along here, the changes that had been made in and around them over the years, the names, stories and people who belonged to those houses. Some people don’t like seeing the same faces and places all the time. Take my brother Charlie. He drove a truck for years because he liked staying on the move, always seeing something new. And I’m not sure Annie’s husband, Jack, will ever settle permanently in one place.

That’s hard for a rooted man like me to understand. Did the world’s wanderers have any idea what they were missing? Or were they so busy chasing the horizon they never realized what they’d given up?

I pulled into my driveway, cut the engine and glanced at the woman beside me…one of the wanderers. I shook my head. “If you’re keeping quiet in the hope that I’ll be too tactful to ask why Mrs. Randall Burns hates your guts, you’re out of luck.”

She snorted. “I’m not such a blind optimist. Anyway, you’re due an explanation.” She looked down, plucking at a snag near the hem of her sweater. “Helen Burns hates me for being born. Bad blood, you see. She’s my grandmother.”

I closed my mouth before any more stupid comments could escape. “Inside. We’ll talk about it inside.”

She didn’t quite slam the door when she got out. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

That remark was obviously the product of wishful thinking. “I take it she’s your father’s mother. The father you don’t know anything about.”

“When I told you that I was trying to preserve a little privacy. Not a concept you have a lot of respect for…oh, do slow down, Ben. You’re obviously hurting.”

“I’m okay. So does he live here, too? Here in Highpoint?”

“Yes.” She didn’t wait for me to obey—or not—but moved up beside me and slid her arm around my waist, forcing me to move slower. “And yes, that’s why I came to Highpoint—sheer, bloody-minded curiosity.”

A quick jolt of heat distracted me…and a quieter warmth seeped inside, unknotting muscles I hadn’t realized were clenched. The pain in my shoulder eased to a dull ache.

I frowned at the top of her head. She was looking down, as if the stairs to the porch required a lot of attention. “You wanted to meet him?”

“No. There may be a touch of masochist in me, but I don’t let it take over. I wanted to see him, find out about him, that’s all.”

We’d reached the door. I let her use her key while I tried to sort out the difference between one kind of heat and another. “Wanting to know your father isn’t masochistic.”

“No? And yet you’ve met his mother.” She swung the door open.

I limped inside. “How did she recognize you, if you haven’t had any contact all these years?”

“My mother sent my father school pictures and little notes every year. I suppose he might have shown them to Granny Dearest. Or maybe she recognized me from the last time we met, twenty-four years ago.” She slapped her purse down on the hall table. “Does it matter?”

Twenty-four years ago…“When you were eight? That was the last time you saw your father, you said. That was when you last saw your grandmother, too?”

“Daisy hit a hard patch financially that summer. Things were always tight, but then she had her purse snatched and there went the rent money. My father…” Her voice faltered. “He’d been gone three years by then, but hadn’t yet dropped out of my life completely. She called him, asked for help.”

“Did you go stay with him?”

“Not exactly. He was working toward his master’s and didn’t have a penny to spare. So he said, anyway. I wound up being shipped up here to stay with the judge and my grandmother. My father drove up on weekends, or sometimes we drove into Denver to see him.”

“You didn’t get along with your grandparents.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” She shrugged out of her jacket and opened the hall closet. “Can we drop the subject now?”

“In a minute. Your grandmother knew you were in town. She claimed you’d told her you were leaving.”

“She and the judge ate at the lodge one night. I waited on their table.” She grimaced. “Not a happy encounter for any of us.”

“Why didn’t you—”

“Ben! Stop interrogating me. You need to sit down, get off your knee.”

I didn’t want to sit. I couldn’t pace very well, dammit, but I sure didn’t want to sit. “If I don’t ask questions, you won’t tell me anything.”

“Why should I?”

“Why shouldn’t you? Lord, I never knew a woman so good at turning away questions! If I ask a single personal question, I end up talking about my own father. Or the best color for the hall bath, or how to repair damaged plaster.”

Anger waved flags in her cheeks. “You’re exaggerating.” She spun and headed for the living room.

“Am I?” I hobbled after her. “You led me to think you didn’t know anything about your father’s side of the family. If we hadn’t run into your old witch of a grandmother—”

Her laugh was short, sharp and ugly. “Oh, but she’s not the witch. That’s the problem. My other grandmother is. Literally.”

God help me. I leaned my stick carefully against the wall. “Your mother’s mother is, uh…”

“A witch.” Mockery gleamed in her eyes.

“Okay.” I nodded slowly. “I got that part. You mean like Wicca and all that?”

“That’s what people call it nowadays. Granny doesn’t, and really, I’m not sure how much a New Age witch would have in common with Granny’s brand of the Craft.”

She believed this. She honestly thought her grandmother was a witch. “And do you think…uh, are you one, too?”

“The word is witch, Ben. And no, I’m not. But I’m the granddaughter of one, which makes me Satan’s get in the eyes of Mrs. Randall Burns. Didn’t you hear the part about me being a devil child?”

“Somehow that didn’t immediately bring witchcraft to mind.” Muddy floors, yes. Witchcraft, no.

“I suppose not. Will you get off that damned knee?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you curse before,” I observed.

“You could make a saint curse!”

“I’ll sit down if you’ll tell me about your grandmother. Your other grandmother, not the one I just met.”

She muttered something unflattering about my antecedents, then flung up her hands. “Okay. Her name is Alma Jones. She’s eighty-four and the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. She lives…sit, Ben!”

“I’m sitting.” I lowered myself onto the couch.

“She lives in a tiny cottage in the Appalachians and makes the world’s best chicken and dumplings. Fresh chicken, mind, from her henhouse. She also makes simples, little charms and cures to sell to her neighbors, and she has the Sight.”

“Ah…the Sight. That’s a Celtic thing, isn’t it? Irish or Scottish?”

“Her maiden name was Sullivan.” The laid-back woman I’d known for a week fairly bristled with feeling. Even her hair seemed agitated. She began pacing. “She’s a darling. She’s helped people all her life. She didn’t ask to have the Sight. Who would? But it runs in our family. Like the curse.”

The curse?

Seely reached the end of the room and spun around, making her hair fly out like a curly cape. “Do you know what that self-righteous old prune called her? A bride of Satan. My granny! She taught Sunday school for thirty-two years!”

A Christian witch. Well, if you could believe in witchcraft in the first place, why not? “What curse?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t mean to mention that.”

“Too late now. What curse?”

“The one another witch put on my great-grandmother for stealing her man about a hundred years ago.” She flung up her hands. “Why am I telling you all this? You don’t believe a word of it.”

“I believe several parts,” I said cautiously. Her granny probably was a good, loving woman who’d taught Sunday school and made up little herbal remedies for her neighbors. And thought of herself as a witch.

Seely’s expression softened as the corners of her lips turned up. “Poor Ben. You’re trying so hard not to tell me that I’m nuts. If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe in the curse, either.”

“Okay. The curse doesn’t count. But you said it was passed down in your family like, uh, the Sight.”

“I’ve heard about it all my life. I don’t really believe in it, but…” She shrugged, which gave her breasts a gentle lift.

I wanted to tell her how much I liked that sweater. I didn’t even let my gaze linger, an act of willpower for which I deserved a lot more credit than I was likely to get. “I know how family stories stick with you. We learn things when we’re kids that cling like burrs long after we’ve figured out they aren’t really true.”

“Yes!” Her laugh was shaky. “That’s it exactly. I don’t really believe in the curse, yet I can’t completely forget it, either. Daisy believes it.” Her feet started her moving again. “She thinks my father left us because a witch cursed the women in my family to unhappiness in love.”

“Hmm.”

She paused by the window, shrugged. “I guess it’s easier to believe in a curse than to think that he didn’t really love her. Or that he’s a noodle.”

“Cooked, I take it.”

She nodded and ran her fingers along the edge of the drapes, as if she found it easier to talk to them right now, instead of me. “I made it sound like I don’t remember anything about him. That isn’t quite true. He read me bedtime stories. He used to take me out in this little sidecar attached to his bicycle. I remember the way the fields smelled, the tug of the wind in my hair.” She swallowed. “The sound of his laugh.”

“Sounds like a noodle, all right.” I came up behind her and rested my hand on her shoulder. “He loved you. For some reason he wasn’t man enough to be responsible for you, but he loved you.”

“You aren’t on the couch.”

“Nope.” I folded my good arm around her and eased her up against me.

She didn’t exactly resist, but she didn’trelax, either. “Ben…”

I had a hunch she’d like it better if I made a pass. She’d know what to do when a man crossed that kind of boundary. Comfort was harder for her.

Tough. I stroked a hand down her hair. “So what’s the noodle’s name? Burns for the last half, I guess. Zebediah? Ezekiel?”

My hand was resting against the side of her face, so I felt her smile even though I couldn’t see it. “Well, it is biblical.”

“Mathew? Mark?” She’d relaxed against me, slightly sideways because of the sling. Her hip nestled into my groin. I wondered how long my brain could survive without oxygen, seeing that all of my blood was tied up in one part of my body. “Do I need to run through the rest of the Gospels?”

Her low chuckle delighted me. “Old Testament. Think lions.”

“Lion’s den. Daniel.”

“Bingo.” The top of her head was even with my eyes. Her hair was so soft…. I didn’t nuzzle it. Surely some celestial scorekeeper was pasting all kinds of gold stars next to my name. “I’m glad Duncan turned me down. Better to hear all this from you.”

She went stiff. “What do you mean, he turned you down?”

Uh-oh. Too much distraction. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, no.” She turned, pulling out of my arms, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I want to know what you meant.”

“You weren’t telling me things. Important things. So I…hell.” I ran my hand over my own head this time.

“So you had me checked out? You had your brother check me out?”

“No, I told you—he turned me down.”

“Oh, that’s different, then! You wanted the cops to investigate me, but your brother wouldn’t do it, so everything’s fine!”

“I needed to know about you, okay? I didn’t want to know. I needed to. And if that doesn’t make sense, well, tough. Tough on both of us,” I said, my voice getting louder, “because I’m used to making sense, only here you are, and I keep doing stupid things and I don’t know why! I don’t make sense at all anymore!”

For a second after my outburst, there was silence. I scowled at her. She was smiling, dammit. “And you like that.”

Her smile just got wider. Then she lifted up onto her toes, put her hand on my good shoulder and her mouth right smack on mine.

“You…” Hard to form words with my head buzzing this way. “Why did you do that?”

“Impulse.” She skimmed smiling lips across mine. “Very poor impulse control I have at times.”

I, on the other hand, was great at self-control. I proved it by not grabbing her.

“Oh, dear, here comes another one. Help,” she said, sliding her arms around my neck and tickling my nape with her fingers. “They’re coming pretty fast now. Can’t seem to stop them.”

“Stop…” Her body brushed mine, scattering what passed for my thoughts. “Stop what?”

“Impulses. Wicked ones. Whoops.” She slipped the top button of my shirt from its buttonhole. “See what I mean?”

“Ah…” I ran my fingers down the whole, wiggly length of her hair, then slowly wrapped my hand around a hunk of it. “This sort of thing, you mean?” And I bent my head and licked her bottom lip. “I’m not supposed to do that.”

“Exactly.” That word glided out on a puff of breath. “I guess they’re catching.”

Another button met the fate of the first. And I snapped.

My left arm clamped around her waist—and damn that sling! I couldn’t snug her against me the way I wanted. But I could crush my mouth down on hers. I could catch her sigh as her lips parted and send my tongue to steal her taste, take it inside me.

I needed two hands. Hell, I could have used three or four, there were so many places I wanted to touch, but I made do with what was available. She’d fitted herself up against me as closely as possible, so I turned my left hand loose to wander.

It liked the taut shape of her thigh, the flare of her hip, the muscle and flesh of her bottom…but that sweater. I’d been looking at that sweater all day, imagining what lay beneath it. I nudged her legs apart with my knee, making a space for my leg between hers. And slid my hand up under her sweater.

“Lace,” I groaned as my hand found the warmth and weight of her breast. “This damned sweater made me crazy enough. If I’d known there was lace beneath it…” I rubbed her nipple with my thumb and pressed up with my thigh.

She moaned into my mouth. Then bit my lip.

“I want this.” I squeezed her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “I want to see this.”

The shiver that rippled up her spine struck me as agreement, but she shook her head as she slid one hand up my chest. “I’d have to let go of you to take it off. And I don’t want to.”

That was a problem, all right. I admit I wasn’t much help, since I claimed her mouth again when she scraped my nipple with a fingernail. Her mouth was warm and sweet and a little wild, and though something was nagging at the back of my brain, telling me to slow down and think, I wasn’t listening.

Vertical was losing all appeal. I wanted to be horizontal, where the lack of one hand wouldn’t matter so much.

I also wanted her naked. “Damn,” I muttered against the column of her neck as that vagrant thought finally surfaced. Reluctantly I eased away. “Hold on. We’re by the window, and the drapes are open.”

“Oh. I forgot. I can’t believe…” She laughed unsteadily and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands. “Good grief. I’m glad you thought of it.”

“Yeah.” When I pulled the drapes closed, the light dimmed and softened. I smiled. “Now you can take that sweater off.”

“Um…there’s something I should say first.”

“If you’ve changed your mind…” I grabbed for self-control. Never had it felt more slippery. “I won’t yell. I might whimper a bit or beg. But I won’t yell.”

“No. Oh, no.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned into me. “I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. I can’t picture myself staying in Highpoint, exchanging friendly greetings with my grandmother in the produce section. And I can’t picture you anywhere else.”

Some emotion landed with a jolt in my stomach. “So you’re saying we should have fun, but nothing serious.”

“Something like that.”

She’d stolen my lines, dammit. The warning I was supposed to give her. The conditions I’d forgotten about. The ones I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore.

This wasn’t the time to mention that. I bent and nuzzled her hair away from her ear so I could kiss her there. “I never argue with a lady who’s about to remove her sweater.”

Her chuckle sounded relieved. “You’ve got a thing about my sweater.”

“Oh, yeah. I’d do it myself if I could.” I longed to strip her slowly, teasing and touching and kissing as I went. I couldn’t even undress myself properly, dammit.

Which left me supervising again. I ran my tongue along the cord of her neck, then released her and waved my hand. “Up and off.”

“Bossy,” she observed, but her voice was husky. She grasped the hem on her sweater, peeling it up over her head.

Lace. Her breasts were cupped in it, full half-moons of creamy flesh overlaid with white lace, with darker nipples and areolas peeking through. Her hair spilled over bare shoulders, one curly strand falling in a soft hook around one dark-tipped breast.

My mouth went dry and my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. “Did I mention that lace makes me crazy? Never mind,” I said, forgetting my plan to get horizontal. I brushed the skin above the lacy edge of her bra. “I’ll show you.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, and stepped back a couple of paces.

Something in her voice brought my gaze to her face. Her smile was the same, that easy curve of lips. But nerves or uncertainty jumped in her eyes. I wanted to wrap her close in my arms—hell, my one good arm—and soothe her. I took a step forward.

“Uh-uh.” She tossed her hair back, lifted one eyebrow. “You’re not in charge here, bud.”

I wasn’t?

“Wait,” she ordered. Her hands went to the waist of her jeans.

I’m no fool. I waited.

She stripped for me. First she unfastened the jeans, giving me a peek beneath while she toed off her shoes. Then the socks, and how anyone could turn the removal of socks into a tease I don’t know, but she did. Then she shoved the jeans down and stepped out of them.

A slim dip of a waist, and more lace below—white again, riding low on her hips, darker at the notch of her legs. “You have the most magnificent legs I’ve ever seen.”

She blinked once, like a surprised cat. “Well. And here I thought it was my breasts you were fixated on.” She reached behind her with both hands, which lifted her breasts in a way that nearly made me swallow my tongue. And unfastened her bra.

Magnificent was too pale a word. But when I went to her, I put my hand in the center of her chest, not over one of those bare, perfect breasts. I looked at her face. “Your heart’s pounding.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “I’m excited.”

Her voice, her posture, that coolly lifted eyebrow—all spoke of confidence and experience. She knew her body could make a man beg. But while passion might ripen the heart’s rhythm, it didn’t send it tripping this fast, this hard, as if it were trying to flee. Not unless some other feelings were mixed in.

I didn’t tell her I didn’t believe her. I didn’t follow the instinct that demanded I gather her close, stroking her back until whatever fears rode her had eased. Naked bodies didn’t bother Seely. Tenderness would.

The time would come when I wanted her feelings as naked as the rest of her, but not yet. Not today. I touched her cheek and promised silently I would treasure and protect whatever she shared with me. Her body, for now.

Her eyes closed. “You are a devious man,” she whispered.

I nodded. Then, at last, I cupped her breast. “You feel like

rose petals.” I stroked, cupped and lifted, then bent to take the hard little pebble of her nipple in my mouth.

Her breath sucked in. Her fingers fretted my hair, skimmed my jaw as I switched breasts. She made a pleased sound, then, after a moment, said, “As your medical attendant, I insist that you get off your feet. Quickly.”




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